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Garrus-9 – Aequitas Chamber

"The exploratory force--Cipher and his crew--somehow activated defense systems that none of us were aware existed. Remnants of Tyrest's days as chief magistrate. Moreover, the presence of Omega Supreme....I...no one has seen or heard of his whereabouts in so long that he had become a myth. We were...ill-equipped to do anything other than serve as minor annoyances to the Guardian while he made his escape. Even our best," Cyclonus said, indicating the mauled and battered form of Overlord, "failed to stall the Guardian's progress."

It was difficult to maintain Lord Scorponok's gaze at this juncture. Only his inner discipline allowed him to do so.

"When the Guardian made good his exit, the Legislators broke off combat operations and fled also. I am...unaware...if there are any links between the two events."

“These!” Scorponok snarled and kicked a headless carcass of a Legislator lying on the floor so hard that it almost broke in two upon the initial impact - before finally doing so once it touched the ground again over a hundred meters later. “These I expected once we learned of Aequitas!”

“What I want to know is what stopped you from from contacting the fleet!” The gargantuan Decepticon general raged. “We had a chance to annihilate one of the Autobots' most powerful warriors with a pinpoint orbital strike! But NO!”

“Instead our operation was compromised! The word is out now! It is only matter of time before it reaches the Autobot High Command, giving them time to prepare and counter the exploit that allowed us to attack Garrus-9 without a warning in the first place! Our plans and timetable has just changed irreversibly!” Scorponok was seething. The victory he had achieved was still a considerable one, perhaps enough to twist the power balance in the favor of the Decepticons for good. But the blind spot of such scale in their intel and the convenient communications blackout during the Guardian's emergence had nevertheless tainted the success.

"My Lord, these Legislators were the puppets of Tyrest. The assault on the Aequitas, itself a breach of the 'Tyrest Accord' triggered their arrival, likely summoned by Aequitas itself when it was disturbed by the advance party, so was always doomed to failure. Their sudden departure, code 15(30)3, would be to ensure Omega Supreme cannot deliver it to a non-Cybertronian race. Or protect him. Or possibly even a speeding violation, who knows?
"Regardless, this failure was on those who supplied the intelligence on Aequitas. Not, as you can see from the extensive wreckage, the warriors."

He pre-empted the follow up question "My name is Counterpunch, and I am a loyal servant of the Decepticon cause." he announced. He showed no fear facing up to a gargantuan commander such as Scorponok, and turned to survey the entourage he has brought with him. "It would appear you may have need of my skills, my Liege."

In one fluent movement Scorponok scooped Counterpunch up from the ground into the vice-like grip of his right claw. And thus lifting the insolent Decepticon who had dared to speak to him without being spoken to - high in the air. All the while as his tactical computer went through the vast archives that included all Decepticons whom had ever stepped into service during the 4 million years of war to determine whether or not this mech was the one he said he was. It was for the show. He knew the Decepticon is question. But to the others gathered there? This character was suspicious. Obviously one of the prisoners, certainly not one of the Decepticons listed in service in Scorponok's forces. Yet a Decepticon obviously still – Counterpunch, signed early in the war after the Decepticons had massacred the Senate. However, his service report was spotty at best and for a good reason. And with more curious Decepticons gathering about like Bomb-Burst, a show of force was required.

“DO I NOW?! How do you know this?! The Aequitas was never supposed to be here in the first place! And neither were you!” Scorponok growled tightening his grip ever so slightly but just enough to make a show for the rest as the friction from the claw pressing in Counterpunch's armor caused sparks to fly.

The warlord's gaze was practically drilling holes into Counterpunch's head at this point, ”The fact that Tyrest kept any kind of presence here was already a breach of the neutral spirit of the Tyrest Accord itself! He was supposed to keep a neutral party! Not fortify himself and his judgment machine into an Autobot prison stronghold!”

He needed something... some way to salvage the situation, not to mention how to investigate the communications blackout. Scourge. Scourge could track even the ancient Guardian. At least they would know where Omega Supreme escaped. It was very likely that the attack by Semper Tyrannis had caused critical damage to the giant Autobot. He might be vulnerable. It was better to take the chance than not to investigate it at all.

“Scourge! Mobilize a tracking party! Follow the trail the Guardian left behind!” Scorponok bellowed out an order, dropping Counterpunch to the floor, “Perhaps we can still salvage this. Consider this your new lease on life.”

“Cyclonus.” Scorponok spoke, trying to keep his anger in check. “I want a full and painstaking investigation over this communications blackout. I want the culprit found and fed to the Terrorcons.”

He couldn't just dwell on the negative surprises ones, for the assault into Garrus-9 had also came with positive surprises. Not only had they found Jhiaxus who would speed up the process of creating a new Decepticon combiner considerably - not to forget what else the ancient scientist could offer - they had also found Bludgeon. A long lost warrior of remarkable ability. But even better than having recovered the master of Metallikato, Omega Supreme had just handed Scorponok a phase sixer of his own by having left Overlord vulnerable to being tampered with for the first time since being turned into a super warrior by Trepan and Shockwave.

“Oh how the mighty have fallen.” Scorponok smirked as he walked over to Overlord's smoking and partially melted, barely functioning form. Reaching down, Scorponok grabbed a hold of Overlord's leg and threw the large Decepticon unceremoniously towards the space bridge.

“Apeface, Snapdragon – take him to my lab.”

Garrus-9 Mines

Nosecone was probably so engrossed in his mining it would seem he noticed nothing else to most mechs except his team members. He saw Afterburner being taken as well as receiving the adjusted orders from Scattershot as well as Lightspeed and Brainstorm walking or more like stumbling in. Their legs were functional and probably the best the Bots could have hoped for. Coloration was completely wrong for them and Nosecone figured transforming would be a challenge if they had the chance.

"It is good to see the both of you back with us, Lightspeed and Brainstorm. One good thing they did was not give you one of the spare parts for the Terrorcons or Seacons. How some of them walk I will never fully understand."

Nosecone then open up the Technobot private line to Lightspeed.

>>So what did you pick up in there? Is the mad scientist trying to continue his research or fix his Monstercons? I sure hope he isn't stupid enough to let Monstructor to reassemble.<<

Garrus -9 the mines

The Mines where a hub of activity the floating sphere's where buzzing around thou the one that got too close to him, he headbutted the thing and watched it wobble away. "Do you mind I got rocks to crush" the hulking wrecker watched as Afterburner was hauled away by a pair of con guards. Roadbuster looked around at the at the rest of the autobots who where about within the mine.

Pointblank and Highbrow where gossiping like a pair of idle motors as the Technobots commander stood pondering his options. His optic narrowed as he thought that the volatile commander was about to let rip but much to his surprise Scattershot clapped Highbrow on the shoulder and said something about Afterburner volunteering. Funny it didn't look like Afterburner volunteered but something else had garnered his attention.

Snaptrap and the mech from the bar "Goldrod, Brassrust, Goldrush that was it" thought Roadbuster as he watched the bartender take up Snaptrap's sword and murder one of his colleagues. This was more than enough to ignite his energon he started to look at his restraints. He started moving his arms apart testing the strength of the bonds that held him from fully using his full range of movements. Groaning and squealing could be heard from the restraints as he brought his full strength to bare. But he stopped not wanting to alert the guards to his escape attempts the wrecker knew that a few sessions like that per day would weaken the restraints enough for him to escape them.

it was then that Lightspeed entered followed by Brainstorm who managed to make walking on his new legs look like a stand up. As he crashed to the ground and rolled along the ground until he stopped in full view of everyone

"Hey Doc you sure you haven't be drinking? Should we change your name to roller?"

Roadbuster looked balefully at Goldrush, the mech who had murdered one of his own without much encouragement. His mind was made up if Goldrush came near him he was dead a traitor to the badge and his comrades he was dead to the wrecker.

It was just a matter of biding his time.

Garrus-9 – Mines

This was going better than expected. Much better than Venom had originally thought. He'd supplied his reason for his absence and justified his presence here below Elba's surface, nestled in the mines. The same, it could be argued, could not be said about his nest-mates, his loyal subordinates.

Huddled down in the deep and the dark without so much as a whisper across the comm-link they shared. Assembled in a tranquil location to discuss, at their own leisure, the details pertaining to Venom's termination. Because they desired it—they all desired it. To replace him. To designate the mantle of leadership to another Insecticon.

Praise Primus for the opportunity here, the assault on Garrus-9, to concoct the perfect recipe. The masterful plan to serve them such a flavourful result. And what was for dessert? What was for dessert? Venom's corpse, of course. Delicious.

Venom would not allow this to come to pass. None would steal from him; neither his position nor his functioning. They belonged to him.

It was at this point when an additional voice contributed itself to the conversation being had between the Insecticons. The familiarity it possessed didn't soothe Venom's anxiety, but rather inflamed it, stoking the fires of his paranoia to an unbearable level, the hot urgency of his survival crowding his core processor. If Venom had lip components, they would've curled into a sneer.

Melting from the shadows as if they were a part of her, Flytop's sudden appearance sat ill with Venom. He didn't know where she had been this entire time, and that only strengthened his conviction that his nest-mates weren't just here to appreciate the solitude. Clearly, measures were to be taken if Venom had unveiled their plan. An assassination attempt.

Flytop hiding among the darkness could only mean that. Waiting there. Waiting for the moment to strike. Venom quashed a shiver that threatened to engulf him.

He went to speak, to respond to Flytop, but Kickback got in first. Venom listened to his nest-mate, nodding at the appropriate junctures of his reply. As he finished, Venom went to speak again, but something stopped him. Made him clam up tight—as tight as Kickback looked, because he uttered not a single word after this something had come into view. And Kickback was fond of talking.

Venom stared at the object. Silver and spherical in shape, it floated around the Insecticons, orbiting the group, and gazing at each of them like a giant blind eye. It gave Venom the creeps. He wished it would vanish.

>>“Shrapnel, Kickback, Venom, form up on my position. We need to have a word about the local butcher somewhere where he nor his guppy underlings can't hear us.”<<

Preoccupied with this silver orb, Venom almost missed what Bombshell had said. He was agitated, his nest-mate, transforming and smashing his fist against a wall. A belated realisation but an amusing one.

Venom let Bombshell release his anger. No sense in reprimanding him, particularly when Venom was so close to uncovering their little plan. He even let Bombshell “lead” for the time being. Why not? His team was exceptionally autonomous, and frequently operated on their own.

So he followed Bombshell, Kickback and Shrapnel as they made their way to a more isolated area in the mines to talk about the problem the Seacons had developed into. Fun, fun, fun.

Segregated cellblock: Violent offenders

Snarler was alone, and he hated it.
“Maybe he here?” *sniff sniff* “Nope. Here?” *sniff sniff* “Nope. How ‘bout dis one?” *sniff sniff* “Nope.”

Trotting from cell to cell in the segregated prison block since his release, the Warg-shaped Decepticon was looking for either his Chieftain or a fight. He had found a couple of the latter, one where he had even had to assume his robot mode, but none of them were even close to a challenge for an assault warrior who’s ability to ram through a steel wall meant that any unsuspecting enemies stood no chance. The tribal instinct was strong in this animalistic tracker; he knew his place in the hierarchy and was happy with it, but without his Chief and the rest of tribe he felt inefective and useless.

Still covered in the entrails of some of his more recent victims, Snarler followed the scents though the guard escape tunnels, goring a few of the guards that had been left still alive with his tusks, and found the main prison blocks. The doors had been secured but it only took a few charges with his ramming drill before it was ripped from his hinges and he stopped dead as his nose instantly picked up the sent he was looking for. "Got ‘im!!" He stammered, his largely underdeveloped language routines from his prolonged bestial existence in the wastes struggling to express his excitement, even inside his own head, “Snarla’s commin’ Chief!” he blurted out, deep gravelly voice full of snorts and snarls. Shaking the shreds of the heavyweight door still hanging from his tusks, he repeatedly tested the air with his specialist tracking array. *sniff sniff*. That was Bludgeon, the scent was unmistakable, and it led downwards.

How he could have detected anything over his own foul aroma would be beyond anyone else’s comprehension, but Snarler’s nose was the ultimate finely-tuned tracking device, and he could follow Bludgeons trail as clearly as if he could still see him standing before him, such was their familiarity.

His hooves thudded on the metal floor as he galloped off in the direction of Bludgeons trail, idly wondering who the other scents belonged to. Some he was familiar with, Decepticons he had met in the past or a guard or two, but many he did not recognise. There had been plenty of new arrivals in the prison recently, which had answered his question of how he had got out, but not why there were all here, not that it mattered to the simple creature.
Still Bludgeons trail stood out, leading the Warg-former to his ultimate goal...


The Aequitas Chamber


Arriving at Aequitas, Snarler drew to an abrupt halt, his olfactory array near overwhelmed by the odourous onslaught of the battle. Bludgeons scent zig-zagged across the room as if he had moved around the chamber, and from the scattered remains it was clear he had been hard at work. “Nice one, Chief” he muttered, impressed with his bosses work as always. The air was laden with the scent of energy weapon fumes, burning metal and battle, but not even these could mask the overpowering scent almost downing out even Bludgeon himself.

Fear.

He moved towards the mob of Decepticons where the smell of fear became stronger, enveloping the chamber. In the centre, the most overpowering presence he had sensed since Megatron himself, Skorponok, currently punishing some unknown Decepticon for deeds Snarler didn’t care about. Snarler’s thick plating and armour could protect him from any kind of threat, but if the Chief himself was being cautious in front of this enraged giant, he took his cue to keep his mouth shut and stay back.

*sniff sniff* ‘Biter’ was there too - Bomb Burst, another scent he knew well, but his was fresh - as if he had only just entered the room, so he wouldn't know what was going on. *Sniff sniff* He searched the room for a face or scent he knew but apart from the Chief and the Biter, there was none he knew enough.

He assumed his much-disliked robot mode. Small tusks still evident in his flat and ugly face and still covered in filth and grime from his recent incarceration and skirmishes, the brown robot waited silently at the back, patience was one thing he did have when the Chief was around. This was the time for the important people, and he wasn't interested in being be one of those.

He had found the chief and he’d know what to do now. The important part was he was no longer alone.

Garrus 9 Aequetis Chamber

The immense form of Scorponok was completely bristling with rage at being denied a priceless blow against the autobots which the destruction of Omega Supreme would of represented. Bludgeon knew well the price of speaking out of turn or without good reason to any of the upper echelons of the decepticon ranks usually ended up with an example of being made of them. This was no exception with a swiftness that belied his massive form scorponok swept the new comer who had identified himself as Counterpunch from the ground via the head. Not in such a dissimilar manner to Snaptrap who had taken exception to Tentakill taking a pot shot at a Terrorcon.

The sight of Bomb burst landing caught in Bludgeon's peripheral vision he gave a slight nod to the predator raised his hand slightly and beckoned him over. While Scorponok ranted at Counterpunch something didn't sit right something had interfered with their communications with the ships in orbit. It couldn't off been the autobots unless blaster was on planet unless it was from Omega Supreme or Aequitas itself it had to of been a fellow decepticon.

By this time Scorponok's rage had subsided as he dropped Counterpunch and started bellowing orders out to Scourge and Cyclonus. A strange look came across the faceplate of Scorponok as he looked at the wrecked remains of Overlord it was a look of glee. Bludgeon watched the badly damage Overlord get nonchalantly thrown towards the space bridge where his current favoured underlings Apeface and Snapdragon where to move him to his lab probably for some loyalty readjustment. Another arrival caught his attention a filth covered mech who despite being of limited cognitive ability was most useful in the tracking down and destruction of autobots hidden from conventional means of scanning Snarler. A brief data burst from his comms array to snarler bid him welcome and to come stand with him and to feel free to shunt spinster out the way past insolent pest.

It was then that Bludgeon's gaze once again descended onto the spot where the mammoth omega supreme had been sat in his rocket mode. Where had the autobot giant gone would his old titan hunting experience be called upon to hunt down the mighty warrior and his elusive prize or would he be heading for some other destination and perhaps find the Ultimate Warrior that he'd searched his entire existence for.

Aequitas Chamber

Bomb Burst caught Bludgeon's subtle signal to him, he was a very attentive mech, he missed very little. He rose, keeping his head down and stepping backwards silently as to both attract the least amount of attention and keep showing the most amount of respect to his superiors. It wasn’t until he was behind the others that he rose his head.

As he approached Bludgeon, he bowed his head slightly for a brief moment to let his Master know that his absence had made an impression on The Hunter. In other words, he missed him.... in his own antisocial way.

He slipped behind Bludgeon; his preferred spot, behind and slightly to the left, where he could catch even slightest gesture from his Master.

Watching Scorponok angrily give the assembled Decepticons a dressing down, his emotionless exterior remained intact, he did mentally grimace. His role had been minimal, none in this particular battle, but the leaders rage was not lost on him. Though if he was capable, he'd have let out a hardy laugh at Counterpunch's treatment at the claw of their leader.

As Scorponok angrily threw Overlord to his underlings, The Hunter accidentally let a frown slip for a brief second, glad he wasn’t on the other end of the Decepticon leader's wrath.

And then... then a smell, no a stench, caught his attention. That unmistakable stench if Snarler. It had been Vorns since he had rested optics on the filthy pig. His upper lip curled a bit in a sneer, exposing a silver fang in The Predator's mouth,and letting a low growl escape... as a hello the Warg. And then his actuator went back into his mouth, though this time he caught himself, and clenched his hands behind his back to distract himself from his hunger.

Garrus 9 - Southern Wing - Steelhaven Wreckage

Beneath his pressurized helmet and below that mouthplate sat the crooked smile of a mech whose satisfaction had practically peaked since his containment within this facility. The crash of the Autobot, well former Autobot vessel played its part in freeing the salvage expert from his cramped and liquid-lacking jail cell. Smashing directly into the prison knocked out power in most of the southern wing, resulting in what could described as one of the biggest prison breaks known to Cybertronian history.

"Stranglehold!" Octopunch called out to his fellow Decepticon, "You falling behind back there?" Thank the Shattered Seas Stranglehold had been placed in Octopunch's neighboring cell. Having been outside of his usual aquatic environment was hellish enough, but if he had been more isolated and void of any interaction between a mech he could stand to be around would have driven the squid-former absolutely mad. Or at least, madder than he already was.

As he trekked through the tattered corridors of the Steelhaven, Octopunch couldn't help but indulge in his hobby of scavenging. Mangled corpses of both Autobot and Decepticon alike littered his way, each step of his way being halted by his own desire to plunder and loot. The mechanical tentacles that made up his secondary anatomy fixated on his shoulders reached out and hoisted the lifeless husks into the air so that he could examine them further upclose.

"These ones are dead too." The salvager commented outloud towards Stranglehold, unbeknownst if was actually paying attention to his findings, "But they left us some energon. Not the freshest though plenty better than the scraps we had to live off of." The mechanized appendages holding the corpse then wrapped around the shoulder joint and waistline of the deceased Autobot. In a series of fluid motions, Octopunch ripped the mech into two pieces, twisted metal giving way along the Autobot's side and up around the point where it's arm met his shoulder. Holding the dismembered limb into the air, Octopunch's mouthplate slid back into helmet as the energon dropped down from the severed arm across his faceplate, each ounce showering him in a sense of long forgotten familiarity. As he bathed in the bot's fuel, he could feel the songs of the sea calling to him once again.

"I really envy the Decepticons who brought her down." The salvager noted as he licked away the energon that plastered his faceplate before popping his mouthplate back up. "I would have really loved to sink this ship."

Garrus-9 - The Aequitas Chamber

Rippersnapper chuckled under his breath at Sinnertwin’s comment about being too full and unable to move. The former actor could relate, his own stomach filled to the max with the body parts of dead Legislators. He was still hungry, though. Even with a belly that was about to burst at the very seams, Ripper wanted more. Thankfully, he was smart enough not to indulge his insatiable appetite. Making his gut explode would only bring the wrath of the Terrorcon Commander down upon him for making a mess and damaging himself. No satisfied hunger was worth that outcome.

At the sound of ripping metal, the shark monster turned his attention back to Blot who was constructing some kind of sled out of floor panels he had ripped up in order to transport a pile of dead Legislators back to Hun-grrr. Ripper was a little surprised that Blot was smart enough to build such a transport even as crude as it was. Still, it wasn’t like he had gone to the trouble of drawing up complex designs before destroying the floor to obtain raw materials. The sled was simple just like it’s builder.

“Yes, you do that, Blot,” Rippersnapper replied to his dimwitted comrade who was intent on serving Hun-grrr a Legislator-sized meal. It never ceased to amaze the terrorist just how much of an aft kisser Blot was when it came to their leader. Ever the loyal pet to be sure, not intelligent enough to do anything else but suck up and gain favor with the two-headed razorbeast.

Rippersnapper’s attention was then drawn to the sudden brilliance of the space portal materializing behind him, the massive form of Lord Scorponok passing through it and entering the chamber shortly thereafter. The former actor turned and transformed back into his robot mode, standing at attention in the presence of the High Commander of the Second Expansion Fleet. Scorponok was, of course, none too happy with how things had transpired down here and demanded an explanation from Cyclonus. The purple flier provided the best one that he could give followed by Scroponok's unsatisfied response. An interruption then came from a 'Con called Counterpunch. Not a good idea.

A nervous shudder went through the terrorist’s body as he knew all too well that you did not speak to Lord Scorponok out of turn without repercussions. Those consequences soon came when the High Commander scooped Counterpunch up in his massive claw, teaching the blue mech his place in the grand scheme of things. “Glad I’m not him,” Rippersnapper whispered as he glanced back at Sinnertwin and Blot before returning his attention to the proceedings.

Lord Scorponok then gave new orders to both Scourge and Cyclonus. The former was tasked with tracking down Omega Supreme while the latter was responsible for finding the culprit of a communications blackout and feeding him to the Terrorcons. Rippersnapper's audios perked up at this, and he couldn’t help but crack a slight smile. By the time the purple flier had finished with his assignment the former actor's stomach would be empty again.

Just in time for a new meal.

Garrus 9 Aequetis Chamber

Snarler chuckled to himself. It appears he doesn't need to make an entrance to still make an entrance.

The hapless playtoy of Skorponok now cast aside, a hush filed the room and he took the moment to concentrate on those within, the movements they had made in the chamber crossed the floor like jet engine vapour trails drawn across the sky. Some within the chamber exuded power and authority, whilst more secreted fear and cowardice but a few still stood out above even those. The mighty Cyclonus, the only ‘scent’ close to rivalling Skorponok’s, was drawing all the attention as he began to process his new orders. Scourge, the hunter that possibly rivalled even Snarler’s belief in his skills left a predatory and relentless shadow, whilst the Terrorcons, beastformers like himself, left a savagery in their wake that he all too easily identified with.

He received the brief transmission from Bludgeon with a quiet grunt of acknowledgement, watching as the Biter moved to stand at the left-hand of the Chief, moving silently with all his characteristic style and grace. Snarler possessed neither of those things, but that was never his purpose, and if Bludgeon had called Bomb Burst to his side as well, it was clear he was planning a hunt and those were what Snarler lived for.

Purposely, he strode towards his master, barging through any that stood in his way and glaring aggressively at Spinister on his way past. “Stand. Back.” where there few words he growled in a guttural and animalistic snarl, gobbing grease and oil over the smaller Decepticon as he did so. He assumed his place at Bludgeons right shoulder ready to strike on his leaders word. The three of them were together again, and with his lord there, there was nothing that he now feared; not Cyclonus, not Skorponok, not even Megatron himself.

Garrus 9 - Aequitas Chamber

What wonderful insight Firewire had given to the Director of the DSS. The location of his long time rival couldn't have come at a much better time. Unfortunately her sense of directions had been misinterpreted, clearly not of his own fault, but of that of the petite femme's own. The closer Banzai-tron enclosed on the Emperion's Commander, the more he began to pick up on an all too familiar voice...

With each step he took, the louder each decibel of that voice grew. Whoever it could be, they sounded... enraged... Furious about something... It was hard to properly distinguish what was being foretold in the room beyond, metal and other various pieces of debris hindering clairvoyance into the room ahead of him. It wasn't until he was meters away from the massive hole the Horrorcons had breached through earlier that he found some sort of life outside that of the booming voice. Blot, the Terrorcon trooper, came trotting along from the chamber. He seemed to be dragging something behind him... A sled of some kind by the looks of it, his cargo shining a dull bronze color. Narrow slits of amber replaced Banzai-tron's optical cavities as he studied the wreckage of whatever that thing was carting away.

Legislators.

What could the defensive drones of Tyrest be doing here? Were they sent to reclaim Garrus? No... They were guarding something... Something of great importance. Banzai-tron's optics flashed open as he finally realized the significance of the room he was standing before. That all too familiar voice could only belong to one mech, the very mech who was in search of this particular room from the very beginning of this entire operation.

"Scorponok." Banzai-tron muttered as he turned the corner and gazed at the sight of the gargantuan warlord cursing his displeasure at his second in command. All too familiar mechs were positioned within the room. Many he saw prior to the beginning of this campaign, others he met alongside with during its opening hours. To describe it in brief, this was an awkward reunion to stumble upon.

The DSS director stuck to the shadows as he snuck into the chamber, all the while trying to avoid the brunt of Scorponok's outrage from Omega Supreme's departure. Banzai-tron froze in his tracks at the sudden outburst of the massive Commander as he reached out and grabbed hold of a blue and black Decepticon from amongst the growing crowd of Violet-insignia wearing bot's in front of him. His distance was left far enough away that the master of crystalocution need not worry about Scorponok's own reach, but the snagging of a random Decepticon was enough to make anyone halt in their spot and gaze upon whether or not he was was gonna kill the poor slagger or not.

“Scourge! Mobilize a tracking party! Follow the trail the Guardian left behind! ... Perhaps we can still salvage this. Consider this your new lease on life."

Banzai-tron continue to watch the scene wrap up from the shadows he had cloaked himself in while the Commander of the Second Fleet ordered his Horrorcon bodyguards to fetch up the chassis of Overlord.

So the last of the Omega Sentinels just handed Scorponok the remains of Megatron's super warrior process... Banzai-tron internalized, watching the behemoth of a Decepticon fling the unconscious phase sixer to the Horrorcon duo. We'll have to keep a careful optic on this. The least we need is a visit from the Justices anytime soon.

Finally stepping out from the shadows and joining in the back of the crowd, the DSS director made an effort above all else to make it seem like he had been there all along. He noted Snarler sniffing about. If that boar-headed Decepticon had nothing better to do, he could easily proclaim to the agent's whereabouts from when he entered the room, though Banzai-tron doubted he would even care. That is unless Banzai-tron tried to spring upon Bludgeon now for their long awaited rematch...

No, can't take that chance... Got to play it safe... There's plenty of ways to draw attention to yourself, striking him now while he was surrounded by most of the Emperion's former crew members was not the smartest tactic to play right now. Now... Now was the time to see who had the bearings to have spoken up to Scorponok in such a manner.

"Well I'll be damned." Banzai-tron muttered in a tone that faintly hinted of genuine surprise as he walked over to the prone form of the blue and black Decepticon. "My reports had stated you were located elsewhere, but I guess that was another hole that's in need of refining, isn't it, Counterpunch?"

Garrus-9 Central – Amphitheatre

Time ceases to be of consequence. As does place. As does normality.

The only thing that matters is destruction.

The only thing that matters is pain.

The only thing that matters is violence.

The only thing that matters is death.

The only thing that matters is killing everyone in sight.

It has been reborn again.

Reborn again. It. Reborn.

It has been reborn again.

* * *

Screaming. He can hear screaming. It's the first sound that penetrates his audio modules. High-pitched and saturated in agony, the tortured cries assault him from every angle, a verbal bombardment his senses cannot defend themselves against.

There are many, so many. They overlap each other, collide into each other, almost merging into one continuous noise, utterly raw, utterly hideous. He thinks he can recognise some of the screams, but it's hard to say given the amount and volume of them.

They ring in his cranial unit, echoing their dread, echoing their fear, echoing their hopelessness. It's an experience that leaves him startled and confused.

He doesn't know where he is, but he knows he is surrounded by screaming. By howling. By shrieking. He's wrapped in its embrace, trapped by it.

He hears nothing but these sounds. Clawing at him. Forcing him to listen.

Screaming. Screaming. Screaming. Screaming.

His confusion escalates, and he doesn't know where he is. He thinks, however, he can recognise some of the cries. He thinks he can.

On the tip of his glossa, the names are. He can identify who they are—some of them, at least. He's sure of it.

Screaming. Screaming. Screaming. Screaming.

They are derailing his train of thought, turning his concentration into a scattered mess. He... He isn't as confident now. But...

One sound rises above the cacophony of anguish, one particular howl that has neither stopped nor declined in severity. Its fury chills him to the core, making him rigid as a statue. It stands out, amid the variety of screams, as if aimed at him. Just for him.

It takes him a few moments to realise the scream is his.

And it's the worst of them all.

* * *

Vision comes next, snatching away the inky black curtain drawn across his optics. He feels anxiety well up inside of him. He has no desire to see, even though the world he views is blurred and flickers in and out of existence like a malfunctioning illumination strip blinking erratically in a dark room.

It is a world not meant to be seen, the sheer madness and fuelshed it consists of beyond comprehension. Here, and ever growing, sits a mound of shattered chassis parts, seeping vital fluids through the mazes of cracks and splits marring their lacerated pieces. There, as if placed on top of the mound like an obscene ornament, a cranial unit stares straight ahead, oral cavity agape, issuing a silent scream that barely justifies the torment it had to endure before its life was ended.

Here, the floor carpeted with more dead bodies and wreckage, making it impossible to traverse with freedom. There, vital fluids coating the ground, walls and ceiling as if buckets of the liquids filled to capacity have been hurled in every direction.

Here, wavering and licking their pockmarked surroundings, flames hiss and crackle, the result of weapons missing their target, panic betraying their aim. There, bathing in the orange glow of the fires are the wounded and dying, the former trying to crawl back to the safety of their comrades while the latter await a brutal conclusion.

Perhaps only the most vile creatures can revel in such carnage, and there is one such creature who can take pleasure in this. The problem, however, is that it's not enough. Not enough death has been delivered. Not enough devastation has been produced. There needs to be more. There needs to be more.

He can feel it: the dissatisfaction, the immense weight of resentment pressing on him fiercely. It's not enough. It's not nearly enough. It's never enough.

There needs to be more.

There needs to be more.

THERE NEEDS TO BE MORE.

He has no desire to witness it, even though the world he views is blurred and flickers in and out of existence like a malfunctioning illumination strip blinking erratically in a dark room. In that way, he is being spared by a great deal.

It is still not a world meant to be seen.

* * *

Then the voice. The voice. A single voice that repeats itself, repeats itself, repeats itself. It repeats itself, over and over again. Repeats certain words. It repeats them. Cycles through the same words. Repeats itself. Over and over again.

The voice frightens him. It possesses a low, ominous tone like the rumble of thunder on a distant horizon, a hunger suggesting an insatiable appetite, and a hatred blazing with the heat of a star going supernova.

Kill.

The word crams its invisible bulk into his mind, choking all other thoughts. The process of thinking—it changes, warps. It becomes singular, focused—

Kill.

Focused on one idea, and one idea only. There is no more space in his mind to consider—

Butcher.

Consider anything else. He has—

Crush.

He has great difficulty spreading his attention to different—

Maim.

Different matters.

Kill.

Different matters. He—

Destroy.

Is losing himself.

Kill.

Crush.

Different matters. No. The voice. Yes, the voice. Repeating itself, cycling through the same words, telling him what it craves. It's repeating—

Butcher.

He is losing himself. Truly, he is. Losing him. Himself.

Destroy.

He must—

Kill.

Maim.

Destroy.

Kill.

Maim.

Destroy.

* * *

He kills another one, crumpling the wretch in his massive grasp like a sheet of tin foil. Sparks shoot from widening fissures in his armour-plating, and a liberal release of vital fluids soon follow afterwards. The wretch's wailing is cut short by his demise.

He throws the broken body aside, his compulsion ordering him to kill, maim, destroy. There is more carnage to be had. Much more.

Attacking from afar, they keep their distance from him. It hardly matters. He goes to them. He goes to them, bringing them death.

He can't always account for the manner in which the wretches are slaughtered, only that they are.

One, two, three.

Crush.

Four, five, six.

Butcher.

Seven, eight, nine.

Destroy.

They die easily, no match for his size and power. He yearns for the wretches to step forward. This cowardice of ranged combat disgusts him. It reeks of inadequacy.

Die.

Die.

Die.

Die.

Die.

Die.

Die.

He aches to kill. The urge to slay transcends, reaching a height that drives him mad. He wants to be painted in their fluids. He wants to pull them to shreds and eat the pieces.

Kill.

Kill.

Kill.

Kill.

Kill.

Kill.

Kill.

* * *

With a jolt and a gasp, Wildfly's systems reactivated—or as he might have said in one of his “clever” moments: Booting online without an actual booting!—and the shade of golden amber that usually coloured his optics returned to brighten his otherwise dull peepers. Groaning as he lifted his cranial unit off the medical slab, Wildfly looked around, studying the room he couldn't quite remember entering.

Then it hit him. Then he remembered.

“Monstructor...” The word left his oral cavity a whisper, yet the weight of terror it carried hung heavy in the air.

Monstructor. They had combined, he and his brothers, combined into that forbidding entity after countless millennia. The memory of uniting and rampaging in the penitentiary evaded him; he could only recall fragments of what he'd done as part of Monstructor. But he could, to an extent, still see the devastation and hear the screams the beast had caused like they were side effects from having united.

Monstructor. Further side effects were the unconscious spells and dreams that plagued Wildfly after the beast had disengaged, separating into its individual components. They were short-lived but numerous. One klik, Wildfly could be walking and talking, talking and walking—the next face-plate down on the ground, his silence indicating a visit to Dream Land was in progress. Short-lived but numerous. He'd rather they not happened at all.

None of his fellow Monstercons knew about the dreams. They were something he held close—a secret he was too afraid to share with anyone. Perhaps his brothers had dreams themselves. Perhaps they did. Wildfly, however, didn't want to confide in them, concerned he'd be call weak for his weakness that would weaken his reputation as the funny guy.

Truth was, they troubled him. More than he was willing to admit.

Much like his memory did upon his arrival back to reality. It always took him a few moments to pick up on where he was, regardless of how many times he fell unconscious.

Where am I? Oh, I'm still here.

What's going on? Right, the same as last time.

No, seriously, where the Pit am I? Ah, I never left.

Wiggling about like a cyber-worm, Wildfly tested the restraints securing him to the medical slab. Tight, solid, inflexible: call it any of those, but the thing was he wasn't leaving. That was a huge problem, especially since Jhiaxus had been slicing and dicing Slog and doing bad stuff to him before Wildfly's conscious state had ditched him.

But now that Wildfly realised—thank you kindly unconsciousness that made his memory temporarily hazy—Jhiaxus's actuators and tools weren't embedded in Slog's torso or legs or optic sockets. Jhiaxus wasn't even near his team-mate. Seated in a chair that appeared an awful lot like a throne, the scientist's position was centred amongst the medical slabs that encompassed him, and elevated to a position that equipped him with an aerial view of the madhouse below.

Wildfly gazed around, searching for his team-mates. He knew Slog and Icepick were here, strapped to operating berths, but Scowl, Birdbrain and Bristleback remained elusive to his scrutiny of the amphitheatre. Scant amounts of lighting seeping from the glow of holoscreens and an assortment of other screens didn't aid Wildfly's search, the shadows they cast about the room obscuring the occupants.

A dreadful sensation coursed through Wildfly's chassis. He'd been liberated from his cell only to be transferred to another one. At least his original home had some space (though it was never a race, he could pace in that space just in case his sanity tried to vacate that place, his base—check it). This slab didn't go a long way when it came to that.

Lowering his cranial unit, Wildfly considered his options. Or lack of. Thinking wasn't a trait that graced him naturally, and not one that concerned him, if he was honest. But he wished it was currently.

He had no idea how to act or react, so he employed patience as best he could and waited for whatever to happen next.

Aequitas Chamber

Only through his supreme self control, extensive training and centuries of experience was Counterpunch able to avoid laughing manically as he was thrown around like a turbofox by its tail. He had no way to be certain if Skorponok actually knew who he was prevously, but the fact that he wasn’t microbe-thin from those giant purple pincers meant that his gamble paid off; Skorponok knew the deal, and so yet again the game had changed.


Millions of years before.

All Punch could remember when he awoke was the pain. Banzai-Tron's agents had him rigidly manacled, limbs splayed out, hanging from the ceiling. He was still in his Counterpunch robot mode, blue and black with flashes of red, but he had finally reasserted himself too late. For megacycles he had wallowed in self-pity, cut off from his Autobot handlers and unable to prevent the Decepticon war machine from striding to victory, it had been too much for him and Punch had given up leaving his darker alter-ego to run rampant just when it mattered the most.

He was furious with himself. How could he have let this happen? How could he have let Counterpunch hand himself in like this? Punch thought back over the last few hundred years, it had been too long since his Neural Shell Matrix had been examined, and he had no way of knowing that it had malfunctioned. Now, not only did he have to find a way to keep his cover, but the ‘artificial’ Counterpunch personality implanted in his mind when he was cold-constructed by the Institute had developed its own sentience and was actively fighting back.

“It's in here!” the disguised Punch announced in the tones reserved for the Counterpunch speech routines, indicating the top of his head as best he could. “The... presence, I can feel it, in the upper right... bit. GET IT!” Punch had just one chance at this, and he had to hope he was right. If Punch could convince these agents, and even Banzai-Tron himself, that he was Counterpunch, and that this 'Punch' was a mere implant by the Autobots that he had detected, then maybe the pair of them could still get out of here alive.

He knew that this elaborate deception would cause him agony beyond anything he had felt before. He would have to willingly allow himself to be tortured, encourage the Secret Service to probe his mind with the most invasive of devices himself, and he would have to wear the pain with a masochistic grin as he pretended it was hurting someone else instead, the 'fake' him, as even after what he had done, Punch could still not bring himself to allow Counterpunch to come to any harm.

Without a word, an agent unknown to Punch walked into the room and he heard the probe drill start up behind him. Almost immediately it began to drill into his cranial plating and he mentally prepared himself for the terrible ordeal he would have to endure. This was for a cause far greater than just one soldier. The fate of galaxy, the lives of trillions of Cybertronians and the chance to put an end to this eternal war was at stake, and he was the only mechanoid in the universe with the ability and the courage to see this through. “Keep going!” he yelled, forcing himself to uphold the charade, focusing his mind on what was at stake to override the agonising trepanning that he himself had requested. “He... he is in here somewhere, find him...!!”

He suffered uncountable cycle after cycle of extreme horror and torment at the hands of the Decepticons, almost draining his near-limitless reserves of willpower to resist the urge to give in until they believed him beyond any measurable pain threshold, but still Punch suffered in silence, refusing to put himself above the Autobot cause. Then, only when even the torturer himself was beginning to believe he had failed in his task, did he allow his body to transform back to its native yellow and blue Punch form.

Now there was no going back and no way out. He immediately sealed off the Neural Shell Matrix so Counterpunch was trapped in silence, then he faked the shut down of his higher functions and answered all the questions he was given, truthfully but simplistically, in a blank and monotonous tone of the automoton, the faked simplicity in his responses to indicate that he had lost the ability to think for himself without Counterpunch’s consciousness present. The Shell Matrix apparently 'deactivated', the torturer fell for the trick, and finally believing that the ‘Punch’ personality could not operate without the Counterpunch mind in control, his ordeal was finally ended.

A few years later, his training was complete. Now he played the most dangerous game for both sides.[/i]


[u]Now.

Tossed aside, the rest of the room a blur but aware that many others had moved in to see the ‘entertainment’, he waited for Skorponok to move to his next item on the list, and now he began to laugh as the memories of his 'ordeal' flooded back to haunt him. Punch sarcastically chided his darker self that went better than expected, don't you think?! He lay on the ground for a few seconds, battered but undamaged, feigning the pain from the giants grip, and waited. Counterpunch, still in the pilot seat but since the ‘ordeal’ remaining firmly under Punch’s control, continued to laugh.

His plan was to wait until the room cleared and then signal to the DSS he was ready to report in, but it would appear that the DSS had come to him. He suppressed his repulsion at the creature that had caused him pain such that it still haunted his nightmares and instead feigned surprise as Banzai-Tron approached him. “Heh, the great Banzai-Tron, caught unaware? I’ll have to make sure I record this moment” Counterpunch said in his usual ill-mannered tone but, as always, it was misdirection for the benefit of others, masking the simultaneous pulsing of a brief encrypted message to his superior.

>>Secure package. Delivery options?<<

“I wish I was somewhere else though.” he groaned, making sure to over exaggerate the beating he had taken whilst still in public as he stood up. “He’s pretty strong for a lobster.” He was long overdue on reporting in but as with everything else about his life, his role in the DSS had to remain a secret and he knew that Banzai-Tron would understand that above all else.

He continued to laugh, he couldn't stop himself now if he tried.
“Where can I go and fix myself up? Cyclonus is gonna need me - that fool will get himself killed without me watching his back”

Garrus-9 – Southern Wing – Steelhaven Wreckage

Thunk! K-RASH!

A large section of debris from the wreckage of the Steelhaven slammed into one of the unstable walls of the ship, causing the structure to quiver and shake slightly. A swift kick to the dismembered arm of an Autobot sent it ricocheting around the tight and slightly collapsed corridors of the wrecked vessel.

"Stranglehold!" Octopunch called out to his fellow Decepticon, "You falling behind back there?"

Octopunch. One of his oldest friends and comrades. Almost one of the most annoying right now, considering that they'd been neighbors for the better part of forever in that slagging prison. Almost. Octopunch had largely been his only source of companionship. Stranglehold would have probably bashed his head in against the walls of his cell from boredom without the ole squid about.

“Tell me again why we're here, instead of, oh I don't know, ANYWHERE ELSE?!” Stranglehold barked out with his usual bluster. “Oh wait! I KNOW WHY! It's because you can't keep your tentacles to yourself! Again!” The enforcer stomped on the cranium of an Autobot, trying to keep up with the salvager.

“Scrap, got dead Autobot on my heel,” Stranglehold muttered as he scraped it off on with a piece of Steelhaven detritus that was laying about. The enforcer honestly didn't mind entertaining Octopunch's constant hobby of scavenging. Anything was better than being cooped up in that cage really. But he wasn't about to let Octopunch know that.

Stranglehold shoved his way around the corner that the salvager had disappeared by and clocked his horned head on a hanging bit of scrap metal. Annoyed by the sheer amount of clutter all around the wrecked ship, the enforcer snarled and simply headbutted it. This resulted in a chuck of metal getting impaled ridiculously on the larger of the two horns on his head. He didn't notice.

"These ones are dead too." The salvager commented outloud towards Stranglehold, unbeknownst if was actually paying attention to his findings, "But they left us some energon. Not the freshest though plenty better than the scraps we had to live off of."

“Rrgh,” Stranglehold grunted in response as he stepped up beside Octopunch, “Ain't much left of the 'Bots on this wreck. Somethin' got to 'em first.” The orange enforcer hoisted the other of the corpses up and seized its head and pulled. Hard. Slowly, the cranium and spinal column came free of the body. Stranglehold tossed them aside and sipped the energon from the gaping hole.

As the energon flowed into him, he felt more alive that he had since...well. Since he could remember really! He'd been in this prison for a long slaggin' time. “Ahhh!” Stranglehold sighed as he tossed the body aside. A purple fluid rested on his metallic mustache, adding further to his growing ridiculous appearance.

“Raaaahhhh, yes! The drink of champions! I feel alive again.”

"I really envy the Decepticons who brought her down." The salvager noted as he licked away the energon that plastered his faceplate before popping his mouthplate back up. "I would have really loved to sink this ship."

“You 'an me both, Octo,” Stranglehold replied, “So what's next? More junk collecting?”

Garrus 9 - Southern Wing - Steelhaven Wreckage

"Tell me again why we're here, instead of, oh I don't know, ANYWHERE ELSE?! Oh wait! I KNOW WHY! It's because you can't keep your tentacles to yourself! Again!"

Octopunch rolled his optics at his compatriot's complaint. He was right about the scavenging part, the salvager couldn't disagree there, but that wasn't the sole reason why they were traversing through the remains of what was once an airborne Autobot vessel.

"We're here because there's no where else to go." The squid-former replied while his vision scurried over littered bodies and broken starship chunks. "Bloody thing came crashing through the entire cell blocks, practically closed off most of the wing. I figured, 'Hey! Instead of being stuck in this slag-infested prison center and slowly dry myself to death, why not cut ourselves through the mess?'" The multicolored Decepticon explained with several waves of his actuators in the air. "Still, can't complain about collecting all of the fresh spoils."

“So what's next? More junk collecting?"

Octopunch mused over the thought as he wrapped his actuators around a displaced fuel pipe dangling from the the ceiling. He gave the former fuel line a firm tug as he attempted to yank it from its housing within the ceiling's panelling.

"In a perfect world, yes." Octopunch replied followed by several grunts, "But we ought to link up with our liberators first." After another forceful pull the bolts that held the pipe into place finally gave out to Octopunch's immense strength. Grinning under his mouthplate, the salvager pulled out damaged fuel line and briefly studied it before holding it down towards his feet.

"Problem is, we're two lone mechs in a sea of trouble. 'Cons may have sunk this ship, but who knows what's waiting on the outside of that hull for us?" Octopunch brought his boot down upon the end of the pipe, crushing the metallic tube into a flattened piece. "So, I say we make our way to the storage lockers, see if we can dig up our old weapons and tools before trekking into Autobot territory." The Decepticon salvager lifted the tube to his optics once again and studied the shape his boot had made. The actuators of his right hand wrapped around the crushed bit and he twisted the metallic rod about within his vice-like grip, shaping the crushed metal into a spiraled point.

"For now, I'd suggest finding something you can use to defend yourself should we stumble across some Autoscum." Octopunch then held the tube out towards Stranglehold, displaying his craftsmanship to the Decepticon enforcer. "It's no trident, but she'll do."

Aequitas Chamber

"Heh, the great Banzai-Tron, caught unaware? I’ll have to make sure I record this moment"

"It appears that I have been indeed." Banzai-tron coldly replied as he watched Counterpunch slowly rise from his fallout with Scorponok. "Don't get used to it, though."

While the head of the DSS and Counterpunch were exchanging quips, the Decepticon spy had been secretly transmitting to him a inquiry about data packages over a discreet and secret comm line.

>>"Eject data slug and await for extraction. Standard discreet transaction."<< Banzai-tron replied over the comm line he shared with Counterpunch.

"Where can I go and fix myself up? Cyclonus is gonna need me - that fool will get himself killed without me watching his back”

"You doubt the lieutenant's skill. Ancient as he is, Cyclonus still holds up as one of the warlord's best. This may just be a minor mistake in his military career." Banzai-tron's amber optics shifted to the lithe purple Decepticon in question, his previous involvement with the Aerospace Commander having been during the opening stages of this assault on the prison facility.

A mistake I will be ever so sure he never forgets...

"Still, there's a med bay in the central part of this prison. Two of my fellow agents are there now receiving repairs." The master of Crystalocution concluded as he locked optics with Counterpunch and gave the Decepticon an understanding nod before turning back to approach Cyclonus.

"Commander," Banzai-tron's voice pierced out in his all too familiar frost-laced tone, hints of forced respect dripping from each word he spoke, "I have members within the DSS I can call upon stationed on other worlds. Allow me to contact them to see if the ancient sentinel has been spotted anywhere near their position. Perhaps this could help pinpoint his current whereabouts or even allow us to see which direction he is taking."

Garrus – 9 – Aequitas Chamber

Cipher took a tentative step back while he watched as the gargantuan Decepticon Lord manhandled the new arrival….Counterpunch. A mech the cryptologist was not familiar with. Better him than me, he thought.

While the scene unfolded Cipher lowered his head, but kept his optics on the tightening claw. A small smile tugged at the edges of his lips.

“Scourge! Mobilize a tracking party! Follow the trail the Guardian left behind!"

At the Enraged sound of Scorponok the scientist’s head lifted in time to see Counterpunch drop to the floor. Considering his options Cipher decided that addressing the still angry Lord would be worth the risk of possibly losing his head.

“My Lord.”

Cipher took a step forward.

“A search party will not be necessary.” Another step, this one smaller than the previous.

“ The Sentinel will be found of this I can assure you.” Cipher then produced a small device. He lifted it to optics level and smirked.

“Rung will never find the tracker I placed on his person.” His smile grew wider as he activated the tracker’s receiver. On the screen a bright dot began pulsing.

From the corner of his optic he caught a glimpse of Cyclonus.

Garrus-9 Central – Amphitheatre

Deadlock said he would see what he could do. That was something. That was promising.

That was also very likely to be a lie, if the disinterested tone didn't give it away. Which it totally did.

The Universe—big “u” as it had definitely taken an interest in Nautilator's tiny life unlike Deadlock and his casual response—enjoyed playing games with the Seacon. Indeed, sitting on a gaming board, the piece representing Nautilator shifted back and forth, right to left, and even diagonally as the Universe toyed with him, its every move throwing him curve balls on a regular basis.

Far as he knew, the game had never ended, though there were intermissions to let the...surprises settle. They built his hope up, fooling him into believing he was safe, then toppled it with another surprise. And watched as it crumbled. Watched as his hope was ground to dust.

“Okay,” Nautilator said. “You do that, and I'll wait here.” He paused. “Just wait here.”

On this slab.

“On this slab.”

With zero to do.

“With zero to do.”

Even though he shouldn't be in the amphitheatre but the mines with Snaptrap and his comrades—whom, it ought to be noted, would be waiting for him and growing furious at his tardiness.

There was no help coming for Nautilator. Like the Monsterons and the others here strapped to the medical slabs, he was part of the experiment. With Jhiaxus relaxing in his chair that rose above the slabs and their patients that circled the scientist, it had to be an experiment. You didn't get death stared by a silvery ball thingy, grabbed by a pair of Sweeps, then bound to an operating table in a gloomy amphitheatre with Jhiaxus as your host for no reason.

The ceiling had split open to show the majesty of space through the crystalflex window that separated little Nautilator from the gigantic Universe. The view should've been mesmerising, fascinating, the beauty of it awe-inspiring. Nautilator, however, didn't see it like that. He saw the Universe—big “u” as it had his number—gazing at him and not nicely. Eeek.

Sudden sounds stole his attention: a series of grunts and curses. Turning his cranial unit to the right, Nautilator watched one of the Monstercons struggle against the restraints holding him to the operating table. The Monstercon was next to him, but the murkiness that stained the room draped his neighbour in shadow.

“Hey.”

The Monstercon stopped his struggling. Amber optics, glowing eerily like the holo screens in the room, fixed themselves on Nautilator. They narrowed to slits.

The Monstercon spoke. “You.”

That voice. Nautilator had heard it before, he was sure of it. This guy must be the guy who he had brought to the amphitheatre. Crazyfly or Wildfrog. A name similar to that.

“Hey,” Nautilator said. “Wha—”

“Shut the frag up.”

The Seacon hesitated before speaking again. “What—”

“You must've been created stupid. I said, 'Shut the frag up'.”

This wasn't making sense. How could Nautilator have possibly upset this Monstercon?

“What is wrong with you?”

“I'm here because of you, you dumbfrag. Because of you, I'm lying on a table like a specimen ready to be cut to bits. Are you blind and stupid? Didn't you see what happened to Slog?”

Now it made sense. Not much Nautilator could say about that, aside from the fact that he was only following orders. But Crazyfly wouldn't accept that, not a chance.

“Look, Crazyfly—”

The Monstercon tried to lash out. He failed, obviously, his restraints stopping him from attacking Nautilator.

“It's Wildfly, you idiot.” Wildfly growled, his temper fraying. “When I get free, I'm probably going to kill you. Slowly and painfully. And probably, as in most certainly I am.”

Nautilator went quiet. Between Wildfly's threats and being an experiment of Jhiaxus's, he couldn't tell which doom was worse. It was like choosing which limb you wanted mangled.

Typical Nautilator luck.

Garrus-9 – Main Levels/Last Resort

Hefting up the last of the Legislators up the long elevator shaft, Blot pulled himself up onto the ground level of the penitentiary and tossed the golden peacekeeper on top of the crude sled he'd constructed. Grabbing it, the Terrorcon trudged to the elevator where his master awaiting him, ignoring all others. He moved behind the sled and dumped its contents down the shaft. Once that was accomplished, he tossed the makeshift sled aside and followed the Legislators down nto the gloom, collecting any that had caught themselves on the inner workings of the shaft.

Upon reaching the bottom, Blot looked around for his master, holding himself with great deference. “Master Hungrr?” Blot called, “I'm back with seconds.”


Steelhaven Wreckage

"We're here because there's no where else to go."

“Oh that's uplifting,” Stranglehold muttered, wiping the energon from his face and stylish metallic mustache. He picked the bit of scrap metal off of his horned helm and examined it with a super bored look plastered on his faceplate.

"Bloody thing came crashing through the entire cell blocks, practically closed off most of the wing. I figured, 'Hey! Instead of being stuck in this slag-infested prison center and slowly dry myself to death, why not cut ourselves through the mess?' Still, can't complain about collecting all of the fresh spoils."

“Of course you can't,” Stanglehold grumbled, flicking the junk metal onto the debris covered floor. “All I see is junk though.” The orange wrestler sighed deliberately and leaned against a wall with his arms folded over her chest as he watched Octopunch attempt to pry a fuel pipe from the ceiling.

"In a perfect world, yes." Octopunch replied followed by several grunts, "But we ought to link up with our liberators first. Problem is, we're two lone mechs in a sea of trouble. 'Cons may have sunk this ship, but who knows what's waiting on the outside of that hull for us?"

“Whatever it is, we'll kill it or die trying. I am not going back in that cage,” the enforcer snarled fiercely.

"So, I say we make our way to the storage lockers, see if we can dig up our old weapons and tools before trekking into Autobot territory."

“That's the first thing you've said that actually sounds like a good idea,” Stranglehold chuckled. He considered the piece of pipe that Octopunch was fiddling with. It looked like the salvager was making a drill spear-javelin type thing.

"For now, I'd suggest finding something you can use to defend yourself should we stumble across some Autoscum." Octopunch then held the tube out towards Stranglehold, displaying his craftsmanship to the Decepticon enforcer. "It's no trident, but she'll do."

“Not bad, 'Punch, not bad. Hm...” Stranglehold rubbed his chin thoughtfully before reaching up into the exposed gut of the star ship and procuring a length of pipe from it as well, his immense strength enabling him to rip it from the ship with a few good tugs and a couple grunts. He impaled it on the horn on his helmet while reaching again into the inner workings of the Steelhaven and plucking out a clump of wiring.

“Do you think Bludgeon made it out okay?” The Decepticon enforcer asked as he removed the pipe from his horn and threaded the wiring through the puncture it had created. He tied it off and crushed the end in his hand for good measure. “Want to place bets on who took down this ship here? Megatron, Scorponok, or Deathsaurus?” Stranglehold snatched up one of the bodies and ripped the head from from the body with a roar. He stabbed two digits into the optical sockets and plucked out the optics. He jammed the other end of the wiring through it. “My credits are oooooon...hrrrm....Megatron.”

Stranglehold grinned as he finished up his little project. He held it out to Octopunch proudly. “Not too shabby, I'd say. Maybe there is something to this whole...scavenging thing.”

Garrus-9 – Amphitheater

The world was...dark and hazy. The universe above whirled in exotic, deep, dark blues with flecks of golden light...crimson...iridescent white...crystalline blue. Slog tried to lift his arm to trace the whorls of color but found he could not. Why? Oh. Reality crashed back down onto the Monstercon. He noted the rattling of restraints. Was it him? He felt the monster lurking just under the surface. The artist glanced down at his arms. Nope. Wasn't him.

Slog craned his head around as well as he could to try and get a better view of whoever it was that struggled against the restraints, but the rattling stopped before he could single anyone out. And then he began to speak. Slog's visored optics locked onto Wildfly and the current object of his loathing, one of the Seacons that had brought them here. That was odd. Jhiaxus... Slog's train of thought was interrupted by Wilfly's hostility.

“This was going to happen to us anyway, Wildfly,” Slog said plainly, “They didn't attack this prison for just any reason. Don't blame...ah...What is your name?”


Mines

”B-Boss? Sir? I...,” Skipway said, but before he could get any further, Goldrush turned and lunged, driving the blade directly through the bartender's chest. Skipway cried out, clutching onto Goldrush's shoulder as he staggered forward. Sparks crackled out from where the blade ended and where Skipway began. A choice. Made. Internal fluids trickled along the blade down to Goldrush's hands. The soft drop of the fluids plinking gently on the ground, beginning to form a pool. All sounds familiar and pleasant to the butcher of the bogs.

Skipway's face was transfixed into an effigy of fear and betrayal. Pain, of course, too. The light from his optics dimmed. A rattled, rasping gasp escaped his vocalizer, whatever final message he had to utter dying unsaid in his throat. With the gasp, the last of his life left him. Snaptrap stepped forward toward Goldrush, reaching out with both hands to grasp at the hilt of his sword. He removed the mechanoid's hands and reclaimed his sword, allowing Goldrush to step away from his kill.

The sword burst into flame at its master's touch. Snaptrap placed a hand on Skipway's shoulder and ripped the pronged sword from the Autobot's body, Skipway's spark stuck on the end of it. The Seacon Commander kicked the body over to a cluster of diaclones on the wall. Perhaps a snack would mollify the Insecticons. They remained useful for garbage disposal at the very least.

Snaptrap plucked the spark off of the end of the blade and tossed it aside. His attention refocused on Goldrush. “Should you ever find yourself questioning your loyalties, remember this day,” the butcher rumbled lowly. He cast his gaze around the mines, his attention freed a bit for other matters. The quarrel between the Autobot prisoners had been broken up. The mouthy scientist had returned with two new legs as well as the other leg deprived Technobot. Where were Overbite and Nautilator? Could he not trust them with even the simplest of tasks? And...the Insecticons...were slinking away. Hrm.

As Snaptrap watched more than a few of them slink off to a location beyond the butcher's sight, Overbite approached the butcher, giving Goldrush a curious look before addressing his commander. “Hey boss! Look, I know that-”

“Where's Nautilator?”

“Uh. Yeah. So one of these silver orb things scanned him and a couple sweeps nabbed him for...something.”

“You didn't think to ask what?” Snaptrap asked coldly without bothering to look at his subordinate.

“Well, you-”

“No. You did not,” Snaptrap interjected as he glowered at Overbite, “Go oversee the prisoners. You are dismissed.” Overbite saluted Snaptrap before scampering off, freed from the oppressive glare of his commander. The butcher then regarded Goldrush. “I will be your direct superior while we are tasked with overseeing the prisoners in the mines. You will not take orders from the Insecticons. Do you understand?”

Garrus -9 Aequitas Chamber

The plot was thickening even further was the thoughts that popped into Bludgeon's head as he looked around at the various players that was emerging from the shadows. The latest to appear was the one who considered himself Bludgeon's equal Banzai-tron. The head of the DSS was his usual snide self trying to worm his way into his superior's good grace's by some smooth talking.

Thou his admission that he hadn't been aware of Counterpunch being at Garrus was an unguarded comment that should not have been admitted. Thou with the subtle glances between the two showed more was going on there than met the eye.

"Not as infallible as I have been led to believe thou we already knew that after our last fight" Bludgeons comments were directed at the DSS head but his optics where clamped on Cipher who was looking at a small device a tracker of some description with a familiar glint in his optics saying something about someone called Rung.

"Cipher I would consider your options before suggesting you go and hunt the Guardian given your failure with this Autobot Rung was it. I'm assuming it was you who allowed him access to the Aequitas control panel in a vain attempt to access the machine?"

The logic was sound the maniacal glint in his optic the tracker and muttering about this Rung, Bludgeon was left with no doubt that Cipher had created this mess. Bludgeon wasn't normally as vocal but this was a mess of a Trypticon rampage proportion that needed clearing up. Maybe Cipher would come up with a viable excuse or maybe not one way or another everyone would know.

Garrus-9--Aequitas Chamber

“These! These I expected once we learned of Aequitas! What I want to know is what stopped you from from contacting the fleet! We had a chance to annihilate one of the Autobots' most powerful warriors with a pinpoint orbital strike! But NO! Instead our operation was compromised! The word is out now! It is only matter of time before it reaches the Autobot High Command, giving them time to prepare and counter the exploit that allowed us to attack Garrus-9 without a warning in the first place! Our plans and timetable has just changed irreversibly!"

Cyclonus' head hung low, unable to meet his commander's gaze for the time being. Something had gotten in the way of their ability to communicate with the Decepticon forces outside the prison, but the Vice Commander did not currently have the faintest inkling as to what might have caused it.

Their newest intelligence resource form inside the prison decided shortly thereafter to speak, an act which prompted a rather violent reaction from Scorponok himself. Cyclonus had looked up at last, taking a step away from the gargantuan commander of the 2nd Expansion Fleet and his display of rage. He was not a mechanoid to be trifled with this day.

Once finished with Counterpunch, his next set of orders went to Scourge before returning to him.

“Cyclonus. I want a full and painstaking investigation over this communications blackout. I want the culprit found and fed to the Terrorcons."

Good. Cyclonus had no doubts that Scourge would be exceedingly up to the task that was given him by the commander, leaving Cyclonus full freedom to investigate the other frustrating matter in this whole situation; a matter he intended to solve with all due haste.

"I will see it done, my lord," Cyclonus said, trading the briefest of glances with Cipher and then Scourge as he took his leave. Omega Supreme's fate was largely in their hands now. But for all of the frustration it had caused to their plans, they could not become perpetually distracted by this setback. There was still a war to be won.
___

Scourge had rarely, if ever, seen Cyclonus redressed in such a fashion. Perhaps not since their days of serving alongside Nova Prime and Galvatron. Nova, in particular, had seemed to take some measure of enjoyment in minimizing the accomplishments of Galvatron's favored lieutenant. Scorponok's dissatisfaction was, at the least, well justified. Scourge could feel the rage at his forces being unable to ground the mighty Omega Guardian even now as he stood here amongst the other Decepticons.

“Scourge! Mobilize a tracking party! Follow the trail the Guardian left behind!"

Few assignments of late had catered so explicitly to Scourge's primary function. He would take to this task with great relish. Almost as soon as Scorponok had finished speaking, the Tracker was in the process of identifying specific Sweeps that would comprise the hunting party. His response to Scorponok was equally efficient, a brief bow of respect and understanding. Very little needed to actually be said between the two Decepticon warriors.

Scourge had thought that might well be the end of the matter and he would begin his new assignment in earnest, but it seemed as if Scorponok's cryptologist had additional information which could well be of use.

“My Lord. A search party will not be necessary. The Sentinel will be found of this I can assure you. Rung will never find the tracker I placed on his person."

Scourge's optics narrowed. What devilry. It suddenly appeared as if a direct hunt would not be necessary. Mere retrieval. The path to their target would be laid before them like the biways interspersed between Iacon. Bludgeon did not appear to be so readily convinced of the device's--or its apparent creator's--efficacy. Scourge, for his part, was uncertain one way or the other. This prompted him to return his gaze in Scorponok's direction to see if it would alter his current orders to any degree.

Garrus-9 – Central Wing – Medical Bay

Jumpstart sighed. "Fine then. I tried. Don't blame me if something goes wrong." He started to input in the commans. "Ah who am I kidding? I am getting blamed anyway."

As he pressed the final button to active the machinery the process began. For one spark to attempt to brighten the light of another is a process filled with much pain. A sensation similar to having part of one self ripped out slowly, painfully. The part is never fully separated but it feels like if it could go at any moment.

As Firewire went through the pain a shadow began to form in her vision, slowly gaining more form. Was it real or in her mind? Could it be Soul Siren?


Garrus-9--Exterior

"They kidnapped you? Wow, you are lucky to still be functioning, little guy. Decepticons are not good host." Vroom said while he stayed alert even though he hid it underneath a calm exterior.

"The name's Vroom. Going to be tough to do much of anything on this planet with Scorps and his merry minions controlling this place."

Garrus-9--Mines

>>So what did you pick up in there? Is the mad scientist trying to continue his research or fix his Monstercons? I sure hope he isn't stupid enough to let Monstructor to reassemble.<<

It only made sense that when they got back the questions would begin to pour regarding their whereabouts and what had happened to he and Brainstorm while they were incapacitated. After all, they were Technobots. Figuring stuff out was sort of what they did.

Granted, Scattershot had not yet answered his question, but he supposed it was not altogether necessary either. If the mech being taken hadn't been Afterburner, who else could it have been?

"That appears be the scuttlebutt regarding what's going on, Nosecone," Lightspeed said softly, nodding. And the word is that once he's done with them, he's going to create more like him. More like that....thing...we saw in the penitentiary. It's a frightening thought, honestly. From what i heard, though, they're keeping the Monstercons separated again, just like the staff in this prison figured out to do a long time ago."
___

Garrus-9--The Aequitas Chamber

Contented and full though he was, the scuffle in the chamber had not avoided catching Sinnertwin's attention. He enjoyed watching Scorponok display anger. It was a different breed of the sort that Hungrr displayed, but similar enough. Very enjoyable to observe, even as he continued to happily gnaw on the leg servo in front of him. He wasn't even hungry. it was just habit.

“Glad I’m not him," Ripppersnapper had added.

"Glad I am none of them," Sinnertwin agreed, the voice rumbling through one of his heads while the other continued to gnaw. "Only with Hungrr have we eaten so well. These others do not appreciate such bounty."

The second head ripped one last section of wiring and metal from the leg and gulped it down before slowly pushing himself to his feet. He stretched both pairs of legs before the fire in his optics reignited to full strength once more as he looked at Rippersnapper.

"Very well. We will inform Hungrr of this smorgasbord, as you said. We cannot bring it to him. Too much. But he could feast here for vorns."

The Terrorcon then began to slowly, much more slowly than normal, trod off in the same direction that Blot had gone.

Garrus-9 – Aequitas Chamber

Scorponok watched with mild satisfaction as Apeface and Snapdragon carried Overlord's broken and mangled form through the space bridge. Getting hold of a damaged phase sixer was quite an opportunity. Merely repairing Overlord would require studying his construction, which in turn would only increase Scorponok's knowledge of this particular head case. Trepan's super soldier process itself was not entirely unfamiliar to him to begin with. He had been there witnessing the creation of Megatron's first super soldier. He had been even been involved with certain stages of the engineering process. But Megatron had kept the reigns of the the project strictly under his own supervision. Only Megatron himself had the full understanding of what made someone part of his Warriors Elite. And given Shockwave's disappearance, only Megatron knew how the Achilles-virus and kill switches installed into his super soldiers worked. Which was something Scorponok was extremely curious about - for was he not about to create a new breed of super soldiers himself?

“My Lord." Cipher took a step forward.

“A search party will not be necessary." Another step, this one smaller than the previous.

" The Sentinel will be found of this I can assure you." Cipher then produced a small device. He lifted it to optics level and smirked.

“Rung will never find the tracker I placed on his person."

Cipher had been able to plant a tracker on Omega Supreme? The odds of recovering what had been lost had just changed considerably for the better. It would still be a difficult task to track someone through a number of quantum jumps but at least now they had more than an eroding particle trace to home on. And if Omega Supreme was still in fighting condition? Tracking would be the only thing Scourge and his Sweeps could do before calling in for reinforcements.

"Cipher I would consider your options before suggesting you go and hunt the Guardian given your failure with this Autobot Rung was it. I'm assuming it was you who allowed him access to the Aequitas control panel in a vain attempt to access the machine?"

“Enough Bludgeon!” Scorponok boomed, not being interested in the slightest over political games right now. “This is what you will do Cipher. You will hand over the homing device to Scourge and pray he will fix at least some of the damage your bumbling caused. Then you will run after Cyclonus and make your supposed expertise useful to him in solving whatever scrambled our communications.”

The statement required no additional threats or showcasing. Cipher would do exactly what he was told to do or he would suffer. It was as simple as that.

“As for you.” Scorponok added, lying his shadow over Bludgeon, the red visor over his optics glowing ominously, “Your honor is tarnished. You lost the Empirion. You led dozens of Decepticos serving under your command to their deaths or to be captured. By doing so you failed Megatron. You failed the cause. What do you have to say in your defense?”

Garrus-9 Aequitas Chamber

“As for you." Scorponok added, lying his shadow over Bludgeon, the red visor over his optics glowing ominously, “Your honour is tarnished. You lost the Empirion. You led dozens of Decepticons serving under your command to their deaths or to be captured. By doing so you failed Megatron. You failed the cause. What do you have to say in your defence?"

Bludgeon locked optics with Scorponok not showing any fear in the face of the 2nd fleet commander. The time of reckoning for the Empirion's demise was at hand

"My honour is indeed tarnished Lord Scorponok, but we fought with courage and honour. The loss of the Empirion was lamentable but unavoidable you know of my history as a Titan Hunter. The Empirion was lost while carrying out a specific mission for one we'd just destroyed a Nibarian outpost in the hunt for a titan which gave us a lead a planetoid nearby.

The ship arrived at the Urtuskain's planetoid hence Snarler's current appearance he was sent to find the titan we believed was beneath their main settlement. The short of it was we found said titan attempted to infiltrate it. But where interrupted by the wreckers or a version of them makes you wonder where they find that many idiots.

But I digress the combat awakened the Titan, it alone was too much for us add in the wreckers and the overkill was comical. The Empirion was crippled by the titan as it left orbit, the rest of us were in no condition to fight and where captured. That is my tale to tell if I can redeem my honour via pledging allegiance then it is yours unquestionably, My liege"

Bludgeon had explained how the Empirion's destruction came about it was now in Scorponok's mighty claws as to whether he'd live to see another sunrise or be an oil stain on the page of history. Bludgeon refused to break optic contact with the Commander to show weakness at that point would be foolish. Thou his exterior was cool as ice, internally he was unsure how this would play out as he waited for his commander's response.