Banzaitron charged Bludgeon, balefully and elegantly dancing around the samurai's jabs while striking whatever weak-points he could detect. Which, admittedly, weren't many. Surrounding them, Axer and Treadshot provided cover-fire, ensuring no interference from Bludgeon's surrounding armada.

A shell burst in front of Krok's face, blinding him momentarily and raining him in metallic flesh and oil. The sounds of screams came with it, smothering him with heat and agony. Krok blinked the debris out of his optics and flicked a severed finger from the side of his face. Whose it was didn't matter anymore. He looked around. A few dozen mechs remained of his unit, and from their position, they would not last much longer. He turned his head. Bludgeon was fighting off Banzaitron, but as much as he desired to see his Lord fighting him off, proving his power, and showing up the dishonourable villain, the warrior was only barely able to keep up with the Director of the Secret Service. He cast a worried frown. Bludgeon locked optics with him if only for a moment before turning away to defend himself. Bludgeon gave him everything. He never knew what Bludgeon saw in him, but apparently it was enough to make him his highest confidant. Hell, he wasn't even that great of a strategist. Above average, maybe, but not worth the position he found himself in. None of that seemed to matter anymore. Like Starscream said, you don't stick around with the losing team. He bit down, regretting what he was doing before he even did it. 'Spinister! Crankcase! Make the call, we're moving to the right flank within the remains of the former Agriont!'

Crankcase grumbled his approval and dashed, ducking his broken head amidst the chaotic exchange of laser-fire. Spinister continued his assault, hesitating. 'We would be leaving Bludgeon for the cyber-crows.'

'I know.'

The croak in Krok's voice told him enough. Spinister hovered over, parlaying the message to anyone left to hear it. Things are going to work out, he thought to himself. Things had to work out. He'd reposition the forces, then call in Hatchet to take over. He was a real strategist. Not at Obsidian's level, but he could have very well help him turn the tide. Things are going to work out. He told himself again, so he wouldn't forget.


Thundercracker transformed into his jet mode and unleashed his missiles. They screamed towards the dread, exploding chunks of body-armour off of the beast and pushing him back onto his hind legs. Strika weakly fired missiles from her turret that whizzed off and struck the ground surrounding them, clipping a ground-soldier of Banzaitron's troupe in the process.

Thundercracker transformed and landed on the Dread's back, punching and kicking furiously— only for the massive beast to leap from the ground, sending him tumbling onto his side. Strika was on her knees, pushing herself to get up, and punching aside whatever got in her way, be them an enemy or a chunk of dead metal. Before Hatchet could pounce her, another figure jumped on his back. This time it was Slipstream, stabbing at slashing at the nape of the Dread's neck with a shard of fragmented metal. She tore into his cords and his wires; sending sparks crackling from his neck to his eyes. Thundercracker pulled himself out of the dust and fired from his incendiary gun, rippling shots across his dark body-frame. The Dread crowed and wriggled, unsure of who he was supposed to fight. Nonetheless, he dragged his body towards Strika, intent on finishing the mission objective. He would eliminate the greatest threat to his master's rule, whatever it took.

'Thundercracker!' Slipstream shrieked at him. 'Help me, you egg!'

Thundercracker did as he was told and jumped on top of Hatchet's back. He wrapped his arms around his massive neck and started pulling out singed and cut wires. Hoping at least a couple of them would be important.

With two Seekers weighing down on him, Hatchet's movement slowed. He could no longer fight them back, focusing all of his energy into reaching the kneeling Strika so he could rip her brain module out. It was working.


Obsidian looped through the sky, shooting down whatever aerial vehicle came his way. Any that got too close would fall into his grasp, plucked out of the air, and torn apart. He wasn't a fan of the latter, but even he had to reload. He just didn't like to touch. Especially gun-loving berserkers who spent more time polishing their weapons than they did themselves. His helicopter mode swerved around through the skies, shooting down another jet. That one seemed to have been one of Banzaitron's, but that had no significance. They were to prevent anyone from reaching Optimus, friend or foe. All so that Starscream could be the one to kill him at a later date. He didn't want to trust Starscream let alone Soundwave, but if this would lead Optimus into their possession, then he had to obey. He'd be glad once this entire mess was out of the way. Banzaitron didn't seem to notice his air-troops being taken out, so there didn't appear to have been of any consequence after all. One jet rammed straight into him, forcing him into his hovering robot form. 'Dammit!' The jet transformed, wrestling him in the sky.

'Obsidian!' His transceiver buzzed in his audio-receptor.

He just barely recognized the voice. 'I'm busy, Slipstream! Go bother Thundercracker or—'

'Strika's down and we can't hold them back. We need you to—'

Obsidian's hand shot through the jet's spark-chamber. He blinked, looked down at the wreckage in his chest, and collapsed, falling into the chaos below. Obsidian transformed into his helicopter form and burst towards the battle below, carving his way around Banzaitron and Krok's divisions before finally arriving in front of Strika. His consort lay bleeding and heaving, only barely clinging on to life.

'Ah, Obsidian.' Hatchet addressed as Thundercracker and Slipstream clung hold of him in hopes of weighing him down with their bodies. 'The master strategist himself. I see you were fending off aerial forces from reaching Optimus. Presumably so that you or Starscream would have the opportunity to get to him after the fact. Am I right? A simplistic tactic for your like, but I cannot deny its effectiveness. You know, I am quite the strategist as well. I am here to eliminate Strika in order to remove the largest player on the battlefield. After that I am to return to Krok, and lead the bulk of our forces into Gutcruncher's domain. With them eradicated, all that will be left is Banzaitron's division, which I imagine will be suitably worn down once Bludgeon has cut them to pieces. Now, here we are, face to face. Shame about your bruiser, but I'm certain you can always get another one. People like us… we know to treat every mech or femme like the pawns they are. Easily replaceable. We, on the other hand, are two of a kind. After all, there are millions of soldiers, but leaders come in short supply—'

Obsidian's fist penetrated Hatchet's optical socket before he could finish, twisting and wrenching a clump of wires from the Dread's face. Hatchet barely had time to react, staring at the strategist through his remaining optic in mild surprise. 'Ah…'

Obsidian let out a roar, leaping on top of the Dread's massive body alongside Slipstream and Thundercracker, and stabbing through his broad chest with the tip of his tail. Hatchet struggled, but could barely move under the added weight. Screaming, Obsidian wrapped his arms around Hatchet's neck, and pulled with all his might. Naturally, Obsidian was not nearly as strong as he used to be, but given the circumstance, his creaking limbs and tearing circuits were little more than an annoyance. His rage clouded his thoughts, and Hatchet's head came loose. A loud shredding ripped across the battlefield, and Hatchet's head detached from his body. Obsidian tossed the severed head into the air, and Slipstream leaped up, kicking the ball of metal like a soccer ball, sending it spinning somewhere over the horizon of soldiers.

Thundercracker stood up, and moved over to Strika. He knelt next to her, and began examining her wounds. She was awake, at least. 'Strika's not looking so good.' He said, barely audible enough for either Obsidian or Slipstream to hear. He turned his head around to face them. 'She's going to need medical attention, but I don't think bringing out the Nemesis is going to be a good idea with Tidal Wave hovering over us. The ship can barely hold itself together, let alone withstand an assault of this magnitu—GRK.'

Obsidian's fingers wrapped around Thundercracker's neck as he hoisted him above his insect-like head. 'YOU WANT TO DIE?!' He demanded, squeezing down.

Thundercracker coughed, unable to form even a single vowel sound.

'I'LL CUT YOU INTO LITTLE PIECES YOU PIECE OF PACIFISTIC TRASH! HOW DARE YOU EVEN BREATHE THE SAME AIR AS—'

Slipstream whipped her fist across the back of Obsidian's head. His grip released. Thundercracker fell to his knees, coughing, and massaging his neck.

'Quit losing your temper over meaningless trivialities,' Slipstream said, the open side of her head exposing her brain module was exerting blue flames and electricity. She turned to Thundercracker. 'Can Skywarp open a ground-bridge portal to this location?'

'I… believe so.'

'Then make it happen. She should be safe there.' She turned to Obsidian. 'Obsidian, if we want to prevent any of our adversaries from killing Prime before we do, I would advise that you retain your duties in the air.'

'My duties.' Obsidian blinked, looking around at the carnage as if he had just woken up in the middle of it. 'Yes. Yes, of course.'

Thundercracker and Obsidian stared at her. Slipstream began massaging her left optic, the one just under her broken skull. 'What are you…' she rubbed vigorously, until shavings of metal began to drift from her optical lids. 'What… are you looking… at?'

Obsidian spoke first. 'Slipstream, you're...' Obsidian groped the air for words. 'Functional.'

'Your head is on fire,' Thundercracker added.

Which it was. 'It is?' Slipstream's posture began to slacken. She stared at her open servo, blinking in surprise. 'I have a hot… head.'

'We're losing her…' Obsidian muttered.

'I'm a hot-head… I'm a loose-cannon, Kowalski! Starscream's gonna have your ass! I'm off the case!' She began chuckling to herself.

Thundercracker sighed. 'She's gone.' He gestured to the air troops. 'But she was right. You should get back to the fight. Slipstream and I will move Strika to safety. We'll worry about her mental state later.'

Obsidian nodded. 'Yes, an excellent idea… I…' The ground-bridge opened behind them. 'I apologize, Thundercracker. I was only… I was upset that I couldn't have prevented this.'

Thundercracker and Slipstream dragged Strika's body through the ground-bridge. Neither said a word.

Forget it. Obsidian transformed into his helicopter form, boosting back into the smoke-wreathed sky.


Hatchet's head landed at Krok's feet. The strategist stared at it, blinking in disbelief.

'Misfire says he spotted Obsidian do him in.' Crankcase said to him, weapons flaring in all directions.

Krok shook his head. 'I was relying on him… I was…' Hopelessness washed over him. He looked back at Bludgeon's position, no longer able to see his leader in the flood of bodies. 'I don't…'

'Orders, Commander.' Spinister growled over his radio. 'What are we supposed to do?'

Krok shook his head. Fires were brewing all around him. If they stayed where they were any longer, they would be swallowed in no time. He thought about what Hatchet would do; what Bludgeon would do.Frag it, Krok. It's time to take charge. 'All troops! Crescent formation! Proceed with the plan of attack—march through Gutcruncher's left flank and ambush them in the trenches. Spinister, Misfire, Fly-die— perform manoeuvre 46, draw their fire to you while we pull the knife on them from behind. Decepticons, rise up!'

A loud hurrah boomed around him as they began to move to cover.Now to see how hard this bombs.


Razor-Sharp grinned. He was crawling on the ground behind the raging martial-artists. Unseen amidst the adrenaline of the fire-fight. Killing Bludgeon… if anything was going to give him more respect in the Secret Service, this ought to be it. In the age of Megatron, there had been thousands of bounties submitted to kill the renegade leader of the Mayhem Attack Squad. Rising through the ranks at such a quick rate had given Bludgeon the illusion of something greater, but alas, that only put him on the DJD's list with the thousands of other delusionals that thought they were better than they were. He readied his steel. It was a choking-based weapon. One that wrapped around the throat and took the air out of them. As Cybertronians did not require air outside of cooling and ventilation, choking did little more than wound the section connecting their head to their body. The choking steel he held in his hand was made specifically for decapitating enemies. And not even Cybertronians could live long without a head.

Banzaitron twisted through the air, landing on Bludgeon's side and delivering a quick kick to his gut, sending the samurai barreling over. 'Played Academy Lobbing y'know.' Banzaitron crowed. 'I could've gone pro if I hadn't joined your stupid religious kung-fu bullshit.'

Bludgeon spat, thrusting his sword, and dragging the blade across Banzaitron's upper arms, leaving cuts that dribbled with pink Energon. 'Your lack of discipline and ignorance to the true faith will only result in your immediate—'

Banzaitron karate-chopped Bludgeon's temple, sending his head cracked askew, and his mind racing. 'Blah, blah, blah. None of that crap matters when you're a kickass son of a gun capable of crushing the so-called master of metallikato with his bare hands!' He delivered an uppercut to Bludgeon's chin, sending strands of loose wiring writhing through the air. 'You don't #$% with this Service Director!' Before Bludgeon's feet could touch the ground, Banzaitron grabbed him by the helm and drop-kicked him square in the face, sending him stumbling back. Before he could gather his bearings, Banzaitron jumped aside, and Firebeast took his place.

That was the cue. Razor-Sharp leaped from the ground, and sprinted towards Bludgeon. Even if his boss was a no-good arrogant piece of trash, he did come up with some positively evil ideas. Firebeast was meant to play one surprise attack, while Razor-Sharp played the second. Layering one surprise on the next. Surely Bludgeon would never see it coming. Firebeast charged him from his left flank. The black Decepticon huffed, as if shooting flames. Not that he could. The rhinoceros had a thing for the Dinobot Slag for whatever reason, and sought to emulate him in terms of mannerisms and personality to the letter. As Firebeast got close Razor-Sharp made his move, brandishing his steel and diving at Bludgeon.

'So that's how it is.'

'Eh?' Razor-Sharp looked down, to find his arms completely detached from his body. Bludgeon had sliced them off. What? But Firebeast was supposed to—

Firebeast laid dead on the ground, Bludgeon's foot pressing down on an exposed brain-module. The piece of processing popped under his heel.

'You're…' Razor-Sharp felt oil bubbling up from the bottom of his throat. 'You're fast.' He looked down to see Bludgeon's blade piercing through his chest.

'Of course I am. I am the master of Metallikato.' He sneered. 'Regardless if Banzaitron claims to be faster…' He made a single movement, and Razor-Sharp's head split in half. 'The movements of you… average Cybertronians, might as well be in slow motion.'

Shocked to see two of his men torn apart before his very eyes, Banzaitron sprinted towards the samurai with his fists raised. Even if he was better than Bludgeon in every way, Bludgeon still had the advantage of being faster than any of his mechs combined. Getting the drop on him didn't appear to work unless it involved shooting your own subordinate in the back. Banzaitron wiped some residual liquid from his optics. Dammit, they were stupid. It was Firebeast and Razor-Sharp's fault for screwing up. They died because of their own problems, not mine! He prepared to deliver a blow right across Bludgeon's face, only for the samurai to do something completely different. He transformed.

In tank-form, Bludgeon fired a concentrated blast from his main cannon, sending Banzaitron flying back with a hole in his chest. 'If neither of us is going to honour our battle, Banzaitron, then why should we kid ourselves?' His turret rotated, and began firing. Revolver was sniped out of the air, his head springing off his body by a wire, and his body crumpling into the ground. The tank accelerated forward, knocking Sniffer to his knees and proceeding to tread over him, crushing his round body under the weight of his tank treads. Turbo found himself crawling on his hands and knees, desperately trying to drag himself away from the tank. Accelerating at full-speed, Bludgeon transformed and drove his blade through his spark, killing him instantly. 'Anyone else?!' He beckoned. 'Does anyone else think they can challenge me? That they can snuff my spark? My soul has already been sold!'

Treadshot transformed into his gun mode, shrinking down and landing deftly between Axer's fingers. Axer cried out as he fired upon Bludgeon, but the samurai only laughed. What bullets did strike him caused barely a dent, while the rest were deflected by his blade.

'Slag.' Axer cursed, then transformed, carrying Treadshot inside his cockpit. The bounty hunter drove, accelerating as far away from the Samurai as he could.

Bludgeon considered chasing him down, only to turn his attention to Banzaitron. But the usurper was nowhere to be found. Still, perhaps he wasn't meant to fight him. Had he kept it up, Bludgeon would have lost. The fact that someone like Banzaitron was holding such power was… disconcerting. No matter. Bludgeon had greater plans. He transformed into his tank mode, and began accelerating towards the city, firing a path towards the Citadel. There was no doubt in his mind that Optimus would be there. After all, the Dark Gods hadn't lied to him yet.


'Urrk.'

'You've got to be kidding me!' Bugly roared. 'He's still not dead?!'

'Starscream's always been hard to kill.' Crowbar muttered. 'I didn't think it was a physical thing, though. I just thought he was a coward.'

'He'd be dead by now if we weren't constantly getting shot at!'

'He'd be dead by now if you actually carried a gun!'

'Yes, well, you are the one who wasted his ammunition on Banzaitron.'

'What did you expect me to do? Not shoot back at the guys who are shooting at us?'

Starscream could barely move. His body was beaten to a pulp, and any attempt to stand was countered by one of Bugly's massive fists. And that just made things harder for his next attempt. He remained still as his self-repair system did what it could. He would have to wait until Strika or Obsidian came to his rescue. He wouldn't hear the rest of it. But then… what if neither of them came to the rescue? Strika didn't respect him. Obsidian hated him. He knew Thundercracker longer than anyone, but he had admittedly been harsh to him in the past. He knew Thundercracker deserved it, of course, but that didn't mean he'd be forgiven for his actions.

'I actually expected you to have killed Starscream with your bare fists,' Crowbar said.

'Do you have any idea how hard it is to kill someone without a weapon? Let alone a Cybertronian? You can't choke them, you can't have them bleed out. You have to keep hitting him until a hole is carved to the brain module or the spark. And—and, someone like Starscream, who has mercilessly tampered their body with upgrades, would require an expedient amount of force applied to his exoskeleton.'

'So you're not strong enough to kill a guy who's basically dead already.'

'I am plenty "strong" enough, Crowbar, I merely need the time and materials to rip his spark from his chest. However, getting shot at from all directions makes doing so rather… difficult.'

Starscream lost all his vision out of one eye. The other seemed to get narrower and narrower. Bodies were littered around him, stacked in collected, concentrated heaps. He wasn't sure if he was in a trench, or if Bugly was using the body-stacks as strategic cover. Out of all their broken and wounded comrades, Bugly and Crowbar only seemed to talk about him. Lucky me.

'Well, as long as we maintain our position we should outlast this, eh Bugly? Spinister said he spotted Strika go down, and Krok's off to deal with Gutcruncher. It'll only be a matter of time.'

Strika's dead? Suddenly, Starscream felt a lot more helpless than he initially thought.

Bugly frowned at the sky. 'What is that?'

'What is what?'

High above the battle, the Ark's cargo bay gaped open, and a large, black figure leaped out. Ironhide dived down from above, cannons charging to maximum. His shoulders were outfitted with massive electro-cannons, his fingers tightened around a pair of path-blasters, and his chest was crossed with chains of bullet-cases. He let out a roar, and unleashed his full firepower. Lasers and missiles thundered from above, falling down upon the battle-field below, sending several surprised troops scurrying to safety with others not so lucky. A parachute opened from his back and slowed his descent. Though perhaps not to his immediate liking. Ironhide crashed feet-first onto the ground, shocks running up his legs.

'Who the hell are you?'

Ironhide turned around to see Bugly and Crowbar staring at him through blank optics.

The question had a simple enough answer. 'AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!' Ironhide roared, activating every piece of weaponry on his person and firing a wave of destructive firepower in Bugly's direction.

Missiles tore into his torso, and lasers singed his armor. One missile struck his shoulder-joint, tearing his arm straight off of his body. The rest of the onslaught exploded into his chest, sending the mystic barrelling back and crashing into the stacked pile of corpses. Crowbar blinked at Bugly, then turned to run.

Before he could get far, a missile fired from Starscream's chest compartment, striking him in the back, and sending him crumbling into the dirt. Starscream began to rise, then stopped. Ironhide was standing over him, guns trained on his head. So this is how it all ends. Not with a whimper, but with a screaming mad-mech with a gun fetish. Ironhide dropped his path blaster, and offered a hand. Hah?

Starscream grabbed the outstretched servo, and pulled himself to his feet.

'We're surrounded,' Ironhide growled. 'Optimus says your main objective is to take out Bludgeon and deal with us at a later point. Any truth to that?'

'Possibly.' Starscream activated his weaponry. 'But what makes you think I won't kill you now while I have the chance?'

'Because, as shocking as this may sound, even when strapped with all this badass weaponry, I can't kill all of these Decepticreeps alone. And, shockingly, you aren't going to survive without some help. And I can assure you, no one else is coming to help you.'

'Hrrn…' A team up… great. Starscream lowered his guns. 'I'm going to kill you when this is all over. Just a warning not to get too comfy.'

A shell blew apart a clump of bodies. Springing the two into actions. Their backs touched, and their weaponry flared. Missiles and lasers fired from the pair of heavy-hitters. Sending the advancing forces scattering in all directions. Those that got close enough were quickly dispatched, be it by a wicked left hook from Ironhide, or a bisection by one of Starscream's razors. A blast tore through their left flank, and a figure emerged from the smoke.

'Incoming!' Starscream roared, training his null-ray's at the figure.

'Easy!' Ironhide spat. 'It's Jazz.'

'I remain without a reason not to shoot.'

Ironhide rubbed the barrel of his cannon against the small of his back. 'I'll give you a reason not to shoot!'

Jazz somersaulted from vehicle-mode into robot, knuckles wet with fluid. 'Hey, 'Hide. There a reason Starscream's jiving with you like it's nobody's business or…?'

'Similar objectives. Believe me, not shooting him is harder than not-shooting Blackarachnia.'

Jazz frowned up at the Aerospace Commander. 'You think we can trust hi—'

'No,' Starscream said.

'Oh. 'Least that's out of the way.'

Ironhide reloaded a path-blaster before continuing his cover. 'I spotted Bludgeon during my air-drop. He's on the warpath to the—' He sneered at Starscream before continuing. 'He knows where Optimus is.'

Starscream sneered. 'Whatever. You know I'm not fit enough to chase after him. Even if I did know where in the city he was hiding, I wouldn't go after him.'

'Can we really take your word for it?' Jazz asked.

'No.'

'Doesn't matter,' Ironhide growled. 'I'll make sure Starscream doesn't kill anyone on our side. You get over there and help Optimus. Bludgeon will slaughter him if he's on his own, but if you can get there before he does—'

'We might have a chance. Gotcha, be there in a jiff.' The guardsman transformed, flipping into his speedster mode and blazing into the smoke.

'Why does he talk like that?'

'Honestly, it's one of those things you just don't question.'

'It's annoying.'

'You're annoying.'

A grenade blew apart their last line of defense, and the two resumed firing their expensive pay-loads at the forces closing in on them. The smoke was making it more and more difficult to aim.


Racing through the bellowing smoke, Jazz heard a familiar gurgle, and transformed. He ducked away from the whizzing missiles and fell into a trench, there he found the source.

Bugly raised his wounded head, he was lying on his back, arms draped over his chest as if in silent prayer. 'You…'

'Yeah… me.'

'You off to kill Bludgeon?'

'Killing's a bit extreme aint-it?' He rubbed his shoulder. 'But… yeah. If that's what we gotta do, that's what we gotta do. Don't mean I like that things have come down to this, but…'

'It's fine…' Bugly leaned his head back. 'Kill him. You're better than him. I can sense it.'

Jazz knelt down next to him, frowning.

'I know.' Bugly nodded. 'You don't believe me. Sensing… its nonsense, isn't it? But it is my ability. Every spark has a specific aura. Bludgeon's is writhing with dark energy, yours is brighter than anyone I know.'

'I hate to break it to you, but I don't think people can be defined with "light" and "dark".'

'And I agree. Everyone carries good and bad in them. More the latter of which, but light does not exactly define "goodness". It can represent purification, and enlightenment, but also blindness and relinquishment. Just as darkness can represent sobriety and courage.' He swallowed. 'Your spark will lead to something incredible, and beautiful, and I hope to see it happen.'

''Fraid it doesn't look like you'll get your wish.'

Bugly chuckled. 'Oh, I know how this looks… but I have ways.' Bugly's chest opened, revealing his spark chamber. Before Jazz could ask, a beam of light escaped Bugly's spark, shooting into the sky, only to crash back down into his chest.

Jazz covered his visor from the aftershocks of the display. 'What the—'

Bugly rose to his feet. 'Just as Sunstorm had his abilities, I have my own. I sapped the spark energy from a few of my comrades. They won't be needing it anyhow.' He looked to the smoky sky and transformed. 'Continue your training, Jazz. Become something beautiful.' Bugly nodded to them, stared up, and ascended into the sky, disappearing into wreathes of black smoke.

'Freaky…' Jazz muttered, dumbfounded. His blinked behind his visor. 'Wait, what am I doing? Prime needs me.' He transformed back into a speedster and roared down the charred battlefield and into the city. He needed to get to the Citadel before Bludgeon did, else everything would have been for nothing.


Gutcruncher and Charger drove through the alleyways in vehicle-mode. The sounds of muffled gunfire pulsing through their audio-receptors.

'There he is.' Gutcruncher said, gesturing to the yellow jet at the end of the passage. He transformed into his robot mode, and began jogging towards their escape. 'Stratatonic! Fire up the thrusters.

But the jet remained refused to move an inch.

'Stratatonic?' Gutcruncher squinted at him. 'You better be sleeping…' He kicked the jet, only for it to barrel over, and onto its side.

Charger transformed next to him, and began examining the motionless flyer. 'Oh no…'

'What? He's dead?!'

'Yes. It appears that someone went to great lengths to snuff him while he was still in vehicle mode.'

Gutcruncher scowled, clenching his fists in frustration. 'But why would anyone—'

Stratatonic's body exploded.


Fulcrum peered around the corner, grinning. 'Looks like they walked right into the trap. Just as you said they would, Krok.'

Krok finally allowed himself to exhale before turning to the two dozen troops standing guard behind him. 'Now—onward! While the trenches are leaderless—eliminate what remains of Gutcruncher's unit!'
They let out a roar, and two-dozen battle-ready Decepticons charged down the alleyway from which Gutcruncher came.
Finback clapped Krok on the back. 'Excellent work, lad. Keep it up.'
Krok calmed his breathing as he chased after the others. One step at a time, Krok, one step at a time.


Gutcruncher groaned in pain as the heels of several Decepticons pressed against his charred body, digging him further into the dirt. He should have died. With Stratatonic gone there was no hope for escape. And his mechs… if they continued down the alleyway then they'd be led directly to the trenches. They'll have slaughtered everyone. Naturally he'd have shrugged it off, but now it was clear he never stood a chance. There was no escape… no future. He shuddered as the last of Krok's forces trampled his skull.Charger.

He lifted his large, meaty arms, and began crawling. Wherever which way he was going wouldn't matter. 'Charger…' he muttered. 'Please tell me you're alive.' He lifted his head to find that one of his eyes were pierced by a shard of shrapnel. The other was sparking profusely. 'Charger?'

A green body laid on its side a few meters away from him. 'Charger… dammit… wakeup.' When he got no response, he crawled over to the body and began shaking it. 'Please… out of everyone to die, it can't be the only person I give half a slag about.'

Charger coughed up a wad of oil and rolled over, revealing his arms to have been completely detached from his body. 'Aye…'

Thank the maker. 'We're screwed, Charger.'

'I'm afraid that you're right.'

Gutcruncher activated his comm-link. 'Take-Off… report.'

The sounds of screams greeted him over the other line. 'Take-Off here. I'm playing dead.'
We aren't the only ones, then. That wasn't a good sign. 'Crap. What's happening?'

'They just… started killing everybody. A few of their fly-boys got the drop on us, and killed a few of the guys, but it didn't seem so bad that we couldn't handle it. Then the rest of their squadron just started appearing in our trenches and… I think I might be the only one left. So that's bad. Guess it could be worse.'

'You?' Gutcruncher muttered in disbelief. 'Out of everyone who is dead. You survived?!'

'Yeah, be rude, why don't you? Anyway. I think… I think Roadgrabber is still out there. I hope he is, at least. Last I saw of him was when he buggered off to get at Tornado and never came back. So… he might be okay. But then—'

'Whatever, just... just get out of there. Converge with us when you get the chance. I'll try and contact Roadgrabber to do the same.'

'Sure thing, boss. Say, how do you expect—'

Gutcruncher hung up, and sighed, he jerked his head over to his second. 'Come on, Charger. I think I know where we'll be safe.'

Before Charger could assent, a missile crashed into the buildings around them, as Spinister hovered passed. 'Ay!' Absolute shock spilled from the helicopter's tone. 'These two are still alive!'

Charger and Gutcruncher transformed. 'Drive!' Shrieked the mathematician. The pair of grounders rushed into the city's dark, swallowing alleyways.


Optimus gazed down upon the war torn battlefield, shaking uncontrollably. So many dead. So many dying. Bodies littered the area like small land masses floating on an ocean of char and visceral acids. Those who still lived scrambled around, shooting and clawing at each other like savages. How many were there, he wondered. There must have been around fifty to sixty deaths numbered that day. Screams persisted to echo from below, dying down only slightly as the battle reached its final moments like a casualty slowly losing their grip on life. He did this. His plan was one of attack, and he knew full well there would be a battle, but he could never prepare for the slaughter that would fall in his wake. It was silly. Here he was, sat on top of the Citadel, hiding with a sniper-rifle he could barely use, allowing his enemies to snuff out each other in gruesome combat. He just watched, like a coward, like an upper-class snob sneering as the empties scuffled and tore out their wire-strands. Here he was, like Prowl. He wondered if things would have been better had he simply given himself up. He wondered if there would be less carnage should he simply cease to exist. Those thoughts always disturbed him, but he couldn't break free from the feeling that it was all too horribly true. His disgust began to subside as his greatest need became not for the violence to end, but for it to finish, quick, and painlessly. Best stick the needle in quickly, and pretend it doesn't hurt like death, Ratchet once told him.

His communicator buzzed. A suitable distraction. He pressed against the side of his head, patching himself through. 'What is it, Blackarachnia?'

'You seriously don't know?'

He looked around, frowned, and turned her attention to the Tidal Wave. 'No.

'I can see you looking right at me, how can you not—I'm out of ammo, dummy! That means no more raining death from above!'

'Oh. I see now. Yeah, I thought things were getting quiet, but I just couldn't put my finger on—'

'Listen, I'm going to get down, because right now I'm a sitting duck up here, and lolling around waiting for things to sort themselves out isn't going to help anyone. I'm just going to land and—whu-oh.'

'What did you do?' But the only sound that escaped his communicator was a light static. 'Famous last words…' he muttered.

High above, the Tidal Wave began to lurch to its side. Ammunition and supplies slowly rolled off its deck and rained onto the battlefield below. His communicator crackled again.

'Who is this?'

'It's still me.'

'Blackarachnia? What happened?'

'You know how I am told never to pilot the Ark, or, well, anything ever? Well, it turns out I hit some wrong buttons and—'

The Tidal Wave crashed into the ground below, collapsing and imploding as it touched the metal-strewn battlefield. Screams filled the air as several of Bludgeon's men fell crushed beneath the fiery wreck.

Optimus massaged the bridge of his nose. 'Blackarachnia…'

'It's okay! I jumped out at the last minute. Might have broken a leg, but I have seven more where that came from!' She laughed at her own joke, much to Prime's chagrin.

'Focus! What about those prisoners you kept captured aboard the ship? What about Cannonball's men?'

'Oh. Yeah. Whoops.'

Optimus' head fell into his hands. 'Blackarachnia, I can't believe you.'

'Oh come off it. This is war, we're killing everyone anyway. Don't make me look like the bad-guy here.'

Optimus sighed. 'I… know. I know. It is war. Did Ironhide make it to the ground safely?'

'I saw him land in the middle of Bugly's unit, but he seems to be doing fine. A little worn out, but fine. Starscream's with him.'

Prime's stomach writhed with grease. 'Starscream?'

'They're doing the cliché good and evil team-up thing. I think they both know they can't hold the others off on their own, so they're doing the even more cliché back-to-back bad-asses routine.'

'What else is happening down there?'

'Gutcruncher's unit has been completely decimated, and Starscream's unit is gone too. Probably fell the same way.'

Optimus gazed up, spotting Obsidian coursing through the sky; preventing anyone from escaping the battle. 'Obsidian's still alive.'

'Darn.' But she paid it no further attention. 'Banzaitron is struggling with his guys. They are still alive, but barely with the same confidence. They're dealing with what's left of Cannonball's guys, though… I think they're going to lose. Not to the pirates, I mean. Krok lost a few guys, but he's moving his squadron to intercept Banzaitron. No doubt he'll kill them all. That leaves just Starscream, so, frankly, I think Bludgeon's going to win. Not with many bots left, of course, but thanks to Krok, he's going to win.'

Optimus shut his eyes. Even after everything, he was still going to fail. 'Speaking of which, where is Bludgeon in all this.'

'Oh yeah, forgot to mention that. Last I saw he was blasting his way through the barricade and making his way into the city. I can't seem to find him now.'

'What? Why didn't you tell me that in the fir-'

A stray cannon-shot clipped the side of his helm, tearing off his antenna and sending it clattering off the side of the Citadel; into the charred city below. He turned his head to see the outline of Bludgeon standing at the other end of the Citadel's peak. He stared at him, the barrel of his tank cannon smoking a grey plume.

'Prime!' He bellowed. 'Time's up!'

Optimus spun around and fired a shot from his rifle. The bullet flew past the side of Bludgeon's helm, missing him completely.

Bludgeon let out a sigh as he approached. 'You won't get away with this, Prime. Justice is going to be rightfully executed whether you like it or not.'

Optimus lowered his rifle. 'I did what I had to— to live.'

'And look at where that got you.' He gestured to the burning city, reaching from the Citadel to the east gate. 'You're a bringer of death, Optimus.'

'I never wanted this.'

'Neither did I. Am I to become leader, the Cybertronian race would be set under a single power. A legitimate power, not the sort of faux fate your Autobot Command subjects you to.'

'It ruined my life,' Optimus was forced to admit.

'Under my power, there would be no bloodshed. We would be a warrior race, but only if provoked. Otherwise we would have achieved a very real sense of peace and unity. War would end with the Autobots, and those that would disagree would be eradicated. Did you know that the Galaxy is facing one of the largest crises in history at the moment? In search of you, the Decepticon Empire has finally decided to expand. Every guild that wants to become something more has begun conquering, and Autobot command can barely do a thing to quell it. Millions are dying this second. Millions wondering why. Do you know why?'

Optimus stared at him. Faceplate locked in place, and fingers tightening around the cold-steeled grip of his rifle.

'It's because Optimus Prime still out there. Alive.'

'It's not my fault…' he muttered.

'Of course it isn't. You never chose to be this way. But we never get the opportunity to choose anything. Everything is the will of Primus alone. Fate is what leads us to where we are. Follow your fate, and fortune meets you, those who don't deserve to burn. But I can tell you one thing regarding your fate. You will die. And when you do, the bloodshed will cease. As long as I am the one to kill you, it will cease.' He offered his hand. 'You can end this bloodshed. You can ensure this kind of infighting never happens again. When leadership is taken, war ends, the conquerors stop, and the Galaxy will know peace.'

'Peace… doesn't exist.'

'Of course not. Not the way people perceive peace, anyway. But between the presence of war and the absence of it, things would undoubtedly be superior should the bounty reach its end. If you die here, the war ends. The Vestial Imperium gets to do whatever they want. The Autobots can do whatever they want, and the Decepticons remain immortal. You prolonging your lifespan only makes the universe suffer longer.'

Optimus stared, then faced the carnage occurring below. 'I could have prevented this.'

'Tell me, Optimus, what good have you brought the Universe in your time as the murderer of Megatron? That's rhetorical, I already know. Nothing. Your encounter with Snaptrap resulted in the deletion of his memory. Your visit on Talon IV resulted in the Nemesis murdering over half of the population's people, and now, with your little "plan", multiple Decepticon guilds are about to be extinguished. Never to be revived again.'

Optimus stared at his rifle. 'Bludgeon. I'm sorr—'

Bludgeon whipped out his blade. 'Don't apologize to me. Primus will judge whether you are worth redemption. Before I take your life, please, tell me. Did you kill Sunstorm?'

Optimus frowned. 'Who?'

Bludgeon grimaced. As he thought, his master's death was Starscream's doing. 'Then all is forgiven.'

A slender figure jumped onto Bludgeon's back, arms wrapped around his neck and wrestling him to the floor. 'Don't listen to him Prime!' Jazz bellowed. 'He wants to create a dogmatic police state out of the Decepticons! He'll kill anyone that disagrees. That's no good!'

Optimus blinked, and charged forward, rifle raised. 'I can't die yet!' He bellowed, firing a round at the Samurai. 'Their deaths have to mean something first!'

Bludgeon deflected the bullet with his blade while suplexing Jazz hard onto his back. 'You're still trying to convince yourself it is all worth it, aren't you?' He activated his tank cannon, firing a blast at Optimus and missing completely.

Optimus stopped in front of him raising his rifle, and using it as a shield against Bludgeon's blade.

'I never was good with projectiles.' Bludgeon explained. 'And yet I was born a tank. What mischievous devils were in charge of that decision, I do not know.'

'Ironically, I was never too good with guns either.' Optimus replied, breaking away from Bludgeon's sword-strike. He stood inches away from Bludgeon. Their expressions locked in a short reprieve between blows. Optimus felt the oil boiling inside of him. He felt the energy in his spark pulsing violently. He glared up at the samurai, voice low and somber. 'But from this distance, neither of us are going to miss, are we?'

In unison, Optimus whipped out his rifle, and Bludgeon his sword. Optimus fired a rifle round into Bludgeon's head, knocking his helmet off of his exo-skull and creating a smoking hold off the top of his cranium. At the same time, Bludgeon drew his blade, slicing across Prime's body from his hip to his upper arm. They both went tumbling back. Bludgeon gripped his face, smoke rising from it, a deathly scream escaping his hallowed skull. Optimus was almost certain he hadn't been hit until gobs of oil escaped his lips and dripped down his chin. Where his sword grazed him, Energon flowed. The plexi-glass on his chest shattered as one, and a thin line appeared across his inner chest cavity, gushing pinks and blacks. Where it met his shoulder, a gap emerged. His arm clunked against the floor, dripping with visceral matter, and sparkling white electricity where its nervous wires met their ends. His arm had been completely sliced off.

'Prime!' Jazz cried out.

But Optimus had greater matters at hand. Bludgeon recovered only slightly. Optimus knew it would never be as simple as simply "sniping" Bludgeon. He knew it would have taken more than a sniper shot to the head to assassinate the Decepticon Leader. All that layered pretender armour made assassinations nigh impossible to pull off in general. Which was why he needed the rebellion to occur. That said, the rifle's shot took a good portion of the Pretender's armour off. His crumbling skull remained, optics glaring through his dark eye-sockets, one now nothing more than a crescent with the removal of much of his crania. Optimus fired another bolt which was quickly deflected by his blade. The recoil caused a gushing of liquid to rise in his throat, and his mind to numb.

Bludgeon charged forward as swift as a fox, but Jazz was swifter. The guardsman's nunchaku clashed with his blade, wrapping around the handle and yanking it from his grip. In turn, Bludgeon swung his fist, making contact with Jazz's skull and sending chips and slivers of his helmet dashing across the ground. Jazz fell to his knees, swinging his nunchaku in defense and clashing with a follow-up hit. Bludgeon stepped back, preparing a third strike only for a sniper-shot to crash through his shoulder, sending chunks of armour, as well as one of his flags; bellowing and burning to the floor.

Not wasting the chance, Jazz delivered a swift uppercut across Bludgeon's chin, momentarily getting tangled in his wires as he did. Bludgeon kicked the smaller Autobot away and regained his blade for another strike, only to receive a second sniper-shot to his chest. This time he was prepared for it, and thrust forward. Jazz rolled onto his side, dodging the blade, but leaving himself open. Before Bludgeon could land a hit on him, a massive weight crashed into his chest.

It was Optimus, driving at full speed in his truck-form. Bludgeon tried to grab hold of the vehicle only to be thrown back by the weight of the accelerating truck. He landed on his back, bracing for the feeling of concussion that comes with banging your head against the ground. Instead it never came. His head hovered over air. He had landed at the very edge of the Citadel's peak.

Optimus transformed into robot mode, grabbing hold of Bludgeon's wrists and struggling to keep him in place. Before Jazz could follow his example, Bludgeon grinned. 'Idiots.' He burst forward, his strength overwhelming Optimus's and sending the small Prime spinning into Jazz; crashing to the ground. Jazz laid pinned under the larger Prime, wriggling to break free as his leader gathered his bearings.

On his feet, Bludgeon readied his blade and laughed. 'Alright, Prime; you've convinced me. You're not actually a demon. You're only a vessel for the end. Maximo was right about you…'

Optimus lifted himself off of Jazz before coughing up a wad of oil. 'Maximo's a religious figure in the Primal Apothesis.' He shook his head. 'You're right, Jazz, he would not make a very good ruler.'

'Wonder what gave you that idea?'

The pair of Autobots rose to their feet, standing at the tip of Bludgeon's shadow.

'Any ideas, Jazz?' Optimus muttered between gasps.

'If you're willing to trust me, I do.'

Optimus dropped his rifle, then pulled out his axe from his subspace compartment. 'Anything goes.'

'Then follow my lead, and whatever you do, don't stop moving for an instant.'

Bludgeon swallowed a gob of visceral liquid that had been leaking into his maw. He was getting beaten rather badly, all things considered. But he couldn't lose. Two Autobots against the Master of Metallikato was never a good combination. It was time to finish this. They were wide open, and it would only take a run-through of Prime's chest to end it permanently. Then, he'd reach his goal. Then, maybe, the galaxy could be purified. Maybe, the gods would finally let him rest. He thrust his blade forward.

Jazz and Optimus broke apart. Optimus transformed into his truck mode and accelerated nose-first towards Bludgeon while Jazz leaped up, flailing his nunchaku wildly.

With both attacking at once, Bludgeon couldn't help but hesitate. To attack Optimus would mean a direct hit from Jazz, and a hit to his already fractured skull could result in some serious injury if not death, while if he were to attack Jazz…

There was no time to think, Bludgeon side-slashed at Jazz, slicing clean through his mid-section from rib to waist, and separating his left leg from his body. Jazz cringed, but continued his flight into Bludgeon, liquid spilling from the loose-wires of his severed leg.

Optimus rammed into Bludgeon's chest, forcing him to stumble and back away.

'Hah, your plan was to tackle me? Your plan was to tackle the Master of Mettali—'

Bludgeon's foot backed onto dead air, and the Master of Metallikato's body tilted back. Jazz's body pressed into him, sending Bludgeon, Optimus, and him off the side of the Citadel, and falling through the air.

Optimus transformed mid-air, grasping at the air around him as he plummeted towards the Energon reservoir below. He was not at all keen on taking a second dive.

'Optimus!' Jazz cried out, diving through the air towards him. He reached out a servo. 'Grab my hand!'

Terrified, Optimus reached aimlessly for the Autobot's hand. It was almost impossible to focus while falling out of the sky. Relief sank into him as he grabbed hold of the Guardsman's warm servo. 'I've got you!' Optimus called out.

Jazz spun around, activated the grapple-function on his nunchaku, and aimed for the Citadel. The grapple fired, and latched onto the top-most railing.

'Hang tight!' Jazz shouted as the grapple reeled them back upwards at nauseating speeds.

Bludgeon felt the wind rush over his armour. This was pathetic, how could he die like this? No doubt he would hit the ground and shatter into a million pieces. He shut his optics. Perhaps this was for the best. Perhaps this was the only way to be free of the gods' control. Perhaps Optimus was a demon, or perhaps he was someone destined for something greater. No doubt Bludgeon was to become a martyr, even if this wasn't his preferred means of death, at least he would have reached it at all. He smirked. After all, say one thing about Bludgeon, say he—

Bludgeon's spinal strut cracked as his back smashed into a large warp in the city's structure. He howled in agony as liquid flooded his optics. This city really is a bitch. His body span around in the air and splashed into the reservoir, stinging his every circuit.

He's deceiving you! You're still alive! You have an obligation to tear out Optimus Prime's spark and become leader of the Decepticons! But the demon tricked you! The demon, Optimus, wants you to think you deserve this. He's laughing at you right now!

'OPTIMUS!' Bludgeon roared, activating his tank cannon. 'I'M GOING TO RIP OUT YOUR SPARK AND CRUSH IT BETWEEN MY TEETH! I—I'll KILL EVERYONE YOU'VE EVER LOVED AND FORCE THEM TO WATCH AS I DISSECT YOUR OPTICAL SENSOR-' Bludgeon fired his cannon. A decision which, Bludgeon realized too late, is something one should ever do as they are surrounded by pure Energon.


Gutcruncher stumbled. Just a little more. He told himself. He had gone blind in both eyes now, when he reached at his face he felt nothing but rust. Charger guided him further, though he didn't think he was going to survive. Krok's air troops were hunting them down, firing waves of missiles that sent him flying in every which way. He would get up to move again, only for Charger to spin him into another direction and guide him forward. He almost wanted to wonder why it even mattered anymore. Everyone else was dead. 'Just a little more,' Charger told him. 'And we'll be safe.'

A loud explosion crackled through the sky. It lasted for minutes, and when it ended, Gutcruncher had to wonder whether he had been engulfed in it. His only reassurance was Charger's hand squeezing his shoulder.


Krok surveyed the wreckage as Crankcase approached him, his troops were now mindlessly wandering around the featureless battlefield, wiping away ash and spillages from their frames and mending whatever injuries they had come to acquire. 'Crankcase, report.'

'Misfire and the others are tracking down Gutcruncher if not his body. Otherwise his entire squadron appears to have been effectively eradicated. Who'da thunk?'

'Anything else?'

'Banzaitron's team has begun to pull back. I mean, I say "team" but there's a very small few of them left. I honestly don't think they'll be a problem any longer. The only fighting that's still going on is a small group led by Starscream. Apparently he's still kicking.'

'Cannonball's dealing with them?'

'Yeah, but, like us, most of that group got wiped out when the traitor—Blackarachnia, I mean, kamikaze'd the Tidal Wave into us.'

Krok nodded. 'Good, we'll merge with Cannonball's group and eliminate Starscream. After that we'll have won.'

Crankcase shrugged. 'Never get a break, do we?'

'I'm afraid not—'

The explosion ripped through the wind, sending purple smoke and brown sand bellowing across the sky. The city began to crumble, skyscrapers surrounding the Citadel slowly toppling over and crashing into the reservoir's volatile liquids.


Ironhide dropped a path-blaster, having used up all its ammunition. He panted, unable to vent the heat burning his circuits in the time it took him to inhale. He swung his fist, making contact with a pirate and sending them spiralling away. He fired a bolt from his cannons in the same direction, only barely holding on to the hope that it hit something. He turned to Starscream. The Aerospace Commander had given up shooting his missiles and was in the process of sawing a pirate in half. The Seeker noticed the Autobot staring at him and smirked. 'Getting tired old man?'

Ironhide grunted. 'You've got a lot of nerve… I've never been better.'

'Yeah?' Starscream shrugged. 'You know, I'd kill you… now that I have the chance. But I don't think I'll have to.' Starscream activated the thrusters on his back and began to rise from the ground. 'Unlike you, I'm out of ammunition, so I think I'll just take my chances and return to the Nemesis while my thrusters are partially charged.' In a flash, Starscream burst into the sky and high above the clouds. 'It was nice teaming with you, Autobot. I could have sworn you'd have sooner killed me. I guarantee you will regret it.'

'I already have…' Ironhide muttered, surveying his remaining opposition, only about four or five remained, but they had him surrounded. 'Damn.' He fired his lost shot from his shoulder cannons and watch it whiz off into the distance. Pointless, is what it was. He shut his optics. Blackarachnia had better have survived that ship crash, Ironhide thought. She couldn't die until after he did. Younger folk never deserved to die before the old. He tensed up, dropping his weaponry. He still wasn't ready to die.

He heard a scream, and his optics shot open. A large metallic puma had torn one of the pirates apart. A bullet whizzed past his head, prompting him to turn around. Wingspan was wrestling with one of the pirates. His talons pulled the pirate's skull apart before finally crushing his brain-module and ending his life. When Ironhide turned back around to view Pounce, the other pirates were already dead.

Wingspan joined him, wiping the grease from his fingertips. 'You alright, Autobot?'
Ironhide nodded.

'Starscream was right. Bludgeon was a jerk. He helped us see that.'

'Ah.'

'I don't know if you're working with him, or if he defected, but… whatever. I'd say this is our thanks, but really it was Pounce's idea.'

Pounce let out a grunt as he looked the other way.

'Anyway, if you see him again, let him know that he did good. Between you and me, I find the guy pretty insufferable, but as far as leaders go… I wouldn't really mind if he ended up on top.'

'Ah.' He looked around. There was nothing left.

'Krok's guys will probably be here soon,' Wingspan told him. 'I'd get out of here if I were you. It's what we're doing.'

Ironhide nodded. 'Ah, I think I'll do tha—'

His voice was soon drowned out by the nearby explosion, causing him to cover his eyes and wince at the searing light enveloping the Citadel.


Jazz and Optimus stared at the smoking reservoir. Coughing and spitting as they attempted, and failed, to regain their composures.

Optimus stared at Jazz, then collapsed to his knees. Jazz did the same, barely holding himself together.

'I'm sorry…' Optimus said. 'You didn't have to lie about the stun-bullets. I'm so sorry I shot you.'

'It's cool, Chief. We went over it. If anyone's to blame it's me for agreeing to be shot in the first place.'

'It still doesn't feel very good.' He muttered, letting his head fall back. 'Jazz, am I a bad person?'

He frowned 'Now why're you saying that?'

'I feel like this whole… thing… It's gruesome, isn't it?'

He stared out over the landscape. 'You could say that.'

'I feel like everything I did… it was a very Prowl-y method of doing things.'

'You could say that.'

Optimus nodded slowly. 'So does that make me… bad?'

Jazz sighed. 'I don't think anyone's good or bad, Prime. I think we just do what we must to survive.' He gestured to the city. 'Sometimes there's a high price for that.'

'Mm…' Optimus sighed.

'He's still alive.'

Optimus gaped. 'What?'

Jazz tapped at his forehead. 'I'm detecting a faint Energon signal down by the resevoir's shores—Bludgeon's not dead just yet.'

Optimus pulled himself to his feet. 'Alright. As soon as I reattach your leg… we'll do what we must.'