Running from Shadows

Part II

Prowl moved quickly and steadily through the hallways, ignoring any passing Autobots, and instead focusing on making a beeline towards the source of the high-pitched, anger-filled wail that had only moments before flooded his audios over his private comm. link and caused him to flinch.

At last, he reached the quarters he had meant to arrive at, and as soon as he opened the door he was greeted by a scene that he knew would trouble him for a while to come.

Nightraid was standing in the middle of the quarters she shared with Shadowrunner – or what was left of it, given how several items and consoles were now either lying on the floor or smashed to pieces. Nightraid herself practically vibrated with the strength of her emotions, and her optics were a brilliant light blue, almost white: a clear indication of the anger that was coursing through her.

“’Raid?” he asked softly, tentatively stepping into the room, making sure to avoid what used to be a pile of data pads. “What’s the matter?”

She looked up at him, and it seemed as if she was blind, not seeing him at all in her rage and pain. Taking a gamble, he reached out, and gently placed a hand on her forearm. “’Raid, it’s me.”

Her optics flickered a little, and the white-blue heat gradually faded, only to be replaced by dark blue anguish. Her entire body seemed to hitch a bit, and then she reached out to him, pressing herself against him and hiding her face against his chest plate.

“Prowl- Holy Primus!”

Prowl looked up, and saw Jazz staring at the destruction of the femmes’ quarters, before the Special Ops Commander’s optics settled on him and the sobbing femme in his arms.

- -Let me handle this,- - Prowl told him over Jazz’s private comm. line.

- -But what happened?- -

- -When I find out, I’ll tell you. But please Jazz, for the love of Primus, let me handle this.- -

Jazz stood there for a while, looking at him, but then he nodded, and backed off, closing the door as he did so.

Alone now with Nightraid, Prowl was free to focus his attentions on her. “’Raid?” he queried softly as he put his arms around her. “What happened?”

Nightraid hitched again – the Cybertronian equivalent to a hiccup – and when she spoke her voice came out of her vocalizer sounding strangled. “I remember.”

Prowl frowned. “Remember what?”

“How Matchlock… How Matchlock died.”

The Datsun pulled away from the Gallardo slightly, just enough so that he could look down at her face. “You mean you forgot?” Prowl was well-aware of the phenomenon: a Cybertronian could lock down any of their memories so that they would not have to think about them, or so they would not come back to haunt them while they were in recharge. Often such a thing was done deliberately, but there were times, especially when the memories were traumatic, that a Cybertronian’s CPU simply shut those memories away unconsciously. The only way to bring unconsciously-locked memories back was to have a medic unlock the pertinent files in the memory banks – or to have something trigger them to unlock.

Nightraid shook her head hard in response to his question. “No. ‘Runner made me forget.”

Prowl frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Nightraid lifted her hand, and listlessly pointed to the only console that was still intact. Not knowing what else to do, or what else to ask, Prowl moved towards it, and loaded the memory-file.

The outskirts of Iacon were desolate, though once upon a time they had been thriving, filled with life.

It was as if he was looking through someone else’s optics.

“Do you think we lost the patrols?”

He heard Nightraid’s voice, but it sounded younger than it did now.

“I think so. I do not see any sign of them here.”

And that was unmistakably Shadowrunner’s voice, but despite the seriousness underscoring the words, the sound had none of the weight that he had come to associate with it.

“That’s good. Matchlock’s a really smart mech, but I don’t think he’d stand a chance against Shockwave’s troops.”

And then Prowl realized: he was viewing a memory-file – Shadowrunner’s memory-file. What he was seeing now was a replay of one of Shadowrunner’s memories.

“Well, considering that his house is practically a ticking time bomb just waiting for something to light the fuse, I suppose it would do them good to stay away if they don’t want themselves blown up to smithereens.”

Laughter this time, one that he recognized as Nightraid’s, but the other one was different. And then he realized, with a start, it was Shadowrunner’s laughter – the laugh that none of them had ever heard her do.

They were approaching what appeared to be a barely-standing building, but when they opened the door it wasn’t as run-down as it looked on the outside. Tools and odds and ends of various parts and materials lay scattered on the floor, though there was a narrow path through everything, only barely wide enough for one mech.

And then there was a tiny sound: the sound of something cracking, and then collapsing, falling apart.

Shadowrunner stopped, as if sensing something.

“’Runner?” Nightraid queried from behind her sister. “What is it?” Her voice became light, teasing. “Did Matchlock leave a crate or something out there again?”

And then it was all a blur of movement, as Shadowrunner ran ahead, leaping over obstacles or swerving away from them, only to stop at a room deeper inside the building.

Prowl watched as one of Shockwave’s drones stabbed its arm through an unidentified mech, spark energy briefly flaring out in tiny little flecks of light, before fading away. The drone dropped the mech onto the ground with a sickening thud.

For a few brief moments, there was nothing: no sound, no movement, nothing.

And then there was a flash of red, and movement and sound exploded together all at once. There was a roar, and it was Shadowrunner herself roaring as she hurled herself at the drones, tearing them apart, piece by piece, shredding them with a ferocity so unlike the femme who, only moments earlier, had seemed cheerful enough to laugh.

All of that was gone now, dissolved in a rage that seemed to know no bounds.

And then all was still again, with nothing left of the drones but pieces of scrap too destroyed to be useable.

“’Runner?”

The world spun again, and this time it focused on Nightraid, her optics wide, her horror clear on her face. And then Shadowrunner looked at her hands, and they were stained with energon and fluids from the drones. She touched her face, and when her fingertips came away, they were also coated in fluids.

She looked up again at Nightraid, who still stood there, seemingly frozen. And then Shadowrunner moved, and embraced Nightraid.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, and reached up to the back of Nightraid’s head with her hand, the tiny needle she used to knock her victims out emerging from one fingertip. With one lightning-quick motion, she stabbed the needle into a cable in Nightraid’s neck.

“She knocked me out, and then she force-locked the memory of me seeing her kill those drones.”

Prowl turned away from the console – the file was beginning to loop anyway – and looked at Nightraid. She still had the same dull optics, the same weary stance. She raised her head slightly took at him, and he went to her immediately, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close to his chest-plate. He did not say anything, merely allowed his presence to soothe her.

“She didn’t have to do that,” Nightraid stated, and Prowl could sense her temper building up as she pushed away from him again. “Primus, what did she think I was?! Weak?! I could have handled it! I could have handled anything she threw at me!”

“Maybe she thought you were still too young,” Prowl reasoned, trying to keep his voice even. He and Shadowrunner were good friends, and he could understand why she did what she had done, even if he did not agree with it.

“It doesn’t matter!” Nightraid cried. “We were fighting ‘Cons together even way before any of that happened! She knows I can handle it! It’s not as if I couldn’t bear to see her like that!”

“She had her reasons.”

“They’re the wrong ones!”

“If you could handle it, then you would not have done this.” Here Prowl gestured to the ruins of the room around them.

Nightraid seemed to jerk at that, and then her optics went dull again as she slid down to the floor. “It’s just… It isn’t fair. I’m her sister for Primus’ sake! She shouldn’t have to keep secrets from me!”

There was still anger in her voice, but it was dulled now, like her optics, and instead there was more of frustration there, and confusion. She needed to know why Shadowrunner had done what she did, and although Prowl had his own theories regarding that, he felt it was wiser to simply let Shadowrunner do the explaining.

In the end, he simply crossed the room over to her, and took her in his arms again, willing the rest of the world to leave them both alone for this one time.

---

Pain. It was the only thing that convinced her she was still alive, along with the fact that she was staring at a somewhat-familiar ceiling when she turned on her optics.

“Oh! You Shadowrunner online now?”

She allowed herself a small smile at that familiar voice. “If feeling pain means I’m online, then yes I am, Swoop.”

The Dinobot’s face appeared in her line of sight then, and he peered down at her intently, before smiling back at her. “Me Swoop go get him Ratchet.”

As she watched him head off to another part of the Med Bay, she shut her optics down again, her thoughts trailing back to what had happened during the mission. It had been a close shave, as the humans liked to say, but she had managed to make it out alright.

Relatively speaking.

She heard the doors hiss open again; she smiled when she heard the sound of familiar footsteps heading her way.

In moments, Ratchet’s face appeared over her head, looking slightly grumpy, but there was a gleam of relief in his optics. “Online and ticking?”

“Online and ticking.” She winced when she shifted slightly. “Though still in a great deal of pain…”

Ratchet nodded, and started fiddling with something in her internals. “Well, you’d be in a great deal more pain if I hadn’t cut some of these sensory cables here.”

She flickered her optics in surprise. “So I’m not entirely fixed yet?”

“Given this kind of damage? No. I was planning to have Spike go tunnel-ratting, but I wanted to make sure you were online before we had him do that.” Ratchet looked at her then. “What happened?”

Shadowrunner got the distinct feeling that there was no way she could simply brush this off. Ratchet was likely to leave her the way she was – in pieces – if she didn’t tell him the truth. Moreover, how could she even begin to hide the truth from Ratchet, when he had already seen the truth for himself in the damage that had been done?

“Well?” the CMO prompted.

She shut her optics again, not wanting to see Ratchet’s expression when she told him. “I got caught. They have Undercurrent with them now, and she must have seen me sneaking in.”

“Undercurrent?”

“She’s a Decepticon femme. ‘Raid and I were familiar with her on Cybertron. She ran reconnaissance missions for Shockwave.”

“Alright, so you were spotted, and you got caught. What happened next?”

“They handed me over to Hook.” She didn’t need to continue for Ratchet to know what it was Hook would have done to her.

“Do you know why?”

“Matchlock’s stealth system.”

“Slag it,” Ratchet muttered, and Shadowrunner knew, although it had been a quiet curse, there was great deal of venom behind it. “How much did he find out?”

“I’m…I’m not sure.”

“Forced you into stasis lock, then.” Silence. “How’d you get out?”

“I came out of stasis sooner than he thought. I contacted ‘Raid and she snuck in to get me out. We would have made it out fine, but Soundwave caught us and sent the Seekers after us.”

“… And that’s why you came back here with the Seekers on your aft.”

“Yeah.”

Silence again, with nothing but the sound of Ratchet doing his work.

“’Runner?”

She looked up at him inquiringly, and he gave her a small smile: a smile of relief, of gladness. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Thank you, Ratchet.” She returned his smile as best as she could. “I’m glad to be home, too.”

---

“… Any word yet from Ratchet?”

Sideswipe resisted the urge to kick his twin soundly in the back of the head. “No, nothing yet. And that’s the fifth time in ten minutes you’ve asked that question.”

Sunstreaker huffed. “So sue me. I feel worried about her, okay?” He went quiet, leaning back against the rock face behind him to look up at slowly-lightening sky. “You think the Seekers did all that to her?”

“I don’t know, okay?” Sideswipe gave the golden-yellow Lamborghini a scathing look. “And honestly? I don’t want to think about it right now. I’m just glad they’re both back here, and they’re both safe.”

“What about ‘Runner?”

“The Hatchet’ll fix her. He always does.”

Sunstreaker fell silent again, staring at the dark world around them. A new day was dawning even as they sat there, ostensibly on watch, but in spite of that, they were both restless. They still had no word regarding Shadowrunner, and both Twins were determined not to have a single bit of recharge until they heard.

“You know where ‘Raid is?”

Sideswipe looked up at the heavens in a silent “thank you” to Primus, before answering: “She’s inside with Prowl.”

Sunstreaker slanted him a look. “You serious?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Look, we got to face facts, Sunny: ‘Raid’s seeing Prowl, okay? Nothing we can do about that, unless we want ‘Raid coming down on us with the wrath of Primus.”

Sunstreaker snorted. “Or Wheeljack, for that matter.”

Sideswipe grinned at the memory. When Nightraid first told them that she had taken a liking to Prowl, it had ticked both Twins off – big time. Jazz with Shadowrunner was one thing, since Jazz was pretty cool, as far as they were concerned, and though they gave him a hard time at first, they eventually let him be. But Prowl? That was an entirely different thing.

They’d given Prowl a hard time of it – harder than what they had given Jazz. Sure, they’d kicked Jazz’s aft a couple of times until Shadowrunner had told them off, but it hadn’t simply stopped there when it came to Prowl. They tried to make it a living hell for him, since while the Twins were convinced there was a mech out there who was just right for their baby sister; they were also thoroughly convinced that it was not Prowl.

And so, between Decepticon attacks, trouble reigned supreme in the Ark, with the Twins devising scheme after scheme to tell Prowl, in no uncertain terms, that they were not going to allow him anywhere nearer Nightraid than he had to be. The Twins were so thoroughly convinced they were right, that not even Ratchet or Prime could get them to change their minds.

That was, of course, until Wheeljack lost his temper.

“Y’know, I still can’t believe that Wheeljack had it in him,” Sunstreaker remarked. “I can understand him asking the Dinobots to beat the slag out of us, but to do it himself…”

Sideswipe winced slightly at the memory. They knew that Ratchet and Wheeljack had an agreement of sorts regarding their sisters, but neither he nor Sunstreaker had known what it was until the Dinobots dragged them over to Wheeljack, who in turn proved to the Twins, in no uncertain terms, that while he might have been perceived as the Autobots’ cheerful and optimistic Senior Engineer, there was a reason why he was allowed to go onto the battlefield – and not only because he was the only one with enough courage to tote around and use his latest “toys.”

When Wheeljack finally told Grimlock to deliver the Twins into the “tender mercies” of Ratchet, the Twins had learned two things: first, that Nightraid could have anyone she wanted, and if it was Prowl, then all the better, since Prowl was the least likely to hurt Nightraid – not when he felt the same way for her. And second, that Wheeljack had an unholy temper when he was angry.

Sideswipe’s comm. link crackled then, and he sat bolt-upright when he heard Ratchet’s voice on the other end. “Sides, you and your brother get your afts to the Med Bay now. ‘Runner’s online.”

“She’s okay?” Sideswipe demanded, immediately calling Sunstreaker’s attention.

“So far. There’s still a lot to be done, but I need Spike to do that for me.” A pause, and then: “Just get your afts here already. Your sister’s been asking for you.”

Sideswipe didn’t have to say anything. As soon as Ratchet cut the line, the two of them stood up and started running towards the Ark, transforming into their alt-modes halfway there. They revved their engines and picked up speed, swerving to avoid the footsteps of other mechs in the hallways, only to transform back into their primary modes as soon as they drove into the Med Bay.

“Hey there.”

Sideswipe grinned broadly when he saw Shadowrunner – online and smiling at that. “Hey yourself.” He walked over, ignoring the fact that her chassis was still open and her internal systems were still exposed. “Feeling better?”

The wry smile Shadowrunner flashed at him gave him more comfort than anything Ratchet could have said. “Yes, all things considered.”

Sunstreaker didn’t say a word. Instead, he came over, and embraced Shadowrunner in a tight hug, and Sideswipe couldn’t help but grin. Though they were the Twins knew they had an understanding of each other that their sisters would never be able to approach, there was no denying that Sunstreaker shared an odd sort of bond with Shadowrunner – the same sort of bond that Sideswipe shared with Nightraid.

And – to quote Carly – speaking of the devil…

“’Runner!” Nightraid practically burst through the Med Bay doors, Jazz and Prowl just behind her. Sideswipe had the wisdom to step aside before Nightraid dashed over to Shadowrunner, and had the supreme pleasure of seeing his baby sister try to wriggle her way between Sunstreaker and Shadowrunner so she could give her sister a proper embrace.

“Ow! Watch out!” Shadowrunner exclaimed from somewhere under the pile of metallic limbs. “I’m not exactly complete yet!”

“You two had better step away from her right now,” Ratchet stated, his voice deceptively mild, “before I decide to take your arms apart without the benefit of cutting your sensory cables. And that includes you, ‘Raid.”

“Sorry,” Nightraid apologized, her voice halfway between a giggle and a sob. She stepped back, automatically seeking Prowl, who put an arm around her shoulders, keeping her close.

“Hey there sweetheart,” Jazz said, smiling softly as he came up to Shadowrunner’s berth. “Ratchet taking care of you okay?”

Ratchet snorted, but didn’t say anything as Shadowrunner responded: “Of course he is. I’m alive, am I not?”

“Well, I was worried, y’know? He might’ve decided it might be better to weld you to your berth, or-”

“Keep talking, and I’m going to have to kick you out, Jazz.”

Jazz laughed apologetically, giving Ratchet a small, sheepish smile, but it was brief, and he focused on Shadowrunner once again, holding her hand tightly in his.

“…now, Prowl.”

It was only then that Sideswipe heard Nightraid’s voice, the undercurrent of urgency in it clear despite the volume being low. She was talking to Prowl, who was holding both her hands in his – a gesture of reassurance.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his own voice quiet.

Nightraid nodded. “Yes.”

“All right. But your brothers and Jazz…”

“’Swipe?”

Sideswipe turned to Shadowrunner, who was giving him a quizzical look. He grinned as he approached, sitting at the foot of her berth. He nodded at where her internals were still not quite covered up. “What happened to you, anyway?”

She shrugged slightly, and Sideswipe noticed how her head turned away from him just a little bit. “I got caught.”

Sunstreaker stared at her incredulously. “You got caught?”

Her glare back at him came quick. “We didn’t expect Undercurrent to be there.”

“Undercurrent?” Sideswipe asked. “Who’s that?”

“A ‘Con femme who worked under Shockwave as a spy in Cybertron. We didn’t know she was here.”

“’Runner?”

Sideswipe turned to look at Nightraid, who was walking over to them, Prowl behind her with his hands on her shoulders, as if to steady her. There was something in Nightraid’s optics that troubled him, and almost immediately he stood up, a little tense.

Nightraid glanced over her shoulder at Prowl, who nodded once, as if telling her it was all right, and then she looked at Shadowrunner straight in the optics. “’Runner,” she began softly, “I remember what happened, the time Matchlock was killed.” She paused. “I remember everything.”

---

“I remember everything.”

Ratchet tilted his head at Nightraid, frowning slightly. Out of the corner of his optics he noticed Shadowrunner jerk, and he sensed something was wrong, but he didn’t say anything. He held his silence, and opted to watch the whole thing play out.

“Whaddya mean, you forgot?” Sideswipe asked, optics narrowing.

Nightraid didn’t even look at her brother. Her gaze was fixed on Shadowrunner, whose optics had dulled out into a dark blue. “You made me forget. You locked up the memory-file so I wouldn’t be able to access it.”

Ratchet’s frown deepened at that. Since Cybertronians were capable of accessing the memories of their own kind in ways that other species couldn’t, that left a lot of room for Cybertronians to mess around with those same memories. As an aspiring medic at the Academy, he had spent a great deal of time learning about memory banks and access to the files contained therein. As a general rule, once a Cybertronian was deactivated, those close to the Cybertronian in question were free to access the memory-files, but the same could not be said for a Cybertronian who was still alive. Accessing another Cybertronian’s memory banks for reasons other than medical, mechanical or military while they were still alive was a severe breach in ethics, not to mention trust. One just didn’t go around messing with another Cybertronian’s memories. And he knew Shadowrunner; she wouldn’t have done something like that, not to her own sister.

Could she?

Shadowrunner did not respond. She merely stared at the floor next to her berth, unwilling to look at all of them. At length, she asked: “You found the file in my memory banks, didn’t you?”

Nightraid nodded. “Yeah.”

“You weren’t supposed to. You were only supposed to get the file with the blueprints, and that was that.”

“But why did you keep it from me?!”

Shadowrunner lifted her gaze, and her optics were dark blue: the color of spark-deep sadness. “Because I didn’t want you to remember what I was when it happened.”

“Hold on,” Sunstreaker cut in. “What the Pit is going on here? What are you two talking about?”

Nightraid opened her mouth to respond, but Prowl cut her off with a shake of his head. “I’ll tell it,” he murmured, and proceeded to describe what he had seen in the memory-file that Nightraid had retrieved from Shadowrunner’s memory banks. And though he told it without any emotional inflection in his voice, the way he described what he had seen was more than enough for Ratchet to conjure up the images in his own processors.

He could see it, the way that Shadowrunner had torn through those drones, and it gave him a cold feeling in his tanks. It was too brutal, too violent, too much like…

Ratchet didn’t dare continue down that line of thought.

Silence hung thick in the Med Bay. Instead, the Twins were looking at Shadowrunner, stunned by this revelation, while Nightraid was leaning against Prowl, as if for support. Jazz, too, was staring at Shadowrunner, and though Ratchet couldn’t see past his visor, he could tell from the way he was holding himself that he was just as surprised.

But Shadowrunner wasn’t looking at them. Instead, she was gazing at her foot, not saying a word. She wasn’t even looking at Jazz.

In the end, he chose to break the silence. He stepped closer, keeping his expression as neutral as possible, and asked the question that weighed on all their minds: “Why, ‘Runner?”

Shadowrunner looked up at him, and he felt his tanks suddenly get very heavy. “Because, for that brief moment in time, I knew what it felt like to be a Decepticon. And it felt good.”

She looked away again. “When I saw those drones kill Matchlock, I felt something inside me snap. I leaped into the fight, not caring about how I killed them. I just did. It felt good to feel the crunch of metal in my hands, to hear the little squeaks they made when they went.”

She looked up at Nightraid. “Don’t you remember? I was smiling when it was all over. Almost as instantly as it was over, I regretted you seeing it. I didn’t want you to think of me that way, to think of me as someone who could do something only a Decepticon could do. So I locked that memory away.”

Nightraid shook her head hard. “But you didn’t have to. I wouldn’t have held it against-”

“Would you, really? If I let you retain that memory, would you have been able to look at me in the optics and tell me you didn’t think, even for a moment, that you weren’t seeing your sister, but a ‘Con?”

Nightraid flinched at the hardness in Shadowrunner’s voice, at the way her optics flashed in anger. “But-”

“That’s enough.”

Ratchet glanced at Sunstreaker, who stood up from where he had been leaning against the wall. He was standing straighter now, and was looking at all of them. “I think the rest of you ought to go. I need to talk to ‘Runner – alone.”

“Wh-what?” Nightraid sputtered. “But I-”

“Especially you, ‘Raid.”

“But-”

“Why should we leave?” Jazz demanded, in a tone of voice Ratchet had rarely ever heard Jazz use – though that was likely because this was the first time it happened. It sounded almost as if Jazz was pulling rank over Sunstreaker.

The yellow Countach gave the black-and-white Porsche an even look – one that, surprisingly, had none of his usual belligerence, especially given Jazz’s tone. “This is important, okay? But I need to talk to ‘Runner alone. I don’t need the rest of you to overhear this. This is just between her and me.” He looked at Ratchet. “Please?”

Ratchet returned Sunstreaker’s gaze, one optic ridge raised slightly. He was a bit surprised by the “please” that had accompanied that request: usually Sunstreaker just did as he wanted. But apparently, the yellow Chrysanthemum of Chaos recognized the fact that they were currently in Ratchet’s Med Bay and that if anything were to happen here, it was going to be done only under his approval.

And in this instance, Ratchet knew precisely what Sunstreaker wanted to do: a chance to talk to Shadowrunner alone, because he, along with Ratchet himself, realized that only Sunstreaker really had any right at all to talk to her about this.

Ratchet might have been the Autobot CMO, but he was smart enough to know when the cure was not within his power to administer, but in someone else’s. So he nodded his assent. “Alright everyone, let’s go.”

Jazz opened his mouth to protest, but Ratchet gave him a look. He already knew what Jazz was going to say, and he warned the Porsche not to say it. He knew this was painful for Jazz: having all this information dropped on his head, and unable to sort it out with Shadowrunner, who had just revealed a side of herself that none of them knew. Ratchet himself was surprised, but he could always wait to talk to her later.

And if he could wait, so could Jazz.

“Let’s go to my office.” He stepped aside, and gestured for the others to move into his office, leaving Sunstreaker and Shadowrunner alone to talk – and hopefully, to sort all of this out.

---

Sunstreaker didn’t move, didn’t say a word while the others left him with his sister in the Med Bay. Even when he heard the door hiss closed behind him, he didn’t say a word immediately.

At last, he said: “It’s not so bad, y’know. The way you feel.”

Shadowrunner shook her head, not looking at him. “How is it not bad?” she asked softly. “I shouldn’t take joy in killing that way. That’s…wrong. That comes entirely too close to being a Decepticon.”

“Yeah, but… Let’s just say I sort of know where you’re coming from.”

She did look at him then. “You losing it because ‘Raid and I came back with the Seekers on our afts-”

“Isn’t all that different,” Sunstreaker cut in. “’Runner, there’s nothing abnormal about the fact that you had fun tearing up those drones. They killed Matchlock, for Primus’ sake. If I was there I’d’ve done the same thing. ‘Sides would’ve done the same thing.”

“But you’re not supposed to have fun while doing it.”

Sunstreaker exhaled loudly. “And is there anything wrong with getting a kick from killing something that killed your creator?” he drawled.

Shadowrunner’s eyes flashed, and he smiled inwardly. Temper from her was a good thing.

“If I take pleasure in killing, that makes me no better than a Decepticon,” she snarled. “If I don’t keep that tendency in check, then I could easily-” She stopped there, and Sunstreaker knew what was going through her CPU – mostly because he had been there before, in his own way.

He sat down at the foot of her berth, his expression even. “Look, ‘Runner, I can’t say that I know what you’re going through, but I think I do. I can get that way too. Let’s face it: it’s fun crushing a ‘Con’s cranial unit, or pulling out their spark chambers the long way out. But you have to do it for the right reasons.

“I’ll admit, if me and ‘Sides weren’t on the Autobot side of things, we’d definitely be ‘Cons. Galactic conquest isn’t all that bad an idea. It was only because we both knew what sort of things the ‘Cons did to their victims that me and ‘Sides are here with the Autobots to begin with.”

Shadowrunner’s optics widened. “You mean to say, that if you weren’t an Autobot, you’d be a Decepticon?”

Sunstreaker nodded, utterly comfortable in his answer. “Sure. If I didn’t think Megatron was such a fragging spawn of a glitch, I’d be working for him.”

“So then why…?”

“Aside from Megatron being a spawn of a glitch?” He shrugged. “At first, because ‘Sides was on the Autobot side of the fence, and I wasn’t about to leave him. But then now there’s you and ‘Raid, and there’s no way in the Pit I’d abandon my family for any reason.”

That was when he heard it: a soft rippling sound that he hadn’t ever heard Shadowrunner make. He turned to look at her, thinking that she had started to cry – or at least, to do the Cybertronian equivalent of it – but his optics widened, because Shadowrunner wasn’t crying.

She was laughing.

When she looked at him, her optics were filled with a mirth he had never seen there before. “You know, I never imagined I’d hear you say that. Somehow, it seems kind of corny, coming from you, of all mechs.”

But he didn’t react to that. Instead, he stood up, reached over, and hugged her hard, ignoring the pained protest she uttered when he accidentally knocked against her still-open torso.

“You laughed,” he breathed in amazement. “You laughed!”

Shadowrunner smiled, and looked a bit surprised herself. “I suppose I did, didn’t I?”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say on it? Primus, we’ve never heard you laugh and that’s all you’re going to say?!”

“…I’ve never had reason to until now.”

Sunstreaker’s smile widened into a grin, and he leaned over to give her a light kiss on the helm. “Well, at least I was the one who did it, and not Jazz.”

“When are you ever going to get over that?”

“Not for a long time yet, little sis. Sorry.”

---

“… Jazz, if you keep on doing that, you’re just going to wear a rut through my office floor.”

Jazz abruptly stopped his pacing, and looked at Ratchet, and the CMO returned his gaze coolly, evenly. The Porsche tried to think up of a witty comeback, as he always did, but when he opened his mouth he found that he couldn’t process a single sound through his vocalizer.

Not for the first time, he was glad that his visor covered his optics; if it wasn’t there, then he would give away too much of what he was feeling. Those feelings weren’t exactly of the sort he was willing to share with anyone right now – not even Prowl.

Ratchet straightened in his chair, optics turning more sympathetic. “Look, I know you want to talk to her, but you don’t know anything about what she’s been through.”

Jazz smirked dryly. “Oh yeah, and Sunny does?”

“He ought to,” Sideswipe murmured from where he was standing, one hand on top of a dozing Nightraid’s head, which in turn the femme had leaned on Prowl’s shoulder.

Jazz made an impatient gesture. “Look, Sides, I ain’t tryin’ to say nasty things ‘bout your brother, but I can’t help thinkin’ his is a different case from ‘Runner’s.”

“Not when she starts saying she thinks she’s a ‘Con for what she did,” Sideswipe muttered. He looked straight at Jazz. “If anyone understands that sentiment the best, it’d be Sunny. And since he understands it so well, he’s the only one who can talk her out of believing it.”

“He’s right,” Ratchet stated. “The only one who’s going to be of any use to her right now is Sunstreaker. She doesn’t need ‘Raid’s anger, nor does she need your brand of sympathy.”

“But I just-”

Ratchet shook his head. “It’s not you she needs right now, Jazz.”

And that, Jazz thought bitterly, was what hurt the most. That he couldn’t be what she needed, especially in this situation. “I’m gettin’ outta here,” he muttered, and turned to exit the office, but he didn’t get more than five steps down the hallway before he stopped, and leaned against the wall, his visors going dull as he shut off his optics briefly.

Primus, he felt so helpless. For all that Prowl and even Prime said it wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t help but feel like it was. If he hadn’t thought to send the femmes on this mission, if he hadn’t thought that they wouldn’t get in trouble, if he’d sent the Twins along, just make sure everything was all right… So many “what-ifs,” and all of them far too late.

And what had they gotten out of it? Sure, they got the plans for that weapon Megatron was building, but what had they had to pay in exchange? The price almost seemed too high now.

He went where his feet took him, not really thinking about his destination, but somehow, he ended up in front of the femmes’ quarters. He tried the door, found it wasn’t locked, and he stepped inside. The mess he had managed to glimpse over Prowl’s shoulder was no longer there, though there were still small shards of glass and metal scattered here and there.

One of the consoles had a file loaded, and out of curiosity, he played it. As it turned out, it was the memory-file that Nightraid and Prowl had mentioned, and as he watched it, Jazz felt the ache in his spark deepen. Now, more than ever, he wanted to go into the Med-Bay, talk to Shadowrunner, and tell her that the need to avenge her creator’s death did not make her a ‘Con, even if she carried it out in so brutal a manner. And even if such brutality was more common in ‘Cons than in ‘Bots, at least she knew better than to

Pit, he thought, he wanted to tell her that if someone ever took her away from him like that, he would likely go off the deep end as well.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Jazz looked up, and smiled wearily. “Can’t say I’m gonna do much with a penny, ‘Jack, but thanks for the offer.”

He watched Wheeljack’s shadow widen as he stepped into the room. “She okay yet?”

“Not yet,” Jazz replied, and he couldn’t help the weariness that came through in his voice. “She’s havin’…problems.”

Wheeljack nodded. “I know. Ratchet clued me in already.” He settled down next to Jazz. “You remember what Hound said once? He said that there was something up with ‘Runner, kinda like Blue.”

Jazz nodded. He remembered that, of course, but he didn’t think it would matter so much. Sure, Bluestreak had issues, but that had never stopped him from being likeable, or from making friends. It was the same with Shadowrunner: he knew there was something else underneath her veneer of reserve, and he wanted to find out – both because he was curious, and also because he had been attracted to her. But what he found out was not exactly what he had been expecting.

“Does it change everything?”

Jazz snapped his head up at Wheeljack. “What?”

The Lancia was eyeing him with a steady gaze, and for the first time, Jazz saw there was no warmth in them. “I asked if this changes everything. Between you and ‘Runner, I mean.”

Jazz knew, almost immediately, that he didn’t know how to respond to that. On one hand, he knew it would change something between him and Shadowrunner; knowledge like this always did. But at the same time, even knowing what he did, it changed nothing of what he felt for her.

“Jazz?”

Jazz glanced away, looked at his hands. “Yes, and no.” He flexed his hands. “I mean, I know it’s not gonna be completely the same, not after knowin’ what we know, but at the same time… I still feel for her the same way I always have.”

“Good.” Wheeljack stood up then, and headed towards the door. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

Wheeljack stood up then, and headed towards the door. Jazz followed him with his gaze, surprised. “I don’t get it.”

Wheeljack paused in the door, and once more there was warmth in his optics – and relief. “I just wanted to know that you wouldn’t abandon her, not when she needs you the most. I’m glad to know you won’t.” And with that, he turned, and left, his shadow sliding out of the room along with him.

---

Optimus Prime looked away from the computer screen in front of him, optics turning up to the ceiling as if the words he was looking for were to be found there. At length, he started moving again, his fingers flying across the keyboard, whose keys consisted of the symbols for the Cybertronian language.

… Your suspicions about Shadowrunner were correct. Ratchet has informed me of the nature of that particular memory-file, along with what she did to Nightraid. Your assumptions about the circumstances surrounding Matchlock’s death were true: Shockwave’s drones did indeed kill him, and it was Shadowrunner who eliminated those drones in a momentary lapse of her programming. As for the why of it…we haven’t been able to determine that as of yet, since I have not spoken to either of the sisters.

It was something that Optimus had long found troubling about the Twins, and now about their sisters. There was something in their programming that Matchlock had built in, but apparently had not told anyone else about. There was a level of violence that neither he nor Elita-1 had expected, but it was there. It also seemed to be more prominent in the elder siblings: in this case, Sunstreaker and Shadowrunner.

There was something going on here, something that neither he nor Elita knew about. He knew that Matchlock loved peace as much as the next Autobot, but there seemed to be something…well, unusual about that violent aspect present in Sunstreaker and Shadowrunner’s programming – something that was not present in Sideswipe and Nightraid. In fact, it almost seemed as if Sideswipe and Nightraid, for all their quirks, had been programmed as counterbalances to their older siblings.

Was there something that Matchlock was trying to get to them? Something he wanted to give, but could not – at least, not out in the open?

I have yet to talk to Ratchet and Wheeljack about this, since they were the ones who knew Matchlock best. I would appreciate it if you could send me whatever information you have managed to collect at your end. You and I both know that Shockwave would have considered Matchlock a valuable resource, and would have taken him captive. But to kill him outright… That could only mean Matchlock meant one of two things: he was disposable, or was in possession of something that Shockwave found too dangerous to leave alone.

Optimus paused, thinking on that. When the Civil War was at its height, there were rumors going around that Matchlock had developed a program of sorts, something that would spare Autobot lives while wreaking as much havoc on the Decepticons as possible. There was no word about what this program was supposed to do, but in any case, Matchlock had it, and was working on completing it so that he could hand it over to the Autobot Army as quickly as possible.

And now that he was dead…

He continued typing, finishing up his letter:

You, Ultra Magnus, and I both knew that Matchlock was up to something before he died. We need to find out what it was. Try to find out as much as you can on your end, and I will do what I can on mine. If it is what we think it is, then we might be able to bring this war to a swifter conclusion than we initially thought.

And I pray to Primus that is the case, because there are nights when I miss you more than I can bear.

Yours,

O.

And with that, Optimus input a few commands, and the message was flying off into the ether and into space, towards another computer elsewhere, in the depths of space somewhere far, far away.