A/N: Finally! I've been thinking and planning this story out for the past year since having completed Sector Capri , and I've finally gotten myself to start the actual writing process. To any of you who were along for the ride the first time around and are returning, I am eternally grateful to you for being patient with me. To those who are new to the scene, welcome! I would recommend reading the first Sector Capri story, as there will be a number of allusions made to it, but that is of course up to you. I'll try to make it so that things mentioned from the first story are explained for anyone who's not read it, but some things will o'course go unspoken. As in the first story, I'm making it my mission to include tons of of our favorite characters in major roles, and we'll be following a number of them in their personal struggles as the war begins to unfold.
I also promise a healthy dose of Bounty Hunters, Dinobots, Prowl's prickery, and the general antics that can be expected when Nightbeat's on the case. Not to mention, this time we'll be going beyond Cybertron to a number of alien planets! On a side note-this story is rated T for Cybertronian language, references of alien alchohol and smoking, and what's a Transformers tale without violence.
Please Enjoy! Anonymous reviews are enabled, so don't be shy to leave your thoughts, I live for feedback! ^_^
Ever have a dream where you can't move? Where it feels like your hydraulic lines have been cut and your legs weigh as much as a Constructicon? You know there's something coming, you know it's nothing good, and you know it's moving a lot faster than you and your useless pistons. That's where I'm at—that's where I've been. It's been seven years since the High Council became aware of the unpleasant fact that a growing faction of revolutionist Gladiators known as the Decepticons are on the lookout for the transformation cog of the Trypticon space station; what Trypticon can be used for, I'm still trying to uncover. Seven years, and yet we still sit dormant. There have been attacks on cities in the Southern Hemisphere, hostile takeovers of entire city-states lead by native gangs—and the High Council acts like they're not linked. I guess so long as Iacon and the rest of the Northern city-states remain untouched, then the High Council could care less, so long as we keep getting our shipments of materials and energon—which, strangely enough, we have been.
I don't know about the rest of Iacon, but I'm not an idiot. I know what's going on in the South, and I know why we in the North are still getting the Southern-imported supplies we need. The Decepticons' influence is spreading, oppressed gangs from poverty-stricken districts are rising up in their cities and taking over, but are keeping it so quiet that we in the North apparently don't feel threatened. They keep sending us our supplies so we don't complain and move against them—and they're also buying themselves time to grow in numbers and power.
I've been following the progression of the Decepticons ever since my first encounter with them seven years ago, when I was abducted and brought before Megatron himself as a youngling. For the most part, they've been building their forces and have been finding the means to bring in the supplies they need to support their growing army slowly, taking great care to be patient so as to not draw too much attention to themselves. They've been incredibly organized and cautious in their ways, making it a bit difficult to track their deeds.
As of late, however, they're moving faster, taking bolder actions. Something's changed the name of their game, and that's what led me to the Northern-most Decepticon-aligned city-state of Tarn. As a city that borders Iacon, though separated by a lengthy highway, I figured it was the best choice I had for seeing what the Decepticons are up to up-close. I had heard from an underground source that the militaristic powerhouse city-state had willfully joined the Decepticon cause, perhaps in part due to it being the birthplace of Megatron. I learned also that Tarn has granted the Decepticons full access to their resources, including their enslaved workforce, and that they've been using them to work several mines across the city-state's bounds; whatever it is the Decepticons are looking for or might have already found, I have a feeling it's a part of the reason why they've picked up the pace.
I was able to sneak into one of the mining camps with ease, and what I saw made my tanks churn. There were bots of weak builds, knee-deep in oil-tainted mud, digging and sifting for whatever the Decepticons were searching for. Watching them, I noticed that there was something peculiar about the behavior and appearance of the ones that looked like they'd been in the mines longer than others—their chassis were covered in dark veins, and their optics appeared to have had the life sucked right out of them. I also saw about five different violent fights break out amongst them, as though they were possessed by some kind of wicked line of coding. They were like soulless beasts.
Deciding that I'd seen enough, I made my way through the mining site, avoiding notice from the Decepticon guards, and found the jackpot. Within a locked warehouse (though bots never seem to think that locking the entrances to air ventilation systems is important, luckily for me), I found the fruits of the Decepticons' labor. Stored in a modified, factory-size energon containment cube were what must have been thousands of tiny, dark purple crystals. This is what has the Decepticons so hyped up? Tiny crystals? They looked more like sub-grade energon grits to me. Figuring that there was more than met the optic with these crystals, I decided to take a small sample—and unwittingly set off the facility's alarms.
Remember that sensation of not being able to move in a chase-dream? I find that there's a stark resemblance of it when being launched through the air. I managed to escape from the warehouse and mining compound, but not without a tail. I'm winded as I come crashing down onto the unforgiving road of the highway leading away from Tarn, but I'm quick to transform and get my tires spinning when I feel the rumble of a tank-former's treads vibrate in my chest compartment. Of all the bad luck in this universe, I had to get a sloppy second serving of a thick-hulled thug called Brawl. Put simply, he and I have a little history, none of it anything to get nostalgic over.
If I recall correctly, I'm pretty sure I was the somewhat indirect cause of his cleansing bath in a Smelting Pool a while back. How he survived and is still kickin' (more like stomping) today is any bot's guess. My tires squeal a little as I rip through the rubble-strewn highway, my spark pounding adrenaline through my energon lines as I hear the ominous crunching of treads picking up speed behind me.
"Ya little runt! You think you can just sniff around and take off without even sayin' 'hello'?" the gruff vocalizer of the tank lets out.
Aw, I think he missed me.
"Oh, this is gonna be just like old times! Only this time, I don't got no bot to tell me I can't pop that scrawny neck of yours!" he cackles as he shoots off an armor-piercing shell, the laugh taking on a maniacal tone when the following explosion sends hot shrapnel and debris across my alt-form, earning a startled yelp from me.
'Don't got no bot', a double negative. Either he's still in need of a grammar lesson, or he's hoping I won't catch him in a word-twisting bluff. I decide it's not best to test my luck and continue as fast as I can down the highway. I just have to make it a little further, where I have a back-up plan waiting to be set off. I had a feeling I might end up running from Tarn with pursuers, so I took some precautions before entering the city.
I'm ripped from my thoughts of strategy as another tank shell blasts the road from under me, again sending me airborne. I instinctively transform in midair, my optics widening as I see Brawl transform into his bipedal form as well while I'm tumbling upside-down through the air. My spark shoots up into my throat as I suddenly realize that I'm not falling towards the lifted highway, but rather off the edge into the endless pit below. Falling to my death, not really the way I thought I'd go out.
Just as I'm about to watch a rewind of my life events, I'm struck in the midsection by a thick beam of metal and sent crashing back onto the roadway, dazed. What the frag just happened? I roll over onto my side and as I'm lifting myself onto my knees, I release a sharp growl at the gritty hand that seizes me by my back armor and lifts me. I feel a sense of de ja vu as I'm brought face-to-face with the ugly mug of a grinning Brawl who's looking me over like he's considering how to cook me. Out of my own pride and usual line of not-so-grand reactions, I try throwing jabs at the towering mech, only to find that just like seven years ago, my arms are still too short to even come close to brushing the tank's chin. I guess I'm just sticking to the traditions of my usual exchanges with the mech; now if only I could find a Smelting Pool.
"I could just ask you to hand over the crystals, but then there'd be no fun in that. So how about we see how many parts I have to pop open before they come falling out instead?" the mech says in a gleeful, sadistic tone, his ugly optic brightening in anticipation.
He really has a way with words despite only having about twenty stuffed into his dull CPU.
