Chapter Text
There was no way home. He’d never see Orion or Cybertron again. He was trapped in an imitation of the galaxy he’d known. Alone.
It shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did. He’d never been completely alone before, but he was strong. It shouldn’t matter.
Dreadstorm refused to fall. He refused to fail. He was alone, and that hurt, but he was Lord Protector of the Thirteenth Prime, Supreme Commander of Cybertron, Warlord of Kaon, and Champion of the Pits. He would not allow this loss to defeat him. He was no stranger to loss. He would survive.
Locating a source of fuel was his first challenge. He had rations and his systems could fuel off metal for a time, so long as it had adequate minerals, but that wouldn’t last long-term.
Besides fuel, there was still a matter of maintenance. Earth was not a friendly planet. Even his impressive armor would rust and corrode if not properly maintained.
Dreadstorm purposefully didn’t think about the future beyond that. What was his purpose on such a limited organic planet? He would probably have to acquire a ship and leave the system.
The first hint of energon led Dreadstorm to an encouraging sight.
Energon crystals, Large ones, exposed to the open air at the bottom of a depression in the ground. Perhaps unearthed by human excavation, if the abandoned equipment was any indication.
He rolled to the edge in his armored truck alt-mode, carefully surveying the area for threats and humans.
The roar of an engine approached.
Dreadstorm hastily parked behind an outcropping of rocks and double-checked his signal damper. With a deposit of energon this big, it wouldn’t be far-fetched for other Cybertronians to be coming. Best to be safe.
A red muscle car drove into view. It executed a fancy maneuver to leave the faint dirt road and approach the depression.
The stranded war-frame mentally cursed as the other vehicle transformed into a sturdy auto-frame. An unfamiliar sigil was emboldened on his chest. A modified Council of Primes symbol, perhaps?
To make matters worse, a large spaceship approached, its signal expertly shielded, but the construction gave it away as a Cybertronian craft.
The red bot transformed one servo into a blaster and tensed.
Several identical mecha, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Starscream’s drones, descended, their own weapons at the ready.
Wonderful. They were going to fight. And probably destroy all that raw energon while they were at it.
Dreadstorm considered leaving them to it and searching for another supply of energon, but there was no guarantee he’d be able to find anything.
He transformed reluctantly and stepped out of hiding. “Excuse me,” he interrupted the red one’s taunts. “Could you kindly move your discussion to another location?” he met the other bots' confused optics with a flat stare. “Raw energon is both difficult to locate and extremely combustible. I would hate to see this supply go up in flames.”
“Identify yourself,” one of the drones demanded as it turned its weapon to Dreadstorm.
“Cybertronian,” Dreadstorm answered dryly. “Designated Dreadstorm. Who are you lot?”
The red one eased away while the drones were distracted. At least he had some sense. Outnumbered as he was, retreat was the wisest course of action.
The drones exchanged a look, bafflement in their fields.
The first one spoke up again. “Irrelavent. This mine is now property of the Deception Empire. Surrender or be destroyed.”
Dreadstorm frowned. “I am a bit out of touch with Cybertron politics. However, I was under the impression that the Decepticon movement was one of equality and mecha rights.” He tilted his helm a degree. “I fail to see how such a movement could form an empire and seize territory on foreign populated planets.”
The drones were unmoved. Their reinforcements were approaching. “Lord Megatron leads the Decepticons. Surrender or face his wrath.”
Dreadstorm’s lip curled in a silent snarl. “Is that so? How unfortunate. I don’t get along well with authority. So I care little for what any lord would have me do. How about you retreat, and I won’t kill you? How does that sound?”
The drones answered with blaster fire.
Dreadstorm dodged, allowing only one blast to clip him on his armored forearm. He was surprised by how weak it was. It barely registered as an attack. They didn’t show any strategizing capabilities either as Dreadstorm continued to evade and deflect their shots.
The red mech jumped the drones from behind, blaster and blade tearing into one.
Scrap. Couldn’t he have just run while he had the chance? How did Dreadstorm always get stuck with the honorable ones?
He abandoned his analysis and lunged for the nearest faux-Decepticon. His blade tore through the palting like it was bare circuitry. He allowed himself a moment of surprise, a moment for the other drones to realize they were outmatched and run, before leaping for his next victim. He dispatched the last two just as easily, shrugging their blasts and strikes off with ease.
Their deactivated frames hit the dessert floor at the same time as the red one’s opponent.
The bot stared at him with bright, wide optics. “Wow, that was awesome. Can you teach me how to do that?”
“You are?” Dreadstorm demanded sharply.
The young mech jolted. “Oh, right. I’m Cliffjumper-”
Yeah, he should have seen that one coming. Of course, it was the counterpart of the feral one that hung out with Hotrod and Bumblebee.
“Prepare yourself, Cliffjumper,” the silver war-frame strode past the matureling, cannon transforming out of his left arm and whirling to life. “Run, or fight, I don’t care, but do so now. We have company.”
“Scrap,” Cliffjumper cursed. “The Nemesis is still blocking my comms.” He took up position beside Dreadstorm, field brimming with determination and weapons brandished.
“Stay close,” Dreastorm ordered. “Use me as a shield. Their weapons won’t pierce my armor.”
“Sure thing, mech,” Cliffjumper chirped.
And then they were out of time. The drones arrived.
It was easy to slip into the familiar patterns of battle. It was too easy to destroy the drones, but the added challenge of shielding Cliffjumper and the raw energon evened out the disappointment. It had been too long since he’d enjoyed the rush of battle.
Cliffjumper proved to be a talented warrior as well. His skills were rough but practiced and experienced. He had obviously been in battle before.
Even so, the drones never stopped coming, and Cliffjumper was lagging. Worse yet, they were circling to bypass Dreadstorm and target the red mech.
“We’ve got to retreat,” Cliffjumper gasped. “They’re overwhelming us.”
Dreadstorm growled in frustration. “I hate drones.”
“Follow me,” Cliffjumper transformed and accelerated towards the road.
A huge drone dive-bombed the mechling before he reached it. It grabbed him by his bumper and flung him into the air. Cliffjumper transformed midair and twisted to both shoot his attacker and land on his pedes.
But it wouldn’t be enough. He was going to land next to the crystals, and another drone was already tossing a grenade.
Dreadstorm threw himself at the red mech.
Cliffjumper yelped as the larger bot tackled him. They crashed into the ground. Dreadstorm wrapped his frame around the matureling just as the grenade exploded.
Dreadstorm tucked his helm and offlined his audio receptors. Wave after wave of heat and shrapnel buffeted his frame. He grunted as displaced debris and rocks collapsed, burying them.
Finally, the heat steadied. The explosions were over.
Rubble crushed into his raw back, the first layer of armor was almost completely burned away. Cliffjumper squirmed beneath him. Dreadstorm held still and onlined his audio receptors, listening carefully.
Faint comm chatter he couldn’t make out.
The drone’s affirmative.
Transformation and take off.
Dreadstorm held position even after the sounds faded. They might have left somebot behind.
Cliffjumper’s movements grew more frantic, his field a mess of panic, concern, anger, and fear. “Cliff to base,” he gritted out, only a tinge of his emotions in his voice. “Does anyone read me?” A moment of silence, then a heave of relief. “Ratchet. I need backup and medical aid. Cons showed up. A neutral helped me fight them, but the mine exploded, and I think he got hurt protectin’ me.”
Dreadstorm grunted. “Not injured.”
“Dreadstorm? Oh, thank Primus. Can you move?”
“Not injured,” the war-frame repeated. “Waiting for the glitches to clear out.”
That soothed the fear and panic. “Oh, right. That makes sense.” He settled. “My team’s on the way. If you stick around, our medic can take a look at you.”
Did that mean this world’s Ratchet would let him wander off after an explosion? Or was Cliffjumper just being polite rather than say "you’d better let our doctor give you a check-up, or he’ll hunt you down and dent your helm with a wrench."
“Unnecessary, but appreciated.” Dreadstorm shifted. “Hold on.”
The matureling didn’t argue. Once he was secure, the silver bot surged out of the debris and rubble. The matureling let go once they were clear.
Cliffjumper grimaced. “Mech, that looks nasty. Are you sure you’re not injured?”
Dreadstorm ran a quick internal scan. Surface-level burns and scratches marred his armor, but nothing had made it through the protective layers. “I’m fine.”
The sounds of approaching vehicles interrupted them.
Dreadstorm looked up as three cybertronians drew to the edge of the expanded depression.
A blue motorcycle didn’t stop, transforming into a femme and sliding down towards them without pause.
The other two stayed on the ridge. An orange and white emergency vehicle transformed into an angry auto-frame. And a red and blue semi truck.
Dreadstorm tensed as the truck transformed.
[WARNING; UPDATE AVAILABLE]
Scrap. The alerts were back.
[SYSTEMS; SHUTTING DOWN TO INSTALL]
[SENDING STATUS REPORT TO: PRIME DESIGNATED OP-1.13ORIONPAXOPTIMUS]
[ERROR; PRIME NOT FOUND]
Hopefully the drones weren’t coming back. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be fighting fit for a while.
Dreadstorm crumpled.
******
[MATRIX: TF-PR-1013.001 SYNCHRONIZATION: COMPLETE]
[UNIT: DESIGNATED D-16.13DREADSTORM INTERGRATED TO TF-PR-1013.001]
[UNIT: DESIGNATED D-16.13DREADSTORM CLASSIFICATION: LORD PROTECTOR]
[ERROR: PRIME DESIGNATED OP-1.13ORIONPAXOPTIMUSPRIME: NOT FOUND]
[WARNING: UNASSIGNED PRIME; DESIGNATED OP-1.13[1013.001]ORIONPAXOPTIMUS: FOUND]
[QUERY: ASSIMILATE UNASSIGNED PRIME?]
[ASSIMILATING PRIME: DESIGNATED OP-1.13[1013.001]ORIONPAXOPTIMUS]
[NOTICE: HIGH LORD PROTECTOR: NOT FOUND]
[QUERY: ACCEPT POST: HIGH LORD PROTECTOR?]
[INSTALLING PROTOCOL PACKET: DESIGNATED LP–013.982.E]
[ASSIMILATION OF PRIME: DESIGNATED OP-1.13[1013.001]ORIONPAXOPTIMUS: SUCCESSFUL]
[STATUS REPORT: URGENT]
[DAMAGE DETECTED]
[ACTION REQUIRED]
[INSTALLATION: LP–013.982.E: COMPLETE]
[INITIATING: FULL REBOOT]
[SYSTEMS: ON STANDBY]