Chapter Twenty: Betrayal

As more reports started to trickle in, Cade could only clench his hands in frustration. The mountain base in Wyoming, supposedly impenetrable, was now smoldering like a volcano after being struck by a sudden Decepticon attack while they were searching for the third Omega Key in Japan.

"We've sent Reapers to survey the area," the base commander of Hill Air Force base said. "Most were shot down by Decepticon air assets, but a few managed to get close enough and transmit images from the base."

Cade looked up from where he sat, shifting into a more comfortable position. The chair was hard in the ass, and a few officers were starting to take notice of his constant fidgeting. He didn't pay them any attention.

The large LED monitor in front of them flared to life, displaying the smoking side of a mountain—the same mountain he and the Bots were taken to just a few days ago. Cade's frown deepened. The main gate was melted, punctured by a hole large enough for a ship to pass through. It made him shiver just seeing it. What the hell kind of weapon did the Cons brought this time?

The display then shifted to several aerial shots of the surrounding airspace. The skies were dotted with aircrafts, two of which Cade recognized. There was that bomber who had destroyed their former home, but his expression darkened at the F-35 Lightning banking on the left with a squadron of F-16s. The memory of Crosshairs' severed head was still fresh in his mind, and a silent fury gripped his heart.

"Any survivors?" Fowler asked with a grim twist in his mouth, seated next to Cade. En route to Nevada on another mission, he had immediately flown over after receiving news of the attack.

The base commander grimaced. "As of now, we have no information regarding that. All we know is that the Decepticons have taken refuge inside the mountain."

"We're mobilizing all assets in the country as we speak," a balding man in his late fifties spoke from one of the monitors. Cade turned to him curiously. He had heard about General Morshower from stories told by the Autobots. From what he knew, he was one of their closest allies, though like Lennox, he had to follow orders and join the TRF.

Morshower continued, "SecDef got a call from the Cuban president. The Wreckers are being sent here to assist, but he wants them back afterwards."

Fowler snorted. "What are they now, he's babysitters? Tell them the Wreckers are still Autobots and he has no right to keep them."

"Unfortunately, we can't do much about that," Morshower said with a weary sigh. "They were hired as mercenaries, and their contracts won't expire until next year."

There were a lot of disappointed mutters around the table. Cybertronian mercenaries, both Autobots and Decepticons, were not unheard of. Quite a few groups of them had been popping up lately, especially with the recent appearances of otherworldly threats during the last few years. These mercenary groups were paid highly, backed by powerful people, and often employed as bodyguards or to fight in wars that no one else could win.

To say that these mercenary groups were effective would be an understatement. Most, if not all, had won battles that other people would deem impossible. Megatron had most likely employed many of them in his army, so Cade was not surprised that the TRF was willing to do the same.

"Fine," Fowler relented. "When will they arrive?"

"Two days," Morshower said.

"We don't have two days!" Cade protested, drawing everyone's gaze. He had not spoken until now, but he felt it was time for him to do so. Time was running out for his friends, and yet the people in front of him were just sitting around a polished, mahogany table.

One of the commanders gave him a reproachful look. "I don't think you understand the situation, Mr. Yeager. Our troops are still mobilizing, and it will take some time for us to gather a sizable force to retake the mountain base."

"So you're just going to sit back here and do nothing?" Cade glared at him. Fowler placed a placating on his shoulder with a gentle murmur of, "Cade." But he shrugged it off and continued, "No. Let me guess. You're waiting for the Decepticons to kill the Autobots so that your job will be much easier when everything's done, am I right?"

"The US has already revoked the law that tags any Autobots as terrorists." The base commander's tone was even. "It will not benefit us if they die."

"Then why are we still here?" he demanded.

"Because we need to prepare, Cade." Prowl's face appeared on one of the monitors, replacing the face of another general momentarily. Based on what Cade could see behind Prowl, he and the others were waiting right in front of the building.

The officers turned toward the screen in shock. "Who gave you permission to hack into our meeting?" a major sputtered.

There were cameras installed around the room to facilitate their video conference. As such, it was possible for the other end to see the participants, so Cade was not surprised when Prowl fixed his gaze on the man even though he was outside.

As the face of the general reappeared on another screen, looking indignant and annoyed, Prowl answered, "As far as I'm concerned, I'm the acting commander of the Autobot forces in this country, and my soldiers have been taken hostage. I will not sit idly by and wait for you humans to make a decision."

"A hasty decision would likely cost us more, Autobot Prowl," Morshower said.

Prowl nodded. "Indeed, General. And that's why I have my concerns regarding the Decepticons' lack of communication."

The general's brows knitted. "What do you mean?"

There was hesitation in Prowl's expression, but only for a moment. "Megatron would have already killed everyone and announced it if he had gotten what he wanted."

"Are you saying he doesn't have the relics?" Morshower said, grasping the meaning of his statement immediately.

Prowl nodded. "Indeed, General Morshower. And if that is the case, there could be survivors. We must find them at once. They could have the relics."

Cade took a shuddering breath. Izzy. He hoped she had survived. His conscience would not be able to take it if something happened to the girl. She was his responsibility, as much as the bots had been—as much as Tessa.

The officials exchanged looks. Morshower crossed his arms. "Even if what you say is true, we can't mount a rescue force if we don't know their location. Decepticon patrols are searching the area as we speak. We may not have time to look for them."

"We don't have to," Prowl said. "They'll come for us. However, I would still advise being alert for a distress signal. If we detect it, we must send an extraction team at once."

"What makes you think they'd want to come out of wherever they could be hiding?" one of the generals spoke. He looked doubtful, but there was some hint of hope in his eyes as well.

"Because that's what I'd do," Prowl said.

There was a pause. "Fine," Morshower said. "I want TRF platoons posted in every town and major roadways surrounding the mountain base. If there are survivors, they will try to reach the nearest town as soon as possible." He sighed. "But you're sure of this? We're still amassing troops, but any longer than two days would give the Decepticons a chance to capture them or strike at another vital location."

"It is a conjecture, but there's a sixty-eight point fifty-five percent chance that there are survivors."

"And the other thirty-one percent?" Morshower asked.

At this, Prowl sighed, and Cade could hear the resignation in his voice—that grim acceptance when something he feared had happened, but wished it had not.

"That, General, is something that I hope we won't find out."


A branch cracked behind Santos, and he winced.

"Sorry," Canopy mumbled.

Santos sighed. They had been making far too much noise lately, and Decepticon patrols still lurked in the area. After emerging from the escape tunnel six hours ago, they were relieved that the other side was unguarded. The group made a quick retreat after that, heading in no specific direction except to be as far away from the mountain base as fast as their feet, and their wheels, could take them.

They had been walking non-stop. Canopy's vehicle mode was not fit for the forest, so even he had to walk. And out of all of them, he was the least quiet. His immense size crushed fallen logs and branches, and the sound that made was not subtle. Santos wished the bot could be a little less loud, but he knew it was impossible due to his own injuries, even though the bot had patched himself up as best as he could . All Santos could do was pray that no one other than them had heard it.

He glanced over his shoulder. Six hours, and almost everyone was ready to drop in sheer exhaustion. They had covered some distance, but not enough to let their guards down. The command room staff had taken the forced march the hardest; many had swollen feet, and blisters too, which they treated with makeshift bandages using any spare clothes they had. Yet that was nothing compared to the trauma their minds had to have endured.

Santos could see it in their eyes, the hollowness, the way their gazes darted around at the slightest of sounds. They would often freeze at any noise, and some would tremble slightly. It was the same thing he had seen among fellow soldiers after they returned from a hot zone in the Middle East, where every hour seemed like a lifetime of gunfire.

The worst was Izzy, and he was starting to worry about the girl. Yes, she had once lived in Chicago, which was no safe place. But compared to what she had gone through in the mountain base, it was clear that the girl would need help, and soon.

Unfortunately, soon was still far away. They were still six miles from the nearest town, and the sun was starting to sink. They had to set up camp before it got dark.

They soon found a clearing that was large enough to accomodate the humans and Canopy, with room to spare for the smaller Autobots. The sun had almost dipped behind the mountains to the north, plunging the forest into early twilight. Visibility was almost zero, but they could only use a couple of flashlights to illuminate their path.

The group collapsed to the ground almost immediately at their arrival, and the clearing was filled with pants and groans. Santos ordered the sole medic in his platoon to check on the wounded; a difficult task considering the thirty or so people who had varying degrees of injuries.

"I'll get some firewood," Dennis said, rubbing his bandaged arm. "I don't care if we're seen. I'd rather shoot with some light than shoot blindly in this darkness."

"Go have that checked first." Santos eyed his arm with concern. "You can't shoot Cons with that arm."

"Nah, I'm fine. Dennis the Menace, remember?"

Santos snorted at that. It was the nickname they gave Dennis after he shot a Con dead in the eyes by climbing onto him, two years ago.

Dennis strode away, and two other men joined him. As they disappeared past the treeline, Santos surveyed the clearing. Not counting Dennis's party, there were only a dozen and a half soldiers in the camp. If the Cons attacked in force, they would not last ten minutes.

Rick sat near the center with what remained of his team, taking inventory of their weapons. Santos approached them. "How bad?" he asked, his mouth twisted in a grim line.

The SOED captain shook his head. "Eight Javelins, six HEATs."

"Enough for two, three Cons," one of his men said. "Six if we're extremely lucky."

"I'd like some extreme luck right now," Santos muttered. They were still in enemy territory with more civilians than soldiers, and few weapons that could defend them. It would be a miracle if they even survived the night.

"We need to reach a city," Rick said. "The entire state should have been alerted by now, if not the whole country."

"Cheyenne is dozens of miles away," one of the soldiers said. "It'd take us days."

"Not Cheyenne. Jackson," Santos said. "It's less than ten miles south of us, and we're already in the Grand Teton National Park."

Rick's expression was doubtful. "Assuming they haven't evacuated the town already. Or worse, Cons might have already taken it."

"Not obviously, no. I have a feeling that unless they have these, they won't reveal themselves." Santos patted his backpack, which contained the Omega Keys. "And even if the town was already evacuated, there could be US troops stationed there. We're bound to encounter friendly patrols along the way."

"And if we don't?" Rick's mouth pressed tightly.

It was a possibility that Santos did not want to dwell on, but he answered nonetheless. "Let's hope we do."

He strode away and found Izzy sitting on a moldy log, her arms wrapped around her legs, her face buried in her lap. She was quiet, and Sqweeks next to her was even quieter.

Santos hesitated, then sighed and sat down to her left. "How are you?" he asked after a minute of silence. Nearby, Brains and Wheelie watched curiously.

Izzy lifted her head for a fraction, and Santos saw her eyes peeking behind a curtain of hair. "Fine," she said in a voice that was firm yet trembled in the end. She lowered her head again.

He waited. But when she didn't speak again, Santos placed a gentle hand on her head then stood up to meet Dennis and his party.

The fire was blazing a few minutes later, and they clustered around it—as much for the warmth it offered as keeping it hidden from unwanted attention. The medic was soon finished tending to the injured, though there was not much he could do with their scarce supplies. They didn't manage to get any food either in their sudden escape, so they simply chose a spot and laid down for the night.

Santos took the first watch along with Rick, four others, and Canopy. Stripes bounded away to patrol the perimeter, while Nightstalker curled next to Izzy, her eyes scanning the area.

Taking a seat on a nearby tree, Santos watched over the camp like a hawk.

One by one, the humans fell asleep, waiting for dawn to arrive.

###

They started early, when the sky was still dark and the sun hadn't yet risen. It would be another long trek through the forest, but Santos was hopeful; if they could find the road, Canopy could transform and take them to Jackson quickly.

Their progress was slow for the majority of the morning. They hadn't eaten since yesterday, and their sleep, while long, was filled with restlessness and paranoia. A lot of the injured also hobbled on makeshift crutches they built along the way, which slowed them down even more.

By the time the sun was high up in the sky, the forest was beginning to thin. Hope soared within Santos, and he knew that the others felt it too. They moved faster, determined, with a sense of urgency that fueled them. Until at last, they emerged into a wide highway.

Canopy wasted no time in heading for the road, transforming partway through before skidding to a stop. There were sharp intakes of breath, relieved sighs, and even a few sobs of joy. But they weren't safe yet. Not until they reached Jackson.

"Go! Quickly!" Santos urged. As before, he and the other soldiers waited while the civilians clambered onto Canopy's hauler. Soon they were cruising the highway at the fastest speed Canopy could manage. Santos took the driver's seat while Rick sat in the passenger's seat.

Five minutes later, they saw it: a checkpoint. And a heavily guarded one at that. Four Sentinels stood behind a line of concrete barricades, backed by an entire platoon and half a dozen Humvees with .50 Cals. At their approach, the soldiers began shouting and aiming their weapons in their direction. Many wore the uniform of the National Guard, but some were TRF troopers.

Santos extended his head and arm out the window, and waved a white towel wildly. "Don't shoot!" he shouted.

Canopy pulled to a stop in front of the guards. "Who are you?" a soldier asked warily.

"We came from the mountain base," Santos answered, speaking quickly now. "I have forty some people with me in need of medical attention. Soldiers and civilians. And I got precious cargo that I need to deliver to the US military ASAP."

The man's eyes widened—a lieutenant judging by the insignia in nis uniform. He shouted to the nearest soldier, "Get me HQ. Now." As the soldier rushed for the radio, the man turned to Santos again. "Jesus, everyone's been looking for you guys. What happened? Are you the only ones who survived?" His eyes flicked over behind Canopy. Santos could hear the cacophony of voices, and he knew that most of the command room staff were probably peering over the hauler now.

"We're the only ones who managed to escape," Santos said. "Unless some came before us."

The man shook his head. "We've placed checkpoints all over the county, and each would have been alerted if one encountered survivors. You're the first one so far."

It did not take long before they received a response from HQ, which Santos learned was in Jackson—the town had been turned into a staging area. The order was short and to the point.

Bring them home.


Prowl raced alongside Drift and Bumblebee, maintaining his speed that was just well within the limit. Thankfully, the road was empty save for several escort vehicles that had been assigned to join them, allowing him and the other bots to make haste.

It was not long before he saw the survivors, and he floored his accelerator this time, leaving the others behind.

When he reached them, Prow immediately altformed, jogging toward the group surrounded by almost a quarter of the town's hastily gathered garrison. A quick scan of the crowd was both relieving and alarming.

Izzy had survived, and so did some of her friends. Cade would be relieved to hear that if he were here; despite his protests, they had to keep him in the base for his own protection. However, Prowl noted with apprehension that Ramhorn was missing, as well as Cade's assistant.

His worry rose after seeing the few soldiers who were with them. Santos and Rick were being bombarded by questions, and it was clear that they were evading most, their answers reserved only for those who needed to hear them. Prowl did not miss the way Santos held his backpack tightly, as if it contained something he did not want everyone to see.

He narrowed his optics, a suspicion growing within him. But it could wait. What mattered most was that they had survived, and they were safe now.

Prowl approached. "Captain Santos. It's good to see you alive."

The TRF commander turned and looked up at him. His expression was weary and sad. "Did you get it?" he asked firmly, staring at him directly in the optics.

"Yes." Prowl knew what he meant. "It's safe with Cade and the Knights."

"Where are they?"

"Hill Air Force Base. We landed there after hearing the news."

Relief crossed Santos's face. "Did you get any demands yet?"

Prowl studied him for a moment. There was something different about the man who had hunted many of his kin before. He looked… changed. "Prowl," he said, shaking his head. "Though I'll assume you and your group are the reason for their silence."

Santos gripped the shoulder strap of his backpack tighter. "I need to speak with General Morshower and whoever else is in command."

"Understood. My team will escort you to the airfield. A transport is already waiting."

"And the others?"

"They'll follow shortly."

Prowl was just about to altform when Santos spoke again.

"Sunstreaker and Trailbreaker are dead. Longarm too."

The crowd had grown silent enough that Prowl could hear the approach of several C-130 gunships in the distance. At the edge of his visuals, he saw Izzy wiped away the tears streaming down her cheeks. A mournful buzz came from Bumblebee, and Drift bowed his head in grief.

"What happened?" Prowl asked softly, but Santos shook his head.

"I don't want to talk about it twice," he said.

Prowl nodded and slowly shifted into his vehicle mode. His passenger's door swung open, and Santos climbed inside, placing his backpack in his lap. Flanked by Drift and Bumblebee, they drove toward the landing strip adjacent to the town.

Five times they passed checkpoints, and each time they were screened before moving on to the next. Santos grew increasingly frustrated every time they were stopped—a sentiment that Prowl shared. While he always adhered to protocols, there were times to ignore them based on circumstances, such as now.

They soon passed the fifth checkpoint. Five minutes later, they were loaded into the C-130 and took to the air with a squadron of escort fighters tailing them.

Only then did Prowl allow the grief to wash over his spark.

His last memory of Sunstreaker, before reuniting with him on Earth, was the last defense of Praxus. He was still with Sideswipe back then, long before Optimus launched the AllSpark into space. Sunstreaker was not an easy soldier to command, unlike his twin. He was brash, overconfident, and vain—three qualities that would put anyone on the bottom of Prowl's list.

And yet, three other qualities also set Sunstreaker apart. And it had become apparent to Prowl when the mech stayed behind to hold off a Decepticon strike force all by himself, buying time for Prowl's unit to evacuate the rest of the civilians. Sunstreaker had earned his respect after that.

Now he was one with the AllSpark, together with Longarm, Sideswipe, and countless others. But they would not be the last; Prowl knew that in his spark, this never-ending war would claim more lives thaan it already did.

The flight to Hill Air Force Base was uneventful, and they touched down safely on the airfield after several hours. Unsurprisingly, the Knights were among the first to greet them.

They did not ask questions, but their optics tracked Santos all the way to the command center as soon as he had exited the plane. Prowl knew why; he already had an inkling of what Santos carried in his backpack.

From there, it was not long before Santos was sitting around the table with the other commanders and generals. Cade was there with Fowler, and this time, Prowl was granted permission to participate in the meeting through the same method he used before. He could even share the video feed with the other Autobots and Knights.

And then Santos began to recount the events of the attack.

The more Prowl heard of it, the more he was convinced that the Cons had been surveilling them for several days. It would explain how they had discovered the escape tunnels, and how it was easy for them to overrun the base. Divide and conquer. It was a classic Decepticon strategy—simple, but terrifyingly effective.

Santos went on, and as he continued retelling his experiences, Prowl could see Cade trembling quietly when Santos reached the latter parts of his story. And it was not just him. Many scowled after hearing the details with their own ears. Prowl wanted to give them credit for enduring the part with Blackarachnia; very few would have the stomach for that slaughter.

Sunstreaker's sacrifice stung the most, and Prowl could see how it had affected Cade and Fowler. There was a long, drawn out sigh from the agent, and Cade clenched his fists in silent anger before thumping them onto the table. Even Morshower had a subdued expression as he listened.

When Santos finished, he finally opened his backpack and pulled out the very items that the Cons wanted: the Omega Keys. He laid them on the table, shining with a golden sheen. And the humans stared with wonder and interest.

"Dreadwing gave you these?" Grimlock spoke to Prowl's left. He had been listening to the conversation, but only now did he speak.

"Dreadwing gave them to Lennox, and he passed them to me," Santos answered.

"And our apprentices?" There was a note of resignation in the Grandmaster's voice.

Santos shook his head. "They stayed behind to buy us time. Them and Lennox. Ericson too. I don't know what happened after we left."

"What about the Skyboom Shield?" Strafe asked.

"There was no time for them to give it. The Cons were already charging us by then."

Which definitely means that Megatron has it, Prowl thought grimly. Combined with what could be a super weapon, the Decepticons possessed an enormous advantage against them. It would not be easy mounting a rescue.

"Now that we have three of the Omega Keys, it's only a matter of time before Megatron makes a demand," Morshower said.

"Or strike at us." Fowler pressed his palms on the table and looked around the gathered officers. "He has the strength to wipe out our bases. We should prepare for an attack." He glanced at Cade. "And while we're at it, maybe we should look for the last Omega Key."

Cade furrowed his brows. "What if they attack while we do?"

"We'll stay behind," Grimlock said, drawing everyone's gaze. "If they know we're here, they would think that we're guarding the Omega Keys. We'll lure them out and crush them."

"But we won't keep the Keys here," Scorn added. "You, Cade, will keep them as you search for the last one."

"You're going to act as bait," Prowl realized. It was a good plan, but risky and filled with uncertainty. And they would have to rely on the enemy believing the ruse to make it work.

"Very well," Morshower said. "Reinforcements will arrive later this evening. In the meantime, find that last Omega Key and bring it back here."

In no time, everyone was outside. Prowl watched from the sidelines as Santos handed over the two Omega Keys to Grimlock, who held the third one. As before, the relics glowed as they neared each other. They locked together, and a blue beam began tracing a hologram of Earth in the air.

When it finished, Grimlock narrowed his optics. "This… This is not possible."

"What do you mean?" Cade asked.

The worry in the Grandmaster's tone forced Prowl to take a step. He approached, and stared at the hologram intently. There was a bright red dot indicating the location of the last Key, and it was…

He blinked once. The red dot was painted across northwest Wyoming. It didn't make sense.

Before he could understand what he was seeing, a soldier hurried toward them. "Sir! We're receiving transmission from the mountain base," he told the base commander.

"Megatron," Prowl muttered. He looked at Fowler. "Do you mind if I override your communication lines?"

"No, go ahead," Fowler said after getting a nod of approval from the base commander. "But put it on for everyone to hear."

As Prowl hacked into the system, a dozen thoughts and scenarios whirled in his processor. He was no stranger when it came to hostage situations, and he had led negotiations several times before—thrice with Megatron on the other end. He knew, to a degree, how the warlord thought.

But for some reason, Prowl felt nervous. The fates of his remaining comrades rested on the outcome of this conversation, and he knew that one wrong word, however minor, could send them to their deaths. He must not fail.

Purging the negative thoughts from his spark, Prowl said, "This is Autobot Prowl, Chief Strategist of the Autobots." The others crowded around him, listening.

And then he heard it, several hundred years after their last encounter on the frontlines of Iacon. That menacing tone, raspy and cold as steel, laced with arrogance and strength. "Well, well. The Strategist lives."

"Megatron," Prowl said. "To what do we owe you the pleasure?"

The Decepticon leader chuckled. "Straight to the point, as always. You've never changed." A pause. "I want the Omega Keys in exchange for the Autobots and humans."

So they're alive. Prowl found a measure of relief in that, though not much. He didn't know who had actually lived, or if Megatron was lying to set up a trap. "So you have them?" Prowl asked. "How do we know you're telling the tru—"

There was a scream. A human scream. And it sounded like Ericson.

"Jesus, they got Ericson!" Fowler snarled.

Prowl could almost see the smirk adorning Megatron's expression right now. "Believe me now?" the Decepticon leader said. "You have nothing to fear. This human is still alive, and the rest as well. But not for long… unless you hand me what I want."

It was no idle threat, Prowl knew. And he also knew that Megatron may not even be telling the truth. He glanced at Grimlock. In the end, it was their decision to make as guardians of the Iacon relics.

The towering Knight dipped his head.

"Fine. Where's the meeting place?" Prowl asked. Even as he spoke, a plan was beginning to form in his processor. They had to keep the pretense of agreeing with Megatron's demands—for now at least.

"The town nearest to the mountain," came the swift reply. "Bring everyone, including the Knights. And I want Cade Yeager as well. But no human soldiers. Meet me at noon tomorrow."

Prowl met Cade's gaze. "Very well," he said. "We'll be there."

"I know you will." The line was abruptly cut short.

"What's the plan?" Cade asked. "You're not thinking of giving in to his demands, are you?"

Prowl shook his head. "Hardly." He glanced at the Omega Keys, now back in their dormant state. The image of the hologram was still fresh in his processor, and he could not ignore the feeling that there was more to it than what he and Grimlock had seen. Why was there a red dot in Wyoming?

But that was the least of his worries right now. He should be focusing on saving their comrades; everything else could wait. "We won't give the Omega Keys," he said. "But we'll make them believe we're going to."

"A trap," Strafe concluded. "But how?"

"We'll ambush them," Prowl said. "We will meet with Megatron and make it appear that we'll hand over the Keys. But they'll be fake ones, built like flash bombs." He turned to Cade. "You could do that, Cade?"

The man nodded with a slight grin. "Easy peasy."

"I'll ask around for anyone who could help you," Fowler said.

Prowl continued. "We have to hide them in a container, of course. We can't make perfect copies of the Omega Keys."

"Indeed, we can't," Drift said. "But that's not the only problem. Megatron would surely discover the ruse fast."

"Not fast enough," Santos said, taking a step forward. "I know a way that could catch them by surprise, maybe even kill Megatron."

And then he told them. And as he did, Prowl's optics widened. The plan—Santos's plan—was bold, dangerous, and uncertain. It would likely succeed as much as it was likely to fail, and the cost would be great if it did. And a lot rested on several assets that Prowl wouldn't have used under normal circumstances. Then again, this was no normal circumstances.

When Santos finished, Cade was staring at him with equal fury and intrigued. His jaw tightened, but he soon relaxed and asked, "Have you told her already about this?"

"Not yet," Santos said.

"She won't agree."

"Yes, but he would. And if he doesn't, it's fine. We still have plenty of others who could do it. Including myself."

"Then why would you ask them in the first place?" Prowl lowered himself on one knee so he could stare at Santos directly in his eyes. "Canopy is not a soldier, Captain. Entrusting him with this crucial role is essentially suicide."

Santos didn't even flinch at his gaze. "Because I know that Canopy wants to save his friends. And… I would do the same if I were in his position."

It was a simple answer, but all the more impactful because of the one who said it. And it was enough to convince Prowl that Santos was not the man he once had been.

"So be it," he said, rising. "While you're trying to convince Canopy, the rest of us will prepare. Will the Wreckers arrive in time?"

"I'll try to contact the Secretary of Defense," Fowler said. "But I can make no promises."

"Please do. We'll need their firepower. In the meantime, I'll go over the plan."

There was a fifty point three percent chance it would succeed—not high enough, if Prowl was going to be asked. But then again, their chances had never been high ever since the war with the Decepticons began, millennia ago.

He just had to hope that Megatron was as distrustful of them as they were to him.


The sun burned brightly in the sky, a blazing speck in a sea of blue. Puffs of clouds rolled by, like a field of sheep. And the wind, a gentle breeze that gave Grimlock a sense of serenity.

At least, that's what he wanted to feel. Alas, such a thing was beyond his grasp, for now.

They had arrived at the appointed meeting place five minutes earlier than what was agreed. He strode forward with his fellow Knights, scanning the surrounding area with guarded expressions. No enemies, as far as he could see. But that didn't mean they weren't there; he could feel several hostile optics watching them. Him, most of all.

Yesterday, the humans had cleared away the town for the upcoming exchange. No trace of their military presence could be seen, not even the barricades. Or so the Decepticons should believe. Grimlock swept the buildings to his right and purposely ignored three of them, where Santos and a full batallion of TRF had been secretly transported.

Strafe's use of his Groundbridge was ingenious, and it made things easier. Now the enemy didn't know that a trap was set for them.

They stopped in the middle of the town square, just behind Prowl and the other two Autobots. Cade stood near Grimlock, clad in the Apex Armor. There was no one else except them, and they waited patiently.

The wait was not long. The familiar green swirling pattern of a Groundbridge blossomed several meters ahead, and out stepped the mech they had been waiting for. Tall he was, taller than the Autobots, and built like a knight. His dull gray armor held a lackluster sheen, like that of a dying mech, but it was his optics that drew Grimlock's attention.

Cold, and ruthless, and purple.

He stiffened at once, and he felt his Knights doing the same. Dark Energon, blood of the Chaos Bringer. How did Megatron come to possess such a thing? And the Autobots didn't seem to recognize it, though the scout shifted uncomfortably at the sight.

"Well met, honored guests," Megatron began, stopping thirty meters away. His arms were spread in welcome. "I am relieved that you've decided not to ignore my… invitation."

"Enough with the theatrics," Prowl said. "Where are the hostages?"

Megatron smirked. "So impatient, Prowl. This is not like you. Very well." He raised a hand, then pointed to the left with a claw.

Another portal. From within emerged Decepticon warriors, five of them, all in matching green schemes—Combaticons. After them came the humans, at least thirty, forty. All wore gags. Grimlock scanned their faces and recognized William Lennox, one of the commanders.

Behind them were the rest of the Autobots and the Knights Apprentices, guarded by a dozen Decepticon troopers. Most were missing pieces of their armor, but they were otherwise fine. And like the humans, their mouths were covered.

Grimlock locked optics with Steelbane. The Apprentice glanced at Megatron pointedly, then back to him. The meaning was not lost on Grimlock, and he inspected the Decepticon leader with greater scrutiny than before.

The first thing he noticed was the hilt of a sword protruding from his right shoulder. It had to be a blade of average size, one-handed, giving Megatron free use of his arm-mounted cannon.

No, Grimlock realized with a start. Cannons. One for each arm. But while one matched the color of his armor, the other was strikingly golden, engraved along the end of the barrel with Ancient Cybertronian alphabet.

Megatron saw him looking, and grinned. "Ah, I see you recognized my new toy. The Requiem Blaster. The name has a nice ring to it, isn't it? Perfect for an Iacon relic forged by the Primes."

A red haze filled Grimlock's spark. "What did you do to Scourge?" he snarled. For it was the same weapon that had been entrusted to the Knight Apprentice, and he wouldn't relinquish it so easily. Not without a fight.

Megatron's voice was nonchalant. "Nothing. I merely… found it."

Grimlock prepared to charge, but Slag held him back by his shoulder. "Easy, Grim. We didn't find their bodies when we searched." His voice was calm, and yet his gaze told a different story. His glare could have burned Megatron where he stood.

It was not easy, but Grimlock finally managed to rein in his wrath, for now. Overhead, a huge shadow passed, uttering a fearsome roar. Predaking, Grimlock thought. Megatron had brought his most powerful warriors.

The hostages were soon lined up to Megatron's left, kneeling with their hands behind their heads. The Combaticons and their soldiers stood guard in the perimeter, while Predaking circled in the sky. And Grimlock could still feel unseen optics watching them, hidden from his sight. They were surrounded.

Megatron smiled. "Now, shall we begin the exchange?"

Cade stepped forward. "You said you want me here. Well, I'm right here."

"Pretty bold for someone so small. I can see why Optimus took a liking to you." Megatron chuckled. "You're certainly braver than that Witwicky boy, I'll give you that." He motioned with a claw, beckoning him. "Come here."

If Cade was affected by Megatron's words, he didn't show it, even when he started to approach the Decepticon leader. Three steps, and Grimlock said, "Wait." He showed his hand, where he held the Omega Keys. "I'll come with him."

Megatron narrowed his optics. "Why would you need to come? Hand them over to Cade Yeager, and he'll bring them to me."

"We have what you need, Megatron," Prowl said. "You're not the only one who can make demands."

The warlord glared, but appeared to accede. "Fine. But do it quickly. And no tricks."

"No tricks," Grimlock assured him. He was not even lying.

With every step he took as he followed Cade, Grimlock's spark pulsed louder and faster. The success of their plan rested on three individuals, and he was one of them.

Halfway through, Megatron raised a hand. "Stop," he said, and pointed at one of his soldiers. "You there. Release the Autobots and the humans."

Grimlock exchanged a look with Cade, then returned his attention to Megatron. "We haven't even given the Omega Keys to you yet."

"A sign of good will," Megatron said, his voice suspiciously genuine. "I'm a mech of my word."

Grimlock found that difficult to believe, if the stories of his atrocities were anything to judge by. Still, this was a better outcome than what they had initially anticipated.

Soon the captives were freed, leaving only the Knights Apprentices. As they hurried to join the rest of the Autobots, Grimlock and Cade resumed their approach at Megatron's behest. Until at last, they stood in front of the Decepticon leader. An imposing mech, or he would be if only he was not a third of Grimlock's height.

"I'll release your knights once you hand over the Omega Keys," he said, without any trace of fear.

"And me?" Cade asked.

"Don't worry, Cade Yeager," Megatron said with a smile. "You'll soon find out. Now give me the Keys."

His spark heavy with anticipation, Grimlock extended his hand. "Even if you discover the location of the final Key, we'll get it first."

"You mean this?" Megatron's smile turned into a devious smirk. A compartment in his chest slid open, and from it he pulled out the fourth and final Omega Key.

"So you do have it too," Grimlock said. He was not surprised anymore, not after seeing the Requiem Blaster. But having his suspicions confirmed in such a manner still sent a flood of rage in his spark.

"Now we will see if these are truly the Omega Keys." He took the three relics in Grimlock's hand, and brought them together with the one in his grasp. They began to glow, just as planned, and the tips locked with each other. A beam traced patterns in the air.

And Megatron froze in shock. "Wait. You brought the real ones?"

Cade broke into a wide grin. "No tricks, right?" he said, right before Grimlock's mace swept over Megatron with a thunderous boom.

###

Thundercracker flew high enough that the humans' radar array would not detect him. At his sides were Shatter and Blitzwing.

He was not expecting much resistance, not with the Autobots and Knights absent from the base. But he could not let his guard down, and so he also had the Stunticons and Dropkick lurk within the perimeter, ready to attack at his signal.

As soon as Hill Air Force Base came within missile range, Thundercracker swooped down. "All units, begin the attack," he said through the radio.

The base's sirens blared, just as a ball of fire went up from the north-east, followed by a thick pillar of black smoke. Thundercracker emerged out of a cloud then, firing a salvo of missiles at a responding squadron of F-35s. One evaded death using flares, but the rest exploded, filling the sky with scorching metal that streaked toward the ground.

Thundercracker continued with his fall, heading for the barracks. To his left, Shatter burst toward to the power generators. She would cripple the base to prevent the humans from receiving aid.

When he was barely a hundred meters from the ground, Thundercracker arrested his fall, altformed, and dropped on top of a tank, crushing the vehicle and the people it carried inside. By then, the entire base was mobilizing in defense.

It was a pity how they would easily massacre the defenders. And if Thundercracker could simply have his way, he would have chosen a less violent approach. Their war was against fellow Cybertronians, and not against insignificant and primitive lifeforms. A simple threat and a few deaths to intimidate them would have sufficed.

But the Lord Megatron had specifically ordered to wipe out the base and search for the Omega Keys. Thundercracker was simply following his command. And so despite his misgivings, he opened fire on anyone who had two legs and two arms.

There were not many of them, just as they had expected. Most of the soldiers were now on their way to help the Autobots from Lord Megatron's ambush. They had taken the bait.

Thundercracker swept across the base one sector at a time, destroying barracks and storage rooms where ammunition was kept. He left the hangars to Dropkick and the Stunticons, and the radar array to Shatter. A few daring human pilots tried to scramble their air superiority fighters, but Blitzwing dropped a bomb in the runway, ending their attempt.

When the base was half destroyed, Thundercracker let the others deal with the stragglers. Many had escaped, but he didn't order a pursuit. That was not part of their mission, and the humans were likely to form a counteroffensive if Thundercracker and his group gave chase. And while he was confident that they could win, he did not want to take any chances.

As he watched the smoldering remains of the command center, the roar of engines caught his attention. He had somehow missed a building behind one of the barracks, and from there drove out a dump truck. A quick scan designated it as an Autobot.

Thundercracker aimed with his arm-mounted missile launcher at once, then paused. A glint of gold had registered in his vision.

He immediately altformed and warned his team, then sped toward the fleeing Autobot. For all his efforts, nothing on the road could match a flyer's speed, and Thundercracker was soon bearing down on him. A single missile, shot with precision into the Autobot's right rear wheels, forced the mech into his bipedal mode with a pained cry, sprawling on the pavement. The Omega Keys spilled out, and the mech reached for them.

He did not get far. Thundercracker altformed and landed, drawing his sword. The mech looked up at him with fear and resolve. He pulled a blaster and aimed it with shaking hands, but Thundercracker sent it spinning away with a flick of his sword.

"I'd advise you to just give up," Thundercracker said. His mission was to kill everyone, but the mech was clearly not a soldier. He doubted if he would pose any harm to him or the other members of his team.

The Autobot shook his head. "I have to protect the Keys."

"Even if it means your death?"

"Yes."

Thundercracker sighed. A martyr then. The Autobots were filled with them, and he couldn't understand why they would keep fighting when they no longer could? What drove them to resist until death?

But no matter. It seemed that the Autobot would not back down. Slowly, Thundercracker raised his sword and—

"Stop!"

Thundercracker turned, as did the Autobot. Standing next to the burning wreckage of a jeep was a human girl, her face covered in soot. Her eyes blazed with determination as she dashed forward. Thundercracker let her be—she was no threat—until she stood in front of the Autobot.

"Izzy, what are you doing here?" the mech groaned. "I told you to join the others."

But the girl ignored him and craned her neck up, staring at Thundercracker squarely. "If you want to kill him, you'll have to kill me."

That, more than anything, surprised Thundercracker. The girl—Izzy, was it?—was unarmed and could fit inside his hand. He could squash her as easily as she could one of the insects in this world, and yet she bore no trace of fear.

"You don't know what you're saying, human child. Now step aside."

"I won't let you."

"Step aside!" Thundercracker raised his sword above him, then stopped. This girl was weak, and not even Cybertronian. Why should he waste time on her when the Omega Keys were almost in his hands?

"Commander, what's the holdup?" It was Shatter, returning from her objectives. The assassin looked at the scene and scowled. "Why haven't you killed them yet? We're done here."

"I was about to when you showed up," Thundercracker muttered. The rest of his team were converging on his position now, and none of them looked pleased. The humans probably didn't offer much resistance, so they didn't enjoy the mission.

"I knew I should have stayed with Lord Megatron," Motormaster grumbled. He swung his massive axe at the ground, sending concrete chunks flying. "At least those Knights would have been better opponents."

"This is the mission we've been tasked with," Thundercracker admonished him. "Stop your complaining and give me a sitrep."

Motormaster swept his hand around. "Well, as you can see, everything is already destroyed or burning. Except for that mech and human. Can I kill them?"

"No," was Thundercracker's swift reply. He wouldn't tolerate unnecessary killings while he was in command. "They won't harm any of us."

"Can't," Blitzwing commented with a snort. "The girl's squishy, and the Autobot is in no fit state to fight at all."

Dropkick chuckled. "If he could even fight. Look at him. He probably worked in the construction crew back in our world."

"The Constructicons were the same," Motormaster pointed out. "And looked where that landed them. One of our greatest weapons, until the humans and Autobots killed them. This one, though. He didn't look like Constructicon material."

They laughed at that, except for Thundercracker. Belittling one's failures was one thing. But insulting his weakness was going too far. He had trained soldiers who, while utterly devoted to the Decepticon cause, were unskilled and inexperienced. But after he had trained them, they became some of the best warriors Cybertron had seen.

A clang silenced them. Thundercracker brought his gaze to the girl, then to Motormaster who stood frozen in his spot, his expression one of astonishment and fury. By his feet lay a charred piece of metal, no larger than a human foot.

"Don't. Insult. My. Friend." The girl's voice was calm, but laced with barely restrained anger.

Motormaster growled. "Or what, little human?" He took a step, a powerful one that made the ground tremble slightly. "You're going to hit me with scrap metal?"

"Enough, Motormaster." Thundercracker blocked his path. "She didn't even put a dent in your head. Leave her be."

"I don't take orders from you!"

"While I'm in command of this team, you are going to take orders from me."

He was taller than Motormaster, so Thundercracker was not intimidated. Nevertheless, Thundercracker kept one optic on the axe; its blades could cleave a flyer in two with one stroke.

The Stunticon leader glared at him, but he backed down with an annoyed grumble. Good. The brute had some sense, after all.

Thundercracker turned to the girl, who was still looking at him fiercely. "My soldiers will not harm you or your friend. We'll take the Omega Keys, and then we'll leave." He stepped past her and the Autobot. The Omega Keys lay strewn on the ground a little ways ahead, and he covered the distance in five long strides. He bent down to get them.

And squinted hard. Were they supposed to have red lights that blinked?

His optics widened, and he roared as everything went white. Footsteps thundered toward him. Shatter spoke. "Commander, what was–"

"OPEN FIRE!"

Thundercracker gasped. "Take cover!" But he was too late. Gunfire had erupted, and they were everywhere. Motormaster was roaring. An explosion sounded nearby, and the roars stopped, followed by a heavy thud.

When Thundercracker regained his vision, he was dismayed by the sight. Motormaster's lifeless body lay to his left, his head ruined—probably struck by a rocket. Drag Strip, Dead End, and Wildrider were speeding away in their alt forms, while Blitzwing, Shatter, and Dropkick had taken to the air to cover them.

He cursed. He was the only one grounded, with a company bearing down on him. An army of tanks, infantry, and light support vehicles surrounded his group. And more were coming. Where had they hidden? He was certain that the barracks and hangar had been empty.

Then it hit him, even as he pulled out the Skyboom Shield and ducked behind it. The Autobot and that girl. They were bait. It was all a setup to lure some of the forces away from Lord Megatron.

Thundercracker snarled and scanned his surroundings for them, but they were already behind a line of tanks. Soldiers were firing from his sides and rear, and though their bullets barely harmed him, some of them were beginning to aim rocket launchers in his direction.

He didn't give them a chance. Thundercracker's autocannons roared, shredding the soldiers. He emptied his arm-mounted missile launchers at a group of tanks, and they were engulfed in a firestorm, clearing a path for Drag Strip. He broke through, but a hail of bullets forced him into his bipedal form. It did not come from the soldiers–they were still focused on him and the others—so Thundercracker searched around until he saw them.

Two vehicles, green and blue, raced to intercept Drag Strip. At first glance, they looked like ordinary racing cars—NASCARs, from what Thundercracker had once seen when Knockout hacked into a human television. But ordinary racing cars were not outfitted from rear end to front bumper with enough weapons to take down a Combiner.

And then he saw the insignia painted proudly on their hoods: a blue Autobot symbol.

Wreckers.

Thus, he was not surprised when Drag Strip only managed to get a few shots before the two were onto him, altforming and tackling him to the ground. Logic won over shock, and Thundercracker took to the air at once, shouting, "Retreat!"

The other flyers were quick to obey. When he joined them and they were finally out of range, Thundercracker looked down. The only thing he could recognize of Drag Strip was his head, which was rolling away from his dismembered remains. Wildrider and Dead End had fared no better, and Thundercracker watched as a volley of armor-piercing shells tore at their bodies.

The deaths of his comrades were the least of his worries, however. And as he pumped more energon into his thrusters, Thundercracker sped back toward his master.

###

Explosions rocked the ground. To the right, human soldiers rushed out of three houses, hundreds of them, firing at the Decepticons. One platoon broke off from the main group and dashed toward his and his comrade's location.

"Hurry!" Steelbane urged the Autobot scout as he worked on his restraints. The Decepticons had bound his hands with electronic shackles, which would only release on Megatron's command. But the warlord was currently preoccupied with preventing the Grandmaster Grimlock from turning him into a pile of scrap metal.

The scout beeped in frustration; the lock was too heavily encrypted.

"I'll take care of that," Drift said, and swung his blade. With a satisfying ring, the shackles' chain was severed and Steelbane launched into the sky at once in his dragon form, trailed by Dreadwing and Skyquake. He trusted the reinforcements to help the other captives.

The battle had begun in earnest as soon as Grandmaster Grimlock's first blow landed on Megatron, hurling him into the air. Steelbane did not dare look down, but judging by the explosions and fearsome roars, his comrades were managing to keep the Decepticons occupied.

Right now, he and the other Knights had a much greater battle with Predaking. The dragon bellowed and swooped down, like a streaking meteor. An answering shriek came from below, and the Grandmaster Strafe shot past Steelbane. The two titanic flyers collided, and the sky was soon filled with roars and piercing cries.

Steelbane banked away to the left, circling them. The Twins did the same, on the right. They climbed higher until Grandmaster Strafe and Predaking were forty yards below them. Then as one, the three Knights dropped.

Predaking kicked the Grandmaster Strafe in the chest, sending him spinning to the ground for a few seconds until he righted himself. By then, Predaking had noticed Steelbane and the Twins' rapid approach. He snarled, and with a powerful flap of his wings, shot at Steelbane with frightening speed.

It was all Steelbane could do to remain in the air as the dragon rammed into him, and they battered each other with their feet and tails. Predaking was larger and stronger, but Steelbane was not alone.

Skyquake darted from the side and struck from the right flank, holding onto the Predacon's right foreleg. His teeth sank into the thick armor, and though he barely scratched it, Predaking hissed in annoyance. He snapped at Skyquake, only for Dreadwing to rake his claws at Predaking's left flank, latching onto him.

You can't best the three of us, Steelbane thought as he opened his maw and bathed Predaking's neck with a stream of fire. On each side, the Twins mirrored him. And soon Predaking was screaming in agony.

Then Grandmaster Strafe appeared from behind the dragon, and his two heads darted forward like snakes, stabbing at Predaking's shoulders. His screams grew louder. He shook violently, throwing the Knights Apprentices off of him. And yet Grandmaster Strafe would not let go, and they both plummeted to the ground.

Steelbane prepared to dive, but he detected a salvo of missiles heading his way. He twisted in midair, and they zipped past him. He destroyed them with a swift burst of flame, then searched for their source.

Two Decepticon flyers flew in the distance, a black jet leading a red one. As Steelbane watched, the red aircraft dove toward Dreadwing and Skyquake, her autocannons blazing.

Another volley of missiles erupted from the black one, whom Steelbane recognized from the records: Thundercracker, Megatron's second-in-command. He scoffed. Did the fool think he could win against him? He may not have his sword, but he had his claws and tail and teeth.

With a growl, Steelbane met him head-on. Thundercracker altformed into his bipedal mode and flew to engage him, tackling the Knight. A swift punch at the head disoriented Steelbane for a moment, but he recovered quickly and bit into the Decepticon's right arm. Thundercracker grunted, then cried out in agony as Steelbane bit harder and wrenched the arm free of its joint, tearing it away in a spray of wires and energon.

He fell screaming, and his comrade swooped down to catch him. Steelbane watched them descend to the ground, then searched for Grandmaster Strafe. He found him still grappling with Predaking, falling freely.

With a roar, Steelbane tucked his wings and dove. He was joined by Dreadwing and Skyquake, and together they sped toward Predaking. Five hundred feet. Three hundred feet. They were closer now, and Steelbane could feel the air shaking from the ferocious battle. Predaking hit Grandmaster Strafe with his tail, striking his chest, but the Knight battered him with wings and claws.

Until at last Grandmaster Strafe twisted around and disengaged, and Predaking crashed violently into a house, where he struggled to get free. The Knights landed in their bipedal forms. Steelbane stole a glance at the battlefield. Grandmaster Slag and Grandmaster Scorn fought Bruticus, and they were pummeling him to submission. Grandmaster Grimlock was still locked with Megatron, but Steelbane could not see much of the fight. The Autobots were covering the captives' retreat, though he noticed that some of them had stayed behind to help.

Predaking growled, drawing his attention. He glanced at Grandmaster Strafe, who slowly approached the dragon. Most of the body had been buried under huge piles of rubble, and only Predaking's neck and head were visible. He spat a short burst of flame at Grandmaster Strafe's direction, but they were weak now and only left a few scorch marks.

When he was close enough, the Grandmaster raised a sword. "And now you die again, king of Predacons." He swung down at Predaking's neck.

A black shadow dropped from the sky, altforming swiftly and landing in front of the towering Knight. A flash of steel, and Grandmaster Strafe was pressed back, defending himself from the newcomer.

Steelbane and the twins moved to help him, but there was another impact behind them. Steelbane twisted around and felt a terrible blow against his chest. He staggered, then froze as a sword touched his neck.

"Move, and he dies."

Nearby, the twins were stunned. Steelbane was, too. He knew that voice. He looked up slowly, wondering at the new purple lines adorning the mech's familiar black armor, and his spark seemed to die in its chamber.

"You!" he said in disbelief.

Scourge smirked. "Hello, old friend."


And the plot twist is finally revealed! Though to be fair, perhaps some of you have already seen this coming. I tried to keep the hints as vague as possible, and hopefully I managed to set it up without being too obvious.

In any case, Scourge is here, and so is Cyclonus. I took inspiration from their G1 counterparts, at least for their roles in this fic, but many of the things you'll see here are my own original take on their characters.

Meanwhile, the Requiem Blaster! There are quite a few versions of this weapon from Transformers lore. But I ultimately decided to use the Armada version while tweaking it a little to suit the story.

Now, to answer some of the reviews.

In response to Julien Caeg's review: the Insecticons are primarily based on their Prime versions, hence the thick armor and monstrous appearance. I wanted to use the G1 version initially, but I decided not to because I felt more comfortable writing them as violent monsters than a group of opportunists.

In response to GreenArrow69's review: I'll admit that this part is where I utterly failed, to a degree. When I was writing the first five or six chapters of this fic, I wanted to let the readers create their own image of the characters they see, so I kept descriptions to the bare minimum. But to answer your question, those from the movies still have the same vehicle forms. Cliffjumper is a dodge challenger, and Prowl is a police car. I imagined Trailbreaker to be a slightly slimmer, less armored version of Ironhide, which would also match Trailbreaker's original G1 design. Longarm is a tow truck while Canopy, as mentioned before, is a dump truck.

Once again, I apologize for another delay. At this point, my workload is often piling up, reducing my time to focus on this fic. But despite that and what I've said in the previous chapter, we only have two chapters to go! I said three before, but judging by how fast everything will go from here, I'm confident that I could finish this story in just two more chapters.

So get ready for the finale! Please Read & Review!

Until next time!