CHAPTER TWO
--Cybertron--
"Wheeljack, not everyone is a Drouhard graduate. Please explain in layman's terms."
Wheeljack rolled his optics. "What I'm trying to say is that Cybertron is growing."
Elita-One stared at the scientist and then at the screen, which showed the barren wasteland of Kaon. A giant bottomless pit gaped in its center. "So the ground is splitting wide open...."
"Is the planet expanding. Look." Wheeljack zoomed in on the image. Within the pit, tiny pieces of metal could be seen stretching from either side and connecting with one another. "It's already starting to fill itself in but by stretching itself out rather than pulling itself together. Cybertron is literally reshaping itself."
"And is this in all cities or...?"
"Just the desolate ones. Kaon, the Badlands... as far as I know, no one's settled there yet."
Elita frowned. "But if it were to happen in Iacon or any of the other re-established city states...."
Wheeljack shrugged, "We'd be screwed. Well, unless you're a jet -- then you could just fly yourself out. But cars like me? Forget about it."
Elita sighed, raising a hand to her helmet crest. "And how long has this been occurring?"
"By my estimates? The past two days."
"So this is the planet you've given us."
Both Autobots turned to see a gold and blue mech standing in the doorway. Arcee was behind him, looking at Elita apologetically.
"Sorry, sis, but he insisted--"
"So not only has your brilliant Prime abandoned us, but he has left us to our fates," the gold mech went on. "Such an idol."
Elita scowled at him. "Optimus did not abandon us, Metalhawk, and he almost certainly couldn't have known about this."
Metalhawk raised an optic. "Couldn't he? An odd coincidence then, wouldn't you agree?"
Elita narrowed her eyes. "Look, if you're so displeased with your new home, you can return to your little colony on Archon."
Metalhawk let out a sharp bitter laugh. "Less than two hundred bots is hardly a colony -- even less so now that half of them are either dead or gone on their own paths. Besides, I have no intention of leaving Cybertron. I plan on seeing this promised 'New Age' be brought to fruition... even if it means taking things into my own hands."
"What are you trying to imply?" Elita asked warily.
"Well, with Prime gone, who is left to lead Cybertron?"
"I'd say Elita is more than capable enough," Wheeljack commented.
"Is she?" Metalhawk replied, a half-sneer on his face. "Has she ever had experience in governing a people? In dealing with riots? In handling angry councilors?"
Elita sighed. "This conversation can wait, Metalhawk. There will be a meeting in the convocation center tomorrow. You can air your grievances then."
"Oh, I will," Metalhawk said, turning to leave. "I just wanted to make sure you understood what was at stake here."
Elita shot him a withering look. "If that will be all?"
The former ruler of Archon nodded curtly before striding out of the lab. Elita watched him leave, waiting until he was gone before inclining her head towards Arcee.
"Keep an optic on him," she murmured. "Something's definitely going on and I want us to keep tabs on anyone who might remotely be a threat."
"Wouldn't that make ourselves look suspicious?" Wheeljack asked.
"I'm not saying to monitor his every movement, just... watch out for him. Be ready for anything."
"I'm already on it," Arcee said, converting to her motorcycle mode and driving off.
--Velocitron--
"The Wreckers are in danger?"
Ratchet frowned at Rodimus. "Why do you always do that? Repeat whatever people tell you."
Ignoring the medic, Rodimus said to Swerve and First Aid, "You're positive this legit? Like, this isn't something Fisitron's doing for views?"
"I'm absolutely positive," Swerve replied. "I'm best buddies with Ironfist and I know he would never pull a trick like that."
"Where did he say the Wreckers were being held?" Minimus asked.
"Some place called Outpost One," First Aid said. "He didn't provide an exact location but he did put a tracking signal, so if we follow it...."
"Right." Standing up, Rodimus clapped his hands loudly. The party around them died down as all optics turned to him. "Hey, everyone! Sorry to bring things to a sudden halt, but we've got to get a move on. Important quest stuff. Urgent quest stuff. Details once we're all on board. Let's go."
While the Lost Lighters finished their activities, and Drift handled compensation with the bar owner, Rodimus beckoned for Swerve and the two medics to follow him.
"Show me the message when we're on board," he said.
"Wait, you mean you're not a subscriber of Fisitron's?" Swerve asked.
"I used to be, but I had to drop it when I became captain. Couldn't have any distractions."
Ratchet rolled his optics but bit back whatever retort he had planned. Minimus fell in with them as they headed out, not speaking until they were outside.
"So I take it this supersedes our search for Cyclonus?"
Rodimus sighed. "I knew you were going to bring that up. Look, at least with this, we have an idea on where to go, unlike with Cyclonus. And who knows: maybe we can find his whereabouts at Outpost One while we're at it."
"I wouldn't count too much on that," Minimus murmured.
"Maybe. But given how connected everything seems to be so far... I wouldn't put it too far out of the realm of plausibility....."
--Elsewhere--
Convoy awoke to the sound of cackling. His blue optics flashed back on as his systems started to reboot. Once he had control over his body again, he lifted himself up from the slab he had been laying on.
Didn't even bother to restrain me. Odd.
Looking around, he saw that he wasn't alone in this small room of his. In the far corner of the room was a mech in black and white, with flame decals decorating his chest and door-wings. He was slumped against the wall, no light glowing in his visor. Convoy wasn't sure if he was even still alive.
Laughter sounded from outside again, this time closer to the door. Whoever was having a giggle fit was heading here, and Convoy knew for sure he didn't want to meet them. But there didn't seem to be a way out for him....
Or was there? Looking up, he saw something quite peculiar: a grate-protected air vent, large enough for a Cybertronian to fit through. Except why would a place have such a thing? Most organics were too small to need such large air vents and most mechanoids hardly needed them at all. It was simply too convenient.
Which meant it was a trap.
As tempting as it was, Convoy ignored the grate and simply waited for his captor to arrive. He refused to play by the rules of this sicko's game. He would subvert their expectations until he figured out a way to escape.
The door soon opened and Tarantulas entered, stopping mid-cackle. The monstrous, multi-limbed mech stared at Convoy as if the blue mech was the very last thing he expected to see.
"You... you're still here?"
"Evidently," Convoy replied.
Tarantulas looked from him to the grate. "Did you not see the vent? Did you even try to escape through it?"
"Yes, and no, I didn't."
"Why?"
Convoy did not answer, for it was at that moment he saw his chance.
Lunging at the arachnid, he threw a fist into Tarantulas' face, sending the mad scientist staggering back. This left an opening for him to escape and he transformed into his truck mode. Peeling off into the hall and driving for Matrix-knew where....
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