Broadside felt the hot agony of lasers slicing through the shield and clipping a wing of the Xantium. Ship-interface allowed for more precise control via a sort of symbiosis, but it did have its drawbacks. Namely, its crew felt everything the ship did. Roadbuster's and Sandstorm's faceplates remained stoic as ever (largely do to the construction of their faces) but he knew they could feel it too.

He felt fires break out in the lower decks, white-hot flames rushing towards vital circuitry. He shifted his attention to deal with that particular crisis but Springer already had it taken care of, ordering him back to mind his weapons platforms.

"I bet when Fisitron embellishes this mission," Springer spoke aloud over the alarms, as interface-chatter was reserved for matters of business, "there's no way he'll be able to exaggerate this part."

That elicited a chuckle from Roadbuster. Fisitron's tales of their accounts elicited different responses from each member; Springer found them amusing, Sandstorm hated them, and Impactor didn't even read them. Broadside didn't know what to make of their number-one fan; he understood the propaganda machine was good for Autobot morale, but sometimes the difference between reality and "history" disturbed him.

"As it is he makes the M.A.S. sound like a real threat!" Good old Springer. Always making jokes for morale.

And morale was a precious thing at the moment. Their mission to assassinate Black Shadow and deprive the Decepticons of one of their precious "Phase-Sixers" had turned out to be a trap set by Carnivac and the Mayhem Attack Squad. Rack'n'Ruin had fallen during the withdrawal back to the Xantium. And now they were fleeing for their lives.

And now it seemed the Wreckers had met their end. Knowing their mortality rates, they had always believed that so long as one of them survived, the Wreckers could live on. But here they all were, and the Xantium would not only be the coffin for their bodies, but the coffin for the Wrecker legacy.

"Cut power to the engines!" Impactor ordered from his command post. "Divert all power to the shields!"

"But…" Broadside started to protest even as he felt the others following orders all ready.

"We can't outrun them," Impactor stated. "All we can do is try lasting long enough for our 'reinforcements.' Keep those engines primed but make us look stalled!"

Of course. He had a plan. He always did. It was obvious to the others – Broadside didn't know why he was the one who always had to doubt, had to-

"Incoming ship!"

"Is it Autobot?" Broadside asked hopefully.

A pause. "No," Springer informed him. "It's Squadron X."

Squadron X, the self-proclaimed "Anti-Wreckers." Their two worst enemies, come together to finally finish them off.

Impactor merely smiled that cold smile of his. "Perfect."

"Perfect?" Springer repeated. "What-"

"Weapons fire!" Broadside screamed both aloud and into the interface.

Everyone braced for impact. Much to Broadside's shock, however, Squadron X's missiles avoided them all together… and racked the side of the Mayhems' ship.

Sandstorm beat him to the question: "The slag…?"

"Get us out of here!" Impactor ordered. "NOW!"

Xantium shuddered as its rockets surged and left the two Decepticon ships to fight amongst themselves. Broadside struggled to keep their systems in check, but as he did so he came across the transmission logs. Impactor had sent their SOS on a compromised frequency.

"Sir, you wanted Squadron X to find us?" he asked later, once in Autobot space. They were limping home, but at least limping safely.

"Of course," Impactor answered. "We're just lucky they weren't the first to find us. Mayhem are ruthless, but professional. Squadron X are single-minded thugs. They want to be the ones to kill us and won't let anyone else do it."

"So you figured they would fight M.A.S. for the right to kill us," Sandstorm piped up, clearly impressed.

Impactor wagged his hook in the air. "For the right to board us and slaughter as brutally as possible."

Unplugged from his interface, Springer propped his feet up onto his console and leaned back into his chair. "Ah, that's the price of celebrity! One way or another, everyone wants a piece of us."

This time, Broadside laughed.