Midnight. The fugitive Transformer was in hiding. Cemetery Wind would roust him out.

They'd tracked him over half a day to roughly this spot: an abandoned steamboat from Twain's time, once restored for the vintage revival and again given back to rot some decades ago. Tattered banners flew from every point on every deck in mock festivity, the old stacks atop the thing's great back were bent like some new-wave style of hat. How it kept afloat in this water was a mystery to all who passed it, and yet...

Yet that monster had found its way here. This much James Savoy knew to be true.

All around them, the world was in much the same disrepair. A thin layer of large gravel barely kept wild grass and some other plants off the road. Nearest pavement was some sixteen miles away, with nothing to break up the environmental monotony in between except maybe a quaint little stone wall; or a tree, which was almost always built on a grave. The river here had not brought abundant economy and civilization, only extreme high-end socialites pretending to be rugged frontiersmen, a historian in town had said to one of them. At the very least, it was secluded. Little chance of civilian casualties, unless this creature felt like hitting the abandoned cabin about seven miles to the West, or the rest stop (glorified pisshole with a map and two parking spots) some twenty miles beyond that. Unlikely they'd lose that badly, even.

This was their complement:

Four armored vehicles at full capacity with men, drones and equipment. Three surveillance choppers creating a perimeter. Dive teams on the other side of this senile little dock. Each man carried his standard of weapons, plus some extras for personal preference and versatility. This wasn't a normal military unit, or else their apparent lack of uniformity would be frowned upon. But they were no military unit.

They still pulled from the ranks of all branches, though. Especially the former NEST.

That happened to include (former) Captain William Lennox. As they dismounted from the black vanlike things (these were no Geek Squad carriages), Lennox found a place beside Savoy, if only for a brief exchange.

"Tracking confirms?" Savoy nodded, then pointed to the docked steamboat. It seemed a little more rundown with each passing second a gaze was cast upon it. "You ID it?" Savoy's gaze was unmoving, unsympathetic. Especially for a former soldier, that was unbecoming. They trained you to shoot an enemy like it's nothing, or else it'd eat you alive. Savoy'd been hunting since he was a child, even he knew it. The best you could do for a wild animal was take it down in as few shots as possible. Sometimes he found himself chuckling when a deer leapt from the trees and ran two miles before dropping like a stone, only those two miles to tell the difference.

"It confirms. Get into position, soldier." Lennox wondered if the man would clap him on the back or something condescending like that. But he didn't.

Their choppers had arrived.

Savoy: "Surround the boat!"

Men pulled up black bandannas with the white outlines of skulls, smiley faces, even a Prime's faceplate. Their visors came down, sealing the human behind inside the mask. Lennox did the same.

These men took their positions. Yes, they were very good, and unquestioning in their desire to kill Decepticons. Even Lennox had that in common with them.

Then came the next step:

"Release the mini-drones."

Techs reached into equipment bags, pulled out little handheld-things one by one. When they threw them, two sets of vertical rotors kicked in. A buzz was in the air now, little buggers tracing the ship with green tracking lasers. As a kid, Savoy had once brushed a wasp's nest with a broom, and been sent to the ER for the following massacre. He still had some scars where the crazed boy had run over a patch of everything-bad-in-nature-rolled-into-one. Really felt good to be that wasp for once. And soon the metal monster would be in the Patch.

He waited for confirmation. He got it. From the nearest drone coordinator tech he heard "Biometrics and heat sig confirmed, top level."

He scoffed. Biometrics. Things aren't even made of flesh. Not really made of metal, either. Alien metal, at most.

The Winders (as they'd taken to calling themselves) followed paths set by headset telemetry: Board the boat, climb to top level along several drone-scouted routes, take positions, lay countermeasures, wait for signal to begin execution.

Over his radio: "Lennox reports all Winders in position."

"Good. You have your action plan, follow it. No hesitation."

He thought he heard reluctance in the ensuing "Understood, Lennox out." Sometimes, he made Savoy want to grin. He had his ideals, alright. But this was a war they'd seen couldn't be won upfront. It wasn't (exactly) like they had any of the bastards on their side, they made do with what tech and skill they had. Not only that, but Chicago had proven even one of these things was a mess.

And I've got to clean it up.

It was funny, who he'd heard say that.

Then again, he was a man of humor; everything was funny to him.

Over the radio: "Prelim charges placed." He clicked the comm in his ear, then shot a glance into his own visor. Indeed, it was the top level - more specifically, a silo-like structure crudely fashioned out of the largest funnel. Gotcha.

"Very good. Now stand back." And to his men still on the ground, he shouted:

"CRACKING STEEL!"

The furious light show overloaded Savoy's eyes for a moment. Then it became the norm. Gunfire. Yells - one of them too booming and modulated to be human. Nonliving screams of twisting metal. His own rifle came up, and he pulled down his own coordinator's visor. The drones corroborated their surveillance feeds into the model in his helmet, and he tracked the giant as his men gave it no ground.

"He's on the run, he's on the run!" Two of their vehicles chased after him, accompanied on foot by men who were given ample room to shoot.

"What's wrong with you humans!?" Clearly it had a problem with their methods. Only stood to reason that it would shoot back. Which it did, of course, most of its alien bullets flying off in crazy directions. It was just another light in the sky.

Still, the Transformer was doing everything it could to get away. That couldn't be permitted. If that happened it could find its buddies, come back and suddenly decide everything human needed to die. Savoy just couldn't have that.

"Move! Take it down!"

It'd found the main road, each step a different battle with six Winders on each side. Choppers were racing in, too, trying to tag it with spotlights, even launching nets and cryo-pellets. But the pellets were too inefficient and risky with men in the way, and same story with the nets. Savoy raced after them, and he saw a host of fresh mini-drones right there with him, providing new perspectives to add to the killers' collective vision. He fired. Again and again. Already they'd chipped off the thing's right leg, and this was a war of attrition. They were winning.

"In the eyes, now!" The green Transformer heard it, but so too did all his men. They raised their rifles ever so slightly, and...

Its optics - eyes - exploded like firecrackers in its metal skull, catching in its oversized walrus' teeth. For a moment it choked, then breathed sparks, like a camper gagging on ash and coals. Savoy found it a little funny when that happened, too. The thing yelled, doubled backwards, then resorted to its next trick:

Transforming.

It wasn't easy to watch, even for him, as the thing broke the emergency glass and pulled out its last-ditch survival effort. The act came naturally to them as grinning did to him, yet it'd be trickier with his teeth kicked out. Oh, no, none of them stopped firing, not for a second, on the malformed lime-green ambulance, a chunk of its back and top missing, overturning and landing flat on one side in the knee-high grass and mud.

Thought it was down? Savoy certainly did. It didn't move, not even the one wheel in the air. No emergency lights flashed, no horns, no smoke from the exhaust. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"Hold fire," he shouted, and his left arm came up, signaling they stop pounding into the poor ambulance's frame. "I think it's dead."

He took one step. Another. Gravel crunched under his feet, almost enough to make him unbalanced. Still he kept his rifle trained. He counted seven rounds. He'd killed worse things with less.

Third step. Fourth. He was within kicking distance of what was left of the mangled bumper when the thing tried for one last bout at escaping. It Transformed one more time, and they fired on it as it hobbled alone.

The shot came from somewhere behind them, gouging through the ambulance's other leg, incidentally setting off the first blaring siren. Red lights flashed through the coordinator's visor and it fell, leg splitting in two below the knee. Its scream, clearly masculine yet undeniably inhuman, echoed in Savoy's ears through his earpiece. A little painful, maybe, but nothing he couldn't savor a little bit. It was kind of funny, the way the voice cracked into nothingness as he - it - fell. One sparking blue optic, mangled arms, nothing below the knee. One of the walrus' tusks had come loose, now hanging upside-down to his chest.

"Check fire, check fire!"

Then, over the comms:

"He's mine now."

Savoy wanted to protest, if only he were willing to put up with this thing long enough to give it Hell. But in that moment he found he was okay with it.

Their one ally - not even that, but Asset.

And the Autobot knew its name.

"Lockdown." And the slender black-grey figure approached, face completely obscured by a green visor, much like Savoy's own across his whole face. Car headlights poked from his abdomen, and as he approached he flailed a Transforming right arm, letting it become a hook.

"Pack it up, boys. I think we're done here. The rest isn't for us."

Lennox approached him. His helmet was off, and his gun was in his hand. The former soldier was clearly angry, clearly shocked. After all, enough was enough, right? Coupla Decepticons, a face-ripping former Autobot leader, but not a loyal medic. He didn't understand, and never would. His weapon was raised, trained directly on the aggressor, no thought to the bounty hunter from the water, just retribution.

"You son of a bitch. You knew who it was! Who they all were!" He took two steps, sweating visibly under the choppers' spotlights,

Savoy was ready for that.

"Take him."

Two other Winders somewhere behind him grabbed him by the shoulders, and he put up a good fight. Still, only so much one can do against two rifle butts to the head. They'd deal with him later. Just a matter of when.

For now, he'd sit here and watch Lockdown do his work. He rambled as he did it.

He made his way to where the ambulance had fallen, jammed the hook-arm into a good-sized spot of the Autobot's shoulder. Hoisted him up, making his opening remarks as he did.

"Let's find a more comfortable position, shall we?" No doubt Lockdown, too, listened for the screams of the creature he dragged behind him in the most unpleasant way possible. No doubt the barbs on the hooks dug deep for the best grip possible, were impossible to completely remove without permanent damage. In that way, he branded all his Transformer marks, or so Savoy had seen. Too bad he wouldn't keep this one, or any of the others.

He pulled the hook from the medic's shoulder somewhere closer to the water, to that steamboat, leaned up halfway against the little stone wall so as to lean a little upright. Then he really dug in with his monologue.

"Autobots, Decepticons, like little children: Always fighting." He flicked with his hook arm, and it began Transforming into... something else. "Making a mess out of the universe." Funny, Savoy was just thinking that same thing. Now the arm was completely Transformed into some clawed contraption the Winder had never seen him use before. Ratchet clearly recognized it, or else his remaining blue orb wouldn't have sparked as his eye tried to widen in terror.

"And I've got to clean it up. There is one way you survive." He did another thing Savoy had never seen before:

He knelt in front of the heavily-maimed Autobot he was mere moments from killing. For a moment, the visor came up, though Savoy couldn't see whatever malformity the Transformer called a face. He was grateful for that much. But he leaned in close, so it would be the last thing this wretched, condemned Autobot would see.

"Tell me where he's hiding. Where. Is. Optimus. Prime?"

Then came Ratchet's reply: sharp as a Vulcan tack, loyal to beyond the very end, ready to die any death for information Lockdown obviously did not need. What was the monster's smile like? He figured Ratchet could give him that answer right now, if it so wanted to.

And it gave an answer, alright.

"Never."

Even as it said the words, Lockdown dropped the thing into Ratchet's chest, twisting hard, coming up with a blue orb Savoy had seen before a time or two. A Spark, they called it. Whatever it was gave the Transformers some version of life. But that was not what it was. It was a poor copy, manufactured, and easily used as a trophy. He did not stop to hold it up high, just turned and gave his closing statement before Transforming and speeding off:

"And never is here." As he did this, Savoy saw his green visor was already up again. Then he took off into the night with his trophy. His part here was done, just like the whole of Cemetery Wind. Technically speaking, Savoy had no reason to stay here. Yet he did.

He walked back to his vehicle as two choppers made their descent. The men aboard quickly dismounted, started wrapping the corpse in an ever-evolving truss of tow-cables. Before he entered and his team drove back to base - traitor caught red-handed with this little nudge - he watched as the chopper teams gave each other the thumbs-up, returned to their starting positions and lifted the deformed Autobot Ratchet between them.

That left only one of the original Autobot crew unaccounted for, but knowing Bumblebee it wouldn't be hard to find. And destroy.

He got in. Shut the door.

"You weren't shit today. Your chance to do better next time, and that's a bonus."

He laughed with them, at how delighted they were to hear that.

...

- The Toa of Science Fiction presents -

TRANSFORMERS

Age of Innovation

...

In the beginning...

The Arctic Circle.

Darcy really shouldn't have come. Yet she came anyway, clad in sunglasses her usual fashion sense. Iagn didn't want to think much of it, but he couldn't stop himself from cursing madly when he saw her. How could someone be so absolutely atrocious yet impeccable with their sense of timing? The weird Pawnee guy with the shotgun might actually use it on her...

And who was that she was with? He trailed behind her a bit like a lost puppy, though based on the one time Iagn had met Darcy before, that didn't seem off at all. He was curious to see how she'd roped him into this.

"Show me," was all she said as she emerged from the tunnel. No stopping, just the urgent pace she carried with wherever she went. His normal Irish cool seemed a bit shaken when he opened his mouth.

"You'll need to pass through security first. NO CAMERAS." He tried pointing her to the quaint little metal detector archway, but she didn't care. Not until she saw the Pawnee, at least. Making a shotgun look as small as it did in his hands was no easy task. "I'm serious. He's got orders to kill. I don't even think international laws apply up here!"

She dropped some of her equipment. With reluctance, she went through the metal detector, the Pawnee eyeing her every move. Iagn wondered what he sounded like, or if he was some kind of mute. That wouldn't surprise him in the least. And that guy following Darcy, who was he? What was he doing here? No identifying markers.

"Wait, who's that guy?"

Initially, no reply. He tried again. The metal detector was mostly just for show, few delicate electronics worked for shit up here. No beeping, which clearly didn't surprise her. The guy behind her, nervous-looking fellow, just nodded to Iagn as if embarrassed, and did not even look at the Pawnee.

"Darcy, who is it?"

Pawnee took the time to cock the shotgun. She needed a bit of a push, but not quite like that.

"Oh, is he gonna shoot me? Shoot me, then." Calmly, she picked up her stuff and just kept on walking through the icy opening to the next tunnel. The blue-grey sun bore down on them all, blinding and oppressive and completely without heat.

"Shit. No, no no no no, don't kill her!" Took the Native American just a second too long. "Put the gun down, she went through the checkpoint. I'll handle this, just... go back to guarding the shovels or something." And with that he waved the possible deaf-mute away, then ran after Darcy. That little spook had managed to catch back up with her. Iagn hadn't seen him move from his spot somewhere behind the metal detector.

This excavation crater had been declared a bust, only good for equipment storage, and there wasn't much of that not moved to some other location. Sometimes Iagn wished it were more cluttered. And other times he was glad it provided him an unobstructed view. Darcy was going exactly where he thought she'd go. Halfway into the second tunnel, and beyond it... The thing they'd come for.

"Really, Darcy, this is crazy stuff! And who is that guy?"

She turned around sharply.

"I don't know. He just followed me." Iagn grumbled, then turned to the man, hoping he'd speak in his own defense. "Well, c'mon man, speak up!" But no such luck.

"Very well. The two of you, I might as well just lead you to it myself." He quickly took lead, waving for them to follow. "We have no idea what caused it, but it's really old! It's like... you'll see it for yourselves."

And so he led them. Oh, he was incredibly likely to get fired through some paperwork loophole or something. Oh well. If it was his time to go, it'd be his time to go. At least he'd give Darcy and the spook a little surprise before clocking out for the last time.

They emerged at the other side of this excavation crater. The sun seemed just a little colder this time. And the dead metal artworks awaited them on the other side. Did he have his hammer on him? Yes, he did. Good.

"I should let you know: if this thing has any historical significance at all, I'm shutting us down." Iagn grumbled yet again. Firing would be the pleasant alternative.

"There it is. Ya see it? You see those big mother - !"

"Damn!" He wasn't sure who'd said it. A man, with a little drawl, like an old cowboy speaking patronizingly to a teenage waitress. Then he realized. Congratulations, your child's said his first words.

And as they approached, the image became clearer: the rough outline of... something old. Something once molten, cast in alien steel and forced to lie buried until some idiot with some C4 and a big budget came along to steal it up from the ground.

"And by the way, yes, that's exactly what you think it is. Come on, it just gets better." At the very least he could grin easily now. He was showing this odd find to someone, and it made it sound less crazy to himself.

They kept approaching. The mass just kept getting bigger and bigger, old fossilized bodies melding into one big screaming pile of animals Darcy couldn't recognize... and some she could spell the Latin names for within ten seconds.

Iagn climbed up over a clawed, once-scaly leg, now covered in silvery scabs and blackening corrosion. What do you think the hammer was for?

He gave the thing a few good bangs. The impact rang through the group-corpse - a high, tinny sound that burrowed itself in their ears and rang until the noise filled their skulls. Darcy and the other guy just stood shocked.

"You'll get used to it. Now, what do you think?"

Beat.

"I think history's about to change. You're to halt operations here immediately."

And then the hick tagalong answered.

"Irrelevant. This sits squarely in KSI's excavation agreement." Darcy turned, honestly a little betrayed. KSI, that damned overlord corp that kept them running until they had solid proof: a puddle of metal dinosoars in the ice, for example.

"What?" He nodded, then struggled to reach into his coat and pull out his ID. He didn't flash it, he let it hang in the air, smirking a little. Iagn climbed down to see it for himself.

"Uh-huh. Now, run along out of here, darlin', we'll be taking over this portion of operations. Joshua Joyce sends his regards."