PROLOGUE
Fistfight had long since reached the conclusion that he hated Shockwave.
It wasn’t exactly a hard conclusion to reach. Having worked for the one-eyed freak for thousands of years, Fistfight had had first-hand exposure to Shockwave’s schemes and his monotonic lectures about logical conclusions and what not. He had suffered through all sorts of projects involving transwarp technology, armored beasts, and other such scrap.
Shockwave would constantly claim that he was not a mad scientist—that he was simply overseeing such projects to ensure that they benefited the Decepticon Empire’s overall military operations. But Fistfight was never convinced. He hardly saw what benefit armored Driller worms had to Decepticon military operations.
If anything, everything Shockwave did was to benefit himself in the long-term. He developed transwarp tech so he could undo anything the Autobots (or even Megatron) did that he was not satisfied with. He helped orchestrate the Secret Order to ensure that Megatron’s vision was not the only one shaping the future of Cybertron. He created replicas of famous Autobot and Decepticon figures to test out scenarios in which he would be the victor. He created backups of his processors and clone bodies to ensure that he would continue to survive long after he had been seemingly deactivated. He created Driller worms… well, that one Fistfight still wasn’t sure about.
To put it shortly, Shockwave was a nutjob. No matter how much he denied it.
And yet, even after all this time, Fistfight still could not get rid of him. Nor could he stop himself from obeying his every command.
It had all started almost a full year ago, right around the time Megatron had come back from the dead (again) and sent out a summons to all Decepticons. Fistfight had wanted to leave and regroup with the others at Verenya, wanting to get as far away from the Junkions and the filthy junkyard that he had been hiding at with those Autobots. But before he could do so, Shockwave had sent him a transmission with a simple message: “Stay.”
Fistfight had requested elaboration, but naturally he had not gotten it. Not at first, at least. After some time had passed, Shockwave had messaged him again, ordering him to stay close to the Junkions and follow them wherever they went. Seeing as the Junkions were perfectly at home at the junkyard, that was easy enough to do.
It was radio silence again for a while. Then, out of nowhere, Fistfight had felt an intense amount of pain in his processor. It was the type of pain he had felt only once before, no more than two years ago… and when it had happened then, he knew exactly what it had meant.
It meant that Shockwave had died.
And now, he had “died” again.
Fistfight’s spark had already begun to fill with dread as he braced himself for the inevitable. He counted down the seconds. Then the minutes. Then the hours.
Nothing.
Did he dare allow himself to relax? Was his so-called “master” well and truly dead? Was he finally gone for good? Surely he dared not do so much as hope…
But then hours became days. Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Still there was nothing. Eventually, he forgot all about the ordeal and settled back into what he considered to be the “new normal” of his life.
And then, one day, out of the blue, he heard it. Just as he hoped he wouldn’t.
“Fistfight,” the voice of his master had said. “You know what to do.”
So much for a new normal.
At first, he did not know what he needed to do. But because his and Shockwave’s minds were now one in this moment, it meant that he did in fact know exactly what to do.
It was easy enough to sneak past the Junkions; since arriving on Earth, they had become practically glued to whatever functioning television devices they could get their hands on and letting their brain modules rot from whatever broadcasts they picked up. Their most recent obsession was some human singer whom they swore to be the “sacred voice of Weirrall”—whatever that was supposed to mean. But it at least meant that they did not notice Fistfight as he rolled past them and entered the section of the junkyard where they had stashed away some of their most prized possessions. It didn’t take long before he was able to find a makeshift container which carried a pulsating green spark.
It was ironic, Fistfight idly thought. He had spent several days trying to avoid the Junkions as they had tried to stuff the spark into his body. Now he was taking it from them to do just that (in a manner of speaking).
After checking over his shoulder to make sure the Junkions were still distracted (they really were obsessed with that television), he sped out of the junkyard, moving as fast as his treads could take him. Night had fallen and the junkyard’s human overseer had long since retired for the day, meaning that even he wasn’t on the lookout for the Decepticon escapee. Fistfight’s treads picked up dirt and grass as he rolled across the barren land that laid beyond the junkyard, not stopping until it was well and far behind him. Then, he extended an antenna from his cranial unit, and sent out the signal.
The next few minutes passed by without event. Then, in a flash of light, three Cybertronians appeared before him. Standing in the center of the trio was a mech with the build of a Seeker, plated in silver and red. He looked around for a moment before casting his gaze down at Fistfight.
“Oh,” Windtrail said bitterly. “It’s you.”
“Yeah, yeah, save the doting admiration for later,” Fistfight grumbled. “Look, don’t ask any questions or else you’ll mess up the timestream. Just take me to the base in the Laurentian Abyss.”
“Aw, did Shockwave not give you a little Ground Bridge projector to carry around,” mocked the Vehicon known as Fearstorm, still in the black and violet armor plating he bore three years ago. “I didn’t realize we had signed up to babysit his Mini-Con.”
“You signed up to follow his orders and this is one of them: Take me to the Laurentian Abyss now.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Windtrail bent down and picked up Fistfight, hoisting him up onto his shoulder. His optics then fell on the container in Fistfight’s claws. “Say, what’s in the—?”
“I just said don’t ask questions. Now come on, let’s get moving already!”
“Okay, okay. Sheesh, and you wonder why no one likes you.”
Windtrail then initiated his Transwarp drive, and in an instant the barren fields of South Dakota became the slightly decayed metal interior of Shockwave’s undersea base in the Laurentian Abyss. Windtrail set Fistfight down and the small purple bot rolled over to the base’s main console. He then rotated his head to look at the trio.
“All right, thanks. That’s all I needed. Now carry on with your mission and pretend you didn’t see me.”
Windtrail rolled his optics. “Whatever, weirdo. Tell Shockwave that he should pay us double if we’re gonna have to be your ferry service.”
It took everything in Fistfight’s power to not tell Windtrail that he was going to die. Instead, he waved a claw at the trio as they teleported away. He then rotated his head back around and looked down at the container in his grasp.
“All right, we’re here. Now what?”
As he awaited a response from the voice in his head, he detected another flash of light from behind him. He turned around to see the third member of Windtrail’s group—the ever silent Viral—standing there. Not only was he without the other two, but he also looked a lot more worse for wear than he had just been moments ago. Clearly this Viral was from a more recent time, if not the present day, and the last time Fistfight had seen him had been back at the Autobot Mausoleum… under circumstances not too dissimilar from this.
History really did repeat itself, especially when time travel was concerned.
Unable to conjure up any sort of witty comment, Fistfight could only greet Viral with a simple, “Hi.”
“I knew it.” Viral’s voice was no louder than a whisper. “I should have known that there were more lies.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for hanging around Decepticons,” Fistfight said. “And being one, for that matter.”
“The box. I didn’t think of the box. All this time, it was the blasted box.”
“Uh-huh. Look, if you’re just gonna stand around and be creepy, do it somewhere else. I’ve got work to do.”
“He’s in your head, isn’t he?” Viral took a step forward, hunched over so that his blade-like arms scraped the ground. “That’s how he came back the first time, wasn’t it? He talks to you. Gives you directions.”
Fistfight held up a claw. “Okay, I’m gonna need you to stay away from me. I have no idea where you’ve been or what sort of simultronics you’ve been taking, but—”
“Do you never question it? Do you never stop and wonder why you heed his every word? Do you never think about just… shutting him out?”
“Oh, wouldn’t that be the dream. But unfortunately, I don’t have much of a choice. Unlike you. Why don’t you take that time machine of yours and frag off for good already?”
“You think I haven’t already tried?!” Viral raised his voice to a near shriek, startling Fistfight and nearly causing him to drop the container. “When I killed him back in Verenya, I had attempted to use my Transwarp drive to make things right. To make the smallest of changes in the past to create a better future. To undo the madness that he has wrought upon us. But it was all for naught. I quickly realized—saw with my own optics—that his very actions have made our reality into one that is eating itself inside out.”
Fistfight shook his head. “I’m not even going to pretend to make sense of that. You time travelers have got all sorts of issues that I just don’t want any part in. Now, I’m going to ask you one last time to go away and let me do my work.”
“Then you are complicit in our universe’s undoing.” Viral sighed as he extended a blade from each of his arms. “Very well, then.”
He moved to lunge at Fistfight. In an instant, his entire body stiffened and he froze in place, the tip of his bladed arm inches away from plunging directly into Fistfight’s head. The smaller bot then slowly rolled away and looked up at the stasis field that had dropped around Viral’s body, courtesy of the base’s automated defenses.
“I personally would have just blown him to pieces, but whatever,” Fistfight muttered.
“He may still be of use to us,” the voice of Shockwave spoke in his mind. “Or rather, his Transwarp drive will be.”
“Sure. I still think that is the worse invention in all of Cybertronian history.”
“Debatable. Nonetheless, it will be an indispensable tool for our plans.”
“Your plans, you mean. I haven’t the foggiest idea about what you’ve got brewing in that cross-wired processor of yours.”
“No matter. Right now, we must focus on one priority at a time. Presently, our first priority is to upload my consciousness into a new body. There should still be a remaining drone body in this outpost.”
“You mean the one with the lousy alt mode? Yeah, yeah, I’ve got you.” Fistfight looked down at the container. “And what about this?”
“An asset to be saved for later, when the time is right.”
Fistfight huffed in exasperation, unable to hide his annoyance any longer. “Do you ever wonder why people hate you, Shockwave? Because this is exactly why.”
“Their evaluations of my person are irrelevant. All that matters is the success of my operations, which will only benefit Cybertron in the long-term.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve been saying stuff like that for the last, what, three to four thousand years? And so far you haven’t made much—” Before Fistfight could finish that thought, he noticed a light blinking on the main computer. He rolled over to the console and switched it on; miraculously, after years of disuse, it was still operational.
“Huh,” he said as he viewed the display. “Well, speaking of transwarp drives, it looks like someone else made a jump somewhere here on Earth.” He cocked his head to the side, readjusting his optical sensors as he did a double-take. “And maybe it’s just me, but I think I recognize that signal…”
“Intriguing,” Shockwave said as he looked through his minion’s eyes. “It would appear the Sigma Project was more of a success than I had initially assessed.”
“Yeah, and now I’m starting to get a sense of deja vu, or whatever the humans call it.” Fistfight shook his head. “I’m going to take a wild guess that you’re gonna want to keep an eye on this as well.”
“It is only logical. But again, one priority at a time. Once I have fully returned to the physical form, I will be able to assess the current situation and decide what steps to take to preserve the future of Cybertron. No matter what obstacles we face, history shall vindicate my actions… that much, I am certain.”
INTO THE CYBERVERSE
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