…

Chapter, The First

…

A guardian perishes

A vengeful agenda

The dices roll

When Ratchet read the numbers on his HUD, the familiar feeling of dread he had felt numerous times before took hold of his spark and slowly squeezed.

Bulkhead lay on the berth, his massive frame as still as a rock. Ratchet's many sensors went silent with a soft whine and winked off, as did the various tubes and hoses attached to the Wrecker's body. The screens, humming gently, told Ratchet that the inevitable had come, as it had so many times before, in the reedy drone of a flat line. But, despite the cold, antiseptic familiarity of death, after seeing many comrades fall and fade to gunmetal, Ratchet knew that this one occasion was going to be the most difficult.

"He's gone."

Arcee's words were monotone, and Bumblebee was unable to say anything.

"He's gone… He's really gone…"

Ratchet could do nothing else but put away his things, their job done. The motions were automatic now, barely any processing put into them as tools and equipment went into their labelled sections. Even the time of death as noted by him was an automated, rote response. As the last needle went into its bin, Arcee spoke.

"She needs to know."

Ratchet nodded, gaze still fixed ahead in a blank stare. "I will do it. I…I will do it…"

The twenty paces to the Command Bay were the longest seconds of Ratchet's career. Each step felt like lead, and he felt his spark constrict as he approached the rest of Team Prime. When he entered the Bay proper, his optics caught Optimus Prime's. One look told the Autobot leader everything he needed to know, and the semi truck's gaze immediately flicked to Mikoto 'Miko' Nakadai.

A cybertronian's mouth could not technically go dry, but Ratchet supposed that this must be what it felt like.

Miko looked up at him, her eyes pleading, the most attention she'd ever paid to him. The girl's knuckles were white from clenching her phone in a vise grip so hard it was a wonder the device hadn't shattered. Ratchet sucked in a breath. He opened his mouth, to say what needed to be said, but no words came. He tried again, stumbled once more, and managed, "Miko…I…We- "

When no more words came, Ratchet cursed himself. It was Arcee who took the initiative and knelt down to Miko's level.

"Miko…I'm sorry…I'm so, so sorry…"

The Bay was silent for three long seconds. Miko looked at each of the 'Bots in turn, the silence broken only when, barely whispering, she asked, "What are you saying?"

Bumblebee could not look at her; the scout turned away with a pained beep.

"Miko…Bulkhead". Arcee inhaled, optics closed for a full second, opened them again with a sharp exhale. "Bulkhead didn't make it, Miko. We did everything we could; Ratchet was working so hard…"

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet as cold dread took hold. William Fowler's jaw clenched, his gaze dropping to the floor, hands balled into fists. Jackson Darby simply stared, his face blank. Rafael Esquivel was frozen, eyes wide, struggling to process this.

Prime's optics closed. He was unreadable.

Miko stared blankly at Arcee. Her lips shook, trying to form words, and eventually, "No…No, that can't be right…This is Bulkhead we're talking about…"

Arcee swallowed. "Miko…"

"How can you say that? How can you even think that?!"

"Miko, please…"

"He's a Wrecker!" Miko was shouting now. "He's Bulkhead! He- he…". Her voice cracked, petering off. The tears were flowing now, thin rivulets running down her cheeks. She was no longer a confident teen anymore. Miko Nakadai was a little girl again, her shoulders shaking, sobs wracking her body like a fever.

Ratchet turned away, unable to watch any longer. He was dimly aware of Arcee placing a servo on Miko's shoulder, Miko shouting something at her, the girl storming out of the Bay before anyone could say anything else. The victory Ratchet had shared with Wheeljack hours prior tasted like ash now, dry and bland. He realized that if it was a choice between the complete Iacon database and Bulkhead's life, he would have chosen the latter.

"Ratchet…"

The medic jolted back to awareness. Prime was next to him now, and he laid a servo on his shoulder. "You did everything in your ability, I am sure of it."

Ratchet's vocals were almost unresponsive. "I…I should tend to him now…," he mumbled. "Prepare him for…for our final respects."

Prime nodded, his own gaze speaking of quiet introspection. The semi truck was already mourning in his own way. "Do what you must. I will try to speak with Miko."

Ratchet nodded as well, and slowly trudged back to the medical bay. The familiar rote motions of prepping the body cycled through his mind, and Ratchet felt shame as the procedure calmed him somewhat. He sighed as he moved Bulkhead's servos, clasping them together.

"Goodbye, old friend." There was nothing more he could say.

…

Bulkhead's quarters were the first place Prime looked. It wasn't down to intuition; he'd just assumed it would be the ideal place to start.

His assumptions were correct.

Miko was huddled at the foot of Bulkhead's berth, knees brought up to her chin. Her eyes were closed, but he could see the tell-tale streaks her tears had left on her cheeks. The punching bag Bulkhead had installed in a nearby corner, for Miko's benefit, had been torn from its chain and sent sliding across the room. Several fist sized depressions pockmarked the leather, a reminder that Miko was stronger than she looked.

Angry and grieving. Prime was quietly glad that she'd at least vented a portion of her frustrations on the hapless leather. And while Miko's fists wouldn't even dent him, he didn't want her hurting herself on his plating either.

Prime slowly sat down next to Miko, taking care that his massive frame was within a safe distance from the girl. She hadn't reacted to his presence at all, and this worried him.

"Miko," he said, softly. "Are you alright?"

Then he realized the sheer idiocy of the question and internally winced; Miko was obviously not alright. But if she noticed the slight mistake, Miko did not show it, and Prime was privately relieved, albeit disquieted; he was normally far more articulate than this.

Prime composed himself and tried again. "Miko… Believe me when I say that I understand what you feel…how you feel." Miko was still silent, and Prime took this as a signal to continue. "It is…never easy losing a dear friend…Especially so quickly…"

His words were oddly stilted, coming out with greater difficulty than normal. Prime felt that disquiet again and quickly quelled it.

"Miko, if you need me to- "

"Go away…"

Her voice was quiet, still quavering. Prime paused, actually considered getting up, and then decided against it. "Miko, I know that you are in a state of- "

The girl looked up at him for the first time, and Prime's breath caught in his throat. He'd seen the sort of looks Decepticons had given him before; scowls, sadistic grins, a simple dirty look. But Miko's death glare seemed to trump them all; Prime was inwardly shocked at how much fury could radiate from someone so small

"Go. Away," she said. Prime made to speak again, but Miko beat him to it. "Just leave!" she shouted. "I don't want a lecture! Just…Just- " Her shoulders shook, and she hid her face, tears streaming down her cheeks again. "Just go away…" she whimpered.

Prime internally fumbled. But the words would not come, and he carefully stood up and made a brisk exit.

Bulkhead's door slid shut with a hiss, and Prime could only stand still and stare at the wall as he came to an unsettling realization. He'd spent much time with Jack, and spoken with Rafael extensively. But when it came to Miko Nakadai, he knew jack squat about the girl. Prime shut his optics and sighed. He'd been too caught up in recent events, been to focused on important matters. He hadn't realized that he had been neglecting one of their civilian charges, unintentionally or otherwise.

/Optimus? /

Prime turned to find Bumblebee at the end of the hallway. The scout's optics were heavy with obvious concern, door wings clasped together, tense. /Is…Is Miko okay? / he asked.

Prime shook his head, gently took Bee by the shoulder and led him out of the hallway.

"Perhaps we should just give her some space, Bumblebee…"

The most powerful supercomputer on Earth is China's Tianhe-2. The brainchild of the China National University of Defense Technology, the Tianhe-2 has a performance of thirty-three point nine petaflops, a staggering quadrillions of calculations per second. It is run by Intel Xeon E5 processors and Intel Xeon Phi coprocessors. There are three million and one hundred and twenty thousand cores behind its incredible performance and its configurations are constantly upgraded on a monthly basis.

Soundwave had already cracked the thing. Twenty times. In just five minutes. It was the first thing he'd done when he'd come to this planet, and he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

The core systems of the Nemesis, however, were a different beast entirely. And while its internals were highly classified, even an Eradicon drone could describe the thing as almost alive. It was inside this digital space that Soundwave would sequester himself in via cortical psychic uplink. In this virtual space, the ship's subsystems were blocky cubes of intricate code chains held together by gleaming logic functions. Streams of data snaked their way between subsystems, connecting them to one another, like the myriad neurons in a human brain.

At the center of all this was the mainframe, a glittering tower of code that stretched above and below the grid space, and even further above that was the oppressive, almost god-like mass of the Nemesis' intelligence, a burgeoning weight whose sheer size and presence would shatter lesser brain modules.

Soundwave was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, but in this digital realm, he was a demigod.

Certain knots of data strings weaved their way towards him, tangled and convoluted; the encrypted Iacon database made manifest before him. With surgical precision, Soundwave loosened the knots, straightening out the code. It was arduous work, but no one else would have been able to handle the stress upon their systems. Soundwave's processor was running at full capacity, and the console he was slaved to was overclocking at maximum strength. The sheer size of the database, as well as its encryption, required an extremely advanced system to even begin to decrypt the data. But Soundwave was nothing if not dedicated: he would decode this database and lay its contents to bare for all to see, even if it killed him.

/incoming message/

/from: Megatron/

/priority: IMPERATIVE/

/requesting presence on bridge/

But first, he had to answer a summons.

Soundwave withdrew his awareness from the digital space and back to the real world. The myriad data and logic functions disappeared and Soundwave found himself staring at the many screens and monitors of his console. He detached his tendrils from the console, saved his work, gave his shoulders a roll, and briskly stalked out of his workspace.

An order from Megatron was not something you simply ignored.

The Nemesis, while still flying on a cruising pattern, was nevertheless busy. At any given time, there would be at least upwards of twenty Eradicons busying themselves outside Soundwave's workspace alone. Said Eradicons, despite being on tight schedules themselves, meekly stood their ground and gave the Intel Officer a wide berth. Even vaguely walking next to Soundwave was courting suicide.

The trip to the bridge was a short one, and soon, Soundwave found himself striding towards the Nemesis' primary observation windows. It was subtle, but the Eradicon bridge crew tensed at his entrance.

Megatron himself stood at the central console, servos held behind his back, gazing at the clouds that drifted past the ship's nose. At the sound of his Intel Officer's treads, he turned around, just as Soundwave stopped at the respectful distance he always did, arms held loosely at his sides, both informal and raptly attentive of his leader.

Also in present company, was Dreadwing. The blue and yellow seeker was presumably still contemplating his defeat in the Arctic and the subsequent loss of the Apex Armor. Despite this, however, he still stood ready to accept and carry out Megatron's orders without complaint. The presence of Knock Out, however, was somewhat unexpected. The medic was still smarting from his humiliation in New York; a few scratches still blemished his otherwise immaculate paintwork. Normally, he'd be in Medical right now, tending to the troops, so why was he here?

"Soundwave," rumbled Megatron. "I'm sure the decoding of the Iacon database is going well..."

Soundwave nodded silently.

"Yet, I'm sure that the task is taking a toll on yourself and your equipment, yes?"

Soundwave gave pause. True, cracking the database was more taxing than he had anticipated, but it was certainly something he could handle on his own. Then again, he couldn't let professional pride get in the way of answering to his leader, so he nodded again.

"Our medical officer has estimated that the stress of deciphering the database's encryption might cause damage to your systems if not monitored." At this, Megatron shot a sharp glance towards Knock Out, who flinched ever so slightly. "As such, he has elected to take on extra responsibilities; no doubt to save face after that debacle in the subway, and monitor your person in case of emergencies. We cannot risk losing all the data to a malfunction or a sudden attack on your systems, Soundwave. The Iacon database is paramount."

Soundwave hesitated. Having Knock Out around would entail a significant security risk. He couldn't risk having the medic distract him from his work. But then there was the database itself to consider; there was no doubt that as he penetrated the encryption further, security would increase tenfold. It was almost a certainty. For all Soundwave knew, there could be a lethal virus hidden in the code, designed to erase that data he had collected, or worse, cripple him fatally. As uncomfortable as the truth was, it was still the truth.

Soundwave nodded his assent, while silently sending a ping to Megatron; he would acquiesce to his order, but on the condition that Knock Out take care not to disrupt his work. Megatron scanned the message as quickly as it took for one to blink and sent back his agreement. "Knock Out," he ordered. "Oversee preparations with Soundwave; ensure all is well."

The medic snapped to attention with a grin. "Immediately, my liege! Rest assured, you won't regret this."

Knock Out's grin lost a few inches when Megatron glared at him. "Take care that you do not make me regret this, Knock Out. For I certainly will not regret whatever punishment I see fit to enforce. Dismissed!"

And with that, Soundwave nodded and stalked his way out of the bridge. Megatron and Dreadwing immediately began a discussion on security related matters, leaving Knock Out to awkwardly follow the Intel Officer.

...

"So," said Knock Out, grinning, as the bridge hatchway closed behind them. "How do we get started?"

Soundwave did nothing but send him a data file over their link and march off to his workspace with nary a glance in his direction. Knock Out watched him round the corner and huffed to himself. "Rude..."

But slights to his ego were not his priority today. With barely restrained glee, Knock Out swiftly opened up the file and scanned its contents. In it were a series of instructions and directives, no doubt swiftly compiled by Soundwave, for the purposes of correctly monitoring the mech as he worked. Knock Out carefully scanned the instructions, as clipped and cold as Soundwave himself, and found no extraneous directives that prevented Knock Out from, say, subtly monitoring the inflow and outflow of signals on Soundwave's person and scanning their encryption and, more importantly, their origin and destination.

He would not say it out loud, but the whole exercise of the relic hunts had put him in a sour mood. The fact that Soundwave had taken more credit for what was clearly a cakewalk confounded him. The blemishes clearly told the story; Soundwave had succeeded with only a minor scratch to his visor, while Knock Out-

The Aston Martin shivered as the memory of the subway encounter surfaced, and he automatically scratched one of the random blemishes on his frame. There was no doubt that Knock Out had suffered the most damage for his troubles; as soon as he had time to hit the streets he would have to see about tracking down the Autobot's human friends. But had he gotten any recognition for his effort? Did their lord at least take account of the fact that Knockout had the most work cut out for him? No, Megatron had once again played favorites and foisted praise upon praise on his pet code monkey for pulling next to no weight at all.

Still, even the most decorated officers had some dirt on them; he just had to find it. And Soundwave, secretive mech he was, was sure to have some extraordinarily large skeletons in his closet, to quote the human expression.

Unbidden, Breakdown came to Knock Out's mind. Already he could hear the blue mech's likely disapproval; he would say that Knock Out was being an aft again, that he was letting his ego get the better of him and anyway, even if he did put his plan into action, he'd still be spying on Soundwave. But Knock Out quelled his doubts and closed Soundwave's file. He had work to do; he would need to get the required equipment up and running at the allotted time and set his plan in action if the Intel Officer was to get his lesson in humility.

But first, a quick buff and polish...

Whether it was a testament to Arcee's stealth training, or Miko's ability to sleep like a rock, the femme would never know. Either way, Arcee managed to enter Bulkhead's quarters and quietly approach the thin figure curled up at the foot of the berth without a peep from either of them. It was already evening, and while the Bridge would be more than adequate to send her home, everyone knew that Miko would not budge from base at this time. Especially when she was asleep.

Arcee softly knelt down to the quietly dozing girl, carefully cradled her frame, and silently lifted her from the cold floor. As insulated as the base was, she would catch cold lying down there.

As Arcee gently carried Miko down the corridor to the Command Bay, she found herself replaying recent events in her processor. She was far too accustomed to Miko's adventurous and devil-may-care nature, and she'd never considered that Miko might ever feel vulnerable. And as Miko quietly stirred in her arms, Arcee remembered that the human was still young and could be pushed to acts of desperation. Seeing her break down in the Command Bay had been a shock to Arcee's spark, and she'd silently resolved, there and then, to keep a closer watch on Miko.

The Command Bay was empty and the lights had been dimmed down. Everyone on base was in their respective quarters, having decided to turn in early, and the other kids has Bridged home, no doubt still shaken from recent events. Arcee considered it fortunate that Miko was a heavy sleeper; she barely moved as Arcee lifted her up to the humans' living area and gently laid her down on the couch. Miko had barely touched the pillows when she automatically curled up into a tight ball, and Arcee plucked a blanket from one of the storage bins and draped it over the girl's shoulders.

With that done, Arcee turned to the Bay's main console. Setting the vidscreens to silent, she punched up the surveillance program and settled in for monitor duty. Normally, tonight would be Bumblebee's turn at keeping watch for any Decepticon activity, but with the day's events still fresh in mind, Arcee had decided to cover for him and let the young scout rest.

Hours passed with no discernible enemy movement; it seemed the Decepticons were conserving their strength after their latest string of defeats. This gave Arcee plenty of time to contemplate the past few hours. Bulkhead was gone; it was always a possibility, she knew that, and it was the same with every soldier she had served with throughout this long, stupid war. So, if she knew this, if she had already seen good Autobots shot, hacked, mauled, and generally slaughtered senselessly, then why did each death always send a torturous shock to her spark? Why did each death feel as if a previously healed wound had been violently sliced open again, to fester and turn septic?

Because Bulkhead was your friend, said a small voice in the back of her mind. You had each other's back, and no matter what, losing a friend will always be an agonizing ordeal...

Arcee exhaled softly, looking back at Miko. For Bulkhead's sake, and his memory, she would make sure that nothing would touch the girl.

Idly, Arcee turned her gaze to the secondary console on her left. On the vidscreen, running in the background, was the spyware program that was currently copying and storing the data Soundwave was decoding. As Arcee watched, another set of coordinates appeared, at the head of a steadily growing list. Arcee couldn't help but shiver slightly. Ratchet and Rafael had taken a serious gamble with what they pulled off with Laserbeak. If they'd been caught...

Arcee shook her helm. She shouldn't dwell on what might have been; she had to focus on the present, and right now-

"Nothing on the monitors?"

Arcee's breath hitched, spark constricting as she whipped around at the voice. But then she realized it was only Ratchet and she relaxed. "Primus," she swore. "Don't sneak up on me like that..."

Ratchet, his servos raised in concern, lowered them. "My apologies," he said. "I didn't mean to startle you..." His gaze flicked to the couch, recognized Miko quietly sleeping, and his optics softened. "It's...been a long day," he muttered.

Arcee followed his gaze and nodded. She quietly stepped to the side as Ratchet joined her at the console, and the two passed the time in companionable silence as the monitors cycled through several locations throughout the planet. It was as the satellites were combing Gibraltar, that Arcee spoke up.

"Does...Wheeljack know yet?"

Ratchet shook his head. "The damage his ship sustained must have knocked out his communications. I was unable to contact him."

Arcee sighed. In all honesty, she had no idea how Wheeljack would react to the news. Granted, as a Wrecker, he'd experienced his fair share of attrition, possibly far more than Team Prime, but he was Bulkhead's best friend; Wheeljack would be devastated.

Arcee exhaled sharply. They would just have to power through it, the same way they did everything else; through sheer dogged persistence.

She was about to voice her opinions with Ratchet, when she noticed that the medic wasn't really concentrating on the screen. His optics were unfocused, barely moving as the satellite relayed images, this time of the Bering Strait.

"Ratchet? Is something wrong?"

Ratchet snapped out of his reverie and shook his head. "Nothing of concern, Arcee..."

Arcee frowned, and she knocked on Ratchet's plates sharply. "I know that look, Ratchet...What's on your mind?"

The medic hesitated, optics locked on the screen, and then sighed. "I know this sounds...insensitive of me, but..." He shot a glance at Miko again. "If we are to carry out any more missions, then we need to find a replacement for Bulkhead, and fast."

Arcee took a step back. "What?"

"Bulkhead's...unique skills were invaluable to us," said Ratchet. "Without him, we are severely under strength and outgunned...I...I know we should be mourning right now...Bulkhead is an irreplaceable loss...But we need to get back on our treads again, and fast..."

Understanding dawned on Arcee. "That's why you looked so worried about contacting Wheeljack..."

Ratchet nodded. "I...I fear that unless we bring ourselves back to full operating capacity...Bulkhead may only be the first in a long line of casualties."

Arcee could only agree with the medic's analysis; only long hours in a battlefield triage center could produce that kind of thought process. She couldn't fault Ratchet for that. "But...what about Miko?"

As if on cue, the girl in question murmured something as she rolled over on the couch. Ratchet sighed. "Honestly, Arcee, I have absolutely no clue..."

Arcee shut her optics. This was not going to be easy for Miko. Not one bit. Still, Ratchet was right; they needed reinforcements, and soon, or they'd be steamrolled flat like wet cement.

Arcee could only hope it arrived soon, before anyone else got hurt...

Well, it's finally here, the first chapter in what I hope is a much more rewarding and enjoyable version of 'Exile'.

During the first run of the story, I realized that Bulkhead's death would need a bit more exposure than in the previous version, rather than an excuse to get the plot moving.

I also wanted to make Knock Out's motivations a bit more clear, instead of just petty jealousy; he genuinely feels that Soundwave is in a state of hubris and needs to be taken down a peg or two.

Plus, I tweaked my style a bit, so it doesn't feel as disjointed and rushed as before, though opinions may vary on this.

Reviews are welcome! Feel free to comment.

-This is Zapwing, signing off.