Transformers: Galactic Odyssey - Part 1: Paradron

All right, so, this has something I've been thinking of doing for a while.

Regenerated has gotten to be too long and convoluted to keep track of (probably owed to it being a nearly 13 year-old storyline). As such, I will be taking a break from it and focusing on some other story ideas I've had for some time, which may end up replacing Regenerated or serving as a reboot if things go right.

Galactic Odyssey will be a series of short stories detailing the Ark's journey from Cybertron to Earth. There will be others to focus on tales from Cybertron and Earth, but that'll be another time.

 MAKE PEACE, NOT WAR

Paradron

Loathe as she was to admit it, Lifeline could tell that something was wrong almost from the beginning.

It had started about an orbital cycle since Sentinel Prime last visited Paradron as part of his tour of the Commonwealth. The visit had been the same routine she and her fellow Paradronians were used to; Sentinel Prime would exchange pleasantries with the local leaders for the sake of the cameras, act like the belligerent hardhead he truly was once the cameras were off, check on the energon supplies, gather some to take home for Cybertron, then leave. Nothing about his visit had been anything out of the ordinary.

But since then, things had started to feel off. While no one had told her as much directly, she had overheard from some of her fellow medics that the Prime had been forced to cut his tour short and returned to Cybertron. The reason for this cancellation was unclear, although at least one of her colleagues had said something about civil unrest on the capital planet. However, any inquiry made towards the leaders of Paradron was met with either radio silence or hollow reassurances. The local leaders was doing everything they could to quash the rumors before they spread, lest they shatter the peaceful atmosphere that Paradron had known for centuries.

Lifeline did everything she could to ignore the rumors and her own concern about what was happening away from home. But that became an impossible feat when the High Guard arrived.

As the personal guard for the Prime, the High Guard were always hanging around Sentinel Prime; it was impossible to spot him without at least one of their number close by. But this was the first time Lifeline had ever seen the High Guard without the Prime being present as well. They had arrived on Paradron over a month after Sentinel’s departure, dropping down from a ship that was not Sentinel’s preferred vessel of choice, the Lodestar.

Lifeline hardly knew any of the High Guard by name save for one. As head of the Guard itself, Starscream was almost always seen at Sentinel Prime’s side during his tours, wearing that confident smirk that had always rubbed Lifeline the wrong way. The fact that he was now here without any sign of Sentinel Prime did not sit well with her.

She had stood to the sidelines with some of her colleagues in the Medic Corps as the leader of Paradron, Landshark, stepped forward to great their visitors.

“Commander Starscream,” Landshark said as he extended a hand in greeting. “This is quite the pleasant surprise, especially so soon after your last visit. I trust that Sentinel Prime is well?”

Starscream glanced at the proffered hand but did not shake it, giving Landshark his traditional smirk. “Oh, the Prime is doing just fine. He simply needed to address some… urgent matters on Cybertron.”

Landshark slowly nodded, a frown developing on his orange face. “I see. So, what brings you here to Paradron?”

“The same as before: we require another sample of your energon rations.”

“So soon? The Prime usually recovers a sample every other stellar cycle.”

“Yes, well, those urgent matters I just mention require some rather urgent solutions.” Starscream flicked his gaze at the energon-producing factories that dominated the Paradronian skyline. “We will also need a larger percentage than normal. Seventy percent this time.”

“Seventy percent?!” Landshark exclaimed. “But… it’s been the standard thirty percent for centuries! Ever since Nominus—”

“Yes, well, Nominus isn’t the Prime anymore now is he?” Starscream sneered, taking a step forward. Landshark backed away in response. “Now then, if you wish to remain on good terms with the Prime, then you will do as he requests for the betterment of Cybertron and her precious colonies.”

Landshark nodded frantically. “Y-yes, of course, sir. My apologies. I… I will have my security escort you to the primary factory.”

“Oh, don’t bother. We already know the way.”

With that, Starscream and his contingent of guardsman leaped up into the sky and converted into their Tetrajet forms, blasting off in the direction of the factories. Landshark simply stood there in shocked silence, and Lifeline could only stare at him until she was pulled away by her duties.

That day had been the beginning of the end. For the next several months, the High Guard made regular visits, retrieving more and more energon from Paradron’s supply. More often than not, they took far more than the seventy percent that Starscream had mentioned and stole away with a good majority of the planet’s supply for that orbital cycle. With no more fuel to continue producing more energon, the factories began shutting down one by one, until all that was left was the primary station… and even that was on its last legs.

Again, Lifeline tried to ignore it all. Tried to tell herself that things were not falling apart.

But it was a futile effort. Before long, the news was inescapable once it had reached all of the colony worlds.

Cybertron was at war.

She did not know the details. To be quite frank, she didn’t want to know the details. Like many living on Paradron, she loathed the very concept of war. The entire colony had been borne from an effort to convert the energon-producing world of Omnitron from a site of conflict, as it had been in the War of the Threefold Spark, into a world of peace. Its new name was even an archaic word for “peace.” Weaponry was banned from the planet (although many were forced to turn a blind eye to the null-rays that the High Guard carried) and many of the inhabitants, including Lifeline herself, had a low opinion of those who participated in conflict.

For centuries, this policy had benefited Paradron and its inhabitants greatly. But now, Lifeline was worried it would prove their undoing should the war ever make its way to Paradron.

Years passed. She eventually lost count of them. The visits from the High Guard eventually ceased, and she began to wonder if perhaps the war had ended. Perhaps Paradron would finally be given the chance to replenish its depleted resources and return to the prosperous state it had enjoyed for so long.

But then the day came when Lifeline looked to the sky and saw the massive orange ship looming overhead.

That’s when she knew that the nightmare was far, far from over.

*  *  *

“All right, give it to me straight: how many do we have injured?”

“I’ve counted at least a dozen,” said Hoist, standing hunched over a comatose Smokescreen as he operated on the injured Autobot. “There might be more in the other medbay. Everything’s a blur right now and I—”

“I know, I know.” Ratchet sighed as he set down his medical tools. “You’re doing good, Hoist. I know you’re not used to this level of workload, but you’re the closest thing to a medibot we’ve got functional right now. Besides me, of course.” 

“You really think the Paradron medics will want to help? I’ve heard they don’t take kindly to soldiers.”

“Whether they do or not, they’ve taken the same oath that I and other medibots have taken. They will help us. I know they will. Besides, we could use some of their energon supplies as well.” He then patted Hoist on the shoulder. “Keep things stable here while I head out there, yeah?”

“Wait, Prime’s sending you? I would’ve thought he’d send Bumblebee or someone instead.”

“Yeah, well, like you said, they don’t take kindly to soldiers here. But maybe they’ll be friendlier to a medic instead.”

With that, Ratchet converted into his alternate mode and drove out of the medbay, heading straight for the boarding ramp.

He could not at all blame Hoist—or anyone for that matter—for being flustered. The retreat from Cybertron had been a chaotic event, and many ‘bots had been injured in the process. Ratchet could only hope that Hoist’s assessment of there only be a dozen or so injured wasn’t an understatement, as it would not surprise him if they had far more than that.

The fact that they were still in Cybertronian space was a major risk in and of itself. But they simply had too many injured and had exerted too much energon in the escape that they had been forced to bring their massive ship, the Ark, to the closest energon-rich world they could find. And Paradron all but fit the bill, in addition to being known for their talented Medic Corps.

But Hoist was right; the natives of Paradron had a cold attitude towards those who participated in war. Ratchet had heard plenty of stories from veterans of the War of the Threefold Spark about the disdain they sometimes faced from the otherwise friendly pacifists. He knew they would still repair those in need, regardless of who they were or where they were from, but he knew that the atmosphere around them was going to be tense.

He reached the boarding ramp which had already been lowered once the Ark had touched down and he rolled down onto the surface of the planet. Waiting for him there already were two members of the Paradron Medic Corps, both wearing the identical body-type that was standard for their members, with a turquoise and white color scheme. They were both regarding the Ark with skeptical expressions, no doubt recognizing it as a Vanguard-class command ship that was often used in war.

Transforming to robot mode, Ratchet held up both of his hands in greeting. “I’m sorry for the surprise arrival but this is urgent. My name is Ratchet and I’m an Autobot from Cybertron. We’ve got injured on board and—”

“Autobot?” One of the medics gave him a confused look. “What’s that?”

Ratchet returned the befuddled look before understanding her confusion. “Ah, that’s right. You wouldn’t know. Communication with most of the colony worlds have gone dark ever since… look, it would be better if I explain on board the ship. We’ve got at least a dozen injured in the medbay and they’re in critical condition.”

The two medics exchanged skeptical looks before the first one let out a sigh. “Fine. Let’s have a look.” To her colleague she said, “Go fetch some backup. I’ll be on the ship.”

While the other medic transformed and drove off, the Paradron medic stepped towards Ratchet and folded her arms over her chestplate, giving him a look that was almost accusatory.

“So it’s true then,” she said, her tone deadly quiet. “There’s been war on Cybertron.”

Ratchet sighed. “Yes. Been going for about a hundred kilocycles now. We held out for as long as we could but we just don’t have the numbers or the firepower.”

The Paradron medic eyed the exterior of the Ark. “Yet you have a warship at your disposal.” 

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t exactly easy to obtain her.” Ratchet huffed in exasperation. “Look, we need to get to the medbay. I’ll fill you in on the rest while we work.”

Without another word, the Paradron medic transformed and followed him through the ship’s interior and into the medbay, where Hoist was still working by himself. The two medics transformed and stepped over to the operating table on which Smokescreen lay.

“This is Smokescreen,” Ratchet said to the Paradron medic. “We’ve had to put him into stasis lock in order to preserve what’s left of his energon levels. Same goes for some of the others: Skids, Grapple, Tracks…” He then paused before glancing at her. “My apologies, but I didn’t get your name.”

“Lifeline,” she replied, her gaze fixated on the non-functioning Autobots. “They were all injured in battle?”

“Yes. We stole this ship—Prime calls it the Ark—from one of the Decepticons’ spaceports. Their forces swarmed in and nearly overwhelmed us. We had to leave some of our own behind after the ‘Cons started blowing up the spaceport around us. If we hadn’t taken off then and there, we would’ve been scrap.”

Lifeline turned to him with a frown. “Decepticons?”

Ratchet sighed. “Megatron’s political party. You’ve heard of Megatron, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Lifeline said bitterly. “He’s a war veteran, isn’t he? Before he became part of Sentinel Prime’s inner circle.”

“Yup. Well, turns out, he’s been scheming to take over Cybertron in all that time. Him and a good majority of the Senate, actually, as well as pretty much all of the military. They launched a massive coup and took over Iacon. Those of us who didn’t want to live under such a tyrannical government formed a resistance group to counter their efforts. We call ourselves Autobots—as in autonomous robots.”

Lifeline’s expression softened a bit as she looked back to the injured. “So… you’re not soldiers?”

“For a lot of us, not by choice. Many of us come from civilian backgrounds; Skids over there was just a simple theoretician, and Hoist ran a local maintenance shop in Monoplex. And I of course was just a standard medic like you. But these desperate times have forced us to do things that we otherwise would have preferred not to.”

“So you found war to be the only option? There was no diplomatic solution to be found?”

Ratchet sighed. “If there had been, we wouldn’t be in the situation we’re in now. Or, more likely, we would have still ended up the Decepticons’ iron thumb. Megatron and his followers are set in their ways; I don’t think there’s any getting through to them.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem like war’s been working out for you, if this is how things have ended up.”

Ratchet gave her a sharp look. “What would you prefer then? Living under a tyrannical government that doesn’t care about you? A government that would sooner step on you and leave you for the turbowolves than do anything to actually benefit society?”

Lifeline opened her mouth as if to fire back only to be cut off by Hoist. “Ratchet, I need help with Bluestreak over here. He’s starting to fade fast.”

Ratchet pushed past Lifeline and rushed over to the operating table that carried the silver and red Autobot. A gaping wound in Bluestreak’s chest gave him a nasty view of his innards and Ratchet winced as he deployed his tools.

“I can stabilize his laser core for a bit, but his energon levels are dangerously low.” He looked over to Lifeline. “You got anything that can help?”

Lifeline seemed to hesitate for only a second before walking over, drawing a pistol-shaped object from her storage pack. “I can inject him with an energon infuser that will raise his levels for a bit.”

“Great. Inject it into his intake system right there.” Ratchet pointed to the part in question and Lifeline went to work, inserting the infuser into Bluestreak’s wound and plugging it into his intake valve. As the energon flowed from the device into his systems, the center of Bluestreak’s laser core began to glow brighter and color slowly returned to his optical sensors.

“Good, good… everything’s looking steady. Laser core’s fully stabilized now.” Ratchet made some finishing touches with his tools before directing Lifeline to remove the infuser and close up Bluestreak’s intake valve. “That should do it for now. His levels should be high enough that we won’t need to put him into stasis lock like the others. I’ll just let Hoist patch up his wound and he’ll be good to go.”

“Good to get injured again,” Lifeline said sullenly.

Ratchet sighed as he put away his tools. “Do you know why Bluestreak joined us? Why he joined in on the fighting?”

“Because he thought it was a fight worth fighting for. I’ve heard it before, Ratchet; I’ve repaired veterans of the war, you know. The last war, that is.”

“Yes, he thought it was a fight worth fighting for. But you know what made him think that? The fact that his home city was destroyed by the Decepticons.”

Lifeline blinked. “What?”

“Bluestreak is from Praxus, and it was one of the first city-states targeted by the Decepticons in the early stages of the war. They wanted to send a message to us, to show us that they meant business and would show no mercy. Bluestreak is one of the only survivors from Praxus; all of his closest friends and loved ones were killed in the massacre.” Ratchet looked back down at the silver Autobot, at the haunted look that lay behind his flickering optics. “Believe it or not, he hates war as much as you do. But he fights because he knows that if he doesn’t, if no one does, then Praxus might not be the only city to be made an example of. Even those who think they’re in the Decepticons’ good graces won’t be safe.”

Lifeline stared at Ratchet for a moment before shifting her gaze to Bluestreak. A conflicted look was on her face.

“Even if he hates war,” she said quietly, “how does he know he’ll be able to stop once the war is over? What if he finds himself unable to return to peace? What if none of you can return to that state?”

“That’ll be a matter to address in the future,” Ratchet said. “But right now, we need to focus on the present. Because if we don’t, there might not be a future.”

Lifeline had no response to that, falling silent as she seemed to contemplate his words. At that moment, her fellow Paradron medic appeared in the doorway, accompanied by others of her body-type.

“We’re here, Lifeline,” the other medic said. “Show us where the patients are.”

As Lifeline pointed them to the bots in question, Ratchet walked over to Hoist, who stood hunched over the deactivated Tracks. “Go ahead and take a break, Hoist. You’ve earned it. We can handle things from here.”

Hoist did not respond, remaining stock still. Ratchet frowned as he touched the green-and-orange bot on the shoulder. “Hoist? You doing all right?”

When Hoist finally spoke, his voice was weak, crackling as if his voicebox was full of static. “Energon levels… getting low. Exerted… too much….”

Ratchet’s optics went wide. “No. No, no, no! When was the last time you refueled?!”

“Haven’t… since… before leaving….” Hoist dropped down onto one knee, holding onto Tracks’ operating table to keep from fully collapsing. “Need to… enter stasis lock… before—”

“No!” Ratchet spun around to face Lifeline and the other Paradron medics. “Get me another energon infuser, quick!”

One of the medics frowned. “We only have five on-hand. Our protocol is to only use them for those in the most critical of conditions.”

“Only five? But… I thought Paradron was rich with energon. You should have a lot more!”

“That was before the High Guard depleted us of most of our reserves,” Lifeline explained. “We never fully understood why they did… but I suppose it has something to do with these Decepticons you’ve told me about.”

Ratchet grimaced. “The High Guard is pretty much the backbone of the Decepticons’ air forces now, so it wouldn’t surprise me. Look, maybe if we could just transfer some of my energon to him.”

“No.” Hoist exerted the last of his strength to grab Ratchet by the arm. “You are… needed far more… than I. Prime… needs your… talents. Without you—”

“Come on, don’t say that, Hoist. You’re just as—”

Before he could finish, Hoist started to fall to the ground. Ratchet caught him as he fell while Lifeline rushed over to his side.

“We need to get him into stasis lock,” she said grimly. “If we wait any long, we may lose him for good.”

As much as Ratchet wanted to argue, he knew that she was right. With the help of her and one of the other Paradron medics, they lifted Hoist onto a spare operating table and went through the process of putting him into stasis lock. Once that was done, they moved him and the other stasis-locked bots into an adjacent room before shifting their attention to the rest of the patients.

The operations went a lot quicker than Ratchet had anticipated, which he supposed owed to how efficient the Medic Corps were. They were so good at their job that he was tempted to ask them if they wanted to join the crew… but then he briefly met Lifeline’s optics and could already tell what the answer was going to be.

As soon as they were done, the rest of Lifeline’s team began to take their leave, heading for the exit ramp without so much as a word of farewell. Only Lifeline lingered behind, walking with Ratchet as they headed in that direction.

“Well, we might never see eye-to-eye on the matter of war and our place in it, but I do thank you for your help,” he said to her.

“It is our sworn duty,” she replied. “And… for what it’s worth, you have given me something to think about. I realize now that fighting in war is not always a choice some ‘bots make lightly. Some of them might not have a choice at all. I still feel that you and your fellow Autobots have options at your disposal besides fighting… but I guess it’s up to you whether or not to use them.”

Ratchet smiled weakly. “Hey, like I said, it’s not for lack of tracking. Sentinel Prime tried the diplomatic approach with Megatron… and it cost him his life.”

Lifeline stopped dead in her tracks, staring at him wide-eyed. “Wait, Sentinel Prime is dead?!”

Ratchet winced as he rubbed the back of head. “Ah, that didn’t get out to you either, eh? I thought maybe since you had heard about the war you might’ve…”

“Well, if Sentinel is dead, then… who is your leader? You mentioned a Prime earlier as if he was still alive….”

“That would be Optimus Prime. And speak of the Chaos Bringer.” He motioned ahead, near the opening to the boarding ramp, where a tall red and blue ‘bot was standing, distinguished by a pair of windows on his chest, a grill on his midsection, and a silver faceplate covering the lower half of his face.

Compared to his predecessor, who was known to have a militaristic alternate mode, Optimus Prime looked far more “civilian” than any Prime before him. And judging by her expression, the fact that he looked so… “normal” seemed to have caught Lifeline off-guard.

As the two medics reached him, Optimus Prime nodded to Lifeline in acknowledgment. “As I’m sure Ratchet has already told you, your help has been much appreciated, Lifeline.“

Lifeline inclined her head, giving the Autobot leader a studying look. “You are Optimus Prime, I take it? No offense, but… you don’t strike me as much of a Prime.”

Optimus chuckled. “I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not.”

“Well, you certainly don’t look as much of a soldier as Sentinel Prime did. Did you fight in the last war?”

“No, I came online after the war ended. I worked as a dock worker on Cybertron.”

Lifeline seemed taken aback by that. “A dock worker? As a Prime? I suppose the Matrix will choose anyone these days.”

“Yes, well, Primus works in mysterious ways.”

Ratchet cleared his vocal processor. “Ah, Prime, Lifeline told me that Paradron’s energon resources have already been stretched thin by the Decepticons. I’m not sure they’ll have any to spare for us to refuel.”

“Well, I have actually spoken with their leader Landshark already and he has agreed to give us just enough fuel to make it to the next stop on our journey. Hopefully there we will find the proper amount energon we’ll need to make it to our final destination.”

Lifeline looked between the two Autobots. “I don’t mean to pry, but where exactly is it you are headed?”

“Unfortunately, that is confidential information. I trust that you understand.”

“I suppose I do.” Lifeline then turned to Ratchet. “Well, Ratchet, I wish you safe travels. Hopefully this war will come to an end and we may all enjoy peace.”

Ratchet smiled sadly. “I think we can both agree on that, Lifeline. Farewell to you.”

He could have sworn he saw Lifeline return the smile before she turned and descended down the ramp. Once she had stepped off, Optimus pressed the control panel to raise the ramp and Ratchet watched as Lifeline drove away before the doors shut in front of him.

As the Ark’s engines thrummed back to life, Optimus Prime turned to Ratchet. “Were you able to save all our injured?”

“For the most part, although we were forced to put some in stasis. Like I said, they had limited energon to spare.”

Optimus put a hand on his shoulder. “That may very well be the best outcome we could have hoped for. It is fortunate that we have you on our team, Ratchet.”

Ratchet smiled sadly. “Yeah. Can’t say it’s easy being the only qualified medic on board, though.”

“True. But life rarely places us in situations with simple solutions.”

“No.” Ratchet stared forlornly at the spot where Lifeline had just stood. “No, it does not.”

PROFILES

Ratchet

Function: Medic

Allegiance: Autobots

“You break it, I’ll remake it.”

Ratchet has the best bedside manners one could ask for from a doctor. He is always making banter and sharp quips with his patients to keep them awake and conscious, helping them relax as he operates on them and gets them ready for the next mission. When he isn’t working in the medbay, he is being the life of the party among his fellow Autobots, joking around and doing everything he can to lighten the mood, which has become a progressively more difficult task due to the toll the war against the Decepticons has taken on them. For all his joking around however, he is one of the most dedicated Autobots at his job and will never rest until he is completely certain that his comrades are fully patched-up and operational.

Weapons/Abilities: Ratchet carries a wide assortment of medical tools—including laser scalpels, arc-welders and fluid dispensers—which allow him to fix up his fellow Autobots, no matter the place. In addition to his medical tools, he carries a standard laser pistol to ward off any enemies that attempt to interrupt his operations, as well as a shield that can withstand laser bolts. When out on the field, he often brings with him a Mobile Autobot Repair Bay (or M.A.R.B.) which he can integrate with in his ambulance alternate mode. 

Weaknesses: Sometimes his desire to banter and quip with his patients can distract him from his work. His standard laser pistol is also not very effective against Decepticon armor plating and he lacks the warrior skills that some of his teammates possess.

Lifeline

Function: Medic

Allegiance: Paradron (Medic Corps)

“Don’t let my smile fool you, it’s part of my root programming.”

Lifeline detests war, and detests those who participate in it just as much. Like most Paradronians, she is a pacifist and deplores the very idea of conflict. Were she not a member of the Medic Corps and hadn’t sworn an oath to fix all those in need, regardless of their background, then she would not be fixing those injured in combat just so they could be sent back to battle. Behind her smile lies a cold and detached processor that thinks in the most pragmatic way possible; if she can find a reason to deactivate a patient rather than repair them for the sole purpose of getting injured or killed in the future, then she will take that route each and every time.

Weapons/Abilities: Lifeline is skilled with every medical tool imaginable and is considered to be above-average in terms of efficiency when operating on most patients. She carries an energon infuser which allows her to inject a sample of energon into patients’ intake systems to keep them functional for a limited time. A section of her alternate mode (a Cybertronian speed cruiser) can detach and operate as a hoverboard to quickly transport her patients. When not in use, it attaches to her back and serves as a storage compartment for her medical tools.

Weaknesses: Lifeline’s prejudice against soldiers and warriors makes her hesitant while operating at them, sometimes resulting in below-average repairs. Her cold demeanor when not working also sometimes extends to her fellow Paradronians, leading to her feeling isolated among her peers.

Transformers Regenerated: Beyond Imagination V, Chapter Two

TWO: THE DEAD COME HOME

 T minus 90 minutes

Ironfist opened his eyes. That was his first sign that something was wrong.

The last thing he remembered was blackness. Before that, the monstrous machine known as Ragnarok had torn through him and his fellow Wreckers; Rotorstorm had his head blown off, Guzzle had been torn in two, the others… he couldn’t remember what state the others had been. 

But he did remember the bullet in his head—the one that had entered his cranial unit in that incident on Kimia years ago—inching closer and closer to his brain module. After that, nothing. All of his systems shut off and he was gone. Or at least, he was supposed to be gone.

And yet, here he was, still among the functioning. At least, he was pretty sure this wasn’t the Afterspark or some nonsense like that. From the looks of it, he was in some sort of standard medical bay, with an Autobot insignia adorning the wall across from him. He slowly rotated his head on the berth he was laying on and saw that he was not alone in the room; sitting up on the medical slab next to his was a red and gray bot whom he recognized as Windcharger. There were others in the medical bay, some still in stasis lock, with each one being checked on by a medical officer. 

One of the medics noticed Ironfist and Windcharger and walked over to them. Ironfist did not immediately recognize the medic but they had a red and white color scheme as was typical of those with his function.

“Ah. I see that you’re awake. I’ll notify Prime and let him know. Right now, you two should stay put so to better preserve your energon levels, as they are still a bit low and—”

“What the frag is going on?” Windcharger cut the medic off. “I thought I was dead! That… that… that thing crushed my head!”

“Your brain module was crushed yes, but your spark was recovered. It was kept in safe storage until your body could be properly repaired. You would have been reactivated sooner but we’ve, ah, been preoccupied with other things.”

“What about me?” Ironfist sat up and pointed to his head. “The bullet that’s been lodged in my head… it made its way to my brain module, didn’t it?”

The medic turned to him. “It did, but your systems were still operational enough that we were able to save you. You’ve been kept in stasis lock for the past two years until we could safely remove the bullet threatening your brain module. As you can see, the operation was a success.”

Ironfist put a hand to where the bullet hole would have been only to feel nothing but smooth armor plating. It was as if the incident had never happened to begin with; he didn’t even feel any sort of pain in his cranial unit…

“So, I take it we aren’t the only ones then, right?” Windcharger asked. “Anyone else being given the miracle treatment?”

“Oh, yes, plenty. It’s all part of Rodimus Prime’s new Golden Age initiative—”

“I’m sorry,” Ironfist interjected. “Did you just say ‘Rodimus Prime’?”

The medic smiled awkwardly. “Ah, yes, that’s right. It’s been two years since you….” He cleared his vocal processor. “I’ll have Ratchet send for someone to fill you in on what you missed.”

With that, the medic hastily departed from the medbay, leaving Ironfist and Windcharger alone to mull over their new lease on life. Ironfist took another moment to look around the medbay; he could swear that one of the bots laying nearby was Rotorstorm, judging by their blue and magenta color scheme, but they were too far away for him to be sure.

Raising a hand to his head, Ironfist shuttered his optics as he accessed his internal memory systems. To his mild surprise, he was still able to access the data logs he had written for his Wreckers Declassified series, some of them dating back centuries. He found it to be somewhat of a miracle that the data had survived the surgery.

With nothing else to do while they waited for the medic to return, Ironfist decided that he might as well kill the time by submitting another entry for his readers, if only to let them in on the big news.

That Fisitron was back.

*  *  *

T minus 1 hour

Autobot City: Earth

“This is a problem.”

“Why?” Kup grunted, gnawing on his cy-gar as he watched Rodimus Prime pace back and forth in his office. “Because someone else broke the news before you and stole your glory?”

“No!” Rodimus stopped in his tracks, bringing a hand to his helmet crest. “That’s obviously not… I don’t care about stuff like that, Kup. I’m just worried about the rumors that will start to spread because of this.”

“What? Rumors like the dead walkin’ among us? We already had this whole song and dance last cycle, lad, when Impactor and the Jumpstarters and the rest came back. People won’t be as surprised this time, now that there’s a precedence.”

“Right, except that had an explanation people could buy,” Rodimus said. “Shockwave was doing some crazy experiments behind our backs, and that’s why bots are back from the dead.”

“Uh-huh.” Kup raised an optic ridge. “And this is different because…?”

Rodimus sighed. “Because it isn’t Shockwave that’s behind it this time. It’s me.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Of course not.” Rodimus turned to face the viewport in his office, which gave him a view of the green landscape that surrounded Autobot City. “I mean, they would know regardless once I had given my official announcement. I just… I wasn’t expecting people to find out so soon.”

“Lots of people followed Wreckers: Declassified. Hell, even Ratchet does.”

“Right, and he already knows about… this. But there are others who, once this gets to them… well, the whole world is going to know.”

Kup removed his cy-gar from his mouth and flaked off some residue. “You’re talking about Swerve.”

“Yes, Kup. I’m talking about Swerve.”

*  *  *

T minus 55 minutes

“Isn’t this amazing?!”

Skids stared blankly at Swerve, having barely processed what the red and white Autobot had just said to him within the span of ten seconds. “Uh… can you run it by me again? Maybe slower this time? I heard something about an iron fist.”

“It’s Ironfist! You know, Fisitron?” Swerve raised his hands over his head, nearly knocking over the oil can he had been cleaning out off the counter. “He’s back from the dead! Hell, I bet he wasn’t even dead to begin with! I always knew he would pull through; it only took two years. But it’s not just him, either. Windcharger is back, too!”

Skids blinked. “Windcharger? I remember him. He was in my class at the academy. I had heard he had been killed by that… Megatron-Optimus fusion. Which I guess was actually Scourge, technically?”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, because he’s back! At least, that’s what Ironfist’s latest entry says.”

“And you’re sure it wasn’t hacked or anything like that?”

“Are you kidding? I was stationed at Kimia with him. I remember him having Brainstorm set up all sorts of firewalls to make sure no one got access to his databanks. Trust me, his processor is more secure than Teletraan One.” Swerve then paused, glancing around the room. Skids wasn’t sure why he was doing that, since they were the only ones in the bar. Swerve then leaned over the counter, fighting with his life to keep a massive grin from spreading across his face.

“You know what this also means, yeah?”

Skids again give him a blank stare. “You’re just gonna have to tell me, man, because I’m no good at picking up on your flavor of subtext.”

“It means that there’s a chance to bring Tailgate back.”

Skids leaned back at those words, as the weight of them hit him. He recalled that, about a year ago, at the end of the Crusadercons’ quest, both Tailgate and Cyclonus had been lured into the trap that had been Mederi—which was the “Cyberutopia” they had spent their quest searching for—and killed by the station’s euthanasia program. He hadn’t seen their deaths for himself, having been split off in a different group, but he remembered Swerve telling him about their deaths, and how it had impacted him after Mederi’s promise of an Afterspark had worn off on all of them.

He also understood why Swerve missed Tailgate so badly; it wasn’t just because they were friends, but because ever since the quest had ended, Swerve had been nostalgic for those days. Being stuck in one place, whether it be Earth or Cybertron, had taken a toll on the minibot’s demeanor, and the fact that the old Crusadercon crew (or at least its surviving members) had all been split up between different teams and missions certainly didn’t help. 

To have Tailgate back in any way, shape, or form… it would go a long way to help Swerve return to those good old times. A time that was, relatively speaking, much more simpler compared to now.

Not wanting to dampen his friend’s spirits, Skids chose his next few words carefully. “I think we should wait until we learn more about how Ironfist and Windcharger came back before getting our hopes up. I mean, Ironfist and Windcharger’s bodies were at least recoverable, and I take it their sparks were able to be saved.”

“We brought Tailgate’s body back with us,” Swerve pointed out.

“Yes, but his spark was taken away. As was Cyclonus’, in case you forgot about him.” Skids raised his hands to stop Swerve from interjecting. “Look, buddy, I want to be hopeful like you. But I’ve been burned way too many times over the course of my life to get too optimistic about things. I’m sure Rodimus is aware about all of this and will say something when the time is right.”

Swerve frowned. “You miss them, too, don’t you?”

“What? Of course I do. We hung out with Tailgate all the time, and even Cyclonus wasn’t that bad once you got to—”

“I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about the good old days. The quest days. Do you miss them?”

Skids went quiet as he considered the question. He thought back to all the memories he had of those days; of all the happiness, the heartache, and everything in between. He thought of the people they had met and those they had lost.

And he quickly realized that he very much did miss the good old days.

It was the first time in his life that he had some form of direction. A direction that did not require him to be a secret agent that was cut off from the rest of the world. A direction where he could let loose and just be himself… and be accepted for it.

Ever since the quest had ended, he had found himself losing that direction… and now wasn’t quite sure whether or not he still had any.

Skids exhaled slowly as he lowered his head. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I do miss them.”

Swerve reached over and tapped him on the arm. “Hey,” he said, his old smile returning to his face. “This is our chance to bring those days back. You’re right, I’m sure Rodimus will say something about it. And if he doesn’t, then you bet your actuator I’m gonna bring it up to him.”

Skids raised his head back up and smirked. “Knowing you? I have no doubt you will, old buddy.”

*  *  *

T minus 15 minutes

“Hey, can you change the channel? I think that speech is about to start.”

The barkeep looked up from the glass he was cleaning out to give his patron an odd look. “Speech? What speech?”

“Y’know, the giant robot’s speech.” The man in the plaid shirt waved his hand aimlessly in the air. “I just wanna see it. Not everyday you see a giant robot on television and it not be a human-killing machine.”

The barkeep huffed as he picked up a remote control and started flipping through channels, taking the screen off the basketball game it had been playing. “I dunno, man, I don’t trust those things. You mean to tell me these giant machines have been living among us for, what, three years? And only now does the government come out and officially announce some sort of alliance? Something’s fishy, man, I tell ya.”

“Yeah, yeah. I think they’re showing it on LCTV.”

The barkeep landed on the channel in question. Appearing on the television screen now was a massive robot in red and orange armor plating, a flame decal displayed prominently on its chest. It stood at a podium, speaking to a crowd of mostly other machines as well as a few humans, most of them representatives from the newly formed Earth Defense Command. Because the camera had been adjusted to fit as much of the robot as possible, most of the people were so small one could barely even make them out. But no one was watching the broadcast for them.

The man in the plaid shirt whistled. “Talk about timing. Looks like it just started.”

A caption at the bottom of the screen identified the red robot as Rodimus Prime, leader of Cybertron. Expressing a smile that seemed almost human in nature, Rodimus Prime began to speak. “As I’m sure you’re all aware by now, some familiar faces have begun to pop up. Faces that many of us thought to be gone forever. Ironfist, the Autobot engineer whom some of you know better as the author Fisitron, has awakened from his two-year coma to publish the latest entry in his Wreckers: Declassified series.”

The plaid-wearing patron scratched his beard. “These guys do writing of their own?”

The barkeep simply shrugged.

“Everything he wrote in that entry is true,” Rodimus Prime went on. “The dead have come home. Bots like Windcharger here have been restored after being brutally killed by Guiltaur last stellar cycle. Others such as Ironfist’s fellow Wrecker Rotorstorm are still in the recovery process of having their life restored. This, my friends, is only the beginning.”

The barkeep grunted to himself. “So these guys can just bring themselves back from the dead like that, eh? Must be nice. Maybe they could’ve saved my uncle last month.”

Rodimus Prime gestured to a smaller orange robot standing beside his podium. It had round optical sensors that almost looked like spectacles on its face. “With the help of my good friend Rung here, as well as the legendary Vector Sigma itself, we have been able to produce new sparks that will not only give life to new Cybertronians, but old ones as well.”

The crowd on-screen erupted in uproarious applause. In sharp contrast, the audience of two at the bar watched on in either bemused or disdainful silence.

“Today marks a new chapter in the history of Cybertron. A truly golden age that has only been dreamed of by Primes before me but has now been given fruition by our efforts. Join me as we step into an Age of Restoration!”

The crowd grew louder and louder, so loud it was peaking the on-site microphones. Just as the barkeep reached for the remote control again, the scene abruptly changed to a hazy black screen. Through the grainy static one could make out a humanoid figure, wearing some sort of skull-like mask. Within the eyeholes of the mask glowed red pinpricks of light.

“The hell?” the barkeep exclaimed. “What is this, some sort of Max Headroom type crap?”

The mysterious figure began to speak, but its words were difficult to make out due to the quality of the video. It was as if every other sentence was being garbled out by static.

“You are being deceived.”

“Is this part of the thing?” the barkeep asked his patron.

“No freaking clue. I don’t think it is…”

“The Autobots are wasting resources to prop up a flawed system. Both theirs and ours.”

“Y’know,” the patron said, “I have heard about people protesting this speech. Some anti-robot activists out there. Might have something to do with that.”

“Hmph. Makes sense.”

“The only answer is chaos. Become that which is inevitable.”

“Yeah,” the barkeep said. “You’re probably right. This sounds like something a kid would write.”

“We are mayhem. And so are you.”

Just as abruptly as it had begun, the interruption ended and returned to the broadcast. The speech was no longer on screen and was instead playing the tail-end of a political ad. A dark haired woman in a navy blue suit crossed her arms over the words “Guiglione for Mayor.”

“—Megan Guiglione, and I approve this message,” the woman was saying seconds before the barkeep hit the remote and changed the channel back to the basketball game. 

“Well, looks like you missed it. If you ask me, I still think these machines are trouble. Especially if they can just bring themselves back like that.”

The patron sighed. “Yeah. You might be on to something there. I just thought it would be cool to see a giant robot on TV like that….”

As the man returned to his drink, he failed to pay any mind to the young woman sitting further down the bar who had been watching the broadcast much more intently than either of them. When the barkeep came down to her side of the bar, she wordlessly put down the money she owed for her tab.

The barkeep eyed the money as he took it before affixing the woman with a skeptical look. “You’re sure you’re twenty-one? That wasn’t a fake ID you gave me, was it? ‘Cos if you ask me—”

“I didn’t,” the woman said before getting down from her stool and striding out of the bar.

*  *  *

T minus 5 minutes

“Okay… are we back on?”

“Uh, I think so,” said Blaster, rubbing his helm as he double-checked the monitors. “The networks have already cut to commercial, so that’ll give us some time to recuperate.”

Rodimus Prime took in some air to cool off his heating internal systems. “Right,” he exhaled. “In the meantime, can someone look into what the frag just happened?”

“Has something like this ever happened before?” asked Marissa Faireborn, head of E.D.C., as she stood among the few other human spectators.

“Hacked broadcasts?” Blaster replied. “All the time during the war. Since then, I don’t think the ‘Cons have really bothered with such tactics… assuming this isn’t the Decepticons.”

Rodimus frowned. “They did say something about mayhem though. Wasn’t that the name of…?”

Before he could finish his thought, Red Alert approached him along with a detail of armed Autotroopers. The white and red security director who looking around frantically, regarding everything and everyone as if they were a potential threat.

“Got here as fast as we could, Prime. Everything all right here?”

“I believe so, Red. Probably just some scare tactics. Still, I would start putting things on lockdown just in case. At the very least, get those human protesters outside to somewhere safe.”

Red Alert nodded. “Will do.” He turned to the Autotroopers behind him. “Start escorting people to safety. Stay close to the Prime in case anyone tries to pull something funny.”

One of the Autotroopers stepped forward, walking towards Rodimus.

“I’m sorry,” the white-plated Autobot said.

Rodimus frowned at the trooper. “Pardon?”

The Autotrooper dropped his gun and lowered the windscreen on his chest. A red light began to blink.

Red Alert’s optics went wide. “BOMB! EVERYONE OUT!”

Thinking quickly, Rodimus threw himself around the Autotrooper, covering the soldier with his larger body.

The bomb went off and the last thing Rodimus remembered was being surrounded by flames.

Death's Head: The World in Question - Entry 6

ENTRY 6: PARADOXES

  Hnn. This is off the record, yes? You folks will be getting my running monologue now as well as what I recall from the following conversations as I try to piece all of this together.

After I turned in my little homework, Mr. Paradox called me in to his office. Here at the TVA (or at least this particular iteration of it, more on that some other time), Paradox is in charge of tracking disturbances across timelines and universes, dispatching people like me to investigate and address them. Now, I understand that you guys on Earth-1218 had some sort of big blockbuster film released two years ago that depicted Paradox as a, well, not a heroic chap, yes? That’s not this Paradox. I don’t think so, anyway. That one and that particular version of the TVA is in its own corner. It’s canon corner, if you will, yes? This one is different. A bit more… fanatical, if you catch my drift, yes?

Anyways, lately Paradox has become rather, ah, invested with studying realities that center around the Transformers. Maybe it has to do with the events in Earth-9814. Couldn’t tell you. When I came into his office, he seemed rather eager to tell me all about what he had learned. Suppose no one else would listen, no?

He skipped all of the pleasantries and formalities, which I was perfectly fine with, and got straight to the point. “How much do you know about the history of your home reality?” he asked me. “About Earth-9284?”

I told him everything I knew was in those datalogs I just submitted to him. He seemed to have expected that answer as he gave a rather knowing smile.

“I thought as much. The history of that reality has certainly ebbed and flowed over the years, even after we cordoned off the events following the Heroes Reborn crisis in order to make room for elements from Earth-982 as part of our merging process. With the state things are in now after we’ve merged the divergent branches together to create a more streamlined universe, we have run into some… unforeseen complications.”

I asked him to elaborate and reminded him I didn’t much care for “vague-speak.” Thankfully, he obliged.

“One of the branches that we’re still having trouble with was created by the arrival of an interloper from Earth-9884. While seemingly Cybertronian in appearance, he is in fact a resident of Gobotron, the counterpart to Cybertron in that reality. Goes by the name of Bug Bite.”

My audio receptors perked up at that name. I recognized it as the guy who first hired me for the Expanse job. I thought about saying as much to Paradox but thought it best to let him continue, yes?

“Apparently, he and his fellow GoBots had left their home reality to fix a cataclysm that had threatened their world. Bug Bite was under the belief that the Megatron of Earth-9284 was somehow responsible and set about to kill him. His arrival in your home reality at the Battle of Klo created a divergent branch which we had tentatively called Earth-6277. Because some of the divergences were too drastic to reconcile, we had allowed it to remain in a pocket universe within Earth-9284… at least until it was destroyed by an incursion from Earth-4248.”

That number also rang a bell and this time I spoke up about it. Again, Paradox gave me that smug little smirk of his.

“We have since determined the Earth-4248 you were familiar with to be a separate reality altogether, one that is more of a mirror to Earth-9814 to Earth-9284.” (I will forgive you if you are being driven insane by all these numbers, all these 9s, 4s, and 8s. Drove me up the wall as well, yes?) “The one you’re thinking of has since been relabeled as Earth-4108.”

Figures. I kindly asked him to hurry along to the point, yes?

“The point,” Paradox said, “is that these temporal incursions and anomalies caused by both our efforts as well as factors outside of control are creating reverberations that are beginning to reach Earth-9814. In other words, history is about to repeat itself, even if might take on a different form. We have already seen such reverberations from Earth-19505, a reality which appears to be a heavy inspiration for 9814, no doubt caused by that reality’s Shockwave and his machinations.”

I thought back to what Paradox had told me just now, remembering Bug Bite and my encounters with Expanse and his ilk. I then looked at Paradox. “You believe this Earth-4108 might be on an incursion path with Earth-9814, yes?”

Paradox smiled, a bit too cheerful about a threat to a reality’s existence, yes? “Precisely. Even as we speak, certain events are unfolding that mirror those that led up to the incursion between Earths-6277 and 4248.”

“And you want me to stop it, yes?”

“No.” Paradox leaned back in his seat. “I want you to make sure it happens.”

I stared at him. He had to be joking, no?

“Believe me, I was actually about to have you do just that. But a recent missive from He Who Remains has directed us to ensure that this incursion unfold as it may. He believes it may be the only way to determine Earth-9814’s future, given that it has already had its fair share of time incidents as you well know.”

I knew he was alluding to that whole deal with that Sari lass and the Warren. Also, I believe the Shockwave of that reality is also a nuisance when it comes to time travel, yes?

I asked him what I was supposed to do then, to which Paradox said, “We will call you in should anyone from either of these two realities attempt to prevent what is to come. In the meantime, there is one matter we would like you to address.”

“And that would be…?”

“Another native of Earth-9814, a Decepticon named Spacewarp, has been transported to a divergent branch of Earth-1138, a reality which is… particularly interesting but does not need Cybertronian involvement. There also appears to be another Cybertronian from Earth-9814 whom was sent there by Shockwave’s Sigma Project. Both need to be either brought back home or eliminated. Whichever is easiest for you.”

Well, I know which one I prefer, but Paradox’s tone made it sound like the former was preferable to the latter. Figures, yes?

Anyway. That’s where we’re at now, yes? Will return to you with another report after I’ve addressed this situation.

Death's Head: The World In Question - Entry 5

ENTRY FIVE: THEN AND NOW

 Datalog 516-87-1965

Right. This is where things get complicated. As if things weren’t already, yes?

Thanks to the access TVA’s given me to you folks on Earth-1218 (still not quite sure why I’m supposed to be dictating this to you but whatever), I have an idea as to which of my, ah, endeavors have been exposed to you. Problem is, we’re getting into a spot where I can’t accurately pinpoint WHEN some of these exploits happened.

Okay, let’s start with this one. This one I can place before my encounters with the Transformers. It was back in Earth-616 but in the time after my encounters with the Fantastic Four and She-Hulk would have taken place. Confusing, yes? Even moreso that I apparently didn’t recognize it when I returned there.

I had a different face back then. Not quite as handsome, yes? Also wasn’t calling myself a peacekeeping agent yet; rather a personnel recovery specialist. I was hired by the rulers of Tinas VI to recover an artifact that had been stolen by a thief called Lothi. Would’ve killed him but I managed to make a deal with S.W.O.R.D., led by the thief’s half-sister. Old habits never die, eh? Before we parted ways after my adventures with them, one of them—a furry blue fellow—suggested the “peacekeeping agent” idea to me. What can I say? If it fits, it fits, yes?

After that I had some encounters with Iron Man—the original, not the edgy 2020 guy. Then I fought my future self—ol’ Mark II—in an event called the Revolutionary War. Got shrunk down from 30 feet to human scale. Guess I must’ve been enlarged back to 30 feet some time later. Haven’t gotten there yet, yes?

Had some encounter with the Young Avengers… couldn’t tell you when that was. Also a stint with the Imperial Guardians. Same deal there, yes? Hell, you might not have the full story at the time of this recording.

Hnn. At this point, there’s not much point in going any further. A lot of it has yet to be documented anyway. I’ll just skip to the more relevant stuff, yes?

Eventually, I got my original body back. To be honest with you, I’m still fuzzy on the details, but I have a hunch that the TVA might’ve been involved because not long after that, they approached me with another offer. I immediately declined them, but they told me that they had undergone a… restructuring. A reboot, if you will, yes? Had different people working there, even if they all had the same names. The contract they offered me was admittedly better than the previous one, so I accepted.

At first, it was business as usual. They sent me around the multiverse to investigate disturbances. One trip brought me to Earth-19505 where I ran into some familiar faces, including another Rodimus and an Autobot called Impactor whose arm I tore off in a scuffle. Reason for traveling there was due to multiple shenanigans caused by a certain Shockwave, which brought in blokes from Earth-7506 and gave them new identities. A Bumblebee from that reality was now called Centurion, for example. Apparently I was popular enough in this reality that Rodimus asked that someone hire me to take out someone called Getaway for him. Hnn. Wish I could’ve taken him up on that offer. For old time’s sake, yes?

Another one was… well, it was originally labeled Earth-21915 but I’ve heard talks of it being relabeled Earth-2384 for the year it’s centered around. Would make it easier to remember, yes? Anyway, that one started out as a branch of Earth-9196 but spiraled off into its own thing. During my investigation there, I ended up getting stuck with that reality’s version of Spratt. Typical, eh? At least he gave me a power boost as a Headmaster partner. Teamed up with some Autobot bounty hunter to deal with some space pirates. Quite the adventure, yes? After it was decided to leave the universe alone rather than purge it or merge it back with the one it branched off from, the TVA recalled me.

Sidenote, I did see in one reality—not one I visited but one I got a glimpse of—someone paid homage to me by naming his ship after me. Coincidence? Most likely. But I can’t help but feel a kindred spirit with the bot who owns it….

Anyway, my fun came to an end after an incident in Earth… well, I’m not sure I’m allowed to say which one it was. But, ah, my actions there might’ve been the cause of an incursion that erased it from existence. Needless to say, my handler Paradox wasn’t happy with that and stripped me of my dimension-hopping privileges. Got restricted to cleaning up messes in the timeline of my home reality. Eventually convinced them to give me another shot and was given a device that let me travel between two—and only two—realities. My home one, and one they called Earth-9814.

Earth-9814 was apparently important to them, yes? They had noticed some strange blips and needed someone to check it out. Was given strict orders to not do anything too rash. A bit like asking a bull not to demolish a china shop, yes? (See, I can pick up on Terran phrases. Damn you, Spratt.)

Of course, just my luck, soon as I get there, I found myself arrested for violating some intergalactic law or something. Got thrown into prison, yes? Was luckily able to get out with the help of two local Cybertronians. Continued my work while setting up shop on Elpasos; the most familiar location I could find, yes?

Things were mostly quiet for a time until a human by the name of Sari Sumdac took a trip through an anomaly in this universe called the Warren. Used it to alter the course of history, yes? Prevent her planet’s destruction. TVA took a blind eye to this because, well, they didn’t want any Earth being destroyed. Figures, eh? That was when a Cybertronian called Bug Bite came to me with a job: ten million credits for capturing a ‘bot with a quantum device called Expanse. Good money, yes? It worked out that this Expanse was in my home reality, hanging with the X-Men.

Now, this is where things get dicey. See, by this point my home reality had started to look different, though I hadn’t caught on yet due to my, ah, complicated history. There was no more Earth-616, or Earth-120185, or even an Earth-8410 (I don’t think anyway). Everything had been merged together by the TVA into a singular reality: Earth-9284. They had also brought in stuff from Earth-982, which overwrote any events from Earth-616 after a certain point… which happens to include some of my earlier adventures that I brought up earlier in this entry. Hnn. Might need to talk to Paradox about that, yes?

Because of this, there was no more sliding timescale. Except there sorta was, as stuff from the 1980s had been shifted to the 1990s, but after these events they were shifted back to the 1980s. Very confounding, isn’t it? Anyway, I located Expanse only for some Cybertronian knobber from Earth-4248 to steal my prize. I managed to track them both down, and also encountered that Sari lass I mentioned earlier. Expanse then activated his quantum drive thing to bring us all to Mojoworld, where that slobbering oaf Mojo (obvious name, yes?) pitted us all in an arena. After his show got shut down, I was able to get compensation for my efforts from the Autobots and I let them have Expanse. At the time, I didn’t think he was important, yes?

Well, Paradox proved me wrong when I got back to the TVA. After he explained the whole “merging universes” thing to me (not that I fully understood it all; still don’t), he sent me to go get Expanse again so the top brass at the TVA could study him. Managed to track him down as well as some other ‘bots that had been displaced across the multiverse, including in Earth-9284. That Sari girl was also there, for whatever reason. I dealt with the interlopers, sending them to Axiom Nexus in Earth-3138, only to then lose sight of Expanse. That was when Paradox recalled me, telling me that the situation had spiraled a bit out of control.

And, ah, that’s where I’m at now. Got paid for the job and then asked to record these datalogs while I continue my work for them. Not sure what’s gonna happen next. Might be worrying too much, yes?

Hnn. Really hope I’m not out of a job. Multiverse work pays well, yes?

Death's Head: The World in Question - Entry 4

ENTRY FOUR: WE CAN BE HEROES (JUST FOR ONE DAY)

 Datalog 516-87-1964

Ahh, Earth-616. Despite being a fair way down the list of realities, everything seems to revolve around you in some way or form. Or at least it used. Or it will.

Hnn. Time travel. Pain in the ol’ noggin, yes?

Anyway, my time there was relatively short, all things considered. I had ended up on the Four Freedoms Plaza which was where the Fantastic Four, a superhero team, operated. They’ve got pretty advanced tech for their time period at their building, and, well, to say the sensors didn’t take kindly to my presence would’ve been an understatement, yes?

I eventually made my way inside and the Fantastic Four gave me the type of greeting I suppose they reserve for folks like Doctor Doom, eh? We had quite the scuffle until Mister Fantastic’s home defense systems started acting crosswired and began targeting anyone with superhuman capabilities… which included them, yes?

Naturally, I saw the opportunity to make a deal with them. In exchange for helping them sort things out and protect their son from their haywire inventions, I wanted access to a time machine which I figured they would have. After taking out the haywire robot and saving their son before it exploded (call me a softie, yes? Except you shouldn’t. Ever.), the Four let me use their home time machine (wish I could have one for myself, eh?).

However, when I let slip what I did for a living, they didn’t take too kindly to that little revelation and aborted the time-jump as I was halfway through. Rather than end up home in 8162, I ended up in the year 2020 (formerly labeled as Earth-8410). Can’t really complain too much; at least I wouldn’t have to put up with Spratt, yes?

Now, I’m sure you humans reading this at this point in time know that the year 2020 is… well, it’s not a great year, yes? It’s true for your reality, and I’d say doubly so for this one. The all-star hero of this reality is Iron Man, but not the one you’re familiar with. No, Arno Stark is pretty much all of his distant relative’s negative traits exemplified to the highest degree. He revels in being rich and only wants to get richer. I find that relatable, yes?

Anyway, I didn’t waste any time in finding work and started going after a gang that called themselves the Warlords. My newfound fame eventually came around to bite me and I found myself in a scuffle with 2020’s local Iron Man. Credit where it’s due, he fights good for a human, yes?

Eventually, we realized we had been set up by my employers to fight each other. After we put out differences aside, we, ah, took care of our doublecrossers before going our separate ways. Shortly after that, I spotted my old spacecraft and, curse my luck, it was carrying Spratt. Just when I was starting to enjoy life, yes? And to make matters worse, he was being chase by a nasty bloke calling himself Big Shot.

I still blame this all on the Doctor, between you and me, yes?

Things pretty much went back to normal for me at this point, at least for a time. I had Spratt back on my side (regrettably) and I was back to taking on odd jobs; only difference now was the time period, yes?

After I took out a murderer named Rogan (and got an unwanted crisis of conscience from a woman I had killed him in front of), I found Spratt being harassed by Big Shot again (or maybe… maybe I was simply misremembering the initial encounter. Gah, that’s what I get for relying on some of your guys’ records to help jog my memory, eh?). He was going on and on about revenge and he put up a hell of a fight, yes? Just my luck that I started to get flashbacks from my origin story. Rather inconvenient, no? 

Just as Big Shot was about to finish me off, he was blasted aside by a woman who turned out to be Pyra—hope you remember her from my first entry, yes? Poor woman thought I was still her husband Lupex—who, as luck would have it, transported me back to Styrakos. My old man explained my origin to me and said that Pyra was under the belief that he had already transfered his spirit into me, when he had never gotten around to ever doing that. He then tried to do just that and, well, I wasn’t having any of it, yes? After I took him out, Pyra arrived and revealed to me that she had always known that I wasn’t really Lupex. Was simply a ruse in order to set up this very showdown, yes?

Hnn. Organics and their mind games. Any wonder why I’m not fond of them?

Still, I couldn’t help but admire her cleverness. Mother always knows best, yes? I returned to 2020 and continued my work with Spratt—not like I had much of a choice, eh?

I suppose by this point, my escapades throughout time and space had gotten the attention of the Time Variance Authority. They hired me to help them address disturbances throughout the timeline and, well, I wasn’t going to turn down money like theirs, was I? A trip to Earth-8810 to investigate a time bubble led me to cross paths with the Fantastic Four again, as well as some of their other superhero friends. We managed to put our past grievances aside to deal with a version of Kang the Conqueror and oh, don’t get me started on that guy. He managed to get a hit on my vehicle and I ended up phasing out of reality. Not very fair, yes? The TVA managed to pull me out of that little inconvenience and sent me back to 2020. Decided to put my resignation in then and there.

Another job I took around this time was to procure a vase from the “present day” of Earth-616. This brought me into conflict with a superheroine named She-Hulk and the vase got broken in the process. Fortunately, the green lady let me take the disc that was contained within the vase and I was able to get my payment.

Needless to say, by this point I needed a break from the chaos that was my life. Decided to unwind at a party on Maruthea where I happened to see my old Doctor friend. At this point, I had decided to let bygones be bygones and simply raised my glass in acknowledgment. After getting into a fun little party fight, I made my way home and…

Hang on. I’m reading through the records you folks have on me and… I don’t remember this next bit.

Hob attacked me? I teamed up with my future self only to then try and kill him? The friggin’ DOCTOR erased my memory? And what is this about him being responsible for ending up in Earth-120185? Is there a page missing here or something?

Okay, I remember being killed by Minion—he’s some robot made by A.I.M., yes? He assimilated me and, thanks to Mister Fantastic of all people, I was able to assert a little bit of control, leading to him becoming Death’s Head Mark II. Lots I could detail here but it would get way too complicated and, well, it wasn’t really me who lived through that, yes? That would be my successor. He’s an all right bloke, I guess. But his story is his to tell, not mine.

As for how I got back to being, well, me… story for another time, yes? Besides, there are some records here that even I haven’t figured out the timeline of yet. A whole mess, eh?

Oh yeah and Spratt was killed. Figures.

Death's Head: The World In Question - Entry 3

ENTRY THREE: DOCTOR, DOCTOR

 Datalog 516-87-1963

Hnn. Been a while since I updated this, yes? Been busy as of late. Keep my mission logs separate from this one, yes?

Strap in, because this is where things get crazy. Well, crazier than usual, yes?

When I fell through the time vortex in what used to be Earth-120185 (I know, I know, I’ll address the numbers thing again eventually), I ended up crashing into a rather peculiar object. If you’re from Earth, you would probably recognize it as a police phone box, yes? Now, you might be asking yourself, “What’s a police phone box doing in a time vortex?” Well, because it’s not an ordinary police phone box; it’s something called a space-time vessel, yes? A TARDIS, if you will. Popular among a race called the Gallifreyans. Time Lords. Jeunes-Viellards. Whatever they’re called.

Anyway, the crash caused us to materialize on a barren planet and we were joined by something called a time warden. The occupant of the TARDIS unit was some human-looking creature with a funny-looking hat and a goofy little smile. Called himself the Doctor, yes? Hnn. Should’ve asked for his credentials.

Now, normally in incidents like this a time warden would’ve sorted out are little, ah, chronological dispute. But the time warden who joined us took one look at me and decided it wasn’t worth his effort, yes? Left it to the two of us to sort it out.

Credit where it’s due, the Doctor wasn’t much intimidated by me, even when I picked him up to emphasize my point. Wasn’t sure if he was too dumb to be scared or had already seen his fair share of scary things. In any case, he didn’t anything valuable to bargain with (other than something called “jelly babies”), so I decided to bargain with his life. I was much bigger than him and, well, it was no contest, eh?

But the Doctor had a trick up his sleeve. Literally. He pulled out something called a tissue compression device and used it on me. Hurt like hell, yes? And to make matters worse, it dealt a great reduction in size. Now I was about the same height as the funny-looking man rather than the 30-feet tall behemoth I had become accustomed to being. Quite the downgrade, yes?

I made it clear to him that I was not happy with this change in the status quo and chased him across the barren wasteland. Gave quite the chase, yes? Eventually, he gave himself up and offered to make a deal with me. Always open to a good bargain, so I took him up on the offer, yes? Now that I was to scale with him, he offered to give me his time machine in exchange for his life. I figured that was as good a deal as any, so I accepted.

Big mistake, yes?

Now, it is true what they say about TARDIS units: they are definitely bigger on the inside. After he showed me around, he tried to leave but I stopped him; I had a feeling he was trying to trick me—perhaps by rigging the TARDIS to explode or something—so had him come along on a test drive, yes? I let him pick the destination and he did… but instead of sending us and the TARDIS through time, it only sent ME! 

Never trust a friendly doctor, yes? Wish I could say this was the last time I’d see him, too…

He ended up sending me to the year 8612 on Earth (figures, eh?). The TVA used to call it Earth-5555; might’ve changed it by now, yes? Wasn’t really fun there; ran into a group that called themselves the Dragon’s Claws and they blew me to pieces. Wouldn’t’ve happened if the Doctor hadn’t shrunk me, yes? Was recovered by a fellow named Spratt who rebuilt me with technology native to this futuristic world. Got myself a new blue color scheme out of it, yes? Though I am still nostalgic for the ol’ green…

For reasons unknown even to me, Spratt and I stuck around, with me offering out my services to the people of this particular planet and time. He insisted we were partners, but I didn’t much like that idea, yes? Still, he was useful. Helped with the bookkeeping, yes?

It was during this time that I ended up crossing paths with the ol’ Doctor again. A small mechanoid named Hob came to me on behalf of someone from the Doctor’s time called Josiah Dogbolter. Hob was made of pretty valuable material, and essentially sold himself to me in exchange for me killing the Doctor. What can I say? I like to harbor a grudge, yes?

Dogbolter’s people gave me a time machine that fit on my back, and after quite the trip through time I managed to find him playing dress-up to entertain others. Waste of time, yes? Anyway, I confronted him in his TARDIS only for the alarm to go absolutely nuts. Turns out, the Dogbolter fellow had double-crossed me! The time machine was actually a time BOMB and had been primed to kill the both of us!

Didn’t have much of a choice, yes? The Doctor and I had to work together. We brought the TARDIS to Dogbolter’s place and I had the Doc try to blast the damn thing off my back. Clasps were pretty sturdy though, yes? Luckily, the Doc had another idea; he used a handy tool of his own to undo the clasps and I tossed the bomb onto Dogbolter’s roof. Wish I could say I stayed to watch the explosion, but we had to hightail it out of there, yes? We then parted ways, although not without the Doctor giving me some lip about change and all that. Hnn. Only really paid half attention to it, yes?

We ended up on Earth in I want to say 1989, but sliding timescales mean that doesn’t mean much, yes? See, he had left me in Earth-616, which is somewhat adjacent to Earth-120185 only the Transformers aren’t really anywhere to be found. After the TVA merged them recently however, that might’ve changed. Hn. Retcons, am I right?

And of all the rooftops to drop me off at, what better and more convenient than the Four Freedoms Plaza, yes? Home to the Fantastic Four. No, not the Baxter Building; not at this point in the continuity, anyway.

Hnn. Wish I could say more, but employers are calling me again. Back to work, yes? Just as well; this is where my “fun” with superheroes starts to take off….