In the Wastelands
It seemed like a good idea at the time...
Well, no. Were Skywarp to be honest with himself, he'd admit that he didn't think as far as 'good' or 'bad'. He'd just been in that particular mood when the tip-off came and that prepared to leave... and so he'd rushed out here, to the dustbowl of Cybertron, to trek among rusted-out frames and the occasional ruined building, where the grains of ash and flakes of rust gather in every nook and cranny and anything that moves wants the fuel in your tanks.
Except for one, perhaps.
The Decepticon crouches in the gouge left by some ancient energy beam and considers the horizon ahead. He's been searching for several weeks now, and has long-since acquired a film of dust that's dulled his colours and worn the shine from his armour. The bot he's looking for could have moved on by now, even if Skywarp catches up with where he was. He has the entire, unfamiliar ground of the wastelands to search, and no hint about where to start.
He has one advantage. He knows how his quarry thinks. That and luck might be enough.
Skywarp rests a minute, and silently hopes he has that luck. It's not something that's ever occurred to him before, but for this, he might even pray.