Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They aren't being taken all the way back to Garrus-2. It's barely any comfort to Krok; as much as he's glad to never see that place again, it only means that he's being given a more personal touch from the Autobot who's captured him. Instead, in a short distance, they're taken to an underground bunker that's hidden under a pile of rubble, meant to be easily missed by anyone observing from a distance.

Which means that most likely no one will find them. Unless someone knows where to look, Fulcrum and Krok are on their own.

The bunker is quite small, a single room with a back door that might be an emergency exit. Immediately catching his eye is the huddled figure of someone in one of the corners of the room. With some observation, Krok is able to determine that it's Pharma, clearly alive and perhaps hoping that he'll be ignored. The rest of the bunker is furnished to a point, with a desk and recharge slab and two chairs. One seat is for comfort, and the other clearly to keep a captive cuffed to it. On the west well, there are shackles prepared for a waiting prisoner.

"Have a seat, Krok," First Aid says, nodding to the chair. Quickly, Wing shoves the Decepticon down, snapping the buckles into place around both his wrists and ankles. Krok immediately struggles with the bonds, grunting as he tries to test their limits.

No good. Not enough wiggle room. He'll have to think of something else.

"Now I know these won't be enough for you, Fulcrum." First Aid folds his arms and observes Whirl and Siren cuffing Fulcrum to the wall with his arms above his head. "So I arranged for some precautions. You were always so difficult."

"I'm not flattered, bub," Fulcrum rumbles out, narrowing his optics.

First Aid laughs quietly, watching with interest as chains are being clipped to a shackle which snaps into place around Fulcrum's neck and keeping him more effectively pinned where he is. "Oh, but you ought to be. Who else has ever taken the time to really get to know you as well as me?"

"And you're even dumber than I thought if you think that all of this is going to hold me down for long."

"I'm banking on your habitual sense of loyalty. For example." Sitting back comfortably in the unbound chair next to Krok, First Aid takes out a pistol from his hip, leveling it right at Krok's head. The Decepticon tactician jerks a little, for what little good it'll do him. "If you start struggling too much, my finger just might end up twitching. So you'll be on your best behavior, I imagine."

"Fraggin' glitch!" Fulcrum hisses, hands clenching into a fist. Briefly, it seems like Fulcrum might try to break out of his bonds, but nothing comes of it. He does not try to fight back, for Krok's sake.

Damn him. Krok certainly wants to live like any average person, but not on the well-being of someone else.

"Fantastic. I'm so happy to have your cooperation," First Aid says.

Wing clears his throat. "I've fulfilled your request. Now for your part of the bargain. Two Scavengers."

"Right, right. Consider the contract fulfilled." First Aid calmly brings up his wrist, a glowing hologram projecting as he transfers digital funds accordingly. "Thank you for your services."

"Wing!" Fulcrum growls. "Next time I see you, you're dead! I don't care what anyone says!"

"Well, then that'll be an interestin' day, won't it?" Wing rolls his shoulders back, then turns and makes his way out of the bunker.

First Aid lounges in his seat as he watches Wing go, then he takes a pause as he glances over to Krok, his expression coming off as if he's thinking very deeply. "That was a very curious thing to say earlier, Krok," First Aid muses. "Not his captain. Now, why would you ever say something like that?"

With careful manipulation of information, it could be possible to get out of this with a few chosen words. Unfortunately, Krok knows that none of his skills include manipulating people in particular. He's a tactician in terms of battle, not in terms of mind games. Still, he tries to think of a way to handle this in the best way possible. If he can get Fulcrum out of here alive, then that's good enough for him. As much as he completely desires to go home and see his own crew again, he knows he cannot turn his back on these Decepticons yet either.

So he says, "It's the truth. Why do you think everything about me was so strange before, Autobot? I don't belong in this universe. I'm not his captain and he's not part of my crew."

"Hmm." First Aid tilts his head, looking ponderous as he considers Krok's explanation. "That's a very interesting explanation you've made. But all right. I'll play along. Let's assume you are, somehow, from another universe. I suppose I could see how you might have some disinclination towards him. It takes a unique individual to truly appreciate him."

Fulcrum snorts and spits at First Aid's feet. Krok tenses up a little; he isn't sure where this is going to go, but he's desperate for a possibility that'll buy them more time.

"Still, this just means you need to really get to know him, don't you?" Gently, First Aid taps his gun against the side of Krok's head, making the Decepticon flinch. "Pharma, come join us, won't you?"

There's a startled noise emitted from Pharma, but he wastes no time in standing up and quickly making his way to First Aid's side. From here, Krok can see the results of what happened to him after they were separated at Garrus-2: where Pharma's hand had been shot to pieces, it's now been replaced by a new strange appendage only vaguely resembling a hand. Each finger is elongated, looking like they function as separated soldering irons, sparking and heating at the tips. Due to the chainsaw arm, Krok wonders briefly if that was replaced due to it getting lost in a fight or something like that as well. Rather than properly repairing Pharma, he's been punished with hands that aren't fit for proper surgery. Instead, they've been made into tools of torture.

"Yes sir?" Pharma asks hollowly, sounding exhausted.

First Aid motions him close. "I really need you to do me a favor. Remember how well you cut open Krok earlier today?"

Pharma tries to hide a wince. "Yes. Yes I do."

"Fantastic. Wonderful. I'll need you to do something similar to Fulcrum now. Just be very careful with how far you're cutting. The point is, I need you to show the work we did on him." As First Aid makes the command, Krok feels as though his energon freezes in his fuel lines. This is not the results he wanted.

Warily, Pharma glances at Fulcrum. The Decepticon warrior snarls at him, "Do your worst, Pharma. Oh, wait, you already did that! Didn't you?!"

Pharma glances down at his chainsaw limb. "Sir, I'm not sure that. That I'm the best fit for this."

"Ah, you're worried. Understandable. He did bite off your hand last time." First Aid chuckles at the memory. "Well, I wouldn't be so concerned. You don't really have any hands left to lose. Besides, if he misbehaves, I'll be executing his not-captain. Or worse, I suppose. We could certainly do worse."

Which Krok isn't eager to be dealing with the threat on his own person or Fulcrum's, the whole exchange earns a thoughtful squint from him as he tries to put the pieces together from this conversation. Wait, so Pharma has his arm like that because Fulcrum had bitten off his hand sometime ago? That's a vicious thought. If he wasn't convinced that Fulcrum was a violent soldier in this universe, that certainly would seal the deal.

Regardless, Krok feels helpless. He's trying to think of a way to turn this situation around, to keep this from happening. The historian glances around frantically. Waiting at the entrance is Siren, his arms folded as he gazes on in silence. The bunker exit has Whirl next to it, who stares at the floor. When Krok's gaze rests on Pharma, the Autobot is doing his best to keep from looking at anyone's face.

Then there's Fulcrum, who looks defiantly at First Aid, sneering. "I'm not afraid of what you're gonna do to me, bub. This is gonna be nothing." Krok wishes he wouldn't do that.

"I appreciate the challenge." First Aid gestures to Fulcrum. "Get started, Pharma. Crack him open, then show Krok what's inside."

"Pharma." Krok frowns at the Autobot. Before at Garrus-2, Pharma had helped but Krok is under the impression that while Pharma seems to have sympathy for them, he fears the Autobots too much to truly turn away from them. In this situation especially, that seems to be the case. No matter how much desperation he puts into his look, Pharma has no strength to look at Krok.

Instead, Pharma steps forward, struggling a moment to lift his chainsaw before resting it on Fulcrum's chest.

"Call him off!" Krok demands, pulling at his cuffs. "I said call him off!"

Completely ignoring Krok's pleas, First Aid instead watches Pharma with great interest. The chainsaw revs to life, the blades cutting into his target's chest. For all that Fulcrum has strength, he does not bear the ability to not scream as he's cut into so violently. Energon splatters to the floor and he starts to bleed it out profusely.

From this angle, Krok can see Pharma gritting his teeth, looking like he's in pain as well in his own way. The chainsaw is dragged down until it's just to Fulcrum's waistline, then it stops after it's done cutting him lengthways. Pharma hesitates as he tries to figure out what to do next, then winces as he presses his soldering fingers into the cut he's brutally made. Energon sizzles at his fingertips and Krok can smell it due to the perpetual heat coming from Pharma's fingers.

With a grunt, plating is shoved open and Fulcrum braces himself with a weakened snarl. It takes some work, but Fulcrum's chest plates have been forced open, baring his insides to the audience in the room.

"I need you to look carefully," First Aid instructs Krok.

Afraid of what might happen if he doesn't, Krok looks up at the display. At first, he isn't sure what to even think; he can study the casing, where instead of the glimmer of a bright blue spark inside it's the fierce flame of an ember. Having seen many corpses with their insides strewn about in his time, what's arranged there doesn't come as an entire surprise, but something familiar is seated inside. Something that should not be there inside of Fulcrum.

Back on Clemency, shortly after they found the presumably dead K-Con, Spinister had volunteered to remove the payload. After Krok had been certain that his surgeon had the skills necessarily to safely take it out without killing all of them, he remembers being handed the payload. A good find. A good explosive. Spinister was able to take it out.

So why in all of the Pits couldn't this universe's Spinister remove the payload in this Fulcrum? It is admittedly arranged much more intricately, directly tied to the ember casing, but he was still a doctor. Why couldn't he? What was different? Why was that still there?

"I remember it so fondly." First Aid stands up, pulling away from Krok. "I took him and two other of your soldiers sometime ago. I was supposed to interrogate all three of them. Deadlock, Flywheels, and Fulcrum."

The pistol lowers, clipping back to First Aid's hip as an expression of confidence that nothing can interrupt him now. Pharma shrinks away and shuffles to duck himself behind the two chairs in the room, as if he hopes to be forgotten.

First Aid continues, "They wouldn't say much. Oh, we all had our fun. Whenever Ratchet stopped by, I remember how he took an appreciation for Deadlock's spirit until he seemed to go quiet. Even Flywheels didn't seem as if he could hold up against the likes of Garrus-2. But Fulcrum, you never quite lost that fire in you, did you?"

Fulcrum doesn't say anything, but he glowers at the Autobot, a deep growl in his engine. Without fear of his captive, First Aid shoves his hands into the cavity in Fulcrum's chest, grabbing onto a couple of the wires and cables hooked up to the payload. While Krok flinches in empathy, Fulcrum tenses while he flinches and snarls but doesn't struggle. "I rearranged your entire body, didn't I, Fulcrum? Playing with your insides was just the start. You really have to thank Ratchet for coming up with a missile alt-mode, though. He called it an improvement. I called it interesting."

Organs on the inside are not left untouched. First Aid's fingers trail over fuel lines, his hands palming over the t-cog inside. At every bit of contact, Fulcrum hisses and twitches, his optics flaring in both pain and fury. "What fun we shared. You only made a fuss every time we came for your friends. You really shouldn't grow such deep attachments to people like that." One hand reaches out from Fulcrum's innards, patting the Decepticon warrior condescendingly on the cheek, leaving a smear of his own energon.

"Get the hell away from him," Krok demands, feeling his own frame shake in disgust and anger. He desperately wants to protect Fulcrum but he can't. He can't move, can't do a damned thing.

"Krok, shut up," Fulcrum mutters, not looking at him.

"There it is. That nagging sense of loyalty of yours." First Aid loops a fuel line around his pinky, tugging it painfully away from Fulcrum's body. It doesn't disconnect from anything, but it's being dragged out of place painfully. "When Ratchet suggested the alt-mode, I put in the payload. Well, with Pharma's help of course. When all was said and done, we set him up for launch to Megatron's base."

So it's different than his Fulcrum. His Fulcrum, whose body was reformatted by his own military. Here, it's because of an Autobot's own delusions and torturous methods.

Krok doesn't quite flinch, but he feels heat nearby one of his shackles. He glances down as subtly as he can, seeing Pharma trying to discreetly work on using the heated tips of his fingers to melt through the shackle.

So he's not entirely worthless. For the moment, anyway. Krok lets him keep working.

"Now that you've gotten to know him a bit better," First Aid murmurs, "what do you think, Krok? I could really use your opinion on something. Something that's bugged me for ages. You see, I thought I sealed his t-cog in place. I thought I did my part. So when we launched you, Fulcrum..." Fingers dig inside violently, making Fulcrum shout in pain. First Aid looks frustrated. "How? How did you transform?! How did you do it? How did you get away?? Krok, what do you think?"

"Maybe you just aren't as good as you think you are!" Fulcrum snaps at him, defiant despite his position.

Finally, the cuffs start to snap open as Pharma works silently. Krok tenses up, just glad that Siren's attention is currently either on the door he's protecting or on First Aid. Whirl still hasn't budged from staring at the floor, disconnected from the situation entirely.

"From an outside perspective, Krok. This has been bothering me for ages!" First Aid demands.

"You want an outside perspective?" Krok asks, his tone low and full of warning.

Standing up sharply, Krok makes an angry dash for First Aid, moving before anyone can think to stop him. He barrels into the Autobot torturer, throwing him to the floor and tearing him away from Fulcrum. Just as Siren starts to move, Krok grabs the pistol from First Aid's hip and points it at Siren.

"Not another step!" Krok snaps.

"How did...?" First Aid pauses, then peers around Krok with a narrowed gaze. "Pharma."

"I. I didn't-- I mean." Pharma freezes up, optics wide.

Clearly enraged, First Aid shouts, "Whirl! Get Krok!"

Turning around to try to face his opponent in time, Krok is immediately faced with Whirl slamming into him. Pincers grip at one of his wrists, but Krok manages to keep one hand free, punching brutally at the single optic in front of him. One hit isn't enough, so Krok kicks out and keeps striking at the optic staring at him, lacking any emotion.

Around Whirl's shoulder, Krok can see First Aid starting to stand back up and slowly approach his traitorous assistant. "Pharma. I'm very unhappy about this."

Nervously, Pharma takes a few steps back. "I-I know. I know! I made a mistake."

"No, I really don't think you understand how bad this is for you," First Aid says, his tone pitching down.

Frustrated, Krok tries to elbow his assailant in the eye. It's just enough to finally make Whirl flinch and pull away, his claws touching his cracked and flickering optic. Landing roughly onto his feet, Krok starts to reach for First Aid to stop him, but he feels a sharp strike go to the back of his head, causing Krok to become stunned and collapse to the ground in a stumble.

Just as Krok turns to look at his attacked, Siren is peering down at him. Preparing to give a damaging blow, Siren goes still when a blade impales him from behind. Silently staring down, Siren looks confused before he's being thrown against the closest wall.

Standing in the doorway is Deadlock, his arms open dramatically. "Ta-dahhhhh!"

First Aid looks over his shoulder, then scowls. "You! What are you--"

The way Deadlock moves is incredibly fast, to the point where he's almost just a red blur when he races up to First Aid. Swinging his sword neatly, he slices through First Aid's throat, cutting his voice box. The torturer sputters and clutches his throat, stumbling back with his visor widening in surprise. It's quickly become clear that his odds are suddenly very much not in his favor. First Aid turns and slams his shoulder into the emergency exit, forcing the door open as he races out of the bunker.

Alarmed, Whirl looks up to where his comrade escapes. The drone-like Autobot almost looks lost for a moment, then stumbles into a run to follow First Aid.

Krok grunts and gets to his feet, determined to follow them,but Pharma shoves him back away from the door. "Get out of the way! I'm not letting him terrorize us any longer!" Krok orders.

Silently, Pharma just shakes his head and uses his weight to keep Krok from chasing them down. A few more seconds tick by and Krok realizes why: the doorway that First Aid and Whirl took ends up exploding, causing their exit to collapse onto itself. It was rigged to keep anyone from following.

Which means First Aid gets away. Again. It's a bitter feeling to not return the karma, but Krok knows that his attention is needed elsewhere. He glances at Pharma, then shoves him aside by the shoulder. "Thanks," Krok mutters, voice stiff and unsure if he likes saying that to the Autobot.

Krok glances over to Fulcrum. With his swords, Deadlock is working on getting his comrade freed from the wall. While Deadlock gives off the impression of being reckless and an idiot, he's cautious about using his swords to break Fulcrum out of his restraints. When he's finally successful, he carefully takes his teammate into his arms and lowers him to the floor.

Quickly, Krok's optics dart to where Siren had originally fallen.

He's gone. Just a stain of energon has been left behind, and an open door to the entrance where Deadlock had come through.

"Is anyone else with you?" Krok asks Deadlock.

"Nope. Just yours truly," Deadlock answers, gingerly settling Fulcrum onto the floor on his back. "Hey, Fulcrum. How many fingers am I holding up?" The red warrior holds up two.

"More than Pharma," Fulcrum sneers, giving the Autobot a glare. Pharma flinches.

"Eh, good enough."

Krok looks down at the mess that's been left. Plating forced open, insides exposed, some out of alignment. He hates to think that Fulcrum had to endure this before, and worse. That it was the Autobots who made him into an explosive. That, quite possibly, this is all linked together: the missing seat in the S.S.S.A. belonged to Flywheels, Pharma's missing hand, the relationship between Deadlock and Fulcrum, and how much First Aid has been a blight in their lives.

Crouching down next to Deadlock, Krok places a hand to Fulcrum's shoulder. "You shouldn't have surrendered," he says softly. "Not for me. Not when this happened."

"Wasn't really your choice, darlin'." Fulcrum hisses and winces as he tries to push himself up.

"Hey, on the bright side, if you were actually our Krok, there'd be a lot more yelling," Deadlock points out.

"How the hell did you end up finding us, anyway?" Krok asks him.

Deadlock shrugs a little, staring down at Fulcrum, as if he's trying to work out on what to do. "I followed my nose," he answers sarcastically. "Hey, Pharma. Do something useful and see if you can put him back together."

"That's not a real answer," Krok points out, annoyed.

Letting out an irritated sigh, Deadlock says, "Look, I got lucky, okay? That's all. Crankcase and I split up to cover more ground. I heard Fulcrum and look where we are now."

It's not much of a response, but Krok supposes that if Deadlock really did just luck out in finding them that it could be the truth. Although he was initially prepared to deal with Deadlock as the traitor, it could be that he isn't. If he didn't care about his crew, he wouldn't have come to rescue them.

Krok turns his gaze back to Fulcrum, who's struggling to deal with the pain he's in. Admittedly, Fulcrum just looks angry at the situation, but it could be a front. Either way, he silently frets over the injured Decepticon.

"That's good enough for me, then," Krok says. "Thanks for the help."

Deadlock shrugs indifferently.

As Pharma inches near to try to assist, Fulcrum gives a wary snarl. "I should kill you," Fulcrum grates out.

"I-I didn't want to," Pharma stammers out. "But I was too afraid--"

"Were you too afraid when you helped First Aid make me into this?!" Fulcrum snaps at him.

"Fulcrum, I don't blame you, but Pharma helped me break out from where I was cuffed," Krok offers. "Until Spinister has a look at you, he's all we have."

"Yeah, and moving you right now would probably be a terrible idea. You'd get your gross nasty guts everywhere," Deadlock points out. "Hey, we'll see if we can stab Pharma when you're feeling better." That makes Pharma stop, his optics wide. "Oh, c'mon! Not now. Later, I said."

"We'll make that determination at a later date," Krok clarifies, scowling. "Fix him as much as you hand with those... hands. Deadlock, can you try to reach out to Misfire? Siren broke our radio links."

"Whatever you say, not-Krok," Deadlock grumbles, standing up and stepping outside to do just that.

There's a pause as Pharma tries to determine what to do in regards to the repairs he's supposed to attempt. "Brace yourself," he finally advises, wincing as he starts to push the plating closed over Fulcrum's torso again. It earns pained grunts from the Decepticon warrior, but remarkably he's still awake. Once both sides are mostly shut, Pharma starts to use his soldering fingers to seal him closed.

Krok lightly places his hand over Fulcrum's wrist, looking down at him in concern. "Will you manage?"

"Please, I've walked away from worst," Fulcrum says with a snort.

"That's not really what I meant."

Fulcrum hesitates, then glances away from Krok. "Whatever. I'm fine."

While Krok isn't ready to believe that, he leaves the subject alone for the moment. His optics dim slightly and he gazes over the remains of First Aid's handiwork left on Fulcrum's body.

"He said you managed to transform in time, when he launched you as a missile. Even though you shouldn't have," Krok remembers. "What happened then?"

"I told you. I'm always pissed off." Fulcrum sighs, wincing as Pharma seals him up. "I got angry enough to force my t-cog to work. That good enough for you?"

Admittedly, Krok is curious to know more about what must have happened to him, but it isn't his business ultimately. He doesn't know what kind of other memories he could force him to relive, especially after he was just given the slightest glimpse of what he must have endured only a few moments ago.

His only regret is that First Aid escaped.

"Yeah. Sure." Krok pats his arm.

"There. That's... that's as much as I can do." Pharma's shoulders slump. "We'll have to wait for the rest of his team."

"Right." Krok sighs and rubs his forehead.

A small break to be left to his thoughts would be nice, in any case. To his own surprise, he finds himself missing Tarn's clinic. They'd been hospitable and kind and welcoming, even if Krok hates being stuck in this backwards world. It's infinitely better than the situation is right now.

Krok sits close to Fulcrum. It's all that he can do.

-=-=-

It's silent in the room for quite sometime. Somehow, through it all, Fulcrum has remained conscious, but his gaze isn't directed anywhere particular. Every time he glances at Pharma, he lets out a growl which startles the Autobot. When he looks at Krok, Fulcrum almost seems unsure of what to say or how to react, so he turns his head away quickly. Krok doesn't blame him; he himself is not sure what to do about this situation.

Pharma, for the most part, keeps to himself. He looks down at his lack of proper hands, and he trembles in fear. Krok wants to hate him, but right now he just pities him.

Finally, he hears familiar voices outside the door. It's Deadlock greeting Misfire and Spinister shortly before all three of them travel into the bunker.

At a more familiar face, Fulcrum leans up onto his elbows and creates a forced smirk in Misfire's direction. "About time you--" Fulcrum starts as Misfire marches up to them, but he's cut off as Misfire punches him across the face hard enough to knock him back to the floor. It's startling enough to make Pharma yelp and find a corner to tuck himself into.

"Not another word!" Misfire snaps at him. "Don't you ever, ever do that again! You could have been killed, it could have been worse than that!"

"As opposed to anything else I've ever done?" Fulcrum growls, but he looks away in a behavior that could be like pouting.

"That's enough, both of you," Krok says, stepping in. "We need to focus here."

Misfire pauses, as if realizing his own reaction. With a troubled frown, he looks away and mutters to Fulcrum, "Just stay there until Spinister repairs you. Otherwise at this rate, it'll take us hours to get to Iacon." He pauses, then addresses Krok. "That is, assuming you also don't transform into anything? Our captain doesn't, either."

Krok shakes his head. "No, you got it right."

Spinister comes closer. He turns his head and looks at Pharma first, the expression he wears being sympathetic, but he turns his attention back to his team. The expression in blue optics seem to come off as if he's fretting on the inside upon seeing his comrade injured like this.

"Fulcrum?" Spinister kneels down next to him. "Are you--?"

"S'fine," Fulcrum cuts him off, mostly sounding grumpy instead of actually snapping at the medic. "Fix me up as much as you can."

Spinister sighs. "I will. I really wish you wouldn't get yourself into these kinds of situations."

"Wasn't much choice in the matter," Fulcrum mutters.

Misfire turns to face Deadlock, addressing him: "I need you to scout the area and make sure that we don't have any other surprise attacks from Autobots or mercenaries. We did a quick check, but we need to be sure while we get Fulcrum ready for mobilization."

"Yeah, but--" Deadlock starts, clenching his fists.

"Now," Misfire tells him sternly.

There's an angry look that crosses Deadlock's face, then he turns away sharply before he runs out and leaves the bunker. He transforms, his engine roaring as he drives away.

This leaves a brief lull for them; Krok observes the bunker with Spinister trying his best to repair Fulcrum and tidy up Pharma's work with more able hands. He can see Fulcrum's gaze briefly glare at Pharma's shivering, pitiful form in a corner of the room, and Misfire stands at attention by the door as he observes the rubble where Whirl and First Aid made their escape.

One last loose end, then. Krok takes out his gun and approaches Pharma, frowning at him as he levels it at the Autobot's head. The click of the gun gives him away enough that Pharma looks over his shoulder, his eyes widening in terror as he backs up.

"Please! Please, Krok--" Pharma chokes out.

"Krok," Misfire calls out, quickly approaching to place his hand on the historian's wrist, lowering his arm. "What are you doing?"

"In case you forgot, he cut us both open," Krok snaps at Misfire. "And based what I understand, that wasn't the first time Pharma's cut into Fulcrum, was it?"

"You're not wrong, but Pharma's gradually been helping us from the inside, in case you have forgotten." Misfire exhales. "You were awake when he helped us at Garrus-2. You remember? And First Aid has a... way of coercing people when he wants to. Spend enough time with him, and he will do everything he can to manipulate you. I can only imagine what that's been like for Pharma. We should focus ourselves on trying to find Brainstorm's lab."

Krok shoves off Misfire's grip, glaring at him. "None of that is any excuse. You're loyal to your team. Period! I should put a few bullets in him to make him realize that."

"I can help! I can-- I can help you." Pharma bows his head submissively, and Krok feels a brief pang of pity for him. "Unless... of course you already know where Brainstorm's laboratory is?"

That earns a bit of hesitation from Krok before he looks at Misfire. "Do we?"

"No. That's why Deadlock and Crankcase are scouting. Brainstorm's always been elusive and rarely comes out into the open," Misfire admits. "Pharma, you know where it is?"

"Yes. Ambulon and I have been there a few times for some projects. I'll take you there, just... just don't kill me," Pharma pleads.

After a moment of reconsideration, Krok huffs out a sigh before clipping his gun back to his hip. "Fine then," he mutters. "I have one other question for you, though."

"I-- yes?" Pharma looks up, visibly terrified.

"Do you know who the traitor is?" Krok asks. "The traitor in the Decepticons."

Pharma's shoulders sink. "No, for all that First Aid would implicate and mock, he would not tell. But I think Brainstorm might know. He was working on trying to kill you."

"So I've heard." Roughly, Krok grabs Pharma by the arm and pulls him to his feet. It earns a nervous whimper from the Autobot, but he complies. "You help us, and I'll place you into Misfire's custody. It's up to him what to do with you after that. Understood?"

That earns an over-eager nod from Pharma as he tries to please. "Yes! Yes, I understand. Thank you."

"Crankcase, Deadlock. Return at my location. We may know where to find the lab," Misfire commands through his radio link. Turning his head to address the Decepticon surgeon, he continues with, "Spinister, once Fulcrum's ready to go, we'll leave. Inform me when it's done."

"Sure, but he's not gonna be in any fighting condition," Spinister answers.

Fulcrum snorts. "Says who?"

"Says your doctor! Gosh." Spinister gives a helpless sigh.

A frown remains on Krok's face as he considers a moment. He catches Misfire's elbow into his hand and guides him closer to the exit. "Misfire," he says, as if to start a conversation.

"Krok?" the sniper responds. "What is it?"

Krok exhales softly. "I've been thinking awhile, ever since Deadlock saved us from First Aid and his lot. What's bothering me is that, honestly, I don't even know if our plan of just crashing into Brainstorm's lab is even going to work. Sure, maybe Pharma is being honest with us and knows where it is, but then what?" He doesn't want to say it, but honestly, Krok is frightened at the very real possibility that he'll be stuck in this insane world.

"We won't let that happen to you or our captain," Misfire informs him.

That just makes Krok shake his head. "Your confidence is inspiring and all, but we need to seriously consider what our next step is. We go to Brainstorm's lab, and then what?"

"I gave that some consideration," Misfire says. "We'll have to utilize the scanner that Overlord gave Spinister to determine if we can locate the device responsible for all of this. Additionally, if Brainstorm is at his lab, it gives us an opportunity to interrogate him. If not, we may want to consider requesting Overlord's help to recover Brainstorm's notes. No one else here is qualified."

While Krok supposes that it's a better plan than just running blindly into the lab without much of an idea, it's still not a promise that he'll make it back where he belongs. Eventually, he does sigh and pat Misfire's elbow. The friendly contact earns a confused look from Misfire, but Krok continues with, "Thank you. I know you're doing everything you can."

"It's..." Misfire clears his throat. "Of course, Krok. I have been evaluating as many possibilities as I can. We will do everything to get you back to your universe."

"Didn't take you too off guard, did I?" Krok muses.

Misfire's optics flicker for a moment. "Our captain is not as informal as you are. It's a difference I'm still adjusting to."

"Welcome to the club," Krok says flatly. "I'm still trying to wrap my mind around how opposite everything is around here. But I think I'm starting to see some similarities, too."

"Such as?" Misfire asks, tilting his head.

"You're still as talkative as ever." Krok lets himself have a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I don't mean that in a bad way. You both have a lot to say."

"Hell, you don't know the half of it," Fulcrum remarks.

Both Krok and Misfire turn their heads, observing Fulcrum limping with Spinister's assistance to stand. From the looks of things, Spinister's been able to assemble a very temporary leg for Fulcrum to balance on, but his torso looks a little less grimly welded now. In the end, Fulcrum will still need a proper medibay to get full repairs completed.

"You're looking more like your cheery self," Krok says, folding his arms.

Fulcrum barks out a laugh. "That's right, I'm all sunshine an' crystal flowers, darlin'."

"I couldn't do much more," Spinister says apologetically.

"Shut your hole, Spin. You did plenty," Fulcrum snaps at him. "Now let me walk."

"Okay, okay! Sheesh. Just don't blame me if you topple over." Reluctantly, Spinister lets go of Fulcrum, letting him wobble on his own.

"Pharma. With me," Misfire instructs.

Silently, the Autobot nods and shuffles to remain close to the sniper, doing his best to avoid anyone's gaze. He flinches when Fulcrum sneers at him, but the Decepticon doesn't do anything worse than that as they finally leave the bunker. Something that Krok is all too glad to do.

It's a period of silence waiting outside, preparing to mobilize whenever Crankcase and Deadlock show back up.

Eventually, Spinister pipes up. "So, uh. Pharma?"

"Sorry!" Pharma instinctively blurts out, his optics wide. "I mean-- sorry? Yes?"

"This might sound like a funny question, but." Spinister rubs the back of his neck. "How's Whirl doing?"

That earns a moment of silence that Krok doesn't really quite understand. When he looks towards Misfire and Fulcrum, both of them are doing their best to remain uninvolved in the topic.

"I-- well? I mean." Pharma swallows and looks at the ground, deciding that's the safest place to look at. "He's alive. But he only responds to First Aid. I'm sorry, that's probably not what you want to hear."

Spinister is quiet for a moment, then forces a chuckle. "No, no! It's okay! I asked. Thanks for being honest with me. He's alive, so that's good, right? So great! Life changes all the time, after all!"

Pharma looks confused at the optimism, fake or not. He doesn't seem to know how to respond, so he just nods meekly. At the response, Spinister gives Pharma a hearty slap on the back. It makes the Autobot jerk, almost terrified for a moment until he realizes that the smack wasn't particularly violent, which just leaves him all the more puzzled.

Spinister beams down to him. "There you go! Chin up. The future's on the horizon, and it sure looks great! I was thinking since you're finally with us, things can only go up. That's pretty awesome, Pharma! Good for you! See what I mean by how life changes? Yours is just gonna get way better!"

"I... suppose?" Pharma tries to smile, but instead he looks like he's in pain. "Thank you, Dr. Spin."

"Oh man, no one's called me that in ages. Spinister's okay now, it really is!" the surgeon assures.

The exchange leaves Krok in some mild confusion, but he isn't prepared to ask Spinister for more details yet. Not when it's probably not his business. Something with Whirl seems personal, and that's all that he can surmise from the conversation. The important part that Krok realizes is that Spinister is actively trying to cheer up Pharma. That's odd to him considering the damage Pharma's done, but in retrospect it's truly been First Aid's hand that's done such harm to them.

Maybe that's what Spinister recognizes. Krok has a harder time forgiving, but Pharma's fate is in their hands now. Not his.

Finally, he hears two familiar engines approach. Headlights shut off and both Deadlock and Crankcase are transforming from their vehicle modes, quickly approaching their team.

"Oh, Fulcrum! I heard what happened!" Crankcase races up and looks like she wants to embrace her teammate, but thinks better of it considering his condition. "You gonna be all right?"

"I've come out of worse situations. You know me better than that." Fulcrum places a hand to her shoulder. "Let's focus on dealin' with Brainstorm."

"A good decision." Misfire turns his attention to Pharma. "It's your time now, Pharma. Lead us to Brainstorm's lab, and then you live."

"Right. Right, of course." Pharma lets out a shudder before stepping forward. "This way."

-=-=-

Just walking takes time to get there. Without the S.S.S.A., they make their trek over the war damaged cityscape that's left of the area they're in. As they progress, Krok vaguely recognizes the area they're in, or whatever's left of it. He thinks they're in Iacon, but it's admittedly hard to really tell considering how much the war has already ravaged this place. It brings back memories for him; some good, mostly unfortunate but necessary.

They're careful, which leads to Fulcrum's grumbling. They have to be. In this crazy backwards world, Krok is suddenly important enough to the Autobots for them to want to kill him, apparently. Which is a thought that still astounds him to this moment. Bottom line, they need to avoid being spotted at the moment since they're grounded.

"We're almost there," Pharma announces.

"About smeltin' time," Fulcrum practically spits.

"If someone hadn't been so eager to be impulsive, it may not have taken as long," Misfire says, looking at Fulcrum. Unlike his typical behavior, he doesn't speak in a way that's cold, but he sounds frustrated.

"If you're gonna complain, don't be so passive aggressive about it, bub," Fulcrum sneers. "Go on. Tell me to my face how you really feel."

Clearly irritated, Misfire shakes his head. "The last thing I need to see from you is you practically throwing your life away so eagerly."

"I'm not the one limiting myself just because I'm so damned scared of the Autobots!" Fulcrum snaps at him.

"Guys?" Spinister pipes up, holding his hands up. "C'mon, we don't need to fight."

"Butt out!" Fulcrum snarls.

"That's enough!" Krok interrupts, glaring at both Misfire and Fulcrum. "You're a unit, so act like it!"

While hardly ashamed of himself, Fulcrum wises up and closes his mouth, looking away from the rest of the team. A bit more embarrassed of his words and actions, Misfire sets his sights ahead instead, increasing his pace to walk ahead of everyone else.

The outburst is a little understandable. Without Misfire's captain, it might be safe to say that he isn't used to leading this team on his own. Krok's offered some input here and there, but it's still Misfire's crew. Yet, there is some truth to Fulcrum's words: Misfire did seem very upset at the prospect of Fulcrum having been in danger of being in First Aid's hands again, and undoubtedly with Fulcrum's reckless behavior.

Krok makes a mental note before increasing his pace to catch up to Misfire. Now isn't a good time to tackle the subject, so it's better to focus on the matter at hand here.

"Just occurred to me: what do you know about Brainstorm? What should I be expecting?" Krok asks.

An exasperated expression forms on Misfire's face. "Well, he's a scientist."

"Great. I already knew that. He's the same way back where I'm from. What else?"

"That's about it," Misfire answers reluctantly. "We've never had very much intel on Brainstorm, and he mostly keeps to himself. Of course he works on projects for Optimus Prime, but beyond that, we're honestly not sure."

"I, uh. I can offer some input," Pharma offers, wincing.

Gathering up as much patience as he can muster, Krok tells him, "Go on."

"Well, he's..." Pharma gestures vaguely with his most hand-like limb, thinking of how to phrase it for a moment. "He is a bit of a shut-in. Not nearly as eccentric as Wheeljack, though. He can be a bit single-minded, but that's because he focuses on proving one theory at a time. If Optimus orders him to do something, he'll try to tie it into one of his ideas. Right now, Brainstorm has more of a monopoly on the science side of things ever since Wheeljack was sent away."

"Mm." Krok rubs his chin. "That helps a bit."

"I would just be careful. He tends to protect his lab with various traps. Ambulon and I had to be escorted by Atomizer last time," Pharma points out. "And he changes the layout periodically."

"I think we can manage," Misfire says.

Krok nods in agreement. If there's one thing he can count on, it's that this team will figure it out. That, and it certainly wouldn't be the first time he's dealt with traps from someone, anyway.

When they step into a wide, vacant street littered with debris, Krok squints his eyes to peer around. This definitely looks familiar. The ruins of a large building but mostly demolished with pillars barely remaining--

"Iacon's library," he recalls.

"More accurately, Brainstorm is holed up in the basement." Pharma pauses, then peers over some rubble. "Oh. No no no-- what's he done?"

Unfortunately, Krok can't tell exactly what Pharma is indicating. If there's one thing that's perpetual, it's that he's probably the most vertically challenged amonged the team. So, while everyone else is peering over the edge in shock and awe, Krok folds his arms impatiently.

"What's going on?" he finally demands.

"Shh! Not so loud," Crankcase hushes Krok, looking worried. "We'll go 'round to the other side quiet-like an' then you'll see, okay?"

Krok huffs softly, then nods. Very well, then. He's prepared to follow them.

While they're circling around the remains of the library, Krok catches the glimpse of something between the cracks of the mostly broken walls. Something large, something half-snarling and half-snoring. Honestly, it sounds familiar, something he swears he's heard before but he can't quite put his finger on it. Shaking his head to himself, Krok concentrates on following Misfire without making noise as much as he can.

There's a large, fallen pillar that looks like a good foundation for them to take cover behind. It's just enough room for the entire team to duck behind. A pair at a time, they're able to sneak their way over.

Once they're ducked behind the pillar, Krok whispers to Crankcase, "So what is it already?"

"Have a quick look yourself, then you'll see our problem." Crankcase folds her arms, looking a little frustrated with the situation.

Warily, Krok starts to peer over the edge, frowning. Then his optics widen in surprise. That looks an awfully like Grimlock in his beast mode! All curled up with chains around his neck keeping him pinned where he is. Well, it explains why the sound was so familiar. Krok recalls hearing the soft snarling noise of Grimlock snoozing in the engine room once. The first time he heard it, it was just as jarring.

Krok sits back down, feeling troubled.

"Ain't no way Optimus would'a let Brainstorm borrow him. So I'm thinkin' he got nabbed or something," Crankcase considers. "In any case, we gotta think of a way to deal with 'im."

"This might be an odd question, but what's Grimlock like?" Krok decides to ask.

"You ask that like he's a person," Misfire muses bluntly.

With a touch more remorse in his tone, Spinister explains, "Grimlock was designed by Wheeljack to be a killing machine. He's not a sentient Cybertronian; he's literally just a machine made to destroy. No ember at all, actually. He doesn't think, he just kills. Kind of an unfortunate life to live, having no will of your own."

"Never got a chance to fight the big beast himself," Fulcrum muses, forming a sharp smile.

"And you won't. You're not fit for a full fight," Misfire tells him, scowling.

A bitter laugh escapes Fulcrum. "You and I both know I've been in a worse condition than this. Whatever's in my way, I'll smash my way through. Dinobot or no Dinobot."

"Dynobot," Krok corrects.

"What? What the smelt is the difference?"

"It's the--" Krok pauses, then sighs and rubs his helm. "Never mind. Look, Fulcrum, if this is gonna get you killed--"

Abruptly, Fulcrum's hand rests on his shoulder and he looks at Krok in the eye. "Trust me. This ain't how I go."

"Don't die," Krok commands, narrowing his eyes. "I may not be your captain, but that's still an order, soldier."

"You aren't seriously considering letting him do this," Misfire hisses at him, frowning.

Krok shrugs. "Where I'm from, in his own way, Fulcrum handles Grimlock. Sure, this is, erm... a tad more violent. Either way, I know why you're concerned, Misfire. But one thing you need to know about your crew is to trust them. Know their limits, don't set them because you're scared for them."

A startled look plays up on Misfire's features, then he appears sullen. "Fulcrum--"

"I'll be fine." Fulcrum rolls his shoulders back.

"If you die, do I get your stuff?" Deadlock pipes up.

"Nope."

"You suck."

"Fulcrum, I mean it. Don't get yourself killed for me," Krok tells him.

"Whatever. Do me a favor: make sure you get back to your crew. I'm sure they're waitin' on you. And one other thing." Fulcrum stands up, then glances away, as if a little embarrassed. "Just... be careful? Watch yourself."

The moment echoes a little to him. Krok hesitates, then nods. "You too. Good luck."

Vaulting himself over the pillar, they watch him head towards the ruins with tight, determined fists and a strut in his walk that clearly displays zero fear. Once Krok sees Fulcrum climb over some rubble, he seems to disappear. But it's very apparent when he hears metal hit metal.

"Hey! Wake up, bub!" he hears Fulcrum shout.

"Subtle," Misfire mutters.

In reply to Fulcrum rudely waking him up, Grimlock lets out a familiar roar. It's loud enough to make the ground tremble and Krok can hear Crankcase flinching and squeaking in surprise. Still stupidly brave, Fulcrum lets out a laugh before he shouts back at Grimlock.

"Some fearsome beast. You couldn't even make Pharma afraid of you!" Fulcrum laughs at him. "You wanna prove your worth? Prove it now!"

Krok can hear chains snap and tear away, and the ground beneath them rumbles again. Smashing through the debris and coming into sight are both Grimlock and Fulcrum, tumbling over the remains of the library. The enthusiastic look Fulcrum wears is wide and proud as he physically wrestles with the much larger Autobot. They roll over twice and Fulcrum finally manages to land a solid punch to the beast's snout, enough to dent it.

Bright light forms in Grimlock's mouth, and then flames spew out, spraying over Fulcrum. In return the Decepticon practically cackles and continues to punch his way into the back of the Dinobot's throat, not caring a bit about the fire.

To be perfectly honest, Fulcrum looks like he's enjoying himself.

"Let's go," Misfire orders, voice low.

"Y'sure?" Crankcase looks after Fulcrum and Grimlock, worried.

Spinister gently tugs her by the wrist. "Hey, he said he was gonna be okay. If he gets hurt too bad, we'll give him heck, okay?"

Quickly, they dash towards the entrance that was originally blockaded by the Autobot. In the background, Krok can hear Fulcrum taunting and battling with Grimlock as they tussle. He hopes that he's right about this, that Fulcrum can handle Grimlock in his own way. Even if this isn't the K-Con that's part of his own crew, he doesn't wish death on him. Not on someone that's saved his life.

"Let me see here... yes!" Pharma hurries over to a hatch on the floor. "This is it! I-I can't lift it myself, though."

"I got it!" Spinister calls dibs, running over to Pharma's side. As he starts to pull up on the hatch on the floor, the surgeon suddenly pauses with a confused look. "Misfire, do you hear...?"

Misfire narrows his eyes, then suddenly he tackles Krok to the ground without a word. The war historian gives a surprised grunt, landing flat on his back as he hears a gun being fired.

He peers up at the broken wall where the shot had been made, watching as some kind of whirling bullet digs itself in. If that had hit him that'd been fatal not to mention also painful.

"Atomizer," Misfire concludes with a sigh. He slides out his sniper rifle as he expositions, "I don't know what kind of person he's like where you're from, Krok, but he's a hitman. Sometimes successful in what he does. In any case, I'll take care of it. Spinister, go on without me."

"Misfire." Krok pauses, then says, "Thanks for your help. You've been an incredibly capable second-in-command."

Something that's not quite a smile forms on Misfire's face. "Get home safely, Captain." Without another word, Misfire transforms into a jet and takes off.

"Well, that leaves us!" Spinister beams brightly. "Stick close to me, Pharma!"

"I-- all right." Pharma looks mildly uncomfortable. "Will they really be all right on their own?"

"Little late worrying about them now, isn't it?" Deadlock points out, shrugging. "But hey, it could only go smoothly from here, right? Whoops, hope I didn't jinx it!" He laughs and helps Spinister open the hatch. "Down we go!"

Krok peers down the long shaft that goes down to the basement. "Hmph. Glad it has a ladder."

"What? Are you kidding? Don't be so boring!" Without any warning, Deadlock scoops up Krok into his arms before leaping down the open hatch, all before Krok can properly reaction to any of it. As they fall, Deadlock pracitcally cackles out, "AH HA HA this is great! Put your hands up in the air, Krok! It'll make you go faster!"

"I swear I'm gonna kill you if I don't purge my tanks!" Krok growls, wincing as they quickly get closer and closer to the floor below. He flinches, bracing himself for a brutal landing.

Suddenly, a grappling hook is fired from Deadlock's wrist; the hook impales into the side of the shaft, slowing down their fall abruptly to prevent them from smashing into the floor. Just a few feet from the bottom, Deadlock releases Krok, letting the war historian land onto his feet with a stumble. Behind him, he can hear Deadlock land calmly before giving Krok a rough smack on the back.

"Who's got two thumbs and didn't die stupidly from hopping into a big hole?" Deadlock points his two thumbs to himself. "This guy! And, okay, you too. But mostly me."

Krok just groans uncomfortably. Freefalling is not one of his favorite things, especially as a monoformer. He has no ability to really protect himself from falling, no alt-mode to depend on. That was less than preferable.

Sliding down the ladder much more properly is Crankcase; she lands on her feet and pats her hand on Krok's shoulder, helping him steady out. "We're gettin' closer, Krok. Just hang in there!"

"Yep," is all Krok manages to grunt out, still working on keeping the walls from spinning.

While he tries to refocus his optics on the immediate area, he can see that there really is only just one door and one path to follow. The tunnel looks like it was made without much elegance, brutally carved into the remains of the Iacon library. The hallway is dimly lit, and the further it goes down the more that Krok can see is that there's a shimmer of slime rolling downt he walls and floor.

It's not the cleanest sight, but it's not as bad as Garrus-2 by any means.

"Wow, this is kind of a creepy place!" Spinister observes with a hearty laugh as he lands right behind Crankcase. He pauses to help Pharma off of the ladder. "You think Brainstorm ever leaves the basement?"

"If I had a cozy little cave where I never had to leave, I'd probably do the same thing. Let's be honest." Deadlock lets out a chuckle.

"He doesn't really," Pharma offers up a real answer. "As long as he's working, it's never really offended anyone. I'm still surprised he got his hands on Grimlock. He must be working on something important down here if he felt it was worth stealing Optimus's Dinobot."

"Dai Atlas's lead must've been right on the nose," Crankcase says. "Spin, you check that scanner yet?"

"On it!" Spinister lifts up his wrist. "Looking for any hints of those particles right now."

"Particles?" Pharma tilts his head a little.

"Oh, Overlord helped us come up with this nifty device! It scans for these particles and that probably means it's from another universe or something. I dunno. I'm not a scientist. I legitimately have no idea why he thought I should have it." Spinister forces a giggle. "But if it works as simply as he implied, then we should have a lead!"

"Wait, so you were completely serious about being from another universe?" Pharma glances at Krok. "I thought-- well, I assumed you said it in trying to throw off First Aid."

Krok shakes his head. "I was desperate. Even the truth seemed good enough to try at the time. First Aid and you really had no idea?"

There's a helpless look from Pharma. "No, not at all. He knew about the traitor, but this is news to me."

"Anyway! From the looks of it, there are some particles in this hallway. Based on this scanner, it does get stronger the further we go down. It's a safe bet that we're going the correct way," Spinister offers. "Should we head on down?"

Finally having his balance back, Krok gently brushes off Crankcase's hand. "Suppose we should. Keep your senses about yourselves. Pharma suggested that there could be some traps waiting for us."

"Traps of the booby variety are pretty likely," Deadlock agrees in his own way. Smoothly, he slides out one of his pistols and starts down the hallway. "So let's say we find the doohicky that swapped our Krok with you. Think any of us know how to operate it?"

"Misfire suggested that we should contact Overlord," Krok points out, starting to follow the red-plated warrior.

Crankcase follows Deadlock's example, taking out a shotgun in preparation. "Maybe I could have a look! Could be Brainstorm has some notes we could consult with, too."

"Think you can manage?" Krok wonders.

Crankcase forms a troubled smile. "Not totally sure. I mean, y'can ask me to fix up anything from an engine to guns to computers. But devices that gotta deal with apparently breakin' through time and space? Not exactly my specialty. But I'm gonna do my best for ya, Krok. I promise."

In return, Krok gives her a confident look. "I don't doubt that in the slightest, Crankcase. Suppose it doesn't matter what kind of universe I'm in -- you've always had my back."

While his own Crankcase would just grunt and look mildly less disgruntled, she instead forms a warm smile, looking sincerely touched. It's almost like words like that haven't been spoken much to her. "Thanks. I won't let you down. Promise."

They continue their cautious trek down the hall. It seems ridiculously long, but Krok can definitely see a light at the end of it. Soon, they'll reach the lab, and whatever happens afterward Krok isn't sure what to expect. He's determined to make it back to where he belongs, but whether or not that's plausible? He has no idea. He's not a scientist. There's no way for him to determine that.

They can give it their all, though. Something has to turn out.

A single click sound is in the air and immediately after Krok hears Deadlock utter, "Whoopsy."

Krok looks down and sees that the red-plated warrior ended up stepping on some kind of switch. He can hear gears turning, but he isn't sure what to expect. Without any warning, Deadlock is grabbing him by the wrist and yanking him forward just as parts of the walls slide open, gunfire unleashing into the narrow hall. Pharma is sticking close behind the both of them, but it does end up separating three of them from Spinister and Crankcase, who hardly have any cover to hide behind.

Not the best situation to be in. Krok has warmed up a little to Deadlock's presence, but he'd feel better keeping the team together.

"Crankcase, are you and Spinister all right?" Krok asks through the radio link in his wrist.

"Ain't hurt, but we're kinda blocked off from you if those guns keep firing! Don't seem like they're runnin' out of bullets, are they?" Crankcase says regretfully.

"There should be a way to shut them off!" Pharma stands and cautiously places his soldering fingers over a wall. "I don't know where all of the engines are, but if we can get to it--"

"Through a thick wall like that?" Deadlock scoffs. "Look, doc, I have things that go KABLOOIE! But even I know using them in this tunnel is a bad idea."

"Don't y'all wait on us! Spinister an' I can figure this one out and catch up with you," Crankcase assures over the radio link.

"Yeah, if anything, Pharma's given us a start! So see if you can find Brainstorm or something for us to work off of!" Spinister calls out. "You're safe with Deadlock!"

Reluctantly, Krok looks up at Deadlock's face. Deadlock grins and wiggles his fingers at him in a little wave. Right, he needs to remember that Deadlock isn't some traitorous scum like he is in Krok's universe. Sighing, Krok says, "I know. Watch yourselves."

"Oh boy! Just you, Pharma and me now, on the rest of our adventure!" Deadlock struts off, heading down the hall again. "Will they make it out alive? Will Krok make it home, or is he stuck in this backwards dimension? Will Pharma ever get his hands back?! Stay tuned!"

"Stop narrating and stay focused," Krok grumbles.

"All right, Officer Funzone."

The three of them press on, cautiously determining that the best thing to do is making sure that the closer they get to the light, the slower their pace. Fortunately, despite what an apparent fool Deadlock seems to be, he does know how to become quiet when it's appropriate; he presses his back against the wall of the hallway and Krok does the same. Both of them peer into the laboratory with Pharma positioning himself to somehow manage duck behind both of them.

It's an organized disaster, from the looks of it. The interior of the lab-basement hybrid is primarily caked with rust and grime, and the desks covered with equipment also have various empty cylinders; the only remains of what was in them seems to imply energon with the stains that they've left. The machinery that's been set up seem to differentiate from each other: anywhere from computers to convoluted devices to a synthetic energon dispensor is set up in the small area.

Hunched over one of the computers is clearly an Autobot, one that turns into a jet from the looks of it. Most of his plating is white with black accents, and from behind it seems like he's wearing some kind of harness on his head with several magnifying glasses attached to it.

"I knew you were here 35 minutes ago," the Autobot says, not even turning around.

A gun is pressed up against the back of Krok's head, and he lets out a disappointed hiss. Glancing just out of the corner of his optics, he can see that Deadlock is in the same position, albeit he looks more mildly annoyed than anything else proportionate to the situation.

Once Pharma realizes what's going on, it's too late; the Autobot doctor is violently kicked in the back, sending him sprawling to the floor in front of them. He groans and starts to push himself up by the elbows, but he's far too slow to properly assist.

"Don't get up, Pharma. Perceptor, bring them in here."

After a sharp nudge against his head, Krok growls and reluctantly obeys, stepping further into the lab with Deadlock at his side. As they come closer, the Autobot leaned over the computer finally stands up and turns around to face them. He stands with a hunch in his back, and the way his optics are burning brightly almost implicates that he's wired on something. His face is memorable, with the way his jaw and mouth are connected with two thick cables.

As he saunters in close, he takes his time, unafraid. First Aid was giddy but patient; this Autobot seems to take a more analytical approach as he peers at Krok. Unconcerned by Pharma, he steps over the struggling form on the floor, ignoring him for now in favor of the Decepticons in his presence. His head tilts left, cocked and curious.

Based upon what little Krok knows about him in his own universe, he feels it's safe to assume that this is Brainstorm.

"Let me see," Brainstorm says, invading Krok's personal space, leaning in incredibly close. The Decepticon's tempted to punch him, but considering his unfortunate position, he steels himself to stay still as Brainstorm observes him. Clicking down a few of the monocles set up on his strange harness, Brainstorm is able to observe him closely. "Yes, yes. Okay, the plating is different, the color, even the frame is a little different, but what else? I'm getting a strange reading off of you. I wonder if it's just like before..."

Scrambling away just for a moment, Brainstorm shoves tools off of one of his desks and looks around for a moment before grabbing some kind of scanner. Bringing it up far to close to Krok's face, the Autobot scientist continues to investigate curiously. "The particles! Yes, yes, yes, I knew it. But something is missing. Something... Where is it? Your ember's gone."

"It's a spark," Krok says, scowling.

"A spark? A spark of life. That... yes, that makes sense." Brainstorm rubs his chin in thought. "So it's not gone. I wonder what it looks like. I can only imagine what else is different."

"You aren't surprised to see us. You knew we were here," Krok notes outloud, trying to think of a way out of this. At his side, Deadlock just keeps his hands up and looks bored with the situation. Very unhelpful.

A bark of a laugh leaves Brainstorm's vocalizer. "Why would I be? In the grand scheme of things, you were going to end up here one way or another. You'd find out, or you'd be taken here, or something. That's how it'll go. I knew-- no, listen, look at me. I knew you would end up in my lab. I knew you, specifically you, would be here, Krok. You're, ah, still called Krok, right?"

"What-- yes." What's that supposed to mean?

Brainstorm sets the scanner aside. He pauses as he sees Pharma start to get onto his knees finally, then slams his foot down casually onto the Autobot medic's back, pinning him down. "Let me think. What were you told? Who told you? I can only imagine-- I'm not a detective, but there are strings you could have, ah, followed. Yes, followed."

The silence in the air doesn't seem to satisfy Brainstorm. After two minutes of waiting, he eventually sounds exasperated as he says, "Perceptor, shoot Krok's foot."

"Roger," is all Perceptor says.

The next second happens so quickly, so immediate that Krok almost doesn't feel anything right off. All he hears is a crack of a gun's shot ringing in his sensors. His body catches up and he realizes the order is carried out properly: his foot has been shot, fuel bleeding into a small puddle on the floor.

Krok hisses and collapses to a knee, holding his hands vaguely over his injury. Touching it seems like a bad idea and he's had worse, but it still hurts.

"That looks like it sucks," Deadlock says, almost sounding empathetic.

"Now I want to know how you ended up here," Brainstorm tells Krok. "I'm not going to kill you, but I don't need your limbs. Not really. So I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me."

Krok clutches a hand into a fist. He can manage the pain. It seems easier to take it onto himself than when he had to witness Fulcrum's torture before. Seeing his team -- of his own universe or not -- in pain is always going to be difficult. For a soldier, he supposes he has too much empathy, but it's hard to turn a cold shoulder towards those on his unit.

So he says nothing.

"If that's how you want to do this." Brainstorm snaps his fingers impatiently at his partner. "Aim for Pharma's left wing. He won't be flying anytime soon."

"Roger," Perceptor says again, adjusting his aim.

"No! No, don't! I already lost my hands, don't take that from me!" Pharma pleads.

Normally, it'd be easy to keep himself distant and cold from Autobots, but Krok's observed Pharma's behavior. Pharma didn't have any real reason to be helpful when Fulcrum was being tortured before, and he could have quickly groveled before Brainstorm and begged for forgiveness if he was eager to switch sides again.

But it's not that simple. Oh, it can never be that simple.

"Wait," Krok growls out, irritated with himself and the pity he has for Pharma. "Fine. We went to the Circle of Light. We talked to Dai Atlas."

"Of course. Well, typical of the Scavengers to use them for information, but amusing in retrospect. Right, right. So you paid your way for information, and found your way here. What did he tell you? Hm?"

"Axe told us that the other Krok was shot. That it was by another Decepticon, but you made the gun to wipe him from existence. Instead, I'm under the impression it brought me here."

"Yes. Yes, mostly true." A quiet laugh emits and Brainstorm crouches down in front of Krok. "Optimus Prime came to me one day. Told me to find a way to get rid of you-- him. The other... you know who I mean. We've tried several assassination attempts before, you see. Krok and the rest of his Scavengers, resilient as ever, difficult to properly kill. I thought about it, I mean I... I really thought about it. It'd be easy enough to make any gun. But I don't care about crafting weapons so much as I care about my theories. So I thought about melding the two."

Suddenly, Brainstorm holds up both of his index fingers. "My theory. Right, this. My theory is that we live on dimensional planes. Layers of existence. That the number is countless. So, if I was going to remove Krok, I had to unravel his layer of existence. But something did go wrong. Something I couldn't predict. I haven't invented a way to see into the future yet, after all, but this! Oh, this was marvelous. This went so much better than I expected. When Krok was shot, it did unravel his existence, but he was automatically swapped with you for some reason. I thought to myself that maybe this was automatic, that to remove your matter, it needed an equivalent exchange, if you will. But that's not it. Something happened on your side, too!"

Shockwave's lab. Maybe something triggered in the lab? Based on Overlord's story, that seems plausible. Krok considers. "I'm not sure."

"I didn't think you would be, but your very existence proves my theories. Nobody..." Brainstorm's hands shake, as he shows his excitement and passion. "Nobody would believe me, or didn't care. But now I know for a fact! I can perfect this, I can find a way for interdimensional travel to really exist. I just need to make adjustments. Technically, I've achieved Optimus Prime's orders, and my own goals. It's worked out wonderfully. And I can study you!"

"Hey, you know, before you start all of that, can I say something?" Deadlock asks, holding his hand up as if he's a student at a university.

"Now is hardly the time for your antics," Brainstorm says flatly.

"Yeah, okay, but: SOMETHING!" Moving too quickly for the Autobots to react, Deadlock is reaching over his shoulder and grabbing onto Perceptor's wrist in order to throw him at Brainstorm. The scientist manages to duck out of the way in time, but it causes him to stumble off of Pharma while Perceptor crashes into a table.

Seeing his opportunity, Pharma switches on his chainsaw, grunting as he swings it at Brainstorm's feet; it's a clumsy motion, but he manages to saw right through Brainstorm's left ankle, causing the scientist to cry out and topple over. Taking advantage of Pharma's assistance, Krok launches himself over to tackle Brainstorm and struggle to try to pin him to the floor. He glances over his shoulder, watching as Perceptor picks himself back up in time to face off with Deadlock, the pair of them trying to take shots at each other. So far, nothing fatal for either of them.

"Pharma, try to reach out to Spinister and the others! I'm trusting you on this!" Krok orders the doctor.

"I--" Pharma freezes up for a moment, then he nods. "I'll try! I'll be back!"

The Autobot turns and leaves down the hallway. Hopefully, either Spinister or Crankcase are finding a way through, or at least Pharma will be able to reach somebody. It's a gamble putting his trust into the Autobot, but so far Pharma has shown less moral ambiguity over time.

Hopefully Krok isn't wrong about him.

"Hrrk!" Krok reaches down and clutches his side, peering down to see that Brainstorm had managed to stab him with what looks like a laser scalpel.

"I said I didn't need all of you!" Brainstorm reminds, shoving him off. "Perceptor?! Where are you?"

"Roger!" Perceptor calls back.

Brainstorm pulls his scalpel free and mutters to himself, "I really wish he'd say more than one thing sometimes. There's really no point in the both of you fighting this out! What are you even doing?!"

Grunting, Krok pushes himself up and manages to deliver a vicious backhand despite his pained and bleeding foot. He hobbles forward and glares down at Brainstorm. From the force of the strike, the Autobot's cable had popped free and now his jaw hangs awkwardly, keeping him from talking any further.

Well. That's a way of shutting him up.

Brainstorm sputters out garbled words and static, then hisses angrily before he grabs onto the foot of one his chairs, swinging it up into Krok's face, smashing into his head. It forces Krok to stumble and clutch his head while he feels the effects of being stunned. That, and one of his optics is now cracked painfully.

"P--rrssstor!" Brainstorm growls out, strugling with his dislodged jaw.

"Roger?" Even Perceptor sounds confused by it while still locked in his gunfire with Deadlock.

Bursting into the room is the familiar rotorary engine of Spinister's helicopter mode. Krok shakes his head as he watches the surgeon transform into his robot mode in midair, pistol out. While still going down to land on his feet, he carefully aims before firing once, shooting Perceptor in the throat and causing him to collapse onto the floor. Effective but non-fatal.

"Fashionably late!" Deadlock commends. "So, that just leaves the Brain now, doesn't it?"

Brainstorm peers around, as if trying to weigh in his optics. His optics focus on who's just arriving now. Coming in after Spinister are both Crankcase and Pharma, although the Autobot is walking with Crankcase's help. Both the soldering fingers and the chainsaw arm are missing as if torn off.

"Pharma?" Krok notices, frowning.

"We couldn't get in," Crankcase confesses. "We got the guns off after Pharma's advice, but then we got blocked off by a thick door. Even tried t'see if there was a different way 'round, but Brainstorm only has one way here so... Pharma cut in much as he could to help us through, but his arms got caught in the mess."

"It's no real loss," Pharma mutters. "Is it over?"

"Oh, I'm thinkin' so," Deadlock says, meandering over to look over Brainstorm. "Mr. Rogers is out cold and you're looking a little out numbered there."

Clenching his hands, Brainstorm throws himself over a table. Spinister moves to react, but as soon as the Autobot scientist's hand slams onto a button, an alarm blares through the lab. Aside from the noise, it doesn't seem to mean anything until pieces of machinery start to spark and burst into flames.

"Zounds, now I just feel like a jerk for giving high expectations," Deadlock says, shrugging overly sheepishly.

Brainstorm offers a crooked grin despite his jaw, then transforms into a jet to leave the lab. While Spinister takes a few steps forward to follow, he hesitates, "Krok?! Should I follow? My scanner is really picking up heavy duty saganical particles! That must mean the device is here! The one used on our captain!"

That makes him curse to himself for a moment. Krok hates how these Autobots get away! But he can't chance giving up his way on getting home, not while the entire lab is starting to go up in flames!

"Let him go. Focus on finding the device!" Krok orders. "Crankcase, get Pharma out of here! Deadlock, Spinister -- look for the device!"

"Yes sir!" Crankcase helps Pharma move. "C'mon, doc! We're out of here!"

"Man, I don't even know what it's supposed to look like!" Spinister mutters as they start sorting through the devices left in the lab. "And I can't narrow it down. All of his stuff's covered in particles!"

"Well, I'm thinking big and bulky with a long range shot," Deadlock offers. "I mean, it was used as a gun, right?"

"That... is actually a reall good point!" Spinister tosses a few items out of the way. "So where do you think it is?!"

With the way the lab is being burned, it's hard to make a rational choice. Krok limps his way over to a large cabinet. The edges are on flames, but it's sturdy enough that he can pull the door open.

Only to be faced with a very dead body. One that's a Decepticon that he can determine due to the badge, but the badge color is a distinctive purple. The corpse is full of holes, clear that the Decepticon was shot to death.

Could this have been Spanner?

"Ah-ha! Here we are!" Hearing Deadlock's voice, Krok turns to see him hold up a large gun with a distinctive scope. Several tubes are running through it, making it look like less of a weapon and more like some strange science experiment. "Well, that's what I'd say if I knew for sure it was the thingy, but I'm gonna guess this is probably it."

Pieces of the ceiling start to collapse and Spinister jumps out of the way with a hysterical shriek. "Uh! Seems like a good chance? Let me check!" He rushes over and pops the side open, squinting as he scans the interior. "I'm gonna be honest, I'm not 100% sure, but based on the readings it seems like a safe bet."

"We don't have time to figure it out here. Move out!" Krok orders.

Nodding in agreement, Spinister scoops up Perceptor and slings the unconscious Autobot over one shoulder. "No problem! Apologies ahead of time, Krok sir!" Spinister picks up Krok under his other arm before they start their escape with Deadlock following behind, carrying what Krok desperately hopes to be the device that will send him home.

Krok watches as they narrowly avoiding the burning collapse of the lab, flames spewing forth.

He hopes that Deadlock is right about his guess.

-=-=-

As soon as they emerge from the tunnel and back out top, Krok feels some unusual relief wash over him as soon as they stumble away from what had once been the Iacon library. Smoke rises up from under its bowels, where Brainstorm made his home and lab. Now? Now there's nothing left.

Just the gun that rests in Deadlock's arms.

Approaching them are familiar faces; some Krok knows well, others he's still adjusting to be a source of trust. Either way, he's glad to see that neither Misfire nor Fulcrum are dead. While the sniper has a few knicks and gashes in his plating, Fulcrum seems to proudly sport bite marks and scorches from his battle with Grimlock. Standing them with them is Crankcase, who's helping Pharma sit down and rest from his injuries.

While Krok recognizes Tarn, Vos, and Tesarus, the ship behind them looks vaguely like the Peaceful Tyranny but much less daunting to look over. Exiting the ship with them is Overlord.

After gently setting Krok down and tossing Perceptor aside, Spinister immediately kneels down to start repairs on his foot. Krok rests a hand on his shoulder. "None of that right now. I can deal with a gunshot for awhile, but you have some other patients to worry about."

Spinister hesitates, then smiles with his optics and nods. "If you're totally sure, Krok. Don't push yourself?"

"We'll see," Krok muses.

As Spinister leaves and goes to check on Pharma's arms, Misfire approaches while Fulcrum stubbornly limps over. He politely salutes Krok.

"At ease," Krok says to him gruffly. "I take it you asked for Tarn and the others?"

"It seemed like a wise idea. I didn't hear anything from you in awhile and I wasn't sure how dire our situation would have turned out." Misfire hesitates, then adds, "Our... captain would have seriously reprimanded me for such a decision but--"

"You made your choice. It was a smart one. I think we need the help," Krok agrees. "Deadlock, give the device to Overlord. We'll see if it's the right one."

"Man, for guy who sure isn't our boss, you boss like a boss," Deadlock remarks, but doesn't refuse as he takes the gun over to Overlord.

Krok shrugs to himself. "Force of habit, I suppose. Are you two all right?"

"Pit! Never felt better. I'm just sorry Grimlock got away," Fulcrum answers him with a laugh.

"Atomizer made his retreat when he saw Brainstorm taking off," Misfire explains. "So you were able to find it? The device that affected you and our captain?"

"I'm not sure," Krok says honestly. "We made a best guess. So... it may or may not be the right one. And if it isn't..."

"And if it isn't!" Deadlock interjects as he returns from handing the gun off. "C'mon, think about it. Even if it isn't or if it's broken or doesn't work, would it be the worst thing ever being stuck here? I mean, I dunno about the rest of you, but I'm sure okay with the lack of get down and gimme twenty!"

Fulcrum snorts. "Not all of us are lazy dolts like you." He gently elbows Deadlock in the side.

"I would rather get our captain back, but realistically, if you were stuck here, you would not be abandoned," Misfire informs Krok quietly.

"Suppose you aren't all bad, darlin', but I'd be happier to get ours back," Fulcrum offers, shrugging and looking away from everyone else.

Krok holds up his hands. "I appreciate it," he says honestly. "I know I've had some reservations about all of you in some way. But I trust you all. Even people I didn't think I could." Krok glances at Deadlock. "Whatever First Aid and Axe had to say about there being a traitor, they must have been wrong or said it to try to set us apart. Your Krok has a solid team. But I have my own I have to get back to. They need me, and you need yours. That's what we need. But on the chance I am stuck here, I'm in good hands. For what it's worth."

"Aw gosh, Krok!" Before he can react, Krok finds himself getting stuck into a tight embrace from Spinister. Not something he expected. "That spark of yours really must have a lot of care and softness and--"

"Put me down," Krok growls.

"Okay, so maybe not softness." Spinister gently puts him down.

"How's Pharma?" Krok asks.

"Well, I stopped the fuel leak and I had a talk with Tarn. We're going to look into replacing his hands. Tarn offered to take him in and help him out. I think Pharma might actually go with him to the DJD clinic!" Spinister kneels down and finally starts tending to Krok's foot. "How great is that? I think it's a good thing for him!"

Oddly enough, Krok finds himself agreeing. For someone who had been stuck under First Aid's thumb, it seems like a good resolution if Tarn feels it's the right choice. It's a strange thing to think about, but it seems right.

Krok lifts his head and looks towards Overlord as he hears the large Decepticon approach.

"Overlord? What are the results?" Misfire asks.

"It seems like Deadlock made the right choice. It's the correct device," Overlord confirms with a small smile. "It seems to be a very intuitive piece of equipment. Aim and fire. Only, there's one concern."

Krok feels his spark sink a little. "What is it?"

"That there's only one shot we can make," Overlord says. "This gun wasn't designed for multiple uses. If it's going to be fired, it'll overload and... well, that's it. That, and I'm not sure I can guarantee it'll take you to where you need to be, Krok. Is that a chance you want to take?"

"Yes," Krok says immediately. "I know where I need to be. If it means we can set everything right, then it's worth the chance. Just... give me a minute. I should say something to everyone."

Overlord's expression is warm and knowing. He places a hand to Krok's shoulder. "I understand. Take your time saying good-bye to everyone before the next step."

That makes Krok feel a little awkward, but he nods in return. Overlord isn't wrong. "Sure. Thank you."

When the hand is removed, Krok turns his head towards Misfire. He offers his hand out. "I meant what I said before. About you being second-in-command. Trust your instincts more, got it?"

"Captain," Misfire addresses him, his voice a bit more gentle than usual as he takes Krok's hand. "I will improve myself. Take care."

"You too." Krok nods and looks at Fulcrum.

"I don't really do good-byes," Fulcrum grumbles.

"I didn't even get a chance to thank you for putting your life on the line for me." Krok folds his arms.

In response, Fulcrum shrugs. "Just know I'd do it again. So watch your aft, darlin'."

"Look, I thought I'd say this ever, but try to listen to Misfire more," Krok tells him. "Thank you for everything."

Spinister stands up, dusting off his hands. "There we go! Patch job done. Just in time to say farewell!"

Krok places his hand on Spinister's arm. "It is. Thank you for stepping up to Dai Atlas's duel and helping me."

"Well, sure! I mean, you act really different, but I know your ember-- uh, spark! Your spark's in the right place." Spinister chuckles. "Good-bye, Krok. I'll remember you."

Nodding to the surgeon, Krok turns towards Crankcase, whose optics are sparking flits of light as she struggles with herself for a moment. "I'm so sorry," Crankcase says in a hiccup. "I'm just-- I'm real bad at this kinda thing. Can I just say see you later? I hate seein' people off, 'specially if I'm never gonna see them again."

"Sure." Krok huffs wryly, gently patting her shoulder. "Thank you for rescuing me at Garrus-2."

"You're welcome. A-and you be safe! I'll be so cross if I find out you end up hurt somewhere an' there ain't nothin' we can do." Crankcase sniffs and rubs her optics, trying to stifle the sparks.

"Deadlock?" Krok looks to him next. "This is the strangest part for me. Where I'm from, you're an infamous traitor. You turned your back on the entire military. I didn't know that I could trust you. I'm glad to know that I was wrong."

"Eh, well." Deadlock thumps his own chest. "That's me! Exceeding expectations. Or something. Whatever, you know what I mean. And hey, like I said, if you end up stuck here, I won't be upset about it."

"That's quite the sentiment," Krok says, bemused.

"Krok?" Hearing his name, the historian turns to face Pharma with Tarn standing behind him. The Autobot looks down at his own lack of hands helplessly, then glances up. "I think... I think I'm going to be okay. That's thanks to you. So, please be safe. Wherever it is you're going."

For a moment, Krok isn't sure what to say. Eventually, he nods. "Tarn will take good care of you. You can trust him."

Pharma smiles a little and nods. Tarn places a hand lightly onto Pharma's shoulder and says, "I will do everything I can to keep him safe and get him the help he needs. Be well, Krok!"

"This is definitely strange to say, but... you too, Tarn."

That's it, then. That's everyone. Krok looks around, making sure. In a way, he is a bit sad to know that he'll never see them again, but he's looking forward to finally being back where he belongs. He misses his own crew and their antics and he knows they need him. He knows he needs them, too.

It must be the same for their Krok.

He turns and calls out, "Overlord."

The enormous scientist approaches and levels the gun to the side. "All right. Safe journey, Krok," Overlord says to him.

"Just a second." Krok pauses, then says, "I found Spanner's body in the basement. I think you were right about him. You were right about everything. I thought you should know."

That brings a pause before Overlord smiles softly. "I appreciate it. Are you ready?"

"I think so." Krok nods. "Yeah. Let's do this."

The Scavengers give him space, backing away and making sure that he has room and that no stray bouts of energy includes them. Krok stands, prepared as he can be as Overlord levels the gun at him.

The trigger is pulled and a blast of energy reaches out, striking Krok. It envelopes him, sending surges of wild electricity over him. It's almost too much to stand, and he feels the edges of darkness start to take him before he feels himself being ripped away.

-=-=-

"Is he okay? Is he alive?"

"Quit crowding him! Back it off and let Spinister work."

"If he's dead, dibs on his room!"

"Misfire!"

"What, too soon?"

The familiar voices pull him awake. Optics come online, flickering a moment. He still aches, but he's awake and aware, peering up at faces he knows well. The colors are right, and so are the expressions. There's Crankcase looking annoyed, snapping at everyone else, and the gaping head wound marring his plating. Misfire giving a playful and mischevous smile while Fulcrum frets, wringing his hands. Spinister scratches his head, peering down at Krok as the war historian comes back online.

"You don't look dead," Spinister helpfully concludes.

"Thank you," Krok murmurs.

He takes a moment to look himself over. While it'd be easy enough to mark off the whole thing as a horrible, stupid, and strange dream, Krok spots his recent foot injury. It's already been welded, but the scarring is there. That, and his face feels too repaired in comparison to before.

So, everything he experienced. It really happened.

Krok exhales, feeling exhausted as he peers up at the ceiling of Shockwave's lab. "Someone. Give me a report on what I missed." He holds up a hand as Misfire's mouth opens. "Someone else. No offense."

"Well." Fulcrum rubs the back of his neck. "The device powered on somehow and activated. I still don't entirely understand what happened, but when it did, you were different. Really different."

"Your badge was red and your coloring was stupid," Spinister interjects.

"And you were giving us drills and asking us why our ship was a scrap pile." Crankcase snorts. "Seemed like amnesia and a color palette switch, but we were able to put two and two together."

"So I asked Spinister if he could put the other Krok out for awhile so Crankcase and I could work on getting you back," Fulcrum explains.

"I punched him really hard!" Spinister assures.

Usually, Krok would probably just gently facepalm, but there's honestly a part of him that's just glad to have his ridiculous little group back. So, he lets out a soft snort, almost amused.

"It took awhile to work out, so we did some more reading in the meanwhile to figure it out. When we did power it on finally, you two just kind of swapped places. The whole thing was unusual." Fulcrum shrugs. "So, were we right? You ended up in another dimension?"

Krok pauses, then turns his head away a little. While he's grateful to be back where he belongs, he can't help but feel like he's just abandoned the other crew in that other dimension. It's bittersweet, really. He regrets not being able to do more, but realistically, there's nothing they can really do about it. Krok will actually miss them, but for right now he's happy to be back with his own team.

"You're right." Krok confirms. "I'm not up for talking about it right now, though. Later, I promise."

"What, you don't want to share all of your crazy adventures in a weird dimension without us?" Misfire gives a dramatic sigh. "Well, whatever. I'm just glad you're you now. That other Krok liked making us work like soldiers. How crazy's that?"

"Are you saying I don't work you hard enough?" Krok asks flatly.

Misfire grins sheepishly. "Oh, not at all. Didn't mean to imply a thing!"

"In any case." Krok grunts as he sits up, and Crankcase's hand rests on his shoulder to help steady him. "I'm about ready to get the hell out of here. I suspect the rest of you feel the same."

"Pretty much," Crankcase confirms, grumbling. "No more Shockwave labs."

"No more Shockwave labs," Krok agrees tiredly.

-=-=-

Primax -408.24 Epsilon
Outside of Brainstorm's Lab

The aftermath of everything ended up turning out not the way Deadlock had entirely hoped. Unfortunately, shooting the rifle did cause Krok to come back in all of his uptight coldness, just like Overlord said. It's not what Brainstorm said would happen; it was supposed to be a one shot kind of deal, but it could be worse. So for now, Brainstorm has escaped, Grimlock's rampaging somewhere, Atomizer's probably not dead, and the rest of the Scavengers are alive. Various states of damaged, but alive.

"We're in a sorry state and you lot think it worked out," Krok says sternly. "Look at the lot of you. We're a mess and Crankcase says the S.S.S.A. is broken down! Misfire, you had the nerve to call in the DJD and Overlord? You mean to tell me this team couldn't handle everything on its own so we needed some fresh snuggles from Tarn? The best you give me is Perceptor in cuffs and that Tarn's coddling Pharma! We have a lot to make up for. Scavengers, march back to base. After repairs, get to work!"

There's no argument. That's either the best or the worst thing. What everyone wears are looks of loyalty or admiration or both despite the harsh words. Slowly they turn to march off and follow Krok again. Most of the time, Misfire's face is subtle, but Deadlock's watched him long enough to know his careful looks and the faintest twitch on his lips, something not quite a smile. Maybe of relief to have someone else in command again, or maybe he's just glad to have Krok back and admires him so, so much. Either reason is stupid.

Fulcrum was already recovering from saving that other Krok, but now he sports marks of Dinobot teeth and parts of his plating has been somewhat burnt or melted from the flames, but it's not as if he cares. The look he wears is proud, grinning, and Deadlock hates how he looks when Fulcrum glances at Krok. Like there's nothing better. He shrugs off his wounds and goes on. Behind him silently fretting behind forced laughter is Spinister, acting like a fool and making sure that no one is falling apart and he pretends he isn't either. With more sincere giggles, Crankcase trails at his side, honest and glad that everyone is together again as she waves farewell to Tarn and the others.

Leading in front, Krok goes. The way he presents himself is stiff and unyielding. Despite his lack of height, he stands and carries himself like a Decepticon that's fifty feet tall. He doesn't crumble, he doesn't get shaken. Even this whole thing is just an irritating setback for him. He looks ahead to the horizon with cold blue optics and fists clenched in determination.

There's not much of a choice but to go with it. Even if it sickens him a little.

Deadlock whistles innocently as he jogs to catch up and march alongside the other Decepticons, giving a playful shove at Fulcrum's shoulder who swats him in return with the same intent. Things go back to the way they were.

It isn't the worst thing ever. The next time Prime wants Deadlock to try to do a little more backstabbing, it just means maybe less stupid science involved. Or something. He'll deal with this for the time being until another opportunity.