Transformers Regenerated: Tarnished, Part 7

Took two years, but this side-story is nearing its conclusion.

TALES OF THE DISAPPEARED

TARNISHED, PART SEVEN

Cycle 9809

“They say that I have the gift of weaponized conversation. That I can ‘talk people to death.’”

It was the same script, one he had heard countless times. The wording was always tweaked each time; something that was inevitable when you’ve been playing the same post for nearly three hundred years.

“They say that with each drop of an octave, they can feel their gears grinding to a halt. That their spark starts beating one last pulse per second.”

It was something he had long since become numb too. Every trick was the same. Every death, every scream of agony. None of it was anything he hadn’t already seen countless times before. It had long since gotten old after the first couple of times, let alone the first several hundred.

“That’s what they say. What do you say?”

He hadn’t even bothered to learn what the poor bot’s name was.

“Looks like he shut off fifteen minutes ago,” Helex said as he pulled the deactivated Decepticon out of Kaon’s chair form.

“Ah,” said Tarn. “I was wondering why he had stopped twitching. Shame; I was hoping for a response. Those are always a treat.”

“Want me to grind him up?” asked Tesarus. “My blades could use some sharpening.”

“Please, be my guest.”

A sound escaped from Vos’s voice modulator that he had not intended to. The sound reached the audio receptors of his teammates and they all stopped what they were doing to look at him. Their latest victim dangled lifelessly in the air from the grip of Tesarus’s waldos, hovering over his chest grinder.

“Is something wrong, Vos, old friend?” Tarn inquired.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Vos replied, hoping to save face. “It’s just been a long day. I could use a recharge.”

“Yes, I believe we all could use some much needed rest.” Tarn made a gesture to Tesarus and the larger Decepticon promptly shoved his victim into his already-moving chest grinder. Vos had to refrain from his shutting off his optical sensors as the offline bot was reduced to the tiniest pieces of metal possible. Tarn barely paid the macabre scene any heed as he walked over to Vos, putting a hand on the other’s shoulder.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything else troubling you?” Tarn leaned in closer to Vos, enough for the latter to see a hint of his commander’s scarred visage behind his Decepticon emblem-shaped mask. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been a lot more… morose as of late.”

Vos met Tarn’s optical sensors with his own. For the briefest of moments, his hook-like claws twitched, but he did not think Tarn noticed.

“Perhaps I am simply… disheartened by the current state of things,” Vos said, hoping to save face. “Megatron had still not yet been found after a century, High Command is divided between fighting amongst themselves and keeping Starscream from taking full control, so many of our soldiers have become dissidents and earned a place on the List… it kills one’s morale, needless to say.”

Tarn nodded. “I understand your frustration, my friend. But even so, we must remain strong lest we allow the Autobots to gain the upper hand. Even if the official word on the war is that it has gone cold in the absence of both our leaders, that is no excuse for us to stop fighting.”

“Of course not,” Vos replied. “Again, I think a simple recharge is all I need to boost my spirits back up.”

“If you say so,” Tarn said. “Have Nickel check up on you while you’re at it. Once you’re done, we’ll set off for the Eshems Nebula.”

Vos had been about to walk away when Tarn had said this. Pausing in his step, he turned around to look at the D.J.D. leader. “The Eshems Nebula? Why there?”

“It just so happens that our next target has formed an alliance with some of the Ejoornians and caused a stir in the region. High Command has reason to believe that he is attempting to raise an army to seize control of the Decepticon Empire in Megatron’s absence.”

Vos tilted his head, masking a frown. “I was not aware of this.”

“Well, now you are.” Tarn made a motion with his hand for Vos to continue walking. “Go ahead and get some rest. You’re going to need it for the fight that awaits us.”

As Vos walked away from his teammates, he allowed his consternation to display itself on his faceplate. The Eshems Nebula resided between the borders of both Autobot and Quintesson space and the native Ejoornians had notoriously caused trouble for both of them. While such trouble was of no concern to the average Decepticon, it was definitely a concern to Vos, who was no average Decepticon at all. He needed to get a message back to the Autobots and make them aware of the situation before it got out of hand. But unless they encountered some Autobots along the way, it was going to be impossible for him to deliver his message in his regular manner.

He would have to improvise, something that was incredibly risky in his position. But it was a risk he would have to take.

As he stepped onto the Peaceful Tyranny, Nickel rolled up to him on her feet-mounted wheels. A Mini-Con survivor from Prion, the D.J.D.’s medic was the latest addition to their crew, providing them with maintenance to ensure they were up to their highest standards. Vos had found it remarkably generous of Tarn for him to have given Nickel a place in the Decepticon ranks rather than enslave or execute her. Perhaps he saw something of himself in her; based on the intel he had been given of Tarn, Vos knew that the D.J.D.’s leader had once been a small, innocuous bot who had been oppressed by society. In the same way the Decepticons had saved him from the Functionists, perhaps Tarn figured Nickel too would be saved from the wrath of the Black Block Consortia. It was an interesting philosophy to be sure; one that Vos, in spite of his true allegiance, could not help but admire.

As he walked past her, Nickel said, “Hold it right there, Vos. You can’t just walk onto the ship after a mission without getting a maintenance check-up. You know the rules.”

“Later, Nickel,” Vos said wearily. “There’s something I have to take care off.”

The Mini-Con continued to object as Vos made his way to his personal quarters. Once he was inside, he secured the door and scanned the room for listening devices and cameras. As soon as he was sure that he was completely isolated, Agent 113 walked over to his computer station and got to work.

Ejoornus, the Eshems Nebula

“Tarn,” General Clench said wearily from his seat, steam exiting from his grill-like mouthplate as he spoke. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to show up.”

“My apologies if I kept you waiting,” Tarn said. “We tend to have a rather busy schedule.”

The five members of the D.J.D. stood before the rogue general in the makeshift throne room of his similarly makeshift fortress. Clench’s forces, comprised of Decepticons and Ejoornians alike, surrounded Tarn and his team with weapons drawn and pointed at them. Tarn had approached this meeting as a simple rendezvous between Decepticons, but Clench had clearly seen through this ruse and had come prepared for the inevitable confrontation. It wouldn’t be enough, but it was remarkable nonetheless.

“I’m sure you do,” Clench growled. “I’m surprised you’re even still in operation, what with Megatron gone. I thought High Command would have disbanded you in order to protect their hides.”

“Clearly High Command is not as disloyal to our leader as you are. Or perhaps they see you as a more pressing threat to their command.”

Clench shrugged dismissively. “It would not surprise me either way. In any case, you must realize that the odds are stacked against you. I have at my disposal a warship, over a hundred soldiers, and an Ejoornian fleet. And you have, what, four overpowered cronies?”

“Which is more than enough, I would say,” Tarn said.

“Of course you would. So then, shall we get this confrontation over with? I’m not much in the mood for a conversation, especially one that we both know will go nowhere.”

In the corner of his optic, Tarn noticed Kaon begin to charge up his coils while Tesarus’s chest grinder whirred. He raised a hand to stall them as he kept his attention on Clench.

“Perhaps it doesn’t need to. While normally we would execute you swiftly as we have the likes of Heretech and Turmoil, your position within the Decepticon Empire is respected enough that I would like to give you a chance to make amends.”

Clench narrowed his optics suspiciously. “And what are your conditions?”

“For one, you will end your alliance with the Ejoornians and cease operating in the Eshems Nebula. You might even get bonus points for wiping out their military.” Tarn noticed that his words has caused a stir among the Ejoornians within Clench’s forces. Continuing on, he then said, “Second, you will reaffirm your loyalty to Lord Megatron and pledge your forces to further carrying out the Decepticon cause.”

“Is that all?” Clench asked. “And what if I do not agree to these terms?”

“Frankly, I don’t see why you wouldn’t,” Tarn replied. “But should that be the case, then we will carry out our orders to execute you.”

A large blue and black Decepticon approached Clench’s throne from the side and leaned in to speak into his audio receptor. “Boss, I think we should accept their terms. This whole deal with the Ejoornians ain’t worth it.”

“If I wanted your opinion, Dreadwing, I would ask for it,” Clench snapped, pushing the other Decepticon away from him. He was about to rise from his seat, perhaps to give his forces the order to open fire, when a Decepticon in black and red—whom Tarn recognized as the Stormtrooper leader Rage—rushed up to him.

“Boss! What about that thing we got from Skyjack?”

Clench paused to glance at Rage. “What thing?”

“You know, the bullet. The bullet that he sent us.”

At this, realization dawned in Clench’s optics and he slowly sat back down, eying Tarn and the others with a smug, confident gleam.

“Ah, yes. The bullet. Would you like to see the bullet, Tarn?”

Tarn stared back at him with a confused look. “What interest would I have with a bullet?”

“Well, as it happens, a member of my forces happens to be a mole within the Autobot ranks. He has since been compromised due to the incident at Garrus-9, but before we lost him he sent us a bullet that happened to contain a message. A message from one of your own. Hooligan, if you would please.”

Tarn kept his gaze on Clench as an orange Decepticon Cyberjet stepped forward and raised his arm, pressing a switch to project a video onto the wall. It took Tarn several seconds to force himself to look up at the video and confirm the identity of the bot speaking in it. Somehow, deep in his spark, he already knew the answer.

“—position has been compromised,” Vos was saying in the visual feedback. “The Decepticons’ forces continue to be in disarray and there are talks within High Command of someone assuming full power in Megatron’s absence; Air Commander Starscream has already—”

Tarn looked away from the video to look at the Vos standing next to him. Vos tilted his head to look back at him, his face an expressionless canvas. The others were also staring at him now, varying looks of disbelief and anger being sent his way.

“Bullets,” Tarn said simply.

“Yes,” Vos said simply in return.

“And for how long?”

Vos hesitated for the briefest of seconds. “From the beginning.”

How Tarn was able to find the strength to not raise his arm cannon and blast Vos into oblivion, he did not know. Instead, he simply glared at his teammate with a fury as hot as the pits of Lucifer before turning his attention back to Clench.

“Thank you for making this known to me,” he said coolly. “I say this has earned you a… temporary reprieve. You have seven solar cycles to terminate your alliance with the Ejoornians; failure to do so will result in a much less generous response.”

Clench’s expression indicated that he was not at all intimidated by the threat. “Duly noted.”

With a curt nod, Tarn turned around and signaled to the others to follow him back to the Peaceful Tyranny. He spared a moment to give Vos one last glare before converting to his tank mode and driving off.

*  *  *

My dearest Rewind,

You are never going to see or hear this message, but I feel that the words I have to say need to be said. It is the only way I can meet my end with some amount of dignity and grace.

I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for anyone to get hurt. All I wanted was a world where mechs of all modes and sizes could live in perfect harmony. I fought so hard to achieve that vision and was willing to sacrifice anything I had to do so… even if it meant losing what we had together. I don’t know if what I’ve done for the past few centuries will do anything to achieve that perfect world… but if you are still alive, then I suppose it was all worth it in the end.

I only have so much time; as soon as we are back on the ship, they will surely execute me or put me through some gruesome, horrific procedure. It is in their nature after all. A part of me wishes that I could be a bit more eloquent here, but alas, I will be not allotted such opportunity. Besides, even someone as prolific as myself knows that the simplest words can be the most impactful. After all… there are some words you simply cannot afford to lose. And so, my dear Rewind, I leave you with this final declaration: 

I love you.

Always have. Always will.

I only wish I could have said it to you more. I think we both know that I didn’t say it nearly enough.

Tarn is facing me now. His optics are filled with a rage I have never seen before. An ungodly amount of hatred rages in his spark.

My time has come.

I will never forget you.

Farewell.

Transformers Regenerated: No Other Like It

TALES OF THE DISAPPEARED

NO OTHER LIKE IT

Orvus Base, Cycle 9794

“Come on, Searchlight, you’ve gotta believe me!”

The look the white and blue Autobot was one that Scrounge was well-accustomed to; one that he had received more times than he cared to count. It was a look that was a painful mix of skepticism and weariness. It was the type of look that Scrounge would get even if he was stating an indisputable fact, such as “Autobot symbols are red, Decepticon symbols are purple,” or “Omega Supreme is big.”

It was a look that Scrounge was very, very tired of.

“I believe in facts, Scrounge, not daydreaming hallucinations,” Searchlight curtly replied, returning his focus to his surveillance station. “You seriously expect me to believe you saw Metroplex?”

“I didn’t say I saw Metroplex,” Scrounge protested. “I said I saw something that looked like Metroplex. Look, can’t you just check the cameras?”

“Can’t. Goldbug wants me to keep an optical sensor out for the Steelhaven; it’s scheduled to make a stop here any cycle now. I can’t waste time investigating your wild claims.”

Scrounge crossed his arms. ”If it were Slink, you’d be interested.”

Searchlight scowled. “Slink has been imprisoned at Garrus-16 for….” He shook his head. “Look, just keep quiet and let me work. Maybe after the Steelhaven leaves, I’ll check it out. Or, better yet, ask Rollbar or one of the others to look.”

“I already have. I’ve asked everybody.”

“Then that’s too bad, I guess.”

Scrounge sighed dejectedly as he converted into his wheel mode and rolled out of the room. It always frustrated him how no one ever took him seriously. Sure, he had exaggerated a tale or two in the past, but he almost never made stuff up. Even when they saw that he was right about something—like that time he discovered a scraplet infestation at one of the bases he was stationed at—they still treated everything he said with a high degree of dubiousness.

Perhaps it was because of this that he often felt like a burden to his fellow Autobots, and that the only reason they kept him around was because of his special, multi-purpose arm (there truly was no other like it). Perhaps it was because of this uniqueness that he had a hard time fitting in with others. Regardless of how many times they clashed with each other, Goldbug and his Throttlebots had been together for long enough that they were almost like a family unit, a unit which Scrounge was not a part of. Due to this, he had transferred from base to base more times than perhaps any other Autobots, because this sense of isolation would always hurt his morale and cause his superiors to send him off somewhere else to be someone else’s problem. The only bot who ever seemed to tolerate his presence was Blaster, but he had vanished with the rest of the Ark’s crew ninety years ago. Since then, Scrounge had felt more alone than he had in his entire life.

Rolling up to a window, Scrounge transformed and looked out to the planet of Salvvatan VI. He was positive that the large white shape floating over the planet’s surface was Metroplex, or at the very least a Titan of some sort. No one had seen Metroplex since he defeated the Decepticons’ weapon Trypticon during the early days of the war, and if he was right then this would be an opportunity to find out what Metroplex had been up to in all this time. But apparently Goldbug and the others weren’t interested in that….

After receiving word that the Steelhaven had arrived and docked at Orvus Base, Scrounge waited a few minutes before making his way to the command center. There, all six Throttlebots—Goldbug, Searchlight, Chase, Freeway, Rollbar, and Wideload—were gathered to greet Fortress and his crew; apparently Goldbug was already getting the pleasantries out of the way without waiting for Scrounge to join them. Not surprising but disheartening nonetheless.

“Feel free to make yourselves at home,” Goldbug was saying to the Steelhaven’s gray-and-dark-gray commander. “The lab is always open to Brainstorm and the Technobots.”

“Brilliant!” said Brainstorm. “I’ve been meaning to make a few final adjustments to my mass-displacement gun.”

“Yeah, better you mess up someone else’s lab rather than our own,” muttered Hardhead.

Waving for the two to be quiet, Fortress said to Goldbug, “Thank you, commander. We won’t be here too long; just making a stop while we continue our hunt for Scorponok.”

“You guys are still searching for him?” asked Freeway. “Hasn’t he been missing for… well, longer than Prime or Megatron?”

“Until I know for sure he is either dead or in custody, I will not stop searching for him,” Fortress said firmly. “Who knows what terrible things he could be up to as we speak.”

Goldbug cleared his vocal processor. “Um, right. Well, in any case, I hope that you find your stay here to be a welcoming one.”

“Uh, may I interject?” Scrounge spoke up.

Goldbug turned his head to look at him; even with his visor and faceplate, Scrounge could feel his commander’s wariness. “What is it, Scrounge?”

Before he could say anything, Searchlight interjected, “Scrounge, if this is about that Metroplex scrap, then I already told you to wait until after Fortress and his crew have left!”

Fortress raised an eyebrow. “Metroplex?”

Goldbug waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. Scrounge claims he’s seen Metroplex on the surface of Salvvatan Six, but all of our scanners indicate that there’s nothing there.”

“Maybe if you would actually look with your own optical sensors, you would see what I’m seeing, instead of relying on faulty—”

“That’s enough, Scrounge. Get back to your work station before I—”

Before Goldbug could finish, he was interrupted by an alarm blaring from the main computer. Searchlight rushed over to check the monitor before turning back to the others with a distressed look.

“A Decepticon ship just came out of hyperspace.”

“A warship?” Goldbug asked.

“No, but still pretty big. It’s an older model, too; seems to be barely holding together.”

“Should we try hailing them?” asked Rollbar. “I mean, I know they’re the enemy, but ever since the ceasefire they haven’t caused us too many problems….”

Searchlight studied the ship on the monitor. “I don’t think they’ve even noticed us yet. In fact, it seems like they’re heading straight for the planet itself.”

Scrounge’s optics lit up. “Maybe they’re here for Metroplex! Goldbug, we have to stop them!”

Goldbug sighed in exasperation. “Scrounge, for the love of Primus….”

“He is right about one thing, though,” said Fortress. “If the Decepticons are here, it can’t be for anything good—Metroplex or no Metroplex. We should send someone to at least keep an optic on them.”

“Fine,” Goldbug muttered. “Roadburn, take a scouting team down to the planet to—”

“My name’s not Roadburn!” protested the red and blue Throttlebot. “It’s Chase!”

“There’s already someone named Chase.”

“He wasn’t protoformed until after I came online! Hell, I was already calling myself ‘Chase’ before he—”

“Whatever. Just take Rollbar and Scrounge with you and keep an eye on the ‘Cons. Do not engage with them; just report back to us if they start doing something fishy.”

“I’ll have Hardhead go with you to provide support in case they spot you and engage you first,” said Fortress.

“Sounds good.” Goldbug turned to Scrounge, Chase, and Rollbar. “Any questions?”

The three assembled Autobots shook their heads, and with that Goldbug gave them the signal to go. As Scrounge rolled up into his wheel mode and followed the two Throttlebots, with Hardhead trailing behind them, he couldn’t help but feel excited about this mission. He knew he was right about Metroplex being down there on the planet, and maybe once they all saw him for themselves they would finally believe him and never doubt him ever again. Because the alternative would mean that no one would ever believe him about anything ever again and would forever treat him as nothing more than a burden with a useful arm.

And that was something he did not even want to consider….

*  *  *

Departing from Orvus Base, the Autobot shuttle carrying Scrounge, Chase, Rollbar, and Hardhead trailed the Decepticon ship as it entered Salvvatan Six’s atmosphere and descended towards the planet’s surface, heading directly for Metroplex. Or, rather, what Scrounge was positive was Metroplex.

“See?” he said to the others, pointing out the viewport at the large white structure. “That’s Metroplex! Don’t tell me you don’t see it!”

“I mean, I see it, whatever ‘it’ is,” said Chase. “But it could just be an abandoned outpost or something.”

“Then how come no one has spotted it until now? You guys have been stationed here for longer than me; surely you did a scan of the planet when you first arrived.”

“That’s a question for Searchlight or Goldbug, not me.” Chase shook his head. “Look, just pipe down for now. Rollbar, keep an optic on their trajectory.”

Scrounge crossed his arms as he slumped back sulkily in his seat. Even with visual proof, they still didn’t believe him. What was it going to take?

Sitting near him, Hardhead looked over at Scrounge. “If it makes you feel any better,” he said quietly, “I have friend who would definitely be interested in this.”

“Really?” Scrounge asked.

“Sure. Nightbeat lives for the unexplained. He might not believe you on word alone, but if you give him physical proof, then he’s all in.”

“Too bad he’s not here, then. Because right now, I feel like—”

“PULL UP! PULL UP!” Rollbar cried.

Scrounge and Hardhead held on tight as Chase pulled back the ship’s control just as it was struck by gunfire, causing it to shake violently.

“Scrap, they’ve spotted us!” Chase exclaimed. “They shot out our navigation systems; gonna have to make an emergency landing.”

As the ship plummeted towards the ground, Scrounge caught a glimpse of the Decepticon ship ahead of them. A ramp had lowered to allow several Decepticons—all heavily armed—to disembark; while some of them headed towards Metroplex, the rest made their way towards the Autobot ship. By the time Chase had finished his rough emergency landing, they were completely surrounded by Decepticons, all with guns pointed straight at them as they emerged from the vessel.

“How many of these guys do you think you could take on by yourself, Hardhead?” Rollbar whispered to the larger green Autobot.

“Let me get back to you on that,” Hardhead grunted.

“You Autobots sure don’t know how to mind your own business,” growled the leader of the Decepticon group. He was a tall and lanky bot, with a right arm that terminated with a sharp, curved hook. Scrounge recognized him to be the bounty hunter Lockdown, who had attempted to assassinate Sentinel Prime prior to the reignition of the Great War.  “I thought that little agreement you signed after the Cataclysm meant you would let us stay in our lane.”

“I’m not the right person to ask, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t say anything about letting you guys encroach on our territory,” retorted Chase. “The Salvvatan system is in the Autobot Commonwealth, last time I checked.”

“Figures. In any case, we’re not here to cause trouble. Just picking up something we were hired to find.”

“Metroplex….” Scrounge murmured, looking towards the Titan that overshadowed them.

Lockdown shrugged. “Not necessarily him in particular. Just any Titan we can get our servos on.”

Scrounge turned to Chase and the others. “Now do you guys believe me? Even the Decepticons think that’s Metroplex! Or at least a Titan of some kind!”

“Okay, okay, you were right,” grumbled Chase. “Do you want a consolation prize or something? We still need to stop them from taking Metroplex.”

“Yeah, you’re in no position to do that.” To the rest of his gang, Lockdown said, “Keep an eye on them while I check on Clobber and the others’ progress.”

With that, Lockdown raised a hand to his cranial communicator, most likely speaking via inter-Decepticon radio. Scrounge rewired his special arm’s sensors to his audio receptors so he could listen in on their conversation.

“Report, Clobber.”

“We literally just got here, Lockdown. We’ve just started setting up the transporters.”

“Make it quick. We’ve got a tight schedule to keep. You know how antsy our employer can get when we miss deadlines.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’ll tell ‘em to… wait.”

Lockdown scowled. “Wait for what? I told you to get a move on.”

“No, no. Timeframe’s trying to tell me something. He says that the Titan is starting to teleport!”

“What?! You didn’t try to shut off his systems?!”

“You didn’t give us time to—”

“Enough.” Lockdown converted to his alternate mode, a spiked car, and revved up his engine. “Get out of there and return to the ship. Have Meganeuron—”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Hardhead charged towards Lockdown and lunged at him as the bounty hunter attempted to drive off. The other Decepticons started to open fire, but with their attention focused on Hardhead, this left them vulnerable to Chase and Rollbar’s guns as they unloaded their weapons as well.

“Wait, guys!” Scrounge tried to cry over the sounds of gunfire. “Metroplex is about to teleport! We have to….”

He quickly realized, however, that no one was listening to him, too preoccupied with fighting to care about anything he had to say. Hell, even if they weren’t, they still wouldn’t care. It had taken him many years to realize this, and he was just about done with it.

Rolling up into his wheel form, he sped off towards Metroplex, whose body was beginning to glow, indicating that the Titan was going to teleport at any moment. As soon as he reached the Titan’s massive outer hull, Scrounge transformed to his robot mode and began to climb up, converting back and forth to give himself momentum as he rolled up onto the city-sized robot. As he did this, he spotted the Decepticons that Lockdown had sent into Metroplex scrambling out of the Titan, led by a massive purple Decepticon whom he figured was Clobber. None of them seemed to notice him; for that matter, his fellow Autobots apparently hadn’t noticed his absence yet either, as they were still too busy dealing with Lockdown and the other Decepticons.

Typical, he thought. He really did mean nothing to any of them. If he were to leave now with Metroplex, wherever he was going, it wouldn’t make any difference—besides the fact that they would no longer have an Autobot with a special arm like his. There was, after all, no other like it.

Suddenly, he caught movement in the corner of his optic and he looked up to see a cloaked figure standing over him. Scrounge’s optics went wide as he took in the stranger’s skeletal appearance. Throughout his life he had caught glimpses of the mythical Necrobot, the neutral who wandered the deserted battlefields to collect the dead, but had never seen him up close. Until now, of course.

“This is it, huh?” he murmured. “This is how I die.”

The Necrobot knelt down and took Scrounge’s hand into his own. “No, my friend,” he said softly. “This is how you live.”

It was at that moment that Scrounge noticed the briefcase in the Necrobot’s other hand, and before he could even question it, the world vanished around him.

*  *  *

“Gone? What do you mean he’s gone?”

“You can go down there and check for yourself,” Chase replied once he had finished debriefing Goldbug and Fortress of what had happened down on Salvvatan’s surface. “When the Titan—or whatever it was—vanished, Scrounge must have gone with it, ‘cos he’s nowhere to be found. The planet’s a desolate wasteland, too, so there wasn’t really anywhere for him to fallen into or behind.”

“And the Decepticons?” Fortress asked.

“They left as soon as the Titan vanished. Guess it was all they had come here for. Hardhead managed to restrain himself enough to not kill any of ‘em, so hopefully this incident doesn’t cause any problems for the higher ups.”

“Based on your report, it sounds to me that Lockdown was working for someone other than Decepticon High Command,” Goldbug said, rubbing his chin. “It’s anyone’s guess as to who, though.”

“In any case, I’ll inform Twincast of Scrounge’s disappearance,” said Fortress. “I know that her brother Blaster is friends with him, so he might want to know once he and the rest of Prime’s crew are found.”

“If they’re found,” Goldbug replied.

“Ever the optimist, aren’t you?”

With that, all of the gathered Autobots went their separate ways to return to their normal lives. Goldbug and Fortress went off to file a report to Ultra Magnus. Brainstorm secluded himself in his lab. Chase and the other Throttlebots returned to their respective stations. Twincast filed away the news of Scrounge’s disappearance for when—if—she ever saw her brother again.

And for the next twenty years, that was the last time Scrounge of Altihex was ever thought of by anyone.

Transformers Regenerated: Tarnished - Part 6

TALES OF THE DISAPPEARED:

 TARNISHED, PART SIX

Cycle 9564, Grindcore

Everything was falling apart, just as planned.

For the past five years, he had come to worry that his message had failed to make its way to the Autobots. He and his squad had been in combat with the Autobots on Veras Centralus and he had managed to shoot his message-carrying bullet straight into the badge of an “enemy” soldier, the method that he and Prowl had agreed upon. The Autobots had managed to safely pull out of the battlefield with their wounded and Agent 113 could only pray that his victim lived long enough for someone to notice the bullet. The message itself had contained not only Grindcore’s location, but its entire layout and a comprehensive list of staff and equipment—including every single smelting pool, every single metal grinder, every single electric chair….

He supposed he couldn’t blame the Autobots for taking five years to gather the resources and personnel necessary for a strike such as this. And seeing as how the Vis Vitalis was dominating the sky, he could tell they had sent their best.

“They’ve broken through the outer wall!” a voice carried through the air. “Fall back and regroup! Charger, prepare the turrets!”

Agent 113 was snapped back to reality as a green-plated Decepticon shouldered past him. He then stood to attention as a taller Decepticon with teal and gold armor stormed up to him.

“Dominator, I want you back inside,” Skyquake ordered. “I know you’re dying to tear these Autobots apart with your hooks and claws, but your talents are better served protecting the Commandant.”

“I will do whatever is asked of me, sir,” Agent 113 replied.

“I know. Now get to it.”

With a quick salute, Dominator converted to his alternate mode and retreated back into the main facility. Once inside, he found numerous Decepticons scrambling back and forth as they hurried to prepare the defenses. Given Grindcore’s alleged status as one of the most heavily fortified bases in Decepticon space, none of them could have ever predicted the Autobots being bold enough to attack them. 

They also could never have predicted that one of their own was the one responsible for the attack.

Moving past the other Decepticons and heading deeper into the main facility, Dominator eventually made it to the Commandant’s office. The Commandant himself, with his large purple-plated build and double-barreled fusion cannon, was standing outside his quarters along with a red Decepticon jet whom Dominator knew by the name of Snare. As Dominator approached the pair, transforming back to his robot mode, the Commandant cast a glance at him, red optics glowing behind his insignia-shaped mask.

“What is it?” the Commandant grunted, not masking his impatience.

“Sir, Skyquake sent me to provide protection for you,” Dominator replied. “The Autobots have broken through the outer wall and are—”

“I know,” the Commandant interrupted him. “Snare here has informed me that they have already begun targeting the cell blocks to free the prisoners. You will take a squad down to make sure they don’t succeed in doing that.”

Dominator held back an involuntary frown. “But, sir—”

“I can look after myself,” the Commandant said. “Right now, I need you to go down there and kill every last Autobot you see. Regardless if they’re an invader or a prisoner.”

Dominator blinked. “You… you want us to start killing prisoners?”

“If Grindcore falls, everything falls with it.” The Commandant narrowed his optics. “Is there a problem?”

Dominator cleared his vocal processor. “Er, no, sir. Not at all. I will see to it at once.”

The next several hours passed by in a blur as he became numb to the world. It was a coping mechanism he had developed ever since he had taken up this job in order to preserve his cover and not succumbing to the guilt that racked him with every Autobot life he took. He barely registered heading down to the prisoners blocks, flanked by a dozen Decepticons, and opening fire on the Autobots that had already made their way there. He would watch as his Decepticon comrades delighted themselves in maiming their victims:

Scissorsaw picked up a hapless Autobot with his waldos and threw them into his chest grinder, enjoying their shrieks of agony as they were reduced to shrapnel;

Crucible laughed as he grabbed a screaming ‘bot with a pair of arms extending from his abdomen and shoving them into a mini-smelting chamber located in his chest;

Amp cackled as he trapped his victims in a web of lightning, electrocuting them and shorting out their circuits.

It was all too much for Dominator to bear. But there was nothing he can do about it. All he could do was continuing digging his claws into his Autobot brothers and joining his Decepticon comrades in laughing as he tore every last one of them to pieces….

*  *  *

The Fall of Grindcore had ended as quickly as it had begun.

It was difficult to say who had truly been the victor. Although the Autobots had succeeded in bringing Grindcore to ruins, they had also suffered heavy casualties and were forced to retreat with what Autobot prisoners they had rescued (and what Decepticons they had taken captive themselves) when a fleet of Decepticon warships arrived to provide reinforcements. The Vis Vitalis had barely squeezed past the Nemesis and its sister ships before making the jump to hyperspace, leaving behind the wreckage it had wrought.

The surviving Decepticons—a mere quarter of what had been originally stationed at Grindcore—stood amid the ruins of their fallen fortress as the Nemesis touched down in front of them, depositing Megatron and his inner circle. While many of his fellow Decepticons dropped to their knees in reverence to their leader, Damus stood resolute as Megatron strode up to him, red optics flaring with barely contained rage.

“So,” Megatron growled, “this is what you have to show for yourself.”

“My liege,” Damus started to say, “I claim full responsi—”

Megatron silenced him by striking him across the face, knocking off his mask and bringing him to his knees. Damus reached for his insignia-shaped mask only for Megatron to kick it aside. The Decepticon leader then pressed the barrel of his fusion cannon against the commandant’s head. 

“Give me one good reason why I should not obliterate you here and now,” Megatron said darkly.

“The Autobots caught us off-guard, my lord!” Damus replied. “Someone must have leaked our location and security details to them!”

“If that is the case, then they did so while under your supervision!” Megatron’s face twisted into a sneer. “Blaming others for your own failure will do you no favors, Glitch.”

Damus twitched at the use of his abandoned nickname and he pounded the ground with his fist. “My name,” he snarled, “is Damus.”

“Your name will soon be nothing.” The fusion cannon mounted on Megatron’s arm began to hum as the inside of its barrel glowed purple. “Any last words?”

Damus stared into the barrel, his face bathed in its violet glow. He said nothing, for he had already spoken his last words. The concept of death did not bother him at this point; at least he would die a Decepticon.

“My liege, may I protest this unnecessary execution?”

Damus’s gaze snapped to a familiar purple-plated Decepticon standing behind Megatron, his single yellow optic focused on the commandant himself. A low growl emitted from Megatron’s throat but he did not lower his arm cannon nor turn to address the interrupter.

“You may not, Shockwave.”

“I believe Damus can still provide us with worth—”

“Of course you believe that,” Megatron snapped. “He was your student.”

“My history with him is irrelevant,” Shockwave said. “What I mean is that we should think twice before eliminating one of the relatively few known Point One Percenters in our ranks.”

“A Point One Percenter who fails to defend one of our most critical bases has no worth in my optics.”

“Indeed, his failure here has dealt us a major blow,” Shockwave admitted. “However, perhaps there is a way for us to salvage this failure.”

This was enough to give Megatron pause and the Decepticon leader finally tilted the fusion cannon away from Damus’s face, though he did not fully lower it. “Salvage?”

“Look around.” Shockwave gestured to some of the other Decepticons standing among the ruins; not to Skyquake and his pathetic ilk, but to Crucible, Scissorsaw, and Dominator. “The fact that some of these soldiers are still standing after withstanding such an attack from the Autobots shows that they are worth more than the average Genericon. Perhaps rather than punish them for their fortitude, we should reward them.”

Megatron narrowed his optics. “Where are you going with this?”

“Without Grindcore, we no longer have a means to imprison and execute Decepticons who go against our cause,” Shockwave explained. “Perhaps instead of devoting precious resources to build another such facility, we should invest in something more… efficient. Such as an executioner squad made for dealing with Decepticons who pose a threat to our agenda.”

Megatron seemed to mull over this concept for a moment. Returning his gaze to Damus, he regarded the former commandant at his mercy… and a grin broke out on his face.

“Once again, your former teacher come to your rescue.” Lowering his fusion cannon, Megatron extended a hand to Damus. “What do you say? How do you feel about bringing justice to the Decepticon Empire.”

Damus stared at the proffered hand for no more than a second before eagerly grabbing it.

“I… would be greatly honored, my lord.”

Transformers Regenerated: Tarnished - Part 5

TALES OF THE DISAPPEARED:

TARNISHED, PART V

Cycle 9314, the Autobot Orbital Command Hub

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

Dominus Ambus stood before Prowl in the latter’s office aboard the Autobot Orbital Command Hub. Through the main window, the planet of Opulus glowed like an orange ball of gas.

“I am,” he answered evenly, holding his helmet in the crook of his arm so that Prowl could see his true face; or at least, the face he wanted him to see, with the facial insignia of House Ambus proudly displayed on his upper lip.

Prowl eyed him carefully, his blue optics searching Dominus’s own. “You have a lot to live for,” he said softly. “A Conjunx Endura who admires you. A wealth of knowledge. A philosophical mind. A lot of us wish we could have the life that you live. You are an inspiration to a lot of Autobots. To commit to something like this would be to leave all of that behind.”

“I understand the sacrifice I must make,” Dominus said. “This was not an easy decision for me, but it is one I needed to make regardless of the risks involved.”

“Is there a particular reason why you want to do this?”

Dominus hesitated before answering. “Ever since K’th Kinsere, I have found… difficulty in finding my place with the Autobots,” he began. “Working with the likes of the Wreckers and the Dynobots showed me that I do not fit in with the soldiers, and my attempts to speak to Autobots’ sparks through my written works have fallen on malfunctioning audio receptors. I have since come to realize that, if I am to make a proper impact in our war against the Decepticons, then perhaps my skills would be better suited on the other side of the line.”

Prowl tilted his head questioningly. “And what do you hope to achieve, with your skills, by infiltrating the Decepticons?”

“With my charisma and foresight, I can get my servos on secrets that Decepticon High Command won’t allow even their own soldiers to know. I would do everything I can to make sure they never suspect me and get my messages to you in a timely and discreet manner.”

“You seem pretty confident of your own abilities.”

“One does not get as far in life as me without a strong sense of confidence.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Prowl admitted. “I will field your request to Optimus Prime for approval. Luckily for you, we have so few applicants to this kind of job that you’re pretty much guaranteed it.”

Dominus raised an optic ridge at this. “You mean we’ve been at war for five hundred years and we don’t already have an Autobot infiltrator in the enemy’s ranks?”

“We do, actually. In fact, he might be your best bet at getting deep into the Decepticons’ command structure. Once I get Prime’s approval, I’ll get in touch with our current agent and see if we can get things arranged.”

Prowl paused for a moment, looking as if he was contemplating over something. Turning to face the window overlooking the surface of Opulus, he continued speaking.

“This request of yours actually comes at an opportune time. High Command has recently begun discussing the prospects of striking the Decepticons’ prison camp on Krull.”

“Grindcore?” Dominus asked.

Prowl nodded. “It will be an incredibly dangerous venture; Grindcore is not only heavily fortified but host to all sorts of horror weapons. Smelting pools, grinders, even electric chairs…. It could take decades, perhaps even centuries, to come up with a foolproof plan that would allow us to bring down Grindcore and get out fellow Autobots out of their without causing further death and destruction.” 

“Which is why you need a bot on the inside to provide you with the intelligence you need,” said Dominus.

“Precisely. And if things go to plan, then you just might be that bot.”

“I will not let you down, Prowl. I swear by my spark.”

“I have no doubts about that.” Prowl paused again before turning around to look Dominus in the optic again. “No one can know about this, you know. Not even those you hold closest to your spark. Your partner. Your brother.”

Dominus bowed his head. “I understand. But they will notice my absence; what are you going to tell them when they start asking questions? Fake my death? Wipe their memories?”

“Let me handle that part. Let’s wait until we hear back from Prime regarding this. Then we can start worrying about the details.”

When Prowl said nothing further, Dominus Ambus took this as a dismissal and placed his helmet over his head as he departed from the room. Upon stepping out of the office, he spotted a familiar white and green bot approaching his direction from the other end of the corridor, holding a datapad in his hand. As Minimus Ambus raised his red optics at him, Dominus nearly acknowledged his brother’s presence by speaking his name only to stop himself; while Minimus and Rewind knew that he was serving in the Autobot forces, he had not told them in what capacity. As far as they knew, he was serving in a primarily clerical role, not serving on the front-lines as a heavily armored soldier. 

He wasn’t sure why he had kept this secret from them. Perhaps it was to keep them out of danger, not that it made much of a difference; Minimus was already serving as a soldier and Rewind had seen combat himself more than once. Them knowing what he was doing would hardly change things. But the point was moot now; he would have to keep this secret them for the rest of his life, regardless of whether or not he wanted to.

“Pardon me, sir,” Minimus Ambus said, snapping Dominus back to reality. “I need to deliver this report to Prowl.”

Dominus uttered a brief apology, his voice heavily modulated to make it unrecognizable, and hastily made his departure. He considered looking over his shoulder to look at his brother for what might have likely been the last time, but he knew that doing so would only complicate matters further.

Thus, he kept on walking and never looked back.

Grindcore

“Commandant, someone is here to see you.”

Damus lowered his copy of Towards Peace to peer at Snare. The crimson-colored Decepticon jet stood in the doorway to his office, along with another Decepticon. The other bot was distinguished by black and purple armor plating, with robot mode kibble indicating an automobile alternate mode. His golden face seemed to be permanently set in a disdainful scowl; at least Damus knew that the feeling was mutual. Setting down the databook onto his desk, he motioned for the newcomer to enter the room.

“Barricade,” Damus said as he rose from behind his desk. “What a pleasant surprise. I was not expecting you of all people to pay a visit.”

“I am strictly here for business purposes,” Barricade replied coolly, stepping into the office. Behind him, Snare took his leave and closed the door, leaving the two Decepticons alone in the room. “High Command has tasked me with performing an inspection of Grindcore.”

“Really?” Damus feigned surprise. “I thought we just had an inspection last cycle.”

“Yes,” Barricade said tersely. “But that was under the previous commandant. Your predecessor. Congratulations on the promotion, by the way.”

Red optics narrowed behind the Decepticon insignia-shaped mask adorning Damus’ face. “Were you afraid I had screwed things up in such a short amount of time?”

“It was not my decision to be here,” Barricade responded pointedly. “I am here on behalf of High Command. If it were up to me, I would much rather be anywhere else in the universe.”

“Is that so? Well then, I am incredibly sorry for your inconvenience.”

“Save it.” Barricade strode over to the main window in the room, which overlooked the rest of the prison camp. Outside, Autobot prisoners were being processed and sent off to their designated sectors to be either put to work, interrogated, tortured, or whatever suited the Decepticons’ fancy. Even from inside, their cries of agony could be heard all throughout Grindcore. Having been stationed at Grindcore for ten years prior to his promotion, Damus was already used to it.

“I will admit, you seem to be a bit more… orderly on how things are done,” Barricade commented after a moment of observation. “I don’t believe Straxus ever put that much care into how things are done.”

“To be fair, Straxus is one of the highest ranking officers in the Decepticon Empire,” Damus said. “Not to mention one of the most seasoned.”

“Still,” Barricade went on. “I can’t help but notice you have a taste for the macabre. The ways you punish these Autobots are… extraordinarily cruel.”

“Do you take issue with that?”

Barricade turned his head to peer at the commandant over his shoulder. “Don’t you think it’s all a little… overkill? It almost comes across as if you are trying too hard to be ‘evil’; to feed into the notion the Autobots already have about us. That we are heartless monsters who can only be satiated by the pain and deaths of others.”

“You did not answer my question.”

Barricade scowled and he turned around fully to face Damus. “What statement are you trying to make with this? Are you trying to send a message to the Autobots? Is this all just to intimidate them and deter them from striking us? Or is it something more personal? Something that runs deeper?”

Damus’s red optics blazed at the shorter Decepticon. “What are you insinuating, Barricade?”

“I think I get it.” A smirk crossed Barricade’s gold faceplate. “The mask, the torture weapons, the try-hard attitude… you’re just trying to impress your idol, aren’t you? You’re trying to impress Megatron.”

“Aren’t we all?” Damus had intended for the response to sound casual but it instead came off as defensive. As he winced to himself, Barricade’s grin broadened.

“It’s all just for show though, isn’t it? You’re trying to compensate for your fragile ego; for your scarred face; for your—”

“Enough,” Damus snarled, his hands rolling into fists. “That’s enough.”

“What’s wrong? Have I touched a nerve circuit? I guess all that armor isn’t that protective after all. Deep down, you’re still that puny little orange glitch-head I saw all those years ago.”

“I said….” Damus took a step forward. “That’s enough.”

“And here we go again with the ‘try-hard’ attitude. You don’t scare me, Glitch. You don’t scare anyone other than naive little Autobots who’ve never met a true—”

Damus thrust out his hand and grabbed Barricade by the neck. Before the smaller Decepticon could struggle against him, the commandant hoisted him off his feet and hurled him at the window. The glass shattered as Barricade crashed through it and plummeted towards the ground below, landing on top of two Decepticon workers that had been hauling a crate full of supplies. Knocked off their feet, the two workers dropped the crate and its contents spilled out, burying Barricade beneath a pile of bolts and screws.  

As he stared out the shattered window to observe the results of his outburst, Damus heard the door open behind him as Snare stepped back inside.

“Is, er, everything all right in here, Commandant?”

“It would appear our friend Barricade has taken a nasty fall,” Damus replied evenly. “Send someone down there to pick him up and take him to the medbay. And to clean up the mess he made.”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

Snare wasted no time in taking his leave. After he was gone, Damus remained where he stood, never taking his eyes off Barricade until the other Decepticon was hauled away for repairs, taking him out of sight and out of mind.

Transformers Regenerated: Tarnished - Part 4

TALES OF THE DISAPPEARED:

TARNISHED, PART IV

K’th Kinsere, Cycle 8828

According to legend, the Vaulted Heights of K’th Kinsere had been among some of the first buildings erected by the Knights of Cybertron early on in Cybertronian history. Indeed, they had been around since at least before the age of Nova Prime and had been overseen by the self-proclaimed High Priests of K’th Kinsere in all that time. Even after the High Priests vanished some time around the Ark’s departure, the Vaulted Heights had been held in high regard by all Cybertronians; even Trannis’ Decepticons had left them untouched during the First Great War, respecting the historic and spiritual value they held for many Cybertronians.

Megatron’s Decepticons, on the other hand, held no such respect. That much could be gathered from the fires which blazed from and around the Vaulted Heights.

Damus had to admit that he had been surprised by the orders when they had been given to him. While he was far from one to question his superiors, his curiosity had gotten the best of him and he was unable to stop himself from asking the question that burned in his mind.

“Why do you want us to attack K’th Kinsere?”

Megatron had looked at him, his expression stoic but for a questioning gleam in his optics. “Do you require a reason to carry out my wishes?”

“Of course not, my liege,” Damus had hastily replied. “But given that the Vaulted Heights hold no strategic value to us, especially given our shift to off-world campaigns, I cannot help but question the need to capture such a historical site.”

At this, Megatron had allowed himself a smirk. “Oh, you will not be capturing K’th Kinsere. You will be burning it to the ground.”

Having been used to lacking a proper face for so long, Damus had not caught himself in time from displaying his surprise on his new visage. “You… you want us to destroy K’th Kinsere?”

“I want to send a message to Optimus Prime and his Autobots,” Megatron growled. “I want to show him that his naivety will do him no favors in this war. I want him to know — without a shadow of a doubt — that his brother is dead.”

As if he had needed one, that had been a good enough reason as any for Damus to carry out his orders. Having just been promoted to the rank of commander and given his own personal force to command, he was eager to prove himself to not just Megatron but the other members of High Command who had not been afraid to display their lack of confidence in him.

Perhaps by depriving the Autobots of their faith, Damus would be able to spark faith in those who currently lacked it.

As a trio of Decepticon jets streaked overhead, heading for the chaotic scene unfolding around the Vaulted Heights, a fourth jet flew down and converted to robot mode, landing in front of Damus’ mobile command station.

“Sir, we have broken through their front lines,” said the turquoise Decepticon flier (Damus believed his name was Slugslinger). “We are ready to make the final push. What are your orders?”

“Proceed with the next stage of the assault,” Damus replied. “I shall have the Heavy Brigade commence their run. I will be joining you and the others on the front lines shortly.”

“Yes, sir!” Slugslinger snapped off a sharp salute before transforming back to his jet mode and taking off. Stepping down from his command station, Damus allowed himself a small smile before converting to his own alternate mode — a heavy tank armed with dual fusion cannons. It was a far cry from the small courier vehicle he had had for an alternate mode until just a little over a decade ago. 

He wouldn’t have had it any other way.

*  *  *

“Told you it was stupid plan,” growled Grimlock, leader of the Lightning Strike Coalition.

“Maybe if you hadn’t gotten in the way, it wouldn’t have turned out that way,” retorted Impactor, leader of the Wreckers.

The two commanders had been bickering more or less since the battle had begun. Due to the historic and spiritual value the Vaulted Heights of K’th Kinsere had to so many, Optimus Prime had called in the heaviest units in the Autobot military to defend the site from the Decepticons. Unfortunately, both leaders of said units were equally stubborn and hot-headed, making for a disastrous battle that, as of this moment, was not going in their favor. 

The enemy had broken through the front lines and the bulk of both teams were trapped in a trench that separated them and the approaching Decepticon forces. Even now, Seekers and Heavy Brigade units were flying overhead and dropping their payload on the Vaulted Heights. If the battle wasn’t already a lost cause, it soon would be.

Of course, Dominus Ambus was the only one who wasn’t too stubborn to realize that or to admit it. He had always felt like the odd one out ever since he was assigned to the Lightning Strike Coalition after the rest of his unit had been killed during the Assault on Theta Palos. Between Grimlock’s hot-headed and narrow-minded Dynobots and reckless fighters like Smokescreen, Dominus honestly sure why he hadn’t left or asked to be reassigned in the three years he had spent with the L.S.C. Perhaps he felt obligated to offer an even mind such as his own to a team that otherwise lacked one.

Not that it had done any good in the past three years.

“Decepticons inbound,” reported Smokescreen, peering over the edge of the trench with a pair of macro-binoculars. “I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be able to hold out against them.”

“Bah! Let me at them!” said the Dynobot Slag. “I’ll melt them all down to their base components in no time!”

“If it was that easy, then why haven’t you done it sooner?” retorted the Wrecker Roadbuster. “Maybe then we wouldn’t be in this situation!”

Slag sneered at him. “Don’t pin the blame on us, Wrecker. There’s plenty of things you guys could have done that would have let us avoid all this!”

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten us, you big dumb lug,” snapped Whirl. “If you’re such an excellent strategist, why don’t you give us a few tips on how to get out of this mess?”

As the Wreckers and Dynobots continued to bicker, Dominus rubbed the side of his helmet, grateful that his visor and faceplate masked his exasperated expression. The primary purpose for the large suit of armor he had taken to wearing since becoming an active fighter in the war had been to disguise his distinctive appearance as a member of House Ambus; most of his teammates knew him as “Dominator” rather than as Dominus Ambus. It had also helped him mask his annoyance of his teammates’ habitual arguments and reckless behavior, which had been very useful in the three years he had spent with them.

Looking around the trench, Dominus saw very little that gave him hope in getting out of this situation the two teams had found themselves in. Across from him sat the Wrecker Blocker, cradling the body of their deceased friend in forlorn silence. Next to them sat the Autobot Inferno, his face partially burned due to an encounter with a flamethrower-wielding Decepticon. Next to him was a practically newborn Autobot named Ammo. A Made-To-Order soldier produced for this very mission, the young blue and yellow Autobot had just been rescued from the Decepticons after having his gun alternate mode be forcibly used against his comrades. Even with his face hidden by a visor and faceplate similar to Dominus’ own, it was clear that the incident had shaken him to the very core.

This, Dominus knew, was not the way. The Autobots were not going to win the battle in this condition, let alone the war. They needed a boost in morale, even more so with the inevitable loss of K’th Kinsere. They needed a way to show to the world that they were better than the Decepticons in terms of both tactics and morality. The Wreckers and Dynobots were, unfortunately, not the poster bots for such a movement. They needed a group that was a better representation of the ideals that the Autobots stood for, that Optimus Prime pushed them to follow. They needed—

“Grimlock? What are you doing?”

Dominus looked over to see the Dynobot leader pulling himself out of the trench, drawing his energo-sword. Impactor was looking up at him with an incredulous expression; even the other Dynobots had stopped their bickering to gawk at their leader, looking as clueless as their Wrecker counterparts.

“Taking matters into my own hands,” Grimlock growled before charging headfirst towards the approaching Decepticon army.

“Grimlock, no!” Impactor shouted. “Get back here!”

But it was too late. Grimlock was already lost in his rampage and Dominus could do little more than to watch it all unfold before his optics.

*  *  *

“What the hell is that idiot doing?”

Damus watched in incredulity as the Dynobot leader Grimlock cut his way through the Decepticon forces. Ground and aerial units alike opened fire on him from all directions but they did very little to deter the raging Dynobot. He grabbed one Decepticon by the head and hurled them into a Seeker, sending them both crashing into the ground.

“Somebody stop him!” Damus barked, firing the dual fusion cannons mounted on his arm. “Don’t let him—”

Before he could finish, he suddenly found himself laying on the ground, pinned down by a large gold and gray shape. That same “gold and gray shape” stared down at him, a fiery orange visor glowing from behind a black faceplate.

“Give me your face,” Grimlock growled.

“What?” Damus started to say, only to let out a scream just as the Dynobot dug his servos into the upper left corner of his face and tear out the metal surrounding his left optic. 

The scream was one not just of physical pain, but of a pain that no one but him could understand.

Thirteen years ago

“What do you think?” Lobe asked as Damus rose from the operating table, presenting the newly rebuilt Decepticon with a mirror.

Damus did not recognize the face he saw in the mirror before him. That was good. He did not want to recognize it. If he had, then all of his efforts to start his life anew would have been for naught.

Damus touched the upper-left corner of his new face as he grinned for the first time in his life. “It’s perfect.”

Now

Damus was vaguely aware of Grimlock being pulled off of him, though the intense pain the Dynobot had caused him still persisted. Indeed, the next several minutes seem to pass by in a blur as several Decepticons ganged up on Grimlock, piling onto him, while a medic came to his side. The doctor’s voice could barely be heard over the sound of roars and clanging metal, though Damus could gather that they were telling him that none of his vital systems were in critical damage and that the damage done to his face was easily repairable.

There was no way they could have understood, though. No way they could have understood what something as simple as a standard faceplate meant to him. He had lived so much of his life as someone who stood out, whether due to his appearance or due to his nature. The Decepticons had given him a new identity; a new opportunity to make something of himself rather than just be “Damus the Glitch.”

And now, Grimlock had taken that all away just by tarnishing his face. Tarnishing his identity.

And he only had himself to blame.

By the time Damus had finally stopped screaming, the doctor beside him had been crushed to death. It took him a moment to realize that it was his own fist that had caved their cranium in, but he quickly disregarded that fact. Up ahead, the first spire of the Vaulted Heights came down. Victory was close at hand.

However, he felt anything but triumphant. 

*  *  *

It had taken a good half-hour to recall Grimlock from his rampage. It took even less for the first of the Vaulted Heights’ spires to fall, nearly crushing the Autobots holed up in the trench below. That had been enough for Impactor to deliver the order to retreat. As Grimlock was in no condition to agree with or argue against the order (most of what he said came out as garbled enraged nonsense), the L.S.C. had little choice but to comply with the command and join the Wreckers in clearing out from the trench and fleeing to their respective ships.

The flight from K’th Kinsere back to Iacon was a quiet one. No one said a word as Wheeljack patched up everyone’s wounds. Neither Kup nor Ironhide attempted to lighten the mood by regaling them with old war stories. Even the Dynobots had remained silent, not trying to argue or pin the blame on any of the other crew members.

As much as Dominus welcomed the silence given all of the noise he had endured from the L.S.C., he wished that the circumstances had been different. The loss of K’th Kinsere was sure to deliver a major blow to the Autobots’ morale, something which they did not need at this point in the war. Optimus Prime had only been commander of the Autobots for four years and those who already criticized him were sure to weaponize this disaster to use as a point against him, perhaps even rallying others to their point of view. The last thing they needed was a crisis of faith in leadership and for Optimus to be removed from command and replaced with another Zeta Prime. Even the divide between Grimlock and Impactor during the battle had demonstrated how fragile the Autobots’ unity and fellowship was.  

If the Autobots couldn’t stand together, what hope did they have standing against the Decepticons? It was only a matter of time before Megatron realized the weakness in their unity and exploited it any way he could.

Something had to be done. If actions alone would not inspire his fellow Autobots to work together, then perhaps words would do the job.

And if there was anything Dominus was proficient in using, it was words.

Transformers Regenerated: Tarnished - Part 3

TALES OF THE DISAPPEARED:

TARNISHED, PART THREE

Chaar, Cycle 8815

“Autobot down! I need a medic!”

Roller gritted his dental plates as he unloaded his gun on the approaching Decepticons, taking down two ground soldiers and one Seeker. Still, the Decepticons were being relentless in their assault and there seemed to be no end of them in sight.

Grimacing, he looked down at the injured bot he was defending. The orange and black bot — named Road Ranger, he believed — was leaking energon from a nasty wound in his chestplate. His blue visor flickered as he struggled to maintain consciousness.

“Stay with me, kid,” Roller muttered, shooting down another advancing Seeker. “You’re not dying on my watch.”

As he continued to exchange fire with the Decepticons, he heard the wail of a siren as a white and red emergency vehicle sped up to them. Transforming into a bulky Autobot, the medic fired off a few shots of his own at the Decepticons before rushing over to Road Ranger.

“I’ve got him,” said Triage, deploying a defibrillator and placing it over Road Ranger’s chest. “I’ll keep him stable while you hold them off.”

“No, get him out of here!” Roller barked. “These ‘Cons are just gonna keep swarming in. We’ll be overwhelmed in no time. I can buy you enough time to escape, but otherwise….”

Triage glanced at him. “If you think I’m going to leave you here to die, then—”

A distant explosion rocked the ground beneath them. Up ahead, Roller could see an entourage of large Decepticon bombers approaching their position, dropping their payload onto the ground below. He wasn’t sure why the ‘Cons were bringing out their heavy hitters for him, a cadet, and a medic, but he was sure that there was no time to question the logic behind the enemy’s decisions.

“Listen, if you stay here for another nanoklik, both you and the kid will die,” Roller snapped at Triage. “I’m the only one here with the firepower to keep them busy. Now get the hell out of here!”

If Triage wanted to protest, another explosion caused by the bombers eradicated such thoughts and the medic quickly transformed into his alternate mode, loading up Road Ranger into his interior. As the medic sped off, Roller continued to unload his gun on the oncoming Decepticons. The bombers were getting closer, and he knew his gun was loading low on ammo. As soon as he heard the telltale sound of the trigger clicking, he discarded the weapon before charging headfirst into the swarm, his battle cry muted by the explosions surrounding him.

As he collided into a Seeker, he failed to notice the bomber directly above him. As he tore off the Seeker’s arm, he failed to notice the bomb dropping onto his head.

As the flames engulfed him, he failed to notice the skeletal hand grabbing his arm. 

By then, everything had gone dark.

Decepticon Headquarters

“I said I wanted him alive!”

Megatron slammed his fist onto the meeting room table, the flames of rage blazing in his red optical sensors. Some of those gathered at the table visibly flinched, while the one towards whom the Decepticon leader was directing his anger remained calm and collected, his own optics narrowed in a icy glare.

“With all due respect, my liege,” Clench said, speaking the last word with a hint of sarcasm, “the Autobot did not leave us with much choice. As soon as he ran out of ammo, he charged headfirst into our forces and was obliterated by a bomb dropped by one of our Heavy Brigade unit. There was nothing left for us to recover.”

Megatron continued to glower at Clench, silently seething. The fact that the older Decepticon was speaking to him with none of the respect that was supposedly due in front of his inner circle was not doing his emotional state any favors. When Megatron had taken command of the Decepticons after usurping Trannis, Clench had been one of the last ones to swear fealty to him; even his so-called pledge of loyalty had been a half-hearted one at best. Since then, Clench had been anything he could to undermine Megatron’s authority, from disrespecting him in front of his underlings to ignoring or outright disobeying his orders.

Something would have to be done about this lack of discipline, lest Megatron ended up finding himself in Trannis’ tracks….

“Your orders were clear,” Megatron said, quieter though no less furious. “You were to capture the Autobot known as Roller and bring him in — alive. It was a simple command that you could have easily accomplished.”

“If you wanted the Autobot that badly, then you could have easily commanded the operation yourself,” Clench retorted. “I still fail to see what value he could have had to you.”

“It is not so much his value so much as his potential,” Megatron replied. “I knew Roller back when I… back when Optronix served with the Autobots. Even for an Autobot, Roller was a capable fighter and would have made for a fine Decepticon. In addition, he was forged with a superspark.”

“So? I fail to see the relevance.”

“A superspark is a relatively rare spark type,” said Shockwave, standing beside Megatron in his new purple-armored, single-eyed form. “One that makes—”

“I know what is,” Clench snarled. “I simply fail to see how it pertains as to his worthiness as a Decepticon. We already have plenty of supersparks in our numbers — you are speaking to one yourself.”

“Yes, but we do not have enough to spare for our planned super-soldier program,” Megatron said. “The Warriors Elite.”

Clench scoffed. “We do not need to waste our time with frivolous ventures such as that. If our sheer numbers alone do not overwhelm the Autobots, then it is our leadership that should be held accountable. If the Autobots do get the upper-hand in this war, then more ‘super-soldiers’ will not be the answer; only change in leadership will get results.”

Megatron narrowed his eyes. “What are you insinuating, General?” 

“Nothing, my liege. I am simply… expressing my grievances over the direction this war has been taking. We have already lost Chaar, a planet in our own domain.”

“And who is to blame for that, Clench? Please, enlighten me.”

Clench’s hands rolled into fists. Before he could fire off however, Air Commander Starscream spoke up.

“Ah, perhaps we should adjourn for now? I believe we have already gleaned the essentials from General Clench’s report.” 

“Agreed,” Megatron said through gritted teeth. “You are dismissed… General.”

With one last glare, Clench turned on his heel and departed from the meeting room. The other commanders that were present departed as well, leaving only Megatron and Shockwave behind.

Once the two of them were alone, Shockwave fixed his single optic on the Decepticon leader. “My liege, if I may—”

“Not now, Shockwave,” Megatron growled. “I am not in the mood.”

“But, my liege, I may have a solution to this dilemma that you have found yourself with.”

“A solution, you say?” Megatron snapped, whirling on the former High Councilor. “A ‘solution’ like Shockblast, perhaps?”

Shockwave stiffened for the briefest of seconds, the consequences of his recent failure still fresh in his mind. “Not like Shockblast, no, my liege. I would simply like to suggest a candidate for a potential substitute like Roller.”

“A substitute?”

“Yes; a former student of mine. The one whom you know as Glitch.”

“Glitch?” Megatron looked at Shockwave as if he had grown a second head. “You’re not talking about that outlier with the claws, are you?”

“I am.”

Megatron continued to stare at him for a moment before throwing his head back and letting a harsh laugh. “Oh, you must be joking! Do you truly believe that a bot like him would make for a worthy Decepticon?”

“You would be surprised,” Shockwave replied coolly. “He has a superspark, and his powers can be very effective if utilized correctly.”

“I’m sure they can.” Megatron turned and began to stride towards the exit. Shockwave moved to keep up with him.

“My liege, I implore you to give me this chance to make up for my… previous failure,” Shockwave said. “I can find a way to make Glitch a more viable candidate for the Warriors Elite.”

“And how do you intend to do that?”

“Any bot can be rebuilt. Glitch’s superspark may even allow him to carry a body that is twice or even three times the weight of his current build. Once I have made the necessary modifications to his body, he will be ready for the ununtrium fusing process once we reach that stage of the program.”

Megatron paused as he reached the door, considering Shockwave’s proposal. As much as he hated to admit it, he supposed there was some potential in Glitch if what Shockwave was saying was true. If not, then the worst case scenario would be that Glitch was simply another rejected subject and that they would be forced to find another substitute for Roller.

Glancing at Shockwave, Megatron said, “Very well. I will leave it to you to locate Glitch and bring him to us. If your intuition is correct, then you will be appropriately rewarded. If it is not, then you will be appropriately punished. Is that clear?”

“Of course, Lord Megatron,” Shockwave replied, saluting with his one good hand. “I assure you that you will not be disappointed.”

Cybertron

“This is all your fault.”

Damus — once known as “Glitch” — stood there with his hands rolled into fists, his single blue optics focused on the larger red and blue bot in front of him. Orion Pax met his hateful glare with a sorrowful expression as he cradled the lifeless form of Clicker in his arms. Around them, Trion Square burned; a result of a plan gone horribly wrong.

“Glitch,” Orion started to say, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want—”

“Don’t call me that,” Damus snapped. “My name is Damus. Always has been.” 

“Damus, I’m sorry. It was not my intention for anyone to get hurt.”

“Yeah? Well, too bad, because someone did get hurt!” Damus pointed at Clicker’s deactivated body, hanging limp in Orion’s arms. “All you do is hurt the people around you! All because of you trying to be someone you’re not!”

Orion simply stared at him, the fires around them reflected in his optical sensors. Not waiting to hear another pathetic excuse, Damus turned away from the Autobot he had once looked up to and transformed into his alternate mode, speeding away from the scene. He could hear Trailbreaker and Windcharger calling his name, trying to stop him, but he refused to listen to them. Within minutes, Trion Square — and everything that had taken up so much of his life — was well behind him.

How could it have gone so horribly wrong? Already he was coming to understand why bots like Anode and Lug had left and refused to take part in this war; either side was just as bad as the other. Autobots, Decepticons, they were all the same. It was a story with no heroes and only villains. If only it hadn’t taken him so long to realize that; perhaps then he would have left with Anode and Lug, or any of the others that had left over the course of the past year.

He did not stop driving until he reached a deserted alleyway, far from the prying eyes of functioning bots. Converting back into his robot mode, he dropped himself onto the ground and huddled himself up to the side of a building, burying his head in his hands. He had no idea where he was going to go from here. He could not go back to the Anti-Vocationist League — there was no Anti-Vocationist League at this point — and he certainly was not going to join up with the Autobots, not if bots like Orion Pax or Zeta Prime were anything to go by. That only left…. 

“Are you lost, little one?”

Damus moved with a start and he scrambled to his feet. Standing at the far end of the alley, partially hidden by shadows, was a tall and lean bot in red and black armor plating. Her red optics glowed in the darkness as she calmly approached an apprehensive Damus, hands clasped behind her back.

“It sounds like something bad is happening over in Trion Square,” she said, as if she was talking about the weather.

Damus looked away from her, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“Oh, but I believe you do. I know who you are, Damus of Tarn. As a former member of the Cybertron Security Force, I have every single member of the Anti-Vocationist League registered and memorized in my databanks.”

“So, what, are you here to arrest me?” Damus snapped.

“On the contrary, rather.” She drew one of her hands from behind her back and extended it to him. “I am here to recruit you.”

Damus eyed the proffered hand skeptically. “Into what? The Autobots? Another activist movement that is sure to fail?”

“Neither of those things. Better than those things.” Her face twisted into a smirk. “We’re talking about an empire; one that will long outlive the Autobots and movements like the AVL to the point that their mere existence will become redundant and irrelevant.”

Damus did not need her to clarify; he already knew whom she was speaking of. Just as he was about to object, she spoke up again.

“I have it on good authority that you were once a student of Councilor Shockwave.” Her smile broadened. “I’ve heard that he is very interested in speaking with you and catching up.”

Damus’ single optic dilated slightly as he looked back up at the Decepticon femme. A long moment of silence passed between them as, before he even realized it, he raised his hand to take hers.

*  *  *

“—authorities say that the explosion was caused by a bomb planted near the Trion Square Memorial Monument. At least thirteen casualties have been reported so far, among them Clicker of Kalis, leader of the Anti-Vocationist League.”

Dominus Ambus stared at the viewscreen, his expression blank. It pained him that he had become so numb to things like this, almost to the point of apathy. He hated that he felt that way, but at the same time he struggled to bring himself to change it.

“According to our sources, Zeta Prime is being debriefed on the incident as we speak and is expected to make a statement later this orbital cycle. Councilors Taxion and Boreas have already made comments on the tragedy, with the latter expressing beliefs that the Decepticons are to—”

“Turn it off.”

Dominus stirred, as if he had suddenly forgotten that his partner had been standing next to him this whole time. “This is important, Rewind,” he murmured.

“Turn it off,” Rewind repeated, soft yet stern at the same time. “Please.”

With a sigh, Dominus pressed a switch and the viewscreen went dark, though the images it had displayed remained burned into his optical receptors. “We can’t stand aside and pretend to ignore it forever, you know,” he said quietly. “Soldiers or not, we have to do something to help our Autobot brothers and sisters.”

“I know,” Rewind admitted. “Eject has been suggesting that I join him in helping Blaster spread… well, essentially propaganda to inspire others into joining the Autobots. He thinks that my vast database could be useful.”

Dominus nodded. “Knowledge can be powerful and persuasive. I can see why he would suggest that.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about it though. It just seems… too much like what the old High Council used to do, under Sentinel Prime. Hell, even Zeta Prime has not been much better, especially if his response to that incident with Hefter is any indication.”

“I am inclined to agree,” Dominus replied. “However, at this point, it seems as if we have little choice. There is no chance of us joining the Decepticons and if we try to stay neutral, then some may brand us as traitors. And the Decepticons have no love for neutrals, either.”

“Honestly, I don’t think the Autobots would even look that bad if it weren’t for people like Zeta or those still on the Council,” Rewind said. “I feel that they’ve been giving us a bad image, which is why so many are still flocking over to the Decepticons even after the things Megatron has done.”

“Indeed.” Dominus grimaced, stroking his chinplate. “I can’t help but feel there is more to this than we realize.”

Rewind tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“It’s difficult to explain. And I’m afraid if I say it out loud, you’ll think I’m crazy.”

“At this point, Dom, I think we’ve all gone a bit crazy.”

At this, Dominus couldn’t help but smile. “Perhaps so, my dear Rewind. Perhaps so.”