Chapter Text
“Pixel, do you have Cliffjumper’s coordinates?” Optimus’s voice was a low rumble over the comms, a sound I had come to associate with both comfort and command.
I gripped the arms of my rolling chair, the worn leather creaking in protest as I pushed myself toward my console. My fingers flew over the keyboard. “Locked on his signal, Optimus. But our team’s scattered across time zones.”
“Call them in.”
A deep breath steadied me. “Arcee, Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Ratchet - rendezvous back at base and prepare to groundbridge.”
The silence that followed was heavy with anticipation, punctuated only by the low hum of my computer’s fans.
“An untapped energon deposit,” Optimus’s report was a statement of fact, devoid of emotion.
“What’s left of it,” Bulkhead rumbled, his voice laced with frustration.
“First Decepticon activity in three years,” Ratchet added, a familiar edge of concern in his tone.
My gaze was glued to the screen, my fingers poised over the keyboard. The data streamed in, a chaotic mix of green and red lines. “That we know of,” I replied, my voice a quiet addition to the conversation, almost a whisper. I noticed a faint, recurring pattern, a ripple in the data that the others might have missed. “If they’re scouting for energon…they may be preparing for his return.”
The name hung in the air, a phantom chill. My hands froze over the keyboard. A tremor went through me, my breath catching in my throat as if the air itself had turned to ice.
“No…” Arcee’s voice was a barely audible crackle over the comms, a stark contrast to the previous chatter.
“Pixel, can you track his position?” Optimus asked, his voice low and urgent.”
“No…” I muttered, the word a shattered piece of glass in my throat. I stared at the blinking red dot on the screen, the one that represented Cliffjumper. It flickered twice, then went dark. “Cliffjumper’s life signal just went offline.” The silence that followed was more profound than any battlefield stillness I had ever known.
The air was still, heavy with the weight of loss. I sat perched on Ratchet’s massive shoulder, feeling a shudder go through his frame, a silent sign of his own grief. Shadows stretched long and thin across the dusty floor of the bunker, and the only sound was the faint whir of the life-support systems.
“We must not allow our anger over the loss of Cliffjumper to impair our judgement,” Optimus’s voice resonated through the space, a deep, sorrowful hymn. “We owe it to ourselves…to the memory of Cybertron…to any Autobots in any galaxy seeking safe harbor…we owe it to humankind, and to the memory of our fallen comrade to survive.”
Arcee moved slowly, a ghost in the dim light. She leaned down, a somber statue of grief, to place Cliffjumper’s horn on the ground.
“Arcee?” I asked, my voice soft, laced with concern.
She turned to face us, her optics clouded with a pain so deep it was almost tangible. “If Cliff’s gone, standing here sulking won’t bring him back. So, unless anyone minds, I’ll get back to protecting humankind.” Her voice was brittle, a fragile shell of her usual bravado.
I nudged Ratchet to put me down and walked toward her. My feet shuffled in the dust. “I’ll come with you.”
She looked down at me, her optics unreadable.
“Robots in disguise…remember?”
She nodded. Her transformation was a fluid, elegant motion, and I swung my leg over her seat. The hum of her engine thrummed beneath me, a low vibration that grounded me to the present. I pulled my helmet from my bag and snapped it on as we drove out into the Nevada twilight.
The setting sun cast long, orange shadows across the road. We were a few miles out of Jasper when two vehicles, a sleek black muscle car and a red sports car, began to mirror our turns, their engines revving menacingly.
“Twins,” Arcee noted, the word a low growl.
“And not the good kind,” I mumbled, my grip tightening on her handlebars.
Arcee swerved into a burger place, the tires screeching in protest. The two cars screeched to a halt across the street, their headlights glaring. Acee killed her engine. The silence was thick with tension.
“I didn’t think Autobots ate human food,” I joked, my voice a little too loud, the humor a thin mask for the fear I felt.
“Robots in disguise…remember?” she shot back, her tone a mix of amusement and a lingering sadness.
I smirked. “Sorry, don’t remember ordering an extra order of sass.” My laugh was a little too high-pitched, a minor, nervous hiccup in the silence.
“Might as well get yourself something while you’re here,” she said, her voice softening. “Pretty sure there’s not much back at the base.”
My stomach rumbled in agreement. “Copy that.” I pulled off my helmet and tucked it under my arm. “Be back in a sec.”