Bludgeon was in a dream. He hadn't slept in ages, but what else could it have been? Jazz lay on his side, still as stone. The blast of the rifle had ripped his entire set of back-kibble off his body. He didn't look wounded enough to be dead – not that anyone had bothered to check – but in his condition, Bludgeon would be just as surprised to see him walk as he would a corpse. After all, such a small Autobot could have easily died from a quick chop to the neck. A voice hummed in his periphery. "Bddnnn," It hummed.Who? Bludgeon demanded quietly. Syncorax? Unicron? "Bddnnn."

'Bludgeon.'

He snapped awake, aware. They all stared at them. Sixty or so optics searing into his mind. All different colours. All glimmering at different intensities. And they say Decepticons' are born with red. He stared lazily at the source of the voice. Bugly. Good Bugly. Loyal Bugly. He was a practitioner as long as he was. Not as skilled, no. But he couldn't think of anyone else worth being alive as well as him.

'Bludgeon,' Bugly repeated. 'You should be dead.'

But he wasn't. Hm. 'I appear not to be.' But his voice was barely a whisper. Jazz had evidentially done some minor damage to his throat. His vocal-processor was wavering.

'What happened?' Bugly snarled, his voice as sharp as a knife.

'I could… ask the… same… I appear to have… won.' He frowned down at the still image of Jazz, muttering to himself. But not the way I wanted. Slowly, he began to understand. Someone shot Jazz. Someone ensured his survival. Someone had just won him the match. Dishonourably so.


Stunned gasps exhaled from the crowded audience encircling the brawl. First, when Jazz overcame Bludgeon, squatting on top of him with his nunchakus wrapped around his throat. And again, when the restrained Samurai shouted, and a bolt of light blasted apart the Autobot's back-section, sending him crumpling to the ground next to Bludgeon, a trail of smoke bellowing from his torso.

Starscream frowned. Even he was somewhat surprised by the turn of events. He suspected some sort of trap, but this… Not what I had in mind. Now Bludgeon stood, and Jazz lay crippled on the ground. But not quite. It took a keen eye to see it, but Jazz was well alive, staying as still as he could, no doubt as a means of securing an air of ambiguity to the outcome of the battle. Clearly, Bludgeon was never at risk. Jazz had his own unique skill-set, but he could never kill anyone with his bare hands, especially someone as heavily armored, and precariously self-trained as Bludgeon. You couldn't strangle Cybertronians to death, and you sure as hell couldn't kill them with a pair of nunchaku when they have three layers of armour separating their exoskeleton from the mallet of heated metal. It was ironic, despite his name, Bludgeon preferred bladed weapons, and here he was—his undoing incurred by an Autobot wielding a bludgeoning weapon. Indeed, this was planned. Jazz would have been killed should the shot not have made its mark. But it did. How baffling, it was, that Optimus would go to such lengths to make a point. Was he not the "benevolent" sort? The sort that got themselves executed out of some inane sense of invisible honour? Still, Jazz was not incredibly wounded. His dramatic crumble to the dusty ground appeared to have been just that: drama. The chunks of door-wing and backpack had stomached most of the shot, but the show was convincing enough for most of the watching idiots to gawk at. He looked around him, Obsidian and Strika shared knowing glances with each-other, then with him. Of course they would know.Thundercracker saw it too, though he appeared more puzzled as to what the particular motives in the display were. Slipstream was looking the other way. Witch.

Murmurs were exchanged from soldier to soldier. The smartest stood in silence, already grasping the situation at hand. It had been figured Bludgeon was being led into a trap from the start. The duel wasn't viewed with so much as one would expect in a duel (awe, expectations, tension, intrigue) as it was viewed with frowns, questions, and disbelief. Why is he doing this? What's the point? Isn't this what the Autobot wants? Everyone knew of Bludgeon's archaic sense of honour, but he was intelligent, wasn't he? It wasn't until Bludgeon was seemingly nearing his last breath of life did they come under shock. The shock that their leader could have possibly have fallen this far.

Bugly had already started asking questions. His voice was no longer the petulant, nasally, squeal of an upper-class practitioner of the mystic arts looking down on the non-experienced folk. His voice was dark and prodding. A serious mind digging into the poorly disguised evils of an old friend. 'Where did that shot come from?' Bugly asked.

Bludgeon only shook his head. Was it the fact that he couldn't speak? Or that his façade had finally dissipated. Cruel, vicious, religious, charismatic Bludgeon was now only cruel, vicious, and religious. Like he always was, in a sense.

Bugly persisted, playing the detective. Or was it the calm-minded interrogator? We're probably about to find out, Starscream figured. The mystic stepped out of the circle, secluding himself from the undefined masses. He looked in control. He tended to, as with Krok's absence, and the mystic's controlling personality, he did not look entirely out of place. 'There are some… reasons to doubt, my Lord, the authenticity to your claims next to the Autobots'.'

He shook his head again, not entirely convinced of his old friends' reasoning.

Bugly's mandible-lips pressed inward as he studied his leaders' reaction. 'A stray bullet tore through the Autobot's torso, just as you were about to fall. The Autobot himself bragged that you had lost your fighting touch. I know it to be an undeniable fact that you had it at some point in the past, but this encounter does make one wonder. There's also the suspicious absence of Lieutenant Commander Krok. We all saw you speaking with him preceding the fight. You can see how this sounds.'

'I can answer that.'

Heads snapped around and shoulders parted as Krok entered the circle, brushing himself off. 'The Dreads and I were ordered to investigate the area—see if we can find any signs of snipers or the like.' He nodded to Jazz. 'The kind to turn the match the way it did.'

But not in the way you were expecting, eh Krokky? Starscream mused to himself.

'Then what do you think this is, then?' Banzaitron spoke up, gesturing to Jazz with the flick of his fore-finger. 'Why'd our sniper shoot the enemy if they weren't a friend? It did sound an awful lot like Bludgeon gave the order.'

Krok shrugged. 'I don't know. I wasn't the one who shot him. A misfire perhaps?'

Banzaitron leaned his head back, inhaling deeply as he stared at the great blue sky above, resting his wrist beneath his chin in thought. 'Interesting how you couldn't find any snipers when…' He gestured to the broken Autobot splayed before him.

Krok frowned. 'Obviously the shooter attempted all this as a means of pitting us against one another. It couldn't have been any of us—we are all too tightly bunched in a single area, for anyone not to have noticed. Besides, there was no sound, the shot had to have been fired from a distance away.'

'You could have been a distance away,' Banzaitron suggested. 'Besides, this isn't about whether Bludgeon broke his code of honour, or "cheated" to win the match. Who cares about that? This is about how he needed help to kill a single Autobot. How can we trust a guy to maintain a Decepticon government when he can't even accomplish that—when he explicitly knew he'd need help and asked for it before the fight had even begun.' He spotted Krok's headshake and grinned. 'Maybe you're mixing up "find the sniper" with "snipe my enemy when it looks like he's gonna win". We all know you have memory problems.'

Starscream hadn't even considered it. Darn. It was there in Krok's file. It was no secret he spent years thinking his old team was alive and well, completely forgetting their fates as if it were a date on a calendar. He had muttered things to himself constantly as a means of remembering. Repeating them over and over. Krok was intelligent, but his mind was a double-sided barrel. Starscream had considered killing him, but never recruiting him. His regret to do so seemed to have thinned out, as without a straightforward sense of loyalty and command, Krok could have easily jeopardized everything.

Krok's voice went from firm to slightly antagonistic, as any Decepticon general's would from time to time. 'I know full well what my orders were. To clear out any traps or ambushes was but one of my duties. I was, and am, endlessly obliged to follow them to the letter.'

'Then what were your other orders, if you wouldn't mind telling us?'

'Those are confidential.'

'To the head of the Decepticon Secret Service? I don't mean to brag, but information is my deal. Confidentiality is my middle name! Banza-Confidentiality-Tron, believe it or not!'

'My orders were not to kill the Autobot as you so desire to believe.'

'No? Then what else could they possibly be? What could you and the Dreads have possibly been set out to do concurrently with the fight?'

'As I explained: not to interfere with the fight whatsoever!'

'What then! Quit hiding from us you punk! Tell us what you were order to do! If it's not to protect Bludgeon from his inferiority then clearly you have nothing to hide! What?! What are your orders?!'

'To kill St—!' Krok had recited his secondary order over in his mind, mouthing it beneath his faceplate since Bludgeon first asked him the very same question. Saying them was almost an instinct, and he wanted dearly, to prove Banzaitron wrong. He spoke, and the moment he did so, Bludgeon heaved, Krok's jaw clenched shut, and thirty pairs of optics stared. Did it rule out his innocence? Perhaps it would have should his orders have been something less self-destructive. Krok. Loyal strategist Krok, endlessly reliable and the most trusted advisor in Bludgeon's army. Ruining everything by forgetting that what Bludgeon told him was not the same as what he told everyone else. Millennia spent as the common grunt had betrayed him, he was at a loss for words. Or maybe things were already ruined. Maybe Krok's short-term memory was one more folly in Bludgeon's inevitable fall. Maybe no matter what Krok said, things would have gone the same way. Starscream was almost sure of it at this point. It was clear what Optimus wanted. But he couldn't say he didn't enjoy it. In fact to see Bludgeon in such a state made Starscream feel—

Oh, son of a— He slapped himself in the face. Starscream figured it out. He glanced at Jazz, and saw the hint of a grin. Not at Bludgeon, or Bugly, or Krok, but at him. Starscream. The Autobot watched expectantly—knowingly. Starscream was ready to shoot off that pristine visor that, in spite of the rolling sands seeping into the city, looked as clear and blue as it were the day it was manufactured. It was as if the visor was one large eye, staring a hole into his forehead. Prime's plan had come together. Optimus wanted to divide them—make them turn against Bludgeon. But how would he know that causing Bludgeon to stumble would lead to anything? How would he know that in spite of a rebellion, creating an obvious discord between the soldiers and their leader would cause a conflict? Because he knew someone would take that opportunity. He knew someone would be evil enough to twist the knife after it had already been plunged. He knew someone on the inside well enough that his plan would almost certainly come to fruition.

Me. Starscream didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Here he was, working his way around the smallest conglomerates of Bludgeon' Decepticons, forming alliances with those of use and power, creating a faux mask of cowardice to deter attention, working a mental civil war with Obsidian, employing Slipstream and Thundercracker to spy on his more dangerous allies, manipulating the grunts and the stupid into blaming their grievances on Bludgeon and his orthodoxy. He saw himself as the one in complete control. The puppet-master, the master planner. What he didn't expect was for Optimus to foresee it all. Optimus knew Starscream would make a bid for power when it presented itself, be it through sheer force or subtle assassination, and he knew Starscream would make it as glamourous as possible, and so sheer force it would be. Because that's who Starscream was. Starscream did all the work, but all of the work played straight into Optimus's escape-route. Optimus was the true puppet master. Maybe what Bludgeon once said was true? Maybe he was a demon? No. Starscream realized. He's just an anarchist in denial.Clearly, Prime's hate for authority had spread to his scheming. What better way to take down Bludgeon's army than by tearing down all his authority and letting his little generals run rampant? No doubt to escape during the confusion. Pure anarchy was a stride away from being unlocked, and Starscream had the key. It was up to him now, Starscream could have easily said nothing. Turn Optimus into the fool, let them all walk away with a bad taste in their mouths, and leave his lieutenant dead in the ground. He could certainly lead his revolution tomorrow, if Bludgeon hadn't ordered them all killed first. But when would he have a better chance than now? When distaste remained fresh on the glossas of his mechs? When his intentions for even his generals were clear. Besides, with Banzaitron's obvious taunts, it was clear there was no going back now. Starscream would play to Prime's tune. He couldn't let his pride consume him, instead he used his embarrassment and rage to fuel his fighting adrenaline.

Starscream took that first step forward towards Bludgeon. The Leader was looking the other way, at Banzaitron, trying to work out his scheme.

'Would you mind finishing that?' Banzaitron asked Krok.

Krok looked to Bludgeon, but Bludgeon would only growl. He turned to Banzaitron, to Bludgeon, and back. 'To kill Starscream… if he did anything traitorous.' The last part felt so painfully tacked on that even Krok recognized it as a cheap lie. That sort of order should have come as soon as Starscream made planet-fall. Not even Krok needed to be reminded to be wary of Starscream. Krok was too loyal; deviousness and lies were an alien concept to him.

'Was there anyone else Bludgeon wanted dead?'

Krok only squinted. Banzaitron was only leading him on at this point, what was about to happen was about to happen no matter the presentation building up to it.

Banzaitron nodded, then turned to Starscream himself, Starscream whipped a blade from his waist compartment. 'I think this has been a very enlightening experience for everyone.' Before Bludgeon could turn around, Starscream thrust his blade into the Leader's back. 'Especially of which where the real power lies.' He let the blade stick out from the limp samurai's back and gestured around to the gaping audience. There were fewer faces of shock than he expected. Most had taken his side already, or at least the opposition to Bludgeon. Most wouldn't have a choice in the matter. 'Do you see? Do you see where loyalty gets you? Everyone flocks to the winning team, but when that team loses their winnings, what do you do? Do you maintain your loyalty to them and go down with their ship? No! You stab the growing cyst, eating away and at your command structure, and tear it out! The smart only maintain loyalty if your leadership is capable of it. I don't care what you think of me, but I'm taking this lunatic off his throne.' Perhaps there would be less conflict than he realized. Bludgeon's supporters were much fewer than he expected. Tough break, Optimus. 'Maybe then one of us will actually get a stab at the Prime—'

'OW!' Bludgeon's body straightened out suddenly, and Starscream winced, his speech cut inevitably short. The samurai looked over his shoulder, gawked at the knife sticking out of his back, and glowered at Starscream. 'You stabbed me…' He stumbled, and caught himself, blinking rapidly. '…in the back!' He looked again to make sure he wasn't seeing things. 'Literally!'

Starscream gasped. 'You—you're ruining the symbolism! The significance! The imagery! I didn't buy a knife from Gutcruncher to actually fight with it!'

'Then Gutcruncher's a part of this too?'

'Well no duh! We're all part of it! Cept for Krok and Cannonball, but…' He whipped out his null ray and shot Bludgeon full of machine bullets, knocking the Samurai back slightly, but leaving nothing more than a few dozen circular dents in his armour. Starscream put on an unhappy face. 'I was… uh, expecting that to do more.'

'It's called a pretender shell, Starscream. It makes oneself very…' he slammed his fist across Starscream's face-plate, knocking him an astro-meter backwards, and sending purple spittle spraying from his jaw, '…durable.'

Starscream span through the air and landed gracefully on his feet. 'Well, you'd have to be kidding me if this didn't leave a mark.' Several panels opened up revealing an armory's worth of missiles and machine-guns aligning Starscream's figure. They all fired at once, sending an onslaught of explosives crackling into Bludgeon's torso and knocking him back onto the ground. He grinned sickly as he approached the Samurai. 'Come on, Bludgeon… show me the real you… wind me up… turn the gears.'

Before Starscream could reload, Bludgeon was already back on his feet, wiping droplets of spilled oil from his chin. 'I always expected you to pull something, Starscream… Even when you tricked me into believing you were nothing short of a coward, I always felt it necessary to take that extra step!'

'Oh?' Starscream dove forward, activating his saw-blades.

'Which is why I had Ferak implant Chaff-grenades in the materials Thundercracker used to repair you.'

Starscream's oil went cold. 'What?' Suddenly, a loud pop echoed throughout the landscape, and Starscream collapsed, hitting the ground motionless and silent. His systems were frozen. Unable to move, but given just enough freedom to watch Bludgeon advance.

'You think you stood a chance against destiny, Starscream? Banzaitron? Whoever else conspired to end me? I made this place in the image of God. I manufactured all of this… all of this to bring Optimus to us! To bring him to his knees, and ensure a proper future for the Decepticons— under a proper rule! I was promised this—rewarded! What I have achieved, is a gift that cannot be returned! That's the problem with all of you. You're not… proper. You think your numbers are so great?' Bludgeon splayed out his arms. 'Look around you! I cobbled together a pirate force from nothing! I employed chief strategists to plan years ahead in case anything went wrong! Even now you stand under the Tidal-Wave—forged from the spark of a Titan! Do you think any of you have a chance against that? How about the dozens of loyal mechs manning my railguns? I'll have you know they are on their way now to put you all down. Did you never consider that a group of paid mercenaries might not have been the greatest defense against a solidified army under the guidance of Primus? Oh, I'm sorry, a group of paid mercenaries and Starscream. I am in control here. I always have. I'd tell you to grovel, but I don't think any of it would make up for your betrayal. You all should have acted like the good soldiers you are and followed your orders like the others. You were never meant to change, or to achieve anything greater. Under Primus, we either are, or we aren't. The ones that aren't, will remain untouched by Primus' forgiveness. The ones that don't—'

'Bludgeon!'

A figure emerged from the crowd. Hatchet, the Dread. He had finally returned, followed by another. 'It's a trap! All of it!' Trailing behind Hatchet, was The Pirate Captain Cannonball.

Bludgeon frowned 'What the hell?'

What the hell? Starscream thought.

What the hell? Obsidian and Strika thought.

They all gazed up upon the Tidal Wave. While his crew made up the ground forces with Bludgeon, Cannonball was supposed to be manning its defense systems. Alone.

'It's not me up there!' Cannonball screamed, pointing at the Tidal Wave.

'Evidentially not,' Bludgeon snarled.

'They kicked me off the side, made me walk my own plank!'

'Who did?!'

'Took you long enough.' A voice boomed throughout the city.

Bludgeon gawked around. 'Who?!'

But Starscream recognized the voice immediately. Though lying on the ground, paralyzed, Starscream could weakly make-out the voice. 'Opti…mus.'

The voice boomed once again, 'I would have stepped in earlier if not for how impossible these megaphone-things are to work. But anyway, I'd like to think you're all in a bit of a precarious position.'

'Show yourself!' Bludgeon gasped.

'What part of "pay no attention to the mech behind the curtain" don't you understand?'

'It's coming from inside the city!' Krok observed, pointing his index figure towards the city-scape behind them.

'I think that's what they call a "spoiler alert.".'

'What are you planning?!' Bludgeon demanded.

'Nothing, Bludgeon. Everything I've planned has already happened. Jazz incited the conflict I wanted to divide you, - I'm the sniper by the way – Starscream instigated his rebellion, Blackarachnia put her skills as a "stealth-commando-spider-warrior" to the test, and captured your ship before anyone could get any communications through.'

'Yo!' Blackarachnia's voice echoed from the Tidal-Wave's outer speakers.

'It wasn't hard to do, I mean, any one of you could have been the leader of this little alliance. And I think a lot of you could have done Bludgeon in when you had the chance. I mean… you! Well, you can't see that I'm pointing at you, but the floating helicopter Decepticon, I'm sure at least you would be able to beat Bludgeon in a fight. There's no way that body-type isn't Quintessonian, and that alone should grant you a huge advantage. But I'm rambling. You and your loyal subjects have a number of options left—you can all decide to work together and kill me, making Bludgeon a true Lord of the Decepticons. Or, you can see who can race to me first without getting caught in the cross-fire. Maybe one of you has a chance of becoming leader of the Decepticons? Or, maybe it would be best to eliminate the opposition before taking me on personally. Or you can always do the easy thing and run away before this city turns into a warzone. Though if I start firing now, so will the Tidal Wave, and it will be up to you to choose. But first, lemme give you a demonstration of what I can do from here.'

A stray shot hit the ground next to Bludgeon's feet. The Leader looked up and frowned. 'You missed.'

'Did I?'

Several sets of optics looked around in caution. When nothing happened, Bludgeon stared at the source of the shot. 'Yes!'


Optimus slumped over, the scoped rifle from Chromia's armoury. He sighed. 'Aww.' His aim was garbage.


'Before you take your real first shot, Optimus,' Bludgeon asked, 'answer me this.'

'Shoot.'

Slipstream laughed. '"Shoot." Cause he has a gun.'

'Were you really so far as willing to kill your own soldier to make a point?'

'What? Oh. No. Truthfully I missed those first couple of shots. By chance I got Jazz in the back. The thing is… well… Jazz!'

The Elite Guardsman burst from the ground, doing a sweeping kick and knocking Bludgeon on his back. 'They're called stun bullets.' Misfire and Fulcrum leapt at him. Activating his nunchaku, Jazz quickly flicked his wrist, wrapping the rope-sections around their necks. He fell backwards, taking them down with him. Both Decepticons hit the ground, taking the oil and wind out of them in the process. Jazz twisted in place, dancing off the ground and landing with both feet planted on the Decepticons' chests. 'The kibble's just for show!'

'Well!' Banzaitron whipped a pistol from his belt and shot Bludgeon in the chest. The shot deflected, but left a deep dent from where it touched. 'Never much cared for Leadership potential so—DSS! Kill anyone defending Bludgeon! Leave the lunatic-thinking-he's-better-than-me to me!'

Gutcruncher stepped in, transforming into tank-mode. 'You know the drill, break through Bludgeon's line of defense! Make your way to the city if you get the chance! Get too cocky and you get left behind. Capeesh?'

Thus, just as Optimus had said, the city had turned into a war-zone. Bludgeon stumbled, but held onto his strength, deflecting Jazz's attacks with his blades. Jazz's stasis-nap was enough to pull him back into pique physical condition, as his attacks were quick, accurate, and followed up with rapid precision. Banzaitron barked orders to his men as they charged, making up the front line of attack. Treadshot fired mortar shells from his chest, blasting apart Krok's division and sending them into disarray. Axer somersaulted through the air, emptying his pistols in all directions, causing Decepticons to scatter for cover as the bounty-hunter guffawed. Gutcruncher's forces provided a mix of guerilla tactics and a rear-defense, scampering forward to shoot and scampering back. Save for Roadgrabber, who transformed into his fourth vehicular configuration: a war-chariot, and charged down the middle in a blaze of glory; several guns and lasers firing a chain of fire and light, blazing a trail for Banzaitron and the others to make their mark. The Tidal Wave fired mortars and laser-fire from above that ripped the ground apart beneath their feet. While Blackarachnia had used up all of her energy slaughtering her way through the ship in spider-mode, she needed only lift a finger to deliver a wave of destruction to the dusty earth below. From afar, Optimus fired from Chromia's rifle. A few aerial forces blazed towards the city, keen on taking him out and claiming leadership before anyone else did. While he missed his shots, the return-fire was enough for the jets to circle the other way. Obsidian and Strika casually walked forward, batting aside those of Bludgeon's circle who thought fit enough to overtake them. Thundercracker followed, hunched over and on his tip-toes with an incendiary rifle between his fingers, trying to avoid a stray shot aiming for his head. Slipstream danced around, laughing and breathing in the carnage.

Strika grinned, and pounded her fists together. 'I've been waiting for this…' She jogged forward, swung her fist, and lobbed off the head of one of Cannonball's ground-troops. 'I've been holding back for too long, you understand what this means?' She grabbed a pirate by the throat, and raised their face to meet her own. 'DO YOU?!' The pirate let out an "eep" and Strika laughed. With one hand, she tore the small pirate's head clean off of their body and chucked the rest of it into a crowd of her opponents. 'It means I'm going to enjoy this very much, and you, most certainly will not!'


Banzaitron sprinted at increasing speeds, impatiently drawing closer towards the famed master of metallikato. Everyone that crossed his path in his defense was an annoyance that was quickly dealt with by his men. Treadshot was the most reliable in his charge, but the Decepticon Secret Service as a whole was shining pretty brightly that day. They danced around the mortars falling from above and pounced on those who got in Banzaitron's way. Explosions rippled all around them, and the lightly dusted air was ablaze with fire and embers alike. Banzaitron beckoned those still running alongside him. Treadshot and Razor-Sharp among him.

'Treadshot! Circle around and shoot him to slag! Razor-Sharp—'

The small purple and green Decepticon perked up. 'Yeah boss?' He was the smallest Decepticon under Banzaitron, always eager to please, and almost always successful in his goals. His size made data-gathering and assassinations a breeze for Banzaitron. He really needed to give him that promotion sooner or later. 'Anything I can do for ya? Just say so, I got this guy in the bag!'

'Get past him, and when his back is turned, shoot a hole through his helm. Can't do that? Stab him in the neck 'til his head falls off.'

'Got it, boss! You can count on me, ye can!' The small Decepticon scuttled against the ground, blending in with the dead metal around the battlefield. Banzaitron grinned as he honed in on Bludgeon.

Jazz somersaulted over Bludgeon, delivering a swift kick to the back of his helm. Bludgeon spat, twirled around, and swiped his blade, cutting into the blocking Autobot's arm. A streak of purple splashed from the gash, but Jazz would only wince.

'Gettin' tired?'

'I never tire.' Bludgeon spat, slashing at the Elite Guardsman.

Jazz dodged the blade, falling backwards on his hands before pushing back up off of the ground and diving feet-first at Bludgeon, landing a kick to his chest. 'Y'sure? We could always settle this with a bit of a chill-out session. Play some tunes, drink some fine Energon… all that J—.'

'I don't think I made myself clear. When I say I never rest— I never rest. I never have the chance to. They're always pushing me to stay awake. Always.'

'Uhh, who?'

'The Dark Gods themselve—'

'Ohhhkay, I'm going to have to stop you right there and— ah, on second thought? Pretend I never asked.'

Jazz prepared to keep up the assault, only for a hand to grab him by the shoulder, lift him off his feet, and lob him a yard away like he were some playground toy. 'Out of the way jerk-face!' Banzaitron spat as he took his place in the fight. He assaulted Bludgeon with several rapid-fire jabs that took the Metallikato master by surprise. Bludgeon span around, and began deflecting shots from Treadshot and Revolver. A few more secret service members by the names of Turbo and Sniffer jumped at him, firing and swiping at him in circles like a pack of wolves attempting to take down an elephant.

Jazz sat up, massaging his head as Treadshot dodged his way, nearly tripping over him. 'Fragging Autobot!' But instead of making the Guardsman pay for his actions, he carried on, and fired his pistol at Bludgeon.

As Jazz stood, Axer drove by, firing from his vehicular mode at the Samurai. 'I'd stand aside, Autobot. We're both trying to kill the same guy, but that doesn't mean any of us will be watching out for you. If a bullet flies past, I'd duck your head.' He paused in consideration. 'Or don't. One less Autobot in the universe.'

Jazz massaged the back of his head, 'Thanks for the advice. I think.' He transformed into his silver Cybertronian vehicle mode and blazed forward, driving at Bludgeon's legs. He barrelled through, knocking the Samurai over and accelerating along. His supporters began homing in on him, firing at the car as it raced seamlessly around the lasers, occasionally boosting through the air to safety.


Starscream could see perfectly clear in his moment of stasis. Unfortunately, he could feel too. Moments ago, Cannonball, Brimstone, Thundertron, and Crowbar gloated over him. He looked back at that with nostalgia. Now they were shooting and stabbing his frame, trying to find his rare weak-points. Ahah! Even like this none of you can kill me! But they were getting closer. His chest began caving in against his spark-chamber, and his helm was battered to the point where much of his adornments were beginning to come loose. Metal plates were pried off, and soft tissues were shoved in. He couldn't die yet! He still needed to one up Megatron! He felt his arm shake. Yes. Move, damn you! It slowly began to rise. Yes… I can do this. I am Starscream. I am Starscream. I am Starscream.

Cannonball smirked as Brimstone tossed him a cannon.

'One of our dead dropped it. I think his name was Toxin or something.'

'It'll do pretty darn nicely, Brimstone. Pretty darn nicely!' He pressed the tip of the barrel against Starscream's forehead. 'From this range you can't not die, eh Starscream? Picture it: Cannonball—destroyer of Starscream! That ought to get me some respect around here. Well, Starscream? Any last wo—'

Starscream raised his arm and fired a missile from his wrist. The missile struck Cannonball in the neck, exploding a hold between his chin and his colour bone, and leaving his head dangling on a cord. His body wobbled side to side as he attempted to regain his composure, in doing so, he fired his cannon, spraying shells everywhere and hitting Brimstone in the legs. His second squealed and fell as Thundertron charged forward. Starscream changed his aim and struck the aged pirate in the chest, knocking him onto his back and into a plume of smoke. Cannonball felt at his neck only for his hand to pass through it. He tried to yell, but his jaw had been completely detached from the rest of his body.

Starscream fired a shot into Cannonball's chest, breaking it apart and sending him crumpling to the ground. I AM STARSCREAM!

He fired a missile into Brimstone's head, tearing it clean from his collapsing body. I AM STARSCREAM!

He fired several shots at the world around them, the missiles rained back down, sending limbs and dirt flying across his line of sight. 'I AM STARSCREAM!' He shouted.

'Whatever.' Crowbar grappled the missile-launcher from Starscream's grip, and smacked him across the face with it. 'Won't stop you from getting killed.' The Dread stepped aside as Bugly came into view. He was flying towards him from above. What's he going to do, tackle me even further into the ground? But then he realized

Yes.

He was.

Starscream knew little about Bugly. Only that he was controlling, people hated him, and he was a master of some dumb martial art practise. What he didn't know, was that Bugly was the size and shape of Blackout. The massive Decepticon plummeted towards him, limbs splayed and chest jutted out. His sheer mass was going to crush the Seeker.

Maybe if I can move just a little to the—

'Aww, fu—'

Crunch.


Gutcruncher's crew were holed in a makeshift trench, firing at Krok's squadron from afar. They were about equal in might, but the real target was Bludgeon. Krok's team acted as a protective shield around Bludgeon and Banzaitron's men, ensuring that only a select few would have the opportunity to take the Metallikato Master head on. Their numbers suddenly meant nothing out in the open.

Charger removed his binoculars. 'Ah...'

'What is it?' Gutcruncher demanded. He was busy firing at Spinister in his tank mode, but the helicopter was not complimenting his aim.

'Starscream's dead.'

'What?' Gutcruncher reversed back into the trench and transformed before hitting the ground. 'Lemme see those,' He spat as he snatched the binoculars away from him. He looked through to see Starscream's crumpled body getting savagely beaten and torn by Bugly and a crowd of like-minded extremists. He could barely make Starscream out in the crowd, or whether he was even moving. 'You think so? It's kind of hard to tell.'

'Possibly. Probably. He's survived much in the past, but I don't know why you would want to keep your hopes up in this scenario.'

'I'm keeping my hopes up that he stays dead. Good riddance. Hasta la vista.' He hummed as he moved the binocular's direction to Bludgeon. 'Banzaitron seems to have this covered… What's our status?'

Charger squinted at the slaughter. 'Roadgrabber is dealing the most damage as you would expect. Take-Off and the others are doing what they can along the trenches— I'm not sure where Stratatonic is…'

'I do. He's waiting just down the alley on our left flank.' He reached for a Cy-Gar, only to realize he'd reached the last on his immediate person. He frowned. 'I think it's high time we met up with him.'

'Why? What's he doing over there?'

'He's our escape ticket.'

'But I thought his cockpit could only fit—oh.'

Gutcruncher nodded quickly. 'Yeah, we should probably go.'

'Right.'


Strika laughed heartily, tearing her fists through dozens of Decepticons allied with Bludgeon. Some, however, were probably not Bludgeon's. She hated the long-winded political games Starscream had them play to reach this moment, but the moment was a great one nonetheless. She smashed her fist through walls of Decepticons. There were so many of them that it was as if they were coming from the sky—oh. They were. Half of Bludgeon's railgun crew were making planet-fall to help eradicate the insurrection. There were about two dozen in total, and they were all homing in on the largest player on the battlefield. Her. Strika continued her blood-bathe, striking fist after fist, and tearing into the hordes like they were cardboard; laughing all the way. A loud roar echoed from behind her. She turned, to see Hatchet, one of the infamous "dreads". A subspecies of Cybertronian that once lived in the swamps of Kiaulune. Pity it got obliterated in the Fulcrum bombings. She was surprised any of them still existed. Hatchet snarled, wisps of steam slithering out from his nostrils like the last smoking ember of a bonfire. The four legged Decepticon burst into a charge, and Strika did the same. The two massive forces clashed, causing several fighting Decepticons to stop what they were doing and watch in awe.

Strika grinned at the snarling beast. 'Aren't you adorable? I think I had one of you for a meal once. It was kind of like petro-rabbit. But you're about as harmless as one aren't y—.'

'That would be highly unlikely.' Hatchet responded in a clear, well-mannered voice.

'Eh?'

'Petro rabbits are proven to be quite delicious, we, however, with our large mass, would make for a far more gamey feast. Your denta would never pierce through our armoured plating. We, however, are manufactured with cybertanium fangs, capable of ripping any Cybertronian metal – no matter how thick – asunder.'

'Eh?'

'Which is why I employed several of my peons to close in on you—so that I may deal the killing blow myself. Krok wanted me to advise him and his own team, but I'm sure he'll either succeed well enough without me, or fail miserably. I'm the only one capable of taking the largest player on the board down, therefore to disperse the troops in my favor would prove to be the most preferable outcome.'

'Eh?'

Hatchet sighed. 'And yes, I am indeed a very big "cat".' With that, the Dread sunk his teeth deep into Strika's neck, pulling out several tubes and exo-structures. Strika gasped, felt the gash, and felt her head slack to the side. That's not good. Liquid gushed from open wound and ran down her fingers. That's definitely not good. She continued her wicked assault on the Dread, swinging her fists wildly in succession and covering the beast-like Decepticon in several dents. Her vision blurred, and her head kept lolling to the side, but it wasn't about to quell her adrenaline. Not yet, at least. Just gotta keep punching. Just gotta keep punching…

Thundercracker was having a bad time. Strika and Starscream were dying, if not already dead, Slipstream was dancing around stray bullets like it were some kind of game, and Obsidian was nowhere to be found. He didn't belong here. It wasn't a battle. A battle was two sides fighting one another. This was Decepticon killing non-discriminant Decepticon, with Autobots helping whichever side they felt like, apparently. Optimus was right. They should have just taken their chances and ran, all of them. But Thundercracker knew that sort of thing didn't just happen. Thundercracker knew Decepticons weren't born for negotiating. Or in some cases, sense. He spun around and fired his incendiary gun, taking out a Decepticon trying to sneak up on him from behind. The bullet struck through their forehead and out the back, killing them instantly. His body fell forward, landing on his face with his rump in the air. That wasn't a good way to go. No death was, really. There was no dignity in death. I'm sounding like Dirge.Thundercracker thought to himself before spinning around once again and shooting down a small pirate working for Cannonball. He was a murderer. Call it "war" he was murdering his own kind. Maybe they deserved it. I sure as hell do. But to be gunning down fellow Decepticons in the chaotic mess they called a battle was plain insanity. With Autobots it was a simple matter of preventing them from hindering the Decepticon's dream of power and freedom. Thus: war. With organics it is a matter of pushing them just enough until they fall under a proper guidance. But here, on the ground amidst the violence, the bodies… Thundercracker needed to get out of here. He spotted Obsidian, hovering in the sky and shooting down anything that came close. Curiously, he was awfully close to the city where Optimus was hiding. Maybe he just didn't have the time to search. He considered flying up to join him and get away from the bloodshed. He'd have felt a thousand times more comfortable in the sky anyway, but Tidal Wave's mortar fire made it hard to get the running start to take off, and he was left scurrying in the dirt. Maybe if I just… He ducked away from the fire, did a somersault behind the remains of a few unfortunately dead soldiers, and prepared to transform. It wasn't really any help, but he knew his place would be better in the sky than—

He felt his face crack against the ground, a cold servo squeezing against the back of his head as if to break it open like a vulture and scrape out the contents inside.

'I told you I'd find you, Thundercracker,' Tornado hissed.

Damn! He should have seen this coming. He should have heeded Tornado's threat and escaped as soon as he had the chance. But he didn't. Because he was an idiot, probably. He always let others lead him into tragedy, and this was quite possibly the last he would. If only he could work for himself, he thought, if only he could do things his way. But it never happened. He felt a swift kick into his gut that flipped him over and onto his back. Ferak was there too, scowling over him with contempt.

'It's been a long time coming, but it looks like we've finally got him off our hands.'

'Not yet,' Tornado snapped, snatching him by the throat and jerking him up onto his knees. 'I want him to understand what he's done.'

'I understand clearly!' He blurted. 'I disobeyed orders to survive! I decided that sacrificing myself for a lunatic was ridiculous, so I had my own way! And you know what? I'm glad I did! You can take your brain-washed loyalty and shove it, Tornado. I don't need someone who thinks all there is to life is destroying the opposition to lecture me on how to live it.'

'We are soldiers, Thundercracker.' She shoved her thumb into the Seeker's optic and twisted, causing residual light to seep from the broken hole as pain seared his circuits. 'We don't have lives. This is what we are, and you believing yourself to be anything different, makes you nothing short of a defective cog in a machine built of identical parts.' She dropped him on his back, and reached for her rifle. 'But I get what you mean. I don't know why making an example of you would be a fair idea. I'm just going to end this chapter already and turn you into a gross memory I'll occasionally recall while washing the grease from my finger-tips.'

As soon as her hands gripped around the trigger, her head went cracking sideways, and her body went soaring in the same direction. Strika grabbed her wound with one arm, and reeled her fist back with the other. She nodded to Thundercracker, who rose to his feet. When she turned around, Tornado had jetted back into her, thrusters blazing, and arms flailing into the much larger Decepticon. Missiles crashed into her chest and sent her stumbling back, but it took little more than a swing of her open hand to bat the General away.

'Ahh, I've expected something like this, Strika.'

'Really? Cause I didn't.'

'I always hated the way you acted around your superiors. You never acted your part; never showing Megatron any respect, never showed up in a presentable manner, never tried to be loved, nor feared. You always liked bringing "snacks" to the union of the conclave, and you just loved getting syrup and crumbs everywhere. Even on Megatron!' She winced at the memory. 'It's all so embarrassing and disrespectful, and… unsuited for someone with a legacy such as yourself! Just what kind of Decepticon General are you?'

Strika nodded, as if coming to an understanding. 'Oh yeah, I see how this is. You're an idiot.'

Tornado's jaw went slack. 'What?'

She looked over at Thundercracker. 'Sorry for doubting you, you were right, this one is crazy.'

Tornado's visor blazed.

'Look, Tornado, I knew Megatron. For a long time, actually. I spoke with him about, you know, stuff. Battle plans, strategics and the like, but also just, you know, normal stuff. We talked, and, surprisingly, he's no messiah. And you thinking he was a messiah deserving of prayer or worship, is just crazy! He was just a spectacular person, and a friend. Don't get me wrong. He was the greatest mech who ever lived— and I think we agree on that front, but because of a stupid mistake, he's dead, and I want to help him get the closure he needs—deserves. You know, as thanks for being a good person to me—to all of us, without unneeded prejudice.'

Tornado snarled, and activated a pair of long blades from her wrists.

'So you see, in his memory, I am going to do what Megatron would have done if he were here.'

'Oh, and what's that?'

'I'm gonna KICK YOUR ASS!' Strika clenched her fists and kicked the ground, banking into a running start.

The two generals clashed, grappling and striking each-other relentlessly. Thundercracker provided cover fire on Strika's end, keeping Ferak and anyone else from shooting at her. She was an easy target, after all. He saw Tornado's blades emerging out of Strika's back as she stabbed through her, over and over again. He swallowed. He really shouldn't have worried about her losing her life, but he did. Say one truth that Thundercracker would never dare admit, say he was soft. He hated his comrades, and his superiors, but he never wanted to see them die.

Strika cracked her fist against Tornado, firing missiles from her turrets that rained down on their surroundings, creating a wall of fire that prevented interference. Tornado kept stabbing, but with each stab, she slowed. Strika rolled over, so she was on the bottom, and lifted the smaller Decepticon off of the ground, she grabbed her by the arm and ripped back, dislodging the limb from its connecting ports and sending a stream of rippling sparks showering from the empty stump. Tornado only grunted and fired a volley of missiles from her chest into Strika's large mass. Strika grunted back, ripped off her other arm and reeled back, before throwing the General several yards away, and into the chaotic mess of Banzaitron's division.

Strika turned back to Thundercracker and smiled, 'See? Strika saves the day once agai—'

'Get down!' Thundercracker bellowed, firing a volley of missiles and incendiary bullets in her direction. Strika ducked, and the volley crashed into Ferak. He was so certain he could sneak up on the wounded General that his face barely distorted as his torso imploded on him. He fell backwards, and crashed back into the ground.

Strika whirled around to the smoking body, and back to Thundercracker. 'Wow, Thundercracker. I guess I was wrong about you. You've got some vigour in you after all.'

He shrugged as he approached the General, reloading his weapon. 'Thanks for the save.' He winced sheepishly. 'I… really shouldn't have to keep relying on you and Obsidian to bail me out.'

'No problem. It was Tornado after all. Not everyone can frag with glitches like that.' She looked into the crowd of which Tornado had disappeared into. 'You think they're dead?'
Thundercracker walked up to Ferak, frowning over his body. 'Hope not. I still need Ferak alive if I want Skywarp back in one piece.'

Strika shrugged. 'Right, guess we better take him with us then— see what we can salvage.'

Thundercracker frowned at the body. 'Yeah.'

Strika clapped her hands together. 'Welp, I guess all's well that ends well, eh, Thundercracker?'

Only for Hatchet to leap onto her back, taking a second deep bite into her neck, sinking his teeth into the melding steel and sucking away at the gushing Energon. He let go to speak, mouth dripping pink. 'You didn't abandon our fight just to rescue your comrade, did you?'

Strika began to thrash, slamming the back of her fist into Hatchet's face and detaching him from her. She let out a slurred roar, 'Blasted irony!'