- Motto: "Transform and smoke 'em!"
- Weapon: Twin Shoulder-Mounted Rocket Launchers
Australia - Uluru
“I knew it,” Drag Strip replied with a proud tone, smiling as his master confirmed that a sun harvester would be utilized in the destruction of the nearest star. However, it would not be enough. More was required in order to bring about the end of this world. Unfortunately, before the Fallen was able to elaborate further, his attention was drawn to Hex and Darkride. Both of these mechs were former enemies, sharing a past of torture and pain. The young one even seemed to exhibit some doubts, but denied that such was true when asked by the former interrogator.
Both Darkride and their master gave words of encouragement to Hex to help quell any apprehension that may still linger within. This was not just a new experience for one, but for all four of the heralds. Being reborn into something entirely new and leaving behind their previous lives would take some getting used to. Just as Darkride shared a past with Hex, so too did the former Stunticon. It had not been that long ago when the silver mech had tried to rip out Drag Strip’s spark from his chest cavity. It was emotionally traumatic to say the least, much like the tortures that Hex had endured at the hands of Darkride. In a way, the three of them were connected even before their rebirth.
That left Hardhead as the odd mech out. The green warrior had no real connection to the other three before becoming a herald, but perhaps it was not a necessity. As the Fallen had said, their pasts meant nothing now. Mortal enemies were now friends as they were united together under the guide of their fiery master, brothers in arms with the singular goal of destroying the Cybertronian race once and for all, thus bringing the Dark Lord into this realm.
Hardhead and Drag Strip remained standing next to one another as the Fallen approached them. The flame-engulfed Prime then provided more details regarding the harvester and one other device which was quickly revealed to be the Cybertronians themselves. Drag was surprised by this just as much as Hex was. Darkride’s partial explanation before being interrupted by their master provided only a small clue, but not a full on revelation. Apparently, that would come later once they had all rested and recharged.
The Fallen then returned to the edge of the rock with Darkride close behind him, leaving Hex alone. Drag Strip chuckled under his breath and approached the silver mech, placing a reassuring hand onto his shoulder plate. “Worry not, my brother. I understand your confusion, as well. But, while things may not be clear right now, it will all make sense soon enough. Our master has everything under control. Just have faith in him. After all, you and I were once at each other’s throats and now we are comrades. If the Fallen can achieve that then he can surely achieve anything he desires. Trust in him and trust in us.”
As the former Stunticon gave words of wisdom to Hex, Hardhead moved by them and took up a stance at the edge of the rock directly next to the Fallen. The setting sun was but a mere orange glow now as the circular disc of fire descended below the horizon. Soon all of the light would fade away, leaving behind a darkened sky full of distant stars of all shapes and sizes. Of course, the sun would rise again in a few hours time, but eventually that would also stop and this planet would grow dark forever.
“Master, I couldn't help but wonder,” Hardhead finally spoke up without looking over at the Fallen Prime of legend. “Once we have eradicated the Cybertronian plague and the sun’s light is put out for good and Unicron is freed, what will become of us heralds? What will become of me?” It was a question that the green warrior had been asking ever since the Great War began. He was a solider and knew nothing but battle. That’s what he was good at, not being a regular civilian or mere guard. While many had hoped that the war would end some day, Hardhead secretly hoped it would continue on or at least some conflict would. Otherwise, the veteran would find himself useless in a post-war universe. That same fear still applied even now as a herald. The end was in sight, just not in the way Hardhead had originally envisioned. “I’ve always dreaded the end of war. Peace is not my forte. I fight and I win no matter the cost. When we have reached the endgame here, will I still have a purpose? Will there still be place for me, for us, by your side, my Fallen lord?”