Rodimus.

Is.

THE BEST.

Also, I have no idea what happened to Snaptrap, but it's kind of unsettling.

 

Happy! Joypy! Nice to meet yapy!

 

The moments following their apparent victory was a blur. It wasn't long after dragging himself out of the crumbling facility did Prime make a beeline for the Ark-- stumbling down the familiar hallways and ducking into his quarters before passing out on his recharge slab.

He heard voices.

I wonder Prime, I wonder…

When the worlds want you dead, where is the safest place to hide?

You have only experienced a taste of what my legacy offers, my friend. Millions are after your head, and soon, when I return, I will be one of them. You can struggle all you want, but it will not be long before you drown under the bodies of the hungry.

So where is the safest place to hide you ask?

Why, in sanity of course.

-----

Optimus woke softly, as if due to some cause-and-effect. A thick sickness lingered in the bottom of his throat. His fuel-pump felt like it was clogged by a large gob of sludge. His arms hung off either side of the slab-- lips rusted and stiff, and retinas ablaze from post system recharge. While his self-repair systems were online, many of the depressions and bruises across his limbs and chest plate remained. Pushing himself to do so, Optimus sat up and rubbed a digit across his optical lids before picking up his legs and dropping them off the side of the slab. On his feet, Optimus decided against driving (over the fear of a painful transformation) and made his way down the Ark’s halls on foot instead. Pausing to look out the Ark’s, Plexiglas windows, Optimus found that the cylindrical facility was nowhere in sight. The Ark had been attached to the Lost Light by a long tow-cable, connecting the ships through their centers.

Did we take off? Optimus wondered. He made his way to the main deck, and proceeded through the dock-cable and into the white and red ship. Working from memory, Optimus mapped his way to the bridge.

Waiting for him there was a plethora of familiar faces: Standing in the circle were Ironhide and Blackarachnia, their arms folded and facing Rodimus. They looked up at the same time, beaming at Optimus. Standing alongside them were Flareup and Firestar, and next to them were Drift and Nautica who were slouching beside their leader. Rodimus sat at the far left of the circle, easily the center of attention.

‘So then I said: “Murder charges? Don’t you mean more paint jobs?"’

Rodimus let out a high, squeaky laugh all by himself. When no one reacted, he forced a loud cough. ‘Cause—you get it right?’

Nautica shook her head, deadpanned. ‘No. It would seem your humour is much too complex for my mind.’

Rodimus rolled his optics over the sarcasm and turned to the twins. ‘You guys get what I’m saying, right?’

Flareup nodded. ‘Absolutely.’

‘Positively.’ Firestar echoed. The twins’ voices went back and forth in an almost zig-zag form of speech.

‘Hilarious.’

‘A laugh riot.’

‘Made my belly hurt from laughing so much’

‘Could’ve been clearer.’

‘It didn’t really made much sense.’

‘I have no idea what you said.’

‘I actually wasn’t listening. I was thinking of something else.’

The Prime batted a servo at them in annoyance as his optics traveled towards the entrance of the bridge, his optics locking with Optimus'. Rodimus clapped his hands together and extended a digit at the weak robot. ‘There’s mister big shot himself! How you feeling Optimus?’

Optimus dragged his feet towards the circle of Autobots, staring at the shoddily covered hole in Rodimus’ stomach. A black ring circled its circumference, and some newly formed metal plating sealed it shut. In Prime's medical opinion, the way it was nailed into place was half-assed at best.

‘Probably better than you. That hole in your stomach-- do you not have anyone to patch it up properly?’

Nautica made a rude gesture with one servo, waving her wrench with the other. ‘Hey, no one’s asking for your opinion! I’m an engineer-- not a doctor. From where I stand I think I did pretty darn well. Besides,’ Nautica reached over and tapped on Rodimus’s wound, ‘Primes have a faster regeneration cycle than your average Autobot— I barely needed to lift a finger.’

Optimus shook his head, sitting across from Nautica. ‘Sorry, I’m not questioning your skills in anything. I was just going to offer to patch it up myself.’ He turned to Rodimus. ‘But that can wait, first of all I’d like to uh... apologize for sleeping in. How long was I out?’

Ironhide shrugged his shoulders. ‘About a day and a half.’

Taking note on Prime’s expression, Rodimus raised his voice. ‘Don't worry about it. Most of us were out the moment we took off. Some of us still are actually,' he chuckled, 'Skids is still in bed, sleeping like a protoform on holiday.’

Optimus didn’t appear satisfied. ‘Well, enough of that. Would anyone mind filling me in on, well, everything that happened?’

‘Not much to fill in,’ Ironhide shifted his weight where he stood, his back was leaned against one of the bridge’s support pillars. ‘No fatal casualties on either side, and the six Decepticons were rounded up and buckled down with stasis cuffs.’

‘We called up ol' Prowl and he told us to leave them in the facility,’ Rodimus continued. ‘He’s sending a pickup team to arrest the poor suckers and strip their ship for spare parts.’

Optimus sighed, shaking his head mournfully. ‘It’s a shame, they had a nice ship— built to look exactly like the kind that runs on water via sails… Now that's a design element.’

Drift cocked his head to the side. ‘You are speaking of the same ship that nearly tore apart the Lost Light’s engines, correct?’

‘Yeah, I am. Just because it was Decepticon property, doesn’t mean I can’t respect it in some capacity.’ Optimus blinked, turning to face out the nearest window to take a look at his own prize. ‘Nothing like the Ark though—she’s the only ship for me…’

Optimus remained fixated on the golden Ark.

‘Um… guys?’ Nautica jabbed a finger at the Prime. ‘What’s his deal?’

Blackarachnia scratched the back of her head in embarrassment. ‘He… uh… he’s kind of—‘

Optimus shook his head passively, whispering words of praise for his ship under his breath.

‘You don’t want to know,’ Ironhide said as fast as he could. ‘He… really likes his ship. It's kind of awkward to talk about.’

‘ANYWAY!’ Rodimus stood up, straigtening himself out and snapping Optimus out of his trance. ‘We’ve got a few questions of our own if that’s completely okay with you.’

Optimus felt himself tense up.

Did Ironhide tell them? He hesitated, staring at the black Autobot. ‘What is it?’

Rodimus placed his hands on his hips, brow raised and head tilted. ‘Their leader, Snaptrap, what did you… do to him?’

He exhaled, ‘Sorry, would you mind debriefing me on the subject some? My memory’s a little foggy from the night before.’

‘You’re not the only one, and that’s exactly the problem.’ Rodimus clasped his hands as he explained. ‘When we found Snaptrap he was… well, to put it bluntly he had the mind of a child. We questioned him and for some reason he has no memories of the past one-thousand years of his life. The Surge, Megatron’s nightmare machine—just massive chunks have been ripped from his mind. He can barely remember anything past leaving his planet of birth.

‘Oh.’ Optimus nodded, memory resurfacing. ‘It’s a lot to take in, but yeah. Back in the facility, before we ran into the pirates, Ironhide, Blackarachnia and I found this... this door that… well… it’s a sort of…’ He groaned, turning to Ironhide for support. ‘Ironhide, help me out, what would you call that—thing, that—door, you know?’

‘Uhh…’ Ironhide massaged the ridge of his nose between his fore-finger and thumb, working the gears in his head. ‘It was… a magic door?’

Optimus snapped his fingers ecstatically. ‘Yes! Precisely, a magic door!’

Rodimus craned his head from Ironhide, to Optimus and back. ‘Okaaaay. What you’re saying is absurd and impossible and if I didn't know better, I'd say you were lying to me. But do go on.’

Optimus batted his servos at the other Prime. ‘Okay. So this magic door, it—we tried opening it to take a peek inside - and who wouldn't? We took turns: Blackarachnia, Ironhide, then me. I know it sounds silly, but whatever’s inside made us forget what it was the moment we turned away.’

‘It’s true,' Blackarachnia said with a nod. ‘It was some freaky slag. The kind of mind-scrap that makes you sick just remembering it.’ She paused. 'Or-- not remembering it. You know what I mean.'

Rodimus lowered his brow, observing Optimus carefully. ‘So when it came to Snaptrap…’

‘I knew I couldn’t beat him in a one on one fight, so I lured him to the door. We wrestled a bit, and I managed to kick him off of me and into the room behind the door. I shut it behind him and locked him in there for about a minute. When I let him out, he was just as you described. He didn’t lose his memories of the last few seconds like we did, the room sapped his memories of the past thousand years.’

‘Yeesh.’ Rodimus’ massaged the back of his neck. His lips pursing in unease. ‘I mean, great job, thank goodness that you won. But still, that’s kind of... morbid.’

'I didn't kill him!' Optimus said suddenly. Then he stopped, and tensed his shoulders. ‘...arguably. I just had to think on my feet, I didn’t consider whether the effects would be permanent or damaging at the time.’

Rodimus raised his servos in defense. ‘No, no. I’m not judging. After all, we managed to get through this scot-free, which is something I'm all for. It was a close one but frankly I’m satisfied. If I didn't have a gaping hole in my stomach, I'd call for a celebration party.'

‘Yeah,’ Blackarachnia tilted her head to the side. ‘A ship load of Autobots vs a couple of aft-holes. You sure showed them.’

‘They were big aft-holes…’ Rodimus retorted defensively. He shook his head. ‘I mean—you know what I mean. Besides, 90% of the Lost Light crew are non-combatants. Engineers and landscapers and such— misfits. Not all of us are as awesome as me.’

‘Well then…’ Optimus slapped his thighs before rising from his stool, ready to wrap things up before the topic drifted any closer to Rodimus' ego. ‘I think it's about time we called this “meeting” adjourned.’ He extended a commanding servo at Ironhide and Blackarachnia. ‘Head to the Ark when you’re ready. I’ll be there as soon as I finish patching up Rodimus.’

The flame coloured Prime fingered his hips as he stood, nodding to his Autobots '... You guys go with them-- help them move their stuff or whatever.’

In time, the Autobots had said their parting goodbyes and vacated the bridge until only Optimus and Rodimus remained.

Optimus wrung his hands as he observed the wound. ‘Alright, let’s see how bad this scrape really is. Curling his fingers around the plated metal covering his stomach, Optimus pressed the tips of his fingers around it and squeezed. Twisting his wrist and loosening the metal from the red plated mech. Rodimus’ stomach convulsed and squirmed as the shoddy slab had been peeled clean off like an unattended bandage. Hidden beneath is was the clean crevice that tore through his center, a twinkle of light peeking out the other side. The inside of the wound was leaking black and green viscos fluids while an ebony ring crusted the circle’s perimeter. Optimus looked up to find that Rodimus had been clenching his teeth the entire time.

‘Well,’ Optimus examined the rotting wound. ‘That’s not great.’

-----

Blackarachnia pouted her lower lip as she lifted another box of equipment. ‘I don’t remember bringing any of this shit on board with us when we were abducted. What is this junk from the Ark doing on your ship?’

Flareup and Firestar carried a large box from either side, their wide oval optics staring at Blackarachnia. Flareup spoke first. ‘Pirates raided your ship, grabbed every little tinker-toy you had stashed away.’

‘We raided their ship before we left.’

‘Grabbed your things while we were at it.’

'We raided the raiders.'

'A reverse-raid.'

'They were un-raided.'

Blackarachnia sighed, dragging the boxes onto the ship. ‘Yeah, well, the Ark doesn’t have much in it anyway, makes sense why these boxes are so light.’

‘They’re mostly pictures,’ Firestar said.

‘Wow, you looked?’

Flareup shook her head. ‘We just know. Optimus took most of the memorabilia from Earth with him when we split up. Photos mostly.’

Blackarachnia nodded passively. ‘So you guys were in the same squadron as the boss-bot huh? ‘Heard it fell. That must’ve sucked.’

The twins’ optics narrowed simultaneously. Firestar lips barely moved an inch. ‘Indeed.’

The three robots worked in silence for what felt like minutes.

‘How is Optimus?’ Flareup suddenly inquired.

Blackarachnia was taken aback. ‘How is he? I dunno. He’s okay I guess. A little preachy. Why do you ask?’

‘Because Rodimus isn’t. He’s healed, but he’s adopted some… characteristics after the purge.’

‘Oh.’ Blackarachnia chewed on her lip in thought. Thinking back to what she learned about Megatron’s death, and of what the Prime had said and done within the past week. ‘He’s… a little restless, but he hasn’t done anything I would call crazy. Yeah, he’s fine I’m sure.’

‘I see.’ Flareup nodded.

‘Many bad things happened on Earth,’ Firestar continued from where Flareup left off. ‘Their sparkling cities toppled over, their rich, green hills set ablaze, their oceans running red.’ Her expression turned sour. ‘The Decepticons are to blame for this. We’ll never forget earth—and we’ll never forgive them.’

‘Never forgive.’ Flareup echoed.

‘Wow, that's just... brutal...’ Blackarachnia scratched the back of her head, smiling uneasily. ‘But yeah, those Decepticons sure are—I mean, they are very… evil. Total scoundrels, huh?’

Blackarachnia shuffled to Flareup’s place, helping her slide the final box into the Ark’s boarding hall.

‘That should do it. So with you two as twins and all, do you have one of those mental-links? Like, do you two finish each other’s sentences or—?’

‘We know who you are ARA-003.’

Blackarachnia froze. Her optics shifting slowly from the boxes to the twins. Their frames suddenly appeared taller and broader than they did just a second ago. In fact, for a second Blackarachnia could have sworn she was shorter than the both of them.

‘Rodimus Prime hates to answer Prowl’s calls.’

‘But we do it anyway.’

‘As such, we pick up the current issues located by High Command. It has been determined that you were the one to have caused those outposts so much trouble the past month.’

‘Okay then.’ Blackarachnia raised her hands above her head in surrender. ‘So what are you going to do about it? Are you looking for a fight?’ A laugh leaked from her lips as her blades quivered. ‘If so then I can happily oblige. But you will die. And it will be messy. Just thought I'd warn you.’

Flareup raised the palms of her hands towards the spider, mirroring her previous action. ‘Relax, we don’t mean you trouble. We’d love to, but not here.’

‘Please know that your stay on this ship should not have lasted as long as it already has. We do not take to you kindly.’

‘But Optimus is our friend. If he has taken you under his wing, then we trust his judgement.’

Blackarachnia squinted her four optics as the twins turned to leave. ‘Right.’

Flareup and Firestar eyed each other one more time and nodded, a crisp smile forming across their lips. ‘Well. Done!’

The twins made their way back into the Lost Light with sudden enthusiasm as Blackarachnia followed them from a distance.
-----

‘And so I said: “Constructed Cold? I’m constructed HOT!”’ Rodimus chuckled to himself, wincing momentarily as Optimus shaved the dead skin around the wound with his scalpel.

The former medic made a “tch” noise with his teeth. ‘Quit complaining, your cells are already regenerating.’

‘I wasn’t complaining.’

‘No, but you were thinking it,’ A smile crept upon Prime’s lips. ‘Hey Rodimus, Optimus dipped his hand into the wound, reaching out the other side. ‘I can fit my entire arm through your stomach, hah!’

Rodimus belched nauseously, his optics dilating. ‘Hey, cut that out. It’s making me feel sick.’

Optimus retreated his arm, grinning. ‘Sorry, just having some fun. I haven't had the chance to properly repair somebody in a while. Say, I bet if we put soap inside you we could blow stomach sized bubbles out the other side as well.’

Rodimus frowned, gripping on to the kneeling Prime’s shoulder. ‘Seriously Optimus, not cool.’

He waved a calming servo. ‘Okay, okay. Say, where's Nightbeat? He still on the ship?’

The red and yellow Prime shook his head. ‘‘Fraid not. He hooked up with Siren not long after you left. 'Says he had some sort of important—IE Boring—work to attend to.’

‘Well, that’s unfortunate, I’m sure he’d love to hear the story of “Team Prime VS the Magic Door”. I’d have loved to hear his input on it.’

‘Yeah. 'S probably best to leave these sort of things up to him. It has nothing to do with us anyway.’

For the next couple of minutes, Optimus worked on Rodimus’ wound in silence, stitching and filling the wound with wire and regenerative paste.

‘It’s funny.’

‘What’s funny, Rodimus?’

‘You being a doctor. You're a Prime, an Autobot literally built to lead soldiers into battle-- and here you are playing the role of a medic. I don't mean to stereotype, but doctors aren't heroes. Doctors tend to be the guys that stay in the base while everyone else does the hero-ing.’

Optimus shrugged. ‘I wanted to be a doctor before Cybertron fell— before they found out I had Prime blood in me. I never finished my medical degree, but I still know the basics.’ He twirled his scalpel. ‘Shouldn’t matter really. There’s no reason I can’t act in both medicine and Prime-ing.’

Rodimus nodded slowly, staring at Optimus with awe. ‘You know, Team Rodimus could use a medic.’

‘No.’

There was another moment of silence, Rodimus didn’t want to pressure the other Prime, but he wasn’t going to drop the topic so easily. ‘Okay, why not?’

Optimus sighed. ‘I have my reasons, Rodimus. Reasons you will surely learn sooner or later. But not now.’ He folded his equipment and faced the flame-coloured Prime. ‘You have your own people to look after. People you need to learn how to look after. Regardless of what you think, I’m no better than you, I took a few jobs before the Surge but I’m still as new to this sort of thing as you are.’

Rodimus lifted his shoulder. ‘I mean, I guess. But—.’

‘I’m in a bad spot right now Rodimus, and I am not going to drag you or your team down with me.’ He stood. ‘I know you don’t fully understand yet, but I can only hope that when you eventually do find out—’

'OH!' Rodimus snapped his fingers. ‘You’re not in gambling debt or anything are you? Cause if so I know a great guy who could--’

Optimus shook his head. ‘No. Nothing that bad I suppose... Just...' He offered a hand, 'whatever happens, try to stay safe, okay?’

Rodimus cracked a smile and shook his hand. ‘Whatever you say, boss-bot.’

-----

Ironhide stood above the bored looking civilians of the Lost Light, there were about ten or so left listening to his PSA, as most had copped out as soon as he began acting out in charades.

He cleared his throat to speak. ‘Now remember kids, winners never… lose… drugs.’

The robots shrugged and made their way out of the corridor and back to the bar.

Ironhide rudely motioned at them to go before smacking himself in the face. ‘Bah, whatever. This kind of crap is Prime’s job anyway.’

‘Ironhide!’

It was Drift, the multi-coloured samurai approached the heavier robot, a wide grin plastered across his face. There was a positive aura about him that Ironhide could feel from metres away. Whatever that meant.

‘Drift.’

‘What was that all about?’

‘That? Oh, Optimus wanted me to make an impression on the young-uns for some reason.’

'And did it work?'

'No.'

Drift smiled partly. ‘So I see.’

Ironhide turned his attention to the three robots conversing at the other end of the hall. His optics squinting at Blackarachnia in particular.

‘Something troubling you?’

‘Just the Decepticon aboard the ship.’

Drift scratched the side of his helm apprehensively. ‘Oh, listen, Ironhide, if I--’

Ironhide grunted. ‘Yeah, that Blackarachnia. Murderer killed a bunch of Autobots. Optimus somehow thinks that it’s okay to keep her around to do as she pleases. I’m not so sure.’

Drift exhaled. ‘Well, I was confident you were going to say something bad about me. I mean, considering my own past.’

Ironhide snickered quietly. ‘Oh please, because your philosophy doesn’t permit guns? Forget about it. If anything I admire the way you fight.’

Drift laughed nervously, shying his head from the bulkier Autobot. ‘That’s not what I—.’

‘Drift used to be a Decepticon.’

To their surprise, Optimus had snuck in between the two, stunning them both with his sudden presence. He turned to Drift apologetically. ‘I'm... sorry, was that a supposed to be kept secret?’

Drift raised his hands in acceptance. ‘No. Yes. Well, I do like to keep that info on the down low. Especially around here.’

Ironhide’s expression was masked by a faceplate, but his optics were set in a state of manic confusion. ‘You were a Decepticon? You… were a Decepticon? But you’re…’

The ex-Decepticon shrugged. ‘Drift, yes. Decepticons can change, believe it or not. My name changed about as often as I did. Long ago I named myself Dreadlock after the deadly Destron ruler of old. But that just caused a tone of confusion so I dropped the “r” and changed it to Deadlock.’

‘As I thought.’ Optimus folded his arms. ‘So you were Deadlock, Conclave member of the Decepticons and City Commander before Sixshot.’

He nodded. ‘Yeah, but I didn’t hold that name for very long either. After I decided to bugger-off from the cons I—and I recognize the irony in this given our previous situation—joined a pirate crew under some guy named - unf - Cannonball I think it was? I ended up killing him and taking his name. Because apparently the title of Cannonball went on like that. I just went along with it.’

Optimus sniggered, prompting Ironhide to turn more confused.

‘I stopped being Cannonball after some time. I got stabbed and blown up a few times, but hey, I got lucky and escaped. I dipped in and out of some pirate crews after that and gave the title of Cannonball to some other shmuck before drifting towards the next fad. I could go over all the bizarre circles I became involved with... But it wasn't until I joined the Circle of Light did I drop being a con for good.'

Optimus beamed at his weapons specialist. ‘Well? What do you have to say to that, Ironhide?’

He merely clenched his fist and huffed. ‘I’ll be waiting in the Ark.’ Ironhide waved one of his cannons towards the femme at the other end of the hall. ‘BLACKARACHNIA!’ he roared. ‘Get on board, we’re leaving!’

The spider robot raised her hands in a fickle manner. ‘Okay, okay, I’m moving! Don’t get your giant granny-panties in a knot.’

Meeting in the doorway, Ironhide rushed the former Decepticon, pushing her by the shoulders into the Ark.

Drift bowed his head. ‘Well Prime, it was an honour to properly meet you in person. May we meet again in the future.’

Optimus nodded, then cleared his throat. ‘For our paths may someday cross, until then, look out to the stars, and, like, you know, pretend one of them is my soul or something. For then—ahem—we as Autobots will never truly be apart, we will forever strive together in a perpetual march for our lives, no matter how far apart we truly are.’

Drift stared at him dimly.

‘No wait… let me rephrase that.’

‘There’s no need.’ Drift bowed once again. ‘That was beautiful.'

As Drift disappeared down the corridor, Optimus grew weary of the remaining presence. ‘Well, what do you want?’ he turned to face the large, blue and red Autobot leaning against the Lost-Light’s silver walls. ‘Skids?’

The Autobot separated from the corridor and faced the Prime, his face a blank. ‘I’ll cut to the chase. I am an agent of Prowl. I was placed on Rodimus’s ship to observe him and make sure he doesn’t make any bad decisions. Like you, he’s a Prime and therefore a technical member of High Command.’

‘But this isn’t about him, is it?’ Optimus guessed.

‘Everything’s about you nowadays it seems.’ Skids made a guess of his own. ‘You’ve done something, Optimus, something… bad.’ He sighed. ‘Okay so I’m not actually trying to be coy, I really don’t know what that something is, and neither does Prowl. That’s why he’s asked me to keep an eye out for you.’

‘Yeah, well, I hate to say it, Skids, but loose lips sink ships.’

Skids nodded, clapping his hands together. ‘Right, no, I get that. But another thing, you’re also kind of off the grid. Like, way off the grid. In fact you’re one of the few Autobots out there that’s invisible to Prowl. I don’t know how you’ve masked your signature but… I’m sure it’s quite a story.’

Optimus laughed. ‘It's like I said.’ He made a zipping motion across his lips.

The agent sighed. ‘Look. He just wants a status report.’

‘Then tell him we’re fine, and if he wants to hear anything from me, then he can ask me directly.’

Skids blinked, clearing his throat suddenly and looking in the opposite direction. ‘Oh so—are you two like…’

‘No. We were at no point in time in any sort of romantic relationship.’ Optimus sighed.

There was a moment of silence.

‘I was going to say enemies.’

-----

Blackarachnia felt her resentment growing as Ironhide shoved her into the Ark. ‘Okay, OKAY. We’re inside the Ark now, enough with all the shoving. I mean, what are you? A shovel?’

She paused.

'That was a good joke. I'm almost certain that was a good joke.'

The femme turned around to face Ironhide to find the black robot eyeing down the docking-cable from which they came, scanning for any followers.

‘Well I thought it was funny.' She mirrored his body language satirically, trying to get a grip on what he was doing. 'What are you…? Oh I see what’s going on. This is the part where you kill me and make it look like an accident.’ She spread her arms out wide. ‘My jokes aren't that bad, but whatever. Come on then, don't waste my time. My elbow itches and I think my fuel pump's been dislocated.’

Ironhide lowered his guard. ‘I’m not going to kill you. Not yet at least. I just…’ Ironhide sighed.

‘What? What’s your deal, man?’

Ironhide grasped at the air as if doing so would better form a coherent sentence. ‘Look I… what you did, you… back in the cell, I thought you abandoned us, but you didn’t. If you didn’t come back with Rodimus we’d, well, we’d be dead.’

Blackarachnia scratched at her elbow. ‘I guess you could put it that way.’

‘What I’m trying to say is… since we’re not dead that is... that’s good! And… perhaps, maybe you are actually somewhat more helpful than I had initially thought. So-- yeah. That’s good stuff. That’s just-- keep up the good work.’

Blackarachnia tilted her head to the side and bared her teeth. ‘What's with you? I mean I’m not complaining, but… you’re not very good at self-expression. No... you’re not good at speaking-period. Are you?’

Ironhide fumed, allowing steam to escape from his faceplate. ‘No.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

'Just don't get any funny ideas. I'm still watching you... try anything, anything at all... and you'll regret it.'

She waved her claws in assurance, though to Ironhide that wasn't an answer.

The arrival of Optimus Prime was sounded by his heavy footsteps clammering up the dock-cable and into the Ark.

‘Sorry, I was just saying goodbye to someone. You kids are behaving, right?’

Ironhide and Blackarachnia shrugged in unison.

‘Anyway…’ Optimus turned around to dislodge the docking cable from the Ark, stopping with a servo hovered over the lever. ‘Before we go, I have to set things straight. You both know what I did, and you both know the danger this brings you. I am the most wanted Autobot in the Universe. Siding with me will only expose you to more maniacs like Snaptrap, and considering how likely it is for me to die in these upcoming months, your own lives will be placed in jeopardy. I am not forcing you on this ship, if either of you want out, then by all means, I can guarantee you’ll be accepted a spot on the Lost Light.’

Ironhide shook his head not long before Optimus had finished. ‘I’ve given it some thought, Prime, and I decided that whatever the case-- whatever the danger... I’m still going to rain down hell by your side.’

Optimus smiled thankfully at the weapons specialist before turning to Blackarachnia.

‘Oh, what? You’re waiting for me to say—? Well, I’m already being hunted by the cons so it's not like it makes any difference for me.’ She shrugged, smiling slightly. ‘Besides, misery loves company.’

Convinced, Optimus pulled the lever and the two ships detached. After a few quiet minutes, the Lost Light shrunk out of view, and disappeared into space.

Optimus clapped his hands. ‘Alright Ironhide, boot up the engine, it’s time to move out!'

Ironhide made a quick, casual salute and galumphed off towards the Ark’s main deck in long strides. He stopped mid-way to turn around and extended a finger at Blackarachnia. ‘When I get back, I better not find you doing anything… evil.’

Blackarachnia slouched over moodily. ‘Yeah, and what are you supposed to be? The evil police?’

‘I don’t even know how to respond to that.’

‘I think we already firmly established that you wouldn’t know how to respond to anything.’

‘Yeah well…’ He disappeared around the corner, his voice fading as his traveled. ‘Thanks…’

With Ironhide gone, Blackarachnia’s expression dropped as she slowly turned to Optimus. Her four optics were uncharacteristically flickering with hesitation. ‘Look, Prime. There’s something I have to… confess.’

‘I know.’

She reared her head, unsure if he was serious or not. ‘Well… look, back when I was let out of the cell, I meant what I said. I had no intention of coming back to save you at the time and… it was pretty much by chance I bumped into Rodimus.’ She shifted her stance. ‘I’m not one to apologize or nothing—but I’m still grateful to be here, don’t get me wrong. I just decided that maybe it would be best to be honest too. Is any of this getting through to you?’

Optimus repeated himself. ‘I know. I didn’t expect you to know where to find Rodimus, and I could tell that you were serious back in the Poseidon. Chances are I would have done the same thing in your shoes. You’re a part of my crew now, and if you decide on being pragmatic, then by all means, I’m not going to reign you down for trying to save your own hide. Still…’ Optimus shortened the distance between them and imposed upon the smaller robot. His voice like a whip. ‘I’m not so quick to forgive you for what you did. You killed Cog and Incision… and nearly killed Ironhide. If we are truly being honest with each other, I still hate you for it, and I do not forgive easily.’

Blackarachnia didn’t budge, her composure remained defiant in the face of the broad-shouldered warrior.

‘But…’ Optimus was yet to be finished. ‘You are still wrapped in the same mess we are, and for that I share a level of empathy for you. I spared you for a reason, but that said, I don't care how it's done in Decepticon boot camp; I fully expect you to take your comrades into consideration in the near future.’

His communicator rang. ‘Optimus, this is Ironhide. I’m ready to lift off but I’m having trouble again. I’m not sure what to press for Autopilot. All these buttons look alike to me.’

‘I’m thankful for the save, and I know that Ironhide is too. And while I admit that there’s a lot keeping me from trusting you—this conversation here and now—the fact that you’re admitting to your mistake is a big plus in itself. Now hold on for just a minute...’

He took a step back from Blackarachnia and pressed a small module against the side of his head. ‘Hey ‘Hide, what’s the problem?’

Ironhide’s voice fizzled through the comm-link at a grainy frequency. ‘Yeah, I’m trying to boot up the ship’s autopilot and I don’t think I’m doing it right.’

‘Are you pulling the knob? You need to be pulling the knob.’

‘I’m tugging the knob. I swear I’m tugging it.’

‘Then try to loosen it a bit. Twist the tip a little and maybe then it’d work. Don’t be surprised if it shoots oil at you.’

Blackarachnia slapped herself in the forehead. ‘I don’t believe this. This is the second time you’ve done this and you still haven’t realized what you’re saying.’

‘What I’m sayi—’ Optimus snapped his fingers. ‘Oh hell, you’re right! I can’t believe I said that. Ironhide, we’ve made a big mistake. You’re supposed to stick your finger in the hole to do it.’

‘Oh.’

The Ark’s engine woke into an elevating hum as the ship jerked.

‘Why do you even do this?’ Blackarachnia wondered aloud, bowing her head away from Optimus. ‘The innuendo isn’t even funny…’

‘Innu-what now?’

Ironhide jogged over to the pair. Huffing lightly into his faceplate. ‘I finished quicker than before.’

Blackarachnia sniggered to herself, prompting a glare from the dark weapons specialist.

Somehow, Ironhide’s perpetual glare had deepened further, much to Blackarachnia’s puzzlement. ‘What’s so funny?’

She waved a hand foxily. ‘Nothing whatsoever. I think it’s great to see you getting some exercise to work off all that extra weight.’

Light seared from Ironhide’s eyes as Optimus patted him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t listen Ironhide, she’s just jealous.’ Ironhide let out an audible sigh and whirred his head to either side of the hallway, wondering what’s next.

‘See?’ Optimus leaned against the wall to his left. ‘This is what I’m talking about. The two of you fight now… but for us to properly grow as a team, we must learn to treat each-other with respect…’

‘Oh no.’ Ironhide and Blackarachnia spoke in unison.

‘For true bonds are formed with trust and honesty and—and friendship! By working together, we can prove that we are more than a bunch of cogs in the great machine. We are working cogs in a really great machine. I think there is a very important moral to our story today. Be nice and honest with one another, in other words, don’t believe in yourselves… You, Ironhide, believe in the Blackarachnia that believes in you. And You, Blackarachnia, believe in the Ironhide that believes in you! By doing this, I think we can all—.’

Prime’s speech was caught short as the wall he had been leaning on folded inward, disappearing and becoming a wide, empty doorway. Losing his balance, Optimus fell into the newly formed stare well, and down the subsequent set of cruelly placed steps.

Blackarachnia grabbed her stomach and cackled out loud. ‘When even the Ark hates your speeches, then you know you’ve struck low.’

Ironhide pounded a swift jab into her shoulder. ‘Hey now, be respectful.’ He turned and studied the darkness of the cellar. ‘A hidden room on the Ark… Prime! You alright?’

Optimus’s groans could be heard from below. ‘Agh… I fell on my aft.’

The burly Autobot cracked a smile. ‘Heheh…’ realizing his own hypocrisy, Ironhide quickly erased his expression and cleared his throat. ‘What is this passageway?’ He called out once again. ‘Did you know about this?’

Optimus’s voice reverberated from within, the echoes distorting his words somewhat. ‘Yeah, I’m beginning to recall… oh hey!’

‘What? What did you find?’

The sounds of metal stomping on metal reverberated and grew in volume as Optimus climbed back up the musty, metal steps. In his hand was a small, glass, cube of swirling pink energy.

‘Check it out.’ He said, holding the cube forward. ‘Energon!’

Ironhide bent over and studied the cube thoroughly. ‘Where did you find this?’ he asked, tapping at the glass.

Optimus waggled a finger and flicked a switch from inside the doorway. The staircase came alight and the cellar’s floor was illuminated. Below, stacks upon stacks of Energon aligned the bottom of the steps. Enough to last them a couple of months at least. ‘Remember when I said I traded away all my weaponry? Well, it must have slipped my mind, but I traded it all for spare Energon. Turns out I had it stored down here all along.’

‘Wait. Wait. Wait.’ Blackarachnia pressed her thumbs together anxiously. ‘Let me wrap my head around this for just a sec. Are you telling me that you’ve had this stockpile of Energon under your nose this whole time?!’

Optimus tensed his shoulders. ‘Yeah. Which, admittedly means that no, in the end we didn’t need to go on that high stakes, life threatening and possibly life-scarring pirate adventure in order to get the Energon. But hey, don’t look so mad—think of all the—heh—all the friendship and… trust exercises this did for us. And… I mean—right guys? …Guys?’

Blackarachnia and Ironhide shared a look before jumping forward and simultaneously tackling Optimus to the ground and placing him in a double headlock.

Optimus let out a nervous laugh as the three robots squirmed on the floor. ‘Heh… see… you’re teaming up… on me… the two of you are… bonding… already.’

‘Would you care to do the honours Blackarachnia?’

‘I would be honoured good Ironhide.’

For the next few minutes. Blackarachnia and Ironhide took turns giving their commander his fair share of playful headlock noogies. Just as the Ark set its course towards Talon IV.

-----

‘So it’s true then? You don’t remember anything past Barbarossa?’

The cuffed Snaptrap shook his head. ‘No sir.’

‘Not the battle of the Pyke? The sack of Predaking’s Landing? The fall of Primal Prime and Alpha Supreme?’

He repeated himself

Nautilator would have scratched his chin, could he have if he wasn’t already bound by his cuffs. ‘Interesting. Then I suppose you also don’t remember all those promotions Megatron gave me?’

‘Oh hush up Nautilator!’ Scylla hissed. The Seacon was uncomfortable enough having been locked up inside a dark, cold, abandoned science facility, but she especially did not appreciate the constant chatter of her comrades whatsoever.

‘Geez, you’re in a bad mood.’

‘Of course I’m in a bad mood, Jawbreaker, we lost! And in the stupidest way imaginable!’

The Seacons nodded in subtle agreement, though Snaptrap remained perplexed.

‘I can’t believe we let the freaking spider-bitch free. I can’t believe—UGH!’ Scylla fell onto her back in irritation. ‘If we are ever free again. No mercy. Never.’

‘Even if it’s a baby?!’ Nautilator gasped.

‘ESPECIALLY if it’s a baby! I will eat a baby if I have to!’

‘Hey guys!’ Seawing spoke up, garnering some passive attention. ‘Do you hear that? Sounds like a quantum engine. I think the Autobots are here to pick us up…’

Scylla sighed. ‘Joy…’

-----

Sonar watched from her command chair aboard the Trion assault ship as it warped within a mile of the facility-- her digits nestling over the chair’s functions. Below her were a row of bots working on multiple glowing view-screens and monitors, managing the ships navigation and stability swifty and efficiently.

‘We’ve arrived at our destination, ma’am.’

Sonar flicked a digit towards the overhead monitor. ‘Pointblank, focus the lens—activate the automatic lock-on systems. Let’s get a clearer shot of this thing.’

She waited, and the overhead view zoomed in on the cylindrical facility. Chunks of metal from the structure could be seen floating away from its body as a result of the previous battle. Sonar activated her communicube and raised it to her lips. ‘Can you see this?’

‘I can.’ Prowl’s voice vibrated from the cube.

‘Have you seen anything like it before?’

‘I have. But it’s of no importance. Not anymore.’

‘Ah. So you want me to—‘

‘Yes.’

‘Got it.’

Sonar raised two of her digits above her head. ‘Gunrunner, charge rail-battery to 78%’

‘Already done.’ Replied a gravelly voice from above.

‘Good. Then fire.’

Coming to life, the Trion groaned and sputtered as its nosecone split apart, revealing the barrel of a massive cannon from within. An emerald light gathered around the tip of the barrel before spreading outward into a sonic boom. At full precision charge, the cannon shot a massive beam of green energy through the facility. The tall cylinder was ripped apart by the weight of the blast as sheets of metal curled and shattered around the emerald fireball. The blast was wide enough to send splashes of green light across the titan’s hull and send the artificial gravity askew for 0.4 of a second. As the blast reached its radius, cracks of white lightning erupted from the green clouds. The facility was unrecognizable.

‘Do you think any of them survived?’ Sonar asked into her communicube.

‘They probably did. We can survive anything nowadays. Send Rad, Fallout and Sizzle to retrieve them. You know the drill, tag them, bag them, and bring them to Wheeljack for decommissioning.’

‘Yes sir.’

-----

Prowl turned off his console and returned to his desk work.

Something was off. He was not sure what, but for the past week, something about the state of the war seemed to be… unbalanced. That’s it. He decided, he was going to figure out what had left him with this bitter taste in his mouth, and he was determined to do find out as soon as possible.

 

Okay. First of all, I ship Ironhide and Blackarachnia now.

Second, HOLY HELL YES TALON IV MORE METROID

 

Episode 5

The Autobot Orbital Hub was illuminated by the coming rise of the nearby orbiting sun. The space station was city-like in shape and was a quarter of a size larger than New Kaon with piercing skyscrapers just as tall and streets just as wide. The sun slathered the wide open vistas and smooth reflective streets in an orange glow that brought colour to the cities otherwise dull and tedious atmosphere. Translucent blue street-lights and illuminating rims flickered to life, blending in with the cities silver and blue landscape.

Many of the Hub’s military towers featured a number of see-through glass tubes that connected between them for easier accessibility. Primus knew they needed them when considering how convenient it made inter building travel—especially so for someone such as Hubcap, whose function required restricting himself to three buildings at a time: The main war tower, the barracks, and the civilian housing center. Not that Hubcap could complain, he was built mere days before Wench had inserted the final transport tube into the Hub’s frame. And with his function planned from the start, Sentinel cheekily granted him the name of “Hubcap” during training. A robot born to stay inside, rework communications and broker deals with the races of the Galaxy from the safety of the Hub. Again, Hubcap couldn’t complain. He liked his job and his degree of power in the Autobot hierarchy. The convenience of the buildings was a perfect example of head architect Grapple’s genius, who he got to know personally.

Passing between buildings via transport tube, Hubcap made a mental note as to compliment Grapple as soon as he returned from his progress check on the reconstruction of Kangask IV’s research center (it had received major structural damage after an assault led by Soundwave two years prior). Thanks to his smaller frame and compact vehicle mode, Hubcap was granted the permission to drive through the tighter hallways. Something that made his engine buzz in delight. The small Cybertronian car whizzed through the Command center’s corridor and onwards to Prowl’s office. Transforming quietly into his robot mode, Hubcap knocked gently on the door, prompting a muffled voice to call from within.

'One moment!’

Hubcap tapped his foot against the floor. It wasn’t as though Prowl was busy—sure he was second only to Magnus and was therefore hunkered down with loads of work and responsibilities, but the war had other ways of looking at it. You either perceived the multiple guilds and counter objectives as a matter of chaos and pseudo-anarchy, or you viewed the scattered, uncoordinated state of both Autobot and Decepticon armadas as aspects that required decidedly less thought than the "official" command's more neighborly problems. Hubcap felt the latter. He never took it for granted, of course, but despite being tasked with all the duties associated with Communications Commander, his wider pool of free-time allowed him to focus on his preferred self-assigned profession as the notorious Autobot deal-broker—a task that allowed him to put his power of charisma and negotiation to good use. Annoyed, Hubcap entered the room unannounced to find Prowl sitting at his desk and facing away from the door.

Hubcap popped his head through and called over to the officer in question. ‘Hey Prowl, buddy. The caffeinated energon maker in the main hall is busted so I was wondering if yours is still… functional—hey is everything alright?’

Prowl’s fingers tapped against his desk as he swiveled around in his chair. His face now mirrored with Hubcap’s—albeit with the minor difference in the fact that Prowl had his cheeks puffed out. It wasn’t hard to tell, but the officer’s mouth was completely stuffed with the Cybertronian equivalent of donuts. An “Ener-Gonut.”

-----

‘I don’t see what’s got you so up in arms about this. It’s just a break.’

Hubcap and Prowl walked down the center’s corridors, the rising sun staining the floor gold. Prowl was nothing short of disgruntled.

‘You don’t understand.’ The High Commander grumbled. ‘I can’t afford breaks. I'm Prowl. I do not act like a hard-ass by chance, Hubcap. I act this way to make an example. To keep people in line. Because if I don't, who else is going to manage this place?’ He dragged a servo across his face. ‘What happened just now, though. I've been slacking off from my role. I've been letting my guard down and... it's unsuited of me. It's inappropriate.

It took the communications officer a moment to grasp what he was trying to say. ‘The gonuts? So what, you like gonuts, plenty of people like gonuts, it’s doesn’t suck to like gonuts.’

Prowl stared at his hands. ‘I even said "don't mind if I do" when I tried one. It's a problem, Hubcap. I can't afford to slack off like this."

Hubcap moved ahead as they entered the tighter space of the transport tube. He walked backwards, grinning up at Prowl as they advanced from the residential building and into the war tower.

‘Well hey, no one can blame you for taking some time off. Everyone already knows you never let yourself sleep. And I’m sure everyone is already aware of your gonut obsession, they’re all talking about how much weight you gained as of late.’

Prowl groaned. ‘The difference between you and I, Hubcap, is that I stay up late working on and concocting ways to regain territory and maintain our steady advance into Decepticon-held territory, while you stay up all night blathering away to your acquaintances and—‘ He blinked. ‘Wait, did you just say-- are you--do people think…’

‘That you’re getting fat?’ Hubcap finished, slyly. ‘Well you are a popular topic for gossip, dude, and besides…’ he jabbed lightly at Prowl’s stomach. ‘You have been getting a little chubby as of late.’

Prowl’s expression transformed from a blazing scowl to a look of calm. ‘Hubcap, you are one of the most reliable communications specialists on the Hub. But just remember that if I wanted to, I could demote you twice for every promotion you ever received. Not that I will, not that I have a reason to, but theoretically, I could."

Hubcap raised his servos in surrender. ‘Okay, okay. I’m just having fun. Fun, no? Doesn't ring any bells? You should try it sometime. It might make you less of an ice queen.’

‘I don’t know what that is.’

He shook his head. Placing a hand on the door to the main war room. ‘Never mind. What I mean to say is that you should learn to accept breaks once in a while. The war is at an all-time low, the Decepticons are practically non-existent since that drone unit was taken care of, and with the majority of free-space belonging to the Autobots we’ve got all the time in the world to relax. Lemme tell you Prowl, everything is a-okay!’

The war room’s doors parted and the two Autobots were exposed to the horrors within.

‘NOTHING IS OKAY!’

Camshaft and Overdrive were driving circles around the gargantuan chamber in vehicle modes, apparently with the intention of transferring information that could not be processed under the filled up coms channels. Blaster and Mainframe were practically leaking themselves as they worked their fingers on the control panels—their voices rising between pitches as Eject jumped between them, inputting his own directives. To the left of them a fire broke, prompting Flashpoint to waste no time in dowsing the flames with ******ant foam. The red Autobot turned their spray to Smokescreen; who was rolling on the ground upon catching fire. While many Autobots scrambled over each-other in panic, there were those like Groundbreaker that stood dumbfounded by the abrupt change in pace. Searchlight sprinted over to Prowl, grabbing him by the shoulders.

‘Prowl! Where the hell have you been—you have crumbs on your face by the way— but more importantly, it's been crazy in here! The Decepticons are attacking from all over and they’ve already breached Autobot space!’

Prowl sprang into action. ‘Why didn't anybody try to contact me--'

'Our comms channels have overwhelmed the network,' Searchlight explained. 'When outfitting the Hub, we never expected to receive contact from so many sources at once. Our priorities are contacts with areas that are in immediate danger. Not even Mirage knows what's going on.'

'Whatever. Hubcap! To your post, assist Blaster and Eject in filtering communications!’

‘On it.’

He turned to the main command chair where Ultra Magnus took his place, the towering Supreme Commander spoke through to the major locations where conflict arose. On closer inspection, Magnus had in fact been multitasking with the wide holo-screen in front of him. His right hand—having long been upgraded by Wheeljack to have ten malleable digits—moved across the screen, inputting messages and commands via text.

The Magnus’s voice remained calm under the pressure of multiple reports flowing into his head.

‘This is Springer. The Wreckers and I are bunkered down—It looks like Skyquake and Shrapnel have merged forces and are trying to take us out in one giant assault. It's not pretty.’

‘Xaaron reporting. We’ve caught multiple Decepticon scouts observing the remains of Cybertron. It is unknown if they are trying to hinder the restoration project, or to perhaps capture the area for their future benefit.’

‘Devcon here, I don’t know if this has been reported yet, but the Vestial Imperium has apparently experienced a large volume of Decepticon incursions passing their borders. I mean, I know this isn’t uncommon, but their bounty list has skyrocketed!’

Ultra Magnus cleared his throat before addressing them, his multi-jointed fingers pressing rapidly against the holo-screen. ‘Springer, launch a base of operations and remain on the defensive until further notice. T’muun cannot fall into Decepticon hands. Xaaron, continue the Cybertron Restoration project as scheduled—Ramhorn, Steeljaw and Quickswitch are on their way there to reinforce your guard as we speak. Devcon, you are authorized to hunt for the Decepticons in that area independently as previously agreed. In the meantime, I will schedule a conference with the Liege Centuro to negotiate further Autobot co-operation with the Imperium.

As the calls channeled through, Ultra Magnus turned to the newly arrived Autobots. ‘Hubcap, punch in a connection to Silverbolt, tell him to send air support to any nearby colonies in dire need of it. Prowl, calculate the top thirty guilds in this sector that may come under Decepticon attack— send Bluestreak’s infiltration team and get some boots on the ground before the Decepticons do. Pronto.’

Prowl finished tapping the orders into his wrist. ‘Already ahead of you. What's next?’

Magnus didn’t answer, his fingers tapped in some final commands before turning in his chair and using his hammer to prop himself on to his feet.

‘Sir?’

With the commotion lowering to a calm and the fires put out, Ultra Magnus left the remaining communications work to Blaster and Hubcap. At standing height, Magnus towered above the rest, his shoulder-stacks alone nearly touching the ceiling above. Nearly twice Prowl’s height, there was no doubt that Magnus’s title as the Autobots “Ultimate Warrior” was accurately placed. ‘It would appear that all of our major offences are under control. I’d advise that you continue your scheduled duties until further updates are made available.’

Prowl uncurled his fingers into open palms. His neck straining to look up at the Supreme Commander. ‘But… sir. What happened just now—we’re facing multiple attacks from major Decepticon squadrons! We cannot write this off as a non-event!’

Magnus raised a large hand. ‘And we're not. Let the assault commanders handle their assaults. We have other matters to attend to. The Decepticons haven’t been this restless since the Surge, and if we are to find out why, we need to use as much brain as we do brawn.’

‘Sounds to me like they were just sick of targeting the little guys and wanted to expand their appetite.’ Hubcap mentioned off-handily from his terminal. ‘Remember the years of false-calm? We could be seeing another one of those only, heh, decidedly less calm.’

Prowl shook his head. ‘Unlikely. After so many years of random incursions, this is too well-co-ordinated. Either the Decepticons are working on their own merit or… no. Something is off here, and I don’t think we’ll find our explanation through sheer guessing games alone.’

Magnus remained stoic, his optics narrowing. ‘That is irrelevant. Prowl, I understand that you have been conducting research on an anomaly regarding some of the Hub’s POW’s. Perhaps your interrogation will offer an... alternative perspective on the matter.’

Prowl surveyed the command room skeptically. ‘Are you certain I won’t be of better use here?’

Magnus’s ten-fingered servo formed into two large tongs, allowing them to gently cusp over Prowl’s shoulder. ‘I will manage things for now. If there’s anyone I expect to come to the bottom of these attacks, it’s you.’

-----

‘Bomp.’

‘Getaway I’m not doing this.’

‘Bomp.’

Prowl stopped his trek thrusted a nimble servo behind Getaway, curling his fingers around his wrist and bending his arm backwards.

The perky, silver and bronze Autobot winced, tugging his arm away and moaning quietly. ‘Okay, okay, jeez. I was just trying to lighten the mood! It's not my fault you're a total bore to talk to sometimes.’

Prowl stiffened his lip and released the agent before advancing throughout the Hub’s lower levels. ‘I would much rather be a bore than an annoying brat.'

Getaway made a “pfft” noise through his vents and continued behind his superior officer. ‘Brat... come on now, Prowl. You don’t have to act so edgy all the time.’

Prowl jutted his jaw and quickened his pace. ‘I do. More than you know.’

Getaway pressed the digits of his servos against one another as they approached the temporary POW cellar. ‘If it’s security that’s making you stiff then don’t worry: Red has this whole place checked out. I watched over the cell’s construction myself and I can tell you that no one can escape.' His optics flashed momentarily. 'Well, no one except me of course, but then that’s a bit of an unfair advantage considering my own genuine greatness. Also because I helped with the security measures, and know how everything works--but still.’

Approaching the cellar, Prowl needed no identification, his face was practically synonymous with the Autobot symbol at this point. Passing through the first security checkpoint and down another hallway, the second checkpoint required them to stop. Guarding it was Kick-Off, Boss and Joyride (Boss was assigned by Prowl not long after the predicament occurred, and Joyride was seemingly assigned to guard via random choice by Getaway. Kick-Off was a long-standing member of security).

Joyride began tapping commands into a set of panels bolted to the far wall.

Prowl folded his arms. ‘So these are the new security measures you were telling me about.’

Kick-Off nodded, leaning against the back wall. ‘Red's made things a lot easier for us. This way you don’t have to move through the entire ward to find a single prisoner…’

Joyride stepped back from his work. ‘The prisoner comes to you.’

A loud “clang” echoed from behind the door, prompting Prowl to unfold his arms in preparation. 'I understand what the mechanism does, but I hope you won't mind my asking how it works.’

‘A giant claw grabs the cells and moves them from there to here.’ Getaway said matter-of-factly. 'There isn't really a much easier way of explaining it.'

‘Is it the one I requested?’

Boss nodded, pursing his lips slightly. ‘The one with the ego right? Yeah, he’s here.’ He pressed the palm of his hand on a panel and the doors opened—revealing a large, green and purple Decepticon. His limbs were bound from behind and there was a “Hannibal Lector”-like facemask covering his mouth. His optics were shielded by a thin visor that made his expression completely unreadable.

Prowl entered the cell as Getaway waited within the doorframe with the others. ‘Hook.’ Prowl addressed the green Decepticon.

Hook raised his head. ‘Yes? If you have something to say to me then please, make it quick, I have thoughts to be had and reveries to be indulged.’ He paused. 'Important ones, I assure you. As soon as I am out of this pit-forsaken place you will see what my genius has in store for the galaxy. Believe you me, it will be spellbinding.'

The police-bot clapped his hands together and turned to face Getaway. ‘I hope I'm not the only one who sees this. Something is wrong with this situation already.’

Hook quivered in his shackles. ‘What, I can’t even respond? If you are looking for an excuse to hit me then get it over with. I've gone through this process too many times to count. I'd say it's demeaning, but the only thing it really demeans is yourself for lowering yourself to such barbarism. I'd rather we just skip to the point and save us all the trouble, yes?’

Prowl knelt next to him, unsure of whether he could see him through his tinted visor. ‘Just now—you weren’t supposed to have responded. Not because you shouldn’t have, but because you couldn't have.’

Hook was taken off-guard. ‘I… beg your pardon?’

Prowl bit on his upper lip as he stared down the Decepticon. ‘Could you tell me what class of robot you are? What your rank is? What exactly it is you do towards the operation of the great Decepticon war machine?'

Hook nodded solemnly. ‘I am Hook—Constructicon "drone unit"; created with the express purpose of building and rebuilding Decepticon architecture and equipment.’

‘“Drone Unit”. As in you shouldn’t be able to articulate, let alone speak.’

Hook pondered about this for a moment as Getaway let out a breath.

He was leaning against the door-frame with his arms crossed. ‘And this is because…?’

‘No idea,’ Prowl and Hook said simultaneously.

Getaway let out another puff. ‘It’d be great if we had some theories... or a theoretician. Like Skids. I wish Skids was here. He’d be able to figure something out. He's still with Rodimus, eh? Maybe if we give them a call...’

‘We don’t need him,’ Prowl said firmly. ‘Listen Hook. If I may call you Hook.'

He nodded.

'I wish to ask you a question. After all, you are a very... intelligent, bot. Surely someone such as yourself must have had the kind of experience required to be officially listed in our data-base. Did you happen to have a proper Cybertronian brain module implemented before your “drone-hood”?’

Hook took the compliment well. He liked being told he was intelligent. ‘Why… yes. Long ago, before I was lobotomized, I was a neutral—the head of architecture for the Vestial Imperium. The Liege Centuro—I can’t remember his name—he loved me. Not enough I’d say. Because after a few decades in his service, he allowed Megatron to capture us.’

‘You and the five other Constructicon units?’

He nodded. ‘Correct, we were the best construction engineers in the galaxy. Still are. Mixmaster has concocted liquid Nucleon, Scrapper invented polythermal grafting, Scavenger has uncovered hundreds of rare metals and extinct minerals, and myself, I sketched out plans for the Ununtrium armor coating while I was still in training treads.’

Prowl’s optics widened in awe. ‘Incredible... So then…’

‘Then we caught Megatron’s attention. Turns out our skills existed in our physique, you know how all the best hands are forged? Well yeah, it applied to us in our respective roles as well. Megatron lured us out of Imperium space where there wouldn’t be the threat of Imperium guidelines—he used a piece of tech on us, I don’t know if it was Kimian or Shockwave-ian, but he called it the “Robo-Smasher”. So it was, in all probability, named by Admiral Strika. After that…’ He shook his head. ‘Very little. I’m not so sure what happened since my conscious was transferred somewhere else, but now that it’s, uh, back, I wish I didn’t have to remember at all...’

‘And what do you remember?’

Hook swallowed. Hard. ‘My body—replicated thousands of times over to create an army of labourers. Our bodies— used to break down the legendary Crystal City and use its materials to build the dark scrapers of New Kaon. My Ununtrium Armor— used to construct monsters like Overlord and Sixshot. Clashing in battle with old friends like Omega Supreme and Grapple…’

Prowl began to make note of Hook’s quivering, specifically that the Constructicon was no longer quivering, but wracking with anger.

‘I have never been so humiliated in my entire life! We were used as shields, fodder for the fighters to hide behind. I have died over and over again—my skills put to grotesque machinations… I hate it... I hate it all!

'Then, when the method of cloning was deemed unethical, what remained of us were sent to the frontlines to be killed or captured or rehabilitated! I hate them, I wish I had--!'

Prowl placed a warm hand on the Constructicons shoulder. ‘We have a few hundred other Constructicons imprisoned, but you six were the only ones to become conscious. Do you have any idea why?’

Hook remained fixated. ‘My conscious wasn’t eliminated. It was merely stored somewhere else. My brain module however, has always been here, in my head. If you want my theory, I’d say the barrier disconnecting my conscious from my brain has been eliminated.’

‘Yeah?’ Getaway scoffed. ‘And how can we know for sure that you’re the original and not another clone built specifically to tell us this stuff?’

Hook didn’t make a move. ‘Shoot me and you’ll find out.’

Getaway, Boss, Joyride and Kick-Off tilted their heads in unison, but Prowl barely shrugged. He stood up and unclipped his ion-blaster from his belt.

‘Wait…’ Getaway stared as Prowl pressed the barrel of the gun against to the Constructicon’s forehead. ‘Prowl, you aren’t really—PROWL!’

The gun fired, tearing off Hook’s mask and upper visor leaving nothing but a small fireball followed by smoke.

‘Prowl! What the hell are you doing?!’ Boss protested.

‘He was proving my case.’ The smoke wafted from Hook’s face, revealing there to be no wound at all. His visor was ripped apart due to the weaker glass alloy, and his mask had crumbled into ash, but his face—even his optics were left completely unharmed. ‘Ununtrium can’t be replicated, and the last supply of it has already been wasted away. To answer your question, how can you tell I’m the real deal? Unlike the drones, the original Constructicons and I are chock full of the stuff. Unlike them, we aren't as easy to kill.’

Prowl turned to face Getaway, reloading a clip and tucking his gun away into his belt. ‘And that, is truly an impressive thing.’ He turned back to Hook. 'Megatron clearly took what he had for granted.'

Hook turned his head aside and blushed.

-----

Getaway laughed as they walked out of the first set of security clearance. ‘Man, you’ve still got it. He was eating right out of your hand!’

Prowl didn’t say a word.

‘But eh… do you think he was telling the whole truth?’

‘Getaway, I can read 800 moving objects, compute their probable paths of movement, and determine the proper countermove in .05 seconds. It does not require a great degree of focus to read a single Constructicon.’

Getaway shrugged in a way that Prowl read as: “No shit.”

Prowl’s wrist vibrated, signalling a call. The police-bot pressed a pair of digits to his temple and spoke. ‘This is Prowl, report.’

It was Blaster, he was relaying his voice in a quick, panicked tone. ‘Hey Prowl, this is Blaster blasting at you with some sketchy news. We’ve got a sitch down at Mag’s office and if you know what’s good, you should probably burn rubber over there lickety split!’

Prowl jogged ahead as Getaway stumbled close behind. ‘Blaster, talk to me, what is the sitch—I mean what is the situation?’

‘I didn’t get the whole scoop, but from what I’ve been hearing, it’s one, big, hell of a mess. If I had to make a hypothesis, I’d say—‘

Prowl shut off his communicator as Streetwise came into view, he looked completely exasperated. ‘Prowl!’

Prowl’s voice was like a whip. ‘Streetwise! What. Happened?!’

‘It’s Magnus! He was in his office and—and there was a scout! A Decepticon Assassin!’

-----

‘Don’t panic.’ The Magnus’s office was a mess as data-pads and papers were scattered and shattered across the floor. Computer monitors had holes punched into them and, once again, a fire was in the process of being extinguished by Flashpoint. It was evident that a fight had broken out. The room was slowly but surely in the process of restoration by Hotspot and Huffer, their entire frames shaking from what had just occurred. In the center of the room was a pile of mangled silver metal and wire. The body was drenched in a green liquid that seemed to steam and leak through the floor below, whatever it was, it seemed to turn the metal unnaturally soggy. There was only a slight resemblance of a humanoid shape left as it was nearly impossible to tell which sides it’s head and aft were supposed to be (it’s face no longer existed). Standing tall above the dead slab of metal, with his fists riddled with dents and his upper body covered in Energon, was Ultra Magnus. ‘I’ve dealt with it now.’

Prowl stumbled forward, his optics darting between Autobots in a frenzy. ‘What... the HELL happened here?!’

Magnus raised his ten-digited servo, connecting and disconnecting them in a lucid manner. ‘That was an order, Prowl. Don’t panic.’

Getaway massaged the back of his neck. ‘How did this even happen?’

‘It shouldn’t happen!’ A stout, bulky red and white Autobot named Red Alert charged into the room, a giant cannon draping over her shoulder. ‘It’s impossible for this kind of thing to happen! Ultra Magnus’s office is one of the most secure points on the Hub! The scanners should have detected the incursion within a mile!’

Prowl grabbed the Head of Security by the shoulder and squeezed down, issuing his authority the old-fashioned way. ‘It obviously isn’t impossible if Magnus was nearly killed! You had one job, Red Alert!’

‘It’s not that simple!’ the Security Head retorted. ‘These measures have to have had some sort of precedent to it. This had to have been planned in the long term in order for my security to have been bypassed!’

Prowl grinded his teeth. ‘Don't dodge the real issue here, Red!'

'I didn't leave out any measures!'

'You failed!’

‘ENOUGH!’ Ultra Magnus slammed his hammer against the floor, sending a shockwave that nearly shattered every audio receptor in distance. Getaway and Streetwise had long since left since the moment the High Commanders had clashed while Huffer, Hotspot and Flashpoint had each stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to their leader.

Magnus was pissed.

It had been long since Prowl had heard Magnus raise his voice in such a way. The Autobot Leader was old. Gone were the years of swinging the legendary Magnus Hammer through entire swarms of Decepticons; gone were the days of vigor and youth, of leading hundreds of Autobot soldiers into active combat. Ultra had turned sullen in his years as commander—forced to lead from a chair in a stuffy room, and with a custom-grafted prosthetic hand to point (his inner nerve-endings and exoskeleton were beyond conventional replacement). With the blood of a warrior long since cooled, Magnus had become calm and diplomatic in his recent years, far from unlikable, but not what you’d call a friend in deed. The factions had their leaders, the Autobots had Ultra Magnus, and the Decepticons had Megatron—but for whatever reason, despite being older and holding command since the beginning of the war, Megatron had never lost his charm or charisma, he remained young, while Magnus wilted with age. The Decepticons’ sudden attack on their outposts was a wakeup call, Prowl felt it, and he was certain that Magnus felt it too, because he knew as well as anyone, that the Autobot warrior of old needed to return.

‘This is unacceptable!’ Magnus’s voice roared. ‘We bear witness to a new Decepticon uprising and this is how you react? By tearing at each other’s throats?! You call yourselves members of Autobot High Command?!’ He jabbed a digit out the clear, crystalline, rectangular window behind his desk. ‘Do you think Megatron is behaving like this right now? Or Soundwave, or—or Starscream?! They’re not. They are focused on slaughtering our people by the minute! If we want to overcome this efficiently, we need to act responsible— we need to formulate a method of counteraction, and operate!’

After a moment of pause, and of Prowl clenching and unclenching his hands, the strategist faced Red Alert who mirrored his expression to a T. ‘I am… sorry, Red. I have been under a lot of stress lately and—and I have no excuse.’

‘You were right.’ Red Alert said, staring at the body. ‘We have no idea how this happened.’

Ultra Magnus knelt next to the cadaver. ‘As much as I wish to appease both sides of your argument—I’m afraid that Red Alert is not to blame for this.’ He tapped a prosthetic finger against the corpse’s torso. ‘I cannot determine how long it has been with us, but this assassin appeared from my own control terminal. They were a mass displacer.’

Prowl lowered himself next to Magnus, observing the body from an alternate angle. ‘One of Soundwave’s Cassetticons?’

‘Possibly. His alternate form was something… smaller, to be certain.’

‘What’s this liquid?’ Red Alert wondered, pointing at the green matter leaking throughout the body. ‘Acid?’

Ultra Magnus nodded. ‘After I— after he expired, he melted—disintegrating into what he is now.’

Prowl nodded in understanding. ‘Disintegration capsule. Bite down before death and they won’t be able to record your face or memories. Better if they want you kept alive and you’re feeling rebellious.’ Prowl stood between Ultra Magnus and Red Alert, eyeing them in thought. ‘If you want to stay on equal ground with us, sir, then please hear me out, how did a cassetticon breach us?’

Magnus squinted at the body and rose to his feet. ‘Your opinion, Red Alert?’

The security director bounced lightly on her feet in agitation. ‘They had to bypass our systems someway.’ Red traced a circle in the air with an index finger, drawing the Hub. ‘We are impregnable, no questions asked, the only way to enter the Command Hub is if they are given access from the inside.’

Prowl massaged his chin. ‘A mole. That’s what you're trying to say: that there’s a traitor of some kind living near High Command.’

Red Alert nodded disjointedly, as if afraid to admit it. ‘Well, yes. I’ve been keeping my list of suspects updated.’

‘I read the thing myself.’ Flashpoint added. Having eavesdropped after finishing all her available duties. ‘Not to worry though. No one here is listed on it.’

Red Alert frowned at the red robot. ‘This is why I keep backups…’

Magnus clenched his fists in upset. ‘No. I don’t—I have faith in my people. I’d trust any Autobot on this citadel with my life. I… do not expect a traitor of any kind.’

Prowl motioned his head to the side and scratched at his temple. ‘No… of course not.’ As he said this, Prowl made a mental note to keep tabs on everyone moving in and out of the Command Center. ‘Then a spy, perhaps? Could Soundwave’s spies learned to mass-displace into even smaller objects that we wouldn’t know to scan?’

Ultra Magnus seemed to like this theory best and waved a commanding servo. ‘I’ll have Pointblank run an investigation. In the meantime, Red Alert, I want you to lock down this sector, I think it’s safe as is, but I do not want to treat this situation lightly.’

Red Alert saluted and exited the room as Prowl commanded a digit to the others involved. ‘Hotspot, Flashpoint, guard the doors, Huffer, fetch Pincher and Gears; have them take a sample of the corpse and dispose of it.’

Ultra Magnus nodded in satisfaction and proceeded out of the room. ‘Alright Autobots. Let’s get to work.’

Prowl considered following Ultra Magnus to the command room but thought against it, positioning himself outside as Red Alert returned with a team of security personnel, all armed and adding to the already growing crowd.

As the others worked-their-magic (as Smokescreen would put it), Prowl checked his internal inbox.

“You have—TWO MISSED CALLS.”

‘Of course I do.’ He said to no one in particular. Accessing his messages, Prowl played out the first:

“Commander. This is Sonar, we destroyed the corrosive facility as you instructed. We have also dragged along four of the six Decepticon prisoners. One of them didn’t survive the blast and another died on the ride here. We just wanted to check in and update you before we board. Sonar out.”

Prowl released his hand from his head and flung his servos into the air. ‘Finally! Someone I can rely on to keep me up to date on these things!’ The strategist proceeded down the hall, a natural skip in his step. He looked over his shoulder, raising his voice for the others to hear. ‘Unlike some people!’

Flashpoint scratched the back of her head. ‘What is his deal?’

Smokescreen sighed. ‘I like to think he was born with a pole up his ass.’

Out of earshot, Prowl listened to his second message, it was specially coded. A marking tool for messages sent by members of High Command. Prowl had his own, as did Red Alert and Ultra Magnus.

“Prowl, this is Mirage. Call me as soon as you get this, there has been an event.”

Prowl rolled his optics and punched in a call for the Intelligence officer. The call rang once before Mirage’s familiarly silky voice came through. “Prowl. There’s an urgent matter on our hands. I need you to come to the intelligence bureau ASAP.”

Prowl scowled. ‘Now you listen here, Mirage, today has been nothing but urgency after urgency—catastrophe over catastrophe. Whenever something goes bad, something new immediately pops up screaming “I’m worse!” So if you think whatever comes next is worth it, just know that my plate is already full, and I am a very picky eater!’

There was a pause over the other line. For the faintest moments, Prowl could hear a light sigh. “You’ll want to hear this one.”

‘Shorten it into three words or less. I hang up after the fourth.’

Mirage went silent once again, and in his typically cool voice, replied:

“Punch is back.”

As if nothing else mattered in the world, Prowl dropped his arms to his sides and sprinted forward, transforming and shifting into his Cybertronian police-car mode before roaring down the Hub’s hallways and towards the bureau.

 

‘Your friend fell asleep again…’

Scylla nudged Snaptrap awake once more as the four Seacons treaded through the Hub central corridor, dragged along by a jungle of glowing chains and cuffs. Snaptrap—as leader—was led before the others. It wasn’t so much that he was falling asleep as he was passing out from the sheer shock of it all. One moment he was a young aspirer on the planet Barbarossa, learning the tricks of the trade and swabbing decks for the hardy pirates he one-day dreamed to become. The next he was old—a heavy and cramped mess in an area that was all too alien to him. If that wasn’t confusing enough, his subsequent near death experience at the hands of a rail-gun (fired with little care as to if he were to survive or not) set him literally ablaze. The flames burned into his armor plating, singing and shriveling nerve endings and connective tissue as he squirmed in open space. He passed out for the first time not long after that: specifically when he saw Scalor’s frozen expression float into his line of sight. The fact that it was only his expression troubled him, beneath the Seacon’s chin was nothing else, and as the face rotated, the entire back-side of his skull revealed itself to have caved in and burned out leaving nothing left.

He couldn’t recall much of the ride to the Hub, either. He remembered some suited Autobots touching at his wrists, making sure he was secure, but following that was nothing more than pitch blackness. He wasn’t awake for it, but he had to assume Jawbreaker didn’t make it either as he was no longer with them. He didn’t know them, not anymore, but Snaptrap couldn’t help but mourn them for what it was worth.

Sonar halted in front of a large panel and raised a servo to the rear guards. ‘This is it, you are dismissed until further notice.’

The guards saluted in unison and went their separate ways, leaving the bounded prisoners alone with her. Sonar tapped a code into the door’s access panel and waited formally as they parted. Inside was a cramped little room with rows upon rows of work-tables, blanketed with assortments of cracked open machinery in all colours and sizes. The image reminded Sonar of a cafeteria, with fizzled technology and scraped apart metal replacing the Energon infused feasts the Hub used to cater. The room was mostly empty save for the shuffling of a white and green robot hidden in the back. The Autobot was hunched over and had what appeared to be the tails of a lab coat sprouting from his back. He had been tinkering away with something as his elbows jagged back and forth.

‘Wheeljack.’ Sonar addressed, tugging her prisoners along accordingly.

The Engineer made a rapid gesture over his head. ‘Yeahyeahyeah, I see you. Just give me a nano-klik, I'm busy.’

Snaptrap wondered how the Autobot could see despite facing the other way as Wheeljack smacked his hands together. A small, ball-like object levitated above his head and emitted an array of lights and sounds.

Sonar tilted her head to the side. ‘That’s… interesting. What is it?’

Squinting, Wheeljack tapped a digit lightly against the ball. ‘Well, if it's anything, it's not doing what its supposed t—.’

The Engineer’s head was quickly engulfed in a small, purple fireball as the object exploded.

Too stunned to move, Sonar and the four remaining Seacons stared jaw-dropped as Wheeljack stood and dusted himself off. Head charred black from the small blast ‘Well,’ the inventor said. ‘that was a disappointment. I'm gonna have to kill those guys that sold me that anti-matter supressor.’

Sonar clasped her hands as she observed the shrapnel sticking out of his head. ‘Do I want to know why you thought that to be merely “disappointing”?’

‘Do you want to know why imploding an unlimited number of microscopic universes instead of creating a rechargeable snack dispenser is disappointing?’ He reached across his desk and grabbed a cube of Energon, tilting his head back. Wheeljack unsheathed his facemask and gulped down the pink contents before sealing his face once again.

Sonar shifted uncomfortably. ‘So that miniature explosion was…’

‘The heat-death of an uncountable amount of widely inhabited Universes, yeah, a tragedy, boo-hoo, see you space cowboy, etc.’ He waved a theatrical hand as if to say “goodbye” before turning in his chair to face the others. ‘So what do you want from me? I’ve got a few spare cubes if you are having a bad day, I mean, they’re mine so—oh! You want me to take these guys and—?.’

‘Yes, Wheeljack.’

Wheeljack nodded and beckoned them over. ‘Fine, just bring them here. I won't bite, those days are behind me now, I promise.’

Sonar did as he said and left the four Decepticons kneeling before the Chief Mechanical Engineer, their heads lowered and their optics left tracing the floor.

‘Good, you can go now— back to being Prowl’s yes man or delivery girl or whatever the hell you are.’

But Sonar was unfazed. ‘No.’ The ebony robot remained in the doorway, watching the Seacons as they kept themselves silent.

As Wheeljack pushed aside his equipment for specific tools, Snaptrap decided to speak. ‘So um… what are we doing here?’

While the intended range of the question’s parameters were wider than any of them realized, Wheeljack was nonchalant to answer. ‘Easy, we Autobots and you Decepticons are different see? So we like to dissect your bodies and use your remains for spare parts. It bolsters our armory and gives us a better idea of what we’re facing.’

The Seacons were silent, eyeing each-other blankly, as if they couldn’t put two and two together quickly enough.

Wheeljack stared back at them, growing more peeved. ‘Guys—geez, it was a joke! What. Can I not joke? What—where are we living right now? Serious-town? Downer Street? Stoic-city? Where everyone pontificates and expositates about their problems and how life is sooooooo terrible and messed up? Screw you guys. We’re not evil here. Not all of us.’ He groaned and searched for the proper tool for the job, picking up what resembled a cleaver. ‘But seriously, I’m going to be taking you guys apart.’

-----

The process wasn’t nearly as intimidating as Snaptrap anticipated. In fact, he felt no pain whatsoever. Wheeljack used a variety of tools and equipment to peel the metal armor from each of the Seacons, starting with Snaptrap and followed by Nautilator. The Engineer picked out every piece of dysfunctional weaponry and sensory equipment that littered their systems, rendering them as nothing more than boney exoskeletons. Their bodies barely distinguishable outside of size-difference and the shape of their helms. Having finished Nautilator, Wheeljack unhooked the smaller robot from his surgery slab and allowed him to stand and stretch.

‘Huh…’ Nautilator cracked his fingers and whipped his head from Sonar to Wheeljack. ‘You Autobots are either naïve or stupid if you’re letting us walk around like this un-cuffed.’

‘Yeah?’ Wheeljack proceeded to remove the armor on Scylla. ‘Because you can kill me? Sure… go ahead buddy, try to punch me or transform. Try as your exoskeleton shatters upon impact, or when I use this armor deliberator to slice your body in half, or better yet, let my pal Sonar over there call upon any of the thousands of other Autobots aboard this space-station to come and gun you down. I’ve seen it tried a million times, pal. So if you need convincing you can go ahead and ask the millions of dead cons we had to eject from the station.’

Nautilator didn’t respond.

‘See?’ Wheeljack mused. ‘Who’s the dumb one now?’

‘Ahem.’ Scylla glared at Wheeljack from the slab.

‘What?’

‘You take off my specialty custom S.S. waist armor and I’ll have to kill you.’

Wheeljack let out another moan and scanned Scylla’s lower body for weaponry. ‘Okay, fine. your short-shorts are free to stay….’ He shook his head, muttering to himself strenuously. ‘Stupid.’ He locked eyes with Sonar. ‘I was told there were five of them.’

‘Died the way here.’ Seawing answered.

‘Oh.’ Wheeljack unhooked her from her slab and made way for her to stand. She massaged her wrists and made an ugly face at him before retreating behind Snaptrap. Uncaring, Wheeljack turned his attention to Seawing and began peeling off the excess metal. ‘You know, you guys can mourn. Mourning is allowed. I mean, I know you Decepticons have that whole alpha extreme machismo thing going on to keep up with appearances, but like—you don’t have to be stone cold… machines, or whatever. You're allowed to have the capacity to feel.’

Scylla and Nautilator exchanged guilty glances as Snaptrap looked between them in confusion. Seawing made a “tch” noise with his teeth and raised his head—careful not to get in the way of modifications on his torso. ‘What does it matter, you’ve probably grounded up their bodies and used them for scrap anyway. Why would you care?’

Wheeljack waggled his cleaver at the Decepticon. ‘Naturally I don't, but balls-of-Primus, Seawing, we’re not monsters. We just shove your people into coffins and eject them back into Decepticon space… that’s—I don’t know, I think that’s acceptable!’

‘And this is what you do to the ones who survive…’ Scylla spat, clenching at her barren, skeletal wrists.

‘Hey, it used to be worse, we used to remove your helms as well… under Delta Magnus we stripped you down to the bare bones and painted you head to toe in purple. The only distinction made between any of you was a barcode stamped on your forehead and how often you mouthed off. Now we just do the same with a helmet. Oh, and we stopped painting you, too.’

Scylla’s optics narrowed. ‘How kind of you.’

'I dunno, I guess. I mean, you're the ones committing genocide and conquest, not me.' Wheeljack sighed, unconvinced as to whether it was worth indulging in the prisoners. He didn’t care either way, but, admittedly, Wheeljack liked to talk. ‘If it makes you feel any better, you can inscribe their names onto their coffins; make it easier to determine who they are for when they reach Decepticon command.’ Finishing his work on Seawing, Wheeljack unhooked the last Seacon and hovered a hand over his work desk as he used the other to gulp down another cube of Energon. His fingers wrestled over his workplace materials before grabbing at a pair of blank metal plates, tossing them carelessly at Scylla who caught them briskly with her left hand. She winced as the functions in her wrist began to sever.

‘Hey, are you alright?’ Seawing asked with legitimate concern.

She shook her head, unknowingly conveying the opposite of what she was trying to say. She stared at her spindly arm as wires began to snap under the weight of the plates. ‘No… I just… damn. He was right, everything I try to do hurts when I’m reduced to this state.’

Nautilator stared at his hands, clenching and unclenching and then cringing as pain rushed through them.

Wheeljack passed a laser-scalpel to Scylla, lowering it into the palm of her hand as gently as he could. He proceeded back into his seat and opened another cube of Energon. ‘Here, carve their names with this. Then get the hell out.’

Scylla shrugged and wrapped her digits around the scalpel. The process of holding it as a pen proved itself to be one of the more difficult challenges of being reduced to an exoskeleton. She carved out the letters of Jawbreaker’s name in Old Cybertronian. The original Cybertronian pronunciation was “Jii Jii-akewn”. Literally translating into “Enlarged Denta”. She used to tease him for it. Snaptrap too. She secretly cherished the times he blew a gasket raging at them, stomping off to his quarters as the five Seacons fell over laughing in a circle. Scylla carved out Archerbot’s name as neatly as she could, writing it in plain test as she was unsure of how it would translate to Old Cybertronian.

‘There.’ She handed the plates to Wheeljack. ‘You’ll put these on their coffins?’

Wheeljack snatched them from her harshly. He brought them up to his face and scanned the texts, his optics darting from side to side as he read the names. He took a sip of his cube and swallowed with visible difficulty. ‘Archerbot? His name was Archerbot?’

Seawing pressed a pair of digits against his lips. ‘Oh…’

‘His name’s not Archerbot.’

Their optics turned to Nautilator. The runt of the Seacons reached forward, motioning towards the plate. ‘We never called him by his real name.’

Seawing half-smiled at Wheeljack. ‘It was really Scalor.’

Wheeljack passed the plate to him in understanding. Scylla continued in motion and handed Nautilator the laser-scalpel. Turning around, Nautilator scraped the name into the slab of metal out of view from the others. Finished, Nautilator faced his comrades once again and revealed the nameplate to them. The name Archerbot was scratched out, and replacing it, in large, messy letters, was the name “Failor”.

Nautilator snickered, saying aloud: ‘El-Oh-El!’

Wheeljack rolled his optics and retrieved the nameplates. ‘Alright, I’ll be sure to file these away for later.'

‘It won’t matter,’ Scylla said dissatisfied.

Wheeljack squinted at her. ‘Why?’

‘You may shoot our dead back into Decepticon space --and I believe you really do--but we’ve never actually received them. Not once.’

Wheeljack didn’t budge. He took another sip from his cube of Energon as Backstreet and Dogfight returned to retrieve the Seacons.

‘I know.’

-----

With the Seacons cell-bound, Wheeljack resumed his studies. Going through outdated manuals and textbooks, (both Imperious and Jhiaxian), searching for overlooked tricks and errors for potential reverse engineering. Things were going as they were supposed to, other than…

‘…The fact that you’re still here,’ He eyed Prowl’s lieutenant through glazed optics. ‘it confuses me.’

Sonar remained in her straitened military stance, her dark figure looming over the engineer. ‘I wanted to wait until you were comfortable.’

'Boy, is that never going to happen.' Wheeljack poured himself another cube and brought the glass to his lips, gulping down the rest of the contents in preparation. ‘So…’ he wiped his mouth and re-attached his face-plate. ‘What does Prowl want with me this time?’

Sonar’s optics flared an emerald green. ‘He has called for a private meeting between half of High Command, as Chief Mechanical and Weapons Engineer that includes you.’

‘Private?’ Wheeljack rose to his feet. ‘Okay, but if it’s Prowl hosting this meeting, then we're stopping for more high-octane along the way.’

-----

With the twelve members of High Command spread across space and the limited amount of bots he felt were mature enough to be briefed, Prowl split High Command into two mental columns: those he trusted to share the information with, and those he wanted to leave unaware until necessary. All but two were present. At Prowl’s side was the Autobot’s head of intelligence: Mirage. A blue and white Autobot with a thin waist and a buff chest. He had been staring at the others with an air of disinterest. It was clear the HoI felt he was above all of this. Sitting across from them at the roundtable were Perceptor and Botanica. The former was a thin, red and black Autobot scientist with blocky shoulders and a gold, glasses-like apparatus locked in place upon his face. There was a glowing yellow depression in his head and a large red cannon on his back. The Scientist's body had been heavily modified to the point of there being more artificial material of him than natural. He was going through some reports with Botanica, exchanging data-pads and comparing notes passively. Botanica was not your average built Cybertronian, having a single, dress-shaped, appendage where her legs were meant to be (Not even Perceptor knew how that worked). Unlike most other Cybertronians, Botanica also had two extra arms sprouting from her waist which she used to sort the data-pads accordingly. Her head was hooded by a green kibbled appendage that covered most of her face, however the look of annoyance spread across her lips was as clear as day.

‘Are we really doing this?’ Mirage had his arms folded, refusing to make eye-contact with Prowl. ‘Are we really lying to Magnus? Isn't that rather... unethical?’

‘It’s not lying, Mirage, not yet. Magnus is an honest and trustworthy leader. He’s admirable and a suitable figure for every Autobot to aspire to, but I’m afraid those very traits will most likely be the death of him. If we let the information from this room reach his ears then he may very well decide to go public with what we’ve found, and that will only create more problems for everyone.’

Mirage raised his upper lip. ‘Let’s try not to be too despicable, then.’

Prowl stared at his chronometer and frowned. ‘Wheeljack should be on his way… and Ratchet? I sent him a message about an hour ago, he isn’t usually this tardy.’

Perceptor cleared his throat from the round-table. ‘In actuality, Ratchet left the Hub earlier this morning. He volunteered to partake in some research with Siren.’ The Head of Science clasped his hands together. ‘I believe it was something in regards to a “memory plague…?”’

Botanica tilted her head to the side. ‘Really? That sounds rather... fake.’

‘You know what else is fake?’

The four High Command members turned their attention to the door. Leaning in the frame was Wheeljack, examining his fingertips upper-classily. He jabbed one of them at Botanica. ‘The Imperium’s education system, but we still have protoforms coming in and out of there like a bunch of—’ He burped. ‘—like a bunch of conformist robots.’

Sonar entered the cylindrical room from behind, casually pushing Wheeljack aside and taking her place next to Prowl. ‘I brought him as you asked.’ She made a gesture as if to apologize for bringing him in drunk which Prowl easily dismissed.

‘Good work, Sonar.’ Prowl nodded, moving to the round-table and leaning against it with the palms of his hands. ‘With Ratchet absent, this meeting will have to proceed on schedule. Have a seat.’

‘So what is this all about, anyway?’ Wheeljack wondered as he pulled out a chair next to Perceptor.

Prowl put a hand on Mirage’s shoulder. ‘Mirage here has a friend he’d like to introduce to you all.’

He quickly slapped at Prowl’s servo. ‘Don’t touch me.’

Botanica scanned the room. ‘An urgent meeting in the shadows… hidden from half of High Command, including Ultra Magnus himself. There’s no way there isn’t a catch to this.' She grinned. 'Besides, I wasn't aware Mirage had friends.’

Mirage snapped his fingers at the alien-like Autobot. ‘You’re one to talk, hybrid.’

She stood from her chair. ‘You did not just call me that! He did not just call me that! Here I thought we lived in a slur-free environment!’

Prowl clapped his hands together. ‘Alright, if Mirage and Botanica want to stop acting like children, I’d like to skip to the matter of importance.’

Botanica slumped back into her seat, grumbling. ‘The lack of respect around here… so infuriating.’

Prowl turned to adjacent entrance and lifted a beckoning servo. ‘You can come in now, Hubcap.’

The small yellow Autobot came into view, pushing along a red cloaked trolley. He waved a shaking servo to the others.

‘Hey Hubcap.’ Wheeljack greeted with a wave.

Perceptor leaned over the table towards Prowl. ‘We know Hubcap.’

Prowl slapped his servos against his audio receptors and wrinkled his face. ‘Yes, clearly I opened my schedule, called every member of High Command, and gathered you all here to show you Hubcap.’

The Autobots glared at Prowl in offence.

He cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, Hubcap here is only transferring the Autobot in question. I wanted to keep him hidden before any of you started jumping to conclusions. That said, I bid that you keep calm… now, I’d like to introduce you…’

Hubcap yanked on the red cloak as if he were opening a stage curtain. Underneath was a yellow and blue Autobot of average build. He was strapped to a slab with his face forward, either oblivious to, or unaffected by what was going on.

‘…to Punch.’

They stared at the Autobot, who stared back as if the six staring Autobots were the ones on display and not him.

‘I’m sorry.’ Botanica faced Prowl, her widened optics glowing from within her hood. ‘But I don’t know who this is.’

‘This is Punch.’ Prowl explained, moving next to the bound Autobot. ‘He was “killed” in 1984.’ Realizing he was still using his old, earthen way of telling the years, Prowl cleared his throat and clarified. ‘Sixty years ago.’

‘Okay.’ Wheeljack folded his arms. ‘So what, he’s a zombie? Been there done that. I already singlehandedly fought a zombie army led by Lord Imperious Delirious last week in a different dimension. It wasn't so hot.’

Prowl waved a dismissive servo. ‘Again… pretending to be stupid,’ he massaged the bridge of his nose. ‘No, Punch here was taken in by myself and trained under Mirage as a spy. You see, he’s been working undercover for us under the alias of Counterpunch.’

‘Counterpunch?’ Wheeljack ,eaned forward in his chair. ‘Are you telling me that the Decepticon powerhouse Counterpunch has been working for us? Isn't he supposed to be incredibly dangerous?’

‘Indeed.’ Perceptor nodded. ‘I was present for the briefing.’

‘But Counterpunch is a notorious killer!’ Botanica protested. ‘He murdered thousands of Autobots in battle, and burned plenty of our outposts!’

‘A convincing display…’ Perceptor said solemnly. ‘For the record, Punch and Counterpunch are two distinctive beings in a single vessel, their processor units intertwine in conjecture to the Jhiaxian Legion theorem, combined with Beachcomber’s prophetic enlightenment texts, the nature of the oddity is best described under the Hell’s Point principle as a “Nurtured Birth” as seen with the cases of Rack n’ Ruin and Doublecross. The equation itself is simply put W^34>8x -9. Separating the degrees of the entwined modules as—.’

‘It’s complicated.’ Prowl interrupted, politely motioning at Perceptor to shut up. ‘Counterpunch is a separate being that takes dominant control when Punch accesses his secondary robot mode. Fortunately, Punch has a wide degree of influence in Counterpunch’s actions and knows how to keep him quiet about his status as a spy.’

‘I can’t say I know everything he knows.’ Punch added, he sounded as though he hadn’t slept for decades. ‘He’ll have to tell you himself, I can only affirm whether what he says is the truth or not.’

Perceptor brought a digit beneath his chin. ‘If this is indeed the case, then I must inquire— if I recall correctly, Punch was only to return under three specific circumstances. 1. Should his identity as a spy ever be compromised, 2. Should he have information so crucial that it must be transferred in person, and 3. Should he succeed in his main objective of assassinating Megatron.’

High Command, (plus Sonar and Hubcap) turned their attention to the spy in question.

Punch tilted his head. ‘I wasn’t found out. Counterpunch led a crew against an outpost, held it for a few days and was taken down by a team led by Sentinel Prime. He killed three of Prime’s men before getting it to the neck himself. Though it was clear he was doing it due to some unconscious need to be captured. According to Decepticon intelligence, Counterpunch is currently locked comfortably in the Orbital Hub’s prison hold with the rest of his team.’

‘But since he’s not.’ Prowl offered a hand to Botanica. ‘You working your magic would be very helpful.’

The green robot rolled her optics and stood, slithering fluidly out from her chair and next to Punch. A thorn-like appendage sprouted from each of her four palms. She turned to Mirage and exposed a bitter grin. ‘Why the look? I was born in the Age of Expansion remember? “Hybrid” you like to call it.’

Mirage snorted, turning his head aside.

She inserted the thorns into each of Punch’s limbs. The Autobot didn’t budge, but his face displayed a look of clear distress.

‘There.’ Botanica released her thorns. ‘He’s immobilized, save for his transformation cog.’

Punch blinked. ‘Oh, in that case I’ll just let myself—.’ The Autobot’s body shifted and roared into a mass of metal, violently taking a similar shape. The yellow on his body was sucked into a back cavity, replacing itself with ebony armor. His optics were covered by a thick crimson visor as the Autobot symbol on his chest was thoroughly melted and replaced with that of a Decepticon’s. Counterpunch was pushed back onto his slab, his head wriggling on his shoulders as his body lied dead still. ‘Hello.’

‘Counterpunch I presume.’ Prowl stepped forward, placing himself inches from the Decepticon’s face. ‘Would you care to explain to us what you’ve found?’

Counterpunch chuckled, craning his neck in order to face Mirage. ‘This is your boss? What a cock.’

Prowl retreated his head. ‘What?’

‘We’re equal rank, truly.’ Mirage pardoned a servo, a hint of spite in his voice that sounded as though it had been directed at Prowl. ‘Now please, if you could give us your reasoning for coming back then it would save us all so much time.’

The Decepticon’s voice was shrill, seeming to carry an air of reluctance and disgust, regardless of how ecstatic his words might have sounded. ‘Oh don’t worry, I have been looking forward to this moment more than you know.’ He cleared his throat, coming close to giggling from the excitement. ‘About two or three weeks ago, Megatron was found dead.’

Prowl almost leaped, his expression flickering as he processed the information.

‘You killed him?’ Perceptor demanded.

‘I didn’t. It was another.’

‘Who?’ Prowl was nearly shouting. ‘Starscream, Ratbat, Soundwave? Who killed him?!’

‘It was an Autobot, a Prime. There is a bounty placed on the killer’s head: whoever kills him gains the power to name themselves, their commander, or any other Decepticon crowned leader of the Empire.’

‘Megatron’s dead…’ Mirage stared at his hands. ‘I would never have…’ He trailed off.

Botanica and Perceptor sat silent, awaiting further explanation. Hubcap was partially grinning, knowing this to be good news but was unsure of whether a celebration was required, or even wanted. Sonar remained calm in the face of change, while Wheeljack seemed convincingly bored with the whole ordeal, as if he would already have guessed.

‘Who is this Autobot?’ Prowl’s solemn expression appeared to flicker.

‘Let him tell you himself.’ Counterpunch’s visor glowed from a dark red to a light pink as it flared into a beam against the ceiling. The light began to take shape and form the image of a figure. An Autobot. ‘We recently received a broadcast from the Autobot admitting his crime. You might recognize him…’

“To all of you out there who don’t know me, my name, is Optimus Prime. I was born over 3,000 years ago on Planet Cybertron before the Fulcrum Bombings that tore it apart. I have since acted in a minor role in the war as the least productive Prime in history. To those who already know who I am, then you are well aware that I was the one who killed Megatron...”

-----

Five minutes later…

‘Okay.’ As Counterpunch transformed back into Punch, Prowl took the stage. ‘Now that we are all aware of this, I would like to focus on the positive aspects of this event.’

Perceptor nodded. ‘Yes, well—I suppose Megatron’s demise is bound to be plentiful. All things considered.’

Prowl nodded back at him. ‘Precisely. And it should be celebrated, no doubt. But with his death, so does the current Empire's ideals. The questions we need to be asking ourselves sooner than later, is what advantages can we gain from this? What opportunities are made available to us, now that Megatron is dead?’

Perceptor had lost the thread. ‘I don’t see what—.’

‘What opportunities?’ Mirage repeated, leaning in for clarification.'

Prowl swiveled his servos. 'You know what I mean. What ways of directing the Decepticons Empire's future can we get out of this?'

Wheeljack let out an audible groan, rising from his seat where he stood over the others. ‘Let’s cut the crap, we all know what Prowl’s trying to say.’ He scanned their faces for a signal, or at the very least a clue as to who was going to explain as he was sure as hell Prowl wasn’t. ‘He wants Counterpunch to kill Optimus and take over the Decepticon Empire—placing it under Autobot control.’

Botanica leaped from her seat. ‘Prowl!’

Prowl raised a commanding digit towards Wheeljack, his face wrinkled with anger. ‘Get out.’

‘What? We might as well be straightforward with each-other! Best admit we're rotten people than maintaining this charade of heroics we love to force feed each other.’

‘Get out.’

The engineer flung his hands in the air. ‘So that’s it! Because you just can’t take it when someone predicts you instead of the other way around, you remove them from the larger equation? Well doesn't that make you an effective practitioner of logic! Doesn't that make you the pragmatist the Autobots need!’

‘I SAID GET THE HELL OUT OF MY FACE!’

The door had slammed shut before Prowl had even finished. Left before him were the faces of five confused Autobots, all staring at him with varying levels of pity. Prowl hated it.

‘Optimus Prime is—was—has been my best friend. I would never even consider killing him. I was being too discreet, what I was trying to get at is whether we should withhold this information from the public or not. If we tell them that Megatron is dead then there is the potential that it might turn us... sloppy.’

‘Or it could boost morale.’ Botanica interjected. ‘Primus knows we need it, and I somehow doubt the Civilian Autobot Guilds would be happy to hear we’ve been keeping such information from them. A leak is almost inevitable in these situations. The news is too large to remain in Decepticon space.’

‘We’re not lying to anyone,’ Mirage agreed. ‘Definitely not. We go public. The word is bound to spread either way, and if Magnus finds out we’ve been keeping secrets then it could end just as badly for all of us.’

Perceptor stood from his chair, his palm pressed against the round-table. ‘Then it’s settled. We tell Magnus and let the word spread.’

Botanica stared at Prowl, his digits were creating small indents in the table as he pressed down. ‘Any objections, Prowl?’

‘No. I agree completely; the information is too volatile, and if the public learns of it after the fact then the backlash could be severe. Though for safety purposes, I think it would be a good idea to keep Optimus’s identity classified.’

‘Of course.’ Mirage said with a nod. ‘The public should understand that much. It’s for his own safety.’

‘Exactly. I think I speak for everyone when I say he should be celebrated as a hero, but until we win, I don’t see anything happening of the sort.’

‘Are we in contact with him?’ Hubcap asked, helping Punch out of his binds.

Prowl turned his gaze to the outer net computer in the corner of the room. ‘Funny you should mention it. No. I’ve assigned Blaster and even Hound to track his Ark. Nothing. He’s practically disappeared from the face of the Galaxy.’

‘I doubt he’s dead.’ Punch said, massaging his wrists. ‘The whole Decepticon army is hunting him down—if the bounty has been fulfilled then I would have received a notification on the new High Protector. Unless of course he…’ Punch shaped his hand like a gun and fingered the side of his head. ‘Bang.’

Botanica made a grotesque face. ‘I get the feeling you've been hanging around the Decepticons for longer than what's considered healthy.’

Punch shrugged.

Mirage tapped a finger against his upper lip in thought. ‘We should send some scouts… supply Optimus Prime with protection and bring him back to the Orbital Command Hub.’

Prowl made a half-smile. ‘If we can find him, then by all means.’

‘Have you tried calling him, since?’ Sonar suggested.

Prowl opened his mouth to dismiss her, but paused. Pondering to himself before stepping in front of the computer terminal and tapping in the familiar number.

-----

‘I never get invited to these things…’

Hoist sat outside the Council Room’s doors, fingering at the floor idly. Pipes was kneeling next to him, muttering something to himself.

‘Why don’t I ever get invited to these things? I’m important. Maintenance is important.’

Pipes didn’t respond, he remained whispering to himself as he drew patterns on the floor.

The doors opened and Wheeljack stepped out, eyeing the oil-covered mechanic before moving on his way. Hoist grabbed the Engineer by the ankle, pulling himself on to his feet. ‘Hey, what’s going on?’

‘Better you don’t know.’ Wheeljack stared at Pipes, enhancing his audio receptors to hear his speech.

‘When he comes home, he will answer.’

Wheeljack frowned at the small, blue robot and shook his head. ‘He’s still having problems I see… Hoist, you should get back to work.’

The green robot pressed his digits together awkwardly. ‘That’s...—Okay.’

The Engineer abandoned Hoist and continued down the hall. ‘We’ll have very little free time from now on.’

-----

Prowl, Mirage, Perceptor, Botanica, Sonar, Hubcap and Punch stood gathered around a single terminal, their heads nudging at each-other as they tried to get a better look at the screen.

‘He’s not going to answer.’ Prowl decided.

‘Way to be optimistic.’

‘Please don't be sarcastic with me, Hubcap.’

‘It’s rung four times now.’ Mirage noted. ‘Personally, I tend to hang up after the third. I hate to waste my time for these kinds of things.’

‘Just give it a minute.’ Botanica assured him.

The terminal rang a fifth time. ‘This is ridiculous.’ Prowl hovered a hand above the “END CALL” switch. ‘He hasn’t answered before, he won’t answer now—‘

‘Prime residence, Optimus speaking.’

The visage of the blue and red Autobot materialized on the screen. His optics darting between the plethora of faces stretched on his monitor. ‘Oh, hey Prowl. And Hubcap… and Perceptor, Botanica, Sonar, Punch, Mirage…’

Each replied with a nod.

‘Is there anything I can help you with?’

Prowl cleared his throat. ‘Um… yeah, yes. It has reached our knowledge that you…’

‘Killed Megatron?’

The Autobots all flinched in unison, taking surprise to Prime’s bluntness.

‘Yeah… you were obviously going to find out sooner or later.’

‘Affirmative’ Prowl said, trying to sound as professional as possible.

There was silence between the comms, and for moments, the eight Autobots were left staring at each other blankly.

‘Is there a problem?’ Optimus asked.

‘No… no! Not at all!’ Botanica said, waving a hand in front of the screen.

‘We merely wanted to supply you with proper protection. Escort you back to the Hub perhaps.’ Perceptor suggested.

Optimus shook his head. ‘No need. I have a few others with me and they know how to fight. Team Prime itself is an officially registered guild and the Ark is a certified base of operations. I appreciate the offer, but I am getting by just fine.’

Prowl furrowed his brow. ‘Is that so? You don't want any further protection?’

Prime shook his head. ‘Look. I do not want any of your soldiers on my ship. If I give my location away to anyone, I could die, and if any one of your people figures out how I am masking my signature, everyone could get hurt. I’m all up for help, really, I kind of need all the help I can get-- but I’ll only take it from someone I trust, and for the record, I don’t trust any of you. Besides…’ He closed his eyes and tilted back his head in a pretentious manner. ‘I wish-not for anyone to get hurt from my own actions... Anyone who dares follow my dangerous path will be plunged into a pit of pain and darkness. My life is a danger… like a carnivorous... feline—’

‘Of course,’ Prowl hissed, too tired to go through another of Prime’s speeches. ‘If you wish to remain under the radar and out of sight, then that’s your choice. I won’t do anything about it. Just don’t do anything… unorthodox, and we won’t interfere.’

‘Agreed.’

Voices could be heard from the other end of Prime’s comm. ‘Prime! Blackarachnia’s stolen from the snack supply again!’

‘Sorry, I’ve got to go.’ Optimus sighed. ‘Talk to you never.’

The feed was cut, and the seven Autobots were left staring at a blank screen.

‘Well.’ Prowl backed away from the monitor, clasping his hands together. ‘That went well.’

‘I can get some bots to conduct a search,' Mirage said. '—keep an optic on him. It’ll take some work but I’m confident he can be found.’

‘For his sake, I hope not.’

‘Hey uh… quick question.’ Punch’s legs were shivering. He looked out of place with the rest of them. ‘What am I supposed to do…? I’ve kind of been living with the Decepticons for…’ He blinked. ‘…for I don’t know how long… I think… a few years r—no. A few… weeks?’ His head fell into his hands.

Perceptor glanced uneasily towards Prowl. ‘He’ll need some rehabilitating.’

‘No kidding.’ Prowl rested an easy hand on Punch’s shoulder. ‘You should stay on-site for now, play some catch-up—relax. Consider yourself dismissed.’ He craned his head to the others. ‘That goes for everyone, this meeting is adjourned.’

Without a moment’s notice, Botanica and Perceptor had made their way out of the council chambers alongside Punch, guarding him like a fragile sparkling. Sonar and Hubcap remained at Prowl’s side, awaiting orders as Mirage conversed with him.

‘We have many of Counterpunch’s operatives under lock and key—Runamuck, Runabout, one of the clones, I think… they all think their leader is imprisoned with him. It seems almost too good to be true.’

Prowl gestured for them to move, and the four Autobots continued down the Hub’s corridors. ‘You doubt Punch’s judgement?’

‘It’s not that. You see, I used to major in economics, the price of things. I became a master at it. The price of life it took to get Punch here, let alone to keep him secret…’

‘Flinch, Bull-Dor, Upstream…’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Megamile, Forkloader, Nine-Volt, I can go on Mirage.’

Mirage turned to Hubcap for support.

‘Don’t look at me, half he says is incoherent babble on my end anyway.’

Sonar barely shifted her composure. ‘Let him finish.’

‘They’re names. The names of our dead.’ Prowl explained. ‘We make sacrifices every minute of every day, Mirage. Many of the names off the top of my head just now were Autobots killed by Counterpunch…. They are as great a mass of heroes as Leo Prime was. Their purposes were of greater significance than you and I could ever hope to achieve.’

‘Their purpose being to die?!’

‘Counterpunch won us the Surge. Thanks to him, none of us are limbless playthings for the DJD right now— and we both know he is only scratching the surface.’ Prowl stared at the ceiling as he walked. His optics darting from side to side. ‘We’ve entered a new stage in the war, a stage where the possibilities are endless, where it could, with some thought, come to a potential end. If we want to be the ones left standing, we need to be clever. The cleverest. We’ve moved on from fighting with words and guns—with rage and muscle—we need to do more than that. From now on, we live in a war of processor over matter.’

-----

In the Hub’s docking bay, tens of Autobot ships returned. Like passengers at a train station, Autobots of all shapes and sizes passed throughout in large groups. Some completely hidden. A small, squat Autobot named Brawn strutted in, bragging to his tiny companion Brains about all sorts of wounds he got in his last encounter with Rumble and Frenzy. Whether it was unknown to them or not, a small, rectangular red box sat idly on his shoulder, there was a single purple blip of light flashing from its crevice. A nearby Autobot briefly nodded to the light before carrying out their duties.

Lights flashed all across the Hub, brightly forming a single image that danced in the night sky above the planet Opulus.

It glowed purple.

 

An image of what?

 

The purple blips of light across the Hub form the image of a ______

Well, I'm not telling yet. But I think "purple" is the keyword.

 

Episode 6

Blackarachnia could hear the sound of her own breath within the quiet hum of Prime’s quarters. The room was a cramped space and nearly pitched black save for the red outline of Prime. Blackarachnia clenched the blade between her servos and listened for a sign of conscious movement. Nothing. Lifting the sharpened object above her head with one hand, she moved her other towards the sleeping Prime only for a pair of bright, blue optics to snap open across Optimus’s faceplate. Spotting the gleam of a knife, the Autobot leaped from his recharge slab, clapping his hands together and activating the overhead lights. The room illuminated, blinding Blackarachnia’s optics and resulting in her dropping the blade.

‘Whoa!’ Optimus hurdled over his slab and unfolded his axe, battle ready.

Blackarachnia massaged her four optics and extended a servo towards the tenacious Autobot. ‘Wait! This isn’t what it looks like, I swear—.’

Optimus banged the hilt of his axe against his slab. ‘Ironhide! Blackarachnia is trying to kill me!’

‘What!?’ Ironhide’s head popped out from underneath the recharge slab. ‘I knew it!’

Blackarachnia raised her hands above her head. ‘Okay, first of all, I wasn’t trying to kill you, second of all...’ she stared at Ironhide skeptically. ‘Why are you under Prime’s bed? Were you there this whole time?’

Ironhide brandished a digit towards her. ‘Don’t change the subject, Decepticon!’

‘Wait, is this where you sleep?’

Optimus leaned over the slab to face Ironhide. ‘There is no shame in the duty of a fully-fledged bed-bro.’ the two robots slammed their fists together.

Ironhide nodded loyally. ‘I got your back. No monsters under the bed tonight.’ He grinned. ‘Except for me.’

Blackarachnia shook her head. ‘This is why I sleep in a jail cell instead.’

‘Anyway!’ Optimus thrusted his axe forward, locking it inches below the ex-Decepticon’s chin. ‘What is your deal?’

Blackarachnia’s optics narrowed. ‘Pick up what I dropped and see for yourself.’

‘Done.’ Ironhide, still lying beneath the slab, had lifted the sharp object above his head, handing it to Optimus.

‘It looks like a knife.’

‘Well spoiler alert: It’s not, take a closer look.’

Optimus squinted his optics. ‘Don’t tell me…’

‘It’s a shopping discount card. One that’s shaped like a knife.’ She said, truthfully.

Optimus raised the card to the light. ‘But… why? Who designs a card like this?’ he tapped his index finger against its tip. ‘It’s sharp too. Wait a second, this can absolutely substitute for a knife!’

‘Oh, I heard of those.’ Ironhide said, snapping his fingers. ‘Yeah, there are some planets in this sector that got sick of their crime and fraud rates and decided to turn their currency into weapons for self-defence. Want to steal a purse? Good luck except—oh that's right, thanks to its built-in scimitars, you no longer have any fingers.’

Optimus flipped the card around. 'Wait, no. It's a gift-card to a knife shop. It's just shaped as their logo. Still pretty dangerous, though. If I'm right in assuming you came here without the intention of killing me, Blackarachnia, then I owe you an apology.'

Blackarachnia let her arms drop and exhaled. ‘Thank you… I found it back when I was raiding Snaptrap’s ship. Stepped on it really. Actually my foot is still bleeding pretty bad.’ She shook her head. ‘But seriously, I just checked the radar and it turns out we’ll be passing over Talon IV in about an hour. So like, we can stop by its legendary shopping center and pick up some supplies if everyone’s up for it.’

‘Sounds like a plan.’ Optimus stared at Ironhide, who casually remained under the bed. ‘Any objections?’

He snorted, staring down Blackarachnia from below. ‘I just don’t get why anyone would check the radar at four in the morning.’

‘I live in a prison cell. They're not exactly built for comfort, so I try to keep myself busy with meaningless drivel until I collapse of exhaustion.'

Ironhide would only growl in response.

The three robots remained where they were, silent. Optimus cleared his throat. ‘So uh… Ironhide, you wouldn’t happen to be—.’

‘Stuck under the bed? Yes.’ He stretched his arms up towards them. ‘Mind pulling me out? Laugh and I will drag you under here with me, and you will know true hell.’

-----

Talon IV, a planet once flourishing with history and culture stemming from a lost-civilization—long since stripped away and terraformed to make room for the galaxy’s industrial development. On one side of the planet was a well-populated area consisting of a maze of market’s and shopping districts and living quarters populated by a plethora of alien species, on the other was a vast wasteland of nothingness. Thundercracker liked the latter side better, and that’s just where he found himself.

Fixing his goggles back over his optics, Thundercracker returned to his self-appointed duties of polishing Skywarp’s stasis tube.

‘Is he still unwell?’ Obsidian asked, hovering over the blue Seeker.

‘Yeah.’ He tapped at a panel and the horizontal tube opened upwards, exposing Skywarp’s body to the warm, Talonian air. ‘But he's improving. It shouldn’t be long before he comes to his senses.’

‘I see, that is... fortunate.’ Obsidian had been staring at Starscream, the Seeker commander was sitting in his makeshift throne (Thundercracker had built it himself using tree branches and glue). He was facing the other way, concealing his face from the others.

‘Is he still sitting out there? What do you reckon he's thinking of?’ Thundercracker noticed, motioning to the commander.

‘Something, hopefully.’ Obsidian hovered towards him but stopped. Something seemed off. ‘Hm… Strika?’

The large robot blinked out of her daydream, nodded and placed herself in front of Starscream, staring at him in disbelief. ‘Oh you’ve got to be kidding me!’

'What?' Thundercracker whipped his head between the two Decepticons. ‘He's not dead, is he? That wouldn't make any sense.’

‘Asleep…’ Strika clapped her hands together over the seeker’s head, snapping him awake.

Starscream flinched suddenly. 'Jesus-- what happened? What's going... Oh. Do you mind?'

‘Do you? Where do you think you are? On holiday? Because I did not accompany you on this mission so you could nap!’ She pointed a meaty digit towards the empty sandy landscape. ‘We are stuck here wasting our time in the middle of nowhere. All the while our enemies continue to escape our grasp.' She pointed the digit back at Starscream's chest. 'But then there’s you: acting as though you have everything planned out in the palm of your hand!’

‘Your point?’

Strika clenched her hands into fists, resisting the urge to beat Starscream down. ‘My point is that you’re lazy! The Prime is nowhere in sight and still we remain stranded in neutral space! Because of your lack of direction, we are nowhere closer to our goal than we were when we began!’

‘Strika…’ Obsidian placed a spindly servo on his cohort’s shoulder. ‘Allow me.’ The hovering Decepticon cleared his throat, clasping his hands neatly behind his back as he leaned towards his commander. ‘Starscream, I believe that I speak for all of us when I say that you have... kept us rather in the dark in regards to how you plan to deal with the Prime.’

Starscream folded his arms over his chest and squinted at the Decepticon. ‘You’re asking if I have a plan?’

‘To summarize: yes.’

‘To summarize: I do. Why do you ask?’ He leaned forward from his “throne”, drawing his face closer to Obsidian’s. ‘Are you saying you have a better plan of attack? That you think you know better than I do?’

Obsidian's optics narrowed, it was clear Starscream had struck a chord with him. ‘Starscream, please. I am one of the most decorated military geniuses in the Decepticon hierarchy. I have won countless battles, successfully taught the most sophisticated of plays to the most brutish of gun-fondlers. I have even inspired strategies that are being adopted by the Autobot's head tacticians as we speak. I’ve plenty of plans tucked away neatly in my head, but that, that is for when we actually achieve our goal of locating him first.’ The strategist pressed a thin digit against Starscream’s chest, pushing him back into his throne. ‘It is your job as the leader of the Seekers to, how should I put it: Seek the Prime out. I theorize battle strategies, ways to eliminate targets. It is the Seeker’s duty to find those targets ahead of time.’

Starscream clasped his hands together, staring at the flying Decepticon through fiery orange optics. ‘Are you done?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Now please, take a seat as I explain how dumb you are. All of you.’

Neither Obsidian nor Strika reacted. Thundercracker pretended to be busy working on Skywarp, as to keep himself uninvolved.

Starscream pushed against the arms of his makeshift throne and lifted himself to his feet. ‘First, riddle me this: what do you see around you?’

Strika craned her head around skeptically. ‘Sand… dirt… some weeds—tumbleweeds.' She covered the sun from her optics as she gazed into the distance. 'There's a weird lookin' tree about a kilometer from here, if that means anything.’

‘And you, Obsidian?’

‘Nothing. Nothing of value whatsoever.’

A cat-like grin spread across Starscream’s face. ‘Now, what should you be seeing around you. Not what’s there now—but what should be here in its place.’

Strika pondered this for a moment, though Obsidian responded with a blunt: ‘I don’t know.’

Starscream made a condescending 'tch' noise with his lips. ‘I'm sorry. If your tiny, baby, minds don’t understand, then I suppose I’ll just have to explain myself.’ He gestured to the landscape around him. ‘Purple hallways, wayward computers alight with battle stats and target visuals, soldiers marching obediently through the corridors, sharing information as they equip for battle with path blasters and fusion rifles. That is what remains to be seen—that’s where we belong. We’re not searching for Optimus Prime because we won’t, it’s because we can’t, not in this condition. Don’t get me wrong, Astrotrain is a very… pleasant, individual. But we cannot afford to call him up whenever we want to be somewhere.’

Obsidian drew a digit to his chin. ‘Then what do you propose?’

Starscream bared his teeth as he released a small, ball-like object from his grasp. The orb sputtered in the air before splitting apart and forming a large, violet hologram; taking the form of the symbolic flagship of the Decepticon battle fleet. ‘I have a plan take back the Nemesis.’

Obsidian seemed unsure. ‘The Nemesis? You wish to take back the most heavily fortified ship in the Decepticon armada?' He would have grinned were his mandibles capable of it. 'How do you propose we accomplish such a thing?’

‘Not to worry, I have already gone over the details with Soundwave in private.’

Strika folded her arms. ‘And how did that go?’

‘Quite well actually.’ Starscream said hesitantly.

-----

Four hours earlier - A Pit stop in Neutral space...

‘I HATE YOU!’

Soundwave’s hologram shone brightly in the dark. ‘Considering how long we have been forced to behave in one another’s presence, I can assure you that the feeling is mutual.’

‘Oh don’t you act like we’re on equal footing here, Soundwave. You’re living the dream as leader of the Decepticons while I’m out here breaking my back on one backwater planet after another. It’s all grits and glory to you, and organic waste matter for me.’

‘Then I see we are both precisely where we belong.’

‘I—.’ Starscream stopped, realizing where Soundwave was getting at. He punched through the hologram, his breath-rate escalating. ‘I swear, the next time I see you I'm going to rip your throat out from your--.’

‘No you won’t.’

‘And just why the hell not?’

‘Because I am actually willing to give you what you desire.’

Starscream settled his breathing. ‘There's a lot I desire. You're tackling a very broad spectrum, you know that?’ He leaned forward. 'Now I'm curious, what do you think I want?'

‘You tell me. I can’t read your mind—not from halfway across the galaxy.’

The Seeker commander turned away from the transmission. ‘Respect. I want the very respect I lost when I lost the Nemesis.’

Soundwave went silent.

‘What? What are you thinking?’

‘I just find your answer… off-putting, to say the least. I thought you wanted leadership.’

Starscream stared into the middle distance. ‘Soundwave, I don’t want leadership. Not for the sake of leading anyway, maybe I did once before but… I thought you knew that.’ He shook his head. ‘No. I want to lead because I know it’s the last thing Megatron would want. I want to lead because Megatron would despise the notion—it would be the ultimate revenge fantasy. What better way to piss on his grave than to be the one to take his life's work from him?’

Soundwave’s visor narrowed. ‘How suave.' His gaze turned to his wrist communicator, where he began filing inputs. 'Concerning the Nemesis, I had a small discussion with Slipstream not too long ago. I gave her information regarding the possible whereabouts of Optimus Prime.’

‘You’re giving out hints?!’

‘Only to those I have a genuine use for.’

Starscream folded his arms. ‘I can’t believe this... Alright then, tell me what you told her.’

‘I told her there were sightings of an Ark-class spaceship nearing Talon IV.’

‘And this is true?’

‘According to my sources.’

Starscream cracked his fingers. ‘Then that’s where they’ll be. Both of them.’ He planned out a set of co-ordinates in his head, stopping only momentarily to consider his own source. ‘Something’s… no.’

‘Pardon?’

Starscream pressed the tip of his index finger against the hologram. ‘Why are you telling me this? What do you expect is going to happen?

‘I expect no payment from you, Starscream.’

‘That’s not what I mean, what do you gain from giving me this advantage? Unless…’ A grin curled across Starscream’s lips. ‘Oh, I see now.’

‘I have my own reasons, Starscream.’

‘You think Slipstream is going to win, don’t you?’

Soundwave didn’t say a word.

‘That’s it then, you don’t want Slipstream to win! But why? Why her specifically? Or is it even personal to begin with? Do you fear the inevitability of someone stealing leadership from you?’

Soundwave relaxed and lowered his shoulders. ‘Starscream, you are an endless source of single-mindedness.’ He raised a large servo over his head. ‘This goes beyond whatever you believe in, conqueror, until then, the Nemesis, and Optimus, are yours for the taking. Do as you wish. Soundwave out.’ He lowered his hand, and the Hologram dissipated, leaving Starscream alone once again.

-----

Now

‘Then why don’t we just kill Prime before they do?’

Starscream, Obsidian and Strika stopped and stared at Thundercracker. He leaned his back against Skywarp's cannister as he explained himself. ‘The reason Slipstream is here is because of Optimus. Shouldn’t we be here for the same reason?’

Starscream snickered to himself as he approached his fellow Seeker. ‘Thundercracker, Thundercracker, Thundercracker… We have to kill Optimus before Slipstream does. Right now we are faced with lottery-winning-levels of somehow shooting Prime down before Slipstream uses her massive warship - literally built to raze worlds to eviscerate him off the face of the Universe - to rip him out of existence. In short, we’re going to need to take the Nemesis before it's used by the wrong person.’

‘We won’t be able to.’ Strika said, reluctantly. ‘Soundwave said that if any Decepticons try killing each other, we'll have to answer to, well, death. Not his exact words, but generally speaking...’

He raised a hand to the bulky Decepticon. ‘He also said we were allowed to defend ourselves. If a seeker shoots you, you shoot back, understood?’

She flexed. ‘Eh. I can probably handle it.’

‘Good.’ Starscream turned to Obsidian, smiling from ear to ear. ‘Who’s the one without a plan now?’ He raised his hands above his head, rotating his wrists like they were a pair of rotors. ‘“Look at me: I’m Obsidian, I don’t know what the ground feels like and can’t make my own plans without being dumb. Blah, blah, blah." See, that’s what you sound like.'

Obsidian remained unimpressed by Starscream’s display. He waved a servo towards Thundercracker. ‘Perhaps we should attempt negotiations beforehand. Thundercracker, any idea how we might be able to locate a comm signal?’

The blue Seeker folded his arms. ‘If the Nemesis is anywhere, it’ll be floating within the outskirts of the town complex - network connections and all that. I recommend we begin our scans there.’

Strika made a pair of quotation gestures with her digits. ‘In other words, if we want to “commune” with them, we’re going to have to infiltrate the city.’

‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’ Starscream interjected. ‘There’s no need for infiltration—it’s not like this planet wants us, but at the same time there’s nothing stopping us from just, you know, walking in legally.’

Obsidian clasped his hands together. ‘Then we go to the city, pick up a signal, and make contact with Slipstream.’ He nodded. ‘Good. I love it when there’s a valid course of action.’

‘Of course.’ Starscream pressed his heel against his wooden throne and placed his hands on his hips smugly. ‘Prepare yourselves Decepticons, for we move forward now. Under my awesome leadership we will absolutely annihilate the Autobot—‘

‘AAAAGGGGHHHHH!!’

Starscream swung his head around, nearly falling off his throne. ‘What the hell?!’

Lying faced up in his canister, Skywarp shrieked, his optics fired a white beam of light out of either socket. A blood-red liquid erupted from his mouth and streaming out and down his chin, muddling his screams. Thundercracker tried to calm down his brethren only to be swatted aside by a flailing limb, crashing into the dirt. Purple energy wafted around the screaming seeker as he rattled in his cylinder, screeching: 'GET OFF ME!'

 

The shopping district was, for the most part, located at ground level, but even that didn’t stop its miles of shopping stands, rest stops and commercial merchandising from impressing Blackarachnia. She stood watching through a clear-glass screen from within the Ark’s observation deck as Optimus piloted the ship neatly towards the town’s docking area. As the Ark descended, several small aliens surrounded them, securing its landing and awaiting Optimus from outside.

Blackarachnia leaned against the glass, her optics scanning the many shops available to them. ‘Wow… where to start?’

Optimus rose from his command chair, beckoning Blackarachnia over. ‘Alright, you know the drill, don’t kill anyone, be nice, and no—.’

Ironhide kicked the door to the observation deck, covered in all sorts of weaponry from path-blasters to pistols. ‘Let's rock.’

Leaping from his command chair, Optimus stumbled down the main steps to Ironhide, grasping at the air wildly. ‘Ironhide! What are you doing?! Why do you have all those guns?!’

Ironhide blinked. ‘I don’t understand the question.’

Optimus pointed at the main view-screen and towards the wide range of uniquely shaped aliens walking about and minding their business throughout the center. ‘We’re in neutral territory! You can’t just waltz around fully armed as if we’re about to face down the crucible!’

‘But Prime! What if we encounter the Decepticons! What if we are confronted by Overlord or Straxus?! How are we supposed to defend ourselves without any guns?’

Optimus placed a hand on his friends shoulder. ‘The same way we always handle it.’ He leaned into Ironhide’s personal bubble, clenching the air between his servos until they shook. ‘With our bare fists!’

Ironhide stared at his cannons and sighed. ‘Not even one grenade?’

‘Not one grenade.’

‘Blast.’

Blackarachnia snickered as Ironhide stripped himself of his weaponry. ‘Hahah! Ironhide got in trouble with Prime!’

Ironhide’s optics blazed. ‘HAHAH BLACKARACHNIA IS A DECEPTICON!’ He threw his external weaponry to the ground and sat frustrated on the floor. ‘I’m keeping my cannons…’

‘Fine. Just keep the safety on.’ Optimus said, sighing.

Ironhide tilted his head slightly. ‘Right, yeah.’ He didn’t know what that was.

The main doors opened and a large ramp lowered from the Ark’s chambers. Standing below was a small neon blue and green alien about a head of a size shorter than Blackarachnia. The three Autobots traversed down the ramp with Optimus taking the lead.

‘What is the purpose of your visit?’ the alien asked, pulling out a check-board.

‘Stocking up on supplies for the trip. We’ll be gone by dusk.’

The alien nodded, its lizard-like eyes darting to a pair of waiting units of the same species and spoke in a native language. ‘Vii vera nictin, jii gonin niqua.’

The two nodded and approached Ironhide, holding a pair of plates that suctioned themselves onto the barrels of his cannons.

‘Hey, hey, what’s the meaning of this?’

‘A countermeasure, sir.’ The alien answered. ‘I understand that as soldiers you have the rights and requisites to own your weaponry. However, you have entered an area of space where such use of them is deemed illegal under the combined wisdom of the Vestial Imperium and the Nebulan Alliance.’

‘We understand.’ Optimus said, having heard enough of the Imperium for a lifetime.

The alien gave a faint nod and pointed a shriveled digit to an empty booth not far from where they were standing. ‘One of you will have to go through a very short set of customs, the rest can do as they please.’

Optimus advanced down the Ark’s ramp and turned to the others. ‘I’ll talk with them, the two of you can go on ahead.’

The marketplace was crowded, to say the least, and to avoid the risk of getting lost, Blackarachnia and Ironhide remained outside the customs office, surveying the area.

‘There’s so… much.’ Blackarachnia said, waving a hand to illustrate how immense the number of shops were. ‘What are you planning on buying, wait, let me guess, a gun--?’

‘Guns.’

‘Wow. I did not expect that.’

Ironhide folded his arms and hunched himself over defensively, as if he were curling himself into a ball. ‘So what? We must be vigilant. It’s us verses the universe now-- of course I want to be ready for it when it comes.’ He shook. ‘Damn universe… tricky sneak, it is.’

Blackarachnia scratched the side of her helm. ‘Yeah but, like, is that all? I mean, come on man, there has to be something that you’re actually interested in, you’re not a total tool, I don’t think…’

‘There is something…’

‘Finally!’ She paused. ‘Is it guns?’

‘It’s guns.’

Optimus grabbed them both by their shoulders, huffing as he urged them forward. ‘Come on, let’s go…’

‘You alright?’ Ironhide asked, passing with them into the crowds of aliens.

‘Kind of. I had to give them the Ark’s serial number.’

Blackarachnia blinked a pair of optics. ‘What is that, and why does it make me want some breakfast?’

‘It’s nothing, and don't be stupid. I was just worried about it since they have another Cybertronian working at the booth.’

Ironhide squinted behind them and towards the customs ‘Want me to roughen them up? I’ll show them that cereal is no laughing matter if you’d like.’

Optimus raised a hand to his comrade. ‘No! Please, we’re fine Ironhide, there’s nothing to worry about.’ The crowds started to dissipate as they moved deeper into the market, opening a pathway for Optimus to quicken his pace. He rose a dramatic servo. ‘But yet… we must stay vigilant, Autobots. Danger lurks in every corner. We must respond with the utmost clarity and focus, and watch where we stride, for in case of any emergency, we must prepare ourselves to—.’

Optimus’s speech was cut short as a loud squeak pitched from below. Lying on the ground by his feet was a small pink robot. Optimus gather that they were a female Cassetticon from the size and shape of their frame.

‘Hey! Big guy!’ the small robot stood up, coming up to his waist in height. ‘What’s the big idea?! Knocking someone down like that!’

‘Oh!’ Optimus bent over to see what he now realized was an Autobot. ‘I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have—say, have we met before?’

‘Don’t change the subject stick-bag! And don’t patronize me! Kneel so you can face me eye to eye!’

Optimus did as he was told and knelt, only to receive a quick slap in the face from the Cassette.

‘Ow!’

‘Yeah? Guess how I feel? But that’s just life, and life hurts, sweetie. I spend every damn day minding my own business, while people like you just can’t bother to look or think for themselves! Next time, try to be more vigilant, and for Primus sake; watch where you’re going!’

‘Yes sir!’

‘That’s M’AAM!’

‘Yeah! What you said!’

The pink robot let out a huff and went the opposite way, disappearing into a crowd.

Optimus rose to his feet, massaging the spot where he was hit. He turned around to find Blackarachnia and Ironhide covering their mouths, trying to hold in their giddiness.

He sighed. ‘Go ahead, have your fun.’

The two Autobots bent over laughing.

‘“Be vigilant” he says!’ quoted Ironhide.

‘“Watch where we stride”!’ Blackarachnia added.

Optimus sighed. ‘Well, that was an embarrassment.’

-----

‘Well, that was an embarrassment!’ Starscream declared, shoving Thundercracker aside.

Skywarp had long since been silenced, though it required Strika crushing his head into a crumpled ball to do it. Thundercracker sat, leaning against the city’s outer wall, his head in his hands. ‘I don’t know what happened! He must have regained a momentary lapse of memory from the time he went missing!’

Obsidian hovered nearby, tapping at his elbow impatiently. ‘A what?’

Thundercracker prepared to speak but was soon interrupted by Starscream. The commander cleared his throat as he prepared to speak. ‘Skywarp went missing for a few months, and returned with the ability to teleport, blah, blah, blah. The point is he regained his memory of those months and it made him scream like an Autobot. Thus potentially giving away our position to the whole damn solar system!’

‘Indeed.’ Obsidian said, hovering over the canister. ‘Is he dead?’

Strika made a “so-so” gesture with her servo. ‘I did him in as gently as I could. I’m sure he’ll be fine.’ She scratched the back of her head as she eyed the sealed container. ‘Probably. Though he has been a bit of a hassle to carry around...’

Obsidian eyed Starscream tiredly. ‘He has the potential to be a liability or worse, a danger to both us and our cause. I suggest we take our time in the future to consider leaving him in another party’s care.’

'You're kidding me.' Thundercracker leaped to his feet, his fingers digging into the palms of his hands. ‘He's one of our own!’

Obsidian and Strika made way as Starscream approached his fellow seeker. ‘He is. But it was your choice to bring him along. I don’t know why you’d rather drag him around than leave him back at command, but who am I to question obscure lifestyle choices?’

Thundercracker pressed his index finger against the side of his head. ‘Soundwave dug into my brain and displayed it for the world to see. If you think I’m going to leave Skywarp in his care then you obviously don’t care well enough for your frien—for your comrades.’

Starscream grinned, and placed a hand on Thundercracker’s shoulder. ‘Hey Thundercracker, here’s a joke: “I care about Skywarp”. Hilarious, right? See, the punchline is that it’s bullshit. I couldn’t care less about that idiot. Now here's the plan, convince me that he is of his use by the end of the day and I won’t ship him back to Soundwave to be dissected, deal?’

Thundercracker resisted the urge to deck Starscream and remained frozen in place. His fists shaking with rage.

Starscream patted him on the head. ‘Good boy.’ He turned to face the others. ‘Well! Now that that… episode, is out of the way, let’s move on to the fun part.’ He activated his communicube and watched as it split apart and formed a large ball of light. The light pulsed three times before taking the shape of Slipstream.

‘Aerospace Commander Slipstream speak—oh.’ A grin crept across her faceplate. ‘Well, look who it is.’

‘Aerospace Commander Starscream speaking. But I’m sure you remember that perfectly.’

‘It’s funny.’ She said. ‘We’ve been trying to reach you, but for whatever reason we couldn’t find a number, or an address.’

‘Hilarious…’ Starscream circled the transmission greedily. ‘I have been discussing with my strategists, - Obsidian and Strika, you may have heard of them - in regards to some suitable arrangements between our respective groups.’

Slipstream seemed to ponder this for a moment before lowering her optics. ‘I have been doing the same.’ Her shoulder moved as she tapped in a set of co-ordinates. ‘There, I’ve sent you the location of the Nemesis. We await your arrival.’ The feed cut-off, leaving Starscream staring at an empty screen.

He turned to face the others, still smiling. ‘They’re totally going to shoot us down.’

‘And?’ Strika shrugged. ‘What can we do?’

Starscream waved a hand to them. ‘Thundercracker, scour the marketplace for supplies, in the meantime, Obsidian, Strika, survey the area for potential traps and/or external reinforcements.’

‘And where’s that leave you?’ Thundercracker said.

‘I’ll visit them myself, when the time is right, now transform and rise up.’ Obsidian and Thundercracker nodded immediately, transforming into their aerial configurations and boosting into the sky. Strika stared at him for a moment, before transforming into her tank form alongside Obsidian’s shadow.

Alone with Skywarp, Starscream considered the situation and shook his head. ‘I’m sure I’ll be given the warmest of welcomes.’

-----

Slipstream stood on the Nemesis’s bridge, optics fixated at the area in which Starscream’s hologram once stood. Beneath its bridge were rows of Seekers of all sizes, conversing and sharing their experiences to date. Standing on either side of her were the two Seekers of highest rank (after her of course), Ramjet and Sunstorm. Ramjet was a typically bulky seeker of warrior build and plain, grey and black colours. As his tag-name suggested, he wore a cone-shaped crown above his forehead. Sunstorm was thinner in build, and wore a golden cape-like apparatus that reached to his ankles. He had similar religious pieces of cloth draping from his arms and legs, signifying his attachment to Primus.

‘We’re totally going to blow him out of the sky!’ Ramjet exclaimed, fueled on adrenaline.

‘Peace, Ramjet.’ Sunstorm made a calming gesture to his cone-headed partner. ‘Starscream is a sinner of the worst, of course we’d never let that traitor back into the fold.’

‘Sunstorm.’ Slipstream said.

The gold and red Seeker straightened his posture upon address. ‘Yes, Commander?’

‘We’re going to let Starscream back into the fold.’

‘Of course.’

There was a moment of silence throughout the Nemesis before Sunstorm had time to react. ‘I beg your pardon?’

She turned around to face him, a bored expression strewn across her face. ‘We’re letting him back into the fold. I—what, did you not hear me? Is that too difficult for you to understand? Do you want me to repeat myself? Cause I won't.’

‘But—!’ Sunstorm tried to form words. ‘Surely you—It’s Starscream! I thought the reason we left when we did was to avoid him entirely! Why are we crawling back to him? What are you afraid of?’

Slipstream calmly punched a few keys into the Nemesis’s main console, and a hologram of a large, red and blue figure materialized. She pointed a strong digit at the Autobot. ‘I am afraid of that.’

‘Optimus Prime…’ Ramjet muttered.

‘This Autobot is a Prime that - who knows how - learned to mask his signature indefinitely. That’s enough to make any Decepticon unhinged. But more importantly, he killed Megatron in a one on one fight. I don’t care if it was strength or wit that allowed him to accomplish this, but it's enough to make me rethink my strategy numerous times over ever since we left Kaon.’

‘But, pray-tell, why?’ Sunstorm begged. ‘Why now? What could have possibly pained you into changing your mind about Starscream?’

‘When Prime lobotomized Snaptrap.’ She made stabbing gestures with her servos, signifying a battle. ‘Snaptrap was an old sparring partner of mine, he was as slow as a turtle - and was a turtle for that matter - but his vigor, well, that was something else altogether. Prime didn’t just defeat Snaptrap, he humiliated him. He forced him into a state worse than death. Anyone capable of doing that is a threat to pretty much everyone in the galaxy right now.’

‘Whatever, he probably didn’t do it alone.’ Ramjet shrugged. ‘I reckon he’s got tens of Autobots under his command to help him out, maybe even hundreds. Prime’s usually do.’

‘And that just makes this situation a whole lot more complicated.’ Slipstream spat. ‘If he has an army with him then how would you suspect our own armada to fair? We could be decimated in an all-out strike.’

‘But why Starscream?!’ Sunstorm persisted. ‘We could use the extra power, I admit, but Starscream is a—how do I describe him…? He’s a tipping barrel of gasoline, ready to spill over an open flame at any given moment.’

Slipstream’s optics seemed to dart as she thought up her response. ‘As unneeded a metaphor as that was, you’re right. But don’t forget, Starscream is the only one to have encountered the Prime and lived. He managed to outlive Megatron for Primus sake. With his knowledge of the enemy and the strategic genius of Strika and Obsidian at our disposal, we may just have a chance against him’

Ramjet tapped his fingers together nervously. ‘But what if he—?’

‘Takes over? Oh, don’t worry, Ramjet. I have a backup plan for that.’

Slipstream prepared to leave but found herself ceasing as Sunstorm spoke. ‘Is that the only reason you want Starscream to return?’

Stopping for only a moment, Slipstream considered the question and grinned, revealing her teeth. ‘Okay Sunstorm, fine, you win, I’ll spill.’ She wrung her hands together, her optics narrowing into a cat-like glare. ‘If you haven’t guessed already, I’ve got some naughty secrets that I’ve been trying to keep away from prying eyes. Secrets that I do not want to let loose just yet. Both Starscream and Optimus have been coming way too close to discovering some major answers. See, I’ve got big plans coming and I don’t need either of those idiots getting in my way.’ She made dismissive gesture and exited the bridge to pursue her own projects. ‘Best draw them in so I can keep an eye on them instead, wouldn’t you agree?’

 

Town lights flicker-faded, and medicinal smoke wafted against his waist as Thundercracker wandered through the market’s narrow streets; providing his utmost to avoid any shred of physical contact with the organic inhabitants. He found himself especially wary for the ones consisting of organic tissues, sheared cloth, and globules of he-didn’t-know-what. Basically, he avoided anything that wasn’t metal. He wasn’t a fan of the fleshy beings, and from the looks of their narrow-faced stares, they weren’t too thrilled about him either. Thundercracker couldn’t blame them, he was a Cybertronian after all. T’was the life, he mused. He had already completed his assignment of gathering and stockpiling resources for Starscream, even if he wouldn’t call the plan a total success. The weaponry he purchased had been nothing more than smaller scaled caricatures of Cybertronian hand-guns, and they would never compare to the devastating fire power of a null-ray or incomprehensible range of a techvolt-emitter. He had since tucked the primitive weaponry away into a small alcove outside the city’s rim alongside Starscream’s fools-throne, Obsidian’s data-pads, Strika’s weapons-stash, and of course, Skywarp. (Starscream himself was no longer there when he arrived.)

Deciding to leave the “base” as it was, Thundercracker proceeded back into city in hopes of finding Obsidian and Strika. After serving under Starscream since his days at the old research laboratory, Thundercracker had come to recognize the variety of expectations his commander held against him. Starscream always seemed to have preferred it whenever he or Skywarp took the initiative in his absence. He believed the reasoning behind it was so that more work would be done without requiring Starscream to lift a finger. If it were not for this, Thundercracker could have, and would have been lounging around the alcove, pointlessly, and Primus knew how Starscream hated things that were pointless. What would Starscream expect of me? He pondered. His answer came to him naturally. Assist Obsidian and Strika. Though they were nowhere in his peripheral sight, Thundercracker knew precisely how to locate them. The light blue seeker lowered his goggles over his optics and activated his heat-scan.
While he couldn’t find Obsidian or Strika through the glass’s detection frequency, he managed to sight the heat signatures of a pair of Seekers, standing a mere parsec from his location. Slipstream’s men. Thundercracker contemplated dealing with the issue by force, but upon further evaluation, considered his faint familiarity with the pair - having served alongside them for years past on the Nemesis – and decided to deal with the encounter in a smoother approach. That is, as smooth as Thundercracker could possibly accomplish. He arched around a corner and approached the pair in a casual stride. They were nearly identical in size and shape, though while one was a dark green and bronze, the other was cone-headed with a dark beige scheme, dark red highlights and a bright red faceplate.

You can do this, Thundercracker, you can do this.

Thundercracker caught their attention with a passive gesture. ‘What up, my Seekers?’

Dammit.

The pair stared at their blue counterpart through thickly layered optics, and frowned. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ The face-plated one demanded.

Thundercracker cleared his throat in embarrassment and forced a grin. ‘Er, nothing. That was stupid, sorry.’ He had definitely spent too much time with Skywarp. The blue Seeker extended a digit towards the one in beige and squinted his optics in an effort to place a name. ‘You're Contrail, right?’ He turned to the other. ‘And you are—?’

‘Tox-Box.’ The dark green one said, optics drooping as he mumbled his designation. ‘Rainmaker.’

Thundercracker cringed. ‘That's... unfortunate.’

Tox-Box looked as if he were about to topple over from his depressed posture. ‘Acid Storm made me change designations to match up with the whole “acid” motif. I was unjustifiably rushed.’ Tox-Box shrugged.

Thundercracker shook his head, arching his shoulders as to signal he was about to talk about other matters. ‘That aside… I haven’t seen either of you in months. Mind me asking what everyone's been up to since I’ve been gone?’

The seekers exchanged looks. ‘We’ve been serving under Slipstream,’ Contrail said.

‘We know what you have been up to.’

Thundercracker straightened his posture, blinking in uncertainty. He decided it would be best to just play along. ‘Okay. What have I been up to?’

Contrail and Tox-Box advanced on Thundercracker, forcing him back.

‘You’ve been working with Starscream,’ Contrail rightfully accused.

‘The very Starscream that tried to undermine leadership in front of the entire Decepticon army.’ Tox-Box clarified.

Thundercracker raised his servos in defence, hoping there wasn’t a wall behind him as he retreated blindly. ‘Okay! If this is what you’re so worked up about, then let me offer you—I don’t know, some resolution—some endnotes. I hate Starscream just as much as you do, shocking, I know. I only tagged along with him because I couldn’t find any work. I lived in a shoddy hab-suite, and I had nobody else who would take me. Happy? Now would you please just—?!’

Contrail activated a null-ray from his wrist compartment as Tox-Box pushed Thundercracker into a darkened alleyway. They were completely hidden now.

‘If you think that’s the only reason you’re going to die tonight, then you obviously haven’t been paying attention.’ Contrail said.

‘What?!’

‘We all know where you were the day he died.’ The beige Seeker went on. ‘We saw what you saw when Megatron was murdered in cold blood. You were barely twenty-feet from where it happened; flinching and crying behind a rock like a coward. There was so much you could have saved us from, Thundercracker! You could have killed Prime with a quick shot to the head, or distracted him long enough for Megatron to get the upper hand or—or anything. Instead you waited, watched, and let Megatron die right in front of you.’

Thundercracker tried to retort. He tried to tell them how idiotic they were being. He tried to scream, but he couldn’t even accomplish that.

When Contrail didn’t get a response, he leveled his null ray and fired a blast into Thundercracker’s shoulder. Chunks of metal exploding from his upper arm. The force pushed him down into a mound of organic litter, contained in lazily sealed plastic-tight bags. After the first kick to his ribs from Tox-Box, Thundercracker had finally understood that this was how he was going to die.

He extended a futile servo. ‘Wait! You wouldn’t! Not one of your own! That's not how we do things! It's not... Decepticon.'

Contrail reloaded his rifle as Tox-Box lifted Thundercracker up by the collar, delivering another blow across his face and leaving nasty gash between his optics. He slammed Thundercracker’s bleeding head back into the trash, rupturing the plastic bags and producing a vile liquid that leaked out from the tear and trickled down his face.

‘You were never one of us…’ Contrail’s Null-Ray came alight. ‘I watched you, whenever we were paired together. You never fought, and when you did, you were always too squeamish to let your vigor take control. I don’t even want to know how low your kill-count is…’

Thundercracker tried to speak, but received another fist to his face for his troubles.

‘You’re a traitor, Thundercracker. You hold back from killing the Autobots, you side with Starscream, and you toiled away as Megatron died right before your eyes. I don’t know about Tox-sucker here…’

‘Hey!’

‘…But I owed everything to Megatron. Seeker’s honour and all that. Sure, Optimus pulled the trigger, but you’re just as guilty for letting it happen.’ Contrail pressed the tip of his rifle against Thundercracker’s forehead.

Thundercracker didn’t know what he wanted his last breadth of conscious to be. He strained his mind to think. There was Skywarp, but for once, Thundercracker couldn’t give a damn about him, noy after all the crap he was put through. It was true, Thundercracker was a faceless entity in the Decepticon hierarchy, and those who did know him hated him for what he was. There was nothing for Thundercracker to leave behind in this world, and that terrified him. He wondered whether Starscream would notice he was gone.

‘Goodnight, Thundercracker.’

Optics squeezing shut, Thundercracker heard a loud crunch, followed by a hanging silence. Was he dead? No. Thundercracker had witnessed enough death to know that there was no such thing as a painless demise. Thundercracker had waited too long and anticipated this moment too highly for some lame ‘pop’. He opened his optics and tilted his head to his killer. Contrail’s face was gone. Not distorted, or caved out, just gone; a clean, carved hole replacing what was left. Behind him was a massive figure – a smoking path-blaster clenched between their meaty fingers. As Thundercracker’s optics adjusted, so did the figure begin to take shape.

Laughing, Strika raised a large, monolith-sized fist above her head, and swung it down like a hammer; crunching Contrail’s skull into his torso and severing his spark-casing. The sudden pressure caused the Seeker’s chest to violently explode into a wave of razor-sharp fragments that imbedded themselves into the alley’s walls, and worse, Tox-Box’s flesh.

‘It’s super effective!’ Strika cheered as Tox-Box looked on in horror.

‘CONTRAIL! OH MY GOD!’ Ignoring the pain, the rain-maker activated his acid-spray-rifle and aimed it at Strika only for a thin, spine-like appendage to burst out from his chest.

‘You gain pleasure from tormenting the weak, do you?’ Obsidian’s “tail” pressed in deeper as he held Tox-Box down by the wrists. ‘Then why didn’t you just torment yourself in the first place?’ His strength overwhelmed Tox-Box’s as he forced the Seeker to raise his acid-rifle and jam the barrel against his helm.

‘NO!’

‘It’s simple math. You kill the weak. You are weak. Therefore, you should shoot yourself in the head.’

‘PLEASE!’

‘You still don’t understand? Hum, well, allow me to educate you on the subject.’ Obsidian pushed a tendril against Tox-Box’s trigger-finger and fired the gun, spraying a blast of toxic liquid that engulfed the Seeker’s head. The hovering Decepticon released himself from the Rainmaker and surveyed his handy-work from a safe distance; watching as his victim fell to his knees, screaming. Tox-Box’s helm disintegrated and his optics popped out of his face as green and purple puss spouted from his pores like tiny geysers. Within a matter of seconds, Tox-Box’s head had become nothing more than a rusted, metallic skull. Sounds remained creeping from the head even after his jaw had literally dropped and shattered between his knees. The Rainmaker’s life finally ended as what was left of its disintegrating skull cracked open upon impacting against the cold, miserable ground.

Thundercracker couldn’t tell how long he had been staring, only snapping back into conscious the moment Obsidian had stopped offering him a hand. Rising on his own, Thundercracker tried to vocalize a word of thanks, but once again failed to formulate any sort of response.

Obsidian turned to his consort, his servos placed against his hips. ‘Well Strika, I suppose you could say these Seekers were…’

‘…Seeking their graves!’ Strika finished. The massive femme high-fived Obsidian, still laughing as a result of her adrenaline-high. She sobered for only a moment to reach into Tox-Box’s non-existent skull and crush his brain module before returning to her guffaw.

‘Ahh…’ Obsidian turned back to face Thundercracker. ‘Care for a drink?’

Finally, something Thundercracker understood.

-----

‘It’ll be a matter of time before Slipstream realizes two of her men are missing. But I believe a dumpster is discreet enough. Or not. Who knows, really?’

The local pub was generally well populated, with a lengthy bar and its own area for gambling and recreational sport. An ape-like alien bolted from their seat in happiness as he won a game of full-stasis. Behind them, Strika, Obsidian, and Thundercracker sat, drinking against the warm glow of the pub’s liquid cannisters.

Thundercracker’s face was buried into his arms, a servo wrapped around a glass of synthesized Energon. ‘I’m sorry. That was just... embarrassing.’

Strika snatched Thundercracker’s glass from his fingers and downed its contents before supplying him with another. ‘Here, have another one, on me.’

Thundercracker droned on, ignoring the fact that Strika was stealing his Energon right in front of him. ‘I’m usually a good fighter-- honest. But what happened back there, I guess— I suppose two Seekers are just better than one…’

Obsidian’s fingers curled and uncurled around the glass. ‘You’re welcome. Now, shut up, drink up, and forget about it.’

Thundercracker waved an irritable servo and took a sip from his glass. He thought for a moment, and made the decision to ask. ‘So are either of you planning on killing Starscream any time soon?’

Obsidian raised a curious brow while Strika merely laughed. She pressed her fist against the top of Thundercracker’s head and gave him a noogie. ‘You’re a funny little mech!’

Thundercracker snarled in and pushed the larger Decepticon’s fist aside. He hated being treated like a child, especially when he could have sworn he was older than both Strika and Obsidian combined. Well, Strika more-so than Obsidian. ‘Look, I went with Starscream as a last resort. Frankly, I couldn’t care less if you wanted to kill him, hell, I’d help. But you guys are some of our highest ranking generals. You expect me to believe that you're aligning yourself with Starscream willingly?’

‘It’s not like that…’ Obsidian held his glass with both servos. ‘Believe me when I say we haven’t been put up to anything. Soundwave did talk to us about it… but only after we made the decision to join him.’

‘But why?’

Strika waved a pair of servos in front of her face. ‘Don’t look at me. He never tells me anything.’ She turned to Obsidian. ‘He has a point, though. Why are we working for that square?’

Obsidian was nonplussed. ‘Because that “square” is our best chance at finding the Prime. Starscream is an idiot, we can all agree on that.’ He turned his attention away from his glass, and fixated on Thundercracker. ‘But he’s a powerful one. And those, Thundercracker, are the most terrifying idiots of all. Starscream was in charge of a squadron designed to seek out, and destroy Autobots. Biases aside, I couldn’t think of a better suited Decepticon for the job.’ He squinted his optics, an air of reluctance filling his vocabulary. ‘He’s also the only Decepticon to have fought the Prime and lived. In short, he’s the only one around who knows what he’s up against. Starscream has many positive aspects that raise his chances in avenging Megatron, he just hasn’t proven them yet.’

Thundercracker pondered this for a second, and shrugged. ‘Fine by me.’

Strika downed the rest of Obsidian’s drink in a single gulp. ‘There’s also the fact that nobody wanted us either, but I guess at the end of the day we just creep people out.’

Obsidian nodded in reluctant agreement. ‘True…’ Realizing that his glass had been emptied, the strategist checked a chronometer on his wrist and rose from his seat, beckoning Strika to do the same. ‘It looks like we’ve had enough… come on, we should get back to work.’

Strika slumped out of her chair, groaning. ‘Fine, fine… even if I was just getting started.’ She turned to face the blue seeker once more. ‘You coming, Thundercracker?’

‘You go on ahead. I’m going to finish my glass first.’

‘Suit yourself.’

Finding himself sitting at the bar alone, Thundercracker ordered another bottle of synthesized Energon and began to slouch. He ordered three more glasses and drank away his worries, he was not planning on spending the day sober when there were other Seekers out to kill him.

-----

Despite declaring they would stick together, Team Prime had found themselves speaking at three different vendors, all selling their own merchandise alongside a tightly enclosed pathway. Waiting to be served wasn’t much of an issue, as the organic aliens seemed to disperse as the Cybertronians paved the way, as if there were an invisible barrier surrounding them wherever they went. Having retrieved three sets of energy cannisters tucked beneath her arms, Blackarachnia left the server unoccupied and strolled over to Optimus, curious as to what the Prime had purchased for himself.

‘I got the fuel-cells you asked for, oh-fearless-leader.’ Blackarachnia teased. She stood on her toes to catch a glimpse of the flat, rectangular box cradled in his hand. ‘What’cha got there?’

Optimus moved the black and blue box into the light. ‘Behold, Blackarachnia. Back on Earth, we called these… “Blu-Rays”.’

She took a second to wrap her head around a possible meaning behind the name. ‘Yeah? What’s it do?’

‘It’s a movie.’ Prime said, contently massaging his thumbs against the rims of the disc’s container. ‘You know, to watch.’

‘Oh.’ Blackarachnia tilted her head. ‘Should’ve said that in the first place. Is it a good one?’

Optimus looked as though he were only paying partial attention. ‘Surely… I mean, it’s Batman.’ Optimus craned his head to face Ironhide from across the passage. ‘Ironhide! You know about Batman, right?’

Ironhide perked his head, and bumbled over, carrying a glass jar under his arm. ‘Of course I do, he’s the reason I’m black. Why do you ask?’

Optimus revealed the box to him and dragged a finger beneath the title.

Ironhide frowned, snatching the box away, scanning it and flipping it around so that the title faced Optimus. ‘I hate to say it, Prime, I really do, but it looks to me that you’ve been ripped off. It appears to be one of those cheap knock-off titles, y’know: the “Incredible Bulk”… “Atlantic Rim”?’

Optimus snatched the Blu-Ray from Ironhide and glared at its title. Indeed, it was in special font, but the title clearly read: From the producers who saw the Dark Knight… Bantam, Brake and the Bolt.

Prime stared for a moment, and let out a disappointed sigh.

Ironhide cracked his knuckles, scanning the area diligently. ‘Shall I pulverize the one who sold you this piece of fecal matter?’

‘What? Ironhide, no. Quit making such a big deal out of everything.’

Blackarachnia massaged her chin, recalling Prime’s earlier statement. ‘Earth huh, speaking of pulverized, didn’t that planet get wiped out, too? This crappy movie could be one of the last artifacts of that civilization… it could be the last Earthen movie in existence…’

‘Yeah…’ Optimus said before carelessly throwing the movie to over his shoulder, forgetting of its existence immediately. He turned his attention to the glass jar under Ironhide’s arm. ‘Say, Ironhide, what’s with the—.’

‘The jar.’ Blackarachnia finished, quickly.

‘Oh, this?’ Ironhide raised the jar to optic-level, displaying the contents for both to see. Crawling around inside was a small, arachnid-like alien that resembled a tarantula down to the small hairs growing on its back. Its eight eyes flicked from face to face, curious and confused. ‘I won it from a man living in a tent with nothing but spiders. He was practically begging people to take them away from him.’

‘Someone gave you that?’ Optimus asked.

‘Is it secure in there?’ Blackarachnia added, passively.

‘Yeah, I asked him where he ended up with such a surplus of them, and he told me it was none of my damned business; that I should stop asking questions if I knew what’s good for me. I liked him.’ He blinked, failing to read Optimus’s opinion on the subject. ‘I can get rid of it if you want – force him to take it back, even. I can’t imagine he’d be okay with it, but hell, who’s going to argue with a pair of big-ass cannons?’

‘You probably should.’ Blackarachnia said.

‘There’s no reason why we can’t keep it.’ Optimus disagreed. ‘All it means is that we’ll have to learn how to raise a spider now.’

Ironhide nodded, and turned to Blackarachnia, extending the jar in her direction. ‘See, kid? It kind of looks like you.’

Blackarachnia took a quick step back from the jar. ‘Yeah... So that jar is sealed tight? It can’t get out?’

Optimus and Ironhide exchanged glances before prompting Blackarachnia. Optimus spoke in a soothing tone. ‘Blackarachnia… you don’t actually feel sympathy for it… do you?’

Blackarachnia scoffed. ‘Come on! What, because I change into a nightmare machine modeled after an arachnid, I automatically sympathize with every other, ugly, crawly, bug-eyed, little spider we come across? What do you take me for? An Autobot?’

Optimus and Ironhide shared another set of looks before slowly turning their heads to face Blackarachnia. Optimus retained his potent tone. ‘Blackarachnia, you aren’t…’

Ironhide shook his head. ‘Couldn’t be…’

‘What?’

‘You aren’t afraid of spiders, are you?’

All Blackarachnia could do was stare, silently and deadpanned. Finally, she put on a crooked grin and laughed it off. ‘Hah! Whaaaat? Why—heh, what makes you… naaaaaaah, man, I’m not afraid of anything. Especially not disgusting little creepy-crawlies like— like that thing. Now that’s settled, let’s just put the jar away and get back to some—.’ She stopped, realizing it was pointless. ‘I’m not…!’

Ironhide took a step closer to Blackarachnia, optics wide in disbelief. ‘You’re afraid of spiders. YOU, are afraid of spiders.’

The brows over her optics creased as she tried to reason up an excuse. Angrily, she flexed a digit at the jarred arachnid. ‘So what? That thing is an irregularity, a monster. Everyone’s afraid of monsters. Monsters like The DJD, Sixshot, Harbinger, Galvatron, Maximo, Overlord, Shockwave, Scarab … real or not, they terrify everyone. That includes you, losers, so don’t go pretending that they don’t!’

Ironhide folded his arms. ‘They don’t.’

Optimus placed a large hand on Blackarachnia’s shoulder. ‘There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Blackarachnia, everyone fears, even monsters. I promise that no one will laugh.’ Optimus said this. Looked away from them, and discreetly snickered over his shoulder.

‘Wh—you just laughed! Who does that? Who says they won’t laugh and then laughs?! That’s awful! You people are awful!’

‘I’ve got to wonder what that makes you.’ Ironhide mumbled to himself.

‘I’m sorry Blackarachnia.’ Optimus said, massaging the back of his head. ‘But you have to admit. It’s comedic irony.’

Blackarachnia was not satisfied.

Optimus shook his head and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Come on, I heard there was a bar that served mechanicals just down the road. That should calm us all down.’

Ironhide nodded in agreement. ‘I could certainly go for a drink.’

Blackarachnia sighed, and they started walking. ‘Fine, but only if you’re paying.’

-----

Ramjet waded through the crowds of seekers before making his way to the main corridor. There he could at least catch a breath. Days living on the Nemesis had begun to feel very same-y to the cone-head. Slipstream would order the mandatory hunts, Hotlink would repair his fractured skull – much to the mechanic’s chagrin – and once again, Ramjet would have nothing to do. He was bored. Despite holding a higher rank amongst the seekers, and a former title as one of the Decepticons' deadliest warriors among likes of Blitzwing and Macabre— there were few on the Nemesis that actually cared to be around him. He liked to think it was because they were all afraid of him, that his bulky frame and barrel-chest was enough to make them tremble. But really, even someone as stupid as him could tell it was because they didn’t like him. He missed having people to talk to. He missed Thrust and Dirge. It was the strangest thing, what happened. One day, there they were, the next they were gone. Starscream had little to say of it, concluding that they were deserters and leaving it at that. But they couldn’t have left him too, could they? Or did they just forget to mention it to him? It didn’t matter. Questioning things made Ramjet’s head hurt. Or maybe that was just a result of all the mid-air collisions.

He heard a faint voice pester him from an adjacent corridor. ‘Ramjet. Ramjet, over here!’ It was Sunstorm, his cloak bellowing below his ankles.

Ramjet scanned the hallway for watchers before acknowledging Sunstorm’s presence. He wasn’t sure how to react. ‘Oh, it’s Sunstorm. What do you want?’

The golden Seeker beckoned him over. ‘Oh, nothing more than a chat, I assure you, yes...’

Ramjet stepped forward, troubled. ‘Yeah, look, I’m not so sure if I should be speaking to you.’

Sunstorm’s face crinkled into a frown. ‘What? Why-ever not?’

‘Well, I was just thinking to myself how people don’t really like me, but people are always avoiding you. If I start hanging out with you, people will probably get the wrong idea. I don’t want to catch your loser germs, Sunstorm.’

Sunstorm looked confusion, but promptly rolled his eyes before caressing the bridge of his nose. ‘Ramjet, do you know why the others avoid me the way they do?’

‘I dunno, I thought it was just ‘cause you’re weird.’

Sunstorm shook his head and raised an arm from his brisling cloak. He then proceeded to press the palm of his hand against the nearest wall. It took a moment, and it took a little longer for Ramjet to understand what was happening, but as Sunstorm pressed against the wall, it’s purple and black surface began to melt. After calculating the right amount of time, the seeker released his hand, revealing an expanding, peeling, bullet-hole shaped puncture in the wall the size of a bowling ball (in scale with the Cybertronians of course). Its rim peeled and curled outward, inclining from solid purple to a bright, liquid orange. The circumference sizzled and cried as droplets trickled down the untouched wall in thin beads that trailed black. Where the black touched, emptiness followed.

His demonstration finished, Sunstorm retreated his hand back into his cloak. ‘Firstly, don’t tell anyone I did this. Secondly—.’

‘How’d you do that?!’ Ramjet cried, acting as if he had just witnessed an act of witchcraft. ‘How in the great balls of Primus did you do that?! Did you call upon the power of the Fallen? Did you mix bird-crap with sulfur? Did you use magic-matrix powers? Did you…’ Ramjet stopped, and massaged his hurting head.

Sunstorm sighed softly. ‘No… no. Ramjet, I have had this power for—well, I’ve had it since birth, I’m actually quite surprised you did not know this about me. But that’s—walk with me—that’s part of what I wish to speak to you about.’

Ramjet followed his fellow seeker down the corridor. ‘Why me?’

‘We’re the two highest ranking officers aboard the Nemesis under Slipstream, are we not?’ Sunstorm grinned. ‘Tell me, Ramjet, what did you think of Starscream?’

Ramjet’s face went sour immediately. ‘Starscream? I’d rather see him executed after everything. The guy boasts his bridges, and the minute Megatron is gone, he talks a bunch of nonsense and begs to be in charge! I’ve never liked Starscream. Not ever.’

Sunstorm nodded, as he presumed. ‘Of course, and Slipstream? What about her?’

Ramjet found himself a little less sure. ‘She’s… well, she’s better than Starscream, isn’t she?’

‘Perhaps… perhaps. But has she fulfilled her duties adequately? Has she moved us any closer to locating the Prime?’

Ramjet scratched the back of his helm. ‘Well, no. Not exactly.’

‘Has she moved us any closer to finding any Autobot?’

Ramjet thought it over. He hadn’t killed a single Autobot in the months following Megatron’s death. Slipstream always saw the hunt for Optimus as a secondary objective, and her first… well, nobody really knew. He recalled the same, repeating outcome of each “hunt” Slipstream would have to be reminded to order. They’d arrive at a possible location, a high ranking Seeker like Slipstream or Nacelle would do a scan, and then Ramjet would be ordered to crash into the site and take out whatever’s inside. However, this proved fruitless for Ramjet’s bloodlust, as even if Autobots were nearby, Ramjet wouldn’t be conscious for the ensuing battle. For the first time since he started, Ramjet had come to recognize that his tendency, and above all willingness, to crash into his enemies was being used to turn him into a shock trooper. After all, what pushes an Autobot to the brink of panic more than a fighter-jet crashing through your window and exploding all over your couch? Ramjet had been questioned about it before, and the reason for his obsession with ramming was because for a good chunk of his life, he didn’t know how to land, and in doing so would crash into his enemies head-first instead of transforming to fire like his comrades. it, so he never stopped. People loved him for The secret eventually came out when he first crashed into Kaon’s loading bay during a return from a daily patrol. The only reason he’s survived for this long was because of the fact that after multiple crashes, his armour had just grown an affinity to it. How he passed flight school was a different story altogether, though psychologists like Froid just assumed that since he was an MTO, the whole landing thing must have been left out of his mental-curriculum by accident, or perhaps left out intentionally as a prank. Ramming and crashing was an effective way to root out the enemy, but it meant Ramjet never got to do what he loved, and fight. The only thing that made it less comforting was the fact that sometimes there wouldn’t be an Autobot there at all, and all that followed was Hotlink or Sygnet scooping his body back in the bin for repairs— for the next ramming.

‘No…’ he said, quietly. ‘I guess not.’

Sunstorm’s grin widened. ‘Frustrating. Isn’t it?’

‘You’re tellin’ me...’

Sunstorm faced forward. ‘But let me ask you this: Was it the same with Megatron?’

Ramjet shook his head as if on instinct. ‘No! Not at all! Whenever Megatron came around, things were—things were great! I remember, I got to fight right alongside him and he once, let me tell you, he once let me take the life of an Autobot general and—and it was great! I felt like I was a part of something whenever he was around.’ He smiled sadly. 'I felt like I made people proud.'

Sunstorm nodded once more. ‘Megatron was an honest individual. He was a true leader. Do you know why that is, Ramjet?’

The cone-head merely shrugged. ‘He was just good at his job, wasn’t he?’

The gold Seeker tilted his head. ‘Yes. You’re not wrong, but there’s something else. You see, I believe that Megatron was chosen—that his life was scripted from front to back.’

Ramjet didn’t understand at all, regardless he tried to keep up. ‘By who?’

Sunstorm’s grin broadened to Cheshire proportions, as he did, Ramjet could see red light between the cracks of his teeth. ‘God.’

‘Oh.’

Sunstorm continued, it was obvious that he was having a great time expressing himself. ‘I was an avid reader in Megatron’s manifesto: Towards Peace, Peace through Tyranny, My Struggle, you get the gist. In My Struggle, Megatron declared that he once had a dream where he spoke to his lordship, Primus—jagged crowned, and gun in mangled hand. They say he enlightened Megatron on the future of the war—how it begins, how it ends… it foretold events that we now know as the past: of Proteus’s death, of the rise of the Liege’s Imperium, the fall of Boltax, of the Quintessons re-establishment. But wouldn’t you know it? Everything that’s been said to have happened, happened!’ He leaned in towards the cone-head, smiling eerily. ‘But that doesn’t even scratch the freaking surface, there was still so much said, so much said! Primus told of a great hunter, of the primal extinction, and the resurrection of Cybertron. He told of a messiah bathing in flames, of the rise of a new population of Beast Warriors, and of a vanishing point dubbed as Shokaract.’

Ramjet was taken aback, mouthing words of confusion to himself as Sunstorm went on.

‘Thus calls forth my next question, Ramjet, do you believe in God?’

He blinked. ‘I, uh, I guess so, yeah. I tend to think Primus exists.’

‘You’re damned right he exists. The evidence is there, and yet there are still those who persist otherwise!’ Sunstorm spread his arms wide, caring not to touch anything with his condition. ‘Megatron was an avid believer in Primus—he believed, and therefore he advanced towards success. Watch, even in death he has reunified our army! Starscream and Slipstream… they’re bots of science. They believe what they think, and not what they feel. You cannot tell me there isn’t some precedent to the success and failures of our kings and queens when only those who have been chosen by Primus have succeeded.’

‘So… what? You think the reason why Slipstream is failing is because she hasn’t chosen Primus as her saviour?’

‘No, Ramjet, I believe that it is Primus who hasn’t chosen her. You see, Ramjet, my ability—the fact that my very touch can liquefy cybertanium metal and cook it to extreme heats—has burdened me since birth. I unintentionally murdered my own batch-initiator when I was first active, and the three doctors who tried to get a hold of me didn’t fare any better. It was Megatron who thought it paramount that I live—that I be used for good. Regardless, I hated myself and couldn’t see my condition – my unexplainable condition – as anything more than a curse. But, about thirty years ago, during the surge, I was placed in a squadron dubbed the “Firecons”. It was back when they were more than just three thugs, mind you. I was drafted alongside Fearswoop, Inferno – one of the Infernos anyway – Incinerator, P-Tech, Ember, and Flamefeather. The attack on mining-colony VIII was going great, the fact that it was a forest—a forest already suffering from a forest fire, made our lives miles easier.We did our thing and caused some chaos, tried to get the Autobots out of hiding by killing the planet’s inhabitants. Turns out we had fallen into an ambush, Sentinel Prime and his guard dropped from the sky and tore us a new one in seconds. Guns surrounding us, a shrieking school of Arks tore through the sky and bombarded the very planet they were supposed to protect, just to wipe us out. Sniper-fire and grenades tore the ground beneath our feet and pinned us down to the soft, soft, earth. Bayonets and shotgunners and beast-formers shredded through our first line of defense— we were utterly decimated. The smoke from our own flames was used to blind us, and it was not for long that we were bleeding, stumbling wrecks for Sentinel’s guard to hunt down and execute us one by one.’

‘Did you die?’

Sunstorm paused. ‘No. You idiot. I was hidden in a crater beneath what I thought was wreckage from our downed ship. I was cowering and crying, flip-flopping between self-destructing, and revealing myself for a last stand. I didn’t know how long I was buried, and I couldn’t tell when they stopped screaming, because their ghosts… their ghosts kept wailing to me long after I had already seen their corpses. Can you guess what happened to me, Ramjet? Can you guess what happened when I was lodged in that scar of the earth?’

Ramjet shook his head.

‘I had the dream! The prophecy! The same one Megatron had so long ago! Primus was there and he spoke to me. He told me of the fall of Megatron, of the Messiah, of the Beast Wars and Shokaract, everything, he told me everything! I saw Megatron’s death, and the inevitable second coming! He told me that until then, the messiah must come forth… the one in flames must rise!’ He exhaled, calming himself down and fanning the flames that emitted from his helm. ‘…I was found a week later, buried under the corpses of Incinerator, P-Tech and Inferno. Ember and Fearswoop’s bodies weren’t found—presumed vaporized by the Arks’ cannons, and Flamefeather—dear Flamefeather – he has since suffered from post-traumatic stress after he was tortured for information. They didn’t find me either, not the same me. When I was pulled from the rubble, I had finally realized what my role was in this universe. Not what I want to be, but what I am.’

‘What is…?’

‘I AM!’ Sunstorm raised his head to the ceiling, his arms spread out wide. ‘I am, the holy second coming!’

Suddenly terrified, Ramjet took a wide step back. ‘I’m not so sure if—.’

‘Don’t you see, Ramjet?’ Sunstorm locked eyes with the Seeker. ‘I am the only one to suffer from the condition, ever, I received the vision; I was the last survivor… I’m not bragging, or using this as an excuse for power, Ramjet, I’m a supernatural being! It all comes full circle. The prophecy told of a messiah, bathing in flames…’ Sunstorm leaned back, and his body did just that, pulsing in a golden inferno that left the walls around him singed. ‘…Now just what in the hell would you call this?!’

Ramjet took another, wider step backwards. ‘I dunno Sunstorm, you’re kind of a freak.’

The golden Seeker relinquished his flames and stared at Ramjet, deadpanned. ‘Please, Ramjet. Help me, help me take over. I know you feel it too, you take great pride in battle; you’re a noble warrior with no one to war against. You heard Slipstream, she’s too focused with her own agenda to care about fighting the Autobots. That’s not going to change any time soon. I know, you are a smart Decepticon, I can tell. Allow me to lead, and I will guide the Decepticons to victory. And you, you will be the master of thousands of Autobot deaths by the end of the day. Trust me, Ramjet.’

The cone-head shook his head. ‘Look, Sunstorm, I’ll think about it, okay? I haven’t scrapped with an Autobot in forever, but… I don’t see anything better coming from you.’ He jabbed a digit to the hallway on his right. ‘Anyways, I’ve got to go. I have an appointment with Hotlink and I really think I ought to go see him.’

Sunstorm’s expression wrinkled in blazing anger, but relaxed as his optics shut. ‘Very well… I await your decision.’

-----

Ramjet only ever used his appointments with Hotlink as an excuse to leave a conversation, but for once he really was scheduled to see Hotlink for the results of a previous check-up. He probably wouldn’t have in the first place, but the fear of Sunstorm finding out he was lying to him got to his head. He didn’t bother knocking, and barged through the door to Hotlink’s office. The room was shaped like a semi-circle, with a stack of data-pads shoved in the shelf in the corner. The light-purple Seeker sat at his desk in the center of the room, reading through his notes with a glass of sparkling Energon in his grasp.

He looked up momentarily to address his visitor. ‘Ah, Ramjet, sit down.’

Ramjet chose to stand. ‘Yeah, whatever, look, do you have the results of my last check-up yet?’

Hotlink nodded and swept up a pile of papers. ‘Yes, the one from your third head injury this week, I believe.’ He shuffled the papers and placed them under his desk. When his hands came back into view, they were clutching a silver data-pad. ‘Yes, yes, it’s much of the same, your head injury caused some minor delirium, nothing new there, your armor has another layer, good, your exo-structure is still durable, you have less than twenty-four hours to live, your proto-layer remains flexible, your denta are straight and polished…’

‘Hotlink.’

He raised his head from his desk. ‘What?’

‘Did you just say that I had less than twenty-four hours to live?’

He thought about this for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I believe so.’ Recognizing the look of shock on Ramjet’s faceplate, Hotlink rolled his eyes and stood up from his desk. ‘Is this really a surprise? Is it really a surprise that you’re dying?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me before?!’ Ramjet roared.

‘I HAVE!’ Hotlink’s voice had lowered to the hush tone of a doctor to that of a Decepticon raptor jet. ‘I told you each and every time, and did you listen? No! I told you that ramming yourself head-first into the enemy was stupid! I told you it interferes and jostles with your internal systems! I told you that your spark had been dislocated into your shoulder-blade—! That it had the potential to prove fatal!’

‘Fatal doesn’t mean I’m going to die!’

Hotlink screamed in frustration. ‘YES! Yes it does! That’s exactly what fatal means! You idiot! I’ve been telling you that crashing your plane was bad for your health—hell, I shouldn’t even need to tell you that, anyone ever could tell you that—but you kept doing it anyway! You stupid—STUPID, idiot! You brought this entirely upon yourself, your internal systems are so messed up from all your crashes that they’re finally going to putter out, gasping for air until finally suffocating and ceasing. You’re going to die Ramjet, end of story.’ Calming down, Hotlink descended into his seat and clasped his hands. ‘If you want any parting advice, I suggest you live your last few hours doing whatever makes you happy. You want to keep ramming jets? Keep ramming jets. You want to kill something? Kill it. That’s all the advice you’re ever going to hear from a doctor ever again.’ He nodded. ‘That will be all, Ramjet.’

-----

Silence, Ramjet couldn’t hear a thing as the door slammed behind him for the last time. Silence, he watched as Sunstorm watched him from across the hallway. Silence, he wondered if it was always this quiet—if he always had this much to think about. Not because he had to, but because he wouldn’t be able to for long. Silence, Sunstorm took a step forward, his face was a blank. Ramjet clenched his fists until he felt the sting of his finger-tips digging into his palms. ‘Alright, I’m in, I’ll follow you.’

Sunstorm grinned. ‘Good. Let’s get started.’

 

An hour passed, and Ramjet had already begun to worry. He had no idea the momentum of which his life had been slipping from him was, but he sure as hell wasn't going to waste it inside brooding about what-ifs or could-have-beens when he could be out there venting his frustration on the squishy organics writhing about this world instead. Sunstorm promised him that by the end of the day his might would be regarded in the same likeness as the Liege Centuro or Leo Prime. That his name would be remembered, and feared. Ramjet, Seeker Supreme. He didn’t care much about that, nor what it meant for the future of Sunstorm or the Seekers. After all, why would he care about what the future held if he wouldn't be there to see it? Still, as long as it meant he’d get to feel the adrenaline of war in one last extroardinary climax, Ramjet was going to be happy. Happy for someone who was going to die, anyway.

Sunstorm met with him in the corridor, skipping lividly. ‘Greetings, Ramjet!’

He wasted no time in cutting to the chase. ‘So, how’d it go?’ As if it wasn't already obvious.

‘Splendid! Absolutely Splendid!’ The gold Seeker exclaimed, waving his pyro-kinetic servos above his head; carving crimson patterns in the air he touched. ‘I have convinced at least fourty of our numbers to assist us in our undertaking.' Though from the singe-marks dotting his being, it appeared that Sunstorm had done a little more than "convince". 'Did you do as I asked? Did you find out the exact number of--?'

He nodded quickly. ‘Yeah, I asked around. It sounds like there's just under a hundred Seekers on-board.’

‘Excellent, if that's the case then the rest will surely follow suit.’

‘Er, yeah.’ He waited for more. When there wasn’t, Ramjet took his turn. ‘So, when does the action start?’

Sunstorm made a gentle, forward gesture with his hand. ‘Patience, Ramjet—all will be as it should, and you will feel the heat of battle once more!' He grinned, Ramjet didn't comprehend the irony. 'Besides, we have all the time in the world, do we not?’

Ramjet shrugged, then nodded, ‘Yeah.’ He froze, ‘Wait— not “yeah”, no! I don’t have all the time in the world. I’m going to die in a day—seven days at the most! That’s almost a week!’

Sunstorm chuckled. ‘Fair enough. But do not worry, you will get your fight. For now all I ask is that you trust my judgement. Do that and everything will transpire as planned.’

A pair of slender servos slapped the pair of seekers on their shoulders, gripping down and pulling their large body-frames back towards them. ‘What plan?’ Slipstream’s lips moved inches from their audio receptors.

Ramjet’s spark suffocated and shrunk. His lips parted to speak, but he couldn't help but draw a blank on how he was going to explain himself in front of the very Commander he was conspiring to usurp.

‘Plans for the troop inspection.’ Sunstorm blurted. Calmer than Ramjet, but not nearly as calm as he had been moments prior. ‘Ramjet here has volunteered to help.’

The Aerospace Commander nodded satisfactorily. ‘Good… good.’ Slipstream released the two and folded her servos behind her back. ‘Keep up the good work while I’m gone.’

Sunstorm had lost his thread. ‘While you’re...?’

‘Contrail hasn’t been answering his transponder, so I'm going to take a look around... see if we're still on good terms with this planet's occupance. In the meantime, Sunstorm, you are in command.’ The Seeker Commander advanced past them and into the access lift.

‘Yes, Slipstream…’

The lift-doors closed and a cat-like grin scrawled across Sunstorm’s face. ‘I am in command…’

Ramjet waited, and as he did, Sunstorm made his announcement through his wrist-communicator, giving orders for all active Decepticons to meet on the bridge. For "troop-inspection" no doubt. Meanwhile, Ramjet surveyed the front-monitor, watching as Slipstream departed the Nemesis and disappeared out of sight. Sunstorm nodded, and the two made their way to the main bridge. Doors parted revealing rows of nigh identical troops, neatly lined in symmetrical columns, backs arched and optics staring forward as their superiors passed over to the bridge’s center. Sunstorm and Ramjet stood side-by-side, surveying the number of troops at their disposal.

Sunstorm cleared his throat before beginning his speech. ‘My fellow Decepticons, some of you have already been consulted in private, others I speak to you now as one walker of the mortal plane to the other. For those of you who feel confused, scared, left in the dark-- I can assure you that these feelings won't last. This is not a troop inspection. Regardless, there is one thing we all share in common, and that is a loyalty to our late commander Megatron. Seekers honour, we call it. But I call it something else. I call it common sense.’

The sounds of faint murmurs could be heard among the troops, and in seconds, their uniformity began to disperse.

‘Starscream, Shockwave, Skyquake, Overlord, Gigatron, Jhiaxus, Scorponok, Straxus— what do these names have in common? Simply put, they are not Megatron. They all contested, or abandoned his divinity in his moments of glory, all in order to pursue their own greed. And have they been seen since? With few exceptions, no. While Shockwave and Scorponok have ‘officially’ been considered MIA by the cream of Decepticon command, it takes very little thought to comprehend their clear evisceration in the battle for the Sol System. Jhiaxus was last seen swallowed by a black hole, and Skyquake is all but lost to us. As for Overlord and Straxus, well, they’ve been wallowing in filth for who knows how long. Truly, all that remains is Starscream, and he is far from what you’d call a success on this side of the soil. Slipstream is no different, she is too focused on her own machinations to fully comprehend the relevance of Megatron’s will. She wants to hand leadership over to Starscream, to the insurgent! To stray from Megatron’s path of victory and to follow what has led so many to their deaths. Now I ask you, my Decepticons, would you dare follow Slipstream’s schemes?'

Someone in the crowd bellowed a loud: 'No!'

'Would you dare to become a follower of the next Overlord, or Shockwave and pay the price for it like so many other unfortunate brethren? Or are you like me: one of the few who mean to take the more proactive approach. To fight the Autobots, end this war, and bring glory to our race once again as Megatron saw fit!’

The crowd ascended into a cheer, it wasn’t a loud applause, but it was enough to convince Ramjet of their universal support. From the look on Sunstorm’s face however, he had not found the level of support he was hoping for. Scouring the aisles of the room, he locked eyes with Acid Storm.

He was a green Seeker of upper-class build. He did not require Sunstorm’s permission to speak his mind, or rather, did not want it. The Leader of the Rainmaker's spoke: ‘What makes you think you can do any better?’ Sunstorm’s praise had begun to die down, and the spotlight turned to Acid Storm. ‘How can you promise anything for us? You’re not Megatron, you’re not even Starscream. You’re a second-tier seeker with some flowery words-- and you expect us to take any of it for fact? What are you supposed to lead us to exactly?’

Murmurs of mutual agreement could be heard in the crowd as Sunstorm’s face wrinkled with betrayel. ‘Oh I’m sorry, were you chosen by Primus? Can you envision better ideals than the founder of our movement? Of the liberator of our race?!’

Acid Storm shrugged. ‘I dunno, but I think I’d rather side with someone who at least looks like they have a plan over some nut-case who bases their loyalty off of a dead tyrant, and a guy who's favourite pass-time is crashing into things.’

‘I base my judgement on patterns and logic!’ Sunstorm screamed. ‘Off divine judgement and—and change!’

Mouth gaping, Acid Storm gestured to the gold being in front of him, craning his head from side to side to see if anyone else was feeling the same way as him. ‘“Divine Judgement”, am I the only one hearing how crazy this sounds?’ He faced Sunstorm and smirked. ‘You’re a wack-job, Sunstorm. Let Slipstream do her thing, and then maybe we won’t have to worry about any major scuffles tearing our army apart any further.’ He spread his arms aside as others rallied behind him. ‘So, whaddyou say? Why don’t you take a break, lie down for a while and—.’

A weapon cocked, and Acid Storm’s pride drained from his face.

‘Don’t move Acid Storm,’ Hotlink ordered. A large, flaming-spewing weapon extended from his arm and pressed against the rainmaker’s lower rib.

His lower lip drooped below his mouth, and his jaw went slack. ‘Hotlink? Don’t tell me…’

Bitstream and Redwing raised their null-rays and trained them on Acid Storm and his supporters. ‘Slipstream is going to let Starscream take charge if nothing is done. Fortunately, some of us want change, and any change is better than Starscream.’

In response to this sudden turn of events, Sunstorm made the widest, smuggest grin Ramjet had ever seen. ‘I expected mutiny, Acid Storm, which is why I took the initiative with a good portion of our brethren beforehand.’ He raised a digit to the ceiling. ‘Well? Are there any others? Will anyone else join this backstabber?’

No one made a move

Hotlink stepped forward. ‘My Lord, what shall we do with these… blasphemers?’

Sunstorm stopped and eyed the rebel core through hungry optics. Ideas for punishments filled his skull like a swarm of wasps, too many to count, and each as violent and painful as the last. He couldn’t decide, they were all too delectable to waste.

‘I… no.’ He shook his head. ‘Throw them in the brig… for now at least. Leave them just long enough to confess their sins. I'll deal with them after we're done.' He closed his eyes, and basked in his fantasies. 'Perhaps I will cleanse them with flames. Peel their skin from their exoskeletons like an apple. Maybe I’ll remove their teeth, one by one and prolong their punishment for as long as I see fit.' He opened his eyes, noting the distressed look on Hotlink's face. 'All as a means of warranting their ascension of course.’

Acid Storm was surrounded, the few who followed him, Hooligan and Nacelle among others, were soon incapacitated with stasis-cuffs and dragged away screaming. Acid Storm raised his head to do the same. ‘This is insane! You are insane!’

‘Insane?’ Sunstorm shook his head and turned to Ramjet. ‘Ramjet, it appears that Acid Storm has mistaken me for someone else. Isn't that strange?'

Acid Storm managed to scream a “frag you!” before drowning in the ocean of servos slapping a muffler over his mouth and dragging him out of the bridge.

‘No, Acid Storm! I am not this “insane” individual you speak of. I am the messiah: the second coming of Megatron, and the third coming of Megatronus Prime. A child of Primus himself…’ He jabbed an index finger towards the nearest hover-cam, projecting his visage across the Nemesis’s bridge. ‘I am the one. Now my Decepticons… Starscream approaches. He will arrive here any moment, and I want to grant him the—how should I put it…?’ Sunstorm’s hand pulsed into a ball of flames that circled his lower arm. ‘The warmest of welcomes.’

The Aerospace Legion let out a hearty “hoo-ah” before arming themselves with the most formidable of surface-to-air weaponry and dog-fighting equipment.

Yes, Ramjet thought, this was going to be a good day.

-----

This was going to be a bad day, Slipstream thought. She should have seen this coming. As commander of the Seekers, she had been thinking too much like a Shockwave and not enough like a Megatron, as she should have. Weeks she had spent trying to raise her plan’s success rate from an 88% to an 89%. Weeks stalling and keeping her soldiers preoccupied with fake assignments, just to keep them from interfering with her calculations. She shouldn’t have underestimated them, like Shockwave, she had thought of her soldiers as mere numbers. Their individual thoughts and freedoms failing to cross her mind. She should have set her plan in motion the days after her master assigned her the task. Now she had lost the very tools necessary to complete it, and without them, she was back to square one. Now only one thought was left lingering in her mind

‘Starscream…’

With the nigh impossibility left in finding Optimus Prime, Starscream was her main objective. Only he could fix this mess now. The trouble, of course, was finding him before they did.

 

One thing I really enjoy about this fan fiction is that the characterization is not limited to the dialogue. You actually get to see their thoughts, and that's makes for an interesting story in my opinion.

 

As usual great work.....I await for more

 

‘Yes… yesss!’

All eyes in the pub were drawn to the enthusiastic Ex-Decepticon, jolting from her seat at the gambling table with her arms swaying in celebration. Kicking the chair away, Blackarachnia vainly strode back to the bar-stools where Ironhide and Optimus sat, leaving a trail of confused glances from the game-tables' participants behind her.

Optimus was leaning over his drink, watching Ironhide as he tapped his index finger playfully against the glass jar that housed their new pet spider. Noticing Blackarachnia, the Prime pushed the jar out of view and motioned her to sit down beside him (better she sat next to him than next to Ironhide where she could rile him up.)

‘Hey losers,’ Blackarachnia sneered, hopping onto the stool next to them. ‘Guess how much I—‘

‘Won?’ Ironhide scoffed, leaning over Optimus to take a gander at the former Decepticon’s empty palms. ‘I saw what happened over there. Those organics beat every coin out of you and then some. Don’t lie, you are not very good at cards.’

Blackarachnia squinted her optics and pressed a servo at the older mech. ‘Ironhide, are you a psychiatrist?’

The Autobot was taken aback. ‘No? Why would you ask me tha-?’

‘Because you’re RONG!’ The arachnid’s head fell back in laughter, much to the amusement of no-one.

Optimus sipped his drink quietly. ‘It’d be funnier if not for the fact that his name is actually Ring.’

‘I thought it was Jung.’ Came a muffled voice from across the bar.

‘ANYWAY!’ Blackarachnia slammed down a hand-full of credit-chips on the counter. ‘My point is Ironhide doesn't know what he's talking about.’

Optimus’ glared at the money-pile in Blackarachnia’s possession. ‘Blackarachnia, where did you get all this cash?’

The Decepticon grinned, leaning over in order to keep the conversation private. ‘You see, while they were busy putting all their focus into the game at hand… I was playing a hand of my own in Decepticon ingenuity.’ She perked a tendril from her upper back, revealing a pair of gold coins lodged against its tip. ‘Just a few quick movements and presto, their pockets were promptly and gracefully picked by the epic-skill-master-of-awesome: Blackarachnia!’

Ironhide shook his head. ‘Blackarachnia steals? Typical Decepticon. No dignity.’

‘You shouldn’t steal, Blackarachnia,’ Optimus agreed, sipping from his glass.

Blackarachnia blinked. ‘What?’ She jabbed an accusatory servo at the black Autobot. ‘I’ve seen you guys steal plenty of times! The fuel-- the Energon? You defend yourself by calling it “borrowing” and then drop the topic as soon as your twisted sense of morality is brought into question!’

‘I think we all knew we were talking about “stealing”…’ Optimus mumbled to himself.

‘Those were desperate times,’ Ironhide growled, recounting the events in the same likeness as an old war story. ‘We're different now. Changed.’

Blackarachnia blew hot air from her lips and slumped over. ‘It’s been an afternoon since then. What “old life” could you possibly be talking about?’

Optimus sighed. ‘Nah, she’s right, we’re jerks… it’s no wonder we’re being hunted by half our race…' He raised his glass, swirling the contents. 'O what a cruel, cruel punishment it is…’ He changed the conversation topic, quicker than the last one ended. ‘Well, since we’re obviously not going to tell those guys you robbed them… how much did you get?’

Blackarachnia stared at the credit-chips in her hands and counted. ‘Five-thousand.’

‘And how much did you lose in the actual game?’

She paused. ‘Five-thousand.’

Ironhide snorted, slamming his fist against the counter. ‘Excellent work, “epic-skill-master-of-awesome”, you lost just as much as you gained.’

‘Shut up.’

Optimus played with his drink, fingering the rim in disinterest.

‘Need a refill?’ The bartender asked.

‘Sure, that’ll be another thirty-credits right—?’ He stopped as soon as he got a better look at the barkeep in question. They were an egg-shaped alien with a mechanical outer shell, and a ring of tentacles that varied in size. Its face was shaped like that of a clown’s mask and took up the entire front of its body. On either side of it were nigh identical faces of different colours and styles. There was no doubt about what species the bartender had been.

The alien poured another glass for the Prime with a thin tentacle. ‘Enjoy.’

Optimus nodded and waited for the alien to retreat back into the kitchen. As soon as he was gone, Prime turned to Ironhide. ‘You see that?’

‘I did.’

‘What?’ Blackarachnia turned to Optimus for support. ‘What am I missing here?’

Optimus scanned his drink before indulging Blackarachnia. ‘This place is run by Quintessons.’

Blackarachnia froze. ‘Is that bad? Should we be running right now? Because all cards on the table: I may have abandoned you by now if not because I want to know what a Quintesson is.’

Ironhide leaned forward, looking past Optimus to Blackarachnia. ‘You don’t know what a Quintesson is? You live under a rock or something?’

She didn’t seem ready to admit it, but did so anyway, tired of being the target of ridicule. ‘So what? I’m not as old as you. You don’t know what my life’s been like up ‘til now. You don’t know me.’

‘Still… you don’t know what a Quintesson is?’

She slumped, picked up a straw, dropped it into Prime’s drink, and began sipping from it furiously.

‘You’re welcome…’ Optimus said.

Ironhide let out a breath, and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. ‘Well I suppose I could tell you. We kind of hate the Quintessons.’

‘Why?’

‘We just do. Our races have had some conflicting ideals… some controversial statements have been made… and there has been some public inquiry.’

She shook her head. ‘Prima on a bike, what happened?’

Ironhide scratched the side of his faceplate, wracking his aging brain for a place to start. ‘According to Quintesson history, Cybertron once went by the name of Quintessa— a planet ruled by the Quintessons before our race had even spawned into existence. Depending on what you believe in, this is evidently untrue. Most takes on the great origin-story— the First Church’s, the Worshippers of the Guiding Hand, the Chronarchetects… they tend to imply a God of some kind created us in his image not long after the planet’s birth. The Atechnogenesists on the other hand believe that we came to be over several years of evolution from lesser technological beings made of levers and pulleys— bubbling from the planet’s crust. Whatever the case, Cybertron was our starting point, and before the mass-exodus, we’ve always been there, everyone but the Eugenicist’s agree.

'The Quintessons - claiming to have ruled over us in years past - implored us to relinquish at least half of Cybertron’s surface area to them. Obviously, we didn’t, and the Quints began invading. We had a bit of a cold-war, and were eventually infiltrated by over one-thousand Quints. A small, small, fraction compared to their actual population. The information began as rumours, but eventually spread until it became an undeniable fact that the Quintessons had become a regular minority on Cybertron. Some accepted them, even lived with them and – somehow - fostered Cybertronian-Quintesson hybrids with them. Don’t ask me any more on that, but I think it had to do with dumping fertilizer on a Hot Spot like a flowerbed. Anyways, for the most part the population hated them, and the invaders got what was coming for them.

'One day, a riot broke out attempting to push equal rights for the Quints. Nominus Magnus made an appearance to quell the violence, but when that didn’t work, a Quintesson lobbed a power-cell at him, killing him instantly. Not long after did Leo Prime order the mass banishment of Quintesson occupants. Those who chose to stay were immediately executed, and – unfortunately - many stayed/ Their offspring were hunted as well, though by the time Delta Magnus came into command, most hybrids became accepted as run-of-the-mill Cybertronians.’ Ironhide let out a breath and sipped from his drink. ‘Anyway, the Quintessons abandoned Cybertron forever and placed their focus on the rest of the Galaxy. Our races have since been at odds with each-other, and, well, some Cybertronians may not feel especially safe in a Quintessonian bar.’

‘Oh.’ Blackarachnia stared at Prime’s glass, fiddling with the straw. ‘How long ago was this?’

Ironhide shrugged. ‘Fifty—maybe sixty thousand years ago. Why?’

‘Nothing…’ She took another sip from the drink, and then asked: ‘You were alive for over sixty-thousand years?’

‘Wh- no!’ Ironhide slammed the table. ‘I’m not that old!’ He shook Optimus by the shoulder for support. ‘Tell her, Prime! I was born after the Age of Expansion, right? I was a Golden Ager just like—…Prime? Are you even listening?’

But Optimus wasn’t listening, he was staring at a figure moving towards the doors to the establishment. They were cloaked in a dark green and black velvet poncho; face hidden beneath a long hood.

‘Prime? You recognize that guy? I am asking you.’

The cloaked figure tipped the bouncer and turned their back on the rest of the bar, revealing an orange symbol painted just above their shoulder-blades. Optimus recognized it immediately, it was the symbol he saw in the room during the whole Seacon ordeal. The room that erased the memories of anyone who looked into it, and did worse to those who stayed inside for too long. The room he trapped Snaptrap in... While Ironhide and Blackarachnia couldn’t remember what they saw, Optimus, for whatever reason, could still recall it clearly. The room was white all over, and on the wall at the far end was graffiti in the glowing shape of an orange crest. The very same orange crest that was printed on this stranger’s back.

Optimus bolted from his stool, dropping his payment on the counter. ‘You guys stay here—I need to go. No killing, and especially no killing each-other!’

‘What?’

‘Bye!’ Optimus hurdled over the stool and transformed, but by the time his tires hit the ground, the cloaked bot had already exited the bar. Optimus was stopped as the bouncers formed a meaty blockade in his wake. ‘Mind if I get past?’

The bouncers shook their heads in sync.

Prime’s engine revved. ‘Oh I so don’t have time for this.’ He then proceeded to transform into a hand-stand, pushing off the ground and somersaulting in the air before landing on the bouncer’s shoulders with both feet. He kicked off, smashing through the door and transforming back into his truck-form before hitting the ground and driving off in pursuit of the stranger.

One alien bouncer raised his fist, prepared to give chase only for the other to grab him by the shoulder, shaking his head. ‘Ahh, there’s no point, we can’t catch him… not with these skinny legs.’ He said, staring at his pencil-like thighs.

The other one sighed. ‘This is why we shouldn’t skip leg-day… should never skip leg day…’

‘My wife was right…’

Back at the bar, Ironhide and Blackarachnia sat in silence, an empty space between them. They still didn’t like each-other, in fact in spite of their short experiences together they probably only hated each-other less. With Optimus gone, they didn’t really have a focal point for socializing. Neither wanted to socialize with each-other, and Optimus was always there to bridge the gap. In short, things were becoming monumentally awkward.

Finally, Blackarachnia acted. She snatched a round glass-jar filled with green squares off of the counter, and tapped her servo at its rim. ‘Oi—mister bartender! These are mints, yeah? They’re free, right?’

The Quintesson’s head spun around, and took the shape of a grinning – clown face. ‘Of course, help yourself.’

‘Good!’ Her head spun around to face Ironhide. ‘Ironhide! I dare you to eat all of these mints at once!’

Ironhide sighed. ‘Blackarachnia-- just what do you take me for? Do I at all seem like the kind of Autobot who would indulge in childish little competitions like—’ Suddenly he scooped the jar from her servos, unhooked his face-plate and raised the jar high above his head. ‘PSYCHE! YOU’RE ON!’

-----

There it was… his flagship, his weapon.

The Nemesis was less than a mile from Starscream’s position. Its purple and black scheme glistening in the light as it hovered over the city-scape. It called to him-- begging him to liberate it like it were a caged POW. It was going to be back where it belonged in time… It was going to be in his possession once again. Starscream’s jet thrusters flared, sending him thundering towards the war-ship in seconds.

Inside the Nemesis, Sunstorm and Ramjet stood side by side, watching through the main-monitor as Starscream approached. Sunstorm was getting excited.

‘By the will of Primus... There he is.’

‘Yeah?’ Ramjet watched as Starscream transformed, landing on the ship’s hull and sending vibrations trickling through the ship’s inner workings. Surrounding him on the hull was at least three-quarters of the Aerospace Legion, all watching him through anxious optics. Ramjet hummed doubtfully. ‘I don’t know… you sure this is a good idea?’

He turned to the cone-head, disappointed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re still afraid of him, Ramjet?’ He pointed at the screen. ‘Look at his waist, he’s thin and useless. I could break him in two with one hand tied behind my back. He’s a hack, remember?’

Ramjet snarled. ‘I’m not afraid of anything but…’ he shook his head. ‘Never mind, what now?’

Sunstorm looked at him like he were an idiot. Which with all respect, he was. ‘What do you think?’

Outside, Starscream gazed upon the tens of seekers, hovering and perched across different sections of the Nemesis’ hull. He spread his arms out wide and greeted his former soldiers. ‘Decepticons, I’m home!’

When he didn’t get a response by the surrounding legion, Starscream dropped his arms to his sides and slouched. ‘Okay then… Slipstream! I know you can hear me, why don’t you come on out of your cave so we can discuss business matters? Quickly, I don’t want to miss my shows!’

There was a brief air of silence before Starscream got a response. Like a well-oiled machine, the Aerospace Legion raised their null-rays as one.

A storm of missile and laser-fire erupted around Starscream. Flashing and smoking in different shades of red and purple, blinding and deafening the former Commander until the sound carried its weight. Starscream was struck down, the explosives creating a plume of black, flaming smoke that bellowed and bulged into a large ball over Starscream’s position. Through the cloud of dark crimson, the shadow of Starscream could be seen… lying motionless on its back.

 

Shit. Another big namer down.

Maybe. You never know with those Starscreams.

 

‘Is that all of them? That can’t be all of them.’

‘Mmf.’

Blackarachnia searched the table-top for a stray mint, patting her claws against it playfully. ‘Well, I guess you made a geek out of me.’

‘Mmf.’ Ironhide’s cheeks were puffed out as far as they could go. A single mint could be seen poking out from between his lips.

‘Then again the bet’s only won if you’re actually able to swallow it all. Anyways back to what we were talking about before: strongest Decepticon you faced off with other than Megatron – go!’

‘Mmf.’

‘Overlord? Yeah, yeah I could see that. Point-One percenters almost make it a little too easy though…’

‘Mmf.’

‘Alright, alright, my turn. Strongest Autobot other than Magnus eh? Easy, Optimus.’

‘Mmf!’

‘Well he did kind of kill the main bad guy after all. Fine, better answer, um…’ She stopped and thought about this for a moment before continuing. ‘Elita-One, she was pretty badass.’

Ironhide blinked. ‘Mmf!’

‘You knew her? No kidding, small universe… Okay, let’s do another round, no Point-One percentors, and no Primes. Who do you pick?’

‘Mmf.’

Blackarachnia chuckled. ‘Starscream?! Really? Other than Megatron and the Warriors Elite, the most powerful Decepticon you’ve ever faced is Starscream?’

‘Mmf.’

‘Hey, I’m not judging, I’m just saying that if I ever wanted a body-guard, Starscream wouldn’t be one of my top picks. Besides, we both hate him for it. He betrayed me… he shot you… etc. At the end of a day he was kind of a jerk—‘

‘YOUUUU SHUT YOUR MOUTH!’

Blackarachnia jolted up, her optics darting to the source of the booming voice. Ironhide had just managed to keep most of the mints in his mouth, allowing just one to pop from his lips. The voice came from across the bar where a blue mechanoid sat. The mech pulled his head from the nook of his arm and faced the two. Blackarachnia recognized him, but the robot seemed too drunk to recognize either of them.

Thundercracker’s face wrinkled in disgust. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about…’

Blackarachnia exchanged looks with Ironhide, and the two swore in unison.

‘Mmf mff.’

‘Oh shit.’

-----

Optimus raced through the crowds of organics. ‘Come on… I just saw you, where could you have—‘

Escaping the crowd, Optimus found himself standing in the middle of the main-pathway. The stranger was nowhere in sight. If he had his axe out, he would have thrown it on the ground in frustration. The one person he had been seeking ever since he made his “mistake” was within his grasp, and now they were gone, again. Calming himself, Optimus took his time to figure out where he was. He had dashed out from the bar at such a pace that he hadn’t bothered to check his surroundings. Ahead of him was a massive tent, crowded with organics. I’m bound to find where I need to be there. He thought. Upon entering the tent, a small, elf-like alien had darted towards him.

‘You!’ the alien spoke. ‘You, are you Optipotamus? All I have to work with is a small description so I’ve been asking everyone.’

Optimus chuckled. ‘I’m Optimus, but—‘

‘It’s about time, quickly, the show’s about to start.’

‘What?’

The alien grabbed the taller mech by the wrist, guiding him deeper into the tent and beyond the crowd. She dragged him through several turns as other aliens of similar build would applied makeup to the large robot as he was taken deeper through the tent.

‘Wait—I think there has been some kind of mistake.’

‘If someone didn’t apply your makeup properly then I’ll be sure to get them fired. Otherwise get your vocal-cords ready.’ The alien led him to through a passage and out the other end of the tent, pushing Optimus forward. ‘Go get’em Optipotamus.’

Blocking his optics from the light, Optimus bumbled onto a stage, standing before a crowd of aliens measuring up to what seemed like thousands. There was a microphone in front of him and a band behind him. He looked up and saw an advertisement for the show—featuring a lead singer that clearly wasn’t him (looking more like a hippo than a robot), sharing only a similar colour-scheme and name. The crowd and band both stared at him in silent confusion, waiting for him to speak.

‘Alright…’ Optimus whispered to himself, cracking his fingers. ‘Time to get awkward,’ he grabbed the mic.

-----

Sunstorm was ecstatic. The gold Seeker raced to the upper decks, passing through pristine hallways, lined with saluting soldiers until he was met with the main lift that would take him to the ship’s hull. Ramjet was close behind, afraid his joint-commander was about to forget him. The two waited as the lift brought them to the top, but Sunstorm was already bouncing on his heels.

He turned to Ramjet. ‘You excited?’

He nodded, deadpanned. ‘Yeah.’

Sunstorm faced away, smiling like a child. ‘I’m excited.’

The lift doors opened, revealing the tens of saluting seekers with their steaming guns, and the cloud of smoke gathering at the edge of the ship.

Sunstorm approached Hotlink, who proceeded to bow his head loyally.

‘Is this it? Did we kill him?’

‘It appears so, Commander. We unleashed quite a barrage and—well look.’ He pointed at the cloud. It was big enough to shroud Starscream’s entire body.

‘Hah, we—we really did it—we killed the betrayer!’ Sunstorm took a stance, and raised a fiery palm above his head. ‘O how the darkness of this world feeds upon death. Do not celebrate this victory Decepticons, but take pity on the one who has fallen. He had the potential to be great, but the sins of greed and pride had corrupted him, feeding him, turning him into a—WHAT THE PRIMUS?!’

Starscream stumbled out of the smoke. His paint chipped, and his armour dented, but otherwise perfectly intact and functional. ‘Oof… That actually hurt.’ The Commander cracked his neck on either side, and checked his nails before greeting them once again. ‘I chipped a nail, damn… Slipstream! You’re—…a lot orange-r than I remember.’

In turn, Sunstorm leaped from the lift, down a level, but still on a higher platform than where Starscream was standing on the hull. ‘What are you doing?!’

Starscream stared at his feet before answering. ‘Standing. Living— Am I answering these properly? I know you all want to know everything about me – believe me, I understand – but I’m not entirely sure what the point of all this is.’

Sunstorm was losing it. ‘We just fired three-dozen silos-worth of explosives at you.’

‘Yeah, I remember. I was there.’

‘You’re supposed to be dead!’

Starscream folded his arms. ‘According to who? The dead police? Who says I’m supposed to be dead?’

Sunstorm’s lips quivered as he tried to come up with a response. ‘I—I do!’

‘You do.’

‘Yes!’

‘Not Slipstream?’

Sunstorm huffed. ‘We’ve made the executive decision to no longer follow her anymore. All of this…’ he gestured to the combined Seeker forces, ‘…was an effort of our own.’

‘You…’ Starscream bent backwards laughing. ‘You! You are actually trying to become a main player? Who even are you? Some Genericon? I-heh- I don’t even know your name. Do you even have a name? Is it “Steve”?’

This hurt Sunstorm more than anything, and Ramjet could see it. The golden seeker swished his cape aside and raised his hand to the heavens. ‘I am Sunstorm! Second coming of Megatron, third coming of Megatronus—‘

‘Blahblahblah. A Megatron fanatic eh? Maybe a bit of First Church cynicism in you, but hey, I get the appeal.’ He brushed off his legs and took a long step forward. ‘If your plan was to kill me, Sunstorm, then you obviously haven’t done a very good job of it.’

‘Stay back! How are you even—?’

‘Alive? Please, Sunspot, I’ve been burned, tortured, blasted, and punched for years under Megatron’s tutelage. After decades of abuse, my body had grown a sort of resistance to it. Did you know that if you shot yourself every day with lower-caliber bullets, you’d gain a greater resistance to higher-caliber ones? It's totally legit, I assure you. Well, maybe not for organics, but for us, definitely. It’s the same basic principle, after experiencing countless beat-downs from Autobot and Megatron alike, my frame has grown to survive far worse punishment. Three-dozen silos worth of explosives, Sandstorm? I’ve stomached nukes. I am the Aerospace Commander of the God-Damned Decepticon Armada. How else do you think I’ve survived being me this long?’

Sunstorm’s remarks, and demeanor were gone, his entire plan had begun to crumble in his hands. But then he remembered, they could always just hit him harder… and harder… until he finally broke. ‘Decepticons—!’

‘Shush.’ Starscream made a motion with his hand. ‘Before you screw up again, would you please take a moment of your time to listen… mm… yeah… you hear that?’

Sunstorm rolled his optics, he wasn’t going to delay this any longer. ‘I don’t hear—wait.’ But he did hear it. ‘What is that…? Is that… music?’

The melody grew louder, and louder. Until finally, the tones could be heard by all. ‘What…? What is that?!’ Ramjet roared.

‘Ride of the Valkyries by Richard Wagner.’ Starscream said. ‘I first heard it in a film I watched during my off-duties on the planet Earth, fantastic name for the film.’ He raised his hands in what appeared to be surrender, only for the music to raise a pitch. From behind Starscream rose a large, twin-rotor’d Cybertronian helicopter. The music had been blasting from a pair of speakers strapped to its cockpit. It hovered above the hull, staring down Sunstorm with cluster of rockets. Starscream smirked. ‘Apocalypse Now.’

Obsidian let loose a barrage of missiles and rockets, homing in and blowing apart several individual seekers. Missiles shredded the ground, spiralling Sunstorm’s forces into disarray. Those who tried to aim, sputtered and backfired, and those who tried to form a logical thought ended up doing the same. The music had done its job.

Sunstorm charged forward, spewing a stream of flames from his palms at the helicopter. ‘Decepticons! Take that chopper down!’

Several Seekers did as they were told and transformed for flight. Unfortunately for them, Starscream had already transformed, firing his own payload at the grounded fliers.

Starscream’s superior maneuverability in the air drew their fire as Obsidian laid thick on the rocket fire. ‘Or you could surrender.’ Starscream cackled. ‘Nah, who am I kidding? You’re all going to die.’ Starscream roared across the sky, lengthing the Nemesis in no time. Behind him came several jets, firing at him from behind. Starscream did the same, firing a cluster of heat-seeking missiles that rounded back and took down the enemy missiles, and the one who fired them. From below, civilians watched in awe as the massive war-ship passed overhead. Bright, neon, lights flashing back and forth, and jets circling, and thrusting at each-other as they exchanged fire. Starscream transformed mid-air and pressed forward. Activating his buzz-saw, the Aerospace Commander lunged forward and sawed a seeker in half. As another charged him, Starscream grabbed the jet by the wing and dragged the poor Seeker back down towards the Nemesis. Crashing the jet against the hull, and using them as a launching pad to transform and take flight once again. Starscream circled back around Obsidian and focused his fire on the barricades protecting Ramjet and Sunstorm and any other airborne fliers that came his way.

‘I didn’t know you watched Apocalypse Now.’ Starscream said to the helicopter.

‘I didn’t, I just happen to enjoy Wagner. Well, that, and I’ve always had a fascination in using music as a means of psychological warfare.’

‘Well good on you, because it’s working.’ Starscream transformed midair and grabbed a flying missile before carelessly chucking it back at the poor Decepticon that fired it. ‘This would be a lot easier if Thundercracker were here to break apart their firepower with his sonic-booms. Where is that idiot anyway?’

‘I’m afraid the last I saw of him was in the pub we left him in.’

Starscream snarled. ‘I need to teach him a lesson after this… and Strika? I know she hasn’t a means of flying but—‘

‘Oh I wouldn’t worry about her, my consort always finds a way.’

-----

The Nemesis was within Strika’s sight. From the top of the trade-building – a massive skyscraper that loomed over the rest of the city – Strika sat idly in her vehicle mode, watching as the warship hovered in line with the building’s length. As soon as it came into her line of sight, Strika cannons flared and fired a payload at the ship’s underbelly. Her firepower tore chunks out of the Nemesis’ outer shell and left a clear, visible scar running through its surface. It did some damage, but left much to be desired in Strika’s opinion. Plan B: Strika activated her thrusters and fumed forward, driving off the side of the trade-building and ramming head-first into the scar, breaking apart the weakened layer and crashing into the Nemesis’ lower levels. While getting into the Nemesis was a success, Strika happened to have crashed into a narrow area that had been guarded by at least four armed guards. On one side were rows of laser-cells, populated with over a dozen flinching Seekers of different build, on the other was a plethora of widened optics and slacked jaws. Shocked by the sudden incursion of a tank busting into their cell-block, a lowly-seeker-grunt darted for the alarm while the others stared at Strika, awestruck. Strika was too fast for them and rotated her turret, firing a barrage of rocket and machine-gun fire that tore the four Seekers apart. From her back-side, Strika could feel a prickling feeling and turned her turret to face the other way. On the other side of her were four more Seekers, one of which had been firing at her with an assault rifle. The leader of the bunch, a red and purple Seeker pointed a shaking finger at the tank.

‘You killed them!’

Strika remained in vehicle mode, staring at them through the barrel of a cannon.

‘You can’t do that!’

Strika transformed, kicking off the ground and leaping at the group. Before her feet hit the ground, Strika thrusted her fist upon the leading Seeker, smashing his skull and turning his head into pulp. The other four opened fire, much to Strika’s amusement. The Decepticon bruiser grabbed one by the shoulder and punched her fist through their chest before throwing their remains on top of another. Trapped beneath his partner’s weight, the seeker could only watch as Strika pressed her foot against the dead Seeker’s back, increasing the pressure between them until the bottom Seeker’s body caved in upon itself from the weight—it’s head popping off like a cork.

Strika grinned beneath her faceplate: ‘You were saying?’ Counting on her fingers, Strika deduced that there should only be one left—

The alarm went off—at the other end of the hallway was the remaining guard, legs shaking, and a servo grappled around the emergency lever.

‘Oh for the love of…’ Strika raised her cannon and fired a single shot that burst the soldiers head into a gooey mess. With her other servo, Strika activated her comm-link. ‘Obsidian, it’s me. I’m in the ship—but it looks like I triggered some kind of alarm.’

From the cells, Acid Storm stepped forward, wrapping his digits around the bars. ‘Oi! You!’

‘…Understood, I’ll manage.’

Acid Storm raised his voice. ‘Hey! I know you can hear me, just who are you—‘

Strika lunged towards the cell, towering over the imprisoned seeker. ‘What?!’

‘Wow.’ The rain-maker had to take a step back. ‘You are big!’

‘Thanks.’

‘Whatever the case, you’re working against Sunstorm, right? You’re trying to kill him?’

Strika shrugged. ‘That’s the plan. We’re securing the Nemesis in the name of Starscream.’ She cringed, hating the taste of his name on her tongue.

A blue and red Seeker: Nacelle stepped forward, clapping his hands. ‘Good, great! That means we’re on the same side!’

Acid Storm placed a stern hand on the excited Seeker’s shoulder and raised another in Strika’s direction. ‘Free us, and we’ll help you take this ship back.’

Strika considered this. ‘Hmm.’ She turned towards the door, and began walking. ‘Nah.’

‘Wait! You can’t take down an entire ship on your own!’

Strika glared at him once more. ‘What are you, a cop?’

‘No! There are at least seventy other soldiers on this ship—all coming to kill you. I don’t care what they say about you Strika, or how big you are—you’re still just one Decepticon.’ Acid Storm shook his head. ‘You’re working for Starscream, yeah? Ask him right now, chances are he’s going to want as many soldiers under his command as possible. Especially for something such as this.’

Strika stared down the Rainmaker and sighed, punching her fist through the nearest monitor, shutting down the laser-bars, and setting the dozen Seekers free. ‘Just stay out of my way and provide cover fire. Got it?’

The Seekers chanted in unison: ‘Ma’am, yes ma’am!’

‘Good.’ Strika fired at the wall, creating a passage into a nearby corridor. ‘Then let the slaughter begin.’

 

Sunstorm’s flames splashed and mutated into a whirling, red, vortex. The exploding tunnel tore through the sky, clipping Starscream wing and setting alight a small blaze. It didn’t last long as it was quickly doused as a result of Starscream’s aerial maneuverability and the raging air currents. Sunstorm couldn’t hold it in any longer, he bent his arms forward, and his optics sizzled with light. His servos clutching at the empty air as he screamed until his vocalizer let go. How he overestimated Starscream—the fact that his troops couldn’t lay a scratch on him, and that blasted music… Stop, Sunstorm. He told himself, panting. The music may have left him disjointed, but he was better than that. Translate your rage—roll it into a ball and then swallow it. Use it to fuel your flames. He took a breath, and set his arms ablaze. Nothing changed, and Sunstorm prayed he knew why. Starscream was one jet – a jet with an extra layer of armour and a resistance to light bullet-fire and other physical depressions – but he was still just one Decepticon. What could he possibly have been doing wrong?! He had three Seekers chasing the betrayer through the sky as the rest fired upon Obsidian, who proceeded to shoot down any incoming attacks. And that music… it was so loud and so… complex. They were scrambled and disoriented, and it was keeping them from taking any effective hits. Relax, Sunstorm told himself. Do what you always do when you need to calm down…—Technora – when you lose yourself—Twaron… Perlite—just keep reciting all the fire-******ant materials you know – Modacrylic… Wool: they cannot be cleansed, nor corrupted— Glass… Nomex— they are perfect just as they are. Kevlar… Arselon… Brick. He felt a weight lift from his shoulders, and he knew, if God hadn’t wanted him to succeed, he wouldn’t have made it this far. He hadn’t doubted himself once until now, and he wasn’t going to start. With a clearer head on his shoulders, Sunstorm knew why they were losing.

‘The music.’ He had already considered it a facet, and it was obvious enough, even with the psychological effects of the song, but only now did he realize that he would go nowhere if things carried on like this. Another trial, nothing more. Sunstorm analyzed the situation as he could: Obsidian was the main-line of defense. In a sense, they both were. Obsidian’s bulky helicopter form took the defensive by focusing his power in shooting down any incoming missiles, while Starscream drew their fire. If they focused their attack on Obsidian, then Starscream would respond with a full-on offensive on his part. Too risky. Focusing all fire on Starscream would result in the same effect, if not more difficult to pull off hits thanks to Starscream’s evasiveness in the air. This was indeed one of Obsidian’s famous war-tactics. He knew what he had to do now.

‘Ramjet!’ he called, darting his eyes to the source of the heaviest firepower on the ship.

Ramjet held a pair of rifles in either hand, spraying his bullets recklessly at the flying Aerospace Commander. ‘Come on you coward! Just try killing me!’

Sunstorm shook the cone-head by the shoulder, leaving a burning imprint that Ramjet somehow didn’t seem to notice. Regardless he lowered his guns and glared at Sunstorm with enough rage and adrenaline to make it look as if he were about to rip the head off of the golden Seeker. The psychological effects of the music had done numbers on Ramjet, as he feared. The brute was flinching at every word and only seemed to nod at random frequencies.

‘Ramjet, listen to me. I need you and a small team to draw Starscream’s fire away from the Nemesis. Just separate him from Obsidian, get him as far away from the music as you can, and take care of him there. Can you do this, Ramjet?’

Ramjet nodded heavily.

‘I need to hear you say it.’

‘I can do this.’ Ramjet raised his gun to another small group of grounded Seekers. ‘You four, with me, rise up and draw Starscream’s fire.’ They all leapt up and transformed as one. Aerial Seekers returned to the Nemesis as Ramjet’s team took their place. Laser fire exchanged between Starscream and Ramjet—singing the skin on their wing-tips and turning the exchange into their own personal dogfight. As Ramjet let loose a missile, he’d ascend out of Starscream’s firing range, prompting the Seeker to chase after him to supply a counterattack. It didn’t take long for Obsidian to realize something was off.

‘Starscream, maintain formation! We cannot afford to separate under this kind of pressure. Not if we wish to succeed.’

‘Succeed?’ Starscream laughed at the helicopter as he chased after Ramjet’s group. ‘Oh we’ll succeed, Obsidian. When I’m here, there’s no debate on whether we’ll succeed.’

‘This is no time for flattering yourself—in fact it’s the worst time! We’re in the middle of a firefight, and the only way for us to be done with it is to follow my strategy accordingly. If you dare deviate from it, then our entire plan will crumble in our grasp!’

‘I think I’ll be fine.’ Starscream said plainly, resorting to the use of his radio.

‘You realize that you’re playing right into their hands, right? That they’re trying to separate you from me on purpose? You’re doing exactly what Sunstorm wants, and you don’t even know it.’

‘Oh, my dear, dear, Obsidian, but I do know it…’ Starscream thrusted forward, full speed at Ramjet and his squad until he was out of earshot of Obsidian’s music. He fired a missile cluster that blew apart one Seeker’s back-thrusters, forcing the jet to lower its altitude. Before it could get anywhere however, Starscream had managed to catch up to it and finish it off with a laser blast through the mid-section. ‘…and It’s exactly what I want, too.’

-----

Thundercracker slammed his glass against the table as Ironhide and Blackarachnia watched him in silence.

‘Lemme tell you about what kind of stupid people our race provides’ Thundercracker said. ‘There’s two of them: those who overestimate Starscream, and those who underestimate him. The ones who overestimate Starscream are the few fools who believe his pontification. They worship him as a prized fighter due to his history in the Decepticons and defensive prowess. Starscream is one of them, he thinks himself invincible and perfect when really, it just takes some internal damage and a lack of flight control to make him worthless. But those who underestimate him—you can tell they haven’t left the hab-suite in a while when they say they think they can take him. Starscream overestimates himself… but he is far from the weakest Decepticon. He’s survived battles that would give Sixshot wet dreams. It bought him the position as Megatron’s sub-commander, and it’s proven his worth several times. Why do you think Megatron kept him around for so long? If Starscream was half the failure everyone thought he was, then he wouldn’t have been at Megatron’s side for thousands of years.’ He took a final sip from his drink, finishing it off with a satisfied grin. ‘And that, my friends, is why you shouldn’t have an opinion on Starscream, or on, well, anything. Ever.’

He stopped what he was doing, and stared at Ironhide. ‘Speaking of, have we met?’

Ironhide’s puffed out cheeks pulsed with mints as he mumbled a response.

‘He gets that a lot.’ Blackarachnia assured the Seeker, trying to manage her anonymous composure.

Thundercracker nodded to her. ‘Hey Blackarachnia… you are Blackarachnia, right?’

‘I get that a lot, too.’ She said aside.

‘Nah, you’re definitely the drone that betrayed us.’ Thundercracker shrugged. ‘So, what have you been doing since then?’

Blackarachnia flinched, resting her head on her servo skeptically. ‘Nothing much… to be honest I expected you to be a bit more antagonistic after the whole me-betraying-the-Decepticons-and-nearly-killing-Starscream fiasco.’

Thundercracker raised a brow. ‘You’re kidding, right? I love it when people screw over my superiors. I mean, I’m still mad, but seeing Starscream freak out almost made it worth it.’

‘I could have sworn you just said that Starscream was not to be underestimated or something.’

The Seeker raised his hands above his head in defense. ‘I said he shouldn’t be either, doesn’t mean I like him for it. Understanding a person and liking them are two completely different things.’ he pointed a digit at Ironhide. ‘Oh yeah, I just remembered where I saw you from. You’re the one who shot Skywarp in the head, weren’t you?’

Ironhide didn’t say a word. He glared at the seeker through bright, cyan optics; readying his cannons for a fight whilst still trying to keep all the mech-friendly mints in his mouth.

‘He is.’ Blackarachnia admitted, rewarding herself with a look of hatred from Ironhide. ‘What? You know there’s no way around this.’

‘Wait… you’re with him?’ Thundercracker squinted at the spider before leaning back on his stool, and shaking his head. ‘You joined the Autobots, Blackarachnia? The Autobots?’

‘Not the Autobots necessarily, just these two scrubs. I don’t particularly like being with them, but they’re the only Autobots that’ll take me. The only Cybertronians, actually.’

Thundercracker slapped himself on the forehead. ‘No, I get that, believe me, I can understand doing what you can to survive, but you’re having a drink with an associate of the most wanted… Autobot… in…’ He stopped, and began scanning the bar-area. ‘The Prime. He’s here, isn’t he?’

‘You just missed him.’ Blackarachnia said, folding her arms triumphantly. ‘He had something to do, and ditched us. If you think you can catch him, then hey, go for it. But I warn you, Optimus has been pretty good at keeping himself hidden away from the public eye. He’s what some might call a master of stealth…’

-----

‘BILLIE JEAN IS-A-NOT MY LOVER~!’

The crowd cheered as Prime’s face came alight along each of the hovering view-screens in the sky, projecting Optimus’s face for the whole concert to see.

‘SHE’S JUST A GIRL WHO—CLAIMS THAT I AM THE ONE~!’

-----

‘I just never expected you to be the kind to pry for power.’

Ironhide and Thundercracker were on their feet now; the latter standing at least a foot taller than the older weapons specialist.

‘Starscream is the one I’m representing. I hate to admit it, but you and I are in the same boat, we’re both aligned with the bottom tiers of our factions out of a major lack of respect. I just don’t understand why you’re sided with an Autobot who’s also hunted by the Decepticons. Wouldn’t going your own be just as safe?’

Blackarachnia shrugged, standing alongside Ironhide. ‘Eh, what can I say? Misery loves company.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘So what happens now? We still outnumber you two to one, should we be expecting a fight or—?’

Before she finished her sentence, dozens of organic bar-regulars had stepped up from their stools, training a heavy-brand blaster on the three Cybertronians. The Quintesson from behind the bar span around, a tentacle curled around a blaster each.

Thundercracker made an assuring gesture to the surrounding organics and sat down opposite to Blackarachnia. ‘Okay, look, you know how much the rest of the galaxy hates our war—of course you do. The image of metal clashing with metal has become an omen across the cosmos because of us.’ Weapons retreated as the aliens returned to their seats. ‘If we so much as draw a weapon, the authorities here will dismantle us. It’d be best to settle our conflict elsewhere, I think. Unless you fancy having yourself dragged all the way to jail leaving a trail of collateral damage behind you that is.’

‘So that’s a no?’ Blackarachnia raised a claw to Ironhide. ‘I mean, this guy did kill your buddy. I’d rather we finish things here and take you out of the picture in case you cause our friend any trouble—assuming you’re not as big a coward as they say.’

Ironhide made a grunt in Blackarachnia’s direction as Thundercracker cocked his head.

‘People say I’m a coward?! Are people really saying I’m—? Oh, forget it.’ He turned to Ironhide. ‘And Skywarp? He’s alive. It’s taken some time, but it shouldn’t be long before he’s back on his feet.’

Ironhide blinked, and stared at his lap, appearing somehow relaxed. For a second, Blackarachnia could have sworn she saw a smile cross his pursed lips. He mumbled something softly as Thundercracker spoke up once more.

‘Although it’s opened a whole other can of problems I have to deal with, so frankly, I’m still pretty pissed at you for what you’ve done. Until then…’ Thundercracker rose from his seat and transformed into his jet-form; nose pointed towards the ceiling. ‘I think I’m going to go kill Optimus Prime.’

Blackarachnia extended a servo desperately at the seeker. ‘Wait! You can’t go yet! It’s imperative that you stay!’

‘And why’s that?’ the jet asked.

Blackarachnia paused to think of a reason before continuing. ‘Because I can’t afford all these drinks… and I need you to spot me some cash…?’

Thundercracker didn’t move. ‘…Why would I do that ever? Like, ever-ever?’ He then proceeded to activate his thrusters before tearing through the ceiling. Bursting into the sky and leaving a broken bar in his wake. Sawdust and rubble fell on the once-glimmering bar-table as the bright light of the sun poured in, stunning all occupants.

The Quintesson swore in a different language over the destruction of his ceiling as Blackarachnia scratched the back of her head. ‘Well, damn.’

 

Blackarachnia stared at the gaping ceiling for what felt like minutes. It was actually about four seconds, but she didn’t care about that. Hands on hips, the Decepticon took a moment to exhale through pursed lips before slapping the front of her thighs and gesturing Ironhide to leave. ‘Well, we did what we could. How’s about we head back to the Ark and check out some of those movies you bought.’

Ironhide grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her around to face him. He shook his head vigorously. The mints had still impeded his speech, but Blackarachnia knew what he meant.

‘Yeah, I get it. You want to head to the rescue and get to Optimus before that cracker gets to him.’ She pressed her fingers against her chin in reconsideration. ‘That “Thundercracker”, I mean.’ She sighed. ‘To be honest, I’m not really feeling it. Just not in a fighting mood today I suppose. You know what they say… don’t blame the player, blame the marketing executives that thought it was a good idea to push the release date of a game for Christmas.’ She motioned to her baggage. ‘So, Ark?’

The large Autobot rolled his optics and grabbed Blackarachnia by the head, lifting her up and dragging her towards the exit.

‘Ow. Ow. Ow.’ Blackarachnia scratched at Ironhide’s servos before quickly relenting.

Ironhide dragged the Decepticon to the entrance, stepping past horrified and screaming civilians along the way. As he reached the door, the two, thin-legged bouncers stepped forward, blocking the exit.

Releasing herself from Ironhide’s grasp, Blackarachnia massaged the top of her helm and scowled at the bouncers. ‘Hey, what gives?’

The left bouncer made a gesture that could best be translated as: “are you serious?” ‘Um, you just destroyed our bar.’

‘We kind of need that. For our jobs— and our living.’

Blackarachnia hunched her shoulders behind her head and grinned. ‘Nah.’

‘What—‘

‘Nah, no. I disagree.’

The bouncer’s voice tuned to an antagonistic tone. ‘What do you mean, you disagree?’

‘In my opinion—‘

‘No! One of you just destroyed our bar, and that doesn’t even compare to—.’ The bouncer stopped and took a breath, shutting his eyelids and massaging the rim of his potato-shaped nose with his meaty fingers. ‘No, have you even heard what’s happening at the other end of this sector? Do you even know the kinds of reports we’ve been getting?’

Blackarachnia shook her head.

‘There’s a Decepticon warship hovering over the south-end. It’s under siege and taking fire above a civilized area.’

Blackarachnia’s optics drifted aside as she considered this development. ‘Well that does sound pretty badass.’

‘You are breaking the Tyrest Accord!’

The Decepticon turned to Ironhide, only to find that he was just as confused as she was. She turned back to the bouncer. ‘Okay, full disclosure here, those guys are not us. The guy who broke your roof? Not us either.’

‘You know we can’t afford to take the word of someone whose race is notorious for deception.’

‘Well I mean… that’s kind of racist, so…’

‘Look, even if it wasn’t—we just saw you converse with that Decepticon, and we’re supposed to let you leave?’

Blackarachnia laughed. ‘Well, what are you going to do? Arrest us?’

Her smile and confidence ceased as the surrounding bar-regulars advanced on them.

‘…But not really …right? Guys?’

-----

Optimus felt his face hit the ground. Clearly, crowd-surfing was not a smart idea, especially not after being alerted by the authorities that posing as a famous singer, was in fact illegal, even if you were the one forced into it by idiot interns. It wasn’t until the great Optipotamus stormed on-stage did things begin to get intense. On the ground, Optimus transformed into his truck-mode and drove off as the crowd parted around them. Either the authorities simply couldn’t keep up on foot, or they decided real quick that chasing him wasn’t worth it after all. He kept driving, until finally, he had reached a point in the city where the civilians had stopped pointing at him and laughing. He was indeed, an idiot. Of course it wasn’t his fault that he was led on stage and placed on camera. Everything that happened in between, however… that, he would tell no-one. In any case, he was just as thankful that his big appearance didn’t attract any attention, especially so with the whispers of a Decepticon incursion he had been hearing about. He transformed into robot mode and began strolling through the streets. He needed to get back to the Ark before they found him, of course he needed to pick up his crew and belongings first. There was bound to be a map of some kind somewhere that would give him directions back to the bar. He wondered how Ironhide and Blackarachnia were holding up.

-----

Thundercracker was surprisingly sober. He drank quite a bit and felt like utter slag while he was still in the bar, however actually getting some fresh air high and above the township’s meager occupants had helped him feel all the more refreshed. It didn’t explain why he was sober though. Either those free mints relieved Engex levels or he had Energon-negative drinks. Didn’t matter, he didn’t really expect to find Optimus anyhow. Calling it a city was an overstatement, but the shoddy market area was still big enough to—wait, nope, there he was.

Optimus had been standing directly below him. The Prime was searching through stocks, apparently looking for something he wasn’t finding. This was Thundercracker’s chance—but no. He circled back. Even if he fired a payload at him, there was a good chance Optimus would survive it, and the civilians… he wasn’t happy about dragging them into this mess either. Thundercracker dropped from the sky, landing in the middle of the street of where Prime had been approaching before hiding himself in a nearby alleyway. It wasn’t like he cared for the civilians, but, it was his responsibility to keep things personal between him and the Prime. The rest were uninvolved. He readied his incendiary gun, watching Optimus from the shadows. He wasn’t going to mess this up. On one hand he could run in, guns blazing and catch him by surprise—but he was better than that. He wasn’t like Starscream or Strika. He wasn’t a brute. He was going to sort this out cleanly and without collateral. A quick shot to the head would do it… maybe. He was a good shot, but perhaps not good enough to shoot him from where he was standing. Even if he did nail him dead in the head, there’s a good chance it wouldn’t kill him. For an Autobot, Prime was a head taller than most and only slightly bigger. Even against smaller bots like Frenzy, a shot to the head wasn’t uncommonly deflected, and a single shot would probably not be enough to silence a larger bot such as Optimus. He had to catch Optimus by surprise, if only he was a little closer, perhaps he could leap out and disable his joints with a few blasts to the elbows and shins before he could react. But who was he kidding, he wasn’t the protagonist of an action movie. He was just a robot with a gun. He was just—

Thundercracker lowered his gun.

He didn’t know what he was doing. Thundercracker joined Starscream as a means of making up for where he had failed in letting Prime kill Megatron, and in doing so, make Starscream leader. He didn’t like Starscream. In fact, frag Starscream! But he was the only one who would take him in… and the one most likely to get rid of him once deemed unnecessary. Nobody liked Thundercracker anyway, would killing Megatron’s killer really fix that? Probably not. In fact, until now he had figured it was a self-fulfillment kind of thing, but at this point he doubted his void was ever really going to be filled; nor whether he even had a void to begin with. Then there was Starscream. Would making him leader fix anything? By killing Optimus, and putting Starscream in charge, Thundercracker could potentially cause more harm than good. Thundercracker didn’t know what he was trying to do, or what he wanted to do with himself.

A shot hit Optimus dead-center in the chest, sending him stumbling back and only just catching his balance.

Thundercracker was so taken aback that he had to say it out loud, as if to convince himself. ‘That wasn’t me.’

Optimus activated his axe and did a somersault across the street, dodging another payload and protecting a group of fleeing civilians from the blast. From the sky, dive-bombed a black and purple jet. Its wings collapsed into itself and its panels shifted into a tin figure that stood at a similar height to Optimus.

It was Slipstream.

The Seeker ripped a pistol from her waist and fired several shots in Prime’s direction. Optimus deflected the shots with his axe which he promptly swung in Slipstream’s direction, slicing through empty air. The Seeker had sidestepped before firing a shot that bounced off Prime’s shoulder. Optimus reacted the best he could and kicked her in the shin before swinging his axe against her weaponized servo and causing her to drop the gun. He raised his axe above his head and prepared to strike, only for Slipstream to lunge at him and grab his wrists. Crushing his servos and holding him back.

‘Let’s try to be a little more honest with ourselves here. I’m stronger than you, Optimus, but don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you,’ Slipstream said, her grip tightening.

‘I’m sure that’s precisely why you shot me in the chest three seconds before telling me this.’

‘Well… I mean, it was a little more than three seconds but…’

Optimus pushed forward, throwing her off of him before taking another stance. ‘I have no time to exchange “banter” with you, Slipstream. I will not allow you and your Decepticons to endanger this planet—not as long as my spark burns and my cogs—‘

‘Oh for the love of—.’ She pulled out a second pistol and fired another shot dead-center in Prime’s chest. Shutting him up and sending him falling on his back. ‘I’m in a very not-pontificating-mood right now, Prime. I’m not feeling the speech at all right now. I was actually looking for someone else, but now that I’ve found you, things have just been made a thousand times easier. Now all I need to do is rip out your spark and brain module and take you back to where you belong.’ She fired another shot into Prime’s chest, shattering the glass armor that covered his spark chamber. ‘The Nemesis and Sunstorm are of no consequence. This is the age of giants, Prime, and Sunstorm is not one of them. I’m not let in on everything my employers are investigating, but from what I’m hearing, the smallest God we’ve discovered —.’ she paused for a moment and raised her servos to articulate what she was trying to say. ‘Okay, so if you took Megatron… and the Ultra Magnus… and then somehow mutated him together into one entity. The Amazing Incredible Ultra Megnus—the smallest giant we’ve uncovered would probably beat him in an arm wrestle. I think his name was Metrotitan.’ She blinked, realizing Optimus was no longer lying where he was. ‘Ah, dammit. I’ve really got to stop bragging about stuff I don’t even know is true.’

Optimus planted his axe in her shoulder from behind before kicking the gun out of her hand and disarming her. She responded with a heavy left hook across Optimus’s face, cracking open his faceplate and knocking him back. Unsheathing a hatchet-like blade from her wrist, Slipstream lunged at the Prime and clashed with his axe.

This was perfect. Or so Thundercracker thought. His two adversaries were trying to kill each other, right in front of him. As it turned out, he didn’t need to lift a finger. From now on, Thundercracker was going to play it like Megatron would have; let his enemies tear each-other apart, then swoop in and deliver the killing blow to the winner once they were out of fuel and nearing stasis lock. He readied his incendiary gun. He was going to end this war, not for Starscream or the Decepticons, but for him.

-----

Starscream tore through another jet as he chased down Ramjet. Three other Seekers trailed behind him, returning fire. Perhaps it was “mean” to have abandoned Obsidian, but hell, if he couldn’t hold his own then he probably wasn’t worth hiring in the first place.

Ramjet took the lead of the pack, driving Starscream away as he boosted to the trade-building: the highest tower in the district. He transformed and landed on its pavilion, just barely evading the electrical wires that stemmed from its base. Hotlink landed next to him, watching the dogfight that occurred below between Starscream and three of their seekers.

‘I’m not so sure about this.’

‘You doubt we’ll win?’ Ramjet said, as if it were the most unthinkable thing in the world.

‘I’m just saying, Ramjet, Starscream is pretty deadly in the air. His reputation as a predator of the skies precedes him.’

‘Then let’s—OH!’ Ramjet grabbed Hotlink by the shoulders. ‘DUDE! I just had a glitchin’ idea!’

Hotlink slapped Ramjet’s servos. ‘Tell, don’t touch.’

‘Okay… so if Starscream is considered the—the butcher of the skies…’

‘Predator of the skies.’

‘Whatever.’ He pointed at the Seeker in question as he dodged and twirled past Ramjet’s forces. ‘Then why don’t we just take away the skies!’

Hotlink considered this and grinned. ‘Turns out your head is screwed on better than I would have thought, Ramjet. Brilliant! If you use your null-ray to disable his thrusters, then he will no longer be able to fly.’

Ramjet frowned. ‘Yeah—wait, no, what are you talking about?’

‘Your plan. You mean to ground him in order to remove him as a threat—.’ Hotlink slapped himself in the forehead, shaking his head in understanding. ‘Okay, Ramjet. You weren’t talking about removing the sky, were you?’

‘I was talking about removing the sky.’

‘You can’t remove the sky, Ramjet.’

‘But—.’

‘We’re not removing the sky, Ramjet.’

Ramjet lowered his head, disappointed. ‘Oh.’ He let out a sigh and pressed his focus back on the action. ‘Then I guess we ought to do as you said.’

‘By using the—‘

‘The null-ray.’ Ramjet activated the weapon and aimed it at Starscream. ‘Yeah.’

The barrel came alight as a thin, pink laser fired, streaming across the airspace and striking Starscream’s right thruster. The pink stream surged through both thrusters until slowly, Starscream descended. The jet pathetically twisted in the air as Ramjet’s soldiers homed in on him.

‘Open fire!’ Ramjet said, supplying his own from above. The crack of gunfire echoed through the skies as the four seekers unloaded their weapons above the plummeting Starscream. The explosion left cloud of smoke wafting in the air surrounding Starscream’s position, but his figure didn’t fall out of the sky as Ramjet had hoped. Starscream remained intact-but just barely. His servo was punched through the building’s steel alloy leaving him dangling off from the side of a tower. As impressive as it was to see him stomach that first hit back on the Nemesis, the second load was… less so. His body had fragmented and his armour had been cracked open revealing patches of internal circuitry. Smoke bellowed from the cracks between his lips as he tried to re-ignite his thrusters. Sunstorm was right: rep aside, Starscream was still a mortal.

Ramjet didn’t need to lift a digit. The three Seeker jets honed in on Starscream, preparing to unleash a typhoon of laser fire and high-octane. One from above, one from below, and one from the front. Starscream ripped his arm from the building’s infrastructure and let himself fall, landing on top of the nosecone of the Seeker from below and digging his fingers into the jet’s cockpit; ripping out a gob of wires and machinery. The jet sputtered in the air before turning back into the direction of the trade building. Starscream managed to jump off the jet and latch on to the side of the building once again—letting the jet crash into a mess of metal parts and explosive flames. He began climbing, punching a hole through the building, pulling himself up, and repeating the process—terrifying many of its residents in the process. Through the smoke came another jet, firing a missile that Starscream promptly batted aside with the back of his fist. Without much of a plan B, the jet just flew straight for the former Aerospace Commander only for Starscream to punch his free hand through the jet’s undercarriage. He squeezed tightly, activating his buzz saw and dragging it through the Seeker’s length, bisecting it into two large slabs of metal that squirted bright, yellow sparks and green liquid over the disgusted Air Commander. As the last jet approached, Starscream dove off the side of the building once again, letting out a roar and allowing his smile-scars to split, revealing an orange fire burning from his belly. He grappled with the jet, digging his fingers into its alloy skin and forcing the soldier’s nosecone to face the sky.

‘Huh.’ Ramjet felt his fists clench, as if on instinct. ‘Hotlink… you may have been right all—.’ But when Ramjet turned to face him, the medic was nowhere to be found, presumably jetting off out of cowardice. When Ramjet turned back, Starscream was hovering above him, having used the seeker’s jet thrusters as a means of elevating him to Ramjet’s level atop of the tower. Ramjet reacted accordingly and fired another blast of null-ray at Starscream, only for the red and white Seeker to throw the remains of Ramjet’s last soldier in the course of the blast and dive for the cone-head himself, hands first. A missile fired from Starscream’s shoulder and blew apart Ramjet’s Null-Ray along with much of his servo. Before Starscream’s feet touched the ground, the Commander entwined his fingers with Ramjet’s, grappling with him in what soon became contest of pure strength. Letting his Decepticon brutality take control, Ramjet stopped thinking and pushed forward, convinced of his might. Starscream and Ramjet kicked and struggled until their adrenaline had taken over, degrading both parties into a pair of snarling and raging beasts. Just as Starscream’s heel touched the edge of the building, the Commander pulled his arms backwards, first his left, and then his right. With each jerk, Starscream succeeded in ripping Ramjet’s arms out of their sockets and leaving a trail of ooze. First his left, and then his right. Stunned into a daze, the armless Seeker stumbled backwards, optics wide and flickering as oil squirted from the two newly formed cavities on either side of his torso. Starscream whirled Ramjet’s discarded, meaty arms like a pair of clubs, cracking them against the cone-head’s upper torso, sending shivers through his broken frame. Ramjet’s arms shattered as the rest of his body torched and contracted at Starscream’s feet. The battle was won.

Dusting off his hands, Starscream moved passed the broken body and began cutting down electrical wires. Ramjet rolled over, his vision coming back to him. His face had since crumbled, leaving himself an expressionless wreck. His chest expanded as if gasping for air.

‘What… are you doing?!’ Ramjet spluttered.

Starscream began tying the wire around his waist. ‘I’ll be honest… I may be having second thoughts on this.’

‘What?’

Starscream marched over and kicked Ramjet in the ribs. ‘You don’t need arms to transform, do you? If you change into a jet like me, then your arms should form an undercarriage of some kind. You should be able to fly without them. Transform.’

Ramjet, still defiant, remained in his pathetic form on the ground, causing Starscream to punch a hole in the cone-head’s stomach.

‘I said, “Transform”, not “pretend to be dead”. I took away your arms, Ramjet, not your ears. I don’t— does “transform” sound anything like “play dead?” Does it?’ He made gestures as he accentuated on either word. ‘Transform… play dead… does that sound anything alike? No? Am I asking for too much here?’

He kicked Ramjet again, and the jet immediately transformed from armless robot into a crumpled jet.

‘Thank you.’ Starscream groaned, tying the other end of the cord around Ramjet.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Well, since – thanks to you – I can’t fly, I’m using you to get me back to the Nemesis so I can kill Sunstorm.’

‘I—I—‘

‘Go on. It’s depressing I know, but since the last thing I’m going to do is ride you back, you’re going to have to pull me there. Again, I’m having second thoughts.’

Ramjet’s thrusters activated as if on their own. His mind an utter mess. He took off, flying off the edge and pulling Starscream along with him. Once in the sky, Starscream felt his stomach lurch as he was dragged from behind, swallowing his discomfort and allowing himself to be pulled through the skies by something outside his own volition. ‘To the Nemesis.’ Starscream said grimly. ‘It’s high time we blocked out the sun.’

 

Blackarachnia spread her arms aside, blocking the advancing organics. ‘Waitwaitwaitwaitwait just a moment. Hold on, alright?’

The organics stopped and stood, surrounding the two Cybertronians malevolently.

‘Okay, so maybe we don’t like each other, but maybe we also got off on the wrong foot.’ Blackarachnia wagered, rubbing her hands together. ‘Maybe we should—you know, reintroduce ourselves. See, my name is Blackarachnia, hi. And the big, crusty fella behind me is Ironhide.’

‘Mmf.’

‘Hidey, please, you are so crusty. You’re even crustier than a—.’

‘For your own sake, do not finish that sentence.’ A tiger-like alien growled, fittingly.

Blackarachnia quickly bowed her head. ‘My apologies. I was going to say something inappropriate.’ She sighed. ‘But let’s not focus on the noise of this conversation. I think if we take a breather, and calmly talk this out, we can form some real, solid, relationships here.’

‘You’re under arrest.’ Said a blue alien that resembled something of a moth-man wearing a fedora.

Blackarachnia threw her arms in the air, carelessly. ‘Oh yeah? And what are you, a cop?’

‘Well, yes.’ The fedora alien replied, revealing his holo-badge.

Her arms dropped. ‘Oh.’

‘It has been Talonian law for years now that in accordance to any unregistered conflict between Cybertronians within civilian area, actions must be taken to restrain and place into custody, any and all Cybertronians until established contact with both Autobot headquarters, and the Vestial Imperium.’

Blackarachnia groaned. ‘Ugh… the Vestial Imperium.’ She turned to face Ironhide. ‘I hate the Vestial Imperium.’

The Quintesson levitated over the bar, slithering slowly towards the group. ‘Regardless, you don’t have a say in this matter. We’ve seen it all before, the number of times you and your race have turned face in contrast to when you’ve actually spent facing consequences is unsettlingly high.

Blackarachnia extended an arm to the Quint, crossly. ‘Oh, come on! We haven’t done anything bad yet!’

The tiger-like alien raised a brow. ‘Yet?’

‘Well…’ she let out an awkward laugh. ‘Well the night is still young! I mean, anything can happen! And after midnight, woo, let me tell ya, if you see any corpses hanging from telephone poles, well, who knows who the culprit might be.’ She snickered, gesturing to herself. She leaned over towards a muscular, bird-like alien and thumbed at her face. ‘Hint, it’s this sexy lady right here.’

The organics – as well as Ironhide - looked past and around her, confused as to who this lady was, she was talking about.

Blackarachnia slumped over in defeat, barely recovering from the burn. ‘Oh…’

The Quintesson’s face rotated to a light blue, calmer expression. ‘You are to remain within the vicinity until proper enforcement officers have arrived to take you in for questioning.’

‘But I just said—‘

‘That you did nothing wrong?’ An ape-like alien rose among the crowd. ‘You literally just robbed us.’

‘What?’

‘The card game, you stole from us, didn’t you? I don’t have the money I won from the game, so you must have…’ The alien trailed off.

‘Who told y—I mean, no! No, why would I… steal from you after losing the same amount of creds?’

The tiger-alien said: ‘We literally heard you bragging about it right after beating us. The bar is only a foot away from the gambling table.’

‘Oh.’

‘Why would you steal the same amount you bet?’ the ape-alien wondered.

‘I don’t—‘

‘I mean, who does that? Why not just steal from us before making a bet?’

‘She was also totally just about to leave without paying for her drinks.’ The Quintesson added.

Blackarachnia wrapped her clawed servos across her optics. ‘Look, I—I am not always in the right mind, I’ve been… unwell.’

Ironhide laughed at this statement, prompting a quick jab to the rib by Blackarachnia. ‘You shut your mouth, crusty crab.’

The muscular bird alien squawked: ‘If you ask me, you sound like you’ve got egg on your face- SQUAAAAAAAWWWKK!’

The tiger-alien stared at the muscular bird nauseously. ‘Dude… don’t you lay eggs?’

The fedora’d alien nodded in agreement. ‘Yeah, I’ve got to agree, that’s a pretty nasty expression coming from you. Eggs are like—ovaries for you guys.’

The bird-alien shrugged, playfully. ‘Well you know what to say, there’s more than one way to cook an omelette. CRAAWWWW!’

The surrounding aliens made a variety of “eww” noises.

‘Oh God.’ Blackarachnia sighed. ‘Its things like these that keep me convinced that the Decepticons are meant to conquer the galaxy.’

Ironhide let out a shocked grunt through the mints still packed in his cheeks.

Blackarachnia raised a brow. ‘What? I know I’m not a Decepticon anymore, but you can’t look me in the eye and tell me these life-forms are well off.’

‘The only reason we’re not all “well off” is because of your war!’ The Quintesson said. ‘Do you think we want to be ruled by your group of death-machines?

‘Well, why do you think we’re fighting?’ Blackarachnia was losing her temper, how Ironhide was staying quiet, she couldn’t figure out. ‘The point is for one of us to win and end the conflict. If not the Decepticons, then the Autobots, they may not do anything to help, but if you want to stay in rubble then why not accept the people we’re allied with? You organics are always grouping the entire Cybertronian race together like we’ve not been split into all these factions for a reason.’

‘Because none of your factions are any better, and what’s worse is you think they are.’ The Quintesson’s face rotated to a darker red. ‘The Autobots fight in the name of freedom, but what they want is order. No matter how often Magnus says the Autobots have moved on from the days of functionism, those practises and lessons still remain tucked beneath the skin of the Autobot taxonomy. Decepticons threaten us to bow to them, and if we don’t, they try and destroy us. Okay. And the Autobots work on protecting us, alright, I can respect that. But how many times do you pack up and leave once the threat is over? You rarely pick up after yourselves, leaving the so-called “lesser beings” of the galaxy to clean the up after you. And when you do stay, you tear up massive pieces of land without our permission, disobey dozens of trust-policy, and privacy laws with your disguises, use up our resources for your own benefit, and build massive cities, outposts, and space-stations looming over civilian populaces with a laser pointing down. Again, without the permission of anyone.’

‘Look, I absolutely agree that the Autobot manifesto is darker and far more pretentious than anyone lets on—but even I can understand that they do it for the sake of your safety—to control sectors of the galaxy before the Decepticons do. I don’t agree with it, but what do you expect them to do? Not defend you?’

‘I expect them not to draw targets on our backs.’ The Quintesson’s face rotated into a new form. ‘It is your war. By using our worlds, you have only created more problems for us. Both of you are destroying the galaxy, both physically, and structurally. You act like defending us is noble, but if not all, most of you wouldn’t even flinch if you stepped on one of us during a conflict. You don’t care about the rest of the galaxy, you just can’t accept the fact that what you’ve been doing for the past millions of years is wrong. You can’t accept that your race is no longer the shining-evolutionary-miracle you used to be. Your races’ propaganda has – literally – been programmed so well into your overly-complicated neuro-circuits for you to even notice. The Transformers are machines, pure and simple.’

Blackarachnia was silent. And the rest of the organics were forced to nod in unison, generally agreeing.

‘Can I just ask a question?’ Blackarachnia said, hoarsely.

‘You may.’

‘What’s a Transformer?’

The organics couldn’t wrap their heads around it. ‘What do you mean?’

Ironhide muffled something to Blackarachnia.

‘Oh.’

‘What’d he say?’

Ironhide spat out the mints and cleared his throat. ‘I said it was a pet-name you lot gave us. Because of how we, you know.’

Ironhide transformed into his heavy-artillery mode, aiming his cannons upward and firing a massive burst of energy into the sky, creating a display that was not unlike a fire-work performance, drops of fire rained down, and while it wasn’t lethal, or even all that painful, it caused the organics to scatter into a frenzy of panic. Organics of all sizes freaked out, scurrying around in panic, activating their smaller weaponry, or even just standing paralyzed in the face of Cybertronian fire-power.

The Quintesson’s tentacles waved in the air, trying to calm them down. ‘Stay strong, friends, we will not falter to two Transformers. United we stand!’ His face flipped around once again, changing back to a crimson scowl. ‘Besides, we have full authority to dismantle them now!’

Ironhide transformed, pressing his back against Blackarachnia’s.

The former Decepticon grinned chillingly as her stalks emerged from her spine and curved over their heads. ‘I’m glad you came to your senses.’ She mused in morbid excitement. ‘I had a feeling those covers wouldn’t be able to muffle your cannons for long. Let’s kill them. Let’s—we’re going to paint these walls red with these bastard’s visceral fluids, and sweet—sweet muscle tissues. Oh God, we are going to tear through their soft bodies so easily.’

‘We’re not killing them.’ Ironhide said, quietly.

Blackarachnia looked at him; her mouth semi agape. Truthfully, she wasn’t all that surprised. ‘You heard what they said. I know you’re as trigger-happy as I am, Hidey. So admit it, you want to tear these animals apart for what they said just as much as I do.’

Ironhide cocked a brow. ‘This isn’t a matter of admitting the truth, Decepticon. If you want the truth, I am fuming mad, and when that happens, I am fully content with - and capable of – killing whoever I deem necessary.’ He shut off his cannons. ‘But I respect Optimus too much for that.’ He pointed to the exit, which was in fact, still guarded by the two bouncers, trying to calm the outrage. ‘We need to get out of here and get to Optimus as soon as possible, and if we need to fight our way out—‘

‘Then we have an excuse to hit these guys.’ Blackarachnia finished.

Ironhide lifted a strict servo to the Decepticon. ‘Yes, but only hitting. Just enough to knock them out.’ The organics began to come together, surrounding the two like a ring of fire. ‘If you kill anyone, and if I see anyone die, Optimus will know, and we will leave this place without you.’

Blackarachnia sighed. ‘I know. And I know you will.’ She prepared her stance as the bird-alien dashed at her for the attack. She threw a punch, cracking the organic’s head to the side and sending cracks through its beak.

‘Glad that’s settled.’ Ironhide readied his fists. ‘Now as for the rest of you. We are both feeling very violent right now, not because we’ve been drinking for the past hour, not because our planet is a barren husk, not because we’re two of the three most wanted Cybertronians in the galaxy, and not because we have to learn to work together without Optimus keeping us in check for once, but because of one, pure and simple reason.’ He slammed his fists together, and a loud “wham” noise echoed through the room as metal collided with metal in the palm of his hand. ‘You pissed us off.’

-----

‘I’m sorry. So, so, sorry.’ Ramjet droned on, he was broken in both mind and spirit and running on fumes as he carried Starscream through the sky. ‘I just—I sided with Sunstorm because he told me I would get to fight. He didn’t say they wouldn’t be Autobots.’

‘Shut up.’ Starscream said, hands clasped together tightly.

But Ramjet wouldn’t. His mind was lost in transmission. He kept talking, because as far as he knew, that was what would keep him alive. Oh wait, he thought: ‘I’m not going to be alive for much longer, y’know.’

‘I don’t care. Fly.’

‘I mean I’m dying. I have only so much time left to live.’

‘If you don’t keep flying, I’ll kill you.’

‘The reason I joined Sunstorm was because of something Hotlink told me. He said I only had about a day to live.’

‘He was lying.’

‘It’s sad, I know, but apparently I brought it upon myself. I’d regret it, but nothing is going to keep me from—.’ Ramjet stopped. Starscream didn’t take note of this, but Ramjet had to be certain. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said he was lying.’

Ramjet’s voice turned to panic. ‘I—um, do you want to clarify?’

‘No.’

‘I’m not asking—please, Starscream, tell me what you mean.’

‘I mean Hotlink lied about your illness. He was one of Sunstorm’s supporters before you, wasn’t he?’

‘I thought—.’

‘Well, I guess it doesn’t matter what you think. To clarify, Sunstorm had Hotlink give you a due-date so he could manipulate you into doing something drastic. In this case, joining with him so that Slipstream had no big-named support. Believe me, I know a manipulator when I see one.’

‘So I’m not going to…’ Ramjet felt somehow relieved. ‘I’m not going to die…?’ Ramjet laughed, his cracked vocal processor fizzing and bubbling as he did so. ‘It all makes sense! I’m not going to die!’

‘Oh, you’re still going to die.’

‘Hah! That’s why you’re keeping me alive! You’ve only got three soldiers under your command. It’s why you’re getting to know me, too! You’re going to let me join your brigade and everything! Right?’

‘No.’

Ramjet kept laughing. He kept laughing all the way to the Nemesis.

-----

Obsidian was bleeding and broken. Energon pouring from his pours, and his body mangled to the point of only barely holding together.

‘Damn you, Starscream.’ He muttered quietly.

The moment his commander had left, everything had gone out of control. Sunstorm and his squad had decimated him. Their combined firepower shot him out of the sky, and once grounded, the group piled on him— assaulting and flaying him like their own personal sandbag. The fact he was alive was a miracle. Sunstorm was apparently willing to let his men have their fun with blitzing and torturing him for their own amusement, as he was sure they could have killed him by now had they focused a shot to his head, but then, he could never tell how smart the average Decepticon soldier was. He managed to get away, scathed, but not dead. Firing a missile into one of their pig-nosed faces gave him the time he needed to activate his rotors and drag himself off the side of the Nemesis. He was hiding now— latched onto the tip of the Nemesis’ upper canopy with his drenched stomach cavity facing the city below. The Seekers were still circling the Nemesis, scouring the skies for him, none apparently smart enough to look literally under the ship’s nose. Obsidian panted as Sunstorm walked overhead, his footsteps varying in volume.

‘I gave you one order— kill a single defector, and you’re telling me you “lost him”?!’ Sunstorm was clutching a soldier by the throat. His screams elevating as his throat melted in the Seeker’s grip. ‘He is a helicopter for Primacron’s sake! I don’t care how great a strategist he is, he cannot just disappear in thin air.’ The screaming Seeker’s voice curdled and died as the connecting tissue between his head and his torso gave-way, causing his skull to roll off Sunstorm’s fist and drop against the ground. The Nemesis’ commander marched over to the tip of the Nemesis, standing directly above Obsidian. ‘He can’t be hiding far. Find him.’

As the other soldiers quickly got back to work, Obsidian felt his grip against the Nemesis weaken. To his horror, a loud scratching noise sounded in his periphery, he could hear it, and Sunstorm could hear it too. It was his rotor, it had been scraping against the ship’s hull and creating a grating noise.

Sunstorm paused, and turned his head towards the sound, prompting an inquiry from Bitstream.

‘Is everything alright, my lord?

‘Yes I… hm.’ Sunstorm took a step towards the tip of the ship, then another, advancing on the noise. Obsidian cursed to himself and his spark burned. It was as if time was slowing all around him.

Sunstorm looked lost, almost concerned by the sound as he approached it. He knelt on one knee, running a digit across the ship’s hull and carving a small trail in the shape of a winding worm. He hummed and lowered himself closer, pressing his audio receptor against the ship’s cold exterior, listening to the quiet buzz of Obsidian’s rotor right beneath him.

Obsidian shut his optics, breathing heavily. This was it, he’d have to make his stand.

‘Sunstorm!’ Bitstream suddenly blurted. ‘I just got a call from Braketaker in the lower levels, well, I got a scream. He’s dead now. It seems Strika has infiltrated the ship somehow. She and Acid Storm’s group have been on the warpath through the ships interior—they’ll be here any minute!’

Sunstorm rose to his feet. ‘As I expected. We still have over two-dozen Seeker’s left, here.’ He stepped away from the sound and moved towards his lieutenant. ‘Rally them, and tell them to prepare for battle.’ He clasped his hands behind his back. ‘We outnumber them two to one—this battle will be over before long.’

Obsidian let out a quiet sigh as Sunstorm’s footsteps grew softer. Thank God he had Strika.

‘Oh.’ Sunstorm said to himself, stopping mid-way. ‘I almost forgot.’ The golden Seeker turned around and sprinted back towards the tip of the ship, kneeling above the sound once again. He raised his fist above his head, gathering energy, until a ball of flames formed around his wrist. He struck the ship, punching through the canopy’s metal and cleaving away to the noise beneath. In one motion, Sunstorm clenched Obsidian’s throat and wrenched him out through the burning platform, hanging him high above his head.

Obsidian let out a pained scream as Sunstorm’s pyro-kinetic touch burned through his outer armour.

‘You didn’t think you could hide from me, did you?’ Sunstorm exchanged hands, grabbing the strategist by forehead; singing his face and stinging his optics. Obsidian tried to wrestle the Seeker by the wrists, but all it did was burn the skin off his fingers. ‘You thought I wouldn’t notice you from a foot away? Pathetic.’ He held him up high so the others could see. ‘Look! I found him, now that didn’t take long at all, did it?’ He pulled the suffering wreck to his face so he could see him eye-to-eye. ‘Poor Obsidian… I had such high hopes for you. You were such a loyal follower of Megatron. He trusted you. And yet here you stand… so to speak. Why, Obsidian? Before I crush the brain-module responsible for so many decisive victories, entertain me—why did you side with Starscream?’

Obsidian managed to voice his thoughts. ‘I… need him.’

‘Oh!’ Sunstorm pressed his servo to his chest. ‘Well isn’t that sweet.’

‘You… idiot.’ Obsidian coughed up a wad of oil, which was almost immediately set aflame as the wires connecting his throat began to curl into singed metal like peeling wallpaper. ‘I… need him… for… my own…’ he coughed again.

‘For your own plans. Your machinations. Your ideas. Yes, that is why you’re going to die here, Obsidian. We aren’t meant to think for ourselves. All of you, coming up with your own ideas—you are treading ground we were never meant to. Our sole purpose isn’t to come up with ideas, it is to serve God.’ He pressed a digit against the center of his forehead in frustration. Burning a small hole in the process. ‘All of you… why can’t you understand… I just—why can you never…’

‘Obsidian!’

Strika stood outside the elevator—a dozen allied seeker’s standing behind her. Sunstorm’s own men dropped from the sky, standing alongside him with their guns cocked and glowing.

‘Ah, I’m glad you’re here, Strika. Surely you will understand.’

Strika’s shoulder cannons were trained on Sunstorm, her optics searing red. ‘You put him down.’

‘Hah, nice one. That’s a very funny “joke”, Strika. But no, I’m pretty sure I’m going to kill Obsidian for what he’s done.’

He chuckled, switching hands, and digging his fingers deeper into his skull.

Strika clenched her fists, her breath turning violent at she glared at the Nemesis’ commander. ‘I’m going to kill you.’

‘I don’t think so, but how about this: let’s not kill each-other! As in: neither of us dies here.’ He gestured to Obsidian. ‘Look, I am killing Obsidian right in front of you— I’ve already started, if you can’t already tell. I am currently melting his skull until my pyro-kinetic servo finally reaches his brain module. I’m giving him a slow-death so that he can pay for his sins. But it doesn’t have to be this way. I know you two are close, join me, and I’ll let you kill him. You can end his suffering right now before the real pain starts, all you need to do is succeed where he has failed, and join my guiding hand.’

Strika didn’t react. Sunstorm expected a look of sadness, pain or fear from the giant upon watching her consort die before her—regret, or even love. But all he saw from Strika was a look of unadulterated rage. She was going to kill him, even if it resulted in Obsidian dying in the process.

Sunstorm sighed. ‘Very well, in this case you could at least admit your loss, Ramjet has no doubt disposed of Starscream by now, and Obsidian is already too far gone. If you won’t give up, then I guess I have no choice but to—.’ He dropped Obsidian against the ground, staring forward at the approaching object that dotted the sky. ‘What the hell is that.’

---

Ramjet jetted towards the Nemesis, his crumpled body in full view to Sunstorm and his followers. ‘Starscream! You know how you said I didn’t need arms to become a jet? Well—um, I do. My landing gear is actually connected to my elbow… which you left back at the— you know.’

‘Oh.’

‘Well—I can’t land!’

‘Land.’

‘I can’t!’

‘Ramjet.’

‘Yes…?’

‘You can fly at the Nemesis, yes?’

‘Yeah, but—!’

‘You can fly onto the hull with the others, yes?’

‘I can but—I’d crash!’

‘So?’

‘—and there’s no room! The hull is covered in other Cybertronians!’

‘It doesn’t matter. Land.’

‘But I’ll crash into them! Some of them are on your side!’

‘So?’

Ramjet understood. He activated his boosters and jetted at the Nemesis, nose-cone first. Ramjet lived up to his name for one last time…

----

The blast was huge. Ramjet’s body exploded as he “rammed” into the battlefield, engulfing soldiers from both sides and plunging the Nemesis into a warzone once again. He had indeed, succeeded in killing a great number of people as he hoped. Starscream had long since detached himself from the Seeker and landed firmly in the middle of the battle. Strika supplied fire from behind him at Sunstorm and his crew as Obsidian crawled to the side-lines, free of danger. Starscream walked forward, one of Sunstorm’s men jumped at him, only to be carelessly grabbed by the throat, and throttled mercilessly by the Aerospace Commander’s bloodied fists. He continued this until his arm had pierced clean through the soldier’s skull. A second seeker jumped at him, and Starscream grabbed them by the head, jerking his elbow backwards and ripping it clean off his shoulders before chucking it at another Seeker that charged him. He activated chest compartment and fired a barrage of missiles that would seek-out several of Sunstorm’s—and even his own – soldiers and explode on impact. Those that attempted to fire on Starscream afar were met with the bulk of Strika, who proceeded to karate-chop one grunt in half from head to crotch with one arm and strike her fist through a seeker’s torso with the other— ripping their chest out in a trail of multi-coloured wires.

Sunstorm remained steadfast, unloading a barrage of flames; feeding the explosion and turning the sky orange. ‘This is where you die, Starscream. You will not threaten my ascension!’

His flames flowered until a whirlpool of red and yellow circled around him—blinding everything it touched. Strika was sent tumbling backwards as Obsidian transformed with what energy he had and evaded the attack. From the flames, the figure of Starscream stood, stomaching the burns and stepping through, his optics burning with a deeper intensity than Sunstorm’s flames ever could. The fire reflected off the red seeker’s plating, cascading with shades of crimson and gold. It looked as though he were bathing in the flames. He stepped forward and raised his servos. Before Sunstorm knew it, the two seekers clashed—their hands intertwined in combat. Despite this, Starscream felt no burns. Sunstorm escalated his power, only for Starscream to kick the golden seeker in the shin, turning him vulnerable and off-balance. Starscream proceeded to use his fists, beating down the “chosen one” with a blazing ferocity combined with a somber disposition Sunstorm had never seen from him before.

Sunstorm coughed and drooled as Starscream kicked him in the gut. The gold seeker transformed, searing through the sky and returning to deal a volley of missile-fire that torched Starscream’s torso. Starscream responded with another barrage of missile-fire that blew Sunstorm out of the sky, forcing him to transform once again, and land on his pedes. The “chosen-one” slashed and clawed at Starscream, only to feel a sharp pain in his back. It was Obsidian, he was hovering in helicopter mode with laser’s smoking; still in the fight. Sunstorm growled as he threw a punch that was promptly blocked by Starscream’s arm. The Aerospace commander proceeded to return the favour and smashed his fist against Sunstorm’s face, sending him flying to the tip of the Nemesis. Sunstorm lifted himself up; his face a train of emotion from confusion, to fear, and ultimately, to understanding. He leapt off the side of the ship, transforming once again and unleashed his flames at the Nemesis’ outer shell, forming a small hole that melted before him. Before Starscream could supply any firepower, Sunstorm had already accelerated into the ship.

‘What the hell is he doing?!’ Starscream demanded. The battlefield was strewn with bodies, and very few Seekers remained. All that appeared to be left were Obsidian, Strika, Acid Storm and under half of his initial group. The Nemesis began to quake as vibrations ran through the ship and up the Decepticons legs.

‘He’s trying to escape!’ Obsidian roared, hovering next to Starscream. ‘These vibrations—he’s set the Nemesis to warp!’

‘Dammit.’ Starscream pointed to his back. ‘Obsidian, fix my thrusters—quickly.’ As Obsidian got to work recharging his thruster’s, Starscream gave out his orders. ‘If we stay here as it warps—we’re going to die. Strika, go find Thundercracker and tell him to get his aft here immediately. Acid Storm I… don’t really care about you, so just go away if you don’t want to die. The same goes for the rest of you.’

Obsidian finished and hovered away from the Nemesis as the vibrations increased. Strika merely jumped off the edge of the ship and landed on a roof-top below while Starscream and the others transformed. With no-one left on top of the ship, the Nemesis’s quantum engines activated, and the ship was slingshot into the sky.

Starscream and Obsidian hovered side-by-side in the empty air as they watched the Nemesis leave the atmosphere.

‘Well, we failed.’ Obsidian said, turning to face Starscream. ‘I don’t suppose you have a backup plan.’

But Starscream didn’t reply. He activated his newly-repaired thrusters and shot himself into the opposite direction of the Nemesis, flying out into the Talonian wilderness, and away from the city’s center.

Obsidian sighed, slowly descending as his internal repairs activated.