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Part Eleven: The Order of Things

Imperial-Occupied Cybertron: Day 18

Needler walked into Overlord's makeshift throne room on his jittery, insectoid legs. As he walked he made a distinctive click-click that announced him clearly. But in spite of that Overlord paid him no mind.

"I have your daily activity reports, my lord," the tiny Imperial clearly, trying to catch Overlord’s attention.

Rather than having his engineers craft him the great throne room that befitted one of his stature, Overlord sat on a simple metal chair behind a blocky, nondescript desk. If not for his massive size and distinctive colour scheme, it would have been easy to mistake him for one of the veritable army of clerical drones in the Empire's employ. Needler's face momentarily betrayed his displeasure at his liege’s utilitarian tastes, but he held his tongue. Overlord didn't take well to having his predilections called into question.

"You can leave them on my desk," Overlord told him. His voice was soft, as if it was coming from a long distance away. As Needler had come in he'd been watching something on one of his video displays, but the screen went black before the tiny Imperial could get a good look at it. "I'll go over them later. Is there anything especially interesting?"

"There was one item that stood out from the rest, my lord," Needler said. "Seven of our ships arrived in orbit last night. Mainly small gunboats and attack craft, according to the reports — low-tonnage ships, at any rate. They are, apparently, survivors from the disaster at Cameron. Liege Centuro Clench is apparently preparing to decamp from Polyhex temporarily to handle the debriefings in person."

That seemed to snap Overlord out of his daydreams. "Oh, is he?"

"Apparently so, my lord," Needler clicked. "He issued an order to quarantine the ships and keep them from docking, launching shuttles or otherwise interacting with the rest of the fleet until his investigation is complete."

Overlord pondered that for a second, then tapped his desk with two fingers, pensively. "Countermand that order," he said thoughtfully. "I want the surviving officers brought here for debriefing instead. I'll speak to them personally."

"By your command."

"One more thing, Needler," Overlord added. "Summon Clench as well. He planned this operation, and so he has to answer for its' failings as much as any of the survivors. More so, in fact. I would very much like to know if this 'investigation' of his is anything more than an attempt to cover up for his own...inadequacies."

"It will be done, my lord," Needler responded in his most obsequious voice. His master was energized now, and Needler knew from experience that it was a bad idea to be anywhere near an excited Overlord.

Grotusque was well-known for his keen sense of humour, but even he was hard-pressed to find anything funny about the story that Sprocket was telling. The other Transformers in their group were wearing expressions ranging from surprise to horror to outright disgust, but as the de facto leader of this little band the Monsterbot did his best to keep a neutral expression on his face.

"You did what?" Chainclaw asked disbelievingly.

"We blew up Protihex," Sprocket said with a shrug.

"You just mean the Autobase, though, don't you? I mean, you can't possibly have blown up all of Protihex."

"Well, a good chunk of it, anyway," Sprocket told them. "They gave me the idea when one of their terrorists tried to set off our main generator. I figured if they wanted to see it explode so badly, I’d give them what they wanted. Of course, I was considerate enough to wait until they’d taken front-row seats…"

"I like your style, Autobot," Rippersnapper chimed in. "A call like that takes a lot of guts."

"Guts? More like cowardice!" Tailgate glared at Sprocket. "There were hundreds, maybe thousands of innocents living in Protihex. How many do you think you slaughtered with your little stunt?"

"No one that the Imperials weren't going to kill anyway," Sprocket told him coldly. "Our job was to save as many Autobots as we could. And you know what? We did. There are fifty more people here than there were yesterday because we blew up that city, fifty people who would be dead right now if I hadn't given that order. Don't think for a second that I'm going to apologize for saving them."

"And the people you killed?" Tailgate asked. "Who's going to speak up for them if I don't?" He made a disgusted noise. "Do you even know who they were, you murderer?"

"Who cares?" Sprocket replied. "They're dead. It's the living that we need to worry about. Would it make you feel better if I told you I carried around a list of their names and secretly wept over it whenever I’m alone?"

"You're disgusting," Tailgate all but spat at his comrade.

"That's just about enough, Tailgate," Grotusque cut in. "Sprocket did what he thought he had to do, and I don't know that I would have done differently in his place. And right now he's about ten seconds away from adding one more name to his list. If you keep trying to pick a fight, I won't be inclined to stop him. Am I clear?"

"Yeah, I got it," Tailgate still didn't sound very happy, but he didn't sound like he was going to argue anymore, either. With a look of resignation on his face, he got up and stalked away.

Grotusque waited until he was out of earshot, then turned to Chainclaw. "Tag along with him, will you? The last time he got in a mood like this he tried to incite Earth's electric can openers into a revolt."

Chainclaw gave the Monsterbot a put-upon look, but sighed and stood up. "Yeah, sure. Why not?"

"What's that all about?" Sprocket seemed to be a bit confused, and shot Grotusque a curious look. "I've never pictured you as the take-charge type."

"If you ask 'who died and left you in charge'," Grotusque told him wearily, "I'll have Rippersnapper here chew off your legs."

"Fair enough," Sprocket said. "I was just wondering what you've got in mind for me and my people, since you seem to be in charge."

"Well," Grotusque said with a glance toward the decidedly worse for wear group that the other Autobot had led here, "since most of you look like refugees from a junk heap I think a visit with Doc Hoist is going to be your first order of business. After that we'll find a place to put everyone. We’ve secured the immediate area and started expanding out into some smaller facilities deeper into the underlevels. Of course, we’ve also got some teams on the surface, looking to do as much damage to the enemy as they can."

Sprocket nodded. "When I’m in one piece again you can count on me to chip in," he said. "I'll be off, then. Oh, and thanks for calling off the Morality Patrol back there."

"Don't mention it." Grotusque turned his back on the departing Autobot and held in a sigh. Despite his supportive words he didn't agree with what Sprocket did, not by a long shot. But the last thing he wanted to see was fights breaking out among the troops. Not including Sprocket's crew there were just over two hundred Autobots and Decepticons in Grotusque's makeshift Autobase, most of them refugees who'd arrived in small groups after Blaster had slipped out a message on their emergency contact frequencies. Grotusque had a feeling that most of them had seen or done things that their comrades would consider objectionable just to survive this long, but with so few soldiers at their disposal the last thing they needed was friction among the ranks.

Before he had a chance to do head back to his office and tend to the administrative work that he knew was waiting for him, he saw one of his Autobots headed for the nearby exit. Gunrunner's orange and black frame was familiar to him, and so was the way he was carrying himself.

"Going for a stroll?" Grotusque asked him guilelessly.

"Going to find something to kill," Gunrunner told him matter-of-factly, not even bothering to turn around and face him.

"You can't keep wandering off by yourself like this. You're going to get yourself killed." Grotusque sighed. "Assuming that's not what you're trying to do, I mean."

That got Gunrunner to turn around. It also got him to throw a punch that caught Grotusque square across the jaw, knocking him down like a cheap facsimile construct in a combat simulation.

Before he could even think of a response to that, Sprocket and Rippersnapper were at his side with guns in hand. In the time it took for him to get over the shock that a Decepticon had charged in to protect him from another Autobot, Grotusque climbed to his feet as calmly as he could manage. "Stand down," he said firmly. "All of you." His voice was meant to be commanding, but even as he said it he felt a new rush of inadequacy.

Prowl never got into a fistfight with his own men. People obeyed him because they trusted him, because he knew what he was doing. Why the hell would they obey me?

Gunrunner and the rest were apparently convinced, though, because all three of them slowly lowered their weapons and waited for Grotusque to keep talking.

"I appreciate the help, but I can handle this," Grotusque told his two would-be rescuers. It came out with a lot more confidence than he felt. "Gunrunner, come with me. We're taking a walk."

Freeway, Wideload and Searchlight rolled through the darkened streets of Iacon slowly and furtively. Even though the three of them had spent enough time in the city that they'd gotten to know it as well as their home town of Polyhex, the empty streets and ruined buildings made it feel like a completely different place. To avoid Imperial entanglements during their scouting mission, the trio was stopping at every intersection, relying on Searchlight's advanced sensor suite to spot and avoid enemy troops and steer them to safety.

"I don't get it, Lights," Freeway piped up as they gingerly moved forward another few hundred meters. "Most of the goons you're picking up are alone. You and me could pick 'em off at our leisure, even with tubby here slowing us down."

"Tubby? Why, I oughta..."

"Cool it, Wideload," Searchlight said curtly. "And Freeway, keep a lid on it until we're done here. Grotusque sent us up here to map out enemy troop movements, not pick fights with random goons."

"So what? Tusky isn't here," Freeway replied. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him. And besides, he's been a real stick in the mud since he started giving orders, anyway."

"Command tends to do that to you," Searchlight said wearily. "Would you rather he sent us out to die on suicidal adventures?"

"At least we'd have some fun that way," Freeway retorted.

"Why do I bother?" Searchlight asked Wideload rhetorically. "It's not like anything's going to get through to him."

"Stubbornness?" Wideload offered helpfully. "Obsessive-compulsive disorder? A dogged determination to accomplish something, anything, that will make you stand out next to my gorgeous bodywork?"

"And I wondered why Rollbar was so happy to take that job in Kalis..." Searchlight grumbled. "'Oh sure, Rollbar. I would be honoured to succeed you as Throttlebot leader. What could possibly go wrong?' Pit, do I miss Chase. At least he was pleasant to be around."

"You're no prize yourself, Searchlight," Freeway shot back. "Always all brooding and suspicious. Frankly, I don't know some times why I even bother trying to get you to light—"

"Quiet," Searchlight admonished him.

"What, so you can mouth off, but I-"

"Quiet!" Searchlight said in a harsh whisper. "We've got company."

In a parallel alley only a few metres away, Punch watched as his contact slipped away into the shadows a few hundred shanix richer than he'd been an hour ago. The green-and-grey robot was a nobody, a simple conscript who spent most of his time on guard duty in non-vital areas of the enemy base. He had a lot of friends, though, and he specialized in getting the things he needed to keep his friends happy — an Imperial version of Swindle or Hubcap. And as long as Punch — or rather, Counterpunch — kept the Imperial supplied with the things that kept his business running, the Imperial kept Punch supplied with the latest gossip from Imperial HQ. Occasionally he put him in touch with other like-minded individuals. Punch had managed to gather more than a little bit of useful intel from his sources, and he'd even been able to use some of it to stifle the enemy's war machine...but operating on his own, he was limited in what he could do.

When he'd needed the help of a larger force, Punch had arranged for the intel to slip into the hands of the local resistance. He'd done his best to avoid direct contact with them, though. The Autobots had made it very obvious the last time he'd dealt with them that they didn't trust him, and he doubted their Decepticon allies would be any more receptive, especially once they found out who else he was.

This particular meeting had been especially interesting, though. His contact had told Counterpunch about a soldier onboard a ship that had just arrived in the system, someone with vital intelligence he wanted to pass along to the local resistance. He hadn't given Counterpunch much more than a meeting protocol, a place and a time (or at least, Punch didn't remember any more than that...the time he spent as his Decepticon self was becoming progressively less and less clear to him as time wore on) but something about it piqued Punch's interest a little more than usual.

He checked his internal clock against the meeting time, then quickly estimated how long it was going to take him to get where he was going.

Perfect, he thought to himself. I'll have a few minutes to kill once I get there...just enough time to set things up in my favour, in case it's a trap.

He started to walk out, then winced and leaned up against the nearest wall as a shooting pain lanced through the space behind his optics.

"Ahh!"

The headaches were nothing new; he'd had them ever since Prowl had convinced him to take on the Counterpunch persona and infiltrate the Decepticons. But like the memory lapses, they were coming more frequently and were much, much stronger than they had been at first. Punch knew that it meant something serious was wrong in his head, but he didn't let himself think about it too much. The possibilities were too disturbing, especially if it meant what he thought it meant...

No, he told himself. I'd kill myself first.

Eventually the pain passed and Punch was able to slowly straighten himself up again. He took a few seconds to collect himself, then started to walk away.

"They're moving off," Searchlight told his teammates. "One's heading north, toward the main Imperial garrisons. The other one...he's headed southeast, toward the old industrial districts. Strange."

"Cloak and dagger meetings?" Freeway asked theatrically. "In my Iacon? I'll die of shock."

"How droll," Seachlight responded wearily.

"Seriously though," Freeway told him, "we need to follow up on this. Lets follow one of them."

"No. We have our orders," Searchlight told him. "We're supposed to-"

"Scout enemy troop movements," Freeway replied. "Yeah, heard it the first fifty times. Hang our orders. This could be important."

"We can't just blow off our orders on a hunch," Searchlight told him.

"Maybe you can't," Freeway responded. "I can. It’s actually really easy when you put your mind to it. You and Mr. Box-On-Wheels here can come with me, or you can keep, uh, scouting. Up to you." Shifting into gear, the blue Throttlebot started to roll away, turning toward the southeast. "Of course, I don't think Grotusque will be very happy to hear that you just let me wander off on my own..."

As he hit the gas, Searchlight sighed. "You want to go after him, Wideload?"

"I reckon we'd better," the larger, orange dump truck responded. "I mean, 'go team' and all that, right? Being a Throttlebot has to count for something."

"Sometimes I wonder," Searchlight told him. "Sometimes I seriously wonder. But you're right. If we don't save his chassis from whatever stupid mess he's going to drive into, who will?" He sighed again, more deeply this time. "Let's roll."

"Squadron Leader Fearswoop, reporting as ordered. Intelligence Officer Skyjack accompanying."

Overlord stared across his desk at the bright-yellow Decepticon and his flame-bedecked black counterpart. The one who had identified himself as Fearswoop stood solidly at attention, seemingly horrified at the idea of being called before his Supreme Commander. On the other hand, the other Decepticon — by process of elimination, Skyjack — seemed nothing more than slightly amused by the situation. He wasn't entirely sure which attitude he liked the least.

Clench, who had arrived himself only moments before, regarded the two subordinates with utter disbelief. "This is ridiculous," he said. "It's impossible that you two are the only senior officers left in the taskforce. Where is Rage?"

"Rage is locked in stasis," Skyjack told him. "The garrison's medics say it will be a day or two before he's fit for duty. And before you ask, Windrazor was killed in battle, Calcar was kidnapped out of his own command bunker, and Jetstorm was lost along with everyone else aboard the Armada. So, yes, we are the only senior officers left in the taskforce."

"Then you are in charge by default, if nothing else," Clench said with resignation. "I understand. For better or worse, then, you have to take responsibility for the disaster that you're reporting to me."

"No," Fearswoop told him. Despite his obvious nervousness, the Decepticon's countenance grew stony. Overlord studied Fearswoop closely and guessed correctly that the smaller Decepticon’s subordinates must have been absolutely terrified of him. Even Clench took a step backwards as the aerial officer added, "I categorically do not."

Overlord was amused to note that Clench had to take a few seconds to gather his wits before he continued.

"But you did order the retreat?" Clench asked him. "And in the process, abandoned at least one of our capital warships to be captured and left hundreds of our troops stranded on the system's planets because they couldn't evacuate in time?"

"I did," Fearswoop confirmed.

"Why?"

"Because," Fearswoop responded icily after his gaze flicked over Clench's shoulder and met Overlord's, "we had too few troops and resources for the assignment we were given. Our initial orders and troop assignments — your orders and troop assignments — couldn't have been worse if we'd been trying to lose on purpose."

Overlord noticed a slight hitch in Clench's body language after that. He held up his hand to forestall any more questions from his subordinate.

"Enough. I called you here because I suspected that a private debrief with just yourselves and Clench would turn into an exchange of accusations. It’s obvious now that my concerns weren’t unfounded. You two can go. I'll have one of my military analysts sit down with you and go over the details of the battle to see what they can learn. Clench, you stay. You and I have something important to discuss."

Once the two fliers had filed out, Clench faced his master with an expectant look on his face. "Did you need something else, sir?"

For a long moment, Overlord didn't speak. He just stared down at Clench with a reproachful look on his face. And when he finally broke the silence, it was with just one word.

"Clench."

"My lord?" Clench took an involuntary step back. "Sir, if I've done something to displease you—"

"Clench," Overlord said again, "I am very disappointed in you. I hand-picked you to replace Jhiaxus as my Liege Centuro because I thought you were an officer who respected the chain of command, someone who didn't just follow our procedures by rote but actually understood the reasons behind them."

"Sir, I...I would like to think that that's exactly who I am." Clench was caught flat-footed. Overlord had never spoken to him like this before, so distant and cruel. Clench had always found him intimidating, always been a little bit afraid of him, but it had been the fear that any employee had for upper management. This was the first time that Clench had actually feared for his life. "But why—"

"You knew perfectly well," Overlord told him, "what the survivors of your assault force would say. And knowing that, you took it upon yourself to personally see to their interrogations. And since you're practically spark-bonded to a regulation codex, you knew full well how inappropriate that would be. I'm guessing you had it in your head to cover up what I just heard. And so Clench, I am very, very disappointed in you."

"My lord, I..." Clench trailed off. He had almost denied the accusations, almost looked his liege in the optics and lied to him. But he'd stopped himself before the lie could make it from his processor to his vocal circuits. Even as he did it, he wondered if he had just saved his own life.

"You're right, my lord," Clench admitted. "But you're also wrong. It's not myself or my career I was worried about. I left a lot of good troops behind at Cameron and I didn't want to see their reputations besmirched. If I'd known that they were all dead I wouldn't have bothered."

"Hmm." Overlord gave Clench an icy look, one that told Clench beyond any shadow of a doubt that his master had seen through his half-truth.

"You have my apologies, my lord, for my transgressions," Clench dropped into a bow and stared at the floor. "As always, I am your humble servant."

When Overlord didn't respond for a few seconds, Clench dared to look up. The vacant look on his master's face left him puzzled, if not a little concerned.

"My lord?"

That, at least, got Overlord to acknowledge his presence. There was no engagement in his voice, though, no interest. He just waved his hand dismissively and said, "You can go, Clench. We'll talk later."

"Uh...of course, my lord," Clench said with a nod. "I shall wait for your summons."

Clench waited a second, but Overlord had already returned to whatever it was that had him so preoccupied. Once he realized that his master wasn't going to acknowledge his presence, Clench fled from Overlord's chambers as quickly as decorum would allow.

Gunrunner was doing his best to ignore Grotusque in the hopes that the Monsterbot would eventually get the hint and leave him alone. It wasn't working very well so far.

"Listen, Gunrunner," the pest was saying, "I'm not going to pretend to understand what you're feeling. You lost your entire command twice over. I get that it's not going to be a barrel of laughs. But wandering off on your own to avenge them isn't the way to deal with it. You're going to get yourself killed. And you know what? If it was just you, I'd be inclined to let you. But it's not just you. Manta Ray tried to do exactly what you're doing. He thought you were a hero, a role model, an example to be followed. When someone finally caught up to him, they could carry what was left of him back to base under one arm. And he's not going to be the last. Yesterday, Doublecross and Ironfist had to physically drag the Laser Rods back to base when they went off to try and play a game of copycat. If you're a role model then you need to start acting like it, because the last thing you need is more dead Autobots on your conscience."

Gunrunner bristled at that last comment, but he didn't respond. He had nothing to say to Grotusque, nothing to say to any of the stylus-pushing strategists who sent soldiers like Gunrunner and his troops into the field to die. They weren't worth the time it took to talk to them, and the last thing Gunrunner wanted to do was waste a valuable breem or two having a conversation with this strutting clown who claimed to be his leader. Not when there was a chance he could use that time to kill someone who actually mattered.

The two of them walked in silence for a while before eventually coming to one of the many broken sewer tunnels that led out into Iacon proper from the underlevels. As they moved through the gate, Grotusque started again.

"You know, I really thought you were better than this," he was saying. "Everyone back there thinks you're a hero. They look up to you. And they'd follow you in an instant, if you'd let them. But all you care about is silencing the voices of all the mechs you led to their deaths. And if a few more happen to get added to the chorus before you can do it, then that's life. But you know what? One way or another, it ends right now."

Before Gunrunner even had a chance to realize what Grotusque was saying, he felt the full weight of his unwelcome companion's beast mode slam into his back. Knocked face-first to the ground, Gunrunner scrambled for his plasma gun. The Monsterbot knocked it away with a single swipe of his forelimb, though, before lunging again and clamping his jaws down on Gunrunner's leg. Gunrunner squealed involuntarily as the other Autobot's fangs punched into his leg armour, then let out a gasp as he found himself flying through the air before coming to a crashing halt on an abandoned street.

"What the hell, Grotusque?" he snapped as he pulled himself up and assumed a fighting stance.

"Oh, so that's what it takes to get your attention?" Grotusque hopped in Gunrunner's direction, using his wings to propel himself fast enough to slip past the other Autobot's guard. "I thought about killing your entire crew, but someone beat me to it. Twice, actually."

One head-butt later, Gunrunner found himself on the ground again. This time, though, he didn't give his attacker a chance to press his advantage. Gunrunner lashed out with his right arm, swinging it in an arc that connected solidly with Grotusque's ample jaw. As the Monsterbot took a few steps backwards to steady himself, Gunrunner threw himself back to his feet and connected with a solid snap-kick to the other Autobot's midsection.

"You have no right, you...you bureaucrat!" Gunrunner charged, knocking Grotusque to the ground. "You have no idea what it's like to see everyone you care about cut down right in front of you!"

An unbalanced Grotusque responded with a swipe of his powerful hind legs, knocking Gunrunner away. "Do you think you're the only one who's lost someone they cared about? I watched dozens of my friends die at Scorponok's claws on Nebulos. I even sent some of them out knowing that they weren't going to come back. And you know what? In the last month I've watched my best friend shot down while he was drinking energon, been run out of my home, seen my mentor blow himself up and been forced to try and lead a bunch on ungrateful lunatics like you. Do I know what you've been through? No. But at least I don't pretend that I'm something special because I let a few people down."

"Ggah!" Gunrunner threw another punch, but Grotusque was able to dodge so that the blow didn't connect at all. "What do you want from me, Grotusque?"

"I want you to drop this anti-social 'poor me' garbage and start acting like a person," Grotusque told him. "But if that's too much trouble, I'll settle for you giving up your suicidal playtime and doing what you're told."

"You expect me to take orders from the likes of you?"

"The job was yours for the taking," Grotusque reminded him. "You didn't want it. But you're still a soldier, and you're going to start acting like one. If you can’t manage even that then I won’t have you anywhere near my men."

"You're banishing me?" Gunrunner asked incredulously.

"That's up to you," Grotusque told him. "But I won't have my troops exposed to any more of this stupidity from you. It's your choice."

Gunrunner opened his mouth to make a nasty reply to that, but closed it again without getting any words out. As much as he hated to admit it, Grotusque had a good point. He didn't want to die, or at least he didn't think he did. But he had to admit that if it came down to a choice between getting out alive or taking someone down with him...well, it really wasn't a choice at all. For a long time he'd been lucky enough or just plain good enough to avoid the Big Shutdown even though it was claiming everyone around him. And even though he'd done nothing to encourage it, he knew that a lot of the younger Autobots looked up to him.

"I'm a terrible role-model, aren't I?" Gunrunner asked, trying not to let his despair and disgust show.

"You haven't been the best," Grotusque told him. "But there's still time to change that. What do you say?"

"I...I don't know," Gunrunner said. The admission hurt, but it made him feel a little better at the same time. "I don't think I'm much good to anyone, if I'm honest to myself. Maybe it's for the best if...I..."

Gunrunner wasn't sure what caught his eye at exactly that second. Maybe it was a ray of light reflecting off of a cockpit, or a targeting laser hitting just so and confusing his optic sensors. On the other hand, maybe it was the fact that a pair of jets with the most ridiculous colour schemes in the known universe were flying toward them. Whatever it was, it gave him just enough time to shout "Get down!" before the incoming fire started to rain down.

Skyjack stared blankly at the wall, pointedly avoiding the gaze of the Decepticon who was interrogating him. "We can keep going all day long, Stalker, if that's what you want. Everything I had to say was in my report, and you're not going to learn anything else no matter how long you loom."

"Your report," Stalker told him, "was seventy-eight kilobytes of pretty words strung together so that they said absolutely nothing. It reads like something a politician would have dreamed up. Never in my life have I seen someone go to so much effort to say so little."

"Then perhaps you're missing something," Skyjack suggested, affecting a bored tone of voice. "It might be that some subtle nuance has slipped past your notice. Considering the calibre of officers that Overlord chooses to surround himself with—" He broke off that sentence suddenly, as if he had just realized he'd let something slip that he shouldn't have.

"Don't presume to criticize our Liege," Stalker snarled. "He is above suspicion!"

"Of course," Skyjack replied. "Overlord is above suspicion. Clench is infallible. Rage is irreproachable." For the first time, he deigned to meet Stalker's gaze. "Thank you, Stalker, for clearly illustrating exactly why my report doesn't say anything."

"You mean to imply that Overlord is somehow responsible for the...disaster you were a part of?"

"Tangentially, perhaps," Skyjack shrugged. "After all, he chose his own senior staff..."

Stalker sighed. "Skyjack," he said wearily, "just spit out whatever it is you're trying to say."

"I'm a loyal Imperial," Skyjack said defensively. "It's not my place to criticize my superior officers. Not even when their incompetence almost got me killed."

"So you mean to say that Rage led you to ruin?"

"Rage? Hardly." Skyjack leaned back in his seat, trying to give the impression that he was becoming comfortable despite himself. "Rage is a simple creature, but an effective one. He did the best he could with what he had. Of course, it wasn't Rage who decided where and how we would be fighting the throwbacks..."

"So...Clench?"

"It's not for me to say," Skyjack told him with a shake of his head. "When Rage wakes up, I'm sure he'll be more than willing to tell you exactly what went on. But I know my place."

Stalker glared down at him. "So you refuse to cooperate?"

"I've told you everything that decorum will allow," Skyjack told him, holding up his hand and claw helplessly. "I can't say any more...unless I'm ordered to by someone senior to the officer you want me to slander."

Stalker shook his head in disgust. "Get out of my sight," he said. "But don't go too far. We'll talk again. Soon."

"Yes, sir." Skyjack acknowledged Stalker with a crisp salute, then hastily made his way out of the interrogation room. As he did, he was very grateful that his T-shaped visual array kept him from displaying any facial expressions. If it didn't, he might not have been able to keep himself from grinning.

The seed is planted, he thought to himself. Now, to watch it grow...

Searchlight stared down off the rooftop in the direction their quarry was travelling, a frown on his face. Lying face-down on the roof to minimize his profile, he had his visual sensors cranked up to maximum resolution.

"You see him?" Freeway asked impatiently.

"I do," Searchlight told him, "and he's going to see us if you don't either get back or get down."

"You got it, Captain Safety," was Freeway’s rejoinder. He took a seat a few paces away, then asked, "Who is it?"

"Not a clue," Searchlight admitted reluctantly. "The alternate mode is an Earth car, which implies Autobot or Decepticon, not Imperial. But I don't recognize the model or the deco."

"Let me look," Freeway said impulsively. Dropping down to hands and knees, he crawled forward to join Searchlight. "Where is he?"

"Too far away for you to see him clearly , probably," Searchlight told him. "He's about a klick and a half southeast of here. I think he's found where he'd going, because he's circled the same block twice now."

"I see, sorta," Freeway replied. "Just a blue dot, though. He's too far—wait, is he stopping?"

"Looks like," Searchlight agreed. "And transforming."

"Great, so now he's a blue and orange...blur..." Freeway trailed off, then made a surprised sound. "I think I know him."

"Who is he?"

"He calls himself Punch," Freeway told him. "You remember that walk-in Grotusque sent me to deal with, the one who told us about Megatron's secret trip to the Core? That's him. Er, I think. He's pretty far away."

"Punch," Searchlight said. "Heh. He was listed as MIA on our evacuation lists. I'd just assumed that the Imperials got him."

"Maybe they did," Freeway suggested. "Or maybe he's been one of them from the start. It would explain a lot of things."

"You're thinking they sent him in to try and disrupt the alliance? Makes sense," Searchlight agreed. "The question is, what do we do now?"

"Oh, so now you ask for advice," Freeway grumbled. "I say we drop in and pay him a little visit. By which I mean threaten to shoot him until he tells us what he's up to."

"See, advice like that is why I never ask," Searchlight responded. "But the first bit, at least, isn't bad. Maybe we-"

"Guys!" Wideload's voice called out from the other side of the building, where he'd been keeping lookout. "We've got company. A couple of Imp fliers are shooting holes in the ground about a klick and a half north of here, and they're headed this way."

"We've got a real embarrassment of riches today," Searchlight muttered staring down to street level. Then he turned to look at his teammates. "They might be just blowing stuff up for fun, but they might be trying to kill someone, or flush someone out. I don't want to give up on this Punch character, but we can't just ignore what those jets are doing, either."

"We've gone too far to turn around," Freeway said loudly. "Don't go soft on me now, Searchlight." He snorted. "Oh, wait, you're Searchlight, you're already soft."

"Shut it," Searchlight snapped. "Freeway, you're going to keep following Punch. Wideload, you're going to go with him and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid enough to get himself killed. I'm going to check out those planes and find out who they’re after."

Freeway was about to make a snide remark, but Searchlight cut him off. "Go, now, before I change my mind."

That was enough to get the smartass Autobot moving. Wideload looked back at Searchlight and made a dramatic, much-put-upon gesture before following.

Searchlight waited until they were gone, then made his own way down to the bottom of the building they had climbed and rolled off in the opposite direction. He forced himself to keep his sensors pointed straight ahead, even though all he really wanted to do was go back and make sure that his two friends were safe.

Later, he told himself. Right now there's someone else out there who might need my help a lot more.

"Stalker! Hold on, Stalker! I want a word with you!"

When the other Imperial didn't obey, Clench quickened his pace so that he could catch up, before passing and using his massive bulk to keep the other soldier from proceeding.

"I said I want to talk to you," he snapped. "And you would be well-advised not to ignore your superior officers in the future."

"I'm sorry," Stalker responded flatly. "I'm under strict orders not to discuss my investigation with you."

"I am your Liege Centuro," Clench said slowly, trying to constrain the seething rage that was building up inside him. "You do not get to conceal information from me, regardless of your orders. So you and I will talk, or I will have you tossed in the brig for insubordination."

"My orders," Stalker replied without a trace of fear, "come from Overlord himself. He was worried that you would try to tamper in my investigation of the Cameron incident. I can't imagine why. And even if he hadn't, I would have to be an idiot to give my prime suspect a full report on my investigation."

Clench let out a sharp hiss of rage at that. "You're playing a dangerous game, Stalker. It's bad enough that you've committed insubordination and questioned a senior officer's moral fibre. Now you're questioning my loyalty to the empire?"

"Who mentioned anything about your loyalty?" A small crowd had gathered around the two of them now, but Stalker seemed oblivious to their presence. "I was questioning your competence. But now that you mention it..."

Clench slammed his fist into the bulkhead, missing Stalker's head by bare millimetres. His anger only increased when the investigator didn't so much as flinch. "If you slander me one more time, Stalker, I will—"

"You will do nothing!" Stalker took a step closer, so that their faces were almost touching. "I don't report to you, Clench. I'm Overlord's head of security — I report to him. Aside from a single warship and a handful of flunkies in Polyhex, no one reports to you. That's because your entire command is dead, and they died carrying out your orders. You would be a suspect even without the damning testimony of your own men. You have absolutely no right to launch into a righteous tirade about it, and if you don't get out of my way right now every word of this conversation is going to wind up in a formal report on Overlord's desk. And that's assuming he doesn't already know, since you thought it was a good idea to call me out in the middle of a crowded public corridor."

Clench's optics narrowed dangerously. "And which of my men, precisely, have been feeding you these lies?"

"I hope you enjoyed your five months in command," Stalker told him then. "You won't get a sixth."

Then he physically shoved Clench out of his way, an act so presumptuous and inappropriate that it in left the Liege Centuro on the verge of apoplexy.

"Good bye, Clench."

Clench wasn't sure what happened next, exactly. As he was staring at Stalker's back as the investigator retreated he felt an uncontrollable fury sweep through him. This...this nobody was daring to call Clench's conduct into question. Worse, he was actually threatening him, trying to bring Clench's glorious career to an end. That...that wouldn't do at all.

Before he realized what had come over him, he found himself staring down at Stalker's unmoving body. Twin laser blasts had cut neatly through the centre of the investigator’s head, killing him as surely as if his entire body had been vaporized by a nuclear bomb.

Clench was suddenly very aware of the crowd that had gathered. Still brandishing the laser cannon that he'd used to murder Stalker, he turned on them and said, "You saw nothing! Dismissed!"

They scurried away, and from their body language Clench could tell that none of them would say a word about what had happened. There would be no concealing the dead body, of course, and a quick check of the base's weapons registry would conclusively prove that Stalker had died at Clench's hands. An investigation would take time, though (Especially, Clench mused darkly, now that we're short one head of security...) and that would be all the time that Clench would need to do root out the conspiracy against him.

As the onlookers cleared out, Clench caught sight of a familiar colour scheme moving in the crowd. The flash of painted flames on black was so obvious that it couldn't be anything but intentional, but it disappeared before Clench could so much as think of reacting. He thought about going after Skyjack, but he knew he wouldn't be able to find him. Not until he wanted to be found, or until he was so sure of victory that he let down his guard. The spy had always been very good at what he did, which was why it had been such a shame that he'd aligned himself with the bitter and self-destructive Rage.

With the thought of his erstwhile rival and second-in-command, it felt like a key had been turned in Clench's brain. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, he knew who was behind this conspiracy to discredit him, who had suborned Stalker and all the others. And he knew exactly where to find him.

Without sparing so much as a look for the corpse at his feet, Clench headed for the medbay.

"Nice shot, Space Case!" Hooligan chuckled. "You almost brought that building down on top of them!"

"Heh, heh, yeah..." Space Case replied. "Would have, too, if we were supposed to kill 'em!"

"Oh, right," Hooligan sounded a bit chagrined. "We're not trying to kill them, are we? I forgot."

"Keep on task, dummy!" Space Case told him. "Remember, Skyjack asked us to find some Autobots and chase them somewhere, for, uh, some reason. Did he, uh, tell us why?"

Hooligan snorted as he came around for another strafing run. "Yeah, right. When does Skyjack ever tell anyone anything?"

"Good point." Space Case fired a few more shots, then said, "Aw, well. As long as we get to blow stuff up, I'm happy."

Clench walked into the medbay, his hands balled into tight fists.

"Take me to Rage," he ordered the nearest medic.

"I absolutely will not," was the reply.

"What is your name?" Clench regarded the doctor with interest for the first time. He was small, an unimposing white quadruped of some sort. Clench was briefly tempted to do to him what he had done to Stalker But the cloud of murderous hate had mostly passed by now, leaving only a small kernel of icy determination.

"I’m Chief Surgeon Glit, Overlord’s personal physician," the small creature told him. It arched its back with obvious pride.

Clench almost scoffed at the idea of this tiny, ungainly beast trying to perform surgery. "How good for you," Clench replied. "I’m Clench, Liege Centuro of the Cybertronian Empire. I'm giving you a direct order: take me to Rage."

"I'm not an idiot," Glit told him. "I know who you are. The answer is still no." Glit's back arched in a way that seemed to imply disgust. "Do you think you're the first person who's stormed into one of my hospitals with murder on his mind? I'm not going to let you get your jollies killing a helpless patient in his stasis pod."

"Then thaw him out," Clench said icily. "I can wait."

"Again, no," Glit retorted. "I won't help you, and neither will my staff. And the stasis pods don't have nametags, so you can't find him yourself. So you have two choices. You can wander through our stasis ward blasting open random pods until you stumble upon him, killing who knows how many loyal Imperials in the process. Or you can turn around, walk out that door and drown whatever is eating you with a generous dose of energon wine. As a physician, that's the path I'd recommend."

Clench glared down at the doctor for a few seconds, wondering what it would feel like to scoop the tiny irritant off the floor and crush him with his bare hands. But he just turned and walked back out the door without a word.

Grotusque returned fire on the Imperial fliers and then ducked behind a nearby building where Gunrunner had already taken refuge.

"They're toying with us," he told the other Autobot. "If they were trying to kill us, they could have done it on the first pass."

"I noticed," Gunrunner responded. "They're trying to drive us somewhere." He gesticulated with his rifle. "That way, more or less."

"Whatever they're trying to do," Grotusque mused, "we probably don't want to go along with it."

"I can take out one of them for sure if I can get the jump on them in alt-mode," Gunrunner offered. "Maybe both of them, if I'm lucky."

"And if you're not?" Grotusque shook his head. "We've been through all this, Gunny. I need your experience too much to let you commit suicide."

"You'd rather take your chances with both of us getting killed when we get wherever they're trying to drive us?"

"I'd rather take my chances with you watching my back," Grotusque told him. "Two heads are better than one," he transformed to beast mode and looked back over his shoulder, "even if one of the heads is really, really ugly. Here's what we're going to do..."

Hooligan flew through a slow, lazy loop that let him fire a sustained volley from his cannons down at the two ground-pounding Autobots. His laser blasts chewed into the roadway, but amidst the exploding metal he noticed something wasn't quite right. The orange and black Autobot was standing his ground and returning fire, but the other one — the red and blue one — was nowhere to be seen.

"Space Case, you got a line on Bot #2, by chance?"

"Nope," Space Case replied. "He's not on my scopes. You figger we slagged him?"

"Not likely," Hooligan told him. "He was up and moving the last I saw him. Keep an eye out. These boys are up to someth—agh!"

The black and orange jet tried to twist out of the way of the red and blue blur as it launched itself off of a nearby building at him, but the creature was able to generate enough lift and thrust by flapping its' vestigial wings that it still slammed into Hooligan with the full force of its' weight.

Hooligan screamed, feeling himself fall into a steep dive. He steered into it, trying to throw off the monster. He felt sharp claws digging into his hull, though, and the added weight didn't go anywhere.

"Get him off me, dammit! Get him off me!"

Space Case responded to his partner's panicked shouts by breaking off his attack on the grounded Autobot and sweeping back toward Hooligan. Normally he would have gone in guns blazing, but he thought better of it when he realized he'd be just as likely to kill his friend as help him.

"Keep steady!" Space Case barked back. "I'm going to get close and p—ack!"

A plasma bolt slammed into his starboard stabilizer. Space Case reacted instinctively, snap-rolling and diving just in time to avoid the follow-up shot. He briefly caught sight of the orange and black Autobot jet shooting through the space that he'd once occupied.

"Oh, it is on now, bitch," he snarled. "You like shooting plasma? Eat plasma missile!"

Swinging around on his vertical axis so quickly that he almost stalled out, Space Case fired a missile point-blank at his Autobot attacker. Then he deliberately threw himself into a tailspin, dropping under an explosion that was so massive that the Autobot couldn't possibly have escaped.

"Take that, slagger!"

Clench sat in the base's air traffic control centre, staring at the smaller mech who sat on the other side of the room's main display board.

"I don't know why you're asking me, Clench," Wind Sheer told him. "I don't even know Skyjack."

"What are you talking about?" Clench retorted. "You're a Cyberjet, aren't you?"

"Do you have any idea how many of us there are?" Wind Sheer asked him. "You would be hard-pressed to find one outpost in the entire Empire that doesn't have a Cyberjet assigned to it. I know that some of the less-prolific lines are very tight-knit, but I can't even name most of the other Cyberjets assigned to Cybertron. I'm frankly insulted that you think I'm in cahoots with this 'Skyjack' just because we've both got a funny optic sensor and a claw for a right hand."

"I'm sorry," Clench said, not even trying to make the lie believable. "If there's nothing you can do to help me, then I'll have to track down Skyjack on my own and ask him."

"You'll have to wait," Wind Sheer told him. "He left the base eight minutes ago."

"I thought you said you don't know him," Clench asked. The comment carried a deliberate note of accusation in it.

"I don't," Wind Sheer replied with obvious exasperation. "But I'm an air-traffic controller, remember? It's my job to know when someone flies out of base airspace."

Clench sighed. "Was he alone?"

"He was," Wind Sheer confirmed.

Clench took a second to think about that before an idea came to him. "Are there any other Cyberjets off-base right now?"

Wind Sheer sighed. "We've been over this, sir. Just because—"

"Look it up," Clench ordered him impatiently.

"Aye, sir," Wind Sheer replied indulgently. He punched a series of commands into his board, then said, "There are two, sir. A couple of would-be toughs called Hooligan and Space Case. I’ve actually had the misfortune of meeting these ones. They left about two hours ago."

"And did they meet up with skyjack?" Clench demanded.

"I, uh...I don't know, sir," Wind Sheer admitted. "They didn't file a flight path, and they're not showing up on the sensor grid."

"Filing a flight path is mandatory," Clench noted. "You should have reported them to security when they refused."

"I wasn't on duty when they left," Wind Sheer said defensively. "I just got here. Talk to Wingstun if you want to reprimand someone."

Clench scowled. "So we've got three soldiers out there without authorization doing Xal knows what, we don't know where any of them are, you either can't or won't help me find them and I'm just supposed to let it be?"

"Who said we don't know where any of them are?"

"You did," Clench said suspiciously.

"No," Wind Sheer told him. "I told you that Hooligan and Space Case didn't file a flight plan. Skyjack did, and he was following it to the letter before he dropped too low for the sensors to track."

"Give me that information right now," Clench ordered Wind Sheer. "It's time Skyjack and I had a little chat."

Gunrunner saw the missile coming just in time. He fired both of his armour-piercing missiles straight forward and miraculously managed to hit the incoming projectile with one of them. The two of them exploded in unison, spewing deadly fire out in all directions. Gunrunner cut hard to port but ended up flying through the edge of the explosion anyway. He felt his control surfaces melting and steered himself into what was going to be a barely-controlled crash.

Grotusque watched Gunrunner go down in flames and saw his attacker swoop back up, presumably to take another crack at getting the Monsterbot off of his buddy's back.

Well, if I'm going down I'm not going down easy, he told himself.

"Hey Stripes!" he quipped at the Decepticon he was riding, "what the hell kind of colour scheme is this, anyway? Geez, and folk say I'm ugly..."

"It's called 'style', fang-face!" the Imperial shouted back as he struggled to stay in control of his flight. "You could use some!"

"And you could use a little less," Grotusque told him. "Actually, no, make that a lot less. Here, lemme help!"

With that, he unleashed a gout of flame from his mouth that melted off a wide swath of paint from the Imperial's fuselage.

"Hey! That hurt, slag-muncher!"

"No, it didn't," Grotusque told him. "Well, not compared to this, anyway."

Lunging dangerously forward and letting go of his handholds on the Imperial's tailfins, Grotusque sank his teeth into his enemy’s cockpit. Bracing his feet against the enemy's fuselage, Grotusque reared back and used his powerful neck and jaws to rip the cockpit straight off.

As his enemy let out a howl of agony, Grotusque pushed himself off and used his wings to steer himself toward the ground. A quick glance at the second enemy, though, told him that he'd never make it. The Imperial was too close, already so close that he'd have to try to miss.

"Dammit, a psychedelic flying checkerboard is not going to be the last thing I see before I die!"

Someone else must have agreed with him, because at exactly that moment a blue-white energy beam fired from the top of a nearby building sliced clean through the Imperial's forward-swept right wing.

"Ah! They've got backup!" The gaudily-patterned white jet shouted to his comrade. "Let's bug out, Hooligan! Skyjack isn't paying us enough for this!"

"He's not paying us anything, dummy!" The second jet — Hooligan, Grotusque noted, — peeled off to join his wingman. "You're right. I'm outta here. Flame-boy can do his own dirty work next time!"

Grotusque let himself smile as he hit the ground, watching the two Decepticons retreat. He made his way toward Gunrunner, hoping that they could track down their benefactor if he was in any shape to do so. He didn't have to, though, because his comm buzzed for attention before he even got there.

"That you, boss?"

Grotusque let out a small, nervous laugh as the tension started to leave his body. "You know anyone else with this ugly mug, Searchlight?"

"Don't reckon that I do," Searchlight admitted with a soft chuckle.

"Lucky you." Grotusque transformed back to robot mode, then asked, "What are you doing here? I thought you were scouting the other side of the city."

"It’s a long story," Searchlight told him, "and not one that I really want to broadcast. I'll be there in three minutes and I'll tell you then."

Clench roared down the empty, battle-scarred Iacon highway at breakneck speed, heading toward Skyjack's supposed destination. A small voice in the back of his mind shouted at him that this was insane, that he was throwing away his rank, his position and probably his life on an uncharacteristic rampage of revenge. But that voice, the voice of reason that he had listened to for so long, had lost its' grip on him. He was Clench, scion of Caliburn, brother of Colossus, heir to one of the great houses of the Empire and a noble in his own right. He was a Liege Centuro of the Cybertronian Empire, supreme commander of an entire sector's military forces, second only to Overlord and the Liege Maximo himself. He wouldn't stand idly by and let his inferiors plot his downfall.

And so he would track down Skyjack. And when he did, the puny spy would reveal everything he knew about the conspiracy. And then Rage, along with anyone else who was plotting against him, would die slow, messy, painful deaths to make it clear to the rest that no one, absolutely no one, would be allowed to move against Clench. Jhiaxus wouldn't have tolerated any of this stupidity under his watch, and Clench would be damned if he would either.

I hope the two of you are having fun, he thought, because Skyjack and Rage, your little game is over.

"I'm not so sure this is a good idea," Wideload whispered to Freeway as the two of them snuck around the corner of the warehouse that their quarry had disappeared into and moved slowly toward the door.

"Oh, piffle," Freeway said. "You don't think anything is a good idea, chubby. You're always 'no, we can't do that, think of my paint job!'"

"And you don't take anything seriously," Wideload shot back. "Insults or pouting, that's all you're good for."

"At least I'm good for something," Freeway shot back. He pushed the door open and peeked inside, but didn't see anyone. "Looks like we're clear to go."

When Wideload didn't respond, Freeway said, "Silent treatment? Real mature, buddy." But when he looked over his shoulder he didn't see just Wideload. The other Throttlebot was lying on the ground in a daze. Standing over him, gun in hand, was Punch.

He didn’t seem very happy to see them.

"You have fifteen seconds," he said menacingly, "to explain what you're doing here. After that, I kill you and stash your corpses somewhere my contact won't see them."

"We, uh...that is..." Freeway babbled, at a loss for words.

"Ten seconds," Punch told him. He raised his gun and pointed it at the Throttlebot's head. "Nine. Eight. Seven."

Searchlight walked alongside Grotusque and a badly-burned Gunrunner, who he was helping to support as they moved slowly down the street.

"Punch, you say?" Grotusque mused. "I've never met him personally, but he did help us out when we needed it."

"Did he? I wonder." Searchlight cocked his head to one side. "Knowing that Megatron went underground after Prime didn't help anything. But it very easily could have hurt if the Decepticons had taken exception to Prowl...well, thrashing Soundwave and tossing him in a cell."

"True," Grotusque admitted. "But Prowl trusted him without question. If you've got Prowl trusting you unconditionally, that’s good enough for me."

"You say Punch?" Gunrunner asked weakly. "Short guy, blue and orange, not very friendly?"

"That sums him up, according to what Freeway told me," Searchlight agreed.

"He's on our side," Gunrunner confirmed. "But that doesn't mean we can trust him."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Grotusque asked.

"He and I have history. Leave it at that. Work with him if you think it's a good idea, but don't take your eyes off him for a second."

"So...treat him the same way I treat you? Done." Grotusque turned his attention back to Searchlight. "You say Freeway and Wideload are watching him?"

"They're supposed to be," Searchlight admitted. "But knowing Freeway, he's probably managed to land them in a pile of trouble by now."

Grotusque chuckled. "Hey, that’s Freeway for you. If he hasn't managed to get himself in trouble I would almost be disappointed."

"Come on now," Freeway said nervously. "We've met, remember? You were in a cell, I came to interrogate you, you beat the tar out of me and my guards for no reason...does that ring any bells, or are you thicker than the mud caked on Wideload's fenders?"

"Hey!" Wideload interjected. "I haven't needed to wash mud off of me since-"

"Shup up," Punch told them sharply. Then he leaned against a nearby wall and let out a deep groan, burying his face in his empty hand. His sidearm lowered to his side involuntarily, then slipped out of his fingers entirely.

Freeway watched the spy for a few moments before daring to ask, "You alright?"

Punch ignored the question, but a few seconds later he got back up and said, "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," Freeway shot back. "Hell, I am asking you the same question. We saw you meeting with a random Imperial. We followed you because, frankly, I don't trust you as far as I could throw Wideload. Which in case you can't tell, wouldn't be very far at all."

"I'm a spy," Punch replied flatly. "I sneak around. I have secret meetings. It's what I do."

Freeway looked up at the sky in disgust. "That's not an answer."

"I'm a spy," Punch reiterated. "Answers aren't a part of my job description."

"And listening to double-talk isn't a part of mine," Freeway told him. "In fact, my job is to blow stuff up. Wideload over there," Freeway jerked his head toward his companion, "his job is to haul stuff around. So what say you give me a straight answer before I blow you up and have him drag you back to our base in pieces?"

"Think for a minute," Punch responded, "about what I did the last time you talked to me that way."

"Last time," Freeway shot back, "you weren't having debilitating headaches. I'll take my chances."

"Or," another voice interjected, "all of you can shut up for a minute and listen to me."

Freeway half-turned to look at the newcomer, identifying him immediately. "Tusker! How did you find us?"

"I didn't," Grotusque told him. "Searchlight found me. He's perched up on a rooftop with that fancy new sniper rifle of his, by the way. Guess what for?"

"To keep me from pummelling Freeway again?" Punch asked dryly.

"Oh, no, by all means, pummel away," Grotusque told him. "He's up there to make sure you don't go anywhere until I know what the hell is going on here. Protecting Freeway, not so much."

"Hey!" Freeway shouted angrily. Everyone ignored him, though, so he had to settle for kicking a chunk of masonry off of the side of the building to work off his frustration.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Punch responded, "but I don't know you. Why should I tell you anything?"

"Because Prowl is dead," Grotusque said bluntly. "Prowl is dead, Perceptor is dead, Trailbreaker is dead, Magnus is on Earth, Prime is who-knows-where, Kup is half-way around the planet and Grimlock and Springer are in a different solar system. That leaves me. And if that Autobot badge on your chest actually means something to you, that makes me your leader." The Monsterbot sighed. "Believe me, I don't like it any more than you do."

Punch stared at Grotusque for a few seconds with indecision plain on his face. Then he shrugged. "Alright," he said with more than a little bit of resignation. "I'm here because one of my sources told me that a highly-placed Imperial wants to defect. That's all the information I've got. But if he sees the lot of you he's probably going to spook and run off. I can use some backup, but you'll need to get out of sight."

"I think," Wideload opined, pointing skyward, "that it might be a little too late for that."

Freeway followed his team mate’s gaze and caught sight of a dagger-shaped aircraft dropping swiftly toward them. As it approached the ground it transformed, firing foot-mounted thrusters to decelerate until it was able to land at a safe speed.

As Skyjack descended, he quickly counted four Autobots on the ground and another two (one of whom was rather worse for wear) atop a nearby building. It wasn't as many as he'd hoped for, but he thought — hoped — it would be enough.

Although he was worried that one or more of them would attack him straight-away without giving him a chance to talk, long years of experience made sure it didn't show in his body language. As he landed, he made sure to keep his back straight. Then he approached the Autobots with a smooth, unhurried gait that he hoped oozed confidence.

"Which one of you is Punch?" he asked.

"I am." A blue and orange figure stepped out from the knot of Autobots that was standing near the abandoned building's door.

"You were supposed to come alone," Skyjack complained. He'd never actually intended for that, of course, but he had to keep up appearances.

"I tried," Punch replied. "These three managed to...stumble into me."

"No matter," Skyjack told him. "I trust you to negotiate in good faith."

"What are we negotiating?" one of the other Autobots, a small blue one who looked like he turned into some sort of ground vehicle, asked. "Punch mentioned something about defecting? You want to join up? And what makes you think we want you?"

If Skyjack had been one of the foul organics that he had spent his lifetime observing, he doubted he would have been able to keep his breathing steady as he pondered that. He'd been working on his sales pitch for ages, ever since Rage had been closed up inside a stasis pod, but he was still nervous about it. He always was, whenever a plan of his came to fruition.

"I'm afraid," he began, "that the situation is a bit more complicated than that."

Grotusque listened carefully as the Imperial laid out his offer. The Autobot grew more and more incredulous as their source went on. He could feel the proverbial gears spinning in his head as he thought through the situation. Because of that, he was more than happy to let one of the others do the talking. What he wasn't necessarily so happy about, though, was that it was Freeway.

"And what makes you think," Freeway was saying, "that you're going to be able to deliver this 'Clench' to us?"

"My sources tell me that he's already on his way," Skyjack told him. "Believe me, I've planned this operation out very carefully. Clench will be here."

"And then what?" Freeway asked. "We kill him for you? I don't fancy being a hired gun for some Imp nobody, thanks."

"I don't care what you do with him," Skyjack said bluntly, "as long as he's out of the picture. Kill him, capture him, use him for a lawn ornament — it doesn't matter to me."

"Just as long as he's out of your way, is that it?" Freeway said, not without a certain amount of contempt. "You Imps sure do have great esprit de corps, don't you?"

"I don't expect you to understand," Skyjack said dismissively. "I do expect you to take advantage of a tactical coup of this magnitude when it drops into your lap, though. Then he turned to Grotusque. "You're in charge here?"

"I am," Grotusque admitted. He was a tad surprised, because no one had mentioned that and the Monsterbot hadn't said so much as said one word since the Decepticon arrived.

"Then it's your decision," the Imperial said. "Do you want Clench or don't you? I have to warn you, though, that he's not going to go down without a fight."

Grotusque stared off into space for a few seconds. He found himself wondering what Prowl or Magnus or Prime would do.

No! he told himself. They're not here and you're not them. Don't try to be them. Do what you think is best. You owe your troops at least that much.

Setting his jaw, Grotusque told the Imperial, "There’s no choice to make." Then he looked out at the faces of his troops and said, “Here’s what we’re going to do…”

Clench screeched to a halt in front of a large, seemingly-abandoned industrial building. Transforming to robot mode he took a few seconds to consult with the global positioning satellites the Imperials had put in orbit. They told him what his internal sense of direction already had.

This is the place...

The massive Decepticon hefted his laser cannon, then reared up and kicked the building's rickety door off of its' hinges.

"Skyjack!" he roared. "Show yourself!"

"I'm right here," was the reply. The spy didn't sound the slightest bit afraid, much to Clench's annoyance.

It's time to do something about that.

"But the power vested in me as Liege Centuro of the Cybertronian Empire," Clench said with slow deliberation, "I find you guilty of high treason."

"Well, it's sort of funny that you say that," Skyjack said. His tone was relaxed, almost mocking. "Did you take a look around the building first?"

"What are you babbling about?" Clench snapped.

"I just think it's funny," Skyjack told him. "Here I am, meeting with four heavily-armed Autobots, and you burst in and accuse me of treason. You were just ad-libbing, of course...how could you have known?"

"I..you...what?" Clench was baffled for a moment. But then he caught sight of movement in the distant shadows in one of the building’s corners. It took half a second before he could make sense of what he was seeing. When he did, he quickly realized that a pair of unfamiliar Transformers was approaching him. Both of them wore Autobrands and both of them were armed. Glancing quickly to the other side he saw another pair of enemies moving to hem him in.

Turning back to Skyjack, Clench let a lifetime’s worth of repressed rage boil to the surface. He released it with a single word. "Traitor!"

"Yes, we've already covered that," Skyjack told him. "Now, would you care to lower your weapon? Or are you going to make this harder on yourself than it has to be?"

The barely-contained fury that had been burning inside Clench all day broke free again, and before he knew it he was firing on Skyjack. "Die, betrayer!"

Skyjack danced out of his way, slipping out of sight behind a support stanchion. The quartet of Autobots started to return fire in his stead. Clench picked one of them at random and charged.

Freeway stood his ground and fired round after round from his small sidearm pistol at the charging Clench, but the undersized weapon didn't do much more than scratch the Imperial's paint. Before he even had a chance to think about getting out of the way, he found himself slammed bodily into the wall behind him.

Freeway crumpled to the ground in a daze.

Wideload watched as Clench effortlessly dropped Freeway. Then he brought his sidearm up and started to fire.

"Eat particle beam, scum!" he shouted.

But all bravado aside, his weapon wasn't having any more of an effect than Freeway's had. Wideload looked down at the thoroughly inadequate pistol he was holding, made a disgusted face and then threw it aside. "You want a fight?" he asked Clench. "You got one!"

Vaulting over Freeway's barely-conscious body, Wideload slammed feet-first into Clench. The Decepticon lost his footing and stumbled backwards, but swung a nasty backhand swipe at the smaller Autobot as he tried to find his balance. Wideload almost managed to duck, but took a glancing blow on his right temple. Even then, the strike was enough to make him see stars.

"Ouch," the Throttlebot grumbled. "I think that left a dent!"

Charging forward, he grabbed one of Clench's knees and pulled to the side, dragging the Imperial off-balance and sending him slamming hard into the ground. Pressing his advantage, Wideload jumped up onto the larger Transformer's chest and started to rain blows down on his face.

"How do you like it, eh?" Wideload shouted. "Not a lot, I bet!"

"Get off!" Clench shouted right back. "Now!"

The Imperial sent Wideload flying with one swipe of his powerful arm. The Autobot he landed hard on the floor and didn't get back up.

Grotusque watched with horror as Clench took down the two Throttlebots in less time than it had taken the Monsterbot to cross the room.

At least they're not jumping up into my line of sight anymore, the Monsterbot mused. That's something.

He spared a glance toward where Skyjack had been standing, but the Imperial was gone now — probably for good.

That leaves just me and Punch, Grotusque thought. Thanks for nothing, Skyjack.

"You're faster on your feet," Punch chimed in. "Can you flank him?"

"Can I? Yes. Will I? No." Grotusque shook his head. "We stick to the plan. Stay back. If he kills me, you know what to do."

Transforming to beast mode, Grotusque charged across the warehouse floor at Clench. The Imperial targeted him with a blast from his laser cannon but succeeded in nothing but blasting a hole in the back wall. Half a second later, when he judged that he was close enough, he started to spew white-hot flames from his mouth. He saw a vague outline of Clench throwing his arm up across his face, and then the Imperial disappeared behind the flames.

Grotusque leaped to the side, correctly guessing that the Imperial was going to throw himself at his attacker's last known position. But a flap of his ungainly wings transformed Grotusque's leap into an awkward glide, carrying him safely out of harm's way. He flapped a few more times before coming to rest where Skyjack had been standing moments before.

The blazing Clench swung his head from side to side, trying to make sense of what was going on through the wreath of flame that was clinging to him. He couldn’t find Grotusque, but somehow managed to get a line of sight on Punch. Before either Autobot could react, the Imperial raised his weapon again and fired. Punch took the hit in his right shoulder and stumbled back, looking for cover.

Gotta get his attention back… Grotusque thought.

"Hey ugly!" Grotusque shouted. "Yeah, you with the built-in breath mask! You remember me? Here, have some flames to refresh your memory!" He sent another gout of flame Clench's way, just to make sure the Decepticon's attention was on him instead of his mangled ally.

"I'll kill you!" Clench spat as the flames washed over him. "I'll kill all of you!"

"Big words for someone who's standing all the way across the room," Grotusque taunted him. "Come here and say that!"

Clench twitched a few times, either from the fire damage or the rage that Grotusque hoped he had stoked. But he took the bait and started to barrel his way toward Grotusque...until the floor exploded half-way there, throwing him up into the roof.

"I never thought I’d say this,” Grotusque muttered, “but thank Primus for Freeway," Transforming to robot mode, The Monsterbot started to walk toward the area where Clench had fallen. He was completely startled when, after he'd crossed about half the distance between them, Clench actually managed to get up.

Unarmed now, the massive Imperial looked around for a second or two with a lost expression in his optics. But as soon as he saw the smashed-open door, he started to move. Hobbling as best he could, the Imperial made his way toward the exit.

"He's going to get away!" Punch shouted. The spy tried to bring up his mortar, but the pain from his damaged shoulder was too much and the weapon fell from his grasp and clattered to the ground.

"No, he's not," Grotusque assured him. Although he had his vaporator rifle in hand, the Monsterbot didn't so much as raise his arm to fire on the escaping Imperial. He just stood calmly and watched the Imperial charge out the door...and get blasted square in the chest by a particle beam. This time, when Clench hit the ground he didn't get back up.

"Searchlight," Grotusque reminded Punch softly as he grabbed the other Autobot by his uninjured arm and helped him up.

"Right." Punch winced, but he managed to keep his feet under him and the two Autobots started to make their way toward Clench's body.

Across the warehouse, Wideload and Freeway were slowly shaking off the beatings they'd taken as well.

"Tell me again," Freeway asked, "why Searchlight gets a sniper rifle and we have to make do with these useless pea-shooters?"

"Don't look at me," Grotusque shrugged. "I don't know where he got it."

"Spend some time making friends with Crosshairs." Searchlight had arrived at the entrance. "Or Ironfist. Then they might let you play with their toys more often."

"Where's Gunrunner?" Grotusque asked as all five of them came together around the fallen Decepticon.

"Covering us with my rifle," Searchlight told him. "I thought you guys might need some help, and right now he’s in no shape for corpse-handling duty."

"Hmm." Grotusque dropped down to one knee beside the fallen Imperial and examined him. "Not a corpse yet," he said with a little bit of amazement. "Wideload, can you haul someone this big?"

Wideload looked at the much-larger Transformer speculatively. "For a while, yeah," he said. "Not all the way back to base in one go, though. And certainly not with him in robot mode."

Grotusque nodded. "And you'll probably need to give Gunrunner a ride too. He can walk, but barely. Punch, start hooking our prize up to Wideload. Searchlight and Freeway, head back to base and rustle up Wheeljack and Hoist. We'll need them to meet us about half-way to relieve and refuel Wideload."

"Yes, sir," Searchlight told him. "On our way."

After the two Throttlebots had transformed and rolled off, Grotusque gave Punch a quick wave. "I'll be back in a few," he said. "I'm going to grab Gunrunner."

Transforming to beast mode, he jumped in the air and glided upwards. Able to get a purchase on the building that Gunrunner was sequestered on, he clambered up onto the roof.

"How are you?" he asked the injured Autobot without preamble.

"I've been better," Gunrunner responded as he stared off into space. "Nothing a little time with Hoist won't fix, though." He looked over at Grotusque for a few seconds, then away again.

"What?" Grotusque asked. "Do I have something stuck in my fangs?"

"No, I..." Gunrunner shook his head and made an unclassifiable noise.

"What?"

"I just wanted to say..." Gunrunner sighed. "I just wanted to say that you did good out there. I know we were rough on each other earlier, and I deserved it. You didn't. You're a good Autobot, Grotusque. A good officer. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, especially me."

"Thanks," Grotusque told him. "Coming from you, that means a lot."

Gunrunner didn't answer directly. He just slowly rose to his feet and said, "I think it's high time we got back to base. Our 'walk' has gone on long enough that the troops probably think we've killed each other."

Grotusque chuckled. "Then we'll just have to make sure we're back in time to spoil Blaster's coronation, won't we?"

Epilogue

Imperial-Occupied Cybertron: Day 19

This time, when Needler let himself into Overlord's inner sanctum he moved as quietly as his tiny, spidery body would allow. He was curious, and he wasn't afraid to admit it — Overlord had been spending a lot of time alone in here, and Needler was worried about him.

"...can't afford to have you away from the Hub, and we can't spare the troops that you've taken with you," an unfamiliar voice was saying. "You need to come home before the Liege Maximo finds out what you're up to. Please. I'm...I'm worried about you, Overlord. I only wish you trusted me as you once did."

The voice sighed, then said with resignation, "We were friends once. I thought we still were. At the very least, I thought I understood you. Now I'm not so sure. I'll be waiting for your return message. Deathsaurus out."

Needler waited an appropriate amount of time after the message ended, then announced himself. "My lord, I bring news."

"Has Clench been found?" Overlord's tone was distant, almost uninterested. For the first time, Needler thought he understood why.

"No, my lord," Needler responded. "We traced his path and found nothing but some battle debris. Our investigators think that he had a disagreement with his Autobot contacts and they took him by force."

"Then they have proof of his betrayal?" Overlord asked.

"They do," Needler confirmed. "Our forensic experts have confirmed that his gun fired the shot that killed Stalker, and once his disappearance became public knowledge more than a dozen witnesses came forward to corroborate it. Also, we have numerous reports of him acting strangely in the last day or two before he disappeared."

"Hmm," Overlord grunted. "I suppose I'll have to select a replacement. Draw up a list of suitable candidates and have it delivered to me."

"Aye, sir," Needler said. He started to scuttle away, but Overlord interrupted him.

"One more thing."

"Sir?"

"Get Colossus to come down from the Autarch. I have a special assignment for him." After half a second of consideration Overlord shook his head. "Actually, on second thought I'll deliver the orders to him myself. I wouldn't want any of the troops here to get...overeager when they see someone who looks so much like Clench running around."

"By your command," Needler replied. "I'll have your shuttle readied right away."

Rage climbed out of the stasis pod with an impatient expression on his face.

"Take it slowly," Glit was telling him. "You haven't moved in nearly a month, and I've had to replace half a dozen of your major systems. It will take a while before your neural net adjusts."

Rage wanted to respond to that with a snide remark, but before he could he felt his left leg give out. He barely managed to stay upright by grabbing onto a rail mounted to the nearby wall. "Yes, I see that," he said instead.

"I'm restricting you to light duty until you can pass a full-system physical, but that shouldn't take more than a couple days," Glit told him. "Other than that, you're free to go. I think there's someone out in the main room waiting to help you find your quarters.

His curiosity piqued, Rage he moved as quickly as he could out into the small hospital's antechamber. He looked around quickly and caught sight of one very familiar face. "Skyjack," he said.

"Rage," the younger Imperial responded. "It's good to see you up and about, sir." The Cyberjet took a few steps forward and handed Rage a small datapad. "I took the liberty of preparing you a quick summary of everything that's happened while you were off-line."

As Rage took the pad from his friend, their optics met and Skyjack gave him an almost imperceptible nod. Rage nodded back and did his best not to show any emotion that would stand out as odd to the other people in the room.

It's done.

← Part Ten | Index | Part Twelve →

 
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