Transformers Regenerated: Prime Wars VIII, Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

--Metrotitan--

    "You recognize this ship?" Sixknight asked as he, Optimus Prime and the twin-headed dragon landed in front of the docked Lost Light.

    "Not only do I recognize it, but I've been on it," Optimus said. "My sparkmate Elita-One commanded it while in search of my own crew and I. After Unicron was defeated, she gave it to an Autobot named Rodimus for his quest for Cyberutopia."

    "Cyberutopia, eh?" Sixknight said, rubbing his chin. "An admirable endeavor, for sure."

    "More like pointless," Doublecross snorted. "Bunch of hoopla, that stuff is."

    "Now, now," Twinferno countered. "There's no harm in trying to discover the undiscovered."

    Raising a hand to his comm, Optimus attempted to hail the Lost Light. "Rodimus? Do you read me? It's--"

    Just then, the ship's ramp lowered in front of the trio. Standing there, grin as wide as his face, was Rodimus, in all his flame-decoed glory.

    "Optimus Prime!" The captain of the Lost Light waved to the Autobot leader. "Long time no see! How you doing?"

    Optimus allowed himself a smile via his optics. "I've been better. It's good to see you as well. How goes your quest?"

    "Still going!" Rodimus replied. "We're making progress! Slowly but surely! Some bumps in the road, but hey, that's the way of things! You know what I'm saying?"

    "Right. May we come aboard?"

    "Of course! Sure thing! Who are your friends?"

    "Sixknight, Doublecross and Twinferno," Optimus said, gesturing to each of his companions. "The latter two are conjoined twins, from my understanding. Bit of a long story."

    "Hey, no worries! Plenty of time to swap tales." Rodimus motioned them all to come on board. "We have a bar where you can all rest and relax."

    "A bar?" Sixknight looked to Optimus. "Is that a new thing?"

    "No, actually," Optimus murmured, stepping onto the ramp. "Believe it or not, I don't think anything's changed since I left."

*  *  *

    "How is he?"

    "No better than when you brought him here," Ratchet said, standing over a suffering Megatron. "He won't let me examine him, so I can't even tell you what's wrong with him."

    Ultra Magnus frowned as he looked over to Megatron. The Decepticon's hands were firmly clutching his chest, as if trying to keep something from bursting out... or to keep Ratchet from looking in.

    "Megatron," Magnus intoned. "Let Ratchet look at you."

    "I have to see Optimus Prime," Megatron gritted out.

    Magnus shook his head. "We can't let you. Not yet. As far as he knows, you're as good as dead. If you were to go to him now--"

    "Wait a minute," Ratchet said, stepping closer to Megatron. "Your chest is glowing."

    Megatron glared at the medic. "Don't come any closer."

    Fed up with the Decepticon's evasive nature, Ultra Magnus stormed forward and grabbed both of Megatron's hands, wrenching them off of his chest. As the Decepticon cried out in protest, Ratchet pulled open his chestplate... and gawked at what he saw within.

    "By the Matrix," he muttered.

    "Yes," Magnus murmured, staring as well. "Funnily enough."

*  *  *

    Optimus had not realized how long it had been since he had last refueled. Engex had never been his favorite -- too strong for his tastes -- but today he was making an exception.

    As he drank, he listened to Rodimus' account of the Lost Light's travels, exchanging details of his own mishaps. As they caught each other up on recent events -- from time-traveling to Monstercons, clones and Titans to Secret Orders, and finally more time-traveling and Titans -- Optimus couldn't help but feel that Rodimus was withholding some details. He acted particularly shifty when it came to the events at the Floating Fortress and afterwards, especially when he brought up the time-traveling Dion without much explanation. Whenever Optimus tried to ask for further elaboration, Rodimus changed the subject.

    "So!" the flame-decoed bot said, leaning back in his seat. "What brings you to Necroworld?"

    "Necroworld?" Optimus asked.

    "I just told you about it, didn't I? Home to the Necrobot."

    "Yes, but...." Optimus frowned. "It was not our intention to come here. We were trying to get to Cybertron."

    "Really? Huh."

    Rodimus fell silent after that, twirling his empty glass with his finger. Optimus stared at him, intent on getting whatever it was the younger Autobot was not telling him.

    "What else happened at the Floating Fortress?" he asked.

    "I already told you everything," Rodimus said, not meeting his gaze.

    "Did you? How exactly did you stop the Heralds of Unicron and their plans?"

    Rodimus sighed, straightening in his seat. "Okay. I'm gonna drop a bombshell on you. Whatever you do, don't freak out."

    "I've already been through a lot, Rodimus," Optimus said, raising his glass. "It would take a lot to surprise me at this point."

    "Megatron's alive."

    The glass fell from Optimus' hand, shattering on the table. All heads turned as the Prime gripped onto the edge for support.

    "What... did you say?" Optimus' voice shook as he spoke.

    "I don't exactly know how he came back," Rodimus went on. "Apparently he was trapped in this dimension with Unicron, so when the Heralds activated their portal...."

    "And you let him on board?"

    "I... I didn't say that."

    "You did, didn't you?" Optimus muttered. "That's why you've been acting so evasive. Because he's here."

    "He wants to help us find the Knights," Rodimus said. "He wants them to judge him for his crimes. To give him retribution."

    "Retribution."

    Rodimus glanced down at the indents Optimus was making into the table. "You're... you're really not taking this well, are you?"

    "He wants retribution." Optimus heard the words in his voice, but it was not his mind that was making them. "I'll deliver him retribution."

    The last thing Optimus remembered seeing was Rodimus' horrified face as he flipped the table.

*  *  *

    Ultra Magnus heard the crash from the bar before he had even turned the corner. Before he knew it, he was standing before a dark replica of Optimus Prime, red and blue having turned to black and teal.

    "Optimus?" Magnus asked.

    "Close." Lunging forward, the dark Prime produced an axe and struck Magnus across the face with it, knocking him to the ground.

    Pressing ahead, Prime stalked the corridors of the Lost Light, walking past shocked and terrified Autobots. He eventually made his way to the medbay, where he found the object of his rage, guarded by a pair of medics.

    "Prime?" Ratchet grimaced upon seeing the deco his leader now sported. "No...."

    "Step aside, doctor," Nemesis Prime growled, gripping his axe. "This does not concern you."

    "Optimus, it's the Scourge virus taking over again!" Ratchet cried at the advancing Nemesis. "You've fought it off before! Surely you can--"

    The medic was cut off as Nemesis hoisted him up and threw him into Velocity, knocking them both down. This left him face-to-face with the once-sworn enemy of Optimus Prime, laying vulnerable on the medical slab.

    "Prime," Megatron muttered.

    "Megatron," Nemesis Prime chuckled. "I have waited an eternity for this." He raised his axe over his head, red optics blazing with hate. "It's over, brother."

Transformers Regenerated: Prime Wars VIII, Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

--The Lost Light--

    "I'm just saying: 'Club Con' would make for a really good name."

    "No, it wouldn't," Octane muttered, resting his head on his hand as he drank his engex. "That's got to be the stupidest name I've ever heard."

    Blitzwing sneered. "Oh, yeah? What would you suggest instead?"

    "Nothing. We don't need a name."

    "Yeah, we do!" Blitzwing exclaimed, gesturing to the both of them. "We're the token two Decepticons on the ship! This is the opportunity to start an act!"

    Octane looked impartial to the suggestion. "An act? Like, what, a comedy act?"

    "No, like... like...." Blitzwing gesticulated meaninglessly with his hands. "Like a gang! A club!"

    "But there's only two of us."

    "We'll recruit others into our group!"

    "What others?" Octane asked. "You just said we're the token two Decepticons."

    Blitzwing frowned. "Weren't there others at the speech Megatron gave when he returned?"

    "Yeah, but they all ended up going back to Cybertron or whatever. You and I were the only ones to join the crew -- besides Megatron, of course." Octane gave the other Triple Changer a look. "Seriously, it's been a month and you're just now realizing this?"

    "I've been... preoccupied, I guess," Blitzwing muttered. He looked around the bar, predominantly occupied by Autobots. Across the room, sitting alone in another booth, was a purple and black bot who bore a striking resemblance to Megatron. He wore a Decepticon insignia on his chest.

    "What about that guy?" Blitzwing whispered, pointing at the lookalike.

    Octane looked over at the mech. "Archforce? What about him?"

    "Well, isn't he a Decepticon? We can ask him to join."

    "And make the Autobots suspicious of us hanging out with a Megatron clone?"

    "Well, if they're fine with having the real deal on board--"

    Octane shook his head. "They're not, Blitz. They're so definitely not. Have you seen the looks they give him? That they give us?"

    "Hence why we should all stick together!" Blitzwing said.

    "Look, if you want to hang out with him, fine," Octane said, getting up from his seat. "But the last thing I want to do is to cause any trouble -- or at least, more trouble than we're already causing by just being here."

    Blitzwing scowled. "If you're that paranoid, why didn't you just go back to Cybertron with the others? What are you even doing here?"

    "What are you doing here?" Octane shot back.

    Blitzwing frowned. "You know why I'm here. I have a condition, and the Decepticon Empire doesn't exactly offer much care for things like that. What's here for you that you can't get anywhere else?"

    "A place to belong," Octane replied, leaving before Blitzwing could say anything else.

*  *  *

    "So. Necroworld."

    "If you have any objections, say them now and just get them over with," Rodimus said, settling in the command chair. "Nightbeat has a hunch, and I'm willing to trust him on this one."

    "No, no, I understand that," Ultra Magnus said, standing at his usual place at Rodimus' side. "For once, we're in agreement on this. I certainly got a similar impression from Censere when we met him. I'm just not sure if this is worth a call."

    "A call?" Rodimus raised an optical ridge at him. "What do you mean?"

    "Megatron asked me to radio him when we got somewhere worthwhile. I'm not sure if this counts."

    "Not sure if what counts?"

    Both Autobots tensed as they heard Megatron enter the bridge. Ultra Magnus turned around to face the former Decepticon leader, head tilted quizzically.

    "I thought you were going to wait until I called you."

    "I was," Megatron growled. "But I started having pains in my chest, so I decided to try and walk it off."

    "Have you seen Ratchet about it?"

    "He said it's likely a remnant of the wound I received from Tarn. It'll be some time before it heals completely."

    "I see." Magnus still looked doubtful of Megatron's explanation but moved on from the subject. "Anyway, we're going to Necroworld."

    It was Megatron's turn to look confused. "Necroworld?"

    "Well, that's what Rodimus likes to call it. It's home to the Necrobot, Censere."

    "...I'm sorry, did I hear you correctly? Did you just say--"

    "Yes, the Necrobot exists," Rodimus said, waving his hand dismissively. "He's a real bot. Kind of cryptic and vague, but real. We think he might know things about the ancient Primes and the Knights of Cybertron."

    "Ah," Megatron said, absently rubbing his chest. "So you're going off of a hunch and nothing else."

    "Finally, you're starting to get it."

    Ultra Magnus looked back at Megatron, noticing his discomfort. "Are you sure you're all right? Do you need to rest?"

    Megatron glared at him. "Why do you care?"

    "Yeah." Rodimus looked up at his first mate. "Why do you care?"

    "I'm simply asking, because you don't look like you're in any condition--"

    "I said I'm fine," Megatron snapped. "Let's just... focus on the mission."

    Deciding not to press the matter further, Magnus turned back to Rodimus. "So, are you going down to meet with Censere?"

    "Probably, just so there's someone else to ask non-Prime related questions. Nightbeat can have a bit of a one-track mind."

    "Is anyone else going?"

    Rodimus shrugged. "It's his call. I imagine Rewind will probably go down to record stuff, and Chromedome is sure to go with him."

    "We're nearing Necroworld, captain," Mainframe said from the ship's controls.

    Before Rodimus could respond, Megatron suddenly lurched forward, clutching his chest. His optics widened as his mouth opened in silent agony.

    "Okay, now I'm concerned," Rodimus said, getting up. "Somebody get him to Ratchet."

    "I'm fine," Megatron croaked.

    "You're clearly not. Look, I may hate you, but the last thing I want is someone dying on my ship." Rodimus looked over to Ultra Magnus. "Help me out here, will ya?"

    Magnus moved to help the former Decepticon leader only to stop when he noticed Mainframe was suddenly acting distressed.

    "What's wrong?" he asked the pilot.

    "Something's obstructing our path," Mainframe replied. "Can't tell if it's another ship or--"

    At that moment, the Lost Light emerged from hyperspace and came bow-to-bow with a massive vessel, one that looked more like a flying city rather than a ship.

    "...or a Titan."

    "Pull up!" Rodimus cried.

    With great effort, the Lost Light avoided crashing into the Titan as it grinded to a halt. Artifitical gravity generators prevented the ship from flying off, forcing it to touch down in the mobile city. Once everything had settled, Rodimus looked back to Mainframe.

    "Status report."

    "All good. Some scratches on the hull, but nothing critical."

    "Life signs?"

    "None that I can... wait." Mainframe leaned over his monitor. "There's at least... three spark signatures approaching. Maybe four."

    "Look out there." Ultra Magnus pointed out the viewport. "I see a jet and a... is that dragon?"

    "A two-headed dragon," Rodimus corrected. "And I see someone else on that jet. Someone red and blue--"

    Without warning, Megatron fell to his knees, hand on his chest. He grunted something under his breath, prompting Rodimus to look at him.

    "What did you say?"

    "Prime," Megatron snarled. "It's Optimus Prime."

Transformers Regenerated: Prime Wars VIII, Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

--The Lost Light--

    "Feeling better?"

    Dion rubbed his head as he laid on the slab near Rung's chair. "Define 'better.'"

    "Are you composed enough to endure this session?"

    "Yeah. In that case, yeah. I'm fine."

    Rung reached down and produced a datapad, crossing his legs as he sat back. "I must admit, I was more than a little surprised when you asked me for an appointment. For the past few days, you had seemed more or less level-headed."

    "The more crazy or troubled someone is, the better they are at hiding it." Dion sighed as he started up at the ceiling. "Skids told you everything, right? About my time-traveling... shenanigans and how I was someone else completely for a time."

    "Yes, he did. I can see how all that could take its toll on someone."

    "For a time, it did," Dion said. "But I was able to find help on Earth and, after over a hundred years, it was no longer an issue for me. I had found a new home, a new life, on Earth."

    "And then you were given the mission."

    "Yeah." Dion revved slightly. "I had already learned that Optronix had become Megatron long beforehand, so I was already over it... somewhat. The fact that I wasn't being sent to kill him made it easier for me to accept the task. Otherwise...."

    Rung jotted down a few notes on his datapad. "How long did you know Optronix before the... incident?"

    Dion was silent for a moment, not once so much as glancing at Rung. Finally, he said, "I first met him at the academy ten years before my 'abduction.' I had already heard of him beforehand, since he had already made quite the name for himself by the time I came online. From day one, I had always been... I had always idolized him."

    "How did your meeting with him go? What did he say to you?"

    "He told me he was impressed by my skills and that I was a shoo-in for the Elite Guard. A few months later, he was proven right." Dion thought for a moment. "I wonder if he had pulled some strings."

    "Optronix had certainly become the Elite Guard's poster bot by then," Rung murmured. "So how did you come to fall under his command?"

    Dion shrugged. "It just kind of happened. My previous commanders sort of came and went and before I knew it, I was working with him."

    "You never requested to work with him?"

    "No," Dion said quietly. "Well, maybe once, but... I don't know. Not sure if I remember. Those days have started to become a blur."

    "I see." Rung was silent for a moment as he wrote down on his datapad again. He then looked back at Dion, adjusting his glasses. "Now, I'm going to ask a very personal question... please keep in mind that I maintain a duty of care towards my patients. Anything you say to me will be between us."

    Dion turned his head to the psychiatrist. "You're scaring me, Doc. Just go ahead and get it over with."

    "I trust you to give me an honest, truthful answer."

    "Yeah, sure. Shoot."

    "Did you ever have feelings for Optronix?"

    Dion blinked. "Pardon?"

    "Did you ever feel a... stronger connection between the two of you?"

    The orange and blue bot slowly sat up. "Why... how is this relevant?"

    Rung sighed. "I'm simply trying to understand your relationship with him. Then I'll know how to proceed."

    Dion frowned. "I don't think that's anything I'd be willing to divulge."

    "You realize that, by avoiding the question, you're simultaneously answering it. If you had no feelings, you wouldn't be acting this way."

    Dion said nothing at first, continuing to stare at Rung. Then he said, "Let's say I said yes. Yes, I did have feelings for him. What would you ask next?"

    "I would then ask if you still had feelings."

    "And if I said yes?"

    "Then that would be the end of today's session, since we're out of time." Uncrossing his legs, Rung rose from his seat. "If you wish to continue this, just let me know. My door is open to all. Just try not to consume too much engex before arriving... or at the very least, activate your fuel intake moderation chip."

    "Right. Sure." Standing up as well, Dion turned to leave only to stop as he reached the door. Looking over his shoulder, he said, "I just have one question--"

    "Our session is over, Dion," Rung said. "Save it for--"

    "It doesn't concern me. I was just wondering... Skids told me that WALL-E and EVE had a hand in Megatron's creation."

    "Yes...?"

    "Is that true or was he just pulling my leg?"

    Rung hesitated for a brief moment. "There is some truth to it, yes. You can ask him to elaborate for you."

    "And... does he know? Does Megatron...?"

    "No. No, he does not."

    Dion nodded. "All right. Thanks."

    Rung raised an eyebrow. "You're not planning on telling him yourself, are you?"

    Dion chuckled. "No. Of course not. Don't be ridiculous." With that, he walked out the door, leaving behind an unconvinced Rung.

*  *  *

    "I'm sorry, could you please repeat that?"

    "I want to go back to Necroworld," Nightbeat said.

    Rodimus nodded, still carving into his desk. "Uh-huh. That's what I thought you said. I was thinking maybe you said we need to go back to Necroworld, like it was important or something, but no, it's just you wanting to go back there."

    "Well, it is important."

    "How?" Rodimus asked, looking up at the detective. "We've already been there and there was nothing there of importance. Why would you want to go back there?"

    "I need to find out more about the Thirteen."

    "The Thirteen?" Rodimus retracted his knife back into his arm. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but last time I checked, we were searching for the Knights of Cybertron."

    "We are," Nightbeat said. "But after them, the Thirteen are the oldest known generation of Cybertronians. The more we learn about them, the closer we get to the Knights."

    "And you think we'd find something on Necroworld?"

    "I believe Censere -- the Necrobot -- is from the same period as the Thirteen. He has a database of every Transformer in existence. The myth that he's spawned has been retold for many millennia. He's clearly as old as the stars."

    Rodimus mulled over this for a moment. "You raise a fair point," he said. "When we first met, I did consider asking him a few things, but... with all of the stuff that was happening at the time..."

    Nightbeat nodded. "Right. Understandable. But now that we're back on track...."

    Rodimus sighed. "I don't know, Nightbeat. We've been making a lot of pointless detours as of late. If we make another, Ultra Magnus will probably give me another one of his lectures."

    "This won't be pointless, Rodimus. I swear it. Even if Censere isn't willing to open up, I'll find a way to get him talking."

    "That sounds... ominous."

    "I'm a detective, Rodimus. I have my ways."

    "Right." Rodimus considered the proposition for a minute before finally nodding. "All right. Necroworld it is. I just hope you're hunch is right."

    Nightbeat grinned. "Of course it is. I wouldn't be a good detective if--"

    "All right, all right, I get it," Rodimus muttered, rising from his desk. "Sheesh, no wonder Hardhead decided to stay behind...."

Transformers Regenerated: Prime Wars VIII, Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

--The Lost Light--

    There were many words Megatron could use to describe the Lost Light. Progressive was not one of them.

    In the one month he had been here, the ship had not gotten any closer to its goal than it had been when he had joined, and even before that point. Moldavite Six had been a waste of time, Molryus Minor another pointless detour, and Paradron... well, the less said about that, the better.

    It just felt like Rodimus was wasting time. He claimed to be heading back for Caminus, but with all the stops they had made, it simply felt like their captain was stalling. And for what? Was he afraid of actually finding Cyberutopia? Did he not want this quest to end?

    Many times had Megatron asked himself this question, and still he had no answer. It was beginning to tire him. Infuriate, even.

    Megatron had not been on the bridge in five days. He felt that, the longer he stayed there, the closer he would come to strangling Rodimus. Then his quest for redemption would have been for nothing.

    Instead, he would wait. He had asked Ultra Magnus to radio him when they had reached someplace worthwhile. As the Autobot seemed to share in his distaste for their lack of progress, Magnus understood what he meant.

   Until then, he would sit patiently in his hab suite. Surely they would come across something interesting eventually.

    But probably not.

*  *  *

    "You know, it's not everyday you wake up and find out your best friend is an evil intergalactic overlord."

    Dion took another swig of his drink before slamming it back down on the counter.

    "It's also not every day that you find yourselves being thrown all across the timeline. I mean, how old even am I? I pretty much just missed two thousand years of history and now I'm starting to live a third of it. Is this even real life?"

    Swerve stared at Dion as the latter downed the rest of his drink. "Uh... is this just now starting to get to you?" the bartender asked. "Because you seemed pretty chill about it for the past few days...."

    "Ah, it's probably just the engex talking," Dion grumbled. "Or maybe all the time travel's made me slow to the realization. One of the two. Or both."

    He moved to take another chug only to remember his can was empty. He was about to ask Swerve for another when his messenger pinged. It read: My office. Twenty minutes. Don't be late. Rung.

    Groaning, Dion rose from his seat and hobbled to his feet. "Keep my tab open. I'll be back."

    "Uh, yeah, sure," Swerve said, watching as Dion stumbled out of the bar. He didn't have the spark to tell the time-traveler that he didn't even have a tab open....

*  *  *

    "Why did you call the D.J.D.?"

    Stormshot sighed as she fiddled with a piece on the model Rung had given her. She knew the question was going to come up in their sessions at some point; she just didn't expect Rung to be so direct about it.

    "Tell me, Rung," she said quietly. "Have you ever met an ex-Deception?"

    "Why, of course," Rung said. "Our third-in-command Drift is an ex-Decepticon himself."

    "Yeah, but do you, like, know him? Like, has he ever visited you and opened up to you?"

    Rung adjusted his spectacles. "Even if he has, I'm not at liberty to divulge such information."

    "Well, if he has, you would know that living as an ex-Con is the most miserable thing you could ever experience," Stormshot said. "For all my life -- all 211 years of it -- I've lived in constant fear of the D.J.D. eventually reaching my name on the List."

    "Then why did you call them? If you knew they were going to kill you...."

    "I didn't want to die, but I knew if they found me, they would kill everyone else on the ship. That's why I waited until we had landed on Paradron -- so I could get them as far away from the Lost Light as possible."

    Rung was silent for a moment as he watched Stormshot continue to fiddle with the model, not really getting anywhere with it. Finally, he said, "Did Megatron have anything to do with your decision?"

    Stormshot froze, her wing stiffening. Her voice came as an almost deadly whisper. "Why do you ask?"

    "Well, everyone's been a lot more... tense since he came aboard, along with a number of Decepticons. I was just wondering... do you fear him more than the D.J.D.?"

    Stormshot abruptly rose to her feet, letting the model clatter to the table. "I think that's enough. It's been well over an hour."

    Rung sighed as he retrieved the model from the table. "Very well. Dion should be here soon."

    Just then, there was a thud at the door. Rung and Stormshot both rushed over and opened it, allowing an orange and blue bot to stumble in.

    "Sorry," he muttered, his words slightly slurred. "Motors actin' up. Should get 'em tuned. Or have I already done that? I don't know. Time travel sucks."

    With that, Dion collapsed onto the floor. Rung exhaled loudly.

    "Story of my life."

*  *  *

    Nightbeat loved mysteries. That much a given. What he didn't love were things that were complete and utter scrap.

   He could buy missing moons and stray ships, but when it came to things like Titans or magical artifacts? He just couldn't wrap his head around such things -- even when he saw them with his own optics. It just wasn't something he could compute.

    The Thirteen were a subject that straddled the line for him. While he certainly believed the myths surrounding them were bogus, he couldn't help but ponder whether there was some truth to their tale. After all, the title of Prime had to come from somewhere.

    Recent events had simply proven to strengthen his inkling. After they had left Paradron, Nightbeat had learned from Stormshot that Cannonspring had been on Carcer with her and had merged with an Autobot named Chaindrive. Based on how Stormshot had described the merging, as well as Chaindrive's appearance, Nightbeat couldn't help but be reminded of Nexus Prime, the Wizard of Forms and master of combination according to legends.

    His first instinct had been to go to Emirate Xaaron, just as he had a hundred years ago when the Fallen threatened Cybertron. But then he thought better of it: Xaaron was a staunch believer of Primus and thus would be biased towards the mythical portrayal of the Thirteen. He needed someone more "real." Someone who was just as obsessed with facts as he was.

    He needed Rewind.

    The small archivist watched as Nightbeat circled around a holoprojector displaying graphs the detective had made (and only he understood). Coming to a halt, he looked down at Rewind.

    "Tell me: Who was the first Prime, besides the Thirteen?"

    "The first Prime?" Rewind thought for a moment. "Well, the first ever recorded is Alpha Prime...."

    "And how far back do those records date?"

    "That's been disputed for years, especially since the switch to the New Calendar. Some say he lived as far back as Cycle 1984, some think even further than that, but nothing concrete."

    "And the Thirteen?" Nightbeat asked. "How does Alpha Prime fit into their tale?"

    "That also varies," Rewind said. "Popular belief maintains that he was a disciple of the Thirteen that they left in charge when they vanished. Others still believe that he was one of the Thirteen themselves, who stayed behind to watch over Cybertron's budding population."

    "But nothing concrete?"

    "Right." Rewind tilted his head as the detective returned his attention to the graph. "Why the sudden interest in the Thirteen, Nightbeat? I didn't think you cared about that kind of stuff."

    "Of course I care! I care about all things unexplained, no matter how stupid they are!" Nightbeat rubbed his chin. "But the Thirteen and their story have become a recent interest of mine, especially after all that Carcer business."

    Suddenly, like a lightbulb going off, a smile stretched across his face.

    "Censere!" he exclaimed.

    "Um, bless you?" Rewind said, confused.

    "No, Censere! Remember the Necrobot?"

    "Oh, yeah. Of course. What about him?"

    "When he introduced himself, he said he hailed from the High-Ceilinged Manifold. I wasn't familiar with the place but I later learned from Glyph it was a place on Cybertron long before Nova Prime's era."

    "Meaning...?"

    "Meaning he's the oldest known Cybertronian alive and thus the only one who would know anything about Alpha Prime and the Thirteen." Nightbeat grinned. "I hope Rodimus still has that bullet, because I think we need to pay the Necrobot another visit."

Transformers Regenerated: Prime Wars VIII, Prologue

PROLOGUE

--Mars--

    Prowl stood in the center of what had once been Outpost Three, one of the Secret Order's five known bases. All around him were computers with wiped data, equipment that was obsolete... all in all, nothing of any note.

    They had been too late. No doubt upon hearing of what had gone down at the Floating Fortress, the Decepticons stationed here had evacuated as soon as possible, knowing the Autobots would soon be at their doorstep.

    Prowl grimaced to himself. If only they had come here a month earlier, then they would've been able to put a stop to the operations taking place here. After the defeat of the Heralds of Unicron, Prowl had approached Elita-One with the information recovered from Outpost One, the Secret Order's presence here on Mars being among it. However, Elita had larger concerns at the time, mainly regarding the whereabouts of Optimus Prime, and had Prowl postpone any endeavors concerning Outpost Three in favor of searching for Prime.

    Well, a month had now passed. Optimus Prime was still missing and Mars had been abandoned. No progress had been made in either respect.

    Prowl clenched his fist in anger. On the one hand, he shouldn't have been mad at Elita for prioritizing Optimus over all else. Not only was he their leader, but he was also Elita's sparkmate. It was only natural she would be concerned for him more than anything.

    But at the same time, Prowl did not believe that one should let one's feelings for another get in the way of what needed to be done. He himself had made that mistake once, and he regretted it still to this day.

    The mission came first. Everything and everyone else would have to wait.

    Unfortunately, Prowl realized, not everyone shared that belief. In fact, in the past seven months, he had seen more and more relationships and strong connections form where there had been none for nearly a thousand years. He wasn't necessarily opposed to it -- after all, the war was over -- but there was still a lot more work to be done. And if others intended on getting in his way....

    Prowl was broken from his thoughts when he heard someone approach him from behind. Turning around, he saw a black and gold mech standing in the doorway, arms folded over his chest.

    "Crosswise," Prowl said. "You got my call."

    "Evidently," his agent replied coolly.

    Prowl decided to let the snippy remark slide. There were more important matters at hand. "What were you able to gather on Earth?"

    "Not as much as I would have liked. All of the Machination bases I could find were abandoned. All data on their computers were either wiped or corrupted. Say what you will about humans, but they know how to cover their tracks."

    "Not unlike the Secret Order," Prowl muttered with a grimace. "Were you able to find anything of note?"

    Crosswise hesitated. "Nothing... concrete. I did come across some hidden labs with some... interesting equipment."

    "Such as...?"

    "Like, organic materials. Wood, bark, even tissue...."

    Prowl raised an optic. "At a Machination lab? Why would they have those materials if they were trying to replicate us?"

    Crosswise shrugged. "Beats me. I couldn't find much more beyond that."

    "Interesting." Rubbing his chin, Prowl looked around the deserted room. Could Scorponok have some connection to the Secret Order? He had been the only Herald absent at the Fortress on Nimbus. Did the Order's hand reach as far enough as Earth and all that had went down there?

    Perhaps there was more to this than he had realized.

    Turning back to Crosswise, he said, "Continue your investigations on Earth but be prepared for future orders. I need to sort this out before I can even begin to figure out where to go from here."

    "How can we go anywhere from here?" Crosswise asked. "We don't have any leads."

    "Maybe not. But sometimes, in order to go forward... you have to take a few steps back."

THE GREATER GOOD

Part 1: Practice to Deceive

Transformers Regenerated: Prime Wars VII, Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

    Crankcase was starting to miss the good old days of boredom.

    As Obsidian frantically moved the Alchemor out of the Labyrinth's firing range, a blast came from the larger vessel, but not from any of its guns. Instead, it came from the bridge as a beam of purple energy blew a hole in the front of the vessel.

    "Ha!" Misfire laughed. "They missed! Oh, the irony...."

    "Shut your trap," Crankcase growled. He stomped over to Obsidian and put a hand on the general's shoulders. "Get us out of here! Quickly, while they're preoccupied!"

    "Wait!" Spinister pointed out the viewport. "More stuff is happening!"

    It was a blunt way of putting it, but indeed, there was more to behold. While the bridge continued to smoke, other sections of the ship began to detach, assuming the shape of other ships. Crankcase tensed, expecting them to come after the Alchemor. Instead, they did the opposite, jumping to hyperspace one by one, until all that was left was the husk that had once been the Labyrinth.

    It was again thanks to Spinister's keen eye that they spotted bodies flying out of the bridge, some on their own power, others at the mere pull of the vacuum of space. Upon closer inspection, two of those floating out were none other than Fulcrum and Krok.

    At Crankcase's urging, Obsidian flew the Alchemor towards the two Scavengers. Spinister and Misfire both flew out to retrieve their former comrades and soon returned with an elated Fulcrum and a mystified Krok.

    "Boy, have I never been more glad to see you guys again!" Fulcrum said. "How did you guys all get here?"

    "Through sheer contrivance," Misfire said, grinning. "And also, likewise."

    Fulcrum glanced at him. "No hard feelings?"

    "Nah. It's what Decepticons do anyway. We all have bizarre love-hate relationships with each other."

    "I see you've made new friends in the meantime," Krok muttered, glancing between Flamewar and Obsidian.

    Flamewar snorted. "'Friend' in the loosest sense of the word...."

    "There's more than just her and copter-blades!" Misfire said. "We also found a Prime!"

    Both Fulcrum and Krok tensed. "A Prime?"

    "Well, he calls himself that." Misfire spun circles around his head. "Let's just say he's... yeah."

    Krok exhaled from his vents. "Right. Anyway, we should get going before that... bot comes back to finish us off."

    "What bot?" Crankcase asked.

    Krok ignored him and stepped over to Obsidian. "Take us to Tebris Seven. I know someone there who can--"

    "We're not leaving without Strika," the general interjected.

    "Strika?"

    "She was still on the Labyrinth," Obsidian murmured. "I don't know if she was on the bridge or...."

    "We didn't see her on the bridge," Fulcrum said quietly. "I'm sure we would have noticed her."

    "Are you calling his wife fat?" Misfire asked.

    "No!" the K-Con said hastily. "I'm just saying... I mean, I'm pretty sure Krok or I would have recognized her."

    "He has a point," Krok said to Obsidian. "I doubt Strika was on the bridge with us, and she definitely wasn't caught in the blast. She must have been on one of the other ships."

    Obsidian's shoulders sagged. "Then why isn't she answering my call?"

    "Could be something or someone is preventing her from doing so," Fulcrum suggested. "Just a thought."

    "We have to go after them," Obsidian said. "I can't... I can't stand to...."

    "Okay," Krok said. "We'll go after them."

    "What?!" Crankcase exclaimed. "Are you for real?"

    Krok nodded. "We Decepticons must look out for each other. That's something I used to always stand by, until recently...."

    "No kidding?" Misfire muttered.

    "...But now I realize the error in my drifting from my ideals. Together, we are far more stronger than we are apart."

    Crankcase made a gagging sound. "Oh, god...."

    "As the saying goes: United we stand, divided we--"

    "Okay, we get it!" Flamewar snapped. "So where do we go now?"

    Krok looked at Obsidian, who said, "The Labyrinth was on course for an uncharted system deep in the Neutral Territories."

    "Can you get us there?"

    "It'll take some time, but yes."

    "Then let us not waste any more time."

    "Wait," Spinister said. "What about the others floating out there? Should we bring them along to?"

    Krok's expression darkened. "They're what got us into this mess, Spinister. Leave them."

    "Still, we could use the extra numbers," Fulcrum said. "Just saying...."

    "We still have plenty of former prisoners on board," Obsidian said. "They should prove to be enough."

    Misfire grinned cheekily at Flamewar. "Heck, all we need is Miss Hot Stuff here to burn the place down with her super powers and good looks!"

    Flamewar glared at him as she folded her arms. "I'm only sticking with you in the hopes that your endeavors lead me to Megatron."

    Krok quirked an eye ridge at her. "Megatron?"

    "Oh, that's right." Misfire chuckled sheepishly. "She's been imprisoned here for ten years. She doesn't... oh, dear."

    Flamewar's optics flared. "What? What is it?"

    "Can you guys take this outside?" Crankcase asked. "I'm not in the mood for being melted."

    As Misfire escorted an agitated Flamewar, Krok crossed his arms as he looked to the stars. "Looks like the Scavengers are back in business."

    "I thought you hated that name," Fulcrum said.

    "I do. But it's who we are -- and the rest of the universe hates us for it."

*  *  *

    "Can you guys understand what I'm saying?"

    None of the Monstercons answered Nitro Zeus as they all floated in space. He knew they were all on the frequency, so they either a. were ignoring him or b. couldn't understand him. He was starting to bet on the former.

    "Um... woof? That's the sound luponoids make, right? Or is that... no, yeah, that's what they sound like."

    He continued to make various animal sounds in the hopes that at least one of them would respond. Then, just as he thought he was making progress by making Amphibboid noises, all nine Monstercons vanished before his optic.

    "Hey, what? I thought we had something!"

    That was when the black and silver mech he had seen earlier appeared before him.

    "You again!" Nitro Zeus exclaimed. "Finally decided to come back for me, eh? Just couldn't resist my good looks or my charm or--"

    The mech touched Nitro Zeus on the shoulder and all that was left floating in space was the empty husk of the Labyrinth.

*  *  *

    The one who called himself Sentinel Prime stood alone in his subconsciousness.

    Images flashed past him. Images from a past long forgotten. He saw faces of those who had long since passed. Cities that had long since fallen.

    He saw the Fall of Aegiax.

    He saw the Annexation of Protohex.

    He saw the rise and fall of the Iron Armies.

    He saw the murder of Nexus Prime and the exodus that followed.

    Everything was blurred. Was this how he remembered it? Was this how things had gone down? Or had time taken out vital pieces; conflate and reduce certain events?

    What he did know for sure was that he could hear a voice calling his name; a voice he had not heard in several millennia.

    Infinitus.

    "Master?" Sentinel gasped.

   He has returned, Infinitus. He who was exiled.

    "The Fallen...."

    Yes, but he has reclaimed his forsaken name. He is gathering an army as we speak.

    "What can I do, master?" Sentinel asked. "I am trapped within my own mind. I do not know how to awaken."

    Patience. In due time, you will awaken. The ones you are in the custody of are en route to one of your fellow heralds. Once they reach their destination, I shall awaken you.

    "But why not now? Why must I wait?"

    But no answer came and Sentinel was again left to his thoughts.

    I will not fail you, he swore to himself. I will see to it, master. The Primes shall rise again.

TO BE CONTINUED

Transformers Regenerated: Prime Wars VII, Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

    "Alchemor has successfully disconnected, captain."

    "Excellent," Quickswitch said, pacing back and forth on the bridge. "Prepare to target it for destruction. No need to hurry, though; they won't be going anywhere."

    As Plummet proceeded with his duties, the door to the bridge opened and a part of twelve entered, comprising of the Decepticons they had captured as well as Darkstar, who had been sent to retrieve them. Upon entering the bridge, one of the Pack -- a blue elk-like Decepticon -- looked around and twisted his face in disgust at the numerous Autobots he saw present.

    "Ey, what's the big idea here? What are Autobots doin' here? Is dis some sort of trap?"

    "Please, before you get agitated, let me make some things clear," Quickswitch said. "We are not your enemies."

    "Those red badges say otherwise," growled Fracture. "What's going on here? Autobots and Decepticons working together?"

    "Hang on a second," Fulcrum murmured, looking around the bridge. "I recognize some of these bots. They were on that space station Misfire and I were taken to last month."

    "Ah, so you were present for the Fortress incident." Quickswitch smiled, though it was hardly a mirthful one. "What a coincidence, seeing as the nine you've just met are also associated with us."

    Steel Jaw looked perplexed at this. "You mean us? I don't know what you're--"

    "Tarantulas has been wondering where Gigatron's prospects had gotten to. Shall I give him a call, tell him you're here?"

    The lupine Decepticon's optics went wide. "No. No! Not him! I thought we had gotten away from him!"

    Quickswitch smirked. "Well, you did. But now you've caught up with him. Small world, isn't it?"

    Before Steel Jaw could respond, Plummet suddenly turned in his seat. "Uh, captain?"

    Quickswitch glared at him. "This had better be important...."

    "The Alchemor--"

    "Is it not destroyed? I thought I ordered you to--"

    "Sir, it's somehow regained power," Plummet said. "It's... it's heading right for us!"

*  *  *

    "How are you doing this?"

    "We're not doing anything!" Crankcase said, holding onto a nearby slab as the Alchemor moved shakily around them.

    "Well, someone's doing something!" Flamewar snarled. "Never in time I've spent here had something like this happened!"

    "Don't worry, everyone!" Misfire called out. "Spinister's on the trail!"

    The other two Decepticons saw that Spinister had vacated the lab, running down the hall. After regaining their balance, the other three went after him, leaving Sentinel Prime behind.

    Following Spinister through a winding maze of corridors, they soon ended up on the ship's bridge, where they found a lone mech at the controls. The black copter-bot did not seem to notice their arrival until Flamewar hollered at him.

    "Obsidian! You were the last person I'd expect to be behind something like this! How could you hold your own kind prisoner?"

    Obsidian glanced back at her, only to return to return his attention to the ship's controls. "I don't have time for you. I must contact Strika."

    "Why?" Crankcase asked. "Do you know what's going on?"

    "No, I don't," Obsidian replied. "We were detached for some reason. I don't know if it was by accident or--"

    "Detached? Detached from what?"

    Sighing to himself, Obsidian said nothing as he advanced the ship towards a large shape. As it got closer, a light blinked on the console and Obsidian accepted the call.

    "Do not be alarmed, Quickswitch!" the Decepticon general said. "I am simply reattaching to the Labyrinth--"

    "How are you even moving?" a cold voice interjected. "I thought your power had gone out."

    "I was able to get things back online. Landslide has been dispatched--"

    "How? Was he attacked by inmates?"

    Obsidian glanced back at the others. "Yes. I have yet to get them back in their cells, so you might want to--"

    "I'm sorry, Obsidian, but I can't let you reattach."

    "What?!" Obsidian exclaimed. "But... I'm still here! You can't--"

    But the call had already ended. Outside, large guns were telescoping out from the Labyrinth and aiming at the Alchemor. 

    "Ah, well," Misfire sighed. "At least I'll die by the side of a beautiful woman."

    Flamewar responded by elbowing him in the abdomen, causing him to keel over.

    "C'est la vie...."

*  *  *

    "Quickswitch," Darkstar murmured, staring at Quickswitch as he hung up on Obsidian. "What are you doing?"

    "Lightening the load," Quickswitch replied coolly. "The Alchemor has always been a burden, what with carrying so many dangerous Decepticons. I should have done this long ago."

    "But Obsidian is still on board!" Darkstar protested. "You can't just kill him as well! Regardless of differing factions, we are all still the Secret Order! We must look out for each other."

    Quickswitch sighed. "I admire your ideals, Darkstar. But we've already lost so much. We can't afford to take any more risks. The needs of the many out--"

    The sound of a gun clicking prompted Quickswitch to turn around and face the Seeker. In her hands was a large black cannon with red markings. Judging by the widening of Quickswitch's optics, it was obvious he recognized what it was.

    "Is... is that...?"

    "The Requiem Blaster," Darkstar confirmed. "At least, that's what these guys claim it is. I was going to show it to you later... but I think now is an appropriate time."

    Quickswitch sneered at her. "You wouldn't dare fire upon me. Even if you did manage to kill me and somehow survive, you would receive swift and just retribution."

    Darkstar smirked, a gleam in her red optics. "Typical Autobot behavior. You try so hard to make yourselves look big, yet you fail to realize your own naivete."

    Behind Quickswitch, Plummet rose from his seat and pointed a gun at Darkstar. "Put it down, Decepticon," he said darkly.

    "Not on your life, Autobot," Steel Jaw said as he and the rest of the Pack drew guns of their own. "Besides, the Requiem Blaster belongs to us."

    "You?" Quickswitch laughed. "As if some poor Monstercon could possibly ever be worthy of an artifact of the Thirteen."

    "None of you are worthy."

    Suddenly, there was a flash of light and materializing on the bridge was a large mech in black and silver armor. He whirled to Darkstar and lifted a hand, causing the Seeker to freeze in place as the Requiem Blaster floated out of her hands and into his.

    "Finally," the masked robot said, his ancient voice reverberating. "After so long...."

    Taking the weapon, he attached it to his arm. After adjusting it to his liking, he took a moment to admire it.

    "They thought they could keep me from my destiny. How very wrong they were."

    While everyone else stared on in awe and horror, Quickswitch managed to maintain his composure. Clearing his vocal processor, he stepped up to the stranger.

    "Excuse me, but... just who are you?"

    The mech inclined his head towards the Autobot as if just noticing him for the first time. Without moving, the warrior said, "I am of many names and titles. My original name has been forgotten by time, my true honorific rescinded by history. Those who fear me call me... the Fallen."

    At this, Quickswitch stepped away from the ancient mech, optics wide in shock. The Fallen continued to stare at him as he took aim with the Requiem Blaster.

    "But I refuse to go by that title any longer. Soon, all shall kneel before the first named, the true Prime."

    The barrel of the Requiem Blaster glowed as Quickswitch continued to back up.

    "All hail Megatronus."