=(Autobot/NEST Base, Diego Garcia)=

Walking through the halls and corridors of the Autobots' rather small and underdeveloped base of operations, Hawkeye had to wonder for the tenth time since stepping onto the remote tropical island base just how this group of humans and intergalactic 'cousins' of his managed to do half the things they do and still remain functioning. Most, if not the entire base, looked to be a hastily thrown together headquarters that was slowly being refined into something more suitable to its intended function. A great deal of the base was subterranean; the Autobot part of the base was about five or so human floors down under the human part of the base on the surface.

At the moment Hawkeye was wondering around, more lost than he'd like to admit, looking for the rec. room and hopefully a cube of Energon. The orange mech was looking up at the directional signs bolted onto the walls, all of which were written in what he figured was Cybertronian -how he knew how to read and understand a language he never encountered before was anyone's guess-, not fully paying attention to his front as he went. It was just as he came to a cross section in the hallway did Hawkeye run headlong into another, somber looking, mech.

A loud dual yelp of surprise reverberated through the halls closely followed by an equally loud 'THUD' and a pained groan. Hawkeye looked down at the mech he had all but ran over. He was a grey mech with a band of navy racing stripes the right side of his chest plate and a red chevron at his brow, slim figured and fairly tall, likely he would stand taller than himself but not broader, a shoulder mounted cannon, and low drooping door wings.

"Ah, sorry about that, I wasn't looking where I was going." Hawkeye explained apologetically as he offered his hand.

"No, no, it's alright, I wasn't really paying attention either." the grey Autobot replied as he took the presented servo and pulled himself up. Then curious blue optics met green. "uh… who are you? I don't remember seeing you on base before." the door winged mech asked in confusion.

Hawk gave a small shrug and a half grin as he answered, "Yeah, I just got in a few hours ago. I'm Hawkeye, a Neutral."

Sensory panels rose in surprise for the first time since Hawkeye walked into the grey sports car mech. "A Neutral, wow, I haven't seen a Neutral for a long time. Megatron had practically made it his top priority to offline every colony of Neutrals and femmes since the war began. How'd you manage to escape? Are there anymore like you? Where'd you come from? When did you arrive on Earth? You must've gotten here recently, most likely before my team arrived, but then I haven't seen you on base before now. That's really odd. Where-"

Hawkeye, having enough of the other mech's insistent chatter, reached over and cut him off by covering his mouth plates. "TTIME OUT! First, slow down." the other mech nodded as Hawkeye cautiously retracted his hand. He continued to speak when he was met with silence, "Now, why don't you introduce yourself properly before we jump to the 'Q and A' session."

"Sorry about that, I tend to babble and not stop once I really start going." he said sheepishly, knowing he'd blush if he'd been capable at his slip of decorum. Prowl would be mortified at his lack of manners. "My designation is Bluestreak, one of the best sharpshooters in the entire Autobot army." he gave a small polite grin.

Hawk smiled in amusement at the mech across from him, thinking how appropriately his name suited him. At the same time Hawkeye noticed Bluestreak had an obvious air of innocence to him, but his dim optics and sadly too thin and barely noticeable grin was unable to match it. Hawkeye had to refrain from giving a concerned frown of his own at the sight. "Nice to meet you. So, Bluestreak, think you could help a mech in need and show me to the rec room." the orange mech asked with a strained smile. He never appreciated being clueless about something or forced to ask for help. "I'd like to get my servos on a warm cube of Energon before I drop into stasis. I really don't feel like having that crazy medic from the Pit stumble over my stasis locked frame in some lonely hall and reformat me into something degrading because I didn't get to refuel."

For the first time since his arrival and planet-fall on Earth, the young Praxian found himself giving the orange mech a true, if small, smile. "You're new to the base, aren't you?"

"That obvious, eh?"

Bluestreak nodded. "I'll show you the way. I can even give you a tour if you'd like?"

"Thanks Blues!" Hawkeye said with a bit of enthusiasm as Bluestreak began leading him to the rec. room. He couldn't wait to refuel and as Bluestreak began chatting his audios off about what he knew of the base and the Autobots in general, he had to wonder if Cybertronians processed their Energon differently than Los Magia Energon.

((O)) ((O))

"So tell me Sam," Optimus began as he gently set the little human down on his desk, "what is so important you needed to speak with me about that you would purposely risk my CMO's wrath?" It had taken the better part of an hour of compromising with Ratchet so the two of them could speak in the relative privacy of Optimus' office. The highly irritated medic had let the young human leave under strict orders that he'd be returned to the medbay within the hour or the base would become a house of flying wrenches. Optimus readily agreed, if only to save his own helm from Ratchet's Wrench of Doom. Bumblebee had came trailing behind his leader and charge, leaving Leo behind to his fate with a cranky Ratchet and an exasperated Mikaela, and was now standing just outside the door to Prime's office like a watchdog. He had been worried about his little human friend and didn't want to be too far away.

Sam sat somewhat heavily down on the wide desktop, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on his knees, while Prime rounded the desk and seated himself in his large chair behind it. "…It's about me and the All-Spark." Optimus' optics shuttered in attention as he waited for the youngest of the Witwicky family to continue, half in surprise and half expectant.

"Tell me then, what happened in your dorm room, Sam?"

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, one of several of his nervous habits Optimus noted, and said, "I'm not all too sure, but I was dreaming. It was like the time I - like that time back in Egypt with The Fallen." Sam then started to fidget. He didn't particularly like talking about the events surrounding his and Optimus' deaths and resurrection. It made him feel strange and somehow different, almost like he was less human and more of something else he couldn't put a name to. "I met the Primes again."

Optimus lean forward on the surface of his desk at this, hands griping the edge of the office furniture in intense interest. "What did they wish to talk about?" the flaming Peterbuilt urged, knowing that whatever the boy spoke of next would be very important information that could very likely affect the future of not only the Cybertronian race, but Earth as well. "Is something going to happen?"

"No, no, nothing like that." Sam shook his head. "It's not bad or anything, but… They told me the All-Spark is alive!" Sam blurted, throwing out his arms as if trying to further express the magnitude of his statement. He could tell by the way Optimus' vents suddenly hitched, the giant mech was both shocked speechless and pleasantly surprised (by the muted 'thud' on the other side of the door, the two office occupants knew Bumblebee was listening in on their conversation (the scout's audio sensors were second only to Red Alert's and Jazz)). "It did something to preserve itself before it was destroyed. It split!"

Optimus' optics shuttered in question, renewed, if hesitant, hope shining in his optics. "Split? I'm not sure I understand. Please, explain what you mean Sam."

Sam took a calming breath he explained, "The All-spark, I think, somehow knew what was going to happen. It divided itself in half and imprinted part of itself into me." he explained, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "The Primes said half of it was power and the other half was knowledge. They said it judged me as a suitable vessel for its knowledge and passed it on into me. I guess it happened when I shoved the Cube into Megatron's chest in Mission City." Sam looked down at his hands, he could still remember how badly the Cube had burned his hands. If one looked closely enough at his palms, they would be able to see faint patterns of pale, raised skin just like the ones that had been carved all over the All-Spark.. "It's the reason I've been seeing all those ancient glyphs, everything the All-Spark ever knew is now in my head."

Optimus sat back in his chair in as his processor contemplated what he'd just been told. If he was understanding what Sam was saying right, the All-Spark was a semi-sentient being, at the very least, and had been aware enough to know what had been happening around it. If that was the true case, then the Cube may have known its fate from the start and took the necessary steps to preserve its essence and ensure it had inheritors to pass its power and the accumulated knowledge on to. Thinking of the All-Spark as a sentient, living being made Optimus feel even worse than he already had for condemning the Cube. "What of the other half of the All-Spark?"

"It's in someone else, a guy named Harry." Sam shrugged helplessly. "I met him when the Primes pulled me into that limbo place and explained what was going on."

Optimus' mouth plates tugged down in a thoughtful frown. He knew that his Autobots and the members of NEST, as soon as he made the announcement about the continued existence of their life-giving Cube, would scramble to search the planet over for the human who now had within him the power of the All-Spark. But, a single name without a surname was not enough to go by. Optimus knew without consulting the internet that there were hundreds, or even thousands, of Harrys all over the world. "Tell me, Sam, what did this 'Harry' look like? Sound like? His mannerism? How did he dress? We need as much information as possible. I wish to find him before the Decepticons catch wind of his existence."

Sam nodded as he took a moment to think (since the incident with The Fallen Sam had come to realize his memory had gotten a lot better, sharper, to the point of becoming more and more photographic). Sam then told the red and blue Prime what little he knew of the older All-Spark half. "He was about 5' 6", he looked around my age, like a fifteen year-old, but said he was thirty, had these intense green eyes and messy black hair, had a British accent like Bee and Graham, and he wore blue robes, like he was dressed in a wizard costume." Sam rattled off. "One of the Primes also called him Harrison and another said something about him being related to a woman named Delilah Evans."

The flaming Prime nodded. The description was still vague but not as nearly so now. They were looking from a small British male with black hair and green eyes in his thirties who could pass as a teenager that dressed oddly. His formal name is Harrison with an alias of Harry and had blood relations to a Delilah Evans. The female name would be sure way of narrowing down the impending search. "Thank you Sam, that helps greatly."

"Optimus, Harry also said something before I woke up." Sam added. "He said to 'find Hawkeye and Nightgale', I think they know him."

Prime's optics shuttered in surprise. "Are you certain?" Optimus asked, still processing what he was just informed and wondering how the Neutrals he had just seen could have any sort of connection with the other half of the now human All-Spark. Sam gave him an affirming nod.

Optimus then scooped up Sam in one hand as he reached up to the side of his helm and activated his comm. device with the other. ::This is Optimus Prime to Base Communications.::

A second later a female officer's voice replied, :: This is Base Communications Hanger, Prime. How can we help you, sir?::

::I'm on my way up to the communications hanger now, please assemble all lead NEST operatives and Autobots, and get General Morshrower on a secure line right away. We have immediate concerns to discuss.:: he informed as he walked to his door and out the office.

::Yes, sir!:: was the brisk reply and three seconds latter the base wide intercom hailed all Autobot personnel and lead NEST members to the communication hanger.

When the door opened and Optimus stepped out they were immediately met with Bumblebee's awed optics. Optimus gave an assuring smile as he gently deposited Sam into the yellow scout's waiting hands before making his way up to the communications hanger for his impromptu meeting.

"Sam," Bumblebee looked down at his best friend with both wonder and worry. "Is what you and Optimus talked about really true? Are you really part of a new All-Spark?"

On one hand Bee was ecstatic that the All-Spark was still alive and that the Cybertronian race may still have hope for a continued existence when the war would finally come to an end. He didn't like the title 'Last of the Sparklings' tacked to his name. But on the other hand, Bumblebee was worried that if the Decepticons ever found out the All-Spark was now a permanent part of Sam's and that other human's lives, the war would practically begin anew and Sam would be in even greater danger than before.

The college student nodded, a bland grin adorning his face. "Yeah, wild ain't it?" For some reason, Sam could honestly say he wasn't all that surprise something like this was happening to him. It was like he had become a magnet for the weird lately. Make no mistake, Sam was more than wanting to freak out and deny the fact he was now half of the All-Spark. Who wouldn't? It was crazy, frightening, and overwhelmingly awesome all together at once. But after seeing how calmly that Harry guy took the news and accepted it -even to Sam the older man seemed just as quietly pissed, though he didn't show it, as he was resigned-, Sam was determined to keep calm and not fall apart into thousands of pieces like he wanted to. He had learned his lesson all too well about trying to run away from his destiny back when he chose to ignore it. Optimus had paid for his decision then with his spark. Sam didn't want to repeat that mistake.

"Yes, it is." Then the Camaro cradled the young human closer to his chassis, over his spark chamber, protectively as he followed after his leader. In that moment, Bumblebee renewed his oath to protect the fragile human All-Spark vessel that had become his most important friend. 'I swear on my spark, Sam, I won't let those 'Cons hurt you. Not again, never again!'

((O)) ((O))

=(Jazz's Recovery room, Liberty Tech Memorial, Los Magia)=

Blue optics flashed and brightened as Jazz slowly brought himself online from his medical stasis lock. He groaned piteously as he became aware of the sensory nodes in his legs throbbing dully, reminding him of his most recent surgery that was done on them only two joors ago. Jazz did a cursory systems check and found every one of his major systems were all green and some of his lesser, non-important systems offline but still in working order. He then turned his sensors outward and did a quick scan of his surroundings. The silver Solstice found he was back in his private recovery room. Jazz groaned again as his optics offlined, ready to cycle back down into recharge, when his scanners suddenly registered a bio-signature off to his immediate right.

Jazz's optics onlined again as he turned his head to look at his unannounced guest. Sitting at the edge of a nearby chair was a small human, femme youngling. She had an almost unhealthy pallor to her flawless skin and had a long mass of blood-red hair that curled primly down her back tamed only by a black ribbon wrapped around the crown of her head. He couldn't see the color of her eyes as the long fringe of her hair blocked them from view. She wore a dark navy debonair dress of silk with black lace and frill with matching black gloves and polished ankle-heigh leather boots. She would almost pass for innocent little girl as she hummed a tune that sounded like a lullaby if it hadn't been for that dark air of danger about her tiny form.

"Guten tag." The little femme didn't even look up when she greeted the Autobot, finally noting Jazz's full state of wakefulness and cataloging of her person, as she sat there with a similarly dressed porcelain faced doll with golden faux hair that she was gently brushing out with a small but rather expensive looking brush.

Jazz noted the German language she used to greet him and replied in turn, "Guten tag, wer bist du?"

The bush in her hand stopped stroking the false hair of her doll. A smile graced her pink lips as she slowly raised her eyes up at him, showing her inhuman bright red irises with cat-like pupils. "Mein name ist Margareta von Voltaire. It iz nice to meet you, Autobot Jazz." Margareta practically purred, tossing a wayward lock of hair over her shoulder. For a moment a small pointed ear was visible before the red curl fell back into place.

The silver Autobot suddenly had a nagging feeling that the little femme in his room wasn't quite as human as she appeared. The thought in itself seem odd even to Jazz. He couldn't shake the feeling of age he got from just looking at the child but tried ignore it. "So then, little missy," Jazz began as he reached for the controls of his berth and adjusted it so he'd sit up in a reclined position, "You know who I am, but, how'd you get in here? I was under the impression nobody without high clearance was allowed in to see me." His primary medic had informed of that him when he asked if he should be expect anyone else after The Creator and Siren visiting during his time confined to a berth.

"Z'he security iz to protect you. Z'here ah're a number of s'itizens in z'his colony z'hat do not like you being here." she explained in an easy mannered tone. "Your mere prez'anze az an out'zider iz worrying to z'hem. But z'ee Creator and z'ee magistrate ah're curious about you, mein dear Autobot." Margareta giggled in amusement. "Of course, I have z'ee clearance to visit. I ah'm a noble and one of z'ee Magistrate. I simply vant'ed to meet z'ee mech z'hat drew mein lord'z attens'ion."

Jazz raised a surprised optic ridge in question. "The Creator didn't strike me as the kind of guy to start politicians off so… young." he said gently, trying not to insult, but not really convinced. The child just announced herself as both nobility and a member of the citiy's magistrate after all. While it wouldn't do to frag off his savior by offending people close to him, his saboteur protocol coding only allowed him to take her words with a grain of rust.

Margareta smirked in a way that said she was both amused and annoyed at his words, clearly she caught his disbelief. "I assure you, he doz not."

In that moment, just before Jazz could ask what the girl meant, a beep over the door sounded before it opened. Jazz turned to watched a large gunmetal grey mech with pale green optics and helicopter rotors on his back walk in through he threshold. Held in one hand was an official looking data pad while the other hand cradled what looked like a small plastic to-go bag.

The new mech instantly reminded the Autobot of a flying version of Ironhide, what with all the obvious weapons on his person and the burly body frame. Jazz almost tensed instinctively when he saw the way the bigger mech's pale optics slowly raked over his berth ridden frame, as if determining his threat level, before making a beeline for the little human femme in the chair. It was the look in the dark grey flyer's hard optics that unsettled the Cybertronian. They reminded Jazz heavily of a mix of the two Decepticons Shockwave and Soundwave; that cold, detached look of calculation always made his derma-plating crawl. But at the same time, Jazz realized this mech was nothing like them when the mech looked on Margareta. Rather than looking at her with disdain disgust, those same unyielding optics softened into something gentle even as his frame remained ramrod rigid. Jazz was reminded of Prowl in that moment and wondered who this new mech was.

Margareta saw Jazz's curious look at her friend and vice-versa, she decided to introduce them, "Jazzy, z'his iz Vindchill, first seat Judge Magister, and Director of z'ee defense organization, Guardian Force. Vildchill already knows who you are, Jazzy. Z'hat juvenile, bottom feeding fish told z'ee rest of us about you in her poor excue'z of a report." she sniffed haughtily.

Jazz could only guess by the level of the girl's ire that the 'juvenile, bottom feeding fish' Margareta was talking about was that beautiful femme, Siren. Jazz made a mental note not to get between the two if the antagonism was mutual.

Margareta suddenly seemed to zero in on the little bag Windchill was holding. "Vielen dank, mein 'Chilly, for fetching mein lunch for me! I vaz famished!" the redhead gushed in childish enthusiasm as the mech she apparently nicknamed 'Chilly' bent down slightly to pick her up and set her on his shoulder with the bag. Margarete pounced eagerly on the baggy and started rummaging through it, pulling out several bottles of some kind of unknown red liquid. "Mein favorite kinds too."

Jazz gave no indication that he noticed, but when the little German girl smiled at Windchill he saw the points of two rows of sharp fangs lining her mouth. Also, when Margareta opened one of those bottles just delivered to her, Jazz's olfactory sensors alerted him to the sudden presence of human blood coming from it.

That nagging feeling from before suddenly became much more prominent as his new and earlier observations about Margareta began matching up with what he knew from web surfing was supposed to be occult fiction. It became all the more definite as Jazz watched with a morbid sense of fascination as the redhead drank the bottled blood with almost ravenous, if dainty earnest. He then discreetly took a look at the organic femme through his infrared vision and saw how deathly low her core temperature read and suddenly Jazz knew what Margareta was. The paleness of her skin, the odd color of her eyes, the pointed ears, that vague reference of her age, and now the fangs, eagerness for blood, cold body temperature.

"Margareta," Jazz stated, "you're a vampire, aren't you?"

The last of the von Voltaire coven lowed the bottle she drank from and looked blankly for a moment before a slow predatory smirk, flashing red tinged fangs. "I vas beginning to vonder when you'd notice." She capped her bottle as Windchill moved to stand next to Jazz's berth side. "Yez, I ah'm a vampire, but z'hat iz not important." Windchill then presented the datapad he'd been holding to the Solstice.

"Read. Sign. Be ready to leave." The helicopter's rumbled, his voice low and gravelly as if he wasn't used to speaking.

"Z'hey are your release forms." Margareta informed as she crossed her legs, idly toying with her doll . "Lifeline v'ill come to give you one las' check and reactivate v'hatever systems of yours iz still off, z'hen you v'ill be released to us in a few hours."

"Okay, I guess." Jazz nodded, still reeling but excited at what he thought was supposed to be fiction suddenly become real, as he began skimming through the forms.

Margareta went back to her lunch while Windchill took the chair the little vampire originally occupied while fishing out another datapad from his personal subspace pocket, this one of reports he usually took to carrying around and began reading through them as they began to wait.

((O)) ((O))

=(Autobot/NEST Base, Diego Garcia)=

Communications was crowded, almost every Autobot present on base and leading NEST members all stood taking up whatever available space within the sightly cramped confines of the hanger, whispering to each other and wondering what this emergency meeting had been called for. Only the Neutrals and their human companions, as well as the majority of NEST were absent. On an overhead large screen computer monitor at the far end of the hanger were the face of General Morshrower. The different conversation held in low tones died down to silence when Optimus Prime stepped into the hanger with Bumblebee holding Sam behind him.

"Good afternoon everyone." Prime greeted with such an air of seriousness that many of the room's occupants straightened up.

"Prime," Marshrower acknowledged. "I'd like to skip pleasantries if you don't mind. What's the meaning of this meeting?" the man asked pointed pointedly.

"Of course," Optimus nodded before looking around the room, making optic/eye contact with everyone to insure he had everyone's attention. "As of 07:34 hrs, yesterday morning, I was informed young Sam here had begun seeing ancient Cybertronian texts as he had before the appearance of The Fallen last year." Almost all attention turned onto Sam at Optimus' words. "Ratchet confirmed this during a scanning of Sam and found an acceleration in retroactivity in Sam's brainwaves. Just a few moments ago, Sam informed me that he had come into contact with the Dynasty of Primes once more.

"Sam was then informed that the All-Spark, our life-giving cube, is still alive." By then excited and disbelieving chatter filled the hanger as question were thrown back and forth between themselves. Optimus allowed them a moment before he brought them all back to silence. "Yes, yes, the All-Spark is still thriving, but it is no longer the way we remember it."

"And what does that mean, Prime?" Marshrower asked as he leaned forward on his desk and closer to his monitor-mounted camera.

"The All-Spark has taken a new form… and it has divided itself in half."

Stunned silence met Optimus' audios for several long moments. It was Wheeljack that broke the silence. "What do you mean it divided?"

Optimus' cycled a sigh through his vents and retold all that Sam had told him; the fact that the young ally had been harboring half the All-Spark since its original Cube form was destroyed while another human had the other half and what little knowledge they had to work with in order to find the man. By the time Prime finished the room was silent in its contemplation of the situation.

General Morshower sat back in his chair before speaking. "Optimus, will you and your team be able to find this human All-Spark half without drawing too much unnecessary attention?" he asked cautiously. "I've been hearing one too many whispers from my superiors and foreign delegates asking not just about your tech and weapons, but about the research Sector 7 did while they had possession of the Cube."

The Autobot leader frowned at that. While he knew most of Earth's governments were interested in Cybertronian technology, their just as many militaries more attracted to the Autobots weaponry and occasionally pushed to have them share their weapon system specs, this was the first time he heard any of them having an interest in the reposts Sector 7 had complied about the Cube. It was a little worrying. Most humans, as he had quickly realized, just weren't ready to have that kind of knowledge. It would be like handing a curious, newly upgraded youngling a pulse rifle without the safety on and expecting them not to play with it.

Optimus glanced over to his SIC, knowing the security mech was already calculating probabilities based on the hundreds of scenarios running through his processor. "Prowl, what do you think?"

"I believe we can conduct our search while evading attention from the human governments, General." Prowl answered tonelessly as he stepped forward, making several mechs around him cringe at the flatter, colder sound of his voice. "The Decepticons may, however prove to be a problem. I've gone over previous reports of the hunts and battles here on Earth and concluded that now only does the enemy know our base's location, while we have a vague idea where there ship is, but may have been watching our movements." Frosty optics looked at Prime.

"I think sending out a couple of small groups to look for this Harry person." Lennox suggested. "We can start by finding this guy's hometown and work our way out from there."

Epps then added, "We'd have to send groups of two or three and rotate the search parties every other week or so we won't end up stretching out our personnel too thin away from the base."

Optimus nodded. "We will have to carry out this search-and-retrieval mission carefully and discreetly. We do not want Megatron and his Decepticons to catch wind of this. I do not think I should have to remind anyone of what would happen if the Decepticons managed to get hold of any of this information." From there Optimus, Lennox, and General Morshower began assigning the NEST soldiers and the Autobots their duties.

None of the souls and sparks on the Diego Garcia base ever once noticed a pair of glowing red optics of a small enemy spy, avian in nature, hidden high up in the shadows of the ventilation shafts watching their meeting.

((O)) ((O))

=(Earth's Orbit, Outer Space)=

Drifting languidly high within Earth's orbit, just outside of the human's surveillance range, was the large satellite-like silver and blue Transformer, the Decepticon's head of Communication, Soundwave.

At the moment, the 'Con officer had his processor jacked into the internet, spying on many of the human governments, military bases, and individuals or large companies that controlled the planet's major resource distributions with connections to the Autobots. He had been given orders from his great and terrible lord and master to study and catalog whatever weakness he could find, plant viruses to cripple their enemy faction's main suppliers, and locate any source of recourses to restock their own supplies. That embarrassing defeat the Autobots and their fleashling pets handed the Decepticons back in Egypt not only caused a shortage of Decepticons troops but a sever depletion of the 'Cons' already dwindling supplies as well. Since then Megatron had been ordering raids on human facilities such as power plants, research facilities that dealt with chemicals, mines, oil rigs, and a few other manufacturing companies for certain ores and alloys.

Actually going out on a raid and coming back to their base aboard the Nemeses successfully was harder said than done. With the increasing number of incoming Autobots making landfall and anti-Decepticon surveillance groups all over the planet watching for them and hunting them, it made it difficult to get what they needed from the little mud ball planet below.

The entire process was taking far more time than he would've liked to hack into some of the mainframes that had greater priority. He had found several important computers across the blue planet's major countries that had been outfitted with highly encrypted protection firewalls that positively reeked of Autobot modification and upgrading. Most of them at least. Several, however, he found were more interesting but was wary about hacking into. These particular systems were heavily protected by not just thick layers of powerful firewalls that took a lot of processing power to breach, but also by a variable mote of several vicious viruses. The many viruses were so complex and different from one another that infection probability was high; they were dangerous even to him in the way they attacked and devoured indiscriminately at anything that tried to gain unauthorized entry. They're adaptability distinctively reminded Soundwave of his late cassetticon, Frenzy. It made Soundwave suspicious and curious as to what kind of data lay under those firewalls that protected.

These protection codes were just too highly advanced to believe that a bunch of primitive squishies from some backwater planet to have created something so intricate without help. While the firewalls he found were dissimilar to anything from Cybertron he knew of, the style was so tellingly obvious that it was written by the humans, they were entirely too complex to not to have been molded from Cybertronian technology.

The Decepticon satellite's comm. suddenly came to life with his symbiote's, Laserbeak, screechy hailing. Multiple red optics onlined as the communications expert answered back, ::Soundwave acknowledges. What are you findings Laserbeak?:: In an instant a recorded file was sent to him and played back for him. ::Mission: Accomplished. Return to me, Laserbeak.:: he ordered monotonously before calling out to his master.

((O)) ((O))

=(Throne Room of Nemeses, Mars Orbit, Outer Space)=


Starscream slammed into the ground painfully when he was viciously backhanded, before a foot connected with his mid-quarters and he groaned in pain as he was kicked mecilessly. Not far from him his trine mates lay in battered, 'bloody' heaps on the verge of stasis lock. The other Decepticons present in the room didn't dare move to help lest their master's explosive and brutal wrath be turned on them. In fact, several of them had a gleam of dark amusement shining in their optics as they grinned at the arrogant trine's beating. In their oppinions it served them right.

"Worthless. Incompetent failures!" Megatron raged before bending down and wrapped his long, razor sharp claws around the Air Commander's helm. The Decepticon leader squeezed Starscream's head, digging his claws in painfully, as he hefted his Air Commander easily and forced Starscream to look him in the optics. "Useless heap of slag! I give you one simple mission, bring me the neutrals, and yet, not only did you fail at that, you ran, letting those Autobots offline Barricade. Tell me, why should spare your pathetic, cowardly skid plate?"

"P-please, Lord Me-Megatron, the Autobots had already offlined B-Barricade by t-the time I saw! We were outnumbered!"

Megatron snarled and tossed Starscream away like a piece of yesterday's trash. "Get out of my sight! Hook!"

"Y-yes Master Megatron?" the Constructicon medic stepped forward with slight hesitance.

"Repair him and the rest of his trine." the hulking grey mech ground out the order as he went to sit on his throne. "The rest of you will leave my sight or suffer slow dismantlement as I make you watch whatever if left of your parts be melted down to slage!" he roared. The response was immediate as all the room's occupants save himself vacated, leaving the throne room in near complete silence for Megatron to contemplate his next move against Prime.

::Soundwave to Lord Megatron.::

Megatron growled low and threatening as he answered dangerously, ::Your reasons for interrupting me better be sufficient.::

Soundwave spoke again, his emotionless voice not giving even half a decimal of a nuance to any fear he might have felt, ::Infiltration Mission of Autobot Bass: Complete. Now sending recorded data.::

With a short data burst not even a second later, Megatron was reviewing a meeting between the Autobots and their fleashling counterparts. The new information left Megatron in a state of disbelief that slowly turned into satisfaction. The very idea that the All-Spark was still continued to live and its vast power thriving, even if in the form of two wretched vessels of organic flesh, would have sent his CPU crashing if he were a lesser mech. ::Soundwave, could this be an Autobot trap Prime set up?:: It wouldn't be the first time Optimus Prime lain a trap for him and his minions to fall into.

::Autobot Trap: Pissible. Samuel James Witwicky's connection to Cybertronian artifacts of power: Proven.::

::Good work, Soundwave. You and Laserbeak serve me well, unlike some useless mechs.:: he all but purred, ideas and plans already formulating within his processor.

::I do as you command, Lord Megatron.::

::Good, now continue tracking those foolish Autobots. If this is true, I want to know all their movements.:: he ordered. ::This is our chance to finally obtain that which is rightfully ours. I want those two humans, Samuel James Witwicky and this 'Harry', in my grasp before those Autobots get the chance. I will personally extract the power and ancient knowledge from their dead corpses if I have to. Find me my All-Spark!::