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Chapter Text

In the later days of a lengthy and tiresome war, Optimus Prime left Cybertron in pursuit of Megatron. The Decepticon leader had set out with the main priority of finding the All Spark and using it to enslave the universe. Prime rushed after the warlord with a few of his best mechs, leaving in such a hurry that the dust left in his wake hadn't settled before he was gone. In the desperate hope of chasing down the sole Primus-made creation that would renew their planet, of stopping Megatron and saving his people, Optimus Prime left most of the Autobot forces behind. They were to defend Cybertron. 

Ultra Magnus and Elita-1 did all they could to keep the war at bay. In the absence of the usual high command, they were the highest ranking Autobots within millions of miles. With Shockwave as their Decepticon counterpart, the war raged on in earnest. However, the Cons held the advantage, having rushed them out of their final stronghold in the battle that accompanied the departure of both sides' leaders. With their final stronghold in lacon lost, the Autobots were left reeling and struggled to pick up the slack.

A normal war was difficult to maintain against a mech who had every system and piece of software at his servos. An underground war, like the one the Autobots had been confined to, was even more strenuous when one took into account how little energon they had to spare for the heavy-duty warframes. The smaller stealth-core mechs and femmes could operate on the low rations they were making do with, but larger mechs, such as Ultra Magnus himself, struggled to order their subroutines in the most efficient manner. With bigger frames, there was no way to safely shut down programs and routines without directly impacting that mech's overall functioning. 

Thus, rather than risk the sanity of the frontliners and most mech larger than a minibot, Ultra Magnus made the logical decision to assemble a team. They lurked below Cybertron's charred streets, packed in worse than a swarm of scraplets crammed into an engine, and waited for the Decepticons to plan an off-world voyage. When there came signs of the Cons planning a journey, Ultra Magnus and his team boarded the departing vessel in secret and took it over after the ship made it into orbit.

From there, plans evolved. Magnus had intentionally taken the larger, less stealthy bots with him: Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, Hound and Huffer, to name a few. Initial plans called for them to seek out energy – anything to aid those stranded on Cybertron. Their priority was those on their homeworld first, those elswhere second. With far space communications difficult to maintain without the appropriate tech – tech the Autobots stuck on Cybertron did not have whilst Shockwave was in control of the surface – the Prime's situation was unknown to them. While Ultra Magnus worried for his brother, he had no doubt of him in his spark. Optimus held life in great regard and would do whatever he could to ensure there was no unnecessary loss. He trusted that his Prime would locate the All Spark before Megatron, or would at least ensure it did not fall into the enemy's servos.

With his crew, Ultra Magnus ran many missions back and forth to Cybertron. Though lacking the Wreckers, most outings were chaotic and harried. They focussed on bringing weapons and energon back to Elita's forces. She and her sisters, Arcee and Chromia, led the planetside attacks; gathering information on Shockwave's projects and sabotaging what they could. Neither side received word on their leaders.

It remained that way for almost five vorn.

In the aftermath of a supply drop gone awry – ambushed by Shockwave's drones and seekers alike – Ultra Magnus and his crew sought refuge in the shadow of a nearby planet. Their ship had taken critical damage and the FTL-drive was irreparable. None of their number were of the shipbuilding variety, although Perceptor had offered his scientific aid and allowed himself to be brought up in a hijacked shuttle. Arcee accompanied him. Magnus was thankful most of his mechs had interests in the other direction, or else he may not have been able to stop them from clamouring for the femme's attention.

Perceptor was mid-way through giving his solemn report on the extensive damages to the engine and drive that the hull breach had done when the screen on the deck flashed. Sunstreaker, who was on rotation, accepted it.

Elita-1's sharp faceplates appeared on the main screen. Magnus, sitting in the Captain's chair, nodded to her. "Reading you, Elita-1."

"Ultra Magnus," she greeted with very little fanfare. She was a stern and curt Commander, much like Ultra Magnus himself. There was no other bot he would trust the army with. "Did you pick up the communique?"

A glance to Sunstreaker had a confident helm shake. The yellow twin was precise and sharp. He missed very little, even whilst on the monitor duty that many claimed to be 'boring'. If he said there were no missed communications, Magnus believed him.

"The communication nodes were also damaged," Perceptor chirped. "It's a wonder the Lost Light is picking up your signal right now, Commander." 

Usually, when the ship's name was mentioned, Elita would scowl at the name and Magnus would, as always, remind her it had been put down to a vote. In this case, Elita's face remained firm and serious. Whatever she had received, there was no time for pleasantries.

"Patching it through," she said. Her terse visage remained on the screen as the static of a distant communique began to play through the speakers on the bridge. 

"I send this message to any surviving Autobots taking refuge among the stars."

Ultra Magnus' spark spun into his throat. He would recognise that voice anywhere, easily.

"We are here," Optimus continued, voice crackling with the static that came with a cross-system transmission. "We are waiting." 

Elita's serious demeanour made sense. "I've got Blaster working on decoding the rest. From what we can tell, the All Spark is gone."

A sorrowful hush fell over the gathered crew. Though only Ultra Magnus, Perceptor, Sunstreaker and Mirage were present, there was no doubt this news had already reached the others. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had a spark-split bond that made mental communication easier than opening a comm link and the red twin was not one to keep his vocaliser muted when he had something to say. 

Magnus vented, "Where are they?" 

Elita looked to her left. Blaster appeared, his usually bright grin dulled to something pensive. "A few quadrants out, big boss. Estimates have the gang in a system a dozen deca-orn away... if you travelled at full speed, with nothing in the way. Right now, with the Light down, we don't have any ships that could get us even halfway." 

"From the nature of the message," Elita added, "We're assuming they're planet bound."

Cybertron's last Prime stuck on a distant, unknown planet more than a few solar systems away was not ideal. However, that was better than Optimus being offlined. A plea for aid projected so far as Cybertron was not an urgent one - Optimus had intended to reach them with this. 

"The ship they hijacked was likely damaged." Perceptor hummed. "Limited resources would explain why it took so long to make contact."

"Have we responded?" Ultra Magnus asked. It was paramount that Optimus was informed of the situation and made fully aware of their status. From the sounds of it, he wanted any nearby bots to come to the planet he was stuck on - hopefully for expedited travel back to Cybertron. Now was not the time to forget about their homeworld. 

In answer, Elita-1 shook her helm and Blaster frowned. The red mech noted, "If we hadn't been wired into Darkmount's systems, we never would've picked this up ourselves. We don't have the means to respond, Boss."

Darkmount was Shockwave's base of operations and currently the most heavily fortified and highly advanced location on the planet. If the Decepticons had intercepted the Prime's message...

Those on the other side of the call must've noticed his distress, as Elita lifted both servos in a reassuring gesture. "Fret not. We managed to intercept and block the communique from Darkmount before the systems logged it."

"Hopefully," Blaster cheerfully muttered.

So far, the only way to respond to Optimus was with tech they didn't have. Only a Prime could hope to transmit a message through space and bounce it off planets to an intended target. Normal bots didn't have the means or hardware to do so. Staging a temporary take over of Darkmount would take more resources than the ground-side forces had. It would also have the unfortunate effect of drawing Shockwave's full attention to them. That meant, unless they wished to exacerbate the war to a level they may not be able to maintain, in their current state, sending a response to Prime was impossible.

Optimus was stuck on a planet with no means of leaving and Ultra Magnus was sitting in a ship that could do just that. It was his duty as an Autobot to come to his Prime's aid. It was his place as the elder brother to help his younger brother. Cybertron needed a Prime. There was no time for the bot to dally on another planet. It was a good thing he had sent a message to prevent what could've (though already had) resulted in a drastic delay.

"We must assume this communique is for the purpose of a retrieval from that system."

"The Autobots have very few shuttle bots," Blaster commented. "The chances of one bein' near Prime's pitstop are as likely as me findin' a rust treat in a turbofox den."

Turbofoxes were notoriously greedy little things. They did not store food in their dens.

Taking this into account and knowing himself that they had no other options, Ultra Magnus turned to the scientist standing on his deck. "Perceptor, how soon can repairs be completed?"

"Um," the mech shuttered his optics before answering. "I estimate a few decaorn at the quickest."

"Magnus," Elita cleared her vocaliser. "I know how you feel but pursuing Optimus at this time is not ideal. We must prioritise what we can do."

Elita-1 was Optimus' conjunx. She surely felt his absence greater than any other bot, but in the past five vorn, Ultra Magnus had heard nary a complaint. His sister-in-law was much too kind.

"Cybertron needs a Prime," he told her. "We cannot afford a war over multiple fronts, Elita."

The ground-side Commander said nothing. She stared at him for a moment, seeming to consider the chessboard they moved on, before she simply nodded. On Cybertron, everything was in Shockwave's servos. If they got their Prime back, that could change. 

Eighteen decaorn later, the Lost Light entered the solar system the Prime's message had originated from. Over the usual frequency, they broadcast their ID tag and promptly received a responding hail from a nearby ship.

The Aurora Eclipse had been boarded by the Prime and his team mere moments before they went off in chase of Megatron and his Decepticons. The Nemesis, the Cons' warship, was nowhere to be seen on radar – a very good thing given its heavy munitions.

Prowl's face appeared on the initial contact communique. On bridge, Ultra Magnus accepted it and got a glimpse of the Eclipse's own darkened bridge. They had the dull blue lights that indicated a ship resting in power-down mode. They were conserving energon.

"Ultra Magnus," came the surprised greeting. "It has been a while. If possible, please cloak yourselves and circle around Jupiter to dock with the Aurora Eclipse. We will debrief promptly."

Ultra Magnus agreed. The screen went dark and the bots on the bridge moved to adjust the heading. The Lost Light circled around the system, homing in on the clustered remains of the Eclipse. Through their windows, it was clear the ship had taken more than a few missile and asteroid hits over the years. Some panels were warped and discoloured, whilst others were gone, the holes left behind patched up with tarps or sealant foams. The ship was not space worthy, but the fact there were crew onboard spoke of the dire situation Prime's forces had been left in. Hiding in the shadow of Jupiter, Magnus assumed they were staying out of sight of the Decepticons.

The Lost Light pulled up and initiated a docking sequence with the aged ship. 

Ultra Magnus, Arcee and Hound led the procession into the ship. Prowl, Bluestreak and a few other bots met them in the control room. The Eclipse's crew was not as skeletal as Magnus would've assumed, though they were not in top shape. 

"Optimus is on Earth," Prowl explained, brining up a glitching hologram to showcase the green and blue planet. Rife with organics, the All Spark had somehow landed on the planet many vorn ago. From what the SIC could explain, there had been a strenuous battle over the Cube it had formed into. "He has an alliance with the humans with the agreement to hunt down the Decepticons who remain after Megatron's offlining."

Ultra Magnus shifted. "If he is gone, we must turn our attention to Cybertron."

"We don't have the means to travel," Trailbreaker informed him, clutching a few cracked datapads with the intent for a proper briefing. Ultra Magnus accepted them and surveyed the critical state of the ship with a grim countenance. "The Aurora Eclipse doesn't have enough energon to get a system away."

"Is Earth not rife?" Hound enquired, to a round of disagreement. The mech frowned and tapped at his chin, quietly asking, "Then, why stay?"

Indeed, Ultra Magnus also wished to know the reasoning behind this decision. From the reports on the Eclipse's state, they were surviving on dregs. Why was Optimus still here if Earth did not have the means to support them? Any Decepticons left behind in the wake of Megatron's offlining would have put up all the fuss they could whilst the Autobots were present. If they hadn't, it wasn't their issue. Ultra Magnus did not want an innocent planet terrorised, but the truth was that he cared more for Cybertron. Alliances were good but only if they benefited the other - Cybertron was leaking life by the joor and yet her Prime was systems away, hunting down bugs? 

"Jetfire is capable of travelling down every decaorn," Bluestreak added in the stilted hush. "He can take a few bots down, if anyone wants to join the forces. The humans have offered land and some fuel in return for the efforts."

"How many are down there?" Sunstreaker asked.

Bluestreak started listing the ground-force and the Cons they had offlined. Ultra Magnus tuned it out, staring at the flickering hologram in the center console as he passed the datapads back to Trailbreaker. No energon, no ships and a non-beneficial alliance. What was Optimus thinking?

He looked to Prowl. "Are communications with Prime open?"

The praxian made a gesture with his wings that signalled discontent. "When the planet rotates and America is closest to us, yes. Otherwise, no."

"When will they be within range?"

"Two joor."

Ultra Magnus waited the joors. What he got was a jerky videocall with Optimus, the metal railings of a crude base behind him.

"Ultra Magnus," came the warm greeting. "Brother, I have not seen you in many vorn. This is a wonderful sight for sore optics. Are you well?"

"Indeed, Optimus," he responded, unable to entirely relax but glad to see the other alive. "We picked up your message on Cybertron."

"How goes things?" Optimus asked. In the background, someone echoed Magnus' statement and whistled in awe. It seemed the humans were a primordial race – long-distance communication was not impressive in the grand scheme of things, yet these humans didn't even have that. 

"We are locked in a battle of attrition with Shockwave," Ultra Magnus answered. "Elita-1 commands the ground forces whilst I command a ship to seek energon. Your extraction will be prompt. The Lost Light is more than capable of holding your team."

"That won't be necessary," Optimus shook his head. He gestured around himself. "As you can see, we have good relations here. If anything, I invite you to visit. A mech of your talents would be greatly appreciated."

Though Jazz had been offlined in the fight against Megatron, Magnus was no Special Operations bot. In fact, Ultra Magnus did not think his Prime needed much aid from him, considering he still had Ironhide. An invitation, whilst well-meaning, was not something to be given lightly at this time. The tide of war balanced on a precipice.

"The situation on Cybertron is not to be scoffed at, Prime." Ultra Magnus tried to reassert the direness of their situation. Five vorn was a long time; it was easy for the processor to become muddled and for stressful situations to be made less pressing in recollection. Unfortunately, there was no time for Optimus to relax. "Our forces are underground. There is no time to—"

Optimus smiled. Ultra Magnus' vocaliser shut down at the shock. "Perhaps, my brother," the Prime hummed. "It is time to move on. Earth is vast and has the resources to support us. We must look towards the future of our race."

"Cybertron is our homeworld, Optimus," Magnus insisted. "You must not forget where you come from."

"Thank you, Ultra Magnus," Optimus said. "We will accept any of your crew who wish to join us earthside."

With that, the call cut. Ultra Magnus did not clench his servos, but it was a near thing. He stepped off the bridge and was met by Hound, with a list of bots who wished to go down to aid their leader. He signed off on it. 

The following decaorns were slow and tedious. Ultra Magnus waved off most of his crew - Arcee, Sideswipe, Hound, Huffer - and a few of Prowl's group also went down to the organic planet. Before he knew it, only he, Prowl, Sunstreaker, Jetfire and Bluestreak remained. Sunstreaker had drawn the unlucky stick when Jetfire had only one space left and was forced to wait the two decaorns for the shuttle to return and refuel before the next journey. 

Ultra Magnus worked to aid the repair of the Aurora Eclipse, offering what excess the Lost Light had. He assisted Prowl in surveying for Decepticon activity and monitored the ongoings on Earth from afar. Optimus was deadset on his alliance and would not budge, so Ultra Magnus was left to wait for his brother to return. He would not return to Cybertron with empty servos – he could not return to Elita without her conjunx. Soon, his brother would tire of the humans and take their stockpiled energy to Cybertron. He knew he would. 

Then, one day Ultra Magnus attempted to initiate their usual call (one every decaorn) and received nothing but static. The Lost Light did not have sensors for recon and the Eclipse had fewer functioning systems. They sat in the shadow of Jupiter, keying into the planet's satellites to glimpse the decline of Optimus' alliance.

Ultra Magnus kept trying to hail him. A decaorn later, where the humans were broadcasting anti-Cybertronian propaganda and his Prime would not respond, Ultra Magnus decided to take action.

"I'll be going down," he informed the few remaining. Sunstreaker had been nervously fidgeting as he watched data streams from Earth, although he gladly informed them that Sideswipe was alive but separated. From the sounds of things, the Autobots had split up and gone into hiding. 

It was not right for a Prime to hide on a planet. If the relations with Earth had soured, it was time for Optimus to return to Cybertron. There was nothing to keep him on the planet and Magnus would locate his brother without fail and drag him back up. They had a homeworld to return to.

"Are you sure?" Prowl asked him, though posed no argument aside from: "Jetfire is not ready for another journey, yet."

On his most recent trip down to Earth, the shuttlebot had run into a seeker and only just escaped in the upper atmosphere. It had been a chance encounter that left the bot out of commission longer than usual. The poor quality of their energon refining on the wrong side of Jupiter left much to be desired in terms of efficiency and speed and Jetfire's immense size - larger than Ultra Magnus himself - meant that the mech needed time to recover from his low-energon journeys to Earth. There were only so many systems that could be pushed to the brink regularly before that mech suffered consequences.

"I will drift over," he said. "Prime did it to get onto the planet. It will not offline me."

"We are in unsure territory," frowned Prowl. "They went down at Bumblebee's reassurances - you have none."

"I will not let our Prime waste away on a planet that is not Cybertron," Ultra Magnus insisted. "I will locate our forces and call for an extraction. However long it takes, I will not spend longer than necessary on that planet."

Their miserable numbers were all on the bridge. Jetfire nodded in support. "I will be on standby as soon as possible, sir."

Ultra Magnus allowed little fanfare. He assured Sunstreaker his brother would be one of the first on the shuttle, and repeated that assurance to Bluestreak about Mirage - though that promise was risky, as the only bot confirmed to be alive was Sideswipe thanks to the bond the twins had. 

"Be safe, Ultra Magnus," they wished him well. Ultra Magnus jumped from the ships and aimed for Earth. 

He would not let this farce go on longer than it had to. 

What he did not expect, charred earth burning around him, thick atmosphere clogging his vents, was to be met with the business end of a human's obsolete gun.

From this species’ knowledge of his kind, this response was disappointing. From his own travels, Ultra Magnus knew well that not all evolved species were capable of intellectual thoughts and reasoning, but for a people his brother had formed treaties with, this was incredibly underwhelming.

"Surrender," ordered a greying haired human. Though Magnus did not have the medical scans that a medic would have, he could clearly tell this was a male human. He held his gun with steady hands, though not steady enough that a powerful vent from Ultra Magnus wouldn't knock him over.

Remaining silent, Ultra Magnus observed. Rocky mountains isolated his landing spot from the open area, and the vehicles lined around the area suggested these humans were well prepared. Each one toted a gun and seemed nonchalant despite how he towered over them. Dirt was smeared over the windshields of the vehicles, indicating these humans had estimated his trajectory and waited for him. They were either a product of the anti-Cybertronian propaganda or were government-issued soldiers. Ultra Magnus was not sure which. 

"You have one chance to back down, robot." The human sneered the word with such venom Ultra Magnus privately compared it to Megatron growling Optimus Prime's name. Some things were apparently universal. "The lab boys might even go easy on you when they're melting you down."

A soldier with an itchy trigger finger fired at him, bullet pinging harmlessly off Ultra Magnus' knee joint. The organic who had first spoken and stood ahead of the group, obviously the Commander, shook his head.

Three soldiers stepped forth from the semi-circle, each toting a rocket launcher, although only one fired. It expelled a light, much like that of the Chevy Twins' special cannons, and hit the same spot the bullet had pinged off his armour.

Magnus took the hit, expecting nothing more than a light tap.

The energy hit with the force of a stampeding Predacon – buckling his knee and sending agony along his neural net. Ultra Magnus hit the scorched soil in a rough kneel, soil smearing along his shin guards as he yelled out. His protoform radiated pain, a sure sign the blast had blown away the armour that had been covering it and hit his neural net. The only weapon Magnus knew that could do that was the finely tuned cannon on Megatron's arm, although that usually left craters behind.

The two other rocket launchers whirred to life.

A soldier twitched in his place. Ultra Magnus lunged, set on the weakness, arm sweeping out to brush the humans aside. His tactical programs were alight with solutions, a hundred of how to escape and countless more on how to eliminate the threat. Maps pinged in his HUD as he connected properly with the planet's 'World Wide Web'. There had to be forty organics here, their planet had seven billion more -- what was the loss of such few going to do?

The humans screamed and some shot at him with their normal, useless guns. Ultra Magnus lashed out, arm plating flaring to crush the organics. Had he been on a pre-war Cybertron, the very thought of collateral damage and the helmache that ensued would've caused him great distress. As it was, Ultra Magnus cared very little for these organics and their planet. He was here for his Prime. There was no time for delays.

Ultra Magnus had no time nor patience to spare. Already, the time needed to recover from that first blast would put him back half a decaorn. That was precious time he needed – the longer Optimus was hiding on this planet, the longer Cybertron suffered.

The humans scrambled underfoot as he hauled himself to his full height. The grey haired man was shouting orders, rallying his tardy men. Magnus hoped these organics had not taken out other Autobots. Their lack of discipline was embarrassing. 

"Go for its legs! Hurry! What happened that EB?"

At their Commander’s shouts, one human jerked up, a rocket launcher in hand. He fired and Ultra Magnus stepped away from the wide shot. It pitched into the ground a few feet away and set the grass alight. Reaching out, he curled his servo around the human until he cracked and went limp. Ultra Magnus flung the organic into the others, watching as the men fumbled to recover.

While distracted with kicking away a truck that seemed to think it could charge him, Ultra Magnus was hit again by another energy blast. It caught him on the back and he toppled forward with a grunt. Pulling out his pulse rifle, he blew up the remaining trucks – securing that the organic soldiers remained here for him to finish off – and turned it on the remaining few. Five remained: the Commander, one with a rocket launcher and three others.

"I'm going to give you five seconds to stand down, scrap for brains!" The Commander hollered, voice broken and shaking. Ultra Magnus was appalled that was the best insult he could come up with.

"Who are you?" He asked instead, pulse rifle shot going wide enough to only annihilate the three ordinary soldiers that stood with shaking guns. The human startled, taking a step away from his scorched comrades ashes. The organic with the rocket launcher shook with fear.

"That's classified," the organic smirked. Ultra Magnus wondered if this irritation was how his crew felt every time he said that to them. It was a wonder he hadn’t dealt with a mutiny.

"What is this?"

"This?" The Commander spread his arms wide, grin faux-wide. "This is the government's message to fuck off! We don't want your kind here any longer, bolt head, they've messed up enough as it is. We're Cemetery Wind, and we've been formed to exterminate rouge NEST members and all Transformers that refuse to leave our planet."

Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics like Prowl had taken to doing when confronted with another of Sunstreaker's sad pranks; it was a mix of 'unsure' and 'guilty' that brought forth said look. It usually meant that Sunstreaker had pranked someone simply because he missed his twin and it had went wrong. The look meant Prowl was unsure of what action to take, knowing the mech was guilty but was feeling pitying himself.

It seemed this man was simply a soldier. Should a soldier suffer for following his orders?

Thankfully, the organic with the rocket launcher spared him the sparkache of deciding who was guilty. He fired the rocket launcher despite his Commander's choked noise.

Ultra Magnus pulled his rifle's trigger. At the same time, the rocket laucher’s blast hit him. He made quick work of the two organics.

Turning to the World Wide Web for an alt. mode was not the best option but it was his only one. The human's trucks were too small for him to take on without subspacing too much and he’d damaged most beyond sensible scanning abilities. Additionally, he'd landed in a place so remote he was sure no forms suitable for him would be passing by anytime soon.

With that, Ultra Magnus located an online 3D image site and did his best to replicate the details into an alternative mode. He needed to lay low now, recover and search for any Cybertronians not already taken down by this Cemetery Wind.

Transforming, he rolled out.

Chapter Text

As a child, Rodimus had happily danced to the tune his father wove. Desperate to be the perfect child, he bent over backwards to fit the narrative – anything to be a good daughter. Then, everything turned upside down when he realised he should've been a son.

The harmony he'd been living in had ceased to a halt with a loud shriek. He had become Atalanta, not quite abandoned in the forest, but abandoned all the same. All it took was a simple admission, only a few words, before voices had been raised and he'd been given the ultimatum. Fix himself or leave.

Rodimus watched his family recoil from him. He had become the poisoned chalice, the venomous serpent, the cursed mirror that no one dared to look near. Like any strained mirror, Rodimus had shattered and spilled silver shards over the floor. They made his skin bleed when he'd tried to cling onto them, so he'd dropped them in the trash and moved on.

That had been a few years ago. Things got worse before they got better, people said. So far, things hadn't gotten much better and his seven years of bad luck was supposed to have ended.

Lately, the world had gotten worse. He hadn't quite managed to piece back together what had been broken and he could do nothing more than put his feet in front of him and keep moving. Around him, things changed; the weather shifted, jobs he applied to fell through, the streets of some cities were packed with tents, humanitarian aid got a boost, people shot sports cars double-glances.

He kept his head down and didn't linger. He seen enough of the news in passing to know America was in the shitter. Rodimus simply carried on. He'd fallen through the cracks and whacked his head and legs on the way down but there was no time to rest. There were eyes around every corner and he couldn't let them see him.

With flesh as raw as his, Rodimus was well aware everything would catch up to him. Poseidon had tracked Odysseus for two decades; unrelenting, unforgiving. Soon, the tides would catch up to him and he would drown. Rodimus couldn't swim, so he did what he could and kept going.

He walked, hitchhiked and fluttered his eyes where other options failed him. Truckers knew the roads and were open to letting him share their cab for a night if he was nice to them. Rodimus didn't exactly love it, but a life on the move was what he wanted and he'd never been able to take no for an answer. The freedom to roam and do whatever the hell he wanted was worth the danger and lack of surety. If he died, he found solace in having been doing something he wanted.

His most recent ride dropped him off by a gas station on route 26, near Portland but ultimately closer to Buxton. It wasn't an ideal stop, as it left him in the middle of nowhere. There was a state park somewhere nearby and a few bed and breakfasts who weren't willing to drop their prices even if Rodimus was only five dollars off.

It wasn't midwinter, but the snow on the ground and the frozen dirt under his feet made it seem like it. Considering the late hour, Portland was too far away for him to walk over to tonight and he wasn't too excited to walk along the highway in the pitch black. Instead, Rodimus took to trailing down the little side roads, hopeful he could find a shed or something to hunker down in for the night. Breaking and entering would've had his father bursting an aneurysm but Rodimus had fewer inhibitions.

He was shivering when he spotted a warped gate. It was down a sideroad that hadn't been gritted or maintained in a long while, evidenced by how the surrounding hedges were thick with thorns and long past the description of being overgrown. Green stretched out to nearly block the entire road, narrowing the already thin lane to where Rodimus had been walking down the middle of the gravelled way to get down it.

Rodimus was used to Arizona and Utah. Oregon was as far north, or north-west, as he'd ever been. It was colder up here and the biting wind wasn't something his thin hoodie could easily handle. He'd snagged a pair of boots from a thrift store a few stops back which were keeping his feet dry and somewhat warm but his numb fingers were possibly, probably, at risk of falling off.

Shooting a cursory glance around the unmoving hedges, Rodimus rocked up to the gate. It was metal, although had been crushed in on one side, as if something had pushed down on that area. The metal bars were bent and broken, snow gathering in the indents of the cracks. At the sight, Rodimus paused, wind biting his nose where his hood couldn't shield it. A broken gate was always a good sign – a sign that there was no one looking after the place.

Beyond the gate, a field with long grass stretched up. If he hadn't known this was just grass, Rodimus would've thought it was wheat or barely or something. The dying off-yellow stands were almost as tall as he was.

Pulling his hands out of his pockets, Rodimus shot both sides of the road a look. It was as empty as ever, which did nothing to stop him from grabbing the gate and jumping over it. His boots thumped onto the hard ground on the other side, the field a wide expanse of nothing.

Usually, Rodimus didn't take jaunts through empty fields but something about this one felt different. There was a scratching feeling in his chest that urged him to walk through it.

Despite the mostly frozen ground, when he got deeper into the maze, the dirt underfoot sunk at the pressure of a human treading over it. By the time Rodimus was halfway across the once farmed field, he was up to his shins in mud. The only thing he could see was the sky above him, the dried out grass swirling in every other direction.

This is worth it, he thought despite the discomfort of his wet feet. His instincts had never led him astray before and he didn't think they would start to.

The field was just grass. No farming machinery, no empty spacious barn, no animals or life to be seen. A storm was setting in that ruffled the tops of the grass stems like a rippling body of water. Rodimus stopped and eyed the moon glinting down on him; one wholly white eye glaring at the dirt and scum that made up the planet. It was bright and gorgeous, a glinting beacon shining for millions to see. It spilled its essence over the grass, creating a mesmerising mural that changed and shifted with the wind. The grass stalks were aflame, stems pitched almost ivory - akin to the spears and lances of many guards flocking the battlefield. On a particularly strong gust of wind, the grass parted like the red sea and the moon's kiss illuminated something in the distance.

His instincts were never wrong. Rodimus smirked to himself as he pushed on through the grass. If he was lucky, whatever it was would be a shed or something to get a few hours' worth of sleep in.

As he neared, a tall and old tree became apparent beside the glint. It was large and blackened, obviously dead. Spindly branches stretched out towards the looming moon in a caricature of Icarus reaching for the sun.

The wind battered his hood, slapping it against his ears. With it came small white flecks. Snow.

Rodimus got closer and discovered the glinting speck to be a loitering behemoth. A dirt-specked windscreen sat dark over the black pit that was the cabin behind it. The truck was large, sitting low and exhausted in the back corner of the field. Around it, the long grasses were pushed down, as though the truck had just appeared out of nowhere and flattened everything around it. Its black paint job was streaked and scratched, peeling in oddly circular holes. The bright glint that caught his eye had been the the off-silver muffler pipes on the side of the cab. Up close, the liquid moonlight danced over the mufflers and seemed to beckon him closer.

Rodimus knew about the Trojans and their gift horse, but he would not be looking this one in the mouth. A rundown semitruck moping in this patch of dirt was probably his best run of luck yet.

Sure, it looked like it had driven into a block of Chicago's skyscrapers and came out scathed to hell and back, with a twisted and warped grill and mud smeared over the entire hood, but there were some things in life that weren't made to be questioned. With the wind clawing at him, Rodimus climbed up the steep steps and gently tugged on the doorhandle.

With a click, the door swung open, batting him to the ground. Rodimus, knowing enough to keep his head up when he slammed onto the ground, coughed sourly and clambered to his feet. He was damn lucky the flattened grass had caught him and stopped him from getting an assfull of mud. Snow swarmed around the sudden blackhole that hadn't been there before, painting the ripped leather seats a stark white.

Clutching onto the door this time, Rodimus slowly hauled himself into the truck, limbs quivering against the cold. It took a few tugs to close the stiff door but it closed nonetheless. Once the door was closed Rodimus sat there, frozen in the tense silence. He could barely hear the wind, the seals of the windows still in place and seemingly better than they had any right to be.

"Wow," he murmured, quaking fingers brushing dust from the steering wheel. He'd hoped into the passenger side but that didn't matter. From the looks of this truck, nothing short of a miracle was going to get it started again. The leather seats were ripped and torn, the steering wheel hanging on at an angle with its plastic scratched and gouged up, like a knife had been taken to it. Actually, the dash looked like it had been attacked by a maniac – plastic warped and scraped. In the front, the only things that looked fine were the rubber foot mats and the radio, which had largely escaped the damage aside from a missing button.

The cabin behind the two seats looked alright, if one ignored the dents in the walls and floor and how the little bench that separated the bed from the passenger side looked like it had been used to beat a brick. The brick had won. But, there was a mattress and enough room to stretch out. Rodimus had enough in his backpack to make it comfortable, which was the important thing.

Thankfully, despite the stale air and the eerie state of the truck, there were no cracks in the windows, no breeze and the inside temperature wasn't as cold as it was outside. Sure, there was enough dust to wipe out any bugs that even came near, but nothing that would kill him. Hopefully.

Settling in, he gave a quick glance around. No dash cam, no signs of life. The dust was thick over the dash and the seats. From the looks of it, no one had been in this truck for a while. Perfect. He was lucky he hadn't needed to pick the lock, though now he was in, he thumbed the door lock.

His wet feet cramped as he made to relax. With an easy motion, Rodimus kicked his boots off. His socks went next, and then his wet trousers. Sitting bare assed in the passenger seat of a truck wasn't ideal, but it wasn't exactly new. Shrugging his pack off, he zipped it open and dug out the wipes. He tried to save them for special occasions, but he'd found a value pack the other day and hadn't been able to resist slipping them into his pocket. Now, he wiped down his face, grabbed a few to go through his hair with - an unconventional but useful method - and gave himself a short body wipe-down. Sticky and smelling of strawberries but somewhat clean, Rodimus set the used wipes on the ruined dash and turned back to his pack in search of trousers.

Clothing options had been sparse recently. It was difficult to know what fit him and changing rooms had been few and far in between in the shops he'd recently streaked through. That left him with a few things that were too big but now seemed perfect for sleeping in. It had been ages since he'd been able to have a mattress all to himself and he was inordinately excited at the thought.

Tugging on some baggy trousers, he peeled off his sweaty hoodie and the pairs of tees he had under it. Another few wipes were repurposed for his chest – who knew having tits would be sweaty – and under his arms. When he was satisfied, those wipes were thrown onto his muddy boots. The sweaty hoodie found a place in the driver's seat, where the gear stick unfortunately jabbed him in the ribs when he reached over to smoothen it out. Scowling, Rodimus leaned back to rub at his side before tugging on a loose shirt and another hoodie he'd been saving. He topped it all off with two pairs of socks. His boots were the only shoes he had to his name, so he hoped they dried out soon.

Sorted out, his pack was thrown back onto the mattress. Peering over the dark abyss of the window, able to see flecks of white where the dirt was patchy, Rodimus grabbed the wipes he'd left on the dash and rubbed it down. The dust came off in thick clumps that he swept into the middle of the console. Leaning over the gear stick again was precarious business, but he managed to wipe down the radio and most of the driver's seat before he slipped into it.

Once the two seats were relatively clean and the dash was decent, Rodimus rubbed down the driver's side door like he had with the passenger's and turned his attention to the wheel. The little panels behind it, showing the miles and speed of the truck, were dark and lifeless. Despite the seeming age of the thing, there were no manual numbers. Seemed it was all digital. There was no key in the ignition.

Humming softly to himself, Rodimus gave the ragged wheel a wipe down. He didn't want to hoot the horn and possibly give himself away if there was anyone somehow nearby, but he thought about it. His thumb ran over the badge in the center of the wheel, which he gave a little rub.

A red symbol stared up at him. Some rectangles, some lines. It looked like some crappy brand logo. Rodimus had possibly seen it before, so it was likely the truck's brand. Uninterested, he gave the dash a final swipe and found his attention grabbed by the radio. Considering the lack of power, he severely doubted it would work, though he tapped at it anyway.

Noise blared from it. Voices, chittering noises—

Rodimus shut it off, already hearing the echoes reverberating in his skull. In the silence, his ragged breathing was loud.

Figuring he could play with the radio tomorrow, he abandoned the task and hopped back into the passenger side to get to his clothes and boots. The mud came off easy enough, floating to the mat below. He did what he could with the discarded wipes before cracking the door open to flap out the mat and throw out the little bundle of dust he'd obtained from the dash. He only opened the door a scant few inches, but the wind clawed and bit at him, whistling harshly through the small gap. Rodimus wasted no time in pulling the door shut again.

If the snow died down a bit tomorrow, he could probably make use of a zippy bag and clean a few things. A little drying line would go perfectly between that old tree and one of the truck's mufflers. Those were day activities, though, mostly because Rodimus could barely see in the dark as it was and he didn't want to risk venturing out again. Not with the wind howling like wolves. He'd stumbled onto a pack of wolves before and didn't fancy a rematch.

With everything sorted to a satisfactory level, Rodimus called it a night and slunk into the back. He could stand here, though had to pull out another few wipes for the floor, bed and bench. The dust was thankfully the only thing back here – no bugs, no eyes. Rodimus got everything cleaned up, pulled a foil blanket out of his bag and repurposed a few bundled-up tees as a pillow.

When he slept, it was fragmented and only content when he had his back pressed up against the truck's cold wall.

A loud crash woke him. Jolting upright and nearly rolling off the bed, Rodimus fought with his blanket while jumping to his feet. He leaned over the seats to squint out the snowy windows, peering into what had become an abyss of nothing. Rodimus wasn't used to heavy snow, but he feared it wouldn't be clearing any time soon. It was sort of bright, so he assumed the sun had risen, though it was difficult to tell with two windows showing a snowy inferno and the main windowscreen completely obscured by a layer of snow. Shifting to lean over the passenger seat, nose nearly pressed against the window, he caught sight of what had woken him.

The tree beside the truck had fallen. Most likely from the wind; it had toppled not a foot away from the front grill.

Heart hammering, Rodimus rocked back. He was cold, with his blanket on the floor and a low rumble was starting up behind his eyes. Frowning to himself, he pulled numb fingers up to massage his temple and shambled back to the mattress. If there was no going outside, he would just sleep. He didn't have that much food on him and wasn't fond of the thought of wasting it.

Closing his eyes against the pounding of his eyelids, Rodimus slid back into the still-warm bed and took up his position of 'curled cat' once more. He shifted, making sure all his errant limbs were safely under the foil before easing back into sleep.

When he woke again, it was to a cloudless night with a moon the size of Atlas peering down at him through the windscreen. Rodimus, half out of bed, blanket draped over his legs and his legs only, opened his eyes and let himself lie for a second longer. The snow must've melted off the window and cleaned it, because he felt like it was far brighter than it had been the night prior.

Usually, he woke up sweaty and disoriented. Today, he was disoriented, although not that sweaty. Maybe the cold had something to do with it. Either way, Rodimus stretched and stood up. He dragged his backpack and blanket with him, spooling into the passenger's seat to peer out the window. The radio sat eagerly as he rummaged through his gear and pulled out a snack bar and his bottle of water. It was half-full and tasted like plastic, but he sipped at it regardless.

The moon had evidently become a full one. It shone down on the truck, making the dash sparkle like glitter was infused with it. It was actually kind of cute and the knowledge that he could see this because of his superb cleaning made him grin. The snack bar all but disappeared and ended up in his rubbish bag. While elbow-deep in his pack, he checked what else he had in his meagre possession.

A few tins of fruit, a few more snack bars and a couple bags of trailmix. Not much. Clothing-wise, he had the tees that were acting as his pillow on the bed, another pair of trousers and a few tampons for when he needed them. Bleeding out was not his favourite thing, so he kept pills stashed for that, though he was lucky enough that stress and other factors meant his period was more irregular than Cronus' decision to swallow his children.

Turning back to the radio, he flicked it on. There was more chirping, chittering noises - like animals - but no voices. Rodimus twisted the dial, searching for a station to listen to, but found nothing but static on other channels. The buttons with stations keyed to them didn't work and he found himself turning it off in a huff. Static wasn't fun to listen to, even if something in it was soothing the dull ache in his head.

Twisting in the seat, Rodimus finished off his water and peered out the window. The snow had stayed - at least a foot thick. The fallen tree sat nearly covered in it, its past grandeur diminished to a lump on the ground.

Humming to himself, Rodimus leaned down to prod at his boots. They were a bit damp but he shoved them on, tucking the ends of his trousers into them. The hoodie he had on right now was probably thick enough, so he grabbed his water bottle and pushed the door open. The four steps down were steep and awkward, but he managed to get groundside without falling flat on his face.

Bouncing on the crunchy snow, Rodimus took a deep breath of fresh air. It was sharp in his throat yet refreshing.

He skipped around the felled tree and went to scrape the top layer of snow into his bottle. It looked clean and he checked his handfuls before packing it in. He hoped the little bit of water he had in there would help melt it. He packed his bottle before slinging it back into the truck and turning to the downed tree. He was so dehydrated that pissing made him thirsty, so he shoved some more clean-looking snow into his mouth to tongue at before wandering over to the tree. If he was out and cold, he might as well enjoy himself.

With the moon gigantic above him – Polyphemus' lone eye watching, unblinking – Rodimus jumped onto the tree trunk and walked along it, arms flung out as though it was a particularly difficult balancing beam in gym. He'd hated those with a passion, but standing upon dead bark and hoping it didn't collapse under him made things a lot more fun. The large roots had unearthed a great section of the grassland when the great big stick had toppled. It made for an interesting sight. Just a tree and a trunk in the middle of a whole load of overgrown grass.

Sliding off the tree, Rodimus went over to look at the roots. Long and gnarled, they looked capable of leaving the myriad of scratches present on the truck. There was a small sheltered section where the snow hadn't reached. Here, worms wiggled, bare to the fresh air for what Rodimus knew could be their first time ever. He crouched down to stare at them, poking at one that was making its way upwards, looking like it wanted to burrow into the tree. Rodimus considered it very lucky that the truck hadn't been flattened by the tree. He didn't have a phone, so if he'd been trapped, he couldn't have called for help. Not like he had the funds to pay for the fire crew coming to get him, either.

A soft breeze blew, ruffling his hair. His wet wipes had done a good job of cleaning it up, but he needed to cut it again. He liked it short, and if he could see his bangs then they were too long.

He settled on the tree after clearing a spot, legs crossed under him. Fingers tapping on his knees, Rodimus turned his gaze to the sky. It was cloudless and Rodimus could see the darkness of space staring down on him. The stars out here were nice, nothing more than small pinpricks in the vast pseudo-ocean that space was; they hadn't discovered ninety percent of what was in the oceans and that was the same for space exploration. Whistling softly, Rodimus looked back at the truck that was lit up in the moon's light.

It made a pitiful sight, honestly. It was huge, built to withstand the road but had been absolutely destroyed by life.

Behind him, something shifted. Curious, Rodimus turned around and came face to face with sharp metal teeth. The scent of warm metal and oil met him as the teeth parted, a guttural growl splitting the calm night air. Two malicious eyes watched him, the colour of his blood. The vibrating sleuth of metal and dark rubber molded into the shape of a long, lithe cat. It hunched low on its legs; the very picture of a predator ready to pounce.

Rodimus screamed.

Chapter Text

A loud wail roused Ultra Magnus from stasis.

He onlined to a flurry of warnings, processor whirring immediately into an overheated state. His internals were steadily climbing to temperatures that, if prolonged, would result in his paint bubbling. There were more than a dozen undismissable error codes crowding his HUD and triple the number of alarms buzzing in his audials – most warning of imminent shut down if his main programs did not come online in the next few minutes.

His run-in with the humans had not been too difficult, however, the damage sustained during the engagement had proved taxing for his repair systems. Being separated from the Autobot forces meant there were no Autobot medics nearby when he needed one. It had quickly become apparent that his sole option had been to power down to his most efficient energy state and wait it out. When his systems began running optimally, he could return to his objective: locate Optimus Prime.

When his less fried external sensors onlined, the Decepticon cassette within servo's reach drew his attention first. The human staring into Ravage's maw was of less concern, though was notably more interesting.

"Okay," he heard the human speak. As it edged back along the body of the fallen tree, Ravage leaned forward and growled a spittle-infused warning. "What the actual fuck? Is your spit melting the tree– ohh, what the fuck."

Ravage inched closer, making the human's heartrate tremendously increase.

"Hey, hey, good kitty," the organic squeaked. "Are you even a cat?"

Seeing no route where the Decepticon would Ieave the area without his interference, Ultra Magnus forcefully cleared his HUD and routed power to his vocaliser.

"Stand down, Ravage." He boomed, flashing his headlights. The stark white of his full beams cast the entire field into a glow similar to that of a sun, making the human shield their optics. Predictably, Ravage did little other than turn her snarl towards him. Her claws unfurled with a snick, digging cleanly into the tree's bark with little resistance.

Ultra Magnus rolled forward, feeling the dirt stuck in his wheels crunch and shift. Ravage reared back at his movement but held her ground, prompting him to sound his horn. The human's face scrunched and their hands moved to cover their audials as Ravage yowled and pounced. She dug her claws into his bonnet, gouging more lines down his plating. With a shout, unwilling to risk further delays to his repairs, Ultra Magnus transformed, flinging Ravage thirty foot into the air.

The cassette yowled and curled up at the same time the human scrambled off the tree. Ultra Magnus left the organic alone and got his legs under him. He reared up to grab Ravage in his palm, squeezing in on the cassette’s internals.

With a haste that justified her fearsome depictions on the battlefield, Ravage yowled and began clawing at him. The sharp tip of her tail lashed out and dug into the seams of his wrist, slicing an energon wire and sending a deluge of energon onto the ground. It hissed and bubbled on the organic surface.

Grunting, Ultra Magnus threw her down. The cassette slammed into the trunk of the tree, breaking it clean in half and leaving her lodged in the thick mud. While Ravage snarled and struggled to free herself, Ultra Magnus pulled a flexi-strip from his subspace and promptly sealed off the leaking tubing. His energon levels were dangerously low and his initial preliminary scans on his short journey to this mostly inaccessible field had not yielded good results for energon availability on this dirtbucket.

With his immediate issue dealt with, Ultra Magnus flared his sensors over the closest klick. No organics, no Cybertronians. There was only him, Ravage and the human staring at them beside the gate.

He turned his head towards the organic. They were dressed in many layers for the cold weather, and already their faceplates had changed colour to show their external sensors were within their limits. They were staring with wide, fleshy optics at Magnus, however when he looked at them, their legs gave out on them. Ultra Magnus looked away as the organic sank to the ground.

It seemed Ravage was thoroughly stuck. Perhaps, he had dropped her harsher than intended. Despite her annoyances, Ravage was young, and Ultra Magnus had read many reports where the panther had avoided killing blows – not on Cybertron, when the war raged in earnest, but here, on Earth, where both Autobots and Decepticons seemed to be going through the motions.

He rebooted his vocaliser and spoke in Cybertronian: "Why are you here, cassette?"

She hissed at him. When he shifted, she did nothing but hiss louder.

Ultra Magnus allowed his shoulder pauldron to lift and peel back. One of his two mounted cannons formatted, weighing him down heavily. He did not have the power to feed it nor fire a blast, but that was not something Ravage knew. He estimated a further two orn of remaining stationary before he could gather enough solar energy to be at adequate levels, although his solar-based charging method was outdated and had not seen use in eons.

“You have five astroseconds,” he announced, leaning a little closer for her to see the muzzle of the cannon. Ravage’s purple optics narrowed to fine slits as a growl reverberated from her throat. “Speak.”

Regardless, Ravage struggled fiercely, tail lashing wildly. She caught his damaged knee, tearing new plating off in a shower of sparks. Ultra Magnus grabbed her tail and yanked, watching the Decepticon halt all movement at the threat. Losing her tail would pull out her spine. There were few ways to recover from that.

He raised an optical ridge and waited.

"Always acting so high and mighty, Maggy," the panther snarled, voice carefully toned to only display anger. The General Cybertronian dialect was a complex language, filled with words that had multiple meanings and could be interpreted differently based on tone. For Cybertronians, who were capable of modulating their voice boxes to whichever tone they desired, this was especially useful in creating intricate conversations where more information could be shared than was outright stated. General Cybertronian, in particular, because of this, had become the main language of the revolutionists, who had rebelled against the caste system and the Senate. In later years, where the Senate was gone and the Decepticons took the planet by storm, the General dialect had been largely used to create their familiar but different Decepticon Cybertronian, similar to how the Autobots borrowed from it to form their own Autobot Cybertronian dialect.

Now, where two factions clashed and spoke together, they used the General dialect.

"That is not my designation," he scolded.

“Suck a pipe!” Ravage spat at him, though her acidic phlegm landed on the bark. It hissed and burned through the organic material. "How's it feel to be one of the last 'bots standing?"

Ultra Magnus was well aware that a Decepticon would always be a Decepticon. He did not have the same dreams of reformation and harmony that his brother did – Ultra Magnus had always been the realist, the one who believed they had to beat the victory in, even if he did not like it himself. War brought out the worst in everyone involved; five vorn leading a dying army had left its impression on him.

They fought and won or they fought and offlined. There was no alternate. Ultra Magnus was not to be fooled by a sparkling’s dreams.

“I do not follow your nonsense,” he intoned, aware she could be baiting him. Ravage was not above angering him and delving her tail into his spark chamber. She’d killed Cliffjumper that way sixteen vorn ago, although that minibot had always been easy to rile up.

"Megatron is offline,” Ravage growled. “The ‘Cons have been de-ranked by organics. You no longer have us to fear as your worst enemy.”

The cassette spat the words with a vicious hatred Ultra Magnus was very familiar with. His gaze slid over to the human, who was now sitting on the gate as though they were waiting for the conversation to finish. Ultra Magnus did not bother them and instead returned his attention to Ravage, who positively seethed as she struggled to get anywhere. A four-legged rootmode made it extremely difficult when she was stuck on her back.

"Why are Autobots and Decepticons being hunted?" 

The cassette stopped moving before answering. "They fear us. Not the factions, not our fighting; us. Sentinel Prime rose from his grave and sent a city to the ground – the squishies are terrified. And they should be."

“Yet, they take arms and raise them in opposition,” he noted. Humans truly were odd creatures. Perhaps the reports had overstated their intelligence – if they feared Cybertronians, why would they simply not arrange for them to leave whilst the treaties were in place? The destruction of Chicago could not have changed that much.

Why had his brother not just listened when Magnus asked him to return to Cybertron? So much of this could have been avoided.

"They broke the treaties with your Autobots before Chicago. Now, all they’re interested in is part harvesting." Ravage radiated the disgust Ultra Magnus felt at those words. The cassette shivered, optics shifting as the gears inside shuddered and reset. Then, as though simply uttering the words brought her an unfathomable fear, Ravage gave a mithering noise and divulged, "There are rumours of their hunting parties allying with Lockdown."

Surely not, Ultra Magnus worried, aghast. He reset his own vocaliser with an audible click, unsure of what to say. "Lockdown is a lone mercenary for a reason."

"They are humans," Ravage managed a shrug that rolled out her entire spine. "I only wish he'd turn against them already. The sooner we raze Cemetery Wind, the sooner we can teach the humans a lesson."

“The priority should be making it off world,” he said, watching the cassette’s reaction. Her disgust made it clear she wanted revenge. Their hatred of humans was where their similarities ended; Ravage wanted the destruction of the enemy organics whilst Magnus wished for the Autobots to return home. He could not see a reason why Ravage would remain on this planet, unless... "Was Soundwave offlined?"

A moment passed in silence, Ravage sizing him up. If this was true, the cassette would likely offline soon, unflexible as the bond between a carrier and cassette was.

"My carrier's status is of no interest to you, Autobot."

Ultra Magnus peered down at the Decepticon. Her response was not encouraging, despite how a cursory worldwide web search garnered few results up for Soundwave. As the TIC of the Decepticons, Ultra Magnus would like to think the mech had the ability to survive an assault from this planet's native lifeforms, though Cemetery Wind’s weapons made him re-evaluate that.

"What of the others?" He attempted, "Prime? Starscream?"

Ravage leered at him, "What do I know?"

Suddenly, she transformed into her smaller cassette form. Magnus let her, watching as she burst free of the mud and dirt and was able to reform away from the tree. She turned her purple glare on the human by the gate but he shifted his shoulder-mounted cannon in warning. Whilst Magnus did not care for their kind, he refused to watch an innocent, non-soldier be offlined in front of him.

Heeding his warning, Ravage slunk low before turning and fleeing. He did not take chase.

Ultra Magnus stood for a few clicks longer, physical and online scanners spread far and wide for any familiar signatures. He was no tracker on a physical or an online network level, but he took pride in knowing the humming tunes of Whirl's specific comm frequency and could spot the baiting messages Jazz would write from a mile away. But now, Whirl was on Cybertron and Jazz was offlined. Much had changed and things would not go back to how they had been. 

The planet's online platforms were rife with vitriol and hatred against them. Ultra Magnus forced himself to steer clear of the most alarming articles and debates, unwilling to risk being tracked back by interacting with anything that could be a trap. The dark web seemed chock full of debates and message forums aimed at their kind. Countless seemed insistent on over-documenting their actions on this planet, with many posts delving deep into what had happened over the years. That side of the internet had articles and information that the general public did not. The horrid situation in Chicago was the most recent event and what had tipped most of the world over, with information running rampant over the more accessible side of the internet. Ultra Magnus scrolled through clips of Autobots fighting, of buildings crumbling, of Decepticons firing rifles and laughing...

The sooner they left this planet, the better. With no peace treaties in place and Cemetery Wind evidently uncaring in who they offlined, they had much to lose and little to win. Humanity had turned their backs on the Autobots and shown their true colours.  

With Ravage gone, it was only Ultra Magnus and the human. 

He turned his helm towards them as they jumped off the gate and stepped closer, hands in their pockets. This time, they did not collapse. Instead, they strolled over to the tree trunk and peered up at him with a pose he cross-referenced as ‘laid-back’.

"Y'know," they began, somewhat conversationally. "I slept in you. Does that make us like, partners? Because, when I did that, y'know, I wasn't really doing it to bone a robot or anything, but I don't think I'd be against it now. I dunno, it's kinda weird, but if you speak like that all the time, I might die."

Ultra Magnus looked down at the human. He assumed, from the contradictions in their speech, that the Earth language of English was also filled with many clauses and tone-specific meanings that he could not determine in this moment. Finally, he managed, "What?"

The human picked their way towards him, hoping over the tree and whistling as they bent over to inspect the Ravage-shaped hole left behind. A tone in their vocalisations gave the impression they were awed by the sight.

"Well, I figured since I'm not dead and you haven't used that fancy-smancy gun on your shoulder on my ass," they spun on their heel and aimed a bright smile up at him, seeming unphased by the height difference or race difference or the fact that Ultra Magnus could blow them to pieces before they even blinked. Every organic on the planet had to know of Cybertronians considering the heavy news coverage of Chicago, yet this one seemed entirely unworried. Perhaps, this one was defective? "That you must like it, right?"

If he was speechless before, Ultra Magnus truly had no words in this instance. He bent to retrieve the silver plating his repair systems had generated to cover the armour lost to the humans' attack and pulled a rag from his subspace to clean it off. The organic ground was covered in a thick, crunching layer of white that was polluted by a splatter of energon. He noted the human swerved around the blue, giving it an untrusting glance. Seeing how the native species were smart enough, Magnus ran a quick search on the white ground-substance and found it to be a phenomenon known as snow. It indicated the outside temperature was very low, alongside a slew of possible ailments that humans could obtain in this weather.

Glancing down at the human to see them staring up at him with wide eyes, Ultra Magnus wondered if the organic would develop this 'frostbite' and die. The term would suggest the cold would bite them, though he could identify no denta in the snow. 

"Where did you pull that from?" The human asked.

Re-subspacing his rag as he declared the plating sufficiently cleaned, Ultra Magnus bent down to press the plating back into place. As he held it over his knee protoform to allow it to connect, he answered, "My subspace."

"Sub...? Kinky."

He cycled those words through the worldwide web and was dismayed by the results. His faceplates curled, "It is a storage space."

"Sure," the human grinned, nodding like a caretaker nodded in agreement with a sparkling. "I believe you."

"Your tone suggests otherwise, human," he frowned. 

"I dunno, I'm an honest guy," they hummed, before chirping: "Most of the time!"

His HUD flashed at him to signify the plate had reconnected. Ultra Magnus could already feel the strain of moving under such tight energy parameters and promptly folded back into his alt mode.

The truck with a wide cabin was the biggest vehicle he could manage to scan based off the online specifications – non-tangible scans were uncommon due to these very limitations. A physical scan of a vehicle that was in front of a mech would be copied perfectly but a scan grabbed from a network would only work as much as a mech's processor could handle the ramifications of having a lot of their body shoved into subspace due to the non-corporeal scan lacking the depth perception their alt scans relied so heavily upon. As no large Earthern vehicles had passed him on his journey that were big enough, Ultra Magnus simply had to deal with most of his form residing within his subspace. A proper alt mode would be his priority once his repair systems reached ninety percent. Currently, they were stalled out at seventy-five.

"Can I come back in?" The human asked, bouncing over to stand by his passenger door. They pouted a little, in a manner reminiscent of how Elita used to look at Optimus when she wanted something, and lingered. Unwilling to watch the snow bite them, Magnus popped open his door. "Yo, thanks!"

The human hopped in, toeing their boots off in the same spot as before. Dirt inside his cab was enough to have his processor churning but as of this moment, Ultra Magnus was far too tired to find the energy to worry or fuss. 

"You really picked a swell truck," the human chattered, speaking just as incessantly as before. It was a good thing Ultra Magnus was preoccupied with dismissing all his error warnings and not trying to recharge or else he would've flung the human out of his cab and left them to the weather. "I take it you're one of those guys who was in Chicago?"

Although a human's opinion of him was a quandary and insignificant thing, Ultra Magnus felt somewhat compelled to online his vocaliser. When his voice came through the speakers in the doors, the human jumped but grinned widely. "I was not present in Chicago. I landed six orn ago."

"Orn?" The human echoed. "Don't think I've heard that one before?"

"An orn is our timekeeping measurement," he responded. "I estimate eighty of your hours to be close to one."

"You're an Earth virgin," the human giggled. "This is great! I'll tour you across America and teach you the ins and outs of trucking. It'll be great, big guy!"

"I am not here to tour," he succinctly refused. The human rolled their eyes and folded their legs in his passenger seat as they moved to peer out the windows. It was snowing from the sky now - the small white flecks landing over the rips and seams in his hood. The scratches Ravage had left were only beginning to close over, though the frozen rain seemed to have little effect on his processes. 

"Right," the human agreed, apparently unphased. "Well, if you can drop me off at a nice city somewhere warm, you can get rid of me. Hey, my stuff’s okay! How come you didn’t squish all this when you transformed?"

"My interior is connected to my subspace,” he responded. “There is a city less than three miles away.”

The human rolled their optics and lightly slapped his dash. "Are you for real? It's freezing up here. I hate Seattle. Take me to Arizona again, or maybe somewhere new? Nevada might be nice, but they don't have a lot going for them."

When Ultra Magnus didn't respond, the human glanced back to his main console, specifically in the direction of his steering wheel. "Big guy? You alright?"

"My designation is Ultra Magnus."

"Sweet," they beamed. "I'm Rodimus. I use he/him pronouns."

"Understood," Magnus confirmed. He logged that information under the human's file before realising what he was doing and deleting it. When the human poked at his radio and tuned in on the vacant Autobot comm channels, Ultra Magnus questioned why he was allowing him to remain in his cab. He needed to find Prime quickly... though, if his brother was fond of the humans, then perhaps using this one would help Magnus extract him sooner?

"So, Mags," Rodimus hummed, tapping on the radio buttons until Magnus located a human station and fed it through his speakers. The human seemed quite pleased and settled into the seat with a hum. "How'd you end up here – as in, like, this field?"

"Although that is not my designation, I could ask the same of you." 

Rodimus laughed. It was not an unpleasant sound. "You have to answer because I asked first."

"When I landed, I was confronted by a group of humans who have been hunting down my kind. They injured me and I have taken residence of this field to repair."

"What was the kitty doin'?" Rodimus asked, head tilting. "Warning you?"

Surprised, Ultra Magnus agreed, "How did you know?"

"Shitter didn't gouge you that much," Rodimus shrugged, head bobbing to the tune filtering over the radio. "Plus, you did a lot of talking. Looked a lot like a debrief type thing."

"Ravage is not one for conversation," Ultra Magnus allowed. "She is young."

"Moody teen type, huh?" Rodimus snickered. He scooped a container up from Magnus' floor and sipped at the fluid inside, pulling a face. A second later, he was turning to climb into the back of the cab. The human crawled up onto the bed and rummaged through his rucksack, pulling out a tin and a slim package. 

Ultra Magnus flicked his sensors over Rodimus to analyse his actions. If he could learn how humans survived in a personal, non-internet based manner then perhaps he could format tactics to fight Cemetery Wind. In war, it was the small things that made large differences.

The human climbed back into the passenger seat before he popped open the can and ripped a pair of sticks out of the paper package. With his chopsticks, Rodimus began to eat the peaches sustained in their syrup.

At Ultra Magnus' silence, he looked up and flashed the steering wheel a coy smile. "Sorry, I didn't ask if I could eat in here. Do you mind? I could go freeze my cute ass off in the snow if you're not comfortable."

"It’s fine. Do not spill it," he acquiesced. The opportunity to observe was too great a chance for him to pass this up. The simple elegance Rodimus maintained as he picked up the sliced peaches and chewed them had nothing to do with Ultra Magnus' rapt attention. 

"I'm not too messy," the human said after swallowing. He licked his lips and left a sparkling sheen on them. "But, I have wipes."

"I am aware," Magnus said after too long a pause. "I appreciate your efforts to tidy my interior. What you seen was the result of scanning an insufficient alt form."

"What, this truck too big or something?"

"The opposite – it is too small." 

Rodimus blinked before another sly smirk pulled at his lips. "Hoo-weee, you're a big big guy, aren't you?"

"I am unsure what you mean by that," Ultra Magnus informed him.

The human slipped another peach into his mouth, cheeks rosy. "I just know if you were human your hands would be the size of my thighs."

Whilst this talk was not formal, Magnus had quickly ascertained that Rodimus was not very professional. Whether or not this was limited to the young man or not was yet to be seen. 

"I have the ability to take a human form," he said, and spared a little energon to activate his holomatter application. It was a projection made of hard light that could be manipulated to take on the form of organic species – an invention created by a few of their scientists many vorn ago, when it had become evident that the war was spreading across other worlds and affecting new frontiers. 

Perceptor had made the most recent update to the program, upgrading it so that the projection could match the psyche of its wearer. This had been done in the efforts to make it as authentic a disguise as possible, broadcasting an image similar to what its owner would look like in the different form. It was changeable, although it seemed Rodimus would be more interested in his 'true' manifestation.

The human jumped as Ultra Magnus' holo appeared in the driver's seat. His human holoform was not unappealing – wideset shoulders and a strong jaw cut a sharp figure, with his uniform that of a stern general. Ultra Magnus took his position within the Autobot army with pride and this was shown by the insignia appearing on the dogtags that sat atop his chest and in the cufflinks of the pressed and collared shirt he wore. His jacket was tight and firm, with his affiliation badges for the Wrerckers, the Lost Light and the Autobots on the bicep. He'd gone for a military formal and this was evident.

Regardless, Ultra Magnus was pleased with what he generated. It did not matter what the human thought of his form, although the appreciative whistle Rodimus graced him with did bolster his pride. The human set his can of peaches into the drink slot by the gearstick in favour of reaching over to poke at his thighs. There was armour subtly infused throughout his attire, although damage to his holoform would not damage him.

"Holy shit," the human crooned, shuffling closer. "Rock hard thighs and a jaw that could cut to the bone. Am I dreaming?"

He reached up to prod at Ultra Magnus' chest and biceps. The unmoving tone he felt seemed to be greatly appreciated, as his wet tongue darted out over his lips and the look he gave Magnus was nothing short of interested. Instead of speaking, Rodimus grabbed Ultra Magnus' hand and guided it over to his thigh. Sure enough, Magnus' hand easily wrapped around the circumference. The human’s skin was soft yet firm, much like any other mech’s. He was warm. 

Ultra Magnus allowed the human to climb into his lap and run his fingers through his hair. It was an appealing sensation. He was very interested in what else the holoform could feel.

As though sensing his curiosity, Rodimus suggested. "How about we put that bed back there to good use?"

"Yes," he managed to speak past the heated look and the warm hands on his scalp. "I think we should."

"How did you locate me?" Ultra Magnus rumbled, not daring to move lest he disrupt the body laying atop his. Rodimus' face was pressed against his chest and his shaking legs were entwined with Magnus' own.

"Hmm, dumb luck? Though, 'm not complainin' 'bout having somewhere nice to stay. 'S real cold out." Rodimus murmured, voice muffled by Magnus' chest. A brief scan of the man had his temperature decreasing, so Ultra Magnus projected a blanket over his body and vibrated its molecules at a rate that would generate sufficient heat.

Rodimus hummed happily and seemed ready to doze off, though Magnus was not the same. He asked, "Do you not have an apartment complex or something similar to return to?"

Cybertron had prioritised apartment complexes over single abodes. That used to be because of the sheer number of their population, although Magnus feared that when they rebuilt, their small population would not warrant the formation of one single complex.

Rodimus’ chuckle made his body shudder. When he shifted, it was to press his lips against Magnus’ chest in a motion he had earlier called ‘kissing’. "Nah."

Ultra Magnus wasn't sure what he'd been expecting but his spark ached. In this cold, it was unfavourable for organics of any type – humans, specifically, did not have the fur coverings most mammals did, not did they possess sufficient heat regulators. They relied on excess fabric to survive low temperatures, which made little sense. A quick search found that, much like on Cybertron, humans on Earth usually grouped in familial units. "Do you have family?"

Fingers sprawled over his chest, running down his side, where the holoform’s imitated human appearance smoothened out over what would’ve been internal ribs, had the hologorm required an exoskeleton. He had noticed Rodimus was very tactile and lifted his arm to tuck the human closer. Rodimus went limp at the pressure of the limb on his back. When he did not respond, Magnus tapped him.

When Rodimus made an attentive noise, Magnus repeated, “Is there no one you could stay with?”

“No, not really,” the human mumbled. A brief scan of him found that he was extremely low on energy.

"I see," he said, unsure how to further respond.

Ultra Magnus looked down at Rodimus, seeing long fiery red hair that bordered on becoming a slight pink, his glowing skin a gentle contrast to Magnus' pale countenance. Rodimus was very handsome, some even may say he was pretty. He was certainly pretty when Magnus had his fingers in his mouth. How anyone could turn him away was nothing short of shocking.

"Don't worry, I'll be out of your hair soon enough," the human murmured, voice cracking on a wide yawn. 

Ultra Magnus frowned. "I predict I will be on this planet for a few decaorn. I would not object to a travelling partner as I locate my brother and his troops."

Finally, Rodimus lifted his head up and looked up at him, plush pink lips swollen a delicious red. His blue eyes shone tantalisingly in the low light of Magnus' cab. For a moment, his organic optics gleamed with such brightness that Ultra Magnus could've mistaken him for a holoform but Rodimus was human. It was undoubtable.

“I love the way you speak, big guy.”

Blinking at the expression on the human’s face, Ultra Magnus stated, “I do not believe you are ready for another round.”

Rodimus pouted. “Fine. How long’s a decaorn?”

“Five Earth weeks,” he noted after a brief calculation.

Rodimus blinked and made an expression Magnus referenced to mean confusion. “You think it’ll take a few? Don’t you guys don’t have like, mmm, trackers on each other?”

Based off his energy levels, Magnus assumed Rodimus did not want a lengthy, in-depth explanation at this moment, so he offered up an abbreviated response. In truth, Magnus was not sure why he couldn’t directly access a comm link with Optimus to arrange a meeting, although he was not willing to immediately disclose this. “There is much interference.”

"’Kay," the human accepted. He leaned up to drop a kiss on Magnus' chin, prompting him to lean down to get the mans lips on his own. When they broke apart, Rodimus was smiling softly and Magnus had decided he truly did not mind this odd human habit. "Guess you're stuck with me."

Ultra Magnus did not think that was such a bad thing. When he vocalised this, Rodimus offered a sly grin and thunked his head back onto Magnus' chest. As his breathing increased in depth, Magnus assumed he was engaging his power-down routines. "Cn'you turn the radio on?"

"Yes," he flicked it on, volume low. Rodimus sleepily hummed and nodded, eyes slipping shut as Ultra Magnus settled on a classical station.

A dozen astroseconds later, Rodimus was recharging. Ultra Magnus kept his holoform running as to not disrupt the human but followed his example in powering down.