A/N: We're almost at the end of a very long, very weird year. Do not get complacent. Maintain social distancing, wash your hands, wear a goddamn mask, and start taking bets on when Melania's going to slap Cheeto McTinyhands with the divorce papers. My money's on January.
Disclaimer: Mine – Crossfire, Dreadnought, Nightraider. Not mine – everything else.
Warning: Fairly sure Starscream and his general inability to use the power he has in any meaningful or beneficial way counts as a warning. Also, threats of physical mutilation, attempted sexual assault, a bit of PG-13 smut, and outright murder. That last one is not a surprise if you've seen the movie.
Italics denote telepathic/internal communication.
Hora Spissisima: Part 6
Cybertron, Imperial City State of Iacon, the Imperial Tower, Medical Bay...
Knock Out blinked.
Weirdly enough, blinking didn't miraculously clear out his audials.
"…Kill Starscream."
"…Yeah."
The red speedster ex-vented slowly. On the couch behind him, Breakdown continued to play peekaboo with Crossfire with his audials turned up to maximum.
"That was Megatron's grand plan?"
Dreadnought shrugged. "In fairness, it's a pretty decent survival strategy for the Empire."
Nightraider checked the sights of her sedative guns before spinning and storing them in her thigh holsters. She took a brief moment to wonder at the steadiness of her hands as Shockwave's last command echoed around her CPU.
Kill Starscream.
Kill the SIC of the Decepticon Empire.
If that was what it took to ensure the security of the Empire, why hadn't Megatron done it vorns before?
…
Well… honestly?
Every mech and femme in the Empire knew exactly why Megatron hadn't offed Starscream the first time the Air Commander had proclaimed himself the new Decepticon ruler, apropos of nothing.
It was the same reason why bonded couples hadn't been publicly declared since before the Nemesis was lost.
It was the same reason why foundlings turned up with worrying regularity in Iacon and Darkmount, with markings and traits that all but screamed who their creators were and were adopted out to the most peaceful city-states as quickly as they were identified.
It was the same reason why there were so many private corners, crevices, nooks and alleyways across Decepticon-occupied Cybertron that the security forces never ventured near; why every Autobot, Neutral and Decepticon medic discreetly hid and supported any mech or femme who had discovered they had ended up with more than just an overload or embarrassing disease after an intimate encounter, whatever their decision.
Because they cared.
It just wasn't openly acknowledged.
Lyzack, leaning against Nightraider's desk and honing the edges of her great sword, finally looked up.
"So why weren't we told this when we signed up?" She indicated herself, Knock Out and Breakdown with a flick of her fingers.
"Only those who were personally branded by Megatron at the very start knew there was any kind of plan in place in case he copped it early. Most of the femmes were branded first since they'd suffered the most during the Autobot clampdowns. Any wet-work specialists who got shafted by the purges were branded next, along with any engineers," Dreadnought jabbed a thumb at his chestplates, "or any former military mechs."
"So basically, anyone with a grudge and therefore guaranteed to be loyal to the 'Cons."
"Pretty much."
"So why are we being told now?"
"Because…" Nightraider rootled around behind a dusty filing cabinet for a few moments, before making a pleased noise and producing a secured datapad.
"…If Starscream's corpse turns up in the med-bay at any point from this joor onwards, whoever's on duty needs to fill in this death certificate in such a way that the cause of death won't be looked at too closely. And we were also warned that any cause of death that could be traced back to a particular individual would guarantee said individual a court martial followed by immediate termination."
Knock Out frowned. "Is anyone likely to look at the cause of death too closely?"
The F-14 shrugged. "Probably not. Just joining all the glyphs and forewarning you two."
Dreadnought plucked the datapad out of Nightraider's hands and scanned through it. One observation immediately struck him.
"Why are there about thirty sticky notes with various different causes of death attached to this?"
"…Whenever he annoyed me, I entertained myself with writing a probable cause or two. And then I lent it to Lyzack a few times."
The teal tetra-jet chuckled.
"I liked the one with the hanging, drawing and quartering and the entire Femme Division mocking the length of his leads best."
"You and me both, dear."
Dreadnought was still flicking through the pile of notes. "They're all date-stamped…"
He did a double-take at the top-most note.
"This one was from three orns ago!"
Lyzack subspaced her whetstone and tested the edge of her sword with a thumb. "He came in, suggested he had a terminal case of blue bearings and said that if I could see my way to laying my 'healing hands' on them, he'd make it worth my while."
The other adult mechs in the room looked disgusted. Breakdown quickly covered Crossfire's audials before glancing up at the younger femme.
"So, what did you say?"
"Just that if they were causing him that much discomfort, I was more than willing to treat the root of the problem with a pair of bolt clippers. He retorted that no-one likes a smart-aft femme and stomped off."
Dreadnought scanned the top-most note again. "Ah. Which is why his latest cause of death makes mention of a… er-hrm… an adult erotic device fashioned from C-4 which sadly exploded mid-use and destroyed most of his chassis from the pelvic assembly upwards."
Lyzack accepted the fist-bump from Nightraider with a proud smirk.
"I like to think it gives new meaning to the phrase, 'out with a bang'."
The older femme swallowed a giggle and cleared her vocaliser.
"Shockwave finished up the announcement by basically declaring open season on the little fragger, so keep your optics open, weapons primed, and if our illustrious Air Commander turns up in here rather less than online, you weren't here, didn't see it and couldn't stop it. Clear?"
The two EMTs nodded, saluted, and beamed winningly.
Glit appeared in the doorway, faceplates tense.
"Femme CMO? Strike Team Alpha have landed. ETA medbay two breems."
Nightraider stood up, all previous amusement forgotten. Her spark raced.
Soundwave.
"You all know your duties. Sterilise servos and get to it. Breakdown, stay in here with Crossfire. We'll get your brothers signed off ASAP."
Dreadnought and Lyzack marched out. Breakdown gently bounced Crossfire in his arms as the little mech settled down to his nap. Staying out of the way of various torqued-off and injured mechs worked only too well for him; having a tiny mech who only wanted snuggles to look after made it even easier.
If Nightraider saw Knock Out dart back to his lover and plant a hasty kiss on his mouthplates, she chose to ignore it.
She glanced down at Glit as she strode out to the main bay. "Any damage reports available from the 'Structies?"
Glit bounded up to the admin desk and called up the last sketchy report supplied by Scrapper before Astrotrain had implemented op minimise. "Lots of plating damage, a few secondary energon spills, concussions all around, ditto burnt wiring, laser burns, general energon depletion and battle damage. All walking wounded at least."
"I hate to say it, but if they hadn't ejected the most damaged mechs, we'd be much worse off."
"Agreed."
She tried desperately not to think about Thundercracker or Skywarp. Grief would have to wait until later.
"I'll get the Spark Bank ready, just in case."
The silver feline nodded. "I'll run triage; Dreadnought will take the worst cases."
"Call me if there's a problem."
Three breems later…
"Ok, the Spark Bank's ready and waiting, and I've pulled a couple of gallons of medicinal energon out of the stores, so that should see us-"
Nightraider trailed off at the scene before her.
Ramjet and Thrust were clustered around Dirge, who was lying on the nearest berth and clamping his hands around an energon bleed on his torso. Dreadnought and Knock Out were trying to keep his hands out of the way with moderate success. The Constructicons had already made themselves busy; Scrapper was liaising with Glit while the silver feline wrapped zinc tape around the worst of the payloader's arm wounds, Hook was carting the Reflector trio off towards the operating theatre, Mixmaster was plugging an IV line into Blitzwing's arm while visibly swaying, Bonecrusher and Long Haul were settling Astrotrain onto a berth, and Scavenger…
…was looking like he would rather be anywhere else instead of cowering between Lyzack and a hissing Starscream.
The F-14 quickly made her way over to the two jets and caught the tail-end of Lyzack's snarl, "—all in far worse shape than you, so you can damn well wait your turn."
"Are you defying my orders, EMT? You do know that I can make your life one of utter delight, or one of utter misery now?"
Lyzack propped her hands on her hips, optics narrowed in sheer fury. "I don't care if you were ordained by Primus Himself, you can wait your turn!"
Starscream's optics flared dangerously, enough to make Scavenger back safely out of arm's reach.
"Megatron has fallen. I won the leadership battle. I am now the new leader of the Decepticon Empire-"
"Not officially."
"—how DARE you question my authority, femme?!"
His null-rays started to whine as they charged up. The medbay fell silent.
All optics were now fixed on the two jets.
There was a tiny voice inside Lyzack's CPU that said maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the best time to voice her theory on how exactly the Air Commander had triumphed in the leadership battle that had no doubt occurred after Megatron was thrown out of Astrotrain.
She ignored it.
She started to circle the F-15, ruby optics still narrowed and one hand now resting on the pommel of her great sword. "If you really did win the leadership battle, why don't you look like you've gone nine rounds with an Omega Guardian? You've got, what, some minor plating damage, a few energon bleeds, a nice null-ray burn to your right pede… looks like someone came under friendly fire. Or did you do it to yourself?"
Starscream's faceplates were distorted into a look of pure loathing.
"But your null-rays are seriously over-charged. If you fired them now, there's a good chance you'd take out half the bay, yourself included."
Lyzack finished her inspection and stood before him, chin up, keeping her venting as steady as possible against the scream of fear she felt bubbling against her vocaliser.
"You want to rule, but you're not prepared to half-kill yourself to do it. And I'm guessing you shot the real victor in the back as soon as you had the chance. So, who was it?"
Her hand tightened around the handle of her sword.
"Judging by everyone else's injuries and his rather conspicuous absence, I'm guessing it was Soundwave."
Nightraider surreptitiously pressed a hand to her chestplates. The gentle pull of the spark bond radiated through her body, along with a sensation she immediately recognised as anticipation.
Wherever her bondmate was, he was close by.
She dropped both hands to her thigh holsters and silently wrapped her fingers around her sedative guns. The safety catches clicked off.
"That would make sense. The one mech who's as physically and mentally powerful as Megatron, but who chose to step back to best serve the Empire and to protect those he cares for?"
Lyzack smirked.
"There's no way a mech like you would ever understand that kind of loyalty."
The entire med-bay held its collective breath.
"Or love."
It was said later that every mech and femme in the med-bay heard Starscream's last dwindling thread of sanity snap at that moment.
"YOU….!"
Faceplates twisted with rage, the Air Commander roared and whipped his right arm up, the tip of his null-ray just barely grazing Lyzack's helm. His left hand shot out and tightened around the turquoise femme's neck.
And still just a moment too slow.
Lyzack had the freshly honed edge of her great sword digging into Starscream's throat in the space of a spark-beat and a scream. Her dental plates were clenched into a snarl.
Stalemate.
Starscream's talons dug into her neck cables. Oil and energon dripped down his fingers and onto brilliant white and teal plating.
Lyzack didn't even flinch.
"Try it, 'Screamer. I dare you."
"You insolent frigid little bitch. You would dare raise a weapon against the Emperor of the Decepticons? You think you still have the right to refuse my attentions without consequences?"
Her vocaliser wheezed, but her words were steady. "Yes, I would. And every mech and femme has the right of refusal. Megatron guaranteed it."
A sneer that could freeze the Pits played across Starscream's lip plating.
"But Megatron isn't here anymore, is he?"
His thumb pierced her secondary energon line, vital fluids spraying out in a cloud of pink mist. Ramjet, who was now seeing the med-bay in a lovely shade of red, made a move forward and was immediately restrained by Dirge's energon-covered arms.
A warning in neon yellow flashed across his HUD. 'Jet, no!
His disbelieving look was cut off by the expressions on his trine-mate's faceplates as he and Thrust charged up their shattered null-rays. Another scan of the med-bay's occupants revealed Dreadnought slowly pulling his laser musket from his subspace, Knock Out twitching his hand to activate his electro-trident, Nightraider removing her sedative guns from their holsters, and the Constructicons carefully removing various pieces of medical equipment from inside their armour, all of which looked worryingly sharp.
All of them deliberately stayed out of Starscream's field of vision.
Starscream bent his head forward, ignoring the titanium plated blade and hissed in Lyzack's face, "You have two options, femme. If you want to remain online after this display of complete insolence, you will come with me to my quarters right now, you will submit to me, and you will honour my will until I say I am done."
Lyzack snarled right back. "Never."
The blade nicked a minor energon line in the Air Commander's neck. Purple-pink mid-grade sprayed over the faction symbol on his left wing.
"Ohhhh…that was unwise. You chose the second option; I take you here and now, in front of all your friends and colleagues, and then I will order the Combaticons and Stunticons to have their fun."
Breakdown, still lurking in Nightraider's office with Crossfire in his arms, froze.
Not Lyzack.
Not Lyzack.
Well, not anyone who wasn't Knock Out, but definitely not Lyzack.
To their credit and to his sheer relief, his brothers shared almost identical sensations of revulsion through the combiner bonds. He couldn't make out any of the Combaticons' expressions from where he was standing, but Swindle visibly backed up a few paces, and Onslaught crossed his arms across his battered frame before turning away.
Much as all of them had happily flirted with the teal tetra-jet in the past, all of their teasing had only ever been meant affectionately. After Ramjet had returned to Cybertron and both jets had demonstrated that there was a very much mutual attraction between them, any flirtatious remarks made by any members of the combiner teams towards Lyzack had been limited to the odd cheeky comment. And Lyzack was no slouch in the snarky retort department, which was half the fun.
He wondered how badly this was about to go. None of the medical staff would tolerate one of their number being abused, and if Lyzack was right about Soundwave being the real victor of the leadership battle, how many of those present would actually follow Starscream's orders?
A flash of navy to his right caught his optic.
The hum of a charging concussion gun filled his audials.
Onslaught, who was standing closest to the medbay doors, turned, and immediately stepped aside to let the newcomer through with a crisp salute. The rest of the Combaticons collectively hesitated and turned around, mimicking their leader's salute with something akin to relief.
One giant shadow, flanked by three smaller shadows, staggered into the medbay.
Starscream was too far gone to hear the sound of heavy footsteps behind him.
He dug his fingers into Lyzack's neck harder than before and wrenched the blade of her sword away from his own neck.
The tempered titanium edge of the blade dug into his hand. Tiny rivulets of energon started to flow from his palm.
The teal tetra-jet was forced onto her knees, her optics wide, angry, and defiant.
The click of pelvic plating retracting echoed in her audials. She glanced at what was under the plating and felt her tanks churn.
That was something she had never wanted to see.
And she definitely wasn't about to touch it.
Starscream's leer had taken on an almost manic gleam as he widened his stance.
"Bite anything femme, and you'll lose your dental plates."
His hand moved from her neck to the back of her helm. Oil and energon started to run more freely from her wounds as the talons retracted.
She felt sick. Whether it was from energon loss or dread at what was about to happen, she didn't want to know. But it would be worth the damaged dental plates for the knowledge that she would protect another femme from his attentions after what she was about to do to him.
Provided she survived this.
Lyzack closed her optics in revulsion and braced herself for the next horrible movement…
Starscream's hand twitched and suddenly went still.
The hum of Knock Out's electro-trident filled the air.
Lyzack counted the sounds of at least three guns loading, along with two oddly organic-sounding thuds which were rapidly followed by a pained hiss from the Air Commander.
"And you'll bleed out in a breem if you so much as twitch, 'Screamer."
She opened her optics warily.
Nightraider had her left arm wrapped around Starscream's neck from behind, the needle of one sedative gun lodged in his cheek plating and filled with the tell-tale blue mixture of copper sulphate. The other gun was lodged in the jet's right flank, the chamber filled with a clear fluid Lyzack couldn't identify.
Knock Out had dug the prongs of his electro-trident into Starscream's chest plates, either side of his spark chamber. His thumb was resting atop the charge button, just waiting for the word.
She could see the barrel of Dreadnought's laser musket digging into the back of the F-15's helm, the tip already glowing orange from the charge.
She took the risk and stood up, slid her great sword out of the jet's grip, and repositioned the point over his cockpit.
Starscream's optics had blown wide with outrage.
Lyzack's vocaliser was surprisingly steady as she leaned forward and spat in his face. "You really think anyone will follow your orders?"
"They will if they want to live. I am the new leader, ordained to reign supreme in Megatron's place-"
He was cut off as another gun barrel was forced into the back of his helm, just brushing Nightraider's cheek-plate.
And a quiet, but ferociously cold voice snarled in his audial, "Incorrect: reign of Starscream ordained by no-one."
It was taking most of Soundwave's willpower to stand upright and keep the sights of his concussion gun fixed on his volatile colleague. But as long as his femme or any of her companions were in danger, he would stay online and defend them to his last vent.
By his pedes, Ravage was growling audibly, energon dripping from his dental plates and claws. Rumble and Frenzy had their pile-drivers ready and were both glaring electro-daggers into the back of Starscream's helm.
Laserbeak, Buzzsaw and Ratbat remained inside Soundwave's chest compartment, all of them focussed on the stand-off outside, and all of them ready to eject and defend their creator and co-creator.
No-one moved for at least a breem.
Starscream finally yielded.
He powered down his null-rays and attempted to straighten his spinal struts, his movements rather hampered by Nightraider still clinging resolutely to his neck and showing absolutely no sign of letting him free or removing her sedative gun needles from his body. Knock Out, Lyzack and Dreadnought withdrew their weapons from Starscream's plating, but kept them ready.
The tall femme simply flexed her fingers and sidestepped; the needles in Starscream's cheek and torso dug in just enough to get him to turn around and face the Communications officer. The barrel of the concussion gun was quickly repositioned under the F-15's chin.
Crazed red optics glared into a deceptively calm orange visor.
"Oh Soundwave. You and your misbegotten brats never did know when to back the winning team."
Soundwave simply deactivated the safety catch on his rifle and returned the glare like for like.
"Winning team; erroneous statement. Megatron; led by example and by strength, not by deception or by treachery."
"I won the leadership fight. Deal with it."
"Correction; you claimed victory after you fired upon me and threatened my creations and my mate."
A murmur of disapproval and disbelief emerged from the rest of the med-bay occupants.
Only an idiot threatened Soundwave.
Anyone who threatened Soundwave and his creations had a death wish.
Anyone who threatened Soundwave, his creations, and Nightraider had clearly filled in their cold storage paperwork and was ready to talk to Primus barring the formalities.
Starscream smirked. "A detail."
He glanced around the med-bay, taking in the expressions of each mech and femme and calculating the odds. The sting of the needle in his cheek prompted him to glare over his shoulder at Nightraider. "Are you going to take this out of my face anytime soon?"
Nightraider simply glared back. "Not until Soundwave says so."
The navy mech glanced between the two jets and nodded at his bondmate.
"Order; release Starscream."
The needles retracted without a sound. The red and black-plated arm loosened from around the F-15's neck.
Starscream rolled his jaw a couple of times and touched his thumb to the needle-wound on his cheek.
"Don't think you won't suffer for that, femme."
"You're still alive, 'Screamer. Believe me, everyone's suffering."
Starscream's lip plating curled in a sneer. He deliberately kept his optics fixed on Soundwave's visor as he closed his pelvic plating and shoved the gun barrel away from his face with an oil covered finger.
Perhaps a tactical retreat would be a good move at this point. Give the rank and file time to accept their fate.
"My coronation will be tomorrow, at 2000 joors. You will announce this, Soundwave, and make the arrangements."
He turned to glare at the Constructicons, who had subspaced all but the most innocuous of their surgical tools as soon as they had seen the direction in which the conversation was likely to go.
"Attendance will be compulsory, so every mech in this med-bay will need to be repaired and functioning by 1900 hours tomorrow. See that it's done."
Scrapper and Hook exchanged mutinous looks.
With that, the Air Commander turned on his heel and strode towards the med-bay doors, pausing only to turn back and glare at Soundwave.
"You'll regret your insubordination, Soundwave."
"Incorrect; I will only regret not terminating you where you stand."
With a frustrated screech, Starscream marched out of the med-bay, letting the heavy doors slam shut behind him with a clang.
The entire med-bay let out its collective breath.
Frantic chatter started up between the Constructicons and the Coneheads as they began the patch-up on Thrust's torso. The Combaticons held a brief confab with Glit at the triage desk, and quickly set up a guard point, while most of the Stunticons chose to depart without their traditional range of arguments and mild threats. Breakdown nervously emerged from Nightraider's office, Crossfire clinging to his chestplates like a cyber-leech, and desperately scanned the little group clustered around a trembling Lyzack for any sign of injury.
Dreadnought crouched down, wrapping an arm around Lyzack's waist to keep her steady.
"Easy, easy sweetspark, I've got you, you're OK…"
The teal femme clung onto Dreadnought's arm as he cupped a hand around her helm and gently pressed her face to his chestplates.
She desperately tried to vent properly.
That was the first time she had ever felt truly endangered by Starscream's presence; any other time he had tried his creepy flirtations on with her, she had been able to send him packing with a couple of well-placed threats and a deadpan retort. But now…
She had been within a half a mechanometer of being forcibly overpowered and assaulted in one of the places she felt safe and secure, in front of those she cared for and trusted.
And he would have carried out that threat if not for the rest of the team.
Three mechs and one femme had risked being offlined themselves for protecting her.
That had been the most horrific experience of her life, and she didn't even want to think about how much worse it could have been.
"Ly?"
Knock Out crouched beside her, trying to stare up into her optics. His elegant fingers wrapped around her hands.
"Can I get you anything?"
She pulled one hand free, rubbed the heel of her palm against her optics, and sniffled.
"…A d-drink the size o-of my head and a b-bucket if they're g-going…"
The red Aston Martin gave her one of his rarest and sweetest smiles before touching his fingertips to her cheekplates.
"On it."
He stood up, catching the optic of Ramjet, who was now almost vibrating with panic next to Dreadnought, and nodded down at his friend.
The white jet looked apprehensive.
Knock Out rolled his optics and headed towards the stores, hissing an order of "get the frag in there now", as he passed.
Ramjet didn't question the younger mech's command.
He ducked down and carefully wriggled his way into the femme jet's visual field.
His vocaliser shook as he stared up at her, fear and utter adulation writ large over his faceplates.
"…Lyzack...?"
Lyzack's titanium-plated self-control finally broke.
Her great sword fell to the floor with a clang.
"Ramjet…!"
She tore herself away from Dreadnought's bulk, collapsed into the white F-15's arms, and started to rock back and forth as her tears began to fall. Ramjet wrapped his arms around her and rested his cheek against her helm.
Dreadnought simply shielded the pair of them from assorted prying optics with his hull-plates.
He nodded quietly at Ramjet before turning his complete attention to the triage monitor, optics fixed only on the database showing the stock levels of zinc tape reels.
Which meant he absolutely couldn't tell who started the desperate sob of '…I love you I love you I love you I love you…' somewhere next to his left kneecap, and he definitely couldn't work out when both jets started repeating it to each other.
And he absolutely couldn't tell who was the first to kiss the other.
All that mattered was that it had happened.
Finally.
On the other side of the bay, Dirge and Thrust exchanged an energon-coated fist-bump.
Energon levels at 9%.
Soundwave turned and managed to stagger towards the nearest berth with a privacy screen around it. Rumble, Frenzy, and Ravage followed in his wake, with Nightraider bringing up the rear.
She yanked the screen across as soon as all of them were in reach of the berth, hiding them from the rest of the bay.
…Soundwave…
She was blind and deaf to anything except the exhausted mech standing before her.
The Communications officer ex-vented heavily and fully opened up the bond.
Fatigue, pain, dread, relief and love flooded through the psychic link, hard and strong enough to make both of them reel.
His concussion gun dropped to his side and slid out of his grasp.
Energon dribbled down his wrist.
…I… promised I would come back… to you alive…
His visor flickered once, twice… and finally darkened.
He crumpled to his knees and fell forwards. Ravage yowled in panic, reversing and pressing Rumble and Frenzy back against the berthside cabinet.
A pair of red and black plated arms wrapped around him before he could hit the floor.
"…Soundwave!?"
Silence echoed through the bond for a sparkbeat.
His visor flickered before brightening to a weak orange. His arms tightened around her waist.
She rested her helm against his and closed her optics, willing herself not to cry.
Rumble and Frenzy moved to flank the pair while Ravage took point.
"….Confirmation; I still function."
Outside the screen, all members of Strike Team Alpha within audial distance flinched at the words.
Soundwave felt all of their shared guilt and didn't care.
They had not intended to return for Megatron.
He had.
The burnt and buckled plating between his shoulder blades clarified why he had not.
Nightraider stroked a hand against his face-mask.
"…I need an injury list, stat."
"Damage to self; energon burns to right arm and torso, mild concussion across rear of cranium, damaged spinal plating from null-ray blasts…"
She snarled. If the rest of the Chosen didn't kill Starscream before his coronation, she would do it herself, identifying marks be fragged.
"…cosmetic damage to all plating. Damage to Cassettes; primarily secondary energon burns and cosmetic damage. Ravage; exhaustion, concussion, and low-level bleeds. Rumble and Frenzy; exhaustion, laser burns and concussions. Laserbeak, Buzzsaw and Ratbat; exhaustion and cosmetic damage only."
"Ok. Onto the berth now and eject the rest of the Cassettes."
Between herself and the twins, they managed to get Soundwave upright and onto the nearest surgical berth, the navy mech doing his best to conceal his pain at each movement. Laserbeak, Buzzsaw and Ratbat ejected themselves from their creator's chest compartment and immediately settled themselves around his battered frame; the two condors snuggled against his shoulders while Ratbat squeezed himself into the tiny gap between his creator's head and shoulder cannon.
Ravage made an exhausted leap from the floor to the berthside cabinet, and from there to the berth, where he settled down next to Soundwave's right leg with a purr. Rumble and Frenzy simply looked at the berth, then at each other, then up at Nightraider.
The blue Cassette transformed his piledrivers back into arms, and wearily reached his hands up to his co-creator. Beside him, his twin mirrored his actions.
"…Little help?"
Nightraider didn't argue. She recognised the action for what it was.
She knelt down and scooped both twins into her arms, before lifting them up and holding them as tightly as she dared. Two sets of arms looped around her neck and returned the embrace with equal amounts of desperation and relief.
A battered white hand pressed against each of the twin's backs before reaching up to touch the F-14's cheekplates.
…We are still a family.
Nightraider leaned into the touch as much as she could.
Yeah… we are.
With that, she settled the twins down beside Soundwave and rigged all of the Cassettes and their creator up to IV lines and spark monitors. Ravage and the twins powered down almost immediately as fresh energon began to flow through their frames; Laserbeak and Buzzsaw both accepted a caress from their co-creator before they followed their siblings' lead, and Ratbat offered only an exhausted squeak before he fell into blissful unconsciousness.
Soundwave checked on all of their minds with the gentlest of psychic touches, not wanting to rouse them from their well-deserved rest.
All beyond exhausted, all beyond stressed, all of them frightened and angry, but they would all live to fight another orn.
And now to the matter of his femme.
He watched with bleary optics as Nightraider finished his IV set-up and quickly applied as many zinc patches to his frame as physically possible. Most of the patches would have to come off in the next orn to allow surgical repairs to take place. For now, this was just to cover the worst of the wounds and provide him with some pain relief.
Though, if he was honest with himself, the only pain relief he wanted right now was to be buried inside his bondmate's mind, chassis, and spark until he passed out.
Nightraider gently swatted at his arm, her optics filled with tears. "I heard that."
He deactivated his face-mask, allowing her to see his exhausted smirk.
"You were meant to."
"And under normal circumstances, there would be no argument from me."
She bent down and directed her next words through the bond.
But most of your vital fluids are currently decorating the inside of Astrotrain's cabin, and you've barely got enough energon-pressure to stay conscious, let alone… raise a salute.
The smirk widened.
I would be willing to risk it.
I wouldn't.
…I could tie a pen to it, if it was required.
And still, the answer is no.
With that, Nightraider closed the distance between them and kissed him with a desperation he hadn't encountered since they were first bonded. He wrapped his arms around her, careful not to tug at his IV line, and pressed her frame against his, deliberately crushing his chestplates against her chassis.
His spark almost screamed with frustration at being so close to its mate, and still too far away.
Tears spilled down Nightraider's faceplates and dripped onto Soundwave's chestplates.
His hands dropped to her aftplates as he deepened the kiss.
You will alert me as to when my energon levels are stable enough to… make the appropriate recompense for the anxiety I have caused you.
Nightraider was too relieved to argue.
Two joors later…
As he sat back and closed his single optic, Shockwave was oddly grateful for the padding Dreadnought had insisted he install in the headrest of his chair.
The official reason was workplace ergonomics, along with health and safety concerns.
Both he and Dreadnought knew this was complete nonsense, and equally, both of them were fully aware of where Dreadnought's concerns stemmed from.
He glanced at his chronometer.
1800 joors.
One joor of mandated rest and recreation, as authorised and enforced by Lord Megatron—
He paused.
His vents hitched.
…
Lord Megatron.
The fingers on his right hand flexed weakly as he rested his palm against his armrest.
There… there was no Lord Megatron. Not anymore.
No-one senior to make him rest, to recuperate.
No-one senior to confer his misgivings to, to alert to any rebellion.
No-one senior to him whom he cared enough to protect.
Cybertron had suffered possibly its gravest loss in recent vorns, but it was still standing.
The Decepticon Empire would continue on, once Starscream had been eliminated.
Shockwave was assured of his place within the new high command structure.
He would be as he had always been, one of the primary members of the Decepticon High Command structure.
On his console, a flickering image from one of the Autobot despatches displayed an update on the status of Decepticon High Command. Taking their cue from Earth's most-wanted playing cards issued in one of their Middle Eastern conflicts, the Autobots had assigned each of the four highest ranked officers in the Empire their own playing card. Megatron had naturally been the Ace of Spades; Starscream the Ace of Diamonds; Soundwave the Ace of Hearts, and Shockwave himself had been assigned the Ace of Clubs.
The Ace of Spades had been crossed out. The three remaining cards rotated slowly, with the suit pictograms on the front and the mugshots of the Air Commander, the Communications officer, and the Military Operations officer on the reverse of each card.
Clearly the Autobots had found about Megatron's demise.
No matter.
They had lost their leader as well, and from what intelligence the Cobalt Sentries had gathered, they were in far worse shape than the Decepticons, what with the damage done to Autobot City and the loss of most of their own High Command structure. They could wait until the Chosen had performed Megatron's final order, until Starscream lay dead at his and Soundwave's pedes, until the High Command was unified once more.
A thrill of paranoia suddenly raced through his system.
He stared out at the starscape before him, Luna Alpha and Luna Beta serenely orbiting their parent planet through the blackness of space.
It could not be as simple as this.
Something was missing. Something was hidden.
What was he not seeing?
Behind him, the command centre doors hissed open and heavy pedes clanged against the floor as they trudged through the doorway.
He did not look away from the starscape. Vorns of close association told him exactly who those pedes belonged to.
"Good evening, Dreadnought."
An offended-sounding squeak reached his audials.
"And good evening, Crossfire."
He turned and held his arms open in preparation.
Dreadnought decoupled the safety magnet securing Crossfire's wriggling frame to his chestplates and passed the little mech over to his sire. Crossfire immediately settled himself into Shockwave's lap and made grabby-hands towards the sparkling-sized energon cube and curly straw which had suddenly appeared in the battlecruiser's hand.
"Ah-ah-ah. What do we say?"
"Hungreeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!"
"Not quite. What do we say when we ask for something?"
Crossfire's optic dimmed for a moment, then brightened in delight.
"Please!"
Dreadnought grinned. "Good enough."
The tiny gun-former held the cube in both hands, watching as Dreadnought connected the curly straw into his primary intake valve. He purred happily at the sensation of energon filling his tanks, completely ignoring the conversation which started up as soon as his caretaker settled into his seat.
"What news do you have from the medical bay?"
Dreadnought ran a hand down his facemask and sighed.
"The Stunties and Combaticons all got discharged with medical downtime. The 'Structies are passed out in a pile in the washracks, 'Raider's curled up in a berth with Soundwave and the Cassettes, the Coneheads and Leozack are all guarding Lyzack while she and Glit run the nightshift, and judging from the noises coming out of the storeroom, Knock Out and Breakdown are de-stressing in their preferred way."
He met Shockwave's optic with a tired gaze. "I'm guessing you heard what happened with Lyzack and Starscream?"
"Indeed. It appears Starscream is not about to respect either Lyzack's bodily autonomy or the fraternisation laws laid down by Lord Megatron."
"Well, if 'Screamer comes near the med-bay again, Ramjet's likely to laser his head off and use it as a bowling ball."
Off of Shockwave's look, Dreadnought clarified quickly before rummaging around in his primary subspace compartment for something. "'Jet and Lyzack sorted out their unrequited love slag."
Shockwave waited patiently as the battlecruiser felt around inside his left flank, optics screwed up in concentration before making an 'ah!' noise and pulling two cubes of mid-grade out of his subspace. He accepted the proffered cube and watched as Dreadnought made himself comfortable again, removing his facemask in order to sip at his rations.
"I take it they are now functioning at an acceptable mutual quorum."
Dreadnought rolled his optics. "They love each other and they're in love, if that's what you're trying to say."
"My original statement was perfectly clear, and considerably less florid."
"Only you could say being in love is florid."
The gun-former tilted his blocky cranium into what passed for his deadpan look. "I assume the inability to foresee this alteration in romantic status is one of my many failings, of which you are extremely well-versed?"
"Nah. It's one of the things I like about you."
The battlecruiser quickly looked away, a flush of dark grey decorating his cheekplates as he sipped at his energon.
The sensations of paranoia and loneliness in Shockwave's spark were being replaced by something which felt like heat.
It was… not unpleasant.
Over the vorns, he had noticed that this phenomenon only ever occurred in Dreadnought's presence.
And it was happening much more frequently as of late.
"The playing cards got updated, huh?"
Shockwave hesitated for just a moment to regain his mental equilibrium. "…Yes."
"What else do the 'Bots know?"
Idly, he set his cube aside and rubbed at the base of his hand cannon, just at the point where an ache had developed in the fitting. "They are certainly aware of Lord Megatron's demise, and that the rest of the High Command structure is intact. If their military intelligence network is even vaguely competent, they will know that Starscream is intending to claim the position of Emperor of Destruction, and they will know that his ascension would be the prelude to the downfall of the Decepticon Empire. Whether they would encourage this is open to speculation, but those with any sense would be as averse to this prospect as we are."
"You can see their point. Megatron did what he did for Cybertron, and you could see the reasoning in what he did, no matter how loopy it was. 'Screamer with power's like a cyber-wolf chasing its own tail."
Off of the gun-former's inquiring look, he clarified. "Chased it so long he wouldn't know what to do with it once he got it."
He pulled a screwdriver out of the emergency toolkit in his right flank and gestured towards Shockwave's left arm. "Gimme."
The gunformer automatically held out his arm towards Dreadnought, relaxing slightly as the battlecruiser shuffled his chair closer to his console, and grey-plated fingers carefully probed the tender spot between the base of the cannon and his wrist plating. Shockwave's good hand cupped Crossfire's frame against the safe spot under his fuel tanks. The little gunformer was already halfway into recharge and still sucking at the dregs of his energon cube.
He stared down at his creation, for once uncertain of how to phrase his next words.
"You are… aware that Starscream may attempt to 'clean house', as the Earthlings put it. Attempt to eliminate myself and Soundwave if the Chosen fail at their task."
Dreadnought flashed an incredulous Look at him before carefully tightening a loose screw on his wrist.
"Yeah, because you're so clearly the type of giant-aft gunformer who'll just roll over and play dead if 'Screamer pulls anything even vaguely murdery. Judging by what happened in the med-bay, I don't think there's gonna be a shortage of potential assassins."
"I speak not out of concern for myself, but for Crossfire."
The engineer's hands stalled.
"It is… unlikely, I will admit, but… should I be felled, I request that you take care of him. Protect him. Raise him."
Dreadnought stared at him for a sparkbeat, then shook his head and returned to his work, tightening another loose screw with frightening intensity.
"You know that's not going to happen."
"You would not take custody of Crossfire?"
"I mean, neither you nor Soundwave are going to be offlined. Not by that power-hungry psycho speed-freak."
The screwdriver was replaced into the toolkit with a twist of Dreadnought's right hand.
His left hand was still wrapped around Shockwave's wrist.
His voice dropped to a murmur.
"'Raider would kill him before he gets anywhere near Soundwave."
The hand moved slowly up his forearm.
"And I'd kill him before he got anywhere near you."
Desire.
Even after all this time.
Even after the Trion incident.
Even after Dreadnought had found out who had created the Military Operations officer, and his intended purpose.
The heat in his spark spread a little further.
Dreadnought's hand stilled at the crook of his arm, fingertips resting over the primary arterial line in the joint. He knew he was treading on extremely thin ice as far as his actions went.
It had always been assumed that Shockwave was aware of Dreadnought's feelings towards him, and the complete lack of any response, positive or negative, had convinced the battlecruiser that his feelings would remain forever unreciprocated. But they had never actually discussed the situation either way. The fallout from the Trion incident had only compounded the uncertainty.
But Shockwave hadn't pulled away from him.
And the increased pulse under his fingers didn't seem to indicate a negative response.
Dreadnought vented slowly… and took the risk he had wanted to take for 106,000 vorns.
He reached a tentative hand up to the gunformer's head and slowly traced his knuckles down the side of his left audial fin, before finally flattening his palm against the dark purple plating.
Shockwave hadn't moved a nano-millimetre.
Emboldened, he leaned slightly forward and gently pulled Shockwave's cranium towards his.
His optics closed as he paused and hung his head a few inches away from the edge of the gunformer's head.
"I mean it."
The heat spread out of Shockwave's spark and into his fuel lines.
And down into somewhere far lower.
He closed the gap between them almost cautiously, resting the top lip of his cranium against Dreadnought's helm.
"I am… aware."
The battlecruiser quashed the gasp trying to make its way out of his vocaliser and kept his hands exactly where they were.
This was more than he had ever hoped for, and in the darkest joors of the night, he had hoped for a lot.
But he knew not to push his luck any further, much as his spark was screaming at him to carry on.
He moved to withdraw his hand from Shockwave's arm.
Battered purple fingers suddenly rested atop his hand and squeezed almost timidly.
Shockwave's single optic focussed steadily on his optic band.
"And I am grateful for your protective instincts towards both Crossfire and myself."
Dreadnought said nothing. His spark was now pulsing at something approaching lightspeed, felt like it was about to burst out of his body via his throat, and he was sure most of the Autobot special ops would be able to pick up the sound of it on the dark side of Luna Beta.
Whatever this was, he wasn't about to break it.
Shockwave pulled back slightly and made a decision as he studied Dreadnought's faceplates. In his lap, Crossfire made a tiny squeak of satisfaction as he stretched and fell into blissful recharge.
"There are three joors left of my shift. After 2200 joors, I will have a mandated rest period of nine joors. In light of the events of this orn, I would… prefer… not to spend that rest period alone."
Dreadnought couldn't hold back a shaky vent.
Oh, sweet Primus.
This was happening. This was happening!
"I would prefer to spend that time with you, if you would not be opposed to my intrusion upon your own rest period?"
The tiny portion of Dreadnought's CPU that wasn't currently squealing like a new-built femme being asked on her first date, managed to choke out a mostly-sensible response.
"…W-Whatever you want to do, I'm good."
The purple gunformer nodded once and squeezed his hand around Dreadnought's fingers once again.
"Excellent."
One joor later…
"…'Raider."
Nothing.
"'Raider!"
Still nothing.
"'Raider!"
An annoyed-sounding growl finally emerged from the curtained cubicle.
Nightraider wrenched the screen aside with a snarl. Her optics were itching with exhaustion. "WHAT!?"
Dreadnought was almost dancing on his pedes, Crossfire snoring contentedly in his arms.
"You, babysit, now. I owe you for, like, ever."
Crossfire was shoved unceremoniously into her arms.
She quickly repositioned the little gunformer against her shoulder, a hand resting on his back. "…What?"
"Shockwave asked to spend the night with me once he goes off-duty. I know it's a big ask and there's no guarantee of anything, but I need this. I really, really need this."
The critical parts of Nightraider's CPU finally warmed up. "Wha'…?"
Dreadnought was vibrating with nervous excitement. "I'm hitting the washracks now; Shockwave is off-duty in two joors. I haven't done it in about three ice ages; has it changed since then? Does the Kama Sutra work for Cybertronians? Do I need to wax?"
Nightraider squinted blearily at the bouncing battlecruiser. "…What?"
From wherever he had been lurking, Knock Out finally took pity on both senior officers. He marched into view, span Dreadnought around by his shoulder-plates and shoved him towards the medbay doors with a response of, "Probably not; depends on your proclivities; and sweet Primus yes."
Nightraider was left standing in the cool of the medbay, CPU spinning, shivering slightly and clutching Crossfire like a cuddly toy.
"…What… just happened?"
Knock Out breezed past, heading towards his own berth.
"The big guy's getting lucky, apparently. Go back to recharge."
"…Fair enough."
She paused.
"…Wait, what!?"
A weary but amused murmur emerged from the berth behind her. "Shockwave and Dreadnought; resolving a situation left unresolved for far too long."
She pulled the screen back, turned around and staggered back towards the berth and the welcome embrace of her bondmate.
"I'd be happier for him if I didn't feel like an Empty."
"A fair assessment. Let me…"
Soundwave gently extracted Crossfire from Nightraider's arms and settled him against the left side of his chest compartment. Nightraider sank onto the berth and folded herself around the tape deck 'Con's frame, careful not to disturb the twins or Ravage.
"Rest now. There is little that can be done until the morning."
The F-14 wrapped her arm around her bondmate's waist.
"If Dreadnought wakes me before 0800 joors tomorrow, just remind me not to kill him."
Soundwave closed his optics with a pained vent.
"Agreed."
One orn later, 19.55 joors, Imperial City State of Iacon, Iacon throne-room…
Despite time being very much against the side of the medical team, the vast majority of the Alpha and Beta Strike teams, along with a third of Decepticon High Command, were now running on emergency rations, several joors of surgery, a couple of doses of Syck and more than a few surreptitious shots of Top Shelf Oblivion.
It didn't make the gathering in the throne-room any more appealing.
Nightraider stared longingly after her bondmate as he and the Cassettes made their way towards the plinth in the centre of the throne-room. Obsidian and Strika followed in Soundwave's wake, their optics narrowed in shared distaste at what was to come.
Shockwave strode calmly into the throne-room, his golden optic studying the assembled hordes with dispassionate interest. He took his place next to Soundwave, but not before exchanging an unreadable look with the exhausted battlecruiser who had staggered through the doorway barely two steps after him.
Dreadnought flipped the gunformer a brief salute before collapsing rather ostentatiously against his best friend's shoulder plating.
"Well, I hope you're happy."
Dreadnought beamed, his spark almost singing inside his chest.
"Worth. It. Completely and totally worth it."
Nightraider leaned her helm against Dreadnought's.
"So, does that mean you actually plugged him?"
Nothing.
Her optics widened.
Dreadnought would normally be the first to say if anything inappropriate/orgasmic had happened during a night alone with a Cybertronian of his choice. The lack of feedback alone dictated that something monumental had occurred last night.
The battlecruiser's grin widened.
"Wait, you…?"
"Nuh-uh. A gentlemech never kisses and tells."
"My aft you don't kiss and tell. You have, on at least two occasions, messaged me when you were still buried up to the maker's nameplate in your berth-buddy and asked me for a play-by-play analysis!"
"And on both occasions, it was Aquablast. I just wanted a comparative feedback session."
"Just because we both made the mistake of sleeping with the same mech, and you more than once?"
Dreadnought raised an eye-ridge.
"Femmes in transparent aluminium observatories shouldn't launch planetary ores."
"I know, I know. And you know full well I always regretted it once the afterglow wore off."
Nightraider tucked her head under her best friend's chin.
"So, are you prepared to tell me anything?"
"Some… intentions… were made clear after a very long time. And acted on."
What actually happened was nothing as direct as what Nightraider had suggested, but to Dreadnought was more intimate than a spark-merging.
Shockwave had arrived at his quarters at precisely 22.05 joors.
They had shared their evening rations together while sitting on his berth and staring through the port window at the stars.
The gun-former had then set both empty cubes aside and reclined on the berth, shooting a pointed look at Dreadnought as he did.
Dreadnought had joined him without a sound.
His spark had been beating out a thrash metal drum solo the entire time, and somehow it managed to kick it up a notch when Shockwave had taken his left hand, placed it atop the barrel of his hand cannon, and began to carefully trace the edges of every piece of plating, piston and wiring with a delicacy and intent he had never demonstrated towards another Cybertronian.
Dreadnought had moved to reciprocate but halted as soon as Shockwave raised his good hand.
"No."
He didn't argue. He relaxed back against the worn mattress as Shockwave resumed his actions, leaving his hand and moving slowly but steadily up his arm. His CPU almost melted as he settled into a state of acute arousal with each touch, his berthmate keeping the speed of his caresses slow and steady.
He wasn't completely sure what Shockwave was trying to do, but Primus it felt amazing.
The touches grew a little firmer and more deliberate around his neck and chestplates, particularly when they trailed down towards his abdomen. Each movement sent a flicker of electricity through his nervous system, building steadily in his interface unit and creating pulses of desire so powerful that it felt like a perfect, aching void was being carved out between his legs and inside his spark.
The gunformer's fingers had been tracing just below the seam on his armour covering his spark chamber when the first overload hit Dreadnought's system. He almost bit through his glossa trying to hold back his cries.
Fortunately, Shockwave had kept his hand where it was and simply let him arch his back and shake through the pleasure buffeting his body, his golden optic flickering slightly in the darkness as he watched, before resuming his explorations with a more deliberate purpose.
His hip plating and the components of each leg were inspected with the same careful touches before purple fingers traced the edges of his pelvic plating.
As the second overload rocketed through his frame, the battlecruiser had spared a thought that any other mech would have been embarrassed at the speed at which he had climaxed, just at Shockwave's touch.
Frag them.
They weren't there.
He was.
And judging by the way in which Shockwave was now pressing his legs apart, settling between them, and tracing his fingers over every single wire in his pelvic assembly that made him scream, he wasn't particularly worried about anyone else's opinions.
The fingers slid under his pelvic plating, over the head of his leads, and Dreadnought stopped thinking entirely.
Except for a few blissful joors later when, with Shockwave's permission, he proceeded to return the favour.
"…Ohhh, you didn't play Scientist and Test Subject, did you? I grant you, it's fun at the time, but all it results in is a giant clean-up afterwards and at least two ruined speculums."
Dreadnought, who had been rather enjoying the mental replay of the previous night, paused and shot a deeply disturbed look at the top of the F-14's helm.
"…Or so I've heard."
Knock Out, Glit, Lyzack, the Coneheads and Leozack joined the group just in time to hear the femme jet's last comments.
The red Aston Martin glanced between the embarrassed Femme CMO and agog Chief Engineer, and decided it wasn't worth asking.
"Sorry we're late. Anyone managed to bump him off yet?"
Nightraider extracted herself from Dreadnought's embrace and gently squeezed the back of Knock Out's neck plating. "No, but it's not for lack of trying."
Leozack glowered at the empty throne and folded his arms across his chestplates, making sure he was safely installed between his sister and Ramjet. "There was some scuttlebutt going round that Thunderblast tried to act as an assassin as well as his berthwarmer last night, but nothing's been confirmed."
"Surprising precisely no-one…" Lyzack elbowed Leozack out of the way before snuggling into Ramjet's arms and glaring back at her twin.
"Better her than you, Ly. She wanted to be there, you didn't."
"Yeah, but not because she actually cares for him. She just wants the power and status."
Ramjet simply held Lyzack closer and pressed a clandestine kiss next to her audial before he reluctantly peeled himself away and slouched off towards the dais. Thrust and Dirge followed in his wake.
Glit regarded the retreating Seeker trio with fondness and addressed his query to Leozack. "…So how exactly did she try to offline him?"
"Couple of aquatic poisons and a fragging good go at offlining him through overloads. Apparently, he picked up the former, not the latter."
The entire group looked slightly disgusted. Dreadnought gently flicked Nightraider's audial with one grey finger and muttered, "Femmes in transparent aluminium observatories…"
"And again, I point out the almost immediate post-afterglow regret."
"Just as long as it's acknowledged."
BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP-BAP-BAP-BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP
A blast of synth-trumpets suddenly blared through the throne-room.
Every mech and femme present cringed and activated the muting option on their audials.
The Constructicons, covered in spray-painted zinc tape and looking surly to a fault, marched into the throne-room in two columns. All of them clutched synth-trumpets in matching death grips.
Soundwave, Shockwave, Obsidian and Strika immediately snapped to attention; not out of any particular desire to show obedience, but more out of habit and a shared desire to get the approaching farce over and done with as soon as possible.
Astrotrain followed the Constructions and studiously avoided meeting anyone's optic as he trudged towards the dais. A garish golden crown studded with rubies was tucked under his arm.
The Coneheads took up their position behind Astrotrain. As Skywarp and Thundercracker had been officially declared as deceased, the lesser Elite trine was required to stand in their stead. None of them looked even remotely happy about this.
Finally, Starscream appeared, his nasal unit stuck in the air as he strode proudly into the throne-room. A long purple cloak, disturbingly reminiscent of the one Alpha Trion had worn once upon a time, swirled around his pedes.
"Make way for your new Emperor of Destruction!"
At Soundwave's pedes, Frenzy snorted quietly. "Do we have to?"
Rumble elbowed him silently.
The Constructions fell into line next to the dais and proceeded to play something approaching the Imperial Anthem of the Decepticon Empire.
Just in two different time signatures.
And three different keys.
Fifty feet above the dais, hidden in the shadows of ancient Iaconian ruins and muffled in the musical abortion that was masquerading as an anthem, the crew of Leviathan silently prepared a frankly terrifying assortment of long-range weaponry.
Officially, they had been drafted in as extra security, as they had been under Megatron's reign.
Unofficially, if one of the Chosen on the ground didn't take out the red and silver pretender to the throne now swaggering up the steps of the dais, they would do the honours.
Switchblade tapped at his audial comm. unit and quickly counted off the positions of the would-be assassins.
"Drive-By, right flank by the shoulder of Bloodron. Rampart and Mismatch, left flank by Floron's horns. Deadheat and Derail, keep yourselves behind the dais. Diabla, on Murdron's helm with me, and I swear to Primus if you point that missile launcher at your sister one more time, the next shot I fire will be at your head."
The purple and yellow motorcycle sneered but retracted her gun and rested the barrel against her shoulder. Even she wasn't stupid enough to push her commanding officer's tolerance levels.
Switchblade glared at her before resuming his scan of the area.
The longer the 'Structies could draw out the performance of the anthem and fanfare, the longer his team would have to get into position. All that was then needed was one clear shot through the pretender's CPU with an unregistered sniper rifle, and this whole obscene parody of leadership would end as quickly as it had begun.
Throw the rifle into one of the smelting pools outside Iacon after the screaming had stopped, and no-one would be any the wiser.
The Constructicons had mercifully finished massacring the Imperial Anthem and had moved onto the Imperial fanfare.
Which was only a slight improvement over the anthem.
Astrotrain stepped reluctantly forward, the crown in his hands.
He still wasn't entirely sure how he'd gotten drafted in for this, but he enjoyed being online too much to protest when the job was offered to him.
Later enquiries revealed that he was just the only one who hadn't immediately declined the offer with a cavalcade of obscenities.
Starscream stepped forward, deliberately ruffling the edges of his cape to create the impression of a dramatic breeze and bowed his head slightly.
Astrotrain raised his arms and-
BRAP BAP BAP-BAP BAAAP BAAAAAP
Nope, couldn't crown him then.
He tried again.
BRAP BAP BAP-BAP BAAAP BAAAAAP
Nope, that hadn't worked either.
He could hear Starscream snarling, "Get on with the ceremony!"
The Constructions glanced at each other, shrugged, and resumed playing.
BRAP BAP BAP-BAP BAAAP BRAP-BAP BAP-BAP-BAP BAP-BAP BAAAP BAAAAAP
Starscream's fraying hold on his temper finally gave out.
He charged up his right null-ray and fired off a shot that destroyed all of the synth-trumpets in a nano-second.
The Constructicons glanced at each other again, and then slightly sadly at the remains of their instruments.
Scrapper nodded quietly at Astrotrain.
They had tried and failed.
The triple-changer sighed inwardly and finally set the crown upon Starscream's helm.
A twisted smile crawled across the F-15's faceplates.
He had done it.
All these vorns of scheming, all of the vorns of crawling and waiting, all of the vorns of stasis lock and battles across Cybertron and Earth, of so many orns filled with rage and revenge, of so many nights filled with jealousy and acting as Megatron's not-so-reluctant berthwarmer, and of so many fusion blasts in the back, in the face, in the chest to remind him of how he had tried to rebel and failed, and now… here he stood.
Starscream of Vos, Air Commander of the Decepticon Empire, Emperor of Destruction, and the new leader of the Decepticons.
It was worth every sacrifice, every scheme, every ounce of pain he had suffered, to stand here at the very pinnacle of the Decepticon Empire.
He stared out over the throne-room and scanned each occupant with what he considered to be a commanding gaze.
"My fellow Decepticons, as your new leader, I-"
He cut himself off with a gasp. Every head, even those watching from the shadows, immediately turned to look at where the red and silver jet was staring.
A purple streak had appeared in the skies.
Too small to be a warship, too large to be a missile.
So what was it…?
Starscream's temper immediately flared. "Who disrupts my coronation!?"
The purple streak screamed towards the balcony of the throne-room, revealing itself to be a scout ship of some form. It streaked between the columns and skidded to a halt just before the dais. A golden coloured hatch lifted up, and a bulky purple mech with a grey and orange fusion cannon bolted to his right arm leaped out, breaking into a sprint as soon as his pedes hit the floor. The scout ship transformed into a tall purple mech with two odd protuberances on his helm. He joined his comrade as he stood at the foot of the dais, glaring up at Starscream.
His vocoder was low and rough, as if it had emerged screaming from the very depths of the Pit. "Coronation, Starscream? This is bad comedy."
And yet Starscream recognised it almost immediately.
"…Megatron? Is that you?"
"HERE'S A HINT!"
The purple mech transformed himself into a field artillery cannon and fired an energy blast directly at Starscream's chest. It encompassed the F-15's frame in a blaze of energon-coloured light, tearing into his plating.
Astrotrain and the Coneheads shared a terrified look and dived off the platform.
The mechs closest to the blast could hear the sound of Starscream's catalytic converter overloading.
Electricity fritzed and sparked through the air.
Starscream span helplessly, twisting and tearing at his plating before freezing in place with a look of pure shock and agony on his faceplates.
Soundwave immediately pressed the Cassettes behind him as he watched, not inclined to feel any pity for the Seeker, but extremely uneasy about what was going to happen next.
As the pink glow faded from Starscream's body, his red and silver plating began to fade as well.
Within a sparkbeat, the only spots of colour present were the purple of his cape, and the gold and red of his crown. The rest of his body was now just made of different shades of grey.
A crack like breaking glass emerged from Starscream's shoulder plating. His entire left arm fell off his frame, followed quickly by his right arm, and then by his cranium and entire frame just… imploded.
Chunks of lifeless metal cascaded to the floor of the platform and were blown away by the backwash of the blast.
Starscream of Vos died just as brightly and as loudly as he had lived.
Soundwave finally remembered how to vent.
Aggressive depigmentation.
He had never seen it affect another Cybertronian so… violently before now.
The golden crown crashed down the steps of the dais and landed at the mystery mech's feet. Transforming back to bipedal mode, he calmly crushed it underfoot, never taking his optics off of the sad pile of metallic fragments that now made up Starscream's corpse.
He finally turned back, casting a cold gaze over the assembled mechs and femmes. "Will anyone else attempt to fill his shoes?"
Rumble had managed to sneak out from behind his creator and was staring back and forth between the little pile of debris, and the mystery mech before him.
For once in his existence, he chose to ask a sensible question.
"…What'd he say his name was?"
The mystery mech smirked proudly.
"Galvatron!"
Most of the Decepticon forces would freely admit they might not be the brightest bunch on Cybertron at times, but none of them had survived this long without having at least some common sense twinned with decent survival instincts.
Every single mech and femme present immediately raised their arms and vocalisers in celebration and salutation.
"All hail Galvatron!"
"All hail Galvatron!"
"All hail Galvatron!"
TBC