The Energon Pub

Garrus 9 – Southern Wing

Cutthroat continued to spew his fire towards the Sweeps as Sinner twin grabs a hold of him. He turns his head and uses the last of this current batch of flame on Sinnertwin's back. He then starts to peck with his powerful beak and try to tear with his claws and talons. In Cutthroat current state of mind there is no recognition of Sinnertwin. Someone attacked him and would pay for that.

Garrus-9 - Eastern Wing - Power Station

Soul Siren frowned as she received the message from Bombshell. That kind of response would irrate her normally but. . now, as she tried to stumble back while weapon fire sang their deadly song all around her, it was unacceptable.

"My words come at the command of Commander Scorponok, insect. You would do well to remember this when I contact you. Now, what are you doing? How does this "fertile ground" aid our mission?"

She answered in a cool manner which did not betray any emotion but emphasized the seriousness of her words. She turned back towards Scorponok and smiled as she saw him getting the upper hand on his rival. She wished that her outer optic glasses were not cracked so she could fully enjoy the sight. The report of the disrespectful insect could wait until this was done.

Garrus 9 – Southern Wing

More than happy to leave the sounds of escalating internecine combat behind him, Kickback and his diaclones proceeded as they had before running afoul of that rust-rotted femme. He and Shrapnel were quick to part ways; without a manifest physical threat to the Swarm, their objectives would be completed more easily working independently. Well. Independent to all intents and purposes; the near-mindless duplicates were hardly about to offer any useful insights or criticisms or alternative points of view. They were so very obliging in that regard.

Crawling along the ceiling, differentiated in no obvious way from the Insecticons that accompanied him, Kickback’s near-translucent metal wings hummed against his body anxiously. So much valuable time, lost on what should have been a momentary pause for a snack. It still rankled, but he was slowly putting it from his mind to focus on more immediate concerns.

He noted Stormwrecker and Vroom in passing, moving together down a side-corridor, but paid them little mind. Their earlier encounter with Ransack had left a lingering imprint, of sorts, on the shared consciousness of the Swarm, and so Kickback instinctively deemed them neither threat nor possible food source. As he went, he dispatched his diaclones in twos and threes in alternative directions, though he kept the majority of them near at hand in the event some new difficulty arose. As soon as these observation units had returned their first few terrabytes of information, Kickback compressed the data into a format other Decepticons would have little difficulty understanding and dispatched copies to the other field agents operating in the area—Banzai-tron, Wingspan, and Firewire--fleet command, Intelligence Headquarters, the Decepticon Justice Department mainframe, and anyone else he could think of that might deem the battlefield observations even remotely useful.

And to which he appended a personal note:

[Infiltrator Kickback’s Personal Log SED-1408:] “Metallikato Master Bludgeon, former Commander of the ill-fated Empirion, has, on his own personal initiative, taken custody of a non-allied Garrus-9 inmate in the field. What this may signify remains open to speculation; however, given that there are not likely to be many such merciful intercessions during the ongoing fighting, it would, in my opinion, prove an asset to Intelligence to secure the individuals in question for detailed debriefing and, if such should be deemed necessary, interrogation. See attached imaging for distinguishing personal characteristics of non-allied captive for the purposes of future identification.”

All right. So perhaps he had only mostly put the episode from his mind.

Semper Tyrannis – Bridge

Before Reflector made his reply, an alert at Finback’s station notified him of a developing situation in the ship’s brig. Apparently, there’d been some minor structural damage to the interior of one of the occupied cells. On its own, no particular cause for concern; it’d take vorns for a prisoner to punch his way out of one of Tyrannis’ cells. But with so many of the flagship’s crew planetside participating in the assault on the prison, and those left concentrating on mopping up what was left of the Autobot resistance in orbit or in the open on the ground … Well, the nastiest breakdowns came from ignoring those first few telltale squeaks, didn’t they?

The aging wreck of a sailor activated a visual comm feed with the interior of the brig, peering into the screen in front of him to assess whatever situation was developing there. If it looked like trouble, well, it would be easy enough to send the prisoners into stasis lock until the battle was over. Finback wouldn’t have been entrusted with his current position had he been a Decepticon inclined to take foolish chances.

Semper Tyrannis--Brig

Pointblank simply sneered and silently mouthed Firewire's last few words mockingly before returning his gaze to the surface of his cell.

Lightspeed had to admit that their odds for getting off this ship were increasingly grim. This Firewire individual, Decepticon though she may be, at least presented herself with a modicum of diplomacy. Likely feigned. But even if so, Lightspeed appreciated the gesture. It was certainly better than the alternatives they had dealt with as of late. But now the attitudes of Pointblank and Scattershot threatened to shatter even this Decepticon's veneer of civility. Once that happened, how many more were they likely to encounter? It would be an endless stream of Soul Sirens and Scourges. No thanks.

Pyro, at least, approached the dialogue that Firewire had started a little more rationally and even-tempered. Lightspeed hoped to continue along that vein.

"We, the Technobots that is, were stationed here on Garrus-9 under Commander Maximus, either within the facility itself, aboard the Farstar or working on the command ship--the Steelhaven. Nothing especially out of the ordinary. This corner of the galaxy has actually proved to be relatively quiet. I'm sure that's why it was chosen as the location for a detention facility. Um....we got word some orns ago about the science group that had been detached to Nebulos had not reported in. Again, not out of the ordinary. They had missed deadlines before. But this one went a little too long, so our unit got dispatched to go see what was going on. And, when we got there, we found out why they had not been reporting in, as the flagship of the 2nd Expansion Fleet was waiting for us. The rest, of course, I'm sure you're familiar with."
___

Semper Tyrannis–Bridge

The heads of the Viewfinder and Spyglass components shifted their gaze to the form of Finback while Spectro continued its observations of the holofeed. His current condition appeared pitiful enough. But when he spoke, it only served to add an even more regrettable air to what was otherwise a cloud of impending victory surrounding their every action.

The vocalizers of tho-thirds of Reflector's components opened slightly in obvious disdain before the second looked down and began retrieving the requested information.

"Ships withdrawn or withdrawing as commanded. Primary defensive batteries of the moon structures have been disabled. Secondary vessels reporting minor conflicts around the exterior of the prison. The bulk of the engagement has shifted to the prison itself. Sensors detecting powerful energy fluctuations within."
___

Approaching Eastern Wing

Scourge walked with a quiet methodicism. Inasmuch as his mission parameters were to cripple Autobot defenses, he felt satisfied that he had played the role that needed to be played in order to bring about those ends for the good of the empire.

As he walked, the illumination levels within the seemingly abandoned corridor flickered, dimmed and then ultimately faded altogether.

Scourge did not even break his stride.
___

Northern Wing--Goldrush's Suite

"And we tooooootally watched him smash that bot's face in!"

"Oh man!"

"Y'should've been there. It was a riot."

The lights in the room began to flicker and fade, leaving the partying mechs in near complete darkness, save for the varying glows of their energon containers and the contents therein.

"Wuzzat?"

"The battle," Goldrush said, attempting to form a coherent thought despite the fact that all of his internal readings were registering well over 100%. "has moved to the power station. I think. Somezin...something....is damaging the generators."

"Everybody shut off their night specs!"

"Woo!"

Garrus-9--Eastern Wing--Power Station

Demolishor had fought for the Decepticon cause most of his life. It had all began in the pits of Kaon. He had been there, fighting for Megatron against the senate forces. He had survived all the big ones. The Battle of Hell's Point. The Siege of Massunstrad. The Simanzi Massacre. And now this. He was pretty certain someone would come up with a fancy name for what Scorponok had done thorough past vorn or so. The had been all the prerequisites for certain. Tricking the attention of Autobots elsewhere. The following conquest of Nebulos. Some more poking around to keep the Autobots on their toes all across the galaxy. And then this. The Siege of Garrus-9? No. The siege hadn't lasted for that long. Would it become one of those battles labeled as massacre of something? Maybe. It had all potential to become such. Autobots would jump at the chance to call it something like that, of that he was certain.

But here and now? This just had to be one of those big battles that changed everything. The way Scorponok and his giant Autobot nemesis tore into each had turned pretty much everyone else in the power complex into spectators. Sure, like a good soldier, Demolishor had entered the battle when the Autobots had burst in. The dueling titans had soon made it impossible to continue the said battle against the Autobots.

With ground shaking under their blows, catwalks and platforms coming crashing down and energy blasts that could eradicate anyone foolish enough to get in the way flying around, the power complex had become way too hazardous environment for anyone not on the same power level with the two giants locked in dance of death. Even a seasoned veteran like Demolishor could only seek shelter behind some of the more sturdy structures he could find. And even so, it wasn't just once or twice when he had to relocate with haste or join the casualties of the war. But better that than dropping off the grid like his nearby namesake had done back in Nebulos. And some dared to say Autobots did not perform atrocities. Liars.

He heard two loud gun blasts. And then something rare. Scorponok roaring out in pain. The noise of gunfire began to multiply. What was happening? Fortress Maximus was seemingly throwing everything he got at Scorponok now. Demolishor managed to peek out from his cover just in time to witness the infamous lightning bolt like strike of Scorponok's electron stinger tearing into Maximus' body, its already fearsome power being increased by the Autobots already weakened armor. Flames shot out of every open wound of gigantic Autobot leader as he dropped to his knees. For a moment that seemed to take an eternity the Maximus just sat on his knees until he finally fell forward, defeated.

Demolishor could see Scorponok transforming in the distance. The leader of the 2nd Fleet looked as battered as one could imagine after a battle he had just gone through. His protective battle visor was broken, smoke was pouring out from dozens of small holes punched into his heavy battle armor by Fortress Maximus' guns. And that was not counting all deformations in his armor from those heavy blows of his opponent. Yet in the end, Scorponok was standing. Fortress Maximus wasn't.

Dozens of Decepticons began moving out of their hiding places, flocking towards the fallen Autobot Commander and their leader who was looming over his fallen enemy, savoring his victory.

"Restrain him! Install a transformation inhibitor!" Scorponok commanded, setting several Decepticons to instant motion. Demolishor was one of them, carrying the large transformation inhibitor the Decepticons had prepared for this mission just in case the opportunity to capture Fortress Maximus would arise. While Scorponok had practically made a possible escape by the warden nearly impossible through crushing the Autobot's knee joints, Demolishor was still careful to avoid Maximus' enormous limbs as he attached the device into Fortress' back.

"Autobots! Fortress Maximus has fallen! Tremble before the terrible might of Scorponok and despair!" Scorponok roared out in his moment of triumph, his enormous arms spread wide. The energon leaking from the corner of his mouth did little to hinder the ecstatic smile he had on his hardened facial features.

"Decepticons! Secure this site! Set guard around Fortress Maximus and prepare him to be strip mined for his secrets!" Scorponok barked out commands, while moving towards one of the still standing energon containers to see if there was anything left to salvage for he had just burned enough energon to fuel a number of smaller Cybertronians for days. "And find me an access to the Rig!"

Garrus 9 – Southern Wing

Seemingly oblivious to the fluids and other mechanical gore that covered his hands, torso, and cranial unit, Wildfly wrapped laced his digits behind the back of his head and began emitting a jaunty, cheerful tune from his vocalizer as he and Slog continued making their way through the prison. Well. What was left of the prison, when you got down to it. Place had never looked better, in his opinion. Couldn’t say the same for all the familiar faces scattered along the floor, or scraped off along the unyielding ferrocrete walls. Autobots and Decepticons, inmates and guards, united finally in their offline status.

There was a lesson to learn from all the carnage. But Wildfly had neither the patience nor the extra processing capacity to interpret exactly what it might be. Except maybe that that the expression on a mech’s face when his internals were scattered across a dozen square meters was hilarious.

The exact direction they moved in didn’t make much difference to Wilfly, of course. Nor did he give a lot of thought to what they’d do once they reunited with their fellow Monstercons. Slog and Icepick would figure it out, he was sure—they were good at that sort of thing. He was around mostly for comic relief—like that bit of slapstick he’d performed with Spree’s help a little while ago! That had been classic.

“Good times,” he decided to himself aloud, just before his optics lighted upon two more mechanoids making their way through the gutted bowels of the detention wing. The lighting had all gone to scrap for some reason, so it wasn’t easy to make them out, but Wildfly would know those silhouettes anywhere!

Leaving only a cackle hanging in the air behind him, he flashed from Slog’s side to throw himself bodily into Birdbrain, wrapping his arms around the other Monstercon as the two collided with such unexpected force that they went bouncing end over end along the rubble-strewn corridor like a rock skimming over the surface of a pond. When they settled, Wildfly was hugging his long-lost teammate enthusiastically, heedless of the energon and lubricant and waste fuel—all once property of the recently-departed Spree—he smeared upon the other mechanoid.

“Look, Slog!” he announced triumphantly. “I found ‘em! Well, two of ‘em, anyway. Bah weep grana weep ninni bong, Bristleback!” Widlfly cocked his head inquiringly. “You guys seen Icepick or Scowl? Me and Slog decided we’re about ready to blow this two-chit energon depot.”

Garrus 9 – Eastern Wing – Power Station

“Slag! Slag! Slag! This is bad! This is SO slaggin’ bad!” Lowball pressed his back further against the wall. He’d taken refuge in a side alcove on Fortress Maximus’ command. He had no intention of getting caught up in whatever that was Scorponok had thrown at them.

And there was this. He and the other that were battling alongside the warden became witnesses to the fall of the great Autobot. Yes, this was bad.

“So, let me get this straight…this is bad, right?” Whirl swung his lone optic in Lowball’s direction. Before Lowball could respond the sound of Max hitting the floor while Scorponok prepared to stomp the Autobot. “Yes!” The guard’s voice died in the din of the battle. A triumphant smile spread over his face as he watched Maximus kick his nemesis back giving himself the time to get back to his feet.

Whirl refocused his attention back on the fight only barely keeping tabs on the smaller mech. “You do know, this isn’t gonna go the way you want, right?” Lowball’s smile faded as he looked back at the clawed mech. “We need to get out of here. Once Max gets his aft handed to him those ‘Cons are gonna come gunnin’ for us.” Whirl’s gaze met Lowball’s momentarily.

It was the cry of pain coming from the Warden that caught both Autobots’ attention. Both mechs watched. Lowball remained confident that it would be Fortress Maximus who would come out the real winner. That certainty began to wane once Max was stung, not once but four times by the battle’s end.

“Scrap! What now?!” Lowball looked back at Whirl. And for once the former Wrecker took control. “No? Now we get the hell out of here.”

From his position Whirl rose to his feet and took aim with his weapons. Laying down cover fire he yelled over his shoulder to the other guards and civilians present. “Retreat! Get back to a safe distance and regroup! Anyone with ammo provides cover!” A few mechs hesitated unsure whether or not they should follow through. “Well?! What the slag are you waiting for?! Do it! Go! MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!” Whirl bellowed.

Lowball rose from his position and pointed to the other mechs. “Come on! Get it together! GO!”

Whirl kept firing when he felt the heat form Lowball’s weapon lick his armor. That sensation was followed up by several other mechs’ weapons. From behind he could hear the sounds of heavy foot falls fading.

From the group of ‘Bots making their way out of the fray Flame pressed forward. He quickly took up a position beside the former Wrecker and opened fire. “Today would be a good day to die.” The scientist said.

Garrus 9 – Outside the Aequitas Chamber

“UGGH!” The sound of Streamlight’s painful cry caused Rung to turn and face the now pinned guard. The psychiatrist stretched one hand out and began to move forward, but he stopped at the sight of Snapdragon. The beast had come from the shadows and literally dropped on top of Streamlight from above.

Rung looked from Streamlight’s struggling form and focused on the Horrorcon. He gave a nod indicating his intention to cooperate with what the creature commanded.

From behind the orange Autobot felt a light touch fall on his shoulder. Rung relaxed slightly while he turned halfway to look at Cipher.

“I’ll do what you want but on one condition, Cipher.” Rung’s vocalizer was steady, almost stern. Cipher smiled sweetly and let his hand fall from the ‘Bot. “You and your little friend here are hardly in any position to make demands, Rung.” He gestured to Streamlight who let out another cry of pain.

Rung shook his head gently. “It’s not a demand. It’s a show of trust. You give me what I want and I’ll be more than happy to give you what you want. Quid pro quo, Cipher.”

The cryptologist’s smile melted as he stared hard at Rung’s unmoving form. Finally, with a burst of enthusiasm Cipher smiled and gripped both of Rung’s shoulders. “You never change, do you Rung. HAHA!” He squeezed firmly before gesturing toward Snapdragon and Streamlight. “Alright. Your little bodyguard lives, but he will remain in Snapdragon’s capable hands until I get what I want.”

Rung looked from the Horrorcon to Streamlight. He then took a moment to see that Mindwipe was still present and still in his Shrikebat alt mode. After a moment of observing the hypnotist Rung took a quick glance at Apeface.

“As long as he’s not harmed any further than I will agree,” Rung confessed. Cipher moved one arm and wrapped it loosely around his waist while he focused on his free hand. “Fine, fine. Of course. Now, let’s get back to what I want.” He peeked at the psychiatrist.

Rung cocked his head slightly as he finally inquired, “And what is it you want from me?” Clapping both hands together Cipher smile broadly. “I thought you’d never ask!” With one hand he gestured dramatically to the door of the Aequitas Chamber. “I want what’s in there. And in order to get what I want I need the codes.” Cipher’s smile grew sinister as he slowly stalked toward Rung. The orange Autobot’s eyebrows rose as he took a few steps back away from the Decepticon cryptologist.

“Cipher, I don’t have the codes. I’m sorry but I can’t give you what I don’t have.” Rung kept his tone even and calm.

Cipher stopped before Rung, their nasal structures nearly touching. “You’ve always been a horrendous liar, Rung.” The Decepticon’s tone was low, vile and full of contempt. But Rung held his ground.

While Rung was busy with the other small mech, Streamlight tried, and failed on every attempt, to get free from the hulking mass pressing heavily into his back. “Y…you know…you know there’s…noth…ing in there…ri..ght?” He wasn’t sure if Snapdragon was listening or if the Horrorcon even cared. He just needed a distraction from the pain. And if he could find a way to get free, well that’d be a plus too.

“Now. Let’s try this again. Give me the codes.” Cipher stared hard into Rung’s optics. “And I told you I don’t have them.” Rung stared just as hard.

Cipher’s expression changed and he stepped away. Realization flooded him. “Them? Them. You don’t have them.” He pointed at Rung accusingly, “But you have some. Don’t you? You don’t have them all, but you have some!” He watched as Rung’s optics flickered quickly.

“HAHA!” Cipher stepped right back in front of the ‘Bot and gave him a smug smile. “You’ve always been a horrendous liar.”

Garrus 9 – Southern Wing

With his initial report made, Kickback returned to the task he had been assigned, the task which was not so inconvenient or onerous that he felt inclined to leave it to less discriminating Insecticons to handle. His diaclones moved through the newest block of cells in their path, covering and chewing through the thick metal plating which kept them barred shut, but ensuring the occupants remained where they were, for the time being, with the press of their segmented bodies. Kickback continued to creep along the ceiling, clones parting as he peeked his head down for a look at the prisoner inside.

“Do not be alarmed, friend,” he said, his voice so sweet it was cloying. “For this is the cycle of your liberation. But first, may I ask your designation and allegiance? We must have a record of these things, you understand.”

“Uh, Blowhard,” came the slow response from the mech pressed up against the far wall. “Decepticon engineer. Used to serve under Roadblock in Protihex …”

Kickback accessed the Intelligence files stored in his own memory. Identity: Confirmed. Subject: Blowhard, Senior Engineer, VIII Armored, First Fleet. “Welcome back to the ranks, Blowhard!” the Insecticon cooed, gesturing with one segmented leg to another black metal locust creeping along the floor of the cell block. “Please follow my associate here.” The clone would lead him back to the Decepticon lines, where he would be refueled, rearmed, and sent back into the fight.

Chittering to himself, Kickback scuttled on to the next prison module in line, where he repeated his friendly spiel to another, equally confused, equally unnerved inmate.

“Shellshock,” he grunted, optics flickering. “Part of Carnivac’s outfit, from back in the battle of Tendrosha.”

Identity: Confirmed. Subject: Motorway, Autobot Deserter. Kickback’s antennae twitched, and the mass of diaclones choking the door surged inside, burying the lying mechanoid in a heap of writhing carapaces, flailing legs, and tearing mouthparts. Sublime to behold, really.

On to the next one …

Garrus 9 – Eastern Wing – Power Station

Soul Siren beamed with pride at Scorponok's declaration. Once again she wished that she could see this clearly without all the cracks. With the Autobots in retreat and Fortress Maximus conquered she would no longer be in the way so she returned to her place on Scorponok's side once more. As she moved she looked back for a moment wondering how the explosion had impacted Cyclonus. She was not concerned however. He was infinitely tougher than herself.

She turned her head back and finished limping her way to Scorponok.

"Congratulations, sir!" She said with a smile then continued her report via private communication. "Bombshell has rather rudely reported that his Insecticons are searching through the cells. Although he, himself, seems to be doing something else."

(OOC: Sid gave me permission to NPC Shrapnel. And I hope this is what he's supposed to be doing...)

Garrus-9 – Southern Wing

“Please don't hurt me, me!” Her actuator whipped up in anticipation of violence, as if it could provide her with the protection she needed. “I'm a good little Autobot, Autobot! I meant no offence, even though I don't know what I did wrong, wrong.” Though it trembled, her actuator remained in place, an improvised shield to resist the ferocity about to descend upon her.

Right. Like her tiny, fragile hand would put a stop to the agony he had proposed to inflict on her.

His facial-plate – that hideous facial-plate distorted by a murderous fury blazing from the depths of his optics – leaned in, getting closer, closer, closer to her. He invaded her personal space. He threatened to deliver the killing blow. Whenever he deemed it suitable to cease her functioning, which would be a moment of his choosing.

“You did everything wrong, wrong!” He raised his voice, increasing his vocaliser's volume to almost its highest setting. “And since I'm angry, crazy, stupid and psychotic, you must die, die!”

“No, no...” Her voice strained then cracked, raw emotion seeping through the fissures. “Please don't, don't! Please, please!”

Optics wide with the promise of an atrocious ending, he locked his gaze onto her.

“No, no! Please, please!”

Instead of responding, he smiled.

“Don't you know that you're not supposed to hurt femmes, femmes?”

Such weak conviction.

“Look, I just told you: I'm stupid and crazy, crazy. So I have to kill you, you.” He chuckled. “It's basically an unwritten law, law.”

She froze, stiff and rigid as any statue.

He continued to stare at her, his smile stretching from one audio receptor to the other.

“No, no...”

Still staring. Still smiling.

“No, no...”

Staring. Smiling.

“No–”

“SKRRRAAAAA, SKRRRAAAAA!”

Emitting a screeching cackle, Shrapnel tossed the actuator and cranial unit to the ground where the severed parts clattered as they landed, bumping into the shattered corpse of the guard he had terminated purely to repeat the comical spectacle between Cutthroat and that femme 'Bot. What a laugh, it had been. What a riot. How Hun-Grrr had not already sent Cutthroat to the Great Junkyard for being the galaxy's most disobedient moron was as perplexing as it was insane.

That scene: it warranted an encore – another version Shrapnel-style. It tickled him so much that he had to – had to – halt his progress through the penitentiary, find and slay a guard, and replay it again for his own amusement.

Anyway, neither Cutthroat nor Hun-Grrr nor that femme nor everyone else involved in that brilliant show concerned Shrapnel. The prisoners did. Or, to be precise, the prisoners still trapped in their cells did.

That, and play time was over.

Time to go back to work again. Time to liberate some unbelievably dangerous fellows who'd been deprived of, well, every good thing for the last few millennia so they could gain vengeance on those who had imprisoned them, be the architects of ample amounts of carnage and destruction, and perhaps, in the process, feel as though going loony in the penitentiary served as a form of compensation for their very long and very boring incarcerations.

Sounded like a plan to Shrapnel.

Transforming to stag beetle mode, the Insecticon allowed himself to be swallowed by his group of diaclones, and as though adopting the appearance of a raging tsunami, they hurled themselves down the corridor, proceeding to the closest cell block, a dark, rippling mass of chittering creatures slashing the air around them with twisted bolts of electricity.

Ransack has seen anything how rude Shrapnel was with the Female Guard, he have seen anything and heard anything. Sometimes he shot with his Concussion Blaster some guards in pieces. When a guard was hurted Ransack has walked quiet to him.

''Prepare to join your fellow guards in the Allspark!'' said Ransack smiling evilly. Then he shot threw the Guard his head with his Concussion Blaster. When he sees that his fellow Insecticons have entered the prison he chases them. He sees that they have stopped by the first Cell Block, there where rare creatures with twisted bolts of electricity.

''You see Shrapnel these creatures have also electricity weapons like you, so maybe you will end like this hopelless piece of metal.'' said Ransack laughing. They look so delicious, and they have a lot of metal and steel on their body.'' said Ransack dreamy. He impulsively shot a hole in the bars. ''Maybe I shouldn't have do that.'' said Ransack hesitant. Those creatures walked toward him and his fellow Insecticons. ''Must we not run now for our lives?'' said Ransack again hesitant.

Semper Tyrannis - Brig

"BULL SCRAP!"

The most silent of the imprisoned Autobots had shouted suddenly, causing Firewire to jump to her feet defensively. Scattershot, the leader of the rag-tag group of Technobots, had just punched a fairly sizable dent in the wall of the cell. He withdrew his arm and looked down at the diminutive femme optics burning with wrath. Rather perplexed by the mechanoid's sudden outburst, Firewire drew her data pad up, hugging it to her chest a bit like a shield.

"That is your justification for joining a group of jack bolted thugs and genocidal maniacs?"

Firewire slowly realized what was about to happen. As Scattershot crouched down to look the little femme optic to optic, the analyst lowered her defensive stance and met Scattershot's fiery gaze with one of her own defiant ones. She remained silent, listening to the Technobot's protests. His arguments. His beliefs. This was where Decepticons and Autobots differed. Irrevocably and fundamentally.

The little Decepticon Intelligence agent met Scattershot's withering gaze, waiting for him to finish. And, after the Technobot leader had finished speaking, Firewire remained silent a little longer just to be sure. It was then that Pyro spoke up, hoping to take the edge off of his leader's harsh words. Firewire flicked her crimson optics at Pyro, her own gaze smoldering with an indignant rage.

"No. Your leader meant every single word that he said," she snapped, "Every single one." Firewire stepped up to the bars of the cell and redirected her glower back at Scattershot. "And you. You seem to forget that the death of our home world was just as much your fault as it was ours. Do you think we wanted Cybertron to die!? Any of us?! Do you think that was the master plan?!"

"Your moral high ground blinds you to the fact that you Autobots - you 'heroes' - have committed atrocities just as horrible as the Decepticons. You think you're free of the blame? You think you all are justified in your righteousness? You make me sick. Thousands of us are dead! Our race will soon be on the brink of extinction!"

"Do you really think a few alien organic races deserve the right to their freedom more than us? Freedom isn't a right, whatever your Prime may say. You earn your freedom. You fight for it. And sometimes, you lose as you Autobots may know well, and thus, your freedom is forfeit. That is how the universe works. Give and take. Win or lose. It's a lesson that I had to learn the hard way when I was captured by you Autobots once upon a time."

"So yes. This freedom that the Decepticons still fight for? It is worth the sparks that my commanders sacrificed. The innocent lives taken. I believe in it, and I have sacrificed for it. I would sacrifice everything for my freedom."

"And yes. I believe in peace through tyranny because I've seen the alternative. And it doesn't work. The alternative gave us the Senate. Corruption. The caste system. I'll die before I see any of that return."

Firewire folded her arms over her chest and glared at Scattershot defiantly. She had caught Pointblank's sneer and mocking out of her corner of her optic. By this point, however, her rage had peaked and most of it was directed at Scattershot. Lightspeed had, however, offered up the information that she had asked for earlier. She committed it to memory to be filed down later in a report for all the good it would do.

----

Garrus 9 - Southern Wing

As per his master's orders, the Terrorcon foot soldier transformed with a rather hideous accompaniment of cacophonous metal grating on metal and the sloshing of what were supposed to be internal fluids as they squirted out of his every joint. He trudged along behind the terrible Hun-Grr, staying close to his master's side and leaving behind his usual trail of slime behind him as he moved forward slowly toward the horde of Insecticon diaclones.

He did not question the scene before him as he moved forward. It mattered little to him unless Hun-Grr gave him orders to do something regarding it. As his master had not as of yet, he was content to continue to let his optics wander. They rested on Sinnertwin who had bounced off after Hun-Grr had reprimanded him. Sinnertwin soon vanished from sight, however, and the Terrorcon foot soldier paid him no more mind.

That was until both Cutthroat and Sinnertwin entangled themselves in the standoff ahead. The Insecticons swiftly retreated from the skirmish unsurprisingly. Cutthroat, with his usual level of psychotic rage, had found an Autobot femme to attack, which was all well and fine with the Terrorcon foot soldier. What happened next, however, did confuse him greatly. A Decepticon, one that he recognized as one of their targets, intervened on behalf of the Autobot. This was strange enough, but then one of the Seacons and some Sweeps began to intervene as well. Sinnertwin wasn't wholly unusual. He typically restrained Cutthroat.

There was only one being who could bring clarity into this. Blot looked up to Hun-Grr and asked, "Master? Orders?"

Garrus 9 – East Wing Power Station

With no small trepidation, Wingspan peeked his optics above the pile of rubble behind which he’d taken cover when the titanic battle between Fortress Maximus and Scorponok had erupted. Despite the explosions, the rampant structural collapse, and the generally apocalyptic proportions of that conflict … he remained fully functional. A fact so improbable that he re-checked his internal diagnostics twice, just to completely rule out the possibility of critical software failure.

But it was true. Stepping out into the open, and not really bothering to pursue the more aggressive Decepticons now pushing the Autobots deeper into their ridiculous little fortress, Wingspan cautiously approached the fallen Autobot commander. How fortuitous that Scorponok had decreed a guard be set around the frame of his fallen rival. The more cerebral of the Clone duo could think of no better place for himself, at least until active hostilities had abated. Once the threat of deactivation was no longer an immediate concern, he looked forward to helping himself to the trove of enemy data this facility was sure to yield.

“As my Lord commands,” he said, with a perfunctory but respectful bow for the massive warlord. “It will be my honor to keep watch over your prize until what’s left of this pitiful Autobot resistance is quelled.” He stepped toward the unmoving Fortress Maximus, laying a clawed hand almost gently on the side of the other mech’s enormous cranial unit. “I can hardly wait to crack you open, Maximus,” the data processor murmured, mostly to himself. “Extracting the secrets from your cerebro-circuitry will be the greatest pleasure of career—and a momentous victory for the Decepticon Empire, of course.”

Semper Tyrannis - Firing Range

Deadlock's simulated mission had ended and he stepped back out into the main facility of the on-board firing range. He enjoyed the time he had spent in there, even though it wasn't as thrilling as the real deal could have been. Damn Turmoil... Ordering him to stay put on the ship while he's off doing Primus knows what. Oh well, with his reputation he knew he would called upon later in a sparkbeat. The black and white warrior slung his photon rifle onto his back and made his exit towards the bridge of Scorponok's mighty warship for a status update of some sort.

-

Semper Tyrannis - Bridge

The doors of the bridge opened with a loud hiss as the Decepticon warrior strolled his way in all casual-like. He recognized Finback at the helm and the Reflector triplets all huddling around the control panels of the warship. Deadlock crossed his arms over his squarish-shaped chest panel. He let out a dissatisfied huff as he observed the battle raging on around the warship on the monitors up above where Finback seemed to have been standing.

I should be out there right now...

The black and white warrior strolled up next to Finback while continuing to examine the monitors. His faceplating stretched to the right side of is face as he scowled a bit in anger of being left aboard while his fellow Decepticons get to enjoy the assault on the Garrus complex.

"Finback, can I get our latest status report? Seems I've spent to long in the grid of the firing range to be kept in the loop of this mission." He asked while maintaining direct contact with the viewscreen above.

Garrus-9–-Southern Wing

Seawing just stood by and watched, curiously, as the melee continued to not only unfold but expand itself, even going so far as to draw another Terrorcon into its tendrils. He couldn't deny that it was a rather entertaining spectacle. Almost worthy of the old days back in the pits when Seawing had also been just a simple spectator. But he couldn't help but wonder how this little display reflected on Hungrr's command style. Was this sort of thing commonplace in their ranks? He couldn't deny that he was a little more thankful for Snaptrap's more measured, though still brutal, hand.

Seawing knew that he could command a unit far more effectively than Hungrr. But he was also smart enough to never say so out loud.
___

Other Decepticons seemed to be intent on dealing with the problem. But they also seemed incapable of doing so on their own. Cutthroat was going to wind up doing far more harm than good if they allowed this to continue. And Scourge would not be in the slightest bit happy if he found out some of his Sweeps were anywhere in the vicinity and allowed one of the Monstercons to be gravely injured. Or worse.

"Told you. Needs a leash," the first Sweep said as he sunk his claws down into the wings of the flailing, mindless Terrorcon even as he and the other found themselves engulfed in flames. Scourge had trained them in conditions such as these. To experience them now only demonstrated what foresight the Tracker had.

The other Sweep piled on as well, grabbing another of the Terrorcon's flailing limbs and slamming a restraint spike in to Cutthroat's abdomen.

"Light him up!"

"On it! It burns, though. Burns so bad! Just need to--"

The Sweep activated the device.
__

Crawling as far away from Cutthroat's insanity as he could while the roars and screams of bloodlust still filled the immediate area, Icepick lay flat on his back before bringing his arms up to look at them. His systems were registering significant damage for what had been so brief an encounter. No wonder the Terrorcons had the reputations that they did. He could only imagine what the results would have been were he to have encountered Cutthroat in some darkened corridor of this prison. There were likely several mechs, both Autobots and Decepticons alike, who already had.

He pitied them.

"I.....I've been better. But I'll survive. You?"

Semper Tyrannis - Bridge

Finback had gotten so wrapped up in the little femme—Firewire, if his memory files hadn’t been corrupted—laid into the sanctimonious Technobot leader and the other rabble now taking up space in the brig that he hadn’t noticed the new arrival. At least, not until Deadlock addressed him directly. His optics brightened behind the glass viewplate of his portable CR assembly. “Miss a little, miss a lot, eh?” the aged Decepticon said hoarsely, his vocalizer’s transmissions filled with underlying static as power and control connections were constantly being eroded and repaired.

“Let me give you the –zzk- short version.” He gestured, and one of the screens began replaying the timeline of the battle thus far. “A couple of our smaller ships drew out the Autobot defenses, stringing them out so we could destroy them piecemeal. Combined with a –ssssss- software bug implanted in their flagship, and a Terrocon boarding party, and the enemy’s orbital assets were reduced to total ineffectiveness before they knew what hit them. We’re just cleaning up the scraps now—and keeping an optic out for reinforcements that might turn up from outside the star system.”

Finback manipulated a few more controls, shifting the view to one of the planet’s surface, and the Garrus-9 detention facility. “Lord Scorponok himself is leading our warriors against the prison. As you can see,” he indicated the screen, which had been calibrated to track and display enemy fluctuations—most likely the result of sustained firefights or large-scale collateral damage, “we’re pushing the ‘Bots back. Even captured Fortress Maximus, last I heard. Must be something else down there worth retrieving, since I haven’t heard the signal to withdraw sound yet. I suppose they’ll tell us what we need to know, when we need to know it.”

He chuckled--a harsh, rasping sound--and pointed to the screen that had held his attention prior to Deadlock’s arrival. “Now, if you want to see something really interesting, get an optic-full of this. I don’t know where that sawed-off femme found the struts to tell off Autobots three times her size, but I like it.”

Garrus - 9 - Southern Wing

As being tackled by more Cutthroat reacted with pure instincts, clawing and screaming at his attackers. There was no realization of the spike until it was activated and the energy coursed through his body. Cutthroat's physical body might be able to be restrained but his hatred, his anger had no limits. Even as his body was shutting down his optics met those of the Sweep before him. The Sweep who had insulted him, the one who had done this to him. A single coherent word appeared in his mind DIE!. He suddenly sprung his head forward burying his beak into the Sweep's head.

With that last act of defiance, he was still.

Semper Tyrannis - Brig

Brainstorm began to work his way back to the ground floor of the cell while Firewire began explaining her ideals and how she had "feel in" with the 'Cons. Apparently her story angered the Technobot Commander in the cell to the point of snapping what little patience most of the bots had been able to retain. He had pounded a decent looking dent into the metallic walls of the cell and soon he seemed to have been screaming his opinion at the petite femme on the other side of the cell bars.

After his shpeel, Firewire returned with a louder and bolder counter-arguement. The volume of her rant made the Biomechanical engineer jump a little where he was standing. For a mech that small, she sure was more vocal than you'd imagine. Man she sure liked to run her vocalizer a lot...

"C'mon you two," Brainstorm interjected as he stood between the bulky Technobot commander and the femme on the other side of the cell bars, "the war has taken a lot out of both sides and it's each of our faults! But trying to pick petty little fights like this isn't gonna end the war sooner, it'll prove both side's points about how things should be handled!" Brainstorm let out a little huff of air and he removed himself from between the mechs. He turned back to face both of them. "Now, there's been something on my processor that I need to get out so I need you two to stop bickering for a breem or so and let me work it out."

The Biomechanical engineer approached Scattershot and placed an arm over the bulky 'Bot's shoulder plating.

"Listen, I know we're stuck in quite the grim situation here," he began as he privately conversed with the Technobot commander, "but we gotta keep our heads up and our morale strong if we want this plan of your's to work out later." He pulled out a red stylus from one of his hip-mounted storage compartments. "Just play out the helpless and defeated prisoner bit a little longer and I'm sure we'll be outta here in no time."

The engineer then patted his fellow Autobot on the shoulder and walked back over to the wall where he began scribbling equations and other formulas up against the wall in the red-metallic ink to keep the constant brainstorms he was called for under control and from causing him to overload his primary processors.

Garrus-9--Southern Wing-Cell Blocks

Cutthroat. Sinnertwin. Tentakil. Scourge's Sweeps. The mission compromised. Blot was asking something. He did not register. Hun-Gurrr was seething inside. Cutthroat had his uses for the specific function he existed for. Yet, he was growing increasingly more uncontrollable. From what had once been an asset was quickly devolving into a liability. The thought of killing the fool and be done with it began to feel increasingly more enthralling. In fact, in the mind of a monster like the Terrorcon leader was, killing everyone involved with this incident began to feel like the most calling course of action to take. Cutthroat was his property. No one touched something of his without paying the price for their actions. Yet, murdering this many Decepticons on a whim would only provoke the wrath of even more powerful Decepticons and Hun-Gurrr had no death wish of his own. Cutthroat though, he would pay for nearly ruining everything.

"The Monstercon still lives?" Hun-Grrr growled as he finally reached the scene. Apparently the Monstercon had indeed survived for it was still moving. He even managed to say something. Promising enough. "Good."

A sudden, hard kick send one of the two burning Sweeps flying away from Cutthroat, while a vicious backhand sent the other one crashing hard against the wall behind the hunter. Neither blow was aimed to kill but hurt they would. "I will deal with my own Sweeps! Get the slag out of here or I will eat you both!"

The anger in the voice of the large Terrorcon was all too real. His fury barely contained.


"I should kill you now!" He roared at Cutthroat, slashing out and closing his enormous taloned hand around the shock trooper's beak with enough pressure to make the extremely hardy beak twist under his grip. With only using one arm, Hun-Gurrr lifted the other Decepticon from the floor and proceeded to slam Cutthroat repeatedly against the floor like the other Terrorcon was a club instead of a living being. "Raaaaaaaaaaaarh! You stupid! Idiotic! Weak! Good for nothing! Waste! Of my time!"

The beating paused as Hun-Grrr tossed Cutthroat across the corridor. Transformation into his terrifying two-headed razorbeast mode followed. Hun-Grr's appetite for revenge was hardly satisfied. "We will feast upon you tonight!"

The ultimate punishment known to be used by Hun-Gurrr. Being eaten alive.

"Feast Terrorrrcons! But leave enough intact forrr his pain centerrrs to keep functioning! He will survive this and he will rememberrr..."

Garrus 9 – Southern Wing

When the Sweeps had entered the fray, Sinnertwin had growled warningly at the pair, to little effect. But he couldn’t take more direct action without losing his grip on Cutthroat, and that could have been disastrous. At least while he had a hold on the terrorist, Sinnertwin could keep him from going after the Monstercon again. Mostly. Even if it meant his own chassis ended up covered in tears and gashes from the murderous Terrorcon’s slashing wings and stabbing beak. He’d endured worse.

He wished those two Sweeps would just hurry up and die, though. Their burning and squealing was starting to get on Sinnertwin’s nerves.

The Sentry immediately relinquished his grip when the restraint spike was forced into place; the sudden lack of resistance could have led him to accidentally tearing his teammate apart, otherwise. He had all of a handful of astroseconds to regard the fallen Cutthroat in confusion before Hun-Grrr, their leader—the mech that embodied more than any of them the “terror” in Terrorcon—made the depth of his displeasure known. Sinnertwin immediately cringed, slinking away with a low whine as their master proceeded to vent his considerable rage upon the wayward Cutthroat.

For the most part, the sentry was just relieved he’d managed to avoid similar treatment. Somehow.

At the call to feast, however, Sinnertwin immediately surged forward again, eager to be first to the meal their leader had provided. With a feral growl, his two canine heads tore at Cutthroat’s body, paying particular attention to the wings. Yes, they were sharp and dangerous, but they were also richest in flavor. Perhaps it was all the pride Cutthroat typically had in them …

* * * * * * * *

“Huh. Oh-kay,” murmured Overbite quietly, lowering his weapon as the immediate danger of evisceration by psychotic Decepticon seemed to have passed. He couldn’t help but stare at the awful spectacle before them; yes, Snaptrap was justly renowned for his brutality … but he’d never inflicted anything like this on his own troops. Obviously, the Terrorcons had earned their reputation, and he couldn’t help but feel a little relieved he hadn’t actually fired on the crazy one. Craziest one. Whatever.

Not that he was afraid of the Terrorcons, not exactly. But in this environment, he was at a definite disadvantage, and he’d have been stupid not to realize it. Better to let them sort out their own internal discipline problems themselves, and focus on the hunt. Mission. Focus on the mission.

Made him glad he wasn’t in Tentakill’s pedal actuators. Opening fire on another Decpticon without specific orders from Snaptrap? The Butcher was definitely going to have something to say about that. Seemed prudent to Overbite to get out of the immediate line of fire; no sense getting splattered in fuel if he wasn’t going to get to really enjoy it, this time out. It was like some kind of tease.

“I’ll just, uh, check on the prey—package. Check on the package, then,” said Overbite, jerking his thumb in the direction of Icepick. He considered shooing the femme away, as he approached, but eventually decided against it; she’d caused enough trouble already, just by existing, and there was no point in risking worse by aggravating the situation. The Monstercon had gotten into a fistfight with one of the Terrorcons on her behalf, after all—no telling what else he might try to defend her, no matter what kind of shape he looked like he was in. Anyway, Overbite could admire courage like that, if it turned out Icepick wasn’t just malfunctioning. Or even stupider than Nautilator.

“Hey. Monstercon,” he said, poking him in the foot with the barrel of his weapon. “I can see you’re alive. Can you get up? Or are we going to have to haul you around like ballast the rest of this hun—mission?”

Garrus 9 - Eastern Wing Power Station

Slinking from shadowed cover to enshrouded cover, a sleek feline form crouched in the shadows having watched the titanic Cybertronians clash. It was a spectacle that came about once in a millennium. Very rare. And the feline whose amber optics glinted in the darkness had enjoyed every single moment of it. To witness a Decepticon triumph so grand...? Oh, he only wished that he could've gotten a closer look, but to get any closer than he had would have lead to immediate termination. Only coated with dust that the grand battle had stirred from the rubble and debris, Pounce slinked out into the open silently as his optics alighted on the familiar form of his spark clone, Wingspan.

Rather than chase immediately after the more aggressive Decepticons, Pounce observed Wingspan step close to the fallen titan. A greater opportunity had not presented itself as graciously in vorns. Soundlessly padding across the gap between him and his brother, Pounce arrived at Wingspan's side without so much as a whisper to betray his presence.

“I can hardly wait to crack you open, Maximus. Extracting the secrets from your cerebro-circuitry will be the greatest pleasure of career—and a momentous victory for the Decepticon Empire, of course."

"I would be more wary, brother, and see to it that Maximus does not crush you in one great last act of defiance," Pounce hissed out abruptly, transforming back into his robot form.

Pounce looked up at the defeated giant. Truly, nothing was so gratifying as seeing an Autobot as formidable as this reduced to such a state. It made him want to...sink his claws into Fortress Maximus. Sadly, the feline psychopath doubted Maximus would even be capable of feeling it at this point. Pounce clenched and unclenched his clawed actuator, glancing about for an Autobot to prey on to satisfy his growing lust for carnage. Sadly, most of them had retreated before the wave of Decepticon warriors.

-----

Southern Wing - Cell Blocks

Snaptrap watched as the entire situation deteriorated before his optics. The depths of his displeasure reached farther than even the darkest most remote aquatic abysses. When Cutthroat attacked the little Autobot femme, Snaptrap felt no inclination to halt it. He cared nothing for the Autobot. However, one of the targets, Icepick, intervened, which turned all of the Terrorcon's considerable psychotic fury onto the Monstercon.

Before the Butcher could even react, Tentakil fired upon Cutthroat and Sinnertwin set upon his fellow Terrorcon. That was all well and good. Let the Terrorcons handle their own internal disputes. A few Sweeps decided to intervene as well, which would serve them poorly as Snaptrap heard Hun-Grr's furious roar.

The Seacon Commander cast his malevolent gaze on Tentakil and seized his subordinate by the cranial unit, lifting him up off of the floor and shoving him in the direction of the appalling Terrorcon feast. "Act without my orders again, and you shall be their next meal," Snaptrap said with a very prominent edge of fury in his voice.

Releasing Tentakil, Snaptrap whirled and inspected the Monstercon. He was still functional. Damaged. But functional. Satisfactory. It was time to move on. Enough time had been wasted here. Snaptrap turned his smoldering glare onto his Seacons.

"Tentakil, Skalor, Seawing, move out. Find the other Monstercons. Now," the butcher turned to look at Bludgeon, "Bludgeon, you are with us now. Bring your pet if you must, but if her presence causes anymore trouble, I expect her immediate termination."

Without waiting for an answer, Snaptrap motioned for Nautilator to fall in behind him as he walked over to where Overbite stood looking over their mission objective. Whatever sentiment had possessed this Monstercon to throw himself at Cutthroat to protect an Autobot femme could not be more foreign to the butcher. Fortunately for Icepick, he had not gotten himself offlined.

"Overbite, status report on the Monstercon," Snaptrap said as he approached.

------

"I.....I've been better. But I'll survive. You?"

Umbra smiled wryly at the injured Monstercon laying before her.

"I'm good. Thanks to you. You're a little crazy, you know that, right?"

Umbra shook her head still in disbelief and offered Icepick a hand up. It was a very strange thing for a Decepticon to do. Throw himself at another Decepticon to protect an Autobot like her? Well. Autobot in name if not in practice any longer. Still. She really couldn't believe it. The agent glanced up as the psychotic Terrorcon continued on his rampage. She shuddered at it.

Her life...really wasn't worth all of this trouble. And yet, Icepick had defended her. He seemed to think it was worth something. Perhaps...she ought to reevaluate her own self worth...and where her loyalties really lay now. They most definitely rested with Icepick above all others, though Bludgeon may be deserving of some...Umbra wasn't as of yet certain what ulterior motives he had for her, but she knew with utmost certainty that they were not altruistic.

No. As Umbra cast her gaze down to her Monstercon friend, she resolved to protect him to the best of her ability to whatever end this sojourn in the prison may have. So resolved, Umbra did not flinch away as one of the Seacons approached to check on Icepick's condition. He poked Icepick's pedal actuator - yes, extremely helpful, fish breath - and asked if Icepick could walk.

It was soon after that the leader of the Seacons, his menacing form towering over them, arrived. Umbra kept her optics down focused on Icepick. She would not move away from his side. Nope. No way. In her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of the Terrorcon feast, which she had been trying to ignore. It was proving very difficult. But not even the Terrorcon leader could've stirred her from her place at Icepick's side.

"I can try to carry you if you can't walk, Icepick," Umbra added, trying to keep her voice from trembling with fear.

Garrus 9 - Southern Wing

"By the Allspark..." Nauilator murmered in great terror as the befittingly named Terrocon commander began venting his rage on his own Terrocon lackie, Cutthroat. He tried to gaze over the bulk of his team, mostly just around Snaptrap's impressive frame to get a better look at the sight that was drawing his fellow Seacons' attention. The frail excavator quickly examined Snaptrap's expression as Cutthroat recieved his beating at the actuators of the intimidating Hun-Gurr, ever wondering if the Seacon Commander was cooking up ideas on how to punish any team member that dares disobey him.

The Seacon excavator did the closest thing a Cybertronian has to a frightened gulp as he tried to look away at the Terrocon's beating. As painful as it was to watch, he just couldn't seem to cast his optics off of such a sight to behold.

"Seawing, you don't think that- EEK!!!" Nautilator squealed as Snaptrap grabbed Tentakil by the cranial unit. Nautilator could feel the pain in his neck bearings from all the previous beatings Snaptrap inflicted upon him when he screwed up, which was quite often. This time he actually was able to look away from the sight, Primus knows how many times the poor excavator has seen the palm of Snaptrap's fists.

After his warning to Tentakil, the Seacon Commander began ordering his group to continue on with the mission, no longer wasting time waiting on the Terrocons. Nautilator only gripped the handle of his crusher cannon tighter as he obeyed the infamous Butcher of the Bogs and walked particularly close to the bulky mass of his commander as he requested a status report on their Monstercon target.

Semper Tyrannis - Bridge

Deadlock brought a closed fist to his face plating as he observed the viewscreens Finback was displaying for him. The more he looked out into the war-torn images of the prison, the more he felt the call of action trying to pull him into the fight.

“Now, if you want to see something really interesting, get an optic-full of this. I don’t know where that sawed-off femme found the struts to tell off Autobots three times her size, but I like it."

Deadlock shifted his optics off the video feeds of the ongoing Garrus campaign and over to the monitor the old wreck seemed to be watching. Scattershot punching a dent in the wall, Firewire yelling her point of view back at the Technobot Commander. Now there's something you don't see in mechs her size. Soon an imagine of Brainstorm interjecting himself in between the petite femme behind the bars and the bulky Technobot seemed to have broken up the little squabble, at least for now.

"Hmm, guess that was resolved fast." Deadlock stated as he crossed his arms back over his chest plating. The black and white leaned in closer to Finback and placed an open palm on the old wreck's shoulder plating. "Keep and eye on them, Finback. After I load up, I'm going to head out and join the fight. Alert me if anything like that happens again or gets worse if I'm still aboard the ship when it does."

Deadlock patted the naval assaulter on the outside of his upper arm as he stood back up and made his way out the large doors of the bridge. A sinister sneer stretched across the left side of his face plating as the call to action began to get the Decepticon warrior all fired up.

Garrus 9 – Southern Wing

At his Commander’s approach, Overbite ceased prodding at the Monstercon and offered a shrug. “In his own words, Snaptrap? He’s been better. But also he’ll survive.” The Seacon terminator’s tone indicated his opinion on that prognosis, even before he added, “Me? I wouldn’t bet my last energon chit on it. As it is, might be better to just let the femme carry him; second choice would be Nautilator,” he nodded in the direction of the undersea surveyor, “but I wouldn’t trust him to do it without accidentally shearing off an arm or a leg, or dropping the target on his cranial unit a few times.”

Overbite shrugged again. “Anybody else, and you reduce the overall battle effectiveness of the team by making a combat-capable mech into a porter; might as well paint a great big target on ‘em, while we were at it. It’s you’re call, though, Boss.”

Garrus 9 Cell block B

Tentakill had anticipated some kind of retribution for moving without orders but the pressure with which the butcher of the bogs proceeded to place on his head was immense even for his deep sea frame. The shove towards the Terrorcons feast was meant to serve as a warning but within his mind he knew his superior officer was covering his own inability to act with violence. The Seacon was bright enough to approach Snaptrap with his reasoning when the large Seacon’s hubris’s where in alignment. Tentakill took in a long look at Umbra who was aiding Icepick “It seems the femmes friendship with the Monstercon is strong no wonder she was brought along” he commented as he checked his gun.

The demolitions expert strode past the scene of devastation being laid upon their own by the Terrorcons with a nonchalant glance in their direction, As he headed off heeded his commanders orders to move on and find more of the Monstercon cadre.
________


The scene was ridiculous the Terrorcons where feeding on their own after Hungrrr had unleashed his violence on Cutthroat. It was like a primitive ape using the tail of a small animal to bludgeon it to death, Bludgeon merely folded his arms as Snaptrap decided to display some petulance of his own lifting Tentakill the one Seacon who wasn’t frozen by a lack of judgement, from the ground and threatening him.

It appalled the mystical decepticon to see the lack of leadership within the decepticon teams he expected it from the Stunticons and the Terrorcons but the Seacons it was bordering on intolerable. Bludgeon moved to Umbra’s side offering aid to Icepick “Your courage in the face of overwhelming odds is commendable Icepick” but before he could hear any response Snaptrap spoke up.

“Bring your pet if you must, but if her presence causes anymore trouble, I expect her immediate termination”

Bludgeon’s head turned slowly towards Snaptrap his optics locking onto the Seacon commander “I would suggest you look after your own troopers in case Hungrrr wishes to exact retribution, then worry about what me or my companions are up to” Bludgeon was not in the best of moods after the skirmish that the Insecticon’s ruckus had caused he made a mental note to catch up with Kickback to have a discussion with him. Umbra’s friendship with the Monstercon was useful it would aid him to possibly influence the team but Umbra had more uses if she ended up with her own kind. Thou the fact that she removed the Autobrand was telling, either she didn’t want to be an autobot or she was having a crisis of faith either way Bludgeon could see her potential if he could keep her alive.

Semper Tyrannis – Bridge

Finback made a gurgling, gasping sound somewhere deep in his vocalizer that had probably been meant to be a chuckle. “Sure they could use you down there; looks like we’re pushing the ‘Bots back, but we haven’t had any really big breakthroughs, yet. They’re fighting like starving cyberwolves.” Made the old sailor if there might be more to the Garrus 9 facility than just a prison—after the beating they’d taken in orbit and on the ground, a withdrawal to whatever secondary positions they might have had on the planet probably wouldn’t have been strategically unsound. But like he’d told Deadlock before, command would let them know what they needed to know when they needed to know it. Too much curiosity would just get them scrapped.

“And it’ll be a cold orn in the Pit when I can’t keep order in my own brig!” he added with an indignant huff. “They get too far out of line, and I’ll stasis lock the lot of them until Soul Siren and the others get back to continue the, heh, interviews. But,” he drawled in his rusty, gravelly voice, “if you wanted to swing down there and just peek an optic inside on your way to the surface, remind the prisoners they’re not on some kind of protoform’s holiday, I can’t say I wouldn’t appreciate it.”

Garrus 9 – Southern Wing

When the cell block he and his clones had infested was clear--the Decepticon prisoners dispatched to the rear lines, the few Autobots present … repurposed into fuel and spare parts--Kickback took a moment to regroup. While he remained fully cognizant of himself, he could only direct his numerous lesser hive-mates in a very general way: attack, withdraw, hold position, and so on. Those he had designated scouts continued to send back discrete data packets for him to review at regular intervals, but to facilitate a real-time data feed, it was necessary for him to devote considerably more of his processing power, given the number of clones involved.

That would leave him temporarily vulnerable, a position no Decepticon—and certainly no Insecticon—would relish. Still, it was unavoidable, and so Kickback withdrew into the mass of identical mechanical bodies and transmitted his consciousness directly to the scouts.

It was a heady experience, almost like being overcharged on energon—made it easy to understand how Venom had gotten so very addicted to the sensation, his maddening paranoia aside. Through dozens of pairs of compound optics, he saw. Through dozens of audio receptors, he heard. Saw the great shaft other members of the Swarm had discovered, and even now delved; heard the musical titter of wings and clicking mouthparts of the drones who now guarded the access where the entrance to the elevator had once been.

>>You’ve been busy, Bombshell, Chop-Shop,”<< he transmitted. >>And what sort of prize have you found, hmm? I hope it’s something of use; I’ll cover for you up to a point, but I’ve never been a fan of heavy lifting …<<

>>Wait … I think I have something … <<

* * * * * * *

Wildfly still had the struggling Birdbrain wrapped up in an enthusiastic hug when a sort of … scuttling sound further up the corridor drew his attention. From the shadows and rubble emerged, well, just about the weirdest-looking mechanoid he’d ever seen in all his functional cycles—and, for a Monstercon, that was really saying something. It creeped around low to the floor on six jointed legs, with wings and gigantic, protruding eyes and little … googly … things on its head.

Wildfly dropped the other Monstercon suddenly, causing Birdbrain to fall backward in a flurry of flailing limbs and curses. He cocked his head at the … whatever, and the whatever cocked its head right back. The googlies on its head sort of twitched a bit, and it turned and took a few steps back the way it had come. Then it spun around and looked at them again. Waiting. Like it expected them to do something.

“Think it wants us to follow it?” asked Wildfly, looking to Slog, as usual, for direction.

Garrus 9 – East Wing Power Station

It would have been an exaggeration to suggest that Pounce’s sudden appearance caused his spark-clone to very nearly jump out of his exterior plating. But not by much. When he recovered from his start, Wingspan immediately whirled on the other Decepticon, optics seething with irritation. “Damn you,” he snapped reproachfully. “Don’t you have anything better to do than sneak around random battlefields and distract me?”

But he was quick to rein in his irritation, and return to the cool, professional demeanor he preferred to project—especially within sight of his superiors. “And there’s nothing to fear, Pounce; the Autobot warden is as good as offline. No one walks off that many energo-stings from Scorponok.” He turned back to the mass of battered metal that had once been the proud Fortress Maximus.

“Actually,” he went on thoughtfully, holding up his right hand. The actuator retracted, allowing a particularly wicked-looking multi-tool to emerge from Wingspan’s forearm. “Your timing is perfect, Brother. You can watch my back while I deconstruct the prisoner’s cranial casing. It’s just a pity he won’t be able to feel it; forced data extraction directly from the cerebro-circuitry is an excruciating ordeal. Or so I’m told.”

Before Wingspan could so much as loosen the first bolt, however, he received another Intelligence update from Kickback. The Clone immediately stiffened, and turned his faceplate toward Scorponok where he stood refueling. “News from the Southern Wing, my lord: one of the diaclones has located a number of the target Transformers—still awaiting a precise count and subject identification. The Insecticon will attempt to lead them in the direction of Snaptrap and Hun-Grrr’s assault teams for extraction.”

Garrus-9–-Outside the Aequitas Chamber

Mindwipe had taken in the wordplay between Cipher and Rung with keen interest. It was clear that the two mechs were skilled in this game, but right now the Decepticons held more situational advantages. Besides Cipher being able to cut through Rung's attempted obfuscation of the truth, he had also been able to use the Autobot's natural concern for his fellow comrade against it him and it was always such a refreshing turn of events when they were able to do that.

"You will give us the codes," Mindwipe said, transforming back into his bot mode as he came up alongside Cipher. "You will give us whatever you know. It is the only way to save your friend."

Hypnotic suggestion was barely necessary when the truth was so dire and juicy.
___

Elba Mines

>>"My words come at the command of Commander Scorponok, insect. You would do well to remember this when I contact you. Now, what are you doing? How does this "fertile ground" aid our mission?"<<

Bah. She dared to message him again after he had clearly ended the line of communication?! Unacceptable!

>>"I said this conversation is over!!!"<< Bombshell cried, before internally slamming the link shut. Bombshell stood silently, fuming for a moment, before watching what was playing out before him and taking some measure of solace in what they would be able to accomplish from down here.

Diaclones were beginning to trawl through the labyrinthine caves of the underground mine system that the Autobots had dug deep into the Elban moon. The miners that had been rounded up thus far had been rounded up into a large, open space and had clone guards set over them. They had not really tried to resist, they were so poorly equipped. Well, one or two had...and the results of that little farce were now strewn haphazardly around the survivors.

"They won't try that again, hmm Bombshell?" Chop Shop tittered as he and the other Insecticon approached the apparent foremech of the mines down here, a rather burly thing by the name of Copperhead.

"No. Heh heh. No, I don't think they will. Will they?" Bombshell said, the statement very much a rhetorical one as his optics gazed up into those of the much taller Copperhead. Copperhead said nothing, meeting his gaze for only a moment before looking away. Strength in numbers. So beautiful in its ability to nullify a host of other innate advantages.

>>"You’ve been busy, Bombshell, Chop-Shop. And what sort of prize have you found, hmm? I hope it’s something of use; I’ll cover for you up to a point, but I’ve never been a fan of heavy lifting …Wait … I think I have something … "<<

Ah, a much more pleasing transmission.

>>"Mines,"<< Bombshell chuckled as another group of similar diaclones skittered past him. >>"Mines as far as the optic can scan. And we can dig even deeper. The mines...are ours."<<

He then paused, pensive, as Kickback seemed to have encountered something on his end.

>>"Eh? What is it? What have you found?"<<
___

Semper Tyrannis--Bridge

If Reflector was displeased about having to share bridge space with a rotting carcass like Finback, he was arguably less so about having to do so with Turmoil's self-righteous little second, Deadlock. But not by very much. One of the trio gave him a passing glance as he entered before returning his watchful optics to the same images that had now captured Finback's attention.

It was a rather entertaining little interaction. Certainly one worth recording for posterity. But now it seemed as if Finback's little insecurities might threaten to put an end to what was otherwise a rather entertaining dialogue.

"The femme has gathered some useful information...in her own, roundabout way," Reflector spoke in triune unison.