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Harnessing Discord © John H. Evans, Oct. 2023

None of this feels real. We used to be at peace. Life was easy and carefree. Now, it’s grim and frenetic. I’m down here on sub-level 473, wrestling with a servo-droid that’s twice my size.

“Please, don’t interfere!” I beg the droid. “We have to stop the Decepticons from breaking through. We need these tunnels blocked off.” But it’s no good. The droid yanks the girder lattice from my hands. It stops to assess the situation. It sees the trolley with the other lattices stacked up on it. The droid heaves the lattice back onto the stack. I take the opportunity to interface with the droid. I wouldn’t normally do this but, frankly, I’m desperate. The droid stops moving. We talk silently through the interface.

- YOU MUST NOT.

- The enemy will be here in less than fifteen minutes.

- CONDITIONS ARE WRONG.

- But I analysed this whole region of the tower! I found no problems.

- THE LOADING IS DANGEROUS.

- What do you mean? I analysed…

- INSUFFICIENT. NEGLIGENT. WE CANNOT ALLOW IT.

The droid disconnects itself from me roughly. I felt a rare undercurrent of anger in its signal. It’s sure of its position. It seizes the trolley and wheels it away. I’m not strong enough to stop it. Besides, it’s made me rethink our strategy. I tried my best but I know, deep down, that my analysis was incomplete. My scanners have limited range. Blockades in these tunnels are wrong for the tower. My pondering is interrupted by banging and clattering. Someone is approaching along the main spine tunnel.

“Beachcomber, where are you?” a voice calls out. “The droids are stopping us! We have to retreat!” It’s Swerve. He’s coming closer but quite slowly because he’s towing a trolley and he keeps colliding with the tunnel walls. I watch him come into view around the nearest bend. At that moment, the trolley tilts too far to the right and spills its load. The girder lattices slide onto the floor haphazardly. The trolley tips onto its side, turning Swerve over with it. He disconnects himself from it, transforms and stands up. Behind him, a second servo-droid runs forward, stops and takes hold of the trolley. It rights the trolley and starts reloading the girder lattices onto it. Swerve looks at it with concern and frustration. I jog over to him. Swerve turns to look at me. His face is a picture of apprehension.

“What do we do?!” he asks.

“They’re not taking ‘no’ for an answer,” I say. “If we start attacking them, they’ll swarm us; maybe kill us.” Swerve’s anxiety rises still further. His whole face starts twitching slightly.

“Don’t say it!” says Swerve, almost pleading. “I couldn’t bear any more…” Again, he feels the world’s collective trauma. Not so long ago, most of the global population was annihilated by the droids and all the other service robots from the sub-surface realms. All the survivors are bereaved, including me. Yet we cannot afford to collapse. We are in the midst of another Great Terror.

“Alright, if we can’t block the tunnels then we have to retreat!” reasons Swerve. He looks around for further obstacles and then starts to walk away, back the way we came. I grab his shoulder and hold him in place, not as smoothly as I’d have liked but I need to get his attention.

“No, remember your duty!” I say. “We have to hold the line.” Swerve tries to pull himself free but I maintain my grip.

“Hey, you swore an oath,” I remind him. “Stand here with me.” Swerve glares at me.

“We won’t last ten seconds, you know that,” he objects. “They have better weapons. We’re not equipped for this fight.”

“We can hide in the duct chambers,” I say, pointing to the nearest one. “We don’t have to engage immediately.”

“They’ll find us,” says Swerve. “Their sensors are as good as ours.”

“They might not come down this particular corridor!” I retort. “Chances are we’ll be fine.”

“There go the lattices!” said Swerve, turning to view the second droid taking away his reloaded trolley.

“Are you sure that you want to die down here, to lose all your potential to a deadbeat Decepticon in this dismal hole?”

“I will to secure a better future for Cybertron,” I reply boldly. “That’s why we signed up!”

“There’s a more defensible position back in the central chamber,” claims Swerve.

“No, that’s wrong!” I argue. “You know it. Admit it.” We stare at each other for a moment. Then, Swerve gives in. He averts his gaze and looks at the wall.

“Alright, let’s get in the closet,” he quips. “We’ll ambush the Storm Troopers with our inadequate pistols in a few minutes, when they come past.” He knocks away my arm and pushes me toward the duct chamber. We open the doors and cram ourselves inside. It’s a fairly tight squeeze. This isn’t designed to be a space for living. We close the doors and start waiting.

“Why did those damned droids confiscate our materials?!” wonders Swerve aloud.

“They didn’t say exactly,” I reply. “Mine said that there was a loading issue, either above or below us. The superstructure can’t take the extra weight, I’m guessing.”

“Oh frak, you mean the whole tower might collapse?!” says Swerve. “For Primus’ sake, why weren’t we warned?!”

“I suppose command is taking calculated risks,” I say. “Things must be really bad around here.” We’re silent for several minutes. We’re listening for attackers, droids and also cracking sounds. If this tower falls, many thousands will be pulverized. I’ve no idea how many exactly. Battles are raging above. Warriors are pouring in. The upper corridors are being pummelled. The exterior is being shredded. Droids are trying to fix things but they’re being caught in the crossfire. Such is war.

“I hate this so much!” says Swerve through gritted teeth. “The old world is gone and we’re stuck in this hell. Could we have a quick mind link? I need something to steady myself.” His hand slides into mine and he tries to interface. Reluctantly, I pull away. I shake my head sadly.

“You know that’s a bad idea,” I say. “They might capture us and steal our memories. The less we know, the better. Also, it’s unwise to transmit negative feelings to each other. We need to be self-reliant now.” Swerve looks at me. His dismay is evident. He looks away again, facing front.

“That’s hell to me,” he mutters.

“It won’t last forever,” I say, trying to console him. The minutes tick by. We hear the distant sounds of feet and wheels. There are confusing echoes but the sounds appear to be coming from the Decepticon side of the building.

“Scrap!” exclaims Swerve quietly. At least two fairly heavy people are approaching. They’re not especially fast but they move steadily in our direction and then go past.

“Now!” I say a few moments later. We burst out of the duct chamber, turn and fire our pistols at the back of the rear trooper. Our lasers have little effect. We notice immediately that this nearest person looks weird. He appears to be made of some kind of synthetic flesh with armour strapped around it. He’s bulky and has curly horns on his head. He seems to be a bizarre hybrid of technology and simulated organic tissue. He turns around and we see that his face is fashioned like a skull from an alien planet. It’s rather intimidating. We’re achieving nothing here so, simultaneously, we decide to flee. We transform to vehicle mode and speed away. The strange Decepticon returns fire with bigger lasers and also shells, wrecking the corridor behind us. The ground shakes. I can stay on track but Swerve doesn’t have my skill. He collides with the walls again and again. I slow down to stay with him.

“Who was that?” asks Swerve as he strives to drive straight. “That awful grinning skull thing…”

“Skullgrin,” I venture. “He’s had a massive upgrade. He’s a scare trooper now.”

“That would make sense,” says Swerve. “We didn’t stop to chat, though. He doesn’t seem to be chasing us.” No more weapons fire is landing near us. We can still hear concussions in the distance. We can feel them under our wheels. We can feel them in our steely bones. We’re both materials scientists with great sensitivity to our physical surroundings.

“Faster Swerve!” I warn urgently. My sensors are detecting very ominous sounds and vibrations. All around, metal creaks, cracks, fractures and breaks.

“I told you!” yells Swerve. He sees the same major problem.

“Three kilometres to the nearest exit!” I yell back. “We can make it!”

“I don’t think so!” replies Swerve. Less than a kilometre ahead, the ceiling collapses. Our way is blocked. We divert to another corridor. We make good progress for a minute. We’re nearly out of the tower complex when a huge girder falls across our path. There’s no way forward. More debris slams down behind us. There’s no way back. We transform and hurl ourselves into a room on the left. We hope that there’s an escape route here. Seconds later, a cascade of debris crushes the far side of the room. We hear further falls in the corridor behind us. We’re trapped between deadly, impassable mounds of scrap. Then, the worst happens. We hear crashes that get louder and louder until our audio receptors burst. We’re assailed by gigantic shockwaves. The whole room tips sideways and drops into a slanting pit, sliding down and buckling as it goes. It’s what we feared: the entire tower is falling. It’s a cataclysm for the local area and… somehow… we’re surviving.

After a rough, jarring descent, we come to a juddering halt. Our luck is holding. I sense that there are major girders around us. They’re shielding us from a crushing death. We stay still and try to sense other dangers. Tower material is still falling and settling, especially behind us. Swerve tries talking to me. I can’t hear him. I point to my audio receptors and shrug. He taps his own and smiles a little. I scratch a word on the wall:

‘Heal’

Swerve nods and we engage our self-repair process. Our internal systems replace parts with spares and rebuild our receptors, plus any other small damaged sections of our bodies. We can hear again. We’ve avoided serious harm so far but the day is far from over.

“We’re trapped,” says Swerve. “We’re blocked in all directions.”

“You’re right, unfortunately,” I say. “There’s a possible small tunnel available to the lower right but it’s covered with at least five thousand tonnes of steel.”

“I don’t suppose we’ll be rescued soon?” queries Swerve.

“Listen to the gunfire,” I say, pointing upwards. “Rescue’s unlikely. We’d better conserve energon. We might be in here for many days.”

“They’ll find us eventually, right?” continues Swerve. “I think that the wreckage is lightest ahead of us.”

“That’s the logical entry point but who’ll be entering?” I reply. “We need to be ready for captivity or even execution. Try to delete your sensitive data and memories.”

“You know that’s virtually impossible,” objects Swerve. “The sensitive and non-sensitive stuff are fused together. If we delete too much, we lose part of our personality and we won’t function normally.”

“That’s why I said ‘try’,” I retort. “No one will blame you for preserving your personality. Damn, I wonder how many died under here? They would’ve had no chance.”

“Our squad’s dead, surely,” says Swerve. “I could see it in their eyes back at the briefing. They knew that they weren’t going to survive the day.”

“We don’t know that yet,” I say. “Let’s see the bodies before we jump to conclusions.” We can do nothing but wait, monitor and examine our semi-squashed prison cell. Hours pass. We find some useful components in the walls and keep them for later. There are also some small energon cells that we store as snacks. We try to interface with building communications but nothing’s working. This tower was old. It had stood for at least a million years. It hadn’t had too many upgrades lately. It wasn’t considered high priority. There’s minimal safety equipment and no emergency supplies at all. The war had arrived without warning, except to those who paid the closest attention to social trends.

Outside, firing and explosions continue sporadically. There are also waves of energy. Warriors are using special weapons. Artificial gravity is making things heavier and dragging them down. Antigravity is making things lighter, even making them float away. Magnetism is being strengthened and weakened. Radiation is drilling tiny tunnels through the rubble. We feel it needle us. Unknown energies are twisting and breaking metal here and there. It’s quite disconcerting. Will our accidental stronghold remain intact? Next, the unconventional warfare starts to affect our mental health. Exotic energy interferes with our thoughts.

“Scrap! Must they?!” exclaims Swerve angrily. “Regular war is enough. They don’t need to tap the aether too!”

“All things must pass,” I say. “Just wait it out.” Swerve tries to emulate my relaxed demeanour but he’s not like me. He’s more ‘highly strung’. I know his main problem right now, though. Everyone does. The exotic energy tends to release old traumas and make us relive them in new, dreadful ways. Some call these episodes ‘flashbacks’. They’re not just images and sounds, though. They’re profound emotions from uncharted depths. They can be so bad that they kill. The only defence down here is strength of character.

Later, the fighting seems to be winding down and moving on. Swerve and I are still struggling with our inner demons. We’ve never been exposed to exotic energy this long before. We’re trying to stay cheerful by thinking of better times but bitter-sweet nostalgia claws at us. Swerve paces about and stretches, occasionally transforming to vehicle mode and back. We’re confined to a roughly triangular area of about three hundred square metres. The ceiling is nineteen metres from the floor but on one side it droops down to ten metres.

“More stress noises,” says Swerve, stopping in his tracks. “The tower material might collapse further below ground baseline.” I listen carefully. I’ve never heard it this bad before.

“You’re right,” I say. “More sections are compressing at around the one-kilometre level below baseline. Robots are converging on the area. I don’t know if they can fix it in time.” Swerve trembled with fear. All planetary scientists on Cybertron knew the dire perils of runaway, subsurface collapse. It could escalate into a regional or even global disaster.

“A neighbouring tower is also subsiding,” I report. “This one’s bigger. The war is preventing engineers from making it safe. In a few days or even hours, it might fall.”

“Primus save us!” pleads Swerve. “I mean it this time!” He tries to interface with the planet via the wall but it’s useless. I get up and look around for any kind of escape possibility. There are tiny gaps that I may be able to exploit with a drone. I could build one right now but that would leave me short of spare parts. Also, there’s no guarantee of clear passage to the outside. I decide to wait. At some point, my people should send in heavy lifters and excavators to free us. In the meantime, our god Primus is all we have. He’s the one who sends the droids and robots. I notice an upsurge in mini-droids. Dozens are squeezing out of random cracks and fanning out around the room before exploring other cracks. It’s unusual but then I suppose we have to expect it in a war like this.

As time goes on, the unpredictable sounds of subsidence diminish, to be replaced by a more regular thumping. We’ve heard this before. It’s reassuring. Robots far below are methodically replacing damaged supports. The frequency of the thumps indicates that they’re also adding extra supports. Of course, this will make deeper tunnels fewer and narrower but it’s a price we have to pay in these tumultuous times. The distant rumbling and banging move across steadily from east to west. The further they go, the less likely it is that the latest collapse will do lasting damage to the planetary structure. Swerve becomes visibly more relaxed. However, this is short-lived. One of the large robots is coming our way. There must be at least one major tunnel still open below us. Why is it ascending? Surely, this area is lower priority!

“Well, come on then!” says Swerve to the thing under the floor. “Don’t keep us in suspense. Either make us into robot food or go away!” I wouldn’t recommend this kind of audacious behaviour but I sympathise with it. The robot seems to halt about two hundred metres below us. It’s odd but there could be something to fix down there. All we can do is wait and listen as small pieces of debris continue to fall. Tink! Thunk! Clonk! Clatter! It’s almost soothing. We find ourselves relaxing. It’s like coming home … to ourselves. I see Swerve smiling when he was afraid only moments ago. We realise something at the same time. We lock eyes.

“Psychic attack!” I warn him but it’s too late. It has to be that robot below, I surmise. Yet I’ve been wrong at least once today already. Is this a new war tactic or, perhaps worse, an attack from other forces? It’s obvious from Swerve’s frozen expression that any joy he feels is mixed with apprehension. We don’t know what’s coming. It starts to seep into our sparks. Something is peeling me back, layer by layer. That’s not a good description but I can’t do better right now. I feel many emotions intruding into my mind: a sense of superiority, eagerness to do harm, detached curiosity, a desire to disrupt, impatience, keenness to subjugate and many others. This is a joint effort. It feels like the Decepticons but I thought that they’d cut their psychic connections. I’m very confused.

“I can’t take this!” exclaims Swerve. He goes over to the spot where there may be a tunnel, in the lower right part of the room. He pulls up floor panels and tosses them fifty metres to the far wall. A few more chunks of metal follow. I walk up behind him. I’m dizzy because of the assault on my mind. We see a dim cavity, illuminated by a few small lights.

“I’m going in!” says Swerve. Before I can stop him, he drops into the hole and slides down. He almost disappears from view. I can see his silhouette wriggling away. Some plating gets in the way. He kicks it hard. The clanging echoes around. The plating gives way and he slides into another area. This has more lighting. I see him land on a patch of flat floor below.

“I made it!” says Swerve excitedly. “That was lucky! I found the robot.” He staggers and drops to one knee. The psychic attack is affecting him more now. I feel it too. I have to help him. I slide down the tunnel. It’s rough and sharp in places but I get through easily enough. In the next room, I find the robot that’s trying to defeat us mentally. It’s a standard, small model but it must’ve been modified on the inside. It may be a small model but it’s still at least ten times bigger than me. My pistol wouldn’t penetrate its armour. The only way I can deal with it is by interface. I find an access port on the robot’s flank.

“Swerve, help me!” I say. He’s recovered a little. He walks over unsteadily. We both position our finger connectors next to the access port and plug in…


* * * * *


There’s an abrupt, radical change in my point of view. I’m tumbling in a spiritual maelstrom.

Suddenly, I’m an organic. I’m afflicted with a genetic illness. It aches so much…

[Tune the zihone up.]

There’s an instant transfer to another place. A beast lurks in the bushes. I have no protection.

[Hold it steady.]

Again, we switch sites. Apparently, this is a different time.

[Bring out the raw.]

Someone attacks. I’m hit in the head. I’m out cold.

[Oscillate the phariom.]

Awake again. Shifting once more. A plague hits. Death surrounds me.

[Ramp the harsive.]

Slammed into another life of hardship. Enslaved. My joints burn with exhaustion. The injustice…

[Getting close now.]

Switched to a freer life but my partner hates me just for being me. The relationship is failing. It’s so demoralising.

[Tweak envasone.]

I’m starting to understand. Another life. The crops have failed. We will surely starve.

[Maintain.]

Moving to an execution day. They’re making me dig my own grave. I can side-step if I swing my weight right about…

[Is he going under?]

Yet another life, yet another predicament. Caught in the wrong place. Flames rush toward me. They’re too quick. I can only let the fire burn me, starting with my clothes. Now!

[Frak!]

[He got free. Try again.]

[I can’t. He’s out of range. I have no leverage.]

[Focus on the other one.]

They’re actually in our sparks. They’re reading our incarnations. They’re tapping our emotions. They’re trying to drag us down!

[Suffer, you shoddy little truck!]

I must save Swerve!

[Try anything and he dies.]

In the physical world, the robot can crush us both. I call out to Swerve. They block my voice but he might have heard me for a split second. I can feel him struggling. We’re no strangers to a shared mental realm. He should be able to get loose soon.

[Secondary provisions.]

Now they’re bombarding me with negative vibes. They know some of my weak spots.

[What is it with this one?]

Hah! Don’t they remember anything about the past? I do! I’ve spent many years learning about my old incarnations. It wasn’t easy but now it pays off.

[Resilient little buggy.]

We talked about this recently, my comrades and I. The enemy made a radical shift. They tried to forget their networked past. The separation of civil war is their priority. We don’t know why. It seemed very unwise. Wasn’t there another way? My deep pain from multiple lives haunts me, burdens me, tries to sink me completely. I fight heroically to stay afloat, stay alive, resist this twisted form of assault.

[Try life 38, subject 2. Zihone down, harsive up.]

I’m stuck right now, both physically and mentally. They keep hitting me with those vibes. It’s so irritating! How would they like it?

[Twist phariom full.]

Can I affect them? Who are they anyway?

[He’s remembering a fine torment. Let it play.]

I simply have to will myself into their sphere.

[Something’s happening. There’s a dilution.]

It’s not working. A new influence has appeared.

[This is spark-borne. A failsafe of some kind. Never seen it before. Not like this, anyway.]

A profound calm is rising, like a cool mist.

[Vary envasone in both directions every two seconds.]

Whatever it is, I love it!

[Frak this to the void. Subject 2 is gaining the initiative.]

Swerve, hear me. You can free yourself.

[Experiment will fail very soon.]

Come on, you small-hauling worry-bundle!

[Shutting it down. Withdrawing remote virtual testing construct.]

You’re out!


* * * * *


We’re both out. We’re back in the semi-collapsed room. This is reality again. We’ve overcome this latest new evil influence. The robot sits there motionless, hulking and impotent. I’m a bit shaky but relieved. This mental assault was something I could overcome. I look to my right. Swerve’s standing there, unresponsive. I poke him with my finger. He collapses on the spot, unconscious. It’s been too much for him. With difficulty, I turn him to a more comfortable position. He needs recovery time. I do too but I’m stronger in this sort of situation. I examine the robot. I open parts of it. There have been many small alterations in the circuitry. Some were done well while others were more awkward. The robot wasn’t the perfect vehicle for this Decepticon scheme.

I link to some of the components to investigate them. I don’t use the designated link points since those might still be dangerous. Judging by electrical traces on the macro- and micro-wires, there were more than ten Decepticons operating in the robot’s systems simultaneously. There are residual codes and commands in subsidiary memory areas. They indicate considerable expertise and high levels of clearance. Some excellent minds were working on this. It must have been important, to draw those minds away from other, vital duties. I don’t have the resources to investigate much further. I hope that the robot stays where it is so that my comrades can do a proper analysis. Anyway, there’s not much I can do until rescue comes. Perhaps I can help Swerve. He did want a personal link, after all. I hold his hand.


* * * * *


“What happened?” asks Chop Shop as he returns from another robbery mission. His Insecticon team is waiting for orders in Decepticon Central Command H.Q., Helex City.

“He nearly punched me in the face,” says Bombshell. “Shrapnel stopped him.”

“If he tries that again, he’s getting a hundred thousand volts in the aft,” smirks Shrapnel. “He may be a great asset but no one screws with us and gets away with it!” The others laugh.

“I’ve never seen him so angry,” says Venom. “Usually, he’s Mr. Tall, Dark and Unsettling.”

“It’s hardly surprising,” says Kickback. “His plan seemed foolproof but then it was foiled by an undiscovered part of our sparks.”

“It wasn’t undiscovered,” says Bombshell. “I knew about it. A lot of people did.”

“There was no evidence!” says Barrage. “There’s no way to measure it. This is the first time that its existence has been even partly confirmed.”

“It makes sense that it’s there, though,” says Chop Shop. “Primus’ unquenchable fire is in all of us. Something has to cool it down so that we can function without constant rage.”

“Hold on, he’s coming back!” warns Venom. The Insecticons watch as the subject of their little discussion emerges from Shockwave’s private office and walks quite slowly down the corridor toward them. As usual, he exudes a sense of dread that makes everyone tense and sit up, if only a little. His colours are fairly bright in some lighting conditions but his aura makes him seem darker, like a gloomy grey shadow man stalking around, always slightly threatening. He stops by the Insecticons and turns to face them.

“I apologise,” he says to Bombshell. “It won’t happen again. Your cerebro-shells were not responsible for our failure.” Bombshell nods his acknowledgment.

“That’s uncharacteristic,” observes Barrage. “Normally, you expect everyone to cower before you.”

“The global situation obliges me to change,” says the aerial warrior. “For a start, I have decided to change my name. Henceforth, refer to me as ‘Dirge’.”

“Ooh, I like it!” says Kickback. “No one really liked your old, long name. It was quite a mouthful.”

“Indeed,” says Dirge. “I must modernise in order to cope with this fast-paced conflict.”

“What about that plan of ours?” says Bombshell. “Is it completely cancelled?”

“No, not completely,” replies Dirge. “Obviously, we cannot defeat the Autobots with a psychic offensive as I’d hoped. However, we can use what we learnt. The levers of fear still work, although they aren’t as effective as I’d reckoned.”

“So, what’s next?” asks Shrapnel. “What are the practical applications?”

“All Decepticons will be given upgrades,” says Dirge. “As far as possible, all of us will be given the ability to broadcast fear-inducing signals. These may be sonic, electromagnetic or even gravitational, nuclear or exotic. This should give our entire army a crucial edge.”

“Most of us don’t have your skill in this field,” says Venom. “I’m more of a chemist myself.”

“You will learn in time,” says Dirge. “Everyone can use the ability a little. It simply takes application.”

“I look forward to it,” says Chop Shop. “It could be very helpful.”

“As I’ve been saying all along,” says Dirge. “The more we can terrorise the Autobots into submission, the less actual fighting and dying will be necessary.”

“That’s almost an Autobot sentiment!” scoffs Shrapnel.

“It’s a practical sentiment,” retorts Dirge. “This war is still young. It will only become more difficult in future. I’m trying to help us all.”

“That’s enough,” says a voice over the airwaves. “Less chat, more work. Insecticons, take the next available shuttle to Cambluz. You are to assist the 45th Battalion. It’s infiltration again, naturally.” Shockwave’s orders have to be followed with great care and zeal.

“Yes sir,” say the Insecticons in unison as they get to their feet and prepare to leave. They transform and mass-shift into their tiny, insectoid forms and then buzz away down the corridor. They have their outstanding abilities and now…

“Dirge, take your retuned engines and wreak havoc,” continues Shockwave. “Choose your own battleground. Terrify the enemy. Crush their morale. I want twenty five percent more casualties today. Prove yourself to us.”

“With pleasure!” says Dirge, smiling broadly for once. He opens a wall hatch, transforms to flight mode and speeds away to the front lines. He can’t wait to see what he can do now. Using multiple cameras, Shockwave watches him go. He’s eager to see what results this new experiment will bring. He hopes that the Autobots will be more like that little twerp Swerve than his chum Beachcomber. Shockwave had been unnerved by the profound inner toughness shown by Beachcomber. If this is the measure of Autobot strength, Shockwave calculates a much-reduced chance of Decepticon victory. He needs urgent talks with Supreme Commander Megatron. He steels himself and opens a channel.


Notes

Dirge and his team of Decepticon researchers have developed a way to measure and manipulate energy waves that trigger and increase fear. They’ve created measurement scales for this purpose. The five main ones are Envasone, Harsive, Phariom, Raw and Zihone. These waves are primarily for use on Autobots but are also effective against many other species. I’m not scientific enough to describe these in full detail but perhaps someone out there can do it or has already done it!

Planet Cybertron has thousands of gigantic tower structures. These can only remain standing with constant maintenance by a massive, dedicated army of very strong robots. These are powered and controlled by the god Primus, who is based inside Cybertron. The Transformers, who live on the surface of Cybertron, help with some maintenance in the upper levels. However, their civil war has caused considerable damage to the towers, which sometimes collapse.

In my story series, Transformers are given life by Primus but their individuality comes from containing smaller souls, which were once organic beings. They were Primus’ original people, long ago, when Primus himself was an organic being. Primus was selected for godhood and then his entire species accompanied him on his cosmic missions. He also took other spirits with him, namely nature spirits that calmed him a great deal and prevented him from acting too rashly. The nature spirits also work against the fear weapon wielded by the Decepticons.