Krok stared at Bludgeon.

Bludgeon stared at Krok.

Krok was fully aware of the inevitability that was about to occur, but there was nothing he could do about it except brace. He was the Lieutenant Commander, and yet he was treated worse than the likes of Thundercracker, at times who, somehow, managed to escape execution because of reasons only Primus seemed to know. Bludgeon swung the back of his hand across the Lieutenant's face. The manner of the hit was best defined as a hard, backhanded smack, but it carried the force of a fully-formed punch; one that cracked Krok’s head forcibly to the side. Bludgeon turned to the others as Krok collapsed to the floor in a pool of spittle-- coughing and trembling as he attempted, and failed, to reacquire himself. Using the scenery of the abandoned battlefield as an excuse to avoid eye contact. The plain looked no different from before the chase. Any added scars or torch marks blended in with the destruction that had long since scabbed the city's pale streets.

‘How the frag did we lose him?!’ Bludgeon bellowed to no one in particular. His beard of wires writhed like several hungry snakes. ‘How?!’

Starscream was the first to step forward. ‘Calm down, friend,’ his teeth had gritted into a grin. He was a faux-friendly Decepticon in a real-unfriendly mood, but out of everyone there, he was the only one who’d dare speak up to the Decepticon commander. Bludgeon was legendary for his savage outbursts, and no one looked forward to seeing the real thing in person. ‘I mean, they can’t be that far away, can they? My team and I will search the area. If we start now, we might even stumble upon their ship.’ He grinned proudly. ‘Now wouldn’t that just-- wouldn't that just be swell?’

Bludgeon was only half listening. He was too busy contemplating Prime’s escape from the jaws of death. Crankcase reported a fourth vehicle supplying a rear attack and turning the tide in Prime's favor. But then again, Crankcase was far from reliable. Neither were Spinister or the Dreads for that matter, who appeared mindless at first glance, but at least Crankcase appeared partially intelligent. Obsidian had speculated that the fourth vehicle was the intruder that was behind stealing their prisoner. Presumably, they had formed an alliance with the Prime in order to make their escape. But that didn’t bother Bludgeon. The prisoner was a faint memory wasting away in the tomb of his mind. What bothered him was what happened after the battle with the Dreads. After days of zero-contact with anyone outside of his own sphere of fanboys and worshipers, Sixshot had made his move. But whatever it was that happened between Sixshot and Prime, it was enough to scare the Phase-Sixer off planet.

Optimus Prime. Murderer of Megatron. Murderer Sunstorm… Capable of fighting Starscream into submission, and sent the Phase-Sixer Sixshot running away without a word.

Optimus was scaring him. Not in the way a youngling would fear a monster - or so he liked to believe - but in the way an army captain would worry over the knowledge that he was pitting his battalion against impossible numbers. He had assumed from the start that Optimus possessed supernatural ability— but how long did that shadow of supernormality stretch? How far did his field of aura bleed? He wondered. Often.

Sixshot was his trump card. If all else failed, he’d still have Sixshot to decimate everything between him and his target. With him gone, Bludgeon was running low on options. He had good fighters on his side, but to what end was Optimus’ ability to kill? To thrive? Starscream would tell him snippets of his past encounters with the Prime, but that was not nearly enough to sate Bludgeon’s appetite for information. It was clear the Aerospace Commander either wanted to maintain what was left of his shattered dignity, or had repressed something down inside of him—something important. His lack of clarity infuriated Bludgeon, but it only fed in to his belief that there was more to Optimus than met the eye. He had spent many nights in private, attempting to make contact with the Dark Gods: Syncorax, Devil Z, Hytherion, Unicron, Elder God, Harbinger… and the Light: Primus, Chronarchitect, Scuba Geso Mongō, Horus, Primacron, and Xal, for answers. There was no betrayal involved in contacting both spectrums. Like Yin and Yang, the light and dark gods could not exist without the another. He was certain to have received contact with them before, though they would only whisper small hints and tidbits. Metaphors and riddles were the popular cliché among gods, but they existed for a reason. The gods were a higher species residing on a higher plain. Just like how if you were to teach a lion to speak, we would still never be able to converse with it, the gods’ world was so vastly different that any attempt at contact made very little sense to the underexposed. Bludgeon understood, and the Gods were the only ones who understood him. He knew that they were on his side, but not even they appeared to know. And when not even the Gods themselves could tell him what Optimus Prime was, Bludgeon’s paranoia grew. What was he? Destroyer of Megatron and Sunstorm. Blight of Starscream and Sixshot. He needed to know, and no answers appeared to exist. Even Banzaitron and Wingspan’s research on his history told him nothing. Prime lost a battle once during the Surge, and that was all. There was seemingly nothing important about this mech.

He reared his ugly skull-shaped head towards Starscream. ‘Yes, go! Spread out!’ He swung his hand in a wide oval above his head, gesturing to the army of thirty surrounding him. ‘That goes for all of you! Eliminate the Demon and bring back what’s left to me! We’ll dedicate a special form of ceremony to his demise.’

In seconds, Bludgeon’s army had transformed and branched off into their separate groups. Taking to the skies and roads in all directions like a vast murder of crows that couldn’t decide on their destination of travel.

The only one to remain was Obsidian, who approached with the consistent air of professionalism he always carried with him. ‘Lord Bludgeon, if I may have a word.’

Bludgeon knew full well when it was suitable to wear a calm disposition. It invoked intelligence. ‘Yes, you may. What is it, Obsidian?’

‘There may be a simpler way to rout out our infestation, if you’d care to hear it.’

Bludgeon liked the sound of that. “Infestation.” It was a fantastic descriptor of their foes. Among other kinds of villains and views that plagued his life. ‘What is it?’

‘Come on, Obsidian!’ Starscream shouted at him. Strika stood nearby, cracking her knuckles. Thundercracker and Slipstream had already jetted off in their search. ‘Please don’t waste my time, are you coming or not?!’

Obsidian waved them away. ‘Yes! For heaven’s sake be patient! I will be there in one nano-klik!’ He focused on Bludgeon. ‘My apologies. Now where was I..? Right. Assuming the intruder has been living within the Crystal City for a lengthy period of time, it is reasonable to deduce that he or she is the perpetrator of our Energon shortages.’

Bludgeon brought a digit to where his chin would be. He had considered the possibility before. ‘You’re sure our shortages aren’t the cause of something Misfire of Spinister conjured up?’

‘No. Not entirely, at least. But if the enemy hopes to live bottled up here for an extended period of time, they will need to supply themselves with Energon. And the only available source of Energon on this planet is from your own personal reservoir.’

Bludgeon mulled it over. ‘I see. What do you suggest?’

His hands folded neatly in front of his lap. ‘I have two options available for consideration, both involve starving our foes to death. The first involves the transportation of our Energon resources to a protected area. Make their resources unobtainable and they’ll be left to starve. We could technically station an army around the reservoir to guard its contents, but…’

‘But the reservoir is the size of a lake.’ Bludgeon said, both as a means of finishing Obsidian’s sentence, and of denouncing the notion. ‘It is the culmination of energy we collected in our conquest of the universe this past century. We don’t have nearly enough bodies to surround it constantly, nor the proper time or equipment to cube it all. Even the Nemesis’ fuel tanks aren’t large enough to house every last drop.’

‘We have too much Energon. What an awful dilemma,’ Obsidian mused. He was picking up sarcasm from Slipstream and Thundercracker. Or Starscream. Or Strika. In fact, Starscream’s entire brigade was a cesspool of sarcasm and irony. How he got wrapped into it, Obsidian could barely fathom. Life be strange. ‘Which brings me to my second option: that we set fire to the reservoir.’

Bludgeon was taken aback.

‘I know. It is the fastest and simplest means of snuffing out the enemy, but by far the most dangerous. The resulting fire would cause a chained explosion that would no doubt engulf the area of which our enemies are suspected of residing.’

‘And everything along with it,’ Bludgeon finished grimly. ‘The reservoir stretches from the Citadel to the outskirts. Set it ablaze and it could drag everything – including the Citadel – down into the pit. We could put the city in even worse shape than it was before!’

Obsidian splayed his tendrils. ‘Final judgement over the sacrifice's worth rests in your hands.’

He considered this. ‘We can always rebuild…’ realizing what he was saying, Bludgeon scowled, slapped himself, and buried the thought. ‘No. I don’t know why I’m even having this discussion. I’m not going to destroy this city, Obsidian. To do so would be a sin worthy of immediate purgatory.' He let out a sigh. He couldn't let himself be angry, Obsidian was only doing his job, as blasphemous as it came to be at times. 'Thank you for sharing your thoughts, General, but I will not sacrifice my legacy for the sake of a scorched earth stratagem.’ He turned his back on the strategist. ‘That will be all.’

Obsidian bowed his head before leaving. He fluidly folded into his helicopter form and took to the air. After a short period of time he, somehow, succeeded in catching up with Strika. She wasn’t the fastest of vehicles, but she was still mighty fast for a tank. The brigade had apparently split into two groups, as the Seekers were nowhere in sight.

‘What the hell was that all about?’ The tank muttered.

‘Nothing too incredible,’ he told her. ‘Just parlaying some sagely advice to our equally sagely leader.’

She grunted. ‘You’re not parlaying him anything too sagely, I hope. We work for Starscream, remember?'

‘I’m only maintaining the illusion that everything we do is for Bludgeon’s sake, and Bludgeon’s sake only. Everything I suggest to him involves sacrifices that directly contradict with his own dogma. I can appear to be the most useful soldier in Bludgeon’s army and do nothing of any conceivable use for him.’

‘I think you’re overthinking things,’ she chuckled. ‘Oh wait— when don't you overthink things?’

Obsidian sighed. ‘You hurt me sometimes, Strika, you really do.’

Their radios crackled. ‘Guys, you should come see this.’

Obsidian answered. ‘What is it, Thundercracker?’

‘Slipstream found something.’

Strika didn’t sound impressed. ‘Is it one of those creepy puppets Starscream keeps stashed away in his private closet?’

‘What?’

‘I learned that whenever Slipstream seems to find something, Nemesis or no, nine times out of ten it’s going to be a some creepy puppet based off one of us. Maybe Soundwave too. I think they belong to Starscream. I think he plays with them in his spare time. It's weird, I know, but it's happened way too often to be a surprise to me anymore.’

‘Just get over here.’

The duo drifted down to their position. It was in the lower layers of the city—somewhere on the plain of which Prime had fought against Crankcase and the others. Slipstream and Thundercracker waited for them in their robot modes.

Slipstream was babbling something incomprehensible. ‘But yeah, if what Freud says about the phallic symbols in guns are true, then explain the crossbow?’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Boom. Made’ya think.’

Thundercracker looked like he was losing sleep just being around the former Aerospace Commander. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Actually, don’t answer that. I think I already know what you’re talking about. I just don't want to be right.’

‘I mean—maybe if it’s diseased or something then I guess that would make sen— HOLY— WHAT THE CRAP IS THAT?! Oh. Wait. False alarm. It’s just Obsidian.’

‘Indeed,’ the strategist droned as he transformed into his robot mode, ‘just Obsidian.’ He ignored Slipstream and moved directly towards Thundercracker. ‘What have you found?’

Slipstream lifted the contraption up for the larger Decepticons to see. ‘It’s a crossbow.’

‘So it is,’ Obsidian observed the weapon. It was a primitive type, and had no conceivable means of inflicting any serious damage to a modern Cybertronian. He had thought the discovery of the weapon to be some joke with a punchline he was too old to properly understand. Then he remembered: this was Slipstream they were talking about.

Strika cocked her head to the side. ‘Ah, so it’s not a puppet.’

With no further reveals or explanations to say otherwise, Obsidian glared at the blue seeker. ‘You’re wasting my time over this?’

Slipstream pouted. ‘But crossbows are sick!’

‘She has a point, Obsidian,’ Strika agreed, arms folding. ‘Crossbows are pretty sick.’

‘I don’t care, Strika. I want something strategically significant. I want something we can use. Not a crossbow just because its “cool,” or “sick,” as the kids say.’ He turned back to Thundercracker. ‘You’re the one who called me here, Thundercracker. What makes this primitive weapon so important?’

‘Thank you for asking. Finally.’ He directed their attention to the bases of several broken skyscrapers lining the road. Sprouting out from the walls for about a quarter mile were numerous crossbow bolts. ‘Crankcase reported that Blackarachnia was using a shoddy crossbow as a weapon. And failing. Unless he was mistaken, I have reason to believe she used this particular weapon as a means of marking their path.’

Obsidian played with his mandibles, humming as he did. ‘I see… they were here to locate the stolen prisoner, but to do so they needed to tell their cohort where they were... and how to reach them.’

Thundercracker nodded. ‘Yep. And with that logic, this trail should lead us directly to the Ark.’

‘Holy crap!’ Strika grinned evilly. ‘Prime really screwed up this time, didn’t he?’

Obsidian nodded, studying the bolts individually with meticulous care. ‘That he did. Excellent attempt, Optimus, but still not quite up to par.’

Slipstream squinted at the strategist. ‘What is this, golf? We're gonna see some action! We're gonna really stick it in them, y’know? Just take the brigadier rod and just—just stick it right up there. Up in that exhaust port.’

They stared at her.

She clapped her hands together enthusiastically. ‘Well! Let’s split into our special teams then, yeah?’

‘Special teams?’ Obsidian made an inquisitive noise with his mandibles. ‘Please explain to me, Slipstream, how we can separate into teams? Our "brigade" sums up to a measly five bodies. We can only divide ourselves into so many "teams".’

Slipstream smiled proudly. ‘Thundercracker and I made up team names.’

Thundercracker quickly raised his hands. ‘We most certainly did not. This is the first I'm hearing of this, I swear.’

‘Thundercracker and I are Team Cool-Dudes, while you guys are Team Married.’

Strika faced Obsidian and shrugged. ‘Well, they’re half-right. We are married.’

Obsidian sighed, raising a servo to his forehead. ‘For five-thousand years now, yes. If these “Teams” are so relevant, then who is Starscream paired with?’

Slipstream cackled. ‘No one! He’s part of Team Emo Loner Loser Guy. Nobody wants to be on his team! Ho ho!’

‘Makes sense,’ Strika agreed. ‘Hey, speaking of which, where is that nerd?’

Thundercracker shrugged. ‘Beats me. I thought he was with you guys.’

‘Nope.’ Strika placed her hands on her hips and scanned the area. ‘Huh…’

-----

‘Well, this is it,’ Optimus said.

It was a small hole in a wall, disguised with wreckage and chunks of metallic plating splayed to hide itself from Bludgeon’s watchful eye.

Optimus examined the burrow, then turned to face his team. ‘Ironhide, I want you to wait outside. Keep an eye out for any roaming Decepticons. Blackarachnia, you’re with me.’

The weapons specialist grunted in approval before activated his cannons for use.

Blackarachnia performed a lazy salute. ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

Optimus and Blackarachnia tip-toed into the burrow. They had to step over several lumps of rusted metal and machinery, but the trek was nothing compared to what lay ahead. The inner burrow was dimly lit, but despite its winding turns, the area was mostly encompassed by one long stretch of hallway. They edged around corners, and spied down the block before advancing again.

Blackarachnia spoke up, nearly startling the Prime. ‘So, do you really think our friend will be as accommodating as we're expecting him to be?’

‘Shh!’ Optimus urged her. ‘Not so loud. Wait, what are you talking about?’

She smiled knowingly. ‘What I'm saying is: is it really safe to be considering this stranger our friend so soon?’

‘Considering they went through the trouble of saving our lives... I believe so, yes.’

Blackarachnia performed an over-exaggerated shrug. ‘Oh of course! Out of the goodness of their spark I’m sure.’

Optimus was losing his patience. ‘Would you please quit dancing around the subject and just tell me what's on your mind?’

‘What's on my mind is that we’re being a touch too optimistic about this guy.’

Optimus rolled his eyes. Here we go again, he thought. Like Ironhide, Blackarachnia had a habit of seeing the worst in people. Of course, she had enough exposure to the worst kinds of people to back it up. During the trip itself, Blackarachnia had complained about risking their lives in the city looking for the prisoner. Maybe she was right, Optimus thought. It was only by chance they found their Samaritan, otherwise they would have perished under the Dreads’ an hour ago.

Optimus said, ‘You think this guy saved our lives just so he could kill us himself?’

‘If he’s a Decepticon then that’s more than likely, yes-indeedy. But if he’s an Autobot or Imperialist, or even a Decepticon working outside of general jurisdictions, well, I’ve seen plenty of blackmailers in my previous line of work. I wouldn’t run it past this guy to threaten us into doing whatever he says—lest he lets slip our location and warp signature to a dangerous party.’

Optimus let out a tired huff. ‘As Ironhide always says: nothing we can’t handle.’

She chuckled. ‘I believe that one goes: “nothing we can’t handle—with our fists”. I’m serious, tell me you’re not expecting this guy to have a ransom. Tell me you’re not worried.’

Optimus snapped, ‘I wasn’t worried until you told me to be worried!’

‘Then why did you just tell me to be quiet?’

Optimus frowned at her, then thought it over. ‘Fine.’ He activated his rifle, and kicked himself forward into a sprint, startling Blackarachnia and causing her to jumble after him.

The two swiftly darted past several corners before reaching a final door at the end of the passage. Optimus kicked it down and the two rolled in, weapons cocked and ready to fire.

Inside was a lone, pink, minibot, who yelped, dropped the mug of Energon she had been calmly sipping on moments prior, and threw her hands into the air ‘Holy crap! Don’t shoot—I’m too famous to die!’

Optimus recognized the disposable class immediately, and the disposable class recognized him. They shouted in unison. ‘You?!’

Blackarachnia squeaked a laugh. ‘Hah! You’re that chick that talked down Optimus back on Talon, aren’t you?’

She groaned. ‘How could I possibly be anyone else?’

Optimus was baffled. ‘How am I supposed to know that?’ He shook his head. ‘Never mind. Since you’re obviously the one with my serial code, that means whoever rescued you is—‘

He felt the cold steel of a barrel press against his neck.

‘Don’t move an inch,’ said the figure from behind them.

Blackarachnia had already raised her claws above her head. She was grinning maniacally. ‘Told you so.’ Each delectable word was said in the most condescending—most domineering way Blackarachnia could possibly muster.

Optimus sighed. ‘What do you want?’

‘Your name,’ the gunman ordered quietly.

‘Optimus Prime, Leader of Team Prime.’

‘Why are you here?’

‘To rescue…’ he failed to remember her name, or whether he was even given a name in the first place, ‘this person, and take her to Chromia for safekeeping.’

The former prisoner stifled a yelp. ‘I beg your pardon? I’m Rosanna! Everyone knows who I am!’ She had completely missed the fact that she was being rescued in favor of her own notoriety.

‘Final question,’ the gunman said, quick to interrupt before a row occurred between the two. Prime was liking him already. The gun barrels moved away from the backs of their heads and were folded away neatly.

Optimus turned around to face the gunman and made a sound that was half a yell and half a laugh.

Jazz grinned proudly. ‘How long has it been since we last spoke face-to-face?’

-----

Strika, Obsidian, and Thundercracker stood basking in the presence of the Ark, and their evident victory. Slipstream danced around the ship, cheering wickedly and dancing until her legs gave out. It was hidden well, but the trail of crossbow bolts led them to the general area. That narrowed their search down exponentially. ‘Ohoho! We’re gonna mess with them so bad!’

Strika couldn’t help but guffaw, she had taken the role of leader in Starscream’s absence, and was proud of it. ‘Yeah, the Autobots are really going to pay now. With their fortifications under our control, we shall—‘

‘Touch their crap!’ Slipstream finished.

Strika stared at her, not bothering to ask.

‘You know, without their permission! I’m going to touch ALL of their crap, and nobody is going to stop me!’

‘Yes, Slipstream.’ Strika looked away, deciding to ignore her instead. ‘We will have all their belongings in our possession. As soon as they return from whatever hole they are hiding in, we will unleash their own might upon them, and seize final victory!’

Slipstream and Obsidian clapped while Thundercracker remained silent, waiting to get to business.

Content with her performance, Strika approached the ship and prepared to break and enter. ‘As soon as we get inside, of course.’ She scanned the ship’s plating for an outline or hatch of sort but found nothing. ‘Hey… guys, get over here and help me find a door or something.’

Obsidian hovered around the Ark in robot mode while Slipstream and Thundercracker wandered around its perimeter, searching for a way inside from the ground.

Strika struck the ship in frustration, leaving a crater shaped dent in its plating. ‘Dammit, I can’t find anything resembling a way in. Just multiple panels that look like they could be entrances.’

‘Do we really need to find the entrance in order to get in?’ Thundercracker asked. ‘I mean, there has to be some way to infiltrate an Ark.’ He turned to Obsidian, knowing that if anyone would know how to get inside, it would be the one with the most experience.

Obsidian shifted in the air uncomfortably. ‘Why are you looking at me? Stop it. I can feel your gaze contaminating my system.’

‘You’re the military genius, Obsidian.’

‘Yes, and?’

‘I'm just saying: I would expect you to have infiltrated dozens of Arks in the past. Any advice would be great right about now.’

Obsidian rolled his eyes irritably. It was as if he had explained the process to several foot-soldiers akin to Thundercracker in the past. ‘There’s a difference, Thundercracker. In battles, hatches open and close all the time to release soldiers into the fray. Furthermore, most infiltration proves successful when there is someone on the inside to be tricked into letting you in. There isn’t. We’re looking at a derelict wreck with no way of getting in at a technical level.’

Strika smacked herself on the forehead. ‘Duh-doy! Why don’t we just make our own entrance?’ With that she began punching the Ark relentlessly.

Thundercracker frowned. ‘We can’t just punch through a spaceship, Strika, that’s impossib—wow, that’s a big dent. I mean, it’s just impossible to punch through something so fortified, but... I can’t imagine anyone being strong enough to do that.’

Obsidian spared Thundercracker a glance as he passed him by. ‘Strika is an impossibility.’ Though his statement was more matter-of-fact than it was a playful observation.

Reluctantly, Thundercracker joined Slipstream and Obsidian as they assisted Strika in punching through the Ark to little avail. Compared to Strika, they were a trio of weaklings. Thundercracker wished Starscream would hurry up with whatever he was doing.

-----

Prime’s optics widened. ‘Jazz? I haven’t seen you in a hundred years, how the frag are you?’

Jazz shook his hand. ‘Been sleeping under an army of ‘Cons, sneaking past heavily guarded security systems, and risking my aft just to get by— but not bad considering how most of my Elite Guard reconnaissance missions turn out. Gotta say it's good to see a familiar face. I don’t think we’ve had the chance to speak once since the Academy.’

‘You know this guy?’ Rosanna and Blackarachnia said in unison. They stared at each other.

‘Yeah,’ Prime said. ‘Jazz here tutored me back when I was still a student at the academy. I was all kinds of horrible at everything, but thanks to him I somehow managed to pass.’

Jazz waved his hands in front of his face. ‘You learned plenty yourself, I just gave you the boost you needed to succeed is all.’

Blackarachnia stammered. ‘Good. Great. I appreciate the friendly mech-banter, guys, I really do, but are we going to keep in mind the fact that there are dozens of Decepticons out there looking to kill us, or what?’

‘He forgets sometimes,’ Rosanna told her. ‘He spends most of his days cracking bad jokes and dancing.’

‘Weird.’ Blackarachnia crinkled her nose at the thought. 'He dances? Like, here?’

‘I’m positive he’s insane. No sane person would un-ironically dance in private!’

Optimus ignored them. ‘How did you find us?’

‘I just followed the trail of crossbow bolts that began cropping up around here. Figured it ought to lead me to something "not of this world".’

Blackarachnia jumped. ‘A-hah! My idea worked! Ironhide’s going to crap when he finds out who saved the day!’

‘Let’s not get too carried away,’ Optimus said to her, then turned to Jazz. ‘Our ship’s out of energy—I’m afraid we’re as stranded as you are.’

‘Yeah? I figured as much,’ Jazz murmured, massaging his chin. ‘I saw your ship warp from all the way down here. In that short a distance, the energy consumption must’ve been all kinds of massive. Which... is definitely a bad thing. Now if only we had the energy to restock it...’ Grinning, he walked away from the group and towards what looked like a musty old shelf. Parting the walls revealed a room containing a large cylinder of Energon taller than Optimus. Jazz spun around proudly. ‘Oh wait, thanks to ol’ Bludgeon’s unguarded Energon reservoir, we do!’

Optimus clapped his hands together. ‘Jazz you beauty, do you think that would be enough to power the Ark?’

He patted the casket. ‘It would certainly be enough to last a single-bodied Cybertronian a deca-cycle, so yeah, I'd be willing to bet it'll get the sucker to fly. ‘Course an Ark might be a bigger fish to feed, but all things considered I think the risk will be worth it.'

‘Alright.’ Optimus’s optics narrowed into slits. There had to have been a catch. Flying off in the Ark would be too easy. ‘So what’s the catch?’

Jazz caught on, and began massaging the back of his neck. ‘Wellllll, I’d be lying if I said there aren’t few hiccups in our plan. I’ve been spying on Bludgeon and his crew for a while now, and one of the biggest finds I’ve dug up is their willingness to adapt. As bizarre as that might sound in regards to a religious zealot.’ He pointed at the ceiling. ‘Bludgeon’s got a quarter of his troops up manning his orbital rail-guns, meaning they will actually be able to spot you in their sights now. What’s worse is that they’re facing down. If we try exiting the planet’s atmosphere then a whole lot of bad is going to rain down on top of us.’

Prime’s brow creased. ‘And if we try to warp while still on-planet, the atmospheric pressure will tear the Ark apart. Dammit, we can’t leave with those guns in the way.’

‘Then we’re stranded here after all,’ Rosanna stated, as if she knew all along.

There was a silence between the four. They had very few options left. Surrender was out of the question; Optimus would be executed immediately, Blackarachnia would probably be executed immediately, and there was no reason for the others to live. They couldn’t exit the planet, as the orbital railguns would shoot them down as soon as they were in view, and they couldn’t leave the city, as the borders were guarded by manned gun emplacements.

Optimus spoke. ‘No. We can’t give up now. Not when we’ve come this far. What are our available options? There has to be something we can do—ships! Are there any other ships we could use to pass them by?’

‘Any ship that’s landed with Bludgeon running the show– including my own – has been dismantled for spare parts. He’s been using whatever he can to rebuild the city in his own image,’ Jazz replied. ‘The only ones working are the Nemesis and the Tidal Wave, but both are heavily occupied and heavily damaged. Even if we did make some attempt to escape in one of them, Bludgeon’s got the city locked down. The railguns would shoot us up regardless of who’s on board.’

Optimus considered Jazz’s mission. ‘What about Sentinel? You said he sent you here for reconnaissance? Is there any way to contact him for support?’

Jazz shook his head. 'If I could do that, I would’ve skipped out on this roadshow months ago. I was initially sent to investigate the disappearance of the Circle of Light, but when Bludgeon came I was left with little choice but to hide with my equipment scrapped and my ties to the outside cut. Not that I much blame him for it, but I get the feeling Sentinel thinks I'm kind of, you know, dead. He never did have much faith in the idea I would be able to survive alone in a Decepticon ruled state. Can't say I blame him. I never had much faith in that fact myself.’

Optimus brought a digit to his faceplate. No way to escape, and no way to call for help. The nearest outpost Prime could call for assistance was Elita’s Sanctuary, and even if they were to somehow make contact, Chromia did not have the firepower to break through Bludgeon’s defenses. It was a sanctuary for a reason. They’d be slaughtered, and so would Optimus. A sacrifice he wasn’t willing to make. ‘Then we fight.’

They stared at him. Blackarachnia shook her head. ‘No way, Prime. Noooo way. As much as I dig you entertaining the option, we can’t fight Bludgeon’s army. I’d barely feel confident fighting Bludgeon alone.’

‘She’s got a point, Prime,’ Jazz said, holding up his pistols. They were in actuality a pair of rivet-guns; useless for combat. ‘Unlike you, the only weapons we’ve got are a grapple-hook and a pair of nunchaku I found in the sewer. Everything else was scrapped when Bludgeon plundered my ship for supplies.’

‘Do you have any better ideas?’ Optimus demanded. He was being rhetorical, but secretly he wished they did. ‘Bludgeon’s men found us once, they’ll surely find us again. We can’t stay idle forever.’

‘We’re only four soldiers!’ Blackarachnia stressed. ‘Bludgeon’s got fourty! Even in beast mode, I razed outposts through stealth, and guerilla tactics. Here, stealth is out the question—they know we’re here, and they’re ready to pull the trigger as soon as we line up in their sights.’

‘Maybe we don’t need stealth to lay an ambush,’ Jazz suggested. Optimus urged him to elucidate, and he nodded. ‘Some cons have been chatting about a rebellion. And apparently - get ready for this - Bludgeon’s not the swell, charming guy people make him out to be. Shocking, I know?’

Blackarachnia smirked. ‘Tremendously.’

‘I'm thinkin' that if we press a few buttons, the rebels will do our work for us.’

‘You think we can actually rely on them that easily?’ Blackarachnia scoffed. ‘I mean really, who’s to say our intervention won’t convince them to solidify their agreements with Bludgeon? Or-- here's something-- who’s to say they won’t all try to kill us as one unified force?’

Jazz didn’t have an answer for that. ‘I’m just suggesting— maybe it will only take knocking out Bludgeon to break his army apart. Catch them separated and we may be able to rile up enough in-fighting to make our escape.’

‘This is assuming that infighting is enough to drag the railgun officers down here to add their own fuel to the fire,’ Optimus said.

‘I never said it was a perfect plan, Chief. We should dive into the details later. First, let’s skedaddle back over to your place. I get the feeling the Ark is a much better place to hang out than this little hole in the ground.’ He sniffed the air. ‘Still, I’m going to miss this hole in the ground. It's home, y'know? It's a sentimentality thing.’

Rosanna laughed. ‘I’m not.’

Optimus nodded to Jazz. ‘Agreed. I have Ironhide waiting outside. Let’s roll—‘

As it turned out, Ironhide was not outside like Optimus thought, as he was in the middle of crashing through the ceiling of the burrow. Coughing and rolling onto his back, the ornery Autobot was firing bursts of cannon fire where the ceiling used to be. Starscream dropped in, landing on top of Ironhide and swiping his buzz-saw across the Autobot’s face, leaving a thin outline dripping liquids down his chin.

The Aerospace Commander turned to the others, baring his teeth. ‘Pardon me for dropping in.’ he laughed, followed by silence. ‘You know… because I—oh come on, I know it’s a cliché, but how often do you get to hear that in real life? Really? Admit it-- it's classic!’

Optimus raised his rifle and fired a shot at Starscream. The Aerospace Commander dodged it and took flight, swooping down and raining a barrage of missiles upon the Autobots. Dodging the fire, Optimus hollered to the others. ‘Ironhide! Grab the Energon canister. Jazz, take Rosanna and get to cover, Blackarachnia, tear him apart!’

Blackarachnia’s face stretched into a sickly grin. ‘I love it when you tell me to do something I’m good at.’ She kicked off the rubble, ran up the side of a wall and dove blades-first at Starscream. The Aerospace Commander quickly transformed midair and grabbed her by the arms. Blackarachnia’s blades pierced into his armour, but the Commander only gritted his teeth and bit away the pain.

The two grappled furiously and viciously, shooting and stabbing each other as they spun wildly through the air above the destroyed burrow. Blackarachnia considered transforming, but knew she needed to conserve Energy for the Ark’s sake. Besides, she could handle this. She thought so, at least.

‘I’m beginning to think not-killing you when I had the chance was a bad idea,’ Starscream wisped.

‘Funny. I was beginning to think the same thing.’

With one final stab, Blackarachnia sent Starscream torpedoing into the ground, and the two crashed together into the dirt.

Ironhide was in vehicle-mode, the large canister of Energon draped on top of his roof. ‘Prime, I’ve got it!’

Optimus was in mid-transformation as he spoke. ‘Then move! Blackarachnia!’

The spider jumped on top of Prime’s roof and slapped his caboose. ‘He’s too stupid to stay down forever. Drive, fool! Drive!’

Wheels screeched as Jazz, Ironhide, and Optimus drove out of the ruins of Jazz’s base. Starscream drunkenly rose from the rubble and dusted himself off. ‘Dammit, I can’t lose them again’ he mumbled as he took flight and chased after the four Autobots. ‘I’ll never hear the last of it.’

 

Tires grinded and roared as the three vehicles raged down the barren metal highway. Starscream’s shadow melted over them. He had been fully capable of surpassing them in a single breadth of speed, and chasing them proved to be of little effort whatsoever. The jet danced across the sky, dropping missiles and cluster-bombs, ripping large blocks of road out of the ground surrounding them. Optimus learned from their last encounter that running was never enough to avoid Starscream’s onslaught. Back then he survived only by ducking into cover while Ironhide warded the jet away with his supplementary fire. Unfortunately, the Energon cannisters had blocked off Ironhide’s vehicular cannon, thus curtailing his ability to fight back. Starscream’s presence overwhelmed them. Blackarachnia could do nothing from her position on top of Optimus, and Jazz couldn’t fight with Rosanna’s smaller form habituated in his cockpit. They had no choice but to run.

Luckily, the city’s alleyways provided them with the cover they needed to avoid at least half of what Starscream dropped on them. The Aerospace Commander crashed through skyscrapers and windows chasing them down; transforming only momentarily to gather his bearings and kick into a running start before taking to the skies once more. Airborne, he began circling them from above like a vulture eyeing its prey.

‘Not sure why no one else has thought of this, but where are we going?’ Blackarachnia asked, clamping down hard on Prime’s “smokestacks” in order to maintain her balance atop the fast moving vehicle.

‘Back to the Ark,’ Optimus told her. ‘Where else would you suggest we go?’

Blackarachnia’s expression twisted into a wry grimace. ‘Yeah, no, I get that. I understand that. Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t we not want to lead Starscream back to the place we live?’

‘We’ll be gone as soon as the Ark’s tank is loaded. Trust me, we’ll be much safer there than anywhere else in this city.’

Ironhide pulled up alongside them. ‘How about instead of analyzing our dignity by running away, we turn ourselves around and take the fight to that Decepti-chop? The three of us took 'em down before, we can sure as hell do it again with four.’

‘I can hear you, Autobots.’ Starscream crowed from above, swooping down to get his shots in before retreating once again. ‘Yes, yes, I know I’ve lost my temper in the past, but I of all people know how to learn from their mistakes. Now we both know I’m untouchable on my own domain, so unless one of you pulls a pair of wings out of your ass and learns how to fly in the next five seconds, I’m afraid you’re not going to have much luck degrading me a second time.’

‘That answer your question?’ Optimus asked.

Ironhide growled. ‘I swear I’d shoot his face off if I didn’t have to lug around this damn cannister. I can still see that ugly grin…’ His speech devolved into a series of low mutterings and curses.

‘We’re almost home-free, just a few more blocks and we can hole ourselves into the Ark where it’s safe.’

‘That ought to tip the scales a bit,’ Jazz said optimistically.

Optimus wasn’t sure how to break it to him. ‘A bit, yes. The Ark had its weaponry destroyed when we first made planet fall. No amount of Energon is going to fix that.’

‘Oh,’ Jazz said. ‘Well, so much for looking on the bright side of things.’

‘Don’t apologize,' Prime replied. 'We’re going to need all the morale we can get.’

-----

‘Okay. CLEAR!’

Strika fired a payload of missiles and machine-gun fire from her tank-mode. The wave of destruction hit the Ark, leaving several large dents and singe-marks, but no noticeable change or degregation in the ship’s armored plating.

Thundercracker shielded the sun from his optics. ‘Yeah, this isn’t working.’

‘Damn.’ Strika transformed back into her robot mode and began to pace. ‘Come on, team, put your heads together—what haven’t we tried?’ She counted on her fingers. ‘We shot it, punched it, chucked Slipstream into it…’

‘My genius brain has never been so neglected,’ Slipstream said, clutching her helm in pain.

Strika persisted to demand answers faster than the others were capable of giving her any. ‘How the frag are we supposed to get into this thing? Is there even an inside to this ship? Does Optimus ride on top of it with a little remote control to fly it around or what?’

Obsidian said, ‘In my experience, it tends to take a warship to destroy another warship.’

Thundercracker nodded. ‘Then we jet back to the Citadel, grab the Nemesis, and bring it here to do the rest of the job for us.’

‘If it has the energy left to do so, then yes! That’s what we’ll do,’ Strika mused proudly. ‘Using the Nemesis to break open the shell and snatch the goodies inside… What an idea... Sometimes I impress myself.’

‘But I was the one that…’ Thundercracker quietly shut himself up, realizing that he’d have no say in the matter of who came up with what.

Strika surveyed the area surrounding the Ark, as if keeping an eye out for anyone who might have been eavesdropping from the shadows. ‘But I think we’re going to need someone to stay behind in case any undesirables come looking for trouble.’

Thundercracker stepped forward almost immediately. ‘Good idea. Slipstream and I will hold the fort while you two grab our warship of mass destruction.’

Strika and Obsidian exchanged glances and laughed.

Thundercracker frowned. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘No offense,’ Strika stifled. ‘But do you really think the two of you alone would be a match for Prime and his group of misfits?’

‘Why not? No really, why is that so difficult to grasp? I’ve been in Starscream’s inner circle longer than anyone. I’m arguably the most capable Seeker next to him.’

‘Yeah, but that's only because we killed all the other Seekers,’ Strika reminded him. ‘Starscream, Obsidian and I, remember? Well, technically Acid Storm and his cronies are still around somewhere—and Slipstream’s with us—and Skywarp’s only half dead. But being the second best Seeker isn’t all that great when it means you’re simultaneously third or fourth from the bottom.’

Slipstream cackled. ‘Thundercracker is worse than dirt! I guess we all knew it deep down. Now he’s the second best type of dirt in a world made out of dirt of only two kinds. Of dirt, I mean.’ She bobbed up and down next to the blue Seeker. ‘How’s it feel to be that kind of dirt. Also what kind of dirt are you? Hopefully not whichever one “earth” is. Or is earth and dirt the same thing? Whoa. Mind blown.’

Thundercracker was in no mood to argue, he only showed them his palms and backed away. ‘Alright. Fine. If you want to be the ones to guard the Ark, then Slipstream and I will go fetch the Nemesis.’

Slipstream pouted. ‘Why do I have to go?’

Thundercracker sneered at her. ‘Because we’re team “awesome”, remember?’ In reality he just wanted someone else to suffer the trek with him.

‘Okay, first of all, it’s team “cool-dudes”, second of all, a delicate flower like me simply couln't persevere through a journey such as this, so personally, I’d rather break off our team and do a three-way with Obsidian and Strika.’ Realizing what she had said, Slipstream covered her face.

‘Yeah, that’s what I thought.’ Thundercracker prepared to transform.

‘Wait,’ Obsidian commanded. He had one digit pressing against his audio receptor and the other halting Thundercracker.

‘What is it?’

‘Listen.’

Thundercracker listened. In the distance he could hear a shrill voice. It was repeating something, over and again. ‘What is that?’

As soon as he asked, the voice became clear.

‘It’s coming from…’ Obsidian pointed, then wilted.

Three vehicles were closing in on the Ark. Behind them was Starscream, zooming after them in jet-mode. He shrieked, ‘Shootthemshootthemshootthemshootthemshootthem!’

‘Oh crap!’ Strika tried to fire a rocket, only for a loud click to take its place. ‘What?’

‘We used up all our weaponry on the Ark, remember?’

Strika started slapping herself. ‘Of course! Why are we considered military geniuses of the Decepticons if we act so stupid?’

Slipstream chuckled. ‘Shocking twist: like Thundercracker, we all have very low standards.’

‘Fortunately, I haven’t wasted all my ammunition,’ Obsidian said proudly, as if there couldn’t have been anyone else.
‘Oh shut up!' Thundercracker snarled.

Obsidian waved at him, 'Why aren't you gone yet? We need the Nemesis. NOW!'

'Oh. Er... yes, of course.' Thundercracker nodded, and jetted off. Slipstream soon followed him from behind, desperately trying to keep up.

Strika and Obsidian maintained their positions. Obsidian barked a plan of attack at Strika, and the lumbering femme marched forward. Obsidian proceeded to fire a volley of missiles that sent the Autobots swerving and scattering about, rendering them separated and disoriented.

Ironhide managed to regain his balance and transform. In robot mode, his first course of action was to gently place the canister off to the side where it would be out of harms way. He turned around, only to be tackled back a few yards by Strika. The much larger Decepticon sprinted after him as soon as they made contact, but when she did reach him, he was ready. The two locked hands with one another, either soldier contesting their strength against one other.

Being the taller and stronger of the two, Strika quickly gained the upper hand, grinning and laughing as she overcame the smaller Autobot.

Ironhide's legs trembled as Strika pressed her weight upon him. He huffed. ‘Prime! I can handle this—get to the Ark!’

But Optimus was busy. As soon as he was on his feet, Starscream had landed before him.

‘You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this!’ Starscream said, activating his buzz-saw and lunging at the Prime.

Optimus managed a back-flip before landing into a crouch a meter or two away from the Aerospace Commander. He activated his axe, and charged, swinging and slicing at whatever he could come in contact with. Blackarachnia glided in from behind, stabbing at Starscream’s ankles and retreating before he could react. Starscream let out a roar and spun around. Before the axe could make its mark Starscream grabbed Optimus by the wrist and swung him into Blackarachnia.

‘I have this under control!’ Optimus told her as he reacquired himself.

‘Really?' Blackarachnia scoffed. 'Because from my perspective yous seem to be getting absolutely wrecked.’

‘Just get to the Ark, okay? That’s what’s important here!’

Blackarachnia sighed, watching the battle as it unfolded. She sprinted towards the canister.

Turning, Optimus brought his axe down upon Starscream, only for the Seeker to smugly catch the blow, and pull, swinging Optimus over his head and across the street. Starscream proceeded to fire a cluster of missiles from his chest, sending the torched form of Optimus flying out of the rubble, and back into his grasp. ‘Bad move,’ Starscream whispered into his audio-receptor before hammering his rival into the ground.

Jazz narrowly dodged Obsidian’s missiles, sideways somersaulting through the air before transforming into his car mode and landing. The moment his wheels touched the road, he accelerated back towards the strategist, faster than he could reload. Jazz landed on him, getting multiple hits in, and leaving several dents across the strategist’s frame. Obsidian snarled in disgust. ‘Don’t you dare touch me, Autobot!’

Jazz cocked a grin. ‘That’s kind of what happens when you get in a fight, dig?’

Obsidian grabbed him by the wrist and twisted, causing the Elite Guardsman to yell out in pain. ‘I do not enjoy being touched by the likes of you,’ the strategist hissed. ‘Or by anyone for that matter. But, I am still a lot bigger, and a lot stronger than you are, Autobot.’ With that, he twisted Jazz’s arm sideways, lifted him above his head, and swung him into the side of the Ark. Before he could get up, Obsidian fired a calculated shot into Jazz’s leg, hindering him from standing any time soon. Obsidian cracked a grin as he hovered over the Autobot. He grabbed him by the throat and hoisted him up into the daylight. ‘This is what happens when you challenge the greatest military generals in Cybertronian history.’

Meanwhile, any hit Optimus got off on Starscream was countered by eight more. The Seeker tossed Optimus around like a ragdoll, slicing his buzz saw through his armour; twisting and cracking his limbs back the ways they weren’t supposed to go, and firing shots from his shoulder cannons to prevent Optimus from getting too far. He tossed Optimus into the air, only for him to land back down on his spinning buzz-saw, tearing into the Prime’s spinal strut and sending viscera flying. ‘Come on, Prime, where’s the machismo? Where’s the fighting spirit?’ He threw him back into the ground and activated his null ray. ‘Well, if that’s all you’ve got, then I might as well claim my prize while it's available. Adieu!’

But before he could pull the trigger, Blackarachnia came crawling back, slamming into Starscream with all her force and pinning him to the ground with her stalks.

Optimus rolled over, grumbling. ‘I told you to—‘

‘Yeah, yeah. I got the Ark all fueled up and ready to go. Now don’t you start complaining! If I left you for another second you’d be scrap! I'm kind of the greatest. You're welcome!’

‘Whatever, I’m not going to argue about this.’ He stood up and twirled his axe. ‘Can you hold him there long?’

‘I think I migh—‘

But Starscream was quick to transform, jetting into the sky and tossing Blackarachnia into a wall from the blast of his thrusters. He made a crescent before nosediving back towards them, firing his missiles at the two in a fit of rage. This time they were ready, and dodged for cover. Any stray shots that came near them was deflected with their weapons and sent whizzing into the crumbling sky-scrapers, sending some toppling over. Behind them, the Ark lurched. The docking bay doors were lowering down.

Ironhide and Strika continued their grapple. The latter sneered. ‘You’re stronger than the average Autobot, I’ll give you that. But there is literally no one stronger than me.’

Ironhide grimaced, he believed her. ‘Yeah, well…’ He activated his cannons and fired a shot from each into her shoulders.

She flinched, and backed away, patting out the fires sprung upon her armour. She glared at the perpetrator, fingers groping the air in anticipation of strangling the life out of him. ‘You’re going to wish you hadn’t done tha—‘

But the General’s sentence was ended prematurely, as the Ark’s giant docking bay doors landed on top of her. Clamping her to the ground.

Obsidian gawked at the turn of events, more or less to the fact that his consort went down so quickly than the fact that the Ark was seemingly activating on its own. ‘Strika?!’

Catching him distracted, Jazz delivered a kick to Obsidian’s torso, separating him from the Decepticon. Landing on the ground, Jazz transformed, circling back around and into the Ark’s docking bay. He transformed, and landed stylishly on his pedes. ‘Come on!’ He shouted to the others. ‘It's time to bounce!’

Ironhide bounded inside, only momentarily looking back to spot Optimus and Blackarachnia. They were still squabbling with Starscream. ‘Prime! Let’s go!’ He ducked inside as Obsidian unleashed a flurry of missiles at the two.

Optimus and Blackarachnia exchanged looks before sprinting towards the entrance of the Ark.

‘If you’re out here…’ Optimus said.

Blackarachnia finished. ‘Then who the heck is in there?’

They realized at the same time. She had been absent during the whole battle. ‘Rosanna.’

They hopped in and signaled Ironhide and Jazz to close the bay doors. A few of Starscream and Obsidian’s missiles slipped inside, blowing apart some machinery and starting some small fires, but in time, the Ark was sealed tight and on the defensive. Optimus activated his comm-link. ‘Rosanna, take us up.’

‘To where?’

He looked to Jazz, gesturing to him as if to ask if he had any ideas.

Jazz replied, ‘There’s a safe altitude between the firing ranges of both the city’s turrets and the orbital railguns. We will be too low to be fired upon, and too high for anyone to spot us from the ground. We’ll be safe there. I promise.’

‘If you say so. Just send me the co-ordinates.’

-----

The Ark blasted off, leaving a trail of flames and vapour that torched the ground beneath them.

‘Not so fast!’ Starscream shrieked before flying after them. The light from his thrusters disappeared beyond the clouds that blanketed the sky above.

Obsidian hovered over Strika’s flattened body. ‘Get up.’

Awake, the general blinked. ‘Okay,’ Strika sat up and out of her large, Strika shaped crater in the ground.

She stared up at him. ‘We lost.’

‘Really, I hadn't noticed.’

After a couple of minutes, the Nemesis hovered over, running on fumes. It landed awkwardly, making a loud scraping sound against the ground as it did. Thundercracker appeared from the entrance ramp, jogging over to the two. ‘Sorry about the wait. Slipstream was messing with the controls.’ He scanned the area, and sniffed. ‘We probably should have stayed to fight.’

‘Yeah,’ Strika agreed.

They both flinched, and slowly turned to Obsidian. If losing at cards warranted one of Obsidian’s rare outrages, then surely a misstep such as this would have been considered apocalyptic. But it never came. Obsidian stared right back at them, servos brushing the dust and debris from his usually spotless body armour. ‘We’ll wait for Starscream.’

Thundercracker was startled and confused. Strika showed signs of skepticism in Obsidian’s behaviour but soon disregarded it as nothing more than unusual. Slipstream kept on gauding him into losing his temper again, but not even she could crack him. Obsidian had either learned how to calm his nerves, or had viewed this failure as a success in some odd, counterproductive way.

Thundercracker deduced that Obsidian’s appearance wasn’t the only thing that was odd about him. But he had more than enough evidence to prove that already.

-----

Starscream fired whatever ammunition he had left. Which was not a lot. He had taken down warships in the past. An Ark may have proven to be troublesome, but he was certain he could do it. He fired and fired, and though the Ark had taken enough damage to wobble, it had yet to fall.

A voice contacted him via intercom. ‘Starscream, pull out.’

‘Why should I? Who is this?’

‘Soundwave.’

‘Soundw— what? How are you even contacting me right now? Shouldn’t you be at the other end of the galaxy?’

‘I was Megatron’s head of communications for four-millennia. You work it out.’

‘You’re good at your job. Fine. Tell me why I shouldn’t pursue the Ark.’

‘Very well…’

And Soundwave told him. And Starscream listened. And In time, Starscream began to understand.

‘Oh. Oh. I see. You’d better be right.’

‘I am right.’

‘Well, aren’t you mister confident.’

‘Get back to your team, Starscream.’

Starscream made an arc in the sky with his vapour trail, flying off in the opposite direction, wondering if he was taking a leap of faith, or a leap of stupidity in trusting Soundwave. Perhaps both.

-----

Optimus twirled his laser-scalpel between his fingers as he operated on Jazz. He was the worst off of the bunch. Next to him, of course.

Blackarachnia fell into a seat across from the medical berth, exhaling. Her limbs were splayed apart in relaxation. ‘Gotta hand it to you, Doc-Boss. I wasn’t expecting to make it out of that one with all my legs attached.’

‘We’re not out of the woods yet,’ Optimus muttered as he repaired Jazz’s leg. ‘We still need to take down Bludgeon.’

Ironhide folded his arms and growled. ‘I’ve got a box full of weaponry that only I can use. That should be enough if Bludgeon’s relegating himself to a sword.’

‘He turns into a tank, Hide,’ Jazz spoke up. ‘Unless that cannon's some kind of experimental growth - which is actually not as uncommon as you'd think - , I've got a feeling he knows how to shoot.’

Optimus glanced in Ironhide’s direction briefly. ‘Oh yeah, Ironhide, Jazz is with us now. You guys met.’

Ironhide nodded curtly in the elite guardsman’s direction, then broke off to sharpen his knives.

‘Don’t feel bad,’ Optimus said to Jazz, moving on to repair his arms. ‘It’s just his tough-guy routine. He’s happy to see you, honest.’

‘Oh, I'm well acquainted with Ironhide's notorious soft-side already.' Jazz smirked at the weapons specialist. 'I know that under that armour of his is nothing more than a big ol' bear of fluff.'

'Watch it,' Ironhide growled back at him. 'Bears can maul.'

‘Speaking of which...’ Optimus remembered. ‘While it’s a temporary shift in personnel, and since Team Prime is still technically an army, I’m going to have to officiate some kind of chain of command.’ And with a wave of Prime’s invisible wand, Jazz, being second to Sentinel for many years, became Lieutenant General, Ironhide Brigadier General, and Blackarachnia a Lieutenant. ‘We’re good? We’re good.’

‘I appreciate the sort-of-promotion, Prime,’ Jazz said, quietly. ‘But I get the feeling Sentinel already has me replaced with-- YOW.'

Optimus had hovered his laser-scalpel over a sensitive part for too long. ‘Oi, we’ll contact Sentinel as soon as we’re out of Bludgeon’s airspace. I wouldn't worry about being replaced just yet.’

Jazz smiled queerly. Like he was being rewarded with a gift he never wanted in the first place. 'Lucky me.'

Blackarachnia sighed, ‘Yeah, you see what you're doing? You're assuming we’ll survive long enough to get out of his airspace at all.’

Ironhide grunted, ‘Don’t sell us so short. Prime and I have survived a lot. We’ll survive this too. I’ll beat down Bludgeon with my bare hands if the situation calls for it.’ He raised is flexed servos before his face as if to prove it.

Blackarachnia raised a brow. ‘You? Against Bludgeon?’ She laughed.

Ironhide growled. ‘You think I can’t? I’ve punched mechs twice his size!’

‘Hey, I didn’t say you couldn't punch him. You're obviously fully capable of punching him. But I’m pretty sure Bludgeon would eat you alive as soon as he had the chance.’

Ironhide squinted at her. ‘You take every opportunity to rate a Decepticon higher than me, don’t you?’

‘Yes. Yes I do. It keeps us both alive.’

He snorted. ‘Typical. At least one of us won't be alive for much longer if they don't shut their trap!’

‘You’re right! If I keep pointing out the truth, you’ll do something stupid and I’ll be forced to put you down! Self-defense, they'll say! He was a rabid Autobot, they'll say!’

‘Umm.’ Jazz patted Prime’s shoulder as he sat up on the berth. ‘Y’think we should tell them to take a chill?’

Optimus stared at him, waiting for the punchline. ‘Oh, you’re serious?’

‘Are you?’

‘Trust me, it’s best to leave them to it. You try close-lining them and they’ll just start teaming up on you. Naturally it makes for a great team-building exercise, but it's poison for your self-esteem.’

Jazz frowned. ‘Close-lining?’

Optimus frowned back at him. ‘Yeah. How else do you break two people apart?’

‘Aside from talking about politics? I 'unno. Counseling? Covering one of them in slime? Telling them not to fight?’

‘Telling them—’ Optimus cocked his head to the side. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Lemme play a different tune: did you ever order 'em not to fight? Not even through... song?’

‘Did I--? What?’

Jazz shook his head. ‘Never mind, chief, I reckon you’ve got everything here under control.’

Optimus shrugged, then looked to the pair of arguing bots. ‘I wouldn’t worry about them. Trust me—they’re secretly best friends.’

The doors parted, and Rosanna entered the room. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the row between Blackarachnia and Ironhide. ‘What’s their problem?' She turned to Optimus. ‘Eh, never mind. So do you guys have a plan to rescue me yet or what?’

‘I do,’ Optimus said, leaning over the medical berth. ‘But there won’t be any second chances. If it fails, we’re dead.’

Rosanna shivered. ‘That’s reassuring…’

‘What’s the brief, chief?’ Jazz asked.

He clapped his hands together. ‘Okay, here’s what we’re going to do…’

-----

Bludgeon sat cross-legged in the street. Hands clasped beneath his chin with his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

‘Lord Bludgeon!’ Krok jogged over to the sitting Decepticon. ‘What are-- I mean with all due respect, what are you doing in the middle of the road?’

‘Waiting.’

Krok nodded, as if that explained everything, then asked, ‘For what?’

Slowly, Bludgeon stood. ‘For Optimus. I expect him to hide for much longer. He knows he can’t survive in his current position. Not for long, anyway. The kind of things that prowl the night... I expect to see him any minute now.’

Krok nodded. ‘Stratatonic detected his ship taking flight outside of our offensive radius. Depending on his on-board Energon, it will only be a matter of time before he is forced to land once more.’

Bludgeon turned around. ‘Then when he does, be sure to have Wingspan – or anyone for that matter – take stock on them. Our final confrontation with Optimus is upon us. Notify the others. I’ve been told that Optimus will be making his move very soon.’

‘Understood.’ Krok turned to leave, stopped, and stared incredulously at the Decepticon leader. ‘Wait, you were told by whom?’

Bludgeon puffed his chest out; took a deep breath in, and exclaimed, ‘The Dark Gods themselves.’

Krok stared. ‘Oh.’

-----

Night fell.

Across the Crystal City, Decepticons took over shifts, and went into stasis. Followed reconnaissance paths and gambled for sport.

Gutcruncher sat at his desk, counting coins; calculating the price of discarded limbs scattered from the aftermath of the battle of Kiaulune.

Banzaitron sat relaxing in his personal EZ-Throne. Hands behind his head and optics shut, confident with himself and his abilities for the upcoming rebellion.

Krok stood at his post, monitoring supposed Autobot comm frequencies cropping up a solar-system away.

Cannonball sat cross-legged in the Tidal-Wave, barking at Razor-Sharp to call off further repairs so he could finally habituate his ship again.

Starscream landed next to the Nemesis. Walking past his friends and down the violet metal halls, taking a moment to enter a portal leading to his past.

Deep inside, they knew their struggles in the matter would come to a close, and that by morning, the Crystal City’s fate would be decided with gruesome finality.

 

A wide field of metal stretched out before them, ending at the unattended border, followed by another stretch of desert that paled from orange, to grey, to white as it met the bloody sun-lit horizon. Starscream and Obsidian’s silhouettes marked the plain a distance away from the other aligning Decepticons, acknowledging each-other, but never making eye-contact. The Decepticons had picked up a signal. Optimus was making his move. One Autobot signal was reported descending from the sky a few Cybertronian hours beyond nightfall, though there was possibility of there being more. The signal was difficult to pick up indefinitely, but it was located in a sector nearing the borders, which could make their search a lot more dangerous should it take to the endless desert surrounding the city. Cannonball had his ship hovering in the sky above, spying down on the grounded conglomerates of Bludgeon’s army, trying to make out any suspicious activity pointing towards the Autobots and their machinations. Obsidian designed the formation that followed: an inner ring circled the sector where most of Bludgeon, Krok, Banzaitron, and Gutcruncher’s army stood. An outer ring of troops lay hidden in the buildings, preparing to snipe at anything wearing an Autobot insignia. These had been made up of mostly Cannonball’s reserve troops save for Axer who chose to participate in the inner circle alongside Banzaitron and Treadshot. No one could really discern why—most figured he made a wrong turn at some point along the way and ended up associating himself with the wrong crowd by mistake. While Starscream and Obsidian were required, they weren’t particularly wanted, and so the two were left alone to work out their own ideas.

‘Why did you pull out?’ Obsidian finally took the opportunity to ask. ‘You could have maintained your assault—wore them down until what little energy they had was depleted; effectively eliminating what was left.’

‘Soundwave.’ Starscream spoke the name as if it were analogous to feces. ‘That weasel provided me with a better offer.’

‘A better offer than Leadership of the Decepticons?’

‘Did I say that? No? Then shut up.’

Obsidian bowed his head briefly as in to say: “okay then.” In turn, Starscream brought a finger to the bridge of his nose, heaving a sigh before making his case. ‘Let’s say he “supplied me” with a safety-net in case my plan fails. A means of killing Prime that makes the Prisoner, the Serial Code, and all of this… ninja- crap meaningless.’ He grimaced sickeningly. He was agreeing with Soundwave. The thought of being anything like that monosyllabic bureaucrat disgusted him. Damn process of maturity. The old Starscream would never admit someone as degenerate as Soundwave to be farther in the right than him. Part of him wished he never became as thoughtful as he did. Which, upon further analysis, was clearly a thoughtless observation. He knew that had he never learned how to be open to alien ideas, he’d never have survived past Talon. ‘Shooting them down would have been a mistake,’ he explained. ‘The only reason Prime had a successful landing in the first place was because no one expected him to have the ball-bearings to do it. If he were to control his landing now, who do you think would get to him first?’

‘Bludgeon,’ Obsidian answered. ‘His agents practically blanketed the city. At least at the time of their escape, they did.’
Starscream nodded, then paused to add: ‘So did Banzaitron’s. And Gutcruncher’s, too.’

Obsidian raised a non-existent eye-brow. ‘What are you so non-subtly suggesting to me now?’

Starscream shot him a shrewd look. ‘Alliance or no, I do not want them to win.’ He leaned over, and spoke to Obsidian like a caretaker speaking to a disabled empty. ‘Because if they win, that means I don’t win, and if I don’t win, I would be very sad.’

‘Indeed.’ He paused. ‘Then what exactly did Soundwave propose?’

Starscream frowned at him.

Obsidian had anticipated this. ‘You are going to tell me, aren’t you? You’re not just trying to be mysterious for the sake of being mysterious… no? Because I’ve seen Nemesis-loads of Generals crash and burn because of some cognitive paranoia that if anyone knows their plans, everyone will.’

‘No… No. I’m not telling you anything because I think being mysterious is “cool.” That’s always been a very Soundwave-y character trait. The reason I’m not telling you anything is because you’ve been – quite obviously, actually – up to something shady on my ship. Especially whenever I’m not looking, and I just can’t rely on someone as… sophisticated as you to follow through with my plans if that’s how you’re going to play me.’ As if it were as simple as an afterthought, he added: ‘Also, I’ve decided I’m going to kill you as a result.’

Obsidian sighed slowly like an aged piece of manufacturing equipment. The effort was almost painful for the strategist. ‘Now that, Starscream, is the kind of thing you should keep from your subordinates. Open threats to the people have a history of spurring rebellions.’

‘Is that supposed to be some kind of thinly-veiled threat?’

‘Is that supposed to be some kind of ironic joke?’

Starscream grinned. Obsidian allowed himself to as well, though it would have been impossible to tell.

‘Unless you prove to me you’re actually loyal, and whatever you’re up to is something trivial like cheating on Strika or taking narcotics or something ludicrously boring like that, then I can’t say I won’t be living up to my promise.’

The thought made Obsidian’s fuel-pump writhe with grease. As someone who loathed disloyalty, the idea of him doing anything disloyal to anyone with power equal or higher to his own made him squirm. Of course, there was a difference between actively betraying someone and keeping them in the dark for their own good. And both Starscream and Obsidian were masters in the art of selective story-telling.

‘Listen, Starscream. I’ll just be straight with you, because I can’t imagine this conversation benefitting us any other way. I’m not going to tell you what I have going on. I can’t; not if we want to maintain a healthy partnership. It is related to the war, and essentially the command structure of the Decepticon guilds, but it has nothing to do with you, or your mission to find and destroy Optimus Prime. You do that, and I will support you until the end of time.’ Or until someone better comes along to kill you. ‘But at the moment I have my own personal projects to take care of; concurrently with my official mission to help you locate Prime.’

‘Not good enough. Give me more.’

‘Its research. I’ve been researching certain documents that I am legally allowed to view and study for my own personal interests. I have also communicated and shared documented information with others equally interested in what they have to say.’

‘What sort of documents?’

‘Past Decepticon leaderships. Dead empires. Classified and “deleted” histories of certain truths and untruths in the annals and wills of the Empire’s history. Soundwave doesn’t like me looking at them. He’s afraid I might leak censored information to the wrong kinds of people.’ He paused. ‘Have you ever noticed? From those recordings of him that are always played on the air I mean—he’s become unhealthily paranoid as of late.’

Starscream squinted at him. They both knew Obsidian was telling the truth. Not the whole truth, obviously, but he was presented with no visible lies of which to attack Obsidian with. The old-as-sin strategist talked a big game, but while they were both too stubborn to ever say it, they needed each other. Without Obsidian’s advice he would never have reached as far as he had, and without Starscream’s connections to the Nemesis, Obsidian would have never had what he needed to bring himself closer to his own personal goal. Even if whatever relationship they had was built out of two separate pillars of trust and mistrust, the whole structure would collapse if either one was removed.

‘Then don’t let it get in the way of the mission,’ Starscream muttered, temporarily ending the conversation before it dragged on longer than it should have. He was not about to talk circles around the strategist as their discussion would inevitably lead to. ‘Consider our advantage. If what everyone says is going to happen actually happens, then I want to focus our assault almost entirely on Bludgeon. Specifically to prevent him from reaching Prime.’ He raised a digit, as if he were giving a light scolding to a younger student. ‘Treat everyone whose name isn’t Starscream, Thundercracker, Strika, or Slipstream as an enemy—well, you can shoot Thundercracker if you want, but you get the idea. We can’t let anyone in our alliance kill Prime either. We either win or we lose. There can be no almosts or maybes.’

Obsidian’s wiry tongue licked his metal gums. No answers, but he wouldn’t need them. ‘Understood, Lord Starscream.’

He snorted. ‘That’s it?’

‘That’s what?’

‘No “Starscream you idiot”? No “never mind that and listen to MY awesome plan”? No disappointed headshakes or in-depth analysis of my own stupid ideas?’

Obsidian blinked, then shrugged. ‘Evidentially not.’

Starscream sagged slightly. ‘Then obviously I’ve either done the impossible and came up with something right for a change. Or, I’ve finally gone insane listening to your know-it-all attitude and have started to assimilate into your parasitic mind-set.’ He made a spooky gesture. ‘We are one and the saaame… like brothers—only closerrr…! We only had to assimilaaate!’

‘It’s called making an educated decision, Starscream.’ Obsidian drawled slyly. ‘You’ll get used to it.’

Starscream snarled and elbowed the strategist lightly, a shred of intended pain away from friendlily, in the rib.

In minutes, Strika reported via intercom. ‘Starscream, Obsidian. While you were making out, Bludgeon’s sky-guys located one of Prime’s people.’

Starscream spat, ‘We weren’t making out!’ He looked to Obsidian, and began examining his mandible-jaw skeptically. ‘How would you even do that, where would you even—

‘Like what you see?’ Obsidian sneered.

He turned back to Strika, scowling. ‘Whatever, who did they find?’

‘Don’t know. Doesn’t matter. He was there when we got our asses handed to us by them, though. He’s the one that wasn’t Prime. Or the… er, other two.’

‘My, well isn’t that illuminating.’ He snapped his fingers at Obsidian, indicating to him to get a move on before transforming into jet-mode and blasting off into the sky. ‘We’re on our way, what is Bludgeon doing about it?’

‘Nothing. The Autobot is waving the white-flag.’

‘Literally? Where did he get one of those?’

‘It’s a metaphor, dude. Of course he didn’t show up with an actual fragging white flag.’

‘Get off my back. Has he said anything yet?’

‘Just that he wants to have some words with Bludgeon. The boss-samurai thinks he’s the blip Wingspan reported about.’

‘Blip?’

‘The air-dropped Autobot from last night.’

‘Oh. I knew that. I knew that all along. Sounds kind of like a trap, though, doesn’t it?’

‘So? Bludgeon hasn’t killed him yet so I assume he wants to listen. He’s in our custody right now. Sort of. It’s more like he’s been herded into a big circle of guns at the city’s border.’

‘So that’s what that is…’ Aside from the Tidal Wave’s shadow blanketing the land, the surest sign of life was the circle of soldiers bustling around below. ‘I can see it from here. We’ll continue this conversation in person.’

‘Over and out.’

-----

Jazz had been in worse predicaments. Surrounded by dozens of Decepticons wasn’t his idea, but he trusted Prime’s plan. Granted, he didn’t have any better plans to trust in, so it was something closer to “having faith” than trusting it to work, but he was confident. More or less. He spotted the Decepticons Prime told him about; they were hovering near the back of the circle’s circumference. Slipstream – having “googled” the surrendering Autobot – was rambling to Thundercracker about what names Jazz’s family must have, figuring he had a twin brother named “Blues”, and an evil clone named “Country”. Thundercracker was so unamused he had fixated his expression into a frown that Jazz couldn’t imagine being impermanent. Behind them were the real threats. Obsidian, Starscream, and Strika. Obsidian, the strategist whom he clashed with a night ago, presented the figure of a creature he had never seen before. Strika was massive, easily the biggest Cybertronian in the crowd if not the biggest humanoid Decepticon in history. She towered over the others like a looming, watchful golem. The famous couple were just as monstrous and intimidating as their reputations let on, almost unbelievably so. Then there was Starscream. Possibly the second most famous Decepticon of all time, the “coward” looked nothing of the sort. His posture seeped heavy gallons of pride, but his eyes told a different story. Behind the sun-orange tint of his optical glow, Jazz found nothing but darkness.

Why Starscream’s brigade interested him so, the Elite-Guardsman couldn’t put his finger on. There were plenty of other famous Decepticons present, but they all seemed… stale. Bludgeon took the lead of the pack, with Krok his favored Lieutenant. There wasn’t much reason for Krok’s position, other than him apparently being a loyal, and effective strategist. His file sported little experience otherwise. Bludgeon’s skull mask and general appearance was obviously meant for show, but unlike the natural glamour Starscream’s possessed, Bludgeon looked more like he was wearing some elaborate Halloween costume to accentuate his power rather than actually being this skeletal warrior. His language, his mannerisms—they all felt very artificial. It was clear Bludgeon was someone pretending to be something he was not. He didn’t seem to care about any of it. His victory. Jazz. The generals under his command. They were all pawns to further his goal. Naturally that was the case for all Decepticon leaders, but in most cases, they sported some kind of opinion over their status. Anger, stress, sadism, more-often-than-not: paranoia; Bludgeon sported none of these. He was a well-oiled machine with a fancy image projected on its label for attention.

Jazz maintained his cocky grin. Hands raised above his head for all to see. He didn’t look a threat, but he sure acted like he had something up his sleeve, and by all means he did.

‘What is your name?’ The skeletal figure demanded.

‘It’s Jazz,’ he announced playfully. ‘Don’t go getting embarrassed if you forget it the first time around. I’ve got all the time in the world if you feel like getting to know me better.’

‘You’re serious?’ Bludgeon took a moment to roll the idea around in his head. ‘Why in the pit would you name yourself after a music genre? Let alone “jazz?”’

‘If you really want to know, it’s because Rock, Hip-Hop, Metal, and Rap were already taken.’

Bludgeon laughed. Others quickly joined him out of either fear or as a method of acceptance from their leader, but most remained silent— not finding it suitable to laugh at such a joke under the circumstances. Bludgeon began shaking his head. ‘I hate music. Pointless.’

Jazz shrugged. ‘I respect your opinion, man.’

Bludgeon leaned forward, resting his chin against the hilt of his blade. ‘You are frighteningly calm. Almost… supernaturally so.’

‘Yeah? Well, why shouldn’t I be?’

‘The list goes on…’ He pulled away, turning his back to the Autobot. ‘You were allied with the Prime?’

‘Yeah, since about...’ he began counting numbers off his raised finger-tips, ‘yesterday.’

‘Yesterday?’ He whirled around, optics glowing out from the sockets of his skull-mask. ‘You mean you weren’t a part of his landing party?’

Jazz could almost see his mouth moving beneath his beard of wires. If it weren’t his imagination, Bludgeon seemed to be mouthing: How, how, how. Over and again to himself. Jazz’s grin wouldn’t flicker for an instant. ‘Man, I’ve been here since before old bucket head kicked the bucket…’ he paused, ‘head.’

‘Megatron…’ Bludgeon snarled. He did not mourn his late rival’s death and never would for as long as he lived. ‘You’re telling me that you’ve managed to hide yourself here for that long?’ How, how, how.

‘I use to roll as a Cyber Ninja ‘til duty called. Trained under an old wise cat named Yoketron. When I got the gist of some big conspiracy going on that made him and everyone calling this zone a home go poof, I decided to swing by and see what really went down.’ He glanced up at Tidal Wave, hovering in the sky above. ‘That’s when you and your crew of swashbucklers showed up.’ His visor gleamed. ‘I know, I know— I didn’t leave any housewarming gifts or what have you, but I ain’t stupid enough to sell myself out to the enemy, you know.’

There was something dark serious about those last words that took Bludgeon by surprise. He wished stupid people would go back to acting stupid, and smart people smart. This ambiguity of intelligence had become a bother to him as of late. Nobody was as smart as they looked. Sometimes they were smarter, sometimes they were not. Bothersome. He let out a low rumble in agreement. ‘Why are you with them? The Autobots. You’ve trained under the guidance of Primus—yet you serve under a government that falsifies the rules of the Primal Pentateuch to suit their own demands. As one child of Primus and his Opposite to the other: why?’

Jazz stared into Bludgeon’s eye-sockets for over a minute. Many were prepared to shoot the Autobot in the face and get it over with so they could all could go home, but Bludgeon would never allow it. Jazz smiled. ‘Hey now, I’m willing to accept any belief—and with that I’ll accept anyone who believes in anything. It’s important, and belief shapes our lives more than we know, you know?’

‘I know.’ He nodded. ‘And for good reason.’

‘I will always believe in people, whatever they believe in, as long as that belief causes no harm to others. Because that is their right, because sometimes the world needs another believer.’

‘And what do you believe in?’

‘I believe in people. Nothing more and nothing less’

Bludgeon reeled his head back, frowning behind his mask. ‘What?’

Jazz’s lips parted with his grin. He had reached the “punchline” of their conversation he was anticipating since the beginning. ‘To sell it to you short, I’m what you might call an agnostic.’

Bludgeon took a wide step back and waved his hand to the others. ‘Kill this imbecile.’

Jazz was quick to repel the idea. ‘Yeah, you could do that, or you could consider that, maybe, just maybe, I’m worth more to you alive than dead.’

Bludgeon halted the order before a single gun was raised. ‘Why, dare I ask, would you suggest you’re worth anything at all?’

‘You mean besides my chiseled good looks and great taste in music?’

Bludgeon was about to relay the order to kill before being stopped short by Jazz once more.

‘Joking! Cool your jets for a second, would you? Just chill, I only want to help.’

‘Help?’ Bludgeon snorted. ‘I don’t speak for everyone, but I think there's a bit of contradiction in that statement. Considering your brief history of fighting at Prime’s side...’ He trailed off.

Jazz’s smile flickered. ‘He’s… not as brave as he looks. I’m kind of doing this on my own. But not like that. No. I want to help you in a way that’s what you’d call... mutually beneficial to the both of us.’

‘You mean you want to play me into a trap… Don’t shake your head, that’s exactly what’s happening right now. Your capture was so easy that you might as well have come to us bearing a peace-sign. You’re asking for favors, and you’ve got that petulant, cocksure grin that universally translates into treachery. Just look over there! Starscream’s doing it right now!’

‘No I’m not!’ Starscream called, grinning maniacally.

Back to Jazz, Bludgeon said: ‘You think I’m not going to kill you? This isn’t an action-movie, Jazz. Anyone with half a brain would eliminate the source of an obvious trap rather than listen to their demands, to stall time or otherwise.’

Jazz nodded profusely. ‘Nono, I get that. But I’ve actually got something of value to you. Something you’ve been in an extreme lack of as of late.’

‘Like what?’

‘Respect.’

Bludgeon rolled his eyes, and with him a half dozen anticipating Decepticons groaned. ‘So it’s not a material object. Great, Jazz. I bet you're a blast at gift-giving seminars. You know, Jazz, I was at least hoping you’d attempt something cliché like leading me to a pitfall disguised as Optimus, but that’s just sad. I don’t need your respect.’

‘Oh, not mine. Your troops.’

Bludgeon’s head bobbed back in surprise. The respect of his troops? For a brief moment, he was prepared to scoff at the idea, but... Did he not incite respect from them like he thought? Sure he had clashed with Gutcruncher and Starscream in the past, and Banzaitron didn’t seem to like him very much. But those were the cases of a few prudent generals too full of themselves to respond in the face of an adversary. Besides, he had proven his power to them time and again. He had calculated his charismatic persona perfectly, there shouldn’t have been any problems. ‘What?’

‘You see, I’ve been thinking: big old Bludgeon has this reputation of being one of the scariest boogeymen in the known universe. You always hear about this guy’s exploits, and his military achievements, but for the life of me I can never remember actually seeing you fight. You say this isn’t a movie, but you’re the pirate dressed as a samurai here.’

‘What are you implying?’

‘I’m implying that you need to start living up to your own hype, else people will start re-evaluating your worth, dig?’

Bludgeon thought this was ridiculous. That is, until he saw Krok. There was no sign of treachery emanating from the Lieutenant, just a look of concern. Or was it disappointment? It almost frightened Bludgeon. Almost. Even if it was a tiny gesture, for it to come from his most loyal soldier was… well, it was unexpected. Disappointing even. ‘Then how do you expect I prove myself?’

Jazz spread his arms wide. ‘By taking me on.’

There were a few laughs from the crowd. Jazz was miniscule compared to Bludgeon. The samurai cocked his head to the side. ‘You want to…?’

He snapped his fingers before fluidly swinging himself into a fighting stance. ‘To fight, yeah. A good old fashioned rough-and-tumble. You an’ me, one-on-one. Mech against mech. A fight of honour between two Cyber-Ninja masters. A test to see who's supreme!’

‘You want to… duel me?’

‘I… didn’t think you’d actually call it that, but yeah. A duel. If you win, I’ll tell you where Rosanna is, and if I win…’

‘It wouldn’t matter, would it?’ Bludgeon quickly interjected. ‘It’s a battle to the death. You’ll have killed me, so whatever promises I make will be moot if Krok or Banzaitron decide not to follow my orders post-humus.’

Jazz had nothing more to say. Bludgeon’s death would have caused a stir in command regardless, and that would be a suitable result. Even if it wasn’t the intended effect of the battle. ‘Well then… do you accept?’

‘Do I accept?’ Bludgeon was stared at from all directions. Some expected him to run. Some expected to be ordered to kill Jazz on the spot. Some expected him to hesitate and fumble, wiping his non-existent sweat away with a damp cloth. Instead, he roared. At first it sounded like a scream in agony, but then quickly evolved into a fit of manic, high-pitched laughter. None of them, not even Bugly, had heard Bludgeon’s voice reach such a pitch. His head bobbled around on his neck, convulsing and saliva spewing as he laughed his violent laugh. ‘Of course I accept! I’ve been waiting for something like this for years! Decades! Yes! Yes you beautiful Autobot Spawn-of-a-glitch! Let’s tear each other apart—starting now!’ He whipped out his sword from its sheath, gleaming its newly-polished gleam—looking as if it were just as aroused as its master. The fire in Bludgeon’s belly was revitalized, and the warrior was reborn. He broke his stance only briefly to motion Krok over to him. He whispered to the Lieutenant in a tone quiet enough so that no one else would hear. ‘Have someone search the area for Prime and any more of his conspirators. If I die here, I want you to kill Starscream, Gutcruncher, and Thundercracker—in that order. Repeat after me—but in a whisper, obviously. Kill Starscream, Gutcruncher, and Thundercracker.’

‘Kill Starscream, Gutcruncher, and Thundercracker. Got it.’ He moved away, muttering it to himself. He needed to, else his short-term memory would get the better of him.

Jazz’s servos flew to his hips where he drew a pair of Energonic nun-chucks, twirling them in his hands as if they were a pair of revolvers. It was a stand-off of a sort. The mood was there at least. Sand particles from the desert surrounding the city had been swept up and drifted through the darkened streets. The sun beaded down on them, though it was far from reaching levels of discomfort for a Cybertronian body-structure. Jazz almost expected a tumbleweed to materialize at any second. He took his own make-shift fighting stance, fists raised, and fingers clenched around his nun-chucks.

‘Wait, this is happening now?’ A baffled Gutcruncher chimed to nobody in particular. Other than perhaps the sheer and sudden absurdity of the situation itself.

‘Yes!’ Bludgeon cried out, jumping off the sand stained ground and lashing at the Autobot.

Jazz managed to dodge into a backflip, but Bludgeon swiped and slashed at the tricky Autobot with deadly enthusiasm, and deadlier precision. He was faster, but Jazz was smaller, and so the advantage of evasion fell to him.

That mattered not to Bludgeon. What mattered was the technical aspect of the match. Was this a part of Prime’s trap? Did he send Jazz to kill him so the rest of his army could crumble and fall apart, making fighting – or escaping for that matter – all the more easy? Possible. Likely, but unlikely when considering the grander scheme. He could sense no visible traps, and he felt no sense of urgency from the Dark Gods. Indeed, whatever snare Prime had left with his Lieutenant would not stop Bludgeon’s ferocity. He had the anger and anguish of the light gods and the dark standing behind him—watching over him; acting as a crutch for him to fall upon, only to be sprung back at the enemy with twice the force. Bludgeon was certain his summoning would bear fruit, and Bludgeon was certain he would win.

Gutcruncher massaged his forehead before taking a spiff of his Cy-Gar, rocking side to side, gradually increasing his speed until he was practically fidgeting.

‘You okay, boss?’ Stratatonic asked. The yellow jet was with him for the longest time. One of his first buys—a slave-bred Cybertronian engineered by—well, he didn’t like to even think about his competition unless it were evident libel. Stratatonic blinked childishly. He was one of the few in Gutcruncher’s circle that knew about the rebellion.

‘I’m beginning to have second thoughts.’

‘Eh?’

He dipped his Cy-Gar at the crowd. ‘How am I supposed to rely on any of these people? Just look at them. They’re animals!’ He chewed his Cy-Gar while gesturing to Slipstream in particular, who was slowly, clumsily dancing completely oblivious to the action. Thundercracker was shaking his head in disappointment, while Strika, despite being the strongest Decepticon, was having trouble opening a back of Energon-Crisps. Behind them, Starscream and Obsidian were bickering about something, though it didn’t seem to be of any consequence. Animals indeed.

Stratatonic was more interested in the others. Banzaitron was staring cockily at Bludgeon’s move-set, taking verbal cues on what interested him, but mostly bragging to Axer about what moves he could have “totally” pulled off to nullify or counter Bludgeons own. Bugly watched with greater intent. Both nervously, but at the same time genuinely impressed. What confused Stratatonic was the way he seemed to watch and react to Jazz over Bludgeon. Which was ridiculous—Bugly was Bludgeon’s best friend. It was no secret he looked up to him. He did, didn’t he?

‘This Autobot obviously has something planned to grease our circuits,’ Gutcruncher said. ‘Maybe something stupid, but something that should probably be taken into account nonetheless. Bludgeon’s unfathomably primitive sense of “honour” is finally biting him in the aft, and it’s going to mess up everything that’s he's worked for in the long run. The fourty of us are fully capable of tearing this Autobot apart, but nooooooo, let’s have a fragging “duel” instead; that’s mature. But that’s only a fraction of what really bugs me. Starscream is totally going to betray us. I don’t know what I was thinking or how it took me this long to realize it, but we can’t assume he’s going to consider us friendlies on the battlefield. When slag goes down; which it will any second now, he’s going to treat us no better than the Prime’s inductees. After all, who cares who gets in the way of your shot as long as everyone’s aiming at the same thing?’

Stratatonic clearly didn’t understand. ‘You think we’re going to… lose?’

‘I think it won’t matter who wins and who loses, ‘cause we’ll be scrapped either way. It’s called a zero-sum game; it won’t end with any mercies or compromises, we’ll either survive to see all our opposition crushed, or we all die ourselves. After all, what happens after we’re all bloody and broken? We take out Bludgeon’s supporters and go-our-separate-ways, but what the hell is that supposed to mean? Prime will be here, and so will we. Only difference is our great alliance will reveal itself to be the illusion it always was, and our remaining survivors will be forced to squabble over whatever’s left.’ He puffed steam. ‘I’m thinking you and me have about a 1/3 chance of survival. Give or take.’

Stratatonic shuddered. He knew Gutcruncher was good with statistics—even if he probably pulled the number out of his aft at that particular moment. ‘Geez… What do you think we should do?’

‘Easy. You can transform into a transportation shuttle, can’t you?’ Of course he could. It was why Gutcruncher purchased him in the first place.

‘Sir-yessir.’

He draped an arm over Stratatonic’s shoulder and held him in close. ‘Then I’ll tell you what we’re going to do, kid. When all slag hits the fan, we play the game and contribute a humble amount of fuel to their fires. When things get real messy—sorry, how many people can you fit inside?’

‘Just two.’

‘Just two. Good. When things get real messy, you and I will rendezvous with Charger and get the slag out of here. But not right away. Since we don’t want to be regarded as “unreliables” in our future business partnerships, we’ll stay for as long as we can before leaving with evidence of our affair minimal. Plus, I do want one more shot at Optimus before the opportunity gets wasted on someone else. A pity otherwise, but you’ve got to make the cuts somewhere.’

‘Huh…’ Stratatonic looked briefly disappointed, as if he had always assumed his boss would end up on top no matter the unlikeliness of the situation. Gutcruncher—Emperor of Destruction. His name fit quite nicely, Stratatonic thought.

Gutcruncher released him and leaned back, no longer teetering. ‘Yup, things will be better once we’re back in our own business. They always have and always were. No Decepticons and no Autobots to stop us. Solo ventures and humble profits as far as the optic can see. That is the life.’

‘We become immortals in a sense.’ Stratatonic blurted.

Gutcruncher stared at him, took a puff of his Cy-Gar, and looked back to the fight.

The fight wasn’t the quick purge many expected it to be. If anything it was a long, drawn out clash of wits and reflexes that made Bludgeon look, frankly, inferior to the Autobot. Jazz flipped and dipped around him, getting in some quick jabs and smacks before ducking away from another one of Bludgeon’s rapid-fire stabs.

Jazz was more of a contrivance than an actual threat. Bludgeon wondered if he was stalling for something, but then remembered his orders for Krok and relaxed. Everything relaxed, actually. Including his mind. It thought less like a person and more like a machine with every swing of his sword. He did stab Jazz in several key joints in hopes of slowing him down, but it did little to snuff the Guardsman’s cocksureness. For Bludgeon, it was like trying to catch a fish underwater. Not impossible, but incredibly frustrating. He had to admit, for what he was capable of, Jazz was a very talented cyber-ninja. Almost as good as him. He wondered how an atheist could have been blessed with such power, but then the Dark Gods were always tricky ones. Perhaps it was all a lie on Jazz’s part to trip him up. Still, denouncing the gods never did make them happy… He could have been a demon. He always pictured Optimus as one, after all. Demons were widely accepted by both the scientific and religious communities, though where they differed was whether they were born from Cybertron’s corrupt molten core, or were Primus’ beta experiments in the craft of creating life.

The less he wondered, the harder it was to hold on to that string of thought and theory. It had been so long since he indulged in a warrior’s instinct. In duels of honour or otherwise. He felt his thought process devolving into a basic devotion to the eradication of the contradictory Autobot. Leaping over a consecutive sword-thrust, Jazz performed a flip-kick that was quickly blocked and deflected by Bludgeon’s lower bicep, knocking the smaller Lieutenant a distance away. And with that small, reflexive gesture, something inside Bludgeon clicked into place. His flame of thought went out in a wisp, and his mind had become nothing more than a hub of submissiveness simmering in the dark fluids of his own personal dogma.

While it was clear Bludgeon had the upper hand, Jazz had put up a fight that would have been too much for many of the present spectators. Suddenly the puny Autobot had become an intriguing threat that only their master could save them from. Metal clashed, sending loud clangs echoing across the dusty breeze wafting throughout the city. It really could have gone either way. Bludgeon had the advantage, but it only took a lucky hit or a small misstep on Bludgeon’s part to turn it all around. Many doubted, and those who were already doubting had begun hypothesizing future outcomes should Bludgeon fail. Bludgeon hadn’t considered this whatsoever, his knowledge of Starscream and Gutcruncher’s treachery had slipped his mind, and now all that mattered was his fight for the sake of his God. For the sake of his honour.

His mind calculated weak-points and thresholds of which he could leave his mark on the wily Autobot. Finally, one came into view. After minutes of flips, kicks and side-attacks, Jazz had taken on a new strategy entirely. Presumably, out of the impatience that found him in playing it safe. Bad move. Taking risks was never a good idea if you didn’t have the steel to risk it. Jazz had begun somersaulting around Bludgeon; blocking his path as if to conceal something from his line of sight. He was evidentially trying to get behind Bludgeon for a back-attack, but he seemed sluggish in doing so, as if he had run out of moves or ideas. An easy win. He thrusted his blade forward, spearing through Jazz’s right shoulder and causing pink liquids to seep from the wound. It would crust in a matter of seconds. It was a perfect hit that would slow the small Autobot down effectively, but what Bludgeon didn’t expect was to fall into Jazz’s trap. As it turned out, Jazz’s nun-chucks had a “grapple” function, the lasers tying around his legs while the blunted parts could extend, creating a long, thick rope used to reach higher places. Literally, in this case, not spiritually. The opposite end would split apart into a “claw” function, taking hold of whatever the user aimed at. In this case the ground. There was a reason why Jazz looked as if he were concealing something with his body, it was because he was concealing something with his body. One end of the grapple stuck to the ground, Jazz had stretched the rope section out by creating a loop around Bludgeon’s legs. Bludgeon, however, was too pre-occupied with the possibility of a back attack to notice. It took only a swift kick to the shin to force him back, and trip over the laser-wire.

The fight’s audience gasped, and Bludgeon fell backwards, landing firmly on his back with a loud clang. He tried to get up, but the ornaments and props he had decorated himself with as a means of inciting fear were getting in the way. Damn flags sprouting from his shoulder were picking up grime. He never even liked the cloth. Despite his shoulder wound, Jazz had managed to spring himself forward, straddling Bludgeon and pinning him to the ground. His remaining nun chuck pressed against is throat, and thus cutting off his vorcoder from the sound projector located in the back of his throat. Jazz grinned his cool grin the entire time.

Bludgeon stared back in bafflement. He was restrained, and completely vulnerable. If Jazz had taken the moment to do anything to end Bludgeon’s career—to rip off his mask, take possession of his sword, plow his fist through his spark—anything; that would be the end of it, and Bludgeon would have achieved the warrior’s death he had been expected since his first contact with the Gods. But for that to occur, it would have had to be swift and without hesitation. While Jazz was fast, he would never be strong enough to kill Bludgeon with such a weapon or such a body. He had no blades to pierce his armour, and no strength to break him in two. He instead took the moment to grin, gloating over his win. Either Jazz wasn’t as cool-headed as he appeared, or he had a death-wish, as the Guardsman had left himself wide open. Wait...Whatever opportunity Jazz had had passed, and Bludgeon made his move, spotting the weak-point, Bludgeon swept up his sword and thrust it for Jazz’s spark. As some dramatic finish, he shouted the moment the opportunity presented itself. ‘NOW!’

But his blade never made contact. Instead a white flash seared his optics, knocking the blade out of his hand and onto the dusty metal floor. The flash had come from a high-impact rifle of some-sort. It was soon evident that he wasn’t the target, however, as the blast of light had extrapolated from Jazz’s midsection, tearing a hole into his back, and destroying what little kibble he had attached. After a moment of clear shock, Jazz swayed before toppling over, landing on his side, and crumpling up like a slab of coiling tin-foil. There was a look of what was either shock or fear plastered on his once-cocky faceplate. One that wouldn’t go away.

Bludgeon slowly began to rise, moving over to check whether Jazz was dead or not. Before he had the chance to, he raised his head and felt his spark constrict upon itself. All around him, looks of disappointment and disgust seared into his mind. He tried to speak, but his vocoder remained damaged. The shot that hit Jazz clearly decided the match in his favour. But there was no honour in that. There was no win to be had. His army said not a word. Their optics glowed, and their looks of loyalty and admiration had dissipated—never to return in the same vein again.

 

Bludgeon was in a dream. He hadn’t slept in ages, but what else could it have been? Jazz lay on his side, still as stone. The blast of the rifle had ripped his entire set of back-kibble off his body. He didn’t look wounded enough to be dead – not that anyone had bothered to check – but in his condition, Bludgeon would be just as surprised to see him walk as he would a corpse. After all, such a small Autobot could have easily died from a quick chop to the neck. A voice hummed in his periphery. “Bddnnn,” It hummed. Who? Bludgeon demanded quietly. Syncorax? Unicron? “Bddnnn.”

‘Bludgeon.’

He snapped awake, aware. They all stared at them. Sixty or so optics searing into his mind. All different colours. All glimmering at different intensities. And they say Decepticons’ are born with red. He stared lazily at the source of the voice. Bugly. Good Bugly. Loyal Bugly. He was a practitioner as long as he was. Not as skilled, no. But he couldn’t think of anyone else worth being alive as well as him.

‘Bludgeon,’ Bugly repeated. ‘You should be dead.’

But he wasn’t. Hm. ‘I appear not to be.’ But his voice was barely a whisper. Jazz had evidentially done some minor damage to his throat. His vocal-processor was wavering.

‘What happened?’ Bugly snarled, his voice as sharp as a knife.

‘I could… ask the… same… I appear to have… won.’ He frowned down at the still image of Jazz, muttering to himself. But not the way I wanted. Slowly, he began to understand. Someone shot Jazz. Someone ensured his survival. Someone had just won him the match. Dishonourably so.

----

Stunned gasps exhaled from the crowded audience encircling the brawl. First, when Jazz overcame Bludgeon, squatting on top of him with his nunchakus wrapped around his throat. And again, when the restrained Samurai shouted, and a bolt of light blasted apart the Autobot’s back-section, sending him crumpling to the ground next to Bludgeon, a trail of smoke bellowing from his torso.

Starscream frowned. Even he was somewhat surprised by the turn of events. He suspected some sort of trap, but this… Not what I had in mind. Now Bludgeon stood, and Jazz lay crippled on the ground. But not quite. It took a keen eye to see it, but Jazz was well alive, staying as still as he could, no doubt as a means of securing an air of ambiguity to the outcome of the battle. Clearly, Bludgeon was never at risk. Jazz had his own unique skill-set, but he could never kill anyone with his bare hands, especially someone as heavily armored, and precariously self-trained as Bludgeon. You couldn’t strangle Cybertronians to death, and you sure as hell couldn’t kill them with a pair of nunchaku when they have three layers of armour separating their exoskeleton from the mallet of heated metal. It was ironic, despite his name, Bludgeon preferred bladed weapons, and here he was—his undoing incurred by an Autobot wielding a bludgeoning weapon. Indeed, this was planned. Jazz would have been killed should the shot not have made its mark. But it did. How baffling, it was, that Optimus would go to such lengths to make a point. Was he not the “benevolent” sort? The sort that got themselves executed out of some inane sense of invisible honour? Still, Jazz was not incredibly wounded. His dramatic crumble to the dusty ground appeared to have been just that: drama. The chunks of door-wing and backpack had stomached most of the shot, but the show was convincing enough for most of the watching idiots to gawk at. He looked around him, Obsidian and Strika shared knowing glances with each-other, then with him. Of course they would know. Thundercracker saw it too, though he appeared more puzzled as to what the particular motives in the display were. Slipstream was looking the other way. Witch.

Murmurs were exchanged from soldier to soldier. The smartest stood in silence, already grasping the situation at hand. It had been figured Bludgeon was being led into a trap from the start. The duel wasn’t viewed with so much as one would expect in a duel (awe, expectations, tension, intrigue) as it was viewed with frowns, questions, and disbelief. Why is he doing this? What’s the point? Isn’t this what the Autobot wants? Everyone knew of Bludgeon’s archaic sense of honour, but he was intelligent, wasn’t he? It wasn’t until Bludgeon was seemingly nearing his last breath of life did they come under shock. The shock that their leader could have possibly have fallen this far.

Bugly had already started asking questions. His voice was no longer the petulant, nasally, squeal of an upper-class practitioner of the mystic arts looking down on the non-experienced folk. His voice was dark and prodding. A serious mind digging into the poorly disguised evils of an old friend. ‘Where did that shot come from?’ Bugly asked.

Bludgeon only shook his head. Was it the fact that he couldn’t speak? Or that his façade had finally dissipated. Cruel, vicious, religious, charismatic Bludgeon was now only cruel, vicious, and religious. Like he always was, in a sense.

Bugly persisted, playing the detective. Or was it the calm-minded interrogator? We’re probably about to find out, Starscream figured. The mystic stepped out of the circle, secluding himself from the undefined masses. He looked in control. He tended to, as with Krok’s absence, and the mystic’s controlling personality, he did not look entirely out of place. ‘There are some… reasons to doubt, my Lord, the authenticity to your claims next to the Autobots’.’

He shook his head again, not entirely convinced of his old friends’ reasoning.

Bugly’s mandible-lips pressed inward as he studied his leaders’ reaction. ‘A stray bullet tore through the Autobot’s torso, just as you were about to fall. The Autobot himself bragged that you had lost your fighting touch. I know it to be an undeniable fact that you had it at some point in the past, but this encounter does make one wonder. There’s also the suspicious absence of Lieutenant Commander Krok. We all saw you speaking with him preceding the fight. You can see how this sounds.’

‘I can answer that.’

Heads snapped around and shoulders parted as Krok entered the circle, brushing himself off. ‘The Dreads and I were ordered to investigate the area—see if we can find any signs of snipers or the like.’ He nodded to Jazz. ‘The kind to turn the match the way it did.’

But not in the way you were expecting, eh Krokky? Starscream mused to himself.

‘Then what do you think this is, then?’ Banzaitron spoke up, gesturing to Jazz with the flick of his fore-finger. ‘Why’d our sniper shoot the enemy if they weren’t a friend? It did sound an awful lot like Bludgeon gave the order.’

Krok shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I wasn’t the one who shot him. A misfire perhaps?’

Banzaitron leaned his head back, inhaling deeply as he stared at the great blue sky above, resting his wrist beneath his chin in thought. ‘Interesting how you couldn’t find any snipers when…’ He gestured to the broken Autobot splayed before him.

Krok frowned. ‘Obviously the shooter attempted all this as a means of pitting us against one another. It couldn’t have been any of us—we are all too tightly bunched in a single area, for anyone not to have noticed. Besides, there was no sound, the shot had to have been fired from a distance away.’

‘You could have been a distance away,’ Banzaitron suggested. ‘Besides, this isn’t about whether Bludgeon broke his code of honour, or “cheated” to win the match. Who cares about that? This is about how he needed help to kill a single Autobot. How can we trust a guy to maintain a Decepticon government when he can’t even accomplish that—when he explicitly knew he’d need help and asked for it before the fight had even begun.’ He spotted Krok’s headshake and grinned. ‘Maybe you’re mixing up “find the sniper” with “snipe my enemy when it looks like he’s gonna win”. We all know you have memory problems.’

Starscream hadn’t even considered it. Darn. It was there in Krok’s file. It was no secret he spent years thinking his old team was alive and well, completely forgetting their fates as if it were a date on a calendar. He had muttered things to himself constantly as a means of remembering. Repeating them over and over. Krok was intelligent, but his mind was a double-sided barrel. Starscream had considered killing him, but never recruiting him. His regret to do so seemed to have thinned out, as without a straightforward sense of loyalty and command, Krok could have easily jeopardized everything.

Krok’s voice went from firm to slightly antagonistic, as any Decepticon general’s would from time to time. ‘I know full well what my orders were. To clear out any traps or ambushes was but one of my duties. I was, and am, endlessly obliged to follow them to the letter.’

‘Then what were your other orders, if you wouldn’t mind telling us?’

‘Those are confidential.’

‘To the head of the Decepticon Secret Service? I don’t mean to brag, but information is my deal. Confidentiality is my middle name! Banza-Confidentiality-Tron, believe it or not!’

‘My orders were not to kill the Autobot as you so desire to believe.’

‘No? Then what else could they possibly be? What could you and the Dreads have possibly been set out to do concurrently with the fight?’

‘As I explained: not to interfere with the fight whatsoever!’

‘What then! Quit hiding from us you punk! Tell us what you were order to do! If it’s not to protect Bludgeon from his inferiority then clearly you have nothing to hide! What?! What are your orders?!’

‘To kill St—!’ Krok had recited his secondary order over in his mind, mouthing it beneath his faceplate since Bludgeon first asked him the very same question. Saying them was almost an instinct, and he wanted dearly, to prove Banzaitron wrong. He spoke, and the moment he did so, Bludgeon heaved, Krok’s jaw clenched shut, and thirty pairs of optics stared. Did it rule out his innocence? Perhaps it would have should his orders have been something less self-destructive. Krok. Loyal strategist Krok, endlessly reliable and the most trusted advisor in Bludgeon’s army. Ruining everything by forgetting that what Bludgeon told him was not the same as what he told everyone else. Millennia spent as the common grunt had betrayed him, he was at a loss for words. Or maybe things were already ruined. Maybe Krok’s short-term memory was one more folly in Bludgeon’s inevitable fall. Maybe no matter what Krok said, things would have gone the same way. Starscream was almost sure of it at this point. It was clear what Optimus wanted. But he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it. In fact to see Bludgeon in such a state made Starscream feel—

Oh, son of a— He slapped himself in the face. Starscream figured it out. He glanced at Jazz, and saw the hint of a grin. Not at Bludgeon, or Bugly, or Krok, but at him. Starscream. The Autobot watched expectantly—knowingly. Starscream was ready to shoot off that pristine visor that, in spite of the rolling sands seeping into the city, looked as clear and blue as it were the day it was manufactured. It was as if the visor was one large eye, staring a hole into his forehead. Prime’s plan had come together. Optimus wanted to divide them—make them turn against Bludgeon. But how would he know that causing Bludgeon to stumble would lead to anything? How would he know that in spite of a rebellion, creating an obvious discord between the soldiers and their leader would cause a conflict? Because he knew someone would take that opportunity. He knew someone would be evil enough to twist the knife after it had already been plunged. He knew someone on the inside well enough that his plan would almost certainly come to fruition.

Me. Starscream didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Here he was, working his way around the smallest conglomerates of Bludgeon’ Decepticons, forming alliances with those of use and power, creating a faux mask of cowardice to deter attention, working a mental civil war with Obsidian, employing Slipstream and Thundercracker to spy on his more dangerous allies, manipulating the grunts and the stupid into blaming their grievances on Bludgeon and his orthodoxy. He saw himself as the one in complete control. The puppet-master, the master planner. What he didn’t expect was for Optimus to foresee it all. Optimus knew Starscream would make a bid for power when it presented itself, be it through sheer force or subtle assassination, and he knew Starscream would make it as glamourous as possible, and so sheer force it would be. Because that’s who Starscream was. Starscream did all the work, but all of the work played straight into Optimus’s escape-route. Optimus was the true puppet master. Maybe what Bludgeon once said was true? Maybe he was a demon? No. Starscream realized. He’s just an anarchist in denial. Clearly, Prime’s hate for authority had spread to his scheming. What better way to take down Bludgeon’s army than by tearing down all his authority and letting his little generals run rampant? No doubt to escape during the confusion. Pure anarchy was a stride away from being unlocked, and Starscream had the key. It was up to him now, Starscream could have easily said nothing. Turn Optimus into the fool, let them all walk away with a bad taste in their mouths, and leave his lieutenant dead in the ground. He could certainly lead his revolution tomorrow, if Bludgeon hadn’t ordered them all killed first. But when would he have a better chance than now? When distaste remained fresh on the glossas of his mechs? When his intentions for even his generals were clear. Besides, with Banzaitron’s obvious taunts, it was clear there was no going back now. Starscream would play to Prime’s tune. He couldn’t let his pride consume him, instead he used his embarrassment and rage to fuel his fighting adrenaline.

Starscream took that first step forward towards Bludgeon. The Leader was looking the other way, at Banzaitron, trying to work out his scheme.

‘Would you mind finishing that?’ Banzaitron asked Krok.

Krok looked to Bludgeon, but Bludgeon would only growl. He turned to Banzaitron, to Bludgeon, and back. ‘To kill Starscream… if he did anything traitorous.’ The last part felt so painfully tacked on that even Krok recognized it as a cheap lie. That sort of order should have come as soon as Starscream made planet-fall. Not even Krok needed to be reminded to be wary of Starscream. Krok was too loyal; deviousness and lies were an alien concept to him.

‘Was there anyone else Bludgeon wanted dead?’

Krok only squinted. Banzaitron was only leading him on at this point, what was about to happen was about to happen no matter the presentation building up to it.

Banzaitron nodded, then turned to Starscream himself, Starscream whipped a blade from his waist compartment. ‘I think this has been a very enlightening experience for everyone.’ Before Bludgeon could turn around, Starscream thrust his blade into the Leader’s back. ‘Especially of which where the real power lies.’ He let the blade stick out from the limp samurai’s back and gestured around to the gaping audience. There were fewer faces of shock than he expected. Most had taken his side already, or at least the opposition to Bludgeon. Most wouldn’t have a choice in the matter. ‘Do you see? Do you see where loyalty gets you? Everyone flocks to the winning team, but when that team loses their winnings, what do you do? Do you maintain your loyalty to them and go down with their ship? No! You stab the growing cyst, eating away and at your command structure, and tear it out! The smart only maintain loyalty if your leadership is capable of it. I don’t care what you think of me, but I’m taking this lunatic off his throne.’ Perhaps there would be less conflict than he realized. Bludgeon’s supporters were much fewer than he expected. Tough break, Optimus. ‘Maybe then one of us will actually get a stab at the Prime—‘

‘OW!’ Bludgeon’s body straightened out suddenly, and Starscream winced, his speech cut inevitably short. The samurai looked over his shoulder, gawked at the knife sticking out of his back, and glowered at Starscream. ‘You stabbed me…’ He stumbled, and caught himself, blinking rapidly. ‘…in the back!’ He looked again to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. ‘Literally!’

Starscream gasped. ‘You—you’re ruining the symbolism! The significance! The imagery! I didn’t buy a knife from Gutcruncher to actually fight with it!’

‘Then Gutcruncher’s a part of this too?’

‘Well no duh! We’re all part of it! Cept for Krok and Cannonball, but…’ He whipped out his null ray and shot Bludgeon full of machine bullets, knocking the Samurai back slightly, but leaving nothing more than a few dozen circular dents in his armour. Starscream put on an unhappy face. ‘I was… uh, expecting that to do more.’

‘It’s called a pretender shell, Starscream. It makes oneself very…’ he slammed his fist across Starscream’s face-plate, knocking him an astro-meter backwards, and sending purple spittle spraying from his jaw, ‘…durable.’

Starscream span through the air and landed gracefully on his feet. ‘Well, you’d have to be kidding me if this didn’t leave a mark.’ Several panels opened up revealing an armory’s worth of missiles and machine-guns aligning Starscream’s figure. They all fired at once, sending an onslaught of explosives crackling into Bludgeon’s torso and knocking him back onto the ground. He grinned sickly as he approached the Samurai. ‘Come on, Bludgeon… show me the real you… wind me up… turn the gears.’

Before Starscream could reload, Bludgeon was already back on his feet, wiping droplets of spilled oil from his chin. ‘I always expected you to pull something, Starscream… Even when you tricked me into believing you were nothing short of a coward, I always felt it necessary to take that extra step!’

‘Oh?’ Starscream dove forward, activating his saw-blades.

‘Which is why I had Ferak implant Chaff-grenades in the materials Thundercracker used to repair you.’

Starscream’s oil went cold. ‘What?’ Suddenly, a loud pop echoed throughout the landscape, and Starscream collapsed, hitting the ground motionless and silent. His systems were frozen. Unable to move, but given just enough freedom to watch Bludgeon advance.

‘You think you stood a chance against destiny, Starscream? Banzaitron? Whoever else conspired to end me? I made this place in the image of God. I manufactured all of this… all of this to bring Optimus to us! To bring him to his knees, and ensure a proper future for the Decepticons— under a proper rule! I was promised this—rewarded! What I have achieved, is a gift that cannot be returned! That’s the problem with all of you. You’re not… proper. You think your numbers are so great?’ Bludgeon splayed out his arms. ‘Look around you! I cobbled together a pirate force from nothing! I employed chief strategists to plan years ahead in case anything went wrong! Even now you stand under the Tidal-Wave—forged from the spark of a Titan! Do you think any of you have a chance against that? How about the dozens of loyal mechs manning my railguns? I’ll have you know they are on their way now to put you all down. Did you never consider that a group of paid mercenaries might not have been the greatest defense against a solidified army under the guidance of Primus? Oh, I’m sorry, a group of paid mercenaries and Starscream. I am in control here. I always have. I’d tell you to grovel, but I don’t think any of it would make up for your betrayal. You all should have acted like the good soldiers you are and followed your orders like the others. You were never meant to change, or to achieve anything greater. Under Primus, we either are, or we aren’t. The ones that aren’t, will remain untouched by Primus’ forgiveness. The ones that don’t—‘

‘Bludgeon!’

A figure emerged from the crowd. Hatchet, the Dread. He had finally returned, followed by another. ‘It’s a trap! All of it!’ Trailing behind Hatchet, was The Pirate Captain Cannonball.

Bludgeon frowned ‘What the hell?’

What the hell? Starscream thought.

What the hell? Obsidian and Strika thought.

They all gazed up upon the Tidal Wave. While his crew made up the ground forces with Bludgeon, Cannonball was supposed to be manning its defense systems. Alone.

‘It’s not me up there!’ Cannonball screamed, pointing at the Tidal Wave.

‘Evidentially not,’ Bludgeon snarled.

‘They kicked me off the side, made me walk my own plank!’

‘Who did?!’

‘Took you long enough.’ A voice boomed throughout the city.

Bludgeon gawked around. ‘Who?!’

But Starscream recognized the voice immediately. Though lying on the ground, paralyzed, Starscream could weakly make-out the voice. ‘Opti…mus.’

The voice boomed once again, ‘I would have stepped in earlier if not for how impossible these megaphone-things are to work. But anyway, I’d like to think you’re all in a bit of a precarious position.’

‘Show yourself!’ Bludgeon gasped.

‘What part of “pay no attention to the mech behind the curtain” don’t you understand?’

‘It’s coming from inside the city!’ Krok observed, pointing his index figure towards the city-scape behind them.

‘I think that’s what they call a “spoiler alert.”.’

‘What are you planning?!’ Bludgeon demanded.

‘Nothing, Bludgeon. Everything I’ve planned has already happened. Jazz incited the conflict I wanted to divide you, - I’m the sniper by the way – Starscream instigated his rebellion, Blackarachnia put her skills as a “stealth-commando-spider-warrior” to the test, and captured your ship before anyone could get any communications through.’

‘Yo!’ Blackarachnia’s voice echoed from the Tidal-Wave’s outer speakers.

‘It wasn’t hard to do, I mean, any one of you could have been the leader of this little alliance. And I think a lot of you could have done Bludgeon in when you had the chance. I mean… you! Well, you can’t see that I’m pointing at you, but the floating helicopter Decepticon, I’m sure at least you would be able to beat Bludgeon in a fight. There’s no way that body-type isn’t Quintessonian, and that alone should grant you a huge advantage. But I’m rambling. You and your loyal subjects have a number of options left—you can all decide to work together and kill me, making Bludgeon a true Lord of the Decepticons. Or, you can see who can race to me first without getting caught in the cross-fire. Maybe one of you has a chance of becoming leader of the Decepticons? Or, maybe it would be best to eliminate the opposition before taking me on personally. Or you can always do the easy thing and run away before this city turns into a warzone. Though if I start firing now, so will the Tidal Wave, and it will be up to you to choose. But first, lemme give you a demonstration of what I can do from here.'

A stray shot hit the ground next to Bludgeon’s feet. The Leader looked up and frowned. ‘You missed.’

‘Did I?’

Several sets of optics looked around in caution. When nothing happened, Bludgeon stared at the source of the shot. ‘Yes!’

-----

Optimus slumped over, the scoped rifle from Chromia’s armoury. He sighed. ‘Aww.’ His aim was garbage.

-----

‘Before you take your real first shot, Optimus,’ Bludgeon asked, ‘answer me this.’

‘Shoot.’

Slipstream laughed. ‘”Shoot.” Cause he has a gun.’

‘Were you really so far as willing to kill your own soldier to make a point?’

‘What? Oh. No. Truthfully I missed those first couple of shots. By chance I got Jazz in the back. The thing is… well… Jazz!’

The Elite Guardsman burst from the ground, doing a sweeping kick and knocking Bludgeon on his back. ‘They’re called stun bullets.’ Misfire and Fulcrum leapt at him. Activating his nunchaku, Jazz quickly flicked his wrist, wrapping the rope-sections around their necks. He fell backwards, taking them down with him. Both Decepticons hit the ground, taking the oil and wind out of them in the process. Jazz twisted in place, dancing off the ground and landing with both feet planted on the Decepticons’ chests. ‘The kibble’s just for show!'

‘Well!’ Banzaitron whipped a pistol from his belt and shot Bludgeon in the chest. The shot deflected, but left a deep dent from where it touched. ‘Never much cared for Leadership potential so—DSS! Kill anyone defending Bludgeon! Leave the lunatic-thinking-he’s-better-than-me to me!’

Gutcruncher stepped in, transforming into tank-mode. ‘You know the drill, break through Bludgeon’s line of defense! Make your way to the city if you get the chance! Get too cocky and you get left behind. Capeesh?’

Thus, just as Optimus had said, the city had turned into a war-zone. Bludgeon stumbled, but held onto his strength, deflecting Jazz’s attacks with his blades. Jazz’s stasis-nap was enough to pull him back into pique physical condition, as his attacks were quick, accurate, and followed up with rapid precision. Banzaitron barked orders to his men as they charged, making up the front line of attack. Treadshot fired mortar shells from his chest, blasting apart Krok’s division and sending them into disarray. Axer somersaulted through the air, emptying his pistols in all directions, causing Decepticons to scatter for cover as the bounty-hunter guffawed. Gutcruncher’s forces provided a mix of guerilla tactics and a rear-defense, scampering forward to shoot and scampering back. Save for Roadgrabber, who transformed into his fourth vehicular configuration: a war-chariot, and charged down the middle in a blaze of glory; several guns and lasers firing a chain of fire and light, blazing a trail for Banzaitron and the others to make their mark. The Tidal Wave fired mortars and laser-fire from above that ripped the ground apart beneath their feet. While Blackarachnia had used up all of her energy slaughtering her way through the ship in spider-mode, she needed only lift a finger to deliver a wave of destruction to the dusty earth below. From afar, Optimus fired from Chromia’s rifle. A few aerial forces blazed towards the city, keen on taking him out and claiming leadership before anyone else did. While he missed his shots, the return-fire was enough for the jets to circle the other way. Obsidian and Strika casually walked forward, batting aside those of Bludgeon’s circle who thought fit enough to overtake them. Thundercracker followed, hunched over and on his tip-toes with an incendiary rifle between his fingers, trying to avoid a stray shot aiming for his head. Slipstream danced around, laughing and breathing in the carnage.

Strika grinned, and pounded her fists together. ‘I’ve been waiting for this…’ She jogged forward, swung her fist, and lobbed off the head of one of Cannonball’s ground-troops. ‘I’ve been holding back for too long, you understand what this means?’ She grabbed a pirate by the throat, and raised their face to meet her own. ‘DO YOU?!’ The pirate let out an “eep” and Strika laughed. With one hand, she tore the small pirate’s head clean off of their body and chucked the rest of it into a crowd of her opponents. ‘It means I’m going to enjoy this very much, and you, most certainly will not!’

-----

Banzaitron sprinted at increasing speeds, impatiently drawing closer towards the famed master of metallikato. Everyone that crossed his path in his defense was an annoyance that was quickly dealt with by his men. Treadshot was the most reliable in his charge, but the Decepticon Secret Service as a whole was shining pretty brightly that day. They danced around the mortars falling from above and pounced on those who got in Banzaitron’s way. Explosions rippled all around them, and the lightly dusted air was ablaze with fire and embers alike. Banzaitron beckoned those still running alongside him. Treadshot and Razor-Sharp among him.

‘Treadshot! Circle around and shoot him to slag! Razor-Sharp—’

The small purple and green Decepticon perked up. ‘Yeah boss?’ He was the smallest Decepticon under Banzaitron, always eager to please, and almost always successful in his goals. His size made data-gathering and assassinations a breeze for Banzaitron. He really needed to give him that promotion sooner or later. ‘Anything I can do for ya? Just say so, I got this guy in the bag!’

‘Get past him, and when his back is turned, shoot a hole through his helm. Can’t do that? Stab him in the neck ‘til his head falls off.’

‘Got it, boss! You can count on me, ye can!’ The small Decepticon scuttled against the ground, blending in with the dead metal around the battlefield. Banzaitron grinned as he honed in on Bludgeon.

Jazz somersaulted over Bludgeon, delivering a swift kick to the back of his helm. Bludgeon spat, twirled around, and swiped his blade, cutting into the blocking Autobot’s arm. A streak of purple splashed from the gash, but Jazz would only wince.

‘Gettin’ tired?’

‘I never tire.’ Bludgeon spat, slashing at the Elite Guardsman.

Jazz dodged the blade, falling backwards on his hands before pushing back up off of the ground and diving feet-first at Bludgeon, landing a kick to his chest. ‘Y’sure? We could always settle this with a bit of a chill-out session. Play some tunes, drink some fine Energon… all that J—.’

‘I don’t think I made myself clear. When I say I never rest— I never rest. I never have the chance to. They’re always pushing me to stay awake. Always.’

‘Uhh, who?’

‘The Dark Gods themselve—‘

‘Ohhhkay, I’m going to have to stop you right there and— ah, on second thought? Pretend I never asked.’

Jazz prepared to keep up the assault, only for a hand to grab him by the shoulder, lift him off his feet, and lob him a yard away like he were some playground toy. ‘Out of the way jerk-face!’ Banzaitron spat as he took his place in the fight. He assaulted Bludgeon with several rapid-fire jabs that took the Metallikato master by surprise. Bludgeon span around, and began deflecting shots from Treadshot and Revolver. A few more secret service members by the names of Turbo and Sniffer jumped at him, firing and swiping at him in circles like a pack of wolves attempting to take down an elephant.

Jazz sat up, massaging his head as Treadshot dodged his way, nearly tripping over him. ‘Fragging Autobot!’ But instead of making the Guardsman pay for his actions, he carried on, and fired his pistol at Bludgeon.

As Jazz stood, Axer drove by, firing from his vehicular mode at the Samurai. ‘I’d stand aside, Autobot. We’re both trying to kill the same guy, but that doesn’t mean any of us will be watching out for you. If a bullet flies past, I’d duck your head.’ He paused in consideration. ‘Or don’t. One less Autobot in the universe.’

Jazz massaged the back of his head, ‘Thanks for the advice. I think.’ He transformed into his silver Cybertronian vehicle mode and blazed forward, driving at Bludgeon’s legs. He barrelled through, knocking the Samurai over and accelerating along. His supporters began homing in on him, firing at the car as it raced seamlessly around the lasers, occasionally boosting through the air to safety.

----

Starscream could see perfectly clear in his moment of stasis. Unfortunately, he could feel too. Moments ago, Cannonball, Brimstone, Thundertron, and Crowbar gloated over him. He looked back at that with nostalgia. Now they were shooting and stabbing his frame, trying to find his rare weak-points. Ahah! Even like this none of you can kill me! But they were getting closer. His chest began caving in against his spark-chamber, and his helm was battered to the point where much of his adornments were beginning to come loose. Metal plates were pried off, and soft tissues were shoved in. He couldn’t die yet! He still needed to one up Megatron! He felt his arm shake. Yes. Move, damn you! It slowly began to rise. Yes… I can do this. I am Starscream. I am Starscream. I am Starscream.

Cannonball smirked as Brimstone tossed him a cannon.

‘One of our dead dropped it. I think his name was Toxin or something.’

‘It’ll do pretty darn nicely, Brimstone. Pretty darn nicely!’ He pressed the tip of the barrel against Starscream’s forehead. ‘From this range you can’t not die, eh Starscream? Picture it: Cannonball—destroyer of Starscream! That ought to get me some respect around here. Well, Starscream? Any last wo—‘

Starscream raised his arm and fired a missile from his wrist. The missile struck Cannonball in the neck, exploding a hold between his chin and his colour bone, and leaving his head dangling on a cord. His body wobbled side to side as he attempted to regain his composure, in doing so, he fired his cannon, spraying shells everywhere and hitting Brimstone in the legs. His second squealed and fell as Thundertron charged forward. Starscream changed his aim and struck the aged pirate in the chest, knocking him onto his back and into a plume of smoke. Cannonball felt at his neck only for his hand to pass through it. He tried to yell, but his jaw had been completely detached from the rest of his body.

Starscream fired a shot into Cannonball’s chest, breaking it apart and sending him crumpling to the ground. I AM STARSCREAM!

He fired a missile into Brimstone’s head, tearing it clean from his collapsing body. I AM STARSCREAM!

He fired several shots at the world around them, the missiles rained back down, sending limbs and dirt flying across his line of sight. ‘I AM STARSCREAM!’ He shouted.

‘Whatever.’ Crowbar grappled the missile-launcher from Starscream’s grip, and smacked him across the face with it. ‘Won’t stop you from getting killed.’ The Dread stepped aside as Bugly came into view. He was flying towards him from above. What’s he going to do, tackle me even further into the ground? But then he realized

Yes.

He was.

Starscream knew little about Bugly. Only that he was controlling, people hated him, and he was a master of some dumb martial art practise. What he didn’t know, was that Bugly was the size and shape of Blackout. The massive Decepticon plummeted towards him, limbs splayed and chest jutted out. His sheer mass was going to crush the Seeker.

Maybe if I can move just a little to the—

‘Aww, fu—‘

Crunch.

-----

Gutcruncher’s crew were holed in a makeshift trench, firing at Krok’s squadron from afar. They were about equal in might, but the real target was Bludgeon. Krok’s team acted as a protective shield around Bludgeon and Banzaitron’s men, ensuring that only a select few would have the opportunity to take the Metallikato Master head on. Their numbers suddenly meant nothing out in the open.

Charger removed his binoculars. ‘Ah...’

‘What is it?’ Gutcruncher demanded. He was busy firing at Spinister in his tank mode, but the helicopter was not complimenting his aim.

‘Starscream’s dead.’

‘What?’ Gutcruncher reversed back into the trench and transformed before hitting the ground. ‘Lemme see those,’ He spat as he snatched the binoculars away from him. He looked through to see Starscream’s crumpled body getting savagely beaten and torn by Bugly and a crowd of like-minded extremists. He could barely make Starscream out in the crowd, or whether he was even moving. ‘You think so? It’s kind of hard to tell.’

‘Possibly. Probably. He’s survived much in the past, but I don’t know why you would want to keep your hopes up in this scenario.’

‘I’m keeping my hopes up that he stays dead. Good riddance. Hasta la vista.’ He hummed as he moved the binocular’s direction to Bludgeon. ‘Banzaitron seems to have this covered… What’s our status?’

Charger squinted at the slaughter. ‘Roadgrabber is dealing the most damage as you would expect. Take-Off and the others are doing what they can along the trenches— I’m not sure where Stratatonic is…’

‘I do. He’s waiting just down the alley on our left flank.’ He reached for a Cy-Gar, only to realize he’d reached the last on his immediate person. He frowned. ‘I think it’s high time we met up with him.’

‘Why? What’s he doing over there?’

‘He’s our escape ticket.’

‘But I thought his cockpit could only fit—oh.’

Gutcruncher nodded quickly. ‘Yeah, we should probably go.’

‘Right.’

-----

Strika laughed heartily, tearing her fists through dozens of Decepticons allied with Bludgeon. Some, however, were probably not Bludgeon’s. She hated the long-winded political games Starscream had them play to reach this moment, but the moment was a great one nonetheless. She smashed her fist through walls of Decepticons. There were so many of them that it was as if they were coming from the sky—oh. They were. Half of Bludgeon’s railgun crew were making planet-fall to help eradicate the insurrection. There were about two dozen in total, and they were all homing in on the largest player on the battlefield. Her. Strika continued her blood-bathe, striking fist after fist, and tearing into the hordes like they were cardboard; laughing all the way. A loud roar echoed from behind her. She turned, to see Hatchet, one of the infamous “dreads”. A subspecies of Cybertronian that once lived in the swamps of Kiaulune. Pity it got obliterated in the Fulcrum bombings. She was surprised any of them still existed. Hatchet snarled, wisps of steam slithering out from his nostrils like the last smoking ember of a bonfire. The four legged Decepticon burst into a charge, and Strika did the same. The two massive forces clashed, causing several fighting Decepticons to stop what they were doing and watch in awe.

Strika grinned at the snarling beast. ‘Aren’t you adorable? I think I had one of you for a meal once. It was kind of like petro-rabbit. But you’re about as harmless as one aren’t y—.’

‘That would be highly unlikely.’ Hatchet responded in a clear, well-mannered voice.

‘Eh?’

‘Petro rabbits are proven to be quite delicious, we, however, with our large mass, would make for a far more gamey feast. Your denta would never pierce through our armoured plating. We, however, are manufactured with cybertanium fangs, capable of ripping any Cybertronian metal – no matter how thick – asunder.’

‘Eh?’

‘Which is why I employed several of my peons to close in on you—so that I may deal the killing blow myself. Krok wanted me to advise him and his own team, but I’m sure he’ll either succeed well enough without me, or fail miserably. I’m the only one capable of taking the largest player on the board down, therefore to disperse the troops in my favor would prove to be the most preferable outcome.’

‘Eh?’

Hatchet sighed. ‘And yes, I am indeed a very big “cat”.’ With that, the Dread sunk his teeth deep into Strika’s neck, pulling out several tubes and exo-structures. Strika gasped, felt the gash, and felt her head slack to the side. That’s not good. Liquid gushed from open wound and ran down her fingers. That's definitely not good. She continued her wicked assault on the Dread, swinging her fists wildly in succession and covering the beast-like Decepticon in several dents. Her vision blurred, and her head kept lolling to the side, but it wasn’t about to quell her adrenaline. Not yet, at least. Just gotta keep punching. Just gotta keep punching…

Thundercracker was having a bad time. Strika and Starscream were dying, if not already dead, Slipstream was dancing around stray bullets like it were some kind of game, and Obsidian was nowhere to be found. He didn’t belong here. It wasn’t a battle. A battle was two sides fighting one another. This was Decepticon killing non-discriminant Decepticon, with Autobots helping whichever side they felt like, apparently. Optimus was right. They should have just taken their chances and ran, all of them. But Thundercracker knew that sort of thing didn’t just happen. Thundercracker knew Decepticons weren’t born for negotiating. Or in some cases, sense. He spun around and fired his incendiary gun, taking out a Decepticon trying to sneak up on him from behind. The bullet struck through their forehead and out the back, killing them instantly. His body fell forward, landing on his face with his rump in the air. That wasn’t a good way to go. No death was, really. There was no dignity in death. I’m sounding like Dirge. Thundercracker thought to himself before spinning around once again and shooting down a small pirate working for Cannonball. He was a murderer. Call it “war” he was murdering his own kind. Maybe they deserved it. I sure as hell do. But to be gunning down fellow Decepticons in the chaotic mess they called a battle was plain insanity. With Autobots it was a simple matter of preventing them from hindering the Decepticon’s dream of power and freedom. Thus: war. With organics it is a matter of pushing them just enough until they fall under a proper guidance. But here, on the ground amidst the violence, the bodies… Thundercracker needed to get out of here. He spotted Obsidian, hovering in the sky and shooting down anything that came close. Curiously, he was awfully close to the city where Optimus was hiding. Maybe he just didn’t have the time to search. He considered flying up to join him and get away from the bloodshed. He’d have felt a thousand times more comfortable in the sky anyway, but Tidal Wave’s mortar fire made it hard to get the running start to take off, and he was left scurrying in the dirt. Maybe if I just… He ducked away from the fire, did a somersault behind the remains of a few unfortunately dead soldiers, and prepared to transform. It wasn’t really any help, but he knew his place would be better in the sky than—

He felt his face crack against the ground, a cold servo squeezing against the back of his head as if to break it open like a vulture and scrape out the contents inside.

‘I told you I’d find you, Thundercracker,’ Tornado hissed.

Damn! He should have seen this coming. He should have heeded Tornado’s threat and escaped as soon as he had the chance. But he didn’t. Because he was an idiot, probably. He always let others lead him into tragedy, and this was quite possibly the last he would. If only he could work for himself, he thought, if only he could do things his way. But it never happened. He felt a swift kick into his gut that flipped him over and onto his back. Ferak was there too, scowling over him with contempt.

‘It’s been a long time coming, but it looks like we’ve finally got him off our hands.’

‘Not yet,’ Tornado snapped, snatching him by the throat and jerking him up onto his knees. ‘I want him to understand what he’s done.’

‘I understand clearly!’ He blurted. ‘I disobeyed orders to survive! I decided that sacrificing myself for a lunatic was ridiculous, so I had my own way! And you know what? I’m glad I did! You can take your brain-washed loyalty and shove it, Tornado. I don’t need someone who thinks all there is to life is destroying the opposition to lecture me on how to live it.’

‘We are soldiers, Thundercracker.’ She shoved her thumb into the Seeker’s optic and twisted, causing residual light to seep from the broken hole as pain seared his circuits. ‘We don’t have lives. This is what we are, and you believing yourself to be anything different, makes you nothing short of a defective cog in a machine built of identical parts.’ She dropped him on his back, and reached for her rifle. ‘But I get what you mean. I don’t know why making an example of you would be a fair idea. I’m just going to end this chapter already and turn you into a gross memory I’ll occasionally recall while washing the grease from my finger-tips.’

As soon as her hands gripped around the trigger, her head went cracking sideways, and her body went soaring in the same direction. Strika grabbed her wound with one arm, and reeled her fist back with the other. She nodded to Thundercracker, who rose to his feet. When she turned around, Tornado had jetted back into her, thrusters blazing, and arms flailing into the much larger Decepticon. Missiles crashed into her chest and sent her stumbling back, but it took little more than a swing of her open hand to bat the General away.

‘Ahh, I’ve expected something like this, Strika.’

‘Really? Cause I didn’t.’

‘I always hated the way you acted around your superiors. You never acted your part; never showing Megatron any respect, never showed up in a presentable manner, never tried to be loved, nor feared. You always liked bringing “snacks” to the union of the conclave, and you just loved getting syrup and crumbs everywhere. Even on Megatron!’ She winced at the memory. ‘It’s all so embarrassing and disrespectful, and… unsuited for someone with a legacy such as yourself! Just what kind of Decepticon General are you?’

Strika nodded, as if coming to an understanding. ‘Oh yeah, I see how this is. You’re an idiot.’

Tornado’s jaw went slack. ‘What?’

She looked over at Thundercracker. ‘Sorry for doubting you, you were right, this one is crazy.’

Tornado’s visor blazed.

‘Look, Tornado, I knew Megatron. For a long time, actually. I spoke with him about, you know, stuff. Battle plans, strategics and the like, but also just, you know, normal stuff. We talked, and, surprisingly, he’s no messiah. And you thinking he was a messiah deserving of prayer or worship, is just crazy! He was just a spectacular person, and a friend. Don’t get me wrong. He was the greatest mech who ever lived— and I think we agree on that front, but because of a stupid mistake, he’s dead, and I want to help him get the closure he needs—deserves. You know, as thanks for being a good person to me—to all of us, without unneeded prejudice.’

Tornado snarled, and activated a pair of long blades from her wrists.

‘So you see, in his memory, I am gonna do what Megatron would do if he was here.’

‘Oh, and what’s that?’

‘I’m gonna KICK YOUR ASS!’ Strika clenched her fists and kicked the ground, banking into a running start.

The two generals clashed, grappling and striking each-other relentlessly. Thundercracker provided cover fire on Strika’s end, keeping Ferak and anyone else from shooting at her. She was an easy target, after all. He saw Tornado’s blades emerging out of Strika’s back as she stabbed through her, over and over again. He swallowed. He really shouldn’t have worried about her losing her life, but he did. Say one truth that Thundercracker would never dare admit, say he was soft. He hated his comrades, and his superiors, but he never wanted to see them die.

Strika cracked her fist against Tornado, firing missiles from her turrets that rained down on their surroundings, creating a wall of fire that prevented interference. Tornado kept stabbing, but with each stab, she slowed. Strika rolled over, so she was on the bottom, and lifted the smaller Decepticon off of the ground, she grabbed her by the arm and ripped back, dislodging the limb from its connecting ports and sending a stream of rippling sparks showering from the empty stump. Tornado only grunted and fired a volley of missiles from her chest into Strika’s large mass. Strika grunted back, ripped off her other arm and reeled back, before throwing the General several yards away, and into the chaotic mess of Banzaitron’s division.

Strika turned back to Thundercracker and smiled, ‘See? Strika saves the day once agai—‘

‘Get down!’ Thundercracker bellowed, firing a volley of missiles and incendiary bullets in her direction. Strika ducked, and the volley crashed into Ferak. He was so certain he could sneak up on the wounded General that his face barely distorted as his torso imploded on him. He fell backwards, and crashed back into the ground.

Strika whirled around to the smoking body, and back to Thundercracker. ‘Wow, Thundercracker. I guess I was wrong about you. You’ve got some vigour in you after all.’

He shrugged as he approached the General, reloading his weapon. ‘Thanks for the save.’ He winced sheepishly. ‘I… really shouldn’t have to keep relying on you and Obsidian to bail me out.’

‘No problem. It was Tornado after all. Not everyone can frag with glitches like that.’ She looked into the crowd of which Tornado had disappeared into. ‘You think they’re dead?’
Thundercracker walked up to Ferak, frowning over his body. ‘Hope not. I still need Ferak alive if I want Skywarp back in one piece.’

Strika shrugged. ‘Right, guess we better take him with us then— see what we can salvage.’

Thundercracker frowned at the body. ‘Yeah.’

Strika clapped her hands together. ‘Welp, I guess all’s well that ends well, eh, Thundercracker?’

Only for Hatchet to leap onto her back, taking a second deep bite into her neck, sinking his teeth into the melding steel and sucking away at the gushing Energon. He let go to speak, mouth dripping pink. ‘You didn’t abandon our fight just to rescue your comrade, did you?’

Strika began to thrash, slamming the back of her fist into Hatchet’s face and detaching him from her. She let out a slurred roar, ‘Blasted irony!’

 

Banzaitron charged Bludgeon, balefully and elegantly dancing around the samurai’s jabs while striking whatever weak-points he could detect. Which, admittedly, weren’t many. Surrounding them, Axer and Treadshot provided cover-fire, ensuring no interference from Bludgeon’s surrounding armada.

A shell burst in front of Krok’s face, blinding him momentarily and raining him in metallic flesh and oil. The sounds of screams came with it, smothering him with heat and agony. Krok blinked the debris out of his optics and flicked a severed finger from the side of his face. Whose it was didn’t matter anymore. He looked around. A few dozen mechs remained of his unit, and from their position, they would not last much longer. He turned his head. Bludgeon was fighting off Banzaitron, but as much as he desired to see his Lord fighting him off, proving his power, and showing up the dishonourable villain, the warrior was only barely able to keep up with the Director of the Secret Service. He cast a worried frown. Bludgeon locked optics with him if only for a moment before turning away to defend himself. Bludgeon gave him everything. He never knew what Bludgeon saw in him, but apparently it was enough to make him his highest confidant. Hell, he wasn’t even that great of a strategist. Above average, maybe, but not worth the position he found himself in. None of that seemed to matter anymore. Like Starscream said, you don’t stick around with the losing team. He bit down, regretting what he was doing before he even did it. ‘Spinister! Crankcase! Make the call, we’re moving to the right flank within the remains of the former Agriont!’

Crankcase grumbled his approval and dashed, ducking his broken head amidst the chaotic exchange of laser-fire. Spinister continued his assault, hesitating. ‘We would be leaving Bludgeon for the cyber-crows.’

‘I know.’

The croak in Krok’s voice told him enough. Spinister hovered over, parlaying the message to anyone left to hear it. Things are going to work out, he thought to himself. Things had to work out. He’d reposition the forces, then call in Hatchet to take over. He was a real strategist. Not at Obsidian’s level, but he could have very well help him turn the tide. Things are going to work out. He told himself again, so he wouldn’t forget.

-----

Thundercracker transformed into his jet mode and unleashed his missiles. They screamed towards the dread, exploding chunks of body-armour off of the beast and pushing him back onto his hind legs. Strika weakly fired missiles from her turret that whizzed off and struck the ground surrounding them, clipping a ground-soldier of Banzaitron’s troupe in the process.

Thundercracker transformed and landed on the Dread’s back, punching and kicking furiously— only for the massive beast to leap from the ground, sending him tumbling onto his side. Strika was on her knees, pushing herself to get up, and punching aside whatever got in her way, be them an enemy or a chunk of dead metal. Before Hatchet could pounce her, another figure jumped on his back. This time it was Slipstream, stabbing at slashing at the nape of the Dread’s neck with a shard of fragmented metal. She tore into his cords and his wires; sending sparks crackling from his neck to his eyes. Thundercracker pulled himself out of the dust and fired from his incendiary gun, rippling shots across his dark body-frame. The Dread crowed and wriggled, unsure of who he was supposed to fight. Nonetheless, he dragged his body towards Strika, intent on finishing the mission objective. He would eliminate the greatest threat to his master’s rule, whatever it took.

‘Thundercracker!’ Slipstream shrieked at him. ‘Help me, you egg!’

Thundercracker did as he was told and jumped on top of Hatchet’s back. He wrapped his arms around his massive neck and started pulling out singed and cut wires. Hoping at least a couple of them would be important.

With two Seekers weighing down on him, Hatchet’s movement slowed. He could no longer fight them back, focusing all of his energy into reaching the kneeling Strika so he could rip her brain module out. It was working.

-----

Obsidian looped through the sky, shooting down whatever aerial vehicle came his way. Any that got too close would fall into his grasp, plucked out of the air, and torn apart. He wasn’t a fan of the latter, but even he had to reload. He just didn’t like to touch. Especially gun-loving berserkers who spent more time polishing their weapons than they did themselves. His helicopter mode swerved around through the skies, shooting down another jet. That one seemed to have been one of Banzaitron’s, but that had no significance. They were to prevent anyone from reaching Optimus, friend or foe. All so that Starscream could be the one to kill him at a later date. He didn’t want to trust Starscream let alone Soundwave, but if this would lead Optimus into their possession, then he had to obey. He’d be glad once this entire mess was out of the way. Banzaitron didn’t seem to notice his air-troops being taken out, so there didn’t appear to have been of any consequence after all. One jet rammed straight into him, forcing him into his hovering robot form. ‘Dammit!’ The jet transformed, wrestling him in the sky.

‘Obsidian!’ His transceiver buzzed in his audio-receptor.

He just barely recognized the voice. ‘I’m busy, Slipstream! Go bother Thundercracker or—‘

‘Strika’s down and we can’t hold them back. We need you to—‘

Obsidian’s hand shot through the jet’s spark-chamber. He blinked, looked down at the wreckage in his chest, and collapsed, falling into the chaos below. Obsidian transformed into his helicopter form and burst towards the battle below, carving his way around Banzaitron and Krok’s divisions before finally arriving in front of Strika. His consort lay bleeding and heaving, only barely clinging on to life.

‘Ah, Obsidian.’ Hatchet addressed as Thundercracker and Slipstream clung hold of him in hopes of weighing him down with their bodies. ‘The master strategist himself. I see you were fending off aerial forces from reaching Optimus. Presumably so that you or Starscream would have the opportunity to get to him after the fact. Am I right? A simplistic tactic for your like, but I cannot deny its effectiveness. You know, I am quite the strategist as well. I am here to eliminate Strika in order to remove the largest player on the battlefield. After that I am to return to Krok, and lead the bulk of our forces into Gutcruncher’s domain. With them eradicated, all that will be left is Banzaitron’s division, which I imagine will be suitably worn down once Bludgeon has cut them to pieces. Now, here we are, face to face. Shame about your bruiser, but I’m certain you can always get another one. People like us… we know to treat every mech or femme like the pawns they are. Easily replaceable. We, on the other hand, are two of a kind. After all, there are millions of soldiers, but leaders come in short supply—‘

Obsidian’s fist penetrated Hatchet’s optical socket before he could finish, twisting and wrenching a clump of wires from the Dread’s face. Hatchet barely had time to react, staring at the strategist through his remaining optic in mild surprise. ‘Ah…’

Obsidian let out a roar, leaping on top of the Dread’s massive body alongside Slipstream and Thundercracker, and stabbing through his broad chest with the tip of his tail. Hatchet struggled, but could barely move under the added weight. Screaming, Obsidian wrapped his arms around Hatchet’s neck, and pulled with all his might. Naturally, Obsidian was not nearly as strong as he used to be, but given the circumstance, his creaking limbs and tearing circuits were little more than an annoyance. His rage clouded his thoughts, and Hatchet’s head came loose. A loud shredding ripped across the battlefield, and Hatchet’s head detached from his body. Obsidian tossed the severed head into the air, and Slipstream leaped up, kicking the ball of metal like a soccer ball, sending it spinning somewhere over the horizon of soldiers.

Thundercracker stood up, and moved over to Strika. He knelt next to her, and began examining her wounds. She was awake, at least. ‘Strika’s not looking so good.’ He said, barely audible enough for either Obsidian or Slipstream to hear. He turned his head around to face them. ‘She’s going to need medical attention, but I don’t think bringing out the Nemesis is going to be a good idea with Tidal Wave hovering over us. The ship can barely hold itself together, let alone withstand an assault of this magnitu—GRK.’

Obsidian’s fingers wrapped around Thundercracker’s neck as he hoisted him above his insect-like head. ‘YOU WANT TO DIE?!’ He demanded, squeezing down.

Thundercracker coughed, unable to form even a single vowel sound.

‘I’LL CUT YOU INTO LITTLE PIECES YOU PIECE OF PACIFISTIC TRASH! HOW DARE YOU EVEN BREATHE THE SAME AIR AS—‘

Slipstream whipped her fist across the back of Obsidian’s head. His grip released. Thundercracker fell to his knees, coughing, and massaging his neck.

‘Quit losing your temper over meaningless trivialities,’ Slipstream said, the open side of her head exposing her brain module was exerting blue flames and electricity. She turned to Thundercracker. ‘Can Skywarp open a ground-bridge portal to this location?’

‘I… believe so.’

‘Then make it happen. She should be safe there.’ She turned to Obsidian. ‘Obsidian, if we want to prevent any of our adversaries from killing Prime before we do, I would advise that you retain your duties in the air.’

‘My duties.’ Obsidian blinked, looking around at the carnage as if he had just woken up in the middle of it. ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

Thundercracker and Obsidian stared at her. Slipstream began massaging her left optic, the one just under her broken skull. ‘What are you…’ she rubbed vigorously, until shavings of metal began to drift from her optical lids. ‘What… are you looking… at?’

Obsidian spoke first. ‘Slipstream, you’re...’ Obsidian groped the air for words. ‘Functional.’

‘Your head is on fire,’ Thundercracker added.

Which it was. ‘It is?’ Slipstream’s posture began to slacken. She stared at her open servo, blinking in surprise. ‘I have a hot… head.’

‘We’re losing her…’ Obsidian muttered.

‘I’m a hot-head… I’m a loose-cannon, Kowalski! Starscream’s gonna have your ass! I’m off the case!’ She began chuckling to herself.

Thundercracker sighed. ‘She’s gone.’ He gestured to the air troops. ‘But she was right. You should get back to the fight. Slipstream and I will move Strika to safety. We’ll worry about her mental state later.’

Obsidian nodded. ‘Yes, an excellent idea… I…’ The ground-bridge opened behind them. ‘I apologize, Thundercracker. I was only… I was upset that I couldn’t have prevented this.’

Thundercracker and Slipstream dragged Strika’s body through the ground-bridge. Neither said a word.

Forget it. Obsidian transformed into his helicopter form, boosting back into the smoke-wreathed sky.

-----

Hatchet’s head landed at Krok’s feet. The strategist stared at it, blinking in disbelief.

‘Misfire says he spotted Obsidian do him in.’ Crankcase said to him, weapons flaring in all directions.

Krok shook his head. ‘I was relying on him… I was…’ Hopelessness washed over him. He looked back at Bludgeon’s position, no longer able to see his leader in the flood of bodies. ‘I don’t…’

‘Orders, Commander.’ Spinister growled over his radio. ‘What are we supposed to do?’

Krok shook his head. Fires were brewing all around him. If they stayed where they were any longer, they would be swallowed in no time. He thought about what Hatchet would do; what Bludgeon would do. Frag it, Krok. It’s time to take charge. ‘All troops! Crescent formation! Proceed with the plan of attack—march through Gutcruncher’s left flank and ambush them in the trenches. Spinister, Misfire, Fly-die— perform manoeuvre 46, draw their fire to you while we pull the knife on them from behind. Decepticons, rise up!’

A loud hurrah boomed around him as they began to move to cover. Now to see how hard this bombs.

-----

Razor-Sharp grinned. He was crawling on the ground behind the raging martial-artists. Unseen amidst the adrenaline of the fire-fight. Killing Bludgeon… if anything was going to give him more respect in the Secret Service, this ought to be it. In the age of Megatron, there had been thousands of bounties submitted to kill the renegade leader of the Mayhem Attack Squad. Rising through the ranks at such a quick rate had given Bludgeon the illusion of something greater, but alas, that only put him on the DJD’s list with the thousands of other delusionals that thought they were better than they were. He readied his steel. It was a choking-based weapon. One that wrapped around the throat and took the air out of them. As Cybertronians did not require air outside of cooling and ventilation, choking did little more than wound the section connecting their head to their body. The choking steel he held in his hand was made specifically for decapitating enemies. And not even Cybertronians could live long without a head.

Banzaitron twisted through the air, landing on Bludgeon’s side and delivering a quick kick to his gut, sending the samurai barreling over. ‘Played Academy Lobbing y’know.’ Banzaitron crowed. ‘I could’ve gone pro if I hadn’t joined your stupid religious kung-fu bullshit.’

Bludgeon spat, thrusting his sword, and dragging the blade across Banzaitron’s upper arms, leaving cuts that dribbled with pink Energon. ‘Your lack of discipline and ignorance to the true faith will only result in your immediate—‘

Banzaitron karate-chopped Bludgeon’s temple, sending his head cracked askew, and his mind racing. ‘Blah, blah, blah. None of that crap matters when you’re a kickass son of a gun capable of crushing the so-called master of metallikato with his bare hands!’ He delivered an uppercut to Bludgeon’s chin, sending strands of loose wiring writhing through the air. ‘You don’t @#$% with this Service Director!’ Before Bludgeon’s feet could touch the ground, Banzaitron grabbed him by the helm and drop-kicked him square in the face, sending him stumbling back. Before he could gather his bearings, Banzaitron jumped aside, and Firebeast took his place.

That was the cue. Razor-Sharp leaped from the ground, and sprinted towards Bludgeon. Even if his boss was a no-good arrogant piece of trash, he did come up with some positively evil ideas. Firebeast was meant to play one surprise attack, while Razor-Sharp played the second. Layering one surprise on the next. Surely Bludgeon would never see it coming. Firebeast charged him from his left flank. The black Decepticon huffed, as if shooting flames. Not that he could. The rhinoceros had a thing for the Dinobot Slag for whatever reason, and sought to emulate him in terms of mannerisms and personality to the letter. As Firebeast got close Razor-Sharp made his move, brandishing his steel and diving at Bludgeon.

‘So that’s how it is.’

‘Eh?’ Razor-Sharp looked down, to find his arms completely detached from his body. Bludgeon had sliced them off. What? But Firebeast was supposed to—

Firebeast laid dead on the ground, Bludgeon’s foot pressing down on an exposed brain-module. The piece of processing popped under his heel.

‘You’re…’ Razor-Sharp felt oil bubbling up from the bottom of his throat. ‘You’re fast.’ He looked down to see Bludgeon’s blade piercing through his chest.

‘Of course I am. I am the master of Metallikato.’ He sneered. ‘Regardless if Banzaitron claims to be faster…’ He made a single movement, and Razor-Sharp’s head split in half. ‘The movements of you… average Cybertronians, might as well be in slow motion.’

Shocked to see two of his men torn apart before his very eyes, Banzaitron sprinted towards the samurai with his fists raised. Even if he was better than Bludgeon in every way, Bludgeon still had the advantage of being faster than any of his mechs combined. Getting the drop on him didn’t appear to work unless it involved shooting your own subordinate in the back. Banzaitron wiped some residual liquid from his optics. Dammit, they were stupid. It was Firebeast and Razor-Sharp’s fault for screwing up. They died because of their own problems, not mine! He prepared to deliver a blow right across Bludgeon’s face, only for the samurai to do something completely different. He transformed.

In tank-form, Bludgeon fired a concentrated blast from his main cannon, sending Banzaitron flying back with a hole in his chest. ‘If neither of us is going to honour our battle, Banzaitron, then why should we kid ourselves?’ His turret rotated, and began firing. Revolver was sniped out of the air, his head springing off his body by a wire, and his body crumpling into the ground. The tank accelerated forward, knocking Sniffer to his knees and proceeding to tread over him, crushing his round body under the weight of his tank treads. Turbo found himself crawling on his hands and knees, desperately trying to drag himself away from the tank. Accelerating at full-speed, Bludgeon transformed and drove his blade through his spark, killing him instantly. ‘Anyone else?!’ He beckoned. ‘Does anyone else think they can challenge me? That they can snuff my spark? My soul has already been sold!’

Treadshot transformed into his gun mode, shrinking down and landing deftly between Axer’s fingers. Axer cried out as he fired upon Bludgeon, but the samurai only laughed. What bullets did strike him caused barely a dent, while the rest were deflected by his blade.

‘Slag.’ Axer cursed, then transformed, carrying Treadshot inside his cockpit. The bounty hunter drove, accelerating as far away from the Samurai as he could.

Bludgeon considered chasing him down, only to turn his attention to Banzaitron. But the usurper was nowhere to be found. Still, perhaps he wasn’t meant to fight him. Had he kept it up, Bludgeon would have lost. The fact that someone like Banzaitron was holding such power was… disconcerting. No matter. Bludgeon had greater plans. He transformed into his tank mode, and began accelerating towards the city, firing a path towards the Citadel. There was no doubt in his mind that Optimus would be there. After all, the Dark Gods hadn’t lied to him yet.

----

‘Urrk.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’ Bugly roared. ‘He’s still not dead?!’

‘Starscream’s always been hard to kill.’ Crowbar muttered. ‘I didn’t think it was a physical thing, though. I just thought he was a coward.’

‘He’d be dead by now if we weren’t constantly getting shot at!’

‘He’d be dead by now if you actually carried a gun!’

‘Yes, well, you are the one who wasted his ammunition on Banzaitron.’

‘What did you expect me to do? Not shoot back at the guys who are shooting at us?’

Starscream could barely move. His body was beaten to a pulp, and any attempt to stand was countered by one of Bugly’s massive fists. And that just made things harder for his next attempt. He remained still as his self-repair system did what it could. He would have to wait until Strika or Obsidian came to his rescue. He wouldn’t hear the rest of it. But then… what if neither of them came to the rescue? Strika didn’t respect him. Obsidian hated him. He knew Thundercracker longer than anyone, but he had admittedly been harsh to him in the past. He knew Thundercracker deserved it, of course, but that didn’t mean he’d be forgiven for his actions.

‘I actually expected you to have killed Starscream with your bare fists,’ Crowbar said.

‘Do you have any idea how hard it is to kill someone without a weapon? Let alone a Cybertronian? You can’t choke them, you can’t have them bleed out. You have to keep hitting him until a hole is carved to the brain module or the spark. And—and, someone like Starscream, who has mercilessly tampered their body with upgrades, would require an expedient amount of force applied to his exoskeleton.’

‘So you’re not strong enough to kill a guy who’s basically dead already.’

‘I am plenty “strong” enough, Crowbar, I merely need the time and materials to rip his spark from his chest. However, getting shot at from all directions makes doing so rather… difficult.’

Starscream lost all his vision out of one eye. The other seemed to get narrower and narrower. Bodies were littered around him, stacked in collected, concentrated heaps. He wasn’t sure if he was in a trench, or if Bugly was using the body-stacks as strategic cover. Out of all their broken and wounded comrades, Bugly and Crowbar only seemed to talk about him. Lucky me.

‘Well, as long as we maintain our position we should outlast this, eh Bugly? Spinister said he spotted Strika go down, and Krok’s off to deal with Gutcruncher. It’ll only be a matter of time.’

Strika’s dead? Suddenly, Starscream felt a lot more helpless than he initially thought.

Bugly frowned at the sky. ‘What is that?’

‘What is what?’

-----

High above the battle, the Ark’s cargo bay gaped open, and a large, black figure leaped out. Ironhide dived down from above, cannons charging to maximum. His shoulders were outfitted with massive electro-cannons, his fingers tightened around a pair of path-blasters, and his chest was crossed with chains of bullet-cases. He let out a roar, and unleashed his full firepower. Lasers and missiles thundered from above, falling down upon the battle-field below, sending several surprised troops scurrying to safety with others not so lucky. A parachute opened from his back and slowed his descent. Though perhaps not to his immediate liking. Ironhide crashed feet-first onto the ground, shocks running up his legs.

‘Who the hell are you?’

Ironhide turned around to see Bugly and Crowbar staring at him through blank optics.

The question had a simple enough answer. ‘AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!’ Ironhide roared, activating every piece of weaponry on his person and firing a wave of destructive firepower in Bugly’s direction.

Missiles tore into his torso, and lasers singed his armor. One missile struck his shoulder-joint, tearing his arm straight off of his body. The rest of the onslaught exploded into his chest, sending the mystic barrelling back and crashing into the stacked pile of corpses. Crowbar blinked at Bugly, then turned to run.

Before he could get far, a missile fired from Starscream’s chest compartment, striking him in the back, and sending him crumbling into the dirt. Starscream began to rise, then stopped. Ironhide was standing over him, guns trained on his head. So this is how it all ends. Not with a whimper, but with a screaming mad-mech with a gun fetish. Ironhide dropped his path blaster, and offered a hand. Hah?

Starscream grabbed the outstretched servo, and pulled himself to his feet.

‘We’re surrounded,’ Ironhide growled. ‘Optimus says your main objective is to take out Bludgeon and deal with us at a later point. Any truth to that?’

‘Possibly.’ Starscream activated his weaponry. ‘But what makes you think I won’t kill you now while I have the chance?’

‘Because, as shocking as this may sound, even when strapped with all this badass weaponry, I can’t kill all of these Decepticreeps alone. And, shockingly, you aren’t going to survive without some help. And I can assure you, no one else is coming to help you.’

‘Hrrn…’ A team up… great. Starscream lowered his guns. ‘I’m going to kill you when this is all over. Just a warning not to get too comfy.’

A shell blew apart a clump of bodies. Springing the two into actions. Their backs touched, and their weaponry flared. Missiles and lasers fired from the pair of heavy-hitters. Sending the advancing forces scattering in all directions. Those that got close enough were quickly dispatched, be it by a wicked left hook from Ironhide, or a bisection by one of Starscream’s razors. A blast tore through their left flank, and a figure emerged from the smoke.

‘Incoming!’ Starscream roared, training his null-ray’s at the figure.

‘Easy!’ Ironhide spat. ‘It’s Jazz.’

‘I remain without a reason not to shoot.’

Ironhide rubbed the barrel of his cannon against the small of his back. ‘I’ll give you a reason not to shoot!’

Jazz somersaulted from vehicle-mode into robot, knuckles wet with fluid. ‘Hey, ‘Hide. There a reason Starscream’s jiving with you like it’s nobody’s business or…?’

‘Similar objectives. Believe me, not shooting him is harder than not-shooting Blackarachnia.’

Jazz frowned up at the Aerospace Commander. ‘You think we can trust hi—‘

‘No,’ Starscream said.

‘Oh. ‘Least that’s out of the way.’

Ironhide reloaded a path-blaster before continuing his cover. ‘I spotted Bludgeon during my air-drop. He’s on the warpath to the—‘ He sneered at Starscream before continuing. ‘He knows where Optimus is.’

Starscream sneered. ‘Whatever. You know I’m not fit enough to chase after him. Even if I did know where in the city he was hiding, I wouldn’t go after him.’

‘Can we really take your word for it?’ Jazz asked.

‘No.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Ironhide growled. ‘I’ll make sure Starscream doesn’t kill anyone on our side. You get over there and help Optimus. Bludgeon will slaughter him if he’s on his own, but if you can get there before he does—‘

‘We might have a chance. Gotcha, be there in a jiff.’ The guardsman transformed, flipping into his speedster mode and blazing into the smoke.

‘Why does he talk like that?’

‘Honestly, it’s one of those things you just don’t question.’

‘It’s annoying.’

‘You’re annoying.’

A grenade blew apart their last line of defense, and the two resumed firing their expensive pay-loads at the forces closing in on them. The smoke was making it more and more difficult to aim.

-----

Racing through the bellowing smoke, Jazz heard a familiar gurgle, and transformed. He ducked away from the whizzing missiles and fell into a trench, there he found the source.

Bugly raised his wounded head, he was lying on his back, arms draped over his chest as if in silent prayer. ‘You…’

‘Yeah… me.’

‘You off to kill Bludgeon?’

‘Killing’s a bit extreme aint-it?’ He rubbed his shoulder. ‘But… yeah. If that’s what we gotta do, that’s what we gotta do. Don’t mean I like that things have come down to this, but…’

‘It’s fine…’ Bugly leaned his head back. ‘Kill him. You’re better than him. I can sense it.’

Jazz knelt down next to him, frowning.

‘I know.’ Bugly nodded. ‘You don’t believe me. Sensing… its nonsense, isn’t it? But it is my ability. Every spark has a specific aura. Bludgeon’s is writhing with dark energy, yours is brighter than anyone I know.’

‘I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think people can be defined with “light” and “dark”.’

‘And I agree. Everyone carries good and bad in them. More the latter of which, but light does not exactly define “goodness”. It can represent purification, and enlightenment, but also blindness and relinquishment. Just as darkness can represent sobriety and courage.’ He swallowed. ‘Your spark will lead to something incredible, and beautiful, and I hope to see it happen.’

‘’Fraid it doesn’t look like you’ll get your wish.’

Bugly chuckled. ‘Oh, I know how this looks… but I have ways.’ Bugly’s chest opened, revealing his spark chamber. Before Jazz could ask, a beam of light escaped Bugly’s spark, shooting into the sky, only to crash back down into his chest.

Jazz covered his visor from the aftershocks of the display. ‘What the—‘

Bugly rose to his feet. ‘Just as Sunstorm had his abilities, I have my own. I sapped the spark energy from a few of my comrades. They won’t be needing it anyhow.’ He looked to the smoky sky and transformed. ‘Continue your training, Jazz. Become something beautiful.’ Bugly nodded to them, stared up, and ascended into the sky, disappearing into wreathes of black smoke.

‘Freaky…’ Jazz muttered, dumbfounded. His blinked behind his visor. ‘Wait, what am I doing? Prime needs me.’ He transformed back into a speedster and roared down the charred battlefield and into the city. He needed to get to the Citadel before Bludgeon did, else everything would have been for nothing.

-----

Gutcruncher and Charger drove through the alleyways in vehicle-mode. The sounds of muffled gunfire pulsing through their audio-receptors.

‘There he is.’ Gutcruncher said, gesturing to the yellow jet at the end of the passage. He transformed into his robot mode, and began jogging towards their escape. ‘Stratatonic! Fire up the thrusters.

But the jet remained refused to move an inch.

‘Stratatonic?’ Gutcruncher squinted at him. ‘You better be sleeping…’ He kicked the jet, only for it to barrel over, and onto its side.

Charger transformed next to him, and began examining the motionless flyer. ‘Oh no…’

‘What? He’s dead?!’

‘Yes. It appears that someone went to great lengths to snuff him while he was still in vehicle mode.’

Gutcruncher scowled, clenching his fists in frustration. ‘But why would anyone—‘

Stratatonic’s body exploded.

-----

Fulcrum peered around the corner, grinning. ‘Looks like they walked right into the trap. Just as you said they would, Krok.’

Krok finally allowed himself to exhale before turning to the two dozen troops standing guard behind him. ‘Now—onward! While the trenches are leaderless—eliminate what remains of Gutcruncher’s unit!’
They let out a roar, and two-dozen battle-ready Decepticons charged down the alleyway from which Gutcruncher came.
Finback clapped Krok on the back. ‘Excellent work, lad. Keep it up.’
Krok calmed his breathing as he chased after the others. One step at a time, Krok, one step at a time.

-----

Gutcruncher groaned in pain as the heels of several Decepticons pressed against his charred body, digging him further into the dirt. He should have died. With Stratatonic gone there was no hope for escape. And his mechs… if they continued down the alleyway then they’d be led directly to the trenches. They’ll have slaughtered everyone. Naturally he’d have shrugged it off, but now it was clear he never stood a chance. There was no escape… no future. He shuddered as the last of Krok’s forces trampled his skull. Charger.

He lifted his large, meaty arms, and began crawling. Wherever which way he was going wouldn’t matter. ‘Charger…’ he muttered. ‘Please tell me you’re alive.’ He lifted his head to find that one of his eyes were pierced by a shard of shrapnel. The other was sparking profusely. ‘Charger?’

A green body laid on its side a few meters away from him. ‘Charger… dammit… wakeup.’ When he got no response, he crawled over to the body and began shaking it. ‘Please… out of everyone to die, it can’t be the only person I give half a slag about.’

Charger coughed up a wad of oil and rolled over, revealing his arms to have been completely detached from his body. ‘Aye…’

Thank the maker. ‘We’re screwed, Charger.’

‘I’m afraid that you’re right.’

Gutcruncher activated his comm-link. ‘Take-Off… report.’

The sounds of screams greeted him over the other line. ‘Take-Off here. I’m playing dead.’
We aren’t the only ones, then. That wasn’t a good sign. ‘Crap. What’s happening?’

‘They just… started killing everybody. A few of their fly-boys got the drop on us, and killed a few of the guys, but it didn’t seem so bad that we couldn’t handle it. Then the rest of their squadron just started appearing in our trenches and… I think I might be the only one left. So that’s bad. Guess it could be worse.’

‘You?’ Gutcruncher muttered in disbelief. ‘Out of everyone who is dead. You survived?!’

‘Yeah, be rude, why don’t you? Anyway. I think… I think Roadgrabber is still out there. I hope he is, at least. Last I saw of him was when he buggered off to get at Tornado and never came back. So… he might be okay. But then—’

‘Whatever, just... just get out of there. Converge with us when you get the chance. I’ll try and contact Roadgrabber to do the same.’

‘Sure thing, boss. Say, how do you expect—’

Gutcruncher hung up, and sighed, he jerked his head over to his second. ‘Come on, Charger. I think I know where we’ll be safe.’

Before Charger could assent, a missile crashed into the buildings around them, as Spinister hovered passed. ‘Ay!’ Absolute shock spilled from the helicopter’s tone. ‘These two are still alive!’

Charger and Gutcruncher transformed. ‘Drive!’ Shrieked the mathematician. The pair of grounders rushed into the city’s dark, swallowing alleyways.

-----

Optimus gazed down upon the war torn battlefield, shaking uncontrollably. So many dead. So many dying. Bodies littered the area like small land masses floating on an ocean of char and visceral acids. Those who still lived scrambled around, shooting and clawing at each other like savages. How many were there, he wondered. There must have been around fifty to sixty deaths numbered that day. Screams persisted to echo from below, dying down only slightly as the battle reached its final moments like a casualty slowly losing their grip on life. He did this. His plan was one of attack, and he knew full well there would be a battle, but he could never prepare for the slaughter that would fall in his wake. It was silly. Here he was, sat on top of the Citadel, hiding with a sniper-rifle he could barely use, allowing his enemies to snuff out each other in gruesome combat. He just watched, like a coward, like an upper-class snob sneering as the empties scuffled and tore out their wire-strands. Here he was, like Prowl. He wondered if things would have been better had he simply given himself up. He wondered if there would be less carnage should he simply cease to exist. Those thoughts always disturbed him, but he couldn’t break free from the feeling that it was all too horribly true. His disgust began to subside as his greatest need became not for the violence to end, but for it to finish, quick, and painlessly. Best stick the needle in quickly, and pretend it doesn’t hurt like death, Ratchet once told him.

His communicator buzzed. A suitable distraction. He pressed against the side of his head, patching himself through. ‘What is it, Blackarachnia?’

‘You seriously don’t know?’

He looked around, frowned, and turned her attention to the Tidal Wave. ‘No.

‘I can see you looking right at me, how can you not—I’m out of ammo, dummy! That means no more raining death from above!’

‘Oh. I see now. Yeah, I thought things were getting quiet, but I just couldn’t put my finger on—‘

‘Listen, I’m going to get down, because right now I’m a sitting duck up here, and lolling around waiting for things to sort themselves out isn’t going to help anyone. I’m just going to land and—whu-oh.’

‘What did you do?’ But the only sound that escaped his communicator was a light static. ‘Famous last words…’ he muttered.

High above, the Tidal Wave began to lurch to its side. Ammunition and supplies slowly rolled off its deck and rained onto the battlefield below. His communicator crackled again.

‘Who is this?’

‘It’s still me.’

‘Blackarachnia? What happened?’

‘You know how I am told never to pilot the Ark, or, well, anything ever? Well, it turns out I hit some wrong buttons and—‘

The Tidal Wave crashed into the ground below, collapsing and imploding as it touched the metal-strewn battlefield. Screams filled the air as several of Bludgeon’s men fell crushed beneath the fiery wreck.

Optimus massaged the bridge of his nose. ‘Blackarachnia…’

‘It’s okay! I jumped out at the last minute. Might have broken a leg, but I have seven more where that came from!’ She laughed at her own joke, much to Prime’s chagrin.

‘Focus! What about those prisoners you kept captured aboard the ship? What about Cannonball’s men?’

‘Oh. Yeah. Whoops.’

Optimus’ head fell into his hands. ‘Blackarachnia, I can’t believe you.’

‘Oh come off it. This is war, we’re killing everyone anyway. Don’t make me look like the bad-guy here.’

Optimus sighed. ‘I… know. I know. It is war. Did Ironhide make it to the ground safely?’

‘I saw him land in the middle of Bugly’s unit, but he seems to be doing fine. A little worn out, but fine. Starscream’s with him.’

Prime’s stomach writhed with grease. ‘Starscream?’

‘They’re doing the cliché good and evil team-up thing. I think they both know they can’t hold the others off on their own, so they’re doing the even more cliché back-to-back bad-asses routine.’

‘What else is happening down there?’

‘Gutcruncher’s unit has been completely decimated, and Starscream’s unit is gone too. Probably fell the same way.’

Optimus gazed up, spotting Obsidian coursing through the sky; preventing anyone from escaping the battle. ‘Obsidian’s still alive.’

‘Darn.’ But she paid it no further attention. ‘Banzaitron is struggling with his guys. They are still alive, but barely with the same confidence. They’re dealing with what’s left of Cannonball’s guys, though… I think they’re going to lose. Not to the pirates, I mean. Krok lost a few guys, but he’s moving his squadron to intercept Banzaitron. No doubt he’ll kill them all. That leaves just Starscream, so, frankly, I think Bludgeon’s going to win. Not with many bots left, of course, but thanks to Krok, he’s going to win.’

Optimus shut his eyes. Even after everything, he was still going to fail. ‘Speaking of which, where is Bludgeon in all this.’

‘Oh yeah, forgot to mention that. Last I saw he was blasting his way through the barricade and making his way into the city. I can’t seem to find him now.’

‘What? Why didn’t you tell me that in the fir-‘

A stray cannon-shot clipped the side of his helm, tearing off his antenna and sending it clattering off the side of the Citadel; into the charred city below. He turned his head to see the outline of Bludgeon standing at the other end of the Citadel’s peak. He stared at him, the barrel of his tank cannon smoking a grey plume.

‘Prime!’ He bellowed. ‘Time’s up!’

Optimus spun around and fired a shot from his rifle. The bullet flew past the side of Bludgeon’s helm, missing him completely.

Bludgeon let out a sigh as he approached. ‘You won’t get away with this, Prime. Justice is going to be rightfully executed whether you like it or not.’

Optimus lowered his rifle. ‘I did what I had to— to live.’

‘And look at where that got you.’ He gestured to the burning city, reaching from the Citadel to the east gate. ‘You’re a bringer of death, Optimus.’

‘I never wanted this.’

‘Neither did I. Am I to become leader, the Cybertronian race would be set under a single power. A legitimate power, not the sort of faux fate your Autobot Command subjects you to.’

‘It ruined my life,’ Optimus was forced to admit.

‘Under my power, there would be no bloodshed. We would be a warrior race, but only if provoked. Otherwise we would have achieved a true sense of peace and unity. War would end with the Autobots, and those that would disagree would be eradicated. Did you know that the Galaxy is facing one of the largest crises in history at the moment? In search of you, the Decepticon Empire has finally decided to expand. Every guild that wants to become something more has begun conquering, and Autobot command can barely do a thing to quell it. Millions are dying this second. Millions wondering why. Do you know why?’

Optimus stared at him. Faceplate locked in place, and fingers tightening around the cold-steeled grip of his rifle.

‘It’s because Optimus Prime is still out there. Alive.’

‘It’s not my fault…’ he muttered.

‘Of course it isn’t. You never chose to be this way. But we never get the opportunity to choose anything. Everything is the will of Primus alone. Fate is what leads us to where we are. Follow your fate, and fortune finds you, those who don’t deserve to burn. But I can tell you one thing regarding your fate. You will die. And when you do, the bloodshed will cease. As long as I am the one to kill you, it will cease.’ He offered his hand. ‘You can end this bloodshed. You can ensure this kind of infighting never happens again. When leadership is taken, war ends, the conquerors stop, and the Galaxy will know peace.’

‘Peace… doesn’t exist.’

‘Of course not. Not the way people perceive peace, anyway. But between the presence of war and the absence of it, things would undoubtedly be superior should the bounty reach its end. If you die here, the war ends. The Vestial Imperium gets to do whatever they want. The Autobots can do whatever they want, and the Decepticons remain immortal. You prolonging your lifespan only makes the universe suffer longer.’

Optimus stared, then faced the carnage occurring below. ‘I could have prevented this.’

‘Tell me, Optimus, what good have you brought the Universe in your time as the murderer of Megatron? That’s rhetorical, I already know. Nothing. Your encounter with Snaptrap resulted in the deletion of his memory. Your visit on Talon IV resulted in the Nemesis murdering over half of the population’s people, and now, with your little “plan”, multiple Decepticon guilds are about to be extinguished. Never to be revived again.’

Optimus stared at his rifle. ‘Bludgeon. I’m sorr—‘

Bludgeon whipped out his blade. ‘Don’t apologize to me. Primus will judge whether you are worth redemption. Before I take your life, please, tell me. Did you kill Sunstorm?’

Optimus frowned. ‘Who?’

Bludgeon grimaced. As he thought, his master’s death was Starscream’s doing. ‘Then all is forgiven.’

A slender figure jumped onto Bludgeon’s back, arms wrapped around his neck and wrestling him to the floor. ‘Don’t listen to him Prime!’ Jazz bellowed. ‘He wants to create a dogmatic police state out of the Decepticons! He’ll kill anyone that disagrees. He's messed up in the head, Chief!’

Optimus blinked, and charged forward, rifle raised. ‘I can’t die yet!’ He bellowed, firing a round at the Samurai. ‘Their deaths have to mean something first!’

Bludgeon deflected the bullet with his blade while suplexing Jazz hard onto his back. ‘You’re still trying to convince yourself it is all worth it, aren’t you?’ He activated his tank cannon, firing a blast at Optimus and missing completely.

Optimus stopped in front of him raising his rifle, and using it as a shield against Bludgeon’s blade.

‘I never was good with projectiles.’ Bludgeon explained. ‘And yet I was born a tank. What mischievous devils were in charge of that decision, I do not know.’

‘Coincidentally, I was never much of a good shot either.’ Optimus replied, breaking away from Bludgeon’s sword-strike. He stood inches away from Bludgeon. Their expressions locked in a short reprieve between blows. Optimus felt the oil boiling inside of him. He felt the energy in his spark pulsing violently. He glared up at the samurai, voice somber. ‘But from this distance, neither of us are going to miss, now are we?’

In unison, Optimus whipped out his rifle, and Bludgeon his sword. Optimus fired a rifle round into Bludgeon’s head, knocking his helmet off of his exo-skull and creating a smoking hold off the top of his cranium. At the same time, Bludgeon drew his blade, slicing across Prime’s body from his hip to his upper arm. They both went tumbling back. Bludgeon gripped his face, smoke rising from it, a deathly scream escaping his hallowed skull. Optimus was almost certain he hadn’t been hit until gobs of oil escaped his lips and dripped down his chin. Where his sword grazed him, Energon flowed. The plexi-glass on his chest shattered as one, and a thin line appeared across his inner chest cavity, gushing pinks and blacks. Where it met his shoulder, a gap emerged. His arm clunked against the floor, dripping with visceral matter and sparkling white electricity where its nervous wires met their ends. His arm had been completely sliced off.

‘Prime!’ Jazz cried out.

But Optimus had greater matters at hand. Bludgeon recovered only slightly. Optimus knew it would never be as simple as simply “sniping” Bludgeon. He knew it would have taken more than a sniper shot to the head to assassinate the Decepticon Leader. All that layered pretender armour made assassinations nigh impossible to pull off in general. It was why he needed the rebellion to occur in the first place. He had to convince himself, the deaths were worth it, the deaths were for the greater good. That said, the rifle’s shot took a good portion of the Pretender’s armour off. His crumbling skull remained, optics glaring through his dark eye-sockets, one now nothing more than a crescent with the removal of much of his crania. Optimus fired another bolt which was quickly deflected by his blade. The recoil caused a gushing of liquid to rise in his throat, and his mind to numb.

Bludgeon charged forward as swift as a fox, but Jazz was swifter. The guardsman’s nunchaku clashed with his blade, wrapping around the handle and yanking it from his grip. In turn, Bludgeon swung his fist, making contact with Jazz’s skull and sending chips and slivers of his helmet dashing across the ground. Jazz fell to his knees, swinging his nunchaku in defense and clashing with a follow-up hit. Bludgeon stepped back, preparing a third strike only for a sniper-shot courtesy of Optimus to crash through his shoulder, sending chunks of armour, as well as one of his flags; bellowing and burning to the floor.

Not wasting the chance, Jazz delivered a swift uppercut across Bludgeon’s chin, momentarily getting tangled in his wires as he did. Bludgeon kicked the smaller Autobot away and regained his blade for another strike, only to receive a second sniper-shot to his chest. This time he was prepared for it, and thrust forward. Jazz rolled onto his side, dodging the blade, but leaving himself open. Before Bludgeon could land a hit on him, a massive weight crashed into his chest.

It was Optimus, driving at full speed in his truck-form. Bludgeon tried to grab hold of the vehicle only to be thrown back by the weight of the accelerating truck. He landed on his back, bracing for the feeling of concussion that comes with banging your head against the ground. Instead it never came. His head hovered over air. He had landed at the very edge of the Citadel’s peak.

Optimus transformed into robot mode, grabbing hold of Bludgeon’s wrists and struggling to keep him in place. Before Jazz could follow his example, Bludgeon grinned. ‘Idiots.’ He burst forward, his strength overwhelming Optimus’s and sending the small Prime spinning into Jazz; crashing to the ground. Jazz laid pinned under the larger Prime, wriggling to break free as his leader gathered his bearings.

On his feet, Bludgeon readied his blade and laughed. ‘Alright, Prime; you’ve convinced me. You’re not actually a demon. You’re only a vessel for the end. Maximo was right about you…’

Optimus lifted himself off of Jazz before coughing up a wad of oil. ‘Maximo’s a religious figure in the Primal Apothesis.’ He shook his head. ‘You’re right, Jazz, he would not make a very good ruler.’

‘Wonder what gave you that idea?’

The pair of Autobots rose to their feet, standing at the tip of Bludgeon’s shadow.

‘Any ideas, Jazz?’ Optimus muttered between gasps.

‘If you’re willing to trust me, I do.’

Optimus dropped his rifle, then pulled out his axe from his subspace compartment. ‘Anything goes.’

‘Then follow my lead, and whatever you do, don’t stop moving for an instant.’

Bludgeon swallowed a gob of visceral liquid that had been leaking into his maw. He was getting beaten rather badly, all things considered. But he couldn’t lose. Two Autobots against the Master of Metallikato was never a good combination. It was time to finish this. They were wide open, and it would only take a run-through of Prime’s chest to end it permanently. Then, he’d reach his goal. Then, maybe, the galaxy could be purified. Maybe, the gods would finally let him rest. He thrust his blade forward.

Jazz and Optimus broke apart. Optimus transformed into his truck mode and accelerated nose-first towards Bludgeon while Jazz leaped up, flailing his nunchaku wildly.

With both attacking at once, Bludgeon couldn’t help but hesitate. To attack Optimus would mean a direct hit from Jazz, and a hit to his already fractured skull could result in some serious injury if not death, while if he were to attack Jazz…

There was no time to think, Bludgeon side-slashed at Jazz, slicing clean through his mid-section from rib to waist, and separating his left leg from his body. Jazz cringed, but continued his flight into Bludgeon, liquid spilling from the loose-wires of his severed leg.

Optimus rammed into Bludgeon’s chest, forcing him to stumble and back away.

‘Hah, your plan was to tackle me? Your plan was to push the Master of Mettali—‘

Bludgeon’s foot backed onto dead air, and the Master of Metallikato’s body tilted back. Jazz’s body pressed into him, sending Bludgeon, Optimus, and him off the side of the Citadel, falling through the air.

Optimus transformed, grasping at the air around him as he plummeted towards the Energon reservoir below. He was not at all keen on taking a second dive.

‘Optimus!’ Jazz cried out, diving through the air towards him. He reached out a servo. ‘Grab my hand!’

Terrified, Optimus reached aimlessly for the Autobot’s hand. It was almost impossible to focus while falling out of the sky. Relief sank into him as he grabbed hold of the Guardsman’s warm servo. ‘I’ve got you!’ Optimus called out.

Jazz spun around, activated the grapple-function on his nunchaku, and aimed for the Citadel. The grapple fired, and latched onto the top-most railing.

‘Hang tight!’ Jazz shouted as the grapple reeled them back upwards at nauseating speeds.

Bludgeon felt the wind rush over his armour. This was pathetic, how could he die like this? No doubt he would hit the ground and shatter into a million pieces. He shut his optics. Perhaps this was for the best. Perhaps this was the only way to be free of the gods’ control. Perhaps Optimus was a demon, or perhaps he was someone destined for something greater. No doubt Bludgeon was to become a martyr, even if this wasn’t his preferred means of death, at least he would have reached it at all. He smirked. After all, say one thing about Bludgeon, say he—

Bludgeon’s spinal strut cracked as his back smashed into a large warp in the city’s structure. He howled in agony as liquid flooded his optics. This city really is a bitch. His body span around in the air and splashed into the reservoir, stinging his every circuit.

He’s deceiving you! You’re still alive! You have an obligation to tear out Optimus Prime’s spark and become leader of the Decepticons! But the demon tricked you! The demon, Optimus, wants you to think you deserve this. He’s laughing at you right now!

‘OPTIMUS!’ Bludgeon roared, activating his tank cannon. ‘I’M GOING TO RIP OUT YOUR SPARK AND CRUSH IT BETWEEN MY TEETH! I—I’ll KILL EVERYONE YOU’VE EVER LOVED AND FORCE THEM TO WATCH AS I DISSECT YOUR OPTICAL--’ Bludgeon fired his cannon. A decision which, Bludgeon realized too late, is something one should ever do as they are surrounded by pure Energon.

-----

Gutcruncher stumbled. Just a little more. He told himself. He had gone blind in both eyes now, when he reached at his face he felt nothing but rust. Charger guided him further, though he couldn't be certain he was going to survive. Krok’s air troops were hunting them down, firing waves of missiles that sent him flying in every which way. He would get up to move again, only for Charger to spin him into another direction and guide him forward. He almost wanted to wonder why it even mattered anymore. Everyone else was dead. ‘Just a little more,’ Charger told him. ‘And we’ll be safe.’

A loud explosion crackled through the sky. It lasted for minutes, and when it ended, Gutcruncher had to wonder whether he had been engulfed in it. His only reassurance was Charger’s hand squeezing his shoulder.

-----

Krok surveyed the wreckage as Crankcase approached him, his troops were now mindlessly wandering around the featureless battlefield, wiping away ash and spillages from their frames and mending whatever injuries they had come to acquire. ‘Crankcase, report.’

‘Misfire and the others are tracking down Gutcruncher, if not his body. Otherwise his entire squadron appears to have been effectively eradicated. Who’da thunk?’

‘Anything else?’

‘Banzaitron’s team has begun to pull back. I mean, I say “team” but there’s a very small few of them left. I honestly don’t think they’ll be a problem any longer. The only fighting that’s still going on is a small group led by Starscream. Apparently he’s still kicking.’

‘Cannonball’s dealing with them?’

‘Yeah, but, like us, most of that group got wiped out when the traitor—Blackarachnia, I mean, kamikaze’d the Tidal Wave into us.’

Krok nodded. ‘Good, we’ll merge with Cannonball’s group and eliminate Starscream. After that we’ll have won.’

Crankcase shrugged. ‘Never get a break, do we?’

‘I’m afraid not—‘

The explosion ripped through the wind, sending purple smoke and brown sand bellowing across the sky. The city began to crumble, skyscrapers surrounding the Citadel slowly toppling over and crashing into the reservoir’s volatile liquids.

-----

Ironhide dropped a path-blaster, having used up all its ammunition. He panted, unable to vent the heat burning his circuits in the time it took him to inhale. He swung his fist, making contact with a pirate and sending them spiralling away. He fired a bolt from his cannons in the same direction, only barely holding on to the hope that it hit something. He turned to Starscream. The Aerospace Commander had given up shooting his missiles and was in the process of sawing a pirate in half. The Seeker noticed the Autobot staring at him and smirked. ‘Getting tired old man?’

Ironhide grunted. ‘You’ve got a lot of nerve… I’ve never been better.’

‘Yeah?’ Starscream shrugged. ‘You know, I’d kill you… now that I have the chance. But I don’t think I’ll have to.’ Starscream activated the thrusters on his back and began to rise from the ground. ‘Unlike you, I’m out of ammunition, so I think I’ll just take my chances and return to the Nemesis while my thrusters are partially charged.’ In a flash, Starscream burst into the sky and high above the clouds. ‘It was nice teaming with you, Autobot. I could have sworn you’d have sooner killed me. I guarantee you will regret not doing so.’

‘I already have…’ Ironhide muttered, surveying his remaining opposition, only about four or five remained, but they had him surrounded. ‘Damn.’ He fired one last shot from his shoulder cannons and watched as it whizzed off into the distance. Pointless, is what it was. He shut his optics. Blackarachnia had better have survived that ship crash, Ironhide thought. She couldn’t die before him. Younger folk never deserved to die before the old. He tensed up, dropping his weaponry. He still wasn’t ready to die.

He heard a scream, and his optics shot open. A large metallic puma had torn one of the pirates apart. A bullet whizzed past his head, prompting him to turn around. Wingspan was wrestling with one of the pirates. His talons pulled the pirate’s skull apart before finally crushing his brain-module and ending his life. When Ironhide turned back around to view Pounce, the other pirates were already dead.

Wingspan joined him, wiping the grease from his fingertips. ‘You alright, Autobot?’
Ironhide nodded.

‘Starscream was right. Bludgeon was a jerk. He helped us see that.’

‘Ah.’

‘I don’t know if you’re working with him, or if he defected, but… whatever. I’d say this is our thanks, but really it was Pounce’s idea.’

Pounce let out a grunt as he looked the other way.

‘Anyway, if you see him again, let him know that he did good. Between you and me, I find the guy pretty insufferable, but as far as leaders go… I wouldn’t really mind if he ended up on top.’

‘Ah.’ He looked around. There was nothing left.

‘Krok’s guys will probably be here soon,’ Wingspan told him. ‘I’d get out of here if I were you. It’s what we’re doing.’

Ironhide nodded. ‘Ah, I think I’ll do tha—‘

His voice was soon drowned out by the nearby explosion, causing him to cover his eyes and wince at the searing light enveloping the Citadel.

-----

Jazz and Optimus stared at the smoking reservoir. Coughing and spitting as they attempted, and failed, to regain their composures.

Optimus stared at Jazz, then collapsed to his knees. Jazz did the same, barely holding himself together.

After a moment of silent panting, Optimus spoke: ‘I’m sorry. You didn’t have to lie about the stun-bullets. I’m sorry I shot you.’

‘We went over it, didn't we? If anyone’s to blame it’s me for agreeing to be shot in the first place.’

‘It still doesn’t feel very good,’ he muttered, letting his head fall back. ‘Jazz, am I a bad person?’

He frowned ‘Now why’re you saying that?’

‘I feel like this whole… thing… It’s gruesome, isn’t it?’

He stared out over the landscape. ‘You could say that.’

‘I feel like everything I did… it was a very Prowl-y method of doing things.’

‘You could say that, too.’

Optimus nodded slowly. ‘So does that make me… bad?’

Jazz sighed. ‘I don’t think anyone’s good or bad, Prime. I think we just do what we must to survive.’ He gestured to the city. ‘Sometimes there’s a high price for that.’

‘Mm…’ Optimus sighed.

‘He’s still alive.’

Optimus gaped. ‘What?’

Jazz tapped at his forehead. ‘I’m detecting a faint Energon signal down by the resevoir’s shores—Bludgeon’s not dead just yet.’

Optimus pulled himself to his feet. ‘Alright. As soon as I reattach your leg… we’ll do what we must.’

 

Ironhide pressed his back against the inner wall of a trench belonging to that of Cannonball’s division. Or belonged, rather. His cannons had been corroded by the rustic oil leaking from his wrists. He was panting, taking in as much air he could to cool his heated vents; his spark had been working double-time, and it was straining him to keep up. He heard the tapping of footsteps growing nearer to the sanctuary of his trench and raised his guard. A quick shot to the knees would surely be enough to stop them in their tracks, he thought. Before he could make a move, a voice called out from the source of the tapping.

‘Hold your horses, bucko, it’s me!’

Ironhide relaxed, if only somewhat, as Blackarachnia slid down into the trench next to him. She was cut up and bruised, but appeared as though she were in a finer working condition than he was. He guessed she had snuck around much of the action. Good for her. ‘What’s the situation like out there?’ he asked.

‘Everyone who isn’t a part of Krok’s division has either run off or kicked the bucket.’

‘How many does he have left?’

‘Krok? About twenty or thirty.’ She raised her claws defensively, though on closer inspection they appeared to have been trembling. ‘Now don’t let me get in the way of your carnage infused onslaught against forces twenty times your size, but... You can try what you like. As for me, I think I’m just about done with this whole killing and dying thing.’ She paused for half a second. ‘I guess this is what Optimus was talking about, huh.’

Ironhide squinted at her. It wasn’t nearly as catastrophic as the invasion of Earth, but Ironhide could empathize with Blackarachnia’s understanding of it. She was forced to watch the entire slaughter from the Tidal Wave’s surveillance monitors. So little for her to do except use one of Bludgeon’s greatest weapons on his own troops. She had been forced to watch what she might have once considered her comrades tear each other apart, either fueled by Bludgeon’s dogma or by Prime’s, when she wasn’t causing the carnage herself. It wasn’t like Earth, but Ironhide understood. This was Blackarachnia’s ‘Earth’. Just as Earth was the biggest battle Optimus had ever seen, Theopany was this to Blackarachnia. He chose not to respond to her last point and nodded gruffly. ‘Then I suppose now would be a good time to call down the Ark.’

Blackarachnia poked her head over the edge of the trench, scanning the no-man’s-land for signs of attack al-the-while humming skeptically over the uncharacteristic silence it brought. ‘Oh right, Jazz and the boss say they’ll be here any second now. Did you hear? They took down Bludgeon.’

‘As a matter of fact I did.’ He looked off to the side. ‘Not like I had any doubts in the first place.’

Blackarachnia stared at him, then grinned her sardonic grin. ‘Of course you didn’t, big lug.’

Voices popped in the distance. They sounded muffled at first, but with each passing word clarity washed over them. ‘We’re almost there! Eyes up, guns ready and mouths shut; we’re doing this right or we’re not doing this at all.’

‘That’s Krok,’ Blackarachnia whispered. ‘Any plans, mister experience?’

He readied his cannon. ‘Just a few trick-shots I’ve been meaning to test out.’

She shot him a wry look. ‘Come on now, we could actually die this time. You can at least try showing yourself some self-respect.’

‘We’ll be fine, Blackarachnia. We have to be.’

-----

Krok marched down the center of the corpse-strewn battlefield. Crankcase and Fulcrum stood at either side of him while the rest followed closely behind. What fliers remained hovered overhead, scouring the ground for survivors.

‘Krok!’ Spinister called from above. ‘I’m detecting three energy signatures emerging from the smoke up ahead.’

‘Can you ID them?’

‘I… yes. I’ll send you the feed via mental-link.’

‘Received.’ Krok frowned. ‘Oh no…’

The image was clear enough. Two of the three signatures were Optimus Prime and Jazz. The third, however, existed cradled in Optimus Prime’s arms. Bludgeon had been reduced to his smallest inner components. His pretender shell was gone. His equipment was gone. Bludgeon was nothing more than a rotting exoskeleton no bigger than Optimus himself. His limbs were like bone, and his head was only partly formed. Below where his nose would be was nothing but wire that would curve into his neck. He looked as though he could fall apart at the softest touch.

Soon, Optimus emerged from the smoke, and the state of their former commander was known to each member of Krok’s division.

‘Attention Decepticons!’ Optimus blurted out. ‘Your leader is in our custody. Most of your comrades are dead. Fighting to make him anything more than he already is, is futile.’

Krok felt something sickening rise from his fuel-pump.

Blackarachnia and Ironhide crawled out of the trenches and joined their commander as he continued his speech. ‘If you wish to attack us now, you may, but I guarantee you, Bludgeon will not survive.’

Crankcase leaned in towards Krok. ‘I say we attack. There’s no way he’s getting away with all of this— not without a smoking lump between his shoulders. Besides, Bludgeon was never that kind to us anyway.’

He placed a hand on the Dread Commander’s shoulder and squeezed. ‘Crankcase, if we weren’t doing this for Bludgeon…’

‘Krok— dammit, you’re hurting me!’

‘… Then what in the ever-loving pit have we been fighting for?’ Krok released his grip and moved Crankcase to face the blazed city that surrounded them.

Crankcase stared at the pile of cadavers lining the trenches. He stared at the patches of flames, having already spent their lives and slowly flickered towards death. He stared at Bludgeon and nodded. ‘Fair point… we’re still going to kill them though, right?’

‘I don’t—‘

‘We don’t need to fight any longer,’ Optimus bellowed. ‘We only want to leave. There’s no reason for us to perpetuate this needless bloodshed, not unless one of you plan on becoming Supreme Commander in Bludgeon’s place.’

As Prime’s words hung in the air, the remaining Decepticons turned their attention to Krok.

But the military strategist would only stare forward, terrified of the implications. Of any implication that he would be responsible for anything remotely of the scale. It was like when they would joke about “Misfire: Emperor of Destruction”, he was not far off. He was Krok. A former sportsman who signed up with the Decepticons on a whim. He was a grunt that got lucky one day and fell into Bludgeon’s cadre where through sheer competence he found himself where he was. He was Krok, and he was not ready.

‘No,’ Krok said. ‘No. We won’t—You’re right. There’s no reason for us to—‘

The wind roared as a large black shadow overtook the city. Optics blazed upwards and fires extinguished as a massive black mass eclipsed the sun and the roaring purple engines of a warship brightened the sky in its place. The Nemesis had emerged from its hangar and hovered overhead. Flaring its mass and dominance over the small Decepticon squadron below. If a fight were to continue, the Nemesis would eviscerate them all.

Ironhide pumped his cannons. ‘Dammit, I thought you said the Nemesis was powerless!’

‘It was!’ Jazz replied, pausing in between. ‘Only way that thing is possibly running is if they sapped what’s left of the city’s power-conduit.’ He paused, realizing he unintentionally answered their questions. ‘Which… is actually probably what they did.’

‘I guess if Bludgeon wasn’t using it…’ Optimus trailed off.

Jazz pointed to the glowing engines rotating on its underbelly. ‘See that smoke? Even with the power-conduit in place it don’t look like they’ve got a full tank. You ask me, I’d say they’re still running on fumes.’

‘Then we have a chance?’ Blackarachnia asked.

Jazz grinned. ‘Pff, you see the size of that thing?’

A panel opened on the Nemesis’ hull, and the sleek form of Starscream’s jet-mode burst out and soared down before the two parties. He transformed midair, activating his thrusters and hovering over his subjects. ‘Optimus!’ He called, spreading his arms wide. ‘You’ve made quite the mess, haven’t you?’

Optimus frowned, wincing as Bludgeon’s joints locked up. ‘Gloating, Starscream? How original.’

‘Ehh, yeah, yeah. Cliches, character archetypes… whatever. You see, the Nemesis is in a rather poor condition, and I’m afraid I have better uses for it than making you lot scatter around for another five minutes.’

That just left Optimus confused. ‘Such as?’

Starscream looked to Krok. ‘According to Wingspan’s data, several energy spikes have been appearing outside this planets solar-system. At the time, Bludgeon was too pre-occupied with the destruction of Optimus and the capture of Rosanna to do anything about it. After all, what could possibly be the risk of just a few energy spikes?’ He chuckled. ‘No seriously. It’s bad news.’

‘What is out there, Starscream?’ Optimus demanded.

‘I’ll leave that for you to figure out. But a word of advisory, now that Bludgeon’s railguns are down, I would use the opportunity to your advantage and get the heck out of here as soon as possible. After all, I need you alive if I want to kill you later.’

‘Wait!’ Krok shouted. ‘Wingspan found those reports days ago—how long before whatever’s out there reaches us?’

Ironhide was aiming his cannon at the Seeker’s forehead, waiting for a reason not to fire. ‘And just when the hell will you tell us what you know and quit being such a—’

‘Now why in the world would I bother with something as trivial as that?’ Starscream drawled, smiling wide. ‘They’ll be here in about three minutes.’

‘What?!’ Optimus stammered.

‘Toodles!’ Starscream disappeared back into the Nemesis before anyone could add another word.

As the Nemesis prepared to warp, Krok rallied his forces. ‘Decepticons, retreat! Take to the desert!’

Spinister reported. ‘The desert, sir?’

‘I don’t trust this city anymore. Honestly I doubt it can protect us from anything. If we scatter across the desert then we can at least ensure the survival of a majority.’

‘And Bludgeon?’

Krok activated his megaphone before turning to run towards the gate. ‘If you want to save Bludgeon, do so. If not, we’ll leave him in the Autobots hands for now. For his safety.’

They moved as one with Krok, making their way out through the city’s gate in seconds and rolling onto the outer Theopian desert. But none of them came for Bludgeon.

‘Aww hell,’ Blackarachnia sighed. ‘We’re going to die, aren’t we? I betcha Unicron’s coming—or the Fallen, or some resurrected version of Megatron calling himself Ga—‘

Optimus hushed her with the palm of his hand. ‘No, no. I think I know what’s coming. And by Primus it’s worse.’

‘—himself Gavin. No?’

‘What if Starscream was just messing with us? What then?’ Ironhide asked.

Optimus rested Bludgeon onto the ground, posturing him as if he were on his deathbed. ‘Better safe than sorry. Besides, I believe him. We need to get out of here fast, and luckily…’

The Ark swooped down from above, hovering just high enough above the ground for the four Autobots to board. As soon as they touched the metal of the Ark’s floor, the Autobot freighter took flight; elevating towards the planet’s atmosphere.

‘… I have an awesome space ship that can warp as it pleases.’

‘You waited until we got into the Ark and took off to finish that sentence?’ Blackarachnia asked, kneeling on the floor.

Optimus turned to her and shrugged.

Jazz smirked. ‘Seems to me the chief may have some memory problems. The kind that come with age, y’know? Like he forgot he was talking in the first-place and—’

Optimus chuckled. ‘Jazz, did you know this ship has over seventy airlocks? They’re there in case someone needs to leave the ship while still in mid-flight. I’ll show them to you—you’d love them, I promise.’

‘Guys.’ Rosanna’s voice boomed over the comm. ‘Yeah, I know you told me to just leave the Ark on autopilot and all, but, uh, it’s giving me all these readings telling me something positively MASSIVE is about to warp straight above us.’

‘Uh oh.’ Optimus, Jazz, and Ironhide transformed into their vehicular modes and raced to the bridge, and, as Blackarachnia had no vehicle mode to call her own, the spider merely walked.

Arriving first, Jazz took Rosanna’s side over the front-view monitor and examined the readings she spoke of. ‘What’s the brief?’

Rosanna flinched. ‘Whoa. You’re pretty close—I mean, well, see for yourself.’

Optimus and Ironhide arrived next. The former of which made a bee-line for his command chair and entered in a set of randomized co-ordinates for warp. ‘If it’s what I think it is then we should be getting an Autobot reading.’

Jazz stepped back upon examining the code. ‘Huh, well whaddyou know? It is an Autobot signature. Multiple of them.’

‘Well that’s good, right?’ Rosanna asked, looking to the others for support. ‘Uh, that means they’re friends, right?’

Optimus frowned over his lap. He closed his eyes. ‘Ironhide, Jazz… get us out of here.’

‘Wait, what?’

But the Ark’s power-core had already been set aglow, and its thrusters had activated their warp-functions. Tapping into the nearest space-bridge conduit, the Ark shot into a burst of light and disappeared altogether.

In its place warped hundreds of warships. Silver and sleek, and studded with blasters fresh off Wheeljack’s supply line. Still warm and scented with that newly manufactured musk that gun-lovers like Roadbuster and Atomizer loved. The helm ship took the lead, entering the atmosphere with its guns warmed to fire. A voice boomed from the head speaker. ‘This is Military General Prowl of the Autobot Army with the third legion of the Autobot Aerospace legion under my command. In the name of the Tyrest accord, the Autobot Code, and the acting Magnus Ultra— you are under arrest.’

There was a silence on the bridge as the fleet awaited a response. When there wasn’t, Prowl spoke once more. ‘Prime?’

Silence.

‘Prime, you are under arrest.’

Silence.

‘Please answer me.’

Silence.

Prowl cursed under his breath so that the others wouldn’t hear him break his composure. ‘He’s not here.’

The bridge sighed collectively. They had spent hours organizing themselves over nothing.

‘I’m detecting some signals.’ Hubcap reported from his comms chair. ‘You, uh, think it might be worth taking a look-see?’ He turned in his chair to face Prowl. He had to look up, as the captain’s chair was leveled higher than the rest. ‘I mean, even if the guy we’re looking for isn’t really here, we can still investigate the other Cybertronian life-signs in the area.’

Prowl nodded, though it was clear to everyone that he was upset by the turnout.

-----

Prowl stood among the core-search team of the fleet. A battle had occurred only moments ago. That was clear even without the piles of bodies littering the area. For all he knew any one of those charred bodies could have belonged to Optimus. No. He realized. We would know if he had perished. He strode to Sonar, who had been in some discussion with Hubcap and Punch. Sonar, Hubcap, Searchlight, Rollout, and Punch made up his command staff. They were high members of Mirage’s intelligence committee, and thus knew about as much as he did on the kinds of operations he had taken place. He also trusted them to a degree, unlike most others under his command. ‘Any signs of life?’ Prowl asked.

Sonar replied, ‘Yes, albeit a small few. Electro has reported the remains of a severely damaged survivor lying on the ground a few yards from here. We don’t have any ID yet, but we do know they are Decepticon.’

‘They’re all Decepticons.’ Hubcap exclaimed. ‘This was some nasty civil war slag that went down. I didn’t know they were even allowed to do this kind of thing!’

Prowl cocked his head to the side in consideration. ‘If what Arcee says is true, then it is entirely possible that Prime’s presence garnered this kind of slaughter.’

‘Yeah, no kidding,’ Punch added, observing the recon teams in action. ‘It’s not unlike the Decepticons to sport some infighting. Especially when it comes to leadership. This though?’ He whistled at the piles of dead. ‘If this is Optimus Prime’s doing then he sounds just as bad as you say, Prowl.’

Prowl didn’t like the sound of that. It didn’t sound like Optimus whatsoever. Thankfully the most likely possibility was that Prime had passed through, and the conflict was entirely out of his hands. He was far from a sadist, after all. Really, he was undeserving of his status as the most wanted Cybertronian alive, so Prowl believed.

‘Yo! We got one!’ It was Rollout. The large Autobot bounded towards the group with Searchlight and a few others under his command. Under his arm was a tall Decepticon who looked relatively less tall when situated under a large, babbling Autobot’s armpit. ‘I found this guy sneaking around in the rubble!’ He bragged. ‘Thought I’d tussle him up a notch, but whaddyou know—‘

‘Yeah, yeah, I came willingly,’ The Decepticon said. ‘Y’know, if I really felt like getting my hands dirty I’d kick your aft back to Cybertron you overgrown—Oh, hey Prowl. I thought I smelt something prickly around here.’

Prowl frowned. ‘Banzaitron.’

‘Been a while, eh partner?’

Prowl turned to Sonar. ‘Get me a gun.’

Banzaitron squirmed out of Rollout’s grip, stood above the Military strategist, and began dusting himself off. ‘Geez louise, Prowl! There's no need for that—‘

‘You’re a Decepticon, Banzaitron. A famous one at that.’

‘Yes, and you’re an Autobot. Hasn’t stopped us from working together in the past though.’ He grinned beneath his slender face-plate. ‘Hasn't it?’

Prowl called off the order with the wave of his hand before placing his full attention on the Decepticon. ‘So what? You think we’ll let you go?’

‘If you want to continue receiving the information from me that you oh, so desire, yes.’

Rollout guffawed. ‘HAH! Yeah right. Like you’re gonna “buy” your freedom from Prowl. It’s over, con!’

‘How many are with you?’ Prowl asked.

‘Two. Axer and Treadshot, are their names. They’re with me now. The rest were killed off by Bludgeon.’

‘Bludgeon?’ Hubcap nearly choked. ‘He’s still around here?’

‘Alive, too. Not in very good shape, but alive. I wouldn’t be surprised if you found the bastard already.’

‘Uh huh.’ He signaled the helm ship prepare for departure. ‘You can ride with us. You’ll tell us everything you know about what occurred here, and in exchange we’ll drop you off somewhere you won’t be recognized.’

Banzaitron grinned. ‘That sounds just positively lovely.’

Rollout stared at Prowl, puzzled. ‘Wait, you’re serious?’

Prowl sighed. ‘A deals a deal. We benefit him, he benefits us. That’s how mercenaries work.’ He scratched the back of his head as he led Banzaitron to the ship. ‘The real problem at hand is how I am going to explain all of this to Magnus when we return.’

-----

Cannonball awoke with a start. A dream? A dream. Yes, there was no way his prized ship the Tidal Wave could have possibly—

‘Oy, the Captain’s awake,’ Finback cawed to the rest of the group.

‘Oh.’ Cannonball was lying still on a stretcher pulled by Crowbar and Finback. They had lost after all. He couldn’t tell what his crew had numbered to, but he was sure it was salvageable. ‘Get me Brimstone!’ He announced groggily. Things would be back on track in no time.

‘Brimstone’s dead.’ Crowbar told him.

‘Oh.’ That sucked. He tried to think of who was next in charge, but dared not ask in case they were dead too. ‘Erm, who have we lost, Finback?’

‘A few…’ Finback muttered. ‘Krok took the majority off with him. We kind of just followed suit with what was left.’

‘Names, Finback. I want names!’

‘Aye, sir. Lessee… Thundertron wasn’t dead when we found him, but with his age catching up it was only a matter of time before... We ended up having to leave him there in favour of you…’ He shook his head. ‘Old boy was gonna die at any second. I told him that all the time. Still, he had a few good years left in him. A damn shame they’ll have to go to waste.’

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. Who else?’

‘We never found Ferak’s body. Wingspan, Pounce, and Axer abandoned us for Banzaitron and the rest, and, well, you know what? That’s all you need to know. Anyone who’s not here is already dead.’

‘I see. Wait.’ Cannonball sat up with a jolt, and looked around him. Where was his crew? Where were his loyal subjects? ‘You’re kidding me.’

‘We’re all that’s left.’ Crowbar explained. ‘Just you, me, Finback, and—‘

‘And me.’ Tornado answered. Limping alongside the stretcher.

‘Only three left…’ Cannonball lowered himself back onto the stretcher and went limp. ‘Only three…’ His mind went blank.

----

‘How many times have I repaired you this week?’ Optimus asked, placing his laser scalpels back into their dish and washing his servos. ‘Because it feels like I’ve had to fix you periodically.’

Blackarachnia shrugged, sitting up on the slab as she did. ‘Whatever, man, I’m a delicate flower worthy of universal affection. ‘S why I got fixed before Ironhide did.’

Ironhide grunted from across the room. He had been leaning against the farthest wall within the med-center of the Ark; watching as Optimus acted his part as medic/leader of Team Prime.

‘Nothing to say, Ironhide?’ She chuckled. ‘Jealous because I’m the new favourite?’

He grunted again. ‘We forgot Bludgeon.’

Optimus nearly dropped one of his newly polished scalpel. ‘Crap.’

Blackarachnia frowned up at him. ‘You didn’t leave him on purpose?’

He smirked, waving his scalpel at the former Decepticon. ‘Nah, I’m just kidding around. Yeah, I did.’

‘Huh,’ Blackarachnia stared forward. ‘I guess we left him to die after all.’

‘Not exactly,’ Optimus replied. ‘His safety is guaranteed as soon as Prowl arrives—which he must have by now. He’ll be in the Hub’s prison hold or a Garrus complex in no time.’

Ironhide moved away from the wall. ‘Those Autobot signals…’

Optimus nodded. ‘An Autobot armada, yeah. Prowl must have led it in search of me.’

‘How would he find us?’

‘I…’ Optimus lowered his head. ‘I have a few theories, but I can’t say I want them to be true.’

‘Maybe it’s a traitor,’ Blackarachnia said casually. She stretched her head back so she could face the door. ‘I wonder where Jazz went.’

Optimus stared at her. ‘What?’

She stared back. ‘What?’

‘Why did you say that?’

‘Say what?’

‘You wondered if there was a traitor, and then asked where Jazz was.’

‘So?’

‘So I’m inclined to believe you’re insinuating something. And for both our sakes, I hope you’re not.’

She grinned. ‘Maybe I am. Is it going to sway your judgement? No? Didn’t think so.’

Optimus slammed his fist against the edge of her slab, causing her to jolt upward and onto her feet. ‘You still don’t trust him? After he saved our lives? Your life?!’

‘I take it no matter what I say you’ll still disagree.’

‘He stopped the Dreads! He literally took a bullet for the team!’

‘So he’s officially on our team, now?’

‘Yes. No… I don’t know yet.’ Optimus brought his palms to his face. ‘Why?’

‘Why don’t I trust him?’

He shot her a glance from the cracks between his fingers that read “what else could I mean?”

‘Decepticon intuition. A survival instinct, you could call it. You keep yourself around an untrustworthy bunch for long enough and you begin to pick up on what makes them untrustworthy.’

Optimus threw his hands in the air. ‘I should have expected as much.’

‘Then you tell me, why do you trust Jazz?’

Optimus glared at her through icy optics. He could barely believe he was being asked such a question. ‘Because… well… it’s Jazz!’

‘Uh huh.’

‘He taught me how to fight!’

‘I was taught by Shockwave. Y’know, the Decepticon who collapsed an entire universe with his bare hands? Er, hand, but y’know…’

‘He’s been a loyal member of the Autobots for decades!’

‘Technically every member of the Autobots is a “loyal member”. You don’t just accept treasonous people to be a part of your armed forces. Even the treacherous don’t last long in the Decepticons. They exist, but they get away with it by hiding the evidence. Usually we don’t learn about their treachery until after they’re found out. Technically—or rather, officially, everyone’s loyal as long as they’re not found out. Even Starscream, officially, at least, is a loyal Decepticon. He hasn’t assassinated any superiors, as far as anyone can tell, and he hasn’t betrayed his followers so much as he just treats them like slag. He’s just notorious for being extremely critical of Megatron’s government—which is exactly why Megatron made him his second in the first place. If anything, Starscream is more honest than any of us.’

Optimus wanted to scream, but he couldn’t think of the words to express it.

‘Okay, easy question. How well do you know Jazz personally?’

Easy, Optimus thought. ‘He’s good natured, calm, effective. He likes music. He’s made me laugh in the past. He’s good at his job. He’s a member of the Elite Guard. He’s friendly—‘

‘None of that describes who he is, though. Not the way you perceive it. “He likes music” most people like music, you know. Just because I’m not constantly listening to something doesn’t mean I like music any less than he does. And calm? Good natured? Really? No one’s calm, Optimus, we’re in a goddamn war for Primus’ sake. You tell me someone’s good natured and calm to their very core and I’ll call you a liar. What does he fear? What keeps him up at night? What was his upbringing like? Oh, what are his political views? You can always tell a lot about someone based on their political views. Is he a part of the conservative majority of the Autobots, or is he like you—jaded by the contradictions present in both factions?’

Somehow imagining Jazz with having any sort of political opinions made him feel sick, though he knew he must have had some ideas, he could not explain why it bothered him so.

‘There, see? That face you just made—you don’t want a person, you just someone to tell you you’re right! You don’t want to have to deal with real people with feelings and opinions! For someone who focuses so much on the grey aspects of the Autobot Decepticon war, you like to think pretty one-dimensionally when it comes to the individual participants. I guess Prowl’s a completely evil, irredeemable villain as well, right?’

Optimus searched his brain for an answer to her, fingers digging into the palms of his hands until dents began to form. He was shaking with rage, when suddenly, all of it stopped. He brought a hand to his face, and laughed. ‘I just realized… I don’t know why I’m even having this conversation…’ His fingers dragged down the curves of his face before dropping to his side. ‘You’re the Decepticon here.’

The three stood staring at each other. Their faces as blank as the day they were manufactured; the look they had moments before their sparks came to life and they made their first expressions.

‘You know…?’ Blackarachnia’s mouth curved into a sideways grin. ‘In spite of everything, I never expected you to stoop that low.’

‘What?’ Optimus spun around to Ironhide. ‘Come on, Ironhide, help me out here.’

‘I completely agree with everything you said,’ Ironhide told him. ‘I think it’s silly to assume that everyone or anyone can be a traitor or a spy just because you don’t know them well enough—‘

‘See?’

‘—but as your friend I have to say that was the most immature thing I’ve heard you say in a long time.’

Blackarachnia had already begun to leave and was practically already out the door.

Optimus stared at the black Autobot, baffled. ‘You’re kidding me—you’ve called Blackarachnia a Decepticon ever since you first laid eyes on her!’

Ironhide slowly walked past him. ‘I stopped seriously cussing her out weeks ago. I don’t particularly like her yet the way I like you, but at least the feelings are mutual. We criticize each other because it’s one of those things that keeps us sane. You can say it comes hand in hand. You said what you said because you didn’t want to lose an argument. And yet you actually believed it when you said it. Ad hominem, Optimus.’

Optimus tried to think of an explanation or an excuse, but Ironhide was already nearing the door, and Optimus knew Ironhide would not listen. Still, he desperately wanted him to stay. ‘I haven’t repaired you yet,’ Optimus whispered.

‘You can do it later. I’m tired. I’m going to go lay down.’

And he was gone. Optimus stood in the center of the room, alone and angry. He turned around, and scanned the tall glass medicine cabinet pressed against the wall. With a roar, he grabbed the cabinet with both hands, and threw it across the room. The cabinet shattered as it hit the floor, capsules of specialty medicine spilling out and over the gold panelling of the Ark.

He stood, hands trembling, staring at the mess he made. It would take a long time to clean up, he realized.

 

Coffee let me just state that I have spent the better part of about two hours reading this story. That's the most investment I have ever put into a fanfic, and if Hasbro was ever out asking random people what the next big transformers story would be I would simply show them this one. Keep up the good work man!

 

Ironhide rapped the back of his knuckles against the side of Blackarachnia’s cell. She had been lying face-down on the floor. ‘Occupied.’

‘I can see that.’ The cell was sealed with glass and could only be entered through a small glass rectangle in the right-most side of the pane. It was the same one Blackarachnia had broken through so long ago. The one where she had thought she murdered Cog was just across from her. Though only Ironhide knew the true state of the mysterious Kimian. Still, the room gave off bad memories for the both of them. Ironhide wondered why she hadn’t asked to move to a proper room. By all means, she had graduated from being their prisoner.

‘What do you want? I’m tired.’ Blackarachnia said. ‘Gimme a few more hours and I’ll kick your aft in the morning.’

‘I think time’s subjective in space.’

‘Shut up.’

Ironhide folded his arms and leaned his broad shoulders against the cell’s glass.

Blackarachnia raised her head. ‘Seriously, what are you doing here? If you’re going to force me to apologize to Optimus then you’re talking to the wrong babe.’

‘I never said that.’

‘Fine then.’

They basked in silence for what felt like hours. It was about three minutes. Ironhide remained leaning against the cell. Staring up at the ceiling with his arms folded into his body. Blackarachnia laid on her side, staring at the back-wall of her cell. It was all they needed.

‘I don’t know if I even actually mistrust Jazz,’ Blackarachnia said, finally. ‘I mean, I have a bad gut-feeling about him. But really, I have the same feeling around everyone. I excused it as a Decepticon thing, but now I think I just hate people.’

‘I’ve been there,’ Ironhide snorted.

‘I know you’ve been there. You’re pissed off at everything.’

‘You know what—?’ Ironhide began to fume, then, as soon as his body was capable of registering the change in mood, he mellowed. ‘Actually yeah, pretty much.’

Blackarachnia sighed. ‘Y’know, while part of me—a great part of me, actually—thinks we should beware the guy, I think… I mean, I get the feeling I just… I think I’m just afraid of change.’

Ironhide turned his head to face her.

‘I mean, I liked what was going for us three. You, the angry shouting old-guy, me, the awesome-cool-fun-time Decepticon, and Optimus, the mediator guy. It was nice. It felt right. But with Jazz hanging around… it’s just kind of hard to accept. Especially for me.’ She went silent. ‘I kind of hoped just the three of us would have this adventure forever.’

‘Nothing’s forever,’ Ironhide said. ‘Obviously. If not one of us leaves, or has to go home sick, or gets arrested—well, one of us will die. It’s just an eventuality dictated by the universe. If the Decepticons don’t catch us, then old age will. No use to get all misty-eyed about it.’

‘Yeah… Yeah I know.’

‘Then the other two will cry. We’ll carry on, and eventually, soon after maybe, another will bite it, and only one will remain.’

She sat up. ‘Or we could all just die at the same time. That doesn’t sound so bad.’

Ironhide couldn’t help but grin beneath his faceplate. ‘Ugh, you’re not suggesting that “suicide party” idea again, are you.’

‘To be fair, that was when I actually wanted you to die.’ She paused. ‘I mean—wait, no. I still want you to die. Did you catch me not constantly wanting you to die? How embarrassing!’ She chuckled.

‘Yeah.’ Ironhide huffed. ‘But that’s why we gotta keep bringing new people into our lives. So that when two of the Spacefarers leave us, there will still be a thousand more remaining.’

‘Yeah.’

They went silent once more. Neither saying a word nor a jibe. They had remained in the same position as before. Unmoving. Unspeaking. The hum of the Ark’s quantum engine filling their audio-receptors and flooding through their bodies in perfect harmony.

‘Thank you, Ironhide.’

‘Nn?’

‘What?’

‘You say something?’

‘No. I haven’t said an thing since you got here. You need to get your audio receptors checked, or what?’

‘Ah. Right.’ Ironhide took his leave. ‘See ya, then.’

‘See ya.’

As he left, Blackarachnia rolled over onto her back; looking up at the ceiling, she smiled, and outside in the Ark’s corridor, Ironhide did the same.

-----

Optimus strode down his homely halls in a daze. He had survived. They all had survived. He had accomplished something he never thought possible. Yet here he was. Dreary. Sunken and sullen. He always had to mess something up somehow. Whatever God existed, be it Primus or one of Bludgeon’s Cacogens of Darkness, whoever they were, they did not intend to let Optimus off so easily. He found himself standing in front of the temporary hab-suite he had personally suited for Jazz. He pounded the door.

Jazz had been speaking with someone mid-sentence, and had only raised his voice to accept Prime’s proposal to enter. He entered just as Jazz was saying his goodbyes to his former commander: Sentinel Prime. Though Sentinel and he locked optics through the vid-screen briefly, it was clear neither Optimus nor he had any intention of striking up a last minute conversation. The screen fizzled black, and Jazz spun around in his chair to speak with his current land (or ship)-lord. A wide grin had parted across his face.

‘Good news, chief! Sentinel has given the all-clear for me to jive on your ship. Just as you asked, I got his permission. He wants me to update him periodically on what’s going on for a while, but otherwise—‘

‘Jazz, can I talk to you for a minute?’

Jazz blinked beneath his visor. It took him a matter of seconds to realize something was wrong from the look of Prime’s disposition. ‘Yeah, anything you want, Prime. Just say the word. Take a seat if you feel like it. You’re the boss, not me.’

Optimus did just that, pulling out a chair from the work-bench and sitting a meter across from Jazz. ‘Listen, Jazz. I feel as though I’ve been a little hasty in my acceptance towards your assimilation into my crew.’

Jazz looked around, waiting for someone to jump out and tell him he was joking. ‘You’re serious?’

Optimus nodded. ‘You understand the severity of my—of our— situation. Don’t you?’

‘Well, yeah. 'Course I do. You’ve got about the most severe situation out of pretty much anybody.’

‘Then you would also understand why one might want to be… protective, when it comes to accepting new companions in this context.’

He nodded. Thought. Then raised his servos. ‘Hey listen, if you’re worried about trusting me or if I might leak anything to Sentinel then you've got nothin’ to worry about. I never said this, but I'm not too fond of the guy. Like at all. I still worked for the guy, but…’

Optimus signaled for him to be quiet, and Jazz obeyed. The Prime rested his hands beneath his chin. ‘It’s not that. Not really. I want to trust you, Jazz. I want you to belong here.’

‘You think I don’t?’

‘—but for that to happen, I’ll need you to convince me.’

Jazz opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, and shook his head in silence. ‘I don’t… I don’t really know what to say. I mean, you’ve known me for over a thousand years.’

‘Have I?’

The question hung in the air, and Jazz, though he seemed so certain of his statement, began to question it himself. ‘Well, who knows?’ He muttered. ‘I suppose… I suppose we only knew each-other before we graduated, didn’t we?’

‘Exactly.’ Optimus rose from his chair, towering over Jazz. ‘I want to trust you Jazz. I actually like you. But liking and understanding something are two completely different things. After we graduated from the Academy I was drafted as a Prime, and you were trained to be a special operative. You were essentially a black-ops agent. What a wrecker should have been, but better. I never knew Jazz the Autobot. I would greatly appreciate it if you introduced him to me.’

Jazz sat, blank-faced in his chair. Then, he got up, turned around, and moved over to a data-pad lying flat next to the computer terminal he had contacted Sentinel with. He plugged his thumb into its rim, and a holographic projector activated. ‘I didn’t want to have to do this…’

Prime flinched, expecting him to pull out some pistol or blade to defend himself with, but as it turned out, the words were just that. Words. Nothing had befallen him. Instead, the room came alight with holographic star-maps, data-profiles, and debriefings.

‘Some of it’s already been shredded, but here is a collection of all recorded reports on my… doings, in the war.’ He pointed at the individual files, naming them off. ‘Assassination attempts. Assassination successes. Thought Assassination. Misinformation campaigns. Galactic censorship. Protection of fraud. Tech theft. Underground dealings. Interrogation. The list goes on.’

Optimus squinted at the reports, swiping one holographic visual aside to view the next. ‘These orders were issued by Prowl…’

‘A whole lot of my orders were issued by Prowl.’

Optimus swept the hologram away to the side with a massive swing of his arm. ‘You’ve been working under Prowl for the past millennia—and you never thought to tell me?!’

Jazz raised his servos above his head. ‘It’s not like—okay, it’s true. He and I worked almost hand-in-hand for… for about as long as you’re suggesting. That's wack, I know. BUT, that doesn’t mean I’m still working with him now. I am not proud of what I did, and… and honestly I sometimes wish I never existed. I don’t believe in a lot of his methods, you know? Just like you. And just like you, I wanted to do something… different. Something a less violent. Something that gives more than it takes away.’

‘Still,’ Prime swept his digits across his brow and began massaging his face. ‘The Pragmatist scouring the galaxy in hopes of arresting me has been your boss for a quarter century, and you didn’t think for a second that I might have wanted to know I was going to make someone like you my lieutenant?’

Jazz stammered. ‘I just—I didn’t—,’ his servos fell into his lap. ‘I was afraid you’d send me back to Sentinel if you ever found out.’

Optimus lowered his guard. ‘You really don’t like it there, with Sentinel, do you?’

Jazz stared into his lap. Silent.

Optimus closed the hologram, then returned the data-pad back to where Jazz had found it. ‘If you ever refuse to disclose information—important information—volatile information—such as this with me again, then I really will send you back to Sentinel.’

Jazz’s head bolted up. ‘Wait—you mean…?’

Optimus made his way back to the other side of the room; to the door. ‘If you’re going to be my lieutenant commander on this ship, then I fully expect you to live up to the role. You’ll be my other half. Everything you know—everything you hear—filters into me. I will not tolerate withheld information on this ship.’ Optimus winced, realizing his own hypocrisy in that statement. ‘I want all of your past records on my desk by the end of the cycle. For your sake, do not leave anything out.’

Jazz bounced to his feet. ‘Chief—I mean, Sir! Does this mean I can remain on the ship, sir?’

Optimus was already preparing to leave. ‘For now, yes. For now, you are an official member of Team Prime. But just know that this talk is not yet over. I want to know everything about the Autobot claiming to want to be a part of this mess. I’ll be coming by again to resume our talk. Until then, welcome to Team Prime. Welcome to the Spacefarers.’

As Optimus was about to leave, Jazz spoke up. ‘Any hints as to what we're going to be talking about?’

Optimus hesitated.

‘Can you give me an example?’ Jazz asked.

Optimus turned around, shrugged. ‘Fear.’ With that, he left.

Sitting alone in his room. Jazz stared at his palm, thinking. Fear. Did he mean “what I fear”?

Jazz thought about this in silence. He thought about his future on the ship. He thought about the possible lives he could have had, and the one he had now.

‘The Autobots.’

‘What?’ The monitor came back to life. Sentinel’s face appeared on the screen. He had added a red faceplate and an orange paint-job to his ever changing appearance. The Prime had long chains draping from the sides of his head like orange jewelry, and a massive helm that would have appeared ceremonial, but was in all intents and purposes mere decoration.

‘Nothing, sir.’ Jazz replied.

‘Did you get a load of that guy?’ Sentinel gushed. ‘I’d say old Orion’s changed over the years, but really, who can tell? He isn’t really that good at being threatening, is he?’

‘No sir.’

‘Or trying to be somebody. He’s one sad, sad, bot. Like, there's Rodimus bad, but… Ah… I just realized… who cares. You on the other hand, Jazz. You’re amazing! He actually bought all that gunk of “trying to atone of past mistakes”.’ He laughed. ‘You’re a better actor than I am!’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘But seriously.’ Sentinel’s tone went solemn. ‘I didn’t hear since we were interrupted, but you did complete your mission for me, yes?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Good.’ Sentinel leaned back into his chair. Then stopped, pondered, and leaned forward once more. ‘Just so we’re clear, you did arrest and execute the Circle of Light, correct?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘And you didn’t—Oh. Oh good! Wow, I really don’t give you enough credit. Huh. They believed everything you—wow. Prowl wasn’t kidding. And here I am assigning you to information gathering.’

Jazz grinned. ‘Just another part of the job, chief.’

-----

Optimus bumped into Rosanna in the hall. ‘Oh, sorry about that. Again.’

Rosanna glared up at him. ‘Primus—you really don’t watch where you’re going, do you?’ Frantically, she tossed her servos into the air above her head. ‘You just like to doze off into your own personal reverie dreamland. Completely ignorant to actual events and the actual people surrounding you, huh?’

‘Look, I really don’t have time for this right now. Speaking of which, where the hell have you been all this time? I can pretty much guarantee your safety here, but I should still probably have you guarded.’

‘Oh.’ She shrugged. ‘I was just, you know, doing idol stuff. Because I’m an idol if you can’t already tell.’

‘Oh I can tell.’ Optimus sighed, and continued down the hall. Rosanna followed. He was forced to stain his neck to look down on her. ‘I don’t suppose you’re planning to join the crew as well, are you?’

Rosanna laughed. And laughed. And laughed. ‘No. Never. As soon as I’m back home I’m staying way away from this death magnet you got here. Besides, I gotta job to do back with Chromia.’ She paused. ‘I mean if it was just Jazz, then fine. But if I stayed now my life—my precious life—would be at risk.’

‘Just Jazz, huh.’

‘Yeah. Wait. That didn’t sound right. It’s not like it sounds.’

Optimus grinned. ‘Uh-huh.’

‘What? He’s a good guy, yeah? A little weird with his dancing, but, like, he saved me, didn’t he?’

‘No, by all means, you’re right. Jazz is a great guy. Back in the day he could never keep the ladies off of him.’

‘Right.’ She stopped. ‘Wait, what? What does that mean? What are you insinuating? Are you even insinuating anything? ARRGH!’ She turned around and stomped off in the opposite direction.

Grinning, Optimus rounded a corner and spotted the cell-block from afar. He took a deep breath, and his expression dropped. He entered the cell-block. He made his way to her cell. She was sitting, facing the other way. He knocked on the glass.

‘Uh huh?’

‘It’s Optimus.’

‘And?’

‘And I don’t know if this is worth anything to you, but I’m genuinely sorry for the things I said.’

‘Mkay.’

Optimus waited. When he didn’t get a response, he spoke up. ‘I wasn’t expecting much, but, uh…’

‘You’re not getting much.’

‘Was that a statement, or you finishing my sentence?’

She got up and turned around, her stance sober, but not uncaring. She was sure to look him in the eye in hopes he would do the same for her. ‘Look, I’ve been thinking about this. I was thinking about how I’d respond to you from now on. I was initially going to pretend nothing hurts me and that I’ve never been hurt before, but I figured you and I are adult enough to quit following such stupid presumptions. I think that it’s for the best that I speak the truth, and that that truth is that I don’t forgive you.’

Optimus couldn’t understand. ‘You’re not supposed to say that.’

‘Oh by all means I can say what I’m “supposed” to say. I can tell you that your apology is accepted. But that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? That would seal all our problems up as if they never happened. As if nothing is wrong, or ever was wrong. I don’t forgive you, Optimus. Because I think you, like the rest of us, need to learn about the fallout of mistakes. We can still be friends. We can still hang-out. And you’re still my boss. But I think that—because Ironhide and Jazz will always tell you what you want to hear—you need a proper, painful, shove in the right direction. Instead of receiving your “closure”, you need to learn, and live, with the shitty thing you did.’

Optimus stepped away from the cell. ‘I don’t know what to say to that.’

‘Good. You’re not supposed to.’

Optimus frowned, and stormed out of the cell-block. ‘I don’t even know why I bothered.’

As he made his way down the hall, he could hear Blackarachnia say: ‘You bothered because you couldn’t delude yourself fast enough.’

Optimus marched to the bridge. He parted open the doors with a violent shove and landed into his command chair. He stared at his hands. He couldn’t tell what he was doing wrong, but at the same time, he knew he was mostly upset because he didn’t receive his forgiveness—as if it were some deserved form of payment for his struggles.

‘You awake?’

Optimus jolted up, craned his head. Ironhide stood by his side. ‘Oh, it’s you. Sorry, you had me spooked. I thought you were getting some rest.’

‘I was.’ He cocked his head to the side. ‘Anything you want to talk about, then?’

‘No. Sort of. Yes.’

‘Blackarachnia?’

‘Blackarachnia.’

Ironhide heaved a heavy sigh, staring out the bridge’s front-view window and toward the clusters of stars that loomed ahead. ‘Best just try and ignore it for now.’

‘How am I supposed to do that?’

He shrugged.

Optimus massaged the sides of his head in irritation. ‘Part of me wants to know how to make it up to her, and part of me doesn’t even know how what I said affected her. Nothing affects her.’

Ironhide shrugged again. ‘She looks up to you.’

Optimus stared at him like he told a bad joke.

‘You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want, but you can’t disagree that you’re the only one who ever gave her a chance.’

‘That’s fair. I guess.’

‘Aye, it is.’

‘Doesn’t mean I understand her though.’

Silence on the bridge.

‘Can you really fully understand anyone? If you never experienced the same things they did, I mean.’

‘I guess not.’ He shuffled in his chair. ‘I understand you, though.’

He raised a brow at that. ‘Do you now? You don’t know everything about me, you know. You don’t know about the stuff I got up to back in boot-camp.’ He winked.

Optimus scoffed. ‘Of course I do. You were always around me because nobody else ever wanted to hang out with you.’

Ironhide laughed at that. ‘Okay. Still. You don’t know everything.’

‘I guess not.’ Optimus said, shrugging. ‘You’re still my brother, though.’

‘First I’ve heard of it.’

‘Not literally. Just… you know, forget it.’

Ironhide hummed, squinting at the stars they passed. ‘You contact Chromia yet?’

‘I did. No response.’ He sat up in his seat and began tapping commands into the arms of his chair. ‘Thanks for reminding me. She should be wary of my trying to contact her by now.’

After a moment’s pause, Optimus frowned. ‘Still no response.’

Ironhide hugged himself. ‘Hope they aren’t in any trouble.’

‘Yeah…’ Optimus leaned his elbow against the arm of his command chair and began tapping at the side of his faceplate. ‘I’m sure they’re fine.’

-----

‘What do you think?’

‘I think, Arcee, that I will most likely be reprimanded for my misconduct.’

Prowl, Arcee, and Hubcap stood at the helm of the flagship. They, as well as the rest of the fleet, were on a fast approach back to the orbital command hub, where Ultra Magnus awaited. Prowl was dreading their reunion, as he had hoped that by retrieving Optimus, his lack of authorization to mobilize an entire fleet would be overlooked. He did not, and it would not be.

‘Not that,’ Arcee drawled. ‘I’m talking about the Decepticons.’

Prowl turned to face her and scowled. ‘I presume you mean Banzaitron, Axer, and Treadshot.’

‘I wasn’t really asking for their names, but…’ she nodded.

‘As… unappealing Banzaitron might be in terms of his social skills, he makes up for it in reliability.’

‘Kind of like you, huh?’ Hubcap chuckled.

Prowl ignored him. ‘In other words, I trust him.’

‘Yeah?’ Arcee grinned.

The military strategist winced in irritation. ‘Are you still here?’

‘Rollout and Punch are preparing a craft for me down below,’ Arcee explained. ‘I’ll be gone in a few clicks, don't you worry your pretty little head-spikes about it.’

‘If I seem ungrateful, I apologize.’ Prowl muttered. ‘I really do appreciate you finding Optimus’ location for me. I just can't figure out why you would stay he trip back. We could have easily dropped you off at the sanctuary.’

She tapped the side of her head and grinned. ‘You could say I like to be in the loop. And this bridge is very telling indeed.’ She had already begun rolling away to the elevator across the room as she spoke. ‘Oh and, ah, tell Magnus I said hi.’

Prowl groaned. It felt like an eternity, but the fleet had returned and entered the massive orbital space-stations hangar-bay. As soon as he stepped out onto the gleaming metal steps, Prowl and Hubcap were escorted to Ultra Magnus’s office. Prowl wondered briefly why Mirage and the rest were not following them, then realized that Magnus had considered the entirety of the operation Prowl’s responsibility and had merely brought Hubcap along to bear witness.

Within minutes of entering his office, Ultra Magnus had already begun throwing things around.

‘Could you imagine my frustration when Countdown contacted me telling me an entire section of the aerial-fleet had vanished under the authorization of seemingly no-one?!’

‘It was of my own authorization, sir.’

He knocked a tablet off his desk with his prosthetic claw and glared into Prowl with burning blue optics. He struck his claw forward, nearly clipping the military strategist’s head-crest clean off. ‘I don’t know who you think you are, Prowl, but you are in no position to make decisions of such caliber without my permission!’ He snorted at the pile of data-pads lying in the corner of the room. ‘Now look at what you’re making me do, I’m making a mess… Arresting Optimus? I don’t think I recall having any kind of discussion with you regarding his immediate arrest!'

‘We were not attempting to arrest him in the restrained sense of the word, Magnus.’ Prowl said, trying to keep up. ‘It was a method of placing him under our protection, no matter what he may have had to say about it.’

‘—and not only are you going against the will of a Prime, but of the will of your Magnus as well. I don’t want to hear any more of it! I’ve let you off your leash, trusting you to bring the Autobot dream to fruition. But after today…’ he shook his head. ‘Imagine if the Decepticons attacked.’

‘I had already calculated that that would be a highly improbable—‘

‘Imagine, Prowl!’ His face reflexively scrunched up at the bitterness of the thought. ‘It would have been too easy for them.’

Hubcap raised his hand. ‘Um. Magnus, sir. In Prowl’s defense, we did actually succeed in—‘

Magnus jabbed the tip of his prosthetic claw in Hubcap’s direction. ‘And don’t think you’re off the hook either, Hubcap! I know about your little “business strategy”. I know about your underhand deals with the league of bounty hunters and the Vestial Imperium’s information guilds!’

Hubcap dropped into a panic, sputtering and stuttering, and grasping the air with his fingertips in some vain attempt at articulating an explanation. ‘Sir—I—I don’t—heh—okay—I know that’s not a very, um, favorable position in the Autobot hierarchy, but I still—‘

Magnus raised a massive palm. ‘Save it. I don’t want to hear any of it. I don’t even know how you’re still head of communications after Blaster—‘

‘I mean we arrested Bludgeon.’

‘For all I care the two of you ought to be court-martial—’ His big blue optics rounded in surprise. ‘What?’

‘It’s true, um, Magnus, sir.’ Hubcap shuffled his feet. ‘Maybe Prowl was wrong to bring his fleet to Prime’s last location. But, heh, in doing so we had the room to arrest a couple handfuls of survivors.’

Magnus shot Prowl a skeptical look. ‘Decepticon survivors?’

‘Of course.’ Hubcap continued. ‘We arrested Bludgeon and a few of his heavy hitters. Um, by all means I think that—while Prowl may not have achieved what he was hoping to achieve—he did accomplish more in arresting a highly acclaimed Decepticon General than has been accomplished since, heh, since Optimus destroyed Megatron.’

Magnus squinted at Prowl. ‘Were there any casualties.’

‘No, sir. There wasn’t even a battle.’

‘Why was I not informed?’

‘You should have been. In fact you were.’ Prowl nodded to his desk. ‘It is all there in the report I sent you prior to our arrival.’

Magnus eyed his desk and growled.

‘You did read my report, didn’t you?’

Magnus circled his desk, and fell into his seat. ‘I see… No, Prowl. No I have not. I probably should have done so rather than let my… emotions fall out of control.’

Prowl stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. ‘By all means, I take full responsibility for deploying the fleet. It was unnecessary, and I welcome any form of punishment you deem fit to make up for my mistake.’

Magnus waved his claw. ‘No… no. Not necessary. I’m the one who should apologize. I wasn’t aware your mission bore fruit. As long as you recognize your mistake then I have no choice but to place my further trust in your judgement.’ He almost smiled. ‘Honestly, I haven’t been much myself lately. Not as clean. Not as… orderly. It’s a combination of this mess with the Decepticons, the Imperium breathing down my neck, and my own blasted age, I think. I apologize if I may seem like a... different person to you.’

‘It’s understandable.’ Prowl assured him. ‘We’re all on edge. It’s to be expected.’

Magnus nodded, silently. The room was quiet, but Prowl’s mind was buzzing with possibilities.

After their meeting, Prowl and Hubcap found themselves walking through the many corridors of the Hub’s complex. Hubcap had made the decision to walk Prowl to his office, as he wasn’t necessarily needed in the comms room the way Prowl was needed inter-galactically.

‘I didn’t know Magnus knew about my… you know, my business.’

‘Neither did I.’ Prowl frowned. ‘He might be smarter than I gave him credit for.’

Hubcap rolled his optics. ‘There you go again. Meticulously cold Prowl. Always above everybody else.’

‘Shut up.’

‘No seriously. I want you to be honest with me, Prowl. Wheeljack was right about the whole Punch/Counterpunch thing, wasn't he? I mean, we all saw it. It’s not unlike you to seriously consider that kind of thing.’

‘Shut up.’

‘Hey, I’m not trying to be a jerk here, Prowl. I just genuinely want to know what your plan is.’

He whirled around and struck the wall next to Hubcap. Cracks ran through the metal sheen of the Hub’s structure and rippled in vibrating soundwaves throughout the silver corridor. It shut Hubcap up, and that’s just what Prowl needed. ‘Listen,’ he said, turning to the short, communications officer. ‘You don’t know what it’s like for everyone to assume the worst of you. You’ll never know. If you want to be my friend, Hubcap, you’ll understand that sometimes, in this situation in particular, it isn’t unthinkable to presume that I am only trying to preserve the life of my friend.’

Hubcap took a step back. ‘Prowl…’

The Military Strategist was trembling. Fists clenched and optics flaring with cyan blue light under the shade of his sharp and symmetrically perfect head-crest. ‘Just… please believe me. Please, please believe me, for once.’

‘Hubcap grappled with his words. Even if he found the words, he wouldn’t know what to do with them.

‘Please...’

But Prowl had trouble believing himself.

-----

Starscream’s voice fizzled through the Nemesis’ overhead speakers. ‘Thundercracker, please home in on my position, thanks.’

Thundercracker, who had been tidying up his room after its brief habitation by Banzaitron’s men, raised his head and frowned. The fact that they were all probably dead gave him a brief respite from his grumbling and scrubbing. Slipstream was helping. “Helping.”

‘I didn’t know Starscream was on board,' the blue Seeker said.

‘Ya-huh.’

‘Can’t say I was certain he was even alive.’

‘Ya-huh.’

Thundercracker rose to his feet. ‘Guess I better meet with him. Don’t want to get, you know, killed.’

‘Hey if two Decepticons were stranded on Cybertron’s first moon and one killed the other would that be messed up or what?’

‘You know what, Slipstream?’ Without another word, Thundercracker turned around and left her in his room. Probably not the greatest idea at the time, but Thundercracker had reached that special level of uncaring that only Empties and blue Seekers working under Starscream would understand.

He found Starscream standing in the middle of the Nemesis’ corridor. He was practically falling apart without the proper medical attention as pieces of metal littered the ground beneath him. Electricity surged across his chest and liquid dripped from his limbs, but he didn’t seem to mind. Or notice. He gestured to Thundercracker to take his side so he could show him something. ‘Look at this.’

Thundercracker traced his line of sight. He was staring at one of his self-portraits. It depicted the Aerospace Commander posing atop a mound of Autobot corpses. Finger pointing to the sky, chest puffed outward like he owned the world, and expression sober and stern. In the portrait, the Autobot corpses were played by Thundercracker, Slipstream, Obsidian, and Strika; playing dead to the greater effect of their commander. At this point in time, however, a mustache had been drawn in thick black ink across Starscream’s face, and lines resembling gusts of wind had been drawing coming out of his aft, depicting a fart. Starscream, of course was not impressed.

‘Yeahhh, we really shouldn’t have let those guys on the ship,' Starscream said.

‘We didn’t have a choice, remember?’

‘I mean—well yeah—but still…’ he gestured to the defaced portrait. ‘Who does stuff like this? It’s uncouth.’

Thundercracker flinched. ‘Did you seriously just say uncouth?’

‘Shut up. It’s a word. I can use words. Now come on.’ With a wide wave of his hand, Starscream glided down the corridor. To where, Thundercracker was not yet sure.

‘Er, where are we going? Starscream?’

‘We are going to talk.’

Thundercracker frowned at that. ‘That is the worst response to anything I’ve ever heard in my life. I hope you know that.’

Starscream blinked down at him, then pressed a hand against a chipped door-frame. ‘Oh, yeah, sure whatever. Here, come follow me into this storage room here.’

Thundercracker hesitated. ‘Can I refuse?’

‘The answer’s obviously no, idiot.’ He parted the door concealing the room and clapped his hands. The lights activated, and the room was illuminated. Boxes of machinery and used objects took up the bulk of the room, forming a small maze of junk winding against the dusty, untouched walls. ‘Now close the door so we can—wait.’ Starscream lunged forward, and what remained of his weaponry activated. His arms melded into one large missile harbour, and his thrusters rotated forward, sending himself alight with the barrels of charged weaponry.

Thundercracker ducked out of the way, expecting him to fire at the presence of a mere shadow. He had acted upon crazier impulses in the past. ‘What is it?!’

‘Did you see that? Please tell me you saw that.’

‘Saw what? What are you talking about, Starscream?’

‘You’re such a liar, Thundercracker, you saw something move in there just now, didn’t you? Tell me I’m not crazy.’

Thundercracker scanned the room for a sign of movement, when he found none, he massaged the back of his neck and began to eye Starscream through worrying optics. ‘In this situation, I uh, don’t know what to tell you.’

Starscream snorted. ‘Fine. FINE! BRILLIANT! STUPENDOUS! I’ll simply drag them out myself! Then you’ll see! Then you’ll see!’

See how crazy you’ve become, maybe. Thundercracker thought to himself, but dared not say out loud.

Starscream’s optics flicked from one corner of the room to the next. Fidgeting with anticipation, his weaponry clacked and hummed as he took aim. ‘Attention freeloading a-holes! This is Aerospace Commander and soon-to-be Lord of the Decepticons: Starscream of Vos requesting—no, commanding you to reveal yourselves to me this instant! If you refuse to show yourselves at the count of five then I will open fire and then you’ll really wish you hadn’t boarded the ship of Aerospace Commander and soon-to-be—‘

A box tipped over, and four bodies scuffled into view. Thundercracker recognized them as Gutcruncher, Charger, Take-Off, and Roadgrabber respectively.

‘Okay, okay.’ Gutcruncher bellowed, taking the forefront and raising his hands high above his head. ‘Just spare us from the introductions will you? We’re business partners, you and I. Remember? Just put the guns down already and we’ll talk this out like smart and civilized gentleman.’

Smirking, Starscream morphed his arms back into their standard form. With a full hand in his possession, he leaned over and poked Thundercracker’s cheek. ‘I bet you feel like such a dick right now.’

Thundercracker scowled. ‘With all due respect, maybe we should focus on the four stowaways seeking shelter on our ship, Starscream.’

Starscream clapped his hands together as he approached them. ‘Yes! Where to start, where to start…’ He observed Gutcruncher up and down. ‘Or rather, where might I find a reason not to send you screaming out the airlock?’

Gutcruncher stared at his pedes, and thought for a moment. He massaged his forehead as he grasped for an answer. ‘Because, uh, we can offer you money. Deals. An alliance towards future endeavours.’

Starscream jerked back, pleasantly surprised. ‘You’re useful! I wasn’t expecting that. Let’s say I do form a partnership with you.’ He leaned forward until he came face to face with the Decepticon General. ‘Just what the hell are you going to want from me?’

Gutcruncher looked to his remaining troops for support. He found none. He turned back to Starscream and cleared his throat. ‘I think the four of us, at this particular time, would appreciate it if you could just drop us off somewhere. Kindly. Gently. Like, pretend we’re just some cargo that needs to reach its destination, and as soon as we’re gone, you won’t need to even think about us ever again.’

Starscream raised a brow. He transformed one of his arms back into a null-ray.

Gutcruncher took a step back, raising his hands in front of him in self-defence. ‘Ooooor you can be as rough with us as you like. We can take it, honest.’

‘We’re approaching a mech-friendly colony.’ Starscream said, admiring his weapon. ‘It should be capable of repairing the Nemesis to full-operational status, as well as procuring you with a proper ship for transport.’

The four stowaways relaxed. Shoulders lowering and vents exhaling in perfect unison.

‘That would be splendid,’ Gutcruncher said. ‘Thank you so much, Starscr—‘

‘However.’

Gutcruncher tensed. However. It was never that easy with Starscream, and he was a fool for being so sure of himself.

‘You will pledge your loyalty to me. You can leave to the other corner of the galaxy for all I care, but if any of you kills Optimus before I do, you will either name me your eternal Lord and Master, or, you can sit on the throne, and await your execution by my hands. No matter what I ask, you will obey. Are we clear?’

The four Decepticons exchanged looks, unsure of what Starscream’s ultimatum might have entailed. Gutcruncher stepped forward. ‘Um… I don’t know what it is you want from me, but, uh, if it ensures our survival then…’ He lowered himself onto his knees, then brought his head within kissing distance of the floor. ‘All hail Lord Starscream.’

Charger, Take-Off, and Roadgrabber stared down at their General in bafflement, before joining his place on the floor. Repeating similar praises to their new Lord.

‘Louder.’

Gutcruncher rolled his eyes. ‘For the love of—ALL HAIL LORD STARSCREAM!’

Starscream’s null-ray formed back into a standard servo. ‘Hah. You see that Thundercracker? We’re going intergalactic!’ He flicked a wrist to Gutcruncher, motioning him to stand. ‘As for you. I want you off my ship as soon as possible. When we land, you will not be boarding back with us. However, I still want you to remain within close proximity. I have a job for you.’

Gutcruncher reclined his head. ‘Er, yeah, whatever you say.’

‘Excellent!’ Starscream whirled around, leaving the four Decepticons alone in the storage room as he did. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some urgent business to attend to.’

The Aerospace commander glided briskly down the purple hallway, leaving a stunned cluster of Decepticons in his wake.

Thundercracker stared at Gutcruncher’s guild, nodded to them in greeting, and quickly jogged after his commander. ‘Starscream,’ he called to him. ‘What was that? And what the hell was it you wanted to talk to me about anyway?’

‘That’ll have to wait for later,’ he said. ‘It’s too crowded around here, now… where are the others?’

‘Strika’s in the infirmary. Obsidian’s looking after her. Skywarp’s where he’s usually been and I think Slipstream’s… destroying my room.’

‘Aside from Gutcruncher’s little gang, I assume that’s everybody?’

‘Actually we, uh, sort of succeeded in capturing a prisoner. Ferak is in the infirmary with Strika. We’re hoping that once he’s repaired, he can help us get Skywarp dislodged from the ship.’

‘Cool, cool. Now inform Obsidian of Gutcruncher’s current situation. Also clean up while you can. I need to make a call.’

‘But—‘

‘This conversation is over. You know your job—leave me be.’

Thundercracker stopped, nodded, and began walking in the opposite direction. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like any of this.

-----

Soundwave leaned in his throne. It was the one that belonged to Megatron, and before Megatron, Clench, and before Clench, Dreadlock. It was a guilty pleasure of his. The throne was a symbol of power, and at that specific moment, to the eyes of the Decepticons, he was the most powerful. The throne room was made for the sake of intimidation in the presence of meetings and visitations, and though he preferred his office to do his business, taking his place on the literal throne was one of the few things that knocked him back into reality. Gold statues of past Decepticon and Destron leaders lined the walls. Dreadlock, Clench, Trannis, and Shockwave stood three times higher than when they lived, and were as still as they were the day they died. For a split second, he thought he saw his own frame standing among them and flinched, but soon realized he was only imagining things. Of course, Soundwave was almost certain that not all of them were dead. His fingertips dug into the arms of the glamourous chair. As much as he enjoyed to bask in his guilty state of power, he felt all too vulnerable in his notoriously dangerous position. His recent assassination attempt had scared him more than he thought it would. As a subtle member of high command, Soundwave never had to worry about losing his head to another greedy Decepticon looking for his job, as he had Megatron – and in some deranged way, Starscream – to protect him. There was a knock on the wide chamber’s doors.

‘Enter.’

The doors parted, and a tall black Decepticon entered the room. It was Magnificus. The lanky intelligence agent stood and bowed to his temporary master, and awaited his permission to speak.

‘Report.’

‘Incoming holo-call from Starscream. Shall I patch him through?’

‘Affirmative. Leave us.’

Magnificus bowed his head once more before turning to leave the throne-room. The moment the doors closed behind him, the hologram activated. Starscream stood, damaged and leaking, but he stood nonetheless. ‘Soundwave.’

‘What is it you require from me, Starscream?’

‘I want to talk about your proposition for me. Can I properly rely on your little “plan” to actually work out?’

Soundwave slouched back in his seat. ‘It’s not a plan, Starscream. It is information. You do with it as you will.’

‘I see that. It’s just.’ Starscream stifled a chuckle. ‘Why me? Why would you ever give anything like that to me? You hate me.’

Soundwave thought of a response, and mimicked a shrug. ‘It didn’t have to be you. The blocks of life have simply fallen into such a place, that you have become my greatest asset.’

‘But you do realize that if you continue to help me, I will succeed you.’

He nodded.

A droplet of Energon rolled from beneath Starscream’s helm down the rim of his nose and over his lips. ‘Well, that’s a problem for you, isn’t it? That the new leader of the future will be your bitter rival.’

‘You consider us rivals?’

‘Well, we’re certainly not friends.’

Soundwave leaned forward in his throne. ‘Listen, Starscream. I needed Bludgeon out of the picture. He was the largest threat to the Decepticons’ existence. If he won, the war would end in a stale mate. For the sake of us all, the war cannot afford to end. You happened to be the closest guild in proximity to Bludgeon at the time. Parlaying the information to you was a part of my plan to remove him from the picture.’

Starscream’s fists clenched, and something loose rattled inside his body. As his brow furrowed, his facial plating cracked. ‘That doesn’t answer my question.’

‘You want to know about you, don’t you,’ Soundwave grinned beneath his faceplate. ‘It’s always about you, isn’t it Starscream?’

For once, Starscream was silent.

Soundwave stared back at the golden statues aligning the throne-room and tried to imagine Starscream standing as one of them. He couldn’t. ‘Starscream, if you were to become Leader, what would be your main goal?’

Starscream flinched at that. He grasped for the words. ‘To uh…’

‘What is it Starscream? You’re Supreme Commander. What is your goal? Your motive?’

‘To, uh… kill the…’

‘Speak up. Your Lord Regent Commands it.’

Starscream lowered his eyes. ‘To commit Autobot Genocide and achieve conquest on a universal scale. Like the Decepticons are destined to.’

Soundwave rose from his chair. ‘Exactly. Nothing more. Nothing less. You, and your goals, and your feelings, are completely unremarkable in every sense of the word.’

Starscream tried to speak, but gobs of oil released from his throat instead. His legs gave way beneath him, and he collapsed to his knees.

‘And as long as the future Leader of the Decepticons is unremarkable in every sense of the word, then all will be well. As far as I care.’

Starscream landed on his side, body crumbling and collapsing; liquid spilling out onto the Nemesis floor, staining it a pitch black.

‘You have every opportunity to kill Optimus at this time. If you do not, then so be it. I have given similar information to over one-hundred others just like you. How you choose to use that information is—’

But Starscream could no longer hear his age-old rival’s voice. His body had sustained enough damage, and was beginning to collapse in on itself. A hand shook him. He could see Thundercracker shaking him before losing his vision indefinitely.

‘Starscream!’ Thundercracker shouted at him. ‘Starscream! What happened?! Wake up!’

‘….Puppet.’

‘What?!’

Liquid gathered around his eyes, and streamed down the sides of his face. ‘It doesn’t matter if I win or lose. I’ll still forever be his puppet…’ His hearing and vision gone, Starscream felt himself falling into stasis lock as Thundercracker called for help.

 

Episode 8

The solar-system’s star shone scarlet rays upon the brown and blue planet below. The planet was of a smaller stature, with a mechanical “bee-hive” crust that encompassed the inner orb. It was a neutral mech-planet in the vice-quadrant, one that had been populated with a cocktail of mechanical, organic, and even bio-mechanical creatures and humanoids; co-existing peacefully on the stylized surface below. The Ark had begun its slow descent onto the planet’s surface. The four crew-members of the golden space-ship regarded the planet out the front window-pane as they did.

Ironhide blocked the sun from his eyes as they descended onto the planet. He let out a huff. ‘Damned sun. Always getting in yer eyes… Nothing but a hindrance.’

Optimus took his side on the bridge, gazing out at the planet below. ‘Cybertron had a sun. Earth too. Pretty sure most habitable planets have suns, Ironhide.’

‘So?’

He shrugged. ‘Just saying. We kind of need them.’

‘Bah.’ He reared his head away in disgust. Facing away from the window-pane, Ironhide lumbered his way out of the light and into the shadow of Jazz’s control console. ‘Says you, maybe.’

Optimus watched him and scratched the back of his head. ‘Also one-hundred percent of scientists, but yeah, says me, I guess.’

The main console was a few bodies higher from the floor, and as such Jazz had to jerk his head to face his colleagues below. He had been leaning back in his chair, arms resting behind his head and legs propped up on the console. ‘You know Ironhide, Chief. He’s just trying to find something to complain about ‘cause he hasn’t got anything interesting to say.’

Ironhide growled from his nook beneath the console. ‘Don’t you start too, Jazz! I’ll make you eat those words faster than I can throw you.’ He paused, and thought about what he said. ‘Which is… pretty fast.’

Rosanna perked up from behind Jazz. ‘Don’t you mean how “far” you can throw him?’

Optimus flinched, ‘Primus—how long have you been up there?’

She huffed. ‘I’ve been here for a, ah… reasonable amount of time. By a reasonable person’s standards.’

Jazz wasn’t phased in the slightest. ‘Honestly I’ve been up here for a while, and I hadn’t even noticed.’

Optimus scoffed. ‘Some spec-ops agent you turned out to be.’

Jazz looked over his shoulder at Rosanna and smiled. ‘Y’sure you weren’t trying to sneak up on me?’

She put on a look of forced shock. ‘Of course not! I was just…’ she tapped her finger-tips together, ‘you know, hanging out… back here.’

Blackarachnia came around from the other side of the console on the main floor below. ‘Nah, no, that’s a lie. She’s been staring at Jazz’s caboose. I know because I was watching her do it.’

She almost shrieked. ‘I did not!’

Optimus raised an understanding palm in Rosanna’s direction. ‘It is okay, Rosanna. We’re all in agreement when it comes to Jazz’s caboose. It is one of the most mesmerizing sights in the galaxy.’

Rosanna stuttered and struggled with her words, and, finding she had nothing more to say in response, transformed into a small tape-deck shape and inserted her into one of the console’s data-ports to hide.

Optimus turned to Ironhide. ‘What’s a caboose?’

Ironhide shrugged.

Jazz removed his headphones. ‘Sorry, I’ve only been paying attention to about half this conversation. Just one a those days, y’know?’

‘Yeah.’ Optimus looked back out the window-pane. They were fast approaching the ground. The city-scape was outfitted with primitive, but not ineffective technologies. Much of it was pigmented with a bronze colouration and appeared to be steam powered of all things. Though among these steam-powered devices were flying machines and bullet-trains no different from the technological advances of Cybertron, Optimus couldn’t help but assume them to be primitive in nature if only because of their appearances. Optimus had read about this planet – as with many other planets – in his training at the Academy. It was named Planet Vaudeville, and he knew it to be one of the limited mech-friendly colonies that would be capable of – and willing to—repair his ship for a fee.

He turned back to his team, ‘Okay guys, here is how it’s going to go down. Jazz, Ironhide, the two of you will be accompanying me in traversing the city’s marketplace. We’ll be gathering supplies, ammunition, information; anything you think we might need in the coming journey. We’ll meet back up by the time the Ark has been refueled and repaired.’

They nodded in unison.

‘Right, Prime.’

‘Whatever you say, chief.’

‘Rosanna will stay here, obviously, and Blackarachnia,’ he locked eyes with her, ‘you will stay here and protect the ship in case anything goes awry.’

The ex-Decepticon looked at him with a bored expression. ‘You’re seriously pulling this? Seriously? I mean, I know I’m the best line of defense you got, and I’m flattered, but are you actually going to force me to stay cooped up in here while you guys are out having fun shopping adventures?’

Optimus had already made his way toward her and slammed the wall with the back of his hand. Jazz and Ironhide flinched, but Blackarachnia maintained her eye-contact. Optimus said his piece. ‘Look, you should know that this isn’t us having some wacky adventure, not all the time, at least. As such, measures need to be taken. Sober thought processes, and intelligent ideas are required to ensure our survival. As such, you are required to follow my orders without question. Do you understand?’

She grinded her denta, baring her fangs the way a coyote might. ‘Right, and because this totally isn’t you taking one out of me for not being the perfect crew-member of your perfect family.’

‘No I—‘ he leaned in toward her, covering his mouth from Jazz and Ironhide. He spoke in a whisper so that only he and Blackarachnia would be able to hear what was being said. ‘It’s because as far as trust goes, I rate you above Jazz. And I’m not leaving Jazz alone on the ship, and I’m definitely not taking you and Jazz together with me. I’m afraid that would be worse than taking you with Ironhide, so just please, please, understand just this once.’

She studied him clinically. Skeptically. She snorted, and looked aside. ‘Fine. Whatever. You’re the boss, Optimus.’

He took a breath, and stepped away from her. ‘We’ll be landing in a few seconds. Get ready to roll out.’

-----

Strika, lying upright in her angled medical slab, had been watching the med-bay’s main computer monitor, regarding the televised broadcasts with a critical wit. She had been feeding on Energon-goodies, which she kept in a large bag at her waist and had plenty to spare. She raised a hand in bafflement at the series of events depicted on the screen. ‘I can’t believe this! This chick is hunting down her arch nemesis—who killed one of her partners—and she just decides not to kill her? She’s at war! She just decapitated, like, three dudes! You can’t just choose the moral high-ground now! That’s beyond inconsistent—it’s stupid!’ She reached into her bag and stuffed her face. ‘I wonder what’s going to happen next episode.’

Thundercracker and Obsidian stared at Starscream. He had been knocked out and hooked up to the Nemesis’ power-systems, though they had both been hesitant about the decision. The Nemesis was still extremely low on fuel, and had no real fire-power left. Still, Starscream was their leader, and regardless of their feelings of ill-will towards him, it really wasn’t their say to let him die. With everything secured, Obsidian and Thundercracker turned their attention to the third patient in the room: Ferak. He was unconscious, his eyes a dim magenta, and much of his body crumpled and broken into heaps. Metal clamps had held his arms and legs in place so that he wouldn’t struggle should he come to. The door was locked, and as such Slipstream couldn’t get in to screw anything up for them.

Strika nearly spat, ‘Oh come on! The cast is like, twice as big, and they still haven’t changed the intro?! Who thought this was a good idea?!’

Thundercracker winced at her. ‘Is she always like this?’

‘Focus, Thundercracker.’

He cleared his throat. ‘Right, sorry.’

Obsidian tapped the side of Ferak’s head. ‘Negotiations will not be easy. For all he knows we murdered his entire fleet.’ He looked up at Thundercracker and frowned. ‘Including his Conjunx Endura.’

Thundercracker nodded, but the disdain the memory brought to him was written all over his face. 'That's pretty much exactly what we did, though.’

Obsidian raised a single digit. ‘Ah, yes, but he doesn’t have to know that. It’s called…’ he looked from side to side to make sure nobody was listening it, and leaned forward, ‘…lying.’

Thundercracker rolled his eyes and groaned. ‘You know, Obsidian? I think I’m beginning to understand what Starscream always says about your smart-assery.’

He feigned shock. ‘He says what about me?’

‘Let’s just get this over and done with.’

‘Yes, let’s…’ he jerked up for a moment. ‘Oh, I love this part.’

Thundercracker traced his view and saw he was looking at the screen. He turned back, scowling. ‘You hypocrite.’

‘And he’s awake!’ Obsidian announced.

Ferak’s eyes came alive. Dazed, he looked around briefly, and realizing where he was, let out a high-pitched scream.

Obsidian grabbed his shoulders as he shook. ‘Restrain him!’

Thundercracker grabbed his legs. ‘He is restrained!’

‘Holding him may calm him down—we cannot allow him to short-circuit on us!’

Thundercracker nodded, and, started shouting at him—which he soon recognized was only going to have the opposite effect on him. ‘Ferak! Listen to me—we did not kill your Conjunx!’

He only screamed louder.

‘Ferak—‘

Ferak jerked up, wrists breaking from the clamps and body springing from the slab. He reached for Thundercracker, grabbing him by the throat. Thundercracker reached for his rifle, but before he had the chance, Obsidian’s fingers wrapped around the sides of Ferak’s head.

Thundercracker’s eyes widened. ‘Obsidian—don’t—!’

With one mighty wrench, Ferak’s head was torn from his body.

Ferak’s decapitated head in his hands, Obsidian raised the trophy high enough for Strika to see. Liquid trailed from the bottom of his neck and his eyes flickered black. Ferak’s statuesque servos had still been in the frozen motion of strangling Thundercracker, as if the body still had a semblance of life in it.

‘Pity,’ Obsidian said, examining the severed head in his hands.

Thundercracker knocked Ferak’s lifeless body aside and reached for the head. ‘Obsidian, give him to me—we may still be able to re-attach his head to the rest of his body—‘

‘Strika!’

She craned her head around from her show. ‘Whuh?’

‘Think fast!’ Obsidian tossed the head to Strika, who promptly leaped from her slab and spiked the head into the ground like a volley-ball. Ferak’s head split and splattered like an egg—staining the floor purple and black, and spraying a gush of viscera over Obsidian and Thundercracker’s once-spotless frames.

‘No!’ Thundercracker grabbed the sides of his head, fell to his knees. ‘He was the only one who knew how to remove Skywarp from the ship! He was the only one that could do anything and you killed him!’

Obsidian steepled his fingers as he hovered over the blue seeker. ‘My apologies, Thundercracker, but I could tell that, from the shock of course, his mind was unable to fully compensate the lack of spark and forced itself to expire. The pressure killed him before he even left my hands. I’m sorry.’

Thundercracker slammed his fist against the table. ‘I ought to kill the lot of you…’

‘What?’

He shook his head, teeth gritted with rage. ‘I’m just tired of things not going my way is all,’ he moved away from the slab and unlocked the door. ‘Just… tired in general, I guess.’

Slipstream stumbled in. ‘What I miss?’ she spotted the pool of blood in the center of the room. ‘Oh. Cool. You guys had a good time it seems. I take it this was a success?’

Thundercracker smacked her shoulder as he passed her by, knocking her into the wall slightly as he did.

She looked up at Obsidian. ‘Damn. That was my fantasy. Shoulda asked him to hit me harder.’ She cackled. ‘Heh. Kidding! I’m more of a foot person anyway, heheh.’

Obsidian squinted at her, then looked back at the gore. Liquid was dripping from the edges of the slabs where it did not once before. ‘Well, at least sanitation is Thundercracker’s duty.’

Starscream roused from his sleep, and stared at the mess on the slab beside him. Blinking, he looked up at Obsidian and smirked. ‘Someone had a good time—‘

‘Slipstream already said that.’

‘Oh.’ He turned his attention to the program Strika was watching. Brow furrowed, the Aerospace Commander fell back into his slab. ‘This show sucks.’

Strika nodded, popping another Energon goodie into her mouth. ‘Ya-huh.’

-----

Optimus waited as Ironhide and Jazz reconvened on his position in the middle of the square. While the thought of a steam-powered paradise was enticing at first, he had been forced to suffer organic residents poking his sides and observing his system in guilty delight. They would ask him who his manufacturer is, where he’s from, if he’s a true Cybertronian, if they can see him transform, and all the usual questions. He sucked it up and kept telling himself that a planet that loved machine-life was better than one that hated it. And he had already dealt with that before on Talon.

Jazz and Ironhide met with him, showing off their subspace cubes. Ironhide had purchased feed for Mouthful the pet spider, ammunition, a variety of guns and knives for his collection, and so on. Jazz, who had gathered information, found that Cybertronians don’t usually come around the planet and have at times even avoided it despite its technological and cultural achievements. Optimus could see why. ‘So is that everything? I take it we got everything we need?’

Jazz threw his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Actually, I came across a joint a ways back that’s selling Energon derivatives for fine mechs like us. I don’t know if you know this, but this place is really mech friendly.’

‘No kidding.’ Optimus thought about it for a moment, then nodded. ‘Sure. One drink and then we’ll head back to the Ark. It should be fueled and ready to go by now anyway.’ He prepared to transform, and noticed that every civilian in the vicinity had started watching. He cleared his throat. ‘Autobots, transform and roll out.’

The bio-mechanicals cheered and clapped their hands as the three Autobots transformed into their vehicular configurations.

‘This is so embarrassing,’ Optimus said.

‘I dunno,’ Jazz mused. ‘I kind of like being the center of attention, for once.’

-----

Blackarachnia yawned at the control panel. Banging her head against the rim in boredom. Rosanna came up from behind her, tapping her feet together and humming one of her songs.

Blackarachnia cleared her throat. ‘Can I, um, help you?’

‘Who, me? What? No. I’m as peachy as a…’ she pondered her words, struggling to think up a punchline worthy of her skills.

‘Peach?’

‘Eh?’

‘As peachy as a peach?’

She shrugged at that. It was better than whatever she would have thought up, sadly.

Blackarachnia slouched over the monitor, holding her head up with her claws. ‘Listen, Rosanna, as bored out of my mind as I am, I’m not really in the mood to talk with you.’

Rosanna waved a hand in front of her face. ‘Oh no. Me neither. I’m a very quiet person, y’know? Kind of a brooding individual.’ She chuckled. ‘It’s funny, everyone sees the star as some happy-go-lucky idol, but we’ve got secrets too, y’know? We idols have a dark side to us. Dark, brooding, tortured kind of pasts like that.’

‘Yeah? Sounds fun.’

She pouted. ‘Are you even listening to me? I mean, not that you should since we’re not talking right now, but still…’

Blackarachnia leaned back in her chair. ‘I’m not blind, Rosanna. I know what’s going on here. I realize they’re having a “just guys” thing out there, but that doesn’t mean we have to have some kind of… of girl-talk here. I don’t even know you, and besides, the last time I had a “girl-talk” I was hit on by an Autobot assassin or something.’

Rosanna nodded vigorously. ‘Oh, yeah, no. I hear you, girl. I hear you. No need for stupid, pointless, talk like that. I got you, friend.’

She went silent. And after a few minutes, the entire ship was silent. Blackarachnia exhaled, and closed her four eyes. Silence. Finally, she could bask in her thoughts. Just her and herself, like it was always meant to be. She had almost completely forgotten Rosanna was even there. Just her, the silence, and her inner thoughts.

Rosanna suddenly burst the silence wide open. ‘So who would you rather, Optimus, or Ironhide?’

Blackarachnia leaped from her chair, eyes wide. ‘That’s it, I can’t stand this. I tried, but I failed— I’m going to bed!’

Rosanna folded her arms and nodded as she watched her leave. ‘Alright. That’s cool. I’ll catch you on the flipside, then. Later… hater.’ With Blackarachnia gone, Rosanna stood alone in the control room. It was quiet with no one else around.

-----

Optimus stared into the contents of his drink. Energon derivatives were always terrible. It was an objective fact. Still, Energon came in short supply, and as such derivatives and substitutes were usually all they could afford. Any pure Energon they encountered had been fed into the Ark to keep it in optimal condition. Optimus scratched the back of his head. ‘I kind of feel bad we didn’t bring Blackarachnia along with us.’

‘I don’t,’ Ironhide said, sipping from a straw.

‘Speaking of,’ Jazz said, ‘What were you and her talking about back there? Is everything cool between you two?’

‘Never mind that,’ Optimus said, ‘I just wish this phase between us would end already.’ He stared at them, and they stared back. ‘I mean, it will blow over eventually, right? Nothing lasts forever.’

Ironhide nodded, staring down into his drink. ‘Aint that the truth.’

Jazz shrugged. ‘Hey, as long as I get to have my drink on, then I’ve got nothing against it.’ He raised his glass. ‘To, uh… unbroken friendships…?’

Optimus shrugged. ‘Yeah, sure.’ He clinked glasses with Jazz, then to Ironhide. ‘To unbroken friendships.’ As he sipped from his drink, he let out a groan. ‘Ugh, these drinks… this atmosphere… it has Talon IV written all over it. I’m getting flashbacks…’

Jazz took a large gulp of his drink. ‘What’s wrong with Talon IV? Those cats seem cool enough to me.’ He paused, and shook his head. ‘Before the whole Bludgeon thing, I mean. Heh, my bad.’

Ironhide grunted. ‘We got held up by some blasted Quints. Folks wouldn’t let us leave. Quintesson-owned establishments... not a good place to be a Cybertronian.’

‘Cybertronians eh?’ The bartender appeared from the back of the counter, polishing his metal digits with a washcloth. He was tall and lean, and was dressed with orange and blue armour that covered his figure from head to toe. He appeared to have been constructed with parts that formed some kind of alien-jet.

The three Autobots stared as the bartender grinned. ‘Yeah—you won’t find any Quintessons here, no-siree—heh. Haven’t seen a Quintesson around these parts since the gathering. All those friendlies putzing about, standing together like a great force of peace and freewill—they didn’t like any of it—Heh. My buddy went to Talon once; says it ain’t so great. I’m guessing you two would get along great.’ He cleared his throat and moved to begin polishing a glass. ‘But—heh—speaking of Cybes, I’m one myself! Name’s Trigger. Got myself a job at this place back when Vaudevile was nothin’ more than a Ghetto. Been workin’ ever since. Had to get out, y’know? War didn’t want me—couldn’t handle me, technically—hee—so my buddy an’ I just left, see? We came here, found ourselves some sympathizers, and got ourselves some humble jobs. Been here ever since. Nice place, too. Don’t have to worry about cons coming by to finish the job. I used to be quite the rascal y’know—‘

‘That’s nice.’ Optimus turned back to Jazz. ‘We got blamed by the Quints for a Decepticon invasion. They were Slipstream’s folk, but Starscream took care of them. It was a weird day.’

Ironhide nodded. ‘Yeah, but like you’re one to talk.’

Optimus frowned. ‘Pardon?’

‘You didn’t have to deal with the Quints—you ran out on us before they could do anything about it.’

‘Well yeah, that’s because I saw… saw…’ Optimus blinked, staring past Ironhide and Jazz at the cloaked figure behind them.

‘What’d you see?’ Ironhide asked.

‘I saw…’ On Talon IV he spotted a cloaked figure leave the Quintessonian bar. And in Trigger’s bar, he spotted him once more. He was moving towards the exit, preparing to leave. It was who he was looking for. The one who would make everything right for him. At last, he had found him. ‘It’s just like on Talon.’

Jazz cocked his head to the side. ‘What?’

‘Except this time, it will be different.’ Suddenly, Optimus leaped from his stool, barrelling through the air before landing on a card-strewn table-top. He moved again, knocking over a mini-pitcher in the process. Ignoring the complaining guests, Optimus leaped from table to table, and into the cloaked figure, knocking them to the ground where they writhed and squirmed. In spite of his smaller stature Optimus had managed to wrestle the figure into place. Jazz and Ironhide leaped from their seats, gawking at the event that had just transpired.

‘What the hell are you doing, Prime?!’ Ironhide hollered.

‘This is him!’ Optimus cried back. ‘I’ve found him!’

‘Wait,’ Ironhide spat. ‘THAT’s the guy? The guy you say you’ve been looking for…’ He shook his head in disbelief, ‘Is this?!’

Optimus grunted. ‘I have reason to believe so.’

The cloaked figure cried out. ‘Get off me you perilous ruffian!’

‘Not today.’ Optimus said, ripping off the robot’s cloak. With the hood gone, the figure’s face was revealed to the bar’s shocked patrons.

Optimus dropped his servos to his sides. It was a Cybertronian, but not the Cybertronian he was looking for. He wore the symbol and his cloak and everything, yet it wasn’t him. The Cybertronian had an ordinary facial appearance, and seemed to stare daggers into Prime’s eyes, as if it were already obvious that he had nothing to do with him. He couldn’t blame him, Optimus had to admit he had screwed up. He clasped his hands over his face. ‘Aww, crap. I’m so sorry—I seem to have tackled the wrong person.’

The Cybertronian cleared his throat where he was. ‘Would you mind getting the hell off of me? This cloak stains, you know.’

‘Oh, sorry.’

‘Mindwipe!’ Trigger called from behind the bar. Sprouting from his body were several blinking laser-cannons, missile-cannisters, and shoulder-launchers, printing red laser-patterns on Prime’s torso. As soon as they realized what was happening, the majority of the bar’s patrons grabbed their things and darted out the nearest exit and into the streets. Even they knew how deadly a Cybertronian stand-off could be. ‘Buddy, you okay? You want me to fill him with holes?’ He was practically salivating at the thought. ‘Please let me shoot ‘em full a’ holes.’

Mindwipe waved him away as he rose to his feet. ‘Heavens, no!’

Optimus sighed in relief, lowering his guard around the Cybertronian before motioning to Ironhide and Jazz to do the same. ‘Oh, thank you. I was afraid we were about to start something here.’

‘After all,’ Mindwipe had been dusting himself off. ‘If I wanted to, I could have easily reduced him to a power of smouldering ash with a single mental synapse!’

Optimus stared at the black and brown Decepticon. He was one of those.

‘Also because we renounced doing that kind of thing when we left the Decepticons,’ Mindwipe quickly added.

Trigger retracted his guns and stared at his boots in disappointment. ‘Aww.’

‘My apologies,’ Mindwipe said, approaching Jazz and Ironhide. ‘My friend Triggerhappy here is still participating in, how shall I put it…? Social rehab?’

Ironhide eyed the two top to bottom and snorted. ‘You say you used to be Decepticons?’ Steam exerted from his face-plate. ‘You sure you want to press us any further? We have a bit of a history of smashing your kind into the dirt.’

Mindwipe raised a single digit. ‘Key-word: used to be. We have since shed our allegiances with those mass murdering buffoons.’ He placed a hand on his chest and proudly arched his back. ‘Our abilities simply outweighed them.’

Triggerhappy tilted his head at that. ‘Yeaahhhh, actually it’s more like Mindwipe got on a lot a’ people’s nerves and I happen to have the highest friendly-fire count in the history of the Decepticons. We were basically kicked out when you really consider it.’

‘Annoying colleagues and murdering them?’ Jazz wondered, trying to picture it in his mind. ‘I feel like there’s some kind of disparity between your actions that you aren’t addressing.’

Triggerhappy chuckled. ‘It’s kind of a long story.’

Mindwipe swept a digit in Triggerhappy’s direction. ‘SILENCE!’ When everyone went silent, Mindwipe faked a cough and turned to Optimus. ‘So, uh… while you are here in my presence, is there anything the great Mindwipe can help you with today?’

Optimus grinned beneath his faceplate. It wasn’t his destination, but it was a start. ‘Actually, I do have a certain something in mind.’

Ironhide and Jazz reacted in unison. ‘You do?’ They exchanged looks with each other, sharing a common, and well-deserved skepticism after all that Prime had hidden from them.

 

Ah! Steam Powered Giraffe reference!!!

Mid read I stopped and screamed.

 

You listen to Steam Powered Giraffe too?! YOOOOOOOOOO!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Starscream stretched his limbs as he navigated through the familiar halls of the Nemesis. When he checked over the stability of his internal weaponry he did so with pride. His chest cavity opened and closed, briefly revealing a fresh set of infernal missiles. His shoulders rotated into energy weapons and missile capsules; even his face split apart revealing rows of laser-cannons. His arms and legs aligned with null-rays and missile-launchers as mini-turrets and saw-blades sprouted from across his body. His weaponry activated until he became a walking arsenal, dressed to the brim with the firepower of a small weapons platform. He barely looked a Cybertronian with everything let out. Not even his head was intact— he was faceless, a humanoid form barely existent in the cacophony of high-class Cybertronian weaponry that engulfed his being. Then, in an instant, all of it snapped back together, and he was his elegant-- handsome robot-form once more. He smirked, clenching his fist. Optimus would never stand a chance now.

He pushed aside the doors to the warp engine room to find Thundercracker standing from the back wall. His arms folded, Thundercracker had been examining at the crucified robot above. Skywarp was in stasis. Still morphed to the ship. Thundercracker had been waiting for Skywarp’s revival since the beginning, yet here he was, staring at the twitching, stasis-locked body months after he would have seen him awakened. Delay after delay, and Thundercracker still could not see his friend. In the short respites Skywarp did wake, he was delirious and forgetful. He was yet to be the full person he was. Starscream had to admit, the scientist buried deep inside of him was curious of the conditions of Skywarp’s amnesia. He had used his teleportation before. Once he was leader, he would surely use it again. For the first time in a long time, Skywarp was of use to him.

He took Thundercracker’s side, slapping him on the back suddenly and sending him lurching forward. ‘Why the long face, favourite blue seeker of mine? We’re on the fast-tack to finally getting rid of Optimus, aren't we?’

He frowned up at his commander. ‘According to your personal judgement, maybe. The Nemesis is losing power. Fast. If we don’t find a means to refuel soon...’

As if on cue, the overhead lights fizzled out, blanketing the room in darkness. The remaining sources of light rested in the glowing buttons and flashing lights of engine-room's equipment.

‘We are not in a good position, Starscream. We'll be lucky if we make it to the next planet at this rate.’

Starscream began massaging the back of his neck in thought. ‘Alright. Okay. Then what would you suggest are our options, head science officer?’ He gestured to Skywarp. ‘Would our personal ground-bridge be capable of redirecting his power to our main systems?’

‘Of course not. Skywarp relies on the system’s energy. He doesn’t contribute to it!’

Starscream growled at that, ‘Well we bloody well better find something to contribute to it. I could barely navigate these halls without a worm-hole cropping up in front of me. I really can’t see us navigating the entire freakin' ship to a pit-stop.’

Thundercracker thought for a moment. ‘What about Ferak? You think there will be enough spark energy left in him to charge the ship?’

Starscream scoffed. ‘There’s barely enough of him. It doesn't take a genius to see that pile of scrap-metal is worthless to us at this point, but if you want to give it the old college-try, then be my guest.’

At that moment, Gutcruncher burst into the engine room. ‘Hey, what happened to the lights? There an issue with the generator or something?’

Thundercracker and Starscream eyed each-other, and in unison, they spoke: ‘Or we could just use him.’

-----

‘Are we really doing this?’ Ironhide grumbled.

‘Just humour them,’ Optimus replied with a wave of his hand.

Mindwipe set his crystal ball on the table-top, wiping the dust away with the hem of his cloak. ‘Now, now, we had a deal. You pay me for my... prowess, and I tell you whatever it is you wish to know.’

Ironhide sat before Mindwipe while Optimus, Jazz and Triggerhappy surrounded the bar-table. Ironhide leaned over to Jazz. ‘Did he just say prowess?’

‘Hey, if seeing the future does him good then seeing the future does him good. Now tone it down a notch. I'm getting the vibe that he can hear you.’

‘Now then, stand back my friends, for I am about to see... the future!’ Mindwipe examined the ball, staring deep into Ironhide’s fate. ‘What was once obscura, has now become clear to my mind, and my mind alone. I see through the web of time with my third eye, and with my third eye witness its end!' He squinted at the ball.

‘So what is it then?’ Ironhide asked. ‘What does my future supposedly hold?’

‘My, my…’ he grinned up at the weapons specialist. ‘Not a lot.’

‘Eh?’

Mindwipe shrugged. ‘Some battles. Some conflict. Pish posh. I apologize, friend, but it seems to me your life isn’t all that interesting. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing, per se, but many seem to prefer a larger role in the grand scheme of things compared to what... you have.’

Ironhide rolled his optics before standing up. ‘Well, that was a waste of time.’

Jazz sighed. ‘Guess it’s my turn, then.’ Mindwipe nodded for him to sit down as he prepared the next fortune.

Triggerhappy nudged the weapons specialist. 'So hey, buddy, what's your story?'

Ironhide grunted. 'Tell me yours first and I'll consider shedding some light on the subject.'

He shrugged. ‘Not much of a story, you know? Like a lot of cons we left just after the surge hit. Our commander was Scorponok, y’see, so we had the most... erm-- fun out of anyone. When things got hot he either skipped out on us, or got buried under a pile of rubble and died. Considering all the unidentified bodies we scrounged up, chances are the latter. Poor sap.’ He shrugged again. ‘But not really. Either way we had nowhere to be when the surge ended. Like everyone else, we were cut off from the rest of the Conclave. Only instead of forming our own independent factions, we kind of just… puttered off. Scorponok was dead, and none of us had any leadership potential. We didn’t have much desire to lead, let alone fight. For a while we traveled as a group, but like I said... puttered off. Mindwipe and I were the only ones to stick together in the end but, heh, it hasn't always been so great.’

‘Shut up!’ Mindwipe snapped, rubbing the tips of his digits against the orb. ‘Quit wasting our time! I’m trying to see the future here, pleb!’ He gazed into the ball and hummed. He outstretched a single digit to Jazz. ‘I’ll be honest, things aren't clear for you. You are empty... directionless. I’d say you have a number of options available to you, but that you just don’t seem motivated to take any of them. Instead of choosing a crossroads, you remain stagnant in place. I cannot say what that means or why, but, well, it is what it is.’

Jazz appeared to seriously consider this for a few moments, then leaned back in his chair and smiled. ‘Well, I can't say letting the stream take me where it wants to go has done me wrong yet. Can't say I'll see myself fighting the current either, you dig?’

Mindwipe made a so-so gesture with his servo. ‘I’d opine that it is something… other than the sort, but—‘

‘Alright,’ Optimus gestured Jazz to move over and took his place in front of the crystal ball. ‘Let’s hurry this process up.’

Mindwipe squinted at him. ‘Very well.’ He stared into the ball, reading Prime’s future.

Jazz turned to Triggerhappy. ‘I take it you heard about the whole bounty business?’

‘That we did. I wouldn’t worry though, we aren’t bad guys anymore,’ he chuckled at their skeptical glances and raised his hands. ‘Promise!’

Mindwipe rose from his chair. ‘A long and happy life.’

Optimus stared at him. ‘What?’

‘That’s your future. I’m afraid there isn’t much else to say.’

Optimus set his eyes on Ironhide. ‘You were right, this was a waste of time.’

Mindwipe twirled his hand. ‘Yes, yes, now you said you wanted to ask me some questions?' he lowered his voice, 'You wish to do it in private, I presume?’

Optimus nodded, rising from his chair. ‘Yes.’

Jazz quickly grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘Hey Chief. You know you can tell us whatever it is you're searching for, right? We’re with you ‘til the very end. If finding this guy is that important to you, then we'll understand.’

Optimus stared at him before shrugging him off and following Mindwipe behind the bar.

Ironhide and Jazz stood alone with Triggerhappy, who gleefully reached into his subspace and pulled out a series of small needle-like objects. ‘You guys play darts?’

He tossed one at the nearest dart-board in the establishment and hit a white space. ‘I never get to play with anyone.’

'Give me those,' Ironhide growled and snatched a handful from the former Decepticon. He positioned himself in a concentrated post as he aimed at the dart board in front of him. 'Today's your unlucky day, con.'

-----

Charger slammed apart the engine-room doors as he made his entrance. He zeroed in on the the center-piece. ‘What the hell is this?!’

Gutcruncher was positioned next to Skywarp. Tubes and wires connecting his chest orifice to the ship’s power-conductor. Thundercracker and Starscream stood beside him, marveling at their work.

Gutcruncher looked up at the mathematician. ‘Charger, I know how this looks-- and I don't enjoy this indignity any more than you do, but just trust them. This was with my consent.’

‘I don’t give a crap about consent!’ Charger said, marching over to Starscream. ‘I did not sign up for this so that my General could be used as a power conductor! As a mere tool for the gains of…’ he almost spat the name, ‘of Starscream!’

Starscream raised his hands above his head. ‘Whoa, hey, that’s a little harsh, isn’t it? Without Gutter over here the Nemesis wouldn’t last a cycle! And besides…’ He leaned over Charger, grinning at the smaller mathematician. ‘I am your General now.’

Thundercracker put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I understand why you’re upset-- really, I do--, but we need someone to hook their spark to the power-conductor. Otherwise we’ll never make it to our current destination. I know you can see that.’

He swiped the seeker's hand away. ‘Gutcruncher doesn’t deserve this. He actually saved my life yesterday.’ He stared at the power-conductor. ‘It should have been one of you.’

‘Please,’ Starscream said. ‘Unlike Skywarp, this is easily reversible, and besides…’ he stopped when he saw Charger’s hand hovering next to his pistol and readied his null-ray as well. He’d kill Gutcruncher’s SIC without a second thought. Charger was a nobody after all—a “genericon” of sorts.

Another hand landed on Charger’s shoulder. This time it was Obsidian. ‘Why don’t you calm down, Charger, I come with news.’ He beamed at Starscream. ‘We are fast approaching an inhabited planet run by semi-mechanical life. I researched their methods, and they should have the materials needed to refuel the Nemesis, repair its damages, and refill its ammunition. I imagine that would be adequate?’

Starscream clapped his hands together. ‘Y’see! He won’t be hooked up for much longer after all!’ He tapped Charger playfully on his faceplate, right where his nose would be. ‘I bet you feel like such a prick right now.’

Charger glared back at him before storming out of the room.

Obsidian sighed, ‘I'll have a word with him,’ and hovered over to the exit.

When they were gone, Thundercracker whispered. ‘We should have that talk now.’

Starscream turned to him. ‘What?’

He kept his voice low so Gutcruncher would not hear, and gestured for Starscream to follow away from the engine-block for good measure. ‘About Obsidian. Back when I was spying for you, I caught him conversing with someone. I wasn’t sure at first, but now I’m certain. It was Charger. He was the one Obsidian was with.’

Starscream’s gaze darkened. ‘Go on.’

-----

‘Where’s your boss?’

Mindwipe sat at the back of the bar, pouring himself a shot-glass of unrefined Energon. He took the shot, and dropped the glass carelessly onto the floor.

When he didn’t answer, Optimus activated his axe, and swung it in Mindwipe’s direction. The orange glow could be felt between the two when confined in such a tight space. ‘I will get the information I want,’ Optimus told him. ‘Don’t think I won’t. Now answer me. Where. Is. Your. Boss?’

‘Scorponok is either dead or missing. Triggerhappy already told you as much.’

Optimus raised his blade, leveling it to Mindwipe’s throat. ‘That is not what I asked. I don’t give a frag about Scorponok. What I want to know is where you got that cloak.’

‘Ah,’ Mindwipe stared down at the cloak and smiled. ‘You’re looking for him.’ He sighed. ‘I knew, of course. I already saw your goals in your fortune.’

‘Whatever. Tell me where he is, or I take a finger.’

‘Like you would really do such a thing.' He grinned at the thought. 'Very well, I'll talk. Though you won’t be happy.’ He cleared his throat before clasping his hands on his lap. ‘My employer and I worked at Kimia before we parted ways. He gave me this cloak. It was a farewell gift, you see. It was the last I’ve ever seen of him. Honest.’ He raised a dramatic hand above his head. ‘Alas, I am as in the dark as you are! This cloak is truly all I have to remember him by.’

Optimus stared at him. He lowered the axe.

‘Thank you,’ Mindwipe said, body relaxing.

‘Tell me, Mindwipe. If you know my future, then do you know why I'm searching for him in the first place?’

He grinned. ‘Why of course! I must say it’s not the most original idea in existence, but—‘

Dropping his axe, Optimus grabbed the former Decepticon by the shoulders. ‘Help me! You can help me, right? You’re not him, but you can do what he does, can’t you?! Please tell me you can help me! Please!’

Mindwipe reeled back, startled, but after a moment, began to frown. ‘I can’t help you. Not in the way you’re suggesting. I’m afraid my skills, ironically, do not reflect my namesa—‘

‘I get it.’ Optimus released him, moving away to pick up his axe. ‘I understand. I’m sorry for the trouble.’ As he tucked away his axe, he felt Mindwipe’s hand grab him by the shoulder. For a split second, he thought he felt a prick on his neck.

‘Actually,’ Mindwipe said. ‘There is something I need you to do for me.’

Optimus turned his head. ‘And that is?’

Mindwipe pulled himself away and gestured to the back of the bar. ‘Outside I have a… package. For the one you seek.’

Optimus raised a brow. ‘Is that so?’

He nodded. ‘It’s inside a trailer of sorts. If you can take it with you, I would be eternally grateful.’

Optimus nodded, feeling surprisingly eager to do Mindwipe a favor. ‘Yeah. Sure, I can do that.’

Mindwipe beamed. ‘Excellent! I assure you it is completely safe—however.’ And his expression turned dark. ‘You must not look inside, under any circumstances.’

Optimus shrugged, ‘Kay.’

-----

Hooked up to the trailer, Optimus barked at the others from outside the bar. ‘Ironhide, Jazz, let’s go! You-know-who is going to hate us!'

Ironhide had finished placing the cred-chips in Triggerhappy’s palm as Optimus rolled off. ‘There, two-hundred creds,’ he grumbled, having lost his bet to the ex-Decepticon in darts. 'Fragger.'

Triggerhappy chuckled as he counted the credits. He removed an imaginary hat from his head and pretended to bow. ‘Heheh, please come again!’

With Optimus already ahead, Ironhide transformed into his armored truck mode and rolled on after him.

Jazz grinned, calling out to them. ‘Come one team, don't go getting too great of a head start. I don't want you getting any pre-conceived notions that you won't be eating my vaper-trails in about three-point-five astro-seconds!’ Before he could transform, however, Mindwipe had grabbed him by the shoulder. His face was grim.

‘Listen to me Jazz—‘

‘Oh, uh it’s cool MW. I really appreciate the fortunes and all, but I don’t think I need any more glimpses into my future any time soon—‘

‘It’s not that you blubbering fool! You are in no rush, but Optimus is. I lied about Prime’s fortune.’

‘I... kind of figured as much.’

‘No! That’s not what I meant! I read all of your futures. I know precisely when and how you will die. You, Ironhide—even Blackarachnia.’

Startled, Jazz payed close attention to the mystic. ‘Waaaaait. How did you know about Blackarachnia?’

‘I’m sorry. You will all die. That I can’t help you with. That will never change. I lied to Optimus Prime, however. I told you I saw him living a long and happy life, but what I really saw was him dying a horrifying death three hours from now.’

Jazz watched the mystic carefully. He brought a servo to the side of his helm, attempting to make sense of it. ‘Three hours?!’

‘It will be one of the hardest things for you to do, Jazz, but I need you to change his fate. It’s muddled. And I admit this may not be the best advice you’ll get to hear, but I need you to avoid the one who never touches the ground. Do that, and you shall be safe. I’m counting on you.’

Jazz looked over his shoulder to see Optimus and Ironhide still driving in the distance. ‘Why me?’

‘Because I lied about your fortune too, Jazz. You have a dark future ahead of you as well. It doesn’t necessarily mean bad fortune per se, but it will be a dark path all the same.’ He paused. ‘I think you know why. But because of the actions you take, and the actions you will take, I trust you to take the most practical course of action.’

He craned his head back to Mindwipe. ‘I really should tell them.’

‘I'd rather you didn't. I have encountered this sort of thing in the past, and I guarantee telling him the truth is the last thing he needs. Panic causes ineffectiveness. Ineffectiveness leads to mistakes. Just guide him so that he never encounters the one who never touches the ground. Understand?'

Jazz nodded firmly. ‘I hear you MW. I'll do everything I can to make this right.’

‘Now go. I have a backup plan should all else fail, but the chances of that succeeding are even lower. For now, focus on your duty, and keep Optimus alive.’

Without so much as a goodbye, Jazz transformed into his Cybertronian speedster mode and raced after Optimus and Ironhide.

There Mindwipe stood, frowning at the trio as they made their way away from the establishment. He looked up at the sky. The universe could not afford to lose Optimus just yet.

 

I do, a friend of mine introduced me to them a few years ago just before The John left. But I adore Hatchworth so it's all good.

 

I really missed Jon at first, but I think I actually ended up liking Hatchworth more.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Starscream gazed wistfully out the Nemesis’ front windshield as the beings of Moses 7 did his bidding below. Small, shadowy mechanicals held large tubes in place as Energon substitutes guzzled into the Nemesis’ massive fuel tank. Tall black cranes reattached class 10 missiles as fusion cannons clicked into place on its bow. Just as Obsidian had claimed, their weaponry was suitable for what they had intended to do. He watched as the planet’s equivalent of a railgun was hauled across the front of the ship to be attached as a precautionary measure. Starscream grinned. Oh, it will be suitable, alright. The planet could not be conquered, not without a sizable force to leave behind, but it was easily threatened into submission nonetheless. There was no infiltration force, and no Autobots protecting it. Their military leaders surrendered within an hour, having witnessed the destructive capabilities of the Decepticons’ queen warship. Gutcruncher had long since taken off in his replacement ship; vowing to await further orders on the moon. The rest of Starscream’s circle were on the ground, forcing the (temporarily) enslaved mechs to resuscitate the decrepit Nemesis. Still, the Nemesis, and the Decepticons collectively for that matter, outclassed the planet's entire military in almost every conceivable fashion. Outside, a Mosian tripped, spilling a quart of substitute from his fueling tube. Strika quickly executed him for his incompetence with a shot through the brain. One of the more rebellious members of the Mosian race threw a rock in Strika’s direction as revenge for her kill, and was quickly obliterated by a blast from her shoulder cannons for his troubles. As there were no more objections, Strika casually returned to her daydreaming and the Mosians returned to work. Ruthlessness. Starscream was proud of himself. Megatron would have surely appreciated him now.

His radio fizzled. ‘Starscream. Gutcruncher here. Just checking in to let you know we’re in position. You guys still down there?’

Starscream frowned. ‘Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking: “Time is money”. Unfortunately the physical impairments of this populace is kind of getting in the way of things. Any update from the Decepticon Underworld on Prime’s location?’

‘You know ninety-percent of what the Underworld knows about Prime is a load of schlock, right? Still, I did find some scraps from one of my go-to sources. According to Cryotek, Prime recently visited a planet in the Vice Quadrant named Vaudeville. I wouldn't get my hopes up, though, because he’s probably warped half a galaxy away by now.’

Starscream brought a finger to his lips. ‘I see. Huh. That’s bad.’

‘Is it?' he paused to think it over. 'Well, I guess so. We've no way of knowing where he’s headed. Perhaps we could still snoop around the area for some information—‘

The seeker snarled. ‘If I wanted information I’d go to you for it. If you can’t supply that, well—,’ he reached up and pinched the side of his forehead, ‘—never mind. Look, if Optimus has recently warped then we might not have a finer opportunity to strike. We need to take Optimus down before he escapes our reach, immediately.’

Gutcruncher seemed to stop breathing from the other end of the line. ‘Do you know where he is?’

‘No, but I’m about to. I have a plan. You know your job, Gutcruncher. Do it.’

‘Understood. All hail Starsc—‘

He ended the call and reconnected with Obsidian. ‘Get on the ship.’

Obsidian let out a light, seemingly worried, gasp, as if he had been caught in the middle of an illegal act. ‘What?’

‘The ship. Get back to it. Bring, Strika, Slipstream, and anyone else I might be forgetting—‘

‘Thundercracker.’

‘Yes, him too. We’re leaving.’

‘But Commander, the captives have yet to complete repairs.’

‘I don’t give a damn about the captives. Optimus is about to escape my grasp, and I will not allow you to hold me back from him again!'

Silence on the other end. ‘Commander, am I correct in assuming that your confidence stems from this master plan you and our Lord Regent Soundwave have been concocting behind our backs?’

‘Shut up. Get on the ship. Or stay behind. We’re gone in five minutes.’

More silence. ‘Understood, Commander Starscream.’ The line went dead.

Starscream was worried about him. Not that he was afraid of Obsidian murdering him in his sleep or selling him out, no, that he was certain he could handle. However from what Thundercracker had explained to him, two things were abundantly clear. First of which, was that Obsidian was in collusion with a number of other Decepticons. Charger one of them. Who else, Starscream could not discern. Strika, probably. Obsidian could have had an army behind him, which would put Starscream at a clear disadvantage. Secondly, Obsidian was not the one in complete control. He was working for someone. Someone he believed to be more deserving of the title Lord High Protector than him. Who? He had his list of suspects, though none of them made any sense. Shockwave and Scorponok had been missing for decades, and though they had always been presumed dead, Starscream knew his old rivals well enough that they were likely still out there. Alive. They’d be the kind to concoct such a plan against him, of course, that assumed they were still alive. There was always Straxus, the mad king. Though he knew Obsidian would never follow him unless he aimed to remove his crown the moment it touched his scalp. But Obsidian was a follower. Obsidian wanted the best possible leader for the Decepticons to rise. Straxus was out. Shockwave and Scorponok were possibilities, though even were they still alive, Shockwave was nothing more than a humble servant, and Scorponok a boastful brute. Neither the type of leader Obsidian would follow. Soundwave was out of the picture, as if he wanted complete control, he could have easily just lied about the contents of Megatron’s will. Who else was there? Who else might Obsidian have desired to become absolute leader of the Decepticons? Overlord and Roadblock were maniacs with no true desire for power. Skystalker was as treacherous as him, yet not nearly as intelligent or effective. Ratbat and Colossus were smart enough to stay out of the spotlight. Who? Who was still out there?

Starscream realized he would have to put these thoughts on hold, as all that mattered at that particular moment was that Optimus would soon fall into his grasp. He needed to make another call. He brought his thumb up to the side of his helmet. ‘Soundwave? You know who it is. It’s time. Patch me through.’

-----

Optimus felt the hum of the Ark’s warp-engine beneath his feet. They were off. It was a good feeling, but a terrifying one nonetheless. He was once again plunging deep into the unknown. He looked up at the ceiling to find Megatron’s head staring back at him. It grinned, then phased through the paneling and out of sight. Optimus realized he either needed more sleep or still hadn’t escaped the deep end of his conscious. He wanted to be sane again. He, Ironhide, and Jazz arrived onto the bridge. There, Blackarachnia was waiting in the captain’s chair.

‘You guys got drinks, didn’t you?’

‘No, we didn’t.’ Optimus replied.

‘Liars.' She spread her arms. 'Here I was keeping this entire ship warm and toasty while you guys were off having the greatest time ever!’

‘You’re one to talk,’ Rosanna said, popping out of the main computer as a mere cassette. She transformed; landed on her feet. ‘You spent, like, the entire time in you room. Didn’t even want to chat with me.’

Blackarachnia shot her a look. In response, Rosanna stared at her.

‘What?'

'What?'

'What are you doing?’

‘I'm imitating the look you were giving me. I'm mocking you.’

‘That’d probably be more effective if you had a face.’

‘Oh,' she brought a digit to her chin, 'I guess.’

Optimus raised his palms. ‘Look, we seriously didn’t have that great a time. We got held up by this fortune teller. He forced us to listen to his fortunes and he’s making us deliver his mail, too.’

Blackarachnia turned to him. ‘Those still exist?’

Ironhide nodded. 'Ironic, because the same guy that makes a living lying to people also happens to be a former Decepticon.’

Blackarachnia raised a brow at that, and stood up. ‘Decepticon, eh? Anyone I would know?’

Ironhide leaned against the wall nearest to him. ‘Seriously? You expect anyone here to be able to answer that?’

‘You can’t really blame him,’ Optimus said, moving towards the command chair. ‘A living’s a living. Even if the means do happen to involve lies.’

Jazz took Prime’s side, looking up at the red and blue Autobot. Blackarachnia was quick to notice he had been hugging himself ever since he entered the bridge. ‘I dunno Prime. In a universe as vast and as crazy as ours, I wouldn’t write out the possibility of real clairvoyance being a thing.’

‘Believe what you want to believe, Jazz.’ Optimus said, taking a seat. ‘But if anyone could see the future we wouldn’t have to worry about, well, about anything.’ He tapped some commands into the main console. ‘So where are we, anyway?’

Ironhide gazed out the window. The Ark was hovering near a bright orange planet in their periphery. The rest of the view was an endless blanket of stars and space. ‘Somewhere orange.’

‘No, really?’ Blackarachnia reached over Optimus to activate the data-archive. She then pointed towards the front-view window. ‘That planet there is referred to by the natives of a nearby solar system as Viafinis. Untouched by any alien life, and for good reason. It’s got a huge electro-magnetic cloud surrounding its atmosphere, so we should probably not get too close.’

‘What happens if we get too close?’

‘We blow up.’

Ironhide laughed.

‘That’s not a joke, nitwit. The clouds will shut off the Ark’s system and we’ll plummet to our deaths. Since I’d rather not, I’d advise we length a solar system or two before making our next pit stop.’

‘Oh.’

‘Will it interfere with our communications equipment?’ Optimus asked.

Blackarachnia folded her arms. ‘Don’t think so. Why, who are you trying to call?’

‘Chromia. We need to get Rosanna back, remember? Technically our mission is only half done, so it would probably be a good idea to tell Chromia we have our package.’

Blackarachnia blinked innocently. ‘Rosanna? Who’s Ros—Oh!’ She laughed, and clapped her claws together. ‘Now I remember! That runt!’ She grinned down at the small idol. ‘You're so tiny! I totally forgot you were still here!’

Rosanna fumed, turning aside. ‘I don’t even need to acknowledge you right now.’

Blackarachnia chuckled. ‘Speaking of which, why do I always find you hiding in those computer slots?’

The idol hugged herself. ‘I… like to be inside of things. It’s a thing I do. Don’t judge me.’

As Optimus patched a call through to Chromia, Ironhide moved over to Jazz. When he placed a hand on the Spec Ops expert’s shoulder, he flinched.

‘You feeling alright? You’re acting a little… grim.’

Jazz flashed a grin. ‘It’s all good, 'Hide. I'm just getting used to... all of this, I suppose.’

Ironhide frowned at that. He didn’t seem to believe him. ‘Well, whatever it is, get over it. We may be safe now, but we're still in danger. We’ve a long way to go before we reach Chromia, and once we’re there there's no guarantee she'll let us stay.’

Jazz relaxed. ‘Sounds like you're looking forward to it.’

Ironhide blinked, thought for a few seconds, and then scratched his cheek. ‘Well, yeah, I suppose so. Chromia’s got a good set of people following her. They may not be much now but…’ A phantom of a grin projected itself upon his faceplate. ‘After I’m done with them they’ll be screaming for blood in no time. You can count on it.’

Jazz chuckled at that. ‘Oh believe me, I will. As unfortunate as that might sound.’ He stared at his feet. ‘Listen, Ironhide. I need to tell you something. Something Mindwipe said. he said—‘

‘What do you mean she’s not one of yours?’

Ironhide, Jazz, and Blackarachnia all went silent. Despite her attempts to maintain the flow of a conversation, Rosanna soon followed their example.

Chromia’s voice vented through the speakers. ‘I told you her codename was Rosanna, not that she was the actual idol: Rosanna! We didn’t tell you her real name in case someone out there learned she was the one with your serial code, remember?!’

Optimus slammed his palm against the arm of his chair. ‘We found her! She’s Rosanna! She had my serial code! She is the person you sent us to get! She was the person Bludgeon wanted! What are you disagreeing about?!’

‘The person I sent you to receive worked undercover at a desk on Talon IV. I don’t know whether the actual Rosanna was there or not as well, but—

‘There was no-one else! Even if you’re serious and we got the wrong person, all the other prisoners were dead, so if you’re telling me there just so happened to be another Rosanna, then—‘

‘You know what, I don’t care. This joke isn’t funny, Optimus. Just bring Windblade home so we can get this matter over with. And please be sure to quit being so… difficult, when you get here.’

‘Who the hell is—I’m being difficult? You’re the one being difficult, you--!’

The line went dead.

Optimus whipped the communicator across the room, sending it clacking against a wall. ‘Dammit! What the hell was that?!’ He turned to Rosanna for answers.

She shrugged. ‘Eh, you want my honest opinion? Chromia’s weird when she is angry.’

‘Define "weird".’

Rosanna laughed. ‘Oh yeah, you have no idea. She likes to pull these weird pranks where she keeps trying to convince people they’re wrong about something. One time she tried to convince me that eggs don’t actually exist. She actually had me going for a bit. The troops were in on it and everything—all because I spilled some paint.’ She stared at Optimus. ‘You didn’t piss her off recently, did you?’

Optimus felt himself go limp. Memories of his quarrel with Chromia flashed before his eyes. He had been so focused on getting Rosanna home that he hadn’t really thought about it. ‘Oh.’ He stared down at her. ‘Sorry. I guess I did piss her off. It’s a prank, huh? I guess that is a little weird—‘

A cannon blast hit Rosanna’s mid-section, breaking open her chest cavity and sending her crashing down from the command-pedestal and into a display case of files. Her body convulsed with flames and electricity as she attempted to stand. Her chest hung open, and her colours appeared to fade.

Steam wafted from Ironhide’s glowing cannon as he released his aim. He blew the tip before advancing on the wounded mini-bot. One more shot would kill her.

Horrified, Optimus whipped out his axe and slammed the blade against Ironhide’s shoulder, creating a large cut through his armour.

‘Ah!’

Blackarachnia and Jazz made way as Optimus pushed him against the wall. Pinning him in place. ‘What the hell did you do?! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kick you off this ship right this instant!’

‘Optimus!’ Ironhide raised his servos, and forcing himself to calm. ‘Optimus… Rosanna’s been lying to us. I know Chromia. Chromia doesn’t… mess around. She doesn’t prank. Rosanna is trying to cover her tracks. Why? I don’t know, but the only thing I could think of is—‘

‘Boss-bot!’

A beam, twice as powerful as Ironhide’s shot towards them. Swiftly, Blackarachnia leaped in the way of the blast, absorbing the hit with her torso. An explosion. Blackarachnia fell onto her knees. A massive gap or sparks and exoskeleton existing where her back used to be.

Optimus released Ironhide form the wall and gaped at his fallen crew-member. ‘BLACKARACHNIA!’

He heard a click, and looked up. Jazz was on his knees, his hands raised above his head in surrender. Next to him stood Rosanna. Her colours dimmed. Half a dozen cylindrical cannons larger than her torso had sprouted from her back. At least one of each had been pointed at the heads of Optimus, Ironhide, Blackarachnia, and Jazz respectively. Nobody moved.

‘Now, let me make myself clear,’ Rosanna began. ‘If any of you moves a inch-- or even gives off the impression of fighting back, then I will send this ship screaming into that hell-scape of a planet below us.’

‘You can’t—,’ Blackarachnia wheezed.

‘Of course I can. I’ve been inside your computers—fused my processor to the Ark’s main cortical complex. We are essentially the same being at this point.’

‘This doesn’t make any sense!’ Optimus muttered. ‘We rescued you! You were captured by Bludgeon—why are you doing this?!’

‘I know this is very confusing right now, but I’ll try and explain to the best of my ability. My name is Flipsides. I am an agent of Soundwave. I was developed the same way Punch Counterpunch was. Two minds, one body. One dominant, one submissive. Rosanna is an idol that travels the galaxy playing concerts at a series of organic worlds -- all rich with resources. I am the Decepticon that gathers information through her eyes and transmits it to the nearest Decepticon battle squadron.’ She rolled her servos as if she were bored by the whole ordeal. ‘That's usually when the nukes drop.’

They know about Punch. Optimus realized. Suddenly, he began to fear for Autobot High Command. They had always been assumed that their agent was yet to be compromised. This was bad news.

‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ Optimus said, carefully. ‘Why are you doing this?’

She tilted her head to the side. ‘Soundwave’s orders. Duh. He’s in control of everything. You see, Soundwave needed Bludgeon out of the picture. Bludgeon was going to end the war, rather than win it. I received your serial code from Chromia’s contact—she’s probably hiding in some hole on Talon right now—but, things went awry when I was captured in her stead. When they found out what I had, Bludgeon had come into a position of power. He came very close to winning the Spacefarers’ war, and Soundwave could not have that. So rather than reveal myself to Bludgeon, and in doing so, reveal that Soundwave was actually trying to make him lose, I maintained my cover and waited for reinforcements. Soundwave was right in assuming you would show up to rescue me, both for your sake, and the sake of your Autobot “code”, but to be safe, I used the guise of Chromia’s contact to send an encrypted message to the Autobots. Really, it was all a ploy by Soundwave to get me out of Bludgeon’s hands. Even if you hadn’t arrived to rescue me, the results would have been the same had I fallen into Starscream's possession. The point is, everything you did was decided by Soundwave beforehand. Everything move you made was decided long before you even perceived the idea of acting upon it. You’re really nothing more than Soundwave’s tool at this point, and Starscream?’ Her visor flashed. ‘Starscream has remote access to me regardless. I still have the Ark’s serial code, you know, and since you warped just a few moments ago—and this ship isn’t going anywhere under my control, I’m afraid your position is, officially, compromised.’

Ironhide was practically in pain trying to keep his rage in check. ‘You… traitor!’

‘Oh, I’m not a traitor. I’m more of an experiment. Something in the making.’ She giggled. ‘My name is Flipsides, honey. I flip-sides.’ She snorted another giggle.

Optimus scowled. ‘While you’re explaining your master plan, would you mind telling me why Starscream and Soundwave are teaming up on this venture? I thought those two hated each other.’

‘Oh they do, believe me. However, despite being labeled the master manipulator, Starscream is practically the easiest Decepticon for Soundwave to manipulate. Once he wins, Soundwave will have the perfect puppet to play king while he rules from the shadows. Some might say he had the same relationship with Megatron. Whatever. We’re all his tools anyway. Only unlike you, I’m the kind of tool that’s about to get a major promotion after all is said and done.’

A crack of purple lightning stained the stainless glass of the front-view windshield, and the Nemesis warped into view, dwarfing the Ark with it's size. Optimus felt his spark drop into his gut. Though he had witnessed the dreadnought a number of times already, it had no trouble intimidating him out of his wits. It was strange to him how such a sight terrified him yet the image of Megatron invading his thoughts barely moved him in the slightest. His hallucinations had grown strong as of late, and at that moment he could have sworn he could feel their presence as well as see them. Though they plagued him daily, he could sense Megatron grinning over his shoulder. Looming over him like he did so long ago.

‘Now, any other questions before Starscream rips open your ship and kills every last one of y—,’ Flipsides flinched, stumbled, and nearly fell. ‘What the crap?!’

‘What?’ Optimus looked around but saw nothing of note.

Flipsides raised a digit towards Optimus. ‘Behind you—did I just—for a second there. I could have sworn I saw—‘

Taking advantage of the distraction, Jazz did a sweeping kick, knocking Flipsides onto her backside. One of her cannons went off, blasting apart the Ark’s control panel. Sirens wailed from the Ark’s overhead as the ship fell into emergency status.

Optimus darted to the control panel, pressing a series of keys and buttons to solve the problem at hand. Ironhide in turn raised his cannon to Flipsides’ head, keeping her in check before she could get back up.

Jazz rushed to Optimus. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Everything. Flipsides destroyed most of the command inputs, but I think I can still—’

With the flick of a switch, the Ark exploded forward, engines seething with energy as it roared towards the Nemesis. The force of the blast sent all five of its passengers flying across the room, rendering them dazed and confused. The massive dreadnought opened fire, grazing the rims of the Ark as it blazed through the space between the Nemesis’s belly and the planet Viafinis. A missile caught up to the Ark, blowing apart a booster rocket and sending it spiraling down towards the planet below.

On his stomach and in a daze, Optimus slammed his fist against the floor and shouted. ‘Stasis-pods. Everyone. NOW!’

Though his vision and hearing were muddled and unreliable, Optimus could still make out the cackling figure of Flipsides, rising from the ground. ‘You think you can escape this? I’m sorry Optimus, but you—‘

The Ark’s systems went dark as it entered the electromagnetic cloud surrounding Viafinis. A loud explosion reverberated from the Ark’s main generator, then silence. Optimus crawled through the whirling darkness. He could only assume the others followed his orders and went for the pods, though he wasn't sure whether he was still on the bridge, let alone if he was still aboard the Ark. Everything felt alien. Like he was far away from home. But this IS my home, he thought. He crawled, and crawled, and crawled. The Ark plummeted, and was to hit the planet’s surface at any moment, and he crawled. He crawled, because if he stopped crawling there was a very real chance he could die. He crawled until his hand touched a large cylindrical object. A stasis pod. He stood, wobbling. He activated the command code and the pod came to life. The bright blue glow stung his optics, but at least he could finally see. It opened.

Megatron had been waiting for him inside. He smiled at the Prime, then spread his arms wide. ‘—CAN NEVER ESCAPE!’

Megatron wrapped his arms around Optimus and hoisted him up. The warlord fell back into the pod with Optimus on top of him. The doors closed around them. Darkness returning to them. Darkness surrounding them.

The Ark crashed into the deserts of Viafinis, bringing the first alien sound to the would-be untouched world.

 

The bridge was quiet. Starscream’s hands curled around the railing as he witnessed his failure through the front-view-monitor. Snatched by the planet’s atmosphere, the Ark spiralled down and disappeared into the vortex of electrical currents and irrepressible mania surrounding the violent orange orb below. There was no way of knowing Optimus was dead like this. There was no way of affirming his right to rule. He squeezed the bridge’s railing until the metal creaked and dented between his palms. Ripping his hands from the ship, Starscream spun around to Thundercracker. ‘Fire up the warp engines! We’re going in after them.’

Obsidian halted Thundercracker with a wave of his tendrils. ‘Belay that order,’ he turned to Starscream, examining him top from bottom.

Starscream snarled, barely sparing a glance in his direction. ‘Do you have any better ideas?’

‘The Nemesis will not survive the planet’s weather. Because we were unable to complete ship repairs, entering the storms now would be considered suicide. Even if the Ark did pass through the planet’s storms unscathed, there is a very low chance we will be quite as lucky.

Starscream moved closer to Obsidian, glaring daggers into his elongated skull. ‘Then what, my dearest General, might you suggest?’

Obsidian turned to the Thundercracker, who simply exchanged looks with Strika in uncertainty. The seeker couldn’t begin to guess how he was at all relevant. Obsidian set his gaze back on Starscream. ‘According to Thundercracker’s reports, we should be able to use Skywarp’s teleportation prowess— combined with the Nemesis’ higgs engine— to link a ground bridge from here to the planet below. It would drain most of our fuel supplies, but I digress that it is our safest—‘

‘I won’t allow it.’ Thundercracker said, stepping forward. ‘I won’t! The energy consumption won’t only drain the Nemesis’ reserves, it will drain Skywarp’s as well. It could kill him!’

Watching him, Starscream careful pushed Obsidian aside and made a beeline for the blue seeker. ‘And so what?’

Thundercracker stared at him.

‘So what if you don’t like it? I’m the commanding officer here. I make the decisions.' He leaned closer to the seeker. 'What are you, Thundercracker? What are you willing to risk for the sake of a personal matter?’ He sneered. ‘This is war. If you don’t like it, tough shit. I don’t need soldiers who won’t follow my command. Now tell me, what are you going to do?’

Thundercracker stared at him for another second, then lowered his gaze. ‘I will… follow your command.’

He smirked. ‘Fantastic. Now boot up Skywarp and set the ground-bridge co-ordinates to the planet below. The five of us will warp down there and eliminate Optimus in person.’ He turned to Strika and Obsidian. ‘And you know what? Part of me was actually hoping it would end this way. It's more... climactic.’ He spread his arms wide and bellowed to his crewmates. ‘Now, who’s ready for settle some scores?’

Strika took a step forward, reeled her arms back, and struck her fist into the palm of her hand. A loud ‘clang’ echoed across the bridge. ‘You’re preaching to the converted, Starscream.’

Slipstream similarly began chuckling at the prospect while Obsidian hovered back into the shadows.

Starscream couldn’t care less. He was finally going to win.

-----

Optimus awoke in his stasis-pod prematurely. Though he had been ejected from the Ark, his fears regarding the planet’s hostility had been put to rest. It appeared the planet’s weather did not affect the lower altitudes on the planet’s surface, or at least not in the current season, and he was free to walk along its surface unharmed. His stasis-pod’s door had been busted wide open from the crash, and he could see the sky from where he was laying. It was a bright red. Groaning, the Prime raised himself out of the pod and rolled out onto the sandy ground below. The planet’s surface was mostly made up of canyons and desert. Large fissures stretched across the rock, seeming to go down for miles. On his feet, Optimus surveyed the wide open area to find movement in the distance.

He followed the spastic figure until he was within a kilometer from it. From there he could see it was Flipsides, attempting to wrench open the door to another pod. From that, Optimus continued his pace until he found himself standing directly behind the small Decepticon.

Failing to open the pod-door, Flipsides froze, slowly looking up to see the large Autobot standing behind her. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ She went back to her work. Tiny fingers wriggling into the cracks between the door and the pod, scraping eagerly to get it open. Optimus activated his axe.

Carelessly, the small Decepticon turned around once more. ‘Look, my weaponry was busted in the crash. I’m no threat. All I want is to get inside this pod so that I can reconnect my mental link with the Ark. Leave me alone.’

Optimus lunged forward, slamming the hilt of his axe against the pod’s door. Flipsides covered her face as steam exerted from the coffin-like machinery, removing her fingers only in time to see the pod open. Blackarachnia sat up from the pod, eyes blinking warily before turning her head to see Optimus.

She barely spared him a passing glance.

Optimus glared. ‘Still not forgiving me, eh?’

She shrugged, then saw Flipsides. A stalk burst from her back and rested its bladed edge inches from Flipsides’ throat. Flipsides raised her hands above her head in surrender. ‘Whoa-kay, calm down now. I just explained it all to Optimus—there’s literally no reason to kill me!’

The ex-Decepticon glanced up at Optimus. ‘What should we do with her?’

‘Put her in the pod.’

‘Yeah,’ Flipsides nodded. ‘Good idea. I can deal with that. Go for it.’

In moments, Flipsides had taken Blackarachnia’s place inside the stasis pod, locked in forced sleep.

‘How’d she survive?’ Blackarachnia wondered.

Optimus folded his axe back inside his body. ‘Could be her size. Could be an inherited ability of flight. Doesn’t matter now. The Ark is powerless—and so is she.’

Blackarachnia observed the rolling canyons in the distance. The red sky, on closer observation, appeared to move not unlike sped up footage of clouds. The sky rolled onward and crackled on occasion. The sun had somehow managed to shine through the dangerous weather and illuminated the desert with an evening redness. ‘You know where Ironhide and Jazz might be?’

‘Nope.’ Optimus transformed into his truck mode. ‘Get on.’

Reluctantly, Blackarachnia sat on the edge of her leader’s vehicle mode, banging on his roof to move.

Optimus drove for miles. During that drive neither he, nor Blackarachnia, said a word. Feuds didn’t just go away, he realized. It was as if as soon as it appeared that Blackarachnia had forgiven him, she hadn’t.

They stopped once in their journey, and that was when they found the Ark. It had crashed into the side of a large canyon, intact, but clearly dead. A large fissure separated them from the ship, however, and they could only gawk at the sight of their home in ruins.

‘There it is,’ Blackarachnia said.

‘It’s not in pieces, at least.’

‘It’s not going to fly us out of here this time, either.’

‘Maybe not.’

They continued their journey, at one point finding a popped stasis pod, as well as a trail in the sand leading to, what they’d later realize, was Jazz’s location. When they found him, he had been standing at the foot of a rockslide. Ironhide’s pod had been buried.

Cheerfully, Jazz waved them over to help him move the boulders.

‘We got your message,’ Optimus told him, transforming into his robot mode. ‘Ironhide’s in there? Is he okay?’

‘As shocking as this might sound considering his... age, he was actually the first of us to reach a stasis pod. As long as he's in there he should be fine. What about you? You see the Ark?’

Optimus nodded solemnly.

Jazz placed his hands on his hips and whistled. ‘Yeah, can’t say it’s going to be easy to pull something that big out of all that rubble…’ he grinned. ‘But, hey, if we can get ol’ hide out of this then an Ark-class spaceship should be a breeze!’

Optimus smiled at that, and the three of them got to work. In a matter of time, Ironhide was free of his pod and shaking his head groggily. He looked up at his teammates and raised a brow. ‘Everyone survived?’

Blackarachnia chuckled. ‘You almost sound pleased to see us.’

He got to his feet, and began dusting himself off. ‘Bah. Why would I be? To think I was almost rid of you…’ He grumbled on.

Optimus grinned. ‘It’s good to be whole again. Come on, we should get back to the Ark. The sooner we get it out of the dirt the sooner we can figure out how to get off this planet.’

Jazz nodded, looking up at the rolling red sky. ‘Couldn't agree more, Chief. ‘Sides, who knows what the weather will be like after… dark. Oh no.’

Optimus traced his vision. ‘What is it?’

He pointed at the sky. Silhouetted by a red backdrop was a star-shaped shadow moving closer to their position.

-----

Thundercracker activated his comm-channel. ‘Starscream, I’ve found them. Home in on my position.’

Starscream was already within a kilometer of the blue seeker. ‘Excellent. Don’t you dare start anything without me, are we clear? That goes for everyone. Rendezvous on Thundercracker’s position before beginning our assault. Is that okay with you, Obsidian?’

Obsidian’s voice crackled over the line. ‘It suits me just fine, Commander.’

‘Nice to have our proclaimed genius on my side for a change. Thundercracker, do not let them escape.’

-----

Jazz had already contorted into his vehicular mode. ‘Come on, it’s time to split!’

Optimus and Ironhide had already transformed, with Blackarachnia landing on top of the latter’s roof.

‘Who is that?’ Optimus snapped. ‘Starscream? How could he have passed through the storm?’

‘Thundercracker,’ Jazz replied. ‘You can tell from the shape of his design. It’s too plain to be Starscream’s. And we managed the storm just fine, it shouldn’t be any surprise that they could do the same.’

-----

High above, Thundercracker accessed Starscream’s channel. ‘They’re easy picking from up here. Are you sure you don’t want me to drop a few missiles? It might scare them into a surrender...’

‘No need. Besides, I am already within killing distance.

-----

‘Incoming!’ Ironhide shouted as a large figure swooped down from above.

Starscream’s massive body let off a small tremor as he landed in front of them, causing the three vehicles to swerve. Blackarachnia was flung from Ironhide’s roof as he rolled onto his side, while Optimus and Jazz managed to transform mid-air and land on their feet.

‘Strika!’ Starscream roared.

From the west, a series of missiles fired from the incoming tank. The missiles tore apart the ground surrounding the four Autobots and sent Jazz and Optimus flying towards Ironhide. From the South, Obsidian and Slipstream dove at them in their vehicle modes, firing barrages of missiles at the team and cornering them against the cliff-face of a large fissure. From the east, Thundercracker dropped from the sky, landing similarly to Starscream and reeling back his arm.

‘This is for Skywarp!’ He shouted, swinging his fist across Ironhide’s face and shattering a chunk of his faceplate; knocking him back into Optimus’ arms.

‘It’s okay,’ Optimus said, helping Ironhide to his feet. ‘I’ve got you, buddy.’

Though it was little consolation, as in a matter of seconds, Starscream’s brigade had herded Team Prime into a small space before regrouping on a higher ground. The Autobots were trapped between five Decepticons and a massive crevice. The ground within was nowhere in sight

Starscream basked in his triumph as Strika, Obsidian, Slipstream, and Thundercracker circled around him. It was clear from his posture that Starscream had planned an entire speech surrounding his victory. From praising his strategists to belittling Optimus. His grin already told it all. He and Optimus eyed each other. Pure enjoyment from one, and pure hatred from the other. Soon, Starscream’s grin faded, until it was devoid of sadism or enjoyment. His gaze went sullen, and a professional air snuffed the braggart struggling to escape. He glared down at the smaller Prime before activating his null-ray.

‘Are you ready?’

Optimus’s faceplate shifted into place, as his axe flipped into his grasp. ‘I am.’

At that, the nine Cybertronians leaped at each other. Metal clashing and roars of adrenaline echoed throughout the desert. Obsidian fired missiles only for it to be blocked by Blackarachnia, stalks slicing the air rapidly. Strika smashed her fist into the ground at Jazz’s feet, missing just in time for the spec-ops expert to leap in the air and land on the tank’s back, activating his nunchaku and wailing away at her skull.

Optimus’ axe clashed with Starscream’s arm as he unloaded the ammo from his null-ray into the ground below. Frustrated, Starscream bashed his head into Optimus’s chin, causing him to reel back, massaging his faceplate. As Starscream’s head fell back, chunks of Prime’s faceplate remained lodged into his fore-head. He grinned. ‘This is more like it.’

A missile struck Ironhide in the chest, knocking him backwards and into the dirt. As he pushed himself up, Thundercracker sprinted up and kicked the weapons specialist across the side of his face. ‘I thought he’d be up again within a week,’ Thundercracker spat as he fired another missile into Ironhide’s shoulder, sending him spinning into the dirt, nearing the fissure. ‘But because of you his corpse could be rotting in our ship right now. The worst part?’ The larger seeker pulled Ironhide up to his feet before punching him across the face. ‘I don’t even know if I care anymore!’ He hit Ironhide again, and again. On his third hit, however, the weapons-specialist grabbed his wrist.

‘I know you don’t like to hear this excuse, but…’ Wrenching the seeker towards him, Ironhide twisted Thundercracker’s arm and sent him hurdling over his head; crashing into the ground behind him. ‘WE ARE AT WAR!’ Ironhide activated his cannons and prepared to fire.

Anticipating this, Thundercracker transformed into his jet mode and shot himself out of the blast’s range of fire. Airborne, the seeker circled the sky and dove back down upon him. ‘You see, unlike you, I try to pull my punches. I, at least, try not to relegate myself from murdering for the sake of murdering. I even like to convince myself that deep down, we are above mindless violence. But you?’ Several hatches opened across Thundercracker’s frame, revealing multiple sets of missiles and Gatling turrets ‘I have absolutely zero reservations in making an exception of you!’

He opened fire, cluster missiles homing in on Ironhide and crashing into his torso. The explosions sent Ironhide reeling back. Before he even touched the ground, Thundercracker transformed into robot-mode, splaying his legs and landing on the crater in the weapons specialist’s stomach. Thundercracker dove his fist into the side of his shoulder and wrapped his fingers around a clump of wires. Wrenching his arm backwards, he pulled out the inner workings, causing Ironhide to scream. ‘You Autobots don’t know when to back down, do you?’ Furiously, he struck Ironhide in his mid-section ripping and tearing layers of armour and metal before kicking him aside, and resuming his assault. ‘If you think some average, academy-boomer Autobot can stand up against a Seeker—against an apex soldier of the Aerospace Legion, then you have another thing coming.’

Thundercracker prepared his next attack, only for a huge burst of energy to seer through his mid-section and send him flying a yard away from the weapons specialist. He writhed on the ground, caressing his wound and groaning away the pain. Slowly, Ironhide rose to his feet. He spat. ‘In that case, you probably shouldn’t have left a guy to charge his cannons to max capacity.’ He cannons spun on his arms before clicking back into place. ‘You seekers sure do have a penchant for bragging, don’t you?’ He approached the aching seeker with his cannons trained on his head. ‘In fact, I’d say the only thing separating you from Starscream is your colour scheme!’

Across from them, the Aerospace Commander in question proceeded to tuck away his null-ray and replace it with a pair of buzz-saws, whipping them around violently in hopes of getting to cut off an appendage or two of his old foe. The saw clashed with Prime’s axe, and when it did, shavings of orange metal and bright energy sparked and cracked.

‘I am glad you decided to put up a fight, but…’ Starscream kicked Optimus’s shin, causing him to stagger. ‘There’s no winning a physical confrontation with me. It’s just not possible. Not for you.’

With that, Starscream whipped his saw, slicing thin line across Prime’s chest and shattering the glass. Once again he sliced, dragging the spinning blade across his left shoulder and tearing out a column of wires connecting limb to torso. Before Optimus could react, Starscream reached out with his free hand and grabbed hold of his bicep. Activating his thrusters, Starscream jetted backwards and ripped the loose strands out of their sockets, fully removing Prime’s arm from his body. Rejoicing, the seeker began swinging the severed arm above his head like a mace.

A flash of Megatron pierced Optimus’ brain, and the fear of his assault shook him to the core. Optimus charged, screaming and wailing with his axe.

Starscream countered. He used Prime’s arm like it were a club, swinging it across his face and dashing shards of faceplate and shrapnel across the sand. He swung against his torso, further shattering his chest-plate before smashing it across his good hand, knocking Prime’s axe out of his grasp. Starscream proceeded to beat Optimus continuously over the head with his own arm, eventually caring nothing more than hammering the Prime into the ground with his own body parts. Optimus transformed, falling backwards into his truck-mode and activating his rear thrusters. The truck drove forward, tackling Starscream’s midsection before transforming again and utilizing the burst from his thrusters to leap over Starscream’s head.

Landing on the Seeker’s back, Optimus wrapped his arm around his throat, holding him into a headlock. Starscream whipped around, thrusters raising him meters off the ground before landing back down again, barely landing on his feet. The more he squirmed and choked, the harder Optimus squeezed. The seeker lifted himself off the ground once more, spinning in circles before landing again, this time on his knees. Starscream bit down on his arm, causing Optimus to scream. He pulled his head back, tearing wires and connecting tissues out with his teeth.

‘You’re a maniac!’ Optimus screamed.

‘Who the hell cares what you think?!’ Struggling, Starscream transformed into his jet mode, head tucking away into his chest, and body extrapolating into its sleeker form. ‘I have had enough!’ Starscream activated his thrusters, escaping Prime’s grip and roaring into the sky. Circling above, Starscream nose-dived at the Prime, transforming into his robot form, and again as several hatches of hidden weaponry activated across his frame. Landing before Optimus, Starscream had become a face-less battle-station of null-rays, machine-guns, and missile launchers. In spite of this, Optimus could tell the bastard was grinning. ‘Bang.’

Missiles, lasers, and bullet-fire erupted from Starscream’s body, slamming into Optimus and scorching his frame from head to toe. He fell backwards, flames engulfing his entire body. Optics searing, Optimus attempted to pat away the flames, but it did little more than fuel his own futile desperation.

Starscream wanted to watch as he struggled to save himself, but he knew his weaknesses, and he knew indulging in his own personal sense of sadism would only screw him over like it did countless times before. Body reverting to its natural state, Starscream burst forward and tackled Optimus, knocking him to the ground and towards the edge of the fissure. He struck Prime’s throat, craning him off the ground and parading him high above his head. ‘Say it!’ He growled through gritted teeth. He cracked his fist against Prime’s helm. ‘Say that I won!’ He struck him again, and again, and again.

Missiles fired from Obsidian’s torso, homing in on the ground around Blackarachnia’s feet. Blackarachnia leaped unblemished from the blasts, stalks carrying her off the ground and towards Obsidian. She landed on his shoulders, causing him to teeter in the air. ‘I’ve always heard stories of you!’ She recalled, stabbing a stalk into his collar. Obsidian let out a grunt of pain as he struggled to remove the beast former from his person. Blackarachnia only snickered. ‘Everyone in the Decepticons knows about the ancient strategist Obsidian! The greatest General of Megatron’s army! You’re something of an antique now, aren’t you? A relic, you could say.’

Obsidian let out another grunt, spinning through the air until Blackarachnia was under him. He jammed his fist into her chest, pinning her to the ground beneath them. ‘I am not Starscream, traitor. I do not lose my temper over trivial matters such as this. Insult me all you like, I’ve heard them all.’ He smashed his fist against Blackarachnia head, sending a crack running through her helm. ‘As an unconventionally born Decepticon yourself, I would imagine you would know.’ Before she could reply, Obsidian hurled her over his shoulder, tossing her into the dirt. ‘Unlike you, however, I do not attempt to disparage others to make up for the years of discrimination I've received!’

Strika’s fist crashed against the ground, sending cracks and ruptures rippling across the sand. Jazz somersaulted through the air, landing adjacent from her before swinging his nunchaku against her leg. It had little effect. Strika groaned. ‘For the love of all that’s good and holy—would you stay still for one moment?!’ She swept a karate chop in Jazz’s direction, which he proceeded to dodge as easily as it would have took her to chop him in two. ‘I’m trying to have a good time here and you’re just being all… frustrating!’

Jazz flipped over her, landing on her back and striking the back of her neck. She didn’t react.

‘Nice try,’ she said, reaching up and grabbing him by the leg. ‘But I don’t have “weak points.”’ She tossed him a yard away, knocking him into the periphery of Obsidian and Blackarachnia.

As Jazz watched Obsidian hover in place, Mindwipe’s words echoed and burned throughout his skull. ‘Avoid the one who never touches the ground.’ It was as if a thousand weights had been dropped on top of him at once. He couldn’t believe the thought never occurred to him. In spite of his almost clairvoyant level of planning and oversight during his days as a spec-ops agent, he hadn’t even begun to suspect the ‘one who never touches the ground’ as being so literal. So obvious. So close. Obsidian hovered above the ground, assaulting Blackarachnia with his balled fists. Blackarachnia was between he and Optimus, but that wasn’t much consolation. He didn’t necessarily have to trust in Mindwipe’s visions. Though he was one of the more open-minded Autobots, he did not get by as long as he did without a reasonable level of skepticism. It could have been nothing, but he knew he would find nothing but regret if the alternative were indeed true. He knew then and there that he needed to keep Obsidian as far away from Optimus as possible. He transformed into his vehicle-mode and blazed a trail towards the helicopter.

Strika blinked in surprise. She wasn’t expecting a coward. ‘Hey!’ she called out to him. ‘We weren’t finished yet!’

Obsidian only caught Jazz approaching a second before the specialist leaped at him. Transforming into robot mode, Jazz delivered a round-house kick across the side of the strategist’s head, knocking him away from Blackarachnia, rotors barely keeping him off the ground.

Obsidian grabbed his face, liquid dripping from his eye-socket. He glared at Jazz. ‘You are really going to regret doing that.’

Blackarachnia rose to her feet, massaging her sore arm. ‘I had him, you know.’

Jazz grinned. ‘I know, I know. Just thought I’d sweeten the pot a little—show you how we professionals do things.’

Blackarachnia laughed at that. The blades of her stalks extending just next to his throat. ‘Sorry bud, but there’s nothing you can teach me I don’t already know. It's called street-smarts. Look it up.’

Obsidian charged them both, rotors spinning in their direction. Blackarachnia was the first to attack, stalks clashing with the older Decepticons fists, holding them in place. Jazz leaped in the air, landing on Blackarachnia’s shoulders before kicking off once more and landing on Obsidian’s back.

The strategist growled, trying to wriggle him off while simultaneously blocking Blackarachnia’s blades. ‘Get off of me! What is the matter with you people always touching me?!’

‘You ever see this before?’ Jazz called out to Blackarachnia. The spec ops agent pulled his arm back and punched a hole into his wing. Out he ripped a clump of wires and gears, screaming and crackling with electricity.

Obsidian sneered. ‘Did you really believe it would be that easy to—,’ his rotor stopped altogether. ‘Shit!’

Jazz leapt off of him as Obsidian fell to the ground. With one rotor very much alive he began to spin in uncontrolled circles, tail dragging and tracing oval shaped patterns in the sand.

Landing next to Blackarachnia, Jazz proceeded to present the spinning Decepticon to his colleague as if presenting a caged lion to an audience. ‘Well? Impressed?’

Blackarachnia shook her head in disbelief. ‘That is literally the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.’

Obsidian began shouting profanities at the two, unable to maintain his balance.

‘Well?’ Jazz asked, folding his arms, ‘Care to do the honours?’

Blackarachnia cracked her knuckles. ‘Thought you’d never ask.’ Dashing forward, Blackarachnia struck her fist into Obsidian’s chest. Sending him spiralling next to the edge of the fissure’s cliff-face.

His tail draping over the edge, he glared at Blackarachnia through bleeding eyes. ‘Listen to me, I can explain everything. Just don’t do this—‘

Blackarachnia delivered a spinning kick to his jaw, sending him scrambling off the side of the cliff and, into the chasm below.

She turned to Jazz, dusting her hands off triumphantly. ‘Now, what’s next?’

A large figured overshadowed her, and in seconds she realized how screwed she was.

‘Me.’ Strika dropped her fist down, smashing Blackarachnia into the dirt. Jazz jumped at her, but was similarly flung aside from a quick swing of the back of her hand. Strika advanced, watching as the Autobot rolled around in the dirt. ‘You will pay for doing that to Obsidian.’ She charged him, grabbing Jazz by the back of his head, and shoving his face repeatedly into dusty canyon floor. The smaller Autobot could only struggle as Strika beat him down. ‘Both of you!’

Watching as Jazz was assaulted, Blackarachnia peeled herself out of the ground and activated her blades. ‘Maybe I can show you a thing or two myself…’

But before she could do a thing, Slipstream leaped on her back, brandishing a knife. Her legs wrapped around the spider’s torso; holding her in place as she stabbed into her neck. Blackarachnia whirled around, blades trying to find the source of her pain. But Slipstream continued to stab.

‘You little demon, get off me!’ But by the time she finished her sentence, Energon had been gushing from her mouth.

Slipstream only chuckled as she stabbed. ‘Say that again without your vocal processor why don’t you. Come on, admit it. You’d love to have me on top of you all the time. I’d be like another set of limbs! Why settle for eight legs when you can have nine!’ She paused. ‘Wait—ten! Ten legs! Eight plus two equals ten!’ She paused again. ‘Oh right, vocal processor. Can’t respond.’ She dug her knife deeper into Blackarachnia’s throat, tearing out circuitry and causing liquid to seep from her wounds.

Ironhide fired a shot at Thundercracker, searing the ground where he once lay. Rolling back onto his feet, Thundercracker activated his incendiary gun and fired back, missing his head by an inch. Preparing to return, Ironhide caught sight of Starscream. He had been holding Optimus above the edge of the fissure, repeatedly beating him across the head as he did.

‘Dammit.’ With one cannon, Ironhide fired at Thundercracker, sending him scrambling out of the way. With the other he fired upon Starscream. Without aiming he was almost certain he would miss his shot, but Starscream’s arm succeeded in blowing apart regardless.

Starscream yelled out in pain, then in horror as Optimus escaped his grip. The Prime fell, momentarily reaching for the cliff-face before missing his mark and plummeting into the chasm below.

‘NO!’ Starscream roared, whipping his head around to face Ironhide. ‘Now I’m going to have to go after him, you dolt!’

But Ironhide was already charging him. Tackling; pinning him to the ground, and preparing to strike his body with all his might. Before he could land a hit, however, Starscream had already rolled him over and activated his saw-blade. ‘You know, I’ve never performed brain-surgery before, but when Autobots like you are concerned I am always willing to give anything a try.’

Ironhide activated his cannons, firing a burst at Starscream’s head. The Seeker ducked in time, but remained startled by the Autobots surprisingly quick draw.

Ironhide let out a grunt as he prepared another shot. ‘Enough with the amateur monologue, Starscream. Admit it, you’ve been looking forward to this just as long as I have.’

He opened fire, only this time Starscream was ready for him, and grabbed his wrist. The blast missed his head, but stunned him long enough for Ironhide to fight back. The weapons specialist punched him in the chest, sending him stumbling off of him and scrambling onto his feet. Back on his feet, Ironhide activated both of his cannons simultaneously and fired a pair of blasts at the Aerospace Commander. They struck his chest, but Starscream was quick to shrug them off as he advanced. He activated his Gatling cannons and fired consecutive rounds at the weapons specialist. Ironhide rolled into a dodge, then returned fire. Blocking the hit with his intact arm, Starscream spat.

‘Thundercracker!’

The seeker regained his bearings; reloaded his incendiary rifle.

‘Go after Optimus. Kill him, bring him here— it doesn’t matter! Just get the job done!’ A blast from Ironhide’s cannon blew apart his lower abdomen, carving out a large crackling hole in his side. The Aerospace Commander fell to his knees, clutching his wound.

Thundercracker winced at the sight. ‘Commander!’

‘I’m fine.’ Starscream’s hidden weaponry activated. His thrusters rearranged themselves over his shoulder and fired a pair of wide beams of light in Ironhide’s direction. Ironhide ducked, but the aftershock of the blast fried his circuits. He rolled as missiles emerged from Starscream’s chest and popped off in his direction, either striking the ground before him or soaring off into the distance. Starscream spat. ‘Now go, while I deal with this parasyte!’

Reluctantly, Thundercracker nodded and transformed into his jet mode; flying off and into the chasm where Optimus fell.

Activating his buzz-saws, Starscream’s thrusters rotated backward and sent him bursting towards the weapons specialist. Before he could connect a blow, Jazz landed on his back. Tearing him away from his fight.

Starscream crashed into the ground, grabbing Jazz by the collar and tossing him away. ‘Strika!’ He pushed himself back onto his feet. ‘Strika—what the hell is the specialist doing on my back! I thought you already dealt with him!’

A few yards away, Strika kneeled over the cliff-face, staring into the darkness below. ‘He got away.’

‘What?!’

‘I got lazy and decided to look for Obsidian instead. You can handle them, can’t you?’

‘Them?’

Blackarachnia appeared from behind the spec-ops agent, leaping in the air and slicing patterns across Starscream’s chest.

Starscream grabbed the cuts, cursing through his teeth. ‘Slipstream!’

Slipstream’s head appeared over Strika’s back. ‘I wanted to help!’

Starscream rolled his eyes. ‘Oh of course.’

‘We got this,’ Jazz called out to Ironhide and Blackarachnia. ‘It’s three against one—we can take him!’

Ironhide and Blackarachnia charged Starscream from his front and back respectively. At once, Starscream’s thrusters aimed backwards, fired a pair of beams that tore into Blackarachnia’s chest. His chest and face reopened, and a barrage of cluster missiles fired in Ironhide’s direction, forcing him to dive out of the way. The weapons-specialist fired a cannon blast as he fell, which was promptly stopped by the Starscream’s palm. The metal around his fingers shattered, but it was no real loss, as what was left was soon replaced with his saw blade. In his faceless form, Starscream continued to open fire in all directions, sending the Autobots scrambling for safety. With his blade he carved a deep cut into Ironhide’s back. Blackarachnia leaped at him a second time, but was quickly dispatched with a round-house kick to her side. Any time Jazz tried to get the drop on him, he was grabbed and tossed aside like a toy.

When he was bashed into the dirt for the third time, Jazz had to admit: ‘Okay, so maybe this isn't going as well as I had hoped.’

As the three Autobots charged him, Starscream spread his arms wide and laughed. ‘Come on! It doesn’t matter how long it takes—I’ll kill you all!’

-----

Optimus woke in a dark and damp space. Sunlight only barely illuminated the small crab-like creatures and fungi growing and evolving at the bottom of the crevice. Optimus rolled over, groaning. He stared up the fissure and frowned. ‘How the hell am I supposed to get back up there?’

‘Does it really matter?’

Slowly, Optimus turned around. He wasn’t alone. In his experience, he half expected to find Megatron speaking to him. Turning his head, he instead found Obsidian, hovering over a rock with his hands wrapped neatly behind his back.

Optimus reached for his axe, only to grasp empty air.

‘Looking for this?’ Obsidian presented his axe from behind his back. ‘Don’t worry,’ he tossed it aside. It clanked against the wet rocky ground, ‘you’re not going to need it.’

Optimus raised his remaining fist in defense. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘I watched you sleep, if that’s what you mean.’

Optimus blinked, but maintained his stance. ‘Why?’

‘Oh it’s nothing as… bizarre, as that.’ He hovered closer.

Optimus backed away, eyeing his rotor, ‘I saw you get grounded.’

‘Please,’ Obsidian appeared to grin. ‘Do you realize how easy it is to reconnect the wiring connected between my mind and my rotors? If it were that easy to disable them I would have plummeted to my death a millennia ago.’ He shook his head. ‘No, I used it to my advantage so I could separate myself from the fight. You could say I was the one who ensured that Starscream would drop you down here. With me.’

Optimus squinted at that. ‘I thought that was Ironhide.’

Obsidian shrugged. ‘He missed. I had to be quick with my aim.’

Optimus merely shook his head. ‘I don’t understand. What do you want from me? Why haven’t you killed me yet?’

The strategist began to hover closer but, recognizing Prime’s reserved nature, quickly withdrew. ‘I will try to explain this as… softly as I can.’ His hands clasped together. ‘Optimus I am in charge of a certain… group of people. Decepticons, of course. We have been meeting in secret for the past year.’ He paused. ‘Since the day Megatron died, to be exact, however we had prepared long before the inevitability had occurred.’

Optimus cracked his neck and bounced on his toes, preparing for a surprise attack. ‘So what? You’re here to bring me to justice? See me in court rather than execute me on the spot?’

He raised his hands. ‘No. Not nearly. My… organization—we called ourselves the Combaticons. Officially, we are a tactical reserve named after a group of a similar function under Autobot Command. Really, we were a union of Decepticons truly loyal to Megatron. We were an inner circle of Megatron’s—designed to follow orders under the radar. Not even the conclave knew of our true purpose. Whenever Scorponok or Starscream attempted to act beyond their reach, we would ensure their actions did not cross treasonous territory.’ He frowned. ‘Which it has.’

Optimus had finally lowered his guard. ‘Explain.’

‘Soundwave betrayed Megatron. In hindsight we really should have seen it coming. We had mostly focused on Starscream and Skystalker. The obvious ones—though we were better off observing the quiet ones—the intelligent ones—instead.’

‘What did Soundwave do? I killed Megatron. I am the one responsible, not him.’

Obsidian’s hands clasped before his lap. ‘Oh, his betrayal was not murderous in nature. Rather, Soundwave’s betrayal occurred after his demise.’

‘After his demise?’ Optimus frowned. ‘How the hell does someone betray a corpse?’

‘By falsifying their will.’

His frown deepened. ‘According to Soundwave, Megatron’s will elected leadership to whoever killed his killer—whoever killed me.’

Obsidian shook his head. ‘That was not what Megatron specified. His will was not the announcement of some “contest” or “game”. It was a new amendment to the Decepticon manifesto.’ He lowered his gaze. ‘You should never have been in danger in the first place.’

‘If what you’re saying is true, then that would mean…’ Prime closed his eyes. It was all a lie. All this time he thought he was Megatron’s legacy. He thought the bounty on his head was his recompense. He thought it made up for the crime he committed in executing Megatron. He thought he had justice. In the end it was all a lie crafted by a power hungry Decepticon. He was just another pawn. He fell to his knees. ‘It’s all meaningless, then. Soundwave was using me for the sake of selecting a puppet-leader.’

Obsidian’s optics narrowed. ‘I see you’ve already figured that part out.’ He hovered closer to Optimus. This time he allowed it. ‘Soundwave controls all information. As such he is in control of everything. This bounty on your head was a distraction from that fact.’

Optimus shook his head. He should have died a long time ago. He remembered. ‘None of that explains why you haven’t killed me yet. If what you said is true, then I’m nothing more than a pawn. I have no role in any of this.’

Obsidian cracked a grin. ‘That is where you’re wrong, Optimus. You never asked about Megatron’s new amendment.’

‘Does it really matter?’

‘More than you can imagine.’ He lowered himself to Prime’s level. ‘This is going to be a lot to digest, but you need to know. I, and the rest of the Combaticons for that matter, work in the best interest of the true leader of the Decepticons. As you know, Soundwave acted without their say.’ He placed a hand on Prime’s shoulder. ‘Soundwave’s bounty was technically within the jurisdiction of Megatron’s new amendment, however, because it went without the true leader’s say, it has fallen redundant. The Combaticons have recruited a small force of like-minded Decepticons—all willing to work in accordance of the true Decepticon leader. I sent an assassin to take Soundwave out of the picture, but it proved to be an utter failure. As I suspected, it is impossible to get the drop on an outlier—a mind reader like him. Which is why we need to turn the public against Soundwave.’

‘I don’t understand—who are you working for? What do I have to do with any of this?’

‘I am about to tell you, but it will be difficult. Megatron’s new amendment—it was a matter of all future Decepticon elections. No democracy. No chain of command. His amendment decreed that Decepticon leadership be achieved, and only achieved, through regicide.’

Optimus could barely wrap his head around it. ‘What the hell?’

‘How is it effective, you mean? The Decepticons have guarded their positions with more vigour than any being in the galaxy. Nine out of ten Decepticon Generals suffer from intense paranoia, and for good reason. Should someone be capable of usurping them, they would take their place as the new General. Choose to believe it, or don't, the system worked, leading Megatron to take that unwritten rule and make it written. He made it so that if anyone were to kill him— to prove themselves capable of overcoming him— to prove themselves better than him— Autobot, Decepticon, or otherwise—that his position would subsequently fall to them.’

Optimus thought over what he was being said and shuddered. ‘No… That’s not…’

‘Optimus, according to the manifesto, a leader had been chosen as soon as he died. The true Decepticon leader. Do you know who that is?’

Optimus was silent.

‘Optimus. Officially—as decreed by the Decepticon’s high council and its subsidiaries, as printed by the late Lord Megatron himself, and as officially recorded in the Decepticon manifesto… you, Optimus are the official Lord and Commander of the Decepticon Empire.’

The Prime covered his face. Eyes shut. After a moment of silence, he asked: ‘How long did you say I have been… the thing you said.’

‘Since you killed Megatron?’

He threw his hands into his lap. ‘Just what the hell am I supposed to do with this information?!’

‘Become excellent.’

He raised his head. He and Obsidian locked eyes.

The strategist began. ‘My lord. There are approximately seventy-two Decepticons awaiting your command. There are more locked away in both Autobot and Decepticon prison complexes across the galaxy. Our forces are small, but with time they will grow.’

‘You’re a lot stupider than they say they are.’ Optimus smirked. ‘Do you really expect the Decepticons to follow an Autobot?’

‘But you’re not an Autobot, are you?’ Obsidian’s eyes lowered. ‘Not anymore, at least. Never entirely. From what I’ve heard, the Autobots want you out of the picture as much as Soundwave does. Your file has been read by everyone. They know your history. They know of your criticisms of the Autobot hierarchy. Just as they know of your history as a sympathizer of certain – but not all – Decepticon ideals. I’ve studied you for some time, Optimus, and I believe you to be capable of attracting Autobots and Decepticons alike to your side. As long as you survive, Soundwave has no power. He does not have the charisma, nor the ability to maintain such a following. If you set up a rival cell, Soundwave’s enemies will flood to it. And fortunately, Soundwave has a lot of enemies.’

‘And you think I have the charisma and power to rival it?’

‘You don’t?’ Obsidian squeezed his shoulder. ‘Optimus, you managed to destroy Bludgeon’s entire army with four confidants alone. You took down the Seacons, and survived the onslaught of Starscream on multiple occasions. You’ve killed Megatron. You have definitely presented yourself worthy. But increase your power—rally your numbers—expand your borders, and you will attract the attention of more.’

‘I won’t be a tyrant.’

‘You don’t have to be one. Be like Magnus. Follow the very same formula of fear and manipulation we have followed for centuries. Or don’t. It doesn’t matter. We don’t have to kill anyone you don’t want to kill. My point is, Optimus, if you reveal your position to the masses now, you will garner undeniable support. Thousands of Cybertronians, Autobot and Decepticon alike, are as disillusioned with the war as you. Thousands looking for a place for themselves. Many will rebel against you, many will try to kill you— that’s unavoidable. But your forces will increase at a far quicker rate than theirs. Your cell could end the war as we know it. Do you understand what that means? It means you have the opportunity to create the ideal Cybertronian society you envision. No functionist learnings, no tyranny or dictatorships—you could save the universe, Optimus. You could bring a new Golden Age upon the Cybertronian race.’

Optimus leaned his head back. He stared at the sky.

‘It’s a difficult decision, and I know you don’t like the sound of being a Decepticon Warlord—but those are only titles. You can be what you want to be. I am merely the passage between where you are now, and what you can become—‘

‘I’ll do it.’

Obsidian flinched. ‘What?’

Optimus rose to his feet, rising until he stood a head above the kneeling strategist. ‘I’ll do it. I will become the leader of the Decepticons you so desire. I will do as you say, and follow your suggestions—insofar as they do not bring harm to anyone I care about, or conflict with my own interests. You’re right, Obsidian. I’ve been running for too long to little benefit. I thought I could save myself by disappearing from the Galaxy entirely, but I know now that isn’t going to change a damn thing.’ He placed a hand on Obsidian’s shoulder. ‘I think this is my last opportunity for redemption. I think that if I can truly accomplish what you suggest, then maybe… maybe I can make up for everything I’ve lost.’

Obsidian grinned wider than he had in a millennia. ‘Yes…’ he bowed his head. ‘Lord Optimus… I will do whatever you ask.’

Optimus raised his hand. ‘Please, call me…’ he paused. ‘Obsidian.’

‘What?’

The strategist elevated himself, and turned himself 180 degrees. Watching them from a yard away was Thundercracker. His optics were wide and sizzling with white light. His fist clenched around an incendiary rifle.

Obsidian’s head fell. ‘How much have you heard?’

Thundercracker stormed towards them. ‘You were planning on defecting to Optimus, Obsidian? Optimus?!’

Obsidian raised his servos. ‘Look, it’s more complicated than that.’

He motioned him to drop them. ‘I heard everything. I know everything. Where does that leave us in all this? Obsidian? What happens to Acid Storm, and Gutcruncher, and all the others hoping for a bright future with the Decepticons?’

Obsidian sighed. ‘Well, I would hope they would see that future with us.’

‘And Starscream? What about him? What about us?! After Megatron? After Skywarp…? Does Strika know about… about this?’

Obsidian lowered his head. His eyes shut. ‘No. She does not.’

‘How is she—how are any of us supposed to accept this?! That the one who killed Megatron—who we have been hunting this entire time is to become our new leader? How does that help anyone?’

Obsidian turned to Optimus. ‘My Lord…’

Optimus stepped forward, hand in the air. ‘Thundercracker—look. I’m as new to this as you are. I know it’s all very hard to… accept. But believe me when I say we can put a stop to what Soundwave is—‘

Thundercracker cocked his incendiary rifle. ‘Stand back!’

This time it was Obsidian’s turn to move forward. ‘There is nothing to fear, Thundercracker. I want the absolute best for the Decepticon Empire. Optimus is a powerful leader. Not the most powerful, and, of course, like all leaders, flawed, but he bears the characteristics required to do the Decepticons justice. You know I’m loyal to Megatron. It’s what he would have wanted.’

‘Would he?’ Thundercracker stared down the barrel of his rifle. ‘Would he really want an Autobot to lead?’

‘That is irrelevant now, isn’t it?’ he offered his hand. ‘Join us, Thundercracker. Become a Decepticon with us—and remove Soundwave from his throne.’

Thundercracker stared at him a moment. Then to his gun. Slowly he lowered it. Then he remembered. He had no Decepticons to return to. He only served Starscream. He, Obsidian, Starscream, Strika, and Slipstream were the only home he knew. He was the Decepticon who let Megatron die. He would never find redemption otherwise. He raised his gun.

‘I’m sorry Obsidian, but I did not come all this way to let an Autobot take over.’

‘Thundercracker don’t— wait. Hear me out.’

He lowered his gun, offering the strategist one last chance to change his mind.

‘Just tell me—can you guarantee that you will never become one of us. That you will never serve the true Decepticons.’

He nodded.

‘Ah,’ Obsidian stared at the ground. ‘How unfortunate.’ He raised his head. ‘Then you should know that it was not Optimus’ fault that Skywarp is in his current predicament, if that’s what’s troubling you.’

He blinked. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘In case Optimus was compromised during Bludgeon’s assault, I knew we were going to need an escape ticket in case things went south. So I ordered Ferak to turn Skywarp into a mobile ground-bridge. I am the reason Skywarp is fused with the Nemesis’ engine. I undid his cuffs when you weren’t looking—so I would have an excuse to kill him before he revealed my little secret during our negotiations. I’m the one who kept Skywarp in stasis for this long, Thundercracker. Not Optimus, if you’re going to blame anyone, blame—‘

Thundercracker screamed and cocked his weapon.

‘Thundercracker don’t—!’

He opened fire. A burst of flame and lasers popped from his rifle and zeroed in on Optimus.

‘NO!’ Obsidian hovered into the way of the blast. He expected to stomach the blast, however he had long since overestimated his durability. The blast struck his chest and sent him flying back into Optimus.

Thundercracker fired another blast, and Obsidian fell on top of his Lord. Optimus lay pinned against the chasm wall, sandwiched between hard rock and Obsidian’s rotors. The rotors tore into his neck, shredding apart the tubes of metal and wire connecting his head to his body. Optimus screamed.

‘I’m sorry,’ Thundercracker muttered, reloading his rifle.

Obsidian tried to move, but another blast from Thundercracker pushed him deeper into the rock. His rotors dug into Prime’s throat, severing—

----

‘What?’

Optimus looked around.

White.

‘What?’

White.

He tried to look into the distance. Where was he just now? He was just—

White.

‘What?’

-----

‘Out of the way!’ In his vehicle mode, Ironhide fired a blast from his hybrid cannon, forming a beam that tore through Starscream’s mid-section.

The Aerospace Commander growled, grabbing Jazz by the leg and hoisting him up like a shield. ‘I can do this all day!’

Blackarachnia charged him, blades slicing through the air.

‘You couldn’t land a hit on me if you tried!’ Starscream swung Jazz at Blackarachnia like a club, knocking her aside. When Ironhide prepared another shot, the Aerospace commander threw Jazz’s crumpled body in the way, forcing Ironhide to withdraw the shot and catch the elite guardsman in his arms.

‘What’s going on?’

Strika turned around to find a small Decepticon staring up at her. ‘Oh, you must be the spy Starscream was telling us about. I’m looking for Obsidian—he and Thundercracker should be locating Optimus right now. The boss is over there playing with his toys.’

‘I can see that,’ Flipsides watched Strika as she stuck her head into the chasm, scanning the darkness for her teammates. ‘You not going to help him?’

‘Starscream? Nah. He’s got it all under control. Like I said—he’s playing with them.’

‘Huh.’ Flipsides balanced on her toes. ‘So I just reconnected with the Ark’s communications beacon. Soundwave’s been talking. He says he’d appreciate it if—‘

Slipstream pointed into the darkness. ‘Oh. There they are.’

As she said, Thundercracker and Obsidian ascended in their aerial forms. They hovered over the battlefield briefly before transforming and landing in the center of it.

Starscream paused, tossing Ironhide aside so he could get at his subordinates. ‘Thundercracker! Obsidian! Where have you been?!’

Obsidian hung back, his head low. Energon had been splashed across his frame.

It was Thundercracker who stepped forward. He too was drenched in black and purple liquids. There was something hanging from his servo. He was shaking.

Starscream glared at him. ‘Well? I told you to retrieve Optimus! Unless you have him hidden in your chest compartment, which I highly doubt, I—‘

Thundercracker showed him what he was carrying. He was holding a large round object by the by several thick wires. On closer inspection, Starscream realized that the wires trailed from the neck of the severed head of Optimus Prime. His eyes were a murky grey. Coloured with nothingness.

Blackarachnia fell to her knees. Jazz looked away, shaking slowly. Ironhide stood motionless. His eyes fixated on what was left of his friend.

Thundercracker dropped the head at Starscream’s feet.

‘Optimus Prime is dead.’ He spoke through a shaking voice. ‘As a member of Starscream’s brigade, I hereby declare Starscream Lord and Master of the Decepticon Empire.’

Starscream’s eyes blazed. His mind screamed. He felt like he was on fire.

Flipsides blinked. ‘Oh hey, he did it.’

-----

Across the galaxy, Soundwave watched the ordeal through Flipsides’ eyes.

At last, the bounty had been completed. His puppet had won. He flipped a mental switch, and the announcement was made.

-----

Across the galaxy, an ear-piercing siren rippled.

A leader had been chosen.

----

White.

‘Where am I?’

White.

‘Please answer me. I can feel you there.’

White.

‘Talk to me, please.’

‘Optimus.’

White.

‘Who are you?’

White.

‘I know you.’

White.

 

See the child. See the Sparkling. See the thing.

Watch as it raises its ugly head from the metallic muck that makes up seventeen-percent of Cybertron’s natural crust. See it blink and stutter and flinch at everything in his limited field of vision. Watch it cry out at the vastness of the universe.

A voice calls for it. A small thing. Equally as scared has arisen from the ground itself. It bumbles over on legs barely capable of walking. Liquid pouring from its soggy, semi-developed eye-sockets. It’s just like him. It looks just like him.

It tells him so. ‘You and I are the same,’ it says.

Small, gooey hands wrap around the thing. Servos lock intimately. ‘We are one and the same.’

See the Sparkling grow. See it questioned. See it dream. See it fail. It finds itself separated from it’s supposed other half. It finds itself nurtured and spoon-fed by doctors and nurses. It wants to be just like them. It finds itself standing before a circle of beings he never imagines he’d ever come into contact with. They point at him and smirk. He was theirs now.

See the Cybertronian stand in as a dot in a line, alongside an uncountable number of fellow robots. See him reduced to a mere number. A mere decimal. Chests puffed proudly. Voices singing anthems and chanting marches.

The elder approaches him and grins. He tells him, ‘Your name. You are Optimus now. Optimus Prime.’

He wants to be saved. He wants to be saved by Megatron.

-----

Soundwave swept down Kolkular’s halls, a convocation of Decepticons trailing behind and alongside him. This Kolkular was not the original, as much as the empire liked to pretend it was. That Kolkular—the old Kolkular—had been decimated with the rest of Cybertron long, long ago. This Kolkular was a reminder—a retrospective on past Decepticon leadership and success. It was a far more effective method of boosting morale than some cherry picked city name concocted for a hastily built base of operations. To serve in the fortress of Kolkular was considered a great honour—even if the fortress itself was completely different from the original. Surrounding Soundwave were Ratbat, Magnificus, Garboil, Carnivac, and Roadblock. The highest in rank when it came to city defense and intelligence. All had come to understand that by the time they had reached the transport chamber, someone had completed the bounty. Of course, none of them came to suspect Soundwave’s own role in any of it. Soundwave was several steps ahead, farther than any one of them dared to suspect.

‘Magnificus. Details on Reflector’s report.’

The black strategist began, ‘The news has spread throughout the galaxy as you commanded. However, as you have most likely already suspected, there has been some controversy among the more experienced Generals.’

‘I can empathize. Garboil, what of the riots?’

The bird had been resting on the former Regent’s shoulder. ‘What of them? They’re still going on in several quadrants across the galaxy. They’ll die down eventually, of course. partially because all riots do, but mostly because I sent the DJD to loiter around in their backyards.’

‘Any support?’

‘There’s support everywhere, though it is more of a reluctant acceptance than a hearty ‘hoo-ah’ if you catch my meaning.’

‘Change their minds then. Make them like Starscream. Make them adore him. Make them think that Starscream was the best possible result of this whole mess. That is your assignment: mold Starscream into the perfect leader in the eyes of the public. The media is your instrument, Garboil. I expect you to play me a symphony.’

The avian Decepticon made a click with his tongue. ‘It’s not going to be easy, you know. This is Starscream we’re talking about.’

Soundwave shot him a glare. ‘And?’

‘And… I’ll get send you a copy of our next broadcast’s script as soon as it’s ready.’

‘Good.’

Ratbat fluttered next to the former Regent’s head. ‘If you wouldn’t mind my asking—.’

‘You need not ask for my permission to speak. I am no longer your Lord.’

‘Excellent, then I won’t waste our time with useless—.’

‘But I am still, and always will be, your master—continue, Ratbat.’

He paused. ‘You seem unusually confident in Starscream’s position. Can we be sure his reign will be accepted?’

‘His reign wouldn’t have been accepted were he Megatron reincarnated. No one would. If you thought this bounty was for anything aside from the revival of Decepticon imperialism, then you obviously haven’t been paying attention.’

Ratbat reeled back, offended. ‘What?’

‘Between the announcement of Megatron’s death and this very moment, thousands of Decepticon guilds have expanded across the Galaxy—some tenfold. The Decepticon Empire has conquered thousands of solar-systems in their search for Optimus, resulting in the reproduction of Energon and mining resources that have long since been depleted since the Surge. Decepticon territory has stretched into deep Autobot space, cornering our enemies into their central sectors and rendering them ripe for attack, while simultaneously fortifying our own outposts.’

‘But the Generals— The Guild Leaders, if our change in Government has conflicted with their interests, then they could very well refuse to cooperate. Is expansionism worth the cost and energy if we have yet to directly control any territories? Are the resources we’ve acquired not wasted on fanatics and sociopaths that we don’t even control?!’

‘I fail to see the issue. Before Megatron’s death, the Generals chose to rule their own personal empires with little to no attempt at enacting a thorough mechanical revolution. Megatron’s death is what urged them to merge forces, form alliances, and conquer the surrounding systems. It does not matter whether or not we control them directly— if the territory is under Decepticon rule, then the Empire will thrive. If they ever do attempt to act out of order, we still have the DJD and Sixshot under our control. We have Cryotek’s Mafia and the Secret Service on our side. We can force them into staying loyal should the issue ever arise.’

Ratbat growled under his breath as they entered the space-bridge’s main chamber. Soundwave was being uncharacteristically overconfident in himself, and he had begun to hope the Director of Communications would begin to learn his place once Starscream set things in order. Looking forward, he sneered. ‘Speak of the devil.’

Standing next to the spacebridge, were Sixshot and Hun-grr. Hun-grr waved them over. ‘Hah, thought you might have gotten ahead of us for a micro-second!’

Soundwave greeted them with a nod.

Roadblock and Hun-Grr shook hands eagerly as Carnivac and Magnificus examined Sixshot’s frame. Rarely did they have had the opportunity to witness the notorious six-changer in person.

Sixshot raised his hand, forming the Cybertronian equivalent of a peace-sign with his fingers. ‘Yo.’

Soundwave snorted a laugh at that, causing everyone to stop and stare at him. He wasn’t known to be prone to laughter.

Embarrassed, Soundwave quickly diverted their attention with something else. ‘Sixshot, I had thought you formed an assembly with Bludgeon.’

He shook his head. ‘It didn’t work out. He didn’t have what I was looking for, you see.’

Soundwave’s visor squinted. ‘Hm.’ He waved them aside. ‘Then call in everyone you can think of.’ The portal activated, illuminating Soundwave’s visor with a greenish tint. ‘The new Lord of the Decepticons will require a suitable welcoming party.’

-----

Starscream felt an intense heat behind his eyes. He felt his mouth salivating energy. He spread his arms wide, body trembling as he beheld the rolling red sky above. His jaw opened, a scream of energy plumed up above. He let out an intense gasp and announced. ‘Spawn of a glitch! God loves me!’ He could barely believe it. He had been moving towards this goal for so long. Longer than he had known who Optimus was. Now here he was. He was Lord of all Decepticons. Emperor of the cosmos. Finally, he could bring upon change. He felt like his travels across the Galaxy were going to last forever, that this moment would be forever out of reach. Only this time, his travels were over. This time, he had won.

The trio of remaining Autobots looked on in distraught as Starscream laughed.

Thundercracker stood motionless. Prime’s head lay at his feet. He had achieved his redemption, didn’t he? He killed the Prime. He avenged Megatron. He stared at his bloodied hand. The one that carried Prime’s head. His spark pulsed painfully.

‘Thundercracker!’ Starscream called to him, but the blue Seeker remained stagnant. He didn’t need Starscream shouting at him now. Now, when he felt like the biggest hypocrite in the known universe. He executed Optimus like he did Megatron. Why couldn’t they see that? Why couldn’t Starscream just leave him alo—

Starscream embraced him. Holding him close, and then after a few seconds, closer. Thundercracker’s mouth opened, then closed. What just…? Is this happening right now? For the first time in his life, Thundercracker was experiencing a hug. Flinching, Thundercracker lifted his arms to wrap around his Commander.

‘I am sorry,’ Starscream said.

Thundercracker flinched.

‘I’m sorry I treated you the way I did. I treated you for… less than you were. You’ve proven to me that you didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry, and thank you. Thank you so much for doing this for me. Thank you for helping me reach this moment. I owe it all to you.’ Starscream released him, took a step back, beamed at him, then turned to the others.

As soon as his back turned, Thundercracker began to feel something well up inside of him. He wasn’t anybody until he killed someone important. Thundercracker was a ghost. A non-entity drifting through someone else’s life. And in the violent world he lived in as a Decepticon, it took becoming a murderer to become anything at all. It took ending one life just to have one of his own. He broke into tears. Grossly sobbing over the death of his enemy. Why? He demanded. Why is this happening to me?! Nobody seemed to notice. Who Thundercracker was, the person, not the Decepticon, was invisible. Nobody could see him. Nobody cared who he was. Not Starscream, not Skywarp, not Strika, nobody—

Someone clasped his hand. Altogether he stopped, then looked down to find Slipstream standing by his side, holding his right hand. ‘Making fun of me again, Slipstream?’ He wiped his optics with his left arm and frowned down at the Seeker. ‘I’m really not in the mood for this! If you’re going to bother someone, go bother Obsidian or Strika for a change. Alright?!’

Slipstream looked up, staring blankly at the seeker. Her mouth twitched, as if she wanted to say something. Instead she only smiled, and faced forward once more. She squeezed his hand.

Thundercracker stared at her. That’s not fair. He faced forward. That’s not fair at all.

Obsidian watched on in silence. He had failed. He had lost to Soundwave. By his own blade no less. It was an unfathomably mundane way to die. Decapitated by a rotor blade. There was no fight. No drama. It was an accident. The Lord of the Decepticons had died by chance. What would he tell the others? It was too much for him to bear. In his younger years he would be furious. In his younger years he’d have murdered Thundercracker for his crime. Now he could only hover in solemn consideration. He had worked so hard for nothing. He had lost this battle.

Strika slapped him on the back, she had been doing a dance in celebration. To her, this was a monumental event. To her they had won the lottery. ‘Is that Prime blood I smell?’ She winked at him. ‘Letting Thundercracker take the credit, eh? You’ve gone soft on the little guy. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I’ll be too busy gorging on expensive Energon now that we’ve hit the jackpot!’ Strika’s expression quickly turned grim. She knew Obsidian well enough to realize that something was terribly wrong. ‘What happened?’

Refusing to meet her gaze, Obsidian only shrugged.

Strika squeezed his shoulder. ‘We’ll talk about it later, okay? Just try to look happy. We can do that much for Starscream, can’t we?’

Obsidian nodded, and lifted his head. He couldn’t bring himself to smile.

Ironhide was motionless.

Blackarachnia’s four optics stared at Prime’s severed head. She had fallen to her knees, her claws rested on her lap. Normally she’d hate herself for losing control of her emotions, but this was different. She didn’t care if she looked vulnerable. She didn’t care if she was showing how much she cared about Optimus. What does any of that matter, anyway? This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. It had barely been a day since she and Ironhide discussed a future with one of them gone. It wasn’t supposed to happen this soon. Not when they hadn’t made up yet. She and Optimus had been on bad terms over the pettiest thing. She wouldn’t speak to him once during their traverse across the planet’s plane. Why didn’t she say something then? Why didn’t she just swallow her pride and just make up with one of the only people she ever cared about? Now he was dead, and she’d never be able to patch things up with the Prime. She’d never get to laugh with him again. She’d never get to tease him again. She’d never get to travel the cosmos with him again. It wasn’t fair. They hadn’t even made up yet.

Jazz had been averting his gaze from the corpse. He was warned, and yet he did nothing to stop this from happening. He could have done something. He could have researched Flipsides’ file, or stayed by Prime’s side, or have tried anything to prevent the tragedy from occurring. He failed. Some special agent he was. Now he was their commander. By default, he was now their commanding officer. He wasn’t ready for that. He had been with them for less than a week and he had already been forced into a position of such severity in such a dire stretch of time. He wasn’t supposed to be here just to replace Optimus. In truth he was just a spy for Sentinel. He was only here to deliver information. He gritted his teeth and examined the area, trying not to focus on his old friend’s head. He realized there was no point. Strika hadn’t bothered towards the end of their fight, because she, in her experience, had already grasped that the Autobots had no chances of defeating them. Starscream alone was too much for the three of them to handle, and could have probably killed them all by himself, given enough time. Finally, Jazz spoke.

‘We need to run.’

Only Blackarachnia looked up at him.

‘There’s no point fighting them. Strika’s practically immortal, and Starscream’s still in peak condition. They have no reason to kill us now that Optimus is…’ He couldn’t say it. Coward. ‘We need to survive. For him. For Optimus. We need to—,’

Ironhide raised a hand. It was the first time he moved since Thundercracker arrived. Jazz went silent.

‘Jazz,’ he began speaking. ‘As Lieutenant Commander, the responsibility of Team Prime’s Leadership now falls to you.’

Silence.

‘Except…’ Ironhide paused, as if to carefully consider which words he wanted to use. ‘Except… I think…’

Another pause. ‘I’m usurping you.’

Jazz frowned behind his visor. ‘You are…’

‘I’m usurping command from you. I, Weapons Specialist Ironhide, am usurping command from you. I’m stealing leadership.’

It took Jazz a moment to understand what Ironhide was saying.

Ironhide leaned in towards the Lieutenant, calmly asking: ‘Are you going to do anything about it?’

Jazz stared into Ironhide’s eyes. He was calm. His optics weren’t dead, but they lacked the life once contained behind them. Jazz understood. They would never follow his orders. They would never listen to what he suggested. And Jazz realized that were the position to fall to someone else, neither would he. He shook his head. ‘No.’

Ironhide nodded to him, then turned to the Decepticons. ‘Autobots…’ He pointed a large meaty digit at Starscream, optics suddenly coming to life. They flared and crackled with cyan blue energy, the colour of his spark. His spark-casing was flaring, bursting and exerting power at its brightest. Steam hissed from his every crevice. His cannons glowed brighter than they ever glowed before.

‘TEAR THESE BASTARDS APART!’

In a burst of speed, Blackarachnia transformed into her massive spider-mode. Letting out a blood-thirsty screech and releasing all control on her system. She dashed forward. Jazz transformed into his speedster mode, accelerating at full power and boosting at the Decepticons.

Starscream ceased his celebration, and grinned at the incoming Autobots. ‘You still have some fight in you after all, eh?’ He activated his machine-gun and fired a storm of bullet-fire in their direction. ‘Come on, then! Get slagged by the Lord of the Decepticon Empire!’

Ironhide advanced at a medium pace, firing from his cannons repeatedly.

There was nothing left, now. Nothing was going to stop him from slaughtering every last one of them.

-----

Grrrrrnnnn…

In the Ark’s storage bay sat Mindwipe’s trailer. It rumbled and groaned. After a moment of silence, it’s doors creaked open on their own.

Searing yellow eyes glowed from within.

-----

White.

Clearly, Optimus had realized, he was dead.

He couldn’t feel, nor smell, nor, taste, nor hear. All that laid before him was an eternal landscape of searing white. A sick thought crossed his mind. This was the afterlife? An eternity of nothingness? He was never the most loyal practitioner of Primus, but he at least expected something to be waiting for him on the other side. Then another, sicker thought crossed his mind. Perhaps this was his recompense. Perhaps this was hell. He had died and became locked in an eternity of suffering. How was he supposed to register that?

‘Optimus.’

‘I knew it!’ He shouted. He could hear after all. ‘I thought there was somebody here.’

But the voice didn’t reply.

Sudden horror. ‘No! Please—say something again! Just to let me know I’m not alone.’

‘Optimus.’

He would sigh if he could. ‘Look, when I hear your voice, and feel your presence, I get this… image in my mind. If that image is any indication of who you are, then…’

He felt something in the presence. A feeling of hesitation perhaps.

‘Then you are the one I’ve been looking for. You’re the one I’ve been searching the Galaxy for ever since I killed Megatron.’

The image became reality. The robot was cloaked. Floating in the center of Prime’s vision and staining his once white canvas view. The robot spoke. ‘You’re right.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Optimus asked. ‘You’re not dead too, are you?’

‘No, not yet,’ the robot replied.

‘Then answer the question: what are you doing here?’ He paused. ‘Wherever here is.’

The robot paused before answering. ‘I am not really… here, as you say I am. I am less “me” and more of an interference. An interference with the event of your death.’

‘Then I’m not dead?’

‘Oh…’ The robot sounded regretful to admit. ‘You are very much dead. Your brain-module has been crushed. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.’

It was true then. ‘You know; you’ve done a pretty crappy job at keeping me alive.’

‘Look, man. I’ve done something nobody else has before. I am talking with a dead guy. I think I deserve some level of respect here.’

‘Good job. Look how impressed I am. Oh wait, you can’t. I’m dead.’

‘I have a way of bringing you back.’

‘Well why didn’t you say that in the first place? Wait. How?’

The figure brought a needled servo to where their face would be. ‘Where to start… Well, I had been aware of your trailing me for the past month. I’ve managed to get away from you for a while, but… that’s not important. I had Mindwipe prick your neck with one of my needles. I’ve imbedded a memory into you, the one you’re having right now, and in part taken a sample of your processor data. I’ve had Mindwipe upload that data into the trailer I had him gift you with.’

‘That’s what that was? I hadn’t even considered…’

‘I had Mindwipe influence your decision with his ability. He’s an outlier, you see. One capable of controlling the motives of others. He says he can see the future with it as well, but again, it really doesn’t matter what he thinks. I have your mind in his trailer back in the Ark, however it won’t be able to function properly without a spark. Which is why it’s important for you to do as I say. Fast.’

‘What am I supposed to—I don’t even know how I’m perceiving this right now.’

The figure sighed. ‘Listen, have you ever seen a Cybertronian death ritual before?’

‘I have.’

‘You know how the spark leaves the body? How it leaves its casing and floats up into the sky?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s what you are right now. Your spark is ascending into space where it will disperse across the cosmos. Your spark contains copies of the original conscious, and as such you have accessed this memory before dying. You are slowly dispersing as we speak, however it is possible to change your direction of travel.’

` ‘Is it? Back in med-class we studied spark transplants. Sometimes a casing wouldn’t accept the spark due to the owner’s state of mind. Sometimes the sparks would try and escape. When calmed, they would sit still so that we could further expunge the spark energy back into a new body. But that’s only possible if the brain module survived…’

‘The sample we retrieved from you should work as a placeholder. Though it is not your original mind, it is essentially a perfect copy.’

‘But that’s not possible. What you’re suggesting is essentially—‘

‘A step in the formula for cloning Cybertronian life. Yes.’

‘But cloning has been abandoned for deca-drons! It was agreed between the Autobot and Decepticon forces that the technology was too dangerous and raised too many questions of morality and ethics to exist. What if there existed a dozen Megatrons at once? What if the Autobots spawned an army of Magnuses? Or Perceptors? Or Prowls? What of population and individuality? It went against the moral codes of both factions, and reduces our race to a mere decimal.’ He paused. ‘You know how to create clones.’

‘We stole a copy of the clone formula before it was destroyed. We needed it in case anything such as this occurred.’

‘Anything such as—you’re cloning me?! Why?! First you avoid me, now you’re telling me you’re create more of me?’

‘For… personal reasons. I don’t see why it matters. You want to live, don’t you?’

Optimus opened his non-existent mouth to speak, then stopped himself.

‘Listen, Optimus. You still need to exist. You’re a key that has yet to fill a lock. But you need to work quickly, before you disperse, and before your shell becomes… feral.’

‘Before it what?’

‘I’ve told you everything. This memory is over. You need to move.’

‘How?!’

‘It will be difficult, almost impossible, but if you focus, your spark will recognize that a living host exists. You must learn to control your movements. Carve your way through spark-space and return to your natural shell.’

Optimus paused. ‘Is it really that simple?’

‘There’s nothing simple about it. Good luck, Optimus.’

‘Chromedome, wait!’

But he was gone. Everything was gone. Nothing remained in Prime’s field of vision but the white canvas that sprawled out into infinity.

Optimus tried to focus, and soon, through senses he never knew he had, he began to paint a picture with his mind. In moments, that picture began to form into something not of his volition. He felt himself become a shape of sorts, but the world was something else entirely.

-----

Jazz made circles around Strika, dodging her fists and leaving massive craters in his wake.

‘Sit still, would ya? I can barely—oh forget it.’ She transformed into her tank-mode, turret homing in on Jazz’s figure. She opened fire, causing a trail of explosives to tear across Jazz’s path.

‘Not trying to fight back, eh?’ Blackarachnia slashed at Obsidian’s chest, sending him reeling backwards. He merely hovered in place, ignoring the blow he had taken. ‘Good. It just means I’ll kill you sooner.’ The massive spider slashed at him once more, sending him spiralling onto his back, black liquid leaking from the gash in his chest.

A volley of firepower hit the spider’s side, singing her slightly. She turned her massive maw to find Thundercracker reloading his incendiary rifle. ‘Get away from him!’

‘YOU!’ She scuttled over to the blue seeker, shrugging off his weapons fire. She readied a blade, preparing to strike.

‘Get back!’ He continued firing from his rifle, though the massive creature seemed immune to it.

Blackarachnia struck her blade, slicing through the air and coming into contact with flesh.

Rather than cutting into Thundercracker, however, she had struck into Slipstream’s mid-section. The seeker had jumped in the way, defending Thundercracker but taking the hit in his place. The strike carved horizontally through her waist, bisecting her in two and sending upper half toppling into the ground below. Her upper half laid sprawled across the ground with her optics to the sky, Energon leaking from the gap where her waist used to be.

‘NO!’ Thundercracker roared, firing at the spider as it turned its attention towards him.

Blackarachnia leaped at him, swiping a single stalk in his direction. Thundercracker attempted to block, but it did nothing. Her blade passed seamlessly through the arm wielding his rifle, and the limb went spinning into the air. As he yelled out in pain, Blackarachnia struck another stalk into his chest and pinning him to the ground.

‘Hurts?’ Blackarachmia sliced another stalk across Thundercracker’s chest, severing his other arm in the swipe. He screamed, and Blackarachnia felt a twitch in her neural processor. ‘We’ve barely gotten started! I’m going to kill you, Thundercracker, and I’m going to do it slowly, and I’m going to do it until your last thoughts are nothing short of complete regret and understanding over what you have done!’ She slashed at his legs, severing them, and rendering him completely limbless.

Thundercracker tried to raise a servo, but realizing he had none, could only lift his head. ‘Please… I never wanted to…‘

‘Don’t even try!’ She dug her blade deeper into his torso. ‘I’m the crazed maniac, remember! I’m a mindless drone! I’m unreasonable! I kill because it gives me pleasure! I am doing this because I was born for it! I was born to kill!’

Watching as she tortured the Seeker, Jazz transformed into his robot mode and called her. ‘Blackarachnia, chill out! You’ve got to—!‘

She reared her massive maw to the lieutenant. ‘WHAT?!’

‘You’ve got to control yourself—!‘

‘Got you!’

BANG. A blast from Strika’s cannons had blown a hole through Jazz’s lower chest. The Lieutenant stammered, coughed a splash of pink liquid, and collapsed. Arms splayed out in front of him upon the dusty ground.

Her attention fixated on Blackarachnia, Strika charged forward, tank treads grinding the dirt. Chunks of wing lodged and dripping from her mandibles, Blackarachnia eyed Strika and leaped at her.

In seconds the two bodies clashed, transforming and grappling each-other furiously. Blackarachnia stabbed through Strika’s Ununtrium plating, and in turn Strika smashed hers, causing cracks to ripple throughout her bestial skull.

Strika began smashing her fist across Blackarachnia’s frame. ‘Dammit, I know you can force a transformation, but I can’t seem to find your—‘

Blackarachnia stabbed through Strika’s chest, stalks reaching out the other side.

Strika let out a roar and smashed Blackarachnia’s mid-section. In a bright flash, Blackarachnia reverted back to her robot-mode, electric sparks dancing across the ground.

She could barely stand because of the energy discharge. She looked up just in time to see Strika’s fist crash against her helm.

Ironhide blasted Starscream in the chest, causing the Decepticon Leader to fall back. Starscream grinned, and prepared to move forward again only to be blasted in the chest again, and again. Ironhide had never displayed this much stamina before. Ironhide fired once more, only this time the weight of the blast was too much, and Starscream fell onto his back. Before he could get back up, Ironhide landed on him, cracking his fist across the Emperor’s face.

He roared. ‘YOU KILLED MY BEST FRIEND!’ A loud clang as fist met with his face. ‘YOU KILLED MY BROTHER!’ He whipped his fist across the face again, and again, ripping chunks of facial metals from his skull. ‘You couldn’t have just left us alone! You couldn’t have put your power-trip on hold for one minute, could you?!’ He wouldn’t stop punching; his knuckles wet with fluid. ‘I always looked to him. To Optimus. I’m already too far gone, but he wasn’t! He always knew what was right. That’s why I always asked him. I always asked him whether it was worth shooting. Of course, I always wanted to shoot whatever problem came our way, but he could actually make the distinction. He always knew the correct path.’ His cannons fully charged, Ironhide aimed them at the Decepticon Leader’s skull. It would be a swift execution. As swift as Megatron’s was. Starscream seemed to know this too. The Seeker merely stared up at him, eyes watching him lucidly. ‘But now that he’s gone I don’t need to ask for his permission! It doesn’t matter any more what he’d have wanted! So burn in hell, Starscream!’ Ironhide prepared to take the shot. He froze. He felt as though he were choking. What he’d have wanted. Those words reverberated in Ironhide’s skull. ‘Shut up.’ What he’d have wanted. ‘SHUT UP!’ He couldn’t take the shot. It was only a single mental command to blow this Decepticon’s brains across the ground. So why couldn’t he take the shot? His arms dropped to his sides. His optics leaked wisps of sky-blue energy. ‘Why?’ He sobbed. ‘Why won’t it all… just shut up…’ He sat there for a time on the crumbling Seeker’s chest. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

After a moments time, Ironhide felt a searing heat touch his shoulder, in seconds he was airborne. His body went flying a yard away from Starscream and landed, rolling in the dirt. One arm detached from his torso. Chunks of kibble and armour shattered off of him and bounced off the dirt. He was out in seconds.

A hand was offered to Starscream, and the Aerospace Commander took it.

‘I see we made it just in time.’

Starscream’s optics adjusted as soon as he was on his feet. ‘Soundwave.’

The Former Lord Regent nodded, then gestured to the swirling green portal behind him. First the high rankers appeared. Ratbat, Roadblock, Sixshot, Hun-Grr, Carnivac, and Magnificus, then the rest. Tens of Decepticons native to New Kaon came flooding out of the Space-Bridge. Some armed, others just there to bear witness to the new Decepticon leader. At first, Starscream felt embarrassed having to appear in such a state to his new subjects, but upon closer observation, he had begun to recognize the look of fear and wonder on their faces. Starscream was covered in wounds. His exo-skull visible beneath the folds of his face. He was nearly falling apart. He had seen action. He had experience. He looked terrifying. He loved it. They loved it. Among them were Gutcruncher and Charger.

Starscream pointed lazily at the two. ‘Weren’t you supposed to be watching the Nemesis?’

‘We were,’ Gutcruncher said. ‘We were also watching your life-signs. We linked one of Trypticon’s portals to Soundwave’s space-bridge as soon as we realized something was wrong.’ He stared at the broken forms of Thundercracker, Slipstream, and Obsidian. They were wounded badly, but were alive nonetheless. Across from them, Strika was smashing Blackarachnia into the dirt. The General hadn’t seemed to notice the Decepticons’ presence.

‘Looks like you’ve got it under control,’ Gutcruncher muttered.

Soundwave moved over to Starscream’s chest, reaching into the hole carved from Ironhide’s cannons.

Starscream backed off. ‘Whoa, hold on n—,‘

‘Relax, Lord Starscream. I am tending to your wounds. The energy expenditure will be colossal, but the repair-ray I have in my possession should bring you back to functioning order.

Starscream relaxed. ‘Ah, yes.’ The crowds of Decepticons had surrounded the new Decepticon Leader, observing him carefully. They were not to ask any questions until he had returned to working order. The barely living Autobots and Decepticons had been almost completely ignored. Even Strika could do little but guard Obsidian’s broken body.

Flipsides had managed to squeeze through the crowd and into the center alongside Soundwave and Starscream. She saluted. ‘I did as you asked, Soundwave.’

Soundwave didn’t respond. Strange, he mustn’t have heard her.

‘I… uh, succeeded in carrying out my orders.’

‘And?’

Flipsides flinched, stared at her feet, then slowly backed into the crowd.

Strika snorted at the scene. Starscream was clearly well enough to speak. He just, for the first time since forever, hadn’t anything to say. Strange… Strange. Strika looked down at Obsidian. He too appeared fully online, but was lying around for one reason or another. Obsidian the workaholic? Taking a nap? Preposterous! Strika watched Thundercracker and Slipstream. They were leaking out, and would probably die soon. Pity. She had come to like them. She’d call them friends if not for the fact that she refused to make any. She shrugged. Alas, that’s just how things worked in the Decepticon business. She looked up. What the hell was tha—

A mass of digitized matter slammed into Strika’s chest. It hurt. Badly. ‘What?!’ it was a white beam of light, affecting the area of space around it. The space around the light appeared to have been “glitching”. As if the image itself has overlapped a thousand times. She traced the source of the blast to find a large, silver creature standing a yard away from her. It had massive claws and rows of jagged teeth. It stood with an ape-like posture as it glared at her. Golden eyes searing.

‘What are y—‘ The beam seemed to finally connect, and as soon as it did Strika fell offline.

Her body went flying, crashing into the crowds of Decepticons and crushing a few beneath her weight.

More or less healed, Starscream leaped to his feet. ‘What the hell is—‘

The silver thing screamed, and a beam of white light tore through the crowds of Decepticons. Screams filled Starscream’s audio-receptors as a dozen or so Decepticons disintegrated into glitch-y matter. Starscream pointed at the creature, and shouted. It was nothing Starscream had ever seen before. It was constantly changing its form, maintaining a humanoid shape, but never deciding on a single face, chest or limb. From its arms shot beams of white, distorted matter that destroyed waves of Decepticons. ‘Decepticons!’ Starscream roared. ‘Whatever that thing is, I want it dead! That is your first order!’

Some did charge, but they were the first to die. Those who were lucky escaped through the portal.

Ratbat screeched as a beam tore out his wing. ‘Soundwave!’ he spat at the ground, it was littered with disintegrating bodies. Such a waste! ‘We need to retreat before we waste any more units fighting that thing! Worse, if we stay any longer we’ll become that waste! We need to—‘

But Soundwave was silent, staring blankly at the thing as it screamed. Ratbat realized that what he was looking at was Soundwave at his most vulnerable. Soundwave was terrified. Upon realizing the former Regent wouldn’t budge, Ratbat merely growled. ‘Suit yourself.’ He proceeded to flap weakly through the portal and to safety.

Roadblock charged forward, laughing like a maniac. Carnivac barked at him to retreat, but it was too late. He was soon consumed in a blast of white light. Half of the Ground Forces Commander’s body had been ripped apart and disintegrating. The rest twitched and blinked in confused shock. ‘Someone drag him through the portal!’ Carnivac barked, firing bursts at the creature as it advanced. It did nothing. ‘In fact, drag everyone through. Don’t leave any Decepticons behind!’

Gutcruncher and Charger dove to the ground, avoiding the blasts of light with their chins to the ground.

‘You ever see anything like that before?’ Gutcruncher grumbled.

Charger shook his head, ‘Never.’ He frowned. ‘Isn’t Sixshot supposed to be here?’

Gutcruncher spat out his Cy-Gar. ‘Yeah, where the hell is that freak at a time like this?’

Next to the portal, Hun-grr stared blankly at his servo. It was slowly disintegrating from a stray shot from the creature’s beam. ‘Hey, uh, Sixshot? You think we can retreat now?’

Sixshot shook his head. ‘Go ahead. I want to watch this.’

Hun-grr watched. Even the Mayhems had retreated. Those loyal were being torn apart by the creature’s blasts. It was only a matter of time before he joined them. And if he made it through the portal before it closed… ‘But at this rate that thing’s going to kill the entire Decepticon army!’

He turned to the Terrorcon, optics blank. ‘What do you think I’m here for?’

Hun-grr stared at him before backing into the portal. Alone, Sixshot tore into the sky, planning to get a bird-eye-view of the carnage.

Starscream fired at the thing with what little fire-power he had. Unfortunately, there appeared to have been a force-field of sorts protecting the silver-creature, and any bullets or missiles that rocketed towards it were quickly deflected. Anyone who wasn’t dead or lying in stasis had escaped through the portal, and soon only Starscream and Soundwave remained. The two stood firing all they had at the thing, whilst simultaneously dodging its beams of light.

‘You should retreat,’ Soundwave muttered, landing face-first into the dirt.

‘Somebody needs to stay behind,’ Starscream replied, landing into a crouch and firing his null-ray at the thing. ‘It will take time before the space-bridge powers off, and if that thing gets through, all of New Kaon will be at risk.’

Soundwave merely nodded. Starscream was more selfless than he let on.

‘And why haven’t you left with the others?’ Starscream asked.

‘I’m here to protect the future Leader of the Decepticons, obviously.’ He cocked his head to the side. ‘I’m apparently the only one left to do so.’

‘The ones who haven’t abandoned me are either dead or dying.’ Starscream snarled. ‘Go figure.’

They dodged to the side as another beam of distorted light shot from the creature’s arms.

‘Our firepower isn’t effective,’ Soundwave said.

Starscream made a faux-gasp. ‘What?! No! I hadn't even noticed! Are there any other bright observations you’d like to make, captain genius?’

‘We may be able to harm it in hand-to-hand combat.’

Starscream groaned. ‘I was afraid you’d say that. It's like you want me to die, or something.’

Soundwave stared at him. ‘Your orders, Lord Starscream.’

Starscream shut his optics. ‘Fine.’ He kicked the ground, breaking into a sprint towards the thing. ‘Give it everything you’ve got!’

 

It was like he was in a dream. Navigating through spark-space was like nothing Prime had ever experienced. The world was warped and crooked. Buildings stood upside down or on angles. Vanishing points creating spirals of solid matter. The sky rolling like it did on Viafinis. He was getting closer. Bizarre creatures flew across the sky. Long, bat-winged organisms with skin the texture of brain-matter screeched across the horizon. Giant worms dug through the ground, rising up to catch a breath before plunging into the deep once more. Music echoed from nowhere in low ambient drawls, and faceless bodies wandered unperturbed across the great plains. He wasn’t sure how any of this manifested. What he was experiencing was either a product of his own subconscious, or perhaps even a manifestation of the collective conscious, the belief that all minds were connected by thin, cerebral threads. Every living thing came from stardust, and every Cybertronian came from the galactic fluid of space itself. Regardless, they were all connected to the universe in one way or another.

-----

Starscream’s saw-blade cut through the creatures beams, only for said beams to regenerate on the spot. Cursing, the seeker dodged backward and activated his thrusters. ‘Try this!’ Two beams of blue light carved into the creature before spiraling in place and shooting into the sky above. It did nothing to the thing, but kept it busy long enough for Soundwave to drop-kick its mid-section, sending it tumbling onto the ground, writhing in agony. Starscream boosted forward, sawblade buzzing. He placed his foot on the creature’s chest, pinning it to the ground as he aimed his blade. Striking at the neck, the creature let out a howl, and ripped Starscream’s leg away from his chest. The Seeker was flung onto the ground, rising just in time to be hammered in the gut by one of the creature’s powerful arms. The creature rose and roared again, slowly and disjointedly advancing as Starscream backed away on his knees. Soundwave in turn transformed into his Cybertronian truck form, accelerating forward and ramming into the creature’s hip, knocking it back onto the ground where it writhed once more. In truck mode, Soundwave rolled forward, driving over the creature’s body, before backing up once more and crunching its head beneath his wheels. The creature appeared to play dead for a moment before screaming, rising to its feet, and lifting Soundwave’s up by the wheels, and holding him high above its constantly shifting helm. With a mighty throw, it sent Soundwave hurtling and transforming through the air before landing hard into a rock-face next to the massive crevice, chunks of armour falling from his body. Before the creature could finish him off, Starscream dashed at him, swiping his saw-blade at the creature, causing it to recoil in pain. Soundwave fisted the ground, lifting himself to his feet before charging at the thing once more.

-----

Optimus journeyed up a large mountain of scrap metal, body moving at a snail’s pace. The spark-space was wide and varied. Fields of eyes stretched beneath Prime’s feet. Oceans of Energon flowed upward like a reverse waterfall into the contradictory sky above. Land curved up and outward into impossible shapes. Disks of light emerged from multiple suns and multiple stars. He could see leviathans and black swarms of humanoid insects battling in the distance. It didn’t even seem that bizarre to him anymore. He tried to transform, but failed. When he looked down he could only make out a sort-of-shape. Something humanoid, but devoid of detail or colour. He could make himself walk, however, regardless of how strange it felt to do so. Above, a mechanical harpy played a violin, creating melodies that made Prime’s spark sing. He ignored it and trudged on, unsure of where he was going, or where it was he needed to be. He continued his journey, knowing full well that he needed to find himself as soon as possible.

In no time at all, Optimus had reached the top of the hill. There he found dozens of identical figures. Battered and bruised, they had the faces of Megatron.

They turned to him, all of them. ‘We were supposed to come back.’

‘We never did.’

‘There’s too many of us.’

‘There are too many of us for the Allspark to hold at once.’

‘It hates knock-offs.’

Optimus frowned at them. It hadn’t occurred to him, what part of him would actually exist in this new clone. What memories he still had in his spark were faint. His main housing of conscious was his brain module, and that was gone. Was he going to be reborn? Or was he merely acting as a transplant for a newer, younger Optimus. One with all his memories, and his spark to boot. He asked the Megatrons: ‘Which one of you was the one who recommended I carry a bigger gun?’

But they only stared at him, each as confused as the last.

Optimus frowned. ‘So none of you… you hallucinations, are even the same hallucination as the one that’s been pestering me all this time?’

They stared and blinked.

Optimus massaged the bridge of his nose. ‘Great, just as I thought I was about to make sense of—,’

When he opened his eyes, he was back in the canvas of white. Before him laid a small coffin. ‘—this.’ He approached the coffin, placing the palm of his hand firmly on its lid. It was true, he realized. He was dead, and there was nothing he could do about it. Chromedome wanted a new Optimus. One to take his place, for whatever reason. His servos were shaking. He was dead, and what was worse, someone else was going to continue off from where he started. They would have his spark, his personality, his memories, but he wasn’t this Optimus. He wasn’t the Optimus who was conscious of his own demise. He wasn’t the Optimus who was a severed head lying in the dirt.

Wiping his optics, Optimus slowly began to lift the lid of the coffin. Ironhide, Blackarachnia, Jazz, Prowl, Rodimus, Chromia, Elita... I love you all.

-----

The screens across Soundwave’s chest shattered, blue glass crinkling against the dirt floor. He held his sparkling chest, looking up only for the creature to whip its balled fist across his visor, shattering it and much of his faceplate. The creature was struggling. Starscream had landed on its back, strangling it and cursing up a storm as it spun around on his pedes. Soundwave observed the creature closely. Truthfully, he had planned to retreat as soon as the creature killed Starscream and work out a way to stop it from there. He didn’t care to protect Starscream, not really. He only wanted to observe the thing a while longer. If it was what he thought it was, then it meant they were up to something. Just as he thought they had given up, the “Kimians” were still trying to reach that impossible goal. Which would mean that Optimus—that they thought, Optimus…

His plans would need to accelerate.

Grabbing hold of Starscream’s collar, the creature tossed the Seeker over his shoulder and smashed him into the dirt. Stuck in place, Starscream could only watch as the thing charged its arm beams. It was a shame, Soundwave thought. He had spent so much time trying to build up Starscream. Perhaps he could use Thundercracker or Strika instead. Still—

Something went wrong. The creature let out a scream, claws reaching to its constantly shifting skull. Distorted electricity surged across its head and chest. It fell to its knees, trembling and shifting at faster rates.

Starscream picked himself up. ‘It’s changing—it’s transforming into something! It’s turning into a—!’

It finished its transformation, taking the form of…

‘A trailer.’ Starscream turned to Soundwave, disappointed. ‘It turned into some kind of… truck trailer.’

Soundwave squinted at it. ‘I see.’ Cautiously, he stepped towards the trailer, examining it with intense scrutiny.

Starscream clapped his hands. ‘Well would you look at that! We won!’ He slapped Soundwave on the back, jerking him forward slightly. ‘We should team up more often! Hahah, just kidding. I’d rather not.’

‘We should take it with us. Have Flatline, or Scalpel take a look at it.’

Starscream scoffed, then shouted. ‘Strika!’

The large Decepticon bolted up, awake. ‘Hah?’

‘Help me laugh at Soundwave!’

She pointed at the communications officer. ‘Hah!’

Starscream grinned at the former regent. ‘We almost died trying to keep this thing out of New Kaon, you want to bring it in?’

‘St—my Lord, it is imperative we bring this… specimen in for study. Not only could it be used to our benefit, but we can also find out where it came from and who might have sent it. Someone could be trying to start a war with us, Starscream. Listen to me—‘

‘No, you listen to me! I am the new Lord of the Decepticons, not you. I am not about to endanger the lives of my subjects for the sake of some science experiment. Take the trailer somewhere else, anywhere else, but that thing is not taking step inside my city. I am the Lord of the—,’

‘YOU?!’

The two Decepticons turned to find Charger storming towards hem. Gutcruncher followed him, awkwardly, he had suffered minor wounds, while Charger seemed to be in perfect condition. The two had been playing dead the entire time. Charger struck a digit at Starscream’s chest. ‘You are not the Lord of the Decepticons.’

Starscream only shrugged, and jabbed a thumb at the communications officer. ‘Take it up with him.’

Soundwave stared at Charger. ‘What are you talking about, Charger?’

‘Yes, what are you talking about, Charger?’ Gutcruncher placed a hand on his SIC’s shoulder. ‘This is the first I’m hearing of any of this.’

Charger slapped at Gutcruncher’s servo. ‘Don’t touch me! I swear to the power of the Elder-God if you touch me again I’ll kill you!’

Gutcruncher flinched.

‘Soundwave!’ Charger screamed. ‘I know what you did! I know the bounty was of your own machination!’

Soundwave cocked his head to the side. ‘What could have possibly brought you to such a conclusion? What might I have gained from creating an election whereas I am not a participant?’

‘You know full well what you gain! You’re doing this to prevent Optimus from becoming the rightful leader of the Decepticons!’

Starscream laughed, and began twirling a digit next to his head. ‘Wow, talk about off your rocker.’

Soundwave only stared.

Charger pointed across the field at Obsidian’s stasis-locked body. ‘Obsidian told me everything! He told me all about Prime’s legal right, and yet he failed! He failed and let him die!’

Gutcruncher grabbed him by the shoulder once more. ‘Look, Charger, I think you need to calm down. Let’s just head back to New Kaon and—,’

Charger whipped himself around, pulling out an Energon knife and plunging it deep into Gutcruncher’s chest.

Starscream and Soundwave took wide steps back in shock and disgust, while Gutcruncher merely stared in disbelief. Energon spilled from his lower jaw. ‘Charger—why?!’

‘I TOLD YOU!’ Charger stabbed him in the throat this time, stabbing again and again. ‘I TOLD YOU I’D KILL YOU IF YOUR TOUCHED ME, YOU PETULANT SLAG!’

Gutcruncher’s knees gave in, he fell to the ground. ‘Charger… I saved your life… I thought we were fr— ‘

‘I don’t want your friendship!’ Charger slashed the knife across Gutcruncher’s throat once more, ending his speech. For a split second, he brought his face close, and began lapping up the spilling liquids. Swallowing Gutcruncher’s spilt Energon in gulps. ‘If you’re going to be any use to me, you can at least provide me with some energy.’

Starscream stepped back in revulsion. ‘Whoooaaakay, Soundwave. I think we have a problem here, do you think you can—,’

Soundwave had already aimed his shoulder-cannon to fire, and a barrage of missiles erupted towards the mathematician. Charger transformed into his car mode, swerving out of the way of the blast and transforming once more, firing a blast from his rifle and blowing apart the tip of Soundwave’s cannon, causing the communications officer to reel back as smoke bellowed from the barrel, rendering it defunct. Charger stopped before the trailer, his back turned to it. He pointed down at it as he faced the others. ‘Now I don’t know what the hell this thing is, or what any of you are planning, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s that the true Decepticon leader is dead, and his murderers are standing right in front of me!’

Starscream shrugged. ‘That was two things, actually.’

‘Shut up!’ Hidden weaponry appeared across Charger’s frame. Now that you’re here, and there’s nobody left to stop me, I can kill every last one of you!’

Starscream stared at him, grimly. ‘You sure you want to try that?’

‘You’re practically falling apart! Both of you! While I am still in perfect condition!’

Starscream lowered his guard. He was right.

Movement shifted behind Charger. ‘First I’ll kill the two of you—the fakes. Then I’ll kill the rest of you…’ He looked over their shoulders at Strika, she was sitting up, lazily. ‘Strika…’ He looked over at Obsidian, his dead eyes staring at him. ‘Obsidian…’ He looked over at the stasis-locked bodies of Thundercracker and Slipstream, both leaking out. ‘The Seekers…’ He looked at the rest of them. Ironhide, Blackarachnia and Jazz. They were all awake now. Watching helplessly on their sides. ‘And the Autobots, too! I’ll even finish what you started!’

He aimed a rifle at Starscream, the movement behind him increasing. ‘I’ll kill every last one of you that stood in the Combaticons’ way! I’ll kill you until I get my Optimus! I’ll dominate the galaxy in your place until I get my Optimus! But that’s not going to happen, is it, Starscream?! Oh I’ll dominate the galaxy alright, but I still want my Optimus! Where’s my Optimus!’

A throat cleared.

Charger turned around. The silver creature was standing upright; it’s features no longer shifting uncontrollably. It had taken a form similar, if not exactly like that of the late Optimus Prime. The only difference being the black and silver color-scheme replacing the old red and blue. The Optimus beamed at him, then at the jaw-dropped faces of Starscream, Soundwave, and his team.

The Optimus cleared his throat once more. ‘Hello!’ He leaped into a striking pose, singing to the sky. ‘Is it me you’re looking for~!’

Silence.

Optimus lowered his arms to his sides. ‘You know… I get the feeling I’m not as good at singing as I remember.’

Charger aimed his rifle at the Prime. ‘You--! What are you?!’ He pulled the trigger, but Optimus was too quick. The Prime grabbed the rifle and ripped it out of his line of sight. It fired, lightly singeing his newly formed antenna.

Charger tried to wrestle it away from him, but Optimus was stronger, he pulled the rifle from the Decepticon’s grip and tossed it aside. ‘Nobody’s killing anyone else today…’ Optimus clenched his fist and punched Charger across his face. He prepared another strike, and made contact once more. Charger fired a beam from a torso cannon, but Optimus was quick enough to dodge, he struck Charger again with several quick jabs. It was as if he were a boxer, striking his opponent several times in the head before ducking his returning shots. ‘And you are sure as hell not dominating this galaxy…’ His jabs sped up, to the point where Optimus had made a punching bag out of the Decepticon. The rate of his fists increased further, and he was pulling off five jabs per second. ‘You know why?’ He let out a roar as he struck Charger’s chest, breaking apart his weaponry. ‘BECAUSE FREEDOM IS THE RIGHT OF ALL SENTIENT BEINGS!’ He struck him over and again, his fists a blur. Chunks of green armour exploded off the mathematician, glass cracked and smoke spilled from his wounds. He struck him repeatedly, until finally, Charger’s arms dropped to their sides, and his whole body went limp. Optimus spun around in the air, delivering a roundhouse kick to his chest and sending him toppling to the ground. Charger hit the ground hard, his optics fading to grey, his body twitching only momentarily before falling into stasis.

Optimus withdrew his faceplate, nodding to Starscream and Soundwave as he passed between them. ‘Gentlemen.’ He passed by Obsidian, glaring down at him with knowing optics.

The strategist, awake and aware, had realized for certain that this was indeed the same Optimus. Somehow, this was the same Optimus that agreed to his terms. How, he did not know, but he could recognize the look in the Prime’s eyes. No, the true Lord’s eyes. What is he thinking? Obsidian wondered to himself.

Optimus stopped before his team. They were staring at him blankly. He watched Blackarachnia as she rose clumsily to her feet. He spoke to her first, ‘Hey Blackarachnia. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. I mean it this time. I care about what you think and I care about you. You don’t have to forgive me—I just want us to be okay again. I know it might be asking for a lot, but…’ he looked back at Charger’s stasis-locked body. ‘Say, am I wrong, or was that the first time I ever beat a Decepticon in a fair, one-on-one fight?’

Blackarachnia leaped at him, hugging him around his mid-section.

Eyes wide, Optimus stared down at the ex-Decepticon before slowly patting her on the back. ‘Er… what did I do to deserve…’

Jazz grabbed him by the shoulder, squeezing him hard. ‘We thought you were dead…’ He beamed up at him. ‘You… aren’t dead, are you? This is really happening right now, isn’t it?’

Optimus nodded. ‘I—yeah. This is me. I can explain everything that’s happened to bring me back—and it’s a little confusing—but, yeah, this is me. This is—’

‘OPTIMUS!’

The Prime looked up to find Ironhide charging him, his arms spread wide. ‘Ironh—,’

Ironhide’s fist crashed against his face, knocking him to the ground. Blackarachnia and Jazz, still latched on to his torso, went down with him. ‘I probably deserve that.’

On the ground, Ironhide struck him again, then wrapped his arms around him with the others.

‘I appreciate the dog-pile, guys.’ Optimus wriggled on the ground. ‘But can I maybe get up?’

‘No,’ Blackarachnia said.

‘Ah.’ On his back, and under the weight of his comrades, Optimus stared at the rolling red sky above. ‘What did I do to deserve all of this?’ He’d probably never get an answer, considering the hand life had dealt him. But still… he thought, this is nice.

Soundwave began to murmur something under his breath, then stopped. If they were truly behind this, and if they assumed Optimus had what they thought he had, then the “Kimians”, as they called themselves, would need to be prevented at all costs. He almost grabbed his concussion rifle and eviscerated the happy reunion in an instant. But then, knowing them—knowing the “Kimians”—they would have set a precedent. If he killed Optimus now, that thing would no doubt reawaken and kill everything in sight. Could they have really created such a weapon, strictly as an incentive against Soundwave’s meddling? It certainly sounded like them. Booby-trapping a Prime in order to use him to their own benefits. It was a plan worthy of Megatron.

‘This isn’t right,’ Starscream had been shaking his head. ‘He’s not dead… which means I haven’t won anything.’

‘That’s true. Partially,’ Soundwave said. He then pointed at the severed head lying in the dirt away from him. ‘But you fulfilled the bounty. You did kill Optimus. He may have returned from death, but you still fulfilled the quota. Optimus was “killed”, that is enough.’

Starscream frowned. ‘What does it matter if I “killed” him if he’s still standing, alive and well? What’s any of it matter if we're in the same spot we were in when we started? How am I deserving of the title if everything I’ve done has been for naught?’

Soundwave stared at him. ‘I believe the real question you should be asking yourself, Starscream…’ he leaned in towards the former Aerospace Commander, speaking in a whisper. ‘is who the hell cares?’ He leaned back. ‘We should retreat. Let these Autobots enjoy this… personal victory of theirs. There has been enough bloodshed for today.’

Starscream nodded vigorously. He looked over his shoulder. ‘Strika!’

She was already on her feet. ‘What’s up?’

‘You can carry the others, can’t you? There’s… one, two, three… four of them, I believe. Thundercracker, Slipstream, Obsidian, and Charger. The rest should be dead.’

Strika was looming over Gutcruncher’s body. ‘I think some of these guys are still alive Should we bring them, too? Or would it be less time-consuming to leave them be in peace?’

Starscream closed his eyes. ‘Sod it.’ He walked over and grabbed Gutcruncher, lifting the massive Decepticon over his shoulder. ‘You carry our people; I’ll carry any others that still have a chance at living.’

Shocked, Strika watched as Starscream proceeded to carry more and more of the wounded, his wounded arms snapping from the weight. Starscream shot her a glance to say “get your ass moving” and she did just that, picking up Obsidian first.

In time, the three had gathered up anyone still intact, and were moving in through the portal. Soundwave glanced at Optimus briefly before passing through. Strika held out a small green Decepticon with one hand. ‘You sure you want to take Charger? The little guy kind of tried to kill us.’

‘I’m worried I’m wrong about him. I’m worried he’s not completely insane. I want him interrogated when we get back to New Kaon. But if it so happens that we’re out of space in the medical ward…’ he nodded to her, ‘you know who to get rid of first.’

She nodded, and passed through.

Carrying five Decepticons at once, some nearly as large as him, Starscream quivered under the weight. Briefly, he looked back at Optimus, just as the Prime was rising to his feet with the others. He shouted. ‘Prime!’

They stared at him, preparing for a fight.

Starscream raised his fist above his head and nodded. ‘Good game.’ With that, he passed through the portal with the others.

Ironhide gruffed. ‘He’s lucky to be alive…’

Blackarachnia smirked in his direction. ‘Anyone who ever bumped shoulders with you is lucky to be alive.’

Ironhide thought about this for a moment, then nodded. ‘Basically, yeah.’

‘That wasn’t a compliment.’

Optimus wandered towards the severed head in the dirt, crouching next to it and gazing into its empty optical sockets. He felt the need to mourn. As he knew it, the person he was right now was not the Optimus he was a moment ago. His spark carried just enough of his conscious to fill in the memory between when he got pricked by Mindwipe and when he visited the spark-space. But he knew, the first Optimus, the real Optimus, was dead. The person he forever knew himself as was now dead, and it, in truth, hurt him. Unlike most spark transplants, Optimus had the benefit of obtaining his own spark to power his knew brain, instead of using the ethically questionable donor method. Aged sparks that were used to being connected to a different brain module often caused personality altering elements to the restored Cybertronian, and the concept of using freshly spawned sparks was often considered the involuntary sacrifice of potential life to save another. Personality wise, and memory wise, it was still him, nothing had changed, but he knew he was not the first. Not the original. He silently mourned the Optimus he was. The Optimus who had died. He felt nothing toward the fact that he was a clone, a copy, but he was afraid it would soon sink in, and that was something he was simply not ready for. He turned to the others. ‘I’ll tell you guys everything that happened on the way back to the Ark. It’ll be a lot to swallow, but I’ll try to explain it the best I can.’

They nodded, and Jazz pointed at the head lying in the dirt. ‘So, uh, Chief… what do you think we should do with the—I mean your… head?’

Optimus looked at it again and shivered. Something about his former “head” put him off. It had the same features and adornments he had known all his life, and yet there it was, as dead as night. ‘I’m sure as hell not touching it,’ he turned to Jazz. ‘If you guys want to take it with you, be my guest, but you know…’ he stared at it again. ‘Maybe this is a good resting place for him.’

‘For him?’ Blackarachnia said.

‘For me. You know what I mean,’ he scratched the back of his head. ‘This is kind of freaking me out. I’d appreciate it if we all got the slag out of here.’

They all agreed on that.

As they transformed to leave, Optimus froze in his vehicle mode. He was still a trailer. ‘Ah crap, I’m going to need to scan a new form once we get back.’

Blackarachnia hopped on top Ironhide’s vehicle mode, ‘Sucks to be you, then. See, I’ve never had wheels, and I’ve been just peachy.’

Optimus transformed and walked over to Ironhide. ‘There should be room for one more, right?’

‘Oh no.’ Ironhide revved his engine. ‘There’s no way in hell I’m carrying the both of you! Hell, I never asked to carry Blackarachnia in the first place!’

‘Suck it up,’ Optimus said, draping his leg over the back-side of Ironhide’s vehicle mode behind Blackarachnia. He pointed charismatically forward. ‘Ironhide, roll out!’

The weapons specialist only grumbled as he accelerated ahead. Jazz chuckled as he accelerated along next to them. ‘Never a dull moment with you guys, is there?’

After they had gone, and silence returned to the once untouched planet, Sixshot swooped down, landing amidst the bodies of several unlucky Decepticons. ‘Well, that was something.’ He walked over to the Primes severed head as it collected dust on the ground. He picked it up and raised it to his face, for amusement’s sake. ‘Alas, poor Prime. I knew him…’ He considered what he had witnessed. Optimus didn’t seem to have access to the power his body beheld, but he knew that whatever created it, whatever could control it, would be a suitable source of adrenaline for him indeed. Sixshot hated to consider himself a thrill seeker, nor did he like to think of him as an unstoppable warrior on a quest for a worthy opponent. He considered himself empty, only really alive when faced with the threat of death. Maybe he really was a thrill seeker, or maybe death just fascinated him as someone who had been born virtually without its inevitability. He wanted to see for himself what Optimus could do, and now that he knew, he would have to further seek him out; to take Optimus on at his best. He put it on his mental to-do list and prepared to fly off back to New Kaon to assure the Terrorcons he had made it back okay, not that there would have been any doubt.

What?

Did he just see a—was that a flicker of—

He clenched the head in his hand, whispering softly. ‘Are you really…’

He chuckled, shoved the head into his chest compartment, transformed, and exploded into the sky. He passed seamlessly through the aggressive weather and arrived into outer space, albeit covered in dents and scrapes. Prime’s head remained as still as stone in his cockpit. Sixshot laughed at the thousands of stars and infinite space around him and beyond. A night sky that surrounded him from all directions as he tore through the galaxy.

The night was alive.

-----

After several attempts at boosting its engine, the Ark finally managed to rise out of the rubble, hovering above the broken crevice silently and still. Optimus winced as he activated the warp function, but in seconds, the Ark had transported itself out of the planet’s predatory shell and into a distant quadrant of the galaxy. Optimus had been left alone to scan himself a new vehicle mode from the Ark’s databanks. It was essentially the same form as his old one, though it felt heavier to him. Larger. The newer model was fitted with some increased engine density and had a higher kick in the acceleration department. It would take some getting used to. His colours remained a darker black and silver, with splashes of red in fewer places, not that it really mattered to him. He felt different, too. Like he was a new mech entirely. Part of him hoped he was. On the way to the Ark, Jazz had explained to him what had occurred while he was in the spark-space, and after having been convinced that the Decepticon deaths were not his fault, Optimus attempted to recreate the prowess his body had previously exercised. He failed. However, while Jazz explained to him everything that occurred in the land of the living, Optimus had intentionally left out much of his own story. For starters, he told them that Obsidian and Thundercracker had teamed up against him, completely ignoring the prospect of him being the true leader of the Decepticons, something he questioned he even wanted anymore. Secondly, he had completely omitted his conversation with Chromedome, implying that it was Mindwipe himself who explained his status to him. If they knew he was looking for Chromedome, they would surely worry about his current state of mind, and he didn’t want that. Lastly, he feigned ignorance towards Mindwipe’s motivations, completely omitting his connection to Chromedome: The Chosen One.

Having washed, rested, and refueled, Optimus called the group onto the main bridge to discuss future matters. They arrived within a minute.

Blackarachnia waved a claw to Optimus as she entered, Ironhide begrudgingly following alongside her. ‘So! What’s the dealio, my boss-man? What’s our game-plan now?’

Optimus, standing upon his podium, nodded in her direction. ‘For now, who knows? I figure our next step involves reporting back to Chromia. We failed in our mission for her, but hey, we’re alive aren’t we?’

Jazz nodded, unsurely. ‘What about the cons? Now that the bounty’s been fulfilled, can we really assume they’ll stop coming for us? I know it should be a no-brainer, but still…’

Optimus shook his head. ‘I don’t trust Starscream to leave any loose ends untied. Knowing him he’s going to want me dead if just to even the score.’

Ironhide grunted. ‘And he’s got an entire army to do it for him.’

The four stood in momentary silence. Blackarachnia put her claws behind her head. ‘Well, sourpusses, I think we should have a celebration! I bet Chromia’s got the bottles—we should throw a party at her place! Everyone’s invited. Who’s with me?’

Jazz raised his hand. ‘I’d be down for that. You know, people say I’m a genius when it comes to this kind of stuff! I could pick out the tunes, and the decorations, and I know just the right mix of substances to give your engine a real kick in the—’

Blackarachnia waved a claw in his directions. ‘Oh, I forgot to mention, when I said everyone’s invited, I meant to say everyone’s invited except you. Oooh, sorry buddy. No shady operatives allowed. Man, that must suck! Better luck next year I guess.’

Jazz shrugged. ‘Eh, I can attest to that.’

Optimus brought a servo to his chin, completely ignorant to the exchange. ‘There’s also Prowl. He’s no doubt still out there looking to take me in… so it looks like we won’t be able to move back onto the grid just yet.’

Ironhide grunted in agreement. ‘That’s our plan, then? Hole up at Chromia’s before continuing our aimless drift across the galaxy?’ He shrugged. ‘Works for me.’

Optimus grinned down at them. He raised an invisible glass and pretended to tap it with a spoon. ‘Ding. Ding. Ding! Raise your imaginary glasses, team—because we can’t afford real ones—today we make a toast to bright futures and close saves!’

They stared at him.

He lowered his arms. ‘Come on guys, I died. Can you not humor me for just one second? Is that too much to ask?’

Ironhide was the first to raise his imaginary glass. ‘To bright futures and close saves!’

Blackarachnia and Jazz raised their imaginary glasses. ‘To bright futures and close saves!’

Flipsides raised her imaginary glass as well. ‘To bright futures and close saves.’

The four Autobots stared at the Decepticon.

The spy stared back at them, beaming brightly. ‘Hey guys, guess who came back!’

Optimus snapped his fingers. ‘Ironhide, lock her up.’

The weapons specialist cracked his knuckles. ‘With pleasure.’

In seconds, Flipsides was tackled to the ground, a pair of stasis-cuffs locked around her wrists. ‘Ah, hell. I can’t blame you for this. Just handle me lightly, would you? I’m a sweet, small, delicate—OW!’

Ironhide had squeezed dents into her shoulder as he walked her to the brig. ‘Sorry.’

Blackarachnia chased after them. ‘Aww, man. You’re not going to lock her in my room, are you? Ironhide? Ironhide?!’

Optimus watched them leave as Jazz took his side. The Lieutenant spoke. ‘I reckon Chromia’ll know what to do with her.’

‘I hope so. The co-ordinates are set. I just need to…’ He frowned.

‘What’s the matter, chief? New body giving you aches?’

‘It’s not that.’ He paused. ‘I think I’m hearing voices.’

Jazz was taken aback. ‘You sure you’re alright?’

‘No, yeah, it’s just…’

‘The voices aren’t mine, are they?’ Megatron whispered into his audio receptor.

‘No, they aren’t, it’s just…’

Jazz cocked his head to the side. ‘I’m beginning to think you need some sleep, Prime. Hell, I don't blame you, it’s been a really long day.’

Optimus nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jazz.’

The lieutenant made a salute and turned to the door. ‘Sweet dreams, chief.’

‘Yeah…’

Alone. Optimus collapsed into his chair. Megatron watched him from across the room, seeming just as interested in his current state as he was. A voice, spoke in Prime’s head, one he had never heard before. It was faint and staticy, and was so quiet it could have easily been non-existent.

‘Help,’ it said.

-----

It had been a full day since his ascension to Leader. Starscream sat in the dark of New Kaon’s citadel. He was in a waiting room of sorts, waiting for the moment he was to be presented to the rest of the universe. A large purple emblazoned cloak draped over his body, concealing everything below his neck. Upon his head was a golden crown, a symbol for future Decepticon leadership. It would all be removed by the end of the day, but it felt silly nonetheless. He once dreamed of holding such a position, of wearing such adornments, and yet he felt extremely uncomfortable just thinking about it.

Soundwave had entered the room.

‘My Lord,’ he said, closing the door behind him. The screens and disks of light across Soundwave’s frame illuminated him in the dark. ‘It is time.’

Starscream nodded, and rose. His new body was suitably large. Stylistically the same as his last, but with an added bulk to give him the look of a true Emperor. He was still barely taller than Soundwave, however, who had almost always been his equal for as long as he could remember. Soundwave guided him down the bright halls of the citadel, passed saluting guards and watchful security cameras. He could hear the voices of thousands beyond the walls. They were approaching the recreated gladiatorial stadium he had embarrassed himself in so long ago.

‘I had corroborated several stories in the media to erase your previous dissent, and to give further meaning to your ambitions. You are described as bold, contemporary—you are admired by a great many, Starscream.’

Why?

‘You are to address your fellow Decepticons and put to rest any fears they may have. You have seen the common criticisms; I assume? Regardless I uploaded everything you’ll need to your neo-cortex. You need only tell your speech, and address any concerns. They will be minor, I assure you. If there is anything else you need, please let me know.’

‘What about Thundercracker?’

Soundwave’s visor squinted. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Thundercracker. He got hurt yesterday. Is he alright?’

He paused. ‘The Seekers that served you. Affirmative, Thundercracker and Slipstream are both functional and receiving top medical care. I understand you have made Thundercracker your new Aerospace Commander, and as such he is being treated as such. Skywarp has been successfully dislodged from the Nemesis as well, and should be on his feet as we speak. Obsidian has also been functional for some time. However, I would advise you not to think about such trivialities at the moment.’

Starscream nodded slowly as they approached the end of the hall.

‘Now, Lord Starscream, allow me to present you to your subjects.’

The doors parted, and Starscream was exposed to a bright light. Outside, Kaon Stadium had been filled to the brim with thousands upon thousands of Decepticons. Bodies scrambling over each-other in their seats, trying to get a good look at their new leader. The one to kill the Prime. The one to avenge Megatron. They cheered as Starscream entered the center field, his cloak bellowing behind him. Strika stood nearby, arms folded and nodding in his direction. As he took the center, the screams of the many Decepticons rose a pitch. They were here… for him. Starscream could scarcely believe it himself. Confetti rained form above, horns trumpeted from his rear. He was officially the new leader of the Decepticons. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself. He whispered. ‘I don’t deserve this.’

Soundwave stood obediently next to him, barely paying any attention to the spectacle around him. Strika waved eagerly to the crowds.

They began chanting; ‘HAIL! HAIL! HAIL!’ Over and again. The trumpets matching their rhythm in loud bursts of symphony and sound.

‘I don’t deserve this.’ He repeated to himself, arm emerging from his cloak. Starscream rose his fist to the sky.

The crowd’s cheers evolved into screams of delight, loud and wicked.

New Kaon would never sleep again.

 

Hot damn these last two chapters were good. This is, like... season finale tier stuff. Or the start of a season. Maybe Optimus getting decapitated was the season finale, I dunno. The point is I'm super stoked for further installments of this... like, more than I was already.

 

Episode 9

“Was it last night I held your hand? Orchestrina that cuts my wrists. In clouds in the clouds I ride. Lacing the sulfur in rain.”

Music drifted throughout the halls of Kolkular. A mere hum in the main lobby, the percussion and lyrics became more clear as one walked through the fortress’s winding halls.

“Valerian father. Rhododendron, you cloak me in the haunt of the beast I must slay. Casting the circle and under the nights you shame. There is blood from the smelter that stains.”

Working one’s way past the dozen walls of security and surveillance, the music could be heard in its highest quality and its finest clarity. In the throne-room, and head office of the Decepticon Emperor, the music was at its loudest, playing as the Decepticon Supreme Commander sat perched in his throne. Scowling.

“Was it last night I held your hand? Orchestrina that cuts my wrists. In clouds in the clouds I—,”

With a clap of the Emperor’s hands, the music came to an abrupt stop. Sick of it, Starscream rose to his feet. Guards aligning the circumference of the room stared at him through the corner of their optics, but never at him directly. They were wary. Decepticon leaders tended to be unpredictable. What that meant for them depended on their mood. From the moment Starscream had backed himself into the throne, he did not seem to be in a good one. Starscream pressed a button on the arm of his chair, and spoke. ‘Patch me in to Strika.’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ The AI replied, voice jagged and lifeless.

Grand Admiral Strika had since taken up the role of Ground Forces Commander thanks to her role in assisting Starscream come to power, and as such the General now spent much of her time in the barracks. She had gone on one assignment in the short amount of time between Starscream’s coronation and then, and predictably it ended in total victory. The planet’s people had surrendered, their solar-system had been conquered, and their resources had been mined. A squadron had been left in their wake to manage a new base of operations on the planet’s surface. It was soon evident, however, that Strika and the rest of the Ground forces were best saved for assaults of the greatest import, and had since been left to prepare and be briefed on such assaults. Very few of the Ground Forces knew Strika very well. She had often kept to herself; interacting with those beneath her only when it was necessary. It wasn’t that she was strict or impersonal, only that she didn’t care enough to get to know any of them, spending most of her time in her quarters doing whatever it was she pleased.

When her communicator rang, Strika answered it immediately.

‘Strika, it’s Starscream.’

‘Well, well, well… well, well, well, well, well. If it isn’t the Lord of the Decepticon Empire. To what do I deserve this honour?’

Starscream rolled his optics. ‘Look, I just wanted to check in in case anything came up in regards to Obsidian’s whereabouts.’

Strika paused. ‘Nope. Nothing yet. Why, are you worried about him? Aww, that’s adorable!’

Starscream’s tone did not waver. ‘He disappeared from the medibay without a word to anyone. Not even you. This is a problem, Strika. We need him here so he can help us plan out our future attacks and answer our seemingly everlasting questions. To be frank I’m a little shocked you’ve been taking this as well as you have.’

Strika laughed. ‘Me? Please. I’ve been consorts with Obsidian for over five-thousand years. He’s fine! So what if he decided to wander off on his own. Let him! He knows what he’s doing.’

A pause. ‘Very well. I’m still investigating his disappearance as we speak. However, he’s covered his tracks well. Remember, if you find anything—anything at all— that might help us… you know where to find me. Starscream ou—‘

‘Starscream, wait.’

‘Yes?’

Strika hadn’t realized it at first, but her servo had been trembling. ‘It’s just—do let me know… when you… find him. Okay?’

Another pause. ‘Of course.’

‘And... if you do see him… be sure to let him know that—heh—if I, like, if I did anything, that might have caused him to do this, then… tell him I’m sorry, and, um, I really wish he would come…’ She went silent for a couple of seconds, ‘…home. Whatever! Never mind! Quit worrying about him, Starscream. It’s like I said, he’ just fine! All these investigations and stuff is adorable and all, but—,’

‘I will call you when we find him. Starscream out.’ He hung up, and Strika was left sitting on the edge of her slab, listening to the hum of the speaker. She sat in silence for what felt like minutes. She rose to her feet, and exited her quarters.

Roadblock had been waiting for her outside. ‘Hey tiny! Where do you think you’re going?’

‘On a vacation,’ she said, slowly.

Roadblock made a pfft noise and exerted some steam, but Strika paid him little notice.

‘You’re in charge of the ground forces until I’m gone. Send anyone after me and I’ll send you back a corpse.’

‘What. You serious?’ but when Strika glared at him, it was evident she wasn’t messing around.

‘I mean it. Take care of yourself, Roadblock.’

She walked ahead, leaving Roadblock standing there, wondering what her damage was.

-----

A call had filtered into Starscream’s terminal and had been left on hold. ‘What is it?’

‘Barricade is here to see you.’

‘Send him in.’

The throne-room doors parted, and a small, black and silver Decepticon entered. He carried the disposition of a hardened Cybertronian; one who appeared to have experienced the thick of the war in his youth. That said, compared to Starscream, Barricade was still quite young.

Barricade bowed before the Lord and Master of all Decepticons. ‘All hail Starscream.’

Starscream was still getting used to that. ‘Rise.’

Barricade stood with his arms rested neatly behind his back. His brow appeared to have been perpetually furrowed above his four crimson eyes.

‘You have something for me?’

‘I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t,’ the investigator grumbled irritably. ‘For starters, we finally finished debugging the cameras that so “coincidentally” went offline as soon as our friend Obsidian vanished.’

‘And? What did you find?’

‘Nothing. The tapes were irrecoverable.’

Starscream began to frown, but Barricade was quick to explain himself. ‘Hey, don’t you look at me like that! We managed to scavenge up a copy of the tapes from both before and after the alleged disappearance occurred. We connected the locations for each of the cameras we know have been bugged, and managed to trace the path Obsidian took during his escape. That path, unsurprisingly, led to the main hangar.’

‘And what was in the main hangar?’

‘Not Obsidian, obviously. We compared the before and after of the main hangar, and found a small continuity error in the data. One of the ships was missing. No one seemed to notice since a lot of them are unregistered and belong to the guilds, but there was also the fact that everyone was too busy celebrating your little grandstanding performance to notice. From this we can discern that Obsidian entered the hangar while it was unguarded, stole a ship, and took off with it when everyone else’s attention was on you.’ He glared at Starscream, as if personally blaming the seeker for the strategist’s escape. ‘From this we can probably conclude that Obsidian is no longer on the planet.’

Starscream’s eyes narrowed. ‘And have you recovered anything that might point to where he decided to go?’

Barricade sneered. ‘With all due respect, “Lord” Starscream, Obsidian is a genius. He wouldn’t have left a scrap of information behind if he didn’t want to be found. And if it’s not blatantly obvious already, this freak does not want to be found.’

Starscream stared at the investigator for a time, then spoke. ‘It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t want to be found. He. Will. Be. Found.’ He sliced his hand through the air. ‘Question everyone and everything. Someone ought to know something around here, and it’s only a matter of time before they squeal.’ He lowered his servo. ‘I believe that will be all, Barricade.’

Barricade exhaled, slouching over as he turned to make for the door. ‘Finally. Was afraid you were going to keep me here for another hour or so.’

‘Oh, and Barricade?’

He turned around. Starscream was on his feet. He snapped his fingers at the investigator. ‘Not many Decepticons talk to me the way you do. I like the cut of your jib. Be sure to find something. I might have a special job for you in the near future should you prevail.’

Barricade merely shrugged, and proceeded out the throne-room’s doors. ‘Whatever.’

As he left, Starscream tapped in another patch through his chair. ‘Give me Soundwave.’

In seconds, the Communications expert’s hologram brightened up the room. ‘My Lord.’

Starscream steepled his fingers as he observed his rival. No longer did they bicker over petty feuds and philosophies. No longer did Soundwave treat him as anything less than he was. It was disconcerting, to say the least. ‘Soundwave. I have given some thought regarding your proposal to lead the expedition for Prime in Thundercracker’s place.’ Starscream waited for a response, but Soundwave remained quiet and rigid. Listening attentively to what his commander had to say and nothing more. The warlord’s brow creased. ‘Your proposal has been accepted. I have decided to shift Thundercracker’s search from Prime to Obsidian. If you believe your agents to be effective enough in spying him out, then I will trust in your judgement. Bring Optimus to me. Alive, if you can, though you will not be admonished if you fail in this regard, and only in this regard.’

Soundwave nodded. ‘As you command, Lord Starscream.’

‘Do not fail me, Soundwave.’

The hologram dissipated, and Starscream fell back into his throne. He felt nothing from this.

-----

Blackarachnia blocked a blow with one of her claws, staggering just long enough for Ironhide to deliver a left-hook to her gut, causing her to barrel over. She swung her leg around, managing to kick Ironhide in his rib, though this did little to move the large Autobot. Ironhide grabbed hold of her leg, and swung her off her feet, and into the training room floor. On her back, Blackarachnia attempted to raise her head, only for her helm to meet with the tip of Ironhide’s cannons.

‘Dammit.’

Ironhide snorted. ‘You are far too predictable for your own good.’

Blackarachnia remained where she lay on the ground. ‘Whatever man, you’re the one that suggested we start sparring, not me.’

‘Indeed. But all you’ve managed to prove is that you are in need of some dire improvement. You’re sloppy. Un-coordinated. When it comes to fisticuffs I could destroy you any day of the week.’

She shrugged, lying on her back with her claws behind her head. ‘Who cares? As long as I can still go into beast mode nothing can stop me.’

Ironhide loomed over her. ‘If I recall from our previous encounter, Strika managed to stop you quite easily.’

‘Only because she hit my T-cog the wrong way.’

‘And because of that, you lost. We need to be in top physical condition, Blackarachnia, in case something as bad as Starscream finds us again. That means all of us in every form.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe you should be the one practicing harder. After all, I beat you pretty bad.’

Ironhide frowned. ‘What are you on about? I didn’t—,’

Blackarachnia reached up and poked both of Ironhide’s eyes, causing him to stammer back. The spider then leaped onto her feet, and kicked the weapons specialist in the chest, knocking him onto his back. Standing over him, Blackarachnia grinned down at her sparring partner. ‘Boom.’

Ironhide scowled up at her. ‘That wasn’t fair!’

She chuckled. ‘Oh NOW you talk about fair. What happened to the whole “anything can happen on the battlefield” speech you were working up to?’

Ironhide grumbled as he lifted himself back onto his feet. ‘We were between matches! Of course I wouldn’t have stopped to lecture you if you were a real Decepticon! If we were still sparring you wouldn’t have had the opportunity to do that!’

‘Cry it up, baby! You know I have you beat!’

Before Ironhide could respond, there was a knock on the sparring room doors. The two turned to find Jazz leaning in the doorway, greeting them with a grin. ‘Hey. So what’s going down in this neck of the woods.’

‘Me kicking Ironhide’s ass,’ Blackarachnia said proudly.

Ironhide let out a low grunt. ‘Sparring.’

‘Groovy. Mind if I cut in? I could use the exercise.’

Ironhide and Blackarachnia exchanged glances, then stared at the smiling spec ops agent. They grinned sinisterly back at him, fists clenching and claws snapping.

‘Very well,’ Ironhide said, approaching the lieutenant. ‘I’ve been meaning to see what kind of metal you were made of.’

‘Oh yes,’ Blackarachnia added wickedly. ‘I’ve been wondering when we’d finally get to initiate the new guy. Come on, smiles, do your worst!’

In seconds, Blackarachnia and Ironhide were smashed against the floor, their their faces planted into the neat paneling and leaving small cracked outlines surrounding their figures. Their bodies ached all over, dents and scrapes spotting their armour. Their limbs hurt to move.

Jazz dusted off his hands before stretching his limbs high above his head. ‘Hey, not bad. But I don’t think I’d mind going a few more rounds if either of you are still interested.’

Blackarachnia peeled her face from the floor. ‘That’s it. I need to call Optimus down here so he can save us.’ She slowly rose to her feet, and started making her way to the door. ‘I’ll go get the boss-bot. You guys have fun while I’m gone.’

Ironhide lifted his head. ‘What?’

Above him, Jazz stood, cracking his knuckles and smiling. ‘Now then, you feeling up for round two, ‘Hide?’

As the two fought, Blackarachnia made her way up to the main bridge. She had to consider her recent scuffle with the spec-ops agent. Jazz was even worse than she thought. She would need to keep a closer eye on him. Or four.

Optimus had turned off the main-view monitor as soon as Blackarachnia entered the bridge. He spun around in his chair to greet her. ‘Hey, Blackarachnia. How’d sparring with Ironhide go?’

‘Fine until Jazz showed up,’ she said, approaching him. ‘That bloody agent threw both me and Ironhide into the floor. I keep telling you he’s dangerous, but you never listen.’

Optimus chuckled. ‘Yeah, well, just be glad he’s on our side. Need my help?’

She nodded quickly. ‘Yeah. Though we should probably hurry. I’m sure Ironhide's been killed by now. We should plan a funeral for him immediately. No time for tears or eulogies. No time to check to see if the body’s still alive, just a quick ceremony, and a faster burial. It’s what he would have wanted.’

‘Oh, I’m sure he would.’

As the pair walked through the Ark’s halls, Blackarachnia asked, ‘So what were you doing alone on the bridge? I mean, it’s kind of disconcerting when one moment you’re telling us you’re hearing voices and the next you’re sitting alone in silence.’

Optimus raised a palm to her. ‘Don’t worry about me. I was only looking up information on branched sparks.’

‘Branched sparks? What’s got you interested in those?’

‘I wanted to make sure my spark-twin was okay after I, you know, died.’

Blackarachnia blinked, then stopped where she was. ‘What? Wait—what?! You have a brother?! Since when?!’

Optimus gestured to her to keep moving as he spoke. ‘Okay, so I don't really. I was born with my spark branched to another, only to be separated from birth moments after. I never really got to “know” him because of the exodus, and we were raised by completely different families, so it’s not like we had the chance to converse. In fact we don't really share anything aside from a spark malfunction from our youth and a common place of birth. He doesn’t really mean anything to me—or she-- if that's what you're wondering. I just wanted to make sure my “death” didn’t harm anyone that hadn’t anything to do with it.’

‘Oh,’ Blackarachnia stared forward as they walked. ‘Huh. Still, just when you think you know somebody.’

‘Yeah.’ After a pause, Optimus spoke. ‘Say, Blackarachnia, I don’t think I’ve ever had the chance to ask you this, but did you ever happen have any siblings of your ow— AAAAGHH!’ Optimus fell to his knees, clutching his head in pain.

Blackarachnia immediately fell to his side, searching for possible cuts or bruises that could be causing it. ‘Are you alright? Boss-bot—what is it?!’

Optimus struggled to speak, and when he did, screams came out instead. ‘The… voices… they…’ Optimus fell onto his side, shaking violently.

Blackarachnia stood up and yelled. ‘Ironhide! Jazz! I need some help over here! Dammit stop what you’re doing and help Optimus already! The guy’s in pain!’

Optimus couldn’t drone them out. The voices wouldn’t stop screaming into his ear.

“Help!” they boomed. Repeating over and again. “Help!”

-----

Thundercracker never pictured himself as ever coming close to becoming Aerospace Commander of the Decepticons. He had reached his position as a head lieutenant of Starscream through his sheer ability to survive, and the only way for him to be promoted further was if either Starscream or Slipstream had died. Though both were still alive and well, fate had resulted in Thundercracker achieving this position regardless. He wasn’t so sure if he even wanted it.

‘We’re changing objectives?’ Thundercracker asked.

Starscream’s holo-form nodded slowly. ‘According to Barricade’s reports, Obsidian stole a small surveillance craft capable of moving across space in small bursts. He should be in one of New Kaon’s surrounding systems as we speak. After all, he needs to stop for fuel someplace.’

Thundercracker’s initial objective, as leader of the new Aerospace Fleet, was to hunt down the breathing rumors of Optimus Prime’s survival, and suffocate them. To finish the job and kill Optimus for good. It was clear to Thundercracker that Starscream was upset over his longstanding rival’s penchant to survive, though he couldn’t blame him. While he admitted he was tired of questing, he had nothing left for him back in New Kaon, and he did intend to start over with the Prime, one way or another.

‘You’re asking me to look for him, then.’

‘The matter of his disappearance is intergalactic in nature, so yes. All matters falling under that category now belong to you.’ Starscream began examining his finger-tips. ‘I’ll have Barricade upload his data to the Nemesis’ mainframe. I imagine that should be sufficient?’

Thundercracker nodded, then paused. ‘It is… Starscream—My Lord, if you wouldn’t mind my asking… how is Strika doing in all this.’

He frowned. ‘Not well.’ He raised his head. ‘But I will let her know you asked about her. I’m sure she would appreciate it.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t. We both know how she’d really react.’

Starscream nodded. ‘Very well. That will be all, Aerospace Commander. Starscream out.’

The hologram dissipated, and silence returned to the main bridge. Thundercracker frowned. Starscream was acting... different. He regarded to the bridge as a whole. Dozens of seekers aligned the computer terminals along the bridge’s perimeter. The ship was once again flourishing with an army. One twice as large than it was before even Megatron’s death. Ironically, his former Commander’s demise had done more for the Decepticons than ever it would, were he alive. Behind him, a panel opened, and a dark seeker entered the bridge.

Fully operational once more, Skywarp had been given a new body as a result of Flatline’s surgery stripping away the majority of his original parts. His new body was just as large and brutish as the last, but with a modified head and a more modern and streamlined appearance to compensate for his newfound abilities.

He slapped his knees as he approached his partner. ‘Hey, hey, hey! Guess who’s back!’

Thundercracker barely spared him a nod.

‘Powerdive and I picked up those energy cannisters that you were asking for so unless you've got any further orders for me I should be free for the day! Buddy, come on! You happy to see me or what?’

‘Welcome back, Skywarp.’

The Aerospace Lieutenant huffed, wrapping an arm around Thundercracker’s shoulder. ‘That’s all? You know, according to Strika you wouldn’t stop crying over me for a minute! Apparently I was the center of your world to you!’

Thundercracker pushed his old partner off of him. ‘More like a pain in my ass I had to supervise for every waking minute of my bleak and morbid life.’

Skywarp chuckled. ‘That must have sucked. Having to supervise your own ass. You’d have to, like, turn your head all the way around just to get a good look at it. Even then you’ve got those wings in the way. It’s like trying to lick your own fraggin’ elbow. It’s just not possible.’

Thundercracker’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know, you’re a lot dumber than I remember.’

Skywarp raised his palms. ‘Hey, I was just kidding. I was having a chuckle. Geez. Besides, I hear Slipstream has become the new class-clown around here.’

Thundercracker tilted his head to the side. ‘That’s right. Where is she anyway—,’

A panel fell from the ceiling, clanging against the bare metal of the Nemesis’ bridge. All the seekers in the room paused and stared. Skywarp and Thundercracker looked up, and the body of Slipstream fell from a hole in the ceiling, landing on top of the discarded panel with a louder clang. Her limbs splayed about. ‘Ow.’

Thundercracker looked up at the ceiling, and then back down at Slipstream. ‘Were you just—were you just in the vents?’

She shrugged. ‘Yyyyyep.’

‘Why were you in the vents?’

She shrugged again. ‘I dunno. I was… venting. Don’t judge me.’ She rose clumsily to her feet, and pointed a commanding digit Thundercracker. ‘You should try it sometime! Maybe it’ll make you less of an ass!’

Skywarp squinted down at her. ‘Well played, Slipstream. Well played.’

Thundercracker merely shook his head. He had had enough of this nonsense. Slowly, he began to notice the stares and glares of the seekers surrounding them. He couldn’t blame them. These were there superiors? An idiot, a mental case, and… Thundercracker. Evidentially, Thundercracker was not what they had in mind either. While Thundercracker considered his leadership adequate enough, it was clear his subordinates still had hard feelings toward him after allowing Megatron to die. His reputation as a supposed “coward” did not appear to sit well either. He hoped to prove himself in time.

The front-monitor activated, and a familiar yellowy-orange face came to light upon the screen. ‘Hey boss, we’ve got a situation outside.’

Thundercracker turned to him. ‘What is it, Roadgrabber?’

‘We are receiving requests to dock, but, er, we’re not entirely sure if we’re allowed to make that call or not.’

Skywarp folded his arms. ‘Why? Whose boarding? Want me to kick their ass?’

Roadgrabber paused. ‘I don’t think so. Anyway their boss says his name is Acid Storm. That they are what’s left of the old legion, and have sought to reconvene with us now that the bounty’s been fulfilled. Should we let them in? Yay or nay?’

Thundercracker thought hard about this. Acid Storm. Starscream had threatened to kill him the next time he saw him, but of course, Starscream wasn’t here. Acid Storm and the others would no doubt hold some ill will against Thundercracker for siding with Starscream back then, and knowing Acid Storm, Thundercracker feared the possible on-board conflict that might occur should he try anything… dangerous.

‘Ooh yes, do it,’ Slipstream said, fingers clasped. ‘The poor little guys must be so cold and lonely out there! Bring them in so we can warm them up with our… with our bodies…’ She paused, then formed an X with her arms. ‘False alarm guys. I just realized something obvious. They only want in for my body. Keep them out.’

Skywarp chuckled. ‘Hey, I think we should let them in—more the merrier and all—but, heh, lock the door first. Like, tell them to come in, but make sure the hangar doors are locked so they can’t actually enter. Seriously, it'll be classic!’

Thundercracker waved at them to shut up, then stared at the main screen. ‘What do you think, Roadgrabber?’

The Decepticon blinked. ‘What do I think? I dunno. I… don’t see any harm in raising our numbers.’

Thundercracker nodded. ‘Very well, let them in. Unimpeded.’

The three Decepticons stared at him.

‘That means minus any childish pranks.’

‘Er, right, sir.’ Roadgrabber’s face dissipated from view.

Skywarp lowered his head and sighed. ‘This is what you brought me back for? This? You’re killing me here, Thunders.’ The seeker teleported away, leaving little but a purple flash of light that lingered seconds after he had gone.

Thundercracker squinted. He still needed to research that. Now that Skywarp was active he knew he could do it without any restraints or repercussions towards his system. He knew Starscream was interested as well.

Slipstream cupped her mouth. ‘No! Don’t let the invaders in! They’re just going to steal our jobs.’

Thundercracker began to frown, attempting to drown out another stream of nonsense uttered from her mouth. For once, he stopped to consider Slipstream’s words. They were talking about Acid Storm, after all. ‘To be perfectly blunt with you Slipstream?’ he turned his head toward her, staring deeply into her cracked optics. ‘That's exactly what I’m afraid of happening.’

 

To say Optimus was sick would be an understatement. The Prime lay on the medical berth, fingers digging depressions into his helm; vocalizer wailing loudly for the voices to stop. Ironhide, Blackarachnia, and Jazz gathered around him, watching him with grim expressions. They had little idea what to do about his pain. And they hated themselves for it.

Jazz was quick to fall into his role as sub-commander. He pointed a strict digit at the others, voice firm and commanding. ‘Do either of you have any experience in medicine?’

They shook their heads. Blackarachnia said, ‘Prime was our medical officer. If either of us got beaten into a pulp – which happened to be often, as you can imagine—, he would be the one to fix us in a pinch.’

Jazz frowned down at the writhing Prime. ‘Then that makes this a whole lot trickier.’ The spec-ops agent placed his hands on Optimus’s, trying to keep him from hurting himself any further. ‘Come on, Prime—speak to me. Teach me. Tell me what we can do for you.’

Ironhide stepped forward. ‘What about your audio-receptors, Prime? Will shutting them off do you any good?’

‘No…’ Optimus groaned. ‘It’s coming… from within.’ He pointed at the hangar of medical equipment at the far side of the room. Needles, syringes, and tubes lined the wall in neat little stacks and columns. ‘Grab… one of those needles. Fill it with vector-caste fluid. It will shut of my higher functions… temporarily.’

Blackarachnia had already rushed over the grab the materials needed.

Ironhide squeezed his shoulder. ‘This better not have any lasting effects on your system, Prime. If it just so happens that injecting you screws with your body permanently—,’

But the weapons specialist was promptly ignored. ‘Then—use the x-ray scope to look inside my… body. Try to find what’s causing… this. The Ark should tell you the rest.’

Grabbing the needle from Blackarachnia, Jazz jammed its point into Prime’s neck without a moment of hesitation. Though he struggled at first, Optimus slowly began to quiet down, and eventually succumb to the treatment; falling into a deep stasis.

Jazz exhaled, then motioned for Ironhide. ‘You heard the chief, bring that x-ray over here.’

Ironhide pulled over the large camera-shaped apparatus and held it above the medical berth. It activated, projecting a picture onto the nearest glass monitor. The screen fizzled to life, depicting the white, exoskeletal frame of Prime’s body.

‘Now magnify.’

The Prime’s skeleton faded as deeper metal and sinews were revealed to them.

‘Stop.’

Jazz pointed at the screen, finger tracing around Prime’s spark casing. ‘That’s it. Take a look at this.’

‘What?’ Blackarachnia said, squinting at the image. ‘What the hell am I supposed to be looking at here? His spark seems normal enough.’

‘According to the Ark’s report, Prime’s new spark casing was heavily altered pre-transfer.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning it was constructed with a nucleon-fiber. Meaning it was made with the intention of restricting the use of any nucleon-born abilities Prime’s spark might have possessed.’

Ironhide folded his arms. ‘No. That can’t be right. Prime was never an outlier. His abilities would have been evident by now. Besides, he would have told me if that were the case.’

There was a moment of pause as Blackarachnia and Jazz stared at the weapons specialist.

Ironhide slowly began to massage his forehead. ‘He would have. I know he would…’

Jazz brought a finger to his chin. ‘This body was evidentially constructed with a very specific purpose in mind—but that doesn’t seem to be what’s causing these spasms the chief’s been suffering.’ He stared up at the screen. ‘Computer, display readings of Prime’s brain module on the double.’

The image on the screen switched its focus to Prime’s skull. A report filed alongside it.

Jazz made a wry expression. ‘Well, well. Seems to me like we’ve found the source of the chief’s distress.’

‘What?’ Blackarachnia asked, staring at Prime’s motionless frame. ‘Come on, spit it out, smiles—what’s doing this to him?’

Jazz pointed at the report. ‘This body was injected with a portion of his original brain module, and that’s exactly what it still is: a mere portion. It still needs time to regenerate into a fully formed processor. It shouldn’t cause any long-term problems once it’s completed its regeneration, but at the moment, his brain is still in that process. Still growing.’

‘Then that’s what happened to the boss?’ Blackarachnia looked up at the spec-ops agent. ‘He's hearing voices because his mind is… incomplete?’

Jazz tilted his head to the side. ‘It’s… a little more complicated than that. See, here’s the bizarre part. Prime’ senses have been set to full alert until the rest of his brain regenerates. It has to in order to compensate. In order for him to control his body at its fullest capacity. In other words, it’s a small brain module working at three times its capacity. Auditory hallucinations are not the typical side-effect.’

‘Then these voices he’s been complaining about—,’

‘Aren’t coming from within. His processor is most “whole” in the section that controls his intercom. With that section working three times as powerful as it would naturally, Optimus has been inadvertently picking up distant transmissions from across space. These voices—these cries for help that Prime has been hearing, I’m afraid, are real.’

-----

Starscream made his way down the streets of New Kaon, half a dozen body-guards surrounding him. The main infirmary was close enough to Kolkular, and Starscream felt the need to walk off some lingering anxieties anyway. Hence, why he wasn’t flying like he usually would. The first big meeting of the Conclave was coming up, and he had some big plans in mind to share to the others. Unfortunately, his walk didn’t seem to alleviate the stress whatsoever. Faces turned to him in awe and intrigue. Eyes followed him, and voices of praise called to him from across the street. The typical “All Hail Starscream” among them. The gazes of adulation that he once so craved had proven to be little more than an annoyance to him. Again he had to ask himself: This is what I wanted? This?

They stopped in the middle of the street to find a small brown-box leaning against a nearby building. Clean of box-fungi, Starscream imagined. The Decepticon Leader crouched next to the box and tapped on it.

‘What do you want?’ A voice came from within. Crawling out of the brown cube came a small, bright red Decepticon. Comparatively bright, at least. His colours had faded since Starscream’s last meeting with him.

He grinned. ‘Why hello, Knockout.’

The former medical officer grimaced up at him. ‘Why Lord Starscream. Welcome to my humble abode. Do you like what you see? I hope you’re happy.’ Knockout was more pathetic than Starscream expected him to be after forcing him back onto the streets. He couldn’t help but smile at that. Knockout’s upper lip was raised. ‘I’ve got to admit that removing me from my position as one of New Kaon’s most prestigious doctors was the last thing I expected your first orders to be. But bravo for letting your petty prejudices get in the way of your professional work.’

Starscream shrugged. ‘Well, they weren’t my first orders, but I can see where you're coming from.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘I’m sorry, Knockout. I just simply couldn’t help but relish in the irony of sending you to live on the streets the way I once had. I really couldn’t.’

Knockout slowly climbed out of the box and onto his feet. ‘Well, Starscream, you took everything away from me. You took my job, my house, and even— oh, except for one thing.’

‘And what’s that? Your friendship? Your love for Breakdown?’

‘My weapons.’ A saw-blade emerged from Knockout’s wrist, and the former doctor lunged forward. Before he could lay a single cut on the Leader of the Decepticons, however, Starscream’s bodyguards sprang into action. Staxx grabbed Knockout’s arms while Roadpig kicked his shins, knocking him to his knees. Guarding Starscream with his body, Dirtbag ripped a rifle from his waist and aimed it at Knockout’s forehead, clicking back the safety and preparing to execute the pitiful Empty for treason.

‘Hold your fire.’

With a wave of his hand, the three guardsman stopped moving.

Starscream walked around Knockout’s restrained body, grinning smugly. ‘Look at him. Can’t you see what you’re doing? You’re playing right into his hand. You’re giving him exactly what he wants.’

He bent over until his face was inches from Knockouts. ‘You see? He wants you to waste a bullet on him. He wants you to make an example out of him. But we’re better than that. Truthfully, this scum isn’t even worth a bullet.’ He forcefully lowered Dirtbag’s rifle before moving on. ‘He’s not worth the time of even the lowest denominator of the Decepticon army. Come. We have a busy schedule at hand.’

Staxx dropped the former doctor before trailing along after Starscream, and soon Roadpig, Dirtbag and the rest did the same. Starscream had full control of his troops. To the point where even an obvious act of mercy for an old colleague appeared to be a life-sentence of torture for them.

Knockout continued to glare at him as he left, but Starscream could only hope he would soon realize he just had his life saved and eventually come to forgive him. Granted there wasn’t much else to forgive.

The infirmary was in a state of lull. There had been no major battles as of late, and most repairs occurred between the guilds themselves. Colossus’s security forces barely if ever required medical attention, and so New Kaon’s hospital was relatively quiet. Starscream made his way without permit to the special emergency branch of the infirmary, where Decepticons of import were stored. There remained a few serious casualties, but nothing Empire threatening. Lieutenants awaiting to be recovered; specialists hooked up to life-support. The place where anybody who was worth anything were kept out of harms way. In here were the forms of Gutcruncher and Charger, a pair that had done Starscream quite some trouble in the past.

He greeted the doctors of the house. ‘Flatline, Nickel… how are our VIPs looking?’

Two of Flatline’s many servos made a so-so gesture in unison. ‘Somewhere between looking good and downright questionable. Here, see for yourself.’

‘Hey!’ Nickel rolled over to the door, shooing Dirtbag and the others out of the way. ‘Do NOT tread your filthy tires in here. This is a hospital for Syncorax’ sake!’

Starscream gestured for his bodyguards to wait outside before turning to Gutcruncher. ‘What am I looking at?’

‘Gutcruncher suffered some serious wounds fighting Charger and that thing. We did what we could, buuuuut it appears we have no choice but to surgically remove his T-Cog. There’s a tumor of sorts clumping around the Trinity wires connecting it to his brain module, and we really don’t have any other choice. We insert a replacement and the tumor will only regrow. He won’t be happy about this when he wakes up, but it is highly unlikely Gutcruncher will ever be able to transform again.’

Starscream massaged his chin. ‘But he will survive, correct?’

‘Oh, no question. He should be back onto his feet in a week at the latest.’

‘Good. You’re right, he won’t be pleased to find out he can’t transform, but I would be more worried about his business. With him dead, there would be a lot of people with a lot of “deals” left in flux.’

Flatline nodded, then moved on to Charger. He was as still as Gutcruncher. ‘Now, Charger is where things get questionable.’

Nickel rolled back over to them. ‘More like un-explainable. Charger should be in full working order. His vital signs are fine. His system is free of bugs. Hell, he’s even breathing properly. He should be awake as we speak, but no matter how much we prod him, he just refuses to respond.’

‘We’ll need Charger functioning as soon as possible. I have a hunch he might know what’s happened to Obsidian, and if he in fact does.’ Starscream glared down at the motionless mathematician. ‘Then he sure as hell better not be faking it.’

Charger didn’t budge.

-----

Jazz, Ironhide, and Blackarachnia stood on the bridge in silence as Optimus rested in the medical bay. They needed to find a cure, and fast. Finally, Jazz spoke. ‘We’re going after them.’

Blackarachnia raised her claws. ‘“Them?” Who’s them? The voices? Why?’

Ironhide growled. ‘What do you mean “why?” We’re Autobots. Most of us at least. We are tasked with protecting all life. No matter the enemy. No matter the risk.’

Blackarachnia pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Okay. Fine. I see what you mean, but… what do they matter to us? Shouldn’t we be focusing on the boss’s condition instead?’

‘We are,’ Jazz said. ‘It seems to me like if we don’t find the source of these transmissions and tell them to quit it… well…’ he exchanged glances with Ironhide. ‘I don’t know what will happen, but that’s because I don’t know how severe these affects might be on Prime’s brain. As things stand, we can’t afford to wait for his mind to regenerate completely.’

Blackarachnia nodded slowly. ‘Alright… yeah. Yeah, you’ve convinced me. What’s our first step?’

Jazz moved over to the nearest control terminal and tapped in some commands. ‘First we track the flow of this transmission.’ He reached over to another terminal, his chest rubbing against the first. ‘Then we set the Ark to warp to those co-ordinates…’

In seconds, the Ark entered warp-space, tearing across the galaxy in seconds.

He stepped back, ‘And then… we make contact.’

As the Ark completed its warp, the front-view monitor began to construct a clear image of what was ahead. In front of them was a pitch black orb of a planet. Perfectly circular and round; lit by several small specks of blue. The blue freckled planet twinkled and flashed, but the surrounding darkness seemed to overwhelm it.

Blackarachnia gawked at the image. ‘What are… what are those lights?’

‘It’s a hotspot.’

The three of them turned around to find Optimus leaning in the doorway. One servo clutching his helm.

Ironhide dashed over to him. ‘Optimus! What are you doing here—you should be in the medical bay!’

He raised a servo. ‘I’m fine. Just let me—no, I’m fine.’ He pointed at the front-view monitor. ‘That’s a hotspot. A massive one. There seems to be thousands—maybe millions—of newborn sparks resting on that ball of metal.’

‘An entire generation of Cybertronians…’ Ironhide muttered.

‘Yeah,’ Jazz shook his head at the sight of it. ‘I don’t think there’s ever been one that big since Cybertron croaked.’

‘That many sparks mean there’s probably a caretaker involved,’ Blackarachnia said. ‘And considering a transmission screaming “help” is coming from the planet itself, I’m willing to bet this caretaker isn’t taking the best care—so to speak—of these sparklings as one would typically suggest.’

Optimus nodded grimly.

Jazz shrugged. ‘Well, we could always choose NOT to expect the worst for once. It’s not like every planet in this universe is crawling with bad people.’

Optimus thought about this, then nodded once more. ‘Whatever’s the case, we need to act quickly… the voices are… the voices are…’

He collapsed to his knees, and Ironhide came running to his side. ‘That’s it, you’re moving back to your slab.’

‘Guys?’ Blackarachnia gestured to the front-view-screen. A massive pointed shadow appeared from overhead. At first it seemed as though the space ahead of them was being torn in half, but as the shadow progressed, it became evident that the shape was in fact a gigantic spaceship, flying above the Ark’s overhead, and heading towards the planet before them.

Ironhide squinted at the thing. ‘That’s massive! There’s no way that model is Decepticon—not even the Nemesis was that big!’

Jazz brought a fist to his chin in thought. ‘I reckon we should follow beneath its underbelly. Hide ourselves upon entry—just so we can get a look at them before they get a look at us.’

Blackarachnia glared up at the spec-ops agent. ‘Look, I agree. I think we should do as you’re saying…’ she jabbed a claw at his chest. ‘But don’t think you’re allowed to play leader while Prime is taking a sick-day. You may be ranked above us, but do not get too cocky, and do not expect me to follow all of your orders just because you—’

‘Enough,’ Optimus snapped. ‘I will be leading. I’ll be making planet-fall with you.’

Ironhide grabbed his shoulder. ‘But Optimus—,’

‘No debates. No questions. I need to see whoever is sending this transmission for myself. Carry me if you have to. I’m going.’

Blackarachnia’s brow furrowed at Optimus, before turning back to the planet as they made their approach. ‘This is definitely a bad idea.’

‘Like I said,’ Jazz reminded her. ‘It’s not like every planet in the universe is crawling with bad people.’

-----

The black and blue freckled planet was moon-sized, and brimming with life. On the outermost layer were the spark-fields. Powered by a rare shard of Cybertron’s core: Vector Sigma. The All-Spark shard was capable of creating spark-energy, just like it did when it was whole. The sparks would form, harvest, and taken to the second layer. In this layer they would bathe in sento-metallico forming arms, legs, and brain modules. They would become living, breathing beings capable of thought and action. In this layer they would also be taught everything they would need to know for what they would become, and complete their development. In the third layer, the sparklings would be put to the pits. Cybertronian against Cybertronian. Smashing and tearing at each other front of a captivated audience. Cheering, jeering, and betting against each-other, the crowds would participate from afar, their holoforms filling up an imaginary audience. The winner would continue to fight, if not get picked up by a rich buyer. The losers would be relegated to the work force once more. Forced to pull masses of chains and gears in order to power the massive rock. During their breaks, they would be locked up and studied for their abilities. Those with unique attributes would be put up for auction, those that were unremarkable would be left to work underground for who knows how long.

One Cybertronian with a special attribute sat in her cell, optics wide with dread. She muttered under her breath. ‘Help.’ She watched as a young Cybertronian living in the cell across from her, born days earlier, was dragged out of their cell screaming. The Cybertronian’s fists clenched. ‘Someone help us. Please... help us all.’

 

Grunt work. All Thrust ever did anymore was grunt work. He didn’t know why he thought following Dirge’s little plan would be a good idea, and yet here he was. Thrust was underappreciated enough on the Nemesis with Slipstream in charge, but at least then he was advising Ramjet and Sunstorm on strategy and not taking check on products for the thousandth time. At least then he was doing something remotely worthwhile.

He grumbled under his breath as he ticked the boxes on his data-pad. ‘B-26… present. B-27… present.’ He moved to the next cell briskly and impatiently. The little satisfaction he got out of his job was the solace that he was in charge of these younglings. That they were in there, and he was not. Some still quivered with fear, which was good because fear built character. Others had accepted their roles and maintained a near silent disposition. Which was also good because it meant they’d listen to what he had to say.

‘B-28… present. B-29… present. B-30… present.’

Maybe if he sucked up to the boss a little, he’d be given the chance to teach these wrecks a thing or two. Maybe he would have the opportunity to impasse some of his military knowledge to them… He could be like a teacher, or a father figure, to them. Rightfully so. He grinned at the thought, though his fantasies rarely seemed to come true outside of the battlefield. He sighed. To think… Military Strategist and Analyst Thrust… doing grunt work for his so called “boss”.

‘B-31… present. B-32… present. B-33…’ It was an awful embarrassment for Thrust. Generals like Obsidian knew he had potential. Generals like Colossus and Tornado knew he had spirit. But fate had continued to curtail his—

‘Wait.’ He moved back to the previous cell, and stared inside. ‘B-33?’ Silence. The cell was empty, save for some yellow graffiti splattered against the walls. B-33 had somehow managed to escape. Thrust burst into a sprint. ‘Aw crap!’

Again. Damn B-33 and most likely B-34 had escaped yet again. How the hell did they keep doing that? He hated them with a passion. If it weren’t for the boss’s orders he would have fed them to the boss’s Sharkticons! But no! Instead he had been tasked with keeping them in check, again, and again. At least he didn’t have to do it alone. He raised a digit to his communicator. ‘Dirge! They’re at it again! Rendezvous with me outside—you know the drill!’

Reaching the upper-most layer, Thrust transformed into his dark red jet mode and took to the air. Those two had always planned their route through the secondary elevator and onto the surface-layer above. There they would most likely head for the hangar where they would steal a ship and escape. Nobody had escaped yet, of course, and Thrust did not intend to be the first one to let that happen. Hopefully that would be Dirge. The blue and gold jet met up with them as they tore through the skies of the upper-most layer. Silently following orders as usual.

‘Where the hell have you been! Where’s your work ethic?’

‘Busy.’ Was all Dirge replied.

‘Well, whatever. Keep your eye out. It’s those same two again.’

‘Those two.’

‘Yes Dirge, those two. B-33 and B-34—,’

‘No, those two. Down there.’

Thrust turned his attention below to find the two products in particular. One was a flier—a rarity around these parts. Small for a jet, but quite large compared to the others younglings. Two large thrusters powered the bulky purple and red flier forward, as the other road overtop. The second product was small and yellow. Fingers gripped around the flier’s panels and carefully maintaining their balance.

‘Oh. I could figure that out for myself, Dirge. Open fire, as long as we’re gentle, there should be enough to salvage them back into working order.’

‘Roger.’

-----

‘Ah, crap.’ B-33 spat. Watching over his shoulder. ‘They’re firing at us.’

‘Evidentially, yes,’ B-34 replied.

The yellow youngling grumbled to himself. ‘Well, could you please do something about it? Like some kind of—I don’t know, evasive maneuv—EURS!’

B-34 began barrel-rolling, spinning out of the way of the stun-bolts fired from Dirge’s undercarriage before maintaining their balance once more. B-33’s fingers were digging into 34’s back, body shaking with adrenaline.

‘What the hell was that?!’ B-33 snapped.

‘Evasive maneuvers.’

‘You could have at least said something first! Like: “Hey, Bee, I’m about to spin around in the air, better hang on!” Or, “Hold on, Bee, else you’re going to fall a million feet from the ground and die!” Anything like that would have been a real help, I assure you.’

‘A real help would be for you to return fire with your—.’

Bee’s servos transformed into a pair of electrical “stingers”, surging with electricity. ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.’ Beams of electricity burst from Bee’s wrists, tearing through the sky and narrowly missing Thrust’s wings. The seeker was quick enough to dodge, but it kept them busy enough for the two to make their escape.

‘We are approaching the net.’ B-34 said.

‘Got it. And thank you.’ Bee returned fire once more before taking hold of B-34’s wings.

B-34 dove into a nose-dive, roaring towards the ground below. In seconds, Thrust and Dirge followed suit, performing a straighter and faster nose-dive than the less experienced flier.

‘Trying to psych us out, eh?’ Thrust called to them. ‘Nice try, kids. But I’ve been doing this scrap for a millennia! There’s nothing you can do that I can’t do better!’

Bee squeezed hard on B-34’s wings. ‘I, uh, hope you’re planning on pulling up soon.’

‘Be patient.’

Meters from the ground, B-34 pulled upwards, soaring forward before landing stomach first on the hard pavement. Sparks showered from her undercarriage as the jet transformed, piece-by-piece. In robot-form, B-34 fell into a slide, screeching to a halt on her arms and legs.

Bee held onto her thrusters, quivering long after they stopped moving. ‘Well, we’re alive. That’s good. Isn't it?’

Thrust and Dirge pulled up just as B-34 had, flying meters above the ground before boosting towards them. ‘You’re not escaping today, idiots—,’

The trap activated, and the electrical net Bee stole from the boss’s materials cache activated. While he and B-34 were small enough to slide underneath it, Thrust and Dirge were too large to change their direction of travel and had flown straight through. The electrical net caught them, dragging them to the ground and electrifying them with thousands of volts. They screamed as electricity surged through their systems, scrambling their higher functions temporarily.

Thrust and Dirge writhed on the ground in pain as B-34 rose to her feet. Bee jogged over to the seekers, and began examining their groaning frames.

B-34 had already begun to walk away before realizing her partner wasn’t following. She turned to him and frowned. ‘We need to move.’

Bee waved her away. ‘You can go on ahead if you want. These two and I have some unfinished business.’

B-34 stormed over to him. ‘We should escape while we have the chance.’

Bee activated his stinger, sparkling with electricity. His battle-mask was down, large, black, oval optics reflecting his victims faces. ‘I don’t care. After all the torture, and the labour and the… and the abuse! After what they did to the others…? I can’t let them just—I can’t let things end like this!’

B-34 grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘Bumblebee.’

‘No. They need to be punished for what they’ve done! Because if I don’t punish them here and now, then nobody will. And they sure as hell deserve to be punished. I need to do it, Airazor. For big cat… for Tigatron.’

B-34’s hand left his shoulder. She went silent.

Bumblebee clashed his stinger’s together, sending sparks all over the net as he approached it. Thrust and Dirge watched him in silence. ‘Now then, what do you think would happen if I shoved this stinger up your aft?’

Thrust merely frowned.

‘I mean it. How far do you think I could shove this stinger up your aft? And what would happen if I did? How loud would you scream if I shoved this up your aft and fired-- genuinely curious here, folks.’

‘You’re disgusting.’

Bumblebee shot a blast of electricity into Thrust, sending him convulsing and spasming on the ground beneath the net. ‘You’re one to talk, Thrust. You underestimated us. You thought you could defeat the bird and the bee! But you know what I think? I think you fail to live up to your own hype. I think that—what? What’s so funny.’

Thrust was chuckling to himself. ‘The bird and the bee? You’re really calling yourselves that? The bird and the bee?’

‘Yeah? What? Is that funny to you? I mean, I don’t know. I’m, like, five years old, in case you've forgotten, so there are some aspects of humour that elude me. That’s society’s problem, not mine.’

‘Oh, there’s that, but there’s also the fact that—,’ Suddenly, Thrust’s turbines activated, sending a burst of wind and energy in Bee’s direction. The electric net went flying off of the seekers and into Bumblebee, pinning him to the ground and electrifying him constantly.

‘—you’re very easily distracted.’

B-34 ran towards him, only for Dirge to fly forward and smash his fist against the side of her skull. The purple jet hit the ground hard, liquid leaking from the cracks in her helm and spilling onto the pavement below. She was already beginning to black out. As Thrust and Dirge proceeded to drag them back to their cells, B-34 could only cling onto the name Tigatron gave her before he departed. Airazor. It kept her feeling like an individual. It kept her feeling sane. She knew Thrust and Dirge would have blocked out communications from the outside, but still, she maintained hope. Airazor sent a mental transmission through her intercom once more. Not that there would be anyone remotely nearby to hear it. “Help us.” She thought with all her might. She needed to escape this place, and she knew Bumblebee and herself couldn’t do it alone. “Someone help us, please.”

-----

“Someone help us, please.”

Optimus grabbed his head once more. The voices were getting worse. They were beginning to overlap and shout over each-other, until ultimately he was listening to an entire chorus of voices screaming for help at fluctuating volumes.

‘Hang in there, chief,’ Jazz said, squeezing his shoulder. ‘We’re almost there.’ He gestured to the Ark’s front view-screen. ‘Look.’

The massive ship overhead had begun its descent, its inhabitants unbeknownst to the Ark that had magnetized to its underbelly. The ship stationed its landing in the middle of a wide-open tarmac on the planet’s outer-most surface. There was no one there to greet them aside from the fields of newly-spawned for them to admire.

Jazz, Ironhide and Blackarachnia dropped from the Ark’s undercarriage, landing into a roll on the pavement bellow. Optimus landed next, wobbling slightly as his pedes touched the ground.

‘You’re sure you’re alright?’ Ironhide asked as the Prime approached the others.

He shook his head. ‘I’m fine. Really. I just need to see this place for myself. Make my own judgements.’

Jazz folded his arms. ‘You don’t have to push yourself, you know. I’ve led reconnaissance missions before. There’s no shame in lettin’ me take command just this once.’

He raised his palm. ‘Please. I’m here. I’m leading. I’m… get down.’

‘Eh?’

‘Now!’

Jazz, Ironhide and Blackarachnia hit the dirt as a ramp spawned from the massive ship above. As soon as it touched the ground, a sleek black Cybertronian-car rolled down from the ship’s entrance and onto the pavement.

Optimus waved the others forward. ‘Follow him, Autobots. But remain scarce.’ He pointed to the buildings located on either side of the main road. They were short and ranged from single-story storage areas to simple factory buildings. However, their winding alleyways provided enough cover for the four to move unseen. ‘We should stay in robot mode. Our engines will only provide unwanted attention.’

The four dashed through the alleyways, keeping a keen eye on the car as it cruised through the complex’s empty streets. They kicked off walls, leaped roof-tops, and sprinted through maze-like pathways as they followed the car. Prime, however was distracted by what was below. Large fissures ran through the plant’s crust, revealing the very nature of the sparkling’s existence below. Hundreds of younglings were being brutally worked by mindless drones. Chains wrapped around their limbs as they pulled loads of Energon cubes, weapons, and supplies to their intended destination. Disgusted, Prime’s fist clenched. ‘I will…’ he muttered. ‘I will find a way to help you.’

‘We need to move, Prime.’ Jazz said, ushering him forward. ‘We’ll cook up a plan as soon as we get the chance. I promise.’

He nodded, and followed. After minutes of following the car, the Prime gestured to the structure ahead. There was a massive dome of glass ahead of them. It was an atrium of sorts. Whatever was inside was clearly of some major significance. The sleek vehicle drove straight into it, doors parting to welcome him in before shutting behind him once again.

‘We need to get on top of this thing,’ Optimus remarked, approaching the glass himself. ‘Jazz, grapple hook. Blackarachnia, legs.’

They nodded, and as Jazz fired his hook high above, Blackarachnia extended her spider stalks from her back and began climbing the dome, bit by bit. Optimus gestured for Ironhide to stay down below as he took hold of Jazz’s waist and the spec-ops agent pulled them up.

On top, Optimus peered inside the glass dome to find what was inside to be a large office of sorts. A small yellow and purple Cybertronian sat at a large metal desk, surrounded by corny decorations and an entire wall dedicated to an aquarium of Sharkticons.

The yellow and purple Cybertronian appeared to have been on a phone-call of sorts.

‘I can’t hear what they’re saying,’ Blackarachnia muttered. ‘Want me to break the glass and stick my head in?’

Optimus frowned at her. ‘That’s a horrible idea.’

Jazz turned to him. ‘No need to worry, guys.’ He tapped his helm and a thin cord fell from the antenna on the side of his head. He pressed the cord against the glass, and noises began to emerge from his speakers. ‘I got this under control.’

Blackarachnia flinched. ‘Wait, you can do that? You can hear through walls?’ she raised her claws defensively. ‘I swear to Mortilus, Smiles, if you’ve listened in to my room without my permission for even one second, I will claw out your eyes and—,’

Jazz patted the air. ‘Whoa, chill out, BA. This is just some tech I’ve had jumbling around my system from my more… classified days as an agent.’

Optimus nodded. ‘Leave him alone, Blackarachnia,’ he tapped the glass, ‘and listen…’

-----

‘Of course, of course! The thrusters are in full operating order. Would I ever lie to you?’ Swindle massaged his head. ‘No, no! The Transformers here are bred to their fullest combative potential. I assure you. There is no wider selection in the Galaxy—nay the universe—and for these prices?’ He paused to listen. ‘Well, mister Quantax, I must express my grievances over the destruction of your system, but quality has a price. With just one fit and healthy Transformer under your scientist’s care, you could easily reverse engineer about a dozen more. The more unique the ability, the more useful they happen to be.’ He secretly cursed his impatient client. This was becoming a hassle. ‘Of course. Yes of course. We hope to hear from you again. Yes—bye. Bye!’

The former Combaticon hung up, and began massaging his brow. Why were people being so damn fickle about this? He had lowered the prices already, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to lower them any further. The doors to his office parted, and his bodyguards—Thrust and Dirge, entered. What could those idiots want? He spread his arms wide. ‘My boys! What can I do for my favourite pair of cone-heads today?’

‘We’re just here to file some reports, Boss.’ Thrust said, arms folded. ‘B-33 and B-34 escaped again. They’re back in their cells, but…’ he shook his head. ‘They’re becoming a total nuisance.’

Swindle sighed. ‘Yes, yes. I know how… rambunctious those two can be. But have you seen the bids on them? A flier with forged photon thrusters? A mini-bot armed with electro-stingers? The organics are going crazy over them! Not only are fliers in short supply, but B-33 will be a major hit with those searching for stealth operatives. I’m telling you, military wise, those two are a gold-mine!’

Thrust grumbled. ‘Well, can you sell them soon? I know you want to get the highest price possible out of them, but the yellow one is really starting to irritate m—,’

Dirge cleared his throat, loudly.

Thrust turned to him. ‘Hey Dirge, shut up! I’m trying to explain to the boss why—oh. Oh right. I nearly forgot.’ He turned back to Swindle. ‘Your client’s here.’

Swindle’s wide purple optics brightened at the thought. ‘Is he now? Where?’

‘Here.’

Behind Thrust and Dirge came a tall, dark Cybertronian. Their body was formed with several mis-matched parts, with shapes and colours belonging to other Cybertronians. Their face was seemingly non-existent, replaced instead by a round, green, visor-like apparatus.

Thrust flinched. ‘Primus, don’t sneak up on me like that! You nearly scared the slag out of me!’

The tall figure ignored him and moved over to Swindle. Trailing behind him were a pair of large Cybertronians, pushing along a massive cage of sorts. It was too dark to see what was inside, though it was clear whatever it was, it was large, and it was moving.

‘You know the drill, Swindle.’ The Cybertronian said. ‘I’ve completed my half of the bounty, you complete yours.’

Swindle clapped his hands together as he bolted from his desk. ‘We’ll get to payments in a minute.’ He approached the cage skeptically, examining its contents skeptically. ‘First, can we confirm that this is indeed the very same trouble-maker I’ve been searching for all this time?’

The bounty-hunter folded his arms and arched his back. Though it couldn’t be said from his mask, he appeared to have been standing with pride. ‘The Black Knight of Cybertron. Swindle, I never try to weasel my way out of a good hunt. And this Black Knight was no easy hunt.’

The former Combaticon frowned up at the bounty-hunter. ‘Which would be…’

‘Good. Very good.’ He patted the side of the cage with his hook, and a low growl emitted from the bars. ‘My payment?’

Swindle raised his hands. ‘Alright, alright. Impatient much?’ He tapped his wrist-dial, and the credits were transferred from his personal storage to the bounty-hunter’s. ‘You know, Lockdown, I would have expected you to be leader of the Decepticons by now.’

The bounty-hunter laughed. ‘And why would you suggest that.’

‘Oh, you know. Just the whole Optimus thing. After he killed Megatron—,’

One of Lockdown’s lackeys took a massive step forward. ‘Megatron lives!’

Lockdown simply motioned them to be quiet, and then to Swindle. ‘Ignore Lugnut. Please… continue.’

‘I was just saying—after the bounty was placed on Prime’s head, one would think you would be on top of that like a petro-rabbit on carrotronic acid. What happened?’

Lockdown appeared to grin beneath his mask. ‘Oh I had the opportunity to kill Optimus on several occasions. Sometimes - when I was feeling sloppy - I would aim my scope between his optics and pretend to pull the trigger, just to get some practice in. But that was the thing, once you got past his cloak of dark-space, he was a painfully easy kill. In the end he just didn’t have anything I wanted. Leadership of the Decepticons?’ he laughed. ‘Who needs that? All I need is the hunt, the creds…’ he raised his claw-hand. It was a different colour from the rest of his torso. ‘And the trophies…’

----

‘They’re selling Cybertronians…’ Optimus muttered. He looked up to Jazz. ‘We need to rescue them. This is inhumane… this is forced labour! Swindle can’t be allowed to do this!’

But as he looked up, the barrel of a gun touched the back of Prime’s head. A massive shadow blanketed him as a large figure held him in place. Prime soon realized that Jazz and Blackarachnia were in similar predicaments. A pair of large Cybertronians loomed over them. Blades and pistols pressed against their heads.

‘I wouldn’t move,’ one of them said. ‘unless you want to lose your head.’

Optimus sighed. ‘Oh, give me a break already.'