PROLOGUE
“All of you need to listen very closely to what I have to say if you want to save the universe.”A dead silence filled the room at this. Impactor did not move from where he stood, keeping his harpoon pressed against Archforce’s head. Behind him, Punch, Fractyl, and Packrat exchanged uneasy looks, unsure of how things were about to go down. Still strapped to the operating table, Sandstorm wasn’t able to make much of anything since he wasn’t able to see any of it, though the silence was telling enough for him. All the while, Plasma simply stared at them with no variation to her inexpressive face, as if she had no care at all as to what was going to happen.
A few minutes passed before Impactor finally shattered the silence, impatience prominent in his voice. “Well? We’re waiting.”
“Let go of the clone,” Prowl’s voice commanded. “There’s no need for violence.”
“Then I guess you don’t know me as well as you claim you do,” Impactor growled. “Start talking, Prowl, or the clone really will get it.”
“Mother,” Archforce murmured, directing his confused optics towards Plasma. “What’s going on?”
Plasma said nothing to the Megatron clone, keeping her attention focused on the irate bot keeping him hostage. In a calm, passive voice, she said, “I would do as he says. Not much will be accomplished by doing the opposite.”
Impactor wasn’t sure at first whether Plasma was speaking to him or Prowl until the latter spoke up. “Not much will be accomplished with a needless standoff, either. Any petty grudges you hold are insignificant compared to what is at stake.”
“Maybe if you told us what was at stake instead of giving us your cryptic crap, I would consider doing as you say,” Impactor retorted.
“I’m not even convinced this is the real ‘Prowl,’” muttered Punch. “The real Prowl was killed just before Thunderwing’s forces attacked Autobot City. How can he be here and… alive?”
“I mean….” Fractyl glanced furtively at Impactor. “I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but resurrections have been all the rage lately.”
“I assure you that I am the Prowl you all know,” the disembodied voice responded.
“Prove it,” Impactor growled.
The silent hesitation preceding Prowl’s response felt as heavy as a dead weight. “Pardon?”
“Prove that you’re the real Prowl. Tell me something that only the real Prowl would know.”
After a fleeting yet telling moment of silence, Prowl said, “I know the truth about what happened at Pova. You didn’t beat them in valiant combat; you slaughtered them when they were unarmed and defenseless, after I had already ordered you to release them from captivity.”
Impactor scoffed. “Is that all you can come up with? Anyone who wasn’t a bright-eyed, naive novice would be able to connect the dots if they knew enough about me. No, you need to tell me something that only you would know. Not Prime, not Springer, not anyone in High Command. Something only the two of us would know.”
“We have a long history, Impactor.” Any hint of cordiality that had been in Prowl’s voice was now completely absent. “You would have to narrow it down.”
“Fine, how’s this for narrow? Arc 1-27 of Cycle 8818. Mesothulas’ lab. You wanted one of us to kill Ostaros. Who ended up pulling the trigger?”
Again, the subsequent silence weighed down on the room. Behind Impactor, furtive glances were passed between the other Wreckers. Even Archforce looked perplexed, keeping his gaze locked on Plasma who remained as stoic and motionless as ever. He winced as the sharp end of Impactor’s end scraped against the side of his helmet. He was too nervous to realize that the infamous leader of the Wreckers was shaking, if ever so slightly.
After what had felt like an eternity, the one who claimed to be Prowl finally answered. “You did, of course. Just like the savage brute you are.”
“Wrong.” With a click, Impactor’s harpoon launched from his arm. In that split-second, Archforce shifted his body enough so that the harpoon zipped right past his head. He then took advantage of Impactor’s momentary confusion to strike the Wrecker in the chest with his elbow, sending his former captor staggering back.
Deploying his arm cannon, Archforce swung around to take aim at Impactor only to find himself staring down the barrels of Punch, Fractyl, and Packrat as well. Although he did not fire, Archforce kept his weapon trained on Impactor, his face now devoid of any emotion.
“Now that the tables have turned,” the Megatron clone said, “perhaps we can have a more… peaceful exchange.”
Impactor scowled as he retracted the harpoon back into his arm. “We still outnumber you. I’d hardly call the tables ‘turned.’”
“I’m sorry,” Plasma spoke up. “What was it you were saying about numbers?”
The Wreckers looked confused at first only to then turn around and see the other Megatron clones — Megastorm and Megaplex — standing outside the chamber, having recovered from their earlier encounter. Behind them was a horde of silver bots with a uniform design. From their horns and visor-covered faces, they were a dead-match for the Terrorbots that they had encountered on Luna 1 during the conflict against Thunderwing.
Impactor regarded the reinforcements with a passive expression before redirecting his attention to Plasma. “I stand corrected. So, is this the part where you bore us to death with a lengthy explanation of your evil plan?”
“Seeing as how we’ve failed to trick you into joining us as I had hoped, I really see no point in keeping any of you around,” Plasma replied. “Kill them.”
As one, the Terrorbots and the Megatron clones opened fire. Moving quickly to avoid the plasma bolts, Impactor got over to the operating table Sandstorm was on and cut through the latter’s restraints with his harpoon. Once freed, Sandstorm converted to his helicopter form and flew into the horde, shooting many of their numbers down. Both Megaplex and Megastorm jumped aside to avoid Sandstorm as he plowed his way through the Terrorbots, creating a path for the other Wreckers. Impactor and the others wasted no time as they transformed and took off, dodging any blaster shots that came their way.
“After them!” Impactor could hear Archforce bark, though for some reason neither the Terrorbots nor the clones took pursuit.
As they turned the corner, Punch pointed out, “We still need to find Toxitron.”
“Have Packrat sniff him out,” Impactor replied. “His odor isn’t that hard to miss.”
Clinging onto Punch’s roof, Packrat lifted up his rodent head and sniffed the air. After a couple of whiffs, the blue rat said, “Left hall, third door on the right.”
The Wreckers followed these directions and eventually came upon a locked door. Converting to his robot mode, Fractyl approached the door and hacked into its main control panel. His history with the Secret Order and time spend aboard the Mothership gave him a better understanding of the vessel’s inner workings than any of the other Wreckers. In no more than a minute, the door was open and the Wreckers came face to face with their comrade Toxitron, strapped to an operating table and surrounded by two more Terrorbots. Before either of the silver bots had a chance to react, Punch gunned one of them down while Impactor dispatched the other with his harpoon. Packrat then moved over to Toxitron and freed him from his restraints, wearing a nauseated expression as he did.
“Ya’ know, the least these guys could’ve done was give you a nice wash down or somethin’,” the Maximal remarked.
“Save it,” Impactor grunted. “Fractyl, does this place have a space bridge?”
“Uh, yes, actually,” the geochemist replied. “It’s sure to be heavily fortified though, especially at this point.”
“So?”
“So….” Fractyl sighed as he remembered who he was talking to. “So we’re gonna have a lot of afts to kick.”
“Fine by me,” rumbled Toxitron as he rose to his feet. He stumbled slightly as he took a step forward, prompting Sandstorm to move over to support him.
“Easy there,” the Triple Changer said. “You sure you’re ready for a fight?”
“Of course I am,” Toxitron muttered, though he did not sound as certain as his words suggested. “I’m always ready.”
Impactor couldn’t help but find that statement dubious. Nonetheless, he pushed such doubts aside as he changed back into his alt mode. “Lead the way, Fractyl.”
The Decepticon jet led his fellow Wreckers back down the hall and navigated them through a maze of hallways and corridors, encountering no resistance along the way. Upon reaching the door which led to the Mothership’s space bridge chamber, Impactor could hear the march of footsteps coming from behind them.
“They sure took their sweet time, didn’t they?” Punch remarked.
Impactor grimaced as he watched Fractyl hack into the door’s control panel. The footsteps were coming closer and the green flier was not making any progress. His patience at its end, Impactor shoved Fractyl aside before stabbing the console with his harpoon. At once, the door slid open and the Wreckers all rushed inside. From behind them, one of the approaching Noisemaze units raised its left arm and fired its arm cannon. The blast hit Fractyl in the back just as he entered and the Decepticon jet fell to the ground with a cry.
Spinning around on his heel, Sandstorm fired back at the Noisemazes while Punch rushed over to recover Fractyl. Already at the space bridge, Impactor accessed its control console and scanned the monitor for the nearest terminal. To his surprise, there was one just over two light years away from where they were, located in the same solar system. Not wasting any time to dwell on this, Impactor punched in the coordinates and activated the space bridge. As the blue portal opened, Impactor turned and hollered to the other Wreckers.
Punch was the first to reach the space bridge, carrying Fractyl in his arms. Packrat quickly hopped onto Toxitron’s shoulders as the Optimus clone followed suit, both of them providing cover fire as they charged into the portal. As Impactor and Sandstorm neared the terminal, one of the Noisemazes drew a double-bladed sword and lunged at Impactor, delivering a slice to his side. As the veteran Wrecker cried out in pain, Sandstorm bashed his gun into the Noisemaze’s head before firing it, obliterating the Terrorbot’s cranial unit. Undeterred, the drones continued to swarm in on the two Wreckers, pushing them back into the space bridge. With nowhere else to turn, the pair had no choice but to run into the portal. As the Noisemazes took pursuit, Sandstorm continued to fire back at them, keeping them at bay as best as he could.
Impactor had no idea how long they had been running by the time he spotted something at the end of the portal. Energon continued to leak from his wound, forcing him to rely on sheer willpower so as to not slow his pace. Punch and the others were already through while Sandstorm had gotten ahead of him already. Without looking back to see how close the Terrorbots were, Impactor pushed Sandstorm out of the portal as he lunged forward, firing his harpoon as soon as he saw the terminal’s control panel, narrowly missing a large green bot. The panel sparked as it shorted out and the space bridge portal immediately dissipated behind him, cutting them off from the Terrorbots. Impactor spared a second to take in his surroundings; upon realizing that they were in Metroplex, he allowed himself to collapse to the floor, still clutching his wound. In his peripheral vision, he spotted a familiar green and yellow bot step up to him, arms folded over his chest.
“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, old timer,” Springer said in a low tone.
“Thanks for the reminder, kid,” Impactor grunted back. “Do you want me to start before or after I came back from the dead?”
What Springer did next was, in Impactor’s honest opinion, the most shocking thing that had ever happened to him since he had been resurrected.
He offered him his hand.
Impactor looked from the proffered hand to its owner and saw, for the first time in centuries, the ghost of the cocky smirk he had always associated with his successor. It was as if Pova and everything that happened after that point had never happened and they were still brothers-in-arms to the last. Just like the good old days. Like it should have always been.
Getting over his surprise, Impactor accepted the hand and allowed Springer to help him to his feet. While the other Wreckers started chatting amongst themselves, Impactor’s mind went back to what they had just escaped from and turned back to Springer with a serious look.
“Who’s in charge here?”
“I am, along with Elita-One and Star Saber.” Springer frowned as he noticed the cloud in Impactor’s expression. “Why? What’s happened?”
“It’s not what’s happened but what’s happening right now,” Impactor replied. “We need to get to Cybertron asap; I’m not one for exaggeration, so believe me when I say that the entire universe is in danger.”
He did not know any of this for a hundred percent fact… but if the sight of those Terrorbots — a threat that had become recurring in the past year or so — meant anything to him, it was that someone somewhere was plotting something. And with over a thousand years of such situations under his belt, Impactor knew that it was not going to be anything good.
CONVERGENCE
Part 4: Divided We Fall
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