This Present Darkness

“We who have seen war will never stop seeing. In the silence of the night
we will always hear the screams. So this is our story, for we were
soldiers once ... and young.”​

It doesn’t take much to destroy a city. A few timely placed incendiary missiles could reduce a thriving metropolis to little more than a relegated afterthought. Life that had existed for centuries beyond reckoning could be snuffed out with but a flick of the wrist. What was laboriously built could be easily destroyed. That, at any rate, seemed to him to be the Autobots’ creed.

Blazing pillars of crackling flames, their radiant tongues flickering capriciously in the perpetual night of Cybertron, bathed the city in a perpetual glow of orange and gold. Snaptrap stepped over the molten remains of one of the city’s former inhabitants and paused, shifting his gaze towards the smoldering carcass that he might have once called friend. He hadn’t really expected to find anyone. Not really, what with the Autobots still close enough to return. But he had hoped. He had hoped that perhaps there would be someone here to rescue, perhaps some way to salvage his ravaged conscience. Instead, a twinge of remorse filled his spirit, as all he found was a gathering of the dead.

He nudged the body with a foot and watched it shudder slightly in response. It was one more spark to add to his tally, something that seemed to grow daily by his reckoning. Raising his head, he stared upwards at the vast fields of stars above him. His gaze roved hungrily across the night sky for several minutes before he finally shook his head and turned away. How many had come to walk the pathways of the dead because of him, he wondered to himself.

A wall not far in front of him, the only remaining structure that had once been part of what was apparently a tenement complex of sorts, was emblazoned with a silver sunburst, a sigil that had become a popular symbol for neutrality in the Great War. Snaptrap raised his rifle, an ancient design known as an atom-smasher, and quietly squeezed the trigger. A burst of energy erupted from the barrel of the rifle and leapt towards the wall, leveling it in a thick cloud of debris and silt. “There’s no such thing,” he whispered to the dispersing colloids of dust.

He wondered to himself if the wall had escaped destruction by mere chance or if the Autobots had left it standing in some sort of twisted attempt at humor. Most likely the former, he told himself. His experience with Autobots had left him unable to believe that they were capable of anything beyond chaos.

Glancing once more to the stars above him, he stepped past the fallen wall and made his way deeper into the ruined city. He had spent far too much time tracking this particular regiment of Autobots to lose them to a senseless bout of self-induced introspection. He had never considered himself a premier tracker, but he didn’t need to be when it came to Autobots. The trail of devastation that they left in their wake was anything but subtle and the anger that bubbled within at this thought surprised him.

The city was nothing more than a graveyard now, filled with the dying light of smoldering rubble and piled high with the ravaged corpses of its former occupants. A low moan of wind trilled its way through the emptied streets and filled them with a soulful, mournful wail of pain. Snaptrap gripped his rifle tighter for a moment before slinging it across his shoulder as he trudged through the inner bowels of the ruins. Shattered skyways had fallen to the ground, gorging out deep chasms where they fell and he took his time to navigate this spider-like maze of rugged devastation.

The devastated ruins of the city gradually relinquished their death grip on the landscape and as he edged his way to the outer rim of debris, Snaptrap’s sensors picked up a tinny, acrid scent. He paused and unslung his rifle, twisting it around so that his free hand gripped its barrel. Beyond him lay a burbling marsh of unchecked acid, its sulfuric sludge lapping hungrily at the edges of the swamp. In the distance, slugging their way through a thin, alloy bridge that wound its way through the center of the swamps, he could just make out the shifting outlines of the Autobot regiment. A quick knot of anxiety tightened within him and he settled into a crouch on the ground. Patience, he reminded himself. He had already paid too high of a price to face failure now.

He crept to the edge of the bog and transformed, sliding his armored form into the murky depths of the acidic swamp. Plunging beneath the heated brew of the bubbling surface, he propelled forward in silence. A crushing tumult of doubt cascaded over him and he had to struggle to keep it contained. After all, he told himself, he had already survived longer than he had expected. His friends and compatriots had perished while he had emerged from the purifying flames seemingly unscathed. Fear was a wasted emotion. Fear was the mind killer. Fear was death. His travels had been too short for him to walk the pathways of the dead just yet.

He swam closer, allowing his form to slowly drift to the surface of the marsh. They were in range now and he could make out the cold laughter of their taunts. Whatever sparks existed within their shells were callous and filled with malice and he found that an intense desire to eradicate the virus of their existence bubbled within him. He could feel the cancerous hunger of the acid he was bathed in as it lapped against his shell and it fueled his rage.

From within the bubbling bog, Snaptrap could count roughly thirty Autobots as they trundled their way through the swamps. He propelled himself slowly forward, dipping a bit lower below the surface. He could make out snip-its of their conversations now, filled with the haughty arrogance that was common to the Autobot race.

An eager excitement spread throughout his chassis as his mind sifted through the various tactical analyses he had compiled during his hunt. The swamps, filled with the acrid hunger that had consumed an entire city, had shifted the odds in his favor and the Autobots in their arrogance had left themselves vulnerable. Crushing the anger and fear within him, Snaptrap bathed himself in a cold sheen of emotionless indifference and surfaced completely, silently deploying two sonic-shell cannons. Without thought, he fired into the middle of the regiment, coolly watching has the blast shattered the already fragile alloy of the bridge and sending half of the regiment to a consuming, liquid death.

Awash in confusion and with the dying screams of their comrades filling their receptors, the Autobots stood blanketed as Snaptrap emerged from the bogs and transformed, leveling his rifle and bringing fiery death to their midst. His mind was distanced from the carnage, meticulously intent on eradicating the threat to his existence. One by one they succumbed, and with each death he felt a surge of vindication.

A shriek erupted from within the rapidly evaporating Autobot circle and Snaptrap’s consciousness flickered back to the foreground as a silver and blue Decepticon warrior eviscerated the nearest Autobot with a sickle-like blade she carried in her hand. He paused, gripping his rifle tighter, and stared in silent disbelief. “Eliara,” he whispered.

They were now alone, he and this Decepticon femme. The regiment he had arduously hunted for the past few weeks had been disposed of with ridiculous ease. But a mixture of disbelief and anger overwhelmed the satisfaction he had thought he would feel. “You’re dead,” he said.
The femme grinned and fingered her blade, squatting down against the bridge that was slowly being consumed by the swamps. “Snaptrap, sniptrip, we know you, yes we do.” She giggled and cocked her head, staring at the rifle that he still held tight in his grip. “Oh, you’ve changed, Cully, so you have! Where’s the peaceful little cove we once knew?”

“Dead,” he told her. An icy cold filled his circuits and he narrowed his optics. “Just like you.”

“Nary a lie about that, old mate of mine! Dead we were, dead we are! Snippity snip, yes indeed!” She giggled again and winked at him. “We saw you playing with the dead, Cully. Oh, having so much fun for such a peaceful squint.”

“Who are you?” Her appearance had brought a full rush of emotion to him, something he had been unprepared to deal with. The destruction of Thetiset was a memory he had spent many cycles burying and the appearance of the figure before him brought them back in an overwhelming rush.
“Not who we were, are who we’re not.” She squinted and blinked, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she watched him. She crooned softly and smiled. “And you, my father, there on the sad height, curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.”

He faltered, emotions raging unchecked within, and lowered his weapon. “Whatever you are, whatever you were, you’re insane.”

“Tsk, Cully, don’t be pert.” Her tone was scolding, but the delight playing across her optics hinted at a convoluted spark. “’Tis considered a lack of manners for such a trig cove as yourself to be spouting insults, neh? You and we, we ken each other too well to be chewing on the bones. Play the game right or don’t play at all, says we. So we do, my little sweetmeats.”

“I watched you fall,” he said. “Fall to Deftwing’s assault on Thetiset.” He gripped his rifle tighter and his voice rid itself of the hideous trembling that had crept into it. ‘You were slain vorns ago!” He lifted his rifle and aimed it at her. “Whatever you are now, you’re not the Eliara I knew. What is your relationship to the Autobots, beast?”

“Ah, beast he calls us! He does at that, the pert little cove. Made us, he did and we are what we were meant to be. You ask us about the Autobots, Snippysnap? Come, come, my little bandersnatch, we think you ken the answer to your own posing. Yip, yap, yes we do. Sing with me, my little trill. Sing and be happy for the pathways of the dead lie clear and clean, clean and clear.”

He thought for a moment, his mind racing over the endless sea of possibilities that rushed through his circuits. From around him, the ravenous lapping of the acid bog sizzled at the edges of the bridge. Burbling, boisterous torrents of sulfurous gases burst from the surface of the bog, sending toxic sludge spewing into the air around them. “You are an Autobot,” he said after a time.

“O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!" She chortled and finally stood, tapping the sickle against her hip. “His innards aren’t all a rot, we think! Acid and air can’t melt his mind, not at all, not at all!”

Snaptrap growled, a harsh and bitter rumble that erupted from within his spark and spattered a burst of energy in her direction. With effortless ease she leapt into the air, dancing above the deadly strafing, and landed with a sweeping bow. “One two! One two! And through and through the vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head he went galumphing back.” She squinted and erupted into a series of snickers, waggling her sickle at him. “Oh, Cully, we love you so, we do! But naughty, naughty you are! Coals and switches in your stockings, methinks! Put away your firestick, Snappytrap. You might hurt someone, neh? Wouldn’t want anyone to die today, would we my pert little sweet?”

He sneered at her, a seething rage bubbling to the surface of his emotions. “Last of my Thetiset brethren you might be, creature. But don’t make the mistake of thinking that alone will stop me from killing you.”

She giggled and shook her head. “No, no, Cully. Of course not and perish such thoughts! We ken you too well to think that, we do. A cozy one you are, too cozy for the likes of us.” She smiled and lifted her free hand, palm up. Shifting from subspace, a glistening silver sphere flickered into her hand. She tapped a thumb against its side and a train of lights burst outwards from within its hidden compartments, blinking in a complex rhythm. “No, our little history together means as much as a slathering gizhat, it does.” She held up the sphere and stared at it with a mixture of awe and lust. “Oh, but this will mean so much, to you! Bright lights, big city go boom! Come, come, Cully. Put your firestick away.”

He tightened his grip on his rifle. “Suppose I choose not to, beast?” he asked. “Suppose I choose to simply carve a hole in that tenuous little grip you have on reality?”

The femme giggled and rubbed her thumb across the sphere. “Then we’ll go to the Pit just enough ahead of you to hold open the door. It’s all the same jolly fakement to us, one way or the other. Live or die, dead or alive. Been there, done that. Yes, indeed, so we have! Knick-knack, paddiwack, put that gun away!”

Snaptrap fingered the trigger of the rifle for a moment longer, watching the being he had known as Eliara in another life. The twisted mutation she had undergone had left her beyond his comprehension. She was a disease in need of eradicating. But all that could come in time, he reckoned to himself. Absolution would come eventually. He lowered his rifle.

“Oh ho, we see, we see! Pathways of the dead lie just ahead, my friendly old mate! Seek them out or not, they come, they come. But not today, we see. Not today. For today, you see, he wakens up. Demons within, demons without. Thetiset is dead, Thetiset is gone. But not all who lived have died and not all who died have lived. Twin in spirit, twin in spark. Intertwined within but oh so far apart without.”

“You speak nonsense, beast. Put away your toy and flee, before I change my mind.”

“Ah, so pert and harsh. Such venomous bile he taunts us with. Beast, he calls us. You want truth, my trig little cove, we give you truth. Last of your Thetiset brethren we are not. No, no, one other does but live. So far, though it is. Far away in the lands of milk and honey! Rich for the plucking it is. Hunted by the dark lord and sought by the Prime unit! But that’s all past and present, my little squint, past and present.” She grinned and twisted her wrist so that the lights from within the sphere disappeared. “Seek him out while he may still be found.” She danced across the edge of the pillar, splattering acid across her heels. She winked at him. “Now ‘tis time for this brave robin to bravely run away, yes indeed! We remember you, Cully. Snippy-snap, my heart’s delight. Play the bones and launch the stones!” Giggling to herself, she leapt into the air and transformed, her form shifting to that of a sleek and trim seeker. She hovered briefly before him before jilting to the side and launching herself into the night.

Snaptrap was left to himself, watching the fading plumes of her exhaust as her silhouette evaporated into the sky. Scattered remains of fallen Autobots spotted the rapidly crumbling bridge, their shattered forms a complex jumble of twisted alloy and circuitry. He knelt down and lifted up one of the corpses, flinging it with disgust into the surrounding bogs. A hollow emptiness filled him as he watched the remains slowly sink beneath the surface of the swamp, consumed by its shadowed depths. It doesn’t matter how many Autobots I kill, he thought to himself. That ache’s still there.
As he stood to leave, his foot brushed up against a glistening silver box. Hidden beneath the remains of an Autobot, he probably would have missed it had he not acquiesced to his rage. He knelt down and picked it up. Formed from a smooth and glossy Cybertronian alloy, it was roughly hexagonal in shape and was without any sort of adorning decorations save for the crimson stain of the Autobot Science Division emblazoned on its front. Aside from a series of numeric keys had been set into the side of box, it was seamless. He had seen its type before, stolen during a Decepticon raid on an Autobot research institute and sequestered within the bowels of Thetiset’s lower tunnels. “Component storage,” he whispered to himself.

So that was what the Autobots had been escorting, he realized. But without opening the case, he had no way of knowing whether the components were Decepticon or Autobot and without knowing the access code, he had no way of opening it without using brute force, something that could possibly damage the contents of the box.

The bridge shuddered violently, cracking in several places as the toxic sludge of the swamps hungrily consumed its unstable and ravaged surface. Snaptrap gathered up the box and transformed, sliding into the acidic bog. She had said another from Thetiset yet lived and the thought brought a tickle of hope to his circuits. But it was a hope tinged with despair if what the beast said was true. Optimus Prime was tenacious and unrelenting in his obsessions and Snaptrap would have to act quickly if he had any hope of reuniting with a fellow survivor.

But the creature’s ramblings were incoherent and obtuse and Snaptrap had no way of knowing what part of their conversation was fact and what part was a delusional creation of her deranged mind. As his mind sifted through the various options available to him, he realized that he had only one logical course of action open to him. Were he to continue on his present course he knew that he would eventually be destroyed, either by the malignant hate that was festering inside him or by the swift and merciless machinations of an Autobot. His only hope for survival, both in spark and in body, was to find this survivor that Eliara’s wraith spoke of. He dove to the depths of the swamps, a fierce determination welling within him. Nothing, not even Prime himself, would prevent the absolution of his spirit.

He shifted in his seat and even his sensors, as archaic and run-down as they were, could pick up the course grinding of the servos in his joints. Lancets of pain coursed through his wiring and he grimaced, wondering again if the wise course of action had been to spend his few remaining credits on spiked energon rather than repairing the broken filaments inside his shoulder. It was rather tasty though, he admitted to himself, and scratched absently at some protruding wires that sprouted from a gap in the side of his chassis. “Tasty,” he croaked to himself.

He slouched down in the seat, grimacing again at the pain the movement caused, and clutched his micro-cube of energon tightly in his hand, casting a wary eye across the dimly lit room. He sniffed audibly and was confident that his contempt for the other slags that seemed to only perceptibly notice him was painfully obvious. “Bah! Digger’d show you a thing or two,” he muttered. “Wasted heaps of scrap metal! Better than all of you, Digger is.” He lifted his hand to his mouth and took a healthy swallow from his micro-cube. Rivulets of glowing pink fluid, punctuated by trace swirls of purplish-green, dribbled down his chin and he had to blink a few times to re-align his optics.

Digger took another drag from the micro-cube and, realizing that it had been completely drained, tossed it onto the table in frustration. He’d only begun to get a high off of that cube and his credits were almost exhausted. He could dimly recall a time when it wasn’t like this. A time when he didn’t find himself shackled to the greasiest pit on Cybertron, sloughing through soured energon laced with cheap ginka salts. A time when he still commanded respect. But, just as quickly as the thought came to him it vanished and he tossed his remaining credits at a passing servo-mech and wiped at his chin.

The tavern, if it could be called that, was filled almost to capacity with a variety of run-down neutrals, mechs that were one cycle away from being scavenged for parts, and thugs that controlled the underbelly of Kabeth-Nel’s seedier side. The main room was cluttered with stripped down tables and a battered bar, stained from countless energon spills, stood along the northern wall of the tavern. Decorating the wall behind it were scrawled and loopy images that the owner found to be pleasing, though Digger himself had not yet been able to make out any meaning or purpose to the scribbles. He slid his chair back slightly his chair back slightly as the servo-mech returned with his energon and scowled when he saw the size of the cube. “Dinky, this is!” he squawked. “Won’t be enough to even taste, it won’t! Digger paid good, Digger deserves more!”

“I’m afraid that’s all you get, my friend.” Digger jumped at the sound of the voice, his shoulders visibly quaking. He stared down at the table’s surface in silence. “Oh, come now, Digger. Let’s not sulk.” A small, cobalt blue mech slid into a seat at the table across from him. “You know,” he continued, “I’d have thought that anyone with any common sense would have known better than to show up here again.” The mech smiled and Digger remained silent. “But, and I’m being honest here, I’m not entirely surprised to see you again.”

Digger reached down and grabbed the cube, clenching it protectively even through trembling fingers, and drained it quickly. His optics shifted in hue quickly and he dared risk a look up from the table to assess his chances at escape. “Digger just needed a recharge, he did. Digger be harmless, Digger get you what he owes, he does.”

The mech smiled assuringly and nodded. “Of course you will, Digger. I have complete faith in you. You’ve been very loyal and dependable.” Digger winced at the comment and shifted uncomfortably, scratching again at the protruding wires in his shoulder. “But you see, friend, it’s a matter of principle. Some debts come with great consequences and Elita-1 has a …“He paused briefly and smiled. “Well, she has a long memory and you got her pet killed.”

Digger twitched and risked a glance up at the mech. Its optics were an off-shade of blue and in his energon-induced haze, Digger found his expression to be reassuring. “Not Digger’s fault! Digger didn’t know Decepticons be there.” He tried to sound confident, but his voice came out instead as a high-pitched squeal. The other mech nodded his understanding. “Long ago, it was. Digger been good since then. Digger not make mistake again.”

The mech’s expression turned to one of sympathy and he reached across the table and patted Digger’s arm reassuringly. “Of course it wasn’t your fault. I know that and you know that. But Elita-1’s? Well, Elita-1’s not as unstable as some of the other Autobots.” He glanced around the room and lowered his voice. “But she’s still an Autobot, no? Forgiveness doesn’t rank high on their list of virtues.” Digger scratched again at the protruding wires and remained silent. The mech opposite him leaned back in his seat and reclined an arm across the back of the chair. “I know, though, that things happen and even the best laid plans can go awry. That’s why I’m willing to help you out.” Digger’s optics lit up in a pale green hue at the words and he glanced up from the table.

The mech tapped a finger along the table and traced a circular pattern with his finger. “Elita-1 recently contacted me a few days ago. Seems she’s in need of assistance.” He smiled over at Digger. “There’s a neutral that stole some things from her and she would like them back. She thought I might be of assistance.” He paused and motioned a servo-mech to the table. “Bring me a cube of Uaptali-spiced Energon for my friend.? The green hue of Digger’s optics deepened at the mention of the expensive drink and he scratched harder at the protruding wires.

“Now, I’ve got a few friends around and about and I’ve heard that this neutral’s been seen around Kabeth-Nel. Word has it he’s looking for transportation off of Cybertron.” Digger furrowed his brow in confusion as the mech talked, glancing periodically over towards the bar in anticipation of his drink. The mech lifted a hand in an absent gesture. “Now, he’s going to need a pilot. Maybe someone like you?”

Digger shifted uncomfortably. “Digger pilot. Digger be the best!” The mech across from him nodded his agreement.

“You and I have known each other for a long time, so here’s what I can do for you. You provide the neutral with transportation and then you contact Elita-1’s faction upon your arrival.” He paused as the servo-mech returned to the table with his drink and smiled briefly as Digger hastily snatched at it with his cracked and wiry hands and guzzled it down greedily. “In return for your successful completion, I think that I can not only get you back into Elita-1’s good graces, but I can secure a pretty sizeable payment for you in the process. Enough to, say, afford as much Uaptali as your precious little spark could ever imagine.”

Digger’s left optic twitched and he glanced nervously across the room, but no one seemed to even notice them. “Digger not stupid. Deals too good to be true always too good to be true. Elita-1 would rather kill ol’ Digger than pay him!”

The mech frowned briefly and crossed his hands across his chest. “Well, nothing ever comes free, Digger. I’m willing to admit that. Your obligation incurred, though, is to me. And my demands are,” he paused and spread his hands with a shrug. “Well, my demands are minimal. Trust me, Digger. I’m a mech of my words and I never betray a contract. It’s a win deal for all of us.” He jabbed a finger in the air at Digger. “You not only get the death sentence off of your head, you get enough credits to repair yourself or stay drunk. Whichever you prefer.” He smiled and set his elbows on the table. “Elita-1 gets her property back, she gets the mech who stole from her and I get a fat little commission of my own, plus a pilot that gained a reputation as fearless and skillful back in the day.” He lifted an arm and raised it across the table towards Digger. “Deal?”

The older mech squinted and glanced from the empty cubes to the other mech and back. The spiced energon had begun to pulse through his conduits and filled him with a vibrancy he hadn’t known in a very long time. Perhaps his fortunes had begun to change after all. He lifted his arm and shook the mech’s hand. “Aye, aye! Deal! Digger won’t disappoint, no!”

The small, cobalt-blue mech grinned and pushed himself away from the table. “That’s fantastic! Then let me go make arrangements and let Elita-1 know what to expect.” He glanced to the bar and back to Digger. “And because we’re old friends, whatever you want tonight is on me. Just be sure you’re sober in a few cycles.” Digger nodded quickly at him and the mech turned to leave, patting him on the shoulder as he left. “It’s in your best interests to be ready when I need you.” Digger was drowning his good fortunes in Energon as the mech disappeared into the haze of smoke and filth.

Snaptrap moved quietly through the thick throng of mechs, though his simple bulk made him stand out more than he would have preferred. Still, in the depths of Kabeth-Nel’s lower side he blended in fairly well. The city attracted as many bounty hunters and thieves as it did scavengers and vagrants. His weaponry and armor, while slightly out of the ordinary, still fit in well with the local culture and he was confident that his presence wouldn’t be noticed by anything remotely resembling an Autobot. At least, not until he made his rendezvous.

It still galled him that he was forced to rely on someone he trusted only slightly more than an Autobot. Still, with the Empire’s control over the spacing lanes this had been his only way off-planet. The price was extreme, though, and Snaptrap could only hope that the end result was worth it. He paused in front of a tattered building. Its exterior was marred with all manner of graffiti, though Snaptrap noted that not a single bit of artwork portrayed the Autobots in a negative light. Even the sunburst was absent here, he mused. It was almost as if the owner wanted to give the appearance of protest without actually crossing the line. That only confirmed what Snaptrap already knew. He wasn’t dealing with an idiot. In fact, he might already be out of his league. But he didn’t have any other choices left. With a final sigh, Snaptrap slipped through the doors and into the inside haze.

The tavern was packed and Snaptrap had to elbow his way through the crowd to the bar. The room was filled primarily with scavengers, he noted; bots too far gone in their lives to be able to afford anything real. Not even repairs, he mused. So they sought to drown their fates with tainted energon and tasteless music. Even the femmes lacked any real beauty and were barely distinguishable from their clientele. He grimaced as he rested his hands on the edge of the bar. “I’m thirsty,” he told the servo-mech behind the bar.

“I didn’t figure you one for spiked Energon,” a voice behind him said. He narrowed his optics but refused to turn around. This meeting would be on his terms as much as possible.

“You don’t waste time,” he said. The mech came and slid into a seat next to him. “I won’t waste time with pleasantries because I don’t find you pleasant. I’ve got your credits. When can I leave?”

The mech smiled and Snaptrap noticed that his cobalt blue paint was freshly applied and there wasn’t a chip or dent in his chassis. Snaptrap dwarfed him with his bulk and he noticed no visible weaponry, but he doubted that any sort of combat with him would be that simple. He might have come prepared for a fight, and he might even walk out of it alive. But he would walk out of it looking like the rest of the mechs in the bar. It was a good thing he didn’t come for a fight.

The mech smiled. “It’s alright, Snaptrap. That’s the beautiful thing about business. It transcends personal relationships and builds bridges that wouldn’t otherwise be built.” He tapped the bar with a finger and a servo-mech brought him over a large cube of glowing Energon. Instead of drinking it, though, Snaptrap noticed that he simply swirled the liquid around with a finger. “I’ve secured you a pilot and a ship, but they won’t be ready for a few cycles.” He lifted his hands in protest at Snaptrap’s scowl. “Trust me. You’re here, you’re safe. I don’t go back on my word. I’ll get you off planet and onto earth safely.” He paused. “As long as you have my credits.”

Snaptrap nodded and summoned a small cube from his subspace component, tossing it across the bar. “Done. If I’m double-crossed, though, I’ll be mildly annoyed.”

The mech raised his hands defensively, his optics widening. “Relax! Look at you and look at me. No intelligent mech my size would think of double-crossing you. I’m rather fond of being alive.” Snaptrap grunted. Let the vagrant interpret that response however he wanted. “Look,” the other mech said. “It will be a bit before you leave. Why don’t you wind down here? You’re not much of a drinker, I would imagine, and you didn’t seem overly enthralled with the femmes. There’s other entertainment here, though.” He cocked a thumb behind him and winked. “Why don’t you check it out. I’ll let you know when we’re ready for you.” He reached out to pat Snaptrap’s arm and, apparently thinking better of it, simply stood up. Snaptrap glanced down at the bar after he had left. His drink had remained untouched.

Snaptrap glanced over in the direction that the mech had pointed and sighed. He didn’t expect much, not in this dingy bog of a tavern. But it couldn’t be worse than the soiling he was receiving in the common room. He pushed away from the bar and made his way towards the back rooms. The hallway was small and Snaptrap barely fit as he lumbered down the hall. He could hear the scraping of his armor against the tavern’s walls. Fortunately, the walls widened almost as soon as they had narrowed and he found himself in a broad balcony, from which a set of circular stairs descended into a large arena of some sort. He would never have surmised that something so large lay within such a seedy and run-down joint. But it seemed to fit in with everything Snaptrap had come to understand about his host and he wasn’t surprised.

He descended the stairs, taking stock of his surroundings as he walked down. The arena was not large, but large enough to serve its purpose. Numerous mechs pressed up against the rails of the inner circle, waving credits in their hands and cheering loudly as two creatures tore into each other. Snaptrap stopped suddenly, momentarily taken aback at the savagery in front of him. Creatures that could find no other purpose in life, ones that couldn’t drown their sorrows, instead transferred their hate and bitterness into the beasts in front of them. It disgusted him. The one beast he couldn’t identify. It was organic, a slithering creature with shimmering chromatic scales than ran the length of the spectrum. It’s jaw was massive, easily the largest portion of its bulk and replete with sharply curved fangs. Two mandibles surrounded its jaw and lashed repeatedly as it circled the other. A nest of tentacles sprouted from either side of its shoulders and whipped forwards at its opponent. The other beast Snaptrap recognized. It was a Sharkticon. While they weren’t common, he had seen more than a few in his history. They were savage animals for the most part and he could understand why they would draw such a large crowd. The sheer single-mindedness of the creatures made them highly suited for this type of entertainment and this crowd was enthralled.

The base of the stairs opened up into a broad rotunda and Snaptrap paused. The arena was filled with the snarls and howls of the beasts as they tore into each other, the terror and anger in their shrieks blending with the near mindless howls of the hordes of arena observers. He glanced around and found a spot off in one of the recessed alcoves that dotted the arena walls and lumbered over, shoving a few mechs to the side as he passed. Pathetic creatures, he mused to himself, though there was a part of him that argued that he was not much better on some levels. How many have I massacred, he thought. He settled into a seat and watched dispassionately as the Sharkticon, deceivingly nimble for one of such girth, ducked under the other creature’s lunge and tore into its neck, gorging its teeth through the hard scales of the creature’s armored body and sinking into the delicate flesh beneath. A thick viscous fluid spattered out of the wound, bathing the Sharkticon in bright crimson. The creature shuddered once, its body finally falling limp within the victorious beast’s maw. A cheer erupted from a few of the spectators, but Snaptrap noticed that most were in a foul temper and the jubilation from the fight quickly died down into a low murmur.

The competition disgusted him and he felt soiled just being a silent observer to the event. For a long time he had felt some bit of compassion for the neutrals. Many of them were too weak to ever associate with the Autobots and most of them were too frightened by the conflict to even entertain the thought of choosing a side. Almost all of them had lost someone, or something, close to them. A city, a friend? Snaptrap would’ve been surprised if he’d run into any neutrals that had lived through the war even relatively unscathed. But here, now? He felt nothing but contempt for them. Cowards who had refused to take a stand. Many were as bloodthirsty and amoral as the Autobots and his pity for them had turned into contempt. Was this what the Decepticons had fought and died for? Was their energon spilled for graceless, feral beasts like the ones before him? creatures little better than the beasts they watched in the arena? He found himself longing for the past, for the serenity of a life that was lost to him. It wasn’t that he minded war, or even battle. He had been a soldier, and a good one, since he could remember. But it was the soullessness of the current war that haunted him. A pointless and pitiless thing that had gutted the planet he loved and had shattered all traces of innocence and purity long ago. There was honor in battle, in feeling yourself overcome an opponent that was every bit your equal in combat. But there was nothing noble about the senseless slaughter that the Autobots engaged in and he could see no end, no light at the end of the tunnel.

Snaptrap suddenly became aware of the relative quiet and realized that he’d drifted in his thoughts, something that was dangerous for him to do in this area. Most of the arena guests had left, wandering back upstairs into the tavern’s main rooms to drown their sorrows or, for the lucky few, to flush away their newly acquired credits. Only a handful of mechs remained downstairs, most of them workers who were busy scurrying around to clean up the mess of organic meats and fluids. One particular, though, caught his optics and he stood up, brushing the table as he did so. “Do you own this beast?” he asked the mech. Startled, the other looked up at him and jumped back slightly. The mech wasn’t large and he was as rundown as the rest in this joint, but Snaptrap sensed that he didn’t have the same mindless fanaticism as most of the others.

“Aye, for the moment,” he whispered. His voice was raspy clicked, the result of faulty wiring in his vocal processors most likely. “A wretched thing.” He glanced between Snaptrap and the Sharkticon warily, unable to decide who might pose more of a threat to him if things turned ugly. He finally decided on the Sharkticon and went back to trying to corral the creature with his harness. The Sharkticon snapped and bounced backwards, digging itself into a defensive position in the corner. “A beauty in the games, but almost impossible to control otherwise. If he didn’t make me so much money, I’d put the damned thing down. Almost more effort than he’s worth.”

Snaptrap paused at the arena wall and watched for a bit as the two engaged in game of cat and mouse, the mech not confident enough in his skills to approach the Sharkticon very closely and the beast unsure of how best to escape. “Where did you pick him up?”

The mech darted forward and tossed his harness in the Sharkticon’s direction, but the beast ducked easily out of the way and the mech hissed in frustration. “Won him in a Terdyk game,” he said. “Fool I was thought I’d actually won something other than a pain in my servos.” He sighed and stepped back, leaning against the wall beside Snaptrap. “The beast draws a crowd, but it’s willful and as likely to snap me in two as it did that krysgath over there.” He motioned to the organic’s remains with a battered hand. “Why are you so interested?” he asked Snaptrap, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Snaptrap shrugged and stared at the Sharkticon who was dancing in a corner, grunting as it bounced on its haunches in unease. “Honestly, I don’t know. You don’t seem fond of him, though.” The mech grimaced and wrinkled his nose. “How much do you want for him?”

The other mech blinked, as surprised at the offer as Snaptrap was. It wasn’t a terribly bright thing to do, Snaptrap thought to himself. He was on the run and had cargo with him that was extremely valuable to a great deal of individuals who would like nothing more than to see him gutted painfully. A beast like this would only attract unwanted attention. Nonetheless, he felt pity for the creature. In its own environment, it would be a hunter. But that was a far nobler purpose than the ignominy to which it was being subjected here. The other mech squinted at Snaptrap. “Ain’t for sale. He’s making me rich.”

Snaptrap rumbled a chuckle. “Yes, I can see you’re well on your way to the top. But you’ve already said he’s almost more trouble than he’s worth. You don’t think there are other, less unpleasant ways, to get rich’? The mech grunted at this and glanced the Sharkticon.

“A thousand credits and he’s yours.”

“Three hundred. I’ve seen the crowd here. Three hundred’s more than you’ve seen in cycles. It’ll be plenty to get you filthy drunk upstairs. Perhaps with enough left over to entertain yourself with one of the wenches dancing up there too.” He looked down at the mech and leaned forward, his bristling bulk casting a thick shadow over the smaller mech. “It’s a good offer.”

The other mech shrank away and risked a quick glance to the Sharkticon. “Alright, three hundred then. Not a quarter-credit less, though!” Snaptrap summoned a small compartment from subspace and handed over a handful of chips.

“Now leave,” he ordered the mech and watched with no small bit of amusement as he scampered away, his lanky and weathered limbs flailing in his haste to get away from Snaptrap. He turned back to the Sharkticon and hopped over the wall, sliding down into a sitting posture against the wall. “I’ve seen your kind before, friend. I know you’re not as unintelligent as most here think you are.” The Sharkticon shifted its head, its wide bulbous eyes glaring warily at him from behind its massive jaws. “In fact,” Snaptrap continued, “it wouldn’t be much of a gamble to say that you and your brethren are more intelligent than the bulk of the mechs here.” He tapped a compartment on his arm and an energon slice slide out. He pulled it into his hands and tossed it to the Sharkticon. “You don’t belong here. This place,” he motioned around him. “All it is is death and a slow, painless slide into oblivion. I can bring you purpose if you’ll let me.” He smiled softly behind his faceplate and nodded towards the Sharkticon, encouraging him to take the energon gift. “I’m leaving soon. I’d be grateful if you’d come with me.”

The Sharkticon shifted and shuffled its girth forward slightly, dipping down and grabbing the energon between its powerful jaws before tossing its head back and swallowing it whole. It chittered and ambled over to Snaptrap, plopping itself to the floor just in front of him. Its tail swished absently behind it as it regarded him in silence. Snaptrap could sense the creature’s unease fading. “Did that pathetic waste of a creature ever bother to ask you your name?” The Sharkticon cocked its head and stared at him, its jaw working absently. “Do you have a name?” He paused briefly. “Would you like one?” The creature chittered again Snaptrap stared at its jaws, thick rivulets of crimson fluid clotted around his massive teeth. “Gnaw,” Snaptrap mused. “You like that?” The creature chittered and scuttled closer to him. “I thought you might. Come then, Gnaw. It’s some time before we leave. Show me where you bunk down and we’ll pass the time together.” It was a dangerous thing, taking along the Sharkticon. He really couldn’t afford the attention that it would likely draw, but being near the creature returned a sense of hope to him. Perhaps there was a chance they could get to Earth and once there - well, the odds of their survival could only improve. And besides, Snaptrap thought, he might find his purpose again. That alone was worth the risk.

The image on the screen in front of him was a visceral one and he couldn’t help thinking that in other circumstances, she might actually be attractive. But the sheer hate that was etched into the alloys of her face stole whatever natural beauty she might have possessed, leaving behind only a feral, and dangerous he reminded himself, grace. “Ah, Elita-One! As irresistible as ever.”

“Is it done?” Her voice was curt and he thought he could sense the slightest bit of annoyance in it. The mere thought of having to associate herself with a neutral likely left her feeling dirty, he thought. In some ways, he almost regretted that this meeting wasn’t face to face. It might have been easier that way. In some ways though, he reminded himself. She was, after all, an Autobot. An Autobot femme at that. Those were never good odds.

“Done. I’m transmitting the coordinates to you as we speak.” He kept his own voice chipper as he smiled back at her. “I’m gratified that I was able to assist you in finding him. Your friend didn’t deserve her fate.”

The image on the screen snarled back at him. “Watch your tongue, wretch. You live only because you’re useful.”

He raised his hands defensively and leaned back in his chair, his optics widening in feigned nervousness. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds.”

Her grimace softened perceptibly and she smiled, though he thought it more of a sneer than anything approaching genuine amiability. “Your credits will be deposited when I’ve received verification of the wretch’s termination.” And with that the connection was severed.

Well, he thought, that went better than it could have. He punched another set of keys and the console hummed to life again. He smiled once more. “Lord Optimus, I have some news you might be interested in.”

The figure’s visage was imposing behind the faceplate. “You’re brazen to contact me. Perhaps you thought I had forgotten.”

He shifted down in his seat and widened his optics again. “Of course not, Lord Prime. I merely thought I might have the opportunity to make reparations for my previous acts of - insolence.” He paused to let the words take effect.

Optimus Prime leaned back, glancing briefly off to the side and nodding almost imperceptibly. Did Optimus really think he was stupid enough to contact him without taking the necessary precautions first” The signal had been routed and rerouted throughout a variety of networks on Cybertron before even heading to earth. If Optimus did try and trace it, and he was sure that the Autobot leader would, he would find the signal coming from a area on the outer edges of Valios. “Make it quick before I decide your chassis would bring me more satisfaction than whatever information you might provide.”

“Of course, of course. I’ve never been one to waste your valuable time.” He punched in a few keys as he spoke. “I’ve received reliable information that some stolen property is making its way off of Cybertron and is headed your way.”

The Autobot leader scowled in annoyance and leaned closer to the screen. “I thought you acknowledged my time was valuable. All this does, little neutral, is make me dream up new ways of filling your life with pain.”

He chuckled inwardly but kept his expression slightly in awe. Optimus Prime was one of the most powerful beings in the universe and if it wasn’t for an ego that rivaled his might, he might be unstoppable. Still, he knew how to manipulate the Prime. String him a long for a bit, feign just enough fear to stroke his ego, and then deliver the goods. The job was almost as enjoyable as the actual payoff at times. “Of course your time is valuable. I wouldn’t have contacted you otherwise. The property I’m referring to was something a group of your Autobots lost a few mid-cycles ago. My contacts say they were traveling through the Toxic Sludge Swamps on the southern edge of Tarn when they were ambushed.” He paused again to let it sink in.

Prime’s optics narrowed as he leaned back in his throne, his massive blue hands gripping the arms of the seat in a tight grip. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and dark. “And you somehow have acquired knowledge as to where my property is. Just like that.”

He smiled and shrugged his shoulders, the cobalt-blue made even paler by the whitish-blue glow coming from the screen. “What can I say? Bots just feel like they can trust me. Sometimes I just hear things. Are you interested in this information?”

Prime rumbled and settled his elbows on the arm of the throne, crossing his fingers in front of his face. “I assume you will be asking for your standard fee.”

He shook his head. “Double this time. I will supply you with the coordinates of the ship’s landing site. You’ll not only be able to get your property back, but you’ll be able to get your hands on the mech that stole them and slaughtered your warriors. It’s a twofer. Just think of all the pleasure you’ll get from having him in your grasp.”

“Very well. Credits will be transferred to the standard account as soon as I have received verification that your information is correct. If it isn’t, little one, you’ll find no safe haven anywhere in the Empire.” Optimus Prime leaned forward and the screen flickered out.

He sighed and leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms out behind him. Two for two, he thought to himself. Nothing’s better for business than war. Only one more call to make. He leaned forward again and punched in another set of keys. There was a long pause as his connection was routed and rerouted, not just on his end but on the other as well. A display flashed up and he punched in another set of characters. Immediately, a familiar face appeared on his viewscreen. “Hello, Swindle,” he said and smiled. “I have some news you might enjoy. It seems a friend of yours is on his way to earth.” Yep, he thought to himself, war is definitely good for business.

His planet was barren; an inhospitable landscape filled with the ashen ruin of fallen cities, exposed circuitry, and innumerable corpses. It had become an emotionless void that existed solely on stubborn tenacity and single-minded determination. Whatever prosperity had once found refuge and abundance on his homeworld was now buried beneath a thousand millennia of war and death, a thousand millennia of subterfuge and deceit. As his optics adjusted to the illumination of this new planet, Snaptrap decided that Earth was much the same in many ways. It too was a desolate wasteland of ash and despair.

A chitter at his side disturbed his reverie and he glanced down to see his companion hunched close to the ground. The Sharkticon cradled himself close to the ground, his form twitching with excitement. “Be still yet, Gnaw. I must make peace with the master of this vessel,” he told the creature and then ducked back inside the ship. The confines of the ship were small, as they had to be for a vessel of such compact size. His bulk, bristling with armor and weaponry that he had procured during his flight from Cybertron, filled the corridors as he lumbered towards the cockpit.
The ship was archaic, even by Cybertronian standards, and Snaptrap was amazed that they had made it through the Empire’s sensors undetected as they had left Cybertron. Mismatched alloy platings covered hastily repaired circuitry and exposed conduits dangled freely throughout the numerous corridors of the vessel. His footfalls echoed against the gratings along the floor and he wondered once again the purpose that had brought him to this barren, war-ravaged world. He had traded one devastated planet for another in the hopes of pursuing the specters of the damned that crowded his past.

Muted whispers filtered out from within the cramped cockpit and Snaptrap paused as he approached the doorway. A flickering green glow bathed the corridor in a soft emerald light and cast jagged shadows that sprawled across the floor. “Yes, yes,” came the voice from within. “Yes, lived up to his word, Ol’ Digger did!” The voice paused to listen to the garbled response. “Aye, aye, as you say it will be! Your word, you gave! Your word, remember!” Snaptrap narrowed his optics as the voice on the other end barked out a short and clipped response. The light dimmed and faded as the communications were terminated, leaving only the sound of shuffling and darkened mutters to clutter the confines of the cockpit.
Snaptrap reached up and grabbed the door to the cockpit, tearing it from the wall. The hinges groaned and creaked in protest as he cast the dooring aside. Inside, Digger spun and flew backwards, stumbling across the pilot’s console. “Snaptrap!” he wheezed and skittered backwards away from the Decepticon. “Good to see you, Ol’ Digger is. Anxious for his payment, he is.” He squinted and stared at the shattered hinges of the doorway. “Added to your fee that will be.” He sighed and picked himself up from the ground, glancing with a twitch towards the console.
Snaptrap lashed out, gripping Digger by the throat and slamming him face down into the pilot’s console. “Talk to me, you filthy wretch. Who were you speaking with?” His voice remained cool and, to his sensors, distant from his surroundings. But it was obvious to him that his prey felt otherwise.

Digger wailed and flailed his arms piteously. “Have it wrong, you do! A friend to you, Digger is! Ignore the door and discount the fee, he will! Please, please, an old, doddering mech he is. No kill, no kill!”

“Who? Answer my question or I’ll rip out your internal circuitry and watch you bathe in your own energon.”
Digger squawked as Snaptrap’s grip about his throat tightened. “Autobot, Autobot, Autobot! Come for you, they do! Promised Digger wealth, they did! Oh, hurt Digger not! Worthy he is not!”

Snaptrap sniffed once and lifted him from the console, spinning him through the air into the corridor. “Your kind are worse than Autobots, Mech. You would sell your own creator for the right price.” With a speed belying his size, Snaptrap barreled through the doorway and picked up the whimpering mech, crushing the fragile metal plating along its shoulder in his grip. “I have watched countless brethren fall to the machinations of sparkless automatons such as yourself. I have seen cities leveled because its inhabitants lusted after power and glory.” Rivulets of greenish fluid trickled out from the shattered crevices that dotted Digger’s shoulder, coating Snaptrap’s fingers in a sticky film. “Many kindred lay beneath the rubble of countless years of betrayal and decimation, Mech.” He twisted his grip and Digger howled in terrified pain. “Today, I exact some small measure of vengeance.” He released Digger’s shoulder and wrapped an armored fist around the mech’s neck, twisting as he did so. The sickening pop and crackle of severed alloy and flickering circuitry filled the corridor and Digger fell to the floor.

Snaptrap knelt down and leveraged a finger beneath the thin armor alloy that decorated Digger’s chest. He pried it open and summoned a small, seamless disk from his subspace compartment. “Long ago, I thought myself without the baser emotions that slime the sparks of other Cybertronians. I have learned differently in recent vorns.” He cocked his head slightly and watched the mech. Optics widening as he watched Snaptrap, Digger was unable to defend himself. The necessary pathways that led from his neural processor to the rest of his frame had been severed and the alloy pipelines that carried them were too damaged for rerouting to be effective. He stared hopelessly at Snaptrap as his jaw worked silently. “You will be my gift to the Autobot cause.” Snaptrap inserted the disk into Digger’s chest and resealed the plating.

Gnaw was waiting for him just outside the ship when he returned and Snaptrap could see that the beast was anxious to leave. Squinting his optics slightly, Snaptrap gazed out across the valley in which they had landed and quickly took note of the surrounding environments, methodically cataloguing the terrain. Once lush and pulsing with vigor and life, the valley had become a morbid testament to the ferocity of the Cybertronian wars. Charred and shattered trunks, most stunted just above the surface of the ground, were all that remained of the proud trees that had blossomed and offered refuge to the native wildlife. Gouged pits were cratered into the ground along the entire length of the valley and rough, granite boulders lay where they had been cast, their surfaces still decorated with the searing burns of plasma and energy volleys. A fine layer of ash coated everything in the nearby vicinity. “We are close, Gnaw, so close that I can feel the echoes flooding my circuits. But there are issues that must be resolved before we move on.”

He slipped off of the ship and landed hard on the ground, causing a billowing gray cloud to envelop him temporarily. He had no real way of knowing how long it would be before the Autobots arrived, but past experience told him that it wouldn’t be long. Decepticon presence on the planet was minimal enough that the Autobots could afford to respond quickly to potential threats.

The debris that lay scattered across the ground was widespread but there was precious little that offered effective cover. Snaptrap beckoned Gnaw to follow as he transformed and lumbered over to a crater about thirty yards from the ship. His plating was decorated with camouflage to an extent and he anticipated that the Autobots would be too anxious to investigate the ship to notice his form huddled amidst the boulders. He could only pray that Gnaw would have the patience to wait them out.

He settled into the crater, nesting himself amongst the dust and ash and to his grateful surprise, Gnaw did much the same. Sharkticons were not renowned for their patience or intelligence, but Gnaw appeared somewhat a cut above the rest of his kind. It did not therefore surprise Snaptrap that Gnaw had been as popular as he had at the games before Snaptrap had managed to rescue him. Say what they will, he thought, the neutrals are no more above their baser emotions than the Autobots. They’ve just learned how to gloss them over with a finer finish.

His speculations were accurate and his wait was short. Descending rapidly, an Autobot carrier banked once, circling the abandoned frame of Digger’s ship before landing a few yards off. Snaptrap focused his optics and centered them on the Autobot ship. He knew precious little of what Digger had told them but, judging from the size of the ship, he estimated a likely count of eight Autobots at the most. Four had already disembarked and were moving towards the vessel. Two others followed them out and took up positions on either side of the boarding ramp, weapons at the ready. That left two within the main body of the ship to cause mischief.

Calculating the odds, Snaptrap methodically plotted out his course of action. His destination was not far off. In fact, it was just across the valley. But his frame was not built for speed and if he failed to decommission the Autobot’s ship, he would likely be incinerated before he was halfway across. He took another look at their ship, scanning its plating in hopes of determining a likely weakness. It was a light craft, most likely used for reconnaissance. If that were the case, its external sensors would be located on the bottom front of the craft. A tingle of hope flickered and gnawed at his consciousness. It was possible that he might escape alive, though the odds were still against him.

The four Autobots had entered the vessel and Snaptrap tensed. A quick glance towards the ship showed that the other two Autobots remained stationed at their posts and were preoccupied with the ship. Risking a quick transformation, Snaptrap summoned a glossy, metallic sphere from his subspace compartment and ran an armored finger across its surface. The paths of fate had come to a crossroads and only Primus could tell whether he would today walk the Pathways of the Dead. “For the fallen,” he whispered and pressed firmly into the center of the sphere.

Digger’s ship erupted into a flaming ball of coalescing crimson and gold, bathing the battered valley in a tinted red and orange hue. Debris from the interior of the ship rocketed outward, raining fiery death into the framework of the Autobot’s vessel. Stumbling from the molten blaze of metal and plastics, the writhing forms of three Autobots wailed in agony before collapsing to the ground in smouldering ruins. Caught completely by surprise, the two remaining Autobots were instantaneously consumed by tongues of flame that leapt outwards before being sucked back into the rapidly ascending mushroom cloud radiating upwards from the remains of Digger’s vessel. The Autobot’s ship jolted miserably and was lifted sharply into the air by the force of the explosion. Snaptrap took that as his opportunity to vacate the area. “Gnaw, come!” he shouted to the Sharkticon.

He turned, but the Sharkticon had already freed itself of the crater and was bounding across the boulder-strewn valley towards the Autobot ship. “Shards and ashes, Gnaw.” Snaptrap growled and leapt out of the crater as well and lumbered after the Sharkticon. The explosion had dealt more damage to the Autobot force than Snaptrap had initially calculated, so the odds of surviving this encounter had increased slightly. But he had no way of knowing how many Autobots remained inside the vessel and whether they had been able to communicate with their home base. Grace be with me, he thought.

Three Autobots emerged from the interior of their vessel, scrambling over the bent and useless loading ramp just as Gnaw reached the ship. Snarling, the Sharkticon leapt into the air and tumbled into the first of the Autobots, his massive jaws tearing into the figure’s armor and reducing it to useless shreds of metal. The Autobot screamed and fell backwards.

Snaptrap summoned his blaster from subspace and knelt, taking careful aim at the Autobots so as to avoid hitting his companion with an errant blast. He squeezed the trigger, reducing one Autobot’s head to vapors and molten metal, before the rampaging Sharkticon made it impossible for him to assist from a distance. “Slag and damnation,” he whispered and released the blaster back into subspace. “Gnaw,” he shouted. “Leave them be!”

The Sharkticon turned and looked at him, its maw agape and filled with bubbling green fluid. Taking advantage of the distraction, the remaining Autobot let loose a volley of plasma fire that caused Gnaw to erupt into a volcano of energon and shattered metal. Snaptrap howled and recalled his blaster from subspace as he charged, peppering the Autobot ship with thunderous blasts. Another companion slain needlessly, he realized. A sudden calm overtook him and he redoubled his charge, lumbering towards the ship. Gnaw had moved on to walk the Pathways but he would not leave another companion behind, even if it cost him his life. He reached the edge of the flaming remains of the ship, molten metal dripping towards the ground. Gnaw lay twitching on the ground, his body bathed in sticky green fluids. His jaw worked absently and his bulbous eyes stared vacantly into the sky. Snaptrap knelt and quickly gathered him into his arms. The creature weighed a great deal and Snaptrap knew he would be slowed, but this was something he had to do.

He barreled across the valley, shrugging aside boulders too cumbersome to dodge and made his way to the cliffs across from him. Formed from sandstone, their reddish-hued surface rose up at a sheer angle and cast towering shadows across the westernmost part of the valley. He took advantage of this and threw himself into the rubble. Let the Autobots follow him if they dared.

As he approached the cliff face, a narrow opening became visible in the surrounding sandstone. Roughly circular in shape, the edges were adorned with what Snaptrap surmised were Earthen carvings. Snaptrap paused before the opening and bowed his head, his body wracked with guilt and despair. So much had been lost in futile denial of fate. So much had been laid to waste because of his own pride and self-imposed dominion. He lifted a hand to the carvings and traced them gently before ducking low and entering into the cliff.

The deep crimson stone of the walls were smooth and even to the touch, contrasting the cluttered floor that was littered with the scattered debris of fallen rubble. Interspersed at regular intervals along the length of the ceiling and upper corners of the walls were recessed niches that housed within them cylindrical alloy piping. Much of the piping had become corroded and cracked with age, but the metal used in their bonding still remained strong enough to provide support for the tunnel walls. The air itself was thick with soot and dust and carried on it a heavy, musty scent.

After a short interval, Snaptrap found himself before the crumbling remains of stone steps that descended from the end of the tunnel into a broad, low-walled chamber of stone. Situated on either side of the cracked and weathered stairs were two shattered statues, the details of their likenesses long since faded into time. Still prominent within the carved plating of their chests, however, were the ancient insignias of the Decepticon Order. Decorating the walls beyond them, Snaptrap noticed the printing of Cybertronian runic patterns that blossomed outward from the bloodish stone beneath them. It was almost finished, he told himself. Primus willing, it was almost finished.

As he straightened his shoulders, a faint hum reached his optics and he spun himself about to come face to face with a battered Autobot femme. “By the Authority of the Autobot Empire, I order you to lay down your arms and await determent.” She steadied her arm and wiped away a thin layer of greenish fluid that coated the thin plating of her wrist.

“Well, well,” Snaptrap whispered. “And here I thought I was being hunted by something dangerous.”

“We don’t have to await determent.” She smiled. “I’d be just as happy to bring in your corpse. But that’s up to you.”

Snaptrap waved a hand dismissively and took a step towards her, causing her to tighten her grip on her concussion blaster. “You have no idea what I came here for, little Autobot.” He cocked his head and looked at her. In the dim illumination of the chamber, light given off by bulbous glow-crystals situated around the piping of the tunnel, her colorings were barely visible.

“Autobot and Decepticon, we are not so dissimilar,” she said. “We both want the same thing, in the end. A united Cybertron that is free of the yoke of slavery and oppression.” She smiled at him and Snaptrap thought that in another lifetime, they might have been comrades.

“The difference being, the Decepticons sought to achieve such ends through peaceful and diplomatic negotiations.”

She snorted. “Your philosophical shortcomings are not my concern.” He took a step backwards and turned to head down the stairs. A muffled blast echoed past his shoulder and a chunk of stone from the wall shattered into dust.

“I said halt, Decepticon. There’s already a unit on the way to bring you back. It will be a lot more messy if I have to clean up your pieces. And then there’s all the administrative stuff that comes along with bringing in a dead prisoner.” She sneered.

He turned and looked at her once more. “I harbor no desire to harm you, Arcee, but I will brook no interference.” With a speed belied by his size, Snaptrap dropped Gnaw’s unmoving form to the ground and closed the distance between them and threw her into the wall, knocking the blaster from her grip. “Your optics are clouded by Autobot propaganda. You think that simply because you wear the red sigil of the Empire that you are intimidating to me.,” he hissed and grabbed her by the nape of the neck. “I have brought thousands of Autobots to walk the Pathways, little femme. Had I truly come looking for trouble, you would already be dead.” He summoned his rifle from subspace and took aim at her blaster, reducing it to molten slag. “As it stands, I have other priorities.” He slammed her head against the wall and lifted her up by the neck, casually tossing her back towards the room’s entrance.

At the foot of the stairs was an expansive stone cavern, its walls bare and unadorned save for twisting cords of knotted steel that tangled themselves amidst each other in a complicated lattice of sparkling silver. Sprawled across the floor was a faint sigil, carved deep into the crimson sandstone and tinted in the traditional purple of the Decepticon Order. Situated on each corner of the sigil were four pillars, carved directly out of the stone of the cavern. The details on the pillars were crudely carved, but all stood in silent and eternal vigil around the Decepticon sigil.

Snaptrap stepped into the center of the cavern and looked around. The walls of the cavern had been hewn with master strokes, the artists having cleaved thin ribbons of plaited stone into the lengths of the walls. Set into the walls between these stone ribbons, numerous small niches, each no more than a hand-span in length, created a pulsing collage of dancing orange light. A shuffle from the stairs disturbed the silence of the room and Snaptrap frowned inwardly. “What is this place?” the femme hissed. She had pulled herself up from where she had been discarded and leaned unsteadily against the wall, her right hand massaging her throat.

Ignoring her, Snaptrap summoned a hexagonal container from his subspace compartment without replying. Snaptrap knelt and placed the container on the floor, before turning to face her. His optics narrowed as he watched a group of three additional Autobots descend the stairs behind her. “There will be no imprisonment, Autobot,” he began, “I am already on the point of being sacrificed; the time of my departure has come.” He glanced between the various mechs and sighed. “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” He turned to face them and a calm serenity took hold of him. Time seemed to slow down as he lifted his rifle. “I am now and forever a Decepticon and I will not cower before the machinations of a feral race of cowards.” He squeezed the trigger and snarled as his aim shattered the stone behind the furthest Autobot, causing him to tumble to the side. White sheets of pain laced through his circuits as his armored plating was pierced by repeated blasts of laser fire. He stumbled, falling to his knees, and sprayed the stairs again with plasma blasts. A second round of fire tore through his arm, shattering his hand and blowing a hole through his hip. He collapsed to the ground, his internal circuitry flickering and sparking as it attempted to reroute itself past the damaged pathways. He twitched reflexively as Arcee came to stand over him.

“It didn’t have to end this way,” she whispered. Though her voice was soft, it carried with it a tone of excitement and lust and her optics burned with anticipation.

Her voice was fading and the illumination of the cavern, dim and orange, began to give way to a brighter burst of light. “There was never any other possible outcome.” His voice was little more than a rasp, but he was already distantly removed from it. His optics flickered once then twice before he moved on to walk the Pathways.

Blackness engulfed him, his thoughts floating in a void of emptiness and darkness. The pain was gone, ripped from his circuits in a blissful barrage of plasma bursts. He felt an incredible sense of exultation for the first time in a thousand vorns, his spark free of the burden of guilt and despair. But the darkness rippled, disturbed by a pinprick of light. Snaptrap tried to avoid it, diving through the darkness in a frantic attempt to escape. He was at peace finally, at peace with himself and his past. But the light would not be ignored and he could feel its pull on his spark, drawing him slowly towards it. He fought harder, but the more effort he put into escaping the greater the light became. Soon the darkness became gray and, even quicker, it vanished altogether.

His optics flickered and then brightened, a blue sheen growing from behind the lenses as he became aware. With awareness, though, came pain and with pain came guilt. The burden was almost too much for him to bear and he groaned loudly. He tried to lift a hand, but found himself bound to a table. He jerked instinctively, a snarl ripping from his throat.

“Relax, Snaptrap. You’re among friends.” The voice was calm and soft, inviting even. He turned his head towards it. His optics were still flickering and not fully functional, so he was unable to make out the details of the mech’s face. The Decepticon sigil on his chest was vibrant and clear, though.

I made it, he thought to himself. He laid his head back and relaxed. “Gnaw,” he croaked. His voice sounded like the neutral he’d bought the Sharkticon from and he attempted to run an internal diagnostic. He shut it off immediately, though. The damage to his systems was immense. He had no desire to know the extent or why he had survived, yet again, while his friends rose to walk the Pathways.

“You mean the Sharkticon?” the mech asked. “Well, Sharkticons are resilient. To be honest, if he was an Autobot or Decepticon I don’t think he’d have survived. But then,” he paused and smiled. “Then again, you survived. A miracle, really. Onslaught’s the only one that really gave you any chance of survival.” He came and sat on the edge of the bed, his left leg reclining off the side. “Gnaw will live, a little worse for wear. But he’ll survive. Just like you.”

Snaptrap risked a glance down his body. It was nearly an unrecognizable mass of shredded metal, torn wiring, and melted alloys. “The components,” he whispered. The pain was immense, but his curiosity was even greater.

The Decepticon smiled. “They’re safe, Snaptrap. Megatron and Soundwave are looking at them now. It was costly, though.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “It was costly,” he repeated. “One of our bases was compromised by your arrival and retrieval. Though with what you brought us, it might just be worth it.” He stood up and patted Snaptrap on the shoulder. “Besides, we got to watch the Autobots and their femmes squabble for a bit. They distracted each other long enough for us to get in and out almost unnoticed.” He chuckled. “Even when they did finally notice us, they were too distrustful of each other to provide any real unified resistance. You don’t get entertainment like that every day.”
Snaptrap was weary and a cloud of conflicting emotion swirled violently within him. He had survived, against all odds. He had survived the destruction of Thetiset, the hunting raids, and the flight from Cybertron. Gnaw had survived as well and now had the opportunity to live a life of his own choosing, free from the yoke of the games. Free to find his own honor and path in life. But the surge of hope and contentment at those thoughts was clouded by a choking, nearly overwhelming, sense of despair at the thought of the future. He was tired and had no desire to continue fighting. For now, though, it was time to rest and recharge and let his auto-repair mechanisms do the job that they were designed for. He dimmed his optics and, for the first time in a long time, drifted off into an easy and relaxed rest.

“You betrayed me!” Prime’s bellow roared from his monitor and he leaned back, his features taking on an offended look.

“My Lord, I did no such thing. The information I gave you was entirely accurate, was it not” Was Snaptrap not exactly where I told you he would be?”

Prime leaned forward, so close to the monitor that his fiery blue optics dominated the screen. “Of course he was, you insignificant little speck. But so were a group of Elita-One’s femmes. And so were a group of Decepticons. I lost fifteen soldiers to your treachery.”

He raised his hands defensively and shook his head. “My Lord, I’m at a loss as to why your rage is directed at me. I have nothing to gain by this.” He furrowed his brow for a moment. “It is not my place to cast blame, Lord Prime, but surely logic would dictate that the presence of Elita-One’s minions is not a coincidence.” He paused before continuing. “And besides, my Lord, even if we were to assume I was responsible for notifying Elita-One, you surely cannot believe that I would have the resources capable of getting her to Earth unnoticed.”

The Warlord snarled and leaned back in his throne. “Arcee,” he whispered, though the sound was a throaty growl. “Very well, worm. Your payment will be deposited before the next cycle.” He motioned with a hand off to the side before the screen went dark.

He grinned and tapped his fingers along the edge of the console. Ah, Prime, he thought to himself. It couldn’t be this easy, could it? He silently scolded himself for that thought, though. He still had to contact Elita-One and she wouldn’t be nearly as easy to play. After taking a moment to compose his thoughts, he punched in a set of codes and waited for the connection to be established.

The pink and red femme’s face coalesced into view and he could see the blinding rage burning just behind her optics. “My contacts inform me that the ship had touched down. I trust you found what you were looking for?”

He involuntarily winced as she spat out her words. “What we found, you simpering little dog, was a faction of Autobots and Decepticons. The entire valley was a smoldering ball of shredded metal by the time we arrived.” She stopped suddenly and a warm and intoxicating smile lit across her face. “I’m afraid, though, that means we were unable to confirm Digger’s presence. Unfortunately, I guess that means you won’t be getting your payment.”

He smiled back, a genuinely warm smile, and shook his head. “While I had hoped that they might get through without being noticed, I anticipated they might not. So I had some ... friends install surveillance equipment in Digger’s ship. I’m sending you what was recorded before everything went to Primus in a handbasket.” He slid a disk into the console in front of him and punched in some keys. “I trust that you’ll find it satisfactory.”

She arched a brow slightly and looked away from the monitor. He could hear the recording in the background and watched her as she viewed Digger’s final moments. A look of lust and excitement crept over her face and a throaty groan escaped her lips. “Is that Snaptrap?” she asked. He nodded in silence. “Ah, how lovely. He is every bit as brutal as an Autobot when he wants to be. What a tasty end for such a doddering mech.” The smile vanished from her face as soon as it had appeared. “However, I lost two of my girls in that encounter. Strong warriors both of them.” He leaned back in his chair and remained silent. She smiled again suddenly. “Perhaps too strong, hm? You’ll have your payment tonight.” She reached forward and her image on his monitor disappeared.

He thumbed a knob and the lighting in his room brightened somewhat. He never ceased to be amazed at how utterly creepy the Autobots and their femmes could be. War was good for business, but they took personal pleasure in pain. Still, he thought, a client’s a client. He punched another set of keys and his monitor hummed to life once more. Swindle’s face appeared in the viewscreen and he looked a bit more haggard than the last time they’d talked. “You look like you just ran into Prime’s fist,” he commented.

The other mech chuckled and shook his head. “You don’t ever make things easy, do you?” He paused and looked away from the screen for a moment. “Your payment’s on its way. Snaptrap and his package made it. Would’ve been nice if you hadn’t leaked the information to the Autobots, but such is life.”

His optics widened in protest. “I don’t know what you mean, Swindle. I completely upheld my end of the bargain. I can’t be responsible for what goes on in the Empire. I’m just a lowly businessman.”

Swindle snorted and pointed a finger at the monitor. “Play coy all you want, Bandit. I’d have to be a fool to believe that you didn’t play every side for every last credit.” He paused. “Still, though, you came through. Next time, we’ll have to be a little more careful in how we word our request. You should be receiving your payment shortly.”

Bandit smiled. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Swindle.” In other times, he thought, in another universe he and Swindle might have been friends. He closed out the connection and leaned back. What a profitable little venture. It isn’t often that things fall into place so neatly or so richly. Yep, he thought, war was definitely good for business.

Snaptrap glanced up at the sky, tinted a bleeding reddish hue by the fading sun and sighed. Far below him, just beyond the precipice he found himself on, a natural river flowed its way through a lush and verdant valley overflowing with twisting vines and thickly leaved jallal trees. Flush against the river banks, numut vines sprawled their way across clusters of loreshi shrubs. The occasional eagle nest could be seen adoring the highest crowns of the trees and every now and then a splash of brilliant red and blue punctuated the otherwise vivid and uniform emerald of the foliage. He could make out Gnaw, almost fully recovered, thrashing about in the river below along with five other mechs. The Sharkticon seemed less restless and completely at ease now and it made Snaptrap glad. The sound of footsteps interrupted his reverie and he looked up to see Megatron approaching.

“You’re looking much better,” the Decepticon leader said to him as he settled to the ground beside him. Snaptrap grunted slightly and returned his gaze back to Gnaw and the others. “We owe you a debt, Snaptrap.” He motioned to the mechs down by the river as he spoke. “Those are the Decepticons you freed. Their components were on their way to Perceptor’s lab for whatever tainted purpose he had in mind. Because of you, they’re free.” He paused to let the words sink in.

“After everything, after all these years,” Snaptrap began, “does it really make a difference? In the grand scheme of things, with countless dead already and countless more yet to die, do five sparks really make a difference?” He scratched at his left leg, where the repair mechanisms were still working. It would be a long time before he considered himself fully functional. “Five sparks don’t even begin to make up for everything.”

Megatron tilted his head and looked at him. “You’re referring to Thetiset?” Snaptrap nodded.

“Thetiset was the home to some of the greatest minds of the Decepticons.” His voice was bitter as he spoke, tinged with a combination of regret and self-loathing. “But they were cowards, afraid to take on the Autobots. They brokered a truce. They give Prime their research and he would let them live.” He spat the last words out. “The Autobots thanked them by slaughtering their people.”

“Your people,” Megatron said. His words were soft, though, and without judgment.

“Aye, my people. I didn’t have any authority on the council, but I put up no protest. Eliara was the Judicator and I went along with her voice. Prime repaid her with death, keeping her abandoned corpse as a trophy in his War Room to remind the others of his power.”

“Snaptrap, what happened that day isn’t your fault. You need to learn to forgive yourself.”

Snaptrap lowered his head and dug his fingers into the ground. After so many years, he was tired and wanted nothing but to wash his spark of the guilt. “You don’t understand. When I found out about Prime’s betrayal I knew I couldn’t let the city’s most important research fall into his hands. He would have been unstoppable. When I saw Deftwing herding the population into the center of the city, I retreated into the lower catacombs where the research was kept and when I realized that it could no longer be protected, I destroyed it, bringing the entire city collapsing down on top of us.” He paused and his optics dimmed as he recalled the final moments of his city. “The Autobots had destroyed my people, I simply finished off my city. Destroyed it because I had lacked the conviction to stand against them.”

Megatron turned from Snaptrap and looked down at the Decepticons playing at the river. The reddish glow of the sky was rapidly fading and the first tendrils of twilight began to envelope the surroundings in a blanket of gray. “We’ve all made mistakes, Snaptrap. Some of us more than others and for some of us the mistakes have been costly. But there isn’t one of us that is untouched by the war. There isn’t one of us that wouldn’t take back decisions we’ve made.” He shook his head as he spoke. “In the end, all we have is what’s in front of us. We learn from our failures as well as our successes.” He nudged his hand upwards and pointed down towards the river again. “There’re six robots that are free because of you. But they’re without direction. Without purpose.” He turned back towards Snaptrap and the amiability for which he was known was displayed across his optics. “Finish what you started. They have the makings of a great team, but they will need focus.” He laid a hand on Snaptrap’s shoulder and leaned closer. “I know what happened at Thetiset. I know the guilt you carry. But I’ve also seen the mech you are. Whatever failings you had that day, you’ve already laid that aside. You’ve got all the qualities one could ask for in a leader.”

Megatron settled back and sighed. “They’ve all got specialties that we could use, especially here on Earth. We don’t have many soldiers that are equipped to carry out aquatic missions. Whatever role fate played in this, you delivered to us six Decepticons that fill that gap in our capabilities. We could use them ... desperately. And they could use you.” He paused. “So, what do you say” We can’t erase the past. What has happened has happened. But I can offer you the chance at absolution. Lead them. Help us.”

Snaptrap remained silent for awhile longer, musing over the offer. He was taken aback at the offer, unable to really comprehend why Megatron would offer him such trust. He could not argue with anything the Decepticon leader had said, but he still felt unease at the thought of assuming a leadership position again. Guilt was a hard thing to let go of once it had taken root in your spark. Still, though, everything has a beginning and the Decepticon leader was right. Mistakes, however costly they might occasionally be, were as much a part of you as every success. He could let himself be dragged down by them or he could learn from them and grow. In the end, the choice was simple. He had no desire to end life as Digger did. “So did you have a name in mind for the team?”

Megatron smiled and glanced back down at the river. “I was thinking that the Seacons might be appropriate, don’t you?”