"Fear is ever-changing and evolving,"
⬵⤁
Ultra Magnus stepped off of the exit platform to a very strange sight. The ground around them was pure desert, the orange and yellow sand threatening to get into the kinks of his armor and grate against his protoform. Standing tall in the sand was the Decepticon commander Starscream, his wings perked up in authority and slender helm tilted forward to assess the lieutenant. Beside him was Jazz, who looked far too relaxed for his taste. On the other side of the Seeker was a native of the planet, a human, who stood tall next to Starscream despite being comically tiny.
"Lieutenant," Ultra Magnus growled, narrowing his optics as he slid into a defensive stance. "What is the meaning of this?"
"Hey, hey, we're all cool here, Ultra Magnus," Jazz held his servos up, taking a few steps forward to place himself between Starscream and the Autobot. "Starscream has been leading the human resistance against Megatron. Look, I didn't believe it myself-"
"That is Ultra Magnus sir to you, lieutenant Jazz," Ultra Magnus corrected, his expression twisting into an unhappy look. "And how do I know this isn't some Decepticon treachery?"
"If it had been," Starscream answered in English, startling both Agent Fowler and Ultra Magnus for a brief moment. "You would have been offlined the moment your pedes tread on the sand."
"Coming from the mouth of Megatron's most treacherous second in command, I'm not convinced," the Autobot commander curled his servo into a fist, ready to retaliate if need be.
"Since you know me so well, you also know that I have an extensive history with attempting to betray Megatron," the Seeker clapped back in return, "of which has yet to be successful. I remained with the Decepticons because I took the adage keep your enemies closer quite seriously; but Megatron revealed his hand - he wishes to finally be rid of me for good. So, I instead aligned myself with the humans he has been attempting to enslave for the past three Earth years."
There was a long pause as Ultra Magnus watched him, the pair not breaking optic contact for a long time. Jazz was becoming a bit antsy, wondering if they would try to shoot one another, but finally Magnus broke contact and looked towards Agent Fowler.
"I am aware that Cyclonus is marching his army across this continent, and I am sure he is attempting to reach across the seas to other native populations and gain their support," Ultra Magnus said. "But it is still hard to believe that the likes of you, Starscream, would be here instead of on Cybertron."
"Is there an effective resistance on Cybertron?" Starscream questioned.
The commander glanced over at Jazz, debating on whether to say anything. It was clear Ultra Magnus did not trust Starscream in the slightest, which was unsurprising. Jazz cocked an optic ridge, wondering if Ultra Magnus would lie - the commander was not really good at that when he was not under intense duress; but it helped that his facial expression never changed from its stern look, making it difficult to discern what he was thinking.
"Not an effective one, no," Ultra Magnus finally said, sounding defeated. "Any Autobots that have managed to forge a rebellion are in small groups. If Megatron ever finds their locations, he could easily wipe them from existence."
Starscream nodded in understanding. "That is why I find it best to focus our efforts here, on Earth, where the Decepticon hold is still weak. Earth is aware of our existence; it only makes sense that once we take full control of the planet, the Autobots can use it as a place to regroup and launch an attack."
"You make it sound like humanity doesn't exist," the human grumbled in displeasure, shooting Starscream a look.
"I have already made it clear enough, Agent Fowler, that once Megatron is destroyed your planet will be left to its own devices as it had before. I doubt the Autobots would be inclined to keep it for themselves once their homeworld is restored."
Jazz shrugged. "Fair enough assessment, chief."
Ultra Magnus barely quirked an optic ridge, wondering just how Jazz could be so casual with their sworn enemy. He had already noticed that Starscream had removed the Decepticon emblems which normally adorned his chest and wings, a part of him realizing that if this was indeed a trick, it was far too elaborate to trap one lone Autobot. Starscream was right: if they were going to kill Ultra Magnus, they would have done so already.
"I'm still not wholly convinced," Ultra Magnus said slowly, glancing from Autobot, to human, to . . . Starscream. "I suggest you tell me what finally convinced you to defect, Starscream. The exact moment."
The air commander grinned in amusement.
"Then I suggest you find a place to sit, Ultra Magnus," he said. "Because this will be a long story . . ."
⬵⤁
Bumblebee kept his helm down as Thundercracker pushed him through the halls of Darkmount, leading the scout through the winding halls. It was so strange, how easy it was to walk through the facility with a Decpeticon escort. Skywarp was dismissed when Thundercracker said he was more than capable of roughhousing the scout into the prison cells, and any mech with questions was easily shooed away.
All of this for some movies . . . It was almost ridiculous. But if Bumblebee had to guess, Thundercracker was becoming disillusioned with the Decepticon cause. Of all the mechs, especially the Seekers, Thundercracker hated senseless violence. He would have probably made a good Autobot, however it was the ideals of the Decepticons, Megatron's manifesto, which he agreed with most. Nevertheless, it was obvious Thundercracker was tired of the direction his faction had gone in, and now just wanted to rest . . . and watch his movies.
If helping Bumblebee was what got him to that goal, then he would do it.
"Alright, shrimp, time for your tour," Thundercracker drawled, his grip a little too tight for the scout's taste. "The basement is where Shockwave's mad lair is, deep enough that if he blows himself up he doesn't kill the rest of us. Or if any of his creatures get out. On this first floor is where the grunts come in and out after scouting to give reports. Where we're going - the sixth floor - is two floors above the Spacebridge. So whatever you do, definitely don't kick my aft and escape through the Spacebridge portal that is very poorly guarded."
Bumblebee resisted the urge to roll his optics. As if he could make it any more obvious to the guards what was going to happen. But as long as Thundercracker kept his word . . .
Due to Bumblebee being a grounder vehicle they had to take the stairs, Thundercracker pulling him from floor to floor. As the large symbol indicating the fourth floor came into view, Bumblebee steeled himself for a true fight. In the confined space of the stairwell he had the advantage, but with Thundercracker's large size, they were both severely restricted. He wanted to trust Thundercracker, however the word of a Decepticon was always questionable.
Thundercracker hazard a glance at him, his grip loosening just a little to signal that it was now or never. Bumblebee steeled himself.
For Optimus. For Raf.
With that thought the scout lunged, slamming his fist straight into Thundercracker's torso. The jet did not even retaliate, instead letting out a squawk of shock and tumbling down the stairs almost comically. He seemed to intentionally throw himself down the last few steps onto a landing, where he laid clutching his spark chamber.
"Woe is me!" He cried dramatically, imitating one of the few sitcoms he had watched feverently. "The Autobot has attacked and defeated me! He is getting away!"
One again, Bumblebee had to resist the urge to roll his optics. He had rarely encountered Thundercracker in the past, and it was hard to believe the mech had gone from a mecher version of Starscream to . . . a dramatist.
So . . . not much different from the Seeker, actually.
Turning and breaking the flimsy cuffs the mech had placed on his wrists the scout leaped fully onto the fourth floor, deploying his guns. He was met with a total of two Vehicons, both operators, who leapt back before they too deployed their guns. They were far too slow, both taking multiple shots to their bodies before they fell back, their flimsy frames immediately offlining.
Without hesitation Bumblebee surged forward, flinching when he heard the pounding steps of more soldiers come from both the floors below and above the fortress. If he did not act quickly, he would be overwhelmed and offlined for good. He slipped into the Spacebridge's command center, taking care of the few Vehicons inside before running to the main hub.
Slamming his servo on the Spacebridge controls, the scout ducked when the first few shots aimed for his helm. Finding a selection for Earth, he quickly fired up the bridge, an alarmed buzz escaping him when a particularly nasty shot hit the controls in front of him. He turned, alarmed when he saw Dreadwing's blue and gold paintjob flash in front of him.
Jumping back, Bumblebee ducked to avoid a punch that would have surely incapacitated him, continuing to backpedal in a blind attempt to avoid another hit. Seeing the Spacebridge just within a few steps he sprinted forward, desperate to make his escape to Earth.
But even if he did make it out of the bridge, they could follow him. He had no idea just how bad Earth was; had the Decepticons taken over the entire planet, or was there still a base he could call home? And even if there was a base, he could not risk leading the Decepticons to it; doing so would spell out the official end of the Autobots. Optimus would not get the help he needed, and humanity would suffer for it.
Arcee, he recalled, had been able to destroy a Spacebridge once before. He could not wholly remember how she did it, but he suspected a good shot would do the trick.
Bumblebee leapt forward, and in the same motion turned, aiming his blaster. Predictably, Dreadwing dodged out of the way as the supercharged energon bolt went straight for his helm, and it was all that Bumblebee needed as he disappeared through the bridge.
Tumbling out on the other side, the scout lifted his helm and watched the bridge fizzle then choke out of existence, the experience fairly anticlimactic but it got the job done. Standing, he realized he was not on anything particularly organic, freezing when he recognized the Cybertronian metal beneath his pedes.
Of course, the Earth coordinates would lead the the Decepticon stronghold on Earth. It also made sense that the structure would be here, as Bumblebee knew Megatron had used the machine at least once on the organic planet, likely to build this place.
And now he had to sneak out of it.
His first ten seconds of doing already almost blew his cover, as he dodged several Vehicle shots before taking them out. Getting an idea he fired multiple shots in this Spacebridge's controls, hoping to further delay the use of the massive portal. Not looking back he continued to run, understanding his time was limited. If Optimus was to live, and if he was to get out of here and find his friends, he had to move. Especially now that he destroyed two ends of Megatron's Spacebridges; he was certain the price for his head had now doubled, if not tripled.
That concern, however, could not take priority at the moment.
Ducking into the nearest hallway, the practiced scout took it one step at a time. Avoid Vehicons there, barely miss a patrol unit here, and even listen to Cyclonus as he spoke to one of his subordinates about the new plan to take over another sector of Earth - as much as Bumblebee wanted to listen, and to gather new information, he had to get out of here. Once Dreadwing raised the alarm, and the 'cons began actively searching for him, it would all be over far too quickly.
Spark hammering in his chest plates, he made his way down an empty hall, peeking around the corner and beginning to sneak his way towards another door. He had to be getting close.
"Bumblebee?"
He froze, every joint in his frame locking up as the voice cut through the silence. Turning around slowly, he saw a stranger, and yet it was an old friend.
"Ratchet?"
⬵⤁
Nothing was worse than drowning.
He fought in the darkness as water filled his lungs, crushing his ribs and dragging him deeper into the abyss. Opening his eyes led to a confusing mess of colors and darkness, and a terror overtook him; he did not want to open them and find some horrifying creature staring back at him.
His limbs felt like lead and refused to move how he wanted, helpless to the whims of whatever was keeping him from surfacing and breathing air.
A part of him wondered if someone would save him - his mother, Agent Fowler, Arcee . . .
Arcee would come. She always protected him, even from her worst enemy.
Jack tried to scream her name, but his voice would not work. All that came out was a hoarse hiss, frustratingly unable to scream.
To his relief a hand enveloped him, the boy all too familiar with the feeling of a servo around his body. Unlike before, this appeared to comfort him. He because acutely award as the pressure began to increase, crushing him as sharp edges cut into his skin.
Freedom surged into his limbs when he woke up, the boy thrusting himself forward and nearly colliding his head with the top of the bed. This time he could scream, tearing his vocal chords as a sound of pure fear ripped them.
"For the love of all that is holy, Darby!" A pillow slammed into his face, making him flinch. "You gotta make the whole barrack crap their pants?"
Jack huffed, leaning over and grabbing the pillow that had landed on the floor. His sweating hand easily soaked through its cover, but he did not care.
"Maybe try to get over the fact that you were tortured, then you can figure out the answer on your own," he snarled, throwing the pillow back to its rightful owner.
Vince caught it without even flinching, stuffing his pillow back in its rightful place. Swinging his legs over the side of his own bed he stood, giving Jack a glare.
"It's been three years, get over it," he snapped back, stalking past the bed to their lockers. Jack just watched, resisting the urge to snap something back.
Even before the Decepticons "officially" started their takeover, the nightmares had not plagued him like this before. He occasionally would have an unbearable feeling of dread, and even an occasional noise would trigger flashback-like episodes that left him a panicking mess, but he just attributed it to stress. Now his life had routine and a purpose; and that was when it all struck.
The first nightmare was far from the worst, even though they all left him screaming, or crying, or something in between. Though he was offered a personal barrack where he could live out the dreams in peace, he refused. There was a part of him that feared isolation, and another which he could not wholly understand; all he knew was that he felt if he allowed himself to be secluded from the others, then the dreams would intensify. There was a safety in numbers, even if he selfishly interfered with everyone else's slumber.
And it never used to be this bad. Every night, something new haunted him - and he worried it meant something worse was coming.
Slipping out of bed he checked his watch as he stretched, sighing with a cringe. He only managed five hours of sleep - give or take twenty minutes. For someone who was expected to be at the top of his game every outing, this was a bad sign.
Trudging to his own locker, he continued to ignore Vince as they gathered their things side by side. The older boy worked in the mechanics section, occasionally working alongside Wheeljack to fix up any damaged equipment that needed a Cybertronian expert to repair it. His exposure to the strange metal beings was minimal, but Vince had made his opinions quite clear.
He did not appreciate their presence.
Jack could not blame him, truthfully. The Decepticons and Autobots alike had uprooted their entire town and humanity's peace, thrusting them into a war they did not want.
He sighed.
"Vince -"
"Save it, Darby. I get it. You're special, you were the one to survive torture and bring Starscream here to save the day," Vince gave him a glare. "You get the special treatment."
"Well, I was actually going to say that I was sorry," Jack frowned, shutting his locker as he stalked towards the communal sinks and bathroom. "Nevermind, if you don't want it."
There was a pause, and he could feel Vince following him. They both chose sinks that were one apart from them, and he did not miss the glance to his face. He never missed when someone stared at the permanent marks, the reminders that he was forever damaged.
"Oh," Vince said after a painfully long pause. "I guess I don't know which part you're apologizing for."
Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I was going to apologize for snapping, but I don't suppose you want me to apologize for being special too?"
"Sure, apologize for both," Vince suggested.
That time, Jack did not resist. "Fine. Sorry for screaming, and sorry for being special."
"I almost would forgive you, except it didn't sound sincere."
Jack did not deign the response with an answer, instead brushing his teeth and gazing in the mirror. He and Vince had never gotten along, so it was hardly a surprise that they did not now.
Something caught his eye and he turned, seeing the tattoo on Vince's arm. It was relatively knew, as he never remembered seeing it before.
"'Spotter?'"
The older boy flinched briefly, pausing in brushing his hair to look at it.
"Yeah," he said, sounding a little bitter. "It's a call sign. For my friend."
The sudden change in attitude and his short answers made Jack realize the tattoo was a sore subject, but he pressed just a little farther.
"Pre- or post- I-day?" He asked, trying to soften his voice.
Was it before or after the invasion day?
Vince glared into the mirror.
"He was one of the first waves of defense against Darkmount," Vince said, his sentences clipped. "You know, before they realized the 'cons had the tech to annihilate us."
Jack was well aware of what happened to the first wave of resistance. They were wiped out swiftly and with few, if any, survivors. The Decepticon retaliation was what scared most of the world into hiding. If the United States, who were notorious for having a vast and advanced military, was easily destroyed, then what hope did the rest of them have?
"I'm really sorry about that, Vince," he said quietly, gazing down at the basin of his own sink. "I . . . I know what it's like to lose a close friend too. I know it's hard."
"Yeah, it is."
Jack did not bother combing his hair, instead splashing water on his face before he exited the bathroom.
He was no longer unfamiliar with the weight of guilt in his chest, and though it felt like ten pounds had been added on, he had to keep going.
That was all there was left to do. Just to keep going.