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PART 116

Camshaft placed a translucent hand on Offroad’s head. The Stunticon imposter instinctively recoiled at his touch. A cold chill travelled from the base of his neck all the way down to the last rung on his spinal assembly.
“You’re taking too long to die!” laughed the evil apparition.
“Camshaft... you’re real...?”
“Of course I’m real! The portal to the Allspark is wide open, welcoming you... but you won’t cross over! So I figured hey, since the door’s cracked, why don’t I slide on through and pay my old pal Sunstreaker a visit? But first, “Offroad”, I want you to see what happened long ago.”

CHAAR. 1 MILLION YEARS AGO.
The convoy consisting of fifty Autobots came to a halt before a canyon of ruined structures rusting under blood red skies. Camshaft hovered out of the building farthest from them and flashed his headlights.
“All clear! No snipers,” he radioed. “The Decepti-creeps are waiting for us just outside the Hall of Judgement. As agreed upon, Onslaught and his goons have Magnificus in an Energon restraint, ready to hand him over.”
“Glorious,” acknowledged Delta Magnus. “Autobots... roll forth!”
Road Rage accelerated to the front of the procession, matching Magnus’ speed as they rumbled past endless rows of crumbling constructs.
“I would strongly advise caution, Magnus. If ever there was a sector ripe for ambush, this is it.”
“I have complete confidence in our scout’s abilities,” Delta Magnus replied. “Nothing escapes his notice.”
Ahead of them, Four figures stand on the steps of the Hall of Judgement—Onslaught, Brawl, Blast Off, and Vortex. At the bottom of the stairs, Magnificus kneels before the oncoming Autobot convoy. At Delta Magnus’ command, fifty Autobots transform at once—but it was not the warden who approached the deposed Decepticon commander, it was a Cybertronian ambassador named Crosscut.
“Magnificus of Mebion,” he sniffed. “Undone by your own underlings, I see. Perhaps you should have stayed on your home planet instead of involving yourself in Cybertronian affairs.”
“I was built on Cybertron, you pitiful politician!” Magnificus spat defiantly. “And I will die for Cybertron if that is Primus’ will!”
“May Primus have mercy upon your Spark, but it shall be the will of the citizenry that will see you rendered into slag!” the ambassador decreed, before turning his gaze toward Magnificus’ captors.
“Greetings, Onslaught. Sentinel Prime dispatched me over the Space Bridge to negotiate a peace agreement between your forces and the staff of Trypticon penitentiary.”
“Salutations, ambassador Crosscut. In return for the cessation of all Decepticon military action on Chaar, I request only that we be allowed to leave this planet unscathed.”
“You have my word that no armament atop Trypticon will be used to fire upon your craft as you depart—if that is what you were alluding to. But tell me, Onslaught, how do you intend to get off-planet? Your starship has been destroyed.”
“Ambassador, surely you have been informed that my engineers have successfully reconfigured Beta Supreme back to base mode? We will return to Cybertron in the deceased Guardian’s rocket module.”
“What you propose is monstrous, Onslaught! The citizens of Cybertron will never stand for a fallen hero’s remains to be used as a means of—of escape by the very Decepticons responsible for his demise!”
“Then have Sentinel Prime send over materials for the construction of a new space cruiser!”
“I do not think he will agree to that.”
“Then tell me what he will agree to, ambassador! Sentinel Prime wants an end to this conflict, does he not?”



A few rows behind the representatives, a fog drifting drifting along the periphery of the troops draws Camshaft’s attention away from the negotiations. For a moment, the fog seems to solidify, taking the form of someone famous before drifting away again. The scout could hardly believe his optic sensors.
“Wheeljack... here?” he thought.
Wheeljack was widely known for inventing new weapons and gadgets. In fact, the inventor had recently engineered new alt-modes for Grimlock’s unit, which they in turn, used to decimate Megatron’s forces in Kalis—turning the tide of the war. If Wheeljack was setting up something to capture Onslaught’s crew, he didn’t want to spoil the surprise by alarming anyone. Still, he needed to investigate to ensure that what he saw wasn’t an enemy agent setting a trap.
He slipped away silently, stopping at the very spot where he saw the fog take form. The mystery mech had left an object there. It was small, green, disc-shaped... and extremely dangerous.
“Bomb!” yelled Camshaft. “Clear the area! It’s a Nucleon bomb!”
Camshaft transformed and sped towards the nearest structure. No one followed. Bodyguards threw themselves on top of Delta Magnus and Crosscut, hoping to shield them from damage. Several more ran over to the device, attempting to diffuse it while others around them argued that they should try disposing of it instead. The bomb exploded astro-seconds later, leaving only the flickering images of four Combaticons overlooking a field of dead Autobots.
“Holograms,” Camshaft whispered, peeking through a crack in the steel wall of his shelter. “Onslaught and his cronies were never here... just Magnificus.”
Delta Magnus was dead. So was Crosscut. He saw Road Rage—burned black and naked as a protoform—struggle to stand up near their bodies. Then he saw her promptly put down by a beam that sizzled over his right shoulder. He whirled around and found himself staring down the barrel of the shooter’s smoking gun. The mercenary resembled Wheeljack. The two were similar in shape and color, only the mech pointing a pistol at him wore a visor instead of a mouthplate.
“You’re the mech I saw out there in the fog!” Camshaft exclaimed. “The one that planted the bomb!”
“Aye. That was me. But ya got one thing wrong... I am the fog! Name’s Exhaust. I got the power ta change me molecules inta livin’ smoke. But enough about me, lad. I need ta know what yer willin’ ta do ta keep yer brain module inside of it’s cranium casing.”
Camshaft bowed his head. “I’ll do whatever you want me to... anything you want.”
“Softy,” the mercenary sneered, as he shoved a rectangular object into the scout’s hand. “Left the struts out on your model, did they? Here. Take this and deliver it ta Cordon at the prison. And don’t think of tossin’ it away before ya get there. Ya won’t like what’ll happen to ya if ya do.”

(to be continued)

PART 117

The item that Exhaust had given him was mostly dark blue with borders of light gray. There was also an unlit display screen in the middle of it where—strangely enough—the majority of it’s weight seemed to be centered.
Camshaft looked Exhaust straight in the visor and said, “I know who this is. I also know what you’re planning to do... and guess what? I don’t care. Not one bit.”
Exhaust drew back in mock shock, then he let out a chuckle.
“Scared me there for an astro-second, lad. Thought ya might’a decided ta choose death over dishonor—which meant that after scrapping you, I would’a had ta march right back outside ta find another patsy to complete my mission. Hey, nothin’ wrong with lookin’ out for number one,” he shrugged. “It’s just that yer programmin’ seems a little more suited for the mechs I associate with rather than an Autobot.”
“I’ve got a special ability just like you,” Camshaft replied. “But the difference is I can’t control mine. Every so often I get shunted to this dimension that I call the “Shattered Glass Universe.” It’s a broken, twisted mirror image of this reality where the Autobots don’t have morals and the ‘Cons are the ones who are too hero-programmed to quit.”
“Yeah?” smirked Exhaust. “And what d’ya tell your friends about your sudden disappearances?” he inquired. Disbelieving, but clearly enjoying the concept.
“No one notices. It all happens in a flash. If I spend a stellar-cycle here, I also spend a stellar-cycle there—and not a moment passes in either place from the instant I disappear to the time I return. So every one vorn for you is like two for me.”
“Blazes! Bet’cha learned a lot seein’ things from two different perspectives, though.”
“Yeah. I learned to make self-preservation my primary function. I don’t give a scrap about who wins this war. Every mech who’s decent in this dimension has a doppelgänger on the other side of the glass who’s a bully or a sadist—and vice versa. Heroic Autobot, evil Decepticon... it’s all subjective to me now.”
“Fact or fiction, that’s great stuff. You should record a data track on this little “Shattered Glass” getaway of yours after the war... if ya survive, that is. Now hover along, lad.” Exhaust said, slapping Camshaft on the shoulder. “My accounts don’t get filled if my contracts go unfulfilled.”



The twenty sentries stationed in front of Trypticon prison closed ranks as Camshaft approached. DK-2 motioned for the scout to stop.
“Halt,” he ordered. “Cordon would have words with you.”
Camshaft transformed, holding aloft the item that Exhaust had thrust upon him. “Yes! I need to see Cordon right away! I have something for him! And I have terrible news! The others... I mean it was horrible! They—“
The guards separated and the heavy doors of the prison parted. Cordon emerged from within wearing a scowl on his faceplate.
“Save your lies!” the accidental warden shouted. “The traveler foretold of your treachery!”
Camshaft was genuinely confused. “The traveler...? You mean one of the ‘Bots that arrived over the Bridge? How did—I mean... what? I have no idea what he’s talking about!”
“Enough! Seize him!” ordered Cordon. “I only wish that I had been able to hail Delta Magnus in order to alert him, but some sort of interference over the airwaves hampered my efforts.”
Camshaft dropped the object he had been holding as the guards approached. The faux display screen on it popped open as it struck the ground, releasing six discs in rapid succession. The discs enlarged as they transformed into Decepticons Frenzy, Enemy, Buzzsaw, Garboil, Ravage and Howlback.
Frenzy was the first to strike, incapacitating the sentries with a sonic attack. Next, Ravage and Howlback charged into the mob of malfunctioning mechanoids, dragged down two of their strongest, and then viciously tore them to pieces.
The avian Decepticons struck from above in deadly tandem. First, Buzzsaw disarmed and dismembered their targets using his beak, then Garboil finished them off with twin phonon maser bursts. Meanwhile, Enemy garbled the guard’s voices, making any attempt at an organized offense impossible.
The device that concealed the six Decepticons prior to the attack changed form and waded through the mayhem with his weapon primed for one individual in particular.
Pinned under an offlined guard, Cordon’s optics flared as the assassin approached him.
“Target acquired,” droned Soundwave, as he squeezed the trigger. “And eliminated.”
Suddenly, an energy barrier appeared between the two Transformers, absorbing the blast.
“I’d forgotten that I possessed that ability.” Cordon said, finding the strength to free himself. “A result of a nagging glitch that causes deletion of data from my memory banks. An auspicious moment for me... one unbelievably unfortunate turn of events for you!”
Blue pebbles peppered Cordon’s side of the force field as he peeled off back into the prison in alt-form. The doors slammed shut behind him. His impromptu energy barrier dissipated. The last of his guards lay deactivated, with the silent promise of more lively ones to come upon his return.
Camshaft sidled up to Soundwave. “Um, you know he’s gonna come back with more ‘Bots and kill us, right?”
“Affirmative,” replied Soundwave. “Solution: proceed with mission objective. Access prison. Free inmates. Bolster forces.”
“Good plan,” nodded Camshaft. “Just one thing, pal... how are you gonna accomplish it? He locked us out!”
“He’s right, Boss.” frowned Frenzy. “That door’s pretty thick. You think the new mech can bash through it?”
“Affirmative. Rumble eject. Operation: Demolition.”

(to be continued)

PART 118

Rumble pounded on the doors of the prison until the magna-seal joining the two halves together separated. Then he rammed his pile drivers into the crumpled door on his right, causing it to collapse inward. The heavy steel slab landed with a resounding thud, and Rumble was greeted with an outpouring of energy discharges. The diminutive demolitions expert ran for his life with pile drivers swinging on both sides like pendulums.
“Abort mission!” he shouted. “There’s too many of ‘em, Soundwave! Cordon’s got every screw in da joint comin’ down on us!”
Soundwave crouched behind the remaining door. Errant energy pulses assaulted it from the other side as the sentries producing them drew near.
“Howlback, advance.” he ordered. “Operation: Detonation.”
Howlback streaked headlong into the prison’s fiery maw without hesitation. When the intense fusillade flowing from it failed to hurl any of her parts back out, Camshaft’s curiosity was piqued. He crept closer and peeked inside... and what he witnessed was so magnificent that it took a moment for his optic sensors to properly adjust. Howlback’s feedbacker shield was absorbing the sentries’ energy discharges and storing them in a luminescent bubble around her. Soon, the bubble grew so big that the walls surrounding it began to buckle. Camshaft shrank away. He had an inkling of what was about to happen next, and decided to seek cover in case his assumption was correct.
Howlback’s bubble burst as Camshaft turned to flee, releasing the energies held hostage within, and rocking the prison to it’s very foundation.
Soundwave stood up amidst the smoke billowing out of the entrance, a steady stream of text scrolling across his chest window.
“Communication shields offline,” he droned. “Accessing main computer. Opening containment cells. Disabling mode locks.”
Emergency beacons flashed on the fallen guard’s forearms. The reinforcements that came to avenge them arrived with shouts of pain and fear already pouring through their comms. Their comrades were under siege in every single cell block. They paused, unsure of the more urgent threat to respond to, and a moment later a swarm of angry inmates overtook them from the rear.
Convicts possessing of beast modes ripped into the jailers with jaws and claws. Those that didn’t, attacked with literally anything and everything that could be used as a weapon. Makeshift energo shivs penetrated hard armor plates to seek out soft circuits, and blunt objects were used to bash in cranial casings.The guards fought valiantly, but were quickly overwhelmed by the dregs of over a dozen colonies.
Several of the sentries alt-formed and fled, only to be intercepted by Onslaught’s advancing forces a few kliks away. Those deserters were quickly destroyed—Cordon himself among them, apparently having forgotten all about his duty to defend the prison.
It was not long after Cordon’s destruction that Trypticon penitentiary finally fell to the Decepticons.



After the uprising, the inmates—rogue Autobots, Decepticons, and non-aligned alike—were all invited to join Onslaught’s cause. Those that declined were executed and used as parts to repair others who were damaged in battle. Amongst the condemned, Offroad stood the only outlier solely because his infamy preceded him. After a severe beating that left the serial killer covered in dents, he was hauled into Trypticon’s command center by two Combaticons and forced down to the floor plates.
“Onslaught this fool refuses to pledge fealty,” reported Brawl, in his fast talking southern Blaster City accent. “We found ‘im in the mess hall so over-energized on Engex that he was fightin’ his own fellow inmates!”
“Lemme take ‘im for a ride over the prison,” suggested Vortex. “I promise ta bring him back in more than one piece.”
Onslaught placed his rifle barrel under Offroad’s chin and raised the offender’s head.
“No, no, Vortex... we’ll have none of that,” he replied. “I recognize this one from the news feeds. You were right to bring him before me... he is the infamous Speedway Killer of Caminus.”
“Yeah that’s him,” replied Brawl. “His ugly mug’s plastered over every monitor from here to Mebion. What d’ya want us to do with ‘im?”
“This diode damaged dimwit swears he’s an Autobot,” chuckled Vortex. “He says that he—get this—despises us!”
“Hmm,” Onslaught thought aloud, tapping the tip of his mouthplate. “This criminal may have been forced to switch factions whilst incarcerated. Decepticon convicts have their own twisted code of conduct, and do not look kindly upon the killers of fembots and protoforms. I suspect that he has pledged allegiance to one of the Autobot gangs as a matter of survival.”
“Negative on that,” Brawl replied. “Motormaster’s mechs have already switched sides.”
“Full-Tilt and Wipe-Out’s crew joined up too,” added Vortex. “This NUT’s not down with anyone. I checked.”
“Lock him up,” ordered Onslaught. “Let him sober up in a cell. We’ll ask him to join our cause again later... after he starts to runs dry.”
Offroad was hoisted to his feet by his Combaticon captors and marched out. Onslaught’s comm lit up a few astro-minutes after they departed.
“Attention Onslaught,” radioed Soundwave. “Incoming halo-transmission from Lord Megatron. Report to the communications tower at once.”
“Ah. I assume Megatron wishes to congratulate me on my victory?”
“... Affirmative.”

(to be continued)

PART 119

Onslaught caught a glimpse of something lurking in the space above the power conduits that spanned the ceiling. Soundwave seemed oblivious to the creature’s presence as he stood with his back turned, staring down at a communications console.
“Vermin in all probability,” deduced Onslaught. “If it is beneath a spymaster’s notice.”
Soundwave pushed a button on the console and Megatron’s holographic image sprung from a projector in the center of the room.
“Congratulations, Onslaught.” the Decepticon leader rasped, from a million light years away. “You have accomplished in a mere quartrex what Magnificus could not in an entire stellar cycle.”
“Thank you, Lord Megatron. Magnificus’ refusal to deal with third parties served only to delay our inevitable victory. The services provided by the mercenary, Exhaust, as well as the holo-matter projector I purchased from a munitions dealer were well worth the price. Now that Trypticon is mine, I intend to use the Constructicons formerly incarcerated here to transform this facility into a Titan. One so massive that Omega Supreme would appear as a defenseless Mini-bot before it’s might!”
The corners of Megatron’s mouth curved upward as he visualized the aftermath of such an event within his mind. He imagined himself sitting on a throne in the open air surrounded by his elite… the head of Omega Supreme functioning as his footrest while an entire city burned behind them.
Then… the future ruler’s cerebral circuits snapped back to cold reality.
“And how would you fuel such a beast, Onslaught?” he pressed. “Much less control it? Even the Guardians who serve Sentinel Prime only do so because of some ridiculous vow to obey whomever holds the Matrix. No… the risk of losing control of this proposed Titan is too great. I cannot give you permission to build it.”
“Megatron—“
“Begin sending my new recruits over the Space Bridge to Kaon in exactly eight thousand astro-seconds, then report to Shockwave for further instructions.”
Onslaught shook his head slowly. “You misunderstand, Megatron. It was I who liberated the inmates within this penitentiary. They in turn, have sworn fealty to me. They are my army. I am the sovereign ruler of Chaar, and I present myself to you as an ally, not as an underling.”
Megatron’s ruby red optics locked on to him like a laser. “An… ally?” he fumed. “You dare!? Trypticon is mine along with everything in it,” he railed. “Including you! Soundwave…! Deal with him!”
The communications officer whirled on Onslaught with his concussion blaster, but the upstart ruler’s reflexes were much faster. The sonic beam he fired from his rifle bore a sizable hole through Soundwave’s chest, shattering him instantly.
Onslaught would have been pleased with the outcome if he wasn’t so perplexed about how it came to be.
“The target has been completely obliterated! That’s… impossible!”
“Incorrect,” replied a rectangular device sitting atop a console on the far side of the room. “Pattern of holo-matter dispersal consistent with sonic impact.”
“Ah! There you are, Soundwave… the real you!” Onslaught exclaimed, putting the talkative piece of hardware in his sights. “I’m disappointed. Given your reputation, I considered you to be a master of alt-mode subterfuge, but it appears that your compulsion to display your intellect—or lack thereof—has overridden your self-preservation programming.”
Twin phonon masers flashed from above the conduits, flaying open the armor on Onslaught’s back. The strategist swung in a semicircle to face his unseen assailant and was struck with a cacophony that put him—for the first time in his function cycle—in a state of sheer panic.
Inexplicably, a flood of calls attempted to flow through his communicator at once—
“-the inmates are attacking!”
“-Blast-Off is down!”
“-we’re trapped! No way out!”
“-Commander, come in! What are your orders?”
The sound of two oncoming multi-track missiles drowned out Onslaught’s comm, and then sent his parts flying from the orange fireball that exploded out of their shells. A sitrep generated by his battle computer flashed onto his visor as he fell—
2 hostiles
2 attack angles
Identities unknown
Damage critical
Soundwave changed form and loomed over the heavily damaged Combaticon. Garboil swooped down from his sniper’s nest and landed on Soundwave’s shoulder. Howlback slinked in from the hall missing two rear-mounted missiles.
Hostiles identified—
Garboil, Howlback
<Sub-group: Cobalt Sentries. Function: Secret police>
Stasis lock imminent
“You… you used my own device against me!” glitched Onslaught.
Soundwave replied by replaying a spliced and edited comment Onslaught made earlier.
“-the holo-matter projector—skzzt—well worth the price.”
“Enough taunting! What fate awaits me and my followers?” Onslaught demanded.
“Spark removal,” Soundwave droned in his own voice. “Then storage.”
“Where?”
“Here.”




The prison had quieted somewhat since the final round of executions had been carried out. That is until moments ago, for reasons unbeknownst to Camshaft, the fighting had begun anew. This time it was Decepticon against Decepticon.
“These crazy ‘Cons are turning on each other like Turboworms in a grease pit,” he observed. “It’s high time I ended our little association and got off-planet. I need a ship.”

(to be continued)

PART 120

A little more than a quarttrex ago, Beta Supreme was the only thing standing between Trypticon prison and the Decepticons laying siege to it. The mighty Guardian drove the invaders back. Then he lumbered steadily toward their spacecraft, intent on demolishing it, along with the rest of the soldiers seeking refuge within it’s confines.
Fate would have other plans.
Beta Supreme fell mega-miles away from his target, first staggered, then hammered mercilessly to the ground by the ship’s long-range fusion cannons. The Decepticons’ victory however, was extremely short-lived. Their ship’s fusion reactor—pushed well beyond it’s limits—exploded shortly thereafter, forcing them to search for a new base of operations.
The displaced Decepticons ultimately found it in the body of Beta Supreme after another failed campaign to take the prison left the survivors scurrying to find a defensive position to fend off their pursuers. Under Magnificus’ orders, a ambitious Constructicon named Scrapper reconfigured the fallen Guardian back into a functional defense base.
A dead defense base.
Magnificus had already resigned himself to defeat—much to the chagrin of his subordinates—and planned to withdraw his troops from Chaar aboard the ghoulish construct’s rocket module. The disgraced commander was overthrown in the astro-minutes before lift off, and his forces moved past two devastating losses to finally achieve their objective under bold new leadership.
Now… with the penitentiary taken, and Trypticon’s twin Space Bridges providing instantaneous intergalactic transportation to Kaon, the Decepticons have abandoned their sparkless spacecraft to the scavengers lurking amidst the ruins…



Camshaft kept his neutron blaster at the ready as he searched every corpse-gray compartment in Beta Supreme’s rocket module. The silence, coupled with the stale air, made him feel as if he were creeping through a mausoleum—because in a sense, he was.
“No ‘Cons!” Camshaft crowed, as he reached the cockpit.
He holstered his blaster inside his right thigh and shined a fingertip flashlight over the controls, because everything—from the ship’s seats to the ceiling—was shrouded in smoke.
“Ssscrap,” he groaned.
A faceplate formed in the cloud.
“Not happy ta see me, I reckon?” smirked the merc.
“Hello, Exhaust.”
“Aye. You’re a slick one a’right. Lost track of ya during the battle. Figured you’d turn up here after the tale you told.”
“Oh yeah, the self-preservation thing… me and my big mouthplate!”
“I’m not here ta stop ya from headin’ home, lad. I’m here ta deliver a message. You’ve been conscripted. Soundwave’s your superior. Make sure you answer when he calls, or you’ll be seein’ my foggy face again. Don’t expect for your Spark chamber to hold much light after that.”



“Aaannd that’s the story of how I became Soundwave’s most successful spy.”
The interior of a dead Guardian morphs into Doctor Archeville’s lab as Camshaft’s words reverberate inside Offroad’s head. The Stunticon mole sat motionless in the spot where Motormaster impaled him—stinking of singed circuitry and evaporated Energon.
“Ya mean that’s the story of how you became that Decepti-creep’s biggest minion!” Offroad shot back. “Shame I was dragged outta stasis too late in the timeline ta warn Prime about your sorry tailpipe.”
“Good news,” the spirit whispered, swirling around him. “You’ll have another chance to fail soon.”
“What…? What are you talking about?”
“Optimus Prime is here. Along with two of the mechs that enabled Sunstreaker to be such a murdering piece of scrap for millennia. They just rolled in. Now let’s have some fun.”

(to be continued)

PART 121

“Guh-Ghost!” stammered Sideswipe.
His servomechanisms seized as he beheld the terror in the tunnel bearing down on him. The torso of an angry apparition sat behind Offroad’s head like translucent alt-mode kibble, controlling his body with streams of supernatural energy attached to each limb. When Sideswipe finally lifted his gun, the photon flare he fired streaked down the length of an empty corridor, briefly illuminating each entranceway it passed.
The ghost was gone.
Prowl screeched into the corridor behind Sideswipe and quickly changed form into a shooting stance. “All clear!” he shouted. “What happened?” he asked the visibly shaken Autobot warrior. “Who were you shooting at?”
“It was Cuh-Camshaft! Riding on the back of a dead ‘Con!”
“Camshaft was terminated by your brother.”
“I know! Look around you,” Sideswipe said, pointing at the floor and wall plates. “This place was built using parts from the Omnibot’s ship! Camshaft basically died here! He probably came back from the Allspark to get revenge on Sunstreaker for killing him!”
Prowl shook his head. “Nonsense. Your logic center must be on the fritz.” he dismissed, flipping up the comm in his forearm. “Prime. Autobots. We’ve got one known hostile. Sideswipe says it’s Camshaft,” he sighed.
“We chasin’ ghosts now?” Blaster radioed, from another part of the facility. “I thought Camshaft’s body was in storage back at the Ark?”
“That’s affirmative,” answered Prowl.
“Still… be cautious, Autobots.” warned Optimus. “Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Copy,” Prowl replied reflexively. Like Sideswipe, his attention was on his immediate surroundings. There was something in the air that his sensors couldn’t analyze… something eerie.
“You feel that?”
“Yeah,” answered Sideswipe, looking around nervously. “The floors rumbling. I suggest we—“
“Move!” they shouted in unison.
The duo leaped in two different directions as Offroad burst between them in alt-mode. The force field that enabled the Stunticon to turn a steel wall into scrap metal shut down as he began to transform.
“Light him up!” yelled Prowl.
Moving as one, the two Autobots reunited and lit into their target with acid rounds and photon flares. Flames could be seen aglow through perforated chest plates as their unyielding, possessed enemy charged at them across the rubble strewn floor. Charred, oversized hands reached out for a pair of shiny throats, and once in their grasp, smashed the heads attached to them together repeatedly. Then the brute tossed the bodies of the sensor-scrambled Autobots aside as if they were constructed from the lightest of alloys.
“Now… which one to destroy first?” Offroad cackled in Camshaft’s voice. “The soldier who kept his vocoder silent about his brother’s war crimes? Or his superior who would’ve turned a blind optic to it all if he knew anyway?”

(to be continued)

PART 122

“SHEEAAAGH!”
The ion bolt that entered Offroad’s back and exited his breast plate sent the entity possessing him screaming into the shadows. Now bereft of an animating force, the Stunticon’s body fell to the floor broken and lifeless. Optimus Prime advanced toward the graying husk cautiously, letting the Ion rifle in his hand continue to lead the way. The sword hilt imbedded in the corpse’s chest shined like a blue beacon, attracting Optimus’ steel frame like a magnet. The Autobot leader held the cadaver down with one foot and effortlessly unsheathed the blade from it’s messy internals.
“There’s something about this sword,” he said, after a cursory examination. “I can almost feel a—“
“Aaannd it looks like Prowl’s wrong again!” interrupted Sideswipe. “Ghosts do exist!”
Prowl sat up and rubbed his dented head. “When was I wrong the first time?” he wondered. However, “there must be some explanation,” are the words he chose to form in his vocal processor.
“Other than what we all just witnessed NOT being a disembodied Spark?” Skids questioned, from the other end of the corridor.
Prowl could see that the rest of their party—Ironhide, Blaster, Smokescreen, and Tracks—trailed the theoretician as he drew near.
“The portal to the afterlife is apparently a two way street,” continued Skids. “Fascinating!”
“Fascinated ain’t what I’m feelin’ right now folks,” breathed Blaster.
“I concur,” replied Tracks. “Creeped out is more like it.”
Optimus Prime extended a hand and helped Prowl to his feet.
“Prowl, how much did you know about Camshaft? He was a scout under my command for eons, yet I can’t seem to recall a single word from his tech specs file.”
“That’s because he doesn’t have one, Prime. None of the Omnibots did… and that always bothered me.”
Skids raised his hand meekly. “My fault, I’m afraid."
"How so, Skids?" inquired Optimus Prime.
"While the Omnibots were undergoing testing in Nova Cronum a stellar-cycle after their activation, all three subjects claimed to have been shunted away to other dimensions—despite evidence to the contrary stating they hadn’t moved a micron. Their chronometers however, bolstered their bizarre claims by indicating that two stellar-cycles had indeed passed for each of them instead of one.”
“Which was strange because—as you said—they’d only been activated a stellar-cycle ago,” reasoned Prowl.
Skids shook his finger. “Precisely. When asked to describe their experiences, Overdrive told a tale of a unified Cybertron… a world where both Autobots and Decepticons stood united under Shockwave’s leadership.”
“Yeah, united in one big Petri dish I bet.” smirked Smokescreen.
“My colleagues and I jokingly referred to Overdrive’s version of Shockwave as “Dreamwave.” It was a little name we came up with after taking into account that particular iteration’s history, accomplishments, and possible motivations for—“
“Skids,” interrupted Optimus. “Just the facts, please.”
“Ah, yes, um Downshift spoke of a Cybertron where the war had rendered our home completely uninhabitable. Shortly after his appearance in that universe, Downshift was assigned to a Command Hub orbiting the planet Opulus... but secretly he longed to be transferred to another space station called Kimia—a weapons research facility where he had aspirations of becoming it’s head of security.”
“So the Omnibots were dimension-hoppers,” perceived Optimus Prime. “I see that you’ve saved the best for last.”
“Or the worst, dependin’ on how you look at it.” interjected Ironhide.
“What was Camshaft’s story?” Optimus inquired.
“Camshaft… refused to relate what happened to him on his dimensional journey. He would only say that the experience was too traumatic for him to relive.”
“We’re wasting time!” snapped Sideswipe. “Listen, standing around discussing a buncha dead ‘Bots isn’t gonna help us capture my brother! I’m outta here!”
With that, the rash Autobot alt-formed and accelerated through the hole Offroad created, leaving his comrades in a cloud of confusion.
Smokescreen lifted his brow. “Suddenly Sideswipe knows where Sunstreaker is?”
“Prowl, stay behind and secure this facility.” ordered Optimus Prime. “The rest of you transform and roll out!”

(to be continued)

PART 123

On a busy highway, a passing swarm of Insecticons leaves behind a hundred half-eaten vehicles and some very distraught drivers. For those approaching this curious scene, they find that the road ahead has been converted into four columns of monolithic congestion.
“Traffic jam,” radioed Breakdown. “I suggest we reverse and take the next exit, Motormaster.”
“Negative. Stay on course. My tracker says that Sunstreaker passed through here not too long ago.”
B-but Boss…! The place is like a huge parking lot! We shouldn’t get too close to the flesh creatures… one of them might discover that we’re not really from Earth!”
“Who cares!? Stop your whining, Breakdown! If the meat bags are clogging the road with their rattletraps, then we’ll cut a path straight through ‘em! Stunticons, accelerate!”
Cars flew up in the air on both sides of Motormaster as he brutally barreled his way through the two center lanes of traffic. Wildrider gleefully followed behind him, weaving from one side of the road to the other like a snake, colliding with as many cars as he could. Dead End simply picked a lane and punched through, ramming everything en route to the very end with an air of indifference. Drag Strip—driven by a compulsion to come out on top in any competition—easily overtook the others by using his low-slung alt-form to slice under overturned wrecks like a spatula.
“I won!”
“Quiet, Drag Strip!” shouted Motormaster. “I’m trying to hail Breakdown. I don’t see him in my rear view.”
“Breakdown is having a… breakdown,” radioed Dead End.
“What is his malfunction? demanded Motormaster. “Did his force field fail? Is he damaged?”
“No… he’s having a mental breakdown. See for yourself.”
Motormaster used his tracking device to pinpoint the scout’s approximate location, then he enhanced the images in that area. Nearly a mile behind is where he spotted him, swerving around heaps of mangled metal and broken bodies… horrified at the stares he was receiving from the survivors.
Dead End provided the audio.
“What are you all gawking at!? I’m just a car!” Breakdown could be heard screaming. “Keep your optical sensors to yourself!”

(to be continued)

PART 124

NEW MEXICO

The abandoned auto assembly plant’s white walls stood in stark contrast to the rusted, half-raised shutter gate at it’s entrance. Sunstreaker slowed up as he sliced under it and Tigertrack fearlessly zoomed in after him. The pair transformed facing each other, servos set for static.
“Why’d you drive here?” pressed Tigertrack. “What is this place?”
The sun shined down on Sunstreaker through a hole in the roof as he took center stage. His voice resounded off rows of dirty windows as he began to speak.
“It’s an arena. The automatons around us are our audience… and we’re the main event.”
Tigertrack shook his head. “I don’t wanna fight you, Sunstreaker…”
“But you will if you have to—blah blah blah.”
“Those Decepticons we encountered are probably out hunting for us, you know that right? We should keep moving until we can meet up with Prime. That would be the smart thing to do.”
“I came out here to kill ‘Cons Tigertrack, not hide out and call for help. Now if I were you, I would put it in reverse and report back to Prime that you never saw me.”
“Not an option. I’m hauling you in, Sunstreaker. On or offline.”
“Okay hot shot,” shrugged Sunstreaker. “Have it your way. Welcome to warrior school. I’ll use your deactivated body as a decoy to distract some dumb ‘Con after you flunk out.”
“Skip the lessons,” growled Tigertrack. “Let’s shoot straight to the test. I’ll show you I’m a quick study.”
Sunstreaker put his hand on his hip and laughed. ”Not quick enough, apparently. That thing with the big Decepti-goon back at the lab? Clumsiest ambush I ever saw. Bumblebee could’a done better. Stick to monitoring the halls, Tigertrack, you’re not built for war.”
That last barb struck a nerve sensor in Tigertrack. It stripped away the calm demeanor from the sentry once described by his peers as a “cool, yet ferocious hunter.” As a result, Tigetrack’s opening move was pure overkill—and whether it was meant to impress his opponent or obliterate him was a mystery even to himself. The missile he let fly left his shoulder launcher a split-second before it could be properly guided by his targeting system. Sunstreaker sidestepped the screaming projectile with irritating ease.
“First mistake,” Sunstreaker smirked, ignoring the explosion behind him. “You let me get in your CPU.”
Tigertrack raised his rifle. Sunstreaker ducked into alt-mode and let the errant shot sizzle over his superchargers.
“You missed! That’s two.”
Sunstreaker surged for the far end of the facility, leaving a loose part clattering behind him.
Tigertrack swung around and took aim. “Falling apart, you rust bucket!?” he screamed through gritted teeth. “Then let me help you rest in pieces!”
Before the sentry could squeeze the trigger, a violent explosion thrust him forward and planted his faceplate in the concrete.
Sunstreaker reverted back to robot-mode without one of the two rockets that capped both shoulders.
“That piece you thought fell off me? It was a ground-to-air rocket that I set off as soon as you turned your back. Oldest trick on the ‘Net! I can’t believe you fell for that one! That’s three!”
Tigertrack sprang to his feet. Three hundred electron bursts blew the barrel off his rifle before he had a chance to raise it.
“You gotta be faster on the draw, Sentry-bot. That’s four.”
Sunstreaker dropped his gun-arm. “Y’know, I could just stand here and take potshots at you until you were a burnt out wreck… but where’s the fun in that?” he grinned.
Sunstreaker’s gun retracted and a circular buzzsaw popped out to take it’s place.
Tigertrack’s thigh panels slid downward to reveal twin vibroblades that gleamed like Turbofox fangs.
“You wanna finish this up close, huh fugitive?” he dared, detaching the curved blades. “Let’s go!”
The two combatants charged at each other as the walls around them burst inward. The black truck that swept Sunstreaker from sight tugged on the inertia of Tigertrack’s body as it thundered past. In a whirl of moving parts, Motormaster transformed with his fists held high and brought them down heavily over Sunstreaker’s head. His Stunticons followed suit, first surrounding Tigertrack in their vehicular modes and then drowning him in a downpour of swiftly forming fists and feet.
Sunstreaker rolled over on his back in a bed of bricks, optics blinking like broken monitors. Motormaster shoved the tip of his cyclone rifle into the Autobot warrior’s mouth.
“Mmf! Not the face, okay!?”

(to be continued)

PART 125

Sunstreaker severed the barrel of Motormaster’s rifle in one clean arc of his buzzsaw hand.The full-sized cyclone that sprang from the sawed-off weapon sent Motormaster swirling towards the ceiling while Sunstreaker backspinned beneath him. The artificially generated circular winds expanded exponentially, swallowing the four fleeing Stunticons into a roaring mix of machinery, girders, glass, and rocky debris. The cyclone quickly reached it’s crescendo soon after, exploding with a sonic boom that leveled the structure in which it was spawned.
Silence followed the sudden dispersal of the storm. A giant cloud hung over the metal bodies mixed into the debris. A pair of beady yellow optics on a red faceplate flickered to life, and Breakdown rose from the rubble in a state of paranoia.
“That was loud!” he hissed. “Somebody had to have heard that! Someone… somewhere… and now we’re being watched! I just know it!”
“Breakdown,” Motormaster mumbled from beneath the mound being trodden by the paranoid misfit. “Shut up and give me a hand!”
Breakdown grasped the gray hand protruding from the wreckage and pulled his superior into a sitting position. Motormaster immediately spied a yellow foot buried in the rubble beside him and dragged it’s owner free. Drag Strip was yanked out into the open air with an accusatory stare on his visor and a sneer on his lips. Wildrider erupted from a scrap pile nearby with the same set of expressions.
“This is your fault, Motormaster!” they pointed and yelled, united in their anger.
Motormaster grabbed them by their necks, but stopped short of knocking their insolent heads together. Six vehicles speeding down the road towards them gave him pause.
“It’s more of those Auto-bozos!” he bellowed. “Stunticons, attack!”
His troops waded free of the debris field and alt-formed as they each reached the asphalt, homing in on select members of the Autobot convoy like heat-seeking missiles.
Drag Strip sped towards Optimus Prime and dutiful Ironhide accelerated to cut the racer off. The collision between the two Transformers sent flaming parts flying into the air. The Autobots kept their current course, believing the lightweight Decepticon destroyed by his foolhardy decision to crash headlong into one of the toughest Cybertronians ever built.
It was Blaster—disguised as a boom box in Tracks’ back window—who witnessed the aftermath. Ironhide had reverted back to robot-mode with several panels severely misaligned. Smoke wafted from in between bent armor plates as he struggled to remain standing.
Drag Strip however, was in pristine condition. The Stunticon drove forward shakily at first, then began to pick up speed as he searched for his next victim. Any victim.
“Holy heterodyne!” exclaimed Blaster. “What’re these creeps hulls made out of?”
“Beats me,” replied Tracks. “But I don’t aim to find out!”
Tracks sprouted wings and tail fins that he used to skim over Breakdown, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision.
Meanwhile, Sideswipe and Wildrider were involved in a game of chicken with neither participant showing any intention of breaking away. Fortunately for Sideswipe, one of Smokescreen’s missiles—fired from the hood of his alt-form—reached Wildrider first, sending him veering off course.
“Sideswipe! Are your circuits scrambled?” radioed Smokescreen. “You almost got yourself totaled!”
“Aw, I was just trying to have some fun!” Sideswipe radioed back.
There would be no such interference in the contest between Optimus Prime and Motormaster. The two faction leaders crashed head on, culminating in a sonic boom that overturned their subordinates vehicular forms.
Motormaster was the first to stir. He lifted his head and saw his rival sprawled out on the other side of the crater created by their collision. Motormaster grinned from audio receptor to audio receptor as he rose to his feet. Now not only could he claim to be the King of the Road without reservation, but he had also accomplished what Megatron couldn’t in a million years—the destruction of Optimus Prime!
Or so he thought…
The Autobot leader’s optics suddenly flashed on as Motormaster’s shadow crept across his faceplate. A hefty leg sweep brought the self proclaimed King of the Road down to his level. An Ion rifle aimed at his head threatened to remove his crown entirely.
Optimus Prime assessed the battle raging around him while computing how much of an advantage would actually be gained by simply pulling the trigger. He had learned over the course of the war that in certain situations Decepticon commanders were more useful alive than dead.
Blaster leapt spread eagle over Breakdown’s speeding form and landed in a kneeling sniper’s stance. He unloaded a stream of scrambler waves into the Stunticon’s rear end, causing him to fishtail and careen into a collapsed brick wall. After a quick systems reboot, Breakdown threw himself into reverse and sped backwards towards Blaster for round two.
Tracks—still in flying car mode—scored a double-missile direct-hit on Drag Strip. The racer emerged from the flames unscathed in robot form, firing a gravity inducing Gravito-gun that grounded his airborne assailant. Smokescreen cut a path between the two combatants, spewing smoke from his tailpipes that camouflaged the wounded Track’s retreat.
Skids deployed two weapons as he traded shots with a shotgun wielding Wildrider. The Stunticon sought no cover from Skids’ unrelenting liquid nitrogen streams and twin electron blasts. Instead he stood his ground, laughing uncontrollably while pulling the trigger and perforating everything in front of him.
“Motormaster, this madness must end!” decreed Optimus Prime.
He pressed his Ion rifle against Motormaster’s head. “Tell your troops to surrender,” he demanded. “Tell them now!”
Motormaster raised his comm to his mouth. “It’s over,” he radioed. “Turn over your weapons. We lost.”
Breakdown’s hood folded back to reveal a bewildered face as he reverted to robot-mode. “W-what!? B-but we’re winning!” he sputtered.
Drag Strip relinquished his Gravito-gun to Tracks and reluctantly clasped his fingers behind his head.
“Motormaster, you loser!” he screamed as he knelt down. “You ordered us to surrender just because you got your skid plate handed to you!? You should’a allowed yourself to be deactivated with some dignity! I hope these Auto-bums remove your cowardly Spark!”
Wildrider was having none of it. Even with cracked armor and burnt out components, It took the combined efforts of Skids, Blaster, and Smokescreen to wrest away his weapon and force him to his knees.



“Can’t believe we followed this fraud for over a million years,” grumbled Wildrider. “Prime even has that junk pile’s Ionizer sword strapped to his back.”
“He owns him,” sneered Drag Strip. “Like a slaggin’ Headmaster.”
In his mind, Motormaster wasn’t defeated. The Autobots were soft. They’d lock him up in another detention center, he’d do the time, and when the Autobots eventually lost and he was liberated, Prime would pay for this indignity. Everyone would pay.
“Okay, ya got us, Prime.” he sighed. “What now?”
Optimus Prime crossed his arms. “Your futures will depend on how forthcoming the four of you are with the information we need. Where are the two Autobots you were tracking? What happened to them?”
“You mean Sunstreaker and the rando?” smirked Drag Strip. “Tell your tin soldiers to start digging. I’m sure they’ll find something shiny under all that scrap.”
“Sideswipe…”
“Already on it, Prime!” acknowledged Sideswipe, from somewhere amongst the wreckage.
Optimus continued on with his interrogations.
“How many Decepticons were transported to Earth before we shut down Megatron’s Space Bridge? How many of you are currently stationed here on this planet?”
“Close to a hundred,” confessed Breakdown. “Insecticons, mostly.”
Wildrider started laughing again for no apparent reason.
“Decepticon… I fail to see the humor in your current situation,” Optimus Prime cautioned, as he followed the dented and demented Stunticon’s gaze to the point of his fixation.
His optics fell upon Sideswipe’s back.
The Autobot soldier was busy freeing Dead End from the rubble.
“Sideswipe, NO!”
The command came too late. Electricity spread over the five separated Stunticons like lightning. They were being pulled together, twisting and turning into one singular entity.
Blaster stared upwards at the Combiner looming over them. Then he looked over at Sideswipe and asked him with all sincerity—
“Hey man, whose side are you on anyway?”

(to be continued)

PART 126

“MENASOR WILL CRUSH YOU ALL!”
Optimus Prime retreated, barking orders as he transformed into a rolling truck cab bouncing over uneven ground. “Scatter, Autobots! Hit and run until we get an opening!”
Everyone except Blaster followed suit, choosing instead to stand tall in front of the behemoth. He depressed a button on his torso and Ramhorn shot out of him like a rocket. The rhino rammed Menasor squarely in the chest, sending him stumbling backward. The squeeze of a trigger sent a stream of scrambler waves toward his horned head, crashing his systems. The Combiner fell, his back hitting the ground with enough force to create fissures that portions of the demolished auto plant rushed to fill in.
“Yeah!” yelled Blaster. “Betcha wasn’t expectin’ that, huh Bigfoot?”
To his dismay, Menasor quickly separated into four cars and a truck. Then the five vehicles recombined right in front of him into an angry, upright gestalt.
“Move, Blaster!”
Ironhide tackled Blaster out of the way before the giant’s foot flattened him. Smokescreen swerved around that same gargantuan foot seconds later, spewing black smoke. In mere moments, Menasor found himself enveloped in darkness.
“Autobots, this is our chance! Attack!” commanded Optimus Prime.
His troops converged and changed forms behind him, unloading on the black cloud with every weapon available to them. For a full five minutes, ion blasts, electron bursts, photon flares, projectiles, disruptor beams, scrambler waves, and streams of super cooled nitrogen all entered their enemy’s shroud.
Towards the end of the blistering barrage, the Combiner groaned like a leaning Cybertronian structure before falling thunderously to pieces.
“The bigger they are, the harder they fall! Unfortunately for Menasor, that old adage is twice as true on this planet,” joked Optimus Prime.
The Autobots cheered. Optimus waited for them to quiet down before issuing the order to secure their prisoners.
That’s when the sky turned dark.
A swarm of robotic locusts, stag beetles, and boll weevils descended upon the celebrating heroes, eager to munch mass amounts of metal.
“Autobots, attack!” roared Optimus Prime. “Eradicate them! Don’t hold back!”
They didn’t. The Autobots fought ferociously, but for every Insecticon that was shot, burned, or blown up, they literally lost a piece of themselves.
“Death by a thousand bites.” Skids coined it, while electrocuting a Shrapnel clone. In it’s final death throes, the bug flipped over. Skids went in for a closer look. He didn’t know whether to feel elated or horrified to find his missing left hand lodged between the insect’s mandibles.
A locust stripped a panel off of Ironhide’s leg and discovered that he bit off more than he could chew. The Trithyllium steel plate was simply too tough for his mouth parts. The old soldier cursed and snatched the piece back. Then he thrust the jagged edge of the steel plate into the Insecticon’s head, splitting it in two.
Ramhorn gored a boll weevil while being snacked on by a stag beetle. Blaster came to his rescue, bashing the hungry bug to bits with his rifle butt. Afterward, the incensed, half-eaten cassette-bot had to be ordered several times to return to the safety of Blaster’s chest compartment.
Tracks decapitated a Kickback clone with a stag beetle’s broken mandible. Back to back, Blaster used a discarded one he found to stab a Bombshell spawn through the Spark.
“Tracks, these robo-roaches are being directed by a radio signal. I can hear it just like a jam on the top ten!”
“The question is, Blaster, can you duplicate it?”
“Like a pirated song.”
Tracks transformed. “Then let’s go for a ride. Hop in.”
Blaster changed form and flung himself into the passenger seat.
“Where we headed?”
“Home. I think it’s time our new acquaintances met a mutual friend of ours. I believe that they’d get along just fabulously! Wouldn’t you agree, Blaster?”
“I’m witcha Tracks. I’ll make like the Pied Piper while you fly the friendly skies. Let’s book!”



Optimus Prime blasted open the belly of a boll weevil and saw his missing smokestack roll out covered in slime. Disgusted, he waved his Ion rifle from left to right searching for a new target and discovered that there were no more targets. What was left of the Insecticon army was trailing Tracks into the clouds. The rest lay dead and gray on the ground.
Prime surmised that Blaster was aboard, somehow leading the Insecticons away—but he didn’t have time to call Tracks to confirm his suspicion because shouts of alarm began blaring through his communicator. He heard the familiar sound of electricity crackling in the distance… then he witnessed five wrecks recombine into a recurring threat.
“MENASOR MUST LEAVE NO AUTOBOT UNCRUSHED!”

(to be continued)

PART 127

OREGON. 1 HOUR LATER.

“Tracks! We’re losin’ altitude!” exclaimed Blaster.
“I know! I must’ve taken more damage in the fight than I thought! I can’t stay airborne!”
Tracks retracted his wings and hit the ground rolling. The swarm dived down in a twisting, black and purple column after him.
The rocky road made for a rough ride over the tough terrain. Tracks extra-terrestrial shock absorbers are put to the test. One that he fears he may not pass. To him, it felt as if he were being violently shaken apart.
The low-slung corvette skimmed over jagged rocks at speeds in excess of 200 miles per hour, leaving behind long, grating trails of sparks. The wings of the metal monsters pursuing it beat mercilessly as they edged closer. Tracks pushed himself to the limit. Fuel from internal injuries gushed over cracked components, creating plumes of smoke. The navigation system on his dashboard informed him that the Ark was less than three miles away.
“So near yet so far,” he mused.
The lights on Blaster’s radio-form blinked as he sent out a dozen distress calls.
“Faster, Tracks! They’re gainin’ on us!”
“Bail.”
“What?”
“You heard me, Blaster! I said bail out!”
Blaster ejected himself out the passenger side window as the Insecticons swarmed. He was in robot-mode firing his electro-scrambler gun before his feet hit the ground. Insecticons froze and fell away from his friend’s alt-form with every blast.
Many more Insecticons descended upon the duo from the skies, creating a massive mound that neither Autobot was likely to emerge from alive. A greedy locust latched onto Blaster’s back, stealing him away from the mob in an attempt to avoid sharing his meal. The entire swarm flaked off and followed, leaving nothing left of Tracks but his chassis.
“Tracks! Nooo!”
Blaster screamed in anguish as he was carried upwards into the sky. Insecticons nipped at his legs, unable to get a good bite while their meal was in motion. They followed the food doggedly as it flittered left, then right, and then left again. Blaster’s only option was to shoot his abductor, bringing the Insecticon down to the ground and himself with it. The question was would he still be functional to continue fighting the swarm after the fall?
Time to find out.
Blaster angled his rifle over his left shoulder. A stag beetle wrenched it from his hand before he could squeeze the trigger.
His comm blinked urgently. “I suggest that you change form.” Grapple said when Blaster answered. “Now.”
A streaking rocket blew the Insecticon apart just as Blaster completed his transformation. The giant robot fell to the earth as a boom-box, clattering on the rocks below.
Meanwhile, the swarm circled back to the source of the attack—a titan lumbering towards them on the horizon. Grapple stood up on Omega Supreme’s shoulder with his wrist socket still smoking.
“Good shot!” cheered Hoist, from the titan's other shoulder.
“Yes… it was, if I do say so myself.” Grapple replied. “Now it’s Omega’s turn to show these savages how well we rebuilt him!”
The Guardian robot lifted his gun-arm and burned a fiery swath through the attacking Insecticons. The skies hailed flaming hunks of metal.
“It was good planning on Prowl’s part to have the raw materials ready for us when we arrived!” Hoist shouted, over the noise.
“Sixty-three tons of high grade durabillium steel!” Grapple shouted back. “Stripped from the bowels of the Ark!”
Omega Supreme swatted twenty members of the swarm with his other arm. Their dead bodies peppered the ground in pieces.
“It’s incredible how Prowl predicts these things,” continued Hoist.
“Prowl doesn’t do predictions,” corrected Grapple. “He simply didn’t favor Ultra Magnus’ chances of holding Tagan Heights. He knew that we would wind up here on Earth.”
Omega Supreme drew a dozen fleeing Insecticons into his clawed hand with a tractor beam. They exploded in the center of his palm.
The three Insecticons who remained retreated into smoke filled skies.


Hoist motioned towards the field of dead Insecticons. “Shall we?”
“Yes,” Grapple sighed. “Let’s clean up this mess.”
The Guardian lowered Grapple and Hoist to the ground. Once there, they transformed into a crane and a tow truck respectively. Grapple braked hard when he came upon Blaster’s battered alt-form. He lowered his hook and hoisted Blaster up by the handle with the precision of a fine jeweler.
“Can you change form?” the architect inquired.
“Negative.”
“A jammed T-Cog, most likely. Don’t worry, I’ll patch you up.”
Hoist drove up beside them towing Tracks’ remains.
“Oh, man… Tracks!” cried Blaster.
“Tracks was a hero until his last day,” Hoist said. “Though some would say that he was more concerned about his appearance than winning a war, those of us who were true friends to him knew otherwise.”

(to be continued)

PART 128

DEATH VALLEY

Prowl walked through the dark corridors of Doctor Arkeville’s lab with the headlights on his chest set to high beam. Given the circumstances, most Autobots would be too terrified to search the complex without backup. However, Prowl’s brief brush with the supernatural taught him that a disembodied Spark was harmless without a warm body to inhabit. Camshaft’s original host had been destroyed, and the poltergeist—for reasons unknown—chose to dissipate rather than choose another.
“Do you know why Cybertronian steel is stronger than any metal manufactured on this planet?” a voice inquired over the intercom.
Prowl looked around curiously. “Where are you, Arkeville?”
“Far from your location! I made my escape while you and your friends were dealing with your… issues. Now answer the question!”
“It’s stronger because it’s more flexible,” sighed Prowl. “We wouldn’t be able to make facial expressions if our faceplates were constructed out of inferior Earth made steel.”
“That is correct.”
“But that’s basic mecha-biology… every intelligent life form in the universe knows that. You think you’re smart, but you’re out of your league here, Arkeville.”
“Not so! For I have outwitted you!”
“You’re delusional. You may have escaped for now, but I’ll find you again. Teletraan-1 has the ability to interface with any technological device on this planet. There’s nowhere in the world for you to hide.”
“Mmhmm. Tell me, alien, do you feel any different?”
“As a matter of fact, yeah.” Prowl shrugged. “I’m a little stiff. You try going a full round with a dead Decepticon and you tell me how you feel afterwards.”
“Oh, the discomfort you’re experiencing is not due to the damage you sustained in battle. It’s because the gas that I released remotely has transmuted your extraterrestrial alloy into something akin to Earth made steel. Goodbye, alien invader. We shall not see each other again.”
The laboratory exploded.
In 0.5 seconds a six-million year old Autobot strategist was turned into a wad of unrecognizable wreckage. In Prowl’s damaged state, his cerebral circuitry randomly accessed an old memory file and replayed it through his comm.
It was a portion of a prior exchange he had with Optimus Prime.
“—Hnn. Not a banner day for the Autobots.”
“No, it wasn’t.—“

(to be continued)

PART 129

NEW MEXICO

The second battle with Menasor went badly. Smokescreen lay sprawled on the ground, offlined by a kick so powerful that it triggered an involuntary change from alternate mode to robot-mode. Skids was near stasis due to compression damage to his body. He bore Menasor’s giant handprint on his back and along his left side. Ironhide was still conscious, but imbedded in the earth after being stomped on repeatedly until he stopped moving. Sideswipe—not one to be known to ever run from a fight—was nowhere to be found.
Optimus Prime was the last Autobot standing.
The behemoth before him stood twenty stories tall. Optimus Prime fired upon him, scoring direct hits to his head and chest. Menasor merely winced in pain and kept advancing.
“Why won’t you fall!?” the Autobot leader shouted in frustration.
The giant reached down, caught Optimus Prime as he tried to run, and began to crush him.
“Aarrggg…”
“ONE PUNY AUTOBOT CANNOT DEFEAT MENASOR!”
A spinning vibroblade penetrated Menasor’s wrist, seizing the mechanisms within his enormous hand. Apparently, Optimus Prime had an ally that was still functioning somewhere on the ground. He summoned the last of his strength to break free of the monster’s frozen grip. Then he fell fifteen stories to the ground, landing with a sensor-scrambling boom beside Skids.
Tigertrack emerged from in between two piles of wreckage ready to throw his remaining vibroblade. Sunstreaker could be seen behind him, eyeing the weapon in his hand with envy.
“Hey, what’s that thing made of?” inquired Sunstreaker.
“From the same metal as Prime’s matrix. They’re the blades of the legendary Liege Maximo. I took them for safe keeping after the ‘Cons razed the Museum of Cybertronian History.”
“I’m impressed!” Sunstreaker said, giving Tigertrack a fist bump. “Whaddya say we team up to take this big Decepti-dope down? After that, whatever happens, happens. Truce?”
“Truce,” Tigertrack agreed, shifting to alt-mode.
Sunstreaker followed, speeding after him towards Menasor. The duo drove in opposite circles around Menasor’s legs, causing the five minds that comprised him to send conflicting commands to his CPU. After thrashing from right to left repeatedly in failed attempts to catch either antagonist, the giant fell to one knee, taxed and overloaded.
Tigertrack changed back, firing twin electron blasts from a discarded weapon straight into Menasor’s mouth. Retaliation came quickly in the form of a massive projectile flying towards Tigertrack at nearly supersonic speed. The fist—launched from Menasor’s wrist socket—slammed into him with the force of 140 tons, scattering his parts in different directions.
Sunstreaker tracked the pieces as they shot into the air and then back down again. He zeroed in on one part in particular—his fallen frenemy’s detached left leg.
“Your destruction won’t be in vain, Tigertrack!” Sunstreaker yelled, as he transformed and tackled the tumbling limb. With the leg secured within his arms, Sunstreaker then proceeded to feverishly force open its thigh compartment in search of the blade he coveted. Once found, he gripped the gleaming beauty with a firm hand, reared back, and launched the mystical weapon right through the middle of Menasor’s forehead.
The Combiner’s electronic brain burst into flames immediately. His limbs began to convulse, violently trying to tear away from the torso they were connected to until Motormaster finally relented and granted them their freedom. The Stunticon commander retracted the burning head into his own body as he and the others separated.
The Autobot hunters were defeated.
Four beat up cars fell in line behind a truck billowing smoke out of it’s trailer and disappeared down the road.
Sunstreaker was victorious. He raised his fist in the air and shouted—
“They. Can’t. Beat. THE BEST!”
Someone broke into a slow applause behind him. Sunstreaker spun around. It was Sideswipe.

(to be continued)

PART 130

“Where were you, bro?” inquired Sunstreaker. “Don’t tell me you were hiding out from Menasor!”
“Yup, that’s exactly what I was doing. Safe and sound. You know why? Because I really don’t give a scrap who wins this war. Autobots… Decepticons… you’re all killers!” shouted Sideswipe, in a voice not his own. “You’re all the same to me!”
Sunstreaker’s mouth dropped open. “Camshaft…? Is that you?”
“Yes! You took my life, Sunstreaker, so now I’m gonna take something from you!”
Upon Camshaft’s command, his host produced an energo dagger and sank it deep into his own chest.
Sunstreaker’s faceplate melted into a mix of rage and horror.
“The tip of this blade is touching his Spark casing. Say goodbye to your brother, Sunny!”
“No, Camshaft! Don’t do it!” pleaded Sunstreaker. “Don’t hurt him! I… I’m sorry!”
“Oh, you’re sorry!? Well I’M SORRY, that’s just not good enough! You wanna save Sideswipe…? Do you REALLY want to save him? Then terminate yourself! Take that gun-arm of yours that you used to burn my brain to a crisp and overload your own cerebral circuits with it!”
Sunstreaker placed the barrel of his gun-arm underneath his chin.
“Yeah! That’s it! Do it, Sunstreaker!” encouraged the evil within Sideswipe. “Ride those electron bursts right into the Allspark!”
The Autobot that other ‘Bots considered to be the complete egotist willing to sacrifice himself for another? Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if Camshaft would buy it. The ploy was meant to stall. The former gladiator used the seconds he stole to search millions of years of memory for a maneuver he could use to come out on top.
The search came up empty.
Sunstreaker had never experienced a situation where a hostage and an opponent were one and the same bot.
“Are you gonna do it or not, murder-mech? My hand’s getting a little twitchy… it could slip and pierce your bro’s Spark casing at any moment.”
CLANK
Sunstreaker felt something land on his superchargers and responded with a quick glance.
It was a humanoid.
“Squishy!?” he exclaimed. “Where’d you come from!?”
Doctor Arkeville—outfitted in a bulky Nebulan exo-suit—hugged his former partner’s head and wrenched it free from it’s spinal strut. Then the mad scientist stood over Sunstreaker’s neck and transformed into a blocky, simplified version of the very head he had just discarded.
“Now I, Doctor Arkeville, genius of science, am more… much more than meets the eye!” he crowed. “With the power that I now possess, this world will be mine to rule!”
Sideswipe watched in amusement as the Cybertronian-human hybrid smoothly shifted into alt-form and sped away. There was no revenge fantasy he could conceive of that could surpass what he just witnessed.
“Stolen by a flesh creature!”
He threw his head back and laughed.
Optimus Prime aimed at the possessed Autobot from behind.
“No, Optimus…” gasped Skids. “There’s another way… something I didn’t get to tell you back at the lab.”
Optimus looked down at the injured scholar. “What is it, Skids?” he inquired. “Is there a way to exorcise Camshaft’s Spark from Sideswipe’s body without hurting him?”
“Yes… you must make Camshaft relive a past trauma. It will… trigger his dimension hopping ability.”
The Autobot leader thought for a moment, then he called Camshaft’s host over to him.
“Sideswipe! I was offlined by the fall from Menasor’s hand. Come. Give me a status report at once!” he ordered.
Sideswipe walked over to him. When he opened his mouth to lie, Optimus grabbed him by the throat.
“Akk! Prime! What… what are you doing?”
Camshaft felt the barrel of a rifle press up against his host’s temple. His mind rewound to the last time he felt cold steel press up against his cranium casing. He was back on the cargo ship… being interrogated by Prowl when he let slip a bit of information that he shouldn’t have been privy to.
He quickly attempts to retract his statement. He searches for a mistruth plausible enough to replace it, but his brain melts into slag before he can steady the stammer emanating from his mouthplate. The searing heat inside his head turns his world black, silent, and cold. Blind, deaf, and disconnected, Camshaft is now a prisoner trapped inside his own body.
Then suddenly he is set free into the blinding light.
Optimus Prime seizes in shock as Sideswipe’s head morphs into a copy of Camshaft’s at the moment of his murder. The head is corpse gray, the faceplate is frozen in terror. There is no light behind it’s optic lenses. The dead head turns so Optimus can see the hole burned into it’s temple.
A second later it abruptly changes back.
Sideswipe’s body went limp. Optimus laid him gently on the ground, then proceeded to stand over Sideswipe like a sentry, watching over him… searching his face for further signs of possession.
After a few minutes, Sideswipe’s systems quietly completed their reboot and he sat up.
“Prime… what I saw… did… did that really happen…?”
Optimus simply nodded “yes.”
Sideswipe leapt to his feet when he saw what remained of his twin. The cables under Sunstreaker’s upright, severed head were splayed around the base of his neck like tentacles. His faceplate was stuck in what medics called “the silent scream.”
Sideswipe picked up the head and pressed it against his own.
“Sunstreaker… bro… I wasn’t there for you. But I’m here now—and I’m going to make things right. I’m gonna get your body back so that you can have a proper sendoff. I won’t let you wind up in some junkyard after that stinking human gets through with you… I swear.”
He looked up at Optimus with fluids streaming from his optics to his chin. “Prime,” he said. “I’m going after Doctor Arkeville.”
Optimus Prime placed a hand on the grieving Autobot’s shoulder.
“That’s exactly what I want you to do, Sideswipe. We can’t leave Cybertronian technology in the hands of a villain like Doctor Arkeville. Retrieving Sunstreaker’s remains is your only mission moving forward. Check in whenever you are able.”
“I will, Prime.”
Sideswipe turned and changed form. He was out of sight in seconds.



Optimus Prime walked over to the rectangular crater where Ironhide lay and knelt beside him. The veteran wore the heavy impressions of Menasor’s treads across his entire body, but incredibly, he still functioned.
“Hang on, old friend. Help is coming,” assured Optimus.
A comm slid out the right side of his helmet and he began to speak into it.
“Skyfire, I need your assistance immediately. Bring Ratchet. I have three damaged Autobots in need of emergency repairs.”
A burst of static was the only reply.
“Skyfire…? Skyfire!”
More static.
“Prime,” rasped Ironhide. “Look up in the sky.”
A space shuttle followed by four jets was streaking towards them.

(to be continued)

PART 131

“Decepticons,” grumbled Optimus Prime.
The space shuttle lost little of it’s momentum upon touching down. It slammed into Optimus as a speeding locomotive, sending the confused Autobot leader sliding on a trail of sparks as the four jets shot past overhead.
The train stopped and a familiar figure stepped out.
“Soundwave!” exclaimed Optimus. “He’s the reason why I couldn’t reach Skyfire!”
Bombs rained down on him before he could level his weapon.
The aircraft that lit his world aflame looped back and transformed. A handgun ejected from it’s chest cockpit. The weapon enlarged as it changed shape, landing heavily on the ground in another form—that of the maniacal Megatron!
With smoke wafting from splits in his armor plates, Optimus Prime struggled to rise once more. Astrotrain, Soundwave, Skywarp, Thundercracker, Thrust, and Dirge surrounded his broken body.
Megatron pushed past the two Coneheads and aimed his fusion cannon at his sworn enemy.
“Any last words, Prime?” he grinned. “Now would be the appropriate time.”
Optimus Prime stood up, sword gleaming on his back, determined to be defiant to the very end.
“My participation in this tragic war may have come to it’s conclusion, Megatron. But know that as long as a heroic Autobot’s Spark still burns somewhere in this vast universe, your will shall be opposed. For freedom is the right of all sentient beings… and the bravest of us will never bow to your tyranny!”
“Enough!” snarled Megatron. “Destroy him!”
Ionic displacer beams, concussion blasts, explosive shells, lasers, and a shot from a fusion cannon all streak from the circumference of the circle towards it’s center. The Decepticons expected to see Optimus Prime explode into pieces. Instead they saw him whole and untouched, shimmering in a bright blue light.
“How is this possible?!” raged Megatron.
Megatron lifted his fusion cannon to fire again and again, to no avail. The form-fitting force field surrounding the object of his hatred absorbed everything he had to offer and more.
Soundwave placed a hand on his leader’s shoulder.
“Continued energy expenditure not advised,” he warned.
Megatron swatted his hand away. Optimus laughed.
“It seems fate would have other plans for me, Megatron.”
“Your fate will be what I deem it, Optimus Prime! Decepticons! Seize him!”
The four Seekers fell upon the leader of the Autobots, punching his impregnable force field as they grappled with him on the ground. After a struggle that lasted several minutes, the Seekers were finally able to subdue him by each one latching onto a separate arm or leg.
Megatron watched intently as his mortal enemy was carried aboard Astrotrain.
“Attention, Megatron. Autobot life signs detected,” alerted Soundwave.
“Hmm. Let’s go and rectify that, Soundwave.”
Megatron ordered Astrotrain to depart, then he and Soundwave turned their attentions to the survivors of Menasor’s assault.
Soundwave stood silently over Skids’ stasis-locked form, squeezed the trigger, and terminated him.
Megatron squatted down beside Ironhide and smiled.
“You failed in your duty to protect Optimus Prime,” he said. “I have him now. Soon he will locked away in one of my cells within the Nemesis. That is where the lineage of the Primes shall come to an end. Much of your life’s work means nothing. You lived for naught.”
Ironhide spit a wad of fluid in Megatron’s face.
“Nuh-uh,” he replied. “I lived for that.”
Megatron calmly pressed his fusion cannon against the side of Ironhide’s head and released his fury.
He stood up and wiped off his faceplate as Soundwave approached.
“Attention, Megatron. Autobot signal detected 2.5 miles away. Shall I release Ravage?”
“Don’t bother, Soundwave. The Autobot army cannot function without it’s head. The body will falter soon enough.”

(to be continued)

PART 132

—In today’s shocking news, Abdul Fakkadi, the Supreme Military Commander, President-for-life, and King of Kings of the Socialist Democratic Federated Republic of Carbombya, was revealed to be a synthoid. World leaders suspect that the oil-rich North African country has been secretly taken over by giant—
CLICK
Soundwave touched a button on his torso, terminating the radio broadcast emanating from his internal speakers. He didn’t want the prisoner overhearing anymore than what he had already heard.
Optimus Prime came face to face with his captor. A row of red laser rods was the only thing that stood between them.
“Thank you for the intel, Soundwave. It was most informative.”
“Information unusable,” the spymaster replied in his usual monotone. “Escape from Nemesis—impossible.”
“You would be surprised at what is possible and what isn’t.”
The door behind Soundwave whisked open and Megatron walked in accompanied by Shockwave.
“Prime!” grinned Megatron. “You’re familiar with my top scientist, Shockwave, aren’t you?”
“I know only that he is described by the survivors of his cruel experiments as being a depraved monster, completely devoid of any moral compass.”
“Splendid. I see that his reputation precedes him,” smiled Megatron. “I have summoned Shockwave all the way from Cybertron to find a scientific solution to my mystical problem—namely the force field which protects you from my wrath!” he snarled.
A smile returned to the Decepticon leader’s faceplate immediately after his outburst.
“I’ll leave you two to get better acquainted. Shockwave…?”
“Yes, Lord Megatron?”
“Contact me when you have something to report.”
“Of course.”
With a hiss, the door slid shut behind Megatron, leaving Optimus Prime to the tender mercies of his two subordinates.



“Do you believe that I can find a way to disrupt the impenetrable force field that surrounds your body?” inquired Shockwave.
Optimus remained silent.
“I am of the opinion that what we call magic is simply unexplained phenomena. Given time, any occurrence can be scientifically explained.”
“Just get on with it, Shockwave.”
“As you wish.”
Shockwave snapped his fingers. “Let’s begin with a basic energy scanner, shall we?” he said, reaching up to extend an instrument down from the ceiling. It resembled a pair of optical enhancers with handholds on each side. After adjusting it’s settings, he proceeded to peer through it.
“Hmm. Curious,” the scientist said, a few minutes later. “There is a band of energy leading from the Matrix in your chest to the sword on your back. From there, the energy band splits into strands streaming outward to five separate locations… four of which are on this vessel. Prime, I am told that your weapon of choice is a W-M3 RF Ion Blaster, and that you are equipped with a wrist projected Energon Axe. This sword is a new addition. From where does it originate?”
“Weapon identified as Motormaster’s Ionizer sword,” Soundwave informed him.
“Have Motormaster report to me at once,” ordered Shockwave.



“Motormaster, how did Optimus Prime come to be in possession of your sword?” inquired Shockwave.
“I uh, lost it in battle,” lied Motormaster. “Prime must have picked it up somewhere--why?"
Shockwave studied Optimus with the energy scanner for a second time.
“Because your sword is currently being used as an instrument to delay Optimus Prime’s execution.”
“How?” shrugged Motormaster.
“That is what I aim to uncover.”
Shockwave pivoted the scanner towards him.
“Ah. I see. You’re part of the problem.”
“Errhurrm, what…?”
Shockwave pointed his gun-arm at the clueless Stunticon commander and unleashed a bolt of x-ray energy that tore open his torso. He collapsed in the space between Optimus’ cell and Shockwave’s feet.
“Shockwave… you truly are a monster.” Optimus Prime said.
“What you witnessed was clarity of thought, not rashness of action.” Shockwave replied. “Soundwave. Contact Megatron. Tell him that I have something to report.”



The smell of smoldering internal components stung Megatron’s olfactory sensors instantly as he entered the cell block.
“So… Motormaster was a traitor?”
“Whether Motormaster is loyal or disloyal, the result is the same.” answered Shockwave. “Look into the energy scanner please, Megatron.”
Megatron peered into the scanner and was puzzled by what he saw.
“Shield integrity eighty percent…? What does this mean, Shockwave?”
“Optimus Prime’s shield was operating at one hundred percent before I struck down Motormaster. After Motormaster slipped into stasis, Prime’s shield dropped by twenty percent. In conclusion, Motormaster’s Ionizer sword, in combination with the Matrix of Leadership, is somehow leeching energy away from the Stunticons’ force field accessories and using it to generate a protective aura around Optimus Prime.”
Megatron was stunned.
“Soundwave… send a message to every Seeker on board.” he ordered. “Tell them to round up the remaining Stunticons and bring them to me.”
“Pulse sent," droned Soundwave. "Breakdown is on assignment. Shall I share his location?”
“No,” smirked Megatron. “Our scout may yet bring back news on how the Autobots are handling the loss of their beloved leader. Shockwave can busy himself with the other three Stunticons until Breakdown returns.”

(to be continued)

PART 133

Assemble the right Autobots for the task at hand, get in—shoot, capture, kill—get out. That was Jazz’ self-imposed limit to his contributions to the war effort. Being anything close to a Prime just wasn’t in his programming.
Red Alert alerted the reluctant new leader of the earthbound Autobots as he passed the Ark’s staging area.
“Jazz! I have located Ultra Magnus as you requested. Hurry! The signal is poor. I don’t know how long Teletraan-1 can maintain it!”
Jazz ran in shouting at the wavy face on the screen. “Prime’s been captured!”
“Prime’s been what? Skzzz-tured!?”
“Yeah, Smokescreen saw the ‘Cons carry ‘im aboard Astrotrain before he had ta split. Prowl’s outta commission too. We needja here on Earth, Magnus!”
“I’m afraid skzzzzz no way of getting to you. The shuttle that I flew to Moonbase 2 was followed. Tzz Decepticons attacked… we’re still cleaning up the mess.”
“No sweat, I’ll have Skyfire swing by and pick you up.”
Red Alert was shaking his head “no.” Vehemently.
“Uhh, I’ll get back to you on that transport Magnus.”
“He’s AWOL!” Red Alert told Jazz as soon as he terminated the connection. “The surveillance cameras show Mirage and Bluestreak boarding him less than an hour ago!”
“Maybe they just took a trip?”
“Oh, from the looks of their hab suites I doubt they’ll be returning.”
Jazz frowned and tapped a sensor on Teletraan-1’s console. Bluestreak’s face appeared on the screen with Skyfire’s cargo hold as his background.
“Bluestreak! What’s up man? Heard some of you chickens flew the coop. Where ya headed?”
“Velocitron,” Bluestreak whispered, looking over his shoulder. “Mirage paid off some politician to grant us special refugee status. We’re done fighting, Jazz. There’s no way we can win this war anyway. It’s over. Prime’s being held prisoner, Prowl’s in stasis, Grimlock’s STILL in stasis, Magnus is missing—“
“WAS missing.”
“Uh, that’s great, Jazz. But I don’t think these guys are gonna turn back just because Ultra Magnus is set to become the next Prime. We’ve lost faith. Good luck, and tell the rest of the crew that I’m—mmmf!”
Bluestreak’s head jerks back a split second before his connection cuts out, leaving Jazz staring up at a blank screen.
“Huh. Now If I didn’t know any better, I would swear that was an invisible hand I just saw go over Bluestreak’s mouth.”
“I guess we couldn’t trust Mirage after all!” Red Alert blurted out. “Or Bluestreak, or that ex-Decepticon… for that matter—who can we trust?” he wondered. “Uh oh! I have to go!” he shouted, shifting to alt-mode. “There’s been a security breach!”
“Red, wait!” Jazz called out. “What’s—“
Red Alert was already gone.
Jazz placed his knuckles on the console, bowed his head, and shook it slowly from side to side.
“I got deserters desertin’, a repair bay full of damaged Dinobots, and everybody above me is either in hiding, held captive, stranded, or in stasis. And now I got THIS mess goin’ on… whatever this is.”
URGENT TRANSMISSION FROM PROTECTOBOT COMMANDER HOT SPOT
“Patch ‘im through, Teletraan.”
Hot Spot was standing directly outside the Ark when he was queued up. Behind him, a spy was being brought in by two Protectobots bound in an Energon band that bound his arms to his torso. Jazz spotted his jittery security director in the background scanning for more scouts.
“Hey Jazz, two of my ‘Bots picked up a Stunticon snooping around the Ark. You want us to take him straight to the cells, or do you want to interrogate him first?”
“Bring ‘im to Perceptor’s lab,” Jazz said, slamming his fist into his palm. “It’s time we started playin’ dirty with these Decepti-creeps.”



Groove and Streetwise shoved the prisoner into an examination chair with a clank. As soon as Groove clicked the button dispersing his bond, the prisoner made a break for it. The police-bots caught him by the arms as he charged forward and forced him back into the chair.
“Get his legs, Groove!” yelled Streetwise, as he pinned the prisoner down.
The short Protectobot dove down to lock in his legs, then sprang back up to clamp in one of his arms.
Streetwise gave Perceptor the heads-up as he secured the other.
“Watch this guy,” he warned.
Perceptor’s left hand retracted and a cone-shaped gun barrel rose up to replace it.
“I believe I can handle him from here,” he smiled. “Thank you, Protectobots.”
“We’re nearby if you need us,” Groove waved on his way out.
“No! No…! Please don’t torture me!” the prisoner pleaded.
Perceptor was insulted.
“I am not a member of your faction. Why would I engage in such an activity?”
“Buh-because you wuh-want information from me…?”
“I have other ways of extracting it. Let’s start with your name.”
“B-breakdown. It’s Breakdown.”
“My name is Perceptor,” the scientist said, as he positioned himself behind the patient’s headrest. “I see that you have a slight stammer caused by involuntary vibrations emanating from your internal mechanisms. I’m aware that you can’t control it, but please try to remain motionless as best you can.”
Vmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
“Wh-what are you d-doing…? What’s that noise?”
“Retrieving the data I desire without resorting to base methods,” Perceptor replied, as he continued cutting around the circumference of Breakdown’s cranial casing.
“What data!? I don’t know anything!”
“You aren’t aware of how much you know, Breakdown. You have the structural layout of the Nemesis recorded in your memory banks… I’ll be extracting that first. Secondly, I’m tasked with discovering how individuals like yourself are able to merge with others to form a gestalt. Anything else I mine from your mind will be—as they say—icing on the oil-cake!”
EMERGENCY. DECEPTICON TERRORIST ACTIVITY DETECTED.
Every monitor in Perceptor’s laboratory turned on simultaneously… all tuned to the same broadcast.
—“Greetings, oil-producing nations of the Earth. Let me introduce myself… my name is Swindle. In the aftermath of Abdul Fakkadi’s sudden er, meltdown, the Socialist Democratic Federated—ahh, we’ll just call it Carbomya from now on, okay? Anyways, Carbomya’s got a new ruler. ME. Here are my demands—in twelve hours YOU’LL start sending me shipments totaling one billion barrels of oil per day, Or I’LL begin blowing countries OFF the face of the Earth. If you biological blobs start steering your ships toward my ports within the hour, you won’t fall too far behind in your payments. And whoa-ho-ho-ho, let me tell ya, you don’t want to go into debt with ol’ Swindle… the interest rates alone will kill ya! Literally.”—

(to be continued)

PART 134

“Oh, a deal’s a deal, Megatron. But you can only have your Space Bridge AFTER you pay me double for warehousing it for ya! I got everybody from Fakkadi loyalists to Autobot spies sniffing around this thing. And as far as the arrangement I made with the flesh creatures is concerned—that’s between me and them! Butt out!”
Megatron leaned back in his chair, hands clasped, trying to remain calm. Starscream stood over his shoulder, stunned at the sheer gall on display on the Nemesis’ main monitor screen.
“Swindle… interference from the Autobots are part of the perils for someone in your line of work,” reasoned Megatron. “Keeping your merchandise free from vermin is yet another cost of doing business. You will receive what was previously agreed upon and not a single Shanix more. You are welcome to partake of Carbomya’s rich oil deposits for as long as you remain on Earth… but my hospitality, and my patience, extends no further than that. This planet belongs to me… and by extension, it’s resources are also mine. Taking any more than what I have offered will be regarded as an act of theft.”
“And if I do? What…? You’re gonna invade my territory? Try it and you’ll find a big surprise waitin’ for ya! A BIIIG surprise! Pay me, and then send someone to pick up your scrap soon, Megatron, or the price WILL go up!”
zzzt
“I can’t believe it!” exclaimed Starscream. “That little robo-weasel terminated the connection!”
“RRAAAGH!”
Megatron leapt out of his seat to punch a hole in the monitor, but Starscream practically tackled his arm in mid-swing.
“Wait, Megatron! Let me talk some sense into Swindle. I’ll take a detachment of my best Seekers… even if he fails to listen to reason, at least we’ll be bringing back valuable intel.”
Megatron snatched his arm back and sat down. He slumped forward, chin resting on clasped hands as he mulled over Starscream’s proposal.
“You’re right, Starscream.” he conceded. “Rushing in blindly is a fool’s ploy. Who do you wish to accompany you?”



All ten slabs in the Nemesis’ repair bay were filled with Decepticons in various states of disrepair. Six stasis-locked Constructicons on one side, four gutted Stunticons in varying degrees of consciousness on the other.
Shockwave was wrist deep in Wildrider’s internal wiring when his leader walked in.
“Greetings, Lord Megatron. Has Breakdown returned yet?”
“No. Nor is he expected to. My spies aboard the Ark overheard that he has been captured… although they have yet to confirm this statement visually.”
Shockwave looked disappointed.
“That is most unfortunate. Optimus Prime’s shield integrity has decreased considerably. It is now at twenty percent. But even in it’s dulled and diminished state, nothing short of a Combiner’s strength can shatter it. And… as you can see,” Shockwave gestured with a wave of his hand, “both Devastator and Menasor are currently out of commission.”
“Then we will bide our time. Shockwave, I’m here because Starscream is requesting that Ramjet accompany him on a diplomatic mission to Carbomya,” Megatron said, surveying the room. “I assume that his repairs have been completed?”
Shockwave touched a sensor on a storage closet.
“Yes,” the scientist answered. “I have accomplished that… and more.”
The door panel whisked upward to reveal Ramjet standing back to back with another Seeker that shared his design. A cable linked Ramjet’s cerebral circuits to that of his purple, black, and teal twin.
“You’ve cloned him?” Megatron asked in astonishment.
Shockwave detached the cable connecting their conical heads.
“Not quite,” he answered.” I have copied his mind onto that of another Seeker. One who has been redesigned.”
“Who was he?”
“A common Air Warrior who routinely performed below expectations. A journalist, I believe… last tasked with chronicling Starscream’s rise to power during his attempted coup.”
Megatron nodded his head approvingly as he took in the full scope of Shockwave’s vision.
“This is the future of my Decepticon army,” he laughed. “One where we duplicate the best… and overwrite the rest!”

(to be continued)

PART 135

CARBOMYA

Four Decepticon jets streak toward the coastline with their afterburners on full thrust. Without warning, a militarized space shuttle bursts from the clouds, firing ion bolts at their tail fins. Starscream barrel rolled to avoid a stream of charged particles that would have shorted his systems had he been slower to react. The air commander was now keenly aware of their foe’s superior firepower, but he also knew that there were few mechanoids ever built that could match a Seeker’s maneuverability.
“Take evasive action!” he ordered.
“That shuttle’s gaining on us like we’re standing still!” exclaimed Dirge.
“Radar’s clocking him at just under 20,000 miles per hour,” reported Thrust.
“We’ll lose him in the city!” Ramjet shouted, as the quartet reached the coast.
The Seekers split up in four different directions, roaring sideways between rows of tall skyscrapers. The vibratory effect of Thrust’s powerful engines shatters their shiny glass facades as he thunders through, sending crowds of curious onlookers scattering on the streets below.
“Head for Fakkadi Square!” Starscream’s shrill voice shrieked over their comms. “We’ll make a stand there!”
Dirge made an impossible turn around a tower and came in low over a crowded marketplace—stripping tarps off of booths in his wake. Blocks ahead, a green tank lay in wait between two buildings to blow him out of the sky. The TNT shell tore from it’s turret as Dirge was about to pass, forcing the Seeker to bank hard to avoid it’s trajectory. The missile detonated fifty feet away from it’s intended target, sending shockwaves reverberating through everything in it’s blast radius.
“That felt Cybertronian! Swindle’s got ground troops,” radioed Dirge. “I repeat. Swindle’s got troops on the ground!”
Starscream emerged from a column of Skyscrapers right into the sights of a anti-aircraft truck. The vehicle lurched backward as two shells exploded out of it’s twin turrets. The air commander looped upward, letting 3000 tons of destructive force turn the tower beneath him into an avalanche of dust and debris. He rained cluster bombs on the dive back down, overturning his adversary with his own brand of destructive fury.
Starscream circled around the overturned truck, but he didn’t fire again. He was waiting for his foe to right himself—and in order to do that, he would have to reveal his true form.
“That’s confirmed, Dirge.” Starscream replied, as the truck’s parts began to shift. “Two so far. Keep your sensors searching for more.”
As if on cue, exploding pellets pepper Ramjet’s reinforced nose cone as the Seeker screams into Fakkadi Square. The scatter blaster mounted on the back of a driverless Jeep below swivels around for a better shot.
“That was Swindle! I just flew over that little ground bound runt, Swindle!” radioed Ramjet. “You want me to drop a bomb on him, Starscream?”
“Negative,” Starscream radioed back. “Do not engage.”
Ramjet avoided the blaster’s next discharge with ease, but unbeknownst to him, Swindle’s gyro-gun was bombarding his balance center with disruptor waves all the while. The ground rushed up to greet Ramjet before he even realized he was losing altitude. He crashed in spectacular fashion, ramming through an entire row of two story buildings before skidding to a stop. The downed Seeker transformed inside the rubble with his twin lasers trained on Swindle, looking for any reason to disobey orders.
Thrust burst into view above him using his wing propellers to fly in reverse as he engaged in a fierce firefight with a helicopter. Dirge arrived and changed modes in mid-air, unleashing a barrage that drove back the rotorcraft as he hovered using his heel thrusters. Starscream came in for a landing on the street leading up to the Square and transformed. Then, as the sound of military vehicles drew near, he did the unexpected… he held his hands up.
“Hold your fire!” he yelled. “Thrust! Dirge! I told you not to engage!”
The space shuttle reconfigured into a robot and dropped down beside the Jeep. Swindle transformed pointing his finger at Starscream.
“YOU invaded my airspace! Ya better be here to drop off my shanix and collect that hunk’a junk taking up real estate in my warehouse—or else!”
“Swindle, now wait a minute… calm down. Let’s talk. What if I were to tell you there was a way to collect your shanix for selling the Space Bridge and still hold on to it anyway?”
“Ya mean swindle Megatron?” Swindle shook his head. “No can do, ‘Screamer. If the other warlords across the galaxy got wind of me doin’ somethin’ like that I’d be outta business! No one’ll wanna deal with me anymore.”
“Ah. But your agreement is with the leader of the Decepticons. If I were to become the new leader you wouldn’t be swindling anybody. I would give the Space Bridge back to you as a gift. You can use it to transport Energon closer to your offworld customers. You would save literal light years in shipping costs. Think about it, Swindle.” smirked Starscream. “You could be swimming in shanix in less than a month.”
“Hm. Sounds good. Sounds real good… and whaddaya asking in return?”
“One, I’m going to need your assistance in overthrowing Megatron. Two, I would require that a small percentage of the Energon you ship be sent to Kaon each solar cycle.”
“Small…? How small?”
“Say… ten percent?”
Swindle’s purple optics gleamed with greed.
“You got yourself a deal,” he said, shaking Starscream’s hand vigorously. “We’ll help you get rid of ol’ Bucket Head, and in exchange you’ll let me keep the Space Bridge to run my business. This is great. We both get what we want, and my friends can get their revenge!”
The truck, the tank, and the helicopter transformed and stood in a row beside Blast Off. Starscream surveyed each of their faceplates one by one like a sergeant inspecting his troops.
“Revenge on who? Who are these mechs?” he inquired. “I don’t recognize any of them.”
“I’m not surprised,” replied Blast Off. “No one recognizes us in these crude carcasses.”
“That’s the point!” squealed Vortex. “No one’ll know it’s us in these bodies. They’re perfect for ambushes!”
“They’ll do for now,” grumbled Brawl. “Anything ta get our hands on Megatron for extractin’ our Sparks and imprisoning us on Chaar.”
Onslaught saw an inkling in Starscream’s optic. “Do you know who we are now?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” smiled Starscream. “You’re the Combaticons. Your team’s reputation speaks for itself.”

(to be continued)

PART 136

Inferno entered the Ark’s staging area and marveled at the assemblage of Autobots within.
“Lotta mechs goin’ on this mission,” he said. “It’s gonna be a hot one.”
“Yep,” Jazz replied, arms crossed as he leaned back on Teletraan-1. “Hopefully we can cool things down in Carbomya before Swindle starts World War 3.”
“Or kills this entire planet’s vibe by stealing all of it’s oil,” added Beachcomber.
“We’ll be splittin’ up into two teams to stop ‘im from doin’ either one of those things,” Jazz informed them. “Team One’s takin’ Omega Supreme’s rocket module to Tobruk. Shame Omega can’t transport his whole body there… if he could, the mission would be a cakewalk.”
“Who’s on Team One?” asked Cliffjumper.
“You are,” answered Jazz. “Along with Inferno, Smokescreen, and Brawn. Your jobs are gonna be ta protect Grapple and Hoist from the ‘Cons while they swipe Space Bridge sections outta Swindle’s warehouse. Once they get Omega loaded up, y’all’s jobs are done. Red Alert’s team leader—so his enhanced sensors will be givin’ you ‘Bots plenty of advance notice before any Decepti-goons show up.”
“And they will!” predicted Red Alert. “Obtaining a Space Bridge was Megatron’s sole reason for coming to this planet in the first place. I don’t expect that the Decepticons will just let us take it without a fight.”
“Might not be as bad as you expect it to be, Red.” replied Blaster. “I keep intercepting transmissions that suggest that Swindle and Megatron ain’t on the same page anymore.”
“There’s been a schism?” inquired Ratchet.
“We think so,” answered Jazz. “But if Megatron’s forces do show up it’ll only mean double trouble for us. Team Two consists of you, me, Wheeljack, Powerglide, Beachcomber, and Warpath. We’ll be hoppin’ a shuttle to a city called Betah. That’s where the Carbomyan Protection League says Swindle keeps his WMDs.”
“Nukes?” guessed Warpath.
“Nah,” answered Wheeljack. “Carbomya doesn’t have nuclear capabilities. I’m thinkin’ Swindle got his mitts on a few of the photon missiles that Tarn and Vos used to blow each other off the map way back when.”
“That’s even worse!” exclaimed Powerglide. “At least with a nuke an organic creature could stand’a chance. But photon missiles…? They’re done if we don’t save the day.”
“We’ll get the job done, Powerglide. All of us,” assured Brawn. “We always do.”
“So… those are the teams,” concluded Jazz. “Blaster’s stayin’ behind to be our eye in the sky usin’ Sky Spy. Any questions?”
“Yeah… who’s rescuin’ Prime?” inquired Inferno.



“One’s ultimate truth lies in one’s molecular structure.”
Perceptor spoke to the six Protectobots assembled before him as if he were teaching a class.
“While in the process of retrofitting your group with Combiner technology, I have discovered why Combiners are—ahem—dumb. Interestingly enough, their decreased intellectual capacity is a byproduct of their increased molecular density.”
“Perceptor, the Nexus medical logs say something very different,” argued First Aid. “It explicitly states that their lack of intelligence is due to the fact that several minds are competing against each other for control of the combined form.”
“The military academy data tracks claim that Combiners aren’t actually stupid,” added Rook. “They say that their indecisiveness is mistakenly interpreted as stupidity.”
“Those are all part of the reasons, yes.” conceded Perceptor. “But the main cause is that increasing a Combiner’s density also increases the amount of impedance across it’s neural network.”
“Sorry to interrupt professor, but we don’t have time for school right now.” said Hot Spot.
“Yeah!” shouted Streetwise, as he turned to leave. “We’ve got a Prime to rescue! C’mon, Protectobots!”
“Wait!” the scientist persisted. “I have critical information about your combined form that you all should be cognizant of!”
“So spit it out, Perceptor!” yelled Blades.
“I’ll put this in the simplest terms I can. The nearly impenetrable armor conferred upon the gestalt after the act of combination inhibits the flow of electrons across it’s cerebral circuitry… so I edited that portion out of Defensor’s programming and installed Trailbreaker’s force field projector to compensate for the deficiency.”
“Why in the world would you do that? questioned Groove. “I knew Trailbreaker—his force field projector used up a ton of Energon!”
“I did it because you’ll be encountering Megatron, Shockwave, and numerous others in a sunken starship miles beneath the ocean without additional aid or reinforcements. To put it bluntly, you will need all of your wits if you wish to survive the experience.”

(to be continued)

PART 137

TOBRUK

Abdul Fakkadi wasn’t fooled one bit by the rocket ship he spied from the window of his safe house.
“More giant robots invading my country! A sixties era rocket ship landing in the middle of an industrial district… where do they think they are? Cape Caneveral…? A fire chief’s car and a fire truck—followed by a tow truck, a crane, a Land Rover, a famous American race car, and a cheap Mitsubishi Starion! Since when do such vehicles congregate together? Idiots! These disguises deceive absolutely no one!”
BRRNNG BRRRNNNG
“Hello?”
“Mr. President?”
“Ehhh, perhaps. What is the passphrase?”
“President for life.”
“Yes! This is Abdul Fakkadi, former Supreme Military Commander, Ex-President, and deposed King of Carbomya. To whom am I speaking?”
“This is Anton Surich. Former Supreme Commander, I have bad news… one of your cars has been stolen.”
“Which example of automotive perfection did some impudent son of a dust devil dare to lay his hands on?”
“Your recently purchased yellow Lamborghini Countach, Your Majesty. It appears that the same scoundrel who sold it to you has stolen it back.”
“The imperialist scientist?”
“Yes, we believe so.”
“This is intolerable! That Lamborghini was parked on a private lot guarded by many savage dogs! Explain to me how such a thing is possible, Anton.”
“The car drove away by itself. We believe that it was either self driving or guided by remote control. I have the guards out searching for it now.”
“No… call them off. I have a sneaking suspicion that what I was sold was not truly an automobile.”
“Not an automobile…? A thousand pardons Your Majesty, but I test drove it myself, it was a very fine car… a classic!”
“The giant robots who stole my country and replaced me with the puppet who melted on live television… that car was one of them, Anton. I have been deceived. They are everywhere!”



On a dusty road, Red Alert slams on the brakes a hundred yards from Swindle’s warehouse. Inferno swerves right to avoid a rear-end collision and catches a windshield full of sand.
“Aw c’mon, Red! We’re almost there! What didja stop for?”
“I sense trouble, Inferno.”
“Trouble…? Whut trouble? The skies are clear, I don’t see anything!”
“That’s because your sensors aren’t as acute as miAARRRGH!”
“Red! What happened?”
Inferno’s alt-mode optic sensor angled down and spotted smoke wafting from a small hole in his partner’s roof. A second hole could be seen smoldering in the center of his dashboard.
“Sniper!” he shouted.
“Go! Go! Go!” shouted Smokescreen, as he surged ahead spewing smoke from his tailpipe. “Get to cover!”
Hoist accelerated to the front of the line, reversed, and hitched up Red Alert under the cloak of Smokescreen’s smog. Lasers whiz through the black cloud as the Autobots made a beeline for the warehouse. Hoist cries out in pain as a beam burns through his truck bed.
“YeeOWTCH!”
Cliffjumper swerves away from the group yelling “I’ll draw off his fire!”
Burn marks dotted the pavement as the sniper aimed where the fast moving Autobot was, and not where he was going to be—then he got lucky. The last beam he fired struck Cliffjumper’s fuel tank, triggering an explosion that enveloped him in flames. The conflagration that clung to him spread out into smaller fires as he changed form.
Brawn hit the brakes, transformed, and bounded towards his teammate. He collapsed in a heap beside him—dead before he hit the ground. The red hot hole in Brawn’s forehead cooled as the light faded from his optics. The expression that he wore on his faceplate was one of shock. Shocked that someone as strong as he was could be eliminated so easily.
The others reached the warehouse and—with the exception of Red Alert—changed to their robot modes. At a glance, Inferno was informed that two of their number were missing. Grapple and Smokescreen each latched onto an arm to prevent Inferno from rushing right back out.
“It’s a trap!” shouted Smokescreen. “Brawn’s already dead! They’re using Cliffjumper as bait to draw us in!”
“I know!” Inferno shouted back. “And I don’t care! He needs my help!”
The big Autobot broke free of their grasp and transformed. Smokescreen gave chase, but stopped short of pursuing him out into the open. Instead, he scanned the skies above intensely, finger poised on the trigger of his electro-disruptor rifle, looking for any sign of the enemy.
“Dammit! Where is that sniper?” he cursed. “I can’t get a bead on him.”
Inferno wailed towards Cliffjumper, dousing his flames as soon as he was within range, and hoping the noise and flashing lights would attract the sniper’s attention.
It did.
The laser beam struck Inferno’s head as it emerged from his cab mid-change—but failed to achieve the desired result.
“I’m resistant ta heat!” he boasted.
Inferno wanted all of his unseen enemy’s ire centered upon him and none of it on the Autobot he was attempting to rescue. “Try again!” he taunted.
The sniper obliged by taking Cliffjumper’s life as Inferno was hoisting him onto his back. Inferno shook his head in denial as the wet corpse slid to the ground.
“Aw, no… no…”
His blue optics flared white with rage. Inferno had reached his melting point. He would see that sniper destroyed before he saw another one of his friends struck down—or die in the trying.
“Where are ya, you coward?” he cried. “Come down here and fight me! Mech ta mech!”
Inferno’s head jerked back as a laser beam zinged through his left lens. He covered it with one hand while writhing in pain and shaking his fist at the sky. Flames flickered in the back of his mouth as he screamed.
“I’m still standin’! C’mon! Try blastin’ me up close, ya tin plated turkey!”
The other Autobots watched on in abject horror from the warehouse, unable to intervene for the sake of the mission.
“Blaster!” Smokescreen shouted into his comm. “Any luck locating that sniper? Inferno’s trying to draw him out, but it’s not working… he’s taking serious damage!”
“Searchin’ high and low for ya, Auto-buddies,” Blaster radioed back. “But I can’t find a trace of ‘im!”
“Forget low! He’s high up judging by the angle of those shots!”
“Yeah… wait! That’s it! Lemme pull back… way back.”
Blaster zoomed out until Inferno was a speck on Teletraan-1’s monitor screen.
“Damn! Still nothin’!”
He slammed his fist down on the console in frustration.
“Where is this dude!?”
The super computer glitched and replayed the last two minutes of video. A laser beam flashed by Sky Spy traveling towards it’s target. Then another in the same direction… and another.
Blaster rotated the satellite 180 degrees and found his sniper—a space shuttle five miles away, raining down destruction from orbit.
“I see ‘im, Smokescreen!”
“Take him out!”
“Sky Spy doesn’t have any defenses, so if I use it to knock that Decepti-creep out of orbit—that’s it, no more live feed, I’m outta the game.”
“We’ll never get Omega loaded up with that sniper hanging over our heads! Do it, Blaster!”
“Copy. Blaster signin’ off. Good luck out there.”
Blaster ignited Sky Spy’s thrusters and the Decepticon space shuttle swiftly began to fill up his screen. The two objects collided in a soundless blackout, followed by a swirling view of space as Sky Spy spun out of control into the void.
Blast Off transformed yelling into his comm as he tumbled into Earth’s upper atmosphere.
“Onslaught! A satellite just slammed into me! I am unable to maintain orbit!”
“Join the rest of us on the surface then. We are about to advance on the invaders.”

(to be continued)

PART 138

BETAH

Wheeljack pushed the “W” shaped control yoke of the Autobot craft forward and blasted over the Carbomyan border.
“City center’s dead ahead,” he announced. “Gear up.”
“Whoaaa, didja have to say DEAD though, Wheeljack?” protested Beachcomber.
“Actually, I’m surprised we made it this far,” Ratchet grumbled half-jokingly.
“Wheeljack, set the controls on auto-pilot.” ordered Jazz. “We’re drivin’ the rest of the way.”
The mad scientist shot his commander a quizzical look.
“I don’t wanna push our luck,” Jazz explained. “Let the ‘Cons think we’re still aboard and then—“
“BLAM!” interjected Warpath. “We blast ‘em in the back!”
Exactly,” Jazz replied, as he slid open the shuttle’s side door. “Ay, this is your stop, Powerglide. Stay outta sight until the time is right.”
“Got it,” acknowledged Powerglide. “And awayyy we go!” he shouted, seamlessly shifting into alt-form. The others watched with envy as one of the few fliers in their faction barrel rolled upwards into the clouds.
Jazz dived out next, and the remainder of his squad follows suit in quick succession. All five of them hit the ground rolling in their respective alt-forms. Long stretches of sand transition into two story tenements as the Autobots trail their empty shuttle. Shadowy figures appear brandishing guns in glassless windows, muzzles flash… and bullets begin to stitch the sides of the robots in disguise.
“OW! Hey, quit shootin’!” yelled Warpath. “We’re on your side!”
“Yeah! Be cool,” added Beachcomber. “We come in peace! AHK!”
A slug ricochets off Beachcomber’s roll bar and spins to a stop in his passenger seat. Probes used for identifying ores on his home planet spring from his dashboard to examine it.
“Heyyy, Cybernite…?!” he exclaimed. “These bullets are made of Cybernite!”
“BLAOW!” exclaimed Warpath. “That means the guys firin’ ‘em are most likely facsimiles like that Fakkadi fella!”
“Don’t start shelling the humans just yet,” cautioned Ratchet. “There’s no way for us to tell for sure without a bio sample.”
“And we ain’t got time to fetch one!” added Jazz. “Keep it pushin’!”
Ahead, Thrust and Dirge crisscross over the shuttle, dropping bombs that set off it’s smoky descent towards destruction in the streets below. Ramjet rams the crippled craft head-on like a guided missile—crashing through it’s windshield, coring it’s cargo bay, bursting between it’s rear thrusters, and then streaking onward before a single part of it clangs to the ground.
“We’ve got WHOOSH Decepticonnns!” yelled Warpath.
“Hang back and cover us!” orders Jazz.
The wheeled Autobots maintain their current course, swerving around the hunks of flaming wreckage that litter their path. Above, their aerial adversaries vector in on them from three different angles.
“Lock on,” commands Ramjet, “and send these street slugs straight to the scrap heap!”
Thrust—intent on being the first to boast of a conquest—is the first to fire. His missile inadvertently spears an explosive shell streaking up from the surface. The resulting explosion fills his field of vision with bright orange flames. Searing pain overloads his sensor links. The Seeker shoots out of the fireball wingless, and in shock that those wings are in fact, gone from his fuselage.
Warpath mimics the sound of Thrust’s destruction—“SKER-BOOM!”—before the actual event sends the Seeker’s parts skidding through the streets.
“The Autobots have a gunner trailing them,” radios Dirge. “In the form of a tank. That’s who downed Thrust. His sharp shooting skills are exceptional.”
“He is nothing,” Ramjet replies. “Keep following the convoy. I’ll take care of him.”
“BA-BOOMSH!” shouts Warpath, as his incendiary shell travels upwards toward it’s target. “Special delivery, Ramjet! From me to you!”
Ramjet rolls around the screaming projectile and goes into a nosedive.
Warpath can hardly believe his optics.
“Is that crazy ‘Con gonna WHAMMM ram me!?”
The collision sends both combatants crashing backwards into a building. They transform into a tangle of furiously grappling limbs amidst an avalanche of falling bricks and support beams. Ramjet—half-crazed and head misshapen into a mushroom—mounts his enemy and rains relentless blows upon his faceplate. Warpath—mouthplate broken and blinded by his own mech fluids—fires a single shot from his chest turret, decisively ending the frenetic assault. The wounded Seeker stumbles away… critically damaged, though uncharacteristically quiet. Another aircraft lands nearby and changes form. Warpath hears the distinct sound of debris crunching under metal feet…
“Powerglide… that you?”
No answer.
He fumbles for something, anything—a flag, a bedsheet—to stanch the leak from his brow and wipe his optic sensors.
His hand falls upon Starscream’s foot.



Dirge soars above the Autobot convoy and calmly locks on to it’s leader. However, a fast moving blip on his radar commands his attention.
“The ground pounders can wait,” he decides. “The Seekers share the skies with no one.”
Dirge readies his machine guns to deal with the foolish, flesh-covered pilot who dares to put himself between him and his prey. He alters his attack angle to go head to head and what he sees gives him pause. The red enemy plane’s cockpit is empty. It’s pilot’s seat is bare. A beam flashes from a gun mounted beneath the bogey’s nose cone before he can react. The ray burns a slag-lined swath across the length of Dirge’s left wing. It shears off, somersaulting in the wake of his adversary’s vapor trails.
“Goodbye, tall, dark, and gruesome!” crows Powerglide, as the Seeker behind him spirals to his doom.
The Autobot flier circles around, searching for imminent threats. There aren’t any. Whatever blipped on his radar before dropped off just before he took Dirge down. All the action now was on the ground.
“All clear up here, Commander… but you got a crowd of people converging on that hangar you bots drove into. Don’t tell me that’s where Swindle’s keeping his WMDs?”
“Sure is,” radios Jazz.
“The place looks too small for missiles.”
“Oh they’re here, believe that. The hangar’s fulla jets… a Combiner team. Good news is that they haven’t been activated yet.”
“And…? What’s the bad news?”
“We’re sittin’ on top of a whole hidden silo of photon missiles… and guess who’s holdin’ the trigger?”
“Swindle?”
“Yep.”

(to be continued)

PART 139

To the naked optic, Swindle appeared to be standing ten feet in front of them, but Jazz’ audio receptors perceived what the rest of his squad couldn’t.
“You ain’t really here, are ya?”
“Ding ding ding! Bright ‘Bot, go to the head of the class!” grinned Swindle. “What you’re seeing is a hologram. The sound is coming outta the speakers I set up around this place. So of course I’m not here… there’s a thousand places I’d rather be than standing on top of a missile silo!”
Jazz clasped his hands in front of him and stood faceplate to faceplate with Swindle’s smirking image.
“Alright Swindle, time ta wheel and deal. It’s common knowledge that you don’t operate like the other ‘Cons… you’re a business-mech. So what’s it gonna cost us ta get outta this jam?”
“Sorry, I don’t make deals with the merchandise.”
“Say what?”
“You heard me. You’re in my warehouse, so that means you’re mine now.” Swindle said, jabbing a glowing finger into Jazz’ chest. “You and your nosy pals all belong to me. Oh, and uh, by the by, the natives have you surrounded. You couldn’t go anywhere even if you wanted to—so cool your engines while I tend to some important business, okay?”
With that proclamation, the slaver muted himself and steered his attention toward his comm.
“He’s distracted,” observed Jazz. “Probably by our ‘Bots in Tobruk.”
“How’s their scene?” inquired Beachcomber.
“Bad,” sighed Jazz. “They’re trapped like retro rats, just like us. They could sure use some reinforcements, and WE could use a little diversion.”
“Freedom for us means rammin’ through that wall ‘o flesh outside,” Wheeljack said, jerking his thumb back towards the main gate. “Which ya don’t have to tell me isn’t an option… but try ta keep Swindle’s mouth movin’…. I’ve got an idea.”
Ratchet facepalmed. “Ohh no.”
“I’m gonna need your help with this, pal.” said Wheeljack.
“Uh oh,” the medic replied. “You’re not thinking of doing what I think you’re gonna do…?”
“Yeah. Why drive through a crowd when ya can fly some mechs clear over ‘em?” shrugged the scientist.
Ratchet looked at the five jets assembled before them, then he shook his head.
“They’re Decepticons, Wheeljack! Twisted to the Spark!”
“Nah, I don’t believe that. There’s no such thing as a bad Spark. All it’s gonna take to turn these Decepticons into aerial ‘Bots is a l’il reprogrammin’. We just gotta delete the desire for conquest and enter a duty to defend innocent life forms.”
“It’s… not that simple.”
“Ah, think of it as us doin’ our part ta save the next generation.”
Ratchet’s right hand retracted into it’s forearm housing. A laser scalpel slid up to replace it.
“Okayy, but I just want you to know that this whole thing is unethical,” he grumbled. “HIGHLY unethical.”
“Nonsense. We’re just settin’ these young mechs on the right path.”


TOBRUK

Inferno stood his ground as four Combaticons converged on him in their vehicular forms.
“Get those Space Bridge sections loaded onto Omega Supreme!” he hollered. “This is my fight!”
Grapple paused before rolling out. The section held aloft by his hook swayed, illuminating half of it’s polished purple surface in the desert sun.
“What do we do, Smokescreen?”
“Exactly what he says!” sputtered Smokescreen. “Inferno’s out there doing his job, so let’s do ours!”
The diversionary tactician’s electro-pulse quickened as he changed shape. He was scared, nervous. He knew that the odds were stacked against them, but he would try his best to see the team’s objective accomplished nonetheless.
“There’s eight parts, Hoist and Grapple can only carry one each. That means four trips to the ship and back,” he calculated.
“Ok, this is it!” Smokescreen shouted. ”Stay left of my smoke and burn rubber!”
Smokescreen screeched out of the warehouse, leaving a trail of black smoke that divided the desert landscape in two. On one side Grapple and Hoist pushed their alt-modes to the limit, frantically ferrying stolen Space Bridge sections to Omega Supreme’s rocket module. On the other, Inferno faces off against four seasoned soldiers, determined to dismantle any obstacle on the road to revenge against the mech who imprisoned them.
Onslaught rolled up on his right. Brawl, on the left.
“C’mon, Decepti-creeps!” challenged Inferno. “Let’s get on with it!”
“On my command,” directed Onslaught. “Brawl will open fire. Blast Off will then strafe the target, leaving Vortex to obliterate what—if anything—is left. From there, Brawl will advance to secure the warehouse, while you two pursue the—“
VvvwooWOOwooWOOwooWOOwooWOOwoo
The audio-receptor ruining bursts of sound projected by Brawl’s rear mounted cannons dropped Inferno to his knees. In a storm of shifting parts, the angry Combaticon transformed and sprinted towards him.
“Brawl! What do you think you’re doing?” demanded Onslaught. “Reassume alt-mode at once and follow my orders!”
“Negative!” Brawl shouted back. “This here sludge-mouthed slagger’s been callin’ us out ever since he stepped inta the sunlight! I’m gonna pound his processors inta pig iron!”
Inferno, partially blind, half-deaf, and wholly enraged, rose to meet the challenger. Brawl’s first swing connected with the Autobot’s chin, the second—a hefty sparks producing blow to the temple. Dazed, Inferno wraps his arms around his opponent and falls down on top of him in the sand. Brawl hooks his right arm around Inferno’s neck, preventing the burly scrapper from rearing up to pummel him. He uses his left hand to keep Inferno’s gun-arm at bay, redirecting a blast meant for his head into a nearby dune. The errant shot showers Onslaught’s alt-form with sand—expediting the loss of the commander’s already dwindling patience.
Brawl’s head collides with Inferno’s faceplate like a steel wrecking ball. A retaliatory head butt sends cracks spider-webbing across Brawl’s visor. Then Inferno follows up with a series of armor-buckling body blows meted out by his free fist.
“Oh wonderful,” Blast Off sighs, as he and Vortex hover above. “Must we wait for Brawl to finish frolicking with the enemy before we open fire?”
“Certainly not!” erupted Onslaught. “Brawl, you have until the count of three to incapacitate the enemy combatant, or run the risk of being incinerated along with him! One… two… thr—“
Wee Ohh Wee Ohh Wee Ohh
A Fire Chief’s car pulls up alongside Onslaught with lights flashing and sirens blaring. It’s parts shift to reveal a robot that is Red Alert in appearance only. His sparking brain module is clearly visible, but his mind is completely gone. He leaps upon the Combaticon commander’s alt-form like a glitching turbofox, howling, scratching, and clawing at his armor plates. Inferno pauses from beating on Brawl to stare up in bewilderment. Onslaught reverts back to robot-mode holding his sonic rifle in reverse. Then he proceeds to bash Red Alert with the stock end of that rifle until the Autobot’s systems audibly shut down.
“Red! NOOOOOOooo—!”
Inferno’s cry—along with his body—is swept upwards into a roaring cyclone generated by Vortex’s spinning rotor blades. The swirling mass of red steel reaches out for one of the Combaticon’s skids and is violently repulsed.
“Nuh-ah-ahhh,” teases Vortex. “Keep your HAND to yourself!”
The redirected gale-force winds sends Inferno tumbling through the roof of the warehouse, knocking him momentarily offline. He reactivates entangled in wreckage to the modulations of a familiar voice fading in and out.
“Inferno, can you hear me…? You have got to get up!”
“Hoist…?”
Six Space Bridge sections stand in an unfinished circle to his right. To his left, three concerned comrades. Inferno rises, then staggers towards the exit like a Maccadam’s patron after a cycle of overconsumption.
“I’m goin’ back out there.”
“No, Inferno…! You aren’t in any condition to—“
“Ah know whut I’m doin’, Hoist! Just do me a favor and get a move on it, ‘kay fellas?”
Inferno steps out of the warehouse for a second time. Smokescreen roars out behind him, spewing a fresh shroud of black fumes to conceal their friends.
The four Combaticons stand assembled before the approaching Autobot. Vortex holds Red Alert hostage. A bayonet reconfigured from razor-sharp rotor blades is pressed against the kneeling field leader’s throat.
“We’re being played!” Vortex whispers to Onslaught.
“I am aware of that,” comes the reply.
Inferno aims his gun-arm at Vortex. “Release ‘im!”
“Oh we will,” assures Onslaught. “But nonfunctional. Brawl… end this farce.”
Brawl transforms. The single shell he fires from his turret penetrates Inferno’s chest, illuminating it in orange. The barely audible explosion within his chest is a testament to the quality of the Autobot’s construction. He stumbles backward and fires a shot as he falls. The energy beam grazes Vortex’s temple. The foul expression on the interrogator’s faceplate asks a silent question… one that his superior answers immediately.
“Yes Vortex,” Onslaught nods. “You may execute the officer now.”
Vortex’s bayonet detaches Red Alert’s head in one swift motion. It topples… anchoring itself horns first in the hot sand. Vortex releases his grip, and the twitching body that the head had been attached to falls on top of it—electricity arcing from it’s spine into a pool of pink Energon.
Inferno’s servos strain as he forces himself to his feet.
“I’m gonna… I’m gonna make you—kaff—Decepti-creeps pay for killin’ Red!”
“Brawl—! That Autobot should be dead! You’re getting rusty!” accuses Onslaught. “You as well, Blast Off! The feral officer was your foul up!”
“Oh?” Blast Off retorted. “You try sniping a cerebral cluster from twelve thousand miles away whilst the target is in alt-mode and let’s see how well you do!”
Onslaught changes form. Twin shells whistle from his turrets, sending Inferno’s limbs flying far beyond the blast radius when the missiles hit their mark. Amidst the flames, a charred head connected to a shattered torso coughs… and then utters a stream of Cybertronian obscenities.
Brawl walks over and stares down at Inferno’s still functioning remains.
“Tough piece of scrap, ain’t he? Or maybe YOU just don’t have the firepower ta finish ‘im, Onslaught!” he goads.
Onslaught ignores Brawl’s belligerence. ”The battlefield is no place for a cannon measuring contest,” he says within his cerebral circuits. “Better to let said cannons gravitate toward a new target—Omega Supreme’s rocket module!”
The Combaticon commander fires… and when the smoke clears, the rocket ship stands unmarred by his assault.
A voice within it mocks him.
“ORDNANCE INEFFECTIVE.”
“Hrrrm. Swindle…” radios Onslaught. “I suggest that you join us in Tobruk post-haste, or you shall be light one Space Bridge!”
“Hey General,” Swindle radios back, “remind me exactly what am I paying you mechs for again…?”

(to be continued)

PART 140

BETAH

Powerglide made another pass over the city’s war torn streets. Scattered groups of humans scavenged parts from the Autobots’ downed shuttle, while others stripped pieces off of the dead… and dying.
Dirge moaned as two men in kaftan robes lifted a large component out of his mangled fuselage and set it on the ground. Moments later, a pickup arrived on the scene to collect it. A few blocks away, the vehicle’s occupants stopped at another manned scrap pile and workers added to the haul.
“Capitalism at it’s finest,” observed Powerglide. “I can’t think of a better Decepti-creep I’d rather see experience it.”
“Any sign of Warpath yet, P.G.?” inquired Jazz over his communicator.
“Uhn uh. No parts, no pieces, no nothin’!” replied Powerglide. “And that’s what worries me. You’d hear old Warpath wayyy before ya ever laid optics on ‘im!”
“Expand your search perimeter. He’s out there somewhere.”



The souped-up yellow Lamborghini roared down a back alley and skidded to a stop in front of a shuttered building. Blue metallic fingers emerge from beneath the steel gate to raise it upward, revealing the Seeker sheltering within.
“Please… come in.” Starscream said, with a welcoming wave of his hand.
The Cybertronian-human hybrid surged past him, braked hard, and then transformed into what Starscream considered to be an impressionist version of an old enemy.
“Ah, Doctor Arkeville… I see that your appearance has improved somewhat since last we met.”
“Oh, this?” Doctor Arkeville inquired, placing a palm on his roof-chest. “This is merely a change of attire. A suit of armor that functions as a… business suit.”
“Then let us get down to business, Doctor. Time is of the essence. Over there,” pointed Starscream.
Sunstreaker’s hands raised up to grasp his faux head. He detached it and placed it in front of the window Starscream was directing his attention to. Doctor Arkeville transformed and peered through it.
“The hangar… I assume that you’ve lost possession of it?”
“Yes… unfortunately. It is where Swindle is warehousing enough photon missiles to destroy this planet ten times over. Our benefactor may be content to allow tools of mass destruction to fall into the hands of bumbling Autobot fools, but I—as the new leader of the Decepticons—am not!”
“Getting a little ahead of ourselves, are we Starscream? You are not in command of your faction yet, but with my assistance, you soon will be. Where are my materials?”
Starscream motioned towards Ramjet and then Warpath. The Seeker sat in a corner with a gaping hole in his chest—his lifeblood spurting from ruptured fuel lines with every pulsation of his Energon pump. The Autobot gunner lay offline and unrestrained, paralyzed by Starscream’s null rays.
“We will use the tank robot,” Doctor Arkeville decided.
Starscream kicked the leg of his unconscious enemy. “I planned to interrogate this boisterous clown upon his reactivation,” he smirked. “But if you believe that he is of better use as a weapon… then by all means Doctor, be my guest.”

(to be continued)