#acidestorm

Yo! Welcome to my story "Iron Bond"! Before you dive into this tale of dark mysteries, I want to let you know that I use the same terminology as VendettaPrimus in their fantastic story "Little Spark"! French vers available on Wattpad or Fanfiction.net !

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ Iron Bond ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Chapter 1

KAON At the top of the main tower overlooking the city, the leader of the Decepticons, Megatron, sat on his throne, consumed with impatience. Something was troubling him. His clawed fingers rhythmically tapped the armrest, his cheek resting on his fist as his red optics stared at the large door ahead. The hall was vast and empty, with only a few computers on the left dimly lighting the two mechs present.

Silently, SoundWave approached his master to draw his attention to the screen that served as his face. Surveillance footage. The latest images showed Commander Starscream leaving the city alone in his alt mode. Megatron grimaced when he noticed the date on the video. The information made him grind his denta before waving the dark-blue mech away, having seen enough of the looping footage.

Then, the throne room door mechanism activated, and a tall figure entered. The sounds of her pedes echoed off the steel walls, pocked with bullet holes and cracks. A seeker strode confidently to the few steps before Megatron, kneeling and bowing her head in respectful reverence. A few kliks later, the fembot's deep voice rose.

“Lord Megatron.” The silver mech stared at her in silence for a moment, his red optics analyzing her. Mostly red and black, with touches of orange and a pointed helmet giving her a menacing look. With an annoyed sigh, he gave his next orders. He wasn’t used to relying on her, usually passing through Starscream, but circumstances forced a change.

“I have a mission for you. That idiot Starscream took advantage of my absence to act behind my back, and now he’s been missing for over a deca-cycle!” the ruthless warlord barked, slamming his fist against the throne’s armrest. At his words, the fembot straightened, listening attentively, her red optics gleaming with anticipation.

“Shall I eliminate him?” she asked calmly, a small smile betraying her hidden desire. But Megatron’s laughter surprised everyone and spread discomfort in the air.

“Ha! If that incompetent didn’t possess such valuable information, I’d have taken care of him myself!” he sneered, his optics lowering to the seeker below. “Assemble your squad and find me Starscream. I want him alive.” the imposing silver mech with violet accents ordered, his face darkening.

“At your command, Lord Megatron.” the fembot bowed again before turning on her heels to carry out the mission.

“Don’t disappoint me, DemonKill,” he added threateningly as she vanished behind the throne room doors, heading to the lift.

A few meters below the surface, cheers echoed. A crowd of bots had gathered around a duo fighting out a grudge match, much to the delight of their euphoric audience. One was yellow, named DragStrip, and his rival was DeadEnd, a red mech with a beastly appearance that sent chills down spines. His long claws already dripped with fresh energon after a hit to his opponent’s chassis. Slowly licking his fingers, he locked his red optics on his opponent with arrogant glee, provoking him further. It worked. DragStrip lunged at him with a roar, fists pounding at his helmet in a wild frenzy. But DeadEnd retaliated by biting his leg with sharp denta, drawing another scream of pain.

The chaos violently entered DemonKill’s audios as the lift doors opened. Grimacing at the noise, the seeker turned her optics to the frenzied crowd who had stopped working. Delays were now inevitable. With an impassive face, she shoved aside any bot in her way, unfazed by their complaints as her winged frame nearly knocked some over.

Standing amid the crowd, she silently observed the fight, crest ridge raised, arms crossed.

DragStrip had just fallen backward after a hit to his fuel tank, prompting a dumb laugh from his opponent. Annoyed that the fight was dragging and hindering her mission, DemonKill sighed in exasperation and stepped into the improvised ring. Her towering frame blocked the light, finally catching their attention.

“Move it, you’re blocking my light,” DragStrip muttered without even looking at her, an evil grin plastered on his blue face. He had eyes only for his opponent.

“You’re wasting our precious energon on petty squabbles,” she stated flatly, unfazed by the crowd’s boos.

Grinding his denta in irritation, DragStrip glared up at her, about to hurl an insult—when DeadEnd roared and charged with lethal intent. But before he could reach his rival, a hand grabbed his head and lifted him off the ground. Thrashing wildly and clawing at the grip, he screamed.

“Let go of me, you filthy—!” His growl was cut short as the seeker slammed him violently into the floor, deactivating him instantly under the shocked gazes of the others. The crowd fell silent at the unexpected show, some cursing after losing bets on the now-offlined fighter.

“That was my fight! You had no reason to bring your pedes into my ring!” DragStrip growled beside her, his yellow and purple frame gleaming under the flickering neon lights—before a shadow completely covered him.

The last thing he saw were red optics diving into his spark.

With a pede to the chest, she launched him into the adjacent wall, where he crashed and fell limply to the ground, his optics shutting off from the impact. She stared at his motionless body to confirm his deactivation, then swept her gaze across the crowd with disdain.

“Instead of wasting time on those two fools, get back to work,” she commanded coldly.

Thanks to her, the festive mood vanished, and no one felt like betting anymore. Glaring at her and muttering curses, the Decepticons returned to their weapons manufacturing, machines roaring back to life. Pleased with the restored order, DemonKill left the factory and made her way to the main tower gate, stepping out into the city of Kaon.

The suns blazed above her as she passed through the gate. Shielding her optics from the blinding contrast with the dark factory, the fembot took a few seconds to adjust to the light. Walking calmly down the main street, she ignored a civilian on her right speaking into a device, addressing a small mocking crowd. He proposed lasting peace between the factions—an absurd alliance that earned him insults and beatings. He was assaulted right there, in front of everyone. But no one would interfere—his ideas were meaningless.

Continuing on, the seeker focused on the data she’d received from SoundWave. On her forearm, a holographic screen displayed a weak signal far beyond the city walls. Sighing, DemonKill redirected her attention to the door she just pushed open—a bar.

As usual, it was full of half-drunk Decepticons singing, shouting, or brawling. Another unpleasant noise for her audios. Her expression deadpan, she instantly drew the attention of the crowd. Met with sneers and disdainful optics, she ignored them all and made her way to the bar to speak with the manager, who was preparing a tray of high-grade energon. A large, gravel-voiced beige mech with black legs, he laughed heartily with a customer until his attention shifted to the fembot.

“Boss! Can I pour you a drink?” he offered, leaning forward and resting his forearm on the counter, exchanging a surprised but delighted smile.

“We have a mission, Monzo,” she said flatly, not answering the question, her gaze locking onto a large mech next to her who stared intensely while sipping his cube.

“Ah, finally! Time to show what Squad Four is made of! I’ll go fetch the others!” he exclaimed joyfully, tossing his rag on the counter and raising his arms with enthusiasm.

With a nod, DemonKill turned and exited, casting a cold glare at the purple mech still watching her. What inappropriate behavior, she thought as she left. She had an important mission to accomplish to satisfy Lord Megatron. Even if it meant putting aside her loathing for Commander Starscream…

For as long as she could remember, she had hated him. His immoral behavior and cowardice disgusted her to the core.

If only she could take his place, she’d do everything better—and Megatron would always be pleased with her work. Why had he chosen him instead of her? A question she asked every time she saw that incompetent fool by their revered master’s side.

Clenching her fists at the thought, she tried to calm herself as she reached the west base’s aerial defense center to await her squad.

The place was huge, fit for any type of vehicle, especially seekers who were often larger. With calm steps, she leaned against the closest wall, arms crossed, waiting for the team to arrive.

Only a few breems later, engine roars signaled the arrival of five vehicles at the base entrance—three fliers, two grounders. Raising an optic ridge at their dramatic entrance, DemonKill waited as they skidded to a halt in front of her, smoke trailing, the three jets landing gracefully behind.

The first to transform was the largest armored four-wheeled vehicle—a mech with bulky arms and a red face, Monzo. The oldest of the bunch, he once held a high-ranking position in a now-dissolved Decepticon brigade. After a tragic event, he opened a bar, loving to hear war stories. But when DemonKill offered him a place on her squad, he jumped at the chance to restore his name.

Next to him stood Throttle, the smallest. Silent but deadly, this infiltration and espionage expert had never uttered a word. That was one of his best qualities, according to DemonKill, who hated noise. Primarily dark-colored for stealth, his matte purple and brown armor avoided reflections.

Her gaze then turned to the three seekers transforming behind. On the right was AcidStorm, named for his ability to create acid rain thanks to intelligence above that of Vehicons. Quiet and obedient, he always stayed in the rear like a good soldier.

In the middle stood WindSweeper, with yellow optics—a rarity among Decepticons. A true cleanliness tyrant, he despised filth so much it made him itch. Red and white, his armor was always spotless.

Finally, JetFire, a science mech slightly taller than DemonKill. Mostly white with red accents, his cutting-edge armor was self-upgraded thanks to his scientific mind.

“Squad Four, all present, Boss!” Monzo beamed, hands on hips, proudly eyeing the team.

“Soldiers, we have a crucial mission,” DemonKill began, stepping forward to face them, optics briefly closed. The five mechs straightened like bolts, eager for the assignment.

“Megatron has ordered us to locate that idi—hem. Commander Starscream, who’s been missing for a deca-cycle. Based on the data I received, his signal disappeared ten kilometers outside the city.” she explained briskly, coughing into her fist after her slip.

“Uh… Lieutenant?” AcidStorm hesitantly raised his hand, anxiety on his face.

“If the commander’s been missing all this time… maybe the Autobots captured him? So… what’s our strategy?” The bright green mech seemed perplexed. Why would Megatron send just six bots against a whole Autobot army?

“We’ll assess the situation on site,” the lone fembot replied in her usual flat tone, face devoid of emotion. She understood his concern.

“Today’s order: reconnaissance,” added DemonKill, stepping toward the launchpad, her squad already transformed and trailing her. Thanks to JetFire’s size, he carried Monzo, while AcidStorm helped Throttle to avoid slowing them down.

“Decepticons, take off!” she commanded firmly before transforming and soaring toward the signal.

Straight into the Forbidden Lands, known for their strange phenomena.

…