Passion

Well, what do you make of my shot at the whole idea?

(You know, the more I see that Classics Mirage in pics, the more I want to see it re-decoed as Crasher - and an up-sized Grimlock would make a great Zodd!)


Gary

Is very interesting, I wanna see more. Branching from the IDW continuity's a very cool take on it. And making a plotpoint out of Leader-1's name is something I love to see (Yours is also in a completely different and less depressing direction than the one I came up with, hehe).

Well, I like my good guys to actually be good guys - even if it can be a little overwhelming from time to time!


Anyway, you should probably post any comments you have in the other thread - I don't want to hijack yours!


Gary

Very nice chapter. Can't wait for more!

We now return to Passion.

----------

"Ledge, Zepp, transform and retreat! Those scanners are the only information we have left!"

Draykon shouted orders as the GD Inmates advanced. Abrahms lay unmoving nearby.

"Tartan, you cover them! And everyone lay a blanket of fire on these escapees, now!"

Hums and whines filled the air as laser blasts slammed into the oncoming psychopaths. Screw Head staggered back, holding his arms forward to shield himself. The inmates, however, were unphased.

"It's the GD, Draykon," barked Tartan as he ran after the retreating Ledge and Zepp. "Laser fire isn't going to overheat a single circuit any more than the Disorder already has!"

The escapee inmates drew nearer, their forearms transforming into deranged melee weapons.

"Slag!" The commander threw her firearm aside. "Fine. All units--"

A GD inmate screeched maniacally, raising a bladed arm. Draykon's fist rammed straight into his optics, shattering the superstructure and sending him flying back.

"--switch to solid rounds!"

"On it," answered Reload. He ejected the plasma rounds from his pistols, as solid-ammunition cartridges ejected from his forearms and clicked into the firearms. He focused on the prone form of Abrahms, sprinting towards his partner and the inmates creeping towards his location. Reload fired pinpoint rounds at the aggressors, driving them back as bullet casings shredded through their outer plating.

Grabbing an oncoming blade in her palm, Draykon held off several GD inmates as they tried to swarm and overwhelm her. A sweeping backhand caved in half of one's face, but two more leapt forward as he fell twitching to the ground.

"I'm coming, buddy!" Reload dropkicked an inmate away from Abrahms as he blasted another in the sternum with his pistols. A third dove at him, knocking him to the ground. The inmate raised the spiked mallet of his right hand, bellowing incoherently. A spark shot from the inmate's shoulder as an internal glitch flared up, and that was all the time his intended victim needed. Reload's firearms rammed into the inmate's agape mouth, and their payload tore a hole out the back of his head.

"Where is that GoBot?!" Draykon pounded on an inmate's head as she tried to survey the scene. "Reload! Sit-rep! Reload!!"

----------

"You're clear," said Tartan. "Head back to the city as fast as you can."

"What about you?" asked Ledge.

Transforming back into robot mode, Tartan glanced at the distant battlefield. He absently ran a hand over one of his forearms.

"I need to go and earn my wage."

----------

Gently lifting Abrahms up from the ground in his palms, the red Cybertronian peered at his partner.

"Hey. Come on, get ahold of yourself." He smiled slightly as the old Nebulon-armoured man coughed and shook his head. "This seals it, we're getting some neural augmentations to keep you from passing out like that. It was barely anything."

"The world opens up beneath my feet," wheezed Abrahms, "and he calls it a tiny knock-khh..."

A shriek of metal on metal heralded Draykon's rise from the unmoving forms of several GD inmates. She paused for a moment to catch herself, trying to unkink a clogged servo in her neck. "Reload...the next time I ask for a sit-rep and you don't answer, I'm recording you as a casualty-"

Her optics froze on the massive form approaching Reload from behind. Gobotronic energy crackled around its fists as it drew nearer. Draykon tried to charge forward and intercept, but a prone inmate hooked a clawed hand into her ankle. Her attempt to call out a warning was subdued into a winded grunt as she crashed to the ground.

Turning at the noise, Reload's eyes widened as he saw Screw Head bearing down on him.

"Poor little locals," bellowed the Renegade GoBot. "Screwhead says, get ready to FRY!!"

Then, a tethered magnetic clamp clanked onto the GoBot's back. Screw Head began to turn around.

"Try someone in your own weight class, GoBot!"

Tartan shouted, a hydraulic pressure cartridge exploding out of his right forearm as he yanked back on the tether. Screw Head emitted a sound of surprise as the augmented pull lifted him off his feet. He soared over Tartan's head.

"HRRAAAAAAAGH!!" Tartan roared with exertion as he yanked on the tether once more, this time popping a pressure cartridge from his left forearm. Screw Head's limbs flailed as he was pulled in an arc through the air. Two more cartridges blasted from either side of Tartan's stomach, as his body twisted to spin the enormous Renegade like a morningstar.

Finally, he released. Screw Head soared on a collision course with the remaining inmates, and crashed into them with a deafening clatter.

The four combatants regrouped. Draykon nodded to Tartan.

"Thanks for the assist, Tartan."

"I'm just doing what you pay me for, ma'am."

"What on Quintessa is going on here?!" demanded Reload.

"Hang about," muttered Abrahms. "The show's not over yet."

Sizzling energy fused alloy to alloy as Screw Head rose once more. Four GD inmates had transformed into haphazard and jointed structures that combined with the GoBot's limbs.

"Combiner tech," hissed Tartan. "Is he insane? The neuronet unification alone will-"

"YyyYYOU cannot-t stSTOP the DESTINY of a GOBOT, f--fOOOLS!!" The combined form of Screw Head and his assault team lumbered forth. "I-I-I can see the fu-future...I can s-see the PLANET in FL-FLAMESS!!" Sparks began to burst from his temples.

"It's already happening, the blasted fool!" cried Tartan as he and the others stepped back. "The GD is infecting his mind!"

"I don't think he was aware that he'd been sent on a suicide mission," said Draykon flatly. "If he functions for another few cycles, the GD infection crossing with his Gobotronic power cells could level the area."

"On it, boss lady!" Reload sprinted forward, around Screw Head's feet. Then, he leapt onto the GoBot's back, scrambling towards his head.

"Tartan, enter melee and immobilize!"

"Aye, ma'am!"

Draykon and Tartan charged into Screw Head, each taking hold of one of his legs. The GoBot cackled, bringing his enormous arms down upon them several times.

"a-aAAANTS!! innSECTS at the FEET of a GG-GOD!!"

Suddenly, Screw Head's vision was obscured by a crimson shape. Reload pressed the barrels of his firearms into the GoBot's eyes, and pulled the triggers.

Multiple rounds entered the Renegade's cranium, shredding circuitry and shattering transistors. Reload kicked off Screw Head's face, landing several metres away. He dove to the ground, surprised, as Tartan and Draykon were swatted towards him.

Screw Head held his ragged combined form's hands over his face, fluids running from his eyes and mouth. "w-wWill tear yyOU apaa-rt f-for beSMIRCCHING y-your s-SUPERIOR!!"

"How...HOW is he still TALKING?!" Reload gaped.

"Unbelievable. The GD infection has completely subverted his processing," said Tartan. "His mind must be spread over the inmates that combined with him."

"How long until he goes up?" asked Draykon.

"I would say your peace now to avoid a rush, ma'am," answered Tartan.

"Get back!" barked Abrahms as he ran forward. "Get VERY far back!!" He raised his arms as they reconfigured with his fuel lines.

"Partner...?" Reload came to his senses and shouted, "Wait a click! You can't be serious, that stuff-"

"I'll buy you a new one!" Abrahms looked up at Screw Head's titanic form. "You want power? Have the best in the universe."

Gleaming, chrome fluid shot from Abrahm's fuel lines as he doused the raving GoBot. Once the liquid was spent, the diminutive semi-organic retreated. Screw Head glowed exponentially brighter.

"Fff-FFFOOL!! Now...n-NNOW I will tA-ke w-what is rRRIGHTfully MINE!! This planet...t-this SYSTEM...b-beautiful Gobotron!! The head of l-Leader-1 wi-will--lll--bbbbe mmm-mmiiiaaaaaahhhhkkkk--"

The combined body began to pale and glisten as its joints creaked. Its movements slowed as cracks formed around the points of fusion. Then, like a brittle felled timber, Screw Head crashed to the ground and shattered to pieces.

Slowly, the Cybertronians got to their feet. Draykon glanced down at Abrahms.

"What...?"

"Nucleon Atrophy," answered the Powermaster engine. "Overdose on the stuff, and more than your outer plating becomes cocoon material."

"That was all our Nucleon..." Reload sank to his knees. "It'll take solar cycles to restock that..."

"I'll go make sure the other two got back safely, and notify a cleanup crew," said Tartan. He transformed into vehicle mode and sped off as Draykon placed a hand on Reload's shoulder.

"You're going to need work to pay for something as rare and illegal as Nucleon, Reload."

"...I was getting off this sphere..."

"Come on, partner," said Abrahms. "At least we're with friends."

"Speak for yourself!" snapped Reload.

"On your feet, soldier." Draykon lifted Reload back to a standing position. "I'm sure that Contractor status and board will suffice."

"I have a bad feeling about this," moaned the red Cybertronian.

"Heh. I do too," said Abrahms. "But I would feel worse if we turned our backs on it."

----------

"Purpose, purpose, purpose."

The robot's cloak hung heavily over his wiry shoulders.

"Silly foreigner. Silly, puppet foreigner. Now we know how much they care."

He ran a lithe finger over the dead remains of Screw Head's face.

"And they care so little. Sending so few."

A small laughter filled the silence, briefly.

"Soon it will be curtain call again. The first climax approaches."

He pulled a compartment out of his throat, and replaced it with an almost-identical one of orange hue. His voice changed drastically.

"It is time for your tragedy, my sweet. Tragedy divine."

"Re-assignment."

General Armorscale's response hung in the air for several moments before Draykon replied.

"The escapees and their terrorist benefactors are still at large-"

"Only low-level security detail will be in action outside of the major cities for now, Sub-Commander. I need as much support as possible for the activation of New Iacon."

"But my report clearly stated-"

"-that solid-state ammunition is required to subdue those unfortunate individuals, yes." Armorscale paused briefly, having interrupted once again. "Extra supplies are already being fabricated on Moonbase Witwicky-1."

Maintaining her composure, Draykon remained silent as her superior officer continued to speak.

"Should the terrorist faction in question launch an attack, we will be more than ready. The GD Rehabilitation Facility incident is not going to happen again. Security in that place was already minimal, Sub-Commander. Once New Iacon is online, and the Maximal Reformatting Program is available to the public..."

Armorscale stood, walking out from behind his desk. He laid a hand on Draykon's shoulder.

"At ease, Draykon."

He moved to the window adjacent to his seat, and surveyed the view.

"Once our race has begun its next evolutionary step, those terrorists won't stand a chance. If they attack beforehand, we -are- ready for them this time. The inmates' weakness is covered, and the faction leader will have to deal with a lot of your peers. And me personally, if need be."

He looked up slightly.

"You know well enough that I won't let anything deter us from this path, Draykon. Ever since the Elders began to fall into disrepair, ever since the Giants went mad, all I've wanted to do was bring the Great Peace that our forefathers fought and died for. The Maximal program is the key."

Turning to face Draykon, Armorscale raised a hand to gesture as he continued.

"Think of it. Our greatest living ancestors, reborn and walking among us again. No more energy crises. No more arms races. Even the surviving Giant components...what could be more thrilling, more -symbolic- than a hero like Silverbolt soaring through our skies again?"

"The future is only two things, sir," replied Draykon. "Imminent, and hypothetical."

"Hopeful. Not just hypothetical."

"Expecting one of the Giants' cerebral cores to recouperate is -beyond- hopeful."

Looking down for a moment, Armorscale shrugged. "Well," he sighed, "my order still stands. Your history with the victims of the disease is tragic, Draykon. But I am not risking the success of the Maximal program to pursue them when we are more than prepared to defend ourselves right here."

With that, he turned and sat back at his desk. "Dismissed."

Wordlessly, Draykon left his office.

----------

"My, my. That is rather inexpensive."

"Almost at cost, friend," wheezed the aged robot. "Th' things barely run at half strength nowadays, what with there being no bots big enough to power th' energy cells."

"Such a shame."

Hacking a horrible chuckle, the aged robot replied. "Same's said for all of us respectable arms dealers, friend. No war, more laws, and back-alleys for business transactions."

"On that dubious topic, where shall I have the payment sent?"

"House of Swindle, we'll be there when you go looking." He winked a cracked optic. "And your new antiques?"

"Warehouse 17."

The aged robot choked on a cough. "Tha-- that's government, they-"

"Will discreetly welcome your delivery before quietly seeing you off."

The customer smiled warmly.

"And before logical connections begin to wrap themselves together inside that poor, addled mind of yours, I will remind you that I am providing a lot of currency for your goods. Amounts that would imply the hope of confidentiality."

The arms dealer just nodded.

"Excellent," said the customer. "And just in case the colloquialism has meaning to you, make sure you have a very Merry Christmas."

So now we have Go-Bot Renegades running around on Cybertron. Very interesting. I'm still enjoying it Vangelus. Keep it up!

I'll admit it was partly because Screw Head was the first name that came to mind when I wanted to have a drilltank. *cough*

Story isn't dead, I'm just scheming where I want it to go next. Also have been (yet again!) distracted by writing CoH/V character stuff.