Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A soft strumming tune rang through Hot Shot’s audio receptors, a sweet song that he had heard at McAdamn’s old house. He leaned up against the wall, feeling the warmth from the furnaces below thrum down his back, and let the song play as his mechanical mind recalled it perfectly. He traced his fingers along his grill, plucking out the notes. Despite his youth, he was already starting to miss the days before the war when he’d listen to Sky Byte read his poetry to a crowd of bemused and merry bots, whose only care in the world was whose team was gonna win the Grand Prix. He would have found himself lost in those memories if he hadn’t been jolted back by a big mitt slamming down next to his head.

Hot Shot readjusted, his eyes darting around the yawning halls of Autobot HQ which were suspiciously empty for this time of day. Their clean cut aesthetic and fluorescent lights set Hot Shot at unease, this definitely didn’t feel like a place he belonged in but he found some comfort as he followed the mitt on his shoulder to its owner, the flaming bot of insufferable charm and his brother, Hot Rod.

“Why are you looking so glum, buddy?” plied Hot Rod, whose massive grin betrayed an excitement that told he had something to say.

Hot Shot rubbed his neck, swallowing some of his doubt. “Nothing, just reminiscing.”

Hot Rod let slip a laugh, “Well dash the thought! Today is about the future! Aren’t you excited?! We got promoted to commander and Optimus himself is giving us our own mission! I tell you, brother, this is the start of a grand tale. In fact, I think today marks the beginning of a legend that will stand-”

Hot Shot slammed his hand across Hot Rod’s mouth as he went to start one of his infamous speeches.

“Spare me!~” He let out a loose chuckle, bringing his hand to rest on Hot Rod’s shoulder but his face didn’t show the same levity.

Hot Rod’s face dropped, not in disappointment, but a calmer more gentle expression that marked his concern. “What’s got you worried?” he said softly as he put his own hand on Hot Shot’s shoulder.

“It’s just that we’ve never left Cybertron, I’m just nervous that we might not be up to the task.”

Hot Shot twisted his foot, his eyes turned away. Hot Rod let out a long sigh and placed both hands on his brother’s shoulders and forced him to make eye contact.

“I don’t want to hear any of that kind of talk. I believe we have this opportunity because we are the only ones who can do it, you know why? Because we have each other, and together we can do anything.”

The unsteady young bot didn’t want to believe his sibling but that infectious prideful energy couldn’t help but to bolster his spark. He took a deep deep breath and pushed his worry to the side.

“Are you good now?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m good.”

“Great because I was running late, Prime wanted us at the docks five sub-cycles ago.”

“SLAG! Why did you just keep rambling then? Let’s go!”

With a spin of their T-cog, the two speed off down the halls. Hot Rod’s mad cackling trailing them.

Hot Shot came tumbling into the dry dock first, almost barreling into a pyramid of crates as his wheels caught the slightly raised edge of the door frame. Hot Rod seeing his embarrassing display, decided it was better just to walk in. Gloating, He offered his hand and pulled Hot Shot back to his feet.

“You’re late.” The tone of the voice was not angry, but instead matter-of-fact. The brothers turned to look at the source and almost leapt out of their chassis as they found Optimus Prime looming over them. The Autobot leader cut a mythic figure, with an iconic broad body that belied an older generation of bot and a steely face which betrayed very little emotion but perhaps that was because of the mouthplate. Hot Shot went for a bow? A kneel? He wasn’t quite sure what to do but he wanted to show respect but.

“I-I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to offend. We just got caught u-” Hot Rod tried to stammer out an apology but Optimus Interrupted him with a friendly chuckle.

“None taken, Hot Rod. I actually appreciate the moment’s peace. I haven’t had a chance to relax for the past deca-cycle.”

Optimus spoke with a warmth that caught Hot Rod off guard, he had heard that the Prime was intimidating but he figured that just meant he was another military type that would ream them out like Hound used to do back in basics.

“Well then, what can I say but you’re welcome.” Hot Rod smirked.

Hot Shot smacked his brother’s arm. “What he means is thank you for the leniency, sir. It’s an honor we are even here at all.”

The Autobot Leader nodded, half listening as someone came by and handed him a data-pad. He skimmed it and frowned, well as best as he could indicate a frown. He handed it back and cleared his throat.

“Don’t sell yourself short, I wouldn’t have called you here if it wasn’t of the utmost importance.”

“Yeah, speaking of which, what are we here for? I know we are getting our own ship but the briefing was rather vague.” Hot Shot leaned back against the pyramid of boxes.

Prime let out a sigh and rubbed his chin, “Yes, I wanted to brief you more in person but unfortunately, I’m being called in by the council early than I anticipated so I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you in Ironhide’s capable hands.”

He buzzed his comlink and said his farewells, rushing off with a quick salute. A rather stern looking red bot with large pauldrons came down from the upper catwalks soon after, Hot Shot could only assume that this was Ironhide.

Ironhide shook their hands and spoke with a steely voice, “Evening, Commanders. Walk with me.”

He turned quickly on his heels and started leading the boys through the dockyard, not wanting to waste time. Heavy machinery whirled about and sparks flew as the vast almost monolithic ships of the Autobot fleet were resting in dry dock, the workers diligently welding their war wounds.

“Hmph.. So as you said, your briefing was rather vague. We wanted to keep info light just in case the Decepticons intercepted any of our transmissions but we should be safe here.”

Hot Rod rolled his eyes, “Just get to the point already.”

Ironhide shot him a glare over his considerable shoulders, “Patience.” He guided them onto a lift and hit the level, taking their ascent as a moment to speak unhindered.

“As you well know, the war with the Decepticons is going well but unfortunately Megatron is still holding his ground on the Polyhex Front and the war has reached a stalemate. We wouldn’t be worried but the Energon stores are already running low as is and we can’t continue mining efforts while the Decepticons are playing sabotage so Wheeljack came up with a plan. We will send a crew off of Cybertron to scour nearby systems for fuel and you two have been chosen to lead the team.”

“Really? Why us?” Hot Shot scrunched his nose quizzically.

“Because we were gonna send Bumblebee but Prime needed him here and vouched that you two would be up to the task.”

Hot Shot’s spark sunk, he suspected they were the second choices but it still hurt to have it confirmed.

“Hear that, kid? Prime vouched for us!” Hot Rod drummed his hood and slung a fist into the air.

“Hm, sure sure.” nodded Ironhide as he stepped onto the catwalks. “We’ve secured you a vessel for your journey. A repurposed liner we snagged off of Doubledealer before the war broke out.”

“But isn’t Doubledealer a-”

“No, He’s still unaligned. We scrubbed it for bugs anyways. It’s got plenty of cargo space and we’ve even outfitted you with some defenses so you aren’t completely unprepared out there.”

He halted his pace and motioned his hand out, “Here she is, boys, The Mini-star.”

“WHOA!” The autobot brothers gasped as before them stood an absolute trash heap of a ship. The massive multistoried cruise liner had been the subject of a rush job, it’s once shining hull painted in a utilitarian gray with red lines and the luxuries gutted out for the industrial equipment needed for their task.

“She’s ain’t much but it’s the best we can do right now.” Ironhide rubbed the back of his neck, bit ashamed of the shoddy craftsmanship. “Any Questions?”

“Yeah, seems a bit big for just us.” mused Hot Rod, a moment of doubt slipping past his confidence.

“Oh wow, yeah. That memo really was sparse on the ol’ detail. That one’s on us, we had Huffer write it. we’ve got you set up with a team capable enough of running her. Couple of them should be on board already. Let’s get you in there.”

In its short service, the Mini-star had already gained a reputation for being the premiere hide-away among the engineering core with its spacious interiors and crumbs of leftover luxury. Several bots looking to shrug off work had stuffed themselves into the cargo hold, drinking bootlegged engex and gambling. Among them, Brawn chewed down on his cy-gar and carefully considered the cards in his hands, he wasn’t the kind of bot to carefully consider much of anything but he had a hefty sum riding on this hand. He maintained the poker face on his clamshell head by observing the crowd around the table, listening to all the chitter-chatter from the happy faces. Tailgate was telling an enraptured Greenlight his extravagant tall tales. Beachcomber and Grapple were off in the corner, defending their more illicit goods from being bummed by Sunstreaker.

Brawn glared back down at the table, across was his most fearsome opponent in this hand, Smokescreen. Brawn’s steely demeanor was hard won from millions of years of grimacing but Smokescreen was something different entirely. The hot shot young autobot of sterling blue had a natural charisma that just rubbed the grouchy old demolitions expert the wrong way and with the bounty on the line, Brawn couldn’t let that get to him.

“Bad hand, old timer?”

“Shove it up your tailpipe, Smokescreen.”

Smokescreen held his cards close to his chest, a sly smile on his face. Brawn looked to his side, seeking some reassurance from his fellow Road Rage, who had folded long ago.

“How about this, I’ll give you a deal, old man. Call it quits and I'll owe you a favor.”

Oh no, thought Brawn. That was a very tempting offer, a favor from Smokescreen could carry you a long way, but could it carry him farther than the fortune on that table?

“I don’t need your handouts, kid.” Brawn threw his hand out, “Four of a Kind.”

Smokescreen cackled and smacked the table, “Nice try old man, you almost had me but Full House.”

Brawn threw his head back in defeat, but Road Rage moved to interject.

‘Now hold on a second here, Smokescreen! A Four of a K-”

“Now, what’s going on in here?!”

Before she could finish her objection, Ironhide descended the stairs with a foul grimace. The party came to a screeching halt, Rodimus and Hot Shot peeked out from behind the monolithic shoulders of the harbourmaster, their optics scanned over the array of bots before them and their faces lit up.

“Can you believe this, Hot Shot! What a crew! Can you believe they want us in charge of these heavy hitters!”

“The Cons don’t stand a chance!”

A heavy amused grunt slipped from Ironhide, “ ‘Fraid this ain’t your crew, just a bunch of no good layabouts trying to skip out on their duties. Alright, you’ve had your fun! Scram! Back to work with ye!”

The crowd dispersed, bemoaning their struggle, leaving metal mugs to clang and clatter across the floor. Ironhide shook his head as Smokescreen brought up the rear.

“Wipe that smug smile off your face, soldier.”

“Sorry boss, but I’m just happy for our new commanders! They are truly in the hands of the best the Autobots have to offer.” His voice was facetious as he shot a cutting wink at Brawn. Brawn averted eye contact, hiding his head under his massive fists. The cocky Smokescreen cackled his way out of the room, throwing a salute in the direction of Hot Rod and Hot Shot.”

“Good luck, Sirs!”

“Thank you! Good luck to you!” Chirped Hot Shot, popping out from behind Ironhide.

“No. Don’t thank him.” Hot Rod rubbed the bridge of his nose. He took stock of the rest of the room. “Alright, if that’s not our crew who is?”

“I’m glad you asked, despite what Smokescreen thinks. We’ve assembled a fine crew for you. Let me introduce you to your crewmates.”

He held a hand out to only one currently looking at them. A tall and steely Autobot clad in sharp red. Much like Optimus, she wore a bit of age to her, with a robust hood chest and prominent spoiler kibble flaring out from her shoulders.

“This is Road Rage, she will be acting as your right-hand lass and as your senior officer, she’s been directed to mentor you two into this job and continue your training from here on out.”

Road Rage took a step forward, sweeping her arm into a deep bow. Her posture was open and honest, confidently relaxed. She straightened up, her stance turning to one of authority, a stern and husky voice slipping out from kind lips.

“Pleasure to work with you, Sirs. I look forward to our time together.”

The brothers fumbled for a moment and saluted her, prompting a chuckle from Brawn.

“As yes, Let’s not forget about your muscle. This is Brawn. Given how your mission might require you to harvest raw energon, he has taken the position of your demolitions expert. Don’t let his gambling fool you, he’s a consummate professional. I served with him in the corps and I’ve never seen a bot with such a knack for making things explode.”

Brawn gave a quiet nod, still seeped in the shame of his loss at the hands of Smokescreen. Ironhide craned his head around the cargo haul.

“Hmmm… There’s one more.. Who am I forgetting… Road Rage, Where’s Proxima?”

“She’s saying goodbye to Acceleron, Sir. She’ll meet us in orbit of Luna 1.”

“Very well then. I’ll leave that to you.”

Ironhide scribbles something onto a datapad before turning back to the new commanders. His face was stern as usual but there was a glint of something warmer in his optics, a pride.

“With that in order, Congratulations commanders! The Mini-star is all yours. I entrust that you will treat her well and bring her back in one piece or not at all.”

Ironhide leans in close to Hot Rod, tapping the hot-headed rookie’s badge with his heavy iron finger.

“Now, Kid. I’ve read the reports on you. You’ve got serious potential but you’re too cavalier and you make mistakes because of it. Never forget what that badge symbolizes.”

He twists to look at Hot Shot eye to eye, a hand on the shoulder.

“And you. I’ve seen your grades for marksmanship, you’re a crack shot but you doubt yourself, you hold yourself back. Take the same lesson to spark.”

The brothers were a bit lost for words at the bluntness and kindness of Ironhide’s words. While not uncharacteristic of him, they really didn’t feel that they deserved it.

“Y-yessir!” They affirmed. Ironhide nods and exits the room, leaving the new team in a somewhat awkward silence. No one really wanted to be the first one to speak despite them all being on relatively friendly terms, filling the air with a sense of pleasant suspicion.

Hot Shot craned his head back to make sure Ironhide was truly gone before meeting his brother’s gaze, the two sharing a malicious smile.

“What’s with the smirk?” barked Brawn.

The Brothers shot over to the table, almost knocking it over in their excitement, “Where’s the bridge!?”

The bridge of the Mini-star was just as luxurious as the rest. Though the more frivolous attractions had been stripped out to make room for vital processing and storage, many comforts still remained. Such as the shaped seat of the Captain’s Chair that the Brothers now raced to claim. The terrified sounds that the doors of the Mini-star made as Hot Rod and Hot Shot barreled onto the bridge could not be understated, with the two tripping over each other. Hot Shot lost his footing and skidded into a terminal behind the Captain’s Chair, allowing Hot Rod to claim victory as he vaulted over it and into the chair.

“AH-HA!” He cheered, fist-pumping. “I’M CAPTAIN!”

Hot Shot shook his fist in facetious rage from his new home on the floor, “Grrrrr! I’ll get you next time, Hot Rod!.....”

They could barely contain their cackling as Road Rage and Brawn followed in after them. The old bomber grumbled, trudging down the stairs to take the wheel.

“Before you let it get to your head, be thankful you don’t have to steer this boat.”

Hot Rod raised a finger, “Speaking of which, are we just going? No ceremony? No aplom? Aren’t you supposed to smash a bottle over the bow or something?”

“Command wants this mission hush-hush.” replied Road Rage, sliding into her place at the communications relay, “But I did talk to the guys up in control and they agreed that it would be bad luck to send off us with nothing. Take a look.”

She pointed out the window to the control tower just as a lone figure lobbed a bottle of engex in what could best be described as the greatest shot put in Cybertronian history. The bottle smashed unceremoniously against the hull, but it was enough to earn a round of applause from the newly appointed crew of the Mini-star. The comm array buzzed as a smooth yet nasally voice called in.

“Alright, C.N.S Mini-Star. You are cleared for launch.”

“Thank You, Bluster. We will launch on Captain’s orders.”
“Good Luck out there, we’re counting on you.”

“Be Safe.”

Road Rage cut the comms and gave Hot Rod a thumbs up, “Give the word.”

“Well, I got a few words before we head off,” The young captain leapt onto a console in front of him, throwing his arms out to a crowd that wasn’t there.

“Alpha Trion once said, ‘When the first Cybertronians arose from the pulleys and levers of the ground, they arose for a purpose.’ I believe that our purpose will be found in the stars, in that endless frontier where the strange and the impossible is nothing but possible. Together, we will explore the furthest reaches and claim glory and have grand adventures and-...”

He was cut off by Hot Shot tapping on his shoulder

“Sorry to interrupt but if you’re captain, what am I doing?”

“What?”

“Well it seems silly to have two captains, so what’s my job?”

“Oh well. I got just the job for you, you’re gonna man the guns. You’re the best shot we got”

“But, you’re standing on the controls for them.”

“Oh well look at that, I guess I am… Where was I?... I’ve forgotten…”

“Then perhaps we should get going?” groaned Road Rage, twirling her finger to get him to hurry up.

“YES! Absolutely! Go to launch! Let’s get this show on the road.”

Hot Shot helped his brother down from the console and Road Rage gave Brawn the go ahead. He started flicking switches on the vast control board in front of him. The Mini-star shuttered, it’s systems adjusting to its refurbished body, groaning towers of metal sliding past each other. The engines kicked into ignition, sending vibrant Energon coursing through the fuel lines, and for a moment the ship seemed just as alive as its occupants.

The Shipyard let out a round of applause, cheers, and sighs of relief as The Mini-star rose from the dry dock. Its thrusters thundered forward and though initially sluggish, it soon began to pick up speed. Hot Shot rushed to the windows and found himself breathless as the clouds whipped past them. The winding streets and megastructures of the world he called his home soon became indistinct in the vast weaving lattice of Cybertron’s surface, which even ravaged by war, still shone brighter than any star in the sky.

“Do you think it’ll be alright without us?” he muttered under his breath.

Hot Rod looked up from a small screen on the armrest of his chair. “Hm?”

“Cybertron. Do you think it’ll be alright while we’re gone?”

“I can assure you, Cybertron will be okay because of what we are doing.”

Hot Shot knew that Hot Rod meant that in the most heroic way, but it did little to instill any confidence in the little Autobot. He got one last good look at the planet as they left the atmosphere before sulking over to his station, slumping down into the chair. Hot Rod eyed the back of his brother’s head, doing little to hide his concern but since no one was looking at him, perhaps it was fine if he showed it. He couldn’t help but empathize with Hot Shot’s melancholy about leaving their home but he was certain that what they were doing was the right path for them.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, noting the bizarrely relaxed silence that had overcome the bridge, with their senior members busy at work. They certainly had things handled that he could go off to explore but he just couldn’t muster the energy to leave his chair, seemed irresponsible and he should make a good impression. So he sat quietly as the Mini-star began its voyage into the inky field of stars that lay before them, the countless adventures that surely awaited them, and the legends just itching to be written.

In the city of Kaon, high in the tower of Kolkular. Blitzwing paced outside the doors to Megatron’s office, his mind busy preparing the report he was about to give. Megatron didn’t appreciate dawdling which was a bit hypocritical considering how long he’d kept Blitzwing waiting. After all, the
triple-changer was the decepticon’s chief military strategist and he had busy work to get to but that blasted Starscream had forced this meeting on him.

He slumped down against the doors and rubbed his optics with a deep sigh. He scanned the foyer around him, everything was clean cut and perfectly geometrical, not an ounce of wasted space or material. The entirety of Kolkular was like this, ruthlessly efficient. Megatron had renovated the place when he seized the city of Kaon in the beginning of the war, using its smelting pits to manufacture his products of war. Blitzwing was one of the first to fall in line with Megatron, excited by the monstrosities that the mathematician built; however, as the war drug on, Blitzwing started to worry about the rigidity and selfishness that his boss operated at.
Blitzwing clutched the sides of his head, he couldn’t doubt Megatron, they were going to win this war. He shoved the thoughts down deep and got back on his feet just as the doors opened up behind him. He took one more deep breath before marching into the room.

Megatron’s office was a rather spacious room, but the deep black marbled iron which made up its construction brought the focus into the large desk that rested in the center of the room. Floor to ceiling windows looked down upon the city of Kaon, the smelting pits forever at work filled the unlit room with a sinister orange light. The desk was orderly and tidy, with not an inch of wasted space, datapads were stacked neatly in their in and out boxes.

Megatron sat in a high back chair, the back lighting of the pits obscuring his face in heavy shadow. Much like Optimus Prime, Megatron was of an older stock of Cybertronians, with a much more blocky body. His form was all business, with a silver and black paint job lightly embossed. A set of long black wings gave the impression of the cape and the fusion cannon mounted to his arm gave the impression that he was not to be trifled with. The Decepticon warlord was leaning forward in his chair, reading something on a datapad, a pair of spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. He looked up over them at Blitzwing and set down his work.

“Speak.” He uttered in his commanding staccato voice. “Why are you here?”

Blitzwing cleared his throat, knowing Megatron meant why he was here instead of Starscream. “Yes Lord Megatron. The Air Commander thought it was best that I spoke with you on this matter as I could say it much more succinctly than he could. You know how he is.”

“I am well aware, he made a wise decision. What’s this matter he believed was so important as to disturb my work with?”

“Roughly five cycles ago while out on patrol, Skywarp spotted a starship leaving autobot airspace. This corroborated with intel from Counterpunch about recent Autobot Energon shortages led us to believe that Prime has sent out a ship to scout for Energon off-planet.”

Megatron tilted his head, “You expect me to believe Counterpunch’s intel? He’s not even currently planetside.”

“It’s been corroborated by Soundwave and Shockwave as well.”

“Say that next time.” He barked.

“Yes sir, sorry sir” Blitzwing bowed his head repeatedly.

“Get on with it.”

“Yes yes sorry sir. Starscream figured it was best to consult you as our current resources are stretched thin enough holding the Polyhex front.. Including our energon supplies.”

Megatron mused on the information, his brain running the calculations over and over again. He chewed on the knuckle of his hand before he nodded and arose from his chair. He stepped out from behind the desk and his true stature was thrown into perspective. Megatron was absolutely monolithic, even despite his great intelligence, it was clear that he had earned his position with an iron fist. Blitzwing swallowed his fear, avoiding eye contact with the warlord. Megatron pressed a button on the side of his helmet.

“Tarn? Good. I’ve got a job for you. Meet me in my office in ten.”

The fear came right back up Blitzwing’s throat, “Tarn?! Sir. Are you really sure such a mission requires a measure that extreme?”

Megatron glared down at Blitzwing, “Perhaps you forget. Do you remember the Decepticon motto?”

Blitzwing closed his eyes, relaxing the rest of his face, “Calculating Cunning, Brutal Efficiency.”

“Exactly. Now get back to your post before Tarn arrives. You know how he is.”

Somewhere in the depths of Kolkular, a communicator clicks back into its holder. The edges of a purple mask glint in the flickering light of a shuttered window. There were other figures in the room but they were completely obscured, only the faint outlines of their menacing form caught in the afterglow of the smelting pits. A deep silky smooth voice, filled with cunning and malicious intent whispers to its cohorts.

“Let’s get to work.”

Chapter Text

Having taken off from Cybertron with little aplomb, the Mini-star’s autopilot was set for the few cycle journey to Luna 1 and the crew eventually broke off from the bridge to handle their own matters. Hot Rod and Hot Shot had initially gone to explore the ship but soon felt the task too daunting and honestly a little scary. The Mini-star was a cruise ship and thus made to hold hundreds to maybe a thousand cybertronians, meaning that it was too big for the young Autobots to comfortably wander about. So in their anxious awkwardness, the two found themselves back where they started, the cargo hold.

They found Brawn there was well, set up at the makeshift poker table, surrounded by several small tools and hunched over a peculiar looking device. Despite his somewhat inelegant physique, Brawn showed an intensity and dexterity in his task, his fingers moving with an intention and depth that was certainly trained. The old timer peaked up from his work for a moment.

“Whatcha ya want?”

“Just wondering if we could watch?” Hot Shot piped up with intrigue, Hot Rod nodding enthusiastically over his shoulder.

“Hm… sure. Take a seat, just don’t crowd me or forbid, rock the table.”

Given that Brawn was introduced as a demolitions expert, the Brothers figured it was worthwhile to take his advice, sitting across the table from him. The device Brawn was working on appeared rather simple on the surface, akin in shape to a nail with a broad head at the top featuring a pressure plate-esque mechanism, at the opposing end was an opening cut into it in such a way to leave sharp points as if intended to be stabbed into something.

“So? What is it?” Hot Rod decided to pose the question while Hot Shot was lost in his observation.

Brawn set down his soldering iron, very carefully drawing his hands back from his delicate task.

“Well, this is a variation on an old design by Broadside. Not that one but the other one. It’s what he referred to as a Triple D, or a Dedicated Directional Device, but it's essentially a shaped charge. He originally designed it for use in punching holes into the hulls of ships, most likely to piss off the other Broadside, but it's become quite popular as a safecracker. You slap this sucker onto any door and set it off, that thing will fly off its hinges.”

“Oh are we going to break open some ancient vault of energon?!” Hot rod stroked his chin, musing on the chaotic potential.

“Hold your Machkicks, lad. This one’s got a buyer, client’s on Luna 1 so I’m going to drop it off before we disappear for the next few months.”

Brawn took the Triple D off the table and thus out of play, stashing it back in a briefcase he had sat next to him. It was small, barely big enough to hold the Triple D, and a tannish color with a small embossing in the corner of the initials B.S. This made Hot Shot wonder if Brawn had a surname or Suffix like Optimus. Hot Rod appreciated the briefcase’s honesty.

The Ship shook with a shudder, making the three of them leap to their feet. The intercom above crackled with a sputtering cough with Road Rage’s husky voice piping in.

“Sorry to disturb you fellows as I piloted this cruise liner by myself, but we have arrived at and will be preparing to dock in just a moment, so please do tidy up before Proxima comes aboard. We should at least try to make a good impression.”

As the Mini-star relayed with the Luna 1 tower, a looming threat waited high above the dark side of the moon, cloaked in cosmic shadow. A sleek beast of a ship, in sterile silvers with vicious protrusions, The Peaceful Tyranny would be the most fearsome ship in the Decepticon Fleet if anyone knew of its existence aside from Megatron and the mercenaries which called it home.

Tarn let out a deep heavy sigh, his fingers playing absentmindedly with a vial of ferrofluid. Megatron frowned on these desk toys, viewing them as a distraction to the work that needed to be done but certain proven members were allowed to have them. Tarn had been gifted this one by Megatron himself. He watched as the inky black liquid reached out towards his fingers, the intention with which it reached out made it seem intelligent and Tarn admired that, he admired the hunger of the ferrofluid but enough of that. Tarn was just distracting himself, perhaps Megatron had a point about the desk toys.

He wiped a smug from the lense of his mask, using his other hand to address his cohorts.

“So. What do we know about this team Prime sent out? This.. Energon scouting party. Kaon?”

Tarn snapped a finger to Kaon, who was hunched off in a corner, musing over a data-pad. Kaon craned his head towards Tarn.

“Well. It’s a rather rag tag group. Bunch of nobodies really, easy marks.”

“Kaon, you know you should never underestimate your opponent, you have to ensure success.”

Kaon rolled his optics and took a deep breath before going down the list.

“Alright. We have leading them, Hot Rod and Hot Shot. The two are Academy graduates and have seemingly been fast tracked into this position. As fresh faces, their record is entirely devoted to their time in the Academy. Grades aren’t particularly noteworthy but the psychological reports are rather extensive and imply a special interest from high command in them but we haven’t been able to dig out some of the more classified information on them to explain this. Hot Rod’s report makes note of his vigor and describes him as a natural born leader but says he lacks direction, so he should be easy to set off. A problem arises when we consider Hot Shot, who is described as being inseparable from Hot Rod but they differ in that while Hot Rod believes he is destined for greatness, Hot Shot is seeking to prove his mettle.”

Tarn rubs the bridge of his eyes, “Yeah. The Autobots would send protoforms to do their dirty work. Any outlier potential?”

“None noted but this Hot Rod does have flamethrowers.”

“Amusing but no concern. Why do they head for Luna 1?”

“They are retrieving the final member of their team, A scientist by the name of Proxima and scientist is apt, she is frankly overqualified for this job.”

“Hm.. Luna 1 is the Autobot’s premier research, perhaps this Proxima is bringing some useful information with her. Tesarus!”

One of the other figures in the room shuddered, as if flexing atrophied muscles. A voice like an endless yawn responded.

“Yessir?”

“Tesarus, I want you to go down to Luna 1 and find out what this Proxima knows. Feel free to deal with the rest of the Autobots while you are at it.”

“Alright, It was getting dull around here anyway.”

The figure rose to its full stature and strode from the room, the automatic doors slamming shut behind it.

“Mini-star. This is Luna 1 Command, you are clear to land.”

“Roger that, Command. Setting down.”

The Mini-star settled on a port on the outer edge of the main Luna 1 compound, An octagonal structure much in line with traditional Cybertronian architecture. Luna 1 was Cybertron’s stronghold for scientific advancement in the days before the war and was secured by the Autobots at the outset of the war, serving much the same job but now within the scope of R&D for the war effort. It was surrounded by a series of deep quarries above which a network of catwalks stretched across, built by researchers under the pretense of archaeology. Even now, a variety of workers could be seen scuttling about, hauling instruments into place and discussing math so fluent and precise that it was gibberish to most.

Hot Shot was deeply fascinated watching them, rocking on his heels and curling over the railing to watch a pair of scientists wrestling with a large drill. He couldn’t quite make out their conversation but it grew heated as the drill unintentionally scrapped against a section of carved rock, earning an unilateral grimace from that particular quarry.

“Say. Who runs this place?” Hot Rod posed, less interested in the pits and more so in the grand building stretching out in front of them.

Brawn clenched the side of his face as he thought, “Hmm. I think Perceptor has the run of the place currently.”

“I hear Perceptor is pretty important, what’s he doing off planet?”

“He’s always been a quiet one, prefers to work in solitude and being that close to the war wigged him out. Besides, Prime prefers Wheeljack’s propensity for small words.” interjected Road Rage, gesturing her hands to emphasize small words.

The group came up to the main doors and watched as they opened in the suitably absurd way that most doors made by Cybertronians do, with a series of folding panels that reacted to the vary shapes and sizes of those walking through, the subtle rippling creating the illusion of a geometrical waterfall. Hot Shot tried to reach out to touch the door but it shyed from his touch, following the motion of his hand as he tried to draw a smiley face in the fluctuating patterns. A reflexive “whoa.” slipped from his lips.

Hot Rod, not one to shy away from the challenge of touching something not meant to be touched, threw a jab at the door. Which rather than recoiling, instead reposted his blow, the panels snapping forward and colliding with his hand with a hearty thunk. The passersby stopped and stared at the showboating commander, who clenched his jaw. Road Rage leaned in over his shoulder, whispering as to not further his embarrassment.
“So at which point did you realize that the super smart scientists would probably make a door that you can’t punch through?”

“...As I was doing it.”

“Have you made a big enough clown of yourself?”

“...Yes…”

“Good lad. Alright folks! Nothing to see here, move on!”

Business resumed with a spattering of chuckles, no doubt from those who had designed the front door and the group came up to the reception desk. At which sat a rather lovely matcha autobot, she was an older bot as indicated with a more rounded off design, not flared with the angular shapes that the war-ready Hot Rod and Hot Shot had. A crested helm sat atop a somewhat bemused face and she spoke with a shockingly gravelly voice.

“How can I hel- Well I’ll be booted. Road Rage, darlin! Haven’t seen you since we extradited Devcon from Monacus.”

Road Rage practically sprang to the desk with excitement.

“Beta, babe! It’s been far too long! I can’t believe they got you doing desk duty! Can you believe Prime let that geek go?”

“You know how Prime loves his loose cannons, why do you think he lets Elita run around doing her cyber-catwoman thing. Personally? I think he does it to get back at those stiffs in the senate.” Beta rubs her forehead with a chuckle.

“Mm hmm I don’t blame him. If I have to hear that punk Proteus spout his functionalist drivel one more time I’m going to-”

“You don’t need to tell me, hon. What’s he even talking about like Sir, we’re way past that point!”

“I knooooow-”

As the two went back and forth, Hot Rod rolled his head back and whispered into Hot Shot’s ear.

“I can’t sit here and listen to them rattle, wanna just go and find this Proxima ourselves?”

Hot Shot looked with apprehension, “I don’t know, they sound like they might be rapping up.”

“Beta, I keep telling you if you want to get back on the battlefield, I’ll put in a good word with Ironhide and get you back in a fighter.”

“That would be amazing but-”

“Okay you’re right. Let’s go.”

“Atta bot.”

The two waited till Brawn turned his attention and scampered off into the crowd, disappearing deep into Luna 1.

Hot Rod and Hot Shot weren’t exactly sure when it was they lost track of the group but it was somewhere around Subsection J-39-6. What they could see even from the surface is that not only did the facility stretch down into the extensive quarries but vast tunnels weaved far far into the moon and to the point that there were rooms that seemed like they hadn’t been touched in Megacycles.

“Hey, Hot Rod. Do you think it’s about time we turned back. I doubt we’d find Proxima all the way down here and truthfully we probably would have found her if we had bothered to ask what she looked like.” Hot Shot craned his head nervously, his finger went to anxiously tap at the grill on his chest.

“You might be right but if you remember. Brawn was telling us that device he made was a safe cracker, which means there’s a safe somewhere on this moon and I have a hunch we’re close.”

Hot Rod wasn’t particularly good at hiding his own anxiety about the situation, Bravado can only go so far when you were this far underground.

“Really? We’ve gotten this lost so you could find a safe that you don’t even have the key to open?”

Hot Rod grabbed the tip of his chin as he walked, he found that a more comfortable way to muse on a thought than chewing on his lip.

…

“Yeah, Essentially. Okay okay you know what, let me make you a deal.” He spun around and slapped a hand on a door.

“If it isn’t behind this door, we will turn back.”

Hot Shot popped his knuckles, which made what would be a very concerning sound for anything that wasn’t already metal. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Hot Rod rubs his hands together and starts trying to crack the keypad. Not being made for this task, The arrogant bot soon found his frustration mounting and just decided to see if his previous method to open doors would work this time.

CRACK

He put his fist through the panel and with a shunt, the door opened up. The scene passed the door could only be described as grisly. Having been designated for storage, the room they now peered into was absolutely strewn with broken equipment and shredded crates. A dim light had been torn from its casing and swung, casting a faint glow across the space, illuminating splatters of bright pink. Hot Shot’s spark sank with the realization

Fresh Energon.

Two bodies, at least from their estimates, were pinned to the walls adjacent to the doors. Giant sawblades lodged in their torsos kept them held in place, gnarled and leaking their remaining energon onto the floor. Their sparks had long gone out and their paint had lost its luster, there was no hope for them. Hot Rod’s hands began to shake as he took a hesitant step into the room.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Hot Shot called through clenched teeth.

“Hot Shot, I know it’s bad but first and foremost, we are Autobots and it’s our job to figure this out.”

“We need to get Road Rage and Brawn, they are far more experienced at this than us.”

“Whoever did this could still be here and if we can catch them now, we have a duty.”

“I’m sorry, Gentleman. Who did what where?”

A third voice piped up as a heavy hand gripped Hot Shot’s shoulder. A freezing chill shot down the rookie bot’s spine. This voice was deep and long, weighted with disinterest, making its question almost certainly rhetorical. Hot Rod and Hot Shot, drenched with terror, slowly turned back to look at the source.
The Bot before them was massive, even hunched down in these tighter tunnels, with a stocky and militaristic body. Clad in desert drab, he screamed efficiency with heavy treaded shoulders. The visor on his face was formed into a large X that took up the majority of the space but was most disconcerting about him was his most prominent feature. His Torso was a large cavity of vicious sawblades, their cruel visage only emphasized by the fresh energon which stained their teeth.

“Hello,” The Murderer gave a curt wave, “I’m looking for a Proxima, you wouldn’t happen to know where I can find her?”

The two Autobots shot each other a mutual look and in unison commanded.

“RUN.”

Hot Rod’s legs kicked into action as he launched into their assailant, driving a rocket powered kick into his chest. Light caught the sigil of the Decepticon as he was slammed into the back wall, losing his grip on Hot Shot and tumbling onto his back.

“Let’s move!” Hot Rod cried, urging Hot Shot to follow him as he spun his t-cog and transformed with a Tch-chunk, speeding down the hall. Hot Shot, not wanting to stick around, burnt rubber after his brother.

The Decepticon stumbled to his feet and let out an almost giddy growl. His back arched up as the panels of his body clicked and slid around, the heavy treads of his shoulders snapped together and his whole frame lurched down into a truly vicious alt-mode. A large and cruel mobile platform centered around the now whirling pot of blades with two gangly arms set to snatch at this monster’s prey. The tread began to thunk against the metal floors as it sped off after them.

Back up top, Beta had led Brawn and Road Rage some ways toward the back of the first floor to the astronomy sector of the research base and up to a rather unassuming door with a rather slapdash nameplate on which was Proxima was hastily scrawled on its surface. The Ladies were still deep in conversation with Beta being the one to break the flow to announce their arrival.

“And here we are! Dr. Proxima should be wrapping up her last days duties. I tell you what, I’m gonna miss her, she’s a bit frazzled but she’s always given me the time of day. Take good care of her.”

“I give you my word that we will make sure nothing happens to her. Right Brawn?”

Brawn wasn’t paying a lot of attention, he really just wanted to get on his way so he could drop off the Triple D. “Yeah sure. Whatever.”

Beta raised a brow with a smile, “I think she’s in good hands. Wonderful seeing you again... and you too, Brawn.”

“Take Care, Beta.” Road Rage returned and the two embraced quickly before Beta shuffled off back to her post at the front desk.

The door slid open to reveal a humble observatory by Cybertronian standards. A massive telescope was mounted in the center of the doomed room, looking up at an endless ceiling of stars above their heads, marred only by the faint flickering of the gravity field which kept everything in place. A ring of metal railing encircled the edges of the room, supporting a swing arm attached to a chair meant to carry the scientists to the various shelves and desk on the wall all without expending a thought. Such one scientist was hurriedly spinning around the room, making Road Rage and Brawn duck back into the hall as the arm zipped past them.

“Hey, Proxima! Can we get a second of your time.”

The chair ground to a halt and its occupant peeked over the back of it. Proxima was colored in a deep sea blue and industrial white scheme, her head had a vaguely oceanic look with a swept back shape that mimicked a manta ray with three solid yellow eyes perched above a flat v-wing visor and a kindly smile.

“Heya Stranger! I’m sorry but I just gotta finish up one last little thing before but man is it going to be a TREAT for you.” The astronomer chirped, her voice slightly modulated.

“Wheeljack was telling me about that but that smug punk kept dancing around what it was.” Brawn stepped into the room, straightening his back to at least seem presentable.

Proxima scoffed as she typed something onto a display on the far side of the room, “That doesn’t surprise me, He once threw me two surprise parties in one day because he wanted to see if the second element of surprise was stronger than the first.”

“And?”

“Results were inconclusive but the experiment failed when he tried for a third time and I pulled one over on him by inviting everyone to an afterparty at Maccadam’s Old Oil House.”

“Diabolical. So what’s this present you got for us?”

“Good timing because…” She drew a small drive from the side of the computer and swung around to finally get face to face with her comrades.

“Once I had heard that I’d be assigned to this mission, I sent a series of probes out into deep space to scan distant planets for Energon deposits and did I hit the motherlode. This here is a series of coordinates for every planet with Energon in a 1000 lightyears of us.”

Road Rage lit up like a sparkler, “That’s amazing!”

Proxima grinned, twirling the drive in her fingers, the three eyes on her forehead glinting, “So I’ve been informed. I only have the most detailed info on the planets closest to us because the data transfer would take too long and we don’t have the time and resources to wait around, so after a point we will be improvising.”

“Proxima, if there’s anything I think this group can do, it’s improvise. Speaking of which, let me introduce you to our new commanders. Hot Rod! Hot Shot! This is Proxi-”

Road Rage swung Proxima around to meet the two young commanders but alas, they were not there.

“Say, Brawn. You wouldn’t happen to know where those two happen to be, would you?”

At about this point, screams began to ring up the hall and the three of them ran to the door to see what was happening. Scientists and their assistants were diving into adjoining rooms as Hot Shot and Hot Rod came tearing past.

“OH! That’s where she was. We were way off!” cackled Hot Rod.

“Y’all better get clear! Con in tow!” panicked Hot shot.”

Brawn leaned back over to Road Rage, “I think I found them.”

“Did they say they had a Decepticon in Tow?” posed Proxima.

They peeked back out as the Decepticon came around the corner, taking up the entire hall, its cauldron of sawblades hissing. The vice arms punched and tore at the walls, trying to give the horrid platform more room to do its diabolical work.

“Oh no. Team! ROLL OUT!”

Road Rage swung out from the door frame just as the Decepticon passed by, transforming into her distinctive red Corvette mode.

Hot Shot’s spark was pounding, how could it not? This was the first time he’d had seen action since the academy and it was against this heavy hitter? He had hoped that it would have been that crooked cop Barricade or that goof Crankcase. He racked his brain for even a speck of how they were going to put this guy down or at least slow him down. What he needed was time.

“Hot Rod! I got a plan!”

“Thank goodness because I was stumped.”

“We’ve done this one before so just follow my lead.”

“Got it!”

Hot Shot floored the gas, passing ahead of Hot Rod. The Con was big but he was slow, so they had distance but what they really needed was space. They rounded the corners and just ahead of them the hall opened out into the main lobby, perfect. Hot Shot made the call just as he passed the wall, kicking out his leg and twisting his shifting body into the air, drawing his weapon from his back.

“Hot Rod! Bipod!”

“As you command!”

Hot Rod slammed his brakes, swinging his back end around to place his rear spoiler just in front of Hot Shot. His brother flicked a switch to extend the weapon he held. Its barrel extended, stock locked into place, and a high power scope flipped into place. Hot Shot was known for being a crack shot and thus carried the best tool for his trade, invented by the ingenious Brainstorm, the Nucleon Charge Rifle. This glossy black high-powered rifle gleamed with faint blue energy. He flicked the safety and the ion cartridge hummed to life.

He could see the Con now, thundering towards them with intent to kill. Good. Hot Shot steadied his breathing, slowing his processors down so that the world seemed to dim around him, so that the only two that existed in the world was him and his target. He didn’t know where this Con’s spark was so he aimed to incapacitate.

3….2....1…

“CLEAR! FIRE!”

The Autobot sniper pulled the trigger and the barrel of the gun flashed with a brilliant blue light, pulling immense power into a single violent point. The bolt tore the air around it, like the mighty lightning of the Sea of Rust. The metal floor in its path was scorched black and the shot impacted its target. Hot Shot had aimed for the joint that connected the treads on the Con’s right side and was under the assumption that this bot had front wheel drive.

CRRRUNCH

The joint buckled under the force of the blast, sending the right treads underneath the bulk of their enemy and flipping him head over heels. The monster growled in furious anger and pain as he tumbled into his robot mode, clutching his now smoking shoulder.

“AUTOBOTSSSSS!!!!!” He roared, baring fearsome teeth.

Hot Rod transformed, getting into his own battle stance.

“Amazing shot! What next?”

“Didn’t think I would get this far, so it’s your turn pal!”

“That’s fair. Okay, I’m going in, you cover me and keep him boxed in.”

“Got it!”

Hot Rod stepped forward, flexing the various panels on his body. He could feel himself getting ready to flame out, his chrome exhaust rattling with smoke.

“Hey big bot. Let’s get Introduced before we beat the hell out of each other. I’m Hot Rod, Autobot Commander of the Energon Resource Exploratory Committee. I think it’s a bit wordy but The Wreckers was already taken, so you can just call us the Energon Team. The blue bot who just put a bolt through your shoulder is my brother Hot Shot. The three behind you are Road Rage, Brawn, and Proxima. They are among the best the Autobot cause has to offer, but please don’t surrender yet.”

The Decepticon glanced back at the rest of the team, his hidden optics narrowing in on Proxima before he turned back to let out a deep booming laugh.

“I am amused with your pleasantries, Autobot, so I will do you the kindness of knowing just you is going to terminate you. I am Tesarus,”

He thought about doing a bow but decided that was a bit much and let the reactions on the faces behind him do the job. Road Rage froze in her tracks, her grimace freezing into a look of abject shock, as if the gravity of the situation had yet to sink it. Brawn muttered through his teeth back to Proxima.

“Did he say Tesarus?! What the hell is DJD doing here?”

“I make a guess but I’m more curious why us!? Megatron usually reserves them for high priority targets and interpersonal conflicts.”

Road Rage interjected into the conversation, “If Megatron caught wind of our mission, he either wants to keep us from getting anywhere or he wants that drive to do it himself. Either way get us as much info as you can and FAST!”

Tesarus’ brow perked up. A drive? That’s probably something Tarn would want, but this Autobot posturing to him also seemed like a lot of fun. He weighed his options and decided that doing both would be twice as fun. He looked back to Hot Rod, who had not stopped his boasting.

“So what do ya say, Con! How bout we settle this the old fashion way, one on one.”

Tesarus scoffed, “You even think about how it’s funny that despite the fact that we are virtually immortal, we still say things like ‘old fashion’? When does something become old fashioned? What is considered old even?”

“Clearly your brain module is a bit musty, so let’s start there.”

“Ha. Clever.”

“Quit talking and get swinging.”

“My pleasure.”

Tesarus slammed down, digging his hands deep into the floor and with a mighty pull, tore the panel out with a dreadful screech. “Batter up!” He pivoted on the ball of his foot and hurled the panel at Hot Rod. The Commander hunkered low and spun his leg around, smacking the corner of the slab and sending it clattering past him.

“Brilliant, Let’s dance!” He jeered.

“Let’s.” The Con replied.

One step forward, pop your neck, two steps forward, roll your shoulders. Three steps forward, strike their spark. Hot Rod sprung forth, his spoiler flaring out like wings to reveal a series of small jets which howled to life. Forged for war, Hot Rod had a wide variety of tricks to try out and he decided on classic misdirection. He went to feint a punch and as Tesarus raised a hand to block, a pair of jets along his arm fired, propelling him into the ground where he delivered a boot into the Con’s kneecap. Tesarus crumpled to one knee, and growled as Hot Rod started to sock him in the face.

“Good shot, Kid! Show him how it’s done!” Brawn cheered from the sidelines.

Proxima raised a finger, not taking her eyes off her datapad, “If I were him I’d get moving.”

“Why?”

“Well says here that Tesarus is-”

She was cut off as Tesarus’ auxiliary arms snapped around Hot Rod’s waist and hoisted him high into the arm.

“As I saying, Tesarus is a grappler.”

“Okay he has him, what now?”

The whirling blades in Tesarus’ torso gnashed for energon and he was happy to oblige, the auxiliary arms began to lower Hot Rod in head first, The Autobot thrashed against his restraints but he was in a death grip. Proxima collapsed the tablet and tucked it away.

“That. Brawn, I calculate that you are our next best match for this brute. Hot Shot! Give us an opening!”

“Will do!”

Hot Shot repositioned, hooking his foot around the leg of a table and sliding it in front of him, bracing his rifle on top of it. He fired and a bolt tore through the arms that gripped his brother. Hot Rod bounced off of Tesarus, the teeth of the saws knocking his shoulder, throwing up a shower of sparks. Brawn set down his briefcase and took his opportunity.

“Tesarus! Kup told me stories of you at Iron Town. Said you wiped out an entire platoon by yourself, but I’ve been watching you and you know what I see? I see another one of Megatron’s oversized lap dogs.”

Tesarus rose back onto his feet, he still towered above the stout Brawn but both their weights could be felt as they sized each other up.

“That’s funny, because all I see is another one of Prime’s chattering old rust buckets.”

“Then let’s see you try to put me down!”
The tone of the fight shifted, whereas Hot Rod had made the first move, there was no need for that here. They knew each other and had a mutual understanding, hunching low, waiting for the countdown. 3..2..1..

Tesarus roared, pouncing forward, his raw might and weight causing the floor to crunch underneath the pressure. Brawn rooted himself, throwing back his body and whipping it forward to catch his opponent’s fists as they came bearing down at him. Road Rage ran to Hot Rod, sliding in to pick him up off the ground.

“Hey Kid. you good?”

Hot Rod brushed the dented shrapnel off his shoulder, wincing, “Yeah I’ll be fine. So who are these DJD clowns?”

“Darksyde Spec Ops, Megatron’s most loyal employees. If he wants something done quickly and viciously, he sends them.”

“We must be pretty important then.” Hot Rod laughed into a cough, smacking his hand against his chest. “Anyways, now that Brawn is distracted, time to draw the ace up my sleeve.”

“Wait don’t you mean now that Tesarus is distracted?”

Hot Rod stumbled to his feet. “No, now do me a favor and go leave up to your name.”

“Can do, Commander!”

Road Rage centered herself, focusing in on Tesarus. This terrible monster who is responsible for thousands of deaths, brutal and ruthless. She let that disdain fester in her sparks and let out a long exhale, “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGHHH!!!!!!”

Tesarus’ head was ripped away from Brawn as Road Rage came flying at him, hooking her arms around his neck and dragging his weight down, attempting to throw him off his balance. Hot Shot yanked a bolt on the side of his rifle and vented out the excess energy and fired another shot, aiming to blow a hole through that already injured shoulder joint but Tesaurus jerked back as he struggled against Road Rage and the bolt took a chunk out of his treads. Still with a howl of pain, Thesaurus had decided he had wasted enough time.

Grinding his foot down, Tesarus yanked his hand out of his grip with Brawn, whipping it back to grab Road Rage’s ankle and hauling her into the air. He jammed his weight forward and used his other hand to force a hold on Brawn’s head. He then, as if they were nothing, whirled around and hurled Road Rage at Hot Shot. Unable to decide whether to duck or try to catch her, Hot Shot was knocked into the wall, his rifle clattering to the ground. Tesarus rushed towards Proxima, who unfit for the rigors of battle, was clobbered as he swung Brawn like a club and sent her flying back down the hall. Tesarus tossed Brawn aside unceremoniously, instead picking up the drive which contained the energon coordinates which had clattered out of Proxima’s hands.

He put a finger to the side of his head, “Tarn! I think I’m done here. It’s been fun but I’ve grown bored… Yup, bring the ship around.” He went to hand the drive to one of his auxiliary arms but alas they were no longer there, so he grimaced and moved towards the door, but he was stopped by a grinning Hot Rod standing in front of the door.

“Hold it right there, Decepti-creep. I am warning you now, put that drive down and surrender.”

Tesarus tried to muster a look of befuddlement but his boredom had already set in, “And what if I don’t?”

“Then you will learn why I am the greatest autobot there ever was.” Hot Rod thumbed his nose.

“I’ve met Thunderclash, and I take great pleasure in disappointing you because you are not him. Now step aside… actually no don’t, it doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

Tesarus scoffed and charged Hot Rod but he didn’t get very far as something under his foot clicked. It was a click that someone like Tesarus was very familiar with. He looked down to see Brawn’s briefcase crunched under his foot, and right on top of the Triple D.

“Oh.”

BOOM

The bomb went off as it was intended to, with a gout of shrapnel and flame jetting out and upper cutting the decepticon, A stripe of mechanical gore was scorched out along his front torso, the tip of his toe sailing away with the force. He lurched back, unable to keep his balance with half a foot. Tesarus woozily clamped a hand over his mouth, trying not to hurl a spray of sizzling energon.

He choked out a retort, “Good try Autobot but I’m afraid you’re still outgunned.”

“Cyber-bull, I’ve got you with your brain casing in your mouth. It’s over, pack it up.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I didn’t say they were my guns.” A low droning started to permeate through the room as a heavy shadow fell over the compound.

The main door to Luna 1 was shredded open with a hail of autogun fire, it tried to resist but the triangular panels just became projectiles under the force, jutting into the floor and walls. One of them caught the back of Hot Rod’s shin and pinned him in place. He grasped at his wound, trying to pry the metal shard out. Behind him, descending from the immense warship that loomed overhead, a shuttle decked in deep purple made landfall. The cargo bay door creaked down and smoke shot out from a pair of exhaust pipes, covering the landing from prying eyes. A new pair of heavy footfalls echoed through the space as the next member of the DJD stepped out.

He was somehow even more massive than the lumbering Tesarus but he lacked the dreary attitude of his fellow, instead this figure walked with a powerful sense of purpose, his face bent in a permanent scowl. His chest was similar to Tesarus in the sense that he too held a horrorific tool of torture. A deep furnace, big enough for even the bulky Brawn, which even now was burning. He marched up to his comrade, his voice barely stifling his clear malice for this situation.

“They did a number on you. Quick, Tarn says we have to get moving before reinforcements show up.” He picks Tarn up onto his shoulder and takes the drive from his hand.

They limp back onto the shuttle and the figure turns back to the scattered Autobots as the smoke cleared.

“Be warned Autobots, Tarn says you may live this day but your names have made it onto his list and though it may not be soon, there is no place in the universe you can hide from the Decepticon Justice Division.”

The shuttle door closes and the ship takes off. Hot Rod fainted, the last thing he saw being the Peaceful Tyranny disappearing into the blanket of stars.

When he awoke, the young commander was propped up against the wall of Proxima’s observatory, and staring right into the face of First Aid. The Medic, despite his lack of a face, oozed a warmth that kept Hot Rod from panicking.

“Good to see you’re still among the living, Commander. Now I need you to keep looking at me and ignore what I’m about to do to your leg.”

“Hey hey wait, what are you going to- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH”

Hot Rod’s leg made a fearsome scraping sound as First Aid ripped away some sort of medical patch from the leg wound, a harsh burning sensation tearing up his nervous system.
“My apologies sir, just some strip weld. Bit crude but it keeps the outer plate sealed while the internals of your leg repair themselves.”

Hot Rod bit his lip and smacked the wall behind him, “Gaaaaaaaah, that’s just the worst.”

“Your pain is valid but getting your spark jump started hurts SO much worse.”

“Speaking of which, how’s Hot Shot. How’s my crew?”

“They are just fine, sir. Only dents and scraps. From what I could parse from in between Brawn’s swearing, that Con you ran into fared far worse.”

“Yeah but he still got away.”

“Sometimes that’s how it goes in war, not every battle goes well but if you win the war, then isn’t that what matters?”

“Do you believe that, First Aid?”

“Of course not, I’m a doctor but I think you’re the one who needs to believe it.”

On the other side of the room, Proxima and Road Rage were hunched over the computer, chewing on their disappointment. Road Rage was the first to speak.

“I’m so so sorry, I didn’t expect things to get so bad, much less before we’ve even got started.”

Proxima placed a hand on her allies shoulder, a committed bent to her frown, “Don’t worry, the coordinates are still on the main server, I can make a new drive.”

Road Rage cupped her face in her hands, her back heaving with a deep sigh, “It’s not that. I know you were hesitant to even come in the first place and if it’s going to be dangerous, are you sure you don’t want to stay here? Is Acceleron okay with you going on this mission?”

The Scientist adjusted her glance forlornly to a picture frame on the desk, “We are pretty used to spending time apart, with her doing her racing and all... Sometimes, we are called to perform duties that we may not entirely be sure of ourselves but the consequences of us not performing our duty outweighs those fears. There is a part of me that saw what went down and wants to run back home but another part of me knows that if I don’t go, if I am not there to provide the support this team needs, to keep you all abreast of the dangers of the universe. Then I am risking so much more than my life.”

Road Rage nods her head solemnly, and leans into Proxima’s shoulder, “Ok.”

Outside, in the hall, Hot Shot watched with mild concern as Brawn paced. He seemed furious but in that sort of half hearted way that people are when they want to be mad but don’t really have a reason to be.

He threw his arms up, “I’m going to kill him! What was he thinking?!”

“Well that’s absurd. He was thinking that one of the most dangerous cons in the galaxy was about to squash us five cycles into our big mission. So he blew up the con. I was just gonna keep shooting him.”

“Well because of that braggart, I’ve lost out on my payday.”

Hot Shot rose to his feet, marching up, and staring Brawn down. “Brawn, I’m going to pull rank on you because I forgot that I can do that. You will not lay a hand on Hot Rod. He made a tactical decision and without that decision, we’d be much worse off.”

“Ugh.. fine.”

The door to the observatory slid open and First Aid walked out with Hot Rod leaning on his arm, Proxima and Road Rage right behind them. Hot Rod cleared his throat, wiping a bit of stale energon from the corner of his mouth.

“So team. Today was a bad day. No one is to blame, frankly none of us could have seen this one coming, but good news is that we are not out of the fight. Proxima informs me that we still have access to her coordinates, it’s just that the Decepticons also have them. So the plan is to get right back on that ship and get moving as fast as possible so we can perhaps beat them to the punch. We knew we were going to meet resistance and we shouldn’t back down just because they swung hard.”

Road Rage stepped out in front of the group, “I agree with the commander. You all did valiantly in what was a truly unexpected scenario. We cannot let this setback dissuade us. We’ll get moving as soon as we have the new drive. Now, put your hands in the middle.”

Everyone huddled together, all six of them… six? They looked over at First Aid with skepticism.

“I know guys, I just like being included.”

“Fair enough. Three-two-one Till all are one!”

“TIll all are one!” they cheered in unison! Their spirits lifted for the next leg of their journey.

Back on the Peaceful Tyranny, Tarn sat alone in his quarters, twirling the now empty drive on his desk. He was expecting Megatron to call in any moment now and while Vos was busy scouring the contents, he knew Megatron liked physical evidence. The interstellar Comm buzzed with slight urgency.

“Answer.”

Projectors at the corner of the room flickered on, projecting a hologram of Megatron’s desk across from the DJD leader’s. Megatron glanced up from a datapad, his face not betraying his thoughts.

“Tarn, I’ve received your report. While I’m pleased with the information you’ve recovered, I’m afraid I have to deny your request to pursue it yourself. In fact, you’ve done something quite rare. Mind explaining to me why you think this is a good use of time and resources for my best men to.. For lack of a better word, scamper across the galaxy to hunt down a crew of Autobot nobodies?”

“Because sir, they tried to blow up one of MY best men and I’m afraid I cannot let that slide; besides, I’ve seen the statements, we’re just as much in danger of running out of Energon as the Autobots are. So I’m afraid you don’t have much choice.”

“That doesn’t matter, we can’t afford you to go on a fool’s crusade. I need you back on Cybertron.”

“Boss, with all do respect. I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline your denial.” Tarn hovered his hand over the comm button.

Megatron’s voice grew heated, he rose up from his desk, planting his heavy hands down, “Tarn. Don’t you dare han--”

The call was cut. Tarn scoffed, dropping the drive into a drawer in his desk. His hands were shaking, it wasn’t a good move to disobey Megatron like that but he had a hunch and he wasn’t going to be happy if he let these Autobots get one over them. He tapped the side of his head.

“Kaon, set course for the first set of coordinates.”