Black Holes and Revelations

by gruff

Just before the start of the Cybertronian War, a brethren band of streetfighters called Knuckle uncover a mythical chart. Led by Bludgeon in his quest for the secrets of Metallikato, can they find their bounty before Megatron and the Decepticons?

Black Holes and Revelations by gruff

CHAPTER 1 - Beachcomber

Iacon, Tarn and Ricon, amongst others, had been in chaos for some time. No official declaration of war had been made by any party; it seemed no-one dared to admit the mobs of ill-disciplined punks belonged to an outright faction. Laws were made on the street by posses of self-proclaimed peacekeepers, hell-bent on nothing but ironic lawlessness. It was martial law, just that no-one was marshalling, and law itself was little more than a moral suggestion, or in some areas a distant memory. Once the work dried up and the traders left with whatever their meagre forms could carry, the vandals and looters had turned to bandits and rioters, swearing vengeance on authorities, pledging allegiance to fledging gangs. Words like 'loyalty', 'justice' and 'honour' were juggled across the airwaves, their respective definitions changing as fast as the territorial boundaries of the rival syndicates of powerful propaganda.

Most of the Cybertron's urban populous remained neutral on the issue of such steadfast segregation, choosing to remain banded to the unbranded, or to the more civilian and political arms of the Autobots and Decepticons around the planet. Apathy towards either main party still prevailed, the lawless thugs of these devoured cities choosing to remain loyal to their ilk, fanning whichever urban splinter had absorbed their energies. The armies of the Autobots and Decepticons were still in their infancies.

The Autobots and Decepticons of these cities foretold the inevitability of war. Their diplomats were barely able to negotiate the pickets of unruly protesters lining the streets to the embassies, much less able to negotiate the unrealistic dreams of loaded concession. But the recent closure of the Autobot embassy in Rait, a poor downtrodden neighbour of the rich industrial city of Vos and a haven for Decepticon propaganda, did little to dispel these rumours of pending conflict.

The Knuckle Pit was located in a dirty recess of Rait and had been the underground venue of hardcore street brawling for years. It was fronted by a now long-since-derelict bar and had been home to several rival gangs over the years. In terms of real estate, functionality and domestic security, the Knuckle Pit was pitiful, almost value-less; in terms of symbolism, the Knuckle Pit was priceless. It defined to the urban masses who was in charge and it demanded respect.

But by the time the gangland warfare threatened to engulf the entire city, the Knuckle Pit and its neighbourhood had long-since suffocated. Protection money was no longer collected; there was neither anything nor anyone left to protect. The Knuckle Pit's iconic status was nothing more than a faded memory, barely an itch on nostalgia. It was no longer about territory, but now it was about something much more important; it was about pride.

The streetfighters known as Knuckle had formed from the remnants of the illegal fight club and a number of nomadic gang members searching for a new home fit for their allegiance. They came, they saw, they fought. It was little more than barbaric combat for the mere sake of it. Whoever was in charge of Knuckle could staunchly proclaim their status as Kingpin, a position paid for in respect over energon or money. That mechanoid was Bludgeon, and to him it was a position of street authority and respect the official authorities had long-since relinquished.

The clan sat outside and basked in the morning glow that energised the daily cycle of smog and grime floating in the filthy air. They awaited the return of the morning reconnaissance team, a quartet of rough and ready fighters whose role as investigators was superseded by their requirements to loot and steal whatever could be found.

Bludgeon stood up from his makeshift chair and walked around his team. Knuckle comprised around twenty hardened robots, some former soldiers, but mostly mechanoids toughened from a life of social negligence. The group was silent and Guttersnipe sat on the edge of the street, mindlessly spinning a small, bladed weapon in his hands when his team leader lashed out a hand.

In an instant Bludgeon had whipped his social subordinate onto his front, arms interlocked and focused on critical joints on the Transformers bodies. Using his weight to counterbalance the efforts of the struggling Guttersnipe, in one fell manoeuvre Bludgeon flipped Guttersnipe in two simultaneous directions pushing his face into the dirt. His hold had the robot at his mercy, the weight on his neck complete with Bludgeon s poise with his feet acting as pivots, Guttersnipe s neck could have been snapped effortless in two had it so taken Bludgeon s fancy.

"You are a disgrace to Knuckle." Bludgeon spat, adding a little more pressure to the neck of his unmatched foe. Guttersnipe grunted with his one arm restrained by Bludgeon, his other free arm flailing in submission. Knuckle prided itself on alertness and readiness for fight, but Guttersnipe s momentary lapse had allowed Bludgeon to unleash a devastating attack on this unwitting fool. Bludgeon was the head of Knuckle for a reason. Though strong, he was not the strongest; though fast, he was not the fastest. But Bludgeon was an intelligent robot and was the leader for he was simply the best overall fighter of the team.

Some months earlier, Knuckle had been challenged by Poison, a rival clan from the other side of the city for supremacy of Rait. Knuckle s then-leader, Roach, had been killed along with a number of other members of Knuckle, but for every Knuckle casualty, Poison suffered three-fold. Since then and to this day, Knuckle had remained undisputed.

From the chaos and misguided clan came a few would-be leaders, but only Bludgeon and his rival Banzai-Tron had any credibility. They were both skilled and able, both strong and influential. They were both intelligent and both heroes of the fight between Knuckle and Poison. They were both natural fighters, both gifted in the art of Crystalocution, the ancient Cybertronian martial art. The difference was in their ruthlessness.

Pity was a word lost on Bludgeon. He took each conflict as a fight for honour and despised cowards. He would rather die than lose, so he claimed, and there were few to dispute him of this claim. He expected this level of commitment from all his fighters, whether it was in the streets of Rait or in the compounds of the Pit. To see his fighter squirming beneath his feet caused conflicting emotions. He was disgusted to see a fighter, a Knuckle fighter no less, without the means or honour to fight his way out. It had been too easy and now he was prepared to beg for his life. A Knuckle fighter, begging for his life; was there anything more disrespectful?

Banzai-Tron had suffered a serious injury in the fight against Poison rendering him unable to transform. He retained all his robotic fighting prowess however, just that any attempt to revert to his alternate mode resulted in an escalation in his injuries. He had accepted this trophy as an injury of war and was proud to recognise his destiny to remain in robot form forever. Besides, he had Razor-Sharp now, a hovercraft and weapons system that allowed ample additional mobility where required. But what made him weak in the eyes of Bludgeon was that in the attack the opportunity to bury the robot that inflicted the injury was overlooked. Banzai-Tron had shown a level of compassion Bludgeon considered inappropriate and released his opponent. His opponent s name was Kickoff.

The episode changed Kickoff forever. He was at the mercy of Banzai-Tron and that he chose to allow him to live rather than kill the foe that had taken away his ability to transform, the most humiliating disorder of all Transforming races, Kickoff pledged a level of allegiance rarely seen outside a military institute. Kickoff rejected his brethren and joined Knuckle and while this had been met with disapproval and mistrust, Kickoff soon proved his loyalty to his new clan and was finally accepted.

This difference in philosophy between Banzai-Tron and Bludgeon was a stumbling block in Knuckle and both he and Bludgeon had learned to compromise. Banzai-Tron was in a perpetual battle to convince Bludgeon the humiliation of defeat was a greater indignity for the loser than that of the victor not to inflict the killing blow. And while Bludgeon agreed to no longer kill all that succumbed to his skills Banzai-Tron agreed never to contest Bludgeon for leadership.

This new-found sense of order over slaughter bolstered both the morality and tightness of the group. Bludgeon no longer killed his clan in practice duels, but inflicted the greater pains of defeat. His fighters learned from their mistakes and improved as fighters.

Most fighters were punks powerful and fast, but without the finesse of a disciplined art form like Crystalocution. Though none were in the same league as either Bludgeon or Banzai-Tron, they were at least beginning to hone their aggression into graceful and intelligent moves over powerful, if unstructured blows. With Banzai-Tron he marshalled Knuckle into a robust unit of fighters capable of individual and team combat, regimented like an army.

There was a certain sense of pride creeping into Knuckle as its members began to refine their moves. Even rough punks like Blades and Rumble began experimenting with martial arts and learning from more experienced players in an effort to elevate their fighting standards above common punches, kicks and grapples. Other arts crept into the catalogue of fighting techniques wielded by Knuckle and those with additional abilities, including Bugly and Shrapnel, even drew inspiration from greater powers such as Circuit-Su.

So even though there was no immediate danger from Poison or any other would be foe, the occasional sass of his robots did not go unnoticed and to see Guttersnipe lay down his guard like this, aroused feelings of both disgust and opportunity within Bludgeon. He continued to fuel his adversary with both physical and mental pain ignoring the eyes that narrowed with disapproval from under the semi-translucent visor of Banzai-Tron. But by now, the point was made. "Disgrace." Bludgeon repeated quietly, shoving Guttersnipe over with a strong kick and releasing him from the potentially lethal hold.

The group remained in silence for a while longer, a couple of the team perhaps indulging in sparring and other quiet training while they waited for whatever loot the recon team of Switchblade, Shrapnel, Venom and Rumble might have yielded. Bludgeon returned to the debris that formed his chair and sat down, revealing two swords of incredible sharpness that Bludgeon somehow felt needed sharpening further. He spent the next few minutes grinding out micro- and perhaps even nano-level imperfections in an effort to pursue greater longevity from his weapons.

His attention was captured in a microsecond as Banzai-Tron stood to acknowledge the arrival of the stash-laden quartet. They smiled as they dumped the energon supplements, oils and other fuels before their team. Venom said nothing but finished the haul by tossing a small item through the air to Banzai-Tron. Bludgeon leapt up and flashed his two swords in a swift if delicate motion into a single hand capturing the object mid-flight as if wielding enormous tweezers. "What do we have here?" He asked silently with a change of facial expression, reaching out and taking the object from between the blades.

It was a data cube, an Autobot data cube, marked with classification insignia denoting importance. "Is it cracked?" he asked of Venom who shook his head revealing the code encrypting the cube required breaking. In turn, Bludgeon tossed the cube to Mindwipe that he might be able to decipher the complex mask. The haul of provisions was divided and consumed while Mindwipe worked on the cube, passing comments on the surprising level of encryption. "Where d you get it?" asked Bludgeon.

Venom and Rumble looked at each other with a smile. "Some robot called Beachcomber." Rumble explained. "Found him lost in Rait; we had to tax him." He smiled. He went on to describe the mess they left the Autobot in. "He put up a fight, really didn t want to give that cube up."

"So we figured it was important," Shrapnel continued, "so the more he held back, the more with prised it from him." He laughed, raising his hands slightly as they glowed instinctively as they charged in memory of his electric deployment on the geologist. Banzai-Tron scowled another look of disapproval, but Shrapnel and the others just laughed a little more. "We won t be hearing much from him in a while."

"Yeah," echoed Switchblade, "when we left he was in pretty bad shape." Mindwipe continued to mumble about the incredible level of security on the cube but Bludgeon ignored his complaints. "Don t be too hard on yourself," Switchblade commented, "even Soundwave couldn t break it."

Bludgeon looked up. "Soundwave?" He murmured. "What s he got to do with it?"

Switchblade glanced over at Rumble. "Er, nothing," he continued a little uneasily, "just a figure of speech."

The rest of the morning was spent gorging and training while Mindwipe continued to work on the cube. Bludgeon was anxious and paced up and down alongside his code breaker while Banzai-Tron took charge of the training. The fact it was stolen from some weak and pathetic geologist was not of interest, just that it was so heavily encrypted it must have been important. And even if neither he nor the rest of Knuckle took an interest in the information it contained, it could be sold handsomely to someone that did.

"I think I got it." Mindwipe declared finally tapping a few keys on the only working console within the run-down neighbourhood. Bludgeon walked across and leant over his shoulder scanning the data that flashed over the screen. The data was raw and unstructured, just several series of binary and hexadecimal figures. "All we have to do is process it." He continued, scanning the code for the format. It was not long before the final piece of the puzzle was solved and the computer parsed the data into a more comprehensive display format. "It is done." He announced.

At first the data appeared to manifest itself as a set of plans, perhaps building plans, or some other large scale construction site, but as the two robots examined further, they discovered the plans in question were existing locations, not proposed sites. "Old data?" suggested Mindwipe.

Bludgeon shook his head. "Not with that level of encryption." He argued. He reached over and tapped at the console, altering the display orientation a few more times. "I think it s a map."

Mindwipe looked over his shoulder at Bludgeon who reciprocated. "A map?" He asked. "Where to?"

Bludgeon smiled. "That s the beauty of a treasure hunt." He stood up and told Mindwipe to keep looking while he committed the map to memory. "I ll assemble a team." He turned around to see Banzai-Tron standing behind them both, and cursed himself for being so engrossed in the map he had failed to hear his second in command arrive, a self-indulged disregard for the rules of Crystalocution, the same rules he had made Guttersnipe suffer for just hours earlier.

"What is that?" He asked. "Some kind of map?" Bludgeon scowled and told him to leave them alone. But the damage was done and Banzai-Tron had already made his observations. He leant closer and Bludgeon s eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Hey," he remarked, "I know this place, I think." Bludgeon leant in closer himself and reviewed the screen before shrugging and offering Banzai-Tron to elaborate. "This looks a lot like Bana," he explained, "an Autobot-governed city on the edge of the Verdana Chasm."

The Verdana Chasm was a crescent-shaped trench in the surface of the planet and formed a natural land border between the Autobot state Ferex to the north and the Decepticon-owned Stanix to the south. It spanned several miles at its greatest and was as deep as it was wide. "There s a complex set of tunnels and other strange geological features." Banzai-Tron explained. The depth of the chasm was so great it tapped into the crust of the planet itself, rumoured to house pools of molten rock and metal ores. "And the tunnels are vents forged through the underground by the hot gases."

Bludgeon looked on as if it might refresh his memory of a place he knew little about. "And what s the prize?" He asked. "Why the map?"

Banzai-Tron shrugged. "I don t know, but whatever it is it cannot survive that heat, surely?"

The three of them studied the details some more before Bludgeon announced once more he needed a team to investigate, led by himself, naturally, and that Banzai-Tron would remain in charge as a defence against Poison, or any other ambitious streetfighters that might want a piece of the Pit in his absence. Banzai-Tron nodded, but was uncomfortable at being left out as he put it. The two of them left the Knuckle Pit s command room leaving Mindwipe to scour the data for any more details on what they might find in the hot tunnels of the Chasm.

Bludgeon ordered eight volunteer Knuckle fighters to accompany him and Mindwipe. It went without saying that wherever Bludgeon went, Octopunch and Stranglehold would follow, but he had to turn down requests from Blades and Rumble; he wanted some of his tougher fighters to remain at the Pit to ward off would-be foes. Instead he called on Rippersnapper, Wildfly, Panic, Bugly, Crowbar and Switchblade to complete the team.

Mindwipe had come to the conclusion the map must have led to some energon source or another, although the encrypted data was sketchy on the subject to say the least. But the potential gains were there to be exploited and the squad moved out.

**

CHAPTER 2 - Soundwave

Soundwave was livid. The gall of Knuckle to even entertain the idea they might get away with what they had done threatened to engulf him in a flaming inferno of emotional rage. It was bad enough he had let something as trivial as Autobot encryption techniques baffle him as much as the data cube had done. Worse still was reporting to Megatron the information he had attained was not decoded yet, passing his own meticulous deadlines for efficiency. But if he was having a bad day, whoever took the cube was going to have a worse one.

He retraced he steps to the micrometre recalling the events. He had been angry that his efforts to decrypt the code had been affected by the emotional high of his latest conquest. He had been following Beachcomber for some time having intercepted radio calls to his commanders in Iacon about some observations he had made in the Ferex region of Cybertron. It did not matter to him what they were, of course, but whatever these findings were Megatron had to know.

The level of detail in his plans for the forthcoming invasion of Kaon could allow for no surprises. The Decepticons knew how many soldiers they had in their armies and where they might be. They knew their weapons status, their political situation, their influence on Neutralists. And they knew to the last cube how much energon the Autobots had and where. For the invasion to be successful there could be no surprises. If they had discovered an additional source, it had to be accounted for.

So Soundwave s mission to take the data from Beachcomber was as trivial and mundane as it could have got. Locating the Autobot was as simple as he had predicted, able to monitor the airwaves and even the ground vibrations of his movement when he got close. He found himself in the dead land between Vos and Rait awaiting the na ve Autobot and the ambush he had prepared.

The slums of the area provided plenty of cover; there was very little law around here anyway, but the pitiful state of the city was home to energon junkies and other bum empties. Muggings and gang violence was part of life on the streets; no-one would bat an optic if they saw a small Autobot being overpowered by a larger, stronger robot.

Indeed, all had gone to plan. The unsuspecting Autobot walked right into the path of Soundwave. He resisted, of course, but he was too weak for the Decepticon Communications Officer. His valiant efforts were wasted and Soundwave was able to wrench the datacube from his personal cargo holds, leaving the Autobot geologist for dead in the rotting streets of Rait s paradoxical suburbia.

It was another success, completed with the typical ease and efficiency worthy of Soundwave s reputation. He wanted to make most use his time on the return journey by deciphering the code en-route. But his fuel levels were still on overdrive with the euphoria of his success and struggled to even bypass the first and simplest level of encryption. Soundwave was rarely emotional, but his feelings surfaced, they were volatile after such a time of being locked away.

He stopped and allowed himself a moment to recoup his thoughts and to regain his composure, aware of the eyes of deadbeat junkies in the dark alleys. He considered the cube again, but even he was not going to decode the cube without additional resources back in Polyhex. That was his problem; he was too efficient. He hated to waste the time it took for him to return to Megatron, travelling time where his mind was effectively redundant. He slipped the cube into a cargo hold of his own and marched down the street, scowling at the empties that dared to degrade themselves with their mere presence in his vicinity.

As he approached Vos where Astrotrain waited to take him back to the Decepticons headquarters, he made his reluctant report to Megatron that he was not yet in a position to divulge the information on the cube as he had unrealistically hoped. Megatron was surprisingly understanding and explained he would have the additional deciphering equipment ready upon his return. Soundwave closed the communication channel and instinctively reached the cube from his hold as if he might somehow make that head start he so desperately wanted.

To his horror, what he held in his hand was little more than scrap metal, a cunning switch. He had been robbed. He hurled the object to the ground with such force the scrap embedded itself into the hard metallic surface. He was fuming with rage, but he tried to control himself so as to recall exactly who might have made the switch. He would go back to the alley and kill each and every empty if necessary to find that cube.

But when he returned, he found the same deranged junkies that had left in the slums a few hours earlier. They were thieves, survivalists, but not idiots. They would not steal from Soundwave; the cube had no value to them and he was too much of a threat. No, it had to be something or someone else. He marched up to the first empty he found lying in the filthy slumber of a narcotic-induced shutdown. Without a moment s hesitation, and in front of a half-dozen or so other contemptuous robots, with produced his rifle and shot him dead with a single shot to the head. He meant business and they knew it.

"Who runs this neighbourhood?" He demanded, pointing the weapon at the next empty. He panicked and raised his hands in front of his face as if it might somehow prevent the powerful weapon inflicting the same fate. Soundwave barely paused, such was his rage. He pulled on the trigger and the rifle burst through the quaking limbs and penetrating the second robot s head. As he turned to point at a third he was met with a chorus of screams calling the name he wanted to hear.

"Knuckle!" They cried, pointing in the direction of the Pit. This downtrodden rabble however was not his target. They were literally beneath his notice and ignored them as they scrambled to their feet to flee. Soundwave returned his rifle to his side and marched towards the Knuckle Pit.

The tall blue Decepticon approached the Pit with lively haste. Astrotrain was due to depart in less than six hours with a separate payload for delivery. He could not afford to miss this flight else risk waiting another day of tedious anxiety. He had to get the cube and fast.

The mid-afternoon haze was at its most intense as the dirt and dust mixed to form a discomforting smog. But Soundwave ignored the cooling fluids that seeped from his angry joints. He disregarded the overpowering stench of used fuels, oils and lubricants that backup up in blocked drainage sewers. Instead he focused on locating the cube and pressed on until the former bar was in sight.

He scanned the area all around trying desperately to ignore the internal chronometer that reminded him how precious little time he had left before Astrotain s departure. But Soundwave was so used to his meticulous success he was rarely called upon to act under pressure. So when his target strayed into vision, he made an uncharacteristically rash decision.

He leapt out of his hiding place and grabbed Venom by the throat, powering him to the ground and landing heavily on his chest, his hand still held firmly about his neck. Venom was a known thief. He knew a good catch when he found one; it had to have been him. Besides he could practically read the panic in his mind without using his powers of telepathy. He had his bot. He did not need to ask the stricken robot where the cube was, he knew his number was up. But the prone robot stopped struggling and even dared to emit a smile. Was he even laughing at Soundwave? Soundwave drew back his free hand and clenched his fist, preparing to launch it straight into the maniacal grin of his foe.

The strange object dropped from the air to the right of Soundwave as he knelt upon Venom s chest, bouncing and clinking in the metallic dirt for a second or so. "Looking for something?" asked a voice from behind him. It was a simple ploy, a trick to divert his attention. He knew it was not the cube but he could not help but look, so inviting was the voice. Soundwave whirled his head around to see four Knuckle streetfighters stood with their hands on their hips. He froze; he knew he was already in too deep.

Powerdrift flew forward and tackled Soundwave from Venom, the two of them rolling in a heap. But Powerdrift was first to react leaping to his feet, leaving Soundwave lying face up, propped up on his elbows and staring at Redeye s foot slicing the air at speed. It made contact with the Decepticon s chin shearing a slice of metallic armour from his face in the process and sending him sprawling for his troubles.

The Officer rolled over a couple of times, trying to take to his feet and producing his rifle. Redeye leapt forward and kicked the weapon from his hands, and ducking the punch that Soundwave threw with his left hand. He unleashed a rapid succession of slight blows against the chest of his arm-flailing opponent before Soundwave finally fell to ground once more. Redeye leapt from the duel to allow a fellow fighter chance to take over. Joyride obliged.

The red and green robot stood in his preferred stance as Soundwave gingerly took to his feet. Soundwave lunged forward in rage swinging a powerful right hook at the fighter, but Joyride side-stepped the challenge and tripped the robot who crashed heavily to the ground again. He groaned in pain tried to stand, clutching his side, but Joyride showed no mercy, racing forward and grabbing Soundwave by the shoulders and forcing his chest down to meet the knee he was rising at speed.

Blades took over grabbing the beaten Soundwave from behind before he even had the chance to fall backwards, wrapping his arms around his neck in a painful hold. Soundwave staggered foolishly as Blades tightened his grip, positioning the razor-sharp blades on mounted on his arms on the Decepticon s throat, a fine layer of his finish flaking away.

By now Venom had recovered from the attack and stood up to face the stricken Soundwave. But Venom was old-school and had no interest in the elegance of martial art, punching the Decepticon officer in the midriff until he keeled over in pain once more under Blades release. Soundwave groped around the floor with one hand struggling for inspiration to live as he clutched at the wounds in his body with the other. Venom stood atop the tired robot and rolled him onto his back with a kick.

In one last desperate attempt Soundwave ejected the concussion canon he kept hidden under a shoulder compartment. It was not designed for such short range attack and the backlash might well reach himself, but he was out of options. But in his mis-coordination, the shots from the cannon flew by the Knuckle fighters and harmlessly into the air. "Pathetic." Smiled Venom, kneeling down clasping a tight hand around his neck. Beneath his gold visor, Soundwave s optics flashed left to right. Was this really how it was going to end? A respected Decepticon soldier murdered by a bunch of roughneck street punks. But despite his lack of refinement, Venom had learned a thing or two about warrior pride and the greater weight associated with its breakage over death.

He squeezed a little tighter and leant in close. "You go and tell your boss that Knuckle is not for sale. You got that?" Soundwave mustered a slight nod of sorts. Venom nodded and released the Decepticon. "Now get out of here!" He demanded and kicked him a couple of times as he took to his feet. Soundwave scrambled to his feet, disgraced at the defeat and ran limping from the scene.

The group was still jeering him when Banzai-Tron arrived, demanding to know what was going on. "Ah, nothing." Redeye laughed. "We just wasted some loser from Poison or whatever."

Banzai-Tron activated his visor HUD and scanned for the robot hobbling away. His head began to shake involuntarily. "That wasn t Poison." He stammered, turning to face Redeye. "That was Soundwave!"

Redeye turned to look at Venom, who shrugged. "I don t care what clan he s from, he s not taking the Pit!" The other four chorused a grunt of communal solidarity. "He s not "

"He s a Decepticon!" spat Banzai-Tron.

"I don t care who " began Venom repeating himself.

"A Decepticon!" repeated Banzai-Tron. "Not some street punk. Ah, Primus!" He staggered, slumping against a wall and sliding down until he was sat on the floor and propped up against it.

Blades and Joyride looked at each other. "You mean, the Decepticon Army?" Joyride muttered. Banzai-Tron said nothing, but his stern stare told more than words ever could. "Oh, shoot."

Venom shrugged defiantly, pretending the repercussions of the episode were trivial. "So what?" He argued. "We can "

"The Decepticon slagging Army!" boomed Banzai-Tron taking to his feet and grabbing Venom by the shoulders. "We ain t talking about Poison, x-18, NAB or the Vos Crew!" He recited a list of known fighting clans from the area. "We re talking the whole freaking army here!" He repeated. "They re going to level us!" He stressed. Banzai-Tron stared into Venom s optics for a while longer before releasing him. His anger was directed at all of them, and each dropped their heads in shame. This was going to cost Knuckle dearly.

Banzai-Tron took a few steps back and considered the situation. "Okay, we re going to have to act fast with this one." He pondered. "We ll just tell them it was dark, he didn t identify himself, that, well," he paused from his stammer, "and we ll have to compensate them." He paused again as he mentally went through their stocks of energon and their other acquirements in their inventory. Then it struck him. "Please tell me this has nothing to do with that damned datacube?" Venom said nothing, but shot a glance over at Powerdrift that revealed as much. "Ah, Primus!" Banzai-Tron cussed. "You tell me now and you tell me straight:" commanded Banzai-Tron, "where did you get that cube from?"

Venom squirmed a little. "Beachcomber." He muttered. "Sort of." Banzai-Tron s optics narrowed. "Well, he got it from Beachcomber." He nodded his head in the direction of the departed Soundwave as Banzai-Tron brought a hand to cover his face in disbelief. He ran his fingers over his tired face as he shook his head to the tune of Venom tale of stupidity. "He beat the slag out of him and took it. We figured it was worth something and, well, he did it on our pitch." He tried to defend himself. "By rights that cube was ours to take."

Banzai-Tron s head was still shaking. "So you stole it from Soundwave." Venom shrugged. To give him his dues, the ignorance of his methods refused to bow to the hypocrisy of discrimination. "Soundwave," he repeated, "you know, Megatron s number two?" Finally Venom s optics widened slowly until the point they threatened to fall from his face as he silently mouthed the name of the leader of military arm of the Decepticon faction. "That s right, Megatron s number two."

"Ah, shoot." Whispered Joyride again at the news of Soundwave s elevated position in the Decepticon ranks. This was going to cost them more than the Pit, but most probably their very lives; there would be no talking their way out of this one. The realisation began to sink in. Between them they may have sealed the fate of Knuckle forever.

Banzai-Tron turned and left the broken fighters encumbered by the weight of their actions and returned to the control room. Just how was he going to explain this one to Bludgeon? He was already on the way to Bana with his team. Even with them Knuckle was no match for the Decepticon Army; without them, they could kiss goodbye to their whole clan. And this was too sensitive to broadcast on the airwaves. If by some miracle they were to survive the inevitable backlash by Megatron and Soundwave, they could not afford to let Poison and the others hear of their predicament. He blasted his hand on the communication console with such force the passing Kickoff heard.

He tapped on the doorframe, checking his friend and commander s status. "You okay?" He asked stepping forward to see Banzai-Tron stood with his weight pressed on the console supported by his two rigid arms, his head lowered in angry contemplation. He lifted it up with a shake as he looked over at the fighter walking over. "I ve got to go and find Bludgeon and call this whole thing off." He announced to Kickoff s surprise. "Stay here and prepare; all Hell s going to be let loose and when it does, I need you to be strong."

Kickoff nodded but was unaware of the forthcoming onslaught Banzai-Tron was predicting. "Who s coming? What s going on?" He asked as Banzai-Tron sprinted into the armoury, emerging with Razor-Sharp who transformed in hovercraft mode.

"I ll be back as soon as I can." He promised, leaping aboard. "I ll leave them in your hands." Kickoff shook his head in disbelief as he watched his friend blast from the Pit and in the direction of Bana.

**

CHAPTER 3 - Bludgeon

Octopunch and Stranglehold led the group into the streets of Bana. Their rough appearances did little to blend themselves in with the snobbishly wealthy suburbanites of this part of the Autobot-led city. But Bludgeon and Mindwipe following the two tough Knuckle robots were unconcerned. The more they read from the datacube, the more they were intrigued by its mythical expos .

According to the cube the Verdana Chasm was a deep trench that led far beneath the surface of Cybertron into its crust and beyond. There was nothing new about that particular piece of information. But the cube categorised this canyon as one of a handful of the ancient era, the era when the planet was in its infancy. Unlike other more modern trenches and crevasses, the Chasm was not formed by internal mining and other excavation work.

Popular rumour depicted the historical Cybertron as a relatively small planet, consisting of, if the Holy Testaments were to be believed, just twelve original cities conceived by the Twelve descendants of Primus himself. But over the thousands of millennia, these cities became overgrown with superstructures towering high into the sky. Little of Cybertron remained in its natural, raw form, instead was processed from the inside out and added to existing structures. The planet itself grew, resources from other planets mined to add to the blossoming world. Whole cities of yesteryear became buried under the growing height of newer cities. And unlike many new cities, Bana was not mounted above an old city, but upon solid metallic ores and rocks. The tunnels beneath Bana were natural and not the consequence of robotic evolution towards the stars.

This was what intrigued Bludgeon. These natural vents to the heat of the centre of the planet were of the true ancient era, perhaps untouched or unexplored for tens of thousands of years, maybe longer. According to Beachcomber s report on the geological foundations of the city and its neighbourhood, the Chasm may have been one of the original vents that tapped into Primus himself. Mindwipe had smiled when he read this. As much as he had found his spiritual side by beginning to learn the art of Crystalocution, like so many minds, he was still sceptical on the origins of his planet, especially when someone wrote of the existence of Primus himself.

Bludgeon was more open-minded, however, and read on with interest. His belief was not of faith but of inspiration. Of course the mythology of the ancient times, the talk of titanic battles between two gods of an immortal realm, was not going to be entirely accurate. Scare stories by religious zealots kept god-fearing mechanoids away and doubters cynical. But rarely are thoughts without inspiration, regardless of the motivation for the thoughts.

Perhaps deep within the burning fires of the centre of Cybertron there was something of power, something that the poorly educated minds of the ancient era mistook for Primus himself. Maybe it really was Primus, after all? Probably not, but then again, no-one had ever disproved the clash of Primus and Unicron to his satisfaction either. It was not that Bludgeon was a zealot, just that he was not as apathetic to the origins of Transformers as a typical cross-section of Cybertronian society. So whatever it was in the depths of the vents, it was interesting and it was something that Beachcomber did not want the Decepticons, Knuckle or anyone else for that matter, to find out.

The remaining streetfighters brought up the rear marching regimentally as Banzai-Tron had taught them. They resisted the urge to break ranks and mug the closest, well-presented robot that surely sported riches that could be fenced for their own gain. Bludgeon had warned them that they were not to attract undue attention and they obliged. They began the day a little interested in the mysterious mission Bludgeon had requested of them, an escort to a place on an assignment of secrecy. But by now the strains of being left out of the loop were beginning to show.

Instructed by Bludgeon and Mindwipe, Octopunch and Stranglehold had led the group all around Bana s suburbia, trying to find a discrete entrance to the vents. A number of possibilities had been found but his years of disciplined fighting had been translated into his non-hostile actions and Bludgeon was too meticulous to leave anything to chance. He was going to scour every inch of Bana to find the best available option, not one that might simply make do.

But by now the trade-off between finding a discrete entrance and the lack of discretion a group of ten rough-looking strangers could hope to maintain was coming to a fair balance and it was time for a decision. Bludgeon instructed his team to return to a spot on the edge of suburbia when the residential areas met an industrial zone. According to their map they might be able to bypass any security with minimal exposure.

The geothermal power plant was located where the crust was weakest. In this comparatively low-lying region of Cybertron accessibility to the molten heat source was preferable to the solar extraction techniques of high-rise cities like Iacon and Polyhex. As the molten currents beneath the crust shifted tectonically over time, every thousand years or so the power plants moved in sympathy for most effective gain. Bludgeon and Mindwipe selected a dormant plant that should have been inactive for several years, yet probably still sported machined tunnels leading to the natural vents and caverns beneath the surface. As dusk began to fall and the city was in that state of indecision between evening and night, the group left the shadows and into the plant.

"Keep your optics honed," Bludgeon ordered in a hushed tone, "and your footsteps weak." One-by-one they vaulted the locked gates of the abandoned power plant and back into the shadows of the other side. There was little like mystery to set the fuel pumps racing in anticipation. This facility had been owned by the Autobots and while it was out of action, there was probably some security presence ensuring potential thieves, not too dislike Knuckle, and other vandals were deterred from looting. The group had to remain alert to the danger, not just of being spotted but the wrath of Bludgeon himself should any of them jeopardise the hunt.

But for Bludgeon, the master of personal discipline, he did not feel the increased pressure pulsing through his fuel lines. He felt immune to the need for cooling fluids that might otherwise seep from his joints. Stealth was second nature. He crept forward with Octopunch to the entrance of the building whose shadows they disturbed and produced one of his swords. It was at times like this the ritualistic approach to maintaining his weapons came into its own. He slipped the blade into the crack in the door and sliced through the lock as effortlessly as a knife through warm oil. Octopunch caught the door and with Stranglehold lowered it silently to the floor. Bludgeon nodded to Mindwipe who signalled for the others to follow.

Once inside, they propped up the door and held it in place with temporary seals. "The perfect crime." Bludgeon whispered with a smile to Mindwipe. He produced the datacube once more and re-examined its contents trying to make sense of its decrypted yet somehow cryptic secrets. The two robots verified their position and the directions they might wish to take to guide themselves to their treasure, whatever that might be.

They walked freely around the deserted power plant until they reached the thick, heavy pipelines through which once pumped great volumes of superheated solutions to produce energon cubes. Rippersnapper and Octopunch opened the heavy door and released its seal for the first time in years. The pipe was dry, of course, and large enough for them to walk comfortably to one of the disused substations deep below the surface.

The pipe was old and eerie echoes blasted in axial directions with each step, and with each such step the air grew thicker and warmer. At times the gradual descent steepened and accelerated the effects until even Bludgeon felt the release of additional cooling fluids to reduce his core temperature. "And if I m reading this thing correctly," continued Mindwipe concluding his talk with his team leader, "the substation should be right around here." He finished as they rounded a corner. From within the pipe it was impossible to simply open the complex internal valve, but once more Bludgeon was able to make use of his swords and slice their way through.

The substation was a simple room that formed a control junction for a number of geothermal pipes. Inside, the heavy noise from the more recently opened power plant a short distance away was the most prominent thing as superheated fluids pumped through tunnels deep into the ground. But importantly, and as predicted, this particular substation was disused, even though the one connected via a tunnel to the adjoining operational plant would probably be manned, the noise masked their presence.

But these tunnels were of no interest, nor were they concerned about the other pipelines. From here they could enter the vents themselves, the natural tunnels that fed deep into the crust of Cybertron and towards Primus himself, should they have believed the tales of the ancient era. Stranglehold, Bugly and some of the others removed the interior panelling until the hard ore-like makeup of the ground became accessible. Bludgeon and Mindwipe, still referencing the cube, instructed Panic to transform into this flail tank mode and stood back as he drove headfirst into the wall of the underground substation.

With an audio-scraping grind the dark blue tank dug through the rubble in the direction of a natural underground vent, loud enough that were it not for the transmitted noises of the other active plant might have been detectable, but they were undetectable. Crowbar and Switchblade broke up some of the exposed parts of the pipe they had used to break in and passed them to their clan-mates in the tunnel to prop up the roof for extra support. Rippersnapper and Wildfly lay in guard by the locked door should anyone from the active substation be foolish enough to have overheard their activities. Bludgeon and Mindwipe oversaw the operation and after around an hour or so Panic made the breakthrough they needed.

An intense blast of hot air burst through the weakened opening in the wall between the vent and the tunnel Panic was boring that momentarily threatened to topple those that reacted poorly. But as the pressure differential found a natural balance, a sense of calmness returned, and Bludgeon marched through the excavation with a grin. He pushed Stranglehold lightly to one side and slipped through the opening, ducking through the slight entrance.

The vent was huge, perhaps six times his height and at least twice as wide again. But the air was thick, heavy and smoky, filled with the smog of sulphur and other gases funnelling from the planet s molten core. Bludgeon flexed his joints and satisfied himself that, though uncomfortable certainly, the heat did not pose a serious threat, at least not at this depth. He called for Mindwipe and the others to follow, but ordered Rippersnapper and Wildfly to remain on guard within the substation. What if someone comes? "Kill anyone." He told them coldly.

With more space to manoeuvre, the robots of Knuckle were able to transform and drive or fly through the natural geotechnical feature continuing their descent into through the crust of their planet. It was a short time before Mindwipe and Bludgeon resumed their speculative conversation. "This power that he talks about," he commented of Beachcomber s datacube, "it better hadn t just be plans for another geothermal power plant."

Bludgeon said nothing, but was self-assured this was not the case. The power plant several thousand yards above was relatively new and the geotechnical movements of the crust had not altered the environment substantially for some time, at least according to Beachcomber s cube. And according to the Autobot geologist, such drastic movement was not likely for some time to come. Beachcomber knew his stuff and there was no reason for Bludgeon to question his expertise. No, whatever was lurking down here was something altogether more mysterious than a source point for future geothermal energy.

They continued their long, slow controlled descent down the vent through the rocky Cybertronian ores encapsulating the group of eight. The heat became more and more intense as the shimmering haze met the whirling whisps of thick toxic gases. But despite the calls of unease by their team-mates, Mindwipe and Bludgeon could almost sense they were heading in the right direction, until they rounded a kink in the vent to see the chamber.

The cavern spread out into an enormous expanse and all directions. The thick smoke and gases prevented an accurate estimation of its size, but it was clear they had found their prize. The team rolled and flew forward, the heat growing perhaps by the yard, an eerie red glow disguised in the dark air. As they approached the cavern, smoke and gases blew angrily from cracks in the surface, the jets of hot air making for almost impossible flying. The group transformed into their robot forms,

"Where are we?" Octopunch stammered as the roof of the vent met the cavern, stretching higher than their optics could see in the gloom. The chamber was like an enormous bowl, a relatively narrow ledge ran around the rim of a deep crater-like volcanic bed of bubbling magma. Bludgeon took a few steps forward and peered instinctively over the edge into the deep chasm. Looking up he peered through the haze at the pipelines of superheated liquids that the Autobots had constructed to exploit the heat of the underground volcano for energon conversion.

"We are here." He replied, not the response Octopunch was looking for. He shrugged, wanting to know where here was. Bludgeon smiled. "Tagen." He answered.

**

CHAPTER 4 - Rumble

What on Cybertron was he doing? Wandering around Bana trying to find his team commander on a secret mission to the middle of the planet? And what was he going to do when he found him? Tell him to come home because in his absence the clan he headed had accidentally sealed the fate of its very existence? "Damn!" cursed Banzai-Tron as he scooted around the Autobot city aboard Razor-Sharp. He had hurried as fast as he could to catch Bludgeon but it was to no avail. He was going to have to make that radio call after all.

But that was the very reason he had chosen to go in person. To have called Bludgeon with the bad news of Venom and his unfortunate ignorance of Soundwave's rank within the Decepticon Army would have exposured Knuckle to the potential intercept calls by Poison or any of the other ratbag clans that operated in the area. He wanted to find Bludgeon himself, but he had read the map too. Bludgeon was going underground and if he was going to make that call, he had to do so before he got out of radio-range. The call timed out.

"Damn!" He spat again, shaking his head. Just how long did they have? Was Bludgeon underground? Had he been captured by the Autobot law enforcers patrolling the city? Even though Venom had admitted he had nothing to do with beating the living slag out of Beachcomber, there were still going to be a lot of cops with itchy trigger fingers after that episode. Maybe it was already too late? Maybe the rest of Knuckle were going to have to fend off the inevitable Soundwave backlash alone.

But maybe, just maybe, the Decepticons would see things differently. They were, after all, just a military power; they had no jurisdiction operating in Rait. Maybe Venom was right? Maybe Soundwave had no right to take that datacube on their soil? Banzai-Tron shook his head again. Who was he kidding? The Cons answered to nobody; they were coming and they were going to kick off.

So what to do now? Stay and try to find Bludgeon, get him and the rest of his team back to Rait and wait for the onslaught? Or head back himself and hope he could make a difference? Realistically, on his own he could make little difference to any retaliation plans Megatron may or may not have had. With Bludgeon and the others, perhaps, they might just be able to challenge. Of course, the Decepticons could wipe the floor with them and their oil without breaking into a sweat of cooling fluids, but rumour had it they were stockpiling troops, possibly for an invasion elsewhere. It did not make economic sense for Megatron to risk his troops on street scum like Knuckle. At least that was what he wanted to believe.

He made a decision; if Megatron looked like he was coming he would head back to the Pit, if not he would stay and look for Bludgeon. He made the call to Kickoff. "Where the hell are you?" the understudy demanded upon hearing Banzai-Tron s voice.

"Bana." He replied. "But that s not important." Banzai-Tron stepped back into the shadows as a passing patrol car prowled along. "What s the status?" He whispered.

Kickoff shrugged involuntarily even though Banzai-Tron had no visualisation. "There s still no sign of Megatron. Blades is circling the skies keeping a lookout, but so far so good."

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps Megatron was not about to unleash Soundwave s vengeance on their tiny outfit. He permitted himself a sigh of relief before standing up seriously once more. "Good." He acknowledged. "But I still have to find Bludgeon and bring him back. I ll be heading underground if I can and I won t be able to contact you for some time. And if anything should happen, well," he paused picturing the worst, "good luck."

The communication channel closed and Kickoff turned off the equipment. "Good luck." He repeated nonchalantly. "We re Knuckle; we don t need luck." But he still acknowledged to himself the importance that neither Poison nor any of Knuckle s other rivals had heard his words or suspected their hold on the Pit and its neighbourhood was weakening.

He stepped out of the command room and onto the rapidly cooling and darkening streets, shrugging a silent question to Horsepower. He shook his head. Kickoff smiled. Banzai-Tron was over-reacting. However important Soundwave and his cube were, they were not worth the Decepticons coming and getting their butts kicked by the hardest fighters in Rait.

Night fell and Blades returned to ground to refuel. A few of the clan retired to their dormant shutdown mode while their internal systems undertook their maintenance programs; others patrolled the streets around the Pit under orders relayed by Kickoff. "They aren t coming, are they?" asked Horsepower some time later.

Kickoff shook his head. "I don t think so." He smiled, glancing into the sky as a shooting star crept into view. But Kickoff s glance became a stare and his stare, a gawp of distress, for the object in the sky was not a burning entry of space debris into Cybertron s distant atmosphere, but an object very much in the vicinity. His mouth gaped in awe as the light split into two, then four individual lights, each splitting once more. The roar of eight thunderous aircraft split the night sky as the Seeker jets made their presence known. Kickoff s calls for his team to take cover was drowned by searing screams from the sky as missiles flew from the Seekers and pounded the Pit.

The building erupted. What little remained of the Pit over its years as the centre for guerrilla fighting was no more as the whole structure exploded into a billion fragments and great plumes of dust, sending bodies flying in all directions. The robots inside were awakened rudely, grabbing their preferred weapons, including electro-knives, axes and swords, scrambling outside to feet their foes that dared launch the attack.

Starscream and his jets flew overhead and across the city of Rait, banking sharply for another run. "Kill them all!" Thundercracker screamed with lustful appetite. As if guided by invisible rails in the sky, they had turned back as one and released another wave of missiles at the stricken Pit. The second series of explosions were directed more at Knuckle themselves, more bodies being tossed around, limbs shattering like brittle glass.

As gifted as they were at fighting one-on-one, the Decepticons had no intention of allowing them that luxury. It was tactical and ruthless. Kickoff shook his head to restart his gyroscopic sensors that struggled to operate under the noise and debris hurled around them. Peering over a burning crater he could see his team in chaos. Powerdrift was lying in front of him, in around six to eight pieces, his oil and fuel splattered all over the street, burning brightly in the night sky. Joyride, Redeye and Rumble had all taken shrapnel damage while his namesake stood and called for his powers of Circuit-Su. Channelling his energon reserves he fired balls and streaks of electricity into the air, disrupting the Seekers having banked once more for a third strike.

Thrust let rip with another set of missiles, but their guidance systems were disrupted by the huge electromagnetic interference Shrapnel s powers were generating. The missiles detonated close-by and sent Horsepower and Guttersnipe flying into the air once more.

"We have to get them on the ground!" Kickoff shouted, as if the others were somehow unaware. "We can t fight them in the skies!" But his words were overshadowed by the clattering sounds of a ground invasion to match the aerial assault. Skullcruncher, Ruckus and Blitzwing crashed through the rubble backed up by another dozen or so other Cybertronian tanks, including none other than Megatron himself.

As the Decepticon commander blasted a round of heavy artillery into the chest of Guttersnipe, who was struggling to regain his composure, the complete inadequacies of their fighting techniques hit the stand-in leader of Knuckle hard. Even Shrapnel with his advanced techniques could do nothing for them; Knuckle was no match with or without Bludgeon and the rest of Knuckle.

The whole clan froze as the semi-conscious Guttersnipe staggered, smoke belching from his fused circuits, an arm hanging limply and his broken neck unable to support his head. Guttersnipe collapsed to the floor and Megatron transformed, aiming his weapon at the nearest fighter. "I will give you one chance and one chance only." He growled. "I want the datacube!"

The unfortunate robot was Rumble, who trembled and took a step or two back. "Even if I knew, why should I tell you? What good will it do me?" He dared trying to disguise his fear. "You ll kill us all anyway." Megatron smiled; Rumble was not as pathetic as he looked. For a moment he even admired the courage the small robot showed standing before the self-proclaimed, most powerful Transformer on Cybertron.

"Then give me a reason not to kill you." He replied in a deep, menacing voice. Rumble looked over at his acting leader, but Kickoff said nothing. "You re a survivalist, aren t you?" asked Megatron. Rumble shrugged uneasily. "Then survive." He recommended. For a moment Rumble did nothing, unsure how to react. But when the glow from Megatron s weapon began to emphasise his seriousness, Rumble leapt to his senses.

"He has it!" He stammered, pointing at Kickoff whose eyes narrowed with contempt, "or at least he did have it." Megatron smiled, but his grin told Rumble he expected more. Nervously and under the towers of taller Decepticons each with weapons primed and ready to kill them all, he took a few steps towards Kickoff. By now the Seekers had joined and were adding to Megatron s numbers. "Give him the datacube." Rumble ordered of Kickoff still stammering in a hesitant voice.

Kickoff s mouth dropped. Just who did Rumble think he was, siding with Megatron over his own brethren? There was survivalism and then there was treachery, he was quite sure he knew which column this came under. Or perhaps this was simply retribution for his former allegience to Poison. Kickoff shook his head. Rumble looked over at Megatron, not knowing who to respect more. But as if the ten year association that was Knuckle was tearing itself apart, in the background he saw Shrapnel and Kickback offer faces of encouragement, while Blades, Redeye and Horsepower, standing above the semi-conscious Joyride dared to shake their heads.

Rumble turned back to face Kickoff again. "Give me the datacube!" He demanded more forcefully, thrusting out a hand. Kickoff s face began to enflame with rage. This was nothing short of mutiny. This was Knuckle, the hardest and strongest streetfighting gang of Rait. Yet in the space of seconds they had been reduced by intimidation into a split - those that trusted Megatron to leave them once they had the information they wanted, and those that could not trust such a well-documented cheat and liar.

Kickoff looked over at Venom and scowled. This was all his fault. Though in the grand scheme, Knuckle was small-fry, to them and their neighbourhood they were the kingpins. They gave no reason for the military to attack them and for the most part would have been content to co-exist. But Venom gave them the opportunity, perhaps simply a reason, to attack them. And Venom s reaction was even more alarming. His face told Kickoff to oblige Megatron. He turned back to face Rumble. "Now!" demanded the smaller robot once more.

Kickoff narrowed his eyes. "Even if I had it, I wouldn t give it to you." He found nobility in his silence. The lives, possibly, of Banzai-Tron, Bludgeon and the others might depend on it. If he told Megatron where they were, would he really leave them alone? And even if he did, this rapid episode had drawn a close to all the bonds of trust and fellowship they had shared. He looked into the optical visor shielding Rumble s emotions and saw beyond the want to the fear beneath.

Rumble felt he had come of age, the mere presence of the Decepticon military commander had caused a re-evaluation of his life. The shear magnitude of the Decepticons and the way they could engulf Knuckle exposed their weaknesses. Fighting was not an art, nor even a skill worthy of possession. Fighting was not about who was right or wrong. Fighting these days was about strength in number and strength in weaponry rather than strength in spirit. Personal strength as noble as it was, was nothing against a dozen ion canons pointed in your face. It was time to act; it was time to chose.

With his outstretched hand, Rumble reached out and jabbed Kickoff with a powerful stab that took him by surprise followed by a powerful hook that nearly knocked him from his feet. "Tell me where it is!" screamed Rumble reaching out and grabbing at Kickoff, their arms interlocking in a powerful grapple. Rumble fought as his life might depend on the outcome, so fearful was he of Megatron.

But Kickoff fought back. He was not going to tell Rumble, Megatron or anyone else where his friend Banzai-Tron was, nor where Bludgeon and the rest of his clan were. Even if he had to beat Rumble to within an inch of his life he would do so, and perhaps he would have to fight each and every last one of them, but whatever that cube contained was important and they were not going to get it out of him.

Megatron was admirable. He was a gladiator of old, regularly taking his place in the combat arenas of Vos, Tarn and Iacon. He appreciated the skills of the two robots fighters. And while he had accepted his outmoded passions had been replaced by the more clinically complete arts of modern warfare, to see a fight of such enthusiasm was a refreshing blast from the past.

Time and again the robots grappled and tripped each other, each using their powers and skills learned under the guidance of Banzai-Tron and Bludgeon. They were becoming tired and their aching hydraulics struggled to act in accordance to their wants. The scars were mounting and the primeval urges of the on-looking robots began to rise into a series of shouts and cheers from all sides.

As Kickoff slipped out of a grapple, he countered and gripped his arm around Rumble, locking his body and forcing him down on one knee. He grimaced at the painful hold, his arm flailing trying in vain to force Kickoff from him. "We have to tell him," he stammered quietly to Kickoff, "or he ll kill us." Rumble was panicking. Quite whose side he was on, he was unsure. His faith in his clan was diminishing by the second by the monumental presence and intimidation of the powerful Megatron. But it was too late for bargaining.

"There is no us. " Kickoff whispered to his assailant from behind the hold. "You made sure of that, Decepticon." Rumble choked on this remark. He had felt he was following the command of a more powerful order, not becoming part of that order itself. But if Kickoff could no longer consider him part of Knuckle, was this fight for information more than the spar of two allies, but the declaration of an impending split?

Kickoff leant further onto Rumble forcing his second knee to collapse, pushing him further to the ground. "I should kill you right now." He spat, tightening his arm around Rumble s neck and twisting his trapped arm further behind his back in a painful hold. "We should be standing together against this monster, not against each other."

"I know," he stammered, "but wake up, Kickoff," Rumble gasped, "there is no Knuckle, only Cons and Bots." His free arm reached over his head and clasped securely onto Kickoff s shoulder, but was unable to muster any leverage. "And you think there s any place for a killer like you in the Autobots?" Rumbled winced as Kickoff squeezed harder.

"I m no killer." He announced releasing Rumble and thrusting him to the floor. This much was true; ever since the day he found himself at the mercy of Banzai-Tron, he had not taken another life. "But you won t get anything out of me." He stood defiantly. Rumble lay on the floor, his aching arms clutching his throat and other wounds. He had fought and failed. Surely Megatron was going to finish him off. He looked up at the giant robot. But Megatron just smiled, acknowledging the noble effort. The Decepticon commander looked over Shrapnel and Kickback.

They had made their decision; stay and get ripped to a pulp like Kickoff, or do the ripping for Megatron. They chose to rip. But unlike Rumble, they had the benefit from watching and learning. It was not about honour, but about victory, that was the Decepticon way. Shrapnel and Kickback stalked over to the weary Kickoff. There was nothing honourable about fighting two on one, but it was the way to victory.

Shrapnel summoned his powers and shot bolts of white lightning into the prone body of the staggering Kickoff before Kickback charged the disorientated robot. With the combination of the powerful electric surge and sudden impact came an audible crack and a searing pain that racked his body. Kickoff tried to struggle against the two robots but he was overpowered, the pain in his body magnifying every second. He could not even try to flee if he wanted, and he did want, for his transformation module had been shattered by the two robots that stood atop of him. "Tell me where the datacube is." Kickback demanded.

Kickoff lay face-up on the ground, his battered body in submission, but his mind as resilient as ever. "Go to Hell." He spat with a ball of dirty oil.

Megatron took a step forward and towered over him. "Feisty, aren t we?" He commented with a grin. "I could use a robot like you."

Kickoff stammered and tried to make his voice heard. "You can go to Hell too." Kickoff retorted in defiance. Megatron laughed at the stubbornness.

"No matter." He sighed. "We ll just have to do this the hard way." Kickoff felt his mind collapse. If this was the easy way, just what was the hard way? "Bring him with you." He demanded of Kickback and Shrapnel, before looking over and signalling to Onslaught. They stood for a moment and looked at each other.

"Congratulations." Onslaught commended in monotone walking over. "You just joined the Decepticons." He transformed and Megatron ordered the two confused robots to load Kickoff s semi-paralytic body onto his trailer. Kickback and Shrapnel were lost in a strange sense of acceptance. "Your moves might be primitive, something we can address later, but your passion for fighting and your instincts to survive prevail." Onslaught explained. "And if we are to take on the Autobots, you are exactly who we need."

"And what if we don t want to take on the Autobots? " Blades interrupted with a fierce grimace from a tightly-clenched face, looking around his shattered clan for support. This was nothing short of forced conscription, the rape of moral consciousness, not some form of voluntary subscription. "Suppose we don t want to join your outfit and fight for you?" But it was clear they had made up their minds. Shrapnel and Kickback were leaving along with Rumble, Venom and the rest of the Decepticons.

Megatron shrugged carelessly. "Then that s simple:" he smiled, nodding to Starscream and the others, "you die." He turned his back and transformed leaving his squadron of killers to finish the job. Starscream raised his arm and blasted a powerful burst of energy at the remaining robots, throwing Blades and Horsepower from their feet. Rumble and Kickback looked disapprovingly at the sight of seven or so Decepticon Seekers firing upon their prone former team-mates but had accepted there was no place for a noble and proud Knuckle in the run up to a pending modern war. That was a decision they had to make for themselves, and one they had apparently already made. But it was almost embarrassing to see them transform into their alternate modes and flee from the scene, the limp body of Joyride slung over the back of Horsepower s powerful truck mode.

But Redeye was less fortunate, cut off by the attacks from the Decepticon soldiers that surrounded him, his ample physical skills no match for the powerful laser fire that split his body into numerous erupting fireballs. Dirge and Ramjet transformed, leaping to the air and ready to fly after the fleeing remnants of Knuckle. "Wait!" cried Starscream, smoking whisps floating gently from his weapons. "Let them go; they are better off alive." He sneered. "When the other clans see the living proof of what happened to these pathetic street punks, they ll be begging to join the Decepticons else suffer the consequences."

He walked over to the corpses of Guttersnipe and Redeye and gave them a couple of kicks of murderous satisfaction and smiled. With a nod from their team leader, a couple of his team-mates adhered to the job of pulling their lifeless heads from their dead bodies such that their internal oil pumps ruptured sending showers of cool oil into the air. Stabbing these heads onto rusting steel bars implanted into the ground, they proceeded to desecrate the Pit with the scrawl of a Decepticon insignia with the oil of the dead, a standard-issue Decepticon call sign: The Decepticons were here.

**

CHAPTER 5 - Tagen

"According to the Book of Primus, the religious text of the ancient times, Tagen was one of the Twelve, the original disciples of Primus himself and servants to the immortal god of the mortal realm. Like Iacon, Polyhex, Vos, Tarn and the others, Tagen was a living entity that was to become a city for its offspring, mechanical servants to exist for the protection of their god.

"But unlike his brethren, Tagen was tainted by the enemy of Primus, Unicron the Chaos Bringer. Disloyal to his god, Tagen fell to the Chaos Bringer s powers and a battle of the mortal erupted. Tagen fell to the defenders of Primus and his spark in the city of his own name was crushed. Tagen was killed.

"Unlike the Eleven loyal followers of Primus, Tagen was left dead and defeated, a tainted city that could not spawn the race of servants of its neighbours. These servants, developed Cybertron to the peak of the galactic hierarchy, gradually falling unaware of the powers of the Twelve cities, both living and dead. The powers of the Eleven have been cultivated, drawn into sparking new life, invention and purpose, cities growing outward and upward, stacking new cities upon old, higher into the skies burying the cities of old beneath a network of superstructures.

"But Tagen, confined to the depths of Cybertron beneath the bottomless Chasm to Primus and the rest of the Twelve, lies still and lifeless as it has for eternity, its powers untouched, pure but tainted. Tagen was covered, not by the life of the spawning of the Eleven but by the rubble of shame for the traitor disciple. Tagen is indeed the lost city."

Bludgeon sat with his optics powered down, basking in the recital of the historical tale of Tagen, and the legend of a city lost beneath the evolution of a planet growing physically. He flexed his fingers gently as he embraced the powerful heat rising from the underground volcanic crater, feeling the smoke and gases weave through the digits and warm his joints.

"You don t actually believe any of that slag, do you?" Panic interrupted finally, glancing over at Stranglehold and Octopunch for support. The smile across Bludgeon s face was erased at the blasphemy. "I mean, come on, lost cities, gods fighting for power, a divine mutiny?" He laughed. Bludgeon was not laughing.

Quite what Bludgeon believed even he was not sure. But one thing he had learned was that rumour was rarely without foundation. Those of the ancient eras may have created the stories of Primus, inscribed them in journals and publications wrapped in fantasy and warped with mystique, but their influence could not be denied. Pure fabrication was impossible, every element of fiction contains its truth, however shrouded; that was Bludgeon s belief anyway. Was Tagen really a god, a demi-god perhaps? Did he really betray the Eleven and Primus to side with the Chaos Bringer? Did they really possess the powers to bring life to their respective city forms? Bludgeon knew that most, if not all, was untrue, exaggerated at best, but whatever the truth, whichever lie less thorough than most, wisdom comes through the respect of history.

He stood up and took a few short paces towards Panic. "So this is why we are here?" He asked. "To look for some stupid underground ruin?" Bludgeon said nothing but stared into the eyes of his escort. After a few seconds Bludgeon acknowledged Panic s lack of alertness, his nonchalance, with a quick and firm slap across the face.

"Look around you." He ordered turning to face the burning pit, his hands raised slightly. Panic rubbed his chin instinctively and joined the others in a collective shrug. So they had found a huge underground chamber. Big deal. "Something was here." Bludgeon smiled, turning back to face his crew, his hand clenched for effect. "Just like in Iacon and Altihex, and all the other cities." That much was true, but was it really the buried city of Tagen, and if so, what was its significance?

Bludgeon peered over the rim of the crater and looked deep into the Chasm, optics closed almost inhaling the sulphur like some primitive carbon-based organism. He flexed his fingers once more. Panic s hand dropped back into place before looking over at Stranglehold and Octopunch again, each taking their turn to shrug. They looked back at their leader to see him sat legs dangling over the crater, arms raised as if in some meditative trance. "Can t you feel it?" He asked finally, lowering his arms but continuing to face the crater, his back to his troops. "Something is here," he continued, "maybe not a god, but can t you feel the power?"

"He s flipped." Switchblade muttered to himself, sparking a smile from Panic. Mindwipe scowled at the insolence. He appreciated the importance of this geological find, even if he did not understand it himself. Why else did Beachcomber feel the need for the extreme security on the datacube? One thing was for sure, it was not simply plans for a new geothermal power station. He walked over and sat beside Bludgeon, hanging his own feet over the infernal pit.

His face turned to meet that of the smiling Bludgeon. "Shall we?" He asked. Bludgeon nodded and stood up demanding the cable that Crowbar had been carrying. They anchored the cable into the steaming ground, pinned firmly in place and satisfied themselves of its rigidity. Bludgeon fastened the free end to his waist before stepping over the edge of the crater and lowering himself into the intense heat.

The ledge was some hundred yards or more into the thick smoke, a quickly found his feet touching down on the hot rock. He consoled his emotions for a moment trying to slow his hydraulics that threatened to race out of control. For something to fire even his cool complexion so he knew he was nearing his goal. Bludgeon walked over to the opening in the wall of the crater and peered inside, activating his infra red vision. Smiling with satisfaction, he looked up at Mindwipe and signalled for him and the others to follow.

One by one Knuckle dropped into the crater and assembled in the mouth of the tunnel. Mindwipe looked up to see Bludgeon tracing his hand over strange markings on the wall, a smile beaming as bright as the volcano below them. Mindwipe shrugged. "This is it." Bludgeon grinned, tapping the wall. "This leads to where Tagen was defeated by the Eleven." Mindwipe looked back at the wall, but even his memory banks were unable to decipher the code; this was a language confined to ancient history. But Bludgeon was intrigued by the past, wisdom and artistry that could be applied to today s conundrums.

"What does it say?" asked Mindwipe.

Bludgeon smiled. "It says anything you want it to say." He answered cryptically. "Just believe." He whispered. Mindwipe closed his optics and contemplated. The group was split. As headstrong and scientific as Mindwipe was, he could almost swear he could feel the mythical power Beachcomber spoke of. Crowbar and Bugly had walked over to their leader too, trying to meditate. "Can you feel it?" Bludgeon repeated.

But the others were far from convinced. "All I feel is my finish burning away." Panic grumbled. "Let s get moving away from this heat!" Bludgeon s eyes narrowed in disgust, but conceded it was time to get moving.

The group began to follow the tunnel down further, Bludgeon barely pausing to read the strange inscriptions that passed by. Once more Mindwipe tried to prise more information from Bludgeon about this lost city, trying to understand the unnerving signals his CPU was amplifying. "What is it?" He asked again. "What are we looking for?"

Bludgeon stopped in his tracks and turned to face the group. "According to the Book of Primus, the Spark of Tagen himself remains encapsulated here, deep in the body of Cybertron." Stranglehold and Panic looked at each other and shrugged. Whatever their leader was feeling, they certainly were not. "Think of it, the power of a demi-god." Stranglehold could not contain himself and allowed himself to cross Bludgeon s wrath with a gasp of laughter.

But Bludgeon smiled. God or no god, demi- or otherwise, whatever power caused the early Cybertronians to bury this city was something to fear. Bludgeon explained as much. "Or something to yield." Bludgeon turned and walked, talking over his shoulder as he pressed on. "Have you ever heard of the Matrix?" he asked. Panic laughed, defying its existence. Bludgeon shrugged, the slightest appreciation of his scepticism. "The essence of Primus," he explained to those that had yet to hear the legend, "contained within a locked chalice."

"Come on, Bludgeon," Panic continued his voice of doubt, "that s just a scare story, make believe."

"Yeah," echoed Octopunch, "just something the zealots preach when we re playing God."

"It s just a myth." Panic finished with a nod of approval from Octopunch.

Bludgeon smiled. Once more, the importance had been overlooked. Whether the Matrix existed or not was unimportant; the rumour implied that something existed and that was the important thing. "The matrix contains the sparks of the Eleven." Bludgeon continued. "Following the defeat of Tagen, the Eleven pooled their sparks into one encapsulation." Panic shrugged instinctively, yet out of eyeshot. "But that leaves one spark, the spark of Tagen."

"The Tainted Spark." Bugly announced to himself. Bludgeon looked over at his companion with a smile. The Tainted Spark was a story, or an expression, practically anything it wanted to be, but mostly a figure of speech. Few understood its origins like Bludgeon. "You think that s down here?" asked Bugly.

Bludgeon smiled again. "Maybe, maybe not." He grinned. "But a power like that cannot be overlooked."

"Oh, please." Panic choked to himself, optics rolling with disbelief. "First you tell us about some underground city, then some claptrap about the Matrix, and now you actually expect us to believe the Tainted Spark actually exists too?" He looked around at Shrapnel, Stranglehold and the others who mimicked his grin. "No disrespect, Bludgeon, but I think you re talking out of your tailpipe." The group laughed, even Bludgeon managing a smile, taking the remark in jest.

"We ll see." Bludgeon whispered to himself.

**

CHAPTER 6 - Kickoff

Kickoff awoke to find himself being unloaded from Astrotrain, still strapped securely to Onslaught. The Decepticon drove his prone and battered body through the holding camp. It did not take long to realise he was in the city of Polyhex, rumoured to be a war camp of extreme notoriety. Denied at an official level, the Decepticons camps were for detained prisoners of war, prisoners they had captured during their peace-keeping operations and policing of states torn by civil war. But off the record, the growing reputation for forced labour, slavery and even gladiatorial combat. Onslaught drove through several tiers of security checkpoints before drawing himself and his escort to a halt through a succession of hydraulic sighs.

"Get him off." He ordered abruptly but efficiently. His escort severed the tethers and hoisted Kickoff painfully to his feet. With barely a moment to stretch his aching joints, Onslaught was transformed and already manhandling Kickoff into a holding cell. Arms still bound by red-hot energon bonds, Onslaught pushed his captive down the short flight of steps into the tiny dark cell, slamming the solid heavy door behind him.

Kickoff hurt. His arms hurt, his legs hurt and his chest hurt. But the savage beating his former team had inflicted barely registered compared to the pain he felt in his head. How could they turn on him? Fear does the strangest things to anyone when backed up by the glow of an angry fusion cannon. But this was Knuckle. They were Knuckle. They were a brotherhood. His anger at these traitors, Rumble, Shrapnel and Kickback in particular, threatened to enrage him into another blackout. For the others, his anger was replaced by disappointment at their readiness to defect under Megatron s threat. At least Blades and the others had refused to give into his demands, but what of them? Perhaps he would find them bound in similar pains in this camp, or perhaps they had not gotten off so lightly?

Kickoff shuffled his weight as he tried to make his discomfort less severe. He winced as a searing pain shot through his leg while he sat himself up against the wall. It was only then, as his optics self-regulated their brightness and contrast controls that he noticed the other robot in the far corner of the cell. He was sat up against the wall, hands secured behind his back but his waist hydraulics no longer supporting his quite clearly lifeless head that had toppled forward, dry oil having long since finished flowing from the gashes in his beaten face.

Kickoff looked away and stared at the small barred hole in the wall that served as a window a good two or three arm-lengths out of reach. The sky was so dark it seemed as willing to absorb any light as Kickoff was willing to combust an intake of energon. He felt his neck hydraulics start to ache once more and lowered his head again. He closed his optics and listened to the eerily innate courtyard beyond his window. How many others were being held in this rough and primitive manner?

The noise of a vehicle caught his attention and Kickoff opened his tired eyes once more, staring up at the window. A heavy goods vehicle had arrived, transforming into a pair of unfamiliar green and silver feet in his vision, before a voice or two began to converse. Straining to hear anything due to the damage to his audio circuitry, Kickoff waited until the noise returned from the other direction, just behind the door at the top of the steps.

The door opened to a brilliant shaft of light that momentarily flooded the cell before the silhouettes of two Decepticons broke the brightness. With a few steps they stood before Kickoff, one taking to a squat to see eye to eye with the battered robot. It was Dead End.

" Been sent to get some information from you." He explained rather matter-of-fact. "You know the drill, the easy way or the hard way."

"It s your choice." His partner chirped, a vicious sound of a rusty chainsaw motor clanging into life. Kickoff ignored the intimidation and stared into the pulsating optics of the first Decepticon, and over his shoulder at the corpse. Dead End followed his line of sight.

"Oh, right, yeah." He coughed, perhaps almost a little embarrassed with his rather less-than-perfect hospitality. "Backfire?" he asked of the other robot with a jerk of the shoulder towards the dead robot. Backfire turned off his chainsaw and stepped over, muttering something under his own voice. Dead End watched as Backfire carried the broken robot from the cell and up the steps. "So," filled Dead End, "where were we?" he asked. Kickoff said nothing. "Oh yeah, a datacube or something?"

Kickoff maintained his stare over Dead End s shoulder at the oil-stained wall that had supported his unfortunate cellmate. "But you wouldn t know anything about that?" Dead End presumed sarcastically. He knew as well as Kickoff that he knew, but he also understood that Kickoff was not about to talk. If he was going to talk the easy way he would have done so already. Dead End nodded respectfully at his captive s resolve as Backfire returned to the cell. The green robot picked up his saw again and fired it up.

He held the flailing saw within touching distance from Kickoff s neck as the former Knuckle fighter tried to inch away from Backfire s tortuous tool. "You know," continued Dead End with a smile, "tell us what we want and we won t harm you, well not too much."

"Yeah," echoed Backfire the edge of the saw connecting with Kickoff s neck, a layer of paint teased from his finish, "weren t you the guys that beat the slag out of Soundwave?" Kickoff said nothing, maintaining his gritted stance vainly trying to eek out micrometres from the spinning object.

"That freak deserved everything he got." Dead End smiled. Backfire nodded. "He s not well liked around here," Dead End continued, "he s on the take from everyone."

"You know, blackmail and that." Backfire clarified, as if it were necessary.

"Did us a favour you know." Dead End laughed. " Cept that now he s slagged off and will probably up the ante." He grimaced.

"Still," countered Backfire with a grin, "it was worth it to see that spark of a glitch stagger in looking like," he paused, "well like you look now!" He laughed. Dead End laughed too for a moment. "And anyone who does that to him is a friend of mine!" The laughter died once more leaving the soundwaves clear for the presence of Backfire s saw again. He dug the saw in a little deeper again causing Kickoff to spasm and whimper instinctively in pain. Even Dead End winced for a second, whooshing noises of sympathetic pain.

"Geez," he stammered, "that s got to hurt." Kickoff s face scowled silently, and Dead End tugged gently at Backfire s arm inviting him to pull back once more. "So," he paused again, "got anything to say."

Kickoff nodded, enjoying the respite, allowing his neck to relax for a moment. "Yeah," he sighed, looking from Dead End to Backfire and back into Dead End s optics, "you can go to Hell, friend." He spat defiantly, emphasising his final word.

Dead End and Backfire sat back and fumed silently for a split second, quickly glancing at each other. Backfire pushed Dead End aside and slashed wildly at the prone fighter, cutting deep gashed into the fatigued robot. "This is the thanks we get?" He raged. "I thought you were supposed to be my friend?" He mocked, cutting deeper into Kickoff, an oil line rupturing and spraying thick grease around the cell.

He held back the pain as Backfire hacked at his prone body. With his arms still bonded securely behind his back, there was nothing he could to but wait. Backfire screamed in a fit of rage, demanding the information on the datacube. His voice merged into an emotional blur, one with that of Dead End. He slunk deeper against the wall as the chainsaw cut deep grooves into his body, watching, waiting.

For a moment the rage subsided and Backfire stood up again, towering overhead, holding his chainsaw high above his head. "Okay," he contained himself, "okay." He waited another few seconds for his hydraulic pumps to slow back to something resembling normality. Backfire looked down at the scarred robot, slashed almost beyond recognition, slick gleans of oil catching the light from the doorway. "I ll give you one last chance," he bargained, "tell me now."

Kickoff looked up and spat a ball of oil in Backfire s direction, and while it barely reached the Decepticon, the sentiment was made. Howling, Backfire slammed the saw down at full stretch. Kickoff had been waiting for this moment. He knew it was coming; he had to believe it would come and with his waiting came his opportunity.

With reflexes powered by an undying spirit of survivalism, Kickoff rolled to his side and instead of slicing through his neck, the saw found itself passing though his right-hand upper arm instead. It was about as clean a break as he could have hoped for, the momentum of Backfire s swing almost sending him toppling over.

The break, literally, was that which he was looking for. Though almost numbed by pain, his arms were no longer restricted. Kickoff swung his left arm around his body, his severed right arm still bonded by the wrist, but no longer connected to the rest of his body. The force of the spin of his left arm was reacted by the face of the overawed Dead End as the one-armed robot punched him hard enough to send him flying back across the cell and into the opposite wall.

Backfire had recovered his balance but was still shocked to see this audacious display from this extreme survivalist. Kickoff swung his left arm out at the Decepticon, wielding his severed arm like a club and knocking Backfire from his feet, dropping his saw with an audio-sensor-shattering scrape as it bounced along the metal floor. Kickoff took to his feet, leaning forward on one foot and kicking back at Dead End who was trying to rise to his own behind him, connecting heavily with his midsection. He pivoted on his foot once more, spinning around to smash his club into the face of Dead End as he doubled over in the pain his foot had caused moments earlier. Dead End flew across the cell once more and the force of the impact finally caused the breakage of the energon bonds, his free right arm flying across the cell too. Kickoff whirled back to see a fuming Backfire taking to his feet once more.

He stood, his fists clenched in balls of fury, his rage getting the better of him and lashing out so wildly it was almost insulting to a robot as adept at fighting as Kickoff was, albeit fighting with only one arm. He ducked and twisted his way from a succession of Backfire punches before landing an atypically inelegant uppercut to Backfire s face, a blow that threatened to send his assailant into a shutdown mode.

He turned around to see Dead End leaping at him, arms outstretched and groping for his neck. The two robots rolled in a tumble, but Kickoff s skill was too great. With just one arm, he flipped the Decepticon over and wrapped his legs around Dead End s neck crushing down on his vital hydraulics and circuitry. He felt Dead End s hands grasping at his legs in a futile attempt to release the pressure on his throat from this dangerous hold. Glancing over at Backfire he saw the second Decepticon was trying to prevent his own unconsciousness by giddily waving his head side to side. Reaching out he jabbed at Backfire with a punch that finally caused the torturer to black out.

As Dead End too fell limp the temptation was to finish them off, but despite the pain from his severed arm, he was not that sort of robot. After all, it was their attempts to make him talk that had yielded this opportunity for escape. As his subconscious systems shut down the fuel flow to his arms to prevent any more fluid loss, Kickoff took to his feet and picked up his right forearm from the floor. With one quick glance back at his handiwork, he satisfied himself the two robots no longer posed any immediate danger. "Don t send a soldier to do a streetfighter s job." Kickoff muttered to himself in satisfaction at the ease at which his skills had dispatched the two Decepticons. But as he turned to face the doorway he felt the cold shadows of two more figures, two more he had no more energy to fight.

Megatron stood in the doorway, his hands clapping gently, but in genuine applause. He liked what he saw, although the episode had altogether more gruesome memories for Soundwave who stood uneasily by his side. "Bravo!" cried Megatron. "I applaud you, truly I do." Kickoff slunk to his knees in defeat. Nullifying Backfire and Dead End was one thing, but Megatron would have been two powerful even if he was not tired, in severe pain and without the use of his right arm. "Soundwave," ordered Megatron the tone in his voice a little annoyed, "have someone clear this mess." Megatron gesticulated at the two unconscious Decepticons. Soundwave nodded respectfully but said nothing. "And you," he redirected his attention to Kickoff who knelt weakly with his left arm clutching the stump of his right arm. Kickoff lifted his head at the address. "Are you sure you don t want to fight for me?" Megatron asked. "Primus knows I don t need you on the Autobots side!" He laughed.

The two powerful Decepticons stepped down into the cell. Megatron squatted down in front of Kickoff in much the same way Dead End had down before. But Megatron was bigger and stronger. Kickoff braced himself for another assault, but none was forthcoming. "We ll get you patched up as soon as you tell us about the datacube." Megatron promised.

As the two robots stared eye to eye Kickoff felt an unnerving trust. Megatron was a known cheat and liar yet the rapport was somehow genuine. A former gladiator, it was not news that Megatron was always on the lookout for fresh talent to grace his arenas. Even if Megatron was displeased at Kickoff for his steadfast stubbornness, he could at least respect him as a fighter, potentially a prize champion at that. He had seen this level of commitment in Autobots and other Neutralists he had captured over the years, but what made Kickoff different were his skills that backed up his attitude.

Kickoff could see the same in Megatron. He was a killer, so claimed the Autobots and the Neutralist policing squads. He had ordered the execution of Blades, Joyride and the other non-compliers of Knuckle, all over some stupid datacube. But this was simply the efficient merciless Megatron of past shining through. One does not get to be a renowned gladiator by showing compassion. Ruthlessness was paramount in arena combat and if this reputation trickled into his new position as Military commander of this wing of the Decepticon Army, it was hard to criticise; it was what made him who he was and one of the most feared and respected leaders on the planet.

"So," Megatron interrupted their mutual thought patterns, "where is the datacube?" He asked softly.

Kickoff upheld his committed stare and his equally committed loyalty to Banzai-Tron, Bludgeon and the rest of Knuckle. "Go to Hell." He answered again. Megatron smiled.

"Oh, I intend to." He laughed. "Don t you see? The datacube is what gives me the directions!" His snicker drew to a halt and his smiled dropped. "Fine." He snapped finally. "So be it."

He turned and walked up the steps. As Kickoff s eyes followed the tyrant he finally noted the presence of Onslaught and Headstrong, both having entered silently, armed to the hilt. Megatron cast a permissive nod to Soundwave before leaving the cell. Kickoff knew what was coming and what was to precede. It was rumoured Soundwave had developed a cruelly effective ability to read minds, to probe each and every memory bank in a painful invasion of one s psyche. He had never seen it in action and this was surely to come. But this was not the order of the day; first there was the matter of retaliation.

The tall blue Decepticon stepped forward. He was still hurting from his physical and mental humiliation at the Pit. As he towered over Kickoff, he launched his foot forward kicking Kickoff in the chin. It did not matter that he was not involved personally in the assault; he was part of Knuckle and as such he should pay. With each and every blow, Kickoff was tossed around the cell in agony, trying in vain to protect the painful amputation wound that seeped fluid in uncontrollable bursts. As much as he wanted to fight back, it was too late. His escort stood emotionlessly pointing weapons at the prone robot dictating compliance. Soundwave could have got on with the job of extracting the information at any time, but he was going to have his fun first. It was going to be a long night.

**

CHAPTER 7 - Banzai-Tron

For a short time he was a little concerned he might have been going the wrong way, but now he knew he was close, of that he could finally be sure. As meticulous as their erasing of their entry signs had been, he knew Bludgeon too well. The disused power station had been the obvious entry point and now Banzai-Tron was making his way along the same disused pipeline deep into the heart of Cybertron. The shafts of light penetrating the pipeline at the vandalised substation came into view as he rounded the final corner and climbed from the abandoned pipeline.

The strike to the back of his head came as a complete surprise, an attack that he was foolish not to anticipate. The blow threw him from his feet and almost back into the pipeline, his hands groping the air in an attempt to regain his balance and composure.

"Aw, heck." Rippersnapper muttered, sheepishly lowering his makeshift weapon, a small metallic tube of scrap he had found in the substation. Banzai-Tron looked up, rubbing the back of his head and checking for damage. "Didn t realise it was you."

"What are you doing here?" asked Wildfly, offering a hand to help pull him to his feet. Banzai-Tron shook his head to show he was not interested in details.

"No time to explain." He answered. "Where s Bludgeon?" He asked, stepping instinctively towards the rough tunnel that Panic had drilled some time earlier, peering along its length.

"Yeah," Rippersnapper reply, "he went that way." He pointed pointlessly down the tunnel where Banzai-Tron stood with his back to Rippersnapper.

"And Mindwipe, and the others?" Banzai-Tron asked, his head appearing from over his shoulder, his right hand resting on the tunnel entrance. Wildfly nodded. "Look, this mission is aborted, okay?" He explained. The two robots looked blankly at each other before returning to face Banzai-Tron. "Like I said, no time, but let s just say I think we ve got the spark of all sparks gunning for us." He shook his head. "And no, before you ask, it s not Poison; it s the Decepticon Army!"

Wildfly and Rippersnapper looked back at each other again. Banzai-Tron insisted Wildfly leave the underground and call in with Kickoff to monitor their status and whether or not the Decepticons were anywhere near. "Rippersnapper, come with me, we have to find Bludgeon." He nodded and Banzai-Tron looked over at Wildfly. "Keep me informed." He ordered before the two of them darted into the tunnel. Wildfly felt his optics roll. How was he supposed to relay the status report underground where the radio signals were blocked? He sighed before dropping back into the disused pipeline and headed back above ground.

Rippersnapper and Banzai-Tron slipped through the crumbling entrance to the expansive vent that belched the thick exhaust gases from the underground volcano. Taking to his vehicle form, Rippersnapper followed as Banzai-Tron skimmed the vent s floor aboard Razor-sharp, listening with some disbelief to his commander relaying the events of the rest of Knuckle and more specifically, the ignorance of Venom.

It was not long before they found the cable that took the team to the ledge over the edge of the infernal chasm that was the raging volcanic crater. "After you." Rippersnapper invited, a little wary of the cable. Banzai-Tron gave the cable a couple of exploratory tugs and satisfied himself it was well-anchored before climbing down to the ledge below. Rippersnapper muttered something to himself about not believing he was actually going to climb into a volcano and made his reluctant descent.

"They went this way." Banzai-Tron announced confidently. He could feel Bludgeon and his sense of intrigue, almost visualising his wonder at the strange markings on the entrance walls of the tunnel. He called out for him down the tunnel, but hoping his voice might carry against the harrowing winds that bellowed from the volcano was optimistic at best, or ignorant at worst. The two stepped into the tunnel and followed its twisting spiral down deeper into Cybertron s past.

On more than one occasion, both Rippersnapper and Banzai-Tron stopped to allow their core regulators to boost the cooling fluids that pumped through their complex fuel systems as the heat intensified. And on more than one occasion Rippersnapper stopped Banzai-Tron and asked whether he was sure they were going the right way. "No-one has been down here in thousands, maybe millions of years." He answered. "Who else do you think left that cable?" Rippersnapper shook his head partly in submission but partly to shake off the uncomfortable excess coolant seeping from his joints.

The trail continued for an hour or so as they passed obstacles Bludgeon and his team had overcome. Cave-ins had been broken through, more cables dropped into further lower-level trenches where possibly the planet s crust had shifted over the millennia and more tunnels had been bored in order to progress. Finally the tunnel opened out into another great but dark expanse, unlit by molten volcanic rocks.

"Bludgeon!" Banzai-Tron called once more into a darkness filled with the stench of escaping gases from red-hot cracks in the floor that shone through the blackness in a meshed criss-cross across the chasm. Optics straining, he spotted a figure through the gloom. "Stranglehold, is that you?" He asked.

The dark figure nodded, his bright finish masked by layers of the thick dirt and dust of the underground labyrinth. "What are you doing here?" He asked taking a step forward and motioning for Octopunch to make his presence known too.

"It s the Decepticons," he explained hastily, "Venom, he slagged up big style and now they re coming to waste us!" Like Wildfly and Rippersnapper before them, neither Octopunch nor Stranglehold were sure what Banzai-Tron was talking about. "Where s Bludgeon?" He demanded.

Octopunch jerked his neck to point his head into the blackness in some direction or another. "Diggin for gold." He smiled uneasily. "Follow me." The four scrambled through the darkness over the rubble as the dust thickened further, finding its way into their joints and mixing with the cooling fluids to form a thick, heavy paste. "He s gone crazy." Octopunch continued. "Something about the Twelve disciples of Primus, an underground city and the Tomb of the Tainted Spark." He shook his head. "Crazy." He repeated tapping the side of his head with an outstretched finger.

"Tomb?" Rippersnapper questioned, almost tripping over more geological debris. Stranglehold nodded somewhat out of sight explaining Bludgeon had been trying to tell them the stories.

"And that s all they are." Octopunch explained with confidence. "They re just stories."

"But now he found some," Stranglehold paused trying to find the right word, "some door, some seal or something."

"He s had Panic boring away at it for the past couple of hours and Crowbar prising it away." Octopunch finished. "Crazy stuff."

" Wouldn t be so bad," added Stranglehold with another shake of the head, "but now he s got Mindwipe and a couple of the others mouthing off about dark powers and Primus knows what else."

"And I don t see what s different between this one," Octopunch pointed ahead, "and any of the other doors we ve busted our way through." He tossed his hand back over his shoulder, a protruding thumb pointing behind them. "But Mindwipe says this is it , you know, the Tomb." His head dropped, his optics straining with the urge to roll uncontrollably. "Apparently it s all there in that damned datacube." Octopunch and Stranglehold shook their heads in unison.

They walked on for a few more minutes until some lights finally came into view, erected spotlights illuminating Bludgeon s demolition area. "Here we are." Stranglehold announced.

"Look," finished Octopunch, "we have to get back and keep a look out." Banzai-Tron shook his head and reminded him the mission was over and that they had to return to the Pit before it was too late. They shrugged and followed Banzai-Tron and Rippersnapper as they entered the more illuminated area.

Switchblade and Bugly were digging deep into the ground of the cavern, trying to expose the base of the door so that Crowbar, in his fork-life mode, could ease his spikes underneath the solid block while Panic s directed his drills to the edges of the door. It was a coordinated effort rounded off with an unusually impatient Bludgeon was pacing left to right, Mindwipe with his back to Banzai-Tron and the others staring at the enormous seal.

"Bludgeon!" Banzai-Tron called finally, his namesake spinning on the spot, weapons drawn, the blades spinning inches from his number two s face. "Woah!" He stammered, taking a step back and raising his hands. But to his surprise Bludgeon merely re-sheathed his swords and turned back to face his team. Banzai-Tron was astounded. Did he not even want to know why he had trekked through the night to find him? He asked him as much.

Bludgeon ignored him. "This is it." He beamed, his hands slightly animated. "This is the seal of Tagen the Twelfth, The Fallen disciple of Primus, the Tomb of Tainted Spark!" He basked in the legend. Banzai-Tron looked over at Stranglehold and Octopunch, who in turn simply shrugged with indifference and a look that said I told you so.

"Have you any idea why I m here?" Banzai-Tron screamed over the roar of the excavation racket. "Bludgeon?" He asked again. Clearly annoyed at the interruption, turned to face Banzai-Tron, hands on hips and optics narrowed.

"What?" He asked curtly. "Why are you here then?" He obliged, half-heartedly, taking a second to glance momentarily back over his shoulder lest he might miss the moment the seal cracked.

"It s the Decepticons!" Banzai-Tron explained. "They want that cube." He stressed. "And they re coming to get it from us by whatever means necessary!" He predicted. Bludgeon raised a hydraulic above his left optic. "Well, probably anyway." Banzai-Tron muttered, conceding the point that he was speculating, but began to explain that Venom had stolen the datacube from Soundwave and not Beachcomber, and that was reason enough to worry.

Instinctively, Mindwipe took the datacube from his cargo hold and looked at its deceptively innocent exterior once more, before shrugging and tossing it over to Bludgeon. "What, this?" asked Bludgeon, finally making some acknowledgement that he was listening to a word Banzai-Tron was saying. Bludgeon echoed Mindwipe s shrug and threw it casually to Banzai-Tron. But he was angry at Bludgeon s lack of concern and threw the cube into the darkness elsewhere in the cavern.

"Megatron is coming!" He bellowed. "He will crush us!" He tried to spell out the importance of his statement with heavily emphasised mono-syllabics. "We have to get back to defend the Pit now!"

Bludgeon looked over at Mindwipe, who shook his head lightly. "Do you have any idea what this is?" Bludgeon asked, rather too casually for Banzai-Tron s liking. Bludgeon turned back to face his work once more, watching his team making progress on the releasing the seal.

Banzai-Tron turned to face Octopunch, Stranglehold and Rippersnapper. "Am I talking to myself here, or what?" He stammered in disbelief. The looks on their faces told him they agreed that Bludgeon had not grasped the scale of assault the Decepticons might be able to mount, but they were not yet prepared to mutiny over such speculation. Rippersnapper sheepishly walked into the darkness, scouring the floor for the now-redundant datacube, anything to take his attention from his feuding commanders. Banzai-Tron and Bludgeon s contrasting methods of leadership had spawned heated debate in the past but this awkwardness was discomfort on a greater scale. Banzai-Tron turned back to face Bludgeon s back once more. "Yeah," he muttered, finally addressing Bludgeon s question, "it s the Tomb of the Tainted Spark." He reiterated. "So what?" Bludgeon turned on the spot, his face a little angered at the blasphemy. "What, are you going to get all religious on me now? Well forgive me if I think your beliefs are crud."

Bludgeon s eyes narrowed to within a whisper of closing. "It s not the sacrilege." He growled. "It s the opportunity." He explaining, a hand clenching itself in involuntarily symbolism.

"Tell me," Banzai-Tron toyed, as if he felt he had the time, "what exactly do you actually expect to find behind this door?" He asked. "The Tainted Spark?"

Bludgeon smiled with a slight nod. Octopunch shook his head with exaggerated annoyance, perhaps aiming to catch the attention of Bludgeon. "You actually believe in that slag?"

Bludgeon shook his head. "Not per se, but whatever is behind that door, Tainted Spark or otherwise, was enough for the Eleven to bury it here." He pointed instinctively at the door with the jerk of a thumb. "And whatever it is," He growled again, now pointing his thumb at his chest, "I want it."

"Bludgeon!" Mindwipe shouted, catching his attention. Banzai-Tron may have been the official number two in Knuckle, but it was clear where Bludgeon s loyalties lay and whom he considered his true aide. He spun around with genuine excitement as the foursome finally broke the seal. Panic, Switchblade and Bugly leapt from their pit and watched as Crowbar pulled the great door from its frame, dragging the huge solid block via chains from his rear.

The door collapsed to the floor of the cavern with an almighty crash that bellowed echoes in all directions, accompanied by an unprecedented plume of dust that filled the chamber. But most striking was the wind. Beyond the sealed door, the Tomb was clearly much colder than the former volcanic erosion in which they stood the pressure difference causing momentary swirls of dust and a refreshing blast of cool air.

Bludgeon stepped over the shattered rubble and stood at the entrance with a grin, Mindwipe taking his position to his side. The others began to allow their curiosity to grow and peeked around the sides into the gloom that seemed to take the definition of darkness to a whole new level. Even Rippersnapper returned from his futile quest to dig the datacube from the dirt to take a look.

"You feel that?" Bludgeon basked, closing his optics and wafting the cool draught through his overheating joints. Mindwipe nodded sharing Bludgeon s momentary embrace of spiritualism. Octopunch and Stranglehold looked over at Banzai-Tron, their assessment of their leader unmoved despite breaking through to the tomb. So far as they could make out, all they were likely to find was a big pile of rubble, or at best the decomposed body of a long-since deactivated robot of the ancient era.

Bludgeon stepped into the gloom with Mindwipe in awe of expectation. Banzai-Tron shook his head and urged Bludgeon one more time to take Megatron s threat of retaliation more seriously. "Megatron is going to destroy Knuckle." Banzai-Tron tried to reiterate as if it might sway Bludgeon. "You want to risk that?" He demanded. "What could be worth that?"

"In a word," Bludgeon summarised, "Metallikato." He concluded turning and stepping further into the darkness.

Bludgeon s team walked one by one past Banzai-Tron and through the doorway of the shattered seal and into the Tomb. Octopunch and Stranglehold offered shrugs empathising with Banzai-Tron s despondency, but felt obliged to follow Bludgeon and their own curiosity. Finally Banzai-Tron stood alone, head shaking in disbelief. "Megatron is going to destroy us." He repeated to himself as the last of them disappeared from view.

"Don t mind if I do." A menacing voice laughed.

**

CHAPTER 8 - Wildfly

"I m sorry." Wildfly whispered, as to those he felt he had betrayed as much as to himself. Banzai-Tron was right; the Decepticon Army was enraged, whatever it was that whoever it was had done to upset them must have been pretty monumental for the largest military force on the planet to come gunning for Knuckle who in the grand scheme of things were small fry. Perhaps it had something to do with the datacube Venom and the others recovered from the Autobot Beachcomber, and the apparent map he had uncovered which led them on this wild hunt.

Wildfly had reached the surface as instructed by Banzai-Tron. All was clear and he had slipped from behind the hinge-severed door, out of the enclave and into the shadows of industrial streets of the neighbourhood. With a couple extra checks of paranoia and a full strength signal he made the call back to the Pit and to Kickoff.

Nothing. At first he had thought his radio equipment was at fault. He checked its settings and tried again. Nothing, no response, not a pip. Maybe the heat of the pipeline had damaged the hardware? Unlikely, but so was an unresponsive Pit. He took it apart and examined the contents, head shifting left to right periodically on the lookout for Autobot cops. But the radio was fine and once reassembled tried once more. Third time unlucky; as before there was nothing.

The question was what to do next. Maybe the reception was not as good as he had thought? The monitor suggested otherwise, but he had headed for higher ground anyway. Unsurprisingly this had made no difference. "Damn." He had muttered to himself.

Banzai-Tron turned around. "Megatron!" He spat in disbelief at the Decepticon commander who stood in the shimmering dust and grime, a desolate Wildfly held at gunpoint.

Megatron smiled. "I must say it was considerate of you to leave your trash unattended." He laughed with a nod towards Wildfly. "His radio signals were practically a homing beacon for Soundwave to pick up. It made it all the easier to find you."

"I m sorry." Wildfly whispered.

"But, how-" Banzai-Tron stammered.

"How did I find you? Aside from asking your guide here?" He grinned tapping his gun against the shoulder of Wildfly. Megatron shrugged. "Well, I needed the cooperation of one of your other friends." Banzai-Tron s optics widened in question. "I don t know who it was." He admitted, but frankly it was clear he did not care. "Tall, strong, feisty." He offered, a description none-too dissimilar to that of Kickoff, but could have been equally-suited to describe Redeye or Guttersnipe. "A gifted fighter. Very imaginative. You should have seen the way he tried to escape." He smiled. "You know, in a way," he beamed, "he reminded me of me."

Banzai-Tron said nothing, but looked around him trying to formulate a plan. Megatron was strong, a tough gladiatorial fighter of age, renowned for speed, skill and agility unbecoming of a robot of his frame. And he was fire-armed. But there were two of them, Wildfly weakened it was true, but nevertheless, they were Knuckle. They could take him on, could they not?

But he was able to detect the slightest shake of the head by Wildfly. Whenever it was Megatron had jumped him, he had clearly taken a beating. But there was something more than that, like there was some mental encumbrance preventing him from trying to escape.

"I had to come alone." Megatron continued. "The whole city is crawling with Autobot cops." He laughed, tossing his optics briefly towards the roof of the cavern and indicating the growing city of Bana high above ground. "But thanks to Wildfly here," he nudged Wildfly again, "we managed to find a way in." He smiled. Wildfly grimaced. He did not want to be seen as a collaborator, or a traitor. But if Banzai-Tron knew what he did, then he would understand it was over. His look in his optics spoke as much.

Banzai-Tron was not ready to give up just yet though. He was still looking around for that spark of inspiration, something that might swing the balance of power in their favour. But with Wildfly already broken, perhaps he was chasing shadows? Megatron detected as such and no longer felt the need to keep his arm-mounted cannon pointed directly at Wildfly, instead shoved him forward, colliding him with Banzai-Tron. "I m sorry." He whispered once more.

Megatron walked around the two of them, keeping a shady eye open. Wildfly may have been defeated, but Banzai-Tron was still a wild card. "The Ancient Scripts." He declared, a hand caressing the carvings of the doorframe to the Tomb. Banzai-Tron shrugged. He may not have been able to read them, but he did at least recognise the language. "The Tomb." Megatron smiled, his fingers pausing over one particular tablet. "The Fallen Spark." He explained. Banzai-Tron shrugged again. "Shall we?" Megatron asked casually.

"What the Hell happened?" Banzai-Tron mustered. Megatron looked surprised.

"Show him." He suggested with a nod towards Wildfly s commander.

Wildfly took a datacube from his hold and passed it to Banzai-Tron without making eye contact. It was a Decepticon cube, probably given to him by Megatron or one of the others that attacked him on the surface. If Megatron was going to attack him, Banzai-Tron felt he would probably have done so by now, so allowed his attention to fall to the cube. He took it and scanned the data. The reasons for the despondency upon Wildfly s face finally hit Banzai-Tron too. The Pit was dead.

The video footage on the cube could have been a fake, of course, but it certainly looked real enough. It had convinced Wildfly and was going some way to convince him too. But the skewered head of Guttersnipe was too much. He turned his head away and dropped to one knee, his hand clasping his head in a rage of emotions. The anger was burning inside, burning hotter than the heat of the volcanic matter that surrounded this underground city.

He felt a comforting hand his shoulder and looked up. "It s too late." Wildfly whispered. "It s over."

"You bit off more than you could chew." Megatron coined with a shrug. "But I believe in the grace of victory and I can now offer you that which I offered your team. Join me, swear the oath of the Decepticons and riches shall be yours." Banzai-Tron looked up at Megatron to see the serious his inviting face. Then he looked up at his team-mate to see the shattered face of the mentally broken Wildfly. Wildfly shrugged and revealed the provisional branding of a Decepticon insignia that had been burned to his arm.

Banzai-Tron took to his feet once more, stepping back from Wildfly, eyes shifting between him and Megatron. "How could you?" He spat at the treachery, as he saw it.

Wildfly shook his head. "It s over." He repeated.

Banzai-Tron took another step or two backwards still shaking his head. "How could you?" He asked quietly again, hands raised slightly. Wildfly felt his head lower a little in shame, but so far as he was concerned his hands were tied. Perhaps life under the Decepticons would not be so bad. He looked up again to see Banzai-Tron backing off into the swirls of dust in the dark chasm. Wildfly looked up at Megatron who shook his head.

"Come on," he ordered jerking his head towards the Tomb entrance, "let s go."

**

CHAPTER 9 - Crowbar

Unknown to them Bludgeon and Mindwipe now led all that remained of Knuckle, reduced from a mass fighting force to just ten fighters, the loyalties to their commander wavering in the light of his obsession with his fantastic quest. Bugly and Crowbar walked up front, maintaining the pace of their commanders that quickened with anticipation of the fabled Dark Powers, the powers of a fallen demi-god of the ancient era, buried for a so-called eternity in the remains of a dead city. For according to the Book, only the sparks of the Eleven were pooled to form the Creation Matrix; no mention was made of the Twelfth spark, that of Tagen the traitor to Primus and the servant of the anti-god Unicron the Chaos Bringer.

Octopunch and Stranglehold led the others some steps behind, jointly sceptical and cynical of the whole experience, but following obligingly anyway. They said nothing, but could almost read the minds of their friends. Only Rippersnapper, somewhat left out of the loop while he stood on sentry in the substation while Bludgeon divulged the legends of the ancient era was at a complete loss. Words like Tagen, Fallen and Unicron had been muttered by his peers complete with accompanying sneers, words that he understood from the tales and rumours long-since dismissed as insubstantial fiction.

The tomb was huge, like the natural caverns and vents they had traversed already. But this was machined, a robot-made temple complete with ornate carvings upon sculpted walls and support columns. "They ask Primus for forgiveness." Bludgeon translated to his eager trio of listeners, out of earshot of the following group. "They want him to have mercy on the spark of Tagen that his spark should remain in the Tomb for eternity and not be assimilated by the Chaos Bringer." Footsteps echoed off the pitch walls, the high ceiling and the shiny, metallic floor. They led themselves down yet more steps towards the burial room. "It forbids the," he paused in speech as he searched for the words, "it talks about not interfering with the dead, with Tagen, I think." He continued, eyes narrowing a little in confusion. "It s strange, hard to translate." He conceded. "This is clearly an old tongue." Mindwipe nodded as they approached the small doorway into the burial room.

"What s this?" Switchblade moaned. "Another door?" Bludgeon said nothing, but pushed at the seal. It was fairly weak and nodded to Crowbar. In his truck mode, he was easily able to pierce into the brittle material and push through the door. The seal was broken and Bludgeon pushed through.

The gush of wind felt icy against the warmth of the journey so far as the room gleamed an equally icy blue under the haze of eternal energon lamps hanging from ornate chains under the low ceiling. The room was pristine, not a speck of ground dust or metallic rust blemished is shining surfaces. Not a single panel failed to shine brightly under the polished influence of the lamps. This truly was a chamber fit for the gods.

Bludgeon beamed almost as brightly as the lamps themselves. He stepped further inside and raised his hands high into the air embracing the moment, but grunted in annoyance as the impatient Mindwipe pushed by him to the box positioned perfectly in the centre of the room. It was surrounded by four tall energon lamps and shone over an inscription on the lid. "What does it say?" He demanded.

His leader stepped up and read the markings a couple of times, patiently ensuring he read it accurately. "He who awakens Tagen becomes Him." He read, tracing his hand over the first line of scripture. "He who becomes Tagen awakens Him." He finished. "Cryptic." He smiled. Mindwipe nodded. "I like it."

"Crowbar," Mindwipe ordered over his shoulder, "if you will."

He smiled and stepped forward, transforming once again and positioning his forks into the lid and raising it from its case. With a silence-shattering scrape, the lid came away and two onlookers joined by Bugly looked inside.

"Big deal." Panic sneered, arms folded, nonchalantly leaning against the wall of the room, arms crossed with a grin. "Some manky old corpse, probably rusted through." He laughed disrespectfully. "Can we go home now?"

Bludgeon ignored the insolence and gazed in awe at the figure in the box. It was him, or at least it resembled the pictures in the ancient texts. He was large-framed, tall and the darkest shade of blue, deceptively recoloured somewhat lighter by the bright blue haze of the lamps. Crowbar returned to his robot form and added his optics to the view. Bludgeon looked up and turned to face Mindwipe, their mutual smiles a perfect compliment of wonder. Bludgeon unsheathed a sword and sliced delicately in the chest of the so-called demi-god of old.

"Not so tough now, are we?" Bugly smirked. Bludgeon scowled; he wanted his team to show more respect. But he was occupied with keeping his blade straight and ignored Bugly s crude remark. The cut was as intricate as the carvings in the Tomb as he directed his tips into the body of the being until he had sliced through his chest plate.

Beneath the plate lay further layers of internal skeleton structures to bypass. Bludgeon reached in the ancient body and pulled at its ancient inner frame while Mindwipe and Crowbar assisted in the sacrilegious autopsy until a bright, burning blue flame appeared from his insides. "The Spark!" Bludgeon cried, trying to stifle the energy it required of him to hold the strong internal panels from snapping shut. "Crowbar, can you reach it?" He stammered under the force of the body s rigid skeleton that was being aggressively manhandled. Crowbar forced his fingers through the old body s skeleton and wires and emerged with the small clear vial containing the mythical spark. "The Tainted Spark." Bludgeon whispered.

As Crowbar pulled the ancient component from the body even Octopunch and the others began to take interest. "So what?" Panic muttered defiantly. "Sparks can burn for years after their death. This doesn t prove anything."

"Give me the spark." Bludgeon demanded releasing the corpse s armour that was trying to snap itself shut, almost trapping Mindwipe s hand inside. Crowbar extended his arm but his hand remained shut tight. "Give it me!" Bludgeon repeated, but for all his attempts, Crowbar felt his body start to spasm as his whole arm began to shake involuntarily. "Give it me!" Bludgeon screamed as smoke began to whisp gently from Crowbar s hand that tightly gripped the vial.

Suddenly, Crowbar threw himself backwards as if punched by some explosive force. He crashed heavily into one of the polished walls before his hand fell limp and the vial containing the spark rolled across the floor. "Crowbar?" Panic whispered in disbelief, looking up at the other faces in the room. "What happened?" The nine of them stood in silence, watching Crowbar as the red light from his eyes dimmed before being extinguished entirely. Octopunch and Stranglehold found themselves looking blankly at each other, while Panic turned to Rippersnapper with a shrug. It was a further thirty seconds before anyone flinched.

Bugly took a step forward and dropped to one knee, his hand reaching out towards Crowbar s limp form. "No!" Bludgeon intervened with a scream, leaping forward. Bugly retracted his hand and looked up at his leader. Bludgeon unsheathed a sword and stretched it forward to prod gently at the lifeless figure. But as the blade inched within touching distance, Crowbar s visor exploded into a million tiny fragments, eerie green glows emanating from his optics behind.

Bugly leapt backwards instinctively; even Bludgeon dropped his sword in surprise and scrambled a couple of steps away. "Crowbar?" Octopunch whispered as his team-mate began to spasm and rock uncontrollably. "What happened?"

Crowbar grunted as his neck jerked his head in all directions, his limbs beginning to flail, knees skidding across the shining floor. Each in turned backed away a little giving the pulsating robot more room as his hands smashed wildly into the ground. Bludgeon motioned to Mindwipe to assist him in encircling Crowbar, and the two edged around him. Bludgeon crouched to allow extra leverage and stretched outwards, swiping his sword from where it had come to rest and wielded it with both hands.

"Crowbar!" He commanded. "Listen to me!" Crowbar s head turned more or less to face Bludgeon. "I want you to stop!" He demanded, pointing his weapon directly at Crowbar s neck. "Get a grip of yourself." The look in Bludgeon s eyes was enough to show Crowbar he was prepared to kill if it were necessary.

"What the Hell s going on?" Panic cussed.

"I think he s possessed." Bludgeon diagnosed, not taking his optics from Crowbar s for a microsecond.

Panic s eyes widened in surprise. "So he s turned into some kind of slagging Genie?" Rippersnapper and Switchblade began edging back towards the door.

"Nobody move!" Bludgeon demanded. "That means you Switchblade." He continued as they stopped dead. Bludgeon s voice calmed. "Crowbar," he called for his attention once more, "I know you can hear me." He speculated. "I want you to..."

"He who awakens Tagen becomes Him." Crowbar growled in an off-voice.

"Holy Primus." Stranglehold blasphemed to himself.

Panic shook his head in desperation, not sure what to make of it, but trying to put a face of reason over superstition. "This doesn t prove anything." He stammered. Rippersnapper and Switchblade turned to face him. "Well it doesn t, does it?" He tried (and failed) to sound convincing. "He s just reciting what Bludgeon said earlier." Switchblade s optics narrowed. He knew what he saw and this looked genuine to him.

Crowbar had finished his mindless spasms and now stood up straight. "Don t move!" Bludgeon ordered. Crowbar turned back to face Bludgeon once more. "I mean it!" He warned, nodding to Mindwipe to be ready to assist if necessary, pointing to the position he wanted Octopunch to take for added backup. Crowbar smiled but said nothing.

"You are nothing." Crowbar s voice was heard. Bludgeon took half a step back. His head remained focused on Crowbar, but his eyes flinched left to right. Did Crowbar just say that, or did he simply hear it? Crowbar s smile stretched into a grin. "You are nothing." His words repeated silently. Bludgeon s eyes widened and even felt his own hand begin to shake involuntarily. He snatched at it again with his second hand and holding the blade fast.

"Did you..." Stranglehold began. Bludgeon s nod interrupted him. They had all heard Crowbar s words even though he had said nothing. Panic shook his head, trying to think of a logical reason behind it. "He s talking into our minds?" Stranglehold stammered.

"I am awoken." Crowbar voiced. "Don t fight me;" he instructed, "embrace me." Mindwipe clasped his head and shook slightly as if trying to throw the voice from his mind, but to no avail. Crowbar continued to speak silently but directly into their thoughts. "You found me; join me."

"This can t be happening." Panic observed. Bludgeon scowled again. Whatever it was that was going on, it certainly was happening. He flexed his fingers around his sword again in frustration.

"What do you want?" He asked finally, unsure what response to expect.

"Take the Spark." Crowbar s voice directed itself into their heads. "Feel the power of the Fallen."

Switchblade edged another few steps backwards. "Don t move!" Bludgeon yelled again. "Nobody move!" What on Cybertron had they uncovered? Or more accurately, what in Cybertron had they uncovered? He tried to think beyond Crowbar s hypnotic thoughts, trying to examine things logically, trying to think of a way to progress. From the corner of his eye he saw Mindwipe take a few steps forward, towards the corner of the chamber where the bright blue vial had come to rest. "Mindwipe!" Bludgeon growled.

Mindwipe s optic raised itself and he grunted a small noise of acknowledgement. He was stood precisely where he had been the last time Bludgeon had looked up. Bludgeon took a step back again and glanced over to where he had seen Mindwipe walk seconds earlier, or where he thought he had seen Mindwipe walk seconds earlier.

Mindwipe picked up the vial and held it tightly in his hands. "Mindwipe!" Bludgeon demanded once more.

"What?" He asked, still stood some distance from the corner, the Spark still lying on the floor as it had for the past few minutes. Bludgeon felt his mouth drop open. Not content with directing his voice into his head, was Crowbar now projecting images too? Bludgeon shook his head, trying to avoid the images in his mind as colours and objects filled his vision. What was real and what was unreal?

Bludgeon wrestled with the images long enough to see the others beginning to feel the same sensations too. Crowbar was smiling at them from within. "Don t fight me." He instructed. "He who becomes Tagen awakens Him." Crowbar finished the quotation as more strange images filled the minds of Bludgeon, Mindwipe and the others.

At first blackness, then stars, planets, robots and blinding lights, roaring screams, pain and power. "What s happening?" Stranglehold stammered, dropping to his knees, hands clamped to the sides of his head as the voices and images flowed freely through his cranium, unable to think for himself.

As the images repeated, the visions clarified. Faces appeared through the mental gloom. "You will awaken him." Crowbar continued. "It is foretold. You will awaken him." He repeated.

"What?" Bludgeon stammered. "Who?"

"You will awaken him." Crowbar continued. "It is foretold." Bludgeon could not help to relax his pains with his visions as images of robots with unknown, perhaps alien, alternate modes appeared in his mind. Strange vehicles, like motorised cabins. "You will awaken him. It is foretold."

The visionaries were now voiced as clear as Crowbar s invasive telepathy. Bludgeon heard the names of Octopunch and Stranglehold, although they were nowhere to be seen, just tall upstanding primates and strange quadrupeds. He saw a tall, armour-clad figure with the face of a skeletal beast engage in more fighting, his skills in martial arts unrivalled by his enemies. What angered him was not this incredible display of reflexes, but his acknowledgement of the name Bludgeon.

"No!" Bludgeon cried, dropping his sword and succumbing to the pose the others now practiced, on his knees, hands pulling at the sides of his head. "No!" He repeated as the mystery figure continued to lead, fight and even talk in his own style and voice. "No!" Bludgeon spat. "That s not me!"

"But that is me!" Octopunch cried. He was right. The visions Octopunch was seeing were the same that Bludgeon saw. The clear untouched form of Octopunch emerging from the rubble of some armour, an exosuit perhaps, was seen by all.

"You will awaken him." Crowbar repeated as they each saw Octopunch produce a pistol and shoot a powerful beam of energy at an unknown assailant. The energy reflected off the soldier and into the walls of the imaginary chamber. "It is foretold." Crowbar concluded as a roar of intense pain and screams filled their heads. "You will awaken him." Crowbar finished. "And you will be rewarded with your chosen dark power."

"No!" Bludgeon screamed. "That s not me! That s not me!" He cried again, trying to break from the mesmerising hypnosis that seemed to repeat forever. But the more he tried to fight it, the more he saw the unmistakable forms of Octopunch and Stranglehold s robot forms fight alongside the tall, yellow figure that claimed to be Bludgeon, that claimed to be him.

"Join me." Crowbar voiced again. "And you will be rewarded." Crowbar paused as the images continued to rage their war with the minds of his team-mates.

"Metallikato." Bludgeon heard, his head snapping backwards in surprise.

"Hypnosis." Mindwipe felt, as each heard Crowbar speak words in private, words of inviting power.

"Metallikato?" Bludgeon grimaced, releasing his head. "How did you know?" He asked as the floating images of Crowbar and the Tomb returned partially to his vision. "How-?" he began as Mindwipe tried to ask the same of his passion for hypnosis.

But almost coinciding with the repeated roars and screams in their minds of the images triggered by Octopunch s mysterious actions in their visual prophecy, came a new blinding flash and explosive roar. Crowbar erupted in a ball of blue flame, the force throwing each of them flying backwards a little way. Bludgeon grabbed his head again, but they were gone. The strange images that had filled his mind were no longer in his thoughts.

His vision cleared and as the smoke began to disperse, the charred remains of Crowbar drifted into view. "Crowbar?" Bludgeon heard Stranglehold whisper in disbelief. But these were real words, not words thrust rudely into his head by whoever it was had adopted Crowbar s form. "What happened?"

"I happened." Megatron announced, stepping into the chamber.

**

CHAPTER 10 - Megatron

Bludgeon s mouth dropped open, before groping for his blades and leaping to his feet. Megatron stood in the entranceway to the room, his weapon pointed at Bludgeon from across the floor. "I want the Spark." He demanded.

"Never." Bludgeon spat. "Didn t you see? It is mine! It is foretold!"

Megatron grimaced. "All I saw was you and your pathetic rabble," he cast a glance over the rest of Knuckle, "screaming in a mindless panic." He shook his head. "Pathetic." He repeated.

But Bludgeon had come this far and he was not about to give up whatever mysterious powers it contained to Megatron without a fight. And if a fight was what Megatron wanted, then I fight he would get. And if Megatron was a master of gladiatorial combat, then Bludgeon was a master of Crystalocution and he would fight to the death if necessary.

The word Crystalocution floated in his mind for a micro-second or two. He had spent years perfecting this art form. Indeed, he was truly a master, but Crystalocution was not the art he craved. That of which he dreamt was Metallikato, the mythical, ancient art, forbidden and mysterious, the stuff of legends. And Crowbar, the Fallen disciple, or whoever it was had promised him as much, had he not?

Metallikato took martial art to a higher level. If Crystalocution was about predicting opponents moves and reacting to them for greater offensive effect, then Metallikato was about hypnosis as much as fighting, not so much predicting but forcing an opponent to make a move, effectively controlling the fight within the beguiling voices he sought to inject in the head of his enemy. This was indeed the dark power he craved.

For Mindwipe it was the same, although without the desire for the associated fighting prowess of Metallikato. The ability to read and control the minds of others was power enough. Could the Spark give him this? Bugly too sought the dark power of the Tainted Spark. Circuit-Su was an art of channelling his electrical powers into sudden and devastating bursts of electric bolts to pulsate the enemy. With the powers of the Spark he could perhaps summon the electrical powers of his enemies themselves, rupturing them from their insides out.

But for their desires, they were balanced by the fears of Octopunch and the others. He had seen himself in this so-called vision of the future. Whatever it was he did, or rather, was going to do sometime way in the future, seemed monumental. He was spooked, he was concerned and he was scared. Even the sceptical Panic was overawed. He wanted nothing to do with this incredible force that had overwhelmed his friend Crowbar, and he was not alone in this sentiment.

Perhaps Banzai-Tron was right? Stranglehold was beginning to think as much. Perhaps they should have abandoned Bludgeon on his crazy quest. It was all Venom s fault for stealing the darned datacube. No, it was Beachcomber s fault for discovering the fallen city of Tagen while working on the geothermal power plant plans. He shook his head. One thing was clear though; he had no wish to be involved in this scene of the occult. He nodded to Octopunch and once Megatron had stepped further inside the chamber, they backed right out of the room, Switchblade, Rippersnapper and Panic not far behind.

Megatron, however, was unconcerned with them or their cowardice. His efforts were on the Tainted Spark and Bludgeon, Bugly and Mindwipe who remained the only credible threat. He was strong, fast and experienced, backed up by a cannon of immense power. But in such a confined room, could he really expect to take them on and survive? "So what s your vice, Megatron?" Mindwipe sneered. "What do you want from the Spark?"

Megatron walked closer, his cannon still trained on Bludgeon, but his eyes darting left to right as Mindwipe and Bugly began to sidestep, trying to catch him off guard, perhaps trying to encircle him as per some training exercise? Megatron had heard of the power the Twelve may once have had. Like Bludgeon, he was not sure of their credibility, but unlike Bludgeon and his band, he knew of the existence of the Creation Matrix. If the sparks of the Eleven existed, that suggested the Twelfth was no myth but fact. It was simply a case of finding it and abusing its power. His chosen abuse was nothing so trivial as the finesse of martial art or invasive hypnosis; his agenda stretched far beyond to ultimate power.

The Decepticon commander edged closer towards the glowing vessel containing the Spark of the Fallen. "Take one step closer," Bludgeon warned, "and die." Megatron shook his head.

"You really think your primitive weapons can outrun pure technological sophistication?" He sneered, daring to inch closer, reflective blue-light gleaming from his barrel with poetic effect.

Bludgeon shook his head with a grin. "No." He smiled. "You might be able to get me in a rush, but Bugly and Mindwipe will see I am avenged." The duo continued their painfully slow sidestep around the commander. Megatron was aware of their presence; could he take that risk? As the standoff continued even Megatron began to feel a fear of the unknown.

Bugly and Mindwipe continued to circle Megatron as he constantly flicked his optics around trying to keep a track of them. "What have you got?" Bugly taunted. "You really think you can take the Spark from us?"

"I think I can take the Spark and you." He growled, staring into Bludgeon s optics. But Bugly, Mindwipe and Bludgeon formed part of Knuckle, a well-oiled machine of skilled deception and formidable sleights. Bugly s nonchalant taunt was nothing short of a distraction, and while Megatron was an old hand at such underhand fighting techniques, he expected the move to come from Bludgeon, not Mindwipe. Barely were the words exiting his voice module when Mindwipe took the opportunity to commence the assault. Pulling at the Decepticon s arm he misguided the cannon into firing into the ground, a powerful explosion that shook the room. Megatron was quickly able to shrug off Mindwipe s crude challenge but it was sufficient for Bludgeon to react in one swift motion, leaping forwards, blades flying high and slicing at Megatron s toughened armour.

As Mindwipe was pushed away he flew painfully across the room into the energon lamps surrounding the box, clattering them over with electric blue sparks showering the metallic floor. Megatron reacted to Bludgeon s challenge with a second shot from his explosive cannon firing a whisker over the charging Bludgeon, blasting heavily into the walls of the chamber. Bludgeon knew Megatron was a formidable foe, but was surprised that Megatron s superior strength was every bit a match for Bludgeon s superior skill. With his free arm Megatron snapped the two powerful blades in half rendering Bludgeon near-weaponless. With a powerful forearm blow to the face, Megatron saw off Bludgeon s attempted hold, the two rolling over in a heap.

So engaged in their scrap were Bludgeon and Megatron that perhaps only Bugly and those staring inside the chamber from the outside could see the effects of Megatron s powerful cannon. But it was too late for him as the edge of the chamber had begun to fall away from the wall as the after-effects began to shake the room. With a cloud of dust a whole section of wall collapsed on Bugly revealing cracks that began to grow impatiently throughout the solid rock, steam and smoke bellowing into the room. The ceiling lamps high above fell simultaneously to the ground and smashed into a thousand blue fragments as the devastating effect of Megatron s weapon began to bear down on the Tomb.

"We ve got to get out of here!" Octopunch screamed from the doorway, his head poking inside and ducking instinctively as a large chuck of the ceiling crashed down just inches from his head. But the two tussled regardless, both every bit as determined to take the Spark for himself. Bugly was struggling, but was finally pulling himself from the rubble and caught the look of urgency in Octopunch s face. But as another ceiling block fell to the floor, Octopunch saw Bugly was as stubborn as Bludgeon, Mindwipe and Megatron. Reluctantly Octopunch stepped back outside the chamber and the recently rebranded Wildfly and the rest of his former clan began backed further away too.

By now Megatron was beginning to get the upper hand over Bludgeon as his ample-but-primitive fighting techniques overpowered Bludgeon s more elegant moves. He had wrestled Bludgeon to the floor and now held him down with one arm, raising his free-armed cannon. "You should have left with your friends." He smiled as the charge built.

The huge block of rubble thumped heavily into Megatron s side, taking them both by surprise and twisting Megatron about his leg, a stroke of luck on Bludgeon s part? He did not have the time to notice Bugly taking to his feet and hurling a second block across the chamber at the Decepticon as he had down just seconds earlier. Instead, Bludgeon rolled sideways to avoid the powerful blast from Megatron s cannon a short distance from his face. Bugly finally released the second block, hitting Megatron on the upper body, the force toppling the great robot over, his body clattering across the floor.

By now a support column had collapsed completely as the effects of Megatron s third shot made its impact upon the burial chamber. The room was filled with thick black dust that all-but masked entirely the blue light from the two or three partially intact energon lamps. Light from the Spark was nowhere to be seen, buried underneath the ever loosening walls and ceiling of the Tomb.

Bludgeon shook his head and took to his feet gingerly as the ground continued to shake, cracks ever-appearing in the metallic surfaces exposing crumbling rock all around them. The familiar heat from the surrounding volcanic rocks now began inject itself into the room along with its associated red-glow from the walls. "Where s the Spark?" He screamed in panic, looking around, his arms outstretched, squatting a little to help his balance.

Megatron scrabbled around in the dirt trying to uncover the mythical object. To him it was not the powers of hypnosis that he wanted to absorb from the memory of the Fallen, but a greater power, a legendry ability to tap into the anti-matter of black holes in distant galaxies and even parallel dimensions. Impossible , Shockwave had said, the Decepticon military governor of Tarn and acclaimed scientist and champion of logic. Whatever the power, Megatron was looking to upstage this doubter and return with its promise.

Megatron allowed himself the briefest glimpses of what might be, his anticipation remained nothing without access to the powerful object. The omens looked bleak as the three of them looked frantically for the Spark. As fast as they scattered the collapsed rocks and soils, more sections of ceiling collapsed and recovered the whole floor of the Tomb and as such is should not have come as a great surprise when the floor itself began to collapse.

A great crevasse appeared as the pounding on the floor began to invoke a great subsidence. The semi-conscious body of Mindwipe was brought rudely to consciousness as the ground opened up, his body still groggy from Megatron s initial stellar punch starting to fall into the great gash in the floor.

But as he began to slide along the ground that had declined towards the hole, it was not the sight of his team-mate in trouble that aroused Bludgeon, but the tumbling blue object that rolled alongside. "The Spark!" He screamed, alerting Bugly and Megatron as Mindwipe tumbled uncontrollably into the crack after the object they each craved. Bugly dived headlong skating across the splintering floor alongside Megatron who threw himself in the same manner only to see Mindwipe fall over the edge just out of reach.

Their outstretched arms hanging redundantly over the edge, Megatron and Bugly peered into the dark hole at the luminous blue object some distance below the wedged figure of Mindwipe trapped between the narrow walls. The Decepticon commander looked over at Bugly, who reciprocated with a stare of mutual distrust. To continue their fight would be to potentially lose the Spark forever, but it did not mean they were about to trust each other either.

"Give me the Spark!" Megatron demanded, calling down to Mindwipe but not taking his eyes off Bugly. Mindwipe ignored the order and simply pointed out he was stuck. The more he struggled, the more the walls of the hole collapsed further, the Spark dropping lower before coming to rest in a nook. By now Bludgeon had crossed the room and stood at the precarious edge of the hole. His weight began to upset the ground and without warning, the section beneath his feet slid uncontrollably into the hole.

Bludgeon s hands reached out instinctively as the ground crumbled away, but he could scarcely slow his descent quick enough. He landed on top of Mindwipe, their combined weight sending the pair of them to new depths. As more of the floor threatened to fall into the pit, Megatron and Bugly shuffled backwards, looking around the room for inspiration. Bugly glanced back over his shoulder at the doorway. But even if it had it not been all-but blocked by falling debris, he did not expect to see Octopunch, Stranglehold or any of the others stood there. "Don t just stand there!" He heard Megatron order as they took to their feet. "Go down after them. They re your friends, after all, aren t they?"

Bugly said nothing, but peered carefully over the edge. Mindwipe was wedged fast into the base of the crack, Bludgeon braced against the crumbling walls immediately above him, limbs outstretched and pressed into the rock. But for all his stretching and Bludgeon s venomous cries of encouragement, Mindwipe could not reach the Spark, his fingers teasingly close to the object that lay barely balanced in the shivering Tomb. "I think," he continued, "I can reach it." He wished as his fingers continued to miss the shining vial. He shifted his weight once more, another section of the hole s wall collapsing with a thick plume of dust, dislodging loosened rocks around them both.

"After you." Bugly muttered to Megatron before jumping back as the base of the crack opened out, eating most remainder of the floor with viscous appetite. Beneath them the apparent solid floor now met with the roof of another cavern below, a cavern through which ran a river of molten rock that fuelled the volcano. Jets of hot steam and steeam plumed into the collapsed chamber as the infernal gases from the molton chasm below burst into the tomb. "Oh slag!" Bugly spat as Mindwipe ignored the wall of the crevasse crumbling around him, Bludgeon s flailing arm reaching out to grab his number two lest he might drop all the way through into the bubbling magma.

"I got it!" Mindwipe screamed as his fingers finally teased the vial from its resting place. His hand clasped firmly around its body and he felt the warmth of its mysterious power for the first time. "Holy Primus." He blasphemed as he felt his optics drift into subconsciousness.

"Forget Primus!" Megatron demanded. "Give me the Spark!" Bludgeon felt his grip slipping. His brace against the widening crack in the floor weakened and the gravitationally temping drop into the molten river below grew. He could not hope to hold on himself for much longer, let alone support the weight of Mindwipe. But he was in a trance of his own, the Spark overawing him. Bludgeon could not risk dropped Mindwipe and therefore the Spark into the fiery darkness. As Bludgeon s footing slipped and he skidded further into the clutches of the lower chamber he looked up at the Decepticon commander peering into the hole. "Give me the Spark!" He repeated.

"Give me your hand!" Bludgeon bargained Megatron agreed and clamped his hand on the wrist of Bludgeon. Anchored by the powerful robot, Bludgeon slipped from his footing and dangled precariously more rock gave way, Mindwipe himself dangling from Bludgeon, the Spark wrapped securely in his hands. The wild pressuress vying for equilibrium between the molton chasm beneath Mindwipe's feet and the icy tomb that was collapsing into it from above fought for supremecy causing winds and vorteces that threatened to blow the train of robots into the magma itself. But the resolve for the riches of the Tainted Spark held them fast as Bugly completed the anchor by grabbing Megatron around the waist. The powerful Decepticon hoisted Bludgeon up a little.

"Give me the Spark!" Megatron demanded. "I will give you no more warnings!" Bludgeon looked down as he tried to steady himself with his free hand on the rim of the crack. His gaze was met by Mindwipe still dangling beneath him, his flailing legs starting to take damage from the intense heat below. Bludgeon nodded and reluctantly Mindwipe tossed the vial into the air towards Megatron. As the small blue object of power flew threw the air, Megatron made an instinctive lunge for it, dropping his cargo of Bludgeon and Mindwipe. But Bugly refused to let go of his insurance. Bludgeon dropped, his hands catching the lip of the crack once more with Mindwipe still dangling below.

Megatron rolled over the remnants of the floor towards the small blue vial that threatened to be lost in the debris or sucked back down the crack. "Get off me!" Megatron screamed at Bugly, the weaker robot clinging around his midriff. He screamed once more and lashed wildly at his foe, all the finesse of his gladiatorial history lost in this moment. But Bugly refused to release him and by the time Bludgeon had emergef from the hole in the floor and pulled Mindwipe to his feet, the two of them were lost in the dust.

"Where's the Spark?" Bludgeon panicked. Mindwipe shrugged as a tremor rocked the Tomb once more. They charged headlong into the dirt to finf Megatron partially standing, the vial in one hand, the other pushing at a desperate Bugly who was clamped around his body.

"Is this what you're looking for?" mustered Megatron. "Call him off or I'll blast him into next week!"

"Never." thought Bugly and unleashed a powerful Circuit-Su attack of his own. Grounded with his foe, it was sure to backfire to some degree, but he needed to pry Megatron from the Spark and to Hell with the consequences. High currents passed between the nodes on Bugly's hands, through Megatron's body and back into his own. The electrical embrace came so suddenly and without warning that Megatron spasmed into an instinctive jar. His hands clamped shut as smoke blasted from his cracks in his armour, as Bugly sparked in unison. The vial containing the spark shattered under the reaction of Megatron's closed fist and the power of the Fallen erupted once more.

Blue flame and smoke poured into their own sparks as the soul of the Fallen penetrated their bodies. Mindwipe was blown backwards and crashed into a wall of rubble before being sent into a tumble by Bludgeon who was flung in sympathy. The collossal explosion even blasted Megatron and Bugly apart with an infernal force sending them skidding across the floor, Bugly nearly falling down the hole that now claimed almost all the floor, In an instant all four felt the presence of the treachorous disciple of Primus fill their sparks and embraced the icy penetration of his powers that had laid dormant for so long. Then all was still. Except for the continual collapse of the Tomb, there was nothing.

Megatron was the first to react. He took to one foot gingerly and looked at the empty, shattered vial. How much of the Spark did his own absorb? How much did the others absorb? Time would tell, but right now time was telling him to leave else he might not have much of it left.

Bugly snapped from his daze and hauled himself from the edge of the crack, aware that Megatron was now standing He could see Megatron's weapon had been damaged in the explosion, but something was telling him to remain on guard. For he felt the dark power he had summoned off Tagen within him, the feel of a greater and more powerful ability to play with electricity than he had ever felt before. It was just as Bludgeon had talked about. The power of the Fallen had been trapped like a genie in the Tainted Spark and its sudden release of energy had lofted him higher than ever before. He could feel his additional power; he could almost feel Tagen himself, penetrating his own spark and vying for supremacy. But it stood to reason Megatron felt the same, and against whichever dark powers he had summoned it was prudent to remain cautious.

Indeed, the Decepticon himself was beginning to take on board the same feelings as Bugly, as did Bludgeon and Mindwipe as they too came around from their temporary lapses. Bludgeon leapt to his feet with a start as the realisation that the burial chamber had all-but slunk into the volcanic cavern below. He and Mindwipe edged back against the wall; the doorway was somewhat out-of-reach for now, but in the mean time there was the whole Megatron issue to deal with.

But his face was not one of anger or control, but of contentment and rationalisation. "We must leave." He commanded. "Before it is too late and the power of the Fallen is wasted!" He backed slowly to the door, but to his surprise, none of the three streetfighters moved an inch. "Didn't you hear?" He yelled through the dust as another chunk of caven ceiling dropped from above. "Can't you see?" He stressed. "If we don't leave now, we're all going to die."

Mindwipe shook his head. "Tagen will protect us." Bugly spoke for him. "It is foretold." Mindwipe nodded but otherwise remained motionless. Bludgeon knelt down and groped in the dirt for his sword, only to resheath it and stand in accord.

"We've seen the future." He disclosed of Crowbar's vision. "And we don't see you."

Megatron's mouth dropped a little. "You believe all that voodoo nonsense?"

Bludgeon smiled. "Look around you, Megatron," he smirked, "you're living it."

Megatron shook his head. "The Spark was one thing, but now it is gone." He reminded them. "Even the body of your hero is gone." He exclaimed. It was true. By now the casket containing the ancient body had fallen away with the ground, perhaps falling into the magma below.

Bludgeon laughed. Megatron's eyes narrowed. No-one laughed at Megatron. "Tagen doesn't need a body." Bludgeon smiled.

"His spark is already within each of us now." Bugly claimed.

"And he will protect us." Mindwipe concluded optimistically. "When the time is right he will show us the way." Bludgeon nodded.

Bugly smiled. "It is foretold." He reminded Megatron once more.

They were fools, so thought Megatron. The spark of a powerful robot, perhaps even a demi-god had just exploded in the very room. They had been touched by his power, yet rather than leave with their lives and the opportunity to test and challenge their new power, they chose to wait for him to guide them. That was not good enough for him. He needed to escape and exploit himself to the full, if only to show Shockwave his hopes had been realised against all his scientific predictions. "Don't you see? Together we can be more powerful than anyone on the planet!" Megatron prophesised, his eyes glowing with relish. To take charge of the most powerful wing of the Decepticon army was ambitious to say the least. To be in a position to challege actively for the role of leader of the whole Deception contingent from Lord Straxus himself was fantasy for most. To dare to dream of the day he controlled the whole of the planet Cybertron might have been too much even for Megatron. But now, with his new powers, he was set to take him higher and further than he could have dared to dream. "We can be more powerful than everyone on the planet!" Megatron's voice trailed into a quiet whisper of ambition. "Everyone in the galaxy, the universe perhaps."

But this was not a position of unilateral control yet, for with the exposure of the Spark to Bludgeon, Bugly and Mindwipe he had three potential matches or indeed a combined trio to surpass his own abilities. Their lives were either tools to harness for greater allied power or threats to be eliminated. Either way, their status could not be allowed to remain as it was else Megatron would live constantly in fear of his shawdows catching up with him. Bludgeon's face, however, was unmoved. "Name your price." Megatron bargained. "Name you city. Iacon, Vos, Ricon - it's already yours - you just have to come with me." Bugly and Bludgeon grinned at the sight of the most powerful robot on the planet, a robot that had just gotten more powerful still, begging them for allegience. "Name your planet." He pushed further.

Mindwipe smirked. "Don't you see?" he retorted, heavy emphasis on the second word. "Does this prove nothing to you?" He spat, casting a glance around the Tomb as it continued to sink into the abyss below. "He is coming. And when he comes we have to be ready to serve him." The Decepticon's silent stance and questioning eyes commanded Mindwipe to continue and explain who was coming. "Tagen, the Fallen. He is coming!"

"Don't you see?" Bugly repeated. "We are nothing compared to him. If just one taste of his Spark can grant us these powers, what powers must he himself posess already?"

"But he's dead!" persisted Megatron.

"You can take charge and command all of Primus' children, but we are not of Primus, not anymore." Bludgeon concluded. "Through the power of the Fallen, we are now one with Unicron the Chaos Bringer." Bludgeon paused while his optics burned deep through the dust into Megatron's own. "We are the Chaos now."

"The Chaos Trinity." Mindwipe echoed with a smile.

Megatron stared sternly at the trio and their insolence. "If that is your decision," he concluded, "then so be it." Megatron vaulted a couple of rocks and into the doorway before turning and casting a departing glance at the three robots he had failed to subject. "Tell the Fallen I said 'Hello'." Megatron mocked before unleashing a powerful fusion ball into the remains of the chamber. Blue light erupted, mixing white with the molten fires of the volcanic river below. More debris collapsed into the ancient burial ground and Megatron transformed into his tank mode to drive over it, or through it and back to the exit of the tunnels. As he expected, Octopunch, Stranglehold and the others had long since left the place. The tunnels were collapsing, threatening to bury Megatron in his escape. And if he was in difficulty, then the trio were surely buried for eternity. Bludgeon and his Metalikato and whatever it was his minions had been bequeathed could stay there for the next ten million years until they were rediscovered.

The Decepticon commander hauled his frame through the tight and narrow passages until the collapse finally left his wake and he could slow his pace a little allowing him time to reflected upon his prize. He would have liked to have absorbed the full power of the Spark, but who knows what madness a full second psyche inside his cranium might bring? He should be content with his new powers. Megatron had what he wanted, and certainly more than he had expected so that was reason enough to be happy with the outcome. For his army, half a dozen or so new soldiers each strong and skillful, for his gladitorial arenas, a prize-gladiator in the making although he still required a little refining, and for himself a new-found ability to tap into the stored potential power of black holes. And as for Bludgeon and his so-called Chaos Trinity, what of them? He had made them an offer which they had refused. But with so many positives to the day already, it was greedy even by his standards to demand more. Megatron appeared out of the power station once more into a morning sunshine and drove onto the road in the direction of where Astrotrain had been ordered to wait for his return. In the glow of daybreak he felt the chilling winter winds blow through his joints. "Not bad for a day's work." he concluded to himself at his deliberation of the Chaos Trinity. "I'll see you guys in Hell."

Whether it was the wind picking up a gear and for a second, or the the hypnotic voice of Mindwipe from deep within the planet he heard it, perhaps felt it. "You will indeed," something seemed to say, "and sooner than you think."

THE END