Three rights, second left, straight forward and down the ramp. Or was it the other way around? Smokescreen was glad his first attempt was right as he found brig 'R'. He looked to the lock , a green light showing it was open and pressed the button with no hesitance or thought that this could be a trap. His blind faith in Shockwave's honesty proved fruitful as his optics landed on the very femme he had been worried about, but his momentary joy quickly turned to horror, and he ran to her with a speed he didn't think was possible.

     A large computer showed her thought process, a long cord going from it to the back of her neck cables, where a direct line to her processor is located, like all Cybertronians. She sat slumped in a chair, arms strapped down, and legs loosely fitted to keep her from flailing to much to the metal chair. Her green optics were dull as she looked to the flier, who said something, but she didn't hear him. He looked to the large screen as it changed.

-:Smokescreen--friend:-

-:CORRECTION:-

She was shocked in her seat, an electric chair of sorts, and Smokescreen was glad he wasn't touching it, then the 'correction' came, replacing (Y/D)'s thought.

-:Smokescreen--Enemy:-

For a moment (Y/D) glared at him, an expression a human would describe as bloodthirsty, but it dissipated, being replaced with a look of panic, and the same thought came to view on the screen.

-:Smokescreen--friend:-

-:CORRECTION:-

She was shocked again and the process was repeated, a murderous look replaced with one of panic and fear. 1 minute left.

         "No-hold on, just-" how could he help in this situation? "Stop thinking of me, okay? Uh, think of... uh, Optimus! Yeah!"

He looked to the screen, and the leader's name popped up, but the title afterwards lagged. The rookie looked to (Y/D) in concern, seeing a vexed expression.

         "Op-Optimus..." she breathed, the mech's name lingering for a time before another murderous glare contorted her pretty faceplate, and the thought on the screen was completed.

-:Optimus Prime--Murderer of Carrier:--

Smokescreen was to late to save that part of her processor.

-:NO CORRECTION NEEDED:-

         "No-no-no-no-no! (Y/D), come on, help me out, uh, think of Megatron!"

How could anyone's opinion change of that tyrant?

-:Megatron--:-

It lingered.

-:--Loving Sire:-

-:NO CORRECTION NEEDED:-

Apparently one's opinion can change with force.

         "Scrap... uh, Papa-Prime?"

Perhaps a nickname?

-:Papa-Prime--Traitor:-

-:NO CORRECTION NEEDED:-

He was running out of options, and time, with less than a minute left.

         "Okay-okay, uh..."

He had to think quick, but what he realized is that he was only stalling the process, or perhaps making it worse. Smokescreen was on the edge of panic, trying to find another way out, but what could he do? He was a soldier, not a techy, and most likely this entire operation was developed by the two smartest processors aboard the Nemesis.

But (Y/D) was related to one... and taught by the other...

         "(Y/D), I need you to help me on this," 15 seconds, "Think of deactivating the program, or reversing it!"

She looked to him with a mild glare, but it soon softened into a pleading expression.

         "It... hurts..."

         "I know, I know, but we don't have much time left," 9 seconds.

The femme nodded, green optics holding a new emotion toward him, and she was shocked for it, a higher voltage that made her start to cry, but still she held strong. Smokescreen looked to see what kind of thought process would evoke such a punishment, but the code was gone from the screen before he could look, so his attention was brought back to (Y/D), who had gone limp, optics dimming.

         "(Y/D)?"

         "Te-termination code: 5,P,R,k,L,1,n,G."

She did it.

He knew he was cutting it close, but only realized how close when the screen turned red, showing his success, but also what could have been his failure if he had waited merely two more seconds.

     Quickly taking the cord, the mech detached it from (Y/D), who slumped forward momentarily, mental exhaustion showing physically. The femme soon started to sit back up, her natural stubbornness showing as Smokescreen told her to take it easy.

         "They're going to bring back Cybertron," she winced, trying to straighten herself up on the seat, "Sire's going to bring us back home."

Frowning, the rookie made her look to him, her beautiful emerald orbs having a dreamlike state to them. He saw deep cuts on her faceplate, and gently brushed them with a digit.

         "Who did this?"

She was silent for a minute, before looking away from him.

         "Soundwave... but he'll apologize-"

         "No, I'm sorry (Y/D) but he won't," he hated saying that to her, but luckily she still had enough sense to nod her understanding.

         "Smokescreen, I need you to be my guide."

He tilted his helm, confused.

         "All that's intact anymore is... is that you're not an enemy, and that you can be trusted..."

         "I was last priority," the mech nodded, and he speculated that this was how Shockwave orchestrated it, "I'll do my best, but right now we have to go before-"

Just to make things worse, the alarm went off, and both knew this meant they had to go.

         "Chase me," Smokescreen ordered.

         "What?"

         "They'll think your reprogramming was complete, now chase me!"

He grabbed her arm, but she easily yanked it out of his grip, now standing.

         "Smokescreen, I'm far to fast to make it look like I'm actually chasing you..."

         "Not in our alt modes," he flashed a cocky grin and made the doors slide back open with a short hiss, "Beat'cha to the Omega Lock!"

         "You're on."

Both transformed, and Smokescreen hoped this charade would work, but most of all, he hoped (Y/D) wouldn't go on a rampage when she saw the rest of the team.

         "Right on your tail Smokes'..."

         "Got it."

Shockwave was right in speculating the new flier would know how to use his boosters... Though now he had another thing to hope for: not to crash.