The Energon Pub

Garrus-9--Sub-Level Corridors

Scorponok's space bridge thingy was a nifty invention. Seriously something Apeface wouldn't mind to have of his own. Like an orbital bounce without all that balance sensor recalibration and other extra hassle. And the Autobots couldn't disrupt its use yet. A major victory in his eyes. That thought aside, those were some big doors. Like omega sentinel big. Not quite a metrotitan big but any door metrotitan big would have been seriously overdoing it anyhow. Well, maybe not in the distant past of Cybertron but these days? Definitely overdoing it. Overdoing it with a big O.

"I trust Scorponok gave you boys some equipment to deal with this?"

Mindwipe. Of course, who else? That was exactly the nut job Scorponok had ordered the Horrorcons to babysit. Him and that Cipher fellow. Both loony enough to belong to some new age occultist cult and yet frighteningly effective in their designed fields of specialty. Also, irritating. Mostly because of... well, wasn't irritating good enough reason itself?

Apeface turned his gaze from the enormous doors at Mindwipe and crossed his arms. "So, let me get this straight if you do not mind."

"You sir, are asking us," he began, "If we have the tools to break through this magnificent example of Cybertronian engineering instead letting Cipher here flaunt his wizardly ways with computers." The Horrorcon saboteur continued, gesturing at the massive doors, his tone being more of that of a rampaging sociopath than a jovial comedian.

"Or better yet, you could be reaching into the afterspark, seeking the wisdom of those tragically removed from this plane of existence." Apeface added, leaning towards Mindwipe and pointing his forefinger at the hypnotist's temple before pulling away from his and spreading his arms in some kind of a showboating gesture, his gaze settling on Snapdragon.

"Well good sir, the answer to your question is a definite no from my partner here, whose time would be better spent scouting this particular area for Autobot trickery rather than stand there looking bored." Apeface stated with some venom in his voice. Snapdragon's strange antics from the past orn or so were still bothering the thuggish Decepticon apparently enough.

"And a tentative yes from yours truly." He finally added, breaking the cold silence that had fallen for a moment.

"Now then, "Apeface began with new vigor, "before you start jumping up and down in joy there is a little matter of setting up a charge that does not result in several dead Decepticons or a ruined superjudgeanator."

"I think I need a moment to analyze this thing." The Horrorcon spoke and pressed the side of his head against the door as if he was trying to listen to something. "Aaaand probably some drilling. Now shooo, find us some cover to hide behind in. We are not going to get through this without a big bang."

Garrus-9--Approaching Command Center

The corridor in which Cyclonus now found himself appeared to be largely abandoned. Fighting of a serious nature had clearly taken place here not all that long ago but it had moved elsewhere. The only evidence now were the burnt out husks of several warriors aligned behind both badges and a pair of torched turret systems. It would suffice. The angular, purple jet rocketed another hundred meters or so down the expansive corridor, engaging his transformation sequence as he did so. Smoke, flame and chemical residue still leaked from the wounds he had sustained from the onslaught that he had sustained from Blastkick and his Autobot comrades. His internal systems registered the damage and reported it back to him as best they could but nothing was reading critical and that was all that mattered.

Cyclonus clung to a wall as he heard voices approaching: another squadron of Autobots. A squadron that was unengaged by Decepticons. How rare. Cyclonus took a moment to reorient himself with where exactly he would be within this prison structure. With the core of cell block behind him, the squad was headed east. The command center still lay further north. Scorponok's signal, however, had vanished from that position. Clarification was clearly necessary.

>>"Cyclonus to Scorponok, Soul Siren, or any Decepticon within their immediate vicinity, I am within the heart of Garrus itself. The command center appears to have lost its current strategic value. Advise accordingly."<<

He had no certainty that the communique would reach its intended recipients within these walls, but an effort had to be made nonetheless.
___

Garrus-9--Southern Wing

Crimson claws edged their way around the borders of a charred out piece of wall before gripping it tightly, pushing it forward and ultimately throwing it entirely out of the way. From the shadows, a pair of similarly-tinged optics flickered as their owner strode forward into the chaos of Garrus-9's prison block. Scourge surveyed the chaos only momentarily before continuing forward, mindful of the numerous automated defenses that would target him just as surely as they would any other Decepticon once he moved himself within range.

"You are one of the old ones," a voice from behind him said.

In an instant, the Tracker had whipped around, his clawed hand cinching itself around the throat of the mech who had spoken, slamming him against the wall and lifting him gradually off his feet.

"I am a Decepticon as well. Or I was. Can't you see? I was a Seeker. Forever ago. Before being captured and sent here. Please. Please, let me aid you."

Scourge said nothing. His clawed hand turning the mech's face slowly from one side to the other. His design ultimately supported the truth of his words. But Scourge had not come here in search of aid. He would see Scorponok's mission successful, that was all. He would accomplish that task far more easily on his own. Or, at the very least, with the aid of his trained legion, the Sweeps, which had accustomed itself to his leadership style over countless millenia.

Scourge released the supposed Decepticon, dropping him to the ground, his optics turning away from him and into the core of the cell block system itself. Still saying nothing, he stalked away. Out there, the Decepticons advantages were numerous. In here? With all the formidable resources that the warden of this facility could surely bring to bear against them, time was clearly working against them.

Scourge would do his part to see that it did not become an insurmountable obstacle.

Garrus-9--Sub-Level Corridors

>>"Cyclonus to Scorponok, Soul Siren, or any Decepticon within their immediate vicinity, I am within the heart of Garrus itself. The command center appears to have lost its current strategic value. Advise accordingly."<<

Cyclonus' transmission was quickly responded by the leader of the spec-ops unit Scorponok had used to flank Fortress Maximus earlier. The message however was garbled with radio static due to the enemy jamming attempts.

>>"Brz-Commander Cyclonus? Do you copy? This is Bomb-Burst. The Autobots are jamming our long range communications to the fleet. Please rally -crrr- on our position. Primary -brrrz- objective remains unchanged. I will -crrrrrz- share tactical up-link once we meet in person."<<

Indeed, Bomb-Burst was not too keen on sharing details of their plans over comm-link. There was no telling how many enemies were trying to listen in. And the amount of Autobot jamming alone made use of radio wavelengths more than uncertain on delivery. Cyclonus' presence however could become their saving angel. Particularly if Cyclonus had more Decepticons with him as he was supposed to.

Fortress Maximus had managed to push back Horri-Bull's strike force, creating a wedge between Bomb-Burst's unit and the Command Center. While Skullgrin's heavy artillery group had been able to fall back and rejoin with Scorponok's group, Bomb-Burst's unit had been forced to withdraw towards the Southern Wing of the prison in hopes of reuniting with Decepticons that were pushing through the breach created by Steelhaven's crash. As for Horri-Bull, it was entirely possible that the short-sighted fool had ended up as a smoking wreck under Fortress Maximus' heel.

Then again, Autobots did usually take prisoners.

Garrus 9 - Southern Wing

"That's pretty much the plan. A monster hunt. Of course, there's things on the side to do like revenge and such. Oh and escaping. Eventually. We'll make it up as we go along," Slog said with a casual wave, "For now...I think Bristleback is pretty close to here...if he's still in his cell. Even if he isn't...shouldn't be too hard to find."

"What say you, Wildfly? Ready to cry havoc and make these Autobots regret the day they put us here?" Slog clapped his comrade on the shoulder and walked forward into the prison. That had been a rare uplifting speech from him. The Monstercon artist supposed that freedom was getting the better of his usual melancholy.

As he moved forward through the prison, Slog picked up a fresh gun from one of the many downed guards, tossing his empty one aside. Yes, this would do. He glanced to his damaged shoulder. Hopefully that wouldn't prove problematic. Because he had a long list of Autobots to payback for all the millennium he and his team had lost in here. They would be free! Finally! And with a vengeance. The destruction of this prison...would be the greatest work of art ever created!

Slog glanced at Wildfly who he assumed was at his side, to Spinister and Banzai-Tron, having almost forgotten about the two. "Thanks for the assistance. We'll be going now to look for the rest of our group. You can tag along if you want. Or not. Up to you."

Garrus 9 – Southern Wing

"Yay, Megatrons wins." Vroom said quietly. "Lets show the lucky 'Con what he has just won. A devastated population and ruined planet." He shook his head as they walked down the secluded passage he had found them. The sounds of the main fighting where growing lesser which allowed for

"You really think there will ever be a real winner? After all this time, do you really think either side could ever stop fighting and actually create a new society? Lets face it, we have ruined each other." He said in a sad tone. However, before he could get much more philosophical he stopped suddenly.

"Wait." He said and moved forward, placing the audio sensor on the right side of his head against the wall. He was silent for a moment.

"There is a vibration in the walls, and its getting closer. Its sounds almost like... ah slag."

He stepped back and got his gun ready.

"I think we got a Insecticon infestation coming our way and fast. You know 'Cons better than me. Any ideas?"

Garrus 9 – Semper Tyrannis

As Soul Siren continued to work she had begun in the command center in her station she received a message from Cyclonus. The static was bad and she had to work to clean it up as much as she could. It was not perfect, Soundwave would have done a much better job, but at least it was audible. She turned to Scorponok.

"Commander, Cyclonus has sent a message, although it is very weak. Most likely due to local interference. He has identified his position in the heart of Garrus. He asks what he should do now that the command center has lost its strategic value."

As she waited to hear for an answer she begun to work on finding a way to clear up the communication channels.

Garrus 9–-Southern Wing

The secluded passage offered Stormwrecker and Vroom a surprising moment of respite. Stormwrecker would take what he could get for now. Until he had access to a full stockade of armaments again, or any armaments really, he would be only too happy to stay away from the bulk of the melee that was taking place in the core of the prison wing. Slag, likely all over the prison at this point. He couldn't help but wonder if what they were running to would be any better than what they were running from.

Stormwrecker smirked underneath his mottled, iron faceplate. "Ruined" was definitely a relative term. He had been one of the ones to profit from it in the early days. He would have made out like a bandit were not for the whole "getting caught and locked away in Garrus-9" business. Details, details.

"Heh. Maybe you're right. Not gonna be much left to rule once this war's over. 'Course, if you Autobots woulda just gave up four-million years ago, or even three, we coulda been well into the whole 'peaceful tyranny' thing by now. It's just you..."

"Wait."

Stormwrecker did, surprisingly, as he was told. It wasn't often that he followed Autobot commands. Except, of course, for being imprisoned within here. So maybe it was a lot more often than he wanted to admit. Maybe he'd been trained. Conditioned. Maybe...

"There is a vibration in the walls, and its getting closer. Its sounds almost like... ah slag."

Stormwrecker's metallic features furrowed in confusion.

"I think we got a Insecticon infestation coming our way and fast. You know 'Cons better than me. Any ideas?"

"Ahhhh...slaggit," Stormwrecker cursed. Not good. Insecticons, though--dealing with them would be better than dealing with Terrorcons. Or Seacons. He moved up behind Vroom and put his weapon against his back.

"Walk forward and, I dunno, trust me. Or somethin'."

Garrus 9 - Southern Wing

"It would be easier to trust you if you sounded more confident." Vroom said with a grin as he began walking again. Trusting a Decepticon was always a dangerous proposition but desperate times often called for desperate measures. In any case, Stormwrecker could have shot him in the back at any point he pleased before this point. It was a little late to get neurotic.

"Do you 'Cons keep track of which clones get blown up the most? I bet its the Bombshell one. Seems kinda useless without any shells." He spoke in a good-natured tone.

Garrus 9-Southern Wing

"It'd be easier to sound more confidant if I knew this would work, heh," Stormwrecker said as he temporarily relieved the Autobot of his weapon, still smirking as he marched his "prisoner" forward.

The chittering and wall-clattering noises grew steadily louder with each step the two Cybertronians took. And no sooner had they rounded the next corridor turn than they came upon the source of the noise that Vroom had picked up on earlier: a small horde of diaclones. Specifically, Ransack diaclones. Several of them reared up in battle position at the sight of the new mechs while others skittered around to reposition themselves.

"Hold it! This 'un's mine! Took him down in the cells. Marchin' his aft straight to Scorponok. Boss wants some live ones to interrogate or somethin'."

The diaclones, inasmuch as they did or did not understand anything that was just spoken to them, at least did not attack on sight. Through their number, one continued to move, making its way through the cluster before being able to be clearly and visibly singled out. This one, Ransack himself, transformed and approached the two mechs.

"You were...imprisoned here?" Ransack asked, tracing a finger alongside Vroom's forearm plate before stepping past him and examining the Decepticon insignia of the larger mech--identified as Stormwrecker and confirmed as a member of the Decepticon army, though long registered as inactive due to incarceration.

"Yeh. Makin' up on lost time, too."

Ransack's jaw clicked and several of his diaclone copies did the same.

Disgusting.

For what seemed like an agonizingly long series of astroseconds, Stormwrecker waited.

And waited.

And waited to see if the lie that he had just foisted off on this little Insecticon troll would actually be believed.

"This corridor...it is clear of defenses, yes?"

Stormwrecker's posture straightened a little, as if he was being asked the question by some sort of command-level Decepticon. It felt unnatural talking this way to one of these creepy little Cybertronians, but he had to either endure it or deal with the consequences of making their path forward much more complicated.

"Aye, all clear. 'Til you get to the main cell block. Saw some of your kind back thataway too. Hungrr, Snaptrap and their boys are cleanin' things up pretty good."

Ransack's multi-lensed optics shifted from Stormwrecker and his quarry to the corridor they were proceeding into. With a few more jaw clicks and chirps, Ransack transformed and continued to move his spindly legs down the corridor, his small diaclone army following right after him, no longer paying the slightest attention to the Autobot and the Decepticon.

"Keep movin, aftslag," Stormwrecker said, butting Vroom in the back with his own gun to get them moving again.
___

Garrus-9--Cell Block B

“Obviously there is a major battle going on, a prison such as this would have many powerful inmates.”

Icepick nodded.

"Indeed, commander. Yourself among them. You will be a prime Autobot target for recapture. We will have to exercise a reasonable degree of caution, going forward."

“Communications will be a priority to establish a plan with our forces, main priority surviving and finding your Monstercon brethren. That Autobot you killed; search his body see if he has any datapads or ID codes we can use to move around the prison. Scowl, Icepick try to find extra weaponry, these turrets will be everywhere.”

"With all due haste, commander," Icepick said, giving a respectful bow in the intimidating Decepticon's direction and carefully moving away from Scowl, Umbra and their newfound protector, of a sort, in order to carry out the orders he had been given.

Garrus 9 - Southern Wing

Spinister took down the last of the turrets in the area. He has been keeping the fire off Wildfly and Slog all the time, no bullet was left in his weapon. He threw his gun to the floor and scanned the area for other weapons. Spinister was an average melee fighter, and though most guards weren't better then him, the decepticon jet still avoided close combat, his skill was mostly with longer ranged weapons. He found no gun around his surroundings, leaving him weapon-less....for now.

He noticed that Slog has finally freed Wildfly and are having a brotherly chat. They asked if Spinister wanted to go. The jet had nothing to do now, helping Slog free the others was the most protective thing he could do in the momeent. Spinister nodded, yes.

Garrus 9 - Cell Block A

Snaptrap cleared another set of turrets from the cell block. He noticed when Nautilator slunk up nearby him. Well, it had certainly took him long enough to return. However, Nautilator had habit of being the world's punching bag, so the Seacon Commander supposed that it was fortunate that he returned alive at all. Tentakil, on the other hand, had not returned...nor had Seawing.

The Seacon Commander cast his gaze at Nautilaor and addressed him, "Nautilator. Where is Tentakil?"

Expecting that his two Seacons would follow him closely with the Terrorcons in such close proximity, Snaptrap took a moment to scan the cell block. It had been almost completely cleared of turrets. From behind them, Snaptrap could hear the incessant chittering of the insecticon hordes. So they had finally gained access to the prison. No sign of any Monstercons in this block either, amongst the living or the corpses that they had encountered. It was time to move on.

A flash of movement caught the Snaptrap's optic, and he lifted his gun at the source while turning his head to get a better look. Seawing. Snaptrap lowered his gun. He sent his subordinate a baleful stare. Punishment awaited him later, but for now at least, the Seacons had regrouped in their entirety.

"The Monstercons aren't in this block. We're moving on," Snaptrap said aloud to his Seacons and so the Terrorcons would be aware of the change in plans. He supposed there was no better method to search than to go about it methodically. On to the next cell block then.

------

Southern Wing

“Communications will be a priority to establish a plan with our forces, main priority surviving and finding your Monstercon brethren. That Autobot you killed; search his body see if he has any datapads or ID codes we can use to move around the prison. Scowl, Icepick try to find extra weaponry, these turrets will be everywhere."

Umbra watched Icepick make his exit with a respectful bow as he moved away to fulfill the orders that he had just been issued. It struck the reconnaissance agent to do the same before her intimidating protector grew cross with her. She bowed low to Bludgeon respectfully.

"A-at once," Umbra said a little uncertainly before adding hastily, "commander!" Snapping up, the lithe femme trotted back in the direction of her cell. Just who had she gotten tangled up with? Stupid question. She knew exactly who it was now. Bludgeon of the Empirion. No, wait. Commander Bludgeon. Such titles were important. Perhaps even moreso in the Decepticons than they were in the ranks of the Autobots.

It didn't take Umbra very long to return to her cell, the place of her recent violent beating. She slipped through the bars of the cell again and reluctantly approached Mandate's body. Looking at him even now gave her an ill feeling. Better make this quick...

Umbra stashed away her slightly crumpled Autobot badge in a compartment on her torso. Best to put that away before any Decepticons had a chance to see just exactly what it was. Kneeling down, Umbra began rummaging over the body of the deceased Mandate, looking for datapads, ID codes - anything really - that would allow their group a little more freedom throughout the prison.

Where were they going to go really though? Deeper into the prison? Bludgeon wanted to contact the main body of the Decepticon forces. Reasonable, but...where would that leave her? Once all was said and done, she was still not quite a Decepticon. She could end up back in one of these cells just as easily as stand outside them. She wasn't sure which one she would prefer at this point.

Either way, she hoped she would be able to see Icepick every now and then. He was still the closest thing that she had to a friend. Everything else...didn't really matter so much. Umbra broke from her thoughts when she was faced with the frustrating realization that she couldn't find anything in the way of a datapad or an ID code on Mandate's body.

The agent decided to give the body one last thorough once-over before returning to Bludgeon. She would prefer not to return empty-handed. As the reconnaissance agent turned over Mandate's corpse, she was oblivious to the growing chittering of insecticons outside of her cell.

Garrus 9 block A

The sound of metal compacting echoed through Tentakill’s audio receptors as he threw himself backward into the nearest wall. The autobot on his back had little chance of escaping the assault the impact had flattened his chest and the vital spark chamber. The sound of scuttling terrors brought Tentakill’s thoughts back to focus “ahh slag it I’m late” thumping forward he arrived in time to see Snaptrap ordering the Seacons and Terrorcons further into the prison.

“a little late but reporting Snaptrap” Tentakill strode past Snaptrap with the remains of an autobot chest still embedded on his back.

Garrus-9--Sub-Level Corridors

Mindwipe had practically frozen himself in position. He hadn't really thought far enough ahead to appreciate how addressing a Horrorcon directly was, in turn, going to necessitate a response back--and what a frightening prospect that was. True, they might not engage in the random destruction of their Decepticon brothers with as much frequency or fervor as the Terrorcons, whose company Mindwipe had been unfortunate enough to endure for some time now, but the reputations of Apeface and Snapdragon extended broadly enough for Mindwipe to know that he did not really want to upset either one of them any more than he would the mighty Hun-grr.

Fortunately Apeface did not appear to become overly agitated by the question itself and instead became more absorbed in explaining the intricacies of what exactly would and would not be done to satisfy the request. Mindwipe, for his part, was more than satisfied by any attempt the Horrorcons might give in order to get them past those huge, magnificent doors and legendary tool that surely awaited them on the other side.

"Uh...," Mindwipe stuttered, struggling for what exactly to say. The Horrorcons seemed agreeable. Now it was just a matter of not saying anything to mess that up. "...of course. By all means. Take your time," he finally said, spilling the rest of his previously unfinished thought. He could only hope that by encouraging them to take their time that he would actually provoke an opposite result. Time was not exactly their ally, and Scorponok would want results soon.

As the Horrorcon mentioned something about finding cover, Mindwipe looked first to Cipher and then at the space surrounding them. In this area of the prison, there was not much clutter of any kind. High ceilings, vast walls and long, darkened hallways. Not an excess of things to hide behind, except for perhaps the Horrorcons themselves.

"I think, um, distance might well be our best cover," he said to Cipher before moving away from Apeface and the preliminary work he was undertaking to get them past these secured doors.

Battleship Semper Tyrannis - Hangar

"Commander, Cyclonus has sent a message, although it is very weak. Most likely due to local interference. He has identified his position in the heart of Garrus. He asks what he should do now that the command center has lost its strategic value."

Scorponok did register Soul Siren's update regarding the status of his second in command, but his mind was already two steps ahead of where they needed to be. He was not going to waste time trying to send Cyclonus a message his second couldn't possible receive from his current location due to the Autobot interference. He needed to get back into the Garrus-9 for that. And even more so, he needed to break the back of Fortress Maximus' resistance. "The penitentiary's main power station holds the next key. We move."

Garrus-9--Main energon processing hub--Engineering

"Yeah, that confirms it Surge. The Southern Wing is now officially and completely off the power grid." Splitscreen, an average sized brown and orange Autobot with a very Soundwave like screen on both his chest and back sighed.

"It had to be done." Surge, a slightly taller but lankier Autobot whose colorization consisted of different hues of blue - stated with no hint of emotion in his voice. He had just ordered to cut all power from being fed into the severely damaged Southern Wing of the penitentiary. Both to conserve energy for the rest of the facility and to avoid it being tapped into by the invading enemy. The remaining defenses of the Southern Wing were now running on their reserve batteries - and in a heated firefight, it would not take long for the batteries to become drained out of power. It had been an easy decision but still one the electrical engineer had felt necessary to do.

"I know. It is just... wrong you know?" Splitscreen sighed and turned to look at his superior. "There's no telling how many of ours are still there. Trapped under the debris. Or fighting still. If any of the defenses were still working... they need all the help they can get against those slagging Decepti-creeps pouring into the facility from the breach."

Surge's stoic look showed no signs of changing. "I'd have detonated the whole Southern Wing if I had the authority."

Surge's statement made Splitscreen practically jump up from his seat, his forefinger pointed at the taller Cybertronian in barely contained anger. "And that's why Fortress Maximus is in charge and you are just an engineer! Honestly Surge, sometimes I wonder why the slag you joined the Autobots in the first place! Seriously! At times you appear as spark less as they come!"

"Enough Splitscreen!" For the first time Surge's voice and mannerisms betrayed emotion. Splitscreen's accusations had hit too close home. "I don't appreciate your tone. You are fully aware of what the Decepticons did in Toraxxis. I worked there. I lost everything. My friends. My home. My work," Surge hissed before gaining control of his emotions again and continuing in the calm, stoic manner he was known for. "This is war Splitscreen. Sometimes you need to cut off an arm to save the rest. You just have to live with it."

The instrument technician only got more riled up by Surge's last comment. "The slag you have to! Optimus Prime never-"

"I am not Optimus Prime now am I?! What Prime asks is impossible! Even he couldn't save Toraxxis and he was there!" Surge roared back at his co-worker in frustration after Splitscreen decided to bring Optimus Prime into the debate. "We simply do not have the resources to save everyone! Without Prow-"

Surge was right. To a point. Even Prime wasn't infallible. That however did not justify letting cold logic to replace the ideals you stood for - at least for Splitscreen. "To pit with Prowl! No wonder you always rationalize everything through the actions of that cold-sparked prick! You two are exactly the same!"

In his anger, Splitscreen had turned his back to Surge and had leaned over his console to collect his thoughts some. Had his retort taken the words out of Surge's mouth? The spark less drone had certainly fallen silent. And what the slag was that strange *voip* sound? "What? Got nothing else to say?! I-!"

To Splitscreen's horror, a whirling portal vortex now resided where Surge had stood only a moment ago. It was as if it had swallowed the other Autobot whole were not the stumps of Surge's feet all too noticeable on the floor under the portal. He could see shapes deep within the portal, approaching. Rapidly. Shapes of every size.

"By the Allspark and holy Primus-" Splitscreen began to babble as he stumbled over his console and fell on his back, hitting his head to the floor and blacking out for only couple of seconds. The Decepticons. Was that a space bridge? The last working space bridge had been fallen into disrepair shortly after the beginning of the Great War. How in the name of Primus the Decepticons had gotten themselves a working space bridge. None of them were safe, Fortress Maximus had to be made aware of this. He just needed to open his comm-link and reach out. Except... except there was a large, heavily armored, tan and red Decepticon with a targeting visor over his right optic standing right next to him.

"Primus does not hear your screams Autobot." The Decepticon stated coldly. This was it. The end. Splitscreen however did not let it to sway him from his remaining objective.

>>"Decepticons hav-"<< Splitscreen never had his chance to finish his transmission to the warden. For the large Decepticon smashed his foot against the Splitscreen's head, crushing the technician's head under his immense weight. Not that getting the information to Fortress Maximus would have made much difference for the Autobots at this point anyhow. Demolishor however was not going to let such things slip if he could stop it though. Neither would the other members of Skullgrin's heavy assault unit or that cocky gunslinger Treadshot who had arrived with them.

Demolishor wiped the majority of the mess from his foot to Splitscreen's torso and turned towards the portal which had grown to its target size - finally able to accommodate the massive frame of their leader. "We have secured the engineering High Commander Scorponok."

"Good. Spread out and clear the power station of the remaining Autobots." The gargantuan warlord spoke up and stepped through the portal into the engineering hub of the power processing complex of Garrus-9. A much smaller Decepticon, a lithe femme known as Soul Siren following in his wake.

"Soul Siren, get word for Cyclonus to rendezvous with us here. And turn off this energon processing unit. Let us force Fortress Maximus to come to us."

Semper Tyrannis: Brig

Scattershot nodded briefly as he studied the digital display of their former assignment. He absorbed as much of the details as he could handle before attempting to overlay what he remembered regarding proposed mining expansions during their expedition to survey Nebulos. "For one thing Rad, this is our base of operations. The Technobots have been billeted here a few times so we know what to expect. Battle damage or no, it is doubtful that much of the underground networks and mines have been too badly damaged negating their usefulness. Add to that, those walking trash compactors can be counted on for one thing... being pragmatists. I highly doubt they will take us to any other prison when they have a perfectly ill supplied pile of rubble and plenty of slaves to rebuild it down on the surface."

He shrugged his shoulders as he folded his arms over his chest plate. "Its a logical assessment given all of the effort these bastards are placing in their assault and the amount of damage they are taking. If anything, they will probably destroy the moon's defenses and be forced to keep their fleet in orbit while they work to restore them. Add to that, the facts are facts, we'll eat up their resources up here. Down there, we'll be forced to fend for ourselves. In that alone we have a large advantage."

Scattershot watched as Strafe, Nosecone and Afterburner began to study the map. He knew his team well enough to know that despite their differences, they would work together and find something that the others would miss. Though it would still take time. "Lightspeed, overlay this map with known tectonic faults and geological instabilities mapped in last three surveys. Perhaps we can predict which areas will be hit the hardest in this battle and organize our battle plan around those zones."

He looked over towards Brainstorm and then to Pointblank. "Nullifying their numerical advantage sorta takes the fun out of smashin' and bashin'. But its probably just as well, at least with the right amount of planning, we can establish a network not only to beat the living spark out of these one sparkplug weirdoes, but also restore ourselves as well."

Garrus-9--Cell Block B

Icepick had offered a respectful bow in Bludgeon’s direction before heading off into the corridors of the cell block to accomplish the imposing Decepticon’s orders. Bludgeon was not one of the ones whose orders were allowed to be skirted or otherwise dismissed casually. It was a risky prospect with any of the higher-ranking Decepticons, but some had reputations of lethality that extended wider than others.

The cell blocks had not changed. They were still a darkened mess of chaos and confusion. Only the shifting illumination capabilities of his optics allowed the Monstercon to successfully navigate the tumultuous surroundings without becoming a casualty of it himself. That and, oh, the fact that he had been forged in environments like this one. If he and his kin could survive anywhere, it was in surroundings such as these. Still, it paid to exercise a degree of caution. Carelessness could make a victim of any of them.

“H-Help meeeee…,”a mech cried out, his lower torso being gnawed upon voraciously by three different Insecticon diaclones.

Icepick looked over the mech for a moment. No visible weapons. A waste—both of time and effort. He simply stepped over the mechanoid and continued his search. One of the Insecticons seemed to pay him a moment’s attention, as if to scan him and confirm that he was indeed a Decepticon, before returning to its present meal.

Looking…looking…looking…ah!

“Delicious!” Icepick exclaimed, coming upon a scatter blaster that had been either discarded or its previous handler having become one of the prison’s many unfortunate victims. As he picked it up he saw a neutron rifle laying not even five meters away. “Like a proto with too many energon goodies, hehe,” Icepick chuckled as he grabbed the next weapon.
___

“Happy Forging Day,” Icepick said as he approached Bludgeon and dumped the half-dozen or so weapons he had collected at his feet before retrieving one extra for himself.

He then paused. Everything around them, despite the chaos, had seemed to grow quieter. Noticeably so. The sounds of automatic turret fire and ballistics launching had gone. Not entirely, but significantly. And where there had been emergency lights on previously, offering minimal, dim illumination, there was now complete darkness in its place.

Icepick tapped the barrel of his rifle against his chin.

“I do believe someone has cut all the power now.”
___

Semper Tyrannis--Brig

Lightspeed took a moment to process his team commander’s request and then began pulling up the requisite information. Calling up the requested data was not so much of a challenge in and of itself. The trickier part would be using any of that data as a basis for predicting how the topography would respond to the magnitude of the assault leveled against it.

He sat in silence while others debated possible battle strategies and scenarios that they might be thrown into, studying the various geological surveys that had been conducted in recent vorns.

“Looking at these, I would say that the eastern quadrant is most susceptible to a combination of natural vulnerability from its geographic location. We are Autobots, so of course we would want to make sure to keep the residential and commercial sectors up north and even the prisoners down south as safe as possible. I would imagine any Autobots locked up in Styx are probably hovering directly over some sort of magma pit, safety or structural integrity being the least of their concerns. Such is the disadvantage we are often faced with in this war.”
___

“It’s only a disadvantage if you don’t have a functioning conscience,” Pointblank interjected, before shooting the Technobot a briefly apologetic look. “Not saying that you don’t. It’s just I’ve heard more than one ‘Bot say we’d win this war if we just fought the ‘Cons on their own terms. Beat them at their own game. Slagpit. I’d rather lose this war living up to the ideals of Optimus Prime than win it by sinking to the lows of someone like Zeta Prime, or any other Autobot that would want to use him as a role model.”

"Nullifying their numerical advantage sorta takes the fun out of smashin' and bashin'. But its probably just as well, at least with the right amount of planning, we can establish a network not only to beat the living spark out of these one sparkplug weirdoes, but also restore ourselves as well," Scattershot had said.

Pointblank offered a smug grin at Scattershot’s mock-dismay.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Whatever advantage we might be able to steal in this mess will be temporary. We’re gonna get surrounded at some point and have to fight our way out.”

Garrus-9--Cell Block B

Through the darkened chaos, a small army of Insecticons were steadily streaming through every nook and cranny of the southern wing's penitentiary. The steady realization that the power had been cut entirely only served to make them more bold, as the directives from their primaries increased similarly.

As several scurried past the cell that had formerly borne witness to Umbra and Mandate's struggle, one of them stopped, scanned the femme and then immediately sent out a signal to others.

She was no Decepticon.

"Take her," Kickback said, approaching the same cell from a short distance behind a small group of both his and other diaclones. The diaclones within her immediate vicinity moved to do exactly that.
___

Southern Corridors

One bounce after another. Here. There. Everywhere. Sinnertwin had rapidly grown tired of it. He had tasted the metallic flesh of Autobots today and he wanted more.

When Scorponok had sent another battlegroup down to support those already engaged in various conflicts in and around the command center, Sinnertwin had made sure that he was a part of said group. But once the group materialized, he picked up the scent that he was after and followed it. Said scent had lead south.

The sheer magnitude of terror and chaos that had greeted him when he arrived was worth every Autobot he had passed or otherwise allowed to slip away, a small and rare number in and of itself, over the course of a lifetime. It was here--here--that he would truly be able to fulfill his function. And woe betide the pitiful creatures bear witness to that fulfillment.

But it was the scent that necessitated his attention first. He had found what he was looking for: Hungrr. And he was not alone. He saw blot, though Cutthroat and Rippersnapper's presence was not immediately detectable. Though they, too, were not far. He could smell them all.

"A feast rarely seen," one of the heads snarled as he padded around the significantly larger Terrorcon Commander. "You were holding out on me. Though Scorponok did not disappoint. The massacre in the command center was one worth savoring."

Garrus – 9 Main Energon Processing Hub – Engineering

Arriving from the great Decepticon battleship, Scorponok and his team bridged directly into the prison with absolute precision. Of course the terrorist had no preference for just how he got back into the fray just as long as he was there to feel the spray of energon across his frame.

A small devilish smile crept onto his visage as he made his way into the prison. The show Demolisher put on elicited a low chuckle. Pathetic Autobot. How could he possibly have thought he’d be able to warn anyone? Garrus 9 was Scorponok’s. None will stand in his way.

The towering Decepticon’s voice and new orders drew Rippersnapper’s attention back to the present. With a nod the Terrorcon moved forward, his cyclone gun in hand. If there were any other Autobots in hiding, Rippersnapper would be sure to root them out and tear them apart, in the most painful way possible. The thought brought another smile to his face.

Garrus - 9 Auxiliary Corridors

Oh what he wouldn’t do for a face with optics and nasal ridge and a mouth. And hands. Whirl’s mind wandered slightly to the past. His business. His life before…The ex-Wrecker let out a near inaudible grunt as he refocused his attention on the Warden. Easy to focus on someone with a face.

Whirl hefted the gun he was toting off his shoulder and brought it to bear. Holding a heavy gun in his claws was one of the only times he felt relaxed. It meant he’d be raining holy hell on some unfortunate ‘Cons. Primus he loved his job.

And just like that Whirl’s daydream of screaming and crying ‘Cons being torn to shreds was ripped from his mind with the arrival of the loony former Autobot scientist and field commander. Flame. What fun.

“Well, well, well. Look-y what we got here.” Whirl stepped forward coming between Flame and several other bots in Fortress Maximus’ team. “Who let you out of your cage?” Flame cast a baleful glare up at the guard. He had been fortunate enough not to have any interaction with the copter during his incarceration but that certainly did not mean he was unaware of Whirl’s reputation. “I believe you can thank this facilities current trespassers for that.” Flame growled. He had no intention of taking this from someone like Whirl.

Whirl placed his free claw on his hip. “You know, I’m not entirely sure we can trust you. Didn’t you like, chop up a few good bots in order to prove something?” He stared at the orange and red Autobot for a moment before jumping causing Flame to take a quick step back and away. “I remember! You chopped ‘em up to prove you were insane! Well, kudos to you, my friend, kudos!”

Flame stared in quiet astonishment before a wicked smirk formed on his face. “Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage,” he whispered. “Now if you’re not here to help then I suggest you turn round and march back into the bowls from whence you came.”

For once and this rarely ever occurred, Whirl was made speechless. And the one-off encounter did not go unnoticed by Whirl’s comrade. “Oh, you just got burned, my friend. BURNED!” Lowball laughed.

A low growl escaped Whirl’s vocalizer silencing Lowball. He then swung his head in Flame’s direction shoving his claw into the scientist’s chest. “Careful. I might start to like you. Which could be bad for your health.” That said Whirl grabbed a hold of Lowball’s shoulder and began to drag the mech behind him. “Hey! The slag?!” The smaller bot wriggled in the ex-Wrecker’s grip. “Oh, you just got pwned! Now shut up and relax,” was Whirl’s response as he began to hoof it towards the east side of the complex.

Southern Corridors

Another cell block without the Monstercons. Not that Hun-Grrr cared. Nor he or his team had been unleashed like this against the Autobots in over a hundred vorns. The years or relative quiet between combat operations were not exactly easy for the likes of the Terrorcons. They grew increasingly restless. Volatile. Ready to explode against their own allies for the sake of the cheap thrill brought by combat despite of their thirst of fuel being taken care of. Someone who was taught to survive by being the strongest, the meanest and the greediest being possible in the hostile wilderness of Cybertron and later in the pits of Kaon had a rather narrow vision for alternative ways of life.

Cutthroat was perhaps the most obvious example of this. Were Megatron's goal to become a reality one day, he would be among the first to be put to rest. Rippersnapper might find a new purpose. Emphasis on might. Same could be said about Sinnertwin. And the loyal Blot? Blot would endure. He was not a prisoner of his thirst for destruction like the others. All Blot needed was a new purpose and feel accepted. And Hun-Gurr himself? He was not as short-sighed as his followers. There were other ways of directing one's greed and unlike his followers, he had the intelligence to pull it of. Now, the lust for mindless destruction that kept rising within him from time to time might be somewhat more difficult to deal with but he few ideas how to redirect it. For now he was content with the status quo. Autobots were still plenty and the war had no clear end in sight. A true survivalist was nothing but adaptable.

Sinnertwin. So he had made it to Semper Tyrannis before the boarding duct had broken off. Not all that surprising. He was always the first to move on the next target. Had the others made it and if so, why weren't they with Sinnertwin was the question. Scorponok had obviously launched his offensive nevertheless and had seemingly taken care of Garrus-9's command center. The fact that Sinnertwin had managed to make it here alone made it pretty certain that the High Commander was the focus of the Autobot counter offensives right now. Given how the Southern Wing was gradually losing power, Hun-Gurrr had some ideas of Scorponok's current whereabout. It wouldn't hurt to check that with Sinnertwin though.

"Sinnerrrtwin... you're not with yourrr brotherrrs... or the High Commanderrr..." Hun-Grr growled, ignoring Sinnertwin's accusation and his other head nearly snapping a hold of his minion's neck due to his audacity. Energon and polymer sinew straps of his latest victim were still dripping and hanging from his jaws as he continued to press new information out of Sinnertwin, "Where are they?!"

Garrus 9 – Heading to the Aequitas Chamber

“Anything?” Streamlight looked over to Rung who had just joined him from an adjoining corridor. Both the psychiatrist and the guard had been searching for any of the many civilians either employed in the facility or staff. There was nothing. “No. Not a sign of anyone who might have been here or had been through these halls.” Rung looked over his shoulder down the way he had just come.

Down in these lower levels things were eerie. Not much sound filtered down this far so the silence made the area bleaker. “We should get going, Streamlight. Staying here is dangerous.” Rung swung his head back to take in the taller mech. Streamlight had lowered his optics to the floor and grew more sullen. “Yeah, I spose you’re right,” he finally broke his gaze and looked back up.

Rung tried to smile but it came out half-hearted and forced. It didn’t make Rung feel any better that he had no time to speak with the young bot. “Come on. Well get to Aequitas and hopefully we’ll come across some other Autobots.” That was a longshot, but there was no reason not to hope.

“Once we get there how do we get into the chamber? Isn’t it protected by heavily encrypted security codes?” Streamlight asked as he began walking with Rung at his side. And for several moments the small orange mech was quiet as he mulled the other’s query. “Let’s worry about that when we get there.” Hopefully that answer would keep Streamlight’s mind focused on their trek and not on the what-ifs when they arrived at their destination.

Garrus 9 – Outside the Aequitas Chamber

Oh this was a treat. To be here. To be able to confiscate any and all information pertaining to every atrocity that even the Autobots had been a part of.

Of course he had no real proof that the Autobots were anything but the “good guys” but that would all change. Once these infernal doors were torn from their hinges!

Cipher moved in close to the massive barriers and slowly placed his hand on the cold surface. For a moment he waited, and felt. His head tilted slightly to one side and his face scrunched up in concentration. “Gaining access to this chamber will be more difficult than I anticipated.”

Upon Apeface’s arrival at the door, Cipher stepped aside. The bulky mech would not have been delicate in removing him if the cryptologist had remained in the way. No reason to antagonize the bruiser.

Upon his strategic retreat Cipher found a place beside Mindwipe. And with a steadfast gaze on Apeface Cipher listened to his comrade’s whispered observation. “Agreed. But,” he took hold of Mindwipe’s forearm and finally looked back at the hypnotist. “He won’t get in with explosives. Nor will drilling prove effective.” With one more glance in the Horrorcon’s direction Cipher explained. “There is some sort of seal. Sonic perhaps. If the means by which our hulking friend does not succeed, well, we might have to find another method. And, I dare say, acquiring the access codes would be our best bet.”
____

It’d been a long and relatively quiet journey with neither Rung nor Streamlight speaking. It made the walk especially hard for the psychiatrist whose sole function was to speak to patients in order to help them.

This silence caused his mind to wander. He listened. He listened to his own body. Every cog, every piston and it was deafening. Rung cleared his throat several times just to hear something other than his inner workings. The sound would send Streamlight’s optics in his direction each time. A concerned expression on the young guard’s face.

During their walk the red and white flier had pulled ahead. It made sense since he was the one armed. Streamlight’s abrupt halt had Rung stop instantly. The smaller mech opened his mouth to find out the reason for their pause when a hand shot out and covered his mouth.

They still had some distance ahead them before they would reach the doors to the chamber but there was a small problem. That problem: a small detail of Decepticons. So far they hadn’t been spotted. Good sign. But there was no place to hide. Very bad sign.

Rung rose up on his toes and took a glance over Streamlight’s shoulder, his eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped. Slowly, and as quietly as he could, Streamlight motioned for Rung to back away.

At that very moment Cipher had turned back to look at Mindwipe, “Finding someone with those codes will be…” From the corner of his optic the cryptologist caught sight of a mixture of several colors. At first he had thought he was witnessing some kind of vision, but when he rebooted and reset his optics the forms became clear.

“Rung?” The corners of his mouth began to curl into a cruel smile.

Garrus-9 - Main energon processing hub--Engineering

"Of course Commander." Soul Siren responded but she still faced the problem of just how she was going to achieve her instructions. Moments like this she really missed Soundwave. He would find a way to get around this interference in a hurry but she did not have those skills. Excuses had no place in the Decepticon forces however.

If she could not clean up the signal then she would have to simplify the message to the point where the interference would not impact it so severely. She smiled as the answer came to her. The Tarn Type. A simplistic code to transmit information. It was an important way to communicate secretly in the early days of the war when there were few trained soldiers in the Decepticon forces. Since then it had been replaced by more effective choices. Due to this it is seldom known in these days even though all Decepticons are suppose to still learn it as part of their training. It is just so obsolete that no one would even bother unless they were sticklers for the rules like herself, or Cyclonus.

She opened a communication line to Cyclonus and activated a holographic typing area where she began to type in a strange pattern of sounds. To those in the room it would sound almost like she was playing a song. Only those who where familiar with Tarn Type would realize that the code contained the coordinates of this location. She send the data in a short loop. The message was so short and simple that after a couple times repeated Cyclonus would clearly understand what she was trying to say.

Once that was done she turned her attention to Scorponok's second order. She moved over to the processing unit and began to access its systems. This unit should still hold some energon and it is possible that it might have had some damage during the attack so she moved as cautiously as she knew the situation would allow so not to cause an explosion that would harm Decepticons.

Garrus 9-Southern Wing

"Kickback called... he wants his alt mode back." Vroom grumbled in a low tone as Ransack made his exit. Vroom stopped when he got hit by Stormwrecker and started to walk in order the keep the decepticon going. Once they had gone enough distance where the ambient noises of the place would hide their words he spoke.

"Scorponok is leading this attack? I guess that sort of makes sense with Fort Max being in charge here but everything else is really confusing. Scorponok needs prisoners to question so he sends some of the worse psychopaths in the Decepticon army to do it?"

He shakes his head.

"I don't think he is necessarily here to free you 'Cons. He does not need 'Bots to question for that. There is something specifically he wants."

Garrus 9 - Cell Block B

Umbra wasn't exactly relishing turning over the deceased Mandate's body. In fact, she pretty much wanted to scurry in the opposite direction. But...if he had something on him that could help, they needed to find it and use it. An odd sound caught her attention. Well. Actually, it was the lack of sound that enabled her to hear it. The automated defenses of the prison were slowing to a stop...The power must have been cut to this wing.

The absence of the constant turret fire allowed her to hear the other sounds filling the wing. Umbra heard a distant voice that sounded more like a snarling growl. But loudest of all was this incessant rustling in the walls and chittering like a hive of insects...

Oh no, Umbra thought as a chill ran down her spinal cord.

Jumping to her feet, the agent whirled about and dashed to the exit of her cell. As she did, she noticed an insecticon diaclone just outside of her former cell. Too late to stop, Umbra slipped through the bars and bolted. Several diaclones were moving in pursuit of her, which made the femme curse profusely under her breath.

If only this slagging inhibitor claw was off, Umbra thought wishfully. She could transform and get away. As it was...these diaclones were much, much, much too close for comfort.

"C-Commander Bludgeon!" Umbra cried out as she ran toward where she'd last seen him. He was her only hope. Again. Umbra never thought she would see the day that she would depend on Decepticons to survive. Mostly, she expected to be hunted down. Kind of like what these insecticons were doing now.

Garrus-9 – Cell Block A

Uh-oh. Here it was. The all-important question, the for-your-continued-existence question. The question that, if Nautilator gave the wrong answer, would determine whether he remained in one piece or one thousand pieces thanks to Snaptrap's rage which was very real and very scary and very ready to jump on Nautilator the very moment he offered the incorrect reply.

Atom smasher cannon gripped in one servo, the other bare and free to do as it pleased, it didn't matter how Snaptrap would kill him. His destruction—his annihilation—would result from either of those weapons. And, yes, they were both weapons, as equally lethal as each other. On many occasions, Nautilator had seen his unit leader dispatch his enemies with a single servo.

But moving on. He had asked, and Nautilator was to deliver. Though, in the poor Seacon's case, he could neither present Tentakil nor provide a palatable excuse for his team-mate's absence.

“Uh...” Nautilator slowly stepped over the wreckage littering the floor, mainly bits of the turrets he and (if not entirely) Snaptrap had taken out. “He's... Uh... You see, boss...”

Despite putting in his best effort to follow Tentakil, Nautilator didn't even know where he was. He was quicker than Nautilator, more agile. The chances of having caught up to him, of convincing him to return to their precise location in cell block A was a task coated with impossibility.

Combine that with the fact that Nautilator excelled at failing tasks, regardless of how simple most of them were, and suddenly it became a guessing game as to when he would die. Surely Snaptrap's tolerance for the bumbling Seacon had reached its limits. Surely this was the end for Nautilator.

“A little late but reporting Snaptrap.”

No, not yet, it seemed. Somehow he'd escaped another proverbial bullet.

Whirling around, he saw Tentakil walking towards him and Snaptrap. To combat his overheating internal systems influenced by thoughts of a brutal death, coolant flushed through them, saving him from the discomfort of the rising temperatures affecting several of his systems. He let his shoulder-plates slump forwards, as if liberating them from an immense weight causing him severe strain.

Good thing the turrets in the vicinity had been blasted away, otherwise Nautilator would have found himself to be an exposed, unfocused and tempting target for them to fire at.

“The Monstercons aren't in this block. We're moving on,” Snaptrap said.

This suited Nautilator just fine. Just fine. With no punishment forthcoming, he could afford to relax a little. Or as much as one could relax while assaulting a penitentiary of Garrus-9's calibre.

Casting his gaze about as he trailed behind Snaptrap, Nautilator saw a sight that almost made his spark malfunction. Near Blot and Hun-Grrr was another Terrorcon. A third Terrorcon. The weirdo with the two talking cranial units who was always sniffing the air—Sinnertwin.

Awesome. There were now three Terrorcons with the Seacons. Hip hip hooray.

“Isn't this great?” he said to Tentakil. “We've got three of them with us.”

Nautilator laughed, though only to hide the fear he felt for those beasts, because there was nothing funny about the Terrorcons. Nothing funny at all.

Garrus 9 Cell Block B

Bludgeon watched the others head off to carry out his orders the imposing Decepticon felt a faint thrill of exhilaration to be free and once again ready to unleash hurt on a belligerent universe. His mind was working on how to get out of the prison once battle was committed it would get messy for his rag tag group. Icepick’s return interrupted his thoughts

“Happy forging day”

This was followed by the clattering of weaponry that fell at his feet Bludgeon kept a grip on his acquired rifle as he shuffled through the assorted weaponry he helped himself to something that had caught his eye a samurai blade much like his, clamping the rifle to his back he gripped the hilt of the blade and lifted it pointing the blade at Icepick checking its blade length as it powered up.

“You’ve done well Icepick”

The incessant scuttling and clicking noises that where going on signified one thing “Insecticons!” the word was laced with venom Bludgeon couldn’t stand the scuttling insects and their hordes. As the light dimmed the glow from his optics lit his facial plate as he looked at Icepick as he made his comment about the power “an astute deduction Icepick most likely the insections and their hordes work it also means that Umbra is in trouble”

The imposing decepticon was proved right seconds later as a yell echoed through the cell block

"C-Commander Bludgeon!"

A hint of a smile played across the warriors face as he raised the glowing blade and spun the blade in his hand. “Come Icepick”

The decepticon turned and vanished into the darkness his voice echoed from the darkness

“Something wicked this way comes”

(OOC: With Sid's permission, I'll be doing a lil' NPCing for Birdbrain. Thank you, Sid!)

Garrus-9 – Southern Wing

Smiles were a rare occurrence to Bristleback. Easily without attaining double figures, he could count on one servo the amount of times he'd flashed a genuine smile in the last vorn or so. Yet here it was, his lip components upturned and arranged in a position seldom observed on his bitter visage. Had his fellow Monstercons seen it, this fabled expression, they might have thought that Bristleback had finally succumbed to it, that madness had clutched him and had no intentions of releasing him anytime soon.

For someone whose facial attire ultimately consisted of scowls, frowns, sneers and grimaces, nobody could blame his team-mates for entertaining that notion. Even in their presence, when he saw any of his fellow Monstercons in the activity area—never a certainty as the staff loved to mix and match who they chanced upon, but only when they were feeling generous—Bristleback struggled to show emotions besides anger and frustration.

Smiles: they just didn't come naturally to him.

But whatever. He was happy for the moment, and that was the only thing that mattered.

“Birdbrain,” he said, greeting the other Decepticon.

Birdbrain grinned. Before taking another step, he threw a glance over his shoulder-plate as if expecting to be followed—then, appearing satisfied, he approached Bristleback. “You wouldn't believe the sort of slag I had to wad through just to get here. I mean, my cell isn't even that far from this block, but the fighting I got stuck in...” He shook his cranial unit. “Frag me. It was insane.”

Bristleback nodded. “I can imagine.”

And he could, because he'd been involved in a similar situation himself, with the odds stacked against him and hinting that his death was looming. But driven by a bottomless source of fury and a strong sense of perseverance, he had managed to defy fate and battled past an assembled host of guards and turrets hell-bent on obliterating him.

“So have you seen any of our brothers yet?” Birdbrain allowed hope to filter into his voice.

Bristleback's response was firm. “No.”

“Oh.”

“But with you here now, we can try to look for them.”

“We should, shouldn't we?”

“Indeed we should.” Bristleback grinned, though it did nothing in the way of soothing his intense features. “And think if we found them all.”

“Yeah, it'd be great.”

Really? Was Birdbrain that dense?

“You're forgetting the other reason.”

Birdbrain stared at Bristleback. “What other reason?”

Oh, dear Primus.

“Monstructor.”

“Ah!”

“Ah,” Bristleback said, in a subtle yet unflattering tone.

Birdbrain tapped the device that was strapped to his torso. “Once we get these inhibitor claws off, then we'll be golden.”

Bristleback frowned. The inhibitor claws. Having grown excited over the prospect of a rampaging Monstructor tearing down the penitentiary and crushing the Autobots with it, the damned claws had slipped his core processor. Frag!

“You really know how to spoil the rotation, don't you, Birdbrain?”

“What?” His team-mate shrugged. “What'd I do?”

Bristleback just glared at him.

Garrus 9 - Main Energon Processing Hub--Engineering

Treadshot had entered the exited the space bridge, grateful for the change in atmosphere. Shooting the Autobots in the command center had been fun for all of a few astroseconds until that Horrorcon Apeface took his gun. Well, that and the fighting had degraded to just holding their position in the command center. The gunslinger bore witness to Demolishor toying with some Autobot prey that had decided to try and call for help. Rather foolish of the Autobot to be honest, but foolishness seemed to be hard wired into every single Autobot.

Treadshot hefted up Catcut (ala particle blaster mode) and solidified his firing stance. Scorponok had ordered them to clear the area and Treadshot was all too glad to hunt the Autobots down. He saw a flicker of movement off to his right and slowly turned to look. There. Just behind the console, he could see the foot of an Autobot that had taken cover there.

The gunsligner took aim and decided to finish this particular Autobot a bit more creatively than he normally would have. With his other weapon gone, Catgut couldn't flush out the Autobot so...might as well shoot him where he is.

Treadshot glanced about until he spotted the surface that could give him the best angle of deflection. He fired off several rounds at the spot. They ricocheted off of the surface and toward the cowering Autobot, who - at finding himself being peppered by rounds from the side - quickly rose to his feet, making himself an all too easy target for Treadshot.

Bang.

Treadshot turned away. None of these Autobots were a match for his skills. Where were all of the fun ones? He supposed he just ought to make do with what he had. The gunslinger always enjoyed watching Autobots dance around a bit as bullets whizzed at the feet before he put a round right through their cranium or spark chamber.

Bang. A pause. Bang.

There went two more. The others would be dispatched quickly enough. Treadshot tossed up Catgut, who transformed back into his feline robot mode. Kneeling down beside his companion, Treadshot spoke in low tones, "See if you can sniff out any Autobots that decided to hide."

"Gotcha boss," replied the obsidian feline as he raced off to do just that.

Treadshot watched Catgut scurry off to hunt down any Autobots that had decided to hide instead of fight the force that arrived through the space bridge. He did not envy the Autobots' fate. Catgut had certain...homicidal tendencies.