The Primrose Path
Whiplash fired round after round at a pair of retreating Autobots, holding back a sigh of relief. The young Decepticon had never seen the two Autobots before, something that always caused the Decepticons trying to their best to protect this world to worry. The Decepticons were already outnumbered; more Autobots could spell their doom. They were fierce fighters, like all of the Autobots. Efficient and brutal. But now they were turning back and heading into the forest behind them. Whiplash could not help but wonder why. Certainly I didn’t drive them back, he thought warily. There’s something else going on here.
He activated his internal radio. “Bludgeon, this is Whiplash. Several Autobots are retreating into the woods. Shall I pursue?”
“Let them go and fall back to Weirdwolf’s position,” his commander ordered in response.
“I think they’re up to something, sir. I would really like to check it out.”
Whiplash listened to the slight pause on the other end. Finally, Bludgeon said, “Very well. I am sending Quake and Needlenose to assist.”
Whiplash nodded silently and moved towards the woods before him. Sunlight that bathed him on the field of battle dimmed to shadow under the large canopy provided above him.
He was small and agile and obviously built for scouting missions such as this. Every sense was alert to his surroundings. He was still concerned about the lack of intelligence about the Autobots he was attempting to track, but he had faith enough in his own abilities to remain hidden enough to make it back to camp alive. His primary function was not to act as a warrior, but rather to perform reconnaissance for use in those battles. More and more often Whiplash found himself pressed into infantry duty. Bludgeon, ever the optimist in appearance, stated that it was due to his improvement in such a role. Whiplash, however, couldn’t help but think it was more out of necessity. The base was feeling more and more open with fewer and fewer occupants walking its halls.
Whiplash stopped suddenly. He peered deep into the shadowed forest around him. Something was out there watching him and he knew it wasn’t native. He readied his blaster and stepped forward only to be driven back by laser fire from his left. Instinctively, he turned and fired, backing away from the area where the blast had emanated from. He activated his radio to notify Bludgeon. Before he could speak he backed into something. Damn, he thought as fear coursed through his body, knowing he just backed into one of the Autobots. He turned to fire at him when the Autobot backhanded him, sending him crashing through several trees on his way to the forest floor.
Whiplash shook his head, trying to dispel some of the dizziness, and looked up. His optics grew large at who was standing before him.
Brainstorm.
Brainstorm smiled happily at the Decepticon, but there was nothing pleasant about the smile. He took a couple of steps forward as Whiplash scrambled backwards. His progress came to a sudden stop as his back impacted against a large tree stump. He tried to hide the look of fear in his eyes as he stared at the Autobot but knew that it was a losing battle. This only made the Autobot’s smile larger. Whiplash had heard rumors about the terrible things that were done to Decepticons captured by this lunatic all in order to see what made Decepticons tick.
With a sudden wave of determination, Whiplash decided to show him first hand. He grabbed for his blaster. And found nothing. Keeping his optics on the openly laughing Autobot, he felt around frantically for weapon. He shifted his gaze to the forest floor, optics dancing along the surface hoping to catch a glimpse of something he could use. All he saw was the two Autobots he followed into the forest, Brainstorm, and fourth figure still obscured by shadow. Whiplash peered, trying to make out who it was. He figured it out when the figure spoke.
“Brainstorm, are we about done here?” he asked.
Whiplash froze in terror at the sound of Chromedome’s deep voice. He’s leading this battle, Whiplash thought nervously as he double-checked that the channel to Bludgeon was still open. They had gone into this battle with intelligence reports that stated this was a splinter group recently arrived on the planet. Their plan was to strike at the group before they could rendezvous with Cerebros’ Autobots. But if Chromedome was here, obviously they already had.
“It’s not everyday that I get a new toy,” Brainstorm said sullenly, knowing his fun was about to come to an end.
“Get back to base,” Chromedome ordered, ignoring the pouting scientist. “Bludgeon is far too savvy to send in a whelp like this alone.” He pointed at the other Autobots. “Gather up that piece of slag and bring him in.” Chromedome turned to go back to the battle as the two Autobots stepped towards Whiplash.
The two Autobots grabbed Whiplash’s arms roughly. The young Decepticon tried to fight off his stronger opponents but to no avail. Within seconds, he was completely bound and being dragged roughly along the ground. He closed his optics and tried to ignore the sound of the giggling Brainstorm. He tried to be brave, but the fear of the unknown horror that awaited him was beginning to consume him.
Suddenly, he stopped being dragged and he felt something warm splatter against his torso. His optics shot open in time to see one of the Autobots collapse with a gaping slash running from his neck to his left leg. He craned his head forward and saw a familiar green and brown Decepticon wailing on the other Autobot that had been dragging him. Trap, he thought, with an odd sense of relief. But the relief began slowly turning to apprehension as he watched the fight before him unfold.
Trap ducked under a punch thrown by the Autobot and swept his leg around and knocked the Autobot’s feet out from under him. Trap raised his sword, which was still dripping the life fluid from the dead Autobot at Whiplash’s side, over his opponent’s head and quickly ducked from a laser blast from Brainstorm storming back to area. Trap used his sword to get back to his feet, plunging the tip through the neck of the Autobot still lying on the ground. He then brought the sword around and knocked one of Brainstorm’s guns from his hand and was about to strike again when a blast from behind knocked him to the ground.
Whiplash craned his head back and cursed as Chromedome walked angrily towards the scene.
“I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?” he growled at the other Autobot before looking around at the carnage. He shook his head and then looked down at Whiplash. The gaze made Whiplash sink further into the brush around him. Fear paralyzed him again as Chromedome raised his weapon and fired at his torso. Whiplash grimaced as the shot scorched his metal skin and fused several of his internal systems, including his communicator.
“This one,” Chromedome continued, pointed down at Whiplash, “was broadcasting for over one heelex. Others are coming as a result…,” Chromedome took a step forward and lashed Brainstorm across the face with his rifle. A trickle of energon ran from a cut. “…of your incompetence. Be more careful next time or your head will be mine.”
Brainstorm ran a finger across the cut and stared at the energon glistening on it. He then broke into a giggling fit, which required another swipe from Chromedome to silence.
“Take that one,” Chromedome pointed at Whiplash. “I’ll grab the other.”
“Two for the price of one,” Brainstorm tittered. He looked back at the two dead Autobots. “Well, maybe the price of two.” He giggled again, but controlled the laughter. He slung Whiplash over a shoulder.
Before Brainstorm turned around, Whiplash looked up at Trap, whom Chromedome was trying to bind up. He felt bad that he had fallen victim to the Autobots as well. He didn’t really know Trap very well, but his fighting prowess was legendary. And, after seeing it firsthand, frightening as well. Whiplash had never seen a Decepticon fight like that. He had only seen Autobots with that type of attack style. Efficient and brutal.
Suddenly, before Whiplash could react, he saw Trap jump up to a crouch and kick Chromedome into a nearby tree. He raised his rifle and pointed at Brainstorm and shot out the Autobot’s knee, which was microns from Whiplash’s upturned face. Whiplash felt the rush of hot air and the sting of sparks against him. As Brainstorm collapsed, he watched Trap fire a round into Chromedome as well, rendering him unconscious.
Trap walked over to Whiplash and lifted him to his feet. “Are you okay?” he asked, his gentle voice at odds with his violent warring abilities.
“I’m f-fine,” Whiplash managed, still stunned by everything he had seen and experience, as Trap removed his binds.
Whiplash rubbed his wrists and looked down at Brainstorm, who was still screaming and laughing from the pain in his knee. He looked up at Trap, who was also frowning down at the Autobot. He watched Trap slam the butt of his rifle into Brainstorm’s face, knocking him unconscious.
“Let’s get out of these woods,” Trap suggested, “and to someplace with a few more friends.”
Whiplash nodded and followed, turning back once to see the carnage again. And he calls himself a Decepticon, Whiplash thought, his mind reeling.
* * *
Bludgeon filed past a few of his warriors standing outside the infirmary who were either waiting to be repaired or waiting to be of some help. He nodded at these fine warriors, approving of their patience and their willingness to serve outside of the battlefield. When he told them that they were the best fighting force that he had ever commanded, he was telling the truth. They understood that being active in the war meant more than simply fighting on the battlefield. It also involved activities to help their fellow Decepticons.
He walked through a set of doors into his main anteroom. The room served as a meeting place for the battalion commanders that lead the warriors on the field. But it also served as a place for Bludgeon to get away to think. He disliked war. His upbringing in ancient arts long forgotten by most of those under his command had a code that taught that war was to be a last resort. Over the last several million years, it instead became inevitable. Bludgeon sighed. Maybe someday all this will end, he thought, ignoring the small part of his mind that wondered if it would end with a Decepticon defeat.
Presently, Needlenose walked up to his commander and handed him a few disks. Bludgeon knew what was on them: vids of the battle, something to pour over to look for flaws in both the Autobot assault forces and their own defenses. Such things do make it more difficult to forget we’re in a war, he thought, repressing a sigh. He did not allow Needlenose to see his weariness. He knew he had to be strong for his troops.
“The vids, sir,” Needlenose said. “And that other information who were asking about as well.”
“Thank you,” Bludgeon said. “Have you been to the repair bay?” He couldn’t help but notice the ugly metal patch encircling the flyers upper arm, binding a recent wound.
“I’ll get there,” he stated. “Just need to finish a few things up first.” He turned to return to his post. “Oh. Trap was here.”
Bludgeon didn’t look up from the log stating the contents of the vids. “Was he?”
“Yeah,” Needlenose continued. “Said something about needing to talk to you. I told him you were busy and you’d get in touch with him later. He left so I guess he was content with that.”
Bludgeon looked up and nodded. “Thanks.” Then he pointed towards the flyer’s wounded arm. “Repair bay.”
Needlenose smiled. “Soon.”
With that, Bludgeon turned and walked towards the anteroom. The door slid open and Bludgeon walked in. He stopped and listened for a moment and then looked to his right. Slowly, he shook his head.
“I’m surprised you didn’t barrage me with how poor our defenses are the second I walked in.”
Trap shrugged. “I thought it went without saying.”
* * *
Trap watched his commander as he walked around the table in the center of the room and set the pile of disks he was holding down on the table. Trap did not otherwise move. He was sitting at the table with his feet on the table and his hands clasped behind his head. What little damage he had sustained in his scrimmage with Chromedome and his goons he had already repaired himself; no sense in bothering the overly busy medics with minor damage.
Bludgeon’s purple and red form leaned lightly against another of the chairs on the other side of the table. Trap thought he looked tired. They were all tired. Trap did not envy Bludgeon for his position of leadership. Bludgeon’s unit had come to this world ten years before at the behest of the scattered Decepticon command on Cybertron to attempt to stop the invade-and-destroy tactics that Cerebros’ company had implemented across several systems. It was supposed to be a short operation. They were told they had only to move in and surprise a small Autobot force with superior numbers and head back to Cybertron.
It had not worked out that way. Somehow, Cerebros’ command had grown from a dozen or so to several dozen. In addition, the intelligence gathered with respect to their scanners and defenses proved inadequate. Instead of a quick surprise attack, the Autobots were waiting in full force. Bludgeon’s leadership proved a sparksaver in that first battle; without it, Trap had little doubt that they would be scattered or destroyed.
For the last several years, the Decepticons and Autobots fought to a standstill. Bludgeon’s light-hearted attitude and quick wit undoubtedly rescued several Decepticons from the despondency of being away from the home for so long. His strength of leadership kept them all alive. But events beyond the control of the Decepticons were threatening to dissolve even these. In recent months, there was a new influx of Autobot troops. The Autobots were growing in numbers as the Decepticons were losing warriors. The only fresh warrior who arrived for the Decepticons was Trap.
The tide was quickly turning. Soon after arriving, Trap had approached Bludgeon with his assessment of the situation: they could not win. At least not as things were. Bludgeon quietly dismissed this and said it was not the Decepticon way to abandon a world to be ravaged by the Autobots. Trap had left it at that and did not mention it again. He had seen the look in Bludgeon’s optics before in other commanders he had fought under. Bludgeon already knew what Trap had told him but his belief in his cause would not allow him to back down from the fight.
Bludgeon sighed and sat across from the warrior. “What can I do for you, Trap?”
“I would surmise that that would go without saying by now as well,” he replied.
Bludgeon shook his head and said, “Trap.”
Trap sympathized his other Decepticon. His was not an easy position to be in. But Trap went ahead anyway. He felt it was too important to save for another time.
“A Special Forces unit would be invaluable in a situation like this. Our regular fighters are very good. They are. Since I arrived here, I have watched them mature as a unit and become a better and more resilient force through the trials that they have been through. But it is also painfully obvious that they do not have the proper learned skills to deal with what the Autobots can and are willing to wield against them. Rarely do we go on the offensive.”
“Due to the fact that such tactics often yield a higher casualty rate,” Bludgeon countered.
“We lack aggression.”
“That is against many of our warriors very nature. They fight out of necessity, not for the fight itself.”
“We lack stealth.” Trap paused, waiting for Bludgeon’s response. “No answer for that one. There is more to my strategy than simple aggression. Right now, we plod through battles because we are not giving our fighters a didactic education in warfare. We are only teaching them half of the story and it costs them in battle, sometimes with their lives. We are afraid that if we take a firmer stance in the war that we’ll become like the Autobots.”
“That is often a concern to them.”
“I know,” Trap conceded, “but it shouldn’t be. The Autobots are not Autobots because they are aggressive on the battlefield, but rather because they believe that it is their right to do what they please, when they please, and by whatever means they deem necessary. We are Decepticons because we believe that all beings have the right to live as they will without needing to look over their shoulder for some conquering race. I am not convinced that they understand this completely. If they did, their feelings on the matter may well be different.”
“That is all well and good, and on this point I do agree with you somewhat, but it is a simple fact that it is against their very nature to act in such methods. These warriors,” Bludgeon motioned towards the door, “are not killers. Even the one’s that more aggressive are still afraid. They aren’t afraid to kill an enemy in battle, but they are afraid that it will make them no better than the Autobots if these tactics are implemented and dominate the Decepticon battle plan.”
“Good,” Trap said, placing his hands on the table and standing up. “It’s good that they’re afraid. It will serve as a reminder to those warriors which side is fighting a war for good and which is fighting a war out of selfishness and greed. It will show them who is wise and who will succumb to defeat. It is courageous to be afraid and still fight, despite what some may think.”
“And yet sometimes still ill-advised where most Decepticon warriors come in.”
“That is why we need the proper training at the highest level,” Trap interjected.
Bludgeon threw his hands up and rose from his seat. “I can’t help you there, Trap. I can’t. And even if I could, I’m not sure that I would.”
He paced slowly for a moment and stopped. He looked solemnly at the tall warrior before him. He was a model Decepticon soldier. He had the savvy and intelligence and charisma to lead his own battalion at nearly any level. In the several battles that Bludgeon had fought beside Trap before being promoted to Battalion Commander, he always wondered why this was so. At first, he thought the reason was merely wariness from Decepticon High Command of his tactics. In addition to this, nearly every conversation Trap entered into, he always expressed his wish to teach at the Peace Academy and lead a Special Forces unit. Yet upon arriving here under his command, Bludgeon saw that being a soldier was a role he reveled in. And he saw why. Trap was leading by example. He took up the banner of a leader and showed his trust in that leadership. Others saw this powerful fighter, whom they respected beyond measure despite some apprehension, trust in that leader and they trusted him in turn. No unit Trap had fought with had ever decayed from the inside. All of them remained a cohesive fighting force throughout any trial they faced, even after he had moved on.
Bludgeon now believed that Trap was already a teacher, even if it was an informal one. And no doubt Trap believed that this would be his only real chance at being one. Perhaps I can help this dream along a bit more, he thought.
Without looking down at the stacks of logs, he grabbed one and tossed it across the table.
“But maybe he can help you.”
Trap scrutinized the commander for a second and looked down at the log. After deciphering the code, his optics grew with disbelief.
“You’re kidding,” he gasped finally.
Bludgeon smiled and walked towards the door. “I’ll give you leave if you wish to pursue this, but only if you promise to return to here when or if he turns down your offer. I know you don’t often stay in one place and I believe I’m beginning to understand why, but you are a part of this fighting force. I feel it and so do the other troops.”
Trap rounded the table and grasped Bludgeon’s hand. “You have my word, Commander.”
“That’s all I need.”
After Bludgeon exited, Trap turned back to the log and read it again, barely believing what it said. Megatron’s alive, Trap thought, his fuel pump pounding in his torso. There may be hope for this war yet.
* * *
Point Blank watched Cerebros pace before Chromedome, patiently waiting to see what his commander would do. The battle that had just ended was not a failure, but nor was it a success. In such situations, Cerebros always proved to be unpredictable. Try as he might, Point Blank could find no discernible pattern to his reactions.
In his own mind, Point Blank felt the reason for the failure of the mission was twofold. First, the battle unfolded in a sickeningly obvious manner. The Decepticons knew the attack was mounting well before the onset simply from Chromedome’s usual backward “victory by numbers” mantra. Had the Decepticons been caught off guard, the outcome could very well have been very different. Second, Chromedome made the mistake of bringing his insane lackey along, and worse, let him play his little games. While Brainstorm’s antics sometimes yielded useful results, too often they seemed to be a simple of matter of fun and games. At least I can be assured, he thought, that if Chromedome’s clumsy battle tactics don’t prove to be his downfall that the warriors he insists on surrounding himself will. He looked back at Sureshot and Crosshairs, standing beside him and a step behind. Unlike my warriors.
Point Blank’s attention moved back to Cerebros, who stopped pacing and stared at Chromedome. “This Trap,” he said, “he’s a bit of a nuisance.” He paused. “Isn’t he?”
Point Blank’s optics narrowed. This was not what he expected Cerebros to focus on. Why, I wonder, he thought, as the conversation continued to unfold.
“That should be obvious at this point,” Chromedome stated bluntly.
Cerebros beamed. “Indeed.” He began pacing again. “It certainly seems that you aren’t particularly fond of him. So let me ask this,” he looked up at Point Blank, “and this directed at everyone. Let me ask, is there something we can do about this…situation?”
“Eliminate him,” Crosshairs stated.
Cerebros stopped pacing and laughed loudly. He then walked quickly over to the security officer and grabbed him by the neck. “What a profound lack of imagination. ‘Eliminate him.’ Of course we’re going to eliminate him. How are we going to do this?” Cerebros shoved Crosshairs, causing him to stumble back several paces.
“We launch another offensive,” Chromedome stated. “He always comes for the bait. All we have to do is lay it out for him and wait.”
Cerebros nodded. Point Blank rolled his optics.
“Yes,” he said sarcastically, “because that tactic worked so well before.”
“You have a better idea?” Chromedome spat.
“I always do,” Point Blank countered. “By launching a mere offensive, Trap has safety in numbers, even if it is the pathetic lot he fights with. We have to catch him unawares and alone. In doing so, we will have a better probability of success.”
“And as always,” Chromedome said, “you manage to overlook several painfully obvious problems with your oh-so-brilliant plan. Trap has shown that he is shrewd as well as savvy in battle. To think that he would simply stumble into such an ill-conceived maneuver is bordering on incompetence. And you also seem to forget that he has proven to be a match for our warriors.”
“As you can attest to personally, no doubt.”
Chromedome sneered but continued. “Only proving my point that Trap can stand against even the best we can offer. You will not be setting up the Decepticon; you will be setting up our own warriors.”
Cerebros stepped between his two lieutenants, smiling broadly. “As much as I hate to break up the fun, this is getting us nowhere. Both of you will devise a plan and report back to me by the end of the day. Not with vague strategies like ‘offensive’ and ‘ambush,’ but with solid tactics ready for implementation.”
He then stepped back. “Dismissed.”
Point Blank and Chromedome both exited the forum and retreated to their own quarters. Cerebros continued smiling as he turned to his own work.
None of them noticed that Sureshot had long disappeared.
* * *
“He’s leaving?” Cerebros asked, unable to conceal the tinge of disbelief in his voice.
“All of the information that I uncovered seems to indicated that,” Chromedome stated.
“Why?” Cerebros asked mostly to himself, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“Espionage reports don’t specify, Cerebros,” Chromedome answered, handing the data to Point Blank. “It could be any number of reasons. I have our agents trying to sort that out as we speak, but he might very well be gone before we have all of the answers.”
Cerebros grunted in response, still deep in thought. Finally, he looked up at Chromedome and Point Blank. “Ideas,” he stated bluntly. “Could he be going to Cybertron?”
Point Blank shook his head. “I would not see the point in that. Any Decepticon resistance is minuscule in nature on Cybertron. And if this were a recruitment mission, any resistance movement would be loath to lose their soldiers. It is probably something else.”
“Such as?”
“It seems,” Chromedome said, “from the information we have on him, that he tends to move from battalion to battalion. A mercenary, of sorts. Who exactly he answers to has been something of a mystery.”
Cerebros perked up. “Then he could be returning to this figure of authority for further instructions.” He nodded confidently. “And perhaps it does not even matter. What matters is that he is destroyed.” He paused, his brow furrowed in thought. “Given the nature of this mission and the fact that we do not yet know where he is going and for what purpose, someone of authority must command it.” He looked up at Chromedome. “You will follow him and destroy him.”
Chromedome smiled widely. “And I won’t fail you.”
Cerebros watched the anger flit in Point Blank’s optics with great pleasure. It always proved enjoyable to pit these two adversaries against one another. Perhaps to fan the fires more, he thought mischievously.
“You will bring Sureshot.”
Chromedome frowned. “Sureshot?”
“Yes,” Cerebros continued, one optic on the seething Point Blank. “This needs to be a mission of some subtlety.” He turned his full attention to Chromedome, who shifted uncomfortably at hearing Point Blank’s watch word uttered by his commander. “Before you rip his head off, that is.
“And, Point Blank, in case you are wondering, you will remain here because I need one of my trusted strategists with me to continue our assault on the remaining Decepticons. Now that their mightiest warrior is vacating, the time to strike will be soon.”
Cerebros dismissed the two Autobots and smiled broadly as they shot ice daggers with their optics at one another as they left. Sometimes it’s almost more fun to have them separated, he thought happily, relishing their torment.
He walked over to the window and turned his head up to the night sky. He could not see Cybertron, but he knew that what there, waiting for him. As Cerebros stared to where his home world was, he could not help but feel the pain of being away from it and from the reasons he was forced to leave. But that matters little now, he thought. For the last several vorn Cerebros had slowly started gather a reputation among the fringe planets of the Empire. Warriors were slowly sifting in his direction, a little at a time. Out here, in the back corner of the universe where actions spoke louder than dry orders from the home world, Trap was renowned. To have warriors under his command destroy such a mythic figure, it would not only rid the Decepticons of a great fighter, but also bring Cerebros that many more warriors into his fold. He would be one step closer what he had sought after all this time.
* * *
Trap flew serenely over the ocean surface of this new planet in his green and tan jet mode, his long-range scanners oscillating along the approaching coast. He noted with dismay that this planet was not in good shape. He could not say for certain what it had been like before, but there was far too much recent massive destruction to be anything other than the work of the Autobots.
How though? he asked himself. Surely Megatron would not allow this.
A silent alarm from his scanners drew his thoughts back to the coast. One Cybertronian seemed to be patrolling along the perimeter of the water. Trap dropped in elevation, flying just above the surface of the calm ocean, and accelerated. He continued to monitor the Cybertronian, attempting to glean any further information from the data that he had at hand. The speed on the figure was consistent with a land based Transformer. That increased the likelihood that it was an Autobot. Trap instinctively increased his speed. He did not want the Autobots alerted to his presence before he could make contact with Megatron. He activated his visual scanners, but he could see little aside from the blue of the ocean and the thin gray-brown of the coast.
Quickly, he reviewed the data that was available on Megatron’s mission and those of his attackers, Lord Optimus Prime. Megatron’s troops were well known among Decepticon circles as among the best in their dwindling army. Their loss four million years before were grieved by many, not just for as a loss of strong warriors, but also as a loss of good friends. Lord Prime’s crew was less well known, due to a dearth of spies that have infiltrated Autobot strongholds and managed to live to report in any information. Quite honestly, the lost warriors of the Autobots proved to be less desirable information than that of the location and abilities of those that were still alive. Trap frowned inwardly. Now he found himself wishing the Decepticons had been able to find the time to study history as well as the present.
Finally, Trap’s enhanced visual scanners began to pick up movement along the coast. The red form was not of a configuration that was recognizable to the Decepticon warrior. He reasoned that Autobots and Decepticons alike likely adopted forms native to the world they found themselves stranded upon in order to better blend into their surroundings when necessary. It doesn’t matter who this Autobot is, he reasoned with a sigh. He cannot be allowed to report into his base just yet. Trap plotted an intercept course and powered down his advanced scanning equipment and diverted energy to his lasers. Once he was within a mile of his quarry, he cut his engines and glided in silently, hoping to catch the Autobot unawares.
Such luck would not be his.
The Autobot quickly veered away from the large Decepticon jet and came to a stop. Trap had little doubt the Autobot was attempting to devise who his attacker was. And Trap knew an opportunity when he saw it. He quickly fired his engines and turned, firing several missiles at the Autobot. Trap grunted with grudging respect as the Autobot withdraw from the attack and survived with little damage. The Decepticon flew higher into the sky and looped around for another pass, noticing the Autobot shift into his battle mode. Trap barreled around incoming blasts from the Autobot. He continued to fire madly at other Transformer, knowing that only a lucky shot would fell his opponent. Sand exploded around the Autobot, who instinctively shielded his optics and dove aside just before Trap was able to collide with the smaller warrior. Trap came around to the left and transformed. He stopped as he finally got a good look at the Autobot.
Well, this could certainly make things interesting, Trap thought, recognizing Windcharger’s smaller form staring back at him.
Both Transformers drew their weapons and fired as they sought cover for the fight. Trap tucked his head and somersaulted across the sandy beach, grimacing at the sting of laser fire pelting his thick armor. He turned towards the smaller Autobot and fired a ferocious volley of laser fire towards him, causing Windcharger to scramble in the opposite direction to avoid the blasts. Trap looked around him and frowned. The beach offered no cover and no vantage from which to launch a true assault. And in the current situation, Windcharger’s small size and better agility could prove the deciding factor, despite Trap’s advantage in firepower and strength. Trap fired his rifle towards Windcharger again and looked over his shoulder. Several hundred feet away lay a small escarpment lead towards more varied terrain.
It’s got to be better than this, Trap thought as he jumped, flipping through the air towards the higher ground.
Windcharger had obviously come to the same conclusion. Trap watched the Autobot raise his arms and who is magnetic abilities to fly quickly towards an antennae array not for from Trap’s target. Cursing, Trap tried to shoot Windcharger out of the sky, but was unable to attain the proper firing vector. The blasts flew harmlessly into the blue sky, disappearing into the distance.
Trap landed heavily on the rockier terrain, he turned in time to see Windcharger deactivate his magnetic field, dropping behind several large boulders just outside the burned-out forest.
“Slag it all,” Trap whispered, ducking away from laser fire from Windcharger. “Just like last time.”
Trap did not doubt that Windcharger had, by now, contacted the other Autobots about his situation. He could not afford to take on multiple Autobots right now. He needed to get to Megatron.
“Well, smelt this then,” he whispered angrily.
He couldn’t outmaneuver the smaller Autobot, so he decided to change tactics and do what the Autobot would not expect: full-out attack, taking full advantage of the size difference between him and Windcharger. Trap placed a hand on a large rock in front of him and hurdled over it. Ignoring the blasts scorching his armor, he rushed forward, weaving as much as he could afford to avoid the oncoming barrage of laser fire. As Trap grew ever closer, his long legs chewing up the distance in a matter of seconds, Windcharger backed away from his shelter to get a better firing angle. This is what Trap counted on.
Trap grabbed his sword from the hilt and vaulted over the boulders between him and his quarry. He flipped through the air and whipped the sword around. Windcharger turned and fired at the Decepticon, striking him at point blank range. Trap ignored the pain ripping through his arm and wings, bringing his sword to the ready and slicing the end of Windcharger’s gun clean off. Landing behind the startled Autobot, he aimed his rifle and fired, knocking the Autobot into the boulders that had served as his refuge. Windcharger slumped weakly to the ground, stunned from Trap’s bold maneuver.
Trap stood over the fallen Autobot and rested his sword against his neck. There he paused, not moving, simply staring at Windcharger. Slowly, he pulled his sword away, though still close enough to strike if he was forced to.
This isn’t right, he thought. I can’t strike down a foe like this. Not even him.
Windcharger’s optics narrowed, riveted onto Trap’s own.
“So what’s this?” the red Autobot asked bitterly. “Mercy? From you?”
Trap simply held Windcharger’s icy glare.
“Yes,” he responded. “I’m capable of it, as you well know. That’s the difference between us.”
“Oh, I’m capable of it. Just not with you.”
With that, Windcharger pulled a small laser from his wrist and fired at Trap’s knee. Trap bit back a cry of pain as the hot blast tore through the joint, nearly taking off his leg. Losing his balance, Trap fell towards Windcharger. The full weight of Trap’s enormous form dropped heavily onto the Autobot, who grunted with pain and surprise. From atop the Autobot, Trap buried his elbow into the arm with the gun protruding from it. He turned and looked at Windcharger’s grimacing, angry face and hissed with rage. He lifted his arm and elbowed the smaller Transformer in the face, knocking him unconscious.
Trap slowly lifted himself to a sitting position and disabled several key components to make sure the Autobot wouldn’t be waking up with Trap still nearby and prone for another attack. Trap tried to stand, his face contorting with pain as attempted to put weight on his injured leg. After nearly collapsing several times, Trap managed rise shakily to his feet. He looked back at Windcharger one last time and slowly trudged towards the dead forest, hoping to find a place to lie low and take a closer look at his wounds.
He crossed the threshold into the forest and looked up. The blackened husks here offered no cover from above. If Windcharger had in fact contacted the Autobots, he did not expect a convoy. He expected air support. It was, after all, what he would do. The Autobots may be a band of sociopaths even at their best behavior, but they were still a militarily sound group. He continued limping deeper into the barren forest, dragging his large frame around the dead trees still managing to stand, pointing morosely into the blue sky above.
Some of the trees were shattered, resting unevenly on the ground. Most of the trees were simply charred. It could have been through natural means. Trap had seen many natural forest fires on Nebulos. Bludgeon and his army would likely see many more. The cynical warrior in him, the being that had seen too many wars on too many worlds, knew otherwise. It was simply more rampant destruction by a few bored Autobots.
Trap looked upwards, spotting green leaves over the tops of the dead forest. He limped further into the forest, occasionally pausing to lean on a stable tree until a wave of dizziness passed. As Trap walked, he could not help but notice his gait was quickly slowing. He turned and frowned deeply at the ground below him. Energon was verily pouring from the wound on his knee. He wouldn’t be getting very much further if he did not stop to bind it. Perhaps worse, it left a trail that anyone could follow.
Trap lowered himself slowly onto the forest floor, the canopy above him serving as cover. He dragged his fingertips slowly across the wound and slowly shook his head. He was a decent field medic, but he needed a real medic to look at the wound. Laser fire had cut off the energon supply to his lower leg. The inner frame that served to support him was contorted in a way that every step was scraping the gash opened in the conduit, causing even more energon loss. Trap took out a small laser and sliced off his shin guard. He placed it over his twisted knee and soldered it into place.
His wounds bound, Trap took a moment and laid his head back, his hands resting wearily over his optics. This was not going how he had hoped. He did not know what to expect when he arrived. He expected Autobots, but he was hoping to find friends before he found enemies.
He dropped his arms heavily to the ground and stared up into the sky. And straight up the barrel of an arm-mounted laser. Before he could react, a familiar voice spoke.
“Catching you, of all Decepticons, off guard. And looking like that. Today’s just not your day, is it?”
“Guess not,” Trap answered.
He craned his head back slightly and saw not one, but three Decepticons standing over him. A smile nearly crept onto his face as he saw two Decepticons he thought were long dead, Thundercracker and Dirge, pointing lasers at his head. He turned his attention back to the first Decepticon towering over him.
“It’s good to see you, Starscream.”
Starscream’s forced expression seemed to say that he did not feel the same.
* * *
Sureshot looked up from his rifle, in which he was placing a fresh power pack, and watched curiously as Chromedome stared out of the shuttle at the planet sliding slowly beneath them. For the last hour, the sub-commander had been listening to the intercepted radio transmissions from the planet below, patiently strumming his fingers on the console before him. Sureshot himself had reviewed the transmissions, and while he found them odd, did not detect any unusual activity out of it. After assuring himself that his rifle was fully powered, he slung it over his shoulder and stepped up behind Chromedome. The sharpshooter found the other Autobot’s demeanor very odd. It’s not like Chromedome to sit still for so long like this, he thought. Why is he doing it, I wonder?
“Ready to depart,” he stated neutrally, making certain that Chromedome would not be able to read his confusion.
“Don’t you find it odd,” the gold Autobot stated distantly, “that this world looks like it does?”
“How do you mean?” Sureshot asked, his brow furrowing minutely. He had noted upon arrival that the planet seemed to be the site of a recent global war.
“Look at it,” Chromedome answered, motioning towards the planet. “It’s dying. It’s been ravaged by war so recently that it could very well still be occurring. And yet this is a world that we believe Trap’s overseer is residing.” Chromedome resting his chin on his left hand, the thoughtful look still in his optics. “Why would a Decepticon allow this to happen? It’s completely unlike them. Unless, there are more than merely Decepticons on this world.”
Sureshot blinked in surprise despite himself.
“Listen to this transmission again,” Chromedome said.
With the flick of a switch, the alien transmission filled the shuttle. Voices of the natives of the planet below chattered over one another, each with a different dialect. Sureshot had already isolated several different languages among the transmissions and translated, but they yielded little valuable information on the surface. Naturally, the yellow Autobot planned to review them in full to get a better picture of this world at a later date. It never failed to surprise him what valuable information could be had in the most mundane detail.
Over several minutes, Chromedome spoke again.
“There. Did you here that?”
Sureshot frowned. He had heard something at the tail end of the transmission, something that seemed almost out of place.
“You’ve isolated that, I assume,” Sureshot prompted. Sureshot had heard that, before joining Cerebros’ efforts, Chromedome had made a name for himself in the field of encryption.
Without answering, Chromedome flicked several more switches. The native voices dropped away, leaving nothing but static. Several minutes of background noise passed before the transmission erupted in a series of ticks and buzzes, barely louder than the hum of static in the background.
Sureshot’s frowned deepened. “A code?”
Chromedome finally turned around and leaned back on the shuttle controls, his arms folded thoughtfully across his chest.
“Yes. Simple transmissions, signifying unit movements. This type of code was used mainly for scouting teams. They would beam in their locations and possible locations of enemy installations, which would then be incorporated into offensive maneuvers. This information was encoded and piggybacked on a benign local transmission, hidden beneath of the louder chatter. It’s fairly rare on Cybertron now; they were once sent on the tail end of neutral correspondences, but obviously they have their uses on alien worlds. Even still, these are old codes. I haven’t heard them for vorn. You likely have never heard them. Many of them have been Decepticon codes.”
Chromedome looked over his shoulder at the blue planet again.
“But that one is not a Decepticon code. It’s Imperial.”
“Imperial?” Sureshot asked, slightly taken aback.
“Yes. This isn’t some Autobot trading post or a Decepticon colony that some random warlord decided he wanted to take over for a while. They don’t get these kinds of codes. Even the old ones. There are standard codes that are given to and used by these types of outposts.
“Imperial sites, however, are given Imperial command codes. Rather than reinitiate themselves with a set of regional codes, this more exclusive set was used. It allows easier transfer of troops and command forces when establishing themselves on a new world. The colonial warlord and his most senior subcommanders were given access to the codes; it wasn’t something that just any grunt warrior had access to. Given all of that, it also had the added effect of lending a bit of prestige to the new colony, at least in the eyes of the command units. The worlds were no longer viewed as a subordinate satellite to another planet. They were the Empire. Cybertron may be the center, but these worlds see themselves as the legs the Empire stands on.” Chromedome’s optics glowed brighter. “Each new planet added in such a manner did nothing more than lessen the influence of Cybertron itself. Cerebros saw this; that’s why he attempted to wrest the regency from Magnus. But that fool did not see it that way. He would rather let Cybertron fade in power when it should be synonymous with power.”
Chromedome took in a breath to calm himself before continuing.
“Continue intercepting these transmissions, peeling away the local chatter, and feed the data into the tactical computer. We’ll try to establish where the base of operations for the Empire and the rebels as best we can. It wouldn’t be wise to traipse into an Imperial camp without some idea of what or who we are likely to see down there, not with the bounty Magnus has put on our heads.”
Sureshot returned to the command controls and began sifting through the transmissions again. “The likelihood of gleaning any useful information about who Magnus has down there is rather slim.”
Chromedome sat down at the tactical console and shrugged. “I’d rather spend a couple of cycles waiting for a break than running into Hot Spot or Duostrike down there.”
Sureshot grunted in response and continued with his work, listening to Chromedome mumbling about Decepticons and old codes, obviously continuing to work through something that continued to bother him about the nature of the planet below. For his part, Sureshot was still a bit shocked at the mention of the Empire. Among Sureshot’s web of informants were several Autobots on established Imperial worlds. They were too valuable a source of information to let go, despite the fact that Sureshot and the other Autobots were wanted by that very same Empire for their attempt at overtaking Ultra Magnus’ position as Regent. Through these informants, Sureshot knew that the Empire had ten colonies of the sort that Chromedome had been fuming about. None of them was the planet they now orbited. This world was new to the Empire. This fact was what bothered him most. More than not knowing some antiquated command code or even the uncertainty of who was in command of the world below. It was the knowledge that there was a very large, very important piece of information that he had not been aware of. It always made him wonder what else was out of his reach and remained unknown to him.
The console before Sureshot suddenly started lighting up. Sureshot ran his hands over the keyboard and discovered that a new, and much stronger, transmission was emanating from the planet. Sureshot frowned and turned towards Chromedome.
“Incoming transmission. It’s encrypted but it’s a tight-beam subspace transmission. That’s not usually the way that the Empire conveys data, especially with a Decepticon presence so close by.”
Chromedome frowned and rose from his seat. “No, it’s not. Not anymore.”
The gold Autobot walked across the shuttle to the terminal before Sureshot. The yellow Autobot watched as three input wires sprang from the first three fingers of Chromedome’s right hand. Chromedome quickly inserted the inputs into the communications console and began decrypting the intercepted code. After several seconds, the subcommander pulled away from the console and walked slowly to the main forward display. Sureshot rose and walked up beside the other Autobot, watching him again stare at the planet hanging serenely below them, seemingly lost in thought.
“The code is that old,” Chromedome whispered. “But how…”
Chromedome looked up at Sureshot, his optics glowing a dark blue shade the sharpshooter recognized as a sign that the subcommander was still deep in thought.
“That message was really nothing,” Chromedome continued. “There was no vital information that they were beaming to Cybertron. It was a call for a general progress report from Cybertron. From Cybertron. From the Regency.”
“Ultra Magnus is here?” Sureshot asked.
“No.” Chromedome answered quickly. “No, the code… it indicated that Magnus was to send a progress report here.” He paused. “The sender was the Lord Prime.”
Sureshot took a step back, his mouth agape despite himself. “But he’s been gone for thousands of vorn. Certainly he must be destroyed.”
“It doesn’t appear that way.” Chromedome looked at Sureshot. “If the Lord Prime is here, I would lay odds that the Decepticons on this world are lead by Megatron. That’s who the Lord Prime was following when he disappeared. If that’s true, Trap is likely out of our reach.
“But that doesn’t matter at this point. This mission has changed. If the Lord Prime really is alive, it will have a significant influence on our goals for Cybertron. We have to get as much information on who is with him, what his situation is, and his relationship with Magnus and Cybertron.”
“The best way to do that is to get inside,” Sureshot suggested. “Check a few things out.”
Chromedome turned towards Sureshot, regarding him with some manner of suspicion. At this point, Sureshot had grown used to such looks from Chromedome and his followers. After a couple of moments, Chromedome spoke again.
“I suppose you think you’re the one to get in there? It’s highly unlikely that Ultra Magnus would have talked about the attempted coup with the Lord Prime; he wouldn’t want to show any face other than that of the strong, loyal toady who held strong to the Regency without incident. But we have to take into account that Ultra Magnus may have some troops here, some which may know about the coup, some which may have even fought against us.” Chromedome gazed at Sureshot, a mirthless smile in his optics. “Of course, they wouldn’t have seen you, now would they? You were behind the scenes. Can you come up with a cover story if you’re seen?”
“Already have,” he responded, returning the humorless smile, “but I won’t be seen.”
Chromedome glared at the other Autobot for a moment. This too was something Sureshot had grown used to with time.
“Keep the ship cloaked and bring it down near the source of the transmission.”
* * *
Trap slowly activated his optics and found himself staring at a slate gray ceiling. Seconds later, his audio sensors soon followed suit, with the soft hum of repair equipment. Well, that’s hardly a thrilling way to wake up, he thought. He braced his arms against the table and started to slowly lift himself up.
“Uh-uh, you’re not done,” a stern voice called from behind him.
Before Trap could respond, he was shoved roughly back onto the table. A green and purple form walked past and began to adjust settings on the equipment. Trap scowled up at the other mech. No doubt he was simply doing his job, but Trap was already behind schedule. Though it was by his own doing, he did not want to waste any more time.
“I’m quite fine. All my internal diag—.”
“Shut up,” the mech interrupted. He then turned and faced the direction he had come from. “Hook, by Cybertron, if you don’t get your afterburner over here and recalibrate this ion pulse distributor, Devastator will be looking for a new head module.”
“Dramatic as always, Scavenger,” a smooth voice out of Trap’s field of view called back. “It’ll get done by the end of the cycle. Now, Long Haul, do you have any threes?”
“Go fish.”
Trap’s scowl deepened.
“Am I attached to that thing, Scavenger?” he asked, indicating the ion pulse distributor the other mech was still fiddling with.
“No, but if you don’t relax and let the equipment that is hooked up to you do their job, I’ll test it on you, got it?”
An annoyed growl rose from Trap’s throat as he lay is head roughly against the repair bay was lying in. He stared back up at the ceiling and tried to relax again, but with little avail. He was nearly jumping out of his outer shell with excitement. For thousands of vorn, the Decepticons had made do with what they had in the fight against the Autobots. For thousands of vorn, they always came up short. Though the efforts of Megatron’s lieutenants were valiant, they simply could not stand up to the larger and stronger Autobot force. But Megatron was different. He was no mere warrior or some mech thrown into a leadership role. He had every value a good leader should have: skill, intelligence, cunning, compassion, empathy, and intuition. And the list would certainly stretch on. With him, the Decepticons had a chance.
Now if only I could get a chance to talk to him, to see what I can do, he thought, whatever that may be.
Trap looked at the back of Scavenger’s head and started to strum his finger’s impatiently on the edge of the repair bay.
“Stop that,” Scavenger groused, half turning back towards the Decepticon warrior, before sticking his head in the ion distributor he was working on to get a better look at the inner workings.
“Look, I completely understand that you have a job to do here,” Trap stated.
“Oh, you do, do you?” Scavenger said sarcastically, his voice echoing from within the distributor. “Then, pray tell, why won’t you let me do it?”
“But,” Trap continued, “if I could only speak with Megatron if that’s at all possible.”
“Will I do?” a voice called from the doorway. Trap lifted is head and looked at Starscream leaning idly inside the doorway.
Trap smiled. “Of course.”
Starscream returned the smile and started to walk across the medical bay.
“So, Scavenger, how is our patient doing?
“He’s annoying the slag out of me,” Scavenger returned gruffly. “So, yes, he’s better.”
Starscream pulled a chair next to Trap’s bay and sat down. Trap studied the Air Commander for a moment. He looked like the same young reliable warrior that he remembered from back on Cybertron. He still walked around with that indestructible smile, acting as the life force for the Decepticon units. But there was something else there, something that a more inexperienced Decepticon might not see. He seemed to carry himself a little different, as if a weight had been added to his shoulders. And there was a look in his optics that he had seen before. It was a look of a warrior that had seen more of the effects of this blasted war than he should ever have had to see. It was a look he had seen in nearly every command Decepticon that had every met. It was a look that he saw in his own optics every time he saw his own reflection.
“So, feeling better?” the gray Decepticon asked lightly, a smile still resting easily on his faceplate.
“What happened here, Starscream?” Trap asked.
Starscream sat back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest. “Right down to business. You’d think that you were the one that just spent thousands of vorn in stasis. You haven’t changed at all.”
“But you have,” Trap responded, watching the other Decepticon tense minutely, his smile dropping slightly. “War of this magnitude has a tendency to do that to an individual. To anyone. It is simply what we are. We aren’t creatures of destruction. So when our hand is forced, leading us down a path that we are not prepared for, we can’t help but change. We can’t help but lose a part of us, no matter how hard we try not to.” Trap paused, staring into Starscream’s optics. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
Starscream looked away from Trap and gazed at three Constructicons playing some game away from the other patients, taking a short break from their usual duties. Trap watched him as he then turned his head, looking upon a semi-conscious Skywarp, nursing injuries from a previous attack. After a few seconds, Starscream turned back towards Trap, no longer smiling.
As Trap watched the Air Commander, he could not help but be amazed. He was nearly a child compared to some of his peers. And yet now, the Decepticon that sat before him had an air of command and respectability around him. Most younger Decepticons that Trap had met over his years walked through life with a haze before their optics, refusing to see the perils that lay before them. These younger Decepticons respected that the Autobots were a danger to Cybertron and the universe at large, yet they still refused to step up to that danger, to do whatever they could to face it down, to stand up to it, and fight the war that must be fought. They were holding themselves back from a fear ingrained in them from days when the biggest worry was the traffic of other Transformers hustling into a job. They feared that fighting would make them Autobots. Trap did not see that fear in Starscream’s optics. Instead, he saw another fear, a far more realistic one. He saw the fear that their war efforts would fail.
After another moment, Starscream nodded. “Yeah, it’s bad.”
* * *
Sureshot walked behind Chromedome several paces, pushing whatever foliage which still lived out of his way, walking quickly towards the location of the Autobots main headquarters. Sureshot could not help but be impressed with the security measures set up around the facility. Already he had to reroute three different sensor units as they made their way closer to the base. They were fairly standard pieces, but enough to catch an unwary Decepticon off guard. Which, in Sureshot’s opinion, made the security equipment useless; after all, with the Decepticons undoubtedly knowing the location of the Autobot base, why would any Decepticons be walking near the base unwittingly?
Sureshot looked around the thinning forest with growing fascination. He had seen worlds like this before. In fact, Nebulos was not unlike this planet, though perhaps more intact. Cerebros was adamant that the planet should stay viable for as long as possible. He reasoned that a living planet had more to offer than a dead one did. The fact that this planet was as devastated as it appeared intrigued Sureshot. The era of the Lord Prime was before his creation; all he knew was the regency of Ultra Magnus. What sort of warriors did the Lord Prime have at his beckoned call? What sort of plan did the Lord Prime have for the planet that it could have a dwindling viable life force? On the surface, it appeared wasteful, but perhaps there was something more to it.
Sureshot slowed his gait and looked forward again, allowing Chromedome to move further ahead. The other Autobot was a genius; Sureshot could readily admit that. But he wondered if perhaps the other Autobot was out of his element on this mission. It almost seemed that Chromedome was planning to walk Sureshot right up to the front door and toss him in. Missions such as these often required more stealth and thinking on the fly. They rarely allowed for strict plans of action. Sureshot slipped through the forest at an angle, moving further from the subcommander. With the state of the security around the base, he should be able to find a suitable way into the base on his own accord. He was not some amateur fresh out of the Academy. On Cybertron, before going into exile, he was almost a regular fixture in Iacon, though that was not something that Iacon’s security force was aware of. He certainly did not need Chromedome holding his hand.
He paused, glancing back towards Chromedome’s location for a moment, listening for any movement. He frowned slightly at the silence. Never knew he could walk so quietly, Sureshot thought. Even during the success of the missions on Cybertron, he rarely hid his presence. After a moment, Sureshot turned.
And found himself face to face with Chromedome.
“Maybe you didn’t quite understand that when I said that this mission needs to be followed to the letter,” Chromedome said with quiet menace, “I meant it.”
Chromedome took a step forward, forcing Sureshot back a pace. “There is now much more on the line with this mission than the elimination of a single Decepticon warrior. What we can potentially learn here can significantly shake up everything that we continue to strive for. And I will be damned to eternity in the Matrix before I see this mission disrupted because one of us decided that they were too good to be following very simple orders. Were you once assigned to set up a codebreaking system in this very ship? Have you ever studied its schematics?”
Sureshot said nothing.
“Of course not. But I was and have, so you can be sure that I know where you can safely enter this vessel without the slightest chance of detection. Whimsy and intuition will only get you so far in that vessel with those Autobots. And just so we can dispel the notion that it will be a piece of oil cake to get the data you need, you should keep something else in mind. The Autobots in that base are legendary for a reason. You noted their arrogance in using such primitive detection equipment. They can deserve to be arrogant; many of them are better and more skilled at their duties than we could ever hope to be.
“And be on your guard. If you’re caught and by some miracle your cover story fools whomever did the catching, rest assured you will not fair so well before the Lord Prime. His anger and paranoia may be legendary as well, but that doesn’t not make them any less true.”
Chromedome turned Sureshot back in the direction they had been walking. “Straight through there you should find the portal that I mentioned. The secondary command center is fair distance away and the path is covered with sensors, but it’s nothing that you haven’t seen before.”
Sureshot nodded and began trudging through the forest. He closed his optics for the briefest of seconds to compose himself. He despised being dressed down by any commanding officer. He knew his job as well as anybody and had yet to significantly fail on mission. But when that commander officer was Chromedome, more known for his brutal war tactics than for missions requiring a soft touch, it made it that much more unbearable.
“And Sureshot,” Chromedome called softly.
The yellow Autobot turned towards Chromedome.
“Be careful in there. We’re going to need you in a big way in the coming days.”
Sureshot blinked, more than a little surprised at the complement from the other Autobot, and nodded again before turning back towards his path. He walked quickly through the forest, which was thinning far faster that Sureshot was expecting. Within moments, he was both exposed and within view of the exhaust portal that Chromedome had indicated. After activating his signal dampener, he ducked down and quickly surveyed the area, making certain that there were no guards in the vicinity, before sprinting forwards and into the exhaust shaft.
Not daring to activate a light in the dark tunnel, Sureshot walked slowly forward with his hands rubbing lightly on the grimy walls. He activated his infrared scanner briefly to get a quick look down the tunnel for any obstacles. Seeing nothing, he deactivated the scan; it was too easily detected. Still using the wall as a guide, Sureshot quickly walked down the tunnel. At the end of this shaft was the engine room, someplace that was likely abandoned as the engines for the Ark were permanently off-line.
After moving several feet, Sureshot stopped and listened. Underneath the hum of the general equipment that kept the base up and running and the steady drip of condensation in the tunnel, there was something else, a soft murmur gliding through the dense air. After a moment, Sureshot began walking again only to hear the murmur crescendo to a shrill laugh echoing through the tunnel. Sureshot stopped suddenly, grasping his blaster and leaning cautiously against the wall. It’s nothing, Sureshot tried to reassure himself. You’re just letting this place and what that hosehead said about it get to you. Whatever…whoever made that laugh is likely a good distance away from here. Now move.
Even with his self-assurance, the trek that was supposed to be fairly short now seemed as though it was taking an eternity. Sureshot felt the dark, dank tunnel seemed to be closing in on him. As the laugh continued to echo through the tunnel, it was everything the yellow Autobot could do to stay relatively calm. Finally, he came up to a thick grate that lead to the main engine room. After a quick passive scan revealed no other Autobots, he quickly released the grate from its holding and entered the room.
The engine room was nearly as dark as the exhaust portal, with only the soft glow of a few minor sensors rendering the only light. Sureshot walked slowly towards a computer bank and pushed away from the wall, revealing both the severed power conduits that once powered the terminal and the tunnel that the dead wires that fed from the main power core. Sureshot dropped to the floor and slithered backwards into the tight pathway, grabbing the computer and pulling it back against the wall as he continued down the tunnel.
According to Chromedome, the Ark had been built such that the engine computer could be severed from the main computer. It was a fact that was not very well known even amongst the crew and had a lot to do with the Lord Prime’s paranoia. He had apparently wanted to have a firm grip on all controls in case one of his crew decided to turn against him. With the engine room terminal being the only other primary interface besides Teletraan-1, such a coup would begin from that terminal. However, some data still flowed through the dead wires. Sureshot simply had to work his way toward the main power core until his sense of electromagnetic radiation indicated that a series of wires was hot. One of the wires would, according to Chromedome, carry an echo of the transmissions that the Autobots were piggybacking to local chatter. Based on some of his previous missions, Sureshot certainly could not disagree. This data would hopefully at least tell them who was still active aboard the ship, and more importantly, the general mission these Autobots were undertaking. Chromedome did not need to tell Sureshot that the Lord Prime remaining away from Cybertron like this was unusual. Every tale that was spun talked about power and power lay with Cybertron. There was obviously something about this planet that kept the Lord Prime on it.
He stopped suddenly and placed a hand over one the wires. Nodding, he slid slightly closer to the power core and activated a small clamp from one of his fingers. In the light of his blue optics, he watched as he gently grasped one of the wires with the clamp.
And he waited.
After what felt like ages, a data stream winnowed through the wire. He narrowed his optics in concentration, preparing to decipher the message. He blinked, annoyed at the brevity of the message. He ran it through his decoder, which came back with a short burst: “Unit Kalis, rendezvous with Subunit Techtyn near Great Falls for energon pickup. Prowl out.”
Sureshot shrugged. Fine, he thought, now I know for certain that Prowl has survived. He turned his attention back to, waiting for another message to flow through the wire, perhaps a reply. Breem went by before another pulse flowed towards him.
“Unit Alpha, report to Sector 7A for standard reconnaissance patrol. Prowl out.”
Right, Sureshot thought as his shoulders slumped in the cramped tunnel, this might take a while.
* * *
Trap leveled Starscream with a sincere look. “I can help. Just tell me what to do.”
The tall warrior waited as Starscream simply stared at him. Trap took another swallow of the electrolytic energon that Scavenger had shoved into his hand. Still, Starscream said nothing. One hand was resting near the air commander’s mouth and thoughtfully tapped against his chin. Trap could almost imagine what Starscream was thinking. He had seen the same thoughtful, neutral look from many a commanding officer as awaited orders. Even more, he remembered a time on Cybertron before Megatron and his crew had disappeared. He remembered sitting in Megatron’s anteroom watching a young Starscream sit before a debate between Trap and Soundwave as if he was watching a sporting event that was once popular before the war broke out. A young Starscream that listened to the pros and cons of Trap’s style between a being that believed that such tactics necessary if they were to defeat an enemy not bound by honor and another who believed that they must never veer down that path.
Trap’s optics shifted slightly as he watched Astrotrain glide across the room towards the injured Skywarp. Skywarp turned him head towards Trap and shot him a quick reassuring smile. He found himself almost smiling back towards the young flyer despite his dire mood. Astrotrain, for his part, simply narrowed his optics at Trap, before turning his attentive to Skywarp. It was a look that needed no explanation. It was a look that Trap had seen a time or two. It was a look he himself had gazed upon the Autobots with.
Starscream’s head turned towards the two other Decepticons briefly. Finally, he spoke.
“I’m not sure I’m in a position to advise you in that regard.”
Trap frowned. “Advise me? Starscream, you’re the second-in-command of not only this unit, but the whole of the Decepticon army.” He watched Starscream shift uncomfortably at this, but continued. “Megatron is out in the field. I want, I need to help. For Cybetron’s sake, put me on tracking duty, guard duty. It doesn’t really matter to me.”
Starscream kept his continence neutral. “Now we both know that would be a waste of your talents.”
Trap’s frown deepened. In a lower tone, he returned, “I know more than the arts of war.”
Starscream chuckled. “Back off there, slugger. I’m quite aware of that. But you’re also practically on the curriculum at the Peace Academy when it comes to advanced military tactics.” A crooked smile grew across the air commander’s face. “Practically. Soundwave would have budded courier drones if he knew those battle plans were being passed under the table while we were supposed to be studying back in the library archives.”
Trap said nothing. He knew that there were some that studied his techniques. And it was no secret that he longed to teach at the Peace Academy. He never realized, however, that students at that very Academy were analyzing his various tactics.
“In fact, throughout Advanced Offensive Tactics, I kept a datalog of some of the stuff that you managed to pull off through your career. The class was taught by some stuffy old codger who looked like he hadn’t seen combat since before Cybertron had moons. At the end of the class, we each engaged in a war game. Each student devised a battle plan and pitted it against the instructor. We weren’t expected to win, but I was sure that I could if I used some your ideas.
“For a few battles, I was winning handily, catching my enemy off-guard at every angle. Then the proverbial tide turned. Moral dropped off, the players in the simulation began in-fighting, and eventually I lost the game. The instructor brought me aside after the simulation ended and explained to me why I lost. It wasn’t because my tactics were unsound, but rather that it was not my own style. I was uncomfortable in the role and my players in the game reacted to that.”
Again, Trap remained silent.
“The fact of the matter is I believe that your more aggressive tactics on the battlefield are, well, necessary. I simply am not comfortable being the Decepticon to order it to the front lines. We have not won as many battles as we should have. However, we have remained a cohesive fighting unit. Us, a unit that could not be more diverse. We have a poet here, for Cybertron’s sake. I remember you telling Soundwave one time, back on Cybertron, that we a race of individuals, each of us very different from the rest. That is our greatest strength. I’m not sure wiser words have been spoken. It’s that individuality, not just technique, that will lead us to victory.”
Trap sat up and leaned closer to Starscream. “For the last several hundred vorn, since the fall of Cybertron to the Autobots, I’ve spent most of the time amongst various resistance units scattered about the fringe of Autobot-held territory. Autobots out in these star systems are beyond brutal. I’ve heard of acts that would make the most hardened Decepticon warrior, perhaps even a handful of Autobots, shudder. An inordinate amount of carnage follows in the wake of these Autobots, while their so-called Empire simply stands by and watches. It’s not only the forces of Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus that we have to vanquish. It’s these warriors that would stoop to levels no mercenary would touch that we must face as well. In reality, it’s these warriors we will likely have to deal with first. The Autobot leadership no doubt knows that these roving bands will not only eat away at the shear number in the force, but also its very heart. We need to be able to strike at them first, to play their own game. We need to be able to strike at their individuality and make them fear us.”
Astrotrain, who had obviously been listening to the conversation, turned towards them.
“As one who has seen what wanton destruction can do to the soul of a Decepticon, I must say that you are quite wrong. To kill in such a manner is simply against the code that the universe was meant to follow. If we should break that rule, how can we say we are any better than the Autobots?”
“Like you said,” Trap responded, “the Autobots break that code with their every action. If they have incapacitated one of our warriors, they will think nothing of delivery a painful death to that warrior. We’ve all heard horror stories about torture by those who reside in their ranks. Where we are better than the Autobots is in that we know where that line is drawn. We know the difference between killing on the battlefield and murder. On the battlefield, we all fight out of necessity, not out of pleasure. If we capture an enemy warrior, we don’t torture them and kill them. That is where the path between Autobot and Decepticon diverges.”
Starscream lowered his head for a moment before bringing his scarlet optics even with Trap’s own yellow optics. “It’s a dangerous path to go down, Trap. It’ll change us, no matter what we do.”
“I simply fear that path will find us sooner or later regardless of what we do. I simply feel that we would do well to face it on our terms rather than stumble across it in the dark.”
Before Starscream could reply, the shrill bleat of a priority message alerting the gray flyer to an incoming communication. Starscream rose to his feet and crossed to a monitor as he tapped his communicator. “Starscream here. What is it, Buzzsaw?”
“Starscream, we’ve got an emergency alert from a human resistance cell due east of Eureka. From what I’ve been able to make out, an Autobot recon unit stumbled across them.” Buzzsaw paused briefly. “The message doesn’t seem to be distress call. They’re warning other humans to stay away from the area.”
“How many Autobots?” Starscream asked as he studied the layout of the area the alert emanated from.
“Don’t know. There are transmissions coming from the area, but I haven’t been able to tell if it’s native or Autobots calling in to their base.”
“Who do we have that can get there?”
After a brief pause, Buzzsaw replied, “Not very many. You, me, Astrotrain, Thundercracker, Dirge, the Constructicons. We can call in others from the area, however.”
“Do that. Anybody within shouting distance.” Starscream motioned to Astrotrain to follow him as he walked toward the door. “Buzzsaw, you and the Constructicons remain here. They have too many wounded to tend to and we need you to man the comm station. And contact Megatron. Advise him of the situation.”
As Starscream and Astrotrain exited the medical wing, Trap ripped the wires from the monitor system off his arm and strode after the other two Decepticons. A hand grasped his arm before he could make it to the door.
“Hold it,” Scavenger said.
“I’m going with them,” Trap said sincerely. The Decepticon warrior watched the smaller green Decepticon turn towards a table behind him before facing Trap again. The Constructicon held Trap’s rifle out to him.
“Yeah, well, you won’t make it very far without this.”
Trap nodded once and sprinted out of the room.
* * *
Trailbreaker watched the humans scurrying into caves they thought would serve as cover with a sneer. He fired several rounds of laser fire towards one pack of them, watching several of them unceremoniously and anti-climatically evaporate from the high-powered charge.
“Hey Trailbreaker,” Cliffjumper called from behind him, “if you’re going to waste energy shooting those things, you should at least use a lower setting.”
The black Autobot slowly turned around and leveled a menacing glare upon the red Autobot. Cliffjumper was holding onto most of a human, who had apparently lost consciousness, in one hand and the creature’s left arm in another. After several seconds, the smaller Autobot began to squirm under the scrutiny. Trailbreaker stopped a smile that threatened to creep onto his faceplate. Before he could turn and have a little more fun with Cliffjumper and the Autobot’s quickly fraying nerves, his sensors indicated an energy transmission. The humans were sending out a message, maybe a distress signal.
“Blast it,” Trailbreaker whispered, activating his communicator. “Windcharger, are you out there?” Nothing but static answered. Trailbreaker cursed again and activated a secure link to Autobot Headquarters. “Headquarters, this is Trailbreaker.”
“What do you want?” one of the comm technicians replied.
“Prowl. Now.”
“Listen, he’s a busy Aut--.”
“NOW!” Trailbreaker shouted, grimacing at the feedback the echoed through the transmission.
After several seconds, the Autobot’s second-in-command tersely asked, “What is it, Trailbreaker?”
“We came across a human encampment on our scouting mission. They may have sent out a distress signal. To the Decepticons.”
“May have? Please spare me conjectures. I won’t mobilize our units for no reason.”
“Windcharger’s also disappeared,” Trailbreaker offered.
“Disappeared?”
“Yes,” Trailbreaker responded. “We split up to cover more ground. Cliffjumper, Brawn, and I stumbled across these humans while we were waiting for him to return. He hasn’t answered his commlink.” Trailbreaker left the logical explanation unsaid, that Windcharger had run into enemy interference.
“Even still, I am loathe to--.” After a brief pause, Prowl add, “Hold.”
For several seconds, Trailbreaker waited keeping one optic on Cliffjumper and Brawn as they continued to harass the humans. More strangely, the humans seemed to be putting up something of a fight. They had certainly found a way to impede Brawn’s one-dimensional attack scheme that Trailbreaker called “Smash/Break.” They simply stayed in their reinforced cave-like structures, only to reappear at random locations further up the foothills of the mountains. As for Cliffjumper…
Trailbreaker leveled his blaster at the human in whom Cliffjumper was continuing to focus on and vaporized it in the Autobot’s hands.
“Be more helpful, pipsqueak, or I’ll be sure you spend some quality time with Ratchet. Post-energon bender.”
Cliffjumper nodded quickly and scampered away. Trailbreaker chased him with a few more blasts for good measure, a large smile breaking across his face. The smile abruptly ceased as he glanced casually up at the sky. He strained his audio receptors to their limit, trying to detect the sound of incoming Decepticon jets. They were fast. Far too fast for Trailbreaker’s taste. He disliked how they could swoop in and disrupt an ongoing operation. Some, like that idiot Sideswipe, surmised this was because he was a coward. He simply liked to have a tactical advantage, no matter the endeavor. Right now, he had the advantage. If the Decepticons arrived, that advantage would vanish. It wasn’t a matter of cowardice; it was a matter of defensive strategy.
“Trailbreaker,” Prowl suddenly stated, causing the Autobot strategist to start slightly. “We have detected several possible Decepticon units converging on your location. They have, thus far, evaded our tracking array, so we do not have an exact location nor a precise number.” Trailbreaker sensed Prowl’s annoyance with that fact even over the communicator. “I will be accompanying several additional units to your location to engage. Hold them off until then. Prowl out.”
Trailbreaker simply stared at his communicator for a moment. With the sound of an explosion in the background, Trailbreaker jumped again. He again stared up at the sky, straining to hear the enemy approaching.
I hate tactical disadvantages, he thought.
* * *
With a crooked smile splitting his face, Sureshot disconnected himself from the broken communications wire he had been monitoring. After hours of receiving no more information that the fact the Prowl was alive and apparently had his hand in many of the bases functions, he had finally come across a near windfall of information. So many names were rattled off in the span of mere minutes that Sureshot could easily deduce that most, if not all, of the Autobots had survived their long hiatus. But there was so much more than that. Minor information on the primary native lifeform, data on this Autobot unit's data relay methods, a sketchy idea of the location of a tracking array. Sureshot's smile widened. So much information, he thought with satisfaction.
News of the tracking array was, however, worrisome. He would have preferred to keep this information to himself for the time being, but he knew that was simply not going to be possible. Sureshot knew it existed. He had been able to extrapolate the location of a handful of the devices, but nowhere near enough of them to safely maneuver about the planet. He knew he would need Chromedome's help with the matter. In fact, a part of him wondered how they had managed to get as far as they had already without being detected. It was almost as if Chromedome had already been aware of it.
He reached into a compartment on his back and pulled out a small device. He quickly attached it to the severed communications wire, suppressing a chuckle that threatened to escape him. Strictly speaking, Sureshot was not supposed to leave behind monitoring devices. They had a tendency to be found all too quickly. However, Sureshot felt that it was quite necessary. Establishing any informants among this crew would be too dangerous, but there was still much more information that needed to be gathered. Sureshot had designed the monitoring device in question specifically for such a covert operation. It would continue to function until it was tampered with. Then it would simply disintegrate away to vapors, leaving no trace of who had placed it there. Rather ingenious, I must say, he thought smugly as he anchored the device to the wire.
With the monitor in place, Sureshot made his way slowly back up the tunnel. With the Autobots out in force, a new security protocol had been put into place. While the journey into the base had been surprisingly easy, the trek out would certainly be more difficult, even with his signature dampeners. A smile still resting on his face, Sureshot began the long journey.
I do love a challenge.
* * *
Trap flew in formation behind Starscream and Thundercracker and beside Dirge, with Astrotrain completing the formation just behind Trap’s port side tail wing. As they flew just above the surface of the ocean, Starscream detailed the battle plan for the other Decepticons. Astrotrain had volunteered Trap to run a quick scouting patrol near the human encampment, pointing out that Trap had superior scanning equipment than the other four Decepticons. Trap certainly agreed that this was the proper strategy, but he also knew there was an underlying reason for the suggestion. Trap and Astrotrain had several confrontations in the past over battlefield tactics. As a friend of Blitzwing, Astrotrain knew too well what could happen in the war at any given battle. Ages ago, Blitzwing lost a commanding officer due to his own aggressive battle techniques. Ever since, the Triplechanger had changed, voicing caution where he had once suggested a strong offensive maneuver. Astrotrain had thought that this would change Trap and had expressed more than a little disappointment when it had not. In fact, Blitzwing’s change of heart had only steeled Trap’s resolve and had the effect of increasing his already vocal call for more intensive training in unconventional tactics.
Unconventional for the Decepticons, Trap corrected to himself. The Autobots are more than willing to go that route.
After Trap had a general accounting of the location and number of the Autobots in the area and an assessment on the location and viability of a human front, he would contact the other Decepticons, who would then begin their strafing runs in the hopes of catching them somewhat off-guard.
“Having a Decepticon on the ground already will help in that surprise as well,” Starscream added.
“Just as long as I can help, Starscream,” Trap replied. He ignored a grunt from Astrotrain and the uneasy reverberation from Thundercracker that followed the Triplechanger’s utterance.
Obviously sensing the tension, Starscream added, “Blitzwing has notified Buzzsaw that he can be at the human encampment within minutes of our arrival. Shrapnel sent several of his Insecticon drones with him. I have him moving in without evading the Autobot’s tracking array in hopes that their focus will be in that direction.”
“Won’t that put Blitzwing in danger?” Dirge asked. “Those drones certainly won’t be any help.”
“We’ll get there first, Dirge,” Starscream replied confidently, hoping that it would ease the flyer’s mind. Tipping his wing back toward Trap, he said, “Time for you to go. We expect to be two Earth minutes behind you. Assess the situation as best you can and report. Then standby for the fireworks to start.”
“By your command,” Trap responded respectfully, dropping out of formation and racing ahead.
For the second time in a day, he found himself flying toward the shoreline of this foreign world, his scanners at full power and hoping he would not be spotted before he could appraise the situation. There was more than his own life at stake this time. Five Decepticons and an unknown number of humans were relying on his success in his mission. He could not help but think of Windcharger, who he faced north of this very spot along the coast. Thoughts of Windcharger always brought back images of a different time and place. With Windcharger came thoughts of Tarn with its rugged but beautiful skyline before it became a veritable ghost town and a time when war was the furthest thing from the minds of most Decepticons. It saddened Trap to think about this. If only they are heeded the warnings that seem so plain right now, the Decepticons might never have been caught unawares when the war started anew. Trap scowled inwardly, knowing that he too was guilty of such lax judgment. He knew that something was happening. Through his work as the constable of Tarn, he had uncovered a myriad of circumstantial evidence pointing toward an escalation in hostilities. Instead of being more direct with the evidence he did have, he sat back and waited instead, looking for better information. He had been stupid, not believing that the peace they had established could evaporate so quickly, despite being well aware of what the Autobots were capable of.
This idea that the war would never end, and in reality never had ended even in a time that seemed peaceful, always filled Trap with sadness. Deep in his laser core, he knew the war would never end. He was not naïve. He did not believe that the Autobots would give up their conquering, murdering ways. Nor did he believe that the Decepticons would be willing to strike the killing blow to the heart of the Empire, to walk far enough down that path to put an end to the Autobot’s tyranny. However, he also believed that the Decepticons would never stop resisting. It was a spiral that had no end.
Trap dropped out of the sky and transformed, quietly falling to the forest floor below. Given his size, it was surprising to many that he was so stealthful, able to largely avoid detection when on a scouting patrol. He slipped past a small grove of young trees, growing despite the polluted air and its scorched brethren that still stood nearby as an example of the Autobot’s destructive ways. As he neared the location of the Autobots, he increased the intensity of the signal, hoping to nail down locations and numbers before Starscream and the others made their approach on the encampment. Trap frowned as he examined the information. Only three Autobots seemed to be in the area.
So few, he thought. Windcharger was likely with this group as well, however.
Trap was about to activate his comm unit to report to Starscream when a twig snapped behind him. Trap ducked quickly, hearing the whistle over his head as some heavy object raced passed the location his head had previously been. He pivoted around to his right, unsheathing his sword. As he turned, he raised his sword and blocked a second blow coming down from above him. He looked up at the angry gray face of the Autobot and recognized him as Brawn, one of the thugs that often stood at the front lines of battles back on Cybertron. This Autobot was leaning heavily on a large metal pipe, trying to drive Trap to the ground. Trap, with each end of his sword in each of his hands blocking the pipe, slowly started to stand up. Trap watched as Brawn’s face shifted to an angry confusion. Based on what information Trap had on the Autobot, Brawn tended to rely heavily on strength, giving little regard to energy weapons or aid from his comrades. Even still, Trap jammed Brawn’s communications.
After several seconds of struggling to keep Trap from getting leverage over him, Brawn disengaged his crude weapon from Trap’s sword and flipped backward with agility that seemed to belie his stout stature. Trap rose to his feet and charged at the Autobot, who again contorted his face in surprise at the move and leapt to the side in time to avoid Trap’s sword. Trap watched Brawn flip back to his feet and parry back towards him. Trap easily blocked the pipe’s progress with his sword and brought a fist around with his free hand, striking the Autobot in the face. Brawn staggered back several steps, dropping the pipe into the dead, brown leaves on the forest floor. With the hilt of his sword, Trap struck Brawn on the side of the head several times and watched the Autobot drop unceremoniously to the ground.
“Trap, respond,” Starscream implored over the comm link. “Is anything wrong?”
After kicking Brawn once more to be certain he was unconscious, Trap said. “No, disclosure was averted. You have two Autobots in the camp currently and one incapacitated at my position. Humans are resisting but seem to be succumbing to the barrage. They may be able to assist but I would recommend giving them cover fire for a full retreat. I can detect several weak life signs at the fringe of the battlefield.”
“Confirm that, Trap,” Starscream sent. “Only two Autobots?”
“Affirmative, however I have been receiving some odd signals toward the north. It could signify incoming reinforcements.”
“Count on it,” Starscream said. “Their base is to the north of this location. We’re moving in. Prepare to engage.”
With that, Trap heard nothing but the battle between the two remaining Autobots and the humans nearby. All he could do was wait. It ate him up inside to here the wanton destruction and being in a position where he could do nothing. He knew that the other Decepticons were mere minutes away, however. He would have to take comfort in that.
Trap stooped down beside the fallen Autobot and examined him again. A part of him wondered what should be done with Brawn. Right now, he was of little concern. But tomorrow or the next day, he would be back in fighting shape and lining up opposite the Decepticons again. He should be made to be in a position to never harm another again. Trap stood and sheathed his sword.
But that is not for me to decide.
Trap craned his head towards the blue sky as the sound of jet engines roared nearby. That was his cue. Trap pulled his blaster to the ready and ran through the forest towards the location of the Autobots. As he reached the edge of the clearing he watched several cluster bombs strike near the two Autobots, who had both dived for cover as the Decepticons raced past them. Trap leveled his blaster at the Autobots, nicking the red one on the shoulder before he could spin out of the way.
As Trap watched Blitzwing fly over with several drones in tow, his proximity alert pulsed. He quickly opened a communications link to Starscream.
“Those reinforcements are incoming, Starscream.”
“Copy that, Trap. Get in the air, if you can. We have an advantage up here.”
Trap stooped near the fringe of the clearing, waiting for the next Decepticon sortie to pass before he made his move. He jumped into the air and was about to transform when a white and black Autobot in vehicle mode skidded to a stop in the clearing and transformed. Prowl, Trap thought.
Prowl, noticing the brown and green form of Trap across the clearing, fired several shots at him before turned his attention briefly to the flyers overhead, launching several laser-guided missiles into the air. Knowing he could not get into the air at this point, Trap curled into a ball and somersaulted over the blasts. As the laser fire struck several trees behind him, the silver blur of metal streaking through the air caught his attention. Trap’s optics widened as he saw them tailing Astrotrain through the air. As Trap roughly hit the ground, he leveled his own blaster at the missiles and fired at them. He breathed a sigh of relief as they erupted harmlessly in the daytime sky.
“Many thanks, Trap,” Astrotrain sent over the radio link. After a brief pause, he added, “On your right!”
Without looking, Trap flipped backwards. He landed on his feet 20 feet from where he had previously been, looking at the smoking crater that had taken his place. He glared towards his right and the source of the crater, a black Autobot he recognized as Trailbreaker. Trailbreaker fired another round at the Decepticon warrior, but Trap evaded this blast as well.
“You can keep running,” Trailbreaker drawled, “but sooner or later, I’m going to get you.”
“Stop with the idle chit chat,” Prowl snapped as he fired a shot through Dirge’s left wing. The Autobot growled as the Decepticon remained airborne and returned fire. “Wheeljack, get those warriors in here.”
As Trap sprinted away from cover fire sent his way by several Autobots, he peered towards north and watched with wide optics as several large identical robots stormed into the clearing firing round after round into the air at the flyers.
Cursing, Trap opened a channel to Starscream. “You have to fall back,” he sent.
As Starscream arced around several tracer rounds, he replied. “No, we have to fly higher. We are not leaving you down there grossly outnumbered. Decepticons, evasive maneuver protocol Omicron.”
With that, Trap watched the five flyers dazzlingly shift positions, confusing the aim of the seven identical robots firing at them. Only the Autobots were able to continue tracking them. A smile crept onto Trap’s faceplate. Those aren’t Autobots. Those are drones. As the drones’ confusion at the maneuvers over their heads continued, Trap leapt out of the forest. With the blaster still in his left hand he shot at two of the Autobots nearby, knocking them aside with several blasts each. He quickly transformed into jet mode and cruised towards them. Several more Autobots dove out of the way, but the drones remained focused only the flyers well above them, not even noticing one just ten feet off the ground and closing on them fast. He launched two missiles into their midst and pulled up and to the left. Just as he was about to clear the trees, his frame shuddered as an acid pellet buckled in his tail wing structure. Trap quickly transformed and dropped to the ground, several wounds still smoking as he crashed to the ground. Trap quickly rolled to his right and away from several more rounds intending to finish him off. The Decepticon warrior jumped to his feet and dashed for cover. He cursed at what he saw.
While only one of the drones seemed capable of continuing their attack, Dirge and Blitzwing, both obviously injured, were nearby fending off several Autobots in their area. If they weren’t in the air, that likely meant they were no longer capable of flight in vehicle mode. In addition, Trap was finally able to get a count on the number of Autobots in the midst of the battle: twelve. They were desperately outnumbered with half of their number unable to fly. With a fist clenched at his side, Trap knew the tide needed change if they were going to make it out of this. He glanced at his blaster, which was mangled nearly beyond recognition, and then pulled out his sword. Without informing the other Decepticons, he melted back into the forest.
* * *
Prowl dove away from a mortar fired from the tank-mode Blitzwing and let out a growl. He rolled back to his feet and quickly pivoted. Almost instantly, his rifle was raised and he fired at the Decepticon. He watched a scorch mark appear on Blitzwing’s strong armor and noted sparks fly as some component or another became disabled. As Blitzwing pulled back and continued to bombard the Autobot locations with round after round, Prowl shook his head.
“These Decepticons do not seem to know the meaning of viable strategy.”
Not that the Autobot second-in-command was complaining. Prowl turned again and fired a missile at Starscream far overhead, only to have it intercepted and destroyed by one of the other Decepticon flyers. Eliminating Starscream would certainly advance him further into the hierarchy, drawing more power to him without causing too much suspicion among the other command elements. He lined up Starscream again and prepared to fire when he was driven back by hot plasma racing microns from his upturned face. He winced and threw himself to the ground, looking back for his attacked and saw only Wheeljack.
“What in the name of the Matrix was that?” he demanded.
“Don’t look at me,” the engineer said defensively. Only his characteristic voice told Prowl that Wheeljack had spoken. Both of his voice indicators seemed to be malfunctioning. “It came from back there.”
Prowl’s optics followed to the location that Wheeljack’s thumb had pointed towards, and ducked again as another volley of laser fire barely missed taking off his head. He looked up again, his face covered with dust, and glared into the dark forest, searching out his attacker. His optics focused on a glint of silvery metal and he jumped gracefully into the air. Hovering there for a second, he fired at his would-be destroyer and smiled as he heard a grunt of pain and a crash of metal crushing fallen trees.
Turning his attention back to the flyers, he stated, “Wheeljack, bring whoever that is out here. We’ll see if a hostage will speed this battle up a bit.”
“But the drones--.”
“Are now Hoist’s responsibility,” Prowl finished. “Move. Now.”
Prowl continued firing upon the flyers overhead, easily evading the attacks from the ground-based Decepticons that were becoming increasing more clumsy and hurried. Prowl felt his mouth upturn. Not long now, he thought with satisfaction. After several moments, he mind wandered back to Wheeljack. He should have been back from retrieving the fallen Decepticon in the forest by now.
“Wheeljack, respond.”
Prowl was answered with dead air. After moving towards cover from the continued Decepticons attacks, he peered back into the forest and saw nothing. His forward scan indicated several Transformers lying inert in the forest however. His optics narrowed, he retreated to the fringe of the forest, searching the forest for a trap.
Prowl pulled up quickly as he reached the Wheeljack’s supposed destination and frowned at the engineer’s still form lying atop another, smaller robot. Prowl pulled Wheeljack off of the other and his frown deepened has he identified the other robot as Cliffjumper lying haphazardly on the forest floor. Both where suffering from wounds indicative of a sword of some sort, though Cliffjumper also had several punctures from Prowl’s acid pellets. Prowl stooped down and placed his hand on the muzzle of Cliffjumper’s gun. It was still warm, meaning the small warrior’s gun was likely used to attack him. Rising again, Prowl, peered into the forest around him again. As he considered the Decepticons in the battle and who might be able to take down two Autobot warriors so quickly. His form tensed as he made a deduction. One of the Decepticons was new too Earth; he vehicle mode was an unaltered Cybertronian design. Memories of Cybertron washed over him. Among them, memories of a formidable Decepticon warrior he thought would have been long since destroyed.
Something we will have to remedy, he thought. A Trap indeed.
Prowl opened a secure channel to the other Autobots.
“All units, watch for a Decepticon warrior named Trap. He is the green and brown flyer that is a part of the Decepticon forces in this battle.”
“Why worry about him?” Huffer replied.
“Because is location is currently unknown. He has already incapacitated two Autobots. Simply be on guard and shoot to kill.”
“When don’t I?” Trailbreaker responded.
With that, Prowl deactivated his communicator and focused on locating the Decepticon. He quickly assessed what he knew about Trap. He was an excellent tracker and certainly a warrior to be reckoned with. He did not believe half the stories told about him, but exaggerations had a basis in fact. More importantly, Prowl deduced that he was not only injured, but his own primary weapon was damaged, leaving his with only a sword. The Decepticon would be forced to battle with a short-range weapon amongst Autobots teeming with energy weapons able to strike at a distance.
Not a strategy I would wish to use, Prowl thought with satisfaction.
* * *
For a moment, as Trap watched Prowl from a distance, he considering simply rushing the Autobot and trying to put an end to the fight. With Prowl incapacitated, the other Autobots would likely not carry on themselves and order a retreat. Trap looked down at his hand, which still stung from where the Autobot had hit it when he using the red Autobot’s gun. Prowl was quick with his rifle. Trap could easily see the Autobot taking down Trap before he was in striking distance. Trap decided to wait for a better tactical edge before moving against Prowl. Instead, Trap circled around the battlefield waiting for another opportunity to pare down the Autobot forces.
He did not have to wait long. A small orange Autobot, one he recognized but could not recall a name, was veritably parading about the edge of the battlefield. He was evading the Decepticons’ attacks, but he was clearly confident of a victory in the way he was carrying himself. Indeed, he was barely aware of what he was shooting at. Trap walked slowly to the edge of the clearing, grasping his sword around the blade, its deadly point aimed squarely at the orange Autobot. He lifted the sword over his shoulder and waited for the Autobot to turn towards him. As the Autobot pivoted, firing randomly in the air at one of the flyers, his optics looked onto Trap’s. As Trap watched those optics widen in recognition, he hurled his sword at the Autobot. Before the Autobot could react, the sword slid smoothly through his upper chest near the shoulder, the momentum of Trap’s toss throwing the Autobot towards the middle of the clearing.
As the Autobot crashed to the ground, the nearby combatants, both Autobot and Decepticon, stopped suddenly and stared at the unconscious figure that at appeared in their midst. Trap knew that the calm would not last long. He also knew it was time to make his move. As he ran towards the fallen Autobot and his weapon, he activated his comm unit once more.
“Starscream, forgive my impertinence, but I have to do this. Get the injured out of the line of fire and in a more secure position to help. I’ll distract the Autobots as long as I can.”
“Trap, no—,” Starscream started, but abruptly stopped. “Fine. Don’t do anything too stupid. We’ll pull you out last.” After another pause, he added. “Good luck.”
Trap deactivated his comm unit and leapt towards his sword, doing his best to evade the laser fire erupting around him. He grabbed the hilt of the sword still embedded in the Autobot and used to as a break, wincing as a rocket raced passed him. His feet hit the ground hard and he quickly glanced up, surveying his situation. He watched two Autobots running towards him and detected a third approaching from behind. He drove the sword deeper in the ground, ignoring a moan of pain from the unconscious Autobot it was embedded in, and kicked his feet forward, launching the two approaching Autobots into the air. His hand still on his sword, he flipped over it, landing on his feet facing the third Autobot. He ripped the sword from the ground and swung it towards the surprised Autobot in front of him. The Autobot leapt to the side in enough time to evade the brunt of the thrust, but still suffered a large gash along his left arm. Trap rushed forward again and beheaded the last active drone, which had finally turned its attention to the action on the ground. As he turned to face a new foe, pain erupted down his back. He lurched forward and ducked, rolling away from the laser blasts.
“Not so fast that time,” boasted Trailbreaker.
Trap growled and turned, launching himself towards the black Autobot. Trailbreaker scrambled backwards, continuing to fire at the large target that Trap made. Trap raised his sword and drove it forward, but Trailbreaker sidestepped the attack. As Trap’s sword again found itself buried in the soft ground, he turned and clobbered the Autobot on the chin. Trailbreaker grunted in surprise and landed roughly on the ground.
Before Trap could move to finish him off, fresh laser fire turned his attention back to Prowl. Several of the Autobots were continuing to harry the Decepticons. Trap turned and sprinted back into the fray. One small Autobot leapt into his path, but Trap easily trampled his smaller opponent. Again, a barrage of hot plasma pelted his steel skin. He avoided what he could, but he was finding that his self-repair systems were having an increasingly difficult time keeping up with the injuries that continued to mount. He felt his reaction time slow. It was a feeling he disliked, as though he were fighting in water.
Again, he jumped into the air. The continuous laser fire halted briefly as a hail of cluster bombs struck the location of several of his attackers. After making a mental note to thank Starscream later, he focused again on Prowl. The Autobot second-in-command, leveled his rifle on Trap and fired, driving Trap somewhat off course. With all his strength he turned his body, attempted to bring his sword back in line with the enemy. He brought his sword down and felt the sting of sparks strike his face as to sliced cleanly through the Autobot’s rifle. Without pausing, Trap thrust his weapon at Prowl, who managed to just barely twist out of the path of the blade. With the Autobot without a weapon and badly out of position, Trap drove one of his feet out, buckling one of Prowl’s knees. He brought his other leg around and kicked the white Autobot squarely across the face, sending him sprawling to the ground. Despite feeling weaker by the breem, Trap raised his weapon over his head and began to bring it down upon Prowl’s head. His head shot up in surprise as he felt the weapon slide from his weak grasp.
He turned and looked into Trailbreaker’s menacing blue eyes as the black Autobot brought Trap’s sword forward and impaled the Decepticon in the lower torso. Trap staggered backwards several steps before falling to the ground.
“So much for today’s hero,” Trailbreaker said quietly as he raised his own weapon. “Rest assured, there will be no more tomorrows for you.”
Trap tried to move out of the way, but found that he could not. He heard surprised shouts from the other Decepticons, mostly likely seeing through the smoke and haze of the battle what had happened.
“Shine on,” Trailbreaker added, as he pulled the trigger.
Trap’s vision filled with yellow light followed by a burst of static. Then, nothing.
* * *
“NO!” Starscream screamed, as he swooped low over the battlefield and watched as Trailbreaker fired a shot right through Trap’s head as the Decepticon lay on the ground. He launched two missiles towards the Autobot, but because of the haste in which he released the weapons, he missed badly. He veered quickly upward, evading Autobots’ return fire and soared back into the clear sky above the firefight.
Trap’s tactics had paid off. Dirge and Blitzwing were both in a more secure position, offering cover fire for the remaining airborne Decepticons. In fact, the Autobots seemed to be deeply disorganized, something of a surprise given that Prowl was leading the attack. Even still, it did not take away the pain of seeing Trap killed in the manner that he was, prostrate on the ground and gravely injured. It was less a death in battle than it was murder. Starscream’s jet mode shuddered in rage.
And I’m going to make the Autobots pay, he thought angrily.
But before he could react, a familiar voice sounded through his open communicator.
“Reinforcements have arrived,” Megatron called to his air commander.
With the added firepower of Megatron and the three Decepticons he had in tow, the rest of the battle was little more than route. With the injuries that already befallen the Autobots at the hands of the Decepticons, both in the air and on the ground, Prowl quickly ordered a retreat from the battlefield.
Starscream dropped to the ground and transformed. Through the gray of smoke and haze, he walked slowly to Trap’s immobile form resting quietly on the blackened forest floor. As Astrotrain and the others hurried to help what humans they could, Starscream forced himself to stare hard at the Trap. Energon was still slowly flowing from dozens of char-rimmed laser holes that covered his battered frame. His sword still rose out of his torso. As Starscream’s optics began to rise towards the Decepticon warrior’s face, he felt a hand fall gently on his shoulder. Oddly relieved, Starscream turned to look at his commander.
“He saved us,” Starscream told Megatron. “The way he fought out there…”
A small wry smile formed on Megatron’s faceplate. “You read about it and you hear about it. But to see it, it’s both awe-inspiring and a bit frightening. There are not many who could fight with such voracity and yet hold so true to his beliefs and cause.” Megatron paused as he looked at the fallen Decepticon. “But this is not the place for a eulogy. We’ll bring him back to the base where he can get a send off worthy of such a warrior.”
Starscream nodded and turned back towards Trap. As Megatron’s hand slipped from his shoulder, he finally looked at Trap’s face. A small hole lay on his forehead. Barely visible, due to his position, was the far more extensive damage at the back of his cranial unit, completely blown apart from the explosions that undoubtedly reverberated through his head, the actual cause of his death. But somehow Starscream barely noticed it. Even the more extensive damage from the blast, the feature that stood out most was the expression on Trap’s still, dead face. One of resolve, one that could only come from duty fulfilled. Finally, Starscream turned away, feeling himself uneasy.
If Megatron had not arrived when he had, I would have fallen prey to my rage, he thought. If that had happened and it was me that perished, would I have died with such a look of resolve? Or would I have had a look of horror at what my rage had made me?
Starscream walked towards the human encampment, the questions still swirling through his mind.
* * *
Windcharger simply stared at his communicator. Forgotten was the pain that still throbbed across his body from his run in with Trap. Gone was resentment that he was away from his mission for a full day because of his injuries. All he could do was stare at his communicator.
It was only in the last breem or two that the device was even operational. Even still, he could send little more than the most coarsely coded message. He was, however, receiving data. He had sat still in the dark forest beside the coast listening in to the confused messages flying between various Autobots on the battlefield. He had been about to turn away from the communicator and return to repairing other primary systems for the journey back to the Autobot base when the name “Trap” filtered through jumble of messages. From then, he sat enraptured, quietly wishing he could be there, that he could be the one facing him in battle again.
But, just before Megatron’s arrival and a call of retreat from Prowl, he had heard a phrase he thought impossible. He heard the familiar voice of Trailbreaker state matter-of-factly, “Decepticon Unit Trap has been terminated.” Since then, Windcharger was immobile, his communicator a blurred vision before his unseeing optics.
He thought back to Cybertron million of years ago. He thought about Tarn, about being an Autobot living within a predominantly Decepticon community. He thought about the dark looks and snide remarks as he walked by. He remembered when he formally enlisted in the Autobot army, leaving behind his home that seemed almost like a jail cell at times. He recalled the mixed feelings when, with his help, Tarn finally fell to the Autobots. How could such feelings not be mixed? he often reasoned. It may have been teeming with so many backward thinking imbeciles, but it was still his home.
Not that any of the Autobots knew this. An Autobot that once lived amongst Decepticons would have been a marked robot. He never would have risen to his current rank if such knowledge were on the vocalizer of every Autobot. Instead, like most everything that he noticed around the base or that he believed in his laser core, he kept this information a secret from all. In fact, as far as he knew, the only Transformer alive that knew he was from Tarn was Trap.
Unbidden, other memories of Tarn surfaced. After Tarn’s fall, he remembered talking to Trap and Trap’s look of anger and hurt that Windcharger would actively attempt to harm his fellow citizens. He recalled his own anger at Trap for being so short-sighted as to think that the Decepticons of Tarn ever saw him as a fellow citizen. But that had not been Trap’s point, as Windcharger came to realize. Trap’s hurt stemmed from the fact that Trap himself saw that Tarn was Windcharger’s home. Windcharger nearly winced as one last memory rushed to his consciousness.
Windcharger had been sitting in a cheap bar near one of the slums near his quarters, nursing an energon. Several large, overenergized factory workers, likely coming off a shift, had sat beside him, leering at him, daring the Autobot to so much as make a move in their direction. Instead, he had finished his drink, paid, and turned to leave. The Decepticons had staggered after him. Windcharger turned on them, confronting them, telling them to back the Pit off. Instead, they rushed forward, make more courageous by their drunkenness and their advantage in numbers. Windcharger held them at bay for several moments, but was finally overcome. The bright sky above him blinked out as the Decepticons piled on top of him. And quickly reappeared as they were forcibly thrown aside. Windcharger remembered seeing Trap’s face appear in his field of vision asking if he was okay.
Windcharger cursed and rose to his feet, pacing back and forth through the underbrush. Windcharger’s life in Tarn was not pleasant, but he knew Trap’s presence as Tarn’s constable made it better than it would have been. And after literally saving his life, even after so many years, after so many bitter confrontations, Windcharger felt a tug of duty towards Trap for his help long ago.
Windcharger sat down quickly again and returned his attention to his communicator. It would still be some time before it would be fully functional, but he had to take the chance. He opened a channel and directed at the nearest open Decepticon signal his partially repaired scanners could detect. After a moment, he sent a burst of data streaming towards the Decepticon. He quickly closed the channel and rose to his feet, walking north towards the base.
There, ‘old friend,’ he thought darkly. We’re even.
Suddenly, Windcharger stopped and ducked quickly behind a large nearby tree. He peered around it and watched two Autobots walking through the woods, disappearing into what could only be a cloaked starship. Windcharger frowned as he accessed data on the two Autobots. One of them he recognized as Chromedome, a data retrieval expert on Cybertron when they had left. He did not recognize the yellow Autobot. Since they had awakened on Earth and renewed contact with Cybertron, there were several rumors that spread, many of which were completely unbelievable. There was one, however, that Windcharger had heard snippets. One that he had heard Chromedome’s name attached to. Tucking the information away for now, Windcharger waited for the rush of air from the invisible ship lifting from the ground to dissipate and continued his trek towards the base.
* * *
With the humans moved to a more secured location, the Decepticons returned to the site of the battle. Starscream watched the others walk slowly towards Trap, mixed expressions on most of their faces. Trap’s tactics had always been a point of contention. It somehow seemed fitting that these same emotions should flow upon his demise. Starscream stood back from the others, waiting for Megatron’s orders. He lowered his head in sorrow.
And leapt in surprise as a rush of information came forcibly through his open communicator. He staggered slightly, as the flow of data came to a sudden stop. He shook his head, trying to regain his bearings, and analyzed the data. There was nothing attached to the information that described a source. In fact, the data stream was so archaic that Starscream had never actually analyzed data in such a form in the field. Only in the Academy was such a stream studied, and only then in the history classes.
As the data was decoded, the Decepticon’s posture suddenly straightened itself out. Thoughts of the origination of the code were forgotten. The data itself had Starscream’s complete attention.
He stepped forward quickly and looked up at Megatron.
“We have to get him back to the base,” he said urgently.
Megatron looked at his air commander’s face and nodded. With Megatron and Astrotrain each grasping one arm, the lifted Trap’s body from the forest and took off back towards their base.
* * *
He saw only darkness. He tried to look around but there was only nothingness to behold.
That, he thought, is annoying.
He tried to move. Again, nothing. He strained his other senses to their limit, but to no avail. How long had he been like this? Minutes? Millennia? He did not know. Perhaps he was dead. Or perhaps this was something else entirely, something that no scholar had the imagination to think of. Perhaps, if he waited…
After another block of unknowable time, he became aware of something. Something in the distance, something that seemed to be reaching out for him. He looked around again, but was again greeted with nothing. But while there was nothing to see, he realized that there was now something to hear. He strained, listening to the hum of white noise, trying to discern some pattern or another, anything to tell him where he was and why he was there. He continued listening and after more time passed, the hum of noise shifted into pulses of sound. He listened to the syncopation of the noise, but there was no pattern to it. It seemed to be completely random, almost gibberish.
It’s not random though, he thought. There must be something.
More time passed. The noise became clearer and a realization washed over him: it was not a code, it was a speaking voice. He strained, trying with all his will to make out the words, trying to hear what the speaker was saying.
He gasped suddenly as he watched the nothingness shift suddenly to a bright white. He recoiled from the sudden change before it started to shift into cloudy figures that seemed to standing over him.
“I think it worked,” an amazed voice resounded.
He winced as the excited voices in the background grew in volume, causing a painful feedback to ring through his head. As the pain from the din started to subside, a new figure lowered its head into his field of vision. He tried to focus on it, but could not. He felt himself ball up his fists in frustration.
“It’s all right,” the new figure said, the familiar voice of Megatron washing over him. He relaxed his arm again, and continued to stare at the blurred figure. He focused on the two red lights that could only be optics. He might have smiled, but he was not sure.
“It’s all right,” the figure repeated. “We’ll have you up and back to normal soon. I’ll return later when you are better rested and try to explain everything. But for now, just relax. You’ve earned it, Trap.”
* * *
Epilogue:
Windcharger continued to hold Prowl’s scrutinizing look, refusing to avert his optics.
“You usually don’t come to me so quickly with this sort of information,” the Autobot second-in-command noted with a hint suspicion.
Windcharger simply shrugged. “Old habits die hard. I used to be an Investigator on Cybertron. It’s in my nature to come to my commanding officer only when I am certain that there is something of concern. My initial search as to why Chromedome and the other Autobot would be on Earth came up empty. My worry is that there may be a less than noble purpose for their visit, and I simply could not continue my investigation without first informing you of the situation.”
As Prowl continue to gaze at Windcharger, the red Autobot could not help but think that this was not exactly true. It was accurate that Windcharger had found little about Chromedome aside from the fact that he seemed to be positioned on an outpost away from Cybertron and that the position was not his choice. More frustrating was the fact that he still had no viable information as to the identity of the other Autobot that had been seen with Chromedome. Even still, Windcharger doubted he would have run to Prowl so soon with his data, had it not been for the battle that had ended several days earlier. And the guilt from his part in it.
He had no clue as to whether or not the Decepticons had been able to revive Trap or not. He did not care. He felt, even still while standing under the thoughtful optics of Prowl, that he had done what he must. He was, above all else, a robot of honor. He felt that he was a model that other Autobots should look up to, even if too often it was rampant destruction that was more revered here than a code of honor. But he could not shake the guilt over helping the Deceptions as he did. So he came here, to do what he could to rectify the situation. Not that a single Autobot knew what he had done. Not that he planned to tell a soul.
The End.
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