When Jazz returned to consciousness, he did it in much the same way as he always did - quickly, cleanly, and almost professionally. He didn't ask where he was, what had happened, or anything of the sort. Instead, he surveyed his surroundings with a critical eye and swung his legs over the side of the C/R capsule he didn't remember getting in.
Memories. Huh. What did happen last time we were up and running, anyhow? he wondered idly, then reflexively clamped a hand to his chest as a ghost of searing pain ripped through his torso.
"It was a 'Con, of course. Hit you with a taste of your own medicine when your shields were depleted," a semi-grouchy voice said. "Scatter Blaster incendiary rounds - nasty stuff. I'm just glad the C/R tanks fixed all of you hotshots up; mainly so I don't have to spend all lunar cycle buffing your paint jobs and re-tuning your tactile sensors."
"Hey, nice ta see you too, Ratchet!" Jazz replied jovially, stretching. "How's life treatin' ya? Your flight was good as mine, I take it? An', uh, on th' subject, how long have we all been out?"
"Abominably, no, it was awful, and no one knows, in that order," another voice spoke up. However, going off of inflection and the edge of bitter, dry wit alone, one could say that the new voice actually spoke down. The Autobot First Lieutenant knew at once who it was without even needing to search for its owner. Gears, commander of the Autobot Transport Division, laid in a berth adjacent to Jazz's, staring blankly up at the ceiling and absentmindedly flexing some kind of medical tool in his left hand.
"Chronometers are all fragged six ways from Solus-cycle, chief," he continued. "We're stuck on an organic mudworld with no way off and no way of knowing whether or not anyone else in the fleet survived the crash. My pedes hurt and I want to go home. I hate all of this already."
"Put that down, Gears, before you break it! I need it to bring everyone else back online," Ratchet scolded, putting aside the datapad he'd been reading and snatching the tool from Gears's hand.
Jazz rose fluidly to his feet, indulging in a brief stretch before crossing the makeshift medbay as well. Time hadn't been kind to the Ark, but that problem was to be considered and solved later. "And cancel that negativity too, yeah? Primus provides, my friend. Just look at us - we're still cooking an' ventin' air. Tha's gotta count for somethin', right?"
The CMO snorted. "You can thank Primus if you like. Me, I'm just worried about our immediate survival. We've got a lot of empty stasis pods, Jazz, and most of them are still carrying energy signatures - Decepticon signatures. There're still some of them locked in stasis; case in point, this fellow right here." He rapped a nearby stasis pod with a wrench. "Much as I hate agreeing with Gears, he does have a point. We have no clue where we are and no backup in case things go south. Oh, and the Ark's crashed in an active volcano, nearly forgot that part. We've got quite a bit of work to do."
"Sounds like it," Jazz agreed.
"We're probably going to die," Gears noted.
"Hush, you. Jazz - I took the liberty of assigning you a new alternate mode. Preliminary scans indicate that there's at least semi-intelligent life on this planet, and we'll likely need to use the SWORD protocol before this is over. I went with the one your technobiometrics seemed to prefer over the other options, the one your pod came up with. Hope you like it."
"Where's this medbay at - midships?" Jazz replied, grinning. "I'll have to try out the new wheels on the way to th' bridge. Thanks, doc!"
"Very well, but do be careful, Jazz. There's substantial-"
Suddenly, the cover on one of the other pods flew open, causing dust to rain from the ruined ceiling. A bulky orange arm clamped down on the rim, denting it, followed by an enormous upper body still soaking wet with nanobot solution.
"THEY - LEFT - ME!" the Decepticon Ratchet had indicated earlier boomed with heavily-modulated fury. A spiked mace rose from the pod, dangling on a chain attached directly to the raider's wrist joint. "KILL THEM ALL - THEY'LL PAY FOR EVERYTHING THEY'VE DONE!"
Tensions rose in the room the moment that the former Decepticon Air Commander made his appearance. All eyes darted to Megatron at one point or another, save for one pair: Ravage, whose gaze never left Starscream's.
Starscream's trinemates, Thundercracker and Skywarp, watched in silence, though not even they were pleased at this turn of events. Skywarp fidgeted, keeping a guarded neutral expression even as the rest of his body language screamed kill me, please. Thundercracker, conversely, stood still as a statue, tendrils of electricity sporadically flickering around his clenched fists and snapping about his eyes.
Viewfinder, commander of the Photonicons, was also quiet, but it was extremely hard to not notice the fact that the lens-like aperture on his lower torso had spiraled open at some point in the last 30 seconds and that an indicator light on his forehead crest was glowing red. Nevertheless, Megatron didn't act as if he was being filmed. None of the Decepticons did, really, save for the web of short-distance comm signals that flitted back and forth over their heads - accusations of being a loyalist to the treacherous Seeker, expressions of shock, and speculations as to what would happen next. There were some bets being made, too.
Megatron rose from his makeshift throne with no great speed, casually, yet deliberately. Remarkably, he didn't instantly fly into a rage or vaporize the traitor with a cannon blast, or anything of the sort. In a strangely friendly tone, he engaged the Seeker:
"Starscream. It's been a while since our paths last met. Still roving for a new chassis, I see? Now, is this particular new look to satisfy your indomitable vanity or to forget about the hole I shot in your chest after you nearly drove my dominion into the ground?"
"Yeah, I like the new 'tats, Screamer! Really bring out the friggin' delusional petty criminal in your optics!" Spectro yelled from the back of the room, causing Starscream to scowl and self-consciously look down at his body, which was indeed covered with intricate black designs and Old Cybertronic glyphs.
"Feh! I'll have you know, you uneducated bore, that my new chassis is meant as a homage to the Cybertronian Knights of old! These 'tattoos,' as you so eloquently put them, represent strength, they represent honor, and most importantly, they represent truth - things the average brainwashed fool wouldn't understand! Hear that, Megatron? How much do these idiots know about your grand plans?!"
"Silence!" Megatron roared, shutting his former subordinate up instantly. "I was of the impression that it couldn't be clearer how much you are not wanted here."
"Lord Megatron," Ravage said through open comms, "Starscream is not-"
"I know, Ravage," the Decepticon leader interjected in a level tone. "I mean to say that this rust-riddled slime has no place in my army, no place in the Empire. He still wears the colors on his shoulder coupling with no appreciation as to what they stand for. He doesn't deserve to keep up this mockery of decorum. Starscream, let me tell you something - the lowest, most pathetic, most incompetent private in the whole of Decepticon territory officially outranks you - and if you were here in person right now, I'd personally strip you of rank, voice, and limb - in that order - and give you to the Skywing twins, alive, to do with as they please. Understand?"
Buzzsaw and Laserbeak, obligingly, squawked and screeched from their perches, but Starscream didn't move. His head was hanging low, one arm hovering near his face as if to stifle a sob - or, perhaps, to guard one's expression. His form suddenly flickered, growing fainter by the moment - a very-long-distance hologram.
Megatron stepped closer, looming over Starscream's form. "Answer me! Why do you continue to blight us with your presence?"
Then, the Seeker finally raised his head, letting his arm drop to the side. He was grinning triumphantly, eyes glinting with renewed vigor. "My, my, you really have been asleep for a long time, mighty Megatron."
The other two Seekers' eyes bugged out as they received some kind of data burst from a distant source. Thundercracker let in a long, slow stream of air as he reviewed the information.
"Ho . . . ly . . . slag . . ." Skywarp murmured in astonishment.
"We won, Decepticons!" Starscream crowed. "Marching into Iacon, the Autobots were powerless to stop us from taking the Old City! Ultra Magnus - Duly Appointed Officer of the Tyrest Accord - was unable to mount any sort of last, desperate defense, and, after merely 16 vorns of further combat, we captured him in Decimus College - with all of his weak lieutenants as well! For the past seven . . . HUNDRED . . . orbital cycles, Decepticon rule has been law across all of Cybertron!"
Megatron staggered backwards. "My . . . my Decepticons . . . have won? After so long-"
"No, Megatron. The individuals you instilled with idealism, propaganda, and nationalistic pride have won the war you insisted on propagating. Without your thirst for oil and without the ceaseless atrocities committed in your name, we've finally won the peace that we all deserve. And that is the greatest blessing our kind has ever known."
"Wait," Thundercracker said. "There's something here about the Great Polar Split - what's that?"
"Peace talks," Starscream spat, waving his hand dismissively. "Sadly, not all Northerners were as welcoming of our role as the majority was. There were fringe riots, attacks on military outposts. Terrorist attacks, suicide bombings. Reconstruction difficulties. After much deliberation, it was decided to pull out of all territories above the latitude of 23ยบ North."
"You WHAT?" Megatron shouted furiously. "How DARE you give the Autobots one iota of room to strike back against us?!"
"Because that's not how it works anymore, foolish warmonger!" the hologram snapped. "This is peace! This is how it SHOULD be! Compromises MUST be made at times! We just got our lives back, escaped from the endless cycle of death and destruction that's all some people have known - the cycle we've endured for MILLIONS of millennia! Skywarp, Thundercracker - you should see the space program! Cybertronians are free to ply the cosmos once more! Cassetticons, you beasts in particular, the discrimination you've suffered under the Primal Lineage is no more! Your very own sibling, Ratbat, is in charge of our Empire, and he's introduced the first real equality ever seen on Cybertron! Together, and with one Decepticon voice, all have finally become one."
There was a certain air of world-shattering revelation in the bunker, broken only by an electronic device exploding in Rumble's fire. The Decepticon leader turned away from the gathering, armor undulating only slightly faster than usual.
"Space program sounds pretty nice," Skywarp said, tentatively trying to break the silence. His trinemate slapped him upside the head with a whispered "shut it."
"He's not wrong, though," one of the Photonicons remarked. "We were one of the strongest space-faring races in the Local Sector before the Solstar Order restricted us to the Hadean System. And peace - that's a word I haven't heard in some time."
I do not look forward to a Cybertron under thrall of my brother, Ravage snarled. I would rather suffer in squalor than spend rest of my life as even Ratbat's number-one czar.
"Seriously, though," Frenzy blurted, "all of these fantastic things goin' on, and the person you goons put in power's slaggin' Ratbat? One'a the idiots who thought makin' Functionism an integral part of the government was a neat idea?"
"Well, in truth, that's the reason I've decided to contact you all. Ratbat's a truly abysmal leader. He seems to want to give far more than we can take, unwilling to stand his ground against this new Autobot extremist movement." Starscream smirked. "There's even been talk of renaming the Decepticons - apparently, we are no longer the 'deceptive' warriors our forebears were."
The Air Commander was interrupted by Megatron, who let loose a deep-throated shout of anger and brought his fists crashing against the nearest flat surface, which happened to be the wreck of a military vehicle. He took a moment to compose himself and continued in a calmer tone. ". . . what has become . . . of my Empire? Treason . . . betrayal . . . a generation of weak-willed simpletons unwilling to take what is rightfully theirs . . . gestures of APOLOGY to the ones who kept us under their heels for eons? It is an AFFRONT to our Decepticon heritage!"
"I couldn't agree more, Megatron," Starscream simpered comfortingly, easing a few steps closer to the warlord. "Cybertron is in desperate need of a new, more capable leader. That is why I ask for assistance - just a few of your elite troops gathered here before me to realize our shared goal. I am Air Commander of Cybertron's new Ultracon Federation, and can engineer a minor coup as soon as my forces are reinforced and coordinated. Nothing major - just enough of a shake-up to get a true Decepticon in office. Then, I've other plans-"
"And who would be the new ruler, Starscream - you?" the Decepticon leader interjected. When he whirled around to face his former lieutenant, his eyes had gone pure black - the darkest shade of Stygian midnight anyone had ever seen. It was so black that it seemed to distort reality whenever Megatron's head moved, leaving a trail of disrupted space behind him as he stomped toward Starscream's holomatter projection. "As I recall it, you're an even worse commander than you are a Cybertronian! Last time you were in charge, last time you had unfettered power, the Autobots nearly turned the tide of the war in their favor! You undid hundreds of thousands of orbits' worth of progress and victory - and you did it in JUST! THREE! CYCLES!"
"Perhaps - but Megatron! I was merely stating that-"
"This conversation is OVER - FINISHED!" Megatron cried as the antimatter enveloped his hands with arcane energy. "Good-bye, Starscream. I am coming to retake Kolkular's throne for myself - and I will not be gentle when I arrive."
He swept his fists through Starscream's image, and the hologram tore apart at the seams.
Trillions and trillions of miles away, in a high-tech holodeck lab, a Seeker stumbled out of the projection booth as tendrils of antimatter consumed the device's extremities. There were sparks. Debris rained down from above, punching holes and leaving long, bold scratches in the duraglass platform. It almost seemed as if the machine was eating itself alive.
"ERROR. ERROR," the diagnostic computer reported. "CATASTROPHIC FAILURE. CLEAR HOLODECK IMMEDIATELY."
"NOT! HELPFUL!" Starscream screeched.
"ANTIMATTER OVERLOAD. INITIATING EMERGENCY NEUTRALIZATION PROCEDURES."
Starscream, with no negligible amount of effort, shut the containment bulkhead against the chaos and put his back up to it, venting heavily.
"Curse that foolish Megatron and the improbable stubbornness with which he blunders through life! Fine! I'll just do it myself! OIL PAN!"
"Yessir, my lord and master?" the thin carformer manning the holodeck control unit prompted.
"We're defaulting to Plan B!"
"Ah, B for 'Barricade,' sir? Very clever of you!"
Starscream glanced up incredulously from his wrist computer, where he was reviewing both his personal data and the recent comms he'd received while in the holomatter fabricator. "No, you dolt! 'B' as in 'the letter after A', which in this scenario means, 'the plan we default to after the old bolt-bat warhound decides to shake up the social order and plunge Cybertron right back into war . . . AGAIN!"
The carformer - Starscream's personal assistant - frowned. "Bit harder to remember, but very well. You want me to get a hold of Captain Shatter at the Corps, then?"
"Just like we practiced. Send Shatter and Dropkick to the Target World. Have them find Barricade or, if he's incapacitated . . . slaggit, Thunderblast or even Astrotrain, for all I care. Just make sure they get in contact with someone who can manage to dig up a lead on the Objective. I'll need to reach Blackout, see if I can convince him to join our merry little crusade. He may prove susceptible to . . . encouragement, if he believes it's being done for Megatron's cause. I've a few other ideas too, but they must steep for a little while longer yet."
"At least, sir, you now have a location of the Target World. Nothing's stronger than a Seeker's tri-spark-bond to bridge distances our tech can't quite cover."
Starscream crossed over to another terminal. "Ah, yes. That reminds me." He tore off a long strip of thin film engraved with spatial coordinates on both sides. "Here you are. Congratulations! You, Oil Pan of Velocitron, have discovered the location of the long-lost Nemesis. Be proud of yourself! Oh, and when you're done calling our allies, I have a nice, lengthy assignment for you."
"Which is, sir?" Oil Pan asked excitedly, reaching for the film with hands dripping with filthy oil.
"Ah, ah. Wipe your hands like we talked about. There's a good chap. I need you to infiltrate Shockwave's new Tower in the North Pole. Input these coordinates into his main computer and let me know when you've finished. It's time to bring our mechs home."
The messenger's face fell. "But sir . . . Shockwave's Tower . . . that's suicide. I mean, I'll do it - I owe far too much to you to not - but Shockwave's just so . . . horrible. That terrifying single optic, his voice, his sick experiments - I mean, he's already got his hands full with those Dinobot creatures. He won't be happy to see a Loyalist just - just MARCHING into his new Tower and using his Bridge without authorization. I mean-"
"Shockwave will not be a problem, my greasy friend," Starscream declared, inspecting the grime-covered lab controls with revulsion on his face. "I will see to it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some evidence to destroy."
"Yes, sir, thank you, sir. I'll get right on all of those things." The Velocitronian bowed, scraped, and left humbly.
Starscream lifted a hand to his audio receptor and patched an individual through. "Hello? Yes, this is he. We're done here. By all means, feel free to send your best mechs. Wipe this disgusting Autobot facility off the map . . . Motormaster."
Once more, the military bunker buzzed with a shocked silence. No one was overly willing to reopen conversation - an angry warlord prone to breaking the laws of reality could really kill an atmosphere - and besides, most of the individuals involved were too busy digesting the information they'd just been given. The Seekers, in particular, were still skimming through the documents beamed to them by their trinemate.
Megatron inclined his head to the ceiling even as it rained pebbles of concrete and dropped plumes of dust. His optics were shuttered, and he was breathing heavily. It was quiet enough to hear the faraway eruption of the volcano they'd awakened in not even five hours before - a low rumble that was felt rather than heard.
Finally, the Decepticon leader spoke. "Skywarp. I know it was you who opened the proverbial door to Starscream. I know you gave him the coordinates of our bunker. Such a crime - especially after what we've just learned - would be considered by a lesser mech to be equitable with treason."
Skywarp blanched. "Primus. Lord Megatron, I can make it up to you. Just tell me to do anything - literally anything - and I'll do it. Give me another chance, please!"
"You are not to communicate with Starscream anymore. Doing so will be met with severe consequences. Thundercracker, this goes for you too."
The blue-and-silver Seeker bowed his head. "Yes, Megatron."
"Ravage," Megatron beamed to the eldest Cassetticon, "your opinion is heard. No one else will know of it. Once I find your commander, I will work with both of you to establish a solution. I know better than many the vagaries of the Senate - especially those of Senator Ratbat."
The panther responded on the private comm channel he'd opened with Megatron as soon as the Air Commander had sent the holomessenger. My thanks.
Without acknowledging the fact that he'd been communicating with anyone, the Decepticon Leader strode over to the nearest wall, which had once been the focal point of a well-equipped nerve center - before Rumble had had his way with the electronics there, by any rate. He arched his back as he engaged another dark - some would say eldritch - power. Spiked vials of purple gel on his back drained themselves. Megatron placed his hands on the wall, and channeled the power of Dark Energon.
Almost instantaneously, any remaining computers on the wall fizzled and blinked out one by one. A Robertson projection of the planet's surface, highlighted in a soothing blue, was the last to disappear, but when it did, its deactivation was noticeably more violent than the others had been. Whole continents dropped off of the display, one by one, before the map was consumed by bolts of dying electricity. Dark violet-and-black veins of corruption pulsed through the concrete, occasionally discharging sparks of energy as it tunneled through the earthen material that made up the base; which destabilized further as Megatron continued his assault.
Finally, the wall crumbled into boulders of rebar and gray stone with an ear-splitting shriek. The oppressive, borderline toxic atmosphere of the bunker was sucked outside and a blast of warm, fresh air entered the room. Golden sunlight came through the hole, causing several Decepticons to shield their eyes from the glare.
"Beg pardon, sire - what are we doing now?" Spyglass shouted over the din of destruction.
"What do you think, Photonicon? We're retaking the Decepticon name. Come! Let us find Soundwave - and lay waste to the remains of the Autobots as they lay helpless in their own recharge slabs."
The morningstar came crashing into the medical berth to Jazz's direct right, causing him to dodge accordingly. He thrust out his hand and was pleased to find that his subspace was still operational. His Crescent Blaster, with its wide Durasteel flak shield, slid neatly into his grip.
"Ratchet! Take Gears an' get outta Dodge!" he cried. "This 'Con's outnumbered an' he knows it - imma see if I can't talk 'im off the deep end!"
"Are you mad? What about the medbay?" Ratched responded. "There're still stasis-locked soldiers here! Damage their pods enough, and we'll have slaughter on our servos!"
"Guess I'll have ta talk 'im down quickly, then," Jazz muttered, deflecting another strike. His opponent was breathing heavily - probably that heavy-as-Pit armor, he thought.
The Decepticon lunged out with a surprisingly quick, non-telegraphed punch with his shielded off-arm that almost caught Jazz across the faceplate, then fired a rocket cluster point-blank into the spot where Jazz had been standing only a moment before. "Kill you! Gotta - gotta find the others . . ."
With a light thump, Jazz hit the ground behind his adversary, having evaded over their head. "The 'others?' You talkin' about Megatron? The same dude who you were screamin' about ripping apart a click ago?"
SWISH! The Decepticon's mace swung over Jazz's head, a clumsy and relatively slow attack. It was nearly over. "They're the only ones . . . who gave me a CHANCE!"
One last stroke of the deadly weapon ended up lodged deep in the damaged deck. Immediately, Jazz kicked down, a flawless snap to the head that stunned his foe. Zipping up with a knee to the faceplate, he flipped over the Decepticon raider again, shot an Energon grappling hook around a bar on the Decepticon's shoulder armor, jerked back their torso just enough to follow through and splay them on the ground, and finally planted a firm foot on the raider's weapon arm. He finished all of this off by summoning his thin, flexible, and very sharp Crescent Blade from subspace, and leveled it at the Decepticon's neck.
"I don't want to hurt you. Let's just make that clear, ok?" Jazz supplicated. "If any of us Autobots wanted to do that, you wouldn't have been revived. Believe me, Ratchet's one tough son-of-a-glitch, but he wouldn't've jus' left ya ta die."
The raider grunted, voice modulator filtering out any data other than the fact that something had been said.
"I believe we've gotten off on th' wrong pede," he continued. "Name's Jazz of Staxis. I wanna hear your side of the story. Mind turnin' that mod off so we can get ta know each otha better?"
"Negative," the other mech growled, still heavily modulated.
Jazz blew out a sharp exhale. "A'ight. Here, let me help ya up. We'll talk. Nothing more, I promise. Oh, an' you can put that big honkin' mace away. Ya don't need it."
"I can't," the Decepticon said, very deliberately. "It's grafted to my wrist joint." As he said this, the chain nevertheless slowly retracted, leaving its owner with nothing more than an extremely basic, clumsy-looking manipulator claw. He then began to get up without accepting any kind of assistance from Jazz.
This is gonna be an interesting day, Jazz though, clamping his Crescent Blaster to his back. Though he held it much more loosely, the sword stayed in his hand; just to be sure.
FIN
