Menasor's design is directly taken from The Transformers: Windblade vol. 2 #1, Combiner Wars Part 1 "The Sum and Its Parts", and Saren Stone's design of him (minus Offroad and Blackjack). Menasor's abilities in battle are derived off his Transformers: Devastation version of himself.
Transformers © Hasbro.
Menasor glared at the Autobots that cowered at his pedes.
Hatred burned through him as he spotted Superion's components.
Spotted Prime.
The surprise on their faceplates almost made Menasor laugh.
Fools.
"Rip Autobots apart."
Silverbolt barely had a second to move before Menasor's left pede slammed onto his frame, the crunch of metal and scream of pain from the torso of Superion finally forcing a laugh from Menasor. A bat of his right servo sent the rest of Superion's components flying as he summoned his sword from within his subspace.
Energon lit along the blade as he swung it towards the Prime, his free right servo lunging for the Autobot as he narrowly dodged the blade. The Prime gasped as Menasor caught his leg, metal cracking under Menasor's digits before the Prime's leg slipped from his tenuous hold.
"Menasor, you must stop!"
The Autobot leader was so irritating.
Menasor stomped on Silverbolt a second time as he leapt towards the fleeing Prime, the point of the massive sword clipping the edge of Prime's shoulder plate. Metal sheared off the Autobot while weak energon blasts struck Menasor's right leg. Distantly he could hear Superion's components yelling at him, their harmless attacks doing nothing to the combiner.
Another plunge of his ionizer sword caught the wing of Superion's right leg component, spearing the wing off the single engine jet fighter with a scream that made Menasor purr. His components had kept him trapped for so long. He had not been allowed to fight — to truly fight — in decades.
Movement to his side, of the Prime priming his laser blaster, made the combiner wheel away from Superion's components. Before the Prime could do little more than fire another measly round of energy blasts at Menasor, he leapt backwards, then swept his sword upwards with the momentum of his plunge towards the Prime.
Satisfaction burned through the combiner as he struck the Prime, severing one of the Prime's legs with a spray of bright energon. A shout of protest from one of Superion's components was met by a snarl from Menasor before he punched the irritatingly buzzing jet away from his helm.
An explosion followed the crash of the jumpjet into the woods far beyond the human town Prime had led Menasor's components to.
Shouts from Superion's components echoed behind him as he prowled towards Prime. Prime's optics were wide, but there was not so much fear in the Autobot's gaze as he called to Menasor, asking him to stop, but sadness.
A sneer was all he responded with, as Menasor raised his pede to stomp Prime into metal shavings—
"What has gotten into you, Motormaster? You've lost it! Decombine now!"
Superion's left leg component hovered inches from Menasor's face plate, one servo gesticulating angrily at him. The component leaned closer at Menasor's obvious pause, right until he was directly in front of one huge red optic.
"I am Menasor!" Indignant anger flared through the combiner at the jet's usage of his torso component's name.
He was not his components.
Superion's component knew that.
Superion's component smirked, then jabbed a digit against the glass of Menasor's optic roughly. "Come on, Motormaster, stop acting like a sparkling—"
"I am not Motormaster!" Menasor's roar staggered Superion's component, moments before he grabbed the Autobot in one servo, crushed him, then flung the component to the ground.
The Prime was forgotten as Menasor stomped on the damaged component, petulant fury forcing him to leave his pede crushing the leg component. His components never allowed him out. The Autobots—
A burst of energy struck his face plate, a slight sting all the effect the shot had. Still, Menasor turned his helm to glare at the Prime, whose laser blaster was aimed at Menasor. "Enough, Menasor. I do not know what is wrong, but we are not your enemy. Please, cease."
"No."
Prime stared up at him, his laser blaster faltering as his damaged arm failed him, exposing the Prime. Fury encompassed the combiner as he raised his sword up, then plunged it down towards Prime—
Destroy the humans.
Menasor stopped, the point of his sword mere inches from Prime's spark chamber.
The command was…
… to be obeyed.
Menasor stepped away from the Prime, every large stride carrying him away from the damaged Autobots. Trees splintered under his pedes as he neared a human road. Glee had him turn his sword to slice down at the vehicles that screeched past his pedes. Multiple vehicles were laid waste to while Menasor laughed giddily at the humans' terror that he could practically feel.
Buildings fell with mighty swings of his ionizer sword, the rubble crushed underneath his pedes with wanton destruction. His components did not protest, their silence allowing Menasor the full range of his destructive might. A medium sized vehicle screeched to a stop as the combiner speared his sword through another building, drawing Menasor's focus to the humans that burst out from the vehicle.
One pointed a recording device at him, while the second began gesticulating at him in view of the recording device. A… cameraman. One of his components hated cameras.
"No cameras!" Menasor snarled as he wheeled on the humans, his free servo swooping to grab the humans—
No, let them film. Destroy the rest of the town.
Menasor blinked at the strange command, his servo lingering over the humans before he stepped back.
He had his orders.
Standing to his full height, Menasor drew his ionizer sword to both servos. If the voice — one of his components? — wanted destruction, they would have it.
Bursts of energon rippled along the sword with each swing, lasers of plasma-like energy obliterating building after building in a ruthless wake until there was nothing left. Menasor subspaced his sword, gaze shifting to look over the destroyed town with a cold sneer.
Until the sounds of engines drew his gaze to the south.
Every Autobot was charging to his position — even Megatron was flying above them in his new tiltrotor altmode. His digits twitched, summoning his sword back—
Retreat.
Menasor spun his sword, summoning a tornado of wind that caught every Autobot in its vortex, then turned and fled. His anti-gravs carried him far from the destruction he'd wrought, until another command from that same disembodied voice had the combiner land on a deserted and broken road.
Decombine.
The order hit him just as a fleet of vehicles surrounded Menasor. Even as part of him protested, the last thing he saw was his components slamming to the ground as he fell back into recharge.
Pain splintered through Wildrider as his consciousness returned to him in a rush of sound and wrongness.
The gestalt bond was on fire, originating from—
::. What did we do? What did we do what did we do what did— .::
Panic seized the bond, igniting the unconscious mental blocks each Stunticon had up over their most personal feelings. Breakdown curled into himself, his panicked mantra echoing around them all unbidden. Drag Strip groaned to Wildrider's side, the side of the Pagani's bond spiking with confusion and fear as he rubbed at his helm. Dead End's bond rippled solely with misery, a defeated acceptance forcing a retreat in the Porsche Wildrider hadn't seen in years.
Motormaster, though, was eerily silent.
Wildrider turned his helm to where the semi lay on his front a few feet from the others. Motormaster was unmoving, not even the subtle shift of plating that happened during a Cybertronian's recharge. Fear shot through Wildrider as he scrambled to his pedes — and met the sight of a fleet of vehicles with various forms of blasters aimed at all five of them.
The Ferrari froze, clawed digits flexing minutely as he tensed his chassis for a fight.
"We have not come to fight," a human, a female with silver-gray hair, said as she stepped out of one truck, the blaster in her arms making Wildrider snarl.
Movement from his side announced Drag Strip slowly pulling himself to his pedes, his right servo still pressed to his helm as he joined Wildrider's side. ::. Who are these humans? .:: Drag Strip asked, his helm shifting to glance at Wildrider before he turned his gaze back on the humans with his denta bared.
::. I don't know. I don't recognize them. .:: Wildrider growled.
::. They're going to kill us. We're dead. What did we do… .::
::. Does it matter, Breakdown? These humans will deactivate us, accept that. It will make our deactivation easier. .:: Dead End mused, the coldness of his acceptance making Wildrider want to shout at his brother to stop.
Before he could make any move to ask, or demand, Dead End to be quiet, movement from Motormaster silenced all four Stunticons. The semi slowly shook his helm, his servos shifting underneath him as he pushed himself up off the ground, then stood.
Something was wrong.
Motormaster felt wrong.
His bond's steel walls, blackened and impenetrable, were locked suffocatingly around Menasor's pulsing, dormant lightning. Motormaster's own bond was just as suffocated, to a point Wildrider could not access even the most trace amount of feeling from the semi. Wildrider could not even feel the combiner's presence, an emptiness that scared him as Motormaster slowly turned his helm over his shoulder to fix a cold look on Wildrider and Drag Strip. There was a strange hollow emptiness in Motormaster's purple optics, as if a cloud of fog had covered the inner glass of those usually warm violet optics.
"Stand down, Stunticons." The gravel of Motormaster's deep voice rumbled through the ground, through the bond, through them all, wrong.
"What?!" Drag Strip snapped, his shoulder plates arching up with cat-like fury as he jerked a digit at the humans, all of whom had not yet made a move against the Stunticons — curiously so, Wildrider had to think. "They have weapons drawn on us! They're our enemy."
Wildrider nodded in agreement, though he could not find a way to make his vocalizer function properly to note to Motormaster how off he felt. He trusted Motormaster implicitly, practically since they had been created by Megatron. Wildrider loved Motormaster.
But this was wrong.
Drag Strip clearly agreed for, with a furious snarl, he jabbed a digit against Motormaster's chest plate, then gestured towards the humans once again. "These humans aren't our friends. Who are they to you—"
Motormaster's optics narrowed as Drag Strip spoke, a snarl appearing along his faceplate. The semi's arm twitched, before Motormaster rose it mechanically, drawing back—
Oh, Primus.
"Drag Strip, move!"
Wildrider's shout came too late.
Drag Strip's optics widened with horror as realization froze him in place.
Metal crunched underneath Motormaster's fist as he slammed his servo directly into Drag Strip's faceplate, the unmistakable sound of glass shattering and metal twisting and shearing freezing Wildrider's fuel lines. Drag Strip hit the pavement, a cry of agony escaping from him as he covered his faceplate with one servo. Energon leaked from between the yellow Stunticon's digits, the sound of quiet sobs from the always confident Drag Strip as alien as Motormaster hitting one of them.
Betrayal shot through the bond as Breakdown cowered in a hunched position behind them, his thoughts running amok with every sensation of pain, hurt, betrayal and confusion Drag Strip's unhindered bond was forcing upon them. To his side, Dead End slowly gathered himself to his pedes, his expression filled with what Wildrider could only surmise was loss as he approached Motormaster.
"This is not you," Dead End hissed, "but we will do as you say."
Wildrider gawked.
What?
A look from Dead End silenced Wildrider, before he gestured to Drag Strip and asked Wildrider to check on their brother. Wildrider darted a cautious look towards Motormaster, who hadn't moved from his rigid stance since punching Drag Strip, then rushed to Drag Strip's side once he was sure it was safe.
Drag Strip flinched at Wildrider's touch, his servos flying to claw at the Ferrari as fear pounded off his field overwhelmingly.
"Hey, it's okay," Wildrider whispered as he caught both of Drag Strip's servos, a calm he did not currently feel forced into his field as he leaned close to Drag Strip.
The plating of his face was heavily dented, with a few of his denta cracked, but what made Wildrider's spark clench was the shattered glass of Drag Strip's visor and optics. Energon seeped from Drag Strip's damaged optics and from his mouth, coating his yellow paint sickeningly blue.
"Why?"
The question from Drag Strip went almost unheard, his helm tilting towards Wildrider with an imploring desperation.
"I… don't know. Something is wrong with him inside the gestalt bond. Perhaps Swindle did something to him that we couldn't catch."
A faint, weak sob escaped Drag Strip, and it took a moment for Wildrider to realize that his brother was crying, windshield wiper fluid mixing amongst the energon pooling from his injured optics. Sorrow for his brother chased at Wildrider as he carefully began tending to Drag Strip. His left optic kept a close focus on the humans as they approached the Stunticons with noted caution.
The silver haired human stopped before Motormaster, her blaster resting across her chest as she patted Motormaster's pede. For a millisecond, Wildrider thought he saw his brother's optics flare with rage at the human's touch, but that moment passed so briefly into the same empty fog that Wildrider could not be certain what he'd seen. A command from the human had Motormaster kneel down before her, his expression unreadable for its emptiness, before she patted the semi's faceplate, then turned to the other humans.
"Stun the others."
Wildrider could do little more than leap to his pedes before he was struck by an energy round that blitzed electricity through his entire systems. He staggered as his systems began to go offline, his helm turning to Motormaster with a silent plea that was met only by that same empty expression.
Wildrider woke to uncomfortable silence.
His optics shuttered open to bright, fluorescent lights that made him shut his optics and jerk his arms to—
A clank of metal was all he was greeted with.
Confused, Wildrider opened his optics slowly, allowing them to adjust to the lighting, then turned to look at his right arm.
Heavy steel bands wrapped around his wrist and elbow, preventing any kind of movement besides his digits. His left arm was strapped down in the same manner, as were his torso, legs and pedes.
Where was he?
What happened?
He remembered waking after combining. The humans. Motormaster. Drag Strip, hurt. The stun round.
The humans had captured them?
Why?
Wildrider shifted his gaze around the empty room, but for himself, searching for anything to give him additional clues as to what exactly had happened.
There had to be an explanation somewhere in this… facility, for all he could presume, for why Motormaster had hurt Drag Strip and turned them in to these humans. Wildrider would not even entertain the idea of Motormaster betraying them. He knew, without a sparks second of hesitation, that Motormaster never would. Not the Motormaster who held Breakdown in his recharge after a bout of nightmares. Not the Motormaster who had offered Wildrider a listening audial and patience when he and Drag Strip had fought the day before Motormaster's injury. Not the Motormaster who tirelessly drove Drag Strip to races in between work, to cheer him on and act as his unofficial crew chief. Never the Motormaster who intently listened to Dead End's poetry with a small smile and unswerving affection for his second in command.
The humans had done something to his eldest brother.
Had twisted him and hurt him.
Rage blistered inside Wildrider.
The humans would pay, dearly.
Slowly, Wildrider twisted his wrist as much as he could under the steel bands. A flex of his sharp digits had them spring open, before Wildrider aimed for the band around his wrist. He could just reach the band.
With a determined but quiet growl, Wildrider slashed at the band — and was met by an intense jolt of electricity which left smoke billowing from his frame. A yelp escaped from Wildrider as he shrunk away from the bands as best he could.
He wasn't going to try that again.
The sound of a door opening drew Wildrider's gaze to a catwalk he hadn't seen previously and the silver haired female human striding out from a door hidden well against the far wall. Anger simmered inside the Ferrari as she stopped at a point on the catwalk that allowed her to peer down at him. It made him feel like some kind of prey animal as she gazed down at him intensely.
"Your callsign is Wildrider, correct?"
"It's Bite Me," Wildrider spat, a sneer clear on his faceplate at the human's scowl.
"Don't play stupid," she reprimanded, "we know who each of you are. Your leader had no choice but to tell us."
That silenced Wildrider.
Hatred burrowed deep within his spark as he glowered at the human, the implication of her words anything but reassuring. What had she done to Motormaster to make him talk? To make him the violent mech who punched his brothers for preconceived disobedience?
Whatever the human had done, Wildrider was affirmed in his faith in Motormaster. If the human had forced Motormaster to discuss his brothers, then she had forced him to hurt Drag Strip and to command the Stunticons to turn themselves over to the humans.
How she had, though, was not so easily answered.
Perhaps if he engaged the human in conversation she would slip up and allow Wildrider a glance into what she'd done. With a long, drawn out vent that he exaggerated for the human's' benefit, the Ferrari slumped in his restraints, then looked at the human.
"So you know who we are," Wildrider pushed defeat into his vocalizer, mimicking Dead End as he used his left servo's digits to mindlessly tap at the metal slap he was laid out on. "What do you want with us? With Motormaster?"
"Oh, we have what we want already. Look for yourself."
The human clicked a button on a remote she had hidden where he couldn't see, a whir of hydraulics announcing the shifting of wall panels until a large screen was revealed directly in Wildrider's line of sight. Bristling, Wildrider glared at the human as the screen turned on, until a familiar, yet not, voice boomed through the screen's speakers.
A massive faceplate appeared on screen, glaring down at the source of the video as he reached for the screen. Wildrider stared in horror as Menasor stopped inches from grabbing the screen before he turned his back on the screen. His frame shrank, the anger he'd been feeling moments earlier vanishing into shame, shock, horror and confusion as he watched his team's combiner destroy a town.
The human voice narrating Menasor's attack was a mere, numb footnote as she described the destruction and showed, uncensored, scores of deceased humans amongst the rubble after Menasor fled the town. The Autobots were as confused as Wildrider felt when the human and her video recorder interviewed them, each Autobot pausing in their cleanup assistance of the destroyed town to state a combined inability to understand what the Stunticons had done.
Wildrider looked away from the screen as the human news reporter approached a scene that left shame burning inside his fans.
Optimus Prime was kneeling beside Silverbolt, a leg missing from the Autobot leader while his right arm hung from only a few wires. Silverbolt was nearly unrecognizable if not for Wildrider memorizing the details of Motormaster's best friend so that he and Breakdown could surprise the semi with a portrait of both combiner team leaders enjoying a sunset together for Motormaster's "birthday" four years ago. From all Wildrider could tell, Menasor must have stepped on Silverbolt, judging by the near flattened state the Concorde was in.
The human shoved a phone near Optimus as he held Silverbolt's servo, interrupting the Autobot leader as she demanded answers about the Stunticons from Optimus. Optimus vented before he spoke, his answer making Wildrider's shame unbearable.
"I believe in the Stunticons with every fiber of my being. This attack was not the Stunticons I have known for these past decades. I… I will find answers to what happened."
"Are you sure this wasn't truly what they wanted? This team was formerly aligned with the Decepticons, weren't they?"
"Yes, they were, but—"
"Look at what they've done!" The news reporter barked as she got up close to Optimus, her finger jabbed against his side. "They killed innocent people and enjoyed it. That thing they turned into was laughing! It enjoyed all of that!"
Optimus looked down, a deep vent escaping from the Autobot before he shook his helm. "I'm sorry."
The reporter said a few choice words to the Autobot leader as Ratchet appeared from the far right of the camera, his medical kit in servo and optics wide with shock. The recording continued, displaying every injured Aerialbot — including two of Wildrider's brothers' best friends — as Ratchet tended to them, and Optimus, sitting to the side with his helm in his servos.
The recording played over and over again, in a loop that made Wildrider wish to damage his optics and audials so he no longer had to watch Menasor lay waste to everything the Stunticons had tried so hard to turn from.
Eventually the human shut off the screen, though the smirk on her face told him that she had gotten everything she'd wanted from Wildrider's reaction to the recording.
"Do you see, Cybertronian, humans finally understand what your kind is capable of. The so-called 'reformed Decepticons' never will change. Your kind cannot be trusted."
Wildrider bared his denta at the human, hatred sparking off his field and through the bond — which felt abnormally empty, as if a void space within Wildrider's processor — as he studied the human's smug expression. She had been smiling the entire time the video of Menasor's attack played, had even hid a laugh behind her hand whenever the video looped to Optimus' conversation with the reporter.
"You did this." Wildrider clenched his servos, every part of him clawing to escape and rip the human apart — slowly.
"Yes," the female said, her arrogance practically radiating off her as she sneered down at Wildrider. "We planted a virus in Motormaster that allowed us complete control of him, and your combiner, once we activated the control switch. We had Swindle attack Motormaster so as to cloak our own weld lines and meddling from your Cybertronian medic. He wouldn't look that deep into Motormaster's central processing unit if he had more pressing matters to tend to."
Wildrider could only stare.
His spark ached.
This human had controlled Motormaster? She had set Menasor off on a town of innocent humans. Had injured Motormaster enough to need Swindle to attack Motormaster to hide whatever experiments she had done to the semi.
Wildrider was ashamed of everything he'd seen in the video of Menasor's attack. Even if Menasor was the one who had committed the destruction, the combiner was one of them, and they were part of him. Menasor's actions were, in essence, those of the Stunticons.
How many humans had they killed?
What would Silverbolt, or Optimus, or Sky High, or First Aid or Skydive think of them when the Autobots saw the Stunticons again? (If they saw them again, Wildrider's Dead End voice chided). Would they hate them? Would they spurn them away, believing the Stunticons had actively destroyed an entire town on a whim? Would they, like Optimus had said on the recording, believe the Stunticons had no desire to hurt others again?
Would they be welcome on the Ark ever again?
Trusted near any Autobot or human alike?
Did they even have a home anymore?
Hook's voice suddenly nagged at Wildrider. He'd listened to Motormaster and Hook debate the validity of Swindle attacking the semi. Of… Swindle.
We had Swindle attack Motormaster.
Wildrider tapped a digit against the metal slab, his helm tilted slightly as he used his other servo to gesture vaguely in the direction he'd seen the human enter the room he was stuck in. "How much did you pay Swindle to have him work with you?"
The human laughed, her mirth leaving Wildrider off centered.
What had he said that was remotely a source of amusement?
"Oh, we don't work together." Something familiar sparked along the human's face as she smiled with bared teeth down at Wildrider.
She was enjoying this.
Immensely.
Unperturbed by Wildrider's silence, she continued. "He does our every beck and call, as Motormaster does. Though he has been quite helpful in explaining everything about Cybertronian biology and physiology. It doesn't take much to make him talk."
Indignation ignited something so primordially Decepticon inside him at the human's words. None of the Stunticons liked Swindle, or his Combaticon brethren. They had butted helms and been intensely competitive ever since the Combaticons had rejoined the Decepticons. The Combaticons had nearly offlined Wildrider and his brothers. A bit of dislike for the other combiner team seemed fair to Wildrider, but this human…
She was an enemy to all of them.
Swindle did not deserve to be abused and used by this human. He was Cybertronian. Decepticon. Broken Stunticon Decepticon loyalty coding or not, Wildrider would not stand seeing the irritating scammer tortured by this female or her lackeys. He filed away his feelings, stewing on them as he rolled his optics exaggeratedly at her words.
"And why my brothers and I?"
"You five kept away from other Cybertronians, there was less chance of backup for you. And you are the only team of Decepticons that has been adopted by the Autobots." The human looked disgusted as the last sentence struggled out of her mouth, as if a heavy weight rested upon her belief on the Autobots "adopting" Wildrider and his brothers.
Wildrider opened his mouth to explain otherwise — Optimus had never adopted him (whatever that meant) — when a laugh from the human stopped him.
"Who else better to get our message across than Optimus' sons?"
Wildrider stared, mouth agape.
The urge to protest was there but he could not find the words.
Sons?
How insane was this human?
The human seemed unaware of Wildrider's bewildered stare as she gave a tired, exasperated sigh.
"Changing your alternate modes made it harder for us to track you down," the human said with a dismissive wave of her hand, "until we discovered that our energon tracking system had located Motormaster. We watched him and your Lamborghini until we were sure you were the proper targets."
Wildrider snapped into focus.
They'd watched his brothers.
Stalked them.
Venomous words built on his glossa, which he stamped back with a demure, defeated, incline of his helm.
"Why are you telling me all of this?" Wildrider realized, his optics narrowed with wariness as the human continued to look down at him, her expression entertained.
"Because you won't remember anything but what we allow you to when we're done with you."
Before Wildrider could react, or realize what was happening, he felt something connect to his central processing unit. The young Ferrari thrashed as he felt his files get forcibly opened and exposed. His firewalls were obliterated in an instant, torn asunder by the human.
His memories and thoughts and feelings were brought into the forefront, blasting past his natural guards and blocks as if they were little more than a bump in the road. His mind was flayed apart.
He could do nothing but watch it all.
To realize with abject fear that his brothers were undergoing the same as himself.
He hoped they would be okay.
The voices were back.
The lights whispered to him, crooning dangerous ideas even as he argued back at them.
His restraints did not help as they encouraged the lights that he should not mind crushing a few humans here and there. They were a weak species, incapable of fending for themselves upon the Cybertronians' arrival to Earth.
After all, the voices whispered, Wildrider would be freed from the pain that came every day if he just squashed a few humans.
"Shut up." Wildrider snarled, his engine revving with fury as he glared at the source of the voices.
The restraints silenced themselves under his piercing glare. The lights quieted to an indecipherable hum under the same. A smile drifted across Wildrider's faceplate. Motormaster's brand of glaring worked on anything.
Wildrider's spark sank.
He hadn't seen his brothers since the humans had captured them. The gestalt bond continued to be voidless, even when Wildrider concentrated his every fiber on the connection. He believed his brothers were still online. If they weren't, he would know. The humans… needed the Stunticons still. Something nagged at him, telling him so.
Don't trust the humans. Fight them.
Wildrider's optics snapped open.
That voice was new.
A glance around the room he was locked in showed nothing to clue him into who, or what, had spoken. The restraints and lights had not spoken since he'd silenced them. There were no humans observing him, as they so often did — or were those times all a part of a delusion? Wildrider could not keep track of what was real or not anymore.
Part of him suspected the humans had done something to the temporal neural net patch Ratchet had installed to help lessen the Ferrari's auditory and visual hallucinations. Wildrider could not trust his surroundings or himself. Not without his brothers to ground him when the voices had returned.
The only time Wildrider felt truly… there… was when the humans returned to torture him with their mindflayer.
Primus how he loathed pain.
A hiss of hydraulics announced the arrival of the humans, as they always did, every day.
Wildrider did not even look to the humans, by now their process with preparing the mindflayer — a derivative of Shockwave's Cortical Psychic Patch — long familiar to the Stunticon. It was this familiarity that almost made him miss the heavy thuds of metallic pedes approaching his side, until he felt a shadow cloak his frame.
A familiar, yet terrifyingly cold, field brushed against his own.
An ancient fear washed across Wildrider's frame as he looked up to meet Motormaster's optics. His brother towered over him, his expression set in an emotionless mask. For the fear that lingered inside him, Wildrider could not help but feel relief at seeing the semi.
::. Motormaster? Can you hear me? .:: Wildrider pleaded at his brother's bond, pointless though he suspected the effort was.
Motormaster did not respond.
The semi couldn't, could he?
Fight.
That voice again.
Was Wildrider imagining everything around him? If that voice returned, then were the humans actually there? Was Motormaster genuinely at his side?
"Motormaster, please."
Wildrider's plea slipped off his glossa before he could stop himself. His left servo shifted underneath its restraints on instinct. Desperation for any source of grounding erupted through Wildrider. Before the Ferrari could recognize what he was doing, he grabbed Motormaster's wrist, which was stationed inches from him.
:: Motormaster, wake up! .::
Nothing happened.
For a second.
Then it all came, in one single flood.
Lasers cut open his chassis, while humans walked over his restrained form.
"Access his central processing unit, but carefully."
That was the female human who…
Motormaster thrashed under heavy restraints. Rage poured off him in waves. Humans slipped and fell as the semi started to tear at his restraints. Bolts began to loosen with the shriek of bending metal.
A blaster to Motormaster's helm stopped the semi mid-struggle. His gaze shifted away from the humans and to the familiar yellow and purple of Swindle. Swindle, with a human female standing on his shoulder.
"Struggling will get you nowhere, Motormaster. Either you cooperate or your brothers will be in your place."
Hate seethed inside him, pounding through his field and gestalt bond.
Humans picked through his internal wiring, scanning every part of his entire frame as if he was some scientific project for them to gawk at.
Hate burrowed deep.
Sparks struck Motormaster's faceplate as the saw blade cut into his throat plating. Hate sweltered inside him like a heatwave—
Only to be unleashed without his control.
Optimus' smile faded at Motormaster's snarl.
Motormaster felt himself shift into his combined form against his will, even as he tried to fight it. He opened his comms to Optimus and roared a desperate, pleading, "Shoot me, Prime!"
The comms did not go through—
The woman smiled.
Pleased.
Wildrider retreated from his brother, overwhelmed.
Motormaster simply looked down at him, his gaze shifting to look down at his wrist where Wildrider had touched him. The semi's field dimmed, until Wildrider could feel nothing of the same rush of emotion and memories from Motormaster.
"Are they ready?" The woman asked — the one from Motormaster's memories and the one… who… yes… Wildrider remembered. He slammed his field down, protecting his swirling thoughts from Motormaster as the semi looked to the human, while a different human moved next to the female.
"Yes, all behavior modifiers have been applied," that human answered, his voice reedy thin. Whiny. Like Starscream.
"Excellent." The female human turned to Motormaster, her hand making a vague gesture to Wildrider. "Will they do as ordered?"
"Yes." Motormaster's deep, gravelly voice made Wildrider shiver, his optics turning to look at the human as she nodded, her expression deeply pleased.
"You have your coordinates and orders. Follow through with them accordingly."
Motormaster inclined his helm towards the human, though Wildrider saw the semi's right servo twitch into a fist for a millisecond, an observation Wildrider kept smartly to himself. Soon the restraints were released from his chassis, allowing Wildrider to stand and meet Motormaster's optics with his own curious ones.
"What are our orders, boss?" Wildrider questioned as Motormaster's servo came to rest against his back, the shove the semi gave him nearly toppling Wildrider off his pedes.
Wildrider caught himself with a nervous laugh, before he straightened and walked ahead of Motormaster, aware of the semi's empty gaze boring a hole into his backstrut. Both of them walked a ways down a hallway that led from Wildrider's holding room, until Motormaster's servo on the Ferrari's shoulder plate redirected him to a … parking garage.
Various vehicles were scattered around the indoor parking garage, but it was the frames of his remaining three brothers' alt modes that had Wildrider nearly bolt from Motormaster's side — if not for Motormaster's grip on his shoulder plate to tighten as if from a vice. Wildrider stilled, his optics darting from Motormaster to his eerily still brothers.
A ping on the Stunticons' comm channel, originating from Motormaster, included a set of coordinates and a stiff order of "follow". Wildrider plugged the coordinates into his navigation system, only to look at Motormaster in confusion.
"Philadelphia? Why?"
"For the greatest source of collateral damage."
"Oh," Wildrider said, the shrug of his shoulder plates belaying his shock.
His processor replayed Motormaster's empty expression and casual ease with which he'd declared their mission as the Stunticons drove from the human base, towards Philadelphia. Breakdown, Drag Strip and Dead End were as silent as the semi, through comms and the gestalt bond.
It scared Wildrider.
Scared him in a way he hadn't felt since Megatron had trained his fusion cannon on Breakdown the day they'd defected from the Decepticons.
Fight.
That was what that voice had said, wasn't it?
Wildrider looked at his brothers through his mirrors, observing them before he took a deep vent, then opened his private, encrypted comm channel to the Ark. The Ark's alert system began tearing at Wildrider, allowing him only the chance to send the intended coordinates for their… mission… before the Ark and Teletraan-1 forcibly ejected Wildrider's access from the Autobots' comms.
He only hoped they would listen.
Wildrider would not be able to stop Menasor.
Rain pelted down onto the Ferrari's windshield, gusts of wind striking and pushing his small frame around the road. Motormaster moved to the right of his team, blocking them from the wind as Drag Strip's alt mode was pushed nearly into the oncoming lane of traffic due to its lighter weight. Lightning struck in the distance, thunder rumbling seconds after as the Stunticons closed in on Philadelphia.
Menasor awoke to quiet.
His components were silent.
Cooperative.
Motormaster's processor buzzed with… something?
His helm tilted as his components' thoughts were laid bare to him.
Yes.
He understood.
He loved when they let him loose.
Laughter boomed from the combiner as he crushed building after building under his pedes, with his sword and with his fist. A particularly offending vehicle — the same alternate mode as his right arm component, albeit not yellow — was picked up in his free servo and crushed, the refuse dropped where Menasor had found it.
Lightning thundered through the sky as the combiner rampaged through the massive human dwelling, his sword electrified by the storm. Massive energy bursts came with each swing of the sword, obliterating far off human dwellings without remorse.
His components demanded total annihilation of their target.
Menasor would give them that, and more.
Fires had erupted through the city as Menasor roared, crushed, swung and obliterated everything in sight, his rage uncessing. The humans had harmed his components. Tortured them. The least they deserved was Menasor's wrath.
Worthless humans.
"Menasor, stand down!"
Menasor stopped, his right pede lowering to the ground amongst a building he had already destroyed, rather than the tall apartment complex he'd been inches from destroying. His helm turned first, a snarl ripping from his intake as Superion landed in front of him. Snooty, superior Superion.
"Stand down." Superion demanded.
"No," Menasor spat before he lunged for his rival with a roar.
Superion expected it, and delivered a swift punch towards Menasor's helm that was deflected by the plating of his left arm. Irritation built inside Menasor as Superion began to draw him away from the city with distracting kicks, punches and glancing shots from his blaster.
Superion was pulling his punches. Yes, that was the term his components termed Superion's effortless attacks.
Was Superion not trying to hurt him?
How frustrating.
"Fight me!" Menasor screamed as he lunged for Superion, tired of the other combiner's evasiveness.
Superion dodged to the side again, his right leg sweeping underneath Menasor just as Superion grabbed Menasor by his helm horns and slammed his faceplate into the ground.
"Superion will win, as I always have," Superion hissed above Menasor as he slammed Menasor's helm into rubble and debris over and over.
Anger built inside Menasor with each strike, his flailing right arm finally catching Superion's waist in time to yank the combiner to the ground. Superion did not stay down long, though. He never did. Menasor's torso component admired that in Superion. His torso component sometimes wouldn't shut up about Superion's torso component. That his torso component was so silent for once was nice. It allowed Menasor to think without distraction.
Menasor's sword slashed across Superion's chest plate, cutting deeply enough that energon pooled from the wound. A follow up blast of energy from his sword struck Superion's helm, staggering the combiner into a cluster of buildings Menasor hadn't destroyed yet.
A laugh escaped from Menasor, though it faded quickly when he felt a sudden urge to aim for Superion's limbs. It wasn't his urging either. One of his components wanted him to tear Superion limb from limb. Until all that remained was the torso.
Fun.
Menasor leapt towards Superion, his fist smashing into the other's faceplate with a snarl of triumph when Superion fell to his aft. The smug Autobot combiner needed a few losses in his life.
The limbs.
Frustration waxed against Menasor's thoughts at the reminder. It… was from his left leg component. Wildrider.
He never told Menasor what to do. Never even gave suggestions.
Wildrider's consciousness flashed back to himself for a millisecond, his processor whirling as fast as his alt mode could travel.
Soundwave had theorized combiner physiology could be shared between combiner teams during one of his many teaching lessons for the Stunticons, when they'd just been created. Wildrider had paid mild attention to the discussion, but he remembered enough — as well as Breakdown's late night mutterings about shared combiner physiology.
Superion reached for Menasor's helm horns a second time as the Autobot combiner leapt to his pedes, his attack telegraphed long enough for Menasor to swing his sword at his rival instead. Superion ducked the blade, darting up to—
::. Rip off his left leg, Menasor. .::
Menasor froze, allowing Superion a chance to swing a fist at him that Menasor blocked with the broadside of his sword. Wildrider's suggestion ran through his processor again. Louder, this time.
::. Rip off his left leg. Now. .::
Menasor let out a violent snarl as he slammed the broadside of his sword into Superion's faceplate, staggering the snooty combiner just enough. Just enough for Menasor to spin his sword, then cleave Superion's left leg component from his chassis. Superion screeched in pain as he fell back, Menasor's sword coming down to—
This was Wildrider's only chance.
Menasor's left leg vanished.
Stunned, Menasor collapsed onto his right knee, the point of his sword missing Superion by mere feet as it drove into the ground, steadying Menasor. Horror, confusion, loss, betrayal, assailed the combiner as he reached for his left leg.
The component was gone.
Wildrider had left him?
Menasor roared, hatred burning across his field as hotly as the lightning that continued to strike his sword. How dare Superion harm—
No.
Menasor tilted his helm, optics blinking owlishly as he stared at Superion, still laid out on his backstrut, with a gray and red Ferrari combined onto his left leg.
Wildrider felt a strange lightness within his gestalt bond. New voices assailed his mind as he felt his combined state adjusting to Superion's left leg. Silverbolt, Fireflight, Skydive and Slingshot's gestalt bonds clashed with his before Wildrider laid down his walls and exposed his every inner feeling to the Aerialbots. This was the only solution.
Slingshot was a cyclone, beating and bashing relentlessly against Wildrider's foreign gestalt bond. Silverbolt, a gentle rainstorm after a warm day, soothing to a point Wildrider could easily escape into the Aerialbot leader's bond and never come out. Fireflight was an incoming atmospheric river, his presence not yet overbearing, but lingering on the edge. Then Skydive was a sea breeze, the F-16's bond warming to Wildrider's presence with a pleasant gust of wind.
::. Wildrider? What are you doing? .:: Silverbolt sounded concerned, his bond fluctuating with a torrent of emotions that were foreign, yet vaguely familiar to Wildrider. No wonder Motormaster had bonded with Silverbolt. They were alike, deep down in their sparks.
::. Give Air Raid back to us! .:: Slingshot screamed.
Wildrider frowned. He had to withstand the buffeting conflict of the Aerialbots' gestalt bonds as long as he could.
::. I can't. Not yet. Stop fighting me, .:: Wildrider replied as another hit from Slingshot nearly caused him to decombine from Superion.
Who was beginning to wake to Wildrider's presence, and he seemed very displeased.
Desperate, Wildrider blocked the three limb components off from his bond — a task that was quickly exhausting him as he fought Superion's command to decombine from him, as well as the three limb components — and turned his entire spark to Silverbolt. His memories of the human female, the mindflayer, Motormaster's abnormal behavior, everything the human had told Wildrider, assaulting Silverbolt with unrelenting force.
Silverbolt's bond reacted with a mild fight, a natural protective shield from invasive combiner components, until Wildrider felt the Concorde's bond accept him in full. Shock pulsed through Silverbolt as he acknowledged everything Wildrider sent him with a quiet, broken flux of hurt. Hurt not for Silverbolt, but the Stunticons, Wildrider realized, seconds before he felt the Aerialbots' gestalt bond rip away from him with a roar from Superion.
Wildrider collapsed to the ground away from both hobbled combiners, his frame shifting out of its combined state as his vents heaved with strain. Exhaustion bled his energy dry, so that the last thing he saw was Menasor reaching for him with an expression that could only be described as hurt and scared.
Confusion left Menasor hunched even as his left leg reattached itself. His component had left him?
Why?
Why?
A spark of warning from his torso component came too late, before Superion's fist slammed into Menasor's face, sending him crashing to the ground. Energon spilled from the combiner's mouth as he slowly pulled himself to his pedes, sword pointed towards Superion with a threatening growl.
"Superion not part of this. Superion should return to Autobot base," Menasor snapped, an unconscious wipe of his servo smearing the energon that continued to leak from his mouth in a bright blue smear across metal plating.
"I cannot leave until you are subdued." Superion tensed, his optics narrowed as he stared down Menasor. Menasor matched the glare with his own, though some of his fight had been noticeably sapped by Wildrider's defection from him.
Wildrider had never defected. Wildrider liked Menasor.
What had he done to make Wildrider defect from him?
Menasor shook his helm, his troubled feelings slowing his rage to an eddy. Superion watched Menasor, not making a move to attack his distracted opponent.
Instead, Superion stepped forward and touched Menasor's right shoulder plate. "Menasor should return to the Ark with Superion. Menasor is still welcome with the Autobots."
Menasor shook his helm, his brow furrowed with concentrated confusion. He still had his mission. His components' mission for him must be completed.
A sudden crash of steel and a shock of purple and green jolted Menasor out of his thoughts, his optics widening as Devastator stalked towards him and Superion. On Devastator's shoulders were numerous Autobots, their expressions all filled with anger and confusion.
"Menasor turns himself in or Menasor will be destroyed!" Devastator snarled.
Menasor backed up, his helm shifting to glance at Superion, Devastator, then the Autobots. He had his mission.
"Devastator, Autobots, wait," Superion stepped in front of Menasor, the sudden absence of his servo on Menasor's shoulder plate leaving the combiner feeling a strange sense of emptiness. He liked when Superion was his ally. His… friend.
Why was he fighting against Superion?
"Menasor is confused. He does not mean to harm humans. Stand down—"
The rest of Superion's words were drowned out by a sudden, deep snarl that boomed inside Menasor's processor.
RETREAT.
Pain split from Menasor's audials as the "retreat" command repeated over and over inside his processor. It was too much.
Menasor shoved Superion away from him before he stored his sword, activated his anti-gravs, then fled.
Instinct told him to not return to the human base which his components were loyal to immediately, lest the Autobots track him down. So he fled deep into the south, until his components decombined in the midst of a forest, leaving his mind with too much turmoil as he was forced back into stasis.
Exhaustion clouded Wildrider's processor as Motormaster carried the four Stunticons in his trailer, back to the small Pennsylvania town of Witwicky. They arrived in the parking area hours later, Motormaster's angered snarl booting all four out of his trailer before he transformed out of his alt mode and sank to the floor. Breakdown sat on the ground near Motormaster, that not a sound or thought came from the Lamborghini only scared Wildrider more. Even Drag Strip was silent as he flopped onto his front, his overheated engine necessitating recharge.
Wildrider stood, awkwardly, near his brothers.
He watched them, aware of the way none of them seemed remotely aware of what he'd done with Superion. What had the humans done to his brothers?
"Stunticons!"
A startled cry popped from Wildrider at the human's shout, his helm turning to watch as a stream of humans, including the silver haired female and a well built, scarred male, approached them. The scowl on the female's face spoke of her absolute displeasure, which only centered further when she saw Wildrider.
"Return to your quarters, except for you, Wildrider."
Motormaster did not say a word. Did not even look to Wildrider as he stood up at her command, his mechanical steps so unlike him Wildrider hated it. Silence soon reigned as the humans slowly surrounded Wildrider, the female's eyes narrowed dangerously as she glared up at him.
"We saw what you did, Wildrider. I should have wiped you completely. Restrain him."
Wildrider snapped to his subspace, his scattershot gun appearing in his servos — but not quickly enough.
Electricity coursed through his frame as the humans tugged him down with electron coils attached to each of his limbs. Wildrider was nearly slammed into the ground by the humans yanking on all four of his limbs, only preventing an unceremonious crash when he caught himself with his servos, though his scattershot gun went sprawling away from him as he fell.
It was then that the human female approached him, her expression disgusted.
"Your brothers will be punished for your actions, Wildrider. I think I'll start with Breakdown. Motormaster was the most sensitive to threats towards him, I'm sure you're the same."
No.
He could not allow that.
In a burst of unhinged energy, Wildrider lunged towards the nearest human. The power behind his movement jerked the humans stationed at his left arm and both legs off their feet, allowing him the freedom to tear the restraints off his right arm and lunge for the nearest human.
Wildrider yanked the human off the ground, his left pede slamming to the ground to knock the humans holding his restraints onto their fronts as he drew his captive human close to his faceplate. The human thrashed in his grasp, its feeble limbs beating at Wildrider's digits even as the Ferrari allowed a sadistic smile to greet the human's next scream.
"Please, no!"
Wildrider ignored the human's plea with a violent rev of his engine before he crushed the human within his clenched servo. Blood and human flesh sprayed out between his digits, coating Wildrider's faceplate as he whirled on the humans still clinging to his restraints. Two were not so fortunate as their companions as Wildrider crushed one under his pede, the other batted across the room with such force that Wildrider heard its body shatter upon impact with the furthest wall.
"Stun him!"
Numerous voices shouted as Wildrider kicked another group of humans away from him, though he did not hear what was being said as he spotted the entrance to the parking lot. If he could escape, then he could find the Autobots and bring them to this base.
Save his —
Electricity struck his entire frame, staggering the Stunticon, though he transformed through it. Determined. He had to.
He—
Another blast of electricity, as well as a heavy rain of laser fire, struck his entire alt mode, throwing him out of alt mode and back to root mode as he landed on his side. Pain splintered through his entire frame as electricity continued to be pumped into his frame, each time he thrashed or tried to stand being rewarded with higher and higher voltage.
Finally, his forcefield short circuited and, with another voltage of electricity that offlined his optics, Wildrider collapsed.