Transformers Regenerated: Alpha and Omega, Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

Protohex, ten years later

“STEEL-BANE! STEEL-BANE!”

Hearing the crowd chant his name energized the warrior as he lunged at his opponent. Already heavily injured, with energon gushing out of the large wound in his shoulder, the other gladiator could only raise his shield as Steelbane threw his sword at him. The blade hit the shield with a loud clang and added yet another dent to its large collection of them. Steelbane repeated this motion until he successfully knocked the shield out of the other bot’s arm and onto the ground.

“STEEL-BANE! STEEL-BANE!”

As the roar of the crowd grew louder, the unarmed and defenseless gladiator looked up at Steelbane with pleading eyes. “P-please,” he said, coughing up oil. “Have mercy.”

Steelbane laughed and raised his sword high above his head. “The world has no mercy. Why should I?”

He brought the blade down and the sounds of the audience drowned out the dying screams of the hapless warrior. Leaving his sword wedged into his opponent’s skull, Steelbane raised his arms and basked in the glory of his victory.

High above in the auditorium, watching the fight from his personalized booth, Septimus Prime applauded his champion. This fight had been Steelbane’s seventh victory in as many weeks and Septimus could not have been prouder. He knew he had gotten a good deal on Steelbane’s very first day in the arena, after he had practically devoured Septimus’ past champion. Regulus Prime was surely regretting handing over one of his greatest warriors, but Septimus could not bring himself to care.

“Fetch me another cylinder of unfiltered energon,” he ordered one of his servants. “This is going to deserve a toast.”

While the servant hurried off, another approached the Prime from the other side, hands clasped together as he bowed his head.

“Master, you have a visitor at the front gates.”

“Tell them to wait,” Septimus Prime replied, flipping a hand. “I am preoccupied.”

“Master, with all due respect, they seem to be someone important. They claim to be from Kutanzuule.”

This name caused Septimus to shift in his seat. “Kutanzuule?” he repeated. “The city of the Great Archives? But that’s where… that’s where the House of Trion rules.”

The servant nodded. “I believe one of them was wearing the facial insignia.”

“Well, in that case….” Septimus Prime rose from his seat. “Prepare Steelbane for an extra match. I will deliver my speech later.”

“Master, all we have left are Mini-Cons—”

“It doesn’t matter. The crowd will eat it up.” Septimus Prime grinned to himself. “Besides, it’s past time for Steelbane’s meal.”

*  *  *

Omega Trion shifted uneasily as he and Alpha stood before the gates to Castle Protohex. Alpha Trion noticed his discomfort and inclined his head towards him.

“Why so nervous, brother?”

“Something about this place feels off,” Omega muttered. “I’m not sure I like it so far.”

Alpha considered this as he listened to the sounds of voracious cheering in the distance. “Well, it’s no Kutanzuule, I’ll give you that. I suppose not every place on Cybertron can be a quiet library.”

“Why are we even here? Who is this Septimus Prime that we’re dealing with?”

“Patience, my friend. All will be clear soon.”

Omega frowned at his mentor’s vagueness but remained dutifully quiet. A few minutes later, the doors to Castle Protohex were pulled open and a servant bot stood there to greet them.

“Septimus Prime will see you now.”

The two Trion brothers followed the servant as he led them into castle. They didn’t get far before they were greeted by a gold and green mech decked out in regal armor plating, complete with an unnecessary cape flowing behind his small frame. Upon seeing Alpha Trion, he raised his arms in greeting.

“Well, if it isn’t the wise Alpha Trion himself! I figured it was you when I heard the visitors were from Kutanzuule.”

He strode over to Alpha Trion and took the sage’s hands into his, shaking them graciously.

“It’s been too long, my friend,” Septimus Prime said with an earnest smile.

Alpha allowed himself to return it. “Indeed. Last time I saw you, you were simply called S-7. I am pleased to see that you have turned your life around.”

Septimus chuckled. “Don’t I know it? Please, make yourselves at home. I can happily provide you with some of the finest fuels Protohex has to offer.”

Alpha shook his head. “I’m afraid we’ll have to decline. Omega and I are simply here for business purposes.”

“Ah.” Septimus Prime glanced at Omega, as if noticing him for the first time. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”

“This is Omega Trion,” Alpha said before Omega had a chance to speak. “He is a recent addition to the House of Trion and my current protege.”

“Has he been forged recently?” Septimus asked, raising an optic ridge.

“Yes,” Alpha said carefully. “He is part of the generation borne from Warriors Gate ten years ago.”

“Interesting.” Septimus Prime regarded Omega for a moment before turning back to Alpha. “Well then, if it is business purposes you wish to discuss, then I’m afraid you will have to wait a bit. We are currently in the middle of a match.”

“That is quite all right. We don’t mind waiting.”

“Perhaps you would like to sit with me and watch for yourselves? My greatest champion is participating as we speak.”

Alpha Trion touched the edge of his facial plates. “Yes, actually,” he said quietly. “That sounds like an inviting idea.”

*  *  *

“STEEL-BANE! STEEL-BANE!”

Omega felt his audio sensors ring from the sheer sound of the crowds roaring and cheering all around the arena, which did not mix well with the clanging of metal and cries for mercy coming from down below. In many ways, Protohex was the polar opposite of quiet Kutanzuule… and Omega couldn’t decide if he liked it or not.

He watched as the warrior known as Steelbane transformed into a serpentine dragon and charged towards the last of his Mini-Con opponents. The diminutive Cybertronian screamed as he tried to run from the dragon but was unable to escape the column of fire coming his way. The flames engulfed the Mini-Con’s frame, leaving behind nothing but a burnt crisp of a corpse.

While Steelbane returned to his robot mode to accept the crowd’s cheers of appraisal, Omega heard Alpha Trion make a sound of disapproval.

“This is utterly barbaric. The matches in Dodecahex aren’t anywhere near as violent as this.”

“Regulus is a more business-oriented Prime,” Septimus said, leaning back in his seat as he drank from his goblet of engex. “He holds matches to decide which warriors he should sell or purchase. We, on the other hand, are focused on weeding out the strong from the weak. How else are we supposed to survive in this harsh world that the Knights of Cybertron have left us?”

Alpha Trion frowned as he looked down at Steelbane, who was still basking in his own glory. “Your champion appears to be a beast-former. Did the shepherd Onyx entrust him with your care?”

“Who?” Septimus Prime gave him a confused look. “No, I bought him off Regulus. I had to give up three of my best warriors to seal the deal but, honestly? It was worth it.”

Alpha huffed as he folded his arms. “Well, I hope you are still open to making another deal, because that is why we are here.”

Both Omega and Septimus looked at him in surprise. “You are?” the latter said. “I didn’t think Kutanzuule participated in matches.”

“We don’t,” Alpha said. “But one of your warriors is someone of great importance to the House of Trion.”

Septimus’ optics narrowed. “If you are here for Steelbane, then I am afraid—”

“It’s not Steelbane.”

“Oh.” Septimus relaxed a bit but still seemed somewhat apprehensive. “Who then?”

“Can we take this conversation outside? Away from… prying audio sensors?”

“Oh, of course, of course.”

Septimus Prime rose from his seat and led the two Trion brothers out of his private booth. Omega spared a quick minute to look back at the victorious Steelbane before following his brother.

The three of them made their way to the Prime’s personal chambers. After dismissing his servants, Septimus took a seat at his (somewhat oversized) throne while Alpha and Omega Trion stood before him.

“That’s more like it,” Septimus said cheerily. “Now then, give me a name; I can’t help you if you don’t tell me who it is you—”

“Logos.”

Septimus Prime jolted at the sound of the name. He quickly regained his composure (though not in a convincing manner) and laughed. “I’m sorry. For a minute, I thought you said—”

“You know what I said, Septimus,” Alpha said coldly.

The Prime shifted uncomfortably in his throne and cleared his vocal processor. “I’m curious as to how you even know that name.”

“I was present for his forging,” Alpha Trion replied. “The hot spot he was born from isn’t far from Kutanzuule. He was supposed to be in our care until he went missing.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about that,” Septimus Prime said, a bit too hastily for Omega’s liking. “I can’t always keep track of where my servants and warriors come from. It’s simply not my concern.”

“But it is mine.” Alpha Trion crossed his arms. “I would like to see him. Now.”

Septimus Prime eyed him warily. “This isn’t like you, A-3,” he murmured. “I thought you were a pacifist now, ever since the revolution ended.”

“It’s only been twenty-five years since the revolution. My warrior days aren’t that far behind me.”

Omega Trion watched Septimus carefully as the Prime’s optics darted to the side. The ruler of Protohex fidgeted in his seat again, readjusting his shoulder pads.

“While I would love to help you, I’m afraid I do not know where Logos is. He may be here or I may have sold him off to one of the other kingdoms. I simply cannot—”

“Just tell us where he is!” Omega snapped, stepping forward. “Stop playing games with us!”

“Omega, stand down,” Alpha said sternly, pulling his protege back towards him. “You will only act when I say you can act. Otherwise, you will stand by my side and do nothing.”

“It’s obvious he’s lying to us!” Omega protested. “Just look at him!”

Septimus Prime chuckled, losing the nervousness he had been displaying earlier. “Young ones can be so outspoken, can’t they? I remember when I used to be like that….”

Omega opened his mouth to say something but Alpha silenced him with a single look. The older Trion then turned back to Septimus Prime and sighed.

“Is Logos still in your service or not?”

“I would have to check,” Septimus Prime replied, having taken on a more relaxed position in his throne. “You must know that I have hundreds upon hundreds of bots in my service, and they come and go with every business deal I make with the other Primes. It would take forever for me to know who’s still here and who is gone. But, seeing as you and I go way back, I will take it upon myself to find him for you. Then we can discuss an exchange if you so wish.”

“Very well,” Alpha Trion said gravely. “We will return in exactly one solar cycle. You have until then to find Logos.”

“Sounds fair.”

With a curt nod of farewell, Alpha Trion turned on his heel and strode out of the chamber, beckoning Omega to follow them. Once they were outside and past the front gates, Alpha glanced over his shoulder at his younger companion.

“Please do not ever act out of line again,” he said, sounding simultaneously strict and gentle. “We Trions pride ourselves over being calm and controlled. What you displayed back there was anything but.”

Omega fought the urge to scowl as he bowed his head. “My apologies, brother. I… it will not happen again. I promise.”

Satisfied with this response, Alpha Trion converted to his alternate mode. Omega did the same. As they revved up their engines, Alpha spoke up again.

“You are correct, though. He is definitely lying. Even if Logos is still there, he will find a way to lie to us and divert our attention to one of the other Primes.”

“So, what do we do?”

“We visit the other Primes and use their words against his. Once we expose his lie, Septimus Prime will have no choice but to tell the truth.”

“You seem certain,” Omega murmured.

“Trust me, brother,” Alpha chuckled. “Septimus is no less transparent now than he was the last time I saw him, twenty-five years ago.”

Transformers Regenerated: Alpha and Omega, Prologue

PROLOGUE

Warrior’s Gate, Cycle 515 (9,300 years before present day)

One of the first twelve hot spots to be activated on Cybertron, Warrior’s Gate was considered a sacred region by many. According to legend, it had been the birthplace of one of the Knights of Cybertron (as were the other eleven hot spots) and had served as a battlefield during the God War. Whether or not such tales were true, it was a place held in high importance and thus not somewhere to be treaded lightly.

Thus, when Alpha Trion received the summons to Warrior’s Gate from an old friend of his, he knew the matter was of great importance.

Driving across the deserted plains in his terrain-based alternate form, he detected his bestial friend waiting for him up ahead. Known to most as simply “the Shepherd,” Onyx had fought with Alpha in the rebellion against the Builders over a decade ago. In the years since, he had given himself the task of watching over the hot spots of Cybertron and caring for the newborn sparks they birthed until they were ready for the outside world. Naturally, Onyx particularly favored those that had beast forms like himself and tended to neglect those with more standard forms. While Alpha Trion had his grievances with this attitude, he knew it was not his place to voice them.

As he drew closer to Onyx, Alpha Trion transformed into his robot mode and walked the rest of the distance. He nodded his head in acknowledgment to Onyx and the beast-former responded in kind.

“Fair tidings, old friend,” Onyx growled softly. “I hope life is treating you well.”

“It’s treating me well enough,” Alpha Trion replied. “Now then, why have you summoned me to this sacred place?”

“There has been another activation,” Onyx said. “Over a hundred sparks have been ignited.”

“And? This is a natural occurrence, Onyx. Why call me over to witness something I’ve seen for myself plenty of times?”

“Because I want you to meet one of the protoforms.”

Confused and intrigued, Alpha Trion followed Onyx as they descended from the precipice overseeing the hot spot and stepped onto the spark field. Many of the newborn sparks had grown their bodies and were in the process of testing them, some already being able to transform. The pair moved past all of them as Onyx led Alpha Trion towards a lone protoform sitting by themselves in the center of the field. Before they could get any closer, Onyx signaled Alpha to stop.

“He doesn’t like being startled,” Onyx murmured. “Best to approach him with care.”

“Is this the one you want me to meet?” Alpha Trion asked, watching as the protoform picked at something on the ground. “What is so special about him?”

“I saw his spark the moment it ignited,” Onyx said. “It was green.”

Alpha Trion looked at him in surprise. “You mean… he is a super-spark?”

Onyx nodded gravely. “Super-sparks,” as they were named for their association with stronger-than-average bots, were a rare type of spark. From what Alpha Trion had heard, only one in every thousand sparks was a super-spark, though he was not well-versed in that field to be confident in those numbers.

“This is big,” Alpha Trion murmured. “The last known super-spark was born centuries ago, during the Age of Wrath.”

“I know,” said Onyx.

Alpha Trion glanced at him. “What do you intend on doing with him?”

“I was hoping you would be able to bring him under your care.”

“Me?” Alpha Trion was taken aback by the statement. “Why?”

“Like you said, super-sparks are rare. Who knows if he will turn out to be the last one for good. It would be prudent that we keep him protected at all costs.”

“But why me?”

“You are the only one I trust, A-3,” Onyx said solemnly. “Out of all the others, you are the most peaceful and least ambitious. The others — Prima in particular — would try to exploit him for their own personal gain. You are not like that. I trust that you will keep him safe.”

Alpha Trion frowned. “I have never mentored a protoform before.”

“Then you could use the experience.” Onyx nudged him towards the newborn. “Go on,” he said, with some humor in his voice. “Don’t be shy.”

With an exasperated huff, Alpha Trion approached the protoform, careful not to startle him. As he came up on the young one’s left side, the protoform looked up but did not react. He regarded Alpha Trion with a curious expression as the older bot knelt down beside him.

“Hello, my friend,” Alpha Trion said gently. “I would like to welcome you to the world.”

He extended a hand to the protoform. The young bot gave it an odd look before returning his gaze to the Trion.

Alpha Trion sighed. This was going to take some getting use to. “My name is Alpha Trion,” he went on, lowering his hand. “I come from a place called Kutanzuule, domain of the House of Trion.”

“He’s only been alive for a few hours, Alpha,” Onyx spoke up behind him. “Try not to fry his brain module with information.”

Alpha Trion gave him a look before turning back to the protoform. “My apologies,” he said quietly. “I have a tendency to get ahead of myself. Enough about me; what is your name?”

“What’s a name?” the protoform asked, innocently.

“A name is… it’s what you call yourself. It’s what you wish people to say when introducing you or trying to get your attention. For example, I like to be called Alpha Trion. My friend over there likes to be called Onyx. What would you like to be called?”

The protoform moved his optics to the ground, looking as if he was deep in thought. After a moment, he glanced back up and said quietly, “I don’t know.”

Alpha Trion sighed again. “Not to worry. It can be difficult to think of a good name, especially when others are already taken.”

“Can I have your name?” the protoform asked.

“Um, well, no. Alpha Trion is my name. It is unique to me. It can’t be anyone else’s.”

“What if I changed part of it. You can be Alpha Trion and I can be… something-else Trion.”

Alpha heard Onyx fail to hold back a snort. Ignoring the Shepherd, he forced himself to smile as he took the protoform’s hands into his own.

“That’s a good place to start. In fact, several members of my house share my name, including my partner Beta Trion and my good friend—”

“Omega.”

Alpha Trion blinked. “Pardon?”

“Omega Trion.” The protoform said the name with a sense of certainty Alpha had not heard him express until now. “That will be my name.”

Alpha Trion mulled over it before slowly nodding. “Then so it will be.”

With that, he pulled the protoform to his feet, taking a moment to study the younger bot’s bulky gray and black body.

“Welcome to the House of Trion, Omega,” Alpha said, resting a hand on the protoform’s shoulder. “I trust that you and I will have a long and lasting relationship.”

ALPHA AND OMEGA

A Pax Cybertronia Interlude

Transformers Regenerated: Pax Cybertronia XII, Epilogue

AFTERMATH

“Any progress, Cerebros?”

“If there was, Windblade, I would have told you by now,” Cerebros answered, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. “I’m doing everything I can here.”

“I understand,” Windblade said quietly. She leaned against the wall as she watched Cerebros operate the controls to Fortress Maximus’ space bridge, still struggling to bring back Rodimus Prime. They needed his leadership now more than ever after having lost nearly half of their council members. Shockwave, Starscream, Obsidian, and Strika had all answered Megatron’s call while Knock Out and the two Devisien councilors had stayed behind, though Fireshot and Vanquish’s loyalty was already wavering now that word had reached that Devisiun had been visited by the Grand Architect’s forces.

While Dai Atlas and the others were preoccupied in trying to calm the fears of the public, Windblade’s focus was on rescuing the only bot she could think of to get them out of this mess. And the fact that person was Rodimus of all people demonstrated how limited their options were.

The door next to her opened and she was surprised to see a familiar red-and-blue bot step in. Orion Pax had stayed behind in Tyger Pax when Windblade had gotten the call to Iacon; she had definitely not expected him to show up.

“How bad is it?” he asked, a solemn look in his eyes.

“As bad as you think it is,” Windblade murmured.

Orion sighed as he lowered his head. “I apologize for not coming with you. I was stubborn for staying out of this and not providing my assistance when it was asked for. I didn’t even realize how serious the situation was.”

“Well, now you do.” Windblade wasn’t sure if she meant to make those words sound as bitter as they came out. In any case, they had a visible effect on Orion as he looked up at her with sorrowful optics.

“While I have no desire to resume the mantle of Prime and intrude on Rodimus’ responsibilities, I would still like to help in any way I can.” Orion glanced at her. “If you will have me.”

“At this point, we could use all the help we can get,” Windblade muttered. “Especially now that is Megatron is back.”

Orion’s head snapped up, staring at her in disbelief. “What did you say?”

“At least, that’s what Deathsaurus told me. I have no idea if he’s telling the truth or not. Still, at this point, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

Before Orion could say anything else, Windblade’s comm pinged and she raised a hand to her helm. “What is it?”

“Elita and her team are back, along with Star Saber’s crew,” a voice on the other end said. “They’re flying Metroplex now for some reason, so… I hope you have room for another Titan.”

“Clear a space for them to land. I’ll be there shortly.” Ending the call, Windblade turned back to Orion and allowed herself a small smile. “At least some good news has come from all this.”

Orion nodded, still reeling from the news of Megatron’s return. “I suppose there is some comfort in that. Is Wheeljack with them?”

“He should be. Why?”

Orion Pax looked down at his small frame. “I think I need to speak to him on the matter of upgrades….”

*  *  *

“Sovereign and the others have abandoned the plan.”

The news did not surprise Plasma as much as it should have. Even if it had, she would have maintained her neutral expression as she always did in the presence of her superior. “That is unfortunate,” she said evenly.

“Perhaps. But it is hardly a setback. The Grand Architect’s alternative plan — bringing back Megatron — turned out better than expected. The Cybertron Alliance has been split into two and the Decepticons have been brought to our side.”

“Then we no longer have need for the Underbase?” Plasma asked.

“Not at the moment. It is currently in Scorponok’s hands now.” The larger figure of the two of them started to pace around the chamber, regarding the three clones of Megatron was they received repairs for their injuries. “How much do the ones who escape know?”

“No more than I was permitted to tell them,” Plasma replied. “I told them of our plan to dismantle the Primes’ legacy, which is now irrelevant.”

“And the clone of Prowl did nothing?”

Plasma shook her head. “Their leader — the one called Impactor — wouldn’t fall for the deception.”

“I didn’t think it would. I will never understand Liege’s obsession with such ruses and ploys.”

“What about the other one? The one sent to Cybertron.”

“From what I’ve heard, it succeeded in luring Rodimus Prime to Liege Maximo. He should be in his presence as we speak.”

Plasma watched as the large, winged figure turned to leave the room. “So, what is our next course of action?”

“Remain here until further notice. I may ask you to relocate soon, but right now, I want to see how things with the current Prime will turn out.”

Plasma nodded. “I shall await your orders, Onyx Prime. I am forever in your servitude.”

Onyx Prime chuckled, a low sound that reverberated against the walls. “Sovereign once said the same.”

“I am not him, master. I will not fail you.”

“I am going to hold you to that.”

With that, Onyx Prime swiftly departed from the chamber. Once he was gone, Plasma shifted her attention to the three Megatron clones. Archforce met her gaze and quickly sat up, ignoring the protests of the repair drone.

“Mother, give me another chance,” he pleaded. “I promise I will not fail—”

“Stop calling me ‘Mother,’” Plasma snapped, stepping over to him. “Hydra was the one who brought you into existence and she is no longer with us.”

“I still want to prove myself to you! I don’t want to be tossed aside again!” He gestured to Megastorm and Megaplex. “These two are holding me back. Give me a mission that I can accomplish on my own. You won’t be sorry.”

“Well then, it should please you to know that I intend on separating the three of you,” Plasma said. “Liege Maximo has requested Megaplex’s presence on his world, so I intend on sending him there. Megastorm, I already have something in mind for him. As for you….”

She trailed off as her gaze moved to a vat laying on one of the tables. The contents within had been something the Heralds of Unicron had concocted back when they were working with the Secret Order. A sample of it had been left behind at Outpost Three and had gone unused in the year since the Heralds’ demise and the Order’s collapse. Since rediscovering it, Plasma had been itching to finally put it to use.

“I have something very special plan for you,” she said, giving Archforce a rare smile. “If all goes as planned, then you will never have to worry about ever failing me again.”

*  *  *

Rodimus Prime was growing impatient.

That was nothing new when it came to him, but the fact that he had no idea what was happening back on Cybertron without him there made the wait even worse. The bot who called himself Liege Centuro had said that it would only take a few minutes, but according to his chronometer, “few minutes” apparently meant “several hours.”

Huffing to himself, he began to pace around the main hall of Liege Maximo’s “palace” or whatever it was. To either side stood six statues, each one representing one of the Thirteen Primes that Liege Maximo considered his contemporaries. Maximo’s own statue, naturally, stood in the center of the hall and towered over the other twelve. Rodimus stepped over to it to read the gold plaque bolted into its base.

“Let the lies cast a light on the truth - Liege Maximo of the Forgotten Plains.”

Rodimus couldn’t help but snort. Everything about the palace felt phony; like it was some parody of Cybertron’s idealistic Golden Age. Whether or not that was what Liege Maximo himself was going for, he would simply have to wait to find out.

He moved over to one of the other statues, this one of Solus Prime. He looked down to study the plaque and frowned as he read the words.

“You are being deceived - Solus Prime of Celestica Tetracornacapria.”

Confused, Rodimus moved to the statue adjacent to it, depicting the Autobot sage Alpha Trion.

“Don’t believe a word he says - Alpha Trion of Kutanzuule.”

Rodimus’ mind raced. As he turned to move to one of the statues on the opposite wall, he jumped back as he spotted a massive, green figure standing before him.

“I apologize for startling you.” Steam emitted from Liege Maximo’s glowing red maw as he spoke. “Admiring the artwork, are we?”

Rodimus glared at him as he assumed a defensive position. “What’s going on here? What kind of game are you playing?”

“No game,” Liege Maximo said, raising his hands. “I simply wished to have an honest conversation with you, one on one.”

“It’s hard to take that ‘honest’ part seriously when all of your statues are warning me about you lying,” Rodimus retorted.

“Oh, don’t mind them. They’re just there for decoration.”

Rodimus remained in his defensive position and watched Liege Maximo carefully as he stepped up to his own statue.

“I’m sure you have countless questions plaguing your mind right now,” the ancient Prime said as he ran a hand along the plaque. “And I intend on answering them… but first, there is a lot of things you must understand.”

“Like what?” Rodimus asked.

“Like the fact that everything the history records have told you about Cybertron’s past is a lie. Or, in some case, that they heavily obfuscate the truth. If you knew all the things I did about how Cybertron began and everything that happened during my era, then perhaps you and your friends would have been better prepared for what is happening as we speak.”

“So, what, you brought me here just to give me a history lecture?” Rodimus said dryly.

Liege Maximo chuckled, though it sounded more like metal scraping together. “I assure you that it won’t be a waste of your time. Besides, as the reigning Prime, you deserve to know everything about those that came before you.”

Rodimus Prime supposed there was some logic in that, as much as he resented himself for admitting it. With some reluctance, he allowed himself to relax. “All right then. I’m all ears.”

Liege Maximo smirked at him. “I think it would be more appropriate for us to relocate to the main chamber, so we can get more comfortable.”

“Is this going to be a long lesson?”

“Oh, not too long,” Liege Maximo said as he turned for the main doors. “We only have over twelve thousand years worth of history to go through.”

CONVERGENCE: CONCLUDED

Transformers Regenerated: Pax Cybertronia XII, Chapter Twelve

SQUARE ONE

Everything was falling into place. Finally.

The ores had been recovered. Those of Elonia and Tsiehshi had been successfully recovered; the Solstar Order had been no match for the overwhelming Terrorcons and defenseless Tsiehshi had been simple enough to procure. The Decepticons on Cybertron had provided the Autobots with a large enough distraction that they were unable to answer Devisiun’s cry for help as Amalgamous Prime and his forces invaded the colony and got what they needed. Fortunately, Amalgamous had shown enough restraint and had left behind only a couple hundred casualties in his wake.

The Emberstone was complete. Banzai-Tron’s operatives had been rather prompt in retrieving the four missing fragments of the Emberstone. The Grand Architect was almost ashamed to admit that he had underestimated them initially and had been ready to send his Lunarians to retrieve the fragments themselves. In any case, he couldn’t complain; the lost artifact of Quintus Prime was finally in his possession.

The Talisman was secure. Scorponok and the Ultracons had done a good job of keeping it out of the Autobots’ reach, and with a reborn Megatron and his new Decepticon Empire now in the picture, it would be even more difficult for the Autobots to upset his plans.

Megatron’s return was another success in of itself. As much of a nuisance they had been, the Titan Masters had played right into the Architect’s hands by freeing Guiltaur and attempting to uncover Megatron’s personality. The message had already been fabricated and planted long before then, with the intent of tricking the Decepticons into ending up under his command. But now that Megatron had actually returned — one way or another — only made things easier for him.

The loss of Rung was the only setback that the Grand Architect could perceive. It was the only setback so far but a major one, nonetheless. The Matrix that he was meant to create was a pivotal component of the plan; without it, everything the Grand Architect had done would be for naught.

The Benzene was nearly clear. The God Gun was complete, waiting to receive the ores. Everything was almost in place. Rung was the only missing piece.

His patience was wearing thin. Perhaps it was time for him to be more… direct with his approach.

It would be incredibly risky, especially for him. But it was more or less guaranteed to get results. And results were what he needed more than anything.

His decision made, the Grand Architect made his move.

*  *  *

“What’s going on? Why are we moving?”

“I don’t know!” Jetfire raised his hands, stepping away from Metroplex’s controls. “He just… he just started moving by himself!”

“That’s impossible.” Elita-One stepped over to stare at the monitor. “Metroplex is dead. How can he—”

“Wait,” Thunderclash spoke up. “How can Metroplex be dead? We’re flying in him right now!”

“A friend of mine destroyed his spark a couple of years ago,” muttered Krok. “I guess the rest of him is operating fine, but don’t expect him to transform any time soon.”

“Get me footage of his spark chamber,” Elita ordered Jetfire. “See if there’s something going on down there.”

“There is no need.”

Everyone’s attention was directed to a small purple figure standing in the doorway to the command center.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” the diminutive robot said. “I needed to get your attention somehow.”

“Take us back,” Elita snapped. “Our friends are down there and in trouble.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I cannot do that.”

“Wait, I know that voice.” Skids eyed the stranger carefully. “You’re Blackrock. Garrison Blackrock, right?”

“That was my ‘human’ name. I prefer to be called Sovereign, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Big name for such a tiny bot,” remarked Whirl. “What gives you the idea of coming in and hijacking our ship?”

“We needed to get you off Earth and away from the Decepticons,” Sovereign replied. “None of you realize the power they contain down there.”

“Hang on a minute; who’s we?” asked Springer.

“Myself and my fellow Titan Masters.”

At that, several of the Autobots — as well as Krok and Spacewarp — drew their weapons and pointed them at Sovereign. The tiny purple bot regarded them all with a passive look.

“I understand that you are not on friendly terms with us,” he calmly stated. “However, now is not the time for old grudges—”

“Old?!” snapped Brainstorm. “You stole our heads, like, last week!”

“…We all have a common enemy: the Grand Architect.”

“What do you know about the Grand Architect?” asked Star Saber, carefully stepping forward.

“Not much more than you, I’m sure,” Sovereign said. “We made a deal with him via the Destructons and Scorponok to help us procure the Underbase. However, our plans for the Underbase have fallen through and we ended up terminating our alliance with the Grand Architect. Needless to say, he didn’t take it well and we were forced to escape our base of operations when Scorponok attacked and took the Underbase for himself.”

“What were your plans for the Underbase?” asked Elita.

Sovereign hesitated for a moment before speaking. “We… were fulfilling the will of our master, Onyx Prime.”

Many in the room reacted to the name in surprise. “Onyx Prime?” Elita repeated. “I thought he and the other Primes were pursuing Liege Maximo.”

“Ah. So you know about that, then.” Sovereign rubbed his chin with intrigue. “Well, in any case, he wanted us to access the Underbase and download everything it knew about Cybertron’s ancient history, especially that surrounding the Primes. He wanted us to broadcast the information to every Cybertronian and expose the Primes for the faulty dynasty they are.”

Primal Major frowned in confusion. “That sounds… incredibly hypocritical.”

“I agree. That is part of the reason why we decided to abandon our base; I had come to realize that there was no point in serving a member of a dynasty we were trying to expose and break down.”

“And just what is it that Onyx is up to now?” Skids asked. “Is he chasing Liege Maximo or is he doing this whole anti-Prime thing?”

Sovereign lowered his head. “I’m afraid I don’t have the answers. I didn’t even know about the Liege Maximo thing until one of the others picked up on it while they were laying low on Cybertron, before we began our operation.”

Elita sighed before beckoning the others to lower their weapons. While they reluctantly did so, she fixed the Titan Master with a hard look. “All right. As long as this isn’t a trick, we can put our past grievances aside… for now. How do you propose to help us?”

“I can elaborate once we get back to Cybertron,” Sovereign replied. “What I can tell you is that I do have an idea on where Onyx Prime is right now… and I have a feeling it may also lead us to the Grand Architect.”

“Are you saying Onyx is working with the Grand Architect?” asked Star Saber.

“I don’t know that he is. But considering how intertwined all our paths have been, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Nor would I,” said Elita. “Very well. Once we get to Cybertron — and convince Rodimus and the Council that you mean no harm — we can hopefully get to the bottom of all this.”

*  *  *

At Elita’s behest, the Autobots and Decepticons that had been gathered in the command center were sent to their assigned habituation suites and await further orders. Swerve, being Swerve, had offered to find an engex distillery somewhere on Metroplex and provide everyone with some much needed fuel. While some of his fellow Crusadercons accepted the offer, Rung was not one of them. Instead, he returned to the room he had locked himself away in earlier and returned to his old case notes.

Perihelion. Ephemeris. Eucryphia. So many of these names were ones he had heard from history records but had no memory of every meeting. Some of these he knew dated as far back as the age of the Thirteen Primes. Was he really that old? Had he truly been around for that long?

This question confounded him as much as his alt mode and purpose had, if not more so now that he had solved those last two. His life was still a giant puzzle with half of the pieces missing.

As he continued to scroll through the notes, a knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” Rung said, not looking up as the door slid open.

A large shadow fell over him and Rung turned in his seat to a large golden robot. He instantly recognized them as Ten, the reprogrammed Legislator that Swerve kept around as help at his bar.

“Ten! What a pleasant surprise.” Rung rose to his feet. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting you at all; I thought you’d be with Swerve, helping him with drinks.”

He expected the response to be “Ten,” as it typically was with the ex-Legislator. Instead, what Ten said turned out to be more than one, mono-syllabic word.

“I need you to follow me.”

Rung blinked, taken aback by Ten’s newfound speech. “I… beg your pardon?”

Ten extended a large hand to him. “Please. The fate of the universe depends on it.”

“Ten, I’m afraid you’re not making much sense. What’s going on? Why are you—”

“Please.” There was a sudden sense of urgency in Ten’s voice, as if he was practically begging. “He’s going to hurt me.”

This only increased Rung’s confusion. Still, the tone Ten was displaying pushed him to take his hand and, before he knew it, he was being warped out of the room.

*  *  *

“GONE?! What do you mean he’s gone?!”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger!” Swerve said, backing away from Skids. “I was trying to fetch Ten and saw him go into Rung’s room so I went in there and they were both gone! I swear I didn’t do anything!”

Skids growled as he punched the wall, leaving a fist-sized dent in it. Nautica, Nightbeat, and Brainstorm stood by with shocked expressions, having all heard the news Swerve had just delivered.

“Well, that’s just great,” Brainstorm muttered. “Impactor took the gauntlet with him, so we can’t use that—”

“Then make a new one!” Skids exclaimed, whirling on him.

“I don’t have the resources, buddy!” Brainstorm shot back. “I was barely able to gather enough to make the first one and its modifications! We’ll have to wait until we’re back on Cybertron so I can access my old lab there.”

“I just don’t understand why Ten would go missing to,” said Nautica. “Was he the one who took Rung?”

“He used to be one of Tyrest’s Legislators,” Nightbeat pointed out. “Maybe Tyrest some how got control of him again.”

“But how would Tyrest even know about Ten? Someone on the ship would have had to have….”

Nautica trailed off as she spotted a small black-and-blue bot come from around the corner. Upon spotting the five Autobots, Wipe-Out stopped in his tracks and his optics went wide as they all turned to look at him.

“Oh, bullocks.”

He turned to run away but Skids was too fast for him, charging towards the mini-bot and tackling him to the floor. As Wipe-Out struggled in vain to escape the Autobot’s grip, Skids drew a gun and pointed it at the Decepticon’s head.

“Did you have anything to do with this? Speak up!”

“I had no choice!” Wipe-Out whined. “If I didn’t do something to get back into his favor, he was going to kill me along with everyone else!”

“Did you tell Tyrest about Ten?” asked Nightbeat.

“I told the Grand Architect. I still have his frequency number from when I did jobs for him as a blacksmith.”

“Wait, you’re still in contact with the Grand Architect?” Nautica asked. “Could you call him now?”

Wipe-Out shook his head. “He told me to delete it after I called him. He said if my idea worked, he would come and get me.”

Skids frowned as he slowly pulled his weapon away. “Do you know where he is now?”

“No. I don’t know anything about him. I just know he wanted your orange friend — the one with the eyebrows. Don’t ask me why he wants him; I just… I just don’t want to die!”

As Wipe-Out began to break down again, Skids released him and rose to his feet, leaving the Decepticon sobbing on the floor. He turned to Nautica and the others with a grave look.

“Once he calms down, we should bring him to Star Saber, Elita, and the others. He might be our only lead to this Grand Architect.”

“We should ask Anode, too,” Nautica suggested. “She used to work for him as well. She claims she doesn’t know much….”

“But at this point, we could use everything we can get on him,” Nightbeat finished for her.

Brainstorm looked between them and the sobbing Wipe-Out. “Fine,” he said with a heavy sigh. “But I’m not babysitting him.”

*  *  *

Within seconds, Rung and Ten found themselves in a large, scarcely lit chamber. Rung could barely see Ten in the darkness that surrounded them.

“Where are we, Ten?” Rung asked softly. “What is this place?”

“Ten,” the reprogrammed Legislator replied.

He let go of Rung’s hand just as a bright blue light filled the chamber. Rung raised his arm to shield his optics from the sudden illumination.

“Good,” a mysterious voice spoke out, echoing throughout the room. “It worked. I figured it would be simple enough to reconnect Ten to the same network as the other Legislators.”

Rung felt his fuel turn cold. He had just been rescued a few hours ago and already he was back to square one. “No,” he murmured. “This can’t be happening.”

“It is. It must. Ten said as much, didn’t he? The fate of the universe depends on it.”

Rung knew he had heard the voice before, back when Tyrest’s forces had first captured him. “I take it I am speaking with the Grand Architect?” he asked.

“Oh, it is well past the need for such formalities. We are on equal ground here, you and I. It is only right that you know me by the name I was born under.”

The light dimmed enough to reveal a figure standing at the top of a stairway. Clad in silver and blue armor-plating, he stood like a majestic idol, as if he was a statue crafted by the finest sculptors of Cybertron. The blue light bathed him from behind, highlighting his regal form.

Rung recognized the design. He had seen the statues; seen the depictions in the stained-glass windows; seen the dramatic representations in holo-dramas. But it couldn’t be. Even if he was a believer, there was no way it could be who he thought it was.

“My name,” the Grand Architect said, “is Adaptus.”

Shock gripped Rung and he could do nothing but watch as the silver figure descended the staircase. The Grand Architect gazed down at him with a look of… was it sadness? Happiness? Rung had no idea how he was supposed to interpret the figure’s expression nor whether it was a face that should be trusted. After a moment of silence, Adaptus extended a hand to him.

“It’s been too long… brother.”

Rung felt his optics flash as the whole world started to spin around him. The last thing he remembered before everything went dark was his body involuntary transforming and changing shape as the orb in his chest began to glow….

Transformers Regenerated: Pax Cybertronia XII, Chapter Eleven

MAKING THE CUT

Impactor remembered his first day as a Wrecker well.

It was near the end of Cycle 6891 when he was recruited personally by Threnody. The Wreckers themselves had only been a round for a few months, having made a name for themselves for their successful if controversial campaigns against the Decepticons. Not long after the Battle of Vaporex had concluded, Impactor was greeted by Threnody’s shimmering holographic form and told that he had made the cut. Hearing this had amused Impactor, seeing as his commanding officer at Vaporex had chewed him out for slaughtering four unarmed Decepticons during the battle.

From that day forward, Impactor finally felt as if he belonged. No longer did he have to endure the chorus of disapproval every time he made a move that no one else was brave to; in fact, the others often encouraged his bloodthirstiness. “Sometimes, you have to do whatever it takes to get results,” Threnody would often tell him. “The sooner Sentinel Prime and the others realize that, the sooner we can end this war.”

Impactor lived by those words every functioning day. Even after Threnody was thrown into the X-Dimension, even after Sentinel Prime disbanded the Wreckers, Impactor lived by those words. He would always think less of whoever was in charge — whether it was Sentinel, Zeta, or Optimus — because he knew they could never be brave enough to do whatever it took and get results. Prime or not, they would have never made the cut.

That was why he was here now, teleporting into the Ultracon camp, and not Springer or Elita or Star Saber or anyone else in the Titan above. He was going to do whatever it took to buy them time to escape. He was going to make the cut.

As Impactor finished materializing, several Decepticons drew their guns and pointed them at him. Scorponok and Scourge stood in front of him, putting whatever argument they were having aside to focus on the intruder.

“For Primus’ sake, what is it now?!” Scorponok growled.

“I recognize you,” Scourge said quietly, narrowing his optics at the purple-and-yellow Autobot. “You’re one of the Wreckers. Impactor, isn’t it?”

Impactor glared at him. “Of course you recognize me. You know me, Optronix… assuming you really are in there.”

Scourge blinked at the sound of Megatron’s former name. “Ah, that’s right. My apologies; his memories can be difficult to sift through sometimes. I daresay some of them are even repressed. Tell me, did you get along with him well?”

“I’m not here to reminisce,” Impactor grunted, brandishing his harpoon. “I’m here to stop you.”

Scorponok laughed mirthlessly. “Stop us? You are vastly outnumbered. How could you possibly hope to stop us?”

“Who said anything about hope?”

Scorponok shook his head, smirking. “Typical Wrecker. Your rashness and bravado know no bounds. No wonder you have such low survival rates.”

“Tell you what,” Impactor snapped. “After I’m through with you guys, we can compare percentages.”

With that, he fired his harpoon at Scorponok’s face. The large Decepticon swiftly swung a claw at it and cut the blade off from its wire. Just as a savage grin crossed his face, he was struck in the helmet by a blaster bold courtesy of Impactor’s gun. The other Decepticons wasted no time in unloading their own weapons and Impactor charged head-first into the line of fire.

Banzai-Tron was the first to collide with him, foolishly placing himself between the Wrecker and the two Decepticon leaders. Pulling the Ultracon in with his harpoon-less arm, Impactor fired several shots into Banzai-Tron’s head before pushing him to the ground. Shatter moved next, lunging at him with a dagger held high above her head. Impactor narrowly dodged the blade in time, scraping against the back of his head. He then tackled Shatter to the ground and pinned her there as he raised his gun and shot down two more incoming Decepticons.

“Stop!” Scourge cried. “Hold your fire!”

The Decepticons did as commanded, though not without a fair number of confused looks. Even Scorponok was regarding Scourge with a perplexed expression.

“It’s obvious you’re trying to buy your friends time to escape,” Scourge said, carefully stepping up to Impactor and the downed Shatter. “Why else would you be doing some thing so brash, so stupid?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Impactor growled through gritted dental plates. “Is it so hard to believe that I just really want you dead?”

“Oh, not at all. I just wanted to let you know that it worked.”

Impactor raised a confused optic ridge before looking up to see that there was one less Titan in the sky. Metroplex had already departed and was but a shrinking dot in the sky of Verenya.

“Huh,” he muttered. “I expected them to stick around longer than that.”

“Shouldn’t we have Trypticon take pursuit?” Scorponok asked.

Scourge shook his head. “No need. As far as I know, Metroplex is essentially a flying corpse. Without a spark, he poses no real threat to us.”

“But the Autobots—”

“Forget them. They will be dealt with as need be.”

Scorponok started to shake as he fumed. “See, this is why you — why Megatron never got anything accomplished as leader! If you had just killed Prime whenever you had the chance, we would have conquered Cybertron centuries ago!”

Impactor couldn’t help but be amused. Clearly Scorponok’s take on Megatron was not much different from his own feelings on Optimus Prime.

“Come now, Scorponok,” Scourge said. “Surely you, of all bots, know the meaning of patience. How long have you been running your operations here on Earth?”

The larger Decepticon flexed his claws. “Too long.”

“And how many successes have you had since then?”

Scorponok laughed. “Oh, more than you would like to think, I’m sure. In fact, I have one such accomplishment with me right now.”

Scourge turned to him with an expectant look. “You don’t say?”

“I do.” Scorponok grinned widely as he opened his chest compartment. “And after a mere nineteen years of work, I can proudly say….”

He reached into the compartment… and froze. All smugness vanished from his face, replaced with shock as he rummaged around in the cavity. “No. No!” He extended his sensors to look within his chest, only to find nothing. “WHERE IS SHE?!”

As Scorponok continued to search in vain for his project, a disinterested Scourge returned his attention to Impactor. “While Scorponok continues to embarrass himself, would you mind removing yourself from Shatter? There’s no need for theatrics at this point.”

“Give me one good reason,” Impactor grunted. “And that reason better be you offering yourself up for execution.”

Scourge sighed, though Impactor knew it was merely for show. “And here I was hoping you could be reasoned with. Would someone mind restraining him?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Dropping his gun, Impactor clenched his fist and began to charge up the gauntlet again. Moving in a blur, he jumped off of Shatter and threw himself at Scourge, colliding into the dark clone of Optimus.

A flash of energy surrounded them both as they were transported across the galaxy. When everything cleared, the pair found themselves situated on the edge of a massive smelting pool. A red, molten liquid bubbled beneath them.

“You remember this place, don’t you, Optronix?” Impactor said, grinning mirthlessly. “Lucifer. Former throne-world of Straxus. The planet where you first died.”

Scourge narrowed his optics. “I don’t recall ever losing my life here.”

“I was being metaphorical. The day you were captured by the Decepticons here was the last time I ever saw the Autobot I knew. The Optronix who came back — who started calling himself “Megatron” — was nothing but a monster.”

“I thought you did not want to reminisce,” Scourge said pointedly.

Impactor chuckled dryly. “I just wanted to take a quick nostalgia trip before I ended you for good.”

With that, he moved to push Scourge into the smelting pool only to feel a sharp pain through his chest. His internal sensors scrambled, he could barely register the blade-like arm jutting from his chest before it was retracted. He fell to his knees as energon poured from his wound.

“No.” He coughed, sputtering oil onto the floor. “It wasn’t… s’posed to be like this.”

“I’m afraid not everyone can have a dramatic end, old friend,” Scourge said quietly. “Even bots of your caliber can die in stupid, pointless ways.”

Impactor laughed, despite the agony it caused him. “Ah, I wouldn’t go that far. Besides, this is only my second time dying. Someone gave me a second chance and… honestly? I’d say it was worth it.”

Scourge scoffed. “I fail to see how.”

“’Course you don’t.” Impactor shook his head. “If there’s one thing that hasn’t changed about you, Optronix, it’s your inability to see pass your own ego.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” Scourge muttered. “If there’s an Afterspark, I hope you enjoy your permanent stay there.”

“I hope so, too.” Impactor smiled. “If I see Kiloton, I’ll tell her you said hi.”

A raged cry filled his audio sensors as Scourge grabbed him by the neck and hurled into him into the smelting pool. The molten liquid bubbled as it accepted him into its embrace.

*  *  *

Viral watched as Impactor sank beneath the surface of the smelting pool. As soon as he had seen the Wrecker throw himself at Scourge, he had traced their trajectory and used his own Transwarp drive to follow them here to Lucifer. Viral hadn’t even realized the smelting pools on Lucifer were still active, what with Straxus being long gone and the Decepticons having largely abandoned their territory.

In any case, he pushed such concerns to the back of his mind as Scourge turned to face him. His arm still wet with Impactor’s energon, Viral dropped to one knee and bowed his head.

“I live to serve you, my liege.”

Scourge regarded him carefully with cold red optics. “Why did you do it?”

“To save you, of course.”

Scourge shook his head. “No, there’s more to it than just that. I’ve read up on your files, Viral. I know all about your attempt to usurp one of Shockwave’s schemes for your own personal gain. Why now have you decided to put another’s life before your own? You could have easily allowed Impactor to kill me.”

Viral spared a moment to choose his next words carefully. “All my life I’ve been living in Shockwave’s shadow. All of my attempts to impress him have been rejected and he has denounced me as a failure. Since then, I’ve had no motivation to proceed with my ambitions and I had resigned myself to serving the Grand Architect for the rest of my life. But when I realized just who you were, after Fearstorm and I encountered you… I saw an opportunity to finally find meaning again.”

“So you’re trading one master for another.” Scourge raised an optic ridge. “Have you no sense of independence?”

Viral shook his head. “I tried to make something of myself, on my own, but that did not do me any good. In fact, it is the reason for why I’m in the predicament I’m in now.”

Scourge hummed softly to himself. “You remind me of Starscream.”

Viral tensed. Those words could not be further from a compliment.

“Still,” Scourge went on, “I suppose I could have use for another sycophant. Considering how controversial my return appears to be with Scorponok, I could use someone by my side until my return to power is solidified.”

“Whatever you ask of me, it shall be done,” Viral said.

“We shall see,” Scourge murmured, though it sounded more like he was speaking to himself. “We shall see.”

*  *  *

Sari breathed heavily as she tried to stop her heart from pounding. She didn’t know how long she had been running, but she had gotten far away enough from the city and into the forest on the outskirts that she could stop and take a brief rest.

She still wasn’t sure how she had gotten out of Scorponok’s compartment. Something within her had just awakened and before she knew it she was on the ground, watching as a large purple-and-yellow robot shot at the Decepticons. She took advantage of the momentary distraction and fled from the city, never stopping to look back. As far as she knew, no one had spotted her.

Leaning against a tree for support, Sari wiped sweat from her brow as she looked back towards Verenya. Part-machine or not, she definitely still had all of the weaknesses of the average human. She didn’t know how long she would be able to survive out on her own, in a part of the world she was not familiar with. Unless she found another place of civilization, there would be no way for her to make it back home or to the Autobots.

Did she even have a home to go back to? She still had no idea what had befallen her father or if Jack and her friends were even still alive. Even if she made it back to America, would she still have a place to call home?

Before such thoughts could consume her, a large gust of wind blew into her face. As she shielded herself from the leaves and dirt being thrown at her, she spotted a large green, claw-shaped spaceship landing somewhere deep in the forest, bringing down some of the trees with it. Once the vessel had landed and settled, a ramp lowered from it and a giant spider crawled out, followed by a brown, non-feathered dinosaur of some kind.

God, can this day get any weirder?

“We’re here,” the Velociraptor snarled, glaring at the huge arachnid. “Now would you care to explain yourself?”

“You heard the message, Dinobot,” the spider replied, clicking its mandibles. “Megatron had returned. The Decepticons are regathering.”

“But we are not Decepticons!” squawked a red pterosaur, flying out of the ship. “We are Predacons! Why should we bother rejoining our Cybertronian brethren?”

“Who said anything about rejoining? No, this is merely an opportunity to progress with our own plans. We feign allegiance with Megatron until we can gain access to the Talisman and use it to bring back our true leader.”

“When you say ‘our plans,’ you really mean ‘your plans,’ don’t you, Tarantulas?” Another spider — a black widow — came up from behind Dinobot. “As far as I know, the only one who had a clear plan in his head was Gnashteeth, and he’s not here.”

Tarantulas clicked his mandibles again in irritation. “So narrow-sighted you are, Blackarachnia. Once everything comes to fruition, you will look back to this moment and thank me.”

“Over my dead body,” Blackarachnia hissed.

“That can easily be arranged.”

“Enough!” Dinobot snarled. “We are not alone.”

Sari froze as the raptor turned its eyes towards her. Before she could make a move, the pterosaur swooped in and picked her up. She screamed as it brought her towards the rest of the Predacons and dropped her in front of Tarantulas.

“Another one of your experiments, eight-eyes?” Terrorsaur asked. “She’s registering as part-Cybertronian.”

Sari’s heart began drumming against her chest once more as Tarantulas leaned in closer to her.

“Oh, my,” he whispered. “This is… this is more than I could ever dream of.”

“That’s not saying much,” muttered Blackarachnia. “Your dreams are twisted.”

Ignoring the remark, Tarantulas gingerly picked Sari up with his pincers and began walking back towards the ship.

“Stop!” Sari cried. “Where are you taking me?”

“Quiet,” Tarantulas hissed. “I’ll come back for you once everything is—”

“No! I’m sick and tired of being treated like some… some… science subject! Let me go!”

Without warning, Tarantulas transformed into his robot mode. His pincers became his claws as he held Sari up to his hideous face, visor glowing with annoyance.

“Now listen here, fleshbag,” the Predacon growled. “If you don’t silence yourself, I will gladly remove your head and study everything else.”

“I said— LET ME GO!”

A blast of energy burst from Sari’s chest. Tarantulas let out a pained scream as he released Sari and let her fall to the floor. Except she didn’t fall; she was hovering in place with newfound wings keeping her afloat. The rest of her body had converted into its more mechanical appearance and a faceplate had fallen over her face. She looked down at her arms just as a pair of blades extended from them.

You’re obviously a killer machine, a voice spoke up in her head. Now act like one.

As she saw Tarantulas moving to grab her again, she lunged without thinking and plunged her blades into the Predacon’s chest. As the spider howled in pain, she kicked herself off and activated a pair of thrusters on the bottom of her feet, blasting out of the ship. Having had absolutely no practice in flying like a superhero, she zig-zagged along the way, banging into walls and pistons before finally making it out into the forest. After flying past the other Predacons, she burst out of the forest canopy and began flying in the only direction she could think of: west.

She could only hope that she had enough fuel or energon or whatever to make it home. Once there, she would be able to collect her thoughts before deciding on how to proceed.

For better or for worse, her life had changed forever. It was time to make the best of it.

Transformers Regenerated: Pax Cybertronia XII, Chapter Ten

    What do you get when you cross quarantine with mini-break from college? Extra long chapters!

UNRAVELING

“We have a lock on Scorponok and his Decepticons,” Elita-One said to the assembled Autobots and Maximals in Metroplex’s command center. “They are down below in the city of Verenya. Our fellow Autobots Jazz, Cliffjumper, and Mirage — as well as our human ally Sari — are also down there. The last thing I want to do is to bring harm to any of them, so here’s how we’re going to do things:

“A group of us — no more than ten — are going to head down to meet with Scorponok. Provided he doesn’t attack us, we’re going to kindly ask that he releases our allies. If he doesn’t, then you can guess how things will go from there.”

“And if he does?” asked Impactor.

“Then it will serve as proof that the universe has no limit to the amount of surprises it can spring upon us,” Elita replied. “Does anyone have any questions before we move forward?”

“Actually,” Skids spoke up, “I think Rung has something to say to us.”

All optics were on the orange psychiatrist bot, who shifted slightly from all of the attention. Elita tilted her head with an intrigued expression. “Very well, Rung. Please step forward.”

Rung dipped his head as he slowly stepped to the front of the room. He took a moment to look upon the gathered Autobots — some of them friends, some of them former patients — before taking a deep breath to cool his internal fans.

“For the longest time, my alternate mode and function has been as much a mystery to me as it has been to you all,” he began, his voice soft yet loud enough for them all to hear. “When the Functionists evaluated me, they classified me as an ornament because they had no idea what I turned into. As far as they were concerned, I shouldn’t have even existed because I served no apparent purpose.

“That all changed when I ended up in Tyrest’s custody. He revealed to me that I had the ability to create photonic crystals — the same photonic crystals used to store spark energy derived from the Matrix of Leadership, leading to the creation of cold-constructed bots. After the Matrix went dry, Nova Prime had my memories erased so that my ability could not be exploited.

“Of course, that still left the question of my alternate mode. I’ve discovered for myself that I can create the crystals without needing to transform, so what was my alt mode for?”

“To cure Dire Wraith-infected Autobots!” Swerve shouted from the back of the room.

Rung smiled. “Funny you bring that up, Swerve, because that is related to—”

“Hold on a nano-second,” Nightbeat interjected, a wide grin on his face. “Can I just… can I be the one to say it? Because I think I just solved it.”

“Nightbeat,” an exasperated Star Saber started.

“No, no.” Rung shook his head. “It’s quite all right. Please, Nightbeat.”

The detective’s arms were shaking as he raised them to point at Rung. His face looked like it was about to be split in half by his smile. “You created the Matrix of Leadership.”

“Correct.”

“YES!” Nightbeat pumped his fist, doing it so hard that he hit Skids in the abdomen with his elbow. A wave of confusion washed over the rest of the crowd.

“I’m sorry, did I hear that correctly?” Whirl asked. “Are you telling me Eyebrows here made the freakin’ Matrix?”

“I can’t say I remember ever doing it,” Rung admitted. “However, it would explain a lot; why I can create photonic crystals, why I was able to cure Thunderclash and the others of Dire Wraith infection….”

Star Saber rubbed his chin. “It would also explain why Tyrest and whoever he’s working with are so interested in you. They must want you to create another Matrix for them.”

“Yeah, should I mention that Fearstorm and Viral paid us a visit earlier?” Skids said, rubbing his dented midsection. “They were scared off by some voice talking in their heads.”

“Oh, good, so I’m not the only one going crazy.”

All eyes shifted from Rung to a green Decepticon jet standing with Impactor and his Wreckers. Fractyl was bouncing nervously on the heels of his feet, his chin permanently rested on his hand.

“What are you saying, Fractyl?” asked Springer.

“I just heard Megatron’s voice,” the green jet said quietly. “He was telling all of us Decepticons to gather here on Earth.”

“I heard it too,” murmured the former double agent Punch. “I didn’t pay much attention to it because… well, I’m used to hearing voices in my head that aren’t my own.”

“Impossible,” Elita muttered, an aghast look on her face. “Optimus told me he died when they turned him into Guiltaur.”

“Well, we know that Guiltaur is on the loose now,” commented Arcee. “And that he’s going by the name ‘Scourge’ now.”

“God, how many names can a bot have?” asked Sandstorm. “Sounds like an identity crisis just waiting to happen.”

“This greatly complicates things,” Star Saber said, looking at Elita. “If Megatron has somehow returned, and the Decepticons are converging here on Earth….”

Elita grimaced. “Then we might end up needing an extra Matrix.”

*  *  *

“Come on, you old fool… answer me already!”

Scorponok growled to himself as he paced back and forth, scowling at his hand-held holoprojector. Metroplex continued to hover in the sky like some vast, predatory bird. Banzai-Tron and the others scrambled like robo-chickens without heads. He wasn’t concerned with either of those things; at least not until he got the answers he desired.

He’s not back. He’s not back. Scorponok repeated these words like a mantra in his mind. He refused to accept the mere prospect that Megatron was alive and ready to retake control. It would upset everything Scorponok and the Grand Architect had been working towards. After so many setbacks and failures, he would not allow for another one to take hold.

At last, the holo-projector lit up and displayed the signature emblem of the Grand Architect. When Scorponok’s enigmatic superior spoke, there was a hint of irritation in his voice. “What is it?”

“Grand Architect!” Scorponok snarled. “Something foul is afoot!”

“Is there?” The Grand Architect could not have sounded more disinterested. “Please, elaborate.”

“We have heard Megatron’s voice. All of the Decepticons — including myself — have heard him, ordering us to converge on Earth.”

“Oh, so you’ve gotten the message? Excellent.”

Scorponok’s face clouded with confusion. “What—? Are you saying this was planned?!”

“Of course it was,” the Grand Architect said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s why I needed you and the Ultracons to establish a presence on Earth, so as to make this phase of the plan proceed more smoothly.”

Scorponok was at a loss for words. All he could do was stare at the gear-shaped symbol as he envisioned all of his plans — his century’s worth of plans — crashing down upon him.

“Is there anything else you wish to tell me?” the Grand Architect asked. “Or have you finished wasting my time?”

Forcing himself to return to reality, Scorponok replied in a quiet, almost monotonic voice. “The Autobots have arrived in one of their Titans. We are planning to use the Talisman on it.”

“I would strongly suggest against that. The Talisman is vital to our plans and we can’t risk wasting it on some Autobots.”

“But… they have a Titan! We don’t!”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Scorponok!” Banzai-Tron called from behind. “Reinforcements have arrived!”

Scorponok did not move his gaze from the Grand Architect’s insignia even as it dissipated and the holo-projector switched off. Even when the giant form of Trypticon materialized in the sky, still Scorponok remained standing. Unmoving.

*  *  *

“We have a Titan-sized problem.”

“Ya’ don’t say, Cliff’?” Jazz asked as he and the other two stared up at Trypticon, who had just materialized in the sky seconds after they had emerged from the underground chamber. “’Cause I’m pretty sure we all can see that.”

“Let’s get a move on,” Mirage said. “I see Metroplex up there as well; that must be Elita and the others.”

Jazz and Cliffjumper followed him through the abandoned streets of Verenya, moving closer towards Metroplex’s position while avoiding detection from the Decepticons. Fortunately, it seemed like the ‘Cons were preoccupied with the sudden arrival of two Titans that they didn’t have time for three escaped Autobot prisoners.

As they sneaked past the main Decepticon camp — where Scorponok and the others were — Jazz spotted a black truck with red-tinted windows rolling towards them. Not sure if it had seen them as well, Jazz ushered the other two into a hiding spot behind a nearby building, from which they watched the black truck as it approached the camp.

“Hey, I recognize that truck,” Cliffjumper whispered. “Isn’t that Nemesis—”

Jazz shushed him as he continued to watch the truck. It rolled into the camp without disturbance, likely because the Decepticons were too busy to deal with intruders especially when those intruders already looked like one of their own. The truck then transformed and assumed a robot form that bore a distinct resemblance to Optimus Prime, albeit in black and silver rather than red and blue. As the dark copy of Prime began to approach Scorponok, Jazz increased the sensitivity of his audio sensors in order to pick up on their conversation.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” the evil Optimus began.

Scorponok whirled around to face him, his face contorting with rage. “And just who do you think you are?”

“You don’t recognize me? I suppose we’ve never been formally introduced. You may call me Scourge.”

“Scourge.” Scorponok spoke the name with distaste. “I remember you. You were a virus Megatron created to corrupt his brother, before he became Optimus Prime. Have you taken control of Prime’s body once again?”

“Oh, no. I was removed from his body quite some time ago. This body I have now is… more unique, I’d like to say, though it is somewhat of an amalgamation.”

“Fascinating. I wish I could find it in me to say that I care, but I really don’t. State your business here before I permanently remove you from my list of today’s annoyances.”

“Is that any way to speak to your leader?”

Scorponok moved with a start at the sudden change in Scourge’s voice. Jazz frowned as well, finding something in the dark clone’s tone to be frighteningly familiar.

“If it’s all the same to you,” Scourge went on, “I think it would be prudent for me to assume command of your operations.”

“You will command nothing,” Scorponok retorted, his large frame shaking. “I am in control here!”

“Have you not gotten the message, then? I thought Megatron had returned—”

“HE’S NOT BACK!” Scorponok swung a clawed arm at Scourge and knocked him to the ground. All of the other Decepticons stopped what they were doing to witness the display.

“Megatron is dead!” Scorponok bellowed. “You are all being deceived! The Grand Architect is lying to you!”

“I thought you served the Grand Architect,” stated Banzai-Tron.

“That was before I realized how foolish I was to throw myself in with him,” Scorponok growled. When Scourge started to stir, the larger Decepticon brought his foot upon him, pinning him to the ground. “But now… I’ve decided it would be best if I took matters into my own hands.”

Scourge chuckled, despite the large foot pressing into his chest. “Egotistical as ever. I should expect nothing less from you, Scorponok.”

Scorponok sneered at him. “You know nothing about me, clone.”

“Nothing at all? Not even about how you were defeated in the pits of New Kaon?”

Shock washed over Scorponok as he removed his foot from Scourge and staggered back. The larger Decepticon watched with his mouth agape as Scourge rose to his feet and casually dusted himself off.

“How… how do you know…?”

“I know everything about you that Megatron does,” Scourge calmly replied. “His memories are mine as mine are his. This body is his as much as it is mine.”

Scorponok’s horrified expression matched the one Jazz was wearing. Cliffjumper noticed and frowned at his fellow Autobot.

“What’s going on?” asked the red Autobot.

“I think we have something worse than a Titan-sized problem,” Jazz murmured.

“And what’s that?”

“A Megatron-sized problem.”

*  *  *

“Elita—”

“I see it, Jetfire. Everyone can see it.”

“I’m not talking about Trypticon,” Jetfire said. “I was going to say that I’ve found Jazz, Mirage, and Cliffjumper.”

Elita redirected her attention from Trypticon, who hovered in front of them in his ship mode, to look at Jetfire. “You have?”

“They’re right below us, give or take a few miles. Is there anyway we can bring them aboard without attracting unwanted attention?”

“We’ve still got Brainstorm’s teleportation gauntlet,” said Nautica. “We never ended up using it because Skids kind of rescued himself.”

“Emphasis on ‘kind of,’” Skids muttered.

“May I do the honors?” asked Thunderclash, raising a gauntlet-covered hand.

Elita exchanged a glance with Star Saber, who merely nodded in response. “Fine,” she said. “Just be careful.”

Without another word, Thunderclash clenched his fist and charged up the gauntlet. Within seconds, he was gone with a flash of light. Elita then turned back to Jetfire.

“Any movement from Trypticon or Scorponok’s camp?”

“Nothing yet,” Jetfire answered. “It’s almost as if they’re waiting for something.”

“What about Sari? Any sign of her?”

“Her signal is smack dab in the middle of where Scorponok and the others are. In fact, it seems as if her signature moves whenever Scorponok’s does.”

Elita grimaced. “He must be holding her in his chest compartment. Sideswipe told me that was where he put her when he captured her.”

“So, what?” asked Primal Major. “Do we teleport a Mini-Con into his chest and grab her? Do we even have a Mini-Con on board?”

“Doesn’t that Spacewarp lady carry a Mini-Con around with her?” piped up Swerve.

“Yes, but no one’s seen her, Krok, or Nickel since the Dire Wraith incident,” Star Saber said. “I’m starting to worry they might have heard Megatron’s message and left us already….”

“You only wish that were so, Autobot.”

Everyone turned to see the three aforementioned Decepticons enter the command center. Some of the Autobots tensed up but none of the Decepticons showed any signs of hostile intent.

“So, what was this about teleportation I was hearing?” asked Spacewarp.

“We believe that a human ally of ours is being held in Scorponok’s chest compartment,” Elita explained. “We’re wondering if we can teleport someone small enough into his chest and rescue her.”

“Do you even have something that can teleport someone?” asked Krok.

“We have a gauntlet, which Thunderclash is already using.” Elita glanced at Brainstorm. “I don’t suppose it can work on a Mini-Con as well?”

Brainstorm rolled his optics. “Considering that I didn’t design it with Mini-Cons in mind and that the risk of having your atoms scattered is already high for a normal-sized bot, I wouldn’t exactly recommend it.”

Springer pointed at Spacewarp. “What about that thing you used to get rid of the Star Seekers and Leo Prime’s followers back on Earth?”

“You mean the Transwarp Blaster?” She shook her head. “It can’t send anyone to a pre-set destination. It’s always random; your chances of ending up in Scorponok’s chest are equal to ending up in a black hole.”

“Great. So what does that leave us with?”

Before anyone could answer, there was another flash of light as Thunderclash rematerialized in the room, this time joined by Jazz, Cliffjumper, and Mirage. Thunderclash wore a proud look on his golden face while the other three had more dour expressions.

“That didn’t take long,” Thunderclash said. “I’d say that’s a record time for a swift rescue—”

“Elita, we have a problem,” Jazz said, quickly stepping up to her.

“I’m well aware of Trypticon’s presence, Jazz.”

“It’s not just Trypticon; Megatron’s returned. He’s somehow possessing Nemesis Prime — Scourge — whatever his name is!”

“Scrap.” A dark cloud fell over Elita’s face. “This complicates things severely.”

“Give me a break,” Impactor growled, scraping his harpoon attachment against the wall. “We’ve got over two hundred Autobots and a Titan. They’ve only got half that amount of Decepticons and a Titan. We can beat them! We’ve gotten through worse.”

“Except Sari would be in the middle of it all,” Elita said. “Techno-organic or not, she is still more fragile than any of us. Even if we don’t accidentally kill her while fighting Scorponok, Scorponok could just as easily kill her or use her as a bargaining chip or something.”

Impactor scowled. “For spark’s sake, would you forget about the stupid human? If Megatron is down there, he needs to be stopped once and for all! This may be our only chance!”

Elita frowned disapprovingly at him. “I am not risking the life of an innocent human for anything, even if it means killing Megatron. Optimus wouldn’t do it—”

“Guess what? None of us are Optimus. Stop beholding yourself to his values. If it wasn’t for Prime’s self-righteousness, Megatron would have been dealt with centuries ago!”

“Impactor,” Springer said sternly. “Stand down.”

“Don’t you start giving me orders!” Impactor snapped, waving his harpoon arm at his successor. “You lost that right when you sold me out at Pova!”

“I didn’t sell you out; I brought you to justice.”

“Justice?! For doing what’s right?! Give me a break.” Without warning, Impactor turned to Thunderclash and grabbed his covered hand, pulling the gauntlet off. “I guess I’ll just have to do things myself.”

“Impactor, stop!” Springer drew his sword, ready to lunge at his former mentor and predecessor. “You’re better than this! Don’t be stupid!”

“I want you all to do me a favor and get your asses to Cybertron,” Impactor went on as he placed the gauntlet over his servo. “Whatever is brewing here, we aren’t prepared for any of it. Go back to Cybertron and tell Rodimus what’s happening. I’ll buy you some time.”

“No! Impactor, don’t—!”

Springer moved to cut Impactor’s arm off but was too late. The veteran Wrecker clenched his fist and teleported away, blinding everyone with a flash of light.