The Energon Pub

Garrus 9 – Amphitheatre

"Blot... Sinnertwin... Ripper... snapper... Hun-Grrrrrrr..."

That voice. So familiar. Yet somehow incredibly irritating.

“How nice of you to join me..."

Blot looked over to see where the voice was coming from, noting that Cutthroat had finally decided to wake up. Scowling fiercely, Blot lumbered over to the side of Cutthroat’s slab, his huge arms crossed over his chest as he glared down at the psychotic Terrorcon disapprovingly.

“You have no right to call the master by name, Cutthroat,” Blot growled out, “You disobeyed. Be grateful you are still alive.” If Blot had it his way, they would have killed Cutthroat. No one disrespects the master. Especially not someone like Cutthroat. But…Hun-Grr hadn’t given him permission to finish Cutthroat off yet. So he would live. For a bit longer anyway.


The hand on the shoulder was not something Slog had expected. Comfort? The Monstercon’s de facto leader twisted his head back around, expecting to see the little orange feme. Instead, he was greeted by a somewhat familiar face. Slog recognized him. He believed that he went by the name Kronus. He’d recently caused a scene in the yard. Primus, that seemed like a lifetime ago now.

“Your work….it was a privilege to even set my optics on it." Kronus gently patted Slog as he walked around the slab so he could easily look at the Monstercon in the eyes. “I imagine your life here was abhorrent. Not unlike my own." He sighed heavily. “Unable to create…"

“Not completely unable,” Slog replied softly, glancing over to the orange femme as she worked on his insides. At least this little scientist was gentle. Slog had half-expected the agony of Jhiaxus’s operations to return. “The guards were quite understanding of my hobbies. I did not mind life here.”

“I’ve acquired several of your pieces in the past." Kronus chuckled lightly but quieted rather swiftly. Slog’s optics narrowed slowly. “I have to say, they kept me comfortable for several meta-cycles, and then some."

“I did wonder where some of my pieces kept disappearing to,” Slog muttered. Though in a way, it was flattering. He seldom got requests from other prisoners. Well. Requests that he didn’t reject outright anyway. His primary clients had been his team. His Monstercons. Slog issued a soft sigh. If only he had known them then as he did now, then maybe…things…He would be…

The thief squatted down so he was now face to face with the restrained Slog, breaking his train of thought. “I’m interested in one particular sculpture…" Kronus smirked. “It was mesmerizing. Deep. Thought provoking. It's colored a heavenly blue with flames adorning its sides. I had always hoped to see it again. Have you an idea of where it might be now?

“Ah, that? Hm…I believe I…” Slog trailed off, staring at Kronus suspiciously. Perhaps he would go to steal it as well? Hm. Well. It was better traded than left to rot in this prison. Plus, it was kind of flattering that one thought his work good enough to trade. “I gave that one to Icepick. I would hazard a guess that it is in his cell.” Slog tilted his head slightly to glance at Icepick a few slabs away. “Is it still there, Icepick? The Flames of War? It was blue.”

Firewire glanced over to Kronus, impressed with him despite herself. He was a pretty smooth talker. Got Slog’s mind off of assisted suicide anyhow. She was finishing up herself. The countermeasures were installed as per Lord Scorponok’s specifications. All that was left was to close him up, a process made swift by her extra appendages.

All finished with Slog’s modifications, she raised the slab back up and moved on to the next Monstercon, Icepick. Maybe she was a touch too eager to leave the depressed Slog alone, but it seemed that he needed some time. Or some distractions. Kronus could provide the latter anyhow.

“Hey there,” Firewire said to Icepick as she lowered his slab down, “I’m Firewire, just gonna be working on you a bit. Just a few tweaks to help us help you.” The cheer in her greeting had diminished slightly. She didn’t want to accidentally send someone over the edge again. “You’re…Icepick, right?” Firewire prepped her tools and disabled Icepick’s pain receptors for the operation. Beginning to dig into his torso, she repeated her earlier work. “How ya holdin’ up?”

Garrus 9 – Mines

Umbra listened with tempered interest. They were discussing an event that she had neither heard of or been present for, so most of it went over her head. However, when Pyro’s female companion spoke up, the beaten-up scout glanced over to her. A friend or foe signature set, hm? That seemed like it could be useful in blending in. Amaranth bounding toward Umbra, however, made the agent’s optics widen a little as she stepped back. “Uh…”

Umbra had the sneaking suspicion that she had just been volunteered for something. She wasn’t quite sure how crazy she was about that. Avoiding death seemed to be her new specialty, but…she didn’t want to be thrust headlong into danger if it could be helped. She’d had enough close encounters for one day. Last thing she needed was to bump into one of those monsters from before. Icepick wouldn’t be around. Nor would Bludgeon.

Wait. She was a reconnaissance agent! A scout! She used to do this all the time. Umbra felt her nerve wavering though. Why? Was it because…she wasn’t sure about risking it all for a cause that she wasn’t sure she believed in anymore? Gah…Umbra frowned unhappily as she and the others shuffled down deeper into the mines.

Umbra followed along, sticking close to Pyro and Pointblank. Some weird sounds reached her audio receptors, however, as they rounded the corner. "Pointblank, you asked what Whirl was up to? I think we are about to discover the answer to that question.”

“Whirl? Who’s Whirl?” Umbra asked, looking from Pyro to Pointblank.

Garrus-9--Mines

"I do not believe the planet is a total loss. At present it is out of our reach, but...once we do manage to find our way out of here, we can possibly regroup with Optimus Prime and work to fully liberate those people," Pyro said.

Pointblank nodded solemnly. It was an optimistic hope, to be sure. But Pointblank could use a little optimism right now. He certainly wasn't the best source of it. Never had been. Whatever lessons Pyro had picked up in his long orns trying to emulate the best qualities of Optimus Prime, this was one of the better ones.

"To do that we have to focus on the first step in our liberation."

Well, no argument there. Their survival in this situation would very much be a step-by-step situation. Too many wrong steps, such as the one Lightspeed had made not terribly long ago, and they would find themselves being scraplet munchies.

With Pyro's approach seeming to be generally agreed upon, the group started to press further into the mines.

"Pointblank, you asked what Whirl was up to? I think we are about to discover the answer to that question."

Oh Primus. What could that mean? With Whirl, the possibilities were endless. But before Pointblank could explore his curiosity any further, their newly-found Autobot Autobot ally had a question of her own. A question that Pointblank was, honestly, surprised to hear.

“Whirl? Who’s Whirl?"

If Pointblank were a different sort of mech, he might have jokingly asked what sort of rock Umbra had been living under in order to not hear anything about the exploits of one of the Autobots' most notorious soldiers to wear the badge since the days of Impactor. As it was, he just smirked a little.

"Whirl is, hm, how to put this....one of Autobot Command's perennial headaches. He's the blue guy with one eye we passed not too long ago. He's..."

Pointblank leaned in just a little bit more closely.

"...he's probably the mech that's going to single-handedly destroy any chance we have of getting out of here alive."
___

Garrus-9 Central--Amphitheater

Lightspeed waited for the worst of it to begin. Even so, it hadn't entirely escaoed his notice that the strange little mech who had a hand in interrogating them earlier had given him a slight wave. It was such an odd gesture and so un-Decepticonly that he had mostly put it out of his mind. She was a unique one, no doubt.

He just needed to hold on to some kind of hope that-

"Unnnghhh..." the Technobot groaned in sudden and intense pain as new physical adjustments were forced into place and electrical joint stimulation replaced the previously peaceful and soothing scanning procedures. Well, relatively peaceful and soothing. Lightspeed felt his body being forcibly transformed, but not into his standard alternate mode. It was close, but there had been numerous modifications made.

And he could feel every one of them.

Lobe's Laboratory

He watched helplessly as the psychotherapist prepared to sit only to have the chair….the chair he had retrieved for the doctor…collapse beneath the doctor sending him clear across the floor and the chair careening into a rack of experimental vesicants which proceeded to rain down on his work and on Synapse as therapist tried in vain to right his unfortunate accident.

All the while Lobe watched helplessly from inside his work station and from behind Synapse. The brain module he had been dissecting was now useless thanks to the vials’ contents.

“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry, old friend. I…I shall go to the chemical shower now…"

The poor mech stepped away; shoulders slumped in defeat while he made his way to the lab’s washrack. While the doctor was rinsing off the caustic specimen, Lobe went to work cleaning up the mess.

Lobe continued to clean while he approached his melancholy friend.

“I must again offer my most sincere apologies, Lobe. I cannot fathom why this happens every time that I enter your lab."

A small sigh escaped the neurospecialist as he stood beside and placed a hand on the shorter mech’s shoulder. He knew for quite some time that Synapse was plagued by misfortune. He had always suspected it was due to him being an outlier….albeit as very unfortunate one, but a mech with some kind of ability nonetheless. It had to be the only rational explanation for his continual…bad luck.

Lobe cracked a small but sincere smile. He’d known Synapse for vorns and was never truly surprised at the outcome of the psychotherapist’s visits.

“No worries, my friend. I’ve known you for so long I’ve come to expect such outcomes from our meetings. It’s why I frequently employ contingency plans…for just such occasions, of course.” He finished tidying the chemical spill and did away with the cloth in a hazardous waste disposal unit and then made his way to stand in front of the cybernetic owl.

This time is was the robot’s, standing before Synapse, turn to speak. “I can always request for more experimental subjects.” The robot standing beside Synapse patted his shoulder. “I will just have to accompany you down to the planet to take my pick of available Autobot prisoners. I’m quite certain Lord Scorponok will not require all of them.”

The mech before the therapist stepped back slightly as a troubled look crossed his features. “You are going down planet side aren’t you? Please tell me you are.”

Garrus 9 – Amphitheater

>>”Forgive me…I’ve had another incident. Nothing that will prevent me from completing your request. As I was saying, however, I would like to make a request of you too, Lord Scorponok. If you could, by chance, recover the inmates’ psychological files, I would be much obliged. I presume that we’ll have an influx of new troops due to the assault on the penitentiary? As you know, part of my duties are to assess the psychological states of our men. It would be much easier to do, however, with the aid of existing psychological profiles."<<

>>”Make a requests to Banzai-Tron and Reflector regarding the files.Sparkstalker and his team of Decepticon Secret Service techs working for me datamined what they could from the Autobot Command Center before the enemy managed to sabotage their own computer systems beyond point of no return. Whether or not these files were recovered is currently unknown to me.”<<

Scorponok replied back to Synapse. Requests such as these made directly to him by his underlings usually infuriated the Decepticon leader, he had a system set up to deal with issues such as this. Were Synapse not an old acquaintance of his, Scorponok's response would have been very different and even so his voice was more stringent than usual.

>>”You know I will hold you to that, my friend. When we both have a moment, I would like nothing more than to speak with you."<< Synapse paused as an errant thought crossed his mind. Scorponok was certainly busy, but…while the cyber-owl had him. >>"…Scorponok…The reports that I read state that we have found Jhiaxus? I believe he was an old associate of Cyclonus and Scourge, correct? Would you perhaps like me to speak with them as well?"<<

>>”As I said, that meeting will have to wait. However, more insight on Jhiaxus would be appreciated. I sent Scourge to track the fleeing enemy off-system, so he is unavailable. Nevertheless, Cyclonus is still planet-side. Arrange a meeting with him. Now, I have a super warrior under construction, so excuse me. Scorponok out.”<<

Perhaps his response had not been as civil as it should have been but Scorponok was known to act this way when his attention was focused elsewhere. A fire burned within his spark chamber unlike that of the most other Cybertronians. Both literally and figuratively. He was an outlier. One of the few 0.01 percenters. But more than that, he was mechanoid of passion. Joy, fits of rage, all the ranges of emotions – Scorponok was an anti-thesis to Shockwave's computer like response to everything around him. And right now, he did not want to be bothered with anything that diverged his attention away from Monstructor and their attempt of repeating the process on Technobots.

"And so will it be again, brace yourselves."

Nearly there. They were closer to it than ever before. His own Monstructor. A weapon powerful enough to challenge even the most powerful warriors the Autobots had on their disposal on his whim. Where ever and when ever he needed them deployed. Only little longer...

”How are they responding to the binding?”

Garrus 9 – Amphitheater

Despite of the popular belief of all Terrorcons being mentally challenged, Hun-Gurrr was no fool. Quite the opposite in fact. Acting the way he did keep enemies guessing and unaware of the true danger they were in. But this? What Jhiaxus and Scorponok were after? The concept itself was simple. The implementation of the technology though? That was completely above him. It was a feat of an engineering he couldn't wrap his brain module around of. The prospect of it was most intriguing though. He wanted that power for himself. Damned be that all-consuming greed of his. He had to have it. He needed it. It was his by right.

Quite forcibly Hun-Grrr's snapped out of the circle of thoughts that had consumed for a brief moment. He had to wait. The process had not been perfected. And yet, he had great difficulties shaking off of the need of volunteering immediately for the process. Pain was an insignificant price to pay for power like Monstructor's. And in Hun-Gar's mind there was no doubt no combiner could reach the level of power the combination of the five Terrorcons was going to. No other team was stronger than them. No other team could endure like them. It was... perfect.

"Blot... Sinnertwin... Ripper... snapper... Hun-Grrrrrrr..." Cutthroat said, drawling each name out. “How nice of you to join me..."

Even with him, Hun-Grr thought as he turned to glare at Cutthroat who had just regained his consciousness. The savage unhindered cruelty of Cutthroat had served him well and would continue to do so in the future. Even if he had to put the shock trooper in his place time after time. He was the Alpha of the pack. He welcomed the challenge. Let them try and take this from him. The day any of the other four were able to do it, they would deserve the power. Until then, they were his. And if one were to ask for the opinion of the original Terrorcon, it was never going to change.

“You have no right to call the master by name, Cutthroat," Blot growled out, “You disobeyed. Be grateful you are still alive."

Well. One of them wouldn't even try to usurp him. That much was for certain. Those fools that had not seen what Blot could give to them had they given the filthy, lonely mech looked down upon all who saw him even an ounce of respect. Unquestioning, unwavering loyalty. As dim as Blot was, he was undoubtly the Terrorcon he could depend on the most. And to be fair, perhaps his only friend. And odd thought to be sure. The others had been part of his pack almost as long as Blot had but the other three followed him out of fear and respect for his power. For Blot it was something else.

”You let yourself taken down by seekers and you call yourself a Terrorcon?” Hun-Gurrr growled, walking over to Cutthroat's berth.

Reaching down, Hun-Grrr grabbed Cutthroat by neck servos and tore the shock trooper off his binds with a single arm, lifting him effortlessly off the medical berth. ”Why should I take an unproven weakling back? Convince me you are worthy or cease to exist.”

Garrus-9 – Mines

Elevator, descending down into the Garrus-9 mines carrying a single Decepticon and his cargo of a reinforced storage container with holographic danger signs lit on its sides.

♪ ♫ ♪ ”... 4 charges of bombs on the wall, 4 charges of bombs. Put one up, hide it good, 3 charges of bombs on the wall...” ♫ ♪ ♫

”Aaaannd we have a touchdown.”

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the thuggish form of the Horrorcon Apeface for once in his robot form. Kicking the container he had been travelling with into a slide out of the elevator, Apeface transformed into his primate form before bouncing out of the elevator himself and yanking the container off the ground by the belt attached to it. With the storage container flung on his back, the infamous saboteur set off deeper into the mines.

”Oh hai there stinky!” He quipped at Skalor with a big toothy grin, waving his free hand as he walked over to one of the Seacons left to guard the prisoners in the mines, stepping on an Insecticon diaclone quite on purpose on his way towards the Seacon.

”Your boss still around?”

Garrus 9 – Mines

”Oh hai there stinky!" Apeface quipped at Skalor with a big toothy grin, waving his free hand.

“Uuh?” Skalor grunted, turning his head slightly from where he lazily reclined against one of the walls. One of the Horrorcons. Apeface. A grin cut the filthy Seacon’s faceplate when Apeface very purposefully stepped on one of those annoying diaclones. What a refreshing change of pace! All these Insecticons crawling and scuttling everything were starting to irritate Skalor. “Hey there, ape brain,” Skalor replied in greeting.

”Your boss still around?"

“Uh? Yeah, should be. Hang on, I’ll ring him…up?” Skalor trailed off as he noticed the familiar approaching form of none other than Snaptrap. “Speak of the devil…” Skalor muttered, wondering not for the first time if his commander had some strange sixth sense. Hm. Better look busy. Pushing himself off of the wall and leaving behind a little patch of toxic sludge, Skalor raised a hand to catch the optic of his commander.

The Seacon commander’s amber optics flashed in their direction with his body soon to follow. Snaptrap stopped near to the two Decepticons, looking first at Skalor. “Report.”

“Nothing unusual here, boss,” Skalor, “Least from the ‘Bots. Apeface here wants you for somethin’ though.”

The butcher’s gaze shifted to Apeface as Goldrush’s report came in over the comms. It was satisfactory and did not warrant a reply. He simply sent back a nonverbal acknowledgement. His optics trailed to the container that Apeface was transporting, labelled with holographic danger signs. That had his attention.

“Speak.”


Central Wing - Command Center

Due to Bludgeon’s relative silence, Stranglehold found himself in a rather dull limbo. Whatever the hell Snarler and Bomb-Burst were doing didn’t seem especially thrilling. The brutish Decepticon only remembered that Cyclonus was in the room because he nearly decapitated a random seeker for an offhand remark. He hadn’t caught what it was, but seeing the Seeker get laid out on the ground brought a hearty chuckle to Stranglehold’s vocalizer.

The wrestler watched the purple horned Decepticon stalk off, giving out a general order. Well, Stranglehold supposed that gave them some reign to wander around the prison. He looked over to Octopunch.

“Ey. You heard Cyclonus? C’mon, let’s see if we can find any stray bots wandering around the place. There might be stuff to salvage too….” Stranglehold said to Octopunch, a grin plastered on his mustachioed faceplate.

Garrus-9 – Amphitheatre

Cutthroat had been heard, after all. Given the debilitating effects that blighted the Terrorcon's condition, the shock trooper couldn't tell whether his voice possessed enough volume to carry over to his bestial comrades. His senses were limited – sight and hearing impaired by the relaxants polluting his systems that would, he hoped, lose their potency soon.

Blot was the first. His cranial unit angled towards Cutthroat. The shock trooper could see the scorn warping his visage. It was as palpable as the stench that the foot soldier emanated. Blot stomped over to Cutthroat, his every step signalling violence and displeasure.

“You have no right to call the master by name, Cutthroat," Blot growled out, “You disobeyed. Be grateful you are still alive.”

Realising his mistake, Cutthroat cursed the relaxants. Stripped of his ferocious nature, dulled in the mind – which largely precluded Cutthroat from acting verbally aggressive – he still couldn't get it right. Hun-Grrr's name had escaped through his fang-crowded mouth. None of his packmates dared to refer to the original Terrorcon as Hun-Grrr. Master or boss were titles that they all used.

The slight smirk vanished from Cutthroat's facial plate. Blot had, in his own way, rebuked the avian monster. Within the Terrorcon unit, no bigger insult could be hurled at another than to be justifiably reprimanded by Blot. The slow one. The dense one.

Rage collided with tranquillity, combating it for supremacy. It was a futile struggle, though. Like a small flame challenging an oncoming wave, the flame was overwhelmed and extinguished with ease.

The relaxants continued to hold Cutthroat in their iron grip.

As he was about to respond to Blot, Hun-Grrr approached Cutthroat's surgical slab. Dangerously. Threateningly. And with a question that almost provoked a snarl out of the Terrorcon. But snarl he did not, for he had no right to. And because the wretched chemicals poisoning him contained his savageness.

“You let yourself taken down by seekers and you call yourself a Terrorcon?”

He remembered that. Remembered being taken. Fresh from the medical bay having received complete repairs for the punishment imposed on him, Cutthroat had been stalking down a corridor when a group of Seekers had grabbed him by surprise. If not for the strange silvery orb that had compelled his attention, floating around him like a giant sentient optic, the avian monster was positive he could have torn the Seekers to shreds and evaded capture.

Hun-Grrr suddenly reached down, wrapping a servo around his neck and yanking him free of the restraints securing him to the surgical slab. Dangling before his master, Cutthroat returned Hun-Grrr's infernal stare, refusing to avert his gaze. To do so would be to display a weakness. Hun-Grrr abhorred weaknesses – of any kind.

“Why should I take an unproven weakling back? Convince me you are worthy or cease to exist.”

“I'm no weakling,” he said, risking his master's wrath. “The weak die while the strong thrive. It's the way of war. It's our way, master.” Cutthroat wriggled about, showing Hun-Grrr the conflict he fought within himself, against the relaxants that were dedicated to keeping him docile. “You only need strength by your side, master.” He wriggled about again. “There's never been an enemy I haven't beaten. I am your champion – your killer. Everything dies when we fight it. Everything, master.”

While Hun-Grrr required no champion to represent the power and brutality of the Terrorcons, Cutthroat's thirst for energon saw him always join the thickest knots of battle and always emerge as the last mech standing. No sane Decepticon fought with him, lest they became snared in Cutthroat's rampages. Even his packmates granted him space as to not obstruct his deadly path and get injured.

Cutthroat was as lethal to his allies as he was to his foes, but he had never failed in battle. No opponent was too strong or skilful or intelligent for him to not eviscerate with his beak and talons.

Would he convince Hun-Grrr, however? Had he built a persuasive case? Cutthroat would have to wait until his master revealed his verdict.

Mines

"Hm... Well... There was a certain place we worked together. The New Institute. But... That was some time ago. I believe that is where we first met. Fortunately Chromedome does not have the displeasure of being in our current predicament."

Brainstorm could only nod sagely at Highbrow's recollection. Hearing his fellow scientist recollect on their time at the Institute brought back from memories. Now that he mentioned it, he did recall having seen him back at the institute long before the broke out.

"It's been a long time since then." Brainstorm reminisced as he turned down another mineshaft according to Scattershot's instructions.

Ah, Brainstorm... are you quite sure of our heading?"

"Is that, that doubt I hear in your voice?" Brainstorm asked as he led the way down the tunnel. "Highbrow I'm appalled my sense of direction has you worried! The notes Scattershot gave to me, more cryptic than I was expecting from him to be honest, were very easy to decipher. Down, Right, Left, Down, Left, Four, Seven, Six, Three, then something something." Before Highbrow was even given the chance to inquire about the "something" in his directions, the teal and white Autobot quickly jumped back upon his previous thought. "He explained it through sabbac cards, don't-"

Brainstorm froze in his tracks as the clearly ahead revealed to him the "something something" he tried to mention. Before the duo was the remnants of a miners respite.
"-ask..." The small building itself was in relatively good condition from what the biomechanical engineer could estimate just from appearances, a few areas appeared to have been caved in from rubble that had been knocked loose from the orbital bombardments.

"I think we're... here..." Brainstorm trailed as he slowly approached the building, looking around and studying the new area. "Let's see if there's a way inside."



"Okay okay, here's another one; *ahem*... 'One shall stan-' no wait it's more like, 'ONE shall stand, and ONE shall-' Dammit I had it a second ago."

The scowl on the seeker's faceplate grew more infuriated as he stood by and had to endure the wrath of Whirl's impressions. On the one hand, he was glad he didn't have to look directly at that one eyed freak, the sweeps having brought him to this makeshift cell of a storage locker keeping his ocular visage behind closed doors. But as good as a container it was, it still couldn't keep the Autobot helicopter from keeping his vocalizer down.

"Will you shut the HELL UP?!" The guard screeched out in frustration.

"Ooo, that almost sounded like Ramjet there! Think can you do Starscream?"

"Let's just kill him." The second guard dully suggested, his expression as flat as paper within his coned-head as he had given up trying to reason with the former wrecker.

"You know we can't do that." The more angered of the two guards reminded his fellow Decepticon.

"Yeah! And even if you could, I'd like to see you try!"

"Hush you! You're only alive right now because our leaders have other plans on how to deal with you!"

"No c'mon, you could open the door and we can finish this right now!" Whirl shouted from within the cramped container. "No need for politics, just a lowly seeker versus the thing Decepticon nightmares are made of!"

The seeker grimaced as his fists clenched into tight balls, ready to turn and bust open the heavy storage locker behind him and sock the Autobot annoyance right in his one eye. His fellow seeker only turned and gave him a disapproving shake of the head.

"He's only trying to make you mad." The conehead commented before folding his arms over his chest. Without missing a

"Oh I never try anything, I just do. Your friend might just have a short temper. Is that a standard feature in you Screamer lookalikes? Small brains, shorter tempers?"

"Hey! I said shut it!"

"I mean the first wave that poured into the prison... MAN were they dummmb! I could have sworn your friends jumped into my bullets! Like, straight into them!"

"That's it, screw the orders! I'm putting a bullet in his-"

"Wait!" The coneheaded seeker jumped in, extending his arm out to block his fellow Decepticon from opening the locker.

"What?! Why the change of spark?! You said we should kill him and I'm going t-"

"Shh! Listen..." Both seekers went quiet, the distant cluttering of the insecticons moving about echoing the tunnels. "Hear that?"

"It's the bugs, nothing out of the ordinary."

"No, I heard something else..."

"Such as?"

"The suffering of all of Decepticons!" Whirl called out from his cell, once more attempting to imitate the Autobot Supreme Commander. "Wait, he wouldn't say something like that..."



"Aaannnd we have a touchdown." Apeface commented as the elevator came to a halt. The simian saboteur wasted no time in exiting from the lift, leaping out in his gorilla-like alternate mode with his cargo holstered over his shoulder. Snapdragon was in no particular rush and took his time walking off the platform, his Amber optics scanning the mines and taking in all the activity. The Insecticon population was certainly higher in this part of the facility than it was in other areas, no doubt this is where their "nest" was located.

His fellow Horrorcon then introduced their presence to one the little fishy-cons, Skalor but the look- or rather smell of it. Soon the big bad turtle of the team approached and inquired why they were here. Snapdragon paid little mind to the Seacon commander as he continued to study the mines. Let Apeface handle the talking, he was certainly better at it and actually knew what they were doing down here. The interceptor only followed along hoping to have found some sort of ooze pit he could wallow around in for a bit to get the servos loosened up again. Whether it be primordial or synthetic, he couldn't care less.

Garrus-9--Med-Bay

No one had really paid attention to the fact that he was here. Why would they? He was a Seeker. One day he'd write an extensive log on just how good it was to be a Seeker in the Decepticon army. They had carte blanche to do just about everything they wanted thanks to Starscream. And most of them were idiots. Win-win. The other Seekers had given him a look and a nod and then returned to their stoic guarding. Skymauler's optics returned to his target--the oversized Autobot who was currently under full restraint. Fortress Maximus.

From his listening in on the various rumor mills after the siege of Garrus was over, he'd heard from more than one fellow 'Con that Maximus had put in serious work trying to defend the place. And while he'd seen enough battles to know that no one single mech was going to be a magic pill to rehabilitate this place, it was obviously best to have as many gears turning in their favor as possible. Besides, he'd heard that Brainstorm had been in here earlier. And knowing him, he hadn't let any random opportunity pass him by. Neither would Skymauler.

"So this is him, eh?" Skymauler said, sauntering up to the restrained and much larger Autobot. Geez. His hands could just...just...crush his little head. The thought gave him the surges. "The great Fortress Maximus!?! Ha!"

Skymauler reached up and shoved the Autobot against the chest, as he did so he released and attached a small gunmetal gray chip that blended perfectly against the Autobot warden's primary colors.

Wreck n' rule, Skymauler thought, bemused.

"Never thought I'd live to see the day this guy was all bound up. Hey Flatline, why don't we just triple-tap him right now and send his head to Optimus Prime? Heheheh."

Two of the other Seekers standing by one of the bay doors just looked at each other.

"Geez. Everybody wants a shot at this guy."

Garrus 9 – Amphitheater

“I'm no weakling,” he said, risking his master's wrath. “The weak die while the strong thrive. It's the way of war. It's our way, master.” Cutthroat wriggled about, showing Hun-Grrr the conflict he fought within himself, against the relaxants that were dedicated to keeping him docile. “You only need strength by your side, master.” He wriggled about again. “There's never been an enemy I haven't beaten. I am your champion – your killer. Everything dies when we fight it. Everything, master.”

Cutthroat was struggling. He was meeting his stare despite of his weakened condition instead of seeking a way out. Good. He had fight left in him. It did the shock trooper no good against Hun-Gurrr's far superior strength but it proved to the Terrorcon leader that Cutthroat was not beyond redemption.

”There's still fire in your optics,” Hun-Grrr's growled with some amusement in his voice over Cutthroat's wriggling in his grasp. Only momemnt later the Terrorcon alpha sent Cutthroat crashing into the floor several dozen meters away from his own position. Thus setting up some distance between Cutthroat and Jhiaxus and his test subjects, ”You might still have what I want.”

”But that you will have to prove!” He announced with a roar.

”Rippersnapper!” Hun-Gar called for the physically least powerful minion of his. ”You are his test! See if your brother still has it in him to fight like a Terrorcon!”

”Blot! Sinnertwin! Keep them from interrupting Commander's new pet scientist!” He kept barking out orders, showing his disdain towards Jhiaxus clearly in his chosen words, ”You as well!” Hun-Grr continued, gesturing the various seekers and sweeps moving about to pay attention to the developing situation. ”Form a circle around them!”

And a circle was formed. No idle seeker or sweep had the courage or even the willingness to resist an order from the monster before them. They all knew that this was not the Decepticon to mess with. Too many had lost their lives in Hun-Gurrr's jaws and given how even the mighty Scorponok had not stepped in between to stop the Terrorcons settling their differences, what choice did they even have? Scorponok had clearly approved Hun-Grrrr's method of bringing order in his own ranks and all they could do was to accept it.

Transforming into his two-headed razorbeast form, Hun-Gar rose to his hind legs, now easily towering above all but lord Scorponok himself. It was Cutthroat's moment of showing that he could still fight. Despite of the sedatives. Despite of his show of weakness and utter foolishness earlier. If he could survive against Rippersnapper in his condition, he deserved another chance. It was time to put out a show to be remembered by all these weaklings gathered around them. It was time to show the other Decepticons what ferocity meant. It was time to show what it meant to be a Terrorcon.

”Fight!”

Garrus-9 – Mines

Heh, ape brain, Skalor actually had some guts to call him back like that. Most Decepticons backed down away from the mere sight of the Horrorcon duo. Ah, good for him. A filthy parasite like Skalor was much like Apeface and Snapdragon when it came to his behavior and general foulness. Some camederie there. Then again Apeface wanted to pummel the smelly fish into a puddle of goo for what he had said. He had a reputation to uphold after all. And depending on what Skalor's next words, he might very well have done that - had Snaptrap not made his presence known so quick.

“Speak.”

Apeface eyed up the approaching Seacon commander. This mech was one tough shell to crack unlike his underlings. A fight with him could go either way. Not to mention the reputation the Butcher of the Bogs had attained over their long war against the Autobots. Yeah, Snaptrap was certainly a Decepticon worth of even his respect.

”Straight to the business, eh?” Apeface chuckled, ”That's what I like about you Snaptrap old pal,” the simian Horrorcan added, patting the Seacon commander on a shoulder with a dirt and grease covered hand of his and flashing out a wholesome toothy grin only he could produce.

”My buddy Snapdragon here wanted to know if he could ask your daughter Tentakil to be his dancing queen for our victory ball tomorrow but you know him,” Apeface nudged Snaptrap with his elbow, ”such a shy bot he is.”

This was a ruse. Sure, Apeface was seeking some chuckles out of the stone faced Seacon but at the same time he was communicating with Snaptrap through an encrypted comm-link, sharing knowledge over his mission, sanctioned by High Commander Scorponok himself. He was not stupid enough to speak about a task like this in a manner that would allow anyone to overhear.

>>”So now that you know the plan, let's skip to the chase. I am sure you have this mine scanned out by now. I need the deepest part of it. A sample drill point going miles below would be ideal. Able to provide?”<<

Garrus-9 -- Amphitheater

Rippersnapper laughed at the suggestions for a combiner name that Blot had given. Hungrrtron? Terrorcon? Leave it to the dimwit to come up with the most ridiculous names imaginable. “I think we can do better than that, Blot,” the former actor replied with an additional chuckle. “But keep trying. I’m sure you’ll come up with something good.” Ripper didn’t honestly believe that. He just wanted to keep the comic relief going at the expense of Blot. It would certainly keep the terrorist amused during this boring downtime.

Then the sound of Cutthroat’s vocals pierced his audio receptors. Rippersnapper turned to look over at the restrained vulture-former, who was now awake enough to converse with the rest of them. The shark monster gave him no response as Blot beat him to the punch, chastising their teammate for his past indiscretions. The buffoon was soon followed by Hun-grrr, who had also taken notice of his wayward subordinate’s awakening. The Terrorcon Commander ripped Cutthroat from his bounds and held him high, demanding to know if he was still worthy enough to be one of them. Cutthroat tried to convince the master that he was still a Terrorcon even as he flailed about in Hun-grrr’s powerful grasp.

“Champion, my aft,” Rippersnapper muttered under his breath shortly before Hun-grrr called out his name. The shark beast stood rigid, his attention now completely on his commander. The former actor listened carefully, absorbing everything his master was saying. Ripper was to be a test to see if Cutthroat was still strong enough to be a Terrorcon. It was a fight Hun-grrr wanted to see and it was a fight he would get as a circle of mechs formed around both Rippersnapper and the vulture-former.

“Yes, master Hun-grrr,” the shark beast replied with a bow. “I will make him earn his place amongst us.” Rippersnapper then peered across to where Cutthroat had crashed into the floor after Hun-grrr had thrown him across the room. It almost felt like the gladiatorial pits of the old days back on Cybertron. It felt good and this was certainly going to be far more fun than listening to Blot’s stupid ideas for a combiner name.

Not to mention more tasty, Rippersnapper thought as the shark monster rushed forward towards Cutthroat, leaping into the air with his serrated claws and razor-sharp teeth brought to bare as he sought to pounce on the disobedient vulture-former and rip the armored plating right off of his frame. The former actor may not be the strongest of the Terrorcons, but he had high endurance, courage, firepower and melee skills. The sedative-filled Cutthroat should keep those facts in mind if he wanted to prove his worth or even survive this encounter at all.

Garrus 9: Amphitheater

Low, barely audible drones of internal mechanisms slowly ticked down the excruciating periods of time that seemingly stretched on for an eternity. Between the prolonged lulls of peace and humiliation, waves of agony would surge through the body before fading again into a dull throb. The sound of surgical tools would soon pass on to another segment of the auditorium and the muted sound of cutting metal or the quick bursts of soldering of electrical components punctuated the terrible morass of hell.

With his table located at a rather uncomfortable forty five degree incline, Scattershot was afforded a nearly unobstructed view. He tilted his head slowly and examined the two massive armor plates that protected his vital systems in his chest, pried open. Secondary systems flashed softly as they took over for deactivated ones, or ones removed to be miniaturized for the coming mutation that he had allowed his team to suffer. New cylindrical compartments were being installed along the outer edges of his upper torso near his shoulders. With each grinding reverberations of the molecular bonding devices, Scattershot's field of vision flared crimson with shocks of pain.

Even through those bouts of anguish, the Technobot Commander schooled and composed. In fact he simply smirked at Jhaixus with a taunting smile, refusing to give the rust spot any sense of triumph. Scattershot remained defiant with each removal of components and installation of new ones. He could feel specialized codes encroach on his processors, attempting to forcibly install themselves into his matrix, and each one was segregated into separate files at the back of his computer core. Almost instantaneously each file was forced through as many diagnostics as could have possibly be conceived and developed by the greatest minds.

One of the many hidden features that the Technobots had recently adopted before they had assumed command of the Farstar. Scattershot had ordered the team to install the newest models of counter invasion software as well as antiviral software. While he had never in his wildest dreams considered that he would require such measures, he had always demanded that his team be equipped with the best Autobot Research and Development had to offer. The files were screened and and allowed installation on a secondary sub-bus matrix, whether by design or not, it mattered little. The component software began to flood his processors with new blue prints and schematics flashed across his optical visor at almost blinding speed.

He could sense that the others were absorbing the same flood of new data and schematics as they forced their way into their own sub processors. Each one tensing with an unreadable wave of tense emotion, perhaps terror, perhaps curiosity, he could not tell directly. All Scattershot knew was trepidation. Not fear so much, he feared nothing that Jhaixus could do to him, it was why he had willingly surrendered without a fight.

Scattershot's audio receptors barely caught a thunderous voice from on high, breaking his own concentration. He slightly turned his head to catch the towering form of Scorponok surrounded by a cadre of his soldiers. The Technobot could not exactly dub them Decepticon's best or brightest, but they were there to witness his supposed humiliation. It did not bother him, not even in the slightest.

The Technobot Commander cracked a smirk of defiance as he briefly locked optics with Scorponok, "Speak for your limited knowledge there Pinchy," his voice was slow as he attempted to filter out pain but yet he retained voice rich in bravery and bravado. "Least we don't go cattle-cron toeing to some ego driven scraplet headed tin plated buckethead."

He did not care if his response sounded hollow or weak on the vine, it was meant to. Scattershot turned his attention back to recording the visual ques and movements of Jhaixus as he made his way toward Nosecone and Afterburner. Inwardly he compiled his recorded data and began compressing it. He shunted what little power he could without drawing attention and activated the micro subspace transceiver and initiated the five pronged link between himself and the others.

"How are you four holding up?" he began slowly, barely able to conceal his own incredible pain as his external form began to suffer from a rather abrupt jolt of electricity. But he refused to unleash a scream, either in the physical reality nor in the mindscape he had created. "I know this is intense but we've... handled worse."

Another, more intensive wave of pain caused his imaginary form to buckle to its knee. He could feel his physical being beginning to contort, his limbs beginning to extend and move into unnatural positions. The silver cylinders on each side began activated their programs and ordered newly installed panels underneath his arms to open, and those powerful limbs began to shift position. "Everyone, trans...fer records to Lightspeed. We've got to keep these pro..." He grit his jaw and steeled himself as his legs expanded and new docking ports began to emerge. "...cedures on file. Compile and... 'speeder, back up rebound."

Garrus 9: Amphitheater

Nosecone kept all of his receptors as active as the drugs allowed. He watched from his prone position on the table as the kind femcon went around to the Monstercons and done something to them after Jhilaxus was done with them. From what Nosecone could understand in his muddled state it was by Scorponok's orders. He then watched as his fellow Technobots got worked on by the mad scientist and attempted to listen in on his commander's usual tirade against the Cons. It wasn't a few moments later when he received an internal communication from Scattershot about keeping track of the procedures and whatever files were installed. Such a command was common sense to Nosecone since he was typically the observer of the group while the likes of Afterburner would go in with blasters going first and then think on what be better. None of the procedures looked overly comfortable but rarely was surgery comfortable. Whatever Jhilaxus was up to, it wasn't good.

When he heard what he thought was parts moving, he saw his commander in a strange shape without limbs. Nosecone wasn't sure what to think of this new form on Scattershot. Then a question came to his mind why he looked more like a chest with no limbs and the answer came to him. If Scattershot looked like that, what will himself and his fellow Technobots look like? The only answer were some sort of limbs to be attached to their commander. There are times he doesn't mind being close to his fellow Technobots but to be literally that interconnected will be an interesting adventure to say the least and traumatic if what little of the Monstercons he can observe is any evidence. Before he could understand the ramifications on a deeper level, the mad scientist found his way over to his table.

"T'll take a bit longer with all of my armor than my fellow Technobots. From a science stand point this is a curious project. I do wonder why we and the others were selected instead of some of the rest in the mines. It be interesting to see what the Cons do with you once you are done with us and have learned most if not all of your secrets. Scorpy is a respected scientist in his own right but nothing like Shockwave or maybe Thunderwing."


Mines

Seawing tried to follow the Bots but the tunnels were a winding mess and his sensors weren't the best down here. Add in all of the goo from the Insecticon clones and traveling wasn't the best either.

"Blast it, I wish this was a deep water excavation instead of dirt hole. It would be so interesting to watch the bugs trying to swim in it. Knowing my luck, there would be an amphibious Insecticon out there who likes to clone itself into a few thousand drones. I won't report to Snaptrap quite yet until I know where the Bots went."

Amphitheater

"Blot! Sinnertwin! Keep them from interrupting Commander's new pet scientist! Form a circle around them!”

The master barked his new orders out. A sneer of satisfaction etched across Sinnertwin's face as he leaped back from the upfront of this makeshift arena Hun-Grr was preparing. The Terrorcon sentry shifted back to his twin-headed hellhound mode to better his outlook over the chaos readying to unfold. One head could enjoy Cutthroat's test of virtue while the other could oversee that this wouldn't shoot back into the scientist's workspace.

"Test his metal! Rip 'im a new one 'Snapper!"



Afterburner groaned in pain as he felt his transformation cog try and force him into shifting form. The usual sensation one got from changing to their alternate form was one of pleasure, but the transformation being more forced caused massive discomfort. This scientist was rewriting Cybertronian biology itself, and Afterburner and his fellow Technobots were his latest subjects of experimentation.

"Geh! Is that what the 'mighty' Scorponok resorts to now? Name calling?" Afterburner sputtered through his last remaining moments of solid consciousness. "Look, here's-AH!... Here's something I've developed on my own." Before his arms were retracted back into his chassis from the forced transformation, the Technobot gunner twisted both hands the best could in his restraints, extending only the middle actuators in each hand as the rest of digits balled into a fist against the table and flashed the gargantuan scorpion two symmetrical, and rather rude signals with his hands.

"Yeah, I know we've dealt with worse." the Technobot responded to his commander over their secured network, "Listening to you, I'd take being the scientist's plaything any cycle over that."

The pain was finally too much for Afterburner to muster, causing the Autobotto lose his focus on the conversation he was having with his fellow Technobots. He could feel himself shifting back into his motorcycle-esque vehicle mode, though it felt less... complete...

A large hand-like extension emerged from Afterburner's newly acquired limb mode towards the base of the slab. The dislocated limb twitched in its restraints as the gunner struggled to change back out of is rather uncomfortable new form. It wouldn't be long until the merging process would begin, but Afterburner couldn't gauge his surroundings nor remotely understand what kinda formed he was lying in.

With one last struggle of free will, the digits of the new arm-mode extended out into a similar shape as Afterburner's earlier gesture.

Corridors

Deadlock stared blankly as Kickback and his insecticons scuttled away out of sight, leaving the warrior alone with his own thoughts as some specialist made their way here. Deadlock was puzzled with Kickback's responses... On the one hand, he mentioned a solid counter-argument to the treatment of their kind, but then he muttered something that vaguely agreed with his own viewpoints before he left.

"Come to see the...light..." His voice trailed as he repeated the words aloud to himself, unsure of what exactly this "light" was referring too.

>>"Hello? Deadlock?"<< A new voice came over his comm device. Deadlock could not immediately identify the voice contacting him, but his HUD quickly highlighted the contacting individual. Synapse... Says here he's a- oh great, a psychotherapist, fancy name for a bloody shrink... >>"This is Synapse. Do you know who I am?"<<

>>"Not exactly..."<< He replied unsurely, >>"But your ID tag states enough to know that you're more of a specialist than the bug is. I take it Scorponok wants me thoroughly inspected this go around?"<<

Central Wing - Command Center

"Ey. You heard Cyclonus? C'mon, let's see if we can find any stray bots wandering around the place. There might be stuff to salvage too..."

"Geyah! Why does everyone think that I'll go at the drop of a helm when 'salvage' is mentioned?!" Octopunch whined as he didn't bother to look away from the charred console bits he was digging through. "Octopunch doesn't like anything besides salvage! Why dontcha mention salvage next time you want Octopunch for a mission guys! He's really easy to get on your crew![i] Bleck! Maybe I want to go because it's a new sight to see..."

He froze in his progress of looting what he could from the torn apart console and looked up at no one in particular, more or less realizing what he just stated.

"Oh who am I kidding, looting's the best part of all this!" He pulled his actuators out from the debris and kicked against the weakened metal, the remnants of the console that once was crumbling over into the pile of ash. The multicolored Decepticon picked up his harpoon gun, pumping the weapon like a shotgun and loading a fresh harpoon into the chamber. "Besides, nothing good 'ere anyways. Hehehe. Lead on my thuggish friend!"

Med Bay

[i]"Hey Flatline, why don't we just triple-tap him right now and send his head to Optimus Prime? Heheheh."

Flatline never bothered looking up from Soul Siren's chassis as the pink and purple seeker addressed him from across the room. He was doing the best he could with what little he had to work with, but she certainly could be saved. The missing half of her chassis, that was a totally different story...

"Because the shipping from here is more than your pay-grade can afford in a galactic cycle." Flatline responded in a tone that rivaled his namesake. "Plus the boss doesn't want him to go anywhere. You send him off into the universe to be found, you're asking for the Bots to come blasting down the door."

Flatline pulled his hands from Soul Siren's chest cavity and rubbed the bridge of his nose, just above where his faceshield stopped. A small huff of air expelled from behind the metallic shield covering his faceplate as he looked over the tray of gathered scrap metal Flak and the other lackeys were able to muster up. We're this a simple patch job, it would be easy to slap something together... But this- this was turning into a full on bodily reconstruction. He turned and opened his comm-line in desperation. One mech was certainly capable of resources the supplies he'd need, but whether he deemed this femme important or not for such a request was yet another story all together...

>>"Lord Scorponok... Forgive my intrusion, this is Flatline at the central medical bay... I have one of your crew members, a femme by the name of Soul Siren... My lord, I've done the best I can to revitalize her but she's in need of something more along the lines of a complete chassis restoration. She's stabilized, but the scraps we've been able to gather aren't enough to warrant such a process..."<<

Maybe that was vague enough to get the supplies he needed without having to beg like a starving turbofox...

Mines

"Yeah yeah yeah, what he sai- wait... What in the hell?!" The interceptor began before sputtering into absolute astonishment, only beginning to realize what the violet and purple simian-of-a-mech just uttered. If Snapdragon had been sipping on energon, then Apeface's little comment on their presence would have made the thuggish interceptor spit up anything he had sitting in his mouth.

"Apeface, shut the hell up!! Not cool!!" The black and white Decepticon stuttered to defend himself. "Don't listen to 'im, that's not why we're here!!"

Defeatedly, Snapdragon folded his arms over his chest plate and turned himself slightly away from the conversation he could tell his friend was having with the Seacon commander. He gritted his teeth behind his protection faceshield, hoping these fish-faced underlings of the Turtle-former's weren't making fun of him under their breaths. And if they were, then Snapdragon could certainly foresee some techno-tuna being added to his next meal.

"Pffft... Shy bot... Yeah, right..."

Garrus-9--Amphitheater

Icepick was in agony. He honestly could not say which was a worse experience at this point: becoming a part of that unholy giant and losing himself in the process, or the torture he was being forced to endure at the hands of said monster's maker. And it was all in the name of what? Doing it again? Making the process irreversible? Icepick was slowly but surely coming to terms with the fact that this was going to be his end, one way or another.

“Is it still there, Icepick? The Flames of War? It was blue.”

Huh?

Icepick struggled to look up from his slab and over at his commander, his mind having difficulty putting the pieces together in regards to what he was being asked. Then, of course.

"Is it where-? Oh.....ungh....yes....yes, it never left my cell along with those two other pieces you gave me over the vorns. Too...valuable...to...lose track of," Icepick said, a half-hearted and very pained smile forming underneath his scarred, cracked faceplate.

The conversation, or perhaps just the ongoing necessity of this brutal process, had drawn the attention of another of Scorponok's subordinates. This time a femme, and a Decepticon who certainly seemed inclined to interact in a more pleasant manner than his old master. Apart from that, some kind of chaos seemed to have erupted in one portion of the room, drawing hoots and cheers from several raucous members of the Decepticon ranks. In the midst of this experience, however, Icepick barely had it in him to notice at all.

“Hey there, I’m Firewire, just gonna be working on you a bit. Just a few tweaks to help us help you. You’re…Icepick, right? How ya holdin’ up?”

In other circumstances, he might have told this mech just how horribly he was holding up and in no uncertain terms, either. But the fact that she had disabled his pain receptors before beginning her own work was not lost on him. It didn't do much in reducing the overall torture he was experiencing, but at least she had done her part not to make it worse.

"Yes. Icepick. And......well......let's just say I've been better."

That would be putting it exceedingly lightly.

The Mess Hall

It took no time for the group to dispatch the Autobots in the room. Acrid smoke was all that remained visible of the skirmish.

Bomb Burst scanned the room. No movement, no activity. Optics drifted back to Bludgeon, the glow of diffused red the only visible indication that he was looking to his master.

Bludgeon made a slight gesture with his hand to the Vampire, the Vampire acknowledged by switching off the light output from his optics, then moving silently through the room to check for any more nearby Autobots. The doors that the Autobots had entered through softly hissed open again, the Predator found the ajoining room unoccupied. A quick look through the remaining rooms revealed nothing.

"Clear." The Vampire called out softly. He switched on one of his search spotlights and back on his optic lights, restricting the output so not to be blinding, but low light to allowed the others to see as well. Being that he was behind the light, his sensitive optics suffered little from it.

"Birdie..." He called to his second in command.

--

Nightbird had watched the fight with a slight smile under her battle mask. The Autobots didn't stand a chance. When Bomb Burst called for her, she took the collection of Snarler's weapons and entered their room.

She turned to face Bludgeon. The battle mask slid down, as it would be highly disrespectful (in her mind) to speak to the Metallikato master while hiding her face, she bowed deeply to him. "Master Bludgeon, it is an honor to be in your presence." She said respectfully. "I am at your disposal should you want me, otherwise, I am certain Vampire can find me some task to do."

--

Bomb Burst waited patiently For Nightbird to speak to Bludgeon. He knew damned well that both Bludgeon and Nightbird expected her to adress him first.

--

Bludgeon scanned the wreck that had become the room. Besides Snarler's hole in the wall, there was only one true way into the room. Though Snarler's hole would again be their exit.

His attention turned to the little spy that had entered the room. He had never met her, Bomb Burst usually kept that part of his life separate from the part that involved him. But he did have some knowledge of her.

He nodded his head and gestured slightly for her to deliver her goods.

--

Nightbird stood up and nodded slightly as well. Then she stepped backwards a couple steps before turning to Snarler.

"Snarler..." She said bowing her head slightly at the Warg. "Stranglehold brought your weapons." She handed the weapons to him as soon as he transformered to take them.

And then off to Bomb Burst, with a nod to Skullgrin as she passed. Battle mask slid back into place and she handed her commander the data slugs that had been removed from the fallen assassins. "Sir." She said curtly before slipping behind him, doing what spies do and blending into her commander's shadow.

--

"We will proceed to the communications array." Bludgeon informed his collected crew. "Nightbird will be joining us. She may be useful." He began in motion, in his naturally commanding gait, towards the command center.

Command Center

"Octopunch, Stranglehold!" He called out just as he stepped into the command center. "You may join us if you please. If not, feel free to part ways. The choice is yours. I shall not hold you to my service if you do not wish to join me, but you are welcome to... so long as you do not eliminate anymore of Bomb Burst’s filthy little assassins."

Garrus-9--Amphitheater

”How are they responding to the binding?” the gladiator had asked. Jhiaxus' fingers momentarily tensed in frustration at the edges of his observation chair but they slowly relaxed as he looked over his various subjects in their various states of transformation. One of them in particular, their leader, seemed to be taking some degree of pleasure in his current plight. Or, at the very least, was intending to show Jhiaxus that the work being done on him would not break him like it had many others. For him, Jhiaxus took special pains to ensure that the work undertaken on him would procced more gradually. And more painfully.

"Exceedingly more smoothly than the Monstructor Six," Jhiaxus said, his tone low with menacing satisfaction. "It was as if Primus himself prepared these mechanoids to undergo such a process. All it needed was my guiding hand to finish that work."

The cold, jade optics flicked between the Technobot captives and the images on his various holoscreens."

"In Monstructor, I created a being of perfect coalescence, a new being but ultimately a weapon capable of an entirely new array of offense. These Technobots will serve a similar purpose, but in them, we will have the means to assault the technological underpinnings of every foe we encounter. Disable them from the inside out. Logicor and Monstructor together and then..."

But Jhiaxus' words trailed off as he looked up to see what appeared to be some sort of brawl. A brawl?!? In the midst of his pristine shrine of progress?

"Madness!" Jhiaxus suddenly bellowed, rising to his feet in the observation chair looming high over the room. "What abject insanity compels you to bring your petty trifles to this monument of the next stage of our evolution?!? Horror of horrors!"

Garrus 9 – Mines

”Straight to the business, eh?” Apeface chuckled, ”That's what I like about you Snaptrap old pal,” the simian Horrorcan added, patting the Seacon commander on a shoulder with a dirt and grease covered hand of his and flashing out a wholesome toothy grin only he could produce.

Snaptrap’s optics trailed down to where the simian Decepticon had patted him before shifting his gaze back at Apeface. His face impassive, the Butcher patiently waited for Apeface to get to the point while Skalor gawked at Apeface’s casual familiarity.

”My buddy Snapdragon here wanted to know if he could ask your daughter Tentakil to be his dancing queen for our victory ball tomorrow but you know him,” Apeface nudged Snaptrap with his elbow, ”such a shy bot he is.”

Skalor’s optics widen further and his jaw dangled open a bit. Snaptrap turned his head slightly to stare at Snapdragon who followed Apeface.

"Yeah yeah yeah, what he sai- wait... What in the hell?! Apeface, shut the hell up!! Not cool!!" The black and white Decepticon stuttered to defend himself. "Don't listen to 'im, that's not why we're here!!"

These two certainly played the parts of fools well. Apeface hid his intelligence behind his clowning and general thuggish behavior. Snapdragon, behind his lethargy and similarly aggressive behavior. Not a pair to take lightly. But neither was he. As it was, Apeface was briefing him on the details of a plan over an encrypted comm-link. Skalor seemed oblivious to the fact. The repugnant Seacon was, however, carefully watching Snaptrap’s face. In hopes of a chuckle from the stony Seacon commander perhaps.

>>”So now that you know the plan, let's skip to the chase. I am sure you have this mine scanned out by now. I need the deepest part of it. A sample drill point going miles below would be ideal. Able to provide?”<<

Snaptrap transmitted the coordinates. >>”Refrain from maiming or killing prisoners for sport while you are down here,”<< the Seacon Commander uploaded another few sets of coordinates to the link. [i]>>”These areas also near the deepest point.”<<

“Take Tentakil if you require him,” Snaptrap said dismissively, walking away from the pair of simian and reptilian Horrorcons. Skalor stared after him with a quizzical expression. He glanced over to Apeface and Snapdragon.

“Did he just…was he joking just now? Was that a joke?” Skalor asked Apeface in a hushed whisper.

As Snaptrap moved toward the elevator, he opened a comm link with Seawing. >>”Seawing. I leave you in charge of the mines. I have business to attend to. Do not interfere with the Horrorcons.”<<


"Is that, that doubt I hear in your voice?" Brainstorm asked as he led the way down the tunnel. "Highbrow I'm appalled my sense of direction has you worried! The notes Scattershot gave to me, more cryptic than I was expecting from him to be honest, were very easy to decipher. Down, Right, Left, Down, Left, Four, Seven, Six, Three, then something something."

Something? Highbrow opened his mouth to ask but before he could, Brainstorm had already jumped onto another tangent. The speed at which Brainstorm’s processor bounced around on idea sometimes baffled Highbrow. How could he ever maintain the focus and discipline required to tackle a project? But Brainstorm cut off, freezing in his tracks, causing Highbrow to screech to a stop and hastily glance around for signs of hostiles.

However, the sight that greeted him was actually something quite auspicious. A miners’ respite from the look of it. Highbrow frowned. Surely the Decepticons wouldn’t have missed something like this in their hostile takeover of the mines. Or…if they hadn’t, it couldn’t remain a sanctuary for long.

"I think we're... here..." Brainstorm trailed as he slowly approached the building, looking around and studying the new area. "Let's see if there's a way inside."

“What advantage do we aspire to attain from this hovel?” Highbrow asked as he too approached the humble shack, “Something such as this could not have escape our tyrannical overseers’ notice…Ah!” Highbrow smiled as he gazed upon the entrance. He tapped on the control panel. “Brainstorm, I have ascertained the location of the entrance,” he called lowly as the door hissed open. Highbrow poked his head inside. “Quite humble, isn’t it?”


Amphitheatre

"Yes. Icepick. And......well......let's just say I've been better."

Firewire cringed. Yeah, that didn’t look too fun. She’d just been through her fair share of pain for the day, though it didn’t seem remotely in the league of torture that undergoing the combiner process seemed to be. She gave him a reassuring smile and patted his armor plating lightly, hoping that she just wasn’t adding to his anguish.

She went about her work with her usual efficiency. It was going a bit faster this time. After all, she was now just repeating a process that she’d already learned. When a commotion broke out nearby, Firewire paused in her work to glance over to see the cause. “Eh. Terrorcons,” she muttered quietly before turning back to Icepick. They were far enough away not to be a problem. Hopefully.

"Madness!" Jhiaxus suddenly bellowed, rising to his feet in the observation chair looming high over the room. "What abject insanity compels you to bring your petty trifles to this monument of the next stage of our evolution?!? Horror of horrors!"

Firewire snickered quietly. “Oh by the forge of Solus Prime, does he sound like an old crotchety bucket of bolts or what? Anyway, don’t worry about the ruckus. That’s just Hun-Grr and his Terrorcons doing their thing. Sometimes I wonder if they ever left the Pits.”

The new safeguard installed, Firewire began to close Icepick back up again. “Um…sorry if what I’m saying is just senseless gibberish to you. I read in your files that you’ve been out of the war for a long time.” Firewire floundered mentally for something to say. Her efforts to throw herself back into her work with her usual enthusiasm had been dashed by Slog’s earlier outburst, and she really couldn’t…shake that whole thing with Soul Siren.

“So you’re all done! Not too bad, right? That’ll make it so you guys can be forced outta rahr-imma-monster mode. Lord Scorpy takes care of the Decepticons under him. So you guys don’t have anything to worry about.” Firewire shot a reassuring grin at Icepick. Her thoughts, however, took a different turn.

Even though Lord Scorponok did take care of his own…in the quest for the power to win the war, personal pain was the price to be paid at times. Sacrifices for the cause. Still. That ancient old bucket of bolts could stand to be gentler with them. Firewire glanced at the praetor and scowled, her little hands balling up into fists.

Garrus-9 – Amphitheatre

The case had been made.

The verdict was in.

Cutthroat would prove his worth through one of the Terrorcons' traditional methods: trial by combat.

Like a piece of scrap metal being cast aside, Hun-Grrr had tossed Cutthroat to the floor, away from Jhiaxus and his technical meddling with the Technobots. Away from Firewire as she tended to the agitated Monstercons. Away from any and all distractions that might prohibit the fight from eventuating. There could be no disturbances to interrupt the two Terrorcons as they fought – no impediments to the chaotic rhythm of blows and snarls being exchanged between the combatants.

Picking himself up to rest his servos on his knee joints, Cutthroat's optics flicked about as he saw a circle had been assembled around him and Rippersnapper. A spherical-shaped wall encased them, the circle's composition comprised of the remaining Terrorcons and the nearby Sweeps and Seekers – who stood sentinel around the surgical slabs – Hun-Grrr had ordered to participate and fulfil their grim roles in this savage battle.

Cutthroat spied excitement on their facial plates – locked behind anxious and frightened expressions some of the Sweeps and Seekers presented. It was controlled, the excitement, waiting to be unleashed.

With a single word, it was.

“Fight!”

The moment Rippersnapper launched into the air was the moment the spectators launched cries and cheers from their vocalising units. Among the cacophony of frantic voices, Cutthroat swore he heard Sinnertwin shout his support to Rippersnapper but couldn't afford to confirm his suspicion with even a glance to his monstrous comrade. With the relaxants hindering the shock trooper's reflexes, Cutthroat needed every astrosecond he could seize.

The irresistible pull of gravity brought Rippersnapper back down. Almost on Cutthroat. With his serrated claws poised to tear the shock trooper's armour plating right off his chassis.

Cutthroat attempted to roll out of the claws' path, but was too slow. As he scrunched up into a ball and threw himself to the side, Rippersnapper's claws found their mark, ripping into his shoulder plate. The scream Cutthroat issued was a combination of pain and frustration from his failure to evade the terrorist's attack.

Rising to his feet on trembling limbs, Cutthroat, with his digits splayed to expose his razor-edged taloned servo, swung his arm at Rippersnapper wildly. He would show the amphibious Terrorcon how to shred an opponent. He would show him pain.

“Take this, you puddle of grease!”

Garrus 9 – Mines

"Whirl is, hm, how to put this....one of Autobot Command's perennial headaches. He's the blue guy with one eye we passed not too long ago. He's..."

Pointblank leaned in. Umbra followed suit.

"...he's probably the mech that's going to single-handedly destroy any chance we have of getting out of here alive."

“He’s…He is?” Umbra vaguely remembered seeing the blue one-eyed mech in question. He’d caused a ruckus, so Umbra had made an effort to stay away from him. “That kinda sounds like someone we should maybe avoid. I mean at least until we have something going for us…” Umbra whispered with concern.

Umbra turned the corner to peek at the mech in question. Something immediately caught her optic about him. He had claws. She turned back around to look at Pointblank. “He has claws.” Umbra glanced back. Yup. Definitely claws. Not really something you saw much. She looked back at Pointblank. “Why does he have claws? Pincher. Thingies.” Umbra made a pinching gesture.

She took another look back out at the blue mech. Hm. He did an interesting impression of Optimus Prime at least. Not that she’d met the Prime in person, but…Umbra retreated once more. “There’s a vent on the wall behind them.”


Central Wing – Command Center

"Geyah! Why does everyone think that I'll go at the drop of a helm when 'salvage' is mentioned?!"

Stranglehold folded his arms over his chest plate and waited.

"Octopunch doesn't like anything besides salvage! Why dontcha mention salvage next time you want Octopunch for a mission guys! He's really easy to get on your crew! Bleck! Maybe I want to go because it's a new sight to see..."

Stranglehold let out a sigh as Octopunch made his fuss. He really wanted to see who had won that bet…

"Oh who am I kidding, looting's the best part of all this!"

“There he is!” Stranglehold said with a devilish grin, spreading his arms out wide.

"Besides, nothing good 'ere anyways. Hehehe. Lead on my thuggish friend!"

“Let’s move on out, Octo! Think there’ll be any Autobots crawling around on the lower levels? Seems pretty dead up here. Then again. Could always see what mettle these Cons are made of. Oh, right. And the bet,” Stranglehold muttered as he began to move out of the command center.

"Octopunch, Stranglehold!" Bludgeon called out just as he stepped into the command center. "You may join us if you please. If not, feel free to part ways. The choice is yours. I shall not hold you to my service if you do not wish to join me, but you are welcome to... so long as you do not eliminate anymore of Bomb Burst’s filthy little assassins."

“We’ll catch up with ya later, Bludge!” Stranglehold called back with a wave. “Time to stretch our legs after being cooped up all these cycles.” As the wrestler exited the command center, he leaned in toward Octopunch and whispered, “It just me, or has solitary confinement made Bludgeon stuffier than ever?”

Command Center


“We’ll catch up with ya later, Bludge!” Stranglehold called back with a wave. “Time to stretch our legs after being cooped up all these cycles.”

Bludgeon looked back to his assembled crew. "He didn’t understand, did he?" He asked them with a sigh before turning optics to back to Stranglehold. "Very well, then, Stranglehold, you are released from my service. You will likely want to report to Lord Skorponok's ship for reassignment."

He turned for the exit, as Stranglehold made it clear he was speaking for both he and Octopunch. Striding out of the command center, he began to organize his efforts, stopping to issue his commands in the corridor. "Bomb Burst... you and Nightbird recon the communications array. I do not want to walk into an ambush on this investigation. Also, keep an eye out for operable ships capable of interstellar travel. I want a complete picture of what's working and what is not... and all possible ways to get off this moon. Skullgrin, be prepared for Autobot attacks. The Vampire can make it past any without them noticing, but we shall not be so lucky. I do not want delay reaching our objective, the path should be clear, but be prepared to hit any obstacles with everything you've got."

--

Bomb Burst nodded at his orders. Finally... the chance to do what he was built to do. "Yes sir." Was simply all he said. He and Nightbird slipped off from the group, transforming in the hall to get to the array as quickly.

He kept his comms unmuted so the entire team could hear what was going on... repeating things took too long. He did not like repeating things.

Checking on the assassins team, he found most had remained in the southern wing, around the Steelhaven wreckage. "Spread out." He ordered them. "We're looking for any ships still in operating condition and any Autobots."

Semper Tyrannis – Lobe’s Lab

>>"Oh yes. Yes, of course. It seems, well, our friend appears to have some qualms with the methodologies utilized by our recently-resurrected scientist-in-chief. Hee. Ahem. I was, em, just now explaining to him the necessity for great sacrifice in service to the Decepticon cause."<<

Synapse frowned. He didn’t much care for the Insecticons at the best of times. They possessed a certain mindset…It did not make them the most reliable sorts or the most honest. Certainly not the best suited to tend to the psychological needs of another Decepticon. Still, that didn’t mean that they deserved rudeness from him. He opened the comm back in response.

>>”I see. Thank you for your efforts thus far, Kickback.”<<

“No worries, my friend. I’ve known you for so long I’ve come to expect such outcomes from our meetings. It’s why I frequently employ contingency plans…for just such occasions, of course.”

Synapse smiled as one of Lobe’s two bodies approached him. The doctor nodded and glanced toward the other body that had finished cleaning his unfortunate mess.

“I can always request for more experimental subjects.” The robot standing beside Synapse patted his shoulder. “I will just have to accompany you down to the planet to take my pick of available Autobot prisoners. I’m quite certain Lord Scorponok will not require all of them.”

“Do you really require living subjects?” Synapse asked, “I know that progress cannot be made without some degree of sacrifice, but the number of Cybertronians left seems to dwindle every passing vorn.” The cybernetic owl shook his head. “If you have the option in any case.”

“You are going down planet side aren’t you? Please tell me you are.”

“I am, in fact,” Synapse said with a smile, “I have a patient waiting for me. We can go get him, retrieve your subjects, then return. Although…if we were to do that, hm…Well. I suppose we’ll see.” Synapse rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Collecting more specimens might set Deadlock off further…Might. In any case, this would give Synapse a chance to assess the mech’s current doubts.

>>”Make a requests to Banzai-Tron and Reflector regarding the files.Sparkstalker and his team of Decepticon Secret Service techs working for me datamined what they could from the Autobot Command Center before the enemy managed to sabotage their own computer systems beyond point of no return. Whether or not these files were recovered is currently unknown to me.”<<

Ah! A reply from the busy Second Fleet Commander. Yes, yes. He should have requested that in the first place. Synapse chided himself inwardly. Lord Scorponok’s voice sounded a bit more stringent than before. Well. He would do what he could to avoid troubling the Decepticon Commander.

>>”As I said, that meeting will have to wait. However, more insight on Jhiaxus would be appreciated. I sent Scourge to track the fleeing enemy off-system, so he is unavailable. Nevertheless, Cyclonus is still planet-side. Arrange a meeting with him. Now, I have a super warrior under construction, so excuse me. Scorponok out.”<<

Synapse smiled to himself. Scorponok could be quite terse when he was in the middle of some project. The doctor was accustomed to it. He would let Scorponok be for the time being then. He was busy. In the meantime…

>>"Not exactly..."<< He replied unsurely, >>"But your ID tag states enough to know that you're more of a specialist than the bug is. I take it Scorponok wants me thoroughly inspected this go around?"<<

>>”He would have sent you to me first had it not been for…ah…a series of unfortunate events. I heard from Kickback that you’re having some qualms with Jhiaxus’s way of doing things? Why don’t you tell me about it, er. This is more appropriate to do in person. Where are you? I’ll come to you. I have some business down there anyway.”<<

He could also check with Banzai-Tron and Sparkstalker for the files he’d requested too. Although Synapse enjoyed a personal touch to all of his endeavors, most tended to avoid him. The doctor glanced at both bodies of Lobe. “Shall we be off then?” Synapse strode toward the exit, taking care not to tread anywhere near the equipment or workbenches. The last thing he needed to do right now was have another accident.


Garrus 9 – Amphitheatre

"Blot! Sinnertwin! Keep them from interrupting Commander's new pet scientist! Form a circle around them!”

Blot moved immediately in response to Hun-Grr’s command. The circle was formed. He stood at one edge with his arms folded over his chest. Cutthroat began his attack, full of energy as always. Good to see that he had some fight left in him. He’d need it if he wanted to rejoin the pack.

Blot’s attention was drawn away from the fight as the Commander’s new pet scientist shouted something. Blot wondered what he was upset about. He wasn’t being interrupted. Well, best to let the master handle that. Blot wouldn’t speak for him. That wasn’t his function. He was Hun-Grr’s shield. To protect and feed and fight alongside the master was Blot’s only wish.