"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU FAILED?" His voice was a thunderous roar, filled with the kind of anger that sent even the most battle-hardened Decepticons scrambling for cover to avoid their lord's wrath.
Megatron never thought he would utter these words to Soundwave of all mechs. He had lost a rather powerful relic, the Resonance Blaster, to an unknown mech! One that he could only assume was an Autobot recruit.
The bridge of the Nemesis seemed to fall even quieter than usual. The few Vehicons stationed at their consoles tensed and paused before pretending to be deeply engrossed in their work.
Soundwave did not move, nor did he flinch or recoil as so many others would have. He stood impassively before Megatron, offering no excuse, no justification, no desperate attempt to explain away what had happened.
He merely stood there with a dip of his helm, a rare sign of shame. Clutched close to his chassis was his symbiote, cradling him in a display of protectiveness. Laserbeak had been injured.
That alone was enough to cause anger to boil in his spark. Already much had been taken away from his most loyal follower, what more needed to be taken?
When he raised a fist, the TIC tensed, but he did not make any attempt to defend himself.
Knock Out and Breakdown had conveniently found reason to flee the scene at the first sign of his wrath, citing some flimsy excuse about a "medical emergency." Dreadwing had retired to his quarters, avoiding his wrath entirely and Starscream had defected cycles ago.
Starscream, at least, had served one good purpose: he had been the perfect target for the warlord's frustrations. The Seeker had failed often and spectacularly, always providing justification for the punishments Megatron dealt him. With the treacherous lieutenant gone, there was no one left to bear the brunt of his rage.
Except for the Vehicons. However, it would be a waste. Even with Knock Out's competent medical skills.
When his fist finally swung, Soundwave flinched but it was not he who took the blow. The unfortunate computer terminal before him shattered under the force of his strike, sparking pitifully and flickering violently.
It was a temporary release, but better than taking it out on him.
Soundwave had been there since the beginning. Through every battle, every loss, every victory, every betrayal. He had stood unwaveringly at Megatron's side, even as others fell away. Even when Orion had been ripped from them, stolen by the Autobots, Soundwave had remained. Through everything, through all the cycles of war and hardship, he had never failed.
Until now.
A foreign sensation crept into Megatron's chassis, a sensation he despised. Uncertainty. He hadn't felt this way since he was in the mines on Cybertron.
"Show me who did this." The words left his intake in a snarl.
Soundwave's visor flickered to life with an image.
It was mech the warlord had never seen before.
A slender, squarish and stubby frame colored fiery orange stared at him, bold hot-red lines tracing along the seams of his armor. From his back, two doorwings extended outward, indicating his ground mode status. Sharp audial receptors extended from his audial receptors, and orange armor framed silver faceplates. A thin, reddish visor stretched across his optics.
There was no Autobrand nor Deceptibrand. Merely a number stamped onto his chassis, colored crimson.
R-1.
It disgusted him, reminding him all too much of how his former masters on Cybertron would brand the low castes in the mines with meaningless numbers to be lost in a sea of others.
His optics burned brighter.
"Who is he?" he rumbled, darkly.
There was no answer. Neither of them knew who this bot was, a bot that appeared to be a Neutral. It was virtually impossible. The war had forced all Cybertronians to choose a side long ago. Neutrals had fled Cybertron when the first major battles erupted, scattered across the stars. Those who had remained had been swiftly caught in the crossfire, forced to align or perish.
And it was a Neutral who had somehow managed to best Soundwave. And Soundwave was no ordinary Cybertronian. He was not some second-rate soldier or easily replaceable drone. He was a former gladiator, a tactician, a spymaster, and a warrior whose skills had been honed in the pits of Kaon long before Megatron had ever risen to power.
The TIC had nearly bested him in combat once, back when the caste system had still reinforced the boundaries that sought to contain them. Back when Megatron had fought to tear down those very constraints and build something greater from their ruins.
For Soundwave to fail meant that this unknown opponent was not to be underestimated.
Megatron turned his attention back to the image, scanning the contours of this mysterious mech's faceplates. He found the more he looked at it, the more the face became familiar. He had seen this face before—the soft, almost roundish structure of the face was most certainly familiar.
The warlord prided himself on his memory. He remembered every face he had ever seen, even those of the insignificant insects known as humans. It was similar to what he had said to be the Autobot's pet. Jack, he believed he was called. The annoying organic femme had screeched his name at some point when he was "guest" in the Autobot's base, a base he had still yet to discover.
Megatron remembered their encounter vividly. After that cowardly Seeker left him for dead, buried under ten tons of rock, he had found himself, however briefly, at the mercy of an organic.
A mere youngling. Arcee's weak, fleshling pet.
It had been a humiliating position; one he had no intention of ever speaking of. A youngling had stood before him, the Decepticon warlord, the conqueror of worlds, atop a drill he had somehow managed to operate, frail and insignificant in comparison to his own might.
It would have been humiliating if the great and mighty Megatron had perished at the hands of a fleshling, trapped like some wounded beast beneath rubble. A fate unbefitting of a warlord. But he had known, even then, that the organic would not follow through. He lacked the strength and the conviction to strike him down.
And he had been right.
A true warrior would have seized the opportunity. A Decepticon certainly would have. Even an Autobot, in the right circumstances, might have. But the human had done nothing. He had simply driven away, leaving Megatron to his fate, all while preaching Optimus Prime's soft-sparked beliefs.
His words, spoken with fire and conviction, had secretly taken him aback. Despite the human's fear, he had not expected that from an organic. His words that should have been meaningless and been brushed aside as the naivety of a lesser being.
But still, it had reminded Megatron all too much of Orion Pax.
Of the foolish, idealistic archivist who once stood by his side, who once believed in him before their paths had irreversibly diverged. No, who had been ripped from his servos, taken away by Primus and killed by Optimus Prime.
The dictator brushed the thoughts aside, walking out of the bridge. Soundwave followed him out, adjusting Laserbeak in his arms carefully.
"I want this mech found," he said in a low, dangerous growl. "And brought to me. Alive."
This was not a request; it was an order, one that would be followed. The unknown warrior who had bested Soundwave—who had dared to wound him, to harm Laserbeak—was now marked. Not for death. Megatron wanted answers, and he would extract them from the mech's very spark if necessary.
His TIC gave a single nod, never needing to respond. He had received his orders, and he would carry them out. That was the unwavering loyalty Megatron had come to expect from him.
Yet the Decepticon lord knew him better than most. His silence had long since become his language, and he understood it better than most. He knew what Soundwave wanted.
The warlord reached out, placing a clawed servo on the surveillance chief's forearm. A gesture that waws not often given, but one of understanding. It was brief, gone as quickly as it had come.
"Go to the medbay," Megatron ordered firmly. "Get Laserbeak repaired."
For a klik, Soundwave remained still. But with another silent nod, he turned on his heel strut and left without a sound, vanishing into the corridors of the Nemesis like a shadow retreating into the dark.
Megatron watched him go, cycling air through his vents as his optics lingered on the empty space the TIC had occupied.
He knew what Laserbeak meant to Soundwave. The small, avian symbiote was not just a tool, nor just a mere extension of Soundwave's will, but a part of him. One of the last of the communication officer's symbiotes.
There had been others, once. A network of loyal extensions of the Decepticon Intelligence Chief, each connected to him in a way few could ever understand. But like many before, they had been stolen from him, ripped away by the Autobots, and their sparks extinguished in an instant.
Piece by agonizing piece, they had been torn apart by the Autobots.
Soundwave had endured each loss of every symbiote that had been forcibly bonded to him before the war, when he was under rule of a master. Even though his master had abused him and the Minicons, he loved each and every one of them, caring for them greatly.
Megatron would have called it weakness, but he understood. Orion had been much like them, a brother and a friend, until Primus came along. Corrupting his closest friend, turning him against him. Turning him into a mouthpiece, a puppet for the Council!
Like him, when he lost Orion, something inside Soundwave had shattered when Ravage's spark had been extinguished. He had fallen into absolute silence, not just selective, as he had been before, but total, irreversible silence. No voice, no words, no sign that he would ever speak again.
Megatron had never questioned it.
He had simply accepted it as truth, as yet another wound inflicted by a war that had taken far too much from them both.
Now, only Laserbeak remained.
And the fact that this mystery mech had nearly taken even him?
Unacceptable.
Whoever this warrior was, whatever purpose he served...
He would find out.
And when he did, the mech would learn what it truly meant to cross the Decepticon lord.
"Sir, the Autobots have discovered the location of our base."
Silas stalked over to the young man, staring at the security monitors. The screens displayed grainy footage of five vehicles emerging from what was unmistakably a GroundBridge portal.
Silas's eyes widened in momentary surprise, but his expression quickly darkened into a scowl. So, they had found them. He watched as the portal snapped shut behind the Transformers, and two Humvees filled with humans.
MECH had learned of this alien transportation technology thanks to Starscream, the treacherous Transformer who had been all too willing to exchange information in pursuit of his own selfish ambitions. Despite their knowledge of the phenomenon, however, replicating it had thus far remained beyond their grasp.
If only they could replicate it. With such technology in their hands, they could move undetected, bypassing borders, strongholds, and battle lines at will. No one could stop them. They ability to transport personnel, assets, and most importantly, his prized weapons in mere seconds would be an advantage.
It would avoid the nightmare of relying on aircraft, especially when it came to his new weapons.
"Sir?" The soldier at the console prompted, shifting as he waited for an answer.
Silas realized he'd drifted into thought and let out a soft curse under his breath. "What?"
The operative swallowed before repeating his question. "What do you want us to do, sir? Should we retreat or engage?"
MECH's leader didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned away from the monitors and folded his arms, contemplating their options. Direct engagement would be a waste of resources if they weren't fully prepared. However, this was yet another opportunity to test the effectiveness of their assets against their former allies.
"How far is R-1 from here?" he finally asked.
The soldier moved to a different console and his fingers flew over the keyboard, typing in the command to pull up a location feed. "A few hours away, sir."
The man pressed his lips into a thin line. R-1 wouldn't arrive in time to be of use. "What about J-1 and M-1?"
The soldier checked another set of data before nodding. "They should be ready, sir."
Good. They would have to be. MECH had come too far to be undone by mere machines, even ones that thought themselves superior.
"Tell the others to rendezvous at Las Vegas."
Without waiting for a reply, Silas strode out of the room and down the corridors of the silo. They had moved the other two weapons into the same silo as R-1, for convenient access, rather than having to go to individual buildings.
It wouldn't be long before they had to move. MECH was constantly relocating to avoid detection, they had already overstayed their welcome here. The Autobots were persistent, and they had managed to discover this location.
It wasn't long before he entered the part of the silo, seeing blue and red armor. Black and distasteful pink. Both subjects eyes were offline, as they were still in power down.
Clasping his hands behind his back, he stopped just beside the slab.
"Wake him up."
His men worked quickly, entering the necessary commands into the system. A low whirr filled the air, followed by light clicks of something slotting into place. An engine rumbled, limbs moved, only stopped by the thick metal restraints bolted to the slab, keeping the Transformer pinned in place, should he attempt to rebel.
Finally, eyes flickered to life, the brilliant cerulean glow starting dim before brightening as awareness returned. Confusion bled into those mechanical eyes as the mech's head craned left, then right, scanning his surroundings.
And then those harsh, glowing optics landed on Silas. It was followed by a burst of static from his vocalizer as he tried to speak. "Hoooo aaarr..."
The mech's systems were probably working to correct the error in his voice, yet another fascinating thing about Transformers. He wondered how many systems they had. They were basically a living computer, just... alive in some fashion.
"W-who are you?"
Silas didn't like how close the voice sounded to its original owner, having a metallic twang. It was like R-1. He was hoping that the Vehicon's original vocoders would have remained in whatever process that had turned his creations into brightly colored things.
He smiled thinly. "I am Silas," he stated. "Leader of MECH."
Something flashed through his weapon's face, but it was gone before Silas could fully analyze it.
"You are prototype J-1," Silas continued smoothly. "One of MECH's three successful experiments."
J-1's optics narrowed slightly, straining against the restraints as he craned his neck to the side. His gaze settled on the figure strapped down next to him, the female with the colors he didn't appreciate in the slightest.
There was a flicker of recognition, or perhaps just curiosity.
"Who...?"
The question was incomplete, but the man understood it perfectly.
"M-1," he supplied. "The other experiment."
"I-Is that all we are?" His tone was dangerously close to a challenge, something he didn't like. No matter, it would be taken care of. "Experiments?"
Silas frowned slightly, displeased by the way he said it.
"Not just experiments," he corrected, firmly. "You are MECH's greatest accomplishment. Our greatest asset."
Those eyes seemed to darken.
He pretended not to notice.
"Well, J-1," he said, "we have a mission for you."
The mech didn't seem happy about this, wary even.
"Typhon, Sixteen, June, Three."
J-1's frame went rigid, optics flashing bright for a split second before dimming, any emotions wiped from his features in an instant. The Pegasus protocols overwrote any thoughts or any possible remaining memories with one singular directive: Obey.
Thanks to Starscream, they had implanted the directives deeply within his coding. And they knew exactly how to replicate the process, allowing them to make infinite super soldiers all under MECH's control. Under his control. His new world order was just in his grasp.
"Ready to comply," came the dull, monotone response.
"Your mission is to distract the Autobots—they're like you, but enemies of MECH—while we evacuate the area." It was a speech he had intended to give each of his new weapons. "The Autobots will recognize you, but they are deceived by sentiment. You are one of them in appearance, but you belong to us. Your objective is to keep them occupied while we recover our other subjects. Keep them distracted until we secure the others. Understood?"
There was a nod.
"You will eliminate all threats to your mission."
Another nod.
"Excellent."
Silas wasted no time with M-1. He didn't have enough time to go through the pleasantries. The Autobots had probably discovered the silo with the brat's bodies in them, which gave him a window to deploy J-1 and M-1.
"Wake her up," the MECH leader ordered.
Much like J-1, M-1 went through the same process. Disorientation. Confusion. And something else, something that looked dangerous in her eyes. He would have to keep an eye on her, after all, she was the fighter out of the three. Perhaps the second most dangerous.
Once she seemed aware enough, he immediately activated the Pegasus Protocols.
"Echidna, Fifteen, Davis, Two."
M-1 had a similar reaction to the other weapon. Going stiff and blank, pliant for his uses. Oh, these protocols were working flawlessly. And soon, these protocols would be implanted into an army that would conquer Earth and bring about his new world order.
After repeating what he had said to J-1, he had the technicians release his creations. They sat up on their slabs carefully, stretching their limbs, probably trying to get a feel of their bodies. Well, he didn't have time for them to adjust.
Turning away from his Transformers, he ordered his men, "Pack everything up and prepare for departure. We are leaving now." Immediately, they scrambled to get to work, gathering the most important thing: the research.
Silas turned back to his creations, giving them both hard looks. "Do not fail me."
He felt wrong.
J-1 felt like his both was both his and not his at the same time. It moved when he willed it too, responded to every command but there was a disconnection between it. It felt alien, yet at the same time, it was familiar. He felt like he was piloting a machine rather than inhabiting it. Every action seemed... programmed.
Something deep within him recoiled at the thought. This wasn't him. This wasn't—
He pushed the thought away. These feelings did not pertain to the mission.
The mission was all that mattered.
J-1 lay low on the rooftop of the silo's roof, peering down at the Autobots as they prowled through the industrial sector below. He scanned the area, taking in the crumbling warehouses, remains of old machinery, and other rusting things in the surrounding area.
He remined perfectly still, observing the Cybertronians as they moved below. He identified them immediately.
Optimus Prime was at the head of the group, red and blue, tall and bulky armor, his battle mask snapped over his face, leaving only dim, narrowed optics in view. Two were behind him, Bumblebee in bright yellow armor, squarish and stubby. Next to him was a curvy blue femme, Arcee, pink accented with her blasters out, sweeping the area warily.
J-1 found it strange that he knew their names. His leader had not mentioned anything about their designations, nor did he have any recollection of learning them. Perhaps they had been downloaded? It didn't matter, though.
A soft, familiar voice tickled his audial receptors. "Hey, partner."
Battle protocols were immediately activated, and he turned around, aiming his weapons at the target behind him, searching for the threat.
He found Arcee staring at him.
That wasn't possible, she was down below. He looked down, confirming that she was there. When he looked back, she was here too. Except this version of her was different. She was transparent, shimmering like a mirage, while the other one was solid.
This one had a sad look on her face, looking weighed down by something heavy. The other one looked determined and serious.
A gentle smile, brilliant blue optics warmly staring down at him. A servo extended, inviting him to take it. "You alright?"
He knew this.
The images and thoughts were forced out of his mind as J-1 scrambled for an explanation. It had to be an error, or malfunction, even a glitch in his systems. He started running scans to search for a virus that could have possible infected his systems at some point.
When? You don't even know anything about yesterday, or even the day before.
This thought did not have anything to do with the mission.
He shoved it aside, quickly debating whether he should fire at the apparition or not. If he did, he would alert the Autobots to his location. It could possibly ruin his mission. Besides, the phantom Arcee did not react to his hostility, lowering her threat level.
She's a threat.
Threat.
NoT ThREaT.
ShE IS ThREAt.
NOt.
YeS.
nO.
HELp.
J-1 pushed the intrusive thoughts aside, deciding he could take care of the not-target later. He scooted up the silo roof, aiming to get a better view of the Autobots, who had moved quite a distance. His targeting systems locked onto the nearest Autobot's helm. One clean shot. That was all it would take. One order carried out, one more obstacle eliminated.
"You don't want to do that."
"You will eliminate all threats to your mission."
The weapon did not respond. He did not acknowledge her. The phantom did not exist. It was a malfunction. A glitch.
"You won't kill them."
The mission demands it.
The Autobot he was targeting was Optimus Prime. It would be so easy. It would be wrong. It isn't him. It is. It isn't.
"I've been impressed by how much you have matured since we first met. As such, I feel you have earned the responsibility of safeguarding this important device... until I return."
Something was missing.
He didn't understand why. He didn't want to understand. This was not part of the mission. J-1 forcibly shut down whatever part of his mind was reacting to it. He was a soldier. A weapon. Nothing more.
He had his orders.
The mission came first. Always.
"You can't."
The blasts would take one of them out, but the rest would immediately be on alert. If he could somehow drop into the center of them, he was confident he could take them out at close range. One by one.
J-1 fired.
The shot went wide, not by much—mere inches—but it was enough. Instead of striking Optimus's helm, the blast scorched the side of an old metal beam behind him, sending some rusted debris tumbling to the ground.
How?
It was—
"That's not you," she mused, her tone lighter than it had any right to be. "MECH can try, but they can't erase the essence of who you are."
J-1 shoved the words away, pushing past the confusing words of the femme. She was nothing. An error. A distraction. He had his orders.
Arcee's head jerked up, optics narrowing as she scanned the rooftops. Bumblebee whirled around, blasters raised. Optimus turned was already calculating the trajectory of the shot. In mere seconds, they would pinpoint his exact location.
He was trying to think, but the apparition kept distracting him.
"You missed on purpose," she murmured.
J-1 refused to acknowledge her.
The Autobots spread out, optics scanning, tracking the direction of the shot. His window of opportunity was closing.
"You were never their weapon, Jack."
His body stiffened.
The name... Jack.
It was nothing. A meaningless designation.
J-1 launched himself from the silo before she could say more, jumping from one roof to another. It wasn't long before he reached the Autobots' location, raining superheated energon down on them. They ducked out of the way, evading the blasts to the best of their abilities.
The weapon slid down the side of the building, landing in a crouch before straightening quickly. Multiple sets of bright, wide cerulean optics locked onto him with recognition, disbelief, and horror. Their lips were moving, but all he could hear was her voice.
"...Jack."
He didn't know it.
And yet, it felt like it should have been his.
J-1 shook himself out of those thoughts, managing to catch Arcee's voice.
"Jack?" Her voice sounded small, filled with horror and shock.
That name again. That meaningless designation.
Beside him, the apparition hummed, amused. "They know."
He knows.
Everyone knows.
J-1 disregarded her, focusing instead on the emergence of another presence at his side. M-1 landed in a crouch, metal folding, shifting, realigning, servos disappearing into black metal and being replaced by bright, orange-yellow axes.
"Miko," Optimus breathed, optics widening slightly.
J-1 did not like that.
Something deep within him recoiled. That expression was wrong. The Prime was supposed to be composed, stoic, unshaken.
The thought was stamped out.
Simultaneously, J-1 and M-1 lunged, with J-1 going after Arcee. From his wrists, twin silver swords, serrated edges near the base giving way to razor-sharp points, slid over his servos, reinforced by blue and red plating. There was a diamond hole in the center of it, surrounded by intricate blue lines.
He closed the distance in a blink, twisting in midair. Arcee's optics widened a fraction before she brought her arm up, twin arm blades extending form her forearms. They met his strike with a clang, sending tremors through both their frames.
"Jack, listen to me!" she called, voice strained as she forced to backpedal, under the strain of his strength. "This isn't you!"
J-1 didn't acknowledge her words, pressing forward. He twisted, disengaging his right sword before slashing low with his left. His target saw the attack and hopped back, barely missing the blade that would've left a nasty groove in her armor.
She countered with a kick to his left flank, but he blocked with his arm. There were a few more half-hearted attacks like this before he realized she wasn't trying to kill him.
"The Autobots will recognize you, but they are deceived by sentiment. You are one of them in appearance, but you belong to us."
It was a mistake.
When he managed to catch her fist, he used the opening. His free hand transformed back into a blaster in an instant, and he fired point-blank. It hit her in the chassis, scorching and dulling bright cobalt armor. It was only at a low setting, not doing much other than burning her. He realized he needed to adjust his settings.
"Jack, please!" she tried again. "It's me! It's Arcee! You know me!"
J-1 did not stop. He pivoted on his heel when he was close to her, carrying his words in an toward her helm.
The target ducked, rolling to the side before springing up. Her servos swiftly transformed into twin blasters, heating up and firing energon. Most of the shots missed but one managed to catch him in the shoulder, eliciting a pained hiss from him.
When he lunged at her, she merely responded in a dizzying array of acrobatics, easily evading his attacks. Mid-flip, he caught her in the leg with his blade, causing her to lose her balance and tumble backward. In an instant, he was on her, fingers wrapping around her throat.
Arcee's optics widened in alarm as she was lifted off her pedes, struggling against his grip.
"Jack—!" Her protest was cut off with a burst of static from her voice box and the metal in her sensitive neck cables dented under the pressure.
He was HurTIng ArcEE!
No!
LEAvE hER AlonE!
"Jack."
The apparition's voice was right there, behind him, beside him, everywhere!
His digits loosened their death hold and in response, the target's pede slammed into his midsection with all the strength she could muster. The force broke his grip completely, sending him stumbling back. Arcee hit the ground hard, rolling into a crouch.
Only the mission.
"You're still in there, Jack," she breathed, optics narrowing. "I'm going to bring you back home."
HomE.
HElppp meeee arCEE! ARcee!
J-1's frame trembled for half a second before his servo transformed into a blaster and fired. His target flipped onto a warehouse wall, using it as a springboard to launch herself into the air.
"You don't have to do this, Jack."
I donT WaNT Tooo.
An energon blast was his response.
It caught her on her shoulder, sending her rolling across the ground, but she recovered quickly, planting one servo against the cracked asphalt before kicking herself up into a defensive stance.
J-1 continued his brutal attacks, slamming twin blades down onto her arm ones. She gritted her denta and pushed back. When he attempted to go low, she flipped over him. He pivoted at lightning speed and lashed out, the tip of his sword slicing across her plating, sending sparks flying. The target hissed in pain but kept moving.
The moment she landed, there was another attack waiting for her. She ducked low, sweeping a leg out to throw him off balance. He anticipated it, jumping just high enough to avoid the strike before bringing both swords down in an overhead slash.
She rolled aside, narrowly avoiding decapitation.
"Jack, you're my partner!" she tried again, blocking another strike.
PArtNER!
His only response was another swing.
She caught it against her forearm blade, gritting her denta as he pushed against her, angling the blade so that it bit into her armor. He drove his knee into her midsection, sending her staggering backwards. That was all he needed.
J-1 slammed her against the crumbling wall nearby and the impact cracked the concrete behind her, dust raining down as she gasped. Before she could think of doing anything, a was at her neck cables.
The target froze.
No!
Yes.
Finish it.
The deadly edge pressed against her plating, just a fraction away from cutting through. Horribly wide cerulean optics locked onto his own, desperately searching for something that didn't exist.
"You're not their weapon," she whispered, finally.
Kill.
Don't. It's not you.
Killing isn't you.
You'd be no better than our aggressors.
Help.
Leave.
Do it.
One of the wires on the target's neck sparked when the blade cut in and then a little bit deeper, some energon. Suddenly, there was a crushing grip on his shoulder and the next second, he was airborne, hurled unceremoniously through the air before he collided with the wall of a silo.
For a moment, static filled his vision and pain bloomed in the back of his helm, which had taken a large portion of the impact. His systems recalibrated and his optics slowly refocused on the world around him, pixels piecing themselves back together.
"I am sorry, Jack."
The name Jack rang through his mind, but he shoved it aside. It meant nothing. Nothing!
His vents expelled a harsh burst of air as he climbed back onto his pedes, focusing on the large figure of Optimus Prime. His weapons were not drawn, and his servos were open, meant to be non-threatening. He did not move to attack. It seemed like he was merely waiting.
No, that wasn't right.
He was the enemy! They were supposed at-at-at-aaac-kkk.
He winced at the ringing his helm— maybe audial receptors? —raising a claw to touch the throbbing area.
Mission.
Fight.
DonT fiGHT. Let TheM hELp us.
Traitorous thoughts! He shoved them aside, seeing green slowly trickle into his vision. The mission and only the mission. Finish the mission.
Mission.
He glanced past Optimus for a brief second, scanning the battlefield. M-1 was locked in combat with Bumblebee—the one who tried to kill their leader—swiping at the scout with her axes. The scout was fast ducking and dodging her attacks, but she refused to back down.
Arcee had managed to recover and jumped into the fight, intercepting a blow that would have taken Bumblebee's winglet clean off. Even with almost being decapitated, neither of them backed down but didn't attack either.
Useless.
A memory not his own flashed before his optics.
A bridge. Blue metal and black asphalt. The gentle purr of an engine, a vehicle smoothly gliding on the pavement. A voice- his voice, but different. It was warmer and lighter.
"You really think I can handle this?"
"I have no doubt, Jack."
The name echoed in his processor, foreign and familiar all at once. Jack. He didn't know a Jack. He was J-1. A soldier. A weapon forged for MECH's cause.
"Jackson Darby!"
He let out a hiss, deploying his blades. Even with the threat, Optimus did not move to attack. J-1 didn't wait to be honorable, attacking the Prime ferociously. He closed the distance easily, bringing both blades in a sweeping strike.
A sword blocked his own, and when the weapon dragged his blade down, it only left deep grooves on the target's thick armor. He moved back and attempted a direct thrust aimed at the Autobot's midsection, but his target sidestepped at the last moment, twisting his frame just enough to avoid impalement.
He was faster than his frame suggested. This fact was filed away, stored as a precaution for his fight. Never underestimate the enemy.
NoT EnemY.
J-1 adjusted, spinning into a follow-up strike. His blade arced toward the Prime's shoulder, but the target raised an armored forearm, catching the attack. The force sent sparks flying as metal scraped against metal.
The weapon continued his attacks, attempting to strike at joints, seams, weak points. Many of his attacks were blocked, though some managed to slip past his defenses. Never once did he use his weapons to attack him.
J-1 snarled internally.
He feinted left, then spun low, one sword aiming for the knee joint. It was a blocked strike. He shifted his weight, slashing upward toward the chestplate. Yet another block.
It was infuriating.
With a pivot, he brought his swords down in a vicious cross-slash aimed straight for Optimus' chassis. It should have been a finishing strike if it weren't for the target blocking his attack. When he attempted to pull back, the Prime grabbed his arm.
His optics widened.
His world twisted, and suddenly he was airborne once again, until he hit a hard surface, slipping down the concrete wall. He pushed himself to his pedes once more, optics narrowing as he glared at the Prime.
Why wasn't he fighting back?
"You are not my enemy, Jack." Optimus's calm stated, as if reading his very thoughts. "You have been taken from us, forced into something you were never meant to be."
"Jack."
The apparition was back beside him, probably laughing.
"They know who you are. Let go."
He shoved the thought away. It didn't matter. This was the mission.
J-1 snarled and charged him once again. He dropped low, falling to a knee before jumping upward with a vicious upward slash aimed upward but the target caught his wrist, twisting it slightly. He hissed in pain and saw green.
He was going to finish the mission!
The next thing he knew, his sword was plunged into his target's abdomen, stained bright blue with the glowing substance of energon. J-1 yanked the sword free, going for the throat next. Whatever happened next was beyond him.
All he knew was he was on the ground, pinned under his objective. Only his target was covered in a plethora of new dents, scratches and covered with energon that was dripping onto his frame. The Prime's battle mask was cracked, missing a large portion of the metal and there was a jagged groove running down his face.
The left side of his audial receptor antennas were cut off. Plating was missing and there was energon everywhere. When he looked past the Autobot leader, he saw some of his parts scattered about on the ground, cracked and broken.
What happened?
It didn't matter. He was close to finish one part of his mission.
LooK AT What yoU did! STOp!
It's wrong.
One of the kzztzz lay crumpled on the floor, groaning in agony. Blood pooled beneath him, spreading slowly across the cold, gray surface. His mask was torn, a jagged scar running across the surface, revealing one large, terrified blue eye.
"Jack," Optimus groaned out in a static-laced voice. "This is not who you are."
J-1 trembled against the grip holding him in place. He felt so hot.
It didn't matter.
Kzztzz was flat on his back across the tile of the pool, barely moving. His face was bloody and swollen, finished with a crooked nose and an arm twisted an unnatural level.
These were glitches, perhaps corrupted data. Silas needed to fix him!
The man was on his back, desperately scooting away from Jack. His mask was torn off completely, revealing a bruised and swollen face, blood dripping from his nose and the corner of his mouth. Once handsome features were contorted into fear, eyes were wide with terror, hands raised defensively as he scrambled against the wall.
He HUrT US! BroKEN...
J-1 heard an explosion nearby, tearing through the night with an almighty roar. Fire and metal erupted from an industrial structure nearby, sending embers spiraling into the dark sky.
His comm crackled to life with his leader's voice. |"J-1, M-1, return to us. The Autobots brought others."|
The mission had changed.
Escape.
No! HomE!
He wriggled under the Prime's grip, forcing his former target to compensate his weight, which in turn loosened his leg. He kicked at the Autobot leader, jerking wildly until one of his wounds ended up being aggravated, causing him to loosen his grip.
J-1 forced his way from under the Prime, pulling back as fast as he could. His gaze drifted to M-1, who was engaged with Bumblebee. He then noticed that Arcee was lying on the ground, deathly still. There was a deep gash in her abdomen, energon gushing out of her sensitive innards.
She was still alive though, judging by her flickering optics. His former target wouldn't last long without medical attention. What was he thinking? This wasn't the mission, they were his enemies. He didn't care. He needed Silas to fix him.
Something in him twisted.
Arcee!
Not mission.
J-1 transformed into his alternate-mode, helm disappearing into his chassis, frame compressing, plating folding inward, shifting and interlocking, wheels moving around to the bottom of his frame. He was going to die! Diediediediediedie—
Help me.
This was so alien; it was wrong and right.
It didn't matter. He needed to get to Silas, to his mission.
"You shouldn't go, Jack," the apparition murmured her sick words into his audios.
He refused to acknowledge her.
The engine to the Lamborghini roared to life and energon redirected and pumped into the appropriate part, giving life to his vehicle. Tires screeched against the pavement as she sped toward M-1. She got the message.
A well-aimed kick sent Bumblebee stumbling back, giving her just enough space to make her escape. Her frame shifted, armor unfolding and realigning, wheels replacing limbs. The black, pink and gold jeep slammed onto all fours, revving its engine.
M-1 accelerated, falling into formation beside J-1.
Through his rearview mirror, he noticed the Prime limping toward Arcee, kneeling next to her to see her condition. This observation was useless. What was useful was notice of a bright yellow streak following them with an angry engine.
"Jack, you need to stop!"
Words didn't matter. Only the mission did.
He veered sharply to the left, taking a narrow alleyway between crumbling buildings. M-1 shot straight ahead, but Bumblebee didn't follow her, swerving into the alleyway with him. They rushed through the tight fit and the moment the exited into a larger area, panels along his side lifted, exposing a compartment holding a missile.
A targeting HUD tracked the scout's movements, locking onto him. It whistled toward the threat, who swerved out of the way, the shockwave sending chunks of debris into the air. It hardly slowed the scout down, who caught up to him easily.
"Jack—"
He was cut off as M-1 appeared, slamming into Bumblebee with enough force to send him into the wall nearby. The Autobot was forced to transform, skidding to halt as M-1 transformed back into her bipedal form, axes appearing in place of her servos.
He sent her a private ping.
::Regroup when possible.::
He didn't dare wait any longer than he had to, trusting M-1 would complete her mission.
Do YoU WaNT hER too?
Only the mission.
FriEndS dONt KiLl FrIenDS.
Optimus and Miko's perspective in the next chapter.