While his two prisoners were in stasis, he went to work. Opening up the armor of his two prisoners, he quickly found their motor-functions cores and disabled them. He had seen his insides opened up and played around with enough times to have a slightly-better-than-rudimentary grasp of Cybertronian mechanics. He then dragged them over to the far wall and propped them up against it beside each other. One they were steadied, he opened up their core processors to reveal their sparks, still pulsating despite the inertness of their bodies.
Limping over to one of the fallen Predacons, he expertly stripped the armor off a leg and removed the primary leg piston, the same part that he had gotten damaged during the fight. Having repaired himself on the battlefield before, he knew just what to do. He stripped the armor plating of his leg off and replaced his damaged part with that of his dead foe's. As he worked, he sensed one of his prisoners come back online, the red one, but the Predacon made no move; instead choosing to play possum and watch him for now. That was fine with him. Once he had his leg repaired he bolted his armor back on and stood up, shifting his weight to his leg experimentally. It worked. For all their thuggish ways, the Predacons knew how to forge good parts.
Fully mobile, he was free to leave the building and return to his ship, where he cleaned the mech-fluids off his hands and retrieved a device constructed from parts he had cobbled together earlier and wheeled it into the den. His timing was perfect. When he came back he found both Predacons online and talking to each other nervously. They both stopped when he returned.
"Do either of you know what this is?" he asked, running a hand over the machine like a showgirl displaying a prize. He knew they recognized it, but neither answered, so he went on. "I know it's not much to look at, but I built it myself, y'see. I've always enjoyed do-it-yourself projects."
"Frag you, you son of a glitch!" the blue one spoke up. "You think you can scare me, Maximal? You're bluffing. You're not gonna use an illegal torture device on us and risk losing your badge."
"You think I'm a cop?" He laughed at that. "Misinformation is dangerous, my friend. And you are misinformed on two accounts: One, I don't have a badge. Two, this thing isn't illegal yet. There's a bill being passed around the Council to ban torture devices, but… well, you know how bureaucracy works. It probably won't be signed and put into effect til next deca-cycle at the earliest."
The two Predacons were silent at that.
"That's plenty of time, I reckon."
The red one quietly spoke. "You're glitched."
"No, I'm looking for answers."
The blue one shouted, "So what, you think you can torture us for what you're looking for? I'll never talk!"
He regarded the blue one for a moment. "Okay. Then you're no use to me." And with that he quickly drew his pistol and shot him right in the spark. The energy from his shot eviscerated the Predacon's spark before he even had time to scream.
But the red one did. "Are you slagging nuts!?" he asked as the final blue shimmers of energy faded and sputtered out of sight within his companion's chest.
"No, I told you. I'm looking for answers." He turned on his device, which hummed as it warmed up the small prod. Calmly, he picked the prod up and inserted it into the Predacon's spark. At this power setting, it wasn't enough to extinguish the spark, but it was enough to spread agony throughout every atom of his being. At first the Predacon didn't scream, spasming silently. When he finally did muster enough to let out a shriek, he pulled the prod out. "Do you fear death?" he asked.
The Predacon merely trembled.
"See, that's very interesting to me. You don't seem afraid of ending the lives of others. And yet, when faced with the prospect of the end of your own life, you balk. Why is that?"
The Predacon still said nothing.
"I have a theory about that. You don't believe in an afterlife, do you?"
"N-no…" the Predacon answered feebly.
"Atheist?"
"Szzzsort of."
"I figured. Life doesn't mean much to you, does it? The ends justifies the means, correct?"
"You t-tell me, torturer."
"Ah, that's where we disagree," he said, leaning in close. "I believe in a higher power. God, Primus, whoever—'All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.' And I think there's someone up there directing this show. We're all here for a reason."
"G-go to th'Pitt," the Predacon finally mustered up some defiance.
It didn't faze him. "I probably will, someday," he admitted. "But see, I've been all over the galaxy. I've seen every level of evil known to exist, right up to and including The Unmaker itself. And you know what? I've taken you all on one at a time, and I'm not afraid to spend an eternity taking you all on at once in the afterlife. Just so long as I know you're not up here making things worse."
The Predacon said nothing.
"Now, you gonna talk?"
The Predacon nodded his head jerkily.
Using a rag he'd brought in with him, he wiped the mech fluids that were now drooling out of the Predacon's mouth. "Good. I have a few questions about your other 'chapters' out there. If you answer them, I will let you live. I'll call the authorities and let them find you here before I head out to 'verify' your information. And, if I find out you lied to me… I will find you again, and make sure you'll wish I had killed you right here and now."
The Predacon spilled his guts, so to speak. Unfortunately he did not know much, since he was a lower-echelon grunt in one of the least important cells. But he did give him the location of a place where some higher-ups gathered. He had to work fast, before word got out. Over the next solar cycle, he fought his way up the Reiver social ladder, leaving only one or two survivors at each site for the authorities to sort out.
Finally, he got the location and the name of their leader: Loco. He'd heard of him before, a Predacon wanted on three worlds even before he had organized the Reivers. Now, he was hiding away in a cave on some moon in that system. Unfortunately, it was a well-defended area, even more secure by the time he got there. Apparently, he could not outrace his burgeoning reputation.
Still, this was far from an elite force. Anarchists could be difficult to organize. In his last fight he had claimed a cell's ship as his prize, which he towed behind the Eastwood using a tractor beam. Trojan Horsing it was out since he didn't have their security codes, but he could still load the ship up with explosives and get it in close enough for an autopilot kamikaze run. By the time the Predacons realized the ship wasn't going to slow down for a soft landing, it was too late to shoot it down. It exploded magnificently in their hangar. The alert was raised and almost everyone rushed to put out the fires before the fuel tanks ignited, leaving a skeleton crew to guard the rest of the compound.
He then slipped in through the front door with minimal interference—he had to kill only one sentry. He weaved his way through the corridors carefully, killing everyone on site and hiding their bodies away so as not to leave a trail of carnage that would allow others to follow him. The compound had been carved directly and crudely into the planet's surface, so instead of smooth walls there were plenty of cracks and crevices to temporarily stash bodies.
He had a crude idea of the compound's layout from the prisoners he had interrogated. Of course he could not rely on their accuracy or honesty, so he had asked as many as he could and pieced together a crude map from their various descriptions. With each twist and turn his processor could better assess which descriptions were truthful and which weren't, and by the time he was halfway through the fortress he had a good idea as to where he could find their leader.
Every ten meters or so he placed a bomb in a shadowy corner. About two thirds of the way in, he was finally discovered and a Predacon managed to squawk out an intruder alert while his comrades kept him occupied. He took them out with a small grenade, but it was too late. The Predacons knew he was here and they would soon be coming for him. Sighing, he triggered the bombs, collapsing the tunnels behind him. If he wasn't going to get out of here alive, then Loco wouldn't either.
With stealth compromised, he barreled through the remaining hallways, mowing down anyone who got in his way. The most dangerous being was someone who had nothing to lose. He already had blood and oil on his hands. He was tainted and deserved to live no more than the rest of these scum. But he would make sure that his death meant life for others.
He reached the command center, but Loco wasn't there—escaped through a back exit that no one had bothered to tell him about. Of course, he thought before planting his last bomb on the main operations console and diving into the tunnel without hesitation. He triggered the explosion, annihilating the command center of the Reivers behind him and collapsing the entrance to the escape. In the space of a couple days he had left the terrorist organization in chaos. Soon he would leave them leaderless, attack the roots and prevent this weed from ever growing back.
Faster on wheels than he was on legs, he transformed and began rolling through the tunnel. The thought occurred to him to cause a cave-in and bury Loco alive with himself, but he had no guarantee that his quarry hadn't cleared the tunnels yet. Death wish he might have, but he wasn't going to kill himself senselessly. He would stay on this plane until whatever Powers That Be decided he was no longer useful.
Finally he caught up to the Predacon just as the tunnels opened up to reveal the night sky of an alien world. Loco was a hulking robot that had taken the alternate form of a Nebulan hellhound—a bipedal creature of myth that resembled a Terran wolf with bat wings. As soon as he had a lock he announced his presence by blasting Loco in the back and damaging one of his wings. Neither was going to leave until the other had been defeated.
"Loco, Terrorize!" he snarled, contorting and shifting into a robot with a blaster instead of a left hand.
"Maximize!" he answered, returning to a standing position on two legs and drawing a pistol in his left hand and a sword in the other.
The two stood there a moment, regarding each other. The terrorist leader was no doubt taking stock on the one who had burned through his organization. The former Maximal took stock of the cruel malcontent who had murdered his family and others'.
"What's your name, Maximal? Why have you hunted me down on my moon?"
"My name is none of your business," the hunter said. Honestly he hadn't even thought of a new one for himself yet. He'd been too preoccupied with vengeance. "But you know why I'm here. I've come to make you answer for all the innocent lives you've taken!"
At this, Loco laughed, infuriating him. "A trite heroic cliché? Is that all? I expected something more from someone vicious enough to defeat my Reivers."
The lack of even the slightest hint of remorse made him want to shove his blasters down his mouth even more. "It's enough," he snarled before blasting Loco in the face and charging in.
He didn't expect to actually injure Loco in his initial attack. There was a reason this Predacon had become a warlord, and it became evident when he shrugged off the shots in time to deflect the charge with his blaster-arm. The Predacon was brute force; strong but lumbering.
He saw an opening when Loco spread his arms to deflect his attacks. Quickly, he jammed his gun into the wires lining the big Predacon's neck and fired. Loco gurgled as lubricants spewed out, taking a few steps back. He pressed his attack, using his sword to slice at the hinges where his armor could not protect.
But he should have known better than to think he would win this easily. Somehow Loco was able to staunch the flow of fluid and recover faster than any 'bot had the right to. He was sure he had hit something vital with his shot, but either Loco was built differently or his systems had redundancies and bypasses built in.
With the hunter taken off guard by this new development, Loco used the element of surprise to turn the tide in his favor, almost smashing in his chest-armor in with a piledriver blow. He had to roll back with it to keep his spark core from being crushed. Not yet. Not when I'm so close. He couldn't fathom coming this far only to die now.
His enemy swung that massive blaster-arm around and fired. He tried to leap out of the way in time but felt the heat singe the armor on his leg. Ignoring the wisps of ozone and charred paint, he threw his sword with all his strength. It sang as metal sliced through the air and then through the hot metal of the blaster, causing Loco's arm to explode.
The Predacon bellowed in agony while mech fluid and energon spurted from his shoulder. It was then that he noticed something—the mech fluid was not normal mech fluid. Rather than being the normal translucent yellow it was a thick, greenish substance. Before he could consider what this meant Loco was coming back at him, his red optics glowing hotter. Now the Predacon truly had nothing to lose. They were on equal footing.
The battle wore on without much headway for a while. Loco was endurant, hard to damage. The hunter himself was lithe, hard to catch. With his sword in fragments and depleted of bombs, all he had left were his pistols, which would not wear down the heavy armor fast enough.
Loco attempted to smash him into the ground, hammering his fist down with unholy power. He saw his opening. Grabbing the arm, he was flung upwards as Loco tried to shake him off. He used the momentum to swing himself onto the Predacon's back. Loco began clawing at him, but he latched on and refused to let go. Using the same trick as before, he pushed his gun into the back of his neck and fired. Only this time, he didn't stop. Again and again he shot, even as Loco grabbed the cannon on his back and ripped it off. From both bodies sparks flew, metal twisted and snapped, and fluids spurted.
Finally Loco grabbed hold of his shoulder and flung him off. As he landed he saw a sizeable fragment of his sword blade. Snatching it up he charged at Loco from the side once more, jamming it as hard as he could into the gushing, grinding hole where his arm had exploded. Loco could ignore the ruptures in his systems no more. Teetering, he fell over onto his back, smoke pouring from his chest armor.
The victor stood atop his prize, looking down into the Predacon's face. Strangely, it had completely frozen up, forever twisted into a pained grimace. His optics were black, offlined, yet he sensed his enemy somehow still looking at him. Then he noticed something… a crack in the seams of his chest plating, as if it was designed to open for easy access… easier then was customary for most Cybertronians. Curious, he pried his fingers into the wedge and pulled it open, expecting to see Loco's still-beating spark core.
Instead, he found a withered head and torso of what had once been an organic being, now more machine than man even on the inside, fully integrated into the robotic façade on the outside. It took him a moment to identity the mutilated, gray-green pulpy mass as Nebulan. "What the frag?" he exclaimed in horror. Of all the terrible sights he had seen in his unnaturally-long life, this would become one of the most haunting.
"Kkhhh…" "Loco" half-gurgled, half-groaned. He was coming to, but could not move inside his shell. Indeed, his head was bolted down, and wires coming in from the robotic head component were plugged into ports where eyes should have been. "Kherry Vzzzkezz…"
Startled by the sound of his human name coming from alien lips, he leapt off Loco's body, aiming a pistol at the decrepit old man out of instinct. "How do you know me!?"
A twisted smile formed on Loco's face. "I recognized your fighting style, your body language." His wheezy voice came barely above a whisper, his words were slow. "The Terran-turned-Transformer. I've studied you."
"Why?" he demanded.
"Because you were given on a silver platter what I had to sell my soul for: immortality."
"You think it's so great? You think I wanted this? Everyone I ever cared about is gone, especially now thanks to you."
Loco chortled at this. "Good."
"What the frag does that mean!?" he demanded.
"I'm just like you, Kerry Vasquez. I was once Brisko, a cartographer on Nebulos before the Cybertronians came to my world and I got caught up with their war. And like you, I saw it as my key to greatness."
He growled. "That's not why I joined the Autobots. I did it to protect my world. You sold yours out."
That smug smile never left Brisko's half-face. "If you say so."
"Believe me, our stories may parallel, but we're in the positions we're in today for completely different reasons," he objected. "I sacrificed everything I had and everything I was to protect those I loved."
"And where did it get you?" Brisko asked. "As you said, you have no one. I bypassed that mess and saved myself the heartache. And until today, I had real power. I would eventually have ruled the Predacons and they would have been none the wiser that their superior was a 'fleshling.'"
"Except that will never happen," he pointed out, drawing closer. Even if he had been gutted and melded to a machine, he was sure Brisko could feel him put his foot on his moist, wrinkled chest and brush a pistol over his gray, soft lips.
"You can't kill me. Even if you aren't polluted by Maximal programming, you still consider yourself one of the good guys! You're going to truss me up and drag me to the Maximal Elders in the hopes that they won't throw you in prison for violating a dozen treaty laws."
"Either way, you'll die. You won't be able to orchestrate the murder of any more innocents, be they Maximal, Nebulan or Terran."
"Don't be too sure about that," Brisko pointed out. "You destroyed all the evidence behind you. And I had a failsafe circuit implanted into all my followers, should I ever be captured. There's no one alive back there to testify against me."
"Quite a sense of loyalty you've got."
"Come now, Kerry Vasquez. They're just robots. And they won't be able to hold me forever, if they can at all."
"Guess you really give me no choice then." He grabbed hold of some vital-looking wires plugged into the monstrosity's navel. "This is the end of the road for you, Nebulan."
"What are you doing, Kerr-"
"Don't call me that." He pulled the wires free, stepping back in disgust as fluids spewed everywhere. Seeing that twisted smile finally disappear from Brisko's mouth, he put a shot into his skull to spare him the pain of a slow death, though it could be argued that he had been suffering that ever since first mutilating his body to become a Decepticon's Headmaster.
He stood there a moment, looking but not watching as the Nebulan who had struggled for power long exceeding his rightful time in this universe was finally exiled from it. "Now that I have no home or family I'm going to spend my time hunting down murderers like you. So call me… Moonhunter," he finally said. "And I'll see you in hell."
Moonhunter turned around and transformed, the signature ability of his adopted species. As he began rolling across the barren plain back toward his ship, he whispered, "For what does it profit a man, if he gains the world, but loses his own soul? And what does it profit me, to lose my world, but keep my own soul?"
There's a hole in the wall
With a light shining in
And it's letting me know to get up
It's time to begin
Oh there's nothing to lose
'Cause it's already lost
In a runaway world
Of confusion
I'm not gonna take it
And so I'll fight fire with fire
Oh I'm burning inside and my heart is a-cryin'
Fire with fire
I don't want to lose this flamin' desire
Standing alone
In a crowded room
I can feel a chill in the air
I'm shakin'
I'm miles away
I want to cry out loud
I want to fight til the end
I won't let 'em take me alive
And you know I'll fight fire with fire
Oh I'm burning inside and my heart is a-cryin'
Fire with fire
'Cause I'm never gonna lose this flamin' desire
Fire with fire
I'm out of control and I want to you know
I'm fightin' fire with fire
FIRE!
Lyrics copywrite Kansas.
