200.
That was how many souls managed to board the great spacecraft, in the end. Perhaps Optimus should have consoled himself with the fact that not a single civilian would be in harm's way, but it felt wrong, leaving so many people behind with the other half of Autobot Command while he himself spirited away in an escape vessel - even if the Ark was mostly a diversion.
One thing's for sure, Optimus thought grimly to himself. When they do attack, Megatron and his men are going to get a very nasty surprise.
He looked around the bridge, committing to memory the faces of all the hardened warriors around him. The bridge was filled to capacity with soldiers and pilots to spare. Everyone was tense, on edge, as the multicolored portal ahead glared down at all of them like the judgmental eye of some great space monster. Megatron would be expecting a lightly-armored refugee vessel crewed by desperate family mechs and femmes with no more than a few military personnel to protect the precious cargo of souls. What he'd find would be an Electrum-coated ship filled to the brim with most of the greatest soldiers in Iacon - but even then, would it be enough?
Wheeljack's Engineering division had not been idle in the days since the siege on the Central Spaceport. They'd managed to repair most of the damage dealt to the ship by the leviathanesque Warp Cannons - although Decks 5 through 7 and a cargo bay were still uninhabitable as of yet - and on top of that, they'd accrued a small stockpile of the miracle substance Electrum to paint the Ark's most vulnerable sections with. The vanishingly rare compound would repel any attacks for as long as the ship's substructure would hold up, but there was only so much of it over a city-block-sized surface, and there were still about one-and-a-half square miles of unprotected deck along the length of the golden spacecraft . . . and that wasn't even counting the other flaws in the Ark's slapdash reconstruction.
No matter. The Ark may have been a rusty tin can, but it was the Autobots' rusty tin can, and Optimus believed in every one of the soldiers that had made it on board.
"Barrage!" a voice exclaimed, jarring Optimus out of his thoughts. Ratchet was checking up with one of the pilots. "It is Barrage, isn't it?"
"Actually, sir, my name's Regolith," the 'bot in question answered. He was Devisunian, with utterly massive shoulders and a peculiar sparkling silver color scheme. "I used to be called that, though, right up until I found out that I shared my name with one of Shockwave's attack dogs. Never again, I'll tell you that much."
"Barrage," Ratchet continued regardlessly. "How's the situation with the Nemesis? Do we have optics on the thing at all?"
The Devisunian heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Swear to Primus, I - no sir, there's been no sightings of the 'Cons, either in an escort vessel or their ship itself, ever since we broke atmosphere. Wherever they are, though, we can be almost certain that they can see us, and they're gaining fast."
Ratchet grimaced. "I can't imagine the kinds of stealth fields that . . . that thing's been equipped with."
"Yes sir. Our pulsar cannons are primed and ready, though, and gunners are on high alert. We'll be ready to fire the nanoklik they reveal themselves."
"And what of the portal? Can we cross the event horizon before the Decepticons catch up to us?" Optimus inquired, approaching the pilot's seat.
"That's a negative, sir," another tech replied. "Wormhole's still about a half vorn away at our maximum speed, and decaying rapidly. At this rate, it may close before we even get there!"
Now, Ratchet scowled. "Either way, we've got to prepare for the worst. I'd bet my left servo that Megatron's watching us right now, waiting for the best opportunity to attack. Who knows what he - what Trypticon - has got up his sleeves? There's one Pit of a fight coming. I can feel it in my fuel tank."
"So can I, old friend," Optimus conceded. "Let's just hope we'll make the portal before the Ark's made into a space-wreck."
Unknown to all, a large, dark shape moved silently outside, lurking just below the ship's main viewscreen. It flexed twice, long, sharp claws ejecting from its housing, and waited patiently for a signal.
Sure enough, someone really was watching the golden starship as it powered through the vast gulf of space. Several someones, actually, and each one with malicious tidings toward the Ark and all of its occupants.
Megatron stood in the bridge of his own warship, glaring imperiously down at the Autobot vessel through a wide window on the observation deck. A messenger approached in vehicle mode, transformed and handed him a technical readout, then bowed and left as hastily as he'd arrived.
"HA! Electrum-coated? What a waste of precious resources!" he barked, skimming through the document. "So THIS is the so-called Ark? The Autobots have placed their entire future - all of their diseased femmes and weak sparklings - in nothing more than a glorified, rust-pocked cargo hauler!"
"Aye, sir," Full-Tilt, the captain of the Nemesis, agreed. He was obviously enjoying the novelty of hobnobbing with the Supreme Commander of the Decepticons, especially since he'd never really been anything more than a mere scientist before. "Major General Onslaught has already pinpointed twelve ideal points of attack, I hear."
"I'm not surprised that he has! A well-placed meteor strike could cripple this sad rusthulk. But now, we must mount our attack! We shall tear the Ark apart, deck by sorry deck, and use its wreckage to construct our new fortress on the Target World! Air Commander - are the assault vessels ready for deployment?"
Slipstream of Vos allowed a thin smile to spread across her well-sculpted face. "Yes, indeed, Lord Megatron. Several have already been deployed, and are awaiting your orders. The Hellswarm, the Sentinel, the Silent Blade - you have options, sir."
"Good. Already, Slipstream, you prove vastly more competent than your predecessor. Proceed to the launching bay and rally your troops! We attack within the breem!"
"All hail Lord Megatron!" the three officers announced, saluting as one. Megatron waited as they all filed off one by one until only he and his second-in-command were left on the observation deck.
Characteristically, Soundwave had remained respectively silent for the entirety of this brief meeting, mentally coordinating comm-webs and critically studying the Autobot starship to their port side. His Cassetticon minion, Laserbeak, was perched on his shoulder where she could often be found. Like her creator, Laserbeak appeared to be studying the Ark as if it were a tasty petro-rabbit in a wide-open field, noting its weak points and categorizing areas of attack with a predator's discretion.
"Ark defenses: minimal, yet potent," Soundwave reported in his signature distorted polytone. "Six photon cannon, three on each side. High-intensity laser cannon mounted on bow. Firepower: sufficient to cause long-standing damage to Nemesis."
Megatron said nothing. This data had been included in the data readout, but he believed it was fruitful to let the Intelligence Commander arrive at his own conclusions.
"First priority: disable or destroy cannons. The Autobots will be powerless to stop us once their only weapons are taken offline."
The Decepticon Commander's optics flashed. "And have you formulated a plan of attack beyond their defenses?"
"Affirmative," his SIC responded after a pause.
"Good. Ready your battalion. You will lead the first wave of the assault."
Like the others before him, Soundwave saluted and left his superior meditating on what was to come.
It was almost a relief when the first tow cable finally decloaked off the port side and smashed into the uppermost level of the bridge. Before then, the tension had built and built, making the soldiers edgy and paranoid. About 15% of the ship's power was being spent in the weapons deck as the ship's too-few number of gunners scanned the empty void of space above them for any side of the Decepticon battleship.
The first thing all the bridge personnel did was not drawing their weapons, but instead grabbing hold of the nearest solid element and holding on tight. Optimus drew his double-bladed war axe and rammed it into the floor, the Energon blade cleaving through the deck like butter. Chairs whipped into the breach and one or two unfortunate Autobots lost their grip, flying past the heads of their compatriots on their way to oblivion. One brave soul caught on to a railing near the Nemesis's tow cable, only to get hit in the face with a large chunk of metal and flung into the abyss.
In the space of five seconds, the ship's defense computer, Teletraan, caught on to the new threat and redistributed the Ark's artificial atmosphere accordingly, effectively sealing the breach. Then, the attack started.
Autobots fell back to the ground, groaning, and summoned their personal weapons from subspace. The first enemy trooper made their appearance - a blue-and-gray mech with the emblem of a Decepticon Captain gleaming on his right shoulder. Even as he found his footing, more Decepticons filed in behind him, dashing along the length of the tow cable to get inside. The ship shuddered.
"ENGAGE ZE AUTOBOT SCUM!" the Captain shouted. Optimus put his back to a nearby computer bank just as bolts of white-hot plasma shot over his head. The computers shorted and smoked as they took the brunt of the fusillade.
Some anonymous Autobot soldier had the idea to throw an EMP Stun grenade at the invaders - a wise choice, given the environment. A flak grenade or an incendiary bomb would only have made things worse for everyone. Optimus wrenched his axe from the ground and drew his signature weapon - a heavy infantry ion rifle with a standard 15-round clip. 3-round burst. Reliable. Efficient. Packed a Pit of a punch.
The EMP detonated on the upper deck, and the Autobot leader sprang into action. He stood from behind the computer console and squeezed the trigger, taking out two Decepticons before they could even get over the complete interruption of all their systems brought on by the grenade. He put the rifle on the nearest flat surface, grabbed his axe, and soared up to the 2nd-floor catwalk with the help of the rocket booster embedded in the head. Artillery filled the air, multiple shots finding their marks in the sparking bodies of the Decepticons.
Optimus didn't waste any time. Hefting his axe in a matter that could be described as regretful, he slashed down and to the right, lopping off a foot soldier's leg at the hip. His next strike was a full-arm jab to the vulnerable neck of the Decepticon behind the first, which temporarily paralyzed the already-stunned raider. He collapsed to the ground in a spluttering heap.
That, plus all the other gunplay taking place on the bridge, left only one enemy left - the captain. Optimus lunged out with the butt end of his weapon, knocking the commander's hand-held beam rifle from his hands. In midair, the Autobot leader turned the axe, whacking his opponent upside the head with the weapon's still-hot rocket booster. The Captain staggered toward the tow cable that had brought his troops there. Optimus closed the gap and pushed the Decepticon even further with the weapon's shaft. His opponent, dazed, tried feebly to fight back but was still too weak to put up a fight under Prime's overwhelming strength.
"Get - off - my - ship!" Optimus growled, then reared back and delivered a truly massive headbutt directly to the Decepticon's faceplate. The Captain flew backward, breaking the ship's artificial atmosphere for a moment, and was sucked outside.
"Inferno, Grapple - help me with this boarding claw!" he ordered, winding up for another swing. He could see the cable outside now, illuminated by the wormhole's light and crawling with Decepticon soldiers.
CRUNCH! went the cable's exposed wireframe as Optimus's axe slammed into it. The blow was followed up by Inferno, the Praxian firefighter. Sharing a moment of mutual understanding, the two truckformers locked eyes and set to work. It seemed as if they both knew exactly where to hit the cable to cause the most damage, and they soon had developed a rhythm. Strike, pull back, strike.
"One moment, gentlemechs!" the last Autobot said, running to the rescue as a formidable-looking apparatus unfolded from his gun-arm: a black lifting claw, to match the one that was currently leaking fluids all over the deck and screeching a high-pitched, metallic whine. Grapple slammed his newly-transformed appendage into the tow cable's ripped and torn pivot coupling and wrenched it from the ground with a shout.
"All together now!" he yelled, and all three mechs struck the cable with their shoulders, forcing the injured, leech-like structure outside Ark's artificial atmosphere.
"They'll be back. Stay vigilant. You two, Brawn - stand guard over this breach. No one gets in without taking heavy fire - and, if needed, casualties."
"As you say, Prime," the black Demolitions expert said, hoisting his belt-fed machine gun as he passed Optimus.
Alarms were blaring and emergency lights were spinning red; both of which sensations Optimus was getting very sick of after the non-stop turmoil of the last few days. He leapt from the upper level of the control room and landed with an understated whump, picking up his rifle as he did so. I could use a nap, he thought. To be honest, we could all use quite a lot of things to that note.
"Teletraan! Give me a status update!" Ratchet was, characteristically, already trying to dredge up some order, some greater information, from the attack. Optimus pushed his way through the crowd and stood by the CMO's side. A flash of yellow caught his eye, and he noticed that the Espionage private, Bumblebee, was already up and fighting with everyone else. Optimus frowned. Why wasn't the Scout still relegated to bed-rest somewhere away from all the action?
The main terminal at the front of the bridge flashed a reassuring white. "DIAGNOSTIC COMPLETE. STAND BY FOR FIELD REPORT . . ."
"Keep pushing forward! Do not let up even for a moment!" Soundwave ordered as another Autobot fell with a sparking harpoon embedded in her head, courtesy of the Decepticon SIC's Electro Bolter. His combat shield spiraled to life with an electric ZZAP just in time to deflect an incoming rocket into the Ark's thick hull. For a brief second, he faltered, but shook it off just as quickly and continued the advance, squeezing off a few shots here and there.
The last Autobot in this particular corridor fell to a Decepticon raider's hand axe, which the bright red truckformer buried in his adversary's gut, then blew their head off with a point-blank cannon blast. The battle was won, but Soundwave had other directives.
"New order: continue throughout this deck. Neutralize all Autobots and NAILs by any means necessary. Taking prisoners: accepted. Complete annihilation: encouraged. Fall out."
"Yes, sir!" came the response from several individuals. Soundwave nodded curtly and ducked into an adjacent corridor without further ado.
Primus, boss, I'm boooored, a voice spoke in Soundwave's head. When will we get to come out? It's cramped in here, an' I wanna crack some skulls already!
Patience, Rumble, Soundwave replied. You will all have your chance soon.
He peered around the next corner and caught a glimpse of an ammo silo. The sounds of battle echoed through the Ark's halls, but none of them were as noticeable as the loud, constant boom, boom, BOOM of the starship's sparse weaponry. Conducting a quick sensor sweep of the next room, Soundwave was surprised to learn that there were no Autobots manning their stations, loading shells into the silos. A foolish mistake on their part - no premeditated preparation for battle could make up for negligence of duty in the heart of a crisis. Although, he had to admit to himself, I would not expect any more from a skeleton crew of exhausted warriors.
"Soundwave!" a voice barked over his comm system. Megatron, of course. "The Ark's cannons are taking their toll on the Nemesis. They've dispatched a battalion's worth of fully-trained fliers - this is no refugee vessel!"
Had Soundwave been a different mech, he may have cursed. He'd felt something was wrong during the entirety of the battle - there were just too many armed Autobots, and far too few Neutrals filling the halls. Wouldn't the Autobots, being what they saw as holy warriors always in the right, try to fit as many impoverished citizens into the ship as they could?
"I concur," he stated concisely. "Current position: just outside Autobot weapons deck. The cannons will fall within the next quarter breem, Lord Megatron."
"Good! After you've finished, make your way to the engine deck. We will rendezvous there, and take the ship from its roots, as it were. If all goes well, we will be finished before we arrive at the Target World."
A rather conservative estimate, Soundwave thought to himself, but acknowledged his leader anyway and went dark. His chest compartment opened with a whirr and deposited a single jet-black time bomb into his waiting hand, and he approached the nearest ammo silo. The combined factors of the weapons bay's solitude and the distant noises of battle were, strangely enough, pleasant.
He was just attaching the second-to-last bomb out of a set of six when a door hissed open on the other end of the bay. A single Autobot wheeled out into the bay in vehicle form, carrying a MicroTrailer full of cannon rounds behind itself, and transformed into a rather nondescript male-pattern robot form.
Soundwave hadn't been noticed yet, but it was only a matter of time and luck - both of which factors the Decepticon SIC found overwhelmingly unreliable. In a motion he'd practiced millions of times, he tapped a button on his right shoulder and spoke the activation codes that would mobilize his most effective stealth operative.
"Ravage, eject! Operation: Single Target Silent Neutralization!"
In a fraction of a second, Soundwave felt the datapack-form individuals in his chest compartment rearrange themselves among a fine network of tiny tracks and pistons until the Beastformer spy in question was at the forefront. Exploding out of his creator's chest, Ravage hit the ground running, darting back and forth around crates as he approached the doomed Autobot, who barely had a chance to shout a cry of surprise before Ravage's sharp teeth found his exposed throat.
The final bomb was primed, the scene was set - all the Communications officer had to do was recall his kin and leave. But the sounds of battle had intensified behind him, and he quickly reviewed the last few exchanges over the Decepticon comms-net - an angry Autobot brigade had doubled back through the Ark's twisting corridors and overtaken Soundwave's rear-guard. By sheer chance, the fighting was at its heaviest right where he least wanted it - right on the path of his escape route.
"Buzzsaw, eject! Find us a secondary escape route!" he ordered, nonplussed. Ventilation shafts, side corridors, maintenance tunnels - there were options that he'd noted from the second he entered the weapons deck, but he didn't trust the unfamiliar layout of the Autobot starship. What seemed like a perfect path could theoretically put the Communications mech and his underlings even deeper within an overwhelmingly hostile ship. He cocked his Electro Bolter, preparing for a fight if all else failed.
Of course, that was the moment when the same door on the other side of the bay decided to open again. A bulky red Autobot of the same build as Soundwave entered, sipping from a cube of high-grade Energon. In his other hand, the Autobot was holding what Soundwave immediately recognized as an Electro-Scrambler marksman's rifle, and he looked ready for a scrap.
The red mech noticed the crumpled body of his ally the second he entered, along with the big cat standing over the scene, jaws dripping with fresh oil. His cube dropped to the floor and shattered, and a cloud of energized fuel shot from his lips.
"Soundwave!" the Autobot Communications Officer, Blaster, remarked indignantly, brandishing his rifle.
"Lieutenant Blaster of Durax," his nemesis responded calmly, his voice modulator filtering out any spite that may have leaked through his mental guard. "I'd hoped that I wouldn't have to dirty my axe . . . again . . . with the Energon of a fellow Crucible on this venture."
Blaster spat a glob of sizzling coolant at Ravage, who snarled and slunk back to his master's side. "Let's spare the theatrics, punk. This time, I'm not gonna be caught off guard by one'a your mangy pets. Who brings their kids on a spy mission without giving them real training, anyway?"
There was a half-second's worth of silence. "My Cassetticons are far better warriors, spies, and Cybertronians in general than your spawn will ever be."
"Oh, really? Why don't we test that theory, then?" the Autobot replied with a smirk. "Eject, Steeljaw, Rewind, Grand Slam, Raindance, Ramhorn - let's ROCK AND ROLL OUT!"
"All Fliers and Aerialbots, Attack Pattern Crossfire! Blow that last tow cable!"
For the past few minutes, the Autobot Air Guard, led by Silverbolt, had waged a heated battle in the space between the two mighty spaceships. They'd tried their hardest to destroy the network of boarding cables that lashed the Nemesis to the Ark like some kind of grotesque interstellar parasite, but more just kept coming. The troops on the Autobot ship were being overrun by the never-ending stream of Decepticons, and it was the Air Guard's responsibility to ensure that the flow was stemmed as much as possible.
Silverbolt dodged a Decepticon dropship. That was another aspect of the fight that just ended up complicating things further. The Decepticons had dispatched what looked like their entire armada to escort the Nemesis through the wormhole, and the full-sized warships were giving both his troops and the personnel fighting atop the Ark a hard time. He saw a few infamous attack vessels in the mix - the Sentinel, the Dark Omen, the Hellswarm - and shuddered.
Nevertheless, they would make it through. The Autobot Air Commander banked left and fired a bolt of electromagnetic energy from the tip of his nosecone - the ability that he was named after - that struck a nearby Decepticon gunship. The spacecraft's running lights powered off, as did the engines, and one enemy fighter was quickly left behind, drifting along in space outside of the shared artificial atmospheres of the two massive starships.
A flash of light caught Silverbolt's attention as the final tow cable was severed by his brothers-in-arms, tearing itself apart link by link with a chain reaction of explosions that reached all the way up to the Nemesis. Thanks to the aforementioned intersecting atmospheres of the two starships, he heard the piercing, almost live-sounding screech as the cable detonated, and a deeper, vibrating sound that came from the Decepticon spacecraft itself.
Ah, the beauty of controlled chaos, he thought to himself, transforming into robot mode to better view the spectacle. Suddenly, his comms system crackled to life with the smooth voice of an individual who wasn't in his battalion . . .
"Silverbolt! I'm gonna need a lift over here! It's a matter of life an' death!" it said. The Air Commander could just about hear the sounds of a pitched firefight in the background. "It's Optimus Prime - he's taking on a combiner all by his lonesome!"
"I'm sorry, sir, but we're a bit busy over here!" Silverbolt sighed in exasperation. "We're outnumbered as it is, and more 'Cons keep coming. If me and my team break away even for a moment, I'm afraid we'll lose the fight - and if we lose, everyone does!"
An explosion sounded over the comms system, followed by a stifled curse and a rather rude suggestion as to where Megatron could place the Decepticon Autocannon on the Engine Deck. "Forget that noise, Silverbolt - I'll bring the combiner down myself. I just need someone to airlift me offa the Engine Deck an' get me over there quick, then you can get back. What d'ya say? Help a batch-mate out?"
Something sharp brushed up against Silverbolt's back, causing him to exclaim in pain. His wings seemed to be intact, but he could feel that there was a huge nick in one of them. He whirled around and fired several tracer bombs in the direction of his assailant - a heavily-armed red-and-black Decepticon Seeker - who was forced to do a few uncomfortable-looking acrobatics to shake them off. "Argh - fine. Sit tight, sir. I'm on my way."
"Keep fighting, Aerialbots! We'll see the other side of the wormhole soon enough!" he cried, not allowing his pain to show through his words. Then, the Aerialbot Commander transformed and soared towards the stern of the Ark, unaware of either the oily black cloud slowly starting to take shape behind him or the tan Seeker who quickly peeled away from the fighting and followed in his contrail of Energon and spent naphtha-kerosene.
Meanwhile, just outside of the Engine Deck, things were not going well for Optimus Prime.
He flew across the Electrum-coated expanse of the Ark and into a cooling unit, which ruptured and spewed fluid all over his legs. He felt a stinging sensation in his hip joints and deduced that he must have been cut up pretty badly from the unit's torn metal, a condition that was only exacerbated by the foreign liquid flowing into his sensitive machinery. He looked up, saw the massive shape charging toward him, and rolled out of the way just as a titan of a Decepticon plowed straight through the cooling unit and everything else behind it, coming to rest in the ruins of a covered walkway.
"CRUSH - AUTOBOT - LEADER!" Bruticus bellowed as he freed himself from the walkway. A massive, terrifying beast, made of several outwardly normal Decepticons, Optimus knew for a fact that the creature had never once lost a battle in which it had participated. Its components were simply too intelligent, too used to working together as a team, and too well-versed in combat strategies of every description. Granted, they did seem to go down a few intelligence points when combined, but the combiner was still so effective, it was the only member of its kind to ever earn the rank of "Maximus" in the Decepticon Army.
But military ranks were the last thing on Optimus's mind as the gestalt tore its left arm free of the walkway's wreckage and aimed the point where its hand should have been at him. He could see the heat shimmer emitting from the combiner's forearm, smell the nitroglycerine in the artificial atmosphere, and threw up his personal combat shield just as a wave of fire engulfed him in burning hatred.
Immediately, the shield's grip became uncomfortably hot, and Optimus had but a split-second to rethink his decision before a massive foot cut through the maelstrom and slammed into it, shattering the life-saving piece of armor and sending the Autobot Leader careening across the deck. In desperation, he reached for his ion blaster and experimentally fired off a half dozen rounds, all of which bounced harmlessly off of Bruticus's chest armor.
"SO . . . YOU WANT TO GO BACK TO GUNS? GOOD! MY TURN!" the giant boomed, and pulled out a massive blaster rifle. It was gold-and-blue, with tasteful dark red accents - and it was clearly made out of an average-size Cybertronian. Prime's back touched another structure on the outer hull of the Ark. He weighed his options and found that there was nothing he could do. Rolling forward, underneath the gestalt's legs - too risky, and Bruticus was too powerful. His ion rifle had slightly more effect on the behemoth than wish power would, and his shield was currently laying in large puddles of melting slag on the deck. He momentarily considered unveiling his ultimate weapon, but before he could come to a solid conclusion, the massive sonic cannon fired with an ear-splitting report. A huge portion of the Ark's superstructure imploded in on itself, sending parts flying out into the vastness of space.
But Optimus was unharmed. Aside from some medium-grade audio damage and the obligatory wear-and-tear from the prior skirmishes he'd been in, his diagnostics reported nothing out of the ordinary.
The goliath combiner was staggering backward, roaring in rage as he clutched at his burning cranial unit. Instantly, a small, light mech dropped to the ground beside Optimus with a nimble roll, holding a fully-upgraded standard-issue Scatter Blaster shotgun. It was First Lieutenant Jazz, and he was ready to fight.
"Prime," he said, acknowledging his commander with a nod.
"Jazz, it's good to see you," Optimus replied gratefully.
"Ain't it always? I heard you could use a hand," his second lieutenant replied. "What say we separate this mess o' Decepticreeps?"
Optimus drew his axe. "Not to put too fine a point on it, that's the best offer I've heard all day."
The combiner shook his head violently and clenched his fist, now fully recovered from his injury. "BRUTICUS GRIND YOU INTO METAL DUST!"
"I'll ventilate his noggin some mo', Prime - would it be too much to ask if you kept him busy on the front lines?"
"Jazz, really, what do you think I've been doing for the past quarter-breem?"
Optimus transformed, his axe folding up and storing itself in the bed of his truck form, while Jazz skirted off to Bruticus's right side. Like a steel fist on wheels, Optimus shot forward, only slightly too fast for Bruticus to react, and slammed into the combiner's meaty legs. His opponent stumbled, and Jazz scaled the colossus using little more than his trusty grappling hook.
Prime sprung out of his alt mode with his axe in hand and drove it deep into the leg that would have turned into the Decepticon Munitions General, Swindle. He heard a faint, high-pitched whine as he threw himself backward, hanging off of his battleaxe, using it as both an anchor point and leverage to whirl around Bruticus's legs. Energon flew - some of it Swindle's, some of it Bruticus's.
Interesting. Are they not one and the same? Optimus found himself pondering, even as Bruticus roared in pain and fury. Jazz had taken up position near the gestalt's neck.
Finally, he wrenched the axe from Bruticus's leg and drove it into his opposite foot. The Energon-powered blade sliced straight through the Decepticon's heavy armor and buried itself in the Ark's deck plating. One last time, he transformed, revved his mighty engine, and caught a whiff of ozone as his armored trailer materialized from the interdimensional phenomenon known as subspace, seamlessly connecting with his hitch. Rocket boosters engaged. 360ยบ rotational wheels cranked against their stops and Optimus Prime spun once, twice, and flung the trailer into the gestalt's wounded legs.
Jazz hadn't been idle - in the time it took Optimus to take out Bruticus's legs, he'd driven a long, diamond-sharp sword through a tiny chink in the gestalt's armor, and followed that up by emptying his Scatter Blaster point-blank into its vulnerable cranial unit. Bruticus's helm was thick and well-armored, but there was only so much that could be done against the high-velocity incendiary rounds of the Cybertronian shotgun.
Bruticus toppled over like a skyscraper in a cataclysmic storm, his head burning, a sword jammed hilt-deep in his neck, his legs mangled and bleeding the shared lifeblood of his six components.
The Autobot Special Operations Director hit the ground with a precise roll and transformed, whirling around to face his foe. "Silverbolt - light 'im up!"
In a singular garbled yet still commanding voice, like a drill sergeant gargling with syrup, Bruticus shouted "Combaticons, disen-"
He never finished the deactivation code. A silver Autobot jet streaked overhead, accompanied by about a dozen other Fliers of all shapes and descriptions. A fusillade of firepower erupted from their wings and struck the giant dozens of times, blanketing his body with smoke and fire. He tried to struggle to his feet, but that only made him an easier target - with a great rending of metal and electronic shrieking, the mighty Decepticon gestalt lost his footing, broke the Ark's rapidly thinning artificial atmosphere, and flew off into space, back toward the distant planet of Cybertron.
"Holy slag . . . we did it!" Jazz exclaimed, but the victory was short-lived. An Autobot jet - the same one that had landed the first strike - plummeted from above and landed just a few dozen feet away from Optimus, immediately unfolding into the shape of a medium-sized red, yellow, and silver Cybertronian. Prime's spark clenched as he noticed the frightening amount of thick black-violet fluid spurting out of a ragged, blackened hole on the Flier's back.
"Optimus, I'm sorry - I'm sorry . . ." Silverbolt, the leader of the Aerialbots, groaned.
"No! Silverbolt, stay focused! We'll get you fixed up!" Optimus said. A group of five Fliers hit the deck behind the injured Air Commander, all but one resplendent in various shades of white, red, and black. The other one was Aerialbot Medic Breakaway, the adopted brother of the five young mechs that made up a sizable portion of the Autobot Royal Air Division's command team. All of them were obviously in a great deal of pain - though their skills in aerial combat had prevented them from getting physically damaged in the raging firefight, they felt every quart of lifeblood that was gushing out of their spark-bonded leader.
"Clear a path!" Breakaway hissed through his teeth as he produced a medical kit from subspace and a battle-worn Energon Repair Ray folded out from his hand.
Silverbolt twitched weakly, his gaze dim. "I shouldn't have done - stupid mistake - don't let them-"
"Eyes on me, soldier!" Jazz commanded. "You ain't going anywhere!"
Breakaway's hands flew into overdrive, desperately trying to save his leader as the light faded from Silverbolt's optics, but even as it happened, he lost dexterity in his fingers. The other Aerialbots - Skydive, Fireflight, Slingshot, and Air Raid - collapsed to the ground, shaking convulsively as their brother inexorably went limp in Prime's arms.
Jazz sighed, his head dropping. "He's gone. C'mon, Optimus. We gotta keep moving."
"No . . . not yet," Optimus murmured.
"Prime, we do not have any time for this!" the smaller mech shouted, surging to his feet. "Silverbolt's dead an' there's plumb nothin' we can do about it! The folks on the Engine Deck need our help, an' they're still with us. They won't be much longer if we can't bail 'em out 'cause we're too busy wringin' our hands over a fallen soldier. Do you know how many Grays I passed just as I came to help ya?"
The Autobot Commander didn't respond, instead gently propping Silverbolt up on the structure that he'd been thrown into just a few brief minutes ago.
Continuing in a calmer, softer tone, Jazz laid a hand on Prime's shoulder. "We can mourn our dead later. But now, we need to focus on the mechs that are still among th' living."
"You're right, Jazz . . . I - I forgot myself. Make sure the Aerialbots get safety, then meet me on the Engine Deck. We've almost reached the portal."
The portal was looming large over them, colors, unlike anything they'd ever seen, undulating in mesmerizing shapes around the rim. It was beautiful, terrible, and nearly mind-breakingly maddening all at once.
"We . . . we can still . . . fight," Skydive forced out as he rose shakily to his feet. "I can . . . help . . ."
"Absolutely not, soldier. You and your brothers are out of the fight. Fall back to the medbay and get yourselves a slab immediately. That's a direct order. Jazz, go with them. I will assist Wheeljack and his mechs."
Jazz nodded. "Fine. Don't get yourself shot, 'kay? We'll need some leadership once we get ta the Target Planet in one piece."
Optimus only inclined his head in response, then turned back to Silverbolt's corpse, which was already fading from its sleek polished silver to a dull, lifeless matte gray. He noticed that the Aerialbot was bent double to his right and took a moment to adjust him, placing his hands in his lap and ensuring that he was snug in the structure's shadow.
When will this war end, Optimus thought. How many more lives must be lost before we can finally unite, and move forward as a single race?
"SOUNDWAVE!" the Autobot Communications mech roared, bringing his fist crashing into his adversary's mouthplate. Soundwave stumbled backward and almost tripped over one of the Cassetticons doing battle throughout the room - he couldn't tell which one it was, or even if it was his own.
Blaster had always been the one mind Soundwave could never quite read - the red-and-yellow Crucible was too chaotic, too unpredictable even for Soundwave's telepathy. His mind was littered with ideas and plans that never connected in the ways one expected, and whatever space left over was filled with the blazingly-sequenced notes and hard-hitting rhythms of some hyper-music track from Cybertron's Golden Age. That left Soundwave with few advantages outside of his own unenhanced melee abilities. He'd been holding his own until now, had landed a few impressive hits on Blaster - but now, he was slipping up.
"I will NOT - LET - YOU - hang my friends out to dry!" the Autobot cried, punctuating every word with a hook to Soundwave's midsection. "Steeljaw, deal with this fool!"
As fast as lightning, a dark yellow Beastformer broke away from the fight and set into the Decepticon SIC. Soundwave felt the beast's teeth cut into his throat, heard the savage snarling, and watched his hand move feebly upwards in a dazed attempt to cover his face, but he felt nothing but fatigue seep throughout his whole body. His Cassetticons clamored in his head, all but shouting at him to fight back, shake it off, get up, do something. Like moonlight, his thoughts shifted to the past, his triumphs and mistakes, his gains and his losses. He thought about Ratbat, mentally prodding the damaged, cauterized point where his firstborn's bond used to be. Next to it was an even older wound that had been even rawer than Ratbat's, buried underneath hundreds of years of detachment and war. Soundwave was tempted to just let his life slip away underneath the Autobot Beastformer's jaws . . .
The mission.
No. Others were counting on him - Megatron was counting on him. To finally put an end to the Great War, the Autobots must be destroyed . . .
He snapped online, surprising Steeljaw. An inhibitor mechanism fell from his ravaged throat, and the purest, loudest, most discordant noise tore itself from his vocoder.
For a moment, the Ark's weapons deck shook against its own frame. The shells being fed into the six artillery cannons rattled in their massive magazines.
Blaster and his operatives fell to the ground, clutching at their bleeding audios. Not even the Autobot Communications mech was prepared for the sonic weapon integrated throughout Soundwave's body to fire. The tables of combat flipped almost immediately, and the deafened Autobots found themselves helpless before the receiving end of the Cassetticons' weapons.
Soundwave stood, one hand at his throat. It was a wet and messy wound, and he was concerned about leaking the pain to his creations. He could see that they were already suffering intense discomfort; Ravage was shaking his head, trying to focus, Frenzy's face was twitching uncontrollably. He had to complete the mission. Then he would seek care.
A final rectangular device shot from his chest compartment. Soundwave took it up in his hands and manipulated it, unspooling wires and unfolding certain pieces until he was holding a modified magnesium DetPak, graded for extensive Demolitions use and ready to go.
Moving deliberately and with purpose, he planted the bomb on the last turret magazine and primed it, linking the six explosive objects directly to his wrist communicator. With only a single handshake protocol, it was ready to blow.
He approached his rival with Electro Bolter in hand, bending over Blaster as he did so and resting the tip of his next harpoon on the Autobot's leg. The limb was heavily armored, but it wouldn't matter at this range. Blaster knew it too, and his blue optics widened. He lunged forward, and Soundwave fired.
The electrified harpoon went straight through Blaster's leg and punched deep into the plating of the weapons deck. Somewhere below them, hooks and barbs opened on the ceiling of the next block, securing itself very firmly to the top of the Ark's cargo hold.
Blaster screamed as his body was hit with several thousand volts of electricity, sending his body up in an arc. His Cassette-bots squirmed with him, although the pain they felt was much diluted from what their carrier was experiencing.
Cassetticons, you must fall back, Soundwave ordered through a silent comm. Get yourselves to safety. Assist the others. Leave me here with the Autobot. With luck, I will find you when this is all over.
Father, no! Glitch, ever the caring individual, pled as he approached. Let me heal you - at least get you back on your feet-
Glitch, Soundwave said calmly, yet forcefully. I do not require repairs. I am giving you all an order - join the raiding party, and leave me behind. Do as I command.
The Cassetticons were quiet, but Soundwave could tell they were on edge. Yes, sir.
Blaster had stopped screaming at this point; he was venting heavily and quickly. His minions quickly shook off the pain and raised their weapons. The Decepticon's optics fell on Ramhorn, a massive, bright-red Jugger with missile racks attached to his flanks. Currently, the Beastformer was eyeing Soundwave up with nothing more than pure hatred, pawing the ground as he waited for some kind of command.
"You - slagging - 'Con . . ." Blaster growled through gritted teeth. He was smoking from the chinks in his not-inconsiderable armor plating. "You can't . . . blow the mags . . . too close . . . you'll be incinerated with the rest of us . . . "
"Possibly," Soundwave replied, his voice unmodulated, raspy, and filled with static. Was that his voicebox, the vibrating mechanism that he was holding? It was difficult to tell on account of all the Energon and oil. "But I will be able to rest assured . . ." he flipped open the compartment on his wrist communicator, optics darting over the blinking, red EXECUTE button in the center of it all, ". . . knowing that I have taken you with me."
Blaster's face momentarily went slack in an expression of dull surprise, and he started wildly scrabbling at the floor, away from the Decepticon SIC. "Slag, he's really gonna do it, you guys! Run! GET BACK! GET CLEAR!"
Soundwave slammed the button with his opposite hand, enjoying how the Autobots turned tail faster than a startled petro-rabbit in the brief delay it took for the signal to travel. He activated his old combat shield and dropped into a defensive stance, not really expecting it to do much against the fiery maelstrom that instantly followed. As stasis lock overwhelmed him, sweeping him off his feet with the force of a nuclear explosion, his last thought was of his children, his Cassetticons - the things that had made his long, storied life worth living.
After millennia of constant war, cruelty, and exhaustion, Soundwave of Harmonex was finally at rest.
Just one deck above, however, several mechs were anything but restful.
Skydive hadn't taken the death of his brother well, and although he was in prime fighting condition on the outside, his innards felt like someone had hollowed him out with some kind of massive spoon. He was wracked with nauseatic convulsions, shivering and trembling the whole while, but still, he insisted on helping out around the Logistics Deck.
The computing room was currently being used as a makeshift medical bay, mainly because the "official" medical area was closer to the Engine Deck than anything else; and as such was under siege by the Decepticons. Logistics Deck was at the forefront of a massive battle between the Autobots and their age-old foes. Wounded personnel were almost constantly being rolled in through the aft entrance and the sound of gunfire was a constant companion. The Aerialbots were meandering around in various states of debilitation - Fireflight had gone completely catatonic as soon as Jazz had taken them there, and was laid out on a cot nearby. The other three were fighting to stay upright and online even as the ship rocked back and forth.
Another two Autobots were brought in by battle-scarred soldiers. One of them was missing her entire left arm - it looked to have been blown off in an explosion - and hemorrhaging glowing fluid all over the floor. The other was lifelessly flopping back and forth in his emancipator's arms, his chest almost wholly crushed in by some heavy melee weapon - probably some type of hammer. The words WASH ME were stamped about two inches deep into the unfortunate Autobot's metal flesh.
Skydive drew himself up. "Ah, slag - We've got a priority over here! I'll take the femme - someone get an E-double-R on this poor mech, ASAP!"
He'd have to stem his patient's leakage. That was for certain. And even though he wasn't a doctor, he at least knew how to perform some basic field repairs. Maybe Breakaway would have some advice to give - that is, if he wasn't incoherent.
Skydive was twenty feet away from an open medical slab when the ammo silos detonated. Unfortunately, the exploding flak shells were much closer - their path to the Ark's six cannons took them through a channel right under his feet.
The Aerialbot second-in-command hardly felt his demise. Neither did most of the people in the medbay, really. Those near the outermost walls of the temporary clinic were not so lucky - some suffered horribly, burns over ninety-five percent of their forms, for up to a quarter-hour before ultimately expiring.
All hope was lost on the Engine Deck.
Even as the ship tore itself apart and the portal loomed large over it all, Chief Autobot Engineer Wheeljack stood his ground under a Technicolor sky. The Airborne Division had recently taken out most of the Nemesis's cannons, but that only brought a tiny degree of respite as Decepticons just kept coming through the Engine One Maintenance Gate.
Wheeljack was nearly out of experimental grenades, his men were utterly exhausted, the Mobile Turrets someone saw fit to bring with had all been destroyed, and even Perceptor from the Science Division was out of ammo. The situation was not ideal for the soldiers of Iacon.
"We're not going to be able to hold them much longer," the Science Division Director stated during a brief period of relative calm. He and Wheeljack knew each other well, having served side by side in the infamous Wrecker Company. Both mechs had a good understanding of the other's strengths and weaknesses, and Wheeljack knew that if Perceptor was concerned about their problems, he should be too.
"'Figured pretty much the same thing," he grunted. "But we can't just keel over an' die right here! They're countin' on us ta keep the 'Cons away until we make it through, an' I'll be reformatted into a sofa before I let Prime an' the others down!"
Perceptor turned his gaze upward. "What are the odds that the Airborne Division could grant us some assistance?"
"Not good, I bet - the 'Cons' aren't holding back anything up there. Looks like they've emptied every hangar and runway in the South just to keep us busy."
"And their infantry troops just keep coming. Meanwhile, we've been defanged, crippled, and robbed of anything that could feasibly grant us an advantage. By Adaptus, we don't even have the metaphorical high ground!" the Scientist lamented, making a sweeping gesture in the general direction of the massive Decepticon ship looming overhead.
"Well - they've gotta have some kinda field setup in there, eh?" Wheeljack speculated. He was beginning to get an idea. Unfortunately, it was a very bad one that could probably lead to his death, the death of his soldiers, and the capture of the point they'd struggled to hold for so long. "A teleporter, an Armory Recreator, a Communications post - something. Something that's givin' them the edge."
Perceptor nodded. "Obviously, yes, but what are you getting at - LOOK OUT!"
Wheeljack ducked. A sniper round almost gave him a new nose piercing, whizzing by his earfins and slamming into the wall right behind him. Decepticon soldiers began to pour out of the steam obscuring the Maintenance Deck from view, and the battlefield erupted into gunfire once more.
"We need to push them back!" Perceptor cried. "Let's try the Floron Maneuver!"
His Engineering counterpart was impressed by his sudden suicidal urge. Both of them being former Wreckers, they each understood exactly what was at stake.
"Out in a blaze'a glory - y'know, I kinda like it!" Wheeljack said as he reached to his hips and brandished his best pair of battle wrenches.
They relayed the command to their respective departments. The Autobots under their twin commands responded wearily, but each one of them had steely determination burning in their guts, even in the face of their deaths. Just as they were ready to charge one last time, however, the Engine Deck went strangely silent.
"Please, allow me to join your little party," a deep voice rumbled from behind. "I've got an axe to grind with these Decepticons."
There, in all of his glory, stood Optimus Prime in his robot form, holding his signature Energon War Axe in one hand and a huge, smoking plasma cannon in the other. A cheer went up from the Autobots despite the harsh conditions, despite the still-raging firefight, and despite the wormhole's crushing finality.
Optimus, Wheeljack, and Perceptor rallied the troops and they stormed down the incline, engines roaring just as loudly as the dying wormhole before them.