Making the Most

Chapter 1

This was written before the Wreckers comics, and doesn't take into account Cyclonus' role there. I plan keep avoiding those comics because of the contradiction with my fanfic.

Cyclonus' red optics flickered to life, as the dream, really a twisted old memory, began to fade. This was his reality: A shrunken body--mockingly perfect in every detail to his original one--that faced an uncertain future.

Sitting up, Cyclonus plucked the recharge tubes off his chest and arose from the metal slab to walk among his troops. Some couldn't immediately be seen, likely sleeping off in the dark as he had been. But most had gathered on the dank floor of the old compound, grumbling, turning their heads to glare at Cyclonus as he strode past.

Complaints flew back and forth about the poor lighting and the drab setting. Under this irritation Cyclonus could sense the deeper rage at knowing that they were being kept here while others decided what to do with them, the losers of the Great War.

At least, that was what those rebels to the old ways, the Maximals and Predacons, called it. He would not stoop to using their terms.

His troops did not appear in the mood for an inspiring speech, so he would let them be for now. Instead, Cyclonus wandered about until he found his second-in-command.

Scourge was sitting on the ground, arms wrapped around his knees as he hunched up. Cyclonus crouched next to him.

"Don't be a coward," he told the other Unicronian in a low and urgent voice. "If you are, the Maximals will have already won."

Scourge turned to him, eyes wide and frightened. His tone, however, was bitter. "I hate to tell you this, Cyclonus, but they have won!"
"Not until we are all dead." He gripped Scourge's shoulder and shook it, making his voice fierce. "I must be able to rely on you in this! Have you forgotten everything I taught you?"

Scourge frowned. "Of course not. But look around you: It's over. Our fate's being decided by others. That's what we ought to be worrying about, not reclaiming some glory that's as dead as..."

"As what?" Cyclonus prompted.

Scourge said nothing, but his face lost some of its sullenness. A commotion nearby took Cyclonus' attention, and he stood up and walked away, not looking back.

In the large doors, a tiny panel had opened to admit a hoverprojector. This closed immediately after, though the opening had been too small to admit even the smallest cassette.

The rounded device floated above the crowd, which mostly regarded it with the hostility of a territorial animal seeing an intruder. None could get at it: all of their flight jets had been forcibly disabled, at it was out of the reach of the most powerful beast mode leap. It flashed an image on the crowd of one of the hated Maximals, many times larger than life.

"Trying to pretend he's as big as we were!" called someone, and several Decepticons snickered.

"Greetings, Decepticons. I am Maximal Elder Wolfang, one of the new governing body of Cybertron. I come to tell you of your future."

Everyone quieted. Cyclonus' eyes narrowed.

"We are willing to offer you all amnesty, which is political pardon from all your past crimes. In return for this, you will renounce your allegiance, and agree to terms of non-violence for the rest of your lives. All of the new facilities and positions available to our new society will be open to you.

"For those of you who refuse to change, you will be led to a prison where you shall be put into stasis until your time runs out. There will be no--" The hologram flickered, wavered, became jagged and distorted, then reshaped itself into a different entity. This one wore a long robe of finely stamped metal, as well as a medallion with the Predacon insignia.

"Greetings, Decepticons," he said, imitating the first hologram. "I am General Ram Horn of the Tripredacus Council. I offer you a third choice." He grinned, as if sharing some great secret. "Take the offer of amnesty, but join the Predacon Secret Police. You will work as warriors under a new loyalty, to continue the proud legacy of your faction, while those unsuspecting Maximals give you their charity even as they are brought down." Ram Horn raised his clenched fist, and the hologram ended.

The Decepticons all began to talk at once, and Cyclonus raised his voice to be heard above the din. "Do not be fooled. They are using these empty histrionics to fool you into forgetting your heritage--!"

"Aw, pipe down, Bunnyboy!" snapped Rumble from somewhere that Cyclonus couldn't see.

"Yeah!" yelled Motormaster. "Especially since it's your fault we're here anyway!"

Cyclonus felt his confidence take just the slightest dent.

"All your Galvatron this and Galvatron that! I bet if you'd have just killed him when you had the chance, we'd be ruling galaxies by now!" That was Swindle.

"But you wait, and now Decepticon army torn up so bad we can't fix!" added Apeface, though he had expressed happiness about being downsized and his bond with Spasma broken.

Many more snarling cries of affirmation rose from the all sides. Cyclonus was frozen, but in anger rather than fear. They cannot possibly mean this! What about the Decepticon cause? "What does it matter?" he said aloud. "This is only a setback. If we are determined, we can rise from this--"

"Like we rose up from Chaar?" sneered Skullcruncher. "Come on, face it. You had your chance and you blew it! Now no matter where we go, we're under the footplates of somebody."

Cyclonus felt flooded with disgust. Here was his army, crawling back to grovel to their enemies! Turning his back, he stomped over to Scourge, sure that he would find an ally.

"Fools!" cried Cyclonus to no one in particular. "I cannot believe that they have done this!"

"Then...I guess you can't believe me, either." said Scourge bitterly, still on the floor and not meeting Cyclonus' gaze.

It took a moment for that to register. "What!" cried Cyclonus.

Scourge managed to look scared and defiant at the same time. "I don't want to work for Maximals, and anything besides the Council is going to be a dead end."

"Do you believe the part about this all being mine and Galvatron's fault? I suppose if you'd murdered us when you wanted to, you'd have done better?" That was a cheap shot. Scourge didn't like to talk about that incident, for reasons Cyclonus had never discerned. It was not out of remorse.

Now Scourge looked wholly angry. "I'm not going to waste time dwelling on it." He rose and looked up at Cyclonus. "And what are you going to do?"

"I will not take your choice. It is dishonourable." Cyclonus crossed his arms and turned away from Scourge.

"So you're going into stasis? How honourable is sleeping your life away?"

Cyclonus briefly let his guard drop. "It...It is something you could never understand." He finished in an admonishing tone, refusing not to look away from Scourge.

"Fine," replied his former second, who then rose and walked away.

Cyclonus looked after him in astonishment, staring after his second. He can't possibly... But he had. His closest ally had turned on him

Standing there for a few moments, Cyclonus then returned to shouting at the rest of the Decepticons, and their petulantly jeering back. Nothing was achieved.

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The Maximals soon came. Pounding loudly on the door, they herded out Cyclonus' troops single file, training weapons on them as they did so, reminding the Decepticons that the weapons were meant to kill instantly. Gun turrets also followed the Decepticons' movement, and so did the other heavily armed Maximals waiting at the fringes of the courtyard.

Flanked by a pair of huge Maximals, an underling walked among the Decepticons, asking each what their choice was, splitting them into two groups with a gesture.

It hurt to see how vastly Scourge's group (for that was how he labelled them in his mind, perceiving a rift between himself and the other) outnumbered his. But he observed the arrogance on the Maximals' faces, and his anger and thus his strength was renewed. Fruitless cries for revenge tumbled through his mind, with no plans or reason. Standing firm, he tried to appear august and threatening.

Energon bonds were clamped on all the Decepticons, even the cowards, before they left the compound. When this was announced some did snarl and fight, but Cyclonus had remained as he was, though he hoped the hard look on his face told all the Maximals that this was not submission. I am not afraid of you, Cyclonus told them in the privacy of his mind. You can never bring down the Decepticons.

A group of five Maximals, bristling with armament, followed him, giving Cyclonus a tiny ego boost. Leading him to his room, one guard pointed to the stasis machine. Had he any knowledge of such things, Cyclonus might have noted the resemblance to an Earth coffin, albeit one covered with tubing and devices, leaning against a block of metal.

Settling his broad frame into the open chamber and feeling the restraints dissolve, Cyclonus repeated his vows. The translucent lid settled over him, and the space filled with pinkish gas, and he went under.

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Cyclonus dreamed.

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Prepare to be Reformatted.

Sensation returned as something opened around Cyclonus like a jagged cocoon, letting in bright light. This seemed to rejuvenate him, giving him a stronger awareness of what and where he was, helped by the return of sight.

He stood upon a vast silver and green plain, under a sky as bright as an Earth day. Two huge and heavy things were dragging down his upper body, and as he rose slowly, uncurling, he felt their shape become part of him.

It was startling to look back and see that those new appendages were huge feathered wings, and he had a short tail, as well as clawed, elongated feet supporting legs that seemed bent at a permanent angle. Yet the arms before him had his colours, with detailing the likes of which he'd never seen.

To the west weredozens of Transformers in the distance running over the hills, cheering with joy at something. Their looks were as strange as his: curving musculature, animalistic heads, functional wings and tails, the eyes of beasts, and yet they all seemed oblivious to it.

Others crawled sluggishly over the hills in every direction, trying to get used to new limbs. A male tried to rise on the thick tail that replaced his legs, while a female stared stupidly at the extra pair of arms she had. Inquiries floated on the air.

"Is this Cybertron?"

"What the Pit!"

One mystery solved; these beings were still Transformers, but was this home? He was beginning to feel more in control of his body regardless. Taking a few wobbling steps, he paused at the top of the hill. The city below had strange, angular architecture that seemed merged with the land, sharing its colours.

He had to know more. He'd been given a second chance, and could not waste itConcentrating, he took a running start, then leapt, opening his wings. Control flowed into this new move, and a few powerful flaps took him higher, throwing up blades of...grass? Yes, grass, which he caught in one hand to see delicate circuitry mixed with the plant matter. Shaking his head, Cyclonus tossed it away and powered himself forward with greater urgency, but... he had nowhere to go, no idea where to start.

It would mean observing, skulking, hiding, his identity as a criminal escaped from forced stasis likely not erased by these circumstances. It was repulsive, but his own comfort could be sacrificed for greater dignity. Let others gawk at this new world; he had far more important things to do.

Much later, Cyclonus was, to his infinite embarrassment, so overwhelmed that he took refuge in an alleyway, curling his animal form into a ball as he tried to sort things out, ears alert for any intruder. When a sound came too near he uncurled, throwing his body from the wall to stand in the center of the alleyway, fur and feathers bristling, talons clenched. He faced a black wolf with blue metallic components.

"What do you want, Maximal?" His sides were heaving, shame and fury burning inside him.

"I'm not a Maximal," The Transformer shifted forms. He was winged, blue, a mat of overlapping black shards forming a beard, moustache and hair. His face was white and slightly wolflike, etched with subtle circuitry and markings like bags under the eyes.

Cyclonus actually stepped back, raising one claw. "You..." But he shook himself. "You are hunting for me?"

"I just followed an old scent trail. Can't say that I'm surprised; of course the Drones would have gone for the prisons, too."

"Drones? Regardless, leave me. We are no longer allies."

"With me you have no argument." Scourge folded his arms.

"Do you want something?"

"I bet I know what you want."

"To continue my campaign."

Scourge's strange eyes widened. "I guessed it, but I still can't believe you're thinking about that. It's been three hundred slagging years!"

Had it been that long? "And that does not matter, apparently. This is still something you would not understand."

"I might. What have you been doing since you woke up?"

"I...have been observing how this new Cybertron works, in preparations for recruiting. I can hardly be the only one who was freed by this accident, and maybe some of the traitors are not beyond hope. This appears to be a time of peace. It shall be easy to take control."

"Oh really?" Scourge chuckled insolently. Then something flashed in his eyes. "I could teach you more quickly. But you have to appeal to me, first."

Cyclonus literally growled. But with Scourge here, perhaps he could infiltrate the Predacon groups, discover more quickly how this new world worked, and then betray them at his convenience. Only Galvatron could have held his loyalty. "Then I ask you, based on being your former commander, fellow Decepticon, creation of Unicron, and lieutenant of Galvatron, to give me your aid." He put forth one claw, as if to get Scourge to shake it.

He stared at the offered talons and then began to snicker again. "Now I know you're lying. You've never called on our heritage before."

Cyclonus did not withdraw. "Are you going to agree or not?"

Scourge smiled, showing fangs in his mouth. Likely he wanted to toy with him a little. "I do. It's just that I'm wondering if you can take the experience."

Bristling, Cyclonus took a few steps forward, deliberately tearing at the ground as he did. "I have nothing to prove to you." How dare he! But Cyclonus reminded himself that he could not have expected things to remain the same.

Rolling his eyes, Scourge abruptly turned and started to walk away. "Are you coming?"

That was all he would give him, not even looking back? Very well then. But something else in Cyclonus was rebelling; Scourge had always asked him what they were to do. But he changed forms, noting that he was a head taller than Scourge.

They both spread their wings and took to the air. Scourge's were leathery black, supported by a single blue rib, though when the sun hit them just right, mechanical patterning could be seen.

Cyclonus flew clear of the aerial boundary markers, which marked where individual flyers could go without interfering with the flying transports. It was still unnerving to look below and see the city filled with idle crowds under definite cycles of day and night. The right world was desolate metal under a perpetual night, one that he had often recalled in his stasis dreams, moreso than Chaar.

"Are you listening to me?"

Scourge's irritation halted his musings and left him equally annoyed.

"We're going this way, to the Citizenry Office," Scourge pulled on Cyclonus' forearm, leading him to the left rather then straight ahead. Recalling the term from his lurking, Cyclonus still did not know what it meant, and he asked Scourge.

"Everybody who wants to live in Cybertropolis has to be registered there on file. New policy. Well, at least to you."

Ridiculous. They should be able to come and go as they pleased, but he let himself be led.

As he did, Scourge continued. "Things have changed much. They've become complex, borrowing a lot from human systems. Voting, government, supposed factional cooperation, slag, even arts and culture."

Cyclonus frowned and shook his head. "Idiocy."

"Seems to work," Scourge's tone was neutral

"And what do you think of it?" No, no he should not be caring. Scourge was simply a means to and end.

Pensive for only a moment, Scourge said, "I couldn't care less. The Predacons have helped be become a better fighter, among other things, but the rest doesn't do anything for me and I'm sure not grateful." He winced.

"'Better fighter'? You surrendered to them!"

His brother smirked and lowered his voice. "We take the gifts when we get them." Louder he added, "And we're here, anyway; let's go in."

The small building hung with vines was a distasteful sight, though not as much as being given an order, even a small one. But Cyclonus would have freedom. Just a small period of humiliation and he would be on his way. He couldn't let small things irritate him so easily.

Inside, flowers grew from the ceiling, mixed with soft metal in shades of blue and purple. They had to stand before a skeletal metal desk fitted with a computer and occupied by a mammalian female who watched them with bright eyes. Scourge told her in a reasonably courteous voice a story of Cyclonus wanting to join the world of Maximals and Predacons, after finding a changed world had changed him.

Scourge finished with, "True, he is a former prisoner, but he has not even stolen energon since his emergence."

Cyclonus tried not to smirk. Scourge was still as obsequious as ever, despite his pretensions to strength.

The female tapped a few buttons on her computer, and a pair of burly Maximals emerged from somewhere. "We get a lot of that lately," she explained in a disinterested tone. "Not from the Great War guys so much, but I hope you'll understand if we ask you a few questions."

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"I despise lying," murmured Cyclonus as they later flew into the night. "But it is worse to wear both Predacon and Decepticon insignia."

"I know, I know," growled Scourge, in irritation instead of sympathy. "But what can you do? Besides, they are just symbols, and you can hardly see them."

They had been emblazoned on the parts of his body resembling shoulder guards, Predacon on the left, Decepticon on the right. "How appropriate, coming from you."

Scourge snorted. "Do you think you'd have been very credible on your own?"

"Are you asking for my gratitude?"

"You don't outrank me anymore, not to mention that I've survived three hundred years on my own. I don't ask you what to do anymore, or fawn unless I can get something out of it." Seeing Cyclonus' stare, he snarled, like an animal. "We're equals now, or close to it. No more putting on airs. Got it?"

Cyclonus grimaced and turned away, "No," he said flatly. "You betrayed the sign you wore. That makes you less than--"

"No one cares anymore, Cyclonus."

He clenched his fists at his sides. "I do not and never will need to explain myself to you. All you need to know, Scourge, is that I desire something, and I need your aid. It is up to you if you wish to give it."

"Yeah, sure, fine."

"Hmph. Then tell me, what is my transformation?"

"Your beast mode, you mean? It's a Fuzor."

Cyclonus repeated the word slowly, tasting it. "What does it mean?"

"All this," Scourge waved a long-fingered hand, "comes as a result of the creation of organic beast modes. They used to be just nanomachine shells, but now, as you can see, things are different. They started taking DNA from one animal to make the shells. It was originally for the explorers, helping them blend on other worlds--yeah, they started exploring. But it was such a weird and new thing that it caught on, so you could pick your own beast mode from a DNA bank."

"Disgusting." Cyclonus was aware that his tail flicked as he said it. "Mixing themselves with organics."

"Not as bad as doing it with Neublans, though. Fuzors, well, there was an accident in the process once, and the beast shell came out with two creatures combined but full and functional, just as a chimera. They went wild over the idea; designer beast modes. They mixed parts of creatures from all over the galaxy. The Oracle must have been pressed for beast modes, so it made some Fuzors. You look to be a lion-eagle, only I'm not sure where your ears came from."

"All right, then. What are those?" He pointed to some large, cylindrical devices projecting from the ground

"Those're public access terminals. Once their backups are restored, they'll get you caught up." He looked about, then added. "With what the Maximals say, anyways. It won't tell you about what the other Decepticons or Autobots are doing. Because they're not doing much."

"Well, what do they do?"

"Not until the Council inspects you, which will be soon. But we're going to have to discuss what you'll say before the meeting."

Scourge explained the Tripredacus Council to him, who had weeded out the Decepticons that came to them, erasing the memories of the failures or arranging it so that they were sent to prison. Scourge had clawed his way into the ranks of the Agents on, he said, sheer bitter anger at the taunts and accusations of the others.

The best of the remainder were even upgraded, though all were involved in the same clandestine efforts to undermine the Maximals.

It was disgusting to hear of lurking about in shadows, but it was probably the closest thing to an acceptable occupation left for him.

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Even when addressing Galvatron, Cyclonus had never appeared submissive. Now he tilted his head up defiantly to look at the three generals upon their tall podiums, appearing not to take heed of the dim lighting, long shadows, and sparse, angular decoration, all designed to intimidate.

Meanwhile Scourge was hunched in obeisance, just a little in front of Cyclonus. It was strange to think of the pose as it as calculated.

General Ram Horn glared down at them. "How could you even consider admitting an avowed Decepticon opponent of the new order? Our position is precarious enough as it is."

Cicadacon added, "The society will be changing soon. Such a radical metamorphosis cannot fail to stir up the public, and it will be even harder to gain a foothold in the government."

Scourge said in his most unctuous voice, "Leaders, I do too perceive the problem. Yet if times are going to become trying, surely we would need more soldiers to ensure our position. And would it not seem reasonable that his desire to join us for a place of stability and a cause to fight for is genuine?"

"Perhaps your sibling should speak for himself," suggested Ram Horn in a dangerous tone.

Bowing clumsily, Scourge scampered backwards. Cyclonus almost knocked him over.

"Scourge speaks the truth. I realize I have been given a second chance because of the Great Reformatting, and feel it best to use that as a Predacon. In addition, I would relish the chance to continue battling the Maximals, who were my enemies before the sleep and were partially responsible for a great loss."

Sea Clamp dimmed his optics, steepled his fingers, and leaned back. "I admit that records show you have a reputation for strength in loyalty and in battle. Yet I do not know how you could assure this Council that you will serve us well."

"I can give you nothing but my word, as I once did to another leader." They had argued over making references to Galvatron. He didn't want to, but Scourge had pointed out that it would remind the Council of Cyclonus' reputation for loyalty.

"Scourge has proven loyal," Cicadacon stated. "Perhaps if you acted as his ward for a successful trial period we would then admit him."

"Foolish." hissed Ram Horn. "Haven't you read records? They were virtually inseparable, and could conspire."

"If I may speak, my past ties to Cyclonus mean nothing now. And surely my years of dutiful service mean something."

Three pairs of optics narrowed. Finally, Sea Clamp spoke up. "Cyclonus already knows of us and our mission. It would be a probable waste to kill him, based upon his history. So I would be for allowing him in."

"Very well," agreed Cicadacon.

Ram Horn, clearly dissatisfied with being outvoted, looked down at Scourge. "But if he commits any treason, you will suffer along with him."

"Thank you all, Generals. I humbly accept your judgment, and promise to, ah--" Likely Scourge had noticed the looks on the Generals' faces that said Get out of our sight and hurried to comply, Cyclonus following.

As they wound their way through the corridors, Cyclonus asked, "No trial mission?"

"They'll give one to you when they feel like it. Such things have to be planned carefully, and when it comes your reaction will show how well you deal with the unexpected."

Cyclonus resisted the urge to scoff. "And what do you do in the meantime?"

"Plenty of things. Go out to bars, holocenters, hook into the visunet."

"Then do you know where the other Decepticons congregate?"

Scourge frowned.