Transformers_Knights of the New Age_REBORN -full-

[NOTE: This is a full chapter]

JAZZ

You know that feeling you get when you wake up in the morning? That slow, tired feeling that keeps your eyes closed and your muscles from moving?

That's not what Jazz felt.

He awoke with a start; almost like a massive electrical current jolted through his system, yet he didn't feel pain. Rather he felt... nothing, nothing except the sensation of suddenly being conscious.

At first, it was almost as though his systems were dead, like he was barely functioning; and then all of the sudden it was Life itself coursed through him at an unbearable rate. And then as soon as it started, it was over, leaving Jazz to recover from the rush. S'like my systems were dead, he thought to himself as the rush slowed, barely functioning at all. Dead... Those mental words rung to him, but he couldn't grasp whatever hidden meaning they might've held.

He looked around him, optics adjusting to the light around him. For some reason, he didn't at all expect to be standing in a room with ambient blue and silver light. Its too calm, too still. However he could not explain to himself why that felt so wrong to him. But somehow he just knew something was wrong. And why did I wake up standing?

"Calm yourself, heishi," came a calm, patient voice from behind Jazz, "you're mind and your body do not yet work together."

Jazz turned to see a blue transformer with a golden face and a samurai's helmet sitting cross-legged against the wall, it looked as though he'd been meditating before Jazz had awakened. At first the silver Autobot only stared at his companion, but then a look of bitter recognition quickly came across his face. "Decepticon!" Jazz yelled and outstretched his right arm, willing it to transform into a cannon;

The blue transformer just sat unmoving; meanwhile instead of the individual components in Jazz's arm shifting, his entire lower arm began to dissolve into small platelets as if the appendage were hollow. Shocked, Jazz lost all focus on the blue transformer and watch in what was quickly becoming horror as his arm seemed to break apart in a miniature cyclone and then reform into his cannon. "What-??" he said as panic buzzed inside him.

He looked around, hoping that an explanation would appear, and saw the bot he'd called a Decepticon slowly standing. Jazz thrust his cannon in his direction, but the bot pointed it away from him using a sword Jazz hadn't seen him unsheath. "Your form is new to you, do not spend your life on your inexperience." said the bot.

Jazz stared hard. "I don't know what's going on, Decepticon, but if you're gonna' offer me a tip, then let me give you one: I learn. Very quickly." he said, and pointed his cannon back at the blue bot. The golden face only stared passively at Jazz, "I am not your enemy, Jazz, I am an Autobot." he said.

"Prove it." Jazz said back.

"Shoot me." the bot said, "You want answers, and you believe that killing me is the way to get them. So shoot me."

Tempted as he was, Jazz knew that wasn't true, no matter how much he didn't trust the 'Autobot'. So instead he lowered his arm -not shifting it back because he really didn't want to see his arm dissolve again, and said "You could have just started giving me answers,"

The bot nodded, "And you could have started asking questions. Instead you chose the path that lead us both here." he sheathed his sword, "I am Drift." he said.

I know, Jazz thought, but said nothing. Drift looked towards one of the reflective windows, "He is ready." he said, and massive swinging doors opened nearby. "Come." said Drift, "There is much you must know." and with that he walked through the doors.

"Do tell, then." Jazz said as he reluctantly followed Drift out of the room.

-

IRONHIDE

Unlike Jazz, the late Autobot munitions expert knew right away what was wrong; he should be dead.

He vividly recalled the sick and painful feeling of being eaten away by cosmic rust. In fact he still felt it, even if only in memory; but the pain still lingered. Easy now, he thought, You're not feeling it for real; its all in 'yer head. Stop and think now, mate; where are you? and that was indeed a very good -and effectively distracting, question.

He looked around him. He was in a room, forty feet square, the walls mostly blank, save for the painfully obvious one-way mirrors and small control panels, most likely for emergencies. But there was one thing that stood out to him; a large green 'bot stood before him; a long rifle rested comfortably on his right shoulder, held onto by his right hand -equally comfortable, while his left hand pinched the smoldering bullet between his teeth. The 'bot seemed to not at all be fazed by Ironhide's presence, and confirmed this by the way he said "'Bout time." as he continued to casually chew his bullet and look bored at Ironhide.

One might not have legitimate reason for assuming the worst of such a a character; generally, types like this one tended to be of a good, joyful nature. However, Ironhide knew better than to assume such of this one. "Hound..." he said slowly, his face tightening.

The green Autobot just continued to act as though nothing were actually happening, "The one 'n' only, Ironhide;" he replied, "one 'n' only." His tone did not seem as joyful as his appearance would suggest. "What?" he said after a silence, Ironhide still staring him down.

"I should be dead. And yet I am here, standing in front of you, because I am not. I believe I am entitle to an explanation." said the black Autobot, all in a single tone.

"Hey, look, I can't explain to you the sciences of it, because-" began Hound, but he was cut off by Ironhide raising his right arm-cannon at him, the barrel rolling and glowing red. (Although he knew he'd long since lost his arm-mounted cannons in the Battle of Egypt, he also knew he should be a pile of smoldering rust particles, so he didn't bother to think about it) "Humor me," Ironhide challenged.

"At ease, Ironhide!" came a familiar voice through an opening door; a face Ironhide knew well walked through it and looked up at him with an awed expression.

Given to a small amount of emotion at the sight of a fellow soldier, Ironhide was momentarily distracted, "Major Lennox!" he said, and straightened to attention in mutual respect. "Good to see you up and running again, Ironhide," said Lennox,

"'Feeling's not mutual." Hound muttered.

Momentarily distracted.

Ironhide decided to ignore Hound's presence from then on. "Major, am I fit to return to active duty?" he said, remembering the circumstances of his death, "I have a personal message to deliver to Sentinel prime, if someone hasn't already."

Lennox didn't answer, at least if you don't consider looking away awkwardly answering. "Oh, this'll be good." said Hound, though again, Ironhide ignored him. Lennox returned his attention to the weapons specialist, "You've out of commission for four years, Ironhide. Sentinel is dead, but..." Lennox tried to find the right words but couldn't get them.

"Things have changed." said Hound, but not with the somewhat sarcastic tone that ironhide had been ignoring; his words seemed very mellow and sincere. With fewer words to say than Bumblebee, Ironhide looked at Hound, and then back at Lennox.

"Come on. I'll brief you when we join the others." said Lennox

Ironhide said nothing, he only followed the Major and Hound as they led him out of the room. A hollow feeling began to form inside him when he noticed a bizarre tingling sensation in neck. How much has changed? He wondered.

-

RATCHET

Jazz had a rushed sensation when he awakened. Ironhide became instantly aware that he should not be alive. When Ratchet awakened, however, his first reaction was to say "Oh... no..." long and wearily.

"Pleasure t' see you too, mate," replied the snarky forest green 'bot with arms crossed and a smug expression across his face.

Without even thinking of how his body had become completely repaired, Ratchet crossed his arms and rested his head in his right hand. "If you are the one who saved my life," he said, not looking up, "then I kindly ask you to return your generous gift."

Crosshairs chuckled at that. "Actually, it was me, who saved your life." said a voice that wasn't Crosshairs'. Ratchet looked away from his palm and saw a bald man with black rimmed glasses looking up at him incredulously. Unfortunately, Ratchet recognized him as well.

"You," was all Ratchet could say. He knew this man, all too well; Joshua Joyce, head and founder of KSI, a company that made it's products from the metal of the dead. Joyce may as well have been every inch the murderer that Cemetery Wind leader Harold Attiger was, in Ratchet's opinion.

Then again, Ratchet realized; why had he come back from getting his spark extracted then, if Joyce's company made it's wealth on dead metal products?

"Yes," said Joyce after an overly dramatic pause, "Me." he finished, again applying much more drama than was necessary.

"What do either of you two want with me?" Ratchet asked, not sounding so much angry anymore, rather just tired and very annoyed.

Crosshairs was quick to speak up, "Its not like I'd miss you 'er anything, couldn't care two ways about really. But the thing is we need ya', Doc, you and the other two in the other rooms." Ratchet looked suspiciously at Joyce,

"What have you done, Joshua Joyce?" he asked, as if impending doom were next in line.

Joyce, meanwhile, was feeling peeved at Crosshairs for ruining the intro he'd planned to say to the newly awakened Ratchet. "As your friend has told you," said Joyce, "we need you." And with that, sliding doors big enough for Ratchet to go through opened as if on cue. Joyce waved for Ratchet to follow him, Crosshairs already making his way out, "Get ye' tail movin', old slow coach!" he called to Ratchet.

"Why? Why him, of all beings in the universe?" muttered Ratchet, referring to Crosshairs.