Chapter 3: Mad World

Bumblebee didn't turn on his optics until he hit the ground, hard enough to bounce. Then he heaved himself up and began to run.

Dust rose in clouds every time his feet hit the dirt, and rocky outcrops still towered above him. The ground bridge must have fizzled out. At least he hadn't fizzled with it. It had been all wrong, walls made out of empty space all looping and warped, like something Escher might have drawn if he'd been more interested in xeno-engineering and less interested in stairs.

Bumblebee shut it out of his mind, focused on keeping his legs moving, braced himself for the pain that jolted through his systems every time his left foot hit the ground.

The scout's spark sank as he heard the familiar sound of transformation behind him, followed by the purr of an engine. He kept going, his path unconsciously curving as he tried to spare his injured leg. The red Aston Martin drew up beside him, keeping pace.

"Bumblebeee." Knock Out drew out the vowel, his deep voice so pitying and smug that it must have been deliberately calculated to irritate. "Where do you think you're going? We both know how this is going to end." He dodged a blast from Bumblebee's stingers without apparent chagrin and without slowing down. "Four-wheels trumps two-legs, so why don't you just—"

It was at this point that Knock Out slammed into a Vehicon hard enough to send it tumbling backwards over his roof.

The strangeness of the moment shocked them both into silence. Bumblebee kept running and Knock Out fought his way out of a spin. Gathering all his strength, the yellow and black Autobot took advantage of the distraction and clawed his way over some boulders. It looked like a good hiding place.

It would've been, too, if it hadn't been for what was on the other side.


Knock Out had just caught the flash of movement as Bumblebee struggled over the rocks. He transformed, shaking his head. Did that idiot Autobot really think it was going to be that easy? Knock Out's strides lengthened into a lope and then a run. In mid-stride he dug his staff into the ground, vaulting himself into the sky. Despite the gouges and scuffs down his front, the sun blazed across his lustrous finish and the staff twirling in his grip spat lightning in jagged bolts.

The ground trembled in a very satisfactory way as he landed, but he was irritated to discover the Autobot staring frozenly at a troop of Vehicon soldiers. He hadn't noticed Knock Out's spectacular entrance at all! The Vehicons had, and automatically jerked their guns towards him. But they were Vehicons. They didn't count.

"Oh, so you lot finally turned up, did you?" Knock Out said, running an optic over the drones. "Good. As you can see, I have one prisoner to transport, plus some salvage around here . . . some . . . place."

Knock Out's vocals slowed as he stared around. Not twenty feet away from him was the entrance of the mine—grungy but functional, and showing no signs that it had been torn apart in an earth-shattering example of combustion just an hour before. No smoke, no burn marks, no destruction. As though the explosion had never happened.

His eyes returned to the Vehicons, studying.

They were an unusual shade, sky blue.

And their guns hadn't lowered.

And the one in front had his designation painted on the right-hand side of his chestplate. B-023.

Knock Out's eyes flicked sideways, noting that Bumblebee's hands were slightly raised, ready to draw out his stingers but not, unfortunately, stupid enough to do it quite yet.

The direct approach, then.

"Excuse me, are you deaf?" The medic crossed his arms, then immediately wished he hadn't. He couldn't use any of his weapons like this. "I believe I told you to pick up that salvage." Technically there wasn't any salvage. So what? Keep going. "Or perhaps you have better things to do than follow the orders of your superiors?" he finished in his most sarcastic tone, raising an eyeridge so high it disappeared under his helm.

"Who are you?" someone shouted from the back. There was always one.

Knock Out rested his optics on the mass of Vehicons muttering and shifting in front of him and dug the speaker out of the crowd with his eyes. The miners in his path parted in a hush as he sauntered up to the challenger. The Vehicon's flinch gave him hope.

"I," he said, giving his words all the weight, disdainful pride, and arrogance they deserved, "am a Decepticon officer."

There was a moment's silence before the Vehicons opened fire.


Bumblebee didn't even have to think; his stingers sprang out at the first sound of gunfire. Most of the miners pressed towards the middle of the crowd, even shooting into it, completely focused on the Decepticon who had so dramatically drawn their attention, but a few had swiveled around to shoot at Bumblebee, an easier and unobstructed target.

The Autobot returned fire as he backed towards the boulders, but he had to stop shooting to scramble over the rocks. As laser blasts seered all around him, he prayed to Primus that he would escape before the rest of the mob remembered him or finished off Knock Out. So far the Decepticon medic was still up, screaming for Starscream and hurling curses at the Vehicons by turns, but Bumblebee had seen some of those first shots hit home.

The scout tumbled over the rock and hit the ground with a sense of relief that almost stunned him. A blast of laserfire had grazed his shoulder and his left leg felt like it was about to fall off, but he ran without slowing until he had ducked behind the base of a craggy pinnacle. Rock walls rose up protectively on three sides—a good, defensible position. For a time.

"Bumblebee to base, Bumblebee to base! Answer, damn it! RATCHET, WHERE ARE YOU?!"

Bumblebee was futilely smacking the communicator in his wrist when a roar split the air. Knock Out tore into the open in vehicle mode and gunfire tore after him. Laserburns already scarred his frame, and his swerving path owed as much to structural damage as to strategy. He nearly lost control as he spun around to drive in reverse, pumping out red crackles of laser cannon fire at the pursuing Vehicons.

Bumblebee's spark sank as he saw that Knock Out was headed for his hiding place, then leapt in panic as the red sports car nearly plowed into him.

Knock Out's vehicle mode shifted and suddenly he straightening and standing. "Ah, so here you are," was all he said. His voice was calm and his hands were twitching slightly. Several of his long, thin fingers had snapped at the tips and a plume of smoke was threading up from the burns on his back.

Bumblebee couldn't think of anything he could say except "What happened?", and he knew what had happened so that was out. Finally he said, "I think you're on fire."

"I know I'm on fire, I'm a doctor, aren't I?! Now shoot those slagging Vehicons, or were you going to invite them in for TEA?!" Knock Out's calm shattered, his voice rising as he gestured so rapidly and violently that for a moment Bumblebee thought he was under attack. But the medic just shoved him hard towards the edge of the rock.

Bumblebee fired a few blasts at the Vehicons, who dodged away en masse. "YOU could be helping," the scout snapped.

"No ranged weapons." The medic pulled out a roll of electrical tape, of all things, and began wrapping it around a split in his upper leg.

"What, none at all? What kind of warrior are you?"

Knock Out threw him a scornful look and didn't answer.

"Why are those Vehicons after you, anyway?" Bumblebee took more pot shots at the Vehicons while he waited for an answer. None came. "You probably deserve it."

All Knock Out said was, "Am I still on fire?"

"No. But those red energon conduits on your back are offline."

"They're not conduits, they're lights. Cosmetic." Despite this, or because of it, Knock Out's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to string every one of them up by their circuits."

"Let me know when you want to start," Bumblebee said sarcastically. The Vehicons were getting bolder, pushing closer and closer to the rocky alcove every time they drove by. Sooner or later they were going to break through the meager defenses.

Knock Out edged over and took a look, growling a little as he reached the same conclusion. His optics scanned across the landscape, now stretching with late afternoon shadows. "Cover me."

"Huh? What do you mea—" Bumblebee broke off with a squawk as the Decepticon grabbed him by the arm and forcibly flung him, stumbling, into the open. The Autobot gave a gasp of static as the Vehicons eagerly zeroed in on him.

"Knock Out, what the slag are you—KNOCK OUT!" he shouted as a red sports car screamed out of the temporary sanctuary. "Oh, you slagger, you complete and utter—" Bumblebee flinched as a Vehicon's shot caught his shoulder. Weaving and dodging, he returned fire as he frantically dove back into the sheltering rocks. The sound of a thrumming engine receded as a battered red sports car sped into the distance.


Knock Out swung around the broad base of a rocky butte and transformed, aching all over. He didn't so much sit down as collapse against the rock wall. This day, Primus help him, THIS DAY.

"Knock Out to Nemesis," he muttered into his comm link, with a complete lack of faith which was in turn rewarded with a complete lack of response.

"Starscream," he tried, "if you've broken the communications system again, I'm going to switch your arms around next time you're on my table." Still nothing. Wonderful.

He could hear the firefight in the distance, the little "pew-pews" of the Autobot battling the Vehicons. Hopefully the scout could hold them off long enough for Knock Out to . . . to what? He was a grounder, he couldn't get up to the Nemesis on his own. He had a strong suspicion, based on what he'd seen, that the Nemesis wasn't really an option anyway . . . but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind. He had enough to deal with right now.

After some hesitation, he forced himself to his feet and started walking. Vehicle mode would've been faster, but even his recent, brief drive had numbed his back. Pain he could have dealt with, but the numbness made him nervous. He walked.

The shadows stretched, long and thin, and he hated his aching feet and his aching back and the idiot Vehicons and the Autobot for not being Prime or someone useful like that and this war and this planet and the ruin of his paint which should be gleaming like fire in the setting sun—

"Aw, who do we gots here? Did the widdle Deceptidumb get in a fight?"

—and now Smokescreen, slagging, fragging Smokescreen was standing in front of him with his hands on his hips and a grin that Knock Out wanted badly, very badly, to punch off his stupid Autobot face. And he hated him too.

But not quite as much as he hated what he was about to do.

"Autobot." Knock Out held up his hands as though in protest, his tone formal and his smile bitter. "I . . . surrender."