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I always imagined Ironhide, Ratchet, and Chromia to be close friends. Ironhide and Chromia are romantically involved, after all, and Ironhide and Ratchet seem to be pretty good pals. So it only follows that the three of them probably worked together on Cybertron…


Iacon, three Autobot years into the Great War
21:45

“Ironhide?"

The Autobot weapons specialist ducked a swing from Bumblebee and proceeded to punch the smaller Autobot in the chest. Bumblebee went sprawling, giving Ironhide a second to answer the call, “What is it, Prime?”

“We need you and Chromia up in the command center. Now."

“What’s the matter?” Bumblebee was up again, and Ironhide grunted as the younger Autobot tackled him, “Did the cons attack the energon supply houses again?”

Even via digital communication, Optimus sounded tense, “It’s worse. You’ll see in a minute.”

“I’m on my way,” Ironhide severed the connection and shoved Bumblebee off of him. Bumblebee darted back for an attack, and Ironhide quickly backed up and held out his hands, “Enough for tonight, Bumblebee!” he said, “Prime needs me for something.”

Bumblebee looked suspicious, “This isn’t a trick, is it? As soon as I turn my back…”

“I’ll do nothing,” Ironhide finished, “Go ahead and get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

Bumblebee nodded, but he waited for Ironhide to move a few feet away before he headed for the stasis chambers, just to be sure. Ironhide shook his head, faintly amused. The Autobot forces were shaping up nicely. They had been an uncoordinated mess when he had started training about two years ago, fit for nothing more than maintenance work and menial labor. But now they were starting to behave more like hardened warriors.

Of course, he couldn’t take all the credit. Chromia had been helping from almost the day she joined two years ago, another deserter from Megatron’s forces. The blue female was a skilled warrior and teacher, and Ironhide was positive that the soldiers, at least the male ones, worked harder when she was around. Himself included.

Chromia was just breaking off her mock fight with Arcee when he walked up, “Did you get a call too?” she asked, brushing some coolant off her forehead.

Ironhide nodded, “Do you know what’s going on?”

“None,” Chromia put a hand on Arcee’s shoulder, “We’ll keep working, Arcee. You’re bound to get that right cross sooner or later.”

The younger female looked grateful, “Thanks, Chromia. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” Chromia called after her, “I need to see what Prime wants first.”

Arcee waved her acknowledgement as she walked off. Ironhide and Chromia left too, headed for Iacon’s command center. Chromia shivered a little when they walked outside. Cybertron was at the height of its winter months, and that meant temperatures barely above absolute zero and snow in mounds twenty feet high. Iacon was warm enough to keep most of the snow clear, but the spaces between cities were different. Between the storms and the fierce wind currents that accompanied them, winter effectively shut down their war for about four months out of the year.

Ironhide shook some snow off his exoskeleton, “Stupid snow.”

Chromia laughed, “You should be thanking it. It’s the only reason we get a break.”

“It’s not worth it,” Ironhide said matter-of-factly as they climbed some stairs, “I’ll take a battle over being cold any day of the year.”

“I don’t mind the cold,” Chromia pushed the door open and stepped inside, “It’s better than overheating and trying to fight Decepticons in the summer.”

“Mmmm.”

Pluto, Optimus’ steward, hurried up to greet them, “Evening, Ironhide, Chromia,” he eyed the two dripping Autobots, “Is it snowing out there again?”

“Does it ever stop?” Ironhide asked, shaking off droplets of water.

Pluto tried not to wince over his clean floor, “I suppose not. But anyway, Optimus is in chamber beta. Do you want me to take you there?”

“No, I know the way,” Ironhide headed down the curved hallway, with Chromia at his heels. Iacon’s command center, which doubled as its capitol, was circular and only about fifty feet high. A great deal of it was actually situated underground, where it would be protected even in the event of an air raid. Beta had the most advanced equipment for the moment, so Ironhide wasn’t surprised that Optimus was there. Some days, he swore his friend just lived here.

Ironhide walked in, slightly startled that there were nearly twenty Autobots crammed in the room. A few were techs, but most of them were advisors and officers. Chromia spotted Elita-one, a close friend, and hurried over, “What’s going on?”

The pink Autobot looked tense, “You remember Breakaway, right?”

Chromia searched her memory banks. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it…

“He’s a soldier, right?” Ironhide had joined them too, “92nd Aerial Division, if I remember correctly. Wasn’t he injured in combat not long ago?”

“Yes,” Elita nodded, “Ratchet oversaw his recovery and released him yesterday. But tonight, he just disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” Chromia echoed, “What do you mean?”

“Just as it sounds,” Elita replied, “He took a solo patrol about five hours ago. But then he veered south and dropped off our radars.”

“It could be a storm,” Chromia suggested, “Sometimes lightning can block sensors.”

Elita looked unconvinced, “But he should have been back hours ago. And why change direction so suddenly?”

Ironhide and Chromia both thought for a moment, “The cons could have captured him,” Ironhide finally suggested, “Cloaked his spark…somehow.”

Chromia looked dubious, “You know no one’s ever been able to figure out how to do that.”

“I was just suggesting…”

“Ironhide.”

All three of them turned. Optimus stood a few feet away, with Ratchet behind him. The Autobot leader was visibly anxious, “I think Ratchet’s got something you need to hear.”

“Breakaway took severe neurological damage in an engagement about a month ago,” Ratchet began without preamble, “He spent most of his recovery in stasis, and it took me several surgeries to repair him. Physically, he had recovered by yesterday. But mentally…” Ratchet’s voice trailed off, and he sighed, “Mentally, I wasn’t sure.”

There was a pause, “Wait a second,” Ironhide finally objected, “You’re saying he hadn’t recovered mentally? What does that even mean?”

“It means,” Ratchet replied, “That something was…different about him. He seemed a lot more edgy around me and the other Autobots in the med center.”

“And you released him?” Chromia asked skeptically.

“Personality changes aren’t unusual with neurological damage,” There was a slight edge to Ratchet’s voice, “And I told him not to leave the city until he felt better.”

“So he took a patrol without orders, veered off course, and has since disappeared,” Optimus concluded, “I want you, Ironhide and Chromia, to accompany Ratchet and go after him.”

“In terrestrial mode?” Ironhide protested, “We’d never catch him on a good day, and certainly not with snow on the ground.”

“We’ve got one of our smallest aircraft, at least of the non-sentient ones, standing by,” Optimus said, “It’s not quite as fast as Breakaway, but it’s heavier and should have less trouble with air currents. We’re confident you can catch up.”
Ironhide paused, “Optimus, I-“

“You need to go now, Ironhide,” Optimus interrupted, “Before Breakaway runs into a storm he can’t handle.”

Ironhide sighed, and turned away, “You can count on me, Prime,” he nodded to his companions, “Come on, you two. We have our orders.”

Airborne, a few hours later
1:18

“Ratchet, I’ve got a reading about ten degrees west of our current trajectory.”

“Finally,” Ironhide grunted as the medic edged their craft in the appointed direction, “I thought we’d never find him.”

“It’s definitely Breakaway,” Chromia reported a second later from the navigation console, “Energy signature and terrestrial guise match his specs with less than 1% error.”

Ironhide glanced at his weapons console, “Maybe we should....”

“Leave those alone, Ironhide,” Ratchet said sharply, “He’s still a friend, and he’s sick. We’re just here to get him back to Iacon for treatment.”

“Do you really think he’s going to cooperate?” Chromia asked, “He’s got to have some sort of a reason for coming out here alone.”

“And in the middle of a storm, too,” The ship bounced suddenly, as if validating Ratchet’s comment. All three Autobots scrambled for something to hold onto, “I’d get secure,” Ratchet said as they picked themselves up, “It’s going to be a bit bumpy.”

Ironhide gritted his teeth. Flying always made him a little nauseous even on calm trips, “Hail him,” he ordered once the sickness passed, “Let’s get him aboard and head home.”

Ratchet opened a channel, “Breakaway, this is Ratchet. What are you doing out here? It’s dangerous!”

There was a pause, and then Breakaway responded, his voice eerily distorted by static, “Go back, Ratchet. This has nothing to do with you.”

“What are you talking about?” Ratchet sounded puzzled, “You need to get back to Iacon. The storm…”

“No,” Breakaway growled, “I’m done serving traitors.”

“Traitors?” Ironhide took over the com, “What in the name of the Allspark are you talking about?”

“Cybertron was corrupt,” Breakaway’s voice faded for a second, and then grew stronger, “Megatron only sought to change the system , to bring freedom to the masses instead of the elite. The Autobots prevented him from doing it, and now we’re locked in a never-ending war.”

Ironhide exchanged a glance with his comrades. Breakaway sort of had the facts right, but he had left a few things out, “Megatron sought to change the system by putting out sparks,” he finally said, “Or have you forgotten that so quickly?”

“Goodbye, Ironhide,” Breakaway said, “I’m atoning for my wrongs, joining the right side. May you too someday realize your own errors.”

“Breakaway, wait!” But it was too late. Ironhide pulled back from the com, frustrated, “What does he think he’s doing?”

“He’s just sick,” Ratchet said firmly, “Sick and a little confused. If we stun him and get him back to Iacon, I can repair him.”

Ironhide nodded and powered up some null rays, “I guess I get to use these after all.”

“Forget that,” Chromia said sharply, “We’re being targeted!”

Ironhide and Ratchet both looked at her, “We’re what?” Ratchet protested.

“You heard me!” Chromia didn’t risk a glance away from her console, “We’ve a missile on route to-!”

A wail sounded before she could finish. Their craft lurched and bucked, slamming Chromia into the wall, “Engines are down!” Ratchet shouted frantically, sparks flying from the controls, “Chromia, take over! I’ve got to repair them!”

Chromia scrambled into the pilot’s seat. They had started into a dangerous downward spiral, and she fought to pull the craft back up, “Ironhide! Are there any more missiles?”

Ironhide craned his neck to look at the display, “None! He must have thought that one would be enough!”

Chromia scowled, “It might be,” she jerked the ship left to stop it from spiraling, but a gust a wind made the maneuver overcompensating. Their craft flipped completely over, and Chromia pulled back hard on the controls. There was a groan, and then the ship reversed direction and flipped up.

Ironhide was clutching the side of his seat, “Please do not do that again.”

Chromia ignored him, “Ratchet!” she yelled into the com, “Hurry it up back there! We’re losing altitude!”

“It’s coming!” Ratchet’s reply was muffled, “Just keep it steady.”

“I’m trying,” another gust of wind blew them sideways. Once she had straightened out as much as possible, she risked a glance back at Ironhide. The black Autobot looked agitated, “Ironhide! Can you get a lock on Breakaway’s position?”

Ironhide started, “What?”

“His position,” Chromia pulled the ship out of a nosedive before she elaborated, “Once we’re on course again, we’re going to need to follow him!”

Ironhide opened his mouth to protest, but then he nodded and moved to the navigation console. Chromia turned her attention back to their altitude display. To her dismay, they were barely a thousand feet off the ground, “Come on, Ratchet! We’ve only got a few seconds left!”

“Almost there!” Ratchet shouted back, “Be ready to fire them back up!”

“Got it!” Chromia’s gaze was glued to the monitor. Nine hundred feet…eight hundred…seven hundred…six hundred…

“Now!” Ratchet shouted.

Chromia flipped a series of switches. The ship roared and shot forward, screaming toward the ground. She pulled back hard, and they were finally headed up again. She leveled the craft at the typical cruising altitude and sat back with a sigh, “That was close.”

“Tell me about it,” she turned to see Ratchet, covered with splotches of lubricant and oil, making his way forward, “Our main generator is still fried. I barely got the backup ones to work in time.”

Chromia nodded, “How did one missile do this much damage?”

“This is more of a transport than a military craft,” Ratchet sat down, “It’s not designed to be shot at.”

“Do we still have the power to go after Breakaway?” Chromia asked, “We got a lock on his position. Right, Ironhide?”

There was no response. Chromia and Ratchet both looked behind them to see the third member of their group staring dizzily at the nav screen. Chromia could see a flashing orange triangle headed steadily away from them, so it appeared that Ironhide had been successful, “Ironhide?” she asked, “You okay?”

Ironhide jumped at her voice, “I…I’m going to be back in a minute,” he stumbled out of the cockpit as quickly as his servos would carry him, nearly falling into the wall as he did so.

Chromia shot Ratchet a puzzled glance, “What’s wrong with him?”

The medic grinned knowingly. He had worked with Ironhide enough times to know why his friend hated flying, “Oh, nothing. But I’d stay away from the cabin for awhile if I were you.”

Airborne
3:56

If the Decepticons, or even Breakaway, were to shoot them down right now, Ironhide wouldn’t complain.

Heck, he’d probably thank them.

The ship lurched, and Ironhide groaned as another wave of nausea hit him. For a moment he thought he was going to throw up again, but it really didn’t matter. He had spent the last two hours losing every drop of energon he consumed over the past week, possibly even the past month. There was nothing left in him to lose to his constant nausea, no matter how sick he felt. He gave the ceiling six inches above his head a weak glare, “I’m going to get even with you for this, Optimus.”

The ceiling didn’t respond. Ironhide sighed and considered for at least the hundredth time returning to the cockpit and putting on a brave face for Chromia and Ratchet. But, yet again, he rejected the idea. The loss of so much energon he left him weak and shaky, and he probably couldn’t even stand up. Better to rest and wait until this blasted storm blew over.

The door to the crew cabin opened, “Ironhide?” Chromia called.

Ironhide tensed. He didn’t want anyone to see him in this state, but Chromia had to be last on that list. The female Autobot walked over and laughed, “This is exactly what Ratchet said you’d be doing.”

Ironhide managed a weak growl, “If you’re going to mock me, go away.”

“Hardly,” Chromia knelt down next to his bunk and rummaged in the bag she had brought, “Ratchet’s worried your energy levels are going to get too low, but he’s busy keeping us in the air. He appointed me temporary physician.”

Ironhide grabbed her arm, “If you make me eat anything, I swear I’ll-“

“Calm down,” Chromia shook him off, “I’m only here to set up an IV.”

“Oh,” Ironhide visibly relaxed, “That should work okay.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Chromia pulled out a needle and attached it to some tubing. The bag at the end was full of glowing purple liquid, pure energon designed to be directly incorporated into one’s systems. She taped the bag a couple of feet above Ironhide’s bunk and looked down at him, “This may sting a bit,” she said, looking amused.

Ironhide groaned, “I swear you’re enjoying this.”

“Maybe a little,” Chromia stabbed the needle into his arm.

“Ow!” Ironhide yelped, “Ratchet’s a little gentler than that.”

“Which is why this appointment is only temporary,” Chromia secured the needle and pulled back, “All right, Ratchet said to stay still and let that set in for at least two to three hours. We’re still about ten out from our projected destination, so you should be fine.”

“Our projected destination?” Ironhide sat up a little, “Where does that happen to be?”

“Pleuron,” Chromia answered, “It’s the closest neutral city to Iacon, at least of the ones that Breakaway could navigate to easily under current weather conditions. Ratchet and I think he’s probably going to try to meet up with a Decepticon agent there.”

“In a neutral city?” Ironhide asked, “His circuits must be more scrambled than we thought.”

“Pleuron is…more than a little corrupt,” Chromia admitted, “It’s only neutral because they don’t have one governing body to make those kinds of decisions. I looked it up, and it’s supposed to be the top illegal shipping port on the planet. There’s bound to be Decepticons there.”

“We should blend in well,” Ironhide said drily.

“We have to, for Breakaway and the other Autobot’s sake,” Chromia said, “He knows information that none of us would want getting into Decepticon hands.”

Ironhide nodded, “Ten hours, you said?”

“Give or take a few minutes,” Chromia stood, and a teasing note crept back into her voice, “Do you want a good-night kiss before I leave?”

“Absolutely,” Ironhide answered, grinning.

“Too bad,” Chromia walked toward the door, “I think that would be over-stepping my duties as a medic.”

“It might help me recover,” Ironhide said seriously, “They say love is the best medicine.”

“I’ll check with Ratchet on that one,” Chromia keyed in the door’s access code and left, allowing herself to show amusement only after she was out of Ironhide’s sight.

An hour outside Pleuron, airborne
12:09

“Hey, look at this,” Ratchet turned toward his two companions. Ironhide had returned to them shakily about three hours before, and he looked substantially better now that the storm had finally passed. They had reached Cybertron’s warmer southern hemisphere, and the day was bright and calm.

“What is it?” Chromia leaned closer to get a look at his screen.

“It’s some pictures of Pleuron,” Ratchet explained, “I was looking up maps of the city, trying to figure out the best place we could land unnoticed. But that’s not what I wanted you to see. Look at the inhabitants.”

Ironhide and Chromia both studied the pictures for a moment, “Wow,” Chromia said, “I’ve never seen such decorative exoskeletons.”

“Everyone looks flashy,” Ratchet agreed, “I haven’t seen anyone with less than three colors in all the pictures I’ve checked.”

“We’re going to have to look like that,” Ironhide said, “If we go out the way we look now, we’ll stick out.”

“Hiding in plain sight,” Ratchet provided.

“Right,” Ironhide considered, “I’ll go first, give you two an example to follow.”

Chromia snorted, “I had no idea you were an artist.”

“You just wait,” Ironhide disappeared back to the cabin. About three minutes later he returned, sporting a bright orange, red, and yellow exoskeleton. He was covered from head to foot in gold wavy lines that suspiciously resembled explosions, “All right, this should do it. You’re next, Ratchet.”

The medic stood and nodded to Chromia, who took over the pilot’s seat. She studied the pictures while she waited, trying to come up with ideas, “The inhabitants aren’t all that’s flashy,” she remarked to Ironhide, “Everything in the city’s bright and colorful.”

“It should be an interesting trip,” Ironhide’s next comment was cut off be Ratchet’s return. His typically yellow exoskeleton was a brighter gold now, cut through with interlocking silver lines.

“What are those supposed to be?” Chromia asked curiously, nodding to the lines.

“Medical insignias,” Ratchet smiled, “I had to get them on there somewhere.”

Chromia and Ironhide laughed. Only Ratchet…

“You’re last, Chromia,” Ironhide ordered. The female stood and made her way to the cabin. She paused for a moment to finalize her design, and then rearranged the elements making up her exoskeleton. Blue was replaced with jet black. Trace amounts of precious metal made their way to the surface, until she was covered in blue and silver flecks. They reflected the light from every angle, and Chromia couldn’t help but wince. She had been an assassin before she joined the Autobots, and flashy equated with foolhardy in her mind.

She sighed and made her way back to the cockpit. Ironhide and Ratchet took a long look at her and burst out laughing. Not that there was anything wrong with her design, but just to see their tough female companion decked out like dancing girl…

Chromia punched Ironhide hard on the shoulder, “Shut up.”

Ironhide was laughing too hard even to respond. Chromia sat down at the navigation console and glared at the screen for a few moments until they settled down, “Wow, Chromia,” Ironhide finally said, grinning, “We’re not going to need lights around with you.”

“They look like stars,” Ratchet added, “We should try to find constellations.”

That got them both started again, and Chromia sighed, “Did you find us somewhere to land, Ratchet?” she asked, a biting edge to her voice, “They’re probably going to be hailing us pretty soon.”

“Ah, yes,” Ratchet quit laughing and pulled up a map. He pointed to the southeast corner, “Circuit Breaker. It’s the main ship dock in the city.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to land somewhere smaller?” Ironhide asked, “If we’re trying to go unnoticed and all…”

Ratchet shrugged, “I think amid the chaos of a large dock, no one’s going to pay us any attention.”

“That’s true,” Ironhide nodded, and looked at his weapons console, “I guess we won’t need these,” he said, a note of regret in his voice.

“Considering how things went last time,” Chromia began, turning to her own console, “You might want to keep them powered up. Just in case.”

Pleuron
17:58

Night life appeared to begin early here.

Ratchet and Ironhide were seated in the far corner of a rowdy energon bar, with Chromia huddled between them. Typically, the female Autobot would have been furious at any protective attempt by her male counterparts. But it had taken all of about three minutes in Pleuron for her to change her mind. The females here were practically slaves, mere instruments of beauty and pleasure. They clearly had no freedom, and after watching a couple escapees get grabbed in the streets, Chromia had decided that having Ironhide and Ratchet around might not be such a bad idea. Plus, she looked more like their captive than their friend when she sat between them.

“He still hasn’t moved,” Ratchet murmured to her.

Chromia nodded, not needing to ask who he was referring to. They had tracked Breakaway here using the ship sensors, and were now watching him from across the energon bar. Their friend hadn’t moved in hours, and had barely taken a sip of the first drink he had ordered. Most of the time, he just stared out the window with a dazed expression on his face. Ratchet was anxious to get him back and repair him.

Their server walked over, and Ratchet tensed. They had been here for close to three hours, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before they started arousing suspicion. But the server merely took Ironhide’s plate, “Another course?”

Ironhide nodded eagerly, and Ratchet couldn’t help but smile at Chromia’s disgusted expression. Autobots required certain hard forms of energon for sustenance, and typically only ate when the need for them arose. Ironhide’s appetite had returned once they landed on the ground, and he was now working to replenish the stores he had lost on the way over. He was doing a good job; so far Ratchet thought he had probably consumed at least a couple of weeks worth of energon and showed no signs of stopping.

Chromia tensed, and Ratchet and Ironhide looked up. A burly grey mechanoid had walked in, the purple Decepticon insignia displayed prominently on his shoulder. Breakaway perked up immediately and waved him over. The Decepticon’s eyes narrowed, but he walked over and sat with the Autobot.

“Should we intervene?” Ratchet hissed.

Chromia shook her head, more familiar with Decepticons than he was, “No. They’ll only work out some sort of deal right now. Crossfire wouldn’t want Breakaway saying anything here that others could benefit from.”

“Crossfire?” Ratchet queried, “You know that Decepticon?”

Chromia nodded, a pained look in her eyes, “We were hatched in the same set, and we grew up together.”

Ratchet winced and looked away. That would make Chromia and Crossfire siblings, as Transformers defined the term. He wondered how painful this must be for her, “So we’ll just follow them when they leave?”

“Right,” Chromia confirmed.

Their server returned with a steaming plate. He set it in front of Ironhide, and then looked at Chromia and Ratchet, “Still nothing I can get for you?”

Ratchet shook his head, “No,” Chromia kept her head submissively bowed.

The server grumbled, but he let it go. Ironhide was eating enough to pay for all three of them anyway. Chromia nudged Ironhide once he was gone, “Be ready to move. I don’t think it will take them very long to work something out.”

Ironhide nodded, “Is there a back exit in this dump?” he asked between bites, “It’s going to look suspicious if we follow them outright.”

“I don’t know,” All three of them scanned for a moment.

“Nothing,” Ratchet frowned, “I thought these places always had back doors.”

Ironhide shrugged, “I guess we’ll just have to wait a few minutes before…”

He stopped when Chromia grabbed his arm. Crossfire had noticed them watching, despite any efforts toward subtlety. The grey Decepticon was walking over. Breakaway, evidently done with Decepticons for the night, had scurried out the door.

Chromia bowed her head and tried every bit to look like a hopeless captive. Ironhide leaned forward aggressively, while Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest, “Something wrong, friend?” Ironhide growled as soon as Crossfire was within range.

“Perhaps,” Crossfire looked them all over, his gaze lingering on Chromia, “But perhaps not. This is just the treatment I give everyone who so blatantly watches me.”

Ironhide bristled, “What, you think you’re special? Only the alert survive here.”

“True,” Crossfire abruptly changed the subject, “What brings you to this energon bar, anyway?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Chromia murmured something, and Ironhide slapped her, “Shut up.”

Ratchet tried to hide his shock-even as a Decepticon he doubted Ironhide had ever laid a finger on a defenseless female. But then he realized that the pair may have planned the act; it certainly gave them credibility as citizens here. Crossfire appeared to relax a little, “Ah. So it’s business, then.”

“I suppose you could say that,” Ironhide nodded to Chromia, “Got a sharp tongue, this one. She needs to be broken.”

“I’m not surprised,” Crossfire turned away, “A strong-willed female is so characteristic of Autobots.”

Ironhide didn’t even hesitate. He kicked the table down for a shield even as Crossfire whirled around to take aim. Slugs began pounding the shelter, and Ironhide knew it wouldn’t last long. He looked at Chromia and Ratchet, “On three, ready?” they nodded, “One, two, three!”

They heaved the table at Crossfire. It took the Decepticon’s legs clean out from under him, and the Autobots were up in an instant. Dodging angry bar patrons, they scrambled for the door. They had almost made it when a heavyset, brilliant green mech blocked their path, “I don’t think so,” he snarled.

Ironhide unlimbered his massive right cannon, “I think so.”

The mech stared into the barrel for a moment, and then he dove out of the way. Chromia kicked the door open and stepped aside to let Ratchet and Ironhide through. She heard shouts, and she knew Crossfire wasn’t far behind.

They darted down the closest alley, “Where to now?” Ratchet asked.

“He’s only one con,” Ironhide argued, “We can take him.”

“We don’t know if he’s alone, Ironhide,” Chromia said, “He could have brought allies.”

“So typical of Autobots,” They whirled to see Crossfire at the end of the ally, blocking their escape route, “You never know when to run and when to fight.”

Ironhide and Chromia both began firing, and Crossfire ducked into a deep doorway, “But I suppose you have no choice now,” the Decepticon continued, “You only have one route for escape.”

Ironhide ran forward, flanked by his two companions, “Do you have any idea what numerical superiority means?” he called derisively.

Four massive shapes came lumbering into the alley, “What was that you said?” Crossfire called back, laughing.

Ironhide skidded to a stop, nearly slamming into the nearest Decepticon, “Blast it!” he spat, “Where do you cons keep coming from?”

“These are mere drones, Ironhide,” Crossfire moved behind his drones, headed for the end of the alley, “Programmed to rip Autobots limb from limb. Have fun with them.”

“Four drones can’t take three Autobots,” Chromia snarled, firing at the nearest one. The drone staggered, “Your arrogance supersedes your intellect yet again, Crossfire.”

Crossfire’s eyes darkened as he regarded his sister, “Bold words from the female who left the Decepticons to join the failing Autobots,” he growled, “But we can discuss that later. For now, I’ve got another Autobot to worry about.”

The Decepticon disappeared, and Chromia focused her attention back on the drones. The nearest one took a clumsy swing at Ironhide, and the Autobot merely stepped back, “This is going to be easier than I-“

He was cut off when the drone’s arm suddenly doubled in length, extending outward into a gleaming blade. It struck Ironhide on the side of his head, knocking the Autobot backward and leaving a deep gash. Cursing, Ironhide unlimbered both his cannon and his missile launcher. He melded them together into one weapon, powerful enough to tear Decepticons apart, “All right, then, if that’s how you want to play it…”

The resulting explosion scattered little drone pieces all over the alley. Any normal Decepticons would have been gone by this point, but drones weren’t programmed for retreat. The three remaining advanced, stepping over chunks of their fallen companion. Chromia darted forward to engage the nearest one, ducking its slash and deploying a blade of her own, “Chromia!” Ironhide called in frustration, “Move! I can’t get a clear shot around you!”

“You’re not keeping all of the fun to yourself!” Chromia managed to glare at him even as she kicked the Decepticon hard.

Ironhide muttered something, but then he moved to engage another drone. Chromia ducked another swipe from her drone and then stepped forward. She was within the drone’s defenses now, too close to get a clean swipe at. Unconcerned, however, the drone grabbed her sword arm and jerked sharply downward. Remembering Crossfire’s statement about their programming, Chromia grimaced and punched the drone hard between the optics. The resulting neural interrupt was strong enough to get the Decepticon to loosen his grip, if only for a second. It was enough. Chromia jerked her arm free and plunged her blade into the drone’s chest. It wobbled for a second, and then toppled.

Chromia hopped over it neatly and looked around. Ironhide had finally backed up enough to get a clear shot at his drone, and even as she watched, it shared the explosive fate of its unfortunate comrade. Ratchet was still fully engaged with the last one, several gashes crossing his body where the drone has gotten a little too close. But then the medic crossed his blades and swung them out wide, each one catching one of the drone’s arms. Ratchet reversed the blades’ direction quickly and plunged them into the now-defenseless drone’s chest.

“Nice, Ratchet,” Ironhide said approvingly, “I’ve never seen you do that before.”

Ratchet grinned and retracted his blades, “These are good for more than surgery, you know.”

“Come on, guys!” They both turned to see Chromia at the end of the alley, scanning, “We need to keep moving before the Decepticons unleash their next trick!”

Ironhide and Ratchet joined her in her scanning, “I can’t pick up any Decepticon readings,” Ratchet offered after a moment.

“They’re out there,” Chromia sounded tense.

Ironhide nodded in agreement, “They probably know about the drones already…” his voice trailed off when the three of them simultaneously picked up a signal, “Breakaway!”

The Autobot was shuffling up the street, looking utterly miserable. Dents covered his plating and he limped heavily on one foot, “Breakaway!” Ratchet called, running forward.

Ironhide grabbed him, “Ratchet, wait, we don’t know if-“

Ratchet shook him off, “He needs help, Ironhide. Can’t you see that?”

Ironhide reluctantly let go and watched as Ratchet grabbed their friend. Breakaway looked at him with a dazed expression, “Ratchet…I…I don’t know…what’s happening…Decepticons…traitors…”

“It’s all right, Breakaway,” Ratchet soothed, “It’s not your fault. You’re sick.”

Breakaway groaned and then gave a weak nod. Ironhide and Chromia, watching the scene, started making their way forward. Chromia nodded to Ironhide, “What do you think-?”

Ironhide wasn’t listening. His gaze was fixed on a spot behind her, and Chromia whirled around. The Decepticon Ironhide was watching darted into the shadows, but not before she got a good look at him. Crossfire.

In a flash, it all made sense, “Ratchet!” Ironhide yelled, “Get b-!”

Breakaway snarled and slammed a fist into the medic’s face before he could finish. Ratchet reeled, and Breakaway grabbed him, “Stop!” he commanded Ironhide and Chromia, who had started rushing forward. He pressed a missile launcher to Ratchet’s head, “Stop, or he dies!”

They pulled up to a stop about twenty feet away, Ironhide growling, “Let go of him, Breakaway!”

“You didn’t listen, Ironhide,” Breakaway started backing up, “I told you all to go back, that this was none of your business. But it appears that my warning wasn’t enough. So now more drastic measures are needed.”

Breakaway slammed the missile launcher’s barrel into Ratchet’s head twice, and the medic slumped forward, unconscious, “If you interfere with me again,” Breakaway threatened, “I’ll be bringing you Ratchet’s head. Personally,” He activated his propulsion systems and shot away, dragging Ratchet with him.

Ironhide transformed to vehicle mode, “After him!”

Chromia needed no more persuasion. She transformed herself and went roaring after him, dodging startled citizens as they went, “He’s headed north,” Ironhide reported, “Maybe we can flank him or-“

But then he broke off and swerved as a pair of legs suddenly appeared on the ground in front of him. Chromia flipped out of the way and transformed to regard their new enemy. She felt her spark stop for a second.

“Going somewhere, Autobots?” Starscream sneered.