First of His Name

Discussion in 'Transformers Fan Fiction' started by peteynorth, Dec 15, 2014.

  1. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    So several weeks back I was reading a snippet of an interview with John Barber where he described ancient Cybertron as a type of 'Game of Thrones' setting, and I was intrigued by this, enough to write the following. A lot of concepts are pulled from IDW, but many are not (going with the G1 lineage of Primes, not IDW's).





    Zeta Prime


    The chair was large and imposing, made of metal, but undoubtedly the softest of ores he’d ever felt, outside of the gestational metallico of a protoform of course. He watched his gray fingers glide over the armrest; one constructed nearly eight million years before, constructed by the greatest smiths on Cybertron for his predecessor, the legend, greatest of their kind, the final Matrix-bearer, Guardian Prime. Zeta looked across his office at a far more recent carving of Guardian Prime, one commissioned by Zeta shortly after the declaration of Guardian’s death and Zeta’s appointment as his successor. Guardian had led the planet out of eons of warfare, made a binding peace and created a new government that all Cybertronians could abide by, was the face of the golden age, a time of tremendous prosperity, and was on the cusp of expanding that prosperity throughout the galaxy and beyond. That ended over a million years ago.

    “Prime?” Very few could enter his presence without him knowing they were coming, Starscream of House Nexus was obviously one of those few. Zeta turned toward the door to see the sleek, athletic form, casually gazing up to see the perfectly formed face bearing that same insufferable smirk he had seen countless times before. Though born from a common metallico pool outside of Vos, Starscream had no problem adopting the airs of nobility even before being adopted into Altihex’s ruling house, and expanded the arrogant smirk into a wide insubordinate grin upon locking optics with the Prime. “I’m sorry to disturb you without any sort of notice, but we must speak.”

    Zeta pulled his gray and orange frame out of Guardian Prime’s chair; he could never bring himself to consider it his. He had been selected by the Senate, almost unanimously, to be the new Prime, but in the absence of the Matrix or its divine endorsement of his leadership, there were many who paused before addressing him as Prime, himself included. But Starscream, that proper fop, always addressed him most regally, verbally if in no other way. “What can I do for you Starscream? Is anything amiss in the emirate of Altihex?”

    Starscream chuckled lightly as he entered the chamber. “Outside of Vos and Tesarus I don’t think I’ve stepped foot in any part of Altihex in all my life.” The winged noble sauntered over to a table with a decanter of liquefied and mildly tainted energon on it, and grasped one of the six goblets resting next to it. “Flown over much of it, I suppose, but nothing down there ever looked appealing enough for me to land.” Zeta looked over his guest, subduing a feeling of mild admiration at the form before him. The protective shells that the vast majority of Cybertronians transformed into lended themselves well to ground vehicles; a few minor modifications and the installation of wheels, treads, motors, etc. But every so often a protoform’s shell was aerodynamically shaped enough to allow for aerial alternate modes. Starscream was one of those few; arguably the greatest example of those few. His frame truly was magnificent. Zeta was pulled out of his thoughts upon seeing Starscream staring at him, cup in hand. “You don’t mind, do you?”

    Zeta Prime smiled and shrugged. “Of course not.”

    “Shall I pour you one?” Starscream asked as he filled his own goblet.

    “No.” Zeta Prime replied disinterestedly, turning his back on his uninvited visitor.

    “Ah, trying to retain your wits when dwelling upon reports of these underground fighting tournaments?” Starscream smiled at seeing Zeta Prime’s face turn back toward him in surprise.

    “How are you aware of these things?” Zeta asked, cutting the distance between them to a couple feet.

    “If you and Sentinel Honorum were aiming for discretion, you should have selected someone other than his dog Prowl to do your snooping.” Starscream smirked. “The whispers of these gladiator pits have reached even the audio receptors of nobles. There is even rumors that fights have taken place in Vos itself, mere miles from the confines of House Nexus.”

    Zeta Prime stared intently at his uninvited guest. “Tell me of these whispers; every single one that has come across your noble audio receptors.”

    Starscream grinned into Zeta’s intensely set face. “Well, the whispers are unreliable, but very entertaining. They tell of secret pits, traveling warriors, mostly miners with strong backs and arms looking to earn some fame and much more energon than they’re making in their company towns, and wealthy patrons placing obscene wagers on the outcomes.”

    Zeta nodded. “No different from the whispers that have reached me.”

    Starscream shrugged. “Yeah, the whispers can be very disappointing.” He eyed Zeta Prime as the leader turned away from him in disappointment and annoyance. “But what I’ve learned firsthand as a warrior in these pits,” Starscream smiled as a stunned Zeta Prime turned back toward him with a disbelieving look etched onto his face, “is far more satisfying.” Zeta simply stared for a moment, his mouth slightly agape, and in that moment failed to realize the danger as Starscream backhanded him.

    Zeta Prime stumbled back and fell onto a table adjacent to the chair he had been seated in before. “Treacherous lowborn scum!” Zeta whipped around and raised his hands for combat.

    Starscream smirked as he too adopted a fighting stance, though one lacking the seriousness of Zeta Prime’s. He effortlessly circled around, almost mockingly, displaying the ease and confidence derived from actual recent combat; unlike the stilted stance of Prime’s, who was reliant upon countless hours of training and sparring, but for whom any actual combat experience occurred millions of years before. “Ahh, how dare I strike my highborn better? Despite my inclusion into House Nexus, I will always be seen as a common hotspot spawn born of common metallico.”

    “You’re despised for your arrogance, your lack of honor, and your treacherous nature, not for the pit where your spark emerged or the sentio metallico that engulfed it.” Zeta Prime lunged at Starscream, and succeeded in tackling his assailant. “Now you will tell me what you know of ufff!” Starscream’s forehead crashing into Zeta’s nose silenced the Prime.

    The lean noble gladiator from Vos then flipped the Prime off of him and sprung back to his feet, delivering a kick to Zeta’s face. But the Prime absorbed it well and sprang to his feet immediately. The two traded blows for several moments before Starscream used his superior speed to evade a punch and land his counter square on Zeta’s jaw.

    Zeta stumbled back and sized Starscream up with a hateful stare. The arrogant shit, there he grinned, bouncing on the tips of his shiny blue feet, hands at the ready but that grin eternally etched on his face. “You’re good, better than me, but not good enough to do whatever it is you plan to do and get away with it. Whether by my hand, or after a trial and judgment, your pretty blue spark will be snuffed; that is unless you stand down and cooperate with the investigation.”

    “I’m not standing down, Your Grace.” Starscream smirked. “I plan to kill you, Zeta Decimus, fifth to be called Prime, first to be chosen by the Senate of Cybertron. And I will be getting away with it.” Starscream’s optics darted toward the door off to the side before returning to Zeta Prime.

    Prime turned toward the doorway and saw Ogrus of House Onyx, and Militus of House Macht, the ruling houses of Nyon and Polyhex respectively. “Ogrus Onyx, Militus Macht! Assist me, I am under attack! Get my guards!”

    “Oh, we’ve gotten your guards.” Ogrus Onyx held up a glowing, irradiated blade, one still sizzling off the inner energon and mech fluids of a prior victim, the draconic features of his bestial alternate mode clearly displayed on his shoulders and back.

    “I was under the impression that you’d be able to handle this.” Militus Macht grumbled agitatedly to Starscream.

    “I am handling this.” Starscream replied, barely hiding his annoyance at having his combat skill competence questioned.

    “Just kill him.” Militus grumbled, tossing a blade equally ‘bloodied’ and sizzling as Ogrus’s to the floor at Starscream’s feet.

    “Bastards.” Zeta Prime grumbled before lunging forward and throwing a punch at Starscream that meant to distract the Altihexian as he continued his charge toward the door. Unfortunately for the Prime, Starscream parried the blow and landed a straight left to Zeta’s face. Zeta bounced away from the blow, but remained on his feet and continued toward the door. Ogrus’s arm shot forward, his blade tip darting toward Prime’s torso, but Zeta twisted enough so that it only sliced his outer right shoulder. Militus’s balled left fist landed true though, smashing Prime right in the nose.

    Prime hit the ground, but each of his arms was instantly grabbed by Ogrus and Militus, and he found himself being dragged back into the room, listening to Starscream chuckling lightly as they did so. “Let’s finish this up and get out of here.” Militus grumbled as he and Ogrus dumped Prime back onto the metal floor.

    “Fine.” Starscream replied as he picked up the blade that Militus had tossed him. “It’s nothing personal Prime, frankly I’ve always liked you, but business is business, and these gladiatorial fights are good business.”

    “Drop your swords and step away from the Prime!” The no-nonsense voice in the doorway was owned by the purple and black form holding a large plasma rifle.

    Prime looked up to see a blurry dark image in his doorway. Ogrus and Militus froze, but Starscream chuckled lightly and addressed the newcomer. “Ah, Rabattus Decimus, how nice of you to join us.”

    “What in the pit is going on here?” Rabattus roared.

    “Rabattus, brother, thank Primus you’re here.” Zeta called out in relief.

    “Come to me, Zeta.” Rabattus told the Prime.

    “Rabattus, are we not friends?” Starscream asked as Zeta started crawling away from his assailants. “We’ve always been close, join us and share in the spoils of what we’ve created. What Zeta threatens to ruin for us.”

    Rabattus leveled his rifle at Starscream’s head. “You ask me to betray the Prime? Even more so, you ask me to betray a member of my own house? He was Zeta Decimus long before he was Zeta Prime. We emerged from the sacred metallico pool of Petrex during the same birthquake, the same pulse.” Rabattus continued to stare disbelievingly at Starscream. “Toss me your sword.” Starscream shrugged and complied, lobbing the sword toward Rabattus’s feet. The darkly colored savior bent over and gripped the blades handle as Zeta stood to stumble toward him. Rabattus lowered his left, sword holding arm for Zeta to grab his elbow and steady himself. “Easy brother.”

    “Thank you, Rabattus.” Zeta muttered as he got his bearings and stepped back, turning to face his attackers. “You three are under arr…” Prime shuddered, something impacted his upper back. He a pain started to emerge from his back, and now one in his chest. He looked down to see the tip of the irradiated blade Rabattus had confiscated exiting through his upper chest, causing sparks and spurts of internal fluids to come bursting out into the air. The three would-be assassins all gasped in unison, watching him as he twisted his head in an attempt to look upon the wielder of the weapon. Had there been another conspirator who had just now gotten the drop on Rabattus? That had to be it. But no, all he saw behind him was Rabattus’s face, then upon lowering his gaze saw his dark comrade’s hand gripping the blade that had impaled him.

    Rabattus planted his left foot on Prime’s lower back and pushed him forward while pulling back on the sword, sending his fellow member of House Decimus collapsing to the ground. Zeta once again turned to look upon his betrayer, and opened his mouth to condemn him, but Rabattus’s blade sliced into his open mouth. “I don’t want to hear it.” Rabattus growled, all the while maintaining his rifle on the other three. “I assume you were smart enough to bring swords that can’t be traced back to any of you.” Zeta listened to his fellow Decimus address his attackers.

    “We were.” Militus replied.

    “Good.” Rabattus replied as he looked down and watched the light fading from the optics of Zeta Prime. “Unfortunately I can’t say the same about this firearm. But make no mistake; I will have no problem cutting the three of you in half should you try anything. My story would simply be…”

    “You came too late to save the Prime and his guards, but you were able to catch us in the act and execute us, yada yada yada.” Starscream interrupted. “But you don’t want that, or you’d have pulled the trigger already. So what is it that you want?”

    “More than just spoils. And, provided your false evidence isn’t too set in stone, some patsies to frame.” Rabattus replied before raising his blade one last time and driving it down.


    ***


    Branus Modus


    He grumbled and spat in disgust as his most powerful fighters continually failed to best the Juggernaut of Simfur. Branus, head of House Modus, ruling house of Ultrix, as well as every lord in the emirates of Polyhex, Uraya, Praxus, Nyon and Altihex were sick of Ogrus Onyx’s prize monster laying waste to their champions. “Engex!”

    A servant was quick to enter the balcony and deliver a tray with full decanter and one large, ornate metal goblet. Branus grabbed both, filled the goblet, and slammed the decanter back down on the tray hard enough to make the servant nearly lose his balance. “Now get out!” Branus returned his focus back to the battle pit, just in time to see his three best swordsmen attack the Juggernaut in unison. The hulking robot laughed as they lunged in with their swords, his own sweeping parry with his gigantic broadsword brushing away two of the strikes, allowing the third sword to cut into his side. The large warrior’s laughter continued as he used his large black fist to batter away the one successful assailant. The other two continued their attack, but the massive warrior pushed them back several steps, then he himself stepped back and transformed into a ferocious two-legged dragon with a massive cranium and jaws. The beast roared, looked up toward the crowd, and let loose with a stream of flame from his mouth. The fire was solely to impress and entertain the crowd, and to intimidate his opponents; this was a non-projectile weapon contest. Technically even this display was a violation, but as the Juggernaut of Simfur had happily accepted the three on one odds, no one would protest over something so insignificant.

    “Lord Modus?” The servant that had delivered the putrefied beverage tentatively addressed his master.

    “Why are you back?” Branus barked as he turned his gaze away from the bestial shell of the warrior from Simfur tearing into his warriors and up at the timid servant.

    “My lord, there is a holo-summons from Cybertropolis. Lords Militus Macht, Starscream Nexus and Ogrus Onyx are waiting for you.” The servant replied.

    “Ughn.” Branus grumbled as he rose from his large chair. “Don’t interrupt me unless the beast kills one of my warriors. If Ogrus’s favorite pet can’t respect the non-fatality rules of this bout any more than he respects the projectile weaponry rules, then I want Ogrus online and there for me to focus my rage at.” With that Branus marched into a secluded room behind his balcony, and despite his order to his servant, he locked the door behind him. He marched to the center of the room where a large mechanical circular table sat, and reached toward a control panel to activate a holo-projector in the center of the table, with the images of Starscream, Militus, Ogrus, and to his surprise, Rabattus Decimus appearing.

    “Hello Branus, just letting you know that it is done.” Starscream cheerfully declared.

    “What is he doing with you?” Branus barked and nodded toward the image of Rabattus.

    “Oh, Rabattus, well, he helped us with the dispatching of Zeta Prime.” Starscream replied.

    “Nonsense!” Branus countered. “Zeta was of House Decimus, Rabattus would never…”

    “He did.” Militus replied, his tone and authority putting an end to the debate. While they were all technically equals, Militus of House Macht was clearly the one in charge. “It came with a price, but one that is also an opportunity. A percentage of all gates and gambling cuts will go to Rabattus. But on our side, he will open up certain cities in the emirate of Ankmor to our games, including Petrex.”

    Branus shook his head. “As profitable as that can potentially be, it is also very dangerous. We control our emirates, and are able to keep our activities a secret. Rabattus does not lead house Decimus, Dynastus does, and should word get back to him about these events, he will do what he can to shine a light on what we’re doing.”

    “Rabattus has assured us that he can either keep things from Dynastus’s notice, or deal with him if the need arises.” Starscream replied.

    “We believe him capable of these things.” Militus continued. “And he has the resources and ability to create and distribute video feeds of the fights through underground networks.”

    “He even provided us with better marks to blame the murder on.” Ogrus added.

    “Again, too much risk.” Branus replied.

    “Risk, but not too much.” Starscream countered. “The video feeds are potentially far more profitable than the gates and gambling.”

    “What good are these vast profits when word gets out, and trust me, it will get out, and we are arrested and stripped of all titles and holdings?” Branus argued.

    “I understand and respect your concerns,” Rabattus finally chimed in, “but I assure you that there are ways to keep word from getting out, and I am an expert in these ways.”

    “We can discuss in greater detail later.” Militus announced, bringing the discussion to a close. “Spread the word to the others and let them know that Prime is dead, evidence implicating the anti-nobility group Autobots has been planted, and for now, we’re a slight bit safer.”

    “Sentinel Honorum’s subordinates are still poking around.”

    “Let them.” Starscream replied. “They have no one to report to.”

    “They will once Sentinel is named Prime.” Branus replied. “You all know he will be selected.”

    “And we’ll deal with that if and when it happens.” Militus replied.

    “Very well.” Branus replied, unsatisfied but willing to let the debate end for now.

    “So Branus,” a grinning Ogrus called out, “how are your vaunted warriors faring against Grimlock?” Branus simply switched off the transmission and marched back toward the door. “Engex!”


    ***


    Xaaron


    He couldn’t put it off for much longer, but he was unable pull his optics away from Zeta Prime’s lifeless form, specifically, those darkened optics that had only a few days earlier had been so full of life. He had spent countless hours debating, counseling, or just commiserating with the former Prime over the eons. He had been one of the few that Zeta had confided his secret doubts and fears to, fears of not being worthy. He had been elected by the Senate to be Prime, where as every single one of his predecessors had been chosen by the Matrix. But the Matrix was missing, and enough time had passed so that every single Cybertronian had long since come to the conclusion that it was gone for good. But despite a sanction from the highest source Cybertron had to offer, Zeta still had had his doubts.

    Not that it mattered anymore. While having made mistakes, as well as the end of their planet’s golden age fading away on his watch, Zeta Prime had been a just and effective leader. He would never be held in the same regard as Guardian Prime, and likely not revered to the same levels as Primon, Prima, or Prime Nova, but he would present a favorable and respected memory, and will have paved the way toward greater acceptance for future Primes lacking the Matrix. But more than his status as their planet’s leader, or the legacy that he would leave, Zeta was a friend, and Xaaron would feel his loss for as long as his spark pulsed.

    “Senator Xaaron?” Xaaron’s optics darted up toward the door and saw Crosscut, a young senator who had not yet been in the Senate long enough to lose his idealism. “Sir, it’s time.”

    “I know.” Xaaron reached out and touched the chest of the dead Prime. “Goodbye old friend.” The older senator reached down to the side of the metal slab that Zeta Prime’s body was resting upon toward a control panel and flipped a switch. Hover repulsors gently lifted the slab off of the table it had been resting upon and allowed Xaaron to effortlessly guide it toward the door, where Crosscut was watching with subdued sorrow. He stepped aside so that Xaaron could pass with the body of Prime, and followed from a respectful distance down the hallway toward the Senate Forum.

    Those filling the forum likely didn’t raise their voices beyond a light whisper, but with the multitudes the sound coming toward them was nothing short of thunderous. The thunder ceased the moment the tip of the hovering slab emerged from the hallway, and Xaaron and Crosscut a moment later. Crosscut turned and stepped off to the side to join his fellow senators, while Xaaron continued to the center of the vast room guiding the body of the late Prime. Xaaron pulled the slab to a stop over a table in the center of the room and switched off the propulsion system, allowing it to rest gently on the table. He looked one last time at Zeta Prime before gazing up and taking in the thousands of mourners, knowing that tens of thousands more waited outside. “Good morning.” He peered up at the special sections for the ruling houses of Cybertron. In attendance representing Nova Cronum, the emirate that housed the planetary capital of Cybertropolis and the most influential city, Iacon, were Acumenus and Sentinel Honorum, the latter being Zeta Prime’s closest friend and his likely successor, possessing a physical stature and physique to make an imposing Prime. In the box next to that of House Honorum was Torenia Pax, a kind beauty that had come to be loved by the entire planet, and unfortunately the sole representative of the ruling house of the Torus Heights, the northern-most emirate of Cybertron. Arlon Pax, the eldest member and head of House Pax was rarely seen, he was brilliant, gracious and had proven to be a fierce warrior during the wars with the southern emirates, but his non-humanoid primary mode had led to ridicule and derision to such levels that the proud noble was rarely seen outside of their city of Polarus, though it was said he visited the polar city of Taenarus to inspect the Tartarun Gates and the Wardens that guarded it regularly.

    Representing House Magnus of The Tagan Heights were Delta and Ultra, both massive robots were relatively young, but very promising and would undoubtedly bring glory to their house in the vorns to come. Next to their box was House Maximus of The Decagon, their representatives Pious and Helonix. Xaaron had wondered if the two slender bots would be in attendance, House Maximus was well known for their isolationist tendencies, but the funeral of a Prime was enough to draw them out to the planetary capital of Cybertropolis.

    Next to House Maximus was House Ambus, Lords of Tyrest and seated in the city of Centurion, represented by the large and regal Dominus, and the diminutive Minimus, both bearing the distinctive facial adornments that appears almost like the facial hair of alien organic humanoids. In the box next to that of House Ambus was one for House Solis, ruling House of the emirate of Axiom, where the Lord of House Solis, Exponum, was with their youngest member, Elita, who had been brought online in the last birthquake. The young beauty possessed a wisdom and intensity that defied her young age, and would no doubt be a force to reckon with in the future. It appeared Elita had been leaning into the next booth and having a conversation with Lumina Trion prior to Xaaron’s emergence with the body of Zeta Prime, the femme head of House Trion, and sole representative from Uraya’s ruling House. Though an emirate deep into the south of Cybertron, splitting the polar region with Polyhex, Uraya had not only adopted the values and codes championed by the north, but according to legend, House Trion had been the inspiration for their system of laws and governance. It had been from House Trion that Primon, the first Prime had emerged roughly twelve million years before.

    The box next to that of House Trion was for the ruling house of Ultrix, House Modus, and was represented by Branus, a cruel and arrogant leader that wished to have little to do with the other southern houses, and nothing to do with those in the north; though even he felt obligated to attend this event, but he clearly chose to come alone. The section to his left was for the mourning House Decimus of the emirate of Ankmor, the house of the late Prime and attended by Dynastus and Xaaron’s fellow senator Rabattus, who by all appearances was taking Zeta’s loss extremely hard. To their left was the box reserved for House Macht of Polyhex, the largest emirate on Cybertron and producer of energon, two facts which Militus, head of the house, used to exert his influence over the rest of the planet. Militus met Xaaron’s gaze before darting his optics dismissively; ever the elitist. It had been from House Macht that the ancient warlord Galvatron had emerged, though there had long been speculation that Galvatron may not have actually emerged from the sacred pool of Kaon.

    The box to House Macht’s left was one reserved for House Fluctus, the ruling house of Praxus. In attendance for House Torrent were Lightwave, Tidal Wave, Airwave, Shockwave and Soundwave. The house seated in the city of Harmonex was highly secretive, though word of Shockwave’s astounding intellect had gotten out. The box to their left was one reserved for House Onyx, ruling house of Nyon, and attended by the head of the house, Ogrus. Another house producing an ancient warlord that had ravaged the planet, House Onyx still honored the memory and traditions of Deathsaurus by altering the shells of their members as well as their vassals into bestial modes. Xaaron finally twisted to take in the box of the final High House of Cybertron, House Nexus, rulers of Altihex. In attendance were Pathos Nexus and Starscream, a common born Cybertronian adopted into the house. Above them sat the senators that they chose to represent their emirates and more importantly, their interests, and above the senators sat the more influential and powerful common-born citizens. The common masses waited outside to mourn their fallen leader.

    Xaaron gave them all a weak smile, rotating his gaze to encompass everyone before continuing. “We’re all here to bid farewell to our leader and friend. A great and wise example of how all Cybertronians should strive to live their lives. He had flaws, but he acknowledged them and set forth to eliminate them. He strove to put the needs of his planet and his people above his own. He led the way for us; he kept us united through tumultuous times, through periods of doubt and fear. Zeta Prime rose in the wake of the disappearance of The Manifest, and the loss of Guardian Prime, a legend who cast a shadow that none of us could get out from under. Zeta accepted this, understood this, and persevered in spite of it. The mantle of Prime was never about glory for Zeta, it was never about being a legend; it was a duty that he reluctantly took up for the sake of us all. That is a debt every Cybertronian owes him; a debt that can never fully be repaid, but we can try. If we come together as a planet, if we choose a deserving leader and then give he or she the support and resources needed to persevere, we can recognize Zeta Prime’s dream of bringing about a second Golden Age. That is the best way to honor our fallen leader, and exactly what he would want.”


    ***


    Megatron


    The pick sailed through the dark and clanged hard against the mixture of metal and rock, sending large chunks spilling and small bits of shrapnel flying, revealing a glowing shard of energon embedded deep within the jagged rocks. The powerfully built miner dropped his axe and began digging at the rock, his fellow miners pulling away from the tasks that had been occupying them to watch as the miner set upon the stone and metal with his bare hands. Megatron smiled as he focused on freeing the precious element, they all watched him with envy and awe, marveling at his power, his mastery over nature, and the fact that he was always successful. These pathetic fools from Kaon had spat at him when Terminus had pulled him from the mines of Tarn to work here, just a few miles from Castle Macht. But in his first day he had proved to be worth their best ten.

    Megatron’s black hands had quickly cleared away nearly all the rock from the shard, one measuring from his knees to his head in length and the width of his waist at its widest. Megatron pulled the glowing stalagmite from its metal and stone housing and hoisted it over his shoulder, turning and giving his Kaonian coworkers a grin as he made his way toward the elevator leading to the surface. “Tarnian filth” the lone grumble was barely heard. Megatron merely laughed, most of these miners had either goaded him into fighting or flat out attacked him, usually several at once, and the results had all been the same. Megatron’s courage and power had long been established, he had nothing more to prove.

    As he exited the elevator he saw Terminus standing in the sunlight outside the cavern, monitoring the oncoming flow of small shards of precious energon. Megatron widened his grin and marched out into the light, his massive boulder of precious power, one large enough to fuel House Macht for a tenth of a vorn. Terminus noted the other miners around him ceasing everything they were doing and turned his gaze up to see what had drawn their attention. Upon seeing Megatron and his load he could do nothing more than laugh quietly and smile at his protégé. “Is that all you’ve got for me?”

    Megatron laughed as he hoisted his cargo onto the conveyor belt. “It’s been a slow morning.”

    “Clearly.” Terminus replied with a smirk, but lost his good humor as he saw the hulking mine manager approaching. “Lose the grin lad, Straxus is coming.”

    “Slag Straxus.” Megatron defiantly snapped.

    “Silence boy, you’ll be the greatest of us, but only if you shut your hole long enough to live that long.” Terminus admonished as he stood and turned toward the approaching manager. “Hello Straxus, fine morning, isn’t it?”

    “That’s Lord Straxus, I was given a title by Militus Macht himself, or have you forgotten?” The rotund robot snapped back.

    “Of course, Lord Straxus, I apologize.” Terminus bowed his head humbly, gritting his teeth as he watched Megatron maintaining his full impressive stature and locking optics with the low lord.

    “What have we here?” Straxus mumbled as he walked over toward the giant chunk of energon that Megatron had mined. “Impressive. What machinery was required to extricate this behemoth?”

    “I used my pick axe to discover it, then cleared the rock and metal around it with my hands and hauled it to the surface on my shoulder.” Megatron matter of factly announced. “Though I suppose I did use the elevator to get me up here.”

    Straxus turned and glared at the miner from Tarn. “You hauled this up by hand? The radiation would burn…” the optics of the manager lowered to Megatron’s right shoulder and observed the burn marks on it.

    “It did…m’lord, but the pain merely tickled and the burns will be insignificant even before then heal.” Megatron replied.

    Straxus glared at the arrogant young miner. “And what have you done with your mine-issued equipment?”

    Megatron’s optics narrowed in confusion. “Mine-issued equ…you mean my pick axe?”

    “Yes, your pick axe.”

    “It’s back in the mine. I dropped it in my haste to get this topside.” Megatron replied, almost challengingly.

    Straxus chuckled ominously. “Well, normally such an act of disregard to company property would result in severe disciplinary action, but in light of the fact that this is your first offense, I’ll simply take credit for your find and send you back to work.” The mine manager glared at Megatron, challenging him to protest.

    Before Megatron could say a word Terminus was pulling his arm back toward the mine. “That’s more than fair my lord, I’ll lead him down there personally to retrieve his axe and get him back to work.”

    Megatron allowed himself to be pulled, but was seriously contemplating pulling free and beating Straxus to death. “I’ve had enough of this.” The gray miner grumbled as he and Terminus entered the cavern.

    “Oh, ready to go back to Tarn, are you?” Terminus sarcastically snapped.

    “You’ve been in my life in some fashion or another since my birth, though I haven’t the slightest clue as to why.” Megatron grumbled. “Always telling me I’m meant for great things, and yet, I’m forever at the mercy of the mediocre oblivious to their mediocrity!”

    “Patience Megatron.” Terminus advised as they made their way toward the elevator. “I’ve always sensed greatness from you, ever since I happened to be passing through a common hotspot in Tarn during a birthquake and watched as three protoforms took shape, and one of the three exuded an influence…a power, that allowed it to pull much of the sentio metallico from the other two and absorb it into itself, making it twice its original size. That had never been done before.” The elevator door closed and they descended into the depths. “You are meant for greatness Megatron, you are meant to show that an entity’s value should be derived from their abilities, not where they crawled out of the ground.”

    “I would be a better symbol of that in the battle pits than in the mines.” Megatron grumbled.

    “I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Terminus grumbled, keeping his optics straight ahead.

    “Don’t.” Megatron snarled. “I’m not an idiot; I’m fully aware of the gladiatorial circuit. I know that combatants earn five times what they do in the mines even when they don’t win. And I know that I would win.”

    They reached the bottom and the doors opened, prompting Terminus to march out and Megatron to follow. “I’m protecting you, Megatron.”

    “Protecting me from what?” Megatron snapped, his anger causing some of the other miners to glance his way, but they immediately turned back to their business.

    “You’re not ready.” Terminus declared as he reached down and plucked up Megatron’s axe, tossing it to the much younger robot.

    “Then train me!”

    “It’s not that.” Terminus snapped back. “Your raw abilities and the street fighting techniques you picked up in Tarn would certainly put you at the top of the pack. But it’s the scrutiny that you’re not ready for. Bide your time Megatron.”

    “I’m done biding my time.” Megatron growled.

    Terminus just chuckled. “Stay in the mines Megatron, it’s safer.” Terminus turned and noted small rocks rolling down the walls of the cavern, then a noticeable shaking. “No.”

    The shaking started getting worse. “What is it, tectonic activity? A cyber-quake?” Megatron asked as the other miners started scrambling toward the elevator.

    “No,” Terminus yelled as he grabbed Megatron and pulled him against the wall, watching as hundreds of tons of rock began falling all around them, “it’s a birthquake!”


    ***


    Torenia Pax


    It had been nearly five thousand vorns since she had last sailed upon The Mithril Sea, and high time she did it again. The boat was nothing special, certainly not worthy to set foot upon by most nobles, but Torenia was not most nobles, and while lacking in the fineries, The Garona was a stable craft manned by a competent crew. The trip from Cybertropolis to Iacon had been quick, having taken the fast transit tube, but a nice relaxed sea voyage from Iacon to the Torus Heights would be more than welcome after the tragic circumstances of her trip to Cybertropolis in the first place.

    “Fancy seeing you here.” Torenia turned to see Elita Solus standing on the wide bow of the boat up front, leaning against the rail smiling at her.

    “Elita, I was hoping there’d be someone interesting to talk to on this voyage!” Torenia called out with a broad smile.

    “Not sure how interesting the company I’d provide would be.” Elita replied as she approached the older femme. “Most Cybertronians still consider me a protoform.”

    “Oh, the young can often times be so much more interesting than the old.” Torenia answered back, and at seeing Elita’s outstretched hand, pushed it away and embraced the younger noble. “I know we don’t really know one another, but I want us to be close friends, and I’d rather our relationship begin with a hug.”

    While a little startled by the embrace, Elita reciprocated and smile. “I’d like that too. I’ve wanted to meet you for a very long time,” Torenia pulled back and gave her an odd look, which caused Elita to chuckle, “well, a very long time for me.”

    “My ladies,” the captain’s ill-maintained frame came into view, “we plan to shove off.”

    “Very good Captain.” Torenia replied as she stepped away from Elita. The captain nodded and walked away, leaving the two femmes alone as the crew made preparations and pulled away from port. Torenia and Elita walked forward and peered over the edge of the boat at the liquid sea beneath them. “We’ve been a space faring species for millions of years, we’re capable of super-luminous travel and have all the technological marvels one can dream of, yet traveling using nothing more technologically advanced than buoyancy is such a treat.”

    “I’ve heard that most organic world tend to have the majority of their surfaces covered by liquid, usually water.” Elita commented as she gazed upon the fluid surface.

    “Most, but not all.” Torenia commented.

    “Why have we ceased our large scale interstellar exploration?” Elita asked. “I know we’ve yet to find another world with naturally occurring energon, but there are many different ways to get around that obstacle.”

    Torenia shook her head sadly. “After the disappearance of the Manifest, it seemed that all our off-world aspirations dissipated.”

    “Too bad.” The younger femme muttered. “I would love to meet and examine other forms of life.”

    “As would I.” Torenia gasped as a whale broke though the surface of the water in the distance. “Though even for one as old as I am, the life on our world still presents countless wonders.”

    “Yeah, the mortal species are pretty interesting.” Elita agreed, staring at the large ripples in the surface that the whale had left. “And spark-based life is able to watch the species evolve from what I hear. How long does it take for that to happen?”

    “Depends on the species.” Torenia explained. “Those that reach reproductive maturity quickly can have significant evolutionary changes over reasonably short periods of time, especially if it’s selective breeding as opposed to natural selection. Those with longer maturation times can take far longer. Ironically, we’ll be passing a great observation point for native non-spark life forms. Insula Avalonius has never produced a spark, but has given rise to many photosynthetic floras, and many species of fauna have found their way to the island as well. There is an energon deposit there, but it’s very small and not worth a mining operation or the supplies needed to maintain it. It has, for the most part, remained devoid of the influence of spark-based life forms.”

    Elita smiled softly as she gazed over the horizon. “Think the captain will let us stop there for a visit?”

    “Not likely.” Torenia shrugged. “There’s always a schedule to keep. But we will be able to catch a glimpse of it.”

    “Perhaps I’ll be able to visit Polarus soon and squeeze details of life on Avalonius and alien worlds out of your polyhistor.” Elita grinned as Torenia looked up at her quizzically. “Exponum told me of the genius you have holed away up there in your house.”

    “Ah, I see.” Torenia smirked. “You will always be welcome in Polarus, though unfortunately A-Three is a bit of a recluse. I will try to persuade him to meet with you, but on the rare occasions we do have guests, he goes out of his way to make himself scarce. He frequently uses those times to head up to Taenarus for his periodic visits to the Tartarun Gates.”

    “Well perhaps I’ll just have to follow him there.” Elita mused. “Even if he is successful in avoiding me in Taenarus, I’ve always wanted an excuse to see the Gates.”

    The two chatted away getting to know one another as the hours passed, until Torenia pointed off into the distance. “Well, there it is, the untamed Insula Avalonius.”

    Elita turned and gazed at the gray, brown and green island jutting out of the sea. “It is pretty. Hyperious and many other cities in Axiom are filled with all forms of flora; it’s so gorgeous and almost magical. I really do wish our species showed the mortals of our world more respect.” The sea started to get choppier by the second; the boat started pitching one way and the next. “What’s going on?”

    Torenia was wide-opticed and worried. “I…I’m not sure.”

    “My ladies!” The femmes turned toward the captain. “Get inside and brace yourselves! It’s a birthquake!”

    “A birthquake?” Elita was stunned. It was her first since the one that had pushed her spark to the surface.

    “I’ve never experienced one on the sea.” Torenia muttered as she and Elita struggled against the pitching ship to get to the shelter of the cabin. The older femme wrapped her arm around Elita before looking up and seeing a wave towering over them come crashing down.


    ***


    Prowl


    He peered through the one-way window at the red suspect in the interrogation room. Average height, but otherwise a fairly exceptional specimen. Strong, fast, intelligent, and one of the most formidable brawlers that he and his officers had ever seen. It had taken seven officers and Prowl’s direct involvement to finally subdue him. The yellow one was still at large, but they’d have him as well soon. As formidable as Prime had been, it was still possible that these two could have gotten the drop and assassinated him. But nobody kills a Prime and gets away with it. Prowl pulled himself away from the window and entered the room. “How this goes is entirely up to you, Sideswipe.”

    “Hey, that was a birthquake a few minutes ago, wasn’t it?” Sideswipe smirked. “Shouldn’t you and your thug patrol be at the non-noble hotspots ready to hand shovels, pitchforks and other implements of hard labor to the protoforms that emerge?”

    “I would recommend dropping the smart-ass comments and just making with the confession.” Prowl replied with no detectable emotion in his voice.

    “You know, I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately,” Sideswipe said, ignoring Prowl’s threat “mostly old texts regarding the discoveries on extraterrestrial worlds. Did you know that some higher level organic humanoid species are dual gendered like us? One such species is from a planet called Nebulon. One thing observed there is that many fully mature females of the species use some weird water bottles to clean their nether regions. I believe a direct translation is…shower bag. Anyway, I bring it up because for some reason, you remind me of one of these shower bags.”

    Prowl just sat down at the chair on the other side of the table that Sideswipe was seated at, the suspect’s hands chained to a ring on the table. “You’re facing execution, and you choose to make stupid jokes?”

    “Execution?” Sideswipe questioned, genuinely confused. “For promoting the idea that commoners are as good as nobles and the laws should be changed to reflect that?”

    “There’s nothing wrong with you having the idea, at least in this emirate, but your latest method of promoting it…” Prowl stood up in disgust, his anger seething its way to the surface. “I’m disgusted by you idealists. You adopt an idea, which in many cases is a just idea, but you then see no limits to what you’ll do simply to be heard. Even innocents or those that may prove to be allies to you are simply fodder for your agenda.”

    Sideswipe peered at Prowl in confusion. “Uhm, OK, this is probably a mistake, but I’ll fess up. Though frankly I’m having trouble seeing the big screen of the Imperial Amphitheater as either an innocent or ally.”

    Prowl snapped. He lunged over the table and slammed his fist into Sideswipe’s jaw. Sideswipe’s head rolled with the blow, but he instantly snapped back, head-butting Prowl hard before gripping the edge of the table in front of him and hoisted himself up and spun around, delivering a sidekick to Prowl’s head that sent the white and black robot stumbling back and against the wall. An instant later the door had been thrown open and a stream of police officers were funneling in, all of them quickly grabbing, punching or kicking the red robot.

    “Stop!” Prowl shouted. The police continued their beating. “STOP!” Prowl roared. They stopped and looked at him. “Sit him down and get out.” They complied and a moment later Sideswipe and Prowl were alone again. Prowl sat down and looked intently into Sideswipe’s optics. “You genuinely don’t know why you’re here, do you?”

    “Uhhhh,” a confused Sideswipe muttered “noooo? Uhm, by the way, what I said about the Amphith…”

    “Shut up.” Prowl ordered. “Evidence implicating you and your brother to the murder of Zeta Prime has surfaced.”

    “Murder of Zeta…” Prowl watched intently the red robot’s reaction, using every instinct and every bit of training he had ever received to discern whether this Sideswipe was telling the truth. “No, wait, we do civil disobedience, not assassinations! You know that!”

    Prowl shook his head, not liking the genuineness of Sideswipes shock and denial. “I know nothing but the evidence.”

    “What evidence?” Sideswipe demanded.

    Prowl considered not telling him, but decided the prisoner had a right to know. “All video recording equipment and most other sensory equipment was sabotaged and fed with falsified or looped data. The only equipment to have recorded anything was a finely tuned radiation detector. Its readings are pretty broad, and some of them can be used to identify spark radiation in the vicinity. In addition to the spark signatures of those of the deceased, we detected identical radiation levels from separate entities, indicating a split spark. That alone narrowed our search significantly, winnowed further by the individuals needing to be capable of killing six guards and a Prime with melee weapons; the vast majority of spark splits result in one or both individuals being extremely weakened and feeble, but not with you and Sunstreaker. So it really wasn’t a surprise once we got a hold of you that your spark signature was a match.”

    Sideswipe stared into Prowl’s optics for several moments, his initial look of shock slowly evolving into one of subdued confusion, slow realization, and finally cynical amusement. “How convenient.”

    “Convenient?”

    “Yes, convenient.” Sideswipe replied. “My brother and I, who are really not all that technologically adept, manage to subdue every sensory or security measure in place at the Cybertropolis Defense Command Center except the one that would be all but useless in identifying anyone on the planet other than my brother and I.”

    “Your lack of technological expertise could be overcome by having Blaster walk you through any necessary steps, as he did with the Imperial Amphetheater,” Prowl responded, almost absently as he pondered everything, “but perhaps the…coincidence of the incriminating surviving evidence being seemingly…tailor made for your brother and you is unlikely enough to warrant looking at this from other angles.”

    “Other angles?” Sideswipe asked suspiciously. “Uhm, look, I don’t like you Prowl, but even I have to acknowledge that you’re a pretty smart guy; too smart to still think I killed Prime.”

    “What I think is based on what I know, and all I know is the evidence.” Prowl growled back at Sideswipe. “Sometimes things that are seemingly too obvious appear that way because they’re true.”

    “Cut the shit, Prowl, you know Streaker and I didn’t do it!” Sideswipe snarled. “I have no doubt you can convince the Magistratus otherwise, but you’ll never convince yourself.”

    “I only know the evid…look, I need you to shut up while I consider something!” Prowl grumbled as he stood up and paced around the floor on his side of the table. “The Autobots had a motivation to eliminate the Prime, but perhaps they weren’t the only ones.”

    “There were many dozen we’d like to see eliminated before Zeta Decimus.” Sideswipe countered. “Frankly, we really didn’t have an issue with him. But that’s all moot, as we don’t kill.”

    “Whether desperation or ambition, every cause has a point where the taking of a life becomes justifiable to them.” Prowl muttered as he fell deep into thought. “But you Autobots haven’t seemed to be that desperate or ambitious yet; as you stated, you guys have been sticking to civil disobedience so far, and killing a Prime is a bit of a jump from there.”

    “Soooo?” Sideswipe pressed.

    “Just shut up and let me think.” Prowl growled as he thought quietly for several minutes. Thoughts that had been impossible had slowly become improbable, and were now becoming… “Damn it.” Prowl whirled around, planted his hands on the table and looked the prisoner directly in the optics. “What do you know of an underground fighting circuit?”

    “What?” Sideswipe was once again surprised. “Forgive me Prowl, I’m used to being interrogated over things I’ve actually done. Being genuinely innocent of all your charges has left me a bit unprepared with my answers.”

    “Do you know?” Prowl nearly yelled.

    “Yeah, I’ve heard about them, Streaker has even suggested it would be a great way for him and me to blow off some steam and make some money.” Sideswipe replied. “But we didn’t actually join any of the tournaments, and the Autobots have nothing to do with the battle pits. It’s mainly the southern emirates that hold these events.”

    Prowl considered something quietly before nodding and speaking further. “I had been investigating this fight club, but somehow my cover was blown.”

    “Shocking.” Sideswipe quipped.

    “It’s possible those responsible for these gladiatorial tournaments sought Prime’s death.” Prowl mused. “If they knew who I was and what I was doing, they’d know that I answered to Sentinel Honorum, who answered to Zeta Prime.” He peered intently at Sideswipe. “We have no knowledge of who is running these games, much less evidence that they had any hand in Prime’s murder. But maybe there’s a way for us to prove your innocence and get something on these guys…together. Find and enlist your brother; my officers and I can’t get inside that circuit undetected, but a pair of hooligans will fit right in.”


    ***


    Terminus


    It was dark. It was soundless. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, the air so thick with dust and debris that even smell was non-existent, but touch, that sense was in full effect. The pain of crushed legs was overwhelming, as was his equally crushed left forearm. He wasn’t dead, but he knew that being this far down, this injured, he soon would be.

    “Terminus.” The voice was weaker than he’d ever heard it, but it was still sheer power.

    “Huuhhh, here.” Terminus replied. His optics were overcome by the sudden burst of light cutting through the cracks. It took a moment for Terminus’s optics to make any sort of sense of the light bursting through the darkness, and with the dust, even once accustomed his optics had difficulty making anything out.

    “Once I free you, will you be able to walk on your own?” Megatron’s voice, back to its full degree of power, cut through the tiny cracks in the rocks separating them with the light he was no doubt providing.

    “Nuuhh, no. Legs crushed.”

    “Then I’ll carry you.” Megatron roared as tons of rock started shifting around them. The pain in what was left of Terminus’s legs increased exponentially, but as he started to cry out he felt the majority of the weight pressing down on him rising off. A moment later he felt a large, powerful hand gripping his upper left arm just below his shoulder. “Come.”

    “Wait.” Terminus had to struggle to get his words out. “What of the others?”

    Megaron paused. “If they live and can move of their own volition, they’re welcome to follow us out.” Terminus watched as this robot, one whose birth he witnessed, transcend into a force of nature and power his way through the insurmountable mountain of rock, metal and energon with only one free hand.

    “You…you can’t pummel your way to the surface, Megatron.” Terminus watched as Megatron turned his head toward him, his red optics glowing brightly in the darkness, enough to barely reveal a smile etched on the arrogant powerhouse’s face. Terminus smiled as well; Megatron had always loved a challenge, and had yet to face one he couldn’t surmount.

    Megatron continued forward, but stopped and called out like thunder. “If any of you Kaonian bastards are still alive and wish to remain that way, let me know your location now!” Weakened cries started coming out from all around them. Megatron grumbled before setting Terminus down and heading out toward the voices calling out for salvation.

    Terminus watched as Megatron performed the impossible, moving chunks of metal and stone that were many times his own weight, effortlessly swatting away landslides of debris, and pulling out survivor after survivor. Seeing the physical magnificence acting on behalf of his fellow downtrodden furthered Terminus’s long held belief that Megatron was meant for the same sort of greatness as Guardian Prime. His moving of the unmovable, his shrugging off injuries incurred to save others only made it clear that as Primon the Abdicator found the ultimate worthiness in Gallus Honorum, Terminus had found the same in that impossibly powerful protoform three birthquakes back. After less than an hour, Megatron stood over Terminus and eighteen other living souls, the lights on his frame and the blood-red optics glowing through the pitch. “Alright, now we ascend.” Megatron turned and started battering away at the mountain blocking his way toward the elevator shaft. Terminus dragged himself along the ground after him, but was soon lifted up by several of the other miners as they all followed Megatron.

    Megatron finally reached the elevator shaft, which as expected, was filled with debris. The continued obstacle only elicited a smile from Megatron. “Follow behind me, try to keep up, and if Terminus fails to reach the surface, his failure will be shared by all of you.” With that Megatron started powering through the rocks, punching and tearing holes through the thick metal walls of the elevator shaft to push the debris through. It was ponderous and slow going, but after several hours they had reached surface level. All that stood between them and freedom was a third of a mile of stone and metal piled floor to ceiling.

    “This will be more dangerous than the shaft.” Terminus advised Megatron. “In the shaft you pulverized in the direction from which the danger would be coming. Here you will be powering through the rocks in front of you, while billions of tons are falling down from above.”

    Megatron nodded, and began examining the cavern for an answer. He found it in the form of a large mining cart. He hoisted the seventy-foot long cart effortlessly and twisted it upside down. “You and those carrying you will be under here, right behind me so that I can keep you from being crushed.” Megatron then glared at the miners holding Terminus. “Keep up, and keep him safe.” Megatron turned and marched quickly toward the wall keeping them in. “Let’s go!”

    Again the undertaking was slow moving, but as before Megatron proved to be up to the task, battering their tunnel to freedom. There were times when the weight of the stone and metal pushing down on the cart was far too much for the other survivors to endure, Megatron would turn, get under the cart himself, and push up, wedging through the impossibly heavy load, and then continuing on. More hours passed, many moments of doubt to be had for all, but the hulking Tarnian continued without pause, battering until his hands were shredded and continued battering. Megatron’s fatigue was beyond apparent, to the point of physical shutdown, but still he persisted, only pausing for a few moments at a time. With a roar to focus his rage, Megatron through one more punch, a punch that resulted in daylight breaking in through the newly made hole. Megatron paused just long enough for a grin. “Time to make our exit.” With one hand Megatron gripped the lip of the cart, then lowered his other shoulder and powered through the last wall of rock.

    In an instant all the surviving miners barreled though the final wall of rock and metal, collapsing on the ground and into the light. Terminus’s optics struggled against the light, but he saw Megatron tossing the cart away and turning upward, knowing what was to happen. Looking up at the still standing Megatron, Terminus’s optics cleared enough to look beyond and above him, at the tumbling boulders that were starting to fall down upon them all. Though well aware of Megatron’s greatness, what Terminus was witnessing now was an absolute impossibility. Megatron turned, and using speed, agility and power that Terminus had never witnessed before, watched as the Tarnian battered every falling boulder away, shattering most, and keeping all of the survivors safe of anything beyond spraying pebbles and debris. “MOVE!” Megatron roared as he fought off the landslide.

    Despite Megatron’s earlier orders, the other miners abandoned Terminus as they got over their panic and scrambled away. Megatron glanced down and grimaced as he saw Terminus still in peril. “Slagging cowards!” With that, Megatron leaned down and grabbed Terminus by the upper arm with the two remaining fingers and thumb on his left hand before lunging out of the way of a vast boulder, diving and sprinting, rolling and utilizing speed and agility that few if any other Cybertronians possessed, Megatron and Terminus evaded the avalanche until finally they reached a point where the rockslide stopped.

    Megatron released Terminus and collapsed to the ground. Terminus looked into his young protégé’s optics and smiled, a smile that was returned by Megatron. The old robot’s gaze soon drifted beyond Megatron’s head, where he saw Militus Macht standing next to Straxus. Terror shot through Terminus as he saw the intense look on Militus’s face. He had struggled to keep Megatron’s combat prowess from the notice of the House of Macht, going so far as to relocate him to the mines of Kaon, but all his struggles had proved fruitless. Megatron noticed Terminus’s diverted attention, and turned his body to look toward Militus as well. The noble warlord’s optics glowed brightly as he considered the recent display of Megatron’s awesome power.


    ***


    Elita Solus


    It took some internal adjustments that Elita had never performed before, but she eventually managed to adjust her optical settings to project light to help her cut through the murky depths of the Mithril Sea’s bottom. What was revealed was wondrous. Cybertron was the only planet that they’d come across that was the source of both spark-based life and abiogenesis, and aside from a few notable exceptions, the species springing from the two sources of life had coexisted for countless eons. Of course, that didn’t stop a forty-foot organic shark that had been drawn to the lights from setting upon her. The beast was gigantic and extremely powerful, but was made of flesh and cartilage, and while able to grasp and pull Elita away in its jaws, a few strikes from her metal fists punctured its flesh and shatter some cartilage, causing it to release her and dart off through the depths.

    Elita sank back to the bottom, assessed the damage that the shark had caused her and determined it to be inconsequential, and began peering through the muck once more. She wasn’t sure which direction she should go, but she was sure that if Exponum, who had tried to dissuade her from this foolish journey, ever found out about her situation he would never let her live it down. She could likely contact him for help, but only as a last resort. Elita would exhaust every opportunity to get out of this predicament on her own steam before contacting the One, or leader, of House Solis. Unfortunately, she had no idea of what the protocol for this sort of situation was. An odd ping caught her off guard, but the sound was followed by a series of repeating pings. She studied the code diligently before realizing what it was. The Mahpop Code, an archaic maritime numeric code that Exponum had instructed her on many years before, one that she fortunately still remembered well enough to decode, though even if she didn’t it wasn’t hard for her to triangulate the source of the signal. But she was pretty certain that the message being conveyed was something along the lines of ‘passengers and crew of the Garona, rendezvous on the northern shore of Avalonius’. The coordinates were a bit tougher to decipher, but as she’d already considered doing, she triangulated the source of the broadcast.

    An hour and a half later Elita’s head cut through the surface of the sea, and with only a few more seconds of trudging she was on dry land. Several members of the crew gawked at her as she approached the haphazard assemblage of what little they were able to salvage from the ship, and the Captain finally addressed her. “Good to see you m’lady, seeing as you appear to be undamaged, I might actually manage to avoid some prison time.”

    “We were caught up in a birthquake, there was nothing for you to have done differently.” Elita assured the disheveled mariner.

    “True, but when a commoner captain loses or damages a noble passenger, excuses become meaningless.” The captain replied.

    “Well, you have nothing to fear in regards to this noble passenger.” Elita smiled. “Has Torenia Pax resurfaced?”

    “Aye, she made it to shore nearly an hour ago.” The captain replied. “Headed up into the mountains, said she was going to bring back some energon.”

    “I’ll go see if she needs some help.” Elita responded, looking up toward the lush jungle. “Can you point me in the direction of this energon deposit?” The captain provided the young noble with the directions as best as he could remember from stories of other mariners who claimed to have visited the island, and Elita set off to find Torenia. The foliage was thick and though predominantly green, there were vibrant colors of all shades mixed throughout the jungle. It appeared that the life forms that were making a home of the island were relatively small, and very timid; Elita only occasionally caught sight or sound of the beasts scurrying about.

    The cavern that supposedly had the vein of energon running through it was up ahead half a mile, but Elita’s attention was drawn to a closer, smaller cave off to her right. There was an odd green glow flickering on the rock and metal inner wall of the cave, one that Elita couldn’t help but be drawn to. As she approached the mouth of the cavern she could her gently, feminine whispering from within, and realized that despite the lowered tone it was a voice that she recognized. “Torenia?”

    “Oh good, it’s you.” Torenia’s voice echoed back from within. Elita entered the cave and made her way in, following the pulsing, but fading green light. The green pulsing faded completely as Elita came upon Torenia Pax kneeling over a blob of metal that seemed almost molten and liquid, though it failed to spread as a liquid does and giving the comfort Torenia possessed touching it, the level of heat it generated was far less than that of molten metal. “I hope that whatever bond we’ve developed is strong enough for me to ask an impossible favor of you, Elita.”

    Elita scrutinized the shape and noted that it was gradually taking on a humanoid appearance, and that chunks of metal were dislodging from the floor and cave walls and being sucked into the new form. “What is…” she then watched as Tornenia lifted one part of the shape, one that appeared almost head-like. “Primus, is this a protoform?”

    “Yes.” Tornenia replied soothingly as she gazed lovingly into the slowly forming face of the newborn in her arms.

    “But…but there’s no spark life on this rock, there’s no sentio metallico.” Elita commented, watching in awe as the protoform continued to take shape, incorporating more metal drawn from the cavern.

    “You’re right, there’s none.” Torenia replied. “I was drawn to the spark, and mourned upon realizing that there would be no way to get it to a breeding pool soon enough. It would die, and there was nothing I could do for it but watch.” Torenia looked up and smiled. “And then it started using the metals from the cavern.”

    Elita shook her head in confusion. “But metals can’t be used to form a prototype.”

    “A-Three once told me that a strong enough spark could make a body of nearly anything.” Torenia looked back down on the newborn.

    “Strong enough spark?” Elita commented, shifting her gaze from the protoform to the other femme. “Does that have anything to do with the green glow I saw coming in here?”

    Torenia nodded. “That is related to the favor I mentioned as you entered.” She turned her head back up and gazed imploringly into Elita’s optics. “This island is still technically Iacon. Even without knowledge of his spark, the sheer size and build,” Tornenia nodded to the form for Elita to take note, and the femme from Hyperious saw the overall physique taking shape, the impressive stature, the narrow waist, the massive chest and broad shoulders, “would cause the Honorums to place him immediately in the mines.”

    “Place him in the mines?” Elita was shocked. “It’s Nova Cronum, not Polyhex. They don’t force anyone to do what they don’t want to do.”

    “No, the emirate of Nova Cronum is not nearly as bad as Polyhex, nor is its energon production as lucrative. The Honorums have been trying to catch up to the Machts for eons in that regard, and while they likely have similar deposits of the element, their ethics in regard to the workforce have traditionally kept them from similar levels of success in their mines. But they’ve been slowly catching up, and while I cannot prove it, I fear it may be due to the loosening of these ethics.” Torenia stroked the protoform’s head gently. “I am unwilling to take the chance with this one. So I ask you, Elita Solus of Axiom, will you please tell the captain and his crew that I have found my own way off of this island, and tell no one of what you have seen in this cave?”

    “I…I will. Of course, but I assure you that all this isn’t necessary.” Elita replied.

    “Perhaps you’re right, but I’d rather play this safe.” Torenia smiled, relief clearly etched on her face. “And I’ve grown a little attached to this little guy.” Elita looked back down and chuckled at the protoform. Torenia looked down and nodded. “Well, not so little.”

    “So what will you do, take him back to Polarus and raise him there?” Elita asked.

    “Yes.” Torenia gazed deeply into the indentations where the protoform’s optics would take shape. “I will name him Orion.”
     
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  2. Ømnidrive

    Ømnidrive Stop.....think......fart.....and keep on going

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    HOLY HELL........great work my friend I hope this continues
     
  3. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Decided to continue this a little. While most of it is going for a GOT feel, the parts involving Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are a straight up ripoff of 'The Departed'.


    ***


    Militus Macht


    He would have to have a word with Terminus. Technically his vassal hadn’t lied about this Tarnian, but any fool could see that his value as a gladiator vastly outweighed his value as a miner. Terminus had been hiding the young robot’s potential; fortunately this Megatron had no problem showing what he could do. Militus had run him through the gamut of testing, both physical and mental, and the physical results were astounding, the highest scores he’d ever seen in an unmodified frame. Intellectually he had proven to be roughly average, which was more than sufficient for what Militus had planned for him. He gazed over at the Tarnian in question, the both of them walking toward the rundown structure on the outskirts of Kaon. “Who gave you your name?”

    “Terminus.” The youth replied. The tone wasn’t insolent, but it seemed to lack the appropriate respect that should be present when a commoner addressed the head of the ruling House of Polyhex, but commoners with such a high degree of talent and potential deserved far more leeway than the useless masses of resource consumers.

    “Are you aware of what the suffix signifies?” Militus asked.

    “I’m not sure.” Megatron replied. “It’s reasonably common.”

    “Yes, but only in Polyhex; a case of commoners in this emirate aspiring to some form of nobility.” Militus replied. “It’s derived from the ancient warlord Galvatron. History records that he was of House Macht, but in fact he was born a commoner. My House offered him membership after the militia he created had conducted successful incursions into Altihex, Uraya and Nyon, and Jugatus Macht, head of the House at that time, felt it would be better to make him a member before Galvatron considered turning his might inward. As a member of House Macht, his conquest expanded throughout the majority of the planet, only coming to an end once Gallus Honorum led his forces through The Tagan Heights, into Polyhex, captured Kolkular where Galvatron had left the Matrix he had pulled out of Prime Nova’s corpse as a trophy, and with the grace of the Matrix, Gallus became Guardian Prime and gradually battled Galvatron’s forces to a standstill.” Militus smiled as the two entered the large and seemingly dilapidated gymnasium. “Of course, apart from Galvatron’s common beginnings, even the most uneducated of Polyhexians is aware of this. Galvatron’s origins are known to many throughout the emirate, and to a lesser degree throughout other parts of the planet, and the commoners here cling to the pride they have in their fellow common born Polyhexian’s accomplishments, and have used his suffix as a symbol of the potential greatness of Polyhexian commoners.”

    Megatron nodded as he glanced throughout the vast indoor arena laid out in front of him, noting the roughly two dozen warriors sparring and training with one another. “I have been accused of arrogance on more than one occasion, but I assure you, I had no part in selecting my name.”

    “Yes, you mentioned that.” Militus answered as they approached a lean but powerful robot of dark gray, green, orange and purple coloration. “Terminus obviously had high expectations for you.” The leader of House Macht beckoned the warrior to approach them. “More often than not those with the suffix Tron chose their names themselves. Banzaitron here is one such individual. Like most that chose to add the suffix to their name, Banzaitron had grand aspirations. Aspirations that led him to a life of crime, which resulted in me removing his transformation cog. But despite the loss of his alternate mode, he proved to be one of the most skilled warriors I’ve ever seen.” Militus smacked Megatron hard in the back, almost pushing him toward the other warrior. “And he’s going to be your first teacher.”

    Banzaitron peered Megatron up and down. “Big, and undoubtedly strong and durable, but he looks like a simple laborer.”

    Militus laughed. “Not a bad assessment, but his earliest years were spent on the streets of Tarn where he developed a reputation as one of the most dangerous brawlers in the entire city.” He looked Megatron over much as Banzaitron had done, and like with Banzaitron, the envy of Megatron’s physical gifts was well hidden. “Exceptional potential; in dire need of a great deal of polishing.”

    “Ah, a street fighter, well then, let’s get to work.” Banzaitron nodded, and Militus backed away. Megatron looked to Militus, clearly unsure of what was expected of him, and failed to see Banzaitron’s attack. The powerful crescent kick whipped through the air and connected with the side of Megatron’s head, sending the miner stumbling back and falling to one knee. He turned and looked up just as Banzaitron’s follow-up left roundhouse smashed his nose. Megatron’s head dropped down, but he started back up, only to have a right snap-kick catch him under his left optic and knock him onto his back. Banzaitron howled with laughter at his downed opponent. “Where did you find this lump, Lord Macht?”

    Megatron sprung back to his feet and started marching toward Banzaitron, fury blazing out of his optics. “We’re still at work, Banzaitron.” Megatron threw an aching right punch, followed by a left uppercut, both of which Banzaitron was able to dodge and parry, and retaliated with a knee that landed against Megatron’s abdomen while simultaneously slamming an elbow to Megatron’s chin. Despite the power of the dual strike combination, Megatron was completely un-phased and delivered a head-butt to Banzaitron’s nose that sent the warrior stumbling back. Before being able to get his bearings, Banzaitron was laid out by a left roundhouse. The martial artist’s optics flickered a couple of times before everything cleared up to reveal Megatron standing over him with an arrogant grin on his face.

    “OK, the kid has potential.” Banzaitron nodded as he extended his hand for Megatron to help him up.


    ***


    Orion


    He watched nervously as all the strangers they passed smiled at Torenia, some bowing slightly, and some stopping to greet her. All that passed stared at him questioningly, those few that stopped to speak asked about him, to which Torenia simply stated his name and explained that he was a newborn spawned in the recent birthquake, found in an otherwise empty field just inside of The Torus Heights border with Nova Cronum. Orion was aware of very little about the world, but even the newborn was able to sense that Torenia was hiding something when describing his origins. But as both instinct and Torenia had instructed, he remained quiet, observing all and awaiting enough knowledge to provide context for these early observations. He merely smiled at the newcomers when they addressed him, those with a feminine form like Torenia’s commented on how handsome he was, some giving Torenia a slightly accusing look before saying their good-byes.

    The two continued on through the courtyard, the air chilly and the semi-solid precipitation Torenia had told him was called snow falling all around them, providing a thin layer of the substance on the ground beneath them. Ahead of them lay their destination, an enormous metal structure that was easily twenty times larger than any of the other structures that they had passed since disembarking from the barge that Seaspray, a small boat that turned into a small robot, had hauled to shore. Orion’s first glimpses had been of looking up at the sky, and then Torenia’s face while on the deck of that barge, one filled with supplies. Upon reaching land, he had watched Torenia walk off to talk with Seaspray, and Orion had watched as the smaller robot nodded and bowed to Torenia, seemingly assuring her of something before heading back into the sea and transforming.

    Torenia had led him by foot for the first day. The first mile was very difficult; Orion’s new legs were very wobbly, and during that time Torenia had jacked a cord from her wrist into his neck to transfer data regarding their language, and very little else. But after several minutes everything changed. His body quickly started to harden, to strengthen; the overwhelming weight of his own frame quickly became as light as pebbles compared to how it had been just minutes before. Torenia had told him that was normal, that the spark that had given him life had devoted most of its existence so far to forming his internal mechanisms, but that after a few days that was almost complete, and the spark was now devoting itself to developing his outer shell and robotic musculature. But though she had said it was a normal process, even Torenia was stunned as how light and quick his movements had become, at how easily he removed the few obstacles that were in their path. Orion had considered that perhaps he wasn’t normal, that perhaps there was something special about him, but he disregarded such thoughts; despite his youth, even he knew that everyone thought of themselves as special. Orion was just like everyone else.

    They had eventually made it to a small village, where they were able to gain transport, one that had gotten them to Polarus in a matter of a few hours, during which time Torenia had instructed Orion to say nothing about his first days, especially anything having to do with him being on the sea. She stressed the importance of this to him most earnestly, though she had refused to explain why it was important. Perhaps she would reveal this to him later, when she too felt that he had acquired enough knowledge to provide some semblance of context.

    They finally reached the massive edifice, a structure as large as a small city, one that she had called Tyger Pax and had informed him that had been her home, and with the permission of its lord, his home as well. They marched through dark hallway after dark hallway, through countless rooms of all sizes, passing more robots, these individuals displaying delight and affection at seeing Torenia that was beyond genuine, as was her joy at seeing them. There were stout warriors who were likely guards, and other robots of every size and form that seemed to be attending to the castle’s needs in some way or another, and all beamed him welcoming smiles that were apparent even if their faces possessed plates over their mouths. But though everyone seemed to be friends, the greetings were kept short so that Torenia and Orion could continue on toward their destination, a meeting with the lord of the House and sovereign of the emirate, Arlon Pax.

    It took them a few more minutes, but they were soon entering a vast chamber with an elevated platform on the far end, and on that platform were several large chairs, and in the middle was a single entity table with slats on either side, and sitting at the table, between the slats, was a large, quadruped with a long snout, upright ears and two deeply set orange optics, its metal a dark gray with shades of blue throughout. A broad smile stretched over its bestial face upon seeing Torenia approaching. “My dear Torenia, it is wondrous to see you again. We had received word from a sea captain based in Iacon that you had been aboard his ship when it sunk, that he had seen you on Insula Avalonus when you disappeared into the jungle, never returning. He claimed that Elita Solus had told him that you had found another way off the island, which she confirmed when I contacted her directly, though her assurances did little to alleviate the worry that was felt by all Polarus.”

    “I am sorry to have caused such concern; I just felt like setting out on my own, and after the shipwreck, felt I needed to get back with the aid of an old friend, someone I could trust.” Torenia replied.

    “And who might that have been?” Arlon asked, annoyance starting to show.

    “Seaspray.” Torenia answered.

    “If you were able to contact Seaspray, then you’d have been able to contact us.” Arlon snapped, his annoyance more noticeable.

    “I was hoping to be back in Polarus before word of the shipwreck reached you.” Torenia responded. “It was poor judgment, I admit.”

    Arlon Pax looked her over before turning his appraising optics toward Orion. “And who is this?”

    Orion nodded nervously, but remained silent as Torenia had instructed him earlier and allowed her to answer on his behalf. Instead he continued to study Arlon and the details surrounding the platform, in particular the words made up of shiny yellow metal over the dais that he was perched upon. The download that Tornenia had provided him was strictly for their verbal language, but on the trip they had come across numerous signs, which she had read to him when he asked what they were, and on the trip to Polarus she had taught him their alphabet and the sounds they made. Using his rudimentary understanding of the written language, he pieced together the words above Arlon as ‘Freedom is the right of all sentient beings’. Orion considered these words as Torenia addressed Arlon.

    “This is Orion, a newborn I came across just inside our borders, near the Mithril Sea.” Torenia answered, a slight bit of nervousness in her voice. “I chose to bring him here, and with your permission, I would like to find him a place here, to provide him with an education, and to allow him the freedom to choose his path in life.”

    Arlon peered intently at the two of them. “I would be happy to provide him shelter and our fullest hospitality for a short while, but what you propose, an upbringing within Tyger Pax and access to all of our resources, is a right reserved for those emerging from the Sacred Pool of Tyger Pax.” The lord of House Pax then looked directly at Orion. “I bid you welcome, and wish you the greatest of fortune Orion, but I cannot provide you a home here long term.”

    “Where did you say he emerged?” Another voice interrupted their conversation. Orion turned to the side of the large room where the voice had originated, and watched as a tall, slender masculine robot that had odd adornments on his upper lip and chin approached the center of the chamber, meeting Orion’s inquisitive and appraising stare with one of his own.

    Torenia smiled at seeing the new robot enter. “Greetings A-Three, it is good to see you again.”

    “As it is to see you, Lady Torenia.” A-Three replied. “But I am curious as to where this youth originated from.”

    “I found him shortly after arriving on the shores of Burthov, in a field north of that city.” Torenia responded, glancing nervously at Orion, apparently hoping he would remain quiet. He had been aware as they disembarked prior to Seaspray’s arriving at the Port of Burthov, and she knew that he knew she was lying to these robots, but he was unaware as to why.

    “I’m not aware of any hot spots in that region, or anything more than trace amounts of elements that could be used as sentio metallico.” A-Three answered, confused.

    Torenia shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, A-Three, I was passing by and found a protoform.”

    A-Three studied her face for a moment more before turning his scrutiny toward Orion. After several tense seconds of study, A-Three called out to Arlon, keeping his optics locked on Orion as he did so. “My lord, if it pleases you, I would like to provide tutelage to this youth in my free time, or it permissible, in conjunction with the Pax newborn.” A-Three turned to Torenia, well aware of the look of confusion coming over her face. “He emerged from the Sacred Pool in the recent pulse.” He turned back to Arlon. “I understand if this is unacceptable to you and wish me to train him in my off hours and to do so off the premises of Tyger Pax, but I feel Roller and Orion could be of assistance to one another.”

    Arlon Pax peered at his old friend for several moments before answering. “If that is your will, A-Three, you are free to do so provided your duties to House Pax come first.”

    “Of course, my lord.” A-Three turned to him and replied.


    ***


    Sunstreaker


    Every head turned as the two entered the large, dimly-lit tavern, though after a quick sizing up of the pair all optics turned back to their business; at least the optics belonging to those bearing masculine forms. The few femmes in the filthy, unseemly expanse continued staring at the newcomers, particularly the yellow, slightly more handsome and far more polished robot. Well, Sunstreaker smiled as he thought, perhaps more than just slightly more handsome. Sideswipe was undoubtedly a very good looking bot, femmes were always eager to gain his attention, at least until Sunstreaker entered the room and stole the optics and attention from his sibling. But they weren’t here to pick up femmes, no, they were here for their other favorite pastime; they were here to pick a fight. “You know, I really wouldn’t mind doing this if we weren’t doing it for that boot-licking asshat Prowl.”

    “No choice, we’ve been framed for murdering the Prime, this is our only chance to clear our names.” The red sibling replied as the two took seats in the center of the room. “We agreed this was a win-win; we get to make lots of money doing what we love, Prowl gets to find the real killer, or at least some poor shlub that isn’t us to pin the assassination on, and then we all go our separate ways.”

    “You’re an idiot, Swipe.” Sunstreaker snarled as he nodded to a tavern-femme who had been receiving a great deal of attention from a large, imposing blue and yellow masculine robot and flashed two fingers, a grin and a flicker of his right optic. He smiled at seeing her scamper away from the cone-headed brute to attend to their order, and the look of fury coming over the abandoned goon and the hate-filled glare the goon sent the brothers. The bait had been laid, now it was just letting a scenario that had played out dozens of times before occur once again, this time in the service of their new long term objective. “Once we’ve gone our separate way, every crook, thug and near-do-well is going to be out to pull our sparks out through our tailpipes. We’ve spent days hunting down this particular scumbag, this very well connected scumbag, use him to get into this fight circuit, get to know the players, all the players, and then betray every last one of them. I’d almost rather a clean execution by Sentinel Honorum’s hand than the messy torture-fest the gladiators and gangsters would give us.”

    “Yeah, you’d opt for a clean death while shackled over a brawl to the finish.” Sideswipe smirked. “Besides, you won’t be betraying anyone. Hell, you don’t even need to be here, you just want in because you’re a belligerent prick looking to rearrange the parts of other fighters. I’m the one that made the deal with Prowl; I’m the one that’s going to be doing the informing and betraying.”

    “Yeah, like these degenerates won’t know I’m with you in all endeavors.” Sunstreaker grumbled. “I may think you’re a jackass and consider what you’re making us do insane, but I AM with you.”

    “Shut your hole and get into character,” the red and black Autobot snapped as he smiled at the approaching waitress carrying two large vials of engex toward their table, “I’ve spotted the well connected scumbag over behind the bar.”

    Sunstreaker extended his wrist toward the femme as she placed the vials in front of the brothers and a panel slid open revealing a small screen. The tavern worker pulled a small device out and held it over the screen, scanning and transferring the cost of the engex. “Hey gorgeous.” Sunstreaker peered up and grinned broadly at the femme, whose optics shone brightly in response to the attention. “Scan it again, you’ll find a tip as well as my personal communication signal code.”

    “Can I get one without the other?” The waitress asked slyly.

    “Sure, but I’d feel bad if you didn’t accept the tip.” Sunstreaker expanded his grin. The waitress scanned again, and Sunstreaker sensed that both the tip and his contact information were being pulled. “Keep ‘em coming, even if my brother has trouble keeping up with me.”

    “Brother?” The femme asked, leaning against the table.

    “Or so we’re told.” Sideswipe chimed in. “It’s not like either of us were in any condition to be witnesses to the event.”

    “I know what we were told,” Sunstreaker remarked, “but I’m pretty sure what really happened was that the green spark that formed my protoform sensed the generous nature of my newly forming brain module and branched apart to give this simple red mook some life.”

    The barmaid laughed. “Ah, yet another patron trying to impress me by claiming to have a green spark.”

    “No, I don’t have one, I had one, and it split, leaving me with a common blue one.” Sunstreaker corrected her with another smile.

    “Green sparks are a myth.” Sideswipe chimed in. “And even if they weren’t, neither of us ever had one. Those that saw our birth mentioned nothing of the color green,” the red sibling grinned at his brother “but I did hear tell of it being the spark in my protoform that split to give birth to this shiny shit-talker.”

    “Bah, that claim is the very epitome of shit-talking.” Sunstreaker chuckled before looking back up at the femme. “But we are born of the same branched spark.”

    “I thought branched sparks resulted in weak robots.” The barmaid commented with a playful grin.

    Sunstreaker smirked. “We’re the exceptions. I’d love to show you how strong I am.”

    “For the record, I’m stronger.” Sideswipe quipped, earning him a glare from his brother.

    The femme gave an appraising look over both robots. “There’s definitely a resemblance,” she reached over and brushed her hand against one of Sunstreaker’s helm crests, “though there are plenty of distinctions as well.”

    “What the slag are you doing?” The roar erupted from the other end of the bar, just as Sunstreaker knew it would. He had been assuming it would wait until he had gotten the femme to sit in his lap, but apparently that would not be necessary. The large blue and yellow brute that the barmaid had been doting on prior to their entry rose from his chair, knocking it over in the process, and started marching toward the group.

    “Is he watching?” Sunstreaker asked as he eyed the oncoming robot.

    “Everyone is watching.” Sideswipe replied, smiling as he watched Sunstreaker casually rise to his feet.

    “Good.” Sunstreaker smiled broadly.

    “Don’t, he’s much bigger than you and he fights for a living.” The barmaid warned Sunstreaker urgently.

    “I know,” Sunstreaker replied, gently pushing her toward Sideswipe, who took her and walked her away from the two soon to be combatants, “he’s perfect.”

    “You got something to say, bitch?” The large but sleek robot bellowed a moment before lunging at the yellow newcomer. Sunstreaker twisted, and while taking the brunt of the force, he was able to flip the assailant over and onto the table, which toppled, sending him onto the filthy floor.

    “All I have to say is reserved for your femme.” Sunstreaker snapped, his grin still in place. “Primarily tips on how to look you in the optic and try to assure you that you’re still adequate without laughing.”

    The big blue robot leapt to his feet and started for Sunstreaker once again. ‘Predictable idiot’ Sunstreaker thought as his left fist slammed into the oncoming face followed by his right to the side of his cone-head that sent the aggressor stumbling to the side. Sunstreaker lost his smile, and gritted his teeth at seeing Sideswipe grin. Sunstreaker was the better warrior, but Sideswipe’s earlier comment had been accurate, he was the physically stronger of the two. A roundhouse from Sideswipe would have put this guy on the floor, if not ended the fight, and the red shit would be sure to remind him of this later.

    But Swipe lacked the skill and grace of Sunstreaker, and the yellow brother set out to demonstrate this as he set upon the belligerent jackass he was making an example of. Thirty seconds and six loud cracks later the blue and yellow robot’s right arm was hanging uselessly at his side as he rose to his feet, viscous liquids leaking from several wounds on his face and body, his optics now wide with fear as he stared at the virtually unblemished yellow robot smiling evilly at him.

    “Ramjet, Thrust; hold this prick down!” The blue robot roared over the commotion of the bar. Two similarly sized and shaped robots emerged from the crowd, one white with red, and the other red with black, both with cones over their heads.

    Sunsteaker smiled broadly at the newcomers. “Swipe?” A red flash tore into the two would-be intruders. Sunstreaker watched his brother dismantle the pair, he was highly skilled, Sunstreaker was loathe to admit the fact that Sideswipe was almost as skilled as he was, but the jock liked to barrel in and rely on his athleticism and instinct more than his knowhow; and in the vast majority of circumstances, his athleticism and instinct were more than enough. This time was no exception, as in moments Sideswipe was mounted on the one called Ramjet pounding on his face, while the one called Thrust was laying several yards away, nursing a heavily dented nose and crawling away from the fight terrified.

    “Enough!” Sunstreaker grinned, mission accomplished. Everyone turned toward where the yell had rung out from, at the mid-sized but bulky tan and purple robot approaching the brawlers. The sea of spectators parted to make way for him as he headed straight for the brothers, who had come to stand next to one another. “Well boys, looks like this is what you wanted. I wonder if anyone ever warned you of the dangers of getting what you wanted.”

    “We never were ones to pay warnings much heed.” Sideswipe smirked as he stood up, stepping on Ramjet as he did so. “And it wasn’t what I wanted; I just wanted a couple drinks. It’s my brother that’s into stealing femmes and picking fights.”

    “Enough of the bullshit.” The tan and purple robot snapped. “I know you boys know who I am, and I know an audition when I see one. Congratulations, you’ve impressed me. But the audition’s over, time to start acting like professionals and take the next step, or you can keep playing dumb and I’ll let you, leaving you to this crowd who would love to see you dead for what you’ve done to their friends and their bar. You see, they don’t like outsiders, and they’d like nothing more than to make the two of you disappear. But if you’re with me, well, they’ll leave you be.” The robot smiled. “So tell me boys, are you with me?”

    Sideswipe and Sunstreaker looked at one another and displayed their well rehearsed looks of anxiousness. “Yeah…sure, sure we’re with you.” Sideswipe stammered.

    “Then come with me boys.” The robot turned and marched toward the back of the bar, the twins following him.

    “Later ladies.” Sunstreaker quietly taunted the beaten patrons.

    Moments later they were entering a stock room with a table and four chairs around it, the remains of an abandoned game of Sheol’s Bounty, a very little known but ancient card game of off-world origin using tablets adorned with alien symbols. “Have a seat, boys.” The blocky robot waved his hand over the two closest chairs to the door as he rounded the table and plopped himself down on the far end. “Do you know Governor Riker?”

    Sideswipe shrugged and replied sarcastically as his brother simply remained stone-faced. “Yeah, sure, he was the Emir of Luna 1.”

    The other robot ignored the ridiculous reply and continued. “Riker said, ‘I’m a servant of the people. You give me a slagging bullhorn and I’ll get something the people want out of it.’”

    “Well I tell you, Swindle, these people,” Sunstreaker leaned forward and flicked his thumb between Sideswipe and himself, “would love to pull some slagging credits out of that bullhorn of his.”

    Swindle groaned. “A couple of smart asses, that’s unfortunate. But indulge me if you will. The point I’m trying to make with Governor Riker is, a individual could look at anything and make something of it. So I look at you two boys, and wonder what I could use you for.”

    “I think we’ve demonstrated what you could use us for.” Sideswipe replied, leaning back and crossing his arms.

    “Oh, and what’s that?” Swindle replied, his optics rolling across the far wall of the room.

    “What the slag are we talking about here?” Sunstreaker growled. “I distinctly heard ‘enough of the bullshit’ coming out of your mouth.”

    Swindle returned his gaze to the brothers, locking onto one pair of optics before moving to the next pair. “I’m curious as to what two boys from Iacon are doing in this neighborhood. At the risk of slandering my own environment, it almost saddens me to see two young Cybertronians with a fair bit of potential slumming around the seediest part of Petrex looking to earn a few credits taking beatings. Yeah, I know you lads are in with that anti-nobility group, but there’s a sense if idealism with that, all you punks really do is victimless graffiti. That’s a minor slip; this, this is a full fledge descent that ends up with snuffed sparks.” Swindle stood up and nodded toward the door, prompting the brothers to turn and witness four hulking goons entering. “And if that’s truly what we have here, then Primus bless, I will do what I can to help you boys down your chosen path. Buuuttt,” the large robots set upon Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, pinning them in their chairs, “I can’t help but wonder if that prick Prowl finally grew the bearings to offer you punks a deal to pull off something like this.”

    “Are you out of your slagging mind?” Sideswipe growled.

    “I’m gonna pull your innards out and feed them to a cyberfox!” Sunstreaker roared.

    “We slagging hate that Honorum attack dog!” Sideswipe snapped.

    “Yeah, it certainly seems that way, but one can’t be too careful.” Swindle stood up and studied the brothers closely before looking up at his goons. “The pretty one.” He noted a couple looks of confusion. “Yellow!”

    With that they pulled Sunstreaker’s left arm out away from his body. “Stop!” Sideswipe yelled impotently. Sunstreaker struggled, but the two massive robots were able to hold him prone despite his formidable combat skills. Swindle walked over and pried out one of his fingers and pulled out a hand-held cutting tool from a compartment in his side. “Stop, we’re not slaggin’ snitches!”

    “We’ll know one way or another in a few moments.” Swindle replied before using the tool to clamp down on Sunstreaker’s left ring finger and slice it off. Sunstreaker muffled a cry of pain and glared hatefully up at his torturer. “Ahh, a hard ass, huh?” With that he repeated the series of motions and snipped off the yellow robot’s pinky, earning him more silence from Sunstreaker.

    “What the slag?” Sideswipe roared. “What do you want? We’re not slagging cops!” With that Sideswipe got his left leg free enough to kick over the table, sending the discarded alien cards and drinks into the air and the table toppling, providing just enough chaos for he and his brother to capitalize on the distraction of their captors. Acting in unison, the brothers struggled and twisted in a series of organized movements to free themselves from the mooks pinning them down and managed to put a few feet between themselves and Swindles crew.

    “Whoah, not bad boys.” Swindle grumbled as he and his four henchmen stared angrily at the pair. “But you really haven’t improved your situations any. You see, for me to consider this a successful interrogation, I need to get you to the point of hopelessness. Only then can I consider what you have to say to be on the slaggin’ level. If you’re hopeful of getting out of this on your own steam, then you’re still willing to hold out on me, and I just can’t slagging have that. You two boys are bright enough to understand, aren’t you?” Swindle shrugged and smiled. “Now get the slag back in the chairs.”

    “Naw, no more chairs.” Sideswipe replied.

    “It’ll be tough to sit on them after we’ve broken them up into five equal piles and shoved the pieces up your exhaust ports!” Sunstreaker added angrily as he glared at his mutilated hand. “Now form a line and bend over!”

    Swindle started chuckling lightly. “Do you assholes really think your situation has improved any?” He looked up at the closest henchman and shook his head in feigned frustration. “You’re still in a building surrounded by dozens of angry lowlifes looking to kill you. The only difference between your situation now and five minutes ago is that five minutes ago you had ten fingers between the two of you.” The blocky robot displayed a broad grin at the brothers. “But hey, maybe eight is your lucky number.”

    “Here’s how we see our situation.” Sideswipe snapped back. “We either sit back in those chairs where either you’ll kill us, or you’ll cut us down to the point where we’ll be useless in the pits. So the prospect of going down while fighting our way out really isn’t the lesser of two evils here.”

    “What, no faith in the Ankmor medical community?” Swindle smirked. “If you convince me you’re on the level, I’ll make sure that both of you are pasted back together just like you are now. Heck, if you’re my fighters, I’ll spring to get you some battle grade bio-armor grafted to you.”

    “Max density, min mass, nervous-integratable bio-composite?” Sunstreaker asked, suddenly excited, turning slightly toward Sideswipe and continuing in a whisper. “That shit is thin and can be grafted on in place of our outer cyber-dermis. Makes us nearly impervious to most low-grade energy or projectile weapons, make us able to withstand most low-grade energy or projectile weaponry, and weighs damn near nothing.”

    Sideswipe gave him a look of incredulity. “Fine, sit the slag down and continue getting chopped up.”

    Sunstreaker gave a mild shrug. “What’s the problem, you’re the one who claims to have the insane pain threshold.”

    Sideswipe stared at his brother for a moment before turning back to Swindle. “OK Boss, fine, chop us up. We’re not slaggin’ snitches.”

    Swindle stared at them for several moments. “You know, I may just be willing to give you lads the benefit of the doubt…for now.” He returned the finger-chopping device to the compartment on his side. “But you screw me over, and I’ll spend a vorn chopping pieces off of you.”

    The two Iaconians nodded, and Sunstreaker sheepishly grinned. “So about these enhancements...”


    ***


    Nightbeat


    “Enter.” The voice came through both the speaker as well as through the door, and the yellow and blue robot with a broad red visor over his nose stepped forward to the now opening door. He entered the room to see the majestic form of Sentinel Honorum, who according to all reports and rumors would soon be their new Prime. The yellow and red robot smiled at the smaller visitor. “Thank you for coming Nightbeat, Prowl says you’re the perfect individual for the job.”

    “I’m honored by his confidence and by your consideration, my lord.” Nightbeat replied respectfully as he walked into the room. “Unfortunately Prowl neglected to inform me of what this job is.”

    Sentinel chuckled. “It’s merely taking a hobby and making it your full time function.”

    “My lord?”

    The large, hulking royal with armored enhancements adorning his already massively powerful physique smiled. “Prowl has informed me that in your down time you enjoy taking a look at cold cases, but the one that you spend perhaps the most time on is trying to figure out what happened to the Manifest.”

    “Yes my lord.” Nightbeat replied. “I hope that isn’t a problem. I know that Guardian Prime was of your house, and a very early mentor to you. I hope my prying isn’t an offense.”

    “Very early is right.” Sentinel muttered as he walked over to a table, offering a chair to Nightbeat before sitting in another one. “I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times we spoke. But yes, at seeing my post-protoformal physical and mental test scores he took a tremendous interest in me, telling me that in time I’d likely be in his inner circle. He even mentioned in confidence that I’d probably replace Galvatron as his second.” Sentinel noted the stunned look on Nightbeat’s face and chuckled. “Yes, scandalous, and were history to have gone that way the pillars that ended the Second War of Southern Aggression and created the peace we currently enjoy would have been shaken. Gallus was the Prime, but in the view of the southern emirates, Galvatron shared power with him equally. Gallus shitcanning him so that I could serve as his second would likely have reignited hostilities.” The noble shrugged. “But history didn’t go that way. I was only few months old when the Manifest disappeared.”

    “I…I don’t know how to feel about that, my lord.” Nightbeat replied. “Obviously the loss of Guardian Prime is perhaps the greatest tragedy to befall our world, but the prospect of a reignited war is terrifying.”

    “Terrifying, yes.” Sentinel answered with a smile. “But the peace we currently live in is flawed. Gallus inherited a losing battle and a war-torn world with very little in the way of resources, especially here in the north. When an option for a noble peace was offered, he took it, but Polyhex and the emirates that united with it have never been punished for their audacity and aggression. House Macht, House Onyx, House Modus and the others retained their monarchies; the only conditions they had to abide by was the acceptance of a senate they had equal voice in, adherence to planetary laws they had a hand in creating, and an obedience to the Prime that in practice was little more than lip service.”

    “Forgive me, my lord, but I was led to believe that Guardian Prime and Galvatron became inseparable friends after the peace was made.” The detective commented.

    “They were the closest of friends.” Sentinel replied. “But that doesn’t change what Galvatron and those that followed him did. And frankly, when it comes to any job, much less ruling a planet, merit should outweigh friendship. Gallus apparently saw early on that I had the potential to be a greater second and Warden of the Southern Hemisphere than Galvatron. And should the south balk at that, they’d realize that the disadvantage that Gallus and our forces had found ourselves in when he first claimed the Matrix had long since vanished. But again, a moot point.”

    “I see, my lord.” Nightbeat replied uneasily.

    “It’s because of this faith in me, at least in part, that I feel that finding the Manifest and bringing Gallus and his crew home for a proper interment should be made a priority.” Sentinel explained. “Zeta was a friend, but this is one thing we always disagreed on. He felt it to be a lost cause and a waste of resources. But he never truly looked into the matter; nobody has. Except you.” Sentinel leveled his gaze at the commoner. “So being the closest thing to an expert on the fate of the Manifest that we have, do you feel this to be a lost cause?”

    Nightbeat, no less nervous, paused for several moments. “My lord…”

    “Please, I need for you to relax, and for you to be absolutely frank and honest with me.” Sentinel attempted to reassure his guest. “Nothing you say, no opinion or finding you have, will ever be held against you provided you keep it and any other aspect of this investigation confidential. I give you my word as an Honorum.”

    Overcoming his persisting nervousness, Nightbeat replied. “Alright my lord, I do not feel it to be a lost cause. Granted, with the very limited resources I’ve had available to me, I would not consider myself to be any sort of expert on this matter, but from what I’ve put together from the data that’s been available to me, I believe that the Manifest can be found. There’s…” Nightbeat paused, extremely hesitant.

    “Please, continue.” Sentinel prodded.

    “Well sir, some of the evidence has led me to believe that the Manifest may have been the victim of sabotage.” Nightbeat suggested.

    Sentinel Honorum leaned forward, his intensity raised. “I have long suspected as much.” Sentinel leaned back, silent anger coming over his face. “That would demand a criminal investigation, but wouldn’t that increase the odds that the ship was obliterated with little for us to find?”

    “Maybe, I don’t know, my lord.” Nightbeat replied. “The odds that the planet’s most advanced ship would disappear without a trace so soon after launch is really what I’m basing this on. With wormhole generation flight there are countless things that could go wrong, but we’d had tens of thousands of wormhole creations in the eons prior to the Manifest without any issues. The process had become as perfected as a process that complicated can become, and yet the most advanced ship failed at something that private cargo freighters had done flawlessly for eons.”

    “You hardly need to be Iacon’s greatest detective to notice that.” Sentinel commented.

    “I have other clues, ones very subtle, my lord.” Nightbeat replied. “If someone did this, then whoever they are or were was very intelligent and very careful. I have my reasoning laid out in my quarters.”

    “I believe you.” Sentinel considered. “Which make it all the more imperative that you find whatever is out there so that we could piece together any evidence that could let us know who did this.”

    “It’s been over a million years, my lord, I’m sure much of the evidence that may have existed has long since degraded.” Nightbeat replied.

    “True, but there may be something.” Sentinel replied before staring directly at the detective. “I can’t help but noticing that you seem to be trying to discourage me from this course of action.”

    “It’s just…” Nightbeat stared with absolute earnestness into Sentinel Honorum’s optics, “frank and honest?”

    “Yes, I insist.” Sentinel insured him.

    “There’s a possibility, however slim, that one or more of the crew may still be alive.” Nightbeat replied, studying the royal intently for his reaction. A stunned look and a mild hint of worry were what Nightbeat both expected and received from Sentinel Honorum.

    “That’s impossible.” The shocked Sentinel sputtered.

    “There’s no evidence of destruction, and while there was no evidence that they arrived where they were scheduled to arrive, there was no discernible evidence of wormhole generator malfunction.” Nightbeat explained. “Admittedly, even if they came out of the wormhole safely, after this much time they’d likely have starved, even if initiating stasis lock, but there are ways to create energon.”

    Sentinel stared at him incredulously. “I…why hadn’t you presented this possibility before?”

    “I did to Zeta Prime, my lord.” Nightbeat replied. “He felt that given the amount of time that had elapsed that the odds of survivors, even if they had survived the wormhole jump, were virtually nil.”

    Sentinel considered that for a few moments. “He’s likely right.” He then peered heatedly at Nightbeat. “Why didn’t you come to me with it? Barring a miracle, I’ll be named Prime at the next session of the Senate.”

    “That’s why I didn’t come to you, and why I seemed to be less than encouraging at the idea of what you’re proposing, my lord.” Nightbeat explained, anxiety building in him. “I observe everything and everyone I see, you included. Based on what I’ve seen you do and say, I’m inclined to believe that you would prefer being Prime than having Guardian Prime return.”

    “What?” Sentinel Prime asked, anger rising within him. “How dare you?”

    Nightbeat paused before clarifying. “I admit that I may be wrong, my lord, but I do have my reasons for considering this possibility. I can go over every one if you would like, but our current conversation has only reinforced this possibility for me.”

    “What?” Sentinel snapped. “How?”

    Nightbeat nodded. “In this conversation you’ve mentioned Gallus six times, my lord. You have yet to say the name Guardian or Guardian Prime.”

    Sentinel stared angrily at the detective for over a minute of silence before finally speaking. “I appreciate your honesty, but assure you that your assumption is false.”

    “I am pleased to hear that, my lord.” Nightbeat replied, unconvinced. “Shall I proceed with the investigation?”

    Sentinel considered that for several moments before nodding. “Yes, but the investigation is to remain secret. You will make no mention of this assignment to anyone and report only to me. Is that understood?”

    “Perfectly, my lord.”


    ***


    A-Three


    The walk down the hallway housing the servants’ quarters was a long one. Keeping Tyger Pax clean and functioning perfectly required hundreds of employees. A-Three had insisted on taking one of these dormitories when he had first arrived, but Arlon Pax had forbidden it. Arlon, more so than any other royal in history, was keen to blur the lines between noble and commoner, but the idea that a friend and mentor like A-Three would occupy a tiny room with nothing but a slab and a footlocker was beyond unacceptable to him. The lord of Tyger Pax had no problem, however, placing Torenia’s new foundling in one of them.

    A-Three placed his hand on the shoulder of the robot with him, a slightly shorter than average dark blue robot with a robust build, prompting the smaller robot to stop and allow the older robot to go on to the room alone. A-Three approached the room silently; though he would never admit it, not even to himself, he wished to spy on Tyger Pax’s newest occupant. He saw the youngster peering out the window, taking in the white vision of snow over the ground outside. A common sight in the polar emirate of The Torus Heights, though for one as young as Orion, nothing was a common sight yet. According to Torenia, he had only downloaded their verbal language, all other knowledge he had acquired had been from the observations he’d made firsthand over the handful of days he’d been alive.

    The slight shift in the youth’s head let A-Three know that despite his best effort, this Orion had detected his presence. The red, blue and silver robot turned, his movements unbelievably natural and graceful, belying his youth. Orion’s brightly glowing azure optics met A-Three’s, the much, much older robot studying them deeply, enough to note the viridescent core deep below the blue, a astoundingly unexpected trait that could explain several of the unusual things that had been observed about the youth, though not all of them. A-Three turned back to the robot he had left behind and nodded at the youngster to approach before turning back to the occupant of the room. “Greetings Orion, I trust the room is to your liking.”

    “Yes, sir, my lord…” The youth stammered out the reply, unsure of how to address the visitor. The red and blue robot was physically magnificent; tall, extremely broad shoulders paired with a waist that seemed almost absurdly narrow in comparison to his upper body. His thick arms waved toward the slab, offering his visitor a seat, and at seeing the smaller robot saunter up next to A-Three, extended the offer to him as well.

    “That’s your bed.” A-Three replied with a gentle shake of his head. “We’ll need to get you chairs,” the much older robot scanned the small room, “though where we’ll put them, I have no idea.”

    Orion smiled as well and even let out a soft chuckle. “I guess I shouldn’t plan on hosting too many get-togethers.”

    A-Three peered curiously. “Sarcasm?”

    A look of nervousness came over Orion. “I apologize, my lord, I don’t mean to offend. I’ve noticed it exchanged between others, Torenia explained what it was, and I thought I was doing it right.”

    “You were.” A-Three replied calmly, trying to put the young robot at ease. “There are those that don’t appreciate the use of sarcasm. You’ll likely be given a lot of leeway, being Torenia’s pet and all, but you’d be well served to know who you’re speaking to and whether they’re comfortable with it before doing so.”

    “I will remember that, thank you for the lesson, sir.” Orion smiled.

    A-Three nodded. “You’re welcome. Orion, this is Roller Pax, he was born at the same time as you and I would like to educate the two of you together. Now, it is policy for all newborns to undergo a barrage of mental and physical testing along with the selection and implementation of an alternate form to mold and build your shell into. I have you scheduled to take your tests later today, your alt form creation will likely be tomorrow; Roller has already completed both of these things. But for now I’d like to just discuss what you both know and provide you a brief overview of the history of our planet, and of the Emirate of The Torus Heights.” The older robot peered over the tiny room one more time. “Let’s take this outside.” Orion nodded and followed A-Three and Roller out of the room and through the hallway, passing servants and other robots living in the crowded section of Tyger Pax’s commoner wing.

    “Do you live in this section of the castl…city…Tyger Pax?” Orion asked.

    “No, as chief physician, lawyer and historian of Tyger Pax, I’m housed near the Pax’s, three suites down from Roller as it happens.” A-Three replied as they reached a door to the outside and exited the building, walking past rows of snow covered trees and into a vast quad, dozens of other robots outside enjoying the sunny but cold day.

    “Interesting.” Orion replied. “Roller, I hope that my tagging along with your education is amenable with you. I’ve heard that to be tutored by A-Three is a tremendous gift, I truly appreciate you sharing this with me.”

    “No problem Orion.” Roller replied with a smile. “Frankly, I’m just happy to be able to hang out with someone my own age. Five days with almost no one but Arlon and A-Three gets a bit overwhelming.”

    “You are of House Pax, you have a tremendous responsibility.” A-Three replied as he led the two young robots toward a forest. “And while common born, I have great expectations for Orion as well.”

    “I hope I prove worthy of those expectations.” Orion replied.

    “Oh no you don’t, A-Three.” Roller snapped with more than a little humor in his voice. “I’m not going to let you turn this guy into one of you. We’ll nail your lessons, but no taking the fun out of this guy.” The smaller robot peered intently at Orion. “There is fun in you, right?”

    Orion smiled as they entered the forest. “Not that I’ve come across, but I’m young yet.”

    “What do the two of you know of your world?” A-Three asked, ignoring the bantering. “Roller seems confident that he either knows what he needs to know already or that what little he doesn’t know he’ll be able to pick up with minimal effort. I hope you’re not so arrogant, Orion.”

    “I know very little of the world sir, I wish to change that, and will do whatever you expect of me to help with that process.” Orion replied humbly, eliciting a light scoff from Roller.

    “Kiss ass.” Roller chuckled.

    “I have been tasked with providing each member of House Pax with a thorough education.” A-Three angrily snapped as they progressed deeper into the forest. “That includes humility, Roller, a lesson you are in desperate need of learning.”

    “I don’t mean to be disrespectful sir,” Roller replied, embarrassment clearly etched into his voice, “I’m just trying to add some levity for Orion’s sake. My tutoring thus far has been daunting to say the least, I want Orion not to be overwhelmed. I really want him to stick with it.”

    A-Three stopped in the center of a ring of trees with several boulders near them and sat on one of the boulders, waving for his students to follow his lead. He peered at Roller and once all were seated, he addressed the youth. “I recognize that you have been overloaded early into your life with a tremendous amount to learn, but you must realize that this is for your benefit. But you are correct, it can be overwhelming, which is why I’ve decided it will also benefit you to learn alongside Orion. The two of you can assist one another, offer support and encouragement to one another, and perhaps even become friends in the process. Know that I can empathize with what you go through, and know that what I do here is not me attempting to torture or overwhelm you, all I do is for your benefit, the benefit of House Pax, and the benefit of Cybertron. And also know that any disrespect you show going forward will be severely punished.”

    Roller nodded. “Yes sir.”

    “Alright.” A-Three looked up and took in the countless falling flakes descending upon them. “Despite its name, Cybertron is not a fully cybernetic planet. But unlike the vast majority of life-bearing planets in the universe, it is not fully organic either. As far as I know, it is the only planet that is a naturally occurring hybrid of both; a planet that has given rise to vast organic species, each producing individuals given life through an intangible and temporary, but nearly infinitely reproducible life-force, as well as producing far less numerous quasi-mechanical species with tangible and far more enduring sparks, including our own theoretically immortal species.”

    “Theoretically immortal?” Orion asked.

    “Yes, to the best of our knowledge and theories, with adequate sustenance and maintenance to the host body, our sparks can remain viable perpetually.” A-Three replied. “Though we always seem to find a way to end our lives eventually. Either through violence, accident, or physical neglect, there are few of us that survive more than a few million years at best.”

    “Come on, I’m sure there are careful Transformers out there that have managed not to get killed.” Roller replied as Orion listened intently.

    A-Three looked down at the ground, deep in thought for several moments before looking back up and replying. “Our species has existed for at least twenty million years. Even the unverified rumors regarding ancients among us only put these ancients at thirteen million years of age.”

    “Who are these ancients that may or may not be among us?” Orion questioned.

    “I’ve been tasked with teaching you facts and respected theories, not with perpetuating myths.” A-Three replied.

    Roller grew agitated at the statement. “So no leviathans, no sparkeaters, no sirens, no minotorons, no Knights…”

    “There are sparkeaters, that’s why they built and man the Tartarun Gates.” Orion interrupted.

    “Enough! I will not be discussing any of those anytime soon, though I will go into some theories that are not accepted by the mainstream, but that I feel to be worth educating you on. For instance, that there is…” the older robot paused, once again thinking deeply, “evidence that the temporary nature of the organic life originating on this planet can be extended through scientific means, perhaps indefinitely as with our own sparks.”

    Both of the students peered at one another before looking back at A-Three. “What, immortal garlonics and dracosaurs?” Roller asked.

    “No.” A-Three studied the youths for a few moments before continuing. “Ours is not the only intelligent species to be spawned by this planet. In all likelihood, ours isn’t the most intelligent species to be spawned by this planet.” A-Three noted the looks of amazement and wonder. “But that, and other myths are not part of today’s curriculum.”

    “But you stated that there was evidence.” Orion countered. “Depending on the evidence, that may elevate it beyond the status of myth.”

    “Perhaps, young one, but even if that’s the case, it is not a lesson for you to learn of today.” A-Three grinned, dashing the hopes of his two students. “Instead you are going to learn of the thirteen Emirates of Cybertron, their ruling Houses, their local laws and customs as well as the planetary laws and constitution that they have all agreed to abide by as administered by the Senate.”

    “Ughn.” Roller grumbled.


    ***


    Megatron


    “Any apprehensions?” Militus asked as they marched down the corridor toward the medical wing of House Macht.

    Megatron smiled as he strode confidently next to the overlord of Polyhex. “None, Lord Macht. I am eager for this to happen.”

    “As am I.” Militus replied. “For far too long that sub-humanoid Ogrus Onyx has been bragging of his invincible vassal Grimlock. Once upgraded with the latest armor and press enhancements, you will be able to bring that dragon’s reign to an end. I just hope you survive the process.”

    Megatron chuckled as the two of them pushed through the doors and entered the small hospital. “I’m not concerned.”

    Militus took the lead and led the younger robot down a hallway toward a fortified laboratory. “I am. The resources I’m devoting to you are not easy to come by, and certainly not inexpensive. You’ve shown exceptional potential in the training, but you’ve had no actual combat experience.”

    “I’ve seen my share of combat, Lord Macht.” Megatron replied dryly.

    “Thugs, you’ve beaten thugs.” Militus snapped back. “In the pits you will face honed athletes for whom fighting is their function, their reason for existence. Beating up several belligerent laborers doesn’t make you ready for the gladiatorial pits. And even if your skills and combat savvy were to continue progressing as they’ve been progressing, that doesn’t mean you’re capable of surviving the completion of this procedure. Only a handful of warriors have been able to endure this in its entirety, and more than that number have died in the process.” A slender robot approached them, and Militus turned toward him. “Greetings Doctor Rossum.”

    “Greetings my lord.” Rossum replied as he looked Megatron over intently. “You were right, he is one sturdy looking candidate. And large, though not as large as Ogrus’s juggernaut.”

    “So that’s good, right?” Militus asked. “I mean, as far as the chances of the procedure’s success, right?”

    “Large size is a good sign, especially if he moves well.” Rossum explained still examining Megatron. The young patient was used to being looked upon as a resource by the powers that be, but it annoyed him no less.

    “If you mean speed and agility, then yes, he moves like a bot a third his size.” Militus replied.

    “Good. People frequently assume it takes a powerful spark to pull together and control a large frame, but often times it’s just a mediocre or even weak spark that happened to bubble up in an area with abundant sentio metallico.” Rossum continued as he prepared the equipment. “That frequently leads to clumsy bots unable to manipulate their frames worth a damn. Then there are cases where a powerful spark will create a smaller body, whether due to a shortage of available material or for some other unexplainable reason. But in general, a large frame is not a bad sign.” The doctor waved to an open chamber. “Megatron is it? Please enter so that we can get started.” Without hesitation Megatron marched across the room and entered the chamber, leaning back to allow himself to get strapped in. “Well, we do have an eager one, don’t we?” Rossum chuckled to Militus before turning to Megatron. “In a big hurry to get some more argonized steel and polymer sinew, are we?”

    Megatron merely smiled and looked forward. “Yes.”

    Militus walked toward them and stood before Megatron, peering deeply into his optics. “For this to be even the slightest bit profitable for me, you need to be able to endure at least a third of the planned bonding and half of the interior press enhancements. If you’re unable to do that, you’ll have wasted a fair chunk of my money, and proven to lack the mettle to be of any use to me in the pits. And you know what happens to those that cost me money and have no way of repaying their losses, right?”

    Megatron smiled broadly, tempted to tell the Emir of Polyhex exactly the esteem with which he held his threats, but decided to keep that to himself for the moment. “My frame will accept every alteration Rossum has in store for me, and when he’s finished I’ll ask for more.”

    Militus continued staring at Megatron for a few more moments before turning to Rossum. “Do it.”

    Rossum smiled and walked over to a control panel to begin the procedure. “Here we go.” With the flick of a few switches Megatron was pulled tight into the chamber and various cutting, melting, boring and welding tools all around the chamber sprung to life. Rossum began smiling as only grunts came when normally there would be screams of agony. Even several minutes later, as the most invasive aspects of the surgery were underway, the only signs of discomfort elicited from the miner-turned-gladiator were grunts of discomfort. “His pain threshold certainly won’t be an issue in the pits.” Rossum chuckled.

    “How is his frame reacting to the additions to it?” Militus asked as he walked over to Rossum to peer at the array of screens in front of him.

    Rossum studied the data being scrawled across as well. “Quite well, quite well.” The doctor leaned closer to the screen to study it more intently. “In fact, the acceptance rates are superior to any enhancement procedure I’ve ever come across; likely better than anyone’s ever come across, at least in recent times.”

    “Meaning what?” Militus asked, his interest possessing a hint of nervousness.

    Rossum quickly typed some commands into the computer, turned away and marched rapidly toward the patient, looking into the chamber as the automated arms of the medical contrivance began cutting and peeling away at Megatron’s inner chest structures. Megatron’s discomfort increased significantly, causing him to growl and snap at the doctor in front of him. “I do not believe this is part of the procedure, Rossum!” The young robot felt panic welling up in him; he was trapped, completely at the mercy of these two, and he had sensed early on that Militus had always regarded him as a threat. He had considered his position with the Emir to be safe, at least for the time being, but it now appeared he was wrong. If they were betraying him, there would be nothing he could do to stop them.

    “No, it is not.” Rossum replied, staring with extreme interest into his patient’s chest. “Do not fear, I assure you that any harm that is done with be repaired immediately. But I must know.”

    “Must know wha…aaaahhhhhhh!?!” Megatron roared as his spark chamber was cut open.

    “My sweet maker…” Rossum muttered through his grinning mouth as green light poured out from his patient, “I’ve never seen one in person.”

    “Seen what?” Militus asked as he made his way over, but gasped as he saw the green energy emanating out of Megatron’s chest. “Impossible.” He stared fearfully at Megatron’s face. “I didn’t believe point one percenters existed.”

    “Oh, they exist, but the designation is grossly inaccurate.” Rossum replied as he walked back over to the control panel and plugged in new instructions, ones that instantly caused the mechanisms to repair the damage done and continue on with the enhancements. “From the little I’ve been able to study on the subject, point zero zero zero zero two percenter would be more apt.”

    “One in fifty thousand?” Militus asked, still staring at Megatron’s chest as the green light was sealed off by the repairing of the spark chamber.

    “That’s my guess.” Rossum replied. “There are others. Based on what I’ve discussed with colleagues serving House Onyx, I’m all but certain that Ogrus’s champion possesses one, though that too is just a guess. Apparently Grimlock isn’t fond of being scanned and is less fond of being cut open.”

    “Then he’s going to be truly upset when I cut him open from crotch to throat and toss his spark, whatever color it is, into the crowd.” Megatron snarled from within the chamber.

    Rossum chuckled and turned to Militus. “Based on this, I’m confident that his frame can accept some theoretical enhancements that I’ve come up with; that is, if you’re willing to finance it.”

    “Negative.” Militus replied quietly, seemingly to try and be too quiet for Megatron to hear, but failing as the patient was barely able to make out the following. “The standard alpha gladiator upgrade is sufficient. I don’t need the histories remembering me as the Emir that unleashed a second Galvatron on the planet.”


    ***


    Arlon Pax


    The six-wheeled gray and blue cruiser cut through the snow on the roadway as it continued to speed into the polar mountain range, at least until there was roadway to drive over. When the snow-covered road came to an end, the vehicle transformed into its bestial form and Arlon Pax, Emir of The Torus Heights, made his way over the treacherous terrain into the mountains. He traveled quickly up the mountains, through ravines, and through passes few if any others could get through. His frame seemed perfectly adapted to this environment, and his knowledge of the area was unequalled. After a few hours of travelling by foot he finally arrived at the mouth of a gigantic cavern, a mouth closed off by an enormous metal wall. He approached it, his proximity causing defensive canons to spring forth from their housings within rocks and the ground and target him.

    “Halt!” A booming voice echoed through hidden speakers. “Identify yourself!”

    “I am Lord Arlon Pax, Emir of The Torus Heights, here for my quarterly examination of the Tartarun Gates.” The beast called back at the faceless voice. “Open the gate Kup, my servos are starting to freeze.”

    With that a large door within the metal wall slowly slid open and a light blue robot walked out. “Sorry Lord Pax, but there are procedures even you and I need to adhere to.”

    “No worries, Lord Commander.” Arlon replied with a grin. “You’re looking well.”

    “As are you, Arlon.” Kup replied as he caught Arlon’s raised front paw in his hand and shook it. “Let’s take this inside and let your poor servos warm up.”

    “Of course old friend.” Arlon said as he walked through the doorway and into the cavern, followed by Kup.

    “So I felt a few tremors a few days back.” Kup commented as they made their way through the moderately lit cavern, passing well armed soldiers of various designs, ages and body types. “Was House Pax blessed with any new lords or ladies?

    “Aye, Roller.” Arlon replied. “Seems like a good lad, not the largest of bots but a stout, strong frame and very inquisitive with what appears to be the intellect to match his curiosity.”

    “Oh, he sounds like a fine addition to your House.” Kup replied. “So just the one?”

    Arlon casually glanced over at a squad of soldiers training in hand-to-hand combat. “Born of our hotspot, yes, though Torenia returned from her trip to Cybertropolis with a commoner protoform she wishes to raise at Tyger Pax.”

    “Is that legal?” Kup asked. “Wouldn’t that protoform be a vassal of House Honorum or a lesser House of Nova Cronum? At least until it reached the age of self-determination.”

    “No, she found him on her way back from the trip, just inside the Torus Heights border.” Arlon explained. “North of Burthov I believe.”

    “Burthov?” Kup was startled. “There’s no sentio metallico in or around Burthov, at least that I’m aware of.”

    “That’s what she told me.” Arlon replied.

    “Well, I suppose even the wells of the thirteen great houses were once barren.” Kup explained as they continued deeper into the vast cavern, passing barracks and the large mess hall build into a side cavern. “Does this commoner seem to be a good lad too?”

    “Aye, he does.” Arlon answered, taking in and evaluating every detail of the cavern, though knowing that under Kup’s command that all aspects of the Gates and the Wardens assigned to guard them would be more than adequate. “Polite, good natured, and by all indications appears to be exceptionally intelligent. And he’s perhaps the finest physical specimens I’ve ever come across.”

    “Hmm, perhaps when he comes of age this specimen can be persuaded to join the Wardens of the Gates for a ten vorn stint.” Kup suggested mirthfully.

    “I’m not an Honorum, Maximus or Decimus, I don’t strong arm my vassals into joining the Wardens for the honor of my House.” Arlon replied. “But I will make Orion aware of the opportunity, and the honor it holds to serve.”

    “Our values mirror those of House Pax, my lord.” Kup replied. “The strong sense of civic duty instilled in all natives of The Torus Heights has sent many of your vassals to the Gates of their own free will. I merely ask that you treat this Orion as you would any that have the honor of serving you.”

    Arlon shook his head sadly. “No Kup, it is I that has the honor of serving them. If only the other Emirs and nobles possessed this perspective then perhaps the Golden Age could be reclaimed.”

    “You forget that I’m much older than you are Arlon.” Kup replied. “The Golden Age was called that due to contentment and plenty, not because it possessed your ideal of equality amongst all Cybertronians. Guardian Prime was a great many wonderful things, but eliminating the distinction between noble and commoner was never a priority for him.”

    “Well it is for me.” Arlon replied. “Which reminds me, how is Perceptor doing as a teacher?”

    Kup laughed out loud. “Oh, he’s not happy with you for talking him into taking on the role of physician and educator here.”

    “I know.” Arlon smiled, his bestial mouth making for a fearsome sight. “But it’s a task I feel he and few others can achieve.”

    “What, educate this rabble so that at the end of their watch they go back and educate other commoners in their emirates or demand that those emirates follow the lead of Torus Heights and provide education to them?” Kup asked chuckling. “Your motives aren’t that hard to figure out.” Kup stopped laughing but maintained his mirth. “I hear you have an educator at Tyger Pax that can probably do the job. Any chance you’d be willing to talk him into serving as a Warden for a few vorns?”

    Arlon grew slightly uneasy. “I fear A-Three has no interest in leaving Tyger Pax.”

    “Oh right, he’s calling himself A-Three these days.” Kup noted Arlon’s agitated glare. “I saw him while I was at Tyger Pax eight vorns back. You forget, I’m much older than you are, and a change in facial shapes only goes so far.”

    “We will speak no more on this subject.” Arlon stated in a tone so that there would be no room to argue.

    “As you wish, my lord.” Kup replied as they reached a second large metal wall. “So, is this to be another routine inspection?”

    “Not so routine.” Arlon replied. “I wish to speak with him.”

    “Ah, so you’re planning on walking all the way down, huh?” Kup replied, a bit of surprise in his voice. “Any particular reason you wish to meet with him?”

    Both robots stopped and peered at the door at the base of the metal wall. “The murder of Zeta Prime has me…concerned, as well as intrigued about the prospect of selecting another Prime in the absence of the Matrix, how Cybertron was prior to the Matrix selecting the first Prime…” Arlon paused, “I just feel uneasy and I wish to use someone far older than you or I as a sounding board.” He looked over and smiled weakly at Kup. “And I fear A-Three is unwilling to discuss such things with anyone anymore.”

    “Got it.” Kup replied, looking up at a drone hidden in the wall. “Lord Commander Kup authorizing admittance to the lower levels to Arlon Pax.” With that the door to the lower levels slid open and Arlon passed through.

    Arlon Pax continued down into the depths, advancing through progressively darker sections of the cavern with the grade dropping lower and lower to the point where a biped would have had difficulty remaining upright. Every half mile there would be plaques mounted on the walls detailing events of a war waged fifteen million years before, all heavily worn even with constant maintenance and upkeep. After several miles Arlon came upon one more enormous metal wall, but the door opened for him as he got there and he passed on through. By this point his surroundings were significantly warmer, and he looked straight ahead to see another metal wall in the distance. But instead of continuing toward it, he stopped. He had reached his destination. He peered up and to the side to see two green orbs shining through layers of dust. “Hello old friend.”

    A giant stepped forward, hundreds of pounds of dust falling away from his moving body. “Greetings Arlon Pax. It is good to see you again. What brings you to these depths?”

    “Greetings Omega Supreme, I have come to tell you that Zeta Prime has been murdered.” Arlon said. “Sentinel Honorum will be selected by the Senate to be the next Prime, and I fear that in time that our planet will devolve into the chaos of a pre-Matrix Cybertron.”

    “And what do you wish from me?” Omega Supreme asked.

    Arlon nodded his animalistic head and paused before continuing. “I know Sentinel Honorum fairly well, I respect him, he was a good lad, has become an excellent leader in most regards…but I do not know whether he’s worthy of being a Prime.”

    “When they come to meet me, they have already been selected to be Prime.” Omega Supreme replied. “Even if the Senate does place any weight on my opinion, by the time I’m in a position to formulate one, the decision has been made. I do not see what you expect me to do.”

    “There remains one that the Matrix once deemed worthy to bear it.” Arlon replied. “I come to you to aid me in making him return to public eye and reclaim the mantel of Prime. He may not possess the Matrix, but Primon was chosen by it.”

    “He is called Primon the Abdicator for a reason.” The giant replied. “On one occasion he relinquished both the title and the Matrix to one he felt to be more worthy, and on two other occasions he held back in his claim because he found others he felt to be more worthy.”

    “And on all occasions the Matrix selected those he had chosen.” Arlon responded. “His judgment was sound, his choices correct.”

    “And yet you now choose to question his judgment and not accept his choice to remain anonymous?” The Guardian replied.

    “He has withdrawn.” Arlon answered. “It is this that I cannot accept. Had Justicia Ambus not existed to become Prima, or Nova Onyx to become Nova Prime, or Gallus Honorum to become Guardian Prime, he’d have stepped in and served.”

    “No, your historical accounts are incorrect in regard to Nova Prime.” Omega Supreme countered. “Primon nearly died defeating Deathsaurus, and allowed the world to think he had. Nova Onyx’s ascension to Prime had nothing to do with Primon’s endorsement or approval.”

    “True, but his absence was mitigated by the fact that he wasn’t needed at that point.” Arlon replied. “The crisis was over. When Galvatron rose up and killed Nova Prime, Primon was going to lead the forces of the north until he encountered a young Gallus Prime and felt he fit some alien prophecy and would make for the greatest of Primes.”

    “And you feel there a crisis that only Primon can guide us through going on now?” Omega Supreme asked, waiting for Arlon to look away at not having a definitive answer for the question before continuing. “I know the murder of the Prime has created many problems, and that you doubt the Senate, Sentinel Honorum and whoever else to be up to the task of dealing with these problems, but I don’t see that as a crisis that Primon and nobody else can face.”

    “Believe me, old friend,” Arlon muttered shaking his head, “I pray to Primus that you’re right.”


    ***


    Roller Pax


    The six-wheeled dark blue cruiser rolled quietly through the endless hallways of the servants’ section of Tyger Pax, finally arriving outside the door of Orion. Roller transformed and with a code he technically wasn’t allowed to possess, he opened the door. To his astonishment, Orion remained sleeping; normally the big guy was alert to the slightest little things, but he was totally out. Then Roller saw the wheels on Orion’s legs and remembered that he too had been deeply offline for nearly half a day following his alternate mode surgery. He peered out the window just beyond Orion’s dormancy slab into the dark night before approaching the slab and gently slapping his friend’s cheek and whispering. “Wake up you mook.” Orion barely stirred, prompting Roller to grab his shoulder and shake it.

    “Ughn…” Orion groaned from the pain caused by the shaking of his still-healing body.

    “Shut up.” Roller whispered harshly, covering his friend’s mouth. Orion’s optics burned to full activation and peered at Roller in confusion. “We’re bustin’ outta here. Hitting the Polarus night life.”

    “What?” The groggy Orion quietly asked after pushing Roller’s hand away and rose to a seated position on his slab. “We can’t hit nightlife until we reach the age of self-determination.”

    Roller reached down and spun one of the wheels on Orion’s leg. “Now that we have wheels there’s no visible difference between us and a Cybertronian with fifty thousand vorns under his belt. And the only guy outside of Tyger Pax whose seen me is the guy we’re going to be hanging with.”

    Orion stood up and took a couple of wobbly steps, his body still apparently quite sore and unsteady from the surgery. “We’re going to be smelted if we get caught leaving Tyger Pax.”

    “That’s why we need to be really quiet.” Roller replied and quietly slipped out of the room, looking back at Orion with clear expectations of being followed. “You’d better come to keep me out of trouble.”

    “A futile effort.” Orion replied as he followed after the smaller robot. The two slipped outside the building and quietly shuffled their way away toward the forest. Once there they moved faster, but were still trying to be as quiet as possible. “This is a truly horrible idea.” Orion whispered as they pushed through the underbrush.

    “What? Arlon is still up north, so everyone else is in lax-mode.” Roller replied, a hint of mirth in the whisper.

    “Look, you may be unknown outside Tyger Pax, but people saw me with Torenia when we first arrived.” Orion stated as the two reached a road that they felt was a safe distance from the compound. “And just who is this guy we’re going to be hanging with?”

    “Name’s Dion, he’s a laborer who delivered supplies to Tyger Pax.” Roller answered as he stood on the road and transformed. “Good guy, I think you’ll like him. Now transform.”

    Orion stared at his own limbs and then at the road. “This is my first time transforming with a vehicle mode.” He explained. “Heck, I only transformed to shell mode twice prior to the surgery.”

    “Well stop fretting over your cherry and get it done.” Roller grumbled.

    “Cherry?” Orion asked.

    “Has to do with mammalian reproduction, pretty gross actually.” Roller replied. “Now let’s transform and roll out!”

    “Fine.” Orion replied, still hesitant, and after another short pause, set upon shifting his body to his heavily altered former shell. The process ached, but that was due to the surgical injuries he was recovering from.

    “Not bad actually.” Roller mused as he took in Orion’s vehicular shape. “Actually, pretty damn sharp. I’m jealous.”

    “Yeah, you’re jealous of my common born, blocky, freight-hauler-changing-into bumper.” Orion muttered as he activated the motors for each of the wheels on his body and slowly moved forward, then backward.

    “Actually, yeah, how could I not be?” Roller replied. “You’re huge, femmes stare at you all the time, and, well, I’ve seen your test scores.”

    “You have?” Orion questioned in surprise, his surprise quickly changing to irritation. “You’re not allowed to look at my scores!”

    “Relax, O, you have nothing to be embarrassed about.” Roller replied. “Were they my scores, I’d have them posted on every wall in Polarus.”

    “Still,” Orion grumbled, “that’s an invasion of privacy!”

    “Oh shut up, Orion.” Roller snapped as he pulled away, prompting Orion to follow him toward the lights of the city in the near distance. “I scored well, very well actually in both the physical and intellectual tests, but you reset the bar for both. Frankly, in every way outside of where we were born, you have me trumped.”

    “Well then I guess it’s good that nobility trumps everything else.” Orion replied as he caught up to Roller.

    “I wouldn’t know.” Roller replied. “Lesser houses are nobility, House Pax counts as royalty in this emirite.”

    “Piss off, your highness.” Orion snapped, eliciting a laugh from Roller. “So where are we heading.”

    “Place is called ‘Wolf at the Door’, from what I’ve been told it’s a bit of a shithole, but Dion says it’s the only place to get a full taste of The Torus Height’s flavorful denizens.” Roller answered.

    “Ugh, we’re going to get in trouble.” Orion grumbled as they entered the outskirts of the city. “But I suppose the silver lining is that this may be a good opportunity to get to know the people that you may someday lead.”

    “There ya’ go, you just keep on finding those silver linings buddy!” Roller laughed as he accelerated through the street of the brightly lit town, passing other vehicles and pedestrians moving along the sidewalk. They weaved through the increasingly busy streets until turning down and alley and coming upon a dimly lit building adorned by a sign saying ‘Wolf at the Door’ in barely lit letters.

    “You’re kidding me.” Orion asked as they transformed in front of the building.

    “Naw man, this is perfect.” Roller grinned as he approached the door.

    A large robot, one similar in size and bulk to Orion but whose movements were heavier and less graceful, stepped out from the shadow in the doorway and stood before the two. “You’ll submit to a weapon’s scan before entering.”

    Roller and Orion looked at each other and shrugged before turning back and replying in unison. “Agreed.”

    The bouncer pulled out a prod of some sort and ran it over the outsides of their frames. As he did so he noted Orion’s new wheels. “Damn, you have some squeaky clean wheels, dude.” He then looked over at Roller and noted that his too looked brand new. “Both of you.” He then stepped back and eyed them warily. “What’s with the new wheels? You two ain’t a pair of protos, are you?”

    Roller nervously shifted toward Orion, a look of mock disbelief and indignation on his face. “Protos, us? Hell no!”

    “The grease on those wheels of yours are clean enough to bath in,” the bouncer replied, “and there isn’t the slightest bit of wear on those treads. How’s about you two kids head back to your adolescenters before your state-assigned nannies notice you gone from your cribs?”

    “You’re right.” Orion replied, eliciting a look of shocked anger from Roller. “Our wheels and motors are new, though even years from now they’ll still likely look new, at least I believe they will. You see, we’re not from here, we’re both from Ankmor Park, a mining town a couple hundred miles south of Petrex and the main source of energon for the emirate of Ankmor. We were miners, laborers for whom motors, wheels and treads were considered an unnecessary expense. Well, after living frugally and saving our pay for three vorns, we were finally able to pay off our tabs to the company stores, pay for alt modes and book passage to the closest emirate where commoners aren’t shit upon.” Orion intensified his gaze into the bouncer’s optics. “We found jobs in North Burthov, got a paycheck, polished ourselves up and decided to hit the big city.”

    Roller shrugged. “You know, big for the Heights.”

    The bouncer stared them over. “You’re looking to do it up big and you came to this place?”

    Orion chuckled. “Not enough polish on Cybertron to wash off enough of the mines to make us comfortable in any place higher rent than this.”

    The bouncer looked them over one more time before stepping aside. “Well then boys, don’t let me take up any more of your time. Nobody deserves a few drinks more than you two.”

    Orion nodded and the two of them walked in. Roller leaned in close to his friend and whispered as they entered the establishment. “That was slagging brilliant.”

    “I feel dirty.” Orion replied uneasily. “I don’t want to lie again.”

    “But you’re so good at it!” Roller responded as they walked through several patrons toward the main bar.

    “Pax!” Both newcomers turned to see a robot sitting at a table calling out to Roller. He had a blue torso with orange portions of what must have been his alternate mode mounted on his back, his face and head were white and nestled within an orange helmet. Roller scampered over to the table with Orion right behind him. “You made it.”

    “Hey, quiet with the Pax stuff!” Roller grumbled as they sat across from them. “I’m not supposed to be here, if they find out I’m the Pax pup I won’t get served and Torenia will be called to collect me.”

    “Fine, sorry pup.” Dion replied and then looked at Orion. “So who’s your friend?”

    “This is my brother Orion.” Roller replied.

    “Brother?” Dion looked him over. “Nice to meet you, Orion Pax.”

    “It’s just Orion.” The red and blue robot extended his hand to shake Dion’s. “I’m a commoner who just got fortunate enough to be found by Tornenia and brought to live in Tyger Pax.”

    “Oh yeah, I remember hearing about a proto Torenia found along the road south of here. So Roller’s the House pup, and you’re the house pet. Well commoner or not, you’re still probably too fancy for the riffraff here.” Dion replied and smiled as he saw a waitress walking over to them. “But even dives like this can house a gem or two. Boys, I’d like you to meet Ariel, the best serving femme in the northern hemisphere.”

    “I thought I was the best serving femme on the planet.” Ariel replied. “So, Dion, who are your friends.” The femme smiled broadly at each but once the initial smile was given to Dion and Roller her optics settled on Orion.

    “My dark blue friend here is Roller, and this fine red specimen is Orion.” Dion said, noting the waitress staring at Orion. “Yeah, he’s pretty, but he’s just a commoner.”

    “I wish he were more common.” Ariel replied. “What can I get you lads?”

    “Let’s keep it simple, these fellows are young yet.” Dion replied. “Three large vials of Northern Sky Engex, and bring three more five minutes later.”

    “That’s too much too soon.” Orion replied.

    “Quit being a femme.” Roller jabbed.

    “Hey.” Orion snapped at his friend. “I enjoy our insults, but such generalizations regarding groups are beneath you and are offensive to both them and those that hear you do it.”

    “Whoah, settle down hero.” Ariel chuckled at Orion. “I can handle comments from knuckleheads like your friend, so there’s no need for you to be such a femme.”

    “I…wha…” the confused Orion stuttered, “I, uh, I thought…I…Roller…his comment was demeaning to you. I thought you would be insulted.”

    Ariel reached over and gently cupped Orion’s face, smiling at him as she did so. “You know nothing, Orion.” She then straightened up and addressed the table, smiling at Dion and Roller as they chuckled at the still startled Orion. “Three Northern Sky’s followed by another three, coming right up.”

    Dion leaned back as Ariel walked away from the table and grinned at the two youngsters. “We’re going to play it low key tonight Roller, just hang out here for a while before I send you kids home, but if you can get your friend’s hero impulse in check then maybe some night we can do a full-fledged pub-crawl that takes us through the entire city.”

    “You don’t know the half of it.” Roller muttered, chuckling at his friend’s expense. “But with your help I’m certain that in time we can fully corrupt the big lug’s idealism.” Roller’s optics started back toward Dion but froze as he caught sight of something at the door. “Holy shit, I didn’t know Cybertronians could get that big.”

    Dion and Orion turned to see what he was talking about and Dion groaned. “Oh, that’s Lugnut. Haven’t seen him in awhile. Well, actually, haven’t seen him in person for awhile. Saw him on a vid-feed at a place even seedier than this a few weeks back. Couldn’t make out his face…or what one would call his face were he to actually have a face, but I couldn’t make out his features due to the digital obfuscation programming, but it was obviously him. The stupid bastard didn’t even change his paintjob.” Dion winced as he realized something. “But I didn’t just say that and you didn’t hear anything.”

    “What?” Roller asked.

    “Never mind.” Dion replied. “Just know that despite being nine head’s taller than your large friend here and monstrously powerful, in actuality he’s a gigantic asshole who loves picking fights and ruining everyone’s fun, so by all means, we should hang out with him.”

    “He’s being sarcastic.” Orion nudged Roller with a smile on his face.

    “Thanks for the tip.” Roller snapped back giving Orion a stupid look.

    “Yeah, forgot you guys are just babies.” Dion interjected. “Sarcasm aside, I would suggest not looking his way.”

    The heads of the two young robots turned back toward the table, which worked out as Ariel had just returned to place their drinks in front of them. “There you go boys.”

    “I’m sure you saw who just walked in.” Dion said seriously to Ariel.

    “Don’t worry, D, I can take care of myself.” Ariel replied, though there was a little worry in her voice.

    “His right arm has been recently rebuilt.” Orion said out of the blue.

    “What?” Roller and Ariel asked.

    Dion stared in amazement at Orion. “How do you know that?”

    “Color patterns on and around his shoulder aren’t as faded as his torso or arm.” Orion explained.

    “Wow, great observation.” Dion replied.

    “You mean he’s right?” Ariel asked.

    “Yea…I…err…I don’t know, actually.” Dion replied.

    “Something to do with what you didn’t just say and we didn’t just hear?” Roller asked sarcastically. “Trust me Dion, if you actually had to go to school with this clown, you wouldn’t be surprised by him catching this.”

    “Oh Primus, you don’t actually watch that stuff.” Ariel groaned and then looked at the younger two. “Dion telling you…wait, did you say school?” She looked at Dion in surprise, and at seeing his sheepish grin, gave him a scolding glare. “Never mind. But he’s right to tell you to forget everything he may have said about whatever he was talking about. Seriously, stay away from that stuff.” She then turned fully to Dion and slapped him hard on the shoulder. “They better not be from this last pulse, or so help me I’ll beat your ass.” With that she started to storm off, but stopped as a deep voice bellowed from across the bar.

    “Hey sweet-plates, get those swiveling hips over here and say hello to me!” Lugnut called out as he let his frame fall on a sturdy metal chair that still strained under his massive bulk. “I know you’ve been missing me.”

    Ariel grimaced before turning and smiling at the huge patron and walking toward his table. “Of course I have. Where have you been?”

    Orion observed everything from the corner of his optic. It was none of his business, but he was compelled to make sure that Ariel, or anyone else for that matter, was not harmed. “Been on vacation down south, enjoying the warmer weather, the busier cities, the better, well everything.” Lugnut laughed. “The only thing worthwhile in this frozen shithole is you, Baby.”

    “That’s so sweet.” Ariel replied through her forced smile. “So what can I get for you?”

    “A vat of Nightmare Fuel along with a vial of whatever fu-fu drink you like.” Lugnut replied. “I’m sure the Wolf at the Door can make do without you for a night as you keep me company.”

    Orion continued monitoring the two as Roller leaned toward Dion. “How does someone that big even come into existence?”

    Dion shrugged. “A few hundred vorns back your vassals, House Boltax acquired lots of extra sentio metallico and added it to their ancestral hotspot hoping to get lots of healthy new members to add to their ranks. Don’t know if your instructor has covered this, but that’s pretty illegal, but not entirely uncommon, especially in other emirates. Anyway, when Vector Sigma gave off a pulse only one viable spark was sent up into House Boltax’s hotspot, and instead of lots of healthy bots, they got that one monster.”

    Orion caught the conversation, but was twisting his head more toward Lugnut and Ariel, watching what was going on with them. “Sorry hun,” Ariel replied as she took a casual step back away from the table, “but the boss is paying me to get the patrons drunk, not to get drunk with the patrons.”

    “But I’m not just a patron,” Lugnut boasted, “I’m a noble, one of the finest specimens on the planet, and I’m sure your boss wouldn’t have a problem with you spending some quality time with a V.I.P. like me. I’m kind of a celebrity in certain circles.”

    “You’re a celebrity here too, Luggy.” Ariel replied playfully, trying to calm the braggart down as she turned away. “Let me go get your drink.”

    Lugnut lurched up to his feet and grabbed the massively smaller femme by the arm. “Don’t get dismissive with me, bitch, I’m a slagging champion! I trashed all comers where I’ve been, and I’m entitled to a little respect from a common trollop like you!”

    “Hands off the lady!” Orion roared as he gripped the massive wrist.

    The stunned Lugnut peered down at Orion and after a few tense moments of silence an ominous chuckling stared coming out from his nearly featureless face, his large red optic burning brightly. “Punk, you have no idea what you just did.”

    “Hold up there, Lug.” Dion called out nervously as he stood from his chair, slowly approaching the three in a likely futile attempt to quell the situation. “He’s a kid, not even a week old yet. Hell, look at his wheels, his axel grease is clean enough to brush your teeth with.”

    “So the slag what?” Lugnut bellowed. “He dared to put his common slagging hands on me! ME! The greatest fighter on the planet!”

    “Uh, don’t know how to tell you this, Nuts, but I saw your fight.” Dion hesitantly replied. “First, I thought the first rule of fight club was that you can’t talk about fight club. Secondly, uhhh, that dragon guy from Simfur pretty much owned you. Took your arm and used it to beat you unconsc…”

    “That wasn’t me!” Lugnut roared. “I don’t know what the slag you’re talking about!”

    “Please release the lady.” Orion calmly requested, looking up at the raging aggressor.

    “That’s please release the lady, sir.” Lugnut growled. “I’m of House Boltax, you’re old enough to show your superiors their due respect, you piece of shit!” With that Lugnut released his grip on Ariel and whipped his massive arm at Orion, sending the youth sailing across the bar and into the wall, toppling a couple of tables in the process.

    “Hey!” Dion and Roller yelled as they charged the giant, but they two were sent flying back as Lugnut swiped his massive right arm at them.

    “Stop it!” Ariel cried out, but she was ignored as Lugnut started marching toward Orion, who was sliding up against the wall at his back to a standing position. Lugnut reached back to deliver a punch to the far smaller opponent, but at seeing him coming Orion braced himself against the wall and sent a kick to the giant’s midsection, one hard enough to stop Lugnut and force him to lean over a bit, enough for Orion to get to a full standing position and deliver a thunderous left haymaker to the side of Lugnut’s head without having to reach up too far.

    Lugnut’s large head snapped back, he turned to look back at Orion a moment later, but his suddenly wobbly legs started to give under his weight, and he stumbled back a few steps to catch his balance. He planted a hand on a table, but it toppled and he dropped to one knee. An audible gasp went out around the bar as they all realized that the invincible Lugnut had been staggered by a single punch thrown by what may be a newborn half his size. Orion stepped forward, extending a hand to help the dizzy fighter, but was startled as an electronic device suddenly slammed into Lugnut’s back. Orion turned his head to see where it had come from, only lurch back as a similar device slammed into and affixed itself to his chest. He looked from it to the door where it had come from, and saw a larger than average red robot holding a big unusual rifle pointed at him.

    “What the…?” Lugnut grumbled as his head finally started working through the cobwebs. He turned to look at the newcomer as well, and grumbled again as he stood upright. “Piss off Ironhi…aaaahhhhhhh!” The red robot had flipped a switch on the rifle, causing an intensely painful surge to go through the bodies of both Lugnut and Orion. Both robots collapsed to the floor, but Orion was able to work through the pain, grip the device on his chest, and pry it free, dropping it on the floor next to him, but was barely able to remain conscious after the struggle. Lugnut convulsed violently for a few more moments, knocking several chairs and tables over in the process before going silent. Both Lugnut and the vibrating device on the floor next to Orion suddenly ceased movement as the red robot switched the subjugation chips off.

    Orion heard the footsteps getting closer, it was the only noise left in the bar, and finally saw the face the robot who had subdued the two of them. The silver face was housed within a red helmet, both the face and helmet more than a little weathered looking. The armed robot, one displaying a look of absolute seriousness stared down at the youngster for several tense moments before saying something. “Now who in tha’ pit are you?”

    “He’s…” Roller stammered out as he stepped forward, “he’s with me.”

    The armed robot turned and looked Roller over from head to toe. “That’s nice to hear, but ah don’t know you either.”

    “Slag all of you.” Lugnut groaned as he started moving again. “Your position of Constable is effectively over, Ironhide. The moment word gets out that you assaulted a noble, you’re slagged.”

    Ironhide chuckled lightly. “Planetary statute number seven four eight three states that an officer of the law may employ any reasonable means of subduing an individual breaking the law regardless of the transgressors social status.”

    “That’s not taken seriously.” Lugnut grumbled, still smarting from being electrified a few minutes prior.

    “It is in this emirate.” Ironhide replied before turning back to Roller. “So just who are ya’ and Thunderpunch here? It’ll make booking ya’ infinitely easier if I know your names.”

    “Hey Ironhide, this kid didn’t do anything, and Thunderpunch over there was simply trying to get Nutso to let go of Ariel and got punched across the room for his chivalry.” Dion stepped forward. “Ask anyone. So how about we let these two go?”

    “Yeah, ask anyone.” Lugnut chuckled as he got to his knees and then stood up, Orion getting to his feet as well. “Like anyone here will bear witness against a member of House Boltax.”

    “Truth is truth,” Orion chimed in, “it’s no less valid coming from the mouth of a commoner, and any retaliation against it is a crime against reason and integrity.”

    Every head in the bar turned to look at Orion, humorous disbelief etched on their faces, including Ironhide’s. “Ah had a feeling you were a youngun’ by yer’ spit-shined tires, but that corny bit just confirmed it for me.”

    “Corny, and pointless.” Lugnut replied, glaring down at Orion in as intimidating a manner possible. “The simple fact is that nobody here will earn the wrath of House Boltax.”

    “Oh for slag’s sake!” Roller had had enough of this. “I’ll see your nobility and raise you a royalty.” He looked at the stunned and terrified Dion. “Cat’s out of the bag anyway, so I might as well defang this twat.”

    “Royalty?” Lugnut roared. “What the slag is this shitbird saying?”

    Ironhide remained silently staring at Roller for several moments before walking over to him and staring deeply into his face. “Roller Pax?”

    Roller nodded, causing everyone in the bar with the exceptions of Orion, Dion and Ironhide to gasp. A moment later Dion followed suit, feigning surprise. “Whaaaaa, you’re a Pax? You should have sai…”

    “Shut up Dion.” Ironhide grumbled but maintained his stare at Roller. “Ah suppose your hard hitting friend is the protoform Torenia found.” Ironhide turned and looked at the red and blue youth. “Orion is it?”

    “Yes sir.” Orion replied, bowing his head humbly.

    Ironhide nodded and approached Orion. “Most places of business have video surveillance, but one of the many charms of ‘The Wolf at the Door’ is their utter lack of it. Kind of gives a homey feel for naer-do-wells. I can proceed with witness statements, but it’s been more vorns than I care to remember where a conviction was reached without some sort of recording technology being involved.” Ironhide turned and looked at Ariel. “Ah am, however, fully capable of issuing a restraining order ta Lugnut based on mah own judgment, to keep him away from both you and this establishment. Would ya like that?”

    “Ariel looked angrily at Lugnut and nodded. “Yes sir, I would.”

    Ironhide nodded. “Good.” He turned to Lugnut. “Get tha’ hell outta here and don’t be comin’ back.”

    “Slag you ‘Hide.” Lugnut grumbled, but as any leverage his noble status would have granted him was now overruled by the presence of a Pax, he eventually turned and marched to the door, knocking over one more table and pushing aside several patrons on his way out.

    Ironhide turned to Roller and Orion. “You two get the hell outta here too. Ah may not be issuing any restraining orders fer you two, but ah better not see you in here again until you’ve reached the age of self-determination.”

    Roller took a step toward the door, but Orion gripped his arm lightly to stop him before turning to Ironhide. “I appreciate that sir, but the fact is that we are under the age of self-determination, we knew that being here would constitute a crime prior to us entering the establishment, and we entered anyway, lying to the bouncer in the process.” Roller glared disbelievingly at Orion, a glare that Orion met with a look of sorrow. “You may someday rule these people, you must show them that you are as bound by the law as they are. It is what is expected of House Pax. It is one of the things that sets your House apart from others, and it is something that you should be very proud of.” Orion, standing nearly a head taller than Ironhide, looked into the constable’s optics. “We surrender ourselves to you, and will accept the appropriate punishment.”

    Ironhide was stunned that his offer for them to walk away wasn’t taken, but a look of impressed approval washed over his face. “Alright, Orion, Roller Pax, Ah, Ironhide, Head Constable of Polarus and the surrounding villages, acting under the authority of Arlon Pax, Emir of The Torus Heights, do hereby place ya both under arrest. Ya are entitled to a trial with a jury consisting of yer peers, but if ya are of current sound mind ya may forego that right and choose to plead guilty and submit yerselves to a sentence of mah choosing.” Ironhide leaned in close. “How much have ya imbibed?”

    Roller glared back at the table that they had been sitting at with Dion moments before, and took in the sight of three full vials of engex. “One sip.”

    Orion remained looking at Ironhide. “I’ve had none, sir.”

    Ironhide shrugged. “Good enough for me. How do you wish to proceed?”

    Orion looked at Roller, who stared back at him with subdued anger and grumbled. “You’ve gotten us this far, you might as well see it through for us.”

    Orion smiled and nodded before turning back to Ironhide. “We both plead guilty and will submit to your decision on punishment.”

    Ironhide glanced at Roller Pax, who nodded his agreement. The constable then looked them both over before rendering his decision. “Ah sentence ya both to three hundred hours of community service to be completed within a six month time period.”

    “Three hundred hours!” Roller grumbled before looking accusingly at Orion. “You were supposed to keep me OUT of trouble!”

    “Roller Pax,” Ironhide continued, “you will spend your time working at the Polarus hospitals and adolescenters doing maintenance work or whatever else they choose for you to do.”

    Roller just continued looking agitatedly up at Orion. “Three hundred hours.”

    “Orion, well, the Polarus Constabulary can always use another set of hands.” Ironhide smirked. “Who knows, it may just be the direction you choose to go in life.”
     
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  4. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Roller Pax

    “The skepticism is encouraged, and perhaps even justified by the lack of detailed evidence and data regarding the events. We have established that as a species we’d existed in our current form, more or less, for at least five million years prior to the events depicted in these legends, but despite that more than adequate timeframe, and our nature as a technological species, our society was unable to capture what would be considered the minimum level of detailed evidence required for any claim to be given any level of serious credence in our current modern society.” Roller explained to A-Three and Orion as holographic images of numerous pieces of artwork illustrating Cybertronians battling an army of Sparkeaters were projected one at a time over the table in the center of the room.

    “So am I to infer from what you just said that you do not believe in the Sparkeater Invasion, or that the Knights of Cybertron rose to rally our species and push back their onslaught, killing most and driving the survivors back into depths of the Great Pit, nearly to the Inferno, and sealing them there behind the Tartarun Gates?” A-Three asked, an unreadable look on his face.

    “I…” Roller hesitated, “I guess yes, some of it may be based in historical fact, but we should have a lot more historical evidence to support it if it were true as the legends claim. It’d be one thing if these Sparkeaters were a faction of Cybertronians or creatures that exist in our Genetic Database, but they’re mythical beasts with abilities that defy what we know to be true of living things.”

    “According to legend, they were Cybertronians, all natures of Cybertronians, but they were…altered.” A-Three replied.

    “The Tartarun Gates exist, they qualify as evidence.” Orion chimed in, trying to steer back toward things of a more tangible nature.

    “So does that mean you are a believer, Constable?” A-Three turned to Orion.

    Orion chuckled. “Not necessarily. I suppose I’m with Roller in that there was something that inspired these legends, but much of it can’t possibly be true.” The young robot twisted nervously. “And please don’t call me Constable, I’m not even a cadet. I’m a delinquent working off my debt to society.”

    “Uh, O, three hundred hours was met awhile back.” Roller replied. “Our debt to society has been paid, Ironhide must be charging you a ridiculous amount of interest if you think you’re still required to be out there.”

    A-Three smiled. “Orion is well aware that the requirement has been met, he may have just found his calling very early in life. That is a blessing.”

    “He’s doing it for free.” Roller grumbled as he looked at Orion.

    “House Pax has been beyond gracious in providing me all basic requirements. Why would I demand payment for something I would choose to do with my free time?” Orion replied, but pondered something for a moment before continuing. “To be honest though, perhaps I should discuss an appointment to the Academy with Ironhide, or maybe his offer of on the job training. If accepted, the Academy would provide me room and board, or if I choose Ironhide’s offer of employment I would be able to afford my own place.”

    “Whoah, wait a minute.” Roller objected, taking a step toward Orion who was on the other side of the small-to-midsized classroom. “I thought you were fine with your room. If you’d like a bigger one, I know Arlon…”

    “No, you misunderstand me. I am fine with my room, I have no need for more, but the fact is that I have no right to it. I live here, but my function is not to provide maintenance or any other service to Tyger Pax. Your family has been much more than charitable to me, and I am beyond grateful.” Orion explained. “But I am nearly at a point where I no longer require such charity. It is time I took steps to stop being an imposition on House Pax.”

    “An imposition on House Pax?” Roller stared at his friend stunned. “You ARE a Pax!”

    Orion looked at his friend in confusion before an odd smile crept onto his face and he looked to A-Three. “Would you like to tell him?”

    “Oh I know you’re not a slaggin’ Pax, smart ass!” Roller snapped.

    “Language!” A-Three growled.

    “Sorry.” Roller replied back before continuing. “I know you’re not technically a Pax, but you are a Pax. What did Arlon say the last time you tried to suggest that you didn’t belong at the main table with us ingesting energon for the House Meal?”

    Orion looked down and paused for a moment before replying, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “That he’d used his hind legs to kick me through the wall if I ever made such a suggestion again. He then told me to sit down and tell him about my day.”

    “I am hesitant to agree with Lord Roller, and by doing so contradict social norms and even certain laws, but you do seem to have been accepted by House Pax in an informal manner.” A-Three said to Orion. “Which you clearly know, and for whatever reason…seem to be bothered by. Why does it bother you to be seen as an equal and a member of a great House by those in said House? Especially when the House is the only one devoid of duplicity and treachery? You know they are not lifting you up just to dash your common frame to the rocks, don’t you?”

    “Of course I know. Every member of House Pax is the very epitome of honor; the only one capable of any degree of deception is my best friend who I trust with every aspect of my life, and that deception is limited to good natured jokes and shenanigans.” Orion replied. “It’s not that I have any fear for my well being that bothers me, it’s that I don’t deserve such fortune. I’ve done nothing to earn it, and there are so many out there with so much less.”

    “Well, yes, inequity is a fact of life, but that does not mean you should not accept good fortune when comes your way.” A-Three replied.

    “It’s not just with House Pax embracing me.” Orion continued. “I…There are those who have adequate or even ample resources, but they are physically disadvantaged. Individuals who have sustained injuries that their frames have been unable to heal properly; sometimes minor injuries or ailments that should be no problem for them leave them incapacitated.”

    “Yes, that’s another part of the inequity of life.” A-Three answered. “Spark strength varies, frame capabilities vary, the quality of our lives hinge on so much that is beyond our control. Even those with the resources to stack the deck in their favor as much as possible by putting what they perceive to be the most quality elements into their hot spots rarely get anything more healthy than protoforms emerging from the most common of pools.”

    “But what of me? I don’t even deserve to exist.” Orion snapped. “I didn’t even come from a pool, I came from the side of a road, consisting of nothing but stone, dirt and whatever common ore you find near roads. I should never have been born, and when I was born, I should have never have been found; left to starve in the middle of nowhere, unknown and un-mourned.”

    “Oh, sorry, let me get my hat.” Roller replied sarcastically. “I didn’t know this was going to be a pity party.”

    “Piss off.” Orion grumbled. “I’m just pointing out that despite being an aberration, an unclean sub-Cybertronian, I’ve been gifted with everything. I practically have the rights and privileges of not just a noble, but a royal, and my health…I, I just don’t understand.” He looked at A-Three. “A group from Vos was believed to have set up a circuit-speeder lab in downtown Polarus, Ironhide arranged a raid and wanted me to observe from a safe distance. The raid didn’t really go to plan, a firefight ensued, as well as an actual fire when some of the speeder vats exploded. The lab was in the basement of a building that had apartments in the upper levels. A lot of the tenants were scurrying out, and putting themselves in the line of fire, so I charged in to help them. One guy…he, he took a hit to the mid-section, a shot that should be painful, but something that with adequate treatment he should bounce back from. I went to retrieve him and wound up getting four shots to my torso, two right over my spark chamber. I should have been critically wounded, perhaps even terminally wounded; I had dents and scorch marks. I grabbed the guy and carried him to safety. I then ran back into the building, taking a few more shots which again, did little more than sting. I charged up the stairs, grabbed several individuals that couldn’t make it out; whatever obstacles that had been keeping them from escaping were nothing to me, flames and debris that battered their frames were mere annoyances. I made one more trip into the habitation suites in the upper levels to verify there were no more citizens before charging down and taking out the drug producers. They were armed, I wasn’t; they didn’t have a chance.”

    A-Three looked down, seeming to understand what was troubling the young robot, while Roller just stared at his best friend. “Yeah, you’re slagging awesome! We know that, we’ve always known that!”

    “But why?” Orion snapped, almost yelling. “When I tell people of my origins they express surprise. I should be feeble, I’m lucky to be alive, my frame should be brittle, ready to crumble due to the sub-par materials that it consists of. Yet I’m shrugging off energy blasts, I’m beating the hell out of armed gangs of hardened criminals with my bare hands, I’m practically knocking out surgically enhanced gigantic gladiators with a single punch, which, truth be told, I dialed back more than a little, and environments that cripple or incapacitate most other Cybertronians are barely more than unpleasant to me. And that citizen with the minor energy wound to his mid-section? His spark gave within minutes of getting him to the hospital.”

    A-Three continued looking down, deep in thought. “You’re not made of dirt. I’ve examined the samples of your frame that I scraped off during your initial physical testing. Torenia is right, you don’t appear to have been spawned in any known hotspot in our database, but you definitely don’t originate from material found on a roadside. You don’t appear to originate from material found anywhere in the Torus Heights.”

    Orion stared at A-Three. “Yet you referred to me as an unnatural anomaly, a seemingly very healthy specimen but my constitution was constructed of materials and in a way that would likely lead to my death.” His optics narrowed. “Those were your words.”

    A-Three met his glare. “I thought you agreed that you would not look at your medical file.”

    “He didn’t.” Roller stated.

    “Oh, I see.” A-Three shifted his glare to Roller Pax.

    “And before you as…”

    “Yes, I know he wouldn’t and didn’t ask you to do it,” A-Three interrupted, “and were I forced to guess, you probably had to blurt it out to him before he realized what you were telling him to keep him from insisting that you not tell him.” A-Three noticed the look of surprise on Roller’s face. “You’re not the only one that has come to know Orion well!” A-Three turned to Orion and looked at him earnestly. “I put those words into your file as a favor to Torenia.”

    Orion was startled. “What?”

    “You weren’t born in a hotspot, but you weren’t born on a roadside near Burthov either.” A-Three looked intently at Orion. “I confronted Torenia, she insisted that’s where she found you, I pressed her for over an hour, showing her your test results and explaining their implications repeatedly, but she never changed her story. But after that discussion, while her words remained unchanged, her optics were moved. She asked me to keep all findings to myself, and if possible, discourage anyone else from looking into you on any level. So I did. You asked why you are gifted with so much that you feel you do not deserve. Well young one, I can’t answer that other than to suggest that you find a way to deserve them! Don’t refuse the gifts you’ve been given; accept them, appreciate them, and use them to better yourself, so that in time, you can better the world!” A-Three let that sink in for a few moments before turning and glaring at Roller. “You claim he’s your best friend, to love him like a brother? You will prove it by never letting a word spoken here leave this room! I don’t know the details, but a noble femme, and by noble I’m NOT referring to her birthright, was made more desperate than I would have imagined her capable of, and I have a hell of an imagination! She loves this boy, so do you,” A-Three turned and looked at Orion, “so do I. This discussion ends here and now, and you will never again pry into his background, do you understand?”

    Roller nodded, his face a display of complete humility and submission. “Yes Sir.”

    “Good.” He then leaned back against the wall, his features softened, and he looked at his students. “Now, back to the topic at hand. I am pleased to hear that you both bear skepticism, and refrain from believing everything you hear, but it does trouble me that you so easily dismiss what is considered to be fact by so many that were wiser than the two of you.”

    “We do not dismiss it, Sir. I, and in all likelihood Roller as well, bear no disrespect for those that believe these histories,” Orion explained humbly, “merely that there’s a burden of proof required for me to consider something fact, and the events depicted in these legends have not come close to meeting that. I’m not saying that they did not happen, but for whatever reason anything in the way of firsthand accounts and historical evidence is all but non-existent for events prior to fourteen million years ago, so while the absence of supporting evidence is by no means evidence of contradiction, when what’s being depicted is fantastical, there needs to be more than oral tradition.”

    “I see. I think it’s past time I asked Arlon to schedule a trip to the Gates for the two of you.” A-Three replied as he accessed his internal chronometer. “It’s also time to dismiss the two of you for the day. The Primal Inauguration begins soon, and Arlon would be furious if I allowed the two of you to miss the broadcast.”

    “Cool, let’s meet in the Tygerium, I love the screen there.” Roller suggested. “And Orion, if you suggest you’re not worthy to watch it there I’ll do what the drug gang and burning building couldn’t and beat you into a coma.”

    Orion chuckled. “Lead the way.”

    A-Three smiled as the two youngsters left the room, but his face took a more serious tone as he knew that Torenia Pax’s attempts to keep interest in her foundling would fall short as Orion continued to display his gifts, even with A-Three’s help in the cover up. Perhaps if he were to find out Orion’s true origins, he might be able to put a plan into place that would protect him better.


    ***


    Arlon Pax


    He had known Sentinel Honorum for nearly a million years, almost the soon-to-be Prime’s entire life. He had first met him after the disappearance of Guardian Prime. Like almost everyone else on Cybertron, the young Sentinel considered the missing Prime to be virtually flawless, above reproach, the Cybertronian ideal in every way, and there was really no reason that Arlon could see to change that perception in the youth. But here, now, moments away from that former youth becoming the ruler of Cybertron, Arlon of House Pax, Emir of the Torus Heights, was having regrets about that decision. Power corrupts even the most noble and ideal of individuals, and knowing that going in was really the only chance of avoiding it. Zeta Prime was a deeply flawed individual, but his saving grace was that he was aware of each and every flaw. Sentinel Honorum possessed no such humility, and without a Matrix to magically enlighten him, there was no reason to expect Sentinel Prime to somehow acquire the trait.

    But such concerns served no purpose, Arlon conceded as his quadrupedal body entered the forum and he sought out the seating apparatus designed to accommodate his frame. It would not be easy to find in the chaos, thousands of Cybertronians crowding into the Senate Forum made any movement difficult to say the least, especially for one that could not turn sideways to a flatter profile. The subdued and respectful tone for Zeta Prime’s funeral was not being repeated for this less solemn occasion, but Arlon Pax continued to slowly make his way toward the box that Xaaron had told him was reserved for him. What was worse than the pressing and commotion were the looks that he was getting.

    He had not left the Torus Heights in eons, and was regretting leaving it now. The gawking, the whispered insults and the condescending grins and comments was almost more than he could endure. No, he could endure it, he could endure anything for his house, his people or his emirate, but for Sentinel Honorum and his ascension to Cybertron’s highest seat, this was getting a bit too much. Fortunately he finally caught sight of the box with his name on it. As he pressed his way through the rest of the crowd and got a good look at it, he was surprised to see how ornately decorated it was, and how trays of energon shavings and a vial of engex were laid out in a manner that would be easily accessible for one of his body type; a tremendous amount of consideration and opulence for one thought of as a lesser species by most of the planet. As he entered it, thankful to be away from the pressing frames, he saw a datapad on the platform waiting for him. He activated it with his right front paw and read the ornately written letter.

    “Dear Arlon of House Pax, Emir of the great Torus Heights, devoted champion of Cybertron and honored and eternal friend of House Honorum,

    It is with tremendous elation and gratitude that I welcome you to Cybertropolis. You were an inspiration, comrade, advisor and friend to my brother Gallus, and I would be honored if you were to be the same for me. Our emirates are neighbors and have always been the closest of friends despite the differences in population and wealth, but I would like to extend and enhance the friendship of our two lands, and with me now having dominion over all of Cybertron, I am in a position to see that the northern states are in a position to receive a greater portion of the fruits of our planet.

    We are natural allies, and I’m sure you recognize that there are those that are natural adversaries to our mutual values. I would like to meet with you after the ceremony to discuss several things, and in the coming days would be honored if you would escort me through your tranquil and beautiful emirate.

    I look forward to our meeting as well as our journey to the Torus Heights.

    Best regards,

    Sentinel of House Honorum, soon to be Prime”

    Arlon stared at the words laid out before him and wondered apprehensively what exactly the soon-to-be Prime had in mind, and why he was so interested in the emir of north. He quelled these worries as he watched Senator Xaaron walk out to begin what was about to begin. Arlon grumbled, once again frustrated with a decision made by his oldest friend. Sentinel Honorum had much to offer Cybertron, but he lacked the disposition, temperament and overall comprehension of the role to be an adequate Prime. But he acknowledged that a Prime was needed to keep the emirates in line; the Senate lacked any sort of teeth or the symbolism to rally the other emirates to a mutual cause. If nothing else, Sentinel exuded strength, and was respected by all. Even those Houses that despised him respected his strength and determination, and would be foolish to cross him. But still, Arlon thought, there had to be a better choice.

    “Arlon Pax!”

    The leader of House Pax lifted his gaze from the data pad to see a tall, ornately designed and slender robot approaching him, one that he hadn’t seen in more vorns than he would like to count. “Pathos Nexus, it has been a long time.”

    The head of the ruling House of Altihex smiled as he approached the outside of Arlon’s box. “So it takes the naming of a new Prime to get you out of The Torus Heights.”

    Arlon smiled, which gave an almost frightening appearance on his bestial head. “I was inclined not to come, but Sentinel Honorum was almost insistent that the Emir of The Torus Heights, and I assume all other emirates, be present for the coronation. I am not one to refuse a Primal Decree.”

    “Yes, even us southern emirates were given special invitations.” Pathos replied. “Perhaps House Honorum has gotten past its old biases. Both against the South and those Houses that elevate commoners by adopting them into their houses.” The Emir of Altihex peered intently at Arlon. “Being that you’ve been so…inaccessible these last many vorns, I’m not sure what your stance is on my adoption of Starscream.”

    Arlon met the stare and nodded. “While I have undoubtedly benefitted from my place of birth, and it would seem hypocritical of me to make this claim, I’ve never placed much importance in nobility. I’ve long since accepted the way of things on Cybertron; making changes within my own homeland has proven difficult enough so that I have no illusions that I will ever change things on a planetary level. So I play my role, but I will always judge a being on its merit; its true merit, and not the pit that it crawled out of. If a noble finds someone worthy of a title, and they feel this individual will improve their world with the added power and resources, then I am all for such an adoption.”

    Pathos grinned. “You always were the most progressive of us all.”

    Arlon continued his stare. “With all that said, I hope that there is a great deal more to this Starscream than what I’m aware of. I look to factors other than physical beauty and flight when determining worthiness.”

    Pathos smiled. “I know how it seems, you will simply have to trust my judgment when it comes to Starscream.”

    Arlon nodded. “I suppose I will.” A hush fell over the crowd as the Senators and various religious leaders streamed into the forum, letting everyone know that the proceedings were about to begin. “Looks like it’s time for you to take your seat.”


    ***


    Ironhide


    Youth was a peculiar concept on Cybertron, it seemed less a lack of age or experience and more the fulfillment of a societal expectation. Most of the patrons in ‘The Oil Works’ were at least ten thousand years old, more than old enough to achieve as much wisdom and experience as virtually anyone else on the planet, but due to their relative youth compared to the rest of their species, they continued to act immature and even childish in many aspects of their lives. This was basically a bar catering to the hip, younger crowd, and Ironhide always felt very out of place here, but he actually enjoyed that fact. If anything, him being there made the patrons more uncomfortable than he would ever feel. And given the comparative lack of maturity displayed here as opposed to other bars, he was here fairly regularly. He walked through the pub, noting the subdued atmosphere that countered the way the bar typically was, even so early in the afternoon. This was likely due to the recently ended broadcast of the Primal Inauguration, which even here had been not only on the view screens, but actually paid attention to in a moderately quiet environment. Ironhide made his way through the bar, looking over all the vastly younger faces; all vastly younger save one. The constable was stunned to see A-Three seated in the corner of the bar, trying not to get his attention, but making no effort to hide himself. At seeing that he’d been noticed, A-Three shrugged and waved Ironhide over to the seat across the small table from him.

    “Excuse me sir, but may I see proof of your age of self-determination?” Ironhide chuckled as he slid into the seat.

    A-Three grinned at the comment. “Would you believe that I genuinely do not have any? The concept of age of self-determination came out long after I’d reached it. In fact, unless my information creep is worse than I suspect, I believe I came up with the concept of an age of self-determination.” The old bots shared a smile as A-Three glanced around the bar. “Though from the behavior of many of these bar-goers, I think I may have to up that age a few thousand vorns.”

    “Ahh, they ain’t so bad.” Ironhide chuckled lightly. “You should see this place after the sun goes down.”

    “I’ll take your word for it.” A-Three replied.

    “So what are you doing here? I was under the impression that you never leave Tyger Pax.” Ironhide asked, genuinely surprised to see the old bot.

    “I swing up to the Tartarun Gates from time to time.” A-Three replied.

    “Funny, every so often I give ol’ Kup a call, and he’s never mentioned seeing you.” Ironhide answered.

    “I have ways in and out of that place, and I like to keep to myself.” A-Three answered.

    “Ways in and out of the place?”

    “Don’t worry, it’s not a security concern that Lord Commander Kup needs to be made aware of.” A-Three tried to assuage the worry in Ironhide that the Gates weren’t as secure as he had previously thought. “I spent more than a few vorns as acting Lord Commander of the Gates myself; and I still have my secrets from that time. But nothing that can be used by foes from within or without.”

    “Well, if you were anyone other than Primon…”

    “Quiet!” Despite Ironhide’s whispered tone, A-Three still snapped and hissed his reply. “I AM someone other than Primon!”

    “OK, OK, settle down there.” Ironhide answered, holding his hands up defensively. “Just letting you know that were you…anybody else, I’d definitely be letting Kup know that his house isn’t as secure as he thought.” The red lawman paused for a few moments before continuing. “Buuut, since we’re on the topic of who you may or may not have once been,”

    “Don’t.” A-Three interrupted. “Arlon Pax cornered me in his study and pressed me for hours to do what you’re about to ask of me, and he did it well before the inauguration. Trust me, if I said no to him, the answer to you in a bar full of protoforms after Sentinel has been named Prime will not be any different.”

    “OK, I won’t push, but I can sense you’re not altogether enamored with Sentinel.” Ironhide commented. “What made Gallus different from him? From what I understand, you pretty much thought the world of Gallus Honorum the moment you met him, and had him pegged as the next Prime right away. No such feeling from Sentinel?”

    “I wouldn’t know, I’ve never met Sentinel.” A-Three replied, staring vacantly at the drink in his hand. “But yes, I knew right away that Gallus would be accepted by the Matrix, and believed he’d be the greatest of Primes.”

    “Well, I knew Guardian Prime, so I can see what you’re talking about. I suppose he must have been pretty damn heroic and awe-inspiring as Gallus too.” Ironhide commented.

    “He was. If anything, Gallus was more inspiring.” A-Three mused, still staring into the liquid housed within his transparent flask. “But there was more than that. He fit a prophecy.”

    “A prophecy?” The surprised Ironhide asked. “Something from the Knights?”

    “No, believe it or not, older than the Knights.” A-Three explained as he gently shook his flask causing the engex to swirl around within it. “And alien. I’m sure you’ve heard the legends of an organic race that ruled Cybertron before us, that lorded over our earliest ancestors. Well, apparently they were a space-faring species and on occasion entertained guests from other worlds. I was researching what I believed to be their attempt to purge us at one point, and in my research came across details of one of these visits. The designation given to the world these aliens came from was LV117, and apparently there were some temporal irregularities with this planet. One of the side effects due to these irregularities was that they apparently had some degree of clairvoyance. They provided a prophecy to our predecessors that detailed the emergence of a Prime promised to save our planet as well as many others, defeating great evils, and spreading freedom and justice throughout the galaxy. What stood out to me was that the most direct translation was Prime, not king, prince, leader, but Prime; a term that would emerged as a title of leader independently millions of years later.” A-Three finally looked up at Ironhide and displayed an awkward smile. “Anyway, Gallus seemed to fit the prophecy to the letter.”

    “So what was this prophecy?” Ironhide asked, genuinely interested.

    A-Three shook his head sadly. “Nothing. A false prophecy, like all other prophecies not based on statistical data or fore-knowledge. This one seemed to line up with Gallus out of coincidence, nothing more.” A-Three pushed his drink away. “Forget I mentioned it.”

    Ironhide nodded. “Fine, Ah get it.” He then looked down at the data pad on the table in front of A-Three. “So what are you doing here?”

    A-Three shrugged. “Needed to get out of Tyger Pax, wanted to watch the inauguration without anyone recognizing me, figured this would be a good place. And it was, until you walked in.”

    Ironhide grinned. “And the reading material?”

    “Am I under investigation Constable?” A-Three joked before running his fingers over the pad. “Just a little research. Geologic in nature.”

    “Geologic?”

    A-Three considered changing the subject, but realized that if anyone could be trusted, it was Ironhide, and even then he was not going to give him the true nature of what he was researching. “Just indulging an old hobby of mine. Trying to see if and what materials other than what’s already considered sentio-compatible can be used to create a protoform, and where those material exist on our world.”

    Ironhide looked at him in confusion, then potential realization seeped into his thoughts. “Any particular reason for renewing this hobby?”

    A-Three looked at Ironhide intently. “No.”

    Ironhide nodded his understanding. “Gotcha.” A beeping emerged from Ironhide’s wrist communicator. “Ughn, excuse me, duty calls.” Ironhide peered down at a newly revealed screen on his wrist and a look of surprise came over his face. “What?” He opened the channel with a mental command. “Prowl?”

    “Hello Ironhide,” Prowl’s voice came through a small speaker on his wrist, “it’s been awhile.”

    “Yes it has.” Ironhide replied in a not altogether friendly tone. “Why are you calling?”

    “Have you been assigning cold cases to your officers?” Prowl asked, his tone equally unfriendly.

    A look of realization came over Ironhide. “I have a recruit who has not as of yet gone through academy training, so to get him up to speed I suggested he go over old case files in his free time. Why?”

    “Your recruit just solved the ‘The Spark Collector’ case.” Prowl replied in a matter of fact manner. Ironhide looked stunned; A-Three looked terrified.

    Ironhide noted the look of terror on his companion’s face as he answered. “What do you mean he solved it? You mean he took a crack at it and his guess wasn’t bad? The Collector case is two hundred vorns old and unsolvable, it’s one of those great unsolved crimes that cops like to think we’d have cracked had we been in the area at the time.”

    “He named Arn Kozminius as the killer.” Prowl replied.

    “Kozminius?” Ironhide questioned, noting that the binomial nomenclature typically indicated a noble, but that it was a house he was unfamiliar with.

    “House Kozminius was a minor house in Nyon until the rise of Deathsaurus.” A-Three quietly explained. “House Onyx took their lands and holdings, exiled them from Nyon but to this day House Onyx sends any protoforms to emerge from their ancestral pit to them, usually in a crate. It is common for the protoforms not to survive the process.”

    “Right.” Ironhide replied.

    “Yes, whoever you’re with is correct, Arn was a member of this displaced house still clinging to a sense of nobility. Anyway, using what little information that could be found in public databases and whatever you gave him access to, this Orion of yours prepared a psychological profile of Kozminius that not only paints him as a good fit, but damn near matches the one we put together for the Collector.”

    “So what, this Arn Kozminius died around that time or what? Why did he end his killing spree?” Ironhide asked skeptically.

    “No, he’s very much alive, though he’s been in a disembodied state for nearly that entire time.” Prowl replied. “He was admitted to an insane asylum shortly after the last Collector murder at the request of his House, he was diagnosed with asymmetric reasoning and aural hallucinations, but after he was admitted he became increasingly violent to the point where the doctors recommended the removal of his spark and brain module from a physical frame. He’s been there ever since.”

    “It’d take more than a psych profile to convict someone for a two hundred vorn crime.” Ironhide replied.

    “Look, you obviously haven’t seen the case this recruit of yours has put together.” Prowl shot back. “It’s virtually air tight. How old is this Orion? I can’t find anything on him in the database.”

    Ironhide sighed and gave an apologetic look to A-Three. “About five weeks.”

    “He’s been your recruit for five weeks?”

    “No, he’s been my recruit for less than four.” Ironhide clarified. “He’s been around for about five.”

    There was a long pause before Prowl finally came back. “Been around, as in been alive? Are you telling me he emerged from the most recent Vectoral Pulse?”

    “That’s what I was told.” Ironhide replied, staring into A-Three’s frightened face. “If you want any further information about the lad you’ll need to check with House Pax.”

    “He’s a Pax?” Prowl questioned, surprise clearly etched into his voice.

    “No, not really, he’s just, hell, I don’t know.” Ironhide tried to explain without giving too much away. “They’ve kinda taken him in and are raising him. He’s like a brother to Roller Pax, the new…”

    “Yes, I’m aware of Roller.” Prowl replied. “I’ll respectfully go through the proper channels, but I’m interested in learning more about this Orion. For someone barely out of the protoformal stage to solve one of our planet’s most notorious unsolved crimes is worthy of attention. You may have greatness on your hands and not even know it.”

    “Believe me Prowl, House Pax is well aware of what they have with Orion, and they are nurturing his potential.” Ironhide snapped.

    “I know, but perhaps he would be of greater service in a larger…”

    “At his age nobody should be worried about how he can serve anything.” Ironhide interrupted. “When he’s at an appropriate age, he can decide who, what or where he wants to serve.”

    “And until then I guess he can just do your job for you, is that it?” Prowl growled back.

    “I’m helpin’ him, and he loves the work!” Ironhide snapped. “And he’s safe here. You put him on the streets of Iacon or Cybertropolis or wherever you wanna stick him, and he could get his spark snuffed!”

    “This isn’t Rodion or Tarn, Ironhide, and I don’t want to drag him away from his home!” Prowl snapped as well. “I merely am interested in getting to know him better!”

    “He’s not an asset to be utilized for the glory of House Honorum!” Ironhide snarled.

    “That isn’t what this is about and you slaggin’ know it!”

    “All I slaggin’ know is that if you want any more information about Orion, I would suggest you go through Arlon Pax.” Ironhide warned. “But I suggest you tread lightly, Prowl, because Lord Pax is very protective of the kid.” Ironhide disconnected the call with Prowl and looked at A-Three. The two stared at one another for several moments before Ironhide’s optics lowered down to the data pad. “I pray ta’ Primus that whatever materials you find in your research fall within the borders of the Torus Heights.”

    A-Three nodded. “As do I.”


    ***


    Lightwave


    The inauguration was about what he had expected, and while he usually enjoyed his visits to the planetary capital, he was happy to be home. He watched as the shuttle carrying him touched down on the landing pad outside Castle Fluctus of House Torrent. Moments later he was marching into the vast structure, brushing off servants and guards as he made his way toward the lab. Up ahead he saw someone that he couldn’t simply brush off, his kinsman Soundwave had been tasked with running the emirate while Lightwave was watching Sentinel Honorum get what he felt he had deserved since he was a protoform. “Anything to report Soundwave?”

    “Negative Lightwave, status, unchanged.” Soundwave replied in his almost lifeless way.

    “Good.” Lightwave approached and beckoned Soundwave to walk with him. “Shockwave was supposed to meet me in Cybertropolis. The other houses are interested in meeting our scientific prodigy, yet he has once again chosen to embarrass the House in favor of whatever nonsense has piqued his interest today.”

    “I cannot say what he is doing or his motivation for not leaving for Nova Cronum this morning, all I know is that he has been in the lab all day.” Soundwave replied.

    “I will deal with him. I understand you have plans to travel, go ahead. I will contact you if I need to ask anything of you.” Lightwave said as he continued ahead toward the laboratory.

    Several minutes later he reached his destination and burst into the room, causing the hulking purple robot on the far side to merely turn his head. “Hello Lightwave.”

    “Why were you not in Cybertropolis today?” Lightwave demanded, clearly irritated. “Your presence was expected.”

    “I don’t care.” Shockwave replied. “My presence was not going to change the outcome of whether Sentinel Honorum was named Prime or not.”

    “We have an image to maintain!” Lightwave snarled. “Despite your best efforts, word of your intellect has gotten out and people want to meet the genius of House Torrent.”

    “Why should I care what they want?” Shockwave asked as he continued working on whatever he was working on. “I’m in the middle of something important, but you suggest that I put that aside to cater to the whims of people I don’t know or care to know?”

    “Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, image is vitally important, as is maintaining relationships with the other ruling houses.” Lightwave replied. “When you fail to show up to the naming of a Prime, you show an utter disrespect for our culture to everyone else.”

    “I don’t respect our culture.” Shockwave replied disinterestedly.

    “You don’t get to enjoy the perks of being a royal and then make such a claim!” Lightwave replied angrily.

    Shockwave was silent for a moment, seeming to ignore the comment while focused on the work he was doing on the six screens in front of his nearly featureless face, but after nearly a minute he finally replied. “If standing in our society were based on merit and not place of birth, do you truly believe that I would be any worse off?” Shockwave finally turned to address the head of his House. “I am brilliant, perhaps the most efficient administrator, tactician and scientist on the planet, and physically, well, the gifts of my large frame pale in comparison to the power that it houses within. I would find financing for any endeavor I would ever wish to take, and I would have acquired my own wealth in very little time at all. Believe me, were this society of ours to crumble, I would have no problem positioning myself within the elite. The ‘Shock’ is far more than the ‘Wave’.”

    Lightwave stared at the glowing orb that made out the only feature within Shockwave’s helmeted face. “And there it is, you’ve officially said it. You are greater than your house. Do you consider yourself to be greater than Fluctus himself?”

    “I do not know, The Knights of Cybertron were long dead prior to my birth. I would have to meet him to fully evaluate him.” Shockwave replied before turning back around. “Frankly Lightwave, I would think you would be happy that I am so disinterested in what you find important.”

    “Oh, and why is that?” Lightwave snarled.

    “Because I would take what is yours.” Shockwave replied matter of factly. “I’m smarter, and as I’ve mentioned, I’m a better administrator, I would run this emirate with ease. But because I have no interest in doing so, you’re free to maintain your position.”

    “As gifted as you apparently think you are, you are a faceless, arrogant shut-in with no appeal whatsoever to the other members of this great house, they would never select you over me!” Lightwave replied angrily.

    “I can have facial reconstruction anytime I wish, I just don’t care about anything as petty as my appearance.” Shockwave replied, his voice still filled with ambivalence. “Though physical attraction is at the core of what I’m currently researching, if you’d care to see.”

    “You’re researching romance?” Lightwave replied, stunned.

    “I’m researching factors causing sparks to be drawn to other sparks in different ways, romantic tendencies are just one of those.” Shockwave replied. “It has been theorized for millions of years that factors within sparks that develop the metallico around them into masculine forms are what cause those masculine robots to be drawn toward feminine forms, or perhaps the sparks housed within feminine forms, and vice versa, but until now they have only been theories. I have identified and quantified the energy output…frequencies, for lack of a better term, that cause most ‘male’ sparks to be drawn, and the same for ‘female’ sparks; at least in the majority of the population, there are those that seem to be attracted to the same gender, I would guess somewhere between eight and twelve percent.”

    Lightwave laughed. “All that research, just to confirm what everyone on the planet has already known for millions of years. If you were so brilliant, you’d have come up with something new or worthwhile!”

    “I have.” Shockwave replied, no indication of annoyance or offense in his voice. “The romantic aspect was just a mild diversion and an adequate segue into the main focus; the bulk of my study was in lesser known qualities. Less about desire, more…cooperation and enhancement.”

    “Meaning what?”

    “Some sparks give off energy frequencies that can interact with other sparks, an interaction that either allows the individual to come closer to their established potential or somehow increases their potential; I haven’t determined which is the case yet.” Shockwave explained. “The crew of workers that you hired to rebuild the amphitheater have proven to be excellent examples, the ones Hook and Scrapper are scientifically inclined enough to volunteer their team to the service of my study. The ones designated Bonecrusher and Scavenger are quite dim when you talk to them individually, but when the six of them are together they all become beyond proficient in their work.”

    “That means nothing, even idiots have a niche they’re good at.” Lightwave replied.

    “That’s true, but I conducted several tests where I would isolate them and have them perform a task, then have them perform an equivalent task while in the presence of the others.” Shockwave explained. “They were very competent on their own, but the level of proficiency while with their comrades in relative proximity was significantly raised; it’s a hard thing to measure, but I would estimate their enhancement in proficiency to be roughly ten percent.” Shockwave walked over to a computer screen at another table and directed Lightwave’s attention to it. “I’ve theorized that there are various ways to capitalize on this spark compatibility beyond simple competence enhancement. Some of my theories involve some concepts that seem to defy possibility, but my initial calculations seem to support them. They would involve physical alterations, but if accurate, the results could be…astounding.”

    Lightwave peered at the shapes on the screen for several moments before ceasing his attempts to make sense of them. “I don’t know what I’m looking at, and frankly, I don’t care. I forbid you from continuing down this line of study. If you’re interested in sparks, you may see if there are ways to make mine,” the elder member of the house looked at Shockwave’s broad chest enviously, “more like yours. I would encourage that, but the rest of this, it’s all an abomination and it will no longer be done in my house!”


    ***


    Mirage Decimus


    There had been a change in how he was treated by this collection of riff-raff lately. The vast majority of the scum and lower nobles that came to these events still regarded him with the respectful distance and hidden disrespectful glares, but some of those running the event, just a handful really, had taken to displaying knowing smiles when they greeted him, as if they had a secret involving him that he was unaware of, and it was most disconcerting. Worst of all was that adopted fop Starscream, who had recently started wrapping his arm around Mirage’s shoulders and talking about how wonderful it was to have House Decimus supporting these events.

    It was a confusing statement, and when he asked for elaboration, Starscream just smiled and said something about Mirage’s presence meaning so much. The most irritating part was that these cryptic little comments had only come about in the last several weeks, since the death of Zeta, and Mirage couldn’t help but believe they were related. Now that a Decimus no longer held the mantle of Prime, it was apparently OK to joke about a Decimus being at these gladiatorial events. As though while Zeta Prime were still alive, Mirage’s presence at the illegal and illicit events was above being mentioned, but now it was safe to be joked about. Mirage never minded jokes or good natured fun-poking, but it was the timing that irritated him, as if to suggest he were suddenly vulnerable and lowered to the same level as a baseborn with the good fortune to be elevated into a royal house.

    The funny thing was that he used to enjoy Starscream’s company immensely back when the flier was just a commoner. Despite his low birth he had gone out of his way to educate himself to a level where he was able to speak as an equal to almost anyone on almost any subject. And his low upbringing made him well versed in the vulgarity that Mirage and others of his station did enjoy listening to on occasion. But Starscream’s ascension to House Nexus was not well received by most nobles, Mirage included, and his view of the winged robot had changed. And the air of entitlement that Starscream immediately adopted didn’t help that view in the least.

    Mirage looked through the crowd and almost on cue, saw the grinning, winged form of the robot he had just been thinking about. There was no avoiding him, so Mirage just displayed a subdued smile and greeted the robot. “Hello Starscream. Let me guess, it’s wonderful to see House Decimus supporting these events.”

    “It certainly is.” Starscream bantered back. “You and I have a special treat in store for us on the undercard.”

    “Oh, and what’s that?” The skeptical Mirage asked.

    “A pair from that anti-nobility group are fighting some hard cases from Tarn.” Starscream happily reported as the two made their way toward the boxes reserved for VIP’s.

    “Ah, so I get to see some Autobots get dismantled.” Mirage muttered with a smile. “Should be very entertaining. I’m guessing it’s a no-fatality contest.”

    “Unfortunately yes, they will live to plague us another day.” Starscream replied, cherishing the slight twinge Mirage gave at hearing him use the term ‘us’. “From what I understand, they’re unusual in that they come from a branched spark.”

    Mirage froze in his steps and stared intently at Starscream. “Branched spark? Are their names Sideswipe and Sunstreaker?”

    “Why yes, I believe those are their names.” Starscream replied, suddenly realizing why Mirage was so interested and smiling inwardly at the realization. “Why? How do you know them?”

    “I don’t know those pieces of shit!” Mirage snarled. “There were suspects in Zeta’s murder.”

    “I thought Prowl hadn’t released any details yet.” Starscream replied, playing dumb.

    “I’m a Decimus, I have access to every facet of this investigation.” Mirage snapped.

    “Well let’s go watch them get taken apart my friend.” Starscream suggested, his compassion for Mirage seemingly sincere, and for once Mirage was at ease with Starscream wrapping his arm around his shoulder as they headed for the VIP box.

    Mirage sat silently waiting for the fights to start, and a half hour later the opening bout was about to begin. The fighters were announced and introduced, the rules were explained (no weapons, no killing, strictly hand to hand to submission or unconsciousness), and they were ready for the fight to commence. The two fighters from Tarn were noticeably larger and appeared to bear vastly more in terms of armor than the two Autobot brothers, which brought a smile to Starscream’s face, but brought no change to Mirage’s stone visage. The lack of obvious armor did not mean a lack of armor; Mirage knew that better than most as he had undergone a process to leave him sleek and lean while having a significant degree of protection. And if he had undergone such a process, so possibly had these two commoners from Iacon. While they were likely penniless, they were obviously being represented by someone, and that someone probably had resources to armor their fighters.

    The fight began with the Tarnian’s charging in looking to quickly overwhelm the pair and beat them into an early submission, and it seemed to be heading that way as they got their large arms on the brightly colored pair. But it soon became apparent that the smaller robots were stronger than they appeared, especially the red one, and both were extremely adept at grappling. With the assumed strength advantage mitigated if not entirely removed, the smaller robots suddenly had an advantage being inside the defenses of the larger robots, and began hammering away at the mid-sections of their opponents. Almost in unison, the Tarnians pushed their way back away from the brothers to make use of their reach advantage by turning the battle into one of primarily striking, but while they did have a reach advantage, the two Iaconians were much faster, and made use of their superior reflexes by avoiding, blocking or parrying strikes to get back in and deliver more hammering before bouncing back away.

    One Tarnian transformed into an earthmover mode and set upon his yellow opponent in an attempt to flatten the exceptionally handsome robot, but this Sunstreaker leapt to the side just in time, transformed and sped away in a sleek vehicular mode that was even prettier than his robotic one. The yellow street racer sped toward the other pair of combatants, and without even looking the red one leapt to his side, planted a foot on the rear of his brother’s alt mode, and sprung from him into the air, landing with a thunderous downward punch into the top of the pursuing earthmover, his clearly enhanced arm, chest and shoulder presses helping him to drive his fist through the armor of the vehicle and causing it to cry out in pain.

    Sunstreaker transformed while speeding toward Sideswipe’s former opponent and at sixty miles per hour delivered a flying thrust kick into the upper chest of the surprised Tarnian. The Tarnian collapsed, and the moment he hit the ground Sunstreaker’s yellow frame landed on him, a finger driving into each of the robot’s optics and obliterating all the circuitry from the lens down to just outside the braincase below. Sunstreaker flipped off of the blinded warrior as the Tarnian cried out in pain and attempted to grab the Iaconian on top of him.

    Sideswipe watched his opponent painfully transform, and once fully robotic, the red Iaconian set upon him, and with a series of thrust kicks, arm twists, and punches, the second Tarnian was dismantled and unable to continue. The red robot looked to his brother, and then both looked to the referee droid who scanned their opposition. After an evaluation of the injuries the droid determined the match to be over and awarded the victory to the brothers, who just shrugged and marched out of the pit. “Don’t worry,” Starscream yelled out to Mirage over the cheers of the crowd, “they will get what they deserve soon enough.” Mirage merely glared at the departing Autobots.


    ***


    Roller Pax


    Like with most ‘living legends’, this Sentinel Prime didn’t seem to live up to the expectations that Roller had prior to meeting him a half hour before. Arlon had returned from Cybertropolis and had barely gotten out of his transport before announcing that the Primal Transport would be arriving right behind him. He entered Tyger Pax only to return a few minutes later with several servants carrying supplies for a journey. The large quadruped then marched over to Roller and told him it was past time for him to see the Gates, and that Roller would be escorting him, the new Prime, and everyone else in Sentinel Prime’s entourage to the polar mountains. It was at that moment that the Primal Transport cut through the clouds and the snow-filled sky and began descending on their platform. Roller had always assumed he’d see the Gates for the first time with Orion, but apparently that wasn’t to be as Orion was at work in Polarus. Roller chuckled as he remembered pondering whether it could truly be considered work if Orion wasn’t getting paid for it.

    Sentinel Prime had exited the craft, delivered a smiling greeting to all present and had assured them all that he would be returning to Tyger Pax to meet everyone before continuing on to look over Polarus. Roller could see the nervousness of both Arlon and Sentinel’s security chief Prowl as the Prime made this announcement, but Sentinel Prime was utterly fearless of exposing himself in such a way. The one thing this new Prime certainly didn’t lack was a supreme confidence. Roller had been taught that confidence was a necessary trait for any individual, and more so for a leader, but to always be careful not to let it extend into arrogance. From what the young Pax could tell, the new Prime had passed that point and kept on going. But despite the arrogance, he seemed likable enough, and Roller was more than happy to meet him. The Prime was certainly a big guy, almost twice Roller’s height and looked to be a good four feet taller than what Orion was. Of course, when dealing with House Honorum’s pride and joy, there was a good chance that he had been partially or even completely rebuilt to be that size. He certainly appeared to have undergone every conceivable armor and press enhancement, which was probably helping to fuel his apparent fearlessness.

    They had loaded back into the Primal Transport, now with Arlon and Roller, and set forth toward the Tartarun Gates. Roller had been told that the Wardens had forbidden ships from landing in the clearing before the main entrance, but as this was the Prime, an exception had been made. So Roller had spent a good portion of the trip discreetly studying Sentinel Prime, listening to his words, watching his movements, and he was…impressed, but not as impressed as he had expected to be. “Pardon me, Lord Pax.” Roller looked up to see Prowl approaching him and taking the open seat next to him. “I hope I’m not bothering you, but if it’s alright, I’d like to ask you a question or two.”

    Roller nodded, a little surprised, but responded. “Of course, and please, it’s just Roller. Arlon is Lord Pax, not me.”

    “If that’s what you wish, Roller.” Prowl replied. “I understand you were given life in the last Vectoral pulse.”

    “Uh, yes, yes I was.” Roller answered.

    “And I’ve heard that you were the only protoform to be born into House Pax for this pulse, but that you are being raised with a common-born protoform.” Prowl pressed, less than gracefully.

    Roller nodded. “Yes, Orion.”

    “Hmm, I’m intrigued by this situation.” Prowl replied. “You don’t frequently hear about common protoforms being brought into and raised by noble or royal houses.”

    “I suppose not.” Roller was getting more and more uncomfortable discussing his best friend. “Torenia found him abandoned and brought him to Tyger Pax.”

    “And where did she find him?” Prowl pressed eagerly.

    “Roller Pax.” Both robots looked up to see Arlon looking over them. “Sentinel Prime has been gracious enough to let you go into the cockpit and watch the pilot operate this fine craft. It’s a tremendous opportunity for you.”

    Roller nodded and looked to Prowl. “It was a pleasure to speak with you, Commander Prowl.”

    Prowl nodded to the youth as he rose and walked across the craft toward the cockpit. He then looked up at Arlon Pax. “Hello my lord.”

    Roller caught Arlon nodding to Prowl out of the corner of his eye. “Commander.” Arlon then turned and walked back toward Sentinel Prime, who was cheerfully talking to several other members of his personal guard.

    Roller entered the cockpit and watched as the pilot directed the craft through the clouds and snow, asking the occasional question and getting a rudimentary understanding of the controls. About a half hour later they were heading down between the mountain peaks toward a small clearing in front of a vast mountain with an immense metal door. In front of the mountain were a few hundred soldiers lined up to greet them, the Wardens of the Tartarun Gates.

    The craft set down, and within a few minutes they were all outside the craft lined up before the Wardens. A slightly larger than average light blue robot marched forward and bowed before Sentinel Prime and Arlon Pax. “My Prime, my lord, welcome to the Tartarun Gates, the Wardens are at your service.”

    “Rise Lord Commander Kup.” The new Prime said with a smile before addressing all of the Wardens. “I thank all of you for this greeting, and want you to know that your efforts and devotion are respected and acknowledged. There are many on our world that view what you do as an archaic and unnecessary tradition based on legends and folklore that cannot possibly be true, but please know that there are those of us who know otherwise. Honorus, Paxus, Magnus, Maximus, Ambus, Solus, Trionic, Modus, Decimus, Machtus, Fluctus, Onyx and Nexus; the Knights of Cybertron were not only founders of the great houses, they were heroes that saved our world and drove the sparkeaters and other evils down into that pit that you all now so vigilantly guard. You serve and honor their memory, and whether the masses know it or not, you protect us all. Please know that you have my most sincere gratitude, and that I hold your order in the highest of esteem.” The Wardens applauded him for several moments, and when the applause finally died down, Prime smiled. “I would like my visit to be as minimally disruptive for you as possible. Please return to your tasks.”

    “Of course Prime.” Kup replied before turning and nodding to an important looking robot behind him, who in turn used a hand gesture to disperse the Wardens who returned inside the vase cavern at the base of the mountain. “Please, this way.” The group entered the cave, Roller in awe of the sheer scale of it all, a small city carved into the mountain housing the army gathered to protect them all from what was kept far beneath, or so the legend went. He had heard what Sentinel had said, but he had gotten the impression that Sentinel Prime would say whatever needed saying to ensure the devotion of those around him. As they marched through the expanse Kup explained both the history as well as the practical functions of each portion of the vast fortress, walking them all down deeper and deeper, until they reached an enormous metal door. “From this point forward only the Prime, Lord Pax and myself are permitted to continue. The rest of you may return to any other section of the fortress that we’ve been in and enjoy whatever hospitality that you can find.”

    Roller chatted with a few members of Prime’s entourage, but at seeing Prowl walking across the room in the distance decided to make himself scarce. Arlon was no longer there to protect him, and he was beyond unnerved by the Security Director’s interest in Orion. He knew that this interest stemmed from Orion’s submission of his theories on the ‘Spark Collector’ mass murder case; A-Three had chewed Orion out for that the day before, stressing the importance that he avoid attention at all costs. Roller had thought A-Three was being excessive, but his short but intense conversation with Prowl had shown him otherwise. The blue robot transformed and quietly sped away down a hallway and into a non-descript side cavern, where he transformed, sat in the corner and silently accessed his stored lessons in memory and boned up in his class work.

    The time passed quickly at first, but after a few hours Roller started getting bored and considered leaving his sanctuary. The sound of a large vehicle approaching from the hallway silenced him, and he shrunk even deeper into the shadows of the dimly lit room. The sound of the vehicle stopping followed by a transformation nearly caused him to panic. He knew it wasn’t Prowl, whoever was outside the room was far too big to be Prowl. A moment later he watched the yellow-orange frame of Sentinel Prime enter, turn to look out into the hallway to make sure he wasn’t followed, and then raise his wrist to open a communications channel. “Nightbeat, come in.”

    After several seconds a voice replied. “I’m here sir…I mean your grace.”

    “How are things progressing with your search?” Prime asked curtly. “I need results soon.”

    “They are progressing well sir.” The voice came back. “I’ve compiled several potential scenarios as to what could have happened to the Manifest. I might even be able to begin my galactic search by year’s end.”

    “You’ll need to be out there physically looking by month’s end.” Sentinel Prime grumbled.

    “Month’s end? Sir, your grace, I’m nowhere near that point in the investigation.” Nightbeat’s apologetic voice came back.

    “Then pick up the pace, Detective!” Prime angrily growled into his wrist. “I need it found, and I need it found now. When you head out, be sure to bring whatever you’ll need to cut open a corpse. We can figure out how to get the ship and crew back after you return, but I need you to return with the Matrix.”

    “Sir, why the urgency to recover the Matrix?” Nightbeat asked, his curiosity overwhelming his sense to not further agitate the angered and impatient Prime.

    “Just get the damn bauble!” Prime snapped. “Apparently I can’t be the ‘Prime Who Was Promised’ without it.”

    “What?”

    “Never mind!” Prime growled. “Just prove you’re worth a damn and finish your assignment!” Sentinel switched off the channel and marched out of the room. Roller listened to the sound of him transforming and speeding away, and waited a few more minutes before crawling out of the corner and tentatively walking toward the doorway, peering down the hall to make sure nobody was there.

    “Roller Pax!” Arlon’s agitated voice burst through the speaker on his wrist, startling Roller to the point where he jumped.

    Roller clumsily raised his wrist to his mouth. “Yes sir?”

    “Where are you? We’re ready to go!” Arlon snapped.

    “Of course sir, I will be with you in a moment.” Roller replied before transforming and speeding toward the rest of the group.


    ***


    Soundwave


    Rabattus Decimus was a tedious, arrogant boar, but he was reliable and competent if nothing else. He had yammered the entire way from Harmonex to Kaon about how this gladiatorial circuit was just the start of an underground empire that would give the southern emirates a distinct edge in terms of wealth, resources and influence over those of the north. Soundwave had been sorely tempted to remind Rabattus that Ankmor was a northern emirate, but chose to keep it to himself. Frankly, he was just grateful for the lift. Lightwave was pretty tight with controlling everything going into and out of Harmonex, and to a lesser degree, the entire emirate of Praxus, and he would never approve of Soundwave taking a transport shuttle to Kaon, or anywhere else in the emirate of Polyhex. And were he to find out that Soundwave was connected with this criminal fight club and the gambling ring spawned from it, there would be no limit to his rage. Fortunately Shockwave was very effective at keeping Lightwave focus on him, even if not deliberately.

    “I’ve received rumblings that Militus has a gladiator with the potential to face down Ogrus’s juggernaut.” Rabattus commented with a smirk. “I personally don’t believe there’s anyone capable to defeating Grimlock, but if this warrior can go longer than any previous opponent, then we might stand to make a small fortune through some side-betting.”

    Soundwave nodded. “I will need to see this fighter in action before putting any money on him, especially against the Simfurian.”

    “Of course, but provided he’s as capable as claimed, we should keep what we learn of him to ourselves.” Rabattus suggested. “Word of his capabilities getting out would water down our potential windfall.”

    “Affirmative.” Soundwave said as they looked out to seen the approaching landing pad outside Castle Macht, where a rotund robot was waiting to greet them. “It appears that Militus has sent an underling to greet us.”

    “Always the dismissive elitist.” Rabattus chirped, his comment lacking the level of annoyance that Soundwave had expected given how far they had traveled to meet the Emir of Polyhex. “He’s too important to meet with us himself, or to even have a member of his House greet us, instead sending…whoever this is. It appears it’s true what they say, House Macht considers itself the Honorums of the southern hemisphere; and as a northerner with close ties to House Honorum I can tell you that is pretty damn arrogant.”

    The craft touched down and a moment later the small red pilot walked into their cabin and nodded respectfully to them as he prepared the door. “We have arrived my lords.”

    “Thank you Powerglide.” Rabattus said to the robot waiting by the door for them. “Please wait here for our return, and remember, no one is to know of this trip.”

    “Of course my lord.” Powerglide replied, bowing his head.

    The two nobles walked down the ramp and were approached by the stout robot waiting for them. “Greetings my lords, I am lord Straxus of Fort Scyk and governor of the northeastern quadrant of Stanix. I am here to represent lord Macht, who regrets that he is attending to matters that will delay his meeting you. But I am happy to guide you and answer any questions you may have until he arrives.”

    “Adequate.” Soundwave replied as he turned away from Straxus and marched toward the large decrepit coliseum in the distance.

    Rabattus smiled at Straxus and nodded toward Soundwave for them to follow. “I was not aware that Fort Scyk was habitable, nor that Stanix was large enough to section off into quadrants, Lord Straxus.”

    Straxus endured the slight quietly, and his nearly featureless face likely gave no indication of his anger, Soundwave assumed as he listened to the conversation going on behind him. “Aye, the fort needs a great deal of work, and the section of land is not large, but the gift of it from Lord Macht is still far beyond gracious. I was common born, but through his grace and his faith in me, I am now a noble.”

    “Ah, I see.” Rabattus replied. “Though from what I’ve heard, it was less about his grace than his rage at House Scykus. Three light tribute payments and they were wiped from the face of Cybertron.”

    “Lord Macht had nothing to do with the disappearance of House Scykus.” Straxus snapped. “Nobody knows what happened to them, only that they vanished without a trace.”

    “Hmmm, I received word that there were traces of them all over the fort.” Rabattus chuckled.

    “Whatever befell them was not the work of my Emir, I assure you.” The low lord answered impatiently. “But whatever happened to them, their lands and resources were left abandoned, and my lord required capable attendants to govern the quadrants he sectioned Stanix up into. He felt I was one such attendant.”

    “The northeastern quadrant was the most energon rich section.” Soundwave spat out, still marching straight ahead, though his companions were now catching up to him. “I assume you were involved in House Macht’s mining operation in some capacity.”

    “Well, yes, but that has nothing to do with my selection.” Straxus responded defensively.

    “Of course it didn’t.” Rabattus chuckled as they reached the coliseum and entered through the large entrance. “Now tell us of what Lord Macht has been doing with our investments down here. I see he’s devoted some of it to patching up this old gymnasium.”

    “Lord Macht has not only renovated this arena into a state of the art training facility, but he has also added barracks for the fighters from your emirates as well as expanded the infirmary to include a surgical center equipped to provide the fighters with the latest upgrades to both armor and press.” Straxus answered as they entered the center of the arena and looked upon hundreds of gladiators and trainers all around them sparring and training in other ways. “The armor enhancements for most are sufficient so that they can go all out in unarmed combat without inflicting or sustaining much more than dents.” A cry from the far end of the arena followed by the thud of metal landing heavily on metal drew their attention and seemed to contradict what Straxus had just said. “Of course, there are exceptions.”

    The three traversed the distance to the other side where the sound had come from; where other similar sounds were coming from now. Years before Soundwave had allowed his kinsman Shockwave to examine his spark thoroughly and perform some experimentation on it as well as his frame and brain module regarding unique spark qualities he had found in the examination. Those experiments had led to extreme pain and a long recovery, but ultimately to some abilities; abilities allowing Soundwave to hear virtually imperceptible levels of sound and even some limited mind-reading, traits that Soundwave was using now. ‘He’s at it again’, ‘Tarnian shit’, ‘Don’t care what Terminus, Straxus or Militus claim, he’s had every enhancement in Rossum’s lab’, and other comments that intrigued Soundwave all the more about the combatant causing all the painful noises.

    A group of eight warriors and three trainers finally came into view, where three of the warriors were on the ground, nursing injuries and/or gingerly climbing back to their feet, another three were cautiously circling around the final warrior, a hulking twenty-four foot tall tarnished silver combatant who casually regarded the remaining three opponents as they studied him for any opening. “Please wait here.” Straxus instructed the two visitors and marched directly toward a worn robot that was looking over the sparring session, and given the air of pride he seemed to possess, he was likely the main handler for the lone brutalizer of the group. “Why is he out here?” Straxus hissed at the robot in a tone he thought was low enough for the visitors to hear. “The Emir wanted no outsider to see him yet.”

    The older robot looked toward their guests and a look of genuine concern came over his face. “I was not told of any visit.” He grumbled.

    “Yes you were, I told you!” Straxus insisted, though Soundwave could clearly sense that the statement was a lie.

    “Really?” The older robot knowingly smirked. “When was that?”

    “He didn’t tell you, Terminus.” The silver warrior announced as he walked away from the other fighters toward their guests, sending a glance toward Straxus that seemed an invitation for him to disagree. Straxus met the gaze but remained silent. The gladiator continued toward the guests and stopped before them. “You two possess the bearing of nobles; perhaps royals.” The warrior regarded both Soundwave and Rabattus. “I am Megatron of Tarn, subject of Lord Militus Macht and I am at your disposal provided your requests do not counter the interests of my Emir.” The words and the tone were respectful, but the bow traditionally delivered by a commoner addressing nobility was notably absent.

    “Megatron of Tarn,” Rabattus grinned at the gladiator, “I believe you are the mysterious warrior that Lord Macht has been working so hard to keep under wraps.”

    Megatron smiled knowingly. “I am not privy to Lord Macht’s plans or secrets, I am merely here to fight in service of his house.”

    “Of course you are.” Rabattus replied with a smile. “You recognized that we weren’t commoners. Can you guess who we are?” Megatron looked them both over with a subdued smile.

    “Ahem.” The old trainer, Terminus, cleared his throat, prompting Megatron to turn and look at him. Terminus delivered an indecipherable look to the younger powerhouse, to which looked down at the ground, ponder something for a moment, and raise his optics back up to Terminus. Soundwave couldn’t see Megatron’s face, but whatever the silent message he gave Terminus, it left the old trainer looking more worried than before.

    Megatron turned back toward the royals and looked intently at Rabattus. “It’s highly stylized, but you bear an emblem derived from that of House Decimus. With your dark colors, your helmet and other bestial-themed adornments, I would say…no, I know that you are Rabattus, third in line of House Decimus.”

    “Very good.” Rabattus replied, clearly re-evaluating this gladiator. “And my companion?”

    Megatron looked into Soundwave’s optics for a moment, an act that gave the royal from the emirate of Praxus a chill that ran the length of his frame. The warrior then looked Soundwave’s frame up and down for several moments before returning his gaze up at the predominantly blue robot’s optics. “You are of House Torrent.” Megatron replied. “You are not as overt about displaying your royalty as Rabattus, but the design patterns on much of your non-original frame are Fluctusian.”

    “You are familiar with Fluctusian art styles?” Rabattus asked, genuinely surprised for once.

    Megatron nodded. “I am.”

    “How is that possible?” Soundwave asked. “You are of common birth.”

    Megatron regarded him with a look that wasn’t threatening or angry, but one that made it clear that he should never be underestimated again. “There are ways for the low-born to educate themselves. Even in the lowly streets of Tarn sometimes lead to data depositories. The colleagues of my youth were far more interested in merchandise that could be fenced or mind-altering chemicals, but I chose instead to expand my mind, to see what knowledge could be gained. Though the offerings were limited, I immediately recognized the benefit of studying these data pads. It is there that I became familiar with the legends of The Knights of Cybertron, and of Lord Fluctus’s love of the natural and cybernetic aspects of this planet that he incorporated into his artwork. He founded House Torrent, and so much of everything they build incorporates this artwork style in some way, including the additions to their frame.”

    Straxus walked over to the group. “Lord Macht has also given the gladiators online access to the Castle Macht library, which goes unused by all of these grunts but this one.” The low lord glared at Megatron. “I don’t know whether it’s seeing my ascension to low nobility or the suffix ‘tron’ in his name, but this one has always had a problem of accepting his station. I apologize for his presumption.”

    “Nonsense.” Rabattus contested. “I asked him questions, he has merely answered them. Though the question of my colleague’s identity still remains unanswered.”

    Megatron looked back at Soundwave. “I mean no disrespect to your house, but from what I’ve read, the members of House Torrent they are focused primarily on their house’s standing and their own personal appearance, with two notable exceptions. Your frame is handsome and well maintained, but there is much room for further adornment, and a faceplate seems out of place for a member of House Torrent. I have read the word ‘Cyclops’ applied to Shockwave, so I would have to guess you to be Soundwave.”

    “Excellent!” Rabattus announced as Soundwave nodded at the warrior.

    Megatron smiled and looked back to Terminus, who looked more concerned than ever. Soundwave couldn’t take it anymore, and tried to pry into the mind of this Megatron. ‘I know what Terminus fears, but I will no longer kneel and play dumb for lesser…what, what’s in my head?’ Soundwave immediately withdrew his prying mind, but Megatron turned his head and glared at him knowingly, the look on his expressive face appearing to be weighing whether to obliterate Soundwave or not. Megatron’s facial features slowly shifted to a knowing grin, before he turned away.

    “My friend Megatron,” Rabattus said through a widening grin, “you’ve impressed us with your intellect, we were wondering if you could impress us with a display of your physical prowess.”

    Megatron smiled back and nodded. “Of course my lord.” He turned back toward the six gladiators he had been fighting earlier. “Each of you go get a friend and come back.”


    ***


    Prowl


    The meeting with the legendary Omega Supreme had clearly not gone well, Prowl thought as he looked upon Sentinel Prime and the scowl etched over his face. Had not Zeta Prime assured him of the Guardian robot’s existence, Prowl would have assumed that the giant was as much a myth as the monsters trapped within the bowels of the planet that he was supposedly protecting them all from. Of course, Sentinel had clearly met the giant, and had come back agitated and impatient. Prowl chuckled as he figured the ancient robot probably chastised the new Prime for not seeking him out prior to the inauguration the way that Zeta Decimus had. It wasn’t technically law, but in the absence of the Matrix it had been assumed that the individual chosen to be Prime by the Senate also needed to seek out the approval of Omega Supreme, the last living creature to have fought alongside the Knights of Cybertron fifteen millions years before; provided they ever really existed. Sentinel Prime, of course, had gone ahead with the inauguration prior to getting the Guardian’s blessing.

    Now as they marched through downtown Polarus, Sentinel Prime was required to set aside his scowl and display a forced smile at the people who were out to see and wave to their new leader. Prowl on the other hand was required to keep his senses on full alert because of the new Prime’s bravado. Sentinel’s announcement of an impromptu stroll through the emirate’s capital city without any sort of security preparations was an invitation to anyone who wanted to do anything from harass to flat out kill the new Prime, and given what had happened to Zeta just a few weeks before and that whoever had done it was still at large, the threat was beyond real, and it was Prowl’s responsibility to ensure that it didn’t happen. Sentinel was going to make Prowl’s life harder as Prime than he had as Zeta’s Chief of Security.

    But if Prime had to pull this shit anywhere, better it be in Polarus than any other large city. True to their name, the Pax’s kept the peace better than any other ruling house on the planet, and they did so with the most just and permissive rules for their people. Perhaps they achieved such results because unlike every other ruling house, they were bound by the rules as much as any common citizen, and that they spread their wealth throughout the emirate, providing education and opportunities for advancement to every single denizen of the Torus Heights, much to the consternation of nobles and royals around the planet. Were the climate not so unpleasant and their culture not so isolationist and quirky, commoners from all over Cybertron would likely be pouring over their borders. Even with those things, Polarus seemed to be a city made up primarily of immigrants. A broad mixture of dialects rivaling the melting pots of Iacon, Cybertropolis or other larger and wealthier metropolises, but in a less bustling and far more hospitable, welcoming environment.

    But even in this welcoming environment Prowl knew he needed to scout for potential hostilities. He scanned the street intently, and quickly saw cause for concern. A large robot, one almost as large and broad as Sentinel Prime himself stepped out away from the crowd and into the street a couple hundred feet ahead. Prowl immediately recognized the robot, and he and several other guards stepped in front of the Prime, to which the robot simply raised his hands, palms toward them submissively. “Stand down and prepare to be taken into custody!” Prowl announced to the robot, his rifle loosely held and pointed at the large red, orange and gray robot.

    “I’m not here to surrender Prowl, merely to talk to the new Prime peacefully and then leave.” The robot announced. “He claims to serve the people, all the people, not just the nobility. Let him prove it now and listen to what I have to say. I give my word that him doing so would…”

    “You will never speak with the Prime, filth!” Prowl winced as he heard Barricade bellow out next to him. He knew the Autobots would be recording everything that was going on here, and if they weren’t broadcasting it live, they would be sending out the recording soon.

    “Enough.” Prowl admonished his comrade. “Blaster, you are wanted on several outstanding warrants. I can list them off for you now, but in case you would prefer them not being made public to all here and whoever you may be broadcasting these events to,” the Head of Security sent looks to all his subordinates as well as one to Prime to make sure they all recognized that their actions were being witnessed, “I am more than willing to use discretion and wait until we’re in private before listing them off.”

    “Graffiti and public mischief is all you have against me.” Blaster announced. “Any other charges you may levy against me consist of nothing but trumped up lies. And the graffiti and mischief only occur because there are no legitimate venues for the grievances of the long suffering common people to be aired. Now that he has claimed the same title, legacy and responsibilities as Primon, Prima, Prime Nova and Guardian Prime, I am hoping that Sentinel Prime has a greater empathy for the lowborn classes than Sentinel Honorum displayed, and am giving him this opportunity to prove it.”

    Prowl felt Sentinel Prime pushing his way to the front and knew he had to do something to calm his leader down. “Prime, wait…” Prowl whispered, trying to stop Sentinel’s advance, but the hulking yellow/orange leader ignored him as he pushed his way to the front.

    “The commoners have their needs met, they are granted peace and security, and their rights are protected by law and upheld by me, and I take that responsibility very seriously!” Sentinel Prime snapped. “You have a say in who represents you in the Senate,”

    “We can vote on one plebian representative, who can represent up to five thousand commoners and has a tenth the vote of a single low noble and a fiftieth of a high noble, all of which can be put aside by the whim of the Emir.” Blaster shot out.

    “How dare you interrupt me, you Lower Iaconian worm!” Prime roared, causing Prowl to groan quietly. Blaster’s dialect made it clear he had been raised in the sub-surface region of Iacon, but the Prime was suppose to be above using someone’s origins against them. “I am the Prime! I will not be drawn into a whining session by some common outlaw thug! You chose vandalism and civil disobedience, you will not pay for your crimes!” Prime turned back to Prowl and the others. “Take him!”

    “I told you, I’m not here to surrender.” Blaster replied, slats in his legs opening to reveal some odd round black devices.

    “Get the Prime back!” Prowl ordered as he charge in front of his leader, followed by six other guards.

    Just as Prowl and his comrades formed a protective wall, a torrent of sonic waves blasted he and the two officers on either side of him off their feet. The blasts of sounds scrambled some of his inner circuitry, and that damage combined with impacting the metal ground forced disoriented him a few moments before he could register what was happening. He looked up and saw Prime and those closest to him taking fire, causing him to leap to his feet. But he immediately noticed that there was something odd about the assault. The rounds striking them and the area around them weren’t cutting, burning or exploding; they didn’t seem to be metal, explosive or energy rounds, they were globs of some darkly colored adhesive. “Tar bombs!” Prowl muttered, his attempt to call out the weapon that was being used against them came out as barely more than a whisper. He struggled to run forward and aid his leader, but a large ball of the sticky black ooze slammed into his leg and the ground around it, pinning it there. It would be minutes before he could work his way out of the adhesive, and in all likelihood he’d be hit by a few more balls by that point. But as debilitating as these balls could be, they were not meant to kill or even injure, which Prowl needed to make Prime aware of before he retaliated with the vast arsenal he kept housed within certain sections of his frame. Prowl realized the likely aim was to prompt a response utilizing excessive and unjustified force from the Prime and his entourage, a retaliation that he was already certain was being recorded and likely broadcast live or would be within seconds of the events unfolding. He had to protect Sentinel Prime, and not just from the Autobots, but from his own temper and those guards eager to cut commoners possessing the gall to buck the system to pieces.

    His fears were realized as Prowl watched his comrades open fire at Blaster and into the buildings where the tar bombs seemed to be originating from. Sentinel drew a rifle the size of his leg that had been strapped to his back and opened fire as well, forcing Blaster to sprint toward an alley and dive for cover. “You have my attention now, Blaster!” Prime roared as he continued firing while marching toward the opening of the alley as Prowl started to tear out of the tar. “Come out and let’s discuss your rights!”

    A large ball of tar flew out from a rooftop and slammed him in his head, sending him stumbling over and nearly falling. At that moment Blaster flipped out from the alley and blasted sonic wave’s from the weapons in his legs that knocked Prime back and to the ground. “We didn’t want this Prime, it was only supposed to be talking! You came at us, we’re just defending ourselves!”

    “He’s assaulting the Prime!” Prowl heard Flatfoot cry out as he charged weapon firing at the large red and orange Autobot. “Die lowborn shit!” Blaster took a few rounds to his torso before falling back into the alley. Flatfoot continued marching forward as Prowl got to Prime, noting that he was uninjured, but incensed. Their attention was shifted up toward the roof where the tar bomb that hit Prime had originated from, where a cry and a pair of bodies were coming over it and falling to the ground. A large red and blue robot was gripping a mid-sized predominantly white robot, one Prowl recognized as the suspected Autobot Jazz, and falling down to the sidewalk below, but the red robot planted his foot on a light pole and used it to slow their descent and spring out to land in the middle of the street. He slammed Jazz down, ripped his tar-canon out of his hands and slammed his blue fist into the Autobot’s face, knocking him out cold with a large dent in his cheek.

    The newcomer looked up, Prowl, who was typically so good at knowing all the potential players, had no idea of who he was, but he had continued from the fall as if it were just a normal step and handled the large canon with the east that Prowl would handle a pistol. “Get the Prime inside Snowfall Café! Constables, direct determine who are civilians and direct them off of the street! House Pax, with me!” The robot called out with an authority in his voice that as far as Prowl knew he did not possess, but despite this all local constables and every member of the House Pax security detail immediately did as he instructed. The Pax guards swarmed behind him, not even bothering to look to any of the Primal Guard for any sort of instruction or input, instead following this unknown individual without question. “There are snipers on the roofs of Malnax’s Washhouse, Bonarus’s Shell Design, and in the fourth floor window of the Savings and Loan! All appear to be armed with these tar canons, but I have yet to see anything remotely lethal, so they are not to be taken down with extreme prejudice! I repeat, lethal force or any undue brutality are NOT to be employed unless the situation changes from what we’ve seen thus far! Impactor, take your squad and clear Malnax’s! Roadbuster, take your squad and clear Bonarus’s! Inferno, the Savings and Loan!” The newcomer marched toward the alley. “I’ve got their leader!”

    “You’ve got shit, elitist!” Several Autobots poured out of the buildings that the red and blue robot had identified as their hiding spots and opened fire on the advancing Pax guards. The one who yelled out, who Prowl knew as the suspected Autobot Trailbreaker, began firing his tar canon at them as he and his comrades also made their way to Blaster’s position, presumably to rescue him.

    “We have no issue with House Pax!” Prowl was a little surprised to see the scientist known as Perceptor operating with the Autobots, but his surprise had to be dismissed for the moment as he watched his comrades hustling the Prime into the café, against his will from the sounds of it.

    “And I have no issue with the Autobot philosophies and goals, but you bring violence to the streets of Polarus!” The red robot replied. “You endanger civilians, and confront the Prime with the clear goal of goading him into a violent confrontation!” Trailbreaker fired a shot directly at this robot, who raised his canon to block the shot. The glob of tar wrapped around the cannon and a small part of the robot’s forearm, but the robot merely whipped the canon at Trailbreaker, the tar tearing from his arm with ease and the goop-covered canon slamming the black Autobot in the chest and sending him to the ground.

    Perceptor fired another shot at this robot, who blocked it with his left hand. The glob covered nearly his entire forearm, but once again the robot flung his arm with enough force to send the dark ball of goop flying back toward Perceptor, hitting him in the face and sending his tar-covered frame crashing to the ground. Eight more Autobots charged ahead to intercept this robot and his companions. The Pax detail got five of them and used their training and superior numbers to take them down with ease, but three made it to the red robot and attacked him hand to hand. Prowl watched the battle unfold, and recognized the moves to be nothing more than basic police hand to hand combat moves, but the speed and power at the disposal of this robot was such that even against the most skilled gladiators, these basic moves would have been more than enough. In mere seconds the three Autobots were completely incapacitated and the robot marched into the alley and carried out Blaster, using a level of delicacy that seemed at odds given that he was taking the robot into custody. The red robot then looked at Blaster as he laid him down. “I apologize, but this is necessary.” With that the robot punched through each of the sonic weapons on Blaster’s legs, but seemed to keep the pain and damage to walking function to a minimum.

    Prowl approached the two robots quickly, but felt two forms brush past him. He watched as Barricade and Flatfoot, with rifles drawn, ran toward the injured and subdued Blaster, with what Prowl knew to be an intent to kill. The newcomer saw them approaching as well, and positioned himself between them and the prisoner. “Halt! The suspect has been subdued and is unarmed!”

    “Move Frosty, this is for planetary security!” Barricade snarled.

    “No!” The other robot stood his ground against the two well armed Primal Guards. “He will be arrested and tried in a court, you will do nothing more to him!”

    “Oh, and who’s going to stop us?” Flatfoot asked angrily. “You?”

    “Yes I am.” The robot replied, causing both guards to raise their weapons at him. Flatfoot fired, but the robot amazingly twisted out of the way to avoid it. Barricade’s shot came a moment later and struck the robot in the abdomen, but the round elicited nothing more than a grunt. The robot then lurched forward and hammered Barricade to the ground with a right cross, then twisted and backhanded Flatfoot. Barricade was out, Flatfoot flew back and hit the wall of a building behind him, but remained conscious; at least until the red robot followed after him and hammered him with another right cross. The two guards were laid out unconscious on the ground as Prowl approached. The robot twisted and glared at him. “Back off! No further harm is to come to the prisoner!”

    “You back off!” Prowl snapped. “I appreciate your assistance, but I’m in charge here!”

    “I’m still a bit green, but I’m pretty sure you’re in line behind Sentinel Prime and Arlon Pax.” The robot shot back. “I can’t speak for the Prime, but there’s no way Lord Pax would allow someone to be murdered in cold fluid, even by the Primal Guard. So you back off!”

    “Enough!” The roar forced the two to turn toward the advancing Arlon Pax, with Roler Pax next to him. “The constable is correct, there will be no killing in my streets.”

    “Constable?” Prowl questioned. “I’ve familiarized myself with the dossiers of all law enforcement in the Torus Heights, and I don’t recognize this individual.”

    Arlon paused, the slightest hint of nervousness coming over his bestial face. “You OK Orion?” Roller asked the robot, unaware of Arlon’s desire to keep as much from Prowl as possible. Prowl’s gaze spun back toward the youth in question, staring at both his face and then the scorches and dents on his abdomen that should have been vastly more damaged. Frankly, while the rifle Barricade used wasn’t the most powerful of weapons, at that range the round should not only have penetrated this Orion’s dermal plating, but cut through the much of his inner workings. As far as Prowl could tell, the youth did not have any sort of armor enhancements, yet all that was left of the shot was a small dent and scorching.

    “I’m quite fine Lord Pax, thank you for your concern.” Orion replied, bowing his head.

    “Lord P…”a confused Roller started to ask, but then looked at Prowl and nodded, “ah, right.” He looked back at Orion, a grin he was trying to subdue forming on his face. “Hopefully somebody recorded that, you really need to see what you did.”

    “Don’t worry my lord,” Blaster replied through his pain, “all that transpired here today was recorded and is being viewed by everyone on Cybertron as we speak.” The large red robot turned and looked down the street to see a yellow feline form sprinting away. “Your friend will be a hero, and the Prime will be revealed to be the brutal elitist he truly is.”

    Prowl ground his teeth as he drew his pistol and leveled it at the yellow form darting away, while at the same time opening a communications channel. “Eject, please tell me you followed my orders and placed a transmission jam around us”.

    A voice came back through his wrist. “I’ve been expecting your call sir. An immensely strong signal has been trying to push past the barriers we have in place. It’s holding for now, but it seems that the origin of the broadcast is putting distance between it and your party. I won’t be able to keep it contained for much longer.”

    “You won’t have to.” Prowl replied, firing a shot. The round caught the feline in the rear right haunch, causing it to tumble to the ground. Prowl then turned to several Primal Guards who were running forward, followed closely by Sentinel Prime. “Go apprehend that feralitron.” He then looked to Prime. “I’ve got Blaster.”

    Blaster looked up at the Prime. “It’s unfortunate for you that I was captured in the presence of Arlon Pax. Had we been anywhere else you’d have been able to kill me.”

    Sentinel Prime stared back at him with a grin. “Had we been anywhere else I doubt you’d have pulled this ill-conceived joke of an attack.”

    “It was never meant to be an attack, merely a forced meeting that we knew would lead to you exposing yourself as the unfit leader you truly are.” Blaster spat, looking up at Orion. “And we’d have been successful had we not overlooked this one Polarus cop.”

    “He’s not a cop.” Prowl said as he started placing shackles on Blaster. “Not yet, anyway. Just a kid volunteering for the Constabulary.” He looked up at Sentinel. “Prime, this is the individual that solved the Spark Collector case.”

    Sentinel Prime looked down at the youth and smiled broadly. “A super-athlete and a genius as well.”

    Orion bowed his head. “Neither sir, just a hard worker trying to help.”

    “He also beat the hell out of Barricade and Flatfoot, your grace.” Another Primal Guard stated to Prime.

    “I suggest you let that issue drop and be forgotten.” Arlon growled threateningly. “The lad most definitely was in the right and I will testify to the highest power of that fact.”

    “It is forgotten.” Prime said, studying the youth. “I am curious as to his post-protoformal test performance.”

    Arlon shifted uneasily. “I will see if we can find them.”
     
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  5. ARCTrooperAlpha

    ARCTrooperAlpha Well-Known Member

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    Ha ! Nice inversion, Zeta being a nice guy. Sentinel........still an a-hole
     
  6. ARCTrooperAlpha

    ARCTrooperAlpha Well-Known Member

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    Good comparison between Megatron and Optimus. Makes them becoming enemies later on all the more sweeter
     
  7. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Torenia Pax


    “Bastards.” The whisper was heard by at least four of those around her, but only Roller acknowledged the comment, looking into her optics with his own despondent ones, shuffling toward her and reaching out to grip and gently squeeze her hand. The two royals smiled sadly at one another before turning back to the descending House Honorum shuttle.

    “It was a Primal request.” Arlon Pax, standing on the other side of Torenia, replied defensively. “One does not refuse a Primal request, at least not without inviting scrutiny, which is something we all agree we would like to avoid.”

    “I still have no idea of what the issue is.” Roller whispered, looking around at the other seven members of House Pax standing away from them to make sure they couldn’t hear what he was saying to Torenia and Arlon. They seemed not to notice or care about the discussion going on with the three, nor did the dozens of other denizens of Tyger Pax, nearly the entire Constabulary of Polarus, and several citizens of the city, all who were now standing near the Tyger Pax shuttle port. “So what if he wasn’t born in Burthov? Who cares? What could they possibly find out about him if they were to dig? It’s not like he was born in Iacon; A-Three would have been able to pinpoint the hotspot of origin in a second if he were.”

    “Drop it child.” Torenia whispered. “I found him outside of Burthov, do not ever suggest otherwise.”

    “Torenia, we must know the truth.” Arlon whispered. “For his sake, we must know what we are dealing with so that we can know how best to protect him.”

    “They can’t make any sort of claim to him if he wasn’t born in Nova Cronum, and we know that he wasn’t.” Roller refused to let the line of questioning drop. “I know for a fact that A-Three ruled out every single hotspot in the emirate…as well as ours…and I think the hotspots of pretty much all other emirates as well.” Roller looked up at Torenia. “So, yeah, big mystery, but he’s safe from the Honorums.”

    “No, he’s not.” Torenia whispered before letting her head hang. “In time I will tell him, and only him. Until then, I will say no more on the subject.”


    *


    A-Three


    He watched the young robot peering out from the Spear of Paxus, the tallest tower at Tyger Pax, at the crowd that had gathered to see him off, and the shuttle that had been sent to take him away. “There are so many.” The youth commented.

    “Of course there are.” A-Three replied, still amazed at the boy’s surprising, and completely genuine humility. How could he not know that he’d touched their lives and would be greatly missed? “You are one of them.”

    “A Polariun?” Orion smiled without knowing it, warmed at being welcomed into a community he had grown to love.

    “Yes,” A-Three replied as he walked forward and took his place next to Orion, staring out at the landing platform, “and a Pax.”

    Orion was silent for several moments. “I love them, and I know they love me. I know that I am welcome here, and always will be, but I am not a Pax.” The red and blue robot turned and peered intently at A-Three. “I ask you to please stop suggesting otherwise.”

    “As you wish.” A-Three sadly replied.

    Orion looked back toward the shuttle. “Everyone down there sees this as a simple good-bye, and that I’ll be back in a few years; everyone except Arlon, Torenia and Roller. They’re scared, you’re scared, and it’s making me scared. Why the fear? Why is the idea that I’ll be in the stewardship of the Honorums so terrifying to you all? Even if I had come into existence in the heart of Iacon, why would they want me?”

    “Because you’re unique.” A-Three replied as he too gazed out the large window.

    “No, I’m rare.” Orion replied. “I’ve seen my medical scans. I’m one in a thousand.”

    A-Three chuckled. “You’re far rarer than that, even were we only talking about your green spark. Point one percenter is a terribly inaccurate term, coined by people looking for a term that was easy to say and remember for a phenomena that was in actuality far more unlikely than they realized. But there are other point one percenters, that is true. What makes you unique is the composition of your frame. You consist of metals that theoretically should be too dense, too…unaccommodating to life, yet here you are. I believe the power of your green spark is what forced these materials to alter themselves to accommodate your life, and it has made you...” A-Three turned and looked at Orion, “well, far more durable than you should be.”

    “That explains a lot.” Orion replied.

    “Though frankly, even if it were your green spark that would be more than enough for the Honorums to want to latch onto you, so please, do what you can to avoid scrutiny.” A-Three requested.

    Orion stared quietly out the window thinking about what was just revealed to him for several moments. “My frame; do you know where on Cybertron the materials that could have gone into making it came from?” He asked.

    A-Three peered deeply into the youth’s optics and lied. “No. I have no idea.” Lying had started to come easy for A-Three millions of years ago; he knew it would never come easy to Orion, so for now, ignorance was better.

    Orion looked down sadly. “Alright. I guess only Torenia knows, and I promised her I’d never ask her again.”

    “In time I’m sure she’ll tell you, but yes, until then, pretend to know nothing.” A-Three gently tapped the youth on his shoulder, and indication that it was time to go.

    “Not much pretending required.”



    *


    Arlon Pax


    They all kept their composure as Orion walked out from Tyger Pax and headed toward them, at least until Torenia’s composure broke and she charged out to embrace her…child? Yes, Arlon had observed mammalian species with their offspring more times than he could count throughout his long life, and there was no other way to characterize what Orion was to Torenia. He was her child, and now she was watching him being taken away, and Arlon was unable to stop it from happening, and he realized that consciously or unconsciously, she would resent him for it. And he would resent himself for it as well.

    The two hugged for over a minute before they released each other, Orion wrapping his powerful arm around her shoulder and walking her back toward Arlon and Roller, the youth smiling and saying pleasantries to those they passed; nobility and commoners alike had come to love and honor him. The pair finally made it to the members of House Pax, and Orion exchanged laughter and hugs with all of them. None of them knew of the potential danger of losing him to the Honorums. Even he and Roller truly didn’t know, they only saw the fear in Torenia, and realized that there was something about Orion’s origins that would allow the ruling house of Nova Cronum to make some sort of claim to him. What that was, they could only guess; A-Three had assured them that Orion’s frame had not come from any known hotspot in Nova Cronum, but still, there was something that Torenia was afraid of, and that fear was specific to the Honorums.

    Orion walked over, grinning widely at Roller. “Who’s going to keep you out of trouble with me gone?”

    Roller punched him in the shoulder. “Nobody, which means you’ll need to come back often to bail me out. Of course, if that plan actually ends up working I think that old goat Ironhide may start arresting me without cause just to get you back in the precinct house. He won’t be able to function without you doing all the heavy lifting anymore.”

    “Ironhide will be just fine without me getting in his way.” Orion smiled, then hugged his best friend. “I’m going to miss you.”

    “Me too, brother.” Roller replied as he squeezed hard before releasing him. “You know that’s what you are, right? Slag tradition, slag protocol; I couldn’t give two shits about what pool you crawled out from, frankly I’d rather not know, because in my mind, you may have well crawled out right next to me.”

    Arlon remained stoic. Technically he should admonish Roller for the statement; he was a noble, a royal, and such a belief was taboo in their culture. But their culture be damned, Arlon’s internal mechanisms twisted at the idea that he counter what Roller said in any way. Orion was theirs, he belonged with them; he was one of them. By Primus, he was one of them.

    “Let’s not get all sappy, you high-born dandy.” Orion chuckled.

    Roller laughed despite his sadness. “Piss off you common mule. I hope Prowl puts you through the ringer. If anything, you’ll be back all too soon.”

    “True, I’m just scared of the damage you’ll do while I’m gone though.” Orion answered, giving Roller a slap on the shoulder before moving on to Arlon and bowing his head. “Lord Pax, please know how grateful I am for all that you’ve done for me. I doubt I’d have survived were it not for the grace and kindness of your family. All that I am is what you have taught me, what’s honorable, what’s just, what’s right; these are things that I will take with me everywhere I go and try to leave a lasting imprint of.”

    “Raise your head.” Arlon instructed the youth, who did as he was told. His composure would not fail. “The Honorums will treat you well, there is great honor in serving their house, even temporarily.”

    “Yes my lord.” Orion replied humbly. “I will respect and abide by all the Honorums bid of me, but know that all I do will be to honor House Pax.”

    “You wish to honor House Pax?” Arlon questioned. “Then treat the lowliest of citizens with the same respect you would me.”

    Orion smiled broadly, his blue optics shining brightly. “That is why I will honor House Pax…always. All that I am is what you have taught me. What’s honorable, what’s just, what’s right, and compassion for every living being; these are things that I will take with me everywhere I go and try to leave a lasting imprint of. Your ideals are my ideals, and I am so proud to have them. My every action will be to devoted to making Cybertron better for all, you have my word.”

    Arlon’s composure faltered, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “It is House Pax that is grateful and honored to have had you with us these past few months. We will be incomplete with you away. We will be less with you away. You may have been taught our values and ideals, but it is you that we have looked to and will continue to look to as an example of those values and ideals. Take what you’ve learned, and know that those back home will always be proud of you.” Arlon smiled as he watched the youth nod and turn toward the transport, and decided that later that day he would call upon A-Three to help him make some legal arrangements regarding Orion. It would have to be approved by the house, but he knew full well that wouldn’t be an issue. It was a major decision, but he knew to the very core of his spark it was the right thing to do. “And Orion, this will always be your home.”

    Orion turned his head back and smiled widely at the bestial robot. “Thank you my lord.” The youth turned once more to Torenia and smiled. “My lady.”

    “Oh, don’t call me that!” Torenia mockingly scolded and she shot forward and embraced Orion again. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

    “I will be back.” Orion replied. “We do live a long time you know, vorns from now you won’t even remember me being gone.”

    “Long lives make us foolish.” Torenia replied, her face pressed against Orion’s chest. “I see the organics, the mortal creatures, cherishing every moment with one another, recognizing how precious their loved ones are and that their time with them is so very limited. Immortals take these things for granted, thinking there will always be more time with those we love. I pray for more time, but I will never take the time I have with you for granted. You have added so much to my life, you are my son, and you will always be my son. Now be safe, and come back to me whole and filled with life experiences.”

    “Of course…mother.” Orion said, then forced himself away and headed into the shuttle.


    ***


    Militus Macht


    “My lord, Megatron is here.” The small gray servant announced to the Emir of Polyhex as he was seated on his throne.

    It had been the throne Jugatus Macht had ruled from, controlling Polyhex from it with absolute authority until the threat of Galvatron had forced him to accept the conqueror into his house to appease him and direct his ambitious aggression outward toward other emirates, and then parted with even more power later as Galvatron was stalemated and all emirates were forced into ceding much of their authority to a newly formed central government ruled by the Senate and the Prime. It wasn’t until two million years after these events that Militus had been born to House Macht, and then two million years more before he had arranged for the untimely demise of Jugatus in an accident and taken his place as emir. An all but toothless emir that had to either have senate approval of his actions, or act in secrecy, a fact that infuriated him. “Send him in.”

    Militus rose from the throne, descended the stairs to the floor and approached the large, ornate metal door that the gladiator would be escorted through. A moment later the chrome warrior pushed the door open and walked in, smiling and ever so slightly bowing his head as he caught site of the Emir. “Lord Macht.”

    “Welcome Megatron.” Militus passed by a table, reaching over and grabbing a goblet of engex as he made his way forward, but failing to grab a second goblet for his guest. “You’re ready for the pits. Hell, you’re way beyond ready, but Terminus convinced me to hold off on having you fight until it was certain that you’d obliterate everything in your path.” Militus turned abruptly before reaching Megatron, took a swig of engex without breaking his stride and continued toward a side hallway. Megatron followed after him. “You’ll always have your work cut out for you with Grimlock, and a few others may pose a challenge for you, but barring that handful, you’re ready even by Terminus’s worrisomely high standards. He has served my house well for longer than I can remember, and to that limited recollection his requests concerning your preparation have been his only requests, so I gave him that.” They continued down the hallway, passing trophy cases, statues of prominent members of House Macht and other decorative artifacts. “And ultimately I’m glad we waited. True, a few have found out about you and your potential, but for the most part your existence remains unknown. And now you’ve been honed to perfection. You’ll come out of nowhere, the mysterious new champion of House Macht, and be a destructive force of nature, bringing glory and riches to us, and to yourself as well.”

    “I appreciate the opportunity Lord Macht.” Megatron replied with a grin, taking in every detail of the hallway and what he could see of the rooms that they passed. “I also appreciate you making your library available to me. The opportunity to educate myself is nearly as valuable as the opportunity to attain wealth and glory.”

    “Fine, fine, I want you to be smart.” Militus replied. “I demand that my champion be a excellent representative of the House. Some of the fighters out there are complete morons, and that reflects poorly on those they represent. But no matter how smart you become, always remember your place.”

    “I will always present myself favorably, and those I represent will look all the better for their connection to me.” Megatron replied, admiring the decorations and appreciating the historical significance of many of the items on display. “And I will always remember where it is that I come from.” An undertone of venom, one too faint for Militus to detect, was present in Megatron’s voice.

    “That is good to hear.” Militus said as they approached a heavily fortified metal door. “It is with that in mind that I would like to show you my House’s most sacred artifact.” A series of red lights shot out from the wall and scanned the two robots. The lights encasing Militus faded to green and then vanished, but the ones on Megatron remained red, and two large ion canons emerged from the walls. “Militus Macht allowing entrance to Megatron of Tarn.”

    An automated voice emerged from the wall. “Spark match to scan on record for Megatron of Tarn. Entrance approved.”

    The large door rolled open, revealing a vast room with even more ornate pieces of art and other artifacts displayed prominently about. The two entered, and while Megatron would normally be very interested in any item in the room, he was immediately drawn toward the encased object in the center of the room. Past the statues, past the scrolls and metal carvings, Megatron and Militus passed them all, not stopping until they were looking upon a large black fusion canon under thick transparent metal casing. “The canon of Machtus. As pristine and flawless today as it was fifteen million years ago when it was presented to the founder of my house. Legend has it that during the sparkeater plague, prior to the Knights of Cybertron joining forces, Machtus rallied Kaon and later all of Polyhex, forming not only an army but organizing all of the scientists, smiths and other tradesmen into creating weapons for this army. In addition to creating arms for the rank and file, the greatest minds of this group set about forming a weapon worthy of Machtus himself. It is said he was very large, very powerful, possessing a green spark, and with this in mind they made a weapon only he could wield. A canon with a nuclear generator housed within, capable of generating a fusion blast that could raze cities and decimate armies. It was with this that he punched through the legions of sparkeaters, rallying with the other Knights, and then leading the charge to push the demons north, up to the polar wastelands and then deep into the bowels of the planet, sealing them within. This was the greatest weapon ever forged, and it is the only known artifact from that war to survive the ages, apart from the Tartarun Gates themselves that is.” Militus described the weapon with obvious pride and awe, and for once Megatron did not need to pretend to be as impressed with something as Militus was. “Perhaps the greatest achievement of my house is the care we’ve taken with preserving its perfection. No erosion, no decay, no wear of any kind. Galvatron wanted to use it for himself; fortunately Jugatus was able to appease him with a recreation that reportedly matched the original in power and durability.”

    “So it can be recreated?” Megatron asked, studying the weapon with obvious envy.

    “Well, the recreation was not exact. Though while it was not the same, the destructive capabilities were close enough so that Galvatron was more than pleased with what he got.” Militus explained. “But according to legend, the original remained unequalled in the eyes of all who witnessed both.” Militus chuckled. “Of course, this many years later I would be more than happy to have Galvatron’s weapon recovered and to give it an honored place here next to Mactus’s.” Megatron continued staring at the canon as Militus walked next to him. “Look upon this object of perfection, and know that you, like it, are a representation of House Macht’s power, greatness and glory. Much is expected of you now Megatron.”

    “I will be worthy.” Megatron replied, his optics still glued to the canon.


    ***


    Sentinel Prime


    Prowl never shut up. True, he was beyond valuable to Sentinel, always had been, he was perhaps the most valuable asset House Honorum had…well, no, let’s not go that far. The wealth, influence, holdings, energon deposits, and various other things were far more valuable than Prowl, but as far as commoners go, he was by far the most useful. Hell, he wasn’t even a commoner anymore, he was a vassal. Sentinel had given him his own title and holdings, though he kept his low nobility to himself, apparently afraid he’d be treated differently by his underlings. Of course he’d be treated differently by them, he’d be treated better by them. But the grunt wanted to remain being seen as a grunt. Fine, his choice.

    But however he wanted himself viewed in terms of his social standing, there was no hiding the fact that he was an analytical nightmare to anyone within audio reception range. Yes, some of the details he constantly spewed were very useful, but most of the time it just gave Sentinel a headache. “I understand Prowl, please see to the details, delegate accordingly, whatever, you’re more than capable of dealing with the Guiding Hand followers’ pilgrimage.”

    “Understood sir.” Prowl replied, standing in front of the large window that Prime was looking out of at the view of Iacon. Cybertropolis was the capital, and where the Prime was supposed to be located most of the time, but Iacon was not only Sentinel’s home, but the most influential city on the planet. “Next, I’d like to discuss…”

    “How’s the new kid working out?” Sentinel Prime interrupted.

    “New kid?” Prowl asked, thrown for a moment by the interruption and new topic. “Oh, Orion. Quite well actually. These last two weeks have proven very beneficial for both him and us, and despite his age we’ve entered him in the Academy, remote training of course so that we can have him patrolling here in Iacon.”

    “Good, I want him on the streets.” Prime replied, staring past Prowl out over his city. “Your friend Ironhide has done a fine job teaching him the basics, and we can use him here.”

    “Well, he’s not really my frie…”

    “Plus I think we need to keep a closer eye on him.” Sentinel Prime added.

    “Why is that, sir?” Prowl asked, but at seeing Prime’s optics shift from an appraising look at the city to a stern glare into his own optics, he realized what his leader was referring to. “Yes, I am aware that he has been visiting the Autobot prisoners.”

    “And this doesn’t concern you?” Prime asked.

    “It’s…well, yes, I suppose it’s a little troubling.” Prowl replied hesitantly. “But it’s not in violation of any law or rule, and he’s followed every protocol for visiting prisoners, so I don’t see what action I can take.”

    “None.” Sentinel Prime replied, shifting his gaze back out the window. “At least none right now. But keep your optics on him. I brought him here because he shows great potential, but the last thing I need is someone rocking the boat. Especially some commoner raised and educated as a royal. His very existence alone might blur lines that aren’t meant to be blurred, and Autobots putting ideas in his head will only make that worse.”

    “Of course sir, I’ll keep you abreast of all he does and who he sees.” Prowl replied. “I’ll wait for your instruction on whether some sort of intervention is needed.”

    “Good.” Prime answered, his disinterest growing. “Is there anything else?”

    “Yes Prime.” Prowl came back. “I have received word that Nightbeat is currently off-world. I know he is on a personal assignment for you, so I won’t ask for details regarding what he is doing, but I would like to know when I can expect to have him back at my disposal.”

    “When he’s done.” Prime replied. “I do wish I could give you a more firm timeline than that, but unfortunately I truly don’t know how long this will take him. Honestly, it probably will take him a great deal of time; I wish that wasn’t the case, but you really should plan on not having him around for the foreseeable future.”

    “I…I understand.” Prowl replied, not altogether satisfied with the answer, but knowing that was the best he was going to get.

    “Now, unless the next thing on your list involves Iacon burning, I’d like to table it for later and be alone for awhile.” Sentinel stated as he rose from his chair and walked past Prowl to peer out the window more directly.

    “Of course sir.” Prowl replied. “Contact me if you need anything.”

    Sentinel continued staring out the window until he hear the door shut behind Prowl. “Computer, prepare table for holographic projection of a memory.”

    “Source of memory?” The automated voice asked.

    “Brain module of Sentinel Prime.” Prime replied as he turned away from the window, walked to the table in the center of the room, and sat down.

    “There exist inherent dangers with directly interfacing a brain module.” The voice explained.

    “Noted…for the millionth time. Proceed none the less.” Prime replied, plugging a cord from the table into his neck.

    “Acknowledged.” The voice replied. “Enable accessibility of memory and direct.” Sentinel nodded as he mentally made the adjustments and led the invasive programming toward what he wished to see brought to life. “Memory found, recreation commencing.”

    Lights burst forth from the tabletop, and they began forming images, primarily the image of a large predominantly orange and maroon robot with a silver face smiling back at whoever was looking at it. “So you want to know how I knew I would be the greatest of Primes, huh?”

    “Yes sir.” Sentinel’s disembodied voice shot back enthusiastically, a voice that seemed younger, less cynical and less arrogant.

    The robot’s smile broadened. “Look kid, you can call me Guardian…wait, scratch that. We’re brothers, born of House Honorum, the greatest of all of Cybertron’s houses, and you and I, well, let’s face it, we were born to be the greatest of the Honorums. Call me Gallus, and know that you’re the only one to call me Gallus.”

    “Of course si…Gallus!” Sentinel’s younger voice replied with glee. “Thank you.”

    “So, let’s see, oh yes,” the image of Guardian Prime continued, “I had made quite a name for myself, fought in and won many battles, which was unique in that nobody else could do squat against Galvatron’s forces. But I fought, and I won, and I kept winning. And I talked. I made speeches, I rallied the nobles, I rallied the commoners, I rallied everyone. They all were quick to join my cause, to follow me into battle, and I ran across some general from Uraya, and, well, OK, I may have misspoken when I said I was the only one to have any success against Galvatron, because I guess this guy had won a battle or two as well. But nowhere near the success I had had.”

    “Who was he?” The young Sentinel asked.

    “Not really sure. He gave me a commoner name, though for some reason he struck me as noble.” Guardian Prime answered, his face taking a look of deep reflection. “It was so long ago, but I even thought he may have been from House Trion. Not sure, probably because he said he was originally from the Crystal City. Anyway, soon into combining our effort he took me into private and told me I was destined for greatness, that I was the one that he had been waiting for, that I was the Prime who was Promised. I had no idea of what he was talking about, so he recited this prophesy, one given by some aliens that had visited intelligent creatures on this planet that predated us. Anyway, he said the prophesy was about me.”

    “What was the prophesy?” The younger voice asked excitedly.

    Guardian Prime grinned widely before answering. “And you, Iacon in the land of Nova Cronum, are by no means the least among the rulers of Cybertron; for from a region within your borders, a land of great life but barren of sparks, will come a Prime who will shepherd the peoples of Cybertron, and be the salvation for the peoples of many worlds. He shall be a hunter of peace, but an astounding warrior, who will ensure the right to freedom for all.”

    There was a pause as the young Sentinel took this in. “It’s you…except the Honorus Pool is not barren.”

    “It was at the time of this prophesy.” Guardian Prime noted.

    “Oh,” Sentinel’s young voice replied, “then yes, it’s you.” The images flickered and disappeared as Sentinel Prime withdrew the jack from his neck. “No,” he said as he stood, a broad smile etched on his face, “it’s me.”


    ***


    Blaster


    The first couple times the cadet visited him Blaster was sure it was some sort of set-up, some scheme to get him to divulge information on the other Autobots. By the third time this Orion came with his questions Blaster was starting to wonder if the young robot could be genuine. Now he was nearly convinced; no, he wouldn’t be giving the cop-wannabe any details about his organization or its members, but Orion had yet to ask anything along those lines. “Back again, huh kid?”

    “Yes.” Orion said as he came to a stop in front of the bars humming with electricity. “If this is in any way an inco…”

    “Inconvenience I’ll be happy to go.” Blaster these words from Orion when he said it the last time that he visited. “Relax kid, I’m kinda warmin’ up to you.” Blaster looked the youth over. “You look a little worn.”

    “Just finished four hours of combat training with Delta and Ultra Magnus.” Orion explained. “They know their stuff, and they’re pretty damn strong.”

    “I should hope so, they’re layered in armored enhancements.” Blaster replied. “I actually don’t mind House Magnus all that much, they’re just a bit too rigid with the law and order stuff. Everything has to be by the book with them.”

    “I think that would be a good thing.” Orion said as he leaned against the wall behind him. “But I forgot, you’re fighting the system.”

    “No, the system is fighting us.” Blaster corrected. “We started out with peaceful protests, distribution of fliers, manifestos, broadcasts and so on, all law-abiding, orderly and by the book. It’s the powers that be that came at us and started the fighting. Even now, the most extensive damage we do involves elaborate pranks.”

    “You assaulted the Prime and his entourage.” Orion replied.

    “You call that an assault?” Blaster grinned.

    “Yes I do.” Orion replied. “So will the courts.”

    “You call it assault, the courts will call it attempted murder, or Primicide, or whatever.” Blaster responded.

    “No they won’t.” Orion countered.

    Blaster laughed. “You really have spend your entire life in the Torus Heights, haven’t you?”

    “Aside from these last couple of weeks, yes.” Orion answered. “What does that have to do with this?”

    “It has everything to do with this.” Blaster explained. “Look kid, if there were thirteen Arlon Pax’s ruling the thirteen emirates of Cybertron, we Autobots wouldn’t exist. Commoners have rights in the Torus Heights, they are entitled to an education, they are entitled to safety and security; for crying out loud, the words of House Pax aren’t about their honor or greatness, it’s ‘Freedom is the Right of All Sentient Beings’. But that philosophy ends at the Heights’ borders.” The captive peered intently at the young robot. “You’ve been here a couple weeks, surely you’ve seen enough to know things are done a bit differently here in Iacon.”

    Orion nodded and looked down. “Yes, I’ve seen things that I…do not agree with.” He then looked back up at the prisoner. “But change can occur within the confines of the law.”

    “Ha!” Blaster laughed. “The laws, while a long way from being just, would be sufficient for me were it not for one simple fact; they don’t apply to lords and ladies.”

    “The constitution and laws apply to every citizen of Cybertron.” Orion replied, though he had seen enough to know how childish that sounded.

    “You really are a kid.” Blaster smiled at him. “I like you. Unfortunately I’ll probably not like you once you’ve reached the point where reality and self-preservation overwrite your sense of idealism.”

    “I was raised by House Pax.” Orion replied. “I will undoubtedly lose my naiveté, but I will always fight for true justice.”

    “Well Orion of House Pax,” Blaster replied with a sad but light-hearted chuckle, “I genuinely hope you never change.”


    ***


    Ogrus Onyx


    “Single combat has been played out.” Ogrus announced to the hulking gray and yellow robot standing by the door of the large room surrounded by guards. “Oh, there will always be single combat, and it will always be popular and most likely the heart of the games, but it’s time to branch out.” The Emir of Nyon rose from his chair, walking across the floor but maintaining a very safe distance from the heavily shackled robot. “I may despise the inclusion of Ankmor into our fighting circuit, but they’ve breathed new life into the events, adding themes to the battles, including team fights and full scale battle reenactments.”

    “I fight alone.” The unwilling guest growled.

    “You fight in whatever manner I want you to fight!” Ogrus snarled, stomping toward the subdued warrior but stopping well out of the range of any sort of danger. “The only reason you’re still alive is because you fight, and win, for me! Never forget that!”

    “The only reason you’re still alive is because you enable me to fight, and win, for me!” The warrior grumbled. “Otherwise I’d have found away out of these shackles and eaten your spark years ago.”

    “Such insubordination will lead to your smelting, Grimlock!” Ogrus snarled.

    “Do your worst!” Grimlock roared, lunging forward, causing Ogrus to jerk away and fall to the floor. The six hulking guards all set upon him, but he merely laughed at their efforts to subdue or punish him. He merely wanted to humiliate the head of House Onyx, and upon succeeding he just stared and laughed, shrugging off the beating. He swatted away a couple of the guards and addressed Ogrus one more time. “Hun-Grr and his training partners already fight very well together, use them for your battles.”

    “I will.” Ogrus grumbled as he rose back to his feet. “But I want you as well. Starscream Nexus…”

    “HA!” The thunderous sound of Grimlock’s genuine laugh shook some of the decorations in the room. “There’s no way that ego-maniacal glory-whore is fighting with a team!”

    Ogrus snorted. “You’re right, but he has put one together, and they’ve wiped out every team they’ve faced, including one I put together. And to add insult to injury, he’s modified their shells into bestial forms.”

    “Who’s on this team?” Grimlock chuckled.

    “Razorclaw, Divebomb,”

    “Rampage, Tantrum and Headstrong.” Grimlock finished the list. “Razorclaw’s tribe.”

    “You know of his tribal affiliation?” Ogrus asked, genuinely surprised.

    “Some fighters fight better in the proximity of specific individuals.” Grimlock explained. “Hun-Grr’s team are drawn to one another, as does Razorclaw’s team.”

    “So we’ll need to get you a tribe.” Ogrus suggested. “If it makes you fight better…”

    “No, this isn’t common. In fact, it’s so rare almost nobody knows about it. Those it affects rarely if ever notice it. I’ve just been around enough to have seen it. Some people are just inexplicably drawn to other people, they typically share common interests, so maybe it’s not all that inexplicable, but there’s more to it than just common interests, and it makes them…better.” Grimlock looked down as he explained, but then turned to peer directly at Ogrus. “But as I said, it’s beyond rare, and it definitely doesn’t apply to me.”

    Ogrus shrugged. “Interesting, but ultimately it doesn’t matter whether it applied to you or not. You will fight on a team, one that I’ve already selected for you.” The Emir walked back to his thrown and sat down. “Though this should be seen as good news by you. While you may not share a spark-based romantic pull toward them,”

    Grimlock chuckled. “I’d be happy to refer to Razorclaw, Hun-Grr and their crews as needy, emotional, candy-ass romantics, but the fact is that the pull has nothing to do with the attraction I have for certain femmes, or that you have for turbo-foxes.”

    “Silence!” Ogrus stood up and roared, enraged at the insult but recognizing that he couldn’t, or rather wouldn’t, act on it. “You will report to the pit and begin training with your team! I have selected Swoop,”

    “Scrawny beanpole.”

    “Snarl,”

    “Whiney bitch.”

    “Sludge,”

    “Moron. Wait, no,”

    “and Sl…”

    “No!”

    “ag.”

    “Shit!”


    ***


    Orion


    It was a slow night in central Iacon, though a slow night here was at least fifty times busier and more dangerous than the busiest of nights in Polarus. Orion drove through the street, maneuvering like a street racer half his size. While the bustle and sheer number of people seemed daunting his first couple of days, he had quickly grown accustomed to it and was now more proficient at getting around than most natives. The people were ruder, more impatient, and far more self-involved than the people of Polarus, but Orion was growing to like them for the most part. Of course, there were always exceptions, and the sight of six large robots dragging two smaller robots out of a pub and into the street was a good reminder of that. Orion sped ahead, weaving between other Cybertronians in vehicle mode and the occasional ground shuttle until he reached the skirmish and transformed. “Enough!”

    “Piss off, this is none of your business!” One of the large, well-polished aggressors barked out at him.

    “Iacon Constabulary!” Orion barked back. “Release those citizens and stand down!”

    The apparent leader of the group chuckled and walked toward Orion, but turned his head back to address his friends. “Keep these two warm for me, I’ll be right back.” He continued toward the red and blue robot, stopping in front of him. He was large, the same height and bulk as Orion, but less tapered in the waist. “Funny, I know all the cops in Iacon, but I don’t recognize you.”

    Orion glared at him. “I am Orion of Polarus, and I suggest you instruct your friends to release those two or things are going to turn very ugly for you very fast.”

    The other robot displayed a grin. “Ah, you’re new, I get it. No harm done, you just don’t know.”

    “I must not.” Orion replied. “What I do know is that if those two are not released in five seconds, I will be taking you and all your friends down and have you arrested.”

    “Whoah, settle down hero.” The arrogant robot replied angrily. “Shut up and listen before you get yourself in trouble. My name is Lucox Honorum.” The arrogant royal stared intently at Orion, fully expecting a look of shock and submission to come over the constable’s face. When none came a surprised Lucox continued. “You have heard of House Honorum where you’re from, haven’t you?”

    “Of course. I’m here at the behest of Sentinel Prime.” Orion replied. “And that has no bearing on the fact that you and your friends will either release those individuals, or I will make you release those individuals.”

    “Excuse me?” Lucox said disbelievingly. “Are you slaggin’ kidding me? You need to go back to the precinct house and have someone explain how things work here.”

    “I have a complete understanding of the legal code, I am well aware of how things work here, and you and your friends are now under arrest.” Orion replied. “Turn and submit to apprehension or I will have to apprehend you forcibly.”

    “Slag you, you foreign low-born piece of shit!” Lucox roared as he took a swing at Orion’s head. Orion caught the flying fist in his hand, gave a crooked grin before head-butting the Honorum in the face, sending him to the ground.

    The five other members of Lucox’s group immediately released the two they were holding and charged Orion. “I am an officer of the law,” Orion warned as he easily dodge the first attack, and parried away the second, “you will be charged with assaulting a peace officer unless you stand down right now!”

    The two that had already attacked Orion and been pushed away regained their balance and stood on either side of the officer while the other two helped Lucox up. “Bitch, you have no idea of what you just did.” Lucox growled. “I’ve been trained in hand to hand combat by Sentinel Prime himself, I’m fitted with the best light weight armor and have had high end press-enhancements added in as well.” He gave Orion an arrogant grin. “And my friends are pretty damn enhanced too. While you, hell, you look pretty raw. Some tires and motors slapped on a birthday suit.”

    “It’s good you’ve all been upgraded.” Orion allowed himself a little bravado. “I won’t to hold back…well, not as much as I would have.”

    Lucox chuckled. “Kick is ass boys.”

    For the next four minutes they charged and attacked the lone constable, the five of them swarming on Orion. After the four minutes, they were all on the ground, battered, several broken limbs, a lot of leaking fluids, and more than a little bit of whimpering, and above them all stood Orion. “You are all under arrest.”

    Lucox Honorum turned his battered and dented face up to glare at Orion. “Your life, is over.”


    ***


    Exponum One


    They had taken common transportation, a royal shuttle had no place anywhere in Polyhex, unless of course it was a Macht shuttle, and even then one needed to be careful in Rodion. But Exponum had made this journey many times before, and felt very comfortable with the trip. Well, perhaps not this time. He looked over to his family member Elita Solus, and worried for her safety. She was beyond proficient in hand to hand combat, but in this environment the numbers would be against them should things go badly, and even the best fighters couldn’t do much against multiple opponents. Fortunately he saw his friend waving to them from in front of the transport he had had for several vorns, a large, gray, boring but reliable cargo-hauler with an equally boring cab. Exponum smiled at his old friend. “Ratchet, it’s so good to see you again.”

    “Hello Exponum, great to see you too.” Ratchet said as they shook wrists, turning to look at the femme next to the Emir of Axiom. “And this must be Lady Elita of House Solus. How are you my lady?”

    “Please, just Elita.” Elita replied smiling at the old doctor. “Exponum has told me so much about you.”

    “I don’t mean to rush,” Exponum interrupted, “but I’d like to load the supplies and get to the safety of your clinic.”

    “Of course.” Ratchet replied. Rodion had been his home for several vorns, but he knew how treacherous it could be. “Why don’t the two of you get in the cab and I’ll load the supplies.”

    “No, we’re more than capable…”

    “Thank you Ratchet, that’s a great idea.” Exponum interrupted Elita and led her to the transport. Once inside the cab he continued. “It’s not about labor, my child, it’s about safety.”

    “Why, because I’m a femme?” Elita snapped. “I can mop the floor with any one of these guys.”

    “Yes, and you may do alright against two, perhaps even hold your own against three, but they’ll swarm you if they sense there’s even the most meager thing to gain from it.” Exponum replied. “This is nothing like Hyperious. Crime is simply the way of life here, honor is an alien concept, they will take what they want from you and then use your body in whatever way they wish.”

    “Use my body?” Elita asked. “For what?”

    Exponum stared straight ahead and fidgeted uncomfortably. “Have you ever heard of spark mingling?”

    “Yes, but it’s not true.” Elita replied. “Something degenerates concocted as a way to replicate sexual intercourse for us.”

    “Well my dear, there are a great many degenerates here.” Exponum replied as they heard the thuds of the boxes of supplies they had brought from Axiom being loaded in the back.

    “Then why are we helping them?” Elita asked.

    “Because there are also a lot of good people here too.” Exponum replied. “Our authority ends at the borders of Axiom, but the good we can do need not.”

    “Yes, do what we can do, help who we can help, until all are one in contentment and happiness.” Elita rattled off. “Perhaps those should be our words.”

    “I would have no problem if they were.” Exponun replied with a smile. “But even though they’re not, they are good words to live by.”

    “Yes sir.” Elita replied, looking out the window at the hordes of individuals, nearly all worn down and in various states of disrepair, walking through the streets, most seemingly aimlessly. She studied these unfortunate souls for several minutes before the driver’s side door swung open and Ratchet climbed in.

    “On to the safety of your clinic.” Exponum announced enthusiastically as Ratchet pulled away from the curb.

    “Yeah, safety.” Ratchet replied. “It really has been awhile since you’ve been here, hasn’t it?”

    “How much could it have changed?” Exponum asked, but noting that things did seem a bit worse outside than he remembered.

    “Well, there’s this fighting circuit that, depending on the House, either the nobles are secretly sponsoring or plugging their heads in the sand about.” Ratchet looked over at his guests. “No offense.”

    “None taken.” Both members of House Solus replied in unison.

    “Anyway, from what I can tell there’s a major training facility around here, and they sometimes have their tournaments here. In fact, based on how the locals have been acting lately, I think there’s something going on now.” Ratchet explained. “So with this underground fight club, the drugs, gambling and all the other wonderful things that accompany money-making illicit campaigns have come to town…well, more than there was before.”

    “Has this affected your clinic?” Exponum asked, a little worry in his voice.

    “Well, more people needing medical help, and whereas before most of the help I provided was for neglect, accidents or the occasional injuries due to violence, I’m now dealing almost exclusively with victims of violent crime or speeder overdoses.” Ratchet grumbled. “And I’m losing patients. It slaggin’ kills me, but some of these poor souls are losing their sparks to all of this nonsense.”

    “I’ve heard of the circuit.” Elita whispered, but loud enough for them to hear. “But I’ve also heard that Sentinel Prime, and Zeta Prime before him were actively trying to bring it down.”

    “Not actively enough.” Ratchet mumbled. “Zeta’s dead, probably killed by the gangsters running this thing, and now that he’s Prime and no longer Security Chief, Sentinel won’t care until dead bodies start showing up in Iacon.”

    Elita turned and stared in amazement at Ratchet. Her head turned back to Exponum as she felt his hand rest on her shoulder. “My friend Ratchet has no problem speaking his mind, even in regards to the Prime. I trust you’ll take the statements as they’re meant to be taken, my dear.”

    “Heh, the kid isn’t used to the voice of dissent.” Ratchet chuckled.

    “I’m used to it, but I’m used to it being delivered with far more respect.” Elita replied. “He is the Prime after all.”

    Ratchet paused for a moment before responding. “Hopefully you’re taking Exponum’s request to take my statements as they’re meant to be taken to heart, but I’m old enough to remember a time when Prime’s were chosen by the Matrix, not chosen by senators doing the bidding of the high houses of the lands they come from and represent.”

    “So you don’t consider Sentinel, or Zeta for that matter, to be real Primes?” Elita asked, eliciting a chuckle from Exponum.

    “Nope.” Ratchet replied. “And Sentinel can come down here and beat me up all he wants, but it won’t change my opinion.”

    “I’m not sure I like your cynical attitude toward our senate or our chosen Prime.” Elita replied. “But you are entitled to your opinion.”

    “Thank you my lady.” Ratchet replied, a hint of mirth in his voice.

    “You probably aren’t fond of nobles or royals, are you?” Elita pressed.

    “Depends on the nobles or royals we’re talking about.” Ratchet replied.

    “The system of noble and ruling houses.” Elita clarified.

    “Oh, that.” Ratchet muttered as he turned the vehicle onto a smaller road. “Yeah, not a fan of it.”

    Elita glared at the medic. “Are you an Autobot?”

    Ratchet laughed. “Not ambitious enough to be an Autobot. They want to change the world, I don’t.”

    “And yet you’re running a clinic far from your home, in what may be the worst city on the planet.” Exponum pointed out.

    “I’m in for fixing a few boo-boos, not unseating the system that has run our society for fifteen million years.” Ratchet replied, directing the truck around a bot that was passed out in the middle of the road.

    “Our system has only been around for eight million years.” Elita replied.

    “The senate has only been around for eight, but people crawling out of the same pits that spawned the Knights of Cybertron and demanding dominance because of it has been going on for nearly twice that time.” Ratchet explained. “Gallus Honorum couldn’t stand up against Galvatron’s army without a few hundred thousand commoners doing the grunt work, and to win us over he needed to toss us a bone.” Ratchet pulled up to a decrepit looking building and came to a stop. “That bone was the senate, an organization that supposedly was meant to hear our voices and take them into account, but, well, yeah.” Ratchet explained as he got out of the truck and shut the door.

    Elita looked to Exponum in disbelief at how the commoner doctor had spoken to her, and was met by a broad smile from her elder. “It’s tough to hear my dear, but he’s right.”

    “This is treason.” Elita grumbled.

    “No, this is three friends having a discussion.” Exponum explained. “You say you made friends with a Pax, this should be nothing new to you. If anything, the Royal House of Pax is a more commoner-friendly than my friend Ratchet.” He chuckled as she groaned a reply. “And remember, he is a friend, and someone who is doing a tremendous amount of good in an area that is completely neglected by the noble and royal houses around here. We do help, but it’s sending a few supplies and visiting from time to time. Ratchet uprooted his existence, left an amazingly lucrative practice to help who he could help here. We’ll be going home in a few hours; this is his existence.”

    Elita nodded. “Yes sir, he does what he can do, he helps who he can help, and he does a much better job of both than we do.”

    “He does a very different job of both than we do.” Exponum replied. “We lack his skills, but we have resources. But in order to make the most of our resources, we must do it from the throne of Axiom.”

    Elita nodded again. “I understand. And I suppose that the good he does more than offsets the anti-establishment ideas he spews.”

    Suddenly the door swung open and Ratchet poked his head into the cab. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

    “Why?” Exponum asked. “What’s going on?” Ratchet disappeared but came back with an unconscious robot. “Primus, is that Stitch?”

    “Yes, he’ll be OK, but we need to get out of here.” Ratchet reiterated as he shoved the non-moving Stitch into the laps of his guests.

    “But wouldn’t we be better able to treat him in the clinic?” Elita asked.

    “Whoever did this is still here!” Ratchet grumbled. Elita stared at the doctor for a moment before pushing past Exponum and jumping out of the cab. “Elita, get your ass back in here!” Ratchet roared.

    “They wouldn’t dare touch a member of Axiom’s ruling family!” She spat back as she marched toward the front door.

    “Yes they slaggin’ would!” Ratchet roared as he jumped out and ran around the truck to stop her from going inside. He was too late, watching as she marched right in. Exponum followed him in as well, and watched in horror as two large thugs stepped in front of Elita and planted a hand on each shoulder.

    “Clinic’s closed!” One of the thugs announced, pushing Elita back.

    “Got it, we’ll see ourselves out.” Ratchet replied, grabbing Elita by the arm and trying to pull her toward the door.

    Elita jerked her arm away and walked back toward the thugs. “This is the property of Ratchet, he determines whether the clinic is open or not!” She spat, looking from one set of optics to the other. “And this is a medical clinic. People who need help find it here. How dare you interfere with that? How dare you keep people from getting treatment that may save their life?”

    The two thugs looked at each other and suppressed laughter. “Look femme, I suggest you get the slag out of here before we decide that you’ll never get the slag out of here.”

    “Bring it!” Elita challenged, and took on a fighter’s stance.

    “I’m sorry, but did I hear that the proprietor of this fine medical establishment was present?” A voice from the back rang out, causing the thugs to stop their advance on Elita. A moment later a boxy tan and purple robot marched out and smiled broadly at them. “Hello.” He marched forward and extended his hand toward Ratchet. “Ratchet is it?” He noted the hesitant nod from the boxy white and red robot. “Great. How would you like to make a few credits doing what you normally do?”

    “If I were that interested in credits, I’d still be in the Crystal City.” Ratchet replied, but considered the situation. “How many patients and what’s wrong with them?”

    The tan and purple intruder smiled broadly. “Just one. Right leg is mangled, might need a complete replacement. Lots of other dings, but his internal systems can handle those.”

    Ratchet nodded. “His injuries, how were they sustained?”

    The other robot shrugged and shifted his body uncomfortably. “Welllll,”

    “I know it was in the course of committing a crime, but there are gradients to crimes, and certain levels of scumbags that I won’t offer my help to.”

    Ratchet’s explanation brought a smile to the criminal’s face. “Yes, it was a criminal activity, but nobody was victimized.”

    “Gladiator?” Ratchet asked, exasperation clear in his voice.

    “Gladiator.” The boxy criminal replied.

    “Alright, bring me to him,” Ratchet said, “but first, your associates are going to apologize to the lady. Second, we’re going to wake up my associate and anyone who touched him will apologize to him as well. And these apologies, they better be sincere or I’ll make it so that you’re gladiator is going to be wearing his spark on the outside of his frame. Oh, and while I don’t want any money from this, you will be reimbursing me for every expense that occurs from this. Got it?”

    “More than fair.” The gangster, Swindle, looked to his henchmen.

    Both henchmen nodded and looked to Elita. “We’re sorry.” They said in unison.

    “They’ll revive your associate and make amends with him as well.” Swindle assured Ratchet.

    “Fine, take me to my patient.” Ratchet grumbled. They walked down the hallway and into a room where an exquisite looking but scuffed up yellow robot was standing in the corner and a brawny red robot with a destroyed right leg. “Sweet Primus, you really got your ass handed to you, didn’t you?”

    The red robot shrugged. “It was three on one, and I won.” He looked down at his leg. “Believe it or not, the other guys are worse.”

    “Uh huh.” Ratchet replied as he got to work on the leg. “So why aren’t they here?”

    “They’re locals.” The red robot, Sideswipe, replied. “And they fight for a noble house, so they’ve got their own set up. And as Swindle here’s a”

    “No names!” Swindle growled. “I assumed the Autobots would have taught you the importance of operating incognito.”

    “Yeah, this guy is going to bust you out to whatever passes for law enforcement in this shithole.” The pretty yellow one snickered.

    “Anyway, being commoners our noble hosts did not feel inclined to offer their medical facilities and staff to us, sooooo, we decided to use your clinic.” Sideswipe finished explaining.

    “Guiding Hand, you really tore this up.” Ratchet grumbled as he scrutinized the injury closely. “This will take most of the day.” He then looked to Swindle. “I’ll patch him up, then you get out of here and never come back.” The annoyed medic then turned back to his red patient and pointed at him. “I never want to see this guy on my table again.”


    ***


    Prowl


    It had been years since he had stepped foot in this particular precinct house. According to reports it had started out as a slow night, but given the bustle of activity going on now, that had changed. But Prowl wasn’t interested in the overall level of crime, he was only interested in one particular incident. As he walked through the front area he caught the notice of the desk sergeant, who frowned and shook his head. “He beat you here. Already with the young lord and his friends, getting their side of things.”

    “And the kid?” Prowl asked as he stopped in front of the desk.

    “We have him in Interrogation Room C.” The sergeant, a moderately maintained bulky orange robot, replied. “Ran a full med scan on him a couple hours ago. Sent the results to House Honorum the moment we had them. They said they were the only ones to have access to the results, but I did get a copy for you, figuring you’d be the one to be doing any leg work concerning them.” The sergeant said as he handed Prowl a data pad.

    “Thank you sergeant.” Prowl said, taking the pad and heading toward the room in question.

    “It’s a real shame.” The sergeant called out. “The kid was a natural.”

    Prowl just continued on, ignoring the comment and passing through the dozens of robots between the front office and the interrogation rooms. He finally got to the room they were holding him in, and he entered. There, seated at the table in the center of the room was Orion. Prowl shook his head. “Did you know he was an Honorum.”

    Orion nodded. “Yes, he identified himself.”

    “Did you have any reason to doubt the veracity of his claim?”

    “No, I knew he was telling the truth.” Orion answered.

    Prowl just stared at him a moment. “Come on kid, give me something to work with here.”

    “All I have is the truth.” Orion replied, devoid of fear or any degree of remorse.

    Prowl let out a pained chuckle before leaning toward the young commoner. “Do you have any idea of what you’ve done?”

    Orion nodded. “My job.”

    Prowl sat in a chair across from the youngster. “You truly don’t know how things work, do you?”

    “On the contrary, I’m well aware of how things work.” Orion replied. “But just because they work that way, that they’ve always worked that way, does not make them right. I will be prosecuted, I will be punished, both legally and socially, I will be made an example of, I may even be killed, but I will be right.” The powerful young robot shrugged. “And that’s all I strive to be.”

    “Primus,” Prowl grumbled as he rubbed his hand over his head, “you are a Pax.”

    Orion smiled. “Thank you. I’d say you are an Honorum, but you seem genuinely conflicted by what’s about to happen to me.”

    Prowl looked at the robot with an expressionless face. “Let’s keep that our little secret. You’re allowed to do that, aren’t you?”

    Orion nodded. “Yes, I can keep most secrets, and that one seems innocuous enough.”

    Prowl stared sadly at the cadet. “I’m sorry kid, but I really don’t see how I can help you.”

    Orion shrugged, laconically accepting his fate. “I know you can’t. I will have my say, I will honestly explain what happened and how I was justified, and if that’s not enough, then so be it.”

    The door was suddenly thrown open and Sentinel Prime stormed in. “What the slag did you think you were doing?” He roared at the young captive.

    Orion, not cowed at all, merely stared up at the Prime and replied in a calm steady voice. “Upholding the law and protecting citizens.”

    “You laid your hands on a royal!” Prime bellowed. “A member of MY House!”

    “He and his friends were assaulting two individuals.” Orion explained, knowing it was pointless but doing so anyway. “I ordered them to stop, they refused. Your kinsman identified himself, expecting that his name would allow him to do whatever he wished and that I would back off.”

    “His name does allow him to do whatever he wishes!” Prime snarled.

    “The law says otherwise.” Orion replied. “Guardian Prime said otherwise.”

    Sentinel Prime leaned forward and planted his palms on the table, glaring heatedly into Orion’s optics. “Guardian Prime is dead; I’m not. You really should have been more cognizant of what I want, not what he said to shut the mouths of the countless common shits out there.” Sentinel stood back up and smiled condescendingly down at Orion. “Some commoners can become more than shit. Prowl here is a lord, with lands and a title. I gave him those because he proved he was more than his common origin. You had the potential to do the same. You’re smart, you’re physically gifted, but you have a downside that more than offsets those positives. You forgot your origins. You forgot you were shit. Had you waited until one of your betters had enhanced your status in some way, you might have been OK feeling entitled to certain airs…not what you did tonight, you’d never be permitted to do that, but you could get away with a few things. But you thought being some sort of constable in training entitled you to lay hands on and assault a member of the highest house on the planet. Lucox emerged from the great Pool of Honorus, as did I, as did Gallus Honorum, as did Honorus himself!” Sentinel Prime growled. “You didn’t even emerge from the Pool of Paxus.” Sentinel Prime straightened up to his full height and pulled out a data pad. “You somehow emerged from a mountain on Insula Avalonius.”

    “What?” Prowl coughed out. “That’s impossible.”

    Sentinel Prime crossed his arms and nodded, never breaking his glare at the cadet that had beaten down his kinsman. “I had a scan run on him, always knew the Paxes were hiding something about this kid’s origins, and the dumb shit gave me the perfect pretext to dig into it.” The Prime shook his head, almost humorously. “The database couldn’t make heads or tails of his composition. It was damn near alien. In the end we had to have our satellites conduct deep geologic scans to find materials that could create this…thing.” His explanation to Prowl over, he now directed his words back toward Orion. “You’re not just some common shit born somewhere in the Torus Heights,” Prime leaned in again, planted his hands on the table again, and brought his face to within inches of Orion’s, “you’re a freak of nature who was born well within the borders of Iacon, which means that your ass is mine even more so than it already was.”

    Orion continued staring at him, still devoid of fear, but recognizing his situation was much, much worse than he had assumed it had been.
     
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  8. ARCTrooperAlpha

    ARCTrooperAlpha Well-Known Member

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    well.........f**K !!!!
     
  9. Mongoose Fire

    Mongoose Fire Active Member

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    Great story... love it. Can't wait for the next update!
     
  10. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Jazz


    They were screwed. There was no two ways about it, they would be tried for attacking the Prime and whatever other charges Prowl could trump up against them, and they would be either executed or stuck working in the deepest pits of the Honorum mines until their bodies got too worn to sustain their sparks any further. Even if Perceptor could get the Lord Commander of the Wardens to speak on their behalf, it would do them little good, and chances are Kup would refuse to lift a finger to help them; Perceptor had obtained proper leave to attend to personal matters, but his vows to remain apolitical were still in place until his tour with the Wardens came to a close. No, they were screwed.

    What made it all the worse was that they were separated. Jazz was surrounded by cells, but they were either empty or occasionally occupied with strangers who would come and go before he really got a chance to get to know any of them. As the corridor doors started to click, indicating they were being unlocked, he prepared for another short-term prisoner to pass the time gabbing with. The sound of footsteps bounced off the wall, the same familiar ones of the four guards that always escorted the new prisoners to their cells, and the one unknown set belonging to the new prisoner. Jazz had made a game of trying to derive information about the new prisoner based on the sounds of his or her footfalls. Based on the stride, someone likely tall with long legs, based on the sound, heavy, no, light, nooooo, large, but light on their feet, likely a good athlete. While there was no way to glean any details involving color from the footsteps, Jazz guessed the newcomer to be green, with white or cream face and extremities. The group rounded the corner and stopped in front of the cell across the hall from Jazz, opened the cell door and pushed the prisoner in, shutting the door behind him. The guards quickly walked away, leaving Jazz to stare at the robot that had been the cause of he and his comrades’ incarceration. “You!”

    The other robot looked across the hall at the seated Jazz rising to his feet, glaring angrily at him, and simply nodded. “Hello Jazz, my name is Orion.”

    “I know your damn name!” Jazz snarled. “You kicked my ass on a roof and then jumped down from that roof to kick my ass some more! Trust me, I’m not forgetting your name.”

    “Yes, but we’d yet to be properly introduced.” Orion replied, remaining amicable. “I’ve met with Blaster and Perceptor several times, but I had not gotten a chance to speak with you yet.”

    Jazz peered quizzically at the robot across from him. “So you got yourself arrested just to have this chat?”

    Orion laughed. “No, of course not.” He peered down at the ground for a moment. “I’m being charged with assault on a member of a royal house.” He looked up and saw Jazz’s optics widen in surprise. “I arrested Lucox Honorum and a few of his friends for assault outside of a bar in downtown Iacon. They resisted, so…”

    Jazz nodded. “Right. But why did you arrest him. You had to know he was an Honorum.”

    “Yes, he told me. But it didn’t matter, he was breaking the law.” Orion answered. “Nobody is above the law.”

    Jazz laughed. “I’m afraid they are everywhere outside the Torus Heights, kid.”

    Orion looked off to the left. “That needs to change.”

    Jazz backed up and sat back down. “You know, I should be rejoicing at hearing this. Lucox and his prissy noble sycophant bitch squad catch a beating, and the guy who landed me and my pals in this dungeon is getting in trouble for it.” The Autobot looked his apprehender over a bit more before continuing. “But you’re just a naïve kid who did what he thought was right in Polarus, so it’s hard to take pleasure in your misfortune, despite the ringing I still have in my head from that punch of yours.”

    “What I did in Polarus was right.” Orion curtly corrected. “I may be at odds with Sentinel Prime and customs he’s trying to keep in place, but that doesn’t change the fact that your group was assaulting him in Polarus and needed to be stopped.”

    “We were using glue guns, for Primus’s sake!” Jazz grumbled. “And even then we minded our P’s and Q’s until the Primal goon squad was ordered to come and get us.”

    “I’ve already debated this with Blaster several times,” Orion replied, “and while I recognize your frustrations and the failings in the system, I cannot accept your course of action in Polarus as being in any way justifiable.”

    Jazz shrugged and gave a chortle. “You’re about to be given a hundred vorns of hard labor for these royal shits you’re defending, you know that, right?”

    Orion’s optic darted away but he nodded. “Yes, that’s likely what’s going to happen.”

    Jazz leaned back against the wall. “Yeah, sorry kid, you don’t deserve that fate. Neither of us do really. But at least you can entertain me by telling me about the beating you gave Lucox and his bros.”

    Orion shrugged. “As I said, it was outside a public house in downtown Iacon. He and four of his friends were dragging out two small robots, clearly intent on beating them. I intervened, Lucox walked over to me and explained who he was with the expectation that I would leave and allow him to do whatever he was planning on doing. I didn’t, we discussed the situation for a bit before I informed him that he and his friends were under arrest, he took a swing, and, well, it all devolved from there.”

    Jazz grumbled. “Look buddy, we’re going to be down here for at least several hours, probably much, much longer, so the glossing over of the good parts is very annoying.”

    “I’m not proud of the violence I was forced to employ.” Orion explained.

    “Yeah, maybe, but you’re slagging brilliant at it if I remember correctly, and Lucox Honorum is more than deserving of whatever you did to him, so spill.” Jazz insisted.

    “I’m sorry for your continued boredom, but I will not be describing the violence used to apprehend suspects.” Orion replied.

    “Fine, whatever.” Jazz grumbled. “Were the two little bots at least appreciative of what you did. You may have been ignorant as to what you bought for yourself, but they must have known you just sacrificed any hope of a normal life to keep them from a temporary hurtin’.”

    “Yes, they seemed very appreciative.” Orion replied. “Though the yellow one disappeared right after the aggressors were subdued. He yelled thanks, then disappeared.”

    Jazz chuckled. “Probably had an outstanding warrant.”

    Orion shrugged. “I considered that, but I ran a scan on the name his friend provided me and no, there were no open warrants or anything else that would have aroused police interest.”

    “What was his name?” Jazz asked.

    “Hubcap.” Orion replied, noting Jazz’s optics getting wider and a slight grin coming over his face at hearing the name. “He’s an Autobot, isn’t he?”

    “What?” Jazz replied less than convincingly. “Never heard of him.”

    “That could be why he ran.” Orion said.

    Jazz smiled at Orion. “That’s not why he ran.”

    “So he is an Autobot?” Orion smiled.

    “Not saying that.” Jazz replied. “But I may have heard his name come up before, something about him being adept at all things media related. And as he seems to be at odds with at least some of the fancy-pants nobles, and as he was rescued by your common-born ass…” the prisoner’s grin widened, “he may have ducked out early to make sure the truth had an outlet before the Honorums sealed it up…again.”

    “Meaning what?” Orion asked.

    Jazz leaned forward and peered intently at Orion. “You were justified in doing what you did, right?”

    “Yes.”

    Jazz cocked an eyebrow under his visor. “You were by the book in every way; nothing you did could be used against you if it were displayed in its entirety, right?”

    “Everything was by the book.” Orion clarified.

    “Then maybe, just maybe, this Hubcap, whoever he may be, might just return the favor you did him.” Jazz leaned back and smiled.


    ***


    N’che


    The screen was divided into three sections, each displaying a different face. The first was mammalian and nearly covered in fur, the second was reptilian, with green scales and sharp teeth in a room so warm and humid that the steam around him was visible, and the third was gray, with a different type of scales covering the face, these being almost armor-like, and all looking back at him expectantly. The being, also mammalian but hairless and possessing an olive green skin nodded to those on the screen to whom he was communicating. “I understand their concerns, but you must let your friends from Quintessa know that at the very least I must meet with this individual. It depends on what it is he is seeking, but in all likelihood I will refuse him, and I certainly will not suggest or entertain any idea that they be considered for admittance into the Galactic Council.”

    “Our friends feel we should take this individual into custody, interrogate him and learn all about the world he comes from, and perhaps prepare an invasion.” The reptilian being stated. “According to them, these beings hail from their world of origin, that these machines are manufactured beings with artificial intelligence that was advanced enough to let them think of themselves as living beings, and that they rose up and took what was rightfully the Quintesson homeworld.”

    “I appreciate their position,” the four-armed green alien replied, “but your friends have proven themselves to be dishonest on more than a few occasions, which is why they are no longer members of the Council. I will listen to their input, their apparent immortality is undeniably valuable, but ultimately the Council makes its own decisions, and it is not here to facilitate planetary conquests for other species.” He then looked to the other two creatures. “Is there anything else?”

    “Negative.” They replied in unison.

    “Excellent. I will forward the results of the meeting to all members of the Council.” The dark-green skinned creature replied. “N’che out.” He flipped a switch, causing the screen to go black. He then pressed a button on the array in front of him. “Malkas, please send this…Nightbeat in.” N’che leaned back in his chair and looked to the door. A moment later a blue and yellow robot walked into the room, standing roughly fifteen feet in height and fairly bulky, it appeared roughly the size of a large Ilxian. “Greetings Nightbeat, I appreciate the distance you have traveled. So why are you here?”

    “Thank you for meeting with me, Commander N’che, I have come in search of a Cybertronian vessel that has been lost.” Nightbeat replied.

    “Your fluency with our language is nearly perfect.” N’che courteously commented. “As for this missing ship of yours, I have no knowledge of any Cybertronian craft in our space. And I mean, EVER in our space.”

    “Languages are easily deciphered and downloaded by and into our brain modules Commander.” Nightbeat replied. “As for our ship, it has been missing for over one million years, so given that the majority of your members are mortals, it is unlikely that you would have any remotely current knowledge or data regarding it.”

    “One million years.” N’che replied, giving the robot a look of incredulity. “That predates the origin of a great many intelligent species. It even pre-dates the origins of some of our member species.”

    “I understand, Commander, but as this ship was the last major undertaking on our part to explore distant parts of the galaxy, whatever data you have on our species may include information on this ship.” Nightbeat answered.

    N’che rolled his eyes as he tapped into the console he was seated at. “What we have on your species is little to say the least, but I’ll look. What is the name of this ship?”

    “It’s called the Manifest.” Nightbeat replied, praying that there would be information regarding it in this alien’s database. He studied the alien’s eyes closely, and noted the widening of the pupils and lids, knowing that the alien had found something. “Anything Commander?”

    “What can you tell me of Alpha Trion?” N’che asked, ignoring Nightbeat’s enthusiastic question.

    “Alpha…, uh,” Nightbeat was caught off guard, but provided what he knew of the Cybertronian in question, “he was an ancient Cybertronian, born into and headed House Trion for awhile. He was also the greatest scientist on our planet at the time, perhaps ever, and was the one to determine the true function of the Matrix.” Noting a perplexed expression on the alien’s face, he explained. “The Matrix is, well, it’s an object of great power and wisdom, but prior to Alpha Trion’s discovery its purpose was unknown, it was just a decorative bauble. But he was able to interact with it, something only he and three other individuals in our planet’s history have been recorded as being able to do. Upon his interaction with the Matrix he was given the name of Primon, our planet’s first Prime.”

    “So he is an individual of great respect and reverence on your world, correct?” N’che verified.

    “Yes, absolutely.” Nightbeat replied. “Though he is also called Primon the Abdicator because he stepped down to allow another he felt was better suited to rule as Prime. The Matrix accepted her, but she was killed in battle, so he reclaimed the Matrix and renewed his role as Prime. He engaged the warlord that had killed Prima, the second Prime, and both he and the warlord were killed; or so the legend goes.”

    “When was this?” N’che asked, still studying the screen in front of him.

    “Oh, about nine and a half million years ago.” Nightbeat replied, but noticed N’che’s head twist away from the screen and stare him in the optics.

    “Nine and a half million years ago?” N’che asked. “Are you sure?”

    “Well, no, it’s all just legends for the most part, but it was probably around then.” Nightbeat asked. “I’m not sure what this has to do with the Manifest.”

    N’che stared silently at Nightbeat for over a minute before finally replying. “Our database has nothing on the Manifest. I’m sorry I can be of no help to you in your quest. Please feel free to refuel your ship, and you may have access to any resources we have for sustenance, but I will be expecting you to be off our station by tomorrow evening.”

    Nightbeat looked at the alien, was tempted to appeal his dismissal, to beg him to look further into his data archives, but ultimately he knew it would be a futile effort. “Of course Commander, I thank you for your time, efforts and hospitality.”


    ***


    Soundwave


    They would need to be more careful if they were ever planning on holding an event near Harmonex. The roar of the crowd was thunderous, and despite the attempts at sound-proofing the structure, those in the vicinity would definitely be aware of something significant going on inside. Perhaps Scrapper and his crew could be employed to improve the sound-proofing and other shortcomings of the arenas used for these events. With the right offer, Soundwave was sure they’d be more than happy to accept the job.

    And with the wagers he had placed tonight, he would have more than enough non-traceable credits to hire whoever to do whatever for a very long time to come. The main event was of little interest to Soundwave, a battle between Skyquake and Lugnut; two brutish fliers who the fight fans regarded as ‘gatekeepers’, fighters not quite good enough to be considered in the elite, but powerful enough to defeat all but those top tier warriors. No, it was the fight before theirs, one between another gatekeeper, Hydrau, and a complete unknown from Tarn named Megatron. The odds had the fan favorite Hydrau as a thirty to one favorite. Soundwave had placed one hundred thousand credits on Megatron and was already planning on what he was going to do with the two million nine hundred thousand credits he would have after returning the borrowed one hundred thousand to the Torrent House accounts. He knew Lightwave would never notice it missing, and while Shockwave likely would notice, he knew he would keep Soundwave’s secret out of sheer disinterest if nothing else. The idea that he might lose the one hundred thousand never entered his head; he had seen Megatron in action, the Tarnian would never be defeated.

    The crowd roared as a light gray, red and blue jet zipped overhead, transformed and landed in the middle of the arena. The guest announcer had arrived. “Greetings fight fans!” Starscream called out through the voice amplified speakers in his mouth. “Do we have a treat for you tonight! As if the tremendous undercard we’ve given you wasn’t enough, we have three top-tier veteran war machines waiting to do what they do, and one up and comer who looks as though he was made to crush everyone and everything unfortunate enough to be in his path!” Starscream smiled at the uproarious crowd and waited for them to quiet down just a little bit. “Let me introduce you to him now. Hailing from Tarn, fighting out of Kaon, a physical specimen looking to beat a path to Grimlock himself, I give you…Megatron!”

    The boos from the crowd made a low rumble that caused a light vibration in the floor. If Soundwave had a mouth, he’d have smiled at the reaction. Perhaps it would push the odds further away from Megatron and give Soundwave an even bigger pay-out. The gladiator in question stepped out onto the floor and looked up at the booing crowd, giving them a genuine smile before graciously nodding his thanks to Starscream for the introduction. Starscream nodded graciously back before going on to introduce Megatron’s opponent. “You all know who he’ll be facing! The pride of the Hydrax Plateau, the warrior who takes out entire teams, the gladiator always willing to make it a mortality bout, I give you...HYDRAU!!!”

    The crowd exploded, all chanting the gladiator’s name in a rhythmic thunder. “HYDRAU! HYDRAU! HYDRAU!”

    Hydrau came running into the pit, a huge grin on his face and his own name plastered on the back of both of his shoulders. He trotted up to Starscream and pointed to his own throat, which caused Starscream to smile and nod, making some manual adjustment to his own throat while Hydrau did similar moments. A moment later Hydrau’s amplified voice was heard by all. “You all paid to see some beatings, but I’m more than happy to give you a killing for free!” The crowd roared at Hydrau’s offer, to which he smiled and raised both hands seemingly to embrace them all. It was an offer he had made prior to every fight with one exception. It was almost always turned down, even the most confident of fighters know that they can have a down night, and Hydrau was powerful enough to capitalize on it and kill them. Of those few that accepted, Hydrau either won and executed his opponent, battered his opponent to the point where even though they won, they didn’t have the strength left to end his life, or his opponents recognized the value of rematches and chose to let him live. The only time Hydrau didn’t make the offer was when he faced off against Grimlock, and it was fortunate that he didn’t. Grimlock may not have been allowed to kill him, but he came as close as he possibly could. It took Hydrau over a year before he was able to fight again. But Hydrau had made a full recovery, and was still as eager to offer every non-Grimlock gladiator a chance at killing him or death as he had ever been. He looked over at Megatron and waved for the crowd to be silent. They complied and Hydrau politely addressed his opponent. “Hello Megatron of Tarn, how would you like an opportunity to become a legend in your very first match?”

    The expectation was that Megatron would decline, keeping it a standard knock-out/submission match, and a new line of gambling indicated as much. The line was fifty to one in favor of him declining. Soundwave stretched out his perception to the warrior in question and politely made his mental presence known. ‘Greetings Megatron’.

    ‘Hello Soundwave’. Megatron replied mentally. ‘I suppose you’re wondering whether I’ll be accepting or not.’

    ‘Affirmative.’

    ‘Place your bet on a fatality. Which is unfortunate, I’ve enjoyed footage of Hydrau’s battles, it’ll be a shame when he’s gone.’

    Soundwave accessed the terminal at his seat and put another twenty thousand on the line. Megatron looked up at him and smiled before tapping his neck to activate the amplification settings. “Hydrau, it is an honor to face you for my first bout. You are a legend, and I have studied a great deal of your footage. You are an inspiration to so many young fighters…not me, but there are so many that look up to you. It truly is a shame that I will be killing you tonight.”

    The crowd went crazy, the cheering, the yelling, the sheer chaos was almost more than Soundwave’s enhanced senses could endure, but he did endure it and watched as the surprised Hydrau gave Megatron a glare followed by a malevolent smile, and Starscream roared with laughter and delight before raising his hands to address the audience. “I’m taking that as an acceptance!” The two fighters marched over to their designated starting circles and waited for Starscream to engage his foot thrusters and hover into the sky. “Megatron of Tarn, are you ready for this fatality bout?”

    “Yes.”

    Starscream then turned to the other fighter. “Hydrau of the Hydrax Plateau, are you ready for this fatality bout?”

    “Hydrau is always ready!” The fan favorite bellowed.

    “Then fight!” Starscream sang out before flying out into his special box in the stands.

    Hydrau charged the young newcomer and slammed him with a right cross, followed immediately by a left and then a snap kick that sent Megatron stumbling back. The three strikes garnered roars of approval from the crowd, but only got a broad grin out of Megatron. Hydrau charged again, throwing a wild flurry of punches, all of which Megatron blocked or parried with ease, eventually growing tired of demonstrating his defensive capabilities, Megatron grabbed one of Hydrau’s arms and flung him back. The newcomer waited for Hydrau to get back to his feet, and then the two marched at one another. Megatron’s right fist shot out like a blur, slamming heavily into Hydrau’s face and sending him flying back and to the ground.

    “My apologies Hydrau, I have no desire to separate you from any of your senses just yet.” Megatron taunted to the downed warrior. “Please, take your time, make sure you’re back to one hundred percent before getting up and re-engaging me.”

    “Eat mammalian shit, Tarnian scum!” Hydrau roared as he got back to his feet and charged Megatron. Megatron dodged his strikes again, simply pushing him back as he got too close, and overall just played with the veteran gladiator. “What’s the matter coward, afraid to trade blows with me?” Hydrau yelled at the chrome newcomer.

    Megatron smiled. “If that’s what you want.” He stepped forward, arms at his side. “You first.” With that Hydrau swung heavily with a right roundhouse, connecting perfectly with Megatron’s jaw. Megatron turned his head back forward, revealing a broad smile. “My turn.” Megatron followed suit, landing a thunderous right round house that tore the left side of Hydrau’s jaw from its housing and sending Hydrau to the ground.

    The crowd was silenced by the clear display of superiority on the part of this unknown. Megatron looked down at Hydrau. “Your turn.”

    Hydrau looked up at Megatron, terror in his optics. “Nnnnaaauu” he tried to say through his damaged mouth. “Ercy. Ercy, ease.”

    “Mercy?” Megatron questioned mockingly. “But it was you that pushed for this to be a fatality match, was it not?”

    “Orry. Ease, ercy.”

    Megatron looked down. “I bear you no ill will, Hydrau, I truly do not, but first impressions mean so much, so I’m afraid I must make this memorable.”

    “Rowd. Rowd. Ak da rowd.” Hydrau pleaded.

    Megatron looked down at the warrior. “Two things. One, we both know they want to see one of us die. Two, it is my will that the masses will bend to serve, not the other way around. Now get up, you aren’t beaten yet!”

    Megatron took a step back to allow Hydrau an opportunity to get to his feat. The veteran warrior climbed back up and got his bearings, raising his hands to prepare for further battle with the young powerhouse. Hydrau charged one last time at Megatron, one final desperate attempt to regain control of the fight. A straight left jab stopped him with enough force that he was falling back again, but an unstoppable over-hand right to Hydrau’s stomach folded him up, and a lightning quick left roundhouse caught his right side and sent his entire frame flying forty yards across the arena floor. Hydrau writhed in pain, but managed to push himself up to his feet before Megatron’s leisurely pace brought them back together. Hydrau swung desperately with his left hand, but the strike was dismissively pushed away and Megatron’s right fist came down from overhead and tore the already heavily damaged jaw completely away save for a lone strap of metal on the right side of Hydrau’s face that kept it connected.

    Hydrau whimpered lightly as Megatron delivered a left uppercut to his midsection that sent him flying up into the air and crashing back down. Megatron walked leisurely over to the downed opponent and stared down at him. “Pick which one gets pulled out; spark or brain module.”

    “Ooooo, eeee, oooo!”

    “Hmmm, well, as you refused to pick, I guess I’ll have to pull both out.” Megatron dropped to his knees, bringing both fists down in a pair of hammer strikes, one to the forehead, the other to the center of his chest. He then reached back up and drove his fingers back down into those same areas, gripping and tearing through until a smile came over his face. He then wrenched his hands out of Hydrau’s body, each clutching a vital organ and displaying it to the suddenly ravenous crowd. Megatron stood and marched around, holding the faded spark and brain module for all to see before tossing them both away and re-engaging his voice amplification settings. “Is there anyone else?” Megatron then looked to two of the preparation areas on either side of the arena where Lugnut and Skyquake were warming up. “Perhaps any-two else?”

    Lugnut and Skyquake looked to one another and shrugged. Skyquake looked back at Megatron. “Fine, two on one, but knock-out/submission, OK? No fatality.”

    Megatron smiled. “Fine. Come out and fight!” The crowd went crazy.


    ***


    A-Three


    They had left immediately upon hearing of what had happened and what was likely in store, which was good as Sentinel Prime seemed to have severely fast-tracked this. They were aware of the charges, they had read the reports filed by both Sentinel Prime and his kinsman Lucox Honorum, and they knew full well that the word ‘lies’ wasn’t enough to describe what had been written of young Orion. The only thing that had delayed them in the least was dealing with Roller’s refusal to remain at Tyger Pax. The young robot demanded that he be brought, forgetting his place in the House, and frankly, he could not of cared less. Even Arlon would not hold the momentary disrespect and insistence against the youth; his best friend was on trial, of course he would fight anyone to be there for him, but eventually they had made it clear to him that his presence would be more a detriment to Orion’s cause than an asset. And the fact that A-Three was leaving the Torus Heights for Cybertropolis, something that was unheard of, let Roller know that they were pulling out all the stops on Orion’s behalf.

    He, Arlon and Torenia had just arrived at the Senate and were marching their way in. Emir’s had seats behind the Co-Consuls, but Torenia and A-Three would have to sit up in the viewing section. There was no time for a separate section for nobility to be designated. But Arlon was the key person in the fight to help Orion, so they bid him good luck and headed up to the viewing section. It took nearly half an hour, but they finally found available seats, and they could see Arlon in his place behind the two highest ranking senators. “He has to get him out of this!” Torenia muttered insistently, the fear plain in her voice.

    “He will.” A-Three tried to assure her.

    “All rise!” The Senate Sergeant at Arms announced, and all present did as instructed. A moment later Sentinel Prime marched in and stood in the center of the forum.

    “Thank you all for coming.” Sentinel Prime addressed the senators. “I realize that this is outside of our due process, but I need for this to be dealt with quickly, and as it involves my House, it must be evaluated by the highest authority as to avoid any question of my influence. I recognize that the speed with which this is being tried has put the defendant at a slight disadvantage, but to offset that I have assigned not just a state-appointed advocate to fight for him, but will allow his defense to be performed by a senator.” Prime looked over the senators and smiled as his optics glided over Senator Proteus. “Does anyone volunteer to represent the defendant.”

    A low murmur went out, and after a moment Senator Proteus stood. “I will represent the defendant.”

    Sentinel Prime smiled and was about to accept when another voice called out.

    “I am also willing to represent the accused.” Senator Xaaron announced as he too stood up.

    Sentinel Prime stared at Xaaron with barely concealed anger for several moments before responding. “I thank you for your offer, Senator, but I think Senator Proteus…”

    “The defendant should have the right to choose his advocate for himself.” Arlon called out.

    “You are out of order, Emir Pax!” Prime snapped at the bestial robot.

    “Perhaps, and I will submit to the punishment for that,” Arlon replied, “but I am right none the less.”

    Sentinel Prime glared at Arlon, who met his gaze unflinchingly. Realizing he had no justification for refusing Orion’s right to choose, Sentinel relented. “Fine, the accused can pick his advocate! Bring him out to make his choice and face the charges!” Orion was led out in shackles and placed in the center of the forum, several steps from Sentinel Prime. Prime looked at the accused. “Choose your representative.”

    Orion looked at the two standing senators offering their assistance to them, and as his gaze passed between them he caught sight of Torenia and A-Three in the crowd. He saw A-Three nod toward Xaaron and he turned back to Sentinel Prime. “I choose Senator Xaaron.”

    Sentinel Prime’s face twitched slightly in anger, but he nodded. “So be it. Senator Xaaron, come down here and take your place next to the accused.” A few moments later Xaaron was standing next to Orion. “Orion of I…”

    “Your Grace, I have an important matter that must be addressed prior to initiating these proceedings.” Arlon Pax called out.

    Sentinel Prime whirled around and glared at the mechanical beast. “Another interruption, Lord Pax?”

    “It is pertinent, your Grace.” Arlon assured him.

    “It had better be!” Prime grumbled and waved for him to proceed.

    “Thank you Sentinel Prime.” Arlon said. “I am uploading documents related to Orion and his social status.” The senators and Sentinel Prime accessed their screens and looked at the file being uploaded. “As you can see, I have drawn up the legal paperwork to have Orion of Polarus adopted into House Pax. Please note that the approval has been given by every member of House Pax.”

    “I object!” Sentinel Prime roared. “This is clearly an attempt to mitigate the trouble this boy is in!”

    “Look at the date the documents were drawn up, your Grace.” Arlon replied immediately. “They were created the day he left for Iacon, long before any of this trouble came about.”

    “Do you expect me to believe that?” Sentinel Prime roared, but at hearing the absolute silence, realized that he may have made an mistake.

    “I apologize for not having a response at the ready,” Arlon calmly replied after a long pause, “this is the first time anyone has ever called my word into question.”

    A low rumble went out through the crowd as well as the senators, and Sentinel Prime looked up at them all and realized the he should not push in this direction any further. “Of course, Emir Pax, I was caught up in my role as prosecutor, it’s customary to call everything into question, I rescind my doubts as to when these documents were drawn up.” The rumble of the crowd grew louder. “But I still must contest your claim to this youth.”

    “On what grounds, your Grace?” Arlon asked.

    “On the grounds that this Orion is not from Polarus. Nor is he from Burthov or any roads in that vicinity.” Prime smiled at Arlon. “It took some looking, but Orion’s frame came into existence on the island of Avalonius, within the borders of Iacon. I can show you my evidence if you’d like.” Sentinel Prime followed Arlon’s optics as they darted up into the crowd. The Cybertronian leader turned and saw Torenia Pax, a look of despair and sorrow on her face before she covered it with her hands.

    “No your Grace,” Arlon replied sadly as he turned away from Torenia and looked to the floor, “I will not need to see your evidence.”

    “I might like to see it.” Senator Xaaron called out. “I’m sorry, but from what I understand, Insula Avalonius is barren of life. Well, let me amend that, it’s filled with life, but it’s barren of spark-based life. In our historical record, no spark has ever emerged from that island.”

    “I am aware of Avalonius’s traits and history, and that this is beyond rare, but the data confirms that this is Orion’s place of origin, and that is falls within Iacon’s bord…” Sentinel Prime’s optics grew wide, and he stared disbelievingly at the prisoner standing quietly in the center of the Senate Forum.

    “Your Grace, are you alright?” Orion asked, noting the Prime’s apparent disorientation.

    Prime continued staring at him a moment longer before getting his bearings and snapping at the youth. “I’m fine, you need only worry about yourself!”

    Orion nodded and then looked to the Co-Consuls, prompting everyone else to look to the Senate leaders as well. The primary Consul, Augustus Decimus pondered the situation for a few moments before delivering an answer. “The law is quite clear in this regard. As there is no contesting where the individual originates from, the House holding jurisdiction over the individual determines his fate until he reaches the age of self determination, at which time, provided he is free of debt, he will be free to do and travel as he wish or accept an invitation into any noble or royal House that provides him one.”

    “So until he reaches the age of self-determination, he cannot be admitted to a noble or royal House, is that correct?” Sentinel Prime said almost gleefully.

    “He may enter the House which holds jurisdiction over him, otherwise, no.” The Primary Co-Consul replied. “Do you with to offer him admittance to House Honorum, your Grace?”

    “Hell no.” Sentinel Prime replied with a smile. He then turned and faced the crowd. “With that out of the way, I would like to bring charges against this commoner.”

    A-Three watched sadly as Arlon could do nothing more to prevent this farce of a trial from taking place, but then watched as a athletically built, mid-sized black robot with a blue helmet ran into the forum and right up to Prowl. He whispered something to Prowl, who looked at him disbelievingly. The black robot handed him a data pad and Prowl scrutinized it. He saw the Security Chief mouth a profanity before walking into the center of the forum and approach Sentinel Prime. The already silent crowd seemed to hush even further as Prowl unexpectedly walked up to the Prime and whispered something to him, handing him the data pad as he did so.

    A look of disbelief and rage slowly came over Sentinel Prime’s face. Several moments passed, and during this the data pad in his grip shattered. Prowl continued looking up at him, and finally Prime hesitantly met his gaze. Still looking down at Prowl, Prime made an announcement to the forum. “New evidence has been brought to light. The State will be withdrawing the charges against Orion for now.” He turned and stormed out of the forum, Prowl following after him.

    Senator Xaaron was stunned for a moment before turning to Orion. “I think you’re free to go.” He nodded to a guard who marched over and disengaged the shackles from Orion’s wrists.

    Orion gave the senator a surprised smile. “Thank you Senator, I appreciate you stepping forward to help me.”

    “I didn’t do anything, Orion Pax.” Senator Xaaron chuckled.

    “Huh, no, I’m not…”

    “Yes you are!” Arlon approached them. “You may not be a noble until you reach the age of self determination fourteen and a half years from now, but you may take any name you wish, including that of a noble or royal house provided they give their permission.” The bestial robot peered deeply into Orion’s optics. “And I think I’ve made it clear that we want you to have our name. We want you to be a part of our house. In time, I see you as the Emir of the Torus Heights.”

    “In time, he may be more than that.” A-Three said as he and Torenia approached them, Torenia shooting out and wrapping Orion in a tight embrace.

    Arlon looked to A-Three. “Meaning?”

    A-Three thought quietly for a moment before shaking his head. “Nothing. Never mind.”


    ***


    Mindwipe


    “I hate cops.” The dark, winged robot noted to his two comrades in the subterranean chamber they were in, all of them watching a large screen split into two scenes, one showing the security footage of a confrontation between a constable-in-training named Orion and five individuals outside a bar, the other showing the recently aborted trial of Orion in the Senate Forum. “But as much as I hate them, I hate high-borns even more. Northern high-borns especially.” He chuckled. “Nice to see ol’ Sentinel eating a rod.”

    “How the hell did this footage get out?” Another darkly colored robot asked him.

    “Not sure, Bugly.” The winged robot replied.

    “My guess is the Autobots.” The third member replied, a large robot with several slender bestial limbs protruding from his back. “They seem to hate high-borns as much as you do, Mindwipe.”

    “Nobody hates high-borns as much as I do, Shokaract.” Mindwipe replied casually, but was startled as a buzz came from his wrist. He looked at the scrolling display on his wrist and then to his comrades. “The Torus Heights…polar region.”

    The other two excitedly sat upright and stared at him eagerly. Shokaract finally nodded his horrific looking head. “It’s them. Answer it.”

    Mindwipe nodded and opened the channel. “Hello.”

    “Pleasant greetings, is this Mindwipe?” The weathered voice came through.

    “It is. To whom am I speaking?” The winged robot replied.

    “I am Kup, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Tartarun Gates.” The voice replied. “I’m contacting you regarding your correspondence in which you indicated an interest in joining our order.”

    “Yes, I am very interested, Lord Commander.” Mindwipe replied eagerly, smiling at his comrades.

    “That’s good to hear.” Kup replied. “Tell me what you know of the order.”

    “Well, fifteen million years ago the planet was being overrun by an army of sparkeaters. The Knights of Cybertron arose from each of the emirates and raised the armies of the living to repel the sparkeaters north, to our planet’s very pole, where an immeasurably deep pit existed. The Knights and their army pushed the remaining sparkeaters into the pit, sealed it numerous times and stationed the legendary guardian Omega Supreme there to stand eternally vigil. The Wardens were established a short time after that to aid the Guardian and protect the realms of the living from the horrors trapped within the pit.” Mindwipe replied.

    “That’s a pretty good history lesson, and a better answer than I get from most prospective recruits.” Kup replied. “But I want to make sure you recognized the commitment you will need to make. Each tour you commit to…”

    “Lasts for an entire vorn, yes, I know.” Mindwipe replied eagerly. “And upon initiation of that tour, I am to close all non-official contact and abandon all business or personal matters for the duration of my time as Warden.”

    “Correct.” Kup answered. “It’s a much larger commitment than that statement makes it sound. I just want to make sure you understand what you’d be getting yourself into.”

    “I understand, Lord Commander, and I still wish to serve and protect the land of the living from the horrors that dwell below.” Mindwipe replied. “I am ready to take my place at your side.”

    “Alright then,” Kup responded, a bit of surprise in his voice, “I will make ready your arrival. I look forward to meeting you, Mindwipe.”

    “I look forward to it as well, Lord Commander.” Mindwipe grinned, and waited for the sound of Kup severing the connection before turning off his communicator. He then looked up at his comrades. “It is beginning, my brothers.”

    “Excellent!” Bugly announced. “We have been waiting for too long.”

    “Do they still call out to you, brother?” Shokaract asked.

    Mindwipe nodded. “Yes, I hear their cries for freedom louder now than ever, as well as their vows to make us like them. To give us the power we crave; that we deserve.”

    “The power to consume the life of our enemies…” Bugly mused.

    “Of our friends.” Shokaract added.

    “Of all living beings.” Mindwipe continued. “We shall consume them all, we will rule over the non-living wasteland, and then spread our chaos throughout the galaxy.

    Shokaract began chuckling. “It has finally begun.”


    ***


    Nightbeat


    The Vikor was a vast, powerful warship. The Galactic Council referred to it as a peace-keeping craft, and it certainly went a long way toward keeping the peace, but the weapons at its disposal made it clear that it was fully capable of waging war like few other constructs in the galaxy. And it was just one of the ‘peace-keeping’ tools at the disposal of the Galactic Council. They were supremely powerful, they had little in the way of threats or opposition, and that was likely the main reason Nightbeat had such an easy time bypassing their security measures and gaining access to the Vikor. He slipped through the opened door, jacked into the control panel on the inside of the room to verify that his blocks to the security sensors were still in place, and then snuck over to the main computer terminal.

    He jacked in and began sorting through the data. It was the most efficient filing system that he had ever come across, but the virtually limitless amount of data could make this take much longer than the amount of time he had at his disposal. But in all likelihood he would not be getting another chance at this, so he had to make it work. He sorted through different repositories of data, finding nothing before deciding that retracing N’che’s steps might be a good start. Sifting through the recent files, he came across what his host had accessed earlier. A report, or rather, a warning from someone calling himself Alpha Trion of Cybertron. He then understood N’che’s surprise at Alpha Trion’s reported death occurring nine and a half million years before; this report was roughly one million years old. It was nearly contemporaneous with the launch and disappearance of The Manifest, and Nightbeat, being a detective, couldn’t accept that this was a coincidence.

    There were security blocks keeping him from the contents of the report, but it took him less than an hour to work his way through them. There were anti-duplication measures in place, and he was running short of time, so he would have to read it and hope he made it out to tell the tale. A moment later it popped up.

    ‘Esteemed members of the Galactic Council,

    I am Alpha Trion of Cybertron, a world that you have had virtually no contact with, but that you are very much aware of. I am contacting you to provide you with fair warning concerning a ship that launched from our world recently. The launch was successful, but there was an issue in the wormhole generation technology that landed the ship within the Benzuli Expanse, an anomaly that I am sure you are familiar with. While the placement of the ship within the expanse was such that it is intact, do not attempt a rescue effort. In all likelihood it would be futile, and were you to be successful, you might regret the attempt. The stated mission was one of exploration and diplomacy; I have compelling reason to believe that the ship’s captain, Guardian Prime, had another agenda. Leave the craft where it lies, no good can come of devoting any of your attention to it.’

    There it was. A contemporaneous document that all but confirmed Nightbeat’s long held belief that the Manifest’s mission had been sabotaged. Of course, he never would have guessed that someone claiming to be the long dead first Prime would claim responsibility, or that he would ward off scrutiny of other worldly organizations. But why would he sabotage the craft? Could his assertion that Guardian Prime was interested in more than just exploration be accurate, and if so, would that even justify such an act of sabotage and…Primicide? Only, the document claimed that the ship was intact within the Expanse, that while ill-advised, a rescue mission was possible. Or rather, might have been possible a million years ago. But if he had the resources to direct the ship into the Benzuli Expanse, then he would have had the resources to just have the ship blow up, killing them all immediately as opposed to a slow starvation.

    The Matrix. Of course, Nightbeat thought as he quietly made his way out of the room. Regardless of whether it was the real Alpha Trion or not, there were many reasons why someone would not want the Matrix obliterated. Which could also play a role into why he would throw the Galactic Council off the path of any sort of investigation or rescue mission. All they would need to do is wait for those on board to expire, and then...somehow get aboard the ship and retrieve the Matrix.

    Nightbeat cut through the hallways, avoiding the occasional sentry and finally made his way back to his ship, slipped inside and relaxed. “Hello Prime,” Nightbeat quietly practiced what he was going to say to his leader, “the good news is that I found the Manifest. The bad news is that as of a million years ago it was trapped within a completely inaccessible and thus far unquantifiable phenomenon in deep within the galaxy and even were the crew still alive, they and the ship are completely inaccessible; including the Matrix, which you want more than your kinsman because you’re a greedy slag who wants nothing more than to completely cement your position as Prime by sticking that trinket in your chest. Oh, and to top it all off, they were all murdered by the first Prime…eight and a half million years after he died.” Nightbeat slunk into the seat in his cockpit and prepared to power down for a few hours. “Yeah, really looking forward to reporting this. Prime’ll be thrilled.”


    ***


    Sentinel Prime


    “Can we discredit the footage?” Prime snapped as he and Prowl marched down the hall toward his quarters, or at least his quarters while he was in Cybertropolis.

    “I don’t believe so sir.” Prowl replied. “We can certainly try, but by this point the majority of the population is already convinced that the footage is authentic.”

    “I don’t care about the slagging rabble!” Prime growled.

    “Well, I don’t see it working with the nobility either, Prime.” Prowl explained. “You see, most of them know Lucox, and well,” Prowl hesitated slightly, not out of fear, just trying to phrase it correctly, but then giving up in that attempt, “let’s just say everything in that footage screams Lucox.”

    “Careful, Prowl.” Sentinel grumbled ominously. The statement prompted Prowl to stop dead in his tracks. Sentinel stopped and stared back at him. “What are you doing?”

    “Why did you select me?” Prowl asked, a hint of venom in his voice. Sentinel Prime considered the question for a moment and then turned his face as he realized where Prowl was going. “You picked me because I will give it to you straight. I will always give you the honest truth. I’ll try to be respectable and all that, but sometimes, like in this situation with Lucox, there’s just no way to completely polish a turd.” The smaller robot continued looking up at his leader, but his tone softened. “Frankly sir, according to the law, Orion did everything correctly. He was justified in every way, and Lucox, frankly, he should be sitting in a cell right now.”

    Sentinel turned back and glared at Prowl. “I know how Lucox is, damnit. And you’re right, there’s no getting the polishing cream back in the tube with that footage, but don’t ever, EVER defend that upstart little shit Orion. Do you understand?”

    “Clearly sir.” Prowl replied.

    Prime looked down at the ground in frustration. “How does he even exist?”

    Prowl pulled out a data pad and activated it, swiping through data until he got to the medical report. “Not sure sir, but they’ve collected samples from the island, they’ve compared them thoroughly against his scans, and yeah, he appears to be made of the dense metal native to Avalonius.”

    “But how?” Sentinel growled. “It can’t sustain a spark.”

    “They’re theorizing that enough power was generated by his spark to create his frame.” Prowl looked puzzled until he scrolled to the next page. “Ah, ignis superius, though even that doesn’t fully explain it.”

    “Igna, what?” Prime asked.

    “Green spark.” Prowl replied, his focus still on the report.

    “Of slagging course!” Prime bellowed and marched back toward his chambers, barking back at Prowl as he went. “Go find out how that footage got out of Iacon!”

    “Yes sir.” Prowl replied, turning and heading back down the hall.

    Sentinel Prime finally reached his door, and turned into his room as it slid open for him. “Open a secure line and wipe record of transmission once the conversation has been ended.”

    “Yes Prime.” The feminine automated voice replied. “Contact code?”

    “Lockdown, code ROTF-09.” Prime replied as he sat down and looked out the window in his dimly lit quarters.

    “Cancel that call.” A voice from the corner ordered.

    “Yes Prime.” The automated voice replied and did as instructed.

    Sentinel Prime lurched up to his feet and turned to face the individual in the shadows. “Who the hell are you? Do you know what I’ll do to you?” The form stepped out of the shadow so that Sentinel Prime could look upon his face. “I know you, you were sitting next to Torenia Pax in the forum today! Oh, if the Pax’s want a war…”

    “The Pax’s have no idea I’m here.” A-Three interrupted.

    “How did you get in here?” Prime snarled, standing menacingly in an attempt to intimidate the smaller robot.

    “I helped design this room.” A-Three replied, apparently oblivious to the implied threat coming from the Prime. He walked across the room and peered out the window over Cybertropolis. “This entire building actually. Truth be told, much of this city was built per my designs.”

    “I see.” Sentinel replied slowly. “A lunatic has somehow managed to get into my room. Great.”

    “Come now, Sentinel Honorum, would a lunatic really be able to bypass all of the security that you’ve put in place here and wait for you in your own room?” A-Three posed.

    “You can enlighten us on our security failings from a cell.” Prime replied. “I genuinely am looking forward to hearing that, I assure you.”

    “Well, before we get to that point, perhaps I should let you know why I’m visiting you.” A-Three countered as he took a seat adjacent to the large chair that was Sentinel’s, and Zeta’s before him, and Guardian’s before him. “It wasn’t just to interrupt your call to your assassin.”

    “Lockdown is a bounty hunter!” A defensive Sentinel snapped.

    “Lockdown is whatever he’s paid to be.” A-Three countered calmly. “And as Orion Pax is not wanted on any charges, I can only assume you were employing Lockdown to have him killed.”

    “Believe it or not, you crazy old fool, but Orion, and it’s just Orion, is barely a speck on the mountain of things I have to deal with.” Prime snarled.

    “It’s Orion Pax.” A-Three replied. “He may not be able to accept the rights and entitlements that go with the name, but he can, and has accepted the name itself. And I know you have a great many other things to concern yourself with, but you are most definitely focused on Orion. And it has little if anything to do with the perceived slight against your house anymore. No, you made the same connection regarding the boy that I did.”

    Sentinel’s optics widened, but he retained an otherwise surprise-free face. “And what connection is that?”

    A-Three studied Sentinel’s optics for several moments. “I didn’t think he told you. After all, you were so young when he went missing, and even if he told you, I would have doubted that you would remember. But at seeing the panic, the absolute terror at the realization that suddenly came over you in the forum a few hours ago, I knew. Gallus told you what I told him, and you believed that the reasons he and I felt the prophecy fit him applied every bit as much to you. And why not? It seemed reasonable, you emerged from the same pit he did, one that was deep within Iacon, barren at the time of the prophecy, you enjoy hunting even more than he did, you are a great warrior, and your life-long dedication to law enforcement could be interpreted as a quest for peace. So I can see why you felt you were the Prime who was promised. And I saw the devastation that went through you as you realized that another better fit the prophecy. That another fit,” A-Three looked up at the ceiling and a euphoric smile spread across his face, “perfectly.”

    “I have no idea of what you’re talking about.” Sentinel growled unconvincingly.

    “Really?” A-Three asked, a smirk on his face. “Please, I am not recording this conversation, and no other living soul has any knowledge of this prophecy. Let us drop the charade and speak honestly.”

    “Fine,” Sentinel grumbled as he took his seat, his throne, “let’s start with who you are.”

    A-Three nodded. “That is fair. I have gone by many names in the more than twelve million years I have been alive. The name I have gone by for the last million years is A-three, the name I gave Gallus when we met nearly eight million years ago was Atrium of Crystal City. For the roughly one and a half million years prior to that I bounced through names quite frequently in an attempt to hide who I was. You see, the world believed I had been killed in a horrific battle with Deathsaurus, my second with that monster, and I let them. I had long been weary of leadership, my connection to the Matrix was a tremendous burden that I rejected once before and only accepted again when it was absolutely necessary. So, when I awoke, an unidentifiable husk of a frame in a battlefield hospital, and heard that my forces recovered the Matrix from Deathsaurus’s palace, and that Nova Onyx had shown an affinity for it, I quietly rejoiced and set out to live a life of anonymity. It was during my life as Atrium that events once again forced me into action; another southern warlord, this one from Polyhex, had once again risen and killed the Prime, taking the Matrix back to his stronghold. I was on the cusp of revealing myself and reclaiming leadership again when I met Gallus Honorum, and knew he was worthy. I knew that he was not only worthy, but to the very core of my spark I believed him to be the Prime who was promised, the Prime the prophecy foretold. It was he who would light our darkest hour.”

    A sadness seemed to come over A-Three as Sentinel Prime just stared at him, his face a mixture of awe and skepticism, but beckoning the old robot to continue the tale. “And he did. Our forces battled those of Galvatron for…well, for a very long time. Millions were killed, but we finally turned the tide, gained the offensive, and Gallus led our forces deep into Polyhex, took Galvatron’s fortress at Kolkular where he was keeping the Matrix, still slick with Prime Nova’s fluids, and all my hopes seemed to be realized as Gallus took the Matrix, and it transformed him, enhanced him, turned him into Guardian Prime.” A-Three looked up at Sentinel Prime and smiled sadly. “And he was everything I hoped he would be, winning battles, negotiating a just and lasting peace for the entire planet, making enemies friends and creating a government that, at least in theory, would represent all. But you know all that. What you asked was who I am. Well, the name I was born with was Alpha Trion, as I connected with the Matrix that name changed to Primon. Hopefully that answers the question that you asked.”

    “It is a fantastic tale, old one, but I do not believe it.” Sentinel replied with a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

    A-Three smiled and looked up toward the ceiling. “Increase illumination settings.”

    “Yes Prime.” The feminine automated voice replied, and the dim room became brighter.

    “You are clearly familiar with this room and adept at manipulating the settings, but that doesn’t make you Primon!” Sentinel growled as he leaned forward a bit.

    “Fine, I have answered your question fully and honestly, I cannot force you to believe me.” A-Three replied, leaning forward a bit as well. “But know there are methods out there that can confirm my identity, and should anything happen to Orion Pax, I will reveal myself to the world and challenge your position as Prime.”

    Sentinel laughed, though the laugh was clearly forced and devoid of amusement. “Some fool declaring himself to be Primon the Abdicator, revealing himself to be alive after nine and a half million years?” Prime’s face took a stern look and he leaned back. “Even if you were who you claim, why would they want some coward renowned for avoiding the responsibility of leadership.”

    A-Three smiled. “I was chosen by the Matrix, you never were.”

    Sentinel Prime’s face displayed even more agitation, but another forced smile took shape. “That may change soon enough.”

    The first Prime stared at the current leader, at a loss for words for the first time in the conversation. He finally found his voice. “What do you mean by that?”

    “I will find the Manifest.” Sentinel growled quietly. “I will intern Gallus with the highest honors, I will claim the Matrix, and neither you nor that upstart island-born commoner will every lay optics on it.”

    A-Three leaned back and shrugged. “I wish you luck in your quest, so long as you are no threat to Orion or any other member of House Pax. If you do, well, the planet will have to decide between following a Prime chosen by the Matrix or one chosen by the Senate. And even if you were to be holding the Matrix, it would be clear that you possessed no affinity for it.”

    Sentinel Prime glared at his uninvited guest. “What makes you so sure? Am I not all that Gallus was?”

    “No.” A-Three replied, his face devoid of expression. “Not even close. And Gallus, even at his most noble and pure, was no Orion Pax.”

    “Enough!” Sentinel Prime lurched to his feet and roared. “I am graciously tolerating your referring to him as a Pax, even though he’s just a low-born slab of ore, but to insinuate that he’s worthy to be a Prime is enough to make be beat you senseless. To claim he’s greater than Gallus Honorum? I should pull your ancient head off and shove it up your ancient ass!” A smile came over his face as he glared down at the seated Primon the Abdicator. “In fact, there are many reasons why I should do that, and nothing that can prevent me from doing it.”

    A-Three sighed and pulled a small disk from a compartment on his wrist. “I was hoping this wouldn’t be necessary, but I knew that it would be.” With that A-Three flicked the disk onto Sentinel Prime’s broad chest. Sentinel Prime looked down at it just as it emitted a buzz and his body went limp, forcing him to collapse heavily to the floor. “I was genuinely expecting you to rise up and conduct yourself as a Prime, not as a spoiled entitled shit, but apparently my expectations were too high.” A-Three stood up and walked to stand over Sentinel Prime. “Just so we’re clear, as long as you refrain from acting against Orion or any other member of House Pax, I will remain in the shadows, making no claim to the title of Prime. If you do act against them I will see to it that all you hold dear is stripped from you, and that your legacy will be one of shame and corruption. And, should I deem it necessary, I will kill you. You wouldn’t be the first…” A-Three paused and thought before continuing, “corrupt leader that I have been forced to kill. Choose your actions carefully, and should you prove to be a good and noble leader, you shall never feel friction from me again.” The intruder turned and started walking toward the door. “As for your current condition, the device will burn itself out in ten minutes, you’ll be back to normal after that.” Sentinel Prime tried to struggle, but he was completely immobile, and all he could do was listen to his door open and shut.


    ***


    Orion Pax


    “As of now you remain a Constabulary Trainee and Academy Remote-Cadet in good standing.” Prowl said, his face on the view screen that Orion was looking at. “Given the circumstances though, you’ll likely be relocated out of Iacon.”

    “That’s good to hear.” Orion replied “Both my status and the prospect of being transferred. Where will I be going? Cybertropolis?”

    “That hasn’t been decided yet.” Prowl replied, his face took on a slightly pained expression. “Look Orion, I’m sorry that all this has happened. I can’t help but feel partially responsible for this, it was my interest in you that brought you to Iacon in the first place.”

    “Don’t apologize Prowl, you had good intentions.” Orion replied.

    “Yeah, well, it’s over now I guess.” Prowl replied. “But Orion, you need to accept the way things are. Perhaps now with your name you might be given more leeway, and when you reach the age of self determination your membership in a royal house will certainly make you less vulnerable than you are now, but the status quo has existed for millions and millions of years, only Omega Supreme is old enough to remember a time without the royal houses, and even the nobility pre-dates him.”

    “I don’t care how old something is or how established certain traditions are, Prowl,” Orion replied, “if it’s unjust, it must be changed.”

    Prowl chuckled. “Then unfortunately you’ll likely be replaying the events of today repeatedly throughout your life, only you won’t have the Autobots there to save your ass. Even if your luck holds up, it’ll be an uphill battle to say the least.”

    Orion nodded. “I understand and accept that.”

    Prowl smiled and shook his head. “You’re a gutsy kid, Pax, but for the foreseeable future I would suggest keeping your head down and letting this blow over.”

    Orion smiled. “I’ll genuinely try to do that, sir, I just hope the situations I find myself in allow me to do so.”

    “Primus protect us from goofy, idealistic kids.” Prowl chuckled. “Good luck Pax, I’ll let you know when your assignment comes in.”

    “Thank you sir.”

    “Prowl out.” The screen went black.

    Orion switched off the computer screen and leaned back in his chair, the open door to his room behind him. “You’re a lot quieter than you used to be.”

    A-Three walked into the room, a smile on his face. “I may have upped by stealth game since your time at Tyger Pax, but believe me, I am nothing compared to what I used to be.”

    Orion swiveled around in his chair, a broad smile on his face. “I’m glad you stopped by. Arlon and Torenia just left about fifteen minutes ago.”

    “I’ll have plenty of time to talk with them on the trip home.” A-Three replied in good humor as he found a seat on Orion’s dormancy slab. “You always are at a loss for space.”

    Orion chuckled. “It suits me. I really don’t have much in the way of stuff.”

    A-Three chuckled as well. “I suppose that’s true. It’s funny though, I was just in a room that’s probably better suited for you, stuff or no stuff.”

    Orion gave a quizzical look, but just shrugged. “I’m fine with here for now. Actually, I might be here for awhile. I’ll likely be transferring out of Iacon, and I may wind up here in Cybertropolis full time.”

    The older robot looked at Orion intently. “You showed tremendous bravery and integrity in Iacon. You knew things were going to be bad if you did the right thing, and you did it anyway.”

    “Of course,” Orion replied with absolute sincerity, “it was the right thing.”

    A-Three gave a chuckle that did little to hide the pride he felt in the youth. “Such a Pax.”

    Orion nervously looked down. “I hope I live up to the name.”

    “You’re certainly on the right track.” The old robot replied. “Though it’s possible that you may have a different name someday.”

    “What do you mean by that?” The large red and blue robot asked.

    A-Three looked intently at the police cadet for several moments before posing a question. “Orion, if you could know something about what your future holds, would you want to know it?”

    Orion thought on this for several moments. “Would this knowledge save lives or prevent injury?”

    “No.” A-Three replied. “Nothing specific enough for you to truly act upon. Just a general prediction on your future greatness, malevolence, a title or titles you may hold, or possibly achievements.”

    Orion thought quietly for a few more moments. “No. I’d rather not know. Not if it’s not something I can take action on to prevent a tragedy.”

    A-Three nodded. “That’s the right answer.” He pondered quietly for a moment. “Something that differentiates you from him.”

    “Sir?”

    The older bot smiled. “Nothing.”

    Orion looked down. “Sir, Lord Arlon knows that I’m fine without being a noble, right?”

    “Yes, he knows you’ll be fine no matter what social strata you find yourself in. Why?”

    “This isn’t some sort of charity, is it?” The youth asked earnestly.

    The question caused A-Three to laugh loudly. “Charity? Boy, you’re humility has got to stop overpowering your senses.” He leaned forward and grabbed the youngster’s shoulder, and easy task in the small room. “I have more respect for House Pax than for any other House or organization on the planet, including the one from which I originate, their standards could not be too high, they are the ones we should all look to for an example, and Orion, having you there makes them vastly better than they were. Part of me hopes that someday you recognize how truly great you are,” the older robot looked away, “and part of me hopes you never do.”

    Orion nodded and considered that for a bit before looking deeply into A-Three’s optics. “I appreciate that sir, and I am beyond proud to take their name. But,” he paused, “but I think it would be wrong for me to accept membership to their house. Not out of any sense of humility, and certainly not out of and disrespect to House Pax, but because I feel that any sort of enhanced citizenship based on location of birth to be, well, unjust.”

    A-Three stared at him for nearly a minute before rising to his feet. “You’re definitely him.”

    “I’m definitely who?” Orion asked, completely bewildered.

    A-Three smiled. “Orion Pax.” The older bot took a few steps to the door. “You have a birthright, Orion, I just need to retrieve it for you.”

    “Sir, I have no idea…” a beeping at the small console on the wall drew Orion’s attention. “Excuse me sir, this might be important.” Orion switched on the screen to see Prowl again. “Hello Prowl, was there something we forgot to cover?”

    “No, we didn’t forget anything,” Prowl replied, a look of frustration on his face, “your orders have come through.”

    “Wow, that was quick.” Orion excitedly replied, while A-Three nervously listened off to the side.

    “You’re being transferred to Rodion.” Prowl read matter of factly, his optics avoiding those of Orion.

    “Rodion?” Orion questioned. “That’s in Polyhex.”

    “No!” A-Three blurted out and positioned himself before the screen. “Tell your master that this will not stand!”

    “Who are…you’re the Tyger Pax polyhistor.” Prowl stated.

    “Sentinel Prime knows very well who I am!” A-Three snapped back. “Tell him that his attempts to get this boy killed will have repercussions!”

    “I’ll let him know.” Prowl replied, both annoyed and filled with guilt. “Prowl out.” The screen went black.

    A-Three looked down at the seated Orion. “We’ll do our best to get you out of that snake pit, but until we do, keep yourself safe.”

    Orion nodded. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
     
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  11. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Skullcruncher


    It had been nearly three hundred years since he had first come to Rodion from Simfur, and in that time he had lost his Nyonian accent, and the one adopted, while not quite full-on Rodion, would definitely let anyone listening know that he hailed from deep within Polyhex. But he had not yet abandoned his bestial shell mode. The main reason, only reason really, was that the boss liked it. ‘A walking set of razor clamps’ is how he described it, something to add to the intimidation factor of his crew, as if anything associated with the boss lacked any degree of intimidation factor. A bot could transform into a table, and as long as he was part of Overlord’s crew, he’d be feared anywhere in the city; anywhere in the emirate, really. Hell, the boss was ten feet taller than the Prime, and the new Prime was a hulking brute. But it was more than just his physicality that made the boss so terrifying, it was the combination of his brilliance and ruthlessness that made him more the authority in these parts than the nobility. He was the smartest person Skull cruncher had ever known, and he was completely devoid of any sort of compassion or remorse. He was the perfect being, and Skullcruncher was lucky enough to work for him.

    “Please, don’t do this.” The tiny voice escaped the crate that Skullcruncher was hauling over his shoulder worry-free through the bustling streets of Rodion, reminding him that even this perfect being he worked for had needs.

    “This is going to happen.” The robot grumbled through the same crack in the crate that the voice had come through as he turned into an alley and continued on past several down-and-out souls hovering over a shared bottle of cheap engex. “I recognize it’s going to be scary, and it will probably hurt at first, but there have been a few that have enjoyed it from what I’ve been told. And frankly, you should be honored just to be in his presence.”

    “Who’s presence?” The feminine voice came back. “What is he going to do to me?”

    “Shhh,” The powerful gray and pink robot cooed to his encased prisoner, “you’ll find out very soon. We’re here.” The thug continued right up to the thick rusted door of the large building built along the riverfront and pushed it open with his foot; security measures were for those whom did not inspire absolute terror throughout the entire emirate. A moment later he was inside walking past aisles of stolen goods, cages barely large enough to hold the captives that were within, and stockpiles of illegal weaponry, armor and various forms of frame enhancements that no reputable medical facility would touch. Several of Skullcruncher’s colleagues turned to look at him as he entered, all sending him an acknowledging nod and a malicious grin as they caught sight of the crate. None had witnessed what was about to happen with their own optics, but they all knew what was in store for the unfortunate femme within.

    Skullcruncher carried the crate through the large warehouse, past a shipping dock and through a series of doors into a large office area where an enormous robot stood hunched over a table, studying a holographic overview of Rodion. “Sir, I have one for you, a pretty blue little number. Bitch has a lot of fight in her too, had to use two submission charges on her. She’s still sluggish, but don’t worry, she’s fully conscious and she’ll feel everything.”

    “That’s nice.” The giant replied almost indifferently as he continued studying the layout of the city they were in. “Skullcruncher, did you know that most doctors feel that the addictive qualities of circuit speeders are primarily psychological, but that there is an undeniable physiological pull to them as well?”

    “Uh, well, yeah.” Skullcruncher replied as he placed the crate down. “I mean, I haven’t done any studies on it, but you can tell that junkies need it more than just because they think they need it. Even when they’re offline you can see their withdrawal tremors.”

    “Yes. Well, there’s apparently quantifiable evidence supporting that as well.” The huge robot said, finally turning around. “Based on that, I wonder if there’s a way to somehow infuse hotspots with some of the more addition-causing chemicals of the speeders, or specifically, our special formula of speeders.” A broad smile came over his face. “Create a batch of loyal clients the moment they’re born.”

    “Jeez Overlord, that’s,” Skullcruncher chuckled, “that’s slaggin’ diabolical.”

    “And probably not possible, but fun to consider.” The giant replied as he walked over to the crate. “But for a more immediate boost to business, I’ve decided to brand our product, call it Surge, maybe even take out advertising for Surge.”

    “Advertising?” Skullcruncher questioned hesitantly. “For circuit speeders? Dontcha think that’s a bit…you know, crazy?”

    Overlord arched one of his optics as he peered at the much smaller Skullcruncher. “I’m a sociopath, not a psychopath, my plans may be considered evil, and they’re definitely ambitious, daring and often dangerous, but they’re not crazy. Yes, it’d be an open invitation for law enforcement, it might be seen as a slap in the face to the powers that be…and I’m fine with that. I haven’t had a good fight…well, I don’t think I’ve ever had a good fight, certainly not if challenging constitutes good.”

    “Sir, you’re the baddest being in existence, but after you’ve killed the cops, House Macht will send their army, and if we manage to beat them, Sentinel Prime will charge in with the planetary army.” Skullcruncher replied. “We just don’t have enough guns for all that.”

    “No,” Overlord sighed indifferently, “not yet anyway.” He then chuckled. “Fortunately I know for a fact that Militus Macht will be more than happy to let us do whatever we want if we don’t openly challenge him in any way…and I may have to give him a small cut so that he can save face. For all his tough-guy appearance and threatening bravado, he’s ultimately just a coward terrified of another Galvatron rising up to make him a bitch the way Jugatus was made a bitch.” The thirty-six foot tall robot displayed a grin as he looked upon the crate. “Now let’s see what you’ve brought me.” Overlord reached over and effortlessly pried the front of the metal crate off, revealing a cowering and still sluggish blue femme within.

    “Told ya she was cute.” Skullcruncher grinned.

    “You certainly didn’t exaggerate.” Overlord smiled as he peered lecherously at the terrified captive. He lowered his massive hand, open to the femme. “Come out my dear, let us take a better look at you.” The femme just stayed crouched within the crate, staring with terror-filled optics at the impossibly large robot grinning down at her. With a grace that defied his massive bulk, the giant lowered his hand and gently gripped hers, lifting her up gently, possessing just the force required to make her rise against her will, and pulled her closer to him. “You really are a beauty. What is your name?”

    “Puuhhh, puuhhhleeease, don’t hurt me.” The still-groggy and disoriented femme whimpered. “Juh, just let me go, please.”

    Overlord gently grazed his finger down her cheek and shushed her. “Shhhh, it’s alright. I’ll explain everything, but let’s start with your name.”

    The femme stared up into his optics high above, a look of hopefulness on her face, a desperate clinging to the seeming kindness he was showing now leading to her release. “Ca…Chromia. Mmm, my name is Chromia.”

    Overlord smiled. “A beautiful name for a beautiful femme.” He cupped her cheeks in his massive hands. Skullcruncher grinned at the odd sight, his boss stood more than two and a half times the femme’s height, each of his legs was taller than she was. “I’m afraid that there will be pain, my dear Chromia, there must be, for both of us. There’s no painless way to expose the sparks of conscious individuals, but that pain will be replaced by the most intense and wonderful pleasure you’ve ever known, that is, if you let yourself enjoy it.”

    “No, no, no no no…”

    “It’s alright, my beauty, everything will be alright.” Overlord’s smile widened. “Our sparks will mingle,”

    “NO!” The cry from the femme was Skullcruncher’s cue to give them a little privacy. He turned, a grin on his face as he headed toward the door, closing it behind him, keeping prying optics out, but not doing much to muffle the cries of the victim, and the laughter that would be emanating out of Overlord shortly.

    “What’s she look like?” Skullcruncher looked over and saw Darkwing approaching him.

    “What do you care?” Skullcruncher shot back. He wasn’t fond of Darkwing, or his friend Dreadwind for that matter. Two saps lucky enough to have aerial compatible shell modes, and thanks to being a part of Overlord’s crew and his graciousness to his underlings, they had those shells fully upgraded to jet modes. Yet despite their amazing good fortune all they did all day was bitch and moan. “Eventually she’s going to be nothing but rusted out dust like the rest of us right, so why does it matter how slaggin’ pretty she is now?”

    More screaming and a cruel laugh emerged through the door, defusing the tension between Darkwing and Skullcruncher and eliciting a light laugh from the two of them. “I’m not as bad as Dreadwind, I can still appreciate a pretty face and form. And one of the few things I can derive enjoyment from is hearing the boss having fun.”

    “Don’t you pervs have anything better to do that eavesdrop on Overlord mingling with today’s conquest?” The green and yellow robot walking toward them barked.

    “Not right now, Crunch.” Skullcruncher shot back with a smile. “Care to enjoy the show with us?”

    “Actually, Crunch, I’m probably due for a break as well.” The newcomer replied and leaned against the wall next to the other two.

    Dreadwing looked at from one robot to the other. “So Gutcruncher, you tell Skull about the boss’s plan to distribute Surge into other emirates?”

    “Ha!” Skullcruncher belted. “I just now found out our stuff has a name. I sure as hell don’t know about expanding the customer base.”

    “Yeah,” Gutcruncher replied, “gonna start with the south, go as far north as Simfur, see how that goes before thinking about expanding further.”

    “Primus, the boss it too fearless for his own good.” Skullcruncher groaned. “Branding an illegal drug is bad enough, but then advertising and distributing to other emirates, that’s just an open invitation for the Primal forces to take notice and step in.”

    “We might wanna get our own house in order before we start conquering the rest of the world.” Darkwing muttered.

    “Whattaya mean?” Skullcruncher replied.

    “He’s just jittery because a few of our street level operators have been pinched recently.” Gutcruncher pointed out, apparently unworried.

    “Who in the pit is going to go after our guys?” Skullcruncher asked in surprised annoyance. “He not know which are ours and which are fair game?”

    “Yeah, probably; new guy from Iacon.” Gutcruncher replied. “Sent here a couple months ago, our guys in the constabulary said it was a punishment or something for pissing off the Honorums.”

    “Punishment?” Skullcruncher chuckled. “Cops here have it made.”

    “Not clean ones, and he’s clean.” Gutcruncher shrugged. “Apparently so clean House Pax adopted him or something.”

    Skullcruncher looked back and forth between the other two before bursting out laughing. “A member of a royal northern house is a beat cop in Rodion? Are you slaggin’ kidding me?”

    Gutcruncher chuckled as well, and Darkwing just smiled as he paid more attention to the sounds of the intimate assault going on in the next room, focusing a bit more on them as the sounds seemed to be dying down a bit. “Well, he’s technically not a royal, not yet anyway. Needs to reach the age of self-determination before adoption can take place. Guess he wasn’t born in the Torus Heights.”

    “Reach the age…how old is this guy?” Skullcruncher asked.

    “Old enough to know better!” Overlord’s voice called out through the door, and a moment later it opened and he came stumbling out, slightly disoriented. His inner chest armor was exposed, itself having just sealed seconds before, and his specially constructed outer armor slowly shutting into place. “I’ll be talking to Captain Momus about this eager young Iaconian later today. I actually want him to make regular arrests, even of our people, it provides a sense of normalcy and an air of integrity to the city, but I need to be the one that selects who gets arrested.”

    The other three nodded, and then one by one looked into the room at the blue victim laid out on a table, barely conscious and in shock, her chest armor having been torn open and then bent back into place afterward, her frame shuddering every few seconds. “What about her, she going to survive?”

    Overlord smiled. “Chromia? Oh yes, she’s a strong one. She’ll be making a full recovery…” a low, sadistic chuckled escaped his lips, “physically anyway.”


    ***


    Springarm


    The kid wasn’t making any friends, that was for sure. Springarm seemed to be the exception, he genuinely like the guy, but everyone else seemed to fall into a range from mild annoyance to outright anger. For one, he was a commoner with a royal name, which even Springarm had to admit was a bit off-putting. It’s not like he put on airs or anything, he was very humble in fact, despite his obvious education, abilities and always annoying perfect grammar. But just having the name Pax was enough to make everyone else in the precinct house consider him an arrogant whelp who held himself higher than the others. Secondly, he just couldn’t accept how things were. Rodion was an interesting place; interesting being a direct substitute for the word bad. But as bad as it was, it could always be worse. There was a delicate but respected understanding between the cops and criminals here. The criminals ran the show, but the cops were representatives of the Macht government and the planetary government as well, and as such needed to be seen as the authority, and were expected to achieve results. So basically any unaffiliated criminals were hunted down vigorously, basic street gangs would have members arrested from time to time but never enough to upset their overall business, and the few powerful organizations would periodically select certain members to be arrested and supply their names and evidence against them to the police. It was all done to maintain the status quo, but unfortunately Orion Pax had no respect for the status quo. Not yet anyway; though he showed little sign of it, he was still very, very young. And lastly, even when he wasn’t acting to screw up the status quo, he simply made the other cops look bad. He was brilliant, partly due to the education he had received in person at Tyger Pax, which he was continuing remotely with House Pax’s polyhistor, as well as his remote Academy training, but also due to the innate nature of his mind. He grasped things impossibly fast, his only limitations were his own enhanced humility and a sense of morality that kept him from any degree of ethical impropriety, and that made most of the other constables look poorly in comparison. But whether in spite of all this or because of it, Springarm just couldn’t help but like the guy. “Seriously, you wouldn’t want a fusion canon?”

    “Why would I want a fusion canon?” Orion Pax asked as the two of them walked down the sidewalk of a small merchant district in downtown Rodion, cutting through the bustle of the people. “It’s indiscriminate, and so powerful that even if you hit your target dead on, vast collateral damage would be unavoidable.” Orion smiled and nodded to a few merchants, who met the smile with looks of suspicion, fear and slight anger. Despite their almost hostile reaction, Orion continued smiling to those he passed. “I recognize the need for us to carry firearms, but there’s no reason we would need more than the sidearm we’ve been issued.”

    Springarm’s head leaned back as a loud laugh cut out from his mouth. “Oh, man, are you serious?” He looked over to Orion, who met his question with a look of annoyance. “Look Pax, you say a fusion canon is too much, fine, you can certainly make a case for that; hell, no need for a case, you’re right, a fusion canon is too much, but that doesn’t mean you need to swing all the way to the other end of the spectrum and claim these pea-shooters are sufficient.”

    “You don’t think they’d suffice for any situation we’d face here?” Orion asked, though from the new look coming over his face he seemed to be acknowledging several situations where Springarm’s assertion may be correct.

    Springarm however was too eager to answer the question to allow Orion to withdraw it. “Primus, you’re kidding, right? Let’s say you’re a scumbag loaded up on speeders, and you’re charging down on me. Would I have a chance of stopping you from pulling off my head by firing on you with this toy?” Springarm gestured to the weapon holstered at his side. “Be honest.”

    Orion peered up and down the street, hesitant to reply, but finally nodded. “Alright, yes, you’re right, there are scenarios where our sidearm would be insufficient, but for the vast majority of situations they’re more than enough.”

    “Vast majority in Polarus, Iacon, or here?” Springarm added with a smile.

    Orion smiled as well. “Definitely Polarus, a stick would be sufficient there in most cases, though I do recall a situation where the use of a pair of subjugation chips was justifiable, though for one of the perpetrators not necessary.”

    “Oh, feeling guilty about electrocuting a perp?” Springarm asked with a smile.

    “I was that perp.” Orion replied, an embarrassed smile on his face.

    “What?” Springarm stopped and grabbed Orion by the arm, turning him so they faced one another. “Wow! You did a bad thing?”

    “I was in a tavern while underage.” Orion replied, turning to continue their patrol.

    Springarm rolled his optics disappointedly. “You’re still underage, and will continue to be for a very long time.” Springarm snarked. “And even here in Rodion, subjugating a kid for being in a pub would be seen as police brutality. Hell, even Captain Momus would be inclined to write up an officer for doing that, and he’s helped smelt…uhm, never mind. So how long were you tweaking after getting hit with a chip?”

    Orion eyed Springarm warily, but let the comment regarding their captain potentially aiding in the cover up of something slide for the moment. “I was in the middle of a brawl. The use of the chip was justified, It didn’t come out that I was a kid until later. The subjugation was…uncomfortable, but I pried the chip off after only a few seconds.”

    “Pried it off?” Springarm was stunned. “You say that like it’s not impossible.”

    Orion ignored his comrade’s surprised comment. “But barring rare incidences like that, yeah, nothing more than a stick is needed in Polarus.”

    “Even for busting that speeder lab?” Springarm grinned slyly at Orion’s look of surprise. “You’re a young royal being sent to the worst precinct on the planet, are you really surprised we read up on you? But the tale of you being a juvenile delinquent was left out of the report.”

    “Hmmm.” Orion grumbled. “OK, fine, more than a stick. And Iacon can be extremely dicey in certain sections, you’d definitely need more than a stick there, that’s for sure. Rodion is dicey everywhere, but yes, even here, our sidearm should be enough in the vast majority of cases.”

    “Keep poking at the Overlord, and you may find out firsthand how inadequate that pea-shooter really is.” Springarm replied, a light chuckle in his throat.

    “I doubt he exists, and even if he does, the power of both his frame and his organization have been undoubtedly exaggerated. And even if they haven’t, I’ve gotten the better of a thirty-six footer before.” Orion replied as they noticed a commotion up ahead. “What’s going on there?”

    Up ahead at a small market a hullabaloo was brewing, upon closer scrutiny both Orion and Springarm could see that fellow officers Wheelarch and Whirl were having what appeared to be an argument with the proprietor of the store. Whirl looked up and saw the pair approaching them. “Speak of Unicron, and the horned asshole appears.”

    “I beg your pardon?” Orion asked, a little angered at the cycloptic officer’s tone and language.

    Wheelarch pushed Whirl aside and addressed Orion, jerking his thumb at the agitated owner of the store. “Apparently this guy was robbed, but is only willing to talk to you.”

    The owner turned to Orion, and walked toward him, excitedly. “You, are you da’ Pax?” He asked in a thick Yussian accent.

    “I am Orion Pax, though I am not a noble.” Orion replied, noting the confusion of the proprietor. “I was born in Iacon, but raised by the Pax’s in Tyger Pax. They have extended an offer to join their house, which I can choose to accept once I reach the age of self determination.”

    The merchant peered at him uncertainly. “Are you da’ Pax?” He looked away, almost panicked for a moment as he tried to explain what he needed. “House Pax, they…they are justice. Freedom right of all. Truth greater than power, truth greater than authority,…they…they…” he looked pleadingly up at Orion, who nodded his understanding and placed his hand on the merchant’s shoulder reassuringly.

    “I am Orion of House Pax.” He stated authoritatively. “Tell me what you need to tell me.”

    The merchant smiled up at him. “Yes…yes, good. I am Huxx, I come from Yuss to open my store. I make good living, but criminals, they insist I pay money for them to protect me, but they are the only ones I need protection from. I tell police, but they never care, tell me to piss off before I have to pay them for protection too. So I pay criminals, but they keep demanding more, they take my products, they push around my clients. Then today, criminals drag client out of store, a pretty femme, they beat me when I try to stop them, they shoot us both,” Huxx held up a small disk, “it make me drop, fall, it make me unable to fight,”

    “Submission charges.” Springarm noted as Orion picked the disk out of Huxx’s hand. “They’d probably just tickle a guy who plucks off subjugation chips, but they put most bots down for awhile.”

    “I’m familiar with them.” Orion replied as he studied the chip, then looked to Huxx. “Are you injured?”

    “No, I am fine, but lady, they put her in crate,” Huxx hurriedly explained, “big one, big one with animal shell, he take her away!” They heard Whirl groan lightly and he looked over at the blue officer angrily before turning back to Orion. “They take her! Police not care, but you, you are a Pax! You must protect!”

    Orion nodded. “Describe everything, starting with the victim.”

    Springarm watched as Orion started taking all the details, but heard Whirl starting a conversation over a communications channel. “Hey Momus, yeah, it’s me. Here at a piece of shit bodega where the owner is saying someone with Skullcruncher’s description busted stuff up and kidnapped a femme.” Whirl paused as he listened to the response, then shot back. “Yeah I know who he’s with, my net ain’t creeped out yet, I’m not telling you this to make it priority one, I’m telling you this because the shopkeeper is telling Pax, and the kid is intent on saving the slaggin’ day.” Springarm glared at Whirl, who noted the stare and replied by having his optic change shades to red and glow intensely. His optic suddenly changed back to normal and he turned away as he heard something that surprised him. “Whaddaya mean let him proceed? You wanna start a war?” He paused again as he listened. “Oooo, OK, will do. Consider Officer Save-A-Ho off the leash.”

    Springarm continued staring at Whirl as he closed the channel and started walking toward Orion. “What was that about?”

    “Police business.” Whirl snapped as he bumped shoulders with Springarm and continued to Orion questioning Huxx. “What you got?”

    “Kidnapping, likely bound for slave trade or worse. Blue femme, going to look at security footage from the store to get full image.” Orion stated, following after Huxx as the shop owner started leading him into his store. “Alert Momus, let him know what’s going on.”

    “Funny thing, I just did that.” Whirl replied.

    “I don’t care what he said, I am investigating this and I’m going to find that citizen!” Orion snapped back.

    “Naw kid, it’s not like that.” Whirl came back. “He can’t afford to give you any support, but he wants you to see this through.”

    Orion stared at him intensely for a moment, knowing that there was some deception going on, but unable to deal with it until the situation with the kidnapped femme was resolved. “Alright. I’ll see you later.”

    Whirl nodded and turned to Wheelarch and Springarm. “You two, Momus wants us back at the house.”


    ***


    Terminus


    He was permitted to enter much of Castle Macht whenever he wanted, though the inner section, the living quarters of the Machts’, was accessed by invitation only. The old bot had been informed that Megatron was at Castle Macht, and was hoping that the young gladiator, the young…killer, was somewhere Terminus could find him. He had long imagined what Megatron’s fate would be, and in nearly every scenario it involved him taking lives, but Terminus had always assumed, or perhaps hoped, that the first time his protégé took a life there would be a pause, some hesitation, even if it was necessary. The old robot was stunned to the point of nearly being sick when watching Megatron kill for the first time, a killing that was devoid of necessity or pause. Militus was taking Terminus’s champion and successfully turning him into a monster.

    Terminus walked through the courtyard, passing meek servants and big dangerous-looking guards until spying Straxus coming out of the main entrance. “Lord Straxus, a word please.” Terminus called out the request, though it was one that he would not accept a refusal of.

    “What is it, Terminus?” The rotund low noble growled.

    “Have you seen Megatron?”

    “The arrogant shit you unleashed on us all?” Straxus snapped. “Yeah, he’s in one of the side rooms in the library. Lord Militus called in some people for him to meet with.”

    “People?” Terminus asked.

    “I don’t know, some people Megatron asked Lord Macht to invite, and in his graciousness, Lord Macht granted him the request.” Straxus replied, doing little to hide his jealousy and disgust. “I’m not one to question my better, but I fear Emir Macht indulges that commoner far too much.”

    “Thank you for your assistance, Lord Straxus.” Terminus replied before heading toward the library. Formal permission had not been granted to him to enter the library, but he had served House Macht for a very long time, and recently as Megatron’s mentor he had been allowed more access to the fortress than ever. Hopefully nobody would question his presence there.

    As he entered the seemingly deserted library he could make out a voice coming from a small room on the far end. He quietly approached the room; he had no intention of interrupting anything, but he could no longer put off waiting for Megatron to make time for him. As he got closer the words became clear enough for him to make them out.

    “Oh, slag Kokular! I laugh at all claims of impenetrability when it comes to fortresses, and obviously so did Gallus Honorum!” The unknown feminine voice boasted. “Fixed fortifications are monuments to a Cybertronian’s stupidity!”

    Terminus paused and leaned against the wall, actively attempting to eavesdrop, and heard his protégé mirthfully reply. “Very true, though until they come tumbling down they can serve as an effective symbol. Intimidation can be a potent weapon, can it not?”

    “Perhaps.” The question was answered by a masculine voice which Terminus did not know. “For to win one hundred victories in one hundred battles is not the acme of skill. To subdue the enemy without fighting is the acme of skill.”

    “Balderdash!” The feminine voice grumbled.

    “But one must also be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness.” The masculine voice continued, ignoring the protest from the female companion. “Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of your opponent’s fate.”

    “You’ll have to excuse Obsidian, he’s more on the philosophical plain of battle tactics, and less on the practical level you and I are on.” The feminine voice replied, the name she presented caused Terminus’s spark to freeze up. There had been two wars of southern aggression, and countless smaller skirmishes between them, and through each one there were two prevalent names. Two generals who achieved countless victories. If the male was Obsidian, then the current speaker could be none other than his paramour Strika. “Beyond all the strategies and tactics that we’ve gone over with you today, the thing you must remember most is that by perseverance, study, and eternal desire, any being can become great. Oh, and that a good plan, violently executed now, is better than the perfect plan executed next week. Oh, and in war the only sure defense is offense, and the efficiency of the offense depends on the warlike souls of those conduct…”

    “What you must remember most,” Obsidian interrupted, “is that all warfare is based on deception. Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.”

    “Balderdash!” Strika grumbled again. “War is simple, direct, and ruthless!”

    “But was it not you who said ‘the leader must be an actor’?” Obsidian countered.

    “Maybe, but I’ve said much better stuff than that.” She replied, eliciting a good natured chuckle from both Megatron and Obsidian.

    “Deception, young Megatron.” Obsidian instructed. “For both your pit fights as well as whatever other endeavors you choose to use our tutelage toward.”

    “Thank you my lord and lady,” Megatron replied, for once lacking any venom when presenting the words lord and lady, “but the gladiatorial pits are the only outlet I will have to utilize these incredibly valuable lessons.”

    “Ha!” Strika belted out. “Planning on having a lot of attrition and siege warfare in these pits? Your promoters can actually find spectators willing to pay to sit through weeks of that?”

    “My consort is correct,” Obsidian replied, “only a small portion of what we’ve shared with you will be applicable to battles in arenas fought between individual squads. You have been pressing us primarily for our wisdom in large scale warfare that will not serve a mere gladiator.”

    Terminus continued waiting outside the room, not daring to look inside, but despite not being able to see what was happening, he knew Megatron well enough to know he was displaying a knowing smile right now. “My lord general, I am merely trying to take your greatest lesson to heart.”

    “Ha!” Obsidian belted out. “Well said my young deceiver! Perhaps you will take your place at our side someday as one of Cybertron’s greatest military protectors.”

    “You honor me my lord.” Megatron replied humbly.

    “This truly was a pleasure.” Strika stated as the sounds of their frames pushing away from their chairs prompted Terminus to quietly reposition himself to another part of the library and pretend to be focused on one of the data pads there, “but it is time we left.”

    “Good luck in the pits, young Megatron.” Obsidian said as they exited the room. The two legendary generals continued toward the door without acknowledging Terminus at all, while Megatron sent him a heated stare before turning his attention back to the guests and walking them to the door.

    “I thank you both for your invaluable tutelage.” Megatron stated with absolute sincerity. “May I contact either of you in the future with questions or for advice?”

    “Absolutely!” Strika replied. “While we are constantly questioned about our philosophies or tales of our battles, it is rarely if ever by someone with a mind as acute as yours.”

    “Yes, we would be honored and happy to have further discussions with you.” Obsidian continued. “We expect to hear of you prominently in the vorns to come.”

    “Thank you my lord and lady.” Megatron bowed as he held the door for them and watched them leave. He then turned toward Terminus. “Looking for a good pad to read? I’ve spent a great deal of time here recently, I can recommend a few, though I tend to stick to the military history and philosophy sections, which can be kind of dry to some.”

    Terminus put the data pad he had been pretending to study back on the shelf and marched over to Megatron. “I knew that in all likelihood you would someday be in a position where you would have to take a life.” He stopped in front of Megatron and glared at him. “I never imagined that you would charge into it almost mirthfully, embracing a need to kill that could have been easily, hell, effortlessly avoided! And I never imagined that you would treat the life of, not even an enemy, but an opponent, so disrespectfully, as if their life were utterly insignificant! That is not how I raised you!”

    “You did not raise me!” Megatron snarled. “You watched me pull myself from a pit. You gave me a name, you set me up and allowed me to raise myself. Which is fine, that’s to be expected, frankly that’s far more than most do and that I’ve ever done for another. I am grateful for that, and definitely do not begrudge you for not doing more, but you did not raise me.” Megatron softened his tone. “You are my closest friend, you mean more to me than anyone else in the world, but the kindnesses and opportunities you’ve provided me do not entitle you to tell me how to act or what to do. I am no longer a protoform; while young, I have long exceeded the age of self determination. I am fully capable of choosing my own path, and you can no longer prevent me from doing so.”

    Terminus stared at Megatron for a bit before nodding. “You’re right about all that, I don’t disagree with any of it. But I still can and will convey my shock and outrage at what you did to Hydrau in the pit. You used him as nothing more than a tool to prove your power to the oil-thirsty masses. He was nothing more than fodder for your path to glory.”

    Megatron met his gaze evenly, a stone expression coming over his face. “Everything is fodder.” With that Megatron turned and marched toward the door, Terminus following after him.

    “Those are Militus Macht’s words coming out of your mouth!” Terminus growled.

    “The words coming out of my mouth will always and only be mine.” Megatron snapped back his reply. “If others happen to agree with them, so be it.”

    “Why the interest in military history and strategy?” Terminus asked heatedly as he caught up and marched alongside Megatron. “Why did you request that Cybertron’s greatest living generals meet with and instruct you?”

    Megatron snickered. “The pits are trending more toward themed fights involving small groups. It’s going to be less about one mech fighting another, more about teams, often in specifically designed environments. Sometimes they’ll be reenactments of historical battles. This was the reasoning I gave Lord Macht for having him arrange this session.”

    “But what’s the real reason you had him arrange it?” Terminus asked accusingly.

    Megatron halted and turned to face Terminus. “For now, that’s the only reason I’m going to give.” A small smile came to the corner of his mouth. “After all, all warfare is based on deception.”

    For the first time in his life, Terminus was becoming scared of Megatron. After a long pause he replied quietly. “We’re not at war.” Megatron remained silent, but his smile broadened, and he turned and continued marching toward the front of Castle Macht. Terminus just allowed him to go, staring at the wall as his protégé slipped away from him.


    ***


    Elita Solus


    It had taken a lot of persuasion, but Exponum had finally allowed her to travel with a shipment of supplies to Ratchet’s clinic all by herself. Of course he had purchased an armored transport and arranged to have it ready for her when she arrived in Rodion, and paid a private company to load the freighter while she remained in the relative safety of the cab. She had drawn the line at his request to employ a security team to guard her. She was a highly trained warrior and smart enough to avoid trouble, she could drop off the medical supplies and get back home without incident.

    And so far, everything was going well. The supplies had been dropped off, put away, and Elita was now assisting Ratchet with some of his patients. As bad as the city had been the first time she’d visited, it had gotten worse. Ratchet had been correct about the impact of the fight circuit on central Rodion, crime had gotten worse and his clinic was now overflowing with individuals in need of varying degrees of attention. Fortunately nobody seemed to be in critical condition, but that could change at any minute. Currently Elita was using clamps and a laser scalpel to close a gash in a patient’s leg and weld it shut. The patient was the lowliest of commoners, likely intoxicated on speeders or cheap engex, and just stared at Elita. While off-putting, the stare wasn’t noticeably threatening, so she continued about her work on him and remained pleasant.

    There was a mild, almost imperceptible sensation that seemed to be coming from her spark suddenly, but the sound of the door opening and shutting behind her forced her to dismiss the odd feeling and recognize that her plan to leave shortly may be delayed once again. Ratchet had stressed that she was under no obligation to stay and help, and that she should leave, but she felt it her duty to stick around and help as much as she could. She had not given up her views on, and support of, the nobility system, but she had come to view these commoners as people deserving of respect, health and good treatment. “We’ll be right with you, please sign in.” She acknowledged the newcomer without turning to look at him or her, and once again completely disregarded the mild sensation within her.

    “I’m not a patient, I’m here to speak with Ratchet.” The deep voice stated behind her.

    “Well he’s busy in the back with a patient, so you’re going to have to wait.” Elita replied, still focused on her patient’s leg.

    “Is the patient he’s working on in a life threatening situation?” The visitor asked.

    What an annoying…. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” Elita replied, still not turning around to face him.

    “I apologize, but this is an emergency, and provided he’s not keeping someone from spark failure or long term brain module damage, I’m going back there.” The visitor replied, not disrespectfully, but making it clear he was not going to be dissuaded.

    The welding of the leg finished, Elita righted herself and spun around to look at this extremely annoying, demanding and insolent individual. “You will do no such…” her optics locked onto him and she froze. He was stunning, she’d say perfect were it not for the scuffs and tarnishing all over his impossibly athletic frame, but she immediately regained her composure, and readopted her anger. “thing!” She stared up into his optics. “What is the nature of your emergency?”

    The red and blue robot peered back at her quietly for a moment. Could he be as staggered by her as she had been when confronted by him? “Police business.” He finally spit out.

    “Police business?” Elita spat back. “Are you suggesting that Ratchet is in any sort of trouble? He’s about the only good thing this town has left, and you’re telling me the police are interested in him?”

    The officer merely smiled. “No, he’s not in any sort of trouble, and yes, while I disagree that he’s the only good thing in Rodion, I do agree that he may be the best thing this city has going for it. And the police aren’t interested in him, just me. Believe it or not, he and I are…well, we don’t know each other that well, but I like to think we’re friends, or at least headed in that direction.”

    “Be that as it may, you still need to wait out here for him.” Elita stated firmly.

    “If I walk back there, is a patient going to die?” The officer asked, a bit of impatience entering into his voice.

    “That’s none of your…” Elita started saying, but stopped as the officer brushed right past her and started heading back into the clinic.

    “That’s a no.” The officer stated as he headed toward the back. “Were it a yes, you’d have said as much.”

    “I don’t care, you get back here now!” Elita called after him. When he didn’t stop she threw a punch to the small of his back. She expected him to collapse into a ball, but she barely got a grunt out of him.

    He turned and looked at her, not threateningly or even angrily, just with a look of surprise. “You strike very well, so please don’t do that again. I assure you, Ratchet won’t mind seeing me and this is very important.”

    Elita paused. The way he spoke, and carried himself, and, well, other factors gave her the impression that he wasn’t just a typical commoner. In fact, if he were polished and in a different environment, she’d guess him to be a noble. But even if that unlikelihood was true, he still had no right to just barge in, so she continued following after him as he continued to the back room of the clinic.

    The officer opened the door and entered a room, Ratchet raised his gaze up away from the patient on his slab and locked optics with the officer. “Damnit, what the hell are you doing here?”

    “I thought he wouldn’t mind seeing you?” Elita grumbled. “I apologize Ratchet, he just barged in here. I tried to stop him.”

    “It’s fine Elita,” Ratchet said, still staring at the officer. “Well, make yourself useful. This dipstick wandered out in front of a speeding transport while stoned out of his melon on speeders and engex, and it’s up to me to put his innards back where they belong.”

    The officer nodded. “He out?”

    Ratchet nodded. “Has been offline since the impact. We can talk.”

    The officer nodded his head toward Elita as he stepped up to the patient and began demonstrating an impressive degree of medical know-how in putting his right leg back together. Ratchet looked to the suddenly surprised and more than a little impressed Elita. “She’s as trustworthy as you are, and probably as big a do-gooder too. I’m assuming that’s why you’re here; more of your do-gooding?”

    “It’s my job.” The officer replied.

    “You’ve been in this city long enough to know that’s not your job.” Ratchet replied.

    “There is a great deal of corruption and apathy in my department, but serving and protecting the public is still and always will be my job.” The officer replied. He was a bit hokey, but Elita was starting to warm up to him. He raised his optics and looked earnestly into Ratchet’s. “A femme was kidnapped this morning. Blue, pretty, fourteen to fifteen feet in height. The description of the leader of the group that grabbed her appears to be a match for an individual named Skullcruncher. I’m aware of a slave trade, and I’ve heard the rumors that Rodion provides it a large source of supply. I need to shut it down…I need to find this femme. Where can I find Skullcruncher?”

    Ratchet shook his head. “Look kid, I wish…”

    A holographic image of the victim standing in the store shot out from the officer’s wrist. “According to the database, her name is Chromia.”

    Ratchet stared at the image for several seconds before looking back up at the officer. “Very clever, slap a name and a face on the victim and there’s no way I can refuse, is that it?”

    “Yes, that’s it.” The officer replied with a sly grin as he continued working on the patient.

    “Frankly kid, that’s overkill.” Ratchet replied. “I’d help without those things. But the fact is that I don’t know where you can find Skullcruncher. Well…” the doctor paused, “I’m pretty sure he frequents Evicerator’s. It’s a shithole in the southern quadrant.”

    “I know where Evicerator’s is.” The officer replied. “Thanks Ratchet, I had really hit a wall on this.”

    “What, the kid who cracked the Spark Collector case gets stuck trying to find a nitwit like Skullcruncher?” Ratchet smiled as he went back to work on his patient. “You gonna be here later to lend some hands?”

    “Not likely tonight.” The officer said as he turned to leave. “I doubt I’ll have this situation resolved by then, and it has my focus until it is.”

    Ratchet looked back up. “Look Pax,”

    “Pax?” Elita blurted out.

    Ratchet looked at her for a moment before turning back to the officer and continuing. “You know who Skullcruncher works for, right?”

    “I’ve heard the rumors.” The officer shrugged. “Frankly, it doesn’t make a difference.”

    “Had a feeling you’d say that.” Ratchet replied. “Best case scenario, you will be here later, but you’ll be on this slab clinging to life. More likely scenario, you’ll be on a slab at the morgue.”

    “Pax?”

    The officer looked at the femme, and then back to Ratchet. “I always shoot for the best, so yeah, guess I’ll be seeing you later, sir.”

    “Ha, you’re the sir, Lord Pax.” Ratchet chuckled. “I’m just a common-born shlub.”

    “No, sir, you are a teacher, a mentor, a person making the world better.” The officer replied, finishing up his patch-work of the patient’s leg. “You deserve titles of respect far more than someone merely possessing a family name.”

    “Hey!” Elita protested, but shrunk a little as the officer turned and seemed to silently challenge her to argue his point. In the months that she had been volunteering for Ratchet, many of her assumptions regarding social status had shifted, but she still had a problem when the long existing caste system was openly challenged. But on this particular occasion, given that it was Ratchet being used to represent the common class, she decided back down and say nothing. The officer turned back to Ratchet and nodded before heading toward the door leading to the hallway. Elita watched him, unsure of what to do before realizing what had seemed so pressing prior to his dismissive remark about nobility. “Wait, you’re a Pax?”

    The police officer entered the hallway, but replied just loud enough to be heard. “Aye, in a way.”

    Elita looked to Ratchet, who was already back to work on his patient. She then followed after the police officer. “Wait!” Despite her command, he continued walking away. “Wait!” She sped up, reached him and gripped his arm. “Wait…please.” He stopped, and turned to look down into her optics. She stared up into his for a few moments, unable to do anything else. The cocking of his left optic brow broke her out of her reverie and prompted her to speak. “Oh, right. Do you know Torenia Pax?”

    The large male was a little surprised by the question and turned to face her squarely. “Of course I know Torenia, she’s my moth…” the robot paused, looking at Elita questioningly, “why?”

    “She’s a friend,” she replied, still staring deeply into his optics, “and you’re Orion, aren’t you?”

    For the first time Elita witnessed this newcomer being thrown off guard, and she smiled inwardly at the pleasure that gave her. “I…yes, I am Orion Pax. Have you discussed me with Torenia?” Elita looked down, unsuccessfully hiding the smile that came over her face. “Look, Elita of House Solus, I’m glad that the initial acrimony between us seems to have abated, and I genuinely would like to continue this conversation, I really would, but I need to find a kidnapped citizen.”

    Elita looked up. “How did you know I was Elita Solus?”

    Orion shrugged as he turned back toward the waiting room and the exit beyond. “Ratchet called you Elita, you’re obviously a noble or royal, and my education included the living members of every high house.”

    Elita laughed. “I’m obviously a noble? You’re the one throwing around words like acrimony, Lord Pax!” The statement forced Orion to turn and give her a very broad, very genuine grin.

    “I’m just a polished commoner with a fancy name, my lady.” He said before exiting the hallway. “I hope to speak with you again.” With that he left. Elita wanted to charge after him, to keep their being together going, but she forced herself to accept that he had a job to do. It was then that she fully recognized the job that he was setting out to do, and felt shame welling up in her at not appreciating the magnitude of what he was doing. A femme had been snatched, was either dead or being held captive, if alive she was terrified, hurt, and without hope. Elita had come to Rodion to make things better, and if she could make things better for this Chromia, then by the Guiding Hand, she would.

    Elita started marching toward the door Orion had just gone through and entered the waiting room. She scanned the room and identified the most ‘criminal’-looking individual there, walking right up to him. “Tell me where to find Evicerator’s!”


    ***


    Kup


    The winds were always fierce in the mountains of the polar city of Taenarus, but winter had firmly taken hold and the blue Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Gate was actually forced to exert himself as he trudged across the clearing in front of the main gate. Ice was building on his frame, posing an added irritation, but he should only be out in the blizzard a few moments more. He only needed to make a retrieval, and then he would be back inside, traveling deep enough so that the other temperature extreme would be assaulting his frame in nearly equal measure. He looked ahead toward the lone candidate, the one called Mindwipe, who had impressed him more than any candidate in a very, very long time. There was still something about the candidate that unnerved the Lord Commander, but those unidentifiable feelings of dread were pushed aside. Mindwipe was beyond dedicated to the cause, and his knowledge of the Wardens, their mission and history even before arriving was beyond impressive.

    The candidate was kneeling away from Kup, facing the pass that represented the only traversable way in or out by land, as he had been for over a day. It was the final test before being permitted to making his vows and becoming a Warden of the Tartarun Gates. If Mindwipe were still conscious, he’d probably hear Kup crunching through the snow as he made his approach. Of course, there was a good chance he wasn’t conscious; there was even a distinct possibility that he may even be dead, the weather had gotten that harsh up here. “Mindwipe, lad, you still with us?”

    The candidate’s head slowly turned toward Kup; he was hideous looking, but that was a non-issue for Kup. “Oh yes.”

    “Good,” Kup replied with a smile, placing his hand on Mindwipe’s shoulder “I was afraid that you might have died.”

    Mindwipe chuckled as he started getting up. “I rise again, harder and stronger.”

    Kup smiled, but something about those words tickled a memory, one ancient and likely lost to data creep. It was probably nothing, and easily dismissed. “Good, we will need you hard and strong in service to the Wardens, and the world. Now rise, and take your vows before the ancient Guardian.”

    “Omega Supreme?” Kup smiled at Mindwipe’s genuine awe.

    “He waits to determine your worthiness.” Kup stated as used his hand on Mindwipe’s shoulder to help direct the frozen and wobbly candidate back toward the outer gate. Though not a great distance, the trek back was arduous and slow going, every step a grinding torture for Mindwipe’s frozen frame, but eventually they made it into the mountain and the enormous metal door sealed behind them.

    They continued walking across the vast expanse, through gates into new sections, each getting progressively hotter, until after many miles they passed through one more and Kup came to a stop before one final giant gate. “This is the final gate that we will pass through. You will enter a candidate, I hope that I will be returning with a fellow Warden; a brother.”

    “I can think of no greater honor.” Mindwipe replied, smiling at the Lord Commander before turning toward the final giant metal gate. As they approached, it rolled enough for them to pass through. The robots entered the dark expanse, the lamps on the walls, which were powered by the geo-thermals of the depths, glowed dimly. The two walked slowly, Mindwipe uncertain of what to do beyond simply following Kup’s lead, stopping when the Lord Commander stopped, but utterly confused by what to do then. He stared at Kup, wondering why the old robot was just standing there in the dark hot cave, apparently waiting for something to happen. What he was apparently waiting for finally happened as the wall stepped toward them from the shadows with glowing green optics and a suddenly fiery glow emanating from the mouth of a canon mounted on an impossibly giant robot’s left hand. “Ahhh!” The normally calm and emotionless Mindwipe yelled out in terror of the sight, causing Kup to laugh.

    “Was that really necessary, my friend?” Kup called up to the giant, but the massive robot simply continued staring heatedly at the candidate cowering away from him. Noticing the intensity not waning, Kup stepped between the two. “Omega Supreme, relax, he’s with me! This is Mindwipe, the candidate that I described to you yesterday. He has completed his fast and his submersion in the elements. He has not only passed all tests given him, but he’s been in the top five percentile in every category.”

    Omega Supreme hesitantly turned his glowing green optics away from the cowering Mindwipe and looked to the Lord Commander. “Something…amiss.”

    Kup turned and studied Mindwipe for several moments before replying. “Well, yeah, he’s from Nyon. Try not to hold that against him.” Kup laughed as he smiled at Mindwipe and turned back to Omega Supreme.

    The one hundred twenty foot tall behemoth stood up fully and stepped back. “If the Lord Commander deems the candidate worthy, Omega Supreme will accept the candidate’s vows.”

    Kup turned to Mindwipe, prompting the still terrified southerner into action. Mindwipe dropped to one knee, bowed his head and called out loudly and clearly. “We stand at the brink, the forces of chaos and death ever vigilant for an opportunity to succeed where they once failed. I take my place in the brotherhood guarding the abyss, pledging every moment of the next vorn to the sacred duty of protecting the living of our world, the spark-based and organic, from the evils of the unlife held within this crypt. I shall have no possessions, seek no fortune or glory, I shall have no existence outside my duties as a Warden of the Tartarun Gates. The evils we watch over will be provided no opportunities to spread their death. This I vow, until the moment the Lord Commander relieves me of my duty.”

    Mindwipe remained silent upon completing his vow, but after several moments he finally raised his head and peered into the burning green optics of Omega Supreme, who continued to regard him with an unreadable expression. After many tense moments the giant finally nodded. “Arise, Mindwipe, Warden of the Tartarun Gates.” The winged robot smiled as he rose.


    ***


    Xaaron


    He should have realized something was amiss the moment he was summoned to a meeting with Sentinel Prime. Had he not offered to represent Orion Pax at that farce of a trial a few months back he doubted Prime would even know who he was. This feeling was definitely reinforced as he waited for the Prime in the empty chamber for over an hour, only to be informed by the Prime’s guards that other matters had arisen forcing him to be away. It wasn’t until he was in Guardian’s Square that he heard what was happening. The trial of the Autobot prisoners had commenced, and he had been drawn away to prevent him from offering to represent them.

    Xaaron finally reached the Forum of Justice, where in all likelihood the Magistratus had already sentenced the accused to death. He bolted through the main entrance, noticing the smirks of the Primal guards loitering there while Sentinel was undoubtedly within watching his version of justice come to pass. Xaaron sprinted up stairs, down the hall and slowed enough so that he could enter the chamber where the trial was reportedly taking place without causing a commotion. All the subtlety was unnecessary, as the assembled onlookers, most nobles or senators, were quite vocal with their outrage at the prisoners on trial, who, much to Xaaron’s dismay, were shackled and gagged.

    “Silence!” The presiding judge, Senator Proteus, called out to the assembled spectators. When the roar diminished to a dull collection of individual muffled conversations Proteus looked to the individual defending the accused. “You may proceed Senator Decimus.”

    Xaaron shook his head in despondence. Senator Interjectus Decimus was nothing more than a rich jerk unwilling to work hard at anything, but having been born into House Decimus was able to do whatever he wanted. Unfortunately for those interested in true justice on Cybertron, what he wanted was to be a Senator. Not that he was clever enough to do any real damage on his own, but he was more than willing to play whatever role was asked of him in the machinations of those that were clever enough. So here he was, defending those he despised and wanted nothing more than to see removed from this plain of existence in this kangaroo court.

    “Thank you your honor.” Interjectus Decimus replied. “I feel that the evidence used to support the prosecution’s accusation that these citizens attacked the Prime is insufficient.”

    “We have numerous recordings of the attack, as well as the testimony of dozens of witnesses, including Security Commander Prowl and Sentinel Prime himself; individuals whose integrity or judgment cannot be called into question.” Xaaron was surprised to see that the prosecution was being conducted by Consul Traachon himself, the current ranking member of the Senate. They were not taking any chances. “All of which is moot given that the accused have confessed to attacking the Prime and his entourage.”

    “They have confessed to defending themselves non-lethally against Sentinel Prime’s entourage, isn’t that right, hmm?” Decimus replied, almost reveling in the set-up he created for Traachon.

    “Of course they have.” Traachon replied. “The evidence putting them at the scene and attacking the Prime was insurmountable, the best they could hope for was to mitigate the severity of their crimes. You’re welcome to believe this desperate ploy of theirs if you wish, but I for one cannot swallow it.”

    Senator Decimus merely shrugged, smiled and motioned to the restrained accused. “There’s only so much I can do with this.” Everyone in the chamber chuckled at that sans Xaaron, who turned away in disgust, seeing Sentinel Prime standing in the doorway that he had come through mere moments before staring at him with a satisfied smile on his face. Prime nodded back into the hallway, an invitation that Xaaron knew he had no choice but to accept.

    The two left the chamber and allowed the double doors to fully shut before Sentinel gently cupped Xaaron’s shoulder and grinned. “I apologize for missing our meeting, things can get quite busy for a Prime, I assure you, but I’m so glad you could make it to these proceedings.” The Prime stared intensely into the senator’s optics as his hand slid off his shoulder.

    Xaaron met Sentinel’s gaze unflinchingly but displayed nothing but courtesy from his face. “No need to apologize for your absence, I have no doubt that whatever goals were set for it will be met.”

    Sentinel’s grin faltered ever so slightly and an edge came to his look. “No doubt they will.”

    “And I must apologize as well, I’d have been here sooner, but I fear I was unaware of these proceedings until just a little while ago.” Xaaron continued.

    “No matter, there was nothing you could have done here.” Prime replied.

    Xaaron nodded knowingly. “It was noble of you to recues yourself from these proceedings. I recognized that must be a difficult thing to do given your personal stake in all this.”

    Prime chuckled lightly. “Well, we must maintain the appearance of impartiality.”

    “On that note,” Xaaron replied, “the fact that the accused are shackled and muffled might be seen as…well, a breach of fairness.”

    “These are dangerous individuals.” Prime replied. “Their leader uses sonic waves as weapons. We can’t take any chances, nor are their undoubted outbursts welcome here.”

    “And the apparent media blackout?” Xaaron asked cordially. “I’m a senator, and even I was unaware of this trial until after it had begun.”

    “What media blackout? Any lack of attention is because this holds no value to the public.” Prime replied dismissively. “We have no interest in keeping any of this under wraps.”

    Xaaron nodded, finding it harder to keep his skepticism from manifesting itself in his facial features. “That’s good. In light of the Orion Pax trial and the Autobots being far more media savvy than previously thought, some might raise the absurd suggestion that you’re keeping this quiet to avoid footage supporting their version of the events.” Xaaron noted a distinctly dark turn in Sentinel’s facial features, but didn’t shy away in any way.

    After several seconds Sentinel calmed and forced a smile. “To any that fear these judicial proceedings to be unjust, I can point out that they are being defended by a senator.”

    “Yes, Senator Decimus, how fortunate for the accused.” Xaaron replied, hiding the sarcasm in his delivery, though there was really no way for the words to be construed as anything else but sarcasm.

    Sentinel Prime laughed as he once again placed his hand on Xaaron’s shoulder. “Yes, you see, we are all about seeing that justice is served. Enjoy the proceedings.” With that Sentinel Prime removed his hand and started marching down the hall, away from the court forum.

    “Aren’t you going wait for the verdict?” Xaaron called out.

    Without turning back Prime called back his answer. “I’m afraid I have too much to do.” But after a couple more steps he did stop and turn his head slightly, eyeing Xaaron with one arrogant optic. “But I already know how it will turn out.”


    ***


    Darkwing


    It was too early for Evicerator’s to be crowded, but there were at least two dozen patrons warming the stools as Darkwing walked in with Dreadwind. The same old frames burdening the same old seats for the most part. Strangers were a rarity in this place, either due to a lack of awareness or a lack of courage, new faces were almost never seen here. Especially a face of such pristine beauty on a perfectly maintained and polished pink frame. “What the slag is that?” Dreadwind asked as he stared at the femme with the points on her helmet.

    “It’s a femme, you need to get out more.” Darkwing replied.

    “I know what it is, but what is she doing HERE?” Dreadwind grumbled in annoyance. “Every other femme we’ve seen in this shithole has been walking proof that gender dimorphism is a myth, and now we have…this.”

    “Yeah, she’s a hot piece of bumper.” Darkwing replied eyeing the femme lustfully as the two sat down at a table. “My spark is throbbing just from looking at her.”

    “OK, we’ll table the why she’s in here question for later.” Dreadwind said. “I’m curious as to why she’s chatting it up with Noose.”

    “Looks almost like she’s interrogating the scrawny bastard.” Darkwing observed as the pink femme appeared to be browbeating an acquaintance of theirs at the bar. They watched as she turned away from Noose in frustrated disgust and peered around the pub, her gaze settling on them and a smile came over her face. “Holy shit, I think she’s coming over here.”

    “Why?” Dreadwind muttered almost nervously.

    “I’ve read about this.” Darkwing replied quietly as they watched her walking their way. “Rich chick, probably a noble, but her fetish is to spend time with seedy criminal types. She’s into a big deviation from her high class, polished life. Bad boy complex or something.”

    “Too bad.” Dreadwind answered. “The boss prefers it when they aren’t into it.”

    “Trust me, she would not be into that.” Darkwing replied just as the femme got to them. “Why hello there.”

    “Hello to you as well.” The pink femme replied to Darkwing, then looked to Dreadwind. “Hello to you as well. Do you boys mind if I take a seat with you?”

    “Why?” Dreadwind asked bluntly, earning him a kick under the table from Darkwing.

    “Please do, my friend here is a bit of a kidder.” Darkwing replied as he offered the femme one of the two remaining chairs. “I’m Darkwing, my friend here is named Dreadwind.”

    “Nice to meet you boys.” The femme replied. “I’m Elita.”

    “Elita, such a pretty name, but a femme with your appearance deserves nothing less.” Darkwing replied, earning him a smile from Elita and a groan from Dreadwind.

    “I’m glad there’s two of you.” Elita stated. “You see, I’m in town to meet a friend of mine, and as there are two of you, and there’ll be two of us, well…” Elita’s optics increased in illumination.

    Darkwing leaned forward. “Well we’d love to keep you and your friend company. When’s she getting here?”

    Elita smiled coyly, but then gave a look of mild annoyance. “She was supposed to meet me earlier, but she never showed up. I’m sure we’ll touch base at some point.” Elita then perked up. “Maybe you know her. Her name is Chromia,” Darkwing couldn’t help but shudder a tad from the surprise, and noted that this Elita was not only studying them closely, but had noticed his momentary lack of composure, “she’s blue and very pretty.” Elita finished the statement without the playfulness that their conversation had prior to his reaction to hearing the name Chromia. The femme continued studying him intently. “So, do you know her?” The question was almost accusatory.

    “You’re the very first femme that doesn’t transform into a titanium wastehouse to ever walk in here.” Dreadwind replied indifferently, unaware of the silent intensity going on between the other two. “So unless she’s some nasty…” a backhand to the face knocked Dreadwind to the floor.

    Darkwing was stunned to see the femme strike his friend, but was even more stunned a moment later to see the tip of a blade an inch from his optic. “Where is she?” Elita snarled.

    “You’re quick.” Darkwing replied once he got his bearings a little. “But you’re out of your depth.”

    “Why, because your big bad crocodilian friend has experience attacking women?” Elita quipped. “Believe me, I’ve been trained to deal with worse than him.”

    “Trained? Trained where,” Darkwing asked with a smile, “the gardens of some high house? Some enjoyable sparring with your personal trainer before the evening energon consumption with the other nobles of your house?” Darkwing’s chuckling was shared by other patron’s of the bar who had stopped their drinking to watch what was going on. “This is Rodion, bitch, and your friend is not the property of its overlord. You’re not trained to deal with this.”

    “I’ll take my chances.” Elita replied.

    “You’re lack of practical experience is already starting to show.” Darkwing smiled broadly. “I’m sure you’re strong and all, but we both know that my friend wouldn’t still be on the floor from the backhand of a femme.” Elita’s optics widened as she realized Darkwing was right, but shuddered as a submission charge was slapped against her thigh. Darkwing reached up to grab the knife, but was slashed across his cheek as he struggled with it. “Ahhh, bitch!” He got a hold of her wrist and managed to put a little distance between the blade and his face as Dreadwind got up and started punching her. “Giver another charge!”

    Dreadwind pulled back, withdrew another small disk and flipped it onto Elita, who shuddered again and dropped to one knee. Darkwing lunged forward and kicked her in the head, sending her back falling to the ground. “One more?” Dreadwind asked.

    “Yeah, do it!” Darkwing snapped as he watched Elita fighting off the effects of the two charges and the kick and struggled to get back to her feet. Another charge slapped her shoulder, causing her to drop again. “One more, just to be safe.” Dreadwind did as he was instructed, the fourth submission charge leaving Elita unable to do anything except shudder and twitch on the floor.

    “Damn, four charges to finally keep her down.” Dreadwind remarked. “Tough bitch.”

    “Pretty bitch.” Darkwing knelt down next to her and stroked her face, smiling into the angry, hate-filled optic. “So, what’s more important to me, revenge…” he asked gently as he pulled his hand back, “or reward.”

    For the first time in ages Dreadwind let out a chuckle. “Giving her to the boss gets you both.”

    Darkwing nodded. “Yes it does.”


    ***


    Nightbeat


    Near as he could tell, this Elpasos was a world inhabited by robotic life, but it seemed unlikely that they were one species. There was a fair bit of diversity with the robotic life on Cybertron, but you could trace the origins of every species back to sparks emerging from the planetary core and sentio metallico found on the surface. The vast majority of robots wandering the streets of Huecotanq, the low mountainous town that Nightbeat currently found himself in, seemed to have little in common with one another apart from being humanoid for the most part and possessing differing degrees of mechanical anatomy. From what he could tell, this, and pretty much every other city on the planet was a melting pot for all manner of robotic life, which was ironic given the dirt and rock terrain gave the distinct impression that this was an organic world. It probably once was, but mechanical extraterrestrial immigrants appeared to have made it their home.

    The helpful bartender in that rundown saloon in the planetary capital had directed him here, to an even more rundown saloon in this rundown town. Apparently there was a ship’s captain that was familiar with tales of Cybertronian expatriates that frequented this particular pub, and according to the town’s port authorities, the captain’s ship, The Tidal Wave, was currently berthed there. Nightbeat entered the establishment and scanned the room. There were over a hundred different robots in there, despite the early hour, with wildly varied shapes and forms, but after only a few moments of scanning the room the detective was able to identify one that matched the description provided to him. Twenty-six feet tall, heavily built, mostly blue, bearded, with animalistic claws and spikes emerging from all over his body. Nightbeat approached the robot. “Excuse me, sir, are you Captain Thundertron?”

    The robot continued staring into his drink as he replied. “You be very polite, and appear ta’ speak the language of this world flawlessly, utilizin’ the most popular dialect in this region. And of course, yer words lack any sense of flavor.” The bearded robot slammed his drink down and looked up at Nightbeat. “Yer clearly not from around here, are ya’ matey?”

    Nightbeat nodded. “No, I’m not. I’ve traveled here looking for information, and you’ve been mentioned as someone that has some.”

    “Oh, an information seeker.” Thundertron nodded for Nightbeat to take a seat at the table. “I be having plenty of information, though givin’ it out has never been somethin’ I been known to do.”

    “I can compensate you.” The Cybertronian replied.

    “With what, energon?” Thundertron chuckled at Nightbeat’s surprise. “I know what ye be, just as you must know that what you need to survive is of very little use to the rest of us. Aye, a great source of energy, but that be about all it be to us.”

    “I recognize that, and have more to offer than just energon.” Nightbeat replied. “Though you appear more Cybertronian than any other robot I’ve seen on this world, or anywhere outside of Cybertron for that matter.”

    The large robot’s hand shot forward and gripped Nightbeat by the neck. “I’m nothin’ like ye, or any other Cybertronian! You bastards commandeered me home, an outpost of nearly a thousand of me brethren, and you killed them all to build your empire!”

    “Emp…ack!” Nightbeat struggled to speak through his quickly crushing throat, the fluids needed in his brain being stopped by the captain’s iron grip. Thundertron gave one more squeeze before releasing Nightbeat. The detective struggled to regain his composure for a moment before speaking. “Empire? Cybertron has no empire. We’ve had no extraterrestrial aspirations for over one million years.”

    Thundertron glared at the Cybertronian for several moments before displaying a frightening grin. “You’re a fool. Aye, ye may be telling the truth in that none of your conquests have been launched from Cybertron, but your cursed colonies have spread plenty of carnage in that time. Oh, the Galactic Council doesn’t want to draw the connection between these worlds and their home world, but I know.” Thundertron leaned in close and snarled at Nightbeat. “Believe me, I know from whence they came.”

    Nightbeat leaned back, holding up his hands in submission. “Look, Captain, I know nothing about these colonies. I’m in search of one ship, a ship that I have reason to believe was lost in the Benzuli Expanse.”

    “Har!” Thundertron roared. “The Benzuli Expanse? Ye be a fool if ye think anything can survive…” a look of deep thought came over the pirate’s face.

    “What?” Nightbeat pressed.

    Thundertron looked into Nightbeat’s optics for a moment before turning away and shaking his head. “It be nothing. Just old tales of a large ship showing up in scans of the anomaly’s center. Scientists from Lithone studied it, and story is that some of their scans managed to penetrate to the core of the expanse where they saw what appeared to be the outline of a ship.”

    “Intact?” Nightbeat asked incredulously. “That can’t be possible.”

    “It isn’t!” Thundertron growled. “I’m not one to call a Lithone a liar, but they definitely be not above mistakes.”

    “What is a Lithone?” Nightbeat asked.

    Thundertron looked around the bar and nodded to a slender robot with a disproportionately large head sitting at a table and imbibing what appeared to be an untainted energized drink. “They not be ones to frequent establishments like these, but establishments like these be all this town has for refreshment. They’re weak, and devoid of anything I would call fun, but they be good and honest, and have never done harm to anyone; unlike you and your ilk!”

    “Enough!” Nightbeat stood up. “Cybertron has no colonies, we are not an empire, and whoever destroyed your home was not answering to us!”

    Thundertron leaned back and chucled. “See fer yerself. Go ye to the planet of Junk. They be rough, and wild, and not quite right, but they be yer kin. Scan em’ and see. Same with Eukaris. They be covered in fur and scales and feathers, but underneath it all be metal powered by a spark shat out of Cybertron herself.”

    “Cybertron is not the only world to have produced spark-based life!” Nightbeat snapped. “The Big Bang produced many Omega caliber hyperdense energy clusters that formed planets around them. Our Vector Sigma is not unique.”

    “Aye,” Thundertron nodded, tapping his own chest as he did so, “I be spark-based, but mine and yours be different. Yours, those of Junkions, those of Eukarians, those of Velocitronians, and even the monsters of Beest, they be the same. Run yer scans and see fer yerself. And there be other outposts where your kind has spread to, beyond just the planets originally seeded with yer accursed protoforms, displacing or eradicating native populations, changing the planet to suit their needs, and setting up processing plants to recreate that energon your kind so desperately needs. Well, not the Eukarians, they be using pink alchemy; altering themselves to convert organic matter into energy usable to their frames, but they still be invaders and butchers, especially those from Beest, the bastards that murdered me kin.”

    “Look, all of this is news to me, if we have off-world settlements, they haven’t been reporting in since long before I came online. And even if you are telling the truth, you’re not the one that should be crying injustice.” The Cybertronian grumbled. “I’ve read your resume, Thundertron, and this respect for the sanctity of life you’re trying to claim you have is a crock of shit. I’ve yet to take a life, but you, you’ve killed thousands!”

    Thundertron smiled. “Aye, and if you called me a hypocrite, I would not be sayin’ that ye be tellin’ a lie. But the caliber of the accuser doesn’t change the savagery of the crime.”

    “No, but it does call into question the guilt of the accused.” Nightbeat replied.

    “Hmmm, ye’ not be a dummy.” Thundertron replied almost amicably. “Tell me, whose in that ship ye’ seek, and how did they find themselves in the dark expanse?”

    Nightbeat studied the pirate for several moments before answering. “An ancient leader of ours. He set out on a mission of exploration and the opening of trade routes. How they got trapped in the Benzuli Expanse, I don’t know.”

    Thundertron looked into Nightbeat’s optics for several moments before nodding. “Exploration and the opening of trade routes. Do ye’ actually believe that?”

    Nightbeat broke away from Thundertron’s gaze. “I did. I’m no longer so sure.” He then looked back. “But it doesn’t matter. Those on board are long dead. I mean only to retrieve their frames for internment and…” Nightbeat realized the folly of mentioning the item of value on the ship to a pirate, but also recognized that were there to be incentive for him, this Thundertron might prove to be useful in the retrieval. Ultimately he decided the risk of an outsider, especially one bearing so much hatred for Cybertron, laying claim to the Matrix was too great. “And to determine what happened.”

    Thundertron leaned forward and stared intensely at Nightbeat. “Despite yer origins, I bear ye’ no ill will. See what yer histories have whitewashed, visit yer colonies, see the damage they’ve done. But I warn ye’, if you do anything to try and salvage that craft, or if by some miracle…or an impressive display of resourcefulness this ancient leader still lives and ye’ try to rescue him, I’ll kill ye. And there’ll be no hesitation when I do it. Yer accursed colonies were established in the millennia that preceded the loss of yer precious Guardian Prime,” the pirate smiled at the surprise that came over Nightbeat’s face, “yes, I’m well aware of who your ancient leader was, many a dyin’ Cybertronian claimed he’d be returning to avenge them. His disappearance punctuated the end of yer’ planet’s expansion, and I be not one to believe in coincidences. The damage caused by yer world has been contained since his disappearance, and if he truly be in the dark expanse, then there he will stay til the end o’ time.”


    ***


    Chromia


    The darkness slowly faded away and the images of her surroundings slowly came into sharp clarity. A dark gray face beneath a red helmet with an odd yellow lens over the left part of the forehead was the first thing to come into view. The face smiled as it saw that she was back online. “Ah, welcome back. I hope you’re feeling a bit better.” Chromia could feel a tremendous reduction in the pain in her chest that had been overwhelming since…since the violation. Since that monster had torn her chest apart and pressed his exposed spark into hers, and then, after he had had enough, painfully bend her chest back into a position over her severely weakened spark. She had lost consciousness shortly after that, remembering the horrific agony, and only now awakening to note that while still painful, her chest was feeling vastly better than it had. “I’ve repaired the damage that Overlord caused in his lustful haste, and made modifications to allow easier access for him to conduct future acts of…love, shall we say.”

    “Mod…modifications?” Chromia looked down to see her chest. It looked much as it had, but she noticed almost imperceptible hinges and access dials. “No.”

    “It was either that or have him tear you apart whenever the mood hits him.” The robot stepped back. “And from what I’ve observed, it hits him quite frequently. Just be thankful you’re strong enough to endure it, many aren’t.” The robot, whose body was predominantly blue, walked over to the door and gave two heavy knocks before turning to face her again, a broad smile on his face. “The changes I made will also make it easier to access your inner workings for repairs, maintenance, and a myriad of other things. You’re welcome.”

    The door opened and the thirty-six foot monster that had torn her open walked into the room, a massive smile spread across his massive face. “Hello Doctor Rossum,” the beast looked over at her and stared her up and down, obvious lust on his horrible face, “once again, excellent work.”

    “Not so hard when the patient is as resilient as she is.” Rossum replied. “But take it easy on her, she needs time to recover.”

    “Fine.” The massive fiend walked over and placed his hand firmly on her shoulder, ignoring her wincing attempt to pull away from his touch. “But someday I’ll find a femme with endurance and libido to match my own.”

    “Well, not likely anytime soon I’m afraid.” Rossum replied as they walked out of the room they were in and into the main expanse of the warehouse. “You’re made up of an exceptional amount of metallico, significantly enhanced surgically, and powered by what I’m all but certain is a spark of exceptional power.”

    Overlord chuckled as he directed Chromia toward a row of cages, some filled with other prisoners. Beyond them were over a dozen large crates, two of which were open revealing large plasma rifles, ion canons and even a fusion canon within them. “Perhaps someday I’ll let you take a peek at it.”

    “That would be nice, but I’m no longer quite as eager to see as I was the last time we met.” Rossum replied. “I’ve had the good fortune of seeing another up close.”

    “Another?” Overlord stopped, genuinely caught off guard by the doctor’s statement. “There is no other like mine!”

    Rossum turned and smiled at the giant, displaying no sign of fear or intimidation. “Well, as I’ve never seen or studied yours, I cannot say for sure. But the one in my lab was tremendously powerful. It would have easily powered a frame many times the size of the one it was in with complete comfort and full dexterity. The frame it was in is truly large, not nearly as large as yours, but very large, and the power it exuded was, well, let’s just say he was the finest physical specimen I’ve ever worked on by a very wide margin.”

    “That’s only because you’ve never worked on me.” Overlord snapped, clearly annoyed.

    “True.” Rossum answered. “I’d be happy to change that if you’d like. Whoever did your armor and press enhancements did a phenomenal job, but I know that I can improve upon them. I may even be able to capitalize on and implement the remote influence you claimed to have had over your detached body parts during your previous procedure.”

    “What do you mean by that?” Overlord asked, intrigued.

    “I theorize that certain very rare individuals might be able to have their shell separated into different pieces and still exert control over all parts.” Rossum replied. “But I’m afraid that it’s just theory at this point, and that my time here is coming to an end. I need to return to Castle Macht.”

    Overlord nodded and walked over to Rossum, opening up a screen on his wrist for the doctor to extract payment for his services from. Rossum withdrew a handheld device and held it over the wrist-screen. “Work for me full time Rossum, I pay you more than the Machts do.”

    Rossum chuckled as he finished his transaction and put the device away. “Even when that was true, which is hasn’t been since the Machts began their patronage of gladiators and paying me for their upgrades, there was still the social standing of being the polyhistor to a ruling house.”

    “Polyhistor?” Overlord chuckled. “You’re the most brilliant physician on the planet, but you’re hardly an expert on anything outside of our anatomy.”

    Rossum shrugged. “I can’t argue with that, but the Machts really don’t care about my ability to do anything other than maintain them and enhance their select subjects.”

    “Like this other powerful spark bearing individual?” Overlord asked.

    “Why Overlord, you sound jealous.” Rossum chuckled. “Perhaps you should be. I was very impressed with this gladiator.”

    “He’s a slave paid to die.” Overlord replied, his casual demeanor returning despite the subject matter being what had irritated him only a short while before. “Good-bye doctor, another job well done.”

    “And good-bye to you as well.” Rossum replied as he made his way to the door. Just as he reached the door it burst open, and two winged robots stumbled in carrying a barely stirring pink femme. Rossum laughed as they dragged her past him. “Ha! Very subtle. I’d stay as I’m guessing you’ll be needing my services in the not so distant future, but unfortunately I have some things to take care of, so just message me when you’re done with her, do what you need to do to keep her alive, and I’ll get here when I can.” With that Rossum exited the building.

    “Hey boss, she was at Evicerator’s asking about her blue friend there.” The darkly colored one with the visor offered.

    “Bitch hit me after finding Darkwing’s Sheol’s Bounty-face less than convincing.” The predominantly white one said.

    “Took four charges to put her down, and we had to slap her with another on the way here.” Darkwing added.

    Overlord looked down at Chromia and smiled. “So what’s your friend’s name?”

    Chromia looked up into his optics in confused terror, then down at the barely conscious pink femme. “I…I don’t know her. I have no idea who she is?”

    “Then why would she be asking about you?” Overlord asked skeptically.

    “I don’t know.” Chromia replied. “I swear I’ve never seen her before.”

    “I think you’re lying.” Overlord said, turning to look the pink femme over. “She’s actually very attractive too. I think I’ll take her now, and you’re going to watch me do it.”

    “No, no please.” Chromia pleaded, looking from her massive captor, to her fellow captive and repeatedly back and forth. “Don’t hurt her, she’s done nothing to you.”

    “She struck my employee Dreadwind.” Overlord countered.

    “She cut my face too.” Darkwing added.

    “See,” Overlord continued without taking his optics off of Chromia, “she has this coming.”

    “Don’t make me watch you do this to her.” Chromia begged. “Please, don’t do this.” Overlord reached down and grabbed her by her upper arm, dragging her across the floor to the stirring pink stranger and grabbing her by the arm as well. He then dragged them both back across the warehouse toward the room where he had violated Chromia before. “Nooo!!!”

    “Darkwing, Dreadwind, as you can see, we’ve received a new cache of firearms,” Overlord called out as he reached the room, “see that they’re stored properly and are ready to ship out to our dealers on time.”

    “Of course sir, have fun.” Darkwing replied.

    Overlord flung the pink femme onto the slab in the center of the room, then dragged Chromia over to the wall where several pairs of shackles were mounted. Chromia grunted in pain as Overlord hoisted her up by her arms and effortlessly held her in place as he positioned the clamps on her wrists, then released her to let her dangle against the wall. “I was gentle with you. You’re about to see how brutal this act can truly be.” Overlord smiled cruelly before turning and marching over to the pink robot struggling to lift herself off the slab. “Coming around, are we? Good.” With barely a noticeable effort, the monstrous criminal slapped the prisoner back down on to the slab. “I want you to be absolutely aware of what I am doing to you. I would prefer that you survive this, but in all likelihood, you won’t. I’m not going to be gentle.”

    “No, leave her alone!” Chromia demanded, losing her fear of the behemoth.

    “Daaa…don’t talk.” The pink femme finally spoke, looking bravely toward Chromia. “Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

    “Who are you?” Chromia asked, but the femme was unable to answer as Overlord grabbed her shoulders and slammed her down hard against the top of the slab. “Stop!”

    Overlord’s head whipped back and he snarled at Chromia. “Shut up and watch, or I’ll take you again once I’m done with her!” His warning delivered, he turned back to the pink femme.

    “No.” Overlord’s optics widened in anger for just a moment as he whipped back around to face Chromia, but realized instantly that the cry had not come from her; it had not even originated in that room. “No, he’ll find us, he’ll catch us.” The voice, while raised, was barely audible in the room.

    Chromia watched the massive criminal march to the door and throw it open, then saw a smile spread over the monster’s face. “Officer Pax I presume?”

    “You are the one they call the Overlord?” A deep voice replied.

    “It is the only name I’ve gone by in a very long time.” Overlord answered cordially.

    “Then Overlord, you are under arrest.” The voice responded authoritatively, eliciting a laugh from Overlord.

    “I received a call letting me know that you’d be poking around sooner or later, Officer Pax.” Overlord replied in a friendly manner. “It wasn’t so much a warning as a notification that you were fair game. This made me curious.”

    “We can discuss your curiosity at the precinct house.” The voice interrupted. “For now you are to tell me where you have the two femmes and submit to apprehension.”

    Overlord began laughing lightly again. “Pinky is on the slab.” The massive robot reached over, grabbed the chains Chromia was hanging from, and yanked them over, snapping the links connecting her to the wall and holding her next to him for the officer to see. “Pretty little Chromia is right here as you can see.”

    Chromia looked up into the warehouse to see a large red, blue and silver robot standing next to several of the other captives, all now freed from their cages with the exception of one, despite the door to his cage being open. The robot content to remain captive looked to Overlord with terrified optics and pled. “My lord, please, I did not request to be freed. I only wish to serve.” The other former captives were quickly making their way past the unconscious Darkwing and Dreadwind toward the door and through it to freedom.

    “Your obedience has been noted.” Overlord replied dismissively. “I’ll advertise it to all prospective buyers, it should up your price a bit I suppose.”

    “Obedience born out of terror.” The officer snarled.

    “Does it really matter?” Overlord snapped back. “The sale will have long been final before any sort of courage and disobedience creeps into his pathetic frame.”

    “I think you’re delusional about the bargaining position you’ll have while in a penal colony.” Pax replied.

    “Oooo…Orion,” The pink femme called out weakly as she dropped from the table and landed on her wobbly feet, “geh…get out of here.”

    “So you’re with the cop.” Overlord turned just enough to look at her with one optic. “I’m going to tear you wide, bitch.”

    “You’re coming with me!” Orion growled and started marching in their direction.

    Overlord turned back to look at him and sighed in annoyance as he raised his wrist to his mouth. “Skullcruncher, bring everyone in here. We have a pest.” Seconds later six robots came charging in from the north section of the warehouse. “Where’s everyone else?”

    “Slow day boss, sent some guys home.” Skullcruncher replied as he jogged to the area between his boss and the wary intruder with his five cohorts. “Who’s this guy?”

    “Cop. We’ve gotten the OK to kill him, hell, it was a request to kill him, but I want him alive.” Overlord answered. “Take him down however you wish, but that little blue ember in his chest had better still be glowing when you’re done with him.”

    “Heh.” The pink captive weakly chuckled. When Overlord turned to face her she smiled at him as she took on a fighting stance. “I am starting to get my bearings, and now I’m going to kick the shit out of you.”

    Overlord chuckled as he tossed Chromia toward the corner dismissively. “I want to hate you pinky, but I’ve never been this turned on before.” A lightning quick backhand sent her crashing to the floor. The sounds of weapons fire erupted from the main warehouse area as Chromia squirmed around and leaned against the corner walls, watching in terror as Overlord hovered over the other female. “I absorb the energy and essences of a femme’s spark, it goes both ways to a degree, but my sheer power is such that while temporarily disoriented, I come away more powerful from the mingling. Like with the disorientation, the high is very temporary, and provided they survive whatever damage is done to my lady’s spark heals fully, but it frequently takes a long time to do so. But despite the brutality of it all, I’ve never fully absorbed or drained a spark, and I’ve never disrespected my lady enough to do it in front of an audience.” Overlord reached down and grabbed her by the arm. “Today, I’m doing both! I’m going to suck every trace of your life force into mine, and this blue bitch, my boys and your subdued boyfriend are all going to watch me do it!”

    “Shit, keep him away from the weapons’ crates!” The voice of Skullcruncher yelled out over the gunfire from the next room.

    “That cargo is worth more than any of you!” Overlord roared as he once more turned away from his pink victim, his every movement a reflection of his annoyance at his goons being able to handle the police officer as quickly and efficiently as he felt appropriate. That annoyance immediately turned to rage as he fully took in what was going on through the open door. “Damn it, keep him away…” an explosion erupted, eliciting a snarl from the massive crime lord. “That crate was worth more than one hundred thousand shanix! The most value I’d assign to any one of you is thrity…forty thousand tops!”

    “Primus, he’s still moving!” An unknown voice yelled out.

    “You moron’s didn’t even slow him down!” Overlord bellowed. “Do NOT blow up another crate!” The giant folded his arms and watched the goings on with intense interest, and a slowly growing sense of amusement. “Come on Gutcruncher, you can…ouch. Poor, poor Gutcruncher.” The large robot chuckled ominously. “Who is this guy?” Overlord mused quietly as he watched the fight with unrestrained enjoyment. A pink flurry of attacks landed against his upper back and the back of his head, attacks potent enough to send him stumbling forward a couple of steps. Chromia looked up at the face of Overlord as he turned, still grinning broadly, and looked down upon his assailant. “Fantastic! I really like your spirit, Pinky!” Chromia could take no more, and charged forward as well, hands still chained together, but with enough slack that she could put up a good fight and help out this pink femme and the red and blue cop. She lunged into Overlord’s midsection with everything she had. Unfortunately it was like slamming into a ten foot thick slab of cybertronium, and she bounced back against the immovable object. “Et tu, Chromia?” Overlord snarled, and swatted her to the ground.

    “Overlord!” The deep voice of the police officer called out. “Is this REALLY all you have for me?” Chromia, being carefully lifted up by the pink femme raised her optics and looked beyond Overlord out into the warehouse at a heavily scorched but otherwise healthy-looking Orion Pax standing amidst a chaotic mess of debris and unconscious henchmen. “Because if it is, your reputation is severely overblown.”

    “Heh heh heh.” Overlord chuckled ominously. “I’m a bit understaffed today, but even with that I expect better of my crew. Rest assured, punishments are in order.”

    “Release the femmes and I’ll consider leaving you to it.” Orion snapped back. “Otherwise I’ll be dragging your ass back to the precinct house. And once the evidence here is collected, your conviction and a painfully long sentence will be assured.”

    A hard look came over Overlords face, made all the more terrifying by the smile that was still held in place. “You’ll be dragging my ass?” The massive crime lord turned his head so that one optic locked onto the pink femme’s face. “Wait here, this will only take a minute.” With that he started marching out toward the police officer.

    “Chromia,” the pink femme whispered, “my name is Elita, I’m here to get you out of here. Once Orion has Overlord distracted we’re going to make a break for it. Do you understand?”

    “We’ll never make it.” Chromia whispered back. “Overlord will destroy him.”

    “In all likelihood, yes.” Elita replied. “But Orion is more powerful than he seems, trust me on this. He might catch Overlord off guard, and he will definitely demand the bastard’s focus for more than a few moments. Enough time to get you…” At that moment the door was thrown open and five robots came charging in.

    “Ah, just in time!” Overlord called out. “Guard the bitches while I brutalize this piece of shit. Feel free to shoot them in any non-vital body part, especially the pink one. In fact, don’t engage them up close, they’d probably take you pussies hand to hand.”

    “You need to focus on me, Overlord.” Pax snapped at the giant criminal.

    “Oh believe me, Officer Pax, you have my undivided attention.” Overlord growled as he cut the distance between them. “Your boss wants you dead, I want to know why that is, so while you’ll wish it wasn’t the case, I will be refraining from killing you right away.” With that Overlord lunged at the intruder, but Orion twisted away to the left. Overlord swung wildly at the retreating police officer, but Orion ducked and stepped away to put a bit more distance between then. “Ohhh, you’re a quick one.”

    “Yeah, I hear that a lot.” Orion replied, and this time he lunged in, delivering a left cross that landed squarely against Overlord’s jaw that forced the giant to stumble back a couple steps.

    More startled than anything else, Overlord brought his hand to his jaw and a smile began spreading across his face as he stared back at Orion. “Where have you been all my life?” With that he charged after the much smaller robot, throwing punch after punch, most evaded by the exceptionally fast Pax, some blocked or absorbed by his arms, but a few landing. Despite the amazing power of the shots, Orion remained upright and alert, and after several moments, he stopped backpedalling, planted his feet and landed several shots of his own. Overlord landed an overhand right that sent Pax down to his knees, but the young officer used his left knee as a pivot point to spin and land a right sidekick to Overlord’s left knee, causing it to buckle and force the giant stumbling back.

    “Damn boy, you come in here with nothing but your birthday suit and a meaningless badge and give me the best go I’ve ever had!” Overlord called out almost joyfully as they both straightened up. “Slag Momus! Slag torturing you! How would you like a job? Pay’s great, just ask anyone, and I’ll give you the best presses and armor money can buy. Hell, you just missed my doctor, best anatomical enhancer on the slaggin’ planet! Just be a cop, look the other way with my crew, and lock horns with me from time to time for shits and giggles – don’t worry, I’ll fix you up better than new after each go. Whaddya say?”

    Orion Pax looked up at the criminal. “That’s a generous offer, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.”

    “Bastard!” Overlord roared as he swiped his massive arm out and swatted Orion across the room, his frame skipping across the floor and landing next to one of the crates. “Do you have any idea of the offer I just made you? You’d get rich just to turn your head and offer me a challenge from time to time!”

    “A challenge?” Orion replied as he got to his feet. “You want to push your limits, find the best and beat them; you want to be the baddest on the planet. One giant bragging right.” The young officer swung out and smashed the closest crate open, allowing all the weapons inside of it to spill out onto the floor. He looked them over, finally reaching down, bypassing a fusion canon, and picking up an ion canon. He turned back to Overlord and directed the rifle at him. “I could not care less about bragging rights. I came here to rescue your prisoners and take you into custody.” Orion gave the crime lord a long look. “I guess I’ll have to arrest you another time.” With that Orion pumped a round into each of Overlord’s shoulders and then one into each of his knees.

    The giant endured the shots without so much as a grunt, but they cut easily through his armor and caused significant damage to his joints, causing each movement to be extremely painful and slow. The wounds made it impossible for him to stop Orion from turning the weapon on his henchmen and picking them off with debilitating but non-lethal shots, and then sprinting forward toward the room with the two femmes in it.

    Chromia watched as Orion had the weapon pointed in their general direction and then countless rounds fired at them. At least it seemed as though their savior was firing at them, but the rounds zipped past them and through the wall behind them, tearing it to shreds. Chromia turned to look at the perforated wall, and was caught off guard as she was lifted suddenly and forcefully from the ground and hoisted over Orion Pax’s shoulder, Elita planted on the other shoulder. A second later they were all blasted through the nearly destroyed wall, Chromia grunting through the pain of the impact and turning just in time to see the surface of the river rushing up at them. A moment later they were submerged, and she saw the officer’s powerful blue legs pumping hard to drive them down and then out toward the center of the river, farther away from the shore.

    They cut through the depths with impressive speed, eventually breaching the surface and climbing on shore several miles upstream. “Are you two alright?” Orion asked as he gently set the two of them on the ground.

    Elita leaned over and looked deeply into Chromia’s optics. “Are you OK?”

    Chromia started to say yes, but her voice got caught in her throat. Wildly varying emotions came crashing in all at once. All the hopefulness, hopelessness, fear, anger, feelings of self-loathing for getting taken, feelings of hatred for Overlord and those that took her, the utter desperation; all of it came crashing in on her, coupled with the memories of what had been done to her. “No.” She squeaked out and began weeping, wrapping her arms around Elita, and feeling the arms of the pink femme embracing her as well. She sobbed into the stranger’s shoulder, her body heaving as it all came out.

    “Can I…” she heard Orion say in confusion, “is there anything…”

    “No.” Elita replied. “Thank you, but no.” Elita pulled Chromia’s head back and looked into her optics. “I am Elita of House Solus, the ruling house of Axiom. You are welcome to return to my home, you will be safe there, I promise.” All Chromia could do was nod and bury her face back into Elita’s shoulder.

    “I…I apologize if sounds…insensitive, but we should get you to your transport as quickly as possible.” She heard Orion once again hesitantly stammer. He had no idea of how to handle this situation. While he hadn’t been told of what had happened to her, he knew. How could he not know? But despite that, he didn’t know how to react. Chromia didn’t know how to react. Ultimately, there was no good way to react to this situation, but Orion was right, they needed to keep moving. “I can carry her, or you, or both of you. I…I can do whatever, but we need to go.”

    Chromia looked up at Orion, as did Elita. The robot was looking down on them with an apologetic gaze, almost expecting to be reprimanded, but Elita’s voice was soft and consoling. “Yes, you’re right, we need to get moving.” She stood up, helping Chromia to her feet in the process. “I see the wheels on your frame, is your alternate mode functional?”

    “Good idea, but I transmitted a message to Ratchet while we were swimming.” Orion mentioned. “He’ll be picking us up on the roadside momentarily.”

    Elita gave Orion a look of genuine gratitude. “That was good thinking, thank you.” The two shared a smile. “How were you able to pry him away from his clinic?”

    Orion chuckled as he waved the two femmes to walk ahead of him and followed behind them. “His grumpiness is primarily show. If there’s a way for him to help, he’ll help.” The red and blue officer then shrugged. “And I may have offered to give him a free set of hands for six hours after my shift ends at the precinct.”

    “Torenia would be proud.” Elita replied. “Well, prouder. She already thinks quite highly of you.”

    “I hope so.” Orion replied as they reached the road and waited for Ratchet’s transport to arrive. “I owe her everything.”

    Elita nodded. “I thought she was making a mistake when she found you.” She looked over and noted the look of shock in Orion’s optics. “Today at Ratchet’s clinic wasn’t the first time we met.” She turned and faced him directly. “I was on the boat with Torenia when it sank. I made it to Isla Avalonius, I set out to find her, and I saw…I saw your birth. Your spark pulling material that had not right to be in a frame and force life into it. I was with her, I watched the love she already possessed for you grow into a force that made her defy the law and traditions to make sure you would be safe. I thought it was a mistake; it clearly wasn’t. I’m proud of my friend for making such a courageous choice, and she should be proud of what her son has become.” Chromia was utterly confused by the details of the conversation, but she could see the police officer melting under the gaze of her new pink friend.

    A moment later a transport pulled to a stop in front of them. “Well,” an old white and red robot barked at them, “you guys coming or what?”
     
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  12. batmanprime

    batmanprime Omega-con

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    Excellent. Youre a born author! Cant wait for more
     
  13. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Ultra Magnus


    The five factory owners, three of which possessing multiple manufacturing plants, and the four plant managers representing facilities with owners less willing or able to deal with their business’s concerns, were waiting in the lobby for an opportunity to meet with the new Emir of the Tagan Heights. The massive royal now entering the lobby nodded to them as the door behind him slid shut and would have prayed that they leave him alone and save their grievances for the Emir had he been the praying type. Ultimately he knew that with or without divine intervention, such a hope was too great. As if to tease him, the visiting captains of industry remained silent as he passed through the room, allowing him to nearly reach the door on the opposite end before…“Lord Magnus, a word please?”

    Ultra Magnus stopped, allowed himself a grimace before smoothing his facial features and turning to face the industrial magnate that had called out to him. “Highbrow, it is good to see you again. I assume you are here to see the Emir and address your liege lord’s interests in the industrial quadrant.”

    “Why yes sir, we are all here to address concerns related to the industry of the Tagan Heights.” The blue and white robot replied, waving over the other robots present. “We have all been here for hours, but your royal kinsman has been attending to his newfound…religiosity.”

    “Bah, religion!” Another robot grumbled while facing away from them. “Mythological nonsense used by a witch to hypnotize our young leader into doing her bidding.”

    The optics of Highbrow and every other visitor in the room stretched wide. “My lord, that opinion is most assuredly not shared by…”

    “Don’t worry.” Ultra Magnus interrupted. “It is not the first time I’ve heard such an opinion. I will talk to Delta Magnus now to see when he will be able to meet with you, and hopefully to dispel such concerns that he is under the sway of anyone, witch or otherwise.” With that the hulking robot took the opportunity to walk through the door and leave the room. He marched down the hallway toward the voices he heard ahead.

    “Primus, the lord of light, order and creation, has chosen you.” A feminine voice flowed out of the doorway at the end of the hall. “I have sensed the greatness within you. A greatness that I have never felt before. It is you that is destined to be the Prime of Salvation, the Devourer of the Devourer, the Eroder of Chaos. Why are you so resistant to accept this fact?”

    “There is already a Prime, and I am honor-bound to serve him loyally.” The familiar voice of Delta Magnus emerged, his contradictory tone a welcome sound to Ultra who was just reaching the room.

    “A Prime chosen by a corrupt senate.” The voice replied as Ultra Magnus turned into the room, the sweet, musical voice belonging to an exceptionally tall femme garbed in flowing pliable metal capes molded to her shoulders. “Sentinel Honorum lacks the honor, integrity, and most importantly, he lacks a spark that burns with the very fires of Primus himself, a spark that I can feel pulsing deep within you. The Matrix would never choose one such as him, but you, you are the one that it was created to bond with.”

    “I do not recall the Prime’s of old requiring an ignis superius in order to be chosen by the matrix.” Ultra Magnus offered with unconcealed skepticism from the doorway. “Though I suppose discussing any required prerequisites for bonding with it is moot, as it was unfortunately lost long before the one it was apparently created to bond with was born.”

    Delta Magnus looked past the priestess, a priestess that was two feet taller than he and his equally massive kinsman, and smiled. “Hello Ultra. Is there something I can help you with?”

    “There are nine individuals representing the interests of our manufacturing sector in the front solarium, and they have been waiting there several hours to meet with the newly chosen Emir.” Ultra Magnus replied. “I underst… I respect your desire to find religion, my liege, but your new position comes with responsibilities that greatly limit your free time.”

    “I really wish you would not call me your liege.” Delta Magnus responded. “Had I known you would start doing that I never would have accepted the nomination last month.”

    “You are the Emir of the Tagan Heights now.” Ultra Magnus countered. “It is the proper way to address you. I also have a matter of my own to discuss with you…when you’re done with the Mistress of Flame.”

    “It is the Lord Primus that has business with your Emir,” the tall femme replied with a not entirely warm smile, “I am merely his mouthpiece.”

    “Well if Lord Primus and his mouthpiece would not mind, I would like to discuss an official matter with the Emir.” Ultra Magnus replied keeping his gaze on Delta Magnus.

    “By all means, speak your mind brother, but the Mistress of Flame stays.” Delta Magnus replied, smiling graciously at Ultra. “She has become a trusted advisor, and provides perspectives unknown to others.”

    Ultra Magnus turned and looked the tall priestess over warily, but after a long pause nodded and decided to continue. “I wish for the Tagan Heights to formally protest the planned execution of the Autobots that attacked Sentinel Prime.”

    Delta Magnus’s optics widened in surprise. “Planned execution? I was unaware that they had even gotten around to the trial yet.”

    “Exactly.” Ultra Magnus replied. “While held in the presence of senators, it was virtually a secret until after the verdict and sentence had been handed down.”

    “That’s not due process.” Delta Magnus muttered quietly, looking down deep in thought as he did so.

    “Exactly.” Ultra Magnus punctuated, growing excited as his kinsman seemed to be readopting his passion and respect for the law.

    “A matter to be addressed informally with the Prime,” the Mistress of Flame chimed in, “but there is nothing to be gained from a formal protest. Ultimately they are but commoners; commoners that strive to remove your rightful authority over them.”

    “I do not wish to champion their cause, Mistress.” Ultra Magnus chimed in. “But capital trials have criteria that needs to be met, and in this case that criteria was ignored.”

    “They attacked the Prime,” Delta snapped, “it’s difficult to feel sorry for them, much less initiate a protest on their behalf.”

    “They attacked with glue canons.” Ultra growled. “Punishment is due, execution most definitely is not.”

    “I disagree.” The Mistress of Flames calmly replied. “An attack on the Prime, even an unworthy Prime, is more than just an assault on an individual, it’s an assault on the symbol of all we hold sacred. The Prime is a representation of our ties to Primus himself.”

    “I guess we’ll agree to disagree about the justice of it;” Ultra Magnus replied tersely, “justice is more a passion of the Pax’s anyway. But House Magnus has always been a champion of law, and in this case the law has been circumvented!” Ultra then turned to his Emir. “And this is not the first time Sentinel Prime has attempted to bypass due process to serve his own agenda. Were it not for the illegal distribution of footage by the comrades of the condemned, a noble and law abiding commoner would be languishing in prison right now for doing nothing more than his job.” The younger powerhouse took a step toward Delta before continuing in a quieter voice. “Tell me you weren’t enraged by what he tried to do to Orion. And when thwarted, what they did manage to do to him.”

    “The Emir must choose his battles.” The Mistress of Flame spoke out. “There will be a time to challenge the pretender, but this is not the time.”

    “Sentinel Prime is bypassing the laws to serve his personal needs and desires with increasing frequency.” Ultra Magnus countered, still staring at his kinsman. “This is a battle that House Magnus must engage in.”

    Delta Magnus met Ultra’s stare and held it for several moments before turning to the Mistress of Flames and locking optics with her. He finally turned back to Ultra. “What Sentinel Prime is doing is wrong, I agree brother, but we must not lose sight of the big picture.” Delta turned and walked away from his kinsman toward the Mistress of Flame. “If sacrifices must be made to ensure the true destiny of our planet, then so be it.” Delta was quiet for a few seconds before finishing. “The Tagan Heights will take no official stance on these proceedings at this time.”

    Ultra Magnus stared in disbelief at the back of his kinsman’s head for several moments before noting the grin on the face of the Mistress of Flame. “An official protest has already been issued by House Pax. I will add my name to theirs. I will make it clear that I stand on my own, and do not represent House Magnus.”

    “You will not.” Delta replied without turning around. “I forbid you from doing so.”

    “You forbid me?” Ultra replied, shock evident in his voice, but he bit his metal lip and nodded. “As you command, my liege.”

    “Send in the representatives of the industrial sector.”


    ***


    Nightbeat


    The blue and yellow robot waited patiently in the pilot seat of his small, but exceptionally well-equipped spacecraft as it hovered in orbit over a dense jungle world, the green and blue only interrupted by the cloud cover. After several moments a voice came through the speaker. “What do you have for me?”

    “Greetings Prime, I apologize for the delay in my reporting, it’s just that the Galactic Council seems very interested in what I may have to say to you, so I’ve had to go a bit out of my way to be sure I can send this without it getting intercepted or overheard.” Nightbeat explained.

    “Fine, just tell me what you’ve learned.” Sentinel Prime’s voice impatiently replied.

    “Just two things of note. First, I’ve uncovered a brief note regarding the Manifest archived deep within the Galactic Council’s files, something that they tried to hide from me. Secondly, I made contact with a pirate who accused Guardian Prime, apparently quite accurately, of setting about in an attempt to colonize other worlds, and with the exception of the Junk planet, have in part or in whole displaced the native life forms of those worlds.” The detective reported. “I’m currently over a world called Eukaris, perhaps the least intrusive occupation on Cybertron’s part, aside from the previously uninhabited planet of Junk where we set up a colony. Our Eukarian cousins seem to have developed their society without too much impact to the native flora and fauna…though that may be in part due to the lack of higher level life forms on this world.”

    “Am I supposed to give a shit about the native life forms?” Sentinel’s voice snapped back. “Are they even mechanical?”

    “Not on Eukaris, but we’ve colonized mechanical worlds.” Nightbeat replied. “As to why you should care, Guardian Prime doing a lot more than just exploration and diplomacy caught the attention of other species, and knowing that his ventures out into space started far earlier and utilized far more in the way of manpower and resources than we believed could raise questions that we would be well served having answers for. There are armies out there on our unknown colonies, armies consisting of what appears to be pre-existing Cybertronians and protoforms birthed on these worlds. All of which lends credence to the archived text I found within the Galactic Council databases. The only truly solid piece of evidence pertaining to the Manifest’s fate.”

    “And…?”

    “Forwarding to you now, my Prime.” Nightbeat pressed a button to send the message. “Basically someone claiming to be Primon sent a warning not to seek out the Manifest in the Benzuli Expanse. Of course, Primon had been dead for some time by that point…”

    “Primon?” Sentinel gasped, and Nightbeat noticed that his reaction wasn’t how he had anticipated. He had expected Sentinel’s voice to convey a large degree of skepticism, but this reaction was as though the Prime genuinely believed this to be a legitimate possibility. “You’re certain?”

    “You’re in possession of the message, that’s all I have to go on. It provides a location, granted, an extremely vast location, as well as a motive, provided there’s any veracity to the author’s claims.” Nightbeat replied before pressing. “Is there something regarding Primon’s fate that the common people lack awareness of?”

    There was a pause before Prime’s swift, dismissive reply. “No, of course not. Primon was long dead. Tell me what you know of the Benzuli Expanse!”

    “Almost impossible to quantify, it’s basically an enormous pocket in space where all but the tiniest few attempts to scan have come back fruitless.” Nightbeat answered. “But a race called the Lithone have managed to conduct a few deep scans into the expanse, and one of these scans came back indicating an object of roughly the dimensions and mass of the Manifest was deep within.”

    “Primus, you’ve found it!” Sentinel Prime gasped.

    “Well, Your Grace, I’m not so sure.” Nightbeat replied. “I’ve taken the data and brought it before over two dozen experts on the subject matter, and all of them came back with the same conclusion that my own estimates led me to; it’s not physically possible for the ship to be there. At least, not without being obliterated.”

    “Well obviously Primon was smarter than these experts of yours!” Prime snapped back. “Alpha Trion was regarded as the greatest scientist of his age, of perhaps any age!”

    Nightbeat was a little taken aback by Prime’s apparent acceptance of the message-sender’s claimed identity, but withheld a reaction to it. “That very well may be true, but I get the feeling that this may be a red herring.”

    “A red herring?” Prime replied. “OK, maybe you’re right, maybe you’re not. Follow the Benzuli Expanse possibility all the way through to the end before looking into other places that it could have been leading you away from should it not pan out.”

    “Your Grace, there’s really no way for me to follow this through.” Nightbeat replied. “And even if there were some way to confirm it being there, there’s no way for me to gain entry to obtain the Matrix.”

    “If it’s there, then somebody figured out a way to get it there!” Prime snapped. “Find their footsteps and then follow them!”

    “Alright, my Prime, but should it prove to be a false lead, know that I’m pretty much back to square one with finding the Manifest.” Nightbeat responded.

    “I was informed that you were the best detective we had!” Prime snarled. “Obviously that’s not the case if you have nothing to show for the investment of time, resources and faith I’ve devoted to you. Accomplish your mission, or don’t bother coming back!”

    Nightbeat quietly sighed. “Understood, your Grace. Nightbeat out.” He reached forward and flipped off the channel.



    ***


    Soundwave


    Scrapper’s construction team had been reluctant to accept this assignment initially, but that apprehension had clearly passed as Soundwave watched them enact their carefully crafted plan of utilizing local materials to construct the modules that would be used to form the arena that the evening’s contests would be held in. The designs were brilliant, simple shapes that connected in specific ways to create the larger, fairly complex structure; and then, once the event was over and the structure deserted, it was easily destroyed, looking like nothing more than large piles of rubbish, a common site in these minor Polyhexian cities. This particular occasion was the first true test of the disposable structures, so there was no shortage of apprehension about whether they would be strong enough to hold the crowds, yet light and pliable enough to be dismantled without leaving a trace as to its true purpose or designers. But the primary designer, Hook of House Narkissos, was beyond confident his designs would work flawlessly.

    Members of House Narkissos were typically arrogant, and Hook was no exception. But unlike most of the members of that ancient House, one that according to legend was perhaps the most powerful and influential House on Cybertron prior to the rise of the Knights and the Houses they sired, Hook’s arrogance had merit. He truly was brilliant, perhaps the most skilled designer on the planet, and a prodigy at the healing arts as well. His attitude of entitlement and superiority, sometimes even displayed against members of the royal House of Torrent, would have likely gotten him killed, or at least punished until a large degree of humility had been driven into him, were his skills not such as to make him invaluable to the descendants of Knight Fluctus. The greatest recent structures in Harmonex were due in some part to him, so his arrogance was tolerated…thus far. And his associate Scrapper, another noble of the less ancient and impressive House Masonus, knew his place and provided his betters with their due respect, asking only for their patience when dealing with Hook. His humility had purchased Hook many a pardon.

    “My lord?” Scrapper called out as he approached Soundwave. Despite genuinely enjoying his talks with the low noble, Soundwave was annoyed at the approach; he wished to speak with Megatron as soon as was possible, but he had no valid reason not to speak with Scrapper.

    “Yes Scrapper?”

    “My lord, I would like to once again thank you for this opportunity. The payment is, well, it’s exceptional.” Scrapper addressed him gratefully before taking a more hesitant tone. “But there is another matter that I feel I need to discuss with you.”

    “Yes, what is it?” The impatient Soundwave replied.

    “As you know, your kinsman Shockwave has been conducting research on the sparks of my crew and I, what he has referred to as an affinity of sorts for each other that enables us to be more productive or something.” Scrapper explained. “So far it’s just been spark scans, us doing stuff on our own, then doing stuff with each other nearby, and that sort of thing; and based on what I’ve seen, I’m convinced he may be on to something. But he’s suggesting, almost insistently, that the only way to progress his hypothesis is to conduct alterations to our frames to see if physical integration between us can push the output of our sparks to even higher levels, and frankly, that’s not something any of us are comfortable with.”

    Though he truly did not wish to get in the way of Shockwave or his experiments, Soundwave also did not wish to compromise the asset that Scrapper’s team represented. “I will speak with Shockwave. For now, focus on the task at hand.”

    “Thank you, my lord.” Scrapper gratefully replied before turning back to the fabrication of the temporary arena.

    Soundwave continued on toward Megatron just up ahead past several other gladiators, handlers and other individuals linked to the fight circuit. Megatron turned and smiled at the noble approaching him. “Greetings Lord Soundwave, it is good to see you again.”

    Soundwave nodded, a feeling of discomfort coming over him at hearing the magnificent gladiator refer to him as lord. Despite the circumstances of their respective births and subsequent societal standings, it seemed more appropriate for Soundwave to be submissively addressing Megatron as such. “Megatron, I request a word, if you please.”

    “Of course my friend.” Megatron replied, gently placing his hand on Soundwave’s shoulder and directing him away from the bustle of preparing for the fighting tournament. Once far enough away from anyone to avoid being overheard, Megatron continued. “What’s on your mind Soundwave?”

    “My Lord…” Soundwave began unconsciously, but realizing what he said he looked up to an also surprised Megatron. After a moment Soundwave continued with an explanation. “We play our roles in public, but I fully recognize which of us is greater, and not only do I accept that, I embrace it. I do have a high opinion of myself, my worth derived from my abilities and potential contributions, but I acknowledge that you might very well be the greatest of us. In public we must play our roles, but in the absence of others, I pledge myself to you.”

    Though a ground shaking admission for their society, Megatron was not altogether stunned to hear it, and aside from his initial optic-stretch at hearing himself referred to as lord, he made no show of surprise. “You recognize that such a statement could lead to your ostracism, and likely much worse for me.”

    “It is merely the stating of a fact, but yes, I realize that in this very flawed world of ours, actions to squash such a sentiment would come quickly and harshly were it to get out.” Soundwave replied. “Prior to meeting you, I would likely have championed the squashing, but having encountered a commoner who is greater than…anyone I have ever known, I find my worldview shifted significantly. Only one other has come close to you in my estimation, and he attained his impressiveness in large part to the resources his high birth granted him. You…your greatness is attributable solely to you. I only wish to know how you plan to direct your greatness, and what role I can play in serving that goal.”

    Megatron peered deeply into Soundwave’s joined optic quietly for several seconds before responding. “I wish to destroy this society of ours. The idea of a pecking order based on the location of birth is…” Megatron shook his head in disgust, “absurd. But I am no Autobot either. They fight for equality for all, but all are not equal and therefore should not be treated as such. The exceptional are of far greater value than the mean, and those sub-average individuals are a detriment and should be removed. A multitude of traits can contribute to one’s overall value; strength, intelligence, speed, endurance, courage and so on. I am not so myopic as to elevate only the strong, or only the smart; but I will look at the overall contribution one can make when determining their place in our new society, and the mediocre, no matter what pit they emerged from, will likely not have a place in it.” Megatron gave a small smile and a chuckle. “Or perhaps cannon fodder as we fight to create this society. As to what role you will play, I’m not entirely sure yet, but being a high noble that I trust completely will be immensely valuable to our cause early on, and that trust as well as your intellect and astounding abilities will keep you at my side going forward after that.” Megatron then shrugged. “But we are still just planning our initial steps, there is a long way to go before we tear this world asunder.”

    Soundwave paused for a moment. “I’ve heard similar philosophies.”

    Megatron nodded as they both looked out over the bustle of the quickly forming arena. “Oh, from where?”

    “From the only other Cybertronian that has come close to you in my estimation.” Soundwave replied. “My kinsman Shockwave.”

    Megatron nodded. “Perhaps he and I should meet.”


    ***


    Sentinel Prime


    “Your Grace, I have Prowl waiting on the line for you.”

    Sentinel Prime raised his optics from the prototype fusion rifle schematics on the data pad in his hand to look upon the sleek long orange legs of his personal assistant. His optics traveled up, over her shapely white torso, admiring her orange arms, upper chest and neck, the golden protrusions coming off her orange head, and her beautiful face, with large blue optics peering adoringly back at him. “Thank you Bayonet, I’ll take it in my office.” Prime gazed upon her a bit more, she was stunning to look at, but completely devoid of any real substance. Being the Prime meant that he could hire whoever for whatever he pleased, and he was taking full advantage of that perk. He finally pulled his optics from her, entering his office and signaling for the door to shut behind him. He marched over, sat at his desk and paused a moment before opening the communication channel. “What is it Prowl?”

    “Excuse my subterfuge, but I’m afraid that if I told your assistant who I really was, she wouldn’t put me through.” The familiar voice emerged through the desk-top speaker.

    Prime glared at the small communications array for a moment before replying. “I suppose I should be thankful you opted for a call rather than to surprise me in person like you did last time, Primon.”

    “I gather from the sarcasm in your voice, as well as your subtle yet obvious attempts to get Orion Pax killed, that you still doubt my claims.” A-Three’s voice responded.

    “I have doubts, though I haven’t dismissed your claims.” Sentinel Prime relaxed, and even adopted a genuine smile. “While I’ve been seriously entertaining the possibility that you’re telling the truth, I’m still not convinced that you’re the real Primon the Abdicator. Oh, I know that you are old, well older than I am, that you are exceptionally resourceful, and that you’ve adopted the identity of Primon long before meeting me. But whatever the case may be, A-Three, Polyhistor of Tyger Pax, I’m glad that you contacted me.”

    “Oh, why is that?” The annoyed voice replied.

    “We have much to discuss.” Prime replied. “In our last meeting I was at a bit of a loss, having been caught totally off guard, having no knowledge of you or anything about you, and having been physically immobilized. To say you had me at a disadvantage would be an understatement.”

    “Aside from lacking any need to immobilize you this time, I don’t see what’s changed.” A-Three replied.

    Prime chuckled as he responded. “Oh, I’ve learned a bit about who you are and what your agenda was and likely still is. And most importantly, whatever leverage that you think you may have had has been completely offset by a certain communiqué that you sent to the Galactic Council one million years ago, one all but admitting your responsibility in sabotaging the Manifest, and murdering Gal…Guardian Prime.” Sentinel Prime smiled as his accusation was met with nearly twenty seconds of silence.

    “I’ve murdered no one.” Came the reply.

    “Sabotaging equipment, forced confinement and starvation equate to murder!” Sentinel Prime snarled at the speaker.

    The voice came back more confidently. “I am guilty of the first two accusations you just made, but not the third. In time, Cybertron will advance to the point where the actions of Guardian Prime, Galvatron and their ilk can be brought to light, looked at dispassionately, and they will be judged for the atrocities they’ve committed; but our world still has a long way to go before we get to that point, and until then the crew of the Manifest will be kept safe, as the universe will be kept safe from them.”

    It was time for Sentinel Prime to sit in stunned silence for nearly half a minute. “You…you mean that they may still be alive?”

    “I have no reason to believe that they aren’t.” A-Three came back. “To be honest, I have not been keeping tabs. But barring outside interference, they should theoretically be fine; though completely subdued and out of the picture, so do not fear, Sentinel, your status should remain unchanged for the time being. Should Gallus Honorum returns to reclaim his title, it won’t be my doing.”

    “You assume I value my role as Prime more than my duty to my kinsman and last Matrix-bearer? I assure you, that is an incorrect assumption.” Sentinel Prime bluffed.

    “It seems we’ve both made claims that the other is not entirely convinced of then.” A-Three responded. “But know that even if I do believe you, should you continue to endanger Orion Pax I will come forward, identify myself, lay claim to the title of Prime, and reveal to the world the dishonesty, dishonor and brutality of both you and your ancestor Guardian Prime. If that means that I must answer for my crimes, then so be it. My legacy will be irreparably damaged, as will yours, and once I’ve laid out the evidence, Guardian Prime’s will as well. But the reputation of Orion Pax is unblemished, and is growing throughout the planet for the work he’s done in Rodion. So far your attempt to get him killed has only increased his standing in the optics of all.”

    “His success in Rodion works in my favor.” Sentinel grumbled. “Had he gone there and languished, or been maimed or killed, your claims of it being an attempt on my part to dispose of him might have held some weight. But the impact he’s had in that shithole only confirms that I saw untapped potential and made good use of it, nothing more. Whereas you coming forward will either lead to confirmation that you’re a fraud, or that you are who you say, but who you say is the murderer of our planet’s greatest and most beloved leader and hero! Beyond that, what do you have? Evidence that I can be harsh, arrogant, and primarily interested in the noble and ruling classes? That’s expected of a good Prime!”

    “Spin it how you wish, but either you see to Orion’s safety, or your time as Prime will be very short.” A-Three replied, showing sincerity, but lacking the authority he once had.

    “You have been defanged, old man, take your threats and shove them up your ass!” Sentinel Prime snapped before severing the connection. The Prime leaned back in his chair, swiveled around to peer out over downtown Iacon, and peered deeply at the buildings around him. “So much for the little shield that island born shit used to have.”


    ***


    Shockwave


    The shuttle touched down and Shockwave rose to his feet, making no comment to the pilot as he stepped out of the cockpit and marched to the opening door, striding through it onto the still lowering gangplank. He stepped onto cyber-firma seconds later and approached the small party there waiting for him. “Greetings Soundwave, I hope you’ve summoned me here for more than just some fighting tournament.”

    Soundwave stepped forward from the group of two others. Of the others, Shockwave recognized Starscream of House Nexus, the powerful looking chrome robot was unknown to him. “Greetings Shockwave, yes, I have not brought you here to watch gladiators fight, but to listen to one speak.”

    Shockwave peered at Soundwave silently for several moments before responding. “Soundwave, I respect you, more so than any other member of House Torrent. I hope that I’m not on the cusp of changing that assessment.”

    “From what I’ve heard, Shockwave, you are supposedly devoid of hope…or joy, fear or anything else that makes life interesting.” Lord Starscream interjected.

    Shockwave turned his lone optic toward Starscream for only a moment before directing it toward the unknown individual. “I have no interest in hearing any further from Starscream Nexus, so I hope it is you that Soundwave summoned me here to listen to.”

    The unknown robot smiled. “It is, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Shockwave.”

    “Lord Shockwave to you.” Starscream hissed. “We all think highly of you Megatron, but you are a commoner addressing your better.”

    Megatron turned his head and glared at Starscream. “I have yet to see evidence that anyone is my better.” The gladiator hissed at the winged noble before turning back to Shockwave and took a far more amicable demeanor. “That said, there is no doubt that Shockwave is worthy of titles and great respect, but it is not due to being born into a particular house. His greatness is derived from his ability, his efforts, and his ambition.”

    Shockwave studied this Megatron for a moment before turning to look at Soundwave. “You have shared with him the philosophies I have espoused?”

    “Negative.” Soundwave replied. “Your philosophies and those of Megatron are similar, but were derived independently of one another. I heard similar things from the two most impressive individuals I have ever met, and felt it necessary to bring the two of you together.”

    “And Starscream’s presence?” The dismissive question earned Shockwave a glare from the winged Altihexian.

    “As a lowborn who ascended to a position of nobility through…whatever means,” Megatron began answering, “Soundwave and I felt that Starscream would be like-minded with us in this philosophy that station should be derived from one’s abilities and contributions, and not birthplace. He has also developed an extensive network of contacts throughout the nobility, with the more influential common folk, and with the power-wielders in both legitimate and criminal businesses.” The chrome gladiator displayed a sly grin as he continued. “And he holds a tremendous amount of sway over the Emir of Altihex.”

    “The rumors of Pathos Nexus’s infatuation with Starscream have reached even my disinterested audio receptors.” Shockwave replied. “The question of his trustworthiness remains.”

    Starscream displayed a look of feigned indignation at the suggestion that he wasn’t trustworthy, but Megatron replied before he could say anything. “Starscream has many secrets, things he would never want to be revealed, and I am in possession of several of them.”

    “Bah.” Starscream belted out a chuckle. “You have nothing on me, Tarnian.”

    Megatron smiled as he looked over at Starscream. “At seeing me in action and feeling that I may be the one to defeat the Simfurian dragon, thus giving him something to ridicule Ogrus Onyx over, Branus Modus invited me to a private meal with him. And as you may or may not know, Branus enjoys his engex almost as much as he enjoys shit-talking other nobles. He may have let a thing or two slip regarding a conversation you may have had with Zeta Prime.” Starscream’s optics stretched wide in shock and horror, but he remained silent as Megatron turned back to Shockwave. “And if blackmail doesn’t work, well, I can always have him killed.”

    “That doesn’t explain why you summoned me here.” Shockwave interrupted the less than subtle power-play between the two. “I am not an aficionado of conversation, as Soundwave should know quite well, so what is it that you hope to advance to from discussing our shared feelings on determining one’s worth?”

    Megatron peered deeply into Shockwave’s lone optic. “I seek to advance our feelings from taboo philosophy to the formal law of a new and better Cybertronian society. But this is something that will never be voted in, there will be no groundswell of peaceful support that will change the system. The existing system cannot be adapted to accommodate our new world order, no, it will need to be obliterated, torn down and its remains scorched to non-existence. Only from its ashes can we build our utopia, a world that will celebrate, reward, and bend to the exceptional while the mediocre facilitate the continuous improvements that the exceptional will spearhead. And those that are sub-par, well, if we truly aspire to greatness, we cannot allow them to encumber us with their consumption.”

    Shockwave studied Megatron for several moments before responding. “While there’s little physical evidence to support it, it has been suggested that our society started, and has restarted in much the same way. House Macht has frequently used this idea as a justification for their place in society; that greatest of us arose and forged our society, and took their rightful places in power, and those forged of the same material must be the Ubermech as well, and therefore fit to rule as well.”

    Megatron nodded. “The first part of that sentiment is accurate; those that through their exceptionalness improve or create the society, are likely the most fit to oversee what they’ve created. But while I do believe that there are Ubermech, they emerge from those with potential far greater than what the average individual is born with, and who are able and willing to channel these innate abilities, this ‘force’ that they’ve been born with, into actual ‘power’. There are many on our world, a tiny fraction of our population have such potential, and only a tiny fraction of those gifted few that have the ‘will to power’ to hone that potential into greatness. Those that fall into this tiny fraction of a tiny fraction are the Ubermech, and their power is not derived from the pool they emerged from or a clan name. I’ve seen too many mediocre or sub-mediocre elite and too many exceptional commoners to ever entertain such a suggestion.”

    Shockwave studied Megatron some more. “Agreed. Perhaps discussing things with you might prove fruitful after all.”

    Megatron smiled and waved Shockwave over to a building where they could sit and talk. “Perhaps together we can come up with a plan to make our desires a reality.”


    ***


    Militus Macht


    Allowing the fighting circuit to have an event within the borders of Polyhex put him at great risk, but the financial reward was substantial, and the increased influence he would wield once he demonstrated how capable he was at putting on an extravaganza superior to the other southern emirates. The event that would be taking place the next day was just outside of Rodion, and he had left Megatron, who had become perhaps his most trusted and competent underling, to see to the details. In moments of boredom Militus sometimes wondered how Megatron had proven to be so competent at nearly everything, yet had only achieved mediocre scores on his intelligence tests. The Emir of Polyhex had even considered the possibility that his star gladiator may have played dumb during the testing, but quickly dismissed that ridiculous possibility.

    He marched out of his office to sit in his private garden. He was deep within Castle Macht, only other members of House Macht and their most trusted and essential assistants were permitted here in this section, and nobody other than Militus ever entered this particular open-air garden. He turned off all transmission receivers to his personal frame and prepared for a few moments of quiet meditation. Life as the Emir of Polyhex was hectic, he loathed those that meditated on a regular basis, ridiculed them mercilessly, but truth be told, he found the practice to be helpful in calming his nerves, putting things into perspective, and recharging his dedication to his job. He just hoped nobody would ever see him doing it.

    “Emir Macht?” The feminine voice belonged to Militus’s personal assistant and data depository, File. Militus activated his optics and turned to glare at the commoner who had dared to enter the garden. She winced at his expression, but stood her ground. “I know I shouldn’t be here, my lord, but you had cut all reception and I had no other way of contacting you.”

    “Then you wait.” Militus grumbled as he ominously strode toward her. “Whatever it is could have waited.”

    “It’s Sentinel Prime, my lord,” File spat out, bracing herself for a strike but hoping the statement would prevent one, “and he insisted that it couldn’t.”

    As hoped, the statement stopped Militus’s strike. “I’ll take it in my office.” He grumbled as he marched past her. “I had better never see you in this garden again.”

    Moments later Militus entered his office and sat behind his desk, activating the communications array in the center of his desk. “Good afternoon, Sentinel Prime, I apologize for keeping you waiting. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”

    “I would like to follow up on a favor I asked of you.” Sentinel Prime’s no-nonsense voice came back immediately.

    “I live to serve, my Prime.” Militus replied with a look of disgust on his face. “To which favor are you referring?”

    “I think you’re aware of the favor in question.” Prime stated.

    “Yes, my Prime, but you stated it needed to convincingly appear as though it occurred in the line of duty, or was an accident.” Militus replied defensively. “He has proven to be far more resilient than expected. And because he has been repeatedly thrown into impossible situations and come out successful, he’s made quite a name for himself. The people of Rodion consider him a hero, and his reputation is spreading quickly. I’m afraid that all…subtle…attempts have come up short. He’s even won the grudging respect of the Overlord, who I’ve learned has put his attempts to kill him on hold as he tries to recruit him.”

    “Then it’s time to get less subtle.” Prime growled. “Eradicate him, I want him dead. Nothing as obvious as Macht security forces gunning him down, but feel free to use any means necessary short of that to kill him. But given your failure to this point, make sure that whoever you get to do it is beyond competent. This cannot be botched again!”

    Militus nodded. “Of course Prime. I’ll make the arrangements, by this time next week he will be a corpse.”

    “He’d better be.” Prime grumbled before severing the connection.

    Militus stared down at his desk for a moment before pressing a button. A moment later File’s voice came through the speaker. “Yes, Emir Macht?”

    “Get me Megatron.”


    ***


    Polar Claw


    The canoe glided quietly over the water, the only object other than ice and snow to be visible on the sea, and the large bear watched it as it slid by in the distance, both he and the two Inuit paddling it regarding each other with a curious but respectful glance. They knew there was something different about him, their ancestors had referred to him as Nanuk; some of their ancestors had even seen his true form, leading to legends that polar bears were actually men in disguise. Granted, they’d have had to be men far more enormous than they were used to…and metal…and predominantly bright red. Of course, he was a lot more careful than his companion who’d taken the form of a brown bear. His indiscreet transformations in both the Himalayas and southwestern Canada/northwestern United States had led to more ‘monster’ sightings than he could count, and Barbearian…Grizzly-1, or whatever the hell he wanted to call himself these days, seemed to keep getting caught in bot mode well into recent decades.

    The larger than normal polar bear continued trudging through the ice, wearily maintaining his vigil of the Polar Regions for a threat he hoped would not return. It had been over one hundred fourteen centuries since the last of the Beast Wars had ended, but there was no telling if or when another colonial warlord would come looking for what they knew to be hidden on this planet. As it stood, he still had to determine how best to categorize and deal with the structure he had recently found buried deep within the ice. Based on its shape, size and what few readings he could get from it, it could possibly be another Cybertronian, granted, one a good deal larger than the average Cybertronian, vastly larger than he or most other Maximals, and given its position in the ice, he, she or it likely arrived here long before he and his team did.

    It was only a few dozen miles from his current position, and he considered traveling out to examine the sensors he’d set up to monitor and evaluate the structure; after all, it wasn’t like there was much else for him to do. But just as he started to head out toward the anomaly a beep went off in his head, one alerting him to an incoming message waiting for him back at the headquarters. “Ugh.” The grunt wasn’t intended to sound bear-like, but it did none the less. Perhaps it was related to the long established fact that instincts and behaviors of the life forms of scanned DNA incorporated into Cybertronian frames seeped into the personalities of those Cybertronians. Or perhaps Polar Claw was just a grumpy old soldier.

    A half hour later he trudged through the cavern that led down to where the ship that had brought them to this planet over a million years before. A series of scanning lasers darted out and strafed the outside of the bear, determining his identity and allowing him to proceed to the opening door of the craft. “Greetings Polar Claw, an incoming hail is awaiting you in your chambers.” The ship’s feminine voice announced.

    “Thanks.” Polar Claw replied as he transformed into a large red robot with white furry bits of polar bear hanging off of him. A minute later he was entering his chambers, sitting down in front of a console and switching open the communications channel. “Look Rattrap, I don’t care how much the humans hate you and try to kill you, Manhattan is your assignment and you’re not relocating until I determine a better place for you to be.”

    “Uhm, excuse me?” And unknown voice replied through the speaker.

    The stunned Polar Claw’s optics widened in shock. “Identify yourself!” He roared as he regained his bearings.

    “I’m the one that built this craft and am the one that is in command of this mission!” The voice angrily replied. “To whom am I speaking?”

    Stunned once again, Polar Claw remained silent for nearly a minute before replying. “You mean to tell me that this…this is Atrium of Crystal City?”

    “That is correct. Where is Lord Convoy?”

    “Which one?” Polar Claw growled into the speaker, a surge of animosity overwhelming him.

    “Either.” The voice replied.

    “Spose’ it doesn’t matter, the answer is the same.” Polar Claw snarled. “Interned in the Axalon’s morgue.”

    “What? No.” The voice gasped.

    “First was Lio Convoy, at the hands of a maniac from Beest nearly two hundred thousand years ago!” Polar Claw snarled. “Then Big Convoy fell in a battle to the death with a warlord from Eukaris around a hundred twenty five thousand years ago. It was as he was dying that he placed me in command, ordering me to bring the last protoform of House Convoy online, to train and educate him to lead us one day. Oh, and it was then that he also confided in me as to who you truly were, Abdicator!”

    “And who are you?” A-Three demanded, clearly despondent at learning of the fates of two friends. “Where is the Convoy protoform?”

    “This is Polar Claw, Maximal Commander now, and you’re too late to save him too!” He roared. “His name was Primal of House Convoy, and like his kinsmen and dozens of our fellow Maximals, he fell defending us from something you failed to warn us was kept on this world. Something far worse than the Primus-damned Manifest!”

    “What?” A-Three questioned. “What are you talking about? There is nothing else on that planet.”

    “You stupid bastard, you mean to tell me that you genuinely don’t know what’s here?” The Maximal snapped disbelievingly. “How could you not know what was here? How could you not realize why Guardian Prime was interested in this organic mudball?”

    “It was slated to be another colony, just like Eukaris.” A-Three replied, more question than statement.

    “No, it was slated to be a test run, one that if successful, would be duplicated on Eukaris and every other organic mudball Prime came across.” Polar Claw growled. “You left us stranded here, unaware of what we were sitting on, or that Prime had shared this secret to a few select colonial mad dogs. No contact, no adequate system of defense, no real information, all while guarding not just Prime and his cronies, but his most potent weapon.”

    “What weapon?” A-Three asked frantically. “I examined the Manifest myself, stem to stern; there was nothing non-standard on board the vessel…”

    “It wasn’t on the vessel, it was already here!” Polar Claw roared the interruption. “We fought three wars keeping it from invading warlords, we sank our island utopia to keep it from destroying this world and everything on it, thus revealing its existence to every higher life form with the ability to see past their own system, and in the process we lost the last sparks to be born out of House Convoy. No disrespect to the Knights, but the royal high houses aren’t shit compared to House Convoy.”

    “I…I do not disagree.” A-Three mournfully replied. “I knew many members of House Convoy, enough to know that the ancient tales of the House’s honor, valor, integrity and sense of justice were not exaggerated. I know that Trionic, Paxus, Honorus, Magnus, Maximus, Ambus and Solus all derived many of their noble philosophies from those of House Convoy.”

    “And yet the houses they spawned sat back and merely watched as the Convoys were set upon and ground to nothing!” Polar Claw snarled accusingly.

    “It was too late before we knew House Convoy was being acted against!” A-Three tried to defend himself. “The destruction of their birthing pool was the first act of Saurus Onyx outside of his own borders.”

    “You’re going to tell me that you were ignorant to the ambitions of Deathsaurus until that point?” Polar Claw growled.

    “We knew he craved expansion, but couldn’t act while he was within the borders of Nyon. And we were unaware that he would target House Convoy so specifically.” A-Three responded.

    “Then you were all fools!” Polar Claw growled coolly. “Every Nyonian commoner was more than aware of his hatred of House Convoy. Their efforts on the behalf of the common people, and specifically those within Nyon’s borders, led Saurus Onyx to fits of rage. Of course he would target them.”

    “I have borne this guilt for twelve million years, Polar Claw.” A-Three replied with quiet sadness.

    “Then it is time for you to bear new guilt.” The angry Maximal replied. “Big Convoy, Lio Convoy, Primal Convoy; all that was left of House Convoy, all killed because you left them unprepared, ill-equipped, ignorant of the true threat, and abandoned on this distant planet with no means to contact you or anyone else! In the million years since you left us here, did it ever occur to you to contact us?”

    “No.” A-Three whispered. “Cybertron was not ready, and I failed to conceive of any threat that you would face. At least, not one from outside that world. The primates of the second largest continent showed the promise to evolve into higher life forms that could pose a problem in time, but…but I doubted…” he trailed off.

    “Well, I guess you’re able to predict some things.” Polar Claw replied. “They did evolve, and they have proven to be a pain in our ass. For a time we revealed ourselves to them, even allowing them to join us on our island and develop a civilization there. But after the fall of the island…well, we felt it best to leave them to exist and develop on their own. We’ve observed from afar, watched them make the same mistakes we made, and become as despicable as we are.”

    “What befell the island? What is the threat that drew conflict to that world?” A-Three pressed desperately.

    “A nightmare made real.” Polar Claw spat. “According to Big Convoy, it was something that Jhiaxus proposed long ago, but that was immediately decried as barbaric and Guardian Prime demanded that the idea be discarded…publicly at least. But Prime apparently gave his blessing outside public eyes, and Jhiaxus made his nightmare here on this planet. When we first arrived here we wondered why the island we initially settled felt so much more welcoming than the rest of the planet. It was because it was designed by one of our kind. Jhiaxus fabricated the island over a facility he built on the bottom of the ocean to hide it from prying eyes. It is there that he built and housed it, and where once completed, he would activate it. The Manifest didn’t arrive here to drop off colonists to adapt to the ecology of this world; it arrived to change the ecology to that of our world.”

    “Primus, no.” A-Three gasped unbelievingly, “Not the Ferr…” A buzzing sound interrupted A-Three.

    “Hold on, Abdicator, got a report coming in.” Polar Claw announced. “Polar Claw here.”

    “Hey Claw, it’s Cybershark.” The voice came through. “Got a detonation in Japan.”

    “Yeah, they’re at war, and the Americans have already been making bombing runs into their country for months.” Polar Claw replied impatiently.

    “Not like this.” Cybershark answered. “I’m in Hiroshima Bay, and, well…the humans have split the atom.”

    “Shit.” Polar Claw grumbled. “Yup, the primates of the second largest continent have definitely become a pain in our ass.”
     
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  14. batmanprime

    batmanprime Omega-con

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    Some of your best writing I've read. I am a fan.
     

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  15. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Grimlock


    They had been training together for months, drilled and re-drilled. His initial misgivings were not entirely gone; he still considered himself a loner, Sludge was still a moron, and Slag was still an asshole, and Swoop was still skinny; but despite his skepticism, they had actually gelled quite quickly, and damn if they didn’t work extremely well together. So far their time together had consisted of nothing more than drilling, practice scenarios and sparring…granted, full contact sparring that more often than not left everyone involved in need of medical attention, but they all proved more than capable of taking a severe beating and they all healed quickly, even the scrawny Swoop. Grimlock continued peering at the twenty stout robots from Ankmor that were arrayed against them in this re-creation of the Liberation of Petrex, a battle that had occurred almost nine and a half million years ago, when the routed forces of Ankmor regrouped, licked their wounds, and set out to recapture their capital city that had been occupied by several legions of Deathsaurus’s Nyonian beast soldiers. It seemed appropriate given the numerically superior Ankmor pussies bearing wheels and treads lined up against the Nyonian gladiators bearing teeth and claws. The only problem that Grimlock had with tying this brawl to the historical battle was that in the battle, the forces of Ankmor prevailed. History was not going to be followed this slaggin’ day.

    “Any last minute words of wisdom, boss?” Snarl quipped as he eagerly looked over the enemy.

    “Non-fatality bout, so make them wish they were dead, just don’t grant the wish.” Grimlock grumbled. “Everything else I’m confident you already know.”

    “So, how in character do we need to be?” Swoop asked, a smile spreading over his face. “Like, do we need to call you Goryu?”

    “Shut up.” Grimlock growled.

    Starscream swooped out of the sky and landed in the center of the pit, looking up into the throngs watching the event above and around him. “Good evening fight fans! Tonight we are in for a real treat! We will take you back nine and a half million years, to the second uprising of Deathsaurus, and the occupation of Petrex. The forces of Ankmor, driven from their capital, battered, beaten, broken, scattered across the wastelands surrounding their city finally regrouped, rekindled their fighting desire and set upon the impossible task of reclaiming their city.” Starscream waved over to the twenty gladiators that had traveled all the way from the northern emirate. The crowd cheered them on as they all waved at the applause. “But dead set on retaining their conquered city, the bestial hordes of Nyon, under the leadership of General Goryu…” Starscream paused as the crowd booed intently the Nyonians, who while fellow southerner, were regarded as sub-Cybertronian beasts, “met them on the battle field. The numerically superior native Ankmorians met the fully charged and entrenched beasts of Nyon in a battle that finally freed their homeland after six full days of battle!” Starscream looked to his wrist as a chrono-display was revealed in a mock display of checking the time. “Hopefully tonight’s festivities won’t last that long, Emir Macht wants us out of here by morning.” The crowd laughed and started cheering for the battle to begin.

    “Sooooo,” Swoop loudly called out to his teammates, “they’ve replicated the numerical advantage for the northern fops, does that mean that they’ve sapped their fuel supplies as well, or that our position in this pile of gravel is more advantageous than theirs?”

    “Nope,” Snarl replied, “to do that would provide too much chance of history NOT repeating itself, and the promoters are trying to make Ankmor and other northern pussies get the warm fuzzies about getting involved in the circuit.”

    “So the bastards are sacrificing us?” Slag grumbled.

    “We won’t be sacrificed.” Sludge replied earnestly. “There’s no killing.”

    “Our unbeaten streak, you dumbshit, not our lives!” Slag snapped. “They’re basically jobbing us here!”

    “Grimlock doesn’t job, whether by choice or by the heavy-handed pressuring of the pipe-lickers in charge!” Grimlock roared as the red lights around the arena changed to yellow, indicating that the fight was about to commence. “Tonight, history will NOT repeat itself!” The lights flashed green, and instinct kicked in for Grimlock; a revised instinct, one that had to be amended from that of a lone predator into that of a pack hunter. The pack Alpha. It was a role he never wanted, one he violently resisted, one he openly scorned at every opportunity, but at moments like this, as he charged in against four-to-one odds in front of a crowd that hated him for reasons ranging from his bestial shell, his Nyonian heritage, his undefeated record, his disdain for…well, everything, as well as any number of other reasons to hate him; at this moment he relished in his pack. He relied on them as much as they relied on him. He had feared they would slow him down, get in his way, or provide some sort of vulnerability to his opponents. They had done none of that. Though Grimlock was certain that they shared no spark affinity, their ability to work with, around and in support of one another was uncanny.

    Grimlock powered into eight hammer, mace, sword and axe-wielding would be tough guys while his team dealt with the others. He didn’t need to watch them to know how his comrades were faring. Swoop and Sludge, who had nothing in common beyond a pleasant disposition outside the arena, were likely teaming up to punish the group of six trying to flank them to the left, while Slag and Snarl set upon the rest, independently beating the hell out of anything that moved and was not a member of the squad. The Liberation of Petrex had taken over six days and had resulted in a legendary victory for Ankmor. The recreation was over in twenty-four minutes, and the only Ankmorian left conscious was agonizingly made to belt out Slag’s favorite drinking song while the horned Nyonian adjusted the knee in his back based on whether the singing was to his liking. Slag grinned down at the last northern warrior as he pressed his knee deeper into the small of his back. “Louder!”

    “Slag?” Grimlock casually called out over the sounds of the horrible singing mixed with gasps of pain and the roar of the agitated crowd.

    Slag looked up at his leader as the rest of the team gathered around him. “Already? We didn’t even need to transform!”

    “They were a bunch of northern dandies.” Swoop explained.

    “Even in bot mode, the rest of us still had to step up to make up for your lollygagging.” Snarl quipped with a grin. “We should rename you Slack.”

    “Up your ass, bitch!” Slag roared as he hammered the pinned gladiator beneath him unconscious with a punch and started marching toward Snarl. The crowd’s disappointed booing immediately shifted to excited cheering as it appeared the two Nyonians were about to get into it.

    “Enough!” Grimlock bellowed. “Get the hell back in the locker room, and if either of you touch each other, I’ll transform and bite your slagging limbs off!”

    The team marched through the battered remains of their opposition, the re-angered cries of the crowd bombarding them with malicious, but oddly entertaining insults and threats. A cacophony of auditory chaos made up of an incalculable number of words hammering against one another, but one word, a name, repeatedly rang clear to Grimlock. He had been hearing this name for months now, and here, deep within Polyhex, it seemed to be mentioned in every other breath of every local. So it seemed fitting, if nothing else, that the owner of this name was waiting for him in the locker room. “Greetings Grimlock.” The chrome gladiator delivered with a smile as the five Nyonians exited the tunnel and entered the large expanse that served as one of four storage, recharging, cleansing and medical facilities.

    Grimlock looked the newcomer over and then at the various other gladiators and managers in the room before walking to a bench and sitting down, peering lazily at the metal floor. “So I finally get to meet the gladiator everyone is talking about.” The hulking warrior from the city of Simfur looked up and nodded at the newcomer. “This Megatron of Tarn that everyone thinks will finally hand me a loss.”

    “That is my intention should we ever face off against each other.” Megatron sat on a bench across from Grimlock. “But that’s not why I’m here now. They’ll be drumming up our fight for several more months at least before we finally meet in the pits, but I needed to seek you out sooner than that. Frankly, I’d rather not face you in the pit; I believe that there is a greater destiny for the two of us, one that has us fighting shoulder to shoulder, not face to face.”

    “We’ve got a full roster already.” Swoop interjected as he walked over to the small medical scanning array and allowed himself to be inspected.

    “Not what I meant.” Megatron smiled before peering directly at Grimlock. “Is there somewhere we can speak alone?”

    Grimlock chuckled as he bent some dented metal over his knuckles back into place. “I don’t feel like scrambling off to a secret room, and I’ve never really felt any need to keep anything from my team.” He nodded to the rest of the people in the locker room. “Feel free to shoo out whoever you don’t want listening, but me and my guys are staying right here.”

    Megatron looked around and assessed each individual in the room. “You, Swindle; Starscream says that you can be trusted.” The chrome gladiator chuckled. “Well, no, in fact, he says the opposite. But he did mention your name when compiling a list of those he felt would be interested in what I propose. Do you trust your men with your life? Because if you choose to stay, and you choose to allow them to stay, and word of what I’m about to say gets out, I’ll be killing you all.”

    Swindle, standing between two of his bodyguard/goons on one side and the red and yellow Autobot deserters on the other looked them over as he considered his answer. “I trust these two completely…” the tan and purple criminal jerked his thumb at his henchmen, “as for these two…” nodding to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker before addressing them directly, “sorry boys, you’re great fighters, and you make me a lot of money, but I’m not about to stake my life on a pair of former Autobots out to make some dough.”

    “Autobots?” Megatron asked, suddenly intrigued. He stepped toward the brothers and addressed them directly. “What drew you to them, and what made you leave their membership.”

    “Not sure we formally left,” Sideswipe answered with a shrug, “we’re just a little burned out with the pointless graffiti and other petty annoyances we toss at the powers that be while accomplishing zilch, and figured we could make some scratch fighting. We like fighting.”

    “We’re great at fighting.” Sunstreaker added arrogantly.

    “Yes you are, I’ve seen the footage.” Megatron replied as he stood up and approached them. “You’re one of the most skilled combatants I’ve ever seen,” he motioned to Sunstreaker before turning his gaze to Sideswipe and continuing, “and you’re almost as skilled, and punch well above your weight-class. But you haven’t answered my first question. What drew you to the Autobots?”

    “Because slag the nobles.” Sunstreaker shot back, then looked over at the horned Nyonian gladiator sitting on a bench glaring at them. “Not you, just the technical term for shit that you’re named after.”

    “Screw you!” Slag roared as he stood up.

    “Enough!” Both Megatron and Grimlock roared at the same time, causing them both to look at each other and give a silent chuckle.

    “As my brother was attempting to say,” Sideswipe piped up, giving Sunstreaker an angry glare, “we’re not fond of putting anyone above us because they crawled out of a puddle of mud that was fancier than ours.”

    Megatron measured them visually for several moments before continuing with his questions. “Autobots believe that all are of equal value; do you share that opinion?”

    Though looking at Sideswipe, it was Sunstreaker that answered, his response opening with a disdainful snigger. “Ha. No, slag that. Most of those lumps aren’t fit to polish my bumper, but they’re the only game in town when it comes to sticking it to the Man.”

    Megatron smiled at Sunstreaker before turning back to Sideswipe. “Do you agree?”

    Sideswipe shrugged. “Not to the same extent, and not for the same reasons, but, yeah, I guess. I mean, the iron needs to be separated from the ore to be worth a damn. But there’s no shortage of ore in the nobility, nor iron amongst the commoners, so between the Autobots and the status quo, the Autobot philosophies are more appealing to us.”

    Megatron’s smile broadened at the answer. “These two may stay.” He turned and looked to the various other robots in the locker room who were not a part of Grimlock’s team or a part of Swindle’s entourage. “Get out.” The other robots looked to one another, then quickly gathered their possessions and scampered out. Once they left, Megatron looked back at Grimlock. “Now then, let me share with you my vision for the future.”


    ***


    Terminus


    He awoke to a pronounced headache, vision that took nearly an entire minute to get clear, and sounds of work and casual conversation going on around him. When his vision finally did clear, and the pain in his head subsided enough for him to raise it without wincing, Terminus looked up to see bars surrounding him. He was seated in a cage for one to crouch comfortably within, but not tall enough for him to stand up. Outside his cage were several disreputable looking robots moving crates around the warehouse that they were in. “What’s going on?” He asked to one individual passing in front of him wheeling a crate.

    The other robot looked at him and smiled. “Skullcruncher, another one ready for orientation.”

    A moment later a green, purple and white robot squatted down in front of his cage and grinned at him. “Good morning. How are we feeling today?”

    “Confused, irritated, and gearing up to deliver several beatings.” Terminus growled.

    “Yeah, that’s the normal reaction to waking up in a cage.” Skullcruncher replied. “And you clearly look like the type who can, and has, delivered many a beating. But whoever you used to be, whatever you used to do, is over now. You are now…” the captor turned to look over at a comrade, “hey Demus, what’s the term the boss likes to use for the slaves?”

    “Chattel!” The reply was called out by someone outside of Terminus’s view.

    “Chattel, yes, that’s it.” Skullcruncher smiled at Terminus. “You’re now chattel.”

    Terminus stared at his captor for a minute before rolling his optics and chuckling lightly. “You stupid bastards knocked out the wrong guy.”

    “Oh, is that so?” Skullcruncher sarcastically asked. “Are you someone important?”

    Terminus raised his optics and met Skullcruncher’s gaze. “Me? No. But my boss is.” He watched as the other robot’s pliable metal brow furrowed in genuine interest. “My name is Terminus, I am a…retainer of sorts to Militus Macht. I have served him for many vorns, and while I do not profess to be of great importance, my absence will most definitely be noted and inquiries will be made. And, while I’m not important, when Emir Macht finds out that his retainer was abducted and sold into slavery, he will make those responsible pay, if for no other reason, than to demonstrate that actions taken against him or those representing him will have dire consequences.”

    Skullcruncher was silent for several moments before nodding. “OK, while the boss isn’t afraid of Militus Macht, he probably doesn’t want to start a war over one inconsequential slave. So I’ll do a little checking, verify that you are who you say you are, and if everything checks out, we’ll send you on your way with a little energon for your troubles.”

    “How did you knock me out, anyway?” Terminus asked, rubbing his head. “All I remember was walking through Rodion, then waking up here.”

    “Trade secret.” Skullcruncher replied. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s one of Militus’s boys doing so far from Kaon?”

    “Not official business.” Terminus replied. “Emir Macht allows those that serve him well to attend to personal matters from time to time. I was following the fight circuit to Tarn when you waylaid me.”

    “Ah, well then, provided you’re set free, you might as well stay put.” The captor replied, straightening up to a standing position. “The Tarnian games concluded last night. I don’t follow the fights that closely, but I hear the Nyonians trounced the Ankmorians in the main event. Crowd was a little pissed that a local boy who’s made a name for himself didn’t fight in his hometown. Don’t know much about that guy. You ever hear of this Tarnian gladiator?”

    “I’m familiar with him.” Terminus grumbled.

    “Anyway, they have a second event in Rodion scheduled for tomorrow night, so you can catch up to them then…provided you are who you claim to be.”

    “I am, so please go do what you need to do so that I can leave.” The captive snapped.

    “Fine, fine…” Skullcruncher started to reply just as the door thirty yards behind him was torn to pieces by the frame being blasted through it.

    A moment later a red and blue form walked through the doorway and stepped over the unconscious frame that had been used to destroy the door. “Where is he?” The robot roared, a ion rifle gripped tightly in his right hand.

    Terminus watched as bolts of various calibers and compositions rained down at the intruder, but missed as the intruder displayed reflexes that belied belief and dove behind several pallets of metal crates. He then popped up on the other side and returned fire, apparently very deliberate in what he fired at as they were single rounds, each punctuated by a pained cry and one less stream of weapon’s fire directed at him.

    “Hold your fire!” Skullcruncher yelled out and walked toward the center of the room, unarmed and his arms raised in submission. “Hold your fire!” Terminus watched as the intruder stared intently at the approaching Skullcruncher. “Please, Officer Pax, let’s discuss things civilly.”

    “Civilly?” The officer replied incredulously. “Fine, tell me where he is, release your captives, abandon this facility to the authorities, and I’ll let you walk away…for now.”

    “Believe me Orion, he WANTS to meet you face to face.” Skullcruncher stated as the two stopped within a few feet of one another. “But he wants to do it once you’re in a calmer, more reasonable state of mind. He likes you, he has high hopes for you, but he fears that if he faces you while your energon is boiling you’ll force him to kill you, and he desperately wants to avoid that. It’s causing him distress that you haven’t accepted any of his offers. He genuinely wants you with us, he’s courting you more than I’ve ever seen…well, come to think of it, I’ve never seen him court anyone before. It’s outside his nature to be the one chasing. And having his generous offers met with hostility…well, there’s only so much he can take.”

    “Good!” The angered officer snapped. “Only another push or two and he’ll finally present himself to me.”

    Skullcruncher chuckled ominously. “Look kid, you’re tough, no question about it. You’re the only guy to have ever gone toe to toe with the boss and walked away. Well, ran away. And that’s just it, you shot him in the knees and fled, so don’t go thinking you’re a bigger badass than you are.”

    “Fine, I’m outclassed, all the more reason for him to face me.” Officer Pax snapped.

    “Yes, you are…” Skullcruncher answered, “but you did stun him. None of the other boys want to admit it, but those of us still awake saw the lights definitely flicker when you tagged him. So, knowing that you would keep coming at us, and feeling it prudent to get a better understanding of what you’re capable of, I took it upon myself to seed our various facilities with some…heavies, if you will.” The criminal let loose a whistle and a moment later two massive, rotund, thirty-six foot tall robots walked into the expanse from the back room. “Not sure which is which, but one of them is Hammer, the other is Anvil. I’m guessing you have a fair shot of taking one of them, but there’s no way you’re taking both. A good display against both of them in unarmed combat probably is the fastest way to ensure Overlord’s presence, though, so…”

    Orion looked the two giants over before turning back to Skullcruncher. He then looked toward the row of cages, four of them, each with an occupant. With expert aim he raised his rifle and destroyed the locks on each of them. “Leave, now!” The occupants of two of the cages sprinted through the empty doorway, a third hobbled a few steps, but collapsed due to his mangled leg.

    The fourth, Terminus, exited his cage but walked over the downed former prisoner and helped him to his feet. He looked up at Orion Pax as he looped the other prisoner’s arm over his shoulder. “Don’t mind us, Officer, I was already set to be free, and I doubt that they would be opposed to cutting loose a slave incapable of walking.”

    Orion looked to Skullcruncher for verification, and the predominantly green robot shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, fine, they’re free to go.”

    Pax looked the giants over one more time before nodding. “I go through these guys and Overlord comes out of the woodwork?”

    Skullcruncher chuckled. “IF…you beat both of them, then yeah, I can’t imagine him not taking your bait. You’ll have definitely proven yourself worthy at that point. Frankly, I’m expecting a good showing, but you’re not going to beat them both.”

    Terminus continued hobbling with his fellow former captive, but they both started slowing, genuine interest in the fight growing within them. They watched as Pax nodded and placed his rifle on the floor. “I will beat them both. Overlord is a powerhouse; these two, they’re just big.”

    “Is that northern dandy talking about us?” One of the giants asked derisively.

    “Let’s show him what a powerhouse really is.” The other answered back as they both started marching toward the police officer.

    “Good luck Officer Pax.” Skullcruncher offered as he backed away.

    The first of the giants swung down heavily on the twenty-two foot tall officer, who easily side-stepped and delivered an overhand right of his own to the knee of the massive robot, causing a sickening crunch sound to reverberate through the warehouse. “Agghhh!” The large robot dropped to his shattered knee.

    “Hammer!” The other yelled. “You OK buddy?”

    “Worry about yourself!” Orion yelled as he leapt up, gripped the shoulder of Hammer, and used it to pommel over him up toward his compatriot, Anvil. Twisting mid-air, Orion delivered a thunderous roundhouse kick to the side of the massive thug’s head. Anvil crashed down hard to the floor, the red and blue police officer tucking as he hit the ground and rolling back up to a standing position.

    “Incredible.” The injured robot whispered to Terminus as they watched the fight. “He’s so fast.”

    “He is.” Terminus agreed quietly, marveling that fast was an understatement.

    Hammer forced himself through the pain in his knee back to a standing position and turned to face the intruder. “You’re gonna sodding die!”

    “Ughn.” Anvil groaned as he slowly started to stir.

    Orion charged at Hammer, but his charge was halted as he raised his arms to parry a straight right from the massive criminal. Hammer followed with a left that Orion ducked under and met with a counter upper-cut that landed just below the elbow. Hammer groaned, but no significant damage was done, but the strike did put him off balance enough for Pax to get inside his reach. A blip of a second later Orion was delivering an overhand left directly into the crotch-plate of the Heavy, causing the robot to cry out in pain.

    “Primus, he’s…he’s winning.” The injured robot commented again. Terminus simply remained silent, watching a combination of speed, strength, agility and spatial awareness that he had only witnessed in one other being.

    “Hammer!” Anvil called out again as he watched his friend staggering away from the robot they’d been hired to put a severe beating on. Shaking off the remaining cobwebs, Anvil pushed himself to his feet and charged after Pax. It wasn’t as though he was trying to sneak up on the officer, but he still shuddered with surprise as the red robot suddenly and viciously whipped around to face him and met his charge. Terminus watched as fists became a whirlwind of motion. This Anvil was fairly fast for someone his size, but Pax was simply a blur of red and blue destruction. The giant’s armor was extremely thick, perhaps as thick as a living being could possess and still remain functioning, but it was being battered like foil by the barrage of knuckle-bombs exploding on his mid-section. The unrelenting pain forced the giant to bend forward, and Terminus wondered whether he caught the site of blue knuckles before everything went black for him. Anvil hit the ground again hard, this time flat on his back, his arms dropping to either side and creating loud thuds as well.

    It was then that Terminus noticed that the other one, Hammer, had actually been making his way toward them. He looked up at the oncoming brute and could do nothing to prevent the backhand that sent him spiraling across the floor. “Move, bitch!”

    “What are you doing?” Terminus heard Orion yell as he struggled to get his bearings. He looked up to see Hammer clutching the other prisoner, one now crying out in further pain as the massive robot started crushing his torso. “Release him now!”

    “Up yours, princess!” Hammer roared back. “We didn’t come here blank, we did some reading up on you.” He increased his pressure on his hostage a bit more as Orion marched toward them, stopping abruptly to look down, and stomping down on the butt of his rifle to send it popping into the air, allowing him to catch the handle and raise the weapon to the giant robot’s head. “Ooooooohhhhhh, such a show of toughguyness! As I was saying before you decided to show us those tiny bearings of yours, we read up on you. You’ve got a big soft spot for peasant shitsacks that can be exploited.” Pax’s thumb reached up and flicked something on his rifle. “Another show of toughguyness? That brings me to the other thing we learned about you; you’ve never killed anyone. You’ve been a cop in Rodion for months, and you’ve yet to take a life? It can’t be due to a lack of opportunities, not in Rodion, so that leaves one only one possibility left; you don’t have the nerve.”

    “You really want to put that theory to the test?” Orion asked, not the slightest bit of doubt in his voice.

    “Yeah, I’m pretty certain.” Hammer replied, watching as Anvil started to stir again.

    “Release him!” Pax reasserted.

    “Yeah, no problem.” Hammer replied, unfurling a blade from as compartment on his forearm and bringing it to his captive’s frame. “I’m just going to shave a few chunks off this little bitch first.”

    “Hammer,” Orion started sternly, “your analysis of me was half right. I’ve never killed before, I’d prefer to keep it that way, and if there’s a way to resolve a situation without taking a life, I’ll do my damnedest to find it. But you’re wrong about me lacking the nerve to do so. You’re threatening the life of another, I have every reason to believe you’ll carry out your threats, I know that the danger that individual faces is real and likely life ending, and I know any option for resolving this without deadly force is fading quickly.”

    “Who ya’ tryin’ to convince, cop, me or yourself?” Hammer growled as he slowly started running his blade along his victim. “Or perhaps you’re afraid you’ll miss, and talking me down is your only chance at success.”

    “Hammer, with all humility, I’m successful at everything I attempt.” Pax calmly, but sternly warned. “Things I try for the first time, I’m good at. Things I’ve practiced, I’m a master of. And I’ve had more than my share of target practice. Trust me, I will not miss. Now, please, release your hostage!”

    “Whatever bitch-boy!” Hammer snarled as he pulled the blade back to plunge it into his victim. Terminus watched the face of Orion Pax, he watched as pain, regret, fear and sorrow washed over the young Cybertronian’s face, but there was no hesitance as the ion canon spit forth a deadly round. There was no joy in his expression as Hammer’s head jerked back a fraction of a second before he could drive his blade down, nor was there any sense of accomplishment as the giant released his prisoner and collapsed to the floor. Officer Orion Pax had overcome impossible odds, he had rescued 4 prisoners, one a second away from the infliction of a fatal wound, he was justified and successful by any measure, but all Terminus could see was disappointment etched on the face of a young idealist who clearly felt he should have found another way to resolve this impossible situation. It was the expression Terminus had been hoping to see months before on the face of another.


    ***


    Delta Magnus


    “Primus, Lord of Light, Order and Creation, please accept these humble gifts of ours!” The tall, elegant Mistress of Flame stood upon the altar built into the cliff-face of Mount Magnasticus, the peak overlooking Citidel Magnus in the central section of the Hydrax Plateau, the capital city of the Tagan Heights. The hundreds of worshippers standing below her called out in support of her words, clamoring for more. The majority of the emirate, most of the northern planet really, already held with the monotheistic belief in the god Primus, but it was the more modern and contemporary view of the creator; the kinder, forgiving and reasonable Primus. It was the depiction of Primus provided by later prophets and holy men they typically used to envision their god. The Primus being worshipped now was the one described in texts from the pre-Knight era, a Primus that was vengeful, spiteful, jealous, a deity that played favorites, that lashed out at his creations for any manner of offense, no matter how seemingly petty, that gave commands that sometimes seemed to contradict prior commands, and that demanded tributes of blood and spark to feel satisfied by the devotion of his creations.

    That was a depiction that the followers of The Guiding Hand used to portray Primus, and one the weak, acquiescing fools that claimed to speak for Primus in more recent eras tried to distance themselves and their faith from. These neo-Primus worshippers presented him as a more measured, merciful deity that loves his creations, and demanded no death be done in his name; something more palatable to the weak-willed masses unable to bend to the will of their god and crying out for a god willing to bend to their needs. Delta Magnus looked over the devoted, and then peered out at those less-devout watching from a distance; frightened, angered, disgusted by the display, and Delta understood. Upon hearing what the Mistress of Flame said would be required to prove their devotion, Delta initially balked. He had no interest in spilling blood and extinguishing spark for a deity that he felt would be more offended than honored. But she had convinced him, made it clear to him that the original depictions of their creator were accurate, and all other depictions were falsehoods made by charlatans. Now, as he looked up at the pen beside the altar, at several organic beasts as well as several large cyberfoxes, he powered past his own revulsion and pity by telling himself that this was what Primus, the TRUE Primus commanded of them. It would take longer for the masses, who lacked his internal fortitude, to accept what he had accepted, but eventually they would; it was part of his grand destiny to bring all of Cybertron into the fold, kicking and screaming if need be. Starting with the blue, red and white royal freight hauler speeding out from Citidel Magnus right now.

    Delta turned to face the arriving vehicle, and stood with arms crossed as it transformed into his kinsman Ultra. “Emir Magnus, what the hell is going on?”

    “Watch your words, Ultra Magnus!” Delta warned. “I recognize that you are not a follower of our religion yet, but that does not give you the right to barge in and demand anything in a disrespectful manner!”

    “I apologize for my tone, my Emir,” Ultra Magnus said begrudgingly, “but I couldn’t help but notice the pen with both cybernetic and organic life forms up by the altar. Perhaps it’s a case of my imagination running away with me, but it almost appears as though your fire priestess means to sacrifice them.”

    “Is that against the law?” Emir Magnus asked. “I assure you, there are no outstanding legal claims on any of the animals. Any that were property were either purchased legally or donated most willingly.”

    Ultra Magnus paused in disbelief for a moment before responding. “Technically, you are correct, my Liege. No laws were created to outlaw such practices, particularly because in the post Knight era, and certainly after the creation of the unified government, such practices were so taboo, so abhorrent, so long-abandoned that no laws were required; they were already universally rejected.”

    “But don’t you see Ultra, so much that has been done since the Knights has been wrong.” Delta Magnus said. “Especially in regards to our depictions and acts of devotions to Primus.”

    “The Knights shaped our world,” Ultra Magnus replied stunned, “and are the reason you and I are in positions of power! Our very name is derived from the Knight Magnus! We are his descendants! What you are doing, and your reasons for doing it, dishonor him and what he and his comrades accomplished! They saved our world!”

    “I respect and honor the Knights, my brother, and true, they laid many of the foundation of our world in terms of law and governance. But they said and did very little in regard to religion.” Delta Magnus replied. “This softening of our Lord and Creator was no their doing, it was the doing of others that were born into a world of safety and justice, others who had no knowledge of the carnage that is the norm. Primus is not alone, he has an opposite number, a master of chaos. The Knights defeated the minions of chaos, not chaos itself. For us to be ready for it when it returns, we must harden ourselves, devote ourselves to our master, and pray that he finds us worthy of his support when the darkest hour arrives.”

    The stunned Ultra Magnus stared disbelievingly at his brother. “Delta, that’s dogma, dogma supported by no factual evidence or reason.” He then turned his gaze up to the altar where the Mistress of Flame was leading a pair of beasts from the pens to the sacrificial mount, one a mechanical cyberfox, the other horned, shaggy aurochalus that was as large as she was; both beasts terrified.

    “You put too much faith in reason, my younger brother.” Delta replied dismissively.

    The comment brought Ultra’s stunned gaze back upon his brother. “Did you really just say that?”

    Delta met his gaze. “You put more value in reason than in the word of our god?”

    “I put more value in reason than any religion that exists.” Ultra replied authoritatively. “And regardless of what a religion claims, reason never runs contrary to the words of any god worth worshipping.”

    “There are forms of reason beyond our understanding.”

    “Then it falls upon our creator, or his, her, its or their accolytes to make us understand before we end a life in his, her, it or their name.” Ultra snapped.

    Delta glared angrily at his kinsman, but relaxed and shook his head. “I will pray for you brother.”

    Ultra looked up at the altar, where the sacrificial blades were coming down on the first of the offerings, causing cries of animalistic pain and panic to fill the air. He turned and started walking back toward Citadel Magnus. “Save your prayers for sacrificial beasts…and sacrificial Autobots.”


    ***


    Prowl


    The prison, dungeon really, was a dark and hopeless place. He had never really had a problem with these traits until he had signed the order to put Orion Pax down here, albeit temporarily. Unfortunately that bit of empathy and recognition of the injustice for one opened the door for consideration of other prisoners. Dangerous felons got what they deserved, but those down here for minor offenses, including those guilty of acts of civil disobedience that had been trumped up to attempted Primalcide, well, Prowl’s certainty that he was just in all he was doing was not what it once was. He passed the rows of cells…basically just cages with cots, until he stood in front of one housing a large, red, orange and yellow Autobot. “Hello Blaster.”

    The large Autobot raised his head and glanced at Prowl, too physically and mentally worn to be playful. “What do you want Prowl? Our execution isn’t for a couple more weeks.”

    There was a long stretch of silence before Prowl finally responded. “Perhaps, if you cooperate, we can avoid the execution.”

    Blaster looked up, one optic arched behind his cracked visor. “Let me guess, all I have to do is turn over my comrades, is that it?” Prowl nodded, eliciting a chuckle from the prisoner. “At the very least you should have promised to avoid the executionsssss, plural.”

    Prowl’s expression remained fixed and devoid of emotion. “Frankly Blaster, I’ve overstepped my authority even offering to spare you. Prime doesn’t know I’m here. He’s hot to see you killed, but I believe that with an adequate offering, I can get him to spare you. I can certainly advocate for mercy for your comrades, and I promise you I will do my best, but he’s adamant that an assault on the Prime needs to be met with execution.”

    “Save your breath,” Blaster chuckled as his head dropped back down, “I never had any intention of telling you shit.”

    “I assumed as much.” Prowl replied. “Just as I assume I’ll get the same answer from your comrades, but I’ll ask them all the same.”

    “Feeling guilty about executing some nogoodniks guilty of playing with glue-guns?” The prisoner smirked.

    In the past some form of brush off to the questioning of a punishment would have been instinctive and instant, but Prowl non longer lacked the conviction he once had. He couldn’t justify this punishment. And while he had no intention of validating Blaster’s question, he could offer no response other than to silently turn and walk away, which served as enough validation to the prisoner, whose laughter accompanied Prowl down the corridor toward the next Autobot prisoner.


    ***


    Orion Pax


    “We’re almost there.”

    “Thank you, Officer.” The injured civilian grunted through the pain as he sat on the rear portion of Orion Pax’s vehicular mode. “May the Guiding Hand hold you through all of your days.”

    “Thank you sir.” Orion replied instinctively, his mind weighed down by thoughts of what had just transpired, and an act that while justified and unavoidable, was something that had changed him, and that it was a change that he could never undo. The other prisoner, Terminus, had been very consoling and rational about the matter as they had exited the warehouse and as he helped load the injured citizen onto Orion. The young officer instinctively knew that Terminus knew of what he spoke, that he had been there himself, and oddly enough, could sense that the elder seemed very approving, almost to the point of admiration, of how Pax was dealing with the situation. Dealing? Perhaps that wasn’t the right word. He hadn’t had time to really deal with it. He had quickly called in the situation to Momus, then getting the other captive, this Ardulas, medical treatment was a priority that definitely took precedence over Pax making sense of his first killing.

    His first killing. He was a killer now. He had always known that it was very possible, even likely that he’s be put in the situation where he would need to take a life, but it was not the sort of thing you could truly prepare yourself for. And now that the barrier had been crossed…he didn’t quite know how to feel. But he had no regrets, of that he was certain, and that took a good bit of the edge off the sting. He set thoughts of the sting aside as he transmitted a message to his destination. “Western Rodion Clinic, this is Officer Orion Pax, inbound with a patient on my rear section. Significant non-spark-threatening damage to the torso, and severe damage to the leg. Please have a table prepped and assistance removing him from my vehicular form would be appreciated.”

    “Good morning Lor…err, excuse me, old habits and fancy names,” the voice of Minerva, a medical student who was interning at Ratchet’s clinic, came through, “we’ll be ready for you Officer Pax. What is your ETA?”

    “Thank you Minerva, I’ll be there in about ninety seconds.” Pax replied. A minute and a half later he was pulling up to the front where a femme with coloration similar to Ratchet’s was waiting for them. Pax stopped and Minerva stepped forward. “Not life-threatening, but be gentle nonetheless.”

    “Phew, highborns always assume we commoners don’t know what we’re supposed to be doing.” The femme replied humorously as she delicately hoisted the patient off of the blue rear portion of the vehicle, allowing Orion to transform and help carry Ardulas inside.

    “I was born in a cave.” Orion replied, reaching down to lift up the patient and take him in himself, allowing Minerva to trot ahead and lead the way. The officer followed her through the uncharacteristically empty waiting room and into a small side room with a slab in the center, where he placed the patient. “Place seems desolate, are there any other patients?”

    “Yeah, slow day for the most part.” Minerva replied as she started looking at the patient’s partially crushed and lacerated chest. “Ratchet is looking over the only other patient in the back. Severe beating; he’s inducing shellshock in hopes of saving the patient’s life.”

    “Inducing shellshock?” Pax muttered as he took a look at the patient’s leg. “How would adding psychological trauma to physical trauma aid the patient?”

    “No, not Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, the other shellshock.” Minerva clarified. “Sometimes, when the physical trauma is so extensive and spark failure is imminent, particularly from a head wound, a patient can be transformed to their alternate mode to reduce the physical requirements of the patient and perhaps buy time. It can sometimes turn a fatality into a coma, and provided the damage to the brain module isn’t too severe, there’s a slight chance of recovery. Though the tiny fraction of those successful cases usually only result in a partial recovery, most usually are never able to leave their shell mode again. And unfortunately, this particular patient only has a shell mode, he was too poor to have any alterations to a vehicle, beast or anything else done, so even if he recovers to the point of being able to use his alt mode, he can do nothing but sit there.”

    “Primus, who did this to him?” Pax asked.

    “Not sure.” Minerva replied as she began patching up one of the lacerations on the patient’s chest. “He was an empty, people think they don’t matter and decide to unleash whatever frustrations, dark humor, or lust for violence upon them whenever they want. Based on the damage, it was multiple assailants.”

    “I’ll have to keep my audio processors sharp for any noise regarding that.” Pax muttered, knowing that there was little chance of finding the assailants.

    “I’ve got this guy if you want to go back and see the victim.” Minerva offered.

    “Thanks, I’ll take a look, but I’m more use right here for now.” Pax replied.

    “Really?” Minerva asked, seemingly confused, but adopted a faux display of realization before continuing. “Oh, that’s right, the van is parked in back this time.” She watched Pax closely as he raised his optics to her, trying futilely to hide the excitement on his face. “Ha, so it’s mutual!”

    “You have things in hand here, right?”

    “Yup.”

    “Thanks.” Pax smiled before turning and walking quickly down the hall, knocking gently on the door at the end before slowly entering. “Hello.” Standing in front of him was Ratchet on one side of a table with a beat up shell resting on it, and an tall, unknown robot on the other side.

    The unknown robot gave Orion an disapproving look. “Do you work here?”

    “Volunteer.” Ratchet muttered without looking up from his patient.

    A broad smile came over the other robot’s face. “Ahh, so this is the volunteer I’ve heard so much about?”

    Orion peered at Ratchet looking for some indication on how to proceed, but the doctor remained fixated on his patient. The young officer returned his gaze to the unknown party and looked him over. About twenty-one feet tall, just a foot shorter than Orion, lean, impeccably maintained and polished, and a face that exuded both kindness and power. It was then that Orion felt a familiar tingle in his core, and knew that there was another person in the room. He smiled broadly and addressed the stranger. “And is this the Emir of Axiom that I’ve heard so much about?”

    Exponum arched his optic brows and nodded to Ratchet. “He is a detective.”

    “You’re a public figure, he just recognized you from a picture somewhere.” Ratchet muttered dismissively as Orion stepped into the room and peered around the door, seeing a broadly grinning Elita Solus staring back at him.

    “So it goes both ways…” Elita whispered as she gently touched her chest. “It’s too bad I’ll never be able to sneak up on you, but it does kind of make things…” her grin widened, “well,…, anyway, how are you?”

    “Glad to see you.” Orion replied, a broad grin on his face, but he turned and approached Exponum. “Emir Exponum One, it is an honor to meet you.” He offered his hand, which Exponum took into his and shook.

    “It’s good to meet you as well, Lord Pax.” He replied. “Chromia has been a welcome addition to our household, and she praises you daily.”

    “I’m no lord, sir, just a commoner that Torenia Pax took mercy upon.” Orion grinned, sheepishly sending a glance to Elita as she walked over to stand next to Exponum. “And it’s good to hear Chromia is getting along well in Hyperious.”

    “About time you got here kid, been waiting for you for hours. Something hold you up?” Ratchet muttered to Orion, interrupting the conversation.

    The excited and pleasant look washed away from Orion as the memories of what happened earlier in the day came back to him. “Yeah, you could say that.” The young officer’s eyes dropped to the floor.

    Even though he wasn’t looking at him, Ratchet immediately knew something was wrong and raised his head to peer at Orion. They all saw the dark mood that had fallen over the young officer, eliciting looks of worry and confusion from the members of House Solus. Ratchet initially displayed a similar look, but he quickly realized what had happened and a look of compassionate understanding came over him. He stepped forward and placed his hand on Orion’s shoulder. “We knew it was going to happen at some point. You’re a cop in the worst city on the planet, of course it was going to happen.”

    “I know.” Orion muttered before raising his gaze and forcing a smile. “I’m over it.”

    “No you’re not, kid.” Ratchet muttered.

    “What is it?” Elita asked, almost insistently.

    Orion looked at her worried face, then to Ratchet, who met his gaze and nodded supportively. “I was forced to kill in the line of duty this morning.”

    “By the Hand!” Elita gasped as she covered her mouth. She rushed forward and embraced him, but pulled back slightly to peer into his eyes. “Are you alright?”

    “I’m fine.” Orion immediately insisted, gently shrugging off the hug.

    “No you’re not.” Ratchet repeated. Orion sent him an annoyed look, but Ratchet stood his ground and continued. “Look kid, there were objections that went well beyond just your physical safety to you being assigned as a cop in Rodion. Hell, at your age you shouldn’t be a cop anywhere. But in Rodion, you’re bound to either kill or be killed, and nobody your age is equipped to deal with killing someone, no matter how justified you may be.”

    “Well I am!” Orion insisted, stepping back away from Ratchet and Elita. “Look, I appreciate the concern, I really do. And your worries aren’t unfounded, I know. I admit, I’m shaken, this is hard to deal with, but I will get through it just fine.”

    “Orion, you need to talk this through.” Ratchet pressed.

    “No, I don’t.” Orion insisted. “I was justified. I know that if I had to do it all again, I wouldn’t change anything. At some point my subconscious will realize this and it will all be put behind me.”

    “The mind isn’t the slave to reason that we’d like it to be.” Ratchet replied. “You have emotions, Lord Pax, you need to acknowledge that fact and deal with them.”

    “Don’t call me…” Orion nodded and gave Ratchet an exasperated grin. “Ah, very clever, enhance your point about me having emotions by baiting me with the lord title.”

    “It worked, didn’t it?” Ratchet asked.

    “Yes, I have emotions, but do you really think I’ll have difficulty coming to terms and moving on?” Orion shot back. “It’s troubling, but I don’t need help to get through it. It’s just another challenge set before me, another challenge I’ll overcome. That’s what I do, I succeed. Have you ever known me to fail at anything?”

    Ratchet’s expression became stern. “Not until just now, when you failed to keep that ego of yours in check.”

    “Ratchet, stop it.” Elita chimed in.

    “No Elita, he’s right.” Orion calmly stated before looking at all three individuals and resting his gaze on Ratchet. “I apologize for how that came out, but I’m confident that I’ll be able to handle this just fine.”

    “But Orion,” Elita reached up and gently stroked his cheek, “you don’t need to handle this on your own.”

    “No lad, there’s absolutely no reason for you to deal with this on your own.” Exponum added. “You and I just met, but I am more than willing to help you through this, as is Ratchet and I’m more than certain Elita would be there for whatever you need. And I don’t think I need to mention the members of House Pax; particularly Torenia and Roller.”

    “No.” Orion quickly but politely protested. “Please, Emir Solus, do not inform Torenia of this. I’d prefer not to trouble her with it.

    “Trouble her with it?” Elita gasped disbelievingly. “Orion, she loves you. She’s as much as your mother.”

    “She IS my mother, which is why I’d rather he not know; at least not yet.” Orion responded. “And I’d like to be the one to bring this up to Roller.”

    “It’ll probably be the first time he responds to you in a manner other than a good natured insult.” Ratchet quipped, eliciting a smile from both Orion and Elita. He noted the grin on the femme. “I see you’re familiar with Orion’s goofball other half.”

    “Oh yes.” Elita smirked. “It seems Orion has been calling me with a bit more frequency than he calls Torenia,” she gave Orion a scolding look, one that elicited a sheepish grin, “so a good portion of my calls to Torenia tend to be updates on what Officer Pax, which Roller has insisted on sitting in on and has provided many a commentary on what Officer Pax has done and said.”

    “Look, I appreciate all the offers of support, and perhaps at some point I may take each of you up on it, but for now I’d prefer to deal with this on my own.” Orion stated. “I promise you, I will be OK.”

    Ratchet shrugged. “Well, as long as you know the offers are out there, that’s all we can do.” Elita gave him a look of disagreement, but Ratchet returned one of his own making it clear that they’d get no more traction on the subject at that time. “So anyway, I suppose you heard about this unfortunate case.” He nodded toward the shell on the slab.

    “Yes, Minerva gave me a brief rundown.” Orion replied. “Basically a potential option to stave off death due to trauma to the brain module is to transform the patient to alternate mode?”

    “More or less.” Ratchet replied. “The requirements on the brain to regulate and operate our bodies are substantial, whereas in our shell modes those requirements are comparatively miniscule. It’s by no means a cure-all; in fact, ninety-nine out of a hundred times the patient dies anyway, but sometimes it can help. Unfortunately, in the few cases where it’s a viable option, the damage is so severe that the patient remains in alt mode for the remainder of their life, and only a portion of their cognitive functions ever return.”

    Orion studied the shell. “I’ll do what I can to bring the assailants to justice.” He asserted.

    “Not any time soon I’m guessing.” Ratchet replied. “It’s standard procedure to put you on leave, right?”

    “Yup.” Orion answered. “Momus hasn’t done anything official yet, but that is what’s supposed to happen.” A faint buzz was heard coming from Orion’s wrist. “Speaking of which…” he brought his wrist to his mouth, “This is Officer Pax, go ahead.” Orion listened as the individual on the other line relayed instructions to him. “I understand sir, but in light of what happened earlier, are you sure you want me to handle this?” Orion listened some more. “Yes sir, I’ll report in with any findings. Pax out.” A puzzled look came over Orion before he looked up to the others in the room. “Apparently we’re deviating from standard procedure. I’m not on leave…at least not yet.”

    “They’re giving you an assignment already, after what just happened?” Elita asked in disbelief.

    “Apparently.” Orion replied, reaching out to gently hold her hand, hesitating for a brief moment as he remembered Exponum One was there, but as he had already started the act, continued.

    “You do know Momus is sending you into another trap, right?” Ratchet grumbled, allowing himself a slight smile at the small display of young romance and the cock in Exponum’s eyebrow that was caused by it.

    “Possibly. The events this morning…well, it was one of Overlord’s goons, and took place in one of his facilities.” Orion replied. “And Skullcruncher gave the impression that the big guy’s patience with me had about run its course even before it all went south.”

    “Orion, don’t go.” Elita pleaded. “They’ll kill you.”

    “Kid,” Ratchet started consolingly, “my comment earlier about your ego; I tossed that out there not because you have one…you don’t, hell, you’re humility is pretty staggering all things considered. I said what I said to win an argument with you, which requires a dirty trick or two to pull off. It’s not your ego, the simple fact is that you really are incredibly good at pretty much anything that’s ever been put in front of you, to not notice that would be stupid. But while being a prodigy at damn near everything is usually a good thing, I am genuinely afraid that it’s going to be your downfall. Failure is the greatest of teachers, but it has yet to teach you a lesson. It’s going to, it’s only a matter of time, and I just hope your first lesson in failing is something you can walk away from.”

    “What is it that they want you to do, lad?” Exponum One asked.

    Orion looked at each of them before answering. “Word on the street is that a few days ago one of those fighting tournaments was held somewhere in or around Rodion. Apparently they had the event, packed up, moved on to Tarn, had their event there, and are going to hold another one in Rodion on their way back north. Momus wants me to follow up on some leads regarding it.”

    “Alone I presume?” Ratchet cynically grumbled.

    Orion shrugged. “There’s a lot of ground to cover, and I’m assuming Momus has the other officers doing other things.” He watched Ratchet roll his optics and noted the look of fear on Elita’s face. “I recognize the likelihood of this being a trap. I’ll take precautions.”

    Ratchet shook his head. “Just promise me that you’ll once this trap has sprung, you’ll be able to walk away from it.”


    ***


    Mindwipe


    “Mindwipe…”

    The voice returned, as it frequently did in his dreams. Subconsciously Mindwiped recognized he was dreaming, but this realization was subdued enough so that he remained slumbering. “Who calls?” He responded to the otherworldly voice.

    “Those you would serve. The time is soon.”

    “We are not ready.” Mindwipe replied to the voice as the blackness slowly gave way to shapes blurred by shadows created by small rivers of magma running through a vast cavern. The shapes, the vast legions of those he hoped to free, moved restlessly before him. He had been hearing the voices for decades, but this was the first time an image had presented itself. “We lack the force to free you. The army we are creating…it’s not ready.”

    “We grow impatient. Our mutant servants that have been providing us sustenance are fading. Only a few dozen survive, and their sparks are unable to go on much longer.”

    “Please, just a little more time.” Mindwipe begged. “You’ve held on for fifteen million years, surely a few more can be endured.”

    “You have had years; centuries! Our patience is at an end!” The voice barked out, the images, most appearing to be the size of standard Cybertronians with several giants lingered in the back, shuffled ominously. “Demons, sparkeaters, mutants; we are to be free! We are to spread our death across our world!”

    “And you’ll make me one of you?” Mindwipe begged.

    “We reward only the faithful! Prove you can be counted in that number! Free us!”

    With that command Mindwipe awoke on his slab in the barracks of the Tartarun Gates. He peered around at the dormant forms of his fellow Wardens, and decided to get up. The others, those he truly shared a mutual cause with, needed to know that their progress wasn’t sufficient. He needed to contact Reptillion.


    ***


    Rabattus Decimus


    The darkly colored royal watched as Sentinel Prime paced furiously across the floor of his personal chamber, ignoring the goblet of engex as he gave into his agitation. Rabattus would not be so neglectful of his expensive drink, and swirled it gently in his goblet before raising it to his lips.

    “The cowards lack the bearings to say anything to me directly, but their whispers do get back to me! I know what they’re saying, what they’re thinking!” Prime snarled. “Those petty little bitches, senators, lords, even the royals, all bitching about me taking decisive action that needs to be taken! Basically doing what a Prime needs to do to hold this group of squawking, bickering emirates together!”

    Rabattus remained relaxed in his chair as he sent an understanding smile to his leader. “I understand your frustration, your grace, believe me, I’ve been here before. My beloved kinsman, friend…brother, Zeta Prime before you felt the same pricks from the same treacherous malcontents that assail you now. Smiling to his face, claiming friendship, then stabbing him in the back later. It was his downfall really, there were times he was faced with difficult decisions, opposition coming at him, and from time to time he would knuckle under to that opposition, even knowing that his preferred course of action would have been the right course. All to appease those bitching senators, lords and royals.”

    Sentinel stopped in his tracks and stared at Rabattus for a moment, then taking a few steps to finally retrieve his own engex. “Odd, I always respected Zeta for his strength and ability to defy the wills of those who countered him.”

    Rabattus nodded. “Oh, there were times where he did stand strong, and he made a good show of it. The times he acquiesced flew under the radar, intentionally so. I’m not saying he was weak, he most definitely was not. But he had moments of doubt, and there were times when he questioned himself when he truly should not have, and that questioning often led to compromises.” The dark polished off his drink and stood, approaching the hulking Prime, placing his hand on Sentinel’s shoulder. “I loved Zeta, I miss him every day, and he was an excellent Prime, but he was not without flaw.” Rabattus peered intently into Sentinel’s optic. “Nor are you. You lack his charisma; not that you lack charisma, but Zeta was a brilliant public speaker.”

    “I am well aware of this.” Sentinel replied, the hint of annoyance present in his voice.

    “Nor are you as diplomatic as he was,” Rabattus continued, “but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. His diplomacy stemmed in part from his desire to please everyone, and that’s just not a viable aspiration as you and I both know.” The dark royal removed his hand, turned and took a few steps away. “Your directness stems from strength. I’m not saying that you should block out the suggestions, desires and opinions of others, but always remember that you are Prime, and that there’s a very valid reason you are Prime. You’re a royal, raised in the most influential ruling house on the planet, mentored by the greatest of us, provided the most comprehensive of educations. You’ve also spent millennia heading the security of the planet, administering over the lowest beat cop to the highest of military generals. You’ve gotten your hands dirty, dealt with the commoners harshly, mercifully and everywhere in between as was appropriate. More than anyone else on the planet, you’ve got experience with all walks of life. What senator, lord or emir has such experiences on their resume?” Rabattus turned and looked directly into the optics of Prime.

    Prime nodded. “None.”

    “That’s right.” Rabattus pressed. “There’s a reason you’re Prime. Thank Primus you’re Prime! Arlon Pax and the others can complain about dangerous reassignments to their pet commoners, secret trials, hasty death sentences issued to prisoners, and deviating from due process all they want; they do not carry the weight of the planet on their shoulders, only their isolated, homogenous emirates. And frankly, from one member of a ruling house to another, we both know that within our own borders we follow due process loosely at best. Pax and whoever else is daring to protest your recent actions are nothing more than vile hypocrites.”

    Sentinel peered into Rabattus’s optics. “So I should ignore these protests?”

    Rabattus turned his head, as if thinking deeply on the matter, before turning and walking back to his abandoned goblet to refill it. “Yes and no. Your handling of the Autobots is correct and just. They need to be executed, their movement needs to be squashed. But you should not simply ignore the protests as if they do not exist. Address them, explain to those voicing them that what you’re doing is what’s best. They will remain unconvinced, but simply know that going it and do not let it sway your decision. Give them the impression that their words carry weight with you, but ultimately, do what you know needs to be done; do it decisively, and do it quickly.”

    Sentinel pondered the words quietly for over a minute, his head twisting slowly toward the wall-sized window overlooking Iacon. He took in the vast metropolis, knowing that while it was the greatest of cities, it was only one of the many that he ruled over around the planet. He was responsible for the lives and well being of tens of millions of Cybertronians. He was their shepherd, their protector, their guide…their father. He winced at the thought of the last word, and organic familial term adopted by many of his kind. Why terms for inferior life forms were working their way into his species relationship lexicon would always confound him. But he was the leader of all Cybertronians, and even when they couldn’t recognize it, he was acting in their best interests. “Thank you my friend. I’ve come to value your council above all others.”

    “It is nothing short of an honor for me to be able to serve you.” Rabattus bowed as he replied. “I hope that in time your faith in my mirrors the faith Zeta had in me.”


    ***


    Sideswipe


    “What the hell are we doing here?” Sideswipe quietly asked his brother as they peered out from the second floor window of an abandoned building in the outskirts of Rodion. “We’re hooligans, not thugs.”

    “There’s a difference?” Sunstreaker responded equally quiet.

    “Hooligans fight to fight. Thugs fight for some sort of criminal gain.” Sideswipe replied, but clammed up as they felt their employer approaching from behind them.

    “You boys aren’t getting nervous, are you?” Swindle questioned half-jokingly as he sidled up between them.

    “Not really nervous, sir, just…confused.” Sideswipe replied. “You usually bring Raw Deal and Fisticuff out on these little endeavors, not us.”

    “And what do you know about these little endeavors?” Swindle asked.

    “They’re your criminal dealings outside of your involvement in the gladiatorial pits,” Sunstreaker muttered, “where you take an exorbitant percentage of the purses the fighters you represent get.”

    Swindle turned his head to give Sunstreaker a glare. “Ignore him.” Sideswipe suggested as he continued staring straight out into the debris-filled lot on the other side of the empty, ill-maintained road that ran in front of the building. “The last part anyway. But he’s right otherwise, you usually bring the other guys out to do your gangster shit.”

    “Does this have something to do with them?” Sunstreaker nodded toward the massive gladiators farther back in the empty expanse.

    Swindle turned and looked at Megatron and the towering Lugnut. “Perhaps.” The tan and purple robot turned back to them. “Maybe what you boys had to say last night got his attention, and he might be considering you for something. Maybe this is some sort of test.”

    Sideswipe glared almost angrily at Swindle. “We’re sitting here, waiting for some local cop to show up, apparently to see if we’re worthy of something or other.” The red gladiator shook his head. “I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be OK with whatever this test is.”

    Swindle leaned in close, pulling the two brother’s closer to him as he whispered. “Look, I get it, even I get a little queasy when I have to kill a cop. But I’m thinking that’s not the direction we’re taking. I overheard Megatron mutter something about ‘recruiting’, so we may just be here to be lookouts and to help him look tough.”

    Sunstreaker glanced over toward the two larger robots. “Yeah, they really need us to look tough.”

    “Numbers you jackass!” Swindle slapped the back of Sunstreaker’s immaculate head.

    “He’s got his own ‘numbers’.” Sideswipe whispered back. “Between Macht goons there to follow his orders, the majority of gladiators in the pits, and what appeared to be an entourage that included a few nobles, he really doesn’t need us. Speaking of which, you do realize that that big mook Lugnut is a member of a noble house in the Torus Heights, right?”

    “I know all about Lugnut, and as I said, it’s a test for you two…and me as well I suppose.” Swindle replied. “Two birds with one stone, get it?”

    “Is that the mark?” Sunstreaker asked, nodding out the window as a red and blue freight hauler slowed to a stop, transformed, and the robot walked into the abandoned lot across the road.

    “Let’s find out.” Swindle answered before turning around toward Megatron. “I think he’s here.”

    Megatron and Lugnut walked forward toward the window, Lugnut having to stoop low to see out of it. “Yeah, that’s him alright.” Lugnut muttered, and Megatron stepped closer to better get a look at this police officer. “That common-born slag the Pax’s are keen on adopting. Oh, uh, no offense.”

    “Let’s see if he figures it out.” Megatron suggested as they watched, ignoring Lugnut’s insult of commoners. They observed the red and blue robot scan the area, look intently at various things, they even had to clear away from the window several times as he turned toward the building, studying the area around him. After fifteen minutes he began scrutinizing several of the blocks of debris littering the site carefully. “There’s no way…” Megatron’s musing was silenced as the officer lifted two pieces and figured out how to connect them.

    “Impossible.” Sunstreaker muttered.

    “Impressive.” Megatron followed. “It’s time we introduced ourselves.” Moments later they were on the ground floor walking out through the front door. The police officer caught sight of them immediately but merely calmly watched as they approached him. “Greetings Officer Pax.”

    “Good afternoon.” Orion Pax replied, nodding toward Lugnut. “Him I know, who are the rest of you?”

    “Show some respe…” Lugnut started, but stopped as Megatron raised his hand to silence him.

    The group continued walking toward the officer before stopping forty feet from him. Megatron smiled at Orion and responded. “I am Megatron of Tarn. This is Swindle of…Petrex, right?” Megatron noted Swindle’s nod before continuing. “And these are Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, originally of Iacon.”

    Orion Pax looked them all over appraisingly, and then addressed them, starting with the brothers. “You two are suspected Autobots, and were initially suspected of having a hand in the assassination of Zeta Prime.” Megatron glanced at them questioningly, smiling and nodding as though he was impressed before looking back at Orion, who was now addressing Swindle. “You have rap sheets in numerous emirates, the most extensive one in Ankmor. Your criminal organization in Petrex is fairly substantial.” Pax then looked to Megatron. “And you, a person can’t go anywhere in Polyhex these days without hearing whispers of the unstoppable Megatron.”

    “Impressive.” Megatron replied. “It’s an essential, but unfortunately rare trait for a Polyhexian law officer to be so well versed in criminal activity so far outside his jurisdiction.”

    Orion met Megatron’s stare. “If the rumors are true, I hold jurisdiction over many of your crimes, Megatron of Tarn.”

    “Good.” Megatron nodded approvingly. “Never back down to intimidation, at least as long as pretending to be scared isn’t part of a greater plan.”

    “I know feinting, playing possum and other forms of deception are used in the pits,” Orion replied, “but an elaborate fear hoax seems a bit much for a fistfight.”

    Megatron smiled. “Yes, it is. My aspirations extend well beyond the pits, and I’m thinking those aspirations might involve you in some way.” Orion stared at him for a moment before looking down and giving in to a light chuckle. “You find this humorous?”

    “I do.” Orion answered, looking back up and locking optics with Megatron. “You’re not the first criminal to try and recruit me.”

    Megatron nodded. “Yes, I assumed that the Overlord’s motivation for not killing you was the same as my own. But my vision is not some underworld criminal empire for my own material gain. Oh, it will indeed be deemed illegal by the current laws of the land, but what I’m envisioning is a moral and ethical quest to improve this society in which we live. And unlike Overlord, my aspirations are things you and I share.”

    Orion continued staring at Megatron, a cynical look that seemed to run counter to the youthful features of his face was etched heavily on it. “I severely doubt that one who murders in the pits shares goals with me.”

    Megatron smirked. “I killed in the line of duty; something that I hear you can now relate to.” The gladiator watched Orion’s optics harden and held up his hands in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “Look, I’m confronting you in hopes of finding common ground and building both a professional relationship as well as a friendship. The gladiator pits are merely a staging point, a way for me to acquire resources, to come into contact with those who can help me facilitate my vision, and to travel the planet to find like minded individuals.”

    Orion maintained his stare, but finally decided to get to the point. “Alright, tell me of this grand vision you think you and I share.”

    Megatron nodded. “I wish to wash away the established pecking order. To eliminate the royalty, the nobility, and any other notion of superiority derived from birth location.” The chrome gladiator smiled as he noticed Orion’s optics widen and the young officer appear to grow in excitement.

    Orion looked to Sideswip and Sunstreaker and nodded before turning his gaze back to Megatron. “So you share philosophies with the Autobots?”

    Megatron shrugged and twisted his head before answering. “Some philosophies, yes, but we do deviate in many areas.”

    “Such as?”

    Megatron stared at Orion for a moment before continuing. “The notion that all are equal. While I agree that the worth of an individual should have nothing to do with the circumstances of their birth, we are all not of equal worth, and it’s absurd to treat us as though were are.”

    Orion shook his head. “No, I disagree. Yes, we all have varying aptitudes and abilities, but from the standpoint of our innate worth, we are all of equal value. That doesn’t mean that I feel those that excel should not benefit from that excellence in certain areas, but from a legal standpoint, they should be treated no better or worse than an individual of lesser abilities.”

    “Our achievements as a society would soar were we not mired down by the needs of the sub-mediocre.” Megatron stated. “The society the Autobots espouse would have the pace set by the slow.”

    “No, you’re wrong.” Orion replied. “The society the Autobots espouse would be one of compromise and compassion. True, we would be forced to slow down from time to time, but is that truly a terrible thing? There would be avenues and incentives for the exceptional, progress would be every bit as significant as that of your society, it would just possess a sense of social justice.”

    “The weak, the stupid, the slow, the useless; they consume so very much and contribute nothing.” Megatron authoritatively stated. “I thought those in the Torus Heights were taught to revere nature. In nature these elements are culled for elimination, the herd is thinned, so that only the worthy can carry on and pass on their genetic traits.”

    “That’s the society you envision, survival of the fittest?” Orion asked angrily.

    “Yes.” Megatron replied almost lustfully, but his face and voice took a softer tone as he continued. “More or less anyway. I’m not advocating execution for those on the top portion of the bell curve by any means, and by strength I’m not suggesting worth be based on literal strength. I mean, it’s an advantageous trait, but one that is easily trumped by other forms of usefulness.”

    “Enough!” Orion waved him off. “You’re suggesting the removal of one form of elitism for another.”

    “Yes, but the elitism I champion is for those that truly are elite!” Megatron growled. “Those who demonstrate actual worth, those that can advance or benefit society as a whole.”

    “You must realize that what you’re suggesting is how most organized societies get their start.” Orion countered. “Those that are strongest, or most equipped to lead for whatever reason create a society from nothing, or replace an existing one. The monarch is chosen based on this strength, but over time those that succeed the monarch are chosen for other, less viable reasons. This idealized society organized by and for the seemingly most fit gets corrupted. Corrupted by nepotism, resource inequity, personal interest, and often times unethical or even illegal means. I don’t necessarily doubt that the Knights of Cybertron weren’t the most fit to lead, but the utopia they supposedly created got corrupted. If you succeed, I have no doubt yours will as well.”

    “Fair point.” Megatron smiled. “I guess I’ll just have to take measures to prevent that.”

    “And what of those that don’t demonstrate their worth to you?” Orion asked. “Those on the lower left slope of the bell curve, what becomes of them?”

    Megatron met Orion’s intense gaze. “You used the term utopia, not me. I never claimed the society I envision will be a paradise. Tough decisions will need to be made.”

    “You’ll kill them?” Orion stared in disbelief. Unseen by the others, Sideswipe sent Sunstreaker an nervous glance. The yellow sibling pretended not to notice his brother’s anxiety, but he knew…even he was undoubtedly feeling a little himself. “And you sit there, and rationalize it, and make it sound as neat and reasonable as garbage collection, sanitation or any other civic duty. But you’re championing murder; murder in the millions…the tens of millions! Even Sentinel Prime would never make such a suggestion.”

    “Society would be better off…”

    “You think making a statistical case for cutting head-count justifies mass murder?” An enraged Orion interrupted.

    “YES!” Megatron roared, the outburst startling everyone present and causing Sideswipe to send his brother another nervous glance, one that this time was met with a look of revulsion from Sunstreaker.

    “Whoah, hey there, let’s all just settle down.” Swindle stepped in to quell things a bit. “From what Megatron and Lugnut have said about you, you’d definitely thrive in Megatron’s world. What’s your issue?”

    “So because I would be personally benefitted by a clearly unjust philosophy, I should support it?” Orion snapped. “I have an invitation to join House Pax in fourteen years, by your logic I should tell Megatron to slag off and happily embrace the status quo.”

    “You must know that’s not an option.” A much calmer but still agitated Megatron stated. “You do realize we didn’t happen upon each other by chance.” It wasn’t a question, they were all aware of what this situation was. “You’ve been marked for death, but you already know this.” Orion nodded. “I was ordered, by an emir no less, to kill you, and I know that this particular emir has no personal interest in you whatsoever, which tells me that someone above him ordered your death. There’s only one person on the planet in a position to order an emir to do anything.” Megatron gave Orion a look of compassion as he continued. “There’s only one way to escape such a fate, and that’s with me.”

    Orion knew that Sentinel Prime had it out for him, he knew that he was being put into situations designed to get him killed, but hearing it stated had a sobering effect. The leader of the planet, the most powerful being he was aware of, not only wanted him dead, but was orchestrating his murder. Fear, true hopelessness, entered Orion Pax for the first time in his life. He allowed himself to sink into the hopelessness for nearly a minute before forcing himself back to the surface. He wasn’t dead yet, and while he still lived, there was hope. He looked back up at those standing before him, and saw Megatron, the hulking, heavily armored and enhanced gladiatorial legend, standing before him with his hand outstretched in invitation.

    “Join us Orion.” Megatron earnestly suggested.

    “I…” Orion looked down as he paused, thought a bit, and looked back up, “I can’t. I appreciate the offer, but there’s no way that I could ever join you. Some of your ideas are good, some of your points are valid, but what you suggest, what you mean to do; I’m sorry, but I would sooner die than be a part of that. I would sooner die than not oppose that.”

    Megatron’s outstretched fingers curled back and his hand returned to his side. “I truly wish that wasn’t the case. I’ve read about you, I’ve learned all I can, and I exaggerate not when I tell you that I see you at my right hand. I see you as my equal. We should be side by side.”

    “My place is in front of you.” Orion replied. “Forever keeping you from achieving the evil you hope to achieve.”

    “You know that you’re leaving me with only one option?”

    “Yes.”

    “You must also realize that you’re significantly outclassed.” Megatron stated. “I realize that you’re a virtually unparalleled athlete; I was given a copy of your initial physical testing results, and,” the gladiator paused, “they pretty much mirrored my own. But I’ve been enhanced, I’ve been immersed in martial arts training and actual combat with the most dangerous warriors on the planet,”

    “And you have a numerical advantage.” Orion interrupted. “I’m used to being outclassed, just ask Lugnut.”

    “You’re lucky Ironhide showed up when he did, punk!” Lugnut roared.

    Orion met his glare. “We both know that there was no way you were ever going to beat me, and had Ironhide not shown up, the only thing that would have kept me from pummeling you would have been my newborn uncertainty and compassion.” Orion looked back down at Megatron. “I’m not a newborn anymore.”

    Megatron met his gaze. “You need not worry about my numerical advantage, at least, not once this has been done.” Swindle drew a rifle than had been magnetically holstered to his back and pointed it at Orion. “Swindle here will relieve you of your firearm.” Swindle stepped forward, rifle pointed at Orion’s head. The officer carefully withdrew his ion rifle and held it out for the criminal to take. Swindle backed up to where he was before and looked up to Megatron, who turned his head to give his companions a sideways glance. “Slag off.” With that the collection of criminals and gladiators backed up a couple dozen paces. Megatron turned back to Orion. “I’m tempted to ask you once again to join me, but that would be nothing more than an insult, so I won’t. Know that I have no desire to do this.”

    “I’ll be sure to put that in the arrest report.” Orion replied right before getting his left arm up to block the massive right roundhouse. The initial punch was immediately followed by a left roundhouse, that was also blocked but the power of it sent Orion stumbling back. He was strong. Stronger than Lugnut. As strong as Overlord. This could go badly.

    Megatron marched in a circle pattern around Orion, studying him. “You have good reflexes. Sometimes individuals test well, but when it comes to actual combat they aren’t as fast as billed. Good to see you’re as fast as me.” Megatron charged in, but was immediately halted by a left jab he didn’t see coming followed by a right roundhouse he couldn’t react to because of the jab. The combination staggered him, and sent him stumbling back.

    “I’m faster than you.” Orion stated. “Perhaps initially you and I were the same, but after getting all that armor, I’ve got you on speed. If it’s any consolation, you’re a hair faster than Overlord.”

    Megatron grinned as he straightened up. “Good to know.” He continued forward and began circling Orion once again. “You’re right about the armor, it has slowed me down a fraction, but it has its benefits. For one, it’s made me bigger.” Megatron demonstrated his superior reach with some jabs that kept Orion back. “I’m guessing you’re about twenty-two feet tall? That’s about what I was pre-armor, and a similar frame. I’m two feet taller now, and a hell of a lot thicker. I’ve never really been one to crave the attention of femmes, but I can’t help but notice I’m getting a lot more attention now.”

    “Already got a girl.” Orion said as he swatted aside a jab and stepped in to deliver one of his own, which Megatron evaded and they resumed their circling. “Doubt she’s be impressed if I got some armor.”

    “It’s more than just armor.” Megatron replied as he charged in, battering through Pax’s punches and blocks to slam his fist into his chest and then grab him and fling him to the ground. “It’s presses too.” Megatron gloated over the downed officer. “The presses enhanced my strength by a little over 5 percent.”

    Orion was immediately back on his feet. “Interesting. Let’s see how much extra endurance that armor provides you.” With that Orion charged in, slipped past a defensive jab of Megatron’s and delivered a flurry of punches to Megatron’s mid-section, immediately followed by an uppercut that sent Megatron flying back and crashing to the ground. Megatron’s head snapped back up to deliver a glare to Orion. He then looked down to see a half dozen dents on his frame. “It’s impressive, but you’re hardly impervious.”

    “Playtime’s over, Pax.” Megatron snarled as he got back to his feet, and Orion nodded, his face taking on a look of equal anger and intensity. The two collided in a flurry of fists, knees, elbows and foreheads. A flurry of grappling holds and short range strikes melded into one another, the two healthy, handsome and well-maintained frames were quickly becoming battered-looking wrecks as they pummeled away at one another.

    Sideswipe marveled at the fight. It was astounding how they were going at one another. He had seen footage of every pit fight Megatron had been in, and this was the first time he had witnessed the super warrior ever cut loose; it was the first time he had ever been tested. “This is the greatest fight I’ve ever seen.” Sideswipe heard his brother mutter, and could only nod in reply.

    The fight raged for over fifteen minutes, extremely even for every second of that time. But not differences were starting to show. Throughout most of the fight Orion would land maybe one more strike than Megatron with each barrage, but each of Megatron’s strikes were heavier, and he was weathering the damage better than the police officer. By minute twenty it was clear that Orion had sustained more damage. He was still battering away and defending well, and the damage to Megatron was beyond significant, but the fight was taking a greater toll on the unenhanced police officer.

    “Yield, and join me.” Megatron demanded. “We should be doing this to the royalty, not each other.”

    “This is my chance to stop you before you have a chance to enact your genocidal ambitions.” Orion spat. “You yield, and be taken into custody!”

    “Slagging idiot!” Megatron charged and began battering the slightly smaller northerner. Orion battered back, but he had slowed to the point where he didn’t see a monstrous overhand right come down on his temple, sending him to the ground. Orion started to force himself up, but a kick to the face sent him back down. Megatron reared back for another kick, but Orion rolled, then braced, then immediately shot up delivering an uppercut to Megatron’s crotch plate. He almost simultaneously threw a left roundhouse that caught Megatron’s chin, sending the gladiator to the ground.

    Orion sprung on top of Megatron, and was instantly hammering down on his head. Sideswipe could see Megatron’s optics dimming, and was suddenly optimistic about Orion’s chance of victory. He knew he had arrived with Megatron, and was working for him, but after hearing the lengths the gladiator planned to go in his vision of a new world, he couldn’t help but be repulsed. And this Officer Pax, while apparently some sort of noble, and having played a major role in capturing several of his comrades, appeared to have adopted the ideals of the Autobots, a group that Sideswipe was still, for the most part, loyal to.

    So seeing Orion on the cusp of winning was a major source of relief. The thunderous straight right that erupted from Megatron to knock Orion off of him and back to the ground caused feelings of dismay to assert themselves. Megatron snapped back up and delivered a sweeping crescent kick that connected against Orion’s jaw, sending him to the ground, barely moving. Megatron leapt onto him and began throwing punches, but he was slowed, the damage of Orion’s previous assault was substantial, but he remained on top, hammering down on Orion until the police officer’s movements ceased.

    Megatron, exhausted, beaten, worn, looked down at his unmoving target. “Good-bye Orion Pax, you were my greatest opponent.”

    “You won, congratulations.” An unknown voice stated authoritatively from behind Megatron’s entourage. “Now get off him!”

    They all turned to see a robot, one containing enough uncorrected wear and tear to make it clear he was older. Megatron struggled to turn, and at seeing the uninvited guest through his battered and cracked optics, smiled and started chuckling lightly through the pain. “Terminus, my old friend, how good it is to see you.”

    “Get off of him!” Terminus repeated his order.

    “Hey Megatron, you want me to pummel this guy through the surface?” Lugnut grumbled as he took a threatening step toward Terminus.

    “You do not give me orders, old man.” Megatron growled, ignoring Lugnut’s question.

    “He’s a good and noble man, and officer of the law, and I think it’s safe to say, an opponent worthy of respect.” Terminus replied, marching past Lugnut but stopping where the other three were. “I’m not sure if this was to prove something, if he was a threat to the tournament tonight, or what, but I will not let you kill him.”

    “Our relationship is officially at an end, Terminus.” Megatron snarled. “Lugnut, do not hurt him, but get him away from here. Swindle, help him out, Terminus is a tough old coot.”

    “You heard him boys.” Swindle muttered as he nudged Sideswipe to follow him. Sideswiped stared down at the unconscious and soon to be dead Orion Pax. He couldn’t let this pass. Sideswipe looked down at the two rifles in Swindle’s hands, and reached out for the ion rifle that had been Orion’s. “Hey, what the…” Sideswipe yanked the rifle and delivered a head-butt to the bridge of Swindle’s nose, getting possession of the rifle and sending the criminal to the ground.

    “What the slag are you doing?” Sunstreaker yelled as he watched Sideswipe stomp on Swindle’s head and take the other rifle. Sideswipe looked to Sunstreaker before tossing the other rifle.

    “I’m doing this.” Sideswipe asked, pointing the ion rifle at Lugnut’s legs and opening fire. Lugnut collapsed, screaming out in pain. “Are you with me?”

    Sunstreaker whirled around to cover the still kneeling Megatron with his rifle. “You stupid asshole! What the hell are you thinking?”

    “We’re not going to be a part of some kill squad!” Sideswipe growled back as he bent over the dazed but still conscious Swindle and drove the butt of the ion rifle into his face, knocking him out.

    “Oh screw you, you self righteous shit!” Sunstreaker yelled. “It’d be the ugly, stupid, misshapen and slow twats. Who cares?”

    “You stupid dick, Megatron isn’t talking about you having a better domicile than every weakling with a two-digit IQ,” Sideswipe growled as he marched toward Megatron, who was slowly forcing himself to a standing position, “he wants us to slagging murder them!” Sideswipe stopped before Megatron and looked up into his red optics. “And I can’t let you kill this guy. Sorry boss, I quit.” Megatron opened his mouth to say something, but four rounds tearing into his leg from Sunstreaker’s rifle kept his words from coming out. He collapsed back to the ground.

    “Take Officer Pax and leave now.” Terminus said as he slowly approached the siblings. “If you attack Megatron any further, you’ll have to contend with me.”

    Sunstreaker gave the old man a look humorous disbelieve before pointing the weapon at him. “Sunstreaker, no.” Sideswipe said. “He’s right, we need to get Pax out of here.”

    “Oh, and go where?” Sunstreaker snapped.

    Sideswipe shrugged. “I think I remember hearing about a couple Autobot cells in Polyhex. I could probably sniff one out.” With that Sideswipe tossed the ion rifle to Sunstreaker and transformed. “Mount him on me, make sure he secure, and let’s head out.”

    “You just slaggin’ killed us, you know?” Sunstreaker snarled at his brother, but walked over to Orion Pax, locking optics with Megatron as he passed. Megatron remained silent, glaring at the yellow robot as he hoisted Orion onto the red street racer and secured him as best he could, wedging the rifles in there as well before transforming himself. The two street racers sped off, and Megatron’s heated gaze shifted away from them and locked onto Terminus.
     
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  16. batmanprime

    batmanprime Omega-con

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  17. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    +979
    Soundwave


    The large blue royal peered out the window of the well appointed room, a fortress that House Torrent had acquired a few million years back to enhance their House’s authority in the southern half of Praxus. The emirate straddled the equator, which despite being an imaginary line, really did seem to create a schism in terms of cultures, behaviors, philosophies, and virtually everything else. A few hundred miles north loyalty to the Torrents was absolute, the faith of Primus was held devoutly, and belief in the beneficence of the Prime and Senate was unquestioned. Here in Kalis, near the southern border of Praxus, they followed the faith of The Guiding Hand, all but scoffed at the authority of House Torrent, and bore cynical, distrusting attitudes and resentments toward the ‘northern’ government. And beyond these broad strokes was the vast myriad of other cultural values and behaviors that separated the northern portion of the planet from the southern, and they all were glaringly present in the emirate of Praxus.

    The southern flavor of Kalis did not sit well with Soundwave’s guest, the darkly colored Rabattus Decimus, who was standing in front of the window glaring out at the denizens milling about in the streets below. “How does it not drive you insane, lording over subjects who are polytheistic southern anarchists?” Soundwave merely continued peering out the window from his seat on the long couch in the center of the room. “Still, I suppose for what we wish to accomplish we need a little southern gumption.”

    Soundwave turned his visor toward his guest. “What is it we wish to accomplish? I thought we were already accomplishing the expansion of the gladiatorial circuit into new markets.”

    “Bah,” Rabattus grumbled as he turned away from the window and marched back to the center of the room, taking a seat on a couch across from Soundwave, “merely the start. A very profitable endeavor, but I have come to see this as a staging point to so much more.” Rabattus leaned forward and smiled at the other Royal. “I’d like to discuss it with you, but only after our guests have come and gone.” The arrogant robot leaned back and looked at the door opposite the window. “Speaking of our guests, where are those commoners.”

    “Starscream is of House Nexus now.” Soundwave corrected, noting the dismissive look washing over Rabattus’s face.

    “He is, and always will be, a common-born whelp.” Rabattus grumbled. “Being pretty enough to impress an emir to the point of adding a name to the House rolls doesn’t change that.”

    “They have arrived.” Soundwave replied, ending Rabattus’s rant, earning him a look of confusion. “The crew at the landing pad radioed ahead. They’ll be here in moments.” True to the prediction, less than a minute later there was a sharp knock at the door. “Enter.”

    Starscream walked through the opening door, followed a moment later by a battered looking and limping Megatron. “Greetings my lords.” Starscream jovially addressed them.

    “Greetings to you, my lord.” Rabattus replied with a forced smile, then nodding to Megatron. “And hello, Megatron of Tarn. You look…rather weathered. I was not aware that you were on the card last night.”

    “I was not.” Megatron replied with a courteous smile, that while forced, appeared more genuine than the one displayed by Rabattus. “My injuries were due to a matter not related to the pits.”

    “I knew you Tarnians were feisty, but Primus, who, what and how many did you pick a fight with?” Rabattus asked, looking down as the scorch marks and lacerations on the armor of his legs. “Whoever they were, they clearly didn’t play fair.”

    Megatron held his smile as he noted that there were two couches and a chair, the couches occupied by Soundwave and Rabattus, and he watched as Starscream slipped down into the chair. The commoner shrugged as he continued standing. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the specifics.”

    “Don’t bother pressing him for further details, his trap remained shut the entire trip here.” Starscream added mirthfully.

    “As long as he’s in fighting shape for tomorrow night’s tournament, we shouldn’t care what he does in his free time.” Rabattus Decimus replied, and watched the door slide shut. “On to business.”

    “Yes, about business,” Megatron stated uneasily, “I would like to point out that my loyalties lie with Emir Macht, and as such, I don’t think it appropriate that we discuss plans involving the fight circuit without his, Emir Modus, Emir Onyx or any of the other impacted high lords’ knowledge.”

    Rabattus smiled and nodded. “Of course. Your devotion to your liege lord is admirable, but we are not here to make any changes to the fighting circuit. Merely ways to protect it; ways that may involve tactics that some of these high lords would rather not have knowledge of.”

    “What are we talking about here?” Starscream questioned.

    Rabattus gave each of them a look before continuing. “The fact is that due to the drastic increase in the circuit’s size, popularity and influence in recent months, there is no longer any way to maintain its secrecy. Even prior to the surge in popularity, law enforcement was aware of its existence, but now it’s gotten so big that the possibility of infiltration is undeniably real.”

    “It may have already happened.” The commoner said nonchalantly.

    “What?” Rabattus turned to him shocked. “Explain.”

    “Just a guess, but I came into contact with two gladiators, two brawlers from Iacon who had formerly been Autobots, and who I found out later had been suspects in the murder of Zeta Prime.” Megatron explained, Soundwave noting a slight flare in Rabattus’s optics. “I didn’t have a chance to go over this with them as they showed their true colors and…disappeared with a target I was trying to…well, let’s just say they interrupted what I was planning on doing. That’s beside the point. The point is that when I later asked their former employer what he knew about them, he said that one had been arrested, was nearly charged, but was cut loose right before they sought him out to join the circuit. He swears he interrogated them and that they passed muster, but us fighters, we’re of a different breed. When something matters, our ability to ignore pain…, well, a crime lord surrounded by bodyguards and ill-gotten comforts wouldn’t understand. It’s just a theory, but the possibility exists that the police had these guys over a barrel despite knowing they weren’t guilty of Zeta Prime’s murder, and made a deal involving them infiltrating the pits.”

    “I know those guys,” Starscream chuckled, then turned to Rabattus, “your kinsman Mirage nearly burnt a circuit when they weren’t killed in the pits a couple months back.”

    “All the more reason we need to give the establishment something else to focus on.” Rabattus grumbled, ignoring Starscream’s observation. “I had hoped that the Autobots would provide more of a distraction than they have, especially with the public execution of several of them taking place tomorrow, but so far they’ve been a major disappointment. Just an uptick in their regular innocuous civil disobedience, nothing to get and hold the attention of the higher authorities. I need them to be more…compelling.”

    “What do you have in mind?” Soundwave asked.

    “It’s time for the Autobots to graduate from annoying anarchists to villainous terrorists.” Rabattus replied, looking up to Megatron. “Since joining the circuit, you’ve come into contact with all types, haven’t you?”

    Megatron nodded. “I have.”

    “Good, evaluate your contacts, if they can be trusted, enlist their aid and resources, but inform them of only what they need to know, nothing more, and certainly nothing that can link them to anyone above you.” Rabattus ordered. “I want horror, death, destruction; things that will command the government’s full attention. And I want Autobot guilt to be beyond question. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

    “Clearly my lord.” Megatron replied. “And should I need resources?”

    Rabattus nodded. “Let Soundwave know what you want, he can come to me, and I’ll see to it that you have everything you need.” The dark royal leaned forward. “Do this, and you will be all but running the gladiatorial circuit. If Macht doesn’t give you lands and a title, I will.”

    “Understood my lord, a most gracious offer. I will not disappoint.” Megatron replied.

    “Good.” Rabattus leaned back into the couch. “Now leave us, both of you.” He dismissively commanded, indicating both Megatron and Starscream. Megatron nodded and turned to leave, but Starscream displayed a look of shock and indignation. “Please, my lord.” Rabattus requested more graciously of the adopted royal. “We will be out to discuss the progress of the circuit and enjoy some entertainment shortly.”

    Starscream was still clearly agitated at being asked to leave, but at the more proper dismissal he rose and headed toward the door with Megatron. “So be it. You don’t mind if we help ourselves to some engex, do you Lord Soundwave?”

    “By no means, enjoy. Please let the servants know that Megatron is to be treated as though here were a highborn guest.” Soundwave replied.

    “You are most gracious my lord.” Megatron replied with a knowing grin as he left.

    Once the door sealed shut Rabattus groaned. “That WAS very gracious of you, Soundwave.”

    “He is a vital component to our gladiatorial endeavor, and will be more so in the near future.” Soundwave explained. “Plus he has traveled a long way to be here. Seems only appropriate that I extend the complete hospitality of my House to him.”

    “He has proven useful, I’ll give him that.” Rabattus admitted. “But he’s a filthy commoner, as is Starscream, no matter what that smitten fool Pathos Nexus declares. They’re nothing but vermin, the both of them. Megatron is just a big…rat, and Starscream, he’s nothing more than a rat capable of flight.”

    “A bat.” Soundwave explained, suppressing any outward sign of the inexplicable rage he felt toward Rabattus. He wanted to leap up and throttle the conniving high born snob for insulting Megatron.

    “Yes,” Rabattus continued, “a rat and a bat. Filthy creatures.”

    Soundwave’s glare was heated, he was unable to completely hide his rage. A rat and a bat. The greatest Cybertronian he had ever known, a being he was completely loyal to, referred to as a rat. He was only the slightest bit cognizant of his fortune at having a face that was nearly impossible to read. He calmed enough so that his voice betrayed nothing of his true feelings. “So what was it you wished to discuss once they left?”

    Rabattus peered deeply into Soundwave’s linked optics for a long moment before answering. “I wish to undermine Sentinel Prime, to the point where he is removed and replaced with someone more…sympathetic to our needs and desires.”

    Soundwave silently stared at the other royal before finally responding. “A living Prime has never been removed from power by anyone other than himself. Is that even possible?”

    “Yes.” Rabattus smiled. “The Senate has the power to impeach and remove the Prime. There’s entire chapters of the constitution dedicated to treatment of the Matrix; basically if the Prime shows affinity to it and no one else does then he gets to keep it, which is moot as the Matrix no longer exists, but the important part is that the authority wielded by a Prime can be removed, and another ‘interim’ Prime can be elected until the Matrix selects another. It was something that the southern emirates insisted upon when Guardian Prime was putting together the new Senate and constitution; which is odd given that two previous Primes had originated from the south. But anyway, yes, Sentinel can be legally removed. And if that doesn’t work, there are other ways to remove him from power. I just want to create an environment where when that happens, however it happens, his removal won’t cause an uproar.”

    “That is very ambitious.” Soundwave commented. “He is very popular, many see him as far more fit to be Prime than Zeta ever was.”

    “Popularity is fleeting.” Rabattus replied with a smile. “Especially when you repeatedly make questionable decisions, and the world you’re in charge of is spiraling into chaos.”

    “His handling of the Polarun police cadet, the one affiliated with House Pax, was poorly handled, and the secret trial and rushed death sentence of the Autobots has raised many an optic-brow and caused official objections from many nobles and even Arlon Pax himself, but beyond those minor issues, none of his decisions has raised any questions.” Soundwave remarked.

    “His questionable decisions have just begun.” Rabattus explained. “He’s a hothead, a slave to his temper and his feelings of superiority and entitlement. And I now have his ear, and I know just how to play him.”

    “Why are you telling me this?” Soundwave asked. “You’re taking a great risk. Participation in this gladiatorial circuit does not mean I’m on board with overthrowing the Prime.”

    “You have no love for Sentinel Prime,” the dark royal answered, “and you have too much to lose by stepping forward to make non-specific accusations against me that you couldn’t hope to substantiate. Besides, for some reason I trust you; and I need the help of someone I trust to see this through.” Rabattus leaned forward and intensified his gaze. “I can trust you, can’t I Soundwave of House Torrent?”

    Soundwave met the gaze silently for a dozen seconds before replying. “Yes Lord Decimus, you can trust me.”


    ***


    Orion Pax


    Blurred light would intrude from time to time, but for the most part it was just the blissful, disorienting blackness. The thoughts he had were jumbled, fragmented; at least that’s how they seemed as he couldn’t seem to lock on to any of them, and any recollection of them was futile, at least until now. Awareness was just now coming back, as were his other senses. The light was becoming more intrusive and insistent, and the seemingly distant words; dull blobs of noise bouncing off of his audio processors, slowly seemed to be taking shape.

    “Eeees umming nline.”

    “ott sssible”

    “Eee is. Brain waves normal…progressing toward exceptional.”

    “How can that be?” The other voice, one almost young sounding, asked. “When the brothers brought him here he was nearly dead.”

    There was slight bumping, as if they were in a moving vehicle, but that observation was put aside as the intrusive bright light became less blurred and more focused. This made it more uncomfortable, but he was starting to make out details. A large portion of that light, the center section coming from directly above him, was suddenly darkened. He squinted through the shadow to make out the shape that had blocked the light. A head, the details slowly coming into focus. Helmet; that eliminated only protoforms. Two eyes; blue. No face…no, a faceplate, one segmented and covering everything below the optics. And most distinctive, two crests, one on either side of the head…that were suddenly glowing.

    “This common-born royal is one resilient specimen.” The voice emerged from the head above him, but didn’t seem to be emanating through the faceplate. “Sideswipe was right,” Sideswipe! Megatron’s lackey. He had been taken prisoner. “this is one tough bast…” Orion’s hand shot up and gripped this robot’s throat. Why wasn’t he shackled?

    “Whoah, Wheeljack!” The other, youthful voice cried out. “Stop! Let him go!”

    Orion lurched up to a sitting position, lifting the robot in his grasp off his feet. He spotted one other robot in the small room, a mobile medical bay from what he could tell, one poorly equipped. The other robot, a small yellow robot with tiny horns on his helmet; nubs really, was fearfully pressed against the wall, as if trying to pull away as far as he could in this confined space. This was the guard Megatron had assigned to keep him from trying to break free? A fearful, ten-foot youngster? The youngster appeared to overcome his fear, at least enough to take action, and lunged at Orion. He latched onto the arm that Orion was clutching the other robot with, the one likely designated Wheeljack. He was far more interested in freeing this Wheeljack than he was in subduing his prisoner. Orion pondered his situation as both robots hung from his right arm; one clasping onto to it, the other clasped by it. No shackles, inadequate guard, in a med-bay that seemed ill-equipped in terms of not just medical supplies and equipment, but in security or apparent surveillance measures as well.

    Orion released the larger, predominantly white robot and watched as the yellow one let go and immediately went to check on his comrade. “Wheeljack, you OK buddy?”

    Wheeljack ignored the inquiry into his wellbeing and quickly looked up at Orion, his hands raised submissively in an attempt to calm him. “Hey, easy big guy, we’re not trying to hurt you. In fact, we’re repairing you…at least what little your own systems are letting us help with.”

    Orion studied them and nodded. “I apologize for the assault, my last memories involved a fight with Megatron, who seemed to be on the fence about whether he wanted to kill me or recruit me. As I came to you mentioned the name Sideswipe, who was with him during the fight. I made the assumption that I had been taken prisoner.”

    “Perfectly understandable.” Wheeljack muttered as he got to his feet. “I’m Wheeljack, this is Bumblebee, and you’re not a prisoner.”

    Orion looked them over, and noted that they bore brands depicting the Face of the Common Man, the image adopted by the Autobots to symbolize their movement. “You’re Autobots.”

    “I hope that isn’t a problem, Lord Pax.” Bumblebee grumbled as he stepped away from Wheeljack, giving Orion a glare.

    “I…I don’t understand.” Orion muttered. “Megatron made it clear that he was not in league with the Autobots.”

    “He’s not.” Wheeljack explained. “Swipe had a crisis of conscience and decided he couldn’t let Megatron murder you.”

    “Oh, and the other one, Sunstreaker?” Orion began trying to envision what had happened to him.

    “He has no conscience.” Bumblebee grumbled.

    “But he did help Sideswipe.” Wheeljack added. “They even recovered your ion rifle.” The white robot walked over to several lockers behind the slab that Orion was still sitting on and opened one, pulling out the rifle and handing it to Orion.

    “Are you nuts?” Bumblebee protested loud and indignantly. “He’s the reason Blaster, Jazz and the rest are going to be executed tomorrow!”

    Orion’s optics darted up from his rifle to Bumblebee’s. “What?”

    “Don’t play dumb with us, Lord Pax, we know full well that you’re the one that captured them!” Bumblebee shot back.

    “They’re to be executed? Tomorrow?” Orion demanded clarification.

    “Sentinel Prime held a rushed, unannounced trial in that kangaroo court he calls a senate.” Wheeljack explained as he walked back to the rear portion of the trailer they were being transported in, the section in front of the slab with Bumblebee. “Your House raised a formal protest, and managed to even get a few nobles and organizations to voice their disagreement, but for the most part the powers that be are just happy to make some Autobots go away.”

    “Where and when is the execution taking place?” Orion asked.

    “Tomorrow night, in the Senate Forum.” Bumblebee growled. “We’ve passed Kaon, so we should be entering the Tagan Heights within a couple hours. You can catch a rapid transport from there and be in Cybertropolis with plenty of time to spare to watch this travesty of justice.”

    “If the brothers are right, Cybertropolis, or anywhere in Nova Cronum, will be as dangerous for him as Polyhex.” Wheeljack explained to Bumblebee before turning to Orion. “We’re smuggling you out of Polyhex, in case you were wondering where you are. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are taking a different way out of the emirate, but we’ll be meeting them at the Rapid Transport Terminal in Glibax. We’ll make a few aesthetic alterations to your face and frame on the way, and when we get there you can get transport back to the Torus Heights.”

    Orion looked intently at Wheeljack. “Please provide me every detail regarding the trial and the plans for the executions. Every detail you have.”


    ***


    A-Three


    “Primon!”

    Not again. Not that voice. Not this place. Not again. A-Three recognized what was happening. It had been a long time since this particular vision; memory relived in spark-screaming vividness, had haunted his recharge hours.

    “Primon, tell me you still function! Tell me your spark still pulses!” The massive voice of the massive monster carried through the hills of corpses. The dead of both sides covered the ground so heavily that the metal, stone or dirt of Cybertron’s surface was no longer visible. The voice was calling out from the other side of a downed aerial troop transport three hundred yards away. Primon pushed himself off of the three-headed canine he had finally succeeded in killing; a victory that had been hard-fought and that came with a high price. The Prime limped carefully toward the craft, hoping to see and evaluate the situation on the other side. “Tell me your spark still pulses so that I can feel it throbbing in my hand! It’s final pulses tickling my palm as I squeeze it into oblivion as I did with Prima!”

    Poor Justicia. His fluid still ran cold when he remembered what this beast had done to her. She had been brilliant, courageous, amazing on every front. Justicia Ambus had been born to be Prime. And she had died because of it. Because of him! Because of Saurus Onyx, or Deathsaurus as he had taken to calling himself before starting his first rebellion two and a half million years before. He had torn the planet in half then, but through the grace of Primus and the wisdom granted by his Matrix, Alpha Trion had become Primon, and he had been able to lead his armies to victory over the Nyonian beasts. The peace had lasted nearly two million years, half of it under the rule of Primon, and upon discovering Justicia Ambus’s affinity to the Matrix, he had stepped aside so that the other half would be under the rule of Prima.

    Then, five hundred thousand years ago, Deathsaurus rose back again with his armies and tore into the planet in ways that made his previous rebellion look like a minor skirmish. He eventually drew Prima out into battle, and slaughtered her in front of her captive troops. Deathsaurus held the Matrix captive, declaring victory and dominion over the planet. Alpha of House Trion could no longer sit back and let others do his job; Alpha Trion could no longer exist. Primon was needed, and even without the Matrix, Primon still held the loyalty of all those willing to oppose Deathsaurus.

    Hundreds of thousands of years of warfare had led to this battle. It had lasted months, and from what he could tell, it would end today. One way or another, the war ended today. Primon reached the downed and still smoldering craft and peered around it. The great winged dragon stomped down on the corpses of friend and foe alike. In the distance other portions of the battle raged, but were winding down. He could fly out and ensure victory for his side in each of these outlying skirmishes, but he knew Primon was there. He knew Primon still lived, and Deathsaurus valued nothing more than the pleasure of killing a Prime with his own claws. “Face me Primon!”

    Primon looked around at the dead and their final possessions. There was no shortage of weapons in the debris, but finding one that could damage or destroy this beast, that was the trick. Physically Primon was nowhere near a match for this creature. He was huge, thirty feet tall in robot mode, even larger in beast mode, and according to his boasts, boasts Primon had no doubt possessed merit, he was one of the tiny few to possess an anomalous green spark that enhanced the frame it occupied to virtually super-Cybertronian levels. Alpha Trion’s frame had been enhanced by the Matrix, but even Primon had nowhere near Deathsaurus’s power, and though not all, much of the enhancement provided by the Matrix left him as Justicia Ambus became Prima. If he had any chance of defeating Deathsaurus, he would need a weapon of extreme potency.

    Finding nothing on the ground around him that would do more than scratch the beasts skin, Primon looked up to see a gun turret on the downed craft. “Primon! Face me coward!” The dragon turned away and called out for him on the other direction, allowing Primon a few moments to quietly crawl into the ship and work his way toward the turret, silently praying that the canon was still functional and that the ammunition hadn’t been depleted or scavenged. He climbed his way to the gunner’s seat and performed a quick examination. “There are a few of your soldiers still clinging to life, Primon! I will start torturing them if you don’t come out and face me!” It appeared to work, and had four rounds designed to puncture the armored walls of Fort Trypticon, the fortress Deathsaurus called home three miles in the distance. With this he could kill Deathsaurus. “Primon!”

    The gun turret rotated up toward the winged dragon, who heard the whirring and turned its bestial head to see Primon staring back at him through the cracked transparent metal bubble over the canon. Primon displayed a smile as he pulled the trigger, sending a round hurtling toward the startled dragon. Unfortunately the canon had been damaged, and instead of blasting through the beast’s chest, it obliterated one of his wings. “Aaarrgghhh!” It was a painful shot, and the pain provided a distraction that Primon hoped would be long enough for him to adjust his aim and take a second shot. He fired a second time, but Deathsaurus leapt, avoiding a killing shot but getting his left leg blasted off. He fell to the ground, where a third round tore through his upper bestial torso. He survived, as his spark was based lower than where the round had struck, but the damage was catastrophic.

    A final round blasted through his lower torso, missing his spark chamber, but causing enough damage to make it clear he would not be recovering. The dying beast watched as his long-time adversary dropped out of the bubble-like turret and collapse to the ground. The battle had taken its toll on Primon, that was for certain, but these were injuries he would recover from. He would claim victory, he would reclaim Cybertron. This was a fate Deathsaurus could not allow the first Prime.

    Primon limped forward, plucking up a rifle off of a fallen Nyonian warrior and continued on to finish off Deathsaurus. “Nova Onyx, come in.”

    “Primon, this is Nova Onyx. Where are you?” The voice came through a speaker on Primon’s wrist.

    “Three miles to the south of Trypticon.” Primon replied. “Both armies are virtually wiped out here, but I have Deathsaurus. He’s mortally wounded, and I’m seconds away from finishing the job. What’s your status?”

    “We’re on the cusp of breaching the fortress, sir!” Nova answered. “This is a glorious day! Prima would be so proud of you!”

    “She would be proud of us all, Lord Onyx.” Primon smiled. “Finish with the taking of Trypticon, find and recover the Matrix, and we’ll meet later. Primon out.” Primon stopped thirty feet from Deathsaurus, glaring down at him.

    “Tha…that wa…that was my treacherous kinsman, wasn’t it?” Deathsaurus growled.

    “Nova is a great soldier, a great leader, a great friend, and a credit to your House.” Primon snarled. “Pray, for the sake of House Onyx, that it is his deeds that are remembered, not yours.” Primon raised the rifle and pointed it at the beast’s smiling maw. A moment later he was awash with waves of intense flames that caused his face and upper torso to explode in a torrent of agony and everything to go black, only the sound of the flames and laughter surrounding it could be heard as he lost consciousness, only to suddenly snap upright on his dormancy slab in Tyger Pax. The Polyhistor tried to relax, feeling the pulsing of his spark and willing it to slow, but was interrupted by a slight buzz on his personal communicator. He looked down to see that the incoming call was from a scrambled line. “Who is this?” He quietly demanded.

    “A-Three, it’s Orion.”

    “Orion my lad, we’ve been so worried for you.” A-Three said anxiously as he slid off his slab and started walking toward the door. “Torenia and Roller were contacted by a frantic Elita Solus yesterday evening hoping that either of them had received word from you. Needless to say, the House is frantic, Roller has been inundating Captain Momus…”

    “A-Three, please listen, I don’t have much time.” Orion interrupted. “Don’t let anyone know you’ve spoken to me.”

    “Are you mad?” A-Three asked defiantly but stopped himself from leaving his suite. “Your family, as well as Lady Elita…”

    “I understand, but for their own sake they need to be as ignorant of my whereabouts and situation as possible.” Orion interrupted again. “Frankly I feel terrible for involving you, but I need a favor.”

    “Anything Orion.” A-Three replied.

    “Hold off on agreeing until you hear what I’m about to ask of you.” Orion warned.

    “No.” A-Three snapped back. “For anyone else, I might require evaluation, but anything you need of me, regardless of consequence, I will do. Now tell me what it is I can help you with.”


    ***


    Metalhawk


    The call with the cell commanders had taken place in an abandoned tenement on the outskirts of Glibax, and though expected, the final course of action decided upon in the call left Metalhawk, and all other cell leaders, feeling empty and disgusted with themselves. To be fair, they had analyzed every scenario in painstaking detail, considered every possibility, regardless of how outlandish and unlikely, but every possible outcome was of varying shades of disaster. Even Getaway had no viable suggestion on how to get them out. It was an impossible task, one they needed a miracle to perform, but the gods, whether Primus, or the members of The Guiding Hand, or some other deity, had refused to aid them in this endeavor.

    Metalhawk smiled at the irony of thinking of the gods as he walked by a church; one of the Houses of the Hand, the faith that he held. His destination was one of the small storage buildings lined up just beyond the church, and as he walked by he admired the intricate designs carved into the metal, particularly the one depicting the five members of the Hand, Amunus, Solomus, Epistimus, Mortilus and Adaptus, standing over the throngs of their initial generation of created Cybertronians, the first mechanical beings in a world of organics. According to his faith, the members of the Hand were all different aspects of the great creator Mazdas, who separated himself for reasons unknowable to his created. Several of his monotheistic friends, typically other Autobots from the north, have suggested that there is no hand, that Mazdas and Primus are one in the same. Like other polys, the term used by many monotheistic follower’s of Primus to describe the followers of The Hand, Metalhawk merely laughed and dismissed the possibility. At least he used to laugh. The new Emir of the Tagan Heights seemed to have recently developed a streak of Primal zealotry that many polytheists in the emirate feared would pose a threat to their faith.

    Metalhawk shelved this line of thinking as unlikely as he walked by the giant carving that covered the vast majority of the temple’s wall, paying special attention not to the gods, but to the created. There were hundreds of individuals, all possessing unique bodies, but all of their faces were one of the five faces that represented the different roles in Cybertronian society; the Nurturer, the Smith, the Warrior, the Stranger, and the Common Man. There were slight variations to represent gender, but otherwise the faces were identical to other faces within their group. Metalhawk’s optics rested on one of the characters with a common man face, the emblem chosen by the Autobots to represent their cause, one identical to the one on his chest that was currently hidden by a panel.

    He finally reached the storage facility where the other Autobots were supposed to be waiting for him. He opened the door, was greeted by a stern face, but at seeing it was him the Autobot at the door stepped back, allowing him to enter. Metalhawk walked through the crowd to the front, turned and faced them all. They were all looking up at him expectantly, eagerly waiting for him to say what they were hoping for him to say; expecting him to say. The two-dozen commoners that represented cells from all over the western portions of The Tagan Heights were champing at the bit to hear the plan to rescue their comrades that were slated to be executed just hours from now in Cybertropolis. Unfortunately he couldn’t tell them what they wanted to hear, as no such plan existed.

    They’d spent weeks trying to come up with some way to get Blaster’s crew out of the prison, especially when word of their pseudo-secret convictions and death sentences had reached them, but the prison was too well guarded, the Senate Forum was just as much, and the one opportunity they had, when the prisoners were transported from Iacon to Cybertropolis prior to their trial, occurred without their notice. They were outgunned, outnumbered, had little knowledge of the facilities, and despite an abundance of will, they lacked even a fraction of the means needed to have a prayer of pulling this off. It was Metalhawk’s job to make this clear to them, the rank and file Autobots who fought every day for a cause they had little chance of ever gaining any ground on.

    “Thank you all for coming.” He addressed them with a smile. The few collections of whispers that had been present immediately ceased, and all Autobots stared up at him ready to hear what Metalhawk had to say. “Tonight our brothers are set to be murdered, and Sentinel Pr…”, no, he was unworthy, “Sentinel Honorum, in is unmitigated gall, has chosen to broadcast the executions to send a message. A message to us, and those who would dare to feel sympathetic to our cause.”

    There were grumbles throughout the small crowd, but all was interrupted as a door was thrown open and two brightly colored forms entered the expanse. “Prowl can eat a pipe.” The red robot, who Metalhawk recognized from inter-Autobot dossiers as the Iaconian deserter Sideswipe, blurted out to his comrade, a yellow robot that intel identified as his spark-spliced sibling and fellow deserter Sunstreaker. Of course, according to the message transmitted from one of the Polyhexian cells, the deserter label might be less cut and dried than previously thought.

    “He’s going to shove pipes up our exhaust ports when he finds us.” Sunstreaker growled, the two of them still oblivious to the meeting that they had interrupted. “Months of undercover bullshit for nothing; they’re going to pin Zeta on us after all.”

    “Screw ‘em, let ‘em, I’m done kowtowing to self-important bit…”

    “Enough!” Metalhawk roared. “Even were you in good standing, which the two of you most definitely are not, you do not barge in here blathering away while a meeting is going on.”

    The brothers looked up and both shrugged and replied in unison. “Sorry.”

    “Sir,” a comment from Electro, a yellow Autobot in the front of the cluster of robots called out hesitantly, “how are we getting them out?”

    Metalhawk looked at Electro sadly, then raised his gaze to take in the entire group. “We’re not.”

    “What?” Electro’s gasped question was echoed by virtually everyone else in the room.

    “It would be suicide.” Metalhawk replied, making sure the level of authority in his voice was adequate. “We would hit, we would be stopped, we would be either killed or imprisoned, and Blaster, Jazz, Perceptor, Trailbreaker, Pyro, Steeljaw, Hoist, Bluestreak, Cliffjumper, Smokescreen, Huffer, Rewind and Guzzle would all be publicly executed anyway despite our best efforts.”

    “Tarpanicus shit!” Sideswipe roared. “So what are we planning on doing, paint protest graffiti?”

    Metalhawk glared at the red Autobot in questionable standing before replying. “Hubcap has figured out a way to hijack a communications signal temporarily, and we’ve put together a loop of propaganda footage that will air instead of the execution for several channels.”

    “That’d be great to preempt the Ibex Cup with, but these are our friends!” Sunstreaker snarled, but then smiled and continued. “Well, some are his friends,” he thumbed at Sideswipe, “I personally can’t stand to be around Blaster, but they’re our comrades, so sorry, your plan sucks bearings.”

    “That’s enough out of the both of you!” Metalhawk roared. “Much smarter beings than you have analyzed every possible attack, every possible infiltration, every possible everything! And they came up with nothing viable, so shut the hell up or get out! There’s no way we can get in there, extract the prisoners, and get out of there!”

    The door was pushed open again, prompting everyone to turn nervously toward it. “I believe you’re wrong.” The stranger walking in stated authoritatively. The Autobots all postured to engage him, but Wheeljack and Bumblebee walking behind him gave them all pause.

    “Whoah, why aren’t you on a transport to Polarus with a fake beard?” Sideswipe shot.

    “And what are you doing walking around?” Sunstreaker added. “You should be sipping energon through a straw for the next month, not busting in here and arresting those who saved your ass!”

    “Wait, Polarus?” Metalhawk questioned. “You mean to tell me this is the Rodion royal cop?” He glared at Wheeljack and Bumblebee. “You brought a slagging royal here? Have you completely glitched?”

    “I’m not here to arrest you.” The newcomer, Orion Pax, stated loudly, the statement failing to convince the Autobots present. “I’m here to help save your friends. But we must leave for Cybertropolis immediately.”

    “You’re the one that pinched them!” Sideswipe snapped.

    “Yes, something I plan to undo.” Orion replied. “But as I said, we need to hurry.”

    “Enough!” Metalhawk yelled out. “You’re either here to lead us into a trap, or you’re on the level but deluded and plan on a course of action that will lead to failure.” He locked optics with Orion. “It appears that my two comrades, who normally display a more than adequate amount of good sense, led you here of their own volition, and I am aware of Prime turning on you and your subsequent fall from grace. And I read Wheeljack’s report stating that an attempt on your life had been made by levels at least as high as Emir Macht, and possibly Sentinel Prime himself. So I’m not entirely closed to the possibility that you may genuinely wish to aid us. And if you pass scrutiny, we’d be happy to have you. But for you to barge in here and insist that an objective our best and brightest deemed impossible is something we must fight to achieve is absurd. I know you have potential, Lord Pax,” the Autobot let the title hang in the air to add to his status as an outsider among these commoners, “but as of now you wield no authority with us. In fact, given your status as a member of a royal house and member of law enforcement, we’d be crazy not to kill you or at least beat you into a coma and abandon you in the tenements a couple miles away.”

    Orion nodded as he held Metalhawk’s gaze. “I recognize what I am, and how unlikely it seems that one with a royal name would not only wish to assist, but to join the Autobots. But I have not been admitted into any House, and in fourteen years when I’m legally able to, I will refrain from doing so. I have long held with the ideals of the Autobots, I dare say I know them better than many of you,” the comment garnered more than a few angry groans, “Blaster was happy to teach me, and I am ready to renounce my affiliation with the government’s police force, and…” Orion paused hesitantly, but continued, “and my name as well.”

    “Naw man, keep it.” Sideswipe blurted out, and noted everyone turning to look at him, which caused him to shrug and gave a goofy look. “An Autobot named Pax is propaganda gold!”

    “Actually, he’s right.” Metalhawk muttered. “Keep the name.”

    Orion looked up. “When it comes to the name, I will respect the wishes of Arlon and House Pax. I wish to do them no harm beyond the removal of the caste system they’re a part of. I may wish to become an Autobot, but I will always respect House Pax.”

    “Had you said that about any other House, I’d tell you to get the hell out,” Metalhawk replied, “but you wouldn’t be the first Autobot to have a soft spot for the Pax’s. But I’ve already told you we’d be open to looking into you joining us, that I may consider you to be on the level. It’s that you plan to get us compromised and killed with a suicidal plan that’s caused the friction. If our best and brightest couldn’t figure out how to pull it off, you can’t figure out how to pull it off.”

    “With all due respect to your best and brightest,” Orion replied, a slight smile on his face, “they don’t know how to gain access to Cybertropolis PD’s crowd control weaponry, nor are they privy to ancient access and escape routes that only one…now two people on Cybertron are aware of.”

    Metalhawk stared incredulously at Orion before turning to Wheeljack, who shrugged back at him. “We let him make a call.”

    “Hand, hold us.” Metalhawk prayed in annoyed frustration.

    “Sir,” Electro turned to Metalhawk, “the aerial transport to Cybertropolis has already been arranged. We’ve got to at least hear the plan.”


    ***


    Prowl


    “Good evening to you, Security Commander.” The darkly colored royal announced loudly as he entered the Senate Forum. Prowl was more than a bit annoyed that Rabattus Decimus had been permitted access to the area where executions would be carried out. Frankly, he was sickened that Prime had insisted that the executions not only be broadcast, but that they be done in the Senate. Seeing that sharp-toothed smile over optics shining with glee in this revered forum on this solemn and serious occasion just added to Prowl’s fury.

    “Lord Decimus, only security personal should be here. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Prowl replied, keeping his anger in check.

    “I asked him to come.” Sentinel Prime called out from the doorway behind him as he entered the Forum from behind the consul seats. “Lord Decimus has become one of my most trusted friends. He is to be granted unfettered access to pretty much anywhere.”

    Prowl truly disliked the decision, he felt Rabattus to be an untrustworthy sort always out for his own advancement. Even his kinsman Zeta seemed to be wary of trusting him completely, but Sentinel seemed completely at ease with the royal. But the Security Commander could do nothing more than nod and smile. “Of course sir.” He then smiled at Rabattus before continuing on with his inspection. It was at least the twentieth time he had gone through here for this purpose, but it would be his final one prior to the execution.

    They were minutes away from allowing the senators and other dignitaries in, followed by the various media representatives and their crews, and then finally, the prisoners. It would all be over in less than an hour. The facility was beyond secure, the perimeter was inundated with checkpoints; the checkpoints had checkpoints. No one could get in or out, and yet, something didn’t seem right to Prowl. The Autobots probably realized that any attempt to break their comrades free would be futile, but there should have been protests, acts of backlash, graffiti, chaos in the streets…something. But in the days leading up to the execution the Autobots had little more than they typically did; today had be completely devoid of Autobot activity. Prowl knew that could only mean that they were waiting for the ideal time to pull something off, he just needed to be ready and able to prevent it.

    Soon the senators were filing in. Then any royalty that chose to attend, including Arlon Pax. The Emir of the Torus Heights had cast aside his reclusiveness and been beyond vocal in his condemnation of the planned executions, even going so far as to refer to the act as murder. Prowl had to admit, the punishment did not fit the crime; he had been there for the crime, he had been in the thick of it, he had been a victim of the attack. But they had used tar bombs. Frankly, were the Autobots planning on killing them, well, they’d have had trouble finding ordinance that could tear through Sentinel Prime’s armor perhaps, but Prowl and most of the Primal Security Force would have been killed. Punishment was deserved for this act of insurrection, but not execution. But Prime insisted he was just and right, that it was his mandate from the Senate to do as he saw fit, and to do it without being hampered by dissent. He looked over to Prime, who still had Rabattus next to him whispering in his aural cavity, the two of them glaring up at Arlon Pax, as the non-humanoid shaped emir struggled to contort his frame into the area assigned to him. To his credit, Lord Pax succeeded in looking dignified in his attempts to sit comfortably, eliciting disappointed looks from Sentinel and Rabattus. ‘Petty’, Prowl thought to himself, perhaps appropriate for a Decimus devoid of power, but beneath the Prime. But again, it was not Prowl’s place to make such judgments.

    He then watched as Red Alert and his team ushered in the media contingent and informed them of where they could set up. Nearly half an hour later they were set, it was time to begin. Prowl watched as Sentinel Prime whispered something to Rabattus which caused them to share a light chuckle, before turning toward Prowl and walking across the Forum floor to speak to him. “Is everything ready, Prowl?”

    Prowl nodded. “Yes your grace, though it’s not too late to change your mind if you’ve had second thoughts.” The statement only gained him a disgusted glare from his leader, who then turned away and smiled up at the Senators, royalty and nobility.

    “Greetings everyone. Thank you all for coming.” Sentinel addressed them regally, but was careful to address the cameras on him with as much respect. “Tonight we have a serious matter to attend to. Justice is always a serious matter. The better part of a year ago my party and myself were attacked. A terrorist group lied in wait for us in the middle of a populated town, and attacked without cause or hesitation, causing grievous injury. Their attack was thwarted, they were captured, but their intent was clear; they wished to kill me and those devoted champions assigned to protect me. I bypassed the Magistratus and held their trial before this very Senate, and this esteemed governing body recognized the evil in their sparks, and wisely chose to find them guilty of the charges against them, and to assign the appropriate punishment.” Sentinel lowered his head solemnly and paced slowly across the forum floor. “The execution of a prisoner is never easy, nor should it be. It is the silencing of a spark, the ending of a life, the cancelation of something divinely given. But there are offenses that demand nothing less. While I see myself as one of you, I’m forced to acknowledge the power and symbolism my title holds. This wasn’t an attack on Sentinel Honorum, this was an attack on the Prime. The punishment is clear,” Sentinel turned and nodded to Prowl, “send in the guilty.”

    Prowl tapped a button that sent a signal to his guards, and a moment later the thirteen captive Autobots were marched into the Forum in shackles. Sentinel Prime marched over to Blaster and whispered something, causing the captive Autobot to glared into his optics. Sentinel turned and remained in character; the respectful and appropriate Commander of all, administering justice. The Autobots were lined up in front of the device constructed for this purpose. It was a construct that was being adjusted to lie directly in front of the prisoners, possessing a puncture spike to destroy each of their sparks that acted in unison with a blade designed to decapitate them. The device held twelve of these combined killing mechanisms, each set to the size and shape of their humanoid-shaped targets. For Steeljaw, a large axe was brought out. Sentinel felt it would be a good show of his prowess if he were to execute one of the prisoners himself.

    “Prowl?” The voice of Eject came through the inter-Security communications channel.

    Prowl turned and headed toward a doorway where he could talk quietly without being noticed by anyone. On his way he noticed several members of the media seeming to panic over something. Upon reaching the doorway he replied. “What is it Eject?”

    “Sir, several of the channels broadcasting have been interrupted by a pirated signal.” He replied. “It’s pumping pre-recorded Autobot propaganda.”

    “How many channels?” Prowl asked.

    “Four of the ten broadcasting.” Eject answered.

    “Less than half.” Prowl muttered to himself. “The events are getting out there, so I’m not going to bother Prime with this now, but do what you can to block them out and reclaim the signals.”

    “Yes sir.” Eject replied before Prowl cut the connection. He smiled. Finally, the Autobots had made their move. It would be an annoyance at worst. For the first time in weeks Prowl allowed himself to relax.

    “You have been found guilty of attempted Primalcide!” Sentinel’s voice called out loudly, and Prowl turned and reentered the Forum, looking at his leader, the massive Prime’s right hand resting on a podium while his left waved out over the thirteen soon to be dead Autobots. “Do you have any last words before you are strapped to the impalation gibbet?” Prowl knew that Prime had been kicking around the idea of sabotaging the vocal functions of the prisoners, and it seemed that he had actually followed through with his plans as they only glared at him silently. “No? Alright then, guards, strap…” Prime was interrupted as a dark glob slammed into and enveloped his hand, leaving it stuck to the podium. “What?” A smaller round struck the Prime in the mouth, silencing him.

    The guards were immediately swarming on the Forum floor, as was Prowl, but no sooner were they out there than they were being pelted right and left by tar bombs as well. “Autobots!” Prowl yelled out as his legs were swept out from under him by a glob fired from fairly close range, forcing him to fall over at an awkward angle as his feet were immediately glued to the floor.

    “This travesty of justice is over!” Prowl turned to the voice, one originating from the upper seating levels, and was amazed to see Orion Pax running down, a tar canon in his hand. Various other robots were funneling in, overwhelming his guards with ease and keeping the senators, royals and nobles intimidated. Prowl immediately looked up toward Arlon Pax to see if the emir would provide some indication as to whether he was expecting the attack or even if he seemed to support it. The look on the non-humanoid emir’s face would be difficult to read for most, but Prowl was able to analyze it as if it were a standard, humanoid face, and his analysis was telling him that Arlon was as stunned by this development as he was.

    Orion reached the floor as those he was with immediately went to free the prisoners. The common-born Pax turned and addressed everyone in the audience as well as the cameras. “I bid you greeting, members of the Cybertronian Senate. I would apologize for this disruption, were these proceedings not is such dire need of disruption.” He noted the looks and sounds of surprise and fear, raising his hands as he spoke. “I mean no harm to any of you.” He turned and watched as his comrades freed the Autobots, two of which were the siblings that had infiltrated the gladiatorial circuit for Prowl, before continuing his address.

    “Prowl, the signal was inexplicably cleared…ohhhh, oh shit!” Prowl rolled his optics at Eject’s comments through the communication channel and his sudden realization of what was going on. The Security Commander struggled to free himself as he continued listening to Orion Pax addressing the audience, both present and around the planet.

    “A question has dominated my thoughts, my very soul, since the moment of my birth roughly one year ago, and it is one that I now put before this esteemed Senate, a question that has been asked far too infrequently of you senators. It is a matter that, in my opinion, is nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery. Our society, and the societies that its foundations were built upon the ruins of, was founded on the basic, unshakable core belief that there are those of us who are inherently of greater value than others. This value that is allotted to us based on no merit beyond location of birth. It is a philosophy devoid of any degree of reason or rational support, yet one whose entrenchment in our culture is absolute and unshakable.

    There is no mystery as to why this is. Those who attained power through whatever means, sought, as you continue to seek, to maintain their power; to ensure that their power and wealth was unthreatened, and to keep those that could pose a threat down and powerless. To aid them to this end they created, and you maintain, a mythology of enhancement and enlightenment through a divinely ordained system of birthrights. It’s a story that would be laughable were it not such a tragic one that’s lasted for over a dozen million years. We Autobots are devoted to putting an end to this tragedy. When the course of events leads to an environment where it becomes necessary for one people to divorce themselves from the binds that connect them to another, a deference to the opinions of cyberkind requires that they should declare the causes which drive them to the separation.

    Though long ignored, it is an intrinsic axiom that all sentient beings are created equal, gifted by their Creator with certain irrefutable entitlements, that among those are existence, freedom, and the right to seek contentment. Governments are created by sentient beings to secure these entitlements, and justly operate through the sanction of the governed. When such government becomes a threat to these ideals, it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it!

    There is so much more, but I fear that due to circumstances, I must cut this short. Know that we Autobots prefer alteration to abolition; though drastic alteration is required. Should the actions of this Senate prove to be insufficient or non-existent on this front, we will have no hesitation in tearing it down and starting over from scratch. I know that I do not speak for all, but I am certain that I am not alone in demanding that I be given liberty, or that I be given death. I will be a slave to the whims of petty despots no longer, nor will I tolerate that fate for others.”

    The last of the shackles were removed from the prisoners as two dozen guards armed with small caliber weapons surged into the Forum. One of the guards was armed with a chemical dispenser, and began immediately firing on the globs of tar covering Prime. Prowl continued struggling, but looked back up onto the crowd to see if it was pride or disgust on the face of Arlon Pax. He was stunned to see the seating area vacated by the emir, but he couldn’t dwell on it as another guard with a chemical dispenser began covering the tar holding his legs with a gel that ate away at it. Halfway to freedom Prowl turned to see Prime yank free of the podium, tear what remained of his chemically-soaked tar from his mouth and charge Orion Pax. “You’ll die for this, commoner!” The punch was thunderous, but Pax sidestepped it and used Prime’s momentum to push him into the large execution device.

    The impact damaged part of it, but activated the puncturing mechanism for the section directly in front of Sentinel Prime. The spike shot toward his back, but it was pulverized by a blue blur of a fist slamming into it a moment before it could connect with the Prime. “Nobody dies today!” Orion announced as he stepped back away from Prime and the mechanism.

    “Wrong!” Prime roared as he backhanded Orion and charged after him. Orion recovered from the backhand immediately and once again side-stepped Prime, and as Sentinel turned toward him, Orion delivered a right cross that floored the leader.

    “Pax, move your ass!” Prowl pulled both his legs free and leapt to his feet to see Sunstreaker calling out to Orion from a hallway entrance that the rest of the Autobots were already departing through. Orion didn’t hesitate and was immediately leaping over unconscious or tar-subdued guards toward the others, and a second later they had vanished into the hallway. Prowl couldn’t understand what they were doing, that hallway would only lead them deeper into the Senate building; they would be trapped in minutes.

    “Prime!” Prowl knelt down next to his leader, and looked into the just now focusing optics. “Are you alright?”

    Prime’s metal teeth ground in fury. “Get them! Don’t let them escape!”


    ***


    Shokaract


    He hated the The Torus Heights. He hated the north in general, but he especially hated this cold, sparsely populated, endless expanse of shit emirate. Why Reptilion refused to move from here was beyond him. Granted, he needed privacy, and there was plenty of that in this wasteland, but security measures could be put in place in facilities in the south if he wanted. And if he were caught, the Onyx’s, Modus’s, Macht’s and others could be bribed to look away; there was no chance of a Pax overlooking whatever Repilion was doing.

    But he was insistent, and brilliant, so they indulged him. And it was impossible to dismiss his point that as the target of his experiments was the Tartarun Gates, a staging point in The Torus Heights made a lot of sense. So as much as he and his fellow Nyonian companions, Ransack and Striker, may have hated this frigid expanse, they made the trip. They all played their roles, Mindwipe’s being critical, but ultimately any chance of success rested with Reptilion.

    The three robots with bestial pieces indicating animalistic shell modes came upon a lone facility wedged into a narrow valley, surrounded by no other signs of civilization, the sun quickly disappearing under the mountains. “I honor Saurus Onyx, I possess nothing but pride in my beast mode, but damn if treks like these don’t make me long for wheels and motors.”

    Striker laughed and nodded in agreement at Shokaract’s statement as he reached forward and knocked at the door. Ransack however snarled a reply. “I could have traversed this distance faster than any wheeled form had I not been anchored with you two slow lumps.”

    “We appreciate your company, Ransack.” Striker replied through his mild laughter.

    “Your fleet form will be most useful when the time to spread death arrives.” Shokaract mused, quickly abandoning his uncharacteristic mirth and getting serious once again.

    Nearly a minute later the door was pulled open to reveal a monstrous green and purple robot. “What do you want?”

    Though not invited, the three pushed their way in, the occupant, though seemingly annoyed, permitted it. “Mindwipe has received another vision, message, whatever you want to call it, Reptilion.” Shockaract replied as the host shut the door. “Our masters grow impatient, they expect faster results of us.”

    “Faster res…” Reptilion grumbled. “Do they have any idea of the complexity of what I’m doing here?”

    “No, they know only of our existence and our pledge to free them and submit to them.” Ransack replied without any compassion in his voice. “Even if Mindwipe understood what you’re trying to do here, I doubt whatever link he has to the undead would be robust enough for such level of detail to flow.”

    “Bah, alive, dead, or undead, management always consists of demanding, short-sighted blowhards that always fail to recognize or appreciate the complexities involved with achieving their goals.” Reptilion replied with a growl. “Well, you came to see where we’re at, I might as well show you.”

    Reptilion led his visitors out of the large expanse that could have been considered a reception area if he were interested enough in receiving guests to design it to be one, and on through several hallways before stopping midway in one. Shokaract and the others were confused, as there were no doors anywhere near them, but things became clear as their host turned to the wall, stepped toward it and positioned his face to within a few inches of it, and a panel slit open. A series of lights emanated from it to scan his optics, and a moment later a large, door-sized panel, slid open.

    The four robots entered a dark expanse, but as they entered the lights high overhead began activating and illuminating the sections ahead of them, until an entire 10,000 foot deep and 8,000 foot wide expanse came into view. “I’m really only using this front third for now.” Reptilion said as he reached the end of a line of lab tables filled with equipment and monitors and turned to the right. There were rows of tables equipped in much the same way, and he passed several row on his way toward the wall, which was lined with cages; scores of cages, nearly three hundred by Shokaract’s estimate, enough that even stacked three high extended nearly the entire length of the vast room. Of the two-hundred seventy-four specimens you provided me, only three survived the testing and proved to possess the traits needed.” He turned right as they got to the row with the cages and started heading back toward the front of the room, the robots looking at column after column of cages filled with corpses to their left, until they finally reached the first three columns of cages, where on the floor level cage of each column laid a living but unconscious black and purple robot. “You three will be proud to know that the only viable candidates hailed from Nyon.” Reptilion announced as they looked upon the three average-sized darkly colored forms. “Not sure if there’s something in the metallico, or if it’s related to the higher prevalence for bestial shaped robotic modes, or what, but you Nyonians seem more open to physical adaptation.”

    “So who are these guys?” Ransack asked, peering intently at the three.

    Reptilion turned around toward the lab table behind him and lifted off a tablet, taking a few seconds to scroll through. “Their designations are…Kickback, Bombshell and Shrapnel.” He looked up from the tablet and smiled at his guests. “Don’t get too attached though. They’ve made it through the testing, so physically they should recover from what we have planned for them, but mentally, well, let’s just say that what’s already happened combined with what’s in store is going to take a pretty hefty toll.”

    Shokaract nodded. “We don’t care about their well being, just that they are adequate for the procedure.”

    Reptilion nodded and displayed a monstrous smile. “Oh, they’re beyond adequate, they’re perfect.”


    ***


    Arlon Pax


    “Sir, what are we doing here?” Roadbuster, the head of his guards here in Cybertropolis, asked as he nervously scanned the area. “We’re fifty feet from a sewer run-off, we’ve seen several empties and other undesirables loitering around here, and there was an attack in the Senate Forum. We need to get you to a more secure location.”

    “Relax Roadbuster, we’re perfectly safe.” Arlon replied. “Though do not be alarmed when a secret panel in that wall opens and the attackers come out.”

    “Sir?” The startled Roadbuster asked, but then raised his rifle toward the wall in front of them. “Be ready boys.”

    “Put your weapons down!” Arlon demanded. “You must of heard who was leading the attack.”

    “We overheard some comments, Lord Pax, but they were absurd.” Roadbuster replied. “There couldn’t be any truth to…”

    “It was Orion,” Alron interrupted, “I witnessed what he did with my own optics. So cease pointing your weapons at…” a shaking of the wall silenced Arlon, and after a great deal of shuffling, the wall started pushing out and then sliding to the side, displacing millions of years’ worth of sediment from the structure.

    A moment later a yellow helmet surrounding a silver face poked its head out, caught sight of them and ducked back in. Arlon and the security force that he had brought from the Torus Heights heard the barely muffled conversation going on within the newly exposed dark tunnel. “There’s close to two-dozen armed soldiers out there, all behind what’s either Arlon Pax or a tarpanicus.”

    “Move Metalhawk.” A familiar voice said, and a moment later Orion Pax emerged through the entrance and marched straight toward Arlon, wrapping his arms around the bestial emir, who in turn raised onto his hind legs to hug Orion with his forelimbs. “It’s wonderful to see you again, my lord.”

    “It’s a glorious relief to see you, my son.” Arlon replied as they broke the hug and each took a step back. Orion nodded and looked down, the other Autobots filing out of the tunnel and standing in the lower-level street. Arlon chuckled lightly. “You didn’t really think that you were the only one that A-Three shared his secrets with, did you?”

    Orion chuckled. “Clearly I was incorrect in making that assumption.” He finally looked back up and peered deeply into Arlon Pax’s optics. “Sir, I have betrayed your House and put you and every other Pax in jeopardy. I am so so…”

    “Stop!” Arlon interrupted. “I have betrayed House Pax by not taking that stance that you are taking now millions of years ago. You, with your actions today, have brought honor and integrity back to House Pax. What you said in there, what was heard by the entire planet, will make us despised by the royal and noble Houses, but it was right, it was just, it was truly noble. You have brought honor, true honor to House Pax today. I have never been prouder of anyone than I am of you right now. Do not apologize for doing what is right! Never apologize for doing what is right!”

    “Uhm, sir,” the robot that had first peered through the opening interrupted, “I apologize, I do not mean to interrupt or to disrespect you. House Pax has always been a beacon of light in the darkness of our world, but I’m afraid we need to wrap this up. We’re still in dangerous territory here.”

    “Of course.” Arlon said, nodding at the Autobot that Orion had referred to earlier as Metalhawk, before looking back at his wayward adopted kinsman. “You have brought me pride, Orion Pax.”

    “Sir, I no longer have the right, it’s just Orion.”

    “It’s Orion Pax.” Arlon corrected firmly. “No one has earned the right more than you. It would do our House honor for you to retain the name. Please, keep it.”

    “Of course my lord.” Orion replied as he bowed.

    “Primus keep you Orion Pax.” Arlon then turned to his security forces. “You are all commoners, and you are all loyal to Orion Pax. Those of you who have an inclination to join these Autobots may do so with my blessing. The rest of you are to return to Tyger Pax. I will be safe on my own here.”

    “Sir…” Roadbuster protested.

    “That is an order, Roadbuster.” Arlon insisted. “Make your choices and go. I will be fine.”

    “My lord,” Orion stepped forward, “Arlon, please keep them at your side. If I escape, Sentinel Prime will try to take this out on you.”

    “Let him try.” Arlon stated. “Now, I realize that you Autobots do not submit to ranks of royalty or nobility, but as one of the individuals to have helped raise you I am entitled to give you one final order.”

    “Of course, my lord.” Orion bowed his head.

    “Run, and do not look back until you are safely away.” Arlon stated. “Never regret your actions here tonight, no matter what consequences emerge. You were just, you sought freedom and equality for all sentient beings of this planet, you lived our ideals. So I order you to escape, and continue your fight another day.”

    “Sir, please, let Roadbuster escort you back to Tyger Pax, or come with us.” Orion pleaded.

    “I have made my decision, I expect you all to respect it.” Arlon insisted. The bestial emir than smiled. “Do not fear, I can handle Sentinel Honorum.”


    ***


    Sentinel Prime


    “You cannot allow this to pass.” Rabattus’s words were right, but served no purpose. Sentinel had no intention of letting any of this pass. He continued staring angrily at the doorway that his Security Commander had disappeared through half an hour before to conduct the search for the Autobot bastards who had shamed him. Finally the black and white form of Prowl reappeared.

    “Finally!” Prime snarled as he marched toward the much smaller Prowl. “Tell me you’ve found them!”

    “I’m sorry sir, but they’re still unaccounted for.” Prowl replied.

    “How?” Prime roared. “They fled INTO the center of the building! They should have been easily cornered and either captured, or cut to pieces by our weapons!”

    Prowl braced himself before delivering this next bit. “Sir, it appears that they gained access to secret passages that we were unaware of. We’ve found a couple of access points, but it’s been slow going trying to figure out where these passages lead and which branches the intruders used. Frankly, none of us had the slightest clue that these passages existed.”

    Prime turned away and growled to himself. “Primon!”

    “What was that your grace?” Prowl asked.

    “Nothing.” Prime growled as he turned back toward Prowl. “Is there nothing you can do? Nothing you can leverage against that bastard of a Pax?” Suddenly Prime’s optics grew wide. “Arlon!” He turned to look up into the crowd of spectators, who had been ordered to stay where they were until the initial investigation determined whether any of them had somehow aided the Autobots. Prime’s optics darted directly to where Arlon had been sitting, widening as he saw the section vacated. “Where is he? Where is Arlon Pax?”

    “I noticed him missing before the Autobots left the Forum.” Prowl replied, raising his wrist to his face. “Though he was there as they initially charged in, and he appeared as surprised as any of us.” He opened a signal to the heads of each of his security squads. “I want Arlon Pax found and brought to the Senate Forum.”

    “You can save your subordinates some time and effort.” A voice announced from the doorway behind them, and both Prowl and Prime turned to see the quadruped Alron Pax standing there. “I am found, and I am in the Senate Forum.”

    “Stand before me!” Prime demanded loudly, and the Emir of The Torus Heights nodded and complied. Prime leaned forward a little and snarled. “Don’t even try to tell me that you had nothing to do with this.”

    Arlon met his glare without any sign of intimidation. “I had no part in the planning, the storming of the Forum, the freeing of the prisoners, or the initial part of the escape. But I knew of the tunnels built into this building, and I was able to guess their most likely point of exit, so I left during the commotion and waited there to meet them. They emerged, I wished them well, and I returned here.”

    Prime was stunned at the total disregard this…this…this animal, an animal from a pointless waste of a region, was showing him, the Prime of Cybertron. “You…wished them well? You knew where they were heading? You did nothing to stop them.”

    “Yes.” Arlon replied disinterestedly.

    Prime was flustered, but felt as presence sidle up to him. He shifted his head just enough to see that it was Rabattus Decimus standing to his right. “You are guilty of treason, Emir Pax. Were I you, I would publicly denounce Orion, strip him of the name Pax and anything else you’ve given him, vow to use every resource at your disposal to find him and bring him to justice, and then throw yourself upon the mercy of your Prime.”

    Arlon casually shifted his gaze toward Rabattus. “Lord Decimus, I thank you for your wisdom, and were I a simpering coward who put his wellbeing over his honor and integrity, I might take your words to spark.” He turned his gaze back to Sentinel Prime. “But I am not. I will strive to live up to the example provided by my young kinsman and sacrifice that wellbeing to do what is right. You are less than the shadow of Orion Pax; I will never denounce him to appease one such as you.”

    Unbridled fury raged in Prime’s optics and forced his face to contort into an ugly mask, but he slowly regained control, took on an appearance of civility and turned back to the crowd. He then looked to the media contingent. “Turn your cameras back on.” They all nodded and complied, and a few moments later were broadcasting again. Sentinel smiled and addressed those in the Forum. “Hello again everyone, as you saw earlier, we were attacked by Autobot terrorists, who brought weapons into this sacred forum, assaulted us, and freed their murderous comrades. They have thus far eluded us, thanks in no small part to Arlon Pax, Emir of The Torus Heights!” Sentinel allowed the gasps of shock and disbelief wash over him. He turned to Prowl, who gave him a look of concern and a slight negative head shake. His gaze shifted over to Rabattus, who gave the opposite opinion with his nod and a clenched fist. Rabattus was right, it really did take a royal to appreciate a situation like this. Prowl definitely had his uses, but commoners were too low on the totem pole to recognize the stakes; to see the big picture.

    Sentinel Prime then twisted his head forcefully and glared at the emir in question. “Do you deny these charges, Emir Pax?”

    Arlon Pax raised his long head and directed his sweeping gaze over the senators. “I do not. I took no action, verbal or physical, to stop the assault led by a member of my House. I was aware of their likely point of escape, but I took no action to stop them, nor did I make this location known to Sentinel Prime’s security forces. I did wait for Orion Pax and his comrades at that location, met them as they emerged, and informed Orion Pax that not only was I proud of him, but that I supported him in every way. He is right, the words he said were undeniable. Those who question them do so not out of logic and reason, but out of preservation of their way of life. I wished him good fortune, told him to continue his just fight, and then I came back here.” Sentinel Prime stared at him with a stunned look on his face, one that matched everyone else in the Forum. “You are a tyrant, Sentinel Honorum. You have abused your position and authority, and made what had been a murky injustice under your predecessors crystal clear with your transgressions.” Arlon turned toward the media contingent and addressed their cameras directly. “I am Arlon Pax, head of House Pax, and I am beyond proud to count Orion Pax as a member. Orion, continue the fight for justice, and always remember our words, freedom is the right of all sentient beings.”

    “That’s enough!” Sentinel Prime roared. “You are clearly guilty! You are clearly a traitor!” He marched toward the implements that had been intended for the execution of the Autobot prisoners, past the large device for the dual impaling/decapitating executions and hoisted up the large axe that had been intended to decapitate the yellow feralitron. The crowd gasped at seeing him grab the axe, turn, and march back toward the four-legged emir. “You are clearly a greater danger to the government and to planetary peace and security than a typical terrorist, and therefore, you are clearly deserving of the most final punishment I can deliver!”

    Arlon still refused to display any sign of fear or intimidation as he looked up at the Prime. “Then do what you must, Sentinel.”

    “Your grace!” Prowl called out, but the savage glare from Prime silenced him. Prime shifted his gaze toward Rabattus, who gave him a supportive nod. Only a fellow royal could understand.

    Prime stomped to the side of Arlon Pax and raised the axe high over his head. “Make peace with your Creator, Pax!” The cries of protest from the crowd washed over him, leaving no imprint on his mind or impact on his course of action. He focused solely on Arlon’s face, which twisted ever so slightly to display a hint of a grin on his bestial mouth. The axe came down.
     
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  18. Rewind Eject

    Rewind Eject Bluestreak 's #2 Fan

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    Read it from start to finish in three days and it is a masterpiece. Take all the time you need to make the next update perfect, but I hope it is soon anyways.
     
  19. batmanprime

    batmanprime Omega-con

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    Each chapter is better than than the last.
     
  20. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Rabattus Decimus


    The transport had been cutting through the clouds for hours, but he could feel it finally descending. Rabattus had been staring at the crate on the floor up near the front of the passenger section of the delta wing premier luxury cruiser that he was currently being transported in. It was furnished exactly as one would expect a royal transport to be furnished, one loaned to him for this endeavor by House Honorum from their personal fleet. A couch actually had to be collapsed into the floor to make room for the crate near the door, but it was accomplished with minimal effort…by the pilot. Frankly, aside from waiting one minute for the task to be completed and another for the crate to be loaded, the actual alterations and preparation had no impact on Rabattus whatsoever. This task however, would likely cost him a day of his time, perhaps more should things go badly…or if they went very well.

    And it wasn’t truly a cost, it was an investment, the darkly colored royal thought to himself with a smile. So he had to travel to the polar shithole of Polarus, so what? It would ingratiate him into all sides; cement his position as every party’s go-between, a position that would offer him a tremendous amount of power and influence. There were risks, no question about that, but if successful, the reward would be beyond measure. “Lord Decimus, we’ve been target locked.” Ughn, speaking of the risks.

    “Of course we have, it’s a warning, nothing more.” Rabattus instructed his pilot through the intercom. “Hail them, follow their instructions, do nothing to antagonize them. They were informed we’d be coming, they’ll be unreceptive to say the least, but their hostility will be confined to words and gestures; we won’t be harmed.”

    “Yes sir.” The pilot replied. “I’ve informed them that we’ll be arriving at the main Tyger Pax landing pad in a few minutes, I’ve gotten no response.”

    “Then just land.” Rabattus smiled. “As I said, unreceptive.” He chuckled quietly, once again gazing toward the crate sitting near the door. A moment later he felt the shuttle gently rock as it touched down. Rabattus stood up and nodded as the pilot walked out of the cockpit and quickly made his way around the crate and opened the door for the royal, activating the retracted staircase before stepping out to assess the situation outside.

    A moment later he reentered the shuttle, a look of apprehension on his face. “My lord, several vehicles are arriving, many mounted with weapons.”

    “The Pax’s feel that an act of war has been committed against them.” Rabattus replied calmly. “It’s a show of force against a representative of the government they feel betrayed by. They cannot hope to win, and frankly, the majority of them probably have no true desire to fight, but are whipped up in a frenzy. Act calmly, do as you’re told, and they will not hurt us.” The dark royal delivered a fearsome smile as he walked past the pilot and down the ramp, making sure that the palms of his hands were clearly visible extended out at his sides. Eighteen vehicles sped over the tarmac, all of them armed with cannons mounted on them, and screeched to a halt a few dozen feet from his position, before transforming, the mounted canons now held in hands or on shoulders. “Greetings citizens of The Torus Heights. I am Rabattus of House Decimus and I come as a representative…”

    “We know who you are.” A well built but slightly shorter than average dark blue robot growled, the plasma cannon now in his hand, not pointed at Rabattus, but clearly ready to be used. “Sentinel Prime’s latest pet sycophant. We saw you whispering into his ear throughout that farce, leading up to the murder of our emir! A far greater Cybertronian than the combined members of Houses Decimus and Honorum combined!”

    “Lord Pax, please, allow us.” A slightly larger than average and worn red robot requested. “Ya’ should be back within the walls a’ Tyger Pax, where yer House’s security forces can protect ya’.”

    “Don’t worry Ironhide, there’s nothing to fear, is there Lord Decimus?” The blue robot snarled at the visitor. “He’s here to smooth over Sentinel’s act of murder, to make peace; to try and get us to stay in line. He’ll likely offer concessions or some other bribe, or maybe resort to implied or even overt threats, but he’s not here to take any action. Sentinel isn’t going to attack today, and the attack isn’t going to be spearheaded by this cowardly fop.”

    “None the less, my lord, ya’ should not be out here dealin’ with this personally.” Ironhide insisted. “Ya’ need to be kept safe.”

    “Why?” The young Pax, who Rabattus assumed to be Roller based on appearance, obvious youth and the fact that he had not seen this member of House Pax before, snapped. “I’m not the Emir, I hold no position of importance, I’m as expendable as anyone else.”

    “No my lord, you’re a Pax.” Ironhide replied.

    The young royal displayed a smile. “And that means what?” He stared intently at Ironhide. “Orion was right. Even Arlon was convinced Orion was right. Hell, has Orion ever been wrong? Ever? I’m no more important than any of you. Hell, I’m the least important person here, I should be protecting you!”

    “Lord Roller Pax…” Rabattus finally chimed in, “I completely understand the pain and rage you must feel, the need for action, the need to do anything to honor your fallen kinsman and emir. But threatening and insulting me is not going to accomplish anything. In fact, it’s going to stand in the way of progressing to any potential solution.” Rabattaus took a step forward toward the enraged young royal, his movements slow, deliberate and completely unthreatening. “You’re right about one thing, I am here to smooth things over between The Torus Heights and the rest of the planet.”

    “Yer gonna tell us that tha’ rest of tha’ planet stands by what Sentinel Prime did ta’ Arlon Pax?” The one called Ironhide growled the sarcastic challenge.

    Rabattus lowered his head, and presented his well rehearsed slow nod and look of deep regret. “Sentinel Prime’s action was rash…and most regrettable. I assure you, he recognizes that it was…” dramatic pause, look of uncertainty, suppress that knowing smirk pushing to be displayed, “well, he knows amends must be made.” Another pause and a deep look into Roller Pax’s optics. “I wish to speak to the members of House Pax, and any of the other great Houses of The Torus Heights. I understand that several of your vassals have come to show support and solidarity.”

    Roller studied Rabattus heatedly for several moments before finally replying. “Alright, follow us to the gates. Olnius Pax is acting as interim emir until we formally select a replacement for Arlon; you’ll want to shovel whatever you plan to shovel his way. Frankly, you should be happy, he’ll be far more receptive to whatever you have to say than most other Pax’s.” Roller turned and made as though he was about to transform.

    “One moment, Roller Pax.” Rabattus graciously called out, and waited for Roller to turn back and face him. “I came with something…something that House Pax would most definitely want returned to them.” Rabattus shifted his head and directed his gaze up at the crate in the open doorway of the shuttle, the pilot standing next to it.

    Roller followed his gaze and at locking his optics on the crate, a look of realization and anguish came over his young face. “Is..is that…”

    “Yes.” Rabattus answered. “There are retractable wheels built into the crate, so it can be hauled by one of your subjects.”

    “I will carry him.” Roller shot back authoritatively, though no hint of malice in his voice. Only reverence and sadness. “I will bring him home.”

    The crate was lowered, Roller approached it alone, opened it and gazed within for over a minute before resealing it, nodding to Ironhide and transforming, allowing the constable to attached the crate to a hook on his rear portion. A couple of minutes later they were approaching the gates of the imposing Tyger Pax, where another party of dozens of vehicles was arriving ahead of them, a party led by a slowly flying aircraft that was too small to be a shuttle, but seemingly too large to be a Cybertronian. The rest were ground vehicles, speeding to keep up with their airborne leader. The other group reached the gates first, and they all transformed, the plane turning out to be the massive Lugnut of House Boltax. They turned to face the oncoming group from the airfield, who continued toward them undeterred, and in a few moments arrived before them and transformed as well. Roller marched straight up to the enormous noble. “Lugnut, I wasn’t aware your shell mode had flight capabilities.”

    Lugnut nodded. “A fairly recent development, Lord Pax. A more discerning eye than the former House Boltax physicians had noted that my shell mode could accommodate an aerial mode, and it really didn’t require much of an alteration from my previous battering tank mode. I won’t be winning too many dogfights, but I can decimate Nova Cronum ground forces if it comes to that.”

    Roller Pax eyed the giant skeptically. “What are you saying, Lord Boltax?”

    “House Boltax stands with Tyger Pax.” Lugnut announced, and bowed his head. “I know our houses have had some conflicts over the vorns, and that you and I in particular had a difficult first meeting, but our loyalty is to The Torus Heights and its rightful rulers.”

    Roller continued his unconvinced gaze. “Would you still feel that way if I told you that House Pax stands with Orion Pax?”

    “Lord Pax,” Ironhide whispered just loud enough for Rabattus to hear, perhaps intentionally, “Olnius Pax has not said that to be the case.”

    “Perhaps, Ironhide, but Arlon Pax has.” Roller replied for all to hear and firmly patted the crate resting behind him as punctuation. He looked back up at Lugnut. “You have expressed feelings of superiority over the common born. You have gotten into a fist fight with Orion. So should we demand safe treatment and complete amnesty for Orion Pax and his comrades, and should House Pax do as Arlon Pax intended and adopt the goals and aspirations of the Autobots, would your loyalty to Tyger Pax still exist?”

    Lugnut stared down at the much smaller robot before finally responding. “I do not claim to be in agreement with the sentiments of Orion or those of his newfound affiliation, but I am honor-bound to serve House Pax faithfully, and while I do wander, to my core I am of The Torus Heights, and will fight all those that pose a threat to its borders. You may hear the occasional respectful disagreement from me within proper confines, but ultimately I will be loyal to your house.” Lugnut turned and directed his lone optic, truly the only feature on his face, toward Rabattus. “He, most definitely, will not.”

    “My loyalty is to the planet.” Rabattus replied. “I am here to do direct my efforts so that what’s best for Cybertron, and what’s best for House Pax, are not mutually exclusive, Lord Boltax.”

    A low, deep chuckling came out of Lugnut. “You’re kidding, right? Sentinel Prime got bitch-slapped on Cyber-feed and reacted by executing the most respected emir on the planet. What can you possibly do to fix that?”

    “Try.” Rabattus shrugged. “All I can do is try.” They all turned to see the gates opening, and hundreds of armed soldiers looking as menacing as they could toward the one non-Torus Heightsian. Rabattus attempted a disarming smile “I come in peace.”

    “Of course you do.” A voice called out from behind the center cluster of guards, who separated to allow the speaker, Olnius Pax, accompanied by Torenia Pax and the robust Stronghold Pax, to approach. All of the Pax’s present, including the youth Roller, had the traditional U-shaped post-protoformal cranial shell crest shared by most Pax’s. Even Arlon, with his non-humanoid robotic mode, still possessed this crest spreading over his bestial head. It was a testament to the purity of the Pax metallico pool that so few did not possess this trait. Most other high houses filled their pools with metallico scavenged from all over in an attempt to increase their numbers, but the drawback was the thinning out of traditional familial traits that linked them to their noble or even Knightly origins. Looking on the face of Lugnut Boltax, Shockwave or other faces that bore no resemblance to their ancestors told that story all too well. The only Pax that immediately sprung to Rabattus’s mind that lacked this trait was Orion, and as he was not truly a Pax; it would have been odder had he had the trait. Olnius was tall and slender, standing twenty two feet in height. The few times Rabattus had met him prior he had always had a grin etched across his face; this was the first time he had seen the royal with a scowl. “Why are you here, Decimus?”

    “Firstly, to return what is rightfully yours.” He waved over the crate next to Roller. The beautiful Torenia gasped and covered her mouth at seeing it, and then immediately ran to it.

    “I must see him.” She cried. “I have to make sure it’s him!”

    “It’s him, Torenia.” Roller assured as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “All of him. He’s finally home.”

    “I suppose we should thank you.” Olnius muttered as he stood before Rabattus. “Though I fear our house is not in a frame of mind to be grateful to those loyal to Sentinel Prime at this time. Perhaps you should just skip to the other reason or reasons you are here.”

    Rabattus nodded and bowed his head slightly. “I am here to do whatever is necessary to best serve the realm.”

    Olnius cocked his optic-brow. “Best serve the realm?”

    “It is my function.” Rabattus replied. “I am to ensure peace, by any reasonable means necessary. What can be offered to ease the pain of your loss and to reestablish security to your emirate and House?”

    “There’s the offer of concession.” Roller grumbled as he walked past Rabattus and stood next to the other Pax’s present.

    Rabattus gave a sheepish grin, silently suppressing his annoyance with the youth. A youth who probably considered himself so clever for guessing at the role Rabattus was playing there, but who truly had no more insight into his true motives than any of these other fools.

    “Lord Decimus, we want nothing from Nova Cronum or anyone allied with them.” Stronghold Pax snarled, his massive shoulders, arms and chest giving the impression of being on the cusp of bearing down on the foreign royal. “Frankly, any offer would be an insul…”

    “Amnesty for Orion!” Torenia blurted out.

    “Now hold on!” Olnius interrupted. “We are not going to be discussing any more of this out here.”

    “Wait,” Roller shot out, “I agree that the bulk of discussions should be hammered out behind closed doors, but for discussions to even commence, we need to establish that Orion will be safe.”

    “You’re out of line, young one.” Olnius scolded, but noted that the other two Pax’s present appeared to be of the same opinion as Roller. Appearing as an act to appease his kin, the interim emir looked to Rabattus.

    Rabattus returned the look with one of defeat. “I fear that on that point, Sentinel Prime is intransigent. He will concede to almost any other demand, but Orion is to be captured, tried and if found guilty in a Nova Cronum courtroom, executed.”

    “Then this discussion is over.” Torenia growled. “I bid you a safe journey back to your master, Lord Decimus. Please tell him we are busy making any and all necessary preparations.”

    “Please, don’t do this.” Rabattus pleaded, by all appearances his sincerity genuine. “I was told by…well, you can guess, I was told to inform you that House Pax is perhaps the most beloved and revered House amongst the common people of Cybertron. And I was told to remind you that at one time, so was House Convoy. Please, make it so that the fates of your houses are not the same.”

    “And there’s the threat.” Roller grumbled.

    “Come in.” Olnius bade the visitor. “We will discuss things, we truly wish to avoid war, but what was done to us…it cannot stand.”

    Rabattus nodded, subduing his smile with ease. “Of course it cannot.” He followed them in.


    ***


    Reptilion


    “I recognize that your visions are growing more and more insistent, Mindwipe,” Reptilion growled at the screen, “but you need to recognize that doing the impossible, subverting the natural order, playing Primus…or The Hand if that makes it easier to understand for your tiny southern brain; however you wish to classify what I’m doing here, and believe me, none of those classifications can be considered an exaggeration in the slightest, you need to accept that it all takes a tremendous amount of time. This is no secret, no mystery. I’ve done in mere years what should take centuries, and you’re crying about having to wait another decade or two?”

    “You don’t have to hear them. To feel them.” Mindwipe’s voice snarled back through the screen. “If you did, you’d finish! You’d find a way!”

    “Lower your voice.” Reptilion admonished. “You don’t want your fellow Wardens hearing this conversation, do you?”

    “Up yours, Reptilion!” Mindwipe whispered harshly.

    “I have nothing more to say…” Reptilion noted the proximity sensors alarm alight, and switched it silent before it could create a audible alert, “and I have other matters to attend to. Best of luck my friend, and I will let you know of any updates that I have.” He switched off the communications channel, swiveled his seat around, rose to his feet and walked toward the front entrance of his facility. The craft had only just breached his outermost sensors. He had several minutes before they would be at his door.

    He remotely accessed his sensor equipment and studied up on the craft approaching him. He was a little surprised at seeing that it was a standard freight shuttle, and not some high-end luxury model. After all, it had been no less than Shockwave of House Torrent that had contacted him, whoever was coming was likely upper class. Of course, in light of recent events, it was best to maintain an extremely low profile when entering The Torus Heights, he supposed. The energon in Arlon Pax’s corpse was probably still warm…well, probably not, but as far as exaggerations went, it was more fair than most. Common freight haulers came in and out of the northernmost emirate frequently, nobles and royals in their private shuttles were a bit less common, and far more worthy of notice.

    Within minutes he could see the two robots that had exited the craft approaching his front door. They were big, both of them. The silver appeared to be about twenty-four feet in height, and the blue was just a bit shorter, and both broad. As they got to within a hundred yards of the facility he recognized the blue one, Soundwave. Hmmm, made sense. Another member of House Torrent, but who was the silver brute? He’d be finding out momentarily as they finally reached his door. He opened it before they had an opportunity to press the sensor. “I’m not a fan of visitors, but Shockwave has always impressed me, and unlike other intellectuals, has had the courtesy to leave me the hell alone unless it truly is worthwhile. So come in, but be ready to get to the point. Despite what you may think, I truly am busy here.”

    Soundwave nodded and the silver one smiled. “Sounds fair, we’ll cut to the chase.” The silver one replied, he was even more intimidating up close. His frame was…perfection. Reptilion couldn’t help but stare intently at the perfectly formed, perfectly shaped frame. It was ideal for raw physical power, lightening speed, and looked to be able to withstand damn near anything. The newcomer waited until Reptilion’s evaluation seemed to be finished and their optics locked once again. He apparently was accustomed to being admired. “We’ve heard that you’re brilliant, resourceful, discreet, reliable, open to taking on new projects, and perhaps most importantly, devoid of…ethical limitations.”

    Reptilion smiled. “You heard right. Come in.” The scientist stepped away from the door and allowed the two visitors into the building. He gave them a tour of the facility, but made sure to keep them away from any work related to his true calling; his true destiny. “As you noted, I am discreet, but I need to know who I’m working for.” Reptilion nodded to Soundwave. “I recognize him, who are you?”

    “My name is Megatron of Tarn.”

    “Never heard of you.” The scientist led them into a secondary lab with impressive work on display, though not his most impressive work.

    “I’d rather not have been heard of in most circles, so I suppose that’s good to hear.” Megatron replied.

    “Well, don’t be too warmed by the news either.” Reptilion shot back. “I’m a bit of a shut-in, so it doesn’t mean much.” He rounded a table and stood on the other side of it from the visitors. “What is it that I can do for you?”

    “We’ve been tasked with…” Megatron smiled, “causing mayhem. High casualty, heavy destruction, by means untraceable, or rather, traceable to another party.”

    “Ahh, you are some devious bastards, aren’t you?” Reptilion chuckled. “I’m intrigued, hell, I’m excited, but I’m not cheap.”

    “We’re not poor.” Megatron replied with a grin.

    Reptilion glanced over at Soundwave and nodded. “No, of course you’re not.” He then looked back at Megatron. “Anything specific in mind?”

    “Well,” Megatron considered, “creative, but ultimately something that a ragtag group of commoner dissidents would be capable of. Granted, a fairly well organized group of dissidents with at least one top tier scientist in their ranks,”

    “Two.” Soundwave interrupted. He noted a questioning look from Megatron and elaborated. “Wheeljack. Engineer, originally from Kaon, graduated top of his class at Ultirex Technoversity, offered employment at Castle Macht but fell off the grid after declining the offer. His work while at the Technoversity was…most impressive, even Shockwave has expressed admiration of his work. As a mechanical engineer he would have few peers, and he was with Orion Pax while freeing the Autobot prisoners.”

    Megatron nodded and turned back to Reptilion. “Make that two top tier scientists in their ranks. In fact, I suppose given the reputation of Perceptor, there’s really no limit to how creative or destructive you want to be.”

    A knowing grin came over the scientist and he looked directly at Soundwave. “So you wish to turn public perception against the Autobots and their new poster boy.”

    “Is this a problem?” Soundwave asked. “We were assured that you being of The Torus Heights or being common born would not pose an issue.”

    “Ha!” Reptilion belted out. “Of course it won’t be a problem. I have no loyalty to the Pax’s, and as for me being a commoner, I couldn’t care less about the Autobots. Just don’t go expecting me to bow down and m’lord you every time you walk into my facility.”

    Megatron smiled at Soundwave. “I like him.”

    “Give me a few days to think about this. While I don’t give two shits about honoring the Pax’s, I do have to worry about avoiding their detection.” Reptilion replied. “It should also give me a bit of time to run through some ideas for you.”

    “Of course.” Megatron replied. “We’ll leave you to it then. Thank you for your time.”

    Reptilion escorted them out, and after watching their craft ascend into the sky, he walked back into his facility and headed directly to his main lab. It contained only three activated batch tubes at the moment, but they were progressing with exceptional promise; these first three clones, the first of his swarm. His brilliance at manipulating sentio metallic, spark radiation and donated CNA, as well as other factors was finally paying off. The theories weren’t technically original, but ancient databases that he had derived the ideas from were so decayed and…alien, that they offered him little more than just the spark of the idea. The research, the work, the achievements; they were for all intents and purposes his. Though his work was still only in the initial stages, in time his dream of unleashing wholesale death upon the planet would be realized. And until that point, he could help Soundwave and this Megatron in their quest to unleash incremental death a few hundred sparks at a time.


    ***


    Ultra Magnus


    “I am Delta Magnus, Emir of the Tagan Heights, I’ve traveled non-stop from Citidel Magnus and I demand an audience with Sentinel Prime.” Ultra Magnus watched through the open door of the cockpit as his older kinsman, who was seated next to the pilot, announced their intentions into the speaker on the control panel. “I will be happy to verify any authentication code or submit to any security screening, but I will not be kept waiting!”

    It was good to see Delta directing his righteous indignation in the correct direction for once, and not in the service of his mad red witch, a red witch who was seated across from Ultra in the passenger section. A red witch who was staring intently at Ultra with a slight smile on her long attractive face. Ultra Magnus turned and met her gaze, causing her smile to widen slightly. “You are pleased by your Emir’s decision to confront Sentinel Prime.”

    Ultra nodded. “Of course I am. Sentinel Prime’s abuse of power is a travesty that possessed no justification from a legal or ethical basis. He broke the law, not for the first time, and if unchecked, not for the last. It is our obligation, as Magnus’s, to stand for the law. This is what the Emir of the Tagan Heights is meant to do.”

    The Mistress of Flame’s smile broadened even further. “But Delta Magnus is meant to be more than just the Emir of the Tagan Heights.”

    “Enough.” Ultra interrupted. “I may agree that Delta Magnus would make an excellent Prime; hell, I do agree. But first he needs to prove himself as an emir. He should not be considered above that role until he proves himself worthy of that role.”

    “Your thinking is so standard, so middling. Adequate for all but a tiny few situations.” The Mistress nodded to Ultra Magnus. “The destiny of Delta Magnus is not for your middling considerations. He is exceptional, as is his fate. What you insist he do may be what’s appropriate for a typical emir, but it will likely endanger the Devourer of The Devourer.”

    “Bah, I’m done with your nonsensical mysticism.” Ultra waved his hand. “We have real problems in the real world. Our Prime is proving to be a tyrant, and Delta Magnus is one of the few on the planet capable of reeling him in, or if need be, taking him down.”

    “Your prodding may push him into sharing a fate with Arlon Pax.” The Mistress of Flame replied as the shuttle gently rocked on touching down on the tarmac.

    “Perhaps, but that’s the downside of courage.” Ultra Magnus replied with a smile of his own as he stood up and prepared to disembark. “He wouldn’t make much of a chosen one without it, but having it might get him killed. It’s all a trade-off, Mistress.”

    “I hope you two are getting along.” Delta Magnus said with an arched optic-brow to the two of them as he walked out of the cockpit and prepared to exit through the now-opening door. The three were soon marching across the tarmac of Guardian Spaceport in central Cybertropolis , the busy grounds crew hustling about their tasks but sending respectful bows as the newcomers passed. Other travelers were scurrying about, and the three soon caught sight of a group wearing the garb, medallions and other trappings indicative of Vicars of The Hand, the highest echelon of religious leadership in the Faith of The Hand. Icy glares were exchanged between the group and the Mistress of Flame; Ultra Magnus had little doubt these holy men bore little or no animosity toward practitioners of the more mainstream and moderate faiths that worshipped Primus, but the Temple of Flame that the Mistress represented was renowned for its vehement refusal to respect the right of other religions to exist, even other sects of Primus worshippers.

    The silent stare-down between the religious representatives was short lived as they continued marching toward the capital spires just a couple miles from the spaceport. Ultra Magnus recognized another group heading toward the spires, a ragtag assemblage of nomads the young Magnus recognized to be of the now defunct House Kozminius. Legend…or history, given the age of events the two frequently blend into one another, but according to both legend and history a handful of Nyonian noble houses were obliterated by Saurus Onyx prior to and shortly after the start of his initial rebellion. House Kozminius was one such house, scattered throughout the other emirates, occasionally finding sanctuary but never finding a home, and having a sickly protoform or two sent to them in crates by a laughing House Onyx after each Vectoral Pulse. Ultra Magnus glanced over at his kinsman, specifically to a crest in his cranial shell, one possessed by the both of them but that wasn’t a traditional trait of House Magnus. According to the elders of House Magnus, there was an ancient House where the crest was a common trait, one that like the Kozminius’s was destroyed by Deathsaurus, though not a Nyonian House. The lands of this House straddled the borders of Tyrest and the Tagan Heights, and required the Nyonian warlord to leave his borders to wipe out…and that’s exactly what he did. As tragic as the story of House Kozminius was, at least they still existed. At least their ancestral pool wasn’t befouled and obliterated; at least their house lived on through survivors and new protoforms. Oh, there were reported survivors of House Convoy, even tales of rescued sentio metallico and even a protoform, but nothing of substance ever emerged of those tales. There had been records of surviving Convoys, but they seemed to have vanished millions of years ago, and nothing on record to support the tales of spirited protoforms or metallico; though given the non-Magnus crests he and his kinsman shared, perhaps some of it had been added to their pit. Magnus chuckled at the thought, quickly realizing that crests like his were not unique to House Convoy, and that any perceived lineage to what many considered the greatest high house in Cybertron’s history was the stuff of commoner daydreams.

    Ultra Magnus noticed that the Kozminius’s grew excited by something they saw ahead, and he directed his gaze forward as well. “Good, word of our arrival did get through to him.” Delta exclaimed just as Ultra caught site of a large delegation approaching them with the powerful Sentinel Prime at the center of it. To the rest of Cybertron, Sentinel Prime was a hulking giant. To Delta and Ultra Magnus, he was simply less small than the rest of the population.

    “Emir and Lord Magnus, welcome to Cybertropolis!” Sentinel Prime announced loudly and amicably to them from a hundred yards out, stretching his arms out wide and shattering the hopes of the Kozminius’s that he was there to meet with them. “And who is this with you?”

    Delta Magnus smiled and they all bowed as they continued walking to cut the distance to the Prime. “This is the Mistress of Flame, High Acolyte of the true faith.”

    They finally reached one another, the thirty foot Mistress smiling down on the twenty-six foot Prime. “It is a pleasure to meet you, your grace.”

    Prime smiled back up at her. “The pleasure is mine, Mistress.” He then waved them back to a large ground transport parked on the outskirts of the spaceport. “I normally prefer to transform and travel on my own steam, but I feel that after a long journey you should be permitted to travel in a little comfort. Plus, I’m not entirely sure that the Mistress of Flame transforms into something capable of travel.”

    “That is most considerate, your grace.” Delta Magnus replied, and a few moments later they were all seated within the large transport.

    “This will take us directly to the capital spires.” Sentinel smiled at them from the other side of the walkway. “Truth be told, Prowl insisted that I use this transport as opposed to traveling myself. He fears that between possible Torus Heights loyalists and commoners sympathetic to the Autobots, attempts may be made against my life. I say let the attempts come, but the idea of living with a worried and agitated Prowl hovering around is more annoyance than I care to deal with, so here we are my friends.”

    Ultra Magnus turned and looked intently at Delta, who did not meet his gaze, but undoubtedly felt it. “Your grace, we are friends, and it is the duty of friends to let each other know when they feel the other is…wrong.”

    Sentinel Prime stared at Delta Magnus for several seconds before replying. “You disapprove of my handling of the Arlon Pax situation.”

    “That…well, your grace, that would be an understatement.” Delta replied.

    Sentinel continued his stare for another few seconds, but nodded slowly and smiled again, a smile that possessed far less comfort than the one on display just moments before. “It was hasty, and had I to do it all over again, I probably would not have reacted as I did.”

    “Probably?” Ultra gasped, earning him a stare from Delta.

    Sentinel nodded. “The execution, even of an emir, was justified. But yes, I probably should have waited for the heat of the moment to have cooled. It would have seen less as me lashing out.”

    “Your grace, there was no trial.” Ultra Magnus muttered again. “There was no conviction, only a sentence carried out.”

    “What purpose would a trial have served?” Sentinel replied. “He confessed to the crime. All of Cybertron witnessed the confession, and everyone on this planet will attest to the fact that is was given in the absence of coercion or trickery. Guilt had been established, the punishment appropriate. I would agree that a greater span of time separating the crime and the punishment may have been prudent, but the fact is, the punishment fit.”

    “Was it just anger, or were you trying to shut him up?” Delta pressed. “He wasn’t backing down in his support of Orion Pax,”

    “It’s just Orion!” Sentinel snapped.

    “If you insist, your grace.” Delta Magnus nodded but continued. “But however you choose to address him, he possessed the loyalty of House Pax, he had come to be admired by many nobles, and to the commoners in and around Rodion, he has come not just to be considered a hero, but the only symbol of justice they’d ever known.”

    “And that was before his affiliation with the Autobots.” Ultra Magnus added, and then continued on. “Without Arlon Pax’s endorsement, Orion all but legitimized the Autobot movement. With the unwavering support of arguably the most respected emir on the planet, well, that raises what was merely a minor annoyance the previous day to a force that could pose a very real threat to your power base.” Ultra held the blazing glare of Sentinel Prime and went on undeterred by the silent rage of his leader. “So, with all due respect your grace, was there motive beyond the carrying out of a spontaneous sentence to a convicted…er, well, not convicted, but confessed prisoner? One couldn’t help but notice he took fuller advantage of the opportunity to voice his final words than the prisoners you had been able to…prepare for execution.”

    “Careful brother.” Delta Magnus whispered.

    “These are questions that need to be asked, brother.” Ultra replied, maintaining his gaze on Sentinel Prime. “Due process was circumvented,”

    “Due process?” Sentinel Prime snarled, a sadistic grin coming over his face. “An underground movement has been building for years, one bent on full scale civil war, one that was on the cusp of exploding at that very moment, and I did what I did to quell it!” The leader seethed. “I did what I did for the good of Cybertron!”

    “I don’t doubt that you believe that,”

    “Ultra, that’s enough!” Delta snarled before turning to the Prime. “I apologize your grace, we admired Emir Pax a great deal, and it is difficult for us to accept his passing. For one as ancient, influential and respected as Arlon Pax to be killed in such a way, well, all of us are left with questions. Being Prime, you do what you must, and you’re right, the sheer magnitude of your job is such that when necessary you should be able to bypass the procedures that bind the rest of us. Perhaps this was one of those necessary situations. But anyone, especially those of us in House Magnus, feel an obligation to question things when someone like Arlon Pax is killed.” Delta was employing his most diplomatic tone. “Ultra meant no disrespect.”

    Sentinel Prime stared at Delta Magnus for several moments before finally replying. “You saw what transpired, you heard the confession, you witnessed the open defiance, and you claim to know what was truly at stake.” He turned to Ultra. “You wanted to know whether there was another motivation beyond simply administering justice that drove me to kill Arlon Pax? Of course there was. You yourself acknowledged that with his final vocalizations Arlon had given the Autobot movement a level of legitimacy that could now threaten our society. I silenced an enemy of the state. If you have a problem with this, bring it up to the Senate and see how far you get.” The shuttle finally stopped in front of the Capital Spires, and Sentinel Prime immediately stood up. “It was good seeing the two of you again, and to have met you, Mistress, but if you’ll excuse me, I have work to attend to.” He took a step toward the door, but stopped and turned back to Delta Magnus. “Next time, leave your kinsman in the Tagan Heights.” He then marched out onto the sidewalk.

    The three remained in the shuttle, watching Prime shrink away as he departed, eventually disappearing through the spire’s door. At that point Delta turned to Ultra. “What were you thinking?” He roared.

    “They were valid questions that required answering.” Ultra replied, equally angry. “He’s a murderer, and his victim was the most honest and noble individual on the planet. Whatever Arlon Pax did was nowhere near worthy of a death sentence, and it sure as hell should not have been carried out then and there!” Ultra leaned in closer. “And frankly, my emir, I’ve been struggling, fruitlessly I might add, to formulate arguments meant to discredit what was said by either Orion or Arlon. I look at them, then I look at him,” he nodded toward the open door, indicating Sentinel Prime, “and I’m not liking the side we’ve chosen. So, my emir, THAT’S what I was thinking.”

    The Mistress stared appraisingly at Ultra for a few moments before finally speaking. “Sentinel Prime is a fool unfit for his title, but he was right about one thing.” Both Magnus’s turned and looked at her. “Next time, we should leave him at home.”


    ***


    Soundwave


    Tensions in The Torus Heights were definitely raised, there were long, suspicious stares directed at their descending craft, but Lugnut had done as instructed and they were permitted to land on the House Boltax landing strip without question or any real scrutiny. He and Megatron remained seated in the cockpit, waiting as they had been instructed to do. “How far do you trust him?” Megatron quietly asked as he studied the grounds crew keeping their distance.

    “Reptilion?” Soundwave replied. “He was definitely hiding something, his anxiety levels rose as we approached certain areas of his facility, but his interest in doing business with us was genuine.”

    Megatron smiled. “Reptilion undoubtedly has many secrets, he has benefactors outside of us. But no, I was actually referring to Rabattus. How far do you trust him?”

    “I don’t.” Soundwave replied. “He is competent, there is no question there. I trust him to accomplish any task that is in his best interest. But I have no doubt he would betray any of us should it benefit him in the least.” He looked and started intensely into Megatron’s optics. “And you should know that he despises you. He despises all common born, even Starscream Nexus.”

    “So it goes beyond mere arrogance then.” Megatron muttered as he noticed something in the sky. Soundwave turned to follow his gaze and noted a luxury craft, one far smaller and of lower quality than the personal crafts of House Torrent, descending from the sky and landing on the tarmac. “Good, he’s here. I can’t wait to get out of this frigid shithole.”

    “Believe it or not, it actually gets much colder than this in the Torus Heights.” Soundwave stated, a statement that Megatron chose not to respond to. They watched in silence as the massive Lugnut ducked out through the open doorway and strode forward. A moment later Rabattus Decimus followed him out and the two briefly chatted before they nodded to one another and Rabattus headed toward the craft Soundwave was piloting. Seconds later Rabattus was entering the passenger section. “Greetings Lord Decimus.”

    “Greetings Lord Wave.” Rabattus cheerfully said as he poked his head into the cockpit. “How long before we’re back in Kaon?”

    “In the upper atmosphere at this craft’s top speed, it will take us six hours.” Soundwave replied.

    “Ughn, I guess that’ll give me a few hours to recharge.” Rabattus declared mirthfully before turning to the robot in the co-pilot seat. “Greetings to you, Megatron of Tarn.”

    “It is good to see you again, my lord.” Megatron answered with a smile. “How went your dealings with the grieving Pax’s?”

    “Not well,” Rabattus chuckled, “not well at all. But I’d rather not discuss the Pax’s anymore; Soundwave has enjoyed your company all day, mighty Megatron, come back here and discuss your progress with me.” Megatron nodded, and a moment later he was in the passenger section, though close enough to the doorway where Soundwave could have listened in even without his enhancements. “So tell me how your meeting with Shockwave’s secret scientific colleague went.”

    “It went well, he definitely seems eager to work with us.” Megatron replied. “With the untraceable munitions and operatives supplied by you, House Macht, House Modus, House Onyx, Swindle and now with whatever Reptilion can whip together, we will have the entire planet quivering in utter terror and calling for Autobot sparks.”

    “Good.” Rabattus smiled. “Most excellent.”

    “I must ask, my lord.” Megatron pressed. “Could this not work against us? In light of recent events, the Autobots have definitely overtaken our fighting circuit in terms of Sentinel Prime and his security forces’ focus. Our efforts to turn the planet against them will likely be very successful, and lacking the support of the populace, they’ll likely be wiped out quickly, leaving Prime nothing to focus on but us.”

    Rabattus smiled and laughed lightly. “Very true, Megatron, you are a very clever commoner. I’ve already made mention of this to Soundwave, but I think I can trust you with it as well. Yes, the public will turn against the Autobots, but they will be equally terrified of Sentinel Prime. He is a very high strung puppet, and I plan to play him to our benefit.”

    “Playing both ends against the public, create chaos from all sides so that in time the public turns on them all?” Megatron smiled. “If only there were somebody in a position to solve all the problems. To put our chaotic house in order.”

    “If only.” Rabattus chuckled.

    Megatron leaned his smiling head back and stared at the ceiling of the craft, and while he didn’t say anything, Soundwave felt a wave of clarity and amusement emanate from him. He then felt a thought-message being sent his way, and permitted it. He felt Megatron’s laughter tickling his brain, laughter surrounding the words ‘All hail Rabattus Prime’. Soundwave’s optic flared, and he allowed himself an internal chuckle at their companion’s ambition as well.


    ***


    Roller Pax


    That one hurt. Roller groaned only slightly as he lifted his body off of the training floor. “Best three out of five.”

    Roadbuster chuckled lightly before nodding and once again squaring up across from Roller, both of them taking on combat stances. They both shot their hands out tentatively, feeling their opponent out and testing for any potential openings. After nearly a minute of circling, Roller sensed and opportunity to take Roadbuster down and lunged. Roadbuster defended, revealing the opening to have been a trap, and after a series of twists, grips and pulls, Roller once again found himself flat on his back. “Damnit!”

    “Be charitable to yourself, lord Pax.” Roadbuster pleaded. “You know the moves, you formulate good strategies, but it’ll take years to develop the metal-memory to the point of it being second nature. And until then, you’ll be playing catch-up with me and any of the other guards.”

    “Years?” Roller grumbled. “How old was Orion when he left for Nova Cronum?”

    Roadbuster shrugged. “A few months.”

    “Yet I remember him mopping this floor with all of us.” Roller replied. “Does his metal have a better memory than mine?”

    The large red Inferno walked over chuckling. “That kid was so strong, so fast and so durable that even if his metal couldn’t retain anything, he’d be mopping the floor with us.”

    “Your brother is a specimen.” Roadbuster said as he gently cupped his hand over Roller’s shoulder. “I mean, he tossed Prime aside as an afterthought.” The room suddenly went silent, and Roadbuster lowered his head. “I apologize lord Pax, I didn’t mean,”

    “No apologies, you said nothing wrong.” Roller calmly stated, a small smile crawling over his face. “The image of Orion manhandling Prime is the only thing bringing any level of joy to my life.”

    “Lord Pax?” Everyone turned to see A-Three standing in the doorway. “Your friend Dion is holding for you on the main line. Perhaps you’d like to take it in your suite?”

    “Why didn’t he just contact me via personal frequency?” Roller muttered.

    “Probably testing the waters, giving you an opportunity for privacy in case you need it.” Inferno replied. “Just know that Olnius has Tyger Pax under lock-down for the time being, so no sneaking out. If your buddy wants to hang, he’s going to have to come here.”

    “Yeah, yeah.” Roller muttered as he walked past A-Three and headed toward his suite. Once the door sealed shut he switched open the channel with the holding call. “Dion?”

    “No…brother.”

    “Orion!” Roller gasped, and sat down close to the speaker so that the conversation could be kept as quiet as possible. “Brother, what are you doing, they can trace your signal!”

    “It’s…it’s more than I deserve to hear you call me brother.” Orion replied. “I am no longer worthy, I have brought all of this upon us. I have been nothing but a curse to House Pax.”

    “Enough of that bullshit, Orion Pax!” Roller snarled. “You and that piece of shit Sentinel Honorum are the only ones that think that! The rest of us consider you a gift! Now get the hell off the wire and relocate, because they’re tracing you as we speak!”

    “No, we’ve got a communications wizard in our ranks.” Orion replied. “By all appearances, you really are receiving this call from The Wolf at the Door.”

    Roller chuckled and relaxed a bit. “Yeah, Blaster, right?”

    “Yeah.” Orion replied. “You’ve studied up on the Autobots?”

    “Well yeah, since last night I’ve done nothing but read up on your band of merry men.” Roller answered with a pained chuckle. “My brother the Autobot.”

    “Brother, I’m…I know you’re going to tell me it’s not my fault, but it is.” Orion replied. “I saw Arlon after it happened, I could have…I should have…”

    “What, kidnapped him?” Roller snapped. “We both knew Arlon Pax…hell, I knew him better than you. But we both knew him well enough to know that when he saw you following that little jailbreak of yours, he knew exactly what he was going to do, and I’m sure he had a notion that Sentinel may have reacted as he did. And even had he known Sentinel would kill him, do you honestly think he’d have done anything differently?” The dark blue royal posed. “And do you really think he’d have let you pull him away? I mean, I know you’re strong and all, but he’d have hind-kicked you through a slaggin’ wall had you tried that nonsense, and you know it! This is not your doing, it’s Sentinel Honorum’s. All you did was the right thing; to quote our father, never apologize for doing the right thing.”

    “I hear you. I even agree with you on some level.” Orion despondently muttered. “But ultimately had I not been there; had I not done what I did, Arlon would be alive.”

    “No, he wouldn’t.” Roller quietly responded. “Yes, his spark would likely still be pulsing, but he would have witnessed the execution of citizens only guilty of fighting an injustice in the only non-lethal manner left available to them. He would have witnessed it, and been unable to do anything to stop it, and that would have weighed on him. Yes, because of what happened, he died, but he died fighting for justice, and he died defending someone he loved. He died whole.” Both Roller and Orion barely quelled a sob. “He died for a just cause; your cause. It’s now up to us to make sure he didn’t die in vain.”

    “Us?” Orion asked. “Roller, Cybertron needs House Pax, and House Pax needs you. Stay strong, but don’t do anything that can endanger the House.”

    “Look, you don’t need to worry about me.” Roller shifted in his seat. “How are you? Last I heard, prior to the broadcast, was Elita telling me that you’d been forced to kill someone, and then you charged off into what had to be a trap, and then you simply vanished. Hell, I thought you were dead until I saw you storming the Senate.”

    “It’s been…yes, it’s been a difficult couple of days.” Orion said sadly, but then a slight laugh came through. “I got beat up too.”

    “How many?” Roller asked.

    “One. Unarmed, fair fight…yeah, he’d been enhanced, but otherwise as fair as can be.” Orion answered. “I got my ass handed to me.”

    “Impossible. One guy?” Roller questioned. “No buying it, pretty-boy. Who could pull that feat off?”

    “Gladiator from Tarn.” Orion explained. “And I’m glad it happened. Ratchet said I needed a lesson in failure, and I walked awa…well, I survived it anyway, so I guess it’s a good thing. But enough about me, what are you planning on doing? I’m serious, you can’t do anything that will endanger the house!”

    “Olnius is going to knuckle under like a bitch.” Roller grumbled. “I’m not going to be a part of that. Don’t worry, I’ll make it clear that I speak only for myself.”

    “No! It won’t be seen that way!” Orion snapped. “I’m common born, my defection to the Autobots can be explained away. House Pax can distance itself from me; and that’s what they’d better do! But you, you’re one of them, down to your CNA. You defecting will be seen as a reflection of the house. The royals and nobles will turn on you, all of them. You may think you’re only facing down Sentinel and House Honorum, but if you go rogue, all Houses will stand against House Pax. It’s understandable for House Pax to be enraged by what’s happened, but you are to stand by whatever decision the House makes. You must do this to protect them! Promise me brother.”

    “Orion…” Roller paused, his thoughts conflicted, “I want no harm to come to our House, but I cannot sit by and do nothing. I cannot allow this to pass.”

    “Brother, I need you to hold the fort.” Orion replied sternly. “I know it’s a sacrifice, I know I’m asking a lot of you, but you must stand down. Stay strong, play the long game, do not react!”

    “Are you giving me an order?” Roller asked, but without the hint of a challenge.

    “No…well, yes.” Orion replied. “I don’t mean to presume anything,”

    “No, I’m not mad. You’re just really good at it.” Roller chuckled.

    “Well, I’m a cop, so, you know.” Orion replied. “Look, I know you pretty well. Well enough to realize that there’s a seventy percent chance that you’ll tell me what I need to hear to believe you’ll be good, and then set off to do something impulsive.”

    “Something impulsive?” Roller growled. “I seek justice, is that impulsive?”

    “Well, yeah.” Orion replied. “I thought it was pretty apt. I was about to say stupid, but figured impulsive was a better option.”

    “You stormed the Primus-damned Senate and threw hands with the Prime!” Roller blurted. “You don’t get to accuse me of being impulsive!”

    “Meet me brother.” Orion pled. “Let us discuss this face to face.”

    “Oh yeah, great idea.” Roller replied sarcastically. “Do you want to swing by here with your Autobot buddies? We might get twenty minutes of conversation in before the planetary military blasted their way in. Or should I swing by your abode, because clearly Prowl isn’t going to be paying attention to my movements.”

    “Oh, like Dion can’t smuggle you out of the Torus Heights.” Orion replied. “I only hope your strategy for getting out of Tyger Pax has advanced since our first foray into Polarus.”

    “That went off without a hitch until you got a chivalrous and picked a fight with our new best friend Lugnut Boltax.” Roller quipped.

    “What?” Orion asked. “What do you mean new best friend.”

    “Lugnut was hear a few hours ago, swearing that he and House Boltax were with us til the end.” Roller replied. “He seemed sincere.”

    “He wasn’t.” Orion grumbled. “Do not trust Lugnut, I’ll explain when we meet, but his loyalties are definitely not to House Pax or The Torus Heights. And obviously we’d meet somewhere neutral.”

    “How about Hyperious?” Roller suggested. “Word on the street is that the Emir of Axiom might have a soft spot for you…or at the very least he has a soft spot for someone who has a soft spot for you.”

    “Which is why we can’t pick Axiom. While not well known, my…friendship with Elita Solus likely isn’t a secret, and even if I didn’t have reason to believe Prowl was watching her, I would not endanger House Solus in such a way.” Orion replied. “I’m thinking the emirate of Nyon. Specifically Gygax. More specifically, the Gygaxian Academy of Sciences.”

    “Primus, is that place even real?” Roller asked. “I mean, I know it was the spearhead of some attempt to modernize Nyon a few million years back, world class university in the heart of beastland and all, but it barely got off the ground and was abandoned.”

    “Not quite abandoned, but close enough so that it’d be easy for us to get in and out without being noticed.” Orion clarified.

    “Uhm, I thought you Autobots were REALLY hunted in the south.” Roller pressed.

    “After last night, we’re really hunted everywhere.” Orion replied. “How soon can you get there?”

    Roller paused. “I can be there tonight. Like in six or seven hours.”

    “Great, I’ll meet you there.” Orion replied, relief clearly evident in his voice. “Be careful brother.”

    “You too.” Roller replied as he closed the signal. He would need to contact Dion immediately, but he would need to do so in person. Despite Inferno’s threat, he would be sneaking out of Tyger Pax now. He walked to the door and activated it to slide open, revealing A-Three on the other side. “Primus!” The startled utterance blurted out.

    “No, just me.” A-Three replied in a deadpan manner as he stepped into the room. “Close the door.”

    “Look A-Three, I would love to chat, but I need to…I need to do something.” Roller grumbled.

    “Your brother’s impersonation of Dion is good, but not that good.” A-Three stated as he peered out the window. “I have a question for you, Roller Pax.” The ancient robot turned and stared intently at Roller. “Are you your brother’s keeper?”

    The confused Roller stared at A-Three for many moments before finally answering resolutely. “Yes, I am.”

    “Good, because despite what he thinks, Orion Pax will need you.” A-Three answered. “I am going to tell you a story. My story. And Gallus Honorum’s story. And within those stories lies a prophecy. Upon hearing the prophecy you’ll understand ultimately whose stories these truly belong to. And hopefully you’ll agree that actions, drastic actions, need to be taken to ensure this person’s story continues. Now sit down and listen.”


    ***


    Elita Solus


    It was still referred to as a workshop, but the term didn’t accurately cover what the enterprise had become over the years. Erector may have started out as a small time smith, but word of his craftsmanship, his creativity, and his ingenuity had spread, and soon his small forge had expanded into the complex that Elita was walking into now. Employees scurried around, looking over blueprints, engineers pushing grand designs with little regard to practicality or budget, project managers trying to reign their aspirations in to better fit what the existing customers want, salespeople counteracting their attempts by promising to sell anything and everything that can be produced, demand planners trying to force the project managers and salespeople to recognize lead times and begging the engineers to work excess or obsolete inventory into their plans, and floor level workers putting it all together. It was a manufacturing plant that could rival many of those in the Tagan Heights. But Elita wasn’t there for the industry, she needed Erector himself, to do a job more reflective of his smith-roots than his current status as the proprietor of an engineering firm.

    Elita marched up a set of stairs and into a narrow hallway, toward the large office at the end of that hallway. She knocked gently on the open door, marveling at the disparity between the large room and the miniscule robot it was made for. Erector, the eight foot tall orange/yellow robot behind a desk more appropriately sized for him, looked up and was startled at seeing who was visiting him. “Lady Elita, it is an honor to have you here.” He stammered as he stood up from his chair and walked around the desk, displaying a bow as he finally rounded it. “What is it that I can do for you?”

    “I have need of your skills.” Elita smiled. “It is a small task, but I will pay you well for it.”

    “I would be happy to provide any service you like, my lady.” Erector answered with a smile as well.

    Elita nodded gracefully, her smile in place, but there was a nervousness. “Body adornment; a brand really.”

    “Excellent.” Erector smiled. “A symbol of House Solus, perhaps your House words?”

    Elita gently shook her head. “No, nothing related to House Solus.”

    “Ah, just standard ornamentation?” Erector questioned, a puzzled look on his face. “I’m flattered you came to me, but any tattoo parlor could likely handle this.”

    “You’re the best, and I want it done right.” Elita said as she strode further into the room and took a seat on a full-sized couch against the wall. “I want a symbol attached to my upper chest-plate, on the lighter shade of pink.”

    “That’s certainly no problem.” Erector said as he stepped closer and looked at the area to be worked on. “And what would you like there?”

    Elita paused, not eager to witness Erector’s reaction to her response. “The face of the Common Man.”

    Erector raised his gaze, meeting her optics with widely stretched ones of his own, a look of surprise and disbelief on his face. “My lady, surely you jest.”

    “I do not.” Elita replied calmly and politely, but leaving no room for doubt that she was serious.

    “My lady, I…you can’t…there’s no way.” Erector stammered. “What you’re asking, it’s, it’s taboo. You would be an outcast, a pariah to all nobility, and I, well, the good fortune I’ve experienced for years would be a thing of the past. Please rethink your request.”

    “I am not doing this capriciously.” Elita replied. “This is something I insist you perform.”

    “My lady, if you truly respect the cause of the Autobots, then you wouldn’t be able to force me to do something I am hesitant to do.” Erector responded. “And if you still feel as though you can oblige me to do it, then perhaps the symbol isn’t as fitting as you would think.”

    Elita stared down at the floor a moment, and then nodded. “You’re right. I cannot force you to do something you do not wish to. I thank you for your time, Erector.” Elita stood up and turned to leave.

    “My lady, please understand that it pains me to turn you down.” Erector then looked down as well. “And it humbles me to see you willing to take a stance for a cause that would run contrary to your well-being. I lack your courage and integrity. It is a cause that is in my own best interests, and I lack the courage to display my support.”

    “You have courage, Erector,” a voice from the hallway said calmly, and the both of them turned to see Exponum One standing in the doorway, “but we must let the cause foment, gather strength, before we can lend our support publicly. Until that point, we use our positions to aid them without endangering those positions. You can serve them as an industrialist, I can serve them as an emir, but neither of us are any good to them if we’re in prison, and it’s unlikely that those who would replace us would be of any assistance to the Autobots. Though…” he emphasized as he gazed intently at Elita, “measures can be taken so that should we lose our positions for whatever reason, we can influence who it is that replaces us, and make sure that the support we offer to the cause lives on.”

    “You are wise and kind, Emir One, and I am unworthy.” Erector bowed.

    “I like flattery as much as the next person, Erector, but believe me, you are not unworthy.” Exponum replied, still locking optics with Elita. “All are worthy, at least until word and deed remove that from them.”

    “What do you mean by influencing who it is that replaces you?” Elita asked.

    “You’re a smart young femme, I think you can guess what I mean.” Exponum replied with a smile.

    “Young being the operative word.” Elita answered. “Much too young for the house to vote in as One should anything happen to you.”

    Exponum shrugged and gave a light chuckle. “Well ideally we’d both be quite a bit older before that would ever come to pass, but even now, in your youth, you possess the wisdom, compassion, intelligence and leadership charisma to be a great One, an opinion which I have recently made known to the rest of the house.”

    “My One…” Elita gasped and bowed her head, “I am not worthy.”

    “Did you not listen to anything I said to Erector?” Exponum replied with a grin. “Besides, you’re not that young. You’re beyond the age of self determination, and a full vectoral pulse older than Orion Pax, who to hear the whispers of the common-folk, should be the next Prime.”

    “Ha!” Elita gave a spark-felt laugh. “The Hand, Primus and the Senate gathered before him to offer the Matrix on bended knee wouldn’t be enough to get him to take on that honor. Being the center of attention is the greatest of tortures for sweet Orion…” Elita’s good humor quickly faded as her gaze fell to the floor and she pondered Orion’s fate for the thousandth time that day, “my poor, tortured Orion.” She whispered, then looked up at Exponum. “I should be with him.”

    “You are with him, my dear.” Exponum replied. “We all are; and he knows it, wherever he is.”

    The silence stretched for several seconds before the two noticed Erector staring back and forth between the both of them in wonder and awe. “You…you really know Orion Pax?” He was unable to hide the admiration in his voice. Elita and Exponum both laughed.


    ***


    Militus Macht


    “Had you done what you were tasked to do, what you assured me you would handle, none of this would have happened!” The voice of Sentinel Prime raged through the speaker on Militus’s desk. “But you failed! You had months to accomplish this, yet you failed! A simple Primus-damned task, that you slagging failed to accomplish! And now, this minor pain in my ass is a smelting hero; a veritable demi-god to the unwashed masses! Autobots that had been plaguing our way of life for years who should be empty husks now are free to continue their bullshit! Oh yeah, they’ve also reached hero status with the peasants too. And me, not only do I look ineffectual, but I execute the most beloved emir on the planet!”

    “If anything, killing that soft-sparked beast reestablished respect for you in the south.” Militus replied.

    “Shut up!” Sentinel roared. “I couldn’t care less what southern twits think of me! A Polyhexian could respect the hell out of me, but they’d still cut my spark out given a chance!”

    Militus rolled his optics before responding. “Your grace, I apologize for my failure. Please know that you have my full support in any and all future action you will take against the Autobots or House Pax.”

    “Not that it’s any of your concern, but the situation with House Pax will be smoothed over.” Sentinel snarled. “Orion is not to be considered a member of their house. He is a rogue and a traitor, and will be hunted down and eliminated as such.”

    “Just tell me what you need of me.” Militus offered, catching sight of a shuttle descending in the darkening sky over the landing platform of House Macht.

    “Nothing at the moment, but be ready to obey any future commands I might have!” Sentinel grumbled. “And be sure to accomplish them in the future. I will tolerate no further failure, Emir Macht!” With that the connection was severed.

    Militus pondered his situation for several minutes before a knock at his door tore him from his thoughts. “Come.”

    In walked Rabattus Decimus, Soundwave and Megatron. “Greetings Emir Macht. It is so goo…”

    “Enough.” Militus interrupted Rabattus’s flowing greeting. “I’ve had my fill of pretty platitudes for the day.” The emir of Polyhex looked up at Megatron. “Cutting it a bit close, don’t you think? You’re scheduled to fight in a few hours.”

    “Aye, tighter than I’d like, Emir Macht, but I’ll have no problem getting to the arena on time.” Megatron replied.

    “Go.” Militus waved the gladiator away. “Go win me money and prestige to partially offset your utter failure in Rodion.”

    “Aye, my lord,” Megatron replied, barely subduing his desire to lash out, “it will be my honor.”

    Militus watched as Megatron left, then turned his gaze to the two royals. “I always imagined the day after the death of Arlon Pax would be one of celebration for me; instead I’ve spent it dreading an irate call from our irrational Prime, before receiving that call and being chewed out. Frankly I expected worse from him, but a full day of apprehension wears away at one’s spark.” He muttered, staring down at his desk. “Do I want to know what the three of you have been up to?”

    “No, you probably don’t. Plausible deniability is a tremendous asset, especially given the tenacity and creativity of Prowl.” Rabattus replied. “Just know that we are acting in our collective best interests.”

    “So be it.” The mentally and emotionally exhausted Militus replied dismissively. “You are both welcome to the hospitality of Castle Macht.”

    “Thank you, lord Macht.” Rabattus replied. “But it is best if we’re not seen here.”

    “Then go home.” Militus snapped as he stood up from his chair. “I don’t care what you do, but never question the security of my house. Word of your presence here will not leave these walls.” With that he marched past the two royals and exited the room.


    ***


    Orion Pax


    The Hall of Ancient Mega Fauna was beyond impressive, possessing recreations and fossilized skeletons of all manner of the ancient dracosaurs that once ruled the planet. Orion peered up at an impressive specimen, a carnivorous bipedal terror with a large cranium possessing enormous clamp-like jaws lines with razor-sharp daggers. When alive the beast would have measured fifty feet from tip of the nose to the tip of its tail, its long powerful legs allowing it to run up to fifty miles per hour, and its slender but powerful arms reaching out at the prey it ran down and pulling it into the clenching death of its jaws. Orion imagined the hunt and felt for the poor organics, forced to battle for every second of their survival. Of course, that description could be used for this new life he had created for himself. He looked over at his companions, Jazz and Bumblebee, as they too took in the exhibits of the monstrous creatures.

    “So what happened to these guys?” Jazz whispered, but the silence of the room enabled Orion to hear the question despite being a couple dozen yards away.

    “Went extinct, like, twenty five million years ago.” Bumblebee replied.

    “How?” Jazz asked. “Asteroid impact or something?”

    “What?” Bumblebee asked. “An asteroid impact can kill a handful or so animals, but it can’t create a planetary extinction.”

    “Uh, yeah it can.” Jazz replied. “A big enough rock can kick up enough debris to cause a nuclear winter.”

    “What? What’s that, and how can a long winter wipe out all of the dracosaurs?” Bumblebee asked skeptically. “Yeah, a bunch, but not all species all over the world.”

    “Naw man, you’re not thinking about it the right way.” Jazz explained. “Our sustenance comes from Cybertron, organics get their sustenance directly or indirectly from the sun.”

    “What? Now you’re just messing with me.” Bumblebee replied. “They either eat plants or animals that eat plants. And plants come from the ground.”

    “Plants get their energy from photosynthesis, which comes from solar energy.” Jazz clarified. “You block out the sun for a few months, you get no plants. No plants, no herbivores, no herbivores, no carnivores. Boom, no dracosaurs.”

    “It’s a good theory, but the evidence suggests they were hunted to extinction.” Orion interjected.

    “Who told you that?” Jazz asked skeptically.

    “The polyhistor of Tyger Pax.” Orion replied, an answer that silenced and humbled the commoners who had relied on their own efforts in various public libraries for their own educations. “These fossils are fairly intact, but the vast majority of dracosaur remains, especially those of the truly gigantic species, were obliterated. Crushed and ground to powder, only identifiable by the tiniest of pieces. And it appears as though any consumption of their remains was done by other creatures their own size or smaller who scavenged their remains afterward. This suggests that whatever killed them was not only large enough to destroy their bodies, but uninterested in eating them.”

    “So spark-based life.” Bumblebee replied, scared that he may be right.

    “That’s what the little amount of evidence we have suggests.” Orion replied, continuing to study the exhibits as he did so.

    “Wait, how big are we talkin’ here?” Jazz asked. “Like a planet full of Omega Supremes?”

    “What’s an Omega Supreme?” Bumblebee asked.

    “Damn, man, get an education kid.” Jazz grumbled.

    “I’m a year old, and unlike lord Pax over there, I didn’t grow up with a polyhistor!” Bumblebee growled. “So back off!”

    Jazz chuckled lightly. “Alright, sorry kid.” Jazz looked up at Orion. “Well, continue Lord Pax, the floor is yours.”

    Orion chuckled lightly. “Some were roughly the size of Omega Supreme, from what I’ve been told anyway. Despite hailing from The Torus Heights, I’ve never been to the Tartarun Pits. But yes, his size in most cases, but there’s evidence of destroyers much larger. Based on impact craters some paleontologists believe to be footprints, it would be as if a spark gave life to a large building, or even a small mountain.”

    “OK, now you’re messing with us.” Bumblebee shot back in disbelief. “Even a green spark couldn’t give life to something that big.”

    “You’re right.” Orion replied. “An ignis superious couldn’t bestow that much life-energy. My polyhistor suggested the possibility that in the very distant past Vector Sigma’s initial pulses may have been more akin to bursts, eruptions, giving off fewer but more powerful sparks of life; more ignis superious’s than what we see today, and perhaps a few sparks of even greater power. A-Three used the term ignis deva, apparently the term means divine or something similar in a long forgotten language. He theorized that as the eons passed, the power levels seemed to level off, to stabilize into something similar to what we see today.”

    “Damn,” Bumblebee muttered, “and I don’t even know what an Omega Supreme is.”

    Jazz chuckled. “I can’t even imagine something so big that its shell mode is a mountain.”

    “Well, their existence is speculation at best. Nothing more than lots and lots of crushed dracosaur bones to suggest they ever existed.” Orion clarified.

    “And I thought A-Three did a good job of deflating the balloon after blowing it up.” Roller’s voice cut through the darkness. Orion turned toward Roller, A-Three, Roadbuster and Ironhide walking into the hall, and ran to them, embracing Roller. “Brother.”

    “Brother.” Orion replied quietly. He then looked to A-Three and went to hug him as well, then turning to the Pax guards and the constable of Polarus, he shook their wrists. “My friends, it’s so good to see you. Thank you for escorting Roller.” Orion then turned to Roller. “I thought you’d be coming alone.”

    Roller looked over at Jazz and Bumblebee. “I thought you’d be alone too.”

    Jazz chuckled. “In the last twenty-four hours our recruitment numbers have gone up at least a hundred-fold. We ain’t lettin’ nothin’ happen to our new poster-boy here.”

    “Roller, A-Three, Ironhide, Roadbuster, this is Jazz and Bumblebee.” Orion made the introductions.

    “He’s not your poster-boy!” Roller snapped, then looked to Orion, an odd expression on his face. “He’s a promise.”

    “What?” Orion asked.

    “He’s referring to a promise I made.” A-Three chimed in, clearly trying to change the subject. “One made to Sentinel Honorum.” The old robot smiled and nodded. “And it’s time I made good on that promise.”

    “Orion, we need to leave.” Jazz nervously uttered, inching his way toward Orion.

    “Relax, Autobot, it was less a promise to Sentinel Honorum, more a threat.” A-Three clarified, the clarification only marginally relieving Jazz’s anxiety. The older robot then turned back to Orion. “You and I must leave.”

    “Leave?” Orion asked. “Where to?”

    “For you, somewhere safe.” A-Three replied. “For me, a quest to retrieve…something. I will leave as A-Three, I will return as someone else.”

    “You guys aren’t taking him anywhere.” Bumblebee warned. “Orion, I know you think they’re your friends, but what we’re seeing is a royal and his subjects trying to abscond with the most wanted Autobot on the planet.”

    “Look guys, you have to see it from our perspective. You represent the nobility; we represent a society without a nobility. And Orion Pax is a huge black eye to the nobility. And you’re trying to whisk him away.” Jazz said to the Polaruns.

    “Abscond is better than whisk.” Bumblebee whispered.

    “Shut up.” Jazz whispered back.

    “Gentlemen,” A-Three raised his hands in an attempt to calm things, “I promise you, we have nothing but Orion Pax’s best interests in mind.”

    “Enough.” Orion stated authoritatively. “I requested this meeting to convince Roller not to do anything rash. We’re not here to protect me.”

    “I’m sorry brother,” Roller stepped toward Orion and slapped a hand against Orion’s chest, “but we are.” A light sizzle sound could be heard, and Orion was overwhelmed by power for less than a second, immediately followed by a numbing that spread quickly through his body. The shorter Roller seemed to grow, but Orion quickly realized that he was collapsing to the floor. He looked up at the robots, his brother and friends, all erupt into action as his vision started going black. “Back off, we’re taking him with us!” The sounds of scuffling faded away to nothing.
     
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