((...I know. I know. Nothing I say can forgive my not-updating since July of last year. Would you believe I had a crappy year with the death of two cats, followed by the death of the last of our original three last Wednesday? Not to mention I'm near-graduating and feeling very unnerved about college and all that...I'm a hot mess at the moment.

But that has not stopped me from demolishing my recent writer's block and grinding out a new chapter. I've had a few people request a new chapter for this story and who am I to disappoint my fans? *rhetorical question, don't answer that* So here it is, another addition to To Walk in the Footsteps of Titans. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Never have, never will own Transformers. That happy right belongs to Hasbro.))

Chapter 3- A Waking Dream

"Hello, hello, hello, is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone at home?" the music warbled through Smokescreen's mind. Whether it came from himself, or the voices, or the jukebox in the corner of his mind, he didn't know. All he knew was that it definitely fit at this moment. His whole body felt numb and not just that, his mind. The rookie was half-awake, half-aware of the silence that had fallen on the other Autobots, the tension hanging in the air like a storm cloud, waiting to explode. His optics still weren't online, so he had no idea what they were talking about, or what was the problem. All he knew was the silence, and even that was starting to pull at his nerves, dragging him back down into the darkest depths of that Pit-hole of pain and insanity and the never-ending sight of Optimus fading to gray before his very optics and-

"Come on now, I hear you're feeling down, I can ease your pain, and get you on your feet again," Briefly his processor flashed back to a psychology article, something talking about coping methods. Maybe this was his coping method. He certainly didn't mind it; it kept everything out and away and everything was stable.

Then Arcee screamed. "Jack!" Smokescreen's audios caught, along with the sound of running footsteps. His aft immediately met with the hard ground as the person carrying him (probably Bulkhead, why was it always Bulkhead?) dropped him and also ran, two other sets of footsteps following. The voices howled, ranted and raved at this turn of events, while he tried to ride out the storm in his own mind. And, all the while, the music continued to play.

"Relax, I'll need some information first, just the basic facts, can you show me where it hurts," Smokescreen's optics flickered online, meeting the grim face of Wheeljack, who was bent over him. He was lying on the ground, a metal surface opened up to the sky.

A carcass of a ship, split open, cut through by powerful lasers. Or an airstrike, his mind blearily reminded him. Fires dotted the metal, ash and dust coating everything, probably even the corpses, once they were dug up.

Smokescreen offlined his optics immediately and let his head fall back.

And still the music played.

"I cannot explain it, you would not understand

This is not how I am

I have become comfortably numb."

Arcee was oblivious to 'Bee's frantic keening, to Bulkhead's yells and to Smokescreen whispering music under his breath. Her only thoughts, her only actions, reflected back to Jack. She had to find him, she had to get him out, by Primus he had to be alright, he had to be. She couldn't lose another one, not another partner. She couldn't lose him.

She shot around a piece of rubble and skidded to a stop. The main monitor of the ship was a half-melted piece of slag now, sparking, and the warped screen displayed a cycling error message. The body propped half-against it was graying, the dull gunmetal color replacing what had once been red and white. Ratchet's back had been torn to shreds, the shots enough to penetrate straight to his spark and snuff it, metal twisted and lacerated and overall mutilated. Beneath the medic's corpse were two visible human bodies, having been nearly flash-fried by the initial blasts, one male, one female. Arcee crouched down beside the bodies, grief rendering her speechless. No, no, NO! I failed him. I failed him again.

I lost him.

Arcee screamed to the sky, punching the ground before her. She wasn't sure how long she spent wailing away at the ash-covered metal, only that Bulkhead's appearance made her pause. The Wrecker pulled her aside, whispering in comforting tones to placate her anger, her sheer rage at the world. Energon trickled down her fists. The sooty metal was tinged blue.

Bumblebee beeped softly, his optics full of pain at the sight of Ratchet's body, before he looked away. Bulkhead curled his hand into a fist and uncurled it, his gaze indicating that he was ready to storm into Darkmount and kill every 'Con present until he reached Megatron himself.

The soft silence was broken by stumbling footsteps and Smokescreen bumbled into the clearing, looking around with a clumsy air. His gaze fixed intently on Ratchet before he slid to the ground, to his knees. "De cinere nova vita," he stated simply. "From ashes they come and to ashes they go." 'Screen suddenly giggled, as though he found this to be funny. "Fire, fire, burning bright, in the forest of the night, what immortal hand or eye, dare clasp thy fearful symmetry." He stood, before purposefully walking off, as though he had a mission to fulfill. Under the sound of crunching feet came a low, pained moan, clearly emanating from beneath Ratchet.

"One of the kids is still alive!" Bulkhead exclaimed. He and Bumblebee set about carefully lifting Ratchet's cold frame and moving it to one side. Beneath where the mech had been was a small, limp form, and Bumblebee buzzed in a combination of relief and happiness.

Raf was still alive, that in itself being a miracle, but he didn't look too good. His left arm was bent at an odd angle, snapped in half like a twig, the bone sticking out, jagged at the end. Various scratches and bruises marred his body and a deep cut had slashed into his waist, his body twisted.

"He's hurt," Arcee spoke, voice hoarse, "badly. We need to get him somewhere safe, to a hospital."

"There's a town nearby," Wheeljack offered, coming up. "I noticed a sign near the road. I'll take the kid over there." The Wrecker transformed and Raf was loaded into his backseat and buckled up. Wheeljack, at a sedated speed (for him), drove off, tires moving from metal and ground to an abandoned dirt road nearby. The Wrecker soon turned into a dot and then vanished. 'Bee watched him go, buzzing anxiously.

"He'll be alright, 'Bee," Arcee hugged Bumblebee, trying to comfort both the scout and herself. "Wheeljack'll get Raf help. I'm sure of it."

"Fire," Nearby, Smokescreen was sitting cross-legged. He reached down, picking up a handful of ash and letting it flow through his fingers. "Smoke and fire. Fire." His face was oddly serene as the ash was carried away by the wind. Then his expression grew irritated, aggravated. "No no no!" he grabbed his helm, shaking it. "I won't! You can't make me!" His hands dropped to his side and his head rose up, optics flashing a bright white. In a multitude of voices intertwining as one, a familiar baritone among them, he murmured, "It is time. Time for you to take your place. Arise, Ignis Prime, and lead on." The light faded from Smokescreen's optics, leaving a look of fear and confusion.

"Uh, what just happened?" Bulkhead asked the question everyone else was thinking.

"Smokescreen," Arcee stepped forward. "What happened with Optimus? What did he do?"

Smokescreen gave her a look like he didn't quite understand what she meant, before standing. "I tried to save him," he said in a whisper, voice regretful and ashamed. "But…he wouldn't let me. I-I couldn't…" He briefly tapped a hand to his chest. "He gave me the Matrix, said I was the new Prime. But it hurt. So much. Why did it hurt so much?"

"Optimus made Smokescreen a Prime?" Bulkhead gave Smokescreen an odd look. "What, so Smokescreen's supposed to lead us against an army of 'Cons, that's it? The guy's a rookie! How are we supposed to beat the 'Cons without Optimus, without Magnus?"

"We don't have a choice, Bulk," Arcee reminded him. "If Optimus made Smokescreen his successor, it's for a good reason." She tried to ignore the fact that Smokescreen was murmuring to himself as she continued, "We couldn't have stopped what happened to Magnus. But we can't give up now."

"And why can't we?" Bulkhead snapped. "What do we have left? We don't have a base, or a leader, or Ratchet, and the 'Cons are no doubt searching for us right now! We lost the kids, we couldn't even take out Darkmount, and buckethead's still got his fusion cannons pointed toward Washington, and he won't hesitate to slag everybody there. So what's the point? What are we supposed to do next? Charge the fragging Nemesis screaming Leeroy Jenkins?"

Bulkhead didn't get any farther before a laser blast connected with his foot, eliciting a cry of pain. Smokescreen's look couldn't have been any calmer as he retracted his blaster. "I don't like screaming," he said simply. "They don't like it either. Calm down."

"Smokescreen's right," Arcee rubbed Bulkhead's shoulder in a comforting gesture. "We'll figure something out. We still have Agent Fowler's help and I'm sure he can find us a new base. We can't let the Decepticons win. Not this time. If anything, we do it for Optimus and Magnus." In a lower tone, she added, "We do it for the kids."

Bulkhead sighed, seeming to have calmed down. "Alright. But what do we do about Megs' fusion cannons? We had one chance to take them down and we failed at it. Now what?"

"Now," a voice cut in, answering Bulk's question, "is right about the right time for a deus ex machina, lady and gentlemechs." Every 'bot but Smokescreen spun on their heels, blasters readied. Crouched atop a piece of rubble behind them was Soundwave, an almost bemused look emanating from the faceless mech.

"Oh, put the blasters away," Soundwave shook his hand, a clearly feminine voice emerging from him. "If I wanted you dead, you'd all be pushing up lugnuts by now. I came to talk to you."

"Why?" Arcee asked, weapon still poised. "Shouldn't you be reporting our location to Megatron right now so he can finish us off? I thought you were his top lieutenant."

"And I must admit, the pay is quite spectacular," 'Wave nodded before springing off the rubble and advancing, undeterred. "But what kind of Autobot spy would I be if I didn't support my fellow comrades and all that? And don't look so surprised; Starscream's not the only one to sabotage a few missions. If it weren't for me, you amateurs would've been dead years ago. You're welcome."

"If you're an Autobot spy, why didn't you tell us sooner?" Bulkhead asked.

"Multiple reasons. One," Soundwave counted off, "he's the President Nixon of Cybertronians. I wouldn't have gotten as up in the ranks as I did if he didn't absolutely trust me. That leads me to my second point. Two, if I'd have directly contacted you, it would have ruined any and all of my intel jobs for the future. Three, you Autobots are horrible liars and/or actors. If you'd have known, it wouldn't have been genuine. Now," she clapped suddenly, startling the 'bots, "let's get down to the brass tacks of things, shall we? You are what we call SOL my friends: scrap outta luck. No base, no immediate leader besides crazy over there, no government backup, nothing. This is where I come in. I'm your deus ex machina, your wild card, whatever you wanna call me. The powers-that-be have given me a ready base and backup for all of you. So, here's my deal: join me and we'll take down Megs and the 'Cons and save the little squishies you guys love so much. Or sit here and squabble in the ashes. Either way, I don't honestly care. So what do you say?"
All of the Autobots hesitantly lowered their weapons even as Smokescreen strode forward to stare directly at Soundwave's mask. For a moment he frowned, face scrunched up as though in thought (or communication with the 'voices'). Then he stuck a hand out to Soundwave before broadly stating, "Excipio, mi frater. Usque in omnibus unum sunt."

Soundwave was more than likely blinking behind her mask. "Um, okay. I'll take that as a yes."

"So where is this base of yours?" Arcee didn't seem comforted by this partnership in the least bit.

"It's an emergency base for new arrivals on Earth," Soundwave explained. "It's located in one of Starscream's 'defunct' Energon mines that I kept for my own personal use. It might be a bit rundown, but it's got a Ground Bridge and it's cloaked from Decepticon use. It'll do." The slender femme met Arcee's gaze casually with an almost smug air, as if daring the desperate scout to object.

Arcee stayed quiet for a few minutes before a long, broken sigh escaped her vents. "I'll comm. Wheeljack and inform him of the situation, see if he can't rendezvous with us there."

Soundwave's head twitched as though she were smiling under her mask. "Oh, I'm sure he'll love to hear about this," she muttered, before one hand swept through the air. A swirling green vortex materialized in the middle of the remains, both intimidating and inviting at the same time. "Now, if we're done wasting time before the 'Cons catch up to us, I'd say we're ready to go. After you." She gestured toward the Bridge.

Smokescreen wasted no time in entering the portal, although the other three hesitated. "You guys realize this is probably a trap, right?" Bulkhead whispered to Arcee.

"Of course," Arcee started forward, Bumblebee on her heels. "But what choice do we have?"

Bulkhead was the only one left in the Harbinger; his gaze flickered from the portal to the torn gray corpse behind him, and the smaller, prone form under him. The small, wild, lovable, brash, irritating girl that, despite all her faults, Ratchet hadn't hesitated in trying to save, even at the cost of his own life. Bulkhead's hands tightened into fists and his head bowed. "We needed that…" he murmured, as though hoping the soft-spoken words would bring the medic back and drive him into a cursing fit.

Then, without any further hesitation, he entered the Bridge.

"Hmm," a voice sounded through the darkness of the room, a pair of red optics focused on the monitor before him. The figure had been monitoring human communication networks, as he had always done ever since landing on this Pit-hole of a planet, and had grown tired of the ramblings of human comm. systems. Thus his attention turned to their 'television' systems. And what should he find but video of this nation's largest city burning, and shaky footage of a clearly-Cybertronian tower in the middle of a sea of sand. Following on this interesting find, his vision expanded; suddenly, he was viewing a multitude of human wailings, sob stories, conspiracy theories, complaints, irritating acronyms and 'text speak' which grated on his rigid mind to no end.

Finally, he focused on a newsfeed, on which a man—given a label beneath in useless human glyphs—spoke to an invisible audience. With a flick of his finger, the flow of alien words was translated into his natural tongue, and the result had him grinning. The words 'alien', 'Autobots', 'Decepticons', and 'Cybertronians' rolled off the man's tongue in successive order, as did 'cover-up', 'government', 'alliance', and other useless garbage. None of that mattered; what did matter was the massive results he got on and offline, thousands if not millions of people stunned at realizing that their world had changed in the single, swiftest blink of an optic. It was enough to make him giddy.

"I suppose it's my time to get involved, now isn't it?" he spoke aloud to no one, before rising up from his seated position. "I do believe it is time to wreak some merry havoc outside; after all, the Unmaker will not wake up without a little…persuasion." The mech strode forward and left the room, though not before a single light exposed the half-Autobot, half-Decepticon brand upon his chest.

((Yep, Smokescreen likes to speak nonsense in Latin, courtesy of the ever error-fraught Google Translate. His first statement translates out to 'From ashes, new life', and his statement to Soundwave means 'Welcome, my brother. Til all are one'. I can't help but increase his insanity level with any chapter.

By the way, I do recognize that it's kind of improbable that the US government would reveal anything honestly, but hey, Washington just got blown up and countless people are dead. If there's any time for honesty, it's then. Oh, and I couldn't resist throwing in a new character, whom I'm sure a bunch of you have already recognized ;)

Read and review, and don't forget to tune in!))