POV: Orion Pax | Location: Training Chamber, Outpost Omega-1
The training chamber's overhead lights flickered with an uneven buzz, casting a sterile, industrial glow across the reinforced plating of the floor. I rolled my shoulders, servos locking into place with mechanical precision, stepping into the ring's central platform with the measured calm of a seasoned combatant preparing for war.
Opposite me stood D-16 — taller, broader, and every bit as imposing as his idol Megatronus Prime. He didn't speak. He didn't posture. He just watched, optics glowing a low, dangerous crimson, smouldering like twin coals before a storm.
"Alright," I said, lowering into a ready stance. "No energon blades. No plasma cannons. Let's try not to reduce the base to scrap again."
D tilted his helm and rolled his neck, the sound of stressed metal echoing like tectonic plates grinding under pressure. "No promises."
The moment that word left his mouth, we clashed.
His first strike was pure momentum — a brutal, forward charge meant to shatter my defences in one go. I slipped under his arm at the last instant, rotating off his flank with a sidestep, retaliating with a quick knee jab to his midsection. It connected, but he hardly reacted.
D fought like a war machine: raw, unfiltered strength, honed from endless battlefield repetition. No wasted movement. No mercy. I, by contrast, was sharper — more deliberate. My strikes were quick, calculating.
He grabbed my arm, twisted, and hurled me against the chamber wall. I rebounded, feinted high, and drove a punch into his side. He grunted — the first sound of strain. I pressed in.
My elbow clipped his helm. He staggered. I moved for a takedown — but he recovered, caught my leg mid-swing, and drove me into the floor with a seismic slam.
We reset. Circling. Sparks littered the arena floor.
"Nice reflexes," I panted, lunging forward.
"You talk too much," D muttered, parrying.
He ducked and swung low. I vaulted over the blow, landed behind him, and fired a mock energy blast from my palm. He rolled, surged up, and drove his shoulder into my gut.
Pain lanced through my frame as he grabbed me around the waist and brought us both down. We wrestled on the floor in a blur of limbs and snarled grunts.
Eventually, he pinned me, servos locked around my arms.
"Yield," he said, voice hard as frozen alloy.
"Fine," I grunted, straining. "I yield."
He let go. We lay there for a moment, chests heaving, armour scorched and dented.
Above us, stood Ratchet, came a dry voice. "Just like Optimus and Megatron," Ratchet muttered, watching through the monitors. "But… not quite."
"Careful!" Arcee called as she stepped into view, arms folded. "You're going to crack a strut, Orion!"
I groaned as I sat up. "Tell him that."
D just snorted, standing slowly and brushing scorched fragments from his plating.
I offered a servo as I got up. "Call it a draw?"
He rolled his optics. "You got lucky."
Arcee approached, trying to be civil. "That was… impressive. I didn't say it earlier, but—"
D didn't even look at her. He walked past without a word, shoulders stiff.
She stopped, visibly annoyed. "Why doesn't he like me?"
I hesitated. "You shot him when we first met. You responded with violence... and you hurt my brother."
Her optics widened slightly. "Brother?"
I quickly forced a laugh and scratched my helm. "Sort of. Look, it's complicated. Just give him time."
She frowned. "He doesn't seem like the forgiving type."
"He's not," I said with a grin. "But he listens. Even when you think he doesn't."
As we left the ring, I glanced back.
D was still there, at the edge of the chamber. Silent. Watching.
POV: Orion Pax
Location: Outpost Omega-1 – Command Center
The base's comms screeched alive, a burst of static almost masking the voice on the other end.
"Prime! Prime! This is Fowler—I've been shot down! AGAIN! While transporting a top-tier payload. Need backup, yesterday!"
Optimus stepped forward without hesitation. "Calm yourself, Agent Fowler. What is the nature of the payload?"
"Dynamic Nuclear Generation System. Cutting-edge... portable... and extremely volatile. They're calling it the 'Dingus'."
Ratchet nearly spat out his energon.
"You're transporting an unstable nuclear prototype?! Are you insane?"
"You wanna yell at someone? Yell at the brass!" Fowler snapped. "I just drive the thing."
Optimus exchanged a quick glance with Ratchet. "We can't use the GroundBridge. The spatial flux would destabilise the core."
"Correct," Ratchet confirmed. "A manual transport route will be required."
Optimus nodded. "Then we roll out."
He turned to Orion. "You'll accompany me on the main rig. Bulkhead and Bumblebee will form the escort."
From the side of the chamber, a familiar voice cut in—quiet but firm.
"Where does that leave me?" D asked, folding his arms.
Optimus regarded him evenly. "You'll remain here and oversee perimeter patrol."
There was no argument. D gave a tight nod. "Understood."
He turned on his heel and walked off without another word.
Orion caught up to him as the others prepped the trailer.
"You're actually gonna patrol?" he asked.
D's expression didn't shift. "Gonna check the outer ridges. Maybe revisit a few old... tunnels."
"You find anything?"
"I'm not expecting anything," D replied. "But if something's coming—I'll see it first."
He transformed and roared off into the desert.
POV: Orion Pax
Location: Outpost Omega-1 → Nevada Highway Route 65
Within minutes, the convoy was prepared. The "Dingus" was secured in the trailer. Its core pulsed faintly—like a slumbering bomb.
Fowler stood next to the cab, still grumbling.
"You know, I was driving just fine until your people showed up."
"I will handle the transport," Optimus said, already transforming. "You may ride as a passenger."
"You and your textbook rules," Fowler muttered as he climbed into the cab.
Back in the control room, Ratchet's voice filtered through the comms. "Monitoring your course. If anything deviates from the route, I'll alert you."
"Copy that," Orion replied, moving into position beside the rig.
Bulkhead rumbled up behind him, and Bumblebee chirped a quick ready signal.
As the convoy rolled out into the desert, none of them saw the black helicopter shadowing them high above. Its swept across the landscape, recording every move.
The road stretched out before us—just sand, heat, and silence, punctuated only by the hum of engines and the occasional rattle from the trailer housing the so-called "Dingus."
Optimus rolled steady at the front, cab silent as always. Fowler sat inside, arms crossed, clearly itching for something to complain about.
"You know," Fowler finally muttered, "back in my day, I used to haul volatile tech with nothing but a Humvee and a prayer. Now I'm chauffeured around by a rolling fortress with no cupholders."
"Your discomfort is noted, Agent Fowler," Optimus replied evenly.
"Oh come on, Prime. You can handle Decepticons but you draw the line at basic driver comfort?"
I rolled up beside them and activated my comms. "He has a point. You've got space for a quantum stabilizer but no cupholder?"
There was the faintest pause. Then Optimus replied, dryly:
"I require neither hydration nor sarcasm."
I smirked. "Still, maybe a radio wouldn't kill you. This silence is starting to feel like pre-battle tension."
"Oh! Thank you!" Fowler said, throwing up his hands inside the cab. "See? He gets it. Now if we could just get some Johnny Cash on the dash... maybe a little pit stop at Mc Donal—"
"No," Optimus said, flat and immediate.
Fowler leaned back, muttering something about "rigid protocols" and "cybernetic killjoys."
I glanced skyward, optics scanning the heat haze. A buzz crawled across my systems, low and cold.
"I've got a feeling this isn't going to be a smooth ride," I said into the comms channel.
"Neither do I," Bulkhead rumbled. "Something about this feels funny."
Bumblebee chirped in agreement.
POV – D-16 | LOCATION – DESERT CANYON ROUTE, DEEP OUTER PERIMETER
The low sun drenched the craggy desert landscape in molten orange and cast long, warped shadows across the ravine-cut terrain. A solitary shape thundered through it—a black and silver-armoured Cybertronian tank cutting a path down the fractured canyon route. The growl of its treads echoed off the walls like distant thunder. This was D-16, transformed and alone, engine purring beneath the low growl of his mood.
The silence was absolute, broken only by his own quiet thoughts.
I don't belong in that base. Not with their clipped tones, veiled optics, and thin tolerance. Arcee still watches me like I'm going to rip out someone's spark in their sleep. Ratchet calls me a variable and talks like I should be scrapped or locked up. Optimus says little, but I see it in his optics. Judgement. Even Orion… he's changing. He's forgetting who we were. Forgetting our mission. Our home. I can't.
The tank rumbled forward until the path narrowed between jagged outcrops. With fluid precision, D transformed mid-motion. The tank folded into a towering, humanoid warform, landing in a crouch with a crunch that sent pebbles and dust flying. A hiss of vented steam trailed from his frame like smoke from a dragon's maw.
He looks at me differently now. Like I'm a problem he can't fix.
He moved with a soldier's gait through the winding paths until he reached a craggy ridge concealing a security beacon. With a touch of his finger, it shimmered and revealed a camouflaged bunker hatch. The metal groaned as it hissed open, old servos flickering back to life.
Inside, dim lighting pulsed from the walls. The scent of old circuitry and heat greeted him. A group of Vehicons stood inside his unit. Not soldiers of the Nemesis. These were workers. Survivors.
One saluted. "Perimeter secured. No outside pings my Lord."
D nodded. "Good. Keep it that way." Then, with a sideways glance: "And quit calling me 'my Lord."
The Vehicon hesitated. "You're our leader. It's what we believe this is, you're right."
Before D could respond, a chill swept through the room. The lights dimmed, and a tall, thin silhouette stepped into the entryway like a phantom.
Soundwave.
Every Vehicon froze. D did not.
He stepped forward, arms relaxed. "Didn't think you'd come."
Soundwave said nothing. His face-plate flickered with silent data.
"Observation: ongoing. Engagement: optional."
D crossed his arms. "I'm not your mission."
No reply.
Laserbeak chirped from his perch and soared out, wings flashing. He circled once and gently landed on a nearby terminal. It connected with a soft click, uploading something.
A hologram bloomed—files, archives, glowing glyphs.
"What is this?"
Files danced before D's optics: Arena Combat Logs. Megatronus Tactical Profiles. Decepticon Formation History—Uncensored.
Soundwave's plate flickered again:
"Education: recommended."
"I'm not Megatron," D said sharply. "I'm not trying to be him."
No response. Then the hologram shifted again—to a towering Megatronus in his gladiator prime, standing triumphant in the arena.
D watched it. Jaw set. Circuits tight.
He grunted. "You wanna see what I've got? Fine."
Soundwave stepped back.
The Vehicons formed a ring.
D lunged. His style was heavy, raw, brutalist. His blows were like wrecking balls. But Soundwave moved like mercury. He countered with surgical precision. Every deflection was mechanical perfection.
D clipped his shoulder. Then landed a glancing cannon blast.
Then he was on the floor.
D surged to his feet. He swung.
Soundwave locked his wrist, twisted, and brought him into a secure hold.
Tap.
D panted. "Fine. You win. Got any tips?"
Soundwave released him. A burst of data pinged D's HUD—an advanced training program. Followed by another packet: MECH Intelligence Files.
"You really don't stop, huh?" D muttered. "Alright. I'll pass this one to Orion. Let the 'official' team handle these humans."
He turned to the Vehicons. "Drinks on me."
They cheered.
As Soundwave turned to leave, D hesitated.
"Have you ever relaxed?"
Laserbeak chirped and fluttered to D's shoulder.
Soundwave paused. Then turned back.
He picked up an Energon cube.
Drank it.
D smirked. "Told you it was good, I know my stuff."
POV: Orion Pax
Location: Nevada Highway
The midday sun scorched the black top as the convoy roared down a dusty highway, mountains flanking the horizon in shimmering heat waves. Optimus drove point, hauling the containment trailer holding the unstable Dingus, with Orion behind and Fowler riding shotgun. Bumblebee flanked the rear, silent but ever-alert.
"Y'know, Prime," Fowler said, casually adjusting his seatbelt, "you make a decent long-haul trucker. Just needs a little country radio and some chilli dogs—and maybe a burger, definitely a burger."
"This cargo is not suitable for such levity," Optimus replied.
Orion's voice came over comms, laced with dry amusement. "You really gotta stop trying to joke with him, Fowler. He's more likely to quote prophecy than punchlines."
Fowler muttered, "Big guy could use a sense of humour upgrade."
Optimus's reply was flat. "I do not require upgrades for humour."
Bumblebee buzzed a laugh over the channel, and Orion smirked.
Their banter halted when a flicker on Orion's HUD caught his optics. A sleek, green vehicle darted along the edge of radar range, then another. Then three more.
"Visual on multiple contacts," Orion said sharply. "Five, maybe more. Approaching fast."
"Hold positions," Optimus ordered. "Maintain alt-mode. Do not engage unless confirmed hostile."
Orion scanned again. No Decepticon energy signatures. "Ratchet, I'm not getting any Cybertronian pings. You?"
"Negative," Ratchet replied over comms from base. "No energon trails. Whatever they are, they're not Cons."
The vehicles flanked them quickly—green muscle cars with tinted windows and no plates. One veered dangerously close to Optimus, and a masked figure stood through the sunroof, aiming a strange plasma cutter at the trailer's hitch.
"Non-lethal force only," Optimus ordered. "Protect the cargo."
Orion slammed into the nearest car with a calculated swerve, sending it into a guardrail with a shriek of tearing metal. Bumblebee spun around another, tires screeching as he flipped the car off the road entirely.
On the mountainside, a black helicopter hovered into view. A cold voice crackled across a scrambled civilian band.
POV: Silas, Location: MECH Command Chopper
Inside the cockpit of the stealth chopper, Silas observed the chaos through a high-res tactical HUD overlay. His fingers rested calmly on the control panel, but his jaw was clenched.
"Target convoy engaged," his subordinate reported. "Interceptors are in play."
Silas watched one of the green cars get obliterated by what seemed to be a rogue vehicle slamming sideways into it with frightening precision.
"That wasn't a human driver," he murmured. He leaned forward, magnifying the footage.
On another screen, a masked MECH operative scrambled onto the trailer—only to be clotheslined by the semi's side mirror and fall into the dust. The rig kept moving without slowing.
Fowler was yelling out the window. The trailer itself seemed impervious to the assault.
"This is... autonomous?" Silas narrowed his eyes.
Another MECH unit climbed aboard the cab and attempted to sever the trailer. The vehicle swerved and bucked like a living creature, hurling the attacker off.
"Sir," his technician said, "still no signals. No remote-control frequencies. No driver-side windows visible."
Silas's voice was cold. "This isn't drone warfare. These... are something else."
Then Arcee burst from the trailer in vehicle mode, transformed mid-air, and flipped a MECH car into a fireball.
Silas stared, his reflection in the monitor distorted by the flames.
"Living tech," he whispered. "Self-transforming, self-aware... And they bleed energy."
His eyes gleamed behind his visor.
"Prepare to recover wreckage," he ordered. "And transmit this to R&D. I want a full schematic scan. We dissect these things... even if it kills us."
He glanced at the visuals of the Vehicon corpses now scattered across the canyon floor as Starscream's forces arrived.
"Retrieve the fallen. Prioritise capturing one of those machines, the dead ones will suffice. For now Divert a strike team to the train—forget the Dingus. These machines are the real prize."
The chopper veered to a new angle, cameras zooming in on Orion's shifting armour.
Silas whispered to himself, "Fascinating."
POV: Orion Pax
Location: Nevada Highway
The wind howled through the cracked canyon walls as the convoy pressed forward, dust still settling behind them from the MECH ambush. Overhead, the black silhouette of Silas's helicopter retreated for now, but the tension in Orion's spark didn't ease.
"High-altitude pings are changing course," Ratchet called out. "They're fast. Too fast to be MECH."
Orion's HUD sharpened, tracing energy trails carving arcs in the sky like serpents. Purple flickers. Jet engines screaming.
"Confirmed," he said, optics narrowing. "Vehicons. Three no, four aerial units inbound. And... Starscream."
Optimus's tone darkened. "Brace for aerial assault. Shield the trailer at all costs."
"About time I stretched my servos," Arcee growled, kicking off the road and transforming mid-leap, twin blades flicking out with a hiss.
From above, the shriek of thrusters split the sky as the Decepticon jets transformed mid-air, landing in coordinated formation ahead of the convoy. Blasters primed. Targeting systems locked.
Starscream hovered a few meters above the ground, his smirk almost audible. "Such noble cargo," he sneered. "But you Autobots never did learn the value of subtlety."
Orion swerved to intercept one of the approaching Vehicons, transforming in motion and crashing into the soldier with full force. His fists met armour, denting it inward with each blow.
Bumblebee followed suit, jetting sideways and transforming behind cover, unleashing precise bursts of plasma to pin another Decepticon down.
"You have no personal gain here, Starscream," Optimus called, cannon primed as he skidded to a halt and transformed.
"Well, Prime," Starscream hissed, raising his null-ray and opening fire. "It's always a personal gain and pleasure to ruin you're little road trips!"
One of the blasts slammed into the trailer's undercarriage. The whole structure shuddered violently. A loud alarm began to blare.
"Containment seal destabilising!" Ratchet warned from the base. "You take another hit like that and you're delivering a crater!"
"Get Fowler out of the cab!" Orion shouted.
Too late.
A second blast struck the left side of the truck, and the trailer tipped.
Fowler shouted, grabbing for balance inside the cab as the entire frame tilted. Then, metal groaned. Tires screamed.
And the trailer detached.
The nuclear device tumbled toward the edge of the ravine.
Orion lunged.
"OPTIMUS!"
But it was too far.
The trailer smashed into the rock face, cracking open—but instead of exploding, a mechanical click-hiss echoed.
From the shattered shell, a decoy core rolled onto the road.
Starscream stopped short.
"What?!"
A rumble beneath the highway.
From a parallel ridge, a train's horn wailed—and with it, the real Dingus device, hidden inside a disguised rail car, surged into view behind a bluff.
"That," Arcee said with a grin, "was Plan B."
Starscream snarled. "AFTER IT!"
"Autobots," Optimus ordered, voice steel. "Engage."
POV: Jack, Miko, Raf
Location: Outpost Omega-1 / Train Route
The GroundBridge crackled with unstable energy as alarms blared across the base. Ratchet moved frantically between terminals, his expression twisted in frustration.
"I told them to stay on the highway!" he snapped. "That train was never part of the primary route!"
"They were under attack," Jack said, stepping forward, eyes sharp. "They improvised. Now we need to do the same."
Ratchet shook his head. "I can't bridge them onto a moving train. You want me to account for vector shifts, inertial drift, potential phase clipping?! It's insanity!"
Miko grabbed the fire axe off the emergency wall mount and slung it over her shoulder. "Cool. So we'll call it 'heroic insanity."
"Think about it," Jack added, calm but firm. "You said it yourself: you can't lock coordinates because of signal interference. But Raf can."
All eyes turned to the youngest of the trio. Raf stood by the console, adjusting his glasses and tapping into the satellite relay. "If I link the base sensors to the regional rail grid, I can spoof a predictive coordinate lock for the Ground-Bridge. It won't be perfect, but…"
He trailed off, then gave a nervous smile. "Close enough to avoid turning us inside out?"
Ratchet groaned. "You are all going to give me a spark failure one of these days…"
Jack grabbed a fire extinguisher from the supply locker. "Come on, Doc. You trust us, right?"
"No," Ratchet muttered. "But apparently Primus does."
He slammed a fist on the console, and the GroundBridge opened with a roar of energy. Wind and static howled across the base.
"Jump now or not at all!" Ratchet barked.
Miko didn't hesitate. She bolted through the portal with a wild yell. Jack followed, extinguisher in hand. Behind them, Raf hit one last key and ran straight in, clutching his laptop like a lifeline.
Then the portal snapped shut.
Silence.
Ratchet exhaled slowly and whispered, "...You better make it count."
POV: Orion Pax
Location: Nevada – Phase II Transport Train
The wind howled past his frame as Orion launched from the ridge. The train thundered below, its cargo secure in the disguised railcar. MECH's helicopter loomed ahead, already deploying a strike team on the roof.
He landed like a meteor. Metal crumpled beneath his feet. The MECH agents stumbled, weapons drawn.
They didn't stand a chance.
The first one fired. Orion caught the bolt on his chest, he surged forward, and slammed his pede into the soldier. The human exploded instantly, that was disgusting.
A second tried to run. Orion grabbed him mid-sprint and tossed him into the air. The man screamed before vanishing over the edge of the moving train.
A third lunged with a blade. Orion kicked him—his entire body bent and he heard a loud snap around the railgun turret.
Silas, watching from the chopper, stared through tactical HUD feeds.
"They've been holding back that one in particular is brutal but cunning interesting," he muttered.[
Orion tore through the last of them—crushing a rifle underfoot, stepping over the bodies—and punched through the access hatch into the cargo car. Sparks flew. He grabbed the locking clamps on the nuclear device and ripped them free with no difficulty.
Just then—
BOOM.
The tracks exploded ahead, a mushroom of flame and debris ripping through the desert air.
Silas's voice cut across the comms. "That was a warning shot. Next one's through the reactor."
Raf, back at base, shouted into the mic. "I've lost the train's location! I can't open a GroundBridge!"
The train picked up speed—unstoppable now.
Orion braced himself.
The rails vanished.
Steel screamed. Cars twisted. The engine began to tip forward—
Orion transformed mid-movement, surged to the front, and slammed into the engine with both arms. His hydraulics screamed. Metal bent. The entire train screeched to a halt inches from the ravine's edge.
Behind him, MECH wreckage burned.
Ahead, silence.
Then a voice behind him.
"Impressive," Optimus said, having arrived just in time to witness the feat. "That… is the mark of a Prime."
Orion turned, face still burning with adrenaline, energon streaked down his plating.
"I'm not a Prime," he said, chest heaving. "I'm just... tired."
POV: Silas
Location: MECH Command Chopper, Nevada Airspace
The chaos below began to settle. Fire danced along the edges of cracked asphalt and cratered earth. The other vistors had retreated. The train was safe. But Silas wasn't watching the Dingus anymore.
He was watching them.
Through high-resolution tactical overlays, his visor tracked the heat signatures of the Cybertronians — specifically, the two at the center of it all. The one that pulled a train with his bare hands. The one with the glowing blue optics and the battle scars.
"Such power," he murmured. "Such elegance… engineered for war."
His subordinate nodded from the co-pilot seat. "Two confirmed types: the red one, seems to be the leader... the other, is more reactive. Almost feral."
"Not feral," Silas corrected, his tone sharp. "Instinctual. Watch his movements. Calculated aggression. Controlled brutality."
Down below, Orion raised his rifle. The scope aligned with the chopper. For one terrifying moment, Silas stared down the barrel of the alien weapon. A breathless second passed.
"Sir—!" the pilot jolted.
Orion's cannon began to glow, cycling energy for a shot.
But Optimus reached out — calm, unshaken — and lowered Orion's arm with a single gesture.
Silas smiled.
"Well played, visitors," he muttered into the recorder. "But MECH still has the home-field advantage. Next time... we'll find a way to level the playing field."
He tapped the side of his visor, zooming in on the Autobot leader and his lieutenant. "Even if we have to open you up to see what makes you tick."
He switched channels. "Recover the fallen bodies. Extract anything of interest. Prioritise tech, limbs, armour — anything of use."
Below, MECH operatives in stealth suits dragged twisted Vehicon wreckage into black transport vans under the cloak of fading smoke. The Autobots, busy tending to the train, didn't notice.
Silas leaned back as the helicopter banked away. The screen faded to static.
"Fascinating."
POV: Optimus Prime
Location: Nevada Train Bridge, Cliffside
The MECH chopper disappeared beyond the horizon. A faint breeze rolled across the cracked bridge, stirring dust and silence in its wake.
Optimus stood at the edge, watching. His face unreadable.
"Optimus," Ratchet's voice crackled through comms. "Are you and the children intact?"
Optimus's optics narrowed. "Intact, Ratchet. Crisis averted. But the world in which we now live... is not the one we imagined."
He turned to Orion.
"It is a world that has spawned its own Decepticons — in human skin."
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Then Orion burst out laughing.
Like, full-on wheezing.
Jack flinched. "Uh... is he okay?"
"Oh, Primus," Orion gasped. "Do you even hear yourself? Doing his best Optimus voice 'Decepticons in human skin'? This is exactly what D must think I sound like!"
He wiped his optics and laughed harder, nearly dropping his Ion blaster.
Optimus merely tilted his head. "I fail to see the humour."
"You wouldn't," Orion snorted.
Jack leaned toward Raf. "I think we just witnessed a Prime getting roasted."
Miko whooped. "Best mission ever."
Behind them, the wrecked train hissed steam into the sunset. MECH was gone. The Decepticons were routed. The kids were safe.
But something darker had begun.
And the Autobots knew now:
The war had never been limited to Cybertron.
POV: D-16
Location: Desert Ravine – Vehicon Mining Site
Nightfall draped the canyon in shimmering silver. The only lights came from the glow of industrial flood lamps and energon welders, reflecting off steel and stone like fireflies trapped in a forge.
Above it all, D-16 sat idle in tank mode, perched along a ridge. His vents cycled slowly. Calm. Below him, the Vehicons worked — not like drones, but soldiers with purpose. Builders. He watched them haul, weld, organise. No wasted motion. No panic. Just unity.
They looked up to him. And not because they were told to.
Because they wanted to.
Not a tyrant. Not a general. Something else.
Is this what leadership is meant to be?
He transformed and dropped to the ground, boots crunching dirt and metal chips. A pair of Vehicons saluted him out of instinct, relaxed but respectful.
"Boss," one grinned, tossing him a warm ration cube. "Don't let it cool off. That stuff goes solid faster than one of Starscream's failed attempts on Megatron's life."
D-16 caught it. "Thanks."
For the first time in cycles, he allowed himself a small smile. One that felt real.
POV: Skyquake
Location: The Nemesis – Hangar Bay
The familiar thrum of approaching thrusters cut through the nighttime silence.
Skyquake stood stoic by the edge of the upper landing platform as Soundwave touched down — albeit with a bit less grace than usual. His steps were precise, but there was a subtle wobble in his posture. Laserbeak swooped behind him, optics unfocused, chirping oddly melodic tones as he landed off-kilter on Soundwave's shoulder.
Skyquake's optic ridge arched slightly. "I see the return trip was… eventful."
Soundwave's visor pulsed unevenly. His response came in slightly slurred, patchy audio clips:
"Mission… complete.
D-16… progressing… satisfactorily.
…hic… exceptional."
Skyquake stepped closer, optics narrowing. "Are you—intoxicated?"
Another chirp. Laserbeak trilled, hiccupped, and unspooled a half-digested energon ration onto the deck plating.
Skyquake blinked. "…Right."
"D-16?" he asked, changing the subject.
Soundwave composed himself just enough to play a final string of clipped audio:
"Command style… non-standard.
Vehicon morale… increased.
Potential… exceeds Starscream and Lord Megatron."
From inside the ship, a shriek of fury echoed.
"WHO REWIRED MY NAVIGATION? I SWEAR I'LL—KNOCKOUT, THIS HAS YOUR—"
Skyquake didn't react. His attention remained on Soundwave. "He's earning their trust?"
"Affirmative."
Starscream burst around the corner, optics blazing. "SOUNDWAVE! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! I—"
Before he could finish, Laserbeak jolted upright and promptly vomited low-grade energon directly onto Starscream's faceplate.
The Seeker screeched and stumbled back. "WHAT—IS WRONG—WITH ALL OF YOU?!"
Soundwave turned, perfectly silent. He began walking away.
Laserbeak, wobbly but satisfied, flapped twice and followed.
Skyquake's mouth twitched.
"…That one's going places," he murmured, watching them vanish into the corridor.