CHAPTER 13: TRIAL BY FIRING SQUAD
A week later, Vortex and Onslaught returned to their ship, still resting at the bottom of Lake Michigan, bringing yet another haul of stolen equipment from human facilities. This time, of particular interest were the uranium fuel rods Vortex had tucked under her arm.
Hard Top emerged from the engine room as they entered, his keen optics immediately locking onto the stolen cargo. Without a word, he took the fuel rods from Vortex, inspecting them with a discerning eye.
"This should be enough to keep our generators afloat for another lunar cycle. A shame this species has yet to develop more efficient forms of power generation." He lamented, already thinking of how much better Cybertronian-grade energy sources would have served them.
Onslaught wasted no time in getting to the point. "What is the progress on the repairs?"
"Energon reserves are stable. Brawl and I have managed to staunch the leaching into the water. The materials you four have been bringing back are acceptable substitutes for more robust supplies."
Vortex scoffed. "And for the people who aren't part-time engineers?"
Hard Top, unphased by her impatience, continued his report. "Engines and stern thrusters are structurally sound, though I am concerned for their long-term stability. The ship will move when we need it to, but whether it will stay intact is another matter. The bridge console, as well, still requires repairs that I currently lack the materials for."
Onslaught's optics narrowed. "How long?"
"At our current rate, the ship will be able to emerge from the lake within two stellar cycles. However, if we can establish communications with Decepticon High Command, reinforcements and rescue could come to us. Given our position at the edge of the known galaxy, we would require a very strong radio transmitter."
Onslaught turned his gaze to the viewport, where only the endless murk of the lake surrounded them. Two stellar cycles. Two stellar cycles of being stranded on this primitive world, reduced to scavengers, while the war raged on without them. It was unacceptable.
His fury simmered just beneath the surface, barely contained as his servos clenched into fists. "This will not do," he declared coldly. "So long as we are here, the Decepticon Empire's strength is diminished. We must accelerate this timetable."
"What do you suggest?" Hard Top asked, his interest piqued.
Onslaught turned to face his team, an evil smirk forming beneath his faceplate. "We shall give humanity an offer it simply cannot afford to refuse."
The Autobots, however, had no idea what the Combaticons were planning. They had their own problems to deal with…
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Agent Simmons' furious scream echoed through the base.
Slipstream, who had been lounging around in the atrium, perked up at the sudden outburst. "Everything alright, Simmons?" she asked, peeking over toward his section of the base.
"WHY IS THERE A SIX HUNDRED DOLLAR CHARGE ON MY CREDIT CARD!?" Simmons demanded, gripping his phone so hard it looked like it might shatter.
Slipstream blinked. "Ohhh, that's what that number meant."
Simmons shot her a glare. "What's that supposed to mean?! DID YOU STEAL MY CREDIT CARD?!"
"Oh no, but Impulse said he used it." Slipstream clarified.
Simmons' face turned red with rage as he stomped off, phone still clenched in his fist. "Can't believe I got stuck with this assignment," he grumbled as he stormed through the base. "Should have just gone to the Alaskan Facility, but nooooooo, I got stuck babysitting fucking robots!"
After a brief search, Simmons found his target: Impulse, fast asleep on the couch, sprawled out like he didn't have a single care in the world.
"What did you buy with my credit card?!" Simmons barked.
Impulse groggily waved a hand in his direction, clearly unbothered.
That wasn't going to fly.
Simmons turned on his heel, stormed into the kitchen, grabbed a cast iron pan, and hurled it at Impulse's head with full force.
CLANG!
"AGH, the fuck is your problem?!" Impulse jolted awake, rubbing the new dent in his helmet.
"WHY IS THERE A SIX HUNDRED DOLLAR CHARGE ON MY CREDIT CARD?!"
Impulse blinked as his processors fully booted back up. "Ohhh, that. I bought us those streaming services."
Simmons' nostrils flared. "I'M CANCELING ALL OF THEM."
Impulse's optics widened in horror. "NO, I JUST STARTED GAME OF THRONES!"
"Should have thought of that before you stole my card!" Simmons shot back.
Impulse clasped his hands together in desperation. "PLEASE, I promise I won't do it again!"
"No!" Simmons barked. "And if you pull a stunt like this again, I'm having the DOD take that TV away!"
Simmons turned to leave, but then, just to twist the knife a little deeper, he glanced back over his shoulder and smirked.
"Oh, by the way, Ned Stark gets beheaded."
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Slipstream screeched from across the room, having also gotten invested in the show.
Impulse's entire frame went rigid. "YOU SICK BASTARD, I'LL KILL YOU!"
Before Simmons could react, Impulse rolled off the couch and lunged at him.
"OH SHIT—"
Simmons turned to bolt, but Impulse was faster. He landed in front of Simmons, and scooped him up in both hands before he could escape.
Simmons thrashed in his grip. "You lay a finger on me, and I'll have the Pentagon drop a missile on this place!" he threatened.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?!" Jeopardy's voice boomed through the base as he stormed inside, having just finished training Stormsurge outside when the shouting reached his ears.
"HE SPOILED GAME OF THRONES!" Impulse yelled, still clutching a struggling Agent Simmons in his hands.
"BECAUSE YOU STOLE MY CREDIT CARD!" Simmons shot back, his voice hoarse from screaming.
Then, as if Jeopardy wasn't even there, the two immediately launched into a rapid-fire argument, talking over each other so aggressively that neither of their words were coherent.
Jeopardy's optic twitched. "ENOUGH!" he bellowed, instantly silencing both of them.
He exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright, I don't care who started the fight, this ends now! Impulse, give Simmons back his credit card and get him refunded! Simmons, stop being so petty! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR!?"
Impulse sheepishly nodded, quickly setting Simmons down before slapping the credit card back into his palm.
Simmons, wiping his face in disgust, grumbled something under his breath and stomped off, muttering threats about calling the Secretary of Defense.
Just then, the door to the workshop cracked open, and Hermit Crab peeked his head out.
"Is there a reason everyone is screaming like banshees?" he asked, completely calm.
Jeopardy exhaled. "It's been resolved."
Hermit gave a slow, approving nod. "Good. That was getting annoying."
And with that, he promptly shut the door and went back to work.
MEANWHILE, IN FLORIDA:
The attack was swift, precise, and utterly devastating. From miles away, Onslaught, still in his anti-aircraft truck form, unleashed a barrage of surface-to-air missiles that arced through the sky and struck the bridges leading to the Kennedy Space Center. The explosions rocked the coastline, sending concrete and steel crumbling into the water below. Within seconds, the only way in or out was gone.
Above, the sky was a blur of motion. Vortex and Blast Off screamed overhead, their alt-modes casting long shadows as they rained down destruction. Machine gun fire and missile salvos pounded the facility, tearing through watchtowers, radar arrays, and defensive emplacements before any meaningful resistance could even form. Smoke and flame erupted from the impact points, sending personnel scrambling for cover as the Combaticons established air superiority.
Then came the ground assault. Onslaught led the charge, his heavy wheels grinding against the pavement as he transformed, his shoulder cannons already lining up for another blast. Brawl, grinning with anticipation, stormed in beside him, his new tank form effortlessly crushing a parked truck before transforming and firing a shell directly into a security checkpoint. Hard Top brought up the rear, his precise shots picking off any resistance that dared to fight back.
One by one, they cut through security forces, forcing the remaining personnel to surrender or flee. Scientists, engineers, and military staff were corralled into the main complex, unable to escape with the bridges gone. Civilians nearby, tourists who had come to see the historic launch site, were left helpless, caught between fear and awe as they watched actual alien war machines storm an American landmark.
From news helicopters hovering at a safe distance, cameras captured the shocking scene. The Kennedy Space Center was no longer an American stronghold.
It belonged to the Combaticons now.
And everyone knew it now, as Onslaught intended. But just to make sure…
The Autobots barely had time to register what was happening before their screen was hijacked by the emergency broadcast. Onslaught's massive face filled the frame, the camera shaking slightly as the Decepticon commander's optics bored into them.
"LISTEN WELL, INFERIOR ORGANICS!" His voice thundered through the speakers, making the very walls of the base tremble.
The screen jolted, the image bouncing wildly. Onslaught snarled and jerked the camera into position, the perspective shifting as he held the unfortunate cameraman in one massive hand.
"KEEP IT STILL!" He barked, causing the man behind the camera to flinch.
Regaining control of the feed, Onslaught straightened and addressed the world.
"I am Onslaught, Commander of the Combaticons and your last hope for peace. We have occupied your most important location for your primitive aerospace infrastructure and taken its inhabitants hostage. For every megacycle our demands are not met, ten shall die. For every solar cycle, a facility shall be razed. This is not a threat. It is a promise."
The words hit hard, their cruel precision leaving no room for misinterpretation. The Autobots, military officials, and civilians watching from their homes or command centers across the country held their breath.
"We demand your government devote itself to restoring our spacecraft, which we intend to use to leave your backwater planet and return to the Decepticon Empire. If you are fortunate, you will remain off our radar and simply exist on the periphery of our galactic empire."
Then came the real ultimatum.
"If you wish to guarantee we do not return, you will turn over the Autobots you are harboring, as well as the traitor Slipstream."
Slipstream stiffened at the mention of her name.
"Turn them over, and serve us in restoring our ship, and this occupation will be merciful. Oh, and to ensure you understand I am not bluffing…"
Onslaught turned his head slightly, giving a nod to Hard Top, who pressed a detonator.
In an instant, a massive explosion erupted on-screen, fire and debris consuming a hangar housing a space shuttle. The shockwave rocked the camera, cutting the screams and sirens into a garbled mess of static and chaos.
"I WILL ONLY ACCEPT A FORMAL SURRENDER FROM YOUR SUPREME LEADER. End communication."
With that, Onslaught unceremoniously dropped the cameraman, and the feed cut to black, the fate of the cameraman obvious to all.
Jeopardy barely had time to process the broadcast before Simmons' phone rang. The agent's already tense expression hardened further as he took the call, his body going rigid as he listened. Though Jeopardy couldn't make out what was being said on the other end, the one-sided conversation was enough to paint the picture.
"Yes, I understand… of course… Mr. President, I don't think—" Simmons paused, then sighed, rubbing his temple. "I understand… I'll tell 'em right away… yeah, good luck getting them to agree to that… of course, Sir."
He hung up with a sharp exhale, then turned to face the Autobots.
"The President says if you guys wanna keep staying here rent-free, you better haul your asses to Florida and get rid of those Decepticons. Otherwise, he's already planning negotiations."
"Negotiate with Decepticons?!" Hermit Crab snapped, his optics flashing in disbelief.
"What else are we supposed to do? Just let you handle it?" Simmons shot back.
Jeopardy frowned. "Alright, but you can't just give in over one broadcast."
Simmons scoffed. "Those five have control over the most important space center in the entire U.S. and have thousands of hostages. We aren't going to risk them all dying if there's still a chance to negotiate their release."
"So you're going to sell us out?!" Slipstream accused, her optics narrowing.
"In an hour, ten of our best aerospace engineers will be dead, and tomorrow they're gonna blow up another building. So unless you have a plan, we will be trying to save our own. If that means kicking you to the curb, so be it."
With that, Simmons turned and stalked off, already dialing another number to begin working on negotiations.
"Unbelievable, these organics are going to abandon us," Hermit muttered, shaking his head.
"Then we have to act." Jeopardy declared. He turned to Hermit, his stance firm. "Prepare the ground bridge to send us to Florida."
"Really? I just finished your hand from the last time we fought them. You really think we're ready for them?" Hermit said dryly, motioning to Jeopardy's newly repaired hand. The seams from the welding were still faintly visible.
"We have no choice," Jeopardy repeated. He turned to Impulse and Slipstream.
"Oh, I am SO ready!" Impulse grinned, practically vibrating with excitement.
Jeopardy nodded, then headed off to retrieve his weapons. One way or another, they were ending this.
Jeopardy stepped into his room, the weight of the mission pressing down on him. His optics swept across the dimly lit space, landing on the shotgun propped up against the wall. He grabbed it, checking the ammunition before securing it to his back. Under the table, he found his revolver, the familiar weight settling into his grip before he holstered it.
Before leaving, he paused. His gaze dropped to his hand. He flexed his fingers, then turned his wrist over, examining the seams where Hermit had welded it back together. The memory of Onslaught crushing it flashed through his mind, the unbearable pressure, the sound of metal twisting, the helplessness that had surged through him. He had almost gotten used to functioning with just one hand. But if they failed in Florida… he could lose much more than that.
Taking a steadying breath, he activated the mechanism in his arm. His hand retracted with a soft mechanical whir, replaced by a serrated blade. The weapon gleamed under the overhead light, a sharp contrast to the medic's insignia still etched onto his shoulder.
He studied the blade, its purpose clear, its necessity undeniable. He had sworn an oath never to take a life. And yet, he had been born into a caste that saw combat as second nature. He would fight. He would use this weapon if it meant protecting his team, protecting the innocent.
But he would not become a monster.
As Jeopardy stepped out of his room, the familiar whirl of the ground bridge filled the base, its swirling green and yellow light casting long shadows against the walls. He was only a few steps from stepping through when he spotted Stormsurge nearby.
"Storm, do you have a moment?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual.
"Of course," she said, turning to face him.
He hesitated for a second, then took a breath. "Before I go, I need to get something off my chest." He glanced down at his newly repaired hand, flexing his fingers. "I'm sorry I pressured you into amputating my hand. It was wrong of me to force you into something you were clearly uncomfortable with. I should have known better, I should have done better at talking you through it."
Stormsurge tilted her head, considering his words. Then, without hesitation, she replied, "Apology accepted."
Jeopardy blinked. "Just like that?"
"Yes," she said simply.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "I don't even know why I did it. I could have just… done it myself."
"I agree, I wish you'd let me stay out of it," she admitted, then paused. "But I think I get why."
Jeopardy furrowed his brow. "You do?" He wasn't sure he even fully understood it himself.
"It was a difficult day for all of us. You had just barely survived a battle that could've killed you, and Simmons, well, Simmons is a stressor all on his own. I don't think any of us were thinking straight."
He nodded slowly, absorbing her perspective. "But it was still a bad call."
"And it's behind us now," she assured him.
"I wasn't expecting you to be so forgiving."
Stormsurge gave a small, knowing smile. "Well, isn't that what friends do?"
Before either of them could say more, Hermit stomped over, clearly unimpressed. "Hey, did you two just forget that we're about to be evicted if we don't fix this now?"
Jeopardy exhaled sharply. "Right. We'll finish this later."
Stormsurge nodded. "Good luck."
"Thanks. We'll need all the luck we can get."
She hesitated for a moment, then added, "And… please don't die."
Jeopardy smirked at that, shaking his head as he turned toward the bridge. "Thanks?" he replied before stepping into the swirling vortex, disappearing into the fight ahead.
Stormsurge watched as the ground bridge sealed shut, the swirling vortex collapsing into nothingness. She lingered for a moment, staring at the empty space where Jeopardy and the others had just stood. Then, with a sigh, she turned and walked over to Hermit Crab, who was engrossed in the feed from the news helicopters circling over Cape Canaveral.
"I feel like I just jinxed them," she admitted, the implications of her words settling uncomfortably in her chest.
"Yeah, that last comment was weird," Hermit replied, barely looking up.
Stormsurge frowned. "Do you think they'll be alright?"
Hermit's optics flicked over the data streaming across his monitors, running silent calculations in his head. "Not factoring for superstition from your final statement to Jeopardy, I predict… 45%."
Stormsurge's frown deepened. "That's still higher than your last estimate."
Hermit finally looked at her, squinting slightly. "How do you know about that?"
"I hear stuff." She shrugged, neither confirming nor denying her tendency to eavesdrop. "Hey, Hermit, can I ask you a personal question?"
"That depends on how personal it is."
"What's your deal with Slipstream?"
Hermit's expression didn't change, but the moment of silence that followed was telling. "Why are you so amicable with her?" he deflected.
"She's nice, she helps me, she's a delight to be around. Now answer the question."
Hermit's optics narrowed slightly, as if considering his words carefully, or more likely considering how little he wanted to say at all. Finally, he responded, "I am not blinded by such naive offerings of friendship."
"So it's naive to trust people?"
"I trust you, only because I know you aren't one of them." His voice took on a sharper edge. "I know she was a Decepticon, thus I know what she really is."
Stormsurge held his gaze, unimpressed. "And what is she really, according to you?"
Hermit didn't answer immediately. Instead, he motioned to the screen, where the Combaticons continued their occupation of the Kennedy Space Center, their towering forms casting long shadows over the helpless humans beneath them.
"See for yourself," he said coldly.
Jeopardy, Slipstream, and Impulse stepped out of the swirling vortex of the ground bridge and into the humid Florida air. Before them, the Kennedy Space Center sprawled across the landscape, its launch pads and massive hangars now overshadowed by the imposing figures of the Combaticons.
Blast Off and Vortex patrolled the skies, their optics scanning for threats, while Hard Top stood near the coastline, watching the horizon for any sign of a human military response. Brawl loomed near the launch pad, eagerly pacing, while Onslaught stood at the center of it all, overseeing the occupation with his usual calculating stare.
Impulse immediately reached for his minigun, ready to open fire, but before he could even rev it up, Jeopardy's hand landed firmly on his arm, pushing it down.
"But you said—" Impulse started, his fingers twitching on the trigger.
"Our priority is to free the hostages," Jeopardy reminded him, keeping his voice firm but quiet. "Then we take the base back."
Impulse groaned, rolling his optics. "Alright, but you're no fun."
Jeopardy smirked. "Now, hey, that doesn't mean you can't have fun." He pointed toward the sky, where Blast Off and Vortex were circling above. "You and Slipstream are the diversion."
Impulse perked up at that, instantly interested.
"I need you two to draw their attention away from the main building," Jeopardy continued. "I'm going in to free the hostages."
"You sure you don't want help with that?" Slipstream asked, shooting him a skeptical look.
"I should be fine," Jeopardy assured her. "Now get going, we'll only have a small window to do this before they realize what's happening."
Slipstream nodded, then transformed into her jet mode, rocketing toward the sky where Vortex and Blast Off were patrolling.
Impulse, grinning ear to ear, transformed and roared forward at full speed, heading straight for Brawl, Onslaught, and Hard Top like an armored wrecking ball.
Jeopardy watched them go, then transformed himself, speeding toward the command building where the hostages were being held. As he drove, he activated his commlink.
"Simmons, I'm going to free the hostages," he said. "Get someone to start sending evac."
Jeopardy kept his movements careful and deliberate as he moved through the facility, glancing toward the distant chaos where Impulse had already engaged Onslaught and Brawl. Explosions rang out from above, where Slipstream was caught in an aerial skirmish with Blast Off and Vortex. The Autobots had barely started their training, and now they were fighting some of the most ruthless Decepticons in Megatron's army. Jeopardy could only hope it would be enough.
He reached the command building and transformed, pressing himself against the wall as he peered through one of the large windows. Inside, the hostages were packed together, their expressions a mixture of fear and exhaustion. There were at least a thousand people in there, possibly more. Simmons had been right; this was a catastrophe waiting to happen.
Then, one of them spotted him.
A wave of murmurs and panicked movement rippled through the crowd. Faces turned pale. Some shrank back, clutching each other. Of course, to them, there was no way to tell if he was friend or foe.
Jeopardy knelt down, lowering himself to their level in an attempt to appear less threatening. He spoke clearly, but with as much reassurance as he could muster.
"It's alright, I'm one of the good ones," he said, his voice calm but urgent. "My name is Jeopardy, and I'm here to rescue you." He gestured to the red insignia on his chest. "See? Autobot. I need you to open the door so I can get you out of here."
The crowd hesitated. A few murmurs spread, uncertainty keeping them frozen in place. But finally, after a tense moment, one man cautiously stepped forward. His hands were shaking as he reached for the door.
The lock clicked. The door creaked open.
Jeopardy looked down at the man, giving him a nod of gratitude. "Thank you for believing me. What's your name?"
"D-Darren," the man stammered, still tense, still half-convinced this could be a trick.
"Hello, Darren," Jeopardy said gently. "I've already called for emergency response, but we need to move now. I need you to gather everyone and get them outside." He pointed toward the shore. "On my signal, you'll run south, along the water. Do you understand?"
Darren swallowed hard but nodded quickly. "Yeah. Yeah, I get it."
"Good," Jeopardy said, glancing toward the battle raging outside. Time was running out. "And make haste. I don't know how much time we have."
Darren sprinted back inside, his frantic shouts rallying the terrified crowd. Within seconds, the hostages began flooding out of the building, scurrying beneath Jeopardy's massive frame as they made their way west toward the shore.
Jeopardy took a quick glance around the side of the building, assessing the battle. As expected, Impulse had Brawl and Hard Top on the ropes, clearly having the time of his life. But Onslaught was nowhere to be seen.
Jeopardy frowned. That was never a good sign.
"AGH—NGAGH—Jeopardy, you gonna have company soon!" Impulse suddenly yelled through the commlink.
A shadow loomed over Jeopardy as Onslaught leaped over the building an him, followed by a deafening THUD and the blood curdling screams of humans being crushed beneath an immense weight.
Jeopardy turned, optics widening in horror.
Onslaught stood there, his massive foot smeared with blood and viscera, his stance unwavering, his cold, piercing optics locked onto Jeopardy.
"Oh, Kalisian," Onslaught sneered, striding toward him. "You really believed we wouldn't notice?"
Before Jeopardy could react, Onslaught lunged, his massive hand wrapping around Jeopardy's face in an iron grip.
Then SLAM.
Jeopardy's head was driven into the side of the building. Glass shattered. Concrete cracked. Office furniture splintered into debris as Jeopardy's helm carved through the wall.
"A pitiful attempt at deception," Onslaught mused, effortlessly pulling Jeopardy's head from the wreckage before adjusting his grip to grasp the back of his skull. "And from an Autobot, no less. You need to learn to stay in your lane."
Jeopardy struggled, his servos clawing at Onslaught's wrist, but the Decepticon's strength was overwhelming.
"EVERYONE, RUN TO THE SHORE!" Jeopardy bellowed.
The humans didn't need to be told twice. Screams filled the air as they broke into a full sprint, fleeing toward the coast.
Onslaught chuckled darkly. "Such heroic nonsense."
Then, with brutal force, he drove Jeopardy's face into the ground, creating a crater in the dirt.
Before Jeopardy could react, he was yanked back up, his body hoisted slightly off his feet. From this vantage point, he could see the entire launch site spread before him, the massive complex now a battleground of chaos and destruction.
Onslaught's voice was smooth, almost instructional, as he held Jeopardy aloft.
"If I will give that False Prime any credit, it is this: he is an excellent propagandist."
He tightened his grip, relishing the pained grunt that escaped Jeopardy.
"We could be using this to force these natives to give us all the material and labor we need to reconstruct our way home. Yet you choose to defend a species that cannot experience a fraction of our lives."
The pressure around Jeopardy's head increased.
He groaned in pain, feeling the metal plating of his helm creak under Onslaught's crushing grip.
"For once in your life, Kalisian, think for yourself!" Onslaught snarled. "This planet is a crumb in the pastry of the cosmos! It is not a people worth dying for. So I will give you a choice, as you so generously gave me one."
Jeopardy felt himself being lowered slightly, Onslaught's voice cold as he gave a final ultimatum.
"Do you wish to return to Cybertron in chains… or a box?"
Jeopardy didn't hesitate.
With his free hand, he yanked his revolver from its holster and fired behind him. One shot, right into Onslaught's abdomen.
The Decepticon commander flinched, but his grip only tightened.
"In a box, then," Onslaught growled.
But Onslaught barely had time to process the crackling surge of energy as a railgun round slammed into his shoulder, sending a shower of sparks and metal fragments into the air. The force of the impact knocked him off balance, his grip on Jeopardy slipping just enough for the Autobot to drop to the ground.
Jeopardy landed hard, clutching the top of his head as pain flared through his servos. His vision blurred for a moment, but he forced himself to focus, turning to see where the shot had come from.
Stormsurge.
She was on the ground, having fallen over from the recoil of the railgun, her optics wide with shock at what she'd just done. Behind her, the whirl of the ground bridge faded as the portal sealed shut.
Jeopardy didn't waste a second. He grabbed his revolver from the ground and rushed to her, reaching down to offer his hand. Stormsurge hesitated for only a moment before grasping it, allowing him to pull her back onto her feet.
"You alright?" he asked, scanning her over for any signs of injury.
Stormsurge nodded, though she still looked shaken. She quickly scooped up the railgun and turned to see Onslaught recovering, his shoulder plating cracked and smoldering from the impact of her shot. The wound wasn't fatal, but it was enough to make the Decepticon commander reconsider his immediate course of action.
Jeopardy followed her gaze, then turned to the shore. The hostages had made it. They were scrambling over the sand, fleeing south toward the awaiting rescue teams. The mission was half complete.
Onslaught, meanwhile, took stock of the battlefield. Impulse was thrashing Brawl. Despite Brawl's brute strength, Impulse was too fast, too unpredictable. And now that Jeopardy was free, the tide of battle was shifting.
Onslaught growled, optics narrowing. Tactically unsound. Time to regroup.
With a burst of speed, he transformed and raced toward Brawl, kicking up a storm of dust and debris as he prepared to intervene.
Jeopardy exhaled, glancing down at Stormsurge. She was gripping the railgun tightly, her stance steadier now.
"Are you sure you want to be here?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.
Stormsurge took a deep breath, looking him dead in the optics. "I think I just proved I HAVE to be here."
Jeopardy studied her for a moment, then nodded in acceptance. "Alright. Just stay by me."
With that, the two Autobots turned toward the launch sites, moving in tandem to assist Impulse in his fight.
Onslaught lunged into the brawl between Impulse and Brawl, just as Brawl managed to get his arms around Impulse's neck in a brutal chokehold. The Decepticon brawler grinned wildly, tightening his grip.
"Took ya long enough. Ya get bored o' bullying the runt?" Brawl teased Onslaught.
"HEY!" Impulse yelled, planting his feet and throwing Brawl over his shoulder. The massive Decepticon slammed onto the launch pad with a metallic crash. "DO. NOT. CALL. MY. BEST. FRIEND. A. RUNT!" Impulse shouted, punctuating each word with a powerful stomp to Brawl's chest.
Onslaught swung his axe-hand at Impulse, but Impulse caught it mid-swing, gritting his teeth as he held the commander back. "He's average sized!" he snapped.
Before Onslaught could break free, a sharp crack rang out, an impact against his back. Onslaught stiffened, turning to find Jeopardy standing with his revolver aimed, a fresh wisp of smoke rising from the barrel. Stormsurge stood beside him, frantically fumbling with the railgun, trying to figure out why it wasn't firing again.
Onslaught scowled. "Such a foolish choice to reengage."
BAM!
A left hook slammed into Onslaught's jaw, sending his head whipping to the side. Impulse grinned. "What? You forget I was here?"
Meanwhile, Stormsurge was still struggling with the railgun.
"Have you tried chambering another slug?" Jeopardy asked, keeping his revolver trained on Onslaught.
"I don't know how to do that!" Stormsurge admitted, shaking the weapon in frustration.
"Isn't there some kind of button or something?" Jeopardy asked, glancing at her quickly before snapping back to the fight. "IMPULSE, HOW DO RAILGUNS WORK?!"
"I HAVE NO IDEA!" Impulse yelled, gleefully using Brawl's own massive arms to slap him in the face. "Heh, why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself?"
Suddenly, Slipstream's voice crackled over the commlink.
"INCOMING FROM ABOVE!"
Before any of them could react, Vortex came plummeting down from the sky, slamming into the ground in a violent crash next to Onslaught.
Impulse whooped in excitement. "YEAH, WAY TO GO SLIP!"
"WOOOOOO!" Slipstream cheered, but her celebration was cut short as Blast Off tackled her at full speed, slamming into her mid-air. The two went spinning out of sight.
"OH, that looks like it hurt." Impulse groaned, still holding Brawl.
Onslaught helped Vortex regain her footing, steadying her as she shook off the impact of her crash. Without missing a beat, the two Combaticons turned their attention to Jeopardy and Stormsurge. Vortex spun her rotor blades in her hands like twin swords, the sharp edges glinting under the artificial lights of the launch facility. Onslaught, towering over them all, flexed his fingers before shifting his right hand into his signature battle axe, the serrated edge gleaming ominously.
Jeopardy, taking a quick glance at Vortex's weapons, turned to Stormsurge. "Hey, you've got those same kind of blades, right?" he asked.
Stormsurge hesitated for only a moment, reaching to her waist and pulling free the long rotor blades of her alt-mode. "I didn't know you could use them like this," she admitted, turning them over in her hands.
"Well, time to learn," Jeopardy encouraged. "I'll try to give you some breathing room." Without another word, he rushed Onslaught, his own hands retracting and shifting into serrated blades.
Their weapons clashed in a deafening shriek of metal, sparks flying as Jeopardy met Onslaught's axe with his twin blades. The force of the impact sent a jolt through his frame, but he stood his ground. Onslaught pressed forward, his strength undeniable, forcing Jeopardy to dig his heels into the ground as they struggled for dominance.
Onslaught sneered behind his faceplate. "Prepare to join your fellow warriors in the Well of Allsparks, Kalisian," he taunted, his voice dripping with contempt. Then, as if remembering something amusing, he let out a low chuckle. "Oh, that's right. You abandoned them, didn't you? Traded your pride for those patches you wear so proudly." His optics flicked down to the red heartrate patches on Jeopardy's armor, his tone mocking. "Do you think it makes you noble? That it absolves you of your lineage?"
Jeopardy gritted his teeth, shoving against Onslaught with all his strength before breaking the lock. Without hesitation, the two warriors reengaged, exchanging fierce, rapid strikes. Onslaught swung his axe in wide, calculated arcs, each swing meant to cleave through Jeopardy entirely, while Jeopardy countered with swift, precise slashes, his dual blades flashing as he dodged and parried.
Meanwhile, Stormsurge found herself locked in a deadly dance with Vortex, who was practically buzzing with excitement at what she clearly assumed would be an easy kill. The Decepticon lunged, rotor blades flashing in the artificial light of the launch site. But just before the strike landed, Stormsurge managed to yank one of her own helicopter blades free, meeting Vortex's weapon with a loud clang. Sparks flew as the metal screeched against metal.
"Hey, no fair, you stole my idea," Vortex complained, her tone dripping with mock offense.
"I was here first, so, uh—" Stormsurge started, but the words fumbled out awkwardly.
Vortex smirked. "What's wrong, not used to trash-talking?" she teased, effortlessly breaking the lock and forcing Stormsurge back a step. "Not like you'll have to learn. I doubt there'll be a rematch."
With a sudden burst of speed, Vortex lunged again, her movements terrifyingly fast. Stormsurge barely had time to react, her arms straining under the force of each strike. Vortex was relentless, her attacks flowing like a perfectly practiced routine, swift, precise, unyielding. Stormsurge could do little more than dodge and block, her footing slipping as she struggled to keep up.
"Wow, this is a new level of beginner's luck," Vortex sneered, her optics flashing with amusement. "Wonder how long until you run out."
Then, with a wicked grin, she feinted left before slashing right, her blade slicing clean through Stormsurge's armor.
A sharp, searing pain exploded through Stormsurge's chest, and before she could stop herself, a strangled cry escaped her vocalizer. Her body gave out, sending her crashing onto her back.
She gasped, her processor reeling from the sudden agony. Instinctively, her hand flew to her chest, fingers brushing against the deep gash now leaking energon. It wasn't fatal, but it was deep enough to make her slow, weak.
Her optics flicked to her hand, now smeared in her own glowing blue energon. Then, shakily, she looked up.
Vortex stood above her, victorious, one rotor blade already dripping with her energon. The Decepticon twirled the weapon idly, like she had all the time in the world to finish this.
"Not used to seeing your own energon?" Vortex purred, tilting her head in mock sympathy. Then, with a wicked chuckle, she raised her blade high.
"It's a good color on you. I wonder how it'll look all over your face."
Stormsurge's breathing hitched, her frame shaking as a familiar terror took hold. She was on the ground again. Powerless. Weak. A stronger Cybertronian looming over her, deciding her fate with ease.
Oh Primus.
OH PRIMUS.
Not again.
Her vision tunneled, her optics darting frantically for an escape that didn't exist.
"Aw, are you already having your life flash before your eyes?" Vortex taunted, her voice laced with cruel amusement. She threw her head back with a cackle before sneering down at her prey.
"Primus, you're pathetic. No wonder you didn't show up the first time."
Stormsurge barely registered the words. She just moved, scrambling backward on shaking arms, desperate to put any distance between them.
But Vortex wasn't having it.
"Did I say we were done?"
Her voice dropped, sharp and cold. And then—
SHUNK.
Pain. Searing, blinding pain.
Stormsurge's entire world narrowed to the white-hot agony radiating from her foot. She choked on her own scream, the sound tearing from her vocalizer in a raw, desperate cry. Her optics darted down, Vortex's rotor blade was embedded clean through her foot, pinning her to the ground like an insect under a cruel child's finger.
And Vortex just laughed.
"You are such a big protoform," she sneered, twisting the blade ever so slightly. Stormsurge's body spasmed, another strangled scream escaping her as the metal tore further into her plating.
Vortex relished it.
"I almost feel bad taking you down." She leaned in, her smirk widening. "ALMOST."
Then she raised her other blade, its gleaming edge hovering just above Stormsurge's throat.
No escape.
No mercy.
Just like before.
Just like in the bunker.
"STORM!"
Stormsurge barely had time to register the voice before something crashed into Vortex from behind.
Jeopardy.
He had his arms wrapped around Vortex's waist, using all his strength to yank her backward.
And then—
SLAM.
The impact of the suplex sent a shockwave through the ground, kicking up dust and debris as Vortex's frame crashed into the pavement. The air left her in a ragged gasp, her grip on her rotor blade faltering just long enough for Jeopardy to stomp down on her arm, pinning her to the ground.
Before she could retaliate, Onslaught came barreling in with a downward swing of his battle axe. Jeopardy barely managed to twist his body, intercepting the strike with his own twin blades. Sparks flew as metal screeched against metal, the force of the impact nearly knocking Jeopardy off balance.
But he didn't give in.
With a sharp kick, he sent Vortex's rotor blade skidding away, then turned his full focus on Onslaught.
Jeopardy pressed forward, forcing Onslaught onto the defensive, something few had ever managed. His movements were faster, more precise, fueled by sheer determination. And for the first time, Onslaught was struggling.
No.
No, no, no!
This would not happen. This could not fail.
Snarling, Onslaught wrenched himself free, retreating just beyond Jeopardy's reach. His optics burned with fury as he barked out the order that would change the battlefield entirely.
"COMBATICONS, TO ME!"
As if possessed, Vortex, Hard Top, Blast Off, and Brawl immediately abandoned their fights and converged on his position. Their movements were sharp, purposeful, as if responding to an unspoken instinct that ran deeper than programming.
Onslaught straightened, his plating shifting, his very frame unfolding as joints locked and expanded, the transformation beginning.
Brawl and Hard Top's forms shifted first, limbs collapsing inward as their armor bulked, reshaping into monolithic pillars of strength. Their bodies straightened, merging into massive, powerful legs, their plating interlocking like a fortress made of Cybertronian steel.
Onslaught, standing at the core, let out a guttural command as his own frame expanded, plating twisting, reforming into a colossal torso. His head receded, replaced by something larger, more menacing, a new helm emerging, its optics glowing with terrifying intensity.
Blast Off descended from the sky, his jet mode splitting apart mid-air before his form contorted, his wings folding, limbs twisting to form an arm, a powerful cannon extending from his shoulder. He latched into place with a heavy clank, completing one half of the monstrous war machine.
Vortex, recovering from Jeopardy's earlier attack, let out a manic laugh as she leapt upward, her own transformation happening in one fluid motion. Her rotor blades snapped into place as her body folded into the final arm, seamlessly locking into the shoulder socket with a deafening CLANG.
And then, with a thunderous roar, the combined form stood.
Towering. Massive. Like a Titan from ancient legend, reborn in steel and rage. A living war god, invoked through the union of its worshippers.
Every Autobot on the field fell into stunned silence.
A shadow engulfed them all, stretching wide beneath the form of the Decepticons' most powerful weapon.
A voice, deep and unearthly, rumbled from within the monstrosity.
"BEHOLD… BRUTICUS!"
Jeopardy stood frozen for a moment, his processor refusing to fully register what had just happened.
What the fuck was he supposed to do against that?!
Stormsurge was still on the ground, but the horror from reliving her past had now been completely overshadowed by the 120-foot monstrosity standing before them.
Impulse, on the other hand, had a very different reaction.
"OH. HELL… YYEEAAHH!" he screamed, immediately bringing out his minigun and unloading everything he had into Bruticus's leg. The bullets pinged harmlessly off the Decepticon titan's armor, doing nothing to slow it down and barely penetrating, but Impulse didn't seem to care.
Above them, Slipstream banked sharply, completely taken aback.
"SINCE WHEN COULD THEY DO THAT?!" she yelled mid-air, optics wide. Her mind raced as she took in the impossible sight. The Combaticons were already some of the deadliest warriors in Megatron's army. Now they were one.
A terrifying thought crept into her mind.
"Can… can we do that?" she asked, mostly to herself, but she already knew she probably wouldn't be getting an answer.
Suddenly, Bruticus moved.
A massive cannon formed on his shoulder, the guns of Blast Off's alt-mode now turned into a siege-class weapon and before anyone could react, the barrels began to glow.
"EVERYONE TAKE COVER!" Jeopardy bellowed, snapping out of his shock. He ripped the sword out of Stormsurge's foot, grabbed Stormsurge, pulling her to her feet, and sprinted. A split second later, the cannon fired.
A shockwave tore through the battlefield, an explosive blast of energy obliterating everything in its radius. Concrete shattered, metal melted, and vehicles detonated in a cascade of fiery debris.
Impulse, however, ignored the order entirely.
Instead, he ran straight at Bruticus.
"SIMMONS!" Jeopardy yelled into his commlink, panic lacing his voice. "I can't believe I'm saying this, WHERE IS THE MILITARY?!"
Simmons' voice crackled back, tense but focused. "Busy with the evacuation you ordered. Don't worry, we've got a squad of jets on the way."
"WELL, TELL THEM TO HURRY THE HELL UP!"
Meanwhile, Impulse was still going, weaving between Bruticus's massive footsteps, unloading round after round into the titan's legs, even jumping onto Bruticus's foot to try and climb up.
Then, with a low, guttural growl, the titan finally glanced down.
"GO AWAY, BUG!"
With a single kick, Bruticus sent Impulse flying, sending him crashing through a building. Dust and rubble collapsed around him, but within seconds, a voice crackled over the comms:
"Still good!" Impulse groaned. "Ow, though."
Above them, Slipstream was taking a different approach. She stayed airborne, darting around Bruticus's head, trying to get a clean shot at the optics with her null rays.
But Bruticus was getting annoyed.
With Vortex's rotor and blades now integrated into their arm, Bruticus swung, the weapon whirring as it became a massive spinning saw-blade, cutting through the air with devastating force.
Slipstream barely had time to react before the blade clipped her wing.
She let out a sharp cry of pain, her flightpath instantly destabilizing as energon gushed from the damage. Spiraling out of control, she fought desperately to keep from crashing, managing to level out just before hitting the ground.
Her servos clutched at her ruined wing, energon dripping steadily from the torn metal.
"SHIT!" she yelled, gritting her teeth as she assessed the damage. Her left wing had been halved, the jagged, mangled edges sparking as fluid seeped from the wound.
She was grounded.
Above the battlefield, the long-awaited squadron of fighter jets roared onto the scene, their engines screaming as they dove toward Bruticus.
For a fleeting second, hope flickered in Jeopardy's spark, until he saw Bruticus barely react. The titan swung one massive arm, and in an instant, two of the jets were swatted out of the sky like gnats. One spiraled, smoke trailing behind it before vanishing in a fireball over the coastline. The rest of the squadron circled back, unloading everything they had, but their weapons barely scratched Bruticus's armor.
Bruticus let out a rumbling chuckle before his optics flicked downward.
That's when he spotted Jeopardy and Stormsurge.
They were running, racing toward Slipstream, who was still struggling with her damaged wing.
Perfect.
Bruticus reached down, his massive hand clamping onto the remains of a space shuttle, one that was still mostly intact. With the ease of a child tossing a toy, he hurled it straight at them.
"HOLY SHIT, LOOK OUT!" Slipstream shrieked, pointing wildly at the incoming shuttle before blasting away with her ankle thrusters, just barely escaping the incoming disaster.
Jeopardy barely had time to think. Running was not an option, the shuttle was already descending too fast.
So he did the next best thing.
In an instant, he grabbed Stormsurge, tackled her to the ground, and flattened himself over her, his broad frame shielding her completely.
BOOM.
The fuselage crashed, the impact splitting apart what little remained of the shuttle's structure. The explosion followed a second later, a fireball roaring to life, consuming everything in its radius.
Heat engulfed them.
Stormsurge felt it lick at the edges of her armor, felt the pressure of Jeopardy's frame pressing down on her as he shielded her from the brunt of the blast. Above her, she could hear him gritting his teeth, breathing hard, enduring the full force of the scorching inferno.
For several agonizing seconds, the world was fire, smoke, and deafening noise.
Then, finally, the flames began to die down.
Jeopardy's charred plating hissed, steam and smoke rising from his scorched back as he slowly pushed himself up. The metal was still glowing hot, patches of his armor blackened and seared from the heat of the ignited rocket fuel. His lungs heaved, exhaustion settling into his frame.
And yet, the first thing he did was look down at Stormsurge.
His optics scanned her frantically, not for his own sake, but for hers.
"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine." His voice was hoarse, but firm. "Were you hurt?"
Stormsurge just stared at him.
She had no words, only shock, only the sharp realization of what he had just done. What he had willingly endured.
He had taken the full force of a shuttle explosion just to keep her safe.
She swallowed, still trying to process it. "Uh… I-I'm okay."
Jeopardy let out a long breath, relief washing over him as he rolled off of her, his body sagging from exhaustion.
Stormsurge quickly sat up, her instincts kicking in, and reached out to help him up. Even though he had insisted he was fine, his movements were sluggish, his frame still reeling from the damage. His armor was partially melted in places, his energy levels drained, tanking an explosion of that magnitude had nearly wiped him out.
But still, he stood.
And as the ground beneath them rumbled, Bruticus still looming over the battlefield, Jeopardy took one more steadying breath—
And prepared to keep fighting.
"Jeopardy, what the frag is going on?! Is that Bruticus?!" Hermit Crab's voice crackled through the commlink, his usual deadpan tone sharpened with alarm.
Jeopardy, still shaking off the aftershocks of nearly getting incinerated, exhaled sharply. "Yeah, and right now, we could use some way to take him down."
Before Hermit could respond, another voice enthusiastically burst through the comms.
"OH OH I HAVE AN IDEA!"
Jeopardy hesitated. "…You know what, right now there are no bad ideas. Hit me."
Because, frankly? At this point, anything was worth considering.
And then Impulse, with unshakable confidence and the cognitive prowess of a mad genius, presented his master plan which was so spectacular, so imaginative, so incredibly big-brained, it was as if Primus himself had planted the thought:
"What if we get a bunch of glue, and Bruticus gets all sticky, and then he's stuck to the ground?"
Primus Almighty.
The moment he said "glue," Slipstream, who had still been darting around Bruticus in a desperate attempt to survive, burst out laughing.
Stormsurge, crouched behind Jeopardy, clamped a servo over her mouth, but a small giggle still escaped.
Jeopardy, for the briefest of moments, actually tried to seriously consider the logistics.
But then he remembered: This is Impulse.
Impulse's processor runs on pure cartoon logic.
There was no point in trying to rationalize it.
Meanwhile, on the other end of the commlink, Hermit Crab had physically dropped his head onto his keyboard, which he would end up having to fix later. The hollow thunk of metal against plastic was audible over the channel as he wondered how it had come to this.
And in that moment, all of them momentarily forgot that Bruticus was still actively trying to kill them while holding a spaceport hostage.
Jeopardy pinched the bridge of his nose. "…I retract my previous statement."
Because it turns out, there are bad ideas. And Impulse had all of them.
At once.
And then chose one at random like he was pulling the next bingo number.
"Hermit, please tell me you have a plan," Jeopardy sighed, praying for something even remotely sane.
Hermit's response was muffled, his voice still pressed into his keyboard. "Give me a cycle. I need to recover from… whatever the frag Impulse just said."
Believing he had been misheard, Impulse cheerfully repeated, "I said we should get a bunch of glue and—"
"I HEARD WHAT YOU SAID!" Hermit snapped, lifting his head just to yell before immediately slamming it back down.
"Alright, I may have… an idea." Hermit finally said, his voice slow and deliberate, as if he were begrudgingly accepting his role as the only competent strategist in the room.
"Does it involve glue?" Impulse asked immediately.
There was a brief pause. A long, painful pause.
"I swear to Primus…" Hermit mumbled, clearly contemplating a career change, but then he exhaled sharply and reoriented. "Just get Bruticus on the launch pad."
Slipstream, still nursing her half-destroyed wing, threw her arms up. "And how the hell are we supposed to do that?!"
Before Hermit could answer, Impulse, because of course it was Impulse, took matters into his own hands.
"HEY HEY BRUTICUS! HEY BRUTICUS!"
The absolute menace was right under Bruticus, gleefully volunteering himself to get the titan's attention. Either that, or he had simply coincidentally decided that now was the perfect time to piss off the 120-foot war machine.
And how did he do it?
By grabbing Brawl's treads and yanking them straight off his leg.
"I KNOW YOU GOT A BIT OF BRAWL IN YOU, BET HE HURTS WHEN I DO THIS!"
RIP.
Bruticus screamed.
A sound so loud, so filled with raw rage, that the very ground trembled beneath them.
"AAAAAAAAAAGH!"
Impulse, utterly unfazed, grinned ear to ear. "YEAH, THAT ARMOR'S GOOD FOR ENERGON BOLTS, BUT I BET YOU DIDN'T EXPECT SOMEONE TO RUN UP AND PULL YOU APART!"
Bruticus roared, their optics burning with murder, and charged.
"There you go! Keep following me, big guy!" Impulse whooped as he transformed and peeled out at full speed, leading the enraged combiner toward the launch pad.
Bruticus stomped after him, each step shaking the battlefield, tearing through anything in their way.
As Impulse sped ahead, a turret popped up from the top of his alt-mode, his signature minigun, and he began peppering Bruticus with rapid-fire energon bolts. Not enough to do damage. Just enough to be absolutely annoying.
After a few minutes of relentless taunting, Bruticus finally stepped onto the launch pad, their optics locked onto Impulse with pure bloodlust.
And that's when Impulse transformed back, whirling around with the biggest shit-eating grin imaginable, and yelled into his commlink: "HE'S ON! TAKE IT AWAY, HERMIT!"
Instantly, the air beneath Bruticus shifted.
A green and yellow swirl erupted directly under their feet—
And suddenly, the launch pad was gone. Hermit has used the launch pad as a target to aim the ground bridge at Bruticus's feet.
Bruticus let out a furious, confused bellow, optics going wide as they plummeted into the ground bridge, their entire towering frame disappearing into the vortex.
Then—just as quickly as it had opened—the portal snapped shut.
Bruticus was gone.
Sent Primus knows where.
Exhausted, battered, and still not entirely sure if their plan had actually worked, the Autobots stumbled back through the ground bridge, returning to the safety of their Chicago base.
The moment his feet hit the ground, Impulse, still running on pure adrenaline, spun around, throwing his arms in the air.
"HERMIT, DID YOU SEE?! DID YOU SEE WHAT I DID?!" he shouted, practically vibrating with excitement.
Hermit Crab, still at his terminal, barely looked up. "You mean what I did?"
Impulse blinked. "No, I got Bruticus onto the launch pad."
Hermit finally turned his head, optics dull with flat amusement. "And it was my ground bridge that sent him away."
Silence.
Impulse's expression slowly shifted as the undeniable truth sank in.
Hermit Crab, HERMIT CRAB, had defeated Bruticus.
Not him.
HERMIT.
Impulse deflated. "Oh… good job." His voice was significantly less enthusiastic, his ego slightly tanked, while Hermit's was riding a record-breaking high.
Meanwhile, Jeopardy, still leaning heavily on Stormsurge, turned to Hermit. "Where did you send them?"
Hermit, utterly unbothered, replied with complete confidence: "Some random island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean called 'Ni'ihau.'" His pronunciation was horrendously wrong, but he said it with such certainty that no one even questioned it.
Jeopardy, too exhausted to care, simply nodded. "Good, good." He turned to Stormsurge. "Hey, Storm, can you help me to my room?"
Before she could respond, Slipstream's voice cut through the air.
"What about my wing?" she asked, still holding the mangled remains of what Bruticus had sliced off.
Jeopardy exhaled sharply. "Impulse, help her apply some sealant to the wound. I'll fix it later."
Impulse, still recovering from his bruised pride, muttered, "Yeah, yeah…" and walked over to Slipstream.
As Jeopardy and Stormsurge made their way down the hall, they passed Simmons, who was watching them with an unreadable expression.
Jeopardy, still running on fumes, sighed. "Something you need to say, Simmons?"
Simmons crossed his arms. "Good job."
Jeopardy blinked. He hadn't been expecting that.
Simmons continued. "We're still accounting for everyone, but from what we've gathered, casualties were minimal."
Jeopardy's tired optics sharpened. "How many?"
Simmons hesitated, rubbing a hand down his face before responding. "We're still trying to identify remains, but right now, it sits at 48."
Jeopardy exhaled, shoulders slumping. Forty-eight.
Forty-eight too many.
Simmons, for once, didn't make a snide remark. Instead, his voice was calmer, steadier. "It's a lot less than if you'd never shown up. The whole of the scientific community owes you a lot of gratitude."
Jeopardy didn't respond right away. He simply gave a tired nod and continued toward his room, Stormsurge still keeping him steady.
Stormsurge pushed open the door, steadying Jeopardy as they stepped inside.
"Hey, thanks for helping me out. That fire really wiped me out," Jeopardy said, his voice thick with exhaustion.
"It's the least I could do," she replied simply.
The moment they reached the bed, Jeopardy all but collapsed onto it, landing flat on his stomach with a heavy thud. His scorched, melted armor was fully visible now, charred plating warped from the heat of the explosion, faint wisps of steam still rising from it.
"Ugh, I needed this… am I dead yet, Storm?"
"Fortunately, no," she said calmly, seating herself at the edge of the bed.
Jeopardy sighed, venting out the tension that had been gripping his frame since the battle.
"Thanks for saving my life," he murmured.
Stormsurge's optics softened. "Thank you for saving mine, that was really brave."
Jeopardy let out a small, tired laugh. "I-it really was nothing. I was just doing my job."
Stormsurge tilted her head slightly. "You want me to get you something from the medical bay?"
"I think right now I just need to lie down for a few… days…" Jeopardy mumbled.
Stormsurge giggled. "Anything else?"
Jeopardy hesitated, his optics flickering faintly as exhaustion weighed him down.
"Yeah… may not feel like it, but you did good today. And uh…"
His words trailed off, his optics dimming as his processor finally gave in.
For the first time in weeks, Jeopardy slept.
Real, deep, uninterrupted sleep.
Stormsurge watched him for a moment, exhaled softly, turning her gaze toward the floor, and let herself fall back onto the bed and lay beside him.
For the first time since the Combaticons arrived, the room was quiet.
And she was alone, with him beside her, passed out.
44