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PART 76

The Ark.

INCOMING TRANSMISSION FROM HUMAN LIASON WALTER BARNETT
When the human’s face appeared on Teletraan-1’s monitor screen, Optimus Prime’s optics instantly zoomed in on the perspiration beading off his forehead.
“Greetings, Agent Barnett. You seem... troubled.”
“I am er, troubled! We’ve got power outages up and down the west coast, a nationwide gas shortage, and giant robot sightings everywhere from Portland to Albuquerque! What’s going on, Prime? I’ve got the President breathing down my neck demanding to know what the heck you’re going to do about this mess!”
“Agent Barnett, I apologize for the disruption that the Decepticons are causing to your way of life. Rest assured that my Autobots and I are working diligently to rectify the situation.”
“Excuse me...? What kind of robo-call response was that, Prime!?” Barnett fumed. “I need specifics! I need to know exactly how you’re going to dismantle these... these... Decepticons, and more importantly—when are you planning on getting off your rear to do it?”
Optimus Prime put his knuckles down on the console and leaned forward into the monitor. “At approximately twenty-one hundred hours, I will be leading a team of Autobots out into the Pacific Ocean to liberate the Blackrock offshore drilling platform from the clutches of the Decepticons. I advise your military to withdraw to a safe distance... there will be fireworks.”
“Now we’re talking, Prime! About how many troops are participating in tonight’s raid?”
“I haven’t decided on that as of yet, Agent Barnett. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to. Teletraan, end transmission.”
“Prime, now wait a minute now, I-“
Optimus sighed as Barnett’s image disappeared from the screen.
“Do you think that was wise, Prime?” questioned Prowl. He had entered the room a few seconds ago and overheard the tail end of the conversation between the two.
“I see no reason to keep our plans from our human allies.” Optimus replied.
“I can think of two,” countered Prowl. “One, their organization still hasn’t been properly vetted. Two, despite being aware of the terrible danger that their planet is in, they’ve yet to provide us with one drop of fuel to help save it.”
“The human’s political structure is far more complicated than ours ever was... even at the height of our civilization. We’ll get the fuel they promised us eventually. We must be patient with them, Prowl. It’s not their fault that we’re here.”
“Both Hound and Mirage have reported in.” Prowl said, switching the subject. It had suddenly become clear to him that he was getting nowhere with it. Prime just wasn’t going to listen. At least not in the way Prowl wanted him to.
“Hound has located Hauler.”
“Where is he?”
“The Constructicons are holding him in a cave near the Space Bridge. Scrapper has him separated into pieces.”
Optimus Prime made a fist. “Those monsters... what do you think they plan on doing to him?”
Prowl thought for a moment. “Knowing Scrapper, I’d say it’s unlikely he’s planning on making Hauler a part of the Space Bridge like he did poor Bumblebee. He doesn’t like to do the same thing twice. My guess is that he’s either going to try to integrate Hauler into their combined form or-“
“They’re going to convert him into some kind of weapon to use against us.”
“Right. A sadist like Scrapper wouldn’t pass up the opportunity.”
“And what did Mirage report?”
“Same thing as yesterday,” Prowl sighed. “Cubes go over the Bridge, Megatron receives warriors in return. If things keep going at this rate, we’ll be overrun in a matter of weeks.”
“It won’t come to that, Prowl. Wheeljack’s new Energon purifier is a success. Within a few hours we’ll have the fuel we need to strike back at the Decepticons.”
“Good. I’ll start drawing up the strike teams immediately.” Prowl said, pulling out his datapad. “Oh, and one more thing. Grimlock’s been asking to meet with you all day. What do you want me to tell him?”
“Tell Grimlock that I’ll meet with him now,” replied Optimus.
“Ya might wanna postpone that, chief.” Ironhide said, rushing over from the repair bay. “Our Decepticon guest is ready to spill his guts!”

(to be continued)

PART 77

Skyfire sat on a slab in the repair bay while Ratchet tinkered with something inside his lower back. He watched with fresh optics as Optimus Prime entered the room along with Prowl and Ironhide.
“Thanks for the repairs,” he said. “Although the new blue optic sensors will take some getting used to.”
“This is an Autobot ship,” grumbled Ratchet. “We don’t carry red optic lenses.”
“Count yourself lucky that ya got optics at all, ‘Con!” spat Ironhide.
“Easy Ironhide,” Prime said in a calm voice. “I heard that our guest is now an ex-Decepticon.”
“I assume it was your agent inside Darkmount that informed you of my defection,” smirked Skyfire.
“What makes you think we have a spy stationed at the Smelting Pool?” inquired Prowl.
“Well, considering the roundabout way in which I arrived here, surely it was not anyone in Iacon. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that your ‘Bot on the inside is named Counterpunch... he’s too kind. Tell him that he’ll have to incorporate more pettiness into his act if he wants to pass for a real Decepticon.”
“I have no idea who you’re referring to,” Prowl said with a straight face. “Do you, Prime?”
The Autobot leader stood silent. His gaze remained fixated on Skyfire while his facial expression revealed nothing.
“No,” he replied.
“Yeahhh, I didn’t think so.” growled Ironhide. “Mission or no mission, there ain’t an Autobot alive that would stand by and watch his buddies get burned ta slag!”
Skyfire smiled. “That’s what your superiors would have you believe.”
Optimus took a step toward Skyfire and stood in front of him with his arms folded. “Skyfire... we are aware that you know of a way to shut down the Space Bridge permanently. You will share that information with us now.”
“The device that you require is called a Proton Nullifier,” explained Skyfire. “It works by rendering the elements contained within the Space Bridge’s circular walls inert.”
“What are these elements?” Prowl inquired.
“I don’t know. I know only that they are rare... and according to Shockwave—no longer exist on Cybertron.”
“Where can we find this device?” asked Optimus.
“It lies somewhere in Sentinel Prime’s vaults. Soundwave learned of its existence long ago... back at the beginning of the war. Megatron had yet to acquire a working Space Bridge at the time of Soundwave’s discovery, so the fact that Sentinel Prime had a device that could disrupt it’s operation was of little importance.”
Optimus turned and put his hand up to his mouthplate. “Sentinel Prime’s vaults have been untouched since his death. Prowl, contact Perceptor on Cybertron and tell him to search for this Proton Nullifier,” he commanded. “Once Perceptor has located it, dispatch the Dinobots to retrieve it.”



Sentinel Prime had taken the combinations to his vaults with him to the Allspark. Luckily with the help of Borebit, Corkscrew, and Zetar, it took Perceptor no time at all to gain entry into the vaults and locate the device. The next step was for Prowl to inform Grimlock that he and his Dinobots were needed for another important mission.
This last step would prove to be the most difficult. Grimlock had been waiting for an audience with Optimus Prime for hours. The fact that he was being redeployed without his request being fulfilled riled him. His reaction to this latest command was to pick Prowl up by the neck, carry him down the hall, and return him back to Prime by shoving him face first through one of the repair bay’s sealed doors.
Ratchet had been putting the finishing touches on Skyfire when the five Dinobots burst in. The medic leapt to his feet, his medical tools clattered to the floor.
“Prime!” he exclaimed. “Watch out for Grimlock! He’s gone binary!”
Ironhide rushed to put himself in between Optimus Prime and the Dinobots. Grimlock looked down and stared the stoic bodyguard in the optics. He stifled a chuckle as Prowl—circuits scrambled by his unexpected outburst—crawled away amidst the wreckage to clear his head.
“Grimlock!” shouted Optimus. “What’s gotten into you?”
Grimlock pointed a finger towards the alarmed Autobot commander. “You coward, Optimus Prime!” he bellowed. “You search for secret weapon to cripple enemy supply line when you should be out crippling enemy! Dinobots warriors, not errand ‘Bots... we lose brother so you can chitchat with Decepticon traitor about best way to shut down transportation hub. You want Proton Nullifier? Hop next shuttle back to Cybertron and get it yourself! Dinobots no longer follow your orders! Come, Dinobots!” he beckoned. “We go!”
“Looks to me like you Dinobots are the cowards!” Ironhide railed after them. “Y’all are the ones walkin’ away from an assignment!”
“Shut up, old ‘Bot!” sneered Snarl.
Optimus placed a hand on Ironhide’s shoulder. “Let them go, Ironhide.” he said. “We’ll find another way to get the Nullifier.”

(to be continued)

PART 78

Grimlock sat in the pilot’s seat guiding the Valiant high over Oregon’s mountains, westward, toward the Pacific Ocean.
Slag sat in the co-pilot’s chair demanding answers.
“Why we leave Ark, Grimlock? Why we no stay so you can destroy Optimus Prime and take leadership of Autobots?”
“You slow learner, Slag!” Grimlock shot back. “If that all it take to lead Autobots, then Megatron would have become Prime long ago when he send Sentinel to scrap heap.”
“So where we go now?” asked Slag. “What we do?”
“We go to oil drilling platform Decepticons snatch from humans. Optimus Prime plan to attack Decepticons so he can give it back to humans... me Grimlock have better idea. Us Dinobots get there first, take facility from Decepticons and use it to make own Energon.”
“Autobots still come!” Slag argued. “Autobots take facility from Dinobots instead!”
“Hn. Autobots not stupid, Slag. They want to avoid fight. They try talk first. Reason. By then me Grimlock have Megatron head resting on tip of energo sword.”
Grimlock spun in his chair to face the rear of the vessel. “Swoop!” he called out. “Do recon!”
In the rear of the Valiant, Swoop opened a hatch in the floor and dropped through it. He quickly transformed and glided underneath the ship for a few moments before flying ahead to scout the oil platform.
After circling around the structure a few times he said, “Me Swoop no see nothing!”
“Facility... abandoned?” Grimlock radioed back in disbelief.
Swoop transformed and planted both feet solidly on the deck. “No sign of Decepticons.” he said.
“That impossible!” shouted Grimlock. “Me Grimlock have information that Decepticons producing billions of astro-liters of Energon out of this facility! They not just up and leave it!”
The Dinobot leader brought the Valiant directly over the oil rig and put the ship in park. Then, sword ablaze, he leaped out of the ship and landed with a heavy clank beside Swoop.
Grimlock knelt down and plunged his Energo sword into the deck. “Decepticons trick you, Swoop!” he said. “Dem hiding below... dey must be-!”
“But Grimlock,” Swoop reasoned. “There no room for big Decepticon below.”
Grimlock refused to listen. He cut a deep gash into the metal floor and peeled it back to reveal an enormous cache of Energon packed underneath it. Swoop had not noticed this before, but the pinkish glow of the cubes was shining through every gap in the platform’s deck plates. The entire facility had been stuffed to bursting with stacks and stacks of Energon cubes. Swoop bent down to pick one of them up and examine it.
“Why Decepticons leave cubes and go?” he asked.
“Hn. Me not know.” Grimlock grunted. “Maybe they hear Dinobots coming and run back to hidey-hole.”
Above, the remaining Dinobots had gathered around the Valiant’s open floor hatch to see what was happening.
“Me Sludge want to break Decepticons. Where Decepticons at, Grimlock?”
“Gone!” Grimlock shouted, slightly annoyed. “Come Slag, Sludge, Snarl.” he beckoned. “Jump down. Get dinner.”



The mechanic at the air base propped his ladder up against the light gray F-15 parked in front of hangar bay five and peered inside the cockpit. He looked down and double-checked his paperwork. There was no particular listing for this aircraft. Nor was there any for the black F-15 in front of hangar bay four, nor the blue one in front of hangar six. Suddenly, the jet’s dashboard lit up. The mechanic scratched his head. “What the fuhhh-“ He fell off the ladder as the aircraft ignited it’s engines, then he began sliding backwards by the seat of his pants away from the jet as it began to speak.
“Skywarp! Thundercracker! Wake up you morons! We’ve got work to do!”
“What gives, Starscream?” complained Thundercracker. “It’s early!”
“Yeah, something wrong with your chronometer, ‘Screamer?” questioned Skywarp. “We’re not on until twenty-one hundred Earth hours.”
“The motion sensors on the oil rig’s been tripped, you idiots!” Starscream yelled as he began to roll. “Scramble!”



Snarl was the first one to hear the three Seekers approach. He put his half-emptied Energon cube down in mid-guzzle and stared skywards.
“Huhhh... what dat noise, Grimlock?”
Grimlock caught sight of the trio as they appeared over the horizon. “Decepticonnns!” he bellowed.
Four of the Dinobots drew their weapons. The fifth, Swoop, intent on meeting their attackers in the air, changed into alt-form, but a steady stream of machine gun fire from Skywarp prevented him from gaining much altitude. Then the Seekers dropped the bombs—six in all—released directly over the pit of tightly packed, wall to wall Energon cubes. The resulting explosion was so intense that the bombers themselves were forced to fly up to seek refuge atop the Dinobot’s ship. The world underneath the Seekers’ feet was ablaze, and the Valiant would serve as their shield against the burning updraft.
“That was Grimlock!” yelled Thundercracker.
“So what!” replied Skywarp. “Nothing could survive that blast! Not even the Dinobots!”
“What he means, dummy, is that Grimlock wasn’t supposed to be here.” explained Starscream. “Optimus Prime was!”
“Exactly!” said Thundercracker. “Somebody slipped Megatron bad intel.”
“It was one of the flesh creatures!” cackled Starscream. “But that’s Megatron’s mistake for partnering with primitives!”

(to be continued)

PART 79

The Ark.

“-where four miles off the Oregon coast, our correspondent, Charlene Welles, has a live report-“
“Prime...?” Prowl called out, his optics never leaving Teletraan-1’s monitor screen. “Prime, I think you should see this.”
“What is it, Prowl?” Optimus inquired as he joined Prowl in front of Teletraan-1.
“It’s a live broadcast from a local television station... listen.”
“-less than a half hour ago, three fighter jets attacked the Blackrock offshore oil drilling platform. Witnesses say that the three aircraft then changed into robots and landed atop a spacecraft that had been previously spotted hovering above the facility minutes before the attack-“
“That’s Grimlock’s ship.” Optimus Prime said. “The Valiant.”
“The way that oil rig exploded, Prime... you could tell that Energon was used as an accelerant. The Dinobots stumbled right into a trap! Somehow the Decepticons knew they were coming.”
“Prowl, I want you to fly out to that location and check for survivors. Take Hound, Ratchet, Windcharger and Trailbreaker along with you.” Optimus Prime commanded. “And Prowl...?” he said as the intelligence officer turned to exit. “I want answers.”



Hound searches for pieces of Grimlock’s crew on the ocean floor. Once he locates a part that belongs to one of the Dinobots, he brings it back up to the surface. From there, Windcharger uses his magnetic abilities to raise the part up and bring it aboard the shuttle. Once the part is in Ratchet’s hands, he identifies it and places it in a bin bearing the name of the Dinobot that the piece belongs to. It’s a tedious and time consuming effort. Each of the Dinobots have been placed on life support while we try to salvage what’s left of their bodies. Trailbreaker stands atop the shuttle ready to defend it in case the Decepticons come back to finish the job.

Me? I’ve got my own job to do. Optimus says he wants answers and he’s going to get them. I board the Valiant to search for it’s black box. The ship is largely intact—and incredibly, still hovering—but I doubt anyone will be flying it anywhere soon without doing some major repairs.

Which reminds me... we Cybertronians have to do a better job about cleaning up our messes. We left an entire spaceship unguarded on the Island of No Return, and the Decepticons actually have two ships resting at the bottom of the Pacific. The Nemesis is one, and the ship that Skyfire and the Constructicons used to bring the Space Bridge to Earth makes two. There’s too much Cybertronian tech lying around. It’s a recipe for disaster. I don’t trust the humans. No, I’m not paranoid... i’ve got good reason not to trust them. I just haven’t found it yet.

I play back the recordings captured on the Valiant’s black box. Riveting stuff, these conversations between Grimlock and his crew... everything from Sludge eating all the Energon-Os to overthrowing Optimus Prime. But it’s the conversation that was held outside the ship that I find to be the most illuminating.

“-that was Grimlock!”
Nothing could survive that blast! Not even the Dinobots!”
“What he means, dummy, is that Grimlock wasn’t supposed to be here! Optimus Prime was!”
Exactly! Somebody slipped Megatron bad intel.”
“It was one of the flesh creatures! ahahahahahahhh! But that’s Megatron’s mistake for partnering with primitives-“

I flip up my comm.

“Prime...?”
“Yes, Prowl?”
“We have to cut all ties with Triple I immediately. They’re working with the Decepticons.”

(to be continued)

PART 80

IACON

The old slave trails underneath Iacon consisted of warped and winding roadways littered with obstacles and debris. Beachcomber’s alt-mode, with it’s large wheels and reinforced struts, was uniquely suited to traverse the uneven terrain of these storied underground pathways. He was thoroughly enjoying this brief excursion to neighboring Kalis. His passenger Blaster however, was not.
Blaster rode inside of Beachcomber’s vehicular-form disguised as a portable interstellar communications console. In this form, Blaster had become accustomed to smooth flights aboard spacecruisers, not rough rides inside his fellow Autobots through old abandoned tunnels. Still, he was relieved to be outside of the city. Not long ago, Blaster had disobeyed a direct command to broadcast an order to evacuate Iacon—choosing instead to put the Great Dome on lockdown. Many thought he had made the right decision to stay and fight. Many more resented him for taking away their right to choose whether they wanted to flee, or die defending the city from the Decepticons.
“Meditating back there, Blaster?” Beachcomber inquired. “I’m not used to “the voice of Iacon” being so quiet.”
“Just—oomph—enjoying the ride.” Blaster replied.
“I know what you mean, Blaster. It’s good to get away from that scene for awhile. We got Decepti-goons at the gates and Scraplets runnin’ around in our pad. Nnnot cool.”
“Hoist brought ‘em in with him,” informed Blaster. “He didn’t even know that he was still infected.”
Blaster felt Beachcomber shudder, and it wasn’t because the road was filled with potholes either.
“Scraplets are nasty little critters. Clever too.” Beachcomber said. “Sometimes they lie dormant, trying to blend in disguised as a bolt or a screw when they see that their host has found a way to get rid of ‘em. But then after awhile they pop back online and start feeding again.”
“That is a correct assessment of the nature of Scraplets,” a voice replied. “Fortunately, there are several known cures for Transformers who find themselves infested with them. During the Golden Age, a scientist from the Sea of Rust discovered a compound that killed Scraplets on contact. That compound is still in use today.”
Beachcomber stopped in his tracks. “Whoa, heyyy Blaster, who was that!?” he exclaimed.
“That’s my buddy Rewind. Steeljaw, Ramhorn and Eject are along for the ride too.”
“Cool... I forgot you could carry a whole squad inside your chest like Soundwave.”
“Don’t compare me to that creep. Red Alert wanted to make sure that the Proton Nullifier made it to Kalis safe and sound, so he had me bring my crew along as back-up.”
“Oh. Well, heyyy everybody! Welcome to the party!”
“Thank you, Beachcomber,” replied Rewind.
“Yeah! Woo! Glad to be on the winning team!” cheered Eject.



Beachcomber came to a dead end. “We’re here,” he announced.
Blaster leaped out and transformed. “Yeah? Where’s “here”?”
Beachcomber grabbed a rung on the wall and began climbing up a long, dark shaft above them toward the surface. Blaster waited until Beachcomber was a few rungs up, and then followed him up the ladder. When the two Autobots could climb no further, Beachcomber rapped on the slab that served as the shaft’s ceiling. A pair of green hands slid the heavy piece of scrap metal away and peered down at the two of them.
“Hey, Cosmos!” grinned Beachcomber. “Long time no see.”
Cosmos extended a hand to help his friend climb out of the shaft. “I’ve been in space searching for fuel deposits on asteroids.”
Blaster popped his head up. “Sounds like fun.”
“Believe me, it’s not.” Cosmos replied. “It gets lonely up there.”
“Still, space is the place you wanna be right now,” said Beachcomber. “Autobase is out of Energon and tempers are startin’ to flare—plus we’ve got Scraplets!”
Cosmos’ optics grew wide. “Scraplets! That’s horrible! Maybe I am better off in outer space.” He held out his hand. “Who’s got the Nullifier?” he asked. “As much as I would like to stay and chat, Prime wants me to get it to Earth on the double.”
Blaster removed the rectangular orange object from his thigh compartment, but then he became distracted by his chest door. It was rumbling.
“Uh oh!” he exclaimed. “Steeljaw smells something!” Blaster pressed down a lever on his mid-section releasing him. “Go get ‘em, Steeljaw!”
With a metallic roar, Steeljaw ejected, transformed in mid-air, and bounded down the street. Blaster and Beachcomber ran after him.
“Blaster, wait!” cried Cosmos. The rotund little Autobot tried his best to keep up with them, but his robot-form simply wasn’t well suited for land. In fact, it wasn’t even suitable for the surface of the metal planet that he was manufactured on.
Cosmos saw the trio turn into a tight alley. He stopped and stared skyward. He would have to switch to alt-mode if he wanted to keep up with them, but his alt-form would be too wide to follow them through the alleyways.
“I’ll have to keep track of them from above,” he thought.
POOM!
Cosmos felt something hot penetrate his forehead. He reached up and clawed at the hole in his cranial casing, desperately trying to pluck out whatever was rapidly burrowing into his brain. There was a burst of static and then Cosmos felt his back stiffen up. It wasn’t until his head locked in place and his arms thrust down to his sides that Cosmos came to a horrible realization—he was no longer in control of his own body.
Bombshell skittered down the side of a building and transformed to get a better look at his catch. He folded his arms and cocked his head to one side.
“No wheels, no wings... what do you turn into, I wonder? Transform, slave!”
Cosmos felt his parts shift. He couldn’t resist Bombshell’s command... he couldn’t even do a thing to hamper his own transformation process. It was like the part of his mind that controlled movement had been clicked off, and the bullet pressing up against his cerebral circuits had become his body’s new brain. The creature responsible for Cosmos’ current state stepped back and marveled at his alt-form.
“A flying saucer, eh?” he chuckled. “That should come in handy! Autobot, consider yourself hijacked!”

(to be continued)

PART 81

The mech that Steeljaw had been pursuing was cornered now. Steeljaw approached him slowly, growling menacingly. Beachcomber skidded to a stop behind him, then he and Blaster both shifted out of their respective alt-forms.
“Easy Steeljaw,” Blaster said in a calm, but stern voice.
Beachcomber shined his fingertip flashlight in the mystery ‘Bot’s faceplate. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize our old pal Cliffjumper?”
Steeljaw stood tense, ready to tear Cliffjumper to pieces if he moved in the slightest.
Blaster knelt down and hugged the animal round the neck. “Stop it, Steeljaw!” he ordered. Steeljaw continued to growl. Blaster looked up at Beachcomber. “He doesn’t usually go on like this,” he said. “Something’s wrong.”
Storm clouds gathered overhead. Blaster heard the rumble of thunder in the distance. His audio receptors picked up something else out there too... something sinister.
“Beachcomber... you hear that?” he asked.
“Uh huh,” Beachcomber replied. “It sounds like... laughter.”
Blaster pressed down a button on his mid-section, it began flashing as he spoke. “Cosmos, come in. Do you read me? Cosmos-“
Suddenly, a bolt of lightning shot from the sky. It struck Blaster squarely in the center of his chest and coursed violently down through his legs, electrifying the metal surface underneath him and his companions. The systems of all three Autobots—plus the ones Blaster carried in his chest—were overloaded instantly. Then they all fell to the ground simultaneously like puppet-droids hit by an EMP.
Moments later, the Insecticon responsible for the electrifying sneak attack flew down from the clouds and transformed. He nudged Beachcomber over with his foot, an acrid plume of smoke wafted from underneath the motionless bot’s chest plate. Shrapnel threw his head back and laughed.
“Do you smell that, Kickback back?”
Kickback peered down from the place where he had been spying unnoticed up until this point. “Yes!” the robot grasshopper crowed. “It is the aroma of defeat!”
Shrapnel raised his hand up toward him, electricity crackling between his fingertips. Fearing treachery, the robot grasshopper began backing away. Then he saw it—a U.F.O moving slowly through the skies toward their position. Kickback leapt down beside Shrapnel and transformed, swiftly drawing his weapon from the small of his back. With a trembling hand, he raised it up, and together both Insecticons took aim at the craft rotating eerily in the skies before them. The side-hatch of the spacecraft hissed open and Bombshell popped out frantically waving his arms.
“Wait! Don’t shoot! It’s me!” he shouted.
Shrapnel laid a hand over his Energon pump. “Don’t scare us like that, Bombshell shell!” I almost suffered a pump malfunction function!”
“Yeah!” Kickback chimed in. “We thought the Galactic Council had finally come to exterminate us!”
Bombshell reentered Cosmos and piloted him unskillfully to the ground. Kickback walked over and ran his hands over the enslaved Autobot’s smooth hull.
“Nice catch,” he said. “Room for three in there?”
“Oh, l’ve definetely got room for more!” the slaver of mechs replied. He then hopped out of his living spacecraft and made a bee-line for the pile of scrapped Autobots. He grabbed the biggest one first, holding Blaster steady by the shoulders while he pumped a cerebro-shell from his head-mounted mortar cannon straight into his forehead. After a few astro-seconds, the Autobot’s optics lit up with static indicating that the shell had taken hold. Shrapnel and Kickback looked on with great interest. The process in which Bombshell enslaved other mechanoids always fascinated them.
“This one will be eager to polish our waste ports when he comes back online,” decreed Bombshell.
All three Insecticons began to chuckle. Watching as a slave is forced to debase himself in front of them was almost as enjoyable as disposing of one when it had served its purpose. Bombshell grabbed Beachcomber up by the throat. “Next!” he shouted gleefully. A puff of compressed air flew out of his cannon, but no cerebro-shell.
“I must be fresh out,” he groaned.
Kickback tapped Cosmos’ hull with the heel of his foot. “Y’know Shrapnel, we have a spacecraft now. Why share the Energon cubes at Iacon with Shockwave’s lackeys when we could have so much more?”
Shrapnel was intrigued. “What do propose, Kickback back?”
“I say we go straight to the source.”
“To Earth you mean mean?”
“Yeah. Why let Megatron and his groupies hog all that energy out there on that mudball?”
“I agree. Only a fool would believe that Megatron’s not hoarding most of the Energon for himself,” added Bombshell. “If ol’ bucket-head throws us a million astro-liters, best to believe he’s holding back a billion for his personal use.”
“It’s unanimous then, we’re going on a little vacation cation.”
“What about your slaves, Bombshell?” Kickback inquired. “What are you going to do with them?”
“We’ll take them with us, no need to waste two perfectly good stooges.”
Kickback aimed his gun at the still offline forms of Steeljaw and Beachcomber. “And the rest...?”
“The rest we leave to him.”
Kickback’s head spun around. “To whom?” he inquired. Besides the two Autobots the Insecticons had scrapped, and the three more that they had enslaved, Kickback didn’t see anyone else out there on Kalis’ empty blacked out streets.
“To whom are you referring, Bombshell?”
“Ravage. I caught a glimpse of him as I flew over the neighborhood. He’s out there... hiding in the shadows... waiting for us to leave so he can come play with his new toys.”

(to be continued)

PART 82

Ravage sniffed at the two Autobots the Insecticons had left behind and recoiled at their scents. Both ‘Bots bore the stench of badly singed circuits about them. Faint whirring noises emanating from within their damaged bodies told him that their self-repair systems were functioning. They would both be back online sometime within the next solar-cycle. A mech like Beachcomber would be easy enough for Ravage to follow once he booted up. The other Autobot, Steeljaw, was a tracker by function—so the probability that he would allow himself to be tracked back to his point of origin was almost too low to calculate.
Ravage only required one functioning Autobot for his purposes. He clamped his jaws around Steeljaw’s tail and then proceeded to drag his body out into the street. Now that Steeljaw had been moved away to a safe distance, Ravage launched his two hip-mounted heat-seeking missiles and reduced his would-be rival to a burnt-out wreck. The deadly Decepticon twisted around quickly to see if the explosion had jarred his intended pawn back online. It didn’t. The Autobot’s status still had not changed... so he slinked off into the shadows to wait until it did.

The Ark.

Jazz burst into the storeroom turned makeshift meeting room with his usual flair. Optimus Prime sat at one end of the table, Prowl was seated at the other.
“Uh oh, what’s this?” Jazz joked. “High command meeting, huh? Better call in Wheeljack to weld this table down to the floor before it gets flipped over!”
Prowl tried to hold back the smile forming on his faceplate. “Welcome back to the land of moving parts, Jazz.”
Prime folded his hands on top of the table. “Alpha Trion isn’t here to question the morality of every course of action that Prowl might suggest, so I believe that our table will remain upright for the duration of this meeting.”
“We’ll keep this short and sweet,” Prowl said. “Your pals at Triple I? They’re actively working with the Decepticons.”
Jazz jerked his thumb back towards the door. “So what are we waitin’ for? Let’s go over there and straighten ‘em out—quick, fast and in a hurry!”
“Oh, I intend to pay the Intelligence and Information Institute a little visit, but not just yet.” Prowl replied. “I’ll let Teletraan-1 reject a few of their calls first while we figure out how best to deal with them.”
“The revelation that any human being would work with the Decepticons is puzzling to say the least, but although we are no longer allied with the Institute, the dissolution of that relationship does not absolve us of our responsibility to the inhabitants of this world.” Optimus Prime decreed. “I’ve summoned you here, Jazz, because there is a situation in Bali that I would like you to rectify...”



Jazz stood before Brawn, Sunstreaker, Skyfire and Downshift in the Ark’s staging area ready to brief them on their mission. A map of their destination was displayed on Teletraan-1’s monitor screen.
“Alright troops, this is the situation... three days ago, six Autobots were dispatched to deliver a device called a Proton Nullifier to a courier in Kalis. Somethin’ happened while they were out there—they got ambushed an’ only one of ‘em made it back to Iacon to tell the tale. Now two days ago—Sky Spy spotted the courier, Cosmos, enterin’ Earth’s atmosphere. He landed here,” Jazz said, turning around to point to a dot on the screen, “...on the tropical island of Bali, in an area that the local media has started callin’ “Demon Swamp”. All efforts to contact Cosmos on that island so far have failed.”
“Demon Swamp?” inquired Sunstreaker. “Why have the humans begun calling it that?”
“Beats me,” shrugged Jazz. “All we know is that soldiers go in, but they don’t come out. Prime suspects that the Decepticons have a secret base there.”
“Sky Spy can’t see what’s going on down there from space?” Downshift inquired.
“Nope. Too much foliage.” Jazz explained. “So our mission is to fly to Bali, rescue Cosmos, get the Nullifier, and then bring it—and him—back to the Ark.”
“Piece of oil-cake,” Brawn said. “What’s this Protein Nullifier do anyways?”
“Proton Nullifier,” laughed Skyfire. “It is a device designed to permanently disable Space Bridges.”
Brawn slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. “Why can’t we just forget that fancy gizmo, free Cosmos, and then go wreck the Space Bridge ourselves instead?”
Sunstreaker rolled his optics. “What happens when you get wrecked, Brawn?”
Brawn shrugged. “Somebody puts me back together again.”
“Okay then,” replied Sunstreaker. “You just answered your own question.”
“Somebody’s testy,” Jazz smiled. “Any more questions? No...? Good. Follow Skyfire outside... he’s gonna be our flight to Demon Swamp.”
Ratchet was standing by the door as the five Autobots filed out. He reached out and grabbed Jazz’ arm as he walked past.
“Jazz, I gotta talk to you about some of the ‘Bots you chose for this mission...”
“What’s up? What’s wrong with ‘em?”
“Well… first off, Skyfire’s an ex-‘Con!”
“Uh huh. So was Hauler.”
“Let me finish...! Prime asked me to examine Sunstreaker’s cerebral circuitry after he executed Camshaft on the Island of No Return... that scrap that Prowl reported about Sunstreaker being under the influence of some kind of fear-inducing frequency? It was a load of Predacon poop!”
Ratchet pointed down the hall at Sunstreaker, not caring if the accused ‘Bot overheard their conversation. “That Autobot is a murderer, plain and simple! Sunstreaker terminated Camshaft because he wanted to, not because he thought he was in communication with Megatron. In addition, Camshaft just happened to be Downshift’s brother... and right now Downshift is taking his death—along with all the drama surrounding it—hard! His other sibling, Overdrive, is missing... presumed dead. He’s trying to hide it, but Downshift feels like he’s all alone in the world right now. Pick some other ‘Bots, Jazz... or at the very least substitute Hound in for Sunstreaker.”
“Can’t.” Jazz replied. “Hound was my first choice ‘cause of his tracking skills, but he’s needed here to keep tabs on the ‘Con’s movements. This situation we’re walkin’ into? We’re going in blind... so I need the best. Sunstreaker fits that bill. Plus, there’s a good chance that whoever hijacked Cosmos might’ve planted a bomb on him too, so I might need Downshift down there to diffuse it. Look Doc, I’m up to speed about all the scrap that’s been going on around here while I was offline... I didn’t just pull this team outta my tail pipe. I need these ‘Bots ta get the job done right!”
Ratchet shook his head in disagreement. “This whole thing has the potential to turn into something like off of that soap opera “As The Kitchen Sinks”, Jazz. Take my advice... don’t do this to yourself.”
Jazz watched as Sunstreaker, followed by Downshift, drove up the ramp into Skyfire’s cargo hold.
“Too late to make changes to the roster now,” he said. “Wish me luck!”

(to be continued)

PART 83

Skyfire made the trip from Oregon to Bali without even straining a circuit. In less than fifteen minutes, the Autobots were 8300 hundred miles away in the mysterious expanse of jungle known as Demon Swamp. Brawn rolled down the ramp out of Skyfire’s cargo hold and drove off into the moonlit night. Sunstreaker and Downshift, however, fish-tailed in the mud immediately after rolling off the ramp, collided with each other, and then landed on their rears in robot-mode.
Sunstreaker pointed an accusing finger at Downshift. “You roadway reject! You just scuffed my clear coat!”
“Well maybe your precious clear coat wouldn’t have gotten scuffed if you hadn’t skidded into me, you jerk!” Downshift shot back.
“Keep yapping, Dip-shift! I’m about five seconds away from pounding in your ugly faceplate!” threatened Sunstreaker.
“Oh, yeah?” Downshift screamed. “I’d like to see you try it, you murdering piece of scrap! C’mon!”
Sunstreaker answered Downshift’s challenge, leaping onto the other Autobot and pummeling him as if he were his sworn enemy. Downshift—optics covered with filth and seeing static with each successive blow—threw up his forearms in an effort to shield himself from the hammer fist raining down on him.
Jazz wailed his horn and switched on his high beams. “C’mon, fellas! Stop this mess! We got an Autobot in distress out there!”
The pair froze up like deer caught in his headlights—with Sunstreaker poised to deliver another haymaker as Downshift lay defeated in the mud. Reluctantly, Sunstreaker stood up and offered his dent-riddled opponent a hand.
“You can’t beat the best,” he grinned.
Downshift swatted Sunstreaker’s hand away and lifted himself up out of the muck.
“Brawn’s the only one of us outfitted to drive in this type of terrain,” Downshift grumbled. “The rest of us will have to hoof it.”
Jazz transformed to robot-mode and stuck his foot in the swamp. The murky water went all the way up to his knee joint. “Hm. I see what you’re sayin’. We’ll have to split up. Probably find Cosmos faster that way anyway.”
Downshift slotted a scope onto his rust-rifle. “Makes sense to me,” he said.
“What’s that for?” Jazz inquired. It was common knowledge that a transformers’ targeting systems usually eliminated the need to attach telescopic sights or visual enhancers to their weaponry.
“It’s an X-ray scope,” answered Downshift. “It can see through pretty much anything that’s not metal. Useless on Cybertron—but perfect for an organic alien environment like this one.”
“Good thinking,” Jazz nodded, privately wishing that he had one for himself.
Skyfire transformed and took in his surroundings. As tall as he was, he still had trouble seeing over the massive jungle’s treetops. “Hmm. This swamp is teeming with life... we should watch our step.”
“The Decepticons wouldn’t worry about that,” replied Sunstreaker.
“Good thing we ain’t them,” Jazz retorted. “Move out! And stay frosty!”



Kickback watched from the trees in alt-mode as the squad of Autobots advanced into the swamp. Then with a mighty thrust of his hind legs, he hopped off to inform his fellow Insecticons of their arrival.
The Insecticon camp consisted of three upturned tanks along with an assortment of several smaller vehicles. The military personnel that had once been their operators were now deceased—but continued to serve the Insecticons after death as literal zombies. It was Bombshell who first discovered that the electrical current produced by his Cerebro-shells would be sufficient to reanimate a corpse once it had been implanted in the subject’s brain. The fiend planned to enslave more humans in this manner when it became necessary to migrate to other areas in search of fuel, but for now, the gas from the military vehicles that were being driven into Demon Swamp on a daily basis were providing the ravenous trio with much sustenance.
Kickback leapt over the treetops and landed in the middle of the cluttered camp’s grease filled waters with a splash.
“Autobots!” he shrieked. “Our Swamp has become infested with those miserable rolling scrap-piles!”
“There goes the neighborhood hood,” Shrapnel wisecracked.
“This is our home!” Bombshell said. “We should defend it.”
“Bombshell’s right right,” Shrapnel replied, throwing his arms wide. “This is our home, and I’ve grown to like it here here.”
“So we must fight!” exclaimed Kickback.
“Yes, but not alone alone,” Shrapnel decreed. “We Insecticons are unique among the Transformer race… as our environment changes, so do our abilities abilities.”
Bombshell showered the wrecks strewn about them with glowing red dots from his mortar cannon. “Watch as my Insecti-shells inject our living CNA into these un-living bits of scrap metal!”
Seconds later, twin beams of energy shot out of Shrapnel’s antenna to energize the now pulsating pieces of wreckage. “And my clone-beams will provide our insecti-clones with the power they need to reshape themselves in our image image.”
Kickback watched as the remnants of Earth vehicles morphed into alt-formed versions of himself and his comrades. Then laughing uncontrollably with glee, he fired beams out of his own antenna to help hasten the process Shrapnel and Bombshell had begun. When the Insecticons were finished, there were dozens of clones rising up out of the swamp in a swarm that seemed to black out the moon itself.
“Go forth forth! Feed feed!” Shrapnel commanded. “You’ll find plenty of things to devour in Demon Swamp swamp!”



Downshift knelt down on a grassy knoll between two trees and peered through the scope of his rifle. Several hundred yards ahead, Sunstreaker sloshed his way through the swamp with no idea that he was currently in a sniper’s crosshairs.
“Camshaft didn’t deserve to die the way that he did,” Downshift ranted. “Sure all of the evidence pointed to him being a traitor, but who appointed you judge, jury, and executioner? I can’t let you get away with this... if you did it once, you’ll do it again. You’re a threat, and I’ve got to put you out of commission before you destroy anyone else!”
“Who ya talkin’ to, kid?” a voice inquired from behind.
Downshift whirled around and aimed his weapon at the ‘Bot who had questioned him. It was Brawn.
“Whoa, easy! It’s me!” Brawn said, throwing his hands up.
“D-don’t t-try to s-stop me, Brawn!” Downshift stammered. “H-he’s got it c-coming!”
“Have you blown a fuse? What are you talkin’ about?” Brawn focused his optics and caught a glimpse of Sunstreaker walking through the foliage a short distance away.
“Sunstreaker murdered my brother and Prowl tried to cover it up!” Downshift exclaimed. “Why? Just because he’s a good soldier...? Slag that scrap, Brawn! Where’s the justice? If there’s no justice, then everything just falls apart!”
“Do it,” Brawn urged. “Like you said... he’s got it comin’.”
“Y-you’re not going to try and stop me?” Downshift asked incredulously.
“I’ll be honest wit’ ya, Downshift... not everybody’s cool with what Sunstreaker did to Camshaft. Lotta ‘Bots think Sunstreaker’s a psycho. Even Sideswipe’s got concerns about ‘im.”
Brawn turned to walk away. “If you’re gonna do it, do it.” he said.
Downshift watched Brawn transform and depart, then he picked up his rifle and peered through its scope once again. He could see his target’s outline clearly behind a thick-trunked mangrove tree, but would the beam fired from his weapon still be strong enough to penetrate Sunstreaker’s cranial casing after passing through that tree? He decided not to find out. An errant shot would surely tip Sunstreaker off, and with an opponent as skilled as he was, one shot was all Downshift was going to get.
“I’ll wait until he enters that clearing up ahead,” he thought. “Then—wait, what’s that buzzing noise?”
Downshift looked up and the swarm was upon him.

(to be continued)

PART 84

The roar of the jet’s engines could be heard for miles. Jazz knew that the incoming aircraft was a Decepticon. In his short time on the planet he had already trained his audio receptors to differentiate between enemies and actual Earth jets—and the modified F-15 flying towards him at nearly mach 3 was definitely not of terrestrial origin.
“Got one Seeker comin’ in hot!” he yelled into his comm. “Try ta find cover if ya can!”



Downshift unleashed a blinding barrage into the swarm that lit up the night. The first few shots were oxidation beams capable of corroding metal on contact. The next thirty were explosive shells that blew the Insecti-clone’s rusty armored plates to pieces. Downshift had recently requested that Wheeljack make some upgrades to his rust-rifle, and it resulted in—arguably—the engineer’s best work in recent memory. All that was needed now was for the weapon to be field-tested.
Downshift used the newly upgraded rust-rifle to devastating effect, expertly alternating from beams to bullets and back again. The Insecti-clones—spawned from inferior Earth-made steel—were particularly vulnerable to this type of attack. Corrosion in the clone’s joints slowed them to a standstill, making them easy targets for the concussive force of an explosive shell to reduce them to scrap. Their ranks were being decimated... the problem was that they simply didn’t care. They just kept on coming.
A Kickback clone began biting through Downshift’s right arm while one of Shrapnel’s duplicates went to work on his left. The limb came off between the stag beetle’s mandibles in a shower of sparks at the shoulder joint. Downshift cried out in agony. A cry that was cut short by a cloned Bombshell bursting upward through the ground beneath his feet. Downshift lost his footing and tumbled down the hill entwined with the Kickback clone. When they slammed into a tree at the bottom of the hill, Downshift blew it’s head off at point blank range.
A multitude of others piled on. He squeezed the trigger again. This time nothing happened—his ammo was completely spent. Downshift began bashing the bugs off with his rifle butt. His attackers were legion. They swarmed over him... gnawing at his kneecaps and grappling for control of his remaining arm until another Shrapnel clone relieved him of it with one swift, scissor-like motion of it’s mandibles.
Downshift’s screams whet the Insecti-clones’ appetites for more. The sounds of his suffering drove them into a full on feeding frenzy. He was being consumed while still conscious. Two of the voracious creatures detached his lower legs and skittered off into the swamp. They were followed by a host of others trying quite literally to tear the food right out of their mouths.
Downshift was limbless now. Helpless. A greedy locust lunged for his faceplate, it’s foul maw filling his field of vision. In an act of desperation the Omnibot launched both of his shoulder mounted magnetically guided missiles directly into his attacker’s face, nearly destroying himself in the process. Burning bits of metal rained down on the two ruined robotic bodies. The swamp fell silent... it’s fauna frightened away by the sound of the explosion. Downshift sat slumped against a tree, his white armor melted and charred beyond recognition. The mouthplate he wore was missing, as were one of his optic lenses, revealing the circular camera lens set beneath it. Then, the horde converged on him once more. There were others whose stomachs were still empty.
“Shoo! Get away from him you vile creatures!” yelled someone from afar.
The Insecti-clones paused briefly as if to consider the unseen voice’s command, then they turned their attentions right back around to Downshift, intent on devouring what little was left of him. Lasers flashed out of the darkness, accompanied by the sizzle of steel as each beam found it’s respective target. Dead Insecti-clones rolled off of Downshift and splashed into the shallow water surrounding him. His Seeker savior stood over him frowning with his hands on his hips.
“Autobot, my name is Nacelle.”
“I know who you are, lackey!” Downshift spat in disgust.
“Silence! You will divulge the details of your current mission or you will be terminated.”
“How do I know you won’t destroy me anyway?”
Nacelle smirked. “You have my word.”
“Uh huh. Tell me, Nacelle... what did you do to get tossed out into the field with the rest of the Genericons?”
The question made Nacelle livid. He never wanted to kill another being more than he did at this very moment. The truth of the matter was that he would rather be back in a lab on Cybertron than standing here in the middle of an alien swamp with organic creatures trying to creep into every crevice... but recently the Seeker had been stripped of his rank and reassigned—a casualty of Starscream’s attempted coup.
“Do not toy with me,” he warned. “As former assistant to Shockwave, I have euthanized several of his failed test subjects. I found blasting them to be as carthartic as streamlining one’s fuselage.”
Nacelle bent down so that he and Downshift were face to face. “I will ask you one more time, Autobot. What is your mission here?”
Downshift was unyielding. “Surrender, Decepticon... and when my friends show up I’ll persuade them to take you prisoner instead of destroying you where you stand.”
“Ah! So there are others! I thought I spotted another of your misbegotten ilk upon my arrival, but when I converted to my primary configuration and conducted a search for him on foot, I found no trace... just an infestation of these infernal Insecticons...! Their activities here are unsanctioned. Megatron will not be pleased.”
Nacelle reached into a hole in Downshift’s chest plate and began wiring several of his internal components into his Spark chamber.
“What are you doing?” Downshift demanded. “Get out of me!”
“There. I’m finished,” Nacelle announced after a few moments. He patted Downshift on the head as he stood up. “I have wired your Spark to explode. Any attempt to remove you for repairs shall result in a detonation that will critically damage anyone in the immediate vicinity.”
Downshift cursed Nacelle as he walked away. He could hear the Seeker sloshing through the swamp until that sound stopped abruptly. Then he heard Nacelle pleading for mercy. A weapon was discharged... followed by the sound of something—presumably his body—hitting the water. Downshift bowed his head. The action that was taken—the decision to terminate Nacelle as he begged for his life—revealed to Downshift the identity of the executioner as if his name had been spoken aloud—SUNSTREAKER.
The ‘Bot in question burst out of the foliage in front of Downshift boasting about his latest victory.
“Should’ve seen me back there, Downshift! The way I just offed this big Decepti-geek... classic!”
Sunstreaker’s optics widened as he took notice of Downshift’s damages. “Whoa!” he exclaimed. “What happened to you?”
“That “big Decepti-geek” you just scrapped wired me up to explode!”
“Oh wow, hey... you know I would diffuse you—I know you’re an expert at this sort of thing, and that you’d walk me through it—but I left my other hand back on Cybertron... and you how difficult it is to diffuse a bomb with one hand and all. Plus, I mean just look at you... you’re totaled! You won’t last much longer out here.”
Downshift nodded as Sunstreaker continued his charade of an explanation until the sociopath aimed his gun-arm at him.
“It’s better this way,” he said. “No use of us both getting scrapped.”
Downshift sighed. “I figured you’d say that. You could call Jazz to do it, y’know.”
“Nah... you know Jazz, he’s probably busy doing something heroic right now and this is such an important mission... why bother the ‘Bot?” he shrugged.
Downshift shook his head. “Why do you even wear that symbol, Sunstreaker? You’re not an Autobot... not in any way that counts.”
“I like the way it looks.” Sunstreaker put his index finger up to his lips. “Shush now,” he whispered. “This won’t hurt a bit.”
Sunstreaker fired. Downshift’s Spark casing blew apart, exposing the ball of light within. The Spark flared brightly—it’s hue changing from a transparent blue to a solid white—before shrinking to nothingness. The light faded from Downshift’s optics, his head fell down toward the gaping hole in his chest.
Sunstreaker smiled. “You’re with your brothers now, Downshift. Rust in peace.”

(to be continued)

PART 85

A tree branch snapped as Skyfire crept through the swamp. He paused to watch a snake slither out of his way before continuing on his path. He often found himself stopping frequently to take in the smells, sights, and sounds of this new earthen environment. As a former scientist and explorer Skyfire believed that he respected all life in it’s myriad forms... he was about to prove himself utterly wrong.
Ahead, gathered in a large clearing, were over a dozen Insecti-clones. Skyfire’s optics flared with uncontrolled rage! To him, these newly minted Transformers resembled three of the most sadistic beings he had ever encountered—Kickback, Shrapnel, and Bombshell. The Seeker-turned-Autobot soldier leveled his double-barreled laser rifle and lit into the unsuspecting swarm until they were nothing but smoking piles of scrap. When he finally stopped firing, robotic insect parts littered the landscape for as far as the optic could see. A sense of satisfaction washed over him as his cooling systems kicked in.
“Damn that felt good,” he said.



Inside the Insecticon camp, sixty human slaves were in the process of spit-shining their metal-masters to polished perfection. Suddenly, they ceased their endeavors and ran full-tilt into the surrounding woods. Hidden in the underbrush, Jazz watched the entire spectacle with his finger on the trigger. Behind the unwary Insecticons another more brightly clad figure stirred... stalking the trio from behind.
“That you, Sunstreaker?” Jazz radioed.
“Yup.” Sunstreaker radioed back. “I see you over there.”
“Any sign of Cosmos?”
“Nope... I did come across Downshift, though. He’s dead. What’s the situation here?”
Jazz paused for a moment before he spoke. Sunstreaker’s callousness always had a way of unsettling him.
“Boss stage,” he answered. “The three ‘Cons you see in front of ya are runnin’ the whole show. They got the raggediest buncha humans I’ve ever seen at their beck an’ call too. Huh, and judgin’ by the way they jumped up and took off, they’re most likely mind controlled.”
“We could catch these creeps easy in a crossfire.”
“Probably wind up lightin’ each other up too in the process. Let’s try not to get damaged before we’ve even laid optics on our objective.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“We do this with style. Follow my lead.”
Jazz stood up and waved his arms. His voice boomed from the speakers that slid out of either side of his waist as he began to speak.
“HEY, FELLAS! THIS NEW SPOT YOU GOT—CLUB CON... IT’S A DUMP! NOW BE NICE A TELL A ‘BOT WHERE HE CAN GO TO GET HIS SHANIX BACK!”
“Insolent Autobot fool fool!”
Shrapnel fired in Jazz’ direction. The 30-pound steel ball produced by his weapon exploded in mid-air, raining down deadly razor-sharp spikes that stripped the entire area of foliage. Devoid of cover, there shouldn’t have been anywhere for the Autobot Special Ops agent to hide. But still... he was nowhere to be found. Bewildered, Shrapnel began a search for the invader and was struck down by an electron burst that left him in the mud with his circuits sizzling. Bombshell spun around to see where the shot had come from and got blasted by the same sniper that laid Shrapnel low.
Sunstreaker’s last shot revealed his position and Kickback opened up on him full-auto. A hail of high-caliber bullets caused Sunstreaker to topple backwards into the bog just as his partner emerged from it to gun the Insecticon down.
“Sorry ‘bout that, Sunstreaker! Mud was harder to move in than I thought... slowed me up a bit. You alright?”
Sunstreaker stood up and rubbed the trail of scorch marks stitched across his chest. “Yeah. That loser’s bullets couldn’t penetrate my polymer-steel skin.”
Jazz squatted down, grabbed Kickback by the antenna and shoved his gun in his faceplate.
“It’s question and answer time,” he told the Insecticon. “I ask the questions, you provide the answers. Got it?”
Kickback couldn’t move his head much with Jazz maintaining a firm grip on his antenna, but he managed to nod his head “yes”.
“Where’s Cosmos?”
The Insecticon had two guns in his face now and his nervousness was becoming evident.
“Inside of our bellies!” he blurted out. “Bombshell lost control upon entering this planet’s atmosphere. We crashed. Your friend was irreparably damaged and we... we were soo hungry!”
The tip of Sunstreaker’s gun-arm crackled. Jazz warned him with a glare that said “not yet.”
“So what about the Proton Nullifier? Didja have that for lunch too?”
“No, but it sounds delicious delicious!”
Both Autobots whirled around and pointed their weapons at the Insecticon with the creepy voice behind them. Suddenly, their targeting systems seized before they could fire a shot.
“Nnng. Electronic scrambler waves,” Sunstreaker said through gnashed teeth. “Feeling dizzy...”
Sunstreaker’s limbs buckled as he collapsed into a heap on top of Jazz. When his vision cleared, he saw two faces looking down at him that he recognized immediately—Blaster and Cliffjumper.
“Unnnh... what is it about this mudball that makes everyone wanna show their true colors?” he groaned.
The duo continued to stare at him as if he hadn’t uttered a word.
“I don’t think they can hear ya, man,” Jazz said. “They’re there, but they’re not there... you catch my drift?”
Blaster slung the still warm electro-scrambler rifle over his shoulder and helped Bombshell to his feet. The Insecticon’s Insecti-clones gathered slowly behind them.
Sunstreaker began to count. “Six. Seven. Eight. Nine—“
“Y’know Sunstreaker... the humans got a sayin’ for situations like this.”
“Yeah, Jazz? What is it?”
“All bad.”

(to be continued)

PART 86

Legions of Bombshell’s human slaves charged out of the woods toward Brawn’s vehicular form. They swarmed over him... kicking and pounding until the bones in their feet were broken and their knuckles pulped. Then... they froze, all stopping simultaneously as if awaiting further instruction from some unseen master.
Brawn picked up a faint transmission over his comm, three words... a command—
“Use your heads.”
Without hesitation, the slaves began bashing their heads against his armor plating until every square inch of his alt-mode was splattered with blood and brains.
Brawn’s patience reached it’s limit.
“Hey! Hey! Hey! Guys!” he shouted. “I get the hint! I’m not wanted here!”
He threw himself into reverse causing several determined “Destroids”— as the Insecticons had begun to call them—to lose their footing in the slippery mud and fall beneath his undercarriage. Then he shifted into drive. Tires squealed over wet flesh and bodies thumped against hard Cybertronian steel as Brawn rammed into them. Strangely enough, not a single scream was heard.
“Huh! The Decepticons should be this tough,” Brawn mused.
Alerted by the noise, Skyfire turned around just in time to see the Autobot SUV burst into the clearing behind him with one Destroid attached to his side mirror and another clinging to the roof.
“Brawn, what are you doing!? Optimus Prime decreed that the humans must not be harmed!”
Brawn slammed on the brakes sending his hanger ons flying forward into the mire.
“In case you haven’t noticed, genius, these guys have already kicked the bucket!” he shot back.
“They’re... dead? But how—?
Skyfire knew it was possible to make mechanical life forms that had been pronounced dead move again as if they were alive... but reanimating deceased organics? Now that was another matter entirely. He watched as the stout Autobot uprooted a tree and swung it as if it were a bat, sending several hapless humans sailing over the treetops.
“Don’t just stand there,” Brawn yelled. “Lay into ‘em!”
Instead, Skyfire reached down and picked one up. The light of his blue optics illuminated the muck-covered creature, revealing that the top of it’s skull was missing. The subject’s brain sat completely exposed with a cylindrical object wedged between the two halves.
“A... cerebro-shell.”
Skyfire recognized the device from ancient medical files dating back to the era of enslavement. It didn’t surprise him in the least that someone from his former faction would reverse-engineer an instrument once used by the Quintessons on Transformers too unruly to control through conventional methods.
Skyfire extended a needle from his forefinger. “Now... if I remember correctly, penetrating the shielding on a cerebro-shell should cause feedback in the cerebral circuits of the slave master. Painful feedback...”



Back at the Insecticon camp, the Insecticon’s Insecti-clone army had completely engulfed the two Autobots whom the trio had been at their mercy just moments before.
Kickback couldn’t help but smile at the sudden turn of events. “Three down, two to go!” he crowed. “No sense of us waiting around for another ambush, I say we go Autobot hunting!”
“No, wait... wait...” Shrapnel said. “Something’s wrong wrong.”
Bombshell stumbled, then sank to his knees clutching his cranium. “Someone has one of my cerebro-shells!” he cried out in agony. “I’m losing control!”
“Lost control you mean,” said a staticky voice.
Blaster blasted the Insecticons with a wide arcing beam from his electro-scrambler gun before any of them realized he was no longer under their control—leaving all three thrashing around in a fit of system freezes and circuit seizures.
“That takes care of the malfunctioning morons!” yelled Cliffjumper. “I’ll take care of the knock-offs!”
Cliffjumper took careful aim at the uppermost clone—a rhinoceros beetle—clambering atop a literal pile of clones that were attempting to consume Jazz and Sunstreaker. The glass gas pellet struck the beetle square in the optic and spread out into a fog over his brethren below. The living structure collapsed under it’s own weight, making a sound like shattering glass as it fell to form the biggest pile of spare parts any Autobot had ever seen. When all the pieces had finally settled, Blaster and Cliffjumper looked at each other, shrugged, and then dove headlong into the massive mound of crystallized limbs, wings and thoraxes.
“Dig!” hollered Cliffjumper. “Jazz and Sunstreaker are in here somewhere!”
A battered black metal hand connected to a white forearm punched up through the surface.
“Forget about us!” Jazz screamed. “Get those ’Cons! They’ve got the Proton Nullifier!”
“Proton What-zis...?” Cliffjumper’s head spun around and saw nothing but swampland.
Blaster placed his finger on the eject button. “Looks like they split. I’ll send my crew after ‘em.”
Eject, Rewind and Ramhorn were all deployed in quick succession, each changing from disc to robot before their feet—or paws—hit the ground.
“Blaster, you still have the Proton Nullifier in your possession!” Rewind informed him.
“He’s right Blaster,” added Eject. “You never made the switch!”
Blaster opened his leg compartment and the Nullifier rolled right out into his palm.
“Whoops! I guess I never did give this contraption to Cosmos! Hey, where is Cosmos, anyway?”
“Right here.” Brawn said, holding up Cosmos’ decapitated head by the neck cables as he entered the camp. “This is all that’s left of ‘im.”
Skyfire came into view moments later cradling Downshift’s remains. Cliffjumper drew his weapon.
“Watch out!” he yelled. “Decepticonnn!”
“Oh scrap!” exclaimed Blaster. “That’s the same ‘Con Warpath shot back in Iacon!”
“Be cool, Cliff!” Jazz sputtered, freeing himself from a pile of scrapped Insecti-clones. “Don’t shoot ‘im! He’s with us!”
Cliffjumper nodded and reluctantly lowered his weapon.
“He’s one of the good guys now, Cliffjumper.” Brawn reassured him. “In fact, Skyfire here found a way to pull the plug on a whole mob of meat-puppets we were fightin’ awhile ago. I mean, not like I couldn’t handle a few dozen undead humans, but I was gettin’ bored sluggin’ the little creeps.”
“One of the Insecticons came into possession of cerebral override technology,” explained Skyfire. “I merely disrupted the user’s control by piercing the casing on a cerebro-shell I procured from one of the humans held in his thrall.”
“That’s probably what popped me an’ Cliffjumper back in the driver’s seats.” deduced Blaster. “Good stuff, Skyfire.” he said, giving him a thumbs up. “Sorry ‘bout what happened in Iacon.”
“Hhn... apology accepted,” replied Skyfire.
“Now if everyone is through making nice,” Sunstreaker whined from beneath the wreckage. “You think one of you merry mechs can dig me outta this mess?”

(to be continued)

PART 87

Ratchet’s repair bay. Hours later.

“Those Insecticons chewed me up pretty good Doc,” Sunstreaker smirked from the operating slab. “For a moment there I was afraid that you would run out of polymer-steel plating and you would have to finish my repairs using sub-standard materials.”
“I scrounged around and found a few scraps in Huffer’s old workshop. I almost walked right over ‘em,” Ratchet chuckled. “Huffer never marked anything during his whole function cycle! He always relied on the sensors in his fingertips to identify everything from tin-foil to trithyllium steel.”
“It’s a shame how he met his manufacturer—being dismantled by Seekers and all. I wouldn’t wanna go out that way.”
“Better a shot to the Spark, hmm? Like you did Downshift?”
“How do you know about that?”
Ratchet picked up something off of his tool tray with a pair of forceps and held it in front of Sunstreaker’s face.
“With this,” he answered. “A recorder chip wired directly into your optics. I installed it when Prime ordered me to check your cerebrals... right after I found out that you terminated Camshaft for no reason at all—other than the reason you formulated in your head. Everything you saw in Demon Swamp, I was also able to see on Teletraan-1’s monitor screen.”
Sunstreaker hopped off the slab and shoved Ratchet away from him. “That’s pretty invasive for you, Doc. Who put you up to this?” he demanded. “Prowl? Prime?”
“It was all me, Sunstreaker. Prowl may have been willing to cover for you, but I won’t. You’re dangerous. You’re a danger to everyone aboard this ship and I refuse to be a part of the cover-up.”
“Look Ratchet,” Sunstreaker sighed. “Downshift was totaled. You know... you saw him! He was a liability out there. I had to do it! Jazz would’ve told one of us to stay behind to look after ‘im and that would’ve jeopardized the whole mission. Yeah Downshift got scrapped, but we got the Nullifier and now we’re ready to roll on the Decepticreeps and shut down their little operation for good.”
Sunstreaker jabbed a finger in Ratchet’s chest. “Come to think of it, you know what? I think you should have a little more respect for ‘Bots like me out there doing the dirty work. The ‘Bots that are willing to do what needs to be done.”
Ratchet shook his head incredulously. “You’re out of control...”
Sunstreaker took aim at the crest on the doctor’s forehead. “Maybe. But still... no one else can know about this. It’s bad for morale. Plus, I’m too important to the Autobot cause to rust in a cell. I’ll make it quick... clean,” he whispered. “I’ll tell everyone it was an accident—a misfire. I’ll say you were bending down to extract a bit of debris from my gun-arm and then—ZAP! Fried cerebral circuitry!”
Sunstreaker mentally pulled the trigger as the last word left his lips. He was surprised when nothing happened.
“I disabled your weapons systems.” Ratchet said calmly. “I had hoped I was jumping to conclusions when I did it, but now I see that I was right.”
Ratchet stepped backward as Sunstreaker advanced toward him menacingly. “I also had Wheeljack install a silent alarm in here after the Decepticon’s last visit, which I triggered about forty seconds ago.”
The doors to the repair bay whisked open and Prowl and Ironhide rushed in with their weapons drawn.
“Ratchet! You alright?” exclaimed Ironhide. “Whut’s the trouble?”
“Sunstreaker murdered Downshift.” Ratchet informed them. “You two can watch the whole sickening episode on Teletraan-1.”
Prowl looked disgusted. “Sunstreaker... why? And to think I gave you a second chance after your last indiscretion...!
Sunstreaker remained silent as Prowl fastened a pair of Energon restraints around his wrists.
“This wasn’t a sting operation,” Ratchet told the disgraced warrior as he was being led away. “I practically begged Jazz not to bring you on that mission... but no one ever listens to their doctor’s advice.”

(to be continued)

PART 88

Prowl

The battle plans have been drawn up. We attack at nightfall. That leaves me exactly six hours and thirty-eight minutes to tie up some loose ends. I take five Autobots along with me on this mission—Hound, Blaster, Rewind, Eject and Ramhorn.

“Where are we headed, Prowl?” inquires Hound.
“Portland. To pick up two more team members... Spike and Sparkplug Witwicky.”
Traffic is sparse due to a shortage of available gasoline. We make it to our destination in record time.

“Cool Boombox!” Spike exclaims when he spots Blaster in my backseat. “Can I have it?”
“Say what!? Listen up you little wannabe Quintesson—owning other sentient beings is illegal! And that’s spelled with a capital ill!”
“Oops, Sorry! I didn’t know you were ah, sentient.”
“Try askin’ next time, li’l man.”

Introductions between Sparkplug and Hound go a lot smoother. Sparkplug used to drive the same model Jeep Hound chose as his alt-mode when he served in the military. They’re fast friends.

Next, we drive into the foothills of the Cascade mountains. The Institute for Intelligence and Information is surrounded by bollards and anti-ram barriers... not very car friendly. Soldiers with Cybertronian weapons man a guard booth six hundred feet from our objective. We slow our roll. A spiked barrier impedes our path. It lowers and becomes flush with the roadway as we draw near. Soldiers salute Sparkplug as we drive past them.

If Blaster wasn’t in alt-form he’d be patting himself on the back right now.

“Smooth. Like slidin’ on an oil slick. Hold the applause folks.”
Spike grins. “I was wondering how we were gonna get past those security guards. How’d you pull that off, Blaster?”
“Easy, m’man. I hacked their Wi-Fi, searched their computers and came out with some access codes that I transmitted right back to their transponders—open sesame!”
“Decepticons detected!” warns Hound.
No surprise there.
“How many?” I ask.
“Definitely one... maybe more. I can’t seem to get a decent fix.”

Hound and I park in the lot. Spike grabs Blaster by the handle and follows his father into the building. His “Boombox” connects to the security cameras via Wi-Fi and starts streaming the data back to Hound. Hound then uses his hologram gun to project that visual data onto the side of the facility. Next, Blaster’s enhanced audio receivers capture the sound and he broadcasts it over our comms. It’s our version of a drive-in movie. Given that this is a federal office building, I should be hearing a jumble of conversations right now. I don’t. The silence...? It speaks volumes.

“You see that?” Sparkplug whispers to his son. “Everyone’s walking around like they’re in a daze... and they’re all wearing these little chips on their necks.”
“Yeah, Dad... weird. What do you think they are?”
“Well, they ain’t nicotine patches—that’s for sure!”

Triple I employees file past my infiltration team like automatons—like they’re part of a hive mind. They move in unison... right foot followed by the left, with each step covering the same amount of distance. Blaster notices this too. He locates and locks onto the control signal before I can even give him the order to find it.

“I’m detecting a sub-harmonic frequency bein’ broadcast from the lab, Prowl. Want me to jam it?”
“Negative, I don’t want to tip off the puppeteer. The minute he loses control of his slaves he’s gonna want to know why. Let’s not lose the element of surprise.”

There’s a human in that laboratory wearing a metal skullcap. The computer he’s standing in front of looks like a human scaled version of something Cybertronian.
Doctor Arkeville, I presume?

The good doctor’s interest in mind control points to him as the being behind this malevolent melding of the minds. I wonder if the promise of power bundled with a brand new extraterrestrial PC was all it took for him to sell out his entire species. It’s the beginnings of an ingenious scheme on Megatron’s part... I’ll give him that. Why send your warriors out on Energon collection duties when you can have the fuel delivered to you by human slaves? Triple I is his testing ground.

“Prowl, we’re heading down the corridor to Agent Barnett’s office,” radios Spike. “He’s got two guards posted out front with more of those funky lookin’ weapons.”
“Funky?”
“As in alien. What do you want us to do now?”
“Give me a moment. Lemme take a sneak peek inside.”

I see Barnett holding a photograph in his trembling hands. There are two humans pictured in the photo. I can tell from the angle of the shot that it’s of the surveillance kind—taken without the subject’s knowledge. There’s a camera sitting on his desk. Looks like I just found the ‘Con Hound detected earlier. Barnett pleads with him—

“Reflector, please! It’s been weeks...! You have to let me see my family!”

Yup. From here It’s easy to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Reflector remembered Barnett from his reconnaissance mission at the Ark. The three Decepti-creeps must’ve tracked Walter down at some point and discovered that he had people he cared about. Barnett’s wife and son are being held prisoner. He’s cooperating with the Decepticons out of concern for his family. Facial recognition matches two people being held in a storeroom to the faces in the photo.

Walter should have come to us with this. We could have helped him sooner.

“Physical contact with your mate and offspring will not be permitted until we are through with you.” Reflector informs him in triplicate. “In the meantime, I suggest that you concern yourself with other matters—such as re-establishing communications with the Autobots.”
“Their computer—Teletraan-1–It’s been sending me to voicemail ever since the incident at the oil drilling platform! The Autobots are onto you!”

I concur.

“Blaster?”
“Yes, Prowl?”
“Jam that signal.”

The guards in front of Barnett’s office stumble about—disoriented—as if jolted from a deep sleep. They stare at their weapons as if they don’t recognize them. I don’t know how long ago it was that they were outfitted with Cybertronian tech... and from the looks on their faces, neither do they. My team strolls right past the guards while they try to figure things out.

Barnett jumps out of his chair when he sees Spike. The camera on his desk splits into three and begins to change form. Blaster ejects his peeps. The middle Decepti-dope—the one with the lens—doesn’t have time to dodge Ramhorn’s charge... he goes flying backward through the wall and lands on his back in a pile of bricks. Eject and Rewind make short work of the other two. The twin Reflector’s reaction time is off, they seem distracted... like they each want to be spectators to eachother’s beatdowns.

“Wait—no!” yells Barnett. “You don’t understand...! The Decepticons... they have my wife and son!”
“Blaster, inform Mr. Barnett that his loved ones have exited the room where they were formerly being held prisoner and are currently running towards his position as we speak.”

Barnett doesn’t wait for them to reach him. He barrels out the door of his office, nearly taking it off the hinges when he hears the news. Blaster gives orders to Rewind and Eject to execute the two Decepti-creeps they’re holding at gunpoint. That’s fine with me because they don’t really exist. They’re flash sentries—hard light holograms—generated by the real Reflector. Whenever Reflector speaks to one of them, he’s actually talking to himself. A psychologist would have a field day with that guy.

We lose track of Dr. Arkeville in the commotion. No big deal... he’s only human. I’m sure he’ll turn up later. For now, I have the mech I want. Blaster’s crew constructs a makeshift sled out of I-beams and they weld Reflector down to it. Once some cables are attached to the sled, Ramhorn is only too happy to tow our prisoner back to the Ark. I roll at the head of the procession with lights flashing. We’re perp walking him. We want the Decepticons to see this. The time for disguises and subterfuge is over.

That Space Bridge is getting shut down. Tonight.

(to be continued)

PART 89

Iacon

Much of the power in Autobase had been cut to conserve Energon. This provided the troops stationed within with the fuel that had sustained them throughout the Decepticon’s siege on Iacon up until this point. The downside was that these dark environs now made an ideal environment for an intruder to prowl unnoticed.



The Decepticon saboteur that had found his way inside Autobase possessed an electromagnetic emission shield and soundless walk that rendered him virtually undetectable to most mechanical beings. Fortunately for the Autobots, Tigertrack was equipped with a sensory array that placed him among the exceptional few that could.
While patrolling the fortress’s lower levels, Tigertrack suddenly skidded to a stop, transformed, and fired a shot down a pitch black hallway. The electron pulse missed—but what it did was illuminate the corridor, revealing the intruder’s identity for a split second before the darkness camouflaged him again.
“Ravage!”
Tigertrack quickly alt-formed and turned on his high beams, blinding the Decepticon in midleap. Ravage’s body slammed against his windshield, his claws dug into the Autobot’s hood as he struggled to right himself. Tigertrack reverted to robot-mode once more—this time with vibroblade in hand. Ravage was on top of him now—partially sighted—but still looking to do some serious damage. Tigertrack’s blade bit first. He stabbed the beast in the side, and when he went to bury his knife in his metal hide again—he was gone. Disappeared. But not without a trace...
Tigertrack lit up his fingertip flashlight and followed the trail of spilled Energon. The trail led him to the entrance to a tunnel. The steel doors built to block the entrance were wide open. The control panel used to operate them was wrecked beyond repair. Tigertrack raised his comm.
“Red Alert, come in. We’ve got a problem... a big one!”



Outside the Great Dome, Soundwave wades through the troops amassed around it’s perimeter to deliver his latest report.
“Ravage has returned, Commander Shockwave.”
“What are his findings, Soundwave?”
Data danced across the spymaster’s chest until it coalesced into a map of Iacon and it’s interconnecting tunnels. Shockwave studied it for a long time before he spoke.
“The slave trail leading underground from Autobase into Kalis is the only route accessible to us outside of the Great Dome.”
“Affirmative. Warning. Choke point identified.”
“Yes, the tunnel narrows as it enters Iacon. Funneling our forces through that passageway will undoubtedly create a bottleneck toward it’s exit point.”
Shockwave paused to tap a red dot on Soundwave’s chest. “If the Autobots were to place an Ion cannon at this position here, our troops would suffer heavy casualties.”
Soundwave nodded. “Compiling a list of Decepticons deemed expendable,” he replied.
“Excellent, Soundwave.”

(to be continued)

PART 90

Dropshot

Trannis nearly blew a fuse when he found out that he wouldn’t be the one leading the invasion. “Dropshot doesn’t have the experience,” he said. “He’ll lead those Decepticons to their deaths.”

He’s wrong. I’m going to lead them to glory.

I became one of Shockwave’s sub-commander’s the solar cycle that the Wreckers ambushed us on the Iacon Speedway. They used a bomb to blow up a big section of it, cutting us off from our Commanders... then they went to work on ‘em Wrecker style. They got in real close—hand to hand—believing that the rest of us wouldn’t open fire and risk sending some of our own to the scrap heap. Their mistake.

I mean... it was a tough call—giving the order to gun down Bombshock along with the Wrecker that was mashin’ his manifold—but in the end, the deed was done and I, his dutiful lieutenant, stepped in to fill his slot. Now here I am, not even a quartex later, being hand-picked by Shockwave himself to spearhead the assault on Autobase. But hey, what can I say? Shockwave has a real eye for talent.

We’re rumbling through an underground tunnel in alt-mode—fifty of us. We are—with the exception of Barricade—a buncha Decepticons you’ve probably never even heard of. Mechs like Meltdown, Motor Head, Half Track, Hyperdrive, Power Punch, Detour, Blackjack, Growl, Grease Pit, Ground Hog, Road Hugger, Roughstuff and Roller Force. We may all be Genericons this cycle, but some of us will be certified legends by the next one.

Halfway through the tunnel the Autobots come racing towards us full throttle. My missiles turn two of ‘em into junk before they can even complete their transformations. The ‘Bots behind ‘em—the ones that do make it to two feet—are slow, weak... literally falling to pieces before our optics. Still, they stand and fight. This doesn’t surprise me in the least. Brave fools are in abundance in the Autobot army.

My troops demolish them. Power Punch pulverizes their squad leader with a wrist mounted morning star until his sensors are scrambled. I move in to terminate the bashed up ‘Bot as he lay sputtering on his back. I recognize ‘im. His name’s Driveshaft. Before the war, he was a political pundit from Praxus with a voice so gravelly that it reminded me of an anvil being dragged over unrefined ore pebbles. His vocoder must be glitchin’ bad because he begins to describe to me in sixteen different voices how he’s gonna devour me like some kind of crazed mecannibal—all without moving his mouth! Poor slagger must be mad with Energon exhaustion—either that or he’s way more damaged than he looks. The voices continue even after my rifle reduces his brain module to scrap metal. Then I realize what’s happening...

“Aw, hex nuts! He’s infested! All of these Autobot wrecks are!”

What I was hearing wasn’t the ramblings of a mad ‘Bot, it was the Scraplets taunting me from inside Driveshaft’s dead body! One of ‘em wriggles out from a crack in his armor... he’s dark red with a spark blue antenna that flashes as he begins to shout commands in a comically high-pitched voice.

“Scraplets! Combine to form... Aft-Eaterrr!”

Those of us equipped with mouths stand slack-jawed as the multi-colored menaces swarm out of the fallen Autobots and reconstitute into a giant humanoid form. It’s Junkion-esque mustache—comprised of it’s fellow Scraplets—hangs down to the middle of it’s chest. The Scraplet Commander’s antenna forms a blinking belly ring adorning the beast’s enormous gut. The monster’s toothless mouth salivates at the sight of us... I have never ever seen anything this horrifying in my entire function cycle... my servos seize in sheer terror.

Meltdown’s been shouting at me for the past several astro-seconds. “Boss...! Hey, Boss! You ain’t gonna let dis freak stand in our way, right?”

The sound takes a moment to register in my cerebrals. “Gah! N-nuh! G-go get ‘im, Meltdown!”

Meltdown charges the ogre swinging his Energon mace. The weapon carves a viscous arc across it’s stomach and it’s component Scraplets splatter against the wall in the form of slag droplets. It rears back in pain and then lunges forward, scooping Meltdown up in a bear hug. I hear the sound of a thousand tiny buzzsaws turning on at once, and within moments a mighty Decepticon warrior is reduced to nothing more than a chewed up chassis. A wave of sickness washes over me as I watch Meltdown’s remains slowly sink into the creature’s undulating skin. It manifests a tongue... long and serpentine and forked at the end... then it proceeds to lick the mech fluids from off of it’s disgusting body. It looks at us and smiles.

“Mmmm, tasty! Want more!”

My troops are panicking... they’re looking toward me for direction. I’m... at a loss for words! The monster rampages towards us.

“Kill it with fire, mechs!” someone shouts in a thick Nebulan accent.

It’s my newly appointed lieutenant, Growl. He loads a rack of incendiary shells into his grenade launcher, and then joins the others in bombarding the beast. The temperature in the tunnel raises to over two thousand degrees. The monster starts feeling the heat. It waves the white flag of surrender—also composed of it’s fellow vermin—as it’s being melted to slag. Too late creeps! First we’re gonna immobilize you, then we’re gonna incinerate you!

I command my troops to “hit it ‘til It hurts, then hit it again!”

The creature bellows in agony. Crowds of it’s components separate from it’s form, sounding a thousand squeaky retreats as they flee into the tunnels. It’s a scene I won’t soon forget.

Growl waves Roller Force and Hyperdrive ahead. ”If it moves, crush it.” he orders. "And if any of those robo-cockies have me doin' the Badlands salute when we advance, you sorry mechs will answer for it!"
“Huh. Didn't know Scraplets had such a low melting point. Good work, Growl."
“No worries, just doin’ my job.”

”Aft-Eater, eh?” Sounds like those Scraplets have been feasting on flying Cybertronians. Most fliers are manufactured in Vos, but if my databanks serve me correctly, I remember there being a few plants scattered around Kaon, too. If those pests were native to the Badlands they’d be calling themselves “Turret-Taster” or something else equally as suggestive. Question is... how did vermin from Vos—or wherever—cross over into Autobot controlled territory without assistance? Something tells me that these Scraplets are the same ones that Shockwave unleashed on the Autobots awhile back when this siege began.

Hyperdrive interrupts my train of thought with a shout of “All clear!” The entrance to Autobase is visible in the distance. Our intel was accurate, it’s wide open. We’re forced to drive single file as we speed towards the light at the end of the tunnel. Roller Force is first over the threshold, bashing his way past Ground Hog screaming “unless you’re behind me, then you’re in my way!”

Ion cannon blasts promptly cut him down. A few more mechs get shot to pieces before Detour slams on the brakes, causing a ten ‘Con pile up behind him. The coward transforms and scrambles over his comrades crumpled alt-forms, attempting to scurry back in the direction whence we came. He doesn’t make it far. A mech with black, white and purple paintwork snags him and puts him down hard. Can’t quite make out who it is, but whoever he is, he’s setting a good example. We won’t tolerate cowards or deserters.

Two ‘Bots wheel the cannon that wasted my mechs into the mouth of the tunnel. Ion Bolts sizzle through the air turning Decepticons into piles of junk. We weren’t prepared for this. We rolled right into a choke point. There’s no room to maneuver, nowhere to run... maybe Detour had the right idea after all? Yeah. We’ll retreat and regroup... we’ll have to find another way in. This tunnel’s a dead end. I give the order—

“Decepticons, re—“

Barricade shoves the barrel of his rifle in my face plate. “Not another word.” he warns. “Shockwave selected you to lead this army into the belly of the beast, so lead ‘em!”
Suddenly it all hits me like a ton of steel girders. ”We’re High Command’s cannon fodder fools, eh Barricade? We’re the expendables, is that it?”
“Pegged it on the first try, ya did. No retreat no surrender for you... on orders from the big one eyed mech himself!”

A mountain of bodies separates us and the Autobot gunners (that’s why me and Shockwave’s stooge didn’t get deactivated during our little exchange). Motor Head climbs up to the top of that pile with his rifle blazing and gets his head blown clean off. His head starts bouncing back down with his still sparking corpse sledding after it. This is nuts! What purpose could turning a squad of perfectly good soldiers into a wall of wrecks possibly serve? I’m about to get my answer.

Shockwave rockets through the tunnel towards us in gun-mode. Two-thirds of my squad are now a barrier of steel bodies shielding the rest of us from the Autobot’s deadly Ion bolt barrage. Shockwave’s barrel begins to glow and then he unleashes a blast so powerful that it leaves the entire area looking like it was hit by a photon missile. The bulk of our forces arrive and rush past him as he reverts to robot-mode. They’re searching for something. Survivors... Autobot survivors.

“There,” points Soundwave.

Barricade pulls an Autobot free from the wreckage. He doesn’t have any arms or legs, a head and torso are all that’s left of him. Soundwave pries the Autobot’s cranial casing open. A cable snakes out of his wrist and he attaches it to the ‘Bots brain. Data begins to scrolls sideways across Soundwave’s visor... he tilts his head upwards as if he’s listening to the cries and screams that mechs say are music to his audio receptors. The scrolling stops. He’s ready to report.

“Autobots unable to reseal underground tunnel to Kalis. Iacon evacuated prior to attack. Autobots also unable to contain Scraplets due to shortage of chemical agents used to combat infestation. Infected Autobots volunteered to cover other Autobots’ escape. Destination: Tagan Heights, via underground tunnel.”

Shockwave’s head spins so fast I could swear I heard clicking noises.

“That is unacceptable, Soundwave! Why didn’t Ravage uncover the existence of this underground tunnel during his recent incursion into Autobase?”

Soundwave doesn’t have the answers. Barricade’s grinning like he’s about to lie on a suspect.

“The Autobots have a few drillers in their ranks... they probably used Zetar to drill straight out of the city. He’s a Powerdasher. Young, energetic... he’s our perp, alright.”
Trannis remarks that “the whole of Cybertron now belongs to the Decepticons. The Autobots can run, but they cannot hide.”
“That is correct, Trannis.” Shockwave replies. “One hundred percent correct.”
“And I’d say the odds of us grunts surviving the next battle are about fifty fifty.” Blackjack grumbles.
Like every other ‘Con under my command, Blackjack’s not happy about being used. Well, neither am I. I’ve put up with this type of sludge from the higher-ups for a long time. It’s the main reason why I strived to become one of them. Now that I’m in a position of leadership, I’m going to change things.

You’ll see.

(to be continued)

PART 91

INCOMING TRANSMISSION FROM DECEPTICON LEADER MEGATRON
Optimus Prime tapped a sensor on Teletraan-1’s console and the deadliest being in the known universe appeared on the screen. The tyrannical leader of the Decepticons was wearing a maniacal open-mouthed grin and his optics glowed a more fiery red than Optimus was used to seeing.
“Prime! Iacon has fallen... my Decepticons have won!”
Megatron began to laugh intently after uttering those words. Optimus Prime was unresponsive. He knew when his old enemy was trying to get under his armored skin.
“What do you want, Megatron?”
“I want you to surrender, Prime. Present yourself to me on the cliffs overlooking the Nemesis and I will grant you a quick and painless death. The Autobots under your command will be taken prisoner... and as long as they comply with my Decepticons’ demands, there will be no further loss of life.”
Optimus knew this last statement to be untrue. Many of the combatants on both sides had been at war with each other since the solar cycle they were manufactured. Age-old animosities would not simply be allowed to fade away without violent resolution. As Megatron turned his sights to the stars he would turn a blind optic to what was transpiring down on the planet below. There only ever was one option open to the Autobot leader.
“Well? What’s it going to be, Prime?”
“My Autobots and I will not surrender to you, Megatron. We will continue to fight, and we will win!”
Megatron simply smiled and nodded before breaking off the connection. There was no need for further discussion between them, Megatron had heard what he wanted to hear. Optimus Prime would fight, but it was his Decepticons that would do the winning.



Optimus walked into his hab-suite and retrieved his Ion Blaster from it’s mounted position on the wall. Jazz fell in swiftly behind him as he re-entered the corridor leading back to the area that housed Teletraan-1.
“The ‘Bots you requested are ready to roll, Prime.”
“Megatron called me, Jazz.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“What did he want?”
“Our surrender. But mostly to gloat. The Decepticons have taken Iacon. Shortly before Megatron contacted me, I received an encrypted message from Red Alert informing me that everyone stationed there would soon be forced to evacuate the city. Shockwave’s army had found a way into Autobase using the subsurface tunnel originating in Kalis. Our remaining forces have withdrawn to the Tagan Heights... they’ll make their last stand there if necessary.”
“While we make ours at the Space Bridge, outnumbered and outgunned.” Jazz replied, as the two of them reached the staging area. “Well, today’s a good enough day to die as any I can think of.”
“Thank you for your bravery, Jazz.”
Optimus solemnly met the gaze of every Autobot assembled before him.
“My friends,” he began. “It is with a dim spark that I must inform you that Iacon has fallen.” The leader of the Autobots paused to let the shouts of anger and murmurs of malcontent die down.
“But the war is not over. There is a chance that we may yet retake our home planet from the Decepticons if we succeed in denying them the fuel resources they need. We must not allow our enemies to use the Earth as a tool to fuel further conquests. This new battle against our foes... against Decepticon tyranny... begins now.”
Optimus held his rifle high over his head and shouted, “For Cybertron! For Earth! Autobots... transform and roll out!”



Brawn leaned against a wall, arms crossed under the shadow of the Ark’s enormous thrusters. Prowl joined him, and the pair watched the cloud of dust kicked up by their comrades dissipate as they drove off into the sunset.
“Jazz, Ironhide, Hound, Mirage, Sideswipe, Wheeljack, Windcharger,” Brawn grumbled. “Trailbreaker, Cliffjumper, Blaster and even Bluestreak—!”
“Count yourself lucky,” interrupted Prowl. “You’ll never see some of those ‘Bots again... not functional, anyway.”
“Some of our pals are gonna get destroyed... no doubt about that. But my question is why aren’t we goin’ with ‘em?”
“Your function is demolitions, right Brawn?”
“Yeah? So? And Wheeljack’s an engineer!” Brawn railed. “What does my function have to do with anything?”
“I need you to perform it. I need you to demolish part of the Ark.”

(to be continued)

PART 92

In the emptiness of Oregon’s Blue Mountains, nine vehicles sit under a full moon. Rain falls lightly on their still forms while something imperceivable to the naked eye approaches them. It’s presence betrayed only by the hum of it’s engine and the sound of tires rolling over rough terrain. Suddenly, a rectangular shaped construct composed of pure light appears and a formula-1 racer materializes within.
The red semi truck speaks to it. “What has your reconnaissance revealed, Mirage?”
“There’s eighteen Seekers and six Constructicons down there in the valley, Prime. They’re spread out around the Space Bridge, waiting for the next shipment of Energon to be flown in so it can be sent over to Cybertron.”
“See? We were worried for nothing guys,” teases Trailbreaker. “We’re only outnumbered two to one!”
“Hauler’s down there too,” Mirage continued. “He’s got a snazzy new purple paint job and it looks like the Constructicons have him under some kind of mind control.”
“Probably with a remote control circuit linker card... that’d be my guess,” deduced Wheeljack. “Didja see somethin’ that looked like it didn’t belong on ‘im?”
“Hard to tell. He’s had major alterations done to his alt-mode.”
“Hound...?” Optimus radioed. “Are you in position?”
“Ready, Prime.” Hound radioed back.
“C’mon then! Let’s go!” yells Windcharger. “Quick action equals quick victory!”
“Patience Windcharger.” Optimus Prime said. “Follow Jazz’ lead.”
“Mirage, Sideswipe, Windcharger, Cliffjumper, Bluestreak, listen up.” ordered Jazz. “Hound’s gonna be sendin’ you a map of a mountain range two miles north of here via high-speed pulse. Store it in your databanks so when we reach his location you’ll know about every cave and hidey-hole just like he does. Any questions?”
“Prime! You have to rethink this plan!” Mirage pleaded. “We’re fast, but those Seekers will overtake us in seconds! Most of us won’t make it to those mountains!”
“Hound is your ace in the hole.” Optimus reassured him. “He’ll be projecting holograms to confuse the Decepticons as you converge upon his location. Have faith in the plan, Mirage. It’ll work.”
“Good thing no one ever told us that faith doesn’t win wars,” laughs Bluestreak nervously.
“You just did, genius.” chuckled Sideswipe.
“Hey, fellas!” shouts Cliffjumper. “Try and keep up!”
Dirt and gravel pelts Ironhide’s alt-form as the eager little Autobot peels away. “Whuh—Cliffjumper! Darn it! That young punk’s gonna ruin everything!”
“No he ain’t! Jazz team! Roll out!” Jazz yells, as he kicks up dust behind Cliffjumper. The rest of his team follows suit.
The caravan of cars roaring down the mountainside does not go unnoticed. Thundercracker is the first to spot them.
“Autobottts!” he calls out. “The Autobots are here!”
Blitzwing can hardly believe his optics. “Finally! Those cowards have come out to play! Decepticons, transform and attack!”
Blitzwing leads a string of Decepticon jets over the speeding Autobots as the last one—Bluestreak—rolls down it’s rocky slope. The entire area explodes in a fiery conflagration under the sustained Seeker bombardment. Ash and debris continue to rain down on the bombers even as they circle around and transition back to their robot-modes. A line of flaming Autobot wrecks awaits them.
A gray and black Seeker named Conquest pumps his fist in the air. “We are victorious!” he cheers. “The Autobots are scrap!”
Dirge groans.
“Oh no...,” says Thrust. “Not again.”
“What?” yells Blitzwing. “What are you two moaning about?”
Dirge swats the hologram of Bluestreak’s burning vehicular form. “It’s another illusionnn.”
“Look!” points Thrust. “The real rustbuckets are over there!”
Blitzwing looked to the north and saw six cars racing into a valley surrounded by caverns on both sides. “Decepticons!” he shouts. “Scramble!”
Jets scream over the real Autobot convoy dropping bombs and firing rockets. Sideswipe swerves into a cave just as an explosion triggers an avalanche, sealing him inside. The rest of Jazz’ team transform and duck behind boulders, some returning fire even as they reshape themselves into their robot-forms. Jazz waves away a cloud of drifting smoke and puts Conquest’s aft directly in his computerized crosshairs.
“Let’s get it!” he hollers.



Meanwhile, two miles away, Optimus Prime and the others watch as the battle lights up the night sky.
“Now... while the Seekers are distracted—Autobots, roll for the Space Bridge!”

(to be continued)

PART 93

“Hnf. Smart,” snorted Scrapper. “Prime uses one group of Autobots to engage our air support while he leads the others in an assault on our intergalactic transport system.
“Bah! We’ll pulverize them!” Bonecrusher boasted, shaking his fist. “Let ‘em come! I want another crack at Prime!”
“This isn’t some bone-headed bar brawl, Bonecrusher!” Scrapper snapped. “This is a coordinated attack and we Constructicons will respond in kind!”
“So I assume that you have already formulated a battle plan?” inquired Hook.
“Correct, Hook. Mixmaster! Step forward!”
“How may I be of service?” grinned Mixmaster.
“I need you to form a moat around the Bridge and fill it with the strongest acid you can whip up!”
“Aye aye, Scrapper!” Mixmaster replied, transforming to alt-mode. “But shouldn’t the excavation part be relegated to someone equipped to dig ditches? Hmm? Hmm?”
Scrapper transformed. “Everyone else is heading to the front lines with me, so you’ll just have to improvise.” he answered, rumbling away in alt-form.
“Improvise... improvise... oh, I know!” Mixmaster’s drum began to spin and a minute later an orange compound flowed from his discharge chute into the ground. The solvent superheated the ground, turning it to magma as he drove in a complete circle around the Space Bridge disgorging it.
Optimus Prime’s air horn wailed menacingly in the distance.
“A battle cry,” thought Mixmaster. “I mustn’t let it distract me from my task, I’m almost done!”
Next, the mad chemist added a lime green concoction to the molten lava, transmuting it’s silica content into acid pellets capable of completely dissolving an Autobot’s armor plating in minutes. When Mixmaster’s work was complete, the Space Bridge stood on an island surrounded by a moat so noxious that the gasses released by the bubbles bursting on it’s surface obscured the entire structure from view.
“Mission accomplished!” Mixmaster cackled. “Let’s see them get past that!”



Blaster sat squarely in Wheeljack’s driver’s seat, seatbelt slung over his alt-form.
“Yo Wheeljack, you seeing what I’m seeing?”
“Yeah! The Constructicons are cookin’ up somethin’!”
“Uh huh, but that’s no barbecue pit! Blaster to Prime—the ‘Cons have just made the spot hot! And I’m talkin’ literally!”
“Affirmative, Blaster.” Optimus radioed back. “Tell Wheeljack to take the lead. Trailbreaker, Ironhide and I will deal with the Constructicons.”
“Alright Prime, it’s our time to shine! You heard the boss, Wheeljack! Gun it!”
Wheeljack’s gas pedal lowered as if a phantom driver had depressed it.
“Gimme some tunes, Blaster!” he demanded.
“Eeeasy listening comin’ right up.”
“Hey... Auto-bop. Good choice!”
“When the musics rockin’, we’re rollin’!” Blaster shouted, over his own speakers.
Wheeljack surged ahead of the other Autobots and began weaving around the oncoming Constructicons as if he were navigating an obstacle course made of immobile objects. Through his windshield, his enemies could see his steering wheel spinning wildly as he swerved effortlessly around them.
Then the music stopped.
“Wheeljack, look out!”
A boulder the size of a Volkswagen Beetle—flung from Scavenger’s scoop—cast a shadow over the pair as it sailed above them. The rock split in two when it hit the ground, showering the Autobot’s undercarriage with gravel as he banked hard to avoid it.
“Whoa!” Wheeljack exclaimed. “That was a close one!”
“Better pick up some speed m’man.” Blaster warned. “That moats comin’ up real fast... it looks goopy, soupy, and all around nasty on the chassis. Think you can clear that gunk without us gettin’ dunked?”
“Are you kiddin’?”
Wheeljack accelerated until the objects outside his window became a blur... and then suddenly—like an airplane taking off—he was airborne. From afar, the rocket propelled Lancia Stratos could be seen piercing the veil of smog hanging over the moat like a projectile. The Cybertronian in disguise landed heavily in the center of the Space Bridge, his dashboard display blinking out for a second as his front wheels hit the ground. A moment later, Blaster flew out of his driver’s side window and the two Autobots transformed.



Blaster stood sentry at the entrance to the Bridge watching the fierce fighting that had erupted between his comrades and the Constructicons. Even outnumbered two to one, Optimus Prime and the others were holding their own.
To the north, Seekers strafed the mountains relentlessly. A barrage of laser fire would shoot up from the surface immediately after each bombing run, informing Blaster that the Autobot fighters dug in over there were functional and that they still had every flight capable Decepticon’s undivided attention. Which was a good thing, he thought, because the longer enemy optics were kept away from the Space Bridge the better. So far everything was going according to plan. Behind him, he could hear Wheeljack attach the Proton Nullifier to a wall and activate it.
“How long ‘til this dirty depot is outta commission?”
“Gimme a minute.” Wheeljack replied, whipping out his datapad. In seconds it was synced and a countdown clock appeared on it’s screen.
“Uh oh,” he said. “This is gonna take a little while longer than we expected.”
“How much longer?”
“Six hours, four minutes, thirty-three seconds.”
Blaster returned his gaze toward the battlefield. The Constructicons were combining, merging together into one being. The finished gestalt towered over the Autobots on the ground, with the tallest of them—Optimus Prime—barely reaching the giant’s knee. When the giant spoke it sounded as if six Transformers were speaking at once.
“ALL FALL BEFORE THE MIGHT OF... DEVASTATOR!”
Blaster facepalmed. “Six hours...? Man-o-man... I don’t think we’re even gonna last six minutes!”

(to be continued)

PART 94

Devastator loomed over the barren desert landscape, ready to rend any who would dare challenge him to pieces. The mismatched monstrosity took a step toward his opponents and was diverted by something totally unexpected—a conflict raging within his own cerebral circuits. A conflict caused by six competing entities at odds over the best way to destroy their enemies!
Ironhide was the first to fire on their distracted foe, followed a split second later by Trailbreaker. Both Autobots stood awestruck as their energy beams ricocheted off the V-shaped shield on his chest and sizzled skyward.
“His skin’s as tough as mine!” exclaimed Ironhide.
“How d’ya reckon we fight this thing, Prime?” inquired Trailbreaker.
“With strength,” Optimus replied, as the creaking Combiner advanced toward him. “With steel,” he continued, reloading his weapon. “And... with courage,” he concluded, taking careful aim even as the giant stood above him, poised to stomp him into the ground.
The shot that Optimus fired hit Devastator right between the optics, jerking his head back when the ion blast struck his cranial casing. Enraged, Devastator’s foot met the Earth with the force of a small meteor. Optimus managed to transform and speed away in the moments before the gestalt’s heel hit the ground, staying just ahead of the shock wave propagating outward from the cube shaped crater created by his left foot.
“Autobots, hit and run!” he commanded. “Our enemy may be powerful, but he lacks the speed to utilize his strength effectively! I suspect that the Constructicons are having difficulty working together as a cohesive unit.”
“Then the only thing they’ve done is made themselves into a bigger target!” yelled Ironhide.
A rocket launcher emerged from Ironhide’s sunroof as he circled around Devastator’s feet. The weapon rotated on it’s service arm, locked on target, and then launched an incendiary missile right into the monstrous robot’s midsection. Devastator staggered backward, patting out flames blazing from what would be Long Haul’s grille if the Constructicon were in alt-form.
“Yeah! He’s hurtin’!” cheered Trailbreaker. “Looks like he ain’t so tough after all!”
Optimus Prime drove in between Devastator’s legs, offloading Roller from the ramp at the back of his trailer as he thundered past his ankles. The six-wheeled scout car drifted around Devastator, weaving in and out and rattling off shot after shot using Optimus’ ion rifle mounted on his rear. The furious Combiner rampaged after him, determined to squash the beeping little buggy into a flattened strip of sheet metal. Roller zigzagged every which way in an attempt to ditch his pursuer. When Roller made a U-turn, Devastator turned too—leaving his back open for Trailbreaker to stitch it with stinging blasts of laser fire.
“Pour on the fireworks, fellas!” he shouted. “That big hunk-a-junk can’t decide which one of us he wants to go after next!”
Trailbreaker hit it on the nail. Devastator was confused. No two of the Combiner’s six components could agree on what action to take, or even which Autobot posed the more immediate threat. His mind was awash in a sea of commands—

”Destroy Prime!”

“Smash his bodyguard! He hurt us!”

“The car with six wheels—catch it!”

“Crush the jovial Autobot.”

“No you fools! Protect the Space Bridge!”

“What’s that on the ground? Pick it up!!

10101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

“THINKING AND WINNING DO NOT MIX.”

Devastator’s voice was different now. He spoke as one, as if the six beings he was comprised of had been overtaken by a seventh, more sinister sounding entity.
“DESTROY... DESTROY ALL AUTOBOTS!”
The newly focused Combiner drew his right leg back and used the scoop on his foot to hurl a chunk of earth at his enemies. The attack did little damage—but what it did do was buy Devastator the time he needed to summon Hauler.
The mind controlled mech flew through the air using thrusters installed in his feet, and when he landed in the palm of his master’s outstretched hand, it was in the form of a weapon—a solar energy beam emitting rifle with enough power to melt each of his fellow Autobots down into puddles of molten metal!

(to be continued)

PART 95

“Autobots! Take cover!”
“Cover!?” Ironhide yelled back at Optimus Prime. “There ain’t none! This deserts ‘bout as barren as the Rust Sea!”
“Then I’ll make us some!” Trailbreaker said, activating his force field.
Optimus and Ironhide joined Trailbreaker under the protective dome, momentarily shielded from Devastator’s murderous intentions.
“Ya think this here force shield can stand up to the firepower that monster’s packin’?” Ironhide inquired.
“Unless big ugly over there has a fusion bomb in the chamber he ain’t gettin’ through my force field,” Trailbreaker assured him. “But we gotta think of something quick ‘cause I can’t keep this up for long.”
“You won’t have to, Trailbreaker.” replied Optimus. “Keep Devastator’s attention focused on us. I already have a plan.”
Trailbreaker looked up at Devastator and waved both arms.
Devastator pointed his gun down at him and squeezed the trigger.
The blinding burst of solar energy unleashed from his weapon turned the sand around Trailbreaker’s force field into charred pieces of smoldering glass. The temperature inside the dome rose dramatically, but otherwise the Autobots sheltered inside it remained unscathed.
“Thanks for the heat!” yelled Trailbreaker. “It was startin’ to get a little nippy just standin’ around here with my engine idlin’.”
Devastator was stunned.
With the exception of the odd energy wave rippling around it’s periphery, Trailbreaker’s force field was nearly invisible to the untrained optic—leaving the weapon’s apparent misfire a mystery that left the giant visibly perplexed. While Devastator peered down the barrel of his rifle, Optimus Prime’s trailer rolled into position behind him. The trailer split up the middle and the two halves fell to the sides, revealing a combat deck complete with an artillery robot. The robot angled itself upward on it’s long-arm and aimed it’s wrist-mounted rocket launchers at the back of Devastator’s head. Optimus nodded, prompting it to fire.
“Bye now.” Trailbreaker said, anticipating Devastator’s destruction. But the Combiner heard the sounds of projectiles whistling through the air and avoided them using reflexes he had not possessed when his mind was fractured. Then, before the artillery-bot could reload, Devastator spun around and used his weapon to reduce it to slag.



Optimus awoke to find himself being held over Ironhide and Trailbreaker’s heads as the two Autobots waded through Mixmaster’s moat. His chronometer told him that 10 minutes had passed since he was last online. He could smell the acrid scent of his soldiers’ legs being dissolved in acid. He could hear their grunts and stifled screams of pain. He could even see Blaster and Wheeljack waiting on the other side to receive him through the shroud of noxious vapors that surrounded the Space Bridge. All of his senses worked fine, the problem was he couldn’t move. Optimus Prime was completely paralyzed, trapped in some sort of conscious stasis lock.
“What happened to him?” Wheeljack whispered.
Ironhide grimaced when he tried to respond. Much of his metal skin below the waist had been melted away—a fact his pain receptors kept reminding him of every millisecond. As bad off as Ironhide was, Trailbreaker fared even worse. He bore the same burns as Ironhide, but—perhaps due to some flaw in his design—his knee joints had been severely damaged by the acid, leaving him unable to stand after climbing out of the moat.
“Prime offlined when Devastator slagged his trailer,” gasped Ironhide. “Injury to any one of his three parts is felt by the other two.”
Wheeljack shined his fingertip flashlight into Optimus’ optics. “Hmm. Then this must be what happens when one module gets destroyed.”
“Can you fix ‘im, Wheeljack?”
“Um... I don’t know, Ironhide. He’s not actually damaged... I don’t know where to start.”
“We should stick as close to the Space Bridge’s interior as possible guys,” suggested Trailbreaker. “That big behemoth is out there searchin’ for us, and the only thing it’ll take for him to find us is a breeze strong enough to blow away this smog.”
“Good thinking.” Blaster said, dragging Optimus’ body closer to a wall. “How’d you dudes manage to get away from that monster anyhow?”
“Roller stalled at the exact same time Prime got knocked offline,” explained Trailbreaker. “Devastator couldn’t crack our defenses, so he decided to go after the easy prey.”
Blaster lifted his brow inquisitively.
“Yeah... Roller,” Trailbreaker said sadly. “We decided to make a run for it while Devastator’s back was turned... ‘fore my fuel got too low for me to maintain my force field. The Space Bridge was the only place near enough for us to hide.”
A few feet away, Ironhide stared down at the control panel built into Bumblebee’s body and curled his lip in disgust. He couldn’t tell whether the youngster was alive or dead.
“What’s the status here anyways?” he growled. “Are we close to shuttin’ this contraption down or what?”
“Negative on that,” replied Wheeljack. “We got about five hours and forty minutes left ‘til the Bridge’s elements are completely nullified.”
“Then the mission’s a failure,” proclaimed Ironhide. “There’s no way we can hold this position for that long. Blaster, contact Skyfire and tell ‘im we need an immediate evac.”
“With all due respect my mech, I don’t think that’s your call to make.” Blaster protested.
Ironhide looked up in astonishment. He wasn’t used to being challenged.
“My function is to ensure Prime’s safety!” he hollered in the younger Autobot’s face. “And I’m not gonna let you—or anyone—stand in the way of that!”
“And our mission,” Blaster said, throwing his arms wide, “is to put this Bridge outta commission! Hey, you wanna board Skyfire and break out? You can call ‘im up yourself—if you bothered to get the frequency!”
Ironhide drew his fist back. “Why you dirty—“
Wheeljack squeezed in between the two and unintentionally caught the blow intended for Blaster. “Ahhk!” he yelped in pain as Ironhide’s heavy fist connected with his mouth plate. “Blaster, call Jazz! Let him know what’s happening!”
Trailbreaker projected a coffin shaped force field around Ironhide, encasing him inside. The angry Autobot shouted at them and pounded on the walls of his prison, but the impenetrable energy field surrounding him muted the sound.
“C’mon, Ironhide! Quit it! I shouldn’t be wasting Energon on this!” reasoned Trailbreaker.
Blaster pushed down a lever under his tape deck. “Jazz, this is Blaster. Situation critical! Holler if ya hear me! Jazz, come in! Jazz...?”
After a few seconds Blaster shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t reach him,” he said.
“Try Hound.” Wheeljack said.
“Hound, our world’s been turned upside down and Jazz is nowhere to be found! Do you read me? Do you copy?” Blaster shook his head. “Nothing. I can’t get through! Some kinda weird interference over the airwaves.”
“Looks like we’re on our own.” Trailbreaker sighed. “Primus help us.”

(to be continued)

PART 96

Jazz

Seekers pass over me on their umpteenth bombin’ run. Mirage took down one of ‘em with a rocket awhile ago before they really started levelin’ the place. I managed to take down another right after. A cocky young ‘Con by the name of Conquest. Before his Spark faded, he had the struts to tell me that we “Auto-bozos ain’t winning scrap.”

Huh. We’ll see about that.

Cluster bombs are turnin’ these majestic mountains into piles of rubble. Pretty soon we might as well delete these maps in our data banks ‘cause we won’t be able to rely on them anymore. There’s fields of rocks where there should be boulders, and cave-ins where there should be caves. Changes like that are gonna get somebody who’s lookin’ for someplace to duck into killed. We need new tactics.

Too early to call for air support. It would be what—? Skyfire against sixteen Seekers? No contest. We gotta stick it out... keep grindin’ down the opposition. I couldn’t call Skyfire if I wanted to anyway—our comms ain’t working. So it’s of utmost importance that I locate Hound so I can have ‘im sniff out whoever’s interferin’ with our signals.

Plus, I got no way to contact Prime. I can see ol’ Devastator stompin’ around from here. Combiners on the battlefield are always bad news... means your squad’s comin’ home short a few members—if at all. Hopefully things’ll turn out different with Prime leadin’ ‘em.

I throw my back up against a boulder as three Seekers zip by. No bombs... they’re lookin’ for us. Two missiles shoot up into the sky about a half mile from me. Each shell splits into four. The barrage turns the first Decepti-creep into a flyin’ fireball, and a bolt of blue lightnin’ drops the second one like a rock.

The muzzle flash and rocket flares give away Bluestreak’s position like a beacon, so now the Seeker he didn’t get is circlin’ back to settle the score. Hm, the rock formations up there still seem to be intact. Good. He’ll have someplace to hide when the bombs start droppin’.

Hold up. Noise behind me—

“Jazz!”
“Hound! I been lookin’ for you!”
“Jazz, the Decepticons are altering the geography of this place—the maps I made are useless! Right now I’m trying to identify which one of them is broadcasting audio-disruptor waves so I can put a stop to it and restore communications. Then once the comms are up, we can formulate a new strategy to better deal with these creeps! Umm... why are you smiling?”

Hound’s a natural. He’s ready for a top spot.



Alright, It wasn’t easy, but after awhile Hound manages to pinpoint the source of the interference. It’s Frenzy. Coolin’ in cassette form in some generic’s cockpit. I take aim and manage to tag No Name twice in the turbines. The Seeker goes down in flames... we switch up and roll for the crash site.

The hillside’s a mess... pieces of the ‘Con are everywhere. Tryna find Frenzy is like searchin’ for a metal shaving in a scrap heap. Fortunately Hound specializes in such things. He catches up with Frenzy halfway down the slope. The lil’ Decepti-creep is on fire... hobblin’ down the hill as fast as his legs can carry him. Hound blasts the punk point-blank in the back of the head, causin’ one of his optic sensors to fly out an’ ricochet offa rock. It falls to the ground and flickers out at my foot.

Hound gives me the thumbs up. “The comms are back online.”

Not used to Hound bein’ so brutal... but he’s angry. This is a beautiful world and the ‘Cons are tearin’ it apart. He wants to see all it’s natural wonders. Me? I’m interested in learnin’ everything I can about it’s people... It’s cultures. I’d like nothin’ more than to drive down the coast, idle in front of a local hot spot... take in the atmosphere. Maybe find a li’l honey to post up in my driver’s seat so’s I can really blend in. All the more reason to keep droppin’ Decepti-creeps. Once they’re outta here I can sit back and start enjoyin’ this planet.

Another flyover. Three more Seekers... brute named Blitzwing at the head of the formation. Our spies reported that Megatron had ‘im scrapped after his squad left Praxus in ruins. They said he overdid it and Megatron punished him for it. Turns out he was stretched out on a slab in Shockwave’s lab all this time. ‘Bots say when he came back to the battlefield he was bigger.... tougher. Like he had a lotta extra parts grafted on to ‘im.

He’s the ‘Con that’s callin’ the shots, so that makes him my next target. Time to make a few calls of my own. I flip up my comm—

“Yo, Cliffjumper.”
“What’s up, Jazz?”
“What imma ‘bout to ask you is gon’ sound crazy, but keep in mind that it’s nothin’ that I wouldn’t do.”
“Go ahead. Shoot.”
“That’s exactly what I want you to do. Get somewhere high up. Throw a few glass gas pellets up in the air and blast ‘em. Create a big ol’ cloud of the stuff...”
“Okay, and then what?”
“Then I want you to get Blitzwing’s attention. Once you got it, burn rubber outta there. Me an’ Hound’ll take care of the rest.”
“Got’cha.”

Cliffjumper climbs up and does his thing. After he’s finished he takes a few shots at Blitzwing—Blitzwing goes after ‘im, but it’s Night Raider and his cronies that cut in on the action. Cliffjumper jumps off the cliff and transforms. The ‘Cons open up on ‘im with bullets, lasers, null rays, missiles... you name it, he dodges it. Then the ‘Cons reach the cloud and all hell breaks loose.
See the thing about glass gas is that you don’t get the full effect of it right off the bat. It’s a process... it takes a sec. Pieces start crackin’ offa Night Raider that ain’t exactly brittle yet and the mechs behind ‘im start feelin’ like they’re flyin’ through an asteroid field. Everybody takes a dive.

Well, everybody except Blitzwing. He changes shape in mid-air and lands right on top of Cliffjumper in tank mode. Triple Changer! I should’a seen that one comin’.

“Jazz team! Jazz team! Converge on my coordinates. New target is Blitzwing. Do you copy? Target Blitzwing!”
“Copy.”
“Copy.”
“Copy.”
“Copy.”
“...”

No answer from Sideswipe. Hope he’s alright. Cliffjumper’s a wreck by the time Blitzwing rolls off ‘im. He’s flat as a compressed cube with a tank tread goin’ over his roof like a racin’ stripe. Me an’ Hound roll on Blitzwing from different directions. The ‘Con gets a shot off as I transform and get on top of ‘im.

“Hound!”

The shell blows Hound to pieces. It’s bad... real bad. Some of his parts are rainin’ down on top of me with little bits of the rest of ‘im burnin’ all over the landscape. C’mon, Jazz... get it together. Fight now, mourn later. Blitzwing’s taken two of us out in less than a minute—he’s more dangerous than I thought. I gotta put ‘im down quick!

I use my vibroblade to open up his turret and pump photons into his internals. He transforms. Smoke’s pourin’ outta every orafice, but he’s still generatin’. We lock up. Bad move... he’s too strong! He grabs me by the neck and hoists me into the air with one hand. I claw at his fingers, tryin’ to pry ‘em apart.

No dice, the mechs got a grip like a vise.

My legs are danglin’ off the ground. I can see everything from here. The other ‘Cons are emboldened now. They transform and come down to our level... conductin’ searches. Bluestreak lays down in a crater and covers himself up with the body of a dead Decepticon. Windcharger’s pinned down, caught in a crossfire between Thrust an’ Dirge. Mirage fades into the night. No sign of Sideswipe.

Blitzwing exerts more pressure. Warning messages flash across my optics tellin’ me that my head’s ‘bout to pop off my body. Damn... can’t help but think back to what Conquest said at the start of all this... ‘bout us not winnin’.

Yep. He might just be right.

(To be continued)

PART 97

Drizzle beads up on Mirage’s cloaked form like cheap body wax. It gives him a ghostly appearance as he kneels on an outcrop in a sniper’s stance, his rifle trained on the tank barrel on Blitzwing’s back.
Hang in there Jazz. Come on Blitzwing... move that alt-kibble another few inches so I can get a clear shot at that head of yours. Come on...
A few hundred feet away, a Seeker comes to investigate a pounding noise emanating from behind a wall of rubble.
thoom thoom THOOM
The Air Warrior glances in Mirage’s direction, loses interest, turns, and then looks back again. This time refocusing his optic lenses to magnify the image.
“Autobot—!”
Mirage backflips away a moment before the Seeker’s arm-mounted flamethrowers melt his rocky perch into molten magma. He lands in the same pose as before and pulls the trigger, delivering a rocket-dart deep into the Decepticon’s chest cavity. The Seeker belches black smoke, collapses, and then disappears off the side of a cliff.
Mirage spins around on one knee and catches a face full of Jazz—flung at him with the force of a freight train. Mirage is first sent tumbling, then sliding, down a gravel strewn slope on his side, rifle drifting just out of the reach of his fingertips. He quickly leaps to his feet when he reaches the bottom—sensors still somewhat scrambled by the sudden collision.
Blitzwing charges down at him, Electron-Scimitar held high over his head. Mirage stumbles backward, narrowly avoiding the blade’s vicious energy-infused arc. He lands on his rear and his hand falls upon his lost rifle. He brings it up like a staff, parrying Blitzwing’s second swipe. The weapon is ruined, cut in two by the relentless foe dedicated to dismantling him. He discards it and scrambles to his feet, frantically looking for an avenue of escape.
Blitzwing raises his sword and smiles.
The brute begins to feel a tug on the blade an instant before it’s ripped from his hands—magnetically attracted to the alt-form of a red Autobot zipping by at top speed. Thrust and Dirge scream overhead in hot pursuit of the thief who lifted his sword.
THOOM THOOM THOOM
Blitzwing’s opponents, the aristocrat-turned-spy and the squad leader, flee in their vehicular forms. Blitzwing tries to change form as well, but his parts won’t move properly. Something is misaligned inside him. His rifle emerges from his thigh compartment in the shape of a rectangle. He unfolds it and takes aim at the mech responsible for his malfunction.
THOOM THOOM THOOM
”What is that infernal pounding noise!?”
BOOOM
The wall of rubble to his right explodes, showering him with shards of stone and debris. Sideswipe emerges from the cave with one hand configured into a pile driver and the other pointing a gun.
He fires.
<Critical systems damage>
<Offline>
Sideswipe pumps another photon flare into Blitzwing’s faceplate for good measure, and then hails his comrades.
“Blitzwing’s down. Sorry I missed out on most of the fun. I was trapped in a cave. You guys didn’t hear me knocking?”

(Transformers Resolute will return after these messages)

Oh my God, Hot Rod is Overdrive! What a genius plot twist!

Tigerhawk7109 wrote:Oh my God, Hot Rod is Overdrive! What a genius plot twist!

Thanks! After I finish with the season 1&2 characters, I want to write something focusing on the season 3&4 bots.

This is going to be an epic finale! (By the way, I have my own fic up. Would you mind checking it out and leaving a review?)