A loud cracking sound echoed throughout the room as the Soldier's faceplate collided with the ground. The rest of the Decepticon soldiers watched as one of their own were thrown to the floor of the barracks by the bot in charge. The Larger individual covered in a mix of black, silver, and purple was the Outpost commander known as Motormaster. As far as this Decepticon commander was concerned, all of the soldiers among his outpost were a cluster of rabid Steeljaw hounds that had to be bruised back in line from time to time. The Decepticon on the floor was a battered scout named Hellfire, who had placed an energon rifle in the wrong weapon storage. Once Motormaster had gotten wind of this, he immediately made sure class was in session and that the rest of Hellfire's comrades were here to witness the display of humiliation. The Runt pushed himself off of the floor with a grunt of pain. His faceplate was barely attached over his mouth, with only a single bolt keeping it attached. Now a useless part of his chassis, Hellfire winced as he yanked the faceplate off and tossed it aside. His many teeth and four orange optics now revealed his true and menacing visage. Motormaster kicked him in the side, sending the Decepticon at the foot of his peers. The imposing force bent down onto one knew and picked up the dented faceplate, holding it up for the rest of the soldiers to see it. "When I say keep the weapons in order, you better damn make sure you get those fucking weapons in ORDER! Is that understood?" Motormaster said with a deep and hollow voice that towered over any self esteem in these drones. "If it weren't for me, you'd all be eating sand and rust flakes out there with the animals of this rock!" Motormaster stood up and left the room after scowling at the crew before him. The fading sound of his stomps marked his departure of the area. Hellfire now stood amongst the crowd that had been watching the display. "Always hated that bot." One of them mumbled. "Hated him before I ever met him." Another added. "What I'd give for someone to teach that bot a lesson of his own. Even if we get our T-Cogs ripped out after." "And that can happen." A smooth and aged voice said from behind the crowd. The group of Decepticon soldiers turned around to see one of their own, sitting on one of the benches, cleaning a long chainsaw in the shape of a sword. A figure decked out in pale green and gold, his red optics still fixed on his weapon. "Motormaster may be a tough bot. But he's also an old timer. He ain't invincible. If you mean what you say, then listen carefully."