A/N: So… Earth has turned into a bit of a shitshow since the last posting.
My other half and I are both keeping safe and are quite content with social distancing – we're still shielding due to Himself having dicky lungs from being a premature baby and me having an auto-immune disorder.
Everyone keep safe, stay indoors, wash your damn hands, wear a face mask if you go out, and observing these measures does not equal communism, it equals common sense.
Disclaimer: Nightraider, Dreadnought and Crossfire are my poor, bashed, traumatised babies. No touchy. Everything else is the property of TakaraTomy, Hasbro, Marvel, and IDW. Have at.
Warning: New chapter = same as previous chapters, plus more functional alcoholism.
Italics = indicate flashback
Crossfire: Part 9
Cybertron, City State of Iacon, Sub-Level Six, Maccadam's Old Oil House…
A joor into opening for the orn, and the newest entry into the regular menu was having a very tricky onlining.
Maccadam rested his chin against his knuckles, leaned against the counter, and rolled his stylus between his fingers.
A base of refined petroleum, two-parts refined mid-grade to one-part mercury, a shot of melted iron ore… but something was missing. Something to provide a lightness to the weight of the metals.
Sodium or potassium would prove too volatile, and certainly anything stronger than potassium would destroy half the bar. No, what was needed was a more delicate flavour. Perhaps aluminium or zinc; something with a little zest?
"Mac?"
He glanced up just enough to acknowledge his head waitress.
"'Split. What can I do you for?"
Lickety-Split leaned against the battered bar, blue optics flat with disapproval. "Party of three; Dreadnought of Altihex, Nightraider of Vos and one of your friends from the old orns."
Maccadam straightened up. Not for the first time, he wished that the Lenses weren't now permanently affixed to his optics; it had been so much easier to buy a few more astroseconds of thinking time while he cleaned them.
"The old orns?"
"The old orns."
She ex-vented slowly and stared at a puddle of energon he hadn't quite got around to mopping up.
"It's A3."
Oh frag.
All of his staff had been quietly briefed to keep an optic out for any of his more legendary comrades, and to give particular warning if Megatronus or Liege Maximo ever turned up.
But A3…
In all the time he had known the Third of the Thirteen, Trion had never been inclined to drink, nor, when the occasion required it, had he ever been inclined towards social drinking.
For him to come to the bar, with a known functional alcoholic and her rather ineffectual restraint in tow…
This could not be good.
But he never turned away a customer if they entered his establishment sober.
He sighed and nodded at the rust-brown femme.
"Bring them through. Seat them at the bar."
Lickety-Split raised her optic-ridges but made no comment.
At her gesture, Zarak Maximus growled and stepped aside just enough to let the two exhausted Decepticons and their nominal Autobot companion into the main bar area.
Nightraider slid onto a battered stool, her movements slow and her optics weary. Dreadnought managed to shuffle his grey bulk onto the adjoining seat and glared at Trion as he took his seat at the bar.
"You're paying."
Trion returned the glare right back, but there was no real spark in it.
Maccadam quietly sucked in a vent of air through his dental plates.
This was serious.
He quickly plastered a smile on his faceplates, picked up a clean cube, and started polishing it with vigour.
"Femme and gentlemechs, welcome to the Old Oil House, what can I fetch you?"
The red and black tetra-jet leaned heavily on the bar and gestured towards the top shelf.
"A double shot of Nightmare Fuel for everyone please Mac, then energon spritzers to follow."
Maccadam peered through the Lenses at Nightraider before glancing at Trion. "Nightmare Fuel? For all three of you?"
"Believe me, if you knew the orn we'd had, you'd be recommending half the top shelf in a spark-beat."
He risked a proper look at Trion. The tiniest of nods was all he received in response.
This was extremely serious.
"Three Double NFs coming up. You want some dihydrogen monoxide for the group?"
Dreadnought nodded wearily. "Please."
A jug of dihydrogen monoxide appeared in less than a breem, along with three glowing double shots of Nightmare Fuel. Nightraider and Dreadnought both grabbed their shot-cubes and braced themselves.
Both of them turned to glare electro-daggers at Trion.
"…Fine."
Trion pinched his cube between thumb and forefinger and held it as if it were likely to bite him.
Nightraider shot another scathing look at the elder mech, then raised her cube before her.
"To Crossfire of Polyhex, onlined in Darkmount, born of Shockwave of Tarn and an unnamed spark, we see you released from the All-Spark, and celebrate your orn of onlining. We- we…"
She paused, looking slightly sick for a moment. Dreadnought silently reached for and held her free hand. She squeezed it tightly in return.
"…We salute your creators, and their success in bringing you into this world. We salute your being, and what you will become."
Another pause. One where the femme jet looked like she was fighting the urge to cry.
"And this is the way it shall be, until the day when all are one."
Dreadnought and Trion raised their cubes in acknowledgement. "Until the day when all are one."
Silence fell over the bar as the trio downed their shots.
Maccadam kept his optics fixed on Trion's faceplates as his sibling choked down his shot of triple-distilled engex.
A salute to a sparkling.
And not just any sparkling, but the Project's sparkling.
The Third of the Thirteen grimaced as the Nightmare Fuel hit his tanks, and finally met his comrades' worried optics.
"Let me See."
The Lenses activated.
Cybertron, City State of Polyhex, Darkmount Fortress…
"Prepare sterile field."
Nightraider ex-vented slowly and steadily.
This was nothing.
She was trained to do this.
She had done thousands of operations like this for vorns, and almost all of them had been successful.
Shockwave's disembodied cranium and spark chamber were draped across the operating table before her. To her right, Dreadnought had prepared the surgical retractors needed for the extraction, and was hovering beside her, ready to apply them as needed. To her left, Glit was perched next to the monitors, and Knock Out had just slid a freshly sterilised tray of surgical equipment onto a trolley within arms' reach. Howlback stood in the doorway of the operating theatre with both hip cannons primed and ready to deploy.
Alpha Trion stood behind the femme jet and stared over her shoulder plating at Shockwave's spark chamber, the Quill clutched tightly between aged digits.
Everyone carefully avoided looking at the incubator next to the operating table, or at the tiny lavender and silver protoform lying within.
Glit tapped in his codes and glanced up at Nightraider. "Field activating in three, two, one…"
A network of UV lights activated with a flash, bathing the operating theatre with an eerie blue glow.
"Sterile field now active."
Nightraider nodded once at Dreadnought.
"Insert retractors."
The battlecruiser carefully pressed the retractors against the hatch of Shockwave's spark chamber, jamming the latches open. Under the eerie glow of the sterile field, a tiny silver-pink spark rotated around its larger, purple tinted parent.
"Prepare spark containment field."
Knock Out delicately tapped at a panel, squinting as the containment field activated.
"Laser scalpel."
Dreadnought gently pressed the scalpel into her hand.
Nightraider closed her optics for a moment…
Shockwave passed her the tool and watched as the refined beam started to delicately sever the energy connections between the two sparks. A pair of spark forceps gently clamped around the tiny spark, encouraging it to separate from its parent.
Her faceplates relaxed enough for a tentative smile to appear. "There now... come on, little one..."
Another careful slice, and another connection was severed. The tiny spark seemed to move away from the blade of the scalpel, content to stay in the safe grip of the forceps...
She let the memory burst and roil across her CPU. The tremors in her hands stilled as her ventilations steadied.
This was not Soundwave.
This was not the mech she loved.
This was not his last creation clinging desperately to life.
But this was Shockwave.
The mech Dreadnought loved.
And this was his creation in orbit around his spark, still so determined to be onlined.
She would do nothing less than her best.
The first incision was almost soundless.
Only the hum of the laser scalpel could be heard over the steady pulse of the spark monitor. Nightraider worked quickly but steadily, her optics darting between the spark monitor and the weakly pulsing spark before her.
Another careful slice, then another, and another, and suddenly Dreadnought was looming over her, noiselessly brandishing a pair of forceps.
One nod, and the forceps were clamped around the tiny spark.
"Prepare spark containment forcefield."
Knock Out keyed in the commands and stepped back, worrying his lower lip plating between his dental plates.
"Forcefield active."
Nightraider made the final slice.
The tiny spark made a movement not unlike a flinch, dimmed for a horrifying moment…
And stabilized.
It flushed a healthy pink, now gleaming with improved health.
"Sparkling separation complete."
Nightraider forced herself to vent slowly as Dreadnought dragged the preemie crib into reach.
"Prepare the spark chamber."
Dreadnought clamped a set of tiny callipers against the opening of the protoform's spark chamber.
"Primus speed you, little one."
The femme jet inserted the tiny spark into the empty chamber, her optics flicking back and forth between the motionless protoform and the rig of spark monitors attached to the crib. Glit activated a further set of monitors connected to Shockwave's spark chamber.
"Parent spark is stable so far, CMO."
"Good."
Dreadnought was leaning over the crib, holding one little silver hand between a giant grey thumb and forefinger.
"Come on, little one… please…"
Every mech and femme held their vents shut as they stared at the sparkling.
A tiny set of vents opened with a squeak.
A golden optic activated, its brightness shining like a star against the dull grey of the operating theatre.
A newly-onlined vocaliser chirruped tentatively.
Two silver hands flexed their fingers. One waved gracelessly through the air, while the other gripped tightly onto Dreadnought's thumb.
"…Reee?"
Dreadnought gently curled his free hand around the sparkling's frame, stroking his fingers over a lavender shoulder plate. "…Hey, you."
The medical staff all quietly pretended not to hear the sob that emerged from the battlecruiser's facemask. Trion rolled his optics briefly at the sound, then quickly schooled his faceplates into an expression of perfect neutrality as Howlback growled at him.
Dreadnought was oblivious to everything and everything around him, except for the little life that was clinging to his hand like a creation would cling to their creator.
"Welcome to Cybertron. This is home. It's a bit weird and scary at the moment, but you're safe here with me."
The sparkling squeaked a little louder.
"I'm Dreadnought. I'm an engineer. Guess I'm looking after you while your… creator gets fixed up."
Nightraider busied herself with cauterising the frayed bonds left over from the spark section. Tears quietly ran down her faceplates and were silently wiped away by Knock Out.
"Ooooh, hang on…"
A sudden white light caught her optics for a moment. Dreadnought carefully positioned the hand mirror he had pulled from his subspace above the sparkling's head and tilted it so it showed a slightly wonky image of Shockwave's cranium.
"That's Shockwave, your creator. He made you all by himself. When he's all better, you'll see you look just like him."
The shine of the mirror wobbled slightly.
"That's CMO Nightraider. She's a femme. She's my best friend, an awesome medic, and she onlined you."
Another movement.
"That's SMO Glit. He's the kindest mech I know; he's a medic like Nightraider, and he makes everyone feel better."
The mirror moved again.
"That's Knock Out. He's an angry little sassbox-"
"Hey!"
"—but he's got a good spark inside all those polished plates."
Dreadnought ignored Knock Out's outburst and simply moved the mirror again to reflect the figure in the hatchway.
"That's Howlback. She's a felinoid like Glit. She's scary, but she always has your back when you need her."
The Cobalt Sentry purred, hard red optics softening for a sparkbeat.
The battlecruiser paused for a moment before he focussed the mirror on the final occupant of the room.
"That's Alpha Trion. He's the Third of the Thirteen Primes. And he's a meddling aft-wipe who thinks everyone should just do what he says."
There was an old saying on Cybertron: lightning never strikes the same place twice.
Anyone with an ounce of common sense knew that this saying was completely ridiculous. Aside from the meteorological impossibility of lightning never striking the same place twice, and knowing that history will repeat itself unless deliberately stopped, when it comes to anything involving the gods or any mythological figures, most mechs and femmes could make the reasonable assumption that the same slag would happen again and again, just in slightly different settings.
Unfortunately, no-one, not even Alpha Trion, had assumed what would happen next.
The sparkling's optic narrowed as it focussed on the upside-down reflection of the Third of the Thirteen.
Lavender vents stuttered and froze.
Prima… Prime… Primus…
Behind the assembled mechs and femmes, Shockwave's single shattered optic onlined.
Prima… Prime… Primus…
The sparkling started to squeak in distress. Optical fluid gushed down its plating.
Dreadnought cupped his hands around the sparkling and tried to hold its limbs still. "What's happening!?"
Prima… Prime… Primus…
The main spark monitors began to beep frantically. Nightraider span around and stared at the Military Operations officer's optic in dread.
"What in the Pit!?"
Knock Out wrenched the monitors around. He and Glit scanned them frantically before the silver felinoid snarled, "He's fading!"
Prima… Prime… Primus…
Knock Out managed to wave a scanner over the sparkling as Dreadnought held it stable. An agonised shriek emerged from the crib. "So's the sparkling!"
What happened next was not possible by any previously documented Cybertronian records.
It still happened.
Shockwave's disembodied cranium and spark chamber started to thrash about on the operating table, and in perfect time with the sparkling's shrieks.
The sparkling broke free of Dreadnought's protective hold and flung itself at the side of the crib. An unholy screech emerged from its vocaliser as the last surviving parts of its creator's frame rolled about, flinging droplets of oil and congealed energon all over the theatre.
Prima… Prime… Primus…
"No… nononono NO!"
Nightraider and Knock Out flung themselves onto the writhing mess on the table and managed to attach the emergency safety restraints to Shockwave's vital parts. Trion fell back and frantically scanned through the Covenant, optics searching for any hint of how to proceed. Glit skidded onto the floor with a pained yowl. Howlback, to her credit, kept her weapons primed but not locked on any particular target.
"What's happening!?"
The femme jet clung on grimly to Shockwave's spasming spark chamber. "I don't know, this looks like sparkshock, but it's not possible!"
Knock Out's optics were almost pink with fear. "It started when it saw Trion!"
Prima… Prime… Primus…
On the table, Soundwave's body jolted from the erratic pulses, the edges of his armour turning a frightening grey.
She frantically inserted the forceps, desperately trying to get a grip onto the struggling spark before any more damage could be done. 'He's going into sparkshock, I need 3000 volts NOW!'
Shockwave span and began to set up the kinetic stimulator, his movements almost jerky as he listened to the CMO's orders. Outside the sterile field, three nurse-bots were frantically preparing the protoform's frame, while two others connected the electrical supply for the stimulator into the main power supply.
One paddle was placed against the top of the chamber, the other to the left-hand side. Over the sound of the growing electrical charge, Shockwave stared at Nightraider, and then down at the conjoined sparks.
'Close the chamber!'
'No time, I need to get in there as soon as he's stable!'
The gun-former realised what she meant, and also what could happen with the spark chamber left open. Without a closed chamber, the wave of kinetic and electrical energy that would be discharged would have nowhere to safely filter into the body, and thus would force its way through the largest available opening.
'CLEAR!'
Dreadnought turned around, his optic band white with terror and anger.
"You did this!"
Trion hastily backed away, rightly recognising that whatever emotions were clouding the battlecruiser's CPU, none of them would be beneficial to his continued wellbeing.
Howlback snarled. The rising beeps behind him told him that the beast-former had targeted her hip cannons on his torso. Two giant grey hands clamped around the old mech's neck and squeezed.
"'Raider warned you! You save him NOW, or you die where you stand!"
Trion managed to stare over the battlecruiser's shoulder plating at the last remnants of Shockwave's frame, thrashing desperately against the operating table.
PRIMA… PRIME… PRIMUS…
The Quill and the Covenant fell from his hands to the floor with a clatter that echoed through the CPUs of every Decepticon present.
Somehow, the gun-former's disembodied vocaliser activated with a click.
And SCREAMED.
The wave of noise drove every mech and femme in the operating room to their knees with their hands slammed over their audials. This was not just the noise of a being in distress, this was the sounds of something from prehistory; something which tore through their sparks and made their joints ache.
Nightraider squinted desperately at the berth, gasping in pain all the while, then back at Trion.
"WHAT THE FRAG IS HAPPENING!?"
Trion's optics had blown wide in panic. "THIS ISN'T RIGHT! THIS ISN'T THE WAY IT WAS WRITTEN!"
"WHAT WAS WRITTEN!?"
"THE VOICE! THE SCREAM INTO THE VOID!"
Dreadnought stared at Shockwave's spark chamber and then at the incubator in horror. "THE SPARKLING!"
PRIMA… PRIME… PRIMUS…
Glit managed to deactivate his audials and crawled towards the incubator. Inside the insulated box, the tiny lavender and silver frame rolled about, its single golden optic flickering erratically as the scream gathered more force.
The edges of its audial fins were turning a frightening shade of grey.
Knock Out stared over his shoulder, dental plates gritted tightly, and managed to wave a spark monitor over the protoform.
"IT'S HAVING A MASSIVE SPARK ATTACK! IT WON'T LIVE UNLESS WE SHUT SHOCKWAVE DOWN!"
Glit scrambled across to the berth and managed to empty a vial of sedative into Shockwave's spark chamber. In the incubator, the sparkling's flailing calmed slightly, just enough for Knock Out to wrap two tiny restraints around its arms and legs.
Red glyphs filled the HUDs of every Cybertronian present. Close the hatch and disconnect Shockwave's CPU from his spark chamber!
Nightraider responded in kind. We don't know if he'll survive!
But it might save the sparkling!
PRIMA… PRIME… PRIMUS…
Dreadnought scrambled to his pedes and leaned over the thrashing remnants of Shockwave's frame, pulling a plasma cutter from his subspace.
"EVERYONE HIT THE FLOOR, NOW!"
Nightraider and Knock Out dropped like hunks of iron ore. Alpha Trion joined them, arms covering his cranium. Glit fell gracelessly to the floor next to the Quill and the Covenant, keeping both implements safe within his claws. Outside the sterile field, Howlback crouched down, her weapons still locked on Trion's back.
Dreadnought activated the plasma cutter with a thought, raised it above his head, and closed his optics.
I'm sorry.
He stifled a sob.
I love you.
He brought his hand down.
PRIMA…PRIME…PRIMUS…
The plasma cutter tore through the spinal plating and cables like hot lead through ice. Oil and polluted energon sprayed across the floor in dark, evil-smelling streaks. Dreadnought retracted the plasma cutter, dropped to the floor, and braced himself.
The scream reached a pitch that finally shattered every glass container in the theatre…and abruptly stopped.
Shockwave's cranium and spark chamber stopped their insane thrashing.
Prima… Prime… Primus…
The sparkling collapsed back into its crib, tiny vents wheezing from the end of the sudden stress.
Dreadnought was the first to raise his head and peer over the edge of the crib.
"…What… in the name of PRIMUS… was that?!"
Nightraider scrambled to her pedes and frantically bent over the crib hands shielding the sparkling's audials. "Nggggghhh…. Ix-nay on the Imus-Pray! We don't know if that's a trigger or not!"
The sparkling rolled onto its front and started to wail.
Loudly.
Knock Out hovered tentatively by her shoulder. "Is-is it OK?"
"Get a scanner and we'll find out."
She plucked the terrified scrap out of the crib and gently jiggled it in her arms. The sparkling buried its tiny head in the crook of her neck plating, sobbing desperately. "Ohhh… oh sweetspark, that was scary, wasn't it? No-one should be caught in the crossfire like that."
Knock Out activated the scanner and gently stroked a finger over a tiny purple audial fin.
"All life-signs stable, CMO. It's a little mech."
The sparkling sniffled.
Its single optic shone as it shyly batted at Knock Out's finger with a little hand.
A tiny smile flashed across the scarlet speedster's faceplates as he gently batted right back at his patient's hand.
"…Crossfire."
"Hmmm?"
Dreadnought stared at the sparkling's wriggling form as he leaned against the operating table. "Crossfire. It's as good a designation as any."
Nightraider raised an eye-ridge. She carefully peeled the lavender sparkling away from her shoulder, held him at arm's length and studied his faceplates.
"What do you think to that, sweetspark? Is Crossfire OK with you?"
The little gun-former, now mercifully calmer, squealed and made a very rude noise with his vocaliser.
The Femme CMO exchanged an amused look with her comrades. "I'll take that as a yes."
The Lenses deactivated.
Maccadam, also known as Alchemist Prime, the Sixth of the Thirteen and the manager of the dimensional Nexus that was the Old Oil House, leaned heavily against the bar and stared at Alpha Trion in shock.
"…Primus… communicated through the Project?"
"He screamed, Alchemist. Let us not assume it was anything less than a rage against the dying of a spark that he is destined to wield."
"Was it the Scream?"
"Not as it was written."
Trion glanced significantly over his shoulder at Nightraider and Dreadnought, both now three drinks in and more than a little blurry of optic.
"This has muddied the energon horrifically. The Project was designed as sterile, and yet produced a sparkling. It was supposed to be emotionless and friendless, and yet it has somehow gained two comrades who have both threatened one of the Thirteen to save its life."
Maccadam scowled at his sibling.
"He was still onlined, just as any Cybertronian has been for vorns. He entered into a vocation, had either enough sense or enough insanity to join the Decepticons, and he's risen to a major position within the High Command, as any Cybertronian could have. Don't tell me any of the intricacies of his life were written in your little datapad."
Trion gritted his dental plates together. The Sixth of the Thirteen had never hidden his antipathy for the ultimate fate of the Project and had never been coy about saying so. Usually at top volume.
"The minutiae of his existence is not what concerns me. What concerns me is that scream, and if there is any chance it was the Scream. Because if it was, all of Cybertron, all of the Autobot Resistance and the Decepticon Empire, is now on borrowed time."
"And if it was?"
"Then we have less than 6200 vorns until the Day of Judgement. And so does Shockwave."
Maccadam recoiled in horror. "You already wrote his death sentence?"
"If it saves Cybertron, what is one life against two billion others?"
The bartender had no answer to the question that he cared to repeat.
Cybertron, City State of Polyhex, Darkmount Fortress…
After the CMO, Chief Engineer and the Third of the Thirteen had departed for Maccadam's, Howlback had retreated to perform damage control and any cover-ups needed to keep Shockwave's current status on a need-to-know basis.
Knock Out finished entering his notes on both Shockwave and the sparkling's vitals into the main computer, leaned back in his chair, propped his pedes against the crash trolley, and pouted at Glit. "I still don't see why I couldn't go to the Oil House. I helped just as much as they did."
"You are underage, for the fifth time in as many breems."
"I'm old enough to drink if there's an adult present."
The silver feline primly folded his paws under his chassis and shot a look at the lanky fledgling. "That's as maybe. I rather think, given the circumstances, that Nightraider and Dreadnought both deserve some time off from healing, fledgling-sitting and arguing with your master."
Knock Out shot his companion a flat Look. "Then why did they take Trion to Maccadam's? He's never had a drink in all the time I've known him."
"There's a first time for everything, youngling. Shockwave's condition and situation has never been encountered on Cybertron before… unless Trion has concealed more than he's revealed."
"Nope. He's as freaked as I've ever seen him."
"And you don't think that might warrant a drink and some quiet time at Maccadam's?"
"I could be quiet at Maccadam's."
Glit snorted gently. "Somehow I doubt that very much."
The red plated mech swung his legs gracefully to the floor and sauntered over to the energon dispensers. One security code and a well-placed kick yielded two decent sized cubes of mid-grade, along with a curly straw.
He stuck his nasal unit in the air and set one cube in front of Glit before returning to his chair and plunking the curly straw into the glowing pink liquid.
One silver eye-ridge raised in query.
"If I'm going to be treated like a sparkling, I'll have my rations like a sparkling."
The subsequent slurping noise produced by the straw didn't particularly help his case, but Glit chose to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he carefully lapped at his evening rations and considered what he had done in that timeless span when Trion had neither the Quill not the Covenant in his possession.
For all that Alpha Trion claimed to fall on the side of the Autobots, he still badly underestimated beast-formers.
Especially those beast-formers who had sworn oaths never to harm, but to heal.
He was fairly sure that one orn in the far future, he would come to regret his actions.
But if the random beat of a tetra-fly's wings could change numerous events several thousand vorns in the future, then a carefully-chosen word… or even two carefully-chosen words… well, they could change the history of all Cybertron.
Whether his words would save Cybertron or not...
That was for the future to reveal.
"The voice of Primus will guide the Chaos Bringer to the world born of His brother's sacrifice.
And the Chaos Bringer will return, devouring all worlds and moons in His way.
On that day of judgement, the Right Hand of Primus will transform to His true size and form,
He shall face the Chaos Bringer, for the glory of all Cybertron,
He shall face the Chaos Bringer, and defend Cybertron from the darkness,
He shall face the Chaos Bringer, and die for his home if needed,
On that Day of Judgement, one and all who call the body of Primus home will make a stand,
And at that time the powers of darkness will be driven from our lands,
For the great battle will be over, but the last war will have just begun,
And this way it will remain, until the day when All are One."
- The Covenant of Primus
Somewhere in the deepest, darkest regions of deep space, where only the most twisted, cruel creatures of various planet's Hells dared venture, the echo of the Scream reached the audials of a strange, artificial world.
A world shrouded in shadows, whispered of only in myth.
A world with a strange satellite configuration which dug into the inhospitable surface in a perfect halo.
A world where the surface was not earth and water, but golden metal and a strange pink fluid.
A world with teeth.
A world which consumed all that collided with it.
A world which, when the sound of the Scream was received, activated hitherto unknown tracking systems and propulsion systems.
A world which broke orbit from the pitiful star it had revolved around for billions of years with almost no effort at all, and which set a course for a far-distant planet somewhere near what would later be known as the Lambda Scorpii star cluster.
It would take another almost 515,000 years of travel to reach that planet, but that was of little consequence to the artificial world.
For what truly mattered to that world, known variously as Falak, Apep, Tiamat, Leviathan, Chaos, Surtur, Saturnus, Unk Cekula, the Chaos Bringer, and the Planet Eater, was that it had finally discovered the whereabouts of its brother.
And on the day that world finally met its metal twin, after so many millions of years, it would know and fear that that golden world and its true name.
Another scream, no less powerful, echoed throughout the Void and across the universe.
Unicron awoke.
TBC
