The Energon Pub

Garrus-9 Cell block I

After the autobot ship crashed, cell block I was badly damaged. Some of the decpeticons there have died. Spinister's brain functions have stopped for a Klik or two. The decepticon just regained conciseness. One by one, his primary brain functions were reactivating.

Spinister's optics were working again. He opened them, only to find his cell destroyed, almost all of the cells, dead bots were all around him. He found himself on the cold floor of Garrus-9. He stood from his place, weak and exhausted. His left arm was dysfunctional, leaking energon, it's circuits releasing electric charges. There was an open wound in his arm, not the best time.

Then Spinister started to think, if he survived that, then somebody else must have. Some guards must have survived, their armor is stronger then his, of course. However, the decpticon helicopter knew that he was lucky to survive, the location of his cell saved him. His cell saved him, if not those bars he would have died.

He slowly shambled his way out of the cell, finding a dead guard in front of it. That reminded him, he didn't have any weapons with him, he's going to need one. He took the dead guards rifle from the floor. He examined it, it was an automatic weapon, made specially for guarding prisoners. It had different functions, allowing it to harm without killing and allowing it to kill when necessary. Not the best weapon for the situation, but, still better then bare hands.

He continued to walk to the exit of Cell Block I, there were many dead guards, many dead prisoners. Suddenly a guard appeared, he was wounded too, his right leg was badly injured. "Stop right there!" said the guard in a weak, cowardly voice. This guard must be a young, inexperienced one, doesn't even know who he's talking to. Spinister tried to raise his left arm but failed, showing the guard that he is weak. The guard didn't know that Spinister was tricking him to believe that he was weak, he was faking it. The guard walked a few steps towards the deception. "Okay, prisoner-" The guard was interrupted when Spinster released some sort of hiss. "Wha-..What was that?" said the Guard. Spinister raised his right arm, holding the rifle in it's hand and clicked the trigger. Bullets stormed at the bot, down went the guard.

It all happened in less then a nano-klik, Spinister's rifle quickly brought down the young guard, poor bot, didn't see it coming. The decepticon then continued to shamble his way out of the cell block. After exiting through the door, he finally found himself away from Cell Block I, only to find himself in Cell Block H. He found two deceptions there, one he didn't know, but the other he knew. It was Slog. Spinister raised his right arm, trying to get Slog's attention.

Garrus 9 - Steelhaven Breachpoint

"Fine," was the only thing Snaptrap said in response to the Terrorcon commander. Hun-Grr's reaction he more or less expected. Snaptrap had observed their style in the field before: utter annihilation of any opposition. Horribly inefficient.

Moving away from the pair and toward the rest of his team who were already intent on carrying out his last orders as they should be, Snaptrap took stock of his Seacons. Seawing was missing. The Seacon commander's optics narrowed to slits as a wave of irritation washed over him. Seawing's primary function seemed to be that of a constant thorn in his side.

>>"The Monstercons are being held in separate cell blocks, Tentakil,"<< Snaptrap transmitted over the group comm link as he and the rest of his team pressed on into one of the cell blocks.

Cell Block A

Snaptrap was deliberating going to search for Seawing when the prison began to...transform? The floor split apart and the walls and ceilings shifted to reveal several turrets and other automated defense systems. This...would make things more difficult. The turrets scanned the area before locking on to various Decepticons and prisoners, opening fire on them without mercy, the Seacons included. Vexing.

Snaptrap hefted his atom smasher cannon at one of the many turrets and fired a few times at it. However, countless more remained to open fire on him and the rest of the Decepticons scurrying about the prison. They would have to deal with these as they continued the search for the Monstercons. And Seawing. That cretin. He had better hope the Autobots get to him first.

>>"Keep moving,"<< was all Snaptrap had to say to his team, withholding any emotion from his voice.

------

Cell Block B

I'm not dead.

This was the only thing Umbra could think as she lay on the floor, somewhat stunned at actually being rescued from that dire predicament. There was a blur of movement off to her side, making her struggle to regain some sort of standing position. She rolled over and pushed herself off of the floor, kneeling and looking at the incapacitated Mandate then up at the mech who saved her.

He was an ominous looking sort. The mech extended a hand out toward her for...some purpose. Normally, she would have immediately assumed it was to aid her, but she had just gotten brutally beaten, so she erred on the side of caution. Still, why would he save her just to kill her? With that logic, Umbra reached out and grabbed the mech's hand, pulling herself to her feet.

“My, My what do we have here?” said her rescuer in a voice that sent a chill down her spinal column.

"Thank you," Umbra said with a respectful nod. The agent released the mech's hand and turned toward Mandate. Looking at him broken and immobile on the ground evoked no pity from Umbra. In fact, she was filled with utter disgust and hatred.

To think...this piece of filth dares to proudly call himself an Autobot, Umbra thought with a cold fury.

"Excuse me for a moment," Umbra said to Bludgeon as she slowly approached Mandate, picking up a rather sharp piece of shrapnel from the debris scattered about her cell. She stood over the helpless Mandate, looking down at him. With a snarl, she plunged the metal shard into his chest over and over and over again. Energon poured out of the wound as Umbra twisted it in deeper and deeper. With one final lunge, Umbra lodged the shard in his chest. She tried to pull it out again, but her actuators slipped off of the energon coated metal.

Giving up on the shard, Umbra looked at Mandate's face to watch the light dim and go out of his optics. It happened slowly. As it did, a sense of satisfaction gradually washed over Umbra. Mandate was dead. Well and truly dead. Offline. Standing upright, she turned to face her rescuer. "That's that," she said with a shrug.

In the back of her mind, Umbra knew that she should be horrified at what she had done. Appalled. She had viciously killed another cybertronian. A helpless one at that and a fellow Autobot no less. She had actually enjoyed it. She should be sickened. Guilt should be eating her from within. But...Umbra felt nothing but the slight sense of satisfaction.

In all of her time in the war...killing had been an unavoidable tragedy. Acceptable losses. Never had she actually enjoyed the feeling of killing another before. Well. These were thoughts for another day. Umbra looked at the Decepticon calmly.

"I am Umbra. Let's get out of here shall we?" Umbra moved over to the hole in the bars. She was about to pass through when she noticed a glimpse of red in the rubble. She knelt down for a second to rummage through the pile and grab her old Autobot insignia. It was slightly crushed from violently being torn from her chest, but otherwise undamaged. She kept it clenched in her fist as she passed through the bars.

Umbra glanced back into her cell and waited for the mech within to come and join her. She was still wary of her rescuer. She was still not very sure of where she stood. She had cast off her Autobot status. She wasn't sure that she wanted to be a Decepticon. So many vorns spent fighting them. What had it all been for? Shaking her head, the femme tried to focus on the present.

What now? She thought to herself, Oh. Icepick. Umbra glanced over to his cell. Empty. He had probably gone to see Scowl. That's what she had to assume anyway as she had no idea where else he would go. It was a shot in the dark - quite literally at this point - but she had nowhere else to go, and Icepick was a Decepticon she knew and could trust.

-------

Cell Block H

"Nice to meet you, Banzai-Tron. I'm Slog, the artist, but you probably already know that," Slog said with a sigh.

Rounding the corner of the cell block, Slog glanced about for any Autobot guards in the vicinity. There were a fair number, but they seemed occupied with other prisoners, which was all well and good for Slog. He did, however, notice someone waving at him. He turned his head to see who it was, hoping that it was one of the other Monstercons. The darkness made it harder to make out, but it was Spinister waving to them. Slog was disappointed that it wasn't any of the other Monstercons. What did Spinister want anyway?

"Greetings, Spinister," Slog said, noting the flight instructor's injured arm, "Care to come along with us? We're headed to Cell Block M."

Before Spinister could answer, the floor began to shift under their feet. The prison was...changing. An assortment of automated defense systems took form and began to open fire on the prisoners and intruding Decepticons. This...wasn't...good.

"I suggest we get going," Slog said to both Decepticons as he continued on his way to Cell Block M at a slightly accelerated pace. The only weapon he had was the metal rod in his hand. A crude and ineffective tool at taking out turrets and the like. The entrance to Cell Block M slowly came into view. And it was blocked by some fallen rubble. Troublesome, especially with these automated defenses heckling them at every turn.

Slog turned around to face Banzai-Tron and Spinister who has presumably followed him.

"Wildfly is in there. Spinister, would you mind covering myself and Banzai-Tron while we dig out the entrance here?"

Garrus 9 – Auxiliary Corridors

“Okay. Now I’m pissed.” The gun in Whirl’s claw jerked as the recoil pulled his as back slightly. A steady stream of shells were being expelled from the rifle’s ejection port and were growing into a small pile around Whirl’s and Lowball’s feet.

That small group of 'Cons that he had taken out before were supposed to be the last. But nooooo. Wouldn’t you know it; there was another team right behind them. And now he and the whiner were left to fend them off. “Where the hell is that little pistonlicker?! I sent him to get reinforcements ages ago!” Several more shots rang through the corridor and again he and Lowball had to take cover.

“Well, did you try calling him? Seems to be the logical thing to do don’t ya think?” The guard said with a sarcastic tone.

Whirl brought up a claw and jabbed it into Lowball’s chestplate. “Who are you, Shockwave? What’s with all the-Seems to be the logical thing to do-slag?” The copterbot made every effort to sound exactly like the Decepticons' own walking calculator. Good attempt, but it fell short of the mark. Have to work on that.

A careening bullet ricocheted off their makeshift barricade making Lowball crouch down even further. He quickly peered around the side and let off several rounds. He then pulled back and looked at Whirl. “You’re an aft. And I don’t mean half an aft I mean a whole aft!” The smaller bulkier mech yelled out.

The senior guard lowered his head so his singular optic met both of Lowball’s. Whirl said nothing at first instead he slowly leaned forward so he was only inches from his subordinate. “You know what, gutterspawn? I like you. You dance nice and you smell good too.” Lowball’s face scrunched up in confusion and annoyance while Whirl just stared. The sound of gun fire had the smaller Autobot back up and send off ordinance.

The barrage of fire had the ‘Cons ducking for cover. In that small span of spare time Whirl reached down and plucked the other bot up and ran down the corridor. “Come on gutter trash. We got a bot to find. And I got a phone call to make.” Lowball kept his mouth shut and focused on their backs taking pot-shots when necessary. “Sir! Looks like the warden initiated The Last Resort Protocols.” The smaller guard announced. “Yeah, yeah. Maxy’s always thinking ahead. well, sometimes.” The last part of his statement was mumbled under Whirl’s breath.

>>”Hey boss bot! I got bad news! The doorbell rang and a whole bunch of ‘Cons selling energon cookies say you never paid your bill. I tried to convince them that it wasn’t like you to do such a thing but they insisted they see you. We’re all headed over. Hope you don’t mind the company!”<<

Whirl closed the link with Fortress Maximus and turned his attention ahead. He saw the body seconds before jumping over it. “Ahh. There he is. Guess the job of getting more men was way too much for him to handle.”

Command Center

Scorponok kept a steady stream of ordinance headed through the breach giving most of the Decepticons time to return fire and or take cover. Amongst those Decepticons was Rippersnapper. The Terrorcon had finished his impromptu beating of the Autobot guard and went to work trying to keep the other Garrus 9 ‘Bots at bay.

From his position Rippersnapper could see the occasional head poke out and then pull right back behind cover. He let out a growl.

Grabbing the bludgeoned body of the guard, the terrorist dragged it close and easily removed the cranial unit. He quickly cleaned out its contents, tossing energon soaked wires, gears and chips to the side and placed the head on the floor…the neck opening facing up for easy access.

It took only a few minutes for Rippersnapper to implant an explosive core and then filling the remaining space with any scraps of sharpened metal he could scoop up. Quickly he sealed the neck opening by stuffing it with clumps of fallen insulation. His ‘gift’ complete Rippersnapper leaned out from his secure location and hurtled the head through the breach.

It bounced several times before it came to a rolling stop near one of the larger barrier walls protecting the Autobots.

The sudden arrival of the projectile had the few ‘Bots who had taken refuge behind the wall dumbfounded. One mech stopped to take a quick look but realized putting distance between them and the head was the lesser of two evils. “Oh slag! It’s a bomb! Move! MOVE!”

He backed away quickly easily grabbing two of the other bots, but they weren’t fast enough. The resulting explosion sent shrapnel in all directions. Several Autobots were pelted hard slicing armor and damaging optics. The ones fast enough to get away came out with only minor to moderate damage. That couldn’t be said for one guard who was cut down by the powerful wind originating from the Command Center. He was nearly torn apart while trying to make it to better cover.

“Damn. I only got one.” Rippersnapper grunted as he lowered his cyclone gun. The bomb was used as a distraction…a way to scatter the masses in order to gun them down. It worked...but not like the terrorist wanted. He’d no doubt get some flak from Hun-Grrr. ‘Yourrr losing your touch.’ Rippersnapper snorted as he took aim at the Autobots’ new barrier further down the corridor.

This didn’t last long as it seemed that the entire Command Center was…moving? He grumbled when Scorponok gave the order to be prepared for whatever it was that Fortress Maximus had sent. Automatic defenses. Wait. What?

Rippersnapper leapt from his position and slid flat against the wall and with luck out of the line of fire. He then watched as the penitentiary’s weapons took aim into the Command Center and began targeting anything that did not have an Autobot signature. “Perfect,” he growled out.
____

Sparkstalker’s head snapped up when he heard the Commander bellow. The cryptologist hadn’t gotten as far as he was hoping into the Autobots’ computer systems but that didn’t matter now. New orders were given and Sparkstalker was going to fulfill them. With a quick comm burst the Firecon sent the orders right to his team kicking their efforts into high gear.

The cry to Sparkstalker did not go unnoticed by Wingspan and before his name was even spoken, the data processor began to organize all of his findings.

And when he was finally called Wingspan spun around in his chair and opened his mouth to speak but he was unable to form any words as he was cut off by the order to prepare and take cover. Which is exactly what he did. Quickly the eagle slid from his seat and crawled under his terminal.

“Scrap. My slug.” Wingspan mumbled. He crept slowly and peered out. That was when the automatic gun fire began. He yelped when a shot grazed the floor plating right by his hand. He pressed himself back far under the terminal for a moment before he steeled himself. On the count of three the data processor lunged out reached up and grabbed his data slug. He then, possibly even faster, retreated.

Clutching the slug to his chest he stiffened when another shot grazed the side of the terminal desk.

Unlike Sparkstalker and Wingspan, Cipher had not looked up from his work, but instead continued his searching. He was nearly complete when the order was given. Confusion set in when the scientist heard the faint sound of weapons moving into position.

At first Cipher thought the sound was merely Lord Scorponok taking aim at another miserable Autobot but that wasn’t the case. He came to that brilliant conclusion only when he found himself pinned to the ground…under, who was that? Mindwipe? “Mindwipe? What in the Pit is going on?” Cipher’s optics widened when he finally noticed the gun turrets aimed directly into the Command Center. Into the Command Center and directly at them.

“Oh. I see,” was his low deadpan answer. As fast as he could, and carefully, Cipher slid out from beneath Mindwipe and scurried to a safe location. How long that would last was up to Primus. “I need to get back to a terminal. Perhaps I can hack into this security protocol and shut it down.” Cipher watched while Scorponok and other Decepticons put their all into eliminating the threat. “We’re going to lose these terminals before we can shut down the rest of the security protocols throughout the facility.”

Garrus-9 - Cell Block M's entrance

The place was shifiting, security protocols. He was in Garrus-9, one of the most secure autobot prisons, of course they have security protocols. Spinister didn't understand what was going on, at the beginning. He thought there was an accident which caused a big autobot ship to crash on Garrus-9, allowing some decepticons to escape. However, Spinister started to realize what was going on. Decepticons are attacking.

Slog asked Spinister to help protect him and Banzai-Tron while they open that entrance to Cell Block M. Spinister nodded. Of course, everybody knows that the helicopter rarely ever speaks, being one of the most mysterious decepticons, wary to not reveal anything about himself. He raised his rifle, in case any auto-bot guard dares to approach. Slog and Banzai-Tron weren't armed well, which made them an easy target for the guards. But Spinister, he had a weapon that he scavenged from the guards. And if those guards knew what they were doing, then they know who Spinister is. And if they know him, then they fear him.

Then Spinister remembered, he used to be a walking arsenal. With particle beam cannons, target-lock laser rifles, fusion bombs, a flame-thrower. And most importantly, his secret and undisclosed method of cloaking, his cloaking device. The autobot's were able to find his cloaking device back when he was imprisoned. He has to get his cloaking device back, and not while Slog and Banzai-Tron are looking. Back when he was with the decepticons rumors were all around him, about his cloaking device.

Garrus 9 - Cell Block H

Excellent. Spinister wasn't one of the Monstercons he and Slog were in search of, but one can't argue with more firepower backing you up. Banzai-tron ironically was looking over Spinister's file while he was still aboard the Tyrannis shortly before he joined in on the assault.

Before Banzai-tron could usher out a word to his new “teammate,” the walls and floor of the prison began quake as panels opened and automated turrets swiveled from the metallic masses. It didn’t take long for the weapon systems to lock on and begin open firing on the three Decepticons.

The intelligence officer began to rush deeper into the prison, following closely behind the Monstercon who was leading the charge. Banzai-tron did his best at trying to clear a path for their group to easily traverse through. He fired his arm-mounted cannons at various turret locations up ahead, managing to take out a couple in the process.

It times like this he wished that he had brought Treadshot along with him. The sharpshooter could make short work of most of the automated gun emplacements, as well as provide some witty banter Banzai-tron had grown to enjoy from having worked with Treadshot for so long in Decepticon Intelligence.

Just as the intelligence officer blasted another turret off the wall, a wayward shot meant for Slog scathed the left side of Banzai-tron’s abdomen. The blast nearly stopped him dead in his tracks as he struggled to regain keep his balance. The sudden sting of the laser fire made him cringe with pain. As hard as he tried to continue running, the intelligence officer fell to the prison floor and placed his actuators over the scorching wound. Laser fire from the turrets began to get closer to Banzai-tron’s position as he peered at his wound. He could see, as well as feel, the warm Energon begin to leak from his chassis.

“I’m fine! Keep Going!” He barked at Slog and Spinister as he crossed his right arm over his chest, applying pressuring to the open-wound with his actuators. He rose slowly, trying not to quickly lose any more Energon. He tried his hardest to continue to run at full pace and keep up with the others. It was difficult, but he could manage for now. He kept his left arm cannon facing forward, trying not to let his wound prevent him from assisting the others, as well as himself, from getting hit by the turrets.

-----

Seawing gazed around the corridor as he wiped his faceplate clean of the Energon that spewed from his latest victims. Sure his venom lasers don’t have the potency to completely kill off his opponents, but he was sure any sharp-ended metallic rod would do the trick after he stunned them.

After his slaughter, Seawing pondered about his actions on leaving the group back at the Steelhaven. Then he remembered Snaptrap’s order, a direct order too. Oh scrap, Snaptrap is really gonna have his head this time. There’s no way the Seacon could avoid the suffering the infamous butcher of the bogs is going to unleash upon him. Perhaps he could lie about his plan to ditch the group. Yeah, yeah he could just have gone and scouted up ahead! Maybe Snaptrap won’t be too frustrated with him now that he has a reasonable motive to have gone off on his own way.

>>”Seawing to Snaptrap; I’m currently in Cell Block H of the Autobot prison, and it seems to be pretty empty at the moment. En route back to your location."<<

He dropped the rod he had used to bludgeon the Autobots with and slowly began pacing back towards the Steelhaven breach point he noticed that the prison seemed to be…Changing. The automated defense turrets swiveled out from the walls and ceilings and begin to lock onto the Seacon’s energy signature.

“Oh scrap…” He muttered outloud to himself. He turned away and began to run from the sudden barrage of red-hot laser fire. He wondered if Snaptrap and the others were dealing with these kinds of defenses as well. He could care less if the turrets had already taken care of the Seacon Commander, it’s less work he’ll have to worry about.

Garrus 9 - Cell Block B Security Station

“Power’s out. It’s pretty dark in there. We’re gonna have to use infrared…hope you’ve got them.”

Stingray didn’t. She was combat configured, not surveillance fitted. The best she sported was standard light enhancement, which she adjusted but it barely helped. Inside the station, everything was pitch black.

Regulator was already inside, moving around far more confidently than he had outside. Stingray was relieved to see him finally show some initiative. Made him look less of the pushover she had seen him for when she was trying to gull him into opening her cell.

He was a nice guy, Stingray decided. He didn’t belong in this war.

And she did? The femme pondered for a moment. If not war, then... what? What else had she known all her existence? Fighting, loss, pain... all for what?

‘Come on. Follow me.’

Regulator shook her out of her thoughts. He offered an actuator to guide her.

She took it and nodded.

‘Let’s go.’

Garrus-9--Beta Turret

Chaos and death had ensnared the insides of the secondary turret that had not yet fallen to the Decepticons. But where once there was tumult there was now deathly silence, save for the dulled roar of battle outside. Scourge approached the main control console of the turret. A metallic hand reached out to grab in vain at his left foot, only a couple of digits managed to scrape against the backside of the Tracker's heel.

Scourge turned to look at the hapless Autobot, mangled beyond the recognition of most, save for one of their vaunted medics. Not even worth the effort of an additional blast. Scourge stepped further away and returned his gaze to the console. His crimson optics surveyed the controls for a moment.

The design of the turret would not allow it to be turned against the prison itself. Pity, as it was the first idea that had crossed his mind. No matter. If the Decepticons could not make use of it, no one would.

With sudden violence, Scourge's fists and claws bashed themselves against the control panels, sending up showers of sparks and metal as the Sweep demolished the powerful weapon's core operation controls.

Scourge took a step back, taking only the briefest of moments to admire his handiwork and ensure that some Autobot technician would not be running along and bringing this thing back online any time soon. Satisfied, he proceeded to exit the turret, callously stepping over the dying Autobot gunner. He had been on the outside looking in for too long now. It was time to taste Autobot vitals from the inside of this facility.
___

Garrus-9--Corridors

Blastkick had no idea why a mechanoid like Cyclonus would even be slightly interested in a hostage, but he had put up no resistance as they proceeded through the corridors toward the most vital areas of the prison industrial complex.

As they walked, he had caught the optic of at least one of the waiting Autobots who were waiting to assault anything that happened to emerge from the southern wing, be it one of the Decepticon invaders or prisoners themselves. They were just as likely to pounce prematurely too, and even though taking a mech like Cyclonus out had a certain strategic value, Blastkick didn't want to see the other guards' efforts wasted on a single Decepticon--not when Blastkick knew that there was a larger threat still looming inside the southern wing. A quick hand gesture signaled the other mechs not to do anything and just let them pass. Blastkick would do his best to handle this on his own.

Or die trying.

As they moved forward, that was when Blastkick felt the tremors. Rumbling of this magnitude, Blastkick knew what it had to be. Well, one of two things really, either Garrus-9 was collapsing on itself or--somehow--the Last Resort had been activated. Blastkick could only watch with barely contained glee as parts of the walls in front of them began to shift and move out of the way as turrets and other automated defense systems moved into place.

Oh yes. Yes! Eat this, you horned glitch, Blastkick thought.
___

The warrior did not audibly respond to Soul Siren's encouragement. He would do his work, just as she knew he would do hers. Eventually his efforts would come together with those of High Commander Scorponok or he would perish in the effort. Though he had every intention of making steady progress forward, he would also proceed cautiously. If death did indeed claim him this day, it would not be in the same manner of one of the Insecticons hapless clones or any other grunt that had been caught unawares in the midst of Autobot assault.

And the next few steps had reminded him of precisely why that was an effective strategy.

Cyclonus had frozen in his tracks as the tremors began. The Autobot he had taken as a personal hostage had put up surprisingly little resistance. He now understood why, as it was clear that Fortress Maximus still had certain tricks hidden away to defend his precious prison.

The scowl on Cyclonus' angular face deepened as he saw various weapons platforms emerge, energy-grid shields crackle and burst to life down one corridor or another and who knows what other defenses that were quietly built into this prison to ensure that it remained forever in Autobot control.

His first thought was to use his newfound hostage as a living shield, but the weapons were too numerous and likely too powerful for that to work. The Autobot would find himself shredded, and Cyclonus would not be far behind.

"You'd better run," the Autobot spoke, as the weapons systems swiveled and scanned for their first target. He was the closest thing in proximity, so it would very soon be him.

"As you wish," Cyclonus said, before firing his oxidating laser through the guard's midsection. The guard dropped to his knees and would have fallen over entirely were it not for Cyclonus holding on to the guard's shoulder. He then reached down and dug his hand into the Autobot's chest and proceeded to rip out the Autobot's badge, connective wirings and all. He was fortunate that it was a true badge, and not something that had been simply painted on. The lithe warrior held the red symbol in front of his face, examining it for a moment as he heard the prison weapons systems begin to click into place.

"NO! YOU slagging FRAG!" a voice yelled out from somewhere in the distance as Blastkick dropped to the ground. Cyclonus' head whipped around just in time to see a cadre of Autobots rise up, all of their weapons trained on him. Then the sounds of automatic blaster fire from the corridor in front of him.

It was not long before Cyclonus found himself ablaze in Autobot countermeasures.

Semper Tyrannis--Brig

Lightspeed looked up as Nightbeat threw out another question, only it was a question they had dealt with specifically in some of their earlier conversations. Nightbeat must have mentally checked out at certain points of their imprisonment, not that he could really blame him. When one was facing the prospect of potential summary execution, it did contribute to one's mind wandering.

"Scorponok. Same one ravaging Nebulos when the other Technobots and I arrived with the Farstar," he said simply. "We seem to be out of Megatron's direct focus for the time being. Whether that's a blessing or not, I don't know. If Garrus does fall, I suspect it won't be long before he comes to inspect his new prize. Not that it will matter. We'll either have escaped and be on the run or dead, as I don't see a lot of middle ground."

Hardly the most pleasant way to put things into perspective but it was Lightspeed's most accurate hypothesis, given their present circumstances.
___

Garrus-9--Goldrush's Suite

He really couldn't believe what he was seeing. Well, not seeing really. It was more feeling at this point. And hearing. But his impressive views of the vast Elban landscape were long gone, replaced by hard-shuttered walls that had locked into place when the warden had engaged one security protocol or another. It was still very much clear that this facility was under full assault and that his odds of coming out of the whole ordeal still functioning were decreasing with every astrosecond that passed. He had been locked out of his precious mines and surely every other vital area of the prison was the same. He had no command codes to override anything and...so.....

"Cheers," Goldrush said, holding up a crystalline cylinder of ultra-concentrated energon and clinking it against a similar one held by his bartender and a few of his other limited amount of Greasepit staff that had managed to find their way to his quarters.

"Cheers!" the others resounded before draining the contents of their containers. Most of them were more than half-tanked already, a fact made obvious by the lines of other mineral compound fuels and delicacies that Goldrush had broken out of his private stores.

If today would be their day to die, they were going to go out on a surging high.

Garrus-9--Southern Wing–-Block G

Scowl could feel it sliding off of his back. He reached around to make sure, definitely noticing the absence of the inhibitor claw. “Is it…?” He stopped as he heard his voice, his beautiful voice, at normal volume. It had been so long since he had heard it that loud it startled him. He paused for a moment before a grin spread over his face. He grabbed Icepick by the shoulders and began laughing, his voice gradually getting louder and louder.

He released his teammate and stepped past him, his laughter getting louder and louder as he piped it through his chest mounted speakers. Finally he stopped laughing and bellowed out a single word through his speakers, the word echoing through the prison and even rattling some of the walls.

“FREEDOM!”

Scowl turned back to Icepick, the grin still plastered on his face. When he spoke he was yelling, but he made sure not to send it through his speakers. “YES! YES! WE SHOULD GO GET SLOG AND WILDFLY AND EVEN BRISTLEBACK AND BIRDBRAIN! LETS GET THEM ALL ICEPICK! TOGETHER WE CAN CAUSE SUCH WONDERFUL NOISE AND DESTRUCTION!”

Garrus 9 - Entrance to Cell Block M

Slog had already begun the tedious process of digging out the entrance to the cell block when he glanced back to check on the status of Spinister and Banzai-Tron. The latter was injured from their trek over to the entrance. The Monstercon watched as Spinister tried to fend off the automated defenses with his little stolen gun. This wouldn't work. They'd get obliterated before the entrance was even half dug.

An idea struck the combat artist. He began building a small barricade with the rubble, barely tall enough to shield a mech unless he was lying flat and prone on the floor. Stooping to examine his work, Slog nodded slowly. It wasn't any masterpiece, but it would complete its intended function.

"Banzai-Tron, Spinister, get over here and drop behind this barricade!" Slog shouted over the din of gunfire.

This would work. It would. It had to. Or else he would end up a piece of abstract art splattered across the wall. That would be rather depressing. Especially after only just achieving freedom. Ah. That would make a nice piece. To capture that feeling. Slog began to wonder how he might go about doing that when his thoughts were brought back to reality by some turret fire whizzing by his cranium.

It can wait.

Garrus-9 - Cell Block M's entrance

Spinister watched as Slog finished his work. A barricade made from dust and rubble. That barricade won't survive for long. They had to get to Cell Block M before the automated turrets get them. The deception helicopter shot a few more rounds at the turrets with great accuracy, destroying two of them, before hiding behind the barricade.

Suddenly he heard Scowl's mad voice raging across the prison. It confirmed Spinister's suspicions, Scorponok is leading an escape from Garuss-9. Once the decepticons are all freed, their numbers will increase, their power will doubled. However, the autobots still have the ability to stop this great escape. Scorponok's plan could still fail.

Spinister fired some last shots from his rifle before resting himself to the ground and hiding behind the cover of the barricade.

Garrus-9, Southern Wing--Steelhaven Breach Point

Blot dropped the headless, mauled body on an Autobot guard he had violated and turned to look at what had caught Hun-Grrr's attention. In many ways the leader of the Terrorcons was even more self-serving than Starscream. Fortunately enough for other Decepticons, Hun-Gurrr's laziness and desires focused on immediate gain such as procuring more energon than he was able to devour and well, destroying things - kept him from rising the ranks. In many ways he was a victim of his own greed for Hun-Garr could have been so much more than just the leader of a strike unit were he able control his primal instincts.

Not that Blot gave much thought on such matters. Or at all. However it was not common for his leader to forgo his feasting. It usually meant someone of notice had decided to bless the Terrorcons with his presence. And Snaptrap, the Butcher of bogs certainly fit such description. Blot had learned to respect the leader of the Seacons the hard way. He had fought both alongside and against Snaptrap all those vorns ago in the pits. Not even Blot's brute strength and savagery had been enough to overcome the Butcher's skills when the two had clashed one on one. The fact he was still alive probably meant that he had impressed Snaptrap enough to let him continue to function. Or Megatron. Even he had heard the rumors that Snaptrap had worked for Megatron already back then, testing out the gladiators - singling out those fighters with potential to become Decepticons.

The change of words between Snaptrap and Hun-Gurr wasn't exactly a long one. The Seacon had led his men into the prison from the breach the crash landing of the Steelhaven had created. And now he had made the effort to remind the two Terrorcons or their mission. Seek out and retrieve the Monstercons. It was just fine with Blot. He figured there would be plenty of Autobots between them and their target anyhow. Even Hungarr had agreed. Though not without a little show of supremacy towards the other Decepticon. It wasn't too surprising. Hun-grrr respected only strength. And while that did not mean he could not share some of that respect to those not as powerful as he was, he would never bow down to anyone who couldn't or hadn't defeated him.

And thus, the two wayward Terrorcons ceased their assault against the Autobots firing at them from the balconies and followed Snaptrap and his men deeper into the prison - leaving the Autobots at the mercy of the Insecticons that had began pouring in from the cracks in the prison superstructure behind them.

That was, until they made their way into the Cell Block A.

Unlike the area demolished by the crashed starship, the Cell Block A had not lost its connection with the penintertiary's power source. Which in turn had enabled the Last Resort protocol to activate the automated defenses within the area. Doors and corridors formed choke points with dozens of gun turrets, force fields and traps. The surprise element was gone. Their rather speedy advance so far had practically been grinded to a crawl. And now Blot was stuck behind the Seacons. As was Hun-Grrr. Hardly a preferable scenario for either team. For Blot could sense Hun-gurrr frustration over not being able to attack anything. And as he often did without even realizing it, Blot mirrored the behavior of the larger Terrorcon.

The Seacons needed to find a way to push forwards just enough to scatter out of the way of the two monsters behind them. And they had find that way quick.

Garrus-9 cell block B

“Excuse me a second”

Bludgeon watched as the femme turned after giving him a nod of thanks the glimmer of a smile ghosted across his lips as he saw her turn toward the fallen autobot that had beaten her so savagely.

The metal shard that she picked up was put to gruesome use as it was repeatedly plunged into the chest cavity of Mandate.

As he watched the violence with his usual detachment he was convinced there was more to this killing he’d eventually find out the information but for now he watched Umbra finish off her already broken body. The tension seemed to filter from the femme’s body Bludgeon noted as the femme turned around to face him as she shrugged “that’s that”

Bludgeon turned around at the sound of transformation as Umbra mentioned her name he didn’t see her grab the item from the floor. Various weapons started to appear from crevasses and hidden alcoves.

“Time to move Umbra the slag is about to hit the fan”

Seconds later the turrets opened fire

Garrus-9--Southern Wing–-Block G

Icepick had dampened his audio receptors as best he could. He knew his Monstercon friend would want to try out his long-unused vocalizers and Icepick could not blame him in the slightest. When in the possession of such a unique talent he could only imagine what it was like to be bereft of its use.

"My thoughts exactly, old friend," Icepick chuckled as he spared another panoramic view of the chaos around him. So truly, truly delicious. "This way I suppose."

Icepick and Scowl had not made it far before Icepick had felt a rumbling in the prison that did not feel like anything he had experienced before.

No....wait.....he had experienced this before. Only on the few occasions it had, he had been on the inside of the cell and it had merely been practice runs for a defense system that had never been needed to be put in to use. Now it most certainly did. And Icepick had no doubt that it was being engaged at this very moment.

"We're going to need to move," Icepick said, a calmness in his voice that belied that sudden wave of fear that had surged through his circuits as not only was the entire facility shaking like it was under the assault of the entire team of Tremorcons, but wall and floor panels were shifting--changing-- within any cell block that still had access to even a modicum of its core power sources and thus revealing the lethal terrors that otherwise lay safely hidden behind them while other cell blocks remained entirely in the dark.

That was when he watched it happen.

A turret that had emerged from cell block A, well away from their position but still clearly visible from where Icepick was standing, swiveled and jerked around almost as if it had a mind of its own. Or eyes. It then settled on an inmate that was violently attacking one of the guards that had somehow managed to survive the surge forward by two of the other more lethal units within the Decepticon war machine--the Terrorcons and the Seacons. Their respective commanders, in particular, being fiendish reminders of Megatron's ideal Decepticon. Though Icepick knew he would never be quite like them, he knew that if peace would someday indeed be achieved through tyranny, it would largely be at the hands of mechs like them. That, however, did not save the prisoner who's bloodlust for revenge had blinded him to everything else going around him.

When the turret started firing, it didn't stop until the Decepticon had stopped moving.

Then it began to swivel around again, as if it were looking for its next kill. From that distance, Icepick was comfortable that it would not be him, but that did not mean he would stand idly by and become the victim of some other hastily-activated defense system.

Then he saw her. Umbra.

"Well, as I live and breathe!" Icepick exclaimed, pausing momentarily in his efforts to reunite with the other imprisoned Monstercons. He had not expected to run into the unique little Autobot femme again, especially in a circumstance such as this. And she was not alone. In fact, Icepick was not exactly sure what to make of the sight that was now in front of him. Was Bludgeon her escort...or her captor? Either way, he was not a Decepticon to be trifled with. "I'd wager you're running from the same things we're running from."
___

Garrus-9--Auxiliary Corridors

Skullgrin, Horri-bull, Quake. All competent Decepticons. United with the forces they had at their disposal, very capable of taking even an Autobot like Fortress Maximus off of the battlefield if they had been allowed to surround and grind down the imposing Autobot commander. But Maximus had never had any intention of allowing them any such opportunity.

As the turrets and missile launchers unloaded, all of them had either scattered or been sent flying in a hail of fiery debris as Maximus stalked around the corner of one of the connecting hallways, taking the long way around, but a way that would also allow him to double back on the command center and finish this. It would not be the end of them, unless he was somehow just ridiculously lucky. But it was the beginning of the end and that suited Maximus well enough.

>>"I need word on the C-C. Is it still in the network?"<< Maximus transmitted to his own unit of internal security specialists.

>>"At the moment, warden, yeah. It's tricky. Gotta be careful blacking it out or we might take out a few adjacent blocks, too."<<

>>"If you have to, take out the one I'm in. Doesn't matter. Just get it down."<<

Maximus walked around the edge of the corridor, paying no attention to the concepts of stealth or subtlety. Let whatever wait for him in this next corridor come and get some.

What greeted him was a surprise, but a good one, even as turret fire whizzed past him, striking him on occasion. Two Autobots registered in the distance, having hunkered themselves down near one of the defense turrets. On the other end of the corridor, another cadre of Decepticons that had been stopped in their tracks by the Last Resort. And now, flanked by Fortress Maximus. They turned to look at the large shadow that now loomed over them.

>>"Got it, Max! Command Center going dark.....now!"<<

Maximus grinned, surging forward and slamming into the first of the Decepticons, shoulder-butting and thus slamming the Decepticon's torso between his body and the wall--both equally unforgiving--before smashing the next closest Decepticon with his fist and then unloading his personal arsenal on the ones that still remained.

That turret on the other end of the corridor hadn't stopped firing though, and Maximus was much too big of a target. Even as he could see the Autobots on the other end cheering and holding their weapons in the air, Maximus fell back to the auxiliary corridor. Two new incoming comm signals popped up on Max's systems.

>>"Nice shootin' warden, sir!"<<

>>"Yeah, real nice. We can't get the turret to take its autofire systems off, though."<<

>>"Yeah, they're not perfect. But they're doing their job. Reinforce that corridor. I'll help the others do the same,"<< Maximus transmitted.

>>"Yessir!"<<

>>"On it!"<<

"Max!" another Autobot soldier called out, coming up on the warden's own six. Dudbelt. Good soldier. One of the many displaced shift crewmechs that hadn't been aboard the Steelhaven when it was in the air. He was followed by a handful of others. "We just came from Gamma. Cindersaur and some other uglies just came outta nowhere but we took 'em down. Saw your signal. Decided we'd see if you needed any backup, heh. Guess not."

Without the tumult of battle surrounding his every immediate decision, Maximus actually had a moment to himself to strategize a little. He had been intending to press forward and slam the command center and everyone inside it as hard as he could. Now, though, there was perhaps a better strategy to be employed.

"Fall back. Away from CC. We blacked it out. We'll make Scorponok sacrifice for every inch he takes to get out of there. Cover every corridor out of the command center with any men you can spare," Maximus said, indicating some of the elevated safety positions where mechs could station themselves and snipe at any entering Decepticons.

"Any 'Bots that can be spared need to come with me to the power station. We secure it. We weather this storm. And Scorponok, well, he won't be bothering Optimus any more after this."
___

Garrus-9--Southern Wing

"Where have you lead us, Bombshell?"

"Energy readings. In the east. They are most tantalizing, aren't they? We simply have to make it there," Bombshell hissed in response to Kickback's prodding query.

"Through this maze of...of...death?!" the other Insecticon shot back incredulously.

Bombshell transformed, prompting a similar response from Kickback as the two Insecticons stood face to face, each sizing the other up. Before either could lay a hand on the other, the quaking began even as diaclones skittered past them. Shrapnel transformed as well, pushing the other two Insecticons apart and looking up and around, trying to determine the source of the rumblings.

"That is not us not us."

"It's a transformation sequence of some kind. On a large scale," Kickback added. "To what end, I wonder."

"To that end," Bombshell said, pointing at a series of turrets emerging from walls in the distance. And others, well, others that were appearing from positions that were far, far too close for comfort.

"Insecticons scatter!"

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!"

The world of the multi-legged Decepticons soon went up in flames as Insecticons and their diaclone servitors scattered, crawled and flew away in every possible direction.

Command Center

Being a protoform, this wasn't the place for Wheelie. Gunfire cracked from weapons on both sides, fire jetted from fallen transformers and sparks spouted from the broken walls and computers. Wheelie didn't know what he had gotten himself into. Of course, he didn't want to hurt anyone, but that didn't change the fact that he was on a battlefield and needed to defend himself. Unfortunately for the orange proto, he wasn't exactly on the defending side.

Curled in the corner, making himself as small as possible, Wheelie fumbled in his leg compartments for anything that he could use to get out of this situation. He just needed to get out of the room, away from other Decepticons and thus prying eyes. But then there was that other side of him that wanted the exact opposite...

Grabbing his Slingshot and knife from his hip compartment, Wheelie did a quick scan of the room. The transformed walls had blocked off the majority of the exits, and the one that was open was exploding with laserfire and... Well, Horrorcons. It doesn't take a survivalist to know that, even with his small size, Wheelie didn't have a chance in there. He was stuck in between more than just a rock and a hard place, he was stuck in between a rock and a gun-barrel.

He began to become restless. Knowing the Decepticons from what he'd seen, those useless to them are usually murdered outright, so he couldn't just sit there. Gunfire exploded near him, startling the Proto. This time it was next to him, off to his right. Wheelie turned to focus his blue optics upon the turret which focused on a Decepticon soldier, then proceeded to tear through the helpless Cybetronian with it's incendiary rounds, bullets screaming at an equal pitch to the yell of the Decepticon. The proto had to look away from the molten mess of the Decepticon trooper.

Perhaps that soldier was following orders, but that didn't take away from the fact that it was a Decepticon, the same faction that killed Cleff in cold blood, and thus he didn't have a single bit of pity for the Decepticon. It was just gross to look at. Either way, he needed to take care of that nasty turret before it took care of him first.

Jumping up, Wheelie pressed the button on the hilt of his knife, thus causing the three blades to spring up from the base and meet at the top to create a triple-bladed dagger. Rushing forward, Wheelie jabbed his knife into the circuits of the turret. Slashing the circuits, the turret stopped firing immediately as it's targeting mechanism was disabled. Jamming his hand into the cogs of the turret, in an almost unnatural way, his hands were guided skillfully into the ammo dispenser. Pulling the drum out, Wheelie tossed them behind him, then used his knife to slash the turret completely off the wall.

Then, the survivalist picked up the ammo and tossed it at a place where he remembered a window. Stepping back, Wheelie dispensed a fire stone in his Slingshot. With any luck, it would act like a detpack. With a deep breath, he fired. Upon contact, the sensitive rounds set off in an array of explosions. The panels covering the window blew off, showering the area with shrapnel, but it didn't matter. Out the window was the main cell block, where prisoners were escaping left and right. It had to be safer than this place.

Wheelie stepped back, leaned into a forward stance and dashed forward. When he was almost there, he leaped.

Garrus-9, Southern Wing – Cell Block M

And fashionably late they were continuing to be. Though, in the interest of Wildfly's present situation, fashionably was an awful word to use, because there was nothing fashionable about being fashionably late while he waited for somebody—anybody—to spring him from his cell so he could hurl himself into the storm of violence that congested every square inch of the penitentiary, and exact vengeance on those who had imprisoned him many, many millennia ago.

No. Absolutely nothing stylish about that at all.

Despite being trapped in this cramped box, the cacophony of battle still infiltrated its walls, reminding Wildfly of the glorious time he was missing out on. Shouts, curses, gunfire, the occasional explosion; they all teased him, mocking Wildfly as he stood in the middle of his cell looking like a moron as the assault raged outside, merely metres from him. Could this solar cycle get any worse?

“You want a piece of me, you scumbag?”

“Just a piece?” The prisoner laughed, a grating sound no audio modules could ever welcome. “Nah, I want the whole damn thing, Autobot. The whole damn thing.”

Why, yes. It could get worse.

Striding to the door, Wildfly pressed himself up against it, as though his sight and hearing would benefit from this action. And in a way, it did. He could hear more clearly now, even identify the voices that belonged to the two speakers, but as far as seeing went, forget it. He might as well have been blind.

“Fortress Maximus should have sent you to the Rig the moment you arrived, Blackwing. The trash that you are, these cell blocks were too good for you.”

“Big talk from a small mech. Care to back that up? Your aft buddy couldn't.”

“For the crimes you committed and the murder of my best friend, I'm going to extract your spark personally.”

Heavy footfalls suggested Blackwing was taking the initiative. “Not if I rip yours out first!”

“Well, come and get it!”

Additional voices joined the conversation, slipping in with ease.

“Gladly.”

“You're the boss.”

“TIME TO DIE, YOU FRAGGER!”

Oh, Wildfly already liked that last speaker immensely. A splendid attitude, that gentlemech had.

Even though he dearly wished their roles were reversed, he grinned as he anticipated the brutal crash of metal striking metal. Solarspin, the guard unfortunate enough to meet his demise at the actuators of these prisoners, wasn't someone that Wildfly harboured any particular hatred towards. Firm but fair, and believing that all inmates deserved to be treated equally, Solarspin had set himself apart from some of the more detestable staff, and earned the respect of the majority of the prisoners, including Wildfly's.

Except for Blackwing's, apparently. And vice versa.

Anyway, that was all caring and wonderful and lovely of him. Really, it was. But here came the reality: Wildfly would have still kicked the slag out of Solarspin, had he been offered the chance. Sure, the guard was a nice chap, but in Wildfly's view, it changed nothing.

The Autobots had to die. End of discussion.

And die, this guard did. One agonising scream after the other, Solarspin was beaten into oblivion. Destroyed. Pulverised. Annihilated. He no longer remained among the functioning.

Once again, Wildfly peeked through the glass panel, as though his determination to see something would eventually be rewarded with a grisly scene. But once again, he was denied. Very, very frustrating.

“How I would give my left—”

A deep rumbling suddenly occurred, filling Wildfly's cell with its force. Neither powerful as an earthquake nor a product of an explosion due to its consistent length, the rumbling felt...ominous. A sense of familiarity washed over Wildfly, soaking him with a fragment of understanding as to what would transpire next.

Then the automated defence weapons opened fire. The instant Solarspin's killers yelled, Wildfly knew two crucial facts. One, those prisoners were now no more than smoking carcasses decorating the floor; and two, luck had fled from the Monstercon, leaving him to create his own.

“Slag.” He stepped away from the door, panic betraying his movements. “Slag! Slag! Slag! Defence weapons?” He laughed, though no mirth existed in it. “Primus must really hate me.”

Wildfly was never going to get out of here.

Garrus 9 - Cell Block M

As Spinister dove into cover with Banzai-Tron not far behind, Slog waited for the defense systems to pick him up on their scanners. It didn't take long. One of the turrets locked onto his position and began to open fire. Well. Here went nothing. Diving down as it began to shoot, Slog fell behind the barricade, avoiding the lethal turret fire by mere inches. Instead, the turret fire blasted into the pile of rubble behind him, creating a small entrance.

The turret began blasting away at Slog's poor excuse of cover. Slag. That thing didn't let up did it? They'd need to be quick. Or otherwise get some poor sap to sacrifice himself valiantly in their name. Slog didn't imagine that any Autobot guard or prisoner would be quite so giving at this point. Plan B then.

"Alright, let's go!"

Slog jumped up and whirled around, and pushed himself through the entrance with turret fire crackling all around him. One of the turret's shots managed to hit its mark, hitting Slog's shoulder just as he slipped through the hole in the rubble, which was getting admittedly larger now that the turret had blaster it once again. He moved out of the way of the entrance to press against the wall, looking for more turrets. None were sufficiently close enough for Slog to be uncomfortable with where he was standing.

There were more prisoners still about here too. And guards. Well that was good. More fodder for those turrets. Slog inspected his injured shoulder. It almost...resembled a shoulder. Really it just looked like a mess of energon and metal. Lovely. What was the use of going on? How in Pit did they think that they were going to find Wildfly?

As Slog was lost in his depressive musings, a guard approached him. One of the more abusive and brutish of the lot, although less so than that beast Mandate. As it was, the Monstercon artist hardly even noticed him until the guard was nearly upon him.

"C'mere you, glitchin' Con!"

"Who, me?" Slog paused to consider the mech, "Let me ask you something. Would you like to become a work of art?"

"What the Pit-"

The guard did not get any farther than that. Slog sprang at him, brandishing the metal rod in his hand like a paint brush. He plunged the end the rod into the guard's - oh! Slog remembered his now - Twistspin's optical socket and rotated it inside of the guard's cranial unit. It made a rather pleasant and wholly enjoyable crunching sound, which was further complimented by Twistspin's gurgling.

"Not to worry," Slog paused. Was his name Twistspin? No, no. Surely not. It was..."Twistoff. This is only the beginning of the creative process. Your death, immortalized. It will be wonderful, I assure you."

Indeed, this Spintop would make a fine shield for a little while. He did add a bit of dead weight though...cumbersome, but in the end, necessary. It was certainly better than becoming dead weight himself. Plus, the world - or at least Garrus 9 - would finally be able to enjoy some quality art once more. Slog did find himself longing for his magnetic repellor-attractor. It made making art out of bodies much easier. He would have to make do. Abstract Slogism.

"WILDFLY! MAKE YOURSELF KNOWN!" Slog shouted out at the top of his vocal processors across Cell Block M.

There. That ought to get Wildfly sufficiently riled up so that Slog could pinpoint his comrade's exact location. Or at the very least attract his attention. Or not. Wildfly could be out of audio range. Wildfly could be terminated already.

Slog hefted Offtwist's body across his back. It would have to do. This would come out to be such an ugly piece. How depressing. The Monstercon glanced back at the entrance while he waited for Wildfly to make himself known. Had Spinister and Banzai-Tron made it through the breach? Or had they been mercilessly shot to bits? What did it really matter? The way things were looking...none of the prisoners had much chance to escape from his house of captivity alive. Especially with this last resort type defense system activated.

Yet...if he were to die here, he would die free.

That was just enough to keep Slog going.

Garrus-9, Southern Wing – Cell Block M

The automated defence weapons. Several times a year, good old Fortress Maximus—a.k.a. Lord of the Leaden, a.k.a. Boring to the Max—liked to whip out these favourite toys of his and test them, ensuring they continued to operate at optimal levels, thus reacting with great speed and fluidity should their lethal services be required. Should anyone or anything penetrate Garrus-9's considerable external defences first, of course.

This was at least what Wildfly had gathered during those drills and procedures, catching pieces of conversations pertaining to the automated weapons as the guards would, on occasion, walk by his cell, talking about such things. He'd also learned how deadly and accurate they were. Valuable information, if not rather dismaying.

Hard at work and busy, busy, busy eliminating every Transformer wearing a Decepticon insignia, those wonderful turrets never ceased in their efforts, the ponderous sounds of their barrels releasing death far more often than Wildfly would have preferred. The screams that accompanied the blasts were a testament to their efficiency—to their cursed precision.

“And another one bites the dust particles,” Wildfly said, as one of the turrets silenced a prisoner. “But I never liked you, Razor Fist, so whatever.”

Constantly insulting his fellow Monstercons behind their backs, and goading them into fights owing to some supposed incident that happened so long ago he could neither recall the reason that started it all nor the place—though the activity area could have been the location—he had vowed to beat the living slag out of Razor Fist for disrespecting and harassing his team-mates. The turrets, however, had problems with Razor Fist, as well.

No big deal. Wildfly could sympathise, and wasn't bothered by being cheated of the smashing he had planned for the annoying prisoner.

At any rate, more pressing concerns were nestled in the forefront of his core processor. Like being sprung from his cell. And being reuniting with his fellow Monstercons again. And killing Spree in a fashion that would make even Cutthroat's massacres look gentle in comparison.

But the very idea of escape was laughable. A number of automated defence weapons would be waiting for him on the other side, if he were somehow able to coax the tightly locked door into unlocking. Expletive. Expletive. Expletive.

“WILDFLY! MAKE YOURSELF KNOWN!”

His cranial unit snapped up in response to the voice. “Was that... Could it have been... No, probably not...” His optics widened. “Vector Sigma, it was!”

Slog, the Monstructor Six's team leader, was here. Wildfly had not gone bonkers yet; Slog was actually here.

“Slog!” Wildfly pounded on the cell door with his fists as hard as he could. “Slog! Over here! Over here! Get me the Pit out of this fragging box!”

Garrus-9 - Cell Block M

Spinister watched from the barricade as the turrets created a hole for the decepticons to enter through. The helicopter waited for Slog to enter first, a few shots from the turret hit Slog, injuring his shoulder. Spinister grabbed his gun, and the decepticon marksman destroyed the turret with a few shots in the right place. He then proceeded to enter Cell Block M before any other turrets start shooting him.

The decepticon marksman was very sleek and agile even thought he looked like a big helicopter, making the act of entering through the small hole a very easy thing for him. Spinister watched silently as Slog turned the autobot guard into a "piece of art" of his and then carry some of the dead guard and use him as a shield. Spinister noticed that his gun was running out of ammo. So he picked up the weapon of the guard Slog just killed. It was better than the one he had before. More suitable for his current situation.

Slog continued to look for Wildfly, while Spinister was looking out for any guards or automated defenses. He glanced at the walls for a moment before walking next to Slog, looking for Wildfly with him. Suddenly Wildfly responded to Slog's calls, making himself known. He was in his cell, waiting for someone to free him. But there were turrets, lots of them, waiting to kill someone. Spinister raised his weapon and shot them with great accuracy from a distance. The turrets were now aimed at Spinister. The decepticon dodged the turret's fire, jumping to his right. He fired a few more shots at the turrets, damaging one of them. The turrets aimed at Spinister's new location and fired at it. but the decepticon escaped once again. The turrets had to stop firing for a moment if they didn't want to overheat themselves and die. And that's what they did, they stopped firing, leaving them vulnerable to their enemies. Spinister fired at the damaged turret, destroying it. That was one turret down.

Slog was slow and bulky and lacked weaponry (though he could get some from fallen guards), and he would not be able to fight those turrets due to the lack of speed. Banzai-Tron could help Spinister fight the turrets, he just needs a ranged weapon. However Banzai-Tron didn't have the firepower and accuracy that Spinister had, so if he wanted to help then he had to get much closer to the turrets, still, Banzai-Tron is one of the greatest fighters and he could help a lot. However, the important thing here is to make sure they get Wildfly out, and destroy those damned turrets

Garrus 9 - Cell Block A

>>”Seawing to Snaptrap; I’m currently in Cell Block H of the Autobot prison, and it seems to be pretty empty at the moment. En route back to your location."<<

Useless. Utterly useless. Seawing again and again proved to be a spineless, disobedient wretch. Snaptrap did not bother to send an acknowledgement back to his scout. If Seawing didn't manage to crawl back to the rest of the Seacons, he had better pray that the Autobots or these infernal turrets got to him before Snaptrap did.

As it stood, the Seacon Commander had more pressing matters to tend to. Wall to wall turrets barred the way forward, slowing their advance to little more than a crawl. Snatrap swept his optics over the scene, strategies forming in his processor. That was when he noted the presence of both Blot and Hun-Grr behind his team.

Hun-Grr was one of the most savage and brutal beings that Snaptrap had ever met. A quintessential example of what it meant to be a Decepticon. One of the few who had managed to earn the Butcher's respect. Unfortunately, he also had some habits that were frustratingly...inefficient. His lust for destruction would inevitably prove problematic as it proved to be now. Snaptrap needed to move his men. Now.

One of the prisoners - not one of the Monstercons - had been gunned down just ahead of them. Snaptrap charged forward, gun in hand. Firing round after round at the multitudes of turrets, Snaptrap scooped up the corpse of the prisoner in his free hand and used it as a shield as the turrets rounded on him.

>>"Make way for the Terrorcons and provide cover fire!"<< Snaptrap ordered over the team's comm link.

The turret's rounds pelted the carcass Snaptrap was using as a shield, shredding it, piece after piece flying off. It would not last much longer. And Snaptrap's armor, though truly formidable, would eventually begin to give way to the oppressive turret fire. He would not allow that. Snaptrap fired off another blast at a turret, destroying it. No. This defense system would not change anything.

The Decepticons would triumph this day.

Garrus 9 – Cell Block B Security Station

As soon as Stingray’s hand touched his palm Regulator wrapped his fingers around her hand and began to carefully guide the femme through the tight room. With a swivel of his hip Regulator maneuvered around the edge of a terminal/workbench gently tugging Stingray along. “Careful. Sharp edge.” He said as he dipped their hands down to indicate the exact area.

“We’re almost there, Just another quick corner.” He picked up his pace slightly once a majority of the obstacles were passed. “Stay close.” Regulator finally stopped in front of a door. He released Stingray’s hand and leaned over to get a better look at the door lock. He stared for a moment before he looked over his shoulder. “I hope my access code works.” He flashed a weak smile and turned back.

After clearing his throat he set to work. Several beeps later and door slid open. But it suddenly stopped leaving a much too small space for him to slip through. He grumbled several colorful expletives and then set to work by grabbing a hold of the door and prying it open so he could pass through.

With a smile and a heaved sigh the security mech worked his way through the opening. There was some banging and clanging coming from within but the noise quickly stopped. And then from the locker came Regulator’s slightly muffled voice, “Heads up!” A few heavy rifles hit the floor right at Stingray’s feet. Soon after the weapons landed a series of magazines followed. Once the stream of ammo stopped Regulator called out, “I’ve got some sidearms headed your way!” Those too hit the floor.

Once the last weapon settled on the floor Regulator stepped out of the locker and picked up the weapons. He handed Stingray one of the rifles, a hand gun and several magazines. He stored the rest. “That’s all that was in there. Everything else was either lacking a charge or wouldn’t pack enough punch.”

Regulator stopped suddenly when he heard the sound of movement coming from outside the station. At first he thought they had been located by the other Autobots, but then he remembered there were ‘Cons floating around the prison as well. His thoughts of a potential save were dashed when the tremors began. His head whipped around and he looked to the exit.

The sound was familiar. He placed both hands on the femme’s shoulders and gave them a firm squeeze. “Stingray. Stay right here.” Regulator moved to the door and stuck his head out. Even with no power to the area the automated weaponry was still fully functional. “They must be on a separate power source. Damn,” he growled.

“We’ve got trouble. I can’t get you out of here through the front door.” Regulator looked around the room for another way out. Something that they could use to bypass the prison’s weapons. “We need to find another way out. Help me look around for a ventilation shaft, or, or something.”

Garrus 9 – Level 4 – Cell Block C

Rung still had a hold of Streamlight’s arm as they worked their way further into the block. The young flier hadn’t said a word since leaving Kronus’ cell.

“Streamlight. He’s a Decepticon and a thief. Lying, manipulating, deceiving…it’s what he does; who he is. Being arrested and convicted and then being incarcerated was never going to change any of that.” Rung slowed his pace until he finally stopped altogether.

The guard said nothing. He simply lifted his gaze and stared at the Psychotherapist. Rung let out a heavy sigh. “We need to get to safety. We can talk about this when our lives aren’t at further risk.” A slight nod was the only response he got. Poor mech. Too young to realize that not everyone is who they appear to be. But he’ll learn. Unfortunately he’ll learn while trying to fight for his life in a war that quite possibly will never end.

Several minutes later they had reached the end of Block C and were prepared to press on when Streamlight pulled Rung to a halt. “Wha….what is it?” the doctor asked. “Where are you taking us? You never told me. I think I’ve got a right to know.” Streamlight’s voice was low.

“The only other place on G9 where we’ll be safe from the Decepticons. The Aequitas Chamber.” Rung’s optics met the young flier’s. A long silence stretched between the two before the guard spoke up. “No.” The psychotherapist’s eyebrows furrowed. “No? What do you mean no? It’s probably the most secure place after The Rig.” Streamlight looked over Rung’s shoulder and then back toward the way they had come. “If it is the safest location then we have to take as many bots with us as we can. There are civilian workers that we need to find and help.”

How could he be so selfish? He had wanted to save the files downloaded to Streamlight’s brain, and had overlooked the possibility of saving lives as well. The information on the files was important but the lives of those in this facility were more important. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have…let’s get going.” Rung placed a hand on Streamlight’s shoulder and gave it a gentle pat.

Streamlight’s smile was small but at least it was progress.

Both Autobots turned ‘round and headed back up to the main levels of the prison. They’d need to stop at all of the civilian locations…the bar, the mines, receiving platforms…wherever there might be neutrals.

“The Last Resort Protocols have been initiated. Even with the automated weapons activated we’re still going to need to be careful.” Rung said to his companion.

Garrus 9 - Southern Wing

Umbra trotted along in Bludgeon's wake, following his lead through the bristling prison. She had only an inkling of where they were located currently and which way they were headed. She was more occupied with the energon dripping from her cracked faceplate and various other wounds. There wasn't anything that the agent could do about it at the moment, but it did prove to be distractingly painful.

With automated defense systems firing all around, Umbra couldn't exactly afford to be distracted for long. Her thoughts flitted back to Mandate and the last few images of him in her mind. That sick smile. The broken body. The two seemed almost entirely separate from one another. So numb. How could she have...just...

Umbra stumbled over a bit of fallen debris and hastily scrambled back to her feet as some turret fire perforated the floor around her. Not the time to be distracted. Yet, the femme couldn't help but sink back into her thoughts. Mandate. And Steelhand. She had never gotten a good read on him. What would he have done had he seen what Mandate was doing? Stood by and watched? Tried to stop him? Joined in?

Umbra did not know. In all likelihood, she would never know, and there was no use debating with the what ifs. She had to focus if she was going to survive this whole experience. And try not to make anymore enemies than the automated defense systems.

Umbra didn't even see him until he spoke.

"Well, as I live and breathe!"

Umbra's head snapped up to look ahead instead of where she was putting her feet, and a smile spread wide, visible under her cracked face guard.

"Icepick!"

Words could not express how good it was to see the amiable Monstercon once more. After noting his escape from his cell, she had not expected to see him ever again. With all of the chaos surrounding the prison, a familiar was a very fortuitous sight. The femme quickly increased her pace a little bit to catch up to Icepick and Scowl.

"I'd wager you're running from the same things we're running from."

"Yeah, it doesn't look too good for us, does it?" Umbra replied glancing at some of the defenses mounted on the walls. "Oh, right. This is...er..." Umbra said, gesturing toward Bludgeon, "He hasn't said his name actually, but he helped me get away from that slagging guard. Oh, hey Scowl."

Umbra nodded politely to the other Monstercon, acknowledging him before looking back to Icepick.

"So, ah...do you have a plan here or is survive just it?"

Garrus-9 – Southern Wing

Well now. It seemed as though Nautilator and Tentakil's little excursion had come to an end. Not that it had ever begun, really, which was a shame because Nautilator had been hoping that he'd seen the last of Blot and Hun-Grrr.

But no. Snaptrap had instructed his unit to converge on the Terrorcons' position, providing cover fire for them against the turrets. And when Snaptrap gave an order, the general consensus was to follow it to the letter, unless you wanted your death wish to be granted in an instant. Nautilator sure didn't.

The Seacon shouted to Tentakil, the better to be heard over the noise of battle. “Tentakil! You get Snaptrap's message just then?”

Of course he would have. Arriving through the unit's comm-link, there was every chance he had received it. But it helped to repeat these things, for Tentakil sometimes got carried away during missions and tended to forget about certain orders being issued by a certain team leader.

“I'm gonna head back. I'll see you there.”

Without waiting for a response, Nautilator turned, and stalked back down the couple of corridors he'd come through. He hated the idea of being near the Terrorcons again—those cannibalistic freaks—but worse fates awaited him if he disobeyed Snaptrap. Much worse.

Garrus-9--Command Center

"Mindwipe? What in the Pit is going on?" “Oh. I see," Cipher had asked rhetorically and then answered for himself through widened optics, obviously just as surprised at the latest turn of events that they now faced as Mindwipe had been. Mindwipe wasn't entirely sure what to make of it all, actually. After their relatively uneventful smash and grab on Lv-117, the level of resistance they were facing here was disconcerting to the Decepticon hypnotist, even if it had been planned for in advance. He had to trust that Scorponok could power them through this mess, otherwise this would indeed be his final mission for the Decepticon cause. And what an inglorious way to go, too: cowered beneath equipment in some Autobot Command center, waiting to be torn to shreds not by some great Autobot like Optimus Prime but instead by automated defenses. Bah. What an epic waste of his talent.

Mindwipe watched, his stress reactors increasing exponentially as Cipher had slid out from beneath Mindwipe and made his way over to what the other mech was likely hoping to be a safer position. Fat chance. Wheelie had gone too. Mindwipe had smiled at that at least. He would either prove himself to be the raw material of a future Decepticon soldier or he would be grist in the Decepticon war mill. Either way.

"I need to get back to a terminal. Perhaps I can hack into this security protocol and shut it down."

"The command center's dead. We'll have to do it from....from....Aequitas! Cipher! They would never cut power to that machine!" Mindwipe yelled across the room, a devilish smirk spreading on his metallic face even as he only barely continued to avoid the incoming onslaught of weapons fire. " It's what we want anyway! If we can get there, we can surely hack into anything else in this prison from whatever the machine is connected to!"

Yes. Yes, that would be it. The command center may be a loss, but unless the Autobots decided to wipe out power to the entire prison complex, they would have access routes. And even then, would they be able to even cut off powerful to the legendary judgement machine. Would it let them? Given the awful rumors that Mindwipe had heard about Tyrest's fearsome, Mindwipe expected not.

"Scorponok! Mighty Scorponok! Can you clear but one path for us!? I have a plan."
___

Semper Tyrannis--Bridge

From the outside, the ferocity of the battle between the Auitobots and Decepticons which had been consuming the space around Elba had all but died down. Listening to the comm chatter, however, the Decepticons that had actually made it inside the prison were facing a much different scenario than those who still occupied the relative safety of their ships. The prime danger that the ships faced had not abated completely, however, until Scourge had transmitted the briefest of comms stating that Finback's earlier orders had been completed. The three composite units of the Reflector trio turned to face Finback, the acting commanding officer of the flagship as that new information had come across the screen.

"Scourge sends word--the last turret is down."
___

Garrus-9--Corridors

Blastkick thought for sure that his former captor was done for. Ablaze in the assault of his comrades, the weird, horned purple Decepticon transformed and shot off down an upper walkway, though obviously having sustained significant damage.

Though who was he to talk about significant damage?

Blastkick looked down at the gaping wound in his chest where the Decepticon's blade had penetrated. He was surprised that he hadn't slipped into stasis lock, but for whatever reason--be it Primus or sheer coincidence--he had been spared that particular consequence.

"Clear?"

"Clear! Go get him!" Blastkick heard other voices call out before he heard the telltale sounds of metal footsteps as they dashed across metal floors. He then felt himself being dragged.

"Where'd that horned frag go?"

"Down that way!"

"Let east squad know!"

"Yessir!"

"We gotcha, buddy, c'mon. Just stay with it. We'll get you patched up."

Blastkick looked up at the others as they moved him back to the secure ambush position they had carved out for themselves.

"I hope we're getting overtime chits for this, heh."
___

Garrus 9 - Southern Wing

Icepick could hardly pull his optics away from the Decepticon that was accompanying the prisoner with whom he'd managed to make a pleasant acquaintance during his time in the cells. Dear little Umbra. What a refreshing source of vitality she had been in an otherwise morose and unending cycle of monotonous incarceration. And yet she did not appear to know her savior's identifier. That particular Decepticon's reputation was rather widely known, both on the battlefield as well as the halls of this prison. Icepick couldn't help but wonder why exactly he seemed to following after here, lest there be more nefarious thoughts in mind.

"Bludgeon. Commander of the Empirion. Once upon a time, anyway," Icepick said, giving Bludgeon a curious look as he leaned in to offer the barest of whispers in Umbra's audio receptor. "He helped you?"

He could scarcely believe it.

Garrus-9 - Southern Wing - Block B

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Vroom replied to Stormwrecker. "Megatron can do anything... except win the war that is. Then again the Autobots can't either so, fail all around eh?"

He moved slowly, taking the time to carefully consider what was happening in front of him. He suddenly stopped.

"Wait... hear that?" There was a lot of sound around them screams, destruction, and blasts all mixing together into a dangerous symphony. As a spy and saboteur, however, Vroom had learned to search for details.

"Heard that idiot that ran past us screaming. Looking to see if the ship punched a hole in the wall is a good idea, too good though. Lots are going to think of that on both sides. Going that will will only mean getting swallowed up by fire."

He searched his memory banks from the times he had escaped this place to relieve the boredom. He turned towards the left and moved.

"This way. A longer way around will take more time but give us a better shot."