'Where did you stash those two, anyway?'

'Just in here, boss. Literally the best place we could find.'

Thrust led Swindle into one of the complex's many empty crawl-spaces. Areas originally belonging to storage of weapons or valuables, now emptied since the rise of the ex-Combaticon's new business measures.

Swindle's bright purple optics glowed in the pitch-black darkness of the passage. 'Couldn't you have kept them someplace—anyplace—brighter? There is bound to be bacteria manifesting in this kind of darkness.' The thought of a health inspector examining the place made Swindle's optics flicker.

'I am afraid we could not,' Dirge replied.

Swindle recoiled. 'Vector Sigma! Who the hell— Dirge! Is that you back there? Why didn't you say anything? And why were you standing alone in the dark?'

Dirge flipped a switch, and the lights came on. Next to Dirge was Airazor and Bumblebee, strung up in a pair of chains, and hanging from the ceiling above. Their mouths were bolted shut, though it was clear the smaller of the two was eager to say something nasty to his holders.

'I was simply reflecting in the darkness on the futility of our constant struggle to—.'

'Wow, never mind,' Swindle replied, raising his large palms. 'I just realized I don't care! Now Thrust, tell me what exactly you have… planned for these two?'

Thrust turned to the younglings, then back to Swindle. 'Torture. Mainly. I thought that was pretty obvious, given how they're strung up the way they are and everything.'

'Well, obviously, I know you're going to torture them,' Swindle stressed. 'What I want to know is how you're going to torture them. You can't damage them too badly, after all. They're still in mint condition. They're still buy-worthy. All I need you to do is scare them into behaving until their bids come to a head. I know you can do that much.'

Thrust smirked. 'Well of course! I'm the expert here. Who else could you possibly rely on, Dirge?'

Swindle stared at him for a moment. 'Yeah, whatever. Just do your thing so I can get back to business. This whole ordeal has set my schedule back by like a week.'

Thrust nodded, and pulled a thin rod from his cockpit. With a flick of his wrist, the rod extended into a silver, spear-like blade. Electricity crackled from the tip. 'Watch and learn, gentlemen,' Thrust dipped forward and struck the spear into Airazor's abdomen. The younglings back arched with pain before writhing and twitching from the shock. Bumblebee's own body shook with silent rage and horror.

Swindle himself couldn't help but be taken aback by this. Something instinctual and repressed pulsated in the back of his skull. Something that told him to make the pain stop, not for his sake, but for his products sake. Which was a ridiculous observation, he knew. But even still, something about the torture had generated a harrowing coldness in his spark.

Thrust withdrew the spear from Airazor and plunged it into Bumblebee's chest. Just as well, the small robot's back arched from the pain and his head fell back. Airazor's optics had in turn blazed a bright yellow.

'It's kind of funny how predictable these guys can be.' Thrust mused, carelessly twisting the spear. 'They try to act defiant when it's the other's turn, but as soon as they get the spear it's back to squirming and crying like the worms they are.'

As he turned to plunge the blade into Airazor once more, Swindle found himself opening his mouth to speak, to make him stop this. But no words came out. He didn't think it was something he was programmed to say. He didn't say anything when he saw Vortex, and he wouldn't say anything now.

'Enough of this.'

Thrust turned and scowled at Dirge. 'What did you just say?'

The blue seeker reached over and un-did the chains; slowly lowering the pair to the floor where they panted and twitched in unison.

'What are you doing?!' Thrust spat. 'What's is your damage, Dirge?'

Dirge simply shook his head and turned to Swindle. 'I'm sorry. This isn't right. I won't be a part of it.'

Swindle stared at him for a moment, and then to Thrust.

'Aren't you going to yell at him?!' Thrust demanded. 'He's being a—he's stopping us from—he's—!'

Swindle waved a hand passively and turned to leave. 'Dirge, I'll talk to you about this later. Thrust, return them to their cells. I'd rather do something more productive with my time. And as we both know, Thrust, time is money.'

The former Combaticon proceeded out of the passage and back into the main complex, secretly relieved by his subordinate's indiscretions. While Thrust fumed, Swindle knew the seeker would see the logic in his words, and would thus fail to misjudge Swindle as someone softer than he really was. That said, Swindle was no longer sure whether he needed to make any more money at this point. From what he could see from the bids, he wouldn't need to pay for anything ever again. He had finally reached the point. Swindle had too much money. Honestly, Swindle couldn't help but ask where the fun was in all this.

'Let's kill 'em.'

The four Autobots stood crowded around Obsidian's stasis-locked shell. Optics rising from him to Ironhide.

The weapons specialist folded his arms. 'Why am I getting those looks? Why am I suddenly crazy just because I'm the only genre savvy one of the lot of us?'

Blackarachnia brought a claw to her helm, 'Huh, I dunno. Suggesting to kill an unarmed combatant out of the blue doesn't seem problematic in the least.'

Ironhide scowled at her sarcasm and pointed at the prone figure on the medical berth. 'That's Obsidian! He's the mind that's been behind all the trouble we've faced until now! Do you think Starscream managed to accomplish all he had on his own? Do you think he came up with half the strategies he practiced? If we let Obsidian live to see another day, we'll be making the biggest mistake of our lives. That's experience talking, not bias.'

Blackarachnia stretched her arms to the side. 'Could've confused me. I thought letting me live to see another day was the biggest mistake of our lives. And if it isn't obvious enough for your pea-brain to understand, if he wanted us dead, he would have let Lockdown do it for him.'

Ironhide squinted down at her. 'He's smarter than you think.'

'He's comatose.'

'Guys!' Jazz blurted, grabbing them both by the shoulders. 'Cool down for a second. BA is right.'

Ironhide reared his head back. 'What?'

'Mostly. We still ought to keep 'em under lock and key until we can figure out what to do with him. But there's no sense in outright killing him. Especially when there is a decent chance he's here to help. As crazy as that sounds.'

Ironhide grunted, then turned to Optimus. 'I know you're going to spare him. I'm always the odd one out in these kinds of discussions. What's the final word, Prime?'

Optimus waved a hand to them. 'Leave us.'

Jazz tilted his head to the side. 'What?'

'Leave me with him. I'm going to talk to him. Please.'

The three exchanged glances, then, one by one, exited the room. Jazz stood just outside the med-bay's doors. 'You're sure about this, chief?'

'Close the door.'

Without another word, Jazz closed the doors behind him.

With a few swift movements, Optimus rebooted Obsidian's main functions, and in seconds, a pair of light green optics stared up at him.

After a moment to acclimate himself, Obsidian spoke. 'I have something for you.'

'Do you now?'

Obsidian slowly reached into his chest compartment, and pulled out a small rod, which in turn extended and flipped out into a familiar shape.

'My axe!' Optimus exclaimed, taking the weapon from Obsidian and cradling it carefully in his hands.

'I had kept it with me ever since you— how shall I put it— dropped it, back on Via Finis. I thought it best to return it to you, my lord.'

Optimus reared backwards, 'Don't call me that.'

'Ah, forgive me. As you command, Optimus.'

'It's not even that. In fact, you're still doing it. I can't…' Optimus shook his head. 'I can't become the leader you desire. I just can't risk it.'

Obsidian's optics narrowed. 'That's not what you said before.'

'I know what I said before. I was… I don't know. Some things have happened since then.'

Obsidian's optics seemed to narrow further. 'I am aware.'

'Look, I died. It made me come to appreciate the life I have. More than I did before. Being chased across the galaxy by the Decepticon army was hell, and I didn't know how to… let's say, how to cope with it. But now that's all over, I'm not in any immediate danger anymore, and because of that I can appreciate things I couldn't before. Like, these guys…' he gestured to the doors, 'they're all I need. They're jerks, but I still love them like family. And if I have them I don't really need anything else.' He turned to Obsidian. 'Becoming a warlord could endanger that. And I'm not sure I'm ready for that just yet.'

Obsidian paused. 'Very well.' He slowly rose from his slab, fingers steepled at his lap. 'I cannot prevent you from choosing your own path— just as you cannot prevent me from serving you.' He observed the medibay, 'I understand you are… working towards something here.'

Optimus nodded slowly. 'I am.' The Prime recounted to the Decepticon war-strategist the status of the Ark, the Dinobots, Swindle, and the business he had assembled for himself.

'I see.' Obsidian nodded sagely.

'Then you can help us?'

'I can. In fact, I already have the wisp of a plan simmering in the back of my head as we speak.' Obsidian pinched the air between his fore-finger and his thumb. 'There is just one small niggle of a problem.'

'What problem?'

'The problem is that you won't like it.'

Optimus frowned. 'Try me. I am more flexible than I look.'

'You must use your status as Decepticon Leader to accomplish it.'

Prime's eyes narrowed at this. 'I see.'

'It will not require you actively leading, or coming out with the information of your potential status. Swindle's business thrives under the supervision of the Imperium—but also under the Conclave's consent. You must simply sign an official order bearing your spark-signature.'

'Bearing my—what?! Excuse my manners, Obsidian, but frankly that's stupider than something Starscream would say on a good day. If all we need is a false signature, then you could easily accomplish this without my status.'

'Unfortunately, such a thing still remains out of my reach. Allow me to explain: as the war spread across the cosmos, Megatron became wary of how often his official orders would carry through in his absence. With so many Generals, and so many advisors beneath him, Megatron feared his orders would be twisted by the likes of Starscream and Soundwave to better serve their own ideals. To ensure that the orders that were being filtered out were his own—and only his own— a system was made. Orders were transmitted in print, and attached with a complex patterned imprint. An imprint that could only be formed when placed in direct contact with the Decepticon leader's spark.

'Each spark is unique. It's how we can track specific spark signatures and identify them. As such, if a General felt they were receiving false orders, they would simply scan the pattern through our data-base and receive confirmation that it was in fact Megatron making the commands and not Starscream trying to lead under the radar.'

'And I understand that I'm in your data-base?'

'Finding someone's spark signature is not difficult. But finding one's identity from the signature is another story altogether. Yes, Optimus, per Megatron's request, the Combaticons and I researched the medical records of his killer and updated his official signature with your own. As the Decepticons' official database is in the Combaticons' possession, and not his, Soundwave has been unable to update the current leadership signature. But he will notice this discrepancy once Starscream's signature proves to be inconsistent with the one in the current database, and he will make it known to the rest of the Decepticons what has happened. For now, if we were to deliver an official transcript to Swindle from "High Command" telling him to shut down, Swindle would have no choice but to surrender, free the prisoners—do whatever it is you ask of him. With your spark signature, we could fool Swindle into thinking he is being commanded by the offices of New Kaon. He would be unable to tell otherwise.'

Optimus considered this for a moment. 'And what if he calls your bluff? What if he suspects the spark signature is mine and checks? Even if he would have no way of knowing it's my spark he's looking at, he knows I want his operations shut down. What if he suspects and finds some way to find my spark'

'If he does, I have a backup for that. I… know Swindle. And if he has the ball-bearings to doubt the will of his leaders, he must face the consequences. I am being followed, Optimus. Thundercracker and his Aerospace Legion have been on my trail for some time now, and it won't be long before they catch up to me. When they arrive here, Swindle will view it as the Conclave recognizing his failure to shut down as a betrayal, and acting in kind. Realizing his mistake, Swindle will have no choice but to do as we tell him. His only other option is to attempt to fight off the Nemesis and its Legion. And I know Swindle is smart enough to know such an act would be futile.'

Prime massaged his chin in thought. 'But if that happens, we'll have the Legion hovering right above our heads. Remember— Starscream knows I'm still alive. Even if Soundwave already has what he wants, Starscream is as much a threat as him. My survival brings his title into question. My survival is a threat to his leadership.'

Obsidian spread his digits, exposing his palms. 'I understand. If that is to occur, then in the best-case scenario, we hide within your Ark—where they will be unable to detect our signatures—, and wait until it all blows over.'

'And the worst case scenario?'

'I… will submit myself to Thundercracker.'

Optimus was silent for a moment. 'Okay.'

Obsidian paused in turn. Slowly, he examined Prime's reaction, optics widening slightly in mild surprise. 'That is all?'

'I appreciate your help, Obsidian. Genuinely, I do. But knowing you—knowing the thousands of deaths you are responsible for—I can't feel sorry for you. I'm sorry, Obsidian, but you have what's coming to you. If I could help keep you on my side, I would.'

Obsidian sighed. 'A… logical response, Optimus. In fact, I am pleasantly surprised by you. Somehow I expected you to be more…'

'Emotional? Clingy?'

'Perhaps.'

'Terrific.'

Obsidian hovered next to his slab, facing away from Optimus. 'If we manage to succeed… and the end-result does not involve my capture…' the strategist paused. Once again scanning Optimus for a reaction. 'Thundercracker witnessed our conversation… no doubt everyone—Starscream, Soundwave, Strika—know about my betrayal by now. There may be no going back for me. Which is why I would be forever grateful if—.'

'I'll consider it.' Optimus responded. 'I'll consider making you a Spacefarer.'

Ironhide paced aggressively before the medi-bay's doors, brow furrowed. 'What is taking them so long? What could Prime possibly be saying to him?'

'Strategy,' Jazz reminded him. 'Isn't that the whole point of this shenanigan? To get old Obsidian to do the chief's dirty-work for him and figure out a way to solve this whole mess?'

'Doesn't stop it from being moronic!' Ironhide gruffed. 'To be in there for so long without any protection—,'

Blackarachnia, leaning against the opposite wall waved a lazy claw to the weapons specialist. 'Relax, "dad". Prime is a big-kid. He knows how to use protection.'

'He should still have had one of us in there to—wait, what?'

Jazz stared at the door. 'What are they doing in there?'

Blackarachnia grinned. 'Making out, probably. Watch out, Ironhide. Prime's found a new boyfriend. With more experience, even.'

Ironhide jabbed an index digit at her. 'YOU…! Want me to kill you, don't you? You know me well enough by now to realize that I will kill you if pressed hard enough. You aren't stupid, you're just suicidal. Now I see.'

Blackarachnia shrugged playfully. 'Hey, like I said, I'm better at you at everything. Even hating me.'

Jazz sighed, walked forward, and draped his arms around the two. 'Y'all need to get along, like right now. It's a wonder we get anything done around here when the two of you are fighting each other more than you're fighting the bad guys? Now group huddle.'

'What? Why?' Blackarachnia said. 'That sounds really gay.'

Ironhide shook his head in disgust. 'Using a derogatory term. As ignorant and apathetic as ever…'

Blackarachnia stared at the weapons specialist in bafflement. 'As ignorant as—? Man, I'm a Decepticon whose eaten people alive, do I look like I give a fu—?!'

'Group huddle. NOW!' Jazz snapped.

'Alright, alright.' Blackarachnia groaned.

As the three huddled, Ironhide and Blackarachnia stared at Jazz in anticipation of what he was about to say to them.

Instead he just smiled.

'What is the meaning of this, Smiles?' Blackarachnia asked.

'Nothing.'

'Then why are we doing this?' Ironhide gruffly demanded.

'No reason. I was just feeling left out.'

'You felt left out, so you had us all participate in a group hug?'

Jazz shrugged, his smile widening. 'Yes. But can any of us really stay mad at each other with our faces so ridiculously close together?'

Ironhide and Blackarachnia exchanged looks, then turned back to Jazz, both smiling slightly.

'Nahh,' Blackarachnia admitted.

'For now, no.'

'Then the huddle was worth it.'

The three chuckled softly to each other as they maintained the huddle.

'Jazz?' Ironhide asked.

'Yeah 'Hide?'

'Are you playing… music?'

Musical sound had been playing from Jazz's chest radio, of which the former Covert Ops Specialist had been humming along to. He sang softly. 'Ooh, child. Things are gonna get easier… Ooh child, things'll get brighter~.'

Blackarachnia immediately broke from the huddle. 'Okay, that was fun, but I'm done. I draw the line at singing.'

Jazz too, broke off, shrugging. 'Yeah, fair enough. I knew I was taking a leap of faith towards the end there. I knew when I was flying too close to the sun.'

Before Jazz could explain the Earthen reference, he soon became aware of a large figure over shadowing the three. Jazz turned around, and identified the figure. 'Grimlock.'

In seconds, Grimlock knocked Blackarachnia and Grimlock aside with his fists, and lunged at Jazz, grabbing the smaller Autobot by the throat and pinning him up against the wall.

'WHAT IS PRIME THINKING?!'

Jazz struggled to respond. 'What're you saying, Grim?'

'Don't play dumb! I know Optimus brought a notorious Decepticon on board! Where is he?! What is Prime planning with him?!'

As Blackarachnia and Ironhide rolled onto their feet, weapons at the ready, but with a wave of his hand, Jazz ordered them to stand down. 'Lemme explain, Grim. Prime's using Obsidian to help figure out a way to beat Swindle. He's our prisoner, Grim. He ain't a threat to nobody.'

As he said this, the doors parted, and Optimus, side-by-side with Obsidian, walked out.

Dropping Jazz, Grimlock craned his head to Prime, practically wheezing with hatred. 'Why didn't you consult me about this? Why keep this a secret from me?!'

Before Optimus could answer him, a voice chirped from behind Grimlock.

'Excuse me!'

Six heads turned to face Strafe, who had been dragging the much larger body of Scorn through the halls. Both were wounded badly, but it was barely apparent if Scorn was alive or not. 'I need… I need to get into the medibay.' Strafe swallowed between words. 'I need someone to fix him!'

'You are interrupting something,' Grimlock growled.

'I don't care!' Strafe said icily. 'He needs help, and you can't stop me from giving it to him. It's your fault for dragging him into the line of fire, anyway!'

Grimlock bent over to face the smaller Dinobot, brow furrowing. 'I did what was necessary to retrieve those tapes. It's Scorn's fault for not being able to stomach more. Besides, he's not a real Dinobot like Slag or Snarl were. And in that case, neither are you.'

'Did you actually obtain the security tapes?' Optimus asked, boldly.

This gave Grimlock pause. 'No. We had to pull out because of you.'

'Oh go frag yourself your highness,' Strafe suddenly snapped. 'I won't let him die! Now, will anyone else here care to help me get him onto a slab?'

Optimus nodded immediately and set to work. 'Jazz, Ironhide, stay out here and watch Obsidian…'

'With pleasure,' Ironhide replied, slapping a strong hand on Obsidian's shoulder, causing the strategist to flinch. Jazz merely smiled ominously at him, which only seemed to put Obsidian even more on edge.

'Blackarachnia, help Strafe lift Scorn onto a recharge slab.'

'As you command, fearless leader,' she replied sarcastically before setting to work.

Nodding, the Prime turned to Strafe as she passed him, 'I'll do what I can for him.' He then turned to Grimlock. 'I'll explain the plan to you as I repair your comrade.' He ducked back into the medibay behind Strafe and Blackarachnia. 'Now, please. Time is of the essence.'

Fuming, Grimlock followed him inside. Restraining himself from transforming into a Jurrassoid and devouring the Prime alive.

As the doors closed behind the Dinobot, the remaining three Cybertronians exchanged glances with one another.

'So…' Obsidian began, clasping his hands as Jazz and Ironhide observed him. 'I don't suppose you gentleman would be willing to offer me a pint of Energon, would you? I am awfully parched and would be eternally grateful if you could spare some for a former enemy.'

Ironhide and Jazz exchanged glances before turning back to the strategist.

'I don't think so,' Jazz said.

'Definitely not.'

'Ah,' Obsidian turned to Ironhide's hand, still clasped around his shoulder. 'At the very least could I politely ask you to remove your hand from my frame? I have something of an… aversion to germs, and other physically transmitted bacteria. Nothing personal, I simply do not like being touched.'

Jazz and Ironhide exchanged glances once more, this time grinning if not a little nefariously. Suddenly, Jazz slapped Obsidian on one shoulder, as Ironhide began patting him repeatedly on the other.

'Not a problem, Big O.' Jazz said.

'With all due courtesies… "former" enemy.'

Obsidian laughed nervously, trying not to think of where their hands had been, he lowered his head. 'I see… this is how it is.' He began playing an old earthen tune in his head to cope. Ooh child. Things are gonna get easier….