Prowl
He marched down the hallway intently, his footsteps rhythmically bouncing off the walls, enhancing the sense of purpose and intensity that his face, posture and pace were already putting on display for all that crossed his path. Those that crossed his path were primarily the imposing Primal Guard, the gold stripes identifying them as such stretched across their broad, heavily armored and press-enhanced chests, and various of Sentinel's many assistants, all femme, all beautiful, and very few of any real use. Prowl rounded the final corner of the maze making up the Capital Spire's lower levels on his way to his destination; the Prime's personal gymnasium, ignoring the mocking stares of those he passed. Only a few years back he had been one of the most respected individuals on the planet, but after a lack of progress in taking down the Autobots, a complete failure in tracking down the planet's most wanted fugitive, and the development of a rift between he and Sentinel that was obvious to anyone who came into contact with them, respectful bows and nods had turned to sniggering and snide whispered remarks that were growing louder and bolder with each passing day. Prowl pushed through the large metal double doors and looked past the vast array of training dummies and strike pads over to the center of the central training pit to see Sentinel Prime battering three martial arts experts. Off to the side was the grotesque mystic who had brought them, a shadowy Urayan named Bludgeon that Prowl trusted about as much as he trusted Senator Rabattus and the other sycophants that Prime had chosen to surround himself with in recent years. This master of an ancient and largely unknown martial art was a relatively new addition to Prime's entourage, but was already more trusted and influential to the Prime than Prowl had come to be. Prowl knew that power frequently corrupted good bots, but he expected better of his friend.
Though to be fair, he couldn't fault Prime's choice in enlisting this Bludgeon in regards to hand to hand combat training, the warrior truly was the best Prowl had ever seen. He wasn't the biggest, strongest or fastest of fighters, but he had methods that allowed him to overcome the biggest, strongest and fastest of opponents, and was the first instructor to have noticeably improved upon Sentinel's vast combat skills; and in the five years since his public humiliation at the hands of a one year old un-enhanced and moderately trained Orion Pax, Prime had gone through many instructors. He had become obsessed with finding and defeating the adopted noble-turned Autobot outlaw in hopes of proving…something. Prowl genuinely wished it were dismissible, something to categorize as just a silly, ridiculous pissing contest, but he knew the damage done by being tossed aside by Orion Pax for all the world to see. He was shown to be weak, his authority was no longer absolute. He could be opposed, and every day that Orion Pax escaped his justice only reaffirmed that.
Uncovering Autobot cells, destroying their networks and support base, doing everything they could to unravel their network of advocates of peaceful insurrection had been virtually the sole focus of Sentinel Prime's government for the last half decade. And nobody could question that. The Autobots had been waging a war of terror on civilian, noble, law enforcement and even the occasional lightly-guarded military targets for five years now. That the Autobots vehemently denied involvement in every one of the now 328 attacks, and that the vast majority of the evidence seemed to support their denials, meant nothing to the government, the media and the public at large. Their brief moment as Cybertron's sweethearts following Orion Pax's rescue of the condemned Autobot prisoners ended a few days later when multiple cities throughout the planet experienced deadly attacks. Since then, they've been villains hunted as such.
But they were innocent. Prowl knew it, and was convinced that even Prime knew it deep down, but his hatred for the fugitive Pax was too great for him to acknowledge that fact, or if not fact, that likelihood. He channeled overwhelming resources to bringing the commoner movement down, but ultimately Prowl realized that it was all just to expose and capture Orion Pax. Despite five years of intense searching and interrogations that even the strong-gutted Prowl was made queasy by, there had been no whisper of the fugitive. Prime was convinced that the Autobots were keeping the youngster very well hidden, but Prowl knew Pax, and hiding just wasn't something he could see him doing. In fact, the Orion Pax that Prowl had known, that Prowl had had a hand in training, would have made it a priority to track down the true culprits and put an end to the terrorist attacks himself. Or he'd have at least tried to, and likely would have been killed in such an attempt. Prowl had tried to suggest the possibility that the youngster had been killed to Sentinel Prime on a few occasions, but every time the possibility was scoffed at. The leader of Cybertron was absolutely convinced Pax was out there, and whether guilty of the carnage that had gripped the planet for the last half decade or not, he was going to be captured and ground to shavings at the hands of the vengeful Prime.
Prowl watched as a speeding back-fist shattered the faceplate of the only sparring partner left standing, and sent that partner collapsing to the ground. The Urayan instructor laughed loudly in approval, stepping into the pit, his face, altered to mimic the features of a standard endo-skeletal skull, stretched wide in a hideous smile. "Well done, your grace! You lacked some of the finesse and finery I've been trying to drill into you, but with raw power such as yours, I suppose straight-forward brutality is more than effective."
"Get me your six next-best students." Prime chuckled. "I'm feeling ornery today."
"Your grace?" Prowl called out. "Might I have a moment before you continue with your exercises?" The slow twist of the head revealed the heated glare that had come to be the standard greeting Prime presented his Chief of Security. "I assure you, it's important."
"Bludgeon," Prime called out as he marched toward Prowl, "have your students ready for me when I get back."
"Of course, your grace." Bludgeon bowed and grinned at the departing leader.
"What is it, Prowl?" The massive royal grumbled as they walked out of the gym and into the hallway.
"In here sir." Prowl directed Prime into a small meeting room. "I've received a data slug from an asset in the Autobot camp. It's best if you read the report for yourself."
"Really?" Sentinel Prime snapped. "I thought the only reason I still had you around was for you to sift through the minutia and give me the 'so what'. Yet here I am, being asked to read a status report from one of your grunts."
"Your grace, it's the agent built with the secondary robot mode." Prowl replied.
"Oh, him." Sentinel replied, a slight bit of excitement in his voice. "Has he finally given us a high value target?"
"Negative sir." Prowl replied. "This is not good news." With that Prowl plugged the slug into an input on the wall, activating a large screen in the upper center of the wall. A moment later a text message in large letters appeared.
'Prowl,
Don't even know why I'm bothering to do this; courtesy I guess. Respect for a mentor plays in as well, though frankly, that respect has taken a lot of hits over the last few years. We both know the truth. Whoever is conducting this guerrilla warfare against us, it isn't the Autobots. The most irritating part is, you know that, yet you're still enlisting me and however many other agents to take them down for this. Prime doesn't listen to reason; that's not just me saying it. It's not just the Autobots. Everyone who knows him knows that his entire focus is taking down the Autobots. Actually, that's only partially true. His primary focus is revenge against Orion Pax; taking down the Autobots is next after that. And guess what – the public at large has started taking note of it as well. He's irrational, he's dangerous, and he's ignoring actual threats to keep tormenting a group who is no physical threat to anyone, and who, quite frankly, is right. So sir, please consider my resignation tendered.
Unfortunately, there is more than just a resignation at play here. I've revealed myself to the Autobots, have pledged to join them, and despite my initial subterfuge, they've agreed to accept me. I'm not going to lie, I'm pretty sure they looked past me being a security agent only because they're…we're pretty hard up for recruits. So while it pains me to say, we're now enemies. But in the spirit of the friendship we once had, I will give you one tip. If you're truly interested in locating Orion Pax, I suggest you find out where House Pax buries the bodies of those they kill. You're old constable friend in Polarus might know a thing or two about that. Take care of yourself, and don't let yourself be put in a position where Sentinel Prime's madness can get you killed.
Punch'
Prime quietly read the message a second time before turning his head over and down toward Prowl. "What are you telling your agents that gives them the idea that I'm irrational? That I'm a threat to you and to them?"
"That doesn't come from me!" Prowl snapped. "Pardon my tone sir, but I have portrayed you in the most respectful, reverent light I can muster. But even you can't be deaf to the whispers. Hell, not whispers, the press has openly questioned many of your decisions the last few years."
"You dare raise your voice to me?" Sentinel Prime snarled.
"Yes." Prowl replied. "Every other means I've used to convey this message to you has gone ignored, and now I've lost my best agent because of it. So yes, I've raised my voice to you, my Prime, because if this doesn't get your attention, then I'm all out of ideas. And before you infer some sort of conspiracy shared between my officer and me regarding the veracity of the accusations against the Autobots, I'd like to point out that none of that was kept from you. I have long since expressed doubt about their guilt. I feel they have been framed, and continue to be framed. The evidence supports this, yet you have no desire to entertain any of it. And worst of all, I believe I have a general idea as to who the guilty party is, I have evidence supporting this belief, and again, that goes ignored because it doesn't fit the narrative that best serves your personal desires. Which means that we're acting contrary to how the evidence would have us act and likely allowing those perpetrating these acts to continue perpetrating these acts, causing the deaths of thousands more than have already died at their hands!"
"Oh enough of your gladiatorial circuit conspiracy theory!" Prime growled.
"The evidence supports the theory, sir!" Prowl snapped.
"Nonsense. I know it's illegal, and that they've been evading you for years, but frankly they're small fish, and the commoners seem to like the games." Sentinel Prime replied dismissively. "I thought you wanted me to give the commoners what they want more often."
"I think you should give the commoners what they need, not necessarily what they want. They need better education and opportunities, this blood sport is merely a distraction."
"It keeps them subdued and compliant, which is all I really want." Sentinel Prime grinned. "Those that aren't lulled by religion focus on the sport, the gambling, or both."
"I prefer Senator Rabattus's words to come out of his mouth, not yours." Prowl grumbled defiantly.
"Ah, this again." Prime scoffed. "Rabattus is not influencing me in regard to the underground fights, we just happen to agree."
"You're the one that opened the investigations into them, or have you forgotten?"
"That was when I was merely the head of planetary security, which is the reason I've been as patient with you as I have been, given that this is the scope you now look through." Prime replied tersely. "But the Prime has to look at a much broader picture, one impacted by far more factors. I see these fights, I acknowledge they're technically illegal, but ultimately the greater good is served if we turn a blind optic from time to time."
"And if members, possibly even organizers of this circuit are the ones responsible for the terrorist acts?" Prowl pressed.
"Enough!" Prime snapped in exasperation. "They're not, I've told you that they're not, I'm telling you again that they're not! The Autobots are responsible for the carnage and the murder of our citizens! I command that you accept that fact right now and be done with it!"
Prowl locked optics with his leader for nearly a minute before finally replying. "I'm sorry your grace, but I cannot. I will not continue to push forward with what I know to be, at best, an inaccuracy, or at worst, a flat out lie."
Prime stared deeply into Prowl's optics for several moments, considering deeply whatever he was considering, before finally addressing his Chief of Security. "Prowl, consider yourself dismissed. You have a half hour to gather your belongings. At the end of that half hour your security clearance for this building and all other government facilities will be revoked, and if you're still here you'll be arrested for trespassing."
Prowl nodded. "Well then, I'd better not waste any time." The midsized white and black robot walked past Sentinel Prime and toward the door.
"Prowl," Sentinel muttered to the unemployed robot before he reached the door, causing him to stop, "your lands and title have been stripped as well."
Prowl remained looking forward, but chuckled. "Fine. Having them was nothing more than an added complication." With that he left.
Grimlock
Trinkets, baubles and do-dads meant nothing to him. He would place the value of two shits out of an anthracoth's wide fleshy ass as equal to the multitude of shiny trophies arrayed on the wall in front of him. Correction, the shits could fertilize the ground to aid in the growth of plants, which could be consumed by animals; the medals, plaques, trophies and other representations of perceived greatness that had been brought by the gladiators and put on display on this wall-length shelf could do none of that. Not that Grimlock placed much value in the organic life of his world, but their various colors, movements and characteristics made the landscapes more interesting to look upon, which was more than simply the taking up of space, being an optic-sore and providing added arrogance for those who already had that trait in abundance. Ogrus Onyx had tried to heap dozens of these items at his feet early on in his fight career, and as his true prowess, and therefore value, came to be undeniable, a title and lands were offered as well. Grimlock laughed at the trinkets, and dismissively waved off the title and lands. Trinkets and titles were useless, and lands, well, the massive gladiator had yet to come across any that he intended to live upon long term; the paltry specs of unappealing metal, rock and dirt in the badlands of central Nyon that were offered certainly didn't change that opinion. Even the praise that Ogrus initially tried to provide the gladiator was disrespectfully brushed aside. 'Saurus Onyx reborn', 'Most powerful warrior in millions of years', 'More powerful than Galvatron', and other platitudinous nonsense. True, he was certainly more powerful than Galvatron or any other Cybertronian to ever live, but a comparison to Deathsaurus was not something he would consider a compliment. True, it was meant in regards to physical power, and on that front he could see where it would be considered praise by most, but Grimlock wasn't to be compared to overrated historical or mythological figures; he was unique, and the planet had never produced anything like him before or since.
The gray and gold brute walked away from the assembled trophies, briefly glancing at the equally pointless religious displays of the two primary religions affixed to the opposite wall for those weaklings requiring the fortitude provided by religious beliefs to walk out into combat, and maneuvered around the rest of the empty locker room, his fingers flexing open and shut in anticipation. It had been a long time since he had been nervous; to the point where he couldn't be sure that this feeling tickling him was in fact nervousness. He had faced over three hundred opponents in the pits in his time, more than any other fighter still living, and none of them had caused him to be nervous. True, most fighters had more bouts than him, Ogrus wanted to keep him from being physically or psychologically worn down, or his invincibility to adversely impact the circuit as a whole, but his bouts almost always involved multiple opponents, thus racking up his victim count. But not tonight's bout. Tonight he faced only one opponent, it was a fight five and a half years in the making. The two greatest gladiators on the planet, both undefeated, demands for their match having reached a fevered pitch years before, but their respective lieges continuously stoked the fires of a potential match, drumming up the fervor until they felt the maximum financial benefit could be gained. That time had apparently finally come.
Grimlock paced in the locker room, waiting for the moment he'd be called to the arena to face off against the only warrior to ever be considered as a legitimate threat to the monstrous Nyonian. Megatron had made a name for himself in his first bout over five and a half years before, and since then had obliterated everyone to face off against him. Even the crimelord-turned-gladiator Overlord had fallen to Megatron, though everyone, including Megatron himself, admitted that the slightest change could have caused the bout to have gone against him. Both combatants had required hospitalization and weeks of downtime. Grimlock had watched the match several times, and even his monumental arrogance could not prevent him from acknowledging the phenomenal power at the disposal of both of those warriors. Overlord was enormous, one of the few beings on the planet that was not only larger than Grimlock, but towered over him. That in and of itself meant little, the northern lummox Lugnut equaled the Overlord in terms of size, and Grimlock had beaten him to near death with little difficulty the two occasions that they had faced one another. But Overlord didn't move like Lugnut. Overlord moved like Megatron; he moved like Grimlock; he moved like a middleweight. A middleweight's speed in a thirty-six foot hulking frame with power that even Grimlock had to admit at least matched his own. And he was an exceptionally skilled fighter, and his durability was such that words like impervious and indestructible and unstoppable were thrown around liberally whenever discussions involved the Overlord. And Megatron bested him.
Grimlock had seen Megatron fight many times, and as magnificent as Overlord was, he had not been surprised when the giant had fallen to the Tarnian. Grimlock could beat Megatron, but there was no question that Megatron could beat Grimlock should he leave the slightest opening or perform at anything less than his absolute best. This truly was a contest to determine the most powerful warrior on the planet, and Grimlock looked forward to the unprecedented challenge.
"Grimlock?"
The massive gladiator turned at the familiar voice of Swoop and looked upon the lean but powerful form of his teammate. The long, slender wings of his raptosaur mode stretched out from the back of his robot form. He was tall, but his frame frequently led opponents to underestimate his strength, at least early on they made that mistake. He possessed a strength that went well beyond the 'wiry' strength sometimes seen in skinny fighters. Pound for pound he was one of the strongest warriors that Grimlock had come across, barring of course the likes of himself, Megatron, and Overlord, whom he was all but certain of having a natural advantage over the rest of the populace in addition to their added enhancements. Swoop of course lacked the sheer number of pounds possessed by most warriors they faced, which made it good that he had speed and reflexes that put him beyond anyone in the size classes they typically competed in. He was very bright as well, Grimlock listened to few, but Swoop was perhaps the only being he would listen to with objections to his plans or decisions. And unlike the other members of his team, he was social. On more than one occasion that ability to create rapport with others outside their little group had gotten them information on fighters or of Lord Onyx's plans for them. Not that that information was ever truly essential, but it was always nice to know things ahead of time. "What is it?"
"We need to talk." Grimlock noticed the look on his comrade's face and realized that this wasn't a typical chit chat or the relaying of gossip, he was genuinely troubled. "I overheard those two featherweight jackasses Rumble and Frenzy boasting about having blown up the central marketplace in Simfur last week."
Grimlock's long optic flared enough to give a slight and momentary ruby glow over the rest of his face. "What? That's impossible."
"I know what I heard."
"The Autobots destroyed the market." Grimlock grumbled angrily. "It was the Autobots that did that, that caused…that."
"Yeah," Swoop paused before continuing, "they were joking about pinning it the Autobots. And I got the impression that this wasn't a lone occurrence."
Grimlock pondered the words silently, glaring at the dull metal floor for several moments. He had known many of those that had died in the previous week's attacks, some of them were his earliest acquaintances. One casualty in particular had affected Grimlock. Slither had come into Grimlock's life in his third or fourth day of existence, and while not friendly, had provided Grimlock with his first job, his first opportunity to not exist solely due to the charity of others, which was a scarce commodity on the mean streets of Simfur. Even as a protoform, Grimlock possessed astounding strength, but instead of selling him off to the Onyx mines, Slither taught him to keep his uniqueness under wraps. Of course, his great size and bulk was too much to hide from the vassals of House Onyx, who eventually took notice and had him placed where he could do the most good for their liege lords. It would be a few more years before Grimlock fully grasped the power and value he possessed, and that defying these high-born bastards, at least to a certain extent, was an option for him. He had come across Slither several times since, and while it had been over a century since he had even thought of him, the scrawny merchant's murder had hit the gladiator hard for some reason. "Where are they?"
The two featherweight gladiators were found in the arena bar. In the last few years the government had turned a blind optic to the fight circuit, and the days of the disposable arenas, at least in Polyhex and other southern emirates, was a thing of the past. The Jugatus Coliseum, built and named in honor of the previous emir of Polyhex by his successor and likely murderer Militus Macht, was the second largest arena in all of Polyhex, about one thousand miles west and a little south of the Kaonian outskirts, built in the badlands that stretched across the narrow border between Polyhex and Nyon. It was a grand facility, which at first glance provided an indication of great respect for his predecessor, but its location in this charred and desolate region made it clear the true regard Militus held for Jugatus. But for this particular event, it was by far the most viable and nearly ideal venue. Just a few hundred miles from the border of Nyon, far enough from any major Polyhexian urban centers so that the crowd mix would be nearly equal, not that their target spectator ever lacked the resources to travel, well-equipped with minimal mileage, comfortable seating for over twenty thousand attendees of wide ranging sizes and shapes, six fully equipped locker rooms and med centers, and at least twenty pubs, including the dimly lit, yet somehow shiny room Swoop was leading him into now.
Swoop led Grimlock through the thinning crowd, most having left to take their seats, the intermission between the previous fight and the upcoming main event was almost over, and nobody wanted to miss what likely would be the greatest gladiatorial battle in history. Sure, there would likely be a re-match, and should the need arise, a rubber match, and more rematches every few decades to provide their liege lords payouts, but it was the first battle between Grimlock and Megatron that would go down in history, and none of these rich twats wanted to miss a second of it. They'd be bragging at parties of having been here and seen this for the remainder of their lives; in most cases it would be the only remotely interesting thing that would ever come out of their audio processors. Most of those left in the bar were high lords with their own easily accessible skyboxes, which had their own bars stocked with high-grade engex but they enjoyed socializing, others confident they could get to their seats before the fight commenced, several gladiators who too were confident of getting to their viewing area in time, and several inebriated souls who had imbibed too much engex and were barely aware of what was going on. The two gladiators they sought were on the far end of the dark bar, short and average of build, but exuding a sense of power nonetheless. Part of that came from the fact that they genuinely punched above their weight class, but the majority of it came from a mostly unjustified sense of arrogance. They were nearly identical, apparently spawned a few feet apart from one another in the same central Praxusian hotspot, both bearing black torsos, one of them with red limbs and accents, the other with blue limbs and accents. Grimlock wasn't sure which was Rumble and which was Frenzy; he'd never cared enough to bother finding out, and even if he had, it was unlikely he'd have bothered to remember. Frankly, it didn't matter.
He marched intently toward the two small robots, each between eight and nine feet tall, more than twenty feet shorter than Grimlock, the one with the red limbs finally noticing him and displaying a look of surprise. "What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn't ya' be marchin' toward the pit about now?"
Grimlock grabbed his shoulder and the shoulder of the just turning 'blue' robot, hoisted them into the air and slamming them against the metal wall, causing various hanging pictures to shake and every remaining conscious optic in the bar to turn and look. "Tell me of the Simfur marketplace!"
"What?" Red mumbled.
"Don't know what yer talkin' about." Blue sputtered unconvincingly, and less fearful than Grimlock had expected him to be. In fact, neither seemed as scared as they should have been. As tough as they may have thought themselves to be, even that exaggerated self-assessment would have fallen far short of being able to prevent Grimlock from imposing his will and inflicting any measure of torture upon them that he could imagine.
"Now let us go, you saurian piece of shit!" Red snarled.
"Slaggin' Nyonian beast!" Blue growled.
"You wound me, Frenzy." The voice slithering from behind Grimlock and Swoop, one quietly, calmly, yet menacingly flowing out of the shadows near the entranceway, turned the optics of the pinned robots away from their oppressor, and elicited a smile on both their faces.
"Aw Ravage, I wasn't talking about you." Blue…Frenzy replied mirthfully.
"Yeah, you're a slaggin' Praxusian beast." Red…Rumble quipped.
Grimlock slowly turned his head to gaze upon the uninvited quadruped. They say that one in one hundred thousand feralitons possess heightened, almost humanoid intellects; and of those, one percent possess intellects that are unquestionably at least the equal of baseline Cybertronians. There was a line, a very blurry, ill-defined line that seemed almost arbitrary on deciding which side of it certain cases belonged, but it primarily boiled down to species composition of particular hotspots and how quickly humanoid-level intelligence developed in the non-humanoid form. This was the primary rationale for the categorizing the likes of Arlon Pax and other misshapen sentients as baseline Cybertronians, while creatures like this Ravage were considered fully sentient feralitons. If commoners thought they had it bad, all they need do was consider the lot of a fully sentient feraliton to make them reevaluate their fortune. These creatures were slaves, pets, prey for game hunters, many possessing higher intellects than their masters and killers. Many chose to either keep their gift secret or disengage themselves from civilization and live amongst their dim, feral cousins.
This particular feraliton had somehow found a place as a confidant of a member of House Torrent; Grimlock had witnessed them together watching several fighting tournaments in the last couple years, and got the impression that this Ravage was more than just a pet to the big blue royal prick. "Can I help you with something, fangs?" Grimlock grumbled to the feline form.
"Apt name for either one of us, gladiator." The four legged creature seemed to glide toward them, its movements so fluid and darkness so perfectly camouflaging with the various shadows around him that they could barely see the movement of its legs. "It would seem to me that your business is down in the arena with Megatron, not in a pub with these two."
"You know nothing of my business, feraliton." Grimlock growled.
"What issue do you have with these two?" The feline asked with a seemingly melodic hiss.
"Let's just say that I overheard them mentioning that they did something." Swoop chimed in as he crossed his arms and glared down at the cat.
Ravage sized up the winged warrior with a quick gaze before turning back to Grimlock. "If drinking too much, petty theft or vandalism, brawling, or noise ordinance violations are what your friend heard they did, then yes, your business is with them. If it's anything more ambitious than that," the feline stepped closer and narrowed his optic slits, "then as I said, your business is with Megatron."
Grimlock held Ravage's gaze for nearly a full minute as he considered the implications of what was just said. He then turned back to the two small humanoids, still pinned against the wall, their feet dangling a dozen feet over the floor. "You're a part of Megatron's great deception?"
"Go ask him yourself, you slag-eating twat." Blue snarled through a grin.
"And take your winged conjux with you." Red followed through a matching grin.
Grimlock stared at them for a few more tense seconds before rearing back, lifting them up and slamming them down into the floor. "I'm not done with you two!" He turned, regarded Ravage for a moment, but walked passed him and left the pub as he heard Megatron being announced in the arena. A second later the crowd erupted, as it always did when Megatron emerged from the tunnel and into the fighting pit prior to a match. Grimlock's seniority giving him the honor of emerging second, but the delay of him getting down to the sub-level and to the tunnel he would emerge from would likely be too long to just attribute to a long build up to increase tension and anticipation; the length of his absence would be noted and discussed. Of course, Grimlock didn't give a shit about any of that. He didn't even care about the fight; oh, he'd be trading fists with Megatron, he was sure of that, but the crowd, their unbeaten streaks, their winnings, their glory, none of it meant anything to him at this moment.
He'd been swayed years before by Megatron's talk of an underground movement, of a secret society devoted to changing the world so that it rewarded those that were truly great, and not the noble birthright fops that ran the planet and garnered the majority of the resources, rights and privileges. But early on Megatron seemed to distance himself from Grimlock, perhaps the conversations they'd had that seemed to illustrate some of their differences and how far they would be willing to go had put the Tarnian off to the Nyonian, or perhaps Megatron's ambitions required more time and effort than the young gladiator was willing to devote. Whatever the case, Grimlock had ceased to be a part of Megatron's schemes, an eventuality that Grimlock honestly didn't mind. Grimlock was amenable to the dream, but he knew going in that those involved would likely peter out. He had assumed that had been the case, but what he had just heard in the bar made it seem the exact opposite was true.
He heard his name being announced to the excited crowd as he reached the lower levels, they had waited for him as long as they could apparently, but they could stall no longer. The announcement had been meant as a fire under his ass, but in reality all it did was annoy him. He finally turned the corner into the dark tunnel, the bright light of the opposite opening into the pit a rapidly growing pinpoint through the black. He finally emerged, the portion of the crowd from Nyon, roughly forty percent by his estimation, exploded with sound and movement. Normally he would stop midway between the tunnel and the center of the giant pit to await the start of the fight, but tonight he continued marching forward, crossing the vast arena toward his opponent.
His massive feet crunched against the metal shavings covering the arena floor as he made his way toward Megatron, every so often the crunch made a deeper sound as he stepped upon shavings soaking in puddles of assorted body fluids from previous bouts. His optics were locked with Megatron's, who just smiled at him smugly, his handsome face and ornate, polished frame glimmering there seemingly for no purpose beyond irritating Grimlock more than he already was. Grimlock wouldn't go so far as to think Megatron should have been unnerved by the Nyonian gladiator's deviation from pre-fight etiquette, but he expected him to be surprised. Megatron, of course showed only amusement. Somehow he knew, somehow he had been expecting this. Fine, whatever, Grimlock was never one to require surprise out of those he faced. "We need to talk!" His growl cut through the otherwise overwhelming sound of the crowd as he closed the distance between them to within fifty feet.
"Please tell me you're not trying to back out of this." Megatron said gracefully. "The crowd has been clamoring for this bout for half a decade."
"Shut the fuck up!" Grimlock roared as he came to a stop two feet before Megatron, standing over him. Five feet separated the tops of their heads, but while such a size difference would have unnerved the vast majority of beings, Megatron seemed to embrace the seeming disadvantage. "Are we responsible for the bombings?"
Megatron broadened his smile and turned his head toward the crowd. "First of all, watch your words and tone with me, mongrel!" Despite the wide smile, the warning was delivered with an ample supply of venom. "Now's not the time to discuss this."
"Wrong! We're discussing this now!" Grimlock snarled through the thunder of the crowd's unified grumble of excited utterances.
"You knew nothing would be accomplished without violence." Megatron replied. "You're not so stupid as to think change would come peacefully."
"I knew there would be casualties!" Grimlock snarled. "But they would be targeted! They would be selected! They would be those that opposed us! These attacks…these hundreds of attacks, slaughtering thousands upon thousands; they're indiscriminant! They're random! Some of those killed would be those we mean to have join us! Yet you've made them victims; you've made them fodder!"
Megatron's smile waned, his optics narrowed, and the gaze of his glowing red optics turned icy. "Everything is fodder." His whisper barely heard by Grimlock through the roar of the impatient crowd.
A shadow briefly fell over them, and a moment later Starscream was gracefully landing next to them. "What's going on?" He snapped, his gaze shifting quickly from one gladiator to the other. "What is the problem here?"
Megatron maintained his glare up at Grimlock as he answered the question. "Grimlock here has a problem with how we've been conducting ourselves."
"What the slag does that mean?" Starscream snapped.
"It means that I'm not a coward that kills indiscriminately." Grimlock growled as he turned toward Starscream, poking his thick right index finger into the winged robot's chest. "I pick who I kill and I make sure they know it's me that's killing them. Bombs in civilian centers are for cowardly pissants, and I want no part of it. You both can take your Grand Deception and shove it up your asses!" The Nyonian drove his finger further into Starscream's chest with enough force to send the robot stumbling back and falling to the gravelly floor. Rage filled the optics of the lowborn noble, a rage that was met with a challenging glare from the upright hulking warrior. Megatron glanced up into one of the private boxes, one reserved for House Torrent, toward Soundwave who was standing next to Shockwave. Megatron then directed Soundwave's gaze to the various red lights that indicated that the fight had not yet started. Soundwave nodded, turned, and disappeared as he marched out of his box.
Megatron returned his gaze to Grimlock as the giant turned back to him. "I'm telling them all. Letting the world know that it's you slaughtering everyone. Letting those that are following you know what you truly have in store; what you truly are."
Megatron laughed. "Those that I've selected know what I am, Grimlock; most of them anyway. It's really only you and a handful of others that fall into a gray area where you were chosen due to traits that would have made you assets, but possessing an attitude that may or may not make you trustworthy." Megatron's laughter ended, his smile faded, and as the red lights surrounding the arena changed to yellow, the amber glow highlighted the look of pure malice that the Tarnian was now exuding. "It's clear now that keeping you in the dark was the wise choice." Grimlock turned away and looked up at the lights, confused as to why they had shifted to yellow when he was clearly not in pre-fight position. The lights immediately shifted green, and a balled black fist slammed the side of his head, sending him toppling to the ground.
It was the best punch Grimlock had ever received, but it did little more than knock him down, and his head flipped back immediately toward his opponent as Starscream leapt to the air, transformed and sped off toward his private box. But Grimlock didn't see the chrome robotic form of his Tarnian foe standing over him, he saw a shifting mass of parts mid-air as Megatron was transforming. A half second later the battle-modified and heavily enhanced mining tank was slamming into Grimlock's mid-section, driving him down into the metal gravel. The treads were already spinning at full speed as they connected with the floor, and after kicking away the several inches of debris covering the solid floor, it caught enough to begin driving the Nyonian gladiator back toward the center of the fighting pit.
The crowd roared its approval, the fight they'd been waiting for had finally begun, and the opening clash was better than they'd hoped for. Grimlock shook off his initial surprise, gripped either end of the tank and hurled it back over his head, sending it toppling. Both warriors immediately transformed, and Megatron found himself staring into the optics of a massive bipedal metal dracosaur. The beast's tail waved slowly back and forth at the base, the tip snapping like a whip at the end of each arch. "Wasn't aware you had the authority to start a bout prematurely."
"It wasn't premature," Megatron snapped, a mild grin on his face, "my guess is that everyone just got impatient waiting for you to get in position."
"Cut the shit!" The beast snarled over the crowds' waves of raucous cheering. "I knew you had influence, but it's apparently more than I had guessed."
"You have no idea, beast." Megatron grinned as he shot forward and delivered a haymaker to the side of the beast's head. Grimlock rolled with the punch, hoisting his left leg up to deliver a thrust kick into Megatron's abdomen, sending him flying back. The crowd exploded at seeing the exchange, fights between small groups of Polyhexians and Nyonians erupting in small pockets around the arena. Grimlock's beastial frame was not designed for such a strike, and he lost his balance. But instead of falling, he transformed and wound up in a kneeling position that he immediately transitioned into a standing position. The two robots once again squared off against one another and the fight began in earnest. No more smack-talk, no more taunts, just the trading of blows, grappling and throws.
For thirteen minutes the combatants raged against one another, both were battered and leaking from various punctures and lacerations, before they both finally stepped away from one another to momentarily regroup and evaluate how best to proceed. "They're going to know. Everyone on the planet is going to know it's you, and not the Autobots."
"Do you think it'll change anything?" Megatron growled back. "Those here in the arena already know and are a part of it. And those outside throughout the world might gasp at first, but you'll be immediately discredited by the government itself. Sentinel Prime's hatred for Orion Pax is such that any suggestion that anyone other than the Autobots being responsible for these attacks is immediately dismissed without consideration. Add to this that the one making the accusation is a former pit champion aiming his accusations at the warrior who finally defeated him. Nobody will believe you, Grimlock. So please, feel free to do whatever you feel is necessary."
Grimlock chuckled. "Interesting, and possibly valid points, all but the part about me being defeated." Grimlock charged back at Megatron. "That shit ain't happening today!" The flurry of punches traded was as brutally intense and destructive as the initial wave over a dozen minutes before, and the reaction from the crowd was equally thunderous. Both fighters initially fought smart, Grimlock trying to use his reach advantage, Megatron attempting to capitalize on his slightly faster reflexes, but ultimately it devolved into the slugfest the crowd desperately longed for. After several more minutes of hammering away they once again broke off to stare each other down at try to devise a strategy.
Megatron took several steps back and momentarily, little more than a second really, seemed to disengage from reality and fall into his own thoughts. But the moment Grimlock seemed to notice this lack of focus, Megatron's attention was back, and he lunged forward with utter reckless abandon, employing no strategy and seeming to be leaving nothing in reserve. Grimlock met the onslaught and once again they were beating each other to death. The barrage of brutality continued, the warriors so focused on destroying the other that they failed to notice on odd uproar in the crowd, nor the presence of another lean robot landing right next to them. Even a minute later, when three other hulking robots were also there and the four outsiders surrounded them to the horrified roars of the crowd, even then they only saw the enemy in front of them.
It took Swoop, Sludge and Snarl prying them apart for them to recognize something was amiss. "What the hell is this?" Megatron roared, his outrage almost palpable.
Grimlock was equally surprised, and even more outraged. "What are you doing?" He barked at his teammates. "Get the hell out of here!" He turned to Megatron, rage still filled him, but his look of hatred slowly took on an apologetic demeanor. "I didn't order this. I don't know…I…," he turned to Swoop. "What the hell?"
"I intercepted a transmission." Swoop explained quickly. "Whoever sent it said that you had found out and that you were going to expose them. It them ordered everyone to converge on you and kill you."
"Nonsense!" Megatron roared loudly in righteous indignation. "Is this what I can expect from the best of Nyon?" He yelled out over the sounds of the outraged crowd.
Grimlock looked disbelievingly at his team, then up into the crowd. He then slowly turned back to Megatron, and noted the hint of a smile on the otherwise scowling look of hatred etched onto his face. He slowly started to recognize what had happened. "The transmission, it was only intended for my team to hear."
"I have no idea what you're talking about, beast!" Megatron snapped back, any trace of the smile wiped away. Starscream once again swooped down from the air over the pit and landed next to Megatron, his attempts to hide his duplicity woefully less than Megatron's, but he still tried his best to exude outraged confusion. To the throngs of spectators, the distance was enough for him to appear completely genuine. Megatron turned to him, answering the question asked by the look on Starscream's face. "They're claiming there was a threat broadcasted to members of the crowd to come kill Grimlock."
Starscream displayed a poor attempt at surprise. "There was no such broadcast, at least none that was detected by any of our equipment."
"Save it!" Grimlock roared. "You were not assaulted, Megatron. You've been put in no disadvantage by ruse played on my team. I'll send them away and we can pick up where we left off. Hell, I'll give you a free punch."
"I'm afraid that's not an option," Starcream replied, his assertion earning him a genuine look of agitation from Megatron, "you have already been disqualified. Megatron is the winner."
"No," Megatron grumbled, "I want to continue. They're integrity had already been called into question, and motivation for…something happening to them after they leave, well, it's already there."
Starscream looked flustered, unsure of what to say. "It's already done. It's out of my hands. Shock…"
"Idiot!" Megatron growled. He turned to Grimlock. "I genuinely do wish to finish this fight. One way or another, you'll lose and be disgraced, but if we continue on you'll at least get to hit me several more times."
Grimlock took a step toward Megatron, but stopped. Megatron's words a moment ago implied that there might be ominous plans for him and his team. They were normally more than happy to accept any challenge walking into a trap might present, but this would be different. Megatron was smarter, more powerful, more resourceful and more ruthless than anyone else who would do them harm, and despite his earlier dismissive assertions, Grimlock knew that Megatron needed him silenced. Megatron was going to see to it that they were killed, and there would be no honor involved in the murders. "No. Congratulations Megatron, enjoy your victory." Grimlock turned and marched back toward the locker room, nodding for his team to follow.
"What?" Slag groused. "Lock, you don't care about the scoresheets anyway, just take his challenge and beat his ass. Everyone will know who really won, no matter what the bullshit books have to say."
"Shut up and follow me." He growled without looking back. Swoop quickly caught up to him and marched in step at his side. "They're going to try and kill us once we leave. We need weapons and a plan for what to do if and when we break out."
Swoop nodded. "You guys grab our melee weapons. I'll hit the security center and grab some rifles or whatever they have there." The winged robot paused for a moment before continuing. "Sorry boss, the call to kill you seemed real at the time. I was totally taken in."
"Don't worry, these bitches have been deceiving the planet for over five years. More than enough practice to pull this crap off."
"Grimlock!" Megatron called out. Grimlock turned to look upon the battered but smiling face. "This isn't over, Nyonian."
Grimlock nodded. "I'm aware of that."
Polar Claw
Flames and cries of both battle-lust and agony filled the distant sky. Citadel Convoy had been razed to the ground, most of its occupants slaughtered in the first few moments of the attack, the majority of those that made it out of the citadel were hunted down before they could make it out of the Convoy Demesne. Polar Claw was one of the few; possibly the only. 'Well, not the only', he mused, looking down at the stasis pod he hugged in his arms. The Nyonians had chosen to take advantage of the distraction of the recent birthquake to launch their assault. The chaos of the planet-wide tectonic upheavals and the rejoicing at and preparation for new lives had guaranteed that their early actions had gone unnoticed and any sort of reaction would be late in coming. Nobody could predict a vectoral surge, at least as far as Polar Claw was aware, so either this was random luck aiding in Saurus Onyx's dishonorable attack, or they had been patiently biding their time. Ultimately it mattered not, the end result was the same. House Convoy was all but exterminated. In fact, the only Convoy he knew to be alive was this protoform, one put into stasis the moment his overall humanoid form had taken shape. His optics had yet to take shape, he truly was a blank slate. If he was the only survivor, then the CNA of House Convoy might live on, but the most important parts, the values, honor, courage and tradition, would have to be taught him by non-Convoys like Polar Claw or whatever loyal retainers, vassals or subjects still survived.
He had been charged by Great Convoy himself with spiriting the protoform to The Decagon, and he would be sure to get him there, but first he had to know whether there were other survivors. He and the stasis pod hid in a cavern at the base of Mount Perseverance, a place where the most loyal retainers to House Convoy knew to assemble should tragedy fall. He was about ready to give up hope of any other survivors when he heard the sounds of gentle, uneven footsteps outside. Placing the stasis pod behind a rock to his side, he readied the rifle he had taken off the corpse of the Nyonian invader, and set his battle axe to his side should he need to grab it. A moment later a red and gray form carrying a black casket stood in the entranceway. "Backstop!" Polar Claw excitedly but quietly called out. It made sense that those to have escaped the carnage were ones with bestial alternate modes; the Nyonians likely mistook Backstop as one of them as they had with Polar Claw.
"Who's there?" The old robot called out hesitantly. Polar Claw stepped forward. He was young, and had only met Backstop on a few occasions, but Polar Claw had grown in prominence in his service to House Convoy, and was confident he would be recognized. "Ahh, Something-Claw, right?"
"Polar Claw, sir." The young red and white robot replied.
"There are no others?" The old bot asked.
"Not that I have seen." Polar Claw sadly replied, the damp ceiling of the cave dripping water down onto his head and shoulders.
Backstop glared at him angrily. "You fled. You carried no one?" His teeth grit. "Craven."
"I am no craven, sir!" Polar Claw snarled before reaching back and pulling forth the stasis pod. He noted Backstop's optics stretch wide at seeing it. "Great Convoy tasked me with seeing the newborn to safety. I decided that to be of greater import than anything else."
"You decided correctly, my friend." Backstop hung his head shamefully. "I offer my most sincere apology. You are no craven, you are a loyal, courageous and honorable vassal. You have done well, Polar Claw."
"You honor me sir." Polar Claw replied. "But I have not succeeded yet, I fear. I must get to The Decagon, only in that emirate will we find safety."
"Ah, yes, Great Convoy has a strong friendship with Fastness Maximus, and he knows that sanctuary will be provided to any Convoy or individual in service to the Convoys within his emirate." Backstop replied thoughtfully.
"Then we will travel there together." Polar Claw replied.
"Nay, friend Polar Claw." Backstop sadly replied. "I wish you all haste and safety, but I must travel a different path to a different location."
Polar Claw could not believe his audio receptors. He took a step toward the short, stout warrior. "Why is that, sir? We cannot protect each other from different paths, and surely House Maximus will provide you welcome and shelter."
"Aye, I know that." Backstop replied sadly. "As does Saurus Onyx. You will likely find safety, enough to repel his forces should he push that far north. But we cannot put all hope for House Convoy in one location." He tapped the casket, a shiny black substance. "Black coral, harvested from the northwestern shore of the Mithril Sea and crafted into this small cask, a gift to House Convoy by Paxus himself for their valor and leadership in the War For Sparks. It now contains all that remains of Convoy sentio metallico," Backstop's optic were suddenly cast downward, the rest of his sentence barely making it out as a whisper, "that which was left in the Convoy Pool was devoured by cosmic rust, the vile substance pumped in by Saurus Onyx himself."
"Bastard!" Polar Claw snarled. He looked reverently at the cask. "Sir, I assure you it will be safe under the protection of House Maximus."
"I can be sure of no such thing." Backstop replied. "Deathsaurus's armies may overrun those of the north. Nay, I cannot keep this precious cargo behind a force that may be overwhelmed. I must use stealth, speed and cunning to keep it from ever being found."
"Good sir, where do you plan on hiding it?"
Backstop thought deeply for many moments before providing an answer. "Deathsaurus may or may not suspect metallico was removed, but I must assume that he does. In which case he will likely believe that I seek to find a hotspot to deposit it in hopes of bringing forth another Convoy. The CNA will be mixed with that possessed by the native metallico, but the traits will have a chance of living on, and so Onyx will assume that to be my course of action."
"It is sound reasoning, sir."
"Aye, which is why I must not follow that course of action." Backstop once again remained silent for a spell as he pondered his course of action. "I will take it where there are no prying optics, and where no one would ever hope to find a spark."
"Hotspot emerge at random, sir, and I know of no place that is devoid of optics." Polar Claw advised.
"I know of one. The only place Saurus Onyx will never look for the sentio metallico of House Convoy." Backstop answered brusquely. "Primus speed, Polar Claw, do your duty, and perhaps someday we will find one another, hopefully in the service of these two." He nodded from the stasis pod to the cask.
"Aye good sir, fare well."
"Polar Claw!" The red and white robot, similar to how he had been in his dream but with pieces of heavily modified alternate mode, including fur and flesh, sat up suddenly as he came back online. He quickly gazed at his surroundings, the familiarity of his chambers within the Axalon, and an uninvited visitor gently chuckling at him. "I don't care how old I get, that never stops being funny."
"What do you want, Wolfang?" Polar Claw grumbled as he got up off his slab and walked to the door.
"A mountain of naturally occurring energon, the fur on my belly perpetually rubbed, and a harem of beautiful femmes that are OK with sharing me." The smaller blue and gray robot muttered as he followed his commanding officer out into the hallway. "But for now I'd be more than happy to settle for a ship to take us home."
"The mission is not yet complete." Polar Claw replied.
"You're slaggin' kidding me, right?" Wolfang snapped as they entered the bridge of the ship. "Alpha Trion, or whatever the hell his name is, is a human prisoner. And frankly, I'm glad. He can tell them all about the Manifest, Atlantis, the base beneath it, and in a few decades they'll have the tech to nuke it all to atoms; and we both know they'll be all for nuking it all to atoms. And frankly, once they're told about the Ferrotaxis, it'd be impossible not to concede that they're fully justified in doing so! So, let's pull everyone in. Let's scavenge whatever parts we need from Cybertronian wrecks, corpses and whatever human tech might be useful, and either repair the Axalon or build a ship from scratch. Hell, you're keeping it under wraps, but we know that there's something likely Cybertronian buried in the ice a few miles from here, we can cannibalize that! We all want to go home. We all deserve to go home. Let's go home!"
"We remain until the mission is completed or we are relieved." Polar Claw replied, immediately recognizing his poor choice in words.
"Relieved?" Wolfang asked in surprise. "There was only one guy who knew we were here, and he's now strapped to a slab in Alamogordo! At least, I assume he's still there. Hell, it's been five years, they've probably dismantled ol' Abdicator and sent pieces all over the country to be studied."
"I believe the Americans would prefer to keep him alive." The red and white robot replied as he sat down in the captain's chair. "But you're right about one thing, he is the only one to dismiss us, which is why we need to intervene on his behalf."
Wolfang laughed loudly. "Wait, you want to spring him, all while maintaining our long mandated cover?"
Polar Claw whirled the chair around and faced him. "What other choice do we have? You want to be relieved, well, unless another Convoy springs up, Atrium is the only one to do so. He's our commanding officer, and he's been captured. Not only that, but he's far more technologically adept than the rest of us combined, so you want a ship off this planet, again, we need to spring him. So, any other objections to us freeing him?"
Wolfang smiled broadly. "When you put it that way, no, no more objections. May I suggest Magna Team for this?"
"Two animals native to Africa, one a lion the size of a rhino, the other an elephant the size of, well, an elephant, and a bald eagle, which is at least native to the North American continent, but unfortunately this particular eagle has a wingspan three times greater than any other eagle on the planet." Polar Claw clarified.
"Well, in all honestly, I was thinking more about the fifty foot robot the size of a fifty foot robot." Wolfang answered. "I mean, Primus forbid the humans interrogating an alien robot suspect that there are alien robots on their planet."
"Smart ass." Polar Claw grumbled as he rotated back around to look out the transparent metal windshield displaying the vast icy artic. A buzzing from the console ended any reply other than laughter that Wolfang was going to present. A surprised Polar Claw reached forward and looked at the console before casually looking over at Wolfang. "Originating from outside the system. Countless millennia without a peep, and in the span of five rotations our phone is ringing off the hook."
Wolfang huffed in amusement. "It's the first call in five years."
"Speak." Polar Claw muttered after switching the frequency open.
"Good, Cybertronian. Based on what I've been told, I had a genuine fear that the hairless apes native to your colony would be answering." An arrogant voice came through.
"Identify yourself." Polar Claw demanded.
"I am Sky Shadow, Regional Governor of Sector Four Thirteen, Eukaris." The voice shot back. "And to whom am I speaking?"
"My name is Polar Claw, and we've had our fill of Eukarian interest in this planet." The red and white Maximal grumbled into the speaker.
"Oh, that's most unfortunate, because I've become very interested in your planet." The arrogant voice chuckled. "Several years ago a ship landed on our planet, in my region, attempting to evade our detection. Despite their efforts, we detected, tracked and captured their ship, but not until after they had disappeared into the jungle. It took a few years, but we managed to track them down and round them up one by one. And they tell an interesting tale, didn't even require any interrogation. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by that, you're they're enemies, and even those they called allies were only allies because they were conscripted into service by the criminal Cryotek."
"What are your intentions?" Polar Claw asked, his voice devoid of the fear slowly welling up inside of him. His men couldn't handle a fourth war of beasts, and the world they lived in now was vastly different than the Earth of the previous wars. The humans had advanced just enough to be a danger to themselves and the Maximals who would attempt to keep them from harm, but he had no faith that they'd be able to do any damage to Eukarian invaders.
"I haven't fully fleshed out my intentions yet, but rest assured, I most definitely am interested in the Manifest, and Jhiaxus's lab, specifically this Ferrotaxis." Sky Shadow replied, mirth still etched into his voice. "Normally I wouldn't have bothered to inform you of this, but the description of your remaining forces as described by the prisoners has made it clear that you will pose no threat. A handful of Decagon Convoy loyalists amount to nothing."
"Perhaps you knew Magmatron, he was of Eukaris." Polar Claw replied smugly. "He once felt as you do. We Maximals still exist, he does not."
"Nor do the Convoys who led you!" Sky Shadow shot back.
"The greatest warlords of Eukaris and Beest have taken their shot at us and failed." Polar Claw snapped back, this time a bit a humor in his voice. "And while we are weaker without our fallen Convoy brethren, I'm confident that we are more than enough to handle some regional governor unfit to polish the floors of Magmatron's Eukarian manse."
"That confidence will be your downfall, Maximal." Sky Shadow bit a quick reply before ending the communication.
Polar Claw switched closed the dead signal and rotated back to the worried face of Wolfang. "Alert the others to this, and have them ready to respond at a moment's notice."
"And plans to free Primon?" Wolfang asked. "He didn't fare particularly well against Tripredacus, but according to legend he killed Deathsaurus in single combat. He might be of use if war is to come again. At the very least he should be capable of designing potent weapons to use against the Predacons of Eukaris."
Polar Claw leaned back and considered that. "Command Rattrap to track him and report when he has something."
Roller
It was hot. The heat and steam was the first thing that Roller had noticed as he walked through the gate and entered this final chamber. The heat had immediately ceased to exist to him the moment he witnessed the wall step toward him and Kup, causing him to jump back. Kup must have seen this reaction countless times before from other visitors seeking an audience with Omega Supreme, but those previous experiences had not dulled him to the event enough to keep him from laughing. Roller was just now getting to the point where he had composed himself enough to address the giant. "Great Omega Supreme, oldest and greatest defender of the realm, I thank for you agreeing to meet with me."
"You claim that your polyhistor has revealed his secrets to you?" Omega Supreme's green optics burned through the steam of the dimly lit chamber, his booming voice flat and devoid of any emotion. It was unnerving to the young Pax, who was already having difficulty considering the giant as just another Cybertronian; the lack of any sense of feeling in a voice that was a force of nature only enhanced his apprehension.
Roller pushed passed his trepidation and smiled at the behemoth. "Alpha Trion" he noted Kup and Omega Supreme exchange glances at his use of the name, "is so ancient that to reveal all of his secrets to me would take vorns, but yes, he has revealed much."
"To me Alpha Trion is but middle aged," Omega responded, "I have seen with my own optics creatures and events which he considers legend and myth. And you, a child of six years, it is doubtful these matters you consider to be of great weight and significance are worth my attention."
"I am all but certain that Sentinel Honorum, a being I know for a fact you feel to be unfit to be a Prime, intends to attack The Torus Heights." Roller countered. "I cannot believe that the fall of House Pax is beneath your attention."
"Paxus is dead. Arlon is dead. I valued them and their ideals, as I did those of Honorus." Omega reasoned. "If I am to care nothing for Sentinel of House Honorum, why should I care for Roller, or Olnius, or Torenia, or Stronghold, or any other member of House Pax?"
"I could tell you that we have held the ideals of our founder to a greater extent than the descendants of House Honorum. I could try to explain that in this conflict that seems petty to you that we are in the right. I could try to justify my position in several different ways, but ultimately I'm telling you not to care about Roller. Do not care about Torenia. Do not care about Olnius or Stronghold or Loronus. Do not care about any of the members of House Pax…save one. I'm going to tell you that you need to give a care for Orion Pax."
"The foundling?" The thunderous volume of Omega Supreme's already booming voice impossibly increased. "A six year old tells me that another six year old demands my intervention?"
"Aye!" Roller answered without hesitation, stepping toward the giant over the moist stone and metal floor as he continued. "I am merely reporting what Alpha Trion told me before spiriting that foundling to safety off-world. Orion of House Pax, the only one of our kind to be spawned on Isla Avalonius, born of green spark, dense, incompatible metals, and sentio metallico," the blue robot withdrew a black shard of shiny material and tossed it at the huge right foot of the giant, "metallico harvested in ages past, by persons unknown, for purposes unknown." Roller paused as he and Kup watched Omega Supreme step back with his left leg and place his left knee on the ground to better view this black artifact, a piece too small for him to grasp with his claw. "Alpha Trion believes him to be the Prime who was Promised. Based on that bit of Corallium Furvus found within the cave he was born, it's possible someone else did too."
Omega Supreme studied the piece of black coral for a few more moments before righting himself to his full height and looking back down on his guests. "This means nothing."
"His spark emerged on Isla Avalonius! Off the shores of Iacon!" Roller barked.
"I know where it is." The giant replied indifferently.
"In your long life, have you ever seen that before?" Roller pressed.
"No, but again, it means nothing." Omega countered. "One oddity on a planet of oddities, nothing more."
"One oddity?" Roller grew desperate, he knew he was losing the Guardian's interest, and that his dismissal was close at hand. "But it is not merely one oddity. His spark found metallico left there for a reason."
"You found coral, it is your assumption that it is related to the sentio metallico that birthed your friend." The giant replied, once again indifference etched into his voice. "Sentio metallico emerges naturally all over the planet, where and why are still unknown to the greatest of our scientists. There was a time when the very pool you emerged from was barren."
"True, but add to this the oddity that it was an ignis superious that broke through the mountain floor and drew in the metallico and various other metals; metals that are incompatible with spark-based life, but somehow they not only support his life, they make him damn near impervious." Roller rattled off quickly.
"Bah, ignis superious. As if a green spark were anything special." The giant spat, his voice almost giving the impression of caustic humor, but he calmed and took a more reflective tone as he continued. "I suppose in this era it is. For every forty to sixty thousand ignis communia, there is one ignis superious; the last remnants of an elemental age that was coming to an end when I was born." He peered intently down at the young Pax. "But believe me when I tell you that Vector Sigma's pulses have given greater gifts than green sparks."
"Yes, my polyhis…Alpha Trion has suggested that possibility." Roller replied, knowing that this was taking him off the discussion of enlisting the giant's aid in a battle he feared was imminent.
"Possibility, boy?" For the first time Omega Supreme let out a chuckle. But it lacked any sense of joy, and left Roller feeling more apprehensive than he had before. "I have borne witness to these 'possibilities'. In fact, before you stands one of these 'possibilities'. Do you think even an ignis superious could power a frame such as mine? Do you think a miniscule green spark could enable me to shatter mountains, to overpower hundreds with nothing but my brute strength and invulnerability? You talk of the foundling's invulnerability; trust me child, he and every last living creature on this planet is pathetically vulnerable to the likes of me. And at one time, there were beings that considered the power I wielded to be equally pathetic compared to their might. So don't talk of the significance of your friend's green spark to a being that bears one that glows gold!"
"Fine, I won't." Roller replied. "You've discounted the many unlikelihoods leading to his impossible birth; I don't understand your reasoning for doing so, but I'll accept that. But he has the endorsement of Alpha Trion. I pray that to be less discountable to you."
"The opinions of Alpha Trion carry great weight with me." Omega Supreme replied. "But he made the identical claim of another."
"I know, and he was wrong with Gallus Honorum. He has acknowledged that." Roller explained. "Orion fits the prophecy perfectly."
"Prophecy, bah!" Omega Supreme spat the words out. "I met those prophets he puts so much faith in. I stood guard for those that made themselves my masters, masters that brainwashed me at birth to believe I was a creation created to serve and protect them, and to extend that service and protection to their guests. These particular guests hailed from a planet that existed out of the standard temporal stream, a world my former masters simply referred to as LV117. And child, whatever faith Alpha Trion placed in the words of these creatures is misplaced." He leaned forward, glaring heatedly at the youth. "Alpha Trion's myths were once my reality; where he sees a prophecy, I remember a dizzying tale spun by these temporally displaced aliens meant for nothing more than entertainment."
"It's not just the prophecy!" Roller asserted, glaring back fearlessly. "It's Orion's honor, his intellect, his courage, his sense of justice and equality! His compassion for all life, spark-based and organic, and in the preservation of not just that life, but the dignity attached to it!" His passions enflamed, Roller marched forward several more steps and pointed up at the Guardian, causing Kup to grow nervous. Roller pressed on, ignoring the Lord Commander of the Warden's wariness. "Alpha Trion knows you well, he's known countless millions of us in his long life, and he's known our leaders, our heroes, our champions. He knew the Knights! His vast memory stretches back over twelve and a half million years. And he told me that it is Orion of House Pax that he counts as the greatest of us he has had the honor of knowing." Roller glared silently at the Guardian, hoping desperately that his words would sink in and take root. "One day, hopefully soon, Alpha Trion will return with both the Matrix and Orion Pax. On that day there needs to be somewhere that is secure for them to return to. The Torus Heights is his home, please, great hero of Cybertron, please help us to keep his home secure from tyranny."
Omega Supreme maintained optic-contact with the vastly smaller blue robot for many moments, his face almost betraying a feel of compassion, but after much consideration that hint of compassion passed. "When they return, I will be happy to meet with them. But I will not intervene in your wars. My function is keeping the evil that is confined here from escaping; it is my sole duty. And while you will not believe it, I have felt a restlessness beyond this barrier that I have not felt in fifteen million years. I wish you well, Roller of House Pax, but I will not be abandoning my post to aid you." With that the Guardian raised his gaze and nodded to Kup.
Roller continued staring up at Omega Supreme, trying to ignore the footsteps approaching him. He even tried to ignore the gentle touch on his shoulder. "Come on lad, it's time to go." Roller's gaze dropped dejectedly to the floor, and he then nodded and turned to leave.
Wreck Gar
"Well I like it." Nan-cee replied as she felt the contours of her recently redesigned cranial shell. She once again paced the distance of the private office of the Gar and stopped before the mirror next to the door to admire her new look.
"You know what you look like, don't you?" Wreck Gar asked as he muddled through a pile of reports sent to him from his various Lo-Gars.
"I be knowin' what I be lookin'." Nan-cee replied. "Lithone be smart and good bots. Worth 'miring."
"Yes, smart and worth admiring, but not the most physically attractive of colonials." Wreck-Gar responded, still focused on the reports.
The view of the distant sun setting through the window behind the Gar caught Nan-cee's attention as she turned back to her dismissive and distracted conjux, but after a moment of admiring the scene, she refocused on the Gar. "You fully propah talk now."
Wreck Gar slowly raised his optics to his conjux and considered her statement for a moment. "Yes, I suppose I have gotten to that point." He finally pushed the data-pads away from him and devoted his full attention to her. "At one time, all of us not pulled from protoformal state here spoke proper Cybertronian, or at least something akin to it. Our dialect didn't begin to form until we'd been here for millennia."
"Five years with the Pax Lo-Gar be changin' you." Nan-cee suggested as she sat down.
"We've all changed." Wreck Gar chuckled as he replied to her from across his desk. "Most of what you say is propah talk now too." The Gar of Junk reached out and fingered one of the data pads scattered on his desk. "Speaking of another propah-talker, I'm expecting Detritus shortly. I've summoned him."
"Summoned him?" Nan-cee asked, surprise on her face. "Why-come he be a summonin?" A broad grin coming over her at Wreck Gar's reaction to her exaggerated example of the Junk dialect.
"Very funny, you sounded just like Pinion." Wreck Gar muttered, the humor in his voice not quite making it to his optics. "I've received various reports of dissention and other bits of trouble being stirred up in various regions around Junk. The unrest has taken varying forms, but the one constant is that Detritus Lo-Gar has been present during or shortly preceding these events. Which makes sense, as I've received reports from Zens and other Lo-Gars that he has been expressing dissatisfaction with my decisions."
"Bein' mad you made an off-worlder a Lo-Gar?" Nan-cee asked. "Orion off-worlder, true, but he's best Lo-Gar on Junk. And so 'some, very 'some."
"I wouldn't say that to any other Lo-Gars, but yes, I've been very impressed with his stewardship of his sector." Wreck Gar smiled at the scowl on his conjux.
"Stewardship of his sector?" Nan-cee scoffed. "Propah talk one thing, but foppy-soundin' words annoy."
"You deserved to be annoyed, telling me you think my Pax Lo-Gar is handsome." Wreck Gar replied with a grin.
"Wreck Gar?" Pinion hesitantly muttered through the cracked door.
"Yes Pinion?" Wreck Gar acknowledged.
"Detritus Lo-Gar here ta' be seein' tha' Gar." The timid steward reported.
"Thank you Pinion, please send him in." Wreck Gar replied as he rose to his feet and looked to Nan-cee. "You don't want to be here for this."
"I be knowin' dat." Nan-cee replied as she stood up, leaned over the desk and gave her conjux a peck on the lips. "Stay 'laxed, my Gar." She abruptly turned and headed to the door, smiling at Detritus Lo-Gar who was just entering. "Greetings, my Lo-Gar."
"Greetings Nan-cee." Detritus replied with a smile across his hard, almost cruel-looking face. "You are as lovely as ever, though I can't say I like the change to your cranial shell. It makes you look almost like…I can't quite place it, but I've seen it before."
"A Lithone." Wreck Gar said as he waved Detritus Lo-Gar to the chair that Nan-cee had just left.
"Well I like it." Nan-cee responded as she marched out of the office, shutting the door as she went.
"Thank you for coming." Wreck Gar replied as they both took their seats.
"Of course, my Gar." Detritus replied respectfully. "I will always honor a summons from my Gar."
"There have been allegations made against you, my Lo-Gar, accusations of you speaking against me and advocating peaceful resistance to my rule. Some allegations are that some of that resistance should not be that peaceful." Wreck Gar leaned forward over his desk and peered intently at Detritus. "And there are multiple acts of violence and other forms of civil disobedience left in the wake of your recent visits to various sectors."
"My Gar," the Lo-Gar took on an air of innocence and feigned surprise that was not difficult for Wreck Gar to see through, but he listened politely none the less, "I have never done anything to incite law breaking, violence or civil disobedience. I am not out there fomenting dissent. True, I have spoken of my disappointment in your accepting a royal off-worlder, and then even greater disappointment at you naming him a Lo-Gar last year, but that is no secret. I have told you the very same things directly to your face, and I believe to the core of my spark that such dangers are to be made known to all citizens."
Wreck Gar stared at Detritus evenly for nearly a minute, knowing that the Lo-Gar's ambition and attempts to undermine him had preceded the arrival of Orion Pax by tens of thousands of years, if not more. He reached forward and lifted a pad. "Perhaps it would be better to address each allegation individually."
There was a gentle knock at the worn and rusted metal door. Detritus Lo-Gar turned around in his chair and called out. "Enter." Wreck Gar shuddered slightly with anger at the presumption of his Lo-Gar. Not only was it not his place to halt their discussion and admit whoever knocked, but he did it to put a stop to what was certain to become a dressing down. Detritus remained twisted, looking back at the door, undoubtedly in an attempt to ignore the angry gaze being given off by his Gar.
The door opened and once again Pinion's head poked through the crack. "Da' Pax Lo-Gar here to be seein' da' Gar."
A low grumble preceded Detritus's words. "Tell that off-worlder to…"
"Come in." Wreck Gar finished the statement with his interruption. Pinion's head nodded and disappeared, and a moment later Orion Pax entered the chamber, his finish tarnished and weathered looking, a battle-plate in place over his mouth, a four-bladed battle axe in his left hand and a large, dual-bladed axe strapped to his back. Wreck Gar stood with a smile at seeing his guest. "My young Lo-Gar, how good it is to see you. It has been months!"
"Aye, it has." Orion looked down at Detritus and nodded. "I apologize if I've interrupted, my business can wait."
"No, please, remain." Wreck Gar instructed, earning him a look of anger and disbelief from Detritus's quickly turning head. "We have matters of state and justice to discuss, and I would value your input."
"My Gar, I must protest." Detritus bristled at the indignity of having accusations against him aired before this off-worlder, as if the Gar intended for the royal intruder to pass judgment upon him. "Not only is he unworthy of my presence, but he dares to enter your presence with weapons drawn."
"A gift must be drawn for me to present it to my Gar." Orion replied, twisting the quad-blade so that it was laid out in both hands, and he then bowed his head and extended it toward the approaching Gar. "I forged it myself from a cybertanium alloy. Please be careful, I spent days honing the blades to a point that will cut through virtually anything."
"Liar!" Detritus growled. "There is no more cybertanium to be found on Junk!"
Orion regarded him evenly, his thoughts much harder to get a determination of with that mouth-plate covering half his face. "The ancient records spoke of a home world ship that went down in the Acid Sea seven million years ago. Based on what I know of vessels of that era, I guessed that vast portions of the hull would consist of cybertanium alloys, and that those alloys were durable enough to remain undamaged, even after seven million years at the bottom of the Acid Sea."
"How did you go about retrieving this material?" Wreck Gar asked, astonished by the apparent feat.
Orion shrugged. "I can withstand the acid for long periods of time, so I merely swam to the depth and retrieved portions of the hull." He nodded back over his shoulder. "I intended only to smith you a gift, but I came away with enough material for two axes."
"A gift for your senior Lo-Gar then?" Detritus asked, almost challenging the youngster to refuse him.
"So that you can add it to the other weapons that you have been stockpiling?" Orion asked scornfully, his optics tightening as a look of shock came over Detritus. "Yes, Detritus Lo-Gar, I am aware of your weapons caches in Lafilla Nine, Piletian Four, and Compaxus Two, and I suspect there are several others as well."
Wreck Gar was stunned, and turned his head to fix a glare onto the utter look of surprise and rage etched into Detritus's face. "Is this true?"
"The child exaggerates!" Detritus Lo-Gar grumbled.
"I've compiled a report, it's accurate I assure you." Orion responded. "Wreck Gar can determine whether I've exaggerated or not."
"I should wrench that axe off your back and filet you with it!" Detritus Lo-Gar roared as he jerked to a standing position, knocking over the chair and sending it bouncing across the metal floor.
"I'm sorry, my fellow Lo-Gar, but you may not have the axe." Orion replied, completely undaunted by Detritus's furious display. "Frankly, you should be happy with me. I have provided you with the greatest gift you've ever desired."
"Oh," Detritus snarled, "what gift is that?"
"The gift of pretext." Orion replied. "An excuse. My existence here is something that you can twist into some sort of justification for doing what you've longed to do for a very long time. You've wished to rise up and take the title of Gar for yourself. With me not only having been given sanctuary here, but now a position of authority, you can call not only Wreck Gar into question, but the democratic process that made him Gar into question." Orion glared heatedly at Detritus, silently issuing his own challenge. "You've wished to wrest control of this planet from Wreck Gar since well before I was born, you now have your pretext to set those events into motion."
"Lies!" Detritus roared. "You are a filthy royal tool to facilitate Cybertron's conquest of us, and now you have revealed yourself to be a liar devoid of honor!"
"One of us has." Orion replied calmly.
"You have brought your evidence?" Wreck Gar asked the young Pax.
"I have, Wreck Gar." Orion replied, still staring intently at Detritus.
"Detritus Lo-Gar, you will be given every opportunity and resource needed to answer these charges and their corresponding evidence." Wreck Gar replied.
"Then prepare your case, my Gar." Detritus snarled, optics still locked onto those of Orion. "I will prepare my defense and the truth will come out at last." With that Detritus stormed toward the door, yanked it open and marched out.
"We should detain him." Orion suggested.
"You've done nothing but make accusations, Pax Lo-Gar." Wreck Gar answered, though his voice wavered; he agreed with Orion, but he couldn't bring himself to act against one of his oldest friends.
"The accusations are true, the evidence is beyond sufficient to prove them, and he is aware of this." Orion explained. "His only course of action is to set his uprising into motion. If he leaves the capital, he will wage war."
"I pray you're wrong, young Orion."
Shockwave
"I have found them." Shockwave relayed to Soundwave. He knew his kinsman would forward the message on to Megatron, but he and his ten House Torrent guards were not going to wait for an order from the gladiator. The Nyonian saurian warriors knew too much, and were fully intent on exposing them. They needed to be silenced. Grimlock and his team had managed to come by some rifles and had fought their way out of the coliseum and disappeared into the wastelands. Starscream had assured everyone that they would be apprehended soon enough. After two hours Shockwave had run out of patience and set out with the Torrent guards. It had taken him another hour, but he had finally succeeded where Starscream had failed. The five fugitive gladiators were up ahead, moving as quickly as their robotic forms could run through the narrow ravine.
Shockwave had redesigned his alternate mode several times before settling on the wide spectrum mobile cannon he was right now. With the fusion generator he had built into his chest and the various other modifications he'd made or had others make to his frame, he was capable of flight as well as emitting energy pulses that could range from gentle waves to horrific rounds of destruction. Right now, with the five targets moving quickly through the rust mountains, he opted for something much closer to the latter. The flying purple cannon spit forth an orb of fusion energy that blasted the center of Grimlock's back, undoubtedly killing him and sending him and all four of his teammates flying in various directions. "Stand down Nyonians, there is no escape!"
The scorched Grimlock groaned wearily as he slowly rolled over, causing a ripple of surprise to flow through Shockwave. He had not expected the warrior to survive that shot, much less remain conscious and try to stand as he was doing now. All five of the gladiators rose to their feet and looked up to the massive purple cannon and ten jet or helicopter modified guards bearing down on them from the dark, cloudy sky. "You OK Grimlock?" The winged Swoop asked.
"Fine." Grimlock grumbled, transforming to saurian mode and roaring into the night. "Kill them!" A stream of intense blue flame shot forth and enveloped the closest guard, melting his armor and sending him crashing to the ground. He was likely dead, not that it mattered to Shockwave as his other troops began taking fire from the stolen rifles and Grimlock's redirected flame.
Shockwave transformed, and leveled his wrist cannon at the group. Like with his cannon mode, the wrist cannon emitted energy that could range from harmless to well beyond lethal, though apparently not that lethal to the likes of Grimlock. Whatever, as powerful as the Nyonian juggernaut was, he could not withstand repeated shots. He fired at the bipedal saurian, but the beast was prepared and moved enough so that it was only a glancing shot across his spiked metal back. Shockwave was rewarded with a stream of intense blue flame that was enough to force him to take cover. The remaining nine guards, arrogant fools, decided to engage the gladiators at close range, and as Shockwave could have guessed, were now paying for their stupidity. Nine had become six, and before Shockwave could reposition himself for another shot, six had become four. He poked around a metal boulder and scored a powerful bolt against the bestial neck of Grimlock, sending the monster back and to the ground, and by Shockwave's estimates, eliminating the threat posed by his fire breath. Shockwave stood up and stepped away from his cover, allowing Grimlock a clear shot. The draco-saur attempted to spit forth another line of flame, but as Shockwave had guessed, the weapons system associated with that had been damaged beyond functional status. "I will tell you again, stand down!"
"You're only telling us that to lull us into thinking you want to apprehend us!" Swoop snapped. "We all know you mean to execute us!"
"I guess you're smarter than you look." Shockwave replied as he fired a shot that blasted Swoop's left wing apart.
"Lord Onyx, I've found them!" Shockwave's head yanked around to see the small flier zip by overhead. "Shockwave of House Torrent is engaging them!"
Shockwave considered blasting the small black jet out of the sky, but the damage had been done. Ogrus Onyx had been out searching for his gladiators in person, and based on the scans that he had just conducted, the Emir of Nyon would be there in under two minutes. His only course of action was to engage the gladiators and make it look as though killing them was his only option to Onyx's aerial spy. Shockwave charged forward peppering the gladiators with repeated shots that punctured their armor but failed to put them down. He was startled by the saurian form transforming and the now-robotic Grimlock charging out to meet him. "Let's see if you're just a cannon, or if you can really hit!" Grimlock roared as he slammed his giant black fist into the side of Shockwave's head. Everything went black momentarily, but only momentarily, and Shockwave replied to the punch with one of his own. Grimlock was sent stumbling back as well, rubbing his jaw and chuckling through his faceplate. "I guess you can."
Shockwave raised his cannon arm, but Grimlock was on him again before he could get a shot off, and the two traded blows while the other four gladiators finished off the House Torrent guards. "Grimlock, stand down!" The thunderous voice of Ogrus Onyx boomed off the walls of the tight ravine. Grimlock and his gladiators turned to look upon their liege lord. "Haven't you done enough damage to my pride and honor today?" He yelled, keeping his rifle aligned at them, just as the rifles of his twenty guards were aligned on the gladiators. Ogrus turned to Shockwave. "Lord Shockwave, you have my gratitude for locating and engaging my vassals. I will provide restitution for any guards lost in this fight, as well as a reward."
"Idiot!" Grimlock snarled. "Don't offer this shitbag a reward, he's trying to kill us before we expose what he, Megatron, Starscream and others are up to."
"Silence, worm!" Ogrus roared.
"They're seeking to overthrow the government, to overthrow the system of nobility and royalty!" Swoop chimed in. "The terrorist attacks that have been going off almost weekly for the last several years, those aren't the Autobots, they're Megatron's band of psychopaths!"
Ogrus chuckled. "You mean to tell me that Shockwave of House Torrent and Starscream of House Nexus are involved in a plot to overthrow the royal houses?" His chuckle rose to a deep laugh. "Fools, do you have any idea of how stupid that sounds?"
Grimlock stepped forward. "Starscream is an opportunistic twat casting his lot in with who he thinks will win. Shockwave, hell, not sure why he's involved. Maybe he's tired of Lightwave being in charge of his House. Ultimately it doesn't matter, take one look at my back and it's obvious they weren't trying to subdue us, they're trying to kill us." Grimlock turned around to display the wound Shockwave had given him in cannon mode, but immediately transformed and his saurian jaws were locking onto Shockwave's shoulder before the purple royal could react. Grimlock bit hard, tearing through much of the powerful frame, but not as much or as easily as he was accustomed to. Once again Grimlock was impressed by the physical power of Shockwave, but just because he could not bite the royal in half didn't keep him from whipping Shockwave around, against the ravine walls, and causing extensive damage.
The saurian finally spat Shockwave loose, letting him collapse to the ground. Onyx's forces had engaged the gladiators, but Grimlock charged into them and scattered them about. Shockwave pressed his back against the wall and pushed against it to rise to his feet, but before he could get fully upright a horn from the bestial form of the one called Slag impaled his abdomen. "No bitch, you're done with this fight!" Shockwave grunted as he pushed the beast back, pulling the dripping, fluid-slick horn out of him and looking down to see the damage. Before he could fully evaluate his injuries, a speeding razor-barbed tail impacted him against his face. He was stunned even before the back of his head slammed against the metal cliff wall behind him, and did not see the largest member of the team, the one called Sludge, charge him and drive his sword into the puncture than Slag had made seconds before. "Ughnnnn." Shockwave groaned as Sludge yanked his blade free and then reared back and whipped around, slamming the bottom of his fist across the side of Shockwave's head. He wasn't Grimlock, but he was monstrously strong.
Shockwave went down to the ground hard, still conscious but critically damaged. While he had gone through many alterations to his shell mode, he had never truly bothered with armor or press enhancements. At this moment he was regretting that decision, along with his decision not to bother learning any of the combat arts. "Grimlock, we need to get the hell out of here!" The voice he knew to belong to Swoop yelled out over the commotion.
"I know!" He heard Grimlock reply with a roar. "Onyx, I know that reinforcements are coming, otherwise I'd stay to kill you. Instead, I'll give you some advice; watch your friends! They're a far greater threat than we could ever be!" Shockwave turned his aching head toward the voice and watched as the saurian marched toward him. "Nice meeting you Lord Shockwave." The stomp from the beast's foot turned everything black.
Harry S Truman
As the car pulled up in front of the Army Medical Laboratory in the Edgewood Arsenal, the President readjusted his fake mustache, wincing once again at the awful smell of the chemical adhesive doing a poor job of keeping the faux hair stuck to his face. "Perhaps I should leave a sample of this damned glue for the doctors to play with. I can't imagine mustard gas being any worse than this." He muttered to his driver, turning his head enough to see if the comment got a reaction through his good…well, not good, but less useless right eye. The driver did chuckle lightly, but chances are it was more a show of politeness to his Commander in Chief than any actual humor. The disguise, an Army Colonel's uniform complete with hat to accompany the thick, bushy mustache, seemed unnecessary, but there was no official reason for the President to be visiting a chemical weapons facility. Nobody could know that he was there to visit a prisoner; a prisoner made of metal, over twenty feet tall, able to shift its shape into a functioning vehicle, older than, well, older than any God-fearing person would believe, smarter than the Paperclip scoundrels being recruited, and most frightening of all, far from unique.
He emerged from the car and quickly made his way into the building, through the corridors to the hidden elevator near the center of the building, and entered it, allowing the operator to take them down to the hidden levels hundreds of feet below. As the door opened he unceremoniously peeled off the accursed fake mustache and removed his cap as a pair of guards saluted him. He nodded and continued forward through the double doors that opened up to a well-lit expanse of a facility beyond. Soldiers stood at attention and scientists in lab coats scurried all around the facility, dozens of each. In the center of it all, free to move within the confines of a heavily electrified two hundred foot by two hundred foot cage was the alien in question. The President made his way toward the cage housing the prisoner, a prisoner that he had reluctantly forced himself to admit had become a friend. He had come to enjoy these visits, though technically he still felt obligated to consider them interrogations.
"It's your move, Mr. President." The alien announced, nodding lightly toward the chess board set up not far from the giant micro-fiche station they had built for him to allow for the reading of material they determined to be safe to reveal. He had thanked them sincerely, but then commented that keeping materials from him was pointless. Either he was no threat to them and should be able to read whatever documents he wanted, or he was, but the technology at the disposal of his people was such that they could gain access to any secrets they wanted, but that they likely wouldn't want any as their resources were so far advanced of Earth's that they wouldn't need bothering with any of their precious secrets. It was a valid point, but there was no way they were going to give him anything sensitive. Ultimately it didn't matter, he never asked for anything other than history, art, culture and a few bits of fiction, all of which seemed innocuous enough.
"Thank you, Alpha." The President replied as he entered the vast cage. The guards were still beyond apprehensive of him doing that, but Truman knew he wouldn't be harmed, and had always entered despite their protests. "I'm a bit weary, chess doesn't suit me today. I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not, Mr. President." The giant mechanical alien replied with a grin, finally turning away from the large screen displaying whatever he had been reading. "I understand you have a lot on your plate right now."
Truman chuckled. "When do I not?"
Alpha Trion turned fully away from the large screen to face his visitor. "The weight of leadership is staggering. I do understand much of what you're going through."
The President nodded. "I knew I was in for it when Eleanor looked me in the eyes and told me Franklin had passed. She was newly widowed, her husband barely hours dead, and I sought to console her. I asked if there was anything I could do for her, which caused her to give a sad smile and ask what she could do for me, that I was the one in trouble now." He laughed lightly at the memory. "She wasn't kidding."
"Yet you sought a term of your own three years later." Alpha replied. "You must like being in trouble."
"I must." Harry replied. "I thank The Lord that Ike didn't want the job and Dewey listened to those spineless campaign managers telling him to coast into the presidency." He smiled up at the giant. "I enjoy our conversations, oh, excuse me, these interrogations far too much to have let either of them take them from me."
"So what is it today?" The alien asked.
"The Ferrotaxis." The President answered.
"Ah, a terrible weapon that should never be used, but you know all too well that there are those that will use it." Alpha Trion muttered.
"Don't start!" The President grumbled. "Your Ferrotaxis isn't a weapon to win a war, it's a device to wipe out a planet. And besides, using the bomb saved far more lives than it took."
"Not according to General Eisenhower." Trion replied.
"Ike knew Europe, he didn't know the Japs!" Truman grumbled. "MacArthur and I can't agree on the color of shit, but we were of one mind on this. The Japanese would have kept it up for over a year at least, requiring us to lose hundreds of thousands of troops, and requiring themselves to lose even more. Ike likes to say the Japs were looking for an honorable out. We wouldn't have needed to drop Fat Man if that were the case."
Alpha Trion looked away in exasperation, but gave up. "I've told you all I know of the Ferrotaxis, Mr. President."
"There has to be more." Truman pressed. "Something we've missed. Start over, tell me of the device's creator."
Alpha Trion glanced around the cage before answering. "As I've told you before, Jhiaxus was a brilliant scientist unencumbered by ethics in any way. He came into the service of Cybertron's leader, Guardian Prime. I had already noticed changes occurring in my leader that were disconcerting, things I attributed to the influence of his second, Galvatron."
"His former enemy." Truman replied, having heard all this before. "I still don't understand that."
"Yes you do." Alpha Trion replied. "You who sat shoulder to shoulder with Stalin in Potsdam and casually mentioned your atomic weapon to him; you do understand the need to make compromises with those you hate."
"I was trying to intimidate him. Fat lot of good that did, the sum-bitch knew about the bomb long before I did." He chuckled and nodded. "But yes, point taken. Please continue."
"Galvatron's influencing of Guardian was minor, but once Jhiaxus became a member of their little circle, the changes in my friend became more pronounced." Alpha Trion looked down sadly. "To the point where I could no longer deny them. There was no limit to Jhiaxus's ambition. Truth be told, I would consider myself to be at least his equal scientifically, but there are limits to what I'll do, lines I won't cross. Jhiaxus knew no boundaries but the ones forced on him by Guardian. One such situation was the Ferrotaxis, a device that in theory could turn organic material into the metallic compositions native to our world, or at least a very close approximation of those materials. The process of course would eliminate any organic life that came into contact with it. At hearing of his plans to create this device I immediately sought out my friend, hoping he was not so far gone as to allow this abomination." The robot gave a sad, cynical smile. "My faith in my friend was restored, he agreed and shut down Jhiaxus's plans for the weapon. He even denounced the weapon before the senate." The smile faded and Trion once again lowered his head and peered at the ground. "I found out five years ago that it was all just a lie. I had believed that the Manifest's arrival here signified that this planet was chosen to be colonized as other worlds lacking intelligent life had been colonized. I was opposed to the colonization of life-bearing organic worlds, I had even recruited a trusted friend to set out and secretly obtain information on the colonies we knew of, and any we did not know of. I had long been growing suspicious of Guardian Prime's expansionist ambitions at the expense of other species; outposts were fine, but large scale colonization would require a lot of cyberforming and other changes detrimental to the native flora and fauna. Not that it mattered, by the time the Manifest launched I had already set upon my course of action. In fact, it was the arrival of Guardian Prime and his inner circle to your planet that was the culmination of my act of insurrection. I had assumed your planet to be nothing more than an opportunity for Prime to expand; I was not aware that Jhiaxus had been here long before and had been using a facility here to invent and test his horrific creations. From what I understand he had created an artificial island, and build his base deep within it. It is there that he apparently completed the Ferrotaxis, as well as other…things." Alpha Trion spat.
He then looked back through the thick lenses and into the eyes of his human friend. "I was unaware of Jhiaxus's prior involvement with your planet and the existence of the Ferrotaxis when I sabotaged the Manifest and its crew. I simply thought this was a verdant organic world thus far untouched by Cybertronian hands when I scuttled the ship into one of your oceans. I don't remember Jhiaxus's island, truth be told I didn't look for it and likely wouldn't have noticed it being different than any other land mass had I casually come across it. I positioned a garrison of trusted soldiers here to guard the Manifest, and I left, hoping to one day change Cybertron so that I could return Guardian Prime, Galvatron, Jhiaxus and the others to face a justice that they deserved. But I failed to change my world, and once again I allowed doubt and self-pity to keep me from achieving what I had initially set out to achieve, abandoning those protecting your world in the process. Criminals and warlords from other colony worlds found Earth, wars were waged, both the Manifest and Jhiaxus's holdings were discovered and violated, but my friends prevailed against impossible odds; many of them paying the ultimate sacrifice to do so. The last of these wars ended eleven thousand years ago, when a criminal turned warlord activated the Ferrotaxis on Jhiaxus's island. A brave soldier sacrificed himself to destroy the Ferrotaxis, finally killing this Cryotek but sacrificing himself and the island to do so. He was the last of his House." There was a long silence, but after close to a minute Alpha Trion finally finished. "I promise you, Mr. President, that's all I know of the Ferrotaxis. Perhaps if you would allow me to make contact with the last of the Maximals stationed on your planet they could tell you more."
Truman rolled his eyes. "You know that there's no way I can let you do that."
Alpha Trion nodded. "Yes, I understand. But without them there's little chance of you finding the Ferrotaxis and making sure it's destroyed for good."
"I've got very smart men pouring over every Atlantis myth we can find." The President replied. "Perhaps something there will help us out."
The robot shrugged, doubt clear in his expression. "Possibly." He then gave a sad smile. "Even the Manifest has been moved from where I left it, so I'm of no use to you on that front either."
Truman rolled his eyes. "Maybe if you told us where your friends are…"
"They haven't told me of the location of their base, though I could probably guess." Alpha Trion replied. "But I have already betrayed them far too much, and frankly, telling you wouldn't do you any good. They'd detect you and relocate long before you got to them."
The President took a deep, exasperated breath. "Fine, then tell me again how it is that your type of life can exist."
Alpha Trion smiled. "Thirteen point eight billion of your years ago all matter and energy was condensed into an infinitesimally small coalescence of…well, everything. In an instant it erupted, its expansion vaster than even I can easily envision. But the energies didn't transfer evenly, and enriched portions of energy collected, creating instances of hyper-dense energy clusters that kept their vast energies contained within themselves…for the most part. There were different categories of these clusters, the most energy-dense that we've come across are categorized as Omega class or caliber. These have a strong gravitational pull, so planets always form around them, which is the case of our Cybertron. Often times these clusters will pulse, emitting a tiny fraction of its life-giving energies, which if exposed to the right mix of nourishing materials…" The alien droned on, and Harry Truman quickly regretting steering the conversation this way.
Glyph
"They're not caverns!" Glyph called out to the rest of her team as they tried to keep up with her in the narrow corridor.
"Fine, tunnels, whatever!" Tap-Out called back. "You're right, the walls are too smooth, they're likely artificial."
"They're not tunnels either!" Glyph called out as she finally reached the end of the long tube. Most of her team were unable to follow her, the tubes this deep were far too narrow for anyone over ten feet in height to travel through. Even her nine-foot frame was too large to comfortably fit within this structure, and she had been forced to run in a crouched position for miles. She had drilled through the metal hours before, discovering this hive of what appeared to be tunnels. Her team had insisted that they were so deep down that no Cybertronian had ever been there before, but it didn't take long to recognize that this was not a natural formation…at least, it wasn't just a series of caverns anyway. She had believed she had found a long buried and forgotten temple, perhaps left by those she believed to have predated her species.
She sent up word of her discovery, which was met with obvious skepticism, but the team had traveled down after her anyway. Even if she was wrong and it wasn't a built structure, a cave system so far down would be more interesting than anything they'd found at the upper levels in recent months. The lower levels of Nyon had produced vast paleontological and archeological treasures, but the discoveries had seemed to run dry about half a year ago. A cave system, naturally forming or not, could have been used as a haven for creatures; creatures that could have died and left their remains within to be discovered millions of years later.
But it wasn't until Glyph had noticed that the way this tunnel interacted with other tunnels reminded her of the inner workings of cyberganisms that she considered the possibility that she wasn't in a series of cavern or tunnels, but within the remains of a living being. She knew it was impossible, that despite whatever similarities there may have been, no creature could possibly be this size, no spark could ever power such a being, but despite that she excitedly considered the possibilities. There were legends of a giant at the Tartarun Gates that was more than five times the height of Delta Magnus and possessing the mass of a small holdfast. Of course, even if those legends were true, a being of this size would be proportionally larger than the Tartarun giant as the Tartarun giant was to her. But no matter what, she had found something amazing; she just didn't know what it was yet. "Hurry up!"
Tap-Out finally came into view, the glow of his lamp lighting the lower portion of his face and making shadow monsters of the other members of their group behind him. "OK, Professor Smarty-gears, what exactly have you discovered here?"
"I don't know, but I intend to keep going." She turned to the wall at her back, one that like with the rest of the tunnels they travelled through, was too smooth to be a natural formation in the ground.
"Hold up a moment, Glyph." The voice coming from the depths behind Tap-Out belonged to the graduate student Greenlight. "My sensors are going wonky. Based on the energy levels being given off, I'm guessing there's a huge energon deposit on the other side of that wall."
"Is it stable?" Tap-Out asked.
"I…I don't know." Greenlight replied, her voice apologetic, she hated not having the correct answer at the ready, even for questions asked of Tap-Out, who was not a scientist, just Glyph's boyfriend who made himself useful by doing most of the labor in their camp. "It's not reading as an energon deposit. It's not reading like anything I've seen before."
Tap-Out looked at Glyph. "Get behind me."
"This is my discovery." Glyph grumbled.
Tap-Out gave her a stupid look. "I'm not trying to steal your find. It's still your discovery, I'm just a better cutter."
"You're worried I'll get hurt." Glyph gave him a look.
"You accused me of trying to steal your glory," Tap-Out came back, "to make up for that insult you have to do what I say. So get behind me."
"I did not accuse you." Glyph protested, but she was already scooting back, noting the smile across Tap-Out's face as she was forced to press her body against his to squeeze by.
Tap-Out positioned himself in front of the wall and withdrew his boring tools. He looked back at the group. "I'd feel a lot better if you guys backed up a lot more than that. I don't know what's on the other side of this, but if it's giving off energy readings like that, it can very possibly be dangerous."
"Just shut up and drill, fraidy-cyberfeline." Glyph shot back with a grin, but took a serious look. "Be careful." Tap-Out nodded and got to work. It was slow going, the barrier was several feet thick and the metal quite dense, but he finally cut through. It took him another hour to cut a hole big enough for them to squeeze through. "I love you hun, but I want to be the first to look and go into there!" Glyph called out as Tap-Out pushed the large metal piece through and exposed the opening. Exhausted, he was barely able to turn to face her before she was crawling over him and through the hole beyond, a hole that was already being lit from within by something.
Glyph pushed through and found herself in a room where she could not only stand, but that was well-lit enough for her to see reasonably clearly. Her optics immediately went toward the source of the light, and fixated upon a glowing orange orb that measured fifteen feet in diameter. She fixated on the lightly pulsing orb, failing to notice as her comrades followed her into the chamber. "What is it?" Tap-Out asked, completely in awe of what they were witnessing.
"The Heart of the Dragon." Another grad student, Lancer, muttered out.
"What's the Heart of the Dragon?" Glyph asked, finally breaking away from gazing at the glowing discovery.
"A legend." Lancer replied, the orange portions of her frame reflecting the light in an eerie manner. "A Nyonian legend that Rage told me a few months back when we were heading to this area." Rage was a local Nyonian that had been assigned to the group by House Onyx, the ruling clan. "He joked that it was a myth older than our species, about a power buried deep within the ground, one ancient and terrible. The old gods ruled Cybertron, but there were monsters and demons of such power that couldn't be contained. The gods sought to control them. Some beasts were subdued, but the dragon wouldn't be tamed, and they were forced to kill it. But the heart of the dragon lives on deep within Nyon, the dragon's blood flowing through the metal, which is why Nyon has so many more bestial forms than anywhere else on Cybertron."
"Nyonian beast modes are beast modes because that's what they choose to do with their shells." Tap-Out muttered.
"Yes, but statistically speaking, Nyon does produce far more non-humanoid robotic modes than any other emirate." Glyph muttered. "But ultimately, I agree, it's just a legend, and likely just an unrelated coincidence in regards to this discovery."
"Well," Tap-Out finally tore his optics off of the orb, "come to think of it, this does resemble a spark chamber."
"Whatever it is," Glyph grinned broadly as she started walking around the orb, "it's going to rewrite everything we thought we knew of our planet."
