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Garrus-9--Southern Wing

Stormwrecker nodded and gripped his weapon a little more tightly, scanning down one auxilliary corridor and the next. There were still sounds of fighting, just as Vroom had indicated, but they seemed to be moving. And it was nowhere near the level that it had been: a reality which seemed to frighteningly coincide with the transmission they had overheard from Scorponok.

Stormwrecker's circuits tensed. He could feel time collapsing around him. He could straddle the gray area of apparent neutrality for a while longer, but he knew that such a luxury would not be afforded to him indefinitely. If he were to continue to aid Vroom, his punishment would not be simple imprisonment. It would mean being marked as a traitor. And the Decepticons had long reserved a unique brand of misery for their traitors. Or, when the time came, he could do his part to assure Vroom went back into captivity--only this time at the hands of Decepticon jailers rather than Autobot. At any other time there would not have been the slightest bit of conflict regarding what decision to make. And yet now there was.

Glitching slag.

Stormwrecker looked over at the pile of misshapen debris.

"Could ya hurry up with the whole 'rescuing' business? Being stationary is not good for our continued health."
___

Icepick when he saw them, approaching with another Decepticon entourage--the remainder of the Monstructor Six. Together again, the majority of whom still possessed the inhibitor technology that the Autobots had long ago installed on them to ensure there were no additional incidents like the one that happened when they were first captured.

Icepick smiled and waved lightly at his fellow Monstercon brothers before an ache unlike anything he had ever felt in his life seemed to cramp every joint in his body. Icepick doubled over, gasping in obvious pain even though there was clearly nothing on the outside that was causing it anymore. Cutthroat had been well removed from the Monstercon's presence. But this pain was decidedly coming from the inside out.

"It huuuuuurts....unghhhh....I can't-"

Icepick dropped to his knees, moaning in agony as if something were constricting him.
___

Garrus-9-–Outside the Aequitas Chamber

Mindwipe got the distinct impression that Rung was stalling, but he had not Primusly idea why he would want to even bother at this point. Had he not just watched the same transmission from the mighty Scorponok that the rest of them had? Did he think that Fortress Maximus and a garrison of his soldiers were going to suddenly burst through one of the access corridors down here and put a stop to this Decepticon madness? Surely he knew that such hope was borderline insanity. Given his function, he should be more acutely aware of that fact than any of them.

Mindwipe's patience was running thin. Snapdragon's was clearly even moreso. And yet Cipher was making decidedly good progress. So much so that Rung suddenly seemed willing to part with even more than the precious access codes to the Aequitas Chamber in order to save him and his Autobot companion. What that might be, Mindwipe did not know, but it had certainly piqued his curiosity, just as it surely had Cipher's.

"Indeed, indeed," Mindwipe said, echoing Cipher's question. "What else do you think we could possibly want?"

There were, of course, numerous possibilities in a facility like this. Mindwipe was simply eager for the psychiatrist's perspective on what those things might be. As to whether or not said information would have any effect on sparing he and Streamlight's life, Mindwipe could not say. It would not be his decision to make anyway.
___

Semper Tyrannis--Brig

When Scattershot had moved to address he and Strafe directly, he listened attentively as he often did. When the Technobot Commander was finished, Lightspeed simply put his hand to his head and and began to gently rub one side of his head. It was a response that Lightspeed had needed to employ more than once with his commander over the vorns. But who knew? There were always possibilities.

"Hey...you. It's Lightspeed, correct? Your commander usually...uh..like this? You know, is he all there...?"

Who-?

Ah, the archivist.

Lightspeed got back to his feet, approaching the edge of the cell.

"My commander is...unorthodox, at the best of times. But, um, sane? Yeah, decidedly sane. I don't think he would have been a successful part of our sub-unit, much less our commander, being anything other. Our ranks don't have as much room for insanity as yours do."

Garrus-9--Outside the Aequitas Chamber

>>”Apeface, Snapdragon—progress on your end?"<<

>>"Unless you count getting bored as progress, not much."<< Apeface replied to Cyclonus' transmission while waiting the situation before him develop. It was clear enough that Snapdragon did not have the patience for this to continue much long either. And while he'd do it out of duty - he had no real interest in stepping in to save either Cipher or Rung from his partner.

>>"We are not going to get in without high powered mining lasers or we risk destroying the target as well. Cipher though, may have found a part of the key in. Rung. You know, that pipsqueak psychiatrist who's been around as long as anyone not called Kup can recall? Yeah. That Rung. We caught him and his escort stalking towards the target. Even if this is some kind of a divided key, we can assume the other half if not all - is in possession of Fortress Maximus. Thoughts?"<< The Horrorcon saboteur added to his report to Cyclonus while staring at Rung's every move intently.

Deciding some encouragement, or rather pressure for Rung to act was in order - Apeface leaned in towards the small Autobot, echoing the question presented by both Cipher and Mindwipe already and implied by Snapdragon's tightening grip of Streamlight. "Yes Rung."

"You do understand that with your protector defeated, it is only matter of time we get in. The room for negotiations has closed. This is really your chance of improving your position more than a necessity to us. Help us and I think the boss will be more... lenient with your future treatment."

"So, What else do you have?"

(OOC: Sid gave me the thumbs-up to do some NPCing with Ransack.)

Garrus-9 – Southern Wing

Satisfied with the banquet of agonised yells the prisoner had served and having kept him waiting for long enough, Shrapnel approached the wretch's cell, scuttling past diaclones that were preoccupying themselves with the remains of the dead dispersed across the floor. The fuel-spattered chassis parts nearly compelled the Insecticon into stopping to admire their grisliness, but he restrained himself, forging ahead to aid the prisoner.

It would take him two astroseconds to open the door by using his electrical talents, yet he still lingered close to the corpses. Discipline had never been one of Shrapnel's most recognisable traits.

Squeals and chirps blended together, giving birth to a high-pitched chorus the diaclones sang as they entertained their fantasies with the block's main attraction: the deceased.

“Damn you all!” the inmate yelled. “I can hear a hundred of you bastards out there, and still no one lets me out!”

Shrapnel smiled as he continued to scurry towards the prisoner's cell. “Temper now, friend, friend! I told you I was going to be your saviour, did I not, not?”

The prisoner's response to that was to smash his fists against the door and scream. “What is wrong with you? I just want to get the Pit outta here like everybody else somehow did, so hurry up!”

His fear was even more delicious than the finest high-grade energon available on the Semper Tyrannis (not that Shrapnel was in any sort of ranking position to enjoy the good stuff, but Chop Shop had managed to swipe some for himself and had shared it with him once). Truthfully, Shrapnel did not want to release him, for he was content with the prisoner's anguish caressing his audio receptors, but a part of him – an itty-bitty, teensy-weensy fragment of him – told him to set this character free so he could move on and rendezvous with his fellow Insecticons.

Shrapnel transformed, reverting to his robotic form. When he came within a mechanometre of the cell door, he raised his right arm, extended two digits, and pointed them at the keypad built into the wall next to the door. He wiggled his digits until a beep! and a luminous green strip on the bottom of the pad burned steadily, confirmation that the door was now unlocked.

Ah, to have the power to control electricity. One could achieve many, many things if one possessed mastery over it. And Shrapnel did.

Swinging the door open, he grinned at the Decepticon trapped inside. “Come on ou–”

Before Shrapnel could finish speaking, the wretch dashed by him, bowling him over in the process. Confused and mildly shocked, he rose to his feet and watched the prisoner sprint from the cell block, until he disappeared around the corner, vanishing from sight.

No thanks, no additional screaming, no nothing. He just threw one gangling limb in front of the other and ran, as though the DJD were hot on his trail and promising him a very messy judgement.

Weird.

Ransack appeared on the threshold of the cell. Like Shrapnel, he had transformed to robot mode. “What was that all about?”

“I don't know, know,” Shrapnel said, as if being knocked down had left him dazed.

Ransack shrugged. “Who cares, anyway.” He cast a glance over his shoulder-plating. “I think we should get goin'. Your diaclones are lookin' restless. They've, uh, eaten the bits and pieces of the dead and don't seem too happy that the feast is done.”

As would have Shrapnel, but he concluded it'd be wise to keep his cannibalistic tendencies to himself. He didn't need Ransack bolting off like the prisoner had, amusing as it would be to see.

Shrapnel exited the cell and gazed at his diaclones. “So they have, have.”

Impressive. He didn't believe they could have consumed so many bodies in such a short space of time. Proven wrong again.

Shrapnel activated his comm-link, opening two channels to communicate with Bombshell and Kickback. >>“Where are you, you? I've found Ransack and the pair of us are bored stiff here doing zip, so would either of you be so kind as to send me your coordinates, coordinates?”<<

Garrus-9—Western Wing-Starport

Even during its best days, Garrus-9’s starport was not a bustling hive of activity. Far larger than the typical hangar due to the necessities of prison and troop transfers that intermittently took place within the facility, it had also become something of a refueling and restocking depot for those vessels under the aegis of Fortress Maximus’ command to stop and restock when the opportunity—or necessity—presented itself. Now, however, it was seeing more activity than it had seen in an age.

“We’re clear, sir,” the Autobot draftsmech said to the other, an occasional pilot when someone on Maximus’ regular crew needed a relief cycle. He then looked back at the other Autobots that had joined him—roughly two dozen or so mechs that had been forced to flee from various corridors of the prison in order to avoid slaughter at the hands of the encroaching Decepticons.

“We really gonna just abandon ‘em?” another spoke up.

“I don’t see a lot of choices, do you? We’ll…we get reinforcements as soon as we can find some. For now, we break for those,” the draftsmech, Clinker, said to the others behind him before pointing at two idle ships on the far side of the starport. “We’ll take the farthest one out. You guys take the one next closest to it.”

“…yeah.”

“Got it?”

“Got it!”

“Alright, go! Go! Go! Go!” Clinker barked, and the small multitude of mechs began dashing across the cluttered, metallic space of the starport, running for the two ships on the far side; the ships that would give them the clearest point of exit and hopefully their best chance of getting out of the prison; the prison that had become either a deathtrap or a deathcamp, depending on one’s perspective.

As Clinker ran, he noticed from his periphery that one of the mechs running alongside him had been swept suddenly up into the air. Clinker turned to look up and back as he continued to run and saw that they were not alone: the starport was steadily filling with recognizable, winged Decepticons—Sweeps. He pointed his blaster and fired but he continued to run. Nothing would slow his gait now. His destination was the ship, nothing else.

As the starport erupted in to a blaze of criss-crossing laser fire—much like the rest of the prison had become—an icy, stark figure swooped in from one of the upper rafters, landing on the surface with practiced grace and proceeded to stalk his way forward, his cold, red optics taking in everything around him. As he suspected, Autobots would attempt to flee from their destined fate. Scourge would have none of it.

>>"Deadlock to Scourge; I need a location of where you’re at, I’ve got orders to assist you in clearing out the cell blocks from Scorponok himself."<<

A pang of annoyance flickered through Scourge’s consciousness. He was the last mechanoid in the Decepticon ranks to ask for additional assistance. The Sweeps served their function well. When they did not, they met their deserved fate. But nor would he override the commands of another.

>>”Find me,”<< Scourge responded coldly, giving a command none too dissimilar from the types of orders he would routinely give his Sweeps. They were Huntsmen, and all Decepticons should possess some competence in that arena. Scourge was not the type to simply give away his location, particularly to a subordinate.

Garrus-9--East Wing Power Station

"Time, it would seem, can sometimes have a corrosive effect on even our seemingly immortal existences."

"Only if one lets it be old friend." Scorponok intercepted Cyclonus' musings, with a smirk having appeared on his face. He was well aware of the effect of time on Cybertronians, let alone other species. Theirs however, was far more resilient than anything else he had ever encountered.

Even before the civil war had began, scientists had overcame aging of body. There was only one fundamental part of Cybertronian physiology that could not be tampered with, replaced or enhanced - the spark. Everything else was fair game. With careful, periodically performed technological upgrades one could theoretically keep a Cybertronian functioning forever. Cyclonus himself was an excellent example of this. Alongside Finback and Scourge, Cyclonus was possibly the oldest Cybertronian serving under the Decepticon banner. They were of the same generation as the Autobots Kup and Rung but unlike their Autobot contemporaries, none of the three Decepticons had ever refused modernization of their bodies. Instead, they had kept themselves competitive with the newer generations. With the unfortunate exception of Finback's severe medical condition of course. A condition Scorponok was determined to find a cure for, sooner rather than later.

The question of spark's resiliency was completely another thing though. There were well documented cases of Cybertronians younger than Scorponok himself falling victim of condition known as cybercrosis, a fatal disease of the spark with no known cure. But why were a small percentage of Cybertronian were affected by this when others - far more ancient existed? Kup and Cyclonus were over 6 million years old. They had fought in the liberation war under the banner of Nova Prime against the Quintesson oppression but even they were younglings before far more older beings that still walked among the living. Like Omega Supreme, the legendary leader of the Omega Sentinels. Or Metroplex, the ancient living city supposedly created by the enigmatic figures from the past known popularly as 'Knights of Cybertron'. These were certainly interesting questions, questions he had not answers for. Before he could search for answers like these, there was a war to be won though.

The mention of the name of yet another ancient and lost Cybertronian - Galvatron, a general who had served under Nova Prime - steered Scorponok's attention back to Cyclonus from his own thoughts. "As bad Zeta Prime was, we have all the reason to suspect the Senate being behind it. They had a knack for eliminating everything on their way. Many senators sympathetic to our cause were murdered in questionable circumstances after all. Nominus Prime himself as well, only to be replaced the Senate's lap dog Sentinel. And who could forget what they did to Shockwave?"

>>"High Commander Scorponok, this is Snaptrap. We have collected all of the Monstercons. Where would you prefer we deliver them to you?"<<

Finally. The weapon to end the war. So close he could almost touch it.

>>"Excellent work Snaptrap. Prepare them to be transported to... wait, do they all still wear inhibitor claws?"<< For a moment Scorponok had considered sending the Monstercons directly into his lab on board the Semper Tyrannis. However, he had no desire to take the risk of accidentally awakening Monstructor inside his flagship. The destruction a being like that could cause was just too much. No, the prison was far more fertile test ground for this. That however did not change the fact that he needed equipment to run the tests he wanted.

"Cyclonus, have your men find us a laboratory or a medical facility to salvage for equipment within this prison and a close by area with enough room for what we are about to do."

>>"Firewire, prepare yourself and one of our mobile laboratories for planet side incursion. Travel destination will be beamed to you later. "<<

Garrus-9--Eastern Wing--Power Station

He had transmitted his initial query to the Horrocons for a reason. Though thought by many to be brutish louts, content to wallow away their existence in oil pits, Decepticon officers with any shred of competence recognized the innate intelligence in both of them. While brutally capable warriors, their other insights were never to be underestimated.

>>Excellent. Get what you can from the psychiatrist. We will rip anything of value from the warden soon enough. I am fully confident that one, if not both, will have what we need. Cyclonus out."<<

Satisfied that things on that end were proceeding well, the lithe, purple mech started to follow after the Decepticon clone before Scorponok's words returned him to their earlier conversation.

"Only if one lets it be old friend."

The smirk that was given was returned in kind.

"Likely so," Cyclonus conceded. "I was a different being back then. In more ways than one."

"As bad Zeta Prime was, we have all the reason to suspect the Senate being behind it. They had a knack for eliminating everything on their way. Many senators sympathetic to our cause were murdered in questionable circumstances after all. Nominus Prime himself as well, only to be replaced the Senate's lap dog Sentinel. And who could forget what they did to Shockwave?"

"Certainly noone who has undergone the process. I believe our vaunted warden has one such mechanoid under his command as well," Cyclonus said. "I wonder if he might have any insight into our Autobot Commander's political past."

Cyclonus paused in his thoughts before continuing further.

"If the war has borne any worthwhile fruit thus far, it is the fact that the senate has been utterly removed as a threat to our existence. Now...we simply tend to those that remain."

Indeed, the senate had become something of a powerful animal unto itself after he and the other members of Nova Prime's select crew had departed on their great expedition. Nova had always possessed great skill at keeping the assembled politicians fully aware of their place. His successors were clearly not so able. Cybertron and its denizens seemed to feed on themselves, devolving into to something wholly different than what their great origins had intended for them to be. It was arguably one of the great tragedies of their existence. The young miner from Tarn had attempted to valiantly correct their erstwhile course. And while Cyclonus was confidant that said course correction would ultimately come to pass, only time would truly answer the elusive question of whether or not his millenia-spanning war would bear the desired fruit.

It was then that Scorponok appeared to receive an additional communique: the one that they had all been waiting to receive since deciding to embark on this course of action. Scorponok's follow-up command all but confirmed Cyclonus' suspicions.

"Cyclonus, have your men find us a laboratory or a medical facility to salvage for equipment within this prison and a close by area with enough room for what we are about to do."

"It will be done," Cyclonus said, offering a slight bow of respect to his superior officer before turning to follow after the path Wingspan had taken with their newly-captured and highly-valuable quarry. He then proceeded to open new comms with the necessary subordinates and begin making the requisite preparations.

Garrus-9 - Southern Wing

"Complain, complain, complain." Vroom said as he continued to work. "You try being the mech lifting all this damn debris. Wait... found something."

Vroom knelt and reached into a hole that he had uncovered in the debris. Half his body was inside as he worked which would have been claustrophobic to most but this was hardly the less comfortable thing he had done. Work on getting something done while having a very fragile bunch of debris on top of him? Part of the job.

He grunted in effort as he slowly began to move out.

"Almost... there... sheesh... these guys..."

He had to move slow as he dragged what he had found or risk the debris falling on him. He was not about to leave them behind though and, after a few torturous moments, he had managed to leave, dragging behind an Autobot guard and a Sweep.

"Alright, found a guard and a Sweep... or maybe its Scourge... or Skywarp in disguise. Whatever. I don't know how you 'Cons tell them apart."

He stretched.

"Both are functional but pretty damaged, nothing mortal though."

Garrus 9- Corridors


>>”Drop what you’re doing Gutcruncher. Your little scrap metal stock can wait until this crusade is over. I’ve got an agent down and I need you to take his position. Meet me at the East Wing Power Station, we’ve got work to do."<<

There was Banzai-tron ordering him around again... what did Gutcruncher care if another of his Secret Service 'comrades' was beaten down? He had lived, and Scorponok had been successful in routing the Autobots. The thought of Banzai-tron losing another supporter was a net gain from Gutcruncher's perspective.

Still, he had to play along. Desertion, even from a post he'd been forcibly conscripted into, would leave the DJD after him and hinder his ability to trade out in the galaxy. So he took the last bit of spark casing from another deceased Autobot guard and headed on his way.

-

East Wing Power Station

Autobots were so predictable in designing their facilities. Gutcruncher followed the electrical lines to Banzai-tron's position, and found his commander, his cronies, and an unconscious Decepticon soldier on the floor.

"Well, well, Treadshot," Gutcruncher noted, examining the chassis. "Is he offline? His targeting system's worth quite a few creds..."

Gutcruncher glanced around the room, at all the soldiers gathering around Scorponok.

"Looks like I've run out of time to scavenge... Commander," he made sure the last word was punctuated with venom and just loud enough for Banzai-tron to detect his distaste.

Garrus-9 – Southern Wing

Booting around the scrap metal the diaclones had left in the wake of their feast of the dead, Ransack shot Shrapnel another glance as the electric-wielding Insecticon finished dispatching a transmission to Kickback and Bombshell. It was his twelfth one now, the twelfth time his optics had been drawn back to his team-mate, and still nothing came of it. He'd been hoping Shrapnel would return his glance and offer some sort of positive sign that the remedy to their boredom would be delivered shortly.

Scanning the floor for more scrap to send flying with his foot, a certain object grabbed his attention. Stooping, Ransack picked up a severed cranial unit that was missing the lower half of its facial-plate. He turned it over in his actuator and nodded to himself. Spinning on his heel, Ransack pitched the half cranial unit down the length of the cell block, his throw earning a shriek as it hit a diaclone.

He chuckled. It was either a good throw or a bad throw, depending on your point of view.

Flicking another glance Shrapnel's way proved to be a disappointment again. Shrapnel seemed none the wiser as he waited for a response. The warrior cursed.

Great. It looked like they weren't going anywhere just yet.

Garrus-9--Elba Mines

Far beneath the bloodbath that was taking place within the penitentiary itself, the mines had begun to undertake something of an eerie calm. The diaclones engaged in their work, passing by captive miners without paying them the slightest bit of attention--aggressive or otherwise--just as their core members were directing them to do. The process of digging new tunnels had begun, though the miners themselves had already made excellent progress in that regard. But more notably, the mines were in the very beginning stages of being coated with a mishmash of metallic parts and unknown compound fluids. It was far from looking liken the interior of the Pestilence, but the beginnings were clearly there and would be recognizable to any living being that had ever spent more than a breem aboard the Insecticon vessel. Chop Shop had left Bombshell's side to engage in his own work within their future nest, leaving Bombshell alone with his thoughts--which was a preferred state of being anyway.

"So beautiful..." he hissed quietly to himself as he looked around and took in the progress that had been made already.

Of course, such idle thoughts could not be entertained indefinitely. There was a battle yet to be won, and Bombshell knew that he would need to play a more delicate game and show that he was just as interested in the outcome of the Autobots and Decepticons little squabblings as they were, even if few things could be farther from the truth.

>>“Where are you, you? I've found Ransack and the pair of us are bored stiff here doing zip, so would either of you be so kind as to send me your coordinates, coordinates?"<< came a transmission from one of his fellow, core Insecticons.

>>"Ahh, Shrapnel. This, ehh, battle finds you well, I trust? I...am transmitting my location to you now. You can reach the mines via the northern wing of the prison. There's a huge industrial elevator that provides a major point of access. I'm not sure if there are others but, eh, I'll find out soon enough heheh. Kickback has warned me that our mighty Commander, or at least his witch of an interrogator, might be doubting our commitment to the war efforts.....soooo...if you and any underlings you can round together could ensure that the northern wing is clear and under control on your way here I believe it would serve a collective benefit to what we might be able to accomplish while we're trapped on this barren little moon."<<
___

Semper Tyrannis--Brig

Pyro seemed to be taking in the gravity of the situation, especially in light of the demoralizing broadcast that Finback had played. He said nothing, simply altering his position within the cell, but its effect was noticeable, just as it was on all of them. Not that it really mattered. Had Pointblank really been expecting Fortress Maximus and his team to drive back the Decepticon invaders and come storming this flagship?

He wouldn't lie: he supposed there was a flicker of hope that such a thing would indeed happen. But it hadn't, just as the war had not ended but rather spread like wildfire across a staggeringly horrific swath of the galaxy and any number of a hundred other things that had long ago resigned the formerly cheerful mech that this was his new lot in life. Not a soldier of fortune, simply a soldier of duty. It was a duty that he would carry out until he finally was allowed to join the Allspark. Winning the war? Just another fantasy at this point.

Scattershot seemed to have something of interest that he wanted to share with his team and it had naturally caught Brainstorm's attention. If any mech was chafing under their currently confined conditions more than Scattershot, it was surely him. But Pointblank had quickly realized that it was also going to be mechs like Brainstorm who saved their afts, if anyone could. Fortress Maximus might not be able to overpower Scorponok, but it was entirely possible that a mech like Brainstorm or a Technobot could outthink him.

"Yeah, what's all the secretive mumbo jumbo about?" Pointblank said, still looking at the ground while his arms were crossed over his knee joints. He then looked up at the observation points that the Decepticons surely had into this area of the ship. "Unless it's really juicy, then don't tell. I don't need to know that badly. And our little voyeurs certainly don't."

He then gave a casual flick of his thumb in Brainstorm's direction.

"He might, though."

Garrus-9--Southern Wing

Stormwrecker chuckled a bit at Vroom's initial response, even as he kept watch to make sure they didn't suddenly become bait for some other marauding cadre of Decepticons. They had been lucky enough to avoid a few already, but they didn't need to go spitting in the face of Unicron and test their luck.

As he watched the Autobot work his way through the debris, he couldn't deny that he was at least mildly impressed. How many Decepticons would do anything remotely similar to this for one of their comrades? He could likely count the number on one actuator and have room left over. And if they didn't bear the Deceptibrand? Forget about it. But here he was, toiling away when any number of potential threats to their own existence could come swarming down on them at a moments notice--Insecticons, Sweeps, Terrorcons, Seacons, rabid Phase Six nightmares--and put a brutal end to their long lives.

It was, at the very least, commendable.

As Vroom worked, Stormwrecker let out a slightly exasperated sigh and moved closer, putting his weapon down for the moment and started to assist with keeping some of the debris from descending further on Vroom and the mechs that had fallen victim to the collapse as he moved to get them out of the way. He then moved pieces here and there, trying to help the debris pile at least remain somewhat stable and not come crashing outward any further than it already had.

Stormwrecker then turned to look at what Vroom had salvaged. Indeed it was an Autobot and a Sweep. Or, as Vroom said, Scourge himself. Highly unlikely, but one could never be sure in a chaotic melee such as this. Not all the Sweeps looked precisely alike anyway, but this one bore more than a passing familiarity to their notorious leader.

"Both are functional but pretty damaged, nothing mortal though."

"I'll fix that," Stormwrecker said, picking up his weapon and walking over to the two fallen mechs. He checked his ammunition levels and then abruptly aimed the weapon at the Sweep, firing a blast into both its head and then a series of them into its spark chamber. He then pulled the weapon back, sighing. He was digging himself ever deeper into this hole.

"If it woke up, it would call for backup without hesitation. And on the off chance it was actually Scourge, you Autobots just got a major threat taken out of the war."

Garrus 9 - Southern Wing - Cell Blocks

Four burning, baleful optics glared down at the broken, torn in half form of Cutthroat as Hun-Gurrr stood on his hind legs - having prepared to crush the shock trooper under his weight. Yet, he did not. It was not regret or sudden act of mercy. Even less it was an act of respect. These were not emotions the leader of the Terrorcons associated with Cutthroat. Perhaps he had felt some level of kinship with his minion once, respected his ferocity in battle. No more. Cutthroat had wiped that all out, he had mistaken delusional defiance as a show of strength. He had dared to insult him. Hun-Gar wanted to kill him for that.

And yet, this was the being that had defied him so callously? This pathetic weakling? It disgusted him. This was not a foe worthy of his attention. Why should he grant this creature death he clearly sought through his actions? Cutthroat did not deserve the effort.

"Pathetic weakling..." The two-headed dragon like monster snarled and lowered his stance, letting his front legs to touch the floor again with a loud thud - a look of utter disgust unhidden upon his being. "You are not even worrrth of the killing blow."

Turning his back on Cutthroat, Hun-grr began moving towards the other Decepticons still present in his sensor range - having decided their efforts were better suited elsewhere. "Leave the weakling. We move."

And Cutthroat? If he survived his wounds and repented - perhaps he was still strong enough. Strong enough to follow him into a battle again. If not, Hun-Gurrr had no problem in letting his former minion to bleed dry and die in disgrace.

Garrus-9 – Southern Wing

>>“The northern wing, eh, eh?”<< Even though the hissing and crackling sabotaged the quality of the channel, Shrapnel was sure Bombshell would be able to detect the smile in his words. >>“My, my, Bombshell, 'Shell. You have been busy, haven't you, you?”<<

To have made it to the northern wing on his own at this stage in the assault, Bombshell must have hit the ground running as soon as the Insecticons had entered the breach point courtesy of the Steelhaven's wondrously fiery crash. That would certainly explain why his team-mate's presence had been so limited: he already had an agenda and was determined to bring it forth into reality.

>>“So the Commander or the Commander's pet doubt us, us? Fascinating, fascinating.”<<

More amused than concerned, Shrapnel did not care what either Scorponok or the witch thought of his commitment to this assault – particularly the latter. Soul Siren was a nuisance, a pest, a physical threat no more dangerous than a common cyber-gnat. But the... value she evidently represented, the trust and faith Scorponok had invested in her, the witch was not to be trifled with. She would infect the Insecticons' reputation and martial record with poisonous talk of insubordination and incompetence. And Scorponok would listen.

Still, amusement affected Shrapnel rather than concern, as Bombshell said the northern wing required cleaning up. Shrapnel could do that. He could eliminate the resistance remaining there, and perhaps evict the doubt harboured by Scorponok and Soul Siren as to the Insecticons' collective efforts regarding the attack on Garrus-9.

Well, maybe. With an unreliable and uncommunicative leader like Venom commanding them – and the dazzling vanishing act he'd performed to add to his outstanding resume – that doubt would be hard to scour. Not to mention his accomplice, too, the invisible Barrage, who was nowhere to be seen.

>>“Yes, I suppose it would help to stay on Scorponok's happy side, so I'll meet you in the mines once I've turned the northern wing into a 'Bot-free area, area. Until then, then.”<<

“And?” Ransack suddenly appeared behind Shrapnel.

Shrapnel grinned at his team-mate as he closed the channel. “It's good news all round, round. Before we meet Bombshell in the mines, we have the northern wing to take care of, of. And by 'take care of', I assume you catch my drift, drift?”

“Frag yeah!” Ransack laughed. “We'll be rompin' and stompin' Autobots until we can't romp and stomp no more.”

Shrapnel's grin grew wider. “Shall we, then?”

“Aint' nothin' gonna stop me from gettin' there.”

Transforming to their respective alternate modes, Shrapnel, along with Ransack, vacated the cell block with eagerness in their scuttling limbs. Issuing a mental order for the diaclones to follow, the two Insecticons proceeded to their new destination, with the thought of slaughter occupying their central processors.

Let the fun begin.

Semper Tyrannis - Brig

As Strafe sat in the near quietness of his cell and tried to settle his nerves. The sudden reactivation left him feeling a tad shotty, and not in his preferred way of feeling shotty. He gazed about to room and noticed everyone growing bored and nearly hopeless. It was demoralizing... There had to be something he could do to get the pot stirring again! Then it hit him.

The Technobot aerial warrior brought his thigh plating up towards his chest and opened a storage compartment on the side of his upper leg. He pulled out a small, rectanglular metal case. Strafe opened the box and out slid a deck of sabbac cards he kept away for when he and his Technobots had nothing else to do when they were stationed aboard one of the ships or having to pull guard duty.

"Hey guys!" Strafe hollered to his cellmates, "I've got some s-sabbac cards, anyone feeling a little l-l-lucky?"

"Sabbac?" Brainstorm asked as his head short up and over to where the red and white technobot sat. "You have Sabbac here?"

"Well y-yeah. I always c-carry a deck on m-me for when there isn't m-m-much going on."

Brainstorm rubbed the plating under his chin with his forefinger and thumb. Perhaps the Technobot hasn't heard the rumors of Brainstorm being a card-shark at these kind of games...Perhaps none of them have heard the rumors... This could become a very interesting game.

"Wonderful!" The biomechanical engineer exclaimed as he clapped his actuators together in excitement. "I love Sabbac! I used to play quite a bit in my freetime on Nebulos before, well, you know what happened... Anyways! Scattershot, you play? Here, start dealing out cards Strafe, we can use my briefcase as a makeshift tabletop."

((OOC: I'll add more when I'm not so tired.))

Garrus-9 Central--Med Bay

The trek from the eastern wing power station to the med bay that was located within the central structure of the prison complex--along with the command center and other vital ports within the facility--was a relatively short and uneventful one. Nevertheless, Cyclonus had ordered additional Decepticon security to accompany Wingspan as they traveled to the new area where they could begin their work on extracting what they needed from the formidable Autobot commander in earnest.

"The doors are sealed," one of the Decepticons reported, looking back at Cyclonus.

"Unseal them," was his curt reply.

The Decepticon quickly nodded and grouped together with two others before systematically blasting through the doors locks and allowing them entry. Cyclonus did not expect there to be much in the way of security here. There were far more valuable prizes in this installation than a few injured empties. And he was right. As the Decepticons stormed inward, Cyclonus nodded Wingspan forward along with the Decepticons accompanying the hovertech that bore the weight of the massive warden.

"We're not soldiers! We're medics. Take your war elsewhere!" one of the medics shouted, standing bravely in front of his patient.

Cyclonus quietly walked through the assemblage of other Decepticons as Fortress Maximus was moved into the necessary position. Standing just in front of the medic, the looked down at the smaller mech, a slight trace of a grin on his face.

"The war goes where it will. You have no say," Cyclonus said, before leaning forward slightly so as to bring his face closer to the medic's. "Continue your work, do not resist...and you will live to do so another day."

The grin faded just as quickly as it had appeared as the warrior stepped back and looked around before returning his stare to Wingspan.

"This will serve your purposes," Cyclonus said.

>>"My lords Scorponok and Cyclonus, this is Bomb-Burst. I've found the requisite facility, as you commanded. I'm transmitting the coordinates to you both. It should serve as an ample containment area for our precious Monstercons."<<

Excellent, Cyclonus thought. The pieces were coming together.

Garrus-9--Elba Mines

Among the thousands of Insecticon diaclones chittering around the premises of the soon to be Insecticon hive, a new mixture of color and shape appeared as hundreds of rhinoceros beetle like tiny mechanisms began pouring in from the very same opening the other Insecticons had used to reach the mines earlier.

"Well well... So this is what you have been up to Bombshell." A voice suddenly spoke behind Bombshell as one of the many tiny beetles transformed into a robot mode accompanied with crackling of energies from mass shifting process. This was no typical insecticon, this was Hardshell - the largest and most ferocious of them all.

"Barrage and I began to wonder why our presence suddenly dwindled down on the main levels so strastically." The huge Insecticon spoke out as he loomed over his smaller broodmate, his optical visor burning brightly in the dim light of the mines.

"Well me more than Barrage to be honest." Hardshell chuckled, his claws making a screeching sound as they chafed against each other. "He was just fine with you leaving him more targets to gun down. Cold-fueled killer he is."

The chittering of the rhinoceros beetle diaclones began to get louder.

"First Venom. And now this?" He hissed, his voice more ominous than before. "How long you think you can keep up this charade?"

Eastern Wing - Elevator Shaft

The doors to an elevator shaft were slightly ajar as a lone form positioned himself between them, looking down into the darkness of the shaft below. The elevator had not arrived when summoned with a push of a button. This alone led the infiltrator to believe that this particular elevator had protocols in place to inhibit operation should a series of circumstances be met. It could also be for a number of other reasons like internal damages to surrounding control systems had disabled it. However, Pounce had nothing to lose from investigation.

Transforming out of his feline alternate mode, Pounce leaped into the darkness and seized the cable that towed the elevator about with both of his clawed actuators. His weight immediately tugged him downward. Pounce allowed himself to be dragged downward, still keeping a fair grip on the cable to slow himself once he saw the end of his descent. It was long in coming.

The shaft went down very deep. It felt like ages passed with nothing to break the monotony of the darkness other than the slit of light that shone through closed elevator doors. As he saw a form approaching in the darkness, Pounce slowed himself and silently alighted on the top of the elevator cab. Crouching low, Pounce moved across the roof of the cab and wrapped his actuator around the maintenance hatch as he pressed his audio receptor to the roof plating of the elevator. No sounds. No movement within.

With a sharp twist of his wrist, he unlocked the maintenance hatch and lifted it up. The interior of the elevator was well lit by an overhead light. Power still flowed to this one. This boded well for Pounce. Slipping through the narrow opening, Pounce landed lightly on the floor of the elevator cab and slinked up to the console. The display read that they were not on the lowest level. It seemed the rest of his descent would have to be made the difficult way.

Using his clawed actuators to pry off the panel below the console, Pounce set it to the side as he looked at the jumble of wires within. The infiltrator groaned aloud - no one was around to hear him gripe anyway - and leaned in to begin the tedious work of hot-wiring the cab. Wingspan would relish in a task like this. Pounce? Pounce hated this kind of work. He was not incompetent at it, however, having indeed picked up a few things from the vorns of being an infiltrator and - though he would never admit it aloud - Wingspan.

With a spark, the elevator whirred into motion. At a good pace, it descended down, down, down. It was so painfully dull that it made Pounce's spark ache. Finally the cab came to a stop. A little more fiddling with the wiring and the doors opened with a slight creak. Rising to his full stature, Pounce leaned out and looked out of the elevator and onto the new level.

A long hallway with a set of heavy doors at the end. On the wall in big black lettering were the words: XXX LAST RESORT. Well that sounded particularly juicy now didn't it? However, Pounce was more than likely to be met with an amount of resistance from this point onward. If not for the large doors barring his way, then the Autobots that surely rested behind it.

>>"Lord Scorponok, I have located the Last Resort. Transmitting coordinates now. The way forward is barred. Requesting reinforcements."<<


Garrus 9 - Southern Wing

Slog was more than pleased to see that behind the large ominous form of the Seacon Commander were the smaller and more familiar forms of Scowl and Icepick. A smile spread behind Slog's mouthplate as Icepick lifted a hand up to wave at them. He was surrounded by a similar group of aquatically themed Decepticons. Slog went to raise his own hand up when he saw something that made the motion die as swiftly as it had arisen.

Icepick suddenly bent over in pain, gasping and moaning in agony. Slog abruptly halted in abject terror for a moment. It was him. He was calling to them. Taunting them. Haunting them. Slog waited. He knew it was only a matter of time before they were all like Icepick, writhing on the floor in pain. He waited.

And waited.

Waited?

Slog tentatively glanced about at the Monstercons surrounding him. They had not yet succumbed to the their inner demon's influence...nor had he. The combat artist moved toward Icepick and knelt down by the felled Monstercon's side. There was nothing to be said or done to help Icepick. They were all doomed to this fate.

"I'm here, Icepick."

Slog reached down and grabbed Icepick's actuator, letting his long-time comrade and friend grip him for support if he so wished. If nothing else, Slog would grimly carry out the very least he could do.

"I'm here."


>>"Excellent work Snaptrap. Prepare them to be transported to... wait, do they all still wear inhibitor claws?"<<

Snaptrap turned and swept his optics over the gathering of Monstercons and Seacons as he prepared to answer, >>"It appears as though-"<< Snaptrap cut off abruptly when he saw doubled over in pain, moaning and gasping in agony. Snaptrap's optics narrowed and darted to the nearest Seacon, which unfortunately for this particular individual happened to be Nautilator. For the briefest instant, Snaptrap sent his subordinate a smoldering glare that - if it had any physical power - would have wiped the unfortunate Seacon from the face of existence.

Snaptrap's optics flicked back over to Icepick. Upon closer inspection of the Monstercon, Snaptrap noted that Icepick was not doubled over because of any physical malady - for there were no new marks added to the ones Cutthroat had administered earlier, but of an unseen force coming from within. The next thing Snaptrap noted was the absence of an inhibitor claw. The Seacon Commander turned his head to examine the other Monstercons.

The majority still retained their inhibitor claws. Fascinating. Monstructor yet still tried to manifest itself in the uninhibited Monstercons. Aware that the communique between himself and Scorponok was still open, Snaptrap continued from where he had abruptly broken off prior.

>>"Not all possess inhibitor claws. Those without suffer from some sort of internalized pain. The others show no outward displays of pain,"<< Snaptrap reported with his usual cold tone, >>"No other results have manifested yet."<<

Snaptrap kept the line open, awaiting the High Commander's response and the coordinates to which the Monstercons should be transported to. He ignored Icepick's plight. The monstercon's suffering meant nothing to the Seacon Commander if it did Icepick no physical harm.

Semper Tyrannis - Brig

"My commander is...unorthodox, at the best of times. But, um, sane? Yeah, decidedly sane. I don't think he would have been a successful part of our sub-unit, much less our commander, being anything other. Our ranks don't have as much room for insanity as yours do."

Firewire frowned slightly at Lightspeed's response and glanced over to Scattershot again. Several retorts were running about in her processor and none of them were particularly nice. Deciding not to alienate the one Autobot that seemed willing to actually converse in a civil manner with her, Firewire chose a response that wasn't derogatory toward Lightspeed's commander or the Autobots in general.

"Sometimes insanity lends itself to the greatest kind of brilliance," Firewire stated simply.

The analyst was about to go on when a transmission from someone broke her train of thought. Assuming that it was Banzai-Tron calling her again to perform some inane task that was impossible what with her non-existent proximity to the battlefield, Firewire gained a rather irate expression as she began to interject.

>>"Firewire-"<<

>>"Listen-"<< Firewire abruptly halted when she recognized just whose tones were resonating through her audio receptors, >>"-ing, my Lord."<< Scorponok proceeded to speak as though she had never interrupted.

>>"-prepare yourself and one of our mobile laboratories for planet side incursion. Travel destination will be beamed to you later. "<<

If there were one superior that she respected above all others, it was Scorponok for a variety of reasons. One of them being that she was extremely squish-able for a mechanoid of Scorponok's titanic proportions. Other reasons as well but none the petite analyst had time to dwell on. Perking up and putting away her datapad, Firewire waved to Lightspeed.

"Oi, I gotta jet. Lord Scorpy is calling me. I'll put in a good word for you guys in my report though!"

Letting her red optics do a quick sweep of the area to ascertain that she was leaving nothing behind, Firewire trotted out of the brig, passing Heatmix as she left. He waved at her, though she didn't bother waving back. Bigger sharkticons to fry and all that. She continued down the corridors of the Semper Tyrannis as a brisk jog, which roughly equated to a larger mech's normal walking speed. Firewire had to sprint to keep up with Scorpy whenever he decided to move at a brisker walking speed than usual. Oh woe to she with the short legs. Well. Short frame really. Her legs were quite proportional for her stature.

Focus! Focus! Mobile laboratories...where did they put those again...? Maybe...the main labs. Yeah. That seemed pretty logical. Firewire course-corrected (she had been headed toward her quarters for lack of a proper destination) and entered the extremely spacious laboratory - extremely spacious to accommodate their warrior scientist commander who was just a little gigantic.

Pulling out one of the hovercraft specifically designed for use as a mobile laboratory, Firewire began loading it up with an assortment of materials - some of which she had to transform to get to, being to high up to reach. She was sure to retrieve all of Scorponok's favorite tools. Lacking any context behind the nature of the experiment, though some things could be assumed, the orange and black decepticon sat on the edge of the mobile laboratory - now in robot mode once more - taking inventory of all of the supplies that she was bringing along so that they could be replaced should they be lost on the field of battle.

Really, taking inventory was just busy work for her. Buying time until the specific coordinates were beamed to her. Idle hands and an idle mind in her case her...ah...some might consider it dangerous...or unethical....or insanity...she preferred inspired, but some didn't appreciate her particular brand of inspiration. Scorpy at least wouldn't if it interfered with his objectives.

Firewire made it a point to please Scorponok to the best of her abilities. After all, she couldn't very well steal all of his scientific secrets if he kept her out of the lab and at arm's length. His arm, not her arm. She could manage if it were just her arm.

Garrus-9 - Southern Wing

Vroom had been checking out the guard when he heard the shot and saw the now dead Sweep. He sighed.

"Thanks I guess."

It was a cold, sparkless act to him but he had to admit that there was a certain kindness behind it. Maybe to another Decepticon it would become clear. There was also something else to that act however. Something that he had suspected about his Decepticon companion in survival but now was becoming clear.

"You don't want to rejoin the Decepticons do you?" He asked Stormwrecker.

Garrus-9--East Wing Power Station

Pain. Pain defined the existence of a Decepticon. From the lowest foot soldier to the highest general. From oppression of the caste system to the pits Kaon. From the uprising to the Great War. Pain was always present, ever vigilant. Both your best friend and your worst enemy - fuel for one's hatred. Fuel for one's quest for redemption. Every step he took made jolts of pain charge through his neural system. Every astrosecond following his monumental clash with Fortress Maximus was accompanied by dull, constant ache of stressed over cydraulics. A weaker being would have given in to such agony. But no Decepticon - and certainly not Scorponok, their leader. Pain was to be welcomed. Savored on and used to strengthen one's resolve.

How many of them would have taken their chances against him were they aware how hurt he was? How many more would perished chasing a ridiculous dream none of them could ever achieve by testing their strength against his? He would reign supreme. Despite of the pain. Despite of potential treachery. Be prepared. Show no weakness. Be a fortress. Solemn. Unconquerable. Let them come if they dare.

None did. This time.

For a moment Scorponok stared at his reflection in the energon vault before him. He looked pretty beat up. He had to admit that much. It was hardly the worst shape he had ever been in. And yet how many had it in them to take it to him like this? Only a handful of Cybertronians. Ever. It made him respect Fortress Maximus so much more. Victory however, was his - not Maximus' and it was a victory he was not about to give away.

This though, was no time for reflection - something that incoming transmission from Bomb-Burst reminded him of.

>>"My lords Scorponok and Cyclonus, this is Bomb-Burst. I've found the requisite facility, as you commanded. I'm transmitting the coordinates to you both. It should serve as an ample containment area for our precious Monstercons."<<

>>"Excellent Bomb-Burst. Provide me the location and beam it to Snaptrap and the flagship as well. Finback, Bugly, Reflector and Firewire will need this information too to coordinate with us."<< Scorponok barely managed to reply back when another communication reached him, this time from Pounce.

>>"Lord Scorponok, I have located the Last Resort. Transmitting coordinates now. The way forward is barred. Requesting reinforcements."<<

>>"You will have them."<< Was Scorponok's quick, curt reply to the infiltrator.

"Banzai-Tron! Take who you need and rendezvous with Pounce with these coordinates." The massive warlord beckoned to the director of Decepticon Secret Services while beaming the coordinates Pounce had sent directly to Banzai-Tron. "I am also sending word to Hun-Gurrr to join forces with you. You will take the Last Resort from the Autobots and search the Rig for important prisoners of war."

"And you will keep me updated at all times." He added with an ominous, chilling tone, accompanied by burning glow of his red optics. Scorponok was all too aware of Banzai-Tron's tendency to look after his own interests first and foremost - those of the Empire coming later. It was partly the reason he had decided to send in the Terrorcons with him. They'd keep him reminded of the stakes at hand, making sure his considerable skills were used for Scorponok's advantage, not his own. >>"Hun-Gurrr. New directives. Rendezvous with Banzai-Tron and Pounce in these coordinates. Break into the Last Resort. Bring the Autobot resistance to its knees and make sure Banzai-Tron shares the secrets of the Rig with us."<<

With the transmission to the leader of the Terrorcons dealt with, Scorponok could focus on the ongoing, open communication link he had been sharing with the Seacon Commander Snaptrap. Something had made the stoic Seacon pause for a moment and the reason for it was fascinating if somewhat alarming.

>>"It appears as though- Not all possess inhibitor claws. Those without suffer from some sort of internalized pain. The others show no outward displays of pain. No other results have manifested yet."<<

>>"Strange. The gestalt configuration should not take place spontaneously. Under no circumstance allow more inhibitor claws being taken off. Force stasis if necessary. The combination cannot be allowed to take place without precautions and supervision. Bomb-Burst will provide you coordinates to take the Monstercons to. We will meet there. Scorponok out."<<

No more time was to be wasted. He'd have his combiner and he was going to have it now.

Semper Tyrannis--Brig

Lightspeed had to admit that he was more than just a little intrigued by the line of questioning offered up by this Decepticon, Firewire. Truly she seemed...different. Not in a bad way. Admittedly, perhaps, not in a good way either. Just....different. Certainly far different from Soul Siren. Or Scourge. Lightspeed suspected he would carry the scars of his interactions with those two for vorns to come. Both the physical and psychological ones. In any case, he was curious as to just how exactly she would process Lightspeed's assessment of their Technobot Commander. Whatever others might think of his brashness on and off the field, Lightspeed was quite confidant that the mech wasn't glitched in the brain module. But that didn't mean everyone else would share his assessment.

"Sometimes insanity lends itself to the greatest kind of brilliance," she had said.

Lightspeed actually did not have a retort true to his name for that analysis. His vocalizer opened slightly wider than it had been before and he nodded absently.

"Huh...I would agree. On that point, at least," he said, before Firewire seemed to become distracted by matters that were not originating from the Technobot or any of the others who were locked within the cells of the Decepticon flagship.

"Oi, I gotta jet. Lord Scorpy is calling me. I'll put in a good word for you guys in my report though!" she said, quickly answering the question of who had been in her ear only moments before, even though Lightspeed hadn't asked. And just like that she was gone. A good word in any light would be better than nothing in their current circumstances.

"Lord 'Scorpy'?" Lightspeed mused as he walked back to one edge of the cell next to Strafe and slid back down the wall until he was on the floor. "I'm sure he'd love to hear that little nickname."
___

Garrus-9--Southern Wing

Stormkwrecker looked at Vroom with a slightly incredulous look on his face. He had just killed a Sweep--a being that would have surely tried to kill the Autobot if he happened to awaken and saw that the Autobot was not bound in restraints or a cell--and Vroom appeared to have been.....angry? Sad? Disappointed? Something along those lines. Certainly not grateful for an act that would provide a considerable return on investment. A few laser blasts now and avoiding a Sweep's claws in your throat five breems later? A most worthy trade, in Stormwrecker's view. And yet...

"Thanks I guess."

"Y'welcome," Stormwrecker huffed, returning the sigh.

"You don't want to rejoin the Decepticons do you?"

"I..." Stormwrecker started, ready to fire off another blunt retort before stopping to consider the weight of the question. He cocked his head slightly to one side. "I guess I don't. Don't make no sense, doin' what I'm doin'; if it was only about survival. But I do wanna survive. So...guess I'm walkin' some sorta weird catwalk at the moment and no idea where it really leads."
___

Icepick remembered the peace he had felt at seeing his commander. Such a welcome sight. All of his fellow Monstercons were. The most tortuous part of this entire prison stay was the forced separation from most of them at any one time for as long as they had been held prisoner here. Now they were brought together, and something else threatened to keep them apart. Something from within.

"I'm here, Icepick."

Icepick continued to writhe in agony on the prison floor before the assault seemed to fade, like a crashing wave returning to the sea. Whether the assault had ceded of his own volition, or it had somehow been swayed by Slog's words, Icepick neither knew nor cared. If he never went through that again it would be too soon.

Icepick reached up to grab his commander's hand and use him for the support that was offered.

"....together again," Icepick sputtered out. "Not how I'd imagined our full reunion, but better than nothing."

Through it all, Icepick smiled slightly as he prepared to continue moving wherever the Butcher of the Bogs decided to take them.

Garrus-9 – Northern Wing

Sonicwave had seen better rotations. Quicklaunch, too. But with all the chaos, violence and death happening in the northern wing, the two Autobot guards were sharp enough not to dwell on such thoughts. They had their actuators full as it was with the Decepticons (those loose prisoners, as well), and they really, really didn't need another distraction when the explosions, screaming, corpses, laser fire, and the surprise visit of their enemies were doing a fantastic job of keeping the guards on the balls of their feet.

The effects of an unexpected and massive assault. What can you do?

Stationed behind a barricade the pair put together from debris, Sonicwave gave the corridor he and his buddy were defending another look, searching for things that didn't belong there. “So tell me, Quick, where are these rust buckets coming from again? There's like a zillion of them.”

Quicklaunch shrugged. He stood next to Sonicwave, also surveying the corridor for things that didn't belong there. “Wouldn't have a clue, bro – but if this keeps up, we're going to be on the opposite side of alive very shortly.”

Sonicwave snorted. “You're telling me.”

“Nah, just needlessly reinforcing an obvious observation.”

And obvious it was. The two guards had spent the last cycle under constant pressure from the Decepticons, their tenacity hammering the Autobots and slowly forcing them back step by step. By some miracle they hadn't been iced yet, but both were aware that they were functioning on borrowed time.

Sonicwave and Quicklaunch had heard the reports from their neighbouring wings, and they weren't produced from the stuff of sunshine and rainbows. Not even close. If what went into their audio receptors was true, if the transmissions were legitimate, then the northern wing was doomed like the rest of the penitentiary.

Given Fort Max's current state – down and out – Garrus-9 had SCREWED written all over it.

Silent and inactive, save for the distant sounds of battle floating through the corridor like lingering echoes, Sonicwave and Quicklaunch were ready for whoever came at them. Or almost whoever. If Scorponok or a big group of 'Cons turned up, it'd be game over. Again, however, and thanks to the same miracle, neither scenario had shown itself, with only smatterings of the bastards trying to force their way past.

Still, it wasn't easy holding ground when they never stopped pouring in. For every charge they made, the two guards were pushed back, the ground they fought so hard for lost. And they couldn't afford to continue losing it, as beyond this corridor lay the heart of the wing, and if they took it – well, let's just say the northern wing was a goner, then.

“I don't know how much longer I can last.” There was a weariness tingeing Sonicwave's voice. “I mean, there's only so much I can handle.”

Quicklaunch grinned. “That's what she said.”

They laughed.

“Seriously, though, Quicky, I'm getting a bad feeling about this. It's been quiet for nearly five kliks now.”

“I know what you mean,” Quicklaunch said. “Like something bad is looming.”

Sonicwave nodded. “Dead right.” He paused, then smiled. “No pun intended. But yeah, it's like we're sitting in the optic of a storm, and the worst of the weather is rolling towards us.”

“Well, there's only one thing I wanna say about that.” Quicklaunch raised his blaster and rested it on his shoulder-plate. “Bring it on.”

Garrus-9 - Southern Wing

Vroom had a thoughtful expression as he heard Stormwrecker. For a while there it had been very simple for Vroom. Survive, help others do the same, and then stick around for whatever punishment Scorponok had in store for him. It seemed like the right thing to do but now things had changed. Stormwrecker had confided he did not want to rejoin the Decepticons and he assumed that Scorponok would not take that lightly. Killing a Sweep would only make whatever punishment was coming to him worse. A killing that was done to help him out. This gave him a responsibility he could not ignore.

"Alright then 'Wrecker. If that's the case then that catwalk you mentioned leads only one place at the moment. Outside. Time for a change of plans." Vroom said, his mind quickly transitioning to new goals. "I found some caverns out there that we can use while we figure things out. I scouted them out some during my occasional escapes to annoy Max."

He reached down and grabbed the guard.

"Let's go. We will take whomever wants to come along with us on the way out. We might need numbers for whatever we decide to do next."

Garrus-9 Central—Med Bay

At times, the pain had been so great, or the damage so critical, that Fortress Maximus had gone in and out of consciousness. It was difficult, if not impossible, to get his bearings: where he was, what was happening, what to do next … all of these things were mysteries that he struggled to gain some kind of understanding of. Not for his sake, particularly, but especially for that of his fellow Autobots.

When his optics flickered and struggled to online themselves once more, he found himself in a starkly silver room, largely barren of other mechanoids who might given him an indication of where he was.

“Tidings, Maximus,” a cool voice said.

Maximus lifted his head up slightly higher. Directly in the foreground of his field of vision stood Wingspan, instruments of destruction in hand as he had obviously continued the work he had started in the aftermath of his brutal clash with Scorponok. A meter or so behind him, however, stood the mech who had spoken. One as eerily familiar to Maximus as Scorponok’s own voice, his long-standing lieutenant, Cyclonus.

“You are quite resistant. Psychologically. Physically. Wingspan has had to expend considerable effort digging into the deepest reaches of your cranium,” Cyclonus said, a faint smirk etching itself on his angular face. He then indicated a screen on a far wall. “Tight-lipped though you are, your mind will spill its secrets.”

Wingspan looked to the taller, purple mech, as if to receive permission for what he was about to do next. Cyclonus gave it in the form of a brief nod. Wingspan tittered before reaching over and grabbing what appeared to be a modified version of a cortical psychic patch and began working to attach it on, or rather in, his very own head.

Maximus couldn’t even offer up the shadow of a struggle, as he had done in the power station.

Unconsciousness threatened to claim him again, but it pulled away at the last second, leaving the warden of Garrus-9 painfully aware of what was happening.

“Lengthy interrogations benefit no one at this stage. You have information. We want it.”

Cyclonus then turned his attention to Wingspan as he started to walk away.
“Go and get it.”

Garrus-9--Southern Wing

When Hun-grr commanded his team to move, they rarely deviated. It might take some considerable effort to pull them away from whatever carnage held their attention at any given moment, but they eventually did as commanded. It was likely why this particular incarnation of the group had survived for so long.

Well, until recently.

Sinnertwin's dual heads looked down at the broken and savaged form of Cutthroat. He had always been the most unstable and unreliable of the current batch. A vicious fighter, but highly unable to control his own psychopathic desires. Even Sinnertwin knew that he would not last forever: his lusts would override his limited position in the Decepticon food chain. And when those two things came into conflict, the latter would always win unless one was powerful enough to stem the incoming tide. Sinnertwin recognized that he was not, at least when it came to the raw power of Hun-grr and other such Decepticons. Cutthroat clearly did not.

"We move!!" Hun-grr had said. And in this instance, that was all it had taken. Nothing here fed Sinnertwin's appetite for destruction. How could it? All around him was largely destroyed. He was surely to find more fertile killing fields elsewhere. Following Hun-grr would always lead him to them.

Lowering his heads, the Terrocon quietly followed after his massive commander.