BIONICLE: Communication Issues - A Bara Magna Short Story

    So, there was this Bara Magna Story contest on the Custom BIONICLE Wiki, which I have an account at. This was my entry for the contest; haven't gotten around to posting it until now.

 COMMUNICATION ISSUES

Kirbraz’s world was upside down.

His head weighed as if his brain had been replaced with a pile of rocks. He still couldn’t tell if the ground was supposed to be the sky or if the sky was supposed to be the ground. In the distance, he could hear a voice speaking loudly over the noise of the crowd.

“Vulcanus wins the match! The prize goes to the Fire Tribe!”

Kirbraz rolled his head to the side and saw a pair of silver feet in front of him. Said feet proceeded to kick sand into his face, causing him to cough harshly.

“Get up,” an all-too-familiar voice growled.

Still rubbing sand out of his eyes, Kirbraz sat up and gazed upon the results of the match. The pieces of the Kaxium V3 laid scattered across the arena, with tires burning up in one corner and a Thornax Launcher buried in another. He couldn’t even tell which parts belonged to his side of the vehicle and which parts belonged to his partner’s side.

Scodonius grabbed him roughly by the arm and pulled him up, a nasty scowl twisted upon his face. “Nice going,” the other Water Agori muttered. “That’s the third match in a row we’ve lost.”

Kirbraz frowned at him. “How is this my fault, again?”

“I shouldn’t even need to tell you!” Scodonius retorted. “I told you to flank the Thornatus on one side and you went to the other, cutting me off! What were you even thinking?”

“I just thought I would get a better vantage point because the Thornax Launcher is on the left side and I wouldn’t be able to use it if—”

“You weren’t supposed to use the Thornax Launcher! You were just supposed to bump into him and knock him off course so that I could—”

“Ram into him head on?” Kirbraz interjected. “Oh, yeah, because that worked so well last time in the Iconox match—”

“That was different! I didn’t know that guy had a blade attached to his vehicle! If you ask me, those should be illegal.”

“Well, if you ask me, stupid Agori should be illegal, and that’s exactly what you—”

Scodonius cut Kirbraz off by stepping closer to him and holding up a fist. “You wanna finish that statement, you little desert leech?”

“All right, guys, cut it out.” The voice came from the pair’s trainer, who was walking up to them with a tired expression on his face. “The match is over. Pick up the pieces of your vehicle so that we can leave.”

“What?!” Kirbraz exclaimed. “Why do we have to do clean up? That’ll take forever!”

The trainer glared at him. “Then you’d better get started.”

With that, the trainer left, leaving Kirbraz and Scodonius to pick up the pieces of their wrecked vehicle. Scodonius spent the entire process glowering at Kirbraz while Kirbraz had his attention on Perditus, who was still standing from the seat of his Thornatus V9 to accept the cheers of the crowd.

Enjoy your victory while you can, Perditus, Kirbraz thought to himself. You haven’t seen the last of the Dangerous Duo.

*  *  *

The return to Tajun was not a pleasant one. After getting an earful from their trainer for how embarrassing their failure was for him, the two Agori pilots then got another reprimand from the leader of the Water Tribe, who seemed to be reconsidering her choices for pilots. After that, Kirbraz had gotten a mouthful from Scodonius about how he wished he had a different partner before retreating to his home.

Deciding it would be best to avoid Scodonius for a couple of days, Kirbraz instead set his mind on rebuilding the Kaxium yet again. The parts of the previous version were mostly salvageable, but he knew he was going to need new ones if he wanted to create an improved version; one that would impress even Scodonius.

Fortunately, Kirbraz knew of someone from the Water Tribe who was rather notorious for his collection of salvaged equipment. Perhaps Berix would be willing to part with some of that equipment for a (hopefully affordable) price.

Kirbraz found Berix sitting outside his home, tinkering with some kind of mechanical device. Upon noticing Kirbraz’s approach, Berix hastily tried to hide the device behind his back, even though the other Agori had already gotten a good look at it.

“Hey, Kirbraz! How’s it going?” Berix asked, his expression making it very clear that he was trying to hide something.

“Not very well,” Kirbraz muttered. “Scodonius and I lost another match.”

“Oh, really? That’s a shame.” Berix did not at all sound sympathetic. “Well, it’s been nice seeing you!”

“I was wondering if you had any parts I could use for a new version of the Kaxium.”

“Sorry, I’m not selling anything at the moment!” Beads of sweat were glistening on Berix’s forehead. Kirbraz knew they were living in a desert, but he had a feeling that the perspiration was not just due to the heat.

“Berix, I know you’re holding something behind your back,” Kirbraz sighed. “You could not make it anymore obvious.”

Cursing under his breath, Berix glanced around to make sure no one else was around before bringing out the device he had been working on. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?” he whispered. “I’ve been trying to get it to work all day.”

Kirbraz looked down at the device. To him, it just looked like a metal box that had been crudely put together, with all kinds of knobs and switches on it. “What even is it?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” Berix replied. “I know it does something; it’s just a matter of what.”

“Well, it doesn’t look like it would be useful for the Kaxium, so I have no interest in it.” Kirbraz looked back up at the other Agori. “You’re sure you’re not selling anything?”

“Sure, that’s what they all say,” Berix muttered in response to Kirbraz’s first statement. After realizing that Kirbraz had said something after that, Berix jolted up. “Oh, um, well, what is it you’re looking for?”

“Just the basics for now; thicker tires, a new steering control, maybe a new attachment piece for the Thornax Launcher.” Kirbraz sighed. “Though I doubt you would have what we really need to win a match.”

“Maybe if you named it, I could get it for you.”

“Better communication skills between me and Scodonius.”

Berix blinked. “Oh. Yeah, sorry, no, I don’t have anything like that. I have all that other stuff, though.”

“How much will it cost?” Kirbraz asked, tensing slightly.

“Depends on how much you smooth-talk me. And since you’re not Metus, I don’t have much to worry about.” Berix stood up and patted Kirbraz on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you your parts.”

*  *  *

“I told him to go left. Does he go left? No, he goes right! Idiot.”

Scodonius grumbled to himself as he tossed another stone into the river. It did not skip, nor did any of the others. Yet another thing that wasn’t going right for him today.

“Why does he always do things differently than how I want him to do them? Can’t he listen? Is he that dumb?”

“It sounds to me that there is an issue of communication.”

Startled, Scodonius turned around to see the leader of the Water Tribe approaching him. While not quite as old as the Fire Tribe leader Raanu, Karesa was still older than most of the Agori in the Water Tribe, and even Scodonius had to admit that she was probably one of the wisest people he knew. Still, he wasn’t exactly in the mood for talking to her — or anyone, for that matter.

Turning back to the river, Scodonius let out a heavy sigh. “I know you’re still disappointed with me, Karesa.”

“I am. Even moreso, now that I know where the issues lie.” The older Agori came to stand beside Scodonius, watching him closely while he stared at the river. “Do you not realize how… petty you’re acting?”

“I told him what he needed to do!” Scodonius snapped. “He chose to go against my directions because he thinks he’s better than me!”

“Does he?” Karesa asked. “Or do you just assume that he does based on his actions?”

Scodonius fought the urge to glare at the tribe leader. As mad as he was, he was in no mood in getting kicked off the team, or worse. “I’m not a child, chieftain” he muttered. “Don’t treat me like one.”

“Then stop acting like one,” Karesa said harshly. “If you want to win your next match, then you need to patch things up with your partner. Otherwise, I will have to end up replacing one of you.”

Scodonius moved with a start at this. He turned to look at Karesa but she was already walking away, leaving no room for further conversation. Clenching his fist, he picked up another stone and threw it into the river.

This time, it skipped across the water, making an almost melodious sound as it did.

The Agori stood there for a moment, his leader’s words still stewing in his mind. Closing his eyes, he let out a heavy sigh and turned away from the river, walking back the way he had come. Already, he was hating himself for what he was about to do.

He was going to find Kirbraz. 

*  *  *

“Oh! It made a sound!” Berix held up the mysterious device to his ear, listening to it closely. “I think. No… wait… I think that was my stomach.”

Kirbraz rolled his eyes as he attached a wheel onto the new Kaxium. After buying the parts from Berix, the Agori collector had offered to help Kirbraz put the new vehicle together. The pilot had agreed, but had he known that Berix would have spent most of the time playing with his new “toy,” he would have definitely said “no.”

“Where did you even get that thing?” Kirbraz asked as he picked up a shield piece to attach to the larger section of the vehicle.

“Can’t tell you! It’s a secret.” Berix looked around conspiratorially. “Can you keep a secret?”

“I’ll probably forget what it even was by next morning.”

“Okay. So about a week ago, I went to Vulcanus with Tarix for his match with Ackar. While I was there, I found Perditus working on his Thornatus. Naturally, I had to talk with him because you know how much I love machines.”

Kirbraz did not, but he said nothing as Berix continued his tale.

“So, while we were talking — well, I was talking; he wasn’t saying much — I saw this thing in his pile of parts. It was buried beneath a bunch of other stuff, but I noticed it because… well, of course I would. I wasn’t sure if Perditus was trying to hide it, so I distracted him while I swiped it and stuffed it into my satchel.”

Kirbraz paused in his work to look at Berix. “So you stole it from him.”

“I didn’t steal it!” Berix protested. “I’m just borrowing it until I figure out what it is. I’ll give it back to him. Eventually.”

Kirbraz opened his mouth to say something but stopped when he heard a knock at his door. Putting down his tools, he walked over to the door and opened it. He had to stop himself from slamming it shut.

“Oh. It’s you.”

Scodonius stared back at him, stone-faced. “Yeah. It’s me. Can I come in?”

“I’m surprised you even want to talk me, after all those things you said to me. I think even Kiina would have blushed at some of the words you dropped.”

“Can I come in?” Scodonius repeated.

Kirbraz grudgingly stepped aside to allow the other Agori in. Once Scodonius was inside, he closed his eyes as he took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“’Sorry?’” Kirbraz raised an eyebrow. “That’s a big word for you. I didn’t even think you knew how to pronounce it.”

“Just shut up and let me talk,” Scodonius snapped. “Look, I’ve been thinking about the match and… I realized I may have not been clear in what I expected from you.”

Kirbraz bit back a snippy retort, instead allowing his partner to continue.

“I mean, I thought I was clear in my directions, but maybe I should have been clearer with how… important they were. Like, maybe I should have double-checked with you before the match started to make sure we were on the same page. Or maybe—”

“Or maybe you should take the smaller side,” Kirbraz interjected.

Scodonius stared him, looking confused. “Huh?”

“I just realized now… each time we’ve lost our matches, you were in the big side of the vehicle and I was in the smaller one. Each time, we lost because I did something with the smaller bike that you didn’t want me to. Maybe… maybe you should handle the smaller side from now on.”

Scodonius looked as if he was about to object only to stop, considering Kirbraz’s suggestion. The more he thought about it, the more he seemed to like it as a smile slowly crept onto his face. Kirbraz rarely saw Scodonius smile and this was probably his first time seeing it without feeling at unease.

“That… might actually work. That way, I can pull off the stunts and you just follow my lead. People will think I’m the brains of the group while you’re just my dumb sidekick!”

It took every fiber of his being for Kirbraz to not take exception to what his partner was saying. “Yeah, sure,” he said through gritted teeth. “That sounds like a great idea.”

Scodonius laughed as he slapped Kirbraz on the shoulder, a bit too hard for the latter’s liking. “Ah, I knew we would reach an understanding eventually. All we needed was a little communication.”

“Right.” Sighing, Kirbraz looked over to Berix. “Say, Berix, what say we take a break? I have some fruit leftovers from this morning.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m starving!” Berix tossed the device he had been tinkering with to the side. A piece of it broke off as it hit the wall, causing the Agori scavenger to wince. “I’m… sure that wasn’t anything important,” he said quietly.

“Did you figure out what it was?” Kirbraz asked.

Berix shook his head. “No. It just kept making a warbled sound that I couldn’t make out. Anyway, let’s eat.”

While Berix ran over to the kitchen, Scodonius threw his arm over Kirbraz’s shoulder, grinning widely at his partner.

“So,” he said. “What do you say to a rematch with Vulcanus?”

Kirbraz couldn’t help himself from smiling as well. “I’d say that would be a great idea.”

*  *  *

Perditus cried out as Scodonius rammed his vehicle into the side of the Glatorian’s Thornatus V9. Knocked off course, the sand-colored vehicle spun out of control as Kirbraz came charging with his larger cycle, colliding into the Thornatus. Perditus’ vehicle flipped forward and flung the Glatorian out of his seat, sending him flying through the air. He landed headlong onto the ground, his head burrowing into the sand.

“Tajun wins the match!” a voice roared over the sounds of the crowd. “Victory goes to the Water Tribe!”

Perditus pounded the sand as he pulled his head out, glaring in the direction of his opponents. Kirbraz and Scodonius had dismounted from the Kaxium V3 and were basking in the glory of their victory, shouting incoherent nonsense as they bumped their helmets together and pumped their fists in the air. This triumph was sure to inflate the pair’s egos, as if they weren’t already inflated enough.

Growling, Perditus dragged himself onto his feet. He looked up, expecting to see his Agori trainer, only to see a villager from the Water Tribe instead. The Glatorian furrowed his brow, feeling like he had seen the Agori before.

“Hey, there,” said Berix. He shuffled his feet, keeping his hands hidden behind his back. “Remember me?”

“What do you want?” Perditus grunted, removing his helmet to massage his sore head.

“Oh, nothing. I just wanted to return something that I think belongs to you.” Berix pulled his hands out from behind his back and presented a metal, box-shaped object to the Glatorian.

Perditus’ eyes went wide as he snatched the device from the Agori. “Where did you get this?” he growled.

“I found it laying on the ground, just outside the arena,” Berix replied. “I guess you dropped it or something—”

“I’ve been looking for this for a week! Did you have it this entire time?”

“No, sir!” Berix held his hands up, eyes wide. “I just found it. I… I swear by every drop of water in Tajun!”

Perditus growled. He could tell the Agori was lying. However, there was no time — nor any point — in confronting him. Doing so would only expose himself, which was the very last thing he wanted to do.

“Next time,” the Glatorian said as he turned his back to Berix, “don’t touch things that aren’t yours.”

With that, he strode back to the wreck of his Thornatus. Staring down at the device, Perditus could only hope that his contact on the other end would not be too upset over his temporary radio silence. He had meant to send a report on the day he had lost the device. Hopefully his contact’s disappointment would not be too severe.

However, as Perditus reached the Thornatus, he noticed that the device was slightly bent in an odd way. Frowning, the Glatorian gently turned one of the knobs, only for it come right off.

Perditus’ screams were drowned out by the crowd as they cheered on the Dangerous Duo.

FIN

Transformers Regenerated: Pax Cybertronia XV, Chapter Two

 CHAPTER TWO

Metroplex, above Earth

“Hey, old timer. Was wondering when you were gonna come out of hiding.”

Kup shot a glare at Springer as he stepped into Metroplex’s command center. The two of them were the only ones in the room, as Elita-One and the other Earthforce commanders were preoccupied with other errands.

“Don’t push it, lad,” the green Autobot veteran grumbled as he pulled up a nearby chair and threw himself down onto it. “I’m only out here because that new kid — that Wheelie bot — wouldn’t stop pestering me about it.”

Springer smiled ruefully. Ever since Kup had been rescued from Planet X, along with the Crusadercons, the old Autobot had shut himself inside a habitation suite to “recover,” though Springer knew the old timer well enough to know that there was not anything physically wrong with him; it was just an excuse for Kup to not have to talk to him.

“I like this Wheelie already, if he can get a stubborn mech like you to do something.” Springer stepped to stand in front of Kup, folding his arms over his wide chest. “So… want to explain why you pulled off that stunt with Guzzle and the space bridge?”

“I was trying to get him away from everyone,” Kup said, lowering his head. “I know I could’ve just thrown him through the space bridge and not take myself with him… but knowing him, he probably would have found his way back and I didn’t want that biting me in the tailpipe. Considering it was just me he wanted, I thought it was the best option for everyone.”

Springer frowned. “You know, if I had pulled something like that off, you would have chewed my afterburner off for it. And you would have been right in doing so.”

Kup scowled. “Yeah? You gonna lecture me, then?”

“Under better circumstances, I probably would. But given every thing that has happened, along with the current situation, I’m not going to waste time with that, especially since we both know that you know better.” Springer’s expression turned soft along with his tone. “Just promise me that you’ll talk with me before you make any decisions like that, all right?”

Kup let his own faceplate rest. “No more secrets?”

Springer shook his head. “I don’t have any more to tell you anyway.”

This seemed to make Kup flinch slightly and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Consider yourself lucky, then,” he muttered. “Some of us can’t say the same.”

Springer raised an optic ridge. “Anything I should know about?”

Kup looked as if he was about to say something but seemed to think twice about it. “Time and place, lad,” he said instead. “There are things I’ve been meaning to tell ya, but… I’d rather wait until things have settled before I overload your processor with them.”

As much as Springer wanted to, he did not press the matter further and decided to change the subject. “Anyway… I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the Wreckers.”

Kup looked at him. “What about them?”

“There’s only a handful of us left. You, me, the Jumpstarters, Broadside says he’s open to returning. But Sandstorm and Whirl have been disgraced, Roadbuster and Impactor are dead… as well as all of the bots I’ve recruited since the war ended.”

“What about Bulkhead? He’s still around, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but I’m doubtful that he’ll be willing to return,” Springer said. “Point is, we’re not the group we used to be. We’re not the heroes that bots like Ironfist would look up to and document our every move. We’re a shell of our former selves.”

“That’s not saying much,” Kup grunted. “If you ask me, we were never that great to begin with.”

Springer sighed. “I knew you would say something like that. But I’d say there’s still some value to the name. We got things done, didn’t we? Things that other Autobots were never brave enough to do.”

Kup narrowed his optics at the Triple Changer. “Where are you going with this, lad?”

“I think its time the Wreckers had one last outing. One last mission. Something to be proud of; something that will be remembered for generations to come.”

“I take it you have something in mind.”

Springer slammed his fists together, a hint of a cocky grin crossing his features. “We’re going to infiltrate Trypticon.”

Kup just stared at him for a moment, looking as if he was trying to figure out if he had heard the younger Autobot correctly. “Sounds like you’re already set on doing this,” he said quietly.

Springer chuckled. “Am I that transparent?”

“Does Elita know about this? Does Prime know?”

“What do you think?”

Kup let out a sigh as he stood up, stretching his arms as his joints popped back into place. “So… who do you want me to recruit?” 

*  *  *

“I’m glad you were able to make it, Punch. We could use any help we can get.”

“Don’t mention it, Elita,” Punch said as he stepped out of Metroplex’s space bridge. “I figure my skills are more useful here than on Cybertron. From what I’ve heard, it sounds like all of the Decepticons are hanging out here.”

Elita-One grimaced. “Indeed. Each day, we’ve been detecting more and more Decepticons answering Megatron’s call and coming here. Fortunately, they haven’t made any moves as of yet, but knowing them….”

“I hear ya.” Punch smirked behind his mouthplate. “Trust me, I’ve been in their ranks long enough to get a gist on how they operate.”

“Which is probably why Optimus asked for your presence,” Elita said. “He’s down on Earth at the moment; once he gets back, he’ll brief you on what he wants done.”

“Great,” Punch replied. “I’m looking forward to it.”

With that, the yellow-and-blue bot bid his farewell to Elita and departed from the space bridge chamber. As he made his way down the hallway, he noticed a familiar blueish-green old bot walking in his direction. Recognizing them as the veteran Autobot Kup, Punch raised a hand to his helm in a respectful salute.

“Sir,” he greeted.

“Kid,” Kup replied as he walked up to Punch and grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him into an adjacent room.

“Hey, what the he—” Punch started to say only for Kup to cover his faceplate with his hand.

“Quiet,” Kup hissed, glancing around furtively. “Elita didn’t follow you, did she?”

“No?” Punch grabbed Kup’s hand and pushed it away from his face. “What the hell is wrong with you? Do you normally greet people like this?”

“Sorry; my skills are rusty and I haven’t needed to recruit bots without the higher-ups knowing. Never been my style. Would usually have someone like Prowl covering for me.”

“Recruit bots…?” Punch shook his head, his spark filling with dread. “Oh god, please don’t tell me this is what I think it is—”

“I’ll cut straight to the chase: Springer wants you in his Wreckers.”

“I knew it!” Punch threw his arms up, groaning in exasperation. “Every time I think I’m out, you guys drag me back in again.”

“I know you were part of Impactor’s little gang,” Kup said. “Springer isn’t anything like him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It doesn’t matter who’s leading the team,” Punch retorted. “The Wreckers have always had a reputation for ridiculously high mortality rates. I’ve seen the numbers.”

“Those numbers tend to be exaggerated,” Kup muttered. “But you are correct in that we… don’t have the best survival track record. If you want to back out, you can. Just say the word and I’ll let you be on your way.”

Punch was about to say the word, but there was one question nagging at his mind. He tried to ignore it, but when he spoke he couldn’t help but let it out. “Why does Springer even want me?”

“Because we’re going to sneak into Trypticon.”

With this response, everything seemed to slide into place. Punch fell silent for a moment, his thoughts warring with themselves as they had a tendency to do. He had had this conversation before, with Impactor, and he still wished he had said “No” back then. He still had a chance to say it. He could say it and keep on living his life, never regretting his decision.

Instead, he decided to be an idiot and say, “I’m in.”

*  *  *

“What’s my time?”

“12.29 seconds.”

Whirl lowered his gun, glaring at the smoking remains of the practice targets lying in front of him. “Damn. Last time it was 12.27. I’m losing my touch.”

“Hey, it’s better than any record I’ve set for myself, if that makes you feel better,” said Topspin. He stood with his brother Twin Twist as they watched Whirl take his anger out on the shooting range that the ex-Wrecker had set up for himself in one of Metroplex’s storage warehouses. 

“It doesn’t, Zombiespin,” Whirl replied, taking his gun apart to examine its internals. “Nothing you say ever makes me feel better.”

“You seem to have a lot of pent-up rage,” Twin Twist pointed out. “More than usual, I mean. What’s up with that?”

“Take your pick: The quest I just spent a good year of my life on turned out to be a waste; my depth perception is more off than usual today; and I can’t get this freaking piece out with my freaking claws.” Whirl threw the disassembled gun aside and reached over to his nearby weapons rack to select a new one. “So, yeah, it’s one of those things.”

The two Jumpstarters exchanged a glance with each other. Topspin shook his head while Twin Twist shrugged. The latter then looked back to Whirl and said, “Have you talked with Springer lately?”

“Why the hell would I talk to him?” Whirl snapped.

“Because he’s here and you’re here. And you’re both Wreckers.”

“I’m not a Wrecker,” Whirl growled. “Not anymore. As long as Springer still functions, I will never be considered one.”

“What did you do to get kicked off again?” asked Topspin.

Whirl stopped whatever he was doing and turned to focus his single yellow optic on the two brothers. “That’s right,” he said quietly. “You wouldn’t know. ‘Cos you were dead.”

“Yeah, so fill us in,” said Twin Twist.

Whirl seemed to consider it for a moment only to abruptly turn away. “No. It’s none of your business.”

Twin Twist opened his mouth to stay something when Topspin put a hand on his shoulder. “Do you think we should just tell him why we’re here?” the latter whispered.

“I don’t know how he’ll react, though,” Twin Twist whispered back. “He might think we’re pulling a prank on him or something.”

“Maybe we should ask Springer to tell him himself—”

“You guys do know that I can hear you, right?” Whirl said.

Topspin turned to face Whirl, ignoring the warning look his brother was giving him. “Your funeral,” Twin Twist mouthed to him.

Clearing his vocal processor, Topspin said, “Springer wants you back in the Wreckers.”

At this, Whirl’s entire body froze up. For a moment, Topspin thought he had went into stasis lock or something until the blue helicopter quietly spoke. “What did you say?”

“Springer wants to give you one last chance to prove yourself.” Topspin wasn’t sure if he was making up that part or not; Springer hadn’t said as much when he had sent the two Jumpstarters to recruit Whirl. Of course, not knowing what Whirl had done to get kicked out of the Wreckers in the first place, Topspin didn’t know if Whirl was even deserving of a second chance (or third or fourth).

“Yeah,” Twin Twist butted in. “He thinks you’re just the right bot for the mission we’re about to go on.”

“He said that?” Whirl asked, his voice still uncharacteristically quiet. “Springer said that?”

“More or less,” Topspin said. “We’re paraphrasing, of course. You know how he likes to use lots of words when getting people hyped for a mission.”

Whirl slowly turned around to face the two Jumpstarters, his single yellow optic regarding them carefully. Both Topspin and Twin Twist tensed, unsure how the blue helicopter was going to respond.

Raising the gun he was holding and cocking it, Whirl said, “When do we leave?”

*  *  *

Sandstorm stared at Springer from the confines of his cell. Shortly after Impactor’s Wreckers had joined the Earthforce, and after Impactor had pulled his sacrificial stunt, Sandstorm had been thrown into Metroplex’s brig until his fate could be decided. Clearly his actions back on Paradron, where he had murdered fellow Autobots such as Skram, were still weighing on everyone’s minds.

Despite this, Springer had just asked him to rejoin the Wreckers and Sandstorm wasn’t sure if he had heard correctly or if Springer had just lost the plot.

“Why are you asking me?” Sandstorm asked after a long moment of silence.

“Honestly?” Springer replied. “Because I know Bulkhead will say no and probably tattle to Prime or Elita, which I can’t exactly have.”

“Ah. So now you’re the one breaking the rules. I always thought that was more Impactor’s thing.”

“He always was a bad influence,” Springer said. “Though I’d say I’m more discreet at breaking rules than he ever was.”

“So you’re gonna release me? Just like that?”

Springer shook his head. “Don’t think for a minute that you’re gonna have complete freedom of movement. Kup and I will be watching your every move and if I suspect for even a second, I’ll have Whirl blast your head off.”

Sandstorm’s optics went wide. “You’re bringing Whirl back as well? Wow… your standards have really slipped, haven’t they?”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Springer pressed the control panel to Sandstorm’s cell, causing the ray shield separating them to dissipate. “Although frankly, I’d say our standards have been non-existent to begin with.”

“Fair enough,” Sandstorm said as he stepped out of his cell. “So, how are you going to sneak me out without Elita or anyone noticing?”

Springer grinned. “I’m glad you asked.”

He then reeled his fist back and threw it into Sandstorm’s face. The last thing the orange Triple Changer saw before his systems went offline was the floor as he fell face-first towards it.

Transformers Regenerated: Tarnished - Part 2

TALES OF THE DISAPPEARED: 

TARNISHED, PART TWO

Cycle 8814 (moments before the rise of Megatron)

“Hey, Orion. It’s Roller. I heard about what happened to Optronix and, uh, I was hoping we could get together and… talk about it. If you don’t want to or if you’re still trying to sort your feelings out, then… then I understand. Just let me know, give me a call or whatever. Just give me a sign that you’re still functioning. So, yeah. That’s it. See ya.”

Roller ended the voice message and sighed. It was probably the seventh one he had left in as many cycles and he still had not heard back from Orion ever since his brother Optronix had perished during a mission to the Decepticon planet Lucifer. Orion was as much a friend to Roller as Optronix had been — perhaps even more so — and Roller had been worried about him ever since he had gotten the news. It didn’t help that they had both been reassigned to separate divisions and were no longer working together.

Knowing there was nothing more he could do about it than what he already had, he picked up his remote control and turned on the TV.

“Bored, are we?”

Roller involuntarily flinched at the voice coming from behind him. His co-worker at the station, a red and black femme named Shatter, had a knack for getting on his nerves. Between her condescending tone and holier-than-thou attitude, Roller often found himself wishing he was taking a dip in a smelting pool rather than endure another mega-cycle with her.

Quickly turning off the TV and putting aside the remote, Roller swiveled around in his chair to look at Shatter. “How was your patrol?”

“Uneventful,” she said, arms behind her back as she strode into the room. “Things have been awfully quiet around here lately, haven’t they?”

Roller shrugged. “In my experience, there’s always been on days and off days. Plus, ever since the assassination attempt on Sentinel Prime, security has been a lot tighter than normal.”

“Point taken.” The way Shatter was looking at him made Roller feel uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat and pretended to look at one of the monitors, even though he knew there wasn’t going to be anything there.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked, trying not to sound too irritated.

“I was just curious if you’ve read anything decent lately,” Shatter said.

Roller shook his head. “I’m not much of a reader. My old buddy Springarm tried to get me hooked on some of Dominus Ambus’ works, but I found them to be a slog to get through.”

“Well, I have something that might be a bit lighter.” Shatter pulled her arms from behind her back and presented a datapad. Roller regarded it with mild suspicion before taking it. On the screen were the words “Towards Peace - by Megatron of Tarn.”

Roller winced slightly, recognizing the name as a modification of Megatronus, the ancient fallen Prime. While he was not much of a believer in those type of stories, he knew the name to be something of a curse and that naming oneself after the Fallen was considered sacrilege at best. 

“Can’t say I’ve heard of this guy,” he said, unable to bring himself to say the name.

“You wouldn’t have,” Shatter replied. “It hasn’t been officially published yet; I was lucky enough to get my hands on a recent draft through some… mutual acquaintances.“

Roller was about to ask who these “mutual acquaintances” were, but he knew he wasn’t going to get a straight answer. Instead, he simply said, “Thanks, Shatter. I’ll, uh, I’ll try and give it a read sometime.”

Shatter smirked. “See that you do. You won’t regret it.”

Roller already was as she turned and exited the room. Giving the datapad one last wary look, he set it aside and turned the television back on.

A few minutes later, he wished he hadn’t.

*  *  *

Knock knock.

“Password.”

“Delta’s Malady.”

“Sorry, that was last orbital cycle’s password. I need the new one.”

Damus sighed in exasperation, rolling his single blue optic. “Come on, Anode, you know its me. You can see me on the security cam.”

“It’s not working today.” Damus knew that was a lie, since he could see its glowing red light above the door. “Give me the new password or else you’ll just have to sit out there and rust.”

“Fine,” Damus muttered. “Then I’ll just have to tell Lug that you were the one who stole that data disk she found.”

Silence at first. Then, the door slowly creaked open to reveal a green bot with tan wings, glaring daggers at Damus. “That’s just playing dirty, Glitch,” Anode growled.

“Welcome to the receiving end,” Damus retorted as he pushed past her, entering the building. 

The meeting place for the Anti-Vocactionist League was not much to write home about. Not only was it close quarters, with all of its members being within hearing range of each other, but there was pretty much nothing of note in terms of technology or furniture, save for the odd computer or two. This was a necessity as they never knew when their hiding spot was going to be busted and they would be forced to relocate — if they even could.

In the center of the main living quarters — the whole building was pretty much just one big room — was a makeshift table where members of the A.V.L. were already seated. Sitting at the head of the table was the A.V.L.’s leader Clicker while his advisor Decibel stood to his right. Upon noticing Damus’ entrance, Clicker beamed and waved the orange bot over.

“Glitch!” the skinny white-and-blue bot said. “Glad you could make it!”

“Glitch” was what everyone at the A.V.L. called Damus. It was a nickname he had earned back at the Jhiaxian Academy for his machinery-disabling powers. While he did not mind the name (he had grown used to it by now), it was not a moniker he necessarily identified with. Of course, he had yet to tell them what his real name was… or that he even had a real name. It was simply not something he thought anyone needed to know.

“Please, take a seat,” Clicker said, gesturing to an empty chair to his left. “We were just about to start.”

“Really?” Damus looked around the table, noticing that only a small percentage of the league’s membership were present. “Not many of us here, though.”

“Our membership has dwindled since our last meeting,” Clicker said gravely. “Many have gone to join the Decepticon movement.”

Damus looked back at him. “It sounds like you don’t approve.”

“I’m not convinced the Decepticons’ goals are fully adjacent to our own,” Clicker replied. “While they oppose the High Council and its functionist practices as much as we do, the damage they caused in the Great War cannot be ignored.”

“Maybe they’ve changed,” Damus suggested. “They’ve been in exile for a thousand years now, haven’t they? Maybe they’re ready to take on a more peaceful approach.”

Clicker scoffed. “If Trannis is still at the helm, then I highly doubt that. But let us not discuss the Decepticons today. We have our own agenda to attend to.”

“Were you able to get in touch with Shockwave today, Glitch?” asked Lug, a white and red member of the disposable class sitting across from Damus.

Damus shook his head. “I only got to speak with his assistant Fistfight, who said he was busy today. Wouldn’t tell me what he was up to though.”

“I’m still not convinced Councilor Shockwave is fully on side,” said Clicker. “I feel like he often plays Chaos Bringer’s Advocate simply because that’s what his base expects of him and so that Proteus and his ilk don’t gain full control of the Council. Anything he says or does is for his own personal gain; he has no love for people like us.”

“Ever the cynic, aren’t you, Clicker?” Anode remarked from the front door. “And I thought Lug could be a downer.”

While Lug shot a glare at Anode, Clicker fixed her with a frown. “A leader must always put realism before optimism. While I would like to think someone as high of status as Shockwave could be an ally of ours, I wouldn’t put much faith in such a concept… if any faith at all.”

Damus tapped his fingers on the table, glancing between his teammates. He had been hearing rumors of the Decepticons’ resurgence for some time now, which were validated when his people he knew even outside of the league started to join them. He had always been on the fence about following suit; while he was aware of the Decepticons’ less than savory history, he wasn’t sure if a movement less aggressive than them would have what it took to finally bring change to Cybertron. Maybe the Decepticons were the answer.

Decibel cleared his vocal processor, pulling Damus out of his thoughts. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I’m picking up a high frequency of transmission traffic. Higher than normal.”

“Disregard it for now,” Clicker said. “We need to start—”

“What if it’s something important?” Damus asked. “I’ve heard word that a High Councilor was found dead near Rodion. Maybe it’s something we need to pay attention to.”

Clicker sighed as he waved a hand. “Fine. Decibel, turn on the main screen. But I’m turning it off if its just more political squabbling.”

Decibel walked over to the room’s only television screen and turned it on. It took him a few minutes to adjust the controls in order to get a clear signal, but before long the gathered members of the A.V.L. were all watching the current broadcast from Iacon.

Immediately, Damus wished he hadn’t said anything.

*  *  *

“Dominus! Dominus! I just picked up a signal from Cybertron! Sentinel Prime is—”

“Dead, I know.” Dominus Ambus grimaced as he gazed upon the screen situated above the ship’s viewport. Countless stars and planets laid before him and his partner, and yet the only thing he could focus on was the mutilated corpse of Sentinel Prime as it laid at the front steps of the Grand Imperium. Other Autobots surrounded it, frozen in shock and fear as a gray and black figure emerged from the opening that had been blasted into the Imperium’s central tower, smoke exhuming from a massive cannon attached to his arm. Sky spy drones quickly shifted focus to the fearsome warrior, centering their cameras on him.

“Attention, Cybertronians, one and all!” the warrior bellowed. “Your age of anarchy is over! Sentinel Prime is dead, and with him the legacy of the Primes! Now… kneel before MEGATRON!”

Dominus flinched at the name, well aware of its connotations. Rewind was standing beside him, his head-mounted camera recording everything even as he raised a hand to cover his faceplate.

“What are you waiting for?” Megatron snarled. “I said kneel!”

He fired from his cannon and killed a member of the gathered crowd. Screams of terror preluded acquiescence to the murderer’s demands, falling onto their knees.

Unable to watch any more, Dominus switched the screen off before pivoting his chair to face Rewind. “Set a course for Cybertron. We’re returning home.”

Rewind stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “Are you crazy? You saw what just happened—!”

“Yes, and I intend to do everything in my power to put a stop to it,” Dominus replied. “I may have had no love for Sentinel Prime and his rule, but this is not at all what I envisioned the future of Cybertron to be. I desire peace through change… not through tyranny.”

“But… we’re not soldiers,” Rewind said quietly. “We can’t… we can’t fight people like him.”

“We can,” Dominus reassured him. “Maybe not by ourselves, but with the help of others, I am certain we can topple wannabe-tyrants like this… this Megatron in no time.”

Rewind looked up at him. “Really?”

“Really.” Dominus smiled as he took his partner’s hand into his own, squeezing it. “Cross my spark.”

Transformers Regenerated: Tarnished - Part 1

A side-story I've been meaning to write for some time now. I might be alternating between side-stories like this and Pax Cybertronia.

TALES OF THE DISAPPEARED:

TARNISHED: PART ONE

 Cybertron, Cycle 8264 (550 years before the Second Great War)

Roller enjoyed watching television.

It was an interest that he always had difficulty explaining to his friends and peers. One of his earliest memories was becoming engrossed with a broadcast of Sentinel Prime’s State of the Commonwealth speech, oblivious to the world around him as his mentor tried and failed to get his attention. This obsession had persisted with him to this day, to the point that everyone he knew pretty much just accepted it and did not try to get him to change.

Perhaps part of the reason was him being constantly cooped up at whatever station he was assigned to that cycle. While the others got to go out and have their fun catching crooks and busting illegal operations, Roller was stuck here monitoring the monitors with his comlink nearby on the off-chance they needed him to haul away some heavy-hitter or a truck-load of contraband.

With no one to talk to and nothing to do, television was pretty much all Roller had. It was his only link to the world outside the station and the only thing keeping him from losing his mind to complete and utter boredom.

Which was all a moot point at the moment because there was nothing good on.

Click.

“—sparked a debate between High Councilors Decimus of Kaon and Shockwave of Tarn over the logistics of—”

Click.

“—has agreed to give the Functionist Council full jurisdiction over the Automica district—”

Click.

“—fire at an abandoned relinquishment clinic in Tesk has been contained—” 

Click.

“Slow news day, eh?”

Roller peeled his optics away from the television screen to see a small bike-bot in blue armor plating step into the station, holding a datapad. He silently thanked whatever deity was listening for giving him something to break up the monotony.

“I’ll say,” he muttered as he switched off the screen and straightened up in his chair. “It feels like the stars are aligned to make me as bored as cosmically possible.”

Springarm nodded, not really looking up from his datapad. “Seems to be that way for everyone. That call we got turned out to be a bogus one.”

“I could have told you that,” Roller grunted. “Rattrap always puts out false leads to throw us off the trail of whatever crime lord he owes debt to.”

“Well, Wheelarch was the one who suggested we follow up on it, regardless of all the red flags. Thank Primus he’s the one who has to tell the chief and not me.”

Roller nodded, noticing that Springarm was still gazing at his datapad. “What’s that you got there? Another one of Stungun’s reports?”

“No, actually,” Springarm replied. “It’s Dominus Ambus’ newest publication. The Ascetic Cybertronian.” 

“Dominus Ambus? As in the activist?”

“Activist, philosopher, scientist… he’s a lot of things to different people. Surely you’ve heard of him on that TV of yours.”

“Of course I have,” Roller said. “I just have a hard time paying attention to anything he has to say for more than three minutes. Five, at the most.”

“Well, if you ever get bored with flashing colored images, you can always borrow my copy,” Springarm said. “Believe it or not, it’s a real page turner. I’m already on the seventieth chapter.”

Roller snorted. “I’m sorry; seventieth chapter? Either the chapters are real short or you have the world’s highest threshold of patience.”

“Hey, don’t say I never offered you anything.” Springarm walked over to his desk and set down the datapad. He moved to take a seat only to stop halfway, his optics narrowing at something on his computer. “Uh, did you get a message from Optronix earlier?”

“Optronix?” At the sound of his old friend’s name, Roller rose from his seat. “I didn’t hear it go off.”

“Apparently it was received just a couple breems ago. Says he needs you to help him haul away a bunch of simultronic machines from Swindle’s.”

Roller shook his head as stepped away from his monitors, unable to help a smirk from appearing on his faceplate. “Now I know why there’s nothing to do around here; because he’s always getting things done himself.”

“He does sound pretty active for an Elite Guardsman,” Springarm remarked. “I always thought they just hung around Iacon and look badass around Sentinel Prime.”

“Most of them do. But Optronix is different. Always has been.”

Springarm raised an eyebrow. “In a good way or a bad way?”

Roller shrugged as he transformed into his vehicle mode, a heavily armored truck. “In his own way.”

*  *  *

Damus enjoyed listening to music.

It was always difficult for him to explain his interest to others, many of whom considered it to be senseless noise. To him, it was a form of personal expression; a means for one to show the world who they really were beyond what they transformed to or what they did in terms of function. In a world that was slowly being dominated by functionism with each passing day, such a thing was needed lest society spiral into permanent monotony.

A particular piece he enjoyed was “The Empyrean Suite,” written by Eucryphia in ode to the Citadel of Light. He would often find himself humming its melodic notes to himself during times of stress, as it would always soothe his processor and put him at a peace of mind.

Right now, however, it was not working.

He sat huddled underneath a table, his humming off-key and frantic, as he watched the remaining patrons of Swindle’s den be rounded up and escorted to a waiting transport. The den’s proprietor and namesake was desperately trying to defend himself to the Elite Guardsman that had led the raid on his establishment. Judging by the Guardsman’s face alone, Swindle was not making a successful case for himself.

“It’s called entertainment!” the gold-plated mech was saying, trying to look brave while shrinking under the Guardsman’s intense gaze. “Don’t you know what entertainment is? Is that a foreign word to you Elite Guard people?”

“Your concept of ‘entertainment’ has already broken more laws than I can count on both of my servos,” the red-and-black Guardsman replied, his yellow optics showing no sympathy. “Simultronics, syk deals… and I don’t even want to know where you got your hands on a shipment of skitters. That in of itself is a severe violation of the Tyrest Accord.”

“I had nothing to do with that!” Swindle protested. “I didn’t even know about that until you mentioned it! If I did, I would have called you guys in as soon as possible!”

“No, you wouldn’t have. Because you knew we would have shut down for all the other scrap you’ve been doing.”

As Swindle blabbered out excuse after excuse, Damus noticed one of the police officers — a black and purple bot with a broad chest — walking towards him. He instinctively drew his knees closer to his chest and buried his head deeper into his arms, pointlessly hoping that maybe they wouldn’t notice him.

“Hands where I can see them,” the officer said gruffly.

With a quiet whimper, Damus held out his hands, though they were more like claws. He missed his old hands, though he knew no amount of complaining would get them back.

“On your feet, glitch-head.”

Slowly, Damus pulled himself out from under the table and stood up, still humming. He kept his head down as the officer drew a pair of stasis cuffs and slapped them over his wrists, locking them in place.

“You have the right to remain the silent,” the officer grunted as he started to drag Damus away. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in—”

His spiel was cut short when the cuffs came clean off of Damus’ wrists and clattered to the floor. The noise was enough to attract the Elite Guardsman’s attention, who looked over in their direction.

“Everything all right there, Barricade?”

“Fine,” Barricade muttered as he brought another pair of cuffs. “Just a faulty pair. We really ‘oughta get new equipment.”

“Take it up with your district,” the Guardsman said. “I’m not the one you need to complain to.”

“Whatever.” Barricade grunted as he secured the second pair of cuffs over Damus’ hands. A few seconds later, the same exact thing happen. Barricade’s gold face twisted in annoyance as he shifted his glare from the two faulty cuffs to Damus.

“You trying to pull something, ya’ grease-stain?”

“I’m sorry, officer,” Damus said meekly, his single blue optic looking anywhere that wasn’t Barricade’s blazing red eyes. “I have a tendency to cause things to short-circuit and break down. I—I don’t know how to control it.”

“Well, you’d better start controlling it now or else I’ll have to put you in temporary stasis lock.”

“I—I can’t, sir. Please, you have to believe me—”

Barricade sneered. “Oh, I believe you all right.” He looked over to the Elite Guardsman, who had just finished putting Swindle in stasis cuffs and handing him off. “What do you say we do with him, Optronix?”

The Elite Guardsman walked over to them, keeping his eyes on Damus. The small orange bot continued to avoid his gaze, finding the floor more interesting to look at.

“What’s your name, bot?” Optronix asked.

“Damus, sir.”

“And what do you transform into, Damus?”

“A car. Just… just a car.”

“Is your ability — the thing you did just now — linked in any way to your alternate mode?”

Damus shook his head. “No, sir. Not that I know of, anyway.”

He risked a glance up at Optronix, who was rubbing his chin thoughtfully. This was not the response Damus had been expecting; he had known bots like him who had been persecuted for their unexplained powers. He thought for sure Optronix would have locked him up in the transport by now.

“Let me handle this one, Barricade,” Optronix said after a minute. “Go ahead and take the rest of the prisoners back to the station for processing.”

Barricade gave him an odd look. “Are you sure? I say we just put him out and—”

“I gave you an order, officer.”

The sternness in Optronix’s voice was enough to get Barricade striding out of the room. Once he was gone, Optronix stepped closer to Damus, who was now fully looking up at the Elite Guardsman, his single optic wide with surprise and mild apprehension.

“Come with me, Damus,” Optronix said, placing a hand on the orange bot’s shoulder. “There is someone I would like you to meet.”

*  *  *

Dominus Ambus enjoyed writing.

In his mind, words were the most powerful thing one could have at their disposal. Words had the power to influence an individual, to move a people into action, to shake the foundation of society. Words could be dangerous tools, yes, but without them civilizations would inevitably collapse into stagnation. The world would become one of stagnation, with no hope of change or evolution.

It was a world Dominus feared Cybertron would one day become. That was why he wrote; to challenge the High Council and their functionist beliefs in the hopes of stopping their doctrine from becoming the only one. Naturally, his works had gotten him in trouble more than once with the High Council. If it weren’t for his high status as well as close connections with some of the Council’s more prominent members, he probably would have received the empurata treatment long ago.

Even so, he was not going to let their opposition stop him. Even though he had just finished and released his latest work, The Ascetic Cybertronian, that did not mean he was going to stop writing. Already had he started work on his next piece, one that he knew was going to shake society even more than Ascetic already had within two solar cycles of its publication.

“Alternity Today released an opinion piece today. Do you want to hear it?”

Dominus set down his writing tools and turned to look at his small assistant (and close companion) Rewind. “It’s not from Hatchet, is it?”

Rewind double-checked his datapad. “Uh… it is, actually.” He looked back up at Dominus. “I take it you don’t want to hear it, then?”

“Not at the moment,” Dominus said bitterly. “I have to be in a certain mood to read anything of his… usually when I want to throw something against the wall.”

“I’ll disregard it then,” Rewind replied, swiping a servo over the screen. “Besides that, reviews have been pretty positive so far. Councilor Proteus even appraised it in an interview he had this morning.”

Dominus smirked to himself. “Only because I didn’t say anything that outright blasted him and his party’s corrupt ideals and policies. I’m sure if he saw what I was working on now, he would have my face and hands removed in an instant.”

Rewind tilted his head. “Could he get away with something like that? I thought empurata was only reserved for bots of low social status.”

“Maybe so. But I wouldn’t put it past Proteus to go to such lengths, if only to show the world that he had that power over people like me.” Dominus sighed as he leaned back in his chair, staring forlornly at his half-written piece. “Honestly though, I could not care less about ratings and reviews. I’ve said what I wanted to say and I’m ready to move on; to bigger and greater things.”

“Like what? Your next book?”

Dominus shook his head. “No, I’m talking beyond that. Beyond Cybertron, even. I’m talking about things many have spoken of but few have dared to take action. I’m talking about things that people like Proteus could never wrap his processor around.”

He looked at Rewind, smiling at the confusion radiating from his partner’s faceplate.

“My dear Rewind… what would you say to a quest for Luna 1?”

Transformers Regenerated: Pax Cybertronia XV, Chapter One

 CHAPTER ONE

Metroplex, in orbit of Earth

“Easy, soldier. Coming out of a CR chamber isn’t exactly a walk in the park.”

Bumblebee stumbled as he stumbled out of said chamber, with Ratchet supporting him by the arms. “I can’t feel my face,” the yellow Autobot muttered.

“That’s because it’s still healing,” Ratchet replied. “You’ll have to wear a mask over it until it’s been fully repaired.”

“Is it a cool mask?” Bumblebee asked.

“Well, Swerve said he was jealous when he saw me working on it.”

“Wait, Swerve is here?” Bumblebee straightened up, looking at the medic. “I thought he was still on the Lost Light.”

Ratchet sighed. “You’ve been out of it for a while, ‘Bee. A good week or so has passed by since you were taken out of commission.”

“Wow. Sure doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. So, what did I miss?”

Ratchet guided him towards a repair slab. “You might want to sit down for this.”

Bumblebee picked up on the solemness in the doctor’s voice. “Is it that bad?”

“Yes, and no. But mostly yes.”

Bumblebee sighed as he sat down, bracing himself both physically and mentally. “All right. Hit me.”

“Megatron has returned,” Ratchet began. Not even waiting for Bumblebee to react, he went on in an almost rapid-fire succession. “The Decepticons have organized here on Earth. Optimus has come out of retirement to help us out. Rodimus Prime has been rescued by the Crusadercons, but they’ve lost their ship. There’s this Grand Architect whose been responsible for most of our grievances this past month and he and the Destructons have somehow brought back Unicron in some way, shape, or form. Fortress Maximus is missing. Maccadam is one of the Thirteen but he’s dead now, along with Vector Prime.”

Ratchet paused, looking contemplative for a moment. Bumblebee stared at him in silence, his new mask unable to hide the shock in his face.

“I’m pretty sure that’s everything,” the medic said. “I’ll have to double-check, but that’s the important stuff at the very least.”

“Doc, you can’t just spring all of that on someone who’s just been taken out of intensive care!” Bumblebee exclaimed.

“I figured this was better then having to let you piece things together over time; time which we may or may not have.”

Bumblebee lowered his face into his hands, struggling to process this dump of information. “So, where are we now? Are we still on Earth?”

“Somewhat,” Ratchet replied. “Optimus and some others are down at the site of the Ark to set up operations. He thinks it would be too dangerous for Metroplex to set down, since Trypticon might detect him.”

“Oh, Trypticon is here, too?”

“Yeah. That was another thing I forgot to mention.”

Bumblebee sighed again. “Great. And what are we doing now?”

“For now, we’re on standby while the Primes — Optimus and Rodimus — figure out our next course of action,” said Ratchet. “In any case, you’ll still need to recover for another couple of mega-cycles before you can even think of getting back into the heat of things.”

“Right,” Bumblebee muttered. “To be honest, I kind of wish you had just left me in there….”

The Ark II, Earth

The sound of clanging metal and obscene curses told Sari Sumdac that she was getting close to Wheeljack. The Autobot engineer had been hard at work for the past few days in trying to set up a GroundBridge for the Autobots to use in traveling across the globe. Even with the help of recent reinforcements, progress was slow due to scarce materials as well as the less-than-pristine condition of the Ark.

“Careful with those beams, Grapple! Those don’t grow on trees!”

“I know what I’m doing, Wheeljack.”

“Yeah, but have you ever built and rebuilt a dozen GroundBridges in your lifetime? I don’t think so!”

Hovering a few feet above the floor on her foot thrusters, Sari dared to poke her head into the room where the Autobots were working. A good number of Wheeljack’s helpers — as well as others stationed throughout the ship — had apparently come back from a quest that had ended less than spectacularly for them. Going by their faces, she got the impression that working for Wheeljack was not much of an improvement.

After chastising some bot named Huffer for complaining about something, Wheeljack turned in Sari’s direction and noticed her. His face lit up and he briskly walked over to her, nearly knocking into a green and orange tow-truck bot.

“Sari! I’ve been looking for you!” The Autobot engineer knelt down to be closer to eye-level with the techno-organic. “You haven’t been hiding from me, have you?”

Sari rubbed her arm, choosing her words carefully. “No,” she said quietly. “I’ve just been… resting. I’ve been through a lot lately and just needed some time to process it all.”

Wheeljack nodded. “So I’ve heard. I’ve been meaning to compare notes with this Kicker friend of yours and see if we could piece everything together. Of course, he told me he wanted to wait until you were ready to go over everything.”

“Right. Well, that’s why I’ve sought you out… because I think I am ready.”

“Really?” Sounding excited by this, Wheeljack stood up and turned to the others. “All right, everyone! Break time! I’ve got to attend to something!”

“Thank Primus!” said Huffer, wasting no time in setting down his tools and walking away from the project.

Grapple, on the other hand, looked confused. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take over? I’m sure we can handle things from here.”

Wheeljack shook his head. “I don’t trust you to not screw things up.”

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been building things all my life! For nearly four thousand years!”

“Yeah, but have any of those things been GroundBridges?”

Not waiting for Grapple to respond, Wheeljack turned back to Sari and beckoned her to follow him. “Come on. I’ve already transferred all of my notes from my lab on Metroplex to my old one here.”

Sari followed him through the corridors of the crashed Autobot ship and eventually reached said lab. Indeed, it was in a much poorer condition than the one he had situated for himself aboard Metroplex. That did not seem to deter Wheeljack as he immediately approached the main computer and switched it on. Minutes later, Kicker Jones showed up in the doorway.

“I take it we’re getting started?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Wheeljack. “Get your techno-organic butt up here.”

Armoring up into his “robot” form, Kicker used his own foot thrusters to propel himself upward to stand atop Wheeljack’s console. Sari followed suit and the pair watched as the engineer brought up his notes.

“So,” Wheeljack started, “I am correct in guessing that Sari was created by Machination around Cycle 9797 — or 1997, for you humans — as the first successful techno-organic, yes?”

“Correct,” Kicker replied. “I was created a few months earlier and deemed a failure. If it weren’t for the man who raised me — Dr. Brian Jones — I would have been disposed of.”

“Interesting,” Wheeljack murmured. “Are you still in contact with Dr. Jones?”

Kicker shook his head. “He forced me to break contact with him a few years ago when word of Machination’s activities got out. He didn’t want them finding out about me and putting the rest of my— his family in danger.”

“Do you know where we could find him?” Sari asked.

Kicker shrugged. “He could be anywhere in the world. His work forces him to move every few months, from state to state or even country to country. It would be impossible to locate him.”

“Never say ‘impossible’ when you have the galaxy’s smartest computers at your disposal,” said Wheeljack. “With Teletraan-X, we’ll be able to find him in no time.”

“And what will he be able to tell us?” Sari asked.

“Anything he knows about Scorponok and his schemes. Seriously, it seems like every time we think we’re done with that spawn of a glitch, something else of his comes up again.” Wheeljack glanced apologetically at her and Kicker. “Er, no offense.”

Sari did not take any and she returned her attention to the screen. “What about my father?” she asked. “Can Teletraan-X find him?”

“We can give it a shot,” Wheeljack replied. “I should add that it might not be 100% accurate or infallible; some of the tech on this ship hasn’t been used in a hundred years and may have been damaged in the crash.”

Sari cleared her throat. “Do you… do you think you could do it now?”

Wheeljack glanced at her. “I know he still needs rescuing, but we’re not exactly in any position to prioritize his rescue at the moment.”

“I know, but… can you just find out where he is? Just so that I know he’s still alive.”

Wheeljack regarded her for a moment before slowly nodding. “I’ll see what I can do. It might take a while, though.”

Sari sighed. “Right. I understand.”

Kicker glanced between her and Wheeljack, looking as if he was deciding what to say. After a moment, he finally spoke though his voice was low and quiet. “I can lead you to where Project: Cadmus was held.”

Both Sari and Wheeljack looked at him. “You can?” the former asked.

Kicker nodded. “I’m not sure what good it will do — it may be long abandoned — but I have a hunch that there might be something there.” He paused. “It might also be where they’ve taken your father.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Wheeljack.

“I don’t know; it’s just a hunch. But seeing as how his father Newton was head of Project: Cadmus, I can’t help but feel there may be a connection.”

“Well, that’s great and all, but my original point still stands; we can’t exactly prioritize rescuing one human while the Decepticons are doing Primus-knows-what on this planet.”

“So you can’t spare even one Autobot?” Kicker asked. “I thought you guys got in a whole bunch of reinforcements.”

“Yeah, but Prime’s have already got most of them on their own assignments. I suppose you could try and plead your case to him, but I wouldn’t keep my hopes up.”

“Fine. Then suppose just Sari and I go.”

Wheeljack narrowed his eyes at them. “You don’t need me to tell you how incredibly dangerous that would be. Especially since Scorponok’s probably still looking for Sari.”

“All the more reason to have an Autobot with us for protection.”

Wheeljack ran a hand down his faceplate. “You’re really gonna pull this one on me, aren’t ya’? The whole ‘help-me-out-or-I’m-gonna-risk-my-life’ thing.”

Kicker simply shrugged as he folded his arms.

After a few minutes of staring at the two techno-organics like a disappointed parent, Wheeljack sighed and looked away in defeat. “Let me call up Prime and talk with him. Like I said though, don’t get your hopes up.”

Kicker nodded. “Fair enough. And thank you.”

While the Autobot engineer made his call, Kicker turned to Sari and was surprised to find her looking almost forlorn. “Hey, are you all right?” he asked. “This is progress, isn’t it? We’re going to find your dad. Hopefully, of course.”

“Yeah,” Sari murmured, unsure herself as to why she was not feeling any sense of elation. “Hopefully.”

Earth, elsewhere

Located deep within the wilderness of southwestern Vermont, the so-called “Bennington Triangle” was infamous for being the site of several disappearances and strange happenings over sixty years ago. Stories circulated of a several-feet tall monster that roamed the forest and was responsible for said disappearances and happenings. While such events had not happened in the decades since, the area was still widely regarded with fear and trepidation and only a handful of brave souls had dared to trek through the territory.

For all the myths surrounding it, Scorponok saw the “Bennington Triangle” as little more than what it actually was to him: yet another one of his secret locations. In fact, the Triangle was the site of one of the first base of operations that he had set up upon arriving on Earth, though he had scarcely revisited it in the last sixty years. He only returned to it now due to most of his other locations — namely Machination bases — had either been destroyed or compromised by his enemies.

Stalking through the forest, cloaked by the thick foliage, Scorponok approached the hidden cave located at the base of Glastenbury Mountain. Two metal doors — disguised as “rocks” that had fallen and blocked the opening — slowly slid apart after receiving Scorponok’s signal and promptly closed behind him once he was through. The large Decepticon then made his descent into the underground cavern that served as his base, using his claws to cut through the cobwebs and overgrowth that had formed in the past six decades.

The only thing that drew him to this specific location — as opposed to the other hidden bases that he could have gone to — was a particular subject of his that he knew he would need at his disposal if he had any hope of combating Megatron and the Grand Architect. He was grateful that he had held off until now from playing this wild card of his, rather than doing so at any of the points when the Autobots were meddling with his schemes. Sometimes, he impressed even himself with his forward thinking.

Upon reaching the center of the base, Scorponok immediately made his way to the main computer and turned it on, pleased to find that it was still functional after all this time. He put in a few commands into the console and an adjacent door just to the side started to open, revealing a large stasis pod within. Sleeping inside the pod was a large green and black bot with purple accents, white wings protruding from his back. To Scorponok’s relief, all of the vital signs on the pod were showing positive.

“It is time to wake up, old friend,” Scorponok said as he stepped over to the pod. “There is much that needs to be done.”

Transformers Regenerated: Pax Cybertronia XV, Prologue

 PROLOGUE

Earth, approx. 150 years ago

“Fascinating. Simply fascinating.”

Scorponok stood alone inside what had once been a Cybertronian spacecraft. As far as he knew, he was the only one who knew of its existence; the only one besides Shockwave, of course. It was from hacking into Shockwave’s personal records that he had learned of this very planet’s existence, let alone the fact that it was somehow harboring a crew of lost Cybertronians.

Were they Cybertronian, though? While the technology he had found in the ship was certainly similar enough, there were enough differences to make him question whether the ship had even originated from Cybertron. Even the information he had gleamed from Shockwave’s records had been vague on the matter; perhaps even the other Decepticon had been just as uncertain as well.

While he had not been able to derive anything from the craft’s data logs — they had either been wiped in the crash or manually by someone else — Scorponok knew that the ship alone would be enough to work with. If nothing else, it would provide him solid foundation   for his machinations to come.

An indicator in his HUD alerted him to the presence of another Cybertronian — specifically Decepticon — within vicinity of him and the crashed ship. He did not need to speculate as to the identity of the new arrival. It was one he had been expecting ever since he had touched down on the planet.

He turned around just in time to see a large green, purple and white craft swoop in from above, altering itself to take on the shape of a tall robot before landing on the ground before Scorponok. The newcomer then straightened to his full height, red optics glowing from behind his white faceplate.

“Sixshot,” Scorponok said, feigning surprise. “I thought I ordered you to stay behind on the Semper Tyrannis.”

“You did,” Sixshot said coldly. “You also said you would be back within a deca-cycle. It’s been a lot more than that.”

Scorponok smirked. “My apologies. I tend to lose track of time when I am preoccupied with things that greatly interest me.”

“Care to enlighten me on what exactly it is about this planet that has you so interested?” Sixshot asked.

Scorponok gestured widely to the crashed ship behind him. “I wasn’t lying about what I had uncovered on this planet. As you can see, our race is no stranger to this world.”

Sixshot tilted his head, optics narrowed as he eyed the other Decepticon carefully. “So what? Why are you hiding this knowledge from the others; from Megatron?”

“As I’ve already told you, I see this as an opportunity; one I do not wish to risk having Megatron learn about and exploit for himself. Call it selfish if you wish, but I see no harm in looking out for oneself from time to time.”

“An opportunity for what, though? What exactly are your plans?”

Scorponok grinned. “Can I trust you to keep a secret?”

Sixshot said nothing at first, remaining still and expressionless. Scorponok could imagine the gears turning in his head as he contemplated the question. Whichever way the Six Changer answered, Scorponok was prepared for what action he would take next.

After a few tense moments, Sixshot finally answered. “Yes.”

Scorponok’s smile broadened. “Then listen closely.”

Earth, present day

“Fascinating. Simply fascinating.”

Tarantulas stood alone in his personal quarters-slash-laboratory aboard the Darksyde, as was his preference. Except he wasn’t really alone as there was a supposedly ancient golden Autobot laying on an operation table right next to him with their head split open, from which multiple cables connected them to the computer screen that the Predacon scientist was currently engrossed with.

The memories of said Autobot, playing out on the screen before Tarantulas’ optical sensors, had already confirmed what he had long suspected; that this “Centurion” individual had been flung into the distant past by the artifact known as the Talisman. More than that, the Talisman had been the cargo of the ship Centurion and his fellow bots had arrived in. The circumstances on that detail were vague at best, but Tarantulas was confident he would get to the bottom of it eventually. Provided that his subject did not abruptly die on him, of course.

One detail that he had learned from Centurion’s memories was that he and his crew had some sort of connection to the ancient Prime Onyx. This, of course, implied that Onyx Prime had some sort of connection himself with the Talisman, which only enhanced Tarantulas’ desire to learn everything he could about the mysterious device.

Tittering to himself, Tarantulas turned away from the screen and wrapped his hands around Centurion’s exposed cranium, gazing into the Autobot’s dimmed optical sensors.

“Oh, you and I are going to be spending lots of time together,” the arachnid Predacon said softly. “One way or another, I will learn all of your secrets. And once I do, no one will be able to stop me from using that knowledge for my own personal use.”

He started to chuckle, which then transitioned into a full-blown laugh before spiraling into a cackle that served as a perfect manifestation of the scientist’s twisted and warped mind. It echoed against the walls of his lab and leaked out into the rest of the ship, all while Centurion’s lifeless eyes gazed back his captor.

ALIGNMENT

Part 3: Road to Ruin