Bludgeon cupped a hand around his mouth as he called out to the Star Seeker Captain. 'You're my first mate, Cannonball. But remember—I will not tolerate any further failures from you. You know the severity of my punishments. Do not disappoint.'

Cannonball responded with a curt wave of the hand before exiting the room.

'Bah,' Finback scowled. 'Ya should've tortured the fool. Made an example of him for the others.'

He shrugged. 'Yeah, I probably should've.' He let out a quick sigh, returning his katana to his hip. 'But we're going to win either way, so I can't just pretend his failure is like the coming of Armageddon or anything.' His wires furled as if he were grinning. 'That comes later.'

Bugly, stuttering and blinking, stepped forward. 'I… thought I was your first mate.'

Bludgeon stared at him through slits. He folded his arms and let steam pour through the "nostrils" carved into his skull-mask. 'You're alright, Bugly. You're alright.' He pointed a skeletal finger at Krok. 'But Krok is definitely my favourite.' The others laughed.

Bugly scowled, but Bludgeon didn't take the bait. He wringed his domineering servos. 'In truth, I care very little of you – or any of you, for that matter – personally. If you can do your job on the other hand… do your job, and do it right, and I'll call you whatever you want me to call you.' He leaned his head back, allowing the mass of his body to blanket his shadow over his long-time comrade. 'We'll all be rewarded by that point.'

There was the sound of a loud slam, and a presence entered the room. They were big, green, and carried a massive bulk to them. It was Gutcruncher.

Bludgeon gestured to the open door. 'Um, guards? Did no one seriously think to lock the door to my quarters before taking their breaks? There could have been a Spark Eater, or a Nightstalker out there for all we know.'

'You have some explaining to do, Bludgey my friend,' Gutcruncher said, marching towards him with heavy, pounding, footsteps.

Krok motioned for his rifle, but was soon called off with a wave of Bludgeon's hand. The Decepticon strutted slowly towards the new arrival. 'What a surprise—Gutcruncher. Now what on earth can I do to prevent you from barging into my quarters in the future?' There was a slow build of rage in his voice that seemed to escalate with every word.

Gutcruncher presented a small, spindly Cybertronian, which he dumped in front of the Commander. It was Thundertron. Gutcruncher folded his arms as he stared at the wretch. 'Here I was, travelling to Nebus IV to solidify a deal—when this guy shows up with the Dreads, restricting me from leaving the solar system!'

Thundertron drooled on the floor. 'The lad's got quite a wallop.'

Finback kneeled by his side. 'Oh get up you sorry pile of ilk. You're staining the big man's new floor.'

'Aye,' Thundertron replied, rising slowly.

Gutcruncher jabbed a digit at Bludgeon's chest. 'That's thirty-thousand credits I'm not getting back. I need my business, Bludgeon! You're restricting me of my basic Cybertronian rights! I'm a caged bird, man, I need to spread my wings and fly, and be free!'

Bludgeon reached for his blade. 'Let me make something clear,' he pulled out his katana with one servo and reached at Gutcruncher with the other, grabbing him by the shoulder, and pushing him back into a wall, his blade inches away from Gutcruncher's face. 'I don't like you, Gutcruncher. The only reason you're here at all is because I'm paying you to be. I shouldn't have to pay any of you, but alas, we must bolster our numbers somehow.'

'And the pay's great!' Gutcruncher replied. 'But I still gotta maintain an image, and you with your little border patrols are keeping me from maintaining anything.'

'Which reminds me—this "business" you get up to— not only is it a dirty, tasteless sin and a betrayal to the city you are charged to protect—paid to protect, but it just so happens that your business goes against everything I stand for as a child of Primus!'

Gutcruncher shrugged nervously. The blade was reaching awfully close, and his faceplate was a newly purchased model. 'That's preposterous—I run a humble business.'

'You sell body parts to the black market!'

'Humbly!'

Bludgeon's wires swayed, as if he were sticking out his tongue in disgust. 'No, what you're doing is an affront to the dead—just being associated with you makes me feel… itchy. Death is something to be cherished and respected—not to be used as some cheap method of income! It drains the event of its significance, entirely.' He withdrew his katana, shaking his head in disappointment. 'If you don't want me to cut you down where you stand, then call off these deals, and put those bodies back where they belong: in the ground. I'm sure Unicron has a special place in his maw for you when your time comes to join them.'

Gutcruncher cracked his neck painfully to the side. 'You sure about that, Bludgeon? I'm a lot bigger, and a lot stronger than you. Who's to say we can't make some… negotiations, instead.'

Bludgeon grinned, as if he were waiting for this ever since Gutcruncher took his first step inside his chambers. 'If you really think that some brutish, capitalist has a chance against a master of Metallikato—a literal master of your so-called "negotiations", then I'd be delighted to make an example of you once and for all.'

Before either of them could make a move, the door slammed open once again. It was Wingspan this time.

Bludgeon raised a servo towards the door, looking at the others. 'Really, guys? Again? Do we not have any security protocols or what?'

Wingspan approached the group, hands wringing. 'Hey guys. Haven't seen some of you in a while. Look, uh… no one was answering their comms, so I was told to come here and tell you in person.'

'What, Wingspan?' Bludgeon took a large step towards the clone. 'What could you possibly have to tell me at this time?'

Unintimidated, Wingspan gave his report. 'Banzaitron's here.'

Bludgeon's blinked in surprise. 'Here? As in—here, here?'

The clone nodded, gesturing to the doorway where the large, black and red mech entered.

He walked one foot in front of the other as if he were a runway model. When he was within speaking distance, he stopped, clasped his hands in front of his lap, and addressed the Decepticon commander. 'Bludgeon, it's been a while. I was told I'd receive my payment in per—'

'Banzaitron!' The samurai exclaimed, strutting briskly towards the mech with open arms.

For a moment, Banzaitron expected Bludgeon to take him in for a hug and recoiled, but instead, the Decepticon stopped at attention, bowed his head, and linked his servos together, forming a symbol of religious significance. It was the ancient Cybertronian gesture that had been passed down from the Metrotitans, and through the Circle of Light. Fingers and thumbs touching one another to form a triangle—symbolizing the brain, the spark, and the T-cog: Rossums Trinity. Banzaitron quickly mirrored the movement, and Bludgeon smiled behind his thick beard of wires.

'It has been a while, indeed,' Bludgeon said. 'Still following the branch of Crystalocution I take it? Turning your training and faith into a hired work— you've come far!'

He stared before granting him a quick nod. 'Yes… Yes indeed.'

Bludgeon blinked, quickly remembering the presence of the others in the room. He looked back at Krok before wrapping an arm around the new visitor. 'Oh, forgive me. Allow me to introduce our newest ally. Banzaitron and I were pupils under Master Yoketron back in the day. It was before…' he scowled. '… Before everything went to hell.' His expression quickly relaxed as he turned back to Banzaitron. 'But this guy—I tell you. He used to be quite the wild-card when we were pupils.'

Banzaitron laughed quietly. 'I won't deny that.'

Bludgeon released him before moving back to Wingspan. 'Make sure Banzaitron and his team are comfortable. I don't want any disturbances amidst their training regimen—'

'That will not be a problem,' Banzaitron interjected. 'I know my way around—and besides, my team has their own private meditation rooms. I… implore you not to worry.'

Bludgeon stuck a thumb at the Crystalocution practitioner. 'This guy… he's a vicious one, don't make any mistake, but if he isn't the nicest Decepticon in the world, I don't know who is.'

Without another word, Banzaitron took his leave, allowing Gutcruncher to use the short frame of time to hurry out of Bludgeon's quarters alongside him. Wingspan, Finback and Thundertron soon followed, going their separate ways as they exited the chamber and Bludgeon and Krok to their reports.

Gutcruncher, however, remained just outside the Commander's quarters, looking out at the Crystal City's broken landscape below. Where the Circle of Light—or their defences in their time of need—disappeared to, nobody knew. But Gutcruncher had to respect Bludgeon for attempting to pick up the pieces. His fists clenched, leaving small indents in the protective railing. Who the hell was he to bark orders at him? Sure Bludgeon had been around with the Decepticons longer than he had—and sure perhaps he was more skilled and far more charismatic than Gutcruncher ever was. But at least Gutcruncher was loyal. Bludgeon, guided by his dogma, lowered himself from General to Commander of the Mayhems, only to demote himself further to Captain of an Independent Pirate guild, leading his crew towards pillaging and destruction with little to no contact with Decepticon High Command. A common occurrence ever since the Surge, but an occurrence that tended to be frowned upon nonetheless.

Gutcruncher on the other hand was always within reach. Even when he managed business with organic colonies on the other side of the galaxy, he would still fulfill his job as General of Air-To-Ground Support and do so happily. While it was a more obscure position, he still maintained a rank equal to that of Strika or Scorponok, and he could only go higher from there. At least he would, if it weren't for Bludgeon and his blinding religiosity. He could simply usurp him—he had done it with several commanders in the past, but who would take his side? Krok was endlessly loyal to whoever happened to be in power, Cannonball was too full of himself to risk any possibility of a tarnished rep, Bugly was a joke, Finback and Thundertron were old news, and had very little say in matters overall, and with that new religious nut—what was his name—Banzaitron! With Banzaitron at Bludgeon's disposal, there was little chance he could ever hope to garner some big-time support.

What made it worse, was that Bludgeon was no idiot. He knew that behind that mask of charm and passive aggressiveness, Bludgeon had already begun contemplating the possible ways of murdering Gutcruncher for his inevitable treason. This would not have been as easy as nudging that piece of shrapnel into General Scrash's spark-chamber, or "forgetting" to administer his former commander, Shuttle Gunner's medicine when he needed it most. This would have had to be a full on revolution. Sure he was about as strong and intelligent as Bludgeon was—he wouldn't have survived this long were he not—but Bludgeon had the skill and support to deem himself superior. He was not about to start anything big—but doing nothing meant kissing his life's work goodbye. Gutcruncher was stuck, plain and simple.

A presence loomed over next to him, watching the landscape alongside him. It was Banzaitron. He didn't say a word.

Gutcruncher chuckled to himself. It was time to crunch some guts. 'Well, well. If it isn't the cool, mysterious new guy who everybody loves! How did Bludgeon's aft smell? All that brown nosing ought to have given you a proper whiff. Or is that against your sacred ancient ninja arts, oh my! What on earth would Primus say?!' He spoke his mind, suspecting the typical "cool, ninja" response.

Banzaitron turned to him, and narrowed his optics. 'Shut up, fat-ass.'

Gutcruncher turned his head in his direction and stared at him.

'Oh don't give me that look. Stop it, seriously—you look like a dumbass.'

'What the hell.'

Banzaitron's optics were filled with contempt. 'What? You think I like being here? Bludgeon's a dork.'

Gutcruncher straightened his posture before scanning Banzaitron up and down. 'Say, didn't you work with me during—'

'The Nucleon Crusades, yeah. You were my commanding officer during the Action-Master contingencies. A few others who were there are under Bludgeon's command as we speak. Krok, Axer… Now that I'm here, you can add Treadshot and me to the list, and I think I found evidence of Charger being present here, but I don't have anything solid quite yet.' He spat. 'Charger… that one always creeped me out. He was the one with all those… problems. I'd hate to run into that psycho again.'

Gutcruncher was enraged. He was a member of high command. He had led hundreds of troops at a time, and Bludgeon—this once declared fugitive of Megatron's empire had stolen his rank, and now, even his troops. It angered him to no end, but he wasn't going to show it in front of Banzaitron. 'Geez, what's with everyone associated with the Action-Master fiasco going merc? Either way, you've done your research.'

'Not really,' he said, plainly. 'I am the director of the Decepticon Secret Service—I'm kind of a big deal. It's my job to know everything, you see.' He looked back out at the city, the destruction seemed to satisfy him more than anyone else. 'The Secret Service has always been an autonomous guild, though Megatron would pay us greatly for our services – be they the collection of information, or to silence others who may have held on to information too volatile – with him dead, and Lord Soundwave already knowledgeable about pretty much everything, we've been getting very little income for our troubles as of late.'

'Until Bludgeon started hunting for mercenaries.'

Banzaitron nodded. 'Still, you can't complain about the pay. The Crystal City's sacred treasures do me just fine. It's the long term that bothers me.'

'No kidding. I run an autonomous business myself. But if Bludgeon's serious about what he's planning to do…'

'It could bring the war to an end, yeah.' He let out a sigh before resting his arms on the railing before him. 'Which is good for the rest of the galaxy, don't get me wrong. But it would put guys like us out of business.'

Gutcruncher began to grin beneath his faceplate. 'I get the feeling you and I have one or two things in common.'

'I wouldn't push your luck. Unlike me, you're not the director of the DSS. And unlike you, I grew out of my own corpse-selling-business phase back when I was still "Joke"etron's pupil.'

'Was that back when you and Bludgeon were best buds?'

He sneered. 'Make no mistake, Bludgeon's a great warrior. He's naïve and, again, a dork—but he's strong: physically, and socially. He's one of the greatest Decepticons of our time, and I respect him for it.' He had already turned aside and begun walking along the steep passage, running his fingertips against the railing's rim. 'I can't wait to kill him.'

He was out of sight before Gutcruncher could say another word. Not that he would. He stared at the space where Banzaitron stood through round, oval optics. He tapped a finger against the railing, thinking to himself for a moment before speaking.

'You see that?' he asked.

'I did.' A figure said from the shadows between Bludgeon's chamber and the corner wall. A bright yellow visor filled the area, floating in place like a conspicuous streetlight in the dark. 'No one can hear us here. What do you suppose?'

'I suppose we should wait and find out. I don't want to waste my time or creds on someone who claims to be some bigshot.'

'I've read his file. He's arrogant, but lives up to his hype more times than not. I believe he might indeed be capable of matching Bludgeon's fighting ability.'

He turned away from the railing to face his second-in-command. 'You're the mathematician. What are our chances of pulling off a successful rebellion?'

'Not bad, but far from worth pursuing. Banzaitron has his men, you have yours— but Bludgeon still holds the higher ground. If we had at least one more force equal to that of Banzaitron's or yourself, then perhaps we could stop Bludgeon before he ruins everything.'

'But since we don't have anyone else—'

The figure stepped out of the shadows, revealing their thin, green and white frame. Their expression was masked by a faceplate and visor. 'Then we either let Bludgeon win, or we take our chances with Banzaitron. But if we were to – hypothetically of course – place our attack against Bludgeon, we'd want to do it soon. Time is running out.'

'As usual, Charger, you're right.' Gutcruncher reached into a pouch around his waist, picked out a Cy-gar, parted his faceplate, and bit down on the small tube of metal. 'It's only a matter of time before Bludgeon's sword finds its way through Prime's spark—and when it does, the world will never be the same again.'

'We're stealing from Bludgeon?'

Starscream grinned from his perch. 'More or less, my dear Strika. More or less…'

Thundercracker frowned. He was leaning against the toppled desk, arms folded skeptically. 'How do you expect us to "more or less" steal from someone, let alone Bludgeon?'

Starscream's optics narrowed. 'Because we're not pulling a Mission Impossible here. We're not maniacs, after all. What we're going to do is infiltrate their ranks…'

Thundercracker sighed. 'Thank goodness. I was afraid we were about to see another Sunstorm mess come through.'

'… And kill everyone that stands in our way.'

Thundercracker slapped himself in the face. 'Of course.'

Starscream clapped his hands together. 'Of course! And that, my friends, is when the real work begins… That's when we take what Bludgeon's been hiding locked away underneath the Crystal City, and use it to guide us straight to Prime's doorstep.' He leaned back, smiling contently. 'Piece of cake.'