The Energon Pub

Semper Tyrannis - Bridge

“Eh?” Finback wheezed, casting his optics in the direction of the Reflector trio. Typically, they didn’t deign to communicate with him directly unless he had specifically requested something of them, so this unsolicited appraisal took the aged Decepticon by surprise. Evidence, maybe, that the humorless triplets were beginning to lighten up, if only a little?

Perhaps. And perhaps Finback’s hull sparkled like a freshly-batched protoform’s. But it wasn’t awfully likely.

“Aye, I suppose you’ve got the right of it,” he rasped on. “It’s all insight into the enemies operational protocols, whether we get it through a simple blow-up in the brig or … -zztkt- the old-fashioned way. Right.” He wheeled his CR-apparatus around so he could look at Spectro directly. “Keep your actuators primed over prisoner pacification system, and an optic on that palaver. You think it looks like it’s getting out of hand, you shut it all down.”

Finback turned back toward the tactical screens arrayed before his station. “I should be watching for any contacts at the system periphery, anyway,” he reminded himself. “Don’t want to get caught with our internals exposed, like we did that time on Lenarq …”

Garrus 9 – Southern Wing

Bombshell’s transmission went unanswered for several astroseconds, owing to the difficulty Kickback experienced simultaneously directing his diaclone and signaling Intelligence of his discovery. His processor, though powerful, was inevitably taxed by the two such complex simultaneous actions. When he did re-open the channel to the other Insecticon, however, he sounded decidedly pleased with himself.

>>It seems I’ve located Scorponok’s wayward Monstercons,<< he transmitted gleefully. Then quickly amended, >>Well, some of them, anyway. Enough to satisfy our ‘handlers’, for the moment, and reassure them of our commitment and value to the cause.<< Kickback tittered quietly to himself at the very notion. >>Or at least distract them with the need to pull their precious chasses from the line of fire. Either way, I should be able to buy you a little time. Time to make our new accommodations more comfortable.<<

>>I will remain to clear the cell blocks, maintain the illusion of our full presence on the battlefield. And gather a few … resources, yes? Perhaps you should advise the others to do the same.<<

Garrus-9--Power Station

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"

The sound of metal bending and then ultimately ripping away could be heard. Through the billowing smoke of his damaged or utterly destroyed surroundings, Cyclonus held up the arm that he had torn free from a 'bot's torso. The arm was still holding its weapon. Cyclonus tossed it over the rail and down to a lower level and pressed his foot down further on the bot's neck. He looked up for a moment, taking stock of the fact that the Autobots appeared to now be in full retreat from the power station, before looking back down at his quarry.

"Your company is in full retreat. Further resistance would be....unwise," Cyclonus said coolly. The mech underneath his heel slowly stopped struggling. His injuries were severe, but not life-threatening at this point.

"Kill me then, Deceptiscum," the Autobot guard spit.

Cyclonus appeared to ponder this for a moment.

"In other circumstances I likely would have," Cyclonus said, before pulling his foot away and stepping back. "Your spirit in battle has earned you a reprieve from that fate. For now."

Cyclonus turned and walked away, as the cry of another had caught his attention. Crossing a series of catwalks, he once again found himself in the vicinity of the area that Scorponok and Maximus had effectively the destroyed. The visual remnants of their colossal battle were everywhere.

"Decepticons! Secure this site! Set guard around Fortress Maximus and prepare him to be strip mined for his secrets! And find me an access to the Rig!" Scorponok had ordered. Cyclonus approached the titan Autobot cautiously, even as other nearby Decepticons who were no longer fighting for their lives were slowly beginning to do the same.

"Get restraints on him. You, guard that access ladder. You, take point on that upper catwalk. I do not want any last-klik Autobot heroics," Cyclonus said, pointing to various Decepticon subordinates before returning his attention to Fortress Maximus himself and the nearby clones. Several Decepticons were now in the process of pulling the larger Autobot up from the ground. His large body still hung limply in their arms as restraints were secured on his arms and legs, energy crackling to life as they snapped in place.

"And you," Cyclonus said, his cold optics settling on Wingspan. "Proceed with the extraction."

Maximus' head began to lift weakly, his optics flickering, black fluid trailing from his mouth. Whether he was capable of understanding what was going on around him was irrelevant. What mattered was inside that head of his. Almost as if he instinctively realized what the Decepticons were about to do, he pressed one foot to the ground and then lunged forward at the approaching cyberwolves.

Garrus 9 - Power Station

Banzai-tron rounded the corridor and found himself deep in the heart of the Garrus facility. He held his weapons close as he noted the amount of disabled mechanoids of both factions scattered across the flooring of the prison.

"How...Pitiful..." Banzai-tron coldly stated as he stepped over the lifeless chassis, nearly disgusted at how weak these so called "warriors" were. He casted his attention over to this charred shoulder plating. The internal repairs already cut off the energon from leaking out, but his servos and wiring were still exposed and hanging out from the wound he received from one of the automated turret systems. The damage wasn't enough to prevent him from moving on, but he knew he'd have to be a bit more careful progressing through the prison complex. As he stepped into the next room, he found a squad of Decepticons guarding around Fortress Maximus, the warden of this prison facility.

The Master of Crystalocution casted his optics up to Cyclonus who was ordering Wingspan around on the scaffolding above. Well this was interesting, he hadn't seen the Aerial Commander since the beginning of this whole endeavor.

Before Banzai-tron could usher up a thought, the sight of the bulky Warden caught his attention. Apparently he wasn't done fighting yet and leaped up from his spot on the floor. From his angle, Banzai-tron couldn't distinguish which target Fort Max went for exactly, but regardless of who, a point-one-percenter like himself is capable of more damage than most 'Cons estimate. In other words, letting him escape could mean he could turn the tides of this whole ordeal.

"Cyclonus! He's running!" the intelligence officer hollered as he shoved the clueless vehicon guard out of path and make a bee-line for the warden bot. Banzai-tron readied his stance for one of his signature Crystalocution jabs as he charged towards gargantuan mech. In one false swoop, he shot his arm towards Fort Max, aimed for his knee servos in hope of stopping the mech in his tracks by disabling the power couplings that ran through it and causing the joint to lock up.

Garrus-9--Southern Wing

The Sweeps were confidant that they would be able to get the psychotic little monster under control and had been making good progress in that regard. The intervention of Hungrr, though, had thrown all of that on its head. And them into a wall.

As each of them haggardly managed to stumble back to their feet, they looked at each other from across the cell block and then at the scene playing out before their optics. Whatever was going on here, getting one Terrorcon under control was manageable. Once their fearsome commander had entered the fray? No chance. This was now an internal affair amongst their own unit.

And as the call to feast came, the two Sweeps smirked at one another and then took to the air. Let the animals have this area. They had more important work to tend to.
___

Icepick had met Bludgeon's optics briefly, nodding in appreciation of the more powerful mech's brief but noteworthy commendation of his efforts. Truth be told, he couldn't exactly be sure what had brought on that display of....what? Bravery? Bah. Whatever it was, it was something that didn't tend to come out often.

"More than a little," he said, grinning at Umbra. Continuing to shakily find his feet, his systems continued to analyze the damage that he had sustained. The injuries were plentiful, but none of them were particularly critical. Had the melee been allowed to continue indefinitely that would surely have changed.

He slowly backed away as Hungrr called his troops to action. Whatever was going on, Icepick seemed to be a little bit more valuable than he previously realized.

"Are they....here for us?"

Garrus-9--Power Station

She looked towards Wingspan and shook her head. Forced data retrieval was so... unartistic. She had to have done it before but only as part of a larger dance. It was always more satisfying when one could convince the subject to talk on their own. The incoming call from Bombshell snapped her out of that distraction.

She frowned at the Insecticon's words. Being talk down to by other Decepticons was an annoyance that she had learned to live with and even use for her benefit from time to time but that such words would also challenge Scorponok's authority was beyond intolerable.

She turned towards Scorponok and opened a private communication channel as to not spread word of this at such a moment of victory.

"Sir, Bombshell is refusing to report his current location. That insect is...."

Soul Siren should have reacted sooner but she was slow to react to Maximus' movements due to her cracked optic lenses limiting her vision. Far too late she saw a massive fist headed in her direction. She began to try to move away but the back of Maximus' fist slammed into her side, crushing her left arm and caving in the left side of her chest. The vibrations from the blow spread through her body and finished blowing out the outer lenses of her optics. She was never designed to take a blow lime that.

The blow being a complete surprise, she could not steel herself to not scream. Fortunately, she was unable to scream as the blow crushed several fuel lines in her chest including one which powered her vocal systems so the sounds she made were not audible in the midst of the action. Unfortunately, her communucation line to Scorponok was still open and he could her scream of pure agony.

Her limp form was launched into the air, the wrecked remains of her left arm falling off in mid air. She slammed into a nearby wall then slid down to the floor. As she did so, she left behind clear marks of oil and other internal fluids on the wall. She lay completely still as her communicator lost power and even that was silent.

Garrus 9 - Eastern Wing Power Station

Pounce was extremely gratified by his spark clone's reaction as was evinced by the wicked smirk etched into his faceplate. Ah, there could be no greater satisfaction than terrorizing his dear brother. Well. Actually. Maiming Autobots might surpass that. By just a little. There was nothing quite like the feel of living metal between his clawed actuators. Mmm...yes. He had ought to...go find some Autobot to rip to shreds before they were all gone.

"Actually, your timing is perfect, Brother. You can watch my back while I deconstruct the prisoner’s cranial casing. It’s just a pity he won’t be able to feel it; forced data extraction directly from the cerebro-circuitry is an excruciating ordeal. Or so I’m told."

Pounce had not been listening to the majority of what Wingspan had been saying up until the point where Wingspan mentioned that his presence wasn't a complete hindrance, too distracted by thoughts of mauling and homicide. The predatory Decepticon let out a low groan. Did his brother actually expect him to stand idly by and watch him perform an invasive procedure to extract data from an unfeeling mech's cranium? There were dozens of more productive uses of his time.

"Yes..." Pounce groaned not even attempting to hide his displeasure at that particular idea, stepping slowly away from his spark clone, "You have fun with that, Brother. I shall attend to Lord Scorponok's other directive."

Pounce leaped away from his spark clone and transformed back into his soundless feline alternate mode, stalking away from the defeated giant and those gathering around him. To find the Rig...one might imagine looking in some of the lowest levels of the Southern Wing. Pounce scented the air with his highly attuned olfactory sensors. Or...the place that reeked the least of death.

The infiltrator swiveled his cranium around to address the gargantuan Scorponok. "My liege, I shall locate an access to the Rig fo-"

Pounce was not allowed to finish his rare eloquent statement. Fortress Maximus had decided to let rigor mortis seize control of his body, and unleash the defiance that his injured state would not. Fortunately for the infiltrator, he was far enough away to avoid the gigantic Autobot's initial lunge. Pounce bounced back further, having no particular wish to be crushed as he witnessed the bodies of his comrades crumple like some hapless organic. Most notably was Scorponok's little interrogator, Soul Siren.

In the chaos, the feline infiltrator had lost sight of his spark-clone and brother Wingspan. His optics flitted about in the flurry of flying scrap metal and internal fluids. He soon realized that would be a hopeless effort, so he instead opened a private communication to Wingspan.

>>"Brother?! Do you still function? Answer me this instant!"<< Pounce snarled abrasively, furious and angered at the Autobot warden's last futile action.

-----

Southern Wing - Cell Blocks

Sighing with a wistfulness and lack of his usual despondency, Slog fell into stride beside his cheerful teammate as they wandered through what was left of the prison. Truthfully, he had imagined this scene many times before - what respectable Decepticon wouldn't imagine of their prison being brought to ruin - but his mind's eye had never really...quite captured the feeling of elation that the monstercon artist felt as his optics fell on every empty cell or horribly mauled Autobot corpse.

There was a thing of beauty in all of this. The caged bird set free to ravage the land as it saw fit. Slog's optics trailed down to the inhibitor claw on Wildfly's back. Perhaps not entirely free. These inhibitor claws...may prove to be more of a nuisance than Slog would like. Perhaps there was something that he could do to remedy that, given the chance when all of them reunited.

The Monstercon artist's train of thought was cut short, however, when Wildfly suddenly vanished from his side. Looking up in confusion to see where the erratic Wildfly had wandered off to, Slog was surprised and pleased to see Bristleback and Birdbrain up ahead. The latter of whom Wildfly had slammed into running at top speed in a ferocious bear hug. It was a fairly comical sight as the two rolled and sprawled about on the floor in a flurry of limbs and other appendages.

More calmly, Slog approached Bristleback and clasped his fellow Monstercon's forearm in a warm handshake. The Monstercon's de facto leader couldn't suppress a smile as his turned his cranium to look at Wildfly and Birdbrain who were still locked together in a furious embrace by Wildfly.

"That you did, Wildfly. Good work," Slog said with a smile.

"Don't encourage him, Slog, or he'll insist on a group hug next," Bristleback groaned irritably.

"Let...go...Wildfly!" Birdbrain squawked out, struggling against his long-lost comrade's bear hug.

Slog shook his head and looked back to Bristleback. "Yes, have you seen Icepick or Scowl?" he asked, echoing Wildfly's earlier question.

"Nah," Bristleback growled out dully, "Just us."

"I had hoped for better news..." Slog mumbled, rubbing the back of his cranial casing. Snapped back to reality by Birdbrain's curses and string of profanities, Slog looked up to see what had caused such a stir. Wildfly was looking at something farther up ahead...As Slog lifted his optics to see just what, he was confused to bear witness to some sort of...abomination crawling out of the shadows and rubble. With its six jointed legs, bulging, oversized optics, and strange...what Slog could only guess were some type of sensory modules on its head.

Wildfly cocked his head at it, and it, in turn, imitated the most erratic of the Monstercons. As it turned and took a few steps back in the direction that it had come, Slog supposed that was the end of it, but the...winged...googly...giant-eyed...thing stopped and spun around again and looked at them. As if it expected them to follow it.

“Think it wants us to follow it?" asked Wildfly, looking at him for direction along with the others.

"That appears to be the case, Wildfly," answered Slog, looking back at him. With a shrug, Slog stepped forward toward the strange creature and gestured for it to lead onward, glancing back at the other Monstercons with a nod for them to accompany him.

------

Southern Wing - Elsewhere in the Cell Blocks

"More than a little."

Despite her overwhelming terror of her very tenuous position, Umbra managed a nervous smile back at Icepick. Something about his cheerful demeanor never failed to brighten her countenance. As Icepick shakily rose to his feet, Umbra hovered about him, ready to steady him if he appeared like he was going to fall over. Fortunately, he did not.

Now that Umbra was sure that Icepick's termination was not impending, she took the time to distance herself a little more from the Terrorcons. The little Autobot femme shrunk beside Icepick a little as she witnessed them begin to devour one of their own. As much as she was loathe to show any fear with the amount of Decepticons clustered around, it was very difficult not to with the...display...that the Terrorcons were putting on. Combine that with the menacing form of the Seacon commander looming near her and well...not showing fear? Wasn't really a thing that happened.

Umbra was terrified. These mechs around her...they were the stuff of Autobot nightmares. Horror stories of entire platoons decimated in the most appalling ways imaginable. Mechs eaten alive! It was happening right in front of her! And it was one of their own! What kind of monsters were these Decepticons?!

"Are they....here for us?"

"I-I don't know about me..." Umbra croaked out, her voice a little hoarse with fear. She tried to steady its wavering tone as she spoke to Icepick again, "I have no delusions of grandeur about myself. But...it kinda looks like you're...important."

Garrus 9 – Southern Wing

Nodding as if taking directions from a … something … they’d met in the middle of a catastrophic life-and-death battle was the most reasonable thing in the world, Wildfly regained his feet, then leaned down to haul Birdbrain back up alongside him. The other Monstercon glowered briefly before shaking his cranial unit in resignation and trying to clean off the mech fluid that had been smeared across his chassis during the recent unwelcome display of affection as he began walking.

Once it observed that the four mechs were indeed moving to follow, the strange, segmented robot quickened its pace, hurrying along the floor and occasionally moving to the wall or ceiling to avoid the worst of the debris without noticeably slowing its pace. This forced Wildfly to quicken his own gait, in order to not lose sight of the thing. “What do you suppose is the big damn hurry?” he asked Slog, the usual humor in his tone dampened by his exertions. “I mean, it’s not as if I want to do any sight-seeing, or anything—Primus knows, I’ve seen all of this prison I want to—but what’s the rush?”

* * * * * * *

Overbite couldn’t help but look disappointed as Icepick managed to struggle to his pedal actuators. “Well,” he noted glumly, “guess I woulda lost that bet, huh, Snaptrap?” Still, credit to the Monstercon for being a tough little scraplet; not many Transformers could claim they’d walked away from a fistfight with a Terrorcon. Definitely wasn’t on his to-do list—not unless they were all a couple of fathoms deep on some inhospitable waterworld. Overbite acknowledged few mechs his equal--and none his better--when it came to submarine combat.

The Seacon terminator shrugged. “Guess we can move out whenever you’re ready,” he noted, casting his optics toward the Butcher once more. “Shame. I thought we’d found something almost constructive for Nautilator to do.”

Garrus 9 – East Wing Power Station

Wingspan had barely had time to offer Cyclonus a curt nod of acknowledgement when Fortress Maximus--in brazen defiance of reason, physics, and the rules of basic synthetic physiology--began moving again. Unlike the unfortunate Soul Siren, the more cerebral of the Decepticon Clones was able to dart somewhat out of the path of the senseless Autobot’s rage. Unfortunately, “somewhat” wasn’t quite enough to keep him entirely from harm’s way; a glancing blow from the giant’s forearm caused Wingspan to go spinning aft-over-cranial unit until a heap of collapsed gantry brought his unintended acrobatics to a rather precipitous halt.

He pressed a hand over his faceplate, vocalizer emitting a pained grunt as his internal diagnostics went to work attempting to catalog the extent of the damage he’d suffered.

......structural damage to external thoracic architecture……
……structural damage to external abdominal architecture……
……structural damage to left rotator/flexor/actuator……
……integrity field reading 76% and stable; multiple armor breaches……
……transformation sequence inaccessible……
……stress damage to thoracic/abdominal substructure……
......internal fluid pressure 88% and falling……
…..fuel levels 83% and falling—

With a growl, Wingspan deactivated the diagnostic. He would require time in the Medical Bay when this mission was complete, but he wasn’t offlined. And he wasn’t so significantly damaged that withdrawal seemed a palatable option—not with Scorponok and Cyclonus directly overseeing the battlefield. There was no room in the Decepticon ranks for the weak, even if his personal strengths might not lie in the direction of mass violence, as Pounce’s did.

As though thinking the name had summoned him, Wingspan winced as his Clone-brother’s transmission resounded through his aching head. >>Of course I still function, Brother,<< he snapped back irritably. >>Pay attention to the matter at hand. Bring the giant down.<< With that, he retrieved his dual electro-cannons and brought them to bear. Under normal circumstances, they’d barely be an annoyance to a Cybertronian Maximus’ size. But, with the damage he’d already suffered, and the number of Decepticons now zeroing in on the damaged hulk, Wingspan was confident he’d feel their sting.

Eastern Wing – Computer Control Suite

>>"Banzai-tron to Sparkstalker; What is your current position? I need your particular set of skills to help me access some Autobot files. I'm currently in the Autobot Maintenance Corridors of the facility, sending you my location now."<<

“Ugh! Really? Now?!”

Sparkstalker rolled his head in annoyance due to the comms call he had just received. Just when things were getting good. He had located the perfect hideaway where he could work his magic, and syphon a bit of intel for himself. And now he gets a call. How frustrating.

And not a call from just anyone. No, it had to be Banzi-tron. What a weirdo. He was good at his job, but… Sparkstalker let out a heavy huff and settled back into his chair. He hit several keys on the keyboard prompting the console to light up with activity. “Suppose I should answer…” he groaned as he opened a channel up with the warrior.

>>”I'm busy. Working. And you don't need to know my location.”<< With a shove Sparkstalker rose from his seat and grabbed the dataslug from the terminal’s port. At the same time he accessed the databurst Banzi-tron had sent.

>>”Autobot files, eh. What kind of files? Access could be difficult depending on the level of security you’re looking to crack.”<< He kept the link open as he leaned over the keyboard. His optics scanned the screens and his hands glided over the keys.

The slug he had loaded with info would be for Command, and the wireless connection he created between the prison’s network and him would be for his own purposes. Sparkstalker accessed the files he wanted within the network and began downloading the information directly into his own NVM. Whether or not he was offline any information he downloaded would be retained.

With a smirk, the Firecon sent Banzi-tron another response. >>”I’m not far from you. I’ll be there in two breems. But I still would like to know what you’re getting me in to.”<<

Garrus-9--Southern Wing

"Same scrap, different administration."

"Always is," Stormwrecker agreed.

"Whatever Scorps is after doesn't matter right now. Gotta do something about all of those who are going to die for no reason. Can't do much about those monsters out there but maybe we can lead the wandering survivors to a more defensible area while this works itself out."

Huh. That was a pretty brazen proposal. Maybe admirable. Maybe stupid. Stormwrecker couldn't really decide which at this juncture. Aligning himself with the Decepticons in the early days had pretty much numbed any lingering compassions he might have had when he was first constructed cold. So, probably more in the 'stupid' category--at least when it came to Stormwrecker's calculus.

"Whoa whoa, what's this 'we' business? We've had a nice, mutual survival thing going on here, but we start dragging other mechs' into our situation and our odds are only gonna get worse."

Garrus-9--East Wing Power Station

"Congratulations, sir!"

Still ecstatic for his victory over his longtime rival Fortress Maximus, Scorponok eagerly took in the various congratulations voiced to him by his troops, like Soul Siren and Wingspan. This indeed was a momentous victory. Not only to Scorponok himself but for the Decepticons and all who had stood against the corruption, the caste system and the functionalist. A moment that would turn the course of the war in the favor of the Decepticons for good. A fine addition to the list of dark epochs held by the Autobots. The last one had been called the Cataclysm - an event that had turned Cybertron into barren and lifeless, forcing even the last stalwarts of the warring factions to finally abandon their home world. Surely this was a beginning of a new epoch. It only could have been sweeter if it had been Optimus Prime himself lying at his feet instead of Fortress Maximus.

For the first time in centuries he had something to report to Megatron which he could be pleased of. Just not quite yet. Scorponok was not one to declare his mission successful before he had made it certain the endgame was his. Soon though, very soon.

In the meanwhile, there were some issues that needed to be taken care of. The Monstercons needed to be collected and depending on their level of cooperation either studied upon without unnecessary hassle or dissected forcefully. The Rig would have to be searched for the mere possibility of holding high-profile Decepticon commanders and scientist gone missing during the eons of combat between the two factions. Not to mention the other resources the Autobots had rather locked away than even risk the chance of them falling to the hands of the Decepticons. And on the top of that list of resources was the Aequitas machine.

"Bombshell has rather rudely reported that his Insecticons are searching through the cells. Although he, himself, seems to be doing something else."

With all these opportunities ripe for the taking, not even the less than surprising news from Soul Siren about his certain, often bothersome creations managed to affect Scorponok's mood much.

>>"The greed of Bombshell and his kind is great. No doubt Insecticons have found something they want to keep for themselves. But ultimately whatever they have found will be mine. I made them what they are, they cannot hide from me. Ever. The Swarm belongs to me and they know I can take it all away."<< Scorponok replied back to Soul Siren's private communication just in time before he was hailed by Wingspan again.

“News from the Southern Wing, my lord: one of the diaclones has located a number of the target Transformers—still awaiting a precise count and subject identification. The Insecticon will attempt to lead them in the direction of Snaptrap and Hun-Grrr’s assault teams for extraction."

"Excellent. Keep me updated with the situation as it develops." The gargantuan warlord said, his tone clearly indicating the news had pleased him. "Do you hear this Maximus? Everything you fought to keep out of my reach is falling to its rightful owner. I am almost tempted to tell you how but I rather let you solve that puzzle yourself." Scorponok chuckled, "Not that there is anything you can do about it."

"Sir, Bombshell is refusing to report his current location. That insect is...."

Another private communication from Soul Siren. He did not need to hear more about Bombshell, not now. Then again, being stubborn was a desirable quality for an interrogator. Only this private message was cut short with Soul Siren falling silent as if taken by surprise. Silence followed by a scream of pure agony.

No...

Turning on his feet as quickly as his enormous bulk allowed, Scorponok wound up witnessing Soul Siren's flight across the air and subsequent crash landing against a wall. And not only Soul Siren, Wingspan and few other Decepticons had been taken by surprise as well. It was a surprise most would not survive without critical damage. And the reason stood there, as defiant and resilient as ever. Fortress Maximus.

"Damn you Autobot! Why cannot you stay down?!" Scorponok roared out, as he charged at his enemy once again. As resilient as Maximus was this had been over for a while already. The Autobot commander could barely stand, let alone fight. Few Decepticons like Banzai-Tron and Wingspan had made an attempt to retaliate against Fortress Maximus' last stand on their own. But none of them dared to stand in the way of their enraged leader, not after they sensed the shock waves from approaching Scorponok's heavy footsteps.

A massive straight with all the momentum of half thousand tons worth of a charging Decepticon warlord sent Fortress Maximus flying on his back to the floor in response to Scorponok's claw connecting with his chin. Scorponok approached Maximus fallen form again, his claws opening and closing slightly, back and forth - as the giant Decepticon moved to see if the damage from his last attack had put an end to Maximus' struggle.

The Autobot wasn't moving.

"Get an emergency response team from the fleet to take care of the wounded! And restrain him properly this time!"

Garrus 9 - East Wing - Power Station

Apparently his crystalocution was not enough to stop the mighty Fortress Maximus' last defensive charge at the Decepticon forces he was surrounded by. As Banzai-tron rose from the ground, he was alerted by the sound of a monstrous booming, the sound of an angered Scorponok coming to deal the last hit on the Autobot warden. For a mech his size, he sure covered ground faster than Banzai-tron could give him credit for. He bolted to his right, a split-second before the massive Decepticon warlord connected claw-to-chin plating with the restrained Fortress Maximus.

"Get an emergency response team from the fleet to take care of the wounded! And restrain him properly this time!"

Soon vehicons and sweeps under the warlord's command began rushing around the Head of Decepticon Intelligence, in a quick hurrying to do as he wished. No doubting they were all frightened by, or already know all to well about how he treats those who disobey him.

>>"I'm busy. Working. And you don't need to know my location."<< Sparkstalker called over Banzai-tron's comm. >>"Autobot files, eh. What kind of files? Access could be difficult depending on the level of security you’re looking to crack."<<

>>"Anything we can gain access to will somehow be beneficial to the Decepticon cause later down the road.<< Banzai-tron replied, trying to keep a "friendlier" tone as he spoke. His earlier encounter with the Monstercon, Slog had taught him that his menacing threats will only get you so far and are pointless in this kind of environment. >>"Personnel files, technical readouts, battle tactics, anything you can get your actuators on."<<

Before he could finish his thought, the Firecon stated that he was already well on his way to meeting up with the Intellignece officer. Better to ask directly he guessed. He walked over to examine all who had the inexperience of meeting the might of the prison's fabled warden. He could make out Wingspan and Soul Siren, or the frame that USED to be Soul Siren anyways being prepped for response team. His amber optics shifted to the black and white mech who lied sprawled out across the facility's flooring. Banzai-tron made a rush to the fallen mech's side. It couldn't be...

Treadshot...

Banzai-tron was not one to hold compassion for his fellow warriors, but you could say he always had more of a special spot in his spark chamber for any of his fellow Decepticon Secret Service agents. An agent lost really cripples what little of a branch he held in the Decepticon ranking. He placed an open palm over the charred body where Max's laser fire had connected with his black armoring. Catgut, the gunslinger's trusted weapon/companion laid at his side, apparently locked in its weapon form since Treadshot's fall.

"Don't just stand there!" Banzai-tron barked towards one of sweeps in charge of getting the wounded ready for Scorponok's response team, "Get him loaded up!"

Semper Tyrannis - Space Bridge Terminal

There it was... The fabled secret weapon of the almighty Scorponok. Sure it couldn't directly inflict damage onto its foes like most other Decepticons weapons, but it had the potential to drop a whole squad of Decepticons anywhere Scorponok deemed fit. Guess that makes up for it.

"Let's just see where we've been now, shall we?" The black and white Decepticon warrior asked aloud as he strolled over to the control console. A faint smile snuck its way across the side of his faceplate as rolled his actuators over the holographic keyboard. Deadlock scrolled over the log and found an assortment of jumps, and none organized enough to determine where he'd end up.

"How about...a lock-on sequence jump then?" Deadlock asked as he switched over to the targeting mainframe. He scouted over all the names that flashed up as the cursor ran a different targeting beacon.

"Snaptrap; nope... Kickback; not him... Ah! There he is! Scorponok..."

The machine whirled as Deadlock pulled down on the activation handle and bright green portal erupted within the chamber. The warrior turned to face the swirling green vortex now in front of him and eagerly rushed through it, his photon rifle ready in his right hand.

Garrus 9 - East Wing - Power Station

Deadlock's space bridge jump ripped opened into the prison facility with its signature green flash as subspace matter disoriented around the ripple the Decepticon Warrior emerged from. He held his rifle up and casted his optics around, examining the war-torn battlefield.

"Huh...Looks like I missed one hell of a show." He whined as he strolled over towards Scorponok's side to inform him of his presence, the portal closing behind him as he took each step. He gazed his crimson-red optics to the floor, the sight of fallen sweeps littered among the ruins of the prison and the Autobot remains who died trying to protect it. Pitiful... Disgusting... and worst of all,

"Weak..."

Garrus 9 – East Wing Power Station

Being swatted into a wall like some sawed-off Minibot had done much to improve Wingspan’s vigilance. As such, he was among the first to dart out of the way of Scorponok’s devastating charge, watching with satisfaction as the warlord they served put Fortress Maximus down a second time. Only the intervention of Primus himself could bring the Autobot to his feet a second time. Somehow, Wingspan doubted that a benighted blob of dirt like this one rated their creator’s direct notice. He’d certainly withheld it during far more significant events in Cybertronian history.

“At once, my lord,” he said almost reflexively as Scorponok finished issuing his latest commands. He signaled the flagship to dispatch medical engineers and equipment from the fleet to their location, then addressed the handful of Decepticons that had begun to approach the unmoving warden with obvious wariness. “Inhibitor claws and energy shackles. Arms and legs—we take no chances. If any part of Maximus so much as twitches, slap a restraint on it. Failing that, cut it off.”

Almost absently, Wingspan reached up to his faceplate to wipe away some of the fluid trickling from the corner of his mouth, and grimaced as he noticed the stain on the back of his hand. Walking past Pounce, he dropped one of his electro-rifles and tugged at one of his Clone’s rocket launchers. “I need to borrow this for a moment, Brother,” he said flatly.

While the other Decepticons worked to practically cover their massive prisoner in every form of binding or debilitating technology known to Transformer science, Wingspan charged the wicked energon bayonet which curved out from beneath the barrel of Pounce’s usual weapon of choice. He climbed Maximus’s chest and walked toward his cranial unit, smirking malevolently at the reflection of the flickering purple glow in the giant’s dead blue optics.

“I hope some part of you can still hear me, Warden,” he said softly, bending at the waist to brandish the blade. “While your time in our custody was never going to be pleasant, I never intended to inflict any discomfort upon you that wasn’t strictly necessary in the course of acquiring your secrets. That option has gone out the airlock. Now, I plan to devote my every waking cycle to ensuring you suffer as no living thing, organic or mechanical, has ever suffered before in nine billion or so years of universal history. By the end, your tormented husk will barely be worth terminating. But I think we’ll still manage it, regardless.”

With that, Wingspan brought the blade down hard. It was only the first in what quickly devolved into a frenzy of blows intended to hack apart Maximus’ cranial casing; all traces of the Clone’s earlier, surgical finesse had vanished. In his anger, he was as vicious as the most fuelthirsty Decepticon grunt.

Garrus-9–-Southern Wing

Seawing had to give it to the Terrorcons. Their reputation was well earned. It had been but a brief moment, yet the Monstercon looked like it had been beaten for hours straight. The power of the Terrorcons was indeed impressive. The fact that Icepick could manage to stand on his own was almost as impressive. Almost.

The Reconnaissance Seacon couldn't help but to be disgusted by the actions displayed by Hun-Grr and his ilk. Eating one of their own? Such a waste of time and resources. Such poor leadership skills showed by the Terrorcon leader that he had to resort to those methods. Seawing was thankful that even though Snaptrap wasn't exactly the nicest Decepticon in the army, he quite clearly has better skills than the gigantic Terrorcon.

Not the best leader in the army, though. Seawing had to repress a smile. But he would settle, for now. He procedeed to follow Tentakill, folliwing the orders Snaptrap had given.

Semper Tyrannis - Brig

"They took my guns...They took my guns...I feel so open...So exposed...So defenseless!!" Strafe muttered to himself as he sat in the corner of the Autobot prison cell aboard Scorponok's warship. He sat curled up in a fetal position and swayed a bit in his spot, shifting the attention of his sky blue optics over to his commander, Scattershot just as he was getting into a bit of a heated debate with a Decepticon femme that Strafe couldn't identify.

"Who is she?? WHAT DOES SHE KNOW?!?" He screamed as he brought his hands up to take aim at the petite femme, only to forget he had no weapons with him within the cell in which to do so. "GAH!! I'm defenseless!!" Strafe cried as he rolled over onto his side, tucking his leg servos in close to his chest plating while he brought his hands to the side of his processor trying to hide his faceplating from the others in the cell.

"Primus, help me..."

"Strafe! Could you keep it down over there?!" The teal and white Biomechanical engineer hollered as he continued slapping equations and chemical formulas onto the wall with great speed. "I almost have this trigonometrical expression solved and I don't need you screaming your nonsense as I do so!"

Say what you will about the walking ego that is Brainstorm, he truly is a master of his craft completely dedicated to his work. As the red paint continued to flow from his pen, so too were the ideas for various forms of weaponry and technology he was well known for being able to craft. He was careful not to plot down any details or schematics, only writing out various equations for himself to solve to keep his highly constructive train of thought occupied while he remained locked-up in the cell.

To those who gazed at his number sequences, they were just simply numbers and scribbles drawn up onto the walls, but in Brainstorm's processor, they represented formulas, schematics, numerical blueprints. It'd take a master cryptanalyst to be able to decipher his extensive writing and be able to match it up to the convoluted creations the engineer had brewing in the back of his processor.

"Reroute the magnetic dampers...Multiply by the root of the energon fluctuation...Wait, no that can't be right...Ah I see it now! Okay so times that by 87.982 percent..."

Semper Tyrannis: Brig

Scattershot fumed as he drew back his hand closer to his chest plate. Flakes of paint and warped metal drifted off his knuckles as he allowed each digit to flex in and out of the fist he previously held. His optics however did not hold in their grasp the gleam of the delusional stenographer. The corner of his lips tugged in irritation as the primary sensor lenses focused on the small nodule in the far left corner of the security station that typically held the brig officer on watch.

After a few flexes of his hands he began to slowly crack each joint as if to prepare for an even greater act of rebellion. His optics still transfixed on the silver black node and the concealed sensor lens hidden within. The Technobot commander had their attention, not necessarily a bad thing given the circumstances. But knowing enough through experience that nearly all cons were as well insane as the one before them just by varying degrees of insanity, Scattershot had to maintain his composure. Only for a few seconds did he turn his attention to Strafe who had come on line after the field repairs had finally taken hold. He offered a nod of reassurance to his subordinate, so imperceptible that only a member of his team would have picked it up regardless of their state of mind. A means of conveying calm and courage through the darkest of times. And through out the tenure of the Technobots, there had been plenty of those in spades.

He returned his attention back to the security node. His mind raced through various scenarios that could come from his new found production. Show the monster and get the attention, allow his team to continue with their mental preparations. Technobots knew well that no matter the situation, he would not stop... Push the play too far off the script and they would be more likely to visit a smelter or a firing chamber rather than being tortured and tossed back into the blackest brig on the planet below. Playing to his reputation would serve him enough to keep those watching from truly taking the gamble that he had already set into motion plots and schemes that would serve them below... again provided they ever got that far. Keep them thinking he was a big dumb brute with no idea for tactics or strategy. Surely it was a reputation he had forged over the eons that would support such a deception, why not live up to it and use it as a cloak.

"You're right, I meant exactly what I said before. You're as defective as your commanders above you. Don't give me that aft wash about wanting to destroy a home world either, your leaders knew exactly what the scrap they were doing." Scattershot allowed his fist to clinch tighter though he made no more of a violent approach. Too much pressure would only cause distress to a delicate situation. His optics never looked down at Firewire, there was no need. She was a lost cause at this point. But he had to maintain the curtain, make them think he and his team was as off kilter as the cons believed them to be. "Kalix, Altihex, Crystal City... numerous other territories that declared neutrality and were eventually assailed by your beloved heroes and drawn into this brutal war. In your little holier than thou tone only confirms the truth behind your mask and all con's masks... the thrill of whole sale slaughter drive your pumps mad with lust."

His optics finally broke from the sensor node and he gave a quick glance down at the stenographer. "Tis a shame really..." his voice raised briskly from the calm barely restrained tenor he had used previously. Not truly aware of who was watching the interactions within their confined sphere of influence, Scattershot took a brief pause. There was a large percent chance that there would be naval officers on the bridge. Might as well insult the lot of 'em, get them ready for round 2. "Ain't that right Barnacle Butt?"

Garrus-9 - Southern Wing

Vroom looked at Stormwrecker.

"We are standing between Overlord and a swarm of Insecticons, Terrorcons, and Primus knows what else. If the odds concerned you then you should have never left your cell, my friend."

He chuckled.

"I do the math behind all the crazy scrap I do. I calculate it quickly so it often looks like I am just being crazy. I guess I was always a bit of a wiz at math although it was never the most fun thing to admit. Especially for a stunt driver like me. Sometimes, however, its not about the math. Sometimes, its about doing what helps us sleep while we recharge."

He looked down the path leading towards the exit.

"We could keep going that way. Stay out of the fighting and maybe survive through all this. You can go back to doing whatever you did for the Decepticon army and I could go back to my cell until the day I finally got bored enough with this place and escape. I suppose that could work out nicely for both of us. But..."

He turned back towards Stormwrecker.

"We would live that life knowing that we could have had saved sparks here and we did not. Autobots, Decepticons, neutrals, we would know that many of each could have been saved if someone was willing to lend a hand. An evacuation, some first aid, anything. Sometimes it not about doing what an Autobot or Decepticon should. Sometimes its just about doing what you think its right. Maybe you think that saving your own outer plating is the right to do. Fair enough. As for me... well..."

He pats Stormwrecker on the back and starts walking back towards the prisons.

"There are some poor sparks out there that need a hero. Unfortunately for them, they will have to make due with me I guess. Plus whatever help I can find."

Garrus-9 - Southern Wing

Cutthroat was still as his fellow Terrorcons feasted. Occasionally his body would move but that was purely due to reflexes. His was shut down for this ordeal which most would consider a blessing. As it continued, however, a strange sound could be heard emanating from Cutthroat. It sounded almost like... a laugh. Such a thing, however, was clearly impossible.

Garrus-9--Outside the Aequitas Chamber

Oh well. Apeface had no hope getting through this door without getting more equipment fitting for the task from the fleet. He could as well let this little scene play out and see what became of it. He didn't like to be reverted into a mere bystander in a situation he knew he could dominate and yet, that was exactly what had happened.

The two smallest, weakest Cybertronians present had somehow taken the central stage, commanding attention above their diminutive stature. Rung's reaction could be anticipated, he had been a famous psychiatrist for tens of thousands of vorns already when Apeface had taken his first look at the world. That bot could probably pretend being calm even before a raging phase sixer. But what particularly so interesting was usually so meek and timid Cipher evidently forgetting his insecurities around more notorious Decepticons after Rung had appeared. He had even sort of... had taken the lead? It was as if Rung's appearance had awakened a new, hidden side Cipher had kept secret from even his fellow Decepticons until now.

This show of courage against Rung was not surprising. It was Rung after all. The epitome of a pencil neck of a Cybertronian. And obviously enough, Cipher was in the company of Mindwipe and two Decepticons who scored quite high on the list of most dangerous Decepticons ever. So yeah, Cipher was backed up by the presence of the Horrorcons, a luxury Rung, whose only guardian had suddenly become a burden - so clearly now lacked. That still did not answer the question. How in the abyss had possessed Cipher to become this silver tongued devil, supremely confident of himself despite being seemingly ready to wet himself only few kliks earlier because of the presence of him and Snapdragon.

Ugh, this just wouldn't do. Standing in a corner silently when Cipher would have all the fun with these Autobots? No way. That wasn't very Apeface like, not at all. No, he would force the others acknowledge his continued presence just to amuse himself. Yeah, that was exactly what he was going to do, especially after Cipher had caught the evasiveness in Rung's response to him about the codes.

Transforming into his primate form, Apeface rushed from the door to the position of the others like an angry silverback gorilla, stopping only few meters before seemingly inevitable collision with both Cipher and Rung.

"Oh this is rich. Do continue." Apeface chuckled, a wicked grin on his bestial face. A grin, that grew only wider when a status update through comm-link channels came through - Fortress Maximus had been defeated. This was big. Scorponok had finally gotten his big victory. And the Horrorcons had not been there to witness it? Such a grand dissappointment. Someone had better have filmed a holovid of the battle, or heads would roll. But that was something he couldn't do anything about. Apeface was too much of a professional behind his dirty cover to let it get to him. Here and now, this information was something the Horrorcon would gladly keep from Rung for a time being, only to be able to throw it at the psychiatrist's face later on.

"I am all giddy to learn more."

Elba--Mines

The diaclones were already beginning their work, under the command of Bombshell and Chop Shop thus far, but in time more would come. In time they all would invest their efforts here, turning these mines into something truly valuable. These Autobot fools had no idea of the potential they had. The Insecticons, however, would show them. While they were still alive, that is.

Kickback’s transmission reminded Bombshell of why they had been dispatched to Garrus-9 in the first place. The Monstercons. Scorponok’s playthings. Venom had displayed no outward interest in their rescue and, similarly, neither had Bombshell. Destroying Autobots. Consuming delectable elements. These were the thoughts that had preoccupied Bombshell. And now the mines that would eventually serve as the nest for their evolving Swarm. All under the guise of furthering Scorponok’s plans, which Kickback also inadvertently reminded him of with his comment regarding buying time.

His little interaction with Scorponok’s femme pet sprung to mind. Bah. He might have to be a touch more diplomatic in the future, if for no other reason than to keep Scorponok’s gaze fully on the reasons that brought him to this star system in the first place and away from them. Eventually all who crossed the Insecticons would be consumed by their stupidity as thoroughly as the Insecticons themselves would consume their bodies.

Mmmm.

>>”Excellent. Continue on. Direct as necessary from your, eh, position. My influence wanes from this far down. I can feel it. But we will build. I will direct others to assist topside as I’m able. Venom’s assorted paranoias are going to become all too true if he continues with his distant touch for much longer."<<
___

Semper Tyrannis—Bridge

Reflector allowed himself a brief, internal sigh of satisfaction as Finback decided not to terminate the rather entertaining dialogue between the Decepticon femme and their assortment of Autobot prisoners quite yet. Indeed, who knew what valuable nuggets of intelligence they might yet glean from their captives? Moreover, even if nothing of value could be substantiated, the interaction alone was proving to be endlessly entertaining.

The Spyglass component moved his hand and brought up the various pacification protocols that Finback had ordered and ensured they were on standby.

The three heads then turned to face Finback briefly as he recalled the mission on Lenarq. They then quickly refocused on their various tasks and screens.

Like that time you did on Lenarq, you mean, Reflector mused to himself.

Right about then, one of the prisoners seemed to take a certain degree of effort to address the camera directly. Whether he was referring to the ship's current commanding officer in specific or Decepticons in general, Reflector did not know.

The entire trio almost reflexively stiffened.
___

Garrus-9—Southern Wing

Icepick had continued to watch, enthralled, as Hungrr carried out his ruthless means of keeping his subordinates in line. Truthfully, it did not phase him all that much. This was just one of many Decepticon means of keeping order. For the most part it worked rather well. It certainly kept outright insubordination rather well in check. He looked over at Umbra as she appeared to shy away from the scene like a shrinking violet. No surprises there. They were in the presence of a rather intimidating assortment of powerful Decepticons and there were surely more roaming around this prisoner—not the least of which being Scorponok himself. The same fate that was now befalling Cutthroat could well be hers too. And even if Icepick might have been able to intervene on her behalf with the likes of Cutthroat, he would stand no chance if Hungrr, Snaptrap or Scorponok decided she needed to be dispatched in similar fashion. And nor would she.

"I-I don't know about me...I have no delusions of grandeur about myself. But...it kinda looks like you're...important."

Icepick’s metallic features scrunched themselves in momentary confusion.

“But why—ohhh,” he said, the realization quickly hitting him. “I suppose that makes a good deal of sense. Though if that’s the true reason, I suppose I should warn you—our company is going to be parted, one way or the other. Forgive me…forgive me for whatever it is I might be forced to do to you. Or anyone else in our vicinity.”

Semper Tyrannis--Brig

Lightspeed had resigned himself to the fact that Scattershot was going to be, well, Scattershot. Even with this rather unassuming Decepticon, his ires were obviously still easily rankled. He could only imagine what his interrogation session with Scourge must have been like. Probably akin to the one he had with Soul Siren. It was right about that time that Strafe decided to come back to the world of the conscious.

And lose his mind.

"Whoa, hey hey hey," Lightspeed said, rushing over to the side of his fellow Technobot and sitting down next to him. It was obvious his Technobot partner was experiencing some sort of situational crisis. Being trapped like they were could do that. The best thing he could do right now was not patch some servo or replace a wire, but instead just be there for his teammate, as they all had been there for each other at various times in the past. "It's okay. You won't be defenseless forever. I promise. We'll get them."
___

Pointblank couldn't really believe what he was hearing. Alright, so the Autobots had played their part in some aspect of why they were here. Primus knows Zeta Prime was every bit as genocidal a nutbag as Megatron ever turned out to be, but that didn't mean you go and replace one tyrant with another.

Scattershot was making some valid points, all of which Pointblank agreed with. But there was another aspect to all this and Pointblank was not about to let it go unsaid.

"Zeta Prime was not the only alternative!" Pointblank yelled, the tension and subject matter of the conversation finally causing a stir inside him. He pushed himself up from the cell wall he had been sitting against and approached the edge of the energy field that currently imprisoned him. This was a matter he had given a lot of thought to. "'Peace through tyranny'? Really? Megatron's no alternative to that! That was Zeta Prime's philosophy before Megatron even put any words to it. Remember the archives of the Vamparc Ribbon? Optimus Prime is the alternative! And even if you don't think 'another Prime' is the answer, there has to be a better way besides what Megatron and Zeta offer the world. The universe. I....I....I've never seen a race of beings so hellbent on hastening its own extinction. There.....there has to be a better way..."

Garrus-9--Eastern Wing-Power Station

Cyclonus could scarcely believe the scene that had played out before him. Fortress Maximus appeared all but dead to the world after the beating that he had sustained at the hands of Scorponok. Granted, Scorponok did not appear much better off, but he was the one standing. In Decepticon power circles, that was all that ultimately mattered. And yet the Autobot--be it through sheer force of will or residual, resistant instinct, found the strength for one last act of defiance. And defy he did.

No sooner had Maximus' found his footing than Cyclonus' own situational awareness kicked in and he cleared himself from whatever path the colossal Autobot seemed most likely to take. Though Cyclonus had not found himself in the Autobot's path of destruction, others had and paid dearly for having done so.

The lithe purple warrior's optics widened slightly as he saw Soul Siren being cast aside like so much chaff, wondering if she might not explode on impact. The femme was not designed for combat, much less direct engagement of a Cybetronian of this magnitude. But they had all known, from the earliest development of this strategy, that taking this prison would come at a heavy price. The only question had been deciding whether they were willing to make the sacrifice. Scorponok had determined they were, and he was proving to have been right, though the cost climbed higher with every breem that passed.

In short order, Maximus' act of defiance was responded to with equally efficient and brutal responses, from Banzai-Tron all the way to Scorponok himself. When the Autobot went down this time, Cyclonus was quite certain he would be staying that way for the foreseeable future.

Wingspan, though having suffered some damages of his own, only appeared that much more fervent in his desire to accomplish his work. Cyclonus slowly approached the hulk's broken form even as other Decepticons backed away, having applied the various restraints and shackles as Scorponok and Wingspan had ordered. Cyclonus had every confidence that Wingspan would get what Scorponok desired out of the Autobot's head. The wounded were in the process of being gathered up. That left other matters to be tended to.

Cyclonus approached his larger commanding officer. They now possessed a weapon more damaging than any rifle or missile they might have brought with them. It was time to deploy it.

"Speak to them, mighty Scorponok. Speak to them all. Let word spread of this," Cyclonus said, indicating the fallen form of Maximus, "and the remaining resistance will crumble."

Garrus-9 – Southern Wing

Like an enormous cyber-snake in search of prey, Shrapnel and his diaclones slither through corridor after corridor, winding a serpentine path to the nearest cell block. As it maintains its course, jagged fingers of electricity claw at its black and purple hide, and a high-pitched chittering escapes the myriad sets of mandibles it possesses, a disturbing sound similar to the quality of a hundred simultaneous sibilant voices.

Shrapnel has a destination to reach. He will not fail to reach that destination.

Resistance has been encountered during his brief journey. Small obstacles. Insignificant hindrances. Shrapnel is not to be denied. He crushes all who oppose him, and laughs at the wretched husks of the guards for their idiotic acts of heroism. As if they pose an actual threat to him.

Oh, look at me, look at me. See this insignia? See it? It means that, as an Autobot, as such a goody two-shoes, I must be brave, courageous and selfless in the face of danger and evil, and fight, regardless of the odds, regardless of the outcome.

Their sickening virtues only aid them in the arrangement of a quicker death. Death pleases Shrapnel. The screams that accompany the dying and the about-to-die are like musical notes to him, like a bounty of delicious silicone treats being offered to his audio receptors.

It is useless. It is futile. Nothing can stop or even disrupt Shrapnel from achieving his objective. He will keep advancing until a cell block comes into view, whether he is intercepted by additional elements of resistance or not.

The–

“Prepare to join your fellow guards in the Allspark!”

Was that...

“You see Shrapnel these creatures have also electricity weapons like you, so maybe you will end like this hopeless piece–”

Shrapnel and his diaclones paused, the dark, rippling wave ceasing its progress in an eerily graceful fashion, choking the corridor with its immense size. Here and there, diaclones chittered, unable to enforce silence. Here and there, diaclones twitched and shifted their weight on agitated limbs, impatience hinting that movement was a more appealing option.

“–Shouldn't have done that.”

A pair of antennae poked up out of the insectile mass. A cranial unit followed. Shrapnel gazed directly at Ransack, his surprise taking him a few moments to respond to his team-mate.

“Ransack, Ransack? Where did you come from, from?”

A silly question, perhaps, for when the Insecticons had slipped in through the breach point created by the Steelhaven's magnificent crash, they had, rather than choosing to assault the penitentiary as an entire unit, separated, with each Insecticon embarking on his own personal adventure to do what he so desired, even though the acquirement of the Monstercons was a priority they ought to have carried out. Shrapnel had not the faintest idea where Ransack had vanished to – Barrage and Venom, either, wherever the Pit they wandered off to – but he still welcomed his team-mate's presence, unexpected as it was.

He squandered no time with further questions of where Ransack had been; they could be asked later if his curiosity proved too potent to suppress. Right now, all the electric Insecticon wanted to do was to generate carnage on an unimaginable level and enjoy himself in the process. Liberating prisoners from their cells would be a fine start to doing just that.

He sunk back into his portion of the Swarm, bolts of electricity streaking past him as he removed himself from sight. “Come along, Ransack, Ransack. We have prisoners to free, free.”

Excited by the prospect of contributing to the chaos infesting the penitentiary – “Yes, yes!” – Shrapnel resumed his course to the nearest cell block, not even bothering to utter another word to Ransack.

Garrus-9 southern wing

The scene was starting to calm slightly after the initial frenzy of activity thou the Terrorcons where still feeding upon their psychotic comrade. The sounds of battle that had once been at the forefront of his hearing was starting to recede, like the tide of some vast ocean going out. Something monumental had happened Bludgeon could feel it in his spark he pointed his sword toward the ground and planted it resting his hands on the pommel.

As he listened he heard Icepick’s voice

“I suppose that makes a good deal of sense. Though if that’s the true reason, I suppose I should warn you—our company is going to be parted, one way or the other. Forgive me…forgive me for whatever it is I might be forced to do to you. Or anyone else in our vicinity."

Bludgeon’s optics faded to near nothing as he thought he’d heard rumours of the six or was it seven Monstercons, he’d always heard names and one that was spoken about in tones more suitable to a covenant of primus meeting. But what was that name ‘Trypticon’ no that giant was in another theatre of combat making autobot numbers decrease. He heard the sorrow in the Monstercon’s voice as he spoke, it was then that he spoke a name softly

“Monstructor”

Like someone raising a dimmer switch Bludgeon’s optics came back to life as he turned to Umbra filled with an urgency at remembered holo archives accessed before the cybertronian exodus.

“He is correct Umbra we don’t want to be anywhere near when he and his brethren unleash their full fury, All the stars in the universe wouldn’t satisfy the need for destruction he has”

Garrus-9--Southern Wing-Cell Blocks

The ravenous leader of the Terrorcons had eagerly sunk his teeth into the armor of his psychopathic follower who had nearly cost them the whole mission. He could not care less what the other Decepticons around him thought about his way of leadership. They were not Terrorcons. They did not need to deal with a remorseless monster who could be controlled only through fear and pain. Cutthroat could not be motivated through words. He could not be reasoned with. And even when reminded of his place, he was quick to forget, his savage nature overriding whatever was left within those deteriorated memory banks of his. Not that Hun-Gurrr himself was much different in the end. Yet, unlike Cutthroat - Hun-Grrr was in control of his lust for destruction. He was able to quench those murderous impulses, storage them and unleash them the moment of his choosing. But here and now, his greed and desire to take his vengeance was. So great that it took a while for him to register that the feast was not providing the result he had set to achieve with his punishment.

Something was amiss. Cutthroat had not made a single movement. He had not screamed.

"Grrrr... stop!" Hun-Grrr suddenly roared, both of his draconian heads rising from Cutthroat's ravaged form in unison, remains of cutting oil coated polymer sinew hanging from his jaws. "He... his mind has shut down! He must learrrn the consequences! Wake him! Wake him up! Make him feel pain!"

Garrus-9--Outside the Aequitas Chamber

The shadows concealed most of the Horrorcon’s face only the yellow light from his optics gave any illumination. Snapdragon was still holding the smaller Streamline in a vice like grip thou it didn’t stop the mech trying to struggle free of his grasp. It was then he started jabbering

“Y…you know…you know there’s…noth…ing in there…ri..ght?"

Snapdragon responded by increasing the force with which he was holding the smaller mech hearing the sound of metal creaking with stress was a beautiful thing. The Horrorcon knew what the smaller mech was doing despite his horrifying reputation he was one of the smarter decepticons. Thou it was then that comms started chattering excitedly Fortress Maximus had been laid low after considerable effort. The horrorcon looked over at Apeface who was grinning broadly he knew he must know, Apeface had access to the same comms as he did.

“Ah slag it all” growled the Horrorcon in irritation as he finally decided to respond to his captive “Well then you won’t mind if we take a look see behind that big door of yours, and if you’re a very good hostage I might tell you the exciting news I just got given” Snapdragon increased his grip once again just out of pure spite at not being there when Fortress Maximus fell. To think two of the most vicious decepticons missed the fight it didn’t sit right with Snapdragon his anger began to rise like a leviathan emerging from the depths of the oil sea’s.

Garrus 9 – Southern Wing

>>Personally, I find myself far more productive when Venom adopts a style of leadership that palces less emphasis on intense micromanagement,<< Kickback transmitted back to Bombshell wryly. >>But I doubt it will last … barring any sort of unforeseen accident or incapacitation.<< His tone made it obvious that a planned accident or incapacitation would be equally welcome. >>In any case, we should make the most of this rare moment of freedom. I look forward to seeing these mines you’ve discovered firsthand, once I’m finished here on the surface.<<

Kickback returned to himself more or less fully then, noting the fall of Fortress Maximus and various other items of interest that his scouts had reported and appending them to the extensive report he was preparing for the archives of Decepticon Intelligence. Then, as one, he and his multitude of diaclones surged forward once more, a living tide of spindly, jointed limbs, bulging optics, and buzzing wings. The Swarm immediately set upon the next set of secure doors it came upon, efficiently slicing it down to so much salvage with their serrated mouthparts. Kickback wondered what sort of interesting delicacies this little corner of the prison would provide.

* * * * * *

Wildfly kicked a bit of masonry that had been knocked loose from the wall—or maybe the ceiling---further down the hall through which they had been trudging for what felt like vorns. It skittered down across the floor and vanished into a side room before its clattering silenced. He looked over to Slog, frowning, and said, “Do you think this thing knows where it’s going? I mean, I’m all for divine intervention, or whatever this is, but it seems like we’ve just been going down random halls and—“

He stopped suddenly as his audio receptors detected something … odd. Something that didn’t sound like battle, exactly. Wildfly couldn’t have guessed exactly what it was, at first. Kind of a ripping-tearing-shrieking-hissing kind of sound. Like metal being shredded and crushed in the mostly violently physical kinds of ways. Their guide seemed to hear it, too, and hesitated, the little twitchy things on top of its head doing more agitated twitching as it grappled with indecision.

Both Wildfly and the strange robot flinched visibly when the corridor was filled with a spark-shuddering roar of primordial rage.

“Maybe we should pick a different direction,” the Monstercon suggested to the twitchy thing. It responded by cocking its head at him again, then abruptly kicking off the ground and leaping several dozen meters further down the hall in a single movement almost too quick for the otpic to follow.

“… maybe we should pick a different guide?” Wildfly muttered, casting a hopeful faceplate in Slog’s direction.