Chapter 1
In the makeshift operation room, there stood a team of medical experts with the same goal in mind; this goal had been delayed for some time but now their work was at its zenith. As they prepared for the procedure, one of them had seen fit to switch on the television, the news repeating the same thing over and over. The eternal question, "Are we alone in the universe?" had finally been answered. The answer was, for better or worse (depending on how one took the news), "No." Of course, it made little difference to them since they had answered that question themselves several months ago.
The alien life forms were split into two factions; one which proclaimed to protect their world, another which vowed to destroy it. The planet Earth had been caught in an age old conflict, one as old as the world itself, its duration dwarfing even humanity's existence. Perhaps, now that their work was nearing completion, they could take advantage of this latest news and convince their opposition to an armistice. War amongst humanity was common, yet divided; war against a foreign species, however, would require that all differences be set aside, for now. But that decision remained to be decided to by the government they sought to overthrow.
They had started their organization, small but steadily growing, to see a new order be established, one that promised a unified world under one power spanning the globe. Some had called them a slew of affronts for their actions; madmen, traitors, terrorists. But change, no matter how often cried for, was never fully accepted without resistance. And the change they desired, that they promised, was radical indeed. So much so, that their leaders chose to employ the otherworldly outsiders to ensure their goals were never reached.
But they managed to remain relatively unseen, thanks to the perpetual conflict of the two factions, each side's numbers dwindling. And each time they battled, they took advantage of the chaos to acquire whatever materials lay forgotten on the battlefield. They couldn't take any more than things that could simply be written off as destroyed in the heat of battle. Thus, their research was slow, their goals restrained. Eventually, their singular form of government, their leader, had grown tired of their slow progress and more extreme measures were taken; they were to capture one of these outsiders.
Setting a trap, they came across one from each faction engaged in battle and watched from the shadows as they wore each other down. Finally, they made their move when one had managed to render the other into unconsciousness. Naturally, it was the logical decision to abscond with the victor, allowing a slight advantage to the side that claimed a desire for camaraderie. But they had been labeled an enemy to both factions and were soon attacked by the self-professed protectors. The subject had escaped, but not before yielding results that progressed their work ahead by leaps and bounds.
Focus on the work was as vital as ever, field operations being shut down momentarily to direct all energy to creating a means of leveling the playing field. Briefly, they had struck an alliance with a rogue in order to learn more and potentially acquire samples. But the partnership was short lived, yet the knowledge they took away was well worth the time spent. After months of study, they were smiled upon by fate when it saw fit to reunite them with a "familiar face." They questioned not the condition they found him in and instead took advantage of the opportunity.
Another plan had been initiated after meeting with their financial backer, a wealthy politician that seemed to agree with them. After a slew of unfortunate events, their funding had been killed, quite literally, leaving them frozen in their next phase. Their focus now was on the figure that lay, battered and broken, on the operating table. With their plans halted, they had to focus on finding a proper means of prolonging his survival. It was clear more than "conventional" means were needed.
As they prepared themselves for the initial operation, attaching the patient to the reassembled outsider and using him as an apparatus, of sorts, they received a surprising visitor. He'd been taken captive by the more hostile faction and learned a good amount of their medical practices. He agreed to work with them in an attempt to retaliate against the alien threat. He provided an expertise that far surpassed anyone in this room. He had suggested a different approach.
"The damage to his body is, as you reported, massive," he said after studying the patient himself. "The procedure you are suggesting is sound and could work. However, there is one thing you are not taking into account." He opened the right eye of the patient, revealing a retracted pupil that did not adjust to the darkness. "Perpetually retracted pupils are often a sign of brain damage. Attaching him to this 'apparatus', as you call it, may only exacerbate his paranoia. He might just kill us all if given that much power, unrestrained."
And so, a new surgery was planned, and they had to agree it was probably for the better. After weeks of preparation and simulation testing, the formula had been perfected; they were ready to begin. Turning off the television, sterilizing themselves, and gathering the necessary tools, they started. First, an incision into the head to reach the brain, where they would first repair the brain damage. Their newest scientist lead the procedure while their veteran surgeon assisted.
Cutting through the skull into the brain, they managed to inject a material that would, in theory, repair the damage and restore the senses. Checking the eye and shading it from the surgical lights, they were pleased with the results.
"Pupil responsive," reported one of them. There was no joy, no happiness, nothing more than the clinical detachment that was to be expected in procedure like this. With that, they stitched up the incision and proceeded with the main surgery. First, they would graft the new material onto the body, checking the vital signs as they did so. If this surgery was a success, the patient would feel no pain.
His body was grafted with this newly created material from head to toe, incisions made to allow for breathing. Another was made over the heart, where the formula would be injected. He asked for the vial, its contents glowing an ethereal blue. Slowly, steadily, he pushed the needle through the skin and in to the heart, injecting the formula. They watched, via the screen, the results of their decisions.
His body was accepting the changes, violently convulsing, forcing them to restrain him as the procedure racked his body. His body temperature began to rise, the material reacting accordingly, as the convulsions worsened. He was going into shock, or so it seemed. Without warning, his convulsions died down as the material disappeared into the skin. Some of the surgical team felt smiles tugging at their lips but kept a detached interest.
The procedure was a success, their leader returned from the brink of death. Now came another injection into the brain, a precaution in case the formula that was to do away with the brain damage failed. Hopefully, this contingency wouldn't be needed and they would be as strong, and united, as ever under their leader. Returning him to his room, the lead physician saw fit to remove his surgical mask, revealing his dark skin, a beard in place. With a cynical smile, he spoke, "I told you this was the better option."
The Surgeon nodded, "So it would seem. If you're calculations are correct, our organization should be stronger now. Perhaps, once we demonstrate the power we've unlocked, the world won't be so inclined to write us off as madmen."
"You're planning to aid the world government?" he asked. "I thought you would wait to see the outcome of the battle, then swoop in to collect the spoils."
"Given that massive fortress in the place of Jasper, Nevada," the Surgeon reminded them, "I think it is agreed upon that forming a temporary alliance is in our best interests. For now, we adhere to the ideal, 'the enemy of my enemy, is my friend.' I have little doubt they will refuse after seeing what we've managed to accomplish. Thanks, in no small part to you, Doctor."
"I'll admit my reasons for helping were purely self-serving, as I'm sure yours were for accepting me. I wanted retribution against those machines for imprisoning me and forcing me to work for them. My former employer may not have treated me well, but he showed me utmost respect and rarely questioned my decisions."
"Regardless," the Surgeon continued, "We must set aside hostility and choose a side in this conflict. For the sake of our goal, we will join with the world government and battle against these machines. The long-term effects may prove to be beneficial to us. If the people see what we are capable of, they may wish to share in our discoveries. Our insurgence will grow."
"The typical 'win-win' then?"
"I will monitor the patients vital signs to ensure there are residual effects. Rest, you've more than earned it, Doctor Stockman." Baxter Stockman nodded and went to where the field soldiers of M.E.C.H. resided. The television was playing once more, the President making her first national statement. She looked much different than when she first to office, her brown hair tinted with grey. The price of politics, he supposed.
"My fellow Americans," she began, her voice as calm and stoic as ever. "As I'm sure you are aware, the events occurring what was, once, the small town of Jasper, Nevada. I can assure you that all residents were evacuated with no injuries to their person. The cause of this disaster is a result of unwillingness to trust you, our citizens, with the truth. Some years ago, before I took office, our planet became the latest battlefield for an age old conflict that is older than our own species. Some have come to defend us, others have come to destroy us. To maintain world order, it was decided by all in the United Nations that this war be kept a secret from you. And for the most part, it has succeeded."
Stockman snorted at that, remembering New York, and wondering how many bore witness to the beings in action.
"This faction, the Autobots, hid amongst our kind in secret," she continued, an image of the Autobot shield appearing to her right. "They have proven to be great allies to us in times of disaster, such as the natural phenomenon that occurred some months ago. In exchange, we granted them asylum on our world and appointed individuals to monitor their actions. For the most part, they've kept their word and defended us when needed."
There were murmurs of bitter remarks toward the woman on screen by the M.E.C.H. foot soldiers.
"This other faction, however, the Decpticons," the Decepticon shield appeared to her left. "have come for the sole purpose of conquering out planet and enslaving, or destroying, us. Sadly, our military has proven ineffective against this threat, as evidenced by the events that happened just hours ago. Our military strike force, as well as Jasper, Nevada, was wiped out in less than a second. I have no doubt the Decepticons will eventually attempt to fire upon the target of their choosing. Nowhere, not even our nation's capital, is safe. And our last defense against them, the Autobots, is currently M.I.A."
She paused, for dramatic effect, Stockman thought.
"I assure you, that we, as a nation will come together, and remain hopeful that a way to bring this invasion to end will be found. The Decepticons underestimate us, and that will be their downfall. Goodnight." She left, cameras, flashing, questions flying forward. Turning off the television, the M.E.C.H. soldiers went about their daily routines. Stock went to the mess hall and prepared some tea. It soothed his own fear of the situation. The Shredder was a fool to trust Megatron , if he did at all. Though it didn't surprise him that this happened, it was fearful nonetheless of what the Decepticons were capable of with that fortress of theirs.
As much as he despised them, he wondered where the Autobots were and what had become of them. If they were alive, they would prove vital to their cause against Megatron and his invading horde. More so that boy, Jackson Darby, who'd been the inspiration for this procedure. His apparent melding with Cybertronain sorcery had prompted him. It would appear that Cybertronian science appeared to be just as flexible.
To think, the possibilities that were presented because of this discovery, the new ways to develop humankind as a species. As a scientist, he couldn't help but respect the power he'd just tapped into. It deserved the proper respect if they were going to use it properly. Especially if they it was going to aid them against the Decepticons. His musings were interrupted by the Surgeon.
"Silas is awake," he reported. "I thought it best that you explain things to him." Stockman nodded and finished the rest of his tea, following the Surgeon to the patient's room. They passed the research area where the remains of the Decepticon, Breakdown, were being reassembled into something more useful. M.E.C.H. had begun planning for after the surgery when the news was first announced. Whatever they were planning, it was big.
Entering the room, Stockman took a seat next to Silas's bed, the news playing on the television across from it. He wore a bitter, but amused, expression, "So, Megatron has finally made his move?"
"So it seems," Stockman nodded. "Wherever that fortress came from, its power is off the charts. One of those cannons could destroy a city or small island. Obviously, we lack the means to properly combat them, until now."
"Yes, the Surgeon informed me these apparent, 'enhancements'," he raised a brow. "Care to explain?"
"I've made you into a, well, let's just call you a super-soldier. Thanks to alloy that serves as the Autobots and Decepticons' skin, you will now be able to resist most forms of physical trauma. I've enhanced via the use of some of the Shredder's tomes. You are now virtually invincible."
"And what of the Autobots?"
"Missing, but most likely either hiding or dead."
"Which leaves Earth with no other form of defense," Silas grinned, "Except us. Such delicious irony."
"I can see how you'd be amused," Stockman chuckled. "Should we call you Captain America? Forgive me, Colonel." Silas responded with a low rumble of laughter. "The plan is simple; we help the governments of the world against the invasion. If we succeed, public demand for M.E.C.H.'s 'abilities' will skyrocket. You'll no longer be considered a madman, Silas."
"I see," the scarred man weighed his options. "What weapons do we have?"
"We are converging the Decepticon subject, Breakdown, into a weapon more, maneuverable. Doctor Stockman's has managed to convert out rifles into something that will penetrate the Cybertronian armor. Everything is going as directed in Project: Shinsengumi."
"Excellent," Silas smiled, "time to make a call."
Given a phone, Silas dialed the number and waited; after two rings, a deep voice answered, "Hello?"
"Special Agent Fowler," Silas grinned. "So good to hear from you again."
"Silas," the man growled. "What do you want? In case you haven't noticed, I'm currently dealing with a global invasion at the moment."
"Agent Fowler, I have indeed taken notice of the events that transpired since my incapacitation at the hands of Optimus Prime. Yours as well."
"And I'd do again in a heartbeat," he bit back. "What do you want?"
"You know why I'm calling Agent Fowler, lest you would have hung up the phone by now. M.E.C.H. recognizes the Decepticons are clear threat to all of humanity, ourselves included. Thus, we wish to offer a truce and lend our services to aid the world government. We ask for nothing in return, only the opportunity to fight for our world."
"And why should I believe you?"
"Whether you believe me or not is irrelevant," Silas responded. "The fact is, M.E.C.H. possesses the proper means to do battle with the Decepticons, especially since your own government is apparently lacking, no doubt due to some agreement between them and Autobots. We offer our technology, how to use it, its replication. All in exchange for nothing save an alliance."
There was a pause, "And I refuse?"
"Then M.E.C.H will be more than happy to take matters in our own hands and do battle with the Decepticons on our own. We may recruit others and train them, but we will pose no threat to you."
"And once this is over?"
"I leave that to your imagination. Naturally, I do not expect you to speak for your government immediately, but I do offer you this, the access codes to Project: Damocles. They are being sent via coded message now. It may prove to be of use."
Another pause, no doubt to verify the codes, "Why are you doing this, Silas?"
"Agent Fowler, I've already explained that M.E.C.H. is aware of the global threat presented by the Decepticons. We wish to usher in a new world order, how can we do that if another power far greater than our own is in control? I speak to you, not as Silas of M.E.C.H., but as Colonel Leland Bishop, formerly of U.S. Special Tactics."
A sigh, "I'll… check with my superiors. But don't think I'm gonna fall for this act, Si." A dial tone followed and Silas couldn't help the Cheshire grin.