A/N: (revised 12-17-2011) Two years ago, I watched the entire TFA series in a matter of one week. It completely hooked me. As a child of 80's who grew up with G1, I initially had my reservations, mainly because of the art style, but it didn't take long for the characters and story to grow on me. But by the end of season 3, I, like many many fans, was left feeling cheated and unsatisfied. I wasn't happy with the character deaths and far too many questions were left unanswered.
I wasn't about to let it end there.
My first fan project idea was to make a web comic, picking up where the story left off. I started writing the script for it and doing rough sketches of the scenes. I also designed a semi-OC (*cough*marysue), Chromia, who is actually more of a TFA'ized Thunderblast from the Cybertron series. The major difference is that her alt mode isn't a gunboat, but a mechanized Moth with hypnotic powers in her wings. It seemed to fit since Thunderblast looks like she has large butterfly-like wings in her root mode.
As I continued to write the script, I realized the amount of time and drawing I would have to do would be...a bit overwhelming, and, like many projects I have started, it would never get finished. So I kept writing, in script format, which was the only format I felt comfortable writing in at the time. As the story progressed, I settled more and more into my writer's shoes, and the format started evolving into an unconventional script/novel mish-mash, but I didn't care. I was on too much of a role by then, bolstered by the fans who didn't seem to mind the format, so long as the story kept on going.
I am so grateful for the encouragement of my readers and fandom friends! Without them, they may have been filed away in the unfinished project cabinet.
There are a few imports from G1 that I want to mention, mainly Ironhide and Cliffjumper. While I know there are TFA canon characters of them, I wrote them on the G1 model. Ironhide is more of an old-timer than his TFA counterpart and Cliffjumper is the feisty little scrapper who's always looking for trouble. There are also cameos from Blaster and the super-obscure Dreamweave character, Vibes.
One major canon deviation I want to point out is with Blackarachnia and Dinobot island. When I started writing this, I had forgotten that she was apparently warped into the Beast World and that Dinobot Island was left with a big gaping hole where Meltdown's lab used to be. My story assumes she is still operating out of the lab and the warping accident had merely transported her and Waspinator to another spot on the island, not another universe.
As far as slash goes, it isn't written directly in, but if you squint, the Megatron/Starscream and Prowl/Lockdown pairings are there. The main pairing who gets all mushy attention is Blackarachnia/Starscream. There's also some self indulgent PG13 naughtiness between Chromia and Prowl, heee.
Enjoy!
All characters are owned by Hasbro with the exception of my creative take on Chromia. (her design can be seen on DevArt)
A Time For Trust by ToyzInTheAttic
The streets of Iacon still buzzed with the excitement of the yesterday's events. The image of Megatron and his top lieutenants, defeated and in stasis cuffs, was burned into everyone's processor. The same crowds that came out to welcome the arrival of Optimus Prime and his team intended to fill the streets again tomorrow to witness the transporting of the Decepticons to the stockades, and they intended to fill the courthouses during Megatron's long-awaited trial set to be held the following week.
...That is, if Megatron had actually made it to the stockades.
The twenty-four mega-cycles that followed that history-making event in the streets of Iacon were the deciding mega-cycles of Cybertron's future. It all came down to a series of decisions (i.e. mistakes) made by the Autobot High Council, namely Sentinel Magnus. The first mistake was assuming there were no more Decepticon loyalists in the Elite Guard ranks after the discovery of Longarm Prime's true identity. The second mistake was assigning only four Autobots to guard all six Decepticon prisoners in the temporary holding facility, and the third mistake was assuming all four of these Autobots were incapable of being a Decepticon loyalist that couldn't possibly exist after the discovery of Longarm Prime's true identity.
IACON CITY - ELITE GUARD HEADQUARTERS - PRISONER HOLDING FACILITY
Cliffjumper is seated at the console of a massive computer in the facility's command room. He taps away at the keypads, his demeanor typically careless, despite the uneasiness of his comrade. Ironhide paces nervously behind him, stopping occasionally to cast his doubting optics on the blank monitors, hoping maybe the higher-ups heard his pleas for tightened security and the visage of the actual holding chamber would come into view. But, alas, his pleas must have fallen on deaf audio receptors and his request for video surveillance of the prisoners must have been denied. He continues to pace, his hand rubbing along the back of his head and neck, his grumbles growing audible enough to wear on the only other occupant in the room.
CLIFFJUMPER
Knock it off! (he turns in his chair to cast an annoyed glance to Ironhide) You need to pull yourself together, the next shift of guards just arrived. We can't have you springing an oil leak and making us look bad.
Ironhide halts his pacing, straightening his posture and curling his bottom lip in offense.
IRONHIDE
Why! Who are they?
CLIFFJUMPER
They sent us Brawn's pompous aft again and...get this...Agent Chromia.
IRONHIDE
(baffled)
Chromia, from Intelligence?
CLIFFJUMPER
Yep! (his voice slides into sarcasm) Apparently guarding 'cons isn't considered a possible combat situation.
IRONHIDE
(slamming his fist into his palm)
I'm tired of Sentinel treatin' this operation like some fly-by-night prisoner transport. There's no excuse to leave us understaffed. Ultra Magnus would've armed this place to the teeth!
CLIFFJUMPER
(with a shrug)
Sentinel's just over confident in our new security upgrades. (resumes tapping on his keypads) Those new stasis chains are pretty wicked though. (he lightly chuckles) I was messin' with Lugnut earlier and he couldn't do a slaggin' thing.
IRONHIDE
You were what! Cliffjumper, you should know better than to-
Ironhide is interrupted by the sound of the main doors, which slide open to reveal Brawn and Chromia.
BRAWN
Sergeant Brawn reporting for duty, sir.
CHROMIA
Lieutenant Chromia reporting for duty, sir.
IRONHIDE
Dawww, knock off the formalities.
The two newcomers relax their stance as Ironhide motions for them to follow him.
Cliffjumper swivels in his chair, a wide grin spreading across his face. He points a mocking finger at Brawn and bursts into laughter.
BRAWN
(keeping his cool)
What's so funny, Cliffjumper?
CLIFFJUMPER
You! (laughs harder) Are you that much of a liability that they've assigned a professional to negotiate you outta the slag heaps you create?
Ironhide opens a secure panel on the wall and pulls two stasis prods from the compartment.
BRAWN
(letting a smile slip)
Keep it up, buddy...
Ironhide hands the prods to Brawn and Chromia.
BRAWN
(still glaring at Cliffjumper as he takes the prod and points it toward his heckler)
...I dare ya. (to Ironhide) I need to test this on someone.
CLIFFJUMPER
(still laughing)
C'mon bring it!
Chromia shifts a questioning glance Ironhide who responds by rolling his optics.
IRONHIDE
These two could banter all night.
CHROMIA
(not amused)
Then perhaps you should take us to the holding chamber already...sir.
Ironhide smacks Brawn on the back of the head.
IRONHIDE
Fine idea...let's go, tough guy.
Brawn keeps his glare locked on Cliffjumper as he follows Ironhide and Chromia to the side door. The three leave the room and enter a corridor, Ironhide in front with the other two a short distance behind each arm.
IRONHIDE
Chromia, if you don't mind my askin', why on Cybertron did they assign you to me?
CHROMIA
(speaking in her most diplomatic tone)
I requested this assignment. I've never before been in the presence of a Decepticon and I feel it's essential for any Autobot officer to have experience interacting with them.
IRONHIDE
(unconvinced)
Hmm...under previous circumstances, I would find that odd, but seeing how our Magnus never saw a 'con up close and personal until recently, I'll just chalk it up to a trend among higher-ranking officials.
CHROMIA
If it's any consolation to you, I have had as much combat training as every other soldier they see fit for guard duty.
BRAWN
(lightly shoving Ironhide in the back)
Relax 'Hide, she kicks aft...well, not my aft, but Cliffjumper's for sure.
The femme cracks a smile aimed at Brawn.
CHROMIA
Was that a compliment?
BRAWN
(shrugs indifferently)
Sure...we gotta make the best of the next several megacycles in this chamber. Last thing I want around is a moody femme who's normally paid to talk.
Her smile drops to a scowl.
The three stop upon reaching a large door and Ironhide enters a code into the touch-sensitive keypad on the wall.
IRONHIDE
Alright you two, time to be serious.
The door slides open and Ironhide enters the chamber. Two guard bots stationed at opposite ends of the room eagerly avert their attention to their commanding officer.
IRONHIDE
(loudly)
Changing of the guard! C'mon fellas, let's pack it in for the night.
Brawn and Chromia enter the chamber as their predecessors exit. It's ceiling is much taller than that of the corridor's and it's filled with a chilling blue glow, emitting from the eight towering translucent cells, six of which house its own Decepticon. The cells are split up by a wide walkway, four on each side of the room. Megatron is at the far end of the left side of the room sandwiched between the wall and an empty cell. Lugnut is on the same side but separated from his leader by two empty cells. On the right side are four full cells housing two clones, a triple-changer and an infamous double-agent. The prisoners are free to move around in their cells, but the stasis chains around their wrists and ankles prohibit any sudden actions. Each prisoner, except for Shockwave, bears a mouth clamp as well.
Chromia can't hide her awe-struck state which Brawn is instantly tuned to. She takes a few slow steps into the room, eyes wide open, mouth gaping.
BRAWN
Bigger than you expected, right?
CHROMIA
They're magnificent!
BRAWN
(furrowing his brow)
Not my first choice of words for these demented scrap piles.
IRONHIDE
(pointing to each location)
Chromia, take your post at the entrance here. Brawn, go to the opposite end near Megatron.
BRAWN
(with a pompously sinister tone)
With pleasure.
Brawn struts toward his post, threateningly eyeballing each Decepticon that he passes.
The name "Megatron" still echoes in the femme's circuits. She barely makes out the a silver mech behind the layers of translucent blue walls. He's seated on an unfitting fold down bench, massive upper body leaning forward, arms resting on his legs, hands folded over one another. He never averted his gaze from the floor, despite the happenings in the chamber. Her spark was racing and she strained to maintain a cool air of control.
IRONHIDE
Alright Chromia, in a couple megacycles, we give these creeps their energon rations.
CHROMIA
(voice wavering with a suppressed excitement)
Yes sir, I've been well versed on the details of this assignment.
IRONHIDE
Good soldier...caught up on her homework.
Ironhide sternly pans the room before exiting.
Chromia cringes at being called a "good solider", internally cursing the residual sexism that still lingers in Autobot society. She's relieved to be free of Ironhide's overbearing presence and resumes her gawking like a young mech in a prehistoric museum. She moves forward, easing past each occupied cell, marveling at their occupants.
BRAWN
(watching her with a quirked brow)
First day on the job and you're already straying from your assigned post?
CHROMIA
(optics locked on Blitzwing)
Report me, then.
BRAWN
It doesn't bother me. For once, someone else will get busted for breaking the rules.
CHROMIA
This triple-changer's design is amazing. How is this technology possible?
Brawn leaves his post without hesitation and approaches Blitzwing's cell, eager to show off his Decepticon knowledge.
BRAWN
This one here is an absolute lunatic. His personality circuits are a jumble...but leave it to a Decepticon to find a mutation advantageous.
As Blitzwing's rises from his seated position, his face whirlwinds from clamped-mouthed "Icy" to "Hothead", also clamped.
CHROMIA
(slips a giggle)
Whoa, neat!
BRAWN
You haven't seen the best of it...check this out.
Megatron lifted his head just enough to focus his optics on the pathetic spectacle. Brawns starts tapping Blitzwing's cell.
BRAWN
Hey...Decepti-freak!
Blitzwing's optic visor narrows.
Shockwave, also seated but leaning his back to the wall, glances at Megatron, who's directly across from him. Megatron returns the glance, shakes his head in disgust and lowers his attention to its original downward position.
Brawn continues to taunt Blitzwing.
BRAWN
The circus is in town, and I hear they're in need of a new act.
Quivering, Blitzwing squeezes his optics shut, but can't avoid the inevitable. A black face with sharp red features explodes into the scene.
RANDOM BLITZWING
Oooohh-Ho-Ho-Ho-Heee-Hehehe! I love zee circus! Can I go, can I go? Please, please pleeeease!
Brawn bursts into uncontrollable laughter. Blitzwing's face sweeps back to Hothead as he growls through the clamp. Chromia's jaw drops, crooked with a half smile.
CHROMIA
Why isn't that mouth clamped?
BRAWN
(still laughing)
Because no one can catch it.
CHROMIA
How…(tilts her head) novel.
Brawn wipes energon from his eyes and starts to regain his composure.
BRAWN
Alright, playtime's over...let's get back to our posts.
The two guards walk in opposite directions from each other. Chuckles randomly escape from Brawn as he passes Shockwave's cell, every step scrutinized by a single glowing red optic.
Disgusted by the small Autobot's arrogance, Shockwave turns to analyze the femme whom he clearly recognizes. He pondered what a negotiations bot was doing on guard duty. In his peripheral, he feels the attention of Megatron again and quickly turns to flash some patterns through his single facial feature.
This action does not escape Brawn's attention. The stout soldier spins around and slams his fist into the interface on Shockwave's cell. Jolts of electricity surge through the prisoner. Shockwave tenses up and unwillingly growls in pain.
SHOCKWAVE
You accursed Autobot!
Brawn hovers his fist over the interface.
BRAWN
What did you tell him?
SHOCKWAVE
We were discussing your creator's intentions in regards to your aesthetics.
Chromia stands motionless, gaping with intrigue and stifling the urge to chuckle at Shockwave's retort.
BRAWN
Listen traitor, I'm willing to go to great extents to rip a mouth in your face just so I have the pleasure of installing a clamp myself.
SHOCKWAVE
Spare me your illogical threats.
Megatron glares into Shockwave's optic. Shockwave takes the hint, releasing his tension and leaning back into the wall.
Disappointed at the silence befalling the chamber, Chromia maintains her post at the dull end. She observes the two seekers, pondering the narcissism involved in self-cloning. Her gaze wanders across to the opposite side, pausing on Lugnut for a moment, but continues on, fixing upon on the indistinct silver and black form. She sighs dreamily, wishing she had been posted on the opposite of the room.
ELITE GUARD HEADQUARTERS - SMALL UNOFFICIAL ROOM
Jazz is seated, leaning his upper body on the table and staring introspectively into nothing. His normally vibrant optic visor is dimmed to a cloudy blue. Optimus Prime is standing a short distance off, leaning against the wall. The mood in the room is about as uplifting as it's dull gray walls but its about to get worse as the Autobots are about to feel the full effects of the Council's fourth and final impacting decision of the twenty-four cycles following the heroes' return to Cybertron.
OPTIMUS PRIME
I'm so fed up with waiting. What's there to discuss?
He vents a long, sorrowful sigh and leans his forehead against the wall, dimming his optics as he fights to push the words out.
OPTIMUS PRIME
He died a hero...that's all there is to it.
JAZZ
No doubt, Boss, But the politics of the matter ain't so simple.
Arcee enters the room, instantly capturing the mechs' attention. She seats herself next to Jazz who looks upon her with the faintest of hope that's fighting to stay alive in his spark. Optimus takes a seat across from the candy-striped courier, his optics locked desperately onto hers. She slides her hands out, lightly grasping each of theirs', her spark sinking as she beholds them with her sincerest of sympathies.
ARCEE
(reluctantly)
Okay, so the council undoubtedly recognizes Prowl's actions as heroic...but there's a hang-up with the circumstances surrounding his death.
Jazz's visor narrows as he ponders her possible meaning.
JAZZ
What circumstances?…You mean Processor over Matter?
ARCEE
Yes. (she drops her gaze and squeezes Jazz's hand) The council doesn't believe that's how the events played out.
Jazz jerks up from his seat, ripping his hand from her grasp. He knocks his chair over and advances on the wall, banging it with his fist.
JAZZ
Those thick sons-of...
He pounds the wall again, choking on a deluge of anger, pain and regret. Optimus rises in concern and inches toward him.
JAZZ
(turning to Arcee)
So they think I'm just playin' em?
ARCEE
They think you're covering up...(her voice shrinks) for the sake of your own reputation.
Jazz slams his hands down on the table directly in front of Arcee. She flinches and scoots as far back as possible in her chair.
JAZZ
(desperately)
There was nothing I could do!
Optimus grabs Jazz by the shoulders and eases him back.
Arcee vents a pained sigh, her processor filing with memories during the war when grieving such as this was an everyday occurrence. She never knew Prowl but she could tell by the sorrow in the mechs' eyes that he must have been a bot worth knowing. She wants to curse the Council for their disregard of him. She had hoped to wake up to a changed system; one that looked beyond rank and recognized the value of each and every spark that wore the Autobot symbol. Her spark sinks deeper as she realizes her hopes are in futility, especially since they elected Sentinel Minor, as she knew him, into the role of Magnus.
She rises up, regaining her composure and resting a reassuring hand on Jazz's arm.
ARCEE
I believe you, Jazz. Trust me, I'm on your side...but-
He avoids her sympathy, angrily righting his chair and taking a seat again. He props his elbows onto the table and leans into his hands, his face covered.
JAZZ
But what?
She eases back into her chair, disbelieving of the insensitive news she's been forced to deliver.
ARCEE
The council never took that aspect of Master Yoketron's training technique seriously.
JAZZ
(his voice is muffled by his hands but the bitterness is clear)
Big surprise there...its one of Master's few non-violent moves.
Optimus approaches his chair, but remains standing, his face washing over in paranoia.
OPTIMUS PRIME
What are you telling us Arcee? Has the council made a decision?
ARCEE
(grasping at a glint of hope)
They would be open for new evidence backing Jazz's testimony, but...for the time being...
Optimus drops back into his chair, leaning his forehead against both palms.
OPTIMUS PRIME
There is no new evidence.
ARCEE
The Council doesn't see a place for Prowl in the Hall of Heroes.
EARTH - DINOBOT ISLAND - PROMETHEUS BLACK'S LABORATORY
The laboratory is illuminated by the giant monitor of the mega-computer. The screen is littered with windows full of mechanoid and human anatomy diagrams. On the floor next to the work table is a heap covered by a large tarp. The tarp cannot hide the angular edges and bipedal form of what lies beneath it.
Blackarachnia and Swindle stand confronting each other. Swindle has an All Spark fragment in one hand and is pointing his arm cannon on the other hand at Blackarachnia.
BLACKARACHNIA
(attempting to stand her ground)
Look Swindle, I can pay you, just not at the moment.
SWINDLE
(unrelenting)
I don't operate that way, sweetheart. Cash-on-delivery, not layaway. You're already in debt to me for transporting that carcass here. (glances to the body with a smirk) What'ya, got a Frankenstein experiment going on? You gonna make a companion bot that doesn't flee at the sight of you?
BLACKARACHNIA
(her tone dangerously low)
Now you're just being mean.
SWINDLE
(his smile drops as he focuses back on her)
And you're being totally unreasonable.
A corner of her mouth curls up, unsheathing a single fang. She raises her optics to look past Swindle, her smile spreading as a shadow brushes over the dealer's helmet.
BLACKARACHNIA
You think this is unreasonable?
Upon sensing that he and the predacon were not the only occupants of the room, Swindle twists around just in time for a clawed yellow paw to launch him off his feet. He crashes into the floor, sliding on his back until smacking into a wall.
GRIMLOCK
(roaring)
Nobody be mean to Spiderlady!
Blackarachnia shoots a flirting, grateful wink to the dinobot then sways over to the defeated dealer until her shadow looms heavily across his face.
BLACKARACHNIA
(her smile darkening to a threatening scowl)
Now, hand over that shard, before Grimlock gets angry.
Swindle ventilates in a heated rhythm, his anger bubbling quickly to the surface. He grips the shard tighter and squeezes his beady purple optics into slits.
SWINDLE
You have no idea who you're messing with.
Grimlock bristles at the threat and proudly stomps up next to his muse, casting a much larger shadow over Swindle's face.
GRIMLOCK
Me Grimlock say you do as Blackarachnia say.
Swindle darts his glare back and forth between the two monsters, gritting his teeth as he reluctantly releases his grip on the shard and hands it to Blackarachnia.
She leans in to retrieve her prize, her smirk inching back onto her cheek.
BLACKARACHNIA
Not every bot flees from me…(She snatches the shard from his hand leans in even closer)...just the cowards. Why don't follow in their example.
Disgusted, Swindle backs away and staggers to his feet.
SWINDLE
You just signed the dotted line of death, my dear.
He transforms in a whirl and speeds off toward the exit.
SWINDLE
You'll regret this, you witch...you…you, FREAK!
As his voice fades into the blackness with his taillights, Blackarachnia's confident smirk deflates to a frown. It doesn't matter the quality of character those words spew from; they still hurt.
Grimlock roars lividly, sensing the defeat in the spider.
GRIMLOCK
Me Grimlock teach mean truck some manners?
BLACKARACHNIA
(her raspy voice a near whisper)
Let him go.
She holds the shard in front her four optics, squinting from the immensity of its gleam.
GRIMLOCK
(simmering down a notch as he watches her)
Me Grimlock can bring you sparklies too...bigger ones, prettier ones.
The spider glances up from her treasure to catch the doting gape of her subservient.
BLACKARACHNIA
I know you can, my pet...(her four optics narrow sinisterly) but what I need right now is a squishy.