Transformers Regenerated: Scavengers II, Chapter Five [NON-CANON]

 CHAPTER FIVE

Earth

“Carl… Carlos… Carlton… Casper… Charles… gah, I knew I should have gone in a different order.” Death’s Head lowered his datapad to look down at the human male at his feet. “What was your name, again?”

The man offered no response, most likely because he was already dead. Realizing this, Death’s Head shifted his attention to the human woman that had been with the man he had just killed, who was staring at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“His name was Christopher, wasn’t it? Sorry, not Christopher. Christian? Crispin? …Cristiano?”

The woman did not answer him, continuing to gawk at him in frozen terror.

“And it’s ‘Grey’ with an ‘e,’ yes? Not ‘Gray’ with an ‘a?’ Because I made that mistake once and it… well, it ended up like this. So I suppose it doesn’t make much of a difference, no?”

Knowing that he was not going to get any sort of answer, Death’s Head turned away from the woman and looked back at his datapad. He scrolled through the list of names for what had to have been the hundredth time, looking for any that stood out to him. He had lost track of the time it had taken him so far to do this blasted job, and he was nowhere near halfway through the list. Sooner or later, he would have to ask Lord Gyconi for better information; this list was simply not doing it.

As the many, many names containing the word “Grey” zipped by—Greyback, Greyfur, Greyson—the scrolling list stopped on one “Jean Grey.” For some reason, this name gave Death’s Head pause; he felt as if he should know that name, even though he had never encountered a “Jean Grey” in his life. Still, he would have to get to them eventually. Might as well start with them now.

Putting away the list, Death’s Head activated his wrist device once more and everything around him warped away in a flash of light.

Sigma VII

“So… this thing we’re looking for… what exactly is it supposed to look like?”

Krok and the remaining Scavengers, along with Swindle’s crew and Gigawatt, were in an abandoned Decepticon compound on Sigma VII. Nearly 140 years ago, it had been the site of multiple experiments involving transwarp technology, which was ultimately shut down due to the lack of progress. Although Krok had not been involved in the project, he had known a few ‘Cons who were and thus had learned all the juicy details that he otherwise would not have been privy to. And yet, none of them had said anything about a Transwarp Blaster….

“Zapmaster and the others gave me a description,” said Nickel, poking her head into crevices that the larger Decepticons were unable to fit through. “The Transwarp Blaster is made up of three Mini-Cons: Boom Tube, Jump Drive, and Starburst. They’re supposed to be red, blue, and green, respectively.”

“Red, blue, and green. Got it.” Gutcruncher shoved aside a deactivated generator and it fell to the ground with a loud crash. “Don’t worry,” he said to the others. “That wasn’t red, blue, or green.”

“We don’t need to waste our time doing this,” Spacewarp muttered. “Foldspace can scan for Mini-Con spark signatures and find them in no time.”

“Huh?” said a small rover attached to Spacewarp’s arm. “Did someone say my name?”

Spacewarp glared at her companion. “Have you been scanning for spark signatures?”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to!”

“Oh, for Primus’ sake….”

While the two of them bickered, Krok and the others continued their physical search for the three Mini-Cons. As he looked behind a computer station, Krok heard footsteps approach him and looked over to see Gutcruncher stepping up to him.

“Hey,” the green and orange Decepticon said to him. “It’s Krok, right?”

“Yes?” Krok answered tentatively.

“I don’t know if you remember me. From Hydrus Four.”

“I try not to think about Hydrus Four,” Krok muttered, returning to his search.

“Yeah, I don’t blame you,” said Gutcruncher. “It was an embarrassment for both sides, I think.”

“If there is a point to this conversation, please get to it because I have absolutely no interest in speaking to you.”

“Hey, I was just trying to make small talk!” Gutcruncher retorted. “Decepticon camaraderie and all that. Besides, if you hang out with those other losers, then maybe—”

Krok whirled on him and jabbed a finger into his chestplate. “Listen here,” he growled. “The only thing you and I have in common is a purple badge and a single shared experience. We are not on the same level and I have absolutely no desire to associate with you outside of this job.”

“Okay, okay!” Gutcruncher raised his hands and backed away from him. “Sheesh, what crawled up your tailpipe and died?”

While Gutcruncher stalked off, Krok returned to the search, though he found difficulty in focusing on it. All he could think about was what he was going to do after all this was done; without Misfire and the others, he no longer had a crew, and he strongly doubted that Spacewarp would want him to stick around any longer now that he could no longer provide her with said crew. He suppose he could ask Swindle if there was an opening for him, but he knew that making any sort of deal with that con artist would not end well for him.

Honestly, the worst part about it all was that he felt that he had failed the bot for whom he had formed the Scavengers in the first place. It was because of Thundersaur’s dying wish that Krok and Spinister had rescued Misfire—then known as Flyhigh—and inadvertently formed a crew of wayward Decepticons, with an unwilling Crankcase and an eager Flywheels joining them. Now that the other four, as well as Fulcrum, were all dead, Krok could not help but feel that it had been all for naught. He didn’t even want to think about what Thundersaur would say to him if he were to see him now….

“Guys… I think I found something.”

Krok was snapped out of his thoughts as he and the others looked over to Trickdiamond, just as she pulled out a multicolored device from out of a crevice.

“That’s it!” exclaimed Nickel. “That’s exactly what they described!”

“Well, that was easy,” muttered Headlock. “So now what?”

Gigawatt said nothing as he walked over to Trickdiamond, extending his arms for the Transwarp Blaster. Trickdiamond gave him a wary look before handing the Mini-Con weapon over to him.

“How exactly does this thing work?” she asked. “I mean, I know the name ‘Transwarp Blaster’ should make it obvious, but….”

“I’m going to fire it at you all so we can end up in Axiom Nexus,” Gigawatt said bluntly.

“What?!” Gutcruncher exclaimed. “I didn’t agree to getting shot at!”

“Don’t worry, it’s non-lethal. You won’t feel a—”

“Like scrap I will!” Gutcruncher drew his gun and pointed it at Gigawatt. “I knew we should have slagged you when we had the chance! You’re an Autobot, aren’t you? You’re just trying to kill us!”

“I swear I’m not!” Gigawatt protested. “Please, don’t shoot! If you damage the Transwarp Blaster, it might—”

“I’ve heard enough!” Before anyone could stop him, Gutcruncher fired his blaster repeatedly at Gigawatt. His shots struck both the Transwarp Blaster as well as Gigawatt and a blast of blue and white energy burst from both of them, consuming the Decepticons in a blinding light.

Earth

Fulcrum probably should have seen this coming. In a post-war world of (albeit fragile) peace, it was easy to forget that there was a time where Autobots and Decepticons were always trying to kill one another. Sure, they weren’t exactly the best of pals now, but at least it was feasibly possible to put a ‘Bot and a ‘Con in a room together without one or both of them ending up as a scrapheap on the floor.

Whoever this Ultimate X-Spanse fellow was, he clearly was not familiar with such a world as he currently had Fulcrum pinned to the floor, energy claws pointed at the K-Con’s neck. Colored in the same blue and yellow as the other X-Men or whatever they were called, X-Spanse was unlike any Cybertronian Fulcrum had seen before. On the bot’s chest was a yellow chestplate shaped like the letter “X” with a red glowing light in its center while his optics were covered with a yellow band and red visor. Were it not for how he was currently reacting to Fulcrum’s presence, Fulcrum would have thought this bot was a Decepticon. Clearly that was not the case….

“State your business, Decepticon, before I obliterate you and scatter your atoms!” Ultimate X-Spanse growled.

“I made a wrong turn,” Fulcrum replied, keeping his eyes on the claws at his neck. “If you let me go, I will gladly leave and find my way back home.”

“As if I’m going to believe that,” X-Spanse growled, his red visor glowing brighter. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to keep your life.”

“Charming. Y’know, I’d expect this from one of my fellow Decepticons. Not an Autobot like you.”

“I’m not an Autobot. Not anymore. I left that life behind when I—”

“Yeah, I really don’t care. Look, I really don’t want any trouble. If you could just let me go, I will leave and you’ll never have to worry about me again.”

“I don’t buy it,” grunted Logan, standing by with the other X-Men. “I’m starting to think Magneto sent him after us.”

“He hasn’t done anything yet, though,” said Jean Grey. “You would think that if he was here to kill us, he would have done so by now.”

“That’s exactly what a fella like Magneto would want us to think. Lure us into a false sense of security and then bam! Just like that.”

“Okay,” Fulcrum said. “Can I just say that I have no idea who or what a Magneto is? Would you even believe me if I said that?”

“What do you think, bub?” Logan retorted.

“Where are you from then?” asked Cyclops. “How did you get here?”

“I don’t know!” Fulcrum exclaimed. “I was with my… with my friends on Hedonia when some bot came up to us about something called the Crossover. Then he exploded and… and now I’m here.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Ultimate X-Spanse snapped. “That’s it; I’ve heard enough of your lies. Prepare to—”

“Wait!” Beast jumped away from the others, his arms raised high. “Let us not be so hasty, my large metal friend! Perhaps there is some merit of truth to his story.”

“He’s a Decepticon, Beast,” X-Spanse muttered. “Decepticons never tell the truth.”

“What exactly is a Decepticon?” asked Jean Grey. “You haven’t really explained to us what you robots are about.”

Fulcrum stared at X-Spanse incredulously. “You mean you haven’t even told these guys? I would have thought that would be something you’d want to clarify right away—”

“Silence!” X-Spanse snapped. He paused for a moment before letting out a sigh. “You do raise a fair point,” he said to the X-Men. “When you first met me, I was admittedly… evasive to your questions about my origins.”

“You told us you were from a planet called Cybertron,” said Jubilee. “That’s about it.”

Fulcrum wasn’t sure if it was normal for humans to talk in expository dialog, but he was appreciative of it at the moment. Thankfully, Ultimate X-Spanse seemed to be in a similar mood as he nodded while pulling away from Fulcrum, though he still kept his glowing visor trained on the K-Con.

“Yes, I am from Cybertron. I was part of a faction of my kind known as the Autobots, who fought against the evil forces of the Decepticons.” He gestured to Fulcrum. “If the emblem on his body is anything to go by, this bot right here is a Decepticon.”

“But the war is over!” Fulcrum said. “There’s no need to destroy me or my kind anymore!”

Ultimate X-Spanse scowled at him. “What are you talking about? The war isn’t over.”

“Yes, it is! It has been for over a year now! Where have you been for all this….” Fulcrum trailed off as a question suddenly struck his mind. “Wait,” he murmured. “What year is it?”

Ultimate X-Spanse frowned. “What year? You mean the Earth year?”

“No, no. The Cybertronian year. What’s the current cycle?”

The X-Bot’s frown deepened. “The cycle? Er… surely you would know that.”

Fulcrum smirked. “Humor me.”

“I… I… no.” X-Spanse shook his head. “No, this is some sort of trick, isn’t it?”

“How is it a trick? I’m just asking a simple question. What’s the current cycle?”

“I….” X-Spanse clenched his fists as he glared at Fulcrum. “I’ve lost track of the time. My chronometer no longer works properly. Last I remember, it was Cycle 9679.”

“9679?” Fulcrum frowned. “But that’s… that was over 130 years ago.”

“Like I said, I’ve lost track of the time. Now then….” X-Spanse raised his clawed hand again. “Are you done playing with my mind or—”

“Professor!”

Before Ultimate X-Spanse could finish his statement, a bunch of other humans in garish getups barged into the room. Leading them was a dark-skinned woman with white hair and an equally white uniform, who approached Professor Xavier with a serious look.

“We’ve detected a strange occurrence in the Antarctic region. We believe it may be originating from the Savage Land.”

“The Savage Land?” echoed Professor Xavier. “Then we should better investigate. Ultimate X-Spanse, can you take Scott and his team there?”

“What about the Decepticon?” Ultimate X-Spanse asked, gesturing at Fulcrum.

“You can take him with you if you prefer. Can he fly like yourself?”

X-Spanse looked at Fulcrum. “Can you?”

“Uh….” Fulcrum cleared his vocal processor. “Not really. Although my alternate mode is easily transportable.”

“Good. Let’s see it then.”

Here we go, Fulcrum thought as he transformed, his armor plating extending and folding around him. Within minutes, X-Spanse and the X-Men were staring at rusted bomb laying where Fulcrum had once been.

“Wow,” muttered Logan. “Never thought I’d feel sorry for a robot.”

Transformers Regenerated: Scavengers II, Chapter Four [NON-CANON]

 CHAPTER FOUR

The Alchemor, en route to Sigma VII

“I’m not sure if we ever thanked you for the rescue.”

“Hey, don’t mention it,” said Nickel. “We’re just doing what’s right.”

She and the Mini-Con racers that had been rescued from Swindle’s captivity were gathered in one of the cell blocks on the former prison ship Alchemor. Ever since falling into the possession of the Scavengers, it had since been repurposed into one of many rec rooms aboard the ship, serving as a hangout space for any stragglers that the Scavengers picked up during their journeys. This made it a perfect open space for the many, many Mini-Cons they rescued to stay until they found themselves a new home.

“You’re from Micron, aren’t you?” asked Zapmaster as he poured energon into his fuel port. “How did you escape from the Black Block Consortia?”

“I hid in Prion’s eye socket when the Consortia attacked and abducted everyone else,” Nickel replied. “I stayed there even after they had left and didn’t come out until… someone found me and gave me a new home.”

“Was it these Decepticons who found you?” Grid asked.

“Um….” Nickel bit her lip. “Something like that.”

“Well, you’re all in our debt,” said Zapmaster. “Have you guys managed to rescue any other Mini-Cons?”

“Yeah, Spacewarp rescued a whole bunch from Tebris Seven a few months ago. She took them to Cybertron so they could decide what to do with their lives; I’m sure once we’re done at Sigma Seven, we’ll stop by there next.”

“Sounds good,” said a yellow and black Mini-Con with a similar build as Grid and Zapmaster. “Though I think I’d rather go to Velocitron. From what I hear, the folks there are a lot more my style.”

Grid rolled his optics. “Yeah, right, Mirage. We both know that you just wanna see Backtrack again.”

“And Spiral and Oval! I loved those guys, too!”

Nickel frowned in confusion. “Wait, did you just call him ‘Mirage?’” she asked Grid. “Isn’t that the name of an Autobot?”

Mirage snorted. “Oh boy, this again….”

“We generally don’t concern ourselves over sharing names with Cybertronians,” Zapmaster explained. “They sure never cared about our affairs, so why should we about theirs?”

“That’s fair enough, I suppose,” Nickel admitted. “So long as you don’t share names with anyone else on the ship, we should all be fine.”

“Where is it we’re headed, again?” Grid asked. “Sigma Seven, you said?”

“Yeah. Apparently there’s some special device there that we need to get. Something called the Transwarp Blaster.”

The room suddenly went silent and every Mini-Con present stopped what they were doing to look at Nickel. She glanced awkwardly from one gawking face to the other before asking, “What?”

“Did you just say the Transwarp Blaster?” asked a blue and orange sports car Mini-Con.

“Yeah?” Nickel said nervously. “Why?”

“You don’t even know what it is, do you?”

“I mean, going by its name, I can wager a guess. Such as that it is a blaster powered by… transwarp stuff.”

“You’re pretty much bang on the money,” said Zapmaster. “But there’s something else about it that you and your Decepticon friends should probably know.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“It’s not just a weapon. It’s a living being.” Zapmaster sealed up his fuel port and set aside his energon cube. “Three of them, to be precise.”

*  *  *

“THE TRANSWARP BLASTER IS MADE OUT OF MINI-CONS?!”

“Not so loud,” Gutcruncher groused, clamping his hands over his audio receptors. “We’re all standing right next to you.”

Spacewarp ignored the green Decepticon as she whirled furiously on Swindle, her optics blazing. “Did you know about this?!”

Swindle held up his hands defensively. “No! I had no idea! Honestly! I swear on my mentor’s spark!”

“Coming from you, that doesn’t really mean much,” Krok muttered. He looked down at Nickel, who had just delivered this tidbit of information to him and the rest of what was now more or less Gigawatt’s crew. “Are you sure they’re being for real?”

“I’m just telling you what the other Mini-Cons told me,” Nickel said. “It would be strange for them to lie about something like that. Especially since it would mean they were all in on it.”

“I can believe it,” Spacewarp growled, still glowering at Swindle. “As cynical it may sound, I’ve seen enough to know how low bots are willing to go.”

“Uh, yeah,” Gutcruncher said uneasily. “Me, too.”

“All right, so let me just get this straight,” Trickdiamond said. “This Transwarp Blaster we’re after is made out of three Mini-Cons. Swindle’s client wants to buy it off him for lots and lots of credits. Which would make it robot trafficking, essentially.”

“It’s not trafficking if I don’t know it’s a living machine!” Swindle protested. “Now that I do know, the deal is off! I’m not—I’m not selling it to him anymore!”

“Then how are we going to get money?” asked Gutcruncher. “I’m not doing this scrap for free!”

“You will all be compensated once all is said and done,” Gigawatt said calmly, facing the Alchemor’s viewport. 

“Oh yeah?” Gutcruncher snapped. “And just how much do you intend to pay us? More than a hundred trillion?”

“I would think that saving the universe from complete and utter collapse would be enough.”

Krok growled in frustration as he pushed past the others and stormed up to Gigawatt. “Look, can you at least explain to us what this ‘Crossover’ is all about? That Flyhigh guy that killed my friends said it was some sort of interdimensional event in a place called Axiom Nexus. Is any of that true?”

Gigawatt hesitated. “To a certain extent.”

“Are there any details he left out that we should know about?”

“Did he mention that it’s an auction?”

“An auction?” Krok scratched his helm. “No, I don’t believe so. What’s it an auction for?”

Gigawatt opened his mouth as if to answer but then stopped himself, seemingly having second thoughts. “Forget it,” he muttered. “I’ve probably said too much already.”

“I bet he’s not telling us ‘cos he hasn’t thought it up yet!” said Gutcruncher. “I’m telling you, guys, this whole thing’s a blasted scam. We should bail out now before it’s too late.”

“It’s already too late,” said Trickdiamond. “We’re already nearing the Sigma system, and you can’t get any more remote than the Sigma system. We’ve got nowhere else to turn too.”

Gutcruncher narrowed his optics and his hand drifted towards a blaster holstered on his hip. “Then I guess this calls for a good old fashioned mutiny.”

“Now just wait a minute!” Swindle said, jumping in front of Gutcruncher. “Let’s just wait this out, yeah? I’m curious enough to see what this Gigawatt bot’s got in his arm compartment. Even if it’s a scam, maybe we can all learn a thing or two from him!”

Headlock rubbed his chin as he eyed Gigawatt skeptically. “Y’know, I’ve been meaning to ask… whose side are you on anyway?”

Gigawatt slowly turned to look at him. “Pardon?”

“Are you an Autobot or a Decepticon?”

“Does it matter? The war’s over.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t matter. So there’s no harm in telling us, right?”

Gigawatt was silent for a pressing moment. Then, he said, “I don’t do sides. I’m just a simple bot trying to make my way through the universe.”

“And trying to save it?” Krok asked with a raised optic ridge.

“That, too.”

“Still reeks of Autobot ideology,” Gutcruncher grunted. “I still say we—”

A beep sounded off at the console and Spacewarp pushed a lever at the ship’s controls, bringing the Alchemor out of hyperspace and into the orbit of a rocky world. “We’re here,” she announced to the others. “Sigma Seven.”

“All right then,” Krok said. “Let’s go get this Transwarp Blaster. And free the Mini-Cons, I guess. Everyone else is free to bail out or do whatever. Just know that if you try to take our ship, we will scrap you. End of story.”

Swindle grinned at him and gave him two thumbs up. “Sounds good to me!”

Gutcruncher exchanged glances with Trickdiamond and Headlock before rolling his optics. “Gah, I’ve got a bad feeling about this….”

Earth, another place and time

“Sorry we’re late, Professor. We had another run in with the Brotherhood.”

“That is quite all right, Scott. So long as you and the others are safe….”

Fulcrum could hear the voices coming from outside the lab that the organics had put him in. The space itself was rather cramped, even for a rather small K-Con like him. The furry blue human—the one called Logan had alternated between calling him Hank and Beast, the latter which seemed the most appropriate—was moving this way and that to look at computer screens, scratching his chin as he glanced from them to Fulcrum. As if he didn’t already feel uncomfortable enough in the presence of these disgusting organics, now he was being gawked at like some sort of lab experiment. Terrific.

While Beast continued to “examine” Fulcrum (or whatever it was he was doing), a group of other humans entered the lab. Leading them was an older squishy with no hair on his head, moving around in some sort of floating transport. Whether the transport was a part of his body or not, Fulcrum could not tell nor did he care. Accompanying the older human were others wearing gaudy blue and yellow outfits, with all sorts of gadgets adorning their bodies. One had a red visor covering their eyes, which Fulcrum supposed was sort of cool; another had red hair sprouting out from a tight headgear, which wasn’t cool; and then there was one who was just wearing civilian clothes and a long yellow jacket while blowing pink bubbles from their mouth, which was just weird.

As the newcomers gawked at Fulcrum, Beast excited hopped over to stand in front of them. “I’m glad you could all make it. Logan and I found this machine just outside X-Mansion grounds. He does not appear to be a Sentinel, from what I can gather. He is far too… intelligent to classify as one.”

“It’s good to know where I rank on your scale,” Fulcrum muttered.

“Maybe he’s a Sentinel who got reprogrammed,” suggested the visor-wearing human.

“And changed his color scheme,” said the bubble-blowing human. “Can’t say it’s an improvement, though.”

“I very much doubt that he’s a Sentinel,” said Beast. “In fact, I don’t believe he is of this Earth at all.”

“You mean he’s like Ultimate X-Spanse?” asked the red-haired woman.

“Possibly. I haven’t had the chance to actually examine X-Spanse more closely… partly because he won’t let me….”

“I’m sorry,” Fulcrum said, “but who exactly are you guys?”

“I am Professor Charles Xavier,” said the bald, transport-bound human. “Founder and headmaster of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. You’ve already met Hank McCoy here, better known as Beast.”

“My name is Jean Grey,” said the red-haired woman. She gestured to the visor-wearing man. “This is my partner, Scott, though some call him Cyclops.”

“You can call me Jubilee,” said the bubble-blower.

“Wonderful,” Fulcrum muttered. “I guess you can call me Fulcrum, then. So, who is this… ‘Ultimate X-Spanse’ guy you’re talking about? And what kind of name is ‘Ultimate X-Spanse’ anyway?” 

“Perhaps we should have you ask him yourself,” said Beast. He looked to Professor Xavier. “Shall we take him to the hangar?”

Xavier seemed to consider this for a moment. “Yes, perhaps we should. In any case, it should be more… spacious for him.”

“Huh. Thanks,” Fulcrum said. As disgusting as these organics were, at least they were considerate.

Who knows, he thought to himself. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

*  *  *

“This is really, really bad!” Misfire cried as the Tyrannosaurus rex tossed him up in the air with its mighty maw. As he fell back down, the dinosaur opened its mouth to await his descent only for Spinister to lunge and punch the monster in the face. Misfire then fell straight on top of him and the two Decepticons fell to the ground in a pile of limbs.

Judging by his internal clock, Misfire saw that they had been at this for close to an hour. Each time they got a hand up in their fight with the Tyrannosaurus, it wasted no time in knocking them down a peg or several. It was a constant tug-of-war between them, which was never going to end until one of them burnt out. And so far, the dinosaur was showing no sign of wearing down.

As the two Scavengers struggled to untangle themselves from each other, the Tyrannosaurus stomped towards them, growling lowly from its throat as it glowered at them with its tiny red eyes. After finally managing to untangle himself from Spinister, Misfire got to his feet and raised his fists up at the dinosaur.

“Look, fella, I’ve dealt with beasts like you before! Heck, I was even once friends with one! So don’t think for a moment that I don’t know how to handle myself against you!”

The dinosaur snorted and did something Misfire was not expecting it to do: it spoke. “You haven’t exactly been doing a good job of that.”

Misfire blinked as he stepped back in surprise. The dinosaur then swung its body around and struck him with its massive tail, sending him flying across the beach and towards the shore. As he landed face-first into the mud, he heard what sounded like metal clanging and clicking together, akin to the sound a Cybertronian would make when changing shape. Sure enough, as he pulled himself up and looked over his shoulder, standing where the Tyrannosaurus had been was a large mechanical being in red and brown armor plating. The dinosaur’s head now served as their right hand while its tail was attached to their left arm, unfurled to form a cannon.

“This has been fun,” the dinosaur-bot said, taking aim at Misfire and Spinister with her arm cannon. “But I think playtime is over now.”

Misfire looked to Spinister, who continued to lay where he was. Realizing that there was no escape, Misfire could do nothing but brace himself for the end.

As the tip of the dinosaur-bot’s arm cannon began to glow, something shot out of the forest behind her and struck her in the back. The dinobot let out a pained cry before collapsing face-first onto the ground and going still. Stepping out of the forest was a green and black bot who was covered in scratches and blast marks, walking with a slight limp as he trudged onto the beach while keeping a device in his hand pointed at the two Decepticons.

“I have no idea who you are,” the strange bot said, “but you two are coming with me.”

Well then, Misfire thought to himself. This is going to be a very strange day.

Transformers Regenerated: Scavengers II, Chapter Three [NON-CANON]

 CHAPTER THREE

Earth, at some point in time

Death’s Head crouched down next to the dead human male, waving a device over the mutilated corpse. After a few minutes, the device’s screen lit up, bathing the bounty hunter’s silver face in red.

NEGATIVE, was what it read.

Death’s Head grunted as he straightened up, storing the device and his blood-stained weapons away. “Hn,” he grunted. “Figures.”

He then brought out another device, a small tablet-shaped pad, and checked off one of the many items that populated the list he had been given. Lord Gyconi had warned him that this task was going to be incredibly tedious and time consuming. Fortunately, Death’s Head wasn’t really missing out on anything since his dimension-hopping device meant that he could return to the present day mere moments after Gyconi had given him the job and pick things up from there. Of course, that didn’t do anything to mend his ever-thinning patience.

Still, a job was a job and he was going to get it done no matter what. Such was life.

After putting away his list, he spared a moment to regard the frightened humans gawking at him in horror. He supposed he couldn’t blame them for being so terrified; he doubted it was everyday that they saw some alien bounty hunter barge in and kill their boss in the most gruesome way imaginable. He also found it hard to care about how they felt. It wasn’t like he was going to see them again, at least not in this reality.

Ignoring their pathetic whimpers, Death’s Head activated the device on his wrist and warped away to find the next item on his list.

Hedonia

“So… what are we going to do?”

Swindle groaned as he slumped over his desk, his face buried in his hands. The rest of his motley crew—Trickdiamond, Gutcruncher, and Headlock—stood across from him, staring at him with expectant looks. He had been hoping to hightail it out of here as soon as Spacewarp had released all of the Mini-Cons, but Trickdiamond and the others had barged into his office before he could even begin packing up. Doing so now would only illicit a… less than friendly response, something which he was in no position to deal with right now.

“For what it’s worth,” Gutcruncher said, “I’ve still got a stockpile of parts stashed away on a planet near the Malus Expanse. We could use those to get us by until we think of a new venture to replace this one. Of course, we’d have to find someplace besides Hedonia to sell them….”

“Why can’t we just stay here?” asked Headlock. “We’ve still got venues besides the Mini-Con races, right? Why don’t we just capitalize on those?”

“The races were our biggest draw,” said Trickdiamond. “Without them, we’re just another casino on Hedonia and there’s plenty of those abound here on this planet.”

Headlock threw up his arms. “Then I guess we’re screwed. It’s been nice knowing you all, I guess.”

Swindle sat up and drew in some air to cool his overheating fans. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before saying, “No. We’re not.”

The others looked at him in surprise. “We’re not?”

Swindle winced to himself. He couldn’t believe he was even going this route. But it was the only thing he could think to do. “I have… a backup plan.”

Trickdiamond brightened at this. “You do? Then let’s hear it!”

“A client of mine recently called me regarding a valuable item hidden somewhere on Sigma Seven. He’s promised me—I mean us a massive reward if we manage to find it and bring it to him.”

“Sigma Seven?” Gutcruncher repeated. “Isn’t that where Shockwave—”

“Yes,” Swindle interjected. “But that’s not relevant to this job. All we need to know is that he’s going to pay us a lot for this item.”

“How much?” asked Headlock.

“A lot.”

“How much is a lot?”

“So much that you would never need to question it.”

Before Headlock or the other two could ask for Swindle to elaborate, a light tap sounded at the door and Swindle let out a frightened yelp. Standing there in the doorway once more was Spacewarp, this time accompanied by three other bots.

“What do you want now?!” Swindle exclaimed. “You’ve already got your Mini-Cons! What else could you possibly want? Energon Stars? Cyber Keys?”

“I need your help,” Spacewarp muttered, sounding absolutely miserable.

Swindle blinked. Out of all the answers he had been expecting, that one had been at the bottom of the list. “You… I’m sorry, you need what?”

“I don’t necessarily want it—in fact, I don’t.” Spacewarp sighed. “But apparently I need it.”

“Apparently?”

A silver bot with goggle adorning his face shouldered past Spacewarp and stepped into the room. “There’s no time to explain. My name is Gigawatt. The Crossover is about to happen and we need the Transwarp Blaster to get there before it does.”

“The Transwarp…?” Swindle slammed his palms onto his desk as he stood up. “How the hell do you know about that?!”

“Again, I can’t explain. All you need to know is that I’m from the future and that I know what’s going to happen if we don’t stop the Crossover from happening!”

“What the blazes is a ‘Crossover?’” asked Gutcruncher. “Are you sure you’re not just overdosed on circuit-boosters?”

“Thank you!” said a black and green Decepticon standing with Spacewarp, whom Swindle recognized as Krok. “I thought I was the only one!”

Gigawatt groaned. “Look, can you guys just humor me? I’ve got the coordinates to Sigma Seven; I can take us there in no time at all.”

“And how do we know you’re not trying to scam us?” Trickdiamond asked, crossing her arms.

“Because you’re Decepticons. If there’s one thing you guys know what to look out for, it’s deception.”

Still looking doubtful, Headlock looked over to Swindle. “Is this Transwarp Blaster the thing your client wants us to get?”

Swindle sighed. “Yes. Yes, it is. And he’s paying us 100 trillion for it.”

Everyone’s optics—including Spacewarp and Krok’s—went wide. 

“You’re joking,” Spacewarp murmured.

“I never joke about these things.”

“Are you sure you’re not the one being scammed?” asked Krok.

Swindle shrugged. “Honestly? I very well could be. But between that and what this guy is saying… I don’t know. Maybe it’s all tied together. Maybe it’s destiny or something.”

At this, Gigawatt beamed. “Yes, thank you! Finally, someone gets it!”

Swindle gave him a confused look. “Get what?”

“Come on.” Gigawatt beckoned him and the others to follow as he stepped back through the door. “We’ve wasted enough time already. Let’s go!”

With that, he transformed into a silver car and sped away. The Decepticons all exchanged look before going after him, converting to their alternate modes (with the monoformer Krok having to hang onto Spacewarp) as they followed the mysterious bot. Swindle was the last to go, still wondering what exactly he had gotten himself into.

Elsewhere, on Earth

“Fascinating. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Sure you have, bub.”

“Well, yes. But not under these circumstances.”

Fulcrum’s audio receptors were the first boot back up, leaving him blind as to who the two speakers were. Neither of them sounded like any of the other Scavengers; in fact, they didn’t even sound mechanical. If anything, they sounded more… squishy, like they were full of liquids. He prayed to whatever deity was listening that he not ended up in the care of some organics; he would rather take the torture wheel on B’lahr 39 than to experience such a horrifying prospect.

His optical sensors finally came back online and Fulcrum was greeted with the sight of a hairy blue thing standing on top of him.

Then he screamed.  

“Calm yourself!” the furry creatures tried to say over the K-Con’s screams. “We mean you no harm!”

“Not yet, anyway,” muttered another hairy organic—this one without blue fur and wearing some sort of yellow and black outfit.

“GET OFF OF ME!” Fulcrum screamed as he flicked the blue beast off of him. The organic moved quickly before his metal fingers could actually touch him, flipping back and landing on the grass in front of him. Meanwhile, the other human unsheathed a set of claws from his fists and snarled at Fulcrum.

“Listen, bub, you’re already on thin ice as it is. I’d watch yourself ‘cos we’ve got plenty of ways to get rid of metal lugs like you.”

“Easy, Logan,” said the blue-furred creature. “It’s probably just scared. I mean, it did unexpectedly teleport on our grounds. It probably doesn’t even know where it is.” 

That much was true, Fulcrum had to admit. Drawing himself up, he looked around and saw that he was sitting in the yard of some sort of stone building—probably a mansion scaled for tiny organics—with the letter “X” displayed prominently all around the grounds. If he had to wager a guess, he believed he was somewhere on the planet Earth, a backwater world he and the other Scavengers had visited sometime before crossing paths with Spacewarp. Why he was here of all planets though, he was not quite sure.

“We should probably go get the Professor,” the blue thing said to the one called Logan. “He will want to see this.”

“You go on ahead,” Logan grunted. “I’ll keep an eye on this tin can.”

While the blue organic hopped off to the mansion, Logan continued to eye Fulcrum warily, his blue eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Y’know, you’re not the first giant robot we’ve come across,” he said. “You’re not a Sentinel, are you?”

“I have no idea what that is, so I’d wager not,” Fulcrum replied.

“Yeah, that’s what the last one said. What did he say he was, again? A Cyberbot or something. Maybe we should have him take a look at you when he comes back with Jean and the others.”

At this point, Fulcrum had stopped listening to whatever the organic was saying. He drew his legs closer to his chest and buried his face between his knees.

Why do these things always happen to me?

*  *  *

“Okay… maybe we shouldn’t have tagged along.”

Spinister only grunted in response, holding his broken rotor blades in his hands. Misfire had suffered some injuries of his own from the… whatever it was that had just happened. Crash? Teleportation? Teleportation crash? Either way, both of his wings were broken, making his alternate mode useless. Wherever they were, there would be no flying away from.

And where they were was a question in and of itself. They were on some sort of beach, surrounded by sand and rocks, with an endless ocean behind them and an eerie jungle in front of them. Luckily they still had their weapons, so if they ran into anything non-friendly, they could easily protect themselves. At least, Misfire could only hope.

He had already tried hailing the others—Crankcase, Fulcrum, Krok, even Spacewarp—but no good had come of it. He wasn’t sure if his communicator was just dead or if there was something blocking his signal. Either way, it was simply another question he would have to file away for later.

“All right, enough standing around,” Misfire said, drawing his gun as he stepped towards the jungle. “Let’s go explore this place.”

He had taken no less than a couple of steps when a thunderous roar broke through the jungle, accompanied by a violent tremble in the ground. Through the foliage of the jungle, Misfire could make out some sort of reptilian creature with brown and red scales storming towards them. Whatever this creature was, he could tell that it was very big… and not at all friendly.

“On second thought,” he murmured, “let’s just die instead.”

Transformers Regenerated: Scavengers II, Chapter Two [NON-CANON]

 CHAPTER TWO

“So, what does this CONS4EVA guy look like again, Crankcase?” Fulcrum asked as he and the other Scavengers sifted their way through the crowd of Cybertronians in the Trick Diamond.

Crankcase muttered something, but Fulcrum couldn’t hear him over all the noise.

“What was that?”

“I said I don’t know,” Crankcase replied.

“Seriously?” Misfire asked, shooting the blue Triggercon a look. “You’ve been talking with this loser for how long and he never once sent you a picture?”

“He said he was shy….”

“Well, did he at least give you some sort of description? Or did you give him your image? Because at this rate, I don’t see how—”

“Grumpybox?”

All five Scavengers came to a stop and turned around, an act which infuriated several other patrons as they were now forced to walk around the five static Decepticons in order to navigate their way through the casino. Standing there was a bot who was so utterly plain looking that he practically stood out from the vibrant crowd of Cybertronians because of how boring he looked. He wore the incredibly commonplace Seeker body-type and had a color scheme that was pretty much just different shades of gray. If there was a category for the Most Boring Looking Cybertronian In All Existence, they were staring at its poster bot.

The plain-looking bot gave a tiny wave as he smiled uneasily. “Hey. It’s Grumpybox, right? I’m CONS4EVA.”

“Oh,” Crankcase said, his expression blank. “Yeah. I’m Grumpybox, though you can just call me Crankcase.”

CONS4EVA nodded. “Crankcase, it is. And these guys would be?”

“Oh, they’re just a bunch of losers I hang out with. Don’t mind them.”

Krok glared at Crankcase before stepping forward. “Hello, er, CONS4EVA. My name is Krok, and this is my crew: Spinister, Misfire, and Fulcrum. Crankcase has been talking about for the past few days now; glad to finally put a face to the name. Even if it is a kinda… underwhelming one.”

“And speaking of names,” said Fulcrum, “let me just ask what everyone’s thinking: Is CONS4EVA your real name?”

“Of course not,” CONS4EVA said. “My real name is, um… Flyhigh.”

“Flyhigh?” said Misfire. “Hey, that used to be my name!”

CONS4EVA’s yellow optics widened. “Really? Oh, scrap, uh—”

“Ah, don’t worry about it!” Misfire stepped over and slapped the Seeker lightly on the shoulder. “You can keep it. I go by Misfire nowadays anyway. A much more fitting name.”

“I’ll say,” Krok muttered.

Flyhigh cleared his vocal processor, nodding rather quickly. “All right. Good.” He then turned his attention back to Crankcase. “Do you mind if we found someplace quiet to talk? I feel that we are sticking out sore thumbs here.”

“You don’t say?” Crankcase asked as a random Cybertronian walked past him, deliberately brushing his shoulder as if to make a point. “Yeah, sure. I think there’s a couple of benches over there.”

The Scavengers and Flyhigh removed themselves from the casino’s game room and relocated to the small benches, both of which seemed like they had been made to fit species that weren’t giant robots. While Crankcase, Krok, and Fulcrum sat on one bench, Flyhigh sat across from them on the other with Spinister and Misfire. Once they had all been situated, Flyhigh placed some sort of pamphlet on the table that separated them.

“Have you heard of the Crossover?”

“The what now?” all of the Scavengers asked in unison.

“The Crossover,” Flyhigh repeated. “It’s a huge interdimensional event that—”

“Let me stop you right there,” Krok said, raising a hand. “Did you just say ‘interdimensional?’ Are you sure you’re not high off syk?”

Flyhigh nodded. “Positive. Granted, I’ve never been to one myself, but I’ve heard from a lot of folks who have. They’ve even given me evidence. Cross-dimensional travel is real, trust me.”

“Riiiight,” Fulcrum said. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m getting ‘scam vibes’ from this.”

“It’s not a scam,” Flyhigh said earnestly. “Honest. You don’t even need to pay to attend. Currency values tend to vary between universes, so the organizers made it a free event to make it fair to all. They’re also a non-profit, so they only run on donations.”

“Yeah, I knew this would be a waste of time.” Krok rose from the bench. “Good luck on your future endeavors, ‘Flyhigh,’ but you can count us out of… whatever this is.”

“Where’s it at?” asked Crankcase.

Krok gave the Triggercon an incredulous look as Flyhigh said, “It’s taking place in Axiom Nexus. It’s basically a hub for all the different universes.”

“Come on, Crankcase, this is obviously a set-up,” Krok said. “The more he talks, the more ridiculous it all sounds. He’s just going to scam you and leave you in the ditch.”

Crankcase glanced up at him. “And since when did you care about my well-being?” he grunted. “Besides, no one’s asking you to go. I don’t need you guys to come along.”

“So you’re just gonna leave us like that?” asked Misfire. “After everything we’ve been through?”

“Especially after everything we’ve been through.”

Krok rolled his optics. “What even sounds interesting about this to you? What about any of this sounds appealing?”

“The fact that I could potentially find a universe to live in where you guys don’t exist,” Crankcase replied. “That’s it, really. At this point, I feel that any universe has to be better than this one.”

Krok threw his hands up in defeat and walked away, not even bidding Crankcase a word of farewell. The other Scavengers remained seated, exchanging awkward glances.

“So, uh,” Fulcrum said, “I take it that your mind’s already been made up about this?”

“I mean, yeah,” said Crankcase. “He had me at ‘interdimensional event.’”

Flyhigh beamed. “Great. That’s really… wow, you just made me feel so relieved. I was really afraid that you were going to say ‘no.’”

“When do we leave?” Crankcase asked.

“Your call.”

As the Triggercon and his newfound friend got up, Misfire said, “How are you guys even going to get there? Last I heard, they hadn’t invented a device that lets you travel between dimensions.”

Flyhigh smiled. “That’s because it’s a secret. And unless you’re coming along, you’ll never going to learn the answer.”

“I’m coming with you,” said Spinister, standing up.

Crankcase frowned. “You are?”

Spinister shrugged. “Sure. Why not? Sounds like it could be fun.”

Misfire threw his hands up before standing up as well. “Ah, to hell with it. I’ll bite. Just to make sure you aren’t bluffing.”

Fulcrum covered his face with his hands. “You’re all idiots.”

Crankcase turned to Flyhigh, giving him a pleading look. “Please don’t take them with us. I really want it to just be the two of us.”

Flyhigh raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were that interested in me.”

“I’m not. I just really, really, really hate these guys.”

Flyhigh continued to stare at him for a moment before shrugging. “Sorry, fellas, but it looks like you’ll have to find some other way to get there. It’s been nice getting to meet you though.”

With that, the gray Seeker and Crankcase made their swift departure, leaving the remaining three Scavengers behind. Fulcrum watched them leave before rising from the bench he had been sitting on.

“Well,” he sighed, “that’s that. Let’s go find Krok, I guess.”

“You know,” Misfire groused, “just for once I’d like us to have an adventure where we don’t get split up. Or one of us doesn’t die.”

Spinister said nothing as he ran after Flyhigh and Crankcase.

Fulcrum and Misfire stood there for a moment, trying to process what their fellow Decepticon had just done. After exchanging a quick glance, they took chase after their crewmate, calling out his name.

*  *  *

“How do you feel?”

“Like a truck ran me over,” Grid groaned, rubbing his head. The red and black Mini-Con racer sat on his designated shelf, which was the closest thing to a room or quarters that Swindle would give him or any of the other Mini-Cons. Across from him on their own shelf was his brother Zapmaster, identical to him in appearance save for the silver replacing his red.

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t win either,” Zapmaster said, dangling his feet over the ledge. “Top Gear overtook me at the last minute.”

“Of course he did,” Grid sighed. “I honestly feel like he enjoys all of this. The racing. The slavery. He’s just basking in it all. That’s just how depraved he is.”

Zapmaster shook his head, scowling with distaste. “We can’t keep on living like this,” he muttered. “We have to find a way out of here.”

“But how? If we so much as even leave this little area, he or one of his mooks will detonate the bombs in our heads. It would be suicidal to even try to escape.”

Zapmaster threw up his hands. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do then. Just keep racing for Swindle’s amusement until we burn out and die?”

“Short of some miraculous even occurring, I don’t see any other—”

Grid was cut off by an explosion rocking the building. The two Mini-Cons slowly turned their head to see that a good chunk of the wall was now missing and standing in its place was another Mini-Con in teal and red with wheels for feet. She rolled through the smoke and debris and looked up at the shelves that Grid and Zapmaster were sitting on. With a wide smile, she waved up at them.

“Hi there! I’m here to rescue you!”

The two brothers stared at her for a long moment, trying to figure out how they should react. Grid then looked over to Zapmaster with wide eyes.

“I don’t know how you did that but that was awesome.”

Ignoring him, Zapmaster looked back down at their savior. “We appreciate the thought, but breaking us out isn’t going to do much. We’ve still got bombs in our heads that Swindle could use to keep us in place.”

“Don’t worry, my friends are already working on that,” the Mini-Con rescuer said. “They should already be disabled by now.”

“Are you sure?”

She hesitated. “Pretty sure.”

The brothers exchanged another glance. Zapmaster then shrugged before jumping down and walking over to join their rescuer.

“Wait,” Grid said. “You’re not actually thinking of—”

“Grid, at this point, anything has to be better than this,” Zapmaster replied. “Even if our heads end up getting blown off, at least we can die knowing we tried for a taste of freedom.”

The red Mini-Con racer sighed as he climbed down from his shelf. “I swear I’m going to regret this….”

“You won’t,” said their rescuer. “My friends have got it all under control.”

Another explosion rocked the building. Grid and Zapmaster glanced at each other again as their rescuer’s face turned pale.

“At least, I thought they did….”

*  *  *

“Okay,” Swindle said as he barged out of his office. “Would someone mind telling me what the hell is going on?”

“There seems to be a breakout at the Mini-Con barracks,” said Headlock, furiously tapping on the screen of his datapad. “No idea who or what caused it.”

“What about the second explosion? That sounded like it came from outside.”

“Gutcruncher’s already checking on it. I’m sending all of our security to the barracks to stop the Mini-Cons from getting out.”

Cursing to himself, Swindle stormed back into his office and reached into his desk for a small cylindrical device with a button on top. “Looks like I’m gonna have to start blowing up heads if things don’t get under control.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Swindle let out a startled yelp as he dropped the device. Standing in the doorway to his office was a large winged bot with dark gray and purple armor plating, a red crest adorning her helmet. She leaned against the door frame, arms folded over her chest.

“Spacewarp!” Swindle exclaimed, putting on a phony smile. “Hey, wow, long time no see! What brings you to Hedonia?”

“Busting your illicit practices,” Spacewarp replied casually, as if they were discussing the weather.

“Oh really now? Did they promote you to Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord? I heard that Ultra Magnus is dead, so obviously someone needed to take up the position.”

“Please. I’m above that kind of stuff. I’m only concerned with certain practices that really grind my gears… such as selling your own kind into slavery.”

Swindle cleared his vocal processor. “Err, last time I checked, I’m not a Mini-Con, so I’m not sure what you’re—”

“They’re still Cybertronian!” Spacewarp snapped. She slammed her fist into the door frame, hard enough to leave a dent in it. “It doesn’t matter if they’re smaller than us! They’re still made out of the same senito metallico as you and me!”

“Well, my experts tell me that Prion-born Mini-Cons are made out of a slightly different….” 

Swindle trailed off as Spacewarp stormed up to his, looming over the Combaticon as the glow of her optics intensified. 

“I’m… not helping my case, am I?” he said weakly.

“Not in the least,” she growled. She drew her gun and Swindle immediately raised his arms in defense, not that it would do any good.

She fired the gun and destroyed the device that Swindle had dropped. It took him a moment to realize that he was still alive and he slowly lowered his arms.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Spacewarp said, still glaring at him. “That could have easily been you.”

“If that’s you in a good mood, I don’t want to see you in a bad one,” Swindle muttered. “Look, just… just take your Mini-Cons and go, okay? I— I don’t want any trouble.”

“Then don’t give me a reason to give you any.”

With that, Spacewarp turned and strode out of the room. As soon as she was gone, Swindle slumped into his office chair and exhaled, increasing his inner fans to cool his overheating systems.

All he could do now was hope that his contact for the Sigma operation would hold up their end of the deal that they had just made. Because after all this, he was definitely going to need that reward….

*  *  *

Spacewarp stepped out of the Trick Diamond, followed closely by Nickel and the freed Mini-Cons, to find a crowd gathered outside. Right away, she started running a dozen different scenarios in which Krok and his losers could have done something to warrant this kind of attention. However, when she spotted Krok, Misfire, and Fulcrum standing among the gathered pedestrians, she allowed herself to relax and walked over to join him.

“There you are,” she said. “I’m done with what I came here to do, so whenever you’re ready—”

“They’re gone,” Krok said.

Spacewarp blinked. “Come again?”

“Crankcase, Fulcrum, Misfire, and Spinister. They’re all gone.”

“You should have seen it!” said a large Urtuskian in the crowd. “They were, like, all yelling at each other and then this gray robot did a thing and BOOM! Just like that.”

“Was that what that other explosion I heard was?” Spacewarp asked, looking at the small crater that she just now realized was what the crowd was gathered around.

“Yup,” said the green Decepticon known as Gutcruncher. “What a way to go.”

Spacewarp looked over to Krok, noting the solemn look on his faceplate. “I’m, uh… I’m sorry for your loss,” she muttered. “To be honest, I never really liked them and I’m glad they’re dead. But I know they were your boys, so—”

“They’re not dead!”

Everyone turned to see a silver robot running up to them, a trail of smoke following in his wake. He skidded to a stop and bent down to his knees, panting as he tried to cool his systems.

Spacewarp glanced at Krok. “Friend of yours?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he replied.

“They’re not dead,” the mysterious robot repeated. “My name is Gigawatt. I’m from the future. And I need your help to stop the Crossover from happening.”

“Oh my freaking god,” was all Krok could say.

Transformers Regenerated: Scavengers II, Chapter One [NON-CANON]

 CHAPTER ONE

The Alchemor, docked on Hedonia

“How do I look? Be honest.”

“Let me put it this way,” Krok said as he assessed Crankcase’s current appearance. “If you were a mirror, and I was staring at my own reflection, I would punch you and shatter you into a million pieces.”

“It’s the helmet, isn’t it?” Crankcase replied, readjusting the large tin bucket he had over his head. “It clashes with my color scheme.”

“Yes. That’s exactly what the problem is and not the fact that wearing it makes you look like a complete idiot.”

“Maybe I’m overthinking this too much,” Crankcase said, pulling the bucket off of his head. “I just want to make myself look presentable, you know? Make a good first impression.”

“You know, out of everyone on the crew, you’re the last person I’d expect to be concerned about how they presented themselves on a date,” remarked Fulcrum, leaning against a nearby wall. “Even Spinister I can see making some sort of fuss. But you? You’re like the Poster Bot of anti-social people everywhere.”

“For the last time, it’s not a date!” Crankcase snapped. “It’s just a meet-up, that’s all. Besides, you guys will be with me. It would be a pretty awkward date if you were all there for that.”

“And since when did Crankcase of Scowlex become the expert on dating and romance?” Krok quipped. “Fulcrum has a point, though; you’ve always had an aversion to interacting with people, whether its us or people we meet along the way. What is it about this ‘CONS4EVA’ guy that’s got you coming out of your shell?”

“He just seems like an interesting bot,” Crankcase replied. “We’ve been talking on the Big Conversation network for some time now and… I dunno. We just sorta click.”

“Is this the same CONS4EVA guy who got the Big Conversation shut down for a bit just before all that Thunderwing stuff went down?” Fulcrum asked.

“Nah, he told me his account got hacked.”

“And you believe him?” Krok asked.

“…Yeah? Why wouldn’t I?”

“I mean, I’m working under the presumption that this CONS4EVA individual is a Decepticon as well. And, well, deception is kind of in our name.”

“Okay, fair point,” Crankcase grumbled. “I still don’t see why he would lie to me about that, though. Pretty sure a lot of people’s accounts got hacked during that time.”

“Do you know what his real name is?” Fulcrum asked.

Crankcase gave him a confused look. “Um… CONS4EVA?”

“Ha. But, no, seriously, what’s his real name?”

“I just said it, didn’t I?”

“You don’t really believe that CONS4EVA is his real name, do you? I mean, come on, who calls themselves CONS4EVA?”

“You realize that the more you call them that, the further it legitimatizes it as a name, right?” Krok said to him pointedly.

Fulcrum held up his hands. “I’m just saying: Crankcase, Fulcrum, Krok, Misfire, CONS4EVA. One of these things is not like the other.”

“Speaking of Misfire, where even is he?” Crankcase asked. “I honestly expected him to be here mocking me instead of you two dipsticks.”

“He and Spinister are scouting out the area,” Krok explained. “Making sure the establishments here are Cybertronian-friendly.”

“We could use our holomatter avatars!” Fulcrum suggested.

“And risk another Magisteria incident? I don’t think so.”

Crankcase sighed as he set the bucket down. “You know what? I think I’m just gonna go as myself. No point in pretending to be something I’m not.”

“That’s the spirit,” Krok said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Besides, this is just a ‘meet-up,’ right? Not a ‘date,’ romantic or otherwise, right?”

“I can hear the finger quotes in your voice.”

“Did he say where he was going to meet you at?” asked Fulcrum.

“He said he would be hanging around a place called the Trick Diamond,” Crankcase replied. “Sounds like some kind of casino.”

“I’ll radio Misfire and Spinister and ask them to scout the area,” Krok said. “Hopefully they haven’t gotten into any trouble in the meantime.”

Fulcrum sighed. “Knowing them? I’d say it’s a given.”

*  *  *

“You really think we might find other Mini-Cons here?”

“When it comes to Hedonia? Anything is possible,” Spacewarp said as she pressed a few commands into the Alchemor’s primary console, bringing up numerous holographic displays that Nickel could barely wrap her brain module around. “Don’t let its outwardly peaceful and harmonious nature fool you; planets like this one are always hiding a dark secret.”

“She’s right,” said Spacewarp’s Mini-Con companion Foldspace, standing next to where Spacewarp was sitting. “The people of Hedonia are actually some of the best-connected arms traders in the galaxy.”

“Really?” Nickel’s optics widened for a moment before narrowing. “You’re kidding me, aren’t you?”

Foldspace shook his head. “Look it up, if you want. A lot of planets that seem nice always hold a dark secret: Lovetopia, Cuddlex—”

“Okay, now I know you’re joking. I bet those aren’t even real planets.”

“Pipe down, both of you,” Spacewarp said. “Foldspace, I need you to look at these readings.”

The gray and purple Mini-Con hopped up onto the console and crouched down, adjusting his optical sensors to get a better look at the text and other technical nonsense displayed on one of the screens. Nickel wished she could have understood such things better, but her job had always been a medic; both on Prion and with the Decepticons. She had never really had a chance to expand her talents or to explore different kinds of skills, and she had always been too nervous or afraid to ask for such an opportunity.

“Well?” Spacewarp said after a moment. “What do you think?”

“Those are definitely spark signatures,” Foldspace replied. “Lots of them, too.”

Spacewarp huffed impatiently. “But are they Mini-Con spark signatures?”

“Some of them are; others seem to be standard Cybertronian signatures. Maybe even a few Camiens as well.”

“They appear to be concentrated in this particular hot spot,” Spacewarp observed. “Looks like there’s some sort of establishment there. The Trick Diamond, I think it says? Must be new; I don’t remember seeing a place with that name the last time I visited here.”

“If they’re here on Hedonia, then maybe they’re not in any peril,” Nickel said hopefully. “Maybe they were able to escape from whomever Demus sold them to.”

“Weren’t you listening earlier?” Foldspace snapped at her. “Hedonia isn't all ‘hearts-and-rainbows’ like it makes itself out to be. Besides, the galaxy overall tends to take a more lenient stance on machine trafficking than it does organic trafficking.”

Nickel frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“This conversation can wait,” Spacewarp said, rising from her seat. “Let’s meet with Krok and the others and head out.”

Foldspace jumped down from the console and transformed into his lunar rover alternate form, attaching himself to the larger Decepticon’s arm. Nickel waited a moment before following them, the other Mini-Con’s words still ringing in her head.

*  *  *

“And just what exactly are you supposed to be?”

“Er, we are the Masked Riders,” said the red-armored humanoid who was supposed to be Misfire.  “We come from the planet Edenoi. We are here to participate in your… whatever this is.”

The green, pointy-eared woman standing in front of the two armored strangers narrowed her eyes skeptically. “Edenoi? Wasn’t that planet destroyed by the Troobian Empire?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Where did you hear that?”

The woman sighed, rolling her eyes. “Whatever. I just need to see some form of identification.”

Spinister stepped up, his holomatter avatar wearing armor similar to Misfire’s only in purple and magenta, and waved a hand in front of the woman’s face. “You don’t need to see our identification.”

“I do,” the woman said curtly.

“What do you even need it for?” Misfire gestured to the casino which laid beyond the green woman standing in their way. “Isn’t this one of those ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ kind of places? ‘What happens on Hedonia, stays on Hedonia?’”

“You still need to be at least twenty-one years of Standard Intergalactic Age in order to enter,” she replied. “Two hundred and one if you’re from Liaria.”

“All right, fine.” Misfire reached into a pouch on his belt and produced two identification cards, holding them up to the woman. He didn’t hand them to her because they would have phased right through her hand and their cover would have been blown.

Thankfully, the woman did not try to grab the cards and, after a cursory scan, stepped aside from the door. She put on a phony smile that was all pointy teeth as she beckoned for them to enter the casino.

“Enjoy yourselves.”

“Oh, we will, ma’am,” Misfire said as he and Spinister proceeded to walk into the Trick Diamond.

The casino was bustling with activity, packed with beings of various alien races from all over the galaxy. To one side, some Nebulans were crowded around a slot machine, watching pictures of food and numbers spin around. To another, an assortment of different aliens sat at a table while holding cards, looking at one another as if they were hiding something. Misfire failed to see the appeal of such a pastime, but it wasn’t really any of his business anyway.

“Let me know if you see any giant robots,” he said quietly to Spinister. “Then we’ll know this is a safe place to—”

“Found some,” Spinister said.

Misfire stopped in his tracks and turned to see a room adjacent to the one they were that opened up into a larger chamber with a ceiling high enough to fit even the largest type of standard Cybertronians. Other races that matched them in size, both mechanical and otherwise, were also present, such as Catharsians and Stentarians. Many of them seemed to be gathered around a large table, watching as small vehicles raced around on a set of tracks.

“Well,” Misfire said, placing his hands on his hips. “Looks like this is the place to be. I’ll radio Krok and tell him and the others to meet us here.”

“Say….” Spinister raised an arm and pointed to a short gold and black bot. They were standing in some sort of balcony that oversaw the game table beneath them. “Doesn’t that bot look familiar to you?”

“I’m sure we’ll see plenty of familiar faces here; we’re among our own kind after all.” Misfire turned to leave. “Let’s just hope we don’t run into anyone who hates our circuits or anything.”

“Yeah,” Spinister muttered, staring at the gold bot for another moment before following his fellow Scavenger. “That sure would suck.”

*  *  *

“And it looks like Racer Number 57 is out of the race!” Swindle exclaimed as the miniature red and black drag racer crashed into a wall, allowing the other mini-cars to zip past it. “Better luck next time!”

As the rowdy spectators cheered on, with some begrudgingly handing over whatever money they had bet on the red racer to their gambling compatriots, Swindle turned away from the scene and grinned at the black and yellow femme leaning on the balcony next to him.

“Looks like business is doing great!” he said to the Camien Decepticon. “I told you that shipment from the Vestial Imperium would prove profitable.”

Trickdiamond looked back at him and smiled. “So it has. I apologize for ever doubting you, Swindle.”

“Ah, don’t sweat it,” Swindle said, despite the fact that they were both robots and therefore incapable of excreting such foul-smelling moisture. He just knew it was a thing organics liked to say and had picked up on saying it in his transactions with them. It helped build a sense of understanding and cordiality, making it easier to scam them out of their hard-earned currency.

Not that he would ever admit to that aloud.

Returning his attention to the race down below, Swindle watched as the remaining five cars continued to speed their way around the track, entering the final lap of the race. In the lead was a silver and black race car of similar design to the red one that had crashed. As he didn’t have much stake in the races themselves, caring only for what money people spent to watch them and gamble on, Swindle didn’t really care which one of the racers won. At the end of the day, the only real winner was going to be himself.

“Hey, boss,” a raspy voice said from behind him. Swindle looked over to see a small, primate-like and rust-colored Decepticon standing behind him. “Call for you on line 86.”

“Ah, thank you, Headlock.” Swindle turned back to Trickdiamond. “Can you handle things for me here?”

“Of course,” she purred back to him.

Swindle beamed at her before taking his leave. He had to admit, this crew of his that he had assembled since the end of the war was probably the best crew he had ever worked with. With the Combaticons, Swindle had never felt like he truly belonged with them or that any of them trusted him. Granted, they probably had very good reasons for not trusting someone with the name ‘Swindle,’ but it was disheartening nonetheless. Here at the Trick Diamond however, he felt like he was more among his own kind — or at least somewhat adjacent to it. Trickdiamond was the proprietor of a casino, which was ripe grounds for his kind of operations; Gutcruncher had experience working on the black market and knew certain clients and clientele that even Swindle was unfamiliar with; and Headlock had his own way of persuading people with things that interest them, which was how he had gotten himself arrested by the legendary Ultra Magnus himself once long ago. 

These bots — these fellow Decepticons — knew how to speak Swindle’s language. The only downside was that he would have to try extra hard to con them once he was done with his businesses here on Hedonia, as they already knew all of the old tricks in the book. Then again, there was nothing wrong with facing a little challenge in life once in a while; so long as he ended up on top, of course.

Upon reaching his office, which was conveniently located near the back of the building just in case he needed to make a ‘hasty departure,’ Swindle switched on the transceiver and situated himself at his desk as the holoprojector hummed to life and displayed a tiny holographic image of the individual calling him.

“Thank you for calling the Trick Diamond. Swindle of Kaon, speaking. How may I help you?”

“Swindle of Kaon.” The voice of the caller was distorted, as was their tiny holographic image. “I require your services once more.”

Despite the distortions in both audio and visual, Swindle knew right away whom it was he was speaking with. Sobering his tone, the former Combaticon said, “Of course. What is it you need?” 

“Are you aware of a device known as the Transwarp Blaster?”

This question gave Swindle paused and he took a moment to consider it. He was familiar with plenty of devices that had “Transwarp” in their name — not all of them genuine — but wasn’t sure if he knew one that was known specifically as a “Transwarp Blaster.”

“Not sure if I can say I’m aware of it,” he finally said, choosing to take the “politician route” in his response. “But I can make myself aware of it. What do you need it for?”

“My reasons for needing it are mine, and mine alone. What I can tell you is where I’ve heard it to be located: The seventh orbit of the Sigma system.”

“Sigma Seven?” Now that rang a bell in Swindle’s processor, though he did not tell his contact this. “That should be easy enough to arrange. The Sigma system isn’t too far from here. I will send my bots there as soon as I get the chance. While you’re here though, I have to ask — simply for the sake of business — what your price is for this ‘Transwarp Blaster?’”

“Are you sitting down?”

“Uh….” Swindle shifted in his seat. “Yeah?”

His contact gave him their price.

Minutes after the call had ended, Gutcruncher would later find Swindle laying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling with the biggest and stupidest grin on his face.

Transformers Regenerated: Scavengers II, Prologue [NON-CANON]

 PROLOGUE

100 years ago (Micron, Cycle 9715)

The walls shook as the world died outside. One did not need to look at the viewscreens displaying the numerous Consortia attack ships bombarding the planet when one could feel the world tremble and moan at their feet. While Sparkplug had never lived through an apocalypse before, he had the instinct that this was exactly what one felt like.

The yellow-plated Mini-Con ran down the corridors of the Micron Pavilion, struggling to keep his balance each time the ground shook violently. After taking more than a few tumbles, he finally reached the doors leading into the Great Hall, where a trio of heavily armored Mini-Cons stood guard.

“Crumplezone!” Sparkplug said to the lead guard, a wide and broad-shouldered Mini-Con in dark blue. “I need to see Leader-1, immediately!”

“No can do, Sparkplug,” Crumplezone replied, crossing his arms. “He and the Council are in an emergency session and not seeing any guests.”

“Tell them its urgent! Tell them that the world is dying around them!”

“Pretty sure they already know that,” said Cannon, a maroon and green Mini-Con with a similar body-type. “It’s almost as if that’s they reason they’re having an emergency session.”

Sparkplug scowled as he rolled his hands into fists. “I need to see them. Now.”

The ground shook again and he lost his balance once more, landing on his rear end. Crumplezone and his two companions remained standing, looming over Sparkplug as he scrambled to get back on his feet.

“You’re wasting your time, Sparkplug,” the lead guard said. “Not to mention ours. I suggest you leave and enjoy life while you still can.”

“That’s what I’m trying to get at!” Sparkplug snapped. “People are dying out there and Leader-1 isn’t doing anything about it! What’s there for him and the Council to even discuss? Just mobilize the defenses and blast these invaders to kingdom come!”

Crumplezone said nothing, nor did either of the other two. Gritting his teeth, Sparkplug gathered his bearings and was about to get physical — regardless of how poorly it would end for him — when the doors to the Great Hall suddenly slid open behind the guards. Storming out was a tall Mini-Con in gray and blue plating, his face masked by a yellow visor and blue mouthplate.

“Leader-1!” Sparkplug exclaimed, flailing his arm to get the colony leader’s attention. “I need to speak with you!”

Leader-1 did not acknowledge him as he walked past both him and the three guards. Trailing behind him were the other members of the Council, all wearing varying expressions of concern and confusion.

“Leader-1, I must protest this decision!” said Councilor Anti-Blaze. “Even if what you’re proposing succeeds, it would have catastrophic consequences and—”

“The meeting is over, Anti-Blaze,” Leader-1 snapped. “You’ve all had your chance to speak. My mind has already been made; this decision is final.”

Anti-Blaze opened his mouth to protest further only to be pushed aside by Sparkplug as the yellow Mini-Con rushed to catch up with his leader.

“Leader-1, I must speak with you! People are dying by the thousands and the invaders—!”

“Do you think I don’t know that, Sparkplug?!” Leader-1 retorted, whirling on the smaller Mini-Con. “You’d have to be living under a rock to not realize—”

“You didn’t let me finish!” Sparkplug said. “The invaders are taking prisoners! They’re abducting as many Mini-Cons as they are killing!”

At this news, Leader-1 stopped dead in his tracks. The other councilors stopped as well, though unlike Leader-1, did not keep quiet about it.

“What?” said Councilor Scythe. “Why would they be doing that?”

Sparkplug shook his head. “I don’t know, but we can’t stand by and do nothing! We have to do something to stop them!”

“There’s nothing that can be done,” Leader-1 said quietly.

“What are you talking about?” Sparkplug asked. “We have defenses, don’t we? Use them!”

“It’s too late. Our fates have already been decided.”

“What are you talking about?” questioned Anti-Blaze. “Did you know this was going to happen?”

Before Leader-1 had a chance to answer, the ground shook again and everyone was thrown off their feet. As Sparkplug’s face collided with the floor, he heard the deafening sound of metal being ripped apart and rolled around to see the ceiling being torn asunder, giving him a full view of the monstrous starship hovering directly above the Pavilion. Centered in the vessel’s underside was a glowing light which intensified just as Sparkplug started to feel himself being pulled up by an invisible force.

As he, Leader-1, Crumplezone and his guards, and the members of the Mini-Con Council were pulled up towards the ship, all Sparkplug could do was gawk in terror as the cries of his friends dying and suffering filled his audio sensors.

Monacus, present day (100 years later)

Lord Gyconi, self-proclaimed ruler of the planet Monacus, let out a satisfied belch that carried the force equal to that of a small earthquake as he leaned back in his chair. His reptilian servant, Slizardo, suffered the brunt of this gassy assault and fell backwards onto his rear end, letting out a startled squawk as he hit the floor.

Paying no heed to his toady’s hardships, Gyconi wiped off the residue of his meal from his mouth before pressing a pudgy green finger down on his desk’s built-in comm, eager to get back to business. “Bosch!” he rumbled. “Any other visitors today?”

“Err, yes, milord,” replied his sleazy lieutenant. “Someone by the name of ‘Death’s Head’ is here for one of your job offerings.”

At this, Gyconi’s face lit up, his beady eyes widening as far as his lids would permit. “Ah! Death’s Head, you say? Let him in, let him in!”

Less than a minute later, the door to his office opened and a large metallic figure stepped in. Blue and gold armor covered a silver body that had the physique of some of the galaxy’s greatest gladiatorial warriors. Red horns protruded from a chrome-coated dome while a yellow light emitted from a grill-like facial feature that served as the visitor’s mouth. Crimson eyes glowed balefully at Gyconi as the warrior strode over to him and roughly took the seat opposite of the crime lord.

Gyconi’s wide mouth curved into a smile as he interlaced his hands over his rotund belly. “Death’s Head,” he greeted the warrior warmly. “It is an honor to finally meet you in person. Your reputation across the galaxy precedes you.”

“Hnn. I bet it does.” Death’s Head narrowed his eyes, as if studying the crime lord. “I’m here for your highest paying job,” he finally said after a pause.

Gyconi chuckled. “Ah, I would expect no less from someone like you. You’re not one to take small jobs, are you?”

When Death’s Head did not respond, Gyconi cleared his throat before reaching under his desk. His hand reemerged with a puck-shaped device which he slid across the table. The press of a button caused the holographic image of a horrifying creature to materialize.

Death’s Head’s eyes once again narrowed as he scrutinized the tiny image. “That’s not what I think it is, is it?” he asked.

“It is,” Gyconi affirmed.

The bounty hunter affixed his gaze back on the crime lord. “Dire Wraiths aren’t easy to capture, yes? Slippery little devils — planetary governments have collapsed because of their evil-doings, eh?”

“Indeed,” Gyconi nodded. “Which is why you are the first bounty hunter I’ve ever offered this job too—”

“Please.” Death’s Head raised a hand. “I prefer the term ‘Freelance Peacekeeping Agent.’ Much more formal and proper sounding, yes?”

Gyconi shrugged. “Suit yourself. My point still stands though; I would not trust this sort of job with any of my regular clients. If you are truly as great as the stories say, then I have full faith that you will be able to complete this job efficiently and effortlessly.” He paused to raise an eyebrow at the bounty hunter. “That is, if you are up for it.”

Death’s Head snorted. “Depends on what your price is.”

“Ten trillion credits.”

At this, all pretense of a tough attitude momentarily vanished as Death’s Head’s eyes widened in shock. “Ten trillion…? Do you even have that kind of money?”

“It makes up less than a tenth of my overall net worth,” Gyconi said wryly.

Death’s Head shook his head, though his look of bewilderment remained. “This guy must have pissed you off royally in the past, yes?”

Gyconi chuckled. “That would be an understatement. Let’s just say the two of us have a… tenuous past.”

“Not really my business, eh?” Death’s Head said with a shrug. He took the puck as he rose from his chair. “Any idea where I can find them?”

“Ah, now that’s the billion credit question,” Gyconi chortled. “It’s not so much a matter of where… so much as when.”

SCAVENGERS TWO

or, "The Crossover Nobody Asked For"

    Set between The Prime Wars XVII and Pax Cybertronia I. Also serves as a prelude to Beyond Imagination.

Transformers Regenerated: Tarnished - Part 6

TALES OF THE DISAPPEARED:

 TARNISHED, PART SIX

Cycle 9564, Grindcore

Everything was falling apart, just as planned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. Now get to it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*  *  *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You may not, Shockwave.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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