Elita One hadn’t noticed when Optimus was a few minutes late.  When he was a half hour late, she was angry.  When he was an hour late, she got worried.  And when he was two hours late, she started to panic.  Optimus might have gotten held up in a meeting or something for the first little while, but even that wouldn’t explain why he hadn’t called to tell her.  But he would never leave anyone wondering where he was for over an hour.  She knew, in the way that people know when their loved ones are at risk, that something had gone wrong.  Unfortunately, she had no idea where to look.  Cybertropolis was a huge city, housing a little over two million Transformers within it.  However, she knew who to turn to.

     When they had first met, Grimlock and Elita One had not gotten on all that well.  He had thought her a weak and foolish fembot, and she had thought him a pigheaded and chauvinistic moron.  However, each had proven their mettle in battle, and garnered the others respect.  Dialing in the code for Grimlocks private line, one which he had made clear was only for the greatest of emergencies, she waited for a few rings before he picked up.

     “This better be good.” he said.  He was obviously not happy to have been disturbed in whatever he was doing.  “Private line for big emergencies.  Somebody better be dead.”

     “Optimus might be.” Elita replied.  That got Grimlocks attention.  Staring straight forward, he told her to tell him exactly what had happened.  “I’m not sure.” she replied.  “He was supposed to stop by over two hours ago.  He never called to say where he was or why he was late, and he’s not in the Council building.”

     “Maybe Optimus just caught in traffic.” Grimlock offered, but both of them knew that wasn’t the answer.  Even if the roadways of Cybertropolis were clogged at this time of night, there was no way that Optimus would get caught in a traffic jam.  Though he never tried to hold himself above others, the others didn’t feel that way.  Any Autobot would make way for Optimus, no matter how crowded the street was.

     “But maybe you right.  This not sound like Optimus.  Not at all.” Grimlock, though he tried to hide it, was obviously worried.  Despite what he may have thought of Optimus’ political ideas, he respected him a great deal.  “All right.  Grimlock order Cybertropolis security out to find him.”

     Elita One was most distressed.  Optimus Prime, Autobot leader, Matrix bearer, peace-maker, and a dozen other titles, was simply her lover to her.  And, though some people might think that he was some supernatural being, she knew how fragile he was.

     “But no worry, Elita.” Grimlock said, reminding her the line was still open.  “Optimus probably stop to buy some gift.  He probably show up before this call done.”  Though his attempt to cheer her up had fallen flat, she knew he was trying.  Smiling, she nodded her head a little, as a means of saying thank you.  Reaching out, she severed the connection between the two of them.

     For a while, she just sat there, thinking.  It was kind of silly for a member of a race of heavily armed, heavily armored robots, but Elita One thought, not really for the first time, of just how fragile they really were.  Oh sure, they could shrug off things that would annihilate beings like the Earthlings, but amongst their own kind, they were just as vulnerable.  And though the cataclysmic wars which had raged across Cybertron were over, this was still a dangerous planet, and these were dangerous times.  With everyone worked up over the current situation with the Decepticons, it wouldn’t take much to get a drunk ‘Bot fighting.

     This, she realized, was silly.  Her lover was out there, somewhere, in who knew what kind of shape, and she was in here ruminating.  Getting up, she walked over to her desk, and withdrew a pistol and communicator.  Satisfied she was ready, she hurried out of her quarters, intent on finding Optimus.

     The streets of Cybertropolis can be rough at night.  Overcharged workers mix with the disenfranchised and the immoral, creating a hostile environment for strangers.  Strangers like Elita One.  There were a few routes Optimus could have taken from the Council chamber to her apartment, and with the help of Grimlock and the Cybertropolis police force, each was being checked out.

     Hurrying down the darkened side streets, Elita was glad she had grabbed her weapon.  Though no trouble had surfaced yet, it was a distinct possibility, and she would have been foolish not to prepare for it.  Scanning the area, she was disappointed to find there was no sign of Optimus.  Setting off again, she thought of just how bad this could be.

     Transformers have within themselves an identify-friend-or-foe beacon, which enables other Transformers to tell, at a glance, whether they are Autobot or Decepticon.  This beacon also serves as a homing device for people with the right equipment.  These beacons were almost foolproof, and were, as far as the general public was concerned, pretty much unchangeable.  Thus, it took major work for an Autobot to become a Decepticon, or vice-versa, and equally hard internal work for the Transformer to switch back.  Of course, the beacons weren’t invincible, and certain Transformers, like Punch, had been modified so that they could change theirs at will.

     What was troubling Elita One was the fact that there was no sign of Optimus’ beacon.  And there were only two things which would disrupt an IFF; a force field or jamming station, or stasis lock or death.  She could discount the first option immediately, as the power source needed for those types of equipment was too small to hide.  Which left, however, stasis lock or death.  This was hardly reassuring.

     Her train of thought was broken when she accidentally collided with another transformer.  She was startled to find that it was Goldbug, as she couldn’t think of what he would be doing out here.

     “Elita One, I’m terribly sorry.” he said.  “I was a little distracted, and didn’t see you coming.  Please, accept my apologies.”

     “Oh, of course Goldbug.” she replied, but there was distance in her voice.  It was clear to the Throttlebot that she was distressed over something, and he asked what that was.  After a few seconds, she answered, her voice finally betraying the turmoil she was in.  “Optimus has disappeared!” she exclaimed.  “He was supposed to stop by, but he was over two hours late, and you know how odd that is for him, and then his beacon’s off, and nobody knows where he is.”  She finally let loose all the worries she had been holding back, all the horrible things she feared had happened.

     Goldbug, for his part, looked a little uncomfortable with an emotionally fragile fembot standing in front of him.  “Have you called Grimlock?” he asked, and received an affirmative nod.  “Well, I’m sure he’ll find Optimus.”

     “Actually, I’m supposed to be out looking for him as well.” Elita said.  “I’d better get going.  It was nice to see you again, Goldbug.” she said, before heading off again.  A few steps down the street, she turned a corner.  Waiting until she was out of sight, Goldbug raised a communicator to his mouth, quickly asking a few questions, then snapping off a few orders.  Closing the channel, he replaced the communicator in his subspace pocket, and started off in the opposite direction.

     Elita One had walked for another couple of blocks without any sign of Optimus, when trouble broke out.  She was passing by a rather disreputable establishment, a bar called the Stripped Circuit, and hadn’t been paying all that much attention to other Transformers.  The only one she was looking out for was Optimus, and there was still no sign of him.

     “Give us your credits, and nobody gets hurt.” said a voice from behind her.  Wheeling around, she saw a rather large Transformer standing there.  He was predominantly red, with black forearms and deep blue lower legs.  He was also modeless, which marked him as one of the new Transformers, those who had been born after the war ended.  In his hands, he held a wickedly curved knife, and the cold in his eyes proved he was more than willing to use it.

     “And don’t try anything, fembot.”  Another voice, this one from her left.  It seemed the first Autobot hadn’t been alone.  This one was a little smaller, with a green color scheme broken only by brown upper arms.  The one with the knife started to advance towards her, and something within her snapped.  This had been a crappy night, she was worried sick, and now these two punks thought they would try and rob her?  Elita One had other ideas.

     Dashing forward, she ducked under a clumsy swipe from the knife, and drove her fist into the bot’s jaw.  It connected with a sickening crunch, and he went sprawling backwards.  From behind her, she could hear the second attacker rushing forward.  Waiting for just an instant, she lashed out her left feet, connecting with the Autobots chest.  To his credit, he didn’t go down like his friend had.  Drawing her leg back, Elita One turned to face him, dropping into a half crouch.

     The two of them stood there, staring, for a moment.  Then, the attacker rushed forward.  Apparently, he had decided that if it was a good enough strategy for her, it would work for him.  Unfortunately for him, it didn’t.  Elita One didn’t move while he charged towards her, standing her ground and waiting for her opportunity.

     Pushing off with her right leg, Elita One sped forward for a few steps, before she went airborne.  Her attacker was too slow to react in time, and could only watch as she somersaulted through the air.  Her left leg dropped first, driving her heel right into his forehead.  Before he could fall backwards, however, she twisted her body, bringing her right leg around.  It smashed into the side of his head, and he was whipped across the street.  She, on the other hand, landed perfectly.  Looking around, she saw that the first one was still out.  Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew her communicator.  Dialing in the number for the Cybertropolis police headquarters, she quickly gave them the location of these two thugs, and explained what had happened.  Snapping it closed, she sprinted off down the street.

     That had been just what she needed, she decided.  Her emotions had been running rampant all night, and the chance to blow off a little steam had helped enormously.  She was clearheaded now, and able to appreciate the situation objectively.

     But before this new-found insight could exert itself, her comm line went off.  Whipping out her communicator, she quickly flipped open the viewer.  Immediately, a familiar face appeared on the screen.  Prowl, one of Prime’s most trusted advisors, and a top military strategist to boot.  He was widely respected for his calm and logical demeanor, and his near-infinite patience.  The last thing Elita One wanted now, however, was conversation.

     “Look Prowl, it’s great to see you, but I’m a little busy right now.” she said, not even breaking stride.  “In case you haven’t heard, Optimus has gone missing.  It’s entirely possible that he’s lying crippled somewhere, leaking to death.”

     “Actually,” Prowl said.  She should have suspected something immediately, as he never interrupted anyone else for anything short of all-out warfare.  However, she didn’t, and was therefore shocked by what he said next.  “We have already located Optimus.  Ratchet is already looking at him, and the prognosis is good.  We are currently en-route to the Cybertropolis Primary Care Facility.”

     Elita One was speechless.  Here she was, wandering around the streets at night, and getting into fights with drunk muggers, and Prime was already found.  Well, somebody was going to get a piece of her mind.  Eventually.  But now, she was just happy that Optimus was going to be fine.  “Thank you for calling, Prowl.” she said at last.  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”  Snapping the communicator closed, she slipped it into her pocket and transformed to her vehicle mode, speeding off towards the hospital.

     When she arrived, she found Prowl and Grimlock waiting for her outside.  The two nodded when she arrived, and quickly conducted her past the security checkpoints to where Ratchet had placed Optimus.  “This is quite the security you guys put up.” Elita One said as the walked through the hallways.  They had passed several armed guards already, and a couple more were evident a little up the hall.

     “Optimus has already been attacked once.” Prowl said, his tone even and calm.  “Grimlock and I agreed that it would be better to treat this as a possible assassination attempt and set up the relevant security forces, then underestimate the severity, and leave Optimus unprotected.”  His logic was, as always, flawless.  Even if this later turned out to be a simple altercation with an overcharged Autobot, it was better to be safe than sorry.

     “Actually, this more Prowl’s idea than mine.” Grimlock confessed.  “Grimlock said, ‘seal off whole hospital and kick everybody out’, but Prowl say that that too much.  And Grimlock finally agree.”  One of the worst things about talking with Grimlock, or Optimus for that matter, was that the guard over the lower half of their faces prevented you from easily gauging their mood.  Fortunately, after being around the two of them for so long, Elita was able to tell from their voices what they were thinking, and Grimlock was obviously still not satisfied with the security detail.  Not that Grimlock was ever really satisfied.

     After walking for another ten or twelve minutes, they reached the end of the hallway.  In front of them was a door which they passed through, and on the other side was Ratchet, looking like he hadn’t had a recharge in years.  There were little blotches of mech fluid on his arms and torso, and a tray of surgical instruments lay on a table next to him.  Behind him was a large glass wall, through which they could see Optimus lying on a table.

     “How is he, Ratchet?” Prowl asked first, though only be a second.  The others were just as concerned, and badly wanted to know what had happened.

     “Well, it looks good.” Ratchet said.  “He lost a good amount of mechfluid and energy from the wound, and we were lucky to find him in time.  However, we had to remove his arm.  The damage was beyond repair, and it was useless to him anyway.”  The bed Optimus was on rotated slightly at a hidden command from Ratchet, and the others could see just how bad the damage had been.  Optimus’ left arm was gone, and a lot of the armor around his shoulder and torso had been stripped away as well.

     “The most worrying factor, however, was the cyber-venom we found in his system.  Apparently, his assailant had not felt confident of his chances of defeating Optimus in a fair fight, and had taken extra precautions.  It had already contaminated his arm and shoulder, and was making its way through his torso before I could stop it.”  Pulling up a small diagram on an overhead monitor, the group could see a wireframe diagram of Optimus.  Most of his body was blue, but his left arm and should were bright red, and there were little tendrils of red reaching out into the rest of him as well.

     “As you can see, we got to Optimus not a moment too soon.  With proper care, he should make a full recovery.  We will replace the arm in a day or two, once he has regained his strength and we’re sure his system is clean.”  The monitor flicked off, and the four bots turned to look through the window at their wounded leader.  He looked totally calm and composed, although that was probably more an effect of the sedative than his own design.

     “When will he wake up?” Elita One asked.  She wanted to talk to him about what had happened, and maybe yell at him a little if he was strong enough.

     “In about seven or eight hours.” Ratchet replied.  “I want to make sure his body has plenty of time to rebuild its strength before he comes around again.”  Futilely trying to wipe some of the mechfluid of his chest, Ratchet headed towards the door.  “Now, if you will all excuse me, I’m going to get cleaned up.  Please don’t disturb the patient.”  The door hummed closed behind him, leaving Elita One, Prowl and Grimlock alone together.

     Prowl was the first to speak.  “I’m afraid I cannot stay.  There are things which must be tended to before Optimus reawakens.  If you will excuse me.” he said, before he too left the room.  There was only Grimlock and Elita now.

     “Well I am exhausted.” Elita One said.  Grimlock made way for her to leave, stepping out from between her and the door the other two had exited.  She nodded her head before walking out.  There was now only Grimlock.  He stood before the window, looking at the prone form of his leader.  Optimus had, over the many years they had spent together, become a sort of mentor to Grimlock.  The Dinobot knew that he would probably be dead had Optimus not been there to teach him the right way to do so many things.  If he died, Grimlock was not sure what would become of the Autobots.

     He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of the door opening behind him.  Whirling around, his pistol drawn, he was surprised to find Elita One standing there, holding tow cups of warm energon.  Sipping one, she handed the other to Grimlock, who took it gratefully.

     “Grimlock thought you tired?  Thought you go home?” he said.  It didn’t take any of Elita One’s ability to read his voice to read the confusion.

     “I am tired.  Exhausted.” she replied.  She sort of enjoyed watching him trying to figure out what was happening.  After a couple of seconds, she decided to give him a hand.  “But I’m not going home.  I intend to wait right here until Optimus wakes up.  And then, boy is he going to get it.”  Still sipping the energon, she walked over to stand beside Grimlock, both of them looking at Optimus.  “Grimlock, thanks for helping me out.  I appreciate it.”

     For his part, Grimlock looked a little uncomfortable with her being so near to him.  Turning his head and looking down at her, he said “No need for thanks.  Optimus was in danger, and needed help.  It was my duty.”  And that was true, as far as it went.  But there was more to it really.  After all the times Optimus had pulled his dino-butt out of the fire, Grimlock had owed him a lot.  He hoped that this went a little ways towards evening the scales.

     Elita One turned and walked over to the other side of the room.  Settling into a chair, with the glass still cupped in her hands, she continued to look at Optimus through the window.  Grimlock was a little surprised at the way she settled in so easily.  Had he been in her place… actually, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure what he would have acted like in her place.  Aside from occasionally being captured by Decepticons, both first and second generation, Grimlock had always had pretty much total control over his life and the events in it.  To be in Elita Ones shoes right now was not something he thought he would enjoy.  Fortunately, he didn’t think it would ever be something he would have to face.

     While Grimlock was pondering whether or not he was the master of his own fate, Elita was thinking about slightly more down to earth things.  She remembered, for instance, that the rent on her quarters was due in a few days.  She remembered that her ship was due out in a week, bound for the outer colonies.  It was surprising, really, that she had been satisfied with captain of a simple cargo ship.  But after leading the female resistance for a little under 4 million years, she was more than ready for a leisurely job with not much responsibility.  Besides, she had managed to get a few of her old friends to sign on as well, so it wasn’t like the voyages were ever boring.

     And she thought about Optimus.  She hoped that he would be up and around before she left again.  It seemed that they spent too little time together these days.  Heck, you’d think the war was still going, she thought to herself.

     And lastly, she wondered just what Optimus was thinking in there.  While it was true that Transformers didn’t dream as the humans defined it, their sup-processors would often engage while they were in a recharge cycle, creating random images from memories.

     In a barren wasteland, a lone figure moves.  The world is corroded and rusted, a shattered shadow of its past greatness.  All about, machinery lies in ruins, both inanimate and Transformer.  Most are strangers, beings he has never met and probably will never meet.  But amongst those, there are some he recognizes.  Old friends from times gone by, allies in battle and compatriots in peace.  Even ancient enemies lie motionless.  The great warriors of the ranks of the Decepticons have fallen with the rest, their skills not enough to protect him.

     From above, he sees a light.  Something moving.  A column of light from the heavens, obliterating whatever it touches.  It sweeps across this ruined city, cleansing the planet of the signs of war and death.  At last, it reaches him, and he is destroyed.  But at the same time, he exists.

     A different world.  Earth.  All around him, blood runs in rivers, from countless dead.  All around him, stretching out towards the horizon, are the shattered bodies of brave humans, people who had put on the uniform of the Terran Hegemony and given their lives to protect their fellows.  Off in the distance, he can see the remains of the Golden Gate bridge, rebuilt after Jhiaxus’ rampage.  It lies in ruins again, shattered steel silhouetted against an angry crimson sky.

     And the pillar comes again.  Again, it starts in the distance, wiping away the dead and clearing off the signs of battle.  And as it closes on him, he can hear something.  Off in the distance, a voice carries.  A cruel voice, and one with ancient, unimaginable power.

     The sound of laughter fills the universe, as Optimus Prime drifts forever in space, keeping company with an infinite number of corpses.