Skywarp woke up in a stasis pod, electricity flowing through his joints as he slowly regained awareness.
Fighting. The ship's breaking apart! Where's 'Cracker? Gotta - gotta get to safety, Primus, we're all gonna die! I'm - I'm - huh.
I'm in a stasis pod.
His optics came online. He was peering through clear fluid with a greenish tint, suspended within a constraining vacuole of the nanobot solution. Data readouts flickered weakly on the inside of the synthoplasma glass that separated him from whatever lay beyond the pod.
Don't remember getting in a stasis pod, he thought with a burst of clarity. Don't really remember anything after we crossed the wormhole, in fact. Why . . . why would I ever get in an Autobot pod . . .
The train of thought didn't go much further than that, because, with a disconcerting lurch, the pod entered an active state.
"SUITABLE ALTERNATE FORM LOCATED. PROCEED WITH SUBJECT REFORMATION?"
Skywarp was suspicious, but he didn't see any other way out of his predicament. He spoke, his voice filled with static from lack of use. ". . . Sure. Why not? I'll need to leave sooner or later anyway . . ."
Even as the nanobot fluid swirled around him in tangible torrents and reconfigured his body, he reviewed the technical specifications of this new alternate form and the world outside. He wasn't by any means an expert stasis-scientist, but something out there filled him with trepidation. Namely, the heat. Initial scans of the environment inside what had once been the Autobot Ark showed that the bridge's ambient temperature was toasty, to say the least. The alternate form - a flight-capable, vaguely delta-shaped aircraft scaled for beings about a fourth of his robot-mode height - wasn't made for such climes, meaning Skywarp would have to beat feet once his reformation was over. Of course, the temperature wasn't immediately lethal to Cybertronians, but it probably wouldn't have been a great idea to sit down and play a nice game of solitary Triad.
On the bright side, it seemed like the Ark had come to rest in the center of an active volcano and the rest of the planet wasn't nearly as hot. All Skywarp had to do was get a good idea of his surroundings, figure out what had happened to the other Decepticons in his battlegroup, and leave.
"Piece of cake," he muttered as the reformation entered its final cycles. The fluid drained, and he could feel the heat radiating through the pod's synthoplasmic window. "Let's do this, then. Open pod access door."
"COMPLYING," the computer responded, but Skywarp didn't stick around to hear it. He launched forward on newly-revitalized legs, staggered a little bit as the heat hit him, and, despite himself, took a moment and stretched. He'd been asleep for a long time.
The air was hot and close, filled with the kind of particulate matter normally found in volcanic smoke. It threatened to enter his airbags via his main cooling diaphragm, leaving microscopic punctures in the sensitive material of his inner workings as it went. He ensured his filters were working at prime capacity - probably would have been a better idea to do that beforehand, but that ship had sailed - and stopped breathing normally. Instantly, his vents kicked into operation, as did his more porous cooling systems. He began to sweat oil through the tiny seams in his armor plating.
"Phew . . . all right, time to get down to business," the Seeker muttered to himself.
He crossed the room, locating the active main computer terminal, and prayed that the shoddy Autobot machinery had survived the tests of time for however long it had laid dormant. Its name was embossed in tarnished gold on the center console - Teletraan One. He decided to take a gamble - Autobot tech had revived him. Maybe, just maybe, the software would still be addled enough to help him out some more.
There were dozens of other stasis pods like his, situated on trapezoidal tracks that ran just underneath the deck plating, between the ship's superstructure and the interior of the room. It seemed that all of them save one - his own - were occupied.
"Let's see . . . Teletraan One! That is your name. Yes. Give me a full readout on the remaining stasis pods in this room, yeah?"
"A-A-A-AFFIRMATIVE. WELCOME, D-d-DECEPTICON SKYWARP."
Skywarp flinched, freezing in place despite the volcanic heat seeping in from the starship's long-broken viewscreen. "You know I'm a 'Con? Um . . . you gonna launch countermeasures or blast me or chuck a Guardian Robot at me or something?"
"NEGATIVE, DECEPTICON/SEEKER/AERIALBOT SEEKER SKYWARP. NO - NO - NO HOSTILES DETECTED. TELETRAAN SYSTEM DOES - DOES NOT - DOES SUPPORT SUBJECT: DECEPTICON: SKYWARP. DECEPTICON PROGRAMMING NOT C-C-C-COMPATIBLE WITH TELETRAAN MORAL SOFTWARE. NO DECEPTI-TI-TICONS DETECTED. WELCOME, DECEPTICON SKYWARP."
"Wow. How long were we out? Time's really taken its toll on you . . ."
"ERROR. CHRONOLOGISTICS DAMAGED. NOTIFY AN ADMINISTRATOR IMMEDIATELY."
A grin appeared on Skywarp's face. "Sure, sure thing, buddy, but I need to know this stuff ASAP, all right? Can I have a full readout on the - heh - my fellow Autobots suspended within this room's stasis system?"
"AFFIRMATIVE. ONE MOMENT, PLEASE . . ."
After a few uncomfortable seconds, during which Skywarp began to get used to the stifling heat and ash, the system responded. The Seeker had to wipe and reboot his optics before what he was seeing really set in.
"Primus, that ain't right . . . no way can this . . . Slag," he whispered in disbelief. What the computer was telling him simply couldn't be true.
"Welp, looks like I really do have some work to do."
A clawed, gray hand clamped down on the side of a stasis pod. Joints popped and sparked as they were utilized for the first time in many years; and the owner of the hand rose from the nanobot bath, dripping with the greenish fluid as his optics powered on.
Heedless of the oppressive heat, Lord Megatron of Kaon arched his back as his armor slid into its final position. He lived again - but where had the spearhead of the Decepticon Empire found himself this time?
He surveyed the room as multiple other stasis pods hissed open and their occupants stumbled out on unsteady legs - all of them Decepticons in an Autobot realm. It was a small group, a little bit larger than the standard twelve-mech Decepticon raiding party, not including him, of course. Memories shot through his processor as it booted up. White-hot rage consumed him as he remembered the last thing he'd been doing before stasis lock had claimed his consciousness - reaching for the Autobots' new Prime as the wretch had himself gone into stasis lock, trying to keep his internal organs from spilling all over the Ark's captain's chair.
He'd been close. His claws had nearly pierced Optimus's throat. He'd been but a few breaths too late. It wouldn't happen again.
"Lord Megatron!" the Seeker Skywarp hailed as he came spiraling in through the Ark's smashed viewscreen. "I - ack - WHOO! Excuse me, sir - it's *kaff* the smoke. And the ash, I guess. Don't like it, whatever it is. Bad for the intakes."
"Soldier - do I look like a Paradronian medical technician to you? No. I don't have time for your childish complaints. Speak your piece." Megatron intoned, in a voice as heavy as the grave.
"Beg pardon, sire. I just wanted to say it's nice to see everyone up and running again. Also, if we don't get out of here soon, we may all die. Excruciatingly, as a matter of fact."
"He's right, Megatron," another Seeker, this one a blue-and-silver to contrast Skywarp's black and purple highlights. Thundercracker. An Outlier, and a rather capable warrior on top of that. Mildly less unbearable than Skywarp was. "The ash Skywarp was talking about has the capability to shred the lining of our internal workings if we hang around venting it, even if we use non-conventional ways of homeostatic cooling. Moreover, my sensors are reading heavy volcanic activity in this sector. The eruption that must have awakened us was only a precursor - we're in the path of another, ah, a much larger one that could spell our doom if we're not quick about it."
Megatron stormed over to the nearby Teletraan terminal, which was displaying a rudimentary map of the Ark's immediate area created by a SkySpy drone, probably during the reformatting process that had resurrected the Decepticon battlegroup. He searched for a site outside of the blast zone, one that would serve as a field camp until the eruption blew over. Finally, Megatron stabbed a finger at the screen. "There," he stated, simply. He became aware of the others crowding behind him and turned with a gesture.
"There appears to be an abandoned, minuscule military settlement of some degree not seven megamiles to the southeast - or whatever equivalent this world has to it. Scans indicate that it contains a sizable bunker made to resist exactly these kinds of events. We will make camp there until the eruption ceases, and then we will come back and take the rear portions of this wreck of a spaceship as our own. Are there any questions?"
He glared as his gaze swept the combined forces of the battlegroup that had successfully taken the Ark's bridge and what seemed to be most of Soundwave's Cassetticons. Their creator was nowhere to be seen, but that was a problem for another time. Once the eruption had ceased and the Decepticons returned to this decrepit starship, Megatron would have all the time in the world to search the Ark top to bottom for his comrade. For the time being, the mechs in front of him would be his army - at least, the building blocks of what would come later. They would be more than enough for now.
"Something to say, Skywarp?" he barked, taking note of how the violet Seeker was avoiding his gaze and shifting in an uncomfortable fashion.
"No, sir!" Skywarp responded. "It's just that - well - What will happen to the Autobots? They're still in their stasis pods, after all. Vulnerable. Should we-"
"Leave them." the Decepticon leader finished. "We will deal with them later, if they will not already be roasted by magma and boiled in their nanobot baths. Now come - let us make our exit."
So they did, exiting carefully via a ledge of brimstone that Skywarp had previously scoped out. Those with aerial alt-forms, such as Laserbeak, the Seekers, or Spyglass, the Photonicon Intelligence Specialist, took the direct route, while Megatron and his higher-ranking officers made full use of their hovering abilities. With full knowledge of the fact that they couldn't have saved everyone in the time allotted and with full intention to return later, they left behind a number of dedicated Decepticon warriors, those who weren't important enough to warrant immediate reactivation.
Perhaps they'd regret that later. But then, no one objected to the orders of Kaon's Great Slagmaker.
"SUITABLE ALTERNATE FORM LOCATED."
Optimus Prime's consciousness returned in a flash. He remembered everything: the duel on the Engine Deck, the ferocity of his Decepticon counterpart, the exquisite sensation of peeling away into space and time as the Ark passed through the wormhole. His hands instinctively clasped over his midsection - nothing. His internals were good as new, and he was suspended in a fluid capsule. Above him, the glow of the stasis pod illuminated the corroded pipework of his ship's interior. Sparking bubbles of nitrogen flew past Optimus's head as microscopic nanobots burst from the strain of cooling their tiny forms.
"PROCEED WITH SUBJECT REFORMATION?" the computer inquired patiently. Optimus realized it had already asked once before while he was still coming to terms with himself and rebooted his vocal processors.
"Affirmative, computer. Initiate all preliminary scans in the meantime. I'd like to know everything you have about our new surroundings. We've been offline for far too long."
From the moment he stepped out of the stasis pod, Optimus knew that something was amiss. Whatever was left of the nanobot solution evaporated off of him in wisps of nearly-toxic steam, leaving a dry, salty crust on his polished and gleaming armor. The heat sucked the air from his airbags and replaced it with something that caused his diagnostic center to throw up a warning - something about a silicate desiccant playing havoc with his vents.
"Ash . . ." he coughed, making his way to the main Teletraan terminal. Surprisingly, it was still active despite the constant close climate. He couldn't imagine how long they'd been out, judging by the state of disrepair the bridge was in . . .
"Teletraan-One, activate the viewscreen shutters!" he commanded, laying a hand on the center console. "Get the cooling system back online!"
"ERROR," the supercomputer reported, causing Optimus's armor to flare in disappointment for the briefest of moments. "COOLING SYSTEM DAMAGED. WELCOME-COME, OPTIMUS P-P-PRIME. SOLAR HEAT SHIELDS LOWER-ER-ER-LOWERING."
A dreadful screeching noise filled the bridge as the Ark's viewscreen was covered by a thick shutter of Cybertanium and heat-retardant foam. Instantly, Optimus felt better as the crimson glow of the volcano disappeared beneath the shields - it was still hot as an oven, yes, and his vents were still choked with ash and smoke, but at least some of the problem had been dealt with.
"VENTILATION S-SYSTEMS: 67% ONLINE. PLEASE ST-st-STAND BY . . ."
The inside of the bridge cleared up a little bit as the ship's running lights activated. When all was said and done, the contaminants were far from dispersed.
". . . but now, we can get somewhere," Optimus pontificated to the corroded walls and smashed computer screens. "Teletraan, it's time to wake the others. Give me a readout of the occupied stasis pods in this room."
"AFFIRMATIVE," the computer responded, displaying a cross-section of the stasis pod system. To Optimus's surprise, most of them were still occupied - and not all of them were filled by Autobots.
"Interesting," he muttered. "Very interesting."
The fire crackled as Rumble drew closer to it. Not that it was cold - far from it - but he'd just wanted to watch something burn while the Decepticons waited out the volcanic activity. Sitting around in this cement bunker was boring, and there wasn't much else to do now that everything that Ravage had allowed him to destroy - mostly vehicles scaled for beings half his height - was in a pile of smashed metal and glass.
"Hey, Spectro," his proto-twin Frenzy said, "turn up th' heat, will ya?"
The hulking Photonicon said nothing, just grunted and let loose a torrent of fire from one of his many arm-mounted weapons. Flames roared higher into the air, and the bonfire finally stopped emitting that irritating, vaguely musical cacophony when a laptop computer, displaying some kind of organic feline creature chasing a low-intensity laser beam, melted into nothingness.
Rumble threw another electronic device, this one a slightly larger desktop terminal, into the fire. "I like it when the batteries explode."
Sooner or later, you're going to have to quit that, Buzzsaw remarked from his perch atop some type of flagpole hanging from the wall. It clearly wasn't meant for his weight and sagged almost double even as the spy shifted atop its finial ball. You're filling the room with smoke. Bad for the air intakes. We've already escaped one chemical-filled gas chamber. I don't want to roost tonight in another one.
"Primus, you're a diva," Rumble groaned. "What's wrong with a little fire every now and then, anyways? Soundwave gives you all the best tasks. I'm a Demolitions mech! A little bit of chemical fire every now-an'-then's good for you! Like the ol' man says, it builds character. Look at me! I'm inhalin' that stuff twice, three times every decacycle, an' I'm doin' just fine!"
Minus a few hundred brain cells, of course, Laserbeak snarked.
Rumble surged to his feet. "All right, that's it! You wanna go, birdy? You can shape-shift inta anything you like, an' you'll STILL wind up lookin' like a burnt-out toastah when Frenzy an' I are through with ya!"
Enough! their oldest sibling, Ravage, snapped in their shared link. Before the Nemesis's launch, he'd been on a long-term assignment for a few hundred years running pacification and espionage in his native Burthov, and his husky accent was slightly thicker than Rumble remembered it being. Pathetic. Soundwave would not stand for this. Lord Megatron sits before you, and still, you all act like buffoons. Does it not occur to you that our father remains trapped somewhere in the enemy Ark? Correct attitudes now, or I will correct for you.
Laserbeak dipped her head, letting her ruby-red glare leave Rumble and Frenzy's. Apologies. I do miss the boss. Guess I'm just pretty worried about him.
"You think he's dead?" Frenzy asked, switching to internal comms as he sat back down. His twin followed his motion, the fire taken out of him by Ravage's tirade. "Nah . . . Soundwave always comes through. Right? Ravage, what's your take?"
The black panther didn't respond immediately, resuming his silent pacing once he was sure his siblings had calmed down. Not important what I think. Finding Father is our number one priority. He paused, briefly, as if considering the words that he was about to speak. Even if Lord Megatron does not agree with us.
Well, I think it's worth a go! Er, finding Soundwave, I mean, not mutiny . . . well, yeah, mutiny, but only if we're hung out to dry again . . . but you know, if you think about it, Megatron would probably feel the same way we do . . .
"Glitch, NO!" the Cassetticon Medic's siblings screamed in unison as they each received a crystal-clear forethought of what he was about to do next.
Remember what he did last time you did something like this? He cut off your forelegs! Laserbeak exclaimed.
Soundwave is Megatron's oldest friend and number two guy! If anyone'll sanction a mission like this, it'd be him! Besides, it wasn't that bad, and I don't hold a grudge-
You are making mistake, soldier. Stand down. Please, Ravage growled, but his youngest sibling wasn't listening this time.
"Lord Megatron," Glitch began on open comms. "I, heh, was just wondering . . ."
"'Just wondering' what, Cassetticon?" the Decepticon leader intoned, looking up from his fusion cannon. His eyes met Glitch's, and the Medic shrank back a bit, even as his foreleg shielding involuntarily shifted towards the front of his prosthetic limbs.
"Well, ah . . . it's just that . . . me and the other guys were thinking, eh, what's next? What's our plan of action, as it were?"
Megatron seemed to ponder that for a while. He sat up straighter in his makeshift throne, made from an abandoned 6X6 military truck - a dead ringer for his alternate mode - and opened his mouth, presumably to begin a grand speech.
"Our course of action is straightforward, my Decepticons," he began. "We wait out the eruption, as I distinctly recall mentioning earlier."
Impossibly, Glitch shrunk back even further at this, under the mercy of one of Megatron's pointed stares.
"We rest, for now, prepare within this temporary shelter. When the time comes, we will return to the mountain and establish a foothold in the ruins of our enemy's hopes and dreams. We will recover our fallen brethren, revive those that made it to a stasis pod, and, yes, execute the hated Autobots in their sleep! Their dynasty of hatred and oppression ends here, on this new world, this new frontier, and in their own base of operations!"
The Decepticons were electrified after only a few of their leader's words, and were hanging on each one as spoken. Hope touched their yellow-and-red optics, even those of the Cassetticons, who still, uncharacteristically, seemed somewhat unconvinced.
"After the Autobots are crushed, we appropriate their resources, their supplies. We scour this world for opportunities to expand the Empire. We learn, we raid, we conquer, and then, Decepticons, when we are rich in energy and situated well in the seat of our new colony, we contact Cybertron with news of our victory. We return to our homeworld as gods, and bring an armada of our fellow warriors with us to settle this world for our number! This is a new chapter in history, and we are the legendary victors who will write it - and the fortunate pilgrims who will inherit its yields! Decepticons . . ."
"TRANSFORM AND RISE UP!" everyone shouted. Cheers resounded throughout the smog-filled bunker as another computer exploded in Rumble's bonfire.
Megatron was grinning fiercely, yet there was a flicker of emotion in his blazing optics, unnoticeable by most but still recognized by those closest to him. "Soon, my Decepticons, soon. But not quite yet. Our sleeping brothers-in-arms will have to wait just a while longer."
The bunker's various groups broke off to converse amongst themselves once again, and the Decepticon Emperor sat down on the remnants of his own carbon-copy once more. And, in a twist of fate that didn't surprise him at all, the Cassetticons were already nowhere to be found, having snuck out while he was speaking.
Megatron allowed himself a raspy chuckle. "Of course, of course," he said to himself, "the only time they ever disobey orders and it's to accomplish an objective ahead of time. Well, Ravage, may the Fallen's Scepter guide your strike team, and may you revive Soundwave as efficiently as you do everything else. I will stand ready for your signal regardless of your insubordination. With warriors such as these, at a fortuitous time such as this, the Autobots will never rise again!"