Just A Nightmare

by Devira

Summary:

After the war, Bumblebee had grown tired of expectations costantly forced on him, of duties that never ended, of being told who he was supposed to be.

 

At first, he hunted Decepticons with his team on Earth. But then the council stepped in, insisting he attend the Academy to "refine his skills", because apparently — he wasn't good enough in his job for them.

 

A year later, framed for a murder he didn’t commit, Bumblebee fled. Branded a fugitive, he vanished into the underground and became something else: an assassin, striking from the shadows to target the Council that betrayed him.

 

Eventually he got captured, the Council deemed him too dangerous for prison and sentenced him to the shadowzone.

 

But something went wrong.

 

Instead of exile, he woke up on the Nemesis—Megatron’s warship. Mid-war in the past.

 

Though it's just a nightmare, right?

Notes:

Huge shoutout to ArcticFics, my inspiration. I planned this fiction for quite a long time, but got to it only, when I saw her fic taking in the Prime's timeline.

I plan also another fic on how Bee became this way, but it's still unfinished and I decided it would be better to start from there, because it would be easier to sympathize with the others from this timeline.

Enjoy c:

Chapter 1: Just shoot

He just woke up with a sharp invent, assesing the unfamiliar surroundings.

 

He could feel the cold floor beneath his digits, ceiling placed really high above him. I mean it wasn't anything new for him. He was used to this. He was one of the shortest bots after all.

 

The atmosphere was weird. He could different feel EM fields nearby, some relieved anger and dominance, other fear and loyalty. The thing that worried him was dark, purplish color of the walls. It was nothing similar to what he was used to. He got up and on high alert started looking around.

 

He didn't even remember what he was doing before. Why was he laying on the floor?

 

He knew one thing for sure.

 

Something's not right.

 

He remembered. He was on a spying on lower council's member mission, so close on taking him down, before he passed out and him being unconscious could mean two things.

 

One - that someone may have knocked him out. The only problem with that, was him being one of the most wanted cybertronian, so his pursuer would most likely turn him to prison and he wouldn't just left him laying around alone on the ground.

 

Therefore, there was no way it could be this one. There was a second option, more believable, especially recently. He passed out of energon... but he would feel the outcome kicking in.

 

He didn't feel any of the withdrawal symptoms. His systems didn't notice him it was low. It wasn't high either, but it was enough to make him believe it couldn't be that option either... so what was he doing here..

 

All of his sensors were on high alert. His pursuer could be somewhere in the hiding, just mocking him, playing with his victim.

 

He began doing something he was qualified in the most.

 

Scouting.

 

However, he didn't know if it was still his the greatest asset looking now, that he's the greatest assassin's of all time. Well, at least that's what they called him now.

 

I mean probably scouting still wins this battle, because reconnaissance of the area is still the most important aspect in planning a murder.

 

He sidled around, careful as to not make a sound as came to the conclusion he is familiar with this place.

 

He still wasn't sure if that was it, so he continued his search for clues.

 

Suddenly he saw someone and shove up behind a wall just in time, before he could got spotted.

 

His eyes were open wide in shock as he was still looking at the bot that was passing by. He couldn't believe it...

 

It was Knockout. But how? The last time he checked he was missing. He thought he was dead.

 

The theories and thoughts had started running through his mind. Maybe Knockout was being held here as a hostage? Maybe he should go to him and help him out?

 

But he should be stealthy. Nobody could see him if he wanted to help out his best friend.

 

But he waited so long for them to be reunited. Two long years.

 

After the war on earth and fighting Megatron they all came back to Cybertron. He finally started living his own life and stopped worrying about constant fighting for life... but the truth was he didn't know how to live a normal life.

 

With almost all of it spent at war he had no clue what he could do anymore, what was his purpose.

 

He felt isolated from the other Autobots. He lost the track of who he was.

 

Then he went racing with Knockout and he turned out to be the only mech that understood him. They had so much in common, both loved earth culture, racing and was often visiting him at work. They understood each other better than anobody else.

 

He got lost in thoughts again.

 

FOCUS. He had to stay concentrated on his task.

 

He wanted to go leave his hideout, but imiddiately stopped himself, when he heard another bot and sharply pressed himself against the wall in terror.

 

It was... Breakdown?!

 

No... it couldn't be.

 

He's... dead.

 

Or is he?

 

Maybe it's an illusion. Some kind of hologram.

 

He perked up and took a peek for his processor, which still was covered in denial.

 

No, he seemed too real. Some memories started flipping through and he shuddered at the notion all of a sudden. He looked around once again, though this time his optics moving frantically from one place to another, analyzing in panic. He recognized this place.

 

It was Nemesis. The Decepticon ship.

 

The same one Megatron scheemed every attack on them back on the Earth nack in a war between Autobots and Decepticons. The same one with which he had so many unpleasant memories.

 

But he hadn't seen Megatron for a really long time. Besides he wouldn't believe he would have kidnapped Knockout and resurrected Breakdown with dark energon after his change of ways.

 

After Megatron himself had seen through his own actions and understood he and Optimus have the same vision of a free Cyberton? No, it wasn't present time, more like memory. His memory. Or hallucination?

 

He followed him and had seen him having a conversation with Knockout. Not that he could hear anything from that far, but he decided to give it a try anyway, having to stay unnoticeable coded in his programming.

 

But from the facial expressions he could figure out what they were saying. The one of the pros of being mute was becoming proficient at sign language, reading facial expressions and words from just someone talking, without actually hearing them.

 

But it was also one of the aspects of being a scout.

 

He could say the both of these things gave him this advantage and made him an outstanding spy. The one Optimus always wanted to have in his ranks.

 

He was muttering to himself when they were talking as imitating them. Maybe because he hated silence and hadn't anybody to talk with lately.

 

Well, maybe not that long. He actually chose that way and there was no going back now. He could live with that anyway.

 

Since his argument with Optimus. He still called this an argument even if after this ,,squabble" they both went separate ways.

 

And he wasn't sure he was an Autobot anymore. Of course he wasn't, it would be weird. They wouldn't let him. Not that the fractions mattered anymore.

 

Or if he could call Optimus his mentor, or even his friend.

 

Since that event everything just started falling apart.

 

Now that he thought of that, it was more of a fight for his life than a dispute. Like, really, he could've been dead.

 

FOCUS

 

,,Did you submit a report to the Megatron?" Breakdown sure was worried.

 

,,Oh puh-lease, enough with that face. I haven't... yet. Everything will be fine, you'll see. He can't do anything to me anyway.. yes maybe we've lost it, but they probably don't use it anyway. That one is way too dangerous and you know Autobots"

 

Knockout smirked, but as soon as he pivoted away and marched forward his face turned stone cold.

 

They were sure talking about one of the relics. Of course his mind would play that kind of trick on him.
He had been in something similar before and it was sort of a dream... nightmare. Something like that was on his daily basis occurrence. Totally normal.

 

He deep down wanted to make himself uselful, so his subconciousness gave him tasks to do so. This time he had to stop Decepticons from taking the relic.

 

But he didn't have to care at all.

 

...Right?

 

....

 

Why does he even care about hiding?

 

It doesn't matter. It's all a dream.

 

Haha yes, it was a dream. It doesn't matter if he got spotted and even if he will, he would wake up.

 

And what's the best strategy to wake yourself up from the stasis?

 

He made his decision .

 

He went out of hiding and started roaming around smirking. Breakdown and Knockout had already left by now.

 

He had a plan to get out of this place.

 

He had a feeling of being watched, but he didn't care. It was probably Soundwave.

 

Good. He wanted to be noticed.

 

He was probably already on his way to inform Megatron about his presence.

 

He was hoping to encounter Megatron and ,,talk" to him.

 

Soundwave went to the Megatron in a rush and told him about the detected intruder.

 

Megatron demanded to search the ship for possible backup, that unfamiliar bot could brought with himself.

 

,,We're gonna give him a warm greeting" Megatron rumbled and also gave order to check if there was any sign of ground bridge opening on Nemesis.

 

Soundwave gave report. There was only one, though from unknown place that couldn't be localized. That was odd circumstance. It was impossible to mask such a great energon signal.

 

Besides, he knew one bot could never invade a ship unnoticed, because of their defensive systems. It was probably an autobot spy, that wanted to get their servos on his plans.

 

He had to show this intruder who's in charge here. Show him no mercy for breaking into his ship and show him how foolish he is for doing such a stunt.

 

Maybe if he would tortured him enough, he would find something useful to use against Autobots.

 

When he was just about to leave the room, he saw the doors burst open violently and in the entrance, he saw a small, mostly black bot with hints of yellow looking cocky.

 

Was he smirking at him?

 

This bot definitely had a death wish.

 

"Hey Megatron, just let's do this quickly"

 

The mech said, neglecting the fact of standing in front of the vicious leader of Decepticons and sauntered forward into the room.

 

He isn't running away nor showing any remorse of fear. His processor must have been damaged.

 

This meant he wanted a duel.

 

Perfect.

 

It will end up quickly with him thriving over. He would end up being his trophy and a warning to any bot that would dare disrespect him like that ever again.

 

He would firstly rip his one servo off, then a pede, smash him onto the floor and when he would be begging for mercy, he would gloat in his lament.

 

He would get every information coded in his imprudent, mindless processor and then rip his voice box and tear his spark-

 

"What are you doing..." Megatron inquired slightly shocked. He knew the bot was vacuous, just didn't know he was that much crazy.

 

He was laying in front of him on the floor and grabbed Megatron's pede pressing it with his servos onto his head.

 

The size difference was amusing, because he was so small in comparison to his own pede, that it was not only on his head but almost on the whole length of his chasis.

 

"Go on, don't mind me. Just make sure to use all of your weight, when you're pressing. You can even make it a little play if you want"

 

When he had a dream like this, the best way to get out and wake up was simple.

 

Getting offlined.

 

This is the fastest way. Effortless. He had a few tricks that were always working out in his dreams and he couldn't wait to use them right away. The most used one by him was just trying to be as annoying and provoking as possible.

 

....

 

Megatron was disturbed by the display. This bot suggested it like it was the most common thing to say. If he heard it right, it sounded like as he was just encouraging to exterminate him.

 

Soundwave finally broke the silence, standing in the back of the room behind Megatron and played "Illogical" Shockwave's voice.

 

Therefore, he needed to teach him a lesson about entering an enemy ship.

 

"What kind of trick is that" Megatron accused with voice stern as a thunder, indeed pressing pede against his helm as he insisted.

 

The bot grinned.

 

In the meantime Starscream marched into the room and leaned over the wall enjoying the spectacle, grateful that Megatron isn't relieving his anger on him, at least this time. He was under Megatron's feet countless times. It was nice to see for the first time someone else underneath it.

 

"You know if you are too deaf you can just say so. I bet this problem keeps on repeating, just looking at how old you are"

 

He wasn't that old and Bee knew that, but that was the one of the things that came up to his mind to annoy him quickly.

 

And apparently it worked out pretty well.

 

Megatron, provoked by the insults, started throwing him through the whole corridor in rage, beating him up, punching so hardly it left huge scars and dents leaking of energon in his frame and ripping wires from his abdomen, while Starscream just watched the whole show chuckling with servo covering his faceplate.

 

When Megatron looked back glaring at Starscream, he shrieked and stood still with his hands down in nanosecond. Megatron rolled his optics returned to the ongoing matter.

 

He started wondering why the bot isn't even putting up a fight. He was just in pure numbness, smirking, letting himself being tossed across the hallway and almost ripped apart.

 

"Is that all that you've got? For a so merciless leader I heard you are, I expected something more... remorseless"

 

Why he was saying this as if he was invincible? His spark was barely felt by now, said it so weakly and quietly it was scarcely managed to hear. However, Megatron couldn't allow letting himself disrespected like that. This bot had to pay the highest price.

 

Megatron sent internal com to Soundwave to check if he wasn't just a lure, for Autobots to sneak onto the ship, but came to nothing. He was alone.

 

Megatron walked forward with heavy, enraged steps to bot, which he had just thrown.

 

Bot was still conscious, though barely alive, laying against the wall in the puddle of energon.

 

Megatron expected him to plead for his mercy, beg for forgiveness, and honestly was startled by his anomalous behavior.

 

The bot was still weakly grinning at him in pain.

 

He had to admit, that he admired the bots endurance and persistence, though it's cockiness reminded him of annoying yellow scout, before he ripped out his voice box apart. He was like Knockout and Starscream worst features merged together.

 

He also noticed the lack of insignia on his almost destroyed by now chestplate.

 

Even if he didn't respect him, he could use a bot like him in his ranks. He kept Starscream after all his betrayals, why he wouldn't keep another. This version at least wouldn't be trying to kill him. He would be just... infuriating.

 

His thoughts were interrupted by the bot, who grabbed his servo with canon and pointed it towards his own head, waiting for him to shoot with a smirk and tilted his helm.

 

His optics widened, couldn't believe at what he was seeing.

 

He started feeling uneasy in his presence, though he rose his curiosity. This black bot was most certainly insane.

 

"What is your designation?" Megatron inquired, still a little harsh and the intruder's smile slowly vanished away.

 

"No, idiot, just shoot"

 

He couldn't believe what the mech was saying, but his glare was as pierceful as his own.

 

He couldn't just shoot him. He wasn't that cruel, was he? Is that what other bots are portraying him as?

 

The cruel tyrant? Was that bot thinking he really was no better than that frag Sentinel himself? He hasn't got insignia, and yes, he killed every bot that disobeyed joining him.

 

Then why did he feel this one was different from the rest? Why would he want to get himself killed in the first place? He was an interesting asset and he wanted his questions answered, especially that he noticed his EM field was... slightly different from the others.

 

He felt something different about him. Something peculiar, extraordinary.

 

Did he really just make all of the hope for a better Cybertron disappear to the point this bot decided to just give up?

 

"No" Megatron exclaimed and Starscream was left speechless with his intake open.

 

,,Wuh-wha- ....Wait" The bot seemed frustrated and almost dissapointed by his decision.

 

,,Master, with all respect, after all the insults he proclaimed? He could also be a spy sent by-"

 

,,SILENCE! Or maybe you want to be next Starscream?"

 

Starscream flinched at the notion. He shut himself up and just stepped away quickly muttering something unhearable. Meanwhile bot's shocked faceplate yet again shifted into a smirk.

 

,,What a terrible leader you are. Even your second in command is turning up on you. The autobots were right, I should've run as soon as they grabbed disk with your plans on it and now I must perish by hearing your unbearably annoying voice" He gesticulated as he was immitating Starscream behaviour and exaggerating his sneered, sassy expression.

 

Megatron had seen trough him little scheeme though.

 

"You have no reinforcements with you. Your claims seems to be convincingly refuted" Megatron noted that the bot's optics flickered a little, almost unnoticeable. If he would stood farther, he wouldn't notice this minor, yet important detail.

 

"And you're no Autobot"

 

Scrap, he didn't forget that Soundwave could scan the area for possible signals of mechs, but he thought Megatron would woke him up by now.

 

"...I may be" Bee muttered, optics fixed away on the ground as sudden idea appeared in his head.

 

There was still one option left. Trying to annoy anyone in his sight. Soundwave would listen to Megatron, so it would be futile, but Starscream on the other hand seemed like perfect fit, easily frustrated.

 

He turned his head to the seeker and proceed.

 

,,Yet I'm left to wonder why you keep someone as unsignificant and infuriating as your second in command. Your senses are clearly tasteless"

 

He learned from the best.

 

,,Why you little-" Starscream seemingly was losing it accordinding to his plan, but was grabbed by Soundwave, so he wouldn't do anything stupid.

 

"And this... purplish bot... what his name was? I don't remember, but as far as I see he does nothing, besides staring and judging your every movement"

 

He knew him mocking Soundwave wouldn't make him step into an act, but also savvy that Megatron wouldn't let this go unpunished.

 

Megatron seemingly couldn't restrain his wrath, stepped forward and punched him with brute force that let his vision go black.

Chapter 2: Another one?

Summary:

I have no idea how it's supposed to work — I'm still learning.

Do I have to write something that happened in the last chapters?

Well, then.

Bee noticed he's on Nemesis and threw himself under Megatron's wrath. Thank you and goodnight xDDD

Because definitely it isn't for making spoilers for the posting chapter, right? I have no idea. ANYWAY

Notes:

Okay, so firstly — I'm planning a project design on how Bee is looking in my head in his Shadestrike form.

I'm cooking. When I'll done it, I'll post it probably on Instagram? So you could all look on it.

Aaaaanyway~

Secondly — I will be posting one chapter once a week, probably on Tuesday's.

But this time I couldn't restrain myself. I just had to share. That urge.

Why once a week? Well, I'm gonna say – I'm slow. And that's not the only reason.

I have studies, unfortunately.

And therefore, you can have the chapter even if I won't be able to write in some weeks.

Therefore we have content for 8 another weeks –*evil dark laugh* – yes, don't ask me, what I was doing this whole week.

 

I'll also try to keep the chapters lenght of 3k words. I'm sorry if this will look weird, but I just think it will keep me more consistent or something.

Without further ado, I hope you'll enjoy yourself as good as me c:

 

Update after writing the chapter:

okay, can somebody tell me — how to transfer the text from the notebook on my phone as doing copy–paste, so the cursive and bolded textline would stay and won't dissapear into thin air?

I beg you xD

Because doing it manually again is frustrating

He roused slowly, feeling exhausted, laying on the berth and to his surprise everything still hurt. 

 

His vision was all blurry and the room's single overhead light made it even harder to make out anything else.

 

The walls were a dark purplish color. Was he still on Nemesis? 

 

But if Knockot was still here that would mean...

 

Oh no.

 

He still hadn't woken up. 

 

He weakly lifted his servo to his chassis, then to optic level, scrutinizing the light, blue energon coating it.

 

 

"Look who finally decided to wake up" 

 

A familiar voice approached from the nearby table, where someone was picking up a tool. 

 

He didn't feel as much pain as he should have, considering how severely he'd been wounded. Knockout must have given him painkillers in intention to ease the discomfort. 

 

His memory was all foggy. The last thing he remembered was Megatron knocking him down – almost tearing him to shreds.

 

Why would they want to repair him. Hadn't he made it clear? He didn't want help. At least unless not unless it was to wake him up.

 

 Maybe Megatron ordered to put him back together just because he wanted to torment him – restart the cycle all over again. That would be undeniably the worst–case scenario. 

 

"Hello, sleeping princess. Do you have any idea how much work you've dumped on me?!" The red silhouette shifted from sassy calm to frustrated rage in a nanosecond. 

 

He missed him. 

 

He wouldn't even mind being yelled at just to be near him again. 

 

What a shame it wasn't real.

 

Just let me out of this nightmare before it gets any worse.

 

And he knew it could. Just knowing he wouldn't see Knockout, when he woke up, was enough torture. 

 

He should've noticed something was wrong. Maybe then he could've saved him. Now he didn't know where Knockout was or if he was even alive.

 

He tried to sit up, but Knockout harshly shoved him back down, making him wince and hiss from the pain.

 

"Ah–ah–ah, I'm not done with you" Knockout said, wagging his finger in a disapproval.

 

"I missed the assault, but from the looks of your mindless agenda, you'll be convalescing here for a while"

 

Perfect. Just perfect.

 

He needed another plan asap.

 

 Annoying Knockout wouldn't work. He would proceed with repairs regardless. After all, he had survived Starscream – the most irritating patient of all time.

 

Insults would bounce right off, thus it wouldn't help his case at all. Besides, Bee didn't want to mock him.

 

That would just be more torture in this nightmare he had to endure. 

 

"I didn't think any bot would be foolish enough to stand up to Megatron. You must be either courageous or a sheer imbecile"

 

"Make it both, then" Bee responded through gritted denta as the doctor proceeded welded his torn cables.

 

Knockout must have noticed pain in his face, because he readied a sedative, but was met confounded, when bot weakly shoved his servo away and shook his head.

 

"I think it's the imbecile option then" Knockout muttered with a frown and administered the injection anyway.

 

Bee's head felt heavier by the second, his optics slowly  closing unwillingly as he watched the now–blurry silhouette continue with repairs.

 

____________

 

"I'm not going to hurt you," a low–toned voice assured. 

 

They were standing in a dark city alley lit only by a dim red warning light from a nearby building – alerting of a dangerous fugitive.

 

Optimus stood before him. His EM field was unreadable, but tinged with grief. 

 

Bee's servos were covered in energon – not his own. His optics flickered with panic, glued to the ground. He couldn't look up. 

 

His chassis was shook in distress and he recoiled as Optimus stepped forward.

 

"Everything will be fine, Bumblebee. Just let me help you" Optimus reassured gently, reaching a servo toward him.

 

But there was almost imperceptible note of uncertainty in his voice. One Bee regognized only because he had known him for so long.

 

Bee anxiously looked up from the ground, met his gaze with a slight, disbeliefing frown.

 

 ,,You don't believe me" His voice was hushed, lined with static.

 

Optimus responded only with a pitful, compassionate expression.

 

Bee looked away, biting his lip. "You saw the recording, didn't you?"

 

After a long silence, Optimus stammered. "I—I'm sorry I wasn't there for you... but I am now"

 

It wasn't comforting. Each word seemed to dig deeper into Bee's doubt.

 

"I know it wasn't your fault. It wasn't you." 

 

Bee heard the hesitation—faint, but there. Again.

 

But he noticed this. 

 

Why was he lying right into his optics?

 

Optimus doubted his own words. He didn't believe him. He wouldn't believe himself too, but he knew it wasn't his fault.

 

He didn't do it. 

 

He didn't commit murder. 

 

It wasn't him – or at least not the first one. The second... maybe? 

 

No – he only hurt him. He was still alive. It was an accident.

 

"Please, come back with me and I promise everything will be the way it was before" Optimus pleaded, whispering with visible grief and guilt on his face, reached out again.

 

"Let's go home."

 

Optimus waited for him to take his hand – to hold on and pretend nothing had happened.

 

As much as Bee wanted to believe it could all return to how it once was, deep down he knew it was impossible.

 

They were just blank, empty words of promises.

 

There was no such place he could truly call home anymore. No hope left for someone like him. 

 

He wanted to say yes, to grab that warm servo – but he couldn't.

 

He had spent his whole life trying to meet expectations, prove his worth, never complain, even when the war ended and the burdens didn't. With every new given overwhelming task always trying to be perfect.

 

And yet, they left him behind. His worst nightmare appeared.

 

He felt isolated from everyone again. Lost. Never truly knowing who he was – what his purpose was.

 

He hesitated, his servo twitching in the air, hovering from his own chassis and Optimus's offered servo.

 

Just as he was about to reach for it, the faint sound of police sirens echoed in the distance.

 

His frame tensed. He recoiled in realisation, optics wide in panic.

 

Slowly, he brought his servo back to his chassis instead, disbelief and hurt growing in his spark.

 

His optics flicked from Optimus to the direction of the sirens, louder with every nanoklick.

 

"You... set me up..."

 

"Bumblebee, please, listen to me—" 

 

"No!" Bee shouted, his voice cracking.

 

How could he? He trusted him, he thought Optimus was his only friend left – his mentor – and he betrayed him.

 

He failed him.

 

Failed Optimus again, but he couldn't just go back.

 

If they caught him, he would spent most of his life in prison and it barely even started. He was still young, yet already without hope for the future. 

 

"I'm starting to comprehend with Decepticons reasoning..." Bee divulged his thoughts aloud.

 

Optimus's faceplate twisted in shock and judgement.

 

"Bumblebee, please. That's not you."

 

Bee's optics stayed glued to the ground until he mustered enough strenght to meet Optimus's gaze – his own optics now burning with determination to fight for himself.

 

"Maybe it is who I am now." 

 

Optimus's expression became one of utter disappointment and Bee hated every second of his glaze on him. It was piercing him into shreds.

 

He couldn't besech any kind of understanding from him. He didn't even realize when his servos started shaking, thus to prevent this he forced them into clenched fists.

 

"Whatever I'll do... I'll never be enough" Bee murmured unintentionally gurgling the words like someone on the verge of tears and bringing servos to his chassis again.

 

"It's not true" Optimus insisted.

 

But Bee didn't believe him. Not anymore.

 

Maybe Optimus believed he was doing the right thing – trying to protect him, lock him in a 'safe' place without worry – but Bee couldn't trust him.

 

He had no right to ask anything from him.

 

He was just another judgmental shadow, waiting for him to fall.

 

Prison might be safe for him and for the others. After all, he wasn't just a danger to them.

 

He was a danger to himself. At least that's what Optimus thought.

 

But what life would that be?

 

"One shall fall." 

 

The words hit Optimus like a blow. He stepped forward, reaching again – but Bee didn't let him. 

 

He didn't feel safe. If Optimus caught him, they would lock him up.

 

Maybe worse. Maybe even throw him into Sub‐50.

 

He began hyperventilating, stepping back as Optimus tried to calm him down, but he couldn't hear his words anymore.

 

Optimus wanted the old Bee. Not someone he became throughout those years. But that version of himself was long gone.

 

The sirens were close now.

 

Bee looked into Optimus's optics – still filled with grief – one last time. Then turned on his pede and ran.

 

As he fled, he heard Optimus shout his name in agony. Lubricant streamed down from Bee's optics. 

 

He rapidly wiped it away with trembling servo, desperate to outrun everything. He couldn't stop now. 

 

This was his choice. The first real choice he had made for himself in his entire life. He couldn't change the past, it was already done.

 

Even if it was the wrong one, it made him feel free.

 

Not completely – but in some way. And yet, the thought of dissapointing Optimus... still tore him apart.

 

He had become the very kind of bot he was designed to fight his entire life. A fugitive running from the law. How ironic his life made him be.

 

As he stormed through the night alleyways, neon lights flickering in and out of focus, a massive WANTED alert blinked across the side of a nearby building – his faceplate glaring back at him in red.

 

A couple of bystanders froze.

 

"It's him!" One shouted. 

 

Another mech, optics wide with, imidiatelly bolted in the opposite direction, shoving others aside to get away.

 

Then a furious enforcer bot lunged out from a side street, aiming to tackle him.

 

"End of the road, traitor!"

 

But Bee reaction was faster.

 

He twisted at the last second, ducked under the enforcer's grasp, and with a sharp kick off the wall beside him, flipped back in mid-air.

 

His transformation sequence clicked into place before he even touched the ground – metal folding, shifting – and in an instant, he was speeding down the street in his alt mode.

 

He could hear shouts behind him, of scrambling boots, the hiss of energized weapons activating.

 

His comm pinged.

 

> : Bumblebee, please respond. You don't have to do this :

 

Optimus's message. Always calm. Always too late.

 

He ignored – wheezing hard as he accelerated. 

 

He didn't have the courage to confront him again. Each incoming call made his spark tighten with fear.

 

He could stop.

 

Not now.

 

Not after they all saw him like that.

 

Not after they branded him like that.

 

Bumblebee couldn't catch a break, because now, a squadron of enforcerers was right on his tail.

 

"ACCORDING TO CYBERTRONIAN LAW, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST. TURN YOURSELF IN OR WE WILL USE FORCE"

 

It was weird, when he wasn't the one telling this.

 

He sverwed violently off the road. Just as he was about to land –  everything went black. 

 

He changed back into his root mode mid-fall, landing hard onto an unseen surface with an ungraceful thud. 

 

But there was nothing around him.

 

Only darkness.

 

An all-consuming black void.

 

Uncertainly, he stood up, optics flickering, scanning his surroundings. There was nothing to focus on.

 

No walls. No sky. No ground. Just emptiness stretching in every direction.

 

Silence.

 

The silence was so profound it became opressive – so sharp he could hear energon pulsing through his own lines.

 

Each beat in his spark chamber felt amplified in this maddening stillness.

 

He wandered aimlessly, unsure of where he was or how he got here, until—

 

 

Horrifying, high-pitched screech tore through the void.

 

Startled, he stumbled forward toward the sound, nearly tripping over his own pedes in haste.

 

 

"Are you sure he's that great bot who killed Megatron?"

 

 

"I must have mistaken him for someone else."

 

Voices echoed from beyond – unseen, shifting locations every time they spoke. Faint black silhouettes loomed in the distance, half-formed whispering judgements into the dark, making him more disturbed and anxious with each nanosecond.

 

"MURDERER!"

 

 Bee flinched violently, staggering backwards.

 

"You'll never be one of us."

 

"I heard rumors he was found by Optimus on the scrapyard."

 

"HA– Bet Optimus took him out of pity!"

 

 

He had to run.

 

 

 

"Monster!"

 

He was gasping, optics wide, breath catching in his vents.

 

The voices – all from his memories – were gaining volume, speed, clarity. He started running.

 

"I knew he wouldn't make it."

 

His pede caught on something invisible, almost sending him crashing down, but he caught himself, stumbling forward into an even more frantic pace.

 

"Probably haven't even killed Megatron and just Optimus let him take the credit."

 

He clenched his servos on his audials, but the voices pushed though, louder than ever.

 

"Can't handle a little pain?"

 

Then—light. 

 

A faint glow in the distance. He bolted toward it.

 

"WEAK."

 

"Shut up." He muttered.

 

"What's wrong, chosen one?!"

 

"Bumblebee, please. That's not you."

 

"I said shut up! SHUT UP!" 

 

 

He was overheating, radiators hissing under the pressure. Every vent was strained, every intake heavier that the last. His while frame shook with fatigue and panic.

 

The voices didn't stop. If anything they were overlapping now, chaos on top of chaos. And when he opened his optics again—

 

"WE NEED BACKUP,  SENT BACKUP!" 

 

The void was gone.

 

 

He now stood in the ruined remains of an building – just recently exploded.

 

The air reeked of melted metal and scorched energon. Smoldering fires glowed nearby and unconscious mechs were strewn about, thrown by the blast's force.

 

Then he heard a scream.

 

"NO, PLEASE, I'M JUST FULLFILLING ORDERS—"

 

Bee marched closer to the one armed bot with a light blue blade from his hand.

 

Wounded, one-armed mech crawled on the ground before him, trying to escape – desperate, afraid. A light‐blue blade extended from Bee's own servo. 

 

His feet moved forward, but not by his own will.

 

The mech pushed against the ground, leaving a trail of energon, but it was futile.

 

Bumblebee felt like a puppet – controlled by some unseen force, against his will. It wasn't his doing. 

 

Make it stop. Please, someone make it stop.

 

"HELP—!"

 

His shriek was cut short.

 

A sickening slash.

 

Energon sprayed across Bee's faceplate.

 

He stared.

 

Paralyzed. 

 

It wasn't him.

 

It wasn't him.

 

He would never kill anyone without a reason, especially harmless.

 

But then his denial was met with brute truth, when he shakily brought his servos to his chest – they were drenched in energon. And not just from that mech.

 

Another one.

 

Fresh.

 

His ventilations came in shallow, panicked bursts.

 

"I—I'm sorry... I didn't mean to—" He stammered quietly.

 

Then he saw it.

 

A familiar silhouette in the distance. Tall. Broaded-shouldered. Calm.

 

Pointing a blaster directly at him.

 

 

"I'm too sorry it had to end this way, old friend," came the voice.

 

There was no hesitation.

 

The blast struck.

 

Everything went black again.

_______

 

He woke up with a sharp, strangled grasp.

 

One servo clutched tightly to his chest, the other gripping at his throat, as if trying to hold himself together.

 

His vents stuttered. Panic laced every intake.

 

It was just another nightmare. 

 

"Woah, easy. I just finished" Knockout said softly, his usual sass replaced by a mild concern.

 

The red mech looked at him, tools in hand, watching the visibly shaken bot try to ground himself.

 

Bee didn't answer. His optics were unfocused, frame trembling as he exvented violently.

 

Another one.

 

Another nightmare that bled to close to the truth.

 

"I know Megatron can be... a bit much sometimes," Knockout tried, almost awkwardly "but I can reassure you—it won't be that bad all the time"

 

Bee blinked. The voice barely registered.

 

"Wha—What, no—" he panted, trying to speak through tight vents. 

 

He hadn't even realized how much he was shaking until he tried to form words. His own vocalizer crackled under the strain.

 

He was still on Nemesis. 

 

Knockout was still here.

 

Still... another layer of a dream?

 

No. No, not again.

 

Let me wake up.

 

Before the thought could root deeper, Bee pushed himself off the berth stumbling with uneven footing.

 

"Whoa—OH NO, you don't!" Knockout snapped, instantly blocking the exit with arms stretched across the doorframe. "You're not going anywhere with half of your cables still barely stitched together!"

 

But Bee didn't stop. In a flash, he launched himself forward, pushing one pede on a nearby shelf and vaulting right over the medic. 

 

He landed clumsily, rolling and scrambling upright, nearly collapsing – then forced himself back onto his pedes and run.

 

Knockout gawked in disbelief "What—?! —Just happened?" 

 

He hadn't expected that. The agility. The desperation. The madness in his optics.

 

If this was him just after a near-death recovery, he couldn't imagine how fast or lethal he is in his prime.

 

Shaking his head, Knockout groaned, already regretting everything about this day.

 

Then tapped his comm as he stepped gingerly into the pursuit, remembering the consequences he will have to suffer if he wouldn't.

 

> : "Soundwave, we have a fugitive" :

 

Chapter 3: Anomaly

Summary:

Bee just run away after having a dozen of nightmares.

idk what's there more to say

Notes:

I DID IT

I DID THE DESIGN AND I MANAGED TO POST IT

YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HARD I TRIED TO DO THIS

I had to convert this, post this on html, which is overwhelming too me and maaaany other things

I had problems yes (I still don't know how I did it)

If I were up to choose what song fits this Bee the most I would definitely go with "Now that we're alone" The People's Thieves.

Honestly you can tell what do you think on this. Give me your recommendations on this topic (I'm searching for new songs xD)

I'm also having few other drawings of him already hehe. But you'll have to wait for it until another week.

Maybe it's not that noticeable on this, but Bee is slightly higher than Knockout.

enjoy 💛 (also don't expect me to clean up sketches and do lineart, because man I'm bad at these)

__________

 

 

He stormed through corridors of the Nemesis, still sore but mobile. At least he still could run.

 

He hugged the wall as he heard footsteps – Vehicons.

 

They passed without noticing him.

 

Good.

 

But then they halted.

 

He pressed himself flatter against the wall again as they raised their servos to their audials – definitely receiving a comm.

 

If he had to bet, it was Soundwave. 

 

Two bots turned his way, scanning the corridor.

 

Who is he kidding, of course it was Soundwave.

 

He tensed. He spun on his heel and sprinted in the opposite direction, only to skid to a halt.

 

Three more Vehicons blocked the other end of the hallway.

 

Cornered. 

 

Or so they thought. 

 

They were a little taller than him. He could work with that.

 

His servo ignited, the Decepticon Hunter forming into a spear as he launched at the first one, stabbing him clean through the spark. Using the collapsing body as a leverage, he flipped toward the second, evading it's blow and rending it's chassis open with a slash.

 

The rest opened fire – but their aim was terrible.

 

They're not real, he repeated to himself. It's just a nightmare. 

 

He would've let them hit him, if not for the fact they probably had been given a clear directive: capture, not kill.

 

He moved with instinctual precision. One ran; he vaulted up a wall, stepped along it, flipped, and landed behind another, blade to throat.

 

Gone. 

 

The last two Vehicons froze, looked at each other in panic. 

 

Bee looked at them flatly, raised a servo, and casually wiped energon from his faceplate.

 

He didn't even used to notice that they were sentient, living beings. Not really. Not until recently.

 

Even if they are not real, there's no point adding more to the pile inside my head.

 

"Shush. Go now, or I won't be nice next time," he said with a low wave.

 

They hesitated, but decided to ran.

 

Wow. Vehicons actually listen. His old team on Earth sure didn't. 

 

A little threat can work miracles. Maybe I should have tried threatening back then.

 

He was sure this would last. At least until the other reinforcements would approach.

 

He took off again – then realized something troubling.

 

He was lost.

 

Scrap.

 

He cursed himself for never memorizing the Nemesis layout plans after the war, when he had a chance. He'd assumed he would never need to. Why would he?

 

He dashed thought another corridor and—

 

"HEY!"

 

Breakdown.

 

NOPE.

 

Bee barely dodged a massive punch, scurrying past and covering his embarrasment with a servo.

 

Breakdown looked as confounded as he was.

 

No time for a fight.

 

Especially not that fight.

 

He wasn't built to withstand Breakdown in his current condition. Besides, he had something far more important in mind:

 

Escape.

 

He rounded another corner and saw it.

 

Sunlight.

 

Warm. Real. Yellow.

 

The landing pad.

 

This was it!

 

He didn't think. He ran harder, vents rasping.

 

Alt-mode was an option, but risky. Breakdown and Megatron could stop him cold in his vehicle form by sheer force.

 

He burst into daylight.

 

Vehicons fired behind him, but no Starsream, Soundwave, Megatron in sight. No sight of any dangerous Decepticons and he just met with Breakdown like a klick ago. 

 

He was in the clear.

 

He leapt off the edge. 

 

The wind howled past him, freedom pressing against his armor. It almost felt like flying. He had always wondered what it would be like to have a jet alt-mode.

 

On the second thought, racing was still better.

 

His mind spiraled.

 

What if this isn't a dream?

 

No. Knockout was here. This was the Nemesis. And his chronometer was set to the wrong year. The date of being on an ongoing war with Megatron on Earth.

 

The war was still ongoing.

 

He flipped midair, head tilting to the sky. He closed his optics.

 

But what if I got thrown back in time?

 

The last thing he remembered—

 

The Shadow Zone. They were going to send me there.

 

Something must have gone wrong.

 

He chuckled darkly.

 

They fragged up. Or I fragged up. 

 

Everything was real.

 

The ground was rising.

 

Too late. But maybe he could manage to hold onto something.

 

There was a plain terrain of messa. 

 

Well screw me. 

 

He closed his optics again and braced for the impact—

 

—but instead, he hit metal.

 

Hard.

 

 The pain shot through him. His optics blinked open.

 

Beneath him was familiar shape – sleek, silver, massive.

 

No fragging way.

 

He had landed on Megatron.

 

The Decepticon leader caught him.

 

He was the last bot he would've expected to see. 

 

Why?

 

Approximately a meter from the ground, Megatron transformed, and Bee dropped like a rock.

 

"A-" Bee made a quick, squeaky voice.

 

The pain stung worse than before, proba lying because the first fall was already too much for him. He just stayed there, sprawled and stunned.

 

Then Megatron furiously kicked him.

 

Fair. 

 

He deserved it.

 

He didn't try to get up as Megatron dragged him towards himself by the arm, and Bee didn't resist.

 

He only winced slightly, numb to the rest. Preparing to get himself hit. Still wasn't scared at the slightest, but wasn't smirking anymore.

 

Megatron scrutinized him.

 

There was something off in his EM field – grief, restrained but there.

 

His tone remained harsh. "Why did you do that"

Bee without thinking. "Why did you save me" 

 

They both froze.

 

Same time. Same question.

 

Bee jerked free and stepped back, arms crossed.

 

Megatron's optics narrowed. "Enlighten me, why should I keep you?" 

 

Oh no. 

 

His worst nightmare. 

 

The job interview. 

 

Focus. Not a dream. 

 

He opened his mouth—then hesitated.

 

He didn't know.

 

He had nothing.

 

He was a fugitive, a ghost. Not even supposed to exist in this time.

 

Honestly, didn't expect that kind of question. He theoretically invaded his ship. 

 

He could have some information on him.

 

He could work for Autobots, so why Megatron would even consider keeping him around.

 

Megatron gave him his answer right away. "I'm sincerely concerned someone with your potential could end up in Autobots servos."

 

Ah.

 

There it was.

 

Classic Megatron. 

 

He didn't save him out of mercy. He saw value. He wanted control.

 

Megatron stepped close, grabbed his chin with his servo, examined him like a tool he was considering repairing – or repurposing.

 

Bee flinched, optics wide. Frowning vexed, while he scrutinized him closely in a firm grasp.

 

He hadn't even noticed him move. Zoning out again.

 

"It would be a shame if such talent went to waste."

 

Bee's expression shifted – anger to weariness. Shrugging as if he didn't care. It made Megatron alter from his smirking snarl to confused frown, but stepped back.

 

Another motive added to the list. Another leash.

 

He deserved to be a scrap by now anyway, so why don't just go with it.

 

Still...

 

Pretending nothing happened between them – that ripped out voicebox, the blade, the war – it made his energon churn.

 

He was just as the same cruel, apathetic, horrifying monster as he remembered. He would never let that slip and put their past aside. 

 

The thought of pretending like it just never happened disgusted him.

 

"Well, what are you waiting for?" His thoughts were barged by angry scolding, coming from quite far.

 

...

 

How.

 

Megatron stood right in front of him like a nanosecond ago. He couldn't wandered so deeply, that he lost contact with reality completely and not notice him move at all.

 

But lately, it was happening more often, so maybe he could.

 

Besides, Megatron waiting and trusting enough to wander for him this far was just... weirdly unreal.

 

Maybe it is a dream, after all?

 

He could run away from him now. Try again.

 

It was a perfect distance to transform into an alt mode and speed through the dessert, yet he hesitated.

 

He felt Megatron's piercing glare on him.

 

Ah yes, if he wasn't furious back then, he definitely was now. 

 

He raised his head from the ground to look at Megatron, who was now standing only a few meters from him. His purple optics glinted and he tilted his head, while assesing the mech before him.

 

...

 

 

"...What?" Bee demanded frowning in resentment, breaking deaf silence between them.

 

"Designation?"

 

Oh fu- scrap.

 

He had to think of something fast. Nothing on a letter B, of obvious reasons.

 

Paradox. No, too obvious.

 

Blunder. Heh. He was one indeed.

 

NOT ON B. 

 

Maybe Silere? Nah, Megatron isn't that stupid. He would take a notice on that and soon enough figure out he's real designation and then he would have a problem...

 

"Shadestrike" he'd said. Voice steady. Optics lying.

 

Not quite a lie. 

 

The one he had used post-war. The one criminal records knew him by, but Megatron didn't need to know that.

 

Megatron didn't buy it – he didn't care.

 

"You're truly an interesting case, Shadestrike..."

 

Megatron unsurely intimated as he was still scrutinizing him, and then he just walked away.

 

What...

 

What was his problem? Did he let him wait too long for an answer? Maybe he zoned out again? 

 

Wait, focus. 

 

Megatron deadpanned, rolling his eyes, pointed his head to the side, demanding him to follow. Bee quickly took the allusion and did so. 

 

He's bigger than I remmeber, Bee thought, eyes trailing on his chasis upwards. But I was smaller then.

 

That temper, his EM field, still the same. Dark and intimidating, just as he recalled it. 

 

Will I really serve him? After everything?

 

Will he really be serving the same bot, who mercilessly tore out his voice box apart, without even a hint of remorse? Who almost killed him? Well, he was resurrected, and then he killed him later, so maybe they are even—

 

 No... They are definitely not...

 

No, wait, he still didn't let him fall. If he just didn't want the Autobots to have him on their team, then why wouldn't he? It would be one less problem to worry about. 

 

He glanced up, trying to read his expression, maybe deduce something – and Megatron was already staring at him, frowning.

 

Bee quickly looked away, flushed in embarassment and covered it with his servo.

 

Was he looking at him all this time?

 

He really had to stop thinking so much, but he had no idea it would be such a problem. The last time he spent this much time with someone was with Knockout, and it was... well definitely a long time ago.

 

He was paying attention to his surroundings pretty well, when it was life or death situation and somehow he knew, when the one was going to emerge. 

 

Like right now, he sensed Megatron's servo arcing towards the back of his helm—wait what.

 

Bee ducked.

 

"What the—?!"

 

"I asked you a question."

 

"You didn't ask anything!" 

 

Megatron clenched his fists, ready to strike. He was looking like he was about to lose it and punch him with enough power to send him flying but stopped himself.

 

"How did you break in? The groundbridge you used... didn't register."

 

He asked as they both stepped through the ground bridge, arriving back aboard the Nemesis.

 

Soundwave, Knockout and Breakdown standing in the same room. They probably were waiting for further directives from their leader. He also noticed Starscream EM field nearby. He probably was hiding from Megatron and honestly, he couldn't blame him.

 

Megatron irrirated, raised his fist, but Bee, quickly raised his hands.

 

"OKAY! okay! I used coordinates from the tracking database in Kaon." 

 

Megatron doubted his words.

 

Didn't matter. He had to live with it. He couldn't just tell the truth.

 

Oh hey, I'm from the future and I probably know everything that is about to happen. 

 

As if he wasn't suspicious enough anyway.

 

Megatron finally spoke. "You will be tested. If you prove yourself usefull... you will stay. Until then— Knockout will handed you."

 

What will happen if I don't? Kill me? You literally saved me few kliks ago.

 

Bee scoffed to himself internally. If this was supposed to be a threat, then it failed to be.

 

Knockout wasn't jovial about this, but gave no complain.

 

Megatron turned and left.

 

Bee begrudgingly followed Knockout silently.

 

"We'lI get you tuned up" Knockout sighed. "Paint buffed, badge printed – you'll look fabulous" He shot him a sideways glance. "Weapons?"

 

Bee hesitated. His systems were still locked down from post-war control protocols. Wasn't sure if he should even tell about that.

 

One left.

 

He summoned his Decepticon Hunter. He was having it always locked in the spear form anyway and he was an only rightful user, so nobody could change it beside him. 

 

Knockout raised a brow. "That's it?"

 

"I have blasters. But... they are locked you. And if I can make requests—knife hands?", he asked unsurely.

 

Knockout chuckled "That's specific." 

 

Bee shrugged.

 

"Why are they locked?"

 

"Well, there were some kind of accidents. Let's just say I was... too dangerous for some bots." 

 

That part, at least, was true.

 

"More like to yourself" Knockout cackled.

 

Not funny.

 

Knockout waved it off "Well you won't be having to worry about that with the Decepticons."

 

Bumblebee didn't know if it was comforting or terryfiyng. Having no boundaries. 

 

But pretending to be useful, knowing everything that was going to happen?

 

He wouldn't have to worry about anything. He can just pretend to be busy with something, but in reality, have no obligations at all.

 

Maybe... being a Decepticon wouldn't be so hard.

 

 

___________

 

The medbay lights were lower than usual. Knockout had dimmed them, perhaps out of habit, or maybe because he noticed the subtle twitch in Shadowstrike's optics every time the fluorescents flared.

 

He sat on the medical berth, legs dangling. His servos clenched and unclenched in a slow rythm, optics dimmed, gaze focused on to many things. Still quite nervous about everything, but trying not to show a glimpse.

 

It was uncomfortably quiet.

 

Shadestrike hasn't spoken since they got back.

 

Across the room, Knockout adjusted the data display with one hand, typing a brief note into his pad with the other. 

 

"You're surprisingly composed," Knockout said casually. "Considering you nearly got spaced not even a megaklick ago."

 

Bee didn't answer.

 

"You're not like the most bots Megatron drags in," Knockout continued. "Mysterious entrance, no insignia, suspiciously high pain tolerance... And yet you look like two steps away from collapse."

 

Still nothing.

 

Knockout turned to face him, smirking. "Cat got your voice, Shadestrike?"

 

Not surprised to Knockout's use of Earth phrases. 

 

Bee's gaze finally lifted, slow and mechanical, like dragging weight. "I talk when I have something worth saying."

 

"Hm." Knockout tilted his helm "Cryptic. A fan of drama are we?" 

 

"I'm just tired."

 

"Of what?"

 

Bee's response came quickly. "Everything."

 

Knockout blinked once, expression unreadable. He leaned back against the console, folding his arms. "Well, for what it's worth... Megatron seems to think there's something in you worth salvaging."

 

Bee scoffed under his breath. "Yeah, a weapon."

 

"Lucky you." Knockout added, turning back to his equipment. "But if you ask me? You've got that look."

 

"What look"

 

"The one that says you're already planning your own funeral."

 

Bee's optics flickered. "I just fought it was—nevermind. You won't understand anyway..."

 

Knockout didn't press it. 

 

He left the silence sit for a while, then said over his shoulder, "If you're hiding something – and you definitely are – just remember Megatron doesn't like riddles."

 

Bee muttered, "Then he's going to love me."

 

Knockout snorted. "You're lucky I'm not more curious. I would already have you on a table for a full dissect."

 

Bee didn't flinch. "Maybe you should."

 

That gave Knockout a pause.

 

He glanced back at him. There was something odd – not just in what he said, but how he said it.

 

Detached. Like he wasn't even afraid.

 

Like he had already seen worse.

 

Knockout narrowed his optics, but let it drop. For now.

 

"Rest. You'll need it. I don't expect Megatron to take his time giving you something lethal to do.

 

Bee leaned back on the berth, staring at the ceiling.

 

He knew.

 

He wasn't here to make it long term.

 

Just long enough to figure out what the frag had gone wrong.

 

 

__________________

 

 

The Nemesis command deck was dim, bathed in flickering violet light as data scrolled across multiple displays.

 

Soundwave stood before the central holotable, motionless.

 

Megatron loomed besides him, helm tilted slightly as surveillance footage replayed: the black and yellow mech – designation unknown – grinning like a lunatic as he willingly threw himself at his own execution.

 

Megatron optics narrowed.

 

"Soundwave," he growled, "display the analysis of your intel."

 

Soundwave raised a servo.

 

The image dissolved into a rotating wireframe model of an intruder, overlaid with diagnostics and fragmented registery data.

 

>> DECEPTICON COMMAND INTEL  —  UNREGISTERED MECH

Known Alias:  "Shadestrike" (self‐reported)

Faction Insignia:  none

Energy Signature:  Scrambled — potential masking tech

Spark Frequency:  Unstable — possibly damaged, but modifed

 

Known Weaponry: 

 

- Decepticon Hunter spear (variant unknown)

 

- Arm Blasters (currently locked)

 

- Transformation confirmed, alt mode unscanned

 

- Close-combat profficiency: EXTREME

 

- Kill count (confirmed in-corridor footage):  3 Vehicons terminated

 

Behavioral Profile:

 

- Exhibits signs of delusional dissociation

 

- Repeated suicidal gestures — likely believes situation is simulated

 

- Higly strategic under pressure

 

- Demonstrates familiarity with Decepticon personnel

 

- Sarcastic, evasive, emotionally volatille

 

 

 

"No previous records in Decepticon or Autobot registry." Megatron studied the dosser in silence, then slowly turned his helm toward Soundwave.

 

"You believe his designation is real?"

 

Soundwave: > "Database:  incomplete. Status: no visuals on file." 

 

"He fights like someone trained to this war, yet still badgeless" Megatron muttered. "Altough, if it's an assasin, he already had a perfect opportunity to distinguish my spark."

 

A silence stretched between them before Megatron turned toward observation bay, staring out at the expanse of Earth below.

 

"I want him watched," he ordered "Not just for betrayal. For... insight."

 

Soundwave tilted his helm slightly. A pause. Then:

 

> "What are you hoping to find?" <

 

Megatron didn't answer.

Chapter 4: Orders

Summary:

Bee joined the Decepticons. Willingly?

It's hard to tell.

Notes:

Few things.

 

One — my Instagram — mifflaze — I'll be probably posting images there (mostly) but don't be surprised it will be dead most of the time xD

Edit: I won't post everything I have on one day

 

Secondly — I plan on posting new fic — horror one (idk I think it should be for mature audience, gore, trauma, PTSD every warning like this possible xDDD, but I'm still hesitating on 13+)

If you're interested – stay tuned I'll probably post first chapter tomorrow or in two days.

 

The last thing — I will still continue on posting this fic. If you will like it the second one enough, then I'll be making one week of this, the second one of that — you know

 

Without further ado — Hope you enjoy the next chapter (I love responding to all your comments so much bfhdhdj)

______

Knockout already finished engraving Decepticon insignia on his chest. He also re-enabled his blasters and added knife-hands conversion as he requested.

 

Though he already got used to fighting with his Decepticon hunter – wielded it with the kind of grace that only came from experience.

 

Knife-hands? They were from another time. Another version of him. 

 

He remember the last time he used them — right before Megatron tore his voicebox and mangled his frame beyond proper repair. The mods were deemed 'nonnessential' and never replaced.

 

But now?

 

Now they're back.

 

You're a decepticon now.

 

He'd worn insignia before. 

 

Traded them for silence, then for exile. Now?

 

He just wore one to stay alive.

 

He would have to retrain himself to fight with these weapons again. But they were light in his servos – comfortable even. 

 

Too comfortable.

 

It scared him. How much lives he could take with them? 

 

Back then, just after leaving Sub-50 he didn't care about such things and they let him not to, because it was necessary for the war. But now?

 

Who would he use them on?

 

He may be a Decepticon now – but his mind was still wired like an Autobot's. 

 

He didn't think he could ever truly fit in here. Not with the monsters he once spent cycles fighting. Not with Megatron.

 

Not with what he remembered.

 

He shut the thought down.

 

He was free now. No obligations.

 

No mentors. No ranks. No weight of history. It wasn't even his timeline – he could do whatever he wanted, without consequence.

 

 Right?

 

The knife hands. They weren't a weapon. 

 

They were proof. 

 

Proof that no one controlled him anymore.

 

"Don't get sentimental on me," Knockout's voice cut through his thoughs. "Your first task's from Starscream."

 

He barely held back a groan.

 

"Good luck with that," the medic added, clearly enjoying himself.

 

He blinked – he'd zoned out again. He really needed stop doing that. Someone was going to notice sooner or later, and 'disassociation' wasn't something Decepticons tended to treat kindly.

 

"Thanks," he said absently as he stood.

 

Knockout almost chocked.

 

"What was that?" The red mech stared at him, visibly thrown off.

 

Bee tilted his head, feigning in innocence. "Something's wrong?"

 

Knockout's optics narrowed. He scanned his briefly, luke he was trying to detect sarcasm through his plating.

 

"...Nothing. Just—go," he muttered, shoving him lightly out of his medbay and sealing the door behind him. 

 

Bee smirked faintly.

 

Maybe he hadn't earned Knockout's trust – but seeing him flustered like that?

 

That was satisfying to his own right. 

 

Let's get this over with.

 

 

________

 

 

Starscream's pedes clicked sharply against the floor as he paced the lenght of the observation window, wings twitching. 

 

"He doesn't belong here," He muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "No registry. No clearance. He shows up mid-lockdown and Megatron spares him?"

 

He sneered. 

 

"Oh no, welcomes him? He didn't even make me to go through that formality... After all these insults."

 

His optics narrowed, glint with jealousy and something colder. 

 

"If this 'Shadestrike' is what he claims, he should have been vaporized at the door. But no. He gets a tour and a tune-up."

 

He pauses mid-rant and glanced over his shoulder. 

 

Soundwave stood in silence near the door, arms folded begind his back.

 

Starscream scoffed. "Of course. You are recording this, aren't you?" 

 

Soundwave didn't move, but the subtle whine of data scrolling behind his visor intensified.

 

Then, with a flick of a digit, he projected a file with frame structure comparisons, vocal cadence logs and fighting style diagnostics.

 

Starscream blinked.

 

"You're not just watching him," He said. "You're profiling him."

 

A pause.

 

Then Soundwave tapped the file and played back a brief, distorted audio clip.

 

> : "I used coordinates from a tracking database in  Kaon—" < :

 

> : Subfile note: Kaon Decepticon Data Core — Top-Level Clearance Required : <

 

Starscream wings twitched.

 

"...He shouldn't know that."

 

Soundwave didn't respond.

 

A mystery with no past.

 

No record. No insignia.

 

Until now.

 

Starscream crossed his arms.

 

"Well," He hissed "if Megatron wants to play house with a liar, so be it. But the second he steps out of the line..."

 

 

_________

 

 

A ping lit up on Shadestrike's internal comm.

 

> : "Report only to me directly. Your first task awaits" :

 

Starscream. 

 

So the badge they engraved wasn't just for show – it came tethered to limited comm network. For now it looked like he only had acces to Starscream's line.

 

Fair enough. He hadn't expected to get one at all. 

 

He followed the ping's coordinates, arriving at a narrow ops chamber. Soundwave stood inside, silent and towering.

 

Shadestrike offered a casual hand-wave. 

 

Soundwave tilted his head slightly, no response as expected – but that tiny flicker-like motion? It gave more that a thousands words. Confusion.

 

Bee blinked.

 

 

They didn't know how to responde to... genuine interaction. Every normal gesture seemed foreign to them.

 

Fine, I'll be the odd one, then.

 

Soundwave opened a groundbridge with a sweep of his servo. 

 

Before the portal even fully stabilized Shadestrike stepped throught it – no hesitation.

 

Soundwave's visor flickered in surprise. 

 

 

---

 

 

He emerged into chaos.

 

An energon mine.

 

Dust. Blaster fire. Vehicons shouting over comms. 

 

In the center of it all, a familiar form moved with violent precision – Cliffjumper, holding his own against a squad of Decepticons.

 

The comm clicked to life in Shadestrike's helm.

 

> : "Your task is simple," : Starscream purred. :"Bring the Autobot in alive and harmless. Do so, and I'll consider your worthy to our case" :

 

Bee couldn't see Starscream, but he could hear the grin. The overconfident glee of someone who thought he'd set a trap that couldn't be beaten. 

 

So that was the game.

 

Starscream wanted him to fail. To be cast out. Discredited. Probably scrapped.

 

As if Megatron didn't just personally spared his life.

 

He wants to use me, Bee thought. As a tool. Like the Autobots. Like the council. They're all the same.

 

> : "...Well, what are you waiting for?!" : Starscream snapped.

 

Bee stepped forward.

 

 It wasn't his timeline. The future was already broken.

 

So what did it matter?

 

Cliffjumper took down another Vehicon with a fierce uppercut, energon spraying as he turned to face the next.

 

"Surprise." Shadestrike muttered behind him, blade flashing.

 

Cliffjumper spun, blocking the strike with a clang of metal. "And who the scrap are you?!" 

 

Shadestrike tilted his helm. Optics darted upwards. "Note to self – attack first, retort later. Should be obvious, but here we are." He chuckled, low and restrained, before lashing out with a volley of strikes – neck, side, chestplate.

 

Cliffjumper blocked them all.

 

Sturdy. Sharper than the one he remembered.

 

Stronger in this timeline...

 

"Okay, that was fun," Cliffjumper grinned. "But I think it's time to end this charade." 

 

He landed a hit – sharp, under the plating underneath his chest on the side.

 

Shadowstrike winced as energon dripped down the side, but he didn't flinch.

 

"Funny, I was about to say the same thing." He tilted his head with wide opened optics which made Cliffjumper feel uneasy.

 

He used the opportunity – grabbed the opponent's other servo, twisted hard as metal crunched. Cliffjumper shouted in pain, and in an instant, Bee smashed his fist across his faceplate, sending him to the ground.

 

Unconscious. 

 

> : "Perfect job," : Starscream crooned. : "Now drag him to me." :

 

Bee blinked. "Drag him?"

 

Starscream hadn't shown up. Did he really expect him to drag a bleeding Autobot through the bridge by himself?

 

 

...

 

 

"Do I have to drag him," Bee said dryly, "or may I just take him?" 

 

The silence on the other hand was delicious.

 

Starscream comm remained opened, but nothing came through. Bee could imagine him frozen, optics wide, intakes stalled with a frown.

 

Confounded and stunned by the question.

 

This wasn't he question he expected. 

 

No — why this target?

No — what's the purpose?

Not even — why are you giving me orders and not Megatron?

No stupid question for back-up?

 

Just practicality. But it still was weird he even asked about such a little detail. He was just supposed to bring him in. Starscream didn't care how, unless it was done.

 

Shadestrike didn't wait. He shrugged and hoisted Cliffjumper over his shoulder and walked through the groundbridge, stepping through as if he were hauling groceries.

 

The other side of the portal opened into a hangar.

 

Starscream stood there waiting, optics darting, trying to look composed.

 

Bee dropped Cliffjumper in front of him.

 

Still breathing. Still bleeding.

 

"Thank you for your assistance, Shadestrike," Starscream managed, strained. "I'll... inform Lord Megatron of your performance."

 

Bee simply nodded.

 

Then turned and left without another word.

 

He didn't want to be there any longer than necessary. 

 

Taking his former friend was one thing, watching him die was another one. 

 

Cliffjumper had been a friend.

 

Once.

 

Bee had grown used to pain. Used to making decisions that came with consequences. That was assassin's burden. Act first, regret later – if ever.

 

But this?

 

This felt different.

 

He hadn't kill him, but...

 

What if I hadn't show up? Would he have made it?

 

Cliffjumper had been winning. Fighting well.

 

Maybe this timeline is already different. 

 

The moment was interrupted by the echo of metallic clunk and a pained scream from behind – the aftermath of Starscream dealing with a prisoner.

 

Bee froze mid-step.

 

His spark ached like a splinter being driven deeper.

 

That was Arcee's best friend...

 

No.

 

He was a Decepticon now. It's was not his Cliffjumper.

 

The war had already happened.

 

 At least... for him.

 

His chassis ached, but the pain barely registered. His systems were numb.

 

This ship, this war, this moment in time — 

 

He lived through it once already. Fought. Bled. Buried his friends because of it.

 

Somewhere out there, the younger him was still chasing ideas of 'victory' and 'honor'.

 

That idiot didn't know what was coming yet. What they would become.

 

But this version?

 

He already had.

 

He wasn't there to change the future.

 

He just wanted to make through another day.

 

Ping.

 

A new message flashed across his comm line.

 

Knockout.

 

Oh, great. They are unlocking the comms as I 'rank up'. But wait... Starscream gave the first order. Knockout's lower in rank. That doesn't add upp. 

 

Or maybe this wasn't about hierarchy.

 

Another message.

 

He begrudgingly opened his internal HUD.

 

> : Stop roaming around and come to med hub. We need to talk : 

 

> : NOW :

 

Even without audio, the scream was loud in his processor.

 

Bee sighed and headed for the medbay.

 

Knockout wasn't inside.

 

Which meant – yes. Lurking behind the corner.

 

Bee pretended not to notice. Knockout probably planned to make an ambush. 

 

Moments later, he was slammed into the wall with surprising force. Knockout's "medical" saw spun to life, it's teeth inches from Bee's neck. 

 

Yep, definitely an ambush.

 

"HOW did you do that?!" Knockout's growled.

 

Bee blinked. "Do what?" He wasn't faking it. This time his question was genuine and he had no idea—oh, wait was it about...

 

"No one but Starscream and I knew about your task. He tried to claim the credit—but I'm not that stupid!" Knockout shoved harder. "Suddenly you succeded on your first day where half this crew has failed for months?! Cliffjumper isn't just some scout, he's a brawler!"

 

Oh.

 

Cliffjumper. Right.

 

"Do you have any idea what it looks like? You show up, no record, no background, and then this? If Megatron finds out you'll jump in ranks faster than Starscream can finish a bootlicking sequence!"

 

Honestly he didn't think it would be such a problem, but now that he analyzed... it looks kinda suspicious. 

 

 At least they won't think he's an Autobot anymore, but it still is weird he took him all alone without any help.

 

No wait, it wasn't only his doing.

 

"Vehicons helped." Bumblebee offered, trying to sound as clueless as possible.

 

Knockout laughed bitterly and started mocking "Oh geez, why I haven't thought of that?! They are so helpful on the battlefield! You mean the guys who get offlined from simple static discharges?!" 

 

Bee shrugged again. "I mean... technically they were there."

 

"You have no possible idea on how long Breakdown and I spent trying to bring thak cocky, red mech down—!"

 

So that's what this was really about. 

 

Pride.

 

Breakdown. Trust. Position. 

 

Knockout wasn't mad, because Bee succeded.

 

He was mad, because it made him and Breakdown look like failures.

 

Bumblebee haven't thought about this way. That he could influence their hierarchy and make someone excluded, feeling useless.

 

"Well?! Say something!" Knockout's voice sent him back to reality again.

 

Bee softened slightly. "If I offended you, I want you to know I'm not trying to take praise or rank. I don't plan on advancing in Decepticons system... or however it works. Just... fullfiling orders." 

 

Knockout blinked.

 

Twice.

 

"...I'll never get used to that," he muttered.

 

"What?"

 

"This. You. Being...not a complete bastard."

 

 Bee stifled a smirk behind his servo. 

 

"What is wrong with you..." Knockout asked half genuine half disgusted, retracting the saw his saw and stepping back. 

 

Shadestrike on the retort returned to his normal, but done face.

 

Really? Was it so hard for them to accept? Why they-

 

"No, you misunderstood me, I mean—why aren't you taking credit for taking an Autobot solo?" 

 

Bee shrugged. He couldn't really tell him his real reasoning, but I guess he could tell half of the truth. 

 

"I don't want expectations raised too high. I'd prefer to stay under the radar, so no one hands me... complicated tasks." 

 

On his impart Knockout chortled and Bumblebee couldn't hide the irritation.

 

"What's so funny" He smirked nastily at him while crossing his arms.

 

Knockout scoffed. "Oh, that ship's sailed sweetheart."

 

Bee frowned. "I don't think so...?"

 

"Starscream likely reported your succes to Megatron. If he did, it's obvious you took the Autobot, not him."

 

"...But that would mean he didn't report it..." Bee smirked at him.

 

They both paused.

 

Knockout optics narrowed "That's absurd. Everyone knows he sent you."

 

"Sure. But no one knew what the task was."

 

A beat.

 

Knockout blinked. "Wait... what?" 

 

Bee grinned looking upwards. "Think about it. If he told Megatron exactly what the task was, he'd have to admit I succeded. And Megatron might–oh I don't know–start favouring me instead."

 

"Wow, ego" Knockout muttered preenly.

 

"Let me finish." Bee said, raising a digit. 

 

Knockout rolled his optics and crossed his arms trying to restrain his grin by looking in a different direction, but listened.

 

"Starscream knew only Soundwave had acces to the logs. So he opened a second groundbridge after the capture to make it look like he was handling a separate mission. One bridge for me. One bridge for him. Two different targets, but only one succes. That way Soundwave would assume too seperate missions."

 

Knockout finished slowly turning his helm to his direction in astonishment. "So if he never disclosed the real objective, he could claim the succes for himself..." 

 

"...And Megatron would never know he didn't lift a claw."

 

Knockout stared. 

 

"...We have to tell Megatron."

 

He turned and started sprinting toward the command deck—only to stop after a few steps when Shadestrike didn't follow.

 

Knockout stood frustrated on the middle of the hall and tilting his head in disbelief.

 

"Why aren't you coming?!" 

 

"First of all?" I don't care! Secondly—" Bumblebee lifted his servo, now soaked in energon from the earlier fight. "I think I'm leaking."

 

Knockout growled and doubled back, dragging him back toward the medbay by the wrist.

 

"Seriously, I could've walked—"

 

"You clearly wouldn't have."

 

 

____

 

 

"Starscream." 

 

Megatron's voice echoed like a blade through the metal.

 

The Seeker flinched.

 

"I told you already, my liege! I sent him on one task, I took care of another – anihilating Cliffjumper!"

 

Megatron stepped closer, silent for a beat.

 

Starscream was playing his charade again, hiding something from his sight. 

 

Starscream proclaimed defeating an Autobot alone and sending Shadestrike to another mission, therefore sent two groundbridges, yet he couldn't help, but feel odd by the circumstances. 

 

He was supposed to believe, he defeated an Autobot in the same time he sent his subordinate on a mission. 

 

He turned to Soundwave. 

 

"Soundwave, did Shadestrike pass through the groundbridge before or after Starscream sent another one?" 

 

 

A pause. Glare on the logs.

 

 

"After." Megatron finished.

 

Starscream's face froze.

 

"My lord—perhaps Soundwave logs are incomplete—"

 

"Shadestrike came through the bridge first and I appeared shortly after with the Autobot through another one."

 

Starscream version was almost believable.

 

"You are dismissed."

 

Starscream systems sputtered.

 

"If I find a proof this was another of your lies," Megatron said calmly, "I will rip your spark from your chest and wear your wings as a cape."

 

Starscream hesitated, but fled.

 

Megatron didn't even turn to watch him run.

 

Soundwave kept his arms behind his back, visor glinting.

 

"...Soundwave."

 

He didn't need to raise his voice.

 

"Bring him to me."

Chapter 5: I Was Him, Once

Summary:

Starscream sent Shadestrike (Bee) on a mission to incapacitate Cliffjumper. Then Megatron had a little talk with Starscream. And now the drama unfolds.

Notes:

Wha—what just happened.

I haven't looked in here and suddenly...

Thank you all for 1k 🥺 (well now it's 1,2k but xD)

Djhfhf I love that you all love my drama I haven't aaaaaa expected that

The sky was gray over the outskirts of the relay station of an old Autobot base – nothing but wind and silence.

 

Bumblebee stood alone, between two inactive spacebridges generators. They hummed faintly – cold, unalligned.

 

He shouldn't be here.

 

No one should.

 

That kind of punishment was just cruelty, even Decepticons weren't receiving one.

 

The Council had made it clear. He was too dangerous, unpredictable to be left running free. Too dangerous to imprison. He got out a few times already, but looking back maybe he shouldn't have even tried.

 

On the other hand he was to symbolic to kill.

 

Their solution?

 

They choose the middle ground. 

 

Erasure.

 

On Earth. Because if it failed, better vanish a human town, than a Cybertronian city. They never really liked humans anyway, especially after filing up MECH in database.

 

He looked up at two swirling portals forming across from each other – still unstable, building charge. 

 

He'd seen this happen before. Three times a charm as they say it on Earth.

 

The twin groundbridges would intersect mid-stream, tearing a whole into dimensional fabric and he couldn't ran away. He was trapped with cuffs carved into the ground.

 

A doorway into nothing.

 

The Shadowzone.

 

And then it happened. 

 

A flash of violet lightning as the portal destabilized, screaming into the open air like the universe tearing itself inside out.

 

The world went gray.

 

Now he stood in a deadened reflection of reality. 

 

Same location.

 

But drained of all color. Soundless. Muted.

 

He was left alone.

 

The panic sunk into him.

 

He saw the base flicker with ghostly echoes. He saw the past.

 

Arcee. Bulkhead. All alive, laughing at something. And then Optimus. It made his spark rage.

 

He sprinted towards them.

 

Screaming.

 

Reaching.

 

Nothing.

 

Didn't hear. Didn't look. 

 

He passed them like a vapor. They couldn't hear. Couldn't. 

 

Had a voicebox, yet after the war he was still unhearable. How ironic.

 

He struck Optimus full-force. Or tried. Laughing in agony.

 

Nothing.

 

He wasn't there. 

 

Just a shadow.

 

He felt to his knees, chest heaving in silence.

 

Trapped.

 

Unseen. 

 

Unreachable.

 

Alone.

 

And then the white‐light split the world—

 

—he jerked awake.

 

Vents flaring as he clutched his chassis, bracing for impact that never came.

 

The medbay was dim, quiet – purple light overhead.

 

His chest felt tight. Frame trembling. Still caught between timeliness.

 

The location haven't changed. At last this isn't a dream now.

 

He was on Nemesis. 

 

He really is on Nemesis.

 

Knockout's voice broke the silence. "You scream in your sleep."

 

Bee blinked. The medic stood across the room, arms folded, one brow visibly arched. He was trying for detachment amusement, but there was a subtle tension in his frame – a glance too long, a twitch too high.

 

"I don't scream," Bee muttered, lowering his servo from his chest.

 

"Oh please," Knockout said stepping closer, "you flailed like a turbox on fire and nearly fried one of my monitors with a servo twitch. I'm calling it a scream darling."

 

Bee groaned and slumped back down on the berth. "You know, you don't have to buff me. I'll probably end up here so often, you'll get sick of me."

 

Knockout didn't respond imidiatelly. He activated a tool set with a flick of a wrist and resumed sealing gash in Bee's side, optics narrowed in concentration."

 

"No charge for repeat customers," Knockout said flatly. "But if you ruin a console, I will invoice your spark chamber."

 

Bee managed a half-smile—and flinched.

 

Ping.

 

Knockout caught it. "What now?"

 

A new alert flashed across Bee's HUD. He stared at it.

 

Knockout's optics narrowed. "What happened?"

 

Bee's faceplate fell back into neutrality. "I hope you're done. I just got summoned."

 

Knockout glanced up. "Soundwave?" 

 

"Megatron."

 

The tools paused. Knockout's mouth twitched – amused, but not quite surprised. "To your luck, I just finished." He sealed the final weld and shut his kit with a klick.

 

Bee slid off the berth, testing balance.

 

"Wish me luck," he muttered.

 

"Oh, I don't need to," Knockout replied with a grin. "This is going to be juicy." 

 

 

_____

 

 

The doors hissed open with the sound of a warning.

 

Shadestrike stepped through.

 

The room was dark — darker than the rest of the Nemesis, lit only by the deep pulse of command lines along the walls and a central light over the throne.

 

Megatron stood with his back turned, optics cast out toward the endless starfield through the viewing panel. Massive. Still.

 

Bee didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

 

He knew better.

 

“Shadestrike,” Megatron said without turning. His voice was calm — too calm. The kind that curled like a blade just before it strikes. “You were deployed on a mission."

 

Still facing the void, he added, “Starscream told me you engaged Bulkhead.”

 

Bulkhead? That wasn’t even close to the truth.

 

Bee didn’t react. “Yes.”

 

“He also tells me you fought valiantly. That you failed to kill, but performed with… promise.”

 

A beat.

 

“Is that true?”

 

Bee's optics lowered slightly. “Yes.”

 

Silence stretched thin.

 

Megatron turned slowly.

 

“And yet, the Autobot we found bleeding at our feet was Cliffjumper. Not Bulkhead. So tell me. Why the squadron of Vehicons, which were fighting with Bulkhead a few kliks ago, haven't registered any sign of damage on him?”

 

Bee didn’t blink.

 

“Would you like to correct the report?”

 

He paused.

 

"No."

 

Megatron stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “You’re certain?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I find that difficult to believe.”

 

“I don’t doubt that.”

 

Megatron's optics flared brighter. “Then why lie for Starscream?”

 

Bee finally met his gaze.

 

“You are protecting him,” Megatron observed, not asked. His voice darkened, curling with suspicion. “Why?”

 

I’m protecting me. Bee thought to himself.

 

Another step from Megatron, another few tons of pressure added to the room.

 

“Then answer me this, Shadestrike: Why not take credit for a victory over a high-value Autobot?”

 

Bee's voice was quiet — deliberate. “Because I don’t need recognition. I need stability. I just got here — I’d rather stay here than make enemies on day two.”

 

Megatron studied him.

 

Bee added, flatly, “Rising too fast just paints a target on your back.”

 

“You are pragmatic.”

 

Bee tilted his head. “I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

 

Megatron circled him once. “You are dangerous. But you are hiding something.”

 

A pause.

 

“But not incompetence.”

 

He stopped in front of Bee again. “Starscream did not fought that Autobot.”

 

Bee didn’t flinch.

 

“No,” he said. “He didn’t.”

 

“You did.”

 

“You got me,” Bee admitted, voice flat. “I fought him. But I didn’t kill him. Starscream did.”

 

He let that linger, then added with careful intent:

 

“It’s his credit. Let it stay that way.”

 

Megatron’s optics narrowed — cold, calculating, suspicious.

 

“You expect me to believe you fought Cliffjumper, bested him, and left him alive... for another to finish?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Megatron leaned in, barely a breath away.

 

“Why?”

 

Bee's tone didn’t waver. “Because I wasn’t ordered to kill him. Just neutralize him. I followed the directive. And Starscream arrived later.”

 

That part, at least, could be true.

 

Megatron stepped back.

 

“You are clever,” he muttered. “But I do not trust cleverness alone.”

 

Bee shrugged. “Then don’t trust me. Just use me.”

 

A silence fell again.

 

“Starscream used your success as a weapon. You turned it into silence.”

 

Bee said nothing.

 

Megatron’s optics narrowed once more, then relaxed — just slightly.

 

“Dismissed.”

 

Shadestrike gave the briefest nod and turned to leave.

 

 

-----

 

 

Bumblebee walked with slow, measured steps. His systems still hummed with tension, but his field was blank — unreadable. That was the key. Stay unreadable.

 

The hallway curved into one of the Nemesis’s forward arteries, light pulsing dimly across the walls like a warning not yet sounded.

 

Then—

 

“You!”

 

Starscream’s voice was a hiss of accusation and panic. He stepped from a side corridor like he'd been waiting there — or pacing in circles.

 

His optics were wide, wings twitching like overcharged relays.

 

Shadestrike stopped.

 

“...Something's wrong?” he asked, voice flat.

 

Starscream stalked closer, talons clenched. “What did you tell him?!”

 

Bee tilted his helm. “Tell who what?”

 

“Don’t play innocent!” Starscream snapped. “You spoke with Lord Megatron, didn’t you?!”

 

“I did,” Bee answered evenly, slightly nodding, with optics on the ceiling. Then locked them on Starscream again.

 

“Then what did you SAY?” Starscream leaned in, optics gleaming with raw suspicion. “Because he looked at me like I’d offlined his creator!”

 

Bee stared for a moment. Then, with deliberate slowness, he replied:

 

“I told him I failed my mission. That I wasn’t strong enough to take Bulkhead.”

 

A pause.

 

Starscream blinked. “...Bulkhead?”

 

Shadestrike shouldn't even know he gave this designation on his own report.

 

“Yeah.” Bee’s voice remained casual, almost bored. “Isn’t that what you told him?”

 

Starscream’s mouth opened, then closed. Something about this wasn’t right.

 

“You said you captured and offlined an Autobot. I backed that up.”

 

Starscream’s optics narrowed. “Why?”

 

Bee’s servo lifted in a small shrug. “You gave the orders. Credit’s yours.”

 

He turned to leave.

 

Starscream stood frozen, processor trying to connect dots that refused to align. Something about that calm didn’t sit right.

 

 

______

 

 

The screen flickered in front of him, data strings running like rivers.

 

Starscream narrowed his optics, scrolling faster, pulling up his mission logs. He needed reassurance. Proof.

 

There it was.

 

 

> : Mission ID: EN-PHX-6 :

: Cross-reference: Casualty Log – Autobot operative “Cliffjumper” :

: Status: OFFLINE :

: Assailant: Starscream :

 

 

He stared.

 

And stared.

 

His own claws hovered over the keys. His intake caught.

 

It had updated. The system logged him as the one who brought Cliffjumper down.

 

Not Shadestrike.

 

Not with assistance.

 

Just.

 

Him.

 

Starscream’s wings lowered slightly, tension bleeding out with the rush of disbelief.

 

“...Huh.”

 

He leaned back in his chair.

 

And for the first time since the mission…

 

He smiled.

 

But it was the kind of smile that never reached his optics.

 

 

________

 

 

Shadestrike just turned on the corner, when his internal comm pinged with a new alert.

 

: [COMM ACCESS UNLOCKED – DIRECT LINE: MEGATRON] :

 

He stared at it for a moment.

 

Most Decepticons would kill for a direct line to their warlord.

 

He opened it immediately.

 

> : Requesting temporary leave from ship. Destination: Mountain Ridge Highway, East U.S. :

 

There was a long pause.

 

Long enough for Bee to wonder if he’d just overstepped in the worst possible way.

 

Then—

 

> : Granted. Purpose? :

 

 

Bee hesitated, then typed simply:

 

> : Personal recalibration. Processing. :

 

Another pause. Then, a second ping.

 

> : Permission stands. Do not waste it. :

 

A third message came nanoklicks later — sharper.

 

> : Next time, do not use my comms for something Soundwave could've handled. :

 

Bee winced slightly.

 

> : Understood. Apologies. Could Soundwave send a groundbridge to a location? :

 

...I should've written that last sentence to Soundwave.

 

Coordinates attached.

 

Another silence.

 

Then, a pulse of energy shook the floor as a glowing vortex spiraled open in front of him. Soundwave always moved faster than expected.

 

Bee stepped through without hesitation.

 

 

________

 

 

The sun was just beginning to drop behind the trees, casting long golden beams through the dust.

 

Shadestrike emerged alone. He shifted into alt-mode — matte black Cybertronian muscle car with hints of yellow — and rolled down the gravel shoulder onto the paved stretch of highway.

 

It was familiar.

 

This road had been one of his favorites once — back when roads still meant freedom and not escape. Back when he didn’t count his missions by the bodies he left behind.

 

Back when he was just Bumblebee.

 

He didn’t know how long he drove. A few miles. Maybe more. Just... thinking.

 

Then he heard it — the distant whine of another engine.

 

And then—

 

There he was.

 

Yellow armor. Glossy. Untarnished. Sleek lines and bright lights.

 

No knives. Just blasters, speed and hope.

 

Him.

 

Bumblebee.

 

Shadestrike nearly transformed out of pure shock.

 

Instead, he slowed instinctively, pulling to the edge of the lane as the younger him zipped past. A blur of yellow.

 

Of all the places on Earth—here, right now. What are the chances?

 

And then something stupid happened.

 

He turned to follow.

 

 

---

 

 

Bumblebee checked his mirrors.

 

The shape behind him wasn’t human.

 

No engine rattle, no inconsistency in power draw. That was Cybertronian tech. But whose?

 

Decepticon? Or maybe—

 

He accelerated, testing it.

 

So did the stranger.

 

Not threateningly. Almost... playfully?

 

It felt like a challenge. A race.

 

And for just a moment, Bumblebee didn’t think. He smiled.

 

He accelerated harder, and the black car behind him surged forward.

 

Two Cybertronians tearing down a human highway, weaving between bends and rises in the road, chasing old thrill.

 

He didn’t know why, but it felt good.

 

For a moment, it was just motion. Just momentum.

 

Then Bumblebee pulled ahead, tires screeching as he skidded to a stop just off the main road and transformed.

 

He turned, expectant. Curious.

 

Then he saw it.

 

The stranger transformed as well.

 

Tall. Lean. He'd never seen him before, but somehow felt... familiar.

 

Yellow traces on black armor. A build like his.

 

But most damning of all—

 

The Decepticon insignia engraved on his chestplate.

 

Bumblebee’s field flared with confusion, tension. He took a half-step back.

 

> : Who - you - why - follow - race - autobot - you? :

 

He beeped rapidly — his tones sharp with uncertainty. His processor couldn’t catch up to the feeling clawing at his spark.

 

Something about this mech felt... wrong. Not dangerous, exactly.

 

But close.

 

Too close.

 

He didn’t know what he was looking at.

 

But he felt it.

 

Something in the stranger’s presence pulled at his spark. Not danger. Just... resonance. Like a voice he couldn’t hear but still remembered.

 

Shadestrike didn’t speak — couldn’t. Not now.

 

Bumblebee beeped again — clipped, uncertain.

 

> : Why - feel - know? :

 

The words were broken. Hesitant. A language most bots didn’t bother learning. Not even most allies.

 

But he had.

 

Shadestrike didn’t answer. Not with sound, not with signs. Too risky. Too revealing. Slipping up here would cost more than comfort. 

 

So instead, Shadestrike let his field adjust.

 

Calm. Steady. Controlled, but not cold.

 

Just enough warmth to say: Not a threat.

 

The yellow mech tilted his helm, confused.

 

Shadestrike watched him carefully. So much smaller than he remembered — not in size, but in spirit. Still carrying the weight of what Megatron did. Still trying to outrun the silence.

 

But not yet broken by it.

 

Lucky.

 

This version still had a team that saw him. Fought for him. Built bridges around his quiet instead of demanding he'd fill it.

 

Shadestrike knew the look in Bumblebee’s optics, even through the mask of time.

 

Bee thought. Do you understand me?

 

He didn’t answer. But his gaze softened, and for a moment, Bumblebee relaxed. 

 

They understood each other without using words.

 

Still cautious, but no longer braced to flee.

 

Bumblebee beeped again, slower now.

 

> : You - not - Autobot? :

 

A pause. Then, quieter.

 

> : You - hurt - anyone? :

 

Shadestrike didn't respond to that. 

 

Instead remembered something. That maybe he should give him a hint on what's to come. Just in case.

 

"Sometimes we must rise above ourselves for the greater good." 

 

He decided on giving him a clue. Curious what he would choose.

 

The younger mech’s gaze dipped briefly to the insignia on his chest — that cursed emblem etched deep, permanently bonded to plating.

 

A visible truth, even if it wasn’t the real one.

 

He wouldn’t believe me anyway, Shadestrike thought. And he shouldn’t.

 

Bumblebee still wasn't reassured about his answer. As if he was insisting for more clarified answer.

 

So he gave a slow nod — a motion Bumblebee could take any number of ways. Maybe that was for the best.

 

"Follow the trails." He finally spoke another clue.

 

Then, with a low roll of his shoulders, he turned. Took a step backward toward the trees.

 

Not fleeing.

 

Just... leaving.

 

Let him think I’m a curiosity. A ghost. A stranger he’ll never see again.

 

He raised one servo — palm outward, not waving, not threatening.

 

Just a silent farewell.

 

Then he transformed, engine growling low and smooth, and rolled off the shoulder and down the hill into the fading dusk.

 

Behind him, Bumblebee stood silent.

 

Still staring.

 

Still feeling that pull in his spark with no name to give it. Still wondering what he meant.

 

Then, transformed and drove in the opposite direction – towards the setting sunset.

 

 

_______

 

 

The groundbridge spat him back into the warship with a shuddering pulse and the fading scent of ozone.

 

Back to metal floors. Purple light. Low-grade tension in the air like static before a storm.

 

Home, for now.

 

He still couldn't believe he came back willingly.

 

Shadestrike barely had time to shift fully into root mode before he heard it—

 

Heavy footfalls. Rhythmic. Confident.

 

He turned, just in time to catch a towering shape stepping through the next corridor.

 

Breakdown.

 

The mech was massive. All armored plates and brute force, optics like floodlamps and arms like battering rams. He came to a stop the moment he saw Bee.

 

A silence stretched between them.

 

Then Breakdown scoffed.

 

“So you’re the quiet one.”

 

Bee said nothing. He didn't have to.

 

“Didn’t think they made ‘em that quiet anymore,” Breakdown added, crossing his arms. "Not that I'm surprised. Knockout said you were weird."

 

Shadestrike tilted his helm slightly.

 

Breakdown took a few heavy steps closer. "Also said you were dangerous. But honestly? You don't look it.”

 

Bee’s optics flicked up, unimpressed.

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Breakdown said. “Silent type. Probably think it makes you mysterious. But I’ve met plenty like you.”

 

“He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “You might’ve fooled Starscream, but I don’t buy it. I’ve fought Cliffjumper. You didn’t down him without backup.”

 

Bee didn’t react.

 

Knockout spilled the tea.

 

Of course he did.

 

Breakdown’s optics narrowed. “You mute or just smug?”

 

Shadestrike finally moved.

 

He tilted his helm again, this time just slightly, and gave the tiniest smile.

 

Then said — in a voice cool and low:

 

“If I wanted you to know the difference, I’d tell you.”

 

Breakdown froze for a second.

 

That wasn’t the voice of someone trying to prove anything.

 

That was someone done proving things.

 

Before Breakdown could respond, Shadestrike brushed past him with deliberate calm, shoulder barely avoiding contact. The kind of move you made when you weren’t afraid of a fight.

 

“Primus,” Breakdown muttered, turning after him. “He’s worse than you said.”

 

From a side door, Knockout leaned against the frame, arms folded and grinning like he was watching his favorite drama unfold.

 

“I told you,” Knockout said. “He’s an acquired taste.”

 

Breakdown scowled. “You keep collecting strays like this, I’m gonna start charging rent.”

 

Knockout smirked. “Oh, please. You love the chaos.”

 

Breakdown grunted. But he didn’t deny it.

 

Notes:

I guess you could say Bumblebee and Shadestrike understand each other's vibes xD

I dunno how to call it differently. It's just a feeling, they can't read their minds.

Chapter 6: The Things We Bury

Summary:

Shadestrike met his younger version. Some sort of way. Came back to the ship. Few cycles had passed.

Notes:

Ehe I have problems. Don't really have time. Lot of exams

Sorry I didn't have time to post it yesterday, so here you go. Take it now (I barely got any time, but I managed)

Also today I'm giving you just a drawing of Megatron. I will give you more Bee I swear, I just need time for that

I have problems

GIVE ME THAT SUMMER FINALLY PLEASE AAA

 

They didn’t tell him where the Vehicons were going.

 

That’s how he knew it was important.

 

He stood by the main sensor terminal in the Nemesis war room, head low, arms crossed, optics tracking the faint ripples of a broadcast Soundwave was decoding in real-time. It wasn’t Cybertronian. It wasn’t even encrypted.

 

Human chatter.

 

Desperate. Tense.

 

He picked out a few words: dingus, nuclear, transport.

 

Fowler’s voice. He recognized the cadence.

 

But he knew it wasn’t just humans involved. No, this was something stranger. Sharper.

 

MECH.

 

Bee hadn’t tangled with them in this timeline — not yet. But he remembered Silas. Remembered how that monster saw them not as sentient beings, but as parts. Organics had always had a taste for consumption, but MECH took it to an artform. And now they were after a volatile device.

 

Starscream, of course, had jumped at the chance. “Let them tire each other out,” he’d sneered. “And we’ll sweep in for the prize.”

 

No one asked Shadestrike to go.

 

But Soundwave’s silence lingered when he passed the console — and Shadestrike knew what that meant.

 

He was being watched.

 

So he followed.

 

Something was wrong. This timeline was different. Messed up.

 

In his own one, the transport was done, when Megatron was in stasis, on the border of living and death. Decepticons had no idea about the technology. 

 

From his position above the canyon’s edge, Shadestrike crouched low, one servo braced on a rock ledge, optics focused downward.

 

Now that he fought about it, he remembered Optimus back then said. "Apply minimum force – disarmament only."

 

Meanwhile Arcee blew one of their reinforcements into thin air. 

 

It made him chuckle.

 

Suddenly, the Vehicons tore loudly through the sky. Opening fire on the Autobot formation.

 

The convoy had broken apart.

 

Wreckage scattered along the road. One of the trailers was on fire — but not the one MECH wanted. That one had disappeared, likely shunted onto a rail line nearby.

 

He had no obligations to inform Starscream about that.

 

He saw Bulkhead, Arcee and Optimus darting between blasts.

 

But it was Bumblebee who caught his attention.

 

His younger self weaved through incoming fire with reckless confidence, sending Vehicons spinning with precision hits and slick footwork.

 

The optimism.

 

The belief in the fight.

 

The dumb, fragile hope.

 

Optimus got knocked down by a Vehicon and fell down the canyon with a thump. The distance of his fall wasn't too high.

 

Shadestrike stayed hidden. Watched the battlefield unfold like a strategist, not a soldier. He didn’t join the fray — not when he wasn’t ordered to. Not when his position was safer here, seeing the bigger picture.

 

He followed MECH’s chopper with his optics, calculating intercept vectors. They’d already figured it out. The cargo was on the train. And Optimus, ever the martyr, had already bolted after it.

 

He felt a sharp twist in his chest.

 

Not from the Autobot struggle.

 

But from the fact that he remembered this.

 

He remembered how close they’d come to losing the kids. To letting MECH walk away with a warhead and a new playbook for dismantling Cybertronians.

 

And how none of the Decepticons even cared.

 

Not really.

 

Starscream just wanted to make the explosion loud enough that Megatron would notice him again. The Vehicons were cannon fodder. Soundwave was silent. Knockout was off-duty. Breakdown wasn’t even briefed.

 

And Bee — him — had been busy saving lives.

 

Now?

 

Shadestrike leaned back, optics narrowing.

 

He could warn them. Disrupt MECH’s transmission. Send a falsified ping to throw them off the rail’s coordinates.

 

He didn’t.

 

Not because he wanted them dead.

 

But because this wasn’t his timeline. He didn't know if he even should interfere.

 

Let them struggle through the mess just like he had.

 

Let the kids jump from a moving train.

 

Let the missile nearly kill them.

 

Let Optimus earn his heroism.

 

Shadestrike stood and turned away before the final impact even played out.

 

The train would stop. The kids would survive. Silas would retreat.

 

From his vantage point, Shadestrike watched the three MECH vehicles veer off – force to reroute after the tunnel collapsed.

 

...

 

Do not engage. Do not engage. Let it go.

 

But his optics narrowed.

 

Those units didn't appear in his timeline, which meant they were a variable. A threat.

 

Frag it.

 

He dropped like a shadow from the cliffside.

 

Nobody could see him. Autobots, Decepticons or even MECH.

 

His body twisted mid-fall, servos shifting, blades sliding into place as he slammed into the first car from above - hard enough to cave in the roof.

 

Steel screamed. Gas exploded.

 

His knife-hand punched through the window frame in one brutal motion, catching the driver across the chest. Not a kill — not yet — but close. The car veered, skidded.

 

Shadestrike kicked off mid-roll, landing in a crouch just as the vehicle spiraled behind him and crashed, flames licking at the underbrush.

 

One down.

 

He shifted to his alt-mode, with tires screeching against gravel, roaring back onto the road with a snarl of engine torque.

 

The other two MECH cars had picked up speed, unaware of what had just happened.

 

Keep it that way.

 

The second car was arcing into a sharp mountain turn.

 

He transformed mid-run and peeled off the main trail, darting into the treeline. Forest branches shattered against his frame as he tore through the underbrush.

 

His target was getting closer.

 

Bee sprinted through the foliage, calculating every meter, every fraction of a klik.

 

Then – with fluid grace – he launched from the cliffside.

 

Weightless.

 

Controlled.

 

Blade primed.

 

He hit the car like a missile.

 

Knife-hand punctured the tire with precision, sending the vehicle spinning in a wide arc. It clipped the guardrail, bounced, and flipped over the edge, plummeting into the ravine.

 

Shadestrike landed in a roll, servo dragging a long gouge through the gravel before stabilizing.

 

Two down.

 

One to go.

 

He glanced ahead — last car already pulling far distance.

 

A challenge, then.

 

His frame shifted again — alt-mode kicking to life with a roar of raw energy. He hit the asphalt hard and accelerated like a bullet.

 

Numbers surged across his HUD.

 

110 kph... 180... 230...

 

The last MECH car already noticed what was happening, visibly starting to panic. Their comm crackled as the operator called in.

 

> "Unknown unit — approaching at high speed. Took out two—need backu—!" 

 

He didn't finish.

 

Shadestrike clipped the side of the car at full speed, shattering its structural integrity. The vehicle jackknifed sideways, and before it could stabilize, he slammed into it again from the front — calculated impact.

 

The car launched.

 

Not flipped. Launched.

 

The human went flying.

 

He didn’t scream long.

 

Shadestrike skidded to a halt in a wide drift, dust spiraling around him like mist.

 

The silence afterwards was sharp. Empty.

 

Not rage.

 

Not vengeance.

 

Correction.

 

Every move clean. Every strike efficient.

 

Three down.

 

No survivors.

 

No proof.

 

No witnesses.

 

Every kill as so it would look like accident on the road.

 

MECH won't notice it was his doing, neither the Decepticons. 

 

Autobots probably won't care in this matter. 

 

No proof of this at all. As it never happened.

 

He transformed back to root mode and stepped onto the rise, watching from behind cover as the Autobots vanished through their groundbridge.

 

The kids. Safe.

 

The warhead. Safe.

 

No one knew he’d been here.

 

Just the dirt. The silence. 

 

The mission was complete, there was no reason to stay, yet Shadestrike lingered anyway.

 

He moved through the silence like a phantom, stepping between the charred husks of destroyed Vehicons. Their armor still smoldered in places. A few optics flickered once. Then stilled.

 

No sparks left. Just shell.

 

He should have walked away. Should’ve turned toward the canyon edge and groundbridged back to the Nemesis. Slipped into the shadows and pretended, like everyone else, that they never had names. Never had thoughts.

 

Just disposable, obedient copies.

 

Clones.

 

Ghosts.

 

Maybe he wasn't a clone, but he still was familiar with feeling of being unseen, repreceable – a tool.

 

And even if these weren’t the same troopers he'd known, even if they came from another timeline, they still bore that same look in death — one that never sat right with him.

 

Empty.

 

Abandoned.

 

Unseen.

 

A soft chime echoed in his helm.

 

Besides, he couldn't let that technology fall into MECH hands.

 

He got a comm.

 

> : "Where are you? The battle has ended!" : Starscream snarled.

 

He didn't answer.

 

> :“Return to the Nemesis. Now.” :

 

Bee rolled his optics.

 

> : "Got unfinished business." :

 

He muted the channel before Starscream could continue.

 

Then he opened a different one.

 

> : "Soundwave. I know it may be weird to ask, but could you make a groundbridge from my location... to one of the abandoned energon mines? Something near collapse." :

 

There was a pause.

 

Longer than expected.

 

Soundwave always hesitated when Shadestrike asked strange things. Not because he doubted him — but because he knew him.

 

He knew the signs.

 

The silence that wasn’t calm.

 

The calm that wasn’t peace.

 

> : "Don't worry. I'll come back, I swear. Just leave the groundbridge open." :

 

> : Soundwave: Request acknowledged.

Comm line: active. Location monitoring engaged. :

 

A vortex of light cracked open beside him.

 

Shadestrike didn’t move at first. Then he reached down, gently, and lifted the nearest Vehicon’s ruined form into his arms.

 

Heavy. Bent. Fragile in a way few understood.

 

He carried him through the portal.

 

The mine was as unstable as he'd hoped.

 

Flickering lights. Half-caved walls. Pools of dried energon staining the floor like bloodstains frozen in time.

 

Soundwave’s signal echoed through the comm link.

 

He heard footsteps.

 

Metal shifting. Grunts of effort.

 

And clangs.

 

Rhythmic.

 

Measured.

 

Then—a hard metallic thunk.

 

Shadestrike returned to the battlefield minutes later.

 

Then again.

 

And again.

 

Every time, dragging another body through the groundbridge.

 

Every time, laying one more shattered trooper to rest beneath the earth.

 

He wasn’t burying them properly — there were no tools, no rituals. Just whatever rubble he could shift by hand. Just enough to hide them. To cover them. To make them not be left rotting under the sun, forgotten by both factions.

 

Soundwave listened in silence.

 

No questions. No interruptions.

 

But his internal file logs updated continuously.

 

 

> : Subject: Shadestrike 

Behavioral Pattern: Divergence from standard Decepticon protocol.

Action: Burial of non-functional troopers.

Subtext: Memorialization impulse? Guilt response? Instability? :

 

 

The logic didn’t track.

 

But Soundwave didn’t interrupt the pattern either.

 

In both timelines, no one was doing it. Bee knew that.

 

And Soundwave, for all his silence, understood the value of observation.

 

He heard the final clang. The last layer of debris settling.

 

Then a quiet sigh through the mic.

 

Not dramatic.

 

Just... tired.

 

> : "I’m done." : Shadestrike sighed.

 

> : Soundwave: Groundbridge returning. :

 

> : "Thanks for not asking." :

 

> : Soundwave: Observation sufficient. :

 

No other words were exchanged.

 

The bridge opened once more.

 

Shadestrike stepped through — dirt-scuffed, energon-streaked, silent.

 

A soldier who’d buried the war too many times.

 

And still didn’t know how to stop.

 

The groundbridge hissed closed behind him, leaving the corridor dim and still.

 

Shadestrike walked with even steps, not limping, not staggering — just... arriving.

 

But his armor told a different story.

 

Dried energon. Dust-streaked plating. A splash of red.

 

He moved past a squad of patrolling Vehicons. None of them spoke. None of them dared.

 

But Knockout?

 

Knockout noticed everything.

 

The moment Shadestrike stepped into view, the medic stopped mid-sentence, stylus frozen above a datapad.

 

He blinked once. Twice.

 

Then slowly tilted his helm, optics trailing down Shadestrike’s frame.

 

“…You’re bleeding,” he said.

 

Shadestrike said nothing. Rolled his optics and kept walking.

 

Knockout caught up in two long strides and placed a servo against his arm to stop him — light enough not to provoke, firm enough to say this matters.

 

“I said—” he started, then paused.

 

His optics narrowed.

 

“Wait.”

 

He pulled his hand back.

 

The energon on it was not the right hue.

 

Knockout’s expression shifted instantly.

 

“…That’s not your energon.”

 

Still, Bee said nothing.

 

Knockout’s gaze sharpened. He scanned him again, slower this time.

 

Dust. Scorch marks.

 

…and faint smears of organic blood.

 

His vocalizer pitched up. “Is that human blood on your thigh plating?!”

 

Bee tilted his helm, utterly unfazed.

 

“Don’t be dramatic,” he finally muttered.

 

Knockout straightened, face shifting between scandalized and fascinated. “Don’t—? Are you serious? What were you doing out there?!”

 

“Cleaning up.”

 

“Cleaning up what? A war crime?!”

 

Bee’s field flattened in irritation. “It’s not mine. That’s all you need to know.”

 

Knockout gave him a long, slow look. “You know you’re the worst patient I’ve ever had, right?”

 

Shadestrike raised an optic ridge, deadpan.

 

Rachet was saying similar things.

 

“I’m not even injured.”

 

“That’s not the point!” Knockout gestured to the blood again, aghast. “You’re soaking! What am I supposed to do — sterilize the floor after you?!”

 

Shadestrike turned to go.

 

“Washracks are three doors down,” Knockout called after him. “Try not to haunt the ventilation with your mystery massacre while you’re at it.”

 

Bee didn’t answer.

 

But his retreating footsteps squelched faintly.

 

 

______

 

 

The chamber was dark, low-lit by streams of code flickering across cylindrical holo-columns. No one entered this space without clearance. No one heard what was stored here — unless Soundwave allowed it.

 

And Soundwave?

 

Was listening.

 

Still.

 

A single datapoint hovered above the others, rotating slowly like a planet in orbit. 

 

> : SUBJECT: SHADESTRIKE

CATEGORY: UNUSUAL ACTIVITY – FIELD CONDUCT – CLASSIFIED :

 

 

He reviewed the footage silently.

 

No video of the kills.

 

But he had the logs.

 

Three MECH units offline in sequence. Each demise mimicking structural failure or terrain incidents. No signatures. No traceable cybernetic interaction.

 

But then — the oddness compounded.

 

Vehicon bodies.

 

Removed. Buried.

 

Manually.

 

Not ordered.

 

Not practical.

 

Not Decepticon.

 

And yet, done with care.

 

Soundwave shifted his focus.

 

He accessed timeline overlays. Cross-referenced internal reports. Consulted low-access Autobot files captured in prior raids.

 

> : Shadestrike : No known record prior to appearance on Nemesis.

Signature: scrambled. 

Voiceprint: corrupted.

Frame: late-war variant :

 

 

But his mannerisms…

 

Familiar.

 

Soundwave stilled.

 

Then opened a locked data log — one he hadn’t touched in a long time.

 

Optimus Prime’s inner circle.

 

He ran movement diagnostics.

 

Combat stances.

 

Micro-delays in limb articulation.

 

The way Shadestrike tilted his helm.

 

The way he braced before a jump.

 

The way he looked at a younger, yellow Autobot on the battlefield and didn’t react — yet shifted posture by two millimeters, like a ghost remembering its reflection.

 

The similarities were...

 

Not conclusive.

 

But Soundwave didn't need conclusions.

 

He only needed possibilities.

 

> : Theory: Shadestrike may not be new. He may be... displaced. :

 

 

Maybe he was once an Optimus ward. Replaced.

 

No sound. No alarm. No judgment.

 

Just a quiet, private record. Only for his use.

 

Filed away.

 

For later.

 

 

-----

 

 

Shadestrike stepped out of the washrack unit, steam trailing off his freshly scrubbed armor. Most of the energon stains were gone. The human blood — scrubbed clean. Even his plating looked less scorched.

 

But he didn’t feel clean.

 

He never did.

 

He started walking.

 

Three steps in—

 

A subtle sound. A shift in the air.

 

He stopped.

 

Didn’t turn.

 

“…You’ve been watching.”

 

No reply.

 

He waited.

 

A flicker of motion — subtle. Then Soundwave stepped from the shadows. Silent as always, but no longer pretending to be elsewhere.

 

“Let me guess,” he said quietly. “You’re here about the burial.”

 

Still nothing. But the silence wasn’t empty — it was pressure. A kind of interrogation all its own.

 

Soundwave projected a simple, raw telemetry map. Vehicle wreckage. Three MECH cars. All taken out along a mountain route. No visible Cybertronian signatures. No audio logs. All clean.

 

Except they weren’t random.

 

Patterned. Surgical.

 

Intentional.

 

He showed on his visor.

 

> : No part of mission parameters. No orders issued  — You are acting outside command. :

 

"They got in a way" He gave the barest shrug.

 

Soundwave tilted his helm, then shifted projections — now to the buried Vehicons.

 

No words. Just the image.

 

No Decepticon had ever done that.

 

> : Not standard procedure. :

 

“I don’t follow standard.”

 

Soundwave watched him. Still. Dissecting.

 

Then — a new projection.

 

Two silhouettes.

 

Bumblebee: smaller, younger, yellow.

 

Shadestrike: taller, sharper. But... too many similar ratios. Too many echoes.

 

No accusations. No conclusions.

 

> : Record indicates Optimus Prime once had a ward. File: incomplete. Mentorship terminated. No reason given. :

 

Shadestrike let the silence stretch.

 

Then scoffed, soft.

 

“You think I was trained by him?”

 

Soundwave didn’t reply.

 

Shadestrike shook his head, voice calm but clipped. “I don’t play soldier. Never did. I work alone. Whatever files you have are either junked or misfiled.”

 

Another pause.

 

Longer this time.

 

Soundwave withdrew the image. Filed it.

 

Didn’t delete it.

 

He took one last look at Shadestrike — field unreadable — then walked away without a sound.

 

Soundwave thought Shadestrike got replaced by Bumblebee.

 

No confirmation. No denial.

 

But the theory? It had already taken root.

 

The doors sealed behind him with a metallic sigh.

 

Dark. Silent. Unoccupied.

 

Shadestrike leaned back against the nearest wall and slid down until he hit the floor with a dull clang.

 

He let the quiet settle around him.

 

Soundwave hadn’t said anything damning.

 

Hadn’t accused.

 

Hadn’t named him.

 

But the implication hung in the air like static.

 

"Optimus Prime once had a ward."

 

He ran a hand down his faceplate.

 

That file wasn’t supposed to exist.

 

Optimus had scrubbed it after that day.

 

The day his voice shattered.

 

The day Megatron left him broken, mangled, discarded like scrap.

 

Optimus hadn’t spoken to him for cycles afterward. Not properly.

 

Not until the silence was official.

 

No more records. No more mentorship.

 

No more connection.

 

Because Optimus blamed himself. For telling Megatron. For loving him too openly.

 

So he buried it.

 

Bumblebee became a soldier.

 

Not a ward.

 

After all of this, he still treated him kindly, trying to remain that proximity, but it wasn't quite the same anymore. 

 

And now... now Soundwave was seeking of something that no longer existed — that couldn’t exist. Not if Bee wanted to survive.

 

He exhaled through his vents. Sharp. Dry.

 

No one could know. Not the Decepticons. Not the Autobots. Not even Knockout.

 

His fingers flexed, restless.

 

Soundwave was too smart. Too patient. He wouldn’t confront again — not yet. He would watch. Collect. Wait for Bee to slip.

 

But I won’t.

 

He stood slowly. Straightened his frame.

 

Pulled the mask back over the spark.

 

No history. No attachments. No identity beyond the name they gave him.

 

Shadestrike.

 

Not Bumblebee.

 

Never Bumblebee.

 

He stepped out of the shadows, back into the hall, and let the door seal behind him.

 

Like nothing had ever happened.

Notes:

Also I was reading on wiki about this episode and I found out interesting error: the three cars that vanish after the tunnel had collapsed. Vanished completely from the story after this. Hmmm interesting detail. Nobody ever talk about this.

Well, why not just go with it? Now you have the story on how they vanished. It was an 'accident' xD

Chapter 7: What Wasn't in the Report

Summary:

Bee buried Vehicons and made triple kill on MECH soldiers (I think? XD)

Notes:

*deep inhale*
I have problems. Big problems. With studying. Yes. I'm literally having no time for anything. And I can't pass these exams. WHY

LET ME OUT PLEASE I DON'T WANT LEARN ANYMORE😫🥺

Anyway

Here you go. In the next week I'll probably post on Wednesday too or something. I'll... try...

Also sorry. No drawing. I don't have time (I fragging wish I had I really want to draw)

It was quiet.

 

Knockout liked the late shift.

 

Fewer emergencies. Fewer Vehicons walking in with their arms dangling off. Fewer unannounced Starscream episodes.

 

He was reviewing diagnostics when the door hissed open behind him.

 

He didn’t look up right away.

 

Only one mech on the ship walked that quietly and still managed to broadcast trouble.

 

“Let me guess,” he said without turning. “You’re not here for actual medical attention.”

 

Shadestrike said nothing. Settled into the shadowed corner, arms crossed, leaning against the wall with field held tight.

 

Knockout finally looked up.

 

“You’re clean,” he noted, optics scanning Bee’s frame. “No energon. No shrapnel.”

 

Still, no answer.

 

Knockout narrowed his optics and set the datapad down.

 

“So why are you here?”

 

A pause.

 

Then, Bee said softly. “Didn’t feel like going to quarters.”

 

He hated being alone.

 

Knockout could see it — in the tension of his frame, in the way he hovered near connection without ever stepping into it. Close, but always just out of reach.

 

Like proximity was dangerous.

 

Knockout tilted his helm. “And you chose to haunt my medbay instead?”

 

“Quiet here.”

 

“Flattered.”

 

He crossed the room slowly. Not close — just enough to study him properly.

 

“Something happened,” he said at last. “On your mission.”

 

Bee glanced over, unreadable. “That obvious?”

 

“Only to someone with actual perception.” Knockout smirked. “Which eliminates most of this ship.”

 

Bee didn’t reply. But something in his shoulders tightened slightly.

 

“Want to talk about it?”

 

He meant it.

 

But Bee couldn't afford it. Not when too much truth could unravel everything. Not when one crack could split his lies.

 

Bee pushed off the wall. “Maybe I’m just tired.”

 

Knockout raised a brow. “Now that you say it, I've only seen you sleep once. Four megaklicks top.”

 

"Not true." Bee said, deadpan. "What about our first encounter?"

 

"Oh, please. You mean two cycles of post–operative stasis? You should've been out for two weeks"

 

Knockout expression softened slightly.

 

“You know,” he added, tone lower, “I’m not trying to get under your plating.”

 

Bee arched a brow.

 

“You don’t have to keep everything buried.”

 

Bee exhaled quietly through his vents.

 

Knockout sighed and stepped back, gesturing toward the medberth.

 

“You can stay here, if it helps. But go to recharge. That’s an order.”

 

Bee didn’t argue.

 

Didn’t want to sleep — not really. Not after what dreams dragged up from the dark. But his optics were already dimming, and the weight pressing down was too much to ignore.

 

He didn’t remember to lay down on a berth.

 

But his systems powered down anyway.

 

 

________

 

 

The lights were low. A few offline Vehicons hung from repair rigs, their frames auto-patching while diagnostic code scrolled across the walls. It was the kind of quiet moment Breakdown liked — just him, the tools, and the hum of background systems.

 

And, of course, Knockout.

 

The medic strolled in with that unmistakable click of heels and an energy that screamed I have seen something.

 

Breakdown didn’t even look up. “You’ve got that face again.”

 

Knockout smirked. “What face?”

 

“The one that says ‘I’m about to unload a mech’s entire psychological profile for free."

 

“I do not give away my diagnostics for free,” Knockout sniffed. “But... I might offer a sample.”

 

Breakdown grunted and leaned against the workbench. “Shadestrike?”

 

Knockout’s grin grew sharper. “Naturally.”

 

“What’s he done now?”

 

“Absolutely nothing.” Knockout perched on the edge of the table like a dramatic feline. “And that’s the problem.”

 

Breakdown raised an optic ridge.

 

“He walked into my medbay tonight,” Knockout continued, gesturing vaguely, “not injured, not leaking, not even winded. Sat in a dark corner like a haunted datapad and didn’t say a word for five full minutes.”

 

“So?”

 

“He didn’t blink.”

 

“…You’re mad about blinking?”

 

“I’m mad about patterns, Breakdown.” Knockout leaned forward. “He’s a mech who’s clearly been through frag–all — but not in the way we’re used to. He fights too well, recovers too fast, and avoids everyone like we’re a security breach.”

 

Breakdown gave a grunt. “Could just be trauma.”

 

“I know trauma,” Knockout snapped. “This? This is containment.”

 

Breakdown crossed his arms. “Maybe he’s just private.”

 

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s hiding something.”

 

Knockout’s field narrowed, serious now.

 

“He came back from that mission soaked in energon that wasn’t his. And human blood.”

 

Breakdown’s optics lit slightly. “Wait — human?”

 

Knockout nodded. “Not a scratch on him. I confronted him. He said it was ‘clean–up.’ Like he just tidied up a crime scene.”

 

Breakdown blinked. “...Okay, that’s messed up.”

 

“I know.” Knockout’s tone dropped, thoughtful. “But that’s not even the weirdest part.”

 

Breakdown waited.

 

“He looked tired. Like something in him was breaking down, and he didn’t know how to hold it in anymore.”

 

Breakdown didn’t laugh. He didn’t roll his optics. He just stared at the floor a moment.

 

Then said, quietly: “That mech’s a storm. You can feel it when he walks in.”

 

Knockout didn’t disagree.

 

“Whatever he’s hiding?” Breakdown added. “Eventually, it’s gonna tear the ship apart.”

 

Knockout leaned back slowly.

 

And smiled, just a little.

 

“Well, if it does... at least we’ll have ringside seats.”

 

 

_______

 

 

The briefing was short.

 

Breakdown just came from his scouting mission, fought with Bulkhead and took the relic that turned out to be fake.

 

Starscream barked the order, Knockout preened, probably hoped he could take the credit and impress Megatron.

 

But that wasn't what caught Bee's attention.

 

It was who gave the order for Breakdown's reconnaissance. 

 

Megatron hadn't spoken about this at once, but probably because Starscream hadn't told them about it at all.

 

It was Starscream leading the op, claws sketching wild lines across the map like some scrap artist pretending to be a general. Knockout offered half-hearted suggestions and Breakdown just wanted to throw the first punch.

 

Bee stood in silence, arms crossed, back to the wall.

 

Watching.

 

Breakdown muttered. “Ancient energon site,” 

 

Bee’s processor pinged with memory fragments.

 

The Harvester.

 

He tightened his EM field. 

 

Soundwave scrolled the database and gave the intel on the relic, but he already knew what this was.

 

"Pay attention" Starscream scoffed.

 

He remembered that relic. Knew what it did. How it drained energon so fast it left even the strongest bots limp in seconds. It had almost killed Bulkhead in his timeline  — how unstable it is.

 

And here they were, pretending it was a prize.

 

"Soundwave, have you serched the human database for possible relic location?"

 

Soundwave pinged the Earth museum feed. A camera footage revealed itself.

 

"Yes, that's definitely it." Breakdown confirmed.

 

Starscream grinned with his low, dark tone. "It's harvest time." 

 

Bee chuckled quietly, covering his face with servo as if he was apologizing. 

 

Starscream’s optics twitched. 

 

“You’re staying,” he snapped. “For later use.”

 

Bee tilted his helm, suppressing a smile. 

 

Is it, because I made him irritated by my laugh? I should do it more often then.

 

When the others ground-bridged out, Bee remained behind with Soundwave.

 

The silence between them was oppressive.

 

....

 

No, I can't stand it.

 

 “You’ll let me know if I’m needed,” Bee said, waving a servo as he turned on his heel. “Try not to die of silence while I’m gone.”

 

He didn’t wait for a response.

 

On his way out, a group of Vehicons passed by. They halted.

 

Saluted.

 

“Officer Shadestrike,” one said.

 

Bee nearly tripped.

 

...

 

He gave the sloppiest return gesture in recorded Cybertronian history — more of a confused twitch than a salute.

 

They took it seriously and kept walking.

 

...

 

Wha—what just happened?

 

Then another. A nod.

 

...

 

Coincidence.

 

Not shortly after, another. On the hurry, but he came to a halt few steps away, "Good morning," made a slight bow and then sped through the hall again. 

 

On this one Bee froze, optics widened in pure shock.

 

Blinked once. Twice.

 

Something's wrong.

 

With a slid on a wrist he opened his datapad and checked the mission log.

 

He scrolled it all the way down to the point that was of his interest.

 

> : Soundwave Field Report: Subject [Shadestrike] – Burial of Fallen Vehicons. :

 

And all off the Vehicons were expressing grattitude.

 

They’re thanking me?

 

His spark squeezed.

 

He didn’t know whether to laugh or run.

 

Few kliks later he received a call.

 

Starscream voice came in. 

> : “Assist in relic securing. Now.” :

 

They had it.

 

Bee sighed and stepped through the portal.

 

He arrived as Starscream held speech with Knockout and Breakdown flanking him. The Harvester pulsed in his claws.

 

"—have motherload of energon for the taking" Starscream was saying. "Courtesy of this gift from ancient Autobots!"

 

Knockout cut through. "Uh, actually comander Starscream, it was a gift from Breakdown and myself." He gestured talons towards his friend.

 

Starscream snapped the Harvester toward them and they both recoiled out of shock.

 

The bright blue pulse sliced the air, almost hitting them if they wouldn't backed off just in time.

 

It's power struck nearby Vehicon instead and they watched as all he collapsed, of his energon draining, sucking life source out of him in agony.

 

"All that energon," Starscream said visibly preening, "In such a tiny vessel." He beamed widely.

 

"Those ancient Autobots never missed a trick, comander Starscream." Knockout proclaimed, smiling nervously.

 

Probably scared he might end up being one of the tests subjects.

 

Bee stepped closer, disgust twitching through his vents.

 

“That’s your leadership now?” he said, voice low, “Using your own soldiers as test subjects? You're that desperate you're going for threatening your subordinates?" His helm shaked in disbelief. 

 

Starscream turned, expression razor-sharp. "Somethings wrong, Shadestrike? You're volunteering next?”

 

He didn't flinch.

 

“Kinda pathetic,” he muttered, rubbing the side of his helm and kicking a pebble on the ground.

 

Starscream snarled, raising the Harvester. 

 

Knockout jumped in between. "What he meant was – perhaps Megatron would prefer it in pristine condition?"

 

He still was aiming to Shadestrike, though he seemed unbothered. Both of his servos slowly clenched behind his back with face screaming 'you wouldn't dare'.

 

Starscream, twitching, redirected the Harvester to the exposed energon seam instead.

 

Bee's sensor suddenly flared.

 

Bulkhead's close.

 

Too close.

 

No point in telling them. 

 

Then— crash.

 

The sound of shattered pottery.

 

Everyone turned.

 

"What are you doing?" Starscream barked.

 

Bee stared at the ground. "I—accident...?" 

 

Knockout raised a brow. “Seriously? The most stealthy mech onboard can’t see a ceramic vase?”

 

Out of the corner of his optics, Bee saw green.

 

Bulkhead.

 

He didn’t give him away.

 

Just turned slightly. Stared up into the sky. Distracted. Talking nonsense.

 

Meanwhile Bulkhead tried sneaking and noticed the black bot noticed him, yet didn't alarm the rest. He was confused, but continued onward.

 

“So... Starscream. Just wondering... Why are you giving orders now instead of Megatron?”

 

Starscream barely started to respond before—

 

Boom.

 

Bulkhead charged.

 

The Harvester activated, draining him fast, but not fast enough.

 

“What are you doing?!”

 

“What I do best,” Bulkhead growled, shattering relic in his grip, “Breaking things!” Then solidly punched Starscream straight in the faceplate.

 

Starscream reeled.

 

Bee didn't do anything. Just stood and watched. Slightly amused.

 

Bulkhead met his optics. Still confused.

 

The Harvester would kill whoever stood closest.

 

This was the best option. To destroy it. For both sides.

 

Even if it wasn’t his fight anymore. 

 

Even if no one ever knew.

 

The Autobots arrived through the bridge just as the Decepticons scattered.

 

Bee didn’t wait for the command.

 

He was already gone.

 

Slipping into shadow, unseen. He perched on the ridge again, watching as Starscream, Knockout, Breakdown all retreated.

 

> Starscream: “We were this close!”

 

> Breakdown: “Stupid green wrecker.”

 

> Knockout: “Maybe if someone helped instead of lurking in the shadows…”

 

Bee muted the channel.

 

He wasn’t sure why he helped him. Wasn’t even sure if he should have, because in his timeline Bulkhead destroyed it without his help.

 

But he did and maybe he will have to face the consequences of his actions.

 

Bee turned away from the field, leaving no trace behind.

 

 

_______

 

 

"Engaging an enemy on your own was risky, Bulkhead." Optimus stated.

 

Bulkhead didn’t respond right away. 

 

He was staring at the hill. At the spot where the black-and-yellow bot had stood.

 

A presence — real, but wrong. Like something had slipped through that shouldn't have.

 

“Did anyone see him?” he asked finally. “Tall. Dark plating. Yellow glowing optics and trim. Quiet. Kinda…”

 

“Creepy?” Arcee offered. “You've watched too many horror movies with Miko.”

 

Bulkhead hesitated. “He… helped.”

 

Bee optics flickered as he beeped softly beside him.

 

> : See - one - race - Decepticon? :

 

Optimus turned toward him, optics narrowing. “You saw him too?”

 

Bumblebee next string of beeps came, slower. Lower.

 

> : Think - ghost. :

 

If both Bumblebee and Bulkhead had seen the same mech...

 

Optimus exchanged a glance with Arcee. No one spoke.

 

Thinking about mysterious someone who had helped. And what's his reasoning? After all he's a Decepticon...

 

 

______

 

 

They were back on Nemesis, but the atmosphere was sharp cutting.

 

Starscream stormed in, optics blazing.

 

The door panels hissed with a metallic slam that echoed off the walls. A nearby Vehicon flinched and ducked out of his way.

 

“You sabotaged,” he hissed, paced quickly and made sharp turn towards Shadestrike “That’s what it was. Sabotage.”

 

Starscream continued, “Everything was perfect! And then someone gave enough disctraction for an Autobot to act!"

 

He bared his denta. “I should've known. Playing the neutral act. Always so quiet, so composed—well, we’ll see how composed you'll be when Megatron learns someone’s been interfering with his relic acquisition strategy.”

 

He turned on his heel.

 

"One certain problem with that Starscream" Shadestrike cut cold and calm, crossing his arms. "It wasn't Megatron who gave the order, am I wrong?"

 

Starscream spun around, wings twitching.  

 

"That doesn't matter!" he snarled. "You gave us away! Let that Wrecker destroy the relic and then dissapeared, before the real fight began!"

 

Bee smiled, slow, almost pitying. "And whose fault is that?"

 

Starscream blinked. "I—I would assume yours!"

 

"Oh really Starscream? Shadestrike stepped forward, each footstep deliberate. "Who wanted to test the Energon Harvester? Who threatened his own troops with a volatile relic?." His questions were more of a statement. 

 

"That—wasn't—"

 

"Who gave the order without Megatron's approval. Who drained a Vehicon on a whim to prove his point." 

 

Starscream field bristled.

 

"You could've brought it back to the ship," Bee optics locked on Starscream. "Stored it. Secure it. But no – you wanted a spectacle. You wanted to play god."

 

He stopped in front of him, voice dropping. 

 

"I don't follow stupid orders."

 

He turned on his pede.

 

"Think again next time."

 

The door hissed behind him.

 

Starscream stood trembling. Then, without a warning, he whirled on Knockout and Breakdown.

 

"AND WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! GET TO WORK!"

 

 

______

 

 

Bee half-ran down the hall. Fast enough to avoid being asked any more questions and hold his EM field as calm as possible.

 

To his dissapointment the console room was guarded by a Vehicon.

 

Scrap.

 

He had no choice. He will have to gently incapacitate him and throw him into the room.

 

Just as he stepped forward to action, Vehicon – to his surprise – nodded and let him into the room.

 

That's— definitely not what he was expecting. But he didn't complain. It was perfect for his current situation.

 

He sealed the door of console room behind him.

 

He didn't turn on the lights. He worked better in the shadows. Quicker.

 

Then powered the console with a wave of his servo and watched the screen flicker to life — mission logs, status reports, field feedback, comm traffic.

 

He tapped into the latest report.

 

 

> : Harvester relic — Mission Outcome: Failure due to Autobot interference. 

Filed by: Soundwave.

Field-support acknowledgments: 

Starscream. Knockout. Breakdown. Shadestrike.

Passive units: Vehicons 17–32. :

 

 

There it was.

 

No mention of sabotage. No accusation.

 

But his name was there.

 

He couldn't erase the report or rewrite it. That would catch too much attention. Soundwave would catch it in a klick.

 

Bee leaned in closer with digits hovered above the log.

 

Instead – he modified the timestamp on his signal ping. Shifted a line of metadata to place him just outside the excavation range when the Harvester was active.

 

Technically still true. He wasn’t lying. He was just... trimming the edges. 

 

He locked the file and backed out.

 

As he left the room, he opened a private memo and typed a line without even thinking.

 

> : No one gets to rewrite me. Not again. :

 

He closed it.

 

 

______

 

 

His internal clock showed the cycle, 02:58.

 

Shadestrike was in the medbay again, sitting on the cold metal floor. 

 

 

He never used the berth. Not only because of the overlight, making his optics flicker.

 

Also, because sitting on it made him feel like being a patient, which he wasn't. 

 

Knockout was quiet, slow and deliberate, like he was trying not to spook a wild predator. 

 

Shadestrike came to his medbay again, without any purpose. He decided to not throw him out. 

 

Or give him another lecture about resting on the floor. Again.

 

It was probably his safe place. The only one on the ship that gave him comfort. 

 

It annoyed him a little, because —of all places, his medical lab. But in the same way it made him proud. Of all the places – how marvelous he had to be.

 

"You always this broody after a mission?” Knockout asked, finally breaking the silence. “Because I’m starting to think I should bill you for emotional radiation.” 

 

Bee didn’t answer. 

 

Knockout tilted his helm, smile thin. “Starscream’s probably chocking on his ego before Megatron. Something about sabotage. Something about a 'black-and-yellow shadow' not following orders.”

 

Still nothing. Sometimes he forgot he even had a voicebox.

 

Bee tried not to look up, so Knockout stepped closer and dropped the tone.

 

”You saw him coming. You knew.”

 

Bee's optics shifted a little too fast. "I saw a lot of things."

 

Knockout frowned, "Like a vase. That one you didn't saw?" snarled with sarcasm, crossing his arms.

 

Then Bee spoke, quieter now. 

 

“No one was supposed to get hurt.”

 

Knockout blinked.

 

That wasn’t a confession. It was a crack.

 

Bee looked away, clearly regretting the words the second they left his intake.

 

“I don’t care if you helped him,” he said. “Frankly, watching Starscream lose processor cycles over this is delightful. But you’re playing a game I can’t see the rules to.”

 

Bee tilted his helm. “So stop watching?”

 

“You know I won’t.” 

 

Knockout turned and slid onto berth with intention of going into recharge.

 

Bee blinked.

 

It left him speechless.

 

"You're... not going to your quarters?"

 

"I'm not leaving you unsupervised after your treachery," Knockout said dryly. "Besides, if Starscream tries anything, I'm in perfect position to say 'I told you so'."

 

He rolled onto his side, back turned to him and turned his helm slightly.

 

"Goodnight".

 

Bee stared at him.

 

He had every reason not to trust him.

 

And yet, he was willing to sleep in the same room as him? 

 

He cared?

 

It somehow made his spark feel... warm. 

 

He smiled under his intake and leaned his helm against the wall.

 

He ex–vented. Slowly.

 

Tried to sort through it.

 

Why did I do that?

 

I didn't mean to help. Not really.

 

But the second I saw Starscream raise that relic it was like my instincts took over. 

 

He couldn't let them have dangerous weapon able to wipe anyone out of existence.

 

He remembered how it's like to be disposable.

 

The Decepticons were starting to see him through, but maybe they just didn't care.

 

Megatron didn't care about anyone but himself after all.

 

He closed his optics.

 

I should stop.

 

Pull back.

 

Let things play out without him getting involved.

 

Shut up — he thought to himself.

 

A ping vibrated quietly in his comm line.

 

Starscream. 

 

He muted it immediately. Didn’t even look.

 

But after a while — another one.

 

He rolled his eyes.

 

What again—

 

...Megatron.

Notes:

"You cracked this vase on purpose."

"No I didn't."

"You literally are holding your laughter..."

"Nuh–uh."

Chapter 8: Running on Fumes

Summary:

Bee got a comm from Megatron.

Notes:

Okay, this chapter is a little longer than 3k...3,5 xDDD

Not everything can be made in this limit okay? But I bet you won't complain about this xD

No art. Yes. I'm lazy. Sorry. And still have exams kindaaaaaa? Soooo u know hehe

Wait. When we hit 2k hits.... whuh—wha

Ping.

 

Bumblebee's optics opened.

 

He hadn't realized when he had fallen into recharge.

 

He checked the internal clock. 

 

04:03

 

Frag. He overslept. He hadn't meant to drift.

 

Across the room, Knockout layed still on berth curled half toward the wall.

 

Maybe Bee slept only a megaklick, but he received a comm from Megatron and haven't responded. At all.

 

He opened his HUD. From what he checked comm line was appearing like every 10 kliks. Until now, that it flared. Maybe he was getting impatient.

 

Ping.

 

> : Command Priority – Incoming Transmission – Origin: Megatron :

 

Bee sat up slowly, vent lines soft and shallow. He didn’t move immediately.

 

The glow from the comm request pulsed just bright enough to turn the shadows colder.

 

 It was nice he was giving the request anyway, instead of storming imidiatelly.

 

Megatron could do that. He held the highest command after all.

 

He glanced at Knockout. Still offline, but decided it's better to not wake him up.

 

Then, slowly, he reached to accept the call — text only. Clearly something Megatron didn't want to.

 

> : Shadestrike. You’ve been absent from the bridge. :

 

"Well, I tried to recharge, but I definitely won't type you that." – he muttered quietly to himself.

 

He stared at the words for a nanosecond too long before responding.

 

> : Recovery.  :

 

He kept it vague. 

 

Another pause.

 

Then—

 

> : I see. And the mission? Your analysis of the relic’s failure. :

 

Bee’s spark squeezed.

 

It was about suspicion.

 

He typed slowly.

 

> : Autobot interference. Starscream acted prematurely. Relic lost due to poor environmental control. :

 

One thing he had to be thankful for — that leading his team on Earth taught him how to present even worsts reports in the best possible light.

 

> : Starscream, of course, has provided his version. :

 

Bee could practically hear the sneer even if it never reached Megatron’s voice. A bored threat. A test.

 

He knew this game.

 

"Of course he did, it's Starscream." Bee scoffed under his breath.

 

Let Megatron fill the space. Never offer more than necessary.

 

> : And your part in it? :

 

Bee hesitated. 

 

> : Limited. I was not deployed until aftermath. Observed events. Minimal engagement. :

 

Another long silence.

 

Long enough that Bee’s systems started quietly booting stress protocols.

 

> : I deferred to command hierarchy. I wasn’t briefed on the relic’s activation protocol, so I avoided interference. :

 

Another silence.

 

Longer this time.

 

> : And yet… Soundwave reports inconsistencies. Minor. But recurring. :

 

Bee’s spark thumped once — too loud in his own chassis.

 

> : Misfile. I never breached strike radius. Check location logs. :

 

He hated how good he’d gotten at lying.

 

Megatron was quiet again.

 

> : Duly noted. :

 

But that wasn’t the end.

 

> : Your loyalty is not in question. But your usefulness is. :

 

That stung.

 

Worse because it was meant to.

 

Bee typed slower now.

 

> : Then give me a target. I’ll prove myself. :

 

> : I don’t have any new assignment for you now. But await my orders and be ready. :

 

Bee sat there for a long time, staring at the screen.

 

His vents hissed quietly. Servos clenched.

 

He felt useless again. His spark ached. 

 

But then another comm came.

 

> : You may submit personal requests through my line, should the need arise. :

 

...

 

"Wh—What." 

 

He just received scolding. 

 

He blinked, trying to see if he wasn't seeing things. He wasn’t. 

 

Wait. Was it because he defended Megatron's leadership?

 

That was new.

 

Unexpected.

 

Made him feel slightly better at last.

 

> : Permission to leave the ship. : Bee typed instantly, before he could stop himself. : Temporarily. :

 

> : Purpose? :

 

> : Personal calibration. Isolation improves system regulation. :

 

> Soundwave will authorize your exit. Do not waste my time with minor protocol again. :

 

"Why did he.. what just ha—... what?" Bee stuttered to himself, but clearly too loud.

 

Only then did Knockout shift on the berth.

 

“…You talk in your sleep now?” the medic mumbled groggily, optics dim.

 

Bee blinked.

 

Then, leaned back against the wall again, helm tilted upward.

 

“No,” he said quietly.

 

“I was answering a nightmare.”

 

Knockout swung his legs off the berth, posture casual, but optics sharp. “Megatron?”

 

“No one else pings this late.”

 

Knockout scoffed. “Charming. Did he offer tea or just his usual flavor of vague threats?”

 

“…Both,” Bee murmured, not quite joking.

 

 

_______

 

 

The sky was streaked in burnt gold as the dawn rise.

 

Shadestrike sliced down the road like a bullet — low, sleek, dangerous. The only sound was the growl of his engine and the soft howl of air tearing past his frame.

 

It wasn’t about the speed this time.

 

It was the silence it gave him. The illusion of control.

 

He drifted clean around a curve when something flickered across his sensors.

 

Another signal.

 

Not faint. Too close.

 

He flicked open his HUD.

 

Too fast.

 

And then he saw her — blur of blue carving up the horizon.

 

Arcee.

 

Of course it was her.

 

Recon assignment? Maybe. Or maybe she’d caught trace of his last groundbridge signal.

 

Whatever the reason, she was heading straight for him — and not with the intent to talk.

 

He didn't slow.

 

She transformed mid-air, landed in a graceful skid across the gravel — twin blasters pointed straight toward his path.

 

“You’ve got some nerve showing your signal here,” she snapped.

 

He didn't stop, sped past her clean and unbothered.

 

Arcee blinked, thrown. “What the—?”

 

She jumped back into alt-mode and followed, engine roaring in protest.

 

...She followed.

 

Seriously? Now he had to engage, or the Decepticons suspicion would rise. And to think he only wanted a peaceful moment.

 

Fine. Let’s make this look good.

 

He pulled into a sharp turn and skidded wide across the road, transforming with practiced grace — heel down, arm raised, stance loose but ready.

 

Arcee transformed with a snap, landing on her pedes with blasters already forming around her servos.

 

She didn’t move yet. Didn’t fire.

 

Just stared him down with optics like daggers.

 

“So…” she said slowly, like the pieces were clicking together, “you’re the ghost Bulkhead told us about.”

 

Shadestrike tilted his helm — cool, unreadable.

 

“Ghost?” he echoed, just a trace of something beneath the word.

 

Arcee’s optics narrowed. “Black frame. Yellow trim. You let Bulkhead destroy that Harvester."

 

He said nothing. Just let her burn through the silence.

 

“You’re not just a new Decepticon, are you?” she said, stepping forward, weapon raised but not yet firing. “You’re... different.”

 

He almost smiled.

 

“What do they call you?” she asked, voice taut.

 

“Shadestrike?,” he said, flatly.

 

No hesitation. No emotion.

 

A beat passed.

 

Then two.

 

Arcee’s servo twitched — not to fire, but in thought.

 

“You’re dangerous,” she said, stepping in tighter. “But you’re not with them if you helped us. Not really.”

 

His optics didn’t shift. “I am now.”

 

Arcee studied him.

 

Her field rippled — tension, confusion, fear, something more personal.

 

“…Do I know you?”

 

That caught him.

 

Just for a flicker.

 

He masked it quick — a breath, a twitch, a step back.

 

“No.”

 

A lie he’d tell until it was dust in his processor.

 

"If you're with them," Arcee added with suspicion. "Why you don't attack?"

 

Shadestrike couldn't help, but to roll his eyes. "Is that what you think of every Decepticon?"

 

She was still trying to feel something in him. Any clue.

 

Shadestrike didn’t move.

 

Any flicker could unravel him. He wasn't in a mood to fight with her. His memories could stung right back at him. He didn't want them.

 

Then—

 

Ping.

 

A low comm alert blinked across his HUD.

 

> : Decepticon line – Command tier routing – Non-urgent priority :

 

He kept his expression unreadable.

 

Internally, he opened the transmission on a silent channel.

 

> : "Autobot signal detected in your radius. Designation: Arcee. Confirm status. Assistance required?" :

 

He resisted the urge to curse.

 

Another ping followed, this one a message — Knockout.

 

> : Just saw your ping light up near an Autobot hotspot. Please tell me you’re not picking a scenic death. :

 

Bee’s field tightened a fraction.

 

He flicked his optics toward Arcee, who stepped closer.

 

“You flinched,” she said sharply.

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“You so did.”

 

Another step and each nanoklick filled more tension.

 

He was calculating every motion now — every twitch of plating, every hum of coolant through his limbs.

 

“Who are you really?” she asked again, low. Serious now. “Because there’s something off about you. I know it. I feel it.”

 

"You'd be surprised how often I hear this."

 

Then tapped out a silent response over the Decepticon channel.

 

> : Negative. Solo recon. Autobot encountered. Situation under control. No engagement needed. :

 

He hesitated.

 

Then added:

 

> : Recommend no further interference. :

 

He closed the comm.

 

And looked up.

 

Arcee’s expression hadn’t changed, but her stance was less sure now. “You didn’t call backup.” 

 

A statement, not a question.

 

“Wow, maybe you’re not that stupid,” he replied.

 

That caught her.

 

Somewhere deep in her EM field, he felt it — the flutter of hesitation. Of familiarity.

 

“You’re still not going to tell me,” she said.

 

“No.”

 

“Why?”

 

Because if you know who I am, this all falls apart. Maybe I fall apart.

 

But all he said was:

 

“Because some things are safer in the dark.”

 

He turned. Transformed in a single, smooth motion.

 

And drifted off into the horizon, engine low and steady.

 

Arcee stood alone, blasters half-lowered, watching the dust trail vanish behind him.

 

“…Still feels like a ghost,” she muttered, but didn’t give a chase.

 

Then — still in shock — she oppened her shared comm. "Bulkhead," she said slowly. "I think I found your ghost."

 

> :"Told you he was real" : He responded.

 

Miko's voice cut in imiddiately. 

 

> :"Cool! Did you fight him? Did you beat him up? Or he beat you up? Can I see him too? Are you still fighting—" :

 

> :"Miko!" : Bulkhead groaned.

 

"...No." Arcee shortly answered.

 

> :"No to what?" : Miko pressed.

 

Arcee frowned. "Everything. He didn't fight. Didn't call for back-up. He just... stood there. Like he was waiting for me to make my first move."

 

> :"So it is a ghost! Jack! You lost the bet!" : Miko yelled.

 

Arcee ignored her. 

 

"We exchanged a few words. His name is Shadestrike."

 

Ratchet’s brow furrowed. “That designation doesn't appear in any database.” he said, already scrolling.

 

“I don’t think he’s lying about that part,” Arcee muttered. “But I do think… he’s dangerous."

 

 

_______

 

 

Shadestrike tored through the road.

 

The only voice louder than his engine was ping comming in.

 

He answered in a nanoklick.

 

> : “Welcome back, mystery mech.” : Knockout’s voice echoed lazily.

 

Bee didn’t stop.

 

> : “Didn’t log your departure. How thrilling.” :

 

"That's because you immediately passed out the moment our conversation ended."

 

> : “I needed my beauty recharge, thank you very much." :

 

Bee huffed a low chuckle.

 

> : “You always answer that quickly?” :

 

“To Megatron? I'm trying.”

 

> : “To anyone.” :

 

Bee’s tone didn’t shift. “Better to be prompt.”

 

> : “You say that like it’s a survival instinct.” :

 

It kinda was, but Bee didn't answer.

 

"You called me for any specific reason or just for scold?" Bee scoffed, voice tighter.

 

> : "Actually, I though you might be persuaded into a little race today?" : Knockout was definitely smirking. 

 

...They would find out about this. He can't let himself really have fun... Or can he?

 

"We shouldn't. You know Soundwave—"

 

> : "Oh puh-lease, since when do you follow every order?" Especially after your last stunt? Accidental vase that ruined the whole mission? :

 

"...Where are you, anyway?" Bee slightly changed the topic, but still on the same track.

 

> : "I'm just rolling from town to town until—" :

 

A horn blamed in the background. Tires screeched agressively as if someone driving past him was expecting a race.

 

>  : "—the next opportunity presents itself." :

 

Bee groaned. "I'm not doing this."

 

> : "Oh come ooon. It's pretty boring on a ship. I know you're a speed junkie." 

 

"...What gave me away?"

 

> : "Your alt mode screams it." :

 

Knockout then hestitantly added.

 > : "And maaaayyybe I noticed the scheeme of that mission report from the convoy. But seriously, 200 mph in 5.2 seconds?" You're either cheating or a legend." :

 

"...You actually calculated it?"

 

> : "Don't jugde me. I'm a fanatic. You could break a world record if you tried." :

 

"Never abuse power for the personal gain..." Bee muttered almost to himself.

 

That was rule number one of team Prime.

 

> : "...The frag are you talking about?" :

 

In which he's not anymore. Old habits.

 

"Bring it on."

 

 

______

 

 

They lined up in their alt-modes near a lonely backroad stretch, marked in a loose, serpentine loop.

 

"Fifteen klicks," Knockout said as he just sent him coordinates of the whole track. "Simple track. Straight, sharp turns, open curves."

 

"Ready?" Knockout couldn't hide his excitement. 

 

"Ready." Bee agreed.

 

"GO!"

 

Tires shrieked as both bots launched forward, neck-and-neck at first.

 

Bee overtook him in a drift, cutting a curve like a liquid metal with an outmost precision.

 

> : Oh—okay! Wanna play that game?" : Knockout voice lit up with excitement. 

 

Bee sniggered and surged faster.

 

But—

 

His HUD flickered slightly.

 

His frame suddenly feelt heavier. Cooling systems lagged. A vent stuttered.

 

It passed after a few nanoseconds. He kept going. 

 

Knockout used the opportunity and accelerated beside him. 

 

They were all the time driving almost side by side now.

 

 

----

 

 

Knockout skidded into a dramatic stop, spinning in a wide arc at the finish line.

 

> : "Yeah! That's what I'm talking about!" :

 

Bee crossed seconds later - slower. Lagging behind. 

 

He didn't screech to a stop so much as glide into a half-collapse, brakes catching unevenly.

 

"Congrats," he muttered, but the words came out thin. Strained.

 

He couldn't hide the stutter in his engine. He masked it with a cough through his vents.

 

He could barely keep his frame still. Fluids hissed against overheating plating.

 

Knockout transformed mid-donut and strolled over. "Hey, you good?"

 

Bee stayed in alt-mode long enough to make it awkward.

 

He was still catching his breath.

 

"...Y-yeah, I'm good."

 

Knockout optics narrowed. "Uh-huh. Your definition of 'good' is straight-up offensive. Transform. Now."

 

Bee didn't move.

 

"I said—"

 

"Just—just give me a sec."

 

Knockout didn't give him a fragging nanoklick. He took out his scanner.

 

Bee panicked.

 

He forced himself into root-mode with a metallic snap, wobbling slightly. His plating was too tight and his fans roared too loud.

 

But he forced a thin smirk anyway. "Next time," he rasped, "I win." 

 

"Flattering," Knockout muttered, already scanning. "Stop fragging moving."

 

Bee jerked back, grabbing Knockout’s wrist with a half-steady grip.

 

Knockout backed off, optics sharp. "Your energon signature is low."

 

Bee forced a laugh. "I've got a masking device. You know that."

 

"And you know proximity scans ignore terrain masking." Knockout stepped in again, field sharpened. "You've been running on nothing."

 

Bee looked away too quickly.

 

Knockout scoffed. “I’ve been wondering how you slip under so many scans. Most masking mods aren’t even that good. But it’s not only the tech, is it? You’re doing it yourself.”

 

Bee froze.

 

Knockout is good. Too good.

 

"You're keeping your energon low on purpose," Knockout crossed his arms and said, quiet this time. "So no one could track your signal. Not even us." 

 

Bee flinched. 

 

Then scoffed. "It's not your business really. Nobody asked you."

 

Knockout looked up and chuckled irritated. "Unbelievable."

 

There it was. 

 

Exhaustion caught up all at once. His frame wobbled, vision blurring. Everything spun in his optics. He stumbled, knees buckling—

 

—and Knockout caught him mid-fall.

 

“It is my business,” Knockout snapped, voice tight. “I’m a medic, for Primus’s sake!”

 

Bee could barely stay upright. He muttered something—inaudible.

 

"Who's been giving you energon on the ship? Knockout demanded. "Wait till I rip their spark for cutting your rations." 

 

"...You," Bee blurted without thinking, breathless, with head lolling slightly.

 

Knockout’s frame went still with his intake opened in shock and then he managed to find words.

 

“You… me? Are you mocking me?!” He frowned at him.

 

Bee tried to keep his optics focused. “You... your supply. I figured... I was just using what was around...”

 

"Knockout gaped. “I track every cube in my lab! You’ve never taken one from me! You’ve never even asked!”

 

Bee looked down, guilt crawling over his armor.

 

"I thought— I don’t know—maybe you were stealing from storage—Primus, something!” Knockout snarled.

 

Bee didn’t answer. Couldn’t think properly.

 

"So the last time you got energon was—what? Post-surgery?! What I injected to stop you from dying?"

 

Bee swayed. Didn't deny it.

 

Knockout stared. His optic twitched. "...I swear, I will rip that fragging masking module off your frame if you don't—" 

 

"...Starscream gave me one," Bee muttered.

 

Knockout blinked in disbelief, his optics narrowed.

 

"...You are so bad at lying."

 

Bee shrugged faintly. "You would be surprised."

 

Knockout didn't know if he was talking about other situations or this one.

 

But that was it.

 

“You—you—you know what?!” Knockout shoved him.

 

Bee hit the ground, while making quick, broken —A— squealing noise. The same one when Megatron dropped him back then.

 

“I tried to help,” Knockout growled. “But you—you’re reckless, stubborn, cocky—”

 

“…So are you,” Bee wheezed, barely above a whisper. It was meant to be as a joke.

 

Why have I said that? Stupid.

 

Knockout threw up his hands and stormed off.

 

Bee sat there in the grass, optics dimming slightly. Then sighed and started muttering to himself. 

 

"I should start a counter for how many mechs leave me in the dirt..."

 

Then Knockout stormed back, but he barely registered that.

 

"You stay right there! DON'T move. Heard me?!" 

 

Bee lifted a servo weakly. "Or maybe count who's left to drop me...."

 

He laughed to himself softly.

 

"Starscream... Breakdown... Soundwave..."

 

He blinked. Vision swimming. "Maybe Vehicons... no. They probably wouldn't. Not after... that."

 

His optics started flickering.

 

"Honestly thought Starscream would be the first to—"

 

“What the frag is wrong with you?!” Knockout’s voice cracked across the clearing like a whip. “Are you always talking to yourself when you’re alone?!”

 

Bee flinched, optics wide in panic.

 

He didn't hear him come back.

 

Knockout was already beside him, looping an arm under Bee’s shoulder and hauling him up.

 

“Wha—when did you—?”

 

“You seriously need a tracking chip,” Knockout muttered. “You’re glitching out.”

 

"But—why bother to come back?"

 

"On the second thought, I don't trust you won't ran off." 

 

Bee leaned into him, trembling but trying to laugh.

 

“Because of our little squabble?”

 

“You’re the most insufferable fragging bot I’ve ever carried,” Knockout growled, dragging him toward the groundbridge.

 

“Seriously, how has Megatron not offlined you yet?”

 

Bee smiled faintly. “Charm.”

 

 

_____

 

 

They went through the halls of the Nemesis, Knockout still supporting him.

 

Bee was dead weight by now — silent, unsteady, leaning more than he meant to. But Knockout didn’t slow. He moved, guiding him through dim corridors, deliberately skirting the main traffic zones.

 

He was trying to keep them out of sight, so nobody would notice Bee’s condition.

 

Bee didn’t say anything. But… he appreciated that.

 

Back in medbay, Knockout led him to the berth.

 

Bee halted, optics dim, fans whining softly.

 

"...Can I sit on the floor?" he asked, unsure.

 

Knockout blinked. Then stated at him. "You know how bad it is when you ask for permission." 

 

Knockout tapped his chin with one claw in exaggerated thought. "But you're asking so nicely, so maybe, let me think — hmmmm—no."

 

Bee gave him the most deadpanned look possible.

 

Then promptly shoved off his assistance, stumbled across the room, and collapsed gracelessly into his usual shadowed corner anyway.

 

Knockout rolled his optics, muttering something about 'dramatic idiot' but he was smiling as he said it.

 

He knew Shadestrike was going to do this no matter what. And honestly? It reassured him.

 

If he could still think for himself, if he still chose comfort over protocol — he wasn’t too far gone. Not yet.

 

Shadestrike stared at the floor. Unmoving.

 

Knockout knew what it meant.

 

Zone-out mode: activated.

 

Knockout huffed.

 

Then casually tossed an energon cube across the room.

 

It thunked solidly off Shadestrike’s faceplate and landed in his servos with a dull clink.

 

Shadestrike blinked. Glared. Didn’t even dignify him with a retort.

 

Just cracked it open and sipped.

 

Slowly. Carefully. Struggling a little.

 

Meanwhile Knockout leaned back against the console and decided it's a perfect moment to bring a certain topic.

 

“Decepticon alert flagged your signal – faint, of course – near an Autobot signature. Arcee, if I’m not mistaken. Very bold of you not to request backup.”

 

Bee didn't look up. “She wasn’t a threat.”

 

“She never is," Knockout crossed his arms. "Until she is.”

 

Bee took another sip.

 

“You don’t rattle easily.”

 

“Should I?”

 

“Most mechs do when they’re being tracked by high command. Even Starscream."

 

Bee nearly choked, coughing around a surprised laugh. “Especially Starscream.”

 

Knockout cackled under his breath, but it faded quickly.

 

He stepped forward again, not close — but closer.

 

“And you’re not damaged,” he said, quieter now. “You didn’t fight her.”

 

“I didn’t need to?” 

 

Bee looked him straight in the optics.

 

“No need for violence when you know how to talk.”

 

That gave Knockout the briefest pause — not from suspicion, but from something else.

 

Respect.

 

“Fine,” Knockout said at last, turning toward the door. “So long as it doesn’t get me killed, I’ll allow it.”

 

He was almost gone, the doors nearly hissing open, when Bee called softly after him.

 

“Wait.”

 

“Do you…” Bee hesitated, the words tasting like rust. “Do you trust me?”

 

Knockout looked at him for a long, quiet moment.

 

“No,” he said, voice flat. “But I’m getting better at reading your silences.”

 

Then, with a flick of his helm:

 

“Now, finish the cube. Go to recharge.”

 

The door slid shut behind him.

 

Bee sat in silence.

 

Cube half-full. Chest still tight.

 

But that small answer made him felt a little less alone.

 

Even if it still was no.

Notes:

Ah yes. Bee making Knockout’s job harder than it normally should be. And Knockout just have enough xD
Well, he will have to get used to this idiot. Also don't want to admit it, but he starts to like him

Personally I love this chapter. But there are many chapters that I particularly like more than the rest

Chapter 9: Operation: Breakdown

Summary:

Bee met Arcee and raced Knockout only to later pass out of exhaustion. And some time already passed.

Notes:

Yes, I know. I'm sorry I'm not consistent.

Secondly — I made few first chapters on Bee's past so I'll be posting once this once that, shuffling

It depends on what I'll be having in my assortment. Why switching like that? Because that way I'll never get bored of writing? XD

It's just urge — when you have an idea you have to write it

Next thing: what do you think about posting first chapter of his past past (because I mean to literally to start from his begginings xD) next week instead of another chapter of this?

Another thing: what do you think Bee could be listening to? Because I can see him literally listening to songs from Kpop Demon Hunters xDDD what do you think?

I personally think it would be so funny and so in character xD

(Wow, we have 3k hits? Huh. Good job you all xD)

 

"Lord Megatron, I fear Breakdown has gone missing"

 

Shadestrike stilled.

 

Oh no.

 

He knew where this was going, the outcome. But he never really felt it... he couldn't. It hit different this time, now that he knows him better. 

 

"The Autobots?" Megatron asked, toned disinterested. 

 

"According to surveillance provided by thy astonishingly accurate Soundwave," Starscream preened. "Breakdown has been abducted. By humans."

 

"Your point?" Megatron inquired calmly as ever. 

 

Starscream noticed the green flag and stated, with too much flair. "My strongest recommendation? We assemble the rescue team to harm the vermin responsible for this outrage!" 

 

To Bee's own surprise, he agreed — for once Starscream wasn't wrong.

 

There was no logic, no reason not to go after MECH and save Breakdown. 

 

Megatron in his timeline probably thought of it too, so I have nothing to worry—

 

"Breakdown is on his own" Megatron cut his thoughts with his absolutely cold tone.

 

Aaaand of course you're doing different.

 

Starscream sputtered, caught off guard by the blunt dismissal. "Umm, Master?"

 

"If Breakdown allowed himself to be captured by those smaller than him, weaker than him," Megatron sneered, "he deserves whatever fate awaits him."

 

What. 

 

Bee felt his vents stutter. 

 

Did the timeline change here, because of my presence or Megatron just never intented on saving Breakdown?

 

Starscream fumbled, optics darting. "But Breakdown is a key player in our—" Megatron's glare sliced toward him. Instantly Starscream raised his claws in surrender.

 

"Your wisdom reigns supreme, Lord Megatron" He bowed and backed out of the room, muttering under his vents.

 

The door hissed.

 

For a beat, silence.

 

Then, a whisper of movement—Shadestrike dropped from the scaffolding, landing light on his pedes.

 

Megatron didn’t turn.

 

He already knew he was there. He let him be there.

 

"You're just going to leave him?" Bee asked, voice low, sharp with disbelief.

 

"He made his choice. Shouldn't engage without order in a first place."

 

Bee stepped forward, crossing his arms. "You know what humans are capable of?"

 

"Do you?" Megatron raised a brow.

 

His mind flashed —  a stolen T-cog. Pain that he had to bare back then — feeling useless and hopeless.

 

"No." He responded instead after a while, his glaze on the ground.

 

"They are nothing," Megatron said, voice rising. "Small. Weak. If Breakdown falls to them, it is not our failure." 

 

Bee's vents flared and optics burned.

 

"Breakdown can take care of himself or maybe I'm wrong? Are you insinuating he's weak?"

 

Bee snapped. "What kind of leader leaves his soldiers behind?"

 

That got Megatron's attention. He turned slowly with unreadable expression, voice like ice.

 

"You're talking like an Autobot."

 

Bee fists clenched. "Maybe because even Starscream thinks this is a team. A twisted, backstabbing, barely-functional one—but still a team."

 

Megatron's field spiked.

 

"You look like someone who's left plenty behind. So why should I listen to you?

 

Bee froze. That hit harder than it ahould have.

 

His voice cracked. "You know nothing about me..."

 

Silence stretched. Heavy one.

 

Megatron exvented slowly. "Starscream wants power. I won't give him victory."

 

Bee stared at the ground, that quiet, poisonous burn still simmering. 

 

Megatron turned slightly.

 

"Go ahead. Say it."

 

"It is unlikely that Megatron would bother with an errand of mercy." Bee muttered with venom.

 

Megatron's optics narrowed.

 

Bee blinked. Oh scrap.

 

He hadn't meant to say that out loud.

 

But to his surprise Megatron didn't hit him. Didn't scream. Didn't even reply. 

 

So Bee turned on his heel and left him with that thought.

 

 

_______

 

 

Knockout stood near the war room, where Megatron was no doubt orchestrating his latest grudge against the organics. He didn’t need to guess what had happened.

 

The second the doors slid open, Knockout felt his EM field tighten.

 

He knew trouble when it walked in. 

 

And Shadestrike walked out quiet and controlled. Fragile in the way raw energon is – volatile under pressure.

 

“Let me guess,” Knockout said lightly, as if he didn't care. “It's about Breakdown.”

 

He didn’t need confirmation. Gossip spread faster than energon leaks around here. And if Shadestrike was here, then Breakdown’s situation was worse than rumors let on.

 

Shadestrike didn’t speak. Just marched past with sharp, determined strides.

 

Knockout trailed behind him, optics flicking over every detail—tight shoulders, clenched fists, dimmed optics.

 

Something was wrong.

 

Knockout felt it like a weight in his spark chamber. That field again — controlled, but like a glass shaking just before it shatters.

 

Bee started dryly. “If this is about energon again, I swear on the AllSpark—”

 

“It’s not,” Knockout said – softer than he meant to.

 

Followed him in silence as he was hesitating to continue.

 

"Okay, my point is—" Knockout winced. "—you know."  

 

Shadestrike halted, arms crossed, turning toward him with that razor-edged calm.

 

“No, please. Continue.”

 

He was being seen through again. Frag it.

 

Knockout huffed and rolled his optics. “I need your help,” he whispered loudly. “There. Happy? Got what you wanted? You recording this for blackmail, or are we saving that for later?”

 

Shadestrike blinked.

 

Then chuckled.

 

"Pfft. Who do you think I am – Soundwave?."

 

Knockout didn’t smile back. Asking for help already felt like scraping his own paintjob. But it wasn’t about him this time.

 

“It’s Breakdown,” he said. “MECH took—."

 

"I know." Shadestrike cut in. "Just came from Megatron."

 

That lit something in Knockout’s spark. “So who’s he sending? Starscream? You? I’ll take a squad of Vehicons. Even Steve.”

 

Shadestrike stood silent. Didn't look at him.

 

And that silence said everything. 

 

"Megatron’s not sending anyone.”

 

The words hit him like a slap.

 

“What?” he breathed. “You’re sure?”

 

One sharp nod.

 

And just like that—everything else fell away.

 

Knockout straightened. 

 

"So. What are we doing?"

 

Shadestrike blinked, surprised. “You’re taking initiative now?”

 

Knockout tilted his helm. “Why not? Breakdown would do the same for me.”

 

Shadestrike folded his arms. “Why are you coming to me? You think I can override a bridge lockout? March into MECH and pull him out myself?”

 

"Yes," Knockout said bluntly. "—yes, I actually think you can." 

 

Shadestrike stared at him. 

 

Knockout added, quieter now, “And… you’re the only one who gives a damn.”

 

The silence between them wasn’t awkward, but heavy.

 

Shadestrike held his gaze. “Then you’re coming with me.”

 

Knockout blinked. "But—we both alone don't stand a chance against an army."

 

“Breakdown wouldn’t hesitate,” Shadestrike added, voice rough.

 

And that—

 

That did it.

 

That stupid, noble spark.

 

Knockout cursed under his breath and pinched the bridge of his noseplate. “You realize we’ll have to fake three diagnostics, override two security locks, and reroute the bridge without triggering a single sensor?”

 

Shadestrike raised a brow. "I mean—If you don't want to save him we can stay."

 

“…You’re saying yes?” Knockout asked carefully.

 

Shadestrike smiled faintly. "Honestly, I would go with or without you. But I wanted to persuade you on going with me."

 

Knockout scoffed. “Had no idea you could be so manipulative.”

 

Bee chuckled. "Landing pad. Five minutes” he said over his shoulder. “Try not to be seen. We’re committing high treason, after all.”

 

“You say that like it’s not a regular Tuesday,” Knockout grinned.

 

Shadestrike laughed back.

 

And for a brief second—just one—he swore Shadestrike looked lighter.

 

Still broken and dangerous, but there was another layer unknown.

 

 

______

 

 

"Sometimes we must rise above ourselves for the greater good," Optimus said, voice even and low.

 

They were on topic of Breakdown's rescue. 

 

Bumblebee flinched.

 

That phrase. He'd heard it before.

 

From Shadestrike. When they met on the road.

 

It couldn't be coincidence.

 

Shadestrike was a Decepticon, yet held a wisdom of a Prime?

 

He tried to remember anything else, but couldn't. Just the sense of uncertainty – but trust at the same time.

 

"I'm sorry, Optimus, but I just can't do it." Bulkhead exlaimed.

 

Miko turned to him in disbelief, clearly dissapointed.

 

Bee couldn't blame him. They were talking about saving his sworn enemy after all. And Bulkhead couldn't get past their history. At least not yet.

 

Optimus understood. Didn't argue and with the other Autobots went through the groundbridge to possible location of Breakdown.

 

Bee hesitated at the edge, then drove behind them.

 

 

_____

 

 

"No signs of life." Optimus announced, scanning the terrain beyond the bridge. "Human or Cybertronian."

 

But Bumblebee noticed tire marks on the ground and beeped sharply.

 

> : Road – Move – ? : (Should we follow the trails?)

 

"Forget the tracks, Bumblebee." Rachet cut in. "I'm picking up a faint energon signal – three clicks north by northwest."

 

Bee froze.

 

Follow the trails. 

 

The voice wasn't real, but his memory of it was – the resonance of Shadestrike’s voice still echoing in his core.

 

He said that not as order or advice. Just... truth.

 

And somehow, impossibly, it matched.

 

He stared at the distance.

 

It couldn't be coincidence. 

 

Couldn't.

 

How did he know that Breakdown would be captured. He was a Decepticon, so maybe he planned it.

 

But why? Why would he throw one of his teammates in front of MECH? It wouldn't have sense. Maybe he felt dangerous, but also loyal. He just wouldn't do something that cruel.

 

“Bumblebee?” Optimus asked, stepping beside him. “What is it?”

 

Bee turned to face him, struggling with the words his voice he couldn’t give.

 

He pointed — then cycled his vents and began to speak through beeps.

 

> :  No – time — know – where – must – go : (There’s no time to explain. I know where Breakdown is.)

 

Arcee frowned. “How do you know that?”

 

Bee hesitated. Then rapidly beeped again.

 

> : Black – enemy – talk – me — early  : (Shadestrike told me. Before.)

 

Ratchet scoffed. “You what? You’re trusting a Decepticon?”

 

“He’s right to question it,” Arcee said, arms folded. “Bee, how would he know? How could he predict this?.”

 

Optimus’s field dimmed, conflicted. “It could be a trap. We cannot risk the mission on uncertain leads.”

 

But Bee's gaze didn't waver.

 

He couldn’t explain how he knew it wasn’t a lie. Couldn’t explain the silent understanding that passed between them. Not in words.

 

Only through instinct. Through recognition.

 

How he know the forgotten language in which he was communicating.

 

Bee knew they wouldn't understand. 

 

The others turned toward the northwest signal, following Ratchet’s reading.

 

But he decided to trust his instincts.

 

"Bee?"

 

He turned, transformed and drove with screeching tires.

 

"Bumblebee!" He only managed to hear Optimus calling as he rapidly went beyond his reach.

 

I'm sorry Optimus. I have to disobey this once. I hope you understand. 

 

 

______________

 

 

Shadestrike crouched low, optics scanning the compound from the cliff edge.

 

MECH had fortified the old rail station with makeshift turrets, searchlights, and a perimeter of human guards. Sloppy. Temporary. But dangerous enough.

 

Beside him, Knockout grumbled softly.

 

“Well? Are we slicing through or playing ghost until dawn?”

 

Shadestrike didn’t answer immediately. He watched the pattern of guards. Counted their steps.

 

They didn’t have time for stealth.

 

“Get ready,” he murmured.

 

Just as his blades deployed with a metallic hiss—

 

A low, rumbling growl echoed from the distance.

 

He paused.

 

He knew that engine note.

 

Bumblebee. 

 

The younger mech arrived fast, transformed mid-roll, blaster already aimed — his stance wide, tense.

 

“You came,” Shadestrike said surprised, slight smile breaking his guard.

 

He didn't expect he would solve his confusing clues.

 

Honestly, he expected Bulkhead to storm in by now. 

 

The timeline must be different.

 

 Knockout reared back in disbelief. “You brought an Autobot?!”

 

“We need all the help we can get,” Shadestrike rolled his optics, stepping between them. “And I trust him.”

 

Bee didn’t lower his blaster, but his field... calmed.

 

It was subtle.

 

But Shadestrike felt it. Like a question answered.

 

“I couldn’t tell you everything,” he added to Bee. “But I’m glad you came.”

 

Knockout made a strangled noise of disgust.

 

"Let's get to break down this place out." 

 

At first Shadestrike didn't realize his pun, but then he smirked under his breath.

 

Knockout cringed, covering his faceplate with both talons in embarrassment "...For the Primus." 

 

Then added. "I'd never expect you to have that kind of side in you."

 

On that Shadestrike restrained his smile imidiatelly, optics darting downward.

 

"To bee honest," Knockout smirked, turning toward Bumblebee, "I know very little about you." and on it he turned to Shadestrike.

 

They stared at each other in silence.

 

But then they snickered.

 

Bee just watched, confused. It felt... familiar. Like something the Autbots would do.

 

"Come on, I am not that little. I'm literally higher than you." Shadestrike still chuckled.

 

"Yes, of course, by few whole nanometers." 

 

Bee almost felt safe near them. They were ready to put their life at risk to save their friend. These were the true Autobots atribute. 

 

He noticed kind of bond between them, that he thought was long demolished within Decepticons.

 

 

____________

 

 

"Enjoying the view?" Silas sneered. "Ironically your would-be rescuers may be in more pieces than you right now."

 

Breakdown, shackled and half-drained, growled low in his throat. “Decepticons don’t break that easily.”

 

“Funny,” Silas replied. “Because your people? They’re not coming.”

 

Breakdown glared with one, left optic.

 

He didn’t believe that.

 

He couldn’t.

 

He wasn’t worth much to Megatron, but... they wouldn't leave him. Right?

 

“Besides, who said they were Decepticons?”

 

That made his spark skip.

 

...Autobots?

 

No. That was worse. They wouldn’t come to save him. They wouldn't care.

 

"That doesn't make sense. Autobots wouldn't come to rescue me" 

 

Then—

 

THUD.

 

Two blades carved clean through the door like scissors through fabric.

 

It fell with a screech of metal, and three shapes poured through the smoke.

 

Knockout. Shadestrike.

 

And—

 

“...Bumblebee?” Breakdown blinked, stunned.

 

Blasters fired. A blade spun. Screams echoed.

 

Shadestrike was already halfway through the first squad, with his blades glowing with energon. He moved like lightning — precise, brutal shots that dropped targets before they could aim. With unreadable expression.

 

Knockout’s battle spear breaking through organics.

 

Breakdown stared.

 

Suddenly he noticed extended servo in front of him.

 

From Bumblebee.

 

No words.

 

Just help.

 

Breakdown's expression twisted. "What the scrap is this?"

 

Shadestrike stepped through, casually slicing down the human. "Rescue mission. You’re welcome."

 

"You brought an Autobot?" Breakdown growled, optics narrowing at Bumblebee.

 

Knockout sighed. "We’re on a clock here, Breakdown. Can we unpack your trauma after we survive this?"

 

Bumblebee didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But he stepped forward and held out a hand.

 

Breakdown hesitated — just for a moment.

 

Then he grabbed it and Bee pulled him up.

 

 

________

 

 

The tunnel outside was chaos.

 

MECH soldiers surrounded the entrance, shouting orders over garbled comms. Spotlights swept across broken ground, illuminating the intruders. 

 

Bots stormed outside, meanwhile humans were trying to incapacitate them with blasters and missiles.

 

"You have any escape plan?" Breakdown turned to Shadestrike, on which he retorted.

 

"Yes," Shadestrike smirked. "Destroy." 

 

He was already moving forward.

 

A blur of motion and blade, carving through the nearest humans like a ghost dipped in vengeance. Knockout followed with a crackle of energon bursts, frying the circuits of approaching weaponry. Bumblebee held the line behind them, precise with every shot.

 

Breakdown, still stiff from captivity, grabbed a discarded vehicle and hurled it toward an incoming chopper.

 

BOOM.

 

It burst mid-air.

 

Shadestrike grinned. "Nice."

 

Breakdown suddenly lunged, shoulder-slamming Bee to the side just as the beam scorched the floor where he’d stood. They hit the ground hard.

 

Bee blinked up at him, stunned.

 

"Returning the favor," Breakdown muttered, standing over him.

 

They were a machine now. A unit.

 

Knockout on the left, Shadestrike darting through the right flank, Breakdown smashing forward like a living siege tower. Bumblebee watched, flanked, then shot down another sniper.

 

"Knockout, right! Bumblebee, duck! Breakdown, toss me up!"

 

Shadestrike called the moves like he'd done it a hundred times before.

 

None of them questioned him. 

 

Knockout stunned a shocktrooper with his energon prod. Bumblebee dropped low, letting a missile zip past his helm. Breakdown barely hesitated. 

 

And when Shadestrike vaulted off Breakdown’s broad shoulders to slice a helicopter in two with a gracefull flip, Breakdown caught him mid-air without a word.

 

They didn't just fight. They flowed.

 

Shadestrike never really had such cordinated team, especially one that was listening to him. He felt so fullfilled at that moment it almost felt like a dream. He was enjoying the moment, even laughing playfully as if it was a game.

 

Knockout noticed his pure joy and it made him surprised and a little concerned, but he smiled.

 

 

_______

 

 

The battlefield fell silent. MECH forces scattered, retreating.

 

Then, from above, the scream of incoming jets.

 

Starscream.

 

With a squad of Vehicons, dropping in late and smug.

 

Breakdown turned, optics lighting. "Commander Starscream! I knew Megatron wouldn’t leave me behind."

 

Starscream sneered as he landed, wings twitching in distaste. His gaze swept over the wreckage.

 

Then over Knockout. Then Shadestrike.

 

Then stopped on Bumblebee.

 

"Consulting with the enemy Breakdown?" Starscream was furious.

 

"Bumblebee got me out of there." Breakdown stiffened.

 

Bee came alone. Put himself in risk. For someone like him – a Decepticon.

 

"Many sparks felt thanks Autobot." Starscream’s expression soured. "Now destroy him."

 

Breakdown hesitated. "But y- "

 

"Do you plan on joining their ranks anytime soon? No?! THEN BEGONE WITH HIM ALREADY! Starscream hissed.

 

Breakdown looked the yellow scout in the eyes. He looked like a started mechling. Looking by their difference in size or maybe he indeed was one, but that would be foolish of the Prime to sent a mechling on a war.

 

"Maybe in the next life." Breakdown transformed his servo.

 

Bumblebee trembled, optics downward. Arms lifted in reflex.

 

Breakdown raised his hammer.

 

Then—

 

Clang.

 

Bumblebee didn’t feel pain. He looked upwards to assess the situation.

 

The hammer stopped mid-air, caught.

 

By Shadestrike.

 

He held it two-handed, deflecting the blow with casual force.

 

His glare was furious, staring deep into Breakdown's eye. 

 

It made Breakdown flinch. 

 

Every Decepticon was shocked by his action.

 

Starscream gawked. "Traitor."

 

The word cracked the air like a static.

 

Shadestrike stilled—then tilted his helm with a faint, incredulous smirk. "Who said I'm joining the Autobots?"

 

The calm in his voice was scarier than rage.

 

Breakdown flinched, retracting his hammer arm.

 

Starscream, though, was grinning ear to ear now, optics gleaming with malice. "Oh, Megatron will love this."

 

Shadestrike turned toward Starscream.

 

Slowly and measured like a predator locking in.

 

"You have a few options," he said, voice low. 

 

"One: you tell Megatron this was your mission. Unauthorized. You get punished. Two: you say the Autobot helped. You get punished. Three: you lie. Say we handled it. Say you eliminated the Autobot. You get credit."

 

Starscream was visibly thinking about the last option and raised his claw as he wanted to speak.

 

But Shadestrike cut him off, tone razor-sharp.

 

"...It would be assault without his permission." Shadestrike didn't let him. Stepped closer. "Also punishable. In conclusion..." 

 

He brought his servos together slowly in front of his chest, then rotated them forward—mocking Starscream's usual dramatic flourish.

 

"You should shut up."

 

A beat.

 

And then—

snrkt.

 

A sniffled laugh from Vehicon. Then another.

 

The smirks were contagious. Even Breakdown looked like he was biting back a grin.

 

Starscream exploded.

 

"WHY, YOU LITTLE—!"

 

BLAM!

 

Blaster fire cracked the cliff edge.

 

"INCOMING!"

 

The Autobots were here.

 

"RETREAT!" Starscream screamed.

 

He launched into the air with a screech of metal, Vehicons scrambling after him.

 

Knockout and Breakdown transformed, trailed behind them – but stopped after a few nanoklicks.

 

Because Shadestrike didn't move.

 

He just stood there. Staring.

 

"Did he lose the trace of reality again?" Knockout asked, optics narrowing.

 

"Maybe he's staying." Breakdown muttered.

 

Shadestrike finally turned.

 

Not toward the Decepticons.

 

Toward Bumblebee.

 

His field flickered — deliberate, light. Then he raised a servo.

 

Pressed it to his chest.

 

A single, clear sign. But not for everyone.

 

Then he drove off without a word.

 

Knockout and Breakdown waited confused half a klik away, transformed into root mode. The moment Shadestrike passed them—

 

They followed.

 

The Autobots reached Bee just seconds later.

 

Ratchet scanned him on arrival and fumed. "Bumblebee, what you did was highly irresponsible!" 

 

His scanner blinked. Then paused and he muttered, surprised. "...You’re not injured." 

 

Arcee stepped forward, arms crossed tight. "We thought you just stormed off. You scared us."

 

Bee beeped slowly.

> : Good – worry – no – :

 

His field hummed warm. Apologetic.

 

Optimus stepped forward, voice calm, but weighted. 

 

"What did he gesture to you, Bumblebee? Before he left?"

 

A pause.

 

Bee looked up at the horizon where the Decepticons had vanished.

 

His optics softened.

 

He didn’t beep right away. Just let his EM field swell — not loud. Not flashy.

 

But warm.

 

> : Proud :

 

Notes:

Also if you haven't watched Kpop Demon Hunters — go watch it, really

It's so good. I love singing these songs aaaaAA

(Okay I feel brave enough. If you want to sing these songs with me go on app smule, my nickname there is Devirka_83. You don't even have to say or write that you're from here xD just be anonymous like me or something hehe)

Returning to the fic: if you wonder why Bee thought Megatron is doing different from how it was in his timeline — he didn't know Starscream disobeyed. He thought it was Megatron's order.

Chapter 10: Glowing in the Dark

Summary:

After the mission of retrieving Breakdown from MECH they returned to the ship

Notes:

I actually wrote few questions xD

First one — so like, Bee is Optimus’s ward or maybe rather was. It does take matter, that's not the question. The question is — how do I call Optimus. Mentor? Or maybe there is other expression to it? One I don't know about?

Second — this is funny actually xD
Help. What Cybertronian insults there are besides like: scrap, frag, fragging, scrapper
I mean insults, cuff words and swears, because XD you know what I mean

And that also lead to third question — would you allow me to use (only sometimes, like emergency you know) — human swears?

I wouldn't overuse it, I swear.

...hehe I swear... see what I did there? YOU SEE—sorry xD

Because I feel like Bee was on Earth and so deep in human culture he would know it without a problem. And it would also give me funny idea for one scene xDD but it's your choice

 

The air in the corridors buzzed low, filled with the distant thrum of engines.

 

Knockout’s heels clicked rhythmically across the metal floor, Breakdown close at his side.

 

Shadestrike trailed just behind, servo plates still scratched, human blood spattered faintly across his forearms, but not that visible on his black frame.

 

But his expression?

 

Light.

 

For once.

 

Knockout was mid-rant. "Next time you want to recruit someone, maybe don’t drag in the smallest Autobot on the battlefield."

 

Shadestrike smirked. "He was the only one smart enough to come."

 

Breakdown shrugged. "He did alright."

 

They laughed.

 

The manipulation seemingly worked on Starscream, because he said no word about their little trip to Megatron. He would already punished them all if he would find out.

 

"I still can’t believe you actually told Breakdown to launch you," Knockout muttered, optics flicking to the side.

 

Shadestrike smirked faintly. "Timing was right."

 

Breakdown chuckled. "The guy in the copter was more shocked than I was."

 

"I’m definitely safe up here!" Shadestrike mocked, then snorted.

 

"And then he had a Breakdown!" Breakdown wheezed, voice cracking with his own joke.

 

"Oh for the love of—" Knockout groaned, dragging a servo down his faceplate. "Don’t encourage him."

 

Shadestrike didn’t stop.

 

"And then I sliced him in half mid-air—"

 

He hopped in front of them, walking backward, voice animated. "And Breakdown caught me like it was fragging choreography—like, boom! Clean handoff!"

 

Knockout blinked. "...You’re glowing."

 

"Am not."

 

"You’re literally glowing."

 

Breakdown squinted. "No, he’s right."

 

Shadestrike opened his mouth to retort, but when saw their startled looks — he froze.

 

Because noticed a shadow towering beside him.

 

Too massive.

 

Too cold.

 

Waiting with hands behind his back. Expression unreadable. 

 

"Good evening... Lord Megatron." Shadestrike said, turning very slowly to his direction, like a mechling caught in act.

 

The warmth evaporated from his face. Just like that — like it had never been there.

 

Megatron didn’t roar. He didn’t need to. His voice hit like a blunt weapon.

 

"Who authorized the mission?"

 

As Shadestrike was opening his intake, Knockout promptly responded, stepping forward.

 

"I did, my liege," he lied without hesitation. "I deeply apologize for my insubordination. It won’t happen again."

 

Shadestrike’s optics flashed. "No."

 

Both mechs turned.

 

"I did," Shadestrike said calmly. "Knockout followed my lead. So did the Autobot. If you’re looking to punish someone—punish me."

 

Megatron’s helm tilted slightly. "The Autobot?"

 

Shadestrike shrugged, arms folded like armor. "I convinced him."

 

"With what? Threats? Blackmail?"

 

"...Words."

 

Megatron looked almost offended. "Anyone else took part in retrieving Breakdown?" 

 

"No." Shadowstrike retorted without hesitation. "I worked alone."

 

He was protecting all of them. Even Starscream. Knockout’s optics softened, just a flicker.

 

Megatron turned his gaze on Knockout and Breakdown. "Leave us."

 

They hesitated. Then obeyed. The door hissed shut behind them. They were left alone in the dark hall. 

 

Megatron stared. Shadestrike stared back.

 

"You've grown bold." Megatron broke the silence.

 

Shadestrike didn’t flinch. "You’ve grown predictable."

 

Tension snapped tight.

 

"I'm not sorry," Shadestrike added, arms still crossed. "For any of it."

 

Megatron took a step forward. Fists curling tight.

"You really should learn when to shut your intake."

 

"Sometimes," Shadestrike said, tone low, daring, "our choices need to be judged, if we’re going to get anywhere worth going."

 

Megatron’s optics narrowed to slits. "You sound like Optimus."

 

Shadestrike's expression didn’t move. "I understand. You need to hit me. To prove no one questions you. Set an example. I'll make it easier for you."

 

A slow pause.

 

Megatron didn’t speak.

 

"You left Breakdown behind," Shadestrike continued, voice quieter. "That was your mistake. So I fixed it."

 

A pause.

 

And then Shadowstrike continued on provoking him. "I bet killing your best friend came easy too."

 

Megatron’s field spiked white-hot, spitting with static. "You will not—"

 

Shadestrike’s optics burned. "Optimus was right back then. You're just too afraid to admit it."

 

CRACK.

 

The punch landed hard.

 

Shadestrike slammed into the wall with a metalic thud, denting hard. Energon spattering faint on impact. 

 

He winced. But pushed himself upright with one servo on his arm. Smiling through the pain met Megatron's gaze. "Wasn't that hard, was it?"

 

Megatron vents roared. "Say one more word and—"

 

But Shadestrike didn’t. He just turned and stepped passed him. Didn't look back.

 

The sound of his footfalls faded into the dark in a nanosecond.

 

And Megatron?

 

Didn’t follow. Didn’t call him back. Just stood there silent with still clenched fists. As if, somewhere in his spark... he wasn’t sure who’d just won.

 

 

__________

 

 

Breakdown didn’t complain. He didn’t speak. He just walked slowly — heavier than usual — and sat down on the exam berth with a groan like his frame was still registering what it had survived.

 

Knockout was silent for the first few kliks. Then he activated the scanner. The soft blue light pulsed across Breakdown’s frame.

 

Knockout’s field narrowed, but he kept his tone clinical. "Cuts, burns, missing optic. Soldered resection with... human tools. Fragging amateurs."

 

Breakdown didn’t flinch. "They took it slow," he muttered.

 

"Did they speak?" Knockout asked quietly.

 

Breakdown ex-vented sharply. "They didn’t need to. Just... stared like I was a puzzle," he huffed. "A thing that is not alive."

 

Knockout set the scanner down harder than needed. He turned away for a moment. Venting. Calming. Then turned back with a steady servo. "You held on longer than most would."

 

"Didn’t want to give 'em the satisfaction," Breakdown rumbled.

 

Knockout began sealing the worst of the wounds. The lab filled with a soft buzz of welds and recalibrations.

 

For a while, no one spoke.

 

The door suddenly hissed open.

 

He didn’t look up.

 

Only one mech moved like that. Like a ghost wrapped in engine hum and fresh bruises.

 

"...You’re late," Knockout said mildly.

 

Silence answered.

 

Then — a familiar shuffle. A soft scrape of metal-on-wall.

 

Knockout looked up.

 

Shadestrike was leaning against the far medbay wall. Not slumped. But close.

 

His left shoulder plate was dented. His right arm was twitching slightly. Dried energon leaking along one seam.

 

He wasn’t hiding the damage, but he wasn’t asking for help either.

 

Knockout sighed. "You provoke a warlord again, or are you just making this a hobby?"

 

Shadestrike didn’t answer.

 

His field was silent, but his gaze wasn’t.

 

Breakdown met it — and nodded once.

 

Not only thanks, but something that reached deeper. Something like respect.

 

Knockout stepped back with a hum from Breakdown. "You’re stable. Still hideous. But stable."

 

Breakdown smirked faintly. "Thanks, doc."

 

Then he hesitated. "I thought you wouldn’t come." Breakdown’s voice was low. Vulnerable.

 

"I wasn’t going to. Until he did." Knockout nodded toward Shadestrike.

 

Breakdown turned to look at the black-and-yellow mech.

 

Shadestrike said nothing. Just inclined his helm slightly.

 

"You didn’t have to take the fall for us."

 

Shadestrike met his optics. "Yes I did."

 

There was no heat in the words. No martyrdom either. Just a fact.

 

Knockout’s field fluttered — conflicted. "...You’re infuriating."

 

"I know."

 

"I mean it. You break every protocol, dodge every scan, lie through your denta — and then you turn around to the save." Knockout stepped closer, voice dropping. "You do things no Decepticon ever does."

 

Shadestrike didn't answer. 

 

"I’m trying to figure out what you are." Knockout tilted his helm in a frown.

 

Shadestrike looked away.

 

A moment of silence.

 

Then—

 

"I’m still figuring that out too."

 

Knockout’s field twitched. Something about the honesty hit harder than it should’ve.

 

Then Knockout muttered, "...Sit down before you fall down."

 

Shadestrike blinked at him flatly.

 

"I’m serious. That wall’s not gonna fix your energon levels."

 

"Maybe Breakdown first?" Shadestrike asked.

 

"I just finished with him." Knockout stated.

 

"I’m fine."

 

"You’re not. Don’t make me order you." Knockout scanned him, scowling. "You let him hit you, didn’t you."

 

"...He needed to." Shadestrike muttered.

 

"Unbelievable." Knockout servos dropped in irritation.

 

"I’m aware."

 

Knockout worked quietly. The scanner pinged off faint fractures, low-grade energon loss, bruising down one arm. Nothing fatal. 

 

"You're lucky." Knockout stated.

 

Breakdown was looking down at the ground. Sitting on a berth, visibly lost in thoughts.

 

Bee knew this look.

 

Shadestrike pushed off the wall. "I’ll leave you two to flirt."

 

"I will sedate you," Knockout called after him, deadpan. "I'll let you leave only if you promise you'll take care of your wound and energon level yourself!"

 

Shadestrike only raised a servo in lazy farewell.

 

As the door slid shut, Knockout turned back to Breakdown. His field finally lowered.

 

..."You’re not alone in this, Breakdown."

 

Breakdown looked at him for a long moment. Then nodded. "Not anymore."

 

Knockout leaned back against the medframe with a quiet vent. "You’re lucky, you know. You’ve got someone who’d tear the whole world apart for you."

 

Breakdown ex-vented a half-laugh. "You jealous?"

 

"Maybe a little."

 

 

__________

 

 

"Again." The voice struck like metal against metal—sharp, demanding, merciless.

 

Bumblebee was trembling. Every line of code in his processor lagging from strain. His vents screamed to keep up, cooling the overheating plates beneath his scorched armor.

 

He staggered toward the wall, wobbling and croaked out. "Can I—can I catch a break?"

 

There’s a pause. Not of consideration. Of disappointment, dissatisfaction.

 

His superior frowned. Winced. But nodded once, like it hurt to grant mercy.

 

Behind him, voices rise.

 

"He couldn’t handle half the level of the simulation we train on."

 

Another one scoffed. "What a loser."

 

Bee walked passed them, tried to ingore them.

 

"How did he get in the Academy at all?"

 

"Nepotism. Optimus coddled him. How else?"

 

"Bet he regrets picking him."

 

Bee walked faster as their words were getting louder.

 

"If Optimus picked me, he definitely wouldn't."

 

"Careful—he’ll go whine to his mentor again." The other one mocked and laughed.

 

"Some hero he turned out to be."

 

Bee started running venting faster. He burst through the doors, slamming them open with a clang that echoed down the hall.

 

Silence.

 

Finally—

 

He heard a voice behind him—Optimus’s, but wrong. Hollow.

 

"Bumblebee."

 

Bee flinched. 

 

The voice behind him was too calm. Familiar, but wrong.

Like hearing a symphony played just off-key.

 

"What have you done..."

 

Bumblebee turned—

 

And he was already falling.

 

Through ground. Through memory.

 

He hit the ground hard, air punched from his vents. When he pushed himself up, the world had changed.

 

He was in a building, but something was different. A familiar hum—cold. Mechanical. Everything flicker in grayscale.

 

Shadowzone.

 

No.

 

No no no no no.

 

Crack.

 

He spun and he instinctively turned around, reaching for his spear, ready for a fight.

 

Optimus stood in the corridor—massive, still, unreadable.

 

But he could feel he's not safe.

 

"I don’t want to fight you." He heard the Optimus cold voice again.

 

The words made Bee hesitate. Just for a second. He loosened his stance.

 

Then he heard a scream, tearing the silence behind him. He turned—

 

But there was nothing behind him.

 

He tried to turn back to Optimus, but all of a sudden—

 

—Optimus’s fist slammed into his faceplate.

 

He dropped, knees slamming against the floor.

 

His servo reached instinctively for his helm from ache. He looked up agitated. The pain burned, but the words burned more.

 

"But you leave me no choice." Optimus’s voice was final.

 

Bumblebee looked down. His servos—

 

—were dripping.

 

Energon.

 

His vents caught. 

 

He noticed a body in the hall laying in the distance. Lying in a pool of fluid, optics gray.

 

"No—no, it wasn’t me—I tried—I didn’t—"

 

Bee shakingly tried to explain.

 

"I never wanted this." Optimus exlaimed stepping closer.

 

And with this words. 

 

His spark shattered.

 

Optimus raised his blaster.

 

Bee’s instincts took over.

 

BLAST—

 

He dodged. Threw himself backward and ran stumbling.

 

The halls blurred past him. Broken lights flickering overhead. Grayscale streaking with his speed. His venting turned ragged. Erratic.

 

He was drifting through another corner with such speed, he couldn't manage on the angle and thumping against the wall, barely catching himself.

 

Suddenly Bee halted abruptly, trying to catch his breath, still agitated. His frame trembling.

 

At the far end of the corridor stood a silhouette.

 

Standing in the shadow.

 

Still. Watching. 

 

Bee froze.

 

The figure stepped forward.

 

Smaller. Lighter armor. Yellow. Familiar.

 

Him.

 

The younger him back from the time he got from Sub-50. Obedient in every task.

 

He tranformed his servo into a blade and stepped closer.

 

"I see you chose the easier path, Decepticon." 

 

Yellow bot scoffed in disbelief, voice distorted.

 

Bee's breath caught.

 

"We—didn't have a choice." 

 

"There aways is a choice." The yellow bot in front of him almost looked regretful, but then turned his blade—

 

—And sliced his throat.

 

Everything went black.

 

 

-----

 

 

Gasp.

 

Bumblebee jolts upright. He nearly hits his helm against the ceiling girder. 

 

Venting hard. Chassis lurching. Hands trembling.

 

He squeezes his optics shut and grips the beam beneath him, trying to anchor himself to now.

 

"It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real—"

 

But his vents won’t steady.

 

At least he was alone. No one could see him like this.

 

His official quarters felt anything but safe. The opposite, really. Oppressive.

 

Soundwave could be watching. Megatron could walk in at any moment—not that he ever did, but the possibility alone was enough to keep his systems crawling.

 

The only place that brought him any peace was... the scaffolding. High above the ship’s main corridor. Nestled near the dark ceiling.

 

It wasn’t exactly comfortable. Dark, not to much space, easy to roll off if he shifted wrong. But he’d recharged in worse places. And more importantly, no one knew he was here.

 

Many on the ship probably don't even know that it's possible, because the way to the ceiling is too high.

 

But it was hidden, quiet and felt safe.

 

His field trembled like a stretched wire.

 

He vented raggedly.

 

"Not again—not again—get it together—" he muttered to himself.

 

Then—

 

A voice, tentative.

 

"Ummm..."

 

Bee flinched. He froze, clamping down on his vents. He glanced down, dreading the answer to the question already forming in his processor.

 

Please be Knockout. Please be Kno—

 

It wasn’t.

 

It was a Vehicon.

 

Scrap.

 

The trooper stood in the corridor below, visibly startled, visor full with concern. Not hostile. Just confused. Hesitant.

 

Because he definitely wasn't supposed to see that. He knew how ended up Vehicons that overheard something they shouldn't. 

 

But he didn’t run. He didn’t panic. He just... stayed.

 

"Is... is everything okay?" the trooper asked, unsure.

 

Bee couldn’t speak at first. His vents were still stuttering. He tried to control them—tried to look normal.

 

"Yeah. Good. It’s good." He forced the words out, shaky, half-exvent.

 

Great. Fragging great. What’s he gonna think now?

 

The Vehicon kept staring, then glanced away, like he was debating whether to flee.

 

But instead he asked, "How... how did you get up there?"

 

He sounded more surprised than scared now. The question—it was genuine curiosity.

 

Bee huffed weakly, amused. "I can show you later, if you want."

 

He leaned back against the wall, forcing calm into his posture. Then glanced down again. "What's your designation?"

 

The Vehicon blinked, stunned. He even looked behind him and pointed his digit towards himself as if Bee might be talking to someone else.

 

Bee smirked faintly. "Yeah. You."

 

"...E-49," he said slowly.

 

Right. Bee mentally kicked himself. Of course they went by designations. Just numbers.

 

 

E-49 suddenly began stammering again, panic creeping back into his voice. "I—I swear I didn’t see anything—I won’t tell anyone, I—"

 

"E-49!"

 

A shout from down the hall. Both mechs turned instinctively toward it.

 

Another pair of Vehicons approached, one clearly irritated. "You’ve been gone so long I had to come find you. We’ve got orders."

 

E-49 stood stiff. He avoided looking up at Shadestrike's perch.

 

"What are you even doing here?" one barked. "Talking to yourself?"

 

"I—was—" E-49 faltered.

 

"You’re zoning out. Just like that fragging Shadestrike," the other snapped.

 

Bee shifted slightly. Cross-legged now, servo resting in his lap, leaning slowly to the side to watch.

 

"Such a poser," one sneered.

 

Bee frowned with a smirk that didn't reach his face.

 

...Pardon?

 

"He didn’t even help when they were dying."

 

Bee optics narrowed, jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

 

He is right...

 

E-49 stepped forward. "You don’t like him. Fine. But don’t talk like that. Soundwave—"

 

"Soundwave doesn’t care about our little chit-chats," the trooper scoffed. "You’re just being paranoid again."

 

E-49 hesitated, then found his voice again. "You don’t want to admit it, but he still cares more than anyone else."

 

The other Vehicon's frame stiffened with fury. "You have no idea what he is. I watched my squad die while he was offlining them, smirking."

 

Bumblebee optics widened in shock.

 

You were there. One of the Vehicons from the hall. One of the survivors. From when I just got on a ship. 

 

"He let you live," E-49 said. "What was he supposed to do? Glare you to death?"

 

"He could have," the other scoffed.

 

Bee bristled. E-49 looked like he was about to say more.

 

No. Don’t.

 

"...You were the one who attacked him first," E-49 muttered anyway.

 

The atmosphere thickened. The air in front of the aggressor shimmered with rising hostility.

 

"I outrank you," he said. Quiet, but sharp as a blade. "And you know what standing up to your superior means."

 

He stepped toward E-49.

 

Bumblebee deadpanned, looked in front of him with hands in his lap and slowly started sliding to the side as if he was about to fall.

 

He slid off the metal beam with terrifying grace, flipped once mid-air—and landed in a crouch.

 

He rose slowly, optics hard and calm, EM field burning with deadly peace.

 

The offending trooper backed up immediately. The second one froze in place.

 

"O-officer Shadestrike!" the first stammered. "I just—I just want to say I’m a huge fan—"

 

"Don’t," his cold voice sliced clean through the corridor. "I heard enough."

 

Silence.

 

"I assume you’re proud of yourself," he said, gaze locked on the aggressor, tilting his helm scornful. "Choosing violence."

 

"That’s... how the Decepticon ranks work," the trooper said weakly.

 

Wrong answer.

 

Shadestrike smirked faintly, cold and humorless. "Guess who outranks you now."

 

He took a step forward—and his servo shifted into a blade.

 

"Wait!" E-49 stepped in, fast. "Please—spare him. He’s... he’s my friend."

 

Shadestrike blinked. Once. Twice. "...You need better friends."

 

But after a vent, the blade retracted. "You’re lucky I value sincerity."

 

The two troopers stood there, dumbfounded.

 

"...What are you waiting for?" Bee asked confused and sharp, then waved his servo dismissively. "Go. Shush."

 

Still nothing. They just froze. Couldn't believe they are not given a death penalty. 

 

He tilted his helm, optics wide.

 

"One."

 

They bolted before he hit two.

 

E-49 stayed rooted to the floor, visibly second-guessing his life choices.

 

Shadestrike turned to him. "E-49 won't fit."

 

The Vehicon’s visor flickered slightly. "Huh—what?"

 

"I’m not calling you a serial number."

 

The black-and-yellow mech stepped past him, slow and deliberate, then looked over his shoulder with a spark of mischief.

 

Shadestrike gave a faint snort. "You climbed the ranks of decency faster than anyone else in that hallway, risking your own plating. That’s either brave or foolish."

 

He paused.

 

E-49 still looked lost.

 

"Or both." Shadestrike optics flickered upwards, thoughtful. "I'll call you Freefall.".

 

"What? You… mean that?"

 

"If you're gonna jump into trouble that fast? Own it." Shadestrike said, starting to walk past him. "Unless you’d rather keep the serial."

 

The Vehicon stared after him, speechless. The name landed on him heavy in the silence. Like it filled a gap he didn’t know he had.

 

Shadestrike started walking off toward the corridor, still scraped from recharge, still bristling with tension.

 

And then he was gone — vanishing into the shadowed halls, leaving Freefall standing in stunned silence.

Notes:

Will I bring that Vehicon back someday? — I dunno.

Was it fun for world building? — Of course it was xD

Chapter 11: No One Can Hear You Scream

Summary:

Bee had interesting interaction with Megatron that definitely didn't end with him getting a punch. Had a nightmare and befriended a Vehicon.

And now is sneaking after very suspiciously behaving mech...

Notes:

Gooooood eveniiiiing (or whatever time you're reading this)

Today I bring to you another speciality. Why today? Because yes. Why not

We have vacation so puh-lease

Oh yea also
Thanks for 5k and enjoy! Brblrba

Starscream was definitely up to something. 

 

Bumblebee didn't need a spark–reader to figure that out. The way the seeker sulked through the corridors, muttering under his vents, EM field twitching? It screamed plotting.

 

And Bee knew plotting when he saw it.

 

He followed without a sound. Shadows moved with him under the Nemesis’s dim purple glow.

 

Starscream kept rambling as he walked, too low for Bee to catch it all, but—

 

"Megatron... fool... should've been mine—"

 

Yeah.

 

Okay.

 

He didn't say revenge out loud, but his EM field was practically broadcasting it in bold, flashing neon.

 

Then the Seeker slithered into a side chamber, doors shut behind him.

 

...

 

This is not the end. Bee didn’t buy it for a nanoklick. He knows Starscream too well.

 

He waited still. Silent.

 

After a while he crouched low, then ran up the wall, flipped and caught the scaffolding edge. Hauled himself up in one smooth motion and in a crouch waited, perched like a predator.

 

He’d gotten better at this. On his first tries he’d barely made the jump and landed with the grace of a falling vending machine.

 

It was high, okay? 

 

He still felt embarrassed by it, but was lucky nobody saw that.

 

Probably.

 

Maybe Starscream won't come out. 

 

Maybe I am just being paranoid and—

 

The door hissed again. Starscream marched out.

 

No. False alarm. He is going to do something stupid.

 

But what made Bumblebee’s optics narrow wasn’t Starscream himself.

 

It was what he was holding.

 

A shard of Dark Energon.

 

You can’t be serious.

 

But there it was. Crackling faintly in his claws like a cursed gemstone.

 

Starscream’s wings twitched as he swept around the corner and vanished from sight.

 

Bumblebee dropped silently from his perch and followed. Quick and carefully.

 

He’d barely rounded the bend when—

 

Ping.

A comm line opened in his audial.

 

Knockout.

 

Perfect timing. Really. You couldn't choose better moment.

 

He ducked behind a pillar, optics still tracking Starscream’s shrinking silhouette, and answered.

 

> : "Where are you? I've been trying to find you all day. We have to talk." : 

 

Now? Seriously?

 

Bee hesitated. He couldn't risk getting spotted, not when he was tailing this. Talking would blow his cover.

 

He typed back instead.

 

> [Shadestrike]: Busy. Situation unfolding. Respond later. :

 

He trailed after Starscream again, keeping low and quiet, but Knockout's voice cut again. 

 

> : "Wha—What situation?! Are you doing something stupid?" :

 

> : Likely : 

 

> : "Say something, you glitch—" :

 

Click.

 

Bee cut the line.

 

Later, he promised silently.

 

Then pressed forward, peeking just around the next corridor.

 

Landing pad.

 

...Is he going to flee away?

 

And just as he thought on that, Starscream transformed and took off with glowing, dark energon shard.

 

Why am I even asking myself.

 

Bumblebee muttered under his breath. “Of course you are,” he sighed.

 

Desperate times. Desperate calls.

 

He tapped open a direct comm line to Soundwave. 

 

> : "Requesting groundbridge access." :

 

Respond came almost imidiatelly. 

 

> [Soundwave]: Purpose and destination required.

 

Bee hesitated.

 

He couldn't really explain.

 

But he remembered. He knew his timeline and therefore — coordinates he should ask for. 

 

> : "Starscream is engaging in something reckless. Permission for assistance." :

 

Then he added unsurely.

 

> : "Skyquake's grave site." :

 

There was a pause.

 

Too long.

 

Soundwave knew that site. Knew the records. Shadestrike shouldn’t.

 

But perhaps Soundwave simply believed he’d been doing what many assumed he did: obsessively scanning archives, digging into war logs, chasing the bigger picture.

 

Whatever the spymaster thought — he didn’t question it.

 

The vortex spiraled open.

 

And Bumblebee ran through.

 

To his surprise — Starscream haven't arrived yet.

 

He waited in silence only disrupted by a wind.

 

Tapped his fingers on his waist.

 

Will he ever arrive or did he change his target?

 

No, this will be it. I'm sure of it.

 

If not, I'm sure going to make an idiot of myself.

 

That I already am.

 

...

 

Am I looking suspicious?

 

Shut it.

 

He heard the jet engines from nearby and quickly crouched behind the boulder.

 

Meanwhile Starscream transformed and landed with a thud. 

 

"Ah, the great graveyard of the mighty Skyquake." Starscream intoned. "So quick to reject my authority while he lived." 

 

Wow, he's talking to himself too. Maybe I am normal after all.

 

 "But... as the first of my reanimated warriors,"

 

Should I intervene?

 

Starscream grinned and grasped both of his servos on the dark energon to break it in half. "You shall bow to my command."

 

Okay, I should intervene.

 

"Stop!" He sprang from his cover as loud as possible for Starscream to notice.

 

The seeker flinched, snarling. "Wh—What are you doing here?!"

 

"...Stopping you?"

 

Starscream's wings twitched. "Of course Megatron would send his 'loyal' toy." 

 

Shadestrike scowled. "Megatron doesn't know I'm here."

 

That caught Starscream off guard.

 

Shadestrike pressed on. "Do you even want to hear why this is a stupid idea?"

 

Starscream rolled his optics, but gestured with a claw. "Indulge me."

 

"Megatron will find out. Your so unbreakable soldier won't last a five nanoklicks. If not offlined by him — then by Autobots. And all you’ll have done is hand Megatron another reason to blacklist you."

 

Starscream’s sneer faltered—but then hardened. "You’re always trying to steal my spotlight! You failed every task Megatron gave you—and he still favors you over me! The bot, who is not even doing his assignments properly! You were given three tasks, yet you failed all of them!"

 

Shadestrike blinked. "He literally threw me through the wall after my last disobedience." 

 

"Oh please!" Starscream shrieked. “That was a concerned wall-throw, and you know it!”

 

"Wait—What?!"

 

But Bee didn’t have time to unpack that.

 

The Autobots emerged through the groundbridge.

 

Starscream snarled. "This is all your fault! You used the groundbridge and they located the signal!"

 

Shadestrike bristled. "If you hadn’t pulled the glowing evil rock from your scrap drawer—!"

 

"Starscream!" Optimus’s voice thundered, charging his blaster in threat. "Stand down!" 

 

Optimus. You're not helping. Get lost.

 

Starscream snarled back. "You stand down!" And aimed his arm with missile on Optimus.

 

"BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!" Shadestrike snapped, stepping between them like a worn-out substitute teacher.

 

I swear, it's just like with my team back on Earth.

 

He pinched the bridge of his noseplate.

 

"Optimus, this doesn’t need to escalate—"

 

"Optimus, he’s stalling!" Ratchet barked. "They’re working together!"

 

"No, I’m not," Shadestrike muttered deadpanned.

 

On this, Bulkhead pointed in the direction of Starscream, who just threw one piece of the shard at the ground, stabbing the other into his own chassis with a triumphant, maniacal laughter. 

 

Shadestrike stood frowned with optics wide, twitching.

 

Meanwhile, Optimus fired into Starscream direction, but missed.

 

"Optimus—stop!" Shadestrike barked.

 

Starscream glowing with glee (and other things), spread his arms. "You cannot harm me, while dark energon flows through my veins!"

 

Optimus fired again without hesitation and this time — didn't miss. 

 

Shadestrike was on his emotional edge. It was just like they were provoking him.

 

Starscream screamed, scrambled for the limb, and dove behind cover.

 

"You saw that!" he shrieked. "He started it—now finish him! Prove your worth already!"

 

I swear, just like the mechlings in the kindergarten...

 

"Starscream," Shadestrike growled, "I will staple your wings to your back."

 

Starscream then jabbed a claw toward Shadestrike. "HE gave me the idea! He should be the one you shoot!"

 

That's it.

 

Shadestrike didn’t flinch.

 

Didn’t blink.

 

Didn’t speak.

 

His EM field simply dropped cold. Icy. Silent.

 

He stepped towards Optimus. With fury filled in every bit of his frame. 

 

Drawn his spear out. Throwing Optimus a challenge. One–on–one.

 

But then–

 

Optimus calm, but firm. "I don't want to fight you."

 

The words hit harder than any blade.

 

Shadestrike froze and flinched — just slightly. 

 

Then, laughed. Sharp, bitter sound.

 

"Funny," he murmured, optics glinting. "I do." 

 

He lunged.

 

Optimus barely managed to react that quickly, but blocked the incoming hit.

 

His spear arced with precision—aimed not to maim, not to kill, but to test. To provoke.

 

Optimus countered. Each strike deflected. Each thrust turned aside. A fortress.

 

But Shadestrike was relentless.

 

Blades flashed. Pedes slid across the ground. Vents screamed under the pressure.

 

I never wanted this. 

 

The thought echoed in his mind, distorted by rage.

 

He was getting more wrathfull and rapid with every single hit.

 

He slashed high—low—twisted, drove with his shoulder—but Optimus remained rooted, defending, not attacking. Always defending.

 

It made it worse.

 

Made it burn.

 

"You should've listen! Regrets?" Shadestrike snapped between strikes while grinning widely.

 

The spear glanced off Optimus’s shoulder guard, sent sparks flying. Optimus finally started making his own attacks.

 

"I had no choice!" Optimus thrusted and Bee deflected the blow, sliding pedes on the ground.

 

But you leave me no choice.

 

The words dropped like a weight in his spark.

 

He roared.

 

Spun.

 

Feinted left—then pivoted sharply, driving his knee into Optimus’s leg joint. The Prime staggered—

 

—and in that moment, Shadestrike surged behind him. His blade bit deep into the side of Optimus’s abdomen with a flash of energon and metal.

 

Optimus grunted, pain rippling through his plating.

 

Shadestrike raised the blade again, optics wide, EM in fury.

 

And—

 

CRASH.

 

A wall of green slammed into him like a comet.

 

Bulkhead.

 

Shadestrike tumbled mid-air swallowed by the spiraling vortex of the still-active groundbridge.

 

"Bulkhead, have you lost your mind?!" Rachet shouted. "We'll have a rogue Decepticon in our base!"

 

"Or a hostage." Bulkhead snapped back. "I had to do something. You saw him—he was going to kill him!" 

 

He pointed at the Prime, still kneeling, one servo pressed to his bleeding side.

 

The groundbridge pulsed and shuddered.

 

"Rachet?" Optimus said, venting heavy.

 

"The portals must be feeding back on each other!" Rachet analyzed.

 

"Miko." Bullhead paled, "We gotta get the kids outta there!" he ran towards the portal, but got thrown away by it's force.

 

Then, both portals exploded, leaving dust everywhere and no one could see a thing.

 

 

______

 

 

Starscream meanwhile just got throught the groundbridge on Nemesis, agitated, with energon leaking from the wound on the ground.

 

He started looking around the corridor. "My arm!" – but it was nowhere to be found.

 

The Vehicon looked to him from the console in silence.

 

Starscream stepped forward to him and threatened. "Not a word about this!" He pointed a claw to his chassis.

 

 "To anyone!" He added turning his helm back and them marched through corridors like nothing had happened. 

 

 

_________

 

 

The kids lay on the ground, sore and shocked.

 

"You guys okay?" Jack asked, pushing himself upright, scanning the desaturated world.

 

"Yeah... I think so." Raf responded unsurely. Then he made a sharp exhale, flinched and tapped twice Jack's shoulder.

 

The three turned — and all flinched.

 

It was Shadestrike.

 

But he wasn’t looking at them.

 

He stood death-still, optics wide, locked on Optimus’s figure. His whole frame frozen, expression unreadable—except for the raw shock in his eyes.

 

The kids pivoted to Bulkhead, who groaned as he clumbered to his feet. "Wha–what just happened?"

 

Rachet answered. "I can't be certain, but if too groundbridges sent to the same coordinates crossed streams – feedback could've triggered the system overload."

 

Miko snapped. "Could? Hello–more like totally did!" 

 

"Miko... shhh... we're not alone." Jack murmured, tilting head toward Shadestrike.

 

The black-and-yellow bot still hadn’t moved. His optics were wide, dim. Like he’d been unplugged from reality.

 

Meanwhile, Bumblebee rushed toward Optimus, beeping in concern:

 

> : All — good? :

 

Optimus gave a calm nod. "Yes. Thank you, Bumblebee."

 

Bee looked down, shoulder tensed.

 

> : Trust — mistake — : 

 

Those words hit like a blade to Shadestrike’s chest.

 

Optimus placed a gentle servo on Bee’s shoulder. "You couldn't have known. And yet... I still believe there is something good in his spark."

 

"Changing the topic," Bulkhead added carefully... "The kids made it through, right?"

 

Miko's eyes narrowed.

 

"What's he talking about?" Jack asked, confused.

 

"Bulkhead! We’re right here!" Miko snapped, stomping toward the green bot.

 

Optimus commed in calmly, "Arcee, did the children made it safely back to base?" 

 

> : "Negative, : Arcee replied. : "You don't see them?"  :

 

Rachet looked around. "No sign."

 

Shadestrike pressed a servo to his spark chamber, gaze falling to the ground.

 

He knew this place.

 

The grey tones. The static buzz. The distant echo of forgotten sound.

 

Not again.

 

"What?! No sign?!" Miko shouted. "Okay, seriously, Bulk—"

 

Then – she shrieked as Bulkhead walked right through her.

 

And the Autobots went through the groundbridge to the base.

 

"He went right through you." Jack caught her stunned. "We're not alive."

 

"I don't wanna be a ghost!" Raf whimpered." 

 

"Wait, how can we still touch each other?" Jack asked.

 

"They can't see us," Miko squinted. "But they're right there!"

 

She turned to Shadestrike.

 

"Hey! Scary guy!" She shouted approaching. "Not so brave now, huh?! Optimus gave you a solid beat and scared you to the—"

 

"SHUT UP."

 

Shadestrike whipped around, venting raggedly. He nearly hit her—but stopped himself just short. His servos clutched his helm.

 

He was shaking. 

 

I didn’t notice the groundbridge. I should've gone. I should've been gone.

 

But he stayed to fight. Relieving all the anger that was eating him inside.

 

And now — he was here.

 

Here again.

 

Everything was grey. Dull. Empty.

 

"No. No no no..."

 

"Scary guy? Miko stepped forward again, slowly.

 

"Get a grip," he muttered through his denta. "You're not trapped. You're not—"

 

He cracked.

 

His fist slammed into the wall. The rock split. The pain didn’t help.

 

The kids jumped.

 

His vents chocked too fast.

 

He staggered sideways, caught himself on the wall of the canyon. His servos trembled as he pressed against the stone—like grounding himself would stop the flood clawing up his internals.

 

You weren't supposed to come back here.

 

The static in his helm spiked. Every sound echoed wrong. Every flicker of motion on the edge of his vision made his frame tighten.

 

And then — a voice. Not real.

 

You’re already gone.

 

His EM field was sparking uncontrolled. 

 

He started to laugh — shaky and bitter.

 

"Perfect," he hissed. "Just where I wanted to be. Back in the fragging pit."

 

The Shadowzone. The prison between dimensions. The ghost-dimension. Where no one could touch you. Where you couldn’t leave.

 

Where no one could hear you scream.

 

He was the one who was left behind. Again.

 

Alone. Forever. Silence.

 

Another voice came in.

 

Imprisoning won't be enough of the punishment.

 

What do you suggest, then?

 

Isolation.

 

He didn’t even realize he was pacing until he stumbled.

 

He caught himself. Inhaled sharply. Held his vent.

 

The kids backpedal in shock. "Is—is he okay?" Miko whispered.

 

“He deserves it,” Jack muttered. "He almost killed Optimus."

 

Shadestrike didn't hear them.

 

But he did hear something else.

 

That’s when they saw it.

 

Zombified Skyquake charging toward them.

 

Shadestrike reacted first. He fought maybe this will give him enough distraction from thinking.

 

Without hesitation he drawn out his spear and marched forward - barely steady, optics shaking.

 

The fight was short. Too short.

 

He sliced the undead in two and kept going, stabbing vital after vital until the energon splained his plating and he couldn't tell if it was the monster's or his.

 

Monster.

 

He froze and the corpse dropped. The kids barely even noticed the danger.

 

"Cool." Miko whispered.

 

"We could be next," Jack muttered, his eyes narrowing.

 

Shadestrike stumbled back. Slid down the canyon wall. Helm pressed to his knees. 

 

"I can’t—I can’t—not again—"

 

Raf stepped closer.

 

"Hey…"

 

Shadestrike’s reflexes fired—blade half-out.

 

Raf froze.

 

“RAF!” The others shouted.

 

But the blade stopped.

 

Quivering.

 

Hovering inches from Raf’s chest.

 

Then — retracted.

 

“I—I didn’t mean—just go away.” He muttered curling tighter, looking away from Raf.

 

But Raf didn't move.

 

He walked over and sat. Not close — but near enough.

 

"Raf—get back here!" Jack snapped.

 

"I'm sorry," Raf said, still watching Shadestrike. "I... feel like I should stay." 

 

Shadestrike looked to him, surprised.

 

It made him feel... better, safer. That maybe he's not entirely alone this time.

 

Jack winced. 

 

Meanwhile Miko already ran towards the black bot and he couldn't manage to stop her.

 

"So, Shadestrike, right? That zombie–slice was awesome! Also, how did you manage to fight Optimus? What's your story? Everyone at base says you're a huge mistery! What's your story—how many have you killed?"

 

"Ummm..." Shadestrike blinked overwhelmed. "A lot..." he said faintly. "Does that answer... satisfy you?"

 

Miko beamed. "Awesome! Can you show us your spear again? Or your other weapons—?

 

Raf settled closer. Now leaning back against the wall, right beside the bot.

 

Shadestrike let out a shaky vent.

 

And for the first time since he landed in this cursed dimension—

 

He didn’t feel entirely alone. But he knew he doesn't deserve this. 

 

Because these kids wasn't from his timeline. Didn't know him. And he have to carry this burden alone. He couldn't get attached to them.

Notes:

So today's speciality is uhm panic attack xD

Do I experienced it? Once, yes

Do I have an ability to explain it? Absolutely not. But I tried.

Chapter 12: Need a Hand

Summary:

Bee landed in Shadowzone (i still dunno if I should write is from small or big letter WHO CARES) with kids

Notes:

I don't care what you all say. I have to post this artwork, because it's my masterpiece and I will never have more creative idea in my mind xD

And I think you'll enjoy it as much as I do even if it's totally irrelevant to the story

Also I'm not a fan of drawing... clothes on Transformers so I improvised

I'm just going to say—
I'm done Hiding NOW I'M SHINING

WE'RE GOING UP UP UP IT'S OUR MOMENT
GONNA BE GONNA BE GOLDEN OOOh XD

...How the frag you made 6k... that's like 1k in one week—h—hOW

______________

Starscream was laying on the medical berth, twitching irritably while Knockout scanned him.

 

The medic frowned at the data scrolling past, turned to him and asked hesitantly. "Umm.. Starscream, I don't quite understand how this could've happened."

 

Starscream bolted upright, optics wide. "And yet—IT DID!" he snapped. "Can you imagine my horror?! There, I'm minding my own business, when my arms just falls off!"

 

"Well," Knockout offered with a tight, nervous chuckle" on the brightside, it provides an excellent opportunity for an upgrade!"

 

"I DON'T WANT A NEW MODEL!" Starscream shrieked, flailing with his remaining arm. "I just want the same one I had before!"

 

"I'm not sure I have another one laying around. Of course we could to try salvage yours." Knockout implied. "You kept it. Didn't you?"

 

There was a pause. Starscream's wings twitched. 

 

"It was... beyond recovery," he muttered. 

 

Knockout's expression didn't change, but suspicion flared behind his optics.

 

Shadestrike went on a dangerous stunt, don't answer his calls and now Starscream comes back without his arm?

 

It screams fishy.

 

"So... where exactly did you lose it?"

 

"That's not of your business!" Starscream hissed.

 

"So maybe you know where Shadestrike went?" Knockout pressed on the topic.

 

Starscream retorted without hesitance, but looked away. "No, I haven't seen him."

 

Knockout crossed his arms, voice smooth, but laced with venom. "Funny. I haven't saw Shadestrike all day either."

 

No response.

 

"I also can't contact with him. Any ideas why?" Knockout tilted his helm. "Maybe you should go fetch your arm."

 

Starscream stiffened, but masked it as he got up.

 

"You're right Knockout," he sneered. "I'm too attached to my original apendege." A bitter smile curled across his faceplate. "I must retrieve it."

 

The seeker left and the door hissed behind him.

 

Knockout watched him go flatly, then didn't even blink before opening a comm line.

 

"Soundwave. Last known location of Shadestrike?"

 

 

_________

 

 

"So wait. Let me get this straight." Jack said, rubbing his temples, voice full of disbelief.

 

"You’re saying two groundbridges—crossed at the same time—created a portal to another dimension, which you call the shadowzone. A place that’s... here, but not here. Where we can see everything happening around us, but can’t touch it. And can’t be seen. Like... ghosts."

 

"Yes. Yes, that's pretty much it." Shadestrike nodded.

 

Jack gave him a long look. "You sure know a lot for someone who's never been here before."

 

Shadestrike met his gaze silently, deadpan and unreadable. 

 

"Okay," Miko broke in. "But how do we get out of here?"

 

"Use your phone." Shadestrike replied simply.

 

"I can't! I left mine in the base." Miko groaned and kicked a pebble on the ground.

 

Jack instantly reached for his pocket, pulled out his phone and called. "Hello? Arcee?!" 

 

He expected her voice to come in, but only statics were hearable. 

 

He turned a suspicious look on Shadestrike. "Is this a joke to you?"

 

Shadestrike scoffed. "You're using it wrong." Then, with a faint grin added. "But you are getting a signal, aren't you?"

 

Miko suddenly snapped her fingers. "Texting! Text me! If my phone is back at the base, the Autobots may see it!"

 

Jack frowned, already typing. "What should I type?"

 

"Anything? Du–uh?" Miko retorted exasperated. 

 

"No, I mean—would they believe it? I barely believe it and I'm standing here."

 

Shadestrike gestured lazily. "Just do it." 

 

Miko squinted. "Wait a second. How do you even know how our phones work? Bulkhead still thinks Google is a type of groundbridge."

 

Shadestrike paused—too long. Then shrugged. "Soundwave told me a bit."

 

Miko raised a brow but let it drop.

 

Meanwhile, Raf had gone quiet. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Shadestrike since the moment he’d first spoken. And Shadestrike noticed.

 

His optics flicked away, trying not to look back. But Raf’s stare kept pulling his attention.

 

"What?" Shadestrike finally snapped. "Do I have something on my faceplate?"

 

Raf flinched. "I—I’m sorry. It’s just... weird. You feel... familiar."

 

Shadestrike’s field flickered. Uneven. His mouth twitched, like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Instead, he stood.

 

"Okay," he muttered. "End of the tour. Follow me."

 

Jack raised an eyebrow. "And how do we know you're not leading us into a trap?"

 

Shadestrike blinked slowly. "Seriously? Here? What would I even do with a hostage in a ghost dimension?"

 

"Trade us for your way out?" Raf offered shyly. 

 

Shadestrike thought for a while.

 

Then retorted with exaggerating smirk and irritation. "That's actually not a bad idea. I'll save it for next time."

 

Then he huffed, turning away. "You can stay behind if you want. I'm not." 

 

Without another word, he started walking.

 

The kids looked at each other and followed.

 

Then he suddenly snorted.

 

"What's so funny?" Jack frowned.

 

Shadestrike smirked. "It appears this zombie was dying to meet us."

 

All kids went silent for a moment, couldn't believe just heard Decepticon making a joke so bad, but Miko covered her mouth.

 

Shadestrike broke the silence by snorting again. 

 

"Get it? Cause—nevermind forget I said anything."

 

Then his optics catched something in the distance and he grinned. 

 

"Well, would you look at that," he murmured, digits closing around the plating.

 

It was Starscream’s arm.

 

"Guess someone left their toy behind."

 

Miko peered over. "Ew. Is that...?"

 

Shadestrike gave a satysfied little chuckle. "Oh, it's his alright."

 

Before anyone could ask further—

 

"Shadestrike!" 

 

The canyon echoed with familiar, high–pitched screech.

 

"Where are you!" he heard the echoing voice of Starscream. "Stupid glitch." he muttered that part.

 

"Oh little do you know Starscream, I hear everything." Shadestrike mumbled.

 

And then suddenly — a swirl of green light tore open the air.

 

"The Autobots saw our text!" Miko lit up.

 

Shadestrike stepped forward, one servo still holding the arm, and was about to motion the kids through when Jack stopped.

 

"Wait. If we go through, we’ll run straight into Starscream. How do we know you won’t just hand us over?"

 

Shadestrike looked at him flatly for a beat. Then gave a tired half-smile.

 

"You helped me out. "I’ll return the favor. We'll call it even," he grinned. "Deal?"

 

He held out his servo with another one behind his back.

 

Jack hesitated — but then took it.

 

It was surprisingly careful. Almost gentle.

 

Shadestrike shifted. "Hang on."

 

With that, he transformed. Sleek wheels screeched against rock and spun—straight into the portal.

 

"SHADES—!" He slammed into Starscream mid-sentence, sending the seeker tumbling across the ground with an undignified yelp.

 

Shadestrike transformed. "Wow, you invented a nickname. I have to tell Knockout," he said already walking towards him.

 

Starscream scrambled upright. "W–where were you?! I tried to find you! You vanished—your comms were off—"

 

Shadestrike cut him off. "Oh, you weren’t fragging looking for me." He held up the arm. "You were looking for this."

 

Starscream stuttered. "N-no, I—!"

 

Shadestrike reached with Starscream's arm to help him get up. "Need a hand?" 

 

Starscream instinctively reached for it.

 

Shadestrike smiled wide—and shoved the arm directly into his faceplate.

 

Primus I waited to make this joke.

 

Starscream flailed, clawing it away with a sputtering shriek of offense.

 

Meanwhile, the kids zipped through the groundbridge behind him and disappeared into the next one—already en route to the Autobot base.

 

Starscream tried to explain himself. "I thought—I mean—you weren't there, so I assumed—"

 

Shadestrike cut him in with a deep sigh. "I had a hard day." 

 

Then he added with flat, empty tone. "Can we just... go back to the Nemesis and forget about everything?" 

 

The smile was gone now.

 

Shadestrike wasn't even looking at his direction. His gaze was locked on the ground. He didn't attacked him, not even verbally. 

 

Something in that quiet rattled Starscream more than yelling ever could.

 

"I... what happened?" he asked—genuinely, for once.

 

Shadestrike didn't answer at first.

 

Then he turned to him, servo brushing the dirt from his plating with eerie calm.

 

"What do you care? You left me."

 

And with that, he patted Starscream’s shoulder, smiled coldly—then pushed past him without another word.

 

If Starscream is feeling concerned, he have to restrain himself better...

 

 

______

 

 

"Look, if you're gonna blame anybody," Miko begun. "Blame me."

 

Jack turned to her, one brow raised. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" he smirked. "A couple dozen times?"

 

"Miko, what you endured was lesson enough." Optimus said gently and smiled. "We're just glad you're all safe."

 

Bulkhead leaned over, "Guess it was a good thing you dropped this." he held out her phone. "Too bad you didn't get any pictures though."

 

"Nah, that's okay." Miko shrugged, grinning widely. "I had a front–row seat to Shadestrike slicing a zombie in half!"

 

The room froze.

 

"Shadestrike was there with you?!" Rachet scoffed, optics narrowing. "Did he hurt you?!"

 

"More like he was trying not to hurt himself." Jack muttered, arms crossed.

 

"No kidding," Miko added. "At first, he looked like someone ripped his spark out. Full-on meltdown. Snarling at walls, punching rock so hard it cracked in half! You should've seen how easily he dealt with that zombie-con. He sliced him in half like it was melted butter and then jabbed him until there was no way to tell whose corpse was that!"

 

Everyone looked at her, horrified. Kids just avoided their gaze. Miko didn't seem to bother at the slightest.

 

"Sounds violent... and brutal" Arcee finally managed.

 

"Are you kidding? He was awesome!" Miko yelled cheerfully. 

 

"Heh," Bulkhead chuckled. "What, mad he lost fight with Optimus?"

 

Raf shook his head slowly. "It wasn't about the fight. It was about the place. Like... he'd been there before."

 

"He said 'not again'," Jack added. "Then claimed he is here for the first time."

 

"And he almost struck Raf!" Miko piped up brightly.

 

"What?!" Rachet snapped. 

 

Bumblebee imidiatelly stepped torward Raf, field prickling with concern.

 

"He didn't hurt me," Raf said quietly. "He stopped himself."

 

The room quieted. 

 

Arcee looked down at Raf. "You're sure?"

 

Raf nodded. "He looked terrified."

 

"But he got us out," Miko said. "Ran straight into Starscream for us."

 

Ratchet scoffed, arms crossed. "Likely part of his own escape."

 

"Still counts," Jack countered. "We’d be stuck in shadowzone if it weren’t for him. He told us to text. And if he hadn't been there, we'd have to deal with zombie on our own."

 

"Shadowzone?" Rachet asked curious.

 

"At least that's how he called it." Jack said.

 

"It doesn't have sense." Arcee scowled. "If he helped you, why he attacked Optimus earlier?"

 

Bulkhead huffed. "Maybe he wants to manipulate us into trusting him."

 

Optimus spoke last. "Shadestrike remains a complication. But one we must continue to understand—not just for his sake, but for ours."

 

Bumblebee was still standing beside Raf, remembering the look in Shadestrike’s eyes.

 

Recognition, that terrified him more than anything else.

 

 

_________

 

 

Shadestrike walked through Nemesis halls, Starscream was just beside him. They both just came back and no one of them said a word.

 

Stasrcream however, noticed the change imidiately. Shadestrike wasn't stepping as stealthy and gracefull as he normally does. His steps were more messy, heavy. His optics also didn’t focus on anything.

 

The black-and-yellow mech who once stalked like a shadow now moved like a ghost, but the seeker decided to not bring that up.

 

The silence broke by fast footsteps.

 

Urgent.

 

"Shadestrike!" Knockout shouted from the end of the hall.

 

Shadestrike didn’t stop. Didn’t turn. Didn’t even twitch.

 

Knockout sprinted up, cutting him off — blocking his path entirely — and snapped his digits in front of his faceplate. "Hey!"

 

Only then did Shadestrike halt, just slightly flinching as if waking from a trance.

 

"You didn't comm," Knockout’s EM field surged with concern, "so now you are going to tell me exactly what’s going on."

 

He grabbed Shadestrike’s shoulder, optics narrowing as he caught sight of what clung to the mech’s plating—dried energon. Not his. At least not all of it.

 

Cracks lined the edges of his servos. Fragile. Delicate.

 

"What in the name of the AllSpark," Knockout took his servo and lifted it in the air. "What happened to you?"

 

Shadestrike didn’t even pull away.

 

That scared Knockout more than anything.

 

"You always yank away when I poke you." His voice dropped.

 

Shadestrike’s optics were flickering. Still unfocused. Still looking past him.

 

"You also didn't report in."

 

"Didn't know I had to." Shadestrike muttered flatly.

 

Knockout's expression tightened. "But you always do." 

 

His EM field brushed over Shadestrike’s. It nearly recoiled.

 

Unshielded. Sparking at the edges. Chaotic and unmoored. He didn't even restrain it.

 

"You're zoning out more." Knockout's optics narrowed.

 

No answer.

 

Snap.

 

He did it again.

 

Snap.

 

Only on the second snap did Shadestrike blink and refocus — barely.

 

"You're not even pretending to be fine anymore."

 

Still nothing.

 

Knockout reached out. Took his servo — gentle, but firm.

 

"That’s it. Medbay. Now."

 

Shadestrike ex-vented, voice cracking smiling. "I hate not knowing if I'm awake or not."

 

The words hit like static in Knockout’s core.

 

He didn’t know how to answer.

 

Shadestrike stared through him. Optics glassy.

 

"You said once," he chuckled faintly, "you’re trying to figure out what I am."

 

Knockout's spark ached. "Yeah. I remember."

 

Shadestrike’s voice was hollow. Barely audible.

 

"...A ghost." 

 

He turned.

 

Knockout tightened his grip. "You're not going anywhere until you recharge."

 

But Shadestrike ripped himself free — not violently, but fast. Too fast.

 

Then he ran.

 

No grace. Just desperation. Tripping once, then vanishing into the corridor like a shadow trying to escape its own form.

 

Knockout didn’t chase him. He couldn’t.

 

He stood there. Shaking.

 

Then—

 

A cough behind him.

 

Starscream. Still watching. Expression unreadable, wings twitching in a half-smile that looked far too pleased for Knockout’s taste.

 

The medic turned, EM field flaring with white-hot fury. "You're going to tell me EVERYTHING that happened there!"

 

Starscream raised his claws. "I didn't do anything!"

 

"Don't lie to me!" Knockout shoved him. "You tried to raise Skyquake. You left him there!"

 

"So he told you." Starscream's optics narrowed.

 

"No! He didn't! That's the fragging problem! He wanted to deal with this alone and didn't ask for any help!"

 

Starscream flinched. Not from the shove. But from the truth in the words.

 

"He didn’t say a single word. He came back broken and alone, and you weren’t with him. Why?" 

 

Starscream hesitated. His wings drooped slightly. He looked away. "He didn’t want help."

 

"Maybe he did." Knockout stepped forward. "Or maybe you never offered."

 

Starscream didn’t respond. He turned, stalking off down the hall, face set in something too twisted to name.

 

Cowardice. Guilt. Or both.

 

Knockout growled and turned, ready to go after Shadestrike—

 

Thoom.

 

Footsteps.

 

He froze.

 

A massive figure loomed at the far end of the corridor.

 

Megatron.

 

He stepped into the dim light, slow, deliberate.

 

Knockout straightened like a mech caught in a crime.

 

"L–Lord Megatron..." he stammered.

 

Megatron didn’t speak.

 

His optics flicked once toward the hall where Shadestrike had vanished.

 

Then back to Knockout.

 

He stepped closer. Each footfall was a seismic event.

 

Knockout straightened reflexively, field tucking in, optics locked ahead. "My liege."

 

Megatron stopped mere paces away. His expression was unreadable—stone still—but his field?

 

It pulsed like a suppressed explosion. 

 

"I see," Megatron said slowly, "that one of you returned."

 

Knockout kept still. "Starscream arrived first. Shadestrike only just returned—"

 

"Broken."

 

A pause.

 

Knockout's intake hitched. "Yes."

 

Megatron’s gaze sharpened, a glint in his optic. "He is compromised."

 

"He’s exhausted," Knockout corrected—far too quickly.

 

Megatron tilted his head. "From what, precisely?"

 

Knockout hesitated. The silence roared louder than words.

 

Megatron’s optics narrowed deadly. "What did Starscream do?"

 

The words weren't shouted. But they carried weight—like a slow blade pressing to the throat.

 

"I wasn’t there." Knockout's voice stayed level, but his field flickered. "But I have guesses."

 

Megatron stepped closer.

 

"Then guess, Doctor. Out loud."

 

Knockout met his gaze. This was it. Say too much and he’d be next. Say too little, and Shadestrike would stay in the crosshairs.

 

"He tried to revive Skyquake," Knockout said at last. "He took Shadestrike with him. Or more he went after Starcream. I don’t know the details."

 

Megatron didn’t react. He just stared—like a judge weighing someone else's guilt on your shoulders.

 

"And you believe this had... consequences."

 

Knockout’s servo curled at his side. "Shadestrike came back... disoriented. He’s zoning out and bleeding. He... didn’t even bother to lie anymore."

 

Megatron’s optics glinted. "And Starscream?"

 

"Lying," Knockout said instantly. "About all of it."

 

There was silence.

 

Long. Unforgiving.

 

Then, Megatron slowly turned his gaze down the corridor Shadestrike had fled into. He said nothing—but his field rippled, sharp and pulsing.

 

Knockout grabbed enough courage and said. "He won't talk. He wants to be alone."

 

Megatron said still looking where Shadestrike fled. "Have any idea where I can find him?"

 

And on this Knockout's intake wide opened.

 

Megatron’s question wasn’t barked, wasn’t bitten—it was worse.

 

It was calm. A calm that demanded exactitude.

 

He knew what Megatron was asking for. He also knew exactly what answering might cost.

 

Still—he forced himself to respond quietly. 

 

"...He doesn’t recharge in his quarters."

 

Megatron’s helm tilted. Just slightly.

 

 

_________

 

 

Thud.

 

He hit the floor. Again.

 

Shadestrike grunted as his knees scraped metal, his plating clanging hard against the corridor. He slammed his fist into the floor, energon already smearing faintly from cracked seams.

 

This wasn’t working.

 

He’d been trying for kliks to get back to the scaffolding. His place. The only place that didn’t feel like someone was always watching.

 

But no matter how many times he tried—wall-run, jump, grip—he couldn’t pull himself up. Couldn’t hold his own weight. Couldn’t focus.

 

Now of all the times — when he wanted to be alone. Wanted to feel safe. He couldn't. 

 

He tried again, vents hissing, legs trembling. He managed to catch the edge—but his servo slipped, and he fell again. A graceless tumble on the floor.

 

You can't even climb anymore? 

 

Clutching his helm he squeezed his optics shut.

 

You don't belong here.

 

His EM field sparked violently.

 

Pathetic.

 

"SHUT UP!" he snarled—though there was no one there. Just echoes.

 

He lunged again, this time with a half-roar. But his trajectory was wrong. He hit from the wall, rebounded hard, and crashed flat. Tried to get up — but his legs buckled. His pedes weren’t steady. He fell to one knee, venting hard.

 

That’s when a voice reached him.

 

Low. Dry.

 

Amused.

 

"I’ve never seen you try this hard to get up there before."

 

Shadestrike froze.

 

He knew that voice.

 

His entire frame locked in place as his optics slowly tracked upward—

 

Megatron stood just beyond the shadows.

 

Relaxed. Observing.

 

No field raised. Just watching in his deadly peace.

 

No. No no no no— not him. Not now.

 

Out of everyone, it had to be him.

 

He never should've seen him like this. Especially him.

 

Of course, he saw something similar the first time they've met— but it was exactly why it was meant to never happen ever again.

 

Shadestrike's spark jumped into his throat.

 

Ping.

 

A commline.

 

He opened it automatically — reflex from years of silence.

 

Megatron’s name.

 

But he was standing right there.

 

Still, Bee glanced at it, wincing.

 

> : Can you finally respond to any of my questions? :

 

He flinched and swallowed thickly.

 

Play it off. Play it off. He forced a calm voice.

 

"...What was the question again?"

 

Megatron’s optics narrowed. Something between suspicion and disapproval flickered in them.

 

Shadestrike wasn’t reacting like himself. Like anything.

 

Like a mech lost in static.

 

"I asked what happened," Megatron said, tone low. "During the mission." 

 

Shadestrike gave a half-smile, tired and jagged. "Why not ask Starscream? He loves to talk."

 

"We both know Starscream never speaks the truth. You do."

 

Shadestrike laughed softly — too bitter to be amused. "No. I just lie quieter."

 

Megatron’s brow ridge lifted.

 

Shadestrike sat heavily on the floor, drawing slow circles on the floor with a digit.

 

"You’re not looking for answers," he murmured. "You’re looking for someone to punish. And it’s easier if I just volunteer, isn’t it?"

 

"Do not twist my motives into cowardice," Megatron growled.

 

Shadestrike finally looked up—directly into Megatron’s optics. 

 

"Then just blame me," he said. "And get over with it."

 

Megatron studied him. Still and cold. Shadestrike's optics felt almost empty.

 

"You’re delirious," he said eventually. "You haven’t recharged in cycles."

 

Shadestrike gritted his denta. "Is that your expert diagnosis?"

 

"Knockout told me." Megatron replied. "But he didn't have to. You're walking like your limbs forgot how."

 

Shadestrike huffed out something between a breath and a laugh, low and bitter. He staggered upright, swaying as he stood.

 

"Well then," he said, optics half-lidded. "Guess that’s my cue to leave."

 

Megatron stepped in front of him. "Where do you think you’re going?"

 

Bee shrugged. "Anywhere but here."

 

"Another scaffolding attempt?"  Megatron's tone twisted in irony and sarcasm. "Try falling again?"

 

But Shadestrike didn’t rise to it this time.

 

Instead, he quietly responded.

 

"We all have to fall before we climb."

 

Megatron paused and something flickered behind his optics.

 

"You’re sounding more and more like him."

 

Shadestrike flinched, barely perceptible — but Megatron saw it.

 

That name again. Unspoken and heavy.

 

Shadestrike’s fists clenched at his sides.

 

He moved to push past, but Megatron’s arm extended—blocking him with one massive arm.

 

"I will say this only once," Megatron said, voice dropping in deadly command. "Go. To. Recharge."

 

"Oh please," Shadestrike muttered, optics narrowing. "Let me guess—Knockout told you to say that too." 

 

Then his optics snapped wide.

 

A sharp hiss of pressure. Pain flared in his arm.

 

He looked down—

 

Megatron had driven a tranquilizer needle directly into a cracked seam, slipping it under his plating with practiced precision.

 

"You—" Shadestrike hissed, recoiling but it was too late.

 

Normally, he would have dodged.

 

But he couldn’t.

 

“Normally,” Megatron said, stepping back as Bee’s limbs began to sag, “you would’ve noticed. Another consequence of pushing too far.”

 

Bee’s optics flickered.

 

He tried to stay upright. Tried to move.

 

But his knees gave in.

 

He collapsed.

 

—

 

Megatron caught him.

 

Effortlessly.

 

One massive arm swept under his frame, holding him against his chassis for a brief, weightless moment. Shadestrike’s vents stuttered once, then slowed. Unconscious. Finally still.

 

Megatron looked down at him.

 

At the mech who fought him.

 

Who challenged him.

 

Who reminded him — too much — of everything that refused to stay buried.

 

He lowered Shadestrike gently to the floor. Careful. As if this moment demanded it.

 

As if the warlord couldn’t quite pretend it didn’t mean something.

 

He will probably never see him this peaceful ever again.

 

Then he turned away to leave, but heard a soft scuff of pedes.

 

Knockout peeked around the corner, optics wide. He must’ve been there longer than he’d admit—watching. Waiting. Maybe hoping he wouldn’t have to step in.

 

Megatron passed him, turned his helm slightly but didn’t look back.

 

"Keep him intact," he said.

 

And with that, he walked away—slow and thunder-quiet, his field trailing behind like a storm no one dared name.

Notes:

Sorry I had to make a joke hehe. It fits perfectly. Especially Bee's personality

And yea Megatron still thinks of Shadestrike as a weapon.

Also you can guess — who will show up in the next chapter? Some new Decepticon coming ehe

Chapter 13: Makeshift

Summary:

Bee got out of the shadowzone and sedated

Notes:

I just realized I never actually gave any descriptions of Cybertronians terms. Dunno if you need any, but I'll give you ones I'm using anyway.

— Servo - hand (I sometimes also call it claws)
— Digits/Claws ‐ fingers
— Optics - eyes
— Heart - spark
— Pedes - legs
— Helm - head
— in-vent/ex-vent - inhale/exhale
— vents - lungs
— optic ridges - eyebrows
— faceplate - face
— audials - ears
— chassis - chest
— intake - mouth
— coolant/lubricant - tears (but I figured coolant sounds better so from now on I'm using coolant)
These are the ones I can remember of now. Also you could say:
Frequency code - phone number I guess? XD I think I used it once as a joke idk

To not make it too long the time units will be in the next chapter

---
NOW To more fun matters — I couldn't decide whether I like to make chibi or a cat... so I made both XD

AND YOU HAVEN'T HEARD THE LAST OF CAT SHADESTRIKE LEGACY

...also you did almost another 1k, so it's like ~7k checkpoint—HOW

_________

The door to the medbay slid open with a soft hiss.

 

Knockout stood in the threshold for a moment, optics narrowing as he took in the sight before him.

 

Shadestrike lay on the examination berth, optics closed, one arm draped over his abdomen, field faint and flickering. Recharge pulled at him unevenly. He looked smaller like this. Younger. Too still and vulnerable.

 

The medic sighed through his vents and stepped inside.

 

The monitor told him more than he needed to know. Shallow recharge, energon pressure below normal, system load fractured between a dozen stress responses, sparkline struggling to keep rhythm.

 

"You glitch," he murmured running a gentle scanner over the worst seams. "Why you act like no one’s supposed to notice."

 

He set the scanner aside and leaned forward, propping himself on the edge of the berth. Rested one servo beside Shadestrike’s, not touching. Just near enough.

 

"You won't joke your way out of this. Not after what I just saw."

 

Shadestrike twitched faintly in recharge — a flicker of something dark moving behind his optics. His vents hitched.

 

Knockout’s spark twinged. Without thinking, he brushed a single knuckle along a hot, stressed seam on the younger mech’s shoulder. The other mech didn’t wake, but his vents steadied slightly.

 

The twitching stopped.

 

For a moment, all the statics softened.

 

"I don’t know how to fix you."

 

He looked at the sleeping figure, the slow pulse of recharge flickering across the monitor. "And that scares the frag out of me."

 

He sat in silence for a long time.

 

Eventually, Knockout dimmed the lights to a soft, purplish hue and slipped a diagnostic cable into Shadestrike’s wrist port. It wouldn’t wake him. It would just keep him stable, keep track.

 

"But... you don't deserve to be alone," he whispered at last.

 

Knockout didn’t leave. He just sat beside him.

 

 

______

 

 

The first thing he felt was weight.

 

Everything was heavy. As if gravity had doubled across his frame.

 

The second was warmth. Not comforting. Not dangerous, but just... present. A steady pulse of power humming against his wrist.

 

He groaned faintly. His optics flickered once—twice– until the medbay came into view.

 

He ex-vented slowly and tried to sit up—but something tugged at his arm.

 

A diagnostic cable.

 

Of course.

 

He turned his helm—and froze.

 

Knockout sat in a chair beside him, hunched forward, helm resting in one servo, optics dim but not offline. He wasn’t asleep. Just watching. Like he hadn't moved for megaklicks.

 

Scrap.

 

Shadestrike’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t know what expression tried to come out.

 

"...That tranquilizer was cheating," he rasped.

 

Knockout didn’t flinch. Just smiled. Dry. Tired.

 

"Well, someone wouldn't listen to reason, so I had to get creative."

 

Shadestrike let his helm fall back onto the berth, staring at the ceiling. "...How long was I out?"

 

"Long enough for Soundwave ping me four times and Breakdown to think you died." Knockout’s tone softened as he added, "But you needed it."

 

A pause.

 

Then Knockout's tone hardened. "Now. You're going to tell me what pushed you over the edge." 

 

Shadestrike hesitated. "I fought Optimus."

 

Half truth. 

 

"Uh-uh." Knockout crossed his arms, raising an optic ridge. "The whole truth."

 

He winced. Then sighed.

 

"Shadowzone."

 

"...Bless you?"

 

Shadestrike groaned and facepalmed. "Not a sneeze. It's a place. Or maybe more time? A split of reality. Alternate dimension in which you can see and hear—but you can't touch anything... Or leave."

 

Knockout's amused expression faded and he stilled. His optics narrowed. "Like a ghost."

 

Shadestrike flinched.

 

Too close.

 

Abort. Say less.

 

Knockout moved suddenly—his servo brushing Shadestrike’s arm.

 

He tensed.

 

"You didn’t notice me sitting down?" Knockout asked, optics narrowing. "I know something’s wrong."

 

Shadestrike stared. His field spasmed. "I dreamed I was still there," he whispered. "Thought I never left."

 

Knockout didn’t tease him. Didn’t smile. Just leaned back, carefully removing the diagnostic cable.

 

"Well, you're not."

 

Shadestrike’s voice was brittle, yet he chuckled. "...Sometimes my processor forgets that."

 

Knockout offered a rare gentleness. “Then I’ll remind you.”

 

"So..." Then flashed to his usual smirk, leaning in conspiratorially. "Did I hear right? You fought Optimus?"

 

"I already regret telling anything." Shadestrike groaned, leaning his head backwards.

 

Then he frowned and asked suddenly. "Wait, how did I end up in the medbay?"

 

"Breakdown helped." Knockout responded.

 

Then in a sudden discovery, he opened his intake wide and grinned wickedly as if he was about to spill some drama. "But what's the last thing you remember?"

 

"Last thing I remember is..." Shadestrike frowned. "You. In the corridor. I think? Then scaffolding."

 

Knockout beamed. "Oh, that part."

 

Shadestrike looked somewhere on the wall. "And then you came... I think. I mean, who else could—"

 

He now looked into Knockout's gaze. It was screaming drama by now. His optics were narrowed, his expression was a big evil smirk with both of his servos clutched beneath his intake.

 

"—inject an inquilizer." Shadestrike frowned in suspicion. "Wait."

 

Then his optics snapped wide.

 

"You didn't—no. No."

 

"Oh yes." Knockout was grinning ear to ear now. "I let him do it. Right in your arm. You didn’t even see it coming.”

 

Shadestrike optics narrowed. "You let Megatron sedate me." 

 

"Before you hurt yourself again," Knockout replied,

 

"...You let him find me."

 

"You fell off the scaffolding and called me a hallucination!" Knockout protested, handing him an energon cube with a smirk. "What was I supposed to do? Let you break your other door wing?"

 

Shadestrike grabbed the cube, optics still narrow slits. "You’re dead."

 

"Keep acting dramatic and I’ll tell him where you actually recharge."

 

 

__________

 

 

Knockout adjusted the medbay lighting back to standard, but didn’t miss the way Shadestrike winced at the shift in brightness.

 

"Light sensitivity?" he asked.

 

"No," Shadestrike muttered, slipping off the berth. "Just life sensitivity."

 

Knockout huffed a quiet snort. "Oh good. Sarcasm’s back. You must be healing."

 

The black-and-yellow mech didn’t reply. He only shrugged on his plating with tired grace and followed Knockout out into the hallway, where Breakdown was already waiting for them – leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

 

"You done sulking?" he asked.

 

Shadestrike gave him a sidelong look. "You done eavesdropping?"

 

"Don’t answer a question with a question."

 

"Don’t ask a stupid question."

 

"Great," Knockout sighed dramatically. "You’re both walking headaches."

 

For a moment everything felt normal and casual enough. Walking, bantering.

 

Until they weren’t alone.

 

Shadestrike felt it before he saw it – something in the air shifted, like someone else’s field had passed too close without brushing his. He paused mid-step. Optics narrowing.

 

There.

 

Up ahead in the corridor, a black figure stood.

 

Not a Vehicon. Not even close.

 

Tall. Lean. Unnaturally fluid. Matte plating swallowed the purple ambient light like ink. The figure didn’t move. Just watched.

 

Shadestrike didn’t hesitate.

 

His spear ignited in a flash, and in one breathless second he lunged—leapt—and slashed down with lethal precision.

 

Clang.

 

The strike was caught. Blocked mid-motion with shocking ease.

 

Their weapons locked. Sparks flew. For a split second, it felt like fighting smoke – something that shouldn’t be solid but was.

 

"Shadestrike, wait!" Knockout shouted. "That’s not an intruder—!"

 

Too late.

 

The figure twisted, unhooked from the lock, and slipped backward two steps like a liquid metal.

 

Then he spoke, voice smooth and lazy, with a razor’s edge behind every word.

 

"If that’s how you greet coworkers, I’d hate to see your diplomacy."

 

Knockout stepped between them fast, hands raised. "Shadestrike—meet Makeshift. He’s... new."

 

"I can introduce myself," the stranger said, unfazed, as if they hadn't just tried to kill each other. "But that was a lovely first impression."

 

His optics flicked over Shadestrike with curiosity, like data being scanned. "You’re sharper than you look."

 

"You’re more punchable than you look," Bee growled, not lowering his spear.

 

"Oh, excellent. Banter. I love that." Makeshift smiled wide.

 

His frame shimmered – just slightly for a second.

 

The effect was subtle but unmistakable. His frame adapted for a breath. Not just a transformation—a taste.

 

Shadestrike’s stance tightened. "You’re a mimic."

 

"A shapeshifter," Makeshift corrected, with theatrical grace. "I don't just copy. I become."

 

"So a spy."

 

"I prefer... connoisseur," he replied with mock offense. "And you? Fascinating."

 

The way he said it made Bee’s plating crawl.

 

"You’re not like the others," he said, voice lowering. "You carry yourself like you’re ready to vanish at any moment. You hate being looked at—so I will look harder."

 

Shadestrike’s field snapped tight. "Why are you here."

 

"Same reason you are, I suspect," Makeshift said, voice light but pointed. "Trying to be useful. Survive. Blend in. Something like that."

 

Knockout crossed his arms, lips tight. "He’s here on contract. Megatron vouched for him."

 

"Trust him?" Shadestrike asked flatly. 

 

"I didn’t say that."

 

Makeshift grinned wider. "Trust is overrated. But observation? Now that’s personal."

 

He took a step closer. Shadestrike didn’t move, but he straightened slowly. Not of fear. For dominance.

 

"You interest me," Makeshift said softly. “You act like you’ve been here forever—but your name’s not in the system. Your signature’s off, your story doesn’t add up and your presence makes half the crew twitch."

 

Bee's optics narrowed. "So does yours."

 

"True," Makeshift said with a half-laugh. "But I never claimed to be anything else."

 

His voice shifted.

 

"You don’t care what others think—but you do. You’re loyal—but to who?"

 

He leaned closer, head tilting, studying Shadestrike with unsettling delight. "You though... you will be hard to crack." 

 

Shadestrike forced a smirk. "So you’ve done your homework."

 

"I’ve been learning your voice," Makeshift said softl. "And your silences."

 

Shadestrike turned away to leave. Didn't answer.

 

But Makeshift did.

 

In his voice.

 

"I’m not playing games with you."

 

The exact pitch. The same dry bite. The same rasp on the consonants.

 

Bee’s spark stopped cold.

 

He turned and saw himself standing across the hall. Same armor. Same optics. Same posture. Wearing his voice like a mask.

 

He was staring at himself.

 

Bee tensed. His EM field sparked like a tripwire. Reality bent, blurred—because if he could see himself—

 

It's not a dream, right? 

 

"No." The whisper slipped out.

 

Knockout stepped in fast, "Okay, that’s enough!"

 

Makeshift’s illusion flickered and faded, returning to his original form like a curtain dropping.

 

"Just a demonstration," he purred. "Little preview of what I can do." 

 

"That was a threat," Shadestrike snapped.

 

"A warning," Makeshift corrected with a grin and then whispered again, in Shadestrike’s voice. "I figure people out. And you, my friend, are a puzzle I am dying to solve."

 

In one blink, the copy shifted seamlessly into the frame of a standard Vehicon. And then it was just... gone. Lost in the march of troopers.

 

Shadestrike stood frozen in place, vents unsteady.

 

Knockout stepped up beside him, trying to brush off the tension. "He’s got a flair for theatrics. Don't let him under your plating."

 

But Bee barely heard him.

 

He can't find out. He can't.

 

Knockout touched his elbow, voice distant now. "Shades?"

 

No answer.

 

He bolted.

 

"Shadestrike!" Knockout shouted, startled.

 

But he already ran toward the wall, sprinted up the surface in a fluid parkour run, flipped onto the ceiling scaffolding with a full-body pivot and perched – trembling, but in control. For now.

 

Breakdown elbowed him. "You still sure he's not crazy?"

 

Knockout rolled his optics and shoved him lightly. "Oh, back off."

 

Knockout looked up at him, expression shifting between exasperation and concern. "You saw him. I saw him. You’re not hallucinating!"

 

Shadestrike crouched low and said tightly. "The not-real Knockout would've said that too!"

 

Knockout groaned. "Oh for—"

 

"—say something only the real Knockout would say!” Shadestrike cut him in the middle of the sentence.

 

Knockout blinked, then scoffed. "That groundbridge you told me about was still more stable and trustworthy than Starscream."

 

A beat of silence.

 

Then a faint snort from above.

 

Shadestrike ex-vented, nodding once. The tension in his frame eased.

 

"So... you're coming down?" Breakdown folded his arms.

 

"No," Shadestrike chuckled nervously.

 

"...That reassured you?" Knockout asked, hopefull.

 

"That it's not a dream," Shadestrike muttered. "And that glitch can be anywhere."

 

Knockout’s optics dimmed, field tightening. He didn’t like how serious that sounded.

 

But he also didn’t argue.

 

 

_________

 

 

Makeshift watched the two mechs through the grated floor above, motionless as a shadow.

 

They weren’t the test.

 

He was.

 

Shadestrike. The contradiction. The ghost. The mystery wrapped in a smirk and static. Not a Decepticon, but not quite anything.

 

And if Makeshift wanted to learn him – truly learn him – he had to press the right seams. The quiet ones. The ones that didn’t scream, but cracked with memory.

 

Not threats. Not force, but doubt.

 

He turned, pacing along the walls of a dim corridor.

 

He had already planted the whispers.

 

Whispers were already trickling through the ranks —subtle, planted by his own voice from stolen forms. A too-sharp salute, quiet disappearances, the odd way Shadestrike reacted to names he shouldn’t know.

 

Because the game wasn’t about replacing him. It was about unraveling him.

 

And Makeshift would watch every flinch, every hesitation. Every time the mask slipped.

 

If that unraveling happened fast enough – maybe Shadestrike would start to wonder if he was even real to begin with.

 

Makeshift smiled as he typed the last line of his trap into the console.

 

 

> FILE MODIFIED:

 

: Subject: CLIFFJUMPER TERMINATION 

Assailant: Shadestrike

Authorization: Megatron – Direct :

 

 

He paused.

 

Then added the final touch.

 

> : Sub-confirmed: Soundwave Observation Network :

 

A fake stamp of legitimacy.

 

He knew Soundwave would never actually approve it. But the illusion of it? That was enough to crack even the most stable mech.

 

"Let’s see how long you stay composed." he whispered, vanishing into the dark again.

 

 

__________

 

 

Knockout crossed his arms, standing directly beneath Shadestrike’s perch. He vented once—deep and frustrated.

 

"You know," he called up, "when I said you should get some elevation in life, this isn’t what I meant."

 

From above, Shadestrike didn't even shift. "Go back to your duties. I'm good."

 

His voice echoed slightly off the metal. Too steady. Too hollow.

 

Breakdown had already peeled off — some urgent file revision with Starscream. Though with Starscream, everything was urgent. It left Knockout alone, staring up at the motionless silhouette perched like a cat.

 

Knockout scowled. "Fine. Stay up there. Makes it easier to monologue without you interrupting."

 

Shadestrike’s optics flicked once.

 

Knockout paced a step. "You act like no one notices. Like you stay quiet long enough, we’ll stop looking."

 

Beat.

 

"I'm still looking."

 

A twitch of a servo. Subtle, but Knockout caught it.

 

"And you know why?" he asked, stepping closer to the base of the scaffolding. "Because I care, you stubborn glitch. And that’s what’s driving you up the walls—literally."

 

Still nothing. Just optics faintly reflecting the low ceiling light. Still crouched. Still tense.

 

Knockout stepped further from the base of the wall. Looked up.

 

"You climb like you’re running from gravity," Knockout muttered. "Like up there, no one can touch you. No one can see you. But newsflash, sweetheart—"

 

He backed up a few steps, then without warning—

 

Ran straight at the wall. Tried to vault off it with a boost of momentum. Slipped. Swore. Landed hard on both pedes with a grunt and an undignified thud.

 

Shadestrike blinked, finally reacting. "What... are you doing?"

 

"Learning." Knockout grunted, brushing off his arm. "Next time I'm racing you."

 

"You're going to dent your fender."

 

"Screw the fender!" Knockout growled, took another running start— 

 

And this time caught the bottom rung, but his grip slipped. He hit the ground again with a louder clang.

 

"Primus, frag—!"

 

He stayed there a moment, arms sprawled, processor spinning. Then, footsteps overhead.

 

And suddenly, a thud.

 

Shadestrike stared and then dropped down beside him in one clean motion.

 

Knockout peeked up with a smirk from the floor. "Took you long enough."

 

"You win," Shadestrike said, voice dry and then arched a brow. "You let yourself fall."

 

Knockout smirked, while Shadestrike gave him a servo to clumber up. "Didn’t hear you laughing."

 

"...A little bit," Bee admitted under his breath.

 

Knockout straightened, brushing a servo over his chassis. Then added lightly, "If you ever tell anyone I pulled that stunt, I’ll jab you with something way worse than Megatron did."

 

Shadestrike smiled faintly. "Deal."

 

 

____

 

 

They walked down the corridor together quietly, side by side. 

 

Then—movement from the corridor ahead.

 

Shadestrike’s optics flicked up.

 

It was Breakdown. Casual gait. Heavy steps. He strode toward them from a side hallway.

 

Everything seemed normal.

 

...Too normal.

 

Bee’s spark jumped, his optics widened.

 

Too smooth. The steps were perfect—too perfect. Balanced evenly across the plating. Lacking the usual slight limp in Breakdown’s right stride.

 

He was that thing. Wrapped in Breakdown’s armor. Too clean. Too even.

 

Shadestrike’s servos ignited.

 

Blades out.

 

"WHOA!" Breakdown reeled, hands up instinctively.

 

Knockout flinched. "Shades—!"

 

His blade halted mid-air — a fraction from Breakdown’s neck.

 

The larger mech froze, optics wide.

 

It was him.

 

No shimmer. No distortion. No mimic glitch.

 

Just real Breakdown.

 

Shadestrike pulled back sharply, staggering a step away.

 

"I—" he started, his blades flickering to servos again.

 

But his spark was racing. Vent systems rasped with static. Optics flickered like something had broken loose behind them.

 

"What the frag was that?!" Breakdown barked, stepping back fully. "What is wrong with you?!"

 

He couldn't answer.

 

Voices from his memory blinked.

 

You killed him! 

 

You thought it was a simulation?! 

 

What kind of excuse is that!

 

Knockout had already moved between them, arms out like a barrier.

 

"Breakdown, not now."

 

"I was just walking!" Breakdown snapped. "You saw that, right? He nearly fragging gutted me!"

 

"He thought—" Knockout started, then stopped.

 

Shadestrike wasn’t listening.

 

He’d gone still. Too still.

 

His optics had gone distant. His EM field collapsed into a tight, spiking radius.

 

He muttered, barely hearable. "It was an accident." 

 

But it didn't look like he was talking to them. More like to convince himself. Clutching the edge of the wall like he needed it to stay upright.

 

Another voice from memory.

 

What is wrong with you?!

 

Knockout stepped forward instantly, catching his arm, holding firm. "Hey. Hey—it’s me. Look at me."

 

Bee didn’t. He couldn’t. His optics stayed locked on Breakdown like the image would shift again.

 

Breakdown lowered his hands slowly. "You fragging glitched?"

 

No answer.

 

Knockout’s voice dropped low. Controlled. "That wasn’t you."

 

Shadestrike blinked and looked at him.

 

"What did you say?"

 

"That reaction. That wasn’t you. It was panic. It was trauma. And you’re not going to let Makeshift get inside your head that easy."

 

He didn’t answer. Just stared blankly at a wall like it might bite him. 

 

Breakdown grunted. "You pull that kind of move in front of Megatron, and you’re dead before I can blink."

 

"Breakdown," Knockout warned sharply.

 

"What? I’m not wrong."

 

But then Breakdown’s optics shifted — finally registering how Shadestrike hadn’t moved. How his field was static-choked. Defensive.

 

"...Just—watch yourself," he added, voice lower this time. "We all have stuff. Doesn’t mean we turn our blades on allies."

 

Bee didn’t speak at first. Then, quietly, with his optics downcast, he shook his head. "Breakdown’s right. Sorry for the trouble."

 

"Shadestrike, wait—" Knockout reached out.

 

But Shadestrike was already turning, walking fast and without a sound down the corridor and then — vanished out of sight.

 

Knockout ex-vented and followed, muttering a curse under his breath.

 

Breakdown stood a moment longer, arms crossed, watching the space Bee had disappeared into.

 

Then muttered, "You should’ve left him up on the scaffolding."

 

"Stop sabotaging my hard work," Knockout deadpanned over his shoulder without missing a step.

Notes:

HEHE YOU HAVEN'T EXPECT THAT DID YOU? It's from the episode Con Job. You probably didn't remember huh? I didn't either until I re-watched first season to the lore.

And then I was... Primus that's a wasted potential...

...

I'm going to give him new life and personality. Like really, I even went on Tf Wiki to learn his personality and there was none, because they never showed him interacting. I only had a slight hint of his backstory and him being otherly named 777. Hehe what a stupid name

Also...

YOU ALL MADE ME DO THIS. I added 'like a cat' because of you. Yes, I'm talking about you (everyone who wrote he's like a cat XD) so now live with it! I'll definitely enjoy it for the rest of my life XDD sO yeah I am hearing you all out

...I just fragging discovered something important to the lore while my six hours vacation trip. I was imagining super amv (animations? Idk how to call it XD) of the lore to my music while suddenly it hit me...

Soundwave in shadowzone...

Didn't hit you yet?

Let me repeat that again.

Soundwave. In. Shadowzone.

HE WAS FRAGGING TRAPPED HERE. LIKE THEY LITERALLY SHOWED HIM IN RID.

And according to my lore he would be there... like two years...

...well at least he hasn't got voices in his head, constant guilt eating him alive, betrayal flaring anytime he closed his optics and had purpose— return to Megatron. I think these could keep him from going insane.

ANYWAY I have no idea if any of you is even reading these notes ehe (I do hope though that you don't find these annoying)

Chapter 14: Something Slipped

Summary:

Makeshift is wreaking havoc

Notes:

Good... wait everyone have different time. GOOD DAY!

Like always I'm going to blabber. So first thing — I recently joined Transformers discord server hue hue community is amazing. Also I was having fun posting here unfinished sketches or silly drawings xDDD

If any of you would be interested in joining I literally just typed in Google: Transformers discord xD or I can just send you a link in comments idk

TO THE TOPIC

Today I present to you another artwork. Cause I was like: man, fights have to look cool. Wait, I don't remember how Bee's decepticon hunter was looking like.
*looking it up*
*straight up disgusted face*

SO I decided to fix it. And how is the best to fix it? By drawing it. With a cool pose... I personally love it.

NOW TO THE FIC ENJOY

(Also 7,8 k hits, almost another 1k bro you're all awesome)

__________

Ahead, Bee's thoughts spiraled. Knockout’s voice echoed through the back of his processor.

 

That wasn’t you.

 

It hit like a spark pulse. Familiar. Gentle.

 

But then another voice surfaced.

 

Optimus.

 

That's not you.

 

He faintly smiled under his intake. A bitter, tired curl of his mouth. 

 

Funny how massive the difference could be in just a few words.

 

Optimus didn’t tell him it wasn’t his fault. Didn’t ask what had happened. Just labeled it—that’s not you—like who he’d become was already a mistake.

 

But Knockout—

 

Knockout watched him try to gut his best friend, and still said it wasn’t him. That his core was something worth protecting.

 

Even now.

 

Even after everything. 

 

Bee didn’t know if that made Knockout reckless…

 

…or right.

 

By the time Knockout caught up with him, Bee was already pacing the lower deck corridor just outside the command hub—one servo clutched loosely at his forearm, jaw set, vents slow and deep like he was trying to ground himself in the now. 

 

Knockout didn’t speak. He just walked few pedes behind him, matching pace.

 

Bee recognized the pace matched Knockout's one.

 

He sighed, then winced slightly. "Knockout, please leave me alone."

 

It was quiet for a while. No response.

 

Then the silence cracked.

 

A voice—his voice—murmured from behind.

 

"Do you even know what kind of consequences that might have?"

 

Bee froze. As if he was wondering if it was only in his head.

 

Knockout paused too.

 

The voice echoed again, quiet, sharp, too close to be a recording.

 

"You think no one’s watching?"

 

Bee’s expression went rigid. That wasn’t a memory. That was now.

 

He turned sharply—

 

—and now saw himself.

 

A silhouette which once supossedly felt like Knockout's was now a flicker of his own reflection, grinning at him widely.

 

Then it moved around him proudly smirking like a predator.

 

Bee's optics snapped in fury, then he shook his helm briskly. "Get off me."

 

He turned on his heel, optics shut for a nanosecond, gripping his helm with both servos. And then he spun again and snapped.

 

"I told you to—!" He cut himself mid sentence, optics flickering in shock. Took a look around.

 

No one was there...

 

He laughed shortly, nervously wincing before turning to walk again through the dim litted corridor.

 

Was it Makeshift... or only his imagination again?

 

 

_____

 

 

Inside the control room, Breakdown and a few Vehicons were reviewing route calibrations. Casual. Routine. Normal. Until the door hissed open and Bee strode in stiffly.

 

"Hey," Breakdown called, raising a brow. "You good now, or you still stabbing hallucinations?"

 

Bee didn’t answer. His optics scanned the room. Searching.

 

He stepped toward Breakdown. 

 

"You're sure it’s you?"

 

Breakdown blinked. "...What?"

 

Then Bee’s blade was half-drawn.

 

Breakdown flinched back, arms raising in alarm. "Whoa, hey, hey! It’s me! The real one! You serious right now?!"

 

Knockout burst through the door. "Shadestrike—!"

 

Bee jerked around, vents flaring.

 

But there were... two Knockouts.

 

Both behind him, just stormed into the room.

 

Both froze.

 

Bee’s optics darted between them. One narrowed just a little too quickly. One blinked at the wrong time.

 

And then—

 

The real Knockout stepped forward and shoved the other one with both hands.

 

The imposter staggered—then laughed.

 

The facade rippled, plating reforming like melted wax, and Makeshift stood there grinning, unbothered by the scene he’d just orchestrated.

 

"You’re slipping," he teased, brushing imaginary dust from his chassis. "That little ghost-panic of yours? Delicious. We’re going to have so much fun."

 

Shadestrike stood clenching his fists.

 

"Performing as Knockout is too easy." Makeshift grinned, waving his talon dramatically. "You just have to pretend you care, when in reality — you do only about yourself."

 

Bee lunged without hesitation.

 

He slammed Makeshift into the wall, servo snapped into a blade as he pressed under his jaw.

 

"No more games," he hissed.

 

Makeshift’s grin widened. "That’s the spirit."

 

Then he melted—again—liquid metal retreating into the shape of a Vehicon, faceless and indistinct.

 

Gone.

 

Just like that.

 

Bee stood frozen, vents ragged, frame shaking with silent static, retracting a weapon. Breakdown stood with servos still half-raised, optics locked on him in silent alarm.

 

But then Shadestrike turned to Knockout. His voice rasped, quiet but deliberate. "You okay?"

 

Knockout blinked. "I should be the one asking you that."

 

A beat passed.

 

Then, unexpectedly, Shadestrike spoke again—voice steadier this time, almost awkward. "...What would you say to a patrol? Just... us."

 

 

_______________

 

 

They went for a drive. 

 

Technically, it was a patrol, but no Autobots signals were anywhere in range and the mission logs would record it as ‘territory sweep – no contact.’ The sun was low, amber light bleeding across the canyon walls and the road unfurled ahead them.

 

They sped side by side, engine roars in rhythmic harmony. Neither of them spoke for a long time.

 

Eventually, Knockout broke the stillness. His tone was casual – almost teasing.

 

"I didn't expect you to take the initiative."

 

Shadestrike answered. "That Makeshift guy is... interesting."

 

Knockout hummed. "Some are saying he’s just like you. When Breakdown said it, I almost slapped him."

 

Shadestrike huffed, a sound between a laugh and a sigh. "Well... I kind of get it. He’s got a certain... something. I see some resemblance."

 

"Please," Knockout scoffed. "The only things you two have in common are shadows, sharp words, and decent fight."

 

Shadestrike gave a dry tone. "So... Soundwave."

 

"Soundwave’s the silent type. You two? You both like pushing buttons. The difference is how."

 

Bee slowed slightly, just enough for the wind to speak in his silence.

 

"And by that you mean...?"

 

"He does it for fun. You do it to hide something."

 

Bee went silent for a moment.

 

For a while, there was only the hum of tires and wind in the canyon walls.

 

Then Bee spoke again, quieter, chuckling faintly. "You know… next time, maybe tell me I’m seeing ghosts before I nearly skewer Breakdown."

 

Knockout didn’t laugh. Not this time.

 

"I would, if I could tell when you stop seeing what’s real."

 

Bee was silent.

 

"I’m scared I won’t know what's real anymore," he admitted at last. "That someday I’ll wake up and it’ll all be another version of me. Another lie I started believing."

 

Knockout didn’t answer at first.

 

He veered off the road instead—smooth and sudden—onto an abandoned side trail of gravel and dusk, hidden from human eyes, distant from surveillance.

 

He transformed in one smooth motion and stretched.

 

Bee followed.

 

When he straightened, he was still tense—but not pulling away.

 

"Why were pulling over here?" he asked confused.

 

Knockout dusted his servo against his thigh plating. "If you can’t tell what’s real, then we make something that is."

 

Bee tilted his helm. "...What?"

 

"Codes," Knockout said. "Tells. Something only we’d know. If one of us ever gets copied again, we’ll know."

 

Shadestrike paused. It reminded him of something very familiar to him.

 

Then slowly nodded. "That’s... smart."

 

They stood there, facing each other. Just wind through metal, the setting sun turning their plating to gold. The silence felt lighter.

 

Then Bee, hesitant, spoke again.

 

"...What do you think about... using sign language? Not the normal one. The... older dialects. The forgotten ones."

 

Knockout frowned sceptical. "How do you even know those exist?"

 

Shadestrike froze.

 

Too much. That was too much.

 

He shouldn't told anything like that, ever. But it was a perfect opportunity. They are alone now, without Soundwave supervision, away from the ship and new disguise master.

 

He looked away fast, as if the trees were suddenly very interesting.

 

Knockout didn’t press. Instead, he stepped forward, gently took Shadestrike’s servo – firm, but calm. But he flinched slightly anyway.

 

"If I swear not to ask. Not to tell anyone. Will that earn a little trust?"

 

Shadestrike’s optics flickered. He didn’t answer—but didn’t pull away either.

 

So Knockout continued, softer now. "If someone asks, we’ll say it’s just a hobby. Our own private code. No one needs to know it’s real. No one needs to know it’s... yours."

 

Shadestrike’s field stuttered. Unshielded for a second. Vulnerable.

 

Something cracked open. Not broken—just unlocked.

 

His optics widened faintly. A memory surged.

 

Optimus, this is inefficient. The scout isn’t even deaf—he’s just mute. 

 

He doesn’t need special treatment.

 

We can't all focus on learning ancient language. The war’s coming. Let him adapt.

 

Back then, they spoke over him. Around him. Through him. 

 

But not to him.

 

And now Knockout—arrogant, vain, brilliant Knockout—was standing still, quiet, and waiting.

 

For him.

 

He was willing to do it... for him. 

 

"You’re smiling," Knockout said, smirking. "Excited to teach me your secret code?"

 

Bee blinked, startled. He hadn’t realized he was.

 

He cleared his throat.

 

"...Let’s start with the basics."

 

And they did.

 

Simple gestures. A language that hadn’t been spoken aloud in centuries – but now whispered between the spaces where words failed.

 

Words might fail him.

 

But this? 

 

This at least was his.

 

 

______

 

 

Shadestrike lay sprawled on the scaffolding, posture deceptively relaxed—arms folded behind his helm, one leg draped over the other. He wasn’t resting. Not really. He hadn’t truly rested since Makeshift arrived.

 

The idea that someone might be watching, mimicking, slipping past even his best instincts—it frayed something in him he didn’t know was still unraveling.

 

Then he heard it.

 

Starscream’s voice, high-pitched and venomous, floated up from the corridor below.

 

"—Shadestrike will pay for this."

 

Bee slowly frowned, curious. He sat up, gaze locked on the Seeker as he passed beneath, muttering to himself.

 

He hesitated.

 

But as the seeker was just about to turn on the corner, he quietly dropped down and started walking behind him. Loud enough on purpose for him to notice.

 

Starscream spun with a hiss. "How long have you been spying on me?! Three spymasters on this ship is excessive!"

 

"I didn’t," Bee said flatly. "Just overheard you slandering me."

 

Starscream scowled. "You told Megatron! You feigned ignorance just to humiliate me!"

 

Bee frowned. "...What are you talking about?"

 

"Oh, don’t pretend." Starscream’s voice sharpened. "You played the fool, but I know what you did!"

 

"If this is about anything I supposedly said or did, maybe check if it wasn’t Makeshift in disguise—"

 

"Don’t you dare blame this on that shapeshifting menace!" Starscream snapped. "You’re not wriggling out this time!"

 

Bee’s vents shortened. Something was wrong. He had a suspicion why Starscream was acting this way. 

 

"Still no clue," he muttered. "Lighten me up."

 

Meanwhile he slid digit on his wrist, flipped open his datapad, scrolling fast. A file had been accessed.

 

He saw one suspicious file, that had been accessed recently.

 

Starscream snarled. "Don't you dare ignore me—!" 

 

But Bee had already seen it. His optics snapped wide.

 

 

> Mission ID: EN-PHX-6

Cross-reference: Casualty Log – Autobot operative “Cliffjumper”

Status: OFFLINE

Assailant: Shadestrike

Authorization: Megatron – Direct 

Sub-confirmed: Soundwave Observation Network

 

 

Starscream voice cut in the same time as he saw his designation on the file. "You rewrote the file and took the credit! Made me look like a fool!"

 

His vision blurred.

 

That’s wasn't—

 

No.

 

He saw it happen. Starscream killed Cliffjumper.

 

Or did he?

 

His EM field shorted in all directions. Panic. Dissonance. The log was detailed—perfectly formatted. The kind of thing Soundwave himself would verify.

 

"Are you even listening?" Starscream’s tone faltered, bleeding into confusion. "Shadestrike?"

 

Bee’s voice was barely audible. "I didn’t… it wasn’t me."

 

He turned abruptly, walking away in a straight line that swayed with each step.

 

Starscream called after him. "Where are you going?!"

 

"Where do you think?" Shadestrike growled, not looking back. "To speak with Megatron."

 

His steps echoed unevenly in the corridor—like his pedes couldn’t decide whether to run or collapse. His servos stayed clenched at his sides, trembling with each cycle.

 

The log replayed in his processor over and over.

 

It wasn’t real. It couldn't be.

 

But the data looked real. The signatures. All matching official Decepticon formatting—Soundwave’s formatting.

 

And that terrified him most of all.

 

If Soundwave didn’t catch a falsification this precise, then… it wasn’t falsified.

 

He stopped walking. Braced both servos on the wall. Dropped his helm forward, vents heaving against cold metal.

 

A voice from his memory appeared.

 

I didn't killed him, I swear!

 

It wasn't me!

 

His own voice swearing innocence. His own servos over a still, dead spark. One memory overwriting the other. He couldn’t tell which was truth anymore.

 

Was any of it real?

 

Had something changed when he crossed the timeline?

 

Or… had he changed it?

 

The hallway spun around him.

 

He slid to the floor.

 

His optics flickered, not from damage—but disbelief.

 

"No," he whispered. "That wasn’t me. That wasn't me."

 

But the log said otherwise. And the log was all anyone else would believe.

 

His name. His designation. Engraved like a crime scene marker into a history.

 

He stared forward. Not at anything. Just breathing.

 

Unsteady. Off-kilter. Fractured.

 

No. He suddenly thought.

 

That wasn't you.

 

Knockout's voice replayed like an anchor. 

 

Bee exhaled slowly.

 

Then pushed off the floor, servos clenched.

 

He won't let him get to his head.

 

Suddenly a figure turned around the corner. Knockout.

 

"Finally," he said smiling. "Someone is willing to fight for himself."

 

Bee narrowed his optics. "You think confronting Megatron is a good idea?"

 

Knockout smirked. "Since when do you ask anyone’s opinion?"

 

Then Knockout raised a servo. Curled the fingers. Gave a gesture.

 

A flick of two digits at the chest. You okay? Their private sign. A question only the real Knockout would ask without sound, without witnesses.

 

Except—it was wrong.

 

Too fast. Too rigid. A mirrored motion, not fluid. Not learned—copied.

 

Bee grinned, optics narrowing. "I only showed this gesture only once on this ship."

 

Knockout purred. "What can I say? I'm a quick study."

 

"Only one problem with that." Shadestrike came closer, grin widened. "I showed it wrong on purpose." 

 

The grin of Knockout's faceplate vanished.

 

Then Knockout’s form shimmered like a heat mirage, peeling back into matte black plating and hollow white optics. Makeshift stood before him again.

 

"You are sharp," he said, chuckling low. "Knew that one would trip me eventually."

 

Shadestrike didn’t flinch. His fists clenched, a grin creeping across his faceplate — too wide, too sharp.

 

"Oh really?" he chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "This is fun to you?"

 

"I’d call it enlightening," Makeshift purred. "You’re definitely cracking. So many secrets, all pressed up under that pretty armor. I never expected this side of you…"

 

Then Makeshift changed into Shadestrike. His black and yellow frame. His optics gleamed, calculating.

 

There was a pause of silence.

 

Then, Bee optics suddenly widened and he lunged toward him.

 

His spear flicked to life in a crackle of charge, and he went straight for the throat — but the strike was deflected.

 

Makeshift parried smoothly, twisting his own blade to shove the spear aside. "I’ll even go easy on you," Bee taunted, optics alight. "With a spear. Just to humiliate you."

 

"Big words," Makeshift smirked still in his frame, slashing in reply. "From someone terrified of his own reflection."

 

They collided again. Blade met blade. Sparks burst like fireworks in the low purple light.

 

No banter now — only motion.

 

They didn’t fight like soldiers. They fought like predators.

 

Fast. Precise. Every strike honed from instinct. Every dodge a whisper of learned survival.

 

Makeshift danced around Bee’s wild strikes with liquid grace, parrying and twisting, trying to read his rhythm. No wasted motion. Every movement precise. 

 

"You’re faster than you look," Makeshift grunted between clashes.

 

Bee’s optics narrowed, grin twitching wider. "You’re slower than I expected."

 

Their EM fields clashed harder than their weapons. Makeshift’s was smooth and surgical — quiet calculation. Shadestrike’s?

 

Chaos. 

 

Flashes of rage. 

 

Desperation. 

 

Thrill.

 

Soundwave would’ve recorded every nanosecond of it, no doubt savoring the readings. Wondering which of them is the real one.

 

Shadestrike blurred forward in a sudden barrage — a series of rapid strikes, all instinct and teeth and madness. Duck. Slash. Twist. Jump. 

 

As much as Makeshift tried to figure him out, there was no pattern. No logic. Just relentless motion.

 

Then — Shadestrike laughed.

 

Not just a chuckle.

 

Not just a smirk.

 

He laughed — wild, unrestrained, unhinged.

 

It tore from his throat like static backlash, high and sharp. His optics filled with mania, his whole frame trembling with suppressed something. Anger. Joy. Trauma. It was impossible to tell if he was actually enjoying it.

 

Makeshift faltered.

 

For the first time, he hesitated.

 

And Shadestrike saw it.

 

He dropped his spear.

 

Clang.

 

It hit the floor with finality.

 

Makeshift blinked. "What—?"

 

Shadestrike used the moment of his confusion, surged forward and punched him — hard enough to jolt his helm sideways. Then came a brutal kick to the midsection, lifting the shapeshifter off his feet and hurling him into the wall with a metallic crack.

 

Makeshift gasped.

 

Before he could recover—

 

Shadestrike sprinted, ran up the wall, flipped off the scaffolding, and slammed both pedes into Makeshift’s chest mid-air.

 

They crashed down together.

 

Shadestrike landed with grace, already walking in his direction.

 

Makeshift sprawled, coughing static. His frame shimmered back to his own, black mate plating.

 

Shadestrike didn’t give him time.

 

He slid his pede under the discarded spear, flicked it into the air, caught it—

 

—and brought it down to Makeshift’s neck. 

 

Emotionless. 

 

Dead still.

 

A predator in perfect stillness.

 

Makeshift lay beneath him, optics narrowed but hands raised in mocking surrender.

 

"You’re full of surprises," he rasped. "That fight was… educational."

 

He moved a claw, slow, tentative, lowering the spear’s point a fraction.

 

Wrong move.

 

Shadestrike’s spear pressed tighter.

 

"You changed the file," Shadestrike said softly, his tone cold as the steel in his servo.

 

Makeshift’s lips curled into something halfway between a smirk and a sneer. "You accuse me so quickly. It wasn't only my doing. They didn't change it back. But from how you reacted… and how you fought—maybe that log wasn’t fake after all."

 

He tilted his helm, voice dripping mock sympathy. "Maybe it is who you are now."

 

Shadestrike huffed amused, then smiled, but it was the kind of smile that made sparks itch. 

 

Then he leaned closer and with soft tone, but sharp. "Pull anything like that again—mess with me, Knockout, anyone on this ship and I swear. I’ll make sure the next file they find has your real corpse attached."

 

"Is that a threat?" Makeshift said, still smirking. "Finally showing claws."

 

Shadestrike didn’t speak.

 

Instead, he drove the spear down with wide optics blazing, making a clean cut on his neck. Just deep enough to bleed energon, but serious enough — to force him to take a medical attention.

 

Makeshift hissed and grabbed his neck, optics flaring—but even now, the smirk twitched back into place.

 

Shadestrike leaned down, close and smirking now.

 

"Just a demonstration." Voice barely above a whisper. "Little preview of what I can do."

 

Then a smile vanished from his faceplate, tilted his head and his tone dropped to something darker.

 

"A warning." 

 

He rose without another word, turned, and vanished down the hall — not in a sprint, not in retreat, but in perfect control.

 

Silent. Composed.

 

Makeshift lay there for a long moment, pressing a claw to the leaking cut on his neck.

 

Then he sat up, blinking after him.

 

"…Psycho," he muttered.

 

But there was a hint of admiration in his voice.

 

And for the first time — a shadow of fear.

Notes:

Things are going to get interesting. Also sorry if there are mistakes. Posting this in hurry.

And like always I'm opened for your theories (that I love)

Chapter 15: The One They Fear

Summary:

"Shadestrike is having a beef with a robotic skinwalker" - my favourite quote from this week

Notes:

I'm gonna start with

>> IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT <<

Did this brought your attention? Good

Cause I have a little game for you all. Incorrect quotes challenge. I'll explain. You will write incorrect quotes in the comments and I will choose the one I liked the most and make a mini comic hue hue.
— it can be a quote from media or invented by you line — basically it can be every character from tf Prime. It's your choice!

I just love incorrect quotes

Down here I will show an example comic I made and for now enjoy! (Pssst—thanks for 9k)

The chamber doors weren’t supposed to open without clearance.

 

They did anyway. 

 

A hiss and violent stumping of pedes echoed through the obsidian-paneled hall.

 

The guards flinched, but the mech who stormed through didn’t stop to acknowledge them.

 

Shadestrike walked like a weapon already mid-swing.

 

Optics narrowed. Vents harsh. Field flaring in jagged bursts. His frame still dusted with the grime of the fight. A split energon smear on his jaw. His optics burned, one twitching faintly. One optic slightly twitching.

 

At the far end of the hall, Megatron stood before the central console, back turned.

 

"I didn’t summon you," he said without looking.

 

"I didn’t ask permission," Shadestrike replied.

 

The voice carried. Too loud. Too calm. But cracked at the edges like glass under pressure.

 

Megatron turned slowly.

 

His gaze fell upon the smaller mech — unhinged, spear still clutched in one servo like he hadn’t even paused after the last blow.

 

"Leave us," Megatron ordered the guards, still not raising his voice.

 

They hesitated.

 

"Now."

 

The doors closed behind them. Silence fell.

 

"You falsified it," Bee said, quiet at first. "You had it signed. You made it official."

 

Megatron’s optics narrowed. "You’ll have to be more specific."

 

"The file!" Bee snapped, pacing a tight arc across the

polished floor. "Cliffjumper. Mission EN-PHX-6. You rewrote history and put my name in it."

 

Megatron studied him. "Did I?"

 

Bee laughed—a harsh, broken sound, cut off halfway like his vocalizer glitched under pressure. "You think this is a game?"

 

"I think everything is a test," Megatron said coolly. "And you’ve been failing them spectacularly."

 

Bee stopped. His field flared with pure fury. The spear trembled slightly in his grip.

 

"You put my name on a kill I didn’t commit."

 

"You’ve killed before." Megatron countered.

 

"That’s not the point."

 

Megatron stepped down from the dais, slow and deliberate.

 

"Then what is the point? That you remember something different? That your sense of identity is so fragile a file can unravel you?"

 

Bee’s vents hitched. The spear lowered—but not relaxed.

 

"You’re not angry because I rewrote a file," Megatron said, voice dropping to something razor-sharp. "You’re angry because some part of you believes it."

 

Bee’s optics flared wide, locked flickering somewhere distant on the ground.

 

"I didn’t kill him," he rasped.

 

Megatron tilted his head. "Then why are you here, storming like a guilty glitch, begging for the truth?"

 

Shadestrike’s laugh cracked again, harsher this time. "Because you don’t get to rewrite me."

 

"You rewrote yourself," Megatron stepped closer. "The moment you switched allegiances.”

 

Shadestrike’s optics narrowed to slits. The tip of his spear hovered inches from Megatron’s chest, trembling with restrained hate.

 

"I remember Starscream’s voice. I remember where I was. I remember not being in that room."

 

"Memory is unreliable," Megatron replied. "But you—? You’ve earned the kill. In the eyes of this crew, your servos are already soaked in Autobot's energon. This just made it official."

 

The room pulsed with silence.

 

Shadestrike stared at him. No words. No fury left—just hollow disbelief.

 

"Why?" he asked, quiet now. Not demanding. Just... tired. "Why do all this?"

 

Megatron's reply came like ice. "Because you’re unpredictable. And that makes you dangerous. I’d rather you be feared than doubted."

 

Shadestrike laughed again—an exhausted, broken sound. The sound of someone who didn’t find anything funny anymore.

 

"Makeshift questioned me," he muttered. "And you made it truth."

 

Megatron stepped forward with deliberate calm.

 

"I made you a legend," he said, like it was a favor.

 

Shadestrike’s optics flicked to the floor, then away.

 

"You want everyone to look at me and see a killer.”

 

"No," Megatron corrected, voice softer, colder. "I want them to look at you… and wonder."

 

Shadestrike stared at him. His faceplate didn’t twist. Didn’t snarl. It just… hollowed. 

 

Then he nodded. Once. As if settling something inside himself.

 

"You know what?" he said, voice soft, but sharp around the edges. "It’s working."

 

And then he turned to leave.

 

But before the doors opened, he looked over his shoulder.

 

"If you want me to be the thing they fear—" he smiled without humor, empty, optics dim. "—then maybe I’ll start living up to it."

 

The doors closed behind him.

 

Megatron stood in silence for a long time. His optics remained fixed on the space the mech had just occupied.

 

Then his helm turned slightly. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to.

 

"Soundwave."

 

The air shifted. A flicker. A blur. And the silent spymaster materialized behind him, stepping from the shadows with his usual specter-like grace.

 

Megatron spoke without turning. "You witnessed that."

 

Soundwave inclined his helm.

 

Megatron's optics narrowed. "He’s fracturing."

 

Then, a soft click. A holographic projection appeared in the air between them—visual playback from the corridor.

 

Two Shadestrikes. One laughing in the middle of a fight. His optics wide. Field erratic. Weapon drawn. The way his stance unraveled into something feral, fluid, unhinged.

 

Megatron watched it all without expression. A brutal exchange of blows. Laughter again. Too sharp. He had no doubt which one was real.

 

The footage cut to the moment Shadestrike slammed Makeshift down, spear at his throat. The audio picked up—

 

"Pull anything like that ever again... and I swear. I’ll make sure the next file they find has your real corpse attached."

 

"Just a demonstration."

 

"A warning."

 

The clip ended.

 

Megatron’s voice lowered, dangerously calm. "You approved the falsified file?"

 

Soundwave's helm turned slowly toward him.

 

Negative. One subtle pulse of rejection. Truth.

 

Megatron’s fists curled behind his back. "Then you let it remain."

 

Soundwave hesitated. Then another pulse.

: Observation ongoing. :

: Emotional degradation detected. :

: Tactical liability rising: exploitable... or corrosive. :

 

 

Megatron finally turned toward him. His gaze piercing. Voice a blade.

 

"You’ve been monitoring him since day one?"

 

: Affirmative. :

 

"So you knew this would break him."

 

Soundwave didn’t respond. The blank faceplate stared in silence. He didn’t need to speak for Megatron to understand:

 

He already is.

 

Megatron’s fists curled behind his back.

 

"And yet," he murmured, "he’s still standing."

 

Soundwave's visor flickered.

: Barely. :

: But standing. :

: Patterns do not match typical collapse profiles. :

: Adaptation in progress. :

: Dangerous. :

 

Megatron stepped forward, eyes gleaming in the dim chamber light.

 

"Then we’ll test his limits," he said. "Push him again. Let him question everything—his memory, his role, his own spark if he must."

 

"But do not interfere," he added coldly. "If he falls… I want to see how far. The best weapon is being forged in most blazing fire."

 

Soundwave didn’t reply. He simply stepped backward into the dark.

 

And vanished.

 

Megatron stood alone.

 

And for the first time in cycles, he was unsure if he’d made the right move.

 

______

 

The medbay door hissed open.

 

Knockout didn’t even glance up. "If you’re tracking energon in here, at least bleed where I can mop it."

 

A voice answered, too bright.

 

"Knock knock. Guess who got stabbed?"

 

Knockout’s optics lifted slowly—and narrowed.

 

Makeshift leaned against the doorframe, one servo lazily clamped around his neck. Thin streams of energon traced down the curve of his collar.

 

"...You’re leaking on my floor."

 

"Technically, I’m decorating it."

 

Knockout blinked flatly. "…Did you just walk in here bleeding on purpose?"

 

Makeshift leaned against the wall, still smiling. "Well, it was a warning slice. Thin. Precise. Very surgical. Honestly, you should be flattered."

 

Knockout narrowed his optics. "You crossed him, didn’t you."

 

"Oh, maybe I did." Makeshift peeled his servo away from the gash, revealing a neat but deep wound. "But he was practically begging for an audience. All I did was... give him a little stage time."

 

"You're lucky it wasn’t a spear through your spark chamber."

 

"Luck is for people with fewer talents than I have."

 

Knockout grabbed a sterilizer and stalked over, scanning the injury with practiced efficiency.

 

"You think this is a game," he muttered. "You taunt him, push him, and he cracks. That mech is barely holding himself together as is."

 

"Oh, he’s fascinating," Makeshift purred. "Unstable. But oh, so controlled in the way he breaks. Do you know how rarely I find someone who shatters in patterns? So elegant. So violent."

 

Knockout’s servo froze mid-scan.

 

Then, slowly, he met Makeshift’s gaze.

 

"You keep talking like that..." he said, voice dipped in steel, "and I’ll patch you up just enough to live. Then I’ll haul what’s left of you to Megatron and say it was an accident. A regrettable one."

 

Makeshift’s grin widened—like a challenge.

 

"You care," he whispered, delighted. "Admit it. You’ve picked a side. You’ve picked him."

 

Knockout didn't blink. He pressed a needle into the open seam without warning. Hard.

 

Makeshift winced—genuine, sharp—and hissed between his denta. But then he laughed, breathless.

 

Knockout didn’t smile. "This isn’t a game."

 

Makeshift’s grin stayed intact. But behind it, just for a flicker—

 

There was something else.

 

A twitch in his field. Not mockery.

 

Caution.

 

Then he said it—too smoothly. Casually.

 

"Maybe I went too far. But honestly, the laughing like a maniac? Bit much. Really not in character."

 

Knockout froze.

 

His whole frame. Still. Stone.

 

"...What did you just say?"

 

Makeshift tilted his helm, smile too sharp. "Oh, so that was a first? You mean he’s never done that before?" He clicked his glossa once. "Now that is interesting."

 

Knockout didn’t even hesitate. He stormed off the medbay.

 

"Mediiic," Makeshift drawled after him, mock-wounded. "You forgot to close the seam!"

 

"Seam it yourself, you glitch!" Knockout shouted already in the corridor.

 

 

_____

 

 

The engine roared like fury bottled in steel. The wind howled past him, but nothing dulled the spike in his processor.

 

The cliffs blurred past. He didn't care. Faster meant quieter. Faster meant no time to think.

 

But the silence caught him anyway.

 

He felt nothing but the grind of his own thoughts trying to tear him apart. The burn in his systems.

 

Megatron's voice still echoed through his processor.

 

I'd rather you be feared that doubted.

 

You’re angry, because some part of you believes it.

 

He growled and slammed his engine harder, as if speed could tear the thoughts away. He’d fought his own reflection. He’d fought Makeshift. He’d stared Megatron in the optics and still walked out whole.

 

But this—this damn shadow following him—it wasn’t gone.

 

A signal pinged. Autobot. Close.

 

He checked the HUD. A ship landing. Coordinates matched nothing on record. No allies near and no Decepticon reinforcments nearby. He remembered his own timeline and connected the dots.

 

"Wheeljack," Bee muttered.

 

You're unpredictable. And that makes you dangerous.

 

His optics narrowed.

 

"You want unpredictable, I'll give you fragging unpredictable," he snarled laughing shortly in irritation.

 

Then veered off the road like a missile. Dust-trail kicked up behind him as he gunned toward the signal. No hesitation. No thought. Just motion.

 

 

______

 

 

On the Nemesis, Soundwave's visor shimmered with real-time feedback. Starscream hovered behind him, peering at the incoming playback.

 

>  : "Wheeljack? What are you doing all of the way out here?" :

 

The response was cocky.

> : "Bulkhead? That's you? What's with all the security?" :

 

The voice and signature matched with one on the database.

 

> : "The rock we're on is crawling with cons." : Bulkhead replied.

 

Starscream, watching over his shoulder, gave a cold smirk. "The war hero, hmm?"

 

"We haven't much time." Starscream snarled. "Makeshift."

 

Soundwave turned. Plugged the mimic directly into the feed.

 

Makeshift’s form shifted—shift—white panels sliding into place, scar-stripes blooming across his plating. In a few seconds, Wheeljack stood in his place, smirking behind a flickering mask. The resemblance was perfect.

 

The comm replayed again.

 > : "See you soon, buddy. I'll make sure you get a proper welcome." :

 

"I do know how to prepare—a proper welcome." Starscream repeated with a grin.

 

Then Soundwave’s screen blinked. Another signal.

 

Decepticon faint signal, close to the ship.

 

Shadestrike.

 

Starscream snarled. "He's going to ruin the whole mission. Comm him. Now!"

 

Soundwave opened the line.

 

The answer came immediately. Cold. Sharp.

 

> : "What." :

 

"I order you to retreat. This operation doesn’t concern your impulse for mindless violence." Starscream turned his back to Soundwave with claws behind him.

 

There was a moment of silence.

 

Then Shadestrike’s voice, low and flat: 

> : "...You're replacing Wheeljack with Makeshift." :

 

Starscream froze. Turned slowly toward Soundwave. "I—how did you—?"

 

> : "Because you're 'predictable'." : Shadestrike deadpanned, dragging every syllable.

 

Makeshift snorted, amused. "We were planning to send a squadron. You can step down."

 

> : "Or," Bee interrupted. "you can just send me and Makeshift. I take him down. Then vanish. Less suspicious than a full assault squad." :

 

Starscream stammered. “That’s not—!”

 

"We want him alive, Shadestrike," Makeshift said with a warning smile in his voice. "And I don’t want you ruining my mission."

 

He grinned. "I’ve already read the files. You’re good at that. Sabotaging things."

 

The line cut imidiatelly. 

 

Starscream stood there seething, one optic twitching.

 

"That frag is so irritating."

 

But none of them noticed Soundwave's visor flicker with faint approval.

 

The game was shifting. And someone, finally, was playing it well.

 

------

 

The Autobot ship hissed as it landed, engines venting heat into the open canyon.

 

Wheeljack stepped. His EM field rolled out like a silent challenge—steady, bold, not yet alarmed.

 

Then it hit him.

 

Another field. Not cloaked, not subtle—razor-sharp and seething.

 

He turned.

 

And saw a black-and-yellow figure transforming and approaching slowly. Stepping towards him.

 

No insignia visible yet, but the aura spoke for itself.

 

Decepticon.

 

Wheeljack's optics narrowed. "You’ve got ten nanoseconds to explain who you are or things will get unpleasant."

 

Shadestrike didn’t answer. Just kept walking.

 

Measured. Unhurried. Focused.

 

His optics burned like searchlights. 

 

Wheeljack raised his blades. "Last warning."

 

Shadestrike stopped. Then chuckled low, hollow.

 

"I don't know," he said, voice dry. "You tell me."

 

Wheeljack tilted his helm, confused for a half-second—but not enough to hesitate.

 

He lunged. Twin blades sliced the air—

 

—and missed.

 

Shadestrike slid sideways, pivoted, and let the second strike graze his shoulder intentionally. A scratch. A test.

 

He laughed again.

 

Wheeljack’s optics narrowed further. "If you’re trying to ruin my day, you’re gonna have to try harder."

 

"As much as I'd love this fight to last longer," Shadestrike finally unsheathed his spear slowly. It was shimmering in the light of the sun.

 

"I've got a deadline."

 

"Good luck with that, con." Wheeljack snorted, facemask slipped on.

 

Wheeljack grunted and struck again—fast, brutal, efficient.

 

But this time, Shadestrike moved with purpose.

 

He parried with the flat of the spear, twisted it, and used the momentum to slam the butt of the weapon into Wheeljack’s side. Then swept his leg and dropped him to a knee.

 

Wheeljack recovered fast—stabbed upward in a desperate arc.

 

But the spear was already there, catching the blade mid-strike.

 

Locked and held with one servo.

 

Shadestrike wasn’t shaking. Wasn’t even straining.

 

Wheeljack stared.

 

The grin that had flickered across con's face before was gone now—replaced by something colder.

 

"What do you feel," he asked, eerie in its calm, optics gleaming. "When you look at me?"

 

Wheeljack’s face twisted. "You’re insane."

 

Shadestrike didn’t blink. "Not what you think. What you feel."

 

Wheeljack’s vents flared. His field spiked. Panic. Confusion.

 

Shadestrike grinned faintly. "Exactly."

 

Wheeljack’s field surged in defensive panic. He lunged with a snarl—swinging both blades in a double arc, fast and brutal.

 

Shadestrike let one pass an inch from his helm.

 

He caught the second mid-swing with the flat of his spear—redirected it, spun, and kicked Wheeljack’s knee joint in one smooth motion. Then spun—

 

Elbowed the back of his helm.

 

Wheeljack dropped hard on the ground.

 

Shadestrike stood over him, vents shallow. One servo flexed tightly around the shaft of his spear. The tension hadn’t left his frame.

 

His field buzzed in short, erratic pulses — alert, cornered, fractured.

 

Shadestrike looked around. No witnesses. He can't ask for the groundbridge now — the Autobots would find the signal, but Decepticons knew that.

 

Makeshift strolled closer from the canyon shadow. His optics flicked between Wheeljack’s unconscious frame and Shadestrike. His arms were relaxed, optics bright with amusement.

 

He whistled. "You didn’t even gloat. I’m disappointed."

 

Shadestrike didn’t respond at first. He crouched, grabbed Wheeljack’s limp frame by the arm, and hefted him over one shoulder with a practiced, brutal efficiency.

 

"You have what you need?"

 

Makeshift nodded, flashing a grin. "Voice samples, servo rotation rythm, blink frequency, gait style... even his slagging boot scuff patter."

 

Shadestrike stared at him for a long moment.

 

Then smiled.

 

But it wasn’t a smile. 

 

"You'll die anyway."

 

Makeshift blinked.

 

The grin flickered — just for a second.

 

"Primus," Makeshift scoffed mockingly, "thanks for the warm words!" 

 

But Shadestrike had already turned.

 

He descended the ravine with Wheeljack’s body and vanished behind a cliff. Then hid and watched as Makeshift walked straight into Autobot ranks with borrowed limbs and borrowed voice and no clue what was waiting for him.

 

He remembered how this ended. At least in his timeline. But honestly? He had no idea if he should feel grateful or pitying him.

 

He waited until the last of the Autobot silhouettes vanished through the groundbridge.

 

Only then did he reach up and activate his own comm.

 

"Soundwave," he said raw. "Bridge. Now."

 

It wasn’t a request as always. It was a command.

 

There was a flicker of static. No reply. But a moment later, the vortex swirled open before him.

 

He stepped through with Wheeljack’s frame still slung over his shoulder. Didn’t slow down.

 

Starscream was already waiting — flanked by two Vehicons, claws clasped behind his back like he was leading a parade.

 

His smirk practically glowed. "Very well. Now — bring him to the interrogation room."

 

Shadestrike stopped and deadpanned him. 

 

Then dropped Wheeljack's unconsious body on the floor exaggerating with a heavy crush and turned back to the still-active groundbridge, already walking towards it.

 

"I ordered you!" Starscream snapped. "You don’t get to just—!"

 

"Do something yourself for once, Screamer." Shadestrike muttered without turning as he vanished through the spiraling vortex.

 

Starscream’s jaw hung open for a second. His optics darted to the Vehicons, then to Wheeljack, then back to the empty vortex.

 

The Decepticon second-in-command hissed through his denta and whipped around.

 

"Pick him up!" he barked.

Notes:

Aha! This time I did not forgor about chapter name

Also didn't know how to show word 'predictable' in a cursive since comm lines already have a cursive and I couldn't do like—cursive-cursive xD

AlsO how you like it so far? You liked my incorrect quote meme? (plz tell yes, I also posted this on Transformers server I was telling about last time XD) Can you guess what will happen in the next chapter? Hue hue cmon I'm craving for theories

ALSO reminder for the challenge and have fun

Chapter 16: Breaking Point

Summary:

Bee took down Wheeljack. There was drama with Megatron—uhh what else... Bee’s gone out of the ship, didn't come back and he's just driving.

Notes:

No one:
Number of hits: 9 969

*sniff* I couldn't be more proud to see that XDDD

Today's chapter... will be funny. And longer. Like 1k longer. Double fun, isn't it? And even more suffering MHWHAHAHA

Anyway, Today I give you a pic of Soundwave. It's messy, but it was very fun to draw

Also if you can then scan this Spotify code, rly. I worked so hard for it too work. I had to draw it manually. I feel like this is a Soundwave theme.

Megatron stood with his arms behind his back, watching.

 

Meanwhile Starscream was pacing, arms flailing. "He refused my command. He just dropped the body and stormed out like I was the janitor!"

 

Megatron didn’t look at him.

 

"And yet..." he murmured, voice deep and calm, "...the Autobot is here."

 

Starscream froze. "Well—yes, but—"

 

"Alive."

 

That silenced the room.

 

Soundwave appeared at the edge of the dais, silent as always, but displaying a subtle report across his visor.

 

> : Wheeljack Status: Unconscious. Signs of Non-lethal Force. :

 

Starscream still continued frowning. "Lord Megatron. He disobeyed and tried sabotaging us again."

 

Megatron finally turned to face him. "He captured the target, didn't he?"

 

Starscream hesitated. 

 

"Then it was never sabotage," Megatron said, low and dark. "It was strategy."

 

Starscream scoffed unsurely. "Or luck. He acts on instinct and emotion. He’s dangerous."

 

Megatron turned back toward the screen, gaze hard.

 

"He may be a weapon we don’t fully understand... but he is ours."

 

____

 

Shadestrike knew Makeshift wouldn't last a day. The real Wheeljack would break free and then make a way to the Autobot base. He didn't want to be on the ship when that would happen.

 

He would have to kill him then. And after last incident with Cliffjumper... he didn't want to have energon on his servos as long as he possibly could.

 

Instead, he decided to go for a ride again. Speeding was the only thing that kept him not that deep in his thoughts.

 

He tried to remember how it felt to stand still without bracing. Tried to remember how it felt to breathe without fighting memory.

 

The moment of silence felt too deep in his head. 

 

...

 

Screw it.

 

> : "Soundwave. : He commed.

 

> : "Groundbridge" :

 

_________

 

"I'd already left the Wreckers to join up the Optimus." Bulkhead optics narrowed.

 

Makeshift frowned. His cover has just been blown. He felt everyone's gaze on him.

 

Bulkhead pointed a digit at him, frowning. "But you wouldn't know that if all you did was accesed Wheeljack’s public service record."

 

Makeshift’s field tensed, just slightly.

 

"Bulkhead, what does that have to do with—!" Miko didn't manage to finish and yelped.

 

Makeshift already snatched her in his servo as a hostage.

 

The room erupted into shouts. Weapons powered on.

 

Makeshift’s expression changed. Gone was the cocky smirk. It twisted—low, dark, mechanical.

 

His voice dropped—deeper, rougher, almost unrecognizable. Not to his usual one. To something threatening. 

 

"Stay back," he snarled, grinning. "Or I'll squeeze her into poke."

 

His grip flexed slightly. Miko gasped.

 

"Put her down!" Arcee shouted, blades rising.

 

"No," Makeshift snapped. "Not yet."

 

His field was chaos—uncertain, cornered, calculating.

 

Then—he paused.

 

A ping.

 

A private comm. He nearly didn’t answer.

 

But instinct screamed.

 

Shadestrike. He barely managed to restrain the roll of his optics.

 

He answered and heard his annoying voice.

 

> : "Don't go through the bridge. It's a trap." :

 

His optics flicked. The Autobots were closing in.

 

He typed quickly, quietly.

 

> : It leads to the Nemesis. :

 

Shadestrike’s reply came fast, tone was sharp, taut with command.

 

> : "Wheeljack’s waiting on the other side. I’ll open a bridge to me instead. Go there. Now." :

 

It didn’t make sense.

 

Unless—

 

Unless something worse than the Autobot was waiting on the Nemesis.

 

And honestly? His survival meant more than his mission.

 

Out loud, he groaned.

> : "Fine. Do it." :

 

"Who are you talking to?" Arcee demanded deadly.

 

The vortex spun open behind him. Green-blue spiral whirling fast.

 

Ratchet’s optics went wide. "Optimus—it’s not ours."

 

Bulkhead’s face contorted in rage. "He knows our coordinates!"

 

He lunged—but Makeshift was already moving. He hurled Miko skyward like a missile. Bulkhead snapped instinctively to catch her—leaving Makeshift a clean escape.

 

The imposter turned—flashed a grin—and vanished into the vortex.

 

Rachet noticed the coordinates that Makeshift left set on their control pannel. "Optimus, he set the coordinates to Nemesis." 

 

"Wheeljack can be there. Open the groundbridge! We have to help him!" Bulkhead implored. 

 

The medic hesitated, but pulled the lever. The spiraling vortex appeared yet again and someone stumbled through it.

 

Dust-covered. Dent-scraped. Optics blazing.

 

Wheeljack.

 

The real one.

 

"I'd shut that hole before the stink come through," he muttered.

 

_____

 

The sky was copper-red, canyon shadows stretched long and jagged across the rocks.

 

The spiraling vortex snapped open—and Makeshift tumbled out.

 

Across the ridge, another vortex cracked open.

 

Shadestrike stepped through it. 

 

Silent. Composed.

 

He had to manually open these two groundbridges from Nemesis — and went through one himself.

 

Makeshift straightened slowly. His grin widened as if they were old friends at a reunion.

 

"Well, well," he panted, arms wide. "Look who came to pick me up."

 

Shadestrike said nothing. Just stared.

 

Makeshift chuckled. "Don’t tell me you missed me already. All that effort, rerouting my bridge, saving my aft. That was sweet. You even lied for me. You’re making a habit of saving bots who shouldn't be saved."

 

Shadestrike didn't answer. He just winced, wasn't sure if made the right decision.

 

Makeshift’s voice dropped. Darker. "You sent the bridge to the Autobot's base."

 

The stillness between them cracked.

 

Shadestrike's field didn’t flare—but it tightened, suddenly too controlled.

 

Makeshift’s grin twitched wider. "You knew where it was all along. You had the coordinates. From the start."

 

He began circling like a shark.

 

"No records. No history. No faction logs. You just appeared. A perfect ghost. And what do ghosts do?"

 

A pause. Then, softly. "They used to be someone."

 

He circled closer. His voice like venom in honey.

 

"You weren’t made for this faction. You infiltrated it. You rebuilt yourself. You were an Autobot."

 

Shadestrike’s optics flashed. His vents caught once—sharp—but he said nothing.

 

He imidiatelly restrained himself.

 

"And what does it matter? I'm not playing for any side. Congratulations. Just like you." Shadestrike retorted, smiling irritated.

 

"No," Makeshift said softly, stopped cycling around him. "Not like me."

 

Makeshift smirked again. "And you said I’d die. Before it even began. You showed up the moment everything cracked. You knew it would fall apart.”

 

A heartbeat of silence.

 

"There are only two options," Makeshift said, leaning in, optics gleaming. "You’re a double agent... or..."

 

He lowered his voice to a whisper, inches from Shadestrike’s audial sensor.

 

“You’re from the future.”

 

Shadestrike gave a soft, bitter chuckle. Too late. Too hollow.

 

"Wh—what—no."

 

"Oh, I wasn’t sure at first." Makeshift began pacing again, hands clasped behind his back. "But then I remembered something. A frequency I recognized."

 

He turned.

 

"In the Autobot base. That quiet scout. The yellow one. The mute one."

 

Shadestrike’s optics fell to the ground, unfocused. Breathing shallow.

 

That silence told everything.

 

"The same energy. The same field distortion. The same language you showed Knockout."

 

Makeshift paused. Then said it—low and deliberate.

 

"Or should I say..."

 

He stepped forward.

 

One word dropped like a detonator, whispered sharply.

 

"Bumblebee."

 

Shadestrike’s entire body seized. His field spiked, then snapped shut again—too quickly. Like glass being forced not to shatter.

 

Too late.

 

Makeshift saw it all.

 

His grin returned. This one was slower. Hungrier.

 

"What do you plan to do with all of this?" Bumblebee cut in suddenly, voice sharp, jaw tight. "Why are you still talking?"

 

Makeshift’s smile turned venomous. "You think I won’t tell them? Megatron’s golden ghost—his perfect enigma—turns out to be the one he mutilated on the warfront? Oh, he’ll love that."

 

Bumblebee ex-vented hard. "And to think I risked myself to save you."

 

"Which I appreciate," Makeshift said breezily. "Really. But I’m more of a ‘truth should be loud’ kind of guy."

 

He turned—like it was settled.

 

Bee moved fast, stepping into his space. Close enough that their plating nearly touched.

 

His voice dropped to a whisper, cold and lethal.

 

"This is your last warning."

 

Makeshift laughed. "You think that scares me?"

 

He lifted a claw and clapped it lightly on Bee’s shoulder.

 

"Bumblebee."

 

He flinched. Physically. More violent now.

 

Makeshift leaned close again, voice soft and cruel.

 

"You won’t touch me. Because if you do—Megatron will shred you."

 

Bee froze as he wanted to say something, but his vents stuttered.

 

Makeshift patted him on the shoulder and said:

 

"You’ve already lost."

 

And then he turned, walking away.

 

A step. Then another.

 

He didn’t hear it at first—the change in air pressure. The faint rasp of vents—warped by something wrong.

 

He turned—

 

—just in time to see Bee lunging.

 

Blades out.

 

Face twisted in something too sharp to be called rage. Too fractured to be called anything at all.

 

No warning. No hesitation.

 

Just a blur of yellow and black cutting through the copper-red dusk.

 

His blades snapped in a flash of light, crossing low and then arcing high in a scissor-like strike meant to take off Makeshift’s helm.

 

Makeshift staggered back, optics wide. "Frag!"

 

He barely managed to duck. The first slash missed his helm by inches. The second caught his shoulder. Sparks flew. He stumbled, skidding backward across the rocky slope.

 

"Bee, wait—"

 

Too late.

 

Shadestrike descended on him like a storm. Blades flashed again—fast, merciless, chaotic. Not graceful. Not practiced.

 

Unleashed.

 

He was laughing again.

 

That low, static-laced, unhinged rasp that sounded like a glitching transmission and something feral tearing loose.

 

"This isn’t funny anymore!" Makeshift snarled, blocking with a sudden spike of his own armor, morphing it into a shield. "Let’s talk it out!"

 

Bee smashed through it with brute force, locking the shield and pushing Makeshift backward. He twisted behind him, slammed the butt of his arm against the mimic’s backplate, and sent him sprawling.

 

Makeshift rolled and flicked his servos outward—thin daggers forming in his palms. He managed to threw one.

 

It missed.

 

Because Shadestrike was already gone from that position, vaulting off a rock and landing hard on Makeshift’s back. His weight drove them both down.

 

They tumbled, locked, blades and claws slashing and catching in bursts of sparks and sharp metal impacts.

 

Shadestrike roared.

 

There was no voice modulator now. No speech filter. Just the sound of rage, deep and raw and cracked with something long buried.

 

Makeshift cried out—real panic now. "I won’t tell them! I swear!"

 

Bee didn’t stop. It was a literal fight for his own life. If he would loose he could as well vanish from existance.

 

He pinned him to the ground. Blades to his throat. Standing straightened. Breathing hard. Vents shaking.

 

Makeshift held one claw in surrender, the other one around his abdomen.

 

Silence fell. Just the wind. Just the canyon. Just the two of them.

 

Then Makeshift whispered, desperate.

 

"Bumblebee... please. Don’t do this."

 

Something cracked in Bee’s optics.

 

He saw another bot, pinned like this. Pleading.

 

I’ll do anything.

 

He froze. Trembled. His blades retracted.

 

And that was the moment Makeshift struck.

 

A dagger to Bee’s side. Deep enough and distracting, so he couldn't run after him.

 

Makeshift twisted away, bolted, limping toward the ridge.

 

Bee stared after him with flat, lifeless optics. Hint of sadness in his EM field.

 

Didn’t move.

 

Until he saw the flash of silver glinting on Makeshift’s back.

 

Wheeljack’s grenade.

 

The one Bee had palmed from the earlier fight with Wheeljack. Quiet. Subtle. Just in case.

 

He had pressed it to Makeshift during the scuffle.

 

Now the light was blinking.

 

Faster.

 

Click. Click. Click-click-click.

 

Makeshift paused. 

 

He realized. But it was already too late. 

 

The explosion lit the sky like a dying star.

 

The wind sucked back into silence. Smoke drifted.

 

And there was nothing left.

 

Shadestrike stood alone. Like someone just drained the life force out of him.

 

Then turned, slowly, and began to walk.

 

Makeshift didn’t belong in this timeline.

 

Shadestrike told himself that as he stared across the canyon floor, at the smoking crater where there was once a mech.

 

His vents stuttered.

 

You warned him.

 

His servos were trembling.

 

He shouldn't have existed here.

 

That was the logic. The justification. But... so did he.

 

Makeshift would’ve exposed him. Ruin everything. 

 

But he begged. He called him by name. Besides Makeshift actually belonged to this timeline. But Bumblebee?

 

Bee clenched his jaw. His vents shook.

 

He shouldn’t have flinched at the sound. But he had.

 

Bumblebee.

 

It echoed in his processor like a wound reopening.

 

Bee transformed. Not out of instinct — out of necessity.

 

He needed speed. He needed silence.

 

The groundbridge wouldn’t be safe, not this time. He purged the custom coordinates from every layer of system memory. He didn’t trust Soundwave not to find them.

 

He would make sure no one ever knew.

 

No one would know how close he’d come to being unmade.

 

How close he still was.

 

_____

 

Knockout’s optics flicked restlessly between monitors that displayed nothing new.

 

No movement. No signal ping. 

 

Shadestrike hadn’t returned.

 

And that made everything worse.

 

Knockout paced.

 

He flicked through comm frequencies again—static. 

 

He opened their private channel—dead.

 

He tried tracking his ID beacon—offline.

 

"Slag it," he muttered, almost kicking the corner of the berth. His claws trembled when he finally forced himself to stop moving.

 

Two cycles.

 

Two full cycles since that scrapstorm of a mission with Makeshift.

 

Two full cycles since they both vanished.

 

---

 

Knockout found Breakdown leaning in the corridor, shoulder braced against the wall, idly drinking a cube of rations like none of the world was collapsing.

 

"You seen him?" Knockout snapped, walking up nervous.

 

Breakdown blinked. "Who—Shades?"

 

"No—Starscream." Knockout smiled in mockery and then snarled. "Of course I mean Shadestrike, who else!?"

 

Breakdown shrugged. "Relax. He’s probably just off sulking somewhere."

 

Knockout’s optics narrowed dangerously as he gave a nervous snort. "Sulking?"

 

"I mean, after what I heard happened with Makeshift being offlined by the Autobots, wouldn’t you want to be alone too?"

 

"Honestly," Knockout smiled furious and then turned his helm to Breakdown. "I'm glad he's dead."

 

Breakdown winced. "You can't be serious. Maybe he was... specific, but he still was one of us. And Wheeljack will pay for that."

 

"I don't care about any revenge on the Autobots!" Knockout scoffed, throwing his claws in the air.

 

"He'll be fine." Breakdown added, shaking his cube with blue liquid in an small arc. "He’s probably just clearing his processor.”

 

"Yeah?" Knockout’s voice rose. "Clearing his processor while not answering any of his comms? He hasn’t responded even a single ping since yesterday! I can't even track him! Probably because his energon levels are so low again."

 

Breakdown sobered a bit. "Still... you know how he is. Broody. Quiet. You’re probably just overthinking it. What do you say about going for a drive, just the two of us, so you could calm down?"

 

That was the wrong thing to say.

 

Knockout's vents flared sharply as his claws clenched at his sides.

 

"I haven’t heard from him in two cycles, Breakdown!" he hissed. "That’s not broody. That’s offline or worse!"

 

Breakdown held up both hands. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Just—don’t blow a gasket."

 

But Knockout was already halfway down the corridor.

 

---

 

He stormed into the main comm room without knocking.

 

He knew who was watching.

 

The air practically shimmered with surveillance.

 

"Soundwave," Knockout snapped. "I know you’re listening."

 

No response.

 

But Soundwave walked out of the shadow. 

 

Knockout ex-vented shakily. Then louder—

 

"I know you’re tracking him. Megatron gave you orders to watch him. That means you know exactly where he is."

 

Soundwave stood in silence.

 

Knockout stepped forward, fire behind his optics. "I’m not asking for clearance. I’m asking for a coordinates ping."

 

Soundwave's visor flickered.

 

He took another step forward. Voice softer now, but tight as cable wire.

 

"Please. Soundwave. Just—tell me where he is. I need to know he’s not dead."

 

Another pause.

 

Then:

 

> : LOCATION SHARED.

: GROUNDBRIDGE INITIATING.

 

A ripple of light flared behind him.

 

The portal opened—sparking and sharp.

 

Knockout stared at it for half a second with of relieved smile. 

 

He turned to Soundwave and nodded once towards him in grattitude.

 

Then without hesitation transformed and drove straight through it.

 

---

 

Knockout tore across the terrain. His engine roared over cracked asphalt, but his field pulsed sharper than the road beneath him — a broadcast of dread bleeding through every circuit.

 

He was running hot—too hot—and not from speed.

 

From panic. From the choked silence where a voice should have been.

 

> :: Local signal detected. ::

 

His HUD pulsed with a ping. One faint signal cutting through the dead comm silence like a lifeline.

There—up ahead.

 

A single yellow blip. Moving fast. Too fast.

 

Knockout accelerated. "You glitch," he muttered under his breath. "You better be in one piece when I catch you."

 

Another klick. Closer now.

 

He could see the blur of movement up ahead—black-and-yellow armor slicing through the wind like a streak of fury. Shadestrike wasn’t just driving fast.

 

He looked like he was fleeing something. Maybe himself. Maybe the weight of all this.

 

Knockout’s snapped. "Shadestrike."

 

Nothing.

 

He tried again, voice sharper. 

 

"Shades!"

 

Still no response. Only engine thunder.

 

His engine howled. Their headlights cut through the dark in jagged stripes. He swerved to the left and accelerated, tires screeching as he caught up alongside—close enough to see the fractured edge of a half-healed wound across Shadestrike's side.

 

"You look like hell!" Knockout barked. "Slow down before you offline yourself!" 

 

Shadestrike laughed. Not his laugh. Something twisted and wrong. A low, broken sound that scraped across Knockout’s spark.

 

"If I wanted company, I’d have called for it."

 

Knockout grit his denta. His spark was pounding now—not with anger, but fear. "You wouldn’t. That’s the problem."

 

He didn’t wait for an answer.

 

Instead, he veered.

 

SLAM.

 

Metal struck metal.

 

The hit clipped Shadestrike's fender—sent him skidding hard across the gravel. Tires shrieked. His frame jerked mid-spin and he transformed. Helm snapping up, optics blazing, posture snapping defensive the second his pedes hit the dirt.

 

Knockout transformed right after, stepping forward fast.

 

"What the frag is wrong with you?!" Shadestrike shouted, EM field unstable, wild with static. "Are you out of your mind?!"

 

Knockout’s voice rose to meet it. "It was the only way to make you stop running!"

 

Shadestrike’s helm snapped to the side, jaw clenched. His vents dragged in sharp, ragged pulls.

 

He growled, optics narrowed to slits. "You can't just drag me down because you can’t handle silence."

 

"You haven’t answered comms," Knockout shot back. "You think no one noticed?"

 

Shadestrike’s field was a storm. Wild. Twitching. Unstable.

 

Knockout stepped closer. Saw it—the dried smear of energon down Shadestrike’s side, the patch job so rushed it was practically a placeholder.

 

"You’re injured," Knockout hissed. "And you’ve been burning fuel like a lunatic."

 

Shadestrike chuckled. A low, frayed sound.

 

"What, worried I’ll scratch my finish?” he sneered. "It’s sealed."

 

Knockout stalked closer. "You think this is funny?”

 

"No," Bee rasped. "I think you’re funny. Acting like I like I haven’t bled before—"

 

"You’re bleeding now, idiot!"

 

There was a moment of silence between them. Both staring at each other in fury.

 

Knockout’s optics darkened. His voice dropped. 

 

"Tell me what happened."

 

Shadestrike’s optics dimmed for a fraction of a second — just a flicker — before he looked away.

 

"Nothing happened."

 

"Bullsh—"

 

"I said nothing!"

 

It hit like a slap. The air between them cracked.

 

Knockout ex-vented hard. Stepped closer. Claws clenched.

 

"Who did it."

 

Shadestrike didn’t answer.

 

"Why you haven’t come back."

 

Still nothing.

 

"Why your EM field feels like it’s screaming even when you’re not—"

 

"Because I can’t go back!"

 

It erupted out of him, venting like a storm.

 

"I can’t walk through those halls with everyone looking at me like I belong, like I’m one of them and pretend I'm not a murderer!"

 

His field crackled violently — surging and folding in on itself.

 

The words were out before he could pull them back. They hung in the air like a detonation.

 

Knockout froze.

 

"What did you just say?"

 

Shadestrike scoffed, but it cracked mid-breath. He looked away, vents hitching. "Forget it."

 

"No," Knockout said, softer now, stepping closer. "Say it again. You didn't mean Cliffjumper just now."

 

Shadestrike flinched. This time, visibly.

 

Then he chuckled. Bitter. Hollow.

 

"Oh, frag off, Knockout. You want the truth? Fine."

 

He stepped forward, voice low, broken:

 

"I killed him."

 

Knockout blinked. "Makeshift?"

 

Shadestrike nodded, the motion sharp.

 

"He ran. I let him go." Shadestrike laughed, shoulders shaking. "He thought he was safe. Then I blew him up to pieces with a grenade I stole from Wheeljack."

 

His voice dropped to a whisper. "I laughed when he died."

 

Knockout said nothing. Couldn’t. His field dimmed, pulsing slow with static.

 

Then Shadestrike met his gaze, eyes wide with something raw and wrong. "Tell me that’s normal. Go ahead. Tell me I’m not fragged."

 

Knockout didn’t flinch. But his voice cracked around the edges. 

 

"No. It’s not. But I’d rather face your madness than watch you vanish into it. And honestly?" His optics narrowed. "I don't give a damn about Makeshift."

 

Bee ex-vented, staggering half a step back. "I can handle it. Just leave me alone."

 

"You call this handling it?" Knockout snarled. "You’re a walking trauma response."

 

Silence again.

 

Too long.

 

Then Bee’s posture hardened. "Well, guess what. This is me now."

 

"No," Knockout growled. "It’s not. It’s what’s left after you’ve buried so much of yourself, there’s nothing but teeth and spite left on the surface."

 

Shadestrike laughed again. Too loud. Too unhinged.

 

Knockout’s optics narrowed. His voice went dangerously still.

 

"Stop pretending you’re fine. You’re not. You’re broken, Shadestrike, and you’re breaking yourself worse by trying to hide it."

 

"I’m not okay," he snapped. "I’m never gonna be okay. So stop acting like patching my energon pressure is gonna fix what’s broken!"

 

"Just let me try." Knockout begged, voice cracking.

 

"Try? You wanna try? Here—" He mockingly jabbed a digit at his own chest. "Go ahead, doc. Patch that. Patch the part where I don’t even know who the frag I am anymore."

 

His voice dropped, quiet and trembling.

 

"Find the part of me that still feels like I deserve to be alive."

 

Knockout's mouth opened—but nothing came out.

 

Just silence.

 

Then Bee turned, took a step backward.

 

Closer to the canyon’s edge.

 

Shadestrike’s vents trembled. His EM field sparked. He stepped back.

 

Knockout surged forward, panic spiking. "Stop! We’re on the ledge—don’t—!"

 

"I wish I could tell you everything," Bee said quietly with an empty smile. "I really do..."

 

He cut with a sharp in-vent.

 

Knockout’s spark squeezed.

 

Then Shadestrike barely whispered, looking him straight in the optics. 

 

"But I can’t."

 

And then—he stepped backwards.

 

Not a fall. A controlled slide, fast and reckless, skidding down the almost straight canyon slope in a dangerous pace.

 

Knockout terrified sprinted forward—reached the ledge—

 

And stopped, gasping.

 

Knockout shouted after him, voice breaking.

 

"I see you, Shades—don’t you dare think I don’t see you!"

 

Then saw a blur at the bottom—already transforming mid-air. Tires hit the gravel. His engine screamed to life.

 

He was gone again.

 

Knockout stood trembling in silence, field flickering like a dying star, vents rasping, claws clenched. Alone.

 

“You selfish, stupid frag,” he whispered.

Notes:

Huh wow. Now that I'm reading it I think I might've overdone it.

Well... I love drama.

There's also gonna be fluff, I swear. But it hits hard, doesn't it?

Next chapter is going to be interesting too... who am I kidding. I think every chapter is interesting xD

...I killed Makeshift... I honestly liked him... I'm going to miss him... WELL MOVING ON they are going to be some interesting moments huE hUe