Transformers Prime Season 3
Episode 1/53: Predacon Rising
1
Megatron stood on the bridge of the Nemesis, waiting for the construction of his throne room to be completed. In his sole hand, he clutched the severed arm of Optimus Prime by the bicep. The red and silver arm just looked so… small. Incredible, really, how small parts look when not connected to a body. Megatron tightened his grip on the arm, unwilling to let it go, wanting to be sure that it was real, and not simply another stasis induced dream of his subconscious. He had done it. He had won.
"To think, Orion, this is all that remains of you, the once mighty Prime!" he gloated to the memory of his old friend, holding his trophy high over his head. The vehicons on the bridge of the Nemesis backed away slightly, desperate to return to their normal duties, for their leader was talking to an inanimate object, an action that could be seen as reason to question his sanity. As if they truly need one.
Suddenly the air on the bridge seemed to grow infinitely colder. The Decepticon leader turned to glare at Starscream, who was crouched nervously behind his master. He clearly addressed the Seeker. An accusation, not a question. "Or is it?"
Megatron's second-in-command ducked, his head wobbling. He chuckled nervously. "The drones have not yet found his body. It may be that he was annihilated in the strike."
"Or," the Decepticon leader said icily, "It may be a fraud."
"Oh, please," the Seeker scoffed, waving a hand. "Do you honestly believe that Optimus Prime would remove his own arm, just to deceive us?"
Megatron growled, narrowing his optics.
"Eh heh. No disrespect meant, master. The Autobots are devious, known for their trickery."
"Be silent, you pathetic sycophant!" He stepped closer. "Find me the body of Prime! Or," he hinted maliciously, "I may have to find another cadaver for a trophy."
Starscream gulped nervously, the threat received. He stepped aside and bowed. Megatron brushed him aside, and thundered off of the bridge, his prize dangling from his claw.
The door to the Nemesis' sickbay slid open with the usual hiss of metal on metal. Megatron stalked through impatiently, the slabs having barely reached their resting point before they were made to close. The Decepticon leader held his remaining arm behind his back, concealing it intentionally. The stump on the other side angled out from his shoulder, looking quite natural.
Megatron glowered at the sight that greeted him inside the room. Though he was expecting it, he still did not approve. "Knockout!"
The physician was buffing his back under his wheels. At his leader's call, he stopped and looked under his arm in surprise. "Lord Megatron! Sorry, but you know, buffing has been quite a hassle ever since Breakdown-" Megatron's glare had gone from I-might-let-this-slide to if-you-don't-shut-up-I-will-offline-you, so Knockout straightened out and put the buffer down on the nearest lab bench. "Erm- is there something that you need?"
Several long moments later, the anger withdrew from the Decepticon leader's optics, as if he had decided that the doctor's vanity was not worth his time. Megatron instead flexed his remaining arm, bringing it forward and revealing the item held in his claw. "It is a trivial task," he said, "One which is well within your… talents."
Knockout's optics widened with understanding as he took in the sight of the object in his leader's claw. "I'll… see what I can do."
Dangling from Megatron's hand was the arm that Optimus severed from him on Cybertron.
2
The country road was deserted, though surprisingly well paved. Then again, with the amount of traffic the road received, it had probably never had a single pothole. Trees overshadowed the pavement on either side, hanging down like they were trying to reclaim the forest.
Into the gloom came a motorcycle, colored bright blue, engine roaring. It stopped at the entrance to a short driveway that went up a shallow slope. At the top sat a two story white house, extraordinarily plain.
Jack Darby hopped off of the motorcycle, grateful for the reprieve. He had been riding non-stop for days. Even though she was a customized Cybertronian, she still needed more comfortable seats. He thought it was better not to say so. Instead, what he asked was: "Are you sure these are the right coordinates, Arcee?" They'd been contacted by the soldiers at the Army base Optimus had sent them to, and told to go to a certain set of coordinates. The messenger had promised that it was a safe place.
"Positive," came her reply.
Jack took a long look around, something he would not have done only a year ago. Then again, a year ago, he wouldn't have been talking to a motorcycle. At the very least, he wouldn't have expected a response.
On the other hand, if this had happened a year ago, he'd probably be dead right now.
The driveway led to a two-car garage, which was open and empty. There were no tire tracks in the yard to indicate that a vehicle had driven out back. There were no other cars in sight.
The front door creaked open, the kind of sound that is heard in horror movies a thousand times over. Jack tensed, ready to run, or as the case may be, ride, away.
June Darby rushed down the steps, her ponytail flying behind her, and engulfed her son in an enormous hug. "Oh thank God you're safe, I was so worried!" she said, sobbing into his shoulder. She hugged him harder.
Jack gave in and hugged her back. There was no one around to see, so it wasn't like he had to play the "cool teenager" here. "Mom! I'm glad you're okay, but... how did you get here?"
June separated from their hug, and turned back towards the house. She made a small gesture towards the door, and Jack followed her hand. FBI Special Agent William Fowler stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His head was turned upward, watching the skies. He gave Jack a nod, then caught June's eye and blushed. Resolutely, Fowler returned his gaze to the air.
She whispered, "One of the Decepticons attacked my car. Bill flew in and saved me." She glanced back at the Agent.
Jack raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Bill?"
June cleared her throat and said, "Yes, well." Her cheeks turned crimson. "Let's go inside."
Agent Fowler spoke up as they neared him. "You might want to put that bike in the garage." He gave the sky a meaningful glare. "Wouldn't want anything to happen to it."
Jack nodded to him. "Got it." He wheeled Arcee into the spacious building by the house.
"You know, Jack," she said casually, "This is the second time you've 'walked me home'."
In her mirrors, she saw a strange look cross her partner's face. Human faces were so much more expressive than Cybertronians'. It appeared to be somewhere between anger and sadness. "This isn't 'home' Arcee." He put down her kick stand, then walked back out of the garage. As he left, she said, "It is now."
The garage door slammed down, leaving her in darkness.
3
The bright lights of the Nemesis' sickbay reflected off Megatron as he stood, flexing his arm. His new arm. His re-attached new arm. Though it had only been a few days since losing the limb, one could get surprisingly used to not having an arm in a surprisingly short period of time. But never again.
Megatron could not be seen as weak.
"Well done Knockout!" he praised. "Unlike some, you never disappoint." He pointedly glared at Starscream, who hovered off to the side, the rightful place of a second-in-command. The Seeker ducked his head, as if he actually had any shame.
"I live to serve," Knockout said, giving a flamboyant bow from his vantage point by the operating table, before walking over to the medical computer.
"As do I, Lord Megatron!" the air commander was quick to put in. "And while we still have not located Prime-" here he put a bit of displeasure into his voice, actually sounding rather contrite, "- I do believe you will be pleased with the fruit of our labors."
They turned as the doors to the medical bay opened, allowing a pair of troopers to stalk in. They held their guns at the ready, careful around their commanders. Between them, they carried a large, unmoving mass. They dragged it across the floor, and dumped it in front of Megatron without ceremony. It lay there, leaking energon from the shattered stump of a limb. Metal skin, once a gleaming white, now charred and blackened, pitted with dents and blaster scars. The figure groaned pitifully, barely managing to raise its head.
Megatron grinned cruelly, and began to laugh, clenching his new fist. "The mighty Wrecker! Why, it is an honor to finally meet you face to face! Tell me, do you feel like blowing up another of my energon mines, Wheeljack?"
Their new prisoner looked up. He coughed, then groaned out, "Do your worst, dirty Con."
Megatron's smile turned into a scowl. "Why so unpleasant? I simply wanted to extend our… hospitality," he snarled. "Knockout!"
The physician looked up when he heard his name.
"Patch his wounds so that he does not bleed out early. Then put him in his place, and see to it that he remains... complacent." Megatron began to laugh softly. Wheeljack slumped to the ground at his feet. The faint laughter steadily grew into a manic howl, a mad sound of possessed humor that filled the halls of the Nemesis and chilled the spark of everyone who heard.
4
Jack thought the afternoon shouldn't be so bright. Considering all that had been lost, he thought it an insult to the Autobots that the sun was even shining. It should be desolate, storming like the Biblical flood.
Instead it was warm, with a pleasant breeze that wafted through the open dining room windows, and the sun was shining through the leaves of the trees to dapple the floor with beautiful patterns. His mom had prepared a scrumptious lunch that nevertheless tasted like charcoal in his mouth. Her and Fowler sat across from him at a table in the kitchen, having a conversation that seemed entirely too cheerful and intimate.
Jack pushed the food around on his plate, trying to work up an appetite, but the delicious smells only served to make him nauseous. At last he gave up, stood, pushed his chair in, and walked to the living room. Jack didn't even bother to turn on the lights. He just collapsed onto the couch, unsure if he was depressed or just tired.
A hand brushed his shoulder, and for a moment, he was five years old again, crying, unsure why his Daddy had left them all alone in a big house that now seemed so empty. And his mommy was there, with a hand on his shoulder, comforting him. Jack looked up into his mother's eyes and then it all returned, everything that had happened in the past... what had it been? A week now? Almost.
"Jack?" she said. "Is everything all right?"
He took a shaky breath, not willing to cry. He was sixteen, almost seventeen years old, for God's sake. He couldn't cry. "Fine mom," he said. "Just…"
June felt her heart constrict with empathy for her son's pain. "You're worried about them, aren't you?" He nodded. "Jack, there's nothing you could've done. You couldn't have fought off the Decepticons yourself."
"Your mother's right, son," Fowler said. He walked in and sat on Jack's other side, unintentionally crushing the teen against the arm rest. "The hardest thing about war is admitting when there's nothing you can do."
Jack held his head in his hands. "I just wish-" He stumbled. "I just wish there was some way to know if the others are okay."
Fowler gave an awkward half-smile that didn't really suit him. "We can do that," he said. The agent pulled a cell phone out of his back pocket and pushed it towards Jack. "I had Ratchet fix this one up a while back. The call can't be traced from either end. Go ahead. Make a call."
He hesitated for a moment. Tentatively, Jack reached for the phone. He took it from Fowler, then got up, still hesitant. He walked off down the hall a little ways, unconsciously hoping he was out of earshot. Then he dialed the first number.
"Hello?" came the voice from the other side. There was the barest hint of a Japanese accent.
"Hey, Miko," he said. "It's Jack. I-"
"DUDE!"she shouted in his ear, so loud he had to pull away slightly. She kept talking and he could still hear her. "What took you so long? Me and Bulk have been waiting for like, forever!"
"I'm fine, thanks for asking by the way," he said, annoyed. "Just had to ride across country and hope my mother wasn't dead and I wouldn't be found by Decepticons, but, no, I'm fine."
"Us too," she said, oblivious. "So what now? We gonna storm their castle or what?" He could just imagine her punching and kicking the air with excitement, Bulkhead trying to get her to calm down.
"What? No! Are you insane? We're going to stay put and lay low."
"Hmmph. You've been hanging around Arcee too much," Miko said. "We need to fight back, kick some tailpipe!"
"I'd prefer not to die anytime soon, Miko," he snapped. "Which is what'll happen if we try anything."
"Right. Because you're not itching for payback."
"Some other time. When we could actually win."
Showing all the naivete of a two year old, she said, "But the good guys always win."
He paused. "Not this time, we didn't."
"War's not over yet."
He paused, then sighed. "Look. We barely got out of there alive. I don't know if Raf's okay. Who knows if Optimus or Ratchet even made it out. I don't want to go back. And I don't want Arcee to go either."
"What? Your bike can't handle herself?" Jack heard something in her voice, something that had never been there before. At least, not that he'd noticed. He couldn't put his finger on it. Was it... jealousy? Naw."I talked to Raf a little while ago.," she went on. "He's fine."
Jack was so distracted it took almost a full minute of silence for that sentence to sink in. And when it did, he felt a chill all the way down to his bones. "You-" he choked on it, but stumbled on. "You risked talking on a cell phone?"
"You're risking it." She sounded confused.
"I'm on Fowler's phone! It's encrypted! Your phone isn't! They probably tracked you!"
"Oh." For a moment, just a moment, the fear showed in her voice.
"Yeah. Oh." He stopped to consider the options available, pinching the ridge of his nose in frustration. "All right. They most likely know where you're at. In that case, the best course of action-"
"You sound like Optimus," she said.
Jack persevered. "The best course of action would be for you to come here." He gave her the address. "Get here as soon as you can, and I'll tell Raf to do the same."
"Okay," she said. "See ya'."
He ended the call without saying goodbye, partly because if he did it would feel too final, partly because he felt like saying something else. Something his mom wouldn't appreciate. God, she could be such an idiot sometimes, and she never listened. Jack felt like punching something whenever he talked to her. The anger flared up in him just thinking about it, then dissipated just as quickly. Like it or not, mostly not, Miko was a member of Team Prime, and occasionally a valuable one. That meant that he had to help her, and Raf, no matter what.
He tapped Raf's number into Fowler's cell, and then waited for it to connect. It rang once… twice… three times, then went to voice-mail. For a moment Jack was concerned, then he realized that, unlike Miko, Raf almost certainly realized that picking up the phone would be a bad idea. He listened to Raf's voice tell him to leave a message at the beep, heard the BEEP, and then said, "Hey, Raf. It's Jack. I was just checking in, but Miko told me-" He faltered. "I think you and Bee are probably in danger. Fowler told me this phone call can't be traced. You need to meet up with us now. The address is_,_,_. Hurry!"
He almost felt guilty leaving a message like that on his friend's phone, not to mention hanging up so fast. But it had to be done.
Jack slowly walked back into the living room and handed the phone to Fowler. "How'd it go?" the agent asked.
Jack walked back out of the room and up the stairs without a word.
A/N: The address can be whatever you want it to be. Me, I put them in central New York, where I'm at. More fun that way.
5
Even in ruins, the mesa that had concealed the Autobots' base, Omega Outpost One, was a towering mass of near impenetrable rock. The superheated rubble from the explosion still burned, piles of white-hot debris forming pillars of fire that held up a sky that was black as ink. It seemed as though the flames would never die, as though they would remain as a permanent memorial to the cause that had died there.
The symbol of the Autobots, emblazoned on the cement floor of the old missile silo, retained an air of dignity and pride, although it was blackened and streaked with ash. All around it, the ruins blazed, diminutive mountains of rock with shards of metal protruding at every imaginable angle.
The ruins were not the same as they had been. That statement could go without saying, of course, because the metal and rock would settle. But the Decepticons had not left them to. The miners had shifted almost every pebble, moving the rubble, searching. And when they had found nothing, they had left the main floor of the base behind to excavate the tunnels on the side. The Decepticons worked in silence but for the whine of drills, and the hiss of flames; they worked in darkness save for the fire. They hauled rubble, cut passages, searching.
One area of ruins had escaped the miners' attention, for it had been so cleverly hidden by fate they would never find it. A sheet of metal had fallen, plunged into the ground, and created a cavern behind it. The metal had been covered by rock so that it looked like simply another section of the silo's natural wall. The only gap was so narrow that it had been discounted as simply another crack in the wall.
Thus, anything within that cavern was safe from the Decepticons, allowed to remain as it was, until-
Until one mound of rubble began to shift.
First one boulder fell, then another, and another, and another, until rivers of rock slid away. From under the ruins, a figure rose, bent and battered, but still powerful, still strong. A silver and black limb fought desperately for purchase, clawing at the rocks, fighting gravity to hold its owner aloft.
At last, the rock became solid, and the figure was able to stand. Two massive legs supported an equally powerful chest. What light there was reflected harshly off blackened metal, shadows flickering over its body.
After a time, the figure, the mecha, began to shove aside the rock that had covered it. Slowly, the pile of rubble was shifted away. The floor of the base was gradually revealed, cement charred so that its surface was slick, unrecognizable. A single object was uncovered; a single shattered fragment of metal that bore no resemblance to any functional item. Perhaps it had once been the hilt of an enormous sword. But no longer.
The mecha had begun its work with grace and fluidity, every movement perfect and calculated. By the end, that had been lost, exhaustion making the mecha preform in jerky, troubled motions. When it uncovered the object, it sighed, the sound masculine in a way that did not match its earlier movement. It- no, he- picked up the metal, and affixed it to his back.
For a long time, the mecha stayed in the center of the ruins. He did not move, or make any sound. After an eternity, he began to walk, first clearing the rubble he had removed, then striding across the floor with movements that were once again smooth and supple. Light from the fire reflected oddly, revealing the severed stump of his right arm. As he walked, the shattered stump began to leak. Electric blue liquid poured out onto the ground.
Eventually, he reached the true wall of the silo. The rock was shrouded in darkness, but the mecha still found his way, barely brushing its surface. He stopped when his foot hit a boulder. There, he reached out with his good arm, and began another excavation. Rock flew as the powerful arm dug into the pile. In moments, the debris was cleared, and another object had been revealed.
Unlike the abstract hunk of metal the mecha had recovered from where he had lain, this was fully intact. For the most part.
Metal that had once gleamed gold was now a dead, scorched silver. Even so, the object radiated power and majesty, and a strength that was almost physical.
It was a large silver hammer.
A deep voice came from the mecha then, a voice that seemed to carry the weight of a million years, or more, a voice that held anger, bitterness, despair, and hope.
"The Forge of Solus Prime."
With a trembling hand, the mecha reached out and grasped the shaft of the hammer. At his touch, it lit up a brilliant azure, brighter than the light of the flames outside. For a long moment, he simply stood there, watching. Waiting. But nothing happened.
At long last, he heaved on the shaft, pulling the hammer out of the remaining debris and onto the ground. The mecha heaved again, stepping away, and again, and again. Slowly, he made his way to the cavern's exit.
It was too narrow.
The mecha growled defiantly, then wedged himself into the crack, shoulder on one side, hand on the other. Metal groaned in protest, and his stump leaked faster, until it was almost gushing. With a shriek that was lost in the whine of the miners' drills, the sheet bent outward, until a gap was left that was wide enough for the mecha to walk through.
On the other side, the mecha hauled himself and the hammer out into the desert. For a moment he stopped, and turned to look at the massive citadel behind the broken mesa. The mecha shook his head and turned away.
He heaved again on the hammer, and it arced up and over his shoulder. The massive weight caused motors and servos to groan painfully. It bore him down onto his knees, the powerful limbs no longer possessing the same strength they once had. On its knees, the mecha began to collapse. Not down to the ground, but into itself, metal bending and folding, plates twisting almost impossibly. With a clanking, coughing noise, the odd transformation spread across its body. The entire mecha was rearranged. Wheels folded out and lifted the body off the ground. Panels enclosed leather and metal scoop shapes. Unnecessary controls protruded within.
The process took several rough, painful minutes. Even after it stopped, the form looked incomplete. But it would suffice.
With a harsh, knocking roar, an engine came alive, forcing the wheels to turn, all six of them. Headlights flared on, illuminating the desert landscape. Overhead, the moonless sky looked down as the shape accelerated into the night. The ruins were soon left behind.
Behind, sheltered in the tunnels, the Decepticon miners neither heard nor saw anything. They continued to cut into the rock, searching, searching...
6
The Nemesis flew among the spires of the Decepticon citadel, its ion-driven engines charging the atmosphere with power. Dark clouds, made darker by smoke from the ruins of the Autobot base, obscured the sun completely. Morning never came to New Kaon.
The throne was complete. It was raised high on a narrow dais, extending outward from the wall, an even narrower path on top. In the front of the dais, a large set of bay doors was tightly shut. Megatron sat upon the massive metal and obsidian chair, overlooking an enormous staging ground. Or gladiatorial pit. Depending on his mood.
From his God's-eye-view, Megatron watched as Starscream mercilessly drilled a legion of vehicon troopers. They marched in phalanxes twenty wide and ten deep, hundreds of them stomping across the platform in perfect unison. "March, you pathetic wastes of metal!" the Seeker called out. He cocked his energon blaster and aimed it at a trooper that seemed to be lagging. "I said march!" He shot the trooper in the back, and it stumbled, but kept marching, renewed vigor appearing in its visor. "That's better," Starscream muttered, and grinned.
The air commander's optics moved skyward as a seeker squadron flew past, on course for the town of Jasper. Megatron, too, permitted himself a moment to watch. The Autobot corpses had yet to be found. If they had escaped, the deserted town would afford them an excellent hiding place. The patrols would ensure that such was not the case.
As the squadron disappeared towards the horizon, a flash of lightening rocked New Kaon. Instantly, thunder rolled over the citadel. A storm would soon break.
Megatron's audio receptors picked up the near imperceptible scrape of metal on metal. Footsteps. Only one Cybertronian could be so silent; the noise had been made by choice, to alert the Decepticon leader. Megatron didn't even turn his head. "Soundwave. More volunteers?" The communications officer had broadcast Megatron's recent denouncement of the Autobots to all corners of the galaxy. Within hours, space-bridge requests had begun to pour in, vehicon troopers and former Autobots alike pledging their new-found support to the Decepticon cause.
Soundwave gave the smallest of head shakes, the single creak from the officer's neck being all that Megatron needed to interpret his response. New recruits were not the reason for his visit. Megatron realized that protocol was already in place; he shouldn't have had to ask. "Oh?" he said, turning to look at the most loyal of Decepticons. "Then what, pray tell, is so important?"
A string of Cybertronian text blinked into existence on Soundwave's faceplate. A message. "A space-bridge request?" he said. Another set of symbols appeared. "From Cybertron? But that is impossible! Our home has been abandoned for megacycles!"
Soundwave tilted his head ever so slightly. An image pixelated into existence on his faceplate. Megatron's eyes widened as he connected the dots. "He... lives?" The Decepticon leader's voice was little more than a whisper, a rare display of softer emotion.
Soundwave brought the message up next to the image. Megatron's optics flickered between the text and its sender, taking them in. "A space-bridge to Cybertron... would expend a great deal of energon," he muttered. He wrestled with the decision, ideas floating to the surface on the sea of his mind. "Very well," Megatron growled at last. "Send coordinates."
Soundwave nodded, his faceplate flickering. In the top corner, a cursor moved across a wire-frame globe, then locked on to the position of New Kaon. Cybertronian text appeared next to the globe, and a line drew itself from there to a small icon representing the space-bridge.
Overhead, lightening and thunder crashed, shaking the fortress, but Megatron's optics remained fixed on the sender's picture. From Soundwave's faceplate, the image of a large violet mecha drew in the Decepticon leader. A single red optic glared out at him. Cold. Calculating. Undeniable.
A shiver traveled up Megatron's metal spine, and his optics narrowed. His lips parted in a vicious grin. Above him, electricity crackled through the sky. Lightening smashed into the spires of New Kaon, turning the citadel's tip into a dangerous maze of sparks. Forks of energy split the sky, and thunder crashed violently against metal. The clouds ripped open and released a deluge the likes of which had never before been seen in Jasper.
A/N: Jack's dream would of course not be shown in the show. He'd just be tossing and turning in his sleep.
7
Jack Darby's dream was quickly becoming a nightmare of epic proportions. Oh, it had started out good. Like most. But then...
Jack was making out with Sierra. He didn't know where or when; it didn't matter. He could feel her lips on his, her breath becoming his, the fire of passion heating the air around them. It felt so good...
Then the dream shifted; it wasn't Sierra he was kissing. It was Sadie, Arcee's holoform. Jack didn't know how he knew that. He'd never seen Sadie without her helmet on. But he could tell.
He realized that Sadie and he were no longer kissing. Their passion had moved beyond that, taken over their bodies. They were nude, horizontal on a soft surface. They moved as one... So close...
Sadie suddenly pushed him away, and they were fully clothed. Jack smashed onto a hard table and lay there in pain as Sadie walked closer to him. Her face was contorted in a weird smile, a grin even more sadistic and creepy than Knockout's. Her form began to shift, changing identity over and over again. Sadie... Miko... His mom... Someone that looked like a human version of Airachnid...
She was Sierra again. He struggled but couldn't move as his crush walked over to him and wrapped one hand around his throat. She smiled evilly as she began to squeeze, fingers digging into his larynx. He heard a low growl build in her throat, getting louder and louder. Then her face split vertically.
Jack gasped out a strangled cry with his last breath. Sierra was ripped open, turned inside out. Silver and violet metal replaced Caucasian skin, perfect teeth changing into pointed steel fangs, beautiful eyes turning into red optics that burned with all the fires of hell.
It was Megatron.
The Decepticon leader's hand was large enough to encircle Jack's entire body, not just his throat. He felt his bones begin to fracture and give way. All the while, the metallic growl grew louder and louder, driving itself into his mind. Through the haze of pain, Jack saw a pair of narrow yellow optics glaring into his, a massive metal maw opening to swallow him whole...
The sound of blaster fire fractured Jack's vision. When it cleared, the pain was forgotten. Megatron lay slumped on the ground, a hole burnt through his chest. Jack looked at the Decepticon leader's prone form for a moment, then looked up. Who had shot him? It could only be-
His mom? Jack had thought it would be Optimus, but it was June who stood there, a determined look on her face, pointing a Decepticon blaster at the dead Megatron. As Jack watched, she turned, pointing the blaster at him. He looked into his mother's eyes and saw only darkness. Her finger tightened on the trigger...
Jack sat bolt upright in his bed. He clutched at his bare chest, gasping for breath. Oh, that had been bad. Oh, that was horrible. The worst. He'd never had a nightmare that bad, never. And he'd had some pretty bad ones.
Jack lay back down, hoping to go back to sleep. But the sheets were soaked with sweat, and sunlight fell through the window, hitting him it the face. Jack sighed.
He sat back up. The air, unlike the sheets, was cool. Goosebumps formed on his skin, but it felt good after the heat of his nightmare.
Jack stayed in bed a moment longer, acclimating himself to the temperature. He'd slept in his boxers, as usual, but the weather here was slightly chillier than he was used to. Jack shivered.
Out of bed, he walked over to the room's window, exhaustion creeping over him. He'd rode 'cross country for days, and then the nightmare... He felt lucky he could still stand. Jack latched onto the window ledge for support.
Through the clear glass, he looked out past the garage roof to the seemingly primordial forest that surrounded the house. Back in Jasper, the view from his room had consisted of a chain-link fence and the back of their neighbors' house. Now, from a second-story vantage point, he could see everything. The trees, the garage, the driveway, the emerald car-
What?
Car? There were no cars. Agent Fowler and his mom had flown, and they weren't here right now, so why would there be a car? No one knew where they were.
The sound of a throat clearing was so unexpected, Jack had to turn around. He spun so quickly that his foot crashed into the frame of the bed. Completing the turn, Jack gently set the throbbing pod on the carpet. He gritted his teeth so he wouldn't scream. Stubbornly, he tried to sound intimidating as he faced the intruder. "Miko, what are you doing here?"
His sometimes-friend leaned against the frame of his door, hiding in the shadows, like some street punk. She saw right through his tough act and smirked. "Next time you move, change where you put the spare key." She tossed it across the room and he easily snatched it out of the air.
As he palmed the small piece of metal, Jack noticed her eyes wandering up and down, and felt beyond uncomfortable standing there in his boxers. "Miko, get out of my room."
She grinned. "Why?"
Jack wasn't in the mood for games. His foot hurt, he was cold, and he'd just woken up from the mother of all nightmares. "Out." He pointed down the hall.
Slowly, she peeled away from the wall and walked out.
Jack felt a strange sensation in his chest as she walked away. He didn't like it.
Jack was expecting Miko to be waiting calmly for him to get downstairs. Like, she would be sitting in the living room watching TV or something. But no. She was in the kitchen, the upper half of her body buried in the fridge.
"Seriously?" he said in disbelief.
"What?" she said as she kicked the door shut. "I'm hungry." She held an egg carton in one hand, a frying pan in the other.
Jack couldn't help but stare as she walked over to the stove. He hadn't seen it in the shadows upstairs, but there was something different. "Miko,wha- What did you do to your hair?" The black locks fell down her back like a waterfall of ink, red highlights standing out like frothing splashes of blood.
Miko's eyes flickered darkly as she cracked the eggs. "I lost my ties, and someone-" her voice rose , and the egg she was holding cracked in her hand. She looked at the ooze in surprise, then quickly rinsed it off in the sink and finished saying, "Someone wouldn't let me go get new ones."
Outside, Jack heard the distinctive scrape of metal on metal as a Cybertronian changed form. The earth shook as Bulkhead knelt next to the window, looking distressed. "Miko," he rumbled, "I told you! It's too dangerous. We can't get into a fire-fight over a couple of hair ties!"
Jack felt his adrenaline rise as Miko put her hands on her hips, ready to argue. Not good. Best friends shouldn't argue. "Well, hey," he said, "I think it looks pretty good."
She turned and met his gaze, a quick staring contest that seemed more like a challenge than anything else. Then she smirked, flipped her hair, and turned back to the stove. "So where's your mom?"
Jack felt his head spin, and noticed that Bulkhead had wisely retreated away from the window. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Agent Fowler took her to D.C. to be debriefed. They saw the base get blown up-"
"Whoa!" she said and turned away from the stove, and he realized that there was no way Miko could've known about the base. "The Con's blew it up? There's nothing?"
He looked down. "I... I don't know."
Her shoulders slumped.
Beep beep beeeep!
Miko looked up, her gaze meeting Jack's, as the car horn sounded. "Is that your mom?" she asked.
"Can't be," Jack muttered. "They flew in Fowler's helicopter." He walked out into the front hall. Behind him, he heard Miko stop in the doorway to the kitchen. Jack peered through the patterned glass of the door. He could barely make out a short figure with big brown hair and glasses.
"Hey Jack," he heard. "Can I come in?"
His heart leaped gleefully as he unlatched the chain and swung the door open. "Raf! You made it!"
"Raf?" Miko said in disbelief. She looked from the doorway. "Raf!" she shouted, and rushed out. She swept him up in a side hug and swung him around. He laughed happily.
"Nice to see you too, Miko."
She set him down, then grabbed his hand and hauled him into the kitchen. Jack smiled as she went by, then shouted, "Whoa!", as she wrapped his wrist in a iron grip and hauled him in too.
"Breakfast time!" she said.
Bumblebee beeped a hello to Bulkhead as he drove by, and the Wrecker revved his engine. The two Autobots drove out into the country house's massive backyard. Arcee was already there in vehicle mode. Bumblebee activated his T-Cog, shifting to his normal form. He stretched his limbs, whirring in pleasure as his servos unlocked. Arcee and Bulkhead followed suit.
"I haven't stayed in vehicle form for so long since before I met Miko!" Bulkhead said.
I've never stayed so long in vehicle form, Bumblebee beeped.
They turned to face Arcee as the femme walked over. She had one hand on her comm, but let it fall when she heard nothing but static. "I've been trying since we left base. No one answers. We may be the only ones left." Her blue-violet optics cast downward in despair.
Bumblebee shook his head and whistled softly. How can the three of us stop Megatron? he beeped.
Bulkhead snorted. "We can't stop Megatron. Nobody could. Not now."
Arcee looked up sharply. "Don't talk like that! We've accomplished miracles before. We have to stop him, otherwise Optimus and the others would've died for nothing." The two mechs looked downward balefully.
Bulkhead looked up as a noise reached his audio receptors: the dull thump of helicopter blades. He turned to look at the sky, then cautiously extended his blasters. "Uh, guys?" he said, gesturing upwards.
Arcee and Bumblebee turned to see the helicopter, surprisingly close, bearing down on them at top speed. They, too, extended their weapons, preparing for the worst, hoping for the best, the way they'd been trained.
Arcee was the first to see it, the optics of a sniper, and she put up her rifles, saying, "Wait." The helicopter drew closer. Bumblebee peered through the windows and managed to make out the familiar faces inside. Immediantly, he relaxed, withdrawing his stingers back into their housings. Hey, he beeped as the chopper landed off to the side. How's it goin'?
"Jack?"
He started as he heard his mother's voice carry through the house, then rushed out of the kitchen. "Mom?" he called, then caught sight of her in the back hall. "Mom!"
She enveloped him in another hug, letting him go fairly quickly. As opposed to, oh, say, a fifteen minute hug-fest of tears. Raf and Miko came out of the kitchen too- hopefully she'd turned off the stove- and June gave each of them a hug as well.
Agent Fowler appeared a moment later, stillsmelling of air-fuel. "Well, now that we're all here," he said amiably, "I think it's time we had a... group discussion. Backyard in five minutes."
Jack was truly surprised at how big the backyard was. They had gathered on the patio deck, which overlooked a swath of grass large enough for Agent Fowler to park his helicopter on; beyond that was what looked like an acre of trees, huge ones that towered over the Autobots.
And their guardians weren't the only Autobots. The humans were just stepping outside when an ambulance and a sports car drove around back- Ratchet and Smokescreen in their vehicle forms. "Custer's mustache!" Fowler had exclaimed. "How did they find us?"
"We followed you back from your nation's capital," Ratchet had explained.
The five Autobots had engaged in a joyfgul reunion, exchanging stories of despair from the past days and feelings of hope from this one. Then Arcee asked about Optimus. Jack saw the expression on Ratchet's face and knew the day was heading downhill.
"So where's Optimus?" she'd asked casually, expecting an 'I don't know', or something along those lines.
"Optimus... stayed behind," he said, "To destroy the ground-bridge, to... ensure that everyone else... made it to safety."
Agent Fowler cast his gaze downward. "I... watched the base go down," he said. "No one or thing walked out of there."
The other Autobots' horror was written on their faces as Ratchet said dejectedly, "Optimus is most likely... one with the Allspark."
Smokescreen didn't take that to well. In fact, he got right in Ratchet's face. "I can't believe you would just write him off like that! I thought you were his friend."
The medic slumped in resignation. "I was. I..." his voice cracked as he spoke. Ratchet gulped several times, then spoke again. "If Optimus were still alive, he would have found a way to contact us by now. The most likely explanation is that he has gone offline."
"No contact only tells me that the main comlink went down with the base," Arcee said, a steely look in her optics. "Besides, Autobot signals can't be detected if their shielded."
"Ratchet may be right," Fowler put in. "The Cons hit the base with some big über-cannon. I don't think even Optimus Prime could've survived that."
Smokescreen turned slowly, a look of rage crossing his face that rivaled even Megatron's. In fact, the youth was physically shaking with anger. He opened his mouth to tear Fowler a new tailpipe.
That was when they heard it. A low creak, accompanied by three words.
"You... are wrong."
The powerful, unwavering voice resonated like no other. It comforted them, lifted them up; its rich tones drew them in, and filled them with such sorrow and hope that they physically ached. It was a voice they had heard time and time again, always filled with emotion. But never, not in all the years that humans or Autobots had heard it, had the voice been weak.
They turned.
There, by the house, leaning on the handle of a massive silver hammer, towered a metal colossus that made Ratchet look vertically challenged. Its skin was charred black, gouged open, left ugly and colorless, dripping energon. Its left arm terminated in a severed, frayed stump above the elbow, leaking energon in a puddle. Its face was half covered by a metal mask, and the other side was exposed, making it look as if its cheek had been ripped open savagely. A bent sword hilt stuck out on his back, so it wasn't clear if he had been stabbed or was simply carrying the blade.
But one thing was clear. Even badly damaged, near death, ash and broken metal obscuring his features, the identity of the mecha standing there was unmistakable.
"Optimus?!"
A/N: commercial time!
8
The great Prime drew himself forward, slowly, metal creaking so loudly that they were astonished he had managed to avoid detection earlier. The Forge of Solus Prime dug into the grass, and its handle slipped from his grasp. With nothing supporting him, Optimus' knees buckled. He slid forward, slumping to the ground.
At last the stunned Autobots began to move, rushing forward to stop their leader's fall. Ratchet reached him first, angling him backwards, supporting the Prime's head on his knee. "Oh, Optimus. I never should have left you in there." The medic shook his head sadly. Suddenly, his optics blazed, and he looked directly into Optimus' face. "How in the name of Primus did you even survive?"
The others watched solemnly as Optimus tried to lift his arm up, but he could not. The limp fell back, to lie across his chest. After a moment, he spoke, his breath coming in ragged gasps in between words. "The Star Saber… I had raised it to destroy the bridge… as it swung down…" he faltered for a moment, then resumed, his voice growing weaker. "Megatron's weapon… the beam… it broke the ceiling… the sword… the sword absorbed it…"
Ratchet drew in a breath. "That much power would have overloaded even the Star Saber."
Optimus nodded. "The explosion… forced me into the wall… I… I don't remember after- until I awakened under the rubble…" He looked down. "My arm… my arm was not there…" He again tried to raise the other limb.
Ratchet pushed it back down, then gently lowered his leader's body to the ground. "Easy. You've lost a lot of energon." The medic withdrew a toolbox from his back storage. He took out a monitor, and placed medical leads onto Optimus' body. The screen glowed, and then began to crisscross with shifting lines. One sputtered across the display irregularly. Ratchet looked up at the others. "He needs a transfusion. Immediately."
The Autobots exchanged glances, then all held out their arms. Ratchet looked them over as he took a syringe from the tool kit. "Arcee, no. Too small. Too important. The rest of you, line up."
Smokescreen stepped forward first. Ratchet placed the needle in the crook of his servo. As the vial filled, the younger bot's frown deepened. After a moment he looked up at the medic and said, "I- I'm sorry."
The medic paused for a moment, then nodded. "Bumblebee," he said, "You're next."
He worked quickly, drawing as much energon as he dared from the others. Four injections later, Ratchet stopped to check the monitor, but nothing had changed. The lines remained dim and erratic. "Blast!" he slammed a fist into the ground, making a crater in the soft earth. "His levels are too faint. I'm going to have to induce stasis."
They all looked at each other, alarmed, even the humans. "You can fix him, right Ratch?" Miko asked. "You fixed Bulkhead, so you can fix Optimus, too, right?"
The medic shook his head. "Without a proper sickbay, his chances are slim." He suddenly swung his fist around, smashing a tree to splinters. The other Autobots backed away, shocked.
"Ratchet?" Arcee asked. Bumblebee beeped his concern.
"I am fine," he said calmly. "But I am not used to feeling so helpless." Ratchet swiftly returned to Optimus' side, where he pulled another device out of the tool kit. He placed the end of a hose onto Optimus' chest, over his spark. He was about to activate the machine when Optimus abruptly grabbed the medic's arm.
"Wait," he said, still weak. "There is something-" he broke off, coughing. "There is something I need to do." He paused for a moment, breathing raggedly. "Jack." The boy looked up, directly into the optics of the Autobot leader. "Jack, come here." He shuffled closer, uncertain. He was standing to Optimus' left, so he could see the shattered stump of the mecha's arm. Jack's throat tightened. This was his fault. Their fault. The Decepticons had won when they captured him and Miko and Raf. He knew Optimus would never say it, but that was the truth. He looked down again, ashamed.
"Jack," Optimus said, "Take this." He looked up to see that Optimus had shifted, just a little, so the he could hold out his hand to Jack. In his hand was a bit of metal, a small piece of intricate design, delicate looking, that now that he thought about it looked extremely familiar-
"The Key to Vector Sigma?" Jack asked, taking it, "Why? The stasis won't affect your memories, will it?"
"No," the mecha rasped. "I want you to-" he coughed, falling back against the dirt. He groaned, unable to turn back over. Optimus' head turned towards Jack. "I want you to take it… as a symbol of your leadership." His optics closed.
"What?" Jack shouted, horrified.
"Lead them well," Optimus murmured.
"Optimus!" Jack shouted as Ratchet twisted the hose, activating the stasis mechanism. Optimus' body relaxed; his optics reopened and constricted. Except for the steady BEEP beep BEEP beep of the spark monitor, he might have been dead. All of them, Autobots and Humans alike, gathered solemnly around their fallen leader.
9
"A storm is coming," Megatron murmured softly. He sat postured upon his throne, high above the deserted platform. Thunder and lightning crashed overhead. The earlier deluge had been but a prelude to the biblical flood that was coming.
Behind Megatron were his lieutenants, Starscream and Soundwave flanking, Knockout standing uncomfortably in the background. Beneath them they heard the hum of the hastily assembled computer banks, monitored by only a scant few vehicons. They were privaleged to witness the arrival ot Earth of one of the most important Decepticons in history. They were only there simply to give Megatron control.
Soundwave allowed his neck joints to creak, alerting Megatron. A new message scrolled over his faceplate, Cybertronian symbols moving almost to fast for the Decepticon leader's optics to track. Most Decepticons would have sent a timid request. This one sent a demand. Megatron growled. "Send the coordinates," he commanded.
Vehicon digits flickered quickly over the computer controls, sending their location out into the cosmos, to be retrieved by their esteemed colleague. Megatron shifted forward, edging closer to the front of his throne. One finger tapped the chair's arm impatiently.
After several long, tense moments, moments in which even the weather became unnaturally silent, moments where the vehicons cast worried looks at one another wondering who would be blamed if anything went wrong, moments in which Megatron felt his spark would pulse right out of his chest from the overwhelming feeling of the events- after those moments, the space at the far side of the platform ripped open.
A pinprick of glowing blue-green energy hovered in the air between the spires of New Kaon, dancing fancifully. Then it erupted into a blazing vortex of swirling rainbow light, a hypnotic array of colors that left observers dazzled, and added a certain majesty to the proceedings. The vortex narrowed into a tunnel that seemed to extend forever, but was obscured by a curtain of light. From behind that shimmering veil, their visitor appeared, and even Megatron was awed.
The mecha was massive, not nearly as large as Meagtron, but matching Optimus in stature. He strode through the swirling space-bridge as id he hadn't a care in the world, as if he owned the universe, as if he didn't remember being caught in a space-bridge explosion a mere five Earth years prior. His colossal arm cannon swung freely at his side, and his single glaring red optic absorbed the spectacle of the entire platform for later use. The Cyclops strode into the center of the staging area and simply stood there, taking in the grandeur. His majestic presence, accentuated by the open space-bridge portal, defied any authority. At last though, he knelt, acknowledging the true power there, and allowing the entire floor to breath easier.
"Lord Megatron," he intoned.
The Decepticon leader stood and grinned harshly, the name hissing from between clentched teeth. "Shockwave..."
The purple mecha rose to his feet, his optic turned up towards Megatron. "I hear there was trouble on Cybertron recently. I wonder why my aid was not sought."
Megatron had been prepared for that question. In fact, the engineer had been presumed long dead, and thus forgotten. But now was the tme to be diplomatic. Flattery would go father than truth, for now. "It seemed only logical that we would leave you be, and not allow the Autobots to know we possessed such a strategic advantage."
The other nodded with understanding. "Indeed," he replied, "Most logical. If only your lieutenants were so wise." His gaze centered on Starscream, who slunk backwards.
Megatron knew that now would be the time to establish ground rules. "Shockwave! You have yet to reestablish your place in our ranks. And Starscream is still my second in command."
Though it was difficult to read Shockwaves expression, he appeared mollified. "Understood, my lord."
"Now tell me," Megatron sneered, "What is so important that you must waste energon?" He gestured to the open portal.
The engineer was the only Decepticon who would not be cowed by Megatron's wrath. He stood straighter, and waved his hand theatrically. "You have not yet recovered the Autobot corpses. Those that live will continue to plague you despite your obvious victory. You have a planet to rule," he said, a slight undertone to his voice. "You cannot afford to waste time searching for them with traditional methods."
Megatron stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I see," he said. "And I am to trust that you have a solution?"
"While on Cybertron, I resumed work on a long dormant project," Shockwave replied. "The solitude enabled me to make tremendous advances in my research. I believe that I may, in fact, have a solution." Megatron raised an eyebrow.
Having suitably grabbed the Decepticons' attention, the mecha made a grand sweeping gesture towards the open portal. "This, Lord Megatron," he said, "Is the fruit of my labors."
As Shockwave spoke, the vortex behind him started to shift. The portal spun, and from behind the curtain of light emeged an enourmous clawed limb. It slammed onto the platform with enough force to make it shake. Skeletal, dangerous; its appearance caused every Decepticon but Megatron and Shockwave to take a step backwards.
"Bred in the laboratory..."
A second limb emerged from the curtain, just as emaciated as the first. Starscream looked ready to run, and Megatron's knee servos actually gave out. He fell back onto his throne.
"Cloned from fossilized remains, which I located on Cybertron..."
A third, then a fourth limb, emerged from the space-bridge. They carried out a massive body that was as thick as a booster rocket, yet still looked unnaturally thin, gaunt. A long neck held aloft a large, crested head, with two yellow optics that glared at everything with hatred.
"I present to you, my liege..."
The metal creature half stalked, half slithered onto the platform. Its long tail waved through the air, whipping back and forth, tipped with a massive, scythe-like blade.
"The ultimate Autobot hunter..."
The beast prowled towards Megatron, hissing and growling with menace. Even Soundwave portrayed a sense of alarm. But the Decepticon leader leaned forward excitedly, desperate to absorb the splendor of the monster that stalked across his citadel. When it reached the center of the platform, the creature flexed its shoulders, unfurling enormous bat-like wings composed of metal sheets thin as foil stretched between skeletal servos. The extra limbs whipped outward with enough force to create a temporary vacuum under them, and the air rushed back to fill the void. The beast threw back its head...
And roared.
The primitive noise sent shivers up and down Megatron's spinal column. It was the howl of a monstrous nightmare, like a soul dying a horrible, painful death; the primevial wail of creatures long forgotten. It reached into the deepest part of the Cybertronian psyche and grasped at the most primal emotions there, forcing something to surface in the Decepticons that they'd believed war had stamped out: pure, undiluted, raw terror.
"The Predacon," Shockwave finished. Most would have said that Shockwave was a being devoid of all emotion. But those there on that day swore they heard the pride in his voice as he displayed the mechanical terror that he had created.
"The storm is here," Megatron whispered gleefully as he regained his composure. He began to chuckle and laugh, then to howl manically, as the weather ceased its silence. Storm clouds released their weight, rivers streaming from the sky to drown the Decepticons. Wind, thunder, and lightning lashed the fortress' spires, causing them to creak and groan. The rain smahed against New Kaon in rhythm with the thunderclaps and lightning strikes, as though the Earth was trying to rip out the Cybertronian intrusion.
But that wasn't what Megatron meant, and not even that weather could overcome the evil in his voice and optics as he pronounced, "It has begun..."