Chapter Text
Home. It seemed so far away now, a ghost of a memory from a bygone era. A hazy dream.
Truth be told, Cyclonus preferred not to think about it, but sometimes he didn’t have a choice. Tetrahex still lingered in his mind like a spectre. He wished he could remember it for what it truly was: an elegant, shining city perched in the majestic Manganese Mountains, its ornate buildings gleaming in the sunlight. The art galleries, museums, archives. The winding spires of Galvatron’s fortress.
Tetrahex had never been tied to the rest of Cybertron. Under the care of ex-military commander Galvatron (who’d fought alongside Sentinel Prime during the Quintesson War), Tetrahex blossomed on its own, a pacifist city free from the chains of the Senate and caste system, a rare specimen. There, Cyclonus had lived with his Amica Endura Scourge, working as a curator in the archives. Everything had been perfect, the best he could’ve asked for.
But, that wasn’t the Tetrahex he remembered. Not at all. When he shuttered his optics, let himself drift into the past, all he saw was fire. The once pristine streets bathed in energon. The corpses of his fellow Tetrahexians strewn in the rubble. The end of life as he knew it.
Move on, the Decepticons said. He was one of them now.
But he can’t.
He’d always remember.
--Then--
It was the night of the Starlight Festival, a cycle-long commemoration of Cybertron’s victory over the Quintessons. Sadly, Tetrahex was the only place that indulged in the holiday. The pride in winning that war had faded once the Age of Rust set in and Cybertronians forgot who they were as space-faring, innovative species, instead settling into a world of castes, stagnation, and gloom.
Cyclonus walked arm-in-arm with Scourge across a narrow bridge on the outskirts of the city. The starry sky burst with colorful fireworks. They stopped, leaning against the railing and watching the display, tired after being out since the crack of dawn. It was time to head home and clean up for the night, perhaps watch some holos before recharging.
“Lord Galvatron invited me to join his new air patrol,” Scourge said suddenly. “I was going to tell you earlier, but I didn’t want to bring down the mood.”
Cyclonus tore his optics away from the star-streaked heavens where dark clouds gathered over the Rust Sea in the distance. He looked at his friend in surprise. “Why?”
Of course he knew why, but he didn’t want to say it out loud. Part of him was surprised it took so long, what with how bad the violence was getting. It didn’t help that Galvatron recently made a very public statement against the Decepticon warlord…
Long ago, Cyclonus and Scourge were both Galvatron’s right hand mechs with a kill count a mile long during the Quintesson War. But, Cyclonus had put that traumatic history behind him, vowing to never get involved in fighting again.
“It’s just a precaution.” Scourge tried to play it cool, no doubt sensing his Amica’s worry. “They probably won’t come here. Too much effort for little reward.”
“Except our fuel reserves,” Cyclonus said grimly. The Manganese Mountains were practically overflowing with caves full of energon crystals, but the terrain was treacherous. Hard for mechs to navigate if they didn’t know the area.
Laying a gentle servo on Cyclonus’s shoulder, Scourge said, “Don’t worry, Cyc. We’re going to be okay.”
We’re going to be okay.
If only that was true.
***
Early the next morning, when it was still dark, Cyclonus was jerked awake by a loud explosion. The entire building shook. Sprinting off the recharge slab, Cyclonus retrieved his sword from its hiding place under the berth before rushing into the hallway, straining his audials. His spark raced when he heard distant screams and blaster fire.
“Scourge!” he called, hurrying toward his Amica’s room.
He rounded the corner, nearly colliding with Scourge, who was carrying a blaster pistol, a terrified expression on his face. Cyclonus grabbed his arm, frantic.
“Come on.” Scourge pulled him along.
They ran down the stairs and burst out the front door of their small abode, immediately greeted by a scene so surreal that Cyclous was sure he was in a nightmare. Tetrahex was burning, thick plumes of smoke rising into the dark sky where the moon was shrouded by clouds. Decepticon seekers circled above, dropping bombs onto the city as groups of armed mechs fired on the fleeing grounders. A large transport shuttle landed and even more Decepticons spilled out.
Cyclonus looked up at the sky where Tetrahexian fliers were being shot down like Insecticons. There was no way they were going to make it through that.
“We need to get to the fortress!” Scourge blasted away a Decepticon grounder who lunged toward them.
Together, they navigated the chaotic streets, dodging blaster fire, fighting their way through hostile forces, aiding other Tetrahexians and telling them to head to the fortress where they could rally with Galvatron.
Cyclonus hadn’t fought in so long that the weight of the sword in his servos felt strange. Wrong. He aimed to incapacitate the Decepticon soldiers as much as possible instead of outright killing them, trying to remember that they were simply downtrodden Cybertronians who’d bought into Megatron’s silky smooth lies.
They sprinted through winding back alleys to stay away from the bulk of the fighting. The screams surrounding them pierced Cyclonus’s audials, made his tanks churn.
Their hope was quickly crushed when they saw their destination up ahead. What was once a symbol of strength and pride was now engulfed in flames like the rest of the city. There was nowhere left.
“Oh no.” Cyclonus stopped in his tracks, his optics widening.
Scourge stared at the ghastly sight, his intake open in shock. After getting a hold of himself, he said, “Okay...we’re going to brave the skies. We need to find help. Follow me and---”
“What a disappointing show of strength from Galvatron’s legendary warriors,” a voice said.
They spun around. A hulking mech slowly advanced on them, his fusion cannon raised, his sharp teeth bared in an unpleasant grin, his silver plating shining in the firelight. A chill raced down Cyclonus’s spinal strut as he gazed into the very familiar face. A face he’d seen on the holonet countless times.
“Are you not Scourge and Cyclonus?” Megatron’s voice was unnervingly calm for the situation. “I’ve heard the tales. Such a shame to see you hide up here in your gilded towers, ignoring the plight of Cybertron. Your now dead leader could’ve helped the cause!”
Cyclonus held up his sword, anger lacing through him. “ This is what you consider a cause?”
Megatron walked closer, chuckling. “The two of you have a simple choice. Join the Decepticons, contribute to a real effort, or die with your wretched city.”
Cyclonus’s courage flared at the wrong moment, obstructing any common sense in his processor. He spun his sword before leaping at Megatron, burning with the desire to avenge his fallen Tetrahexians. And Lord Galvatron.
With little effort, Megatron knocked him aside, the blow sending him crashing into the side of a building. Cyclonus stumbled to his pedes again, his helm spinning. Megatron leveled his fusion cannon at him, the purple charge sparking within the barrel.
And then he fired.
Before Cyclonus’s processor could even catch up, Scourge jumped in front of him. It was like everything was moving in slow motion as Cyclonus saw the blast hit his friend in the chest. Saw him fall to the ground, smoke rising from the gaping wound, his optics flickering until they went black.
Pain unlike anything Cyclonus had experienced tore through his spark, alighting every circuit in his chassis, overwhelming and agonizing. He collapsed to his knees next to his friend, crying out as their millennia-old spark bond was cruelly severed. Washer fluid filled his optics as he cradled Scourge, hugging him close, begging him to wake up. No, no. This couldn’t be happening.
“What a waste.” Megatron’s voice softened.
It started to rain, the only small blessing on this terrible night. Perhaps it would quell the fires, spare some part of his home. Lightning flashed overhead.
“Monster.” Cyclonus looked up at the warlord, the rain pattering against his face.
“A necessary monster,” Megatron said. “When I was forged, I was merely a number, a piece of equipment, a slave. And so were many others like me. Kept in chains by the caste system while your lot played neutral, hoarded energon instead of helping us. You’re no better than the Autobots!”
It was in that moment that he realized how dangerous Megatron truly was. Yes, he’d seen footage of the mighty gladiator ripping his opponents apart. His powerful speeches in front of angry crowds. The aftermath of the attacks around Kaon, Tarn, Iacon. The destruction of small outlying cities. But the determined look in Megatron’s crimson optics right now scared him the most. Because he realized Megatron would never stop. Could never be reasoned with. He’d sweep across the entire planet, destroying everything in his path, slaughtering anyone who opposed him.
His survival instincts kicked in. He had to leave. Find help in Iacon.
Holding Scourge close one last time, he whispered his final goodbye before jumping up and transforming into his sleek flight mode, soaring away from the destruction as torrents of rain fell around him. It was rough trying to gain altitude in the storm, but he pushed through it. Up and up he flew, gusts of wind sending him teetering from side to side.
But, he didn’t make it far. As if the very Pit was trying to drag him down, a blast tore through his left wing and sent him spiraling toward the jagged ground. He crash landed, rolling for several meters before coming to a stop against a cliff face. His chassis singing with pain, he transformed back to root mode and laid there in a puddle of rainwater and energon, vents coming out in labored gasps.
After all of the battles he’d fought. The lifetimes he’d lived.
And this was how he went out.
What a failure he was. What a ghost of his old self.
He swam in and out of consciousness. The last thing he saw was Megatron’s imposing figure towering over him, his red optics glowing in the darkness.
“I'm impressed," Megatron said. "You still have a lot of fight in you, Cyclonus. Perhaps you aren't a lost cause after all."
***
When Cyclonus came to, he was lying on a berth in a dimly lit, windowless room with drab gray walls. He slowly sat up, every part of him aching. His servos were bound together with stasis cuffs. He noticed that his wing had been repaired, the fresh welding job visible on his purple plating. As he stared up at the ceiling, he didn’t feel fear. Or anger. Just terrible, gnawing emptiness. There was still a deep ache in his spark from the broken bond. How strange it was to try to reach out to Scourge and feel nothing.
Everything he loved was gone forever. He had nothing left.
The door slid open, light spilling into the room from the hallway. A slender energon seeker with silver plating stepped across the threshold, holding a small energon cube in one of his long-fingered servos.
“Ah, I wondered if you were ever going to wake up.” The seeker’s voice was deep and scratchy. He approached Cyclonus with a great deal of hesitation, his wings flicking nervously.
“Where am I?” Cyclonus muttered.
“Kaon.” The seeker handed Cyclonus the cube.
Cyclonus swirled the liquid around for a klik before tossing it onto the ground.
The seeker sighed and lowered himself onto a crate next to the berth. “Look, I’m sorry about Tetrahex. I really am. Megatron has been...erratic lately. I tried to tell him he should recruit Galvatron, but…” he trailed off, frowning. “I’m Air Commander Starscream, in case you didn’t know.”
Scenes of Tetrahex’s destruction flooded Cyclonus’s processor. Again, he saw Scourge’s graying chassis sprawled on the ground, his sightless stare...
His vent hitched, washer fluid pricking the corners of his optics.
Starscream reached out and laid a servo on Cyclonus’s arm, his optics soft. “Look--”
Before he could continue, Megatron strolled into the room with his servos behind his back, his helm held high. An imposing purple mech with a single red optic instead of a faceplate trailed behind him. Cyclonus tensed up, his spark pulsing in his chest, coolant breaking out on his helm.
“Cyclonus of Tetrahex.” Megatron opened his arms. “Welcome to the Decepticon stronghold. We have a lot of work to do.”
“You still expect me to join you?” Cyclonus was weary. He just wanted it to be over. Why couldn’t they execute him and get it over with?
“Don’t you understand that this conflict is bigger than you?” Megatron said, exasperation in his voice. “Cybertron has been under the tyrannical rule of the Autobots for too long. I tried talking, I tried peace. But, sometimes we have to get our servos dirty for the greater good.”
Cyclonus looked at Starscream. The seeker was standing off to the side now with his arms folded and gaze downcast.
Megatron grabbed Cyclonus’s face in an enormous, clawed servo, examining him with piercing optics.
“Cortical psychic patch, Shockwave. And a little bit of...old fashioned persuasion,” Megatron said. “That should be enough to remind him of the killing machine he’s supposed to be. Remind him of how Cybertron functioned before the caste system blighted our world. Show him the depravity of the Autobots.”
Cyclonus was untethered from the medical berth and pushed toward the purple mech.
He looked back at Starscream one more time, finding sympathy in the seeker’s wide optics. The last bit of comfort he’d get before his life changed forever.