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: Pax Cybertronia XV, Chapter Seven

 CHAPTER SEVEN

The Xantium, in the middle of chaos

Springer released a battle cry from his vocal processor as he lunged at Sixshot, delivering a downward slash with his sword. While the blade did little more than leave a scratch on Sixshot’s green armor plating, it did cause the Decepticon powerhouse to pause in firing his guns, giving the other Wreckers the opening they needed as they proceeded to unload their weapons on him.

As the Wreckers pelted him with firepower, Sixshot swung a large arm at Springer and sent him flying into the ship’s main console. The Xantium shuddered violently as a result and Springer could already feel the ship veering off-course and heading into a straight dive for the ground.

“Whirl!” Springer cried. “Try and keep us afloat!”

“Kind of hard to do that when you’re getting shot at!” Whirl sniped back.

Gritting his dental plates, Springer readied his sword again and prepared to jump back into the fight. Before he could do so, Sixshot pointed his gun in Whirl’s direction and fired. The one-eyed Wrecker barely avoided the blast in time as it struck the ship’s controls, obliterating them in a fiery explosion. As alarms throughout the bridge began to blare, Sixshot stepped away from the Wreckers and stored away his guns. 

“There,” he said. “That’s out of the way.”

Before anyone could stop him, he transformed into a large jet and blasted out of the opening he had made for himself. Cursing to himself, Springer sheathed his sword and stood as straight as he could as the Xantium’s nosedive towards the ground started to pick up speed.

“Time to abandon ship! Topspin, fly Twin Twist out of here. Whirl, you take care of Punch. Kup, you’re with me.”

“What about Sandstorm?” Punch asked. “He’s still locked up in the cargo bay!”

Springer grimaced to himself, realizing that the words he was about to say would haunt him for the rest of his life. “We’ll have to come back for him. We don’t have any time to break him free and bring him back online.”

He could already feel the questioning stares from Punch, Kup, and even the Jumpstarters. He could not let that stop him though; not when they didn’t have much time as it was.

He transformed into his helicopter mode and waited for Kup to climb atop him. Whirl and Topspin followed suit, with Punch and Twin Twist latching onto them respectively. One by one, they took off and flew through the same opening that Sixshot had went through, creating as much distance between them and the Xantium as they could as the ship that had served as the Wreckers’ personal vessel for nearly two thousand years plummeted towards the ocean below. 

As morbid of a thought as it was, Springer couldn’t help but be impressed by how long it had been able to go without crashing. As Autobot ships went, that had to have been a record. 

Detroit

Although it appeared to have fallen into disuse over the past few days, Sari was no less sickened by the sight of the Onyx logo blemishing the facade of Sumdac Tower as it came into view on the cityscape’s horizon. While she had heard that the ones responsible for the Onyx company in the first place — these “Titan Masters” — were no longer in the picture, she still could not help but feel a sense of dread as she and the others approached the tower, as if some other evil was still lurking within.

The Axalon had dropped her, Bumblebee, Arcee, and Bulkhead off near the coast of Lake Eerie in order to remain discreet (or as discreet as an alien ship could be), leaving them to drive the rest of the way to Downtown Detroit. It had been so long since Sari had last visited her home city that she couldn’t help but feel out of place as they drove through streets that should have felt familiar and, well, like home. Perhaps it was the circumstances of her return home that made her feel this way… or perhaps it was because she no longer believed that Earth — let alone Detroit — was truly her home.

Upon reaching the Sumdac-turned-Onyx Tower, the Autobots drove into its back lot, which was empty and devoid of any human life as far as they could see. Once Kicker and Sari had gotten out of Bumblebee’s car form, the three Autobots converted to their robot modes while Kicker stepped towards the back entrance to the building.

“From what I can recall, the only way to get into the facility is through a secret passage inside the Tower,” Kicker explained. “Hopefully it hasn’t been covered up or removed in the last twenty years.”

“So, uh, should we just wait out here then?” Bulkhead asked, nodding to the small human-sized door that led into Sumdac Tower. “’Cos I don’t think any of us are gonna fit through there. Especially not me.”

“Don’t worry, once I pinpoint the facility’s exact location, I’ll signal you guys to its exact location and we can figure out a way to get you in.”

“What about your friend?” Bulkhead held up the cage containing a still-raging Alice. “You gonna bring her along?”

“Unfortunately, she’s going to have to wait out here with you,” Kicker said. “I don’t think Sari and I would be able to restrain her for long. Once we find a way for you guys to come in, then you can bring her with you.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Arcee remarked dryly. “Thanks for thinking of us.”

“No problem.” Kicker then turned to Sari. “Let’s head inside.”

If Sari didn’t think she felt uneasy before, then she definitely did as soon as she stepped foot into Sumdac Tower. She had always known the building to be busy with staff members and other employees busying about the halls as they carried out their errands. Now, there was not a single soul. Every office they passed had empty chairs with papers strewn across the desk as if whoever had once occupied it had intended to return shortly, but never did. She could only hope that the Titan Masters who had briefly ruled over the building had not brought any harm to the people that had worked here; some of Sumdac’s longest working employees had been almost like family to her.

As she followed him in silence, Sari could not help but notice how tense Kicker was acting. Not only was he looking into every office window but also making quick checks over his shoulder, as if expecting someone to be right behind them.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Just making sure the coast is clear,” Kicker muttered. “For all we know, there could still be some… unwanted company lurking in the shadows.”

“Like what?”

“Dunno. Anything.”

Sari frowned, not hiding her irritation at Kicker’s vagueness. She couldn’t help but feel that he was trying to hide something from her.

“You said your dad worked for Machination,” she said. “Did he also work for Sumdac Systems?” 

“He might have at some point,” Kicker replied. “But for as long as I can remembered, he has always worked for universities and major institutes.”

Despite this answer, Sari still could not help but feel that Kicker knew more than he was letting on. Before she could press him further, she caught motion in the corner of eye and turned in the direction of an adjacent hall. Dark save for the light coming from an exit sign, she could make out the silhouette of a figure moving in the darkness. Covering her face with her battle mask, Sari raised her hands which began glowing with energy.

“Who goes there?” she called out. “Show yourself!”

“Sari?” The figure began to make a slow approach. As they came into the light, Sari saw that they were a young woman with dark hair whose face took her a moment to assign a name to.

“…Verity?” Sari lowered her hands, retracting her mask. “It’s Verity, right? What are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing, ‘till I remembered that this was your dad’s business.” Verity shrugged her shoulders as she stepped out of the hall. “After the Autobots left — after you were captured — I took it upon myself to figure out what your deal is. Didn’t find out much though; this is probably my third or fourth time breaking into this building and still nothing.”

Sari smiled awkwardly. “Well, I appreciate what you’ve been doing. But, uh… I’ve already found out what my ‘deal’ is.”

“So I’ve noticed. Cool mask, by the way.”

“Thanks. Oh, by the way, this is Kicker.” Sari gestured to her fellow techno-organic, whose expression had remained blank for the duration of her and Verity’s conversation. “Kicker, this is Verity. I met her when I got wrapped up into this whole Cybertronian thing.”

Verity gave Kicker a curt nod. “Nice to met you, ‘Kicker.’ Interesting name.”

“I get that a lot,” he muttered. “Anyway, it’s been nice meeting you, but we’ve got things to do.”

Sari frowned as she looked back at him. “Why can’t we bring her along? She’s a friend and—”

“Friend or not, where we’re going won’t be safe for a normal human like her. God knows what’s waiting for us there.”

Verity crossed her arms. “Okay, well, now you’ve piqued my interest. And once my interest is piqued, it’s hard to dissuade me from satisfying it.”

“Trust me, you don’t want that,” Kicker said. “It’s best that you leave now and forget that you ever saw us.”

“What the hell is up with you?” Sari snapped at him. “You’ve been acting jumpy and strange ever since we stepped foot in here. Is there something that you’re not telling me?”

Kicker raised his hands defensively. “Sari, it’s… it’s not like that. I just don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

“What do you mean by ‘anyone else?’ Do you know what’s waiting for us in the Cadmus facility?”

Kicker’s hesitance in response was more telling than anything he could have said. Narrowing her eyes, Sari brought down her mask and stepped closer to him.

“Either speak up or I’m ratting you out to the Autobots.”

Kicker held her gaze for a moment before he blew out his breath, lowering his hands. “There’s no need for that,” he said. “It’s not that I’m trying to hide something from you… it’s just that I simply don’t know what’s waiting for us in the facility. Like I said, it’s been twenty years; who knows what else they’ve made in that lab and are still keeping in there.”

“What have you seen in there that would make you think we’d find something bad?” Sari asked.

Kicker shrugged. “I mean… you’ve already met Alice.”

“…Point taken.” Sari took a step back, retracting her mask once more. She still wasn’t sure if she believed him, or that he was being completely honest… but then again, she could have just been overreacting. Perhaps Kicker was as in the dark as she was and that was why he was acting so strange; because he felt that he should know and was bothered that he didn’t. In any case, she knew she would have to exercise a good degree of caution in regards to both him and their overall mission.

“All right,” she finally said. “I’ll take you for your word. But Verity is coming with us; no ‘ifs’ or ‘buts’ about it.”

She could tell Kicker looked apprehensive about the prospect but he nonetheless shrugged. “If you say so,” he grunted, stepping past her as he resumed their journey. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Both Sari and Verity simply stared at him as he walked away. The latter glanced at the former, her lips twisting a wry smirk. “He doesn’t strike me as the type of guy your dad would want you to bring home.”

“Shut up,” Sari sighed.

The Xantium, in the middle of the ocean

Sandstorm let out a yell as he fell out of the crate that had been holding him. The impact of the Xantium crashing into the ocean had not only knocked him back online but had also loosen the crate’s hinges, freeing him from the impromptu “cage” the Wreckers had apparently put him in.

If he was being perfectly honest with himself, he couldn’t be mad about what they had done to him to sneak him out of Metroplex. It was quite creative, in his opinion, and it seemed to have worked up until this point.

Pulling himself back up, Sandstorm quickly became aware of the large amounts of water that were starting to pour into the cargo hold. Not wasting any time in trying to call for help from the bridge, he rushed over to the controls and pulled the switch that opened the main hold door. As more water started to flood in, he transformed into his aircraft form and took off, barely clearing the exit before the water could rise and fully submerge him.

Outside, he spotted Springer and the others hovering above the sinking Xantium in the sky, with the ground-based bots like Kup, Twin Twist, and Punch clinging onto their aerial-based comrades. The sight was honestly quite comical, he couldn’t lie; as much as he felt that he should be mad at them for leaving him behind in the cargo hold, at the same time it was actually quite nostalgic. Something like this was almost a daily occurrence for the Wreckers during the Great War. He hadn’t realized how much he missed it until now.

“Sandstorm!” Springer’s voice crackled over his personal radio. “Glad to see you made it out okay. We were just about to go back for you.”

“As if I would have needed your help,” Sandstorm quipped back. “You definitely would have to have helped if I were Broadside, though. You know how he is with water.”

“Ah, don’t remind me,” muttered Kup. “I remember one time, during the Battle of Hydrophena, that High Tide and Seaspray both had to—”

“Save it, Kup,” Springer interjected. “Looks like we have unfinished business.”

Sandstorm’s optical sensors were drawn to the sight of a large green and black aircraft flying towards them. As the ship drew closer, he was quick to register it as being the Decepticon Sixshot, who he recalled facing off with early on in the war. Without waiting for Springer to give him an order, Sadnstorm transformed to robot mode — keeping himself aloft in midair with his VTOL wings — and drew his gun, pointing it at the fast approaching Sixshot.

“Sandstorm, no!” Springer barked. “Stand down!”

At that moment, Sixshot transformed from his alternate mode as well, drawing a pair of guns as he propelled himself with thrusters mounted on his back. However, he did not open fire on the Wreckers just yet, eying them carefully with his glowing red optics.

“Listen,” the Six Changer growled, “I’m not looking for a bloodbath or anything like that. I just have a job to do, and you’re in my way.”

“That’s usually how this works, isn’t it?” Sandstorm retorted. “You ‘Cons want to do something and we Autobots want to stop you. It’s what we’ve been doing for a good millennium now.”

“Right. Except this time, you guys don’t look like you’re in any position to fight me. Three of you are clinging onto three others for dear life and if one of them so much as transforms or even advances towards me, it’s a dive into the ocean for their ‘passengers.’ That just leaves you, though between you and me, I think its pretty obvious who has the upper hand here.”

“He’s right, Sandstorm,” Springer said quietly. “We’re at a disadvantage. We have no choice but to—”

“Is that how a Wrecker talks, Springer?” Sandstorm snapped, whirling on the green and yellow helicopter. “Is that what we do? Give up because the enemy has bigger guns than we do?”

“It has nothing to do with that!” Kup shot back. “Like the ‘Con said, we’re stuck in an awkward position. To try anything would be suicide.”

“Maybe for you,” Sandstorm muttered, turning back to face Sixshot. “But for me… this is my one chance to atone for my wrongdoings.”

“This isn’t the way to do it, Sandstorm,” Springer protested. “Throwing your life away like this won’t accomplish anything.”

“It will if you guys get a move on. I’ll buy you as much time as I can.”

He did not wait around to listen to any more of the others’ protests. Powering up the VTOL wings on his back, Sandstorm advanced towards Sixshot, releasing a yell from his voicebox as he unloaded his gun on the Decepticon Six Changer. The blaster bolts from his weapon left little more than scratches and burn marks on Sixshot’s armor as the Decepticon proceeded to raise his own weapons and begin firing. While Sandstorm managed to dodge a few of the initial shots, one of them hit him square in the chest, knocking him off course. A second one took out his right wing and, before he knew it, he was plummeting towards the ocean below.

The sounds of Springer and the others calling his name were quickly drowned out by the rushing waters as he plunged into the sea…. 

Transformers Regenerated: Pax Cybertronia XV, Chapter Six

 CHAPTER SIX

Decepticon camp, Verenya

“The calm before the storm is always the most unsettling, isn’t it?”

Viral said nothing to Fearstorm as the two of them stood on a precipice that oversaw the rest of the Decepticon camp in Verenya, watching as their comrades mulled about, waiting for Megatron to deliver his next orders to them.

“You know, up until now, I thought I had an idea as to where this was all going,” Fearstorm went on, undeterred by Viral’s lack of a response. “While I did not have a full grasp of the Grand Architect’s plan — I don’t think any of us did — I still believed it would lead to something… well, grand. Something where the both of us would come out on top.”

The ex-Vehicon gestured to the Decepticons below. “But now? Now I fear that we were always just cogs of the machine, turning and turning for all eternity until one of us burns out, at which point we are quickly disposed of.”

“I never had you pegged as someone who waxes philosophy,” Viral remarked.

Fearstorm chuckled. “I admit, I can be pretentious at times. Being brought back to life probably didn’t help matters either.”

Finally turning to look at Fearstorm, Viral said, “Have you heard from Tyrest lately?”

Fearstorm shook his head. “Not since he sent us to retrieve Rung. I’ve tried contacting him but haven’t gotten anything back.”

“Perhaps you are right, then. Perhaps we are already cogs of a machine that have been disposed of.”

“Don’t let it get to you or anything,” Fearstorm scoffed. “Who knows; maybe Megatron has plans that doesn’t have anything to do with the Grand Architect and his scrap. And maybe there’ll be a place for us in whatever he has planned.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Viral asked. “Or if we don’t?”

At this, the former Vehicon shrugged. “I don’t know, you’re the one with the Transwarp drive. What’s stopping you from ditching and starting your life anew.”

“I’ve already tried that,” Viral muttered, looking away. “It didn’t work out.”

“Well, no harm in trying again, eh? What’s the worst that could happen to you?”

Viral glanced back at him. “And what about you? Do you expect to tag along with me?”

“Of course not.” Fearstorm chuckled, though it was difficult for Viral to tell if there was any mirth behind it. “The time that I’ve already spent with you has been more than enough.”

Viral went silent again as he returned his attention to the Decepticons below. Fearstorm, on the other hand, continued to stare at him, as if studying Viral like some sort of weird art exhibit.

“Nothing’s stopping you from leaving now, you know,” the silver Decepticon said quietly. “It’s not like anyone’s going to notice.” 

“You really want me gone, don’t you?” Viral said dryly.

“I’m just struggling to understand you. After everything that’s happened, everything you’ve been through, I simply have to ask… why are you still here?”

“It’s not like I asked to be conscripted into the Grand Architect’s scheme,” Viral retorted. “Or to be converted into an energy vampire.”

Fearstorm shifted uncomfortably. “Fair point,” he muttered. “But my question still stands.”

Viral sighed. “I don’t think I would feel comfortable in starting anew until I knew for sure that the Grand Architect would no longer be a factor. For all we know, he or Tyrest could be coming back for us at any moment.”

“And if they do, what do you propose we do?” asked Fearstorm.

For that, Viral did not have an answer.

The Darksyde, near the Decepticon camp in Verenya

“Tarantulas? Where are you?”

Dinobot snarled quietly to himself as he stalked through the empty corridors of the Darksyde, the Predacons’ dormant ship. Ever since joining forces with Megatron and the Decepticons, Dinobot and his fellow Predacons had scarcely returned to their ship, mainly to avoid suspicion from any of the Decepticons. Between their past allegiances with Onyx Prime and later with Thunderwing, to say that everyone was weary of the Predacons and their motives was an understatement.

Of course, Tarantulas just had to complicate things by sneaking off to the Darksyde to do Onyx-knows-what. Scorponaut had spotted him heading out into the forest earlier and, being the tattle-tale that he was, had reported his findings to Dinobot, who had since assumed the unofficial role of Predacon leader in Gnashteeth’s absence. Dinobot could tell that Scorponaut had aspirations for being made second-in-command in his place, but at the moment Dinobot was in no mood of humoring him.

As he navigated his way through the ship, using his Velociraptor form to make better use of his beast mode’s enhanced olfactory sensors, Dinobot could tell that Tarantulas had indeed been here recently, though whether he was still here was a different question. Figuring Tarantulas’ lab was the best place to start with, Dinobot made his way there first, sniffing for the spider’s “scent” along the way.

Upon reaching his destination, Dinobot found the door to the lab wide open, with strands of webbing cascading from the ceiling to create some sort of veil in its place. Transforming to his robot mode, Dinobot drew his sword and cut his way through the web as he stormed into the lab.

“Tarantulas! Show yourself!”

There was no response, though as Dinobot enhanced his visual receptors, he quickly saw that there was no one else in the room. All of Tarantulas’ equipment — his computer, his operating table, all of his science tools and gadgets — were untouched and unattended, with more strands of web covering them. Even that golden Autobot that he had been keeping around to experiment with was missing.

Another growl reverberated from Dinobot’s voicebox as he directed his attention to Tarantulas’ computer. Swiping off the strands of web, he switched on the computer and brought up the main lock-screen. Ever since becoming Gnashteeth’s second-in-command, Dinobot had learned a thing or two about how to bypass some of the Darksyde’s security systems in order to make sure none of the crew were plotting against the Predacon leader; measures that Gnashteeth had taken ever since Backslash and Buzzbomb’s attempted mutiny against Cryotek.

Tarantulas, of course, had always been the most difficult Predacon to spy on. Each time a firewall of his was bypassed, he would put up a stronger one in its place. Dinobot supposed this was to be expected from someone who used to work for the Secret Order, though that didn’t explain why Tarantulas simply use the strongest protections he had in the first place. It was almost as if he was toying with his crewmates….

After a few minutes, Dinobot was able to bypass the password-protected screen and was immediately barraged with an assortment of files and documents. All of it was written in Old Cybertronian — a language Dinobot was not well-versed in — which made it impossible for him to decipher. This elicited a growl of frustration from Dinobot and he slammed his fist down on the console, causing the screen to flicker.

“Arachnids are infuriating creatures, aren’t they?”

Dinobot froze at the sound of the familiar voice. He whirled around to see a large bot, wearing scaled purple armor-plating which indicated a saurian alternate mode, standing in the doorway to the lab. A pearly white grin flashed from the newcomer’s violet face as Dinobot’s optics went wide.

“Gnashteeth?!” the Predacon lieutenant exclaimed. “By the Allspark! We thought you were dead!”

“In a sense, perhaps,” Gnashteeth replied, stepping into the room. “When one ceases to exist in one reality, can they truly still be considered alive even if they continue functioning in another?”

Dinobot did not know what to make of the enigmatic statement and instead dropped to one knee, bowing his head. “I — we Predacons live to serve you, my liege.”

“You do, perhaps. But can you say the same for the likes of Tarantulas?”

“I will find him, my lord,” Dinobot snarled, rolling one of his hands into a fist. “He will pay for his treacherous schemes.”

“That he shall.” Stepping past Dinobot, Gnashteeth approached the computer that the other Predacon had been attempting to access. He stared at it for a moment before raising his arm-mounted “tail weapon.” A beam of energy lanced from the cannon and destroyed the computer in a small explosion.

A startled Dinobot jumped to his feet and stared at Gnashteeth with a look of surprise and confusion. “Why… why did you…?”

“Whatever information Tarantulas had on that computer is of no use to us,” Gnashteeth replied. “Once we have gotten rid of Tarantulas, all of his schemes will become obsolete and therefore die with him.”

Dinobot frowned. “But… the information on that computer could have given us insight as to what his plans are. Without it, we have no idea where he has gone to.”

Gnashteeth grinned. “Oh, but I do. That is all you will need.”

Dinobot was not fully convinced by this but decided to keep his reservations to himself. “In that case, I shall inform the others of your return. Then, we may hunt down Tarantulas and have him answer for all of his plotting.”

“Excellent,” Gnashteeth said, his smile broadening. “I look forward to commanding my faithful army once more. Yessss….”

*  *  *

“Look! More of our brothers and sisters have come to join the colony!”

Blackarachnia rolled her eyes at Inferno’s exclamation, standing with him and the rest of the Predacons as they watched the transport descend into the city of Verenya. Not long after they had joined the Decepticon camp and Dinobot had spoken with Megatron, the former had decided to summon the rest of the Predacons to Earth, after they had been laying in hiding on Cybertron for nearly a year while they awaited Gnashteeth’s next orders. She had no idea what Dinobot hoped to accomplish with this, but at this point she was past the point of caring.

As the transport touched down and lowered its ramp to dispense its crew, Blackarachnia noticed movement from the nearby forest and turned to see Dinobot himself emerge from the foliage, a strange look on his blue face. As he approached them, Scorponaut broke from the others and stepped up to greet the interim Predacon leader, an eager expression on his face.

“Well?” he asked. “Did you find Tarantulas?”

“No,” Dinobot replied, unusually quiet. “But I did find someone else.”

He then stepped aside as a larger figure emerged from the Verenya wilderness, flashing an instantly recognizable white grin from his violet face. The other Predacons’ expressions collectively went slack-jawed in astonishment; even Blackarachnia found herself staring in surprise.

“The Royalty has returned!” Inferno exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air as he dropped to his knees. “Let the gods be appeased!”

“Thank you for the generous welcome, Inferno,” Gnashteeth said, his voice as calm and suave as ever, as if he had not been missing for several days. “I am pleased to see that no ill fate has befallen you since my… disappearance.”

Blackarachnia doubt he was being sincere with that statement. Terrorsaur also looked skeptical as he eyed Gnashteeth carefully.

“Where have you been?” he asked. “What did that… Talisman thing do to you?”

“Oh, where do I even begin?” Gnashteeth chuckled. “The stories I could tell you… yet somehow I doubt any of you could even begin to comprehend what I have just experienced.”

“Yeah?” quipped Quickstrike. “Try us!”

“All will be made clear soon, I promise you. But first, I believe there is a certain spider that requires… apprehending.”

“Yes!” Inferno jumped back to his feet, knocking a non-suspecting Waspinator over in the process. “The traitor Tarantulas shall pay for his deceptions against the colony!”

Scorponaut bowed to the Predacon leader. “What is your first command, Lord Gnashteeth?”

“Oh.” There was a shift in Gnashteeth’s expression, though his smile still remained. Blackarachnia did not know what to make of it, even as he spoke his next words. “That is not my name anymore. It never was, to be perfectly honest; it was bestowed upon me against my will by those responsible for bringing me into existence. But soon, they and everyone else shall fear my name — my true name, that which has always been rightfully mine.

“Call me Megatron.”

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.” 

Transformers Regenerated: Pax Cybertronia XV, Chapter Five

 CHAPTER FIVE

Metroplex, above Earth

“I really hope this doesn’t look as suspicious as it actually is.”

“How?” asked Twin Twist, looking over his shoulder at Topspin as the two of them hauled a Sandstorm-sized crate that definitely did not contain an offline Sandstorm inside. “We’re just moving cargo to the Xantium. Nothing suspicious about that.”

“Right,” Topspin muttered. “Nothing suspicious about lugging around a Cybertronian-sized box to the hangar bay. Nope. Nada.”

Twin Twist rolled his optics. “Well, if you keep running your mouth, people are going to be suspicious anyway.”

Fortunately, the pair were able to make it to the hangar with their “luggage” without any complications. Already waiting for them there by the Xantium was Kup. 

“Hurry it up, you two,” Kup barked at them. “The window for us to leave without any trouble is getting ready to shut.”

“Are the others already on board?” Twin Twist asked.

“That’s nothin’ for you to worry about. Move your afts.”

While the Jumpstarters hurried onto the ship with the box containing Sandstorm, Kup rechecked the chronometer in his heads-up display, his face twisting in concern. Indeed, Punch and Whirl were already on board the ship, ready to take off… but their leader had yet to show up. Springer had told Kup that he had one last errand to run before they could leave, but would not tell Kup what said errand was. He could only hope that it wouldn’t be something that would jeopardize this mission… which was already dangerous and suicidal enough.

No more than a few kliks later, Springer finally showed up in the entrance to the hangar, striding towards the Xantium with a grim expression on his face. As he walked up to Kup, the latter tilted his head at the Wrecker commander.

“What was the holdup?”

“Elita stopped me,” Springer muttered, walking past Kup to head up the ship’s ramp. “She asked me if I had seen Punch anywhere.”

“What did you tell her?” Kup asked, following him.

“I said I would keep an optic out for him.”

“Do you think she knows what we’re up to?”

“If she doesn’t, she will soon enough.”

“Do you have a plan for when she does?” Kup asked.

“I do.” Springer smirked at the veteran, pressing the control panel to close up the ship. “It just won’t be a good one.” 

The Axalon, preparing for takeoff

“Someone want to remind me when we became a taxi service?”

“Shut up, Rattrap,” Primal said as he led Bumblebee onto the Axalon. “Optimus has approved him for a mission down on Earth and he’s not in any state for an orbital jump. He’ll just be joining us for this one trip.”

Rattrap rolled his optics and threw up his arms as if to say “Whatever” before returning his attention to the ship’s scanners. At the controls, Cheetor gave his crewmate a look before turning to give Bumblebee a welcoming “thumbs-up.”

“Welcome aboard, ‘Bee! Nice faceplate.”

“Thanks, though it’s only temporary,” Bumblebee replied, taking a spare seat near Rhinox’s station. “I’m not sure if I’m going to keep it once my my actual face is all patched up.”

“Eh, who knows. Some bots go crazy for mechs in faceplates,” Rattrap said, before muttering under his breath, “Not that that’s ever helped me….”

“Uh-huh….” Bumblebee glanced at Primal, whose expression was unreadable as he took his seat in the command chair. The Maximal leader spared him a glance before shifting his attention to Cheetor.

“Are we all set to go, Cheetor?”

“Ready when you are, big bot.”

“Then take us away.”

Within moments, the Axalon lifted up from the floor of the hangar bay and began to make its way through the open door. Just as the bow of the ship cleared the entrance, a proximity alarm went off at Rattrap’s station, coating his face in red light.

“Whoa, hold up! Someone’s intrudin’ on our airspace!”

As soon as he had spoken the words, a massive white and red ship appeared in the periphery of the viewport. Cheetor yanked back on the controls to pull the Axalon back before it could collide with the other vessel. As a variety of alarms blared through out the bridge, Primal peered through the viewport and his optics narrowed in recognition.

“Wait a nanoklik… that’s the Xantium! What’s it doing out here?” Turning to Rhinox, Primal barked, “Patch me through to them! Get Springer on the comm!”

“They’re not picking up,” Rhinox said after a few moments. “Let me try and hail Elita.”

Primal groaned as he pinched his noseplate. “For Primus’ sake, what do those cross-wired fools think they’re doing?!”

Bumblebee watched as the Xantium continued to fly past the Axalon, heading straight for the Earth’s atmosphere. Whatever it was the Wreckers were doing, it appeared to be urgent as the massive ship pressed ahead at full speed, undeterred by its near-collision with the Maximals’ ship.

“Y’know,” he heard Rattrap mutter as the Wreckers’ ship passed through the atmosphere, “I never did like these Wreckers.”

*  *  *

Standing outside the Ark along with Kicker, Optimus Prime, and two other Autobots, Sari watched as the Maximal ship Axalon landed in front of them. After the ship had touched down, it lowered its ramp and its crew of four Maximals stepped out of the ship, followed by an Autobot in yellow and black plating.

“Thank you for your assistance, Primal Major,” Optimus said to his Maximal counterpart. “It is greatly appreciated.”

“Don’t mention it,” Primal replied. “Though we ran into some trouble with your Wreckers along the way….”

Optimus tilted his head questioningly. “Come again?”

“Yeah, that big-aft hauler of theirs nearly crashed into us when we tried to take off from the hangar!” said Rattrap. “I dunno what’s got their wires crossed.”

“I’ve already contacted Elita about it,” Primal said just as Optimus was about to ask. “She said that she would handle them and for us to continue our mission.”

Optimus slowly nodded, though Sari could tell that he was still perturbed by this. “This isn’t normally like Springer,” he murmured. “Out of all the Wreckers, he and Kup have always been the most level-headed. If neither of them were in command, I would have disbanded the Wreckers centuries ago, especially after Pova.”

“Yeah, well, a bit too late for that, ain’t it?” Rattrap remarked.

Optimus waved a dismissive hand. “In any case, thank you for bringing Bumblebee here, and I apologize for the Wreckers’… behavior.” Optimus then directed his attention to Bumblebee. “Bumblebee, Arcee and Bulkhead here will join you in accompanying Sari and Kicker on their mission.”

“Cool.” Bumblebee looked down at the two techno-organics, noting their cybernetic armor and appearance. “Nice to meet you, Kicker. Glad to see you’re okay, Sari.”

“Likewise, ‘Bee,” Sari replied.

Kicker shifted his feet. “So, uh, should we get going now? There’s no telling what they might be doing to Isaac Sumdac, or how long he’s got.”

“There’s one last thing before you go.” Optimus Prime gestured to Bulkhead, who brought his arms out from behind his back and held up a small, human-sized energy container. Within the container was a third techno-organic, this one resembling a young woman with blond hair. Her face twisted in fury as it split open and revealed several razor-sharp metal teeth, unleashing an ear-splitting shriek.

“This is Alice,” Bulkhead said, wincing from the scream. “She’s, uh… yeah. She’s Alice.”

“Kicker says that she might be an escaped subject of Project: Cadmus,” Optimus elaborated to a bewildered Bumblebee. “Regardless of whether or not she will cooperate with you, it may still be beneficial to bring her along.”

“Wonderful,” Bumblebee replied. “And here I was hoping that this would be a nice, quiet trip with friends.”

Arcee looked over to Kicker. “So, where exactly is this ‘Project: Cadmus’ facility, and how are we going to get there? Wheeljack and his team still don’t have the GroundBridge up and running, and I don’t think you techno-organics nor Bumblebee can withstand an orbital jump at the moment.”

“The facility is located in Detroit,” Kicker said. “I don’t remember the exact location but I remember it being near where Sumdac Systems is now… though last I heard, it’s been turned into an Onyx Tower.”

“Don’t remind me,” Sari muttered, crossing her arms. “I’m afraid to even look up what Onyx is getting up to over there, especially with Powell running things.”

Rhinox shifted in discomfort. “I’m sorry… but did you say Onyx? As in Onyx Prime?”

“It’s an organization named after him,” Arcee explained. “Sovereign and the Titan Masters were using it as a front for their operations; operations that did not come to fruition, as far as we know.”

“They were working with us for a time, before they mysteriously vanished on Cybertron,” Optimus elaborated further. “No one has heard from them or of them since.”

Primal rubbed his chin, looking intrigued. “Interesting,” he murmured. “If it is all right with everyone, perhaps we could accompany Bumblebee and his team to this Cadmus facility.”

Rattrap gave him an incredulous look. “Are you serious?!”

“Well, Detroit is on the other side of the country,” said Sari. “If we can’t use a GroundBridge or an orbital jump, then we’re gonna need some kind of ship to get there….”

Optimus Prime nodded. “I am fine with that arrangement. Once you’ve delivered your supplies to Wheeljack and his team, you may set out for the Cadmus facility.”

Rattrap threw his arms up in the air. “See?! What did I tell ya; we’re a taxi service now!”

“Rattrap,” Rhinox started to say.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Rattrap waved his hand flippantly as he rolled his eyes. “S’all I hear these days….”

The Xantium

“Kup, I think it’s about time I told you a story.”

Kup glared at Springer as he braced himself against a support railing. “If it ends the way I think this one is going, then I’m not sure I wanna hear it.”

“It was Cycle 8833, during our first engagement with Squadron X in the Salvvatan system,” Springer went on, his face a calm slate as the Xantium plunged through Earth’s clouds. “For the duration of the whole battle, Impactor and Valve — Squadron X’s leader — were hashing it out over comms, exchanging taunts with every hit we dealt each other. From that conversation alone, I could gather that the two had a history.”

Kup’s expression turned solemn at this, in spite of his unease. “Valve was a founding member of the Wreckers,” he said. “There from the beginning, before even Impactor had joined.”

Springer nodded. “I know. In between taunts, the two of them would reminisce about ‘the good old days.’ It was the first time I had ever seen Impactor show something resembling a soft side. Of course, he clamped up as soon as the Pale Fire took out our communications array.”

Kup glanced at him again. “Where are you going with this, lad?”

“To this day, I can still hear the last thing Impactor said to Valve before he ended the call,” Springer replied. “He said, ‘Careful. You’re the one who picked her.’”

“Any idea what he was referring to?”

“I never bothered to ask him, because I could tell it was a touchy subject,” Springer said. “But I always assumed he was referring to the Xantium.”

Kup seemed to think about this for a moment. “That would make sense,” he said. “I remember them havin’ this ship pretty early on in the First War.”

“It’s certainly had a good run.” Directing his attention to Whirl, seated at the ship’s controls, Springer said, “Pull up a little and head for the coordinates I’m transmitting to you now.”

“Got it.” Whirl spared a second to scan the coordinates he had received before saying, “Oh. Oh wow. We’re really going that route, aren’t we?”

“We are,” Springer said firmly. “Once you’ve set the course, advance at full speed.”

“Oh, you are so talking my language,” Whirl replied. “Only took you, what, a thousand years?”

Kup frowned as he looked at Springer. “What coordinates did you send him? If Whirl’s happy about it, it can’t be anything good.”

“They’re coordinates to the Decepticons’ camp in Verenya.”

“What?!” Twin Twist exclaimed. “I thought the idea was for us to sneak in! We can’t do that if they see our giant freaking starship in their airspace!”

Springer smirked. “We can if we make them think we died in the crash. Topspin, prepare the escape pods.”

“Springer, have you lost a diode?!” Kup snapped. “Even Impactor wouldn’t have pulled off a stunt like this!”

“I know he wouldn’t. That’s why I’m doing it.” Springer flashed him a grin; the type of grin Kup had not seen from him in a while. “You know me, old timer. I’ve never done things the way Impactor would have.”

“This is ridiculous,” Kup growled. “Have you lost your pit-damned mind?!”

Springer did not respond to him as he looked back to Topspin. “Are those pods ready?”

“Uh, yeah. Though at this velocity, I don’t know if we’ll—”

“Then let’s get moving. Whirl, put the ship on autopilot.”

“Oh, so you don’t want me to heroically sacrifice myself to get me out of your hair?” Whirl retorted. “I always knew you cared about me deep down.” 

Just as Whirl was about to fulfill the orders given to him, Punch said, “Hold on a nanoklik. I just saw something on the radar.”

“Have the Decepticons already spotted us?” asked Topspin.

Before Punch could answer, something large slammed into the Xantium, knocking it off course. As Whirl struggled to regain control of the ship, what sounded like heavy metal feet landed on top of the Xantium followed by the sound of guns powering up. As the Wreckers all drew their weapons, the ceiling above them exploded and a massive metallic figure in green, white, and purple dropped onto the bridge.

“SIXSHOT?!” Springer exclaimed, pointing his gun at the Decepticon Six Changer. “I thought you were dead!”

Sixshot said nothing as he drew two large massive guns and opened fire.

Star Wars: Vergence I, Chapter Eight

 CHAPTER EIGHT

Although their helmets mitigated the effects of the sound bomb on their ears, it did little to prevent the resulting vibrations from knocking the Knights of Ren off their feet. As Kylo Ren struggled to get back up, he could see Toah and the other two Jedi cutting their way through the blast door at the front desk with their lightsabers, while their Ortolan companion flattened his long floppy ears with his hands.

“Somebody stop them!” Kylo called through the Force, just in case the sound bomb had affected one of the others’ ears.

Laying flat on his stomach, Kuruk carefully aimed with his blaster rifle, pointing it at the Jedi. Sensing him, Toah turned around and gestured with his hand, causing Kuruk’s arm to jerk up just as he pulled the trigger, the blaster bolt going straight up into the ceiling.

Cardo moved next, getting up on one knee and using his other arm to keep his arm cannon steady. The three Jedi quickly moved out of the way as he fired a plasma bolt from the cannon. It struck the wall they had been trying to cut through and it blasted open in a small yet fiery explosion.

“You idiot….” Kylo muttered just as the Jedi returned to the newly made opening, this time with the Ortolan in tow.

Zarin smiled cheekily at them as he waved. “Thanks!” he said as he, Toah, Rey, and Bedo bolted through the opening.

“AFTER THEM!” Kylo roared, already moving to pursue them. He had not taken more than a few steps before something stopped him and caused him to freeze in place. The other Knights stopped as well, looking at their master confusedly as he slowly turned himself around to look over his shoulder.

“Why are you stopping?” Vicrul growled impatiently. “They’re getting away!”

“We have company.” Kylo’s voice was barely audible through his mask. “Stay here and deal with them while I deal with the Jedi.”

“Do you really think you can deal with them all by yourself?” asked Ushar, hefting his war club. “Let me have a swing at them and I’m sure I—”

“You will obey my orders or else,” Kylo snapped. “Don’t let anyone come through the entrance; if they do, kill them with extreme prejudice.”

Before any of the other Knights could protest, Kylo Ren began to head in the direction the Jedi had went. Karis moved to follow him only to be stopped by Vicrul.

“You heard him,” Vicrul muttered. “Let him go—”

“No,” Kylo said, never breaking stride. “She comes with me.”

Ignoring the others’ barely audible grousing, Karis eagerly followed Kylo down the hallway, leaving behind six very disgruntled Knights of Ren.

*  *  *

As torture techniques went, there were none quite as unique as a history lesson.

Still trapped under the targeting range of the turrets, Valrisa and the others had no choice but to stay where they stood as Sal Tyrius paced through the room. The Arkanian curator had since been joined by the Corellian head of state Thrackan Sal-Solo, who stood at the back of the room with a grave look on his face, watching them all with a steely gaze.

As he walked from one glass cabinet to another, admiring the historical artifacts within, Tyrius said, “Most people don’t realize it, but the House of Solo gained notoriety long before a certain smuggler came along to help save us from the Empire.”

At this, Thrackan stiffened but remained silent as the Curator continued speaking.

“In 4960 C.R.C. — or 2983 BrS, if you’re one of those who insist on abiding by the Great ReSynchronization — the Seventeenth Alsakan Conflict was brought to a timely end when Corellia made an embarrassment of both Coruscant and Alsakan, after having had no part in their petty conflicts for so long. Just to rub the salt onto the wound, Prince-Admiral Jonash e Solo held Chancellor Vedij at sword-point in front of the entire Senate as he negotiated a peace treaty—”

“I know where this is going,” Poe Dameron interjected, prompting Tyrius to whirl around and face him. “This was the same spiel Sal-Solo and his cronies gave when they tried to threaten the Alliance with secession seven years ago. Let me guess: You’re going to say that Prince-Admiral Jonash e Solo went on to become elected Supreme Chancellor and tried to move the Republic’s capital to Corellia.”

Tyrius shook his head. “Oh, no. I’m well aware of that egregious crime of historic revision that the Corellian Council committed during that little fiasco. I cannot begin to tell you the number of discrepancies I had to correct whenever I visited a museum or university that did not know better.”

“You know, all this would be a lot more interesting if we didn’t have these guns pointed at our heads,” said Typha. “Just saying.”

Tyrius turned his head to look at the Pantoran, staring at her a moment longer than Valrisa would have liked. “Perhaps it would,” the Arkanian said with a shrug. “Then again, I don’t really expect any of you to have as much of an appreciation for history as I do. No offense, but just from looking at you all, I can tell that you are more… lowbrow in terms of intellect.”

“Yeah, insulting us isn’t going to do much better,” Poe muttered. “I suggest you let us go before I arrest you in the name of the Galactic Alliance.”

“The Galactic Alliance?” Tyrius let out a high and harsh laugh. “You mean the same Galactic Alliance you are rebelling against?”

“We’re not rebelling,” Jessika objected. “We’re trying to get to the source of the corruption that has been plaguing the Senate for the past two years.”

“Ah, of course. Just like how the likes of Mon Mothma and Bail Organa tried to get to the source of the corruption that had plagued their Senate for the last couple of decades before its Chancellor took it to its logical extreme.” Tyrius grinned widely. “One of the many things I enjoy about studying history is keeping track of how many times it repeats itself.”

Before anyone could respond to his statement, a beep came from a nearby desk. Thrackan moved over to the desk and pressed a finger down on the comm button.

“Yes?”

“Sir, Kylo Ren has arrived,” replied a woman’s voice. “However, it would appear he is being… held up.”

“Held up by what?” Thrackan asked.

“Three Jedi and some Ortolan, sir.”

This time, it was Valrisa and the others’ turn to tense. Tyrius did not pay them any mind as he casually glided over to the desk.

“Offer them an invitation to my office, Lunara,” he said. “There is no need for senseless violence. We can all be friends here.”

“Understood, sir,” replied the female voice. “Although it might be difficult to calm down Mr. Ren. He appears to be… particularly enraged.”

Tyrius smirked. “I’ve dealt with worse. Please, bring them in. And try not to lose an arm in the process.”

With that, he ended the call before turning to face his involuntary guests. “I hope you are comfortable,” the Arkanian said, not bothering to hide the mocking tone in his voice. “I get the feeling we are going to be here for a while longer.”

*  *  *

“Mr. Ren, I suggest that you—”

Kylo Ren roared as he smashed his lightsaber against the blast door separating him from Toah, Rey, Zarin, and Bedo. His pursuit of the Jedi had been abruptly ended by the door slamming in front of him and Karis, though he had a feeling none of them had been the one to have actually closed the door.

“The Curator would like you to—” the Arkanian woman behind him tried to say.

“SHUT UP!” Kylo bashed his blade against the door again, leaving behind a scorch mark, before whirling around to face the Arkanian. “OPEN THE DOOR!”

Lunara stared back at the dark warrior calmly, her eyes — one natural white, the other cybernetic blue — unblinking. “The Curator would like to invite you and the Jedi to his office. Preferably all in one piece.”

“I want nothing to do with these Jedi,” Kylo snarled. “I want them either dead or out of my sight.”

“Unfortunately, your wishes and desires do not take priority over the Curator’s own,” Lunara said coolly. “He wishes to meet with you in his office so that you may deliver the artifact. He will deal with the Jedi as he sees fit.”

Kylo looked ready to object when Karis said, “Master, perhaps we should do as she says.”

He turned sharply to glare at her; although hidden by his mask, the S’kytri apprentice could still feel his cold gaze upon her. “And why should we?”

Karis cleared her throat, steadying herself. “It may prove beneficial for us to humor this Curator until we get whatever we need from him and leave. Causing chaos and havoc will simply needlessly complicate matters.” 

Kylo continued to stare at her for a moment, the silence between them taut with tension. Finally, he shut off his lightsaber and turned back to look at Lunara.

“Very well,” he said, though the resent in his voice was clear to all who heard it. “Take us to the Curator. Now.”

Lunara smiled, though its warmth did not reach either her organic eye nor her cybernetic one. “Thank you for your cooperation. If you would follow me.”

*  *  *

“I had a feeling you would have been here for this,” Wedge Antilles said, sitting behind the co-pilot’s seat of the Millennium Falcon. “As soon as I heard Iella mention the name ‘Thrackan Sal-Solo,’ I knew—”

“Yeah, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention that name,” Han Solo retorted as he piloted the Corellian freighter into Coronet Spaceport. “If I had a choice, I wouldn’t have touched this situation with a thousand-yard pole. But Leia… well, you know how she is.”

Wedge figured he didn’t know her as well as Han did, but he nodded anyway. “How is she, if I may ask?”

Han shrugged. “She’s been busy. But she always is, I guess. She’s never been one to sit aside while the rest of the galaxy burns.”

He flipped a few switches before saying to his Wookiee co-pilot, “All right, Chewie, let’s bring her in.”

Chewbacca growled something to him in his native tongue.

“Relax, the clearance codes should go through. Besides, conspiracy plot or not, they’d be crazy to fire on a ship with a reputation like this one.”

Chewbacca’s response indicated that he was not wholly convinced by that statement.

“Yeah, good point,” Han muttered. “This is my crazy cousin we’re dealing with.”

As the Falcon guided itself into the spaceport, Wedge spotted a glimpse of a tall, almost-skyscraper sized building situated in the center of the city, looming over the rest of Coronet. Chewbacca seemed to have noticed it too as he released a series of frantic roars and growls.

“Yeah, yeah, I see it.” Han sounded uncharacteristically quiet and soft. “It’s probably just another star yacht of the same design. I’m sure they make tons of them.”

“Do you recognize that building?” Wedge asked, and instantly regretted it when Han shot him a dirty look.

“Let’s say I do and leave it at that,” the ex-smuggler grunted before returning his attention to the ship’s controls. “So once we land, what’s the plan?”

“Fulcrum just got back to me,” said Jesmin, stepping into the cockpit. “She says that our agents in Coronet have gotten into the star yacht, but she’s lost contact with them.”

“Great,” Han muttered. “So, what do we do, bust them out of there?”

“That would make the most sense,” said Wedge. “The real question is if that’s what Iella— sorry, ‘Fulcrum’ wants us to do.”

Han looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “If she does or not, will it change what we’ll actually end up doing?”

Wedge shook his head. “Not at all. It’ll just change how long she’ll go without talking to me.”

At this, Han flashed him a grin. “Spoken like a true married man. Chewie, bring us closer to the yacht.”

The Wookiee responded in a questioning tone.

“That’s the idea. I want Thrackan to know we’re coming.”

This time, it was Wedge’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Just a few minutes ago, you were saying you wished you hadn’t come.”

“And I still feel that way,” Han replied. “Let’s just say your boldness is contagious.”

Behind him, Wedge heard Jesmin sigh.

“Great. I’m stuck with two old men going through a mid-life crisis….”

*  *  *

“…And it saddens me that so few speak of King Benethor e Solo in high regard. In the early 7500s C.R.C., he invoked Contemplanys Hermi in an attempt to secede from the Republic. This bold move was a protest against Chancellor Cera Teem’s policies, which greatly favored….”

Thrackan Sal-Solo could heard Sal Tyrius’ words, but he had long since stopped processing them or their meaning. The Arkanian could go on and on about the House of Solo’s history and accomplishments; all that mattered to Thrackan was how it would legitimize his right to the throne of Corellia and solidify his rule over the sector. Once that was done, he could not care less about what any Solo before him had accomplished; all that would matter would be what he accomplished from now until….

Until when? When he died? He was not exactly getting any younger; he had turned seventy-seven this year and was already needing to rely on a cane for support. Even now, editorials were being published on how his tenure as head of state would be short-lived; would they even accept him as a King to begin with? Or would they simply laugh him off? And even after he died, what then? He had no offspring to speak of and thus no one to carry on in his stead. Would the Corellian Council simply elect a new monarch, similar to how the Naboo elected theirs? Would — nine hells forbid — Han Solo or any of his spawn attempt to claim the throne? Or would the Galactic Alliance drag Corellia back in and install their own head of state that would abide by their every wish and command?

As these questions swirled around his head, Thrackan barely noticed the YT-1300 freighter flying just outside the window. As a Corellian model, such ships were a credit a dozen in Coronet’s skies. But as it began to land in a nearby docking bay, he performed a double take… and in an instant his heart dropped into his stomach like a large stone in a pond.

“Han Solo,” he said, the name sounding almost like a gasp as his breath hitched.

Sal Tyrius stopped speaking and turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised. “Pardon?”

“Han Solo is here,” Thrackan said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “I saw… I saw the Millennium Falcon land outside.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just another YT freighter?”

Thrackan shook his head. “I would recognize that piece of junk anywhere.”

A smile began to slowly creep its way onto Tyrius’ face. “Interesting….”

Poe Dameron was also smirking. “You guys are in for it now.”

“Oh, no,” the Curator chuckled. “I believe things are just about to get started.”