ONE: UP FROM THE BOTTOM
It felt so strange to be back at the bottom again.
For the last eight or so years, Krok had gotten used to be the one that others looked to for leadership and guidance. Or at least, he was supposed to be that kind of bot; he didn’t have enough servos to count the amount of times his crew of Scavengers had ignored his orders or outright rebelled against him. But for the most part, he had always been the one in charge, the one who got to call the shots, the one who got to sit at the front of whatever ship they had gotten their hands on.
But that hadn’t always been the case. For most of his career, he had always been one of the lowest ranked in the Decepticon army; a mere foot soldier who had always struggled to be anything more than that. The closest he had ever gotten to a promotion was when he had served as Bludgeon’s lieutenant at Klo. But when they suffered a defeat at the hands of the Autobots, he had been dropped back down to foot soldier—Bludgeon had coerced him into taking the blame and subsequent demotion for the defeat if he didn’t want to face the business end of his commander’s blade.
In hindsight, Krok wondered if he should have just let Bludgeon kill him. It wasn’t as if he had accomplished much of anything when given the position of leadership. All of his crew—his friends, as ill of a term it might have been—were either dead or off doing bigger and better things. Flywheels had been torn apart by the D.J.D.; Crankcase, Misfire, and Spinister had been torn apart by Trypticon’s Weaponizer drones; Fulcrum had sacrificed himself to stop Trypticon from tearing reality asunder; Spacewarp had buggered off to do her own thing; and Nickel had been reassigned to Flatline’s team of medics.
That just left Krok doing what he had been doing all those centuries ago: menial labor. The lowest of the low. Just a mere foot soldier, barely better than a Vehicon.
It hadn’t been for much longer than a second, but he had briefly considered joining the other side. After he, Nickel, and Spacewarp had been picked up by the Autobots on Mederi, they had decided to join their crew for the time being, if only because it was the best option they had at the time. During that time, Krok had seen how friendly the Autobots had been not just with each other but even towards the three of them, Decepticon symbol be damned. It had almost made him embarrassed about even wearing the symbol. For a second, he wondered if he would fare better as an Autobot…
But then he remembered Regulus-Alpha. He remembered the awful scream his friend Radar had left out as the Wreckers tore him apart. He remembered Gatoraider being blown to bits.
He could never be an Autobot. He could never convince himself that being one of them would be any better than being a Decepticon. At least there was a certain sense of honest about being a Decepticon, as cruel and ironic as it was.
When he had heard Megatron’s summons to Earth, he did not want to answer it. Neither had Nickel, for that matter. But after the Lost Light was destroyed at Planet X, that had left them with no other option. As soon as they had made it back to Cybertron, Spacewarp had gotten them a ride and dropped them off on Mars, where Megatron’s forces had since relocated. Spacewarp had then blasted off before anyone could stop her, Nickel had been reassigned after she explained who she was and what she could do, and Krok… well, someone needed to clean out the Nemesis’ garbage disposal. It hadn’t been touched in ages, after all.
Strangely, Krok was finding that he did not regret the decision he had made. At least here at the bottom, no one paid him much mind. He simply followed the orders he was given and that was that. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe this was what he was built for….
They hadn’t stayed on Mars for long. From what he had gathered from eavesdropping and chatting with others of his rank, Megatron was intent on rebuilding the Decepticon Empire, and with the Autobots’ forces stretched thin as they tried to repair the colony worlds that had been ravaged by the Grand Architect’s forces and to safeguard Earth, there would be little resistance to such efforts. Currently, as far as Krok knew, they were on course for Cresta Superior, which was deep in the territory of the Intruder Empire. It was several light-years away from what was considered Decepticon space—practically on the other side of the galaxy—but Krok couldn’t bring himself to care too enough to question it.
It wasn’t as if anyone would have listened to him anyway.
As he wandered through the halls of the Nemesis, lost in his reflections, he heard voices coming from around the corner. At first he did not pay them any mind, as he knew they wouldn’t be anyone who would want to speak with him. But as they got closer to where he was, he realized that there was something familiar about them. Familiar and yet impossible… because those voices belonged to those who were supposed to be dead.
He turned around as the sources of the voices came from around the corner. One was a tall bot in magenta armor plating and wings, while the other was a stockier bot in dark gray and blue, with a golden face that was permanently scowling.
Krok blinked, unable to believe what he was seeing. Surely he had to be hallucinating. Unable to contain himself, he blurted out the names that were on the edge of his vocal processor.
“Misfire?! Crankcase?!”
The pair paused in their conversation, stopping in their steps to look at Krok as if noticing him for the first time. “Uh, yeah, those are our names,” said Misfire, his expression one of confusion. “What’s it to you?”
Krok took a tentative step forward, still wondering if he had truly gone mad and was beginning to see ghosts. “It’s… it’s me. Krok.”
Crankcase snorted. “Well, Krok, it’s nice to meet you. Would you like me to introduce you to my best friend, My Fist? I think he would get along well with your face.”
Misfire put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Crankcase, we don’t have time for this. We’re needed on the bridge, remember?”
Krok shook his head, waving his hands as he stepped in front of them. “Whoa, hold on a minute. This… where did you guys come from? You’re supposed to be dead! You… Trypticon killed you. His Brunt drones—”
“Yeah, well, get used to it, pal,” Crankcase growled, shoving him aside. “There’s a lot more of us where we came from. Now get out of our way before we hurl you into the trash compactor.”
Krok could only sputter out nonsense as he watched his two friends—former friends as it appeared—pushed past him and continued walking down the corridor, going back to pretending as if he didn’t exist.
As he struggled to process everything—something which was starting to cause his brain module to overheat—he heard another set of footsteps approach him from behind.
“Like seeing ghosts, isn’t it?”
Krok turned around to see a green and magenta mech with a body-type similar to the beast mode he had briefly worn. He recognized him as another former comrade—one who was not supposed to be dead as far as he knew. “Skullcruncher,” he muttered, still lost in thought. “What… what’s going on?”
“Megatron’s taken advantage of the fact that Trypticon, as a Titan, can produce sparks,” Skullcruncher explained. “Something that’s just perfect for a conqueror who needs troops to rebuild his army.”
“And he picked… them?”
“You and Nickel brought their remains with you when you joined up with us, remember? After the sparks were produced, she and Flatline went to work and—”
Krok did not need to listen to anymore. Without a word, he brushed past Skullcruncher and headed in the direction of the medical bay, ignoring his old comrade’s protests. Not for the first time in the last few years, he was beginning to regret getting rid of his alternate mode again—being a beast hadn’t suited him, he had decided—but he powered the motors in his legs as much as he could, allowing him to reach the medbay in relatively quick time.
As he stormed inside, he saw Nickel on one of the operating tables, working on another rebuilt Decepticon soldier. The Mini-Con looked up and, upon seeing the expression on Krok’s face, let out a sigh.
“Let me guess. You ran into them.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Krok demanded, striding across the room to stand across from her.
“I haven’t exactly had a break in the time since Megatron put me to work,” Nickel retorted. “Besides, it’s not like you would have been able to do anything. The orders came straight from Lord Megatron himself.”
“But they didn’t even recognize me! They acted as if I was nothing to them!”
“Yeah, well, new sparks don’t exactly come with all of your memories. I had managed to extract some data from their brain modules, but most of it was corrupted. Most I could salvage was their base personalities, and then I uploaded whatever information was on their official military files. Whatever memories they do have are essentially fabricated; they might as well be newborn bots.”
Krok clenched his fists as he cast his gaze downward. It was just then that he realized that the bot Nickel was operating on was another fallen comrade he recognized… one who had perished well before the others had.
“Flywheels?” he snapped. “You even brought back Flywheels?”
“Actually, this is Skytread,” Nickel said. “He was one of those Titan Masters we dealt with last year. Some of them recently fled Cybertron and approached Megatron for a place in the Decepticons. He agreed on the condition that they have their whole body-controlling gimmickry removed and agreed to being rebuilt into larger bodies. He said he didn’t have much use for Mini-Cons that couldn’t transform or perform some sort of function…”
“Great. So not only do I have dead comrades walking around who don’t remember me, but now I have a complete stranger wearing another’s face.” Krok shuttered his optics, already knowing what the answer to his next question would be. “And Fulcrum…?”
Nickel sighed. “There was nothing left of him to recover, Krok. You know that. His body was completely obliter—”
“Yes, yes, I know.” Krok growled in frustration as he threw up his hands in the air. “Well, if this is what our glorious leader wishes, then that’s all that matters. His word is law, after all.”
Nickel frowned. “Careful with your tone there. There are audio receptors around every corner. If anyone picks up what you’re saying and relays it back to Lord Megatron, then—”
“Then let him. It doesn’t matter anymore.” Krok turned on his heel and stormed out of the medbay, his gaze fixated on the floor. “I don’t matter anymore….”
As he walked back down the hallway, his shoulders weighed down with apathy and dejection, he failed to notice the photorceptors peering at him from the shadows. After saving the footage he had recorded, Laserbeak dropped down from his hidden perch and glided through the corridors of the Nemesis.
* * *
Standing on the bridge of the Nemesis, Megatron stared down at the emerald world of Cresta Superior. The planet’s atmosphere was choked green with pollution, a byproduct of the intense labor and production performed by the armored natives of the planet, who ruled from their Citadel Majestika in the mega-capital of Tykkam.
In the grand scheme of things, there was nothing much worth of value on Cresta Superior. Most of its resources had been bled dry by the natives, leaving all but the rich elite famished and in poverty. It bore no strategic value other than as a stopgap into striking the other planets in the Intruder Empire, which itself would be no difficult feat as the once powerful intergalactic state had declined in power over the last few centuries, their kingdom being reduced to only a handful of worlds.
Indeed, there was nothing of value on Cresta Superior… save for the one who was reported to be ruling the planet.
If the reports were to be believed, then Medusa—one of the Destructons he had thought he had imprisoned so many years ago—had recently taken hold of Citadel Majestika and overthrown the ruling council. It was allegedly in the factories of Tykkam itself that she had been constructed, where she had been objectified and tormented by her creators until she was freed by Lord Imperious. In the time since the Destructons’ return, Medusa had clearly been out for revenge against her creators and had made good on that vendetta.
Indeed, Megatron imagined that most of the Destructons were on such a path of vengeance, which was why he intended on moving on to Symbion and the territory of the Lunartix Empire once he was done here. That would only leave Lord Imperious himself, whose origins and whereabouts were still a mystery to him.
But it wouldn’t be for long. He would find him, one way or another, and correct the mistake of a thousand years.
“Lord Megatron?”
Stirred from his thoughts, Megatron cast his gaze to Skywarp, who was stationed at one of the ship’s monitors. “What is it?”
“Scouts have just reported from their survey of Tykkam. By all accounts, all lifeforms in the city have been eradicated. There is only one life signal detected, originating from Citadel Majestika.”
Megatron could not help a self-satisfied smirk from crossing his face. Found you. “Excellent. Let us not waste any more time.” He turned to a blue bot standing beside him. “Soundwave, mobilize the assembled units and send them down to the surface.”
Silence fell over the bridge. The assorted crew members glanced between themselves, perplexed expressions on their faceplates. Megatron frowned and was about to repeat himself when Skywarp spoke up again.
“Er, my liege… Soundwave isn’t here anymore. He… he deserted last year, remember?”
Megatron blinked. “What? But he—” He turned to where he thought Soundwave had been standing, only to realize it was Skywarp’s fellow Seeker Thundercracker. The blue and black Decepticon frowned back at his leader as Megatron turned back around.
“Ah… my mistake. I meant to say Thundercracker. I suppose the anticipation of this operation… got to my processor. Thundercracker, mobilize the assembled units and send them down to the surface.”
“Uh, right.” Thundercracker gave Megatron one last look before he departed from the bridge. Megatron turned his attention back to the rest of the crew and they quickly got back to work, acting as if nothing had happened.
Still, in the corner of his optic, Megatron could have sworn that Soundwave was still standing there, awaiting his commands dutifully as ever.
But he ignored it. He had to ignore it… and simply pray that he did not make a fool of himself in front of his troops again.
I have waited too long to reclaim my power, he said to himself. I cannot let it slip through my fingers again. Not this time. I am in command. I am in control.
I am Megatron.
* * *
“Interesting. Very interesting.”
Starscream tapped his chin as he reviewed the footage given to him by Laserbeak. With Soundwave absent, he had managed to convince Megatron to assume the spymaster’s duties, keeping an eye on those under his brilliant leader’s command to make sure there was no dissent. Megatron had been so preoccupied with his current obsession of tracking down and eliminating the four Destructons that he hadn’t given the prospect much thought and agreed to it.
More the fool him, as Starscream was now aware of everything going on aboard the Nemesis. Listening to every little conversation, observing every little movement, he was able to catalog each and every Decepticon into one of two categories: those blindly loyal to Megatron and those with doubts in his leadership.
And that second list was ever growing as Megatron continued to display… odd behavior, to say the least. Whether it was because he was shifting the Decepticons’ focus away from the Autobots in order to hunt down these Destructons (rather than take advantage of the Autobots’ current vulnerability) or because he was resurrecting dead soldiers to fill out the ranks, dissent was starting to sow among the Decepticons. It was not quite to the point of outright rebellion… but if the right person nurtured it, it very well could.
And Starscream was pretty sure who that person was.
There was a knock at the door to the chamber he was in. After shutting off the monitors displaying Laserbeak’s footage, Starscream turned and opened the door, offering a charming smile to the large gray and purple bot waiting on the other side.
“Ah, Astrotrain. Thank you for answering my summons.”
Astrotrain rubbed the back of his helm awkwardly as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “So, uh, what was it you wanted to show me…?”
“Oh, it’s nothing too important. Just something I… discovered while sifting through some of the old files Soundwave kept on hand.” Starscream switched back on one of the monitors and prepared a particular piece of footage—one which had not been provided to him by Laserbeak. “I thought it would be courteous of me to show it to you, just so you fully understood the weight of your allegiance to the Decepticons.”
Astrotrain narrowed his optics, giving Starscream a skeptical look. “What, you trying to insinuate something about my loyalty?”
“Not at all.” Starscream stepped aside so that Astrotrain had a clear look at the footage. “Please, just watch.”
He hit play on the recording and watched as Astrotrain’s look of confusion quickly transfigured into one of pure, blind anger.
Sometimes, all anyone needs is just a little… push.
