Strange snippets of Earth songs, meshed with the constant hammering of rain, twisted themselves around Sunstreaker's processor as he passed down the darkened hall, making him pause every so often to listen and wonder who would be singing in such a place as the Ark. At first he thought it was only his imagination, but as he'd descended deeper into the labyrinth of Autobot headquarters, the song and rain-sound had grown louder and more insistent, until his audios were all but ringing with the insensible and alien sounds, and he kept stopping and peering into the gloom around him, as though he might catch sight of whoever was making such a disconcerting noise.

A soft yelp broke his concentration, and he watched with a dark sense of amusement as a lone femme scurried out of his way and pressed herself against the wall, face turned away so as not to look at him. He'd learned years ago how to walk softly, even silently, in these metal halls, and he took pleasure in the other Autobots' sudden fear as he crept through their midst, spooking them into scrambling out of his way. No one wanted to impede him, or even so much as garner his attention. They didn't even want to look at him.

A faint, chilly smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he turned his hooded face toward the cowering femme, his footsteps slowing as he neared. She cringed, balling herself even tighter as he stopped a mere pace away, the black folds of his cloak gently swaying in some wayward currant of air. For a long moment he stared at her while her armor rapped a steady staccato against the metal walls, and she pressed herself tightly against the bulkhead and shook.

At length, when he didn't leave, the female raised her head a fraction, her optics meeting his for a bare moment before darting away and fastening themselves to the deck. He doubted she could see any more than the glow of his optics deep within his cowl, but no Autobot ever wanted to even risk a look at his face, not after the things they'd heard. "I have a - a bit of energon," she blurted, her fear of him making her voice crack. "Y-you can have it. Take it." Fumbling, she managed to pull a rod of compressed energon out of one of her wrist compartments, and held it out to him as though to appease the appetite of some ignoble beast.

He stared down at her pathetically offensive gesture and wondered for the thousandth time just when he had fallen from being adored to being reviled, like some monstrous miscreation, a soul aborted before it was fully sparked. He stared down at her outstretched hand, his bare smile melting into a scowl at the energon, meant not for a mech, but for some sparkless and unwashed cur. Again the snatches of music and rain began to whirl through his mind, like flotsam on the skin of the sea, black stains on the surface of his thoughts as he gazed down on her terror.

He liked the smell of her terror. His mouth curved into a faint smile, his scowl fading as he tilted his head.

Quickly realizing he didn't want her energon, the femme before him lowered her offering, shoulders heaving as she began to frantically cycle air through her intakes. Pressing herself even closer to the wall, she tried to brave a look toward his face, and got as far as his knees before her courage failed her. "What - what else…" she stuttered softly, "I don't have anything else."

Shuddering, she pulled one foot more closely beneath her, and Sunstreaker watched as the dim lighting played along the smooth lines of her leg, stirring in him memories of another life. She was pale green and small, her body obviously not intended for strength, but for speed and agility and grace. He took a step forward, watching the light angles swim over the contours of her chest and legs, a low, involuntary rumble thrumming from his engine as he admired her curving beauty, and for a flicker of a moment he almost thought he could remember what it was to feel another's skin beneath his fingers. But like a fish in deep water, his memory flashed and receded, leaving him with nothing but the wish to feel the warm drip of her energon running down his arms, after he'd cut her open and torn out her fuel pump. He hated pale green.

"Please," the green femme begged, her head bowed nearly to her chest, her voice barely above a whisper, "please, just don't kill me."

In one swift stride, Sunstreaker closed the gap between them, and covered her mouth as he drew his knife. Somewhere, just at the edges of his hearing, he could hear the lilting sounds of rain, interwoven with Earth-song, and he thought that he would eventually be driven mad if he couldn't find and silence whoever was singing such a barbaric and unsettling tune.

He did not know, as he worked, that it was he who was softly singing.

"Come," he heard Prowl's voice from inside the office, and the door slid aside to reveal the second-in-command seated behind his desk and staring fixedly at a datapad.

Sunstreaker stepped noiselessly inside, and felt his cloak stir slightly as the door slid closed behind him, shutting out the sounds of the rain.

Prowl looked up, and to Sunstreaker's satisfaction, drew his doors behind him a fraction, as though in a slight, involuntary gesture of revulsion at seeing the Black Sun. But he recovered so smoothly and quickly that anyone less attentive than Sunstreaker would never have seen the gesture at all. Drawing himself up, graceful even sitting behind a desk, Prowl ran his optics down and back up the length of Sunstreaker's cloaked frame. "What do you want?"

Like a creature unsure whether he is the predator or the prey, Sunstreaker mused to himself, and smiled within his cloak. "I'm sorry," he said, noting how forced his own words sounded even to himself, "to have interrupted your work."

Tightening his mouth into a chilly smirk, Prowl set his datapad down and crossed his arms on the desk before him. "I'm quite sure." The second-in-command studied the cloaked Autobot before him, and Sunstreaker took note of the familiar curiosity that lit Prowl's face, as he likely wondered - as every other Autobot wondered - what exactly lay beneath the robes of the Black Sun. Optics burning a sharp, cold blue, Prowl said in deceptively calm tones, "I believe I asked you a question."

Invisible behind his cowl, Sunstreaker snarled, disliking this. If he'd had things his way, he would have slunk off into the night and been after Bluestreak's trail three days past, if not for the sure knowledge that even with this, he had to be very careful. Yes, there was a part of him that wanted to die, but there was certainly no part of him that wanted to be subjected to slow torture, or to be dissected alive in Perceptor's lab, which is what would happen if the Lord Prime found out that Sunstreaker had tracked, mauled and killed Bluestreak without informing anyone of his intentions. Prime would hate to be denied the chance to personally carve out the deserter's optics, and if blame were to fall on Sunstreaker for that…he would be stripped of far more than his cloak. Far worse would be his fate if it were found that he knew of the deserter's whereabouts and Bluestreak wasn't dead. Then he would fall under suspicion as a sympathizer, however ridiculous it might have been to assume Sunstreaker would have sympathy for any living creature, and since the Autobots did not hold to any such frivolous ideas as that of innocence until proven guilty, Sunstreaker's fate would be dark indeed…Shivering inside his cloak, and feeling the ripple of the dark folds around his frame, Sunstreaker fixed Prowl with a resolute stare. He hated to involve the second-in-command in this, even to this small degree, but it was a better choice than simply disappearing for a few days. At least this way he could make a proper job of it, and if he failed, at least he would have a better basis for excuses. "I want to use some of my leave," he said at last.

Again the second-in-command looked Sunstreaker up and down, as though nagged by either curiosity, or by the more intangible itch of knowing that the Autobot standing before him was not entirely rational. But if the idea had entered Prowl's head that Sunstreaker might decide to tear out his vocalizer as soon as obey him, he didn't show it. Instead, he raised a metal brow. "And what, dare I ask, would you be doing with this leave?"

The slight stress of the word 'you' did not escape Sunstreaker's notice, and he bristled slightly at Prowl's subtle insinuation that Sunstreaker was something less than a mech, something of a freak, who did not ask for things as ridiculously ordinary as leave. But as insulting as the second-in-command's words were, Sunstreaker knew he dared not show his annoyance, as even a monster knew which hand to fear, and which to bite. "I want some solitude," he replied, hoping Prowl would believe him.

But to his consternation, the second-in-command snorted, and sat back in his chair, arms dangling casually over the armrests as he gazed idly at the cloaked Autobot before him. "Solitude? You never leave your quarters, and you haven't been assigned a roommate since you dismembered the last three. What do you need of solitude?"

"I did not say 'need'," Sunstreaker replied simply, and knew even as he said it that he'd gone too far.

The second-in-command grew still in his chair, optics glittering like set jewels at Sunstreaker's tone. It was not often that anyone spoke to Prowl in such a forward way, much less corrected him. "Am I to assume then," Prowl's voice slid like silk through the air between them, "that you are requesting time for leisure?"

Sunstreaker hesitated, then nodded. He only hoped Prowl would grant him his request and leave it at that.

He was not so lucky. "Denied," Prowl stated airily, optics still glittering as a ghost of a smile twisted at his mouth. "Leave is based on need or merit, and since you have displayed neither, I see no logic in indulging you." He flicked a hand, returning his attention to his datapad. "You may go."

Clenching his jaw, Sunstreaker stood his ground. Prowl was baiting him; he could read the enjoyment in the other Autobot's face, and it sent a flush of hatred coursing through his circuits. Poke the caged monster with a stick and make him jump. Go ahead - play your games and laugh, jabbing and jabbing and jabbing. Snarling, Sunstreaker advanced a step before he caught himself, fingers curled into crooked claws, the smell of Prowl's hidden alarm making him reel with a heady desire to kill.

The second-in-command looked up, face bland despite the scent of thrill coming off of him in waves, and it took Sunstreaker a moment to realize what he was sensing. "I thought I ordered you gone," Prowl stated, optics flat and cold as deep water, but Sunstreaker knew that underneath his dispassionate front, the second-in-command was taking a shivery sort of pleasure in baiting the Black Sun.

For a flicker of a moment, Sunstreaker slid his gaze over the smooth planes of Prowl's throat, imagining the exact weight and feel of his blade pressed up against that thin metal skin.

I told you not to jab me.

And Prowl would scream, which was so deliciously filling.

Then he would press down, and shudder with relief as he felt that satisfying pop of sliced metal, and the hot gush of energon, pumping and flooding out of Prowl's main conduit and all across the floor.

The scent changed, this time to annoyance, and Sunstreaker was brought again to the present as he was forced to consider his own welfare; he could only push Prowl so far, and vice versa. "If I go," he heard his own voice say, his vocalizer hurrying to his defense even before his CPU completely caught up with reality, "I can bring you information about a traitor."

"Really." Prowl tilted his head, optics flat with boredom, though Sunstreaker thought he detected a hint of greed behind the second's front. Prowl all but lusted for information.

"It pertains to Bluestreak."

Prowl uttered a dismissive snort.

"Someone is bringing him supplies."

Now Prowl sat up, the gleam in his optics unmistakable, and Sunstreaker smiled behind his cowl. "Who?"

"That's part of what I need to find out," Sunstreaker lied. "I have…things I need to attend to, and among them would be gathering complete information on whoever is helping the renegade." The idea of handing Sideswipe over to Prowl as a traitor was delicious, but he forced himself to tuck the thought away, as it wasn't time yet, and since he wanted to make his brother suffer first. All things in their place, and first he had to deliver an eye for an eye, and a life for a ruined life.

Frowning, Prowl studied him as he mulled the situation, one finger tapping a slow, steady staccato on the desk before him. Naturally he wanted all of Sunstreaker's information now, but if he forced information out of the cloaked warrior, he would lose the chance at a more complete report. Finally, he opened his mouth, paused for a fraction, then said, "You will report to me immediately upon your return."

Sunstreaker nodded.

"You have three days. I will expect you back in my office exactly seventy-two hours from now. And if you speak a word of this to anyone else, I will know." The second-in-command's optics bored into Sunstreaker's cowl in unmistakable warning. "Now go."

Without a word, Sunstreaker turned, his cloak rippling about him.

"Oh, and Sunstreaker?"

The warrior paused, hooded face turned back toward the second-in-command.

A cold glitter had returned to Prowl's optics. "I take no pleasure in disappointment."

Sunstreaker stared back, his gaze resting for a brief, longing moment on Prowl's throat, before he nodded and turned away to his task.

Bluestreak fidgeted. Fingers running over the smooth stock of his weapon, he slunk between the trees, disliking how they crowded in around him, slowing him down as they pawed at him with their wet fingers. He curled his lip in distaste as he pushed back one more sodden branch with a thumb and forefinger, and sidled past into scrubby clearing. He hated scouting like this, but if they wanted to find a suitable backup den, it was better to look in places like this than along the more passable roads.

Ahead of him, Dart took a few steps into the clear, then stopped and sunk down to her haunches, chin up as she listened.

"What is it?" he muttered immediately, and glanced nervously around him, unaware that his finger was already lightly twitching against the trigger of his gun.

But the courier shook her head, sending a bit of spray off the tip of her ponytail. "Nothing," she replied, sifting air through her intakes. "Checking."

"Then why stop?" Bluestreak growled, miserable at having to be out, miserable to be wet despite the fact that it wasn't actually raining for once, and miserable at having to be constantly touched by these sodden, clinging trees.

At that, the courier stood in a quick jerk, her legs carrying her three strides away before she seemed to realize she was even moving. But instead of continuing up the mountain she dropped again into a crouch, and peered up at Bluestreak, her optics a sharp red. "Hmmn."

"What?" Bluestreak stared down at her, annoyed with being delayed. A quick glance at the sky showed that they had a bare two hours before dark set in, and he wanted to be home well before that. Home. He snorted at the thought of cold rock and possum stench. Sweet home.

But Dart seemed to have no intention of moving. "Thinking," she said from where she was poised on the ground.

Bluestreak's lip pulled back in an ugly smirk. "Yes, I know you've been thinking. You've ignored me all day. Now can we get a move on before we're stuck out here after sunset, tripping over rocks and tree roots in the dark?"

He began to make his way past her, but she didn't follow, and instead stayed in her crouch and watched his retreating back as he made his way up the hillside. "Friend," she called after him, and he turned to find that she hadn't moved.

"Friend?" he screwed up his face, one hand on a tree for balance as he paused his climb up some rocks. "What do you mean 'friend'? And for the love of my sanity, will you get a move on?"

To his relief, she did stand up, but she merely took a few loping strides to the base of the rocks, and paused, feet moving nervously beneath her as though she very much wanted to either be moving or balled into a ready crouch. She tossed a glance over her shoulder, then returned her sharp gaze to Bluestreak and tipped her head. "Your friend. Red."

Bluestreak frowned, then realized what she was saying. "Oh, Sideswipe. Heh," he snorted, and shook his head at his own complete lack of mirth. "Would you stop worrying about him? He's not following us, and doesn't intend to. Or at least I don't think he intends to, and anyway, we would have thrown him off with all of our switchbacks--"

"No," the courier cut him off with a quick shake of her head, then growled in what sounded like frustration, drowning in Bluestreak's constant river of words while she tried desperately to string together a sentence of her own. "Nnnng," she narrowed her optics, and as much as Bluestreak wanted to be off, he humored her and remained silent while she gathered herself. "Red…t-tele-port?"

Bluestreak knitted his metal brows. "Can Sideswipe teleport? No, not that I know of, unless he got really drunk and allowed Ratchet to upgrade him recently, but Swipe's just not that stupid. Pretty sharp, actually, though maybe not so nice or steady as he used to be, once upon a time, though that ain't his fault really. Why do you ask?"

But her optics were fixed on the ground, face drawn in the same troubled, thoughtful expression it had been in all day. "Red…smell, two places. Same smell, two Red."

"Two places?" Bluestreak tipped his head. "What do you mean?"

The courier uttered a sharp sigh as she looked up at him. "Red," she gestured between herself and Bluestreak, indicating the distance he had stood from Sideswipe three nights past, then pointed off into the trees, fixing her gaze on a point some hundred or so meters away. "Also Red. Two. One," she indicated the short distance again, "And two." She pointed off into the trees. "But…faint. Like…mask."

Slowly Bluestreak's doors inched backward as he frowned. "Mask? What does that mean, a mask? Do you think he was dampening his scent somehow, or," his frown deepened, "did he have some kind of backup in the trees?" A scowl began to crease his face as thoughts of betrayal began to course through his processor. Of course he couldn't trust Sideswipe. What an idiot he was, to think he could trust any Autobot, or any other mech, for that matter. Glancing around, he began to sidle into the trees for cover, his fingers curling and twitching around the soothing weight of his rifle. "Do you smell them now?"

But Dart's only response was to utter a sharp sigh. "Not listen," she admonished.

"Not listen?" Bluestreak muttered, optics darting beyond the clearing and into the trees as he wondered just how stupid he'd been. Had the Autobots already pinned down his lair? And were they only waiting now for him to lead them to the humans before they pounced? He grimaced and suppressed a shudder.

"No," Dart replied, a softness in her voice cutting through his alarm. "Not listen. Not ambush. Red," she gestured again, showing the distance between herself and Bluestreak, before pointing off into the trees, "and also Red. Two Red. Not Autobots. Red…and Red."

Still frowning, he looked at her for a moment before turning away in irritation, his alarm dissipating like smoke. "Well, if it's not more Autobots, then why worry about it? Now move it." He hauled himself up the last part of the rocky incline. "Daylight's wasting."

To his relief, Dart climbed lightly up the rocks and settled in to walk beside him. Face still troubled, she canted a glance his way. "Why?"

"Why what?" he asked, still irritated. He had enough to worry about, without Dart inflicting nightmare scenarios on him.

"Why two Red?"

"I don't know," Bluestreak spread his hands, mentally searching for some plausible response. "Could be some kind of refraction from the rain. Doesn't that happen?"

Dart snorted. "Never heard of."

"Well, it's possible, I'm sure," Bluestreak replied, defensive. "Like an echo or something."

"Smell…echo?" Dart screwed up her face. "Like twin smell? Not get."

Bluestreak froze, midstep. Behind him, he heard Dart pull up short, her feet stirring up the wet leaves. "What?" he heard himself ask hoarsely, as though someone else were speaking out of his vocalizer.

Dart's voice sounded muffled in the closing twilight. "Said, not get."

Carefully, Bluestreak turned, his own feet making no sound in the leaves, nor any of his joints daring to creak. "Primus, mercy," he whispered as he stared down at the puzzled courier. "Dart. Tell me you didn't just say that."

"What say?" Dart took a half-step back, jittering now as she picked up on the renegade's agitation. Nervous, she looked around, then fixed her optics back on Bluestreak again. "What? Tell."

But instead, Bluestreak found himself in a sudden flurry of movement. "Let's go," he ordered brusquely, and began to lope through the trees. Behind him, he heard the courier effortlessly keeping pace, though her footsteps sounded like booming thunder to him. He wanted to be silent, to be invisible, to be hidden beneath miles and miles of earth - anything but to be crashing through these woods, exposed as a hare flushed from the brambles by a fox.

"Why running?" Dart bounded along beside him, making no effort to silence her tread.

"Quiet," he snapped, earning a look of reproach, but she did indeed step more softly, and followed him in silence through the rest of their run home.

They barely beat the rain back to their cave, and once inside, Bluestreak flung himself in the far corner, back against the wall, and heaved through his intakes as he stared at the falling sheet of rain outside the mouth of their den. Quietly, and with a puzzled calm, Dart approached and knelt beside him, where she moved to lay a hand on his shoulder, though after a pause, she thought better of it, and merely frowned up at him.

"What?" she asked quietly, brows knitted.

Bluestreak shifted his gaze toward her, distantly aware that he needed to get a grip on himself, though he still wanted to be on his feet and running. Even here, in this safe hole, he felt exposed, as though at any moment a black, grinning thing would find and flush him out. "Tell me," he breathed, "again, what you smelled."

The courier sat back on her haunches, the lines of her puzzled face barely visible in the dim light. "Two Red. Told you, twice."

"Twice…" he shook his head, and darted a glance out at the rain. "You smelled Sideswipe next to me," he reiterated, "and Sideswipe's same scent a hundred meters off, but masked, or…cloaked?"

Dart nodded. "Not Autobot. Red same smell." She tilted her head. "What?"

"Oh, Primus," Bluestreak scrubbed a hand over his face, "Primus, Primus." He drew his legs up, his insides beginning to shudder against a spreading chill. "Sideswipe," he explained, "has a twin brother, one who wears a cloak…" He trailed off, shaking his head. Why in the name of Cybertron would Sunstreaker have been there with Sideswipe? Did Sideswipe know? He couldn't…he couldn't have known.

"Oh," Dart's shoulders eased. "Not worry then. Brother, good."

"No!" Bluestreak exclaimed, making Dart jump a little. "Not good! Primus, don't you - no, you don't know." Again he shook his head, and pressed his back closer against the wall as he peered past the courier's shoulder and into the rain. "I would rather be found by the Autobots than by the Black Sun."

Dart's mouth drew back into a snarl. "Not found. Not ever found. Not say."

Still staring into the rain, Bluestreak answered in a low voice, "I hope not."

Gradually, Dart eased, so that she was no longer snarling, though she still sat ready on her heels. "Why?" she asked, head tilted.

Bluestreak couldn't make himself look away from the rain, as though at any moment it would part like a curtain and admit the towering shape of a black cloak. "You don't understand," he started, and felt the subtle rattle of his doors against the rock wall. "The Black Sun is who they use when the Autobots don't want to dirty their own hands."

"Dirty?" Dart snorted. "Autobot dirty, always."

Bluestreak pressed his mouth into a tight frown. "Watch it."

"Hmph," the courier tossed her head.

Bluestreak looked away. The courier watched him, unsettled because he was, but not understanding why, and out of the corner of his optic, Bluestreak could see her beginning to fidget. He stared out into the downpour and tried to explain. "Play with him, Sunstreaker, I heard the Lord Prime say once. I require amusement, he said. So they threw this poor mech into the arena with Sunstreaker. He's so cold, so…methodical." He shook his head, as though to ward off the shiver that was trying so desperately to lay hold of his internals. "Sunstreaker broke that mech. He didn't just take two hours killing him, he - he humiliated him. In the end, that mech begged for the privilege of kissing Sunstreaker's feet. And Sunstreaker let him."

Dart was silent.

"There's so much more," the renegade said, his whole body tense against the uneven rock. "So much more, and worse… He can't - can't have been there with Sideswipe. Are you sure?"

"Sure?" Dart asked. "Sure smell, yes. Not sure Sun."

"Who else could it be?" Bluestreak asked.

The courier shrugged. "Not smell since. Not smell here. Not find."

"Why would he want to find us?" Bluestreak asked wretchedly. "What would he want from us?"

"Not know," Dart supplied softly, and came around to sit beside him, though she was careful not to touch him. "Maybe nothing."

"Maybe," Bluestreak grimaced, and fell silent again. Together, they stared into the rain, and he tried to think that this was all some sort of weird misinterpretation, that there was no way that the Black Sun could have been hiding a mere hundred meters away from him three nights ago, crouched and staring through the fog like some dark apparition. He tried to think that there was no way the Black Sun could have been interested in him, and hoped, desperately, that it was Sideswipe the apparition was watching. But try as he might, he could not stop his doors from shaking against the rock, and long after the twilight had gloomed into black night, the two Transformers sat watching the downpour, and listening to the patter of Bluestreak's shaking as it intermingled itself with the rain.

Again, the rain. Sunstreaker stood at the mouth of the lower wash, grimacing at the feel of the oily water as it swarmed over his feet and spilled into the greasy river below. He hated coming out this way, and dirtying his feet in this foul water, but the wash was the only sure way of knowing that he'd meet no one along the way - or at least, no one he couldn't silence quickly. He was in a hurry, and needed no distractions to slow him down.

With a snarl of disgust, he pulled his hood more firmly over his head, stepped out onto the edge of the sewage tunnel, and prepared himself for a leap. It revolted him, feeling the slime below intermixed with the spattering filth from above, and he shuddered violently for a moment before he was able to get ahold of himself again.

"Feel nice?" Sideswipe grinned, one arm slung over the side of the circular bath, the rest of his body sagging into the simmering liquid.

Across from him, Sunstreaker raised a glass, his body easing as the oil bath warmed and loosened his joints. "To being rich," he grinned at his brother.

Sideswipe raised his glass in return. "To the top-rated actor in Iacon - and his handsome brother."

"To us," Sunstreaker added, and they drank to each other.

"To us," Sideswipe repeated after he'd drained his glass, and he leaned back with a sigh of contentment. "From first to last."

Sunstreaker came to in mid-air, and realized he'd launched himself off of the edge of the wash. Unfeeling, he watched for an instant the sad swirl of the grey, foamy river below him, before landing with a soft thud on the far bank. With a hiss, he hurried into the trees, covering ground as quickly as possible with his long stride, so as not to be seen. "From first to last," he heard himself mutter into the rain, and felt a cold bead of rainwater snake its way over his cheek and down across his throat as he chuckled without mirth. He would enjoy this, every savory moment of it.

Away through the trees, probably somewhere near the rotting lake, some type of bird sent up an eerie, warbling call, and as the rain misted around him, it almost seemed to Sunstreaker that he was the only mech in the world. There was no other sound outside of his muted footfall, no other sight but the deadened trees, no other touch but the cold trail of rain across the bridge of his nose. He could have been an apparition, for all that he felt, a breath of air long given up to the heavens, as though his spirit might find some comfort there. But those who did the giving should have known that he would not stay away forever.

For over an hour, he ran. Mouth set, optics glowing steady and pale, he raced along the forest floor, stirring up hardly a leaf in his wake as he went. He'd long ago learned to walk softly across the metal floors of the Ark; how much easier was it to run silent along the spongy floor of the wood? They would never know he was coming until he was on them. Should he let them know? It would make things worse for them, knowing, and wondering, and waiting. He smiled. Perhaps he would show himself - just a glimmer - and then withdraw to wait. Yes, that would make things nicer, and he liked nice things.

Just past an hour, he came to the place where Sideswipe had met Bluestreak and the femme. Crouching, his cloak billowed about him, he studied the ground where they'd been, just barely making out the edge of a print here and there, since most of them had been washed away in the rain. No matter; he'd expected as much, though he still cursed the rain. He didn't need fresh tracks to go by, necessarily, and if nothing else, there were ways of flushing out his prey.

Confident of his heading, for now at least, Sunstreaker loped on. Every now and again, he spotted another sign of Bluestreak's passing, and would right his course accordingly. He could smell him, too. He could not smell the things that Hound smelled - the particular scent of processed fuel, or the specific smell of each Transformer's emissions - but there were things he could smell. He could smell the sour remnant of fear clinging to the leaves like a stinging cloud. He could smell the wish to kill roiling among the roots of the trees, and he wondered at it, wondered who Bluestreak wanted to kill, or if it was his femme who itched to dig her blade into another's fuel pump. He smelled something he could only loosely describe as haste, he smelled acrid mistrust, and he smelled the smothering sickly-sweet of worry. It was all enough to keep him going, even when the tracks faded into the mud, and it the sheer stench of the smells made him wonder for the thousandth time why other mechs couldn't smell the same thing. But perhaps being a part of the world made one less aware of it.

And there was another thing that troubled him. It was a thing he could not at first name, a thing that nearly overpowered the other smells altogether, though it had only the strength of a tiny thread. He even paused in his run, optics staring into the distance as he gazed out from beneath his hood and drew air through his intakes, puzzling. Like a faint thread of gold it wove up through the trees, making him think of something he couldn't quite remember, making him grow absolutely still as the rain lessened, and a soft, balmy breeze stroked his face. He'd smelled this smell before, or felt it rather, once upon a time, if he could only think.

Hope. At last, it came to him. It was Bluestreak's hope, spun out in the finest thread, and given to him by Sideswipe.

With a snarl, Sunstreaker rushed onward through the trees, which cowered away from him as though before a violent wind. Tireless, he flashed and wove through the wood, jaw hanging open as the scents tore through his intakes, whistling like banshees - like living things - and scuttling through his entire body as though with the intent to kill. On and on he ran, his optics pale as the underbelly of a fish, the rain slapping his face and laughing cruelly as he tried desperately to stifle that thin thread of a smell. But as hard as he tried to suppress it, the scent pushed back all the harder, until all he could smell was that fine, golden thread as it wove itself tighter and tighter through his mind. Reeling, he whimpered, and even stumbled into a tree and fell to his knees, from which he leaped up and hurtled onward again before the smell could catch and break him like glass. He would not let it touch him, could not let it touch him, because it wasn't for him. It wasn't his, wasn't given to him, wasn't meant for him to have. It was meant for the renegade, offered up to him like the purest gold, while Sunstreaker had knelt in the mud and rain, ravenous and invisible. It was meant for the renegade, that beggarly, dingy little mech, who had taken that golden thread and scuttled away before it could catch hold of him, too. A cunning little mech he was, to have hurried so frantically away from hope. Cunning, but treacherous, and the meanest of thieves.

Onward he ran, his cloak snapping behind him like a dark sail, the wind of his passage chilling the very air with brittle fear. For a space, the rain stopped, but the sun dared not show its face, and through the silvery gloom, the Black Sun skimmed over the ground like a spectre while even the birds arrowed away from him in fright.

At last he came to a point where two rivers met, and he paused long enough to let his systems cool. Carefully drawing scents through his intakes, he crouched on the muddy bank and tested the eddying currents of air. He was well outside friendly territory, and a part of him knew he needed to step more carefully, especially here where the trees thinned. He would not have those humans shooting him in the back with their viral projectiles. He would not have them touching him, ripping away his cloak and armor while he lay there, paralyzed and helpless. He darted a quick glance around, and though he saw nothing but the occasional drift of a dead leaf, he shuddered nonetheless. He would not be revealed. Ever.

In one smooth motion, he stood and looked around him again. The tracks were gone, and the riversmell was too overpowering for him to pinpoint where Bluestreak had gone. He studied the two rivers, trying to catch a glimpse of anything that might give him a clue, but there was nothing. The rain had cleared, and the sun had sunk low behind the clouds, turning the sky a dirty grey above the iron-colored trees. Even the rivers barely caught any light, but rolled tiredly southeast, with only the faintest glimmer here and there to even show it moved. A tiny plop sounded to the north, and Sunstreaker snapped his gaze around, weapon at the ready, though all he saw was the telltale ring of where a leaping…something…had disappeared back down into the cold water.

At once it occurred to Sunstreaker that where fish were, humans were bound to be. Could it be possible that fish still lived in this river? Gaze flickering between the two converging rivers, he noted that the one coming from the direction of the Ark was a dark, oily brown, smelling of rot and reflecting no light. But the further river, the one that flowed from the northwest mountains, flowed faster and cleaner. And where there was fast, clean water…

With two great, loping strides, Sunstreaker leaped over the greater river, and landed in the far shallows with a muddy splash. He immediately jumped up on the bank, disgusted with having his feet wet again, especially in such dirty water, and for a moment, he shook them in turns to rid himself of the clinging slop. Then, without making a sound, he melded into the trees and began to follow the river into the northwest.

It was only a matter of time before he would find some sign of the humans. There would be some track, some dirt path, or better yet, one of their number gathering water and food at the river. It was, amazingly, as clean as he'd suspected, and he even saw signs of more fish glimmering below the surface. He still caught no scent of the renegade's passing, but he knew he was headed in the right direction, and that if he was patient, he would begin again to see the signs.

Dusk still found him weaving through the trees, running when he could in the more open spaces, and being careful to keep his footfalls silent against the muddy ground. It was easy here, with the river bubbling nearby, to make himself quiet, and the black of his cloak blended like watery ink among the dark trunks of the trees. But no matter how noiseless he ran, he knew he would have to waste several hours waiting for the night to pass if he didn't find something soon. Humans didn't like being out at night, and it would be difficult to detect their narrow tracks in the gloom of the night wood. Irritated, he ducked away from the snatch of a branch before leaping onward again.

A high, clear shout sounded out of the dark, and Sunstreaker skidded to a halt, where he crouched low behind a grove of trees. It had come from the north, not twenty running paces away from where he hid, wondering. It sounded like no shout he recalled hearing, like no animal, and like no Transformer he could think of, and it took him a moment to place exactly what it was. Again it sounded, more muffled this time, and accompanied by another voice.

"Quiet," he heard the fuller voice of what he took to be an adult human. They were nearing his position. "You'll scare the fish."

Again came the high sound, and to Sunstreaker's slow, grinning delight, he realized it was the clear laugh of a human child. It seemed that luck was with him. Inching closer, he listened. "I won't scare the fish," it replied. "They can't hear us."

"A lot of things can hear us," the older human returned soberly. "Now hush, and open the bait can."

Fluid as a cat, Sunstreaker crept forward through the wood until he could see the pair of creatures before him, their skin seeming to glow an alien white in the fading dusk. They didn't see him. Both facing the water, the small one dug through a container on the ground, while the taller one made adjustments to a sort of pliant pole. He could barely see them in the dim, but he could make out the movements of the taller creature as it affectionately stroked the long hair of the smaller. Sunstreaker smiled.

"Ready?" the taller asked. It was a male, Sunstreaker could see from this distance, and not many years older than the smaller female, from what he could judge.

The little female fumbled with the end of a string, then handed its end to her friend. "Yeah…that should do it."

"All right," the male took a few steps toward the bank, pole extended back behind him. "Here goes for fish number one." With a quick twist of his arm, the human flicked the pole toward the water, and Sunstreaker watched as a long line snaked out over the surface of the river. With a plop, its end splashed down midstream. "Look at that. Perfect cast, first try. How good am I?"

The female didn't respond.

"Shane?" the male asked again, and when there was no reply, he turned, and dropped his pole in horror. "Oh, God, Shane."

Sunstreaker watched dispassionately as the male began to shake. In his hands, the little female had only struggled for a moment before realizing that any more movement would have caused him to crush her to death. It was the truth, too. There was something repulsive about the soft, pulpous feel of a human's skin that made him shudder and long to flick her away from him like some sickening insect. But as long as she didn't move much, he could endure her long enough to accomplish what he wanted.

"Please," the male held up his shaking hands and took a step forward, as though he hoped to take the female from the Autobot. Fluids began to leak down his face. "Please…let her go."

Sunstreaker watched, unfeeling. "What is she to you?" he asked.

"My little sister," the male blurted. "Please -"

"Your sister?" Sunstreaker chuckled, and felt a sort of heat course up around his neck, though whether it was hate or mirth, or both, he did not know. "You're asking me to spare your sister?"

"Yes. Yes, please." The male was obviously sobbing now. "I'll do anything."

"Well, that makes it easy then," Sunstreaker smiled, and was sure the male could see his optics glittering within his hood. "Tell me where the renegade is, and I'll let your sister go."

The male looked bewildered. "The-the renegade?"

Sunstreaker narrowed his optics.

"Oh, wait," the male brightened, "you mean that ex-Autobot. There's another one, too, ex-Decepticon--"

"I know," Sunstreaker cut him off, voice low in the gathering dark. "Now tell me where they are."

The male looked stricken. "I-I don't know, exactly. They mostly show up at that camp, the one fifty miles north. But they don't live there."

"Where is that camp?"

Now the male hesitated, and looked at his sister, who still remained perfectly still as she dangled in Sunstreaker's grip. Ever so lightly, Sunstreaker tightened his fingers, and felt a rush of pleasure as he felt the give of a broken rib. The female let out a muffled sob around the finger holding her mouth, and the male began immediately to babble, "There's a road, runs north. Just go a mile west through the trees and you'll come to it. Go north on that, and in fifty miles, you'll see - you'll see a, a marker. Two fallen trees crossed. Beyond that's a dirt track…leads you within sight of their camp. Now please…please, let her go."

"Why?" Sunstreaker asked, his voice perfectly even. "Because you're fond of her?"

"Because I'm her brother," the male cried.

"You're her brother?" Sunstreaker leaned in, holding the girl more closely to him. "Her loyal brother?"

"Yes," the male pleaded, "now please…"

"Her confidant and protector?"

"Yes."

"Her friend?"

"Yes, please…"

"From first to last?" the hooded mech leaned even closer, his optics bright as the midday sky.

"Yes," the male said, and Sunstreaker let go his grip, and dropped the female in a heap on the ground. With a cry, the male rushed to her side, but before he could touch her, Sunstreaker flicked out a knife, and in one smooth motion, slit the human male from naval to chin.

With a bubbling cough, the male collapsed, his fingers twitching bare inches from where his sister lay, and Sunstreaker said to him, "I don't believe you."

"Patrick!" the female shrieked, and clawed her way to her brother's side. But the noise of her scream unnerved Sunstreaker, and so he silenced her as efficiently as he knew how. It was only a moment he had to kneel in the river, the icy water swirling around his legs as he waited for her thrashing to stop. He looked at her yellow hair, waving in ghostly imitation of life as she jerked and spasmed under the water, and he thought distantly that she should be grateful that he had cut down her treacherous brother before he could turn on her. She should be staring up at him through the water, her blue eyes wide with thanksgiving that he was saving her from the knowledge that brothers know only how to lie and steal and betray. But instead she only struggled, and so Sunstreaker lost all interest in her, so much so that when she finally fell limp, he let her body wash down stream, and forgot about her entirely before he was five strides into the wood.

Bluestreak slept in fits, dozing against the rock wall. He was dimly aware of Dart curled up at his feet, sleeping no better and eyeing him every time he grunted in his sleep. Outside, the rain hammered on.

He dreamed of a darkangel, howling over the land like a wind, and the wind itself leading the darkangel on, betraying Bluestreak with the scent of his own fear. Every now and again, a gust of a wet breeze would unfurl itself through the cave, and Bluestreak would awake with a start, and bite off a scream before he could give himself away.

Stupid, he thought to himself, and rearranged his doors more comfortably against the wall. Why don't you just stand outside your cave and scream, "I'm right here! Come kill me now!"?

But just as quickly he would sink back asleep, and the dreams would come again.

"He's not right," Sideswipe explained those years ago. "Flipped a switch or something. Who knows? Just stay away from him, if you don't want your doors ripped off."

Bluestreak stared across the unit's mess hall on Cybertron. "But…what's he look like? Under the cloak, I mean."

At that, Sideswipe shrugged and changed the subject. "Hey, there's a bunch of guys betting on the arena games tonight. You want in?"

The dream melded, and Bluestreak found himself staring into the cold, pale optics of the Black Sun as the warrior danced about the arena.

"This one does well," the Lord Prime commented.

"Graceful enough, my lord," Prowl agreed.

Bluestreak overhead them from the seats above him, but he could not turn away from the match. There he was, the darkangel, whirling and leaping about the match ring, each step placed with deliberate precision. Except it wasn't a match. The darkangel was playing. Like some sort of horrific shepherd, he herded and blocked his victims, packing them neatly into this area or that, depending on his whim. He'd been at it a while, making them bleed and beg, and was down to three, all of whom he had driven toward the royal platform, so the Lord Prime could personally enjoy the final killings.

"Watch this," Sideswipe whispered excitedly into Bluestreak's audios. "I told you he's good. We're gonna make a mint on this one."

Bluestreak had thought Sideswipe was only being sentimental, betting on his brother at six to one in the arena. But it seemed there was nothing sentimental about it, and Sideswipe was only betting on what he knew was a sure thing. Sunstreaker, to the dismay of most of the night's gambling community, was frighteningly good.

"I thought he wasn't supposed to win," Bluestreak whispered back. Sunstreaker was in there facing six opponents because he'd murdered one of the Lord Prime's favored consorts.

"Well, he's not," Sideswipe replied. "But he will."

Like clockwork, the darkangel battered and harried one of his "opponents" against the wall, just below where his brother sat, and with a flourish, he summoned a shortblade out of his cloak. Behind the pair, the other two opponents lay, exhausted and cowering.

"Kill me quickly," the bleeding mech begged, both hands clawing weakly at Sunstreaker's grip on his throat.

The darkangel grinned in response, his mouth curving with a faint glimmer beneath his hood. "First say you love me," he commanded, voice low and taunting.

"I love you," his victim whined.

"Say I am a god."

"You're a god," the victim breathed.

"Say," Sunstreaker smiled, and inched his victim higher against the wall, "that I am the most beautiful creature ever fashioned by the fingers of our kind."

"You -" But the darkangel's victim was silenced by a blade through his throat, and gave a final jerk of his body as Sunstreaker twisted the knife.

"Liar," the darkangel whispered, so softly that Bluestreak was sure he was the only mech who could hear, and then the darkangel allowed the body to slide to the ground. Briefly, he looked up, and the optics that stared out from beneath that hood were like none Bluestreak had ever seen. Shaking to his core, Bluestreak froze while the darkangel stared at him, and he thought for a moment that if he did not run, the darkangel would drink away his soul. But just as quickly, before his fuel pump could cycle through one full beat, Sunstreaker turned and was gone after the others.

"Told you," Sideswipe slapped him on the back, and Bluestreak jumped.

Startled, Bluestreak awoke again at dawn, and stared, trembling, around his den for a long moment before he realized where he was. Slowly, he let himself relax, and allowed himself to feel some bit of comfort at the sight of the rising sun. The rain had stopped, and even the clouds had blown apart enough to let down the pinkish glow of the sun. At the mouth of the cave, drops of water dripped, rose-colored, onto the threshold.

"Not come. See?" Bluestreak looked down at where Dart lay, still curled at his feet. She stared up at him, her optics glowing with the same soft red of the morning sun. "Not find."

Bluestreak let out a sigh, and, with a moan, levered himself to his feet. What a brilliant idea that had been, sleeping against the wall. He let out another sorrowful groan, and rotated his neck. Brilliant. Great Primus, he was sore.

Dart got more easily to her feet, not having been stupid enough to lay with her neck jammed up against the wall. She moved to the entrance of the cave, and raised her chin, her ponytail catching the reddish light as she tested the air. "Hmmph," she turned, and fixed him with her slanting gaze. "No Sun. No Red."

"Yet," Bluestreak replied with a grimace as he stretched, his doors sprung wide as he all but contorted himself in an effort to loosen his suspensory cables. With a shake, he relaxed, and made his way to stand beside Dart at the door.

"Maybe Sun follow Red. Kill Red." She turned him a wolfish grin.

"Maybe," Bluestreak mumbled, and stared morosely into the morning mist. He felt better seeing the sun, but even through the soft mist the world still looked threatening, and he shivered at the clinging remnants of his dreams. He never dreamed, and when he did the images always faded before he could remember them. But not this time. Not these images.

Slowly, stiffly, he turned, and made his way toward their meager cache of energon. He offered the first cup to Dart, then took a cup for himself, and sipped quietly while he stared at nothing.

"Still worry?" the courier asked.

"Aren't you?" he mumbled, still troubled by his dreams. They had been so vivid, these regurgitated memories, and they clung to him now like a dark fog.

Dart shrugged. "Not smell. Not worry."

For a moment he sat, empty cup forgotten in his hand, but at length it seemed his legs awakened with a life of their own, and they launched him up and out of the cavemouth.

"Where go?" he heard Dart trailing after him, her voice sounding stark in the morning air, as though it were unreal. Or perhaps it was he who was unreal, and she was calling to him from the waking world, her voice a shock against the eerie, secretive backdrop of his fears.

Again he stood still and staring, and very dimly he was aware that it was panic making him act this way. "Where can we go?" he asked, or rather, heard his voice ask. "I can't outrun him - not enough energon. And he can fly. He has a rocket pack."

"Not fly," Dart said softly, with a shake of her head.

"Exactly," Bluestreak came back, exasperation making his voice rise. "So we can't hide up high. And we can't run, and we can't just sit here and wait -"

A touch on his arm made him jump, and he had his rifle in his arms before he knew what he was doing. Optics wide, Dart froze, confused, as she stared down the muzzle of his weapon. "Not shoot," she said tremulously, and watched him warily as he lowered his rifle away from her.

With a grunt, Bluestreak flipped his rifle back into its magnetic clips, and turned away from her to stare out over the trees. This was ridiculous, spooking himself this way, not to mention her. What would the Black Sun want with him, anyway? Between himself and Sideswipe, it was a sure bet that Sunstreaker had been there watching the red warrior, and not Bluestreak. And if he'd been there for Bluestreak, wouldn't he have tracked them that very day, and killed both him and Dart before they even had time to scream?

"Really scared," Dart said from behind him.

It was true. He really was scared, more so in fact than he'd been in longer than he could remember, and he had no idea why. It made no sense. The Black Sun couldn't be after him. Sunstreaker had never so much as looked at him, except that one time, and probably didn't even know his name.

Except…there was that one time. And he'd been so sure he was looking at death itself.

He looked down over the trees, caught the glint of the sun off of his own chestplate and, hissing with disgust, leaped running into the trees.

"Wait!" he heard Dart gathering speed behind him. "Where go?"

Idiot, he thought to himself, not bothering to answer the courier at his heels. Stand there like a bright, shining star on the hillside. Might as well hold up a neon sign saying, "Bluestreak Is Here." Why not include a bullseye while he was at it? Get your free renegade head here, he should shout into the wind. Idiot. Furious with himself, he ran west up the mountain.

For a while, he ran with no idea of where he was going, or why, and when at last he stopped, it was in a little clearing with the sun flooding down in a great shaft. Behind him, Dart pulled up, and stood watching while he tried to pretend he wasn't shaking. "Hide here?" she asked, when he'd been silent too long.

Bluestreak stepped forward into the clearing, and felt the warmth of the sun as it slid over his chestplate and up his face. Doors swinging wide, he looked up, momentarily distracted by such soothing heat.

"Bluestreak," he heard the courier's soft voice near his shoulder, and he thought he heard a note of concern.

Turning, he lowered his head. This wasn't like him. Oh, sure, he was scared a lot, and he'd admit that in seventeen languages on an intergalactic billboard if it'd get him out of this war for good. But this…he scrubbed at the back of his head. Yeah, he was scared, but he wasn't often spooked witless. Well, he had those blank spots, those times when he just froze up mentally, and would come to later and not even known that he'd freaked out. This was sort of like that, he guessed, but not really. No, this was like those blank spots, in that he was really was that scared, but it was unlike the blank spots in that he didn't have the luxury of blanking out.

Snorting, he let out a whuff of air, and glared around him. This was stupid, a waste of energon to go careening through the forest just because of a memory. The Black Sun wasn't coming here. And why was he even so afraid of him? One good, clean shot was all he needed, and a nice, elevated position with a clear view would provide him with the opportunity for that.

Except, what was he thinking? That was Sideswipe's brother. Sure, Sideswipe didn't seem to give a flip about his own kin, but could Bluestreak afford to even take a chance at alienating one of his only sources of aid? He couldn't kill Sideswipes' brother. Primus, they were twins, and that was incredibly rare. What if…what if there really was some kind of deep-seated affection between them? Sideswipe would kill Bluestreak himself; he was just that whacked. Yeah, Sides was his friend and all, but he was whacked, and that was the truth. And it didn't take much to make him change gears from happy-bubbly-guy, to Mr. Piledriver In Your Faceplate. No way. No way would he kill Sunstreaker.

What the hell was he saying? Of course he would kill Sunstreaker. Sideswipe be damned! Hell, everyone be dammed, if it would get him one more day of living. He'd shoot that black-hooded freak between the optics if given half a shot. No way was he taking the chance of not making it out alive. Give him one glimpse of that monster, and he'd peg him at a mile out.

"Not waver." Dart spoke from in front of him, and Bluestreak pulled up to stare at her.

"What?" he asked, irritated.

"Not hold back." Dart crossed her arms. "Said can't shoot. Stupid. Shoot."

Gradually, Bluestreak realized he'd been thinking out loud, and what's more, he'd been pacing so widely that he was now on the other end of the clearing. "You think I should kill him?"

"Yes," Dart snorted, as though she couldn't believe her audios. "Sun, bad. Shoot. Not worry Red. Dart take care Red."

"You may not hurt Sideswipe," Bluestreak jabbed a finger in her direction. "Do not disobey me on that."

The courier let out a low rumble of a whine, angry but compliant. Again, she snorted, but said nothing more about harming the red warrior. "Shoot Sun. Monster." She turned away from him, troubled.

Bluestreak watched her, mouth pressed into a tight frown as the wind rose up against his back. "Yes, he is a monster. The things he's done, I haven't even told you…"

"Know." She looked east down the mountain side, through the endless, tossing trees, the morning sun turning her edges to gold and inking her into deep shadow. "Talk in sleep."

He squinted at her as the wind buffeted his back, rattling his doors. "He's done so much worse even than that," he said softly, almost dejectedly.

"Afraid," her voice was almost inaudible in the rising wind.

"Yes," he admitted. "I was afraid of him the moment I set optics on him." He looked down at his hands. "Been afraid ever since."

"Afraid, ok," she turned back, and tilted her head. He could just make out her optics in the shade, the brilliant sun creeping up behind her and searing her edges to white.

Again he looked down, and saw that his hands were shaking, and he flexed them, trying to get them to stop, but there was nothing for it. "Then we'll find a high point, camp out for the day. If we don't see him -"

Too late, he looked up, and froze. He saw the stiffened form of Dart's body, saw the glint of an energy knife at her throat, felt his internals twist into ice. "Good morning," the hooded thing said, and the darkangel stepped into the light.

Bluestreak couldn't move. He saw Dart's feet dangling just off the ground, saw her small body held crushed against the monster's cloaked form, saw her frightened optics as she held herself so very, very still. He wanted to draw his weapon, itched down to his fingers to draw, but though he knew he could have shot Sunstreaker before the mech could take another step, he could not make his arms obey his commands.

Besides, then Dart would be dead.

Astonished, mesmerized, terrified stupid, he stared as the Black Sun drew near. "So who," he could just see the outline of Sunstreaker's mouth as it moved, "is this?" The hooded creature turned its head and pressed its nose to Dart's neck, while the courier shuddered. "A Decepticon for an ally?" He lifted his head. "But a pretty one."

"M-mm…" Bluestreak pointed, not knowing what he was saying, wondering when his feet would obey and send him flying down the mountain side.

"Mm?" the creature inquired, its shadowy mouth glinting into a smile. "Mine? Is that what you're trying to say? Is this pretty thing yours, thief? Hmm." He tipped his knife-hand, and dug the point into Dart's neck, just enough to release a bead of energon. She whimpered. Tilting his chin, the Black Sun closed his mouth around the cut, his lip dragging across the back of his own blade as he sucked energon out of the slice. Raising his head again, he stared at Bluestreak, his optics pulsing an arctic blue, the shimmer of energon still gleaming at the corner of his mouth. "Now tell me, does anything truly belong to a thief?"

"Whuh…" Bluestreak breathed, trying desperately to make his vocalizer work. Quaking, he tried again, and made his voice squeak out, "What…want?"

"What do I want?" the thing asked, its voice smooth and rich as velvet. "That should be obvious. I want what you have."

"What I…" Bluestreak felt his legs loosen, and his feet start to carry him backward. He wanted to look away, wanted to pull himself up from the midnight well of the other mech's optics. But he could not shift his gaze, and could not stop his doors from rattling. "L-let her go," he heard himself say thickly.

"Oh," the monster chuckled, "you think I want this?" He bent his dark head again toward Dart, who suddenly began to thrash in his grip, kicking and arching her back against his cloaked chestplate. But it did her little good, as he stunned her quickly with a blow to the head, and produced a length of cord to tie her arms and legs.

At first Bluestreak could only stare, but then he heard himself utter a strangled cry, though before he could take two steps, the Black Sun was on him with astonishing speed. He felt himself spun about, felt a sickening rip at his shoulder, and the next he knew, his face was pressed against the mud, and he was struggling on trembling legs to gain his feet again.

When once more he stood, it was to see Dart bound to a tree, her head sagging dizzily as she feebly tried the cords. To the side, the Black Sun stood watching him.

Bluestreak staggered insensibly, still overwhelmed by panic. "What?" he repeated himself. "What do you want?"

The Black Sun watched him, a length of metal glinting in the sun as he turned it over and over in his hands. It was a familiar movement, something Bluestreak had seen a thousand, thousand times before, if he could only right his mind long enough to think of it. He stared at it, his optics roving almost lovingly over its form, but it wasn't until he realized that his fingers were twitching in covetous anticipation that he knew he was looking at his own gun.

The Black Sun had taken his rifle.

"Oh, this?" the monster asked with a shadowy smile, as if reading his mind. "Yes, this is yours, too. Well, after a fashion, I suppose. You see, I'm here to take your things from you. That's what happens to thieves, you know."

"I'm not a thief," Bluestreak answered before he knew himself.

"A thief and a liar," the other answered back, and at once the velvet was gone from his voice. "You took what was mine," he grated, "and I'll have it out of you if I have to cut it, bit by bit."

"What?" Bluestreak quailed, wishing desperately that he could collect himself, and not knowing how to make his legs stop trembling.

"Don't pretend you don't know," the other snarled, its golden hands sliding over and over his gun, and contrasting sharply against the light-swallowing black of his cloak. "I smelled it all along your trail, was overwhelmed by its stench near your dirty hole of a hovel, and I can smell it on you now, even through the stink of your fear. So don't tell me you don't know, and don't pretend that you haven't stolen from me, because you," he stabbed one golden finger in Bluestreak's direction, "are the vilest of thieves. And you will pay it all back."

"But I have nothing," Bluestreak started to say, but fell silent at the blackening of the other's optics. Their blue had grown so fierce they were like the night sky now, and Bluestreak drew his doors back until they nearly touched behind him. He backed up, hands up in a placating gesture. "I-I'll give it to you. Just…just tell me." He flicked a gaze toward Dart, who stared wildly back. What was he saying?

"Tell you?" the creature spat, and took a step in his direction. "And what should I tell you, prince of thieves, who steals from the poor and stores up his plunder for himself?"

This was all wrong, all of it. Wildly, Bluestreak raked his gaze across the lightening sky, taking in the merry blue and gold, his optics full of the sun, which rose not to comfort him, but to betray him. It shouldn't be this way. Monsters shouldn't creep upon him in the morning light, with the sun so glad on his shoulders. He looked, shivering, at the Black Sun, and wondered how he could have been so stupid as to ignore his dreams. How stupid could he have been, not to have known that this monster had been tracking him, and that every monster of his kind would always track him, until the day the light went out of his optics? This was wrong, as the war was wrong, blotting the joy out of every world it conquered, out of every soul it swallowed up, as it steam-rolled its way across the stars. It was wrong. Death was wrong; terror was wrong. All that crawled from the shadows and delighted in fear was wrong.

With a senseless roar, Bluestreak threw himself down the slope, fingers hooked into claws as he bore down on the darkangel. Fear be damned to hell; he would not beg for death or even mercy. Screaming, exhausted, enraged, he plunged himself toward the beast, head lowered, arms spread wide.

With a crack, he felt his head snap back as it hit the butt of his own weapon. Sunstreaker brought the rifle around in a smash to Bluestreak's face, and the smaller mech yelped in fright as his feet jerked out from under him. With a jarring crash, he landed flat on his back, and lay stunned.

Dart uttered a sharp cry, and Bluestreak feebly lifted his hand, though whether it was to tell her he was all right, or to make a move to get to his feet, he didn't know. He was tired, underenergized, and he hurt. He hurt.

"Is that all?" came a disdainful voice, and he wobbled his head around to look up into the optics of the Black Sun. They peered down at him, the pasty blue of disappointment lighting in their depths. Heh, Bluestreak laughed to himself, somewhere deep in his processor. Certainly this monstrous thing couldn't have been expecting a contest. "You disgust me," it said, and sauntered out of his view.

After a short moment, a scream broke the morning air, and Bluestreak twitched and automatically levered himself onto his arms, legs splayed out in front of him. Still stunned, he tried to focus his optics on what he was seeing, but it took him a minute to realize that the monster was attacking Dart.

Fluids oozed from two long slashes on her chest, and as Bluestreak watched, the Black Sun came around behind her, and held his knife to her cheek. Optics locked onto the renegade's, the Black Sun drew his blade against the courier's face, and sliced her from her jaw to her audios. "Now," the monster queried, knife dangling in his hand as he rested his golden wrist on the courier's shoulder, "how long do you think it will take before she bleeds to death?" He brought his face around the corner of the tree, and gazed down into her face. "Or would you like this to go more quickly?" With a flick of his wrist he sliced her other cheek, and she let out a whimper as she began to struggle anew.

"Leave her 'lone," Bluestreak mumbled as he got to his feet.

"Leave her 'lone?" the creature mimicked, as Dart jerked desperately against the bonds. "Oh, well since you asked so nicely."

Bluestreak clamped his mouth shut and balled his fists, brow furrowed at the advancing Autobot. He thought of blurting something defiant, but all he could do was wince, and draw his doors back, and not turn and run away. The first blow hit him hard in the midsection; the next spun him nearly off his feet as Sunstreaker backhanded him across the face. The next was a crushing kick to the side of his head, and for a moment, Bluestreak plunged into darkness, only dimly aware of the distant stabs of pain. Over and over he heard the blows crash against his body, and when the haze passed, he found himself on all fours and retching up fluids in the dirt.

"Spit it up," the voice snarled, and he felt a hand grip the back of his neck and force his face down into the filth. "Spit it up and die in it, you vile thief."

Bluestreak kicked, optics squeezed shut against the sticky pool beneath his face. Grunting, he suppressed a cry as the Autobot dug a knee into his right door panel and bent it into the dirt, and he thought distantly that at least he hadn't begged for his life.

But at once the pressure eased, and he heard the quiet tread of the Black Sun as he made his way back downslope toward Dart. Dart. Bluestreak blinked, and raised himself onto his elbows. He shook there for a moment, fell again onto his face, and struggled to his elbows again before he could summon the strength to get to his knees. Warning messages screamed across his internal systems, but he ignored them as he dragged himself to his feet.

Again, a howl of pain broke through his thoughts, and he spun about, disoriented, until his feet began to carry him downslope toward the noise. The wind caught at his doors and almost unbalanced him, but he managed to keep his feet as he tripped and lurched unthinking to Dart's aid. Ahead, he could see the monster scoring her again with his knife, dragging a long furrow along her leg so that the fluids poured out of her and into the tree roots.

Bluestreak swung a fist, and to his utter shock, his feet carried him forward in time for him to connect with the black creature's face. Sunstreaker grunted in surprise, and swung his head around to glare at the renegade. "Filth," he hissed, hooded head weaving as he advanced. "Thief. How dare you touch me?"

Bluestreak shuddered. "Mm…not a thief." He wavered, and put a foot back for balance.

"Not a thief?" the Black Sun pressed him, and stabbed a finger into his chestplate, making him stumble. "Not a thief?" he rasped. "But you've taken everything!"

"I don't understand," Bluestreak cried as he threw up his hands, but at once the creature was on him, pinning him to the ground, and slashing at his face and chest with his blade. Again he cried out and tried to raise his hands, but the darkangel was too big, too strong. From somewhere nearby, Bluestreak heard Dart's snarling screams as she thrashed in her bonds, but there was nothing she could do.

"You don't understand?" the Autobot growled, mouth pullled back in an ugly grimace. "You've stolen from me for as long as we've known you; you stole from me three nights past. And you say you don't understand."

"Th-three nights?" Bluestreak choked, fingers working uselessly against the creature's knees, which pinned him at the shoulders. He raised his brows, squirming weakly. "Power packs…were yours?"

"Power packs?" Sunstreaker let out a mirthless laugh. "No, little thief," he leaned forward, voice lowering to a hollow whisper as the edge of his hood nearly cut off the light of the sun, "you stole away my brother."

Bluestreak stared back, his optics wide as he gaped into the blazing depths of the darkangel's eyes. He couldn't speak, had no response other than to lay terrified on the ground, captured in the soulless light of this creature's gaze. Why hadn't he run when he had the chance? This creature was utterly mad, to think Bluestreak had taken Sideswipe and hidden him somewhere, like some pilfered coin he could produce out of his pockets. "S-smelled it. Said…" His mind reeled from too many hits, and he mused dully that he had been reduced to spitting out broken phrases like Dart's. "D-don't have…"

"But you do," the darkangel said calmly, and raised his chin to look at Bluestreak's forehead. Casually, he reached up his blade and began to saw. "You have it even now," he said while Bluestreak bit down against a scream. "You have it because he gave it to you, this piece of himself, and you will keep it close until you die, because it is what keeps you alive."

Bluestreak whimpered as at last the darkangel quit his cutting, and held up the renegade's red chevron for inspection. Like a jewel, it caught the morning light, and Bluestreak let loose a pent-up gasp of pain. "Hope," the creature said, almost as if to himself, before tucking the chevron away in his cloak. "Hope," he said again, as he looked down at the weakened silver mech beneath him, "is what makes you live. Hope in salvation, hope in redemption, hope," his optics glittered like bitter shards in a starless night, "in mercy."

The wind snapped the darkangel's cloak around him, lifting its edges like the unfurled tendrils of a black cloud, and Bluestreak knew without question that it was his time to die. He was relieved, really, and almost felt glad that all of this was almost over. Who could live like this, anyway? Who could live in constant fear? Who could live in a frigid, muddy hole in the earth, begging for fuel and depending on the humans to not turn on him when this war was over - if the war was ever over? Would this war end? Would it finally come to the end of its span, where it staggered and died, leaving only the survivors to pick up the broken pieces of life? Would the remnants of each army then find their ways toward peace, and resume their mundane jobs, toiling for wages that barely covered the rent? And when one found the thinnest thread of hope, the finest sparkling thread, could hope then be clung to, or would it be snatched away by every darkangel ever to crawl out of the night? No, death was welcome to have him. Even pain could have him for a while, if it would lead to death. He lay there while the creature slashed at him, knife gleaming in the happy sun, and thought hazily that he didn't understand, but that he was glad that he was dying here in the warm light, where he could lay his head down forever and rest at last.

With a jolt the creature toppled, and Bluestreak lay staring at the sky. He heard shouting, and wondered at it.

Beside him, the darkangel bucked, its body contorting insensibly before it fell back and lay still. There came more shouts, high shouts, not Dart's.

"Bluestreak!" he heard his name being called, and felt arms pulling him away from the dark thing. A cup was lifted to his mouth, and he sputtered before he was able to swallow, but miraculously, his systems still allowed him to process energy, and his optics brightened immediately.

He looked up at Dart, who stared at the darkangel, one arm supporting the silver mech, one hand holding out her knife. "What happened?" he murmured, surprised he was capable of speech, and just as surprised at how empty his voice sounded.

Just then the familiar shape of Chip's hoverchair eased into sight, and the young man peered up at him, eyes wide with concern. "Are you all right?" he asked. Beyond him, on an ATV, Carly held her weapon on the downed Sunstreaker, ready to launch another viro-ball if needed. Sparkplug and Spike stood by with another ATV, rocket launcher trained on the cloaked Autobot, and for Bluestreak, things slowly began to make sense.

"How did you find me?" he tried to ask, blinking slowly as his optics tried to focus on the human before him.

"A sister camp to the south warned us," Chip explained flatly, and nodded his head toward Sunstreaker, face set with a slow-burning anger. "It killed one of the men from that camp, and tried to kill the guy's kid sister by drowning her, but she survived and made it back to camp." A humorless smirk crossed his face. "Broken ribs, but she kept her head enough to go limp and fake drowning. Fooled this one. And we got the warning in time to come after you."

With a grunt, Bluestreak pushed himself onto his knees. "Help me," he muttered to Dart, and between the two of them, they got him to his feet, where he swayed, unsteady. He felt relieved, yes, but there was that part of him that still wanted to lie on the ground and never get up, and he had to admit, if only to himself, that he resented what Chip had done. "Thank you," he finally managed, though his voice sounded lifeless and far away.

Something was pressed into his hands, and it took him a while to realize that it was his gun. A bit of confidence returned to him at the feel of its weight in his grip. "Do you want the honor?" Chip asked.

"Honor?" he asked flatly, thinking he had never known honor, and could not possibly understand what Chip meant. But at the human's gesture, he took it to mean his chance to put an energy bolt through the darkangel's head. Stumbling, he made his way forward with the help of Dart, and the two of them came to around to stand at Sunstreaker's head.

The Black Sun rested on his side, seeming nothing more than a sad shape beneath layers of dark cloth, now that he lay unmoving. It almost seemed that something had been taken from him, that without his quick grace, he had been reduced to nothing more than a husk, and no more frightening than the dead leaves which littered the ground. One arm slung across Dart's shoulder, the other holding his rifle, Bluestreak took aim, and would have fired had not the wind blown.

Like some sorrowful companion, the wind moved over the unmoving Autobot, ruffling his cloak as if trying to nose him back to life. Bluestreak hesitated, and wondered whose spirit was trying so desperately to stand guard over this monstrous thing, when the wind gave a last gust, and blew back the darkangel's hood.

Arm in arm, both Transformers stared in silence. Dart put a hand to her mouth. It was not possible, could not be possible, that this was the deathly creature beneath the mask.

"Angel," Dart murmured.

And Bluestreak could not help but stand, amazed, his body gone still as he stared, somehow suddenly grieved, at the angel before them. Its broken body lay still as a pool of light, gold spilling out of black crevices, and its face, asleep, was more beautiful than anything Bluestreak had ever seen in his life. He felt so strange, standing over it, as if all the ugliness had somehow been his imagination, as if something this lovely could never have worn a mask of hate, or at least had never been meant to. He stared, almost shamed, his rifle forgotten, and thought to himself that this was what it must feel like to stare into the face of a dying phoenix.

Mortal and dim, he backed away, Dart limping with him. He did not know why, but he could not bring himself to shoot. "His death won't be on my hands," he informed the others. Optics down, he struggled to the edge of the clearing, and, thinking of Sideswipe, ordered, "Leave him."

Reluctantly, begrudgingly, the party made their way down the side of the mountain, with hardly a word along the way. At their backs, the wind buffeted and chased them like an angry warden, and they did not look back, though ever after, Bluestreak often wondered why.

The three days had come and gone. Three days and then some; Sunstreaker hardly knew how many.

He'd awakened sick and disoriented in the rain. He did not remember much at first, and it took him many days to find his way home in the ceaseless, hammering downpour. Cold, sore, he dragged himself at last through the halls of the Ark, but instead of making his way to Prowl, he found himself standing at his brother's door.

For a long while, he stood, silent, unaware of anything passing behind him. The memories were slowly swimming to the surface now, and he recalled why he had gone out, and what had happened in that small clearing on the mountain side. Resentment and disappointment welled in him as he stood alone in the hall, and he thought for the first time in his life that perhaps it would be better to die. "Jacob, have I loved," he whispered bitterly, and drew the red chevron from beneath his cloak. He slid a knife out of his sleeve, stabbed it through the chevron, and pinned it to the door. Then he turned and disappeared down the hall.

"You're late," was all Prowl had to say.

The Black Sun stood in the center of his office, optics smoldering on the floor. "I was knocked out."

"By Bluestreak?" Prowl asked snidely, an unpleasant smile creeping about his face.

"No," Sunstreaker stated flatly. "Humans and their virus projectiles."

Now Prowl let out a loud, ugly laugh, and threw his head back as he slapped the armrest of his chair. "Oh, that's rich. You, the Black Sun, brought low by a couple of humans."

"Yes," Sunstreaker responded simply, though Prowl continued to laugh.

At length, the second-in-command sobered, and fixed the cloaked Autobot with a stare. "Well," he said, "surely you have something to tell me. Something that might indicate to me that this entire debacle was not a complete waste of my time."

Sunstreaker said nothing. Lovely thoughts crashed like waves through his mind, of Sideswipe suffering, of Sideswipe finally getting what was due him. He pictured the look on Prowl's face, when he was told of Sideswipe's treachery. And he pictured the look on Sideswipe's face, when he learned that it was his brother who had turned him in. It was lovely, and it made the heat begin to swell again through Sunstreaker's tired systems.

"Well?" Prowl pressed.

He imagined he could already hear his brother's screams. He could see the plasma, could see his brother writhing in agony, day after day, maybe year after year. How long before he broke? Would he disappoint, and last only days? Or would he prove to be more stubborn, and last a month, a year, more? A small shiver ruffled through Sunstreaker's frame as he considered that as a part of his reward for such diligent service, and for such loyalty that would make him turn his own brother in as a traitor, he would be allowed to participate in his brother's punishment. What would Sideswipe think, to see his brother's face there, watching while he burned?

"I cannot imagine," Prowl broke through his thoughts, sounding truly irritated now, "that you have nothing for me. Tell me at least the name of this traitor, before I'm forced to extract it from you in less pleasant ways."

Sunstreaker raised his head from the floor, stared wearily at the white Autobot before him. "The traitor," he said, hearing his voice sound as though from the depths of a dank well, "the traitor was me."

Alone in the pitch dark, and shivering against the numbing cold, Sunstreaker cowered in a corner. Would they come again? Would they come today? He tucked himself in a ball, and hid his face.

Prowl hadn't believed him, and had promised him a traitor's punishment until he told the truth. Who was the traitor? Over and over the questions pounded like waves against his skull. Who are you hiding? Tell us who you're protecting and we'll stop. We'll stop…we'll stop…

Far away, somewhere above, he heard the hammering rain as it sang of ghost ships and dog stars and the endless sheen of the silver sea. The singing came again, and he whimpered, sick and trembling with fatigue. Slowly he lay down, knees drawn up to his face, heedless of the filth on the floor as he squeezed his optics shut, trading the black world without for the black world within.