CHAPTER THREE
--211 years ago (Cycle 9604)--
"You don't seem comfortable, Krok."
"Of course I don't feel comfortable, Treadshot!" Krok retorted, flexing his right arm. "This isn't me. This isn't... I'm used to being a monoformer."
"Flatline did say it would take some getting used to," Treadshot said, watching his fellow Decepticon twist at the waist, where a new transformation joint had been added. "But we don't have time to exercise. Shockwave wants these M.T.O.s thawed out pronto."
"Right, right," Krok grumbled. Inputting a command into the control panel, the door slid open and the two Decepticons walked into the supply room. Set up in rows before them were dozens of frozen sparks, with an equal amount of ready made bodies standing against the wall.
"Does it matter which spark goes in which body?" Treadshot asked.
"Why are you asking me?" Krok replied, walking over to the sparks.
"I dunno, I just thought... since you're constructed cold, you would probably...."
Krok sighed. "Just get to work."
He pulled down a lever, which began the thawing process. Behind him, Treadshot disconnected one of the bodies from the wall. The frame was that of a flier, with a dark navy blue and crimson color scheme.
Rubbing his chin, Treadshot asked, "Do we get to name them?"
Krok thought for a moment. "Normally that's the commanding officer's job. However... I don't think Shockwave's going to care enough to do so. Heck, most of these guys are going to be dead within the hour."
"All right, I'll name them then. This one will be... Stormshot."
Krok rolled his optics as he extracted the first spark. "'Stormshot?' What, like Treadshot?"
"No! He just... he just looks like a Stormshot."
"How do you know it's a he?"
"Because I said he is."
"That's not...." Krok closed his optics and groaned as he turned around, inserting the spark into Stormshot's chest. "Forget it. Whatever they end up being, they'll probably be dead before dawn."
--Present--
"Another Killmaster?"
With all of his strength, Dion lifted his head up from the counter. Through fuzzy optics, he saw Gutcruncher standing there with a mug of glowing engex.
"No thanks," Dion groaned, laying his head back down. "I'm plastered."
"Consider me impressed," said a red and yellow mech sitting next to him. "I've never seen someone down five Killmasters in under twenty minutes."
"Anything is possible when you screw up badly enough," Dion mumbled.
"That's nothin'," grunted a bulky gray and yellow Decepticon to Dion's left. "Give me seven Murderkings and I'll still be as alert as a Gyronian Sentry."
"Give me a break, Heavy Barrel," said the first Decepticon. "You're the bot who made a break for it the second Blitz was killed."
Heavy Barrel got down from his seat, clenching his fists. "You callin' me weak, Treadshot?"
"Well, I certainly wouldn't call you tough."
Before Heavy Barrel could retort, the door to the bar swung open and a spindly black mech ran in.
"Ah, great," Gutcruncher muttered, rolling his eyes. "Who died this time?"
"They're here!" Skidmark exclaimed. "The D.J.D. are here!"
Everything went silent. Dion groggily lifted his head, trying to comprehend what the 'Con had said.
"I know a DJ Dee," he mumbled. "She can lay some sick beats...."
"Okay," Gutcruncher said, trying to keep calm. "Let's... let's not get worked up. Unless any of us has done something to get themselves on the List, we should be okay."
"We could all be on the List," Treadshot said. "Maybe living among Autobots on a pacifist planet is enough of a qualifier."
"Tarn's not that petty," said another patron. "He wouldn't go that far... would he?"
"Oh! You're talking about the D.J.D.!" Dion smacked his forehead. "My apologies. Just a bit buzzed."
Several Decepticons glanced at him. Heavy Barrel narrowed his optics. Treadshot rubbed his chin.
"Y'know," the latter murmured, "the last thing we want is to be spotted with an Autobot."
"Yeah," Heavy Barrel said. "And we all know the D.J.D. hates Autobots more than the 'Cons on their list. So if we wanted to be on their good side...."
"Guys, come on," Gutcruncher said. "We don't need to do this. This place is supposed to be welcome to all."
"This from the 'Con who used to sell Autobot remains on the black market," Treadshot remarked. "Don't tell me you've gone soft, Gutcruncher. With a name like that, I'd expect--"
"Um, guys," Skidmark interjected. "When I said they're here, I meant--"
The small bot was immediately silenced by a blast to the head. All turned to see five imposing figures standing in the doorway.
"Hello," Tarn said. "Are we interrupting anything?"
* * *
"Rodimus, I assure you that I had nothing to do with--"
"Shut up!" Rodimus snapped at Megatron, in the midst of pacing around the bridge. "Not a single word from you! I'm this close to having Rampage tear your head off."
"Rodimus, calm down," Ultra Magnus said. "It's entirely possible that Megatron did not summon the D.J.D. There are plenty of Decepticons on Paradron, so it's possible that--"
"Wait, you're defending him?" Rodimus started at his first mate incredulously. "You of all bots are the last one I'd expect to be defending a genocidal despot--"
"I'm not defending him!" Ultra Magnus protested. "I'm simply trying to bring up all the possibilities before you jump to conclusions."
"Oh, I'm jumping to conclusions, am I? Well forgive me for assuming that the guy who used to command five homicidal maniacs would summon said homicidal maniacs. I didn't realize that was such a ridiculous thing to presume."
"Look," Megatron said, earning himself a Rodimus-fashioned stink eye. "I'll deal with them. You can stay here and leave them to me. They're my responsibility."
"Oh, sure." Rodimus crossed his arms. "Like we'd let you go by yourself. Nothing like letting a nosoron loose in a g-metal shop."
Ultra Magnus sighed. "What if I went with him?"
Rodimus stared at him slack-jawed. "You're kidding me."
"I've faced off against Tarn before. I can--"
"Yeah, but the entire gang?"
Ultra Magnus frowned but seemed to catch Rodimus' point. "You're right. Perhaps we should stay here... or let Megatron go by himself."
"They're going to come to us eventually, Rodimus," Megatron said. "If not for me then likely for Drift. I know he used to be a soldier of mine. He's definitely on the List."
"He has a point," Ultra Magnus said. "In fact, Drift could be the reason they're here to begin with."
Rodimus sighed as he rubbed his head. "You're right. I hadn't thought of that." He looked back at Megatron. "You swear that this isn't a trick."
"I swear on my life," Megatron replied.
Rodimus carefully nodded. "All right. Go get 'em."
* * *
They had arrived. Just as she had hoped.
And now she was having second thoughts.
Stormshot hugged her knees to her chest as she sat in the alleyway outside Gutcruncher's bar. She could already hear Tarn terrorizing the patrons inside, searching for her.
Why did she have to do this? Why did she have to put the lives of others in danger for her sake? Why was she such an idiot?
Just get up and reveal yourself. It would all be over.
Would it though? How did she know the D.J.D. wouldn't then move on to other targets on their list?
The sound of someone transforming broke her from her thoughts and she looked up to see a yellow and orange mech standing over her. Before she could say anything, he grabbed her by the arm.
"I'm sorry," he said, raising a hand. On his palm was a small, sparkling device.
Stormshot opened her mouth to speak when he struck her and everything went dark.
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