Shockwave turned and looked out the window of his personal chambers, his cycloptic visage being reflected in the thick, laser-proof glass that overlooked the smelting pools and refineries below. Several indistinguishable blobs bobbed in the molten slag of the pools, and Shockwave imagined that he could hear the screams of the condemned floating up to meet his audio receptors.

The smelting pools. So marvelous in their efficiency. Originally the brainchild of Straxus of Polyhex, Shockwave had ordered the construction of a similar facility in Iacon after witnessing their brutality on a state visit to the sister city-state. The smelting pools, filled with molten slag and the screams of the dying, lent a near-palatable sensation to the emotions of those trapped within their slick steel walls. One could nearly taste the fear, the pain, the remorse . . .

It was now 1998, and Shockwave had spent the past four million years building the Decepticons into an empire that stretched nearly a dozen systems. The Autobots had been routed from their home world, ringed in on their pathetic moonbases and fledgling Autobot City on Earth.

And he had done it all himself during Megatron's absence. But Megatron's reappearance threatened to throw a kink into Shockwave's empire. Although the cycloptic Decepticon still pledged loyalty to Megatron, the day was fast approaching where there would be a meeting of the minds, a battle of wills and brute strength. Megatron was too insane, too powerful . . . too illogical . . . to be given free reign. After all, hadn't Megatron focused his resources solely on the pathetic planet Earth, when there was an entire universe ripe for the taking?

But any further reverie was interrupted by a knock at the door. The doors hissed open a second later, and in the reflection offered by the glass window, Shockwave could see his personal aide and executive officer, Magnificus, enter the room.

"Lord Shockwave," Magnificus offered, "I bring news from the Haleno system."

"Really?" Shockwave remarked, "an uprising, I suspect?"

"You are correct, as always," Magnificus stated.

"Spare me your compliments, Magnificus," Shockwave stated in his dull monotone, turning away from the window and stepping behind his desk, "I have neither the time nor the patience. If you had bothered to conduct an empirical analysis of current trends on native populaces throughout the Decepticon Empire, you would have seen a recent spike in the number of insurgent activities. This does not surprise or excessively worry me."

Magnificus recoiled noticeably, obviously taken aback by Shockwave's brusqueness. However, he quickly regained his composure. "Lord Shockwave," he continued unabated, "the world in particular is Obernia; the natives have taken the governor and his staff prisoner in the capital city of Sador."

"Obernia," Shockwave repeated, now staring out the window once more, "agricultural planet, about twenty-three light years from Cybertron. The Obernians are a tribal people, with scattered cities; no real countries or states to speak of. Sador exists primarily because the Decepticons established it for administrative reasons. Have they listed their demands yet?"

Magnificus shook his head. "No, my liege," he replied. "It's my personal recommendation that we ready an infantry battalion, attach a company of heavy armor troopers, cordon the city . . ."

Shockwave spun about suddenly. "Magnificus, you are getting ahead of yourself once more. You are thinking like a military commander. You must think politically."

"Do you mean that we should entertain the demands?" Magnificus asked, his voice full of skepticism.

"Of course not," Shockwave replied, "but we must, as the Earthlings say, 'nip this in the bud.' Examples must be made. Ready Trypticon for deployment."