#onslaught

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Hot Rod recording.

Hot Rod: [Deep, staticky inhale] We have been fragged to absolute scrap. Those RATS at the Decepticon base brought down our comms satellite last night, and what’s more, those NUMBSKULLS crashed the stupid thing into their own receiver tower. So I guess nobody’s getting logs from either of us now. [muffled, no longer facing the microphone] ARE YOU HAPPY ONSLAUGHT??? I FRAGGING HOPE SO!

 Anyways, if they weren’t crossing enough wires as is, apparently those freaky jets they’ve got didn’t get the memo that the cons trashed their own comms tower, because NOW they’re acting like WE were attacking THEM. [background noise, knocking on door.] This is just my luck. First my comms are out, now I’ve got fragging seekers up my aft so far they’re knocking on my TEETH. [The knocking becomes more urgent] Like really, is this it for me? Stupid fragging problem after stupid fragging problem, rusting away on some pitiful rock- 

“HOT ROD OPEN THE SLAGGING DOOR!!!” 

Hot Rod groaned and indignantly shut off the recording. Craning forward in his chair, he smacked the door lock release button and allowed First Aid to enter. “Status?” The Captain asked, rising from his seat and grabbing his sidearm off the control panel. 

“There’s a fire in the energon warehouse, the north hangar wall has a gaping acid hole in it, which has also caught fire, and the secondary shuttle has been crushed by a support pillar again.” First Aid said curtly. Hot Rod ground his teeth together and loaded an energy cell into his blaster. 

“And? How’s the defense team doing?” He asked, quickly rushing out of the command room and down the hall. 

First Aid fell fluidly into step beside him. “Whirl is engaging the seekers on his own and Chromedome is in the secondary turret.” 

Hot Rod sighed. “Naturally.”

“Vortex is also attacking the seekers.” First Aid added, his words accompanied by the distant sound of a strafing jet engine. 

“What? Why?”

First Aid shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t know. My job isn’t recon.” 

Hot Rod shot him a look, one they’d exchanged many times. The ‘I KNOW. I GET IT’ sort of look when you’ve had an argument half a dozen times even though there’s nothing to be done about it. “Alright, what the hell is everyone else doing?” 

“Keeping the base from catching fire or being dissolved by acid I assume. Oh, and Brainstorm is in the observatory.” First Aid explained, briefly stumbling as the building shook concerningly. 

Rounding a corner onto the breezeway between main base and warehouse, Hot Rod cupped his servos around his optics, squinting into the kicked up dust and smoke through the window. 

The seekers were flying in formation over the open field in front of their hangar, drawing strafing loops and dives in the air, disappearing into the smoke before reemerging for another volley. Hot Rod tensed, watching them streak concerningly close, only for Vortex to zip out at them, crashing through their formation and sending them scattering for a moment before regrouping. Behind him, Whirl was in close pursuit with guns blazing, indiscriminately firing at rotors and wings alike.  

 “Primus he really is fighting them, what the hell?” He muttered. Turning back to First Aid, Hot Rod opened his mouth to speak before another rattling boom sounded from the warehouse. 

It was apparently at that point that First Aid decided talking with his superior officer was no longer important, as he immediately rushed through the rest of the breezeway into the warehouse with Hot Rod in stumbling pursuit. It was, indeed, on fire, despite Swerve and Beachcomber’s valiant attempts to quell it with fire extinguishers. 

Fighting back another sigh, Hot Rod took the third auxiliary fire extinguisher off the wall near the breezeway entrance and slid down the handrail of the staircase to join them. Wordlessly he pulled the pin and sprinted over, squeezing the handle and firing a thick coating of flame retardant into the blaze. 

“CAP! THANK PRIMUS- THERE’S A FIRE!” Beachcomber shouted from beside him, only now recognizing his presence. 

Hot Rod blinked at him. He glanced between the roaring flames and his own fire extinguisher, then back at Beachcomber. “Uh. I gathered that.” 

“What’s going on out there?” Swerve panted, engines wheezing from the heat and smoke. 

“They’ve got it covered out there for now, just focus on keeping the energon from going up.” Hot Rod assured. He swallowed the feeling his own assessment of the situation was incorrect and kept his eyes forward, even as sweat beaded on the back of his neck. He could just tell himself it was from the fire. 

Before he could get further in depth with that thought though, Hot Rod was slammed against the front wall of the warehouse by a pressurized blast of water. The jet of the firehose turned away as quickly as it had hit him and left him spluttering and soaked on the floor.

“SORRY, CAPTAIN!!” Tailgate yelped as Hot Rod peeled himself off the ground. His engine revved loudly in annoyance, flaring hot enough that the water that was making itself at home in his plating burst out in gouts of steam. 

“NO SWEAT, ROOKIE.” Hot Rod gritted out with a plastered smile at the cleaning bot. Tailgate’s visor squeezed in an apologetic smile briefly before he went back to swinging the arc of the firehose haphazardly back and forth. 

Hot Rod let his smile drop as he glared at First Aid, who was standing near the on/off lever for the water pressure with a decidedly satisfied glint in his visor. Despite the mischief, First Aid smoothly followed after Hot Rod when he rushed out of the warehouse.

“I’m gonna check with Chromedome, you go find out what Brainstorm is doing and tell him he needs to get out there and help keep Whirl from getting himself killed.” Hot Rod barked, jogging through the hallway not nearly fast enough for his liking. 

“Understood, Captain.” First Aid said. There was a pause for a moment, and Hot Rod so desperately hoped it was the end of it, before the medic added, “The medbay is prepared by the way. For when you need me to do my actual job.” 

Hot Rod nearly shivered at the icy tone. “Acknowledged, thank you.” Hot Rod replied, internally kicking himself at how meek the words slithered off his glossa. It was a relief when they split up, not only that he could avoid First Aid’s Glare, but that he could transform and speed off without leaving the medic far behind him. 

It didn’t take long to reach the secondary gunner’s turret. He found Chromedome within, visor fixed tight on the digital sights showing the outside. Hot Rod cupped his hands around his optics, squinting at the larger viewing screen as the reticle tracked the formation of seekers above. 

It was hardly a formation at this point, all dipping and scrambling around the pair of helicopters in the middle. Whirl shot up, cutting through the formation with his chainguns blazing. Vortex was quick to pursue him, abandoning his own seeming sabotage to dogfight with the other chopper. The jets swept back into a more legitimate formation, the blue one at the back teetering a bit with a slightly damaged tailfin. 

Chromedome’s frame tensed as their flightpaths locked onto the view of the camera screen. Another volley of laserfire was enough to keep them at bay, turning them up for another loop around to strafe past the unmanned battlement on the opposite side of the base. Their phasers lit up, blasting another set of fiery pockmarks in the hangar roof. Somewhere inside, something burst, and flames began to pour from the hangar with even more fervor. Both Autobots staggered as the impacts of the phasers shook the base.

Finials flat and visor scrunched, Chromedome slammed his fist down on the comms button. “WHIRL, I COULD REALLY USE ANOTHER GUN DOWN HERE IF YOU’RE DONE PLAYFIGHTING WITH THE NEIGHBOURS!!!!!” 

On one of the secondary screens, Hot Rod caught sight of Whirl again. At this point all pretenses of protecting the base had been abandoned in favour of chasing Vortex around the no man's land, or maybe sky, between the two bases. 

The comms speaker crackled to life, “IT ONLY LOOKS LIKE A PLAYFIGHT TO A SKIDMARK LIKE YOU, CHROMEHEAD.”

Reaching down and cranking the turret to the side to fire off another round through the growing cloud of smoke, Chromedome muttered, “... it’s not even a good insult. He doesn’t even grace me with his B material.” 

Hot Rod reached across the control panel to press the comms button himself. “WHIRL! FOCUS ON THE SEEKERS!” He snapped. “WE DON’T HAVE THE AMMO TO SPARE ON FRAGGING VORTEX, GET YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME!!!”

“GET IN THE OTHER TURRET AND HANDLE THEM YOURSELF, THIS IS PERSONAL!!” Whirl snapped back, barrel rolling down for a moment before righting himself to spray Vortex with more painfully wasted ammunition.

“It’s ALWAYS fragging personal with you two, who FRAGGING CARES!!!!!!” Hot Rod shouted. “TWO WORDS, WHIRL, COURT. MARTIAL.”

“TWO WORDS, PER. SO. NAL!” 

“Here’s EIGHT MORE, SPIKEHEAD, I WILL FRAGGING BURY YOU IF YOU DON’T!!!” Whirl groaned, reluctantly beginning to right himself on a path towards the Seekers. Vortex followed just as quick. 

Then, suddenly enough that Vortex shot several yards past him, Whirl stopped in the air, nose tilted up to the sky through a clearing in the smoke. 

“What is THAT?!” He shouted after a moment, as if he had forgotten how to respond to his comms. 

Hot Rod squinted into the screen. “CD, point us up?” He muttered. 

Chromedome obliged, turning the turret dutifully to face up towards Whirl’s line of sight. Through the growing blur of smoke and cinders, there was a massive shape coming into view along the edge of the atmosphere. A ship of some kind?

“Can you zoom in further?” Hot Rod asked.

“I’m as far in as I can get, Cap.” Chromedome mumbled, seemingly also trying to discern the shape. 

Hot Rod frowned, leaning back and pressing a finger to his audial. “Brainstorm, is the telescope still functional?” 

“Fit as a fluorite fiddle, Captain! Is it about the big ship breaching the atmosphere?”

On screen, Vortex had whipped around and thrown himself, in cybertronian form, at Whirl.

Hot Rod sighed as Whirl spiralled downwards. “Yes, it's about the big ship.”

“So it’s pretty big, yeah, hold on I’m zooming in closer.” 

Helpful, Hot Rod thought bitterly to himself. Whirl righted himself and spun, tossing the Decepticon off his tail and zipping off into the smoke cloud towards the seekers. Vortex disappeared below a wall, then reappeared in helicopter form, racing behind in hot pursuit.

“Good lord, the thing is massive. I’m seeing Autobot insignia though.” Brainstorm hummed, half in thought.

Hot Rod perked up. Autobot? An Autobot ship? A big one, not just a cargo tanker? 

“Oh, that’s Autobot High Command Insignia…” Brainstorm added with apprehension.

HIGH COMMAND?! Hot Rod could have soared.

Distantly, over Brainstorm’s end, the sound of a door opening could be heard. “Oh it looks like it’s waiting just above the cloud layer, they must be hailing you Captain!” 

“Oh good,” said a decidedly frigid, very out of breath First Aid in the distance, “Glad I took the stairs. Glad I came here in the first place.”

Hot Rod nearly broke a hole in the door in his haste out of the gunner’s turret and down the hall towards the commander’s room. A command ship, a real high command ship, he hadn’t seen one in over a kilocycle! He dared to dream, could it be Prowl, second in command to the Autobots and leader of the wreckers, his old superior officer coming to finally see how far he’d come? Maybe the High Enforcer Ultra Magnus? To reassign him somewhere prestigious on Optimus’ behalf? Perhaps, and his spark nearly popped from its swirling, it could be Optimus himself, finally ready to assign him something better than this.

Hot Rod bounced on his tires down a short flight of stairs, drifting into the command room with a screech of rubber on tile. Popping out of his alt mode, Hot Rod nearly sobbed with joy and relief at the hailing message on his screen. Ultra Magnus’ Ship… it was Ultra Fragging Magnus!! 

Hot Rod quickly swept away the windows cluttering the screen, clicking frantically on the accept hail button. He waited. 

And waited.

And the screen bloomed with a red error message. NO SIGNAL.

Right. Long Range Comms satellite. 

Dead.

Hot Rod wanted to scream and scratch the paint off his helm, but instead, he sank into a deep, steely, stoic, and perhaps even heroic determination. 

Frantically gasping through panicked vents, Hot Rod ripped the emergency kit from under his desk and snatched forth the mandatory distress hail emitter. He was baffled by his own ability to remember the thing. Adrenaline pumped through him as he stowed the hail emitter in his subspace and rocketed down the hallway. Sweeping around a turn and up a ramp, Hot Rod blasted past the hacking pack of minibots escaping the blaze within the hangar bay. It seemed they had attempted to quell the flames there after successfully putting out the fire in the energon depot. 

“THE WHOLE HANGAR IS SLAGGED-!!” Swerve wailed after the captain as he drove. But Hot Rod didn’t slow down, he couldn’t slow down. He had a base to protect and a ship to guide. Finally, he’d made it to the roof. Smoke poured from the hangar’s remains. Above him the roar of jet engines and helicopter rattle was deafening. The plume had covered the sky almost entirely. Coolant beading on his plating from the heat, Hot Rod sprinted across the roof towards a clearing in the smog. 

Then, from the cloud emerged the seeker formation. They locked onto him almost immediately, starting up their phasers with a whine before carving dotted lines out of the roof towards him. Bursts of flame and rubble erupted in their wake. Hot Rod tucked and rolled, pressing himself under a massive vent as they shot past him. Further, he had to press further, there wasn’t enough clear view. Whirl and Vortex hurtled over him, almost in a formation of their own after the trio of seekers.

Dropping down to a lower portion of roof, then running to the edge, Hot Rod could finally see the barest sliver of blue. He set it to long distance, and aimed the hail emitter up, laser pointer indicating a straight shot through the clouds. Perfect. He fired, and the flare module rocketed upwards, up high through the smog and further, out of sight for a moment, before bursting into a massive explosion of bright red, blazing phosphorus. The sheer size of the blast could easily be seen from that height, right?  

Hot Rod swallowed, staring through the sliver in the smoke at the ship, begging, pleading for it to turn. It was still for a long moment, then, finally, its nose began to turn, slow and steady, towards their bases. Relief washed over him. This was it. It was finally happening. If he was lucky, he might not even have to fix the base before he, and hopefully his crew, but mostly he, was out of there. 

He staggered towards the nearest roof entrance, before the seekers soared out above him. He squinted after them. “Where the hell-” 

No.

No way.

NO WAY. 

They couldn’t possibly be-

The stupid pack of turkeys were trying to attack AN AUTOBOT FLAGSHIP.

Hot Rod stayed put, cupping his hands over his eyes and peering up at the flagship. The Seekers strafed and shot, and nothing happened. Another strafe, another volley, and still the ship, seemingly impervious just lowered and lowered, down and down and down towards the land between their bases. 

THE LAND BETWEEN THEIR BASES! 

Hot Rod rushed to the frontside of the base’s roof, watching as the Decepticon troops had begun pouring out of their laboratory. His frown turned to a grimace as he recognized Onslaught staring up at the ship through the smoke, probably already beginning to comm the two combaticons not already at his side.

Hot Rod smacked a hand to his audial. “WHIRL I NEED YOU, HELP ME DOWN OFF THE ROOF RIGHT NOW!” 

The helicopter collided with his back and knocked the wind out of him. Wheezing, Hot Rod slid off his nose and threw his arms precariously around Whirl’s landing gear. He whizzed down towards the ground, tossing Hot Rod about before finally coming to a halt and flinging Hot Rod free of his landing gear with an unceremonious clunk. The captain coughed and panted, grabbing his back in agony. 

After a definitely very short period of writhing in pain on the ground, Hot Rod staggered to his pedes and opened comms to the whole crew. “EVERYONE OUT ON THE FIELD, ARM YOURSELVES, WE NEED TO KEEP THE LANDING STRIP CLEAR. WHIRL, KEEP VORTEX SEPARATED FROM THE REST OF THEM!” 

“With PLEASURE.” Whirl beamed, immediately disappearing into the smoke.

Hot Rod trained his sights on the cons. Onslaught, Brawl, Blast Off, all accounted for. No Slipstream, which meant she’d already probably taken off. No Deadlock, which meant-

Hot Rod ducked just in time for Deadlock’s alt mode to spring over him and skid away in the dirt. Transforming, the Decepticon drew himself up tall, battlemask up and eyes trained on him with laser focus. His hands dangled over either side of his hips at his blasters for a moment, eyeing Hot Rod’s already in hand blaster. 

“Friends visiting?” Deadlock rumbled condescendingly, not moving.

“You’re chattier than usual.” Hot Rod muttered, trying to ignore the still thrumming pain in his lower back. 

Deadlock lunged at him. Even at point blank range, the slagger moved quick enough that the blaster glanced off his shoulder armour rather than making contact with his vitals. Hot Rod could only think ‘Oh come on’ before being once again slammed into the dirt. He was getting this a lot today, was it a sign or something?

Locking his arms around Deadlock’s waist and scrambling to get his knees under himself, Hot Rod drove up and forwards, satisfied by the sound of the con’s pedes skidding in the gravel as he muscled back to his feet. The two of them wrestled, scuffling and punching and clawing at each other.

 The doors to the Autobot base slid open and out came the cavalry, laying down covering fire to keep the cons back. Hot Rod distantly heard the sound of Vortex being crashed into above by Whirl.The dull thrum of the flagship’s engines grew louder and louder. 

In his absentmindedness, Hot Rod failed to block a jab from deadlock, who a right hook right into the tanks. The captain gagged from pain, then slammed his knee up into Deadlock’s pelvic plating, eliciting a similarly undignified groan of agony. The two of them reeled back, both bent forward by their wounds. Blearily, Hot Rod saw Deadlock’s hand drift to his side, about to grab a blaster. Hot Rod put a stop to that in much the same way Deadlock had begun this little altercation.

Now once again on the ground, Hot Rod grappled with the eel-like gunslinger, straddling his waist and pummeling his jaw with his fists. Delicate protometal split in Deadlock’s lip and bloomed with deep pink energon. The triumphant sneer on Hot Rod’s face was smeared into breathless torment as Deadlock drove both knees up to slam into the Autobot’s already damaged lower back. 

Frag. At this rate he’d be walking with a cane by next week.

Hot Rod slumped off him to the side, but before Deadlock could continue to fight, a dustcloud had begun to form. The shadow that Ultra Magnus’ flagship had nearly completely blotted out their base, and the cloud of dust and smoke almost completely obscured it as it landed. The ground shook as the landing gear made contact. Facing him, the exit hatch of the ship split open, it’s airlock pouring disinfectant mist out over the extending ramp. 

And there, covered in grime, clutching his back, with a base on fire, Hot Rod watched the angelic, hulking silhouette of The High Enforcer, Ultra Magnus. 

He seemed at once terribly imposing and surprisingly confused to be standing in a warzone. Dutifully, the broadshouldered saviour began his descent down the ramp, thunderous footsteps picking up speed and sending his cape fluttering majestically behind him. Hot Rod could have cried, but instead he nabbed his blaster and scrambled to his feet, then rushed forward to meet him as his crew joined his descent down the ramp. “MAGNUS- ER- ULTRA MAGNUS, SIR, QUICK, WE NEED TO GET YOU TO COVER!”

Magnus looked down at him, expression puzzled. Well, his expression hadn’t changed, he had seemed puzzled ever since he came into view. “Well- yes- but- Captain Hot Rod, why in the name of cyber-”

“YES GREAT COME ON!” Hot Rod shouted, wheeling his arm in a circle. The ship’s crew, bewildered, rushed past after their commander, gathering at the end of the exit ramp. Ship now empty- hopefully- Hot Rod primed his blaster and began jogging with his new group of allies back behind a pile of debris. 

It was at this point that he could get a better look at Ultra Magnus’ crew. A femme, looked like some kind of watercraft, with a bug eyed expression as she stared out into the warzone, a rookie if he’d ever seen one. A blue mech he’d never met before, but who seemed to be handling this much better, his own sidearm unholstered in his hand from the second they exited the ship. A tiny, colourful minibot with a lens at the front of his helm. And-

RATCHET?? PERCEPTOR??? 

Thats it?? Where were the troops, the cavalry? Sure, even a ship that big could run off of droids alone if it wanted, but really? It was pretty safe this far out in the galaxy, but primus, was it worth the risk with a war going on?

“Captain, what on earth is going on here?!” Ultra Magnus boomed, deep concern laden in his voice. 

Peering over the debris did little to help get a better eyeline on the enemy, thanks to the ship. It was big enough that it’d take them a second to get around it, but he didn’t have long. The fire could have spread in that time, but it was running out of flammable material to burn, already beginning to smolder. If he could just get them into the side entrance-

“HOT ROD!” Ratchet barked. Hot Rod jumped, whipping around to look at them. 

“YES- Right- The Decepticons brought down our comms satellite last night- but they crashed it into their own base, and their ‘new hires’ took it as a declaration of malicious intent, so to speak, so now they’re attacking the base again.” Hot Rod explained, “I can get you all to relative safety for now, COME ON, we don’t have much time!”

“Captain-” Ultra Magnus tried again, more firmly this time. 

Hot Rod was already running towards the base. It would take a longer to get there out of alt mode, but it wasn’t a risk he could take, not knowing what half of them could turn into. He could hear the rest of them following. 

With some clear huffing and puffing, Ratchet fell into step beside him, face furrowed up in some mixture of annoyance, confusion and concern. “Kid- slow down- hav-“

Hot Rod shook his head, resetting his optics and whipping a hurried glance at him. “SLOW DOWN?? What is with you people!!?? Can’t you see we’re in a slagging war zone?! Just let me get you inside, dammit!!!” Not far from the entryway now- but not close enough either, not with the sound of those seekers overhead strafing the ground kicking up even more dust trying to see through the clouds. Idiots.

“That’s the problem, bolthead- why the hell is it an active war zone?!?” Ratchet snapped back.

“Why is it- DID YOU GET PROCESSOR DECAY SINCE THE LAST TIME I SAW YOU-?!!! RATCHET WE ARE AT FRAGGING WAR!!!!” Hot Rod wailed.

Ratchet just kept looking at him like he’d grown two heads. “Hot Rod- did you not- OUFFF!!” In a split second, Ratchet disappeared from his line of vision. Skidding forward across the dirt, Hot Rod realized with panic that Deadlock had crashed into him. Shit aim, he liked to think his silhouette was more recognizably trim than Ratchet’s, even through a dust cloud.

The two mechs struggled in the dirt for a moment, untangling their forms from one another. Deadlock wheeled a fist back to swing at Ratchet’s jaw- when he suddenly stopped. Optics bugged, his battle mask opened as if in afterthought.

Feebly, in a voice like he could hardly believe it himself, Deadlock breathed, “… Ratchet?”

Ratchet squinted, confused, then stunned, almost horrified clarity washed over his face. “Drift?”

And then, with catlike grace and an extremely menacing “HEEEEEEYAH!!” Rodimus slammed his ankle directly into Deadlock’s head with an expertly performed spin kick. The con crumpled to the ground for a moment, grasping his aforementioned very expertly kicked head.

No time to unpack what all that was about, Hot Rod wrapped his hands around Ratchet’s arm and yanked. “TIME TO GO, GEEZER, I DON’T LOVE BEING BLASTER FODDER!!!”

Ratchet staggered to his feet, stumbling after him with a markedly stunned look on his face. Hot Rod fought the urge to roll his eyes. Now was NOT the time, why were they all acting as if they could stop and chat right now? The scuffle had given the rest of his pack of yahoos- sorry, esteemed high guard crew, a chance to catch up. Finally, home stretch, he slammed into the door of the base, clumsily keying in the door code. 

Ultra Magnus’ hand came down on his shoulder. “HOT ROD, WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!!?”

Hot Rod’s optics bugged out. “THE MEANING-?! ENOUGH OF THIS- WE CAN TALK WHEN YOU’RE SAFE, DAMMIT!” 

“There should BE no unsafety AT ALL!!” Ultra Magnus roared. “THE WAR IS-”

A thunderous, audial-splitting BOOM shook what felt like the entire planet. In stunned horror, Ultra Magnus turned, and saw the back half of his beautiful, regal ship blasted to pieces. Thrusters scuttled, an almost perfectly circular hole had been shot through the back half, exactly where the warp drive would be. The vessel laid there like a wounded animal, its front landing gear straining and dangerously curved from the weight it now bore as the ship leaned at a diagonal with its nose facing the sky. Were Hot Rod a poetic sort, he might have said it looked as if the poor thing were looking up at primus himself, as if pleading. 

Ultra Magnus stood stock still, his crew quite the same, looks of dawning terror on their faces at the destruction of what must have been like a home to them. The dust began to settle, finally, from their landing, and through it, the group of them could see the Decepticon’s group in disarray, frozen in shock much the same as they were. A little tableau of the cause had created itself for them. 

Blast Off, hands gripping at the side of a clearly experimental, now damaged beyond repair, fusion cannon, trying to wrench it free from Brawl’s meaty mitts. Onslaught, with his hands on the back of it, clearly also trying to pull it away from the both of them. 

The sound of jet engines went quiet as the three accounted for seekers came to rest upon the edge of their base, clearly observing their destruction with glee. From the top of the now destroyed ship, Slipstream emerged from underneath an escape hatch, blazing with fury. 

“YOU SHOT AT ME!? YOU TOLD ME TO GO SURVEIL THE SHIP AND THEN YOU SHOT IT!?! WHAT THE FRAG IS YOUR MALFUNCTION YOU PACK OF-”

“I HAVE HAD ENOUUUGH!!!!!!!!” Ultra Magnus boomed, almost louder than the sound of his ship exploding. Had he not been shocked to numbness from the suddenness of the situation and the sheer state of things, Hot Rod could have fainted just from the waves of rage bursting off of Magnus’ unfettered EM field. 

Swinging an arm out, Magnus’ Thunder Hammer slid out of his subspace effortlessly into his hand. The mech moved with a speed Hot rod thought would be impossible for a frame his size to reach, barrelling through the path the cannon had left like a freight train. Blast Off immediately shot backwards, releasing the cannon and scattering from his group. Onslaught pivoted to the side and dropped the canon as well. Brawl caught the topside of Magnus' hammer directly to the chassis and flew backwards with a “WAURGH-!!” crashing through the outer wall of the Decepticon base and leaving behind a perfectly Brawl shaped hole in his wake. It was child's play then, to spin the hammer’s handle in his hand and deliver an almost insulting jab to Onslaught’s gut with the staff end of it. Onslaught crumpled forwards, but Ultra Magnus was not done with him. Grabbing his back kibble and lifting him into the air like an unruly cyberkitten, Magnus shook him as he roared, “THIS IS A DIRECT VIOLATION- A COMPLETE BREACH- THIS IS AN ACT OF WAR!!!!”  

“O-Of course it’s an act of war, you idiot!!” Onslaught choked out in a pained tone. Hot Rod winced. He could practically see a vein pumping on Magnus’ forehead. “We ARE at war!!!” 

Ultra Magnus shook him again, eyes bulging, teeth bared. “THEN WHY IN PRIMUS’ NAME DID YOUR BLITHERING RULER SIGN THAT DAMN PEACE TREATY, YOU IMPUDENT FOOL!!!!”

Stunned silence yet again fell over the scene. Hot Rod cycled his optics, rebooted his audials, and stiffly turned to Ratchet beside him. “We… we aren’t at war?” 

Ratchet shook his head, still baffled. “No kid. I’ve been trying to tell you. We haven’t been at war for three lunar cycles.”

Onslaught’s visor was wide and bright. “You’re lying.” 

Ultra Magnus tossed him into the dirt, still seething with anger. His hand now free, he produced a Hologram projector. 

A vid-window flickered to life. A pair of podiums on a stage, a Decepticon banner on one side, an Autobot banner on the other, and a magenta banner in the center, marked with an image of cybertron overlaid with two clasped hands. At the podiums, Optimus Prime and Megatron, each proud and regal, wearing magenta ceremonial cloaks. 

“If you have received this message,” Optimus began, “It is our deepest honour and greatest triumph to announce to you that after five million, seven hundred and eighty nine thousand, nine hundred and twenty six years of violence, the war for Cybertron has come to an end.” He turned, gazing with pride towards Megatron. 

Megatron, somehow not moping, not grumpy, not enraged, but proud as well, nodded humbly, and turned to face the camera. “After careful consideration, and many months of peace talks, we have come to the mutual conclusion that our war must end. When it began, it may have once been for a deeper purpose, however, in no small part due to my shortsightedness and anger, we have driven our race to a future of endless and constant suffering. I, and indeed, many of us, may never be forgiven for the harm we have caused, both to our society and the societies of the many others I subjugated in our search for resources. I was foolish, and misguided, and there is no excuse nor punishment that will ever truly begin to make right the wrongs I have committed.” He bowed his head for a moment, face grim, as if gathering himself. “It is for that reason that I have chosen to devote the rest of my lifespan to a goal of peace and reconstruction, not only for cybertron, but for the rest of the universe.”

Optimus was beaming at him, beaming at Megatron. He spoke, “Should we ever hope to restore our home, our focus must return to redemption and reconstruction. While there are those whose crimes warrant punishment, and indeed, abjuration, we must focus first upon the restoration of our home. 

“At the beginning of this conflict, it was the uncertainty of our future- Cybertron’s well of sparks’ stagnance, our dwindling supply of fuel- that brought not only the rise of fascism and functionism, but also its fall and subsequent violence to a fever pitch. Instead of working as one, we allowed our differences to divide us, and let anger control our actions. In all the many years we have fought, we have forgotten what truly separates us as a species amd a culture- our ability to change. We do not have to define ourselves by the blade or the blaster. We have an opportunity now to regroup, to allow the brightest and bravest of our species to put aside our differences in favour of searching for a solution, rather than allowing violence to become the only answer in our minds.

“It is in that spirit that we extend to you, children of cybertron, our final order as commanders, and our first plea as leaders of cybertron: Come home to us.” 

Megatron spoke up then, a reserved smile pulling at his lips. “There is much work to be done, and much forgiveness to be earned. We must not allow ourselves to stagnate and grow complicit in the slow undoing of our species, we must rise up! We must innovate, we must become better than we have been before, and yes, we must change. Our future rests in the hands of peace, not in the turbulence of war. I shall no longer stray from a path of progress in favour of petty hatred and spite, and I shall fight for a united, rebuilt cybertron until my dying breath,” He looked away then, towards Optimus, raising a fist to the sky. “Until all,”

Optimus mirrored him, the smile on his face a mixture of relief, and pride, and joy, and, and- “Are One.” 

The video feed of them cut, leaving only a brief view of a rippling, now magenta, cybertronian flag, before the projector cut out altogether. 

The crowd, both Decepticon and Autobot alike, stood still. Eyes wide, Hot Rod breathed to himself. “It’s… it’s really over?”

“Yes. and… by the looks of it… they might have just scuttled our only possibility of getting to the afterparty on time.” Ratchet muttered. 

Hot Rod took stock. Ultra Magnus’ ship was totaled, so much damage it’d be nigh impossible to fix. The shuttles in the Autobot hangar were almost certainly destroyed, judging by the smoking heap that their fallen satellite had turned the Decepticon hangar into, so were theirs. Both of their bases’ long range comm systems were ruined, and whatever power supply the ship had was probably blown to bits by the cannon blast. The nearest outpost to them was a two month journey away without warp travel, and they had no space bridge to speak of.

They were alone, at an edge of the universe that already took weeks if not months to receive just comms transmissions from cybertron. They were stranded.

Completely, and totally, stranded.