Transformers Regenerated: Pax Cybertronia XIV, Chapter Four

 CHAPTER FOUR

Cybertron - Maccadam’s Old Oil House

“Care for some vintage Visco? I’ve been keeping it stored for the last two thousand years.”

“Uh, no, thanks,” Punch said, declining the energon Maccadam was offering him. He and Toxitron stood with the proprietor of the Oil House in the facility’s lowest level, with containers of old, even obscure variations of energon surrounding them. 

Toxitron was acting remarkably quiet and calm, considering the fit he had just thrown not too long ago. Considering that Maccadam claimed to know something about who Toxitron was, Punch wasn’t sure if the old bot was having some kind of effect on the Optimus clone. Toxitron was watching Maccadam carefully as the latter placed the can of Visco back on the shelf before turning to face the two Autobots.

“Now then,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Where shall we begin?”

“I suppose we could start with how you know Toxitron in the first place,” said Punch. “Have you two met before?”

“Oh, not personally,” Maccadam replied. “I simply have my way of knowing things; things that others would not expect me to know.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Maccadam said nothing as he raised his hands to his optics and pulled them away from his face. In fact, they were a pair of spectacles that revealed a set of normal-sized optical sensors underneath. He then handed them to Toxitron, who instantly recoiled from him.

“What the hell are you doing?” the Optimus clone growled.

“Put these on,” Maccadam said gently.

“Why? How do I know I can even trust you? You’re just a freaky old bot who I’ve only known for a few minutes. No way am I putting something you give me on my face!”

“If you want to know the truth—”

“I don’t want to know the truth!” Toxitron snapped. “I’m perfectly happy not knowing anything about who or what I was before the Secret Order captured me and… and….”

His voice trailed off as his gaze returned to the spectacles. Punch watched his expression carefully, unable to get a read on it. After a few moments, Toxitron slowly reached for the spectacles and took them from Maccadam’s hands.

“Punch,” the Optimus clone said quietly, “if anything happens to me, I want you to beat the crap out of him.”

“Uh, sure,” Punch replied, glancing furtively at Maccadam who remained calm and cordial. “I’ll, uh, I’ll do that.”

Seemingly satisfied with this response, Toxitron raised the spectacles to his face and put them over his optics. As he stood there, Punch glanced back at Maccadam.

“Is something going to happen?”

Maccadam shook his head. “Not from our perspective. But from his… it will be a whole other story.”

Toxitron’s memories

“End of the road, Imperious. This ends now.”

Toxitron blinked as he tried to register where he was. He was no longer in Maccadam’s but instead standing alongside his fellow members of the Convoy Corps, sword and gun drawn. He looked down at his body and realized he was no longer in that disgusting yellowish-green and purple color scheme and instead back in his blue and red deco.

He was no longer Toxitron. He was Battle Convoy once more.

“Any last words?”

The bot speaking was Optronix, leader of the Convoy Corps, who had his gun trained on the intimidating figure standing before the Convoys. Lord Imperious Delirious regarded them all with a look of disinterest, as if they were simply children playing with toys rather than battle-hardened soldiers of war.

“Is this truly the best Cybertron has to offer?” the leader of the Destructons said. “I am sorely disappointed.”

“We have already defeated your three cronies,” Optronix said. “They’re waiting for you in the dimensional cell that the Logicons have cooked up.”

Lord Imperious chuckled. “And just what makes you think we simply won’t break out and wreak havoc once more?”

“Surrender, Imperious. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Lord Imperious started to move, but before Battle Convoy could see what the Destructon was about to do, the scene around him changed. He was now sitting in a room, staring down at his sword. Its red blade was worn with rust and stained with dried energon. He looked up to see a large bot in blue and red armor standing before him.

“Well?” Delta Magnus asked, looking down expectantly at him. “What do you say? Do you want to make a difference in the world again?”

The scene changed again before he could even hear his answer. He was now lying on a slab of metal, bolted down and unable to move. Three figures stood over him, watching him closely as he squirmed in his constraints.

“I’m not sure how well this is going to go,” said a black and gray bot with a teal faceplate. “Unlike the other one, he is a bit more… volatile. Resistant.”

“Just put him into stasis lock then,” said a mech in black and silver. “That’s what we’ve done for all the other rejects.”

“We’ve already tried that, Magnificus. He still keeps coming back online and interrupting the process.”

“I have something that might work,” said a bot with armor that was a sick shade of green.

The teal-faced bot gave him an exasperated look. “Oil Slick, if it’s that Tox-En garbage you’ve been talking about—”

“You’ve never given me a chance to put it to the test, Vivisector! It just might produce the results we need!”

“And if it doesn’t?” asked Magnificus.

“Then we’ll just toss him in with the other rejects,” Oil Slick replied. “He’ll just… smell worse, is all.”

Magnificus sighed. “Fine. Do whatever you need to do. Just make sure you clean up afterwards.”

All Battle Convoy could do was thrash and scream as the other two Decepticons closed in on him. Once more, the scene changed around him and he was back on Metascan Alpha, being hoisted up in the air by one of Lord Imperious’s arms, while he held Optronix and Magna Convoy in two others.

“You’re right,” the leader of the Destructons said coldly. “Let us not make this harder than it needs to be.”

His face split open and Battle Convoy was assaulted with a barrage of colors and visuals, overloading his processor. He screamed out in sheer agony, yet he could still hear Lord Imperious’ words ring in his head as the Destructon spoke to him again.

“There is no point in existing. Just let go. Surrender yourself to the everlasting sleep that awaits you.”

Battle Convoy clawed at his face, trying to block out the images, the screams, his own screams, the voices. But he couldn’t; no matter how hard he tried, he could still hear them. 

“No!” he cried in between screams. “No! No!…”

Maccadam’s, the present

“NO!” Toxitron roared as he tore Maccadam’s lenses from his face, tossing them onto the floor. He moved to lunge at Maccadam himself only to be shoved into the wall by Punch.

“Stop!” the double agent said. “What did you see? What made you—”

“Get off of me!” Toxitron pushed Punch off of him before turning to Maccadam. He pointed a shaking purple finger at the old orange bot, his eyes narrowed. “Don’t… don’t ever make me relive that again. There’s a reason I want to forget about my past.”

“I know,” Maccadam said gravelly. “But your memories may just be what we need to stop the threat that is to come.”

Punch looked at him. “What do you mean?”

Maccadam bent down to pick up his spectacles, returning them to his face. “As I’m sure you know by now, the Destructons have returned and are in league with this Grand Architect that has been making the rounds. However, I feel that the Destructons’ involvement in the Grand Architect runs deeper than we have been led to believe.”

“What are you talking about?” Punch asked. “And what is this ‘we’ stuff we’re talking about? You haven’t been seen by anyone for several thousand years and all of a sudden you’re acting like you’ve been with us this whole time!”

Maccadam smiled at him. “Because I have been with you. You’ve just never realized it.”

Before Punch could even begin to ask the old mech to elaborate on this further, he heard footsteps behind him and turned to see the barkeep Ebrius step down into the cellar.

“Sir, there’s someone asking to see you.”

“I am not expecting anyone else, Ebrius,” Maccadam said. “Just wave them off as you would any other—”

“He says his name is Sovereign.”

Maccadam went quiet at this, his body tensing. “Oh, dear,” he muttered. “I was not expecting him to figure it out that quickly.”

“Figure what out?” Punch asked.

Maccadam shook his head, waving a dismissive hand. “It is none of your concern. I think it would be best if you two left now; we can continue this conversation at a later time.”

“How about ‘never?’” Toxitron grunted, already headed to leave the cellar. “’Never’ sounds good to me.”

However, just as Toxitron reached the door, it was blasted off of its hinges and went flying into him, knocking him to the floor. Emerging from the other side was a diminutive purple robot, propelled by thrusters in his feet while his hands crackled with energy.

“Maccadam,” Sovereign said, speaking the name with a hint of irony. “You have much to explain.”

“Sovereign. What a pleasant surprise,” Maccadam said, though Punch knew he was faking the surprise in his voice. “How may I be of service to you?”

“Don’t bother feigning ignorance,” Sovereign growled. “If you know who — and what — I am, then you know why I am here.”

“You could still be here for a thousand different reasons. Please, be more specific.”

Sovereign shot a bolt of energy at the wall behind Maccadam, scorching it. “Stop playing games, Alchemist! I know that Iaconus is here!”

“Do you?” Maccadam asked, unfazed by the outburst. “What leads you to that conclusion?”

“I accessed Fortress Maximus’ database and discovered Iaconus to not only be alive, but here on Cybertron. You’ve been hiding him in plain sight for over seven thousand years.”

“An interesting deduction. And, supposing this is true, what exactly do you plan to do about it?”

Sovereign hesitated for a moment. This moment was all Toxitron needed to get back up and hurl the door back at the Titan Master, sending him flying into the wall. The small purple robot fell to the floor, alive but unmoving.

Turning to Maccadam, Punch said, “I’d say you have a lot of explaining to do, old mech. Care to share your secrets with the Council?”

“I suppose I don’t have much choice, do I?” Maccadam replied. “Can’t say I’m in the mood for having a door thrown at me.”

Toxitron glared back at him as he continued walking out. “Don’t tempt me.”

Council Chambers

“…in short, we have no means of accessing Carcer’s space bridge and therefore have no present means of rescuing Rodimus Prime.”

The gathered members of the Council of Worlds listened in on Cerebros’ report, grim looks all around (save for Knock Out, who looked as if he preferred to be anywhere but here).

“That is… not good to here,” stated Dai Atlas. “Do we have any other indicator as to Rodimus Prime’s current location.”

Cerebros’ holographic form shook its head. “I’m afraid not. As far as I’m aware of, neither Liege Maximo nor Carcer have an actual colony world associated with them.”

“There must be something,” said Moonracer. “We can’t just give up now because of this.”

“Or we can just accept the prospect that Rodimus Prime may be dead,” muttered Knock Out, not looking up from the nail he was inspecting. “Just putting that thought on the table.”

“Until we have even a shred of evidence, we cannot be certain either way,” Tigatron stressed. “I suggest we double our efforts to find Prime rather than lessen them.”

“What other leads do we have though?” asked Airazor. “Fortress Maximus’s space bridge was our only hope at reaching him, because that was where we lost him.”

“Er, not quite,” Cerebros murmured. When the councilors all turned to look at him, he quickly added, “We actually still have the Prowl clone who initiated this whole incident in captivity.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so earlier?” demanded Fireshot.

“Because ever since the incident, he’s gone completely offline,” Cerebros explained. “I’ve been keeping him in Fortress Maximus’ brig, trying to wake him back up, but to no avail. I suppose we have no choice but to use a mnemosurgeon or something like them to extract his memories.”

“That can easily be arranged,” said Knock Out. “I believe one of our new Titan Master allies is a mnemosurgeon, correct?”

Dai Atlas shook his head. “That is something the old Council would have done, back during Sentinel Prime and Proteus’ reign. I refuse to stoop to those levels. No, we will have to use approach more within the law. Cerebros, can you take me to see this ‘Prowl?’”

“Certainly.”

“Then I shall address this matter myself.” To the other councilors, Dai Atlas said, “The meeting is adjourned for now. I will summon you here again if any developments arise.”

“I wasn’t aware you had been appointed leader,” Knock Out started to mutter, only to be shushed by Moonracer.

Ignoring the remark, Dai Atlas turned back to Cerebros. “Lead the way.”

Transformers Regenerated: Pax Cybertronia XIV, Chapter Three

 CHAPTER THREE

Planet X

“Did you know about any of this?”

Convoy glanced at Rodimus Prime as he sat across from him in their shared holding cell, listening to the screams of those being tortured by the Quintessons. “Why do you ask?” he muttered.

“Was any of this part of what Liege Maximo told you?” Rodimus pressed him. “Like Primus being the Grand Architect or the Quintessons being involved.”

Convoy sighed, not meeting the younger Prime’s gaze. “Yes. Or at least, it was part of what he told me.”

“Listen,” Rodimus said carefully. “I know whatever it was he told you made you… lose it for a bit. But if what’s just happened has given credence to his story… then maybe now is a good time as any to let me in on it, if only so I can have a better understanding at what’s going on.”

Convoy looked up at him, his expression stoic. “You won’t like it. It will break you, as it did me.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Rodimus said.

The older Prime stared at him, as if he couldn’t decide whether Rodimus’ courage was remarkable or foolish. In any case, after a few moments of silence, Convoy began to speak.

Convoy's Tale

You know the truth by now, I’m sure. Or, at least, the truth as you understand it. The thirteen who called themselves Primes were not demigods created by Primus to carry out his will; rather, they were simply the last thirteen left after so many others had fallen to their own hubris. The alliance they held was a fragile one at best and one that quickly fell apart thanks to the machinations of Liege Maximo and his accomplice Megatronus.

But little is spoken of the time that preceded the Thirteen; the era which people today remember as the Age of Wrath. After the departure of the Knights of Cybertron, the five-faced aliens who called themselves the Builders arrived, claiming to have been sent from the heavens to protect Cybertron in the absence of the Knights. This was a lie, of course, and they used this deception to bring our race to heel, turning us into slaves for labor.

What no one realized at the time… no one save for a select few… was that this was not the first time the “Builders” had been to Cybertron.

You know about the legend of the Guiding Hand, yes? A pantheon of five gods created from Primus himself? Well, as I’m sure you realize by now, there is truth in that legend. The Builders created Primus as a combiner made up of five components. Four of them were given the names Adaptus, Epistemus, Mortilus, and Solomus. The fifth component — who you know as Rung — was never named. His sole purpose was keep the other four connected and to eventually create the Matrix of Leadership.

Not long after, Cybertron’s twelve hot spots were ignited, bringing forth the first generation of Transformers. This generation — led by twelve who called themselves “the Covenant” — were what became known as the Knights of Cybertron. Under the guidance of the Guiding Hand, the Knights built the civilization that all Cybertronians live in today. The Builders had departed from Cybertron by this point, for reasons that I am not clear on.

Alas, like the legends that were based on them, the alliance between the Guiding Hand did not last. However, it was not Mortilus who turned against the others, but rather Adaptus. It was Adaptus’ belief that the Cybertronians needed to make their mark on the rest of the universe so as to be respected as the metal giants that they were. The others objected to this, advocating that they remain peaceful and isolated from the rest of the universe. Outvoted and outnumbered, Adaptus fled from Cybertron to one of its two moons. There, he fired a weapon on Cybertron that erased the memories of everyone dwelling on the planet, forcing them to forget about the Guiding Hand and for the remaining “gods” to forget their own identities.

Life went on as normal, with the Knights leading Cybertron in place of the now-amnesiac Guiding Hand, who ended up creating new identities for themselves. Mortilus took on the name Censere, who you may know as the Necrobot. Solomus named himself Tyrest after one of the first cities the Knights had constructed. Epistemus was christened Oculus, and Rung… well, you already know him well enough, I’m sure. Only Adaptus remembered who he was as he observed the rest of his race from afar, while he tasked the newborn natives of Luna 1 — Lunarians, as he dubbed them — with building a set of engines to make the moon mobile.

Realizing what had happened, the Builders returned to Cybertron and quickly subjugated the planet. It would be another five hundred years before we were finally able to overthrow them and drive them off of Cybertron. By that point, Adaptus’ minions had finished their work and Luna 1 disappeared from orbit. I know not to where he had departed, and Liege Maximo was not willing to divulge that knowledge to me.

Of course, the Builders’ hadn’t truly left. One of the Primes — Quintus Prime — was in fact another one of their creations and through her they continued to manipulate the Cybertronian race for their own schemes. Everything that happened from that point onward — from the War of the Primes to orchestrating the return of the Chaos Bringer — all leads back to the Builders and their attempts at bringing the Cybertronian race back under their control. They wanted to break us, to bring us to our lowest point as a society, to make us so vulnerable that we wouldn’t stand a fighting chance when they eventually returned.

What we’re dealing with now — Primus and this God Gun of his — is their last ditch effort. From what I have gathered from Liege Maximo, the Builders had for the most part ignored Adaptus and his work as the Grand Architect. They had no faith in him actually getting this far. But with Quintus Prime and Unicron gone, they pretty much have all their money on him. I’m not quite sure what Primus’ endgame entails… but I doubt it can be anything good.

Bottom line is… everything we’ve done… everything anyone has done… has all been part of the Quintessons’ game. Name one major event in the past ten, hundred, even thousand years and you can tie it all back to them. Never for a moment have we been truly freed from their rule.

The Age of Wrath never ended, Rodimus Prime. We are still living in it.

*  *  *

Convoy fell silent, his tale finished. Rodimus Prime sat in silence, still taking in what the older Prime had just told him. While it had answered his initial questions, it had also brought up a dozen others. Not wanting to press Convoy for information that he likely did not have, Rodimus instead decided to shift focus to more present matters at hand.

“We need to get out of here and rescue the others,” he said quietly.

“And how exactly do you propose we do that?” Convoy asked. “We can’t exactly pull off the trick we did last time.”

Before Rodimus could reply, he heard someone approach their cell. He looked through the bars to see a tentacled figure with an oblong head flanked by a pair of Allicon guards. The Quintesson Prosecutor had a sinister grin on his face as he regarded the two captive Primes with a mocking look.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting,” said the Prosecutor. “We have been preoccupied with our current series of trials. Two hundred prisoners is a lot to go through, you know.”

Rodimus Prime scowled as he got up to his feet, storming up until he was face-to-face with the Quintesson, with only the bars of the cell separating them. “As the current Matrix-bearer and leader of Cybertron, you Quintessons holding me captive isn’t exactly a good look for you.”

“Ah, but you do not currently carry the Matrix, do you?” the Prosecutor said snidely. “Therefore, you have no more authority than the average grunt. Not that you had much authority to begin with.”

Rodimus gripped the cell bars, glaring at the tentacled alien. “I demand to speak with whoever is in charge. I don’t care if it’s Primus, Liege Maximo, or one of your five-faced judges. I need to see someone.”

“And exactly what is it you hope to accomplish by speaking with them? Doing so will not change the outcome of your sentence.”

“So, what, I don’t even get a lawyer? Some justice system this is.”

“Seeing as how one-fifth of your beloved creator is a former Chief Justice, the odds were never in your favor to begin with.” The Prosecutor then made a gesture and one of the Allicons pulled the cell door open. Before either Rodimus or Convoy could make a move, the other guard pressed a switch on a remote control, causing energy rings to suddenly appear and wrap around the two Primes, binding them tightly.

“As it so happens, however, your presence is called for elsewhere,” the Prosecutor went on. “Who knows? You might just get your wish.”

As the two of them were dragged away by the Allicons, Rodimus glanced over at Convoy. “How worried do you think we should be about this?” he whispered.

“If you have to ask,” Convoy replied, “you already know.”

Bionicle Alternatives: Altered Legends I, Chapter Two

 CHAPTER TWO

“So, we’re down how many Matoran spheres?”

“I counted at least twelve,” said Nuju as he and the other Toa Metru walked out of the Coliseum. “There could still be more.”

“And just how are going to look for them?” asked Onewa. “We have no idea who’s taken them or to where. We have absolutely nothing to go off of.”

“They couldn’t have gotten far,” Nokama pointed out. “They must still be in Metru Nui, unless they’ve found transportation.”

“Or they brought their own.”

Vakama brought the group to a stop at the gates to the Coliseum, turning around to face them. “All right,” he said. “Clearly we’re going to need to split up if we hope to cover enough ground and find whoever’s stolen the Matoran before it’s too late. I suggest we break off into pairs and head to each metru. Onewa and I will go to Po-Metru to rescue Turaga Dume. Whenua, Nuju, you two will head to Onu-Metru; if there’s any good place for hiding Matoran, it would be the Archives.”

“That leaves me with the lovely water-maiden!” Matau said with a wide grin. Nokama simply regarded with a weary expression.

“You two will head to Ga-Metru,” said Vakama. “Maybe you can find something at the Great Temple. We’ll meet back here in two hours.”

“And if any of us run into trouble?” Whenua asked.

“Then we’ll know where to find each other.”

Onewa shrugged. “Works for me. Let’s get going.”

Nokama looked as if she was about to say something but, seeing that the others were already heading off for their respective destinations, decided against it. “Very well,” she said quietly, turning to leave with Matau. “May the Great Spirit guide us.”

*  *  *

From afar, two sets of eyes watched from the shadows as the six Toa went their separate ways. One of the two beings leaned forward, flexing their claws as they bared a vicious set of teeth.

“That must be them. The Toa who killed Krekka and Nidhiki.”

“Must be,” said his companion.

“Shall we deal with them now?”

“And ruin the fun before it’s even begun? You must be new to this, my friend.”

The first being glared at the other one. “I’ve been at this just as long as you have, if not longer.”

The other being chuckled. “Then you should know that the thrill of the hunt is the most exciting part, and makes the final catch all that more satisfying.”

“Fine,” the first being acquiesced, though he did not sound all too happy about it. “So which ones do we go after first?”

“Let’s see.” The other one brought out a powerless Kanoka disk and flipped it. “Of course they had to split up into three groups instead of two. Odd numbers always makes these decisions more difficult.”

“I don’t see why you even have to do that. Just make up your mind and—”

“Tails.” The other being loaded up their projectile weapon. “We go after the red one.”

Onu-Metru, sometime later

“You know, I was really hoping I would never have to come back here.”

Whenua glanced at Nuju as the two of them stepped through the ruins of Onu-Metru, approaching the entrance to the Archives. By this time, he was well aware of the Toa of Ice’s distaste for revisiting the past, which was pretty much the essence of the Archives themselves. As a former Ko-Matoran scholar, Nuju was instead more focused on the future and had no interest in looking back at what had come before. After countless disagreements, Whenua had given up on trying to change his mind.

Still, Whenua couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy himself about returning to the Archives. Due to the Cataclysm, the Rahi that it had once contained were sure to have been let loose and were either roaming the city or still dwelling in the underground levels beneath Onu-Metru. Not knowing what dangers awaited them, the two Toa would need to proceed with intense caution.

Upon reaching the entrance to the Archives complex, the door to which had fallen off, Whenua activated his mask power and cast a light into the dark room. Abandoned tools and materials lay scattered across the floor of the lobby. Whenua shuddered at the eerie sight, knowing that mere days ago Onu-Matoran that he had considered to be his friends had been working here only to be abruptly recalled by the false Turaga Dume, who had lured them to the predicament all of the Matoran were currently in. He didn’t believe he had ever seen the Archives this empty and quiet before.

The two Toa Metru soon reached the first of the vast Archives’ many levels. Even with Whenua’s Mask of Night Vision still on, it was difficult to navigate through the darkness.

“I really hope we don’t run into any old friends here,” Nuju muttered.

“Old friends?” Whenua asked.

“You know what I’m talking about. Like that mutant Ussal crab. Or that shapeshifting room. Or even that two-headed Tarakava. Where do you Archivists even find things like that?”

“Most of the time, others find them for us. Our job is just to preserve them and make sure they don’t cause any more harm… or that others don’t cause harm to them.”

Nuju scoffed. “If you really want to make sure of that, then I say just find some way to dispose of them.”

At this, Whenua stopped and turned to face Nuju. The Toa of Ice shielded his eyes as his brother’s mask glowed in his face.

“How can you say something like that?” Whenua snapped. “Rahi are living creatures, just like us!”

Nuju shook his head. “Not like us. They’re just savage beasts that can’t tell a Matoran apart from its dinner. They— for Mata Nui’s sake, will you shine that light somewhere else?”

Scowling, Whenua turned his back to the Toa of Ice, still fuming over his words. “They’re still alive. They still have thoughts and emotions, like us. Just because they’re more primitive or ‘simple’ than us doesn’t mean we can just rob them of their lives like that.”

“But when a Rahi turns out to be so dangerous to the livelihoods of others that it can barely be tamed, what does that tell you?”

Whenua did not have an answer for that. “Let’s just focus on the mission,” he muttered instead as he pressed onward.

The further along they went down the corridor, the more unsettled Whenua felt with how… quiet everything was. He knew why it was quiet, and would probably be more bothered if things weren’t quiet as it would have meant that they weren’t alone. But since Vakama had deduced that they were, in fact, not alone made the silence that more eerie and unsettling. The fact that they had yet to come across any wild Rahi yet did not make him feel better.

“Do you think the Rahi are hiding from us?” Whenua wondered aloud. “Would explain why they haven’t come out to greet us — kindly or otherwise.”

Nuju did not answer him.

Whenua rolled his eyes. “Look, we’ve had disagreements over things before. There’s no need to act petulant over this one. Surely the Matoran matter more than this.”

Still, the Toa of Ice said nothing.

The Toa of Earth huffed as he turned around, not caring if Nuju complained about the brightness from his mask. “Come on, don’t act so—”

He immediately stopped talking when he realized that Nuju was no longer standing behind him. Looking around, he could see no opening that the Toa of Ice could have gone through or fallen.

“Nuju?” he called out, brandishing his Earthshock Drills as he scanned the space before him with the light from his mask. “Where are you?”

He heard movement behind him and he turned around, expecting to see Nuju safe and sound. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of a tall, gangling being with thin, wiry limbs. Their armor was a mismatch of silver and gold over dark blue and green. Red eyes glowed from their large crowned head, staring down at Whenua with a look of contempt.

The Toa of Earth stepped back, raising his tools defensively. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“Not so loud,” groaned the other being, sounding more annoyed than angry.

Before Whenua could make a move, he felt something hard strike him in the back and he instantly seized up, unable to move. He then felt something — or someone — rob him of his tools as the wiry being in front of him stepped forward to grab him.

“That’s two of them down,” it said. “How many more to go?”

“Not enough, for my liking,” said another being, one Whenua could not see as the wiry one picked him up and slung him over his shoulder. “I’m already starting to enjoy this.”

“Let’s wait until the others report back. If we don’t hear from them in the next couple of hours, then we join in on the hunt.”

Unable to so much as whisper, Whenua could only listen to his own mind scream as the Dark Hunters carried him into the depths of the Archives.

Transformers Regenerated: Pax Cybertronia XIV, Chapter Two

 CHAPTER TWO

Cybertron

“Fort Max, I love you, buddy, but you’re really making this difficult.”

The Titan was silent as Cerebros stood at the controls to the space bridge, which had pretty much become Cerebros’ primary working station ever since Rodimus Prime disappeared through it. According to the former councilor Obsidian, the other Titan the space bridge had been linked to at the moment of the incident had been Carcer, the mobile colony of Liege Maximo. However, something was preventing Cerebros from linking the bridge with Carcer’s again; whether it was Fort Max or Carcer’s doing, or that of someone else, he had no idea. It also did not help that Obsidian had been among the Decepticons who had defected and rejoined Megatron….

Groaning in frustration, Cerebros turned away from the controls to face the other bots in the room. Sentinel Major — better known to Cerebros as the Titan Master Infinitus — stood at the back with his arms folded over his chest. With him was the Titan Master known as Sovereign, who had been behind the incident that had saved Cerebros and Infinitus from certain death. He had also been responsible for the plot to abduct several Autobots and Decepticons to some less than moral ends, but that was apparently water under the bridge now given that the Titan Masters were now aligned with the Autobots in handling the current situation.

Deciding it was best to focus on the present rather than the past, Cerebros said to Sovereign, “He’s been unresponsive ever since the incident. His systems are still online and his vitals are strong and positive, so I know that nothing is wrong with him, at least not physically.”

“You don’t think he might be under the Quintessons’ control again, like last time?” asked Infinitus.

Cerebros shook his head. “I mean, I wouldn’t completely rule it out, but I highly doubt that to be the case. It’s been days and he hasn’t done anything to make me suspect that. Or anything period.” 

Sovereign stepped forward, regarding the controls to the space bridge with an inquisitive expression. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

Cerebros hesitated briefly before stepping aside. “Be my guest.”

He watched Sovereign carefully as the Titan Master stepped up to the controls. For a moment, he simply stood there and stared at them, rubbing his chin as if deep in thought. He then started to go to work, his hands dancing across the instrument panel as he pressed and flipped random buttons and switches.

“What the hell are you doing?” Cerebros asked.

“Quiet,” Sovereign hissed. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Could have fooled me.” Cerebros glanced at Infinitus, who was watching Sovereign with a scrutinizing expression. “Do you know what he’s doing?”

Infinitus said nothing, keeping quiet even as Sovereign finally stopped and stepped away from the control panel. At that moment, a holographic image projected itself in front of the trio, displaying what appeared to be a list of names.

“What… what is this?” asked Cerebros, his voice quiet.

“As I’m sure you know, every Titan is linked to one another by their space bridge,” Sovereign replied. “This is a list of every Titan currently in existence and therefore linked to Fortress Maximus’ space bridge.”

“Okay,” Infinitus said. “So why are you showing us this? We already know which Titan Rodimus Prime was sent to. It was Carcer — or Vigilem, rather.”

“I wasn’t finished. A Titan can only connect to another’s space bridge if that Titan is still functional. Now, the space bridge may still be operational even if the Titan’s spark is extinguished….”

“Such as with Metroplex,” Cerebros pointed out.

“Correct. However, if the Titan or their space bridge has been completely destroyed, then there’s no way to reach them.”

“What are you saying then?” Infinitus asked.

Sovereign moved his hand over the projection, sorting the names of the Titans by alphabetical order and bringing the list down to the V’s. In the spot where Vigilem’s name would have been was a very conspicuous absence.

“Oh, slag,” Cerebros swore.

“Clearly,” Sovereign said quietly, “Liege Maximo is willing to sacrifice his own Titan in order to ensure nobody reaches him or Rodimus Prime.”

Infinitus gestured to the list. “What about the other Titans? I think Windblade said that a couple had gone with the Primes who were hunting for Liege Maximo.”

“Yes, Metrotitan and Brave Maximus,” Cerebros supplied. “Although I believe Brave Maximus was recently reported to have been found on one of Earth’s neighboring planets.”

Sovereign scrolled through the list again. “Metrotitan and Brave Maximus are both still online and operational,” he reported. “Although I doubt it would be safe to access their space bridges without knowing what’s on the other side.”

“In any case, we should inform Dai Atlas about this,” said Cerebros. “Thank you for your help, you two.”

“No problem,” Infinitus said, turning to leave. He looked back over to Sovereign, who was still staring at the list. “Are you coming, Sovereign?”

“Just a minute,” Sovereign said, sounding slightly shaken. “There’s a name on here that… that shouldn’t be here.”

“What name?” Cerebros asked, looking at the list. Before he even had a chance to read it, Sovereign made the hologram vanish before turning on his heel and hastily departing from the room, pushing past Infinitus on his way out. After he had gone, Infinitus glanced over at Cerebros, who shared his look of concern and confusion.

“Should we go after him?” Infinitus asked.

“You go on ahead,” Cerebros replied. “I’ll send a report to Dai Atlas and the remaining council members.”

“You don’t know whose name it was he saw?”

Cerebros shook his head. “You would have to ask him.”

“Yeah,” Infinitus muttered, looking in the direction Sovereign had ran off in. “I don’t think that’s gonna be an easy task….”

Maccadam’s Old Oil House

“Uh… just how many of those are you gonna drink?”

“As many as I damn want,” growled Toxitron as he slammed down his fifteenth can of unleaded oil onto the counter. “Now shove it up your tailpipe before I do it for you.”

“Okay, okay!” The bot that had been sitting next to Toxitron got down from his stool and walked away. “Sheesh, some people….”

Satisfied that he was finally alone at the counter (save for the tired bartender), Toxitron proceeded to down the rest of his fuel before tossing the now-empty can onto the growing pile of others. “Get me another one.”

“You better be paying for all this,” the bartender said bitterly as he slid a sixteenth can across the counter.

Toxitron said nothing as he grabbed the can and began to guzzle it down as he had all the others. By now, most bots would have shut down at this point if not ten cans ago. But Toxitron was not like most bots. In fact, he didn’t even know what he was. Autobot clone? Decepticon experiment? Wrecker? With Impactor dead and gone, he wasn’t even sure about that last one. Springer certainly hadn’t approached him for an official membership. Since coming back to Cybertron, everyone had pretty much ignored him, most likely because of his nauseous smell which he still had no idea how to get rid of.

At the back of his mind, he could hear the words that the femme back on Mars had said about him; about who he used to be. Battle Convoy. That was his name, I believe, before we remade him.

He took another swig from the can, hoping to drown out the words once and for all. He hated hearing them. He wish he had never heard them in the first place. The very last thing he needed was an identity crisis.

Before we remade him.

“I think that’s enough, don’t you think?”

Toxitron slammed the can down and spun in his seat to glower at the yellow and blue bot that had appeared next to him. “FRAG OFF!”

“Hi to you, too,” Punch said dryly. He looked over to the pile of cans that had accumulated on the counter. “Sweet Primus, how many have you had tonight?”

“Not enough.”

“I’d say it’s more than enough.” Punch reached over to grab the can Toxitron was holding but thought better of it when the green and purple Optimus clone gave him a dirty look. Instead, he took a seat on the stool next to Toxitron’s, taking the place of the bot that had bothered him earlier.

“Listen,” the former double agent said, lowering his voice. “I’m trying to get to the bottom of something and I need your help.”

“What if I don’t want to help you?” Toxitron grunted.

“You have to. Because it involves you.”

Toxitron tightened his grip on his can, creating large dents around it. “And if I don’t want to be involved?”

Punch huffed in frustration, exasperated with Toxitron’s difficult nature. “Look, you remember when you were captured by Archforce and the other back on Mars, right? And that bot — Plasma or whatever her name was — said that you used to be named ‘Battle Convoy,’ right?”

Without warning, Toxitron got up from his seat and hurled his can over the counter. The bartender barely ducked in time to avoid it and it hit the wall, sending oil spilling everywhere.

“Hey!” the bartender exclaimed. “If you’re gonna start throwing a tantrum, then I don’t want you in here!”

Ignoring him, Toxitron whirled on Punch, his eyes glowing with rage. “Don’t ever speak that name to me again! It means nothing to me!”

“Evidently not, by the way you’re acting,” Punch said wryly.

“Shut up!” Toxitron swept his arm across the counter and sent all of the empty cans clattering to the floor. “Just shut up! I don’t ever want to hear that name again! Just shut up!”

Punch glanced at the bartender, who was giving both him and Toxitron a withering look.

“You’d better drag your friend out of here,” the teal-plated bot said gravely to him. “Before I call someone in to drag both of you out.”

Punch sighed as he carefully stepped up to Toxitron. “Come on, pal. Let’s take this outside.”

Toxitron’s response was to grab him by the neck and hurl him over the counter, sending him crashing into the bartender. As the two of them fell, Punch heard what sounded like a button or a switch being pressed, followed by a loud clunk. Before he could discern what it had been, the bartender immediately pushed him off and pulled him up to his feet.

“You two need to get out of here,” the bartender hissed into his audio receptor. “Now.”

Behind him, Punch could hear Toxitron scuffling with the bouncer. Jumping back over the counter, he moved in to break up the fight. “All right, that’s enough, Toxitron,” he muttered. “Let’s get out of here.”

Not listening to him, Toxitron threw a fist into the bouncer bot’s face. This was apparently enough to send the bot crumpling to the floor. The bar went silent as Punch stood over the motionless bot, unsure if they had just been knocked offline or worse.

The noise he had heard earlier sounded again. He turned in the direction of the bar to see a large figure emerging from a door behind the counter, coming up to stand beside the bartender. The newcomer had a stocky build, looking short yet bulky at the same time. His orange and dark gray plating looked worn from the passing of time, with faint scratches and dents indicating that he had been in battle once upon a time, somewhere in the distant past. His face, bespectacled by a pair of circular blue optics, was calm and cordial as he regarded the patrons of his bar — specifically Toxitron and Punch — as if they hadn’t just been fighting in his establishment.

“What appears to be the matter here, Ebrius?” he said calmly, as if he was asking about the weather.

“Maccadam,” the bartender said quietly. “I… I’m sorry if the ruckus disturbed you from your work.”

“Not at all,” Maccadam said cheerfully, patting Ebrius on the back. “Although it did grab my attention.” He focused his gaze on Toxitron and Punch, both who were staring in awe at the fabled owner of the Old Oil House. “How may I be of service to you two?”

“Oh, uh, we were just leaving,” said Punch. “My friend here got a little inebriated and—”

“I know what you are trying to do, Punch of Harmonex,” Maccadam interjected, a mischievous gleam in his optics. “I can help you.”

The double agent stared at him, taken aback. “How… how do you know my name?”

“The same way I know who your friend used to be; who he is trying so desperately to forget.” Maccadam made a gesture with his hand, motioning the pair to follow him. “Come with me. I have the answers you seek.”

Without waiting for them, Maccadam vanished through the door he had entered from, though he left it open for the two Autobots. Punch exchanged an uncertain glance with Toxitron before stepping around the counter and heading in, with Toxitron trailing close behind.

I know it’s cliche for bartenders to somehow know everything, Punch thought to himself. But this is ridiculous.

Transformers Regenerated: Pax Cybertronia XIV, Chapter One

 CHAPTER ONE

Primus stood alone in his chamber, staring at the viewscreen which displayed the God Gun. Over twelve thousand years worth of work was finally drawing to a close. Any minute now, the Drilling would commence and the Beast would be repelled.

After today, not only would all of Cybertron see him as their god once more, but the rest of the universe would hail him as a hero for stopping what would surely have been universal destruction. The Cybertronian race would no longer be feared by organics and they would finally be granted a place in the Higher Realms. It was their destiny. Primus could just feel it.

Despite it having been so many millennia, it only felt like yesterday that Primus — or rather, his component Adaptus — had begun this project. Through Adaptus’ memories, he could still vividly recall traversing through the Warren and arriving at this very moment, bearing witness to the arrival of the Beast. It was at that point that he fled back to his time and immediately began preparations for the inevitable arrival.

The Lunarians, his network of blacksmiths, the Infinites, his alliance with the Destructons… so much had gone into this. At several points had he been forced to revise his plans or even abandon them entirely in order to start anew. He would have been lying if he had said that there had never been a moment where he feared would not be able to properly confront and repel the Beast. But through will, determination and even sheer dumb luck, he was finally confidently prepared for what was to come.

Behind him, he heard the door to his chamber open and he turned around to see the visitor. Upon realizing who they were, he bowed his head in reverence. “Creator,” he said quietly. “I am graced by your presence.”

“As I am by yours, Primus,” the Creator replied. His egg-shaped body entered the room atop a small hovering platform, tendrils brushing against the floor. When the Quintesson spoke, his voice was raspy and quiet, yet its words resounded loudly in Primus’ head. “I am very impressed by your work. You have more than surpassed my expectations.”

Primus’ single optic telescoped inward. “As I recall, you put more faith into Quintus Prime’s plans than you ever did mine.”

“Quintus Prime’s goals were… more closely aligned with our own,” the Creator carefully answered. “We were far more interested in simply bringing the Cybertronian race back to heel than being involved in your grand scheme. But seeing as how our attempts with both Thunderwing and Unicron have failed, you have become our last resort.”

“Well then, it is a good thing I never gave up, despite your lack of support.” Primus turned his back to the Quintesson, facing the viewscreen again. “The Drilling will commence once all of the component worlds are properly aligned. Once it does, our forces will be ready for whatever happens next.”

“Excellent,” said the Creator. “In the meantime, the others and I will keep ourselves entertained with the Cybertronians that we have captured, including the ones Lord Imperious has brought in.”

Primus shook his head. “I still fail to see the entertainment value in the barbaric displays you deem as ‘sports.’”

The Creator smiled. “Oh, I don’t expect you to. I will admit… it’s a very niche pastime.”

*  *  *

Stockade was no stranger to gladiatorial matches. Over a thousand years ago, back when he was a warden working at Garrus-1, he had sneaked into an illegal match or two during his off-hours. While he had never participated in the matches themselves, he had experienced enough of them to know what the crowds were like: Loud, boisterous, cheering on their favorite champion while hurling jeers and insults at the opposing fighter, often getting into their own fights whenever the referees made a judgment they did not approve of.

That was not the case here. Here, the crowds were silent. Heck, there was barely anyone in the stands besides the tentacled overseers and the rows of guards lining the walls.

As such, there were nothing to block out the painful screams that filled the arena every time someone was pitted against the Autobot who called himself “Guzzle.”

From what Stockade had heard from some of the others, Guzzle had killed a good number of the Mayhems’ members back on Earth, including one of their field leaders Polar Claw. According to what they had described, Guzzle’s method of dispatching Polar Claw and the others were not normal for an Autobot and that even his comrades had expressed disapproval at his actions and attempted to stop his rampage.

After witnessing Guzzle punch a hole through Silverhound’s chest and tearing the Monstercon’s spark out, Stockade knew there had been no exaggeration in those accounts.

Silverhound’s body had since been joined by those of the Sunktitcons Malodor and Zorillor. The last Monstercon of the batch, a Crowcon named Pilfer, was trying desperately to fly out of Guzzle’s grasp, but the monstrous Wrecker had the avian Monstercon’s thin legs tightly between his large hands.

“Ya not going nowhere, birdie!” Guzzle bellowed, cackling madly.

“Let me go!” Pilfer cried, flapping his wings frantically. “I thought you were an Autobot! Why are you—”

“I’m no Autobot,” Guzzle rumbled. “I’m your doom!”

He then pulled Pilfer closer to him and grabbed the Crowcon by the head. Even Stockade had to look away as the Wrecker proceeded to tear the screaming Pilfer in half.

Once the Monstercon’s screams had died out (in more ways than one), the tentacled overseer spoke out from his perch. “Congratulations, Guzzle of Yuss. You have won the match. We shall recess for thirty minutes.”

“Hell yeah!” Guzzle roared as he threw Pilfer’s remains into the empty stands. “Just keep ‘em coming! There’s nothing that can stop this tank!”

As the guards escorted Guzzle away, Stockade stepped away from the bars of his holding cell and dropped to the floor, propping his head against the wall.

“We are so dead,” he muttered.

“There’s gotta be a way out of here,” piped a diminutive bot named Tornado, sitting next to his fellow Star Seeker Ferak. “Right?”

“Wrong,” Ferak said bitterly.

Stockade hated to admit that he agreed with the former Decepticon engineer. In all his many, many years as a general, he had never ended up in a situation like the one they were in now. Under better circumstances, in which they weren’t unarmed and Stockade didn’t have a bunch of renegade pirates and mutant Decepticons, he might have been able to cook up some scheme to get themselves out of here. But that was not going to be the case.

“I notice they haven’t pitted any Autobots against him,” remarked Brimstone. “I could have sworn I saw them bring some in.”

“They’re probably being put to the back of the queue,” Stockade said. “Either that, or they have something else planned for them.”

“Knowing the odds, they’re probably suffering less than we are,” Ferak grunted.

Stockade said nothing to this. Somehow, he could not bring himself to feel that this was necessarily the case.

*  *  *

“…and you confess to being responsible for the crimes we have hereby attributed to you?”

Standing on a plank which oversaw a pool swimming with Sharkticons, the red and orange Autobot stared up at the tentacled aliens looming over him, fear and incredulity in his optical sensors. “I… I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“You are fully aware of what we speak,” retorted the Quintesson Prosecutor, his oblong green face twisted into a sneer. “Or is your designation not Skater of Operation: Volcano?”

“Well, I mean, it is….”

“Then you were among those constructed artificially for the Autobot mission which took place on the 6th chord of the 9th Cycle of 9006?”

Skater looked as if he was between anxiousness and utter confusion. “Yes… what does it matter to you?”

“It matters because you were not created as intended by your god, Primus,” the Prosecutor replied, his tone condescending.

“How would you know about that? Why do you even care?”

“Silence,” growled the five-faced Quintesson Judge, rotating his egg-shaped body to adorn a red, devilish face. “Your sentence has been decided.”

The Prosecutor turned to the Judge. “What is the verdict, Your Honor? Guilty or innocent?”

The Judge’s body rotated again, adopting a green, skull-like face. “Innocent.”

Skater’s body shifted in surprise. At that moment, a Quintesson Bailiff pulled a lever and the plank beneath Skater’s feet vanished, sending the Autobot plunging into the pool below. His screams were quickly silenced as the Sharkticons pounced onto him, eagerly diving into their next meal.

Star Saber watched this all unfold from behind the bars of his holding cell, guilt weighing down on his shoulders. Forcing himself to turn away from the gruesome scene, Star Saber directed his attention to the other bots occupying the cell with him. Drift sat cross-legged in a corner, his eyes closed in some sort of meditative state. Wing Saber stood nearby, leaning against the wall as he stared at his brother.

Star Saber diverted his gaze as he sighed. “I know you expect me to have some sort of plan.”

“I don’t,” Wing Saber replied, his voice quiet. “I was just hoping you did, because I’m at a complete and utter loss.”

“You’re not the only one,” Star Saber muttered. He looked back outside, towards the next cell over where Skater had been pulled from. Dipstick and Stormshot remained, looking apprehensive as the Quintessons pulled out the leftover pieces of their fellow M.T.O. soldier out of the Sharkticon pool.

“I honestly don’t know how we’re going to get out of this one,” he said quietly, doing all he could to keep the fear out of his voice. “If at all.”