A/N: I own nothing, sadly.
Sunstreaker panted, his fans shrieking to expel the excess heat from his frame. Energon dripped from his left shoulder, his right arm hanging uselessly at his side. He glared at the mech across from him; the taller aerial mech had been grounded from tears along his wings. The hole punched through the orange flier's wing made Sunstreaker smirk. That hit had felt good.
The blue seeker, Bitstream smirked back. Rents along his wings and airfoils kept him grounded, but he would never back down. His determination was chiseled in his faceplates and shone from his optics. Sunstreaker respected his opponent, but the desire to kill him was greater.
Around them, the arena was deathly silent, the fans and gamblers in the tiered seats holding their collective intakes waiting for the next strike. Sunstreaker slitted his optics, tensed, and charged. In the back of his processors he could feel his brother, sense an image of a blaster hidden between the flier's leg and half torn off wing. This Con had a cheat.
That was okay, Sunstreaker didn't need a blaster to kill a mech. He didn't even need a weapon. His left hand fisted as he ran, fingertips sharpening into claws that dug into his dermal plating. As he got in range Bitstream brought the rifle to bear, and fired.
The motion was expected, Sunstreaker flipped over the oncoming laser blasts, landed a scant half length from the Seeker and sprung at his opponent. In midair Sunstreaker punched at the Bitstream's chest, fingers extending as he reached the chestplate and tore through the plating over the seeker's spark.
"Hold!"
Sunstraker froze. He looked over his still functioning shoulder with his hand still buried in Bitstream's chest, fingers wrapped firmly around the pulsating spark. Behind them, sitting in his throne in the stands was Megatron. The exalted lord gave them the honor of his presence. "Release your opponent, Sunstreaker."
Snarling, sneering at his master and wanting so badly to rip the spark in his hand from its chest, Sunstreaker obeyed. He had no choice. Sideswipe sat at Megatron's peds. The Decepticon commander had not guessed, not yet, at what they were. Instead he had wanted Sideswipe to regale him with stories of their victories.
"Bitstream, you intrigue me." Megatron announced. "I have need of Seekers in my forces, serve me, declare your loyalty and you will be rewarded."
"I will serve Lord Megatron!" Bitstream swore as he panted, one hand pressed desperately over his exposed spark. Behind him several mechs appeared and helped him limp away to the chirmungon's bay. Sunstreaker suppressed a shudder chirurgeons were one step away from being insane butchers. The so-called medics hacked damaged limbs off without a care, welded on a new limb and sent the victim off to their cell.
There was no anesthesia. It was something Sunstreaker shuddered at with every fight. He fought more for self-preservation than the thrill. That initial thrill of battle, the high of being in the ring pounding his fists or weapons against another mech, had lured him into this Pit. Now, he just wanted out, hopefully with all important components still attached!
At Megatron's peds Sideswipe tried to remain neutral. He watched with a half smile on his faceplates. So often they were forced to fight solo. After their initial fight, one in which no one had figured them out as being twins they had been kept separate.
They, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, knew they had to get out of the Pits, and soon. Awl and Dealout had fallen from Megatron's good graces, but once they raised themselves back up, they would spill about Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's true identies, and their relationship. It was not something either brother wanted to think about, not after –
:: I told you not to think about that! :: Sunstreaker's voice sounded across their twin bond, one they had done everything to shut off, but still couldn't.
:: It might have been over two vorns for you, but it was only a few joor for me.:: Sideswipe sent back, a shudder wracking his frame which he forced to look intently at Sunstreaker in the ring, and appear anxious to fight.
"And you, Sunstreaker?" Megatron asked. This was the first time the warlord had witnessed the rings since Sunstreaker had joined, but the tales of the mech's accomplishments were legendary throughout the Decepticon forces. "Will you serve me?"
Sunstreaker sneered, "I've seen these Autobots you fight. They offer no challenge. Why should I leave here, when I can actually get my talons dirty?" He held out his energon stained hand, showing the sharpened claws that dripped Bitstream's life fluids. So close, he had been fractions of a talon length from terminating the other mech.
This interruption in taking yet another Decepticon's life only solidified Sunstreaker's hatred of them.
"What of you, Sideswipe?" Megatron asked with a cruel grin, his hand pulling sharply on the energized collar bound around the gladiator's throat. "Would you join the Decepticons?"
Sideswipe grinned widely, praying that this would not get him terminated. "Why should I?" He asked brightly, "I've defeated tougher gladiators than your fighters. If the ones you choose are no better than Bitstream, then you're bound to be defeated. I'd rather watch the show, than side with the losers."
::Dumbaft.:: Sunstreaker sighed over their connection, internally wincing as Sideswipe was physically thrown from the stands to land at Sunstreaker's peds.
"Kill each other, and save me the trouble." Megatron ordered and left, disgust coloring his voice.
::How are we still alive?:: Sideswipe asked as he pulled himself to his peds.
::Because something more important just came up.:: Sunstreaker stared at Megatron's retreating form. The tyrant launched into the air, seeker-like thrusters extending from the bottoms of his peds blasted into the air and shot him out of sight.
Together the two walked from the empty stands. If they didn't have an audience, then there was no point in fighting. They headed to their stalls, Sideswipe pulling out an auto-drone, one of the rare and expensive drone-medic units that could fix most of their injuries. Since the gladiators were kept in stables with raised partitions they had dug a hole between their small stalls and hidden the unit there. Usually they wiled away the time fighting across the divider. It made their keepers believe they were imbeciles, which Sideswipe played up in the ring.
They could not afford to have the guards and wardens believing they actually had half a processor between them. As they fixed Sunstreaker's plating Sideswipe remembered how he had gotten this new design, and designation.
"This orn promises a treat – Battle Royale!" The announcer bellowed out over the crowd. Double-Cross ignored the clamor beyond his cage. He was still seething at Sunstreaker – at Spin Out – for loosing his double or nothing bet that landed him in this slag-hole. He had cut off their twin bond as much as he could since falling into this place. He refused to even look at his backstabbing brother.
Suddenly his cage opened and he strutted out, he sneerd and scowled, but the crowd screamed regardless. Across from him stood Sunstreaker. DC saw red. His optics bled to a darker blue in rage. Sunstreaker had caused all of this!
DC's helm snapped from impact, his body flying and impacting the ground before he could even recognize what had hit him. He rolled, moved to his peds and gulped as he realized he and Sunstreaker were the two newest gladiators standing in a ring full of heavily armed giants.
::Want to ignore me now?:: Spin Out's voice sounded across their bond. Still sultry and pouty sounding, Spin Out's mental voice made DC's spark constrict to stand by his twin again.
::Not really!:: DC bounded from his position, kicking at an oncoming battle ax and clipping the bearer in the wrist hard enough to make the heavy blade sing far too close to his helm for comfort.
::Get that axe!:: Spin Out's voice ordered in DC's helm. Nodding slightly the unarmed burgundy mech looked his opponent over and charged, relying on his smaller size and speed to get under the blade and too close for the massive weapon to be used. His guess was right, the gladiator threw the blade down as he tried to squish DC in a crossed-arm embrace against his chestplate.
DC dropped to the ground, rolled to his peds as fast as lightning and snatched the blade that was taller than his helm. He flicked a switch on the handle, energizing the plasma blade and swung with all his might. The blade slice clean-through the taller gladiator's chest, the guttered spark falling in half at DC's peds.
::Behind you!:: DC turned to block the oncoming attack, only to stumble back at the impact. A mech had him by the throat, processed-energon grey plating bristled with blades the gladiator had shoved into his armor. The various broken pieces of metal stuck out from all angles making the mech look like a shattered mirror had been glued to his frame.
DC clutched at his throat unable to break the larger mech's grip. He looked up at burning crimson optics, and felt his spark plummet. The depravity promised in those optics made his worst plots look like youngling play. That scared DC, scared him more than anything ever had before.
His intakes screamed as he choked for air, the larger mech's hand fully covereing all of DC's major intakes and cutting off his cool air supply. Frame heating, unable to ex-vent, DC's major functions threatened to short out.
Behind them Sunstreaker battled the other gladiators, desperation giving him speed and strength. His sadistic hunger for mech-blood made the onlookers scream for his performance, but for once the cries gave him no pleasure.
DC watched, vision fading as Sunstreaker cleared the arena, then shoved a blade through the massive gladiator's chest. DC dropped, gasping for air as he landed hard onto the ground. He rolled to his side, gasping and choking, his optics stinging from the rush of energon to his circuits.
Movemet forced DC to look up. Looming over him stood Sunstreaker. Cold fear washed through DC. The gladiator that had nearly killed him was now in pieces pinned to a wall with a massive blade sticking through his chest.
::Spin Out?:: DC asked tentatively across their bond, and flinched as that bond was savagely severed as his brother backhanded him. His helm snapped to the side and DC saw stars.
"This is all your fault." Sunstreaker rumbled slightly as he pummeled DC's battered frame …
"Primus, cut it out," Sunstreaker rumbled as he pulled Sideswipe from the memory. "Ripthrough wanted you as his personal trophy – permanently." He placed the device's clamp over his torn shoulder, letting the small onboard tools reach into his plating to fix his damage.
"I don't remember anything after that first hit you gave me." Sideswipe admitted softly. His processors were blank beyond the pummeling.
His processors were fuzzy, his frame heavy. The welds along his frame ached as they healed. 'Wait, welds?'
"Welcome back, Sideswipe." Sunstreaker looked down at him from a stool by his berth.
"Who?" He asked blankly, wondering why his brother in disguise had called him the wrong name.
:: I'm talking to you, dim-bits.::
Double Cross blinked slowly, "Why does everything hurt?"
Sunstreaker looked to his folded hands, fingers clenched tight enough to make his own plating groan. "Ripthrough –"
"Yeah, he had me by the throat. I thought he was going to blow some circuits from the constrained heat."
"He wanted to rip you in half." Sunstreaker's voice was hoarse, optics nearly white with emotions Double Cross was blocked from sensing.
::Spins? What aren't you telling me?::
Sunstreaker glared, optics scowling and handsom face pulled into a deep frown. ::It's Sunstreaker, moron! Spin-Out died when Double Cross fell into the Pits. And, Double Cross was killed with my hands. I –::
Sunstreaker watched Double Cross flail in Ripthrough's grasp. The larger gladiator covered in shards of broken metal, crystal shards and sharpened blades had been coveting Double Cross as a trophy since the merchant had fallen into the Pits. Sunstreaker knew DC had made Ripthrough into a fool when he had earned a massive winning his first time betting in the rings when he had bet against the gladiator.
Since learning the designation of the mech that had ruined his reputation, Ripthrough had sought to utterly destroy the mech, and now DC hung limp in his hands. Sunstreaker reacted out of self preservation. Somethng told him he would not survive the orn if DC were killed. He ran, the world blurring until he was looking at Ripthrough's stunned face.
Sunstreaker stepped back, watching in shock as his hands released a massive blade he had no memory of picking up. His optics tracked the blade to Ripthrough's chassis. He knew, from staring at Ripthrough's optics that this loss had only heightened Ripthrough's battle lust and ultimate desire to destroy Double Cross. Sunstreaker turned, and realized DC was still alive.
"This is all your fault," Sunstreaker slugged his twin, surprised as their bond opened and his face blossomed with pain from his brother. "If you hadn't followed me I'd be safe and you'd be rolling in credits. You had to be greedy, you had to take what was mine!"
His fists were pummeling the burgundy and grey faceplates. Anger Sunstreaker had not realized was burning in his spark now poured from his hands as violent attacks and from his mouth in burning vitrol he poured upon his twin.
DC screamed, begged, pleaded his cries a treasure to Sunstreaker. It was addicting, hearing the screams, feeling the pain, the fear. Wanting more Sunstreaker ripped plating off his brother's frame, exposed delicate wires and private ports. Energon poured out of DC's frame, his high pitched screams filled with terror and hysteria. It was Sunstreaker's drug …
"You didn't miss much." Sunstreaker rumbled. ::And call me Sunstreaker fraggit! Ripthrough thinks I killed DC. So you'd better not ever respond to that designation.::
"Right," Sideswipe sighed as he started moving tense limbs and cables, "I'm more weld than plating right now. Maybe I'm just that fragile." He sat up, rolling his shoulders and flexing his hands as he tried to adjust to the differences in his frame. ::Whatever you're not telling me I'll find out later.:: Sideswipe promised over their bond, a bond that now was little more than a highly shielded comm relay. No emotions came across. It was as if his brother had ceased to exist.
"This has ruined my finish." Sunstreaker griped once the auto-drone finished its repairs. Sideswipe pulled his head out of the memory he had downloaded from his brother a few orns ago. He forced himself to not remember what happened next, forced himself to block out the images Sunstreaker tortured himself with.
Despite all his efforts Sideswipe kept seeing the stolen imgates from his brother's memory banks rolling in his processors. Before Sunstreaker had been electro-shocked into stasis, before the guards had come pouring out, before the battle crazed fans in the stands had fallen silent in horrified shock Sunstreaker had exposed all of Double Cross's ports – and raped him.
Sideswipe suppressed a shudder. His frame had been destroyed, his life as Double Cross had ended, but Sunstreaker's attack had obliterated his memory writing capacity after the first hit. In effect DC had died instantaneously, and Sunstreaker had raped a corpse. It felt surreal to Sideswipe, he felt nothing from what his brother's memory portrayed. He had watched other mechs rape and murder others before; it had never bothered him.
Sunstreaker, though, he had gone through with something he felt was unthinkable, had suffered immensely every orn since. Sideswipe had been nearly terminated, but while Sunstreaker's attack had taken Ripthrough's trophy he had only succeeded in breaking himself.
Sideswipe looked through the partition to his brother's resting frame. Spin-Out and Double Cross were dead. Now, they had their mission. It was a mission of vengeance. They were going to become the best, forge themselves into death dealers, emissaries of Unicron. They would become the bane of the Decepticons and destroy them all for the murders of Spin-Out and Double Cross.
Ratchet came out of forced stasis with a groan. "This is getting annoying." He sat up, too worn down to even curse anymore. He felt the collar around his neck, felt the wires extending under his plating to interface with his neural lines and the feeding tubes delivering energon and sighed. He was a prisoner, again.
He stood up to see what the invisible delivery mechs had given him this time. The bay he worked in was full with grievous casualties. Mecs with frames sparking, fluids leaking through hasty patches and temporary welds. Ratchet stood from the cot he had found himself lying in and moved to look over the new mechs.
How long had he been unconscious this time? How long had he been in this white room of hell? Why did he keep getting taken prisoner in med bays?
His questions would go unanswered as nurse drones began to triage the wounded. Ratchet missed working with real mechs. He only saw the unconscious wounded, and the drones.
Blue floor, blue walls, blue ceiling; the blue medbay room held numerous white med berths manned by white nurse drones. The only colors that came into the bay were those of the stasis-bound patients and the fluids they leaked. This round of patients were worst than most, too many were too close to off-lining.
Ratchet sighed, he hated this part of his job. He shuttered his optics, reached through the data net that filled the room to the processors of several drones. With a purely internal sigh Ratchet initiated a data sequence to slave the Drones to his processors.
Suddenly he was looking through six sets of optics. Twelve hands obeyed his whims as he worked on the four worst patients acting as both chief surgeon and head nurse when needed. The other drones patched what injuries their programming allowed.
The work was long, how long he toiled Ratchet had no way of counting. The chronometer all mechs had installed in their processors had been removed or deactivated. Ratchet huffed through his own frame hearing the sound in a strange stereo coming from his own frame and hearing come from different parts of the room through the audios of the slaved drones. It felt like he was 3:1:0 again only this time he repaired damage to the living instead of creating new lives.
Once the worst of the wounds were sealed he released his slaves, and rested. It was a lesson he had learned over many rounds of patients. Once they were stable and on the mend, the invisible mechs sedated Ratchet and took his patients away. He never knew if they onlined, had no knowledge if they survived or if they terminated before they ever woke up.
This time, like the last six rounds of patients before, Ratchet paced his treatment. He drew out the repairs, kept his beds full and undermined the drones at every turn when they started getting a patient too close to full recovery before he was ready. It was selfish, and immoral. Ratchet knew the faults the isolation had instilled in him, but he was lonely.
In the times he had spent without patients he had tapped every wall, slammed his fists into hard metal plating, and at every turn he had found only solid walls. This prison seemed impregnable, and only staying out of stasis for more patients would offer him the chance of escape.
"That worked slagging well." Ratchet groused. Some patients had been swapped out as he recharged. He rubbed a hand down his face plating, scrubbed tiredly down his chevron and pleaded with Primus to just let him go already.
"If you wanted to kill me, leaving me to the Cons would have been kinder." Ratchet rumbled, optics downcast. He silently wondered if a mech could deactivate from being left alone too long. He sighed, "Its them or me, who dies first?" He hung his head. Ratchet could never leave a patient to die, not even here when he was a prisoner with no hope of escape.
"Orion!" Elita bellowed across the battle din. Her spark fluttered in her chest as her lover raced across the field with fresh troops. Behind her, flanking her on all sides, her femmes battled with the heavy Decepticon shock troopers that had overrun this section of the inner core.
"Attack!" Orion yelled over the sounds of combat, his forward troops opened fire from the rear flank, allowing his heavy assault unit to clash electro-shield first into the Decepticon forward division.
With attacks coming from the fore and rear the Decepticons waivered, on the left some of the weaker ground units hesitated and Orion led the charge to their position. Forming a wedge, the Autobots hacked their way into the morass of heavy frames seared with the purple haze.
Electro-weapons hummed and sparked, laser rifles spat their gouts of energy and hissed as they discharged. Thick plating slammed together, the cacophony deafening; the stench of spilt mech-blood heavy in the air. Around them the cries of the living, wounded and the dead made a constant white noise to the weapons.
Finally, panting, wounded and reaching his limit, Orion Pax stood at the side of Elita-1. "Casualties?" He asked brusquely.
"Nothing lethal, yet." Elita replied. "Can your mechs break through?" She asked, nodding towards a thick clot of Decepticons that prevented them from meeting at the landing zone.
"It will be done." Orion whistled shrilly, a sequence of high pitched tones of varying length and nodded towards Steelcracker, Streamline and Straife. The three heavy frontline fighters had come to him some time ago in a much needed transfer, and now they were the sole reason he was alive at all.
The trio turned their turrets and blasters towards the heaviest clump of Decepticon fighters unleashing their munitions in a tightly coordinated attack. Dust and clouds of debris mushroomed into the sky from their assault. Through the darkness several femms leapt at the Decepticons using every ounce of their skill to break through the Decepticon line and bolt towards the LZ.
Orion kept his mechs fighting, used every dirty trick he had learned under Kup to keep the Decepticons guessing at his strategy. Finally, like a blessing from Primus, the femmes' ship Azusa hovered into view, cannons armed it fired on the melee, giving Orion time to pull out before the Decepticons knew what hit them.
"Welcome aboard," Elita offered once the mech unit had loaded up.
"It is good to be aboard," Orion saluted wearily. He wanted time with Elita, they had not seen each other in so long. His spark still pulsed only for her, but his processors wondered if he was even worthy of her attention.
"Commander Orion, come with me please." Elita turned to the rear of the ship, "What news of the other units?"
"It is grim. Autobots are losing everywhere. There is rumor of one unit that has found a way to make a difference. They have no designation I have been able to determine, but they appear where the Wreckers are not an option, usually in locations with Neutrals to be saved. They inflict heavy tolls on the Decepticons, save many Autobot and Neutral lives then they vanish." Orion sat heavily on the narrow berth in the small office quarters Elita commanded from.
He hung his head, letting stiff cables stretch and groan before he continued. "The rumors I have encountered have spoken of them working with local units and maneuvering so others get the praise. I believe if Command gets wind of what this unit can do they will be reassigned. That is what happened with Steelcracker's trio. The unit they were with had great success in routing the Decepticons in Praxus. For their efforts their team was split up, and their commander sent to Slaughter City."
Elita nodded, pensive but not surprised at the unknown commander's 'reward.' "It is not so strange. I have heard of other teams being split up after great successes. There is a feeling of Command manuvering to lose this war." Then she shook her head, "But Slaughter City? Why are they punishing us for our accomplishments?"
"I do not know, but I believe our report should highlight our losses, and minimalize our victories. Point fingers at your best fighters, and call out even their smallest failures. If we maintain an image of strife within our ranks we will not be targeted for reassignment."
Orion felt every hit he had taken and wondered if his Elita felt nearly as weary. "Orion," Elita knelt at his side then held him close, "Our teams can handle themselves until we reach Magnus."
Orion smiled slightly and held her close, feeling the warmth from her frame as her engine sped just slightly. "That they can, until we return, I will not leave you." He looked into her optics and pressed closer. This time there would be no interruptions; he sent a brief message to his second as Elita locked the door. He studied Elita's optics, remembering how joyful they had been as Ariel. Now, they were more jaded, sage; her devotion unwaivering.
Despite their difference in size and rank Elita held Orion closer. Her systems hummed and she pulled him to her berth. It had been too long since last she had swapped cables with this mech.
Ironhide frowned pensively, as he read and reread his orders. "Ya want me ta leave behind a Prahm?" He looked over to the youngster critically, wondering what he was up to. "Ah've protected the last ten Prahams, Ah ain't about ta let go o' this one."
"Ironhide, is Sentinel Prime still the same mech you guarded when he took on the Matrix?" Prowl asked somberly, his optics calm and unknowable as Ironhide stared him down.
"No, he ain't. Ah knew Sentinel before he was Prham. He'd been a scientist, full o' wisdom and knowin'. He had worked himself up to senator before he was chosen. Back then, he made sense."
"But not anymore?" Prowl pushed, "He escaped your protection when he found me outside of Rhodion. He escaped your guards when he nearly blew Punch's cover in a mission two vorns ago. He has nearly been terminated six times for his own actions in defying the orders you set out to ensure his safety." Prowl looked Ironhide straight in the optics, "Perhaps it is time to assign him a more – cunning – guardian and focus on maintaining what territory we can still claim as our own."
Ironhide vented in a huff, red arms crossed over his windshield defiantly, "What do ya get out o' this assignment?"
Prowl flicked a doorwing in a tiny shift that spoke volumes of his derision, "I have standing orders to report to Slaughter City that will be enacted the moment my unit is no longer necessary." He nearly smirked as Ironhide gaped.
"Slaughter – ! Fine, Ah'm in. Ah promised Kup Ah'd look after ya when he was assigned as Wreckers Commander." Ironhide paused, optics slitted in thought, "Who'd ya recommend ta take ovah fer me?"
"Steelhand. He's got heavier cannons than you, he's worked with younglings escaping their duties while you have guarded normally sensible Primes." Prowl replied, handing over a data pad with the personnel reassignment filled out, just needing Ironhide's approval as Prime's bodyguard.
"Fine, Ah'll let ya assign him. It'd do him some good ta get combat under that black platin' o' his." Ironhide signed the request and handed it back, letting Prowl leave without comment.
Ironhide headed out from the base in silence as he followed Prowl to a remote location. It was a small shuttle stowed in the ruins of the outer warehouse district of Iacon. Ironhide stifled a chuckle, how ironic that he had followed Prime out here when their boss had found Prowl so many vorns ago, and now he was following Prowl to find his new assignment.
He looked in the hold noting a mixed bag collection of mechs sitting in silence. Optics tracking he recognized Mirage, Hound, and Trailbreaker, the three had worked with – speak of the pit spawn – Jazz sat in the rear holding court with Smokescreen, Windcharger, Brawn and Pipes.
"Quite the crew," Ironhide drawled, wondering just what type of assignments this crew could take on with such disparate mechs and so few soldiers.
"Our soldiers will be returning shortly. These are our officers and special operations," Prowl informed Ironhide earning himself an impressed snort.
"Ya've got yerself a lot of officers here." Hide replied, still wondering at just what he had gotten himself into.
The two newcomers sat near the rear, speaking softly. "Pipes is our medical officer, his rank is low but his hands are steady. Brawn is our heavy lifter for moving supplies, he fights only when necessary. Windcharger is our messenger. Hound and Mirage serve as special operations when Hound is not scouting for us. Trailbreaker is a gunner when needed but mostly he is our defensive strategist." The black helm nodded towards each mech as he spoke and Ironhide could only listen.
"How's Jazz fit inta all this?" Hide asked.
"We are co-commanders; same rank, different duties. He takes care of special operations and I strategize with Trailbreaker. Ensuring our plans are three-pronged in the making allows for us to cover more contingencies."
"And keeps yer glitch from actin' up." Hide nodded approvingly, "I've kept tabs on ya lad, since Sentinel sent ya from our base. Ya've done good, and better since ya teamed wid Jazz."
"He allows me to see the logic in the illogical. Without his perspective much of what we do would cause me to crash." Prowl admitted weakly. He could not hide his weaknesses from Ironhide. The older mech had seen him from the beginning, watched him grow up and witnessed several grand crashes from illogical data over the vorns. Prowl paused, when was the last time he crashed? It had been several vorns, maybe a decavorn. The realization bolstered his mood, if only this could continue.
-:- This is Ultra Magnus to any Autobots! In need of assistance immediately! Follow encrypted coordinates, please hurry! -:-
Firestar looked to Steelcracker when the voice on the comm cut off. "Think it's a trap?"
"Dunno," Steelcracker shrugged his massive shoulder guard as he summoned his commander to the bridge, beside him Firestar glared at her current co-pilot and summoned Elita.
"What is it?" Eliat asked as she stepped into the cockpit with Orion immediately behind her. As they entered the tell-tale odor of ozone and heated circuits filled the small space. Firestare barely kept her faceplates from shifting in a knowing grin.
"Commanders, sorry for interrupting." Steelcracker started unrepentantly, "Someone is on the comm claiming to be Ultra Magnus, says he's in trouble." The large mech's green finger replayed the message.
"Slaggit," Elita sighed, "That's him, take us there." She turned from the cockpit in stony silence.
"Firestar, Steelcracker, whatever you are thinking will stay between just you two. You will not ruin Elita's reputation." Orion spoke lowly and left taking with him the last vestages of ozone and other heedy scents of a hard interface.
"Wow, they really need to blow each others' circuits a few more times. Talk about being stiff." Firestar snickered.
"Huh, Orion gets lucky with the Femme commander, who knew. Damn, and here I had money riding on the Prime."
"Ew, Elita would never swap cables with that old timer." Firestar shuddered. It had been tempting, when she had first met the esteemed Prime to offer her services to him. However, as too many others had found out, Prime had optics only for Cybertron. Aside from a few whispers of Sentinel favoring visits to the Decepticons incarceration no one spoke of his love life – or lack thereof.
Magnus looked to the black sky overhead and prayed. His team was pinned down, Seekers screamed overhead raining down null rays, bombs and roaring thunder blasts that cracked the sky and rumbled the ground. Most of his unit was on their knees, no longer able to stand from the shaking beneath their peds.
'Please get here soon.' Magnus pleaded to the skies. Too many of his mechs were too badly damaged to mend, so many had been lost, their gray frames sprawled across the ground like broken toys. So much loss…
A crackle of thunder and streams of lightning crawled along the belly of the heavy clouds casting eerie dances of light and shadow across the battlefield. Illuminated by the strobing lights the battle seemed to be a series of still images, each ghoulish and terrible as the flying spray of energon and splatter of gore seemed to hang suspended in the ionized air.
"Incoming!" Mangus' gunner, Arcee called over her shoulder, "Drop ship coming in hot from the upper quadrant!"
Worried optics tracked to the coordinates, Magnus gaped. "Autobots!" He bellowed and watched in awe as the small vessel opened fire on the Seekers as bodies dropped to the ground.
"You called?" Elita asked as she jogged up to Magnus' position with a wry smirk. "I brought a friend." She nodded to the distant figure of Orion as he led a troop of mechs towards Magnus.
"Orion?" Magnus stood, staring at his brother with amazed optics. It had been almost half a megavorn since he had last seen his brother. The orn Magnus had shipped out as the new Wreckers sub-commander and Orion had just entered boot camp.
"Magnus," the smaller bot nodded. Nothing about Orion had changed. He looked the same save for a few new weld scars. His optics still held that infernal innocence that made every mech seem to like him instantly. Only – only Magnus realized, Orion now held himself with more pride? Power? Something had changed in his brother, but it was so subtle that Magnus could not place it.
"You are a sight for sore optics." Magnus grinned widely. "I've got orders to clear out the Decepticon base over the ridge. Command sent me with twelve hexad teams. I've got three teams left."
"I don't like Command's orders anymore," Orion spoke softly. "They sent seventy mechs in to do a battalion's job."
Magnus snorted, "You got that right. How many mechs did you two bring?"
"We have a total of seventeen." Elita snarled. "This is a suicide trip, just like what Command did to that poor mech from the Praxan Theater."
"What mech?" Magnus asked as they jogged to their next staging sight that overlooked the Decepticon training base.
"Someone was able to lead our forces to victory in Praxus. Whoever that poor spark was got the reward of being sent to Slaughter City for her efforts." Elita spoke softly, "When this is over, and you submit your report, make it as scathing and unfavorable to your troops as possible. Someone in Command is undermining our efforts."
Magnus nodded, "Got it, now how do we survive this?"
It had once been called the Heart of Primus long ago, this massive engine that thrust their planet to eternally sail amongst the stars. For eons it had allowed their once proud race to conquer the universe, sending out their warriors to overthrow other worlds and entire galaxies in their constant quest for more energon. Megatron sneered as he strode along the clear corridor that allowed the plume of energy that drove their planet's flight to be seen. It was magnificent. And now, he would have complete control over their world. He would defeat Sentinel with this one move. All he needed to do to gain complete victory was aim Cybertron at a larger planet. With the threat of annihilation to their planet-god Sentinel would bow to Megatron's rule, at last.
"Megatron!" Sentinel's voice boomed through the corridor, drawing the tyrant's gaze to the distant entrance that lead to the planet's surface. "You cannot do this!"
The grey mech sneered, "Why not Prime? Was this not your intention as well? Change the trajectory of our world, kill the Cybertronians and save Cybertron from us?"
Sentinel froze for a second, his optics widening, "That is my goal, but you would not be satisfied with the destruction of our kind and our eternal wars. You would use the engines to engineer an empire of fear that would span the universe. Megatron, your taste for power is unquenching, and it will destroy you."
Megatron roared, "Come Prime, prove you can defeat me, and destroy your own troops!"
Sentiel unsheathed his massive double-bladed glaive and charged.
Jazz stood beside Prowl on a tall hill. Two battles unfolded before them turned the former district of Althihex into a quagmire of spilt energon. To their right Ultra Magnus, Elita and their troops battled the Deceptions protecting their training base. To their left the standing Prime Armada battled Megatron's best forces at the base of the massive thrusters for the Planetary Engines. With neither Sentinel nor Megatron in sight Jazz could only fear that the two commanders were inside the Engines battling for control.
"Jazz, go down to the Engines, find whoever is in command after Sentinel. Find a way to get into his processors and access the command protocols. I'll lead the majority of our forces to aid in cleaning out the base." Prowl spoke, his optics cold and focused as he ran simulations on how to keep their forces alive.
Jazz looked down on the battles and shuddered, "Prowler, I know ya've got the best tactical sims, but ain't that a job more suited to the Wreckers? Can't we get Mangus' units ta aid us in stoppin' Megatron from takin' over the engines?"
Prowl blinked his optic shutters slowly, letting the suggestion run through his tactical computer. He looked up sharply. "Your suggestion is good, but it won't work as it is. The Engines have a side corridor that leads to the primary control module. We need to get to the secondary one below the Decepticon base."
"How do you plan on doing that?" Jazz asked worriedly.
"Get me access to the Command network, I will show you." Prowl ordered and turned towards the small rise below them that Magnus was using as his staging grounds.
"Alright." Jazz sighed and summoned his special forces. They had to infiltrate their own side during a battle with a four mech crew. It would be a walk in the gardens, right.
Magnus blinked in confusion as orders appeared on his HUD. "Elita?" He looked to the femme commander during a lull in the fighting.
"I got it too." She looked around worriedly as all the Autobot forces seemed to waiver. She looked to the base, then to the too many wounded and terminated at her peds. Their initial orders had been a suicide mission, these at least had a chance of succeeding. "Do it."
"Retreat!" Maguns' bellow rang across the field and through the comms simultaneously. The stragglers from their small collection of units pulled back to a low rise just outside the base's firing range. Intakes cycling from the long battle Elita, Magnus and Orion knelt together.
"I'm taking my unit to the eastern gate?" Orion looked over his orders. "I think I'm a decoy."
"I think we all are." Magnus replied, "I'm to set up explosives outside the main entrance. Either my unit will get demolished by the Cons or we might just hem their ground forces in."
"This is definitely a decoy strategy. Someone is using us to cover up whatever they're doing." Elita frowned. "I'm to target the launch pads and destroy any aerial units coming from the base. I don't like this, but I have to admit their tactician has manifolds."
-:- Proceed immediately -:- The voice along the secure Autobot command channel was cold, emotionless and nearly monotone. Orion shuddered.
"Are we sure Soudwave hasn't hacked our network?" He asked of his brother and lover looking worriedly between the taller bots.
"I don't know," Elita held Orion's face tenderly in her optics for just a moment before standing tall and straightening her shoulders, "We will find out, if we survive this. Autobots, move out!"
The civil war had raged for megavorns, somehow neither side neither winning nor losing as their world, their very planet suffered the greatest consequence. Cybertron was failing, and it was showing. Vast cities that had once lit up the night to the point that the very stars were blotted into darkness now were empty husks, their glittering lights and crystalline walls now lying in so many heaps of rubble upon the too cold ground. It was disheartening and filled all with despair, and yet Megatron, the sadistic leader of the Decepticons continued the fight, killing all in his path that had not joined him immediately. Anyone who was Neutral or Autobot was exterminated. It was policy and one most of his soldiers practiced with glee. Most of the remaining Neutrals had been gathered to secret locations, they were safe for now. It was enough; it had to be. The Autobots had little more to give.
Prowl stood back as he looked over the broken, cratered landscape surrounding the Decepticon training base. The rise he stood on gave him the best vantage point to observe the Autobots fighting below him as if they were pieces on a game board. The similarities made Prowl's tanks want to heave. He was playing with the lives of living mechs.
-:- Magnus, Elita, Orion commence your attacks. Jazz, aid MineRunner in combating the Decepticons and keep them out of the Engines. -:- Prowl allowed his battle computer to play out numerous scenarios and stored them for quick access. With part of his processors now dedicated to monitoring Autobot frequencies he summoned his portion of their small unit. Ironhide stood beside him, the minibots, Brawn and Windcharger, stood arrayed before Prowl acting as guards as he planned their attacks.
Behind the small group Field General Afterburn and his thirty-crew complement were arrayed in sentry formations surrounding their position. "Afterburn, divide your mechs into three groups. I need two larger forces to split between aiding Jazz and assisting the three commanders around the base. Give them your fastest and heaviest troops. A smaller group will come with me. We will take the secondary Engine control room."
"What 'bout Sentinel? Ah know he slipped Steelhand's watch." Ironhide rumbled, fists clenched to keep from fretting.
Prowl paused, hesitating for a moment that filled his soldiers' lines with icy dread. "Sentinel made his decision. Right now we are safer giving Megatron what he wants."
"What?" Hide menaced, fists balled until his joints creaked in protest as he stared down at the smaller tactician, "Ya want us ta just leave our Praham with Megatron?"
Prowl looked up unflinchingly, "It is your choice Ironhide, protect our forces by allowing Sentinel to distract Megaron, or tip our hand and give Megatron all of Cybertron."
"Fine, ya get it yer way." Hide growled, a silent threat hanging in the air.
-:- Autobots, roll out. -:- Prowl ordered as he led the advance towards a hidden tunnel access under the base. His unit, all of twelve mechs, slunk into the darkness their frames ran dark, their optics dim, no light emanated from their unit allowing them to blend into the shadows of eternal night. As they moved in a slow march that seemed to take forever Prowl kept his comm on passively letting reports trickle in. His battle systems monitored the field and projected maneuvers; occasionally he sent a condensed data burst to one of the commanders to ensure the greatest number of Autobots survived this battle.
"Here!" Windcharger called in a harsh whisper. They reached the tunnel and slunk in, their peds noisy in the heavy silence. "How much further?"
"There should be a control pad in sixteen lengths." Prowl spoke up, hoping the vague map he had been able to pull from old data was correct. A part of his processors silently mused on why they used such stringent measurments of time, and yet had only three units of length. The megamile: the distance a Seeker could fly at top speed in an astrosecond. The length: the span of a Guardian's stride. The micromile: the standard height of a minibot's frame. Absently Prowl wondered if their scientists had ever wondered why they had such strange ways of measuring their world.
"One length," Prowl announced softly. They rounded the next turn in the tunnel, the control panel glowing softly in the darkness. Windcharger moved to the panel and attached an override cable. Once the cable's display flashed twice he handed it to Prowl, giving the tactician space to plug in.
Prowl slotted the cable into a cranial jack, letting his firewalls buffer with the control panel's defenses then broke through the coding and hacked the door's locks. Immediately the massive blast door lifted revealing the Planetary Engines.
They were huge. Something resembling a spark sat suspended in the middle of the massive chamber. Thick cables led away from the spark leading to gigantic magnetoplasmadynamic engines. The exhaust of the engines shot down the clear corridor leading to the planet's surface. Alongside the exhaust chamber ran the access tunnel. Prowl paused, he could see Megatron and Sentinel battling within, the two – tyrants – warring over who won the glory of destroying their race.
'We give him what he wants.' Prowl let the thought, one that should be unthinkable, move through his processors. Yes, they would give Sentinel to Megatron, and to uphold the Autobots' integrity, they would attempt a rescue at the last possible moment. It would be his dark secret, one that if revealed, would utterly destroy the Autobots and ensure Decepticon victory without making Megatron lift a single finger.
"Windcharger, get out there, find Elita, Orion or Ultra Magnus. Relay these orders." He removed a data chit from his arm slot and passed it to the minibot. Once Windcharger had left he turned to the consul. It would take time to lock down the engines.
'Ya could always set the planet ta stop.' Jazz's thoughts interrupted Prowl's movements. It was an idea and a good one. 'If Cybertron is kept in a holdin' pattern in the middle of nowhere, then Megatron can't get us within striking distance of another planet and our fight stays here.'
Prowl smiled and let his approval flit across the remote dataline. Ever since Paraxus Prowl and Jazz had kept the dataline in constant use. Prowl could not afford to lock up on the field and Jazz could not afford to lose his tactical annalist when they had so much to do and so few troops to do them with.
'Very good, now Megatron will have to either destroy all automated controls of the Engines, or he will have to break through my encryptions. Both are possibilities, it just depends on how far he is willing to go for complete control.'
Jazz's amused presence washed across Prowl's processors, 'Don't hedge yer bets too strongly there Prowl, we don't know what Megatron's willing ta do for power.'
Prowl huffed silently as he finished inputting his encryptions. Jazz was correct Megatron was unpredictable, and willing to go to any lengths to obtain whatever desires that dwelt within his hollow spark.
Ultra Magnus bolted from his position watching the Decepticon base front entrance. Their Prime was in danger! Something deep within Magnus urged him to run faster, around him his troops kept pace, each as desperate to protect their Prime. It didn't make sense in a way. Their Prime was no longer the leader they had welcomed in the beginning, but Sentinel was still their Prime and every Autobot had sworn an oath to defend their Prime to the very last vestiges of their spark.
Magnus' unit barreled through the standing battlefield before the entrance to the Engines. His presence bolstered the Autobot forces and caused the Decepticons to waiver. As his unit tore across the open field his mechs blasted any Con's that crossed their path. Their ferocity and desperation forced a break in the Decepticons' ranks, allowing them to overtake the Engines.
Magnus barreled across the last lengths of the battlefield, ignoring his warring comrades all around him. In an instant he raced into the access corridor and felt his spark plummet eve as his peds sped up to a dead run. He knew he wouldn't make it, knew the distance was too great.
Ahead of him Megatron held Sentinel by the face, lifting their Prime into the air high enough his red peds kicked futilely in the air. Magnus pulled his cannons from sub-space, allowing his shoulder turrets to target Megatron. Several volleys were fired at the Decepticon master, Magnus' troops targeting Megatron simultaneously. With the barrage Megatron was thrown from his peds, his hand slipping from Sentinel's plating.
Magnus felt hope rise in his spark, Sentinel stood from where he had landed. With a proud roar of challenge Sentinel charged Megatron, optics blazing in battle fury that gleamed with madness. Magnus felt time slow, watched as if from megamiles away as Sentinel advanced at a dead run on Megatron. He saw, spark clenching in agonizing certainty, as Megatron reached his arm out, blade extending just as Sentinel approached and impaled himself blindly through the spark.
Time sped up, throwing Magnus from its thrall. The unmistakable, sickening crunch of metal as Sentinel impaled himself on Megatron's arm blade echoed achingly loud in the corridor – then all Pit broke loose.
Megatron leapt into the air, his frame nearly scraping the high ceiling of the corridor as he cackled his victory and fled. Autobots poured into the access tunnel and Ultra Magnus looked up to see a small band of Autobots on the opposite clear blast door between the corridor and the Engines control room standing guard in case the worse had befallen. In that moment Magnus felt gratitude to the unknown mech that was giving the orders, whoever it was had just saved them from losing Cybertron to the Cons – but not even that great mech could save Sentinel.
The moment Sentinel fell, the instant his spark guttered, the Autobots fell into a pained hush. They felt Sentinel's demise, felt the Matrix's presence dim and knew that another Prime had ceased to carry their guiding light.
Within the control room Ironhide trembled in fury, -:-If Ah find out ya planned ta have Sentinel fall, Prowl, it'll be yer last moment alive.-:-
Prowl looked over his shoulder at Ironhide, his faceplates stoic despite feeling the same agonizing loss that afflicted every other Autobot nearby. -:-No, Ironhide, it was not my plan.-:- Prowl replied somberly and wondered if he had just told a very convincing lie.
With a heavy spark Prowl scanned the Command network and took stock of their casualties. He sucked in a deep intake and accessed the network wide communications grid. -:- Autobots, our Prime has fallen. Retreat. -:-
He narrowed his communications grid, accessing the frequencies of only those units in the Decepticon Training Base Theater. -:- Autobots, our Prime has fallen. The nearest safe zone is Rura Penthe, rendezvous at that location. Move out. -:-
A wave of hesitation spread across the ranks like a ripple in a methane lake. Mechs looked to one another, none wanting to follow the cold monotone, and none wanting to leave their Prime laying at the peds of Ultra Magnus in the now silent corridor to the Engines.
"Autobots, roll out!" Magnus cried into the silence as he gathered the fallen frame of their Prime, folded down and slowly moved through the corridor. As he passed all others fell to one knee, helms bowed to honor the lost pulse of the Matrix and folded down. Slowly the Autobot army followed Magnus and Elita. Orion held back, his units formed the rear guard that followed once they knew the Decepticons barricaded in within the training base would not boil out to attack the slow Autobot retreat.
Orns passed in silence. Elita wondered if she would go mad. The Autobot convoy, with Magnus protected in the center of their column, moved through several layers of the honeycombed underground byways as they moved ever towards the outskirts of Iacon and the abandoned prison facility Rura Penthe. Elita worried, her gears grinding softly.
The last mechs to leave that Primus forsaken place had been the Auxillary Wreckers. She shuddered as the memory of Sentinel freeing the Autobot war criminals resurfaced. She didn't want to remember them, didn't want to see the Thetacons and their horrid faces striding from Rura Penthe with their prideful swaggers and their sickening habit of spitting lubricant and oil.
She remembered them, the entire three-mech murder crew, Roadspin, Leadfoot and Topspin. It was rumored that once, before her time, they had been genius engineers and friends of the notorious Wheeljack. Then the war had enveloped them. The stories told of how the engineers kept their sanity and their intelligence as the war progressed, but they lost all mercy, compassion and sympathy when they lost their tribe. Elita shuddered.
Ahead, rising from the disturbingly pristine landscape, stood Rura Penthe. It was gigantic, built to accommodate every Autobot frame style from guardian to micro-drone. At the center stood seven pillars arrayed in a circle, one each for the known seven guardians who had joined the Autobot forces – as a precaution. Before them stood rings of buildings, each large enough to hold the transport and convoy-class frames. Elita shuddered again thinking of Magnus locked into one of those buildings, trapped within a cell just large enough for him to stand in. Other rows of buildings arrayed out in concentric rings around the center, each a step down in frame size. The outermost building had its inner walls dotted with tiny drawers that slid out, each small enough to hold cassette-sized and smaller mechs within.
When she had traveled with Sentinel to this forsaken place she had suffered visions of the smallest of their race trapped within those drawer-like prisons left to rust and slowly terminate – forgotten.
"Elita?" She started and let her sensors fall on Orion's standing frame. "We've arrived."
"Sorry, bad memories." She replied softly as she stood and swallowed tightly as she reached her full height. She cursed her own weakness. She wanted Orion to be taller than her, like he used to be when she had been Ariel. She wanted so badly to be folded into his embrace, to be held and sheltered from the war, and her memories.
"Are you alright?" Orion asked, his still innocent optics looking up to her's in concern from where he stood at her hip. She smiled; he always made her feel cherished. It was so rare that they got any time together regardless of their stolen moments on the trek here as they slipped into the darkness just to stand close to each other. It was all the affection they could show in the open, all they dared where the troops could see them.
"I think I'm just tired, like everyone else." She smiled a small crooked smile and touched his cheek plating. She wanted to be held, to hold him and feel their sparks pulsing so close together. She stood straighter and dropped her hand, then turned to look for the one mech who had been running this show.
-:- Autobots: all mechs with medical training convene at the following coordinates. Set up triage and repair what you can. Wounded, make your way to these coordinates for medical assistance. Logistics, search Rura Penthe for energon. Uninjured troops, I need four-mech squads to cover the logistics crew. Commanders, convene inside at these coordinates. -:- The voice cut off, once again the entire force waivered, their optics looking to one another filled with a silent fear: 'Were they being led by another Soundwave?'
"You have your orders, move out!" Elita called over the nervous rumbling. Her words echoed by Ultra Magnus and Orion finally goaded the small army into slowly moving. She looked around, optics squinting at Tactician Deftwing and Commander Gullblade of Prime Squad. Those two were not supporting the commands.
She stiffened, wanting to rail at them. Where had they been when her femmes had been getting slagged by Cons at every turn? Where had their Prime been when Autobots were falling in droves and Prime never received a scratch? She moved to rail at them, her spark burning with her fury only to pause when the two stiffened and watched as they somewhat cowered where they stood before barking at their troops to follow the orders given. She watched with mounting curiosity and dread, what did the mystery commander hold over them?
"Come on, Orion, Elita, we should go." Magnus moved to follow his orders, ever the good soldier. Elita smiled slightly to herself. "What?" The blue convoy-class asked stalwartly.
"Just remembering, before. You never listened to anymech's orders Magnus. You were your own bot. Now, you are the best soldier out there." Elita replied, and worried at Orion's unusual silence.
"My apologies. I'm not feeling myself right now." Orion spoke softly as his taller brother and lover's optics fell on him. "Did I ever tell you that Sentinel had asked me to be a brother to him?"
"Sentinel – what?" Elita looked down on her lover perplexed. She glanced at Magnus and found him to be just as perplexed.
Orion held up his hand, showing a small sigil neither Elita nor Magnus had noticed since their reformat to their larger frames. "I saw him one orn, in the Hall of Ancients. He looked so sad, but I didn't know what I could do. So, we walked, he spoke of wisdom and compassion, and being a good leader when it was the hardest thing to do. He treated me like a friend and asked me to be the brother he never had.
"When I said I'd be honored, he shook my hand, and this appeared." Orion smiled sadly, optics shimmering in grief before he looked up to his family, "It hurts so much to lose him, despite what he became. I don't think my spark could hurt worse, except to lose either of you."
"Love," Elita breathed and knelt to hold her lover close. She didn't know why Orion had never told her of his bond with their Prime, but she understood. In the positions Magnus and she had been pressed into they could not afford to care too deeply for their supreme commander. Now, with him gone, she wondered if her thoughts had been wrong, and uncharitable. If Sentinel had had more bots around him that treated him like family, would he have ever strayed so far from the Autobot ideals they fought to uphold?
"You were right to not speak of this, brother." Magnus said softly as he knelt at Elita's side and placed his massive hand on Orion's shivering back plating. "Elita and I – developed opinions of Sentinel that would have been cruel for you to hear."
"I already know them," Orion sighed and pulled away, glancing in all directions along the corridor they stood in, ensuring none would interrupt them. "I heard the other commanders talking, you were not alone. Sentinel did change over the vorns. He sent me so far away from him that I could not help him to carry his burdens. Somehow I think he had been this way before we met him."
Magnus and Elita shared a worried glance. They did not know why they had been sent to the Decepticon base on their suicide mission. Nor did they know why so many troops had appeared at the Planetary Engines when they did, but Sentinel had to have planned their maneuvers and if he did, what had been his goal? The trio shared a worried glance; if Sentinel had planned something at the Engines then he likely had planned the attack on their warehouse so long ago. Suddenly chills ran up their back struts.
"We cannot change what has happened. Let us go to this commander and see what goals he has for us." Magnus shook off his foreboding first and led his brother and friend through the corridors to the designated spot. They marched to their destination, a guard station with solid walls and a central table covered with digital displays.
They pushed through the open doors to the wide white room within. Arrayed around the table stood Field General Bombshock, Tactician Deftwing, Commander Gullblade and Tactician Skids. The four commanders from the main Prime Command and standing Autobot Military glared at the three new commanders who had always been more of special mixed units than true military and it made most of them feel that Prime had given the three special treatment, much like the assorted Wreckers Crews.
"So, are you the mech in charge Magnus?" Deftwing growled once they entered the impromptu war room. The minibot tactician had always had a bad attitude, Magnus mused as he kept his face impassive. He refused to give the other commanders fuel for the rumors that always circulated through Autobot Command like a bad line of code.
"No, I am." The cold voice from all the command transmissions spoke. As one the seven commanders looked behind them to see one Paraxan with black and white plating standing in rigid attention next to a Polyhexan-build white and black mech standing just beside him. "My designation is Prowl." Behind the two smaller frames marched in Ironhide and Field General Afterburn standing as sentinels over the two smaller black and white mechs.
"Ironhide" Elita asked aghast, why was the guard with these two small frames and not guarding the frame of their fallen leader?
"Ah'm here cause this one asked me ta be." Hide answered with a fierce scowl as he nodded towards Prowl, "Ah reassigned Steelhand ta guard Praham." Ironhide kept his vocalizers mute on how Jazz had found Steelhand's frame on the ground locked in stasis. Or how the big black mech had been surrounded by scraplets, or that his last waking memory had been of their esteemed leader shoving a stasis prod between the plates of his armor, knocking him offline. Ironhide wanted to rage on about how many times he had been given the slip by the Prime. Or how often he had to wade into a losing battle to save their oh so valiant leader from his own stubborn stupidity.
Prowl stepped forward, casting a slight glance at Ironhide as he passed. On the command line a data packet appeared for the other commanders to view. "This intel outlines my reasons for being here, along with our purpose for being on the field this orn. Decepticon chatter spoke of Megatron commandeering the Planetary Engines, however there was no notice Sentinel would be there. When we arrived we determined to split up our troops, access the command network and override the suicide missions too many units had been assigned to." Optics raised from the table to look Prowl over, he was cold, none of the commanders could read him, nor get a feel for what he was planning despite his in depth intelligence report.
Magnus looked at the file, optics widening, "You were the one slated for Slaughter City."
Prowl nodded silently. Widely splayed doorwings remained steady, unflinching at the now old order as his voice sounded in its flat monotone. "Should my unit cease to be an asset to the Autobots I will be remediated to Slaughter City by force." Unflinching optics met each of the others' in the room, at each glance the other taller commanders all looked away.
"We have no Prime to guide us, what do you recommend?" Elita asked challengingly. Arms crossed, broad pink shoulders squared she faced off against Prowl ready to have him sent to Slaughter City if it kept her femmes alive.
"Who runs Command?" Prowl countered, every mech and femme received orders from Command. No designation was ever associated with the title, and even Sentinel had bowed to its orders. Blank stares met his question.
"That is classified!" Bombshock snarled, his optics raged in offense that the mere level-one tactician would ask such a thing.
"Which means no one in this room knows who, or what is giving us our orders. Does it not seem strange that three good commanders would be sent on suicide missions in one orn? Is it not strange that our Prime attempts to sneak into the Planetary Engines with only one field general and thirty troops? Or how our injured never return after being evacuated from the battle site?"
"Have we all become so numb ta the demands of the war that we've lost all our processing capacity?" Ironhide asked, interrupting Prowl, unapologetic at his intrusion. "Ah knew our commanders were bein' shoved through boot too fast, but I never expected ya ta forget out first prerogative!"
"What prerogative?" Jazz asked helm canted to the side in disquiet, "Cause, we never got that data stream, mech."
"What?" Hide turned to look at his current commanders, jaw slack as Prowl, Jazz and Afterburn shook their helms. "Slaggin' Pits!"
"The first prerogative is freedom is the right of all sentient beings." Orion spoke softly, "It was the first thing Sentinel taught me, and apparently the first thing he refused to honor."
"So, no one really knows who this Command is we've been taking orders from is?" Afterburn asked, "Cause they took away our best medic from me decavorns ago. I checked with the base he was supposed to be transferred to and they had never heard of him. We've got numerous wounded and a medic all MIA, and you all want to just keep following orders from nameless mechs?"
"Alright, tactician, what's your plan?" Bombshock asked, pale white faceplates creasing with his frown.
"We have a tight window in which to accomplish this. Everyone must be synched to the timeline." Prowl sent another data packet along their encrypted network and waited, a tiny smirk fleeting and unnoticed touched his lips and fled. The other commanders stared at him once more, this time he knew there would be fewer casualties.
"You want us to what?" Ironhide gasped once he read the data. He looked around, gauging the other mechs in the room and noticed, uncomfortably, that only Jazz seemed unsurprised. "This is yer plan? Ya want us ta bomb Command?"
"I want us to observe the location of command and determine its threat level, and keep the bombing of it as a potential operation should it be needed." Prowl spoke flatly, "I would gladly take any alternatives."
"Give us three orns," Magnus finally spoke, "Let us analyze the data for ourselves. When we reconvene we will put it to a vote."
To be continued ...
