Chapter Text
“I’ve got to stop hanging out with you Autobot losers. Mechs keep trying to kill me, and it’s starting to really torque me off!”
Nightbeat winced as another missile streaked past, far too close. Trying to ignore Thundercracker’s grousing, he snapped off a volley of shots from his long-barrelled rifle. The red lasers drove their attacker, Chromia, back behind cover.
“And here was I thinking you liked this kind of stuff,” the detective snapped as he rammed a new ammunition cartridge home.
“Most of the time, I do,” Thundercracker snarled back, dropping his shoulder-mounted cannons into place. “Trouble is, these days I’m expected to play by your weakling rules!”
The towering warrior rose to his feet and fired two continuous streams of vivid purple energy at the attacking Terrorcons. The beams, enhanced by the power of Zapmaster, sliced through the steel and chrome of the Cybertronian catacombs. Bludgeon, Wheeljack and the others scattered in all directions, running too fast to fire their weapons in reply.
Thundercracker ducked low and joined the others. “If these idiots are sensor-invisible,” he rasped, “how did bloodhound over there know they were coming?”
“I didn’t,” Checkpoint answered stiffly, his pride hurt. “Not even my sensors can pick up the Terrorcons. However, that little trap they saw fit to set… the tunnel inferno… triggered everything from the olfactory to the thermal. That’s why I pulled up.”
“Good thing you did,” Arcee mumbled. The valkyrie held an arrow in her mouth, distorting her speech, as she notched another in her Energon bow.
“Here’s a question for you,” Nightbeat said, turning to Thundercracker. “I count four baddies out there, including a femme called Chromia. Yet you called her ‘Thunderblast’.”
“So?”
A clamour of detonations ended the conversation. Looking up, Nightbeat saw a yellow hover-tank advancing toward them. Bludgeon, apparently, had given up on martial arts and fallen back on firepower. His turret spewed death at them; it was quickly accompanied by Crumplezone’s massive turbine blasters.
Checkpoint transformed and accelerated into the fray. He dodged Bludgeon’s firepower and rammed the tank, bumper-to-bumper, knocking it off course. Arcee, in robot mode, stepped into the gap and loosed a volley of arrows. Crumplezone, undeterred, kept on coming – Arcee transformed to vehicle mode and took off, leading him away.
“So why did you call her ‘Thunderblast’?” Nightbeat asked again. He hadn’t become Cybertron’s greatest detective by being easily distracted from an investigation.
Thundercracker’s expression soured. “Does it matter?”
Nightbeat threw himself bodily into the ex-Decepticon. The missiles that had been bound for their heads impacted, instead, on the wall behind. “Considering she’s making a concerted effort to slag you first,” he yelled, “I’d say it does, yeah!”
The jet pushed him off, fired a burst at their enemies, and sighed loudly. “Fine. Just so you know: humans didn’t invent the concept of mech/femme cohabitation, all right? And you Autobots didn’t discover it on Earth, either. Some of the more enlightened members of our race have been doing it for deca-cycles.”
Nightbeat’s jaw went slack. “We’re being attacked by your ex-girlfriend?”
“That’s about the size of it, yeah.”
“Your ex-frelling-girlfriend?”
“I knew her as Thunderblast… maybe she changed her name to match me or something,” the jet frowned. “Look, just because we Decepticons are enlightened enough to co-habit doesn’t mean we’re enlightened enough to pick the right femmes, all right?”
Nightbeat shrugged. “At least she’s got good aim.”
“You’re supposed to say she’s ‘got good taste’,” Thundercracker snapped.
“Autobots don’t lie,” the detective grinned.
Incoming salvos separated them; Nightbeat ran right and met up with Checkpoint. The security specialist had returned to robot mode and was using his truck afterburners as forearm-mounted flamethrowers. “If Rodimus could do it, so can I,” he offered.
“Whatever works,” Nightbeat agreed. “My advice is we focus our energies on Crumplezone and Wheeljack.”
Checkpoint shot him a withering look. “Nightbeat, you are a wonderful friend and I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” he said. “But there is no need for you to help me ‘face my fears’ or whatever it is you’re attempting. Gigalonia was a decade ago and I survived; I’ve had these rapscallions in my care that entire time. I feel no need to ‘avenge’ myself, or ‘balance the score’, or take a course of action apparently expected of those who’ve had near-death experiences.”
“Not my point,” Nightbeat said. He grabbed his friend’s head and forcibly turned it around. To their left, a pitched battle was going on. Thundercracker and Arcee were moving, with deadly speed, between Bludgeon and Chromia. The femmes would fight for a moment, hurling scathingly abusive torrents at one another, while the mechs crossed swords. A second later, Thundercracker would dive at his former love, hissing and snarling, to be met with equal hatred. Arcee and Bludgeon, meanwhile, would exchange kicks and punches so fast that the naked optic could not follow; two masters at work.
“Ah,” Checkpoint said lightly. “I understand. I’ll take Crumplezone, then.”
“Perfect,” Nightbeat growled. “Because I don’t have the same ‘live and let live’ policy as you. I’ve been waiting a good, long time to toast that traitorous psycho.”
-----
“Yeah,” Grimlock agreed. “It always is.”
His fingers twitched on the handle of his Energon axe.
He turned… transformed to dinosaur mode… and charged the Mini-cons.
“What are you doing?” Vector Prime cried.
“Boss?” Swoop asked.
“Wipe ‘em out, big mech!” Slag whooped.
Grimlock opened his serrated jaws wide and roared, shaking the surface of the moon with his fury. The bestial sound echoed through the thin atmosphere and seemed to energise the miniature robots around him.
Light sparkled in Terrorsaur’s eyes; the smaller dinosaur opened its jaws and tried to match the roar. Garboil and Skydive took to the air, shrieking in defiance. Knockdown was quickly on the move, but his speed was put to shame by Carnivac and Catilla. The wolf and the tiger changed forms and streaked away from the pack, slamming into Grimlock with the force of small missiles.
The Dinobot laughed off their assault, swatting them away with his golden tail. Catilla sailed through the air and away; Carnivac loosed his claws and hung on. Grimlock yowled with surprise, feeling the tiny talons gouge into his tail, and tried to fling the wolf away.
He didn’t get time – Knockdown thundered into his left leg and took it out from under him. Grimlock toppled to one side, just in time for Terrorsaur to clamp down on his unguarded right arm. A hail of electrified feathers, courtesy of Garboil, blinded him.
The Mini-con pack suddenly broke free and scampered away; only for Divebomb to blanket Grimlock with sticky, super-heated napalm. It clung like glue and seeped into his joints, scalding everything in its path.
“Little scraplets,” Grimlock bellowed. He rose to his feet and shook the fiery goop from his form. But he’d been wrong – not all the Mini-cons had taken off. Carnivac had clung defiantly to his chassis, taking a burst of napalm for his troubles, and started climbing up his spine. Grimlock winced and yelped as the little claws sliced their way, higher and higher, out of reach of his damaged dinosaur arms.
“All right, I’ve had shot of this,” Swoop yelled from the sidelines.
“Too right,” Slag said, transforming and revving his engine. “Time to burn!”
“No,” Grimlock ordered. “Swoop and Slag stand down; that order! No go nowhere!”
The duo, loyal to a fault, froze in place. Slag returned to robot mode, his face plate etched with bewilderment. “What’s he on about, then?”
“Survival of the fittest,” Vector Prime nodded sagely. He tossed a salute at Grimlock.
The Dinobot turned his attention back to his diminutive foes. Vector Prime’s words had impressed him. Maybe he’d underestimated the smarts of the old stopwatch, after all. There hadn’t been a Prime built yet with whom Grimlock agreed… it’d be funny if the first to bear the name came closest to being tolerable.
-----
“Chromia? You never told me that,” Thundercracker shouted.
“You never asked,” Chromia sneered in reply. “And it doesn’t matter, anyway – we’re ancient history! Seeing you was a shock but I’m over it, now.”
“Looks like you’re over having any sense, too,” Thundercracker spat. “You’ve gone Terrorcon? Really? You’re lacking a little flesh there, femme… too scared to go gooey like your precious leader?”
Chromia’s grin was ugly. “You never did understand me,” she hissed. “It’s what made you such a perfect patsy.”
A pink and black streak arced between them, crashing into Chromia with horrific impact. “That’s enough out of you, wrench,” Arcee fumed, slashing at her rival with two Energon daggers. “You didn’t have the strut to stand up to Megatron, so don’t even pretend you were courageous enough to play games with my mech!”
“Listen to little miss prissy-parts,” Chromia whooped, smacking Arcee across the face with the butt of her quad-launcher. “Thundercracker used to make sport out of scaring you on the battlefield, and you’re defending him. Talk about delusional!”
Fascinated, but otherwise occupied, Nightbeat grudgingly turned his full attention to Wheeljack. It was a good decision – the former Autobot had drawn in close and was lashing out with his power batons. The lighting in the chamber was poor, and getting worse. The detective dodged as well as he could, but still took unseen, glancing blows to the face and midsection.
Wheeljack was drooling. “Ten long years, detective,” he rasped. “Killing those prison guards was sweet release, but pointless. I’ve waited a decade to sink my fingers into real, meaningful Autobot steel, and you’re first on the list.”
Nightbeat looked up… listened… and laughed.
“What’s so funny, dead mech?” the serial killer asked.
“You… dead mech,” Nightbeat quipped.
He darted to the left, transforming as he did. Even peeling rubber, he only just managed to get out of Crumplezone’s way. The dull-witted Speedian caromed into Wheeljack. The crash echoed through the chamber, distracting Chromia from her argument. That was all the opening her enemies needed; a sweep of Thundercracker’s wing sword and an arrow from Arcee’s bow felled the femme.
Nightbeat skidded to a halt next to Checkpoint. The warden was in truck mode, his engine idling gently. “I remembered Crumplezone wasn’t the brightest of mechs,” he said happily. “So I had him to chase me, then turned off all my running lights. He kept going in a straight line, into the dark, after I’d zigged out of the way.”
Inwardly, Nightbeat shook his head. “Of all the dumb moves.”
“Ten years is ample time to learn someone’s weaknesses.”
Thundercracker and Arcee ran up alongside. “When it get so dark in here? The ex-Decepticon asked.
“Forget that,” Arcee admonished. “I can’t find Bludgeon. Where’d he go?”
Concern flooded Nightbeat’s processor. As one, he and Checkpoint transformed, then shifted modes again – combining into their super-strong Powerlinked mode. Given access to all his friend’s hyper-senses, as well as his weapons, Nightbeat scanned the oppressive darkness for any trace of the metallikato master.
He found his quarry – but too late. Bludgeon, his skeletal face beaming with success, had managed to loop his fallen comrades in a large electro-net. He ran, dragging his unconscious allies along behind… and trailing thick, black smoke from a series of vents in his legs. A second later, all four Terrorcons vanished from Nightbeat’s sensors, making good use of their invisibility.
“Dammit,” the detective spat. “I forgot he could do the fog thing.”
“You and me both,” Arcee muttered. “I should have remembered. Sorry, guys.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Thundercracker said. “Whatever they were trying to stop us from doing, they’ve fracked it up good and proper.”
Nightbeat and Checkpoint separated; the security expert sniffed at the oily smog pervading the chamber. “If they were trying to stop us,” he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “I believe we stumbled on the remainder of their escape attempt, not an ambush or trap of any particular design. A spontaneous assault.”
“Makes sense,” Thundercracker nodded. “Cruel Lock and Sharkticon are probably on a ship somewhere waiting, safely undetectable.”
Nightbeat thought about the Green Planet Key he carried. “Making it all the more imperative,” he said grimly, “that we solve this little mystery right now.”
-----
Catilla, then, surprised him – the grinning idiot wasn’t so stupid after all. Grimlock almost missed his stealthy approach and, when he noticed the stripey furball, it was too late. The tiger slashed at delicate ankle servos, restricting the Dinobot’s manoeuvrability.
Or at least he would have, had Grimlock been a normal Transformer. Still, he was very impressed. The Cheshire grin was for show, a feint for the gullible prey… there was nothing paper about the Mini-con tiger. He was as feral as the cycle was long.
“Time this end,” Grimlock said aloud.
He transformed. As his dinosaur legs became robot arms, he snatched Catilla by the scruff of the neck. Carnivac was pinned, part-crushed, as Grimlock’s rex-head flipped back. A swipe of his Energon axe clipped the wings of Skydive and Garboil; one swift kick silenced Knockdown and Terrorsaur. They fell in a heap, the birds clanging down atop them.
Grimlock hurled the wolf and the tiger into the pile and retook his beast form. Unbowed, barely damaged, his pumps and processor singing with the beauty of animalistic violence, the Dinobot opened his jaws and roared once again.
As one, the Mini-cons picked themselves up from their defeat and roared, squawked and howled in reply. Carnivac padded out in front of the pack and rolled onto his back, exposing his delicate underbelly to Grimlock. The Dinobot sneered and snapped; the wolf withdrew reverently.
“Mini-cons, transform – now!”
They moved on Grimlock’s command, standing to attention. Each tried to ignore his wounds and focused on presenting the best profile he could. Grimlock, once again in robot mode, walked down the parade ground line they’d formed, inspecting them one by one. Satisfied, he nodded and rumbled, low and long. The Mini-cons fell out, limping and shuffling back toward an apoplectic Dualor.
“What the frell do you think you’re doing?” the tank demanded. “And what was that blasted noise all about?”
“Huh,” Grimlock sniffed, unimpressed. “Call of primitives, all right? Expect bullet-head like you not understand. Not matter anyway – new Mini-cons okay. Can keep pets.”
With a dismissive wave, he turned and walked toward his mechs. The bestial robots all dropped to one knee and bowed their heads as he passed. Swoop and Slag, still astonished, ran to catch up. Grimlock pretended not to head Vector Prime’s satisfied little chuckle until they were safely inside their craft… then he, too, started to laugh.
Their mutual volume intensified, their good humour feeding one another. Soon, both were laughing so hard that lubricant leaked from their optic sensors.
“Someone tell Slag what’s going on,” the red car demanded. “Right now!”
“Yeah, an explanation wouldn’t go astray,” Swoop said quietly.
It took a few more minutes for silence. Vector Prime looked earnestly at Grimlock. “You listened to me,” he said, quietly. “In the Decagon, more than 10 years ago. Though you dismissed my words as myth, you listened.”
Grimlock nodded. “Lot happened after that,” he said. “Myth looked different after. More real, maybe. Chance of it having ring of truth. Entropy, chaos, stuff inside Sparks… thought me use it.”
Vector Prime turned to Swoop and Slag. “Within the Spark of all Transformers lies both creation and entropy – elements of Primus and Unicron,” he explained. “Some of our race tend more one way than the other and some… well, some straddle the balance. By attacking the new Mini-cons as he did… pitting his personal chaos against theirs… Grimlock could to determine if they truly were the seeds of Unicron.”
“Fought to disable, not kill,” Grimlock said. “Little beasts want to take me down, down out. Slash servos, tear at spine, go for eyes and arms. Not target pumps or processor; no try to cut Spark out with claws.” He smiled. “Fight hard, fight well, but fight like Autobots… not Decepticons or Chaos Bringers.”
Swoop nodded, understanding at last. “It was a test,” he said. “If they’d tried to slag you…”
“Hey!” Slag cried.
“… you’d have squished them permanently. You gave them a… a primitive ethics test.”
Grimlock was still smiling. “Politics been good for me, Swoop,” he said. “Better to win mechs over than boss them around. Better still if you win mechs over by kicking skid-plates into next week.”
-----
There was a strange sense of purity about the place. Cold, clinical purity.
“We were just robots,” Thundercracker said distastefully. “Tools, weapons to be thrown at an even bigger robot.” He spat a wad of mech-fluid onto the pristine floor. “You Autobots like to turn it into ‘fate of the universe’ and gods and monsters, but it’s simpler than that. Just Primus playing with toy soldiers, trying to take down his enemy before he fell himself. Our lives, our culture… accidental by-products.”
“Ever the optimist,” Checkpoint said, his tone withering.
“Gent bent, alarm-boy.”
“Pipe down,” Nightbeat admonished. He walked over to the kiln, cradling the Planet Key in his ebony arms. Arcee was right by his side, looking tense.
“Problem?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she admitted. “You’ve never been real clear on this part of your plan. You said something about the ‘alleged Planet Key’… you think we’ve had a copy, all this time?”
Nightbeat winked at her. “One way to find out,” he said.
He slipped the Key into its lock and the spherical room filled with a green light… the glow seemed to rocket back down the tunnel and out to the world above. Dials, switches and screens on the console flared to life, and a disc drive slid open.
“You’re not, are you?” Arcee asked, her volume rising. Thundercracker and Checkpoint clustered around, their faces dark with panic. “You read the report – the energies unleashed by this thing kill Transformers! Don’t…”
Gripping the Key firmly in his right hand, Nightbeat twisted it. The lock moved to the left with a long, sickening click, and…nothing happened.
Checkpoint was almost frozen; only his optics moved. Arcee let out a tense breath. Thundercracker tried to hide the fact he’d shielded his face with his hands. Nightbeat nodded, satisfied.
“In a moment of altruism rarely seen in the Decepticon ranks,” he began, “Predacon spared the lives of all those within the chamber and abandoned his plans to build an army of Terrorcon drones. Noble in defeat, he handed the Green Planet Key of Animatros to Grimlock – the mech who’d won the day – and left Cybertron, never to return.
“Never to return… and be detected, that is. First chance he got, he came back and switched the real, uber-powerful Planet Key for… whatever this fake’s made of.”
He took the false Key from the lock and threw it to the ground.
“The energies of this forge altered Predacon on a molecular level,” he continued. “It changed the cells inside his organic components. Let’s face it, this whole structure is designed to animate steel with life. Imagine the effect of that power on something already living. Well, really, you can’t. But my hypothesis is it rendered Predacon invisible to all technological eyes.”
Nightbeat waited for applause… for dawning lights of understanding… for any kind of reaction. His friends stared expectantly, waiting for the rest. He sighed.
“Downshift’s analysed a captured Terrorcon,” he said. “According to our mad scientist, flesh had been grafted to Divebomb’s chassis in a ‘haphazard’ way, with little rhyme or reason. And I’m sure it looked that way, without this new piece of evidence. I’ll bet each and every one of you a Macaddam’s round that at least some of the flesh… or bone… on each Terrorcon is cloned from Predacon himself. And I’ll bet you another round those Terrorcons who won’t go soggy… Chromia and our old playmates… carry a little keepsake on their persons at all times. Skin that radiates sensor invisibility. Flesh suits that blind Transformer eyes. That’s how they got onto Cybertron, into the prison… likely into the Global Space Bridge on Earth, too. It’s written into their very DNA!”
Finally, he got a reaction. “Frelling hack,” Thundercracker breathed.
“To say the least.”
“Well, now we know,” Arcee said. “And I’m not finishing that cliché.”
“It’s annoying but appropriate,” Nightbeat nodded. “Downshift and the RIDs figured out how to bring the Terrorcons down. Given this information, Red Alert will be able to whip up something to detect them. And, armed with both…”
Thundercracker beamed a hunter’s smile. “We can bring them down.”
The atmosphere between the four of them was electric. Anticipation, running through their neural pathways, was better than any other feeling. A new adventure called.
“It has been a while since we saw Earth,” Nightbeat said.