THE BURDEN OF DEATH
Semper Tyrannis, Cycle 9187
“…then I pointed my gun at him and bam! Straight between the eyes. You should have seen it.”
“Yes, Triggerhappy, I saw it. I was there.” Slugslinger scowled slightly as he walked down the corridors of the Semper Tyrannis with his two companions. “And I had more kills than you did.”
Triggerhappy scoffed. “As if. You may have fired your gun more times than me, but I still had the most hits.”
“Bah, I had you guys both beat!” Misfire grinned as he slung his arms over the other two’s shoulders, which they quickly shrugged off. “I hit pretty much everything I shot at!”
Slugslinger rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and how many of those things were your actual targets?”
Misfire’s grin faltered but only for a brief moment. “At least a good ninety percent of them. Okay, maybe eighty percent. Seventy-five maybe.”
“Try zero,” Triggerhappy snapped. “Honestly, if even your Targetmaster partner can’t improve your aim, then what hope do you….”
He trailed off at the sound of heavy footsteps coming from behind the three Decepticons. The other two heard it as well and the trio quietly stepped aside as a tall, massive mech in green and purple armor plating lumbered past them. The larger Decepticon did not even so much as glance at them as he walked past them. As soon as he had turned a corner and was well out of range for his audio receptors to pick up their voices, Triggerhappy slowly turned to look at the others.
“I’m not the only one who feels weirded out by having him on board, am I?”
Misfire shook his head. “Nope. I’m right there with you.”
“For once, I agree,” Slugslinger muttered. “At least we didn’t get stuck with someone like Overlord or whatshisface. Killmaster. The one with the wand.”
“Yeah,” Triggerhappy agreed. “I still don’t get the Terrorcons’ obsession with him though. They’re practically this ship’s local Sixshot Fan Club.”
“The Terrorcons?”
“You know, Hun-Gurrr’s little gang? They call themselves that to sound badass and cool, even they’re really just gross and disgusting. I swear, you can smell Blot from halfway across the ship. Although….” Triggerhappy paused for a moment. “My olfactory sensors haven’t been acting up much as of late. Maybe he’s finally cleaned himself up.”
Misfire rubbed his neck. “I dunno, I haven’t seen any of those losers around lately. Did we leave them behind at our last stop?”
Slugslinger grunted as he continued walking down the corridor. “Who cares? If you ask me, I’d say we’re a lot better off without them.”
* * *
“I should let you know,” Scorponok said as he sat in his seat within his personal command chamber, “that this mission is entirely optional.”
Sixshot stared at his commanding officer, his white faceplate devoid of expression. “Why call me in, then? You know what I am supposed to be used for. In and out. One and done.”
“Yes, I am well aware. However, I understand that Hun-Gurrr’s unit—the Terrorcons, as they call themselves—have been rather… attached to you ever since you joined my crew. I was under the impression that, since you tolerated their presence, they were of some importance to you.”
“Absolutely not, sir,” Sixshot said firmly. “I couldn’t care less about them.”
“I figured that,” Scorponok said. “And were they anyone else, I would have written them off as expandable troopers who are not worth going back for.”
“Have they gone missing?”
“Yes. They were sent on a reconnaissance mission to Mumu-Obscura, in the Eigerson-48 system. They have failed to report back and, based on recent reports, I fear they may have been captured.”
“And that is a problem because…?”
Scorponok leaned forward over his desk, bringing his hands together. “The five of them have recently received… modifications to their body-frames. Modifications that may have significant payoff if all goes to plan. If they were to end up in the hands of the Autobots, it would provide a major blow to our war efforts.”
Sixshot was tempted to request more elaboration, but something in Scorponok’s tone suggested that what he was discussing was classified information—something privy only to members of High Command. It was only in rare circumstances that members of the Warriors Elite such as himself was given access to such information, and the fact that Scorponok was not presenting it up front told him that this was not one of those cases.
In the end, he decided it didn’t really matter.
“Why do you say it’s optional, then?” he instead asked.
“Because, ideally, I want you to retrieve them and bring them back here in one piece,” Scorponok said. “However, if that is not something you wish to exert energy on, then I will instead have you raze the planet of Mumu-Obscura to ensure their destruction… and that of their captors. The choice, ultimately, is up to you.”
It only took Sixshot less of a moment to respond. “I’ll see what I can do.”
* * *
The Semper Tyrannis had dropped out of hyperspace on the edge of the Eigerson-48 system, allowing Sixshot to travel there from the ship in his spacecraft mode. As he made his way towards the planet, he allowed his thoughts to drift, something he only allowed during quiet moments such as this.
He had already decided he would search for the Terrorcons and rescue them, and he still was not sure why. They meant nothing to him, just like none of his crewmates meant anything to him, and yet…
Among the Decepticons, Sixshot had few friends. In fact, he could count them all on a single servo. Even using the word “friend” was stretching the definition, but Hun-Gurrr and his band of so-called Terrorcons were truly the only ones among the Decepticons that regarded Sixshot with anything other than abject terror, or saw him as something other than a living weapon. Instead, they practically worshiped him, seeing him as something of an idol; the model for what the “perfect Decepticon” should be.
Sixshot did not see himself as such. He saw himself much the same way as his superiors did: a living, walking weapon that brought destruction everywhere he went.
There had been a time, long ago, where he had been something other than that; a time before he had taken on the name Sixshot and learned the art of transformation from the Six Clan. In those days, he could say he had friends. People he cared about, and those who cared for him in turn. But those days were long gone. This was all he was now. All he had.
He wondered if his subconscious longing for camaraderie was a weakness. If perhaps it would be better for him to simply raze the planet and kill the Terrorcons just so he could be done with them. Then again, if Scorponok was indeed planning something with the Terrorcons, then it meant that they still had some value to the Decepticons and he would be a fool to throw them away simply for the sake of satisfying his own doubts. Even if Scorponok had given him permission to do just that.
He pushed these thoughts aside as he closed in on the planet of Mumu-Obscura, realizing that something was off. All records indicated that Mumu-Obscura was a populated world with a relatively bustling civilization, with plenty of resources to plunder. However, the planet that was now within range of his visual scanners appeared to be nothing more than a desolate wasteland on the surface. As if the planet had already been razed by the Decepticons before being cyber-formed.
If whoever had captured the Terrorcons were the ones responsible for this… then they were not Autobots. For as little as Sixshot thought of them, he knew that they were no capable of such devastation. They were far too weak and sentimental for that. If anything, this looked to be the work of one of the other Warriors Elite. Was Overlord behind this, perhaps? Black Shadow, even?
As he descended through the planet’s atmosphere, Sixshot picked up on five spark signatures. No doubt those of the Terrorcons, he thought. Curiously, he detected no others, which suggested that their captors were not even Cybertronian at all. But then who were they….?
Before long, Sixshot found the five Terrorcons stranded in the middle of a barren, rocky field. They appeared to be in restraints but still functioning. As he drew closer, he saw them look up at him and watched as their expressions became one of glee and elation.
Wonderful.
“It’s him!” he picked up Cutthroat saying. “It’s Sixshot! He’s come to rescue us!”
“I knew he’d come through for us,” said Sinnertwin. “Sixshot would never leave us behind.”
Sixshot wondered if he should just obliterate them now and be done with it. He restrained himself as he swooped in and transformed to his robot mode, landing before the five Terrorcons.
“Sixshot!” their leader Hun-Gurrr exclaimed. “Quickly! Release us from these constraints before he gets back.”
Sixshot narrowed his optics. “Before who gets back?”
“Ah. Finally. You are here.”
Drawing his guns, Sixshot turned on his heel and pointed his weapons at a tall, black figure standing in front of him. Whatever it was, it was certainly not Cybertronian but was nonetheless mechanical in danger, clad in sleek black armor with a red visor glowing in the center of its face.
“I have been waiting for you, Sixshot,” the strange being said, its voice almost monotonic.
“And just who the hell are you?” Sixshot demanded, keeping his guns trained on the machine.
“I am the Deathbringer.”
Sixshot heard Rippersnapper hiss under his breath. “Aw, man. That name is way more badass than ‘Terrorcon’—”
“Quiet,” Hun-Gurrr snapped at him.
Sixshot ignored them all as he focused on the Deathbringer. “Why have you come to this planet, and what interest do you have in these five?”
“The answer to both are one and the same: To lure you here.”
“Lure me?”
“Correct,” the Deathbringer intoned. “Your actions are known throughout the galaxy, Sixshot. Many worlds have fallen because of your actions. You have left nothing but devastation in your wake.”
“Ah,” Sixshot said. “Let me guess, you want payback.”
“Initially, yes. I was created by a race of beings whose world you destroyed many years ago. I was given the objective of hunting down and destroying you in order to bring about their retribution. However, as I studied your actions in order to understand how best to combat you, my directive was overwritten by an overwhelming sense of… respect.”
Sixshot raised an optic ridge at this, caught off-guard by the machine’s last word. “Respect?”
“Correct.” The Deathbringer took a step towards Sixshot, undeterred by the fact that the Decepticon’s guns were still trained on him. “My creators programmed me to study and mimic many great warriors from their history, but they did not foresee that I would come to regard you as a great warrior as well. To them, you were nothing more but a heartless machine made only for destruction. But to me, you were more than that.”
The Deathbringer extended an arm, motioning to the five Terrorcons. “As soon as I learned that you were a crew member of the Semper Tyrannis, I tracked down and captured these crewmates of yours, using them as bait to bring you to this world. But I did not lure you here to destroy you, Sixshot. I lured you here to present you with an offer.”
Sixshot tilted his head. “An offer?”
“Yes. Leave the Decepticons and join me in a new mission: to end all war by destroying everything worth warring over.” The Deathbringer gestured to the barren wasteland that Mumu-Obscura had been reduced to. “I have already made an example of this world, knowing the strategic value it had to your faction. If all words are reduced to nothing, then you will have nothing to fight for, thus ending your war with the Autobots. That is what you want, is it not?”
“What makes you think I want that?”
Despite its featureless face, the Deathbringer seemed taken aback by this. “I do not understand. Do you not want an end to this war?”
“If the war ends, where does that leave me?” Sixshot asked. “I was made to be a weapon of mass destruction. The ultimate Decepticon warrior. After all is said and done—when there is nothing left to destroy and no one left to fight—what purpose will I have? Hell, what purpose will you have once you have destroyed everything?”
The Deathbringer did not have a response to that, standing stiffly as it struggled to process the question. After what seemed like forever, the machine finally spoke.
“I require an answer to my offer. If you decline it, then I will be forced to return to my original directive.”
“That’s fine,” Sixshot said. “I’ll save you the trouble.”
In one swift motion, he holstered his guns and jumped up into the air, converting his body into a massive cannon. A massive beam of energy emitted from his primary cannon and the Deathbringer was obliterated in a single blast.
As he transformed back to robot mode, Sixshot heard the Terrorcons hoop and holler from behind him.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” said Rippersnapper. “This is why Sixshot is the best Decepticon there is!”
Sixshot tried his best to tune out their cheers as he released them from their restraints, wondering if he had made the right choice.
* * *
No matter how hard he tried to push them down, the memories always came bubbling back to the surface.
The one which recurred the most was the day where it had all changed for him. When he had first stepped foot into the dojo of the Six Clan.
He couldn’t recall how or even exactly when he had first learned of the Six Clan. Practically no one had ever heard of them and, from what he understood, not even the Prime knew of their existence. The first thing he could recall was standing in the center chamber of their dojo, kneeling before the masters as they stood on their raised podiums. He did not know their names, but they knew his.
“We have been watching you, Greatshot,” the leader of the Six Clan had said. “We have determined that you are worthy of learning the secrets of Adaptus.”
It was perhaps the last time anyone had spoken his original name. After he had swiftly learned how to reconfigure his body into five different alternate modes, he was forever known as “Sixshot,” and for the first time in his life he had found his purpose and place.
But that had all changed when the war broke out. The rest of the clan had sworn to recluse themselves from Cybertron’s affairs, but Sixshot could not ignore it. He had tired to sway the six masters into seeing things his way… and in return they had expelled him from the clan, once more leaving him without a place in a world.
That was when he had come to Megatron, who had promised him everything he desired. But that promise was one buried under lies as Sixshot was instead remade into a weapon for the Decepticons to use as they pleased. He had been given a purpose and a place… but it had not been the one he had dreamed.
Perhaps this was what he had always been made for. Perhaps this was what Primus had planned for him. Whichever the case, he no longer had a say. He was a weapon, and he would fire in whichever direction he was pointed.
Even the Deathbringer, for all its praise and all it had promised him, had seen him only as something like itself: a bringer of death and destruction. The only thing that would have been different had he taken up the alien machine’s offer, would be that no one would be holding the gun this time. The burden of death would be on his shoulders, and his alone.
And that was something he wasn’t sure he could bear. At least not yet.
Scorponok had praised him for the safe return of the Terrorcons and soon it was back to business as usual. Their next destination was the planet of Beast, where Scorponok planned to subjugate the local population and use them to advance his projects, including the expansion of his Targetmaster program. Sixshot would be put on standby, as Scorponok wanted to preserve the world for as long as he could in order to plunder its resources. Sixshot had no complaints to that. After all, what was he but a gun simply waiting to be fired?
Until then, he would wait for someone to unholster him… and he would let the burden of death be on their shoulders.
