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Here's a 'short epic' (by my standards) that I originally began to write as a competition entry over on Allspark. The aim was to take one or two off-the-cuff Tech Spec details, odd things that appear only in the Specs, and expand upon them and give them their history. Rather than take one or two though, I managed to weave quite a few and complete the story with preludes to G1 and TWW canon fiction. I finally got around to completing it about 12 months beyond schedule, but now I'm pretty happy with it.

The result, Black Holes and Revelatiions - a sort of Fight-Club-meets-Indiana-Jones mixed in with an unhealthily explicit insight into the mythology of Transformer religion. Hope you enjoy it. Here's the first chapter.

Black Holes and Revelations
by gruff

CHAPTER 1 - Beachcomber

Iacon, Tarn and Ricon, amongst others, had been in chaos for some time. No official declaration of war had been made by any party; it seemed no-one dared to admit the mobs of ill-disciplined punks belonged to an outright faction. Laws were made on the street by posses of self-proclaimed peacekeepers, hell-bent on nothing but ironic lawlessness. It was martial law, just that no-one was marshalling, and law itself was little more than a moral suggestion, or in some areas a distant memory. Once the work dried up and the traders left with whatever their meagre forms could carry, the vandals and looters had turned to bandits and rioters, swearing vengeance on authorities, pledging allegiance to fledging gangs. Words like 'loyalty', 'justice' and 'honour' were juggled across the airwaves, their respective definitions changing as fast as the territorial boundaries of the rival syndicates of powerful propaganda.

Most of the Cybertron's urban populous remained neutral on the issue of such steadfast segregation, choosing to remain banded to the unbranded, or to the more civilian and political arms of the Autobots and Decepticons around the planet. Apathy towards either main party still prevailed, the lawless thugs of these devoured cities choosing to remain loyal to their ilk, fanning whichever urban splinter had absorbed their energies. The armies of the Autobots and Decepticons were still in their infancies.

The Autobots and Decepticons of these cities foretold the inevitability of war. Their diplomats were barely able to negotiate the pickets of unruly protesters lining the streets to the embassies, much less able to negotiate the unrealistic dreams of loaded concession. But the recent closure of the Autobot embassy in Rait, a poor downtrodden neighbour of the rich industrial city of Vos and a haven for Decepticon propaganda, did little to dispel these rumours of pending conflict.

The Knuckle Pit was located in a dirty recess of Rait and had been the underground venue of hardcore street brawling for years. It was fronted by a now long-since-derelict bar and had been home to several rival gangs over the years. In terms of real estate, functionality and domestic security, the Knuckle Pit was pitiful, almost value-less; in terms of symbolism, the Knuckle Pit was priceless. It defined to the urban masses who was in charge and it demanded respect.

But by the time the gangland warfare threatened to engulf the entire city, the Knuckle Pit and its neighbourhood had long-since suffocated. Protection money was no longer collected; there was neither anything nor anyone left to protect. The Knuckle Pit's iconic status was nothing more than a faded memory, barely an itch on nostalgia. It was no longer about territory, but now it was about something much more important; it was about pride.

The streetfighters known as ‘Knuckle’ had formed from the remnants of the illegal fight club and a number of nomadic gang members searching for a new home fit for their allegiance. They came, they saw, they fought. It was little more than barbaric combat for the mere sake of it. Whoever was in charge of Knuckle could staunchly proclaim their status as Kingpin, a position paid for in respect over energon or money. That mechanoid was Bludgeon, and to him it was a position of street authority and respect the official authorities had long-since relinquished.

The clan sat outside and basked in the morning glow that energised the daily cycle of smog and grime floating in the filthy air. They awaited the return of the morning reconnaissance team, a quartet of rough and ready fighters whose role as investigators was superseded by their requirements to loot and steal whatever could be found.

Bludgeon stood up from his makeshift chair and walked around his team. Knuckle comprised around twenty hardened robots, some former soldiers, but mostly mechanoids toughened from a life of social negligence. The group was silent and Guttersnipe sat on the edge of the street, mindlessly spinning a small, bladed weapon in his hands when his team leader lashed out a hand.

In an instant Bludgeon had whipped his social subordinate onto his front, arms interlocked and focused on critical joints found on Transformers’ bodies. Using his weight to counterbalance the efforts of the struggling Guttersnipe, in one fell manoeuvre Bludgeon flipped Guttersnipe in two simultaneous directions pushing his face into the dirt. His hold had the robot at his mercy, the weight on his neck complete with Bludgeon’s poise with his feet acting as pivots, Guttersnipe’s neck could have been snapped effortless in two had it so taken Bludgeon’s fancy.

"You are a disgrace to Knuckle." Bludgeon spat, adding a little more pressure to the neck of his unmatched foe. Guttersnipe grunted with his one arm restrained by Bludgeon, his other free arm flailing in submission. Knuckle prided itself on alertness and readiness for fight, but Guttersnipe’s momentary lapse had allowed Bludgeon to unleash a devastating attack on this unwitting fool. Bludgeon was the head of Knuckle for a reason. Though strong, he was not the strongest; though fast, he was not the fastest. But Bludgeon was an intelligent robot who oozed confidence and was the leader for he was simply the best overall fighter of the team.

Some months earlier, Knuckle had been challenged by Poison, a rival clan from the other side of the city for supremacy of Rait. Knuckle’s then-leader, Roach, had been killed along with a number of other members of Knuckle, but for every Knuckle casualty, Poison suffered three-fold. Since then and to this day, Knuckle had remained undisputed.

From the chaos and misguided clan came a few would-be leaders, but only Bludgeon and his rival Banzai-Tron had any credibility. They were both skilled and able, both strong and influential. They were both intelligent and both heroes of the fight between Knuckle and Poison. They were both natural fighters, both gifted in the art of Crystalocution, the ancient Cybertronian martial art. The difference was in their ruthlessness.

Pity was a word lost on Bludgeon. He took each conflict as a fight for honour and despised cowards. He would rather die than lose, so he claimed, and there were few to dispute him of this claim. He expected this level of commitment from all his fighters, whether it was in the streets of Rait or in the compounds of the Pit. To see his fighter squirming beneath his feet caused conflicting emotions. He was disgusted to see a fighter, a Knuckle fighter no less, without the means or honour to fight his way out. It had been too easy and now he was prepared to beg for his life. A Knuckle fighter, begging for his life; was there anything more disrespectful?

Banzai-Tron had suffered a serious injury in the fight against Poison rendering him unable to transform. He retained all his robotic fighting prowess however, just that any attempt to revert to his alternate mode resulted in an escalation in his injuries. He had accepted this trophy as an injury of war and was proud to recognise his ‘destiny’ to remain in robot form forever. Besides, he had Razor-Sharp now, a hovercraft and weapons system that allowed ample additional mobility where required. But what made him weak in the eyes of Bludgeon was that in the attack the opportunity to bury the robot that inflicted the injury was overlooked. Banzai-Tron had shown a level of compassion Bludgeon considered inappropriate and released his opponent. His opponent’s name was Kickoff.

The episode changed Kickoff forever. He was at the mercy of Banzai-Tron and that he chose to allow him to live rather than kill the foe that had taken away his ability to transform, the most humiliating disorder of all Transforming races, Kickoff pledged a level of allegiance rarely seen outside a military institute. Kickoff rejected his brethren and joined Knuckle and while this had been met with disapproval and mistrust, Kickoff soon proved his loyalty to his new clan and was finally accepted.

This difference in philosophy between Banzai-Tron and Bludgeon was a stumbling block in Knuckle and both he and Bludgeon had learned to compromise. Banzai-Tron was in a perpetual battle to convince Bludgeon the humiliation of defeat was a greater indignity for the loser than that of the victor not to inflict the killing blow. And while Bludgeon agreed to no longer kill all that succumbed to his skills Banzai-Tron agreed never to contest Bludgeon for leadership.

This new-found sense of order over slaughter bolstered both the morality and tightness of the group. Bludgeon no longer killed his clan in ‘practice’ duels, but inflicted the greater pains of defeat. His fighters learned from their mistakes and improved as fighters.

Most fighters were punks powerful and fast, but without the finesse of a disciplined art form like Crystalocution. Though none were in the same league as either Bludgeon or Banzai-Tron, they were at least beginning to hone their aggression into graceful and intelligent moves over powerful, if unstructured blows. With Banzai-Tron he marshalled Knuckle into a robust unit of fighters capable of individual and team combat, regimented like an army.

There was a certain sense of pride creeping into Knuckle as its members began to refine their moves. Even rough punks like Blades and Rumble began experimenting with martial arts and learning from more experienced players in an effort to elevate their fighting standards above common punches, kicks and grapples. Other arts crept into the catalogue of fighting techniques wielded by Knuckle and those with additional abilities, including Bugly and Shrapnel, even drew inspiration from greater powers such as Circuit-Su.

So even though there was no immediate danger from Poison or any other would be foe, the occasional sass of his robots did not go unnoticed and to see Guttersnipe lay down his guard like this, aroused feelings of both disgust and opportunity within Bludgeon. He continued to fuel his adversary with both physical and mental pain ignoring the eyes that narrowed with disapproval from under the semi-translucent visor of Banzai-Tron. But by now, the point was made. "Disgrace." Bludgeon repeated quietly, shoving Guttersnipe over with a strong kick and releasing him from the potentially lethal hold.

The group remained in silence for a while longer, a couple of the team perhaps indulging in sparring and other quiet training while they waited for whatever loot the recon team of Switchblade, Joyride, Venom and Shrapnel might have yielded. Bludgeon returned to the debris that formed his chair and sat down, revealing two swords of incredible sharpness that Bludgeon somehow felt needed sharpening further. He spent the next few minutes grinding out micro- and perhaps even nano-level imperfections in an effort to pursue greater longevity from his weapons.

His attention was captured in a microsecond as Banzai-Tron stood to acknowledge the arrival of the stash-laden quartet. They smiled as they dumped the energon supplements, oils and other fuels before their team. Venom said nothing but finished the haul by tossing a small item through the air to Banzai-Tron. Bludgeon leapt up and flashed his two swords in a swift if delicate motion into a single hand capturing the object mid-flight as if wielding enormous tweezers. "What do we have here?" He asked silently with a change of facial expression, reaching out and taking the object from between the blades.

It was a data cube, an Autobot data cube, marked with classification insignia denoting importance. "Is it cracked?" he asked of Venom who shook his head revealing the code encrypting the cube required breaking. In turn, Bludgeon tossed the cube to Mindwipe that he might be able to decipher the complex mask. The haul of provisions was divided and consumed while Mindwipe worked on the cube, passing comments on the surprising level of encryption. "Where’d you get it?" asked Bludgeon.

Venom and Rumble looked at each other with a smile. "Some robot called Beachcomber." Rumble explained. "Found him lost in Rait; we had to tax him." He smiled. He went on to describe the mess they left the Autobot in. "He put up a fight, really didn’t want to give that cube up."

"So we figured it was important," Shrapnel continued, "so the more he held back, the more with prised it from him." He laughed, raising his hands slightly as they glowed instinctively as they charged in memory of his electric deployment on the geologist. Banzai-Tron scowled another look of disapproval, but Shrapnel and the others just laughed a little more. "We won’t be hearing much from him in a while."

"Yeah," echoed Switchblade, "when we left he was in pretty bad shape." Mindwipe continued to mumble about the incredible level of security on the cube but Bludgeon ignored his complaints. "Don’t be too hard on yourself," Switchblade commented, "even Soundwave couldn’t break it."

Bludgeon looked up. "Soundwave?" He murmured. "What’s he got to do with it?"

Switchblade glanced over at Rumble. "Er, nothing," he continued a little uneasily, "just a figure of speech."

The rest of the morning was spent gorging and training while Mindwipe continued to work on the cube. Bludgeon was anxious and paced up and down alongside his code breaker while Banzai-Tron took charge of the training. The fact it was stolen from some weak and pathetic geologist was not of interest, just that it was so heavily encrypted it must have been important. And even if neither he nor the rest of Knuckle took an interest in the information it contained, it could be sold handsomely to someone that did.

"I think I got it." Mindwipe declared finally tapping a few keys on the only working console within the run-down neighbourhood. Bludgeon walked across and leant over his shoulder scanning the data that flashed over the screen. The data was raw and unstructured, just several series of binary and hexadecimal figures. "All we have to do is process it." He continued, scanning the code for the format. It was not long before the final piece of the puzzle was solved and the computer parsed the data into a more comprehensive display format. "It is done." He announced.

At first the data appeared to manifest itself as a set of plans, perhaps building plans, or some other large scale construction site, but as the two robots examined further, they discovered the plans in question were existing locations, not proposed sites. "Old data?" suggested Mindwipe.

Bludgeon shook his head. "Not with that level of encryption." He argued. He reached over and tapped at the console, altering the display orientation a few more times. "I think it’s a map."

Mindwipe looked over his shoulder at Bludgeon who reciprocated. "A map?" He asked. "Where to?"

Bludgeon smiled. "That’s the beauty of a treasure hunt." He stood up and told Mindwipe to keep looking while he committed the map to memory. "I’ll assemble a team." He turned around to see Banzai-Tron standing behind them both, and cursed himself for being so engrossed in the map he had failed to hear his second in command arrive, a self-indulged disregard for the rules of Crystalocution, the same rules he had made Guttersnipe suffer for just hours earlier.

"What is that?" He asked. "Some kind of map?" Bludgeon scowled and told him to leave them alone. But the damage was done and Banzai-Tron had already made his observations. He leant closer and Bludgeon’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Hey," he remarked, "I know this place, I think." Bludgeon leant in closer himself and reviewed the screen before shrugging and offering Banzai-Tron to elaborate. "This looks a lot like Bana," he explained, "an Autobot-governed city on the edge of the Verdana Chasm."

The Verdana Chasm was a crescent-shaped trench in the surface of the planet and formed a natural land border between the Autobot state Ferex to the north and the Decepticon-owned Stanix to the south. It spanned several miles at its greatest and was as deep as it was wide. "There’s a complex set of tunnels and other strange geological features." Banzai-Tron explained. The depth of the chasm was so great it tapped into the crust of the planet itself, rumoured to house pools of molten rock and metal ores. "And the tunnels are vents forged through the underground by the hot gases."

Bludgeon looked on as if it might refresh his memory of a place he knew little about. "And what’s the prize?" He asked. "Why the map?"

Banzai-Tron shrugged. "I don’t know, but whatever it is it cannot survive that heat, surely?"

The three of them studied the details some more before Bludgeon announced once more he needed a team to investigate, led by himself, naturally, and that Banzai-Tron would remain in charge as a defence against Poison, or any other ambitious streetfighters that might want a piece of the Pit in his absence. Banzai-Tron nodded, but was uncomfortable at being left out as he put it. The two of them left the Knuckle Pit’s command room leaving Mindwipe to scour the data for any more details on what they might find in the hot tunnels of the Chasm.

Bludgeon ordered eight volunteer Knuckle fighters to accompany him and Mindwipe. It went without saying that wherever Bludgeon went, Octopunch and Stranglehold would follow, but he had to turn down requests from Blades and Rumble; he wanted some of his tougher fighters to remain at the Pit to ward off would-be foes. Instead he called on Rippersnapper, Wildfly, Panic, Bugly, Crowbar and Switchblade to complete the team.

Mindwipe had come to the conclusion the map must have led to some energon source or another, although the encrypted data was sketchy on the subject to say the least. But the potential gains were there to be exploited and the squad moved out.

CHAPTER 2 - Soundwave

Soundwave was livid. The gall of Knuckle to even entertain the idea they might get away with what they had done threatened to engulf him in a flaming inferno of emotional rage. It was bad enough he had let something as trivial as Autobot encryption techniques baffle him as much as the data cube had done. Worse still was reporting to Megatron the information he had attained was not decoded yet, passing his own meticulous deadlines for efficiency. But if he was having a bad day, whoever took the cube was going to have a worse one.

He retraced he steps to the micrometre recalling the events. He had been angry that his efforts to decrypt the code had been affected by the emotional high of his latest conquest. He had been following Beachcomber for some time having intercepted radio calls to his commanders in Iacon about some observations he had made in the Ferex region of Cybertron. It did not matter to Soundwave what they were, of course, but whatever these findings were Megatron had to know.

The level of detail in his plans for the forthcoming invasion of Kaon could allow for no surprises. The Decepticons knew how many soldiers the Autobots had in their armies and where they might be. They knew their weapons status, their political situation, their influence on Neutralists. And they knew to the last cube how much energon the Autobots had and where. For the invasion to be successful there could be no surprises. If they had discovered an additional source, it had to be accounted for.

So Soundwave’s mission to take the data from Beachcomber was as trivial and mundane as it could have got. Locating the Autobot was as simple as he had predicted, able to monitor the airwaves and even the ground vibrations of his movement when he got close. He found himself in the dead land between Vos and Rait awaiting the naïve Autobot and the ambush he had prepared.

The slums of the area provided plenty of cover; there was very little law around here anyway, but the pitiful state of the city was home to energon junkies and other bum empties. Muggings and gang violence was part of life on the streets; no-one would bat an optic if they saw a small Autobot being overpowered by a larger, stronger robot.

Indeed, all had gone to plan. The unsuspecting Autobot walked right into the path of Soundwave. He resisted, of course, but he was too weak for the Decepticon Communications Officer. His valiant efforts were wasted and Soundwave was able to wrench the datacube from his personal cargo holds, leaving the Autobot geologist for dead in the rotting streets of Rait’s paradoxical suburbia.

It was another success, completed with the typical ease and efficiency worthy of Soundwave’s reputation. He wanted to make most use his time on the return journey by deciphering the code en-route. But his fuel levels were still on overdrive with the euphoria of his success and struggled to even bypass the first and simplest level of encryption. Soundwave was rarely emotional, but his feelings surfaced, they were volatile after such a time of being locked away.

He stopped and allowed himself a moment to recoup his thoughts and to regain his composure, aware of the eyes of deadbeat junkies in the dark alleys. He considered the cube again, but even he was not going to decode the cube without additional resources back in Polyhex. That was his problem; he was too efficient. He hated to waste the time it took for him to return to Megatron, travelling time where his mind was effectively redundant. He slipped the cube into a cargo hold of his own and marched down the street, scowling at the empties that dared to degrade themselves with their mere presence in his vicinity.

As he approached Vos where Astrotrain waited to take him back to the Decepticons’ headquarters, he made his reluctant report to Megatron that he was not yet in a position to divulge the information on the cube as he had unrealistically hoped. Megatron explained he would have the additional deciphering equipment ready upon his return. Soundwave closed the communication channel and instinctively reached the cube from his hold as if he might somehow make that head start he so desperately wanted.

To his horror, what he held in his hand was little more than scrap metal, a cunning switch. He had been robbed. He hurled the object to the ground with such force the scrap embedded itself into the hard metallic surface. He was fuming with rage, but he tried to control himself so as to recall exactly who might have made the switch. He would go back to the alley and kill each and every empty if necessary to find that cube.

But when he returned, he found the same deranged junkies that had left in the slums a few hours earlier. They were thieves, survivalists, but not idiots. They would not steal from Soundwave; the cube had no value to them and he was too much of a threat. No, it had to be something or someone else. He marched up to the first empty he found lying in the filthy slumber of a narcotic-induced shutdown. Without a moment’s hesitation, and in front of a half-dozen or so other contemptuous robots, with speed he produced his rifle and shot him dead with a single shot to the head. He meant business and they knew it.

"Who runs this neighbourhood?" He demanded, pointing the weapon at the next empty. He panicked and raised his hands in front of his face as if it might somehow prevent the powerful weapon inflicting the same fate. Soundwave barely paused, such was his rage. He pulled on the trigger and the rifle burst through the quaking limbs and penetrating the second robot’s head. As he turned to point at a third he was met with a chorus of screams calling the name he wanted to hear.

"Knuckle!" They cried, pointing in the direction of the Pit. This downtrodden rabble however was not his target. They were literally beneath his notice and ignored them as they scrambled to their feet to flee. Soundwave returned his rifle to his side and marched towards the Knuckle Pit.

The tall blue Decepticon approached the Pit with lively haste. Astrotrain was due to depart in less than six hours with a separate payload for delivery. He could not afford to miss this flight else risk waiting another day or two of tedious anxiety. He had to get the cube and fast.

The mid-afternoon haze was at its most intense as the dirt and dust mixed to form a discomforting smog. But Soundwave ignored the cooling fluids that seeped from his angry joints. He disregarded the overpowering stench of used fuels, oils and lubricants that backup up in blocked drainage sewers. Instead he focused on locating the cube and pressed on until the former bar was in sight.

He scanned the area all around trying desperately to ignore the internal chronometer that reminded him how precious little time he had left before Astrotain’s departure. But Soundwave was so used to his meticulous and efficient success he was rarely called upon to act under pressure. So when his target strayed into vision, he made an uncharacteristically rash decision.

He leapt out of his hiding place and grabbed Venom by the throat, powering him to the ground and landing heavily on his chest, his hand still held firmly about his neck. Venom was a known thief. He knew a good catch when he found one; it had to have been him. Besides he could practically read the panic in his mind without even using his powers of telepathy. He had his bot. He did not need to ask the stricken robot where the cube was, he knew his number was up. But the prone robot stopped struggling and even dared to emit a smile. What was that? Was he even laughing at Soundwave? Soundwave drew back his free hand and clenched his fist, preparing to launch it straight into the maniacal grin of his foe.

The strange object dropped from the air to the right of Soundwave as he knelt upon Venom’s chest, bouncing and clinking in the metallic dirt for a second or so. "Looking for something?" asked a voice from behind him. It was a simple ploy, a trick to divert his attention. He knew it was not the cube but he could not help but look, so inviting was the voice. Soundwave whirled his head around to see four Knuckle streetfighters stood with their hands on their hips. He froze; he knew he was already in too deep.

Powerdrift flew forward and tackled Soundwave from Venom, the two of them rolling in a heap. But Powerdrift was first to react leaping to his feet, leaving Soundwave lying face up, propped up on his elbows and staring at Redeye’s foot slicing the air at speed. It made contact with the Decepticon’s chin shearing a slice of metallic armour from his face in the process and sending him sprawling for his troubles.

The Officer rolled over a couple of times, trying to take to his feet and producing his rifle. Redeye leapt forward and kicked the weapon from his hands, and ducking the punch that Soundwave threw with his left hand. He unleashed a rapid succession of slight blows against the chest of his arm-flailing opponent before Soundwave finally fell to ground once more. Redeye leapt from the duel to allow a fellow fighter chance to take over. Joyride obliged.

The red and green robot stood in his preferred stance as Soundwave gingerly took to his feet. Soundwave lunged forward in rage swinging a powerful right hook at the fighter, but Joyride side-stepped the challenge and tripped the robot who crashed heavily to the ground again. He groaned in pain tried to stand, clutching his side, but Joyride showed no mercy, racing forward and grabbing Soundwave by the shoulders and forcing his chest down to meet the knee he was rising at speed.

Blades took over grabbing the beaten Soundwave from behind before he even had the chance to fall backwards, wrapping his arms around his neck in a painful hold. Soundwave staggered foolishly as Blades tightened his grip, positioning the razor-sharp blades on mounted on his arms against the Decepticon’s throat, a fine layer of his finish flaking away.

By now Venom had recovered from the attack and stood up to face the stricken Soundwave. But Venom was old-school and had no interest in the elegance of martial art, punching the Decepticon officer in the midriff until he keeled over in pain once more under Blades’ release. Soundwave groped around the floor with one hand struggling for inspiration to live as he clutched at the wounds in his body with the other. Venom stood atop the tired robot and rolled him onto his back with a kick.

In one last desperate attempt Soundwave ejected the concussion canon he kept hidden under a shoulder compartment. It was not designed for such short range attack and the backlash might well reach himself, but he was out of options. But in his mis-coordination, the shots from the cannon flew by the Knuckle fighters and harmlessly into the air. "Pathetic." Smiled Venom, kneeling down clasping a tight hand around his neck. Beneath his gold visor, Soundwave’s optics flashed left to right. Was this really how it was going to end? A respected Decepticon officer murdered by a bunch of roughneck street punks. But despite his lack of refinement, Venom had learned a thing or two about warrior pride and the greater weight associated with its breakage over death.

He squeezed a little tighter and leant in close. "You go and tell your boss that Knuckle is not for sale. You got that?" Soundwave mustered a slight nod of sorts. Venom nodded and released the Decepticon. "We won’t be moved. Not by you, and not by anyone. Now get out of here!" He demanded and kicked him a couple of times as he took to his feet. Soundwave scrambled to his feet, disgraced at the defeat and ran limping from the scene.

The group was still jeering him when Banzai-Tron arrived, demanding to know what was going on. "Ah, nothing." Redeye laughed. "We just wasted some loser from Poison or whatever."

Banzai-Tron activated his visor HUD and scanned for the robot hobbling away. His head began to shake involuntarily. "That wasn’t Poison." He stammered, turning to face Redeye. "That was Soundwave!"

Redeye turned to look at Venom, who shrugged. "I don’t care what clan he’s from, he’s not taking the Pit!" The other four chorused a grunt of communal solidarity. "He’s not…"

"He’s a Decepticon!" spat Banzai-Tron.

"I don’t care who…" began Venom repeating himself.

"A Decepticon!" repeated Banzai-Tron. "Not some street punk. Ah, Primus!" He staggered, slumping against a wall and sliding down until he was sat on the floor and propped up against it.

Blades and Joyride looked at each other. "You mean, the Decepticon Army?" Joyride muttered. Banzai-Tron said nothing, but his stern stare told him more than words ever could. "Oh, shoot."

Venom shrugged defiantly, pretending the repercussions of the episode were trivial. "So what?" He argued. "We can…"

"The Decepticon slagging Army!" boomed Banzai-Tron taking to his feet again and grabbing Venom by the shoulders. "We ain’t talking about Poison, x-18, NAB or the Vos Crew!" He recited a list of known fighting clans from the area. "We’re talking the whole freaking army here!" He repeated. "They’re going to level us!" He stressed. Banzai-Tron stared into Venom’s optics for a while longer before releasing him. His anger was directed at all of them, and each dropped their heads in shame. This was going to cost Knuckle dearly.

Banzai-Tron took a few steps back and considered the situation. "Okay, we’re going to have to act fast with this one." He pondered. "We’ll just tell them it was dark, he didn’t identify himself, and that, well," he paused from his stammer, "and we’ll have to compensate them." He paused again as he mentally went through their stocks of energon and their other acquirements in their inventory. Then it struck him. "Please tell me this has nothing to do with that damned datacube?" Venom said nothing, but shot a glance over at Powerdrift that revealed as much. "Ah, Primus!" Banzai-Tron cussed. "You tell me now and you tell me straight:" commanded Banzai-Tron, "where did you get that cube from?"

Venom squirmed a little. "Beachcomber." He muttered. "Sort of." Banzai-Tron’s optics narrowed. "Well, he got it from Beachcomber." He nodded his head in the direction of the departed Soundwave as Banzai-Tron brought a hand to cover his face in disbelief. He ran his fingers over his tired face as he shook his head to the tune of Venom’s tale of stupidity. "He beat the slag out of him and took it. We figured it was worth something and, well, he did it on our pitch." He tried to defend himself. "By rights that cube was ours to take."

Banzai-Tron’s head was still shaking. "So you stole it from Soundwave." Venom shrugged. To give him his dues, the ignorance of his methods refused to bow to the hypocrisy of discrimination. "Soundwave," he repeated, "you know, Megatron’s number two?" Finally Venom’s optics widened slowly until the point they threatened to fall from his face as he silently mouthed the name of the leader of military arm of the Decepticon faction. "That’s right, Megatron’s number two."

"Ah, shoot." Whispered Joyride again at the news of Soundwave’s elevated position in the Decepticon ranks. This was going to cost them more than the Pit, but most probably their very lives; there would be no talking their way out of this one. The realisation began to sink in. Between them they may have sealed the fate of Knuckle forever.

Banzai-Tron turned and left the broken fighters encumbered by the weight of their actions and returned to the control room. Just how was he going to explain this one to Bludgeon? He was already on the way to Bana with his team. Even with them Knuckle was no match for the Decepticon Army; without them, they could kiss goodbye to their whole clan. And this was too sensitive to broadcast on the airwaves. If by some miracle they were to survive the inevitable backlash by Megatron and Soundwave, they could not afford to let Poison and the others hear of their predicament. He blasted his hand on the communication console with such force the passing Kickoff heard.

He tapped on the doorframe, checking his friend and commander’s status. "You okay?" He asked stepping forward to see Banzai-Tron stood with his weight pressed on the console supported by his two rigid arms, his head lowered in angry contemplation. He lifted it up with a shake as he looked over at the fighter walking over. "I’ve got to go and find Bludgeon and call this whole thing off." He announced to Kickoff’s surprise. "Stay here and prepare; all Hell’s going to be let loose and when it does, I need you to be strong."

Kickoff nodded but was unaware of the forthcoming onslaught Banzai-Tron was predicting. "Who’s coming? What’s going on?" He asked as Banzai-Tron sprinted into the armoury, emerging with Razor-Sharp who transformed in his hovercraft mode.

"I’ll be back as soon as I can." He promised, leaping aboard. "I’ll leave them in your hands." Kickoff shook his head in disbelief as he watched his friend blast from the Pit and in the direction of Bana.

CHAPTER 3 - Bludgeon

Octopunch and Stranglehold led the group into the streets of Bana. Their rough appearances did little to blend themselves in with the snobbishly wealthy suburbanites of this part of the Autobot-led city. But Bludgeon and Mindwipe following the two tough Knuckle robots were unconcerned. The more they read from the datacube, the more they were intrigued by its mythical exposé.

According to the cube the Verdana Chasm was a deep trench that led far beneath the surface of Cybertron into its crust and beyond. There was nothing new about that particular piece of information. But the cube categorised this canyon as one of a handful of the ancient era, the era when the planet was in its infancy. Unlike other more modern trenches and crevasses, the Chasm was not formed by internal mining and other excavation work.

Popular rumour depicted the historical Cybertron as a relatively small planet, consisting of, if the Holy Testaments were to be believed, just twelve original cities conceived by the Twelve descendants of Primus himself. But over the thousands of millennia, these cities became overgrown with superstructures towering high into the sky. Little of Cybertron remained in its natural, raw form, instead was processed from the inside out and added to existing structures. The planet itself grew, resources from other planets mined to add to the blossoming world. Whole cities of yesteryear became buried under the growing height of newer cities. And unlike many new cities, Bana was not mounted above an old city, but upon solid metallic ores and rocks. The tunnels beneath Bana were natural and not the consequence of robotic evolution towards the stars.

This was what intrigued Bludgeon. These natural vents to the heat of the centre of the planet were of the true ancient era, perhaps untouched or unexplored for tens of thousands of years, maybe longer. According to Beachcomber’s report on the geological foundations of the city and its neighbourhood, the Chasm may have been one of the original vents that tapped into Primus himself. Mindwipe had smiled when he read this. As much as he had found his spiritual side by beginning to learn the art of Crystalocution, like so many minds, he was still sceptical on the origins of his planet, especially when someone wrote of the existence of Primus himself.

Bludgeon was more open-minded, however, and read on with interest. His belief was not of faith but of inspiration. Of course the mythology of the ancient times, the talk of titanic battles between two gods of an immortal realm, was not going to be entirely accurate. Scare stories by religious zealots kept god-fearing mechanoids away and doubters cynical. But rarely are thoughts without inspiration, regardless of the motivation for the thoughts.

Perhaps deep within the burning fires of the centre of Cybertron there was something of power, something that the poorly educated minds of the ancient era mistook for Primus himself. Maybe it really was Primus, after all? Probably not, but then again, no-one had ever disproved the clash of Primus and Unicron to his satisfaction either. It was not that Bludgeon was a zealot, just that he was not as apathetic to the origins of Transformers as a typical cross-section of Cybertronian society. So whatever it was in the depths of the vents, it was interesting and it was something that Beachcomber did not want the Decepticons, Knuckle or anyone else for that matter, to find out.

The remaining streetfighters brought up the rear marching regimentally as Banzai-Tron had taught them. They resisted the urge to break ranks and mug the closest, well-presented robot that surely sported riches that could be fenced for their own gain. Bludgeon had warned them that they were not to attract undue attention and they obliged. They began the day a little interested in the mysterious mission Bludgeon had requested of them, an escort to a place on an assignment of secrecy. But by now the strains of being left out of the loop were beginning to show.

Instructed by Bludgeon and Mindwipe, Octopunch and Stranglehold had led the group all around Bana’s suburbia, trying to find a discrete entrance to the vents. A number of possibilities had been found but his years of disciplined fighting had been translated into his non-hostile actions and Bludgeon was too meticulous to leave anything to chance. He was going to scour every inch of Bana to find the best available option, not one that might simply make do.

But by now the trade-off between finding a discrete entrance and the lack of discretion a group of ten rough-looking strangers could hope to maintain was coming to a fair balance and it was time for a decision. Bludgeon instructed his team to return to a spot on the edge of suburbia when the residential areas met an industrial zone. According to their map they might be able to bypass any security with minimal exposure.

The geothermal power plant was located where the crust was weakest. In this comparatively low-lying region of Cybertron accessibility to the molten heat source was preferable to the solar extraction techniques of high-rise cities like Iacon and Polyhex. As the molten currents beneath the crust shifted tectonically over time, every thousand years or so the power plants moved in sympathy for most effective gain. Bludgeon and Mindwipe selected a dormant plant that should have been inactive for several years, yet probably still sported machined tunnels leading to the natural vents and caverns beneath the surface. As dusk began to fall and the city was in that state of indecision between evening and night, the group left the shadows and into the plant.

"Keep your optics honed," Bludgeon ordered in a hushed tone, "and your footsteps weak." One-by-one they vaulted the locked gates of the abandoned power plant and back into the shadows of the other side. There was little like mystery to set the fuel pumps racing in anticipation. This facility had been owned by the Autobots and while it was out of action, there was probably some security presence ensuring potential thieves, not too dislike Knuckle, and other vandals were deterred from looting. The group had to remain alert to the danger, not just of being spotted but the wrath of Bludgeon himself should any of them jeopardise the hunt.

But for Bludgeon, the master of personal discipline, he did not feel the increased pressure pulsing through his fuel lines. He felt immune to the need for cooling fluids that might otherwise seep from his joints. Stealth was second nature. He crept forward with Octopunch to the entrance of the building whose shadows they disturbed and produced one of his swords. It was at times like this the ritualistic approach to maintaining his weapons came into its own. He slipped the blade into the crack in the door and sliced through the lock as effortlessly as a knife through warm oil. Octopunch caught the door and with Stranglehold lowered it silently to the floor. Bludgeon nodded to Mindwipe who signalled for the others to follow.

Once inside, they propped up the door and held it in place with temporary seals. "The perfect crime." Bludgeon whispered with a smile to Mindwipe. He produced the datacube once more and re-examined its contents trying to make sense of its decrypted yet somehow cryptic secrets. The two robots verified their position and the directions they might wish to take to guide themselves to their treasure, whatever that might be.

They walked freely around the deserted power plant until they reached the thick, heavy pipelines through which once pumped great volumes of superheated solutions to produce energon cubes. Rippersnapper and Octopunch opened the heavy door and released its seal for the first time in years. The pipe was dry, of course, and large enough for them to walk comfortably to one of the disused substations deep below the surface.

The pipe was old and eerie echoes blasted in axial directions with each step, and with each such step the air grew thicker and warmer. At times the gradual descent steepened and accelerated the effects until even Bludgeon felt the release of additional cooling fluids to reduce his core temperature. "And if I’m reading this thing correctly," continued Mindwipe concluding his talk with his team leader, "the substation should be right around here." He finished as they rounded a corner. From within the pipe it was impossible to simply open the complex internal valve, but once more Bludgeon was able to make use of his swords and slice their way through.

The substation was a simple room that formed a control junction for a number of geothermal pipes. Inside, the heavy noise from the more recently opened power plant a short distance away was the most prominent thing as superheated fluids pumped through tunnels deep into the ground. But importantly, and as predicted, this particular substation was disused, even though the one connected via a tunnel to the adjoining operational plant would probably be manned, the noise masked their presence.

But these tunnels were of no interest, nor were they concerned about the other pipelines. From here they could enter the vents themselves, the natural tunnels that fed deep into the crust of Cybertron and towards Primus himself, should they have believed the tales of the ancient era. Stranglehold, Bugly and some of the others removed the interior panelling until the hard ore-like makeup of the ground became accessible. Bludgeon and Mindwipe, still referencing the cube, instructed Panic to transform into this flail tank mode and stood back as he drove headfirst into the wall of the underground substation.

With an audio-scraping grind the dark blue tank dug through the rubble in the direction of a natural underground vent, loud enough that were it not for the transmitted noises of the other active plant might have been detectable, but they were undetectable. Crowbar and Switchblade broke up some of the exposed parts of the pipe they had used to break in and passed them to their clan-mates in the tunnel to prop up the roof for extra support. Rippersnapper and Wildfly lay in guard by the locked door should anyone from the active substation be foolish enough to have overheard their activities. Bludgeon and Mindwipe oversaw the operation and after around an hour or so Panic made the breakthrough they needed.

An intense blast of hot air burst through the weakened opening in the wall between the vent and the tunnel Panic was boring that momentarily threatened to topple those that reacted poorly. But as the pressure differential found a natural balance, a sense of calmness returned, and Bludgeon marched through the excavation with a grin. He pushed Stranglehold lightly to one side and slipped through the opening, ducking through the slight entrance.

The vent was huge, perhaps six times his height and at least twice as wide again. But the air was thick, heavy and smoky, filled with the smog of sulphur and other gases funnelling from the planet’s molten core. Bludgeon flexed his joints and satisfied himself that, though uncomfortable certainly, the heat did not pose a serious threat, at least not at this depth. He called for Mindwipe and the others to follow, but ordered Rippersnapper and Wildfly to remain on guard within the substation. What if someone comes? "Kill anyone." He told them coldly.

With more space to manoeuvre, the robots of Knuckle were able to transform and drive or fly through the natural geotechnical feature continuing their descent into through the crust of their planet. It was a short time before Mindwipe and Bludgeon resumed their speculative conversation. "This ‘power’ that he talks about," he commented of Beachcomber’s datacube, "it better hadn’t just be plans for another geothermal power plant."

Bludgeon said nothing, but was self-assured this was not the case. The power plant several thousand yards above was relatively new and the geotechnical movements of the crust had not altered the environment substantially for some time, at least according to Beachcomber’s cube. And according to the Autobot geologist, such drastic movement was not likely for some time to come. Beachcomber knew his stuff and there was no reason for Bludgeon to question his expertise. No, whatever was lurking down here was something altogether more mysterious than a source point for future geothermal energy.

They continued their long, slow controlled descent down the vent through the rocky Cybertronian ores encapsulating the group of eight. The heat became more and more intense as the shimmering haze met the whirling wisps of thick toxic gases. But despite the calls of unease by their team-mates, Mindwipe and Bludgeon could almost sense they were heading in the right direction, until they rounded a kink in the vent to see the chamber.

The cavern spread out into an enormous expanse and all directions. The thick smoke and gases prevented an accurate estimation of its size, but it was clear they had found their prize. The team rolled and flew forward, the heat growing perhaps by the yard, an eerie red glow disguised in the dark air. As they approached the cavern, smoke and gases blew angrily from cracks in the surface, the jets of hot air making for almost impossible flying. The group transformed into their robot forms,

"Where are we?" Octopunch stammered as the roof of the vent met the cavern, stretching higher than their optics could see in the gloom. The chamber was like an enormous bowl, a relatively narrow ledge ran around the rim of a deep crater-like volcanic bed of bubbling magma. Bludgeon took a few steps forward and peered instinctively over the edge into the deep chasm. Looking up he peered through the haze at the pipelines of superheated liquids that the Autobots had constructed to exploit the heat of the underground volcano for energon conversion.

"We are here." He replied, not the response Octopunch was looking for. He shrugged, wanting to know where ‘here’ was. Bludgeon smiled. "Tagen." He answered.