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Chapter Text

Deep Space monitoring station, Imperial City State of Iacon...

Listening Outpost Gamma, Sector 4, Quadrant 1.497

/Unidentified object registered 0.6 parsecs from Lithone system. Passive heat scan, high metal ore content registered.../

Listening Outpost Gamma, Sector 4, Quadrant 1.495

/Unidentified object registered in orbital range of Lithone VI.../

Listening Outpost Gamma, Sector 4, Quadrant 1.490

/Unidentified object registered 0.006 parsecs out of Lithone system.

Location of Lithone VI – confirmed.
Existence of Lithone VI – unconfirmed.../

Listening Outpost Gamma, Sector 4, Quadrant 1.487

/Unidentified object registered 3.2 parsecs from Proxima Centauri, course change noted.

Unidentified object will enter orbital range of Cybertron in 0.87 metacycles.../

TBC

Chapter Text

CE 2005, Cybertron, Imperial City State of Iacon, the Imperial Tower...

"Naaaa, na na na na-na-na na, na-na na na-na naaaaaa..."

Whatever that noise was, it probably didn't bode well for a quiet shift. Then again, few things in the general vicinity of the repair bay ever did, including the mechs and femmes who worked in there.

Grateful for any opportunity to avoid his admin duties, Knock Out poked his head around the edge of the medical storage area and squinted into the gloom. The sounds of scuffling met his audials, along with two instantly recognisable vocoders.

"Yo. Contact cement or epoxy?"

"Fragged if I know, jus' grab somethin' that says glue."

"Yeah, they're both gonna glue stuff, genius. Which one's better?"

"Apply previous comment 'Zee."

"...Meh, epoxy'll do. Anythin' wit' an x in the name's gotta be good, right?"

"Can't argue wit' an x."

Knock Out rolled his optics. In the glow of the store's refrigeration unit, he could just make out the blocky form of Frenzy perched on Rumble's equally angular shoulders, hastily gathering tubs of epoxy together with ill-concealed glee. The blue Cassette was clutching several boxes of what looked like different bolts and screws, and a set of glue brushes were slung around his frame on a bandoleer.

"We good?"

"Yep. You told the Coneheads yet?"

"Ready and waitin'. Let's do this."

The red Cassette slid down from his twin's shoulders, slung his bounty into his subspace and charged out into the corridor. Rumble followed at a slightly more sedate pace, muttering under his breath.

"Naaaa, na na na na-na-na na, na-na na na-na naaaaaa..."

Knock Out blinked.

Well, that happened.

In the main repair bay, Hook snorted and shook his head at the sight of the EMT's over-polished frame lurking in the doorway. "Knock Out, I see your aft, and it isn't doing filing. And if that's Barricade crashing about in the stores, tell him nice try, we already moved the cygars."

Standard procedure when medical supplies had been removed by a non-medic was to tattle-tale to the senior medial officer faster than Starscream with a fusion cannon at his temple, then a quick round of ore-datapad-bolt cutters determined who got to hunt down the unlucky thieves.

The sleek red Aston Martin frowned for a moment, then turned around and shrugged expansively. (1)

"Hmph. I'll pass it on if I see him."

Whatever the twins were planning, their creator and co-creator would deal with it. As long as he did a little blame-shifting first...

Just as he had done every day of the 18 months since the Decepticon conquest of Cybertron, Soundwave sat patiently at the communications desk, leads plugged into his torso ports, his CPU meticulously scanning the endless lines of Autobot security codes. Laserbeak perched silently on his right shoulder, her scarlet optics studying her creator's actions. Inside Soundwave's tape-deck, Buzzsaw filtered and recorded the information gleaned from the haphazardly secured lines of binary.

The Communications officer imperceptibly narrowed his optic band at two particular lines of code.

/000000011000111100011111000000111... Luna Alpha and Luna Beta energon stockpiles severely depleted./

/01111100000101000011110010010011000... Priority transmission for attention of Optimus Prime: energon supplies cleared for collection from Earth city-station Autobot City./

Unsurprising, considering that for the past 20 years Earth had become the Autobots' main energon supply line. And whatever the Prime's forces had managed to sneak past the Iaconian sensors was clearly not enough to both sustain an army and fuel an assault on Cybertron.

But this was the second decoded transmission that had related to energon supplies on the moons. The first had been not three weeks prior; Buzzsaw had spotted the relevant binary and had flagged it to his creator.

If the Autobots were able to fulfil their energy requirements for both lunar bases from this one delivery...

Soundwave quietly raised his right hand. Laserbeak spread her wings and hovered in the air next to her creator's head. The movement did not go unnoticed by the rest of the senior officers.

"What news, Soundwave?"

"Lord Megatron. Autobot transmission; decoded."

The Decepticon emperor leaned over his officer's shoulder, red optics studying the text unblinkingly. Shockwave spared the duo a glance from his own workstation, grateful for a respite from listening to Starscream whine about his latest aerial recruits.

Megatron leaned back and folded his arms across his chestplates, his brows furrowed in thought.

"Have you been able to confirm if this energon depletion can be replenished from a single supply run?"

"Replenishment levels; unconfirmed. Suggestion; Laserbeak should perform surveillance on Luna Alpha. Autobot vocalisers; know to be loud when silent running is not enforced."

The silver gun-former nodded at the patiently hovering scarlet condor. "Then attend to your duties Laserbeak."

With an avian screech, Laserbeak shot out of the command tower and soared into the Iaconian skies towards Luna Alpha.

Like her creator, the femme condor had her own suspicions about how well their enemy was managing their fuel supplies.

Unlike the Decepticons who had been quick to establish solar, coal and oil refineries and conversion plants across the Pacific Basin within a few months of their reawakening on Earth, the Autobots had been primarily dependent on the goodwill of humanity and the abilities of their alt-modes to convert Earth fuels into energon. After the Decepticon space bridge had been built in Nevada in late 1984, Megatron's forces had been able to start sending regular shipments back to Cybertron where, under Shockwave's careful management, the last remaining munitions factories had been able to be sustained and then expanded, while others were reopened on a strict schedule.

The energon facility known as Autobot City had been under construction since 2001, and had only reached full production capacity within the past year. Prior to that, the only energon the moons and outposts had received on a semi-regular basis was what the Autobot Femme Division had been able to steal from the storage hangers in Iacon. After the re-conquest, the thefts had dropped to zero.

Laserbeak engaged her signal dampeners as she passed the edge of space and made a wide, graceful arc towards the nest of twinkling lights emanating from Luna Alpha's dark side.

All bets pointed towards the Autobot weapons specialist running his vocaliser off first.

In Soundwave's quarters, Ratbat pouted and glowered at the scene on the floor, and dug his claws just a little bit harder into his co-creator's cockpit.

Nightraider rolled her optics and tapped at the page icon on her bookpad. "Jealousy is not attractive Ratbat, we've been through this."

The little bat's pout deepened. But I was here first, and he's in my spot.

On the floor, his cuddly cybercat at his side and blissfully unaware of the petulant sulk the youngest Cassette was having, Crossfire happily scratched at Ravage's underbelly. The feline Cassette was stretched out on his back, purring in utter contentment, his back legs occasionally pedalling in the air whenever the little gun-former hit a particularly itchy spot.

Nightraider spared her youngest co-creation a glance. "Perhaps he is, but we've all discussed this, and Crossfire loves felinoids and he's a bit... special, so he's allowed to have as much time with Ravage as he wants."

But  I'm  special.

"You are, but in a different way to Crossfire."

The F-14 was careful to keep her next thoughts to herself. Prematurity is one thing. Prematurity combined with what Crossfire was sparked with is another.

She slid down the berth and rolled onto her still-tender side, Ratbat quickly repositioning himself to hang off the side of her cockpit. Reaching down to the floor to grab her cube of low-grade, she paused for a moment to study the luminous pink fuel.

Energon rations were still strictly enforced, even after 18 months of total planetary occupation. The Autobots were in no hurry to squander their meagre resources, and the Decepticons were too long accustomed to running on the lower wartime rations to risk the possibility of increasing their fuel consumption to peacetime levels. However, that didn't mean that rations hadn't increased, or that a number of high grade stills weren't being run out of various sleeping quarters, but the senior officers had left the 'management' of said stills to Swindle.

Officially, this had been listed as 'seemed like a good idea at the time.'

The extra rations were definitely appreciated, not least by the various sets of bondmates dotted throughout Iacon and Darkmount. Obsidian and Strika, Skywarp and Thundercracker, Esmeral and Deathsaurus; to name three pairs and omit probably a dozen more who hadn't been caught out by routine physicals. It was never spoken about openly, but those known to be bonded were granted increased rations in order to maintain functionality when separated from their mates.

As for Soundwave and herself... the past year and a half had taught the femme jet more than a few things about her bondmate.

When on duty and outside their quarters, Soundwave was never anything less than the reserved, hyper-capable Communications officer and joint third-in-command alongside Shockwave. When he was off duty and spending time with his creations, he was still a little reserved, but far more willing to show his emotions and indulge in displays of affection. All of the Cassettes were aware that Soundwave was not the most demonstrative of mechs, but none of them ever doubted how much he cared for them, or how deeply his creator programming was embedded in his core systems.

When the two of them were off duty and alone?

Nightraider held back a smirk as she knocked back the contents of her cube.

Teasing and testing that reserve with her fuselage and their bond until it broke was something she doubted she would ever get tired of. Soundwave had kept his word about making up for lost time in more creative ways than she had anticipated, and even his more straightforward demonstrations of physical appreciation would more often than not end with dented hip plating, her legs slung over his shoulders and her screaming his name at the ceiling.

That alone was worth the extra rations.

Starscream had pleaded for extra soundproofing and an occupancy transfer within two days of his return to Cybertron.

Both requests were ignored.

Neither Soundwave nor Nightraider could bring themselves to care.

A squeak from Crossfire caught her attention. The little gun-former was now giggling as Ravage batted at his hands, his paws always careful to miss the small purple digits, but swiping just close enough to be a playful threat.

Nightraider let a small smile cross her faceplates, one she reserved only for the Cassettes and Crossfire. "What happened to art time, sweetspark?"

Crossfire twisted around to face his guardian, his single optic bright with pleasure. "Art time all done. Time for kitty scratchies!"

"And Ravage just happened to agree with this?"

"Yep!"

Ravage didn't bother moving from where he was sprawled out on the floor. Far be it from me to disappoint a sparkling. Especially one who offered so politely.

Ratbat looked wounded. ...But I can do scratchies. I can do good scratchies.

You can indeed, little brother. But frankly, anyone who isn't Rumble or Frenzy can provide excellent scratchies.

The feline Cassette's optics narrowed as he sat up and glanced around. And speaking of my dear demented siblings, has anyone seen them recently?

Crossfire shook his head and clutched his cybercat to his chestplates. Ratbat stretched his wings and rubbed at a sticky patch of energon on his cheek.

They were here a little while ago.

"...Naaaa, na na na na-na-na na, na-na na na-na naaaaaa..."

BANG

Nightraider narrowed her own optics at the sudden burst of music.

"What was that?"

"Naaaa, na na na na-na-na na, na-na na na-na naaaaaa..."

CLONK

Ravage sighed. And I think that answers my question.

The F-14 swung her legs off the berth, Ratbat still proudly clinging onto her cockpit, and leaned next to the door, her hand poised over the locking mechanism. "Why does that song sound familiar, and how much will I regret looking outside?"

Ravage stretched and padded towards the door, pausing briefly to pick Crossfire off the floor by the scruff-bar. Because it's from a video game Rumble and Frenzy both love, and I believe the word you're looking for is immensely. Immensely regret.

Nightraider pressed the lock and stood back. "And the verdict is..."

"Naaaa, na na na na-na-na na, na-na na na-na NAAAAAA!"

CLA-THUNK

The door hissed open in time for all of the occupants to witness a giant ball of plating, spare parts, nuts, bolts, tubs, empty energon cubes and Rumble's legs go rolling down the corridor, all propelled by a giggling Frenzy. The red Cassette had his speakers playing at top volume and was roaring along with the song Nightraider had just heard, which appeared to consist entirely of the word 'na'.

Ratbat and Crossfire immediately started bouncing along to the music from their respective perches. Both of them recognised the track and which game it was from only too well.

Closely following behind the red Cassette were Skywarp, Misfire, Spinister, the Coneheads and Astrotrain; Swindle was bringing up the rear and more interested in counting up his sheaf of credits than looking where he was going.

A black hand swooped across his field of vision and swiped the credits out of his hand. "Hey- oh slag."

The resident weapons dealer's expression morphed from infuriated to petrified in a sparkbeat.

Nightraider leaned against the doorframe, idly glancing back and forth between the credits in her hand and Swindle's panicked expression. "...I have a few questions about this situation."

Swindle tented his fingers together and adopted something approaching a winsome grin. "Can any of them be negated with a healthy bribe?"

"Probably not, but if you feel like trying, then please go ahead."

Ravage sat at his co-creator's feet and peered down the corridor, Crossfire still dangling happily from his jaws. The twins got bored and broke into the repair bay stores, didn't they.

Swindle went into full 'plausible deniability' mode. "I can neither confirm nor deny-"

An oil-smooth vocaliser broke in. "Oh, but I can."

Nightraider raised an eye-ridge at the newcomer's familiar frame. "Knock Out."

The EMT flicked a brief salute at his senior officer before leaning against the wall, arms folded across his immaculately polished chassis and an impish grin on his faceplates.

"Can't say I knew what they were planning, but they did get ahold of this..."

He held up a mostly-empty tub of quick-set epoxy.

"Just thought you should know."

Nightraider studied the tub quietly, and then made the universal gesture for 'fork it over'. If this was the stuff she thought it was, her remaining off-duty hours were about to become somewhat complicated.

Well, not so much complicated as fragging irritating.

The combined noise of Frenzy's singing, the assorted clangs and crashes, and the whoops from the others had made the full loop of the senior officers' residential area and was now turning back towards the communal areas.

She slapped the fistful of credits back in Swindle's outstretched palm, yanked a sheet of plastic out of her subspace and wrapped it around her right hand.

"Naaaa, na na na na-na-na na, na-na na na-na naaaaaa..."

The ball of metal was now clattering down the corridor at an impressive speed, picking up whatever pieces of assorted metal and rubbish lay in its path.

Shoving the ball a few feet in front of him, Frenzy dug his hands into the tub of Vaseline strapped to his front, rubbed the jelly over his palms, and resumed steering the ball around the corner and back down towards the mess hall. Inside the ball, Rumble was screeching with mad glee. "Faster faster faster faster!"

Best. Game. Ever.

Not sure whose idea it was, but still.

Best. Game. Ever.

"Naaaa, na na na na-na-na na, na-na na na-na naaaaaa!"

The ball clanged off the opposite wall and bounced merrily down the corridor. Frenzy charged after it, almost tripping over his own feet to catch it before-

The ball abruptly stopped rolling. Wheezing slightly, Frenzy caught up with it and gave it a shove, mindful that a good portion of the Decepticon Air Corps would soon be halfway up his aft if he didn't move it.

The ball still didn't shift.

"Naaaa, na na na na-na-na na, na-na na na-na naaaaaa!"

Shuffling to the side, he kicked it once.

Tap-tap.

Rumble's voice echoed from inside the ball. "Dude, why'd we stop?"

"Ahem."

Frenzy's optics widened.

Uh-oh.

Knowing that what he was about to see wasn't going to be good, he slowly moved his optics upwards past the ball, past a nervous-looking Swindle, past a smirking Knock Out, and finally stopping at the all-too-familiar and annoyed form of his femme co-creator, one of her hands wrapped in Saran Wrap and resting lightly atop the ball.

Skywarp, Dirge, Ramjet, Thrust and Misfire charged around the corner, took one look at the situation and made one of the fastest tactical retreats ever recorded on Cybertron.

Or at least they would have done, if they hadn't crashed straight into Astrotrain and Spinister. All the flyers hit the deck and proceeded to start an impressive seven-way bitch-fight.

The music thumping out from Frenzy's speakers reached its crescendo, and was joined by Crossfire's and Ratbat's voices in perfect unison.

"KATAMARI DAMACY!"

"And Misfire!? What precisely did I do to deserve the punishment of training a jet with all the self-preservation instincts of a cyberbee and targeting accuracy of an air-rifle!?" Starscream made a sweeping gesture towards the Decepticon Air Corps training area before resting a hand on his hip plating.

Not for the first time, Shockwave idly mused on what precisely he had done to deserve having the silver and red F-15 raving at full auto-shriek in his left audial. Then again, when Starscream felt he had been hard-done-by, he tended to throw a sulk around whatever or whoever was most convenient; failing that he would stalk off to the medical bay and attempt to flirt with/irritate Lyzack. The young femme jet fortunately seemed to be immune to his advances, going so far as to threaten the Air Commander with a sword through the spark via the exhaust pipe unless he backed off.

Starscream just shrugged off the distinct possibility of grievous bodily harm and kept on pushing.

The Military Operations officer was just about to suggest Lyzack as a substitute sounding board when the tower's proximity sensors went off.

Megatron rose from his throne and Soundwave pushed himself away from his console and moved to stand beside his purple colleague, his spark unclenching in relief at the sight of his only femme creation darting across the Iaconian skyline.

"Laserbeak returns, Megatron." The purple gun-former lowered the energy partition in the main window.

Laserbeak swooped through the open window and immediately perched on Megatron's arm, her optics bright.

The Decepticon emperor treated the condor to a rare smile. "Welcome, Laserbeak. Unlike some of my other warriors," here he shot a pointed look at Starscream, "you never fail me."

Starscream returned the look with a snarl of his own.

Megatron raised his arm, launching the scarlet Cassette back into the air. "Soundwave, play back Laserbeak's findings."

"As you command, Megatron."

Laserbeak glided across the room and slotted precisely into her creator's tape deck. Soundwave shifted effortlessly to his alt-mode and connected himself to the main Iacon database.

Inside his tape deck, Laserbeak's playback systems engaged as her frame settled next to her beloved twin's. Buzzsaw sent a quiet pulse of pride through their bond, as he always did whenever his sister safely returned from a mission.

The main viewscreen flickered, and reformed into the all-too-familiar faceplates of Optimus Prime, his right hand raised and index finger pointed as if to issue one of his famous decrees. "I want you to make a special run to Autobot City on Earth."

Footage of open flight paths between Earth and Cybertron flickered across the screen.

Ironhide was next to speak. "But Prime...!"

The Autobot commander cut him off. "Listen Ironhide, we don't have enough energon cubes to power a full-scale assault. Ready the shuttle for launch."

The screen displayed an image of the Rebellion, one of the latest Autobot-Terran military cruisers, refuelling in the Luna Alpha shipyard.

Prime appeared one final time, watching as the shuttle departed the moon base in a cloud of fuel and flames. "Now, all we need is a little energon, and a lot of luck."

Shockwave and Starscream exchanged significant looks.

The screen cut to static, bathing Megatron's almost gleeful expression in an eerie glow. He chuckled darkly and pointed at the monitor. "More than you imagine, Optimus Prime."

He turned and nodded at his second-in –command. "Starscream, isolate the flight path of the Rebellion and confirm ETA on Earth."

"As you command, oh mighty Megatron." Starscream offered a mocking bow and went about his duties.

Megatron ignored him and turned to Shockwave, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Shockwave, once Starscream has confirmed the flight path, set co-ordinates on the space bridge to teleport a strike force to the Martian asteroid belt."

Shockwave simply nodded. "It shall be done as you ask."

Finally, Soundwave fell under his leader's inscrutable gaze. "Soundwave, assemble all of your Cassettes. Their skill sets will be of great value to us when we arrive on Earth."

The Communications officer nodded and turned to leave the command deck. His spark flickered; the psychic energy tugging at the bonds between himself, his bondmate and his creations.

Buzzsaw and Laserbeak were naturally the first to respond, safely pressed against each other and his spark chamber in turn. Ravage and Ratbat were next to respond; the felinoid's mental energy charged with malevolent amusement while his baby brother's energy bounced and fluctuated with delight.

Nightraider radiated sheer frustration through their bond when he probed deeper, along with a 'suggestion' that was more of a demand to move his aft down to the repair bay.

Inwardly, Soundwave groaned.

If his bondmate was that peeved, and Ravage and Ratbat were both amused, and the twins had yet to respond...

He let his pedes carry him into the lift closest to the entrance to the repair bay and braced himself.

Knock Out leaned against the doorway into the repair bay wash racks, smirking in somewhat perverted delight.

"Soapy femme!"

Frenzy coughed carwash shampoo out of his vocaliser and tried to yank his hands away from the Katamari.

"Nnnnnngh!"

"I told you; don't pull at it until I say so!"

"But I'm itchy!"

"Do I look like I give a flying frag if you're itchy? Now shut up and brace yourself."

Nightraider turned the high-pressure hose on the middle of the room and braced herself as several gallons of hexane, water and energon splashed over the whining Cassette-Katamari.

"Yank as hard as you can!"

The red Cassette braced himself against the Katamari and wrenched his arms backwards. The metal creaked, but not a single gap could be seen in the epoxy bonds that attached him to the giant ball in spite of the petroleum jelly over his hands.

"Nope, nuthin'!"

Nightraider shut the hose off and slumped down on the tiled floor, her faceplates scrunched up in exasperation. Behind her, safely cuddled in a pile of clean buffing rags, Ravage watched the proceedings with an almost unholy glee. Ratbat and Crossfire giggled together, the little bat's dislike of the gun-former temporarily forgotten, both occasionally squeaking "Katamari Damacy" whenever Rumble, Frenzy or Nightraider emitted a particularly choice phrase.

"I repeat, soapy femme!"

Nightraider glowered at the EMT and attempted to wipe the smears of WD-40 and soap scum off her arms and legs. "Very well observed and yet no-one cares. Are you actually going to help me?"

Knock Out studied his fingertips with a practiced air of nonchalance. "Primus no; I'm off duty."

"Then why are you still hanging around? You aren't exactly known for appreciating femmes in the way you're suggesting."

The Aston Martin acknowledged her words with a head tilt and a shrug. "Perhaps, but I can still appreciate a nice soapy fuselage when it's in front of me. And you know all medics take their kicks wherever they can get them."

He wiggled his eye-ridges. Nightraider rolled her optics, then brightened up slightly as a familiar and beloved frame appeared behind Knock Out's shoulder.

"Well, appreciate it somewhere else. The creator's in the house."

Inside the Katamari, Rumble produced a sound akin to a panicked squawk. Frenzy desperately yanked at his hands again and whimpered.

Soundwave stepped around Knock Out's departing frame and into the wash racks. His optic band took in the scene before him; the giant ball made of spare parts, nuts and bolts and what appeared to be both Rumble and Frenzy; his eldest and youngest Cassettes watching in happy anticipation of what their creator would do to their siblings; Crossfire cuddled next to Ravage and giggling in delight, and lastly his bondmate sitting in a puddle of soapy energon and water, covered in oil and soap smears with a look of murder in her optics. The sight of the latter in her current state did cause a small burst of static build-up in his interface unit, but that could and would be acted upon later.

He said nothing for a few moments. After several million years of witnessing the twins' unparalleled lack of judgement, very few of their antics could ever faze him now. Nightraider idly tapped her fingers against the tiles and waited.

"Confirm; type of adhesive used?"

The F-14 simply held up the remaining tub of epoxy.

"Conventional cleaning and separation methods; unsuccessful?"

Nightraider exhaled. "There is one guaranteed method, but it might be seen as a tad extreme."

Frenzy finally piped up. "We choose extreme!"

"You don't even know what it is."

Rumble's voice cheerily wafted out from inside the Katamari. "We'll still go for it!"

Nightraider silently transmitted the separation method to her mate through their bond. Soundwave glanced briefly at the ball, then at his chronometer, and then knelt down next to the femme jet.

"Separation method; will not damage them?"

"Strictly cosmetic damage only."

"Treatment; duration?"

"Half an hour; one hour tops?"

"Terms; acceptable."

Nightraider smirked and raised a hand up to his face. With only his Cassettes and Crossfire there to witness it, Soundwave pressed his hand over his femme's and held it against his face-mask.

The femme jet briefly rested her helm against his. "And people say you never give me presents."

Soundwave stood, lifting Nightraider up with him. "Request; separate Cassettes quickly. All Cassettes; required for Earth infiltration mission."

Knowing she would get the details soon enough, the F-14 sauntered towards the door, evil delight shining in her optics.

"Oh Lyzack?"

The teal femme jet poked her head round the door. "Yes?"

Nightraider beamed. "Could you be a dear and rustle me up a tank of liquid nitrogen and a sledgehammer please?"

Both of the twins squeaked.

TBC

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

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CE 2005, deep space, 4.5 parsecs from Cybertron…

The pain and nausea that had followed in the wake of the Prime’s passing had faded to somewhat bearable levels after a couple of joors, but the overwhelming sensation of loss endured.

They had won, and yet it felt like the universe had lost.

Perhaps that was the way Primus had always planned it. The ways in which the Matrix reconfigured a Prime’s spark were almost completely unknown to science, especially since most of the preceding Primes did not particularly wish to have the inner workings of their sparks made public.

If that was how the Matrix worked – by altering a mech’s spark to be able to physically communicate with the entire Cybertronian race, and to transmit the pain felt to all of them whenever the Prime’s spark was extinguished – it made for a compelling argument to keep the Prime alive, no matter the cost.

But if the Prime lived, they would not have won.

And yet…

With all of his creations now safely ensconced within his chest compartment, Soundwave cast a cautious glance around the interior of Astrotrain’s cargo bay.

The Constructicons had formed their own little huddle with Blitzwing, Reflector and the Coneheads - all of them were bruised and battered, but there was nothing visible on any mech that an energon transfusion, a few breems of panel beatings and a long recharge wouldn’t fix.

The others however…

Thundercracker and Skywarp were slouched against each other by the exit hatch, their fuselages twisted and dripping energon. Bombshell, Kickback and Shrapnel were all lying on the floor barely conscious.

And then there was Megatron.

The Decepticon emperor had barely moved after the passing of the Prime. His head rested next to Soundwave’s right thigh; his right fist still clenched over his ruined chestplates. His optics were narrowed with pain, but thin slivers of bright red optical casing still shone in the darkness.

Anxiety wove fine, powerful threads around Soundwave’s spark and tightened its grip.

Any other mech with those injuries would have been left on the battlefield to bleed out and pass on without even a shred of remorse.

Megatron was stronger than any other mech on Cybertron, but even he would not be long for this universe if they did not reach Cybertron within the next joor.

The tiny blue emergency transmitter hidden under his wrist plating felt like it was burning.

Should he activate it now and confirm to Shockwave that the worst was about to happen, and let Megatron know that he had lost all hope in his liege’s recovery?

Or should he wait, stay quiet until the worst had happened and then contact Shockwave, and leave it too late to prevent the almost inevitable coup that would occur after the Decepticon leader’s passing?

The decision, as it turned out, was not left up to him.

Astrotrain’s vocaliser roared over the strained whine of his engines. “Jettison some weight or I’ll never make it to Cybertron!”

Never one to turn down an opportunity for advancement, Starscream saw his chance and grabbed it.

“Fellow Decepticons, Astrotrain has requested that we lighten our burden.”

Apprehension shot through the atmosphere inside the cargo-bay like lightning. Out of the edge of his optics, Soundwave could see the more grievously injured mechs tensing up. The Coneheads quietly moved a suitable distance away from their damaged counterparts and activated their null rays.

Bonecrusher managed to stand up and keep his spinal struts rigid. “In that case, I say it is survival of the fittest!”

A logical statement. The injured were taking up valuable room, medical and energon supplies, all of which could be used to stabilise their leader.

The Air Commander smirked.

“Do I hear a second on that?”

Twelve voices roared, “Aye!!”

“And against?”

Five voices whimpered, “Nay!”

Starscream’s optics shone with malicious glee. “The ayes have it!!”

The ayes, led by Blitzwing, shoved the injured mechs towards the exit hatch.

“Get!! Make room for others!!”

Skywarp frantically inserted himself between the triple-changer and his bondmate, his hands slippery with his own energon, but determined not to let Thundercracker be shoved out.

“Don’t!!”

Blitzwing grabbed both jets by their neck braces and flung them out of the hatch.

Soundwave positioned himself next to the hatchway and stared out, his optics tracking the paths of the two jets and the Insecticons as they spiralled away from Astrotrain’s hull.

That should be enough to lighten the load. At the very least, it would be enough to guarantee stabilising Megatron’s condition until they reached home…

“Oh, how it pains me to do this.”

The rasp of Starscream’s vocaliser and the scrape of plating against plating pulled his attention back to the shuttle’s occupants.

His energon turned to ice.

The Air Commander had lifted Megatron’s damaged chassis into his arms and was hauling him effortlessly towards the hatchway. A twisted smirk lit his faceplates with undisguised delight.

Soundwave wanted to move, but his pedes were frozen to the floor.

His CPU stalled.

Inside his chest compartment, Ravage, Rumble, Frenzy, Buzzsaw and Ratbat were all physically restraining Laserbeak from forcing her way out of her sanctuary and murdering Starscream where he stood.

He forced himself to be heard over the psychic shrieks of his only femme creation.

Stand down, Laserbeak.

NO!!

Stand. DOWN.

WHY?!

Because I will not watch you die by Starscream’s hands!

Laserbeak made one final desperate bid for freedom, then ceased her struggles. She fell against her twin, optics streaming in grief. But Megatron…!

Wait. Just…wait.

Starscream, completely oblivious of Soundwave’s telepathic struggle, stared down at his former commander and braced himself against the cosmic winds whistling through the hatchway.

Megatron visibly struggled to lift his cranium up. Panic laced his vocaliser. “Wait! I still function…”

“Wanna bet?”

Starscream’s arms dropped.

Megatron’s battered frame span away into the blackness of space.

“STARSCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmm…!!!”

The hatchway door stayed open long enough for the Air Commander to deliver a last mocking salute.

Starscream made a show of dusting his hands off as he strode away from the hatchway and into the centre of Astrotrain’s hold. “Well, as Megatron has, how shall we say, departed…”

Blitzwing and the Coneheads exchanged uneasy looks.

The Air Commander tapped his own chestplates in pride. “…I nominate myself as the new leader.”

Inside Soundwave’s chest compartment, Frenzy rolled his optics. “Oh, here we go.”

Rumble remained tense. “Yeah, but this time, who’s gonna shoot him in th’ back an’ be th’ real leader?”

As if to answer Rumble’s question, Scrapper surged forward, his gestalt-mates clustering behind him in support. “Wait! The Constructicons form Devastator, the most powerful robot. We should rule!”

That would never do.

The Communications officer stepped forward, optic band bright red, vocaliser steady.

“Soundwave: superior. Constructicons: inferior.”

Bonecrusher turned on him. “Who are you calling inferior?!”

Hook sneered. “No-one would follow an uncharismatic bore like you!”

That was too much.

Overriding his creator’s security protocols with barely a thought, Rumble forced his way out of the Communication officer’s chest compartment with a snarl and transformed to bipedal mode. “Hey, no-one calls Soundwave unchrasomatic!”

Soundwave took the space of a sparkbeat to muse that, no, no-one had ever called him unchrasomatic.

Frenzy followed less than a nanosecond later. “Yeah, let’s kick tailgate!”

Ravage and Laserbeak followed their brothers without any hesitation.

Inside Soundwave’s chest compartment, Buzzsaw had been forced to partially transform to prevent his little brother escaping from his safe haven and tearing out the throat of the nearest rival. Ratbat, NO!!

Ratbat didn’t stop struggling for a moment. He said horrible things about Soundwave. He dies!!

I said, NO!!

Ravage growled and sent a pulse of reassurance to his youngest sibling. Be still, little brother.

But he…!!

You will stay where it is safe. We will handle this.

Hook, oblivious to the Cassettes’ conversation, gestured to his brothers. “Constructicons, UNITE!!”

The component parts of Devastator pulled themselves together in a sparkbeat and advanced upon Soundwave.

Rumble and Frenzy roared, “NO WAY!!” in unison, transformed their arms into piledrivers, and slammed them into Astrotrain’s hull.

The gestalt fragmented and collapsed into an undignified pile. Ravage seized the advantage and pounced on Hook.

No-one would follow Soundwave, would they?!

He ripped out part of Hook’s throat tubing with a snarl. Laserbeak strafed Scrapper’s torso with laser fire, her optics ablaze with rage and grief.

Blitzwing turned at the feeling of someone peppering his back with bullets. The Coneheads stood behind him, their faceplates twisted with malicious glee.

He roared and drew himself up to his full height. “I am a triple changer. I am worth any two of you. I should run things.”

Dirge stepped forward, urging his brothers to stand back. “Death comes to anyone who crosses me.”

He charged at the triple-changer and shanked him with the remains of his null-rays.

Blitzwing staggered briefly but regrouped and turned his attention to Soundwave and Bonecrusher. The bulldozer had retreated after the Communications officer had thrown an impressive right hook at his cracked facemask. The triple-changer saw his chance, and body-checked the navy mech…

Right up until Ravage crashed into him with a snarl and shoved him into the nearest wall, teeth digging into his plating.

Ignored by everyone, and suddenly feeling something akin to constipation, Astrotrain flew an extremely wobbly course past Alpha Centauri and growled. “Stop squabbling or we're gonna crash!”

Twenty minutes later…

Remarkably little energon had been split, despite the urgency of the fighting. It had helped that all of the combatants had put in a good twelve to fourteen hours of combat prior to this scrap, but in the end, there could only be one victor.

Wheezing audibly and supported by Rumble and Frenzy, Soundwave stood tall, his optic band casting a calm stare over the losers decorating Astrotrain’s cargo hold.

He had won.

He and his beloved creations had defeated all pretenders to the throne.

He would be the new Decepticon leader.

The newest and shortest-serving Decepticon leader, if history was kind to him.

“Boss?”

He gently squeezed Frenzy’s shoulder-plating.

“New orders; issued. Objective; retrieve Megatron.”

Rumble’s optic band brightened. “Seriously?”

“Affirmative.”

The twins made a move towards Astrotrain’s cockpit cabin, their creator following in their wake…

SCHOOOM SCHOOOM

“AAAAAAARGH!!”

Soundwave collapsed with a scream, his back-plating smoking in the thin atmosphere.

Rumble and Frenzy span round in horror. Ravage, too weak to walk, roared in anger. Laserbeak screeched.

Soundwave’s plating felt like it was on fire.

He struggled to vent air. He could feel his eldest twins frantically propping him upright, one twin cuddled under each arm.

The feeling of a null-ray barrel digging painfully into the back of his cranium dragged him out of his agony.

“Stop. Right. There.”

Starscream.

He risked turning his head just enough to glare at the Air Commander.

Starscream’s lips were pulled back in a slasher smile. Both null-rays began to whine as they charged up.

The other barrel was pointed directly at Ravage and Laserbeak.

“One more move Soundwave, and I’ll cripple you just long enough so that you can watch all of your little misbegotten freaks die in agony.”

Soundwave froze.

“And then you will die, as soon as the life leaves your youngest. Of course, I’ll miss seeing your whore of a bondmate pass along with you, but…”

He shrugged and chuckled humourlessly.

“…It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

Soundwave knew he was in no physical shape to fight the Air Commander now. And more importantly, Starscream had just threatened his creations, and by proxy, Nightraider.

Direct threats made to his loved ones were the only situations that he was vulnerable to, and Starscream knew it.

Megatron had known it too.

He had said, less than two years ago, that Soundwave’s loyalty was forever divided after he had bonded with Nightraider.

That his care and compassion for his mate made him a liability.

What had gone unsaid, was that he had always been a liability.

His love for his creations had forever marked him as a danger to the Decepticon cause, long before he had ever joined the rebellion.

Soundwave had always known that, and equally he had always known that his devotion was not a weakness.

Compassion, bravery, and love were not purely Autobot traits.

He had joined the Decepticon cause to protect his family, to have the freedom to love them and be loved back.

Several thousand vorns later and in a night that was long overdue, he had added the red and black Femme CMO to that exclusive group.

He would not risk that now.

Not even for…not even for his lord.

Megatron…forgive me.

He pressed a shaking hand to his chestplates and bowed his head.

“Soundwave…yields.”

The null-rays dropped away.

Starscream snorted and turned to climb into the cockpit.

“You’re weak, Soundwave. They make you weak. That femme bitch you claimed makes you weak.”

Soundwave directed a glare into the back of the F-15’s cranium, but stayed silent, choosing to keep a restraining hand on Rumble’s and Frenzy’s shoulders.

The smallest whisper of longing, jealousy, and grief clouded Starscream’s parting words.

“Love makes you weak.”

Soundwave was left alone in the hold, venting in pain, feeling his creations’ fear and relief buffet against his mind.

His tanks were almost empty.

With Rumble and Frenzy’s help, he managed to settle himself against the nearest wall, leaning against Blitzwing’s unconscious bulk. The twins snuggled against him, one tucked under each arm; Laserbeak settled on his shoulder, while Ravage pressed his battered frame gently against his side and purred in desperate relief.

He used the tiniest of movements to uncover the blue transmitter from under his wrist plating.

He had prayed to Primus that he would never have to use it, but if ever there was a time to follow his leader’s final request, it was now.

Soundwave bowed his head, and opened the bond between himself and Nightraider, feeling his spark stretch over space and time itself.

The pain oddly soothed him, granted him some much-needed focus.

Starscream was wrong.

Love and loyalty made him stronger than anyone thought possible.

Love and loyalty could ignite the stars.

And at the very least, it could ignite another Decepticon rebellion.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

The communicator set itself to transmission only.

“Soundwave; transmitting. Shockwave; acknowledge…”

Cybertron, Imperial City State of Iacon, the Imperial Tower, Medical Bay...

The oh-so-familiar pain of a stretched spark bond ricocheted around Nightraider’s spark chamber as she typed up her notes on the various injuries inflicted on the Stunticons and Combaticons. Crossfire, thankfully calmer since the passing of the Prime, clasped his cuddly cyber-cat against his chestplates as he recharged in Knock Out’s tentative embrace. Outside the CMO’s office, Lyzack and Dreadnought were carefully ministering medical treatment and advice to the assembled mechs and femmes who had gathered in the medbay shortly after Shockwave’s announcement.

The treatment and advice, from what she could ascertain, amounted to a shot of medicinal high-grade and a statement of ‘hey, all the slaggers back in the Golden Age survived the death of a Prime. Suck it up and move on.’

Knock Out, parked on the couch next to Nightraider’s desk and cuddling Crossfire while safely ensconced in Breakdown’s arms, gazed up at his commanding officer.

“’Raider?”

The red and black F-14 didn’t look away from her computer screen. “No, you aren’t allowed any high-grade until you’re off-duty, and off-duty means whenever Strike Team Alpha returns to base.”

The Aston Martin rolled his optics. “Not what I was about to ask but thank you for the rather depressing clarification.”

“What then?”

Knock Out freed one hand, pressed the palm down over his chestplates, and shared a quiet glance with Breakdown.

“Is this what victory’s supposed to feel like?”

The frantic sounds of keyboard tapping died away as the meaning behind his question registered. Nightraider pressed a hand to her own chestplates and shuttered her optics.

She had been a few hundred vorns past her majority when Sentinel Prime had fallen at the hands of Megatron, as she had later discovered. She had been part of the Decepticon army for almost ten vorns at that point, living in the tunnels under Kaon, patching assorted mechs and femmes up after gladiatorial bouts and helping the Constructicons ration out their dwindling medical supplies.

As the pain had ricocheted through her spark, driving her to her knees, a tiny part of her had rejoiced in the sensation – everything that had been taken, everything that had been banned or restricted, every cruelty the Autobots had inflicted upon her, on her friends, on those she loved - they were now experiencing that pain and loss a thousand-fold.

See how they liked it for once.

But that was Sentinel. One of the nastier pieces of work to get his servos on the Matrix of Leadership. Few mechs had actually mourned his passing beyond the socially acceptable minimums.

But Orion Pax of Iacon.

Optimus Prime.

He had been a very different kettle of electro-fish.

A simple data-clerk, and a favourite of Alpha Trion at the time of his ascension. The less said of Trion, the better, but Orion…Optimus…

She had never dared ask what anyone else had felt in the depths of their sparks upon the ascension of Optimus Prime, purely out of fear that no-one else had felt what she had felt.

Power.

Triumph.

Sparkbreak.

Determination.

What felt like a touch of immortality, but if not that, then at least a touch of something.

At the very least, it had caused a fire to burn within the souls of those who still called Cybertron home.

If Megatron’s rebellion was to succeed, he would have to defeat the sensations that reverberated through the sparks of every Cybertronian.

She had grown to suspect, over the vorns, that the Decepticon emperor would have been content with defeating the Prime, but not necessarily offlining him. He had never taken well to anyone else challenging the Prime; perhaps because of that sensation.

But now…now Optimus Prime was dead, and there was no immediate successor in play.

All of the intelligence gathered by Shockwave and Leviathan indicated command of the Autobots would fall to Prowl, and failing him, to Ultra Magnus or to Jazz.

When the calling of a new Prime would happen, no-one knew.

Until then, all of Cybertron would have to live with the broken, sick sensation within their very souls; the feeling that they had squandered and lost something infinitely more worthy than any one of them could ever be.

She ex-vented deeply and looked up at Knock Out.

“I’m guessing it’s what Megatron wanted in some shape or form. We’ve won; whatever you count winning as.”

The Aston Martin frowned and rubbed at his chestplates.

“But it feels…I don’t know, empty.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is anticlimactic.”

“…Is it always going to feel like this?”

“A very wise organic once said, ‘after a time, you may find that having is not so pleasing a thing after all as wanting’. Maybe it’ll go away, maybe it won’t.” [1]

Off of the EMT’s spark-broken look, she sighed and tried again.

“I don’t know, Red. If Megatron’s got a grand plan for what comes next, he’s never shared it with anyone.”

Knock Out blinked and sadly leaned back against Breakdown, snuggling further into his lover’s blocky frame.

“I just…didn’t think it’d feel like this.”

“I don’t think anyone did. But it is what it is. All we can do is work with it.”

BEEP BEEP BEEP

PRIORITY ALPHA-ONE. PLEASE ATTEND CAREFULLY.

Deep inside the brand on her chestplates, a long-hidden subroutine activated itself, connected to her nervous system and overrode all of her higher CPU functions.

She paused and gasped in horror.

Her hands dropped to her sides. Her optics grew empty.

No.

No no no no no.

D-16 HAS FALLEN. SILENCE THE SUN.

She knew exactly what that transmission meant.

What it heralded.

And what she, what they, had to do now.

She stood up and strode out of her office, Knock Out and Breakdown following along confusedly in her wake. Dreadnought and Glit flanked her in silent unison.

Lyzack, Knock Out and Breakdown stared helplessly at each other, then quickly pressed themselves to either side of the med-bay doors as a number of troops followed the Femme CMO’s lead and marched out of the med-bay.

Outside the doors, Knock Out spotted a number of troops heading in the same direction as his colleagues, all dead of optic, all silent, all purposeful.

More importantly, the vast majority of them were femmes.

He exchanged a baffled look with Lyzack, then quickly turned his attention to Crossfire as the little mech started to stir.

What in Primus’s name was going on?

Cybertron, Imperial City State of Iacon, the Great Dome…

The Great Dome of Iacon had served for vorns as the launchpad for all of the Autobot starships and had been the launchpad for the Ark on her fateful energon scouting mission four million years earlier. After the Great Shutdown, the structure had fallen into disrepair, and had only been redeveloped after the Ark’s reappearance on Earth. The Decepticons had continued the redevelopment process even after their conquest of Iacon, and the once-battered and rust-covered structure now gleamed under the stars.

After all, the discovery of the Ark had led to the reawakening of both the Autobot and Decepticon forces.

It was also the only structure on Cybertron, other than some of the larger gladiatorial venues, that could hold the sheer volume of Decepticon troops who had been summoned by the mystery message.

Nightraider, Dreadnought and Glit stayed hidden in the shadows of the pavilion, all of their weapons primed but holstered. Before them, the combined forces of the Femme Division and the remnants of the Gladiator Corps were now milling around the floor, life returning to their optics and barely concealed dread growing like an organic cancer in their processors.

Megaempress was flanked by the 4 Guards, her rail fusion cannon strapped safely to her back. Lugnut and Contrail were silent but watchful; Shadowstriker was flicking the safety catch on and off her acid gun and keeping a close optic on Flamewar, who looked like she was barely keeping a lid on her panic and grief.

A commotion at the service hatchway silenced all whispered conversations, and quickly prompted a new wave of terrified speculation.

The crew of Leviathan had arrived.

Switchblade cast a cold gaze over the assembled mechs and femmes before stepping aside to let his crew enter the dome.

Hotwire and Firebreaker immediately broke off from the main group and started working the room, the black marketeer swiftly pulling his more dubious wares from his subspace while the recon specialist covered his back. Duststorm and Astraea broke ranks to gather with the other wet-work femmes milling around the perimeter of the Dome.

Shellshock, Derail, Deadheat, Mismatch and Rampart took point and surrounded Switchblade as he stalked over to one of the old VIP boxes and claimed a seat.

Drive-By, Conduit, Flatline and Pandemic made a beeline towards their fellow medics and engineers, Pandemic exchanging a quick fist-bump with Dreadnought before nodding at Nightraider. Drive-By and Conduit immediately took seats on the floor either side of Glit.

Diabla finally stalked in, casting looks of disgust and derision at every mech and femme present, before she spotted the Femme CMO exchanging anxious words with Flatline.

Her upper lip plating curled.

“Aww, could Tall, Dull and Stoic not protect the boss-mech?”

Flatline and Dreadnought exchanged looks and fearfully watched the purple and gold-plated femme as she shoved her way into the group, finally glaring up into Nightraider’s livid faceplates.

“If Screamer finally gets his aft on the throne, we’ll all know who to thank.”

There was an audible growl in the F-14’s vocoder as she glared down at the younger femme. “If Megatron has actually fallen, it will not have been due to negligence on Soundwave’s part.”

“Oh yeah? The psychic freak was actually halfway useful before he took up with you.” Diabla’s optics travelled deliberately up and down the older femme’s frame. “One shitty frag and he forgets where his true loyalties lie.”

Nightraider had to physically restrain herself from punching the twisted sneer off of Diabla’s faceplates.

“Then again, he wouldn’t be the first mech to stray from the cause after travelling up your well-trodden path.”

The one tiny part of Nightraider’s CPU not currently dedicated to suppressing primal rage noted that justifiable homicide was such a lovely phrase.

“At least Soundwave had already squeezed out his creations and made his name before you got your talons into him. What’s wrong, Screamer wasn’t enough for you?”

Farewell restraint, you tried.

Hello murderous rage, it’s been a while.

Diabla found herself pinned two feet from the ground against a crumbling golden column, a black plated hand tightening around her neck plates and the hum of a charging null-ray filling the air as the barrel was pressed between her optics.

Dreadnought, Glit and the Leviathan’s medics took a few collective steps backwards as Nightraider closed the distance between herself and her target, dental plates bared in a snarl and her optics blazing red.

“Go on Diabla. Push it. One. More. Inch.”

The younger femme clawed futilely at the talons digging into her neck. She wheezed and bared her dental plates in a sadistic grin.

“…Pretty sure…you told more than a few mechs…to do just that.”

The tip of the null-ray pressed against Diabla’s helm glowed white-hot. Nightraider’s dental plates were clenched together so tightly she was amazed sparks weren’t coming off of them. The whine of the charging weapon steadily filled the air…

…And was cut off as Dreadnought grabbed the older femme from behind, pinned her arms to her sides and lifted her about ten feet off the ground.

Diabla collapsed to the battered metal floor, clutching at her crushed neck plating. Conduit scooted over to her and scanned her chassis for any further damage.

“Let me go, let me go, let me go!!” Nightraider thrashed helplessly in Dreadnought’s grip, her pedes pedalling madly in the air.

“I just wanna see the insides of her CPU after I shoot her through the head!!”

Drive-By grabbed her by the back of her neck cabling just long enough to hiss, “You can’t kill her, we still need her!”

The younger femme cast a baleful look up at the struggling F-14.

“Like some decrepit whore of a medic could ever kill me.”

“Oh Primus…”

Conduit stood up, grabbed Diabla by the arm and hauled her towards Switchblade’s VIP box.

“One orn, you really will get shot, and none of us will do anything to stop it.”

“’Raider? ‘Raider…’RAIDER!!”

Nightraider finally stopped thrashing long enough to glare over her shoulder plate at Dreadnought. “What!?”

“I’d say let it go, but I’ve been saying that for most of my lifetime. At least…don’t kill her until we know what’s going on?”

The Femme CMO dragged in a vent of air and closed her optics.

“Fine.”

Dreadnought finally let her drop semi-gracefully to the floor.

“But I still get dibs if she ever ends up on the gallows.”

Dreadnought’s optic roll was hidden under his visor. Drive-By, Flatline and Pandemic glanced at each other briefly before Pandemic shrugged.

“Eh. Fine by us.”

Glit looked askance at the group.

“You would actually permit a senior officer to kill one of your own crew?”

Flatline leaned back against the wall. “We’re only ‘family’ up to a point. Any actual family-unit stuff?”

He held his hands up. “We stay the Pit out of that.”

SKREEEEEEEEEEeeeeTHOTOTHOTH

The assembled mechs and femmes all cringed and covered their audials at the feedback loop screeching through the Dome’s speakers.

Shockwave calmly removed the microphone from under his left shoulder piston and settled it on the stand before him.

This was not going to be pleasant.

A small part of his CPU noted a sensation of relief at knowing which members of Strike Team Alpha had survived to retell their mission.

Another part of his CPU was calculating the variables regarding the current strength of the Autobot forces, and how long, if at all, it would take for them to nominate a new Prime.

A much larger part of his CPU noted the sensation of dread flooding his systems at how the assembly before him was going to react to the message he had received from Soundwave.

But delaying any further would not lessen the blow, nor would it aid in executing Lord Megatron’s final request.

“Your attention, Chosen.”

The snarls of pain and abusive litany below died down to a vaguely threatening murmur.

“You are the Chosen because, at your branding ceremonies, you were nominated as the ones who were worthy of carrying out the ruling of our founder, even beyond his offlining.

“You are the ones who remain loyal to the cause, not to the figurehead.

“You are the ones who  will carry out our founder’s last will and testament, and lead Cybertron into a new Golden Age.”

Shockwave paused for a moment, and quietly took in a vent of air.

Oddly, he wished for both Dreadnought and Crossfire’s presence beside him.

An illogical thought.

“At 15:47 Iacon Time, the following message was transmitted by Soundwave of Kaon, communications specialist of Strike Team Alpha: Optimus Prime; deceased. Autobot City; crippled. Surviving members of Strike Team Alpha; Ramjet, Thrust, Dirge, the Reflector trio, Blitzwing, Astrotrain, Soundwave and all six creations, and Starscream. Critically damaged members of Strike Team Alpha ejected on popular vote; Skywarp, Thundercracker, Kickback, Shrapnel and Bombshell. Critically damaged members of Strike Team Alpha ejected on Starscream’s orders; Megatron.

“Subsequent leadership contest; won by shot to the back from Starscream. D-16 has fallen. Silence the Sun.”

The assorted mechs and femmes broke into frantic babbles of conversation. He spotted Nightraider slumping in relief against Dreadnought, optics brimming with tears, and Flamewar being supported by Megaempress and Shadow Striker, her dark, elegant faceplates now pale with shock.

“Astrotrain has now passed into range of Cybertron’s long-range satellite system and I have confirmed the numbers and designations of the survivors of Strike Team Alpha. I can confirm that Lord Megatron is not among the survivors.”

Shockwave bowed his head in acknowledgement of the lost members of Strike Team Alpha. Others were quick to follow his example.

“Upon his ascent to the Imperial throne of Cybertron, Lord Megatron was aware that his reign would not be eternal, and he subsequently made leadership preparations for a number of scenarios in which his spark was terminated before its allotted fade-out. Most of these scenarios involved assassination attempts. All of those scenarios involve command of the Decepticon Empire passing to a select group of senior officers, and all of those scenarios share the same final directive.

“Our final directive from Lord Megatron, is to perform one critical action.”

He cast a cold optic over the gathering.

“Kill Starscream.”

TBC

Chapter Text

Cybertron, Imperial City State of Iacon, the Imperial Tower, Medical Bay...

Knock Out blinked.

Weirdly enough, blinking didn’t miraculously clear out his audials.

“…Kill Starscream.”

“…Yeah.”

The red speedster ex-vented slowly. On the couch behind him, Breakdown continued to play peekaboo with Crossfire with his audials turned up to maximum.

“That was Megatron’s grand plan?”

Dreadnought shrugged. “In fairness, it’s a pretty decent survival strategy for the Empire.”

Nightraider checked the sights of her sedative guns before spinning and storing them in her thigh holsters. She took a brief moment to wonder at the steadiness of her hands as Shockwave’s last command echoed around her CPU.

Kill Starscream.

Kill the SIC of the Decepticon Empire.

If that was what it took to ensure the security of the Empire, why hadn’t Megatron done it vorns before?

…

Well… honestly?

Every mech and femme in the Empire knew exactly why Megatron hadn’t offed Starscream the first time the Air Commander had proclaimed himself the new Decepticon ruler, apropos of nothing.

It was the same reason why bonded couples hadn’t been publicly declared since before the Nemesis was lost.

It was the same reason why foundlings turned up with worrying regularity in Iacon and Darkmount, with markings and traits that all but screamed who their creators were and were adopted out to the most peaceful city-states as quickly as they were identified.

It was the same reason why there were so many private corners, crevices, nooks and alleyways across Decepticon-occupied Cybertron that the security forces never ventured near; why every Autobot, Neutral and Decepticon medic discreetly hid and supported any mech or femme who had discovered they had ended up with more than just an overload or embarrassing disease after an intimate encounter, whatever their decision.

Because they cared.
It just wasn’t openly acknowledged.

Lyzack, leaning against Nightraider’s desk and honing the edges of her great sword, finally looked up.

“So why weren’t we told this when we signed up?” She indicated herself, Knock Out and Breakdown with a flick of her fingers.

“Only those who were personally branded by Megatron at the very start knew there was any kind of plan in place in case he copped it early. Most of the femmes were branded first since they’d suffered the most during the Autobot clampdowns. Any wet-work specialists who got shafted by the purges were branded next, along with any engineers,” Dreadnought jabbed a thumb at his chestplates, “or any former military mechs.”

“So basically, anyone with a grudge and therefore guaranteed to be loyal to the ‘Cons.”

“Pretty much.”

“So why are we being told now?”

“Because…” Nightraider rootled around behind a dusty filing cabinet for a few moments, before making a pleased noise and producing a secured datapad.

“…If Starscream’s corpse turns up in the med-bay at any point from this joor onwards, whoever’s on duty needs to fill in this death certificate in such a way that the cause of death won’t be looked at too closely. And we were also warned that any cause of death that could be traced back to a particular individual would guarantee said individual a court martial followed by immediate termination.”

Knock Out frowned. “Is anyone likely to look at the cause of death too closely?”

The F-14 shrugged. “Probably not. Just joining all the glyphs and forewarning you two.”

Dreadnought plucked the datapad out of Nightraider’s hands and scanned through it. One observation immediately struck him.

“Why are there about thirty sticky notes with various different causes of death attached to this?”

“…Whenever he annoyed me, I entertained myself with writing a probable cause or two. And then I lent it to Lyzack a few times.”

The teal tetra-jet chuckled.

“I liked the one with the hanging, drawing and quartering and the entire Femme Division mocking the length of his leads best.”

“You and me both, dear.”

Dreadnought was still flicking through the pile of notes. “They’re all date-stamped…”

He did a double-take at the top-most note.

“This one was from three orns ago!”

Lyzack subspaced her whetstone and tested the edge of her sword with a thumb. “He came in, suggested he had a terminal case of blue bearings and said that if I could see my way to laying my ‘healing hands’ on them, he’d make it worth my while.”

The other adult mechs in the room looked disgusted. Breakdown quickly covered Crossfire’s audials before glancing up at the younger femme.

“So, what did you say?”

“Just that if they were causing him that much discomfort, I was more than willing to treat the root of the problem with a pair of bolt clippers. He retorted that no-one likes a smart-aft femme and stomped off.”

Dreadnought scanned the top-most note again. “Ah. Which is why his latest cause of death makes mention of a… er-hrm… an adult erotic device fashioned from C-4 which sadly exploded mid-use and destroyed most of his chassis from the pelvic assembly upwards.”

Lyzack accepted the fist-bump from Nightraider with a proud smirk.

“I like to think it gives new meaning to the phrase, ‘out with a bang’.”

The older femme swallowed a giggle and cleared her vocaliser.

“Shockwave finished up the announcement by basically declaring open season on the little fragger, so keep your optics open, weapons primed, and if our illustrious Air Commander turns up in here rather less than online, you weren’t here, didn’t see it and couldn’t stop it. Clear?”

The two EMTs nodded, saluted, and beamed winningly.

Glit appeared in the doorway, faceplates tense.

“Femme CMO? Strike Team Alpha have landed. ETA medbay two breems.”

Nightraider stood up, all previous amusement forgotten. Her spark raced.

Soundwave.

“You all know your duties. Sterilise servos and get to it. Breakdown, stay in here with Crossfire. We’ll get your brothers signed off ASAP.”

Dreadnought and Lyzack marched out. Breakdown gently bounced Crossfire in his arms as the little mech settled down to his nap. Staying out of the way of various torqued-off and injured mechs worked only too well for him; having a tiny mech who only wanted snuggles to look after made it even easier.

If Nightraider saw Knock Out dart back to his lover and plant a hasty kiss on his mouthplates, she chose to ignore it.

She glanced down at Glit as she strode out to the main bay. “Any damage reports available from the ‘Structies?”

Glit bounded up to the admin desk and called up the last sketchy report supplied by Scrapper before Astrotrain had implemented op minimise. “Lots of plating damage, a few secondary energon spills, concussions all around, ditto burnt wiring, laser burns, general energon depletion and battle damage. All walking wounded at least.”

“I hate to say it, but if they hadn’t ejected the most damaged mechs, we’d be much worse off.”

“Agreed.”

She tried desperately not to think about Thundercracker or Skywarp. Grief would have to wait until later.

“I’ll get the Spark Bank ready, just in case.”

The silver feline nodded. “I’ll run triage; Dreadnought will take the worst cases.”

“Call me if there’s a problem.”

Three breems later…

“Ok, the Spark Bank’s ready and waiting, and I’ve pulled a couple of gallons of medicinal energon out of the stores, so that should see us--”

Nightraider trailed off at the scene before her.

Ramjet and Thrust were clustered around Dirge, who was lying on the nearest berth and clamping his hands around an energon bleed on his torso. Dreadnought and Knock Out were trying to keep his hands out of the way with moderate success. The Constructicons had already made themselves busy; Scrapper was liaising with Glit while the silver feline wrapped zinc tape around the worst of the payloader’s arm wounds, Hook was carting the Reflector trio off towards the operating theatre, Mixmaster was plugging an IV line into Blitzwing’s arm while visibly swaying, Bonecrusher and Long Haul were settling Astrotrain onto a berth, and Scavenger…

…was looking like he would rather be anywhere else instead of cowering between Lyzack and a hissing Starscream.

The F-14 quickly made her way over to the two jets and caught the tail-end of Lyzack’s snarl, “—all in far worse shape than you, so you can damn well wait your turn.”

“Are you defying my orders, EMT? You do know that I can make your life one of utter delight, or one of utter misery now?”

Lyzack propped her hands on her hips, optics narrowed in sheer fury. “I don’t care if you were ordained by Primus Himself, you can wait your turn!!”

Starscream’s optics flared dangerously, enough to make Scavenger back safely out of arm’s reach.

“Megatron has fallen. I won the leadership battle. I am now the new leader of the Decepticon Empire--”

“Not officially.”

“—how DARE you question my authority, femme?!”

His null-rays started to whine as they charged up. The medbay fell silent.

All optics were now fixed on the two jets.

There was a tiny voice inside Lyzack’s CPU that said maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the best time to voice her theory on how exactly the Air Commander had triumphed in the leadership battle that had no doubt occurred after Megatron was thrown out of Astrotrain.

She ignored it.

She started to circle the F-15, ruby optics still narrowed and one hand now resting on the pommel of her great sword. “If you really did win the leadership battle, why don’t you look like you’ve gone nine rounds with an Omega Guardian? You’ve got, what, some minor plating damage, a few energon bleeds, a nice null-ray burn to your right pede… looks like someone came under friendly fire. Or did you do it to yourself?”

Starscream’s faceplates were distorted into a look of pure loathing.

“But your null-rays are seriously over-charged. If you fired them now, there’s a good chance you’d take out half the bay, yourself included.”

Lyzack finished her inspection and stood before him, chin up, keeping her venting as steady as possible against the scream of fear she felt bubbling against her vocaliser.

“You want to rule, but you’re not prepared to half-kill yourself to do it. And I’m guessing you shot the real victor in the back as soon as you had the chance. So, who was it?”

Her hand tightened around the handle of her sword.

“Judging by everyone else’s injuries and his rather conspicuous absence, I’m guessing it was Soundwave.”

Nightraider surreptitiously pressed a hand to her chestplates. The gentle pull of the spark bond radiated through her body, along with a sensation she immediately recognised as anticipation.

Wherever her bondmate was, he was close by.

She dropped both hands to her thigh holsters and silently wrapped her fingers around her sedative guns. The safety catches clicked off.

“That would make sense. The one mech who’s as physically and mentally powerful as Megatron, but who chose to step back to best serve the Empire and to protect those he cares for?”

Lyzack smirked.

“There’s no way a mech like you would ever understand that kind of loyalty.”

The entire med-bay held its collective breath.

“Or love.”

It was said later that every mech and femme in the med-bay heard Starscream’s last dwindling thread of sanity snap at that moment.

“YOU….!!”

Faceplates twisted with rage, the Air Commander roared and whipped his right arm up, the tip of his null-ray just barely grazing Lyzack’s helm. His left hand shot out and tightened around the turquoise femme’s neck.

And still just a moment too slow.

Lyzack had the freshly honed edge of her great sword digging into Starscream’s throat in the space of a spark-beat and a scream. Her dental plates were clenched into a snarl.

Stalemate.

Starscream’s talons dug into her neck cables. Oil and energon dripped down his fingers and onto brilliant white and teal plating.

Lyzack didn’t even flinch.

“Try it, ‘Screamer. I dare you.”

“You insolent frigid little bitch. You would dare raise a weapon against the Emperor of the Decepticons? You think you still have the right to refuse my attentions without consequences?”

Her vocaliser wheezed, but her words were steady. “Yes, I would. And every mech and femme has the right of refusal. Megatron guaranteed it.”

A sneer that could freeze the Pits played across Starscream’s lip plating.

“But Megatron isn’t here anymore, is he?”

His thumb pierced her secondary energon line, vital fluids spraying out in a cloud of pink mist. Ramjet, who was now seeing the med-bay in a lovely shade of red, made a move forward and was immediately restrained by Dirge’s energon-covered arms.

A warning in neon yellow flashed across his HUD. ‘Jet, no!

His disbelieving look was cut off by the expressions on his trine-mate’s faceplates as he and Thrust charged up their shattered null-rays. Another scan of the med-bay’s occupants revealed Dreadnought slowly pulling his laser musket from his subspace, Knock Out twitching his hand to activate his electro-trident, Nightraider removing her sedative guns from their holsters, and the Constructicons carefully removing various pieces of medical equipment from inside their armour, all of which looked worryingly sharp.

All of them deliberately stayed out of Starscream’s field of vision.

Starscream bent his head forward, ignoring the titanium plated blade and hissed in Lyzack’s face, “You have two options, femme. If you want to remain online after this display of complete insolence, you will come with me to my quarters right now, you will submit to me, and you will honour my will until I say I am done.”

Lyzack snarled right back. “Never.”

The blade nicked a minor energon line in the Air Commander’s neck. Purple-pink mid-grade sprayed over the faction symbol on his left wing.

“Ohhhh…that was unwise. You chose the second option; I take you here and now, in front of all your friends and colleagues, and then I will order the Combaticons and Stunticons to have their fun.”

Breakdown, still lurking in Nightraider’s office with Crossfire in his arms, froze.

Not Lyzack.

Not Lyzack.

Well, not anyone who wasn’t Knock Out, but definitely not Lyzack.

To their credit and to his sheer relief, his brothers shared almost identical sensations of revulsion through the combiner bonds. He couldn’t make out any of the Combaticons’ expressions from where he was standing, but Swindle visibly backed up a few paces, and Onslaught crossed his arms across his battered frame before turning away.

Much as all of them had happily flirted with the teal tetra-jet in the past, all of their teasing had only ever been meant affectionately. After Ramjet had returned to Cybertron and both jets had demonstrated that there was a very much mutual attraction between them, any flirtatious remarks made by any members of the combiner teams towards Lyzack had been limited to the odd cheeky comment. And Lyzack was no slouch in the snarky retort department, which was half the fun.

He wondered how badly this was about to go. None of the medical staff would tolerate one of their number being abused, and if Lyzack was right about Soundwave being the real victor of the leadership battle, how many of those present would actually follow Starscream’s orders?

A flash of navy to his right caught his optic.

The hum of a charging concussion gun filled his audials.

Onslaught, who was standing closest to the medbay doors, turned, and immediately stepped aside to let the newcomer through with a crisp salute. The rest of the Combaticons collectively hesitated and turned around, mimicking their leader’s salute with something akin to relief.

One giant shadow, flanked by three smaller shadows, staggered into the medbay.

Starscream was too far gone to hear the sound of heavy footsteps behind him.

He dug his fingers into Lyzack’s neck harder than before and wrenched the blade of her sword away from his own neck.

The tempered titanium edge of the blade dug into his hand. Tiny rivulets of energon started to flow from his palm.

The teal tetra-jet was forced onto her knees, her optics wide, angry, and defiant.

The click of pelvic plating retracting echoed in her audials. She glanced at what was under the plating and felt her tanks churn.

That was something she had never wanted to see.
And she definitely wasn’t about to touch it.

Starscream’s leer had taken on an almost manic gleam as he widened his stance.

“Bite anything femme, and you’ll lose your dental plates.”

His hand moved from her neck to the back of her helm. Oil and energon started to run more freely from her wounds as the talons retracted.

She felt sick. Whether it was from energon loss or dread at what was about to happen, she didn’t want to know. But it would be worth the damaged dental plates for the knowledge that she would protect another femme from his attentions after what she was about to do to him.

Provided she survived this.

Lyzack closed her optics in revulsion and braced herself for the next horrible movement…

Starscream’s hand twitched and suddenly went still.

The hum of Knock Out’s electro-trident filled the air.

Lyzack counted the sounds of at least three guns loading, along with two oddly organic-sounding thuds which were rapidly followed by a pained hiss from the Air Commander.

“And you’ll bleed out in a breem if you so much as twitch, ‘Screamer.”

She opened her optics warily.

Nightraider had her left arm wrapped around Starscream’s neck from behind, the needle of one sedative gun lodged in his cheek plating and filled with the tell-tale blue mixture of copper sulphate. The other gun was lodged in the jet’s right flank, the chamber filled with a clear fluid Lyzack couldn’t identify.

Knock Out had dug the prongs of his electro-trident into Starscream’s chest plates, either side of his spark chamber. His thumb was resting atop the charge button, just waiting for the word.

She could see the barrel of Dreadnought’s laser musket digging into the back of the F-15’s helm, the tip already glowing orange from the charge.

She took the risk and stood up, slid her great sword out of the jet’s grip, and repositioned the point over his cockpit.

Starscream’s optics had blown wide with outrage.

Lyzack’s vocaliser was surprisingly steady as she leaned forward and spat in his face. “You really think anyone will follow your orders?”

“They will if they want to live. I am the new leader, ordained to reign supreme in Megatron’s place--”

He was cut off as another gun barrel was forced into the back of his helm, just brushing Nightraider’s cheek-plate.

And a quiet, but ferociously cold voice snarled in his audial, “Incorrect: reign of Starscream ordained by no-one.”

It was taking most of Soundwave’s willpower to stand upright and keep the sights of his concussion gun fixed on his volatile colleague. But as long as his femme or any of her companions were in danger, he would stay online and defend them to his last vent.

By his pedes, Ravage was growling audibly, energon dripping from his dental plates and claws. Rumble and Frenzy had their pile-drivers ready and were both glaring electro-daggers into the back of Starscream’s helm.

Laserbeak, Buzzsaw and Ratbat remained inside Soundwave’s chest compartment, all of them focussed on the stand-off outside, and all of them ready to eject and defend their creator and co-creator.

No-one moved for at least a breem.

Starscream finally yielded.

He powered down his null-rays and attempted to straighten his spinal struts, his movements rather hampered by Nightraider still clinging resolutely to his neck and showing absolutely no sign of letting him free or removing her sedative gun needles from his body. Knock Out, Lyzack and Dreadnought withdrew their weapons from Starscream’s plating, but kept them ready.

The tall femme simply flexed her fingers and sidestepped; the needles in Starscream’s cheek and torso dug in just enough to get him to turn around and face the Communications officer. The barrel of the concussion gun was quickly repositioned under the F-15’s chin.

Crazed red optics glared into a deceptively calm orange visor.

“Oh Soundwave. You and your misbegotten brats never did know when to back the winning team.” 

Soundwave simply deactivated the safety catch on his rifle and returned the glare like for like.

“Winning team; erroneous statement. Megatron; led by example and by strength, not by deception or by treachery.”

“I won the leadership fight. Deal with it.”

“Correction; you claimed victory after you fired upon me and threatened my creations and my mate.”

A murmur of disapproval and disbelief emerged from the rest of the med-bay occupants.

Only an idiot threatened Soundwave.

Anyone who threatened Soundwave and his creations had a death wish.

Anyone who threatened Soundwave, his creations, and Nightraider had clearly filled in their cold storage paperwork and was ready to talk to Primus barring the formalities.

Starscream smirked. “A detail.”

He glanced around the med-bay, taking in the expressions of each mech and femme and calculating the odds. The sting of the needle in his cheek prompted him to glare over his shoulder at Nightraider. “Are you going to take this out of my face anytime soon?”

Nightraider simply glared back. “Not until Soundwave says so.”

The navy mech glanced between the two jets and nodded at his bondmate.

“Order; release Starscream.”

The needles retracted without a sound. The red and black-plated arm loosened from around the F-15’s neck.

Starscream rolled his jaw a couple of times and touched his thumb to the needle-wound on his cheek.

“Don’t think you won’t suffer for that, femme.”

“You’re still alive, ‘Screamer. Believe me, everyone’s suffering.”

Starscream’s lip plating curled in a sneer. He deliberately kept his optics fixed on Soundwave’s visor as he closed his pelvic plating and shoved the gun barrel away from his face with an oil covered finger.

Perhaps a tactical retreat would be a good move at this point. Give the rank and file time to accept their fate.

“My coronation will be tomorrow, at 2000 joors. You will announce this, Soundwave, and make the arrangements.”

He turned to glare at the Constructicons, who had subspaced all but the most innocuous of their surgical tools as soon as they had seen the direction in which the conversation was likely to go.

“Attendance will be compulsory, so every mech in this med-bay will need to be repaired and functioning by 1900 hours tomorrow. See that it’s done.”

Scrapper and Hook exchanged mutinous looks.

With that, the Air Commander turned on his heel and strode towards the med-bay doors, pausing only to turn back and glare at Soundwave.

“You’ll regret your insubordination, Soundwave.”

“Incorrect; I will only regret not terminating you where you stand.”

With a frustrated screech, Starscream marched out of the med-bay, letting the heavy doors slam shut behind him with a clang.

The entire med-bay let out its collective breath.

Frantic chatter started up between the Constructicons and the Coneheads as they began the patch-up on Thrust’s torso. The Combaticons held a brief confab with Glit at the triage desk, and quickly set up a guard point, while most of the Stunticons chose to depart without their traditional range of arguments and mild threats. Breakdown nervously emerged from Nightraider’s office, Crossfire clinging to his chestplates like a cyber-leech, and desperately scanned the little group clustered around a trembling Lyzack for any sign of injury.

Dreadnought crouched down, wrapping an arm around Lyzack’s waist to keep her steady.

“Easy, easy sweetspark, I’ve got you, you’re OK…”

The teal femme clung onto Dreadnought’s arm as he cupped a hand around her helm and gently pressed her face to his chestplates.

She desperately tried to vent properly.

That was the first time she had ever felt truly endangered by Starscream’s presence; any other time he had tried his creepy flirtations on with her, she had been able to send him packing with a couple of well-placed threats and a deadpan retort. But now…

She had been within a half a mechanometer of being forcibly overpowered and assaulted in one of the places she felt safe and secure, in front of those she cared for and trusted.

And he would have carried out that threat if not for the rest of the team.

Three mechs and one femme had risked being offlined themselves for protecting her.

That had been the most horrific experience of her life, and she didn’t even want to think about how much worse it could have been.

“Ly?”

Knock Out crouched beside her, trying to stare up into her optics. His elegant fingers wrapped around her hands.

“Can I get you anything?”

She pulled one hand free, rubbed the heel of her palm against her optics, and sniffled.

“…A d-drink the size o-of my head and a b-bucket if they’re g-going…”

The red Aston Martin gave her one of his rarest and sweetest smiles before touching his fingertips to her cheekplates.

“On it.”

He stood up, catching the optic of Ramjet, who was now almost vibrating with panic next to Dreadnought, and nodded down at his friend.

The white jet looked apprehensive.

Knock Out rolled his optics and headed towards the stores, hissing an order of “get the frag in there now”, as he passed.

Ramjet didn’t question the younger mech’s command.

He ducked down and carefully wriggled his way into the femme jet’s visual field.

His vocaliser shook as he stared up at her, fear and utter adulation writ large over his faceplates.

“…Lyzack...?”

Lyzack’s titanium-plated self-control finally broke.

Her great sword fell to the floor with a clang.

“Ramjet…!!”

She tore herself away from Dreadnought’s bulk, collapsed into the white F-15’s arms, and started to rock back and forth as her tears began to fall. Ramjet wrapped his arms around her and rested his cheek against her helm.

Dreadnought simply shielded the pair of them from assorted prying optics with his hull-plates.

He nodded quietly at Ramjet before turning his complete attention to the triage monitor, optics fixed only on the database showing the stock levels of zinc tape reels.

Which meant he absolutely couldn’t tell who started the desperate sob of ‘…I love you I love you I love you I love you…’ somewhere next to his left kneecap, and he definitely couldn’t work out when both jets started repeating it to each other.

And he absolutely couldn’t tell who was the first to kiss the other.

All that mattered was that it had happened.

Finally.

On the other side of the bay, Dirge and Thrust exchanged an energon-coated fist-bump.

Energon levels at 9%.

Soundwave turned and managed to stagger towards the nearest berth with a privacy screen around it. Rumble, Frenzy, and Ravage followed in his wake, with Nightraider bringing up the rear.

She yanked the screen across as soon as all of them were in reach of the berth, hiding them from the rest of the bay.

…Soundwave…

She was blind and deaf to anything except the exhausted mech standing before her.

The Communications officer ex-vented heavily and fully opened up the bond.

Fatigue, pain, dread, relief and love flooded through the psychic link, hard and strong enough to make both of them reel.

His concussion gun dropped to his side and slid out of his grasp.

Energon dribbled down his wrist.

…I… promised I would come back… to you alive…

His visor flickered once, twice… and finally darkened.

He crumpled to his knees and fell forwards. Ravage yowled in panic, reversing and pressing Rumble and Frenzy back against the berthside cabinet.

A pair of red and black plated arms wrapped around him before he could hit the floor.

“…Soundwave!?”

Silence echoed through the bond for a sparkbeat.

His visor flickered before brightening to a weak orange. His arms tightened around her waist.

She rested her helm against his and closed her optics, willing herself not to cry.

Rumble and Frenzy moved to flank the pair while Ravage took point.

“….Confirmation; I still function.”

Outside the screen, all members of Strike Team Alpha within audial distance flinched at the words.

Soundwave felt all of their shared guilt and didn’t care.

They had not intended to return for Megatron.

He had.

The burnt and buckled plating between his shoulder blades clarified why he had not.

Nightraider stroked a hand against his face-mask.

“…I need an injury list, stat.”

“Damage to self; energon burns to right arm and torso, mild concussion across rear of cranium, damaged spinal plating from null-ray blasts…”

She snarled. If the rest of the Chosen didn’t kill Starscream before his coronation, she would do it herself, identifying marks be fragged.

“…cosmetic damage to all plating. Damage to Cassettes; primarily secondary energon burns and cosmetic damage. Ravage; exhaustion, concussion, and low-level bleeds. Rumble and Frenzy; exhaustion, laser burns and concussions. Laserbeak, Buzzsaw and Ratbat; exhaustion and cosmetic damage only.”

“Ok. Onto the berth now and eject the rest of the Cassettes.”

Between herself and the twins, they managed to get Soundwave upright and onto the nearest surgical berth, the navy mech doing his best to conceal his pain at each movement. Laserbeak, Buzzsaw and Ratbat ejected themselves from their creator’s chest compartment and immediately settled themselves around his battered frame; the two condors snuggled against his shoulders while Ratbat squeezed himself into the tiny gap between his creator’s head and shoulder cannon.

Ravage made an exhausted leap from the floor to the berthside cabinet, and from there to the berth, where he settled down next to Soundwave’s right leg with a purr. Rumble and Frenzy simply looked at the berth, then at each other, then up at Nightraider.

The blue Cassette transformed his piledrivers back into arms, and wearily reached his hands up to his co-creator. Beside him, his twin mirrored his actions.

“…Little help?”

Nightraider didn’t argue. She recognised the action for what it was.

She knelt down and scooped both twins into her arms, before lifting them up and holding them as tightly as she dared. Two sets of arms looped around her neck and returned the embrace with equal amounts of desperation and relief.

A battered white hand pressed against each of the twin’s backs before reaching up to touch the F-14’s cheekplates.

…We are still a family.

Nightraider leaned into the touch as much as she could.

Yeah… we are.

With that, she settled the twins down beside Soundwave and rigged all of the Cassettes and their creator up to IV lines and spark monitors. Ravage and the twins powered down almost immediately as fresh energon began to flow through their frames; Laserbeak and Buzzsaw both accepted a caress from their co-creator before they followed their siblings’ lead, and Ratbat offered only an exhausted squeak before he fell into blissful unconsciousness.

Soundwave checked on all of their minds with the gentlest of psychic touches, not wanting to rouse them from their well-deserved rest.

All beyond exhausted, all beyond stressed, all of them frightened and angry, but they would all live to fight another orn.

And now to the matter of his femme.

He watched with bleary optics as Nightraider finished his IV set-up and quickly applied as many zinc patches to his frame as physically possible. Most of the patches would have to come off in the next orn to allow surgical repairs to take place. For now, this was just to cover the worst of the wounds and provide him with some pain relief.

Though, if he was honest with himself, the only pain relief he wanted right now was to be buried inside his bondmate’s mind, chassis, and spark until he passed out.

Nightraider gently swatted at his arm, her optics filled with tears. “I heard that.”

He deactivated his face-mask, allowing her to see his exhausted smirk.

“You were meant to.”

“And under normal circumstances, there would be no argument from me.”

She bent down and directed her next words through the bond.

But most of your vital fluids are currently decorating the inside of Astrotrain’s cabin, and you’ve barely got enough energon-pressure to stay conscious, let alone… raise a salute.

The smirk widened.

I would be willing to risk it.

I wouldn’t.

…I could tie a pen to it, if it was required.

And still, the answer is no.

With that, Nightraider closed the distance between them and kissed him with a desperation he hadn’t encountered since they were first bonded. He wrapped his arms around her, careful not to tug at his IV line, and pressed her frame against his, deliberately crushing his chestplates against her chassis.

His spark almost screamed with frustration at being so close to its mate, and still too far away.

Tears spilled down Nightraider’s faceplates and dripped onto Soundwave’s chestplates.

His hands dropped to her aftplates as he deepened the kiss.

You will alert me as to when my energon levels are stable enough to… make the appropriate recompense for the anxiety I have caused you.

Nightraider was too relieved to argue.

Two joors later…

As he sat back and closed his single optic, Shockwave was oddly grateful for the padding Dreadnought had insisted he install in the headrest of his chair.

The official reason was workplace ergonomics, along with health and safety concerns.

Both he and Dreadnought knew this was complete nonsense, and equally, both of them were fully aware of where Dreadnought’s concerns stemmed from.

He glanced at his chronometer.

1800 joors.

One joor of mandated rest and recreation, as authorised and enforced by Lord Megatron—

He paused.

His vents hitched.

…

Lord Megatron.

The fingers on his right hand flexed weakly as he rested his palm against his armrest.

There… there was no Lord Megatron. Not anymore.

No-one senior to make him rest, to recuperate.

No-one senior to confer his misgivings to, to alert to any rebellion.

No-one senior to him whom he cared enough to protect.

Cybertron had suffered possibly its gravest loss in recent vorns, but it was still standing.
The Decepticon Empire would continue on, once Starscream had been eliminated.
Shockwave was assured of his place within the new high command structure.
He would be as he had always been, one of the primary members of the Decepticon High Command structure.

On his console, a flickering image from one of the Autobot despatches displayed an update on the status of Decepticon High Command. Taking their cue from Earth’s most-wanted playing cards issued in one of their Middle Eastern conflicts, the Autobots had assigned each of the four highest ranked officers in the Empire their own playing card. Megatron had naturally been the Ace of Spades; Starscream the Ace of Diamonds; Soundwave the Ace of Hearts, and Shockwave himself had been assigned the Ace of Clubs.

The Ace of Spades had been crossed out. The three remaining cards rotated slowly, with the suit pictograms on the front and the mugshots of the Air Commander, the Communications officer, and the Military Operations officer on the reverse of each card.

Clearly the Autobots had found about Megatron’s demise.

No matter.

They had lost their leader as well, and from what intelligence the Cobalt Sentries had gathered, they were in far worse shape than the Decepticons, what with the damage done to Autobot City and the loss of most of their own High Command structure. They could wait until the Chosen had performed Megatron’s final order, until Starscream lay dead at his and Soundwave’s pedes, until the High Command was unified once more.

A thrill of paranoia suddenly raced through his system.

He stared out at the starscape before him, Luna Alpha and Luna Beta serenely orbiting their parent planet through the blackness of space.

It could not be as simple as this.

Something was missing. Something was hidden.

What was he not seeing?

Behind him, the command centre doors hissed open and heavy pedes clanged against the floor as they trudged through the doorway.

He did not look away from the starscape. Vorns of close association told him exactly who those pedes belonged to.

“Good evening, Dreadnought.”

An offended-sounding squeak reached his audials.

“And good evening, Crossfire.”

He turned and held his arms open in preparation.

Dreadnought decoupled the safety magnet securing Crossfire’s wriggling frame to his chestplates and passed the little mech over to his sire. Crossfire immediately settled himself into Shockwave’s lap and made grabby-hands towards the sparkling-sized energon cube and curly straw which had suddenly appeared in the battlecruiser’s hand.

“Ah-ah-ah. What do we say?”

“Hungreeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!!”

“Not quite. What do we say when we ask for something?”

Crossfire’s optic dimmed for a moment, then brightened in delight.

“Please!!”

Dreadnought grinned. “Good enough.”

The tiny gun-former held the cube in both hands, watching as Dreadnought connected the curly straw into his primary intake valve. He purred happily at the sensation of energon filling his tanks, completely ignoring the conversation which started up as soon as his caretaker settled into his seat.

“What news do you have from the medical bay?”

Dreadnought ran a hand down his facemask and sighed.

“The Stunties and Combaticons all got discharged with medical downtime. The ‘Structies are passed out in a pile in the washracks, ‘Raider’s curled up in a berth with Soundwave and the Cassettes, the Coneheads and Leozack are all guarding Lyzack while she and Glit run the nightshift, and judging from the noises coming out of the storeroom, Knock Out and Breakdown are de-stressing in their preferred way.”

He met Shockwave’s optic with a tired gaze. “I’m guessing you heard what happened with Lyzack and Starscream?”

“Indeed. It appears Starscream is not about to respect either Lyzack’s bodily autonomy or the fraternisation laws laid down by Lord Megatron.”

“Well, if ‘Screamer comes near the med-bay again, Ramjet’s likely to laser his head off and use it as a bowling ball.”

Off of Shockwave’s look, Dreadnought clarified quickly before rummaging around in his primary subspace compartment for something. “’Jet and Lyzack sorted out their unrequited love slag.”

Shockwave waited patiently as the battlecruiser felt around inside his left flank, optics screwed up in concentration before making an ‘ah!’ noise and pulling two cubes of mid-grade out of his subspace. He accepted the proffered cube and watched as Dreadnought made himself comfortable again, removing his facemask in order to sip at his rations.

“I take it they are now functioning at an acceptable mutual quorum.”

Dreadnought rolled his optics. “They love each other and they’re in love, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

“My original statement was perfectly clear, and considerably less florid.”

“Only you could say being in love is florid.”

The gun-former tilted his blocky cranium into what passed for his deadpan look. “I assume the inability to foresee this alteration in romantic status is one of my many failings, of which you are extremely well-versed?”

“Nah. It’s one of the things I like about you.”

The battlecruiser quickly looked away, a flush of dark grey decorating his cheekplates as he sipped at his energon.

The sensations of paranoia and loneliness in Shockwave’s spark were being replaced by something which felt like heat.

It was… not unpleasant.

Over the vorns, he had noticed that this phenomenon only ever occurred in Dreadnought’s presence.

And it was happening much more frequently as of late.

“The playing cards got updated, huh?”

Shockwave hesitated for just a moment to regain his mental equilibrium. “…Yes.”

“What else do the ‘Bots know?”

Idly, he set his cube aside and rubbed at the base of his hand cannon, just at the point where an ache had developed in the fitting. “They are certainly aware of Lord Megatron’s demise, and that the rest of the High Command structure is intact. If their military intelligence network is even vaguely competent, they will know that Starscream is intending to claim the position of Emperor of Destruction, and they will know that his ascension would be the prelude to the downfall of the Decepticon Empire. Whether they would encourage this is open to speculation, but those with any sense would be as averse to this prospect as we are.”

“You can see their point. Megatron did what he did for Cybertron, and you could see the reasoning in what he did, no matter how loopy it was. ‘Screamer with power’s like a cyber-wolf chasing its own tail.”

Off of the gun-former’s inquiring look, he clarified. “Chased it so long he wouldn’t know what to do with it once he got it.”

He pulled a screwdriver out of the emergency toolkit in his right flank and gestured towards Shockwave’s left arm. “Gimme.”

The gunformer automatically held out his arm towards Dreadnought, relaxing slightly as the battlecruiser shuffled his chair closer to his console, and grey-plated fingers carefully probed the tender spot between the base of the cannon and his wrist plating. Shockwave’s good hand cupped Crossfire’s frame against the safe spot under his fuel tanks. The little gunformer was already halfway into recharge and still sucking at the dregs of his energon cube.

He stared down at his creation, for once uncertain of how to phrase his next words.

“You are… aware that Starscream may attempt to ‘clean house’, as the Earthlings put it. Attempt to eliminate myself and Soundwave if the Chosen fail at their task.”

Dreadnought flashed an incredulous Look at him before carefully tightening a loose screw on his wrist.

“Yeah, because you’re so clearly the type of giant-aft gunformer who’ll just roll over and play dead if ‘Screamer pulls anything even vaguely murdery. Judging by what happened in the med-bay, I don’t think there’s gonna be a shortage of potential assassins.”

“I speak not out of concern for myself, but for Crossfire.”

The engineer’s hands stalled.

“It is… unlikely, I will admit, but… should I be felled, I request that you take care of him. Protect him.  Raise him.”

Dreadnought stared at him for a sparkbeat, then shook his head and returned to his work, tightening another loose screw with frightening intensity.

“You know that’s not going to happen.”

“You would not take custody of Crossfire?”

“I mean, neither you nor Soundwave are going to be offlined. Not by that power-hungry psycho speed-freak.”

The screwdriver was replaced into the toolkit with a twist of Dreadnought’s right hand.

His left hand was still wrapped around Shockwave’s wrist.

His voice dropped to a murmur.

“’Raider would kill him before he gets anywhere near Soundwave.”

The hand moved slowly up his forearm.

“And I’d kill him before he got anywhere near you.”

Desire.

Even after all this time.

Even after the Trion incident.

Even after Dreadnought had found out who had created the Military Operations officer, and his intended purpose.

The heat in his spark spread a little further.

Dreadnought’s hand stilled at the crook of his arm, fingertips resting over the primary arterial line in the joint. He knew he was treading on extremely thin ice as far as his actions went.

It had always been assumed that Shockwave was aware of Dreadnought’s feelings towards him, and the complete lack of any response, positive or negative, had convinced the battlecruiser that his feelings would remain forever unreciprocated. But they had never actually discussed the situation either way. The fallout from the Trion incident had only compounded the uncertainty.

But Shockwave hadn’t pulled away from him.
And the increased pulse under his fingers didn’t seem to indicate a negative response.

Dreadnought vented slowly… and took the risk he had wanted to take for 106,000 vorns.

He reached a tentative hand up to the gunformer’s head and slowly traced his knuckles down the side of his left audial fin, before finally flattening his palm against the dark purple plating.

Shockwave hadn’t moved a nano-millimetre.

Emboldened, he leaned slightly forward and gently pulled Shockwave’s cranium towards his.

His optics closed as he paused and hung his head a few inches away from the edge of the gunformer’s head.

“I mean it.”

The heat spread out of Shockwave’s spark and into his fuel lines.
And down into somewhere far lower.

He closed the gap between them almost cautiously, resting the top lip of his cranium against Dreadnought’s helm.

“I am… aware.”

The battlecruiser quashed the gasp trying to make its way out of his vocaliser and kept his hands exactly where they were.

This was more than he had ever hoped for, and in the darkest joors of the night, he had hoped for a lot.

But he knew not to push his luck any further, much as his spark was screaming at him to carry on.

He moved to withdraw his hand from Shockwave’s arm.

Battered purple fingers suddenly rested atop his hand and squeezed almost timidly.

Shockwave’s single optic focussed steadily on his optic band.

“And I am grateful for your protective instincts towards both Crossfire and myself.”

Dreadnought said nothing. His spark was now pulsing at something approaching lightspeed, felt like it was about to burst out of his body via his throat, and he was sure most of the Autobot special ops would be able to pick up the sound of it on the dark side of Luna Beta.

Whatever this was, he wasn’t about to break it.

Shockwave pulled back slightly and made a decision as he studied Dreadnought’s faceplates. In his lap, Crossfire made a tiny squeak of satisfaction as he stretched and fell into blissful recharge.

“There are three joors left of my shift. After 2200 joors, I will have a mandated rest period of nine joors. In light of the events of this orn, I would… prefer… not to spend that rest period alone.”

Dreadnought couldn’t hold back a shaky vent.

Oh, sweet Primus.
This was happening. This was happening!!

“I would prefer to spend that time with you, if you would not be opposed to my intrusion upon your own rest period?”

The tiny portion of Dreadnought’s CPU that wasn’t currently squealing like a new-built femme being asked on her first date, managed to choke out a mostly-sensible response.

“…W-Whatever you want to do, I’m good.”

The purple gunformer nodded once and squeezed his hand around Dreadnought’s fingers once again.

“Excellent.”

One joor later…

“…’Raider.”

Nothing.

“’Raider!”

Still nothing.

“’Raider!!”

An annoyed-sounding growl finally emerged from the curtained cubicle.

Nightraider wrenched the screen aside with a snarl. Her optics were itching with exhaustion. “WHAT!?”

Dreadnought was almost dancing on his pedes, Crossfire snoring contentedly in his arms.

“You, babysit, now. I owe you for, like, ever.”

Crossfire was shoved unceremoniously into her arms. 

She quickly repositioned the little gunformer against her shoulder, a hand resting on his back. “…What?”

“Shockwave asked to spend the night with me once he goes off-duty. I know it’s a big ask and there’s no guarantee of anything, but I need this. I really, really need this.”

The critical parts of Nightraider’s CPU finally warmed up. “Wha’…?”

Dreadnought was vibrating with nervous excitement. “I’m hitting the washracks now; Shockwave is off-duty in two joors. I haven’t done it in about three ice ages; has it changed since then? Does the Kama Sutra work for Cybertronians? Do I need to wax?”

Nightraider squinted blearily at the bouncing battlecruiser. “…What?”

From wherever he had been lurking, Knock Out finally took pity on both senior officers. He marched into view, span Dreadnought around by his shoulder-plates and shoved him towards the medbay doors with a response of, “Probably not; depends on your proclivities; and sweet Primus yes.”

Nightraider was left standing in the cool of the medbay, CPU spinning, shivering slightly and clutching Crossfire like a cuddly toy.

“…What… just happened?”

Knock Out breezed past, heading towards his own berth.

“The big guy’s getting lucky, apparently. Go back to recharge.”

“…Fair enough.”

She paused.

“…Wait, what!?”

A weary but amused murmur emerged from the berth behind her. “Shockwave and Dreadnought; resolving a situation left unresolved for far too long.”

She pulled the screen back, turned around and staggered back towards the berth and the welcome embrace of her bondmate.

“I’d be happier for him if I didn’t feel like an Empty.”

“A fair assessment. Let me…”

Soundwave gently extracted Crossfire from Nightraider’s arms and settled him against the left side of his chest compartment. Nightraider sank onto the berth and folded herself around the tape deck ‘Con’s frame, careful not to disturb the twins or Ravage.

“Rest now. There is little that can be done until the morning.”

The F-14 wrapped her arm around her bondmate’s waist.

“If Dreadnought wakes me before 0800 joors tomorrow, just remind me not to kill him.”

Soundwave closed his optics with a pained vent.

“Agreed.”

One orn later, 19.55 joors, Imperial City State of Iacon, Iacon throne-room…

Despite time being very much against the side of the medical team, the vast majority of the Alpha and Beta Strike teams, along with a third of Decepticon High Command, were now running on emergency rations, several joors of surgery, a couple of doses of Syck and more than a few surreptitious shots of Top Shelf Oblivion.

It didn’t make the gathering in the throne-room any more appealing.

Nightraider stared longingly after her bondmate as he and the Cassettes made their way towards the plinth in the centre of the throne-room. Obsidian and Strika followed in Soundwave’s wake, their optics narrowed in shared distaste at what was to come.

Shockwave strode calmly into the throne-room, his golden optic studying the assembled hordes with dispassionate interest. He took his place next to Soundwave, but not before exchanging an unreadable look with the exhausted battlecruiser who had staggered through the doorway barely two steps after him.

Dreadnought flipped the gunformer a brief salute before collapsing rather ostentatiously against his best friend’s shoulder plating.

“Well, I hope you’re happy.”

Dreadnought beamed, his spark almost singing inside his chest.

“Worth. It. Completely and totally worth it.”

Nightraider leaned her helm against Dreadnought’s.

“So, does that mean you actually plugged him?”

Nothing.

Her optics widened.

Dreadnought would normally be the first to say if anything inappropriate/orgasmic had happened during a night alone with a Cybertronian of his choice. The lack of feedback alone dictated that something monumental had occurred last night.

The battlecruiser’s grin widened.

“Wait, you…?”

“Nuh-uh. A gentlemech never kisses and tells.”

“My aft you don’t kiss and tell. You have, on at least two occasions, messaged me when you were still buried up to the maker’s nameplate in your berth-buddy and asked me for a play-by-play analysis!”

“And on both occasions, it was Aquablast. I just wanted a comparative feedback session.”

“Just because we both made the mistake of sleeping with the same mech, and you more than once?”

Dreadnought raised an eye-ridge.

“Femmes in transparent aluminium observatories shouldn’t launch planetary ores.”

“I know, I know. And you know full well I always regretted it once the afterglow wore off.”

Nightraider tucked her head under her best friend’s chin.

“So, are you prepared to tell me anything?”

“Some… intentions… were made clear after a very long time. And acted on.”

What actually happened was nothing as direct as what Nightraider had suggested, but to Dreadnought was more intimate than a spark-merging.

Shockwave had arrived at his quarters at precisely 22.05 joors.

They had shared their evening rations together while sitting on his berth and staring through the port window at the stars.

The gun-former had then set both empty cubes aside and reclined on the berth, shooting a pointed look at Dreadnought as he did.

Dreadnought had joined him without a sound.

His spark had been beating out a thrash metal drum solo the entire time, and somehow it managed to kick it up a notch when Shockwave had taken his left hand, placed it atop the barrel of his hand cannon, and began to carefully trace the edges of every piece of plating, piston and wiring with a delicacy and intent he had never demonstrated towards another Cybertronian.

Dreadnought had moved to reciprocate but halted as soon as Shockwave raised his good hand.

“No.”

He didn’t argue. He relaxed back against the worn mattress as Shockwave resumed his actions, leaving his hand and moving slowly but steadily up his arm. His CPU almost melted as he settled into a state of acute arousal with each touch, his berthmate keeping the speed of his caresses slow and steady.

He wasn’t completely sure what Shockwave was trying to do, but Primus it felt amazing.

The touches grew a little firmer and more deliberate around his neck and chestplates, particularly when they trailed down towards his abdomen. Each movement sent a flicker of electricity through his nervous system, building steadily in his interface unit and creating pulses of desire so powerful that it felt like a perfect, aching void was being carved out between his legs and inside his spark.

The gunformer’s fingers had been tracing just below the seam on his armour covering his spark chamber when the first overload hit Dreadnought’s system. He almost bit through his glossa trying to hold back his cries.

Fortunately, Shockwave had kept his hand where it was and simply let him arch his back and shake through the pleasure buffeting his body, his golden optic flickering slightly in the darkness as he watched, before resuming his explorations with a more deliberate purpose.

His hip plating and the components of each leg were inspected with the same careful touches before purple fingers traced the edges of his pelvic plating.

As the second overload rocketed through his frame, the battlecruiser had spared a thought that any other mech would have been embarrassed at the speed at which he had climaxed, just at Shockwave’s touch.

Frag them.

They weren’t there.
He was.

And judging by the way in which Shockwave was now pressing his legs apart, settling between them, and tracing his fingers over every single wire in his pelvic assembly that made him scream, he wasn’t particularly worried about anyone else’s opinions.

The fingers slid under his pelvic plating, over the head of his leads, and Dreadnought stopped thinking entirely.

Except for a few blissful joors later when, with Shockwave’s permission, he proceeded to return the favour.

“…Ohhh, you didn’t play Scientist and Test Subject, did you? I grant you, it’s fun at the time, but all it results in is a giant clean-up afterwards and at least two ruined speculums.”

Dreadnought, who had been rather enjoying the mental replay of the previous night, paused and shot a deeply disturbed look at the top of the F-14’s helm.

“…Or so I’ve heard.”

Knock Out, Glit, Lyzack, the Coneheads and Leozack joined the group just in time to hear the femme jet’s last comments.

The red Aston Martin glanced between the embarrassed Femme CMO and agog Chief Engineer, and decided it wasn’t worth asking.

“Sorry we’re late. Anyone managed to bump him off yet?”

Nightraider extracted herself from Dreadnought’s embrace and gently squeezed the back of Knock Out’s neck plating. “No, but it’s not for lack of trying.”

Leozack glowered at the empty throne and folded his arms across his chestplates, making sure he was safely installed between his sister and Ramjet. “There was some scuttlebutt going round that Thunderblast tried to act as an assassin as well as his berthwarmer last night, but nothing’s been confirmed.”

“Surprising precisely no-one…” Lyzack elbowed Leozack out of the way before snuggling into Ramjet’s arms and glaring back at her twin.

“Better her than you, Ly. She wanted to be there, you didn’t.”

“Yeah, but not because she actually cares for him. She just wants the power and status.”

Ramjet simply held Lyzack closer and pressed a clandestine kiss next to her audial before he reluctantly peeled himself away and slouched off towards the dais. Thrust and Dirge followed in his wake.

Glit regarded the retreating Seeker trio with fondness and addressed his query to Leozack. “…So how exactly did she try to offline him?”

“Couple of aquatic poisons and a fragging good go at offlining him through overloads. Apparently, he picked up the former, not the latter.”

The entire group looked slightly disgusted. Dreadnought gently flicked Nightraider’s audial with one grey finger and muttered, “Femmes in transparent aluminium observatories…”

“And again, I point out the almost immediate post-afterglow regret.”

“Just as long as it’s acknowledged.”

BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP-BAP-BAP-BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP

A blast of synth-trumpets suddenly blared through the throne-room.

Every mech and femme present cringed and activated the muting option on their audials.

The Constructicons, covered in spray-painted zinc tape and looking surly to a fault, marched into the throne-room in two columns. All of them clutched synth-trumpets in matching death grips.

Soundwave, Shockwave, Obsidian and Strika immediately snapped to attention; not out of any particular desire to show obedience, but more out of habit and a shared desire to get the approaching farce over and done with as soon as possible.

Astrotrain followed the Constructions and studiously avoided meeting anyone’s optic as he trudged towards the dais. A garish golden crown studded with rubies was tucked under his arm.

The Coneheads took up their position behind Astrotrain. As Skywarp and Thundercracker had been officially declared as deceased, the lesser Elite trine was required to stand in their stead. None of them looked even remotely happy about this.

Finally, Starscream appeared, his nasal unit stuck in the air as he strode proudly into the throne-room. A long purple cloak, disturbingly reminiscent of the one Alpha Trion had worn once upon a time, swirled around his pedes.

“Make way for your new Emperor of Destruction!!”

At Soundwave’s pedes, Frenzy snorted quietly. “Do we have to?”

Rumble elbowed him silently.

The Constructions fell into line next to the dais and proceeded to play something approaching the Imperial Anthem of the Decepticon Empire.

Just in two different time signatures.

And three different keys.

Fifty feet above the dais, hidden in the shadows of ancient Iaconian ruins and muffled in the musical abortion that was masquerading as an anthem, the crew of Leviathan silently prepared a frankly terrifying assortment of long-range weaponry.

Officially, they had been drafted in as extra security, as they had been under Megatron’s reign.

Unofficially, if one of the Chosen on the ground didn’t take out the red and silver pretender to the throne now swaggering up the steps of the dais, they would do the honours.

Switchblade tapped at his audial comm. unit and quickly counted off the positions of the would-be assassins.

“Drive-By, right flank by the shoulder of Bloodron. Rampart and Mismatch, left flank by Floron’s horns. Deadheat and Derail, keep yourselves behind the dais. Diabla, on Murdron’s helm with me, and I swear to Primus if you point that missile launcher at your sister one more time, the next shot I fire will be at your head.”

The purple and yellow motorcycle sneered but retracted her gun and rested the barrel against her shoulder. Even she wasn’t stupid enough to push her commanding officer’s tolerance levels.

Switchblade glared at her before resuming his scan of the area.

The longer the ‘Structies could draw out the performance of the anthem and fanfare, the longer his team would have to get into position. All that was then needed was one clear shot through the pretender’s CPU with an unregistered sniper rifle, and this whole obscene parody of leadership would end as quickly as it had begun.

Throw the rifle into one of the smelting pools outside Iacon after the screaming had stopped, and no-one would be any the wiser.

The Constructicons had mercifully finished massacring the Imperial Anthem and had moved onto the Imperial fanfare.

Which was only a slight improvement over the anthem.

Astrotrain stepped reluctantly forward, the crown in his hands.

He still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten drafted in for this, but he enjoyed being online too much to protest when the job was offered to him.

Later enquiries revealed that he was just the only one who hadn’t immediately declined the offer with a cavalcade of obscenities.

Starscream stepped forward, deliberately ruffling the edges of his cape to create the impression of a dramatic breeze and bowed his head slightly.

Astrotrain raised his arms and--

BRAP BAP BAP-BAP BAAAP BAAAAAP

Nope, couldn’t crown him then.

He tried again.

BRAP BAP BAP-BAP BAAAP BAAAAAP

Nope, that hadn’t worked either.

He could hear Starscream snarling, “Get on with the ceremony!”

The Constructions glanced at each other, shrugged, and resumed playing.

BRAP BAP BAP-BAP BAAAP BRAP-BAP BAP-BAP-BAP BAP-BAP BAAAP BAAAAAP

Starscream’s fraying hold on his temper finally gave out.

He charged up his right null-ray and fired off a shot that destroyed all of the synth-trumpets in a nano-second.

The Constructicons glanced at each other again, and then slightly sadly at the remains of their instruments.

Scrapper nodded quietly at Astrotrain.

They had tried and failed.

The triple-changer sighed inwardly and finally set the crown upon Starscream’s helm.

A twisted smile crawled across the F-15’s faceplates.

He had done it.

All these vorns of scheming, all of the vorns of crawling and waiting, all of the vorns of stasis lock and battles across Cybertron and Earth, of so many orns filled with rage and revenge, of so many nights filled with jealousy and acting as Megatron’s not-so-reluctant berthwarmer, and of so many fusion blasts in the back, in the face, in the chest to remind him of how he had tried to rebel and failed, and now… here he stood.

Starscream of Vos, Air Commander of the Decepticon Empire, Emperor of Destruction, and the new leader of the Decepticons.

It was worth every sacrifice, every scheme, every ounce of pain he had suffered, to stand here at the very pinnacle of the Decepticon Empire.

He stared out over the throne-room and scanned each occupant with what he considered to be a commanding gaze.

“My fellow Decepticons, as your new leader,  I--”

He cut himself off with a gasp. Every head, even those watching from the shadows, immediately turned to look at where the red and silver jet was staring.

A purple streak had appeared in the skies.

Too small to be a warship, too large to be a missile.

So what was it…?

Starscream’s temper immediately flared. “Who disrupts my coronation!?”

The purple streak screamed towards the balcony of the throne-room, revealing itself to be a scout ship of some form. It streaked between the columns and skidded to a halt just before the dais. A golden coloured hatch lifted up, and a bulky purple mech with a grey and orange fusion cannon bolted to his right arm leaped out, breaking into a sprint as soon as his pedes hit the floor. The scout ship transformed into a tall purple mech with two odd protuberances on his helm. He joined his comrade as he stood at the foot of the dais, glaring up at Starscream.

His vocoder was low and rough, as if it had emerged screaming from the very depths of the Pit. “Coronation, Starscream? This is bad comedy.”

And yet Starscream recognised it almost immediately.

“…Megatron? Is that you?”

“HERE’S A HINT!!”

The purple mech transformed himself into a field artillery cannon and fired an energy blast directly at Starscream’s chest. It encompassed the F-15’s frame in a blaze of energon-coloured light, tearing  into his plating.

Astrotrain and the Coneheads shared a terrified look and dived off the platform.

The mechs closest to the blast could hear the sound of Starscream’s catalytic converter overloading.

Electricity fritzed and sparked through the air.

Starscream span helplessly, twisting and tearing at his plating before freezing in place with a look of pure shock and agony on his faceplates.

Soundwave immediately pressed the Cassettes behind him as he watched, not inclined to feel any pity for the Seeker, but extremely uneasy about what was going to happen next.

As the pink glow faded from Starscream’s body, his red and silver plating began to fade as well.

Within a sparkbeat, the only spots of colour present were the purple of his cape, and the gold and red of his crown. The rest of his body was now just made of different shades of grey.

A crack like breaking glass emerged from Starscream’s shoulder plating. His entire left arm fell off his frame, followed quickly by his right arm, and then by his cranium and entire frame just… imploded.

Chunks of lifeless metal cascaded to the floor of the platform and were blown away by the backwash of the blast.

Starscream of Vos died just as brightly and as loudly as he had lived.

Soundwave finally remembered how to vent.

Aggressive depigmentation.

He had never seen it affect another Cybertronian so… violently before now.

The golden crown crashed down the steps of the dais and landed at the mystery mech’s feet. Transforming back to bipedal mode, he calmly crushed it underfoot, never taking his optics off of the sad pile of metallic fragments that now made up Starscream’s corpse.

He finally turned back, casting a cold gaze over the assembled mechs and femmes. “Will anyone else attempt to fill his shoes?”

Rumble had managed to sneak out from behind his creator and was staring back and forth between the little pile of debris, and the mystery mech before him.

For once in his existence, he chose to ask a sensible question.

“…What’d he say his name was?”

The mystery mech smirked proudly.

“Galvatron!”

Most of the Decepticon forces would freely admit they might not be the brightest bunch on Cybertron at times, but none of them had survived this long without having at least some common sense twinned with decent survival instincts.

Every single mech and femme present immediately raised their arms and vocalisers in celebration and salutation.

“All hail Galvatron!!”

“All hail Galvatron!!”

“All hail Galvatron!!”

TBC