Okay, I have literally had this written forever, I just never got around to typing it up. I have to say, this chapter was like pulling teeth, and I’m not entirely sure how happy I am with it given the massive amount of talking going on, but it was all necessary plot development. Anyway, the action picks up a lot in the next several chapters so hopefully that will make up for all the talking here. And I’m seriously done with the ridiculously long delays. I love this story too much to let it die by way of being left alone to collect dust. So, enjoy this chapter and there’ll be more to come shortly!

“I’m sorry I’m not very good at this—but I am really new to it so I guess that’s to be expected, huh? But I’ll try to do better because I really do want to and—”

Eliza tried not to laugh as Noodles babbled over his comm. to an exasperated Amelia who was trying to teach him the finer pints of keeping the giant mech balanced in its movements.

Jason, who had once again been goaded into polishing duty by Sunstreaker, snorted and shook his head.

“Just because he didn’t talk for a few days doesn’t mean he has to make up for lost time,” he grumbled.

“Be nice,” Eliza admonished, earning a glare. The more volatile twin looked like he might say something else, but it was interpreted by clanging footsteps behind them.

“Where you headed, Noodles?” Eliza called out curiously as Bluestreak passed them.

“The shooting range,” the boy replied cheerily, voice clearly as excited as Bluestreak felt. “Amelia says I’m doing really good and asked if I wanted to try shooting and Bluestreak got really excited so I said yeah and now we’re going to go try that out.”

Jason’s eye twitched at the convoluted explanation but Eliza was too busy frowning at the hanger doors where Amelia was already waiting to notice. Trying her best to suppress a full out glare, Eliza strolled purposefully to join the blonde.

“Are you coming to watch too?” Noodles asked happily but Eliza didn’t answer as she climbed up to stand beside Amelia. If there was one thing that Eliza had learned about the other girl it was that the direct approach was usually best.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded. “You’re going to give that kid a gun?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, he’s basically driving a giant gun,” Amelia replied without looking at her. Eliza twitched, clearly feeling both Prowl and Prime tensing up.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just call Bluestreak a walking weapon,” she muttered.

“And what would you call it?” Amelia replied coolly.

Eliza opened her mouth and abruptly shut it, pushing away the familiar indignant anger that wasn’t entirely hers (though she’d come to contribute to it more over time).

“That’s not the point,” she said, getting the conversation back on track.

“Then what is the point?” Amelia looked at her for the first time. Eliza glared.

“The point is that the kid is just that—a kid. He’s even younger than Tommy. We shouldn’t be subjecting him to this!”

“You wanted him to stay here,” Amelia retorted. “This is the price. If you don’t like it then perhaps you should have thought of that before.” Eliza just gaped, at a complete loss for words. The smallest of smug smiles made its way onto Amelia’s face.

“Unlike some people, he passed the battle simulation with flying colors—on his first try,” Amelia said with a meaningful glance at a very red-faced Eliza. “And he’s a darn good shot too. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Eliza glared for a moment more before the sound of gunfire drew her attention to Noodles and Bluestreak, who had begun the targeting exercise. She still felt that this was wrong, but she also knew that further arguing wouldn’t do her any good. She glanced at the targets, all of them shot clean through the bull’s-eye, and sighed.

At least Amelia was right about one thing. He was a darn good shot.

“You said they were dead!”

Demetri cried out as his back connected with the wall, his head hitting hard and making lights burst before his eyes. He slid a few inches, only to be stopped by a large hand wrapped around his throat.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself—son?” The last word was spat like the most wretched of insults. Demetri sputtered, struggling to draw a breath as the hand around his throat twitched briefly along with the rest of his attacker’s body.

“I…I saw them fall,” he wheezed.

“And you didn’t think to check the bodies to be sure?” The hand tightened, cutting off all air.

“Enough, Doctor,” a louder, much raspier voice rang out. The boy was released and slid to the ground, coughing and rubbing his throat.

“Starscream,” the raspy voice continued, “what is your report?”

“The Prime was deactivated when they pulled him from the water,” the jet replied. The screechy voice was calm, almost bored. Without the ability to move on their own, arguments with his leader had lost some of their entertainment value. Granted, watching that infuriating boy take the brunt of the assault was somewhat satisfying, but it just wasn’t the same.

“Well obviously he is not deactivated now,” the gunmetal fighter growled and though it was impossible, the humans could have sworn that they saw those crimson optics flash for a second.

Starscream radiated an attitude of nonchalance that clearly indicated he would have shrugged if he could.

“Deactivated or not, it hardly matters. His fleshling is incompetent,” he retorted.

“FOOL!” Megatron snarled. “That human is controlling him. Understanding what skills they may possess as a team is imperative. We cannot afford to underestimate them.”

“So why not engage them in battle then?” the seeker growled back, voice raising an octave. “Why keep wasting our resources on random cities?”

“Yes,” Demetri rasped in agreement. “Why keep throwing darts at a map? What’s the purpose?” he was rewarded with a hard slap across the face.

“Do not question Lord Megatron!” the father snarled at his son.

“No,” Megatron interrupted. “It is a fair question.” There was silence for a moment, all attention turned on the towering hulk of a mech looming over them. “The most effective assault requires close scrutiny of the enemy.” The wheezy voice rasped out. “With our current limitations and lack of resources we cannot afford to attack and fail. They have energon at their disposal, synthetic though it may be, and can far outlast us in a siege. If and when we attack, it must be an assured victory.”

“So the randomized attacks,” Demetri began.

“…are to draw them out, study them and lull them into a false sense of security; make them overconfident in their abilities,” Starscream finished.

“Brilliant, my Lord!” the Doctor gushed.

“So how long do we watch for? Until we rust?” Starscream sneered.

“Patience, Starscream,” Megatron retorted like a parent lecturing a child, though there was a definite underlying tone of annoyance. “The time will come soon enough.” But the jet wasn’t about to let it drop that easily.

“Why not just kill the little cretin?” he asked. “Why make such a big production out of it?”

“Starscream, you incompetent fool!” Megatron snarled. “An assassination would prompt an investigation. The human government will not stand for the murder of one of their warriors, especially one so specialized.”

“She almost died once before without any such snooping around.”

“Because it was a product of her own stupidity!” Megatron fell quiet for a moment, obvious attempting to reign in his temper. “Starscream, it would be in your best interest to learn when not to question your betters, it only reveals your own shortcomings.”

The jet’s presence surged and Demetri thought that, had he had control over his own body, he would have puffed out his chest and drawn his wings back like an angry bird.

“You are the one that is incompetent, Mighty Megatron!” he shrieked sarcastically, voice echoing painfully to the two humans who both covered their ears despite the fact that the noise was not physically tangible.

“If I were in charge, we would have had the use of our bodies back by now!”

Megatron gave a booming snarl.

“SILENCE!”

And, surprisingly, the jet obeyed.

“We will continue with the set plan,” Megatron ordered, his voice daring Starscream to argue again, although truly there wasn’t much he could have done even if the surly jet had retorted. “For now we watch and bide our time.”

“As you command, my Lord,” Starscream replied, no small amount of sarcasm in his voice.

Eliza was busy polishing Optimus’s arm, balancing on the railing of the cherry picker, when Noodles and Bluestreak finally returned. It was sunset now, the orange light setting the truck’s red finish alight, and they were the only two humans in the hanger.

“That was SO cool!” Noodles gushed as soon as the gray chest plate opened to let him out. Eliza felt herself deflate at his excited gaze. She’d spent the day formulating a speech to give the boy when he returned about the dangers of being a pilot and how it was no place for a child of his age. However, one look at that face had her reconsidering her words. Bluestreak, too, felt a hundred times lighter then when they had first met. This was obviously beneficial for both of them.

“I take it you had fun?” she called, forcing a smile. Both he and Bluestreak began rapidly talking at once about the day, how both of them hadn’t missed a single shot and how impressed the others had been. Eliza had to stop and close her eyes under the bombardment of simultaneous physical and mental sound.

“Whoa. Whoa. One at a time!” she laughed, putting up her hands.

Noodles paused thoughtfully and glanced up at Bluestreak’s blank face, halfway through the act of carefully climbing down the seams in the mech’s leg to the ground.

“How’s come you can hear him when no one else but me can?” he asked. “I can’t hear any of them either…” he added, looking at the other fighters lined up in the room, silent sentries.

Eliza looked down at the polishing cloth in her hands, running her fingers over it for a moment.

‘Well?’ Optimus prompted her. He sounded just as intrigued as to what she might say as Noodles looked.

‘I’m deciding what to say; how much to tell him,’ she replied silently. She still hadn’t told the others about Prowl’s conclusion that she now possessed the Autobot Matrix of Leadership, and she didn’t think any of the mechs had told their pilots either. Even now, she wasn’t entirely sure what it all meant for her and wasn’t really comfortable with spreading the word until she did.

Bluestreak began talking again, almost to himself. “You know, I’ve never really been able to talk to Optimus Prime either, even though I could communicate with everyone else…and I don’t think anyone else has ever really talked to him either…is his comm. busted?”

Eliza began polishing a new spot gently. “Not exactly,” she answered Bluestreak aloud. At his surprise and small feeling of hurt she leaned over to grin at him past Optimus. “He’s just shy,” she assured him. At that there was a burst of indignation from the giant mech beside her and she laughed. “Well it’s mostly true,” she argued. Glancing at the sky again she hit the button on the cherry picker to take her down and joined Noodles on the floor.

“Come on. Wanna go join the others for dinner?” she asked him. He grinned and hurried to his locker to replace his helmet, babbling along about how hungry he was and how he’d skipped lunch. Eliza just smiled and shook her head as she followed him.

“Hey!” Bluestreak called after them. “You never answered my question!”

“Ask Ratchet or Wheeljack. They understand it more than I do anyway,” she called back, waving to the mechs as they stepped into the elevator.

Louis bit into an apple, examining the fruit carefully as he chewed.

“Yer supposed to eat it, not analyze it Louie,” Izzy teased. He reddened and ducked his head as Eliza and Noodles joined them.

“It came from your family’s synthesizers. You’d think you’d know what it tastes like,” Nick put in.

Louis shrugged. “My grandma always says it’s not right…I just want to figure out what she means,” he murmured.

Both Eliza and Noodles looked up. “Wait…what’s your last name?” Eliza asked, realizing she’d never thought to ask.

“Jameson, didn’t you know?”

They looked at each other. “Jameson Pasteurizing,” they said together. Since the war had devastated the planet’s resources nearly 20 years ago the chief source of fruits and vegetables came from the Jameson synthesizing plants.” Professor Jameson was widely known as “Mother Nature’s Savior.”

“You’re Professor Jameson’s son?” Noodles asked. Louis dropped his gaze to his plate, pushing some corn around with his fork.

“…Yeah.”

“So how was the shooting range?” Tommy asked Noodles by way of changing the subject. Immediately he launched into a long-winded retelling of the day, despite the fact that most of those present had witnessed it firsthand.

“I think I liked him better when he didn’t talk,” Jason muttered beside Eliza. She just rolled her eyes.

“Just drop it, Jason,” she said, smiling at the excited boy. “You should be glad he’s talking at all.” He snorted. “I wouldn’t mind so much if he actually had anything to say,” he retorted. Eliza just shook her head.

“Is there anything that doesn’t annoy you?” she wondered.

“Painting,” Nick put in before receiving a facefull of mashed potatoes.

“Shut up, numb nuts,” his brother growled.

“You paint?” Eliza asked. The more surly twin shot her a glare that clearly said he did not want to discuss it. The glare, however, was somewhat dampened as a gob of peach cobbler collided with the side of his face, courtesy of Nick.

Dinner was quickly concluded after that.

Demetri sat alone in the small, windowless room. The cramped walls were barely big enough for his rusted cot. He was slowly chewing a piece of stale bread, the only part of his dinner he’d managed to save, while favoring the right side of his jaw which still ached from the earlier impact with his “father’s” fist.

Usually when he was at base Demetri found at least some comfort in the two other pilots there that were relatively close to his age, if a good five or so years older. Lance, the tall, quiet pilot of the blue Starscream-clone was usually utterly unobtrusive and surprisingly good for lending an ear and offering advice. Keith, the black and purple Starscream-clone pilot, was loud, crude, and loved to push Demetri’s buttons. And did he ever know how. Even despite this, however, Demetri was usually in a playful enough mood to take Keith in stride and even generate some good comebacks in their verbal spars.

Lately, however, he just hadn’t had the heart for it. Not since the day when he’d seen Eliza…He’d been something like an unofficial big brother to her growing up. Then had come the day when the Doctor had adopted him. None of them had ever questioned that his life wouldn’t be better. It had to be. Anything was better than the orphanage. He had quickly learned how false that was. From the first day the Doctor had brought him home, when he’d met the metal giants and been held down while the syringe was pushed into his arm for the first time it was a nightmare. They’d been short one pilot, hence the reason for his adoption.

He sighed and rolled over onto his side. At least the influence of the cursed drug had dulled a bit for the day, leaving Starscream’s presence an irritation itch at the back of his mind instead of the throbbing ache it usually was. The boy curled up, pulling the scrap of moth-eaten, too-thin blanket over his shoulder with a sigh. He closed his eyes, willing himself, as he always did, not to dream.

Eliza turned over on her other side, glaring at Optimus’s ankle from her small cot.

“Having trouble recharging?” he asked. She sighed and shifted to lie on her back, staring at the stars through the glass ceiling.

“Something’s been bothering me,” she said out loud, thereby opening it up for any of the fighters to answer, not just Optimus. “Am I the only one that’s realized that none of this makes any sense?” she asked sitting up.

“Ah been thinkin’ that since we woke up here,” Ironhide grumbled.

“No, seriously,” Eliza cut in. “I’ve been here for three months and we’ve only left the academy twice—and it definitely doesn’t make any sense that they’d send us to do reconnaissance. We’re not trained in Search and Rescue.” She looked at Prowl, expecting him to support her argument for the sake of logic. She drew the blankets closer around herself, frown deepening. “I’m not sure that they really expected us to find anything…”

Abruptly she stood and began to pace, the blankets still wrapped around her shoulders.

“And what about the night when I was attacked,” she continued. “That General, Amelia’s dad, he said something about some terrorist attack that never happened,” she shook her head. “I don’t pretend to know anything about politics but a lot of this just doesn’t seem right. It’s like they just throw a mission at us every once in a while to keep us busy and everyone just accepts it and no one asks questions. I mean, Amelia’s so caught up in playing soldier and none of the others really want to fight in the first place…”

She stopped before Prowl, gazing up at him earnestly. He was the tactician. Surely he had his own more coherent theory on this.

“Something bigger is going on here, right? Or am I just being paranoid?” she wondered. Silence rang both in her mind and in the air around her. Everyone was waiting for Prowl’s answer.

“It’s certainly suspicious, and I have noticed it myself,” he admitted after a moment.

Eliza opened her mouth, closed it quickly as if thinking better of speaking, and then peered at the mechs’ gathered in the room before trying again.

“At the orphanage,” she murmured softly, staring at her bare feet,” sometimes they would go for weeks, even months at a time, without doing anything to us. The older kids always said it was to lure us into a false sense of security. They thought we were easier to handle that way.” She raised her face to look at Prowl again. “That’s how I feel now. When I came here I was wincing all the time, ready for a blow that never came, and I can’t shake the feeling that it’s going to finally hit now, when I’m daring to relax a bit.”

Prowl gave a thoughtful hum that ghosted through her mind and she tilted her head, waiting patiently for his conclusion.

“The only scenario that makes any sense is if the Cons and their human partners were somehow working with the human government in charge of this place.”

“But why would they go an’ do somethin’ like that?” Jazz piped up. Prowl sighed in response.

“Yes, that is the only problem with that scenario: motive. As far as we know the human government has nothing to gain from a partnership with Megatron, especially one that compromises their ‘secret weapons,’” Prowl muttered.

Eliza bit her lip. He would know, because Amelia would know, if there was anything happening on the level of a potential coup. After meeting Amelia’s father, be it only once, she couldn’t imagine him letting something like that happen under his nose without noticing. She glanced at Bluestreak, who she could feel was deep in whatever passed for their sleep, no doubt tired out by the day’s activities.

Unfortunately, none of the other conscious mechs had anything productive to add to the discussion and eventually she wandered back to her bed to try again to sleep. She was still convinced that something was going to happen, that it was only a question of when and how bad the damage would be, but she let her mind drift as he sought the release of sleep.

“Hey Sunstreaker,” she mumbled eventually, more than half asleep, “did you know Jason paints?” She never heard his answer, if he even gave one.