The history of Cybertron is marred with the scars of war. Tapestries of conflict unfurl from the planet's weary memory. Legends were written. Myths were given life. The most noble of sacrifices gave birth to great victories. And sometimes, even a fleeting generation of peace and evolution came to fruition. However, it was during one such transitionary period that the civilization the cosmos would name "The Transformers"...was nearly dropped into the abyss of extinction. This was not a tale of glory, or war. This was a story of Passion. ---------- "This is not meant to be a sacrifice, nor is it a downgrade." The green robot walked towards the screen, his voice filled with the soothing charisma of a trained politician. "No, my friends. It is an evolutionary step in the history of our race. Sign up for the Maximal Reformatting immediately, and-" With a brief hiss of static, the channel changed. "Do you need a little R&R? Maybe some time away from home?" Staged shots of a white shuttle attempted to fill potential viewers with a sense of adventure. "Then come down to Galaxy Shuttle Travel Agency, and let us show you the true -edge-...of the universe!" The elaborate logo completed half of its flashy animation before it, and all other current broadcasts were abruptly halted. A blue newscaster sat calmly at his desk. "We interrupt all TeleVid programming with this urgent bulletin. Several cycles ago, the GM Rehabilitation Facility was taken over by an unknown terrorist faction. No demands have been made, but the New Iacon Militia has already been called to attention." The image's quality fluttered, slightly. "Do not leave your quarters. Repeat: Do not leave your qua-" All vidscreens across Cybertron slammed into darkness. Then, in the centre of the broadcast, a symbol appeared. A red oval, pierced down the center by a dark line, and crowned by a pair of dark horns. A cold voice spoke. "Denizens of Cybertron...do not attempt to block this signal. The following transmission is being broadcast over all known communication wavelengths." ---------- The gleaming towers of New Iacon stood tall and proud, as crowds of commuters milled about beneath them. ---------- "Your planet has become a nigh-utopia of peace and harmony. The Great Wars have concluded, and all remnants of the former 'terrible enemy' have degraded into roving mobs of slag." ---------- In a dark alleyway, a hunched figure watched the pirated airwaves on a small, half-functional vidbox. Shrouded in shadows, his crimson optic visor burned in the darkness. ---------- "Life is bereft of conflict and warfare. But...such rewards came upon you...at a price." ---------- Pedestrian traffic slowed and halted as more confused onlookers gathered around public vidscreens on the streets of New Iacon. ---------- "All great things are heralded by sacrifice. And that which you owe your lackluster lives to...is one of the greatest injustices of our planet's time." ---------- Treads and wheels ground against metallic panels as the New Iacon Militia speeded towards the GM Rehabilitation Facility. A dark, crimson glow radiated from its location, giving the horizon a malevolent tint. ---------- "We, the victims of your desire for peace, have risen from the grave you consigned us to." ---------- The speaker lowered his head slightly, glaring at the growing specks in the distance. He knew the enemy's reinforcements were sparse cycles away. ---------- "We have risen to show you the price of your naivety." The transmission ended.