A short introduction by the author: Let me start by saying I hated the Japanese Headmasters series. It was full of mistakes and generally paled in comparison to the original Transformers cartoon. Masterforce and Victory were not so bad, I suppose, and the Japanese Beast Wars animes were good, but so far our Asian cousins have not done a very good job with the franchise. Battlefront is my own continuation that starts two years after The Rebirth left off, resurrecting old 'Bots and 'Cons and introducing a host of new ones too. There will be elements from the Japanese sequels, as well as the US and UK comics and even from the 2007 movie. Anyway, that's all I have to say. Please enjoy.
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Dedicated to Serenity. She’s always there for me when I need her.
Raveworks Fiction presents…
TRANSFORMERS: BATTLEFRONT
Episode 1 (Transformers episode 99): Robots in Disguise
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Opening theme: Michihiro Kuroda – Futatsui no Mirai ~ Two Futures (Rockman.EXE Axess)
***
The year is 2009AD.
It has been 25 years since the war came.
It has been 4,000,025 years since they arrived.
As for how many years it’s been since the war truly began…Primus knows.
It’s amazing, isn’t it? I’m picking up their phrases. Can’t blame me, I was just fourteen when I first met Optimus Prime and his Autobots, after they saved that oil rig we worked on. I’m thirty-nine now, and I still feel like a kid. Every day brings the possibility of a new battle, a new adventure. Of course, the last battle with the Decepticons was two years ago, during the whole Nebulos incident. Since then, it’s been pretty peaceful between the worlds. Alliances have been built, and there are Earthlings, Transformers and Nebulans living on other planets, calling them home.
My son Daniel is sixteen now. We have another child now. A beautiful girl, Wendy. She’s five now, and she’s a pretty sharp kid. Took to the Autobots like a house on fire. They’ll both do well. You’d be proud of them, you know that?
I have to go for now, but it was good to talk to you. I’ll come back soon.
***
Spike Witwicky walked back towards the awaiting dark blue Chevrolet Camaro. It was not quite the same as riding inside Goldbug, his faithful companion from his youth, but it sufficed. He turned on the ignition and twisted the dial on the stereo. Eventually, he settled on a celebration of the 1980s and tapped his fingers on the dashboard in time with A-ha.
We’re talking anyway
I don’t know what
To say, I’ll say it anyway
Today’s another day to find you
Shying away
I’ll be coming for your love, okay?
Spike sighed and drove away from the Restful Hill Cemetery, where Seamus ‘Sparkplug’ Witwicky lay sleeping forever. He had died for a good cause, fighting for galactic peace against an unbridled army bent on utter conquest of life, the universe and existence. The word drilled into his mind forever made him grip the steering wheel so hard he almost left grooves in the leather. Decepticons. Always those damn Decepticons…and Megatron. Megatron was always there, always laughing, with that horrible, scowling skull of a face. Even in death Spike hated him for all he had done. He checked his watch. Almost time to pick up Daniel from school, and then he had to prepare some paperwork to present to the White House the next day.
***
Daniel Witwicky watched from the school gates as his father pulled up in the Camaro. He idly thumbed the Autobot crest on his shirt as he climbed into the passenger seat. Spike wanted to ask if it had been a good day at school, but he immediately noticed the dirt all over his son’s face and arms. So instead of asking, “Did you have a good day at school, champ?” he asked, “What the hell happened to you?”
“Nothin’,” Daniel grunted.
“Danny, don’t pull that with me,” Spike frowned. “Did you get into a fight or what?”
“Yeah, Dad,” Daniel sighed, looking away and winding the window down. Spike rubbed his temples with his fingertips and glanced at his son. Daniel was no longer the little kid who was always turning to others for help, always fearing for the safety of others. However, this whole Goth culture thing didn’t sit well with him either. Daniel’s hair, once a chestnut brown like his own, had been dyed cranberry red, and his excursions to the local hangouts with his friends always meant wearing a lot of black. Daniel Witwicky was growing up, but Spike had to wonder: what into?
“I won’t bug you about it now,” he said, “but you have to tell me about it eventually. I don’t like being left in the dark, Danny, okay?”
“Okay,” Daniel replied after a pause. “Can you change the station, Dad?”
“Uh-huh,” Spike twirled the dial until Daniel nodded. Thankfully, his ears had no problem with The Damned. That was the sort of metal where you could understand what the hell they were saying, rather than being audibly assaulted by blurred roaring. He referred to such an event as ear-raping. Spike suddenly realized he had been sitting completely still for the past couple of minutes, and Daniel was giving him a worried look.
“Um, sorry, champ,” he coughed. “I zoned out. Let’s get home.”
“Actually, Dad,” Daniel interrupted, “could you drop me off at Bailey’s house? We agreed to work on a school science project together.”
“Oh! Yeah, fine,” Spike smiled, but it was an empty smile. “Well, you call me when you want me to pick you up, all right?”
“Okay, Dad,” Daniel gave him a nod. Bailey Cyranno, an Irish-Italian, lived just three blocks away from the Witwicky residence in Washington, D.C. Like Daniel, Bailey was a friend to the Autobots…though not on such a personal level. As a result of the ‘Nebulos Incident,’ Daniel had undergone an operation that allowed him to merge with an Autobot partner at the very core. In his case, Arcee, a female urban defense specialist. Spike had been questioned regarding the morality of allowing two people of opposing genders to be granted the power to merge into one being, and a minor wave of controversy had risen because of it. They had managed to quell that little would-be uprising. The last thing the Autobot cause needed was a dirty-minded reporter trying to create a smear campaign.
As Daniel climbed out of the car and headed towards the Cyranno house, Spike caught a glimpse of the bracelet on his son’s right wrist. A simple gold band with an Autobot sigil emblazoned on it. He had one of his own. They had been created by the science team in Autobot City, allowing the organic beings involved in Project: Master (2007) to communicate directly with their robotic counterparts. This would allow them, in times of need, to teleport their exo-suits directly to them, and would hopefully avoid placing the Transformers in tough situations, as the suits were built from the heads and weapons of certain robots. It was all some crazy scheme to prove the superiority of partnership…and it had been an incredible success. Spike looked at his own bracelet, which he had not used since the Nebulos Incident itself. His partner, Cerebros, was a pacifist, and along with a small cadre of volunteer Autobots, had made their new home on Nebulos to act as guardians. As Daniel vanished into the Cyranno house, he wondered if Autobot teenagers were just as complicated as human ones.
***
“Faster!” Grimlock bellowed, swinging the red blade of his cutlass at a downward angle. His young pupil ducked out of the way with just seconds to spare, landing nimbly on his feet.
“No keep dodging!” Grimlock snarled. The linguistically-challenged commanding officer of the Dinobots was snorting and grunting with frustration. True, Throttle had amazing speed, but speed was not enough. “Must block, too!”
Throttle was a mere boy, but he was not the first kid Grimlock had fought alongside. You could not just forget about Hot Rod, or Wheelie, or even Bumblebee (who had since been reconstructed as Goldbug). The problem with that was…those guys weren’t total loners. Throttle had friends, but he was hardly extroverted, not a loveable troublemaker, not even a regular one! It made Grimlock’s skin crawl to think that this particular boy just kept himself to himself, all down to one small but significant fact.
Optimus Prime was his father.
Grimlock lunged again, and this time Throttle raised his own sword in an attempt to counter the move. Instead, he lost his nerve at the last second and prepared to dart aside, but the scarlet blade caught his shoulder. Throttle grunted and fell to his knees, holding his wound. Grimlock sighed and sheathed his sword.
“Enough for today,” he said. “You go home and rest now. Same time tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir…” Throttle said in that whispery, hoarse voice that made his teacher so uncomfortable. He placed the training sword in its holding on the wall and left the room. The Dinobot leader sat down on a bench and looked out across his gymnasium. He envied Prime, his old rival for leadership of the Autobots, for having a son with so much hidden potential. He, Grimlock, could not build such a perfect heir, and watch as the glorious power of the life-giving Allspark granted it the beautiful blue light of existence. He hated envying Optimus for what he had, but not for how the boy turned out. Throttle was…
The alerting warble of the video screen behind him snapped him out of his reverie. Grimlock turned and gingerly pressed the ‘ACCEPT’ button, and the screen was filled with the face of Ultra Magnus, city commander.
“What you want, Magnus? Me no have time for chit-chat,” he said sternly.
“As approachable as ever, I see,” Ultra Magnus replied curtly. “In that case you’ll be happy to know this isn’t a pleasure call. Perceptor would like you to transport a batch of mature sythoplasm from the storehouse on Cybertron to his lab in Autobot City. Jazz and Bumblebee will accompany you. Magnus, out.”
The screen went blank. Grimlock grumbled under his breath and exited the gymnasium, which stood on one of the mountains a few miles south of the city of Nova Cronum. With a mere thought, the soles of his feet slid open and the hidden rocket systems in his feet propelled him towards the city. He was a warrior, so why in the Pit was he being treated like a messenger boy all of a sudden? Didn’t matter. What was the point in being a warrior…when you had nobody to fight?
Sometimes me feel like me redundant, Grimlock thought, suddenly depressed.
***
Magnus watched three Autobots scuttling around the laboratory. He recognized Perceptor, the revered Autobot scientist, and Brainstorm, who created the concept of Project: Master two years previously. However, the third one was new. She had a slender, predominantly blue body, with a white head casing and red antennae. Her Autobot crest was on her forehead.
“Braincase!” Perceptor called to her. “Has the novanium hardened yet?”
The female checked a tank of purple liquid, mottled with silver and blue.
“Affirmative, sir!” she yelled to her superior.
“Excellent,” Perceptor sounded relieved. “Move it to the protoform tanks immediately!” Magnus held his chin between his thumb and index finger. Brainstorm was the excitable one, so it was strange to see the normally level-headed scientist hopping about like his afterburners had imploded.
“Do you mind explaining what this project of yours is all about, Perceptor?” the city commander questioned.
“Really, Magnus, I wish you'd pay attention,” Perceptor sighed. “Organic beings have self-repairing systems, whereas we Transformers can only enter a temporary system repair mode until we can reach a C.R. chamber. By introducing sythoplasm, an organic substitute, with novanium, derived from cybertronium, I believe we can increase the organic properties of our metal bodies, making us more efficient.”
“That's a gamble," Magnus frowned. “We took a big enough risk with Project: Master. This time you might not be so lucky.”
“Please have some faith in the power of science, Magnus,” Perceptor said off-handedly. “The Decepticons have surprised us before, and I'm sure you of all people understand the importance of being prepared.”
“Darn tootin'!” Brainstorm agreed heartily. “Those Decepti-creeps won't steal my ideas a second time if I can help it!” Magnus' eyes dimmed (the robotic equivalent of closing them) and he sighed. He waved the scientists off and said, “Look, just...don't do anything stupid, okay? Grimlock, Jazz and Bumblebee will show up with the materials in a few mega-cycles.”
“Roger that!” Brainstorm raised his right hand, the thumb and index finger together in the 'OK' gesture. As the commander of the Autobots walked towards the door, something small and black took off from a hidden vantage point, flying towards a secret base miles away, in the wastelands of Carbombya.
***
If you were to walk aimlessly across the Carbombyan desert, you would die very soon. That is, if you were human. If, however, you were immune to human ailments, then you would eventually find a metal dome jutting from the sand like a giant cobble-stone, as black as obsidian with a frowning, purple face emblazoned across it. There was nothing quite like a villain who branded everything to do with them with their distinct insignia. A metal buzzard swooped down towards the dome, which opened up before him. The vulture flew in and glided through the dimly lit metal corridors within. The spy known as Laserbeak eventually located his destination, whether through a psionic bond that held him and his cassette brethren in a neat web, or simply by instinct, he tracked down his master in the depths of a huge command room where Decepticons, their morale not yet totally demolished, were going about their business. The Decepticon communications expert, Soundwave, stood together with the military commander Shockwave and the warriors Skullgrin and Bomb-Burst, idly viewing the huge screen in the wall as their satellites searched for their supreme commander, who had disappeared after the final conflict of 2007.
“Laserbeak has returned,” Soundwave said in his emotionless, monotone voice, “Welcome back.” Laserbeak landed on his shoulder, and he patted the buzzard's head. Soundwave's chest cavity opened and Laserbeak's body shifted into the form of a cassette, sliding neatly into place. Soundwave pushed his chest shut and also transformed into the form of a tape deck. The Decepticons gathered around as Soundwave plugged himself up to a computer monitor and played back Laserbeak's findings, as if from the buzzard's point of view. Shockwave held his chin in his hand thoughtfully, watching the information.
“The Autobots are getting crafty,” he mused in a voice with little more personality than the communicator. He turned to Bomb-Burst and gave the order, “Take Skullgrin and Submarauder to the Space Bridge and intercept the sythoplasm shipment. When that is secured, the Insecticons and Terrorcons will attack Autobot City and steal the novanium from their laboratory. We must not allow the Autobots to complete their new experiment when we are already as a disadvantage. Go now.”
“Yes, sir!” Bomb-Burst saluted. He turned to his two subordinates, “Decepticons, let's ride!”
***
At the space port in Nova Cronum, a small materials transport ship was preparing for lift off. Inside, Jazz and Goldbug sat at the controls while Grimlock paced up and down the bridge impatiently.
“We ready for lift off yet?!” he demanded. “Me Grimlock want get this over with!”
“Cool ya jets, man,” said Jazz. “Goldbug, we all ready an' set?”
“Ready an' set, Jazz!” Goldbug replied.
“Then get ready for launch, ever'body!” Jazz called. “5...4...”
“3-2-1!” Grimlock interrupted quickly. “Blast off!”
The ship's rockets roared to life and the vessel exploded into the the atmosphere. Grimlock was thrown off his feet, crashing into the wall. Goldbug laughed under his breath.
“Shoulda worn yer seatbelt, good buddy,” Jazz chuckled. Grimlock groaned and rubbed his head, mumbling obsenities under his breath. For the first few minutes, things were pretty quiet. Jazz and Goldbug expected the trip to go off without a single hitch. Slag that. It was just wishful thinking. The ship rocked violently, struck by an outside attack.
“What happen?!” Grimlock cried.
“Someone set us up the bomb?” Goldbug suggested meekly.
“Can the pop culture, Buggy,” Jazz frowned. “That's my job, okay? I'm picking up three Decepticon energy signatures heading right for us.”
Grimlock pounded his chest happily. “Yeah! Me Grimlock been waiting for this! Me make scrap iron of 'em!” He laughed loudly. Jazz raised his photon rifle and got out of his chair. He looked at Goldbug, “Get ready to take us towards the nearest planet. We can't keep the battle up here in space for too long. Understand?”
“Roger,” Goldbug nodded. Jazz and Grimlock, weapons drawn, prepared for the oncoming sortie. As the white-bodied operations commander reached for the switch to open the door, they were blasted off from outside, and three Decepticon warriors swooped in like bats from the depths. Submarauder planted both feet into Jazz's chest, knocking him onto his back. The Autobot retaliated by spewing a stream of heat from the flamethrower mounted on his shoulder. Submarauder shrieked and backed away, covering his face with his hands. Grimlock transformed into a tyrannosaurus and bit down on Skullgrin's arm.
“Slag this...” Goldbug muttered. He smacked the auto-pilot button on the control console and jumped to his feet, sucking his hand back into his wrist with a metallic ‘whoosh,’ and replacing it with a double-barrelled laser blaster. Bomb-Burst threw himself at the little warrior, but was thrown back by a twin-stream of yellow power. Skullgrin roared and fired a burst from his energy carbine into Grimlock's gut, and the Dinobot commander spun towards the hole in the wall of the ship. Transforming back into his humanoid mode, he gripped the floor, digging his claws into the metal and hooking himself in.
“Go straight to the Pit, Autobot!” Skullgrin snarled, bringing the full weight of his foot down on Grimlock's hand. Grimlock hissed. Between the pain in his hand and the pull of the vacuum outside, he was starting to become frustrated.
“Die, Autobot!” Skullgrin applied more pressure and aimed his gun at the Dinobot’s face. Grimlock’s eyes glowed with fierce intent, and despite the risk of being sucked out into the abyss, he used his free hand to grip Skullgrin’s ankle and crush it to splinters. The Decepticon’s face twisted in agony and he lost his balance, toppling out of the ship. At the last minute, he grabbed its hull with both hands and held on for dear life. Grimlock pulled himself back inside and staggered to his feet, panting and snorting furiously.
Jazz was locked in battle with Submarauder. The Decepticon warrior threw a punch at the Autobot commander, but Jazz was able to dodge it and grab the offending limb, breaking it over his knee.
“Curse you…Autobot…” he hissed.
“I get that a lot,” Jazz remarked, ripping the arm from its socket and smacking his opponent across the head with it. “Now why don’t ya just shut yer mouth, fish-face?”
“Enough!” a voice bellowed. Jazz, Grimlock and Submarauder turned their attention in its direction, and the former pair felt their sparks freeze. There was Bomb-Burst, holding Goldbug’s body in the air triumphantly. The small warrior was badly damaged. Wires were visible and fuel dribbled out of his wounds and pattered on the floor.
“Surrender,” Bomb-Burst demanded, “or I shall rip out this whelp’s spark with my bare hands!”
“D…D…” Goldbug choked. A few droplets of life-sustaining fuel flew out of his face-plate with a horrible hawking noise. He glared at Bomb-Burst and hissed in pain, “S…F…G…SLAG YOU!”
“SILENCE!” Bomb-Burst shook his captive, and then tossed him to the floor, planting his foot on his chest. He turned his attention to Jazz.
“What’ll it be, mission commander?” he teased. “Will you fire on me and risk your comrade’s life, or surrender your cargo to the Decepticon army?”
“Don’t let them having the sythoplasm…gruh…!” Goldbug writhed under Bomb-Burst’s foot. “I’m…I’m expendable Jazz, jus’…jus’ a soldier. You an’ Grimlock…you guys’re important…”
“Shaddap!” Bomb-Burst twisted his foot, breaking through Goldbug’s metal chest and shredding some of his mechanical workings.
Damn it Buggy, Jazz thought, don’t make this harder than it already is. Every Autobot is important…especially you, kid. He felt something drip down his face. Sweat? Had the robots advanced so much they could now sweat? A jolt went through Jazz’s mind, and his optics flashed briefly. He raised his head to meet Bomb-Burst at eye level, and raised his photon rifle.
“You fool…” Bomb-Burst aimed his handgun for Jazz’s hand and at the same time prepared to crush Goldbug underfoot, but using that moment to his advantage, the operations commander released a stream of white hot fire from his flamethrower. Bomb-Burst squawked and toppled backwards. To steady himself, he jammed his trademark battle axe…straight into the control console. The ship’s stability dropped like a stone, and it spiralled down towards the planet it had been programmed to land on, although it seemed the landing would not be nearly as soft as the Autobots had originally hoped.
***
A blue motorcycle with a design not quite of Earth raced down one of Nova Cronum’s elevated motorways towards the city’s central space port, followed closely by a green Land Rover Freelander 1, a white Porsche 912 and a muddy brown Panavia Tornado from the air. Once inside the space port, they shifted into four robots – three males, one female. Their names were Throttle, Ocelot, Sunbeam and Wildeye, four youthful warriors just entering the Autobot ranks.
“Your dad’s going to scrap us, you know that?” Ocelot remarked.
“Do you really want to be stuck up here forever?” Throttle retorted. “Things happen on Earth, nothing happens on Cybertron. Besides…I can chalk it up to a student following his teacher.”
“Whatever you say, Throts,” Ocelot sighed. “Let’s just try not to be seen.”
“Quit your boiler-aching,” Wildeye scorned.
“Duck!” Throttle hissed. The four Autobots hid behind a pile of crates as Goldbug rolled past in Volkswagen mode. That had been too close. Way too close. When they were sure it was safe, the quartet crept closer to the awaiting transport ship. Grimlock appeared to be talking with Jazz about something, and Goldbug was busy getting more of their precious cargo. They transformed back into their vehicle forms and rolled up the ramp to the ship.
“This is too easy,” Wildeye chuckled.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Throttle replied. “We need to find a place to hide.”
“That’s easy,” said Sunbeam. She changed back into her robot form and led her three comrades down a passageway to the hull. “This is a Saetta-class transport runner. These things always have a secret compartment in the walls, in case they’re carrying protoforms.”
“How do you know that?” asked Ocelot.
“Because my dad designed it,” Sunbeam replied. She felt along the wall until her hand met with a loose panel. A smile spread across her gold-plated face and she pressed down on the panel, and a whole section of the wall slid out of the way, revealing an opening.
“Here we go,” she said victoriously and stepped inside. Throttle, Ocelot and Wildfire all transformed and walked in with her. Sunbeam pressed a green button on the wall of the opening and the door slid shut again.
“This could be a long trip,” said Throttle, “so I think it’s best if all four of us go into stasis until we get to Earth.” With that said, all four of them shut down their systems and their eyes went black. They were now, for the moment anyway, lifeless metal husks. Deep inside, their sparks pulsated peacefully. When they were to awaken, their trial by fire would begin.
***
Soundwave looked at Shockwave, relaying the information that had appeared on the huge control room screen.
“Bomb-Burst’s signal has disappeared,” he said. “They may have been destroyed.”
“Where were they headed before they were lost?” Shockwave asked.
“The planet Nebulos,” Soundwave replied. Shockwave’s single hand clenched.
“Blast,” he cursed. “Send a retrieval team immediately. If they cannot salvage our men, they can at least capture the sythoplasm.”
“Roger,” Soundwave nodded. He was about to turn away when the door flew open, and all eyes turned in its direction. A chilling silence passed over them at the tall, sleek creature standing before them, grinning from ear-to-ear.
“Am I…late for the party?” asked Galvatron.
***
Closing theme: H.I.M. – Passion’s Killing Floor (Transformers Movie: 2007)
Transformers: Battlefront
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Episode 2 (Transformers episode 100): Galvatron’s Return
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Opening theme: Michihiro Kuroda – Futatsui no Mirai ~ Two Futures (Rockman.EXE Axess)
***
“Bomb-Burst’s signal has disappeared,” Soundwave said. “They may have been destroyed.”
“Where were they headed before they were lost?” Shockwave asked.
“The planet Nebulos,” Soundwave replied. Shockwave’s single hand clenched.
“Blast,” he cursed. “Send a retrieval team immediately. If they cannot salvage our men, they can at least capture the sythoplasm.”
“Roger,” Soundwave nodded. He was about to turn away when the door flew open, and all eyes turned in its direction. A chilling silence passed over them at the tall, sleek creature standing before them, grinning from ear-to-ear.
“Am I…late for the party?” asked Galvatron.
“L…Lord Galvatron!” Shockwave gasped. “You’re alive! Praise Primus!”
“It’s good to see your loyalty to me has not dwindled in my absence, Shockwave,” Galvatron chuckled. He moved his right foot forward slightly, and Shockwave dropped to his knees, bringing his face close to the curved extremity and making kissing noises, as his lack of a mouth made the deed physically impossible otherwise. Galvatron sneered and strolled past the purple lap-bot.
“Lord Galvatron, where’ve ya been all this time?” asked the human-sized robot called Frenzy.
“In contemplation,” Galvatron replied. “I have used these two past stellar-cycles to do a little spark-searching. We are the losers of this war, made to look like weaklings against our Autobot enemies, but I say…NO MORE! You can all wallow in your self-pity, acting only to pathetically pursue the Autobots in their little side-quests, or…you can follow me into battle once more!”
“What’s your plan, Galvatron?” a sceptical Decepticon demanded.
“I know of this discrepancy with Bomb-Burst’s regiment,” the Decepticon leader responded, “and I will lead a squadron to Nebulos. We will tear apart the Autobots there, and enslave any survivors. Decepticons…FOREVER!”
“LONG LIVE GALVATRON!” his loyal followers chorused.
***
Optimus Prime paced the floor of the laboratory in Autobot City, his hands clasped behind his back. With him were Ultra Magnus and the three scientist robots.
“This is getting very worrying,” Magnus mumbled. “Grimlock, Jazz and Goldbug aren’t answering their communicators.”
“We’ve tried all the frequencies, Optimus Prime,” added Perceptor, “but I’m afraid we’re having no luck. We’re certain it’s not a jamming signal that’s to blame, they’re just not answering our calls.” Prime dimmed his eyes in thought, then relit them and turned his gaze to Brainstorm.
“Brainstorm, send a message to your team-mates on Nebulos,” he ordered.
“You think that’s where they are?” asked a voice from Brainstorm’s head, but was not actually his.
“It’s a possibility, Arcana,” Prime nodded.
“I’m right on it, Optimus Prime,” Brainstorm turned towards a computer console and pressed a few buttons.
“Earth calling Nebulos,” he spoke into the audio receiver. “Come in, Nebulos.”
The screen faded with a ‘boop’ to show the faces of two more Autobot warriors on Nebulos: the orange and silver visage of Headmaster Chromedome and the jet black countenance of Targetmaster Crosshairs.
“Nebulos receiving,” said Chromedome. “Go ahead, Brainstorm.”
“An Autobot ship bound for Earth has disappeared,” said Brainstorm, “and Prime thinks it might be on Nebulos. Can you and the Masters up there investigate?”
“Will do,” Crosshairs acknowledged. “We’ll report back if we find anything.”
“All right, Earth out,” Brainstorm shut off the channel.
“Now all we have to do…is wait and hope,” Prime sighed.
***
Nebulos was a planetoid nestled halfway around the sun from Earth, and was a tropical planet, recovering from its once dying state caused by the tyrannical rule of the Hive. These eleven dictators had since disappeared into deep space after the 2007 conflict, and with the Autobot Masters protecting them, the people of Nebulos were beginning to rebuild their utopian society. Two Nebulan brothers were walking down a dirt road outside the city of Fortress Maximus. The older brother was a tall athlete called Lug, and the younger was a bookish little fellow called Quig.
“See? I told you it was a good idea, bruv,” Lug smiled pleasantly. “You needed some time out of that library, you’re pale like a ghost. A little U.V. will do you a world of good.”
“If…if you say so, Lug,” Quig replied under his breath. He came to a stop and looked across the horizon. “Lug, do you see that?”
“I see it,” Lug nodded. “Let’s check it out.” He ran off across the landscape immediately, heading into the distance in mere seconds. Quig stumbled after him, nowhere near as athletic.
“Lug!” he panted. “W…wait for me!” The both of them had seen smoke rising up from behind a hill, and there was the smell of rocket fuel in the air. This was no fire. Something had crashed, and it looked like the authorities hadn’t noticed yet. By the time they reached the top of the hill, Quig was crawling on all fours, his lime green skin now red as he raked air into his lungs.
“Damn you for being so fast,” he choked. “…Lug?” His brother was paying him no heed, but instead was staring at the wreckage in the field before them. Amongst the flames, they saw the red insignia of the Autobots.
“It’s an Autobot ship!” Lug exclaimed. “Quig! We have to get back to Fort Max and warn Cerebros!”
“Look!” Quig pointed up at the sky as something else came towards them. This ship was dark, in contrast with the bright colouring of the Autobot craft, and the violet symbol of the Decepticons stood out proudly on its nose.
“Oh. Crap,” said Lug. “Run for it!” He grabbed Quig by the shoulder and raced back to Fortress Maximus.
The Decepticon ship extended its landing gear and planted itself on the Nebulan soil. A door opened in the bottom and a ramp extended, and Galvatron emerged, with eleven others trailing behind him: Weirdwolf, Mindwipe, Skullcruncher, Bludgeon, Slugslinger, Triggerhappy and the Combaticons. The Decepticon leader pointed at the wreckage.
“Start searching,” he hissed. “The sooner we find them, the sooner we can leave this disgusting planet.”
“This is horrible,” said a voice from Mindwipe’s head. “Those slaves are…revitalising the planet we worked so hard to mould into our own image.”
“You will be silent,” Mindwipe scowled. “We have other concerns right now.” Inside the head casing, Vorath pouted.
Weirdwolf had already reached the rubble and was dragging Bomb-Burst’s body out of the ruination. Skullcruncher joined him and soon pulled Skullgrin and Submarauder out.
“There are more bodies, Lord Galvatron,” said Skullcruncher. “Autobot ones. Four are in perfect condition!”
“What?!” Galvatron walked over at a brisk pace. “Show me, you slow fool!”
“Here!” Skullcruncher picked up a huge fragment of scrap and tossed it aside. Just as he said, four Autobots, three males and one female, all lay in stasis. Their bodies were in mint condition, no doubt contained so the impact had not harmed them. Galvatron’s slate grey features creased into a hideous, fang-filled grin. Weirdwolf felt a chill run up his spine. Since when had the Decepticon leader possessed fangs? Nasty ones, at that.
“These are children,” he tittered. “Carry them into the ship and clap them in irons. We’ll throw them in with the rest of the slaves.”
“As you command, Lord Galvatron,” Weirdwolf acknowledged. He picked up two of the bodies, a blue one and a green one, over his shoulders, and headed back towards their space craft. Skullcruncher picked up the other two youths, while Slugslinger, Triggerhappy and Mindwipe dragged their own men behind them. Galvatron kicked some rubble aside and saw a black Autobot hand twitching in the grass. He lifted his foot…and brought it down on the hand, crushing it to splinters. A pained grunt escaped the owner of the hand, and Galvatron promptly lifted his arm-mounted fusion cannon and blasted the spot it originated from. Silence fell.
“Any Autobots left alive will be dead now,” he said briefly. “Return to the ship.”
“Not so fast, Galva-trash!” a voice boomed.
“What’s this?!” Galvatron twirled around as a fleet of vehicles streaked towards them. Sitting on top of them were Nebulans clad in colourful battle armour. It was the Autobot Masters, armed and ready for combat. Of course, Cerebros was absent, being a pacifist, but Chromedome had readily taken charge as their field commander.
“Nebulans, transform!” cried Stylor from his perch on Chromedome’s roof. The smaller mechanoids jumped into the air, some transforming into robotic heads, while others became guns.
Chromedome, Highbrow and Hardhead transformed into headless robots, and Stylor, Gort and Duros connected to them. The robots’ chest panels popped open for a second as red data flashed over screens hidden inside.
Blurr, Crosshairs, Hot Rod, Kup, Pointblank and Sureshot also transformed, as Haywire, Pinpointer, Firebolt, Recoil, Peacemaker and Spoilsport landed in their waiting grasp.
“Show ‘em no mercy, boys!” Kup growled, spraying a volley of projectile attacks from his musket laser. Galvatron stepped back just in time to avoid a shot that should have struck him in the shin. He grunted indignantly and screeched, “C…Combaticons! Destroy these interlopers!”
“Shaddap and fight yourself, Galvy!” Hot Rod cried, squeezing the trigger of his electrostatic discharge rifle. The blast hit Galvatron in the shoulder, and a jolt of pain shot through the Decepticon leader. Galvatron’s eye twitched, and he aimed his cannon at the young warrior, once the host of his nemesis, Rodimus Prime.
“You should have finished me off while you were capable!” he snarled, firing a shot. Hot Rod yelped and jumped into the air.
“Combaticons, combine into Bruticus!” Galvatron commanded.
“Gladly,” sneered the Combaticon squadron commander, Onslaught. “Merger formation!”
Onslaught activated his propulsion systems and rocketed into the air, followed closely by Brawl, Blast Off, Vortex and Swindle. What landed in their place was a hulking, black monster, a demon amongst robots. Bruticus raised a gun the size of a lorry and fired on the Autobot warriors.
“Scatter!” Chromedome ordered.
Highbrow spotted the Decepticon Targetmasters running towards their ship, carrying several large canisters emblazoned with the Autobot insignia.
“Leave the rest of it!” Galvatron shrieked. “Return to the ship now!”
“Cease and desist, Galvatron!” Highbrow pounced and planted both feet into the purple robot’s chest, flooring him. He kicked the orange fusion cannon from its holding.
“That’s enough out of you now, my good sir,” Highbrow chuckled.
“Insolent Autobot,” Galvatron scowled. “Bruticus!”
The giant wrapped a huge hand around Highbrow and lifted him into the air.
“Say yer prayers,” the combined warrior mocked in a swirling mixture of five different voices, all brimming with malice. With that, he tossed Highbrow through the air.
“Quick! Transform!” cried Gort from inside Highbrow’s head.
“Done, and done,” Highbrow responded. His head ejected and the rest of his body shifted into the form of an alien gyrocopter. Gort landed in the ‘copter’s cockpit and took hold of the joystick. Highbrow swooped over and peppered Bruticus with explosives. This aerial bombardment, added to the attacks from the weapons of the Autobots still on the ground, forced the giant to step backwards, tripping over himself and landing so hard that the soil vibrated beneath them. By the time the Autobots managed to steady themselves, Galvatron and the Combaticons were climbing back into their ship, which took off before its door had even closed.
“Slag it,” Chromedome cursed, nursing a wound he had received on his arm. “They got away.”
“At least they only got half the sythoplasm shipment,” Stylor reminded him, “which means we can radio the other Autobots on Earth so they can retrieve it.”
“I don’t think that’s all they took,” murmured Hot Rod. “I’m picking up four Autobot signals from inside that ship. They’re in stasis right now.”
“Blast that Galvatron!” Kup was shaking his fist at the sky. “They got some of our men up there!”
“We need to warn Optimus Prime immediately,” said Hot Rod. “There’s nothing else we can do right now…Firebolt, what’s up, buddy?” While the Transformers talked about the situation, Firebolt, as well as some of the other Nebulans, had transformed back to their humanoid states and were approaching the wreckage. Firebolt grabbed a hunk of scrap and dragged it aside, uncovering an Autobot’s badly damaged head. A familiar dark one that, despite lacking facial features, always seemed ferocious. The face of Grimlock.
***
Optimus Prime listened with grim discomfort to the message from Nebulos. That four Autobots as well as half of the sythoplasm shipment had been taken by the Decepticons, and now three of their more seasoned warriors were clinging to life in Fortress Maximus’ medical centre.
Perceptor spoke up. “Prime,” he said, “I think it would be best to send a recovery ship to Nebulos. We can bring back the sythoplasm and our men, and then…”
“Reformat their bodies with your new process?” Prime finished. Perceptor nodded. Prime sighed, “Perceptor, while I agree they must be brought back, we can only carry out such a process if Grimlock, Jazz and Bumble…I mean, Goldbug, agree to it. They are living beings with rights.”
“I…understand, Optimus Prime,” Perceptor murmured, turning away in a downhearted fashion.
“I’ll lead the recovery team,” Prime stated. “Perceptor, I want you, Wheeljack, Brainstorm and Blaster to accompany me, and we’ll travel there in Sky Lynx. Send word to Ultra Magnus that he is in command during my absence.”
“Understood,” Perceptor nodded, and carried out the commands diligently. Next to Optimus Prime, a computer console detached from its holding and transformed into the fem-bot Braincase.
“What about me, Optimus Prime?” she inquired.
“You stay here and guard the novanium,” Prime replied. “You never know when the Decepticons will try something while we’re away. Don’t worry, I’ll have the remaining Dinobots stand guard with you…Braincase, are you well?”
The female Autobot was looking down at her feet, trying and failing to hide the fact her sky blue faceplate had lit up, changing to scarlet, and her optics seemed glazed over.
“I…I’m fine, Optimus Prime,” she stammered. “Just a little drained.”
“Well, I suggest you get some rest then, and I’ll have the Dinobots begin guard duty without you.” He placed a huge hand on her small shoulder. “Is that all right with you?”
“Of c-c-course, sir,” she smiled awkwardly, looking up at him.
***
As his systems reactivated and his spark took control, words played across his vision.
REACTIVATION SEQUENCE BEGINNING
AUDIO SYSTEMS: CHECK
VISUAL SYSTEMS: CHECK
TOUCH SYSTEMS: CHECK
BEGINNING VIRUS SCAN: 0 VIRUSES LOCATED
ENERGON LEVELS: FULL
REACTIVATION SEQUENCE COMPLETED
Throttle sighed and shook his head. As his optics came to life, he looked at his surroundings. The fact he was not in the ship was disturbing enough, but his wrists and ankles had been tied together by pink energy bonds. The next thing he realised was that Wildeye, Ocelot and Sunbeam were in the exact same boat, along with five other Autobot youths he didn’t recognise.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“It’s not obvious?” asked one of the Autobots he didn’t recognise. “We’re on a Decepticon slave ship. All of us were captured while in stasis, but unlike you and your friends, the rest of us were taken from Cybertron.”
“Those scrap-heap Decepti-creeps…” Throttle scowled.
“No use getting angry about it,” the speaker told him. “It stops you thinking straight. I’m Landmine, by the way. My friends here are Waverider and Cloudburst.”
“I’m Lifesign,” piped up a female, “and this is Stingray.”
“Yo!” Stingray added. His voice was tinted by an odd gargling noise.
“You’re not related to Seaspray, are you?” asked Throttle. “It’s just…you sound alike.”
“He’s my older brother,” said Stingray.
“Small universe…” Throttle mumbled under his breath.
“You remind me of someone famous too, you know,” said Landmine knowingly, “but I can’t quite put a name to a face. I’m afraid the three of us have been more or less exiled from what’s been going on. Our families migrated to another planet to escape the war and didn’t return until a few deca-cycles ago.”
“Smart ‘bots,” remarked Wildeye cynically. “Listen guys, rather than reminisce over who’s who, how about we concentrate on getting the slag out of here?”
“That would be fine and dandy if we could break these bonds,” Waverider shot back.
“I…I think I can handle that,” said Sunbeam, “if I can just…retract…” She concentrated on using an ability she was well aware of, but until today, had never used before. Her right hand began to twist around, and her fingers pulled themselves together tightly. With a metal ‘whoosh,’ she pulled her hand back into her arm, and the right half of the energy bonds now dangled uselessly in mid-air, swinging like a pendulum from its chain. Her hand returned to normal, and Sunbeam breathed a sigh of relief.
“Did it,” she smiled. “Now I can get the rest of them off.” Another mental thought surged to her very fingertips. A square panel slid open in the back of her right hand and a thin, white, vibrating blade emitted; a sonic disruptor. Carefully, she pressed the tip of the device to the bond on her remaining wrist, and it vanished with a weak fizzle.
“Nice one, Beamer,” Throttle smiled. Sunbeam blushed and responded with a thumbs up, before she released her ankles and then one-by-one, freed her fellow Autobots.
“Okay, that’s one thing out of the way,” said Landmine. “Now we just have to get to the escape pods. Those are stored in the lowest level in the ship, and we’re about halfway down.”
“How do you know so much?” asked Ocelot.
“The Decepticons made one mistake,” Landmine explained smugly. “They kidnapped me while I was awake. I recorded the whole journey into my memory banks. All I need to do is play it back and we should be able to get out of here, no problem.”
“Lead the way, Landmine,” Throttle said curtly, gesturing towards the door. Landmine passed him a thoughtful glance, then strolled across the room.
***
Prime looked on sadly as Grimlock, Goldbug and Jazz clung weakly to the edge of existence.
“The wounds are fatal,” Perceptor sighed. “There is not much we can do with them like this. The only way to save them is by reformatting.”
“I’m afraid he’s right, Optimus Prime,” Wheeljack agreed. “They haven’t just suffered major external damage, but internal is well. It’d be impossible to repair them without risking their sparks, even with life support.”
“P…Prime…” Grimlock’s eyes glowed with a weak light as he spoke. Prime knelt down and grasped his comrade-in-arms’ hand.
“Yes, old friend?” he replied.
“C…C…Carry out p-procedure,” Grimlock choked out. “M-Me Grimlock…no give in…me Grimlock…want…stomp Decepticons…into scrap.”
“Are you certain?” Prime asked.
“Grimlock’s right, P-Prime…” Jazz piped up. “W…We want a chance to…f-f-fight back…!”
“B-Been fighting too long…to j-j-just sit down an’…d-d-die…” Goldbug continued. Prime gripped Grimlock’s hand a little tighter, and the Dinobot commander could see thin beads of sweat rolling down the Autobot chief’s face. He was nervous. Grimlock knew that immediately. Optimus Prime: the Matrix-damned leader of the winning side, who led his warriors to victory over their enemies countless times…and all he could think about was other people’s feelings.
“DO IT PRIME!” Grimlock roared. “DROP EGO FOR ONCE AND DO WHAT ME GRIMLOCK SAY, YOU GOT THAT?!”
Perceptor, Wheeljack and Brainstorm stared with wide-eyed astonishment. Prime let go of Grimlock’s hand and stood up straight. He looked at the three scientists, and while visibly shaken, managed to cover it up by using an authoritative voice.
“You heard him,” he said sternly. “They’ve agreed to go through with the procedure. Move their life support beds into Sky Lynx’s cargo hold immediately.”
“Good boy, Prime,” Grimlock sneered, just loud enough for Optimus Prime to hear. The Dinobot was mocking him, that was obvious, but he detected something else in there: gratitude. He sensed all three of his men were in a great amount of pain, and this chance to become well again, to become strong again, was the greatest thing they could imagine happening.
***
The nine Autobots crept quietly through the corridors of the Decepticon slave ship, with Landmine and Throttle in the lead.
“We’re about a floor away from the escape pods,” Landmine whispered. “If we keep going at this rate, we can be there in less than ten cycles.”
“Any Decepticons nearby, Wildeye?” Throttle asked. The winged Autobot held out his hand as a small, orange, miniature Cybertronian jet, a triangular construct, flew out of the shadows and into his palm. He opened a compartment in his left forearm and inserted the jet, re-closing the arm around it. His optics flashed as information was transferred directly to his brain.
“Junebug picked up two on the floor above us,” he said. “Looks like…Misfire and Slugslinger.”
“Then Aimless and Caliburst might be nearby as well,” Ocelot noted, “so let’s keep our heads down and be quiet.”
“I can use my stealth cloak to keep us concealed, but it will only last a short while,” said Wildeye.
“Do it,” said Throttle. Wildeye nodded and opened another compartment, this time on his right forearm. A grey disc on a metal rod extended and emitted a gentle whirring noise for a few seconds. The Autobots could still see each other, but to anyone outside the stealth cloak, there was nothing but thin air.
***
At the highest point of the ship, in a small, dark chamber, three figures sat around a table, illuminated by a crimson light. To onlookers, they would appear as hideous, floating spectres. One with three horns, one with long ears, and one with a Satan-esque beard and moustache.
“Decepticon Military Council now in session,” said Cyclonus.
“Since our return,” began Galvatron, “the Decepticon morale is slowly rising, but there is doubt in the minds of some of our soldiers. I have heard whispers in corners, calling me insane.”
“All the sane people are locked up,” Scourge muttered to himself.
“What was that?” Cyclonus asked, bewildered.
“Just…something I heard somewhere,” Scourge replied. “Anyway, perhaps our next step should be to erase all doubt from the minds of those who don’t trust us.”
“Or just erase those who don’t trust us!” Galvatron cried.
“I think that may be a tad drastic, Lord Galvatron!” Cyclonus quickly interjected. “The Decepticon ranks are dwindling right now! Many of our once loyal soldiers have fled to other worlds or surrendered to the Autobots! We must conserve what strength we have left!”
“Deserters?!” Galvatron was almost screaming already. “DESERTERS IN MY ARMY?! DAMN THEM ALL TO THE PIT!”
“That is enough, Lord Galvatron,” said Scourge. “Upon our return to the war, we agreed to work the army as a team, so please remain calm during the meeting so we can carry out all required decisions.”
“This was not an arrangement I was happy with,” Galvatron growled. “What on Cybertron was I thinking?!”
“You were thinking that we are the only two Decepticons in this entire universe you trust,” Cyclonus told him firmly. “Now please, calm yourself. Losing your temper will only make your situation worse.”
“Fine,” Galvatron sighed. “Then what do you suggest we do?”
“Slaughter one of the Autobot prisoners in front of the entire Decepticon army,” Scourge suggested. “That will prove the strength of your commitment to the case, and reignite their burning passion for the battlefield.”
“Yes…” Galvatron hissed, stroking his chin. “…It’s perfect, Scourge.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” the blue tracker bowed his head slightly.
“Then we have reached a decision,” said Cyclonus. “Council adj…”
“Lord Galvatron!” a voice cried from the Decepticon leader’s communicator. A small microphone extended from the side of his head casing and curved around to his mouth.
“Who is this?” Galvatron demanded. “Speak now!”
“This is Caliburst,” said the voice. “I just inspected the slave cell…the Autobot children have escaped!”
“WHAT?!” Galvatron pounded his fist on the council table. “FIND THEM! FIND THEM NOW!”
***
The Autobots ran down the corridor as fast as their legs could carry them. Misfire and Slugslinger were hot on their trail, and Wildeye’s stealth cloak had deactivated.
“I hate Decepticons,” Stingray whined.
“Less talk! More run!” Landmine ordered. “We’re almost at the escape pods!”
Throttle turned around and opened his chest cavity, revealing two gatling guns that roared to life, spraying hundreds of armour-piercing bullets at their pursuers.
“You guys keep running!” he called to the other prisoners. “I’ll hold them back!”
“What about you?” Sunbeam cried.
“I’ll catch up!” Throttle assured her. “Now go!”
Sunbeam hesitated, but Ocelot took her by the arm and started running again. “He knows what’s doing,” he whispered to her. “He’s a smart one, just like his old man.” Sunbeam looked down at the floor, unable to answer him, but continued along. The pod bay was growing closer every second.
“Take it to the Pits, you sickening pieces of slag!” Throttle roared, opening up his shoulders to reveal missile launchers. Following this rain of ammunition was a simple but effective optic laser beam. Slugslinger fell to his knees, his metal shell torn to ribbons, and one arm blown off completely, with Caliburst dangling lifelessly in his grasp. Misfire had disappeared from sight, but was still being held back by the one-robot attack force. Throttle didn’t dare let up until he heard the noises of the pods being ejected behind him. Breathing a sigh of relief, he retracted his weapons back into his body and looked at the corpses of Slugslinger and Caliburst. He dimmed his eyes as a ball of blue light, a spark, the very soul of a Transformer, rose from the chest of the dead Decepticon, and faded away, extinguished.
“When a spark is created, there is great joy everywhere,” he whispered, “and when one is extinguished, the universe weeps.” He stepped back in surprise as another spark appeared from Caliburst and did the same thing. Were the Nebulan Masters becoming real Transformers now? Was this a side-effect of merging with a Transformer? The idea worried him. No time to worry about that now. He had to join his comrades. Throttle turned around, and then all was silver pain. He fell on his back, and looked down. His left leg was gone, leaving just a few blue fragments hanging to his thigh. Cables and wiring hung out like woodlice from a rotting trunk, and fuel spilled onto the floor.
“Insolent Autobot…” a hoarse, raspy voice filled his ears. He looked up, and fear chilled him to the core.
“Galvatron…!” he squeaked. The Decepticon emperor wrapped his hand around Throttle’s throat and lifted him into the air.
“You…your friends may have escaped, but now you’re at my mercy. I’ll crush you into shrapnel,” he hissed, then paused. A horrible smile opened up on his dark face, and he tilted his head to the side, inspecting his captive’s face.
“You look familiar, boy,” he tittered, “I thought I’d seen your face somewhere before…now I know where. You’re the son of Optimus Prime! Oh! This is perfect! Absolutely perfect!” He broke out in a laugh that was almost painful to listen to. It pierced Throttle’s ears and rattled his brain. A shrill, echoing, cruel sound that dripped with venom like the fangs of a spider. Fangs…those horrible fangs…
***
Closing theme: H.I.M. – Passion’s Killing Floor (Transformers Movie: 2007)
***
Opening theme: Michihiro Kuroda – Futatsui no Mirai ~ Two Futures (Rockman.EXE Axess)
***
“Bomb-Burst’s signal has disappeared,” Soundwave said. “They may have been destroyed.”
“Where were they headed before they were lost?” Shockwave asked.
“The planet Nebulos,” Soundwave replied. Shockwave’s single hand clenched.
“Blast,” he cursed. “Send a retrieval team immediately. If they cannot salvage our men, they can at least capture the sythoplasm.”
“Roger,” Soundwave nodded. He was about to turn away when the door flew open, and all eyes turned in its direction. A chilling silence passed over them at the tall, sleek creature standing before them, grinning from ear-to-ear.
“Am I…late for the party?” asked Galvatron.
“L…Lord Galvatron!” Shockwave gasped. “You’re alive! Praise Primus!”
“It’s good to see your loyalty to me has not dwindled in my absence, Shockwave,” Galvatron chuckled. He moved his right foot forward slightly, and Shockwave dropped to his knees, bringing his face close to the curved extremity and making kissing noises, as his lack of a mouth made the deed physically impossible otherwise. Galvatron sneered and strolled past the purple lap-bot.
“Lord Galvatron, where’ve ya been all this time?” asked the human-sized robot called Frenzy.
“In contemplation,” Galvatron replied. “I have used these two past stellar-cycles to do a little spark-searching. We are the losers of this war, made to look like weaklings against our Autobot enemies, but I say…NO MORE! You can all wallow in your self-pity, acting only to pathetically pursue the Autobots in their little side-quests, or…you can follow me into battle once more!”
“What’s your plan, Galvatron?” a sceptical Decepticon demanded.
“I know of this discrepancy with Bomb-Burst’s regiment,” the Decepticon leader responded, “and I will lead a squadron to Nebulos. We will tear apart the Autobots there, and enslave any survivors. Decepticons…FOREVER!”
“LONG LIVE GALVATRON!” his loyal followers chorused.
***
Optimus Prime paced the floor of the laboratory in Autobot City, his hands clasped behind his back. With him were Ultra Magnus and the three scientist robots.
“This is getting very worrying,” Magnus mumbled. “Grimlock, Jazz and Goldbug aren’t answering their communicators.”
“We’ve tried all the frequencies, Optimus Prime,” added Perceptor, “but I’m afraid we’re having no luck. We’re certain it’s not a jamming signal that’s to blame, they’re just not answering our calls.” Prime dimmed his eyes in thought, then relit them and turned his gaze to Brainstorm.
“Brainstorm, send a message to your team-mates on Nebulos,” he ordered.
“You think that’s where they are?” asked a voice from Brainstorm’s head, but was not actually his.
“It’s a possibility, Arcana,” Prime nodded.
“I’m right on it, Optimus Prime,” Brainstorm turned towards a computer console and pressed a few buttons.
“Earth calling Nebulos,” he spoke into the audio receiver. “Come in, Nebulos.”
The screen faded with a ‘boop’ to show the faces of two more Autobot warriors on Nebulos: the orange and silver visage of Headmaster Chromedome and the jet black countenance of Targetmaster Crosshairs.
“Nebulos receiving,” said Chromedome. “Go ahead, Brainstorm.”
“An Autobot ship bound for Earth has disappeared,” said Brainstorm, “and Prime thinks it might be on Nebulos. Can you and the Masters up there investigate?”
“Will do,” Crosshairs acknowledged. “We’ll report back if we find anything.”
“All right, Earth out,” Brainstorm shut off the channel.
“Now all we have to do…is wait and hope,” Prime sighed.
***
Nebulos was a planetoid nestled halfway around the sun from Earth, and was a tropical planet, recovering from its once dying state caused by the tyrannical rule of the Hive. These eleven dictators had since disappeared into deep space after the 2007 conflict, and with the Autobot Masters protecting them, the people of Nebulos were beginning to rebuild their utopian society. Two Nebulan brothers were walking down a dirt road outside the city of Fortress Maximus. The older brother was a tall athlete called Lug, and the younger was a bookish little fellow called Quig.
“See? I told you it was a good idea, bruv,” Lug smiled pleasantly. “You needed some time out of that library, you’re pale like a ghost. A little U.V. will do you a world of good.”
“If…if you say so, Lug,” Quig replied under his breath. He came to a stop and looked across the horizon. “Lug, do you see that?”
“I see it,” Lug nodded. “Let’s check it out.” He ran off across the landscape immediately, heading into the distance in mere seconds. Quig stumbled after him, nowhere near as athletic.
“Lug!” he panted. “W…wait for me!” The both of them had seen smoke rising up from behind a hill, and there was the smell of rocket fuel in the air. This was no fire. Something had crashed, and it looked like the authorities hadn’t noticed yet. By the time they reached the top of the hill, Quig was crawling on all fours, his lime green skin now red as he raked air into his lungs.
“Damn you for being so fast,” he choked. “…Lug?” His brother was paying him no heed, but instead was staring at the wreckage in the field before them. Amongst the flames, they saw the red insignia of the Autobots.
“It’s an Autobot ship!” Lug exclaimed. “Quig! We have to get back to Fort Max and warn Cerebros!”
“Look!” Quig pointed up at the sky as something else came towards them. This ship was dark, in contrast with the bright colouring of the Autobot craft, and the violet symbol of the Decepticons stood out proudly on its nose.
“Oh. Crap,” said Lug. “Run for it!” He grabbed Quig by the shoulder and raced back to Fortress Maximus.
The Decepticon ship extended its landing gear and planted itself on the Nebulan soil. A door opened in the bottom and a ramp extended, and Galvatron emerged, with eleven others trailing behind him: Weirdwolf, Mindwipe, Skullcruncher, Bludgeon, Slugslinger, Triggerhappy and the Combaticons. The Decepticon leader pointed at the wreckage.
“Start searching,” he hissed. “The sooner we find them, the sooner we can leave this disgusting planet.”
“This is horrible,” said a voice from Mindwipe’s head. “Those slaves are…revitalising the planet we worked so hard to mould into our own image.”
“You will be silent,” Mindwipe scowled. “We have other concerns right now.” Inside the head casing, Vorath pouted.
Weirdwolf had already reached the rubble and was dragging Bomb-Burst’s body out of the ruination. Skullcruncher joined him and soon pulled Skullgrin and Submarauder out.
“There are more bodies, Lord Galvatron,” said Skullcruncher. “Autobot ones. Four are in perfect condition!”
“What?!” Galvatron walked over at a brisk pace. “Show me, you slow fool!”
“Here!” Skullcruncher picked up a huge fragment of scrap and tossed it aside. Just as he said, four Autobots, three males and one female, all lay in stasis. Their bodies were in mint condition, no doubt contained so the impact had not harmed them. Galvatron’s slate grey features creased into a hideous, fang-filled grin. Weirdwolf felt a chill run up his spine. Since when had the Decepticon leader possessed fangs? Nasty ones, at that.
“These are children,” he tittered. “Carry them into the ship and clap them in irons. We’ll throw them in with the rest of the slaves.”
“As you command, Lord Galvatron,” Weirdwolf acknowledged. He picked up two of the bodies, a blue one and a green one, over his shoulders, and headed back towards their space craft. Skullcruncher picked up the other two youths, while Slugslinger, Triggerhappy and Mindwipe dragged their own men behind them. Galvatron kicked some rubble aside and saw a black Autobot hand twitching in the grass. He lifted his foot…and brought it down on the hand, crushing it to splinters. A pained grunt escaped the owner of the hand, and Galvatron promptly lifted his arm-mounted fusion cannon and blasted the spot it originated from. Silence fell.
“Any Autobots left alive will be dead now,” he said briefly. “Return to the ship.”
“Not so fast, Galva-trash!” a voice boomed.
“What’s this?!” Galvatron twirled around as a fleet of vehicles streaked towards them. Sitting on top of them were Nebulans clad in colourful battle armour. It was the Autobot Masters, armed and ready for combat. Of course, Cerebros was absent, being a pacifist, but Chromedome had readily taken charge as their field commander.
“Nebulans, transform!” cried Stylor from his perch on Chromedome’s roof. The smaller mechanoids jumped into the air, some transforming into robotic heads, while others became guns.
Chromedome, Highbrow and Hardhead transformed into headless robots, and Stylor, Gort and Duros connected to them. The robots’ chest panels popped open for a second as red data flashed over screens hidden inside.
Blurr, Crosshairs, Hot Rod, Kup, Pointblank and Sureshot also transformed, as Haywire, Pinpointer, Firebolt, Recoil, Peacemaker and Spoilsport landed in their waiting grasp.
“Show ‘em no mercy, boys!” Kup growled, spraying a volley of projectile attacks from his musket laser. Galvatron stepped back just in time to avoid a shot that should have struck him in the shin. He grunted indignantly and screeched, “C…Combaticons! Destroy these interlopers!”
“Shaddap and fight yourself, Galvy!” Hot Rod cried, squeezing the trigger of his electrostatic discharge rifle. The blast hit Galvatron in the shoulder, and a jolt of pain shot through the Decepticon leader. Galvatron’s eye twitched, and he aimed his cannon at the young warrior, once the host of his nemesis, Rodimus Prime.
“You should have finished me off while you were capable!” he snarled, firing a shot. Hot Rod yelped and jumped into the air.
“Combaticons, combine into Bruticus!” Galvatron commanded.
“Gladly,” sneered the Combaticon squadron commander, Onslaught. “Merger formation!”
Onslaught activated his propulsion systems and rocketed into the air, followed closely by Brawl, Blast Off, Vortex and Swindle. What landed in their place was a hulking, black monster, a demon amongst robots. Bruticus raised a gun the size of a lorry and fired on the Autobot warriors.
“Scatter!” Chromedome ordered.
Highbrow spotted the Decepticon Targetmasters running towards their ship, carrying several large canisters emblazoned with the Autobot insignia.
“Leave the rest of it!” Galvatron shrieked. “Return to the ship now!”
“Cease and desist, Galvatron!” Highbrow pounced and planted both feet into the purple robot’s chest, flooring him. He kicked the orange fusion cannon from its holding.
“That’s enough out of you now, my good sir,” Highbrow chuckled.
“Insolent Autobot,” Galvatron scowled. “Bruticus!”
The giant wrapped a huge hand around Highbrow and lifted him into the air.
“Say yer prayers,” the combined warrior mocked in a swirling mixture of five different voices, all brimming with malice. With that, he tossed Highbrow through the air.
“Quick! Transform!” cried Gort from inside Highbrow’s head.
“Done, and done,” Highbrow responded. His head ejected and the rest of his body shifted into the form of an alien gyrocopter. Gort landed in the ‘copter’s cockpit and took hold of the joystick. Highbrow swooped over and peppered Bruticus with explosives. This aerial bombardment, added to the attacks from the weapons of the Autobots still on the ground, forced the giant to step backwards, tripping over himself and landing so hard that the soil vibrated beneath them. By the time the Autobots managed to steady themselves, Galvatron and the Combaticons were climbing back into their ship, which took off before its door had even closed.
“Slag it,” Chromedome cursed, nursing a wound he had received on his arm. “They got away.”
“At least they only got half the sythoplasm shipment,” Stylor reminded him, “which means we can radio the other Autobots on Earth so they can retrieve it.”
“I don’t think that’s all they took,” murmured Hot Rod. “I’m picking up four Autobot signals from inside that ship. They’re in stasis right now.”
“Blast that Galvatron!” Kup was shaking his fist at the sky. “They got some of our men up there!”
“We need to warn Optimus Prime immediately,” said Hot Rod. “There’s nothing else we can do right now…Firebolt, what’s up, buddy?” While the Transformers talked about the situation, Firebolt, as well as some of the other Nebulans, had transformed back to their humanoid states and were approaching the wreckage. Firebolt grabbed a hunk of scrap and dragged it aside, uncovering an Autobot’s badly damaged head. A familiar dark one that, despite lacking facial features, always seemed ferocious. The face of Grimlock.
***
Optimus Prime listened with grim discomfort to the message from Nebulos. That four Autobots as well as half of the sythoplasm shipment had been taken by the Decepticons, and now three of their more seasoned warriors were clinging to life in Fortress Maximus’ medical centre.
Perceptor spoke up. “Prime,” he said, “I think it would be best to send a recovery ship to Nebulos. We can bring back the sythoplasm and our men, and then…”
“Reformat their bodies with your new process?” Prime finished. Perceptor nodded. Prime sighed, “Perceptor, while I agree they must be brought back, we can only carry out such a process if Grimlock, Jazz and Bumble…I mean, Goldbug, agree to it. They are living beings with rights.”
“I…understand, Optimus Prime,” Perceptor murmured, turning away in a downhearted fashion.
“I’ll lead the recovery team,” Prime stated. “Perceptor, I want you, Wheeljack, Brainstorm and Blaster to accompany me, and we’ll travel there in Sky Lynx. Send word to Ultra Magnus that he is in command during my absence.”
“Understood,” Perceptor nodded, and carried out the commands diligently. Next to Optimus Prime, a computer console detached from its holding and transformed into the fem-bot Braincase.
“What about me, Optimus Prime?” she inquired.
“You stay here and guard the novanium,” Prime replied. “You never know when the Decepticons will try something while we’re away. Don’t worry, I’ll have the remaining Dinobots stand guard with you…Braincase, are you well?”
The female Autobot was looking down at her feet, trying and failing to hide the fact her sky blue faceplate had lit up, changing to scarlet, and her optics seemed glazed over.
“I…I’m fine, Optimus Prime,” she stammered. “Just a little drained.”
“Well, I suggest you get some rest then, and I’ll have the Dinobots begin guard duty without you.” He placed a huge hand on her small shoulder. “Is that all right with you?”
“Of c-c-course, sir,” she smiled awkwardly, looking up at him.
***
As his systems reactivated and his spark took control, words played across his vision.
REACTIVATION SEQUENCE BEGINNING
AUDIO SYSTEMS: CHECK
VISUAL SYSTEMS: CHECK
TOUCH SYSTEMS: CHECK
BEGINNING VIRUS SCAN: 0 VIRUSES LOCATED
ENERGON LEVELS: FULL
REACTIVATION SEQUENCE COMPLETED
Throttle sighed and shook his head. As his optics came to life, he looked at his surroundings. The fact he was not in the ship was disturbing enough, but his wrists and ankles had been tied together by pink energy bonds. The next thing he realised was that Wildeye, Ocelot and Sunbeam were in the exact same boat, along with five other Autobot youths he didn’t recognise.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“It’s not obvious?” asked one of the Autobots he didn’t recognise. “We’re on a Decepticon slave ship. All of us were captured while in stasis, but unlike you and your friends, the rest of us were taken from Cybertron.”
“Those scrap-heap Decepti-creeps…” Throttle scowled.
“No use getting angry about it,” the speaker told him. “It stops you thinking straight. I’m Landmine, by the way. My friends here are Waverider and Cloudburst.”
“I’m Lifesign,” piped up a female, “and this is Stingray.”
“Yo!” Stingray added. His voice was tinted by an odd gargling noise.
“You’re not related to Seaspray, are you?” asked Throttle. “It’s just…you sound alike.”
“He’s my older brother,” said Stingray.
“Small universe…” Throttle mumbled under his breath.
“You remind me of someone famous too, you know,” said Landmine knowingly, “but I can’t quite put a name to a face. I’m afraid the three of us have been more or less exiled from what’s been going on. Our families migrated to another planet to escape the war and didn’t return until a few deca-cycles ago.”
“Smart ‘bots,” remarked Wildeye cynically. “Listen guys, rather than reminisce over who’s who, how about we concentrate on getting the slag out of here?”
“That would be fine and dandy if we could break these bonds,” Waverider shot back.
“I…I think I can handle that,” said Sunbeam, “if I can just…retract…” She concentrated on using an ability she was well aware of, but until today, had never used before. Her right hand began to twist around, and her fingers pulled themselves together tightly. With a metal ‘whoosh,’ she pulled her hand back into her arm, and the right half of the energy bonds now dangled uselessly in mid-air, swinging like a pendulum from its chain. Her hand returned to normal, and Sunbeam breathed a sigh of relief.
“Did it,” she smiled. “Now I can get the rest of them off.” Another mental thought surged to her very fingertips. A square panel slid open in the back of her right hand and a thin, white, vibrating blade emitted; a sonic disruptor. Carefully, she pressed the tip of the device to the bond on her remaining wrist, and it vanished with a weak fizzle.
“Nice one, Beamer,” Throttle smiled. Sunbeam blushed and responded with a thumbs up, before she released her ankles and then one-by-one, freed her fellow Autobots.
“Okay, that’s one thing out of the way,” said Landmine. “Now we just have to get to the escape pods. Those are stored in the lowest level in the ship, and we’re about halfway down.”
“How do you know so much?” asked Ocelot.
“The Decepticons made one mistake,” Landmine explained smugly. “They kidnapped me while I was awake. I recorded the whole journey into my memory banks. All I need to do is play it back and we should be able to get out of here, no problem.”
“Lead the way, Landmine,” Throttle said curtly, gesturing towards the door. Landmine passed him a thoughtful glance, then strolled across the room.
***
Prime looked on sadly as Grimlock, Goldbug and Jazz clung weakly to the edge of existence.
“The wounds are fatal,” Perceptor sighed. “There is not much we can do with them like this. The only way to save them is by reformatting.”
“I’m afraid he’s right, Optimus Prime,” Wheeljack agreed. “They haven’t just suffered major external damage, but internal is well. It’d be impossible to repair them without risking their sparks, even with life support.”
“P…Prime…” Grimlock’s eyes glowed with a weak light as he spoke. Prime knelt down and grasped his comrade-in-arms’ hand.
“Yes, old friend?” he replied.
“C…C…Carry out p-procedure,” Grimlock choked out. “M-Me Grimlock…no give in…me Grimlock…want…stomp Decepticons…into scrap.”
“Are you certain?” Prime asked.
“Grimlock’s right, P-Prime…” Jazz piped up. “W…We want a chance to…f-f-fight back…!”
“B-Been fighting too long…to j-j-just sit down an’…d-d-die…” Goldbug continued. Prime gripped Grimlock’s hand a little tighter, and the Dinobot commander could see thin beads of sweat rolling down the Autobot chief’s face. He was nervous. Grimlock knew that immediately. Optimus Prime: the Matrix-damned leader of the winning side, who led his warriors to victory over their enemies countless times…and all he could think about was other people’s feelings.
“DO IT PRIME!” Grimlock roared. “DROP EGO FOR ONCE AND DO WHAT ME GRIMLOCK SAY, YOU GOT THAT?!”
Perceptor, Wheeljack and Brainstorm stared with wide-eyed astonishment. Prime let go of Grimlock’s hand and stood up straight. He looked at the three scientists, and while visibly shaken, managed to cover it up by using an authoritative voice.
“You heard him,” he said sternly. “They’ve agreed to go through with the procedure. Move their life support beds into Sky Lynx’s cargo hold immediately.”
“Good boy, Prime,” Grimlock sneered, just loud enough for Optimus Prime to hear. The Dinobot was mocking him, that was obvious, but he detected something else in there: gratitude. He sensed all three of his men were in a great amount of pain, and this chance to become well again, to become strong again, was the greatest thing they could imagine happening.
***
The nine Autobots crept quietly through the corridors of the Decepticon slave ship, with Landmine and Throttle in the lead.
“We’re about a floor away from the escape pods,” Landmine whispered. “If we keep going at this rate, we can be there in less than ten cycles.”
“Any Decepticons nearby, Wildeye?” Throttle asked. The winged Autobot held out his hand as a small, orange, miniature Cybertronian jet, a triangular construct, flew out of the shadows and into his palm. He opened a compartment in his left forearm and inserted the jet, re-closing the arm around it. His optics flashed as information was transferred directly to his brain.
“Junebug picked up two on the floor above us,” he said. “Looks like…Misfire and Slugslinger.”
“Then Aimless and Caliburst might be nearby as well,” Ocelot noted, “so let’s keep our heads down and be quiet.”
“I can use my stealth cloak to keep us concealed, but it will only last a short while,” said Wildeye.
“Do it,” said Throttle. Wildeye nodded and opened another compartment, this time on his right forearm. A grey disc on a metal rod extended and emitted a gentle whirring noise for a few seconds. The Autobots could still see each other, but to anyone outside the stealth cloak, there was nothing but thin air.
***
At the highest point of the ship, in a small, dark chamber, three figures sat around a table, illuminated by a crimson light. To onlookers, they would appear as hideous, floating spectres. One with three horns, one with long ears, and one with a Satan-esque beard and moustache.
“Decepticon Military Council now in session,” said Cyclonus.
“Since our return,” began Galvatron, “the Decepticon morale is slowly rising, but there is doubt in the minds of some of our soldiers. I have heard whispers in corners, calling me insane.”
“All the sane people are locked up,” Scourge muttered to himself.
“What was that?” Cyclonus asked, bewildered.
“Just…something I heard somewhere,” Scourge replied. “Anyway, perhaps our next step should be to erase all doubt from the minds of those who don’t trust us.”
“Or just erase those who don’t trust us!” Galvatron cried.
“I think that may be a tad drastic, Lord Galvatron!” Cyclonus quickly interjected. “The Decepticon ranks are dwindling right now! Many of our once loyal soldiers have fled to other worlds or surrendered to the Autobots! We must conserve what strength we have left!”
“Deserters?!” Galvatron was almost screaming already. “DESERTERS IN MY ARMY?! DAMN THEM ALL TO THE PIT!”
“That is enough, Lord Galvatron,” said Scourge. “Upon our return to the war, we agreed to work the army as a team, so please remain calm during the meeting so we can carry out all required decisions.”
“This was not an arrangement I was happy with,” Galvatron growled. “What on Cybertron was I thinking?!”
“You were thinking that we are the only two Decepticons in this entire universe you trust,” Cyclonus told him firmly. “Now please, calm yourself. Losing your temper will only make your situation worse.”
“Fine,” Galvatron sighed. “Then what do you suggest we do?”
“Slaughter one of the Autobot prisoners in front of the entire Decepticon army,” Scourge suggested. “That will prove the strength of your commitment to the case, and reignite their burning passion for the battlefield.”
“Yes…” Galvatron hissed, stroking his chin. “…It’s perfect, Scourge.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” the blue tracker bowed his head slightly.
“Then we have reached a decision,” said Cyclonus. “Council adj…”
“Lord Galvatron!” a voice cried from the Decepticon leader’s communicator. A small microphone extended from the side of his head casing and curved around to his mouth.
“Who is this?” Galvatron demanded. “Speak now!”
“This is Caliburst,” said the voice. “I just inspected the slave cell…the Autobot children have escaped!”
“WHAT?!” Galvatron pounded his fist on the council table. “FIND THEM! FIND THEM NOW!”
***
The Autobots ran down the corridor as fast as their legs could carry them. Misfire and Slugslinger were hot on their trail, and Wildeye’s stealth cloak had deactivated.
“I hate Decepticons,” Stingray whined.
“Less talk! More run!” Landmine ordered. “We’re almost at the escape pods!”
Throttle turned around and opened his chest cavity, revealing two gatling guns that roared to life, spraying hundreds of armour-piercing bullets at their pursuers.
“You guys keep running!” he called to the other prisoners. “I’ll hold them back!”
“What about you?” Sunbeam cried.
“I’ll catch up!” Throttle assured her. “Now go!”
Sunbeam hesitated, but Ocelot took her by the arm and started running again. “He knows what’s doing,” he whispered to her. “He’s a smart one, just like his old man.” Sunbeam looked down at the floor, unable to answer him, but continued along. The pod bay was growing closer every second.
“Take it to the Pits, you sickening pieces of slag!” Throttle roared, opening up his shoulders to reveal missile launchers. Following this rain of ammunition was a simple but effective optic laser beam. Slugslinger fell to his knees, his metal shell torn to ribbons, and one arm blown off completely, with Caliburst dangling lifelessly in his grasp. Misfire had disappeared from sight, but was still being held back by the one-robot attack force. Throttle didn’t dare let up until he heard the noises of the pods being ejected behind him. Breathing a sigh of relief, he retracted his weapons back into his body and looked at the corpses of Slugslinger and Caliburst. He dimmed his eyes as a ball of blue light, a spark, the very soul of a Transformer, rose from the chest of the dead Decepticon, and faded away, extinguished.
“When a spark is created, there is great joy everywhere,” he whispered, “and when one is extinguished, the universe weeps.” He stepped back in surprise as another spark appeared from Caliburst and did the same thing. Were the Nebulan Masters becoming real Transformers now? Was this a side-effect of merging with a Transformer? The idea worried him. No time to worry about that now. He had to join his comrades. Throttle turned around, and then all was silver pain. He fell on his back, and looked down. His left leg was gone, leaving just a few blue fragments hanging to his thigh. Cables and wiring hung out like woodlice from a rotting trunk, and fuel spilled onto the floor.
“Insolent Autobot…” a hoarse, raspy voice filled his ears. He looked up, and fear chilled him to the core.
“Galvatron…!” he squeaked. The Decepticon emperor wrapped his hand around Throttle’s throat and lifted him into the air.
“You…your friends may have escaped, but now you’re at my mercy. I’ll crush you into shrapnel,” he hissed, then paused. A horrible smile opened up on his dark face, and he tilted his head to the side, inspecting his captive’s face.
“You look familiar, boy,” he tittered, “I thought I’d seen your face somewhere before…now I know where. You’re the son of Optimus Prime! Oh! This is perfect! Absolutely perfect!” He broke out in a laugh that was almost painful to listen to. It pierced Throttle’s ears and rattled his brain. A shrill, echoing, cruel sound that dripped with venom like the fangs of a spider. Fangs…those horrible fangs…
***
Closing theme: H.I.M. – Passion’s Killing Floor (Transformers Movie: 2007)
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Episode 3 (Transformers episode 101): The Recovery
***
Opening theme: Michihiro Kuroda – Futatsui no Mirai ~ Two Futures (Rockman.EXE Axess)
***
By the time the Autobots reached the escape pod, the Decepticon slave ship had left Nebulos’ atmosphere and was passing through the more popularly known solar system. The pod had ejected somewhere between Earth and Mars, and was falling towards the blue planet at a fast, but peaceful pace. Inside, the Autobots rested in temporary stasis, sustained by the interior life support systems, unaware that their dear companion had failed to follow. While his body rested, Landmine’s brain pondered things in its isolation. He was certain he knew where he had seen that kid before…but how could make sure? Saying the wrong thing would do nothing but make him look like an idiot. He decided to distract himself by contemplating a plan to carry out in the event that Throttle was not with them. The possibility was growing stronger every second…but wow, that dude had been packing! He was like a walking armoury with all the weapons popping out of him! Landmine imagined that Throttle had the potential to go toe-to-toe with any Decepticon…maybe even that crazy leader of theirs. What was his name? Magmatron? Megastorm? Something like that…isolation from their culture for so long just plain sucked.
***
After their return to Earth with the sythoplasm and the three wounded soldiers, Optimus Prime sat in his chambers, contemplating the universe. His eyes were dark, his hands rested in his lap, one leg was crossed over the other. He remembered his youthful days on ancient Cybertron, at the dawn of the war. Back then, Optimus Prime did not yet exist. In his place was a young, idealistic data analyst and factory worker named Orion Pax. Orion once looked up to the Decepticons for their power of flight, something the Autobots still had not mastered as a united force. Orion had been won over by Megatron’s words, only to be betrayed…and killed. Thankfully, Alpha Trion, the wise leader of the Autobots, had been there to rebuild him, as the mighty robot he was today, to be his pupil, and later his successor. He was brought out of his reverie by the sound of the doors sliding open, and Spike Witwicky walked in, followed by Blaster, the Autobot communications officer.
“Spike, it is good to see you. How did the meeting with the president go?” asked Prime.
“Nice to see you too, Prime,” answered Spike. “The plans to begin the Colony Project is going well. The British Empire and the European Union are also in agreement, and several Japanese companies have agreed to aid in the construction work of the first space colonies. On a side-note, Prime, the Japanese prime minister wants to know if you’d be free to have a meeting with him in about three weeks time. He says it’s to better the relationship between their country and the Autobots.”
“Please tell him that I would be honoured, Spike,” Prime nodded. Spike tilted his head to the side and asked, “Are you all right, Optimus? You look worried.”
“I am very worried, Spike,” Prime admitted. “The Decepticons intercepted the transport ship and stole half of the sythoplasm shipment, and abducted four Autobots in stasis. While it was obvious they had stowed away on the ship, they are still living beings…and nobody deserves to become a slave.”
“I got some news for ya, Optimus Prime,” said Blaster. “Perceptor wanted me t’ tell ya that the operation’s goin’ well. They’ve finished preparin’ the novanium and sythoplasm, and the sparks of Grimlock, Jazz an’ Goldbug have been separated from their bodies safely.”
“Excellent,” Prime breathed a sigh of relief. “Has Perceptor given his new process a name?”
“Right now,” replied Blaster, “he’s callin’ it Project: Shell.” Prime was about to inquire further, but was interrupted by Blaster’s chest emitting a loud, siren-esque beeping noise.
“I’m pickin’ up a signal!” the communications officer exclaimed, and quickly transformed into his radio mode. A snarling voice came over the speakers, mocking and venomous.
“Greetings, Optimus Prime!” Galvatron cackled hoarsely. “How are things on Earth? Good, I hope, because I just love to rain on your parade! Anyway, enough horseplay, I have your son with me now. He stayed behind so his friends could escape. A noble act, don’t you think? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Prime! And as is appropriate, my hatred for you extends to any and all offspring you sire! In five mega-cycles, I will blow this blue cretin to scrap metal! There isn’t a ship in your entire fleet that can reach Chaar with that kind of required speed! Say hello to daddy, junior!”
This was followed by the sounds of dragging and grunting. Prime stiffened, and a cold chill raced up his metal spine. He whispered his son’s name.
“Father…!” Throttle’s pained voice came over the radio. “Father, just forget about me! You lose one Autobot, but eight more were saved in the process! I’m…expendable!”
“No!” Optimus Prime bellowed.
“He’s just like you, Prime,” Galvatron’s voice returned. “Always putting others before himself…it sickens me! Two-hundred-and-ninety-eight cycles, Prime, and I will send another message, so you can hear his dying cries! Farewell, you heroic twit!” Horrible laughter. Static. Silence. Blaster returned to robot mode, and both he and Spike looked up at the leader of the Autobots. Prime said nothing. He was paralysed all over his body. For all the cosmos, he appeared dead.
Spike gently placed a hand on the giant robot’s leg, considering that was about as high as he could reach. He suddenly felt a kinship with him. Spike knew the well of emotions that came with fatherhood, and…he recognised the sparks now bursting from those blue eyes hovering high above. Anger. Violation. The urge to protect his own. Prime’s hands clenched into tight fists and a deep snarl emitted from deep behind his mouthpiece.
“Galvatron…” he snarled. He turned his attention to Blaster and half-shouted, “Alert as many Autobots as you can find in the next five cycles! We’re taking Sky Lynx and we’re going to Chaar! If Galvatron wanted to get under my skin, then by Primus he’s done it! Do it now!”
“Gotcha, Prime!” Blaster saluted and ran out of the room.
“Prime, we can’t do anything rash,” Spike warned.
“Don’t be a hypocrite, Spike,” Prime scowled. “It doesn’t suit you.” With that, he was gone as well. Spike stood there, hurt, but realised that the leader was right. That was hypocritical. Had he not done the exact same thing many times? Rushed headlong into a dangerous situation when his son was in grave danger? Yeah…yeah, damn right he did.
***
Ocelot pushed open the doors of the pod, and climbed out. Landmine, Waverider and Cloudburst had already left and were talking nearby. The young Autobot looked around at their surroundings. A grassy flatland, with a beach just a few yards away. A few ashes blew across a stone patio, the remains of a building that had long since burnt down. In the distance, he could see a flag flapping in the breeze. It was blue, with a red cross lined in white. The Union Flag. This was England, from what he remembered of his Earthen studies at school. Ocelot ducked back into the pod and activated his enhanced audio receptors, so he could eavesdrop without being noticed. He could now hear their conversation as if he were right in the middle of them.
“That Throttle kid put his spark on the line to make sure we escaped,” said Landmine, “and since he isn’t here with us, the Decepticons must have him.”
“We barely know him,” Waverider countered. “Why should we care?”
“Do you have a sizzled circuit or something?!” Landmine was getting agitated. “We’re Autobots, we protect our own! Do you realise how much that kid’s family have done for us as a race?!”
“And what if you’re wrong?” Waverider demanded. “What if he isn’t the Son of Prime? What if you’re the one with a sizzled circuit, Landmine?”
“You wanna fight, Waverider?!” Landmine snarled.
“Guys, cool it!” Cloudburst intervened. Ocelot imagined him to be the peacekeeper of the three, and was probably standing between them right now.
“Listen, whether Landmine’s right or not about who he is, he’s still one of us, and that means we have to rescue him, simply because it’s the right thing to do!”
“You’re saying you’d put yourself in danger for someone you don’t know?” Waverider sounded less angry and more intrigued.
“Life’s not a privilege, Waverider,” said Cloudburst coolly. “It’s a wonderful gift, one that everybody deserves. Throttle was even younger than we are, he was essentially a baby! Are you telling me you’d let a baby die at the hands of the Decepticons?”
“It’s settled!” Landmine cried. “We’re officially on a rescue mission!”
Ocelot switched off his receptors at that point and mulled this information over in his head. An interesting bunch: a referee, a swashbuckler, and a cynic. How three totally different kinds of people could be friends astounded him, but that was not for now…those three were going to throw themselves in the line of fire to rescue Throttle, but was that such a wise choice? Probably not. Was it the right choice? Probably so. However, if those three were scrapped, it would mean all that trouble before on the slave ship counted for absolutely nothing. He found the pod’s communicator. It was a simple design, but he was sure he could find the frequency for Autobot City.
“This would be so much easier if one of us actually knew how this crap worked…” he muttered to himself, then it hit him: Sunbeam! She had already shown herself to be adept with ships. Maybe she would at least have some kind of idea on how to use this gear. He turned to the fem-bot and began to shake her shoulder.
“Hey, Beamer, wake up,” he said. “I need your help.”
Nothing. Ocelot cursed obscenities under his breath and shook harder. When that failed, he gave her a good smack on the top of the head. Sunbeam’s eyes lit up and she made an inquisitive grunt.
“Ocelot?” she asked drowsily. “What happened?”
“We’ve crash-landed,” he explained, “and I can’t work out how to use this communication equipment. Can you take a look at it?”
“I can try,” Sunbeam nodded, and crawled over to it. She ran her fingers over the speaker, and smirked, “Jeez, this is pretty damn old. They were using this type of gear at the dawn of the Great War. The ‘Cons must be going through some pretty heavy budget cuts right now.”
“Never mind the snappy remarks, Beamer,” Ocelot fumed. “Can you work this stuff?”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your tubes in a twist,” Sunbeam waved him off and began pressing buttons and turning dials. “I can tune into Autobot City’s frequency, but the message is going to be garbled, so I’m just going to send them our coordinates and hope they catch on.” She tapped a few more buttons and an Autobot symbol appeared on the dim miniature screen.
“How our ancestors could work with this scrap is beyond me,” she frowned.
“There’s more to worry about,” Ocelot told her. “Landmine, Cloudraker and Waverider are going to hitch a ride to Chaar to rescue Throttle.”
“What?! You mean…” Sunbeam’s optics began to well up in tears. “…You mean Galvatron…got him?”
“I guess so,” Ocelot sighed, “but if there’s a chance he’s still alive, it’s our duty as his friends to rescue him right, right?”
“…Right,” Sunbeam nodded after a moment’s pause.
***
Wheeljack, Perceptor, Braincase, Brainstorm and Spike Witwicky watched as Sky Lynx flew into the atmosphere, loaded with Autobot warriors and one rage-driven commander. Autobots, Dinobots, Aerialbots, Technobots and Protectobots, all gathered together to launch an all-out offensive on the Decepticon headquarters, for the sake of one little robot.
“I’m worried,” said Perceptor, “that perhaps Optimus Prime is not using his head this time.”
“He’s using his heart, Perceptor,” Spike replied dryly. “It’s all part of being a dad…right, Wheeljack?”
Wheeljack beamed proudly, which caused Perceptor and Brainstorm to raise their brows in wonderment. Braincase understood though, she was a personal friend of the fruit of Wheeljack’s labours.
“Right, Spike,” said the Autobot scientist. A deep, growling voice suddenly bellowed, “All Autobots to the communication room immediately! I’m detecting an Autobot distress signal on a Decepticon frequency!”
The voice was that of Metroplex, the mighty giant able to transform into a mobile section of Autobot City. The quintet ran to the communication room as instructed, and found their familiar red insignia flashing on and off of a large, black screen.
“Definitely a distress signal,” Perceptor surmised. “Coordinates…Grid Lethbridge. Five Autobot signatures. Just as Metroplex said, this is a Decepticon frequency.”
“Maybe the Autobots captured on Nebulos escaped,” Brainstorm suggested.
“Possible,” Perceptor agreed. “Which means that there were at least two more already on the ship.”
“All right, we got the coordinates,” said Wheeljack. “Perceptor and Braincase, you stay here and keep watch. Spike, Brainstorm, let’s go. Transform…and roll out!” The robots transformed to their vehicle forms, as Spike hopped into the Lancia Stratos’ driver’s seat and Arcana parked himself in the alien jet’s cockpit. They sped off as Braincase fumed.
“If we were vehicles, we wouldn’t be stuck here,” she muttered spitefully.
***
Daniel Witwicky was among those onboard Sky Lynx, sitting restlessly beside Arcee at the back end of the passenger area. Arcee looked down at the boy she watched over like a younger brother.
“Are you all right?” she asked softly.
“Just a little nervous,” replied Daniel. “I mean, where’s Galvatron been all this time?”
“I wish I could tell you, Daniel,” Arcee sighed, placing a hand around his shoulders, neatly cupping his neck between her index and middle fingers. Daniel closed his eyes, and then said, “Hey, Arcee, how can Prime have a son? Transformers don’t reproduce, do they?”
“Not in the same sense as humans,” Arcee explained. “You see, should a Cybertronian couple decide to have a child, they expose their sparks to each other, and data from both of them forms a third spark, which is then placed in a pre-prepared shell.”
“So if Optimus Prime’s the dad,” Daniel pondered, “who’s the mom?”
“She’s on Cybertron at the moment,” said Arcee, “aiding in the restoration of Crystal City. Their son, Throttle, was living with her. If she’s realised he’s disappeared…I can only guess she’s pretty upset.”
“If he was stowing away on that ship, Prime’s going to be so mad,” Daniel said under his breath.
“I think he’s more concerned with fragging Megatron,” Arcee sighed again. Daniel looked down at the bracelets on his wrists, and then up at Arcee. Ever since their first merger, he had felt an odd kinship with her. He had mentioned it once, or at least tried to, but had been unable to voice his feelings properly. Arcee had just finished for him by saying, “I know Daniel. I feel it too.”
Up ahead, Prime was watching outer space through the front windows of the ship.
“Faster, Sky Lynx,” he said in a tone that demanded utter obedience. “Go as fast as you can.”
“I’m doing my best, Optimus,” Sky Lynx whimpered. “This is playing merry Pit with my thrusters.”
“Then play merry Pit back,” Prime answered coldly. Sky Lynx sighed and pushed his already aching thrusters even more. There was a mild rattle, but he held together. Chaar was still a mega-cycle and a half away. None of them, on their exit of Earth, had seen a Cybertronian space cruiser attach itself to the giant shuttle with the use of powerful magnetic hooks.
Inside the cruiser, Landmine sat in the control chair as Waverider lay across the seats in the back.
“This is suicide, Lander,” Waverider replied, though not with the tone of someone in distress or fear. It sounded accepting, a mere statement.
“Yup,” Landmine nodded.
“Hey, Landmine?”
“What, Waverider?”
“Slag you.”
Landmine laughed and responded, “Slag you and the horse you rode in on.”
“S’been a pleasure knowin’ you guys,” said Cloudraker over the audio systems in the walls of the cruiser.
“Likewise,” Landmine and Waverider replied together.
***
The ashen sand blew in the dry wind across Chaar’s burnt out landscape. Just outside the Decepticon city of Trypticon, a large cross made of red girders jutted out of the ground. Chained to it like a robot sacrifice was Throttle. His blue and silver body was beaten and scratched, with many patches of exposed wiring and dripping fuel. His optics crackled and went dark, leaving him blind, but he could still hear the jeering Decepticons gathered around him. He could also feel the burning heat of the sun slowly sizzling his inner workings. Their enemies, they had adapted to the cruel nature of the planet, formatted themselves to withstand it with ease. He didn’t bother to speak. His audio systems hurt too much. He felt like he was going to die, but he knew he had a few cycles left. Galvatron was a despicable scoundrel, but he would not make his finishing move until the decided time.
“I admire your guts, kiddo.”
He heard the voice of one of their officers. A tough, soldier-y voice. He thought it was…Astrotrain?
“Ya didn’t scream once,” the triple-changer remarked almost kindly. “That takes ball-bearings, kid…I’d hate to say it, but…I wish there was more of us like you.”
“You turnin’ traitor, Astrotrain?” another voice asked mockingly. This one, Throttle didn’t recognise.
“Blow it out yer tailpipe, Motormaster,” Astrotrain growled. “You know I’ll always stand by our cause. I’m jus’ sayin’ the brat’s tough, so get over yaself.”
“Jus’ don’t let Galvatron hear ya complimentin’ an Autobot,” Motormaster warned him. “I don’t think he’s firin’ on all his pistons, if he ever did in the first place, so he probably won’t hesitate to blast ya into scrap metal.”
Throttle hung there and contemplated his situation. He didn’t want any other Autobots to lose their lives because of him…but deep within his spark, he didn’t want to die alone.
Landmine, Cloudburst, Waverider…
Three warriors who refused to let the Decepticons grind them down.
Lifesign, Stingray…
Two friends who were just innocent and caught in the middle of the war.
Ocelot, Wildeye, Sunbeam…
His best friends, safe on Earth, away from this horrible punishment.
Optimus Prime, Elita-One…
Father and mother. Mother is the name of God on the lips and hearts of all children. Father is king and protector in the House of Primus. Father, he thought, I wanted to follow in your footsteps and be a defender of Cybertron, but…I don’t have what it takes to lead even a small group of Autobots…I’m sorry…
“He’s crying!” someone shrieked tauntingly. “The Auto-brat’s crying!” Laughter. Chimpanzee laughter that invaded his audio sensors and slammed his brain. He wanted to go into stasis lock, to shut it all out, but Galvatron had even disabled that, leaving him with no way of escaping the humiliation. The laughter died down, and all was silent, save for rhythmic heavy footsteps and metal whooshing noises. The timer was about to hit naught, and Galvatron stood before him, cannon poised to fire.
“Well, boy,” Galvatron tittered, “it looks like it’s curtains for you now. Soundwave, broadcast to the Autobot frequency.”
“Lord Galvatron, there is a problem,” responded the monotone. “I am detecting Autobot energy signatures.”
“You’re serious?” Galvatron lowered his voice. “How many?”
“Approximately…” Soundwave made a noise much like a gulp. “…All of them.” Galvatron’s jaw hit the ground.
***
“Here we are, Optimus Prime,” Sky Lynx wheezed.
“Good work, Sky Lynx,” replied Prime. “Autobots, prepare to jettison. Sky Lynx, you’re free to retreat and recuperate elsewhere. I will summon you when the battle is over. Understood?”
“Yes, Prime,” Sky Lynx sighed in relief. “Thank you.”
“Autobots, roll out!” Prime commanded.
The doors in the side of the space ship opened, and the Autobots approached it. Daniel raised the bracelets on his wrists and pressed the Autobot insignia on the right one. Arcee’s head ejected and transformed into a white exoskeleton suit. The suit landed upright on the floor, and Daniel entered through the opening in the back, which slid shut behind him.
“Transform,” he said nervously, and the suit shifted around him to become the robot’s head again, with the boy sitting inside, his arms encased in a pair of control gauntlets and his feet resting on pedals. The head propelled itself into the air and slid into Arcee’s open neck cavity.
“Are you all right in there, Daniel?” the fem-bot asked softly.
“I’m fine, Arcee,” Daniel smiled shakily. “Just a little nervous.”
“Don’t be,” Arcee assured him, pressing her palm gently against the side of her head casing. “I’ll take care of you.” She followed the other Autobots, staying close to Springer, the mighty green helicopter.
Far below, the Decepticons were in amazement. The biggest battalion of Autobots any of them had ever seen was swooping down towards them, and at their head, fire burning in his optics, was Optimus Prime.
“S…slag you, Autobots!” Galvatron cursed. “Prime! I shall rip you limb from limb!”
“Talk is cheap, Galvatron,” Prime growled, dropkicking the Decepticon commander-in-chief to the ground and kicking up a huge cloud of dust.
The five-part Stunticon and six-part Constructicon team were the first to charge. Their respective leaders, Motormaster and Scrapper, activated their rocket systems and flew into the air. They called for their teams to come together, to form two giant monsters, the heavily armoured Menasor and the destructive, green-and-purple conqueror Devastator.
“Nothing can stop…Devastator!” the green beast bellowed in an echoing fusion of six different voices.
“That’s what he thinks,” remarked Ultra Magnus. “Protectobots! Aerialbots! Combine!”
The five rescuers and high-flyers combined into the Autobots’ own titans: Defensor and Superion.
As the two armies threw themselves at each other, pitting metal against metal in mortal combat, in yet another chapter of their eternal war, Prime picked up Galvatron by the ankles and began to swing him around in the air.
“This is for Throttle!” he roared, and let go, following up by shooting several bursts of super-heated plasma from his rifle. As Galvatron spun screaming through Chaar’s atmosphere, he was struck by the blasts, and they opened up holes in the primary layers of his skin. He landed hard against Trypticon’s outer wall and grunted. Prime lowered his weapon so it hovered just inches from his foe’s face.
“You tortured my son, Galvatron,” Prime was breathing heavily. His chest was rising and falling in quick repetition. “You tortured him when until today, he had never even set his optics on you. Give me just one good reason why I shouldn’t pull the trigger and blast you into molten slag.”
“Because…” Galvatron sneered, “…because, Prime, you’ll prove there is no difference between us. So do it. I can see your trigger-finger just itching to deliver the final strike and extinguish my spark. You failed to do it to Megatron, can you make up for that little mistake?”
Prime’s eyes narrowed, and an eternity of hate seemed to pass between them. His finger relaxed and came away from the trigger, and he let his rifle hang at his side.
“I’m not like you,” he said briefly, and turned his back on Galvatron, walking away. He looked at the stunned idiot warriors called Runamuck and Runabout.
“Get your leader out of here,” he told them, “because he’s all you’ve got.”
The twins looked at each other, and realised Prime was right. So far, all of their leaders’ disappearances had left the army with no morale, no will to go on. They hated to admit it, but without him, they were nothing. So they ran to their wounded lord and carried his spiteful, poisonous form away.
“The…the day is…lost?” Menasor stammered as he grappled with Defensor.
“That’s right,” Defensor replied. “So run away and admit defeat.”
“Next time, Autobot…” Menasor growled, and split into his five components to retreated to their city. Defensor also divided into his Protectobots, and their leader, Hot Spot, chuckled, “I love a good cliché.”
“I’d suggest you follow Menasor’s example!” Superion warned, before ripping Devastator’s arms from their sockets. Roaring in anger, the green creature lost his balance and fell on his rear end, forced to separate into the Constructicons. Superion dropped his captives, Bonecrusher and Scavenger, into a pile on the ground, then kicked them towards Trypticon.
“Is it me or was that battle really kind of short?” asked the Autobot scout Hound.
“The Decepticons must still be pulling themselves together,” replied Springer.
“Throttle…” Prime walked towards the blue robot hanging from the cross. “Dear Primus, what have they done to you?” He grabbed the chains holding his heir in place and pulled them apart, and Throttle slumped against him. Throttle heard the voice, and immediately he knew everything would be fine. He heard assurances and comforts, and was satisfied to just listen and be carried home. There were suddenly panicked, shocked gasps and whispers of, “Oh no.” Ultra Magnus’ voice, calling for Sky Lynx. Fearful chattering and the sound of a shuttle landing.
***
Deep within Trypticon, Landmine and his friends were walking down one of the many winding corridors, searching for the core of the city, so they could wipe out every stinking Decepti-creep off the face of the planet. Outside, they were certain the battle was raging, and their enemies were utterly distracted.
“What’s with all these hallways?” Waverider moaned. “It’s like a labyrinth.”
“Then beg there isn’t a minotaur or something,” Landmine waved him off.
“Not exactly, Auto-bozo,” a voice said from behind. The trio twirled around and were met with five vicious-looking robots: the Predacon warriors. It was now painfully obvious that Galvatron, much like Prime, always made sure someone was left behind to act as the home-guard. The speaker was the team’s bull: Tantrum.
“Die, scum!” he cried, and fired a shot from his gun. The other Predacons – Razorclaw, Headstrong, Divebomb and Rampage – attacked with him, and within the space of a few clicks, the Autobot teens were smoking hulks. Razorclaw stood over Landmine, his sonic-vibration sword raised, blade pointing down.
Landmine spat a glob of thick oil at Razorclaw, and the Predacon leader hit back…with a blade down the middle of the Autobot’s face.
“We’ll throw these slag-piles back to those Auto-goons,” he said. “Let them know that even in defeat, the Decepticons always have the last laugh.”
***
Closing theme: H.I.M. – Passion’s Killing Floor (Transformers Movie: 2007)
***
Opening theme: Michihiro Kuroda – Futatsui no Mirai ~ Two Futures (Rockman.EXE Axess)
***
By the time the Autobots reached the escape pod, the Decepticon slave ship had left Nebulos’ atmosphere and was passing through the more popularly known solar system. The pod had ejected somewhere between Earth and Mars, and was falling towards the blue planet at a fast, but peaceful pace. Inside, the Autobots rested in temporary stasis, sustained by the interior life support systems, unaware that their dear companion had failed to follow. While his body rested, Landmine’s brain pondered things in its isolation. He was certain he knew where he had seen that kid before…but how could make sure? Saying the wrong thing would do nothing but make him look like an idiot. He decided to distract himself by contemplating a plan to carry out in the event that Throttle was not with them. The possibility was growing stronger every second…but wow, that dude had been packing! He was like a walking armoury with all the weapons popping out of him! Landmine imagined that Throttle had the potential to go toe-to-toe with any Decepticon…maybe even that crazy leader of theirs. What was his name? Magmatron? Megastorm? Something like that…isolation from their culture for so long just plain sucked.
***
After their return to Earth with the sythoplasm and the three wounded soldiers, Optimus Prime sat in his chambers, contemplating the universe. His eyes were dark, his hands rested in his lap, one leg was crossed over the other. He remembered his youthful days on ancient Cybertron, at the dawn of the war. Back then, Optimus Prime did not yet exist. In his place was a young, idealistic data analyst and factory worker named Orion Pax. Orion once looked up to the Decepticons for their power of flight, something the Autobots still had not mastered as a united force. Orion had been won over by Megatron’s words, only to be betrayed…and killed. Thankfully, Alpha Trion, the wise leader of the Autobots, had been there to rebuild him, as the mighty robot he was today, to be his pupil, and later his successor. He was brought out of his reverie by the sound of the doors sliding open, and Spike Witwicky walked in, followed by Blaster, the Autobot communications officer.
“Spike, it is good to see you. How did the meeting with the president go?” asked Prime.
“Nice to see you too, Prime,” answered Spike. “The plans to begin the Colony Project is going well. The British Empire and the European Union are also in agreement, and several Japanese companies have agreed to aid in the construction work of the first space colonies. On a side-note, Prime, the Japanese prime minister wants to know if you’d be free to have a meeting with him in about three weeks time. He says it’s to better the relationship between their country and the Autobots.”
“Please tell him that I would be honoured, Spike,” Prime nodded. Spike tilted his head to the side and asked, “Are you all right, Optimus? You look worried.”
“I am very worried, Spike,” Prime admitted. “The Decepticons intercepted the transport ship and stole half of the sythoplasm shipment, and abducted four Autobots in stasis. While it was obvious they had stowed away on the ship, they are still living beings…and nobody deserves to become a slave.”
“I got some news for ya, Optimus Prime,” said Blaster. “Perceptor wanted me t’ tell ya that the operation’s goin’ well. They’ve finished preparin’ the novanium and sythoplasm, and the sparks of Grimlock, Jazz an’ Goldbug have been separated from their bodies safely.”
“Excellent,” Prime breathed a sigh of relief. “Has Perceptor given his new process a name?”
“Right now,” replied Blaster, “he’s callin’ it Project: Shell.” Prime was about to inquire further, but was interrupted by Blaster’s chest emitting a loud, siren-esque beeping noise.
“I’m pickin’ up a signal!” the communications officer exclaimed, and quickly transformed into his radio mode. A snarling voice came over the speakers, mocking and venomous.
“Greetings, Optimus Prime!” Galvatron cackled hoarsely. “How are things on Earth? Good, I hope, because I just love to rain on your parade! Anyway, enough horseplay, I have your son with me now. He stayed behind so his friends could escape. A noble act, don’t you think? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Prime! And as is appropriate, my hatred for you extends to any and all offspring you sire! In five mega-cycles, I will blow this blue cretin to scrap metal! There isn’t a ship in your entire fleet that can reach Chaar with that kind of required speed! Say hello to daddy, junior!”
This was followed by the sounds of dragging and grunting. Prime stiffened, and a cold chill raced up his metal spine. He whispered his son’s name.
“Father…!” Throttle’s pained voice came over the radio. “Father, just forget about me! You lose one Autobot, but eight more were saved in the process! I’m…expendable!”
“No!” Optimus Prime bellowed.
“He’s just like you, Prime,” Galvatron’s voice returned. “Always putting others before himself…it sickens me! Two-hundred-and-ninety-eight cycles, Prime, and I will send another message, so you can hear his dying cries! Farewell, you heroic twit!” Horrible laughter. Static. Silence. Blaster returned to robot mode, and both he and Spike looked up at the leader of the Autobots. Prime said nothing. He was paralysed all over his body. For all the cosmos, he appeared dead.
Spike gently placed a hand on the giant robot’s leg, considering that was about as high as he could reach. He suddenly felt a kinship with him. Spike knew the well of emotions that came with fatherhood, and…he recognised the sparks now bursting from those blue eyes hovering high above. Anger. Violation. The urge to protect his own. Prime’s hands clenched into tight fists and a deep snarl emitted from deep behind his mouthpiece.
“Galvatron…” he snarled. He turned his attention to Blaster and half-shouted, “Alert as many Autobots as you can find in the next five cycles! We’re taking Sky Lynx and we’re going to Chaar! If Galvatron wanted to get under my skin, then by Primus he’s done it! Do it now!”
“Gotcha, Prime!” Blaster saluted and ran out of the room.
“Prime, we can’t do anything rash,” Spike warned.
“Don’t be a hypocrite, Spike,” Prime scowled. “It doesn’t suit you.” With that, he was gone as well. Spike stood there, hurt, but realised that the leader was right. That was hypocritical. Had he not done the exact same thing many times? Rushed headlong into a dangerous situation when his son was in grave danger? Yeah…yeah, damn right he did.
***
Ocelot pushed open the doors of the pod, and climbed out. Landmine, Waverider and Cloudburst had already left and were talking nearby. The young Autobot looked around at their surroundings. A grassy flatland, with a beach just a few yards away. A few ashes blew across a stone patio, the remains of a building that had long since burnt down. In the distance, he could see a flag flapping in the breeze. It was blue, with a red cross lined in white. The Union Flag. This was England, from what he remembered of his Earthen studies at school. Ocelot ducked back into the pod and activated his enhanced audio receptors, so he could eavesdrop without being noticed. He could now hear their conversation as if he were right in the middle of them.
“That Throttle kid put his spark on the line to make sure we escaped,” said Landmine, “and since he isn’t here with us, the Decepticons must have him.”
“We barely know him,” Waverider countered. “Why should we care?”
“Do you have a sizzled circuit or something?!” Landmine was getting agitated. “We’re Autobots, we protect our own! Do you realise how much that kid’s family have done for us as a race?!”
“And what if you’re wrong?” Waverider demanded. “What if he isn’t the Son of Prime? What if you’re the one with a sizzled circuit, Landmine?”
“You wanna fight, Waverider?!” Landmine snarled.
“Guys, cool it!” Cloudburst intervened. Ocelot imagined him to be the peacekeeper of the three, and was probably standing between them right now.
“Listen, whether Landmine’s right or not about who he is, he’s still one of us, and that means we have to rescue him, simply because it’s the right thing to do!”
“You’re saying you’d put yourself in danger for someone you don’t know?” Waverider sounded less angry and more intrigued.
“Life’s not a privilege, Waverider,” said Cloudburst coolly. “It’s a wonderful gift, one that everybody deserves. Throttle was even younger than we are, he was essentially a baby! Are you telling me you’d let a baby die at the hands of the Decepticons?”
“It’s settled!” Landmine cried. “We’re officially on a rescue mission!”
Ocelot switched off his receptors at that point and mulled this information over in his head. An interesting bunch: a referee, a swashbuckler, and a cynic. How three totally different kinds of people could be friends astounded him, but that was not for now…those three were going to throw themselves in the line of fire to rescue Throttle, but was that such a wise choice? Probably not. Was it the right choice? Probably so. However, if those three were scrapped, it would mean all that trouble before on the slave ship counted for absolutely nothing. He found the pod’s communicator. It was a simple design, but he was sure he could find the frequency for Autobot City.
“This would be so much easier if one of us actually knew how this crap worked…” he muttered to himself, then it hit him: Sunbeam! She had already shown herself to be adept with ships. Maybe she would at least have some kind of idea on how to use this gear. He turned to the fem-bot and began to shake her shoulder.
“Hey, Beamer, wake up,” he said. “I need your help.”
Nothing. Ocelot cursed obscenities under his breath and shook harder. When that failed, he gave her a good smack on the top of the head. Sunbeam’s eyes lit up and she made an inquisitive grunt.
“Ocelot?” she asked drowsily. “What happened?”
“We’ve crash-landed,” he explained, “and I can’t work out how to use this communication equipment. Can you take a look at it?”
“I can try,” Sunbeam nodded, and crawled over to it. She ran her fingers over the speaker, and smirked, “Jeez, this is pretty damn old. They were using this type of gear at the dawn of the Great War. The ‘Cons must be going through some pretty heavy budget cuts right now.”
“Never mind the snappy remarks, Beamer,” Ocelot fumed. “Can you work this stuff?”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your tubes in a twist,” Sunbeam waved him off and began pressing buttons and turning dials. “I can tune into Autobot City’s frequency, but the message is going to be garbled, so I’m just going to send them our coordinates and hope they catch on.” She tapped a few more buttons and an Autobot symbol appeared on the dim miniature screen.
“How our ancestors could work with this scrap is beyond me,” she frowned.
“There’s more to worry about,” Ocelot told her. “Landmine, Cloudraker and Waverider are going to hitch a ride to Chaar to rescue Throttle.”
“What?! You mean…” Sunbeam’s optics began to well up in tears. “…You mean Galvatron…got him?”
“I guess so,” Ocelot sighed, “but if there’s a chance he’s still alive, it’s our duty as his friends to rescue him right, right?”
“…Right,” Sunbeam nodded after a moment’s pause.
***
Wheeljack, Perceptor, Braincase, Brainstorm and Spike Witwicky watched as Sky Lynx flew into the atmosphere, loaded with Autobot warriors and one rage-driven commander. Autobots, Dinobots, Aerialbots, Technobots and Protectobots, all gathered together to launch an all-out offensive on the Decepticon headquarters, for the sake of one little robot.
“I’m worried,” said Perceptor, “that perhaps Optimus Prime is not using his head this time.”
“He’s using his heart, Perceptor,” Spike replied dryly. “It’s all part of being a dad…right, Wheeljack?”
Wheeljack beamed proudly, which caused Perceptor and Brainstorm to raise their brows in wonderment. Braincase understood though, she was a personal friend of the fruit of Wheeljack’s labours.
“Right, Spike,” said the Autobot scientist. A deep, growling voice suddenly bellowed, “All Autobots to the communication room immediately! I’m detecting an Autobot distress signal on a Decepticon frequency!”
The voice was that of Metroplex, the mighty giant able to transform into a mobile section of Autobot City. The quintet ran to the communication room as instructed, and found their familiar red insignia flashing on and off of a large, black screen.
“Definitely a distress signal,” Perceptor surmised. “Coordinates…Grid Lethbridge. Five Autobot signatures. Just as Metroplex said, this is a Decepticon frequency.”
“Maybe the Autobots captured on Nebulos escaped,” Brainstorm suggested.
“Possible,” Perceptor agreed. “Which means that there were at least two more already on the ship.”
“All right, we got the coordinates,” said Wheeljack. “Perceptor and Braincase, you stay here and keep watch. Spike, Brainstorm, let’s go. Transform…and roll out!” The robots transformed to their vehicle forms, as Spike hopped into the Lancia Stratos’ driver’s seat and Arcana parked himself in the alien jet’s cockpit. They sped off as Braincase fumed.
“If we were vehicles, we wouldn’t be stuck here,” she muttered spitefully.
***
Daniel Witwicky was among those onboard Sky Lynx, sitting restlessly beside Arcee at the back end of the passenger area. Arcee looked down at the boy she watched over like a younger brother.
“Are you all right?” she asked softly.
“Just a little nervous,” replied Daniel. “I mean, where’s Galvatron been all this time?”
“I wish I could tell you, Daniel,” Arcee sighed, placing a hand around his shoulders, neatly cupping his neck between her index and middle fingers. Daniel closed his eyes, and then said, “Hey, Arcee, how can Prime have a son? Transformers don’t reproduce, do they?”
“Not in the same sense as humans,” Arcee explained. “You see, should a Cybertronian couple decide to have a child, they expose their sparks to each other, and data from both of them forms a third spark, which is then placed in a pre-prepared shell.”
“So if Optimus Prime’s the dad,” Daniel pondered, “who’s the mom?”
“She’s on Cybertron at the moment,” said Arcee, “aiding in the restoration of Crystal City. Their son, Throttle, was living with her. If she’s realised he’s disappeared…I can only guess she’s pretty upset.”
“If he was stowing away on that ship, Prime’s going to be so mad,” Daniel said under his breath.
“I think he’s more concerned with fragging Megatron,” Arcee sighed again. Daniel looked down at the bracelets on his wrists, and then up at Arcee. Ever since their first merger, he had felt an odd kinship with her. He had mentioned it once, or at least tried to, but had been unable to voice his feelings properly. Arcee had just finished for him by saying, “I know Daniel. I feel it too.”
Up ahead, Prime was watching outer space through the front windows of the ship.
“Faster, Sky Lynx,” he said in a tone that demanded utter obedience. “Go as fast as you can.”
“I’m doing my best, Optimus,” Sky Lynx whimpered. “This is playing merry Pit with my thrusters.”
“Then play merry Pit back,” Prime answered coldly. Sky Lynx sighed and pushed his already aching thrusters even more. There was a mild rattle, but he held together. Chaar was still a mega-cycle and a half away. None of them, on their exit of Earth, had seen a Cybertronian space cruiser attach itself to the giant shuttle with the use of powerful magnetic hooks.
Inside the cruiser, Landmine sat in the control chair as Waverider lay across the seats in the back.
“This is suicide, Lander,” Waverider replied, though not with the tone of someone in distress or fear. It sounded accepting, a mere statement.
“Yup,” Landmine nodded.
“Hey, Landmine?”
“What, Waverider?”
“Slag you.”
Landmine laughed and responded, “Slag you and the horse you rode in on.”
“S’been a pleasure knowin’ you guys,” said Cloudraker over the audio systems in the walls of the cruiser.
“Likewise,” Landmine and Waverider replied together.
***
The ashen sand blew in the dry wind across Chaar’s burnt out landscape. Just outside the Decepticon city of Trypticon, a large cross made of red girders jutted out of the ground. Chained to it like a robot sacrifice was Throttle. His blue and silver body was beaten and scratched, with many patches of exposed wiring and dripping fuel. His optics crackled and went dark, leaving him blind, but he could still hear the jeering Decepticons gathered around him. He could also feel the burning heat of the sun slowly sizzling his inner workings. Their enemies, they had adapted to the cruel nature of the planet, formatted themselves to withstand it with ease. He didn’t bother to speak. His audio systems hurt too much. He felt like he was going to die, but he knew he had a few cycles left. Galvatron was a despicable scoundrel, but he would not make his finishing move until the decided time.
“I admire your guts, kiddo.”
He heard the voice of one of their officers. A tough, soldier-y voice. He thought it was…Astrotrain?
“Ya didn’t scream once,” the triple-changer remarked almost kindly. “That takes ball-bearings, kid…I’d hate to say it, but…I wish there was more of us like you.”
“You turnin’ traitor, Astrotrain?” another voice asked mockingly. This one, Throttle didn’t recognise.
“Blow it out yer tailpipe, Motormaster,” Astrotrain growled. “You know I’ll always stand by our cause. I’m jus’ sayin’ the brat’s tough, so get over yaself.”
“Jus’ don’t let Galvatron hear ya complimentin’ an Autobot,” Motormaster warned him. “I don’t think he’s firin’ on all his pistons, if he ever did in the first place, so he probably won’t hesitate to blast ya into scrap metal.”
Throttle hung there and contemplated his situation. He didn’t want any other Autobots to lose their lives because of him…but deep within his spark, he didn’t want to die alone.
Landmine, Cloudburst, Waverider…
Three warriors who refused to let the Decepticons grind them down.
Lifesign, Stingray…
Two friends who were just innocent and caught in the middle of the war.
Ocelot, Wildeye, Sunbeam…
His best friends, safe on Earth, away from this horrible punishment.
Optimus Prime, Elita-One…
Father and mother. Mother is the name of God on the lips and hearts of all children. Father is king and protector in the House of Primus. Father, he thought, I wanted to follow in your footsteps and be a defender of Cybertron, but…I don’t have what it takes to lead even a small group of Autobots…I’m sorry…
“He’s crying!” someone shrieked tauntingly. “The Auto-brat’s crying!” Laughter. Chimpanzee laughter that invaded his audio sensors and slammed his brain. He wanted to go into stasis lock, to shut it all out, but Galvatron had even disabled that, leaving him with no way of escaping the humiliation. The laughter died down, and all was silent, save for rhythmic heavy footsteps and metal whooshing noises. The timer was about to hit naught, and Galvatron stood before him, cannon poised to fire.
“Well, boy,” Galvatron tittered, “it looks like it’s curtains for you now. Soundwave, broadcast to the Autobot frequency.”
“Lord Galvatron, there is a problem,” responded the monotone. “I am detecting Autobot energy signatures.”
“You’re serious?” Galvatron lowered his voice. “How many?”
“Approximately…” Soundwave made a noise much like a gulp. “…All of them.” Galvatron’s jaw hit the ground.
***
“Here we are, Optimus Prime,” Sky Lynx wheezed.
“Good work, Sky Lynx,” replied Prime. “Autobots, prepare to jettison. Sky Lynx, you’re free to retreat and recuperate elsewhere. I will summon you when the battle is over. Understood?”
“Yes, Prime,” Sky Lynx sighed in relief. “Thank you.”
“Autobots, roll out!” Prime commanded.
The doors in the side of the space ship opened, and the Autobots approached it. Daniel raised the bracelets on his wrists and pressed the Autobot insignia on the right one. Arcee’s head ejected and transformed into a white exoskeleton suit. The suit landed upright on the floor, and Daniel entered through the opening in the back, which slid shut behind him.
“Transform,” he said nervously, and the suit shifted around him to become the robot’s head again, with the boy sitting inside, his arms encased in a pair of control gauntlets and his feet resting on pedals. The head propelled itself into the air and slid into Arcee’s open neck cavity.
“Are you all right in there, Daniel?” the fem-bot asked softly.
“I’m fine, Arcee,” Daniel smiled shakily. “Just a little nervous.”
“Don’t be,” Arcee assured him, pressing her palm gently against the side of her head casing. “I’ll take care of you.” She followed the other Autobots, staying close to Springer, the mighty green helicopter.
Far below, the Decepticons were in amazement. The biggest battalion of Autobots any of them had ever seen was swooping down towards them, and at their head, fire burning in his optics, was Optimus Prime.
“S…slag you, Autobots!” Galvatron cursed. “Prime! I shall rip you limb from limb!”
“Talk is cheap, Galvatron,” Prime growled, dropkicking the Decepticon commander-in-chief to the ground and kicking up a huge cloud of dust.
The five-part Stunticon and six-part Constructicon team were the first to charge. Their respective leaders, Motormaster and Scrapper, activated their rocket systems and flew into the air. They called for their teams to come together, to form two giant monsters, the heavily armoured Menasor and the destructive, green-and-purple conqueror Devastator.
“Nothing can stop…Devastator!” the green beast bellowed in an echoing fusion of six different voices.
“That’s what he thinks,” remarked Ultra Magnus. “Protectobots! Aerialbots! Combine!”
The five rescuers and high-flyers combined into the Autobots’ own titans: Defensor and Superion.
As the two armies threw themselves at each other, pitting metal against metal in mortal combat, in yet another chapter of their eternal war, Prime picked up Galvatron by the ankles and began to swing him around in the air.
“This is for Throttle!” he roared, and let go, following up by shooting several bursts of super-heated plasma from his rifle. As Galvatron spun screaming through Chaar’s atmosphere, he was struck by the blasts, and they opened up holes in the primary layers of his skin. He landed hard against Trypticon’s outer wall and grunted. Prime lowered his weapon so it hovered just inches from his foe’s face.
“You tortured my son, Galvatron,” Prime was breathing heavily. His chest was rising and falling in quick repetition. “You tortured him when until today, he had never even set his optics on you. Give me just one good reason why I shouldn’t pull the trigger and blast you into molten slag.”
“Because…” Galvatron sneered, “…because, Prime, you’ll prove there is no difference between us. So do it. I can see your trigger-finger just itching to deliver the final strike and extinguish my spark. You failed to do it to Megatron, can you make up for that little mistake?”
Prime’s eyes narrowed, and an eternity of hate seemed to pass between them. His finger relaxed and came away from the trigger, and he let his rifle hang at his side.
“I’m not like you,” he said briefly, and turned his back on Galvatron, walking away. He looked at the stunned idiot warriors called Runamuck and Runabout.
“Get your leader out of here,” he told them, “because he’s all you’ve got.”
The twins looked at each other, and realised Prime was right. So far, all of their leaders’ disappearances had left the army with no morale, no will to go on. They hated to admit it, but without him, they were nothing. So they ran to their wounded lord and carried his spiteful, poisonous form away.
“The…the day is…lost?” Menasor stammered as he grappled with Defensor.
“That’s right,” Defensor replied. “So run away and admit defeat.”
“Next time, Autobot…” Menasor growled, and split into his five components to retreated to their city. Defensor also divided into his Protectobots, and their leader, Hot Spot, chuckled, “I love a good cliché.”
“I’d suggest you follow Menasor’s example!” Superion warned, before ripping Devastator’s arms from their sockets. Roaring in anger, the green creature lost his balance and fell on his rear end, forced to separate into the Constructicons. Superion dropped his captives, Bonecrusher and Scavenger, into a pile on the ground, then kicked them towards Trypticon.
“Is it me or was that battle really kind of short?” asked the Autobot scout Hound.
“The Decepticons must still be pulling themselves together,” replied Springer.
“Throttle…” Prime walked towards the blue robot hanging from the cross. “Dear Primus, what have they done to you?” He grabbed the chains holding his heir in place and pulled them apart, and Throttle slumped against him. Throttle heard the voice, and immediately he knew everything would be fine. He heard assurances and comforts, and was satisfied to just listen and be carried home. There were suddenly panicked, shocked gasps and whispers of, “Oh no.” Ultra Magnus’ voice, calling for Sky Lynx. Fearful chattering and the sound of a shuttle landing.
***
Deep within Trypticon, Landmine and his friends were walking down one of the many winding corridors, searching for the core of the city, so they could wipe out every stinking Decepti-creep off the face of the planet. Outside, they were certain the battle was raging, and their enemies were utterly distracted.
“What’s with all these hallways?” Waverider moaned. “It’s like a labyrinth.”
“Then beg there isn’t a minotaur or something,” Landmine waved him off.
“Not exactly, Auto-bozo,” a voice said from behind. The trio twirled around and were met with five vicious-looking robots: the Predacon warriors. It was now painfully obvious that Galvatron, much like Prime, always made sure someone was left behind to act as the home-guard. The speaker was the team’s bull: Tantrum.
“Die, scum!” he cried, and fired a shot from his gun. The other Predacons – Razorclaw, Headstrong, Divebomb and Rampage – attacked with him, and within the space of a few clicks, the Autobot teens were smoking hulks. Razorclaw stood over Landmine, his sonic-vibration sword raised, blade pointing down.
Landmine spat a glob of thick oil at Razorclaw, and the Predacon leader hit back…with a blade down the middle of the Autobot’s face.
“We’ll throw these slag-piles back to those Auto-goons,” he said. “Let them know that even in defeat, the Decepticons always have the last laugh.”
***
Closing theme: H.I.M. – Passion’s Killing Floor (Transformers Movie: 2007)
-
rusty_herring
- Back stabbing Seeker
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Cool stuff, definitely a blast from the past.
You've got Grimlock down really good, I like Shockwave 'kissing' Galvatron's boot, just trying to picture it in my mind is funny lol
Thanks for posting! I regret that I haven't had a chance to read through it until today.
Headmasters always creeped me out though. Probably because I'll be damned if someone else is going to be my head, it aint right!
You've got Grimlock down really good, I like Shockwave 'kissing' Galvatron's boot, just trying to picture it in my mind is funny lol
Thanks for posting! I regret that I haven't had a chance to read through it until today.
Headmasters always creeped me out though. Probably because I'll be damned if someone else is going to be my head, it aint right!
