Hello all! I was reading Transformers: Seeds of Deception, as well as the Dreamwave War Within comics a year back, and was thus inspired to write this little chapter! It may also contain inspiration from Blurry Robot Theatre, Transformers War for Cybertron Trilogy, the Cyberton High Moon Duology, the ancient fanon wiki known as the Koipedia and some of the Armada Dreamwave comics _____________________________________________________________________________________ Up in his office overlooking the Command Center Main Control Room, Sentinel Prime was very glad the viewscreen was set to opaque. It simply wouldn't do for any of one of the few Murion clerks and officers milling about accidentally looking up to see the Supreme Commander of the Cybertron Defense Force and Liege Primon of the Commonwealth of Cybertron to squirm as he read the many reports flooding in from the field. Primes are meant to be beacons of faith, discipline and courage; to seem lacking in any of these qualities was unacceptable. Deep within his chest, there was a sudden twinge of barely noticeable pain. Deep within himself, he heard himself say, but you are lacking. Sentinel Prime bristled. Maybe, but you chose me, he snapped back, and felt ridiculous trying to argue with the Matrix of Leadership. When Alpha Trion told him that the Matrix carried imprints of every Cybertronian who carried it, he laughed in the old fool's face (privately, of course). But time and time again he would hear voices, sometimes his own, sometimes the voices of Primes long fallen, even the voices of bots he'd never even met. He recalled one chilling solar cycle when touring the Stellar Galleries hearing a remark about Cybertron and its supposedly ever-changing nature, and then hearing the exact same sentence in the exact same voice uttered from a slightly garbled recording of Vector Prime, who had supposedly died long ago. Supposedly, because a few cycles after hearing that recording, the Matrix itself practically confirmed in the voice of Nominus Prime- his immediate predecessor- that if a Matrix Bearer were dead, they would know it. Sentinel could, with some difficulty, pinpoint the exact moment and context of Nominus' quote; but he decided to spare himself that effort. Like the fog gliding through Iacon City outside the Decagon walls, memories of his predecessor's gruesome demise filtered through Sentinel Prime's mind. He remembered the terrifying sensation of weightlessness as the Grand Maximus, Nominus' personal command skiff, crashed down onto the Outskirts of Tarn, shot down by some unknown fighter. After engaging in a brief but fierce skirmish with a small Decepticon scouting party, it seemed like the Cybertron Elite Guard would be able to hold their positions long enough for Nominus and his command staff- Sentinel included- to evacuate far away from the Tarnian Uprising. But then the Seekers came. They were unlike anything the Guard had ever seen before. Sure, there were plenty of fliers within the Guard stalling the Decepticon advance, but nothing like the fighters that single-handedly annihilated their air support. And when the Guard set up air defenses to try and swat them out of the sky, the flying Decepticons simply transformed, landed, and slaughtered nearly everyone in their way. Before that day, it was suicide for fliers to engage ground troops on cyber firma. But engage they did, and they utterly crushed everyone left outside when the Grand's sole surviving engineer restored power to the ship's shields, though Sentinel doubted it would have kept them out for long. The only reinforcements they received cycles later were utterly pitiful, just a couple squadrons of hastily assembled Militias led by has-been Primal Vanguard veterans. As it turned out, it wasn't just a few southern City-States like Kaon and Tarn going through state-wide riots. No; It was a highly-organized, well-planned military uprising happening all over the planet, and even throughout the Lunar Colonies. Such an undertaking would have taken vorns. Nominus refused to believe it when informed by one unlucky Sergeant Ironhide, refused to believe that such a build-up could be so easily hidden from Cybertron Intelligence, especially led by Director Soundwave. Sentinel unwillingly recalled the gnawing, empty sensation he felt within himself and saw within Nominus' eyes when they realized that they had been betrayed. This revelation was followed by nearly two Sol-Cycles of nonstop, mind-numbing, precise bombardment. And when the guns stopped, HE came. Megatron. An involuntary shiver raced up Sentinel Prime's back as he remembered the Decepticon Warlord's unstoppable advance through the Guard's shattered defenses. What could barely trained militia and worn-out guardsmechs do when faced with a veritable juggernaut of a warrior wielding a damned artillery gun as a primary weapon? One shot of that fusion cannon blew right into Grand Max's CIC, incapacitating Sentinel. When he came to, he found himself squirreled away under a heap of rubble by Ironhide and some green scout. Apparently, the scout was able to mask their energy signatures from the Decepticons. He was then witness to Nominus Prime and Megatron's duel, if one could have called it that. He remembered with some guilty pleasure the duels that would sometimes take place in many an aristocratic court. But while Nominus was an expert duelist back in his sol-cycle, his sol was long ago, against other bluefuels who understood the value of honor. But Megatron wasn't a duelist, nor was he some unusually well-equipped gladiator. He was something new, an utter hulk of a brute that reminded him of the warriors of Cybertron's distant past, something few Cybertronians alive today could recall, aside from the really old coots like Alpha Trion or that blasted buzzard Emirate Xaaron. Nominus fought longer and harder than Sentinel ever thought he was capable of. But it became painfully obvious Megatron was just toying with Prime when he abruptly disarmed Nominus with a single strike. Sentinel shuddered, leaning onto the window with one hand, the other covering his eyes as the memories of Nominus Prime's agonizing last moments bubbled up from his data-banks like impurities in molten metal. Megatron didn't really question Prime much before he tore him limb from limb, disemboweled him, and crushing Prime's spark core right in his face- Sentinel realized that the thin little chime for the door had sounded for the fourth time while lost in his thoughts. Sentinel growled softly at the interruption, then sighed with relief with the thought that something had brought him out of his stew of anxiety and dread. He gave himself a nano-klik to create a more Prime-like composure, turned around, walked a few steps forward, and sat down heavily behind the several meter-too-short desk. "Enter," he barked in as commanding yet refined tone as possible. The door slid to Sentinel's left, allowing Zeta Magnus to swagger in. He was a tall bot, only a head shorter than Sentinel, himself rather tall thanks to the Matrix Upgrade, yet half wider, particularly in the shoulders. He was primarily a deep blue, with orange secondary coloring and decorated with silver highlights that made certain parts of his musculature stand out. Sentinel restrained himself from shaking his head. The use of silver as a highlight was considered among the Great Houses of Cybertron a mark of vanity. Of course, considering Zeta could trace his origins to the loading docks of Lower Iacon, it was unlikely Zeta would have such knowledge of the inner subtleties of the High Courts. Yet Zeta had shown himself time and time again to be far more knowledgeable and crafty then the lower-class upstart's bluster would indicate. Those two qualities, along with half-decent administrative skills, an insanely obvious ambition, and a well-hidden yet quite nasty streak of pettiness would have made him a painful rival to Sentinel's authority. Fortunately, Zeta's obvious ambitions hinged on the preservation of Sentinel's regime rather than the Decepticons' 'New Order', and seemed perfectly content to be Sentinel's right hand. As Zeta sat down, he dropped a trio of floppy disks like a card player folding his hand, the sound startlingly loud. Sentinel gave Zeta another look and was surprised to realize how exhausted his Deputy looked. The title of Magnus was an old one, older than that of the Primes, which itself was named after the ancient Dynasty of Primes. Like the Prime, the Magnus was supposed to represent traditional leadership qualities, though the Magnus had a more militaristic undertone to its symbolism rather than the religious one the Prime was afforded, due to being chosen by the Matrix. Candidates for Magnancy were selected by the Primes, who were then elected by majority vote by the High Council of Cybertron, which was made of three different organizations- The Elite Guard High Command, the military/security leadership; The State Senate, representing the various city-states and sub-factions that ruled the majority of Cybertron's population; and the Council of Ancients, the religious authority of Cybertron. One would expect the Magnus to be if not handsome or inspiring, at the very least presentable. Zeta did not; the vain bot looked less like a spit-and-polish Guardsmech and more like a common laborer that was on the losing side of a back alley brawl, who then had to look presentable for a promotion. Zeta leaned over and unsealed the refrigerating decanter on the left of Sentinel's desk, pouring a misty blue slush into one of the three cube-shaped glasses that was shaped for bots two Weights smaller than him. He filled it to it's brim, the icy Intox-En slush slightly spilling as raised to his mouth, swallowing it down in a single gulp. Sentinel poured himself a half-glass; he had a feeling that there was a pretty good reason that the normally vain Zeta Magnus had forgone the usual decorum expected in a meeting between a Prime and his Magnus. "Bad Sol, Zeta?" he asked, trying to insert a little levity into the conversation. "Bad Quartex, Prime; some protestors decided to get a little aggressive on me and my teams way here, so we had to do a little pacifying." Sentinel tapped a figure on the desktop in irritation. "Zeta, I've told you, If you threaten the lives of protestors-" "Then they 'll support the 'Cons; don't worry, we didn't kill anyone," interrupted Zeta, who suddenly groaned, gripping his forehead with his left hand as he set the glass down with the other. "Bad brain freeze. This stuff sure does have a kick to it." "This 'stuff' was crafted by some of the greatest Fuel-Artisans of Polyhex, whose bodies now await the smelting pool or are buried in layers in rubble; a fate that millions of Cybertronians if we don't put an end to this- what was it they were calling it, again? Great Uprising?" "The 'Grand Uprising'; the oh-so-'glorious revolution' that would 'change Cybertron for the better, regardless of the wishes of the Powers-That-Be'," said Zeta, adjusting his seat. "And apparently the second one, according to their propaganda." "How droll," remarked Sentinel, utterly humorless. "Doesn't seem so Grand when it's supposedly the second one." "Alpha Trion says the first Uprising came about when the first bots overthrew the Quintessons." "Does the Magnus Imperator always listen to the ramblings of an ancient busybody?" "When the 'ancient busybody' is the Trion of Vector Sigma, I don't usually have a choice in the matter. Although," Zeta's tone became furtive, "He doesn't call it an uprising. He called the 'Fourth Cybertronian Civil War'." "Let Trion call it what he likes; this is an Insurgency; a very well organized insurgency, but an insurgency nonetheless," growled Sentinel. "An insurgency would just be a couple of hooligans throwing bombs into refineries; I think we can safely call this a war," Zeta replied, and gestured to the disks. Sentinel did as bidden, inserting each disk into slot on the side of his desk. From the center of Sentinel's desk, a holo-globe of Cybertron manifested into existence, along with half a dozen data sheets, graphs, and other staggeringly dense minutiae. Sentinel fished a cable from the desk and plugged it into a port located on the side of his chest. With a thought, a smaller, hand-sized Cybertron appeared. He held it between both hands, rotating the holo-globe to points of interest highlighted by Zeta's Command Staff. Large purple stains pockmarked the surface of this Cybertron, a simplified representation of areas under Decepticon control. Red Zones meant the area was contested; Yellow meant pacified, but not entirely free of conflict; Blue meant it was controlled by the High Council security forces. Sentinel realized that there was two new colors to the little rainbow: green and grey. Sentinel investigated electronically, and was appalled; grey meant the area either had no strategic value or, like poor Yuss, was little more than a burned-out wasteland that even the 'Cons (as the rank-and-file referred to the subterranean marauders) wouldn't stake claims on. Green meant- "Neutral?!? Those fools want to be neutral?" Sentinel cried angrily, the larger globe spinning unconsciously at Sentinel's anger. Zeta lifted his hands in a placating manner. "I know, I was pretty torqued to hear that myself," said Zeta soothingly, the Intox-En apparently restoring Magnus' silver tongue. "Apparently there are a few settlements that think now that the Decepticons have thrown Cybertron into chaos, they don't feel safe associating with the Council. Either that or they feel confident enough to flout our authority." "We have enough of a problem dealing with the Decepticons; the last thing I need are more secessionist states; we need every last drop of Energon if we're going to put these brutes down." He sighed. "Do you have any suggestions?" Magnus shrugged apologetically "If we were dealing with a small revolt, I'd say roll out the Centurion Drones and bust some heads," he drawled, causing Sentinel to wince slightly. He then glanced downwards, scowling. "But the "Cons aren't scared of drones unless they're outnumbered- and sometimes not even then." Zeta produced his own cord, plugging it into the desk and his lower chest plate. Sentinel received a notification asking for permission, and he gave it with but a thought. Several schematics of drones Sentinel had never seen before appeared before Sentinel's eyes. "What you're seeing here," Zeta said, smiling like a second-hand transport merchant, "are some blueprints for several new types of drones that just might even the odds." "You just said they aren't afraid of drones-" "These bad boys will give them something to be afraid of. Check the specs." Sentinel examined them as bidden. His countenance soon went from skepticism, transitioned to shock, then settled on outrage. "Great Maximus, Zeta! The costs of building one of these- these- Omega Sentries- could set back a City-States resources for vorns! DECI-vorns even! And you want to build-" "A hundred for every major City-State. But wait, there's more." He then flashed another data-set. Sentinel examined the files with trepidation and was nonplussed instead. It was a diagram showing four of the seven different weight-classes observed to be in use by the Decepticons. The typical Decepticon squad was made up of several Raider-Class units, often only slightly taller than the average Murion civilian, but often much more heavily armored. They were often led by one or Marauder-Class commanders, and on occasion supported by the much larger Brute-Class heavy weapons specialist or smaller Rogue-Class snipers or scouts. The only ones not shown were the tiny Support-Class, the huge Destroyer-Class, and the Warlord-class, the Decepticon equivalent to a Prime-weight... in other words, Decepticon such as Megatron or his generals. "The Decepticons are all psychotic killers, but they're also better organized, better armed, and better trained." A new view screen popped up, showing several line-up of over a dozen different Militia troops, all far more varied in appearance in height shape than the Decepticons. "What I'm proposing," began Zeta, "is that we implement the same kind of system the Cons are using for our own Army." "What, become the monsters we fight?" Zeta sighed, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. "There's practical reasons for this, Prime. we have a hell of a time getting bots trained, supplied, and fitted for combat. With this system, we can standardize our equipment, spare parts, weapons, rations, you name it. 'A fleet flies by its fuel tanks', or so the saying goes." "We might as well build an army from newborns while we're at it." "And that.. Is the last thing I'm proposing." Sentinel stared at his Second. "Not only are you telling me that you want to rebuild the military in the Decepticons image, but you also want to bolster it with giant war machines and made-to-order soldiers?" "Made-To-Order… got a bit of a ring to it," Zeta murmured, then shrank at Sentinel's glare. But then Sentinel relented by sighing, leaning back covering his face as he turned it toward the ceiling. "You're right, Zeta," Sentinel said, then tilted one eye towards Zeta in warning when he began to smirk. He continued; "You're right, in that we do need to keep our troops standardized, and we should order the creation of new Cyberonians for this Insurrection- no, this war. But on these drones you've proposed…" Sentinel deactivated the desk holograms with a thought, unplugged himself from the console, and stood up, Zeta copying. "All these ideas won't matter if we can't get the rest of the Council to agree with it." Zeta groaned. "Come on Prime, you know how those old rust buckets love to hear their own voices; by the time they agree that they need to make a decision, half of Cybertron will be purple-painted slag!" The blue and orange bot turned his open hand upwards to receive the other as it rapidly fell, clenched tight. "We got to move fast. The 'Cons may be slowing down, but only because they've run too far ahead of their supply lines, and you and I know that won't last forever. We've got to step it up if we're going to push them back." "Agreed," Sentinel admitted, "In fact, I have half a mind to demand emergency powers. But I won't," he stopped to silence Zeta's protests; "I won't jeopardize the stability of the Council; if we fall apart, we'll become easy prey for Megatron or any of his successors." He sidestepped the desk, removing all three disks from the drive and placing them in a compartment in his chest. He then leaned further down to press for comms. "Hightail?" "Hello, Sentinel Prime. How can I help?" said Hightail in a calm, droning tone. "Please inform Emirate Xaaron that I wish to speak with him on a topic of utmost urgency, and to meet me at the Decagon 3rd Mega-Cycle tomorrow. " "Of course, Prime. Is that all?" "No., Inform Corden, I wish to have a light escort at on platform 13, level 10. If anyone asks for me, let them know I'll be speaking with Alpha Trion" "Understood, Prime." And with that, Hightail's voice faded. Sentinel turned to Zeta. "As for you… I want you and your subordinates to work the blueprints over again, see if you can minimize the costs for the drones. As for the Standardization Protocol…" He waved his hand lazily. "Try and… pretty it up a bit." "What?" Zeta asked, genuinely baffled. Sentinel raised his right brow plate and quirked his head to the left. "You know how obsessed with image bots can be. We don't want there to be a sense of alienation between the citizens and their protectors now, do we?" Zeta wrinkled his face in slight disgust, then shrugged nonchalantly. "Don't worry prime; next time you see these prints, femme-bots will be-" Zeta caught himself with a cough as he saw Sentinel move one hand to his hip. "Such talk is unbecoming of someone of your office, Zeta. Keep at it, and someone will think as if you were some sort of dockworker." Zeta bristled at that. Unjustly stratified Cybertron may be, there were plenty of opportunities to transcend one's place in society, and ascend all the way the highest offices the High Council would provide. After all, Sentinel himself was born as a Scion of a mere artisan, and had, through long Stells of dedication and negotiation, had become the highest-ranked Cybertronian on the planet. But Zeta seemed particularly prickly when it came to mentions of his past. A sign of trauma, or an affront to his vanity? Either could be problematic, but he wasn't risking alienating his Magnus at a time of crisis. "I'm only jesting, Zeta, but you should take care." "Understood, Prime, " Zeta said tightly, smoothing himself out. "Dismissed, Magnus." And Zeta left without another word. Sentinel turned his gaze back to the various workers down below, ignorant of Council politics, seemingly uncaring of the troubles of the outside world. A strange sensation of envy filled his chest; what did it matter to these bots, he thought on a whim, if the High Council fell to Megatron's tyranny? A government, no matter how despotic or free, still needs its clerks. It still needs workers. Regimes come and go, but in the grand scheme of things… "Life Persists." Sentinel Prime, shaken out from his stupor at his own outburst, left his office in a hurry. _____________________________________________________________________________________ GLOSSARY UNITS OF TIME Nano-Klik - 1 Earth Second Klik - 2 Earth Minutes Mega-Klik - 30 Earth Minutes Micro-Breem - 5 Earth Minutes Breem - 10 Earth Minutes Cycle - 120 Kliks (Two Earth Hours) Mega-Cycle - 5 Cycles (Quarter of a Cybertronian Day) Solar Cycle/Sol-Cycles/Sol - 20 Cycles (One Cybertronian Day) Deca-Cycle - 10 Solar Cycles (One Cybertronian Week) Orbital Cycle/Orba-Cycle/Orb - 4 Deca-Cycles (One Cybertronian Month) Stellar Cycle/Stell - 400 Hundred Solar Cycles (One Cybertronian Year) Meta-Cycle - 10 Stellar Cycles (One Cybertronian Decade Giga-Cycle - 30 Stellar Cycles (3 Cybertronian Decade Kilo-Cycles/ Kilocycles - 1000 Stellar Cycles Vorn - 84 Kilocycles Deci-Vorn - 10 Vorns Quartex - 3 Orba-Cycles OTHER Murion - An ancient term, referring to the majority of pre-War Cybertronians with civilian vehicle modes Bluefuel - Cybertronian word for blueblood i.e. aristocrat, derived from their consumption of Pure Energon, which is a deep blue color. Intox-En - Intoxicating Energon; a form of Energon made from semi-toxic or irradiated material, yet specifically used as an intoxicant and providing little to no nourishment, but often providing a great deal of energy. In smaller doses it can serve as a relaxant; in higher, unregulated doses it can cause Cybertronians to become 'Overenergized', in which their higher thought processes can become unstable, sometimes to the point of shutdown. Not to be confused with Lace-En, or Laced Energon, which is usually a mix of Low and/or High-Grade Energon that typically includes only radioactive substances.
