CHAPTER TWO
“So, what does this CONS4EVA guy look like again, Crankcase?” Fulcrum asked as he and the other Scavengers sifted their way through the crowd of Cybertronians in the Trick Diamond.
Crankcase muttered something, but Fulcrum couldn’t hear him over all the noise.
“What was that?”
“I said I don’t know,” Crankcase replied.
“Seriously?” Misfire asked, shooting the blue Triggercon a look. “You’ve been talking with this loser for how long and he never once sent you a picture?”
“He said he was shy….”
“Well, did he at least give you some sort of description? Or did you give him your image? Because at this rate, I don’t see how—”
“Grumpybox?”
All five Scavengers came to a stop and turned around, an act which infuriated several other patrons as they were now forced to walk around the five static Decepticons in order to navigate their way through the casino. Standing there was a bot who was so utterly plain looking that he practically stood out from the vibrant crowd of Cybertronians because of how boring he looked. He wore the incredibly commonplace Seeker body-type and had a color scheme that was pretty much just different shades of gray. If there was a category for the Most Boring Looking Cybertronian In All Existence, they were staring at its poster bot.
The plain-looking bot gave a tiny wave as he smiled uneasily. “Hey. It’s Grumpybox, right? I’m CONS4EVA.”
“Oh,” Crankcase said, his expression blank. “Yeah. I’m Grumpybox, though you can just call me Crankcase.”
CONS4EVA nodded. “Crankcase, it is. And these guys would be?”
“Oh, they’re just a bunch of losers I hang out with. Don’t mind them.”
Krok glared at Crankcase before stepping forward. “Hello, er, CONS4EVA. My name is Krok, and this is my crew: Spinister, Misfire, and Fulcrum. Crankcase has been talking about for the past few days now; glad to finally put a face to the name. Even if it is a kinda… underwhelming one.”
“And speaking of names,” said Fulcrum, “let me just ask what everyone’s thinking: Is CONS4EVA your real name?”
“Of course not,” CONS4EVA said. “My real name is, um… Flyhigh.”
“Flyhigh?” said Misfire. “Hey, that used to be my name!”
CONS4EVA’s yellow optics widened. “Really? Oh, scrap, uh—”
“Ah, don’t worry about it!” Misfire stepped over and slapped the Seeker lightly on the shoulder. “You can keep it. I go by Misfire nowadays anyway. A much more fitting name.”
“I’ll say,” Krok muttered.
Flyhigh cleared his vocal processor, nodding rather quickly. “All right. Good.” He then turned his attention back to Crankcase. “Do you mind if we found someplace quiet to talk? I feel that we are sticking out sore thumbs here.”
“You don’t say?” Crankcase asked as a random Cybertronian walked past him, deliberately brushing his shoulder as if to make a point. “Yeah, sure. I think there’s a couple of benches over there.”
The Scavengers and Flyhigh removed themselves from the casino’s game room and relocated to the small benches, both of which seemed like they had been made to fit species that weren’t giant robots. While Crankcase, Krok, and Fulcrum sat on one bench, Flyhigh sat across from them on the other with Spinister and Misfire. Once they had all been situated, Flyhigh placed some sort of pamphlet on the table that separated them.
“Have you heard of the Crossover?”
“The what now?” all of the Scavengers asked in unison.
“The Crossover,” Flyhigh repeated. “It’s a huge interdimensional event that—”
“Let me stop you right there,” Krok said, raising a hand. “Did you just say ‘interdimensional?’ Are you sure you’re not high off syk?”
Flyhigh nodded. “Positive. Granted, I’ve never been to one myself, but I’ve heard from a lot of folks who have. They’ve even given me evidence. Cross-dimensional travel is real, trust me.”
“Riiiight,” Fulcrum said. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m getting ‘scam vibes’ from this.”
“It’s not a scam,” Flyhigh said earnestly. “Honest. You don’t even need to pay to attend. Currency values tend to vary between universes, so the organizers made it a free event to make it fair to all. They’re also a non-profit, so they only run on donations.”
“Yeah, I knew this would be a waste of time.” Krok rose from the bench. “Good luck on your future endeavors, ‘Flyhigh,’ but you can count us out of… whatever this is.”
“Where’s it at?” asked Crankcase.
Krok gave the Triggercon an incredulous look as Flyhigh said, “It’s taking place in Axiom Nexus. It’s basically a hub for all the different universes.”
“Come on, Crankcase, this is obviously a set-up,” Krok said. “The more he talks, the more ridiculous it all sounds. He’s just going to scam you and leave you in the ditch.”
Crankcase glanced up at him. “And since when did you care about my well-being?” he grunted. “Besides, no one’s asking you to go. I don’t need you guys to come along.”
“So you’re just gonna leave us like that?” asked Misfire. “After everything we’ve been through?”
“Especially after everything we’ve been through.”
Krok rolled his optics. “What even sounds interesting about this to you? What about any of this sounds appealing?”
“The fact that I could potentially find a universe to live in where you guys don’t exist,” Crankcase replied. “That’s it, really. At this point, I feel that any universe has to be better than this one.”
Krok threw his hands up in defeat and walked away, not even bidding Crankcase a word of farewell. The other Scavengers remained seated, exchanging awkward glances.
“So, uh,” Fulcrum said, “I take it that your mind’s already been made up about this?”
“I mean, yeah,” said Crankcase. “He had me at ‘interdimensional event.’”
Flyhigh beamed. “Great. That’s really… wow, you just made me feel so relieved. I was really afraid that you were going to say ‘no.’”
“When do we leave?” Crankcase asked.
“Your call.”
As the Triggercon and his newfound friend got up, Misfire said, “How are you guys even going to get there? Last I heard, they hadn’t invented a device that lets you travel between dimensions.”
Flyhigh smiled. “That’s because it’s a secret. And unless you’re coming along, you’ll never going to learn the answer.”
“I’m coming with you,” said Spinister, standing up.
Crankcase frowned. “You are?”
Spinister shrugged. “Sure. Why not? Sounds like it could be fun.”
Misfire threw his hands up before standing up as well. “Ah, to hell with it. I’ll bite. Just to make sure you aren’t bluffing.”
Fulcrum covered his face with his hands. “You’re all idiots.”
Crankcase turned to Flyhigh, giving him a pleading look. “Please don’t take them with us. I really want it to just be the two of us.”
Flyhigh raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were that interested in me.”
“I’m not. I just really, really, really hate these guys.”
Flyhigh continued to stare at him for a moment before shrugging. “Sorry, fellas, but it looks like you’ll have to find some other way to get there. It’s been nice getting to meet you though.”
With that, the gray Seeker and Crankcase made their swift departure, leaving the remaining three Scavengers behind. Fulcrum watched them leave before rising from the bench he had been sitting on.
“Well,” he sighed, “that’s that. Let’s go find Krok, I guess.”
“You know,” Misfire groused, “just for once I’d like us to have an adventure where we don’t get split up. Or one of us doesn’t die.”
Spinister said nothing as he ran after Flyhigh and Crankcase.
Fulcrum and Misfire stood there for a moment, trying to process what their fellow Decepticon had just done. After exchanging a quick glance, they took chase after their crewmate, calling out his name.
* * *
“How do you feel?”
“Like a truck ran me over,” Grid groaned, rubbing his head. The red and black Mini-Con racer sat on his designated shelf, which was the closest thing to a room or quarters that Swindle would give him or any of the other Mini-Cons. Across from him on their own shelf was his brother Zapmaster, identical to him in appearance save for the silver replacing his red.
“If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t win either,” Zapmaster said, dangling his feet over the ledge. “Top Gear overtook me at the last minute.”
“Of course he did,” Grid sighed. “I honestly feel like he enjoys all of this. The racing. The slavery. He’s just basking in it all. That’s just how depraved he is.”
Zapmaster shook his head, scowling with distaste. “We can’t keep on living like this,” he muttered. “We have to find a way out of here.”
“But how? If we so much as even leave this little area, he or one of his mooks will detonate the bombs in our heads. It would be suicidal to even try to escape.”
Zapmaster threw up his hands. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do then. Just keep racing for Swindle’s amusement until we burn out and die?”
“Short of some miraculous even occurring, I don’t see any other—”
Grid was cut off by an explosion rocking the building. The two Mini-Cons slowly turned their head to see that a good chunk of the wall was now missing and standing in its place was another Mini-Con in teal and red with wheels for feet. She rolled through the smoke and debris and looked up at the shelves that Grid and Zapmaster were sitting on. With a wide smile, she waved up at them.
“Hi there! I’m here to rescue you!”
The two brothers stared at her for a long moment, trying to figure out how they should react. Grid then looked over to Zapmaster with wide eyes.
“I don’t know how you did that but that was awesome.”
Ignoring him, Zapmaster looked back down at their savior. “We appreciate the thought, but breaking us out isn’t going to do much. We’ve still got bombs in our heads that Swindle could use to keep us in place.”
“Don’t worry, my friends are already working on that,” the Mini-Con rescuer said. “They should already be disabled by now.”
“Are you sure?”
She hesitated. “Pretty sure.”
The brothers exchanged another glance. Zapmaster then shrugged before jumping down and walking over to join their rescuer.
“Wait,” Grid said. “You’re not actually thinking of—”
“Grid, at this point, anything has to be better than this,” Zapmaster replied. “Even if our heads end up getting blown off, at least we can die knowing we tried for a taste of freedom.”
The red Mini-Con racer sighed as he climbed down from his shelf. “I swear I’m going to regret this….”
“You won’t,” said their rescuer. “My friends have got it all under control.”
Another explosion rocked the building. Grid and Zapmaster glanced at each other again as their rescuer’s face turned pale.
“At least, I thought they did….”
* * *
“Okay,” Swindle said as he barged out of his office. “Would someone mind telling me what the hell is going on?”
“There seems to be a breakout at the Mini-Con barracks,” said Headlock, furiously tapping on the screen of his datapad. “No idea who or what caused it.”
“What about the second explosion? That sounded like it came from outside.”
“Gutcruncher’s already checking on it. I’m sending all of our security to the barracks to stop the Mini-Cons from getting out.”
Cursing to himself, Swindle stormed back into his office and reached into his desk for a small cylindrical device with a button on top. “Looks like I’m gonna have to start blowing up heads if things don’t get under control.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Swindle let out a startled yelp as he dropped the device. Standing in the doorway to his office was a large winged bot with dark gray and purple armor plating, a red crest adorning her helmet. She leaned against the door frame, arms folded over her chest.
“Spacewarp!” Swindle exclaimed, putting on a phony smile. “Hey, wow, long time no see! What brings you to Hedonia?”
“Busting your illicit practices,” Spacewarp replied casually, as if they were discussing the weather.
“Oh really now? Did they promote you to Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord? I heard that Ultra Magnus is dead, so obviously someone needed to take up the position.”
“Please. I’m above that kind of stuff. I’m only concerned with certain practices that really grind my gears… such as selling your own kind into slavery.”
Swindle cleared his vocal processor. “Err, last time I checked, I’m not a Mini-Con, so I’m not sure what you’re—”
“They’re still Cybertronian!” Spacewarp snapped. She slammed her fist into the door frame, hard enough to leave a dent in it. “It doesn’t matter if they’re smaller than us! They’re still made out of the same senito metallico as you and me!”
“Well, my experts tell me that Prion-born Mini-Cons are made out of a slightly different….”
Swindle trailed off as Spacewarp stormed up to his, looming over the Combaticon as the glow of her optics intensified.
“I’m… not helping my case, am I?” he said weakly.
“Not in the least,” she growled. She drew her gun and Swindle immediately raised his arms in defense, not that it would do any good.
She fired the gun and destroyed the device that Swindle had dropped. It took him a moment to realize that he was still alive and he slowly lowered his arms.
“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Spacewarp said, still glaring at him. “That could have easily been you.”
“If that’s you in a good mood, I don’t want to see you in a bad one,” Swindle muttered. “Look, just… just take your Mini-Cons and go, okay? I— I don’t want any trouble.”
“Then don’t give me a reason to give you any.”
With that, Spacewarp turned and strode out of the room. As soon as she was gone, Swindle slumped into his office chair and exhaled, increasing his inner fans to cool his overheating systems.
All he could do now was hope that his contact for the Sigma operation would hold up their end of the deal that they had just made. Because after all this, he was definitely going to need that reward….
* * *
Spacewarp stepped out of the Trick Diamond, followed closely by Nickel and the freed Mini-Cons, to find a crowd gathered outside. Right away, she started running a dozen different scenarios in which Krok and his losers could have done something to warrant this kind of attention. However, when she spotted Krok, Misfire, and Fulcrum standing among the gathered pedestrians, she allowed herself to relax and walked over to join him.
“There you are,” she said. “I’m done with what I came here to do, so whenever you’re ready—”
“They’re gone,” Krok said.
Spacewarp blinked. “Come again?”
“Crankcase, Fulcrum, Misfire, and Spinister. They’re all gone.”
“You should have seen it!” said a large Urtuskian in the crowd. “They were, like, all yelling at each other and then this gray robot did a thing and BOOM! Just like that.”
“Was that what that other explosion I heard was?” Spacewarp asked, looking at the small crater that she just now realized was what the crowd was gathered around.
“Yup,” said the green Decepticon known as Gutcruncher. “What a way to go.”
Spacewarp looked over to Krok, noting the solemn look on his faceplate. “I’m, uh… I’m sorry for your loss,” she muttered. “To be honest, I never really liked them and I’m glad they’re dead. But I know they were your boys, so—”
“They’re not dead!”
Everyone turned to see a silver robot running up to them, a trail of smoke following in his wake. He skidded to a stop and bent down to his knees, panting as he tried to cool his systems.
Spacewarp glanced at Krok. “Friend of yours?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he replied.
“They’re not dead,” the mysterious robot repeated. “My name is Gigawatt. I’m from the future. And I need your help to stop the Crossover from happening.”
“Oh my freaking god,” was all Krok could say.
