Nightbeat's Casebook:

MYSTERY OF THE TRANSFORMER DECOYS

Cybertron, a world composed entirely of machinery, a world torn apart by an age-old war between the heroic Autobots and evil Decepticons. It is 4, 000, 000 years in the past and the Autobots are slowly pushing the Decepticons back. But not all events happen on the battlefield, and the city of Iacon holds a dark and seedy underworld…

PART ONE by Martin McVay

"I don't like it."

"I told you I could get you in here."

"Getting out is more important."

"Getting paid is most important of all as far as I'm concerned. And I won't get paid if I don't get you out in one piece... so relax."

Nightbeat stared hard at the thief. He was banking on the guy's reputation, and prayed that his words were a sign of having everything under control rather than of an amateur's overconfidence. He turned back to the object on the stand - a chain of twenty undamaged and inactive Turbofox cerebral processors, the brain chips of Cybertronian
creatures who had no rational thought and acted on pure, unsullied, animalistic instinct, visibly glowing with concentrated Matrix Energy. It had taken the detective weeks to track them down, and their rightful owner would pay both him and his companion handsomely for their return.

The broad white shoulders of the expert lock-breaker tensed as Nightbeat's hand reached for the prize.

"Wait. Let me check for hidden sensors."

Nightbeat drew back to give the thief room to work and looked around the darkened penthouse suite in this, the tallest of Iacon's Celestial Spires. A few hundred cases like this one, and maybe he could afford such accommodation. But no... it wasn't his style.

"Hmmm..." mused his companion, engrossed in his efforts to liberate the Turbofox chain without triggering security alarms. Nightbeat had no desire to know how close they were to disaster, and moved instead to the vast window that gave a view of 360 degrees across the magnificent city, so far from the current front line, thanks to the
great fight-back made by the Autobot army since the coming of Optimus Prime more than a century ago. To those citizens remaining, the war was something that took place in a foreign land.

Not that they were unaffected. The fuel rationing, the curfews, the anti-missile protection net - these were all constant reminders of the sacrifices that must be made to keep them safe from the malice of Megatron. But life went on, and those who lived had to make a living.

Nightbeat looked across dizzying heights to the adjacent spire. He frowned. One of the windows had a light in it. That was most irregular at this time of night. He increased magnification to see if he could make out the shape of the transgressor, and blinked. His circuits must be playing tricks on him. The room across was full of robots,
and not just any robots. But it was impossible...

"Got it!" announced Getaway proudly, twirling the chain on his finger.

Nightbeat jumped and spun around, then yelped in alarm. "Give me that! If you damage it in any way, my client will-"

"I told you, relax. We're home free. What were you so preoccupied with that you didn't hear me the first two times anyway?"

"What? Oh! I saw-" Nightbeat turned back to point across at the room in the other tower.

All was dark.

PART TWO by Richard Ahern

A week after Getaway and I had recovered Triton’s Skulls my employer’s impatience reached a crescendo. My employer, the eminent Quardrine Wingspan, warned me that if I didn’t return his goods yesterday I would not live to see tomorrow. Being threatened by a fellow Autobot was a shock to say the least. The reason I hadn’t returned the Skulls was simple enough; I hadn’t wanted to. They had power, it was unmistakable – I trembled every time I held them, and I held them many, many times. But I had to give them up. I didn’t want to, but I had no choice. And yet, as much as Wingspan’s threats had troubled me, they also gave me a sense of relief. They broke the spell and gave me the impetus to hand over the Skulls. I’m a detective, not a fool, and the hunger for Triton’s Skulls was the worst kind of idolatry. I would not have possessed them, but they me.

Wingspan, as befits an Autobot of his status, lives sumptuously. His home is an isolated tower on the edge of the city. He likes to keep the clutter and the riffraff of the city centre far from his door. As I stepped out of the sonic lift and onto the building’s roof I was searched for the third time since I had entered the building. Not that it mattered: buffoons like them hold no fears for me. What I don’t want them to know, they won’t know. A guard shadowed me as I went to meet the Quadrine, supposedly to make sure I didn’t get lost (impossible as it was, I could see Wingspan from the moment I left the lift). But let’s just say that I have my suspicions about the guard’s intentions: we live in troubled times, but there is trouble and then there is trouble. With all the security Wingspan was employing you’d think he thought the Decepticons were going to invade Iacon!

Ignoring the beautiful cityscape that lay behind him, Wingspan stood on the roof’s edge facing me. In the distance I could see the heart of the city. I admit it; I stole a nervous glance at the window of the nearest building, fortunately this time I detected no signs of imaginary Transformers. Wingspan stared at me with unreadable optics.

"Amazing view, isn’t it?" he asked gesturing at the city. I nodded and tried to concentrate on the Quadrine. For an official he was very solidly constructed, smaller than I, but clearly powerful. His eyes glowed a vibrant orange against the stark white of his face and a half smile played across his lips. The flashes of pink against the blues that dominated his structure spoke of his alternate form. "Well then," he said, "now that you’re finally here. If you would be so kind as to return my property to me..."

Fishing around, I pulled Triton’s Skulls from their place of secretion. I glanced at the guard and allowed myself a slight smile, his mouth had formed a perfect O – his search hadn’t come close to exposing my secrets. Again I felt the tremble of power as I held the Skulls, but I tried to suppress it, to act professionally. But my hand still shook as I held up the chain on which the Turbofox skulls were strung. 

Wingspan grasped hungrily for the chain. "At last," he whispered. "You have done well, Nightbeat. You may not know it, but you have just made a huge contribution to the war effort. Power, it’s all about power. As thanks for a job well done let me give you something valuable." He must have registered the surprise on my face because he said "don’t worry about your credits, you will be paid in full on your way out. What I offer you now is of far greater worth. Follow me," he instructed before leading me to the extreme edge of the building. "Out there," he said pointing at the city, "there are many who want what I have, occasionally they will even try to steal it from me. They can’t touch me. Unfortunately, those who work for me aren’t always so safe." He put a companionable arm behind my back. "So you would be wise to forget what you’ve seen and heard." Suddenly he shoved me in the back, allowing me to teeter on the edge before pulling me back. "I won’t always be here to protect you".

*************************************************************************************

From a somewhat precarious position on the roof a grinning Pounce watched Nightbeat as he walked away from the tower. However, his smile turned to a frown when he spotted the Transformer he had dispatched to follow the Autobot. If he had seen the hunter, then there was every chance that its prey would too – even when that prey was as cocky as that Autobot. Oh well, if they had to kill the Autobot all the better. Allowing Nightbeat to leave unharmed had irritated him beyond belief, but his brother had insisted that caution must be observed. Scaring and threatening the young fool had certainly been fun, but not very expedient. Pounce doubted that Wingspan would be entirely happy with his performance. 

But who cares, he thought, if it was THAT important Wingspan wouldn’t have gone off and left me to deal with it. Putting such cares behind him Pounce lifted Triton’s Skulls from the reinforced titanium-glass case in which he had placed them. He draped the chain around his neck. Power, he thought, it’s all about power.  Who controls it and how they use it.

PART THREE by Charles Ellis

It's all about power. That's what Wingspan told me. And he would know. He has it and I don't. He's a wealthy Autobot, an aristocrat from before the break-up of the Autocracy into the City-States and he's rumoured to have moved into chemical trafficking, extortion, black-market morphcore operations and a few very perverse mediums for perverse robots- he's even able to afford a legal alternate mode. I, on the other hand, am a mere humble private investigator.

For some reason, my mind keeps coming back to that and it scares me. He has so much power, and could easily have me deleted if he wanted to. This seems wrong to me… but I deal with gits like him all the time. No, it's not just his power that worries me- it's that look in his eye and the tone of his voice when he tells me about it. He didn't sound like a normal Crimelord then.

He sounded like a Decepticon. 

This plays in my mind over and over for the next two days. I keep looking over my shoulder, keeping a blaster at hand, keeping away from unfamiliar paths. Other than that, business as usual.

Then the Security Force called me in to examine a cybercide.

My chemical sensors could detect the bitter tang of spilled mech-fluid long before I entered the room. I gritted my teeth and walked into the small, cramped hab-unit in the exhaust pipe of Iacon, knowing to expect the worst. This much mech-fluid spilt, it must have been brutal, messy, savage.

I was surprised to find that the deceased had just had a rather large hole blown in his lower chest. It had just been a case of too much firepower for too little armour.

"Who was this guy?" I asked.

"I have no idea," said Downshift, head of the Security Force for Sectors 4-6 of Iacon and an old acquaintance of mine. "Archives claim to not have him on file."

"Ah. A member of the SSF?"

"Most likely."

The SSF were a special branch of the Security Force. They operated in utmost secrecy, unknown by most of the rest of the SF, slowly infiltrating criminal gangs, Decepticon movements, the works. They are the hidden optics and audio-sensors of the law, and as such very unpopular among pretty much everyone on the planet. Yes, including the Security Forces.

"I also received word from Up There to not investigate the case," snorted Downshift. "So I'm hiring you to do it instead. Wish I was a High Officer, I'd put an immediate end to this bureaucratic slag."

"Good on ya," I said, kneeling down to inspect the wound. Obviously used by some form of portable cannon or the like- clean through the stiff and into the wall. Igniting the fuel reserves and melting the brain module. The hab-unit itself was clean except for a few sticks of blood-soaked furniture, and a suspiciously blasted computer. "So, you got called back from the army then?" I asked- I like some conversation when I work. Helps me concentrate. I sometimes even blab to myself!

"Oh yeah. I was only serving in the army for a year anyway. Tell you the truth, I prefer working here to fighting the `Cons. It takes more patience and concentration, but by Primus it feels more rewarding to put away criminals than to gun down some poor generic." 

"How're the other Omnibots?"

"Fine."

The computer, I noticed, had been destroyed by a very different weapon to the one that had killed the stiff. Damage involved melting, so a laser weapon. A synopsis was forming; but first, I needed to check for clues to the attacker. I could see a gun clasped in the corpse's hand, so he might've damaged his attacker somewhat. Quick
examination showed only one shot had been fired- quite a fast gunner, our mystery attacker. Magnified vision picked up a small flake of metal and paint on the floor. Off-white, with a small smidgeon of purple. It was a wide shot in the dark, but it looked kinda like the edge of the Decepticon ensign. I frowned, reached into my personal sub-space pocket and removed a tiny forensics drone, a slender little fellow with scanners, little pincher arms and a space on its back to store small fragments like this. It darted across the room, picked up the flake, stored it and ran back to me for storage again.

"I think I know what happened," I said, rising off the floor. "The attacker came through the door. Our stiff fired off a shot before being hit by a cannon blast. He dies, brain module burnt. THEN our attacker uses the computer, searching for whatever information the SSF guy had, and destroys the computer afterwards so we can't trace
what he did."

"Right." Downshift was unimpressed. He had his patented cut-the- slag look. "Nice work. Now, find out who done it."

*********************************************************************************

I'm too poor to basically afford an alternate mode- that is a luxury for civilians, and the death toll from black market morphcore operations is quite high. Still, I'm content with my little car. It's old, rusting, has wheels instead of anti-grav thrusters, but hey- it gets me to where I wanna go, and has lots of hidden weapons ambiguous
legality hidden under the seat.

I drove off, devoting a few basic systems to driving whilst the rest worked on the case. I had a theory. It came back to what I'd seen that night with Getaway. I tried to forget about it, it was too impossible to believe.

But it happened. 

I had seen Megatron.

*******************************************************************************

"N-N-Nightbeat!" gabbled Circuit, jumping up so quickly he knocked his chair over. "What a nice surprise!"

"Cut the slag," I growled. "I'm looking for information."

Circuit is a toady. He works for one of the crime gangs as an errand boy, a messenger. Well, technically he only works for one- he is actually messenger to nearly all of them, the underworld's own private Intranet. He's always ready to make a deal, set up a little scam, betray his bosses for a bit of extra credits. I hate the slagger, but he has one good thing going for him- he hordes information. Lots of it. He's always my first port of call. 

"I'm looking for Decepticons."

"Decepticons?! In Iacon? Have you been on the Syk?" 

He moved to go, but I slammed my arm in front of the door. "Someone making himself up to look like Megatron," (he couldn't be THE Megatron. Could he?) "has been wandering around. You know anything about that?"

I showed off a shiny new credit, and his voxbox loosened. "I may have heard a few things in the pub. Some little guy called Scrounge, forget what he does. Mentioned something when drunk about seeing Meggy."

Not a good lead, but the best I had. I walked out, thinking the whole thing over. Who would be wandering around disguised as Megatron? What was so useful on the SSF guy's computer?

It's all about power. That's what Wingspan had said to me. And I know I have next to none. But you don't always need power. There's always skill, and cunning, and luck, and patience.

Here's hoping it'll be enough.

PART FOUR by Alex Smith

Slammer’s Oil House, Iacon; the Greased End
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“You Scrounge?”

Nightbeat placed a hand on the shoulder of the small golden Autobot, who leapt into the air with a frightened yelp. Oil splashed everywhere.

“Oh,” said Nightbeat, calmly running a finger down an oil stain on his yellow chest plate. “Look at that. You’ve spilt your oil. Let me buy you a new one.”

Nightbeat hailed the barman, a large and rather ugly robot with grease dripping from his freshly lubed joints.

“Two quarts of oil, easy on the unleaded”

Nightbeat eased himself onto a stool next to the shivering robot. The barman slid their drinks across to them, the grease on the counter meaning that Nightbeat had to catch them before they slid off the end of the bar.

Slammer’s Oil House was a low-rent kind of joint. The premises had been a munitions factory, long ago, and the smell of weapons fuel still hung heavily in the air. It had been a famous haunt for criminals right back to the Golden Age, and the barman clearly took great pride in being the one robot to stand up to ‘Mad’ Manky Laser, head of Iacon’s largest crime syndicate back in the day. Before it all became corporate. Before the Kalisians got involved.

“Right over there,” he’d say, pointing to a dent in the wall. “That’s where ‘e chucked me through the wall and into the backroom. ‘Course, in the backroom, playin’ meta-cards, were the Gray twins, and o’course, that kicked off the whole Greased End gang war…”

Focus, Nightbeat, focus. History fascinated him, but it was his curse. He needed to focus on the here and now, when all he could think of was there and then.

“So, Scrounge, somebody tells me you saw Megatron…”

Better get straight to the point, thought Nightbeat. For the second time since their meeting, Scrounge spluttered oil.

“I didn’t see nothing, I swear I didn’t.”

“That’s what they all say, pal.”

“Maybe that’s ‘cause they’re all thirsty, know what I mean?”

Nightbeat motioned to the barman and another drink slid their way. Scrounge downed it before he had a chance to spill it again, and turned to Nightbeat, a little more confidently.

“I’m thinkin’ that tonight, I’m gonna be real thirsty…”

“I’m thinkin’ tonight, you’re gonna be awful bruised if you don’t start talking. Where’d you see the ‘Con?”

Scrounge nervously looked around him, eyeing the regulars, checking if any of his friends were about. As luck would have it, they weren’t. He rolled his optics and leaned in close to Nightbeat.

“You gotta swear nobody hears about this, right? Guy I’m workin’ for now, he ain’t small time, know what I mean? Word gets out that I been talkin’ to you, I’m a dead man, y’hear?”

Nightbeat heard. He’d heard it all and he didn’t care. Scum like this deserved what they got in the end, and all he could do was his job.

“I was walking home one night, maybe a couple’a days ago. I hear a kinda sound.”

“What kinda sound?”

“A kinda sound, ok?”

“’Lotta sounds in the world, gonna have to narrow it down for me.”

“Just a sound. I dunno, like a Turbofox…”

Nightbeat’s mind flashed back to the Skulls. Forget the past, he thought.

“So it seems to be comin’ from this alleyway, sounds like it’s hurt or something?”

“And being a caring member of society, you thought you’d help out, right?”

“Uh yeah, right. So I go down to investigate, but it’s dark, so I switch on my illuminators and…”

Nightbeat was getting tired of this.

“…And…?”

“…And half bent over, rooting through the garbage, is a robot. The second I turn on my light, it looks up, and…and I swear on my own life, it’s Megatron!”

The thought was allowed to sink into Nightbeat’s central processor. He had to suppress a smile – the mighty Megatron rooting in garbage in a Greased End back alley!

“So what did the mighty Megatron do upon seeing a fearsome warrior such as yourself?”

“Well…it was odd. He sorta…growled at me, the same noise I’d heard before, and just leapt up onto the rooftops and ran away!”

Scrounge took another scared look around him, and then stared at Nightbeat expectantly. Nightbeat went to hand him a shiny credit token, but snatched it away at the last second.

“What’s in the bag?” he asked, motioning to the sack at Scrounge’s feet.

“Oh, nothin’. Just work stuff…”

“Right,” said Nightbeat, relenting and handing over the credit. It had been a long night and he needed some shutdown. It’d be morning soon. Time for his kind to retreat.

He went to leave, patting Scrounge on the shoulder.

“I’ll be in touch.”

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As he got into his car and revved the engine, Nightbeat reached into a compartment and examined the artifact he had taken from Scrounge’s bag.

“Well I’ll be damned…” he breathed, twisting the object as a jeweller with a precious stone.

The tiny grey object was a Turbofox brain.

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Wingspan liked taking a hands-on approach to work, even now, in his enviable position as a fat-cat businessman with a little crime on the side.

A lot of crime on the side. Sorry.

He was just tinkering with a brain module when a report buzzed in over his internal communicator. It was Nightbeat’s shadow.

“This better be good, I’m very busy.”

“Nightbeat has been talking to Scrounge.” 

“So what? Scrounge is a delivery boy, nothing more.”

“Apparently, Scrounge has seen the feral.”

Wingspan was silent for second. Damn.

“No matter. Scrounge is too stupid to connect the feral with the work he has been doing for us. Nightbeat, however, could be a problem. Eliminate him. Scrounge too. Thanks to Nightbeat…”

Wingspan gazed at the Turbofox brain he was operating on. The Skull.

“…I no longer have need of Scrounge’s services. And make it messy, like the last one. Over and out.”

Damn him! Thought Wingspan. Damn him to the Pit! In his anger, he kicked over a table bearing multiple Turbofox brains, which clattered to the floor, startling the engineers doing work behind him.

“What?” he shouted. “Clean up this mess at once! And increase the surveillance net. I want the feral rounded up and implanted with one of our new brain modules as soon as possible. I can’t afford to have our plans revealed before they are complete. Quickly!”

The engineers fell over themselves to do their master’s bidding, as Wingspan returned to operating on the brain module.

Megatron would not be pleased.

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Megatron was not pleased.

Nightbeat knew this, because it kept growling at the shadows of his dark hab-unit. Every now and then, it would sniff an object, before returning to growling. Occasionally, it would put its head between its legs and stay there for breems.

As the wind whistled in through the window it had broken in by, Nightbeat watched it wander off to explore the rest of his hab-unit. Nightbeat groaned. In the spot where it had been sitting, he detected a musty odour, and a slowly expanding patch of liquid.

And then, Scrounge came bursting through the door.

Headfirst.

PART FIVE by Miles Reid

Nightbeat ran over to Scrounge. Scrounge looked horrible beat up, his body work was dented badly, but fortunately, it wasn't as bad as it looked and he'd be as right as rain after a med-tech beat his body shell back into place with a sledge hammer.

"Scrounge! Scrounge! Who did this to you?"

Scrounge looked up at Nightbeat.

"The one behind you!" screamed Scrounge.

Nightbeat turned around and received a punch across the face as a result. As Nightbeat flew across the room, he realised to his horror, that he had been tailed.

The figure was in shadow as it bent over Scrounge and picked him up by the head.

"Let him go!" yelled Nightbeat as he picked up the closest he had to a deadly weapon.

A Leg from a piece of broken furniture. He threw it at the shadowy figure that growled and turned to Nightbeat. Which was then when Nightbeat knew who the figure was. 

"Hey! Aren't you that Grimlock guy I heard in the news bulletins?"

The thing that looked kind of like Grimlock snarled and leapt at him. Nightbeat did the only thing an Autobot in his position could do.

Run away.

Nightbeat ran down the streets of Lower Iacon, but there was no one there to help him, it was curfew time. And that was when Nightbeat had his idea. The City Security Forces usually patrolled the city to find and stop all curfew breakers, with force if they ran away, every potential curfew breaker is possibly a `Con spy.

Behind him, the Grimlock thing was catching up.

"Typical! Slagging typical! Where are the Security Forces when you need them?" he screamed at the ether.

Suddenly, there was the sound of growling and Megatron suddenly dropped out of nowhere and roared. Nightbeat fell to his feet as Megatron pounced at him. The Megatron thing soared over Nightbeat and hit the Grimlock thing with full strength, soon the two were on the floor growling, snarling and snapping at each other. Nightbeat got up and looked at the two.

Suddenly, laser fire seared past him and hit the two figures. 

"Halt or I fire!" yelled a voice. Nightbeat turned and saw two Security Troops on a floating gun platform; he had been fortunate to come across two Curfew Guards.

"Aren't you meant to say that BEFORE firing?" he yelled.

More laser fire shot towards him and the two snarling impostors; Nightbeat leapt out of the way as the two figures were Swiss cheesed into little mechanical bits.

Nightbeat crawled over to what remained of Megatron and Grimlock. Which wasn't much. The Guards' hover platform came closer.

"Don't move friend." Said one of the Troops. Nightbeat suddenly dove both hands into the remains of Megatron and Grimlock and tore out two Turbofox brain units. His theory was correct and whatever was going on, he didn't like it.

"Don't move." Said the Trooper, hover platform coming closer.

Nightbeat put the brain units in a storage compartment, got to his feet and ran away.

********************************************************************************

"I've got good news." Said Pounce.

"What?" said Wingspan.

"We do not have to worry about the escape of the Megatron Unit, it was destroyed. But the bad news is that Nightbeat and Scourge live."

Wingspan roared his anger.

"Find them! Kill them! Which decoy did you use to destroy them?"

"One of Brainstorm's latest. Grimlock, but it was destroyed."

"Fine, fine, destroy the remains. Tell our operative that Brainstorm must build us another Grimlock."

"Brainstorm will be wondering what happened to his decoys. We've taken ten of them so far."

"Tell them that the brain unit programming has proven to be more difficult then we thought and they went berserk. Tell him we've destroyed them all."

"He'll get suspicious of our work. We can't keep distracting him with `faulty brain modules' can we?"

"We are truly fortunate for Brainstorm wanting an independent company to help design functioning lifeless brain modules. He will aid the Decepticons well and unwittingly."

"What do we do about Nightbeat?"

"Release the Decoys of Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Wheeljack, Trailbreaker and Tracks, program them to destroy Nightbeat and Scrounge. We're making good progress. Eventually the Decoys will be ready to aid the Decepticon Cause."

**********************************************************************************

"What in Primus' name are you doing?" screamed Getaway. 

Nightbeat dropped Scrounge on the floor and dripped where he stood.

"Something's going on, I need a place to hide."

"What's that smell?"

"I've been playing `Squat in Sewage' for the last twenty breems, now let me in!"

Getaway sighed and helped Nightbeat carry Scrounge in. "What happened to him?" asked Getaway.

"Grimlock took a disliking to him." Said Nightbeat flippantly.

Nightbeat handed Getaway the two brain units.

"Scrounge'll be fine after we stop him smelling. Can you decrypt these brain units?"

"What're you going to do?" asked Getaway. Nightbeat slumped down on Getaway's Circuit Slab.

"Recharge." Said Nightbeat, immediately going off line.

******************************************************************************

NEWS GOOD GOT I'VE

Nightbeat found himself in a bizarre room. The walls and floors were pink, the furniture was pink. Even the oil he was drinking was a shade of pink.

"What?" he asked.

Suddenly, as if in reverse, a figure lurched up to him. It was Scrounge….Scrounge walking backwards.

OTHER AN FACT IN IS ONE BE TO APPEARS WHO HE said Scrounge in a bizarre monotone, tapping his faceplate as he did so.

Suddenly, Nightbeat felt something drip on his leg. He looked down; a pink Turbofox was dripping a rather disgusting act on his leg. He looked back up to see Megatron sitting upside down on a chair.

VALUE FACE AT TAKEN IS EVERYTHING NOT SECRETS WITH FILLED IS HE
hummed Scrounge.

"Scrounge…..for the Love of Primus…make sense!" yelled Nightbeat.

?MEGATRON DECEPTICON THAT LIKE EXACTLY ALMOST LOOK HE DOESN'T BUT DUMMY A HE'S intoned Scrounge, who broke into a funny little dance.

Nightbeat screamed his fury, but it only came out as gargling.

*******************************************************************************

"Nightbeat?" said a concerned Getaway.

Nightbeat screamed and fell off the Circuit Recharge Slab. He got to his feet embarrassed, he was personally curious as to what had just happened inside his head, but the case was more important now.

"How's the brain unit deciphering going?" asked Nightbeat.

"Not very well. I'm going to get an old contact in on it, a computer programmer I know who works at the Cybertron Institute for Higher Learning, his name is Chromedome."

"Fine, sure…..What's that smell?"

"Scrounge….and you. If we're going to the CIHP, you're going to need an oil bath."

"No time!" said Nightbeat.

*****************************************************************************

Chromedome looked up, a look of disgust on his face. "What's that Primus awful smell?" he said out loud.

Nightbeat looked sheepish and left the room quietly. Getaway sighed and looked at Chromedome.

"Well, what are they?"

"They're Turbofox brains….why am I looking at Turbofox brains?"

Getaway shrugged. Chromedome looked through the electron microscope. Then he paused.

"Wait a minute! I've found something."

********************************************************************************

Nightbeat walked past a group of scientists as he walked down the corridors, as he passed them, they recoiled in shock. He turned around and snarled.

"Yes, it was me!"

He scurried down the corridor.

***********************************************************************************

The Sideswipe Decoy walked to the Reception of the CIHP and up to the Reception Droid sitting at its desk. The Droid looked up.

"Can I help you?"

The Sideswipe Decoy paused and had to consult his rather sparse dialogue module. "Nightbeat…here….want see…him."

The Droid looked down at the computer.

"Yes, there was a Mr Nightbeat here as guest, but he is busy in conference with Professor Chromedome who asked not to be disturbed."

The Sideswipe Decoy paused and considered this little complication.

"I'll……be…b…ack." He said quietly.

"Pardon Sir?"

"I'll……be…b….ack." said the Sideswipe impersonator who turned and walked out to get his fellow Decoys and the nice large guns.

************************************************************************************

"What is it?" asked Getaway.

"It appears to be some kind of personality upgrade module. A bit primitive but getting there, dialogue modulator, it's as if this has been upgraded to be a walking puppet. Following pre-set orders, given words, phrases, dialogue, when this is perfected you'll have an entire facsimile of a Cybertronian brain module, imprinted on this Turbofox brain."

"A Form of interrogation? Copy the mind onto a Turbofox brain and hack the information and leave the prisoner to go free thus saving on wasting time on interrogation?"

"I'm thinking on something more sinister….the ultimate infiltrator."

***********************************************************************************

Nightbeat walked into the Reception area to ask for the nearest Oil Bath when the Decoys of Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Tracks, Wheeljack and Trailbreaker walked in, all heavily armed and started firing.

Oh no, was all that went through Nightbeat's head as he dove for cover.

PART SIX by James Roberts

So anyway, right now I'm stuck inside the Institute for Higher Programming - diving for cover as we speak, actually - and wondering what to make of it all. I've never really been shot at, you see - well, certainly not by a bunch of Autobots. I don't recommend it.

I dive into an adjoining room and slam the door closed; and I ask myself, how did I get here?

To tell you the truth, It's all - belatedly - beginning to make sense. But first, an interlude.

*********************************************************************************

My programmer once said to me - after he'd ushered the Dirty Half-Dozen out of the Academy's download theatre - that I was destined for great things. His comment caught me by surprise. Bear in mind that this was shortly after I'd been labelled a low-percenter - a strip n' skip - by all the other tekkies and genomechanics. In case you'd forgotten, I was the only one of Sentinel Prime's seven Antimorphs to fall short of the gold standard. What can I say? A few of my tick boxes went un-ticked, you know?

Anyway, the comment caught me off guard. With an armful of Energon rations, my last cred-slip from Crossways and a communicube the size of the Prime frikkin' Matrix (this was ages ago, before micro sizing), I didn't want to
hang around for long goodbyes. I wanted to put all the aptitude tests behind me and celebrate my freedom. Hell, I was fit, I was good looking, and I was young - probably one of the youngest on the planet, in fact, considering the
sudden drop in biomorphic births (one in two Autobots were barren by this stage); in short, I wanted to move on.

'You're destined for great things, Seven.' (Please note that I hadn't yet decided on the name 'Nightbeat'; I was still A/00007. People had, admittedly, got bored of the nought-nought-nought bit.)

'Anything's better than twisting bolts in Kalis,' I said, heading for the door. 'I've got eight other fingers - why not use 'em?' But - and you could see this coming, couldn't you - curiosity got the better of me. 'Great things, eh? How can you tell?'

'Because you don't take no for an answer. Because you'd sooner die than live in ignorance. And because... because you play a "yes, but-" game with everything.'

Wheeljack's words stayed with me as I hopped on an antigrav shuttle bound for Iacon; it was probably 'round about then that I decided what to do with my life. Forget the Autobot army, forget Strikeforce Beta - I was going to follow my own path. I was going to become a private investigator.

*********************************************************************************

I think of this now because I've just bumped into Wheeljack - or 'Wheeljack', I should say. You want me to explain the inverted commas? Understandable - I've only just worked this out myself. You see the robot in front of me - the one surrounded by gun-toting, teeth-baring, fist-flashing Autobot Heroes (Primus bless 'em) - is not the real Wheeljack at all. He's a bolt-perfect facsimile, a bona fide body-copy, with a thumb-sized Turbofox brain fizzing away behind his blank blue eyes.

It's all in the eyes, you see - light-starved and lustreless, they're like frosted windows into an empty head; a cerebral cavern ricocheting with silence and soft warm space. Excuse me while I wax poetical - it's a bad habit I picked up while training at the Academy. You have to amuse yourself when your six high-flying womb-brothers are comparing how many pounds they can bench-press.

But I digress. Ah yes, Wheeljack's eyes - I'd seen the same dead optics when 'Megatron' had broken into my hab-unit earlier that day, his hands a mess of knuckles and nails. His body wasn't designed to bend and flex like a
Turbofox's, you see, but no one had told him that -- certainly not the thick-fingered tech-head who'd wired the poor bastard up in the first place.

How do I know this? Hey, I'm an investigator. Joining up the dots - it's what I do. Allow me to recap:

My last employer, Wingspan, had asked me to recover a string of missing Turbofox brains. Simple enough. I'd used my usual contacts - a veritable who's who of alley-dwelling, lube-swilling, tale-telling scum - to track down
the stolen goods. Somehow they'd found their way into the hands of an Autobot ambassador named Triton. It was only when my accomplice, Getaway, handed me the brains that I realised Something Was Up. These were not your regular cerebral processors - they were alive.

No, that's an understatement. They were ALIVE alive. They HURT with life. The Matrix energy that bathed them seemed to scold the air itself for getting too close, you know what I mean?

Once I got back to my hab-unit it was all I could do to sit and stare. I was aware of nothing but myself. There was no 'outside': the universe fell short of my silhouette. The airborne silica settled like pollen on my optics; my audio receptors recorded themselves as they searched frenziedly for sound; my internal circuitry peeled itself apart, seduced by little more than age and whispered friction. Intense, eh?

Now, take your average t-fox - probably the last of this planet's animal species. These guys get by with a self-contained but rudimentary brain module, a crude little box of tricks blessed with just enough Matrix energy to get things moving. A single drop from the Primal reservoir was all it had taken, back when Cybertron was cooling off, to animate and motivate these guys.

Theoscientists (excuse me while I spit) had a typically romantic theory for all this. In their apparently unending quest to dust the planet for Primus' fingerprints, these god-botherers saw Turbos as a side-project, a divine doodle beside the grand Autobot blueprint. Moving limbs, a smidgen of independent thought and a hunger to exist, to persist - that was it. That was life. Half-life, maybe, but life nonetheless.

Triton's t-fox brains are a breed apart, and now someone out there - someone close to Wingspan - has realised that all this life is too precious to be wasted on harmless little quadrupeds: they've decided it's time for some targeted redistribution.

I once heard of something called Flame's Paradox. I'll share it with you: how can a bullet ever reach its destination when you can halve the distance between the gun and the target again and again and again? It's a trick of distance, or movement, or both - I've never quite fathomed it. Sitting here, waiting for these clones - these Decoys - to break down the door and beat me to death - I wonder whether the same principle of infinite division could
apply to life? Could life itself be divided and sub-divided? Could one spark sustain two Cybertronians, or a group, or an army? Could a Turbofox brain - albeit a Turbofox brain somehow blessed with raw Matrix energy - sustain an army of Cybertrons? An army of Decepticons?

As the door flies off its hinges and a gun is pressed to my head, I wonder if I'll ever find out.

PART SEVEN by Charles Ellis

There's a gun against my head, and I know have about a nanosecond before the trigger is pulled.

I kick out at my attacker's legs, causing him to stumble and lose his footing; quickly I grab his hand and break two of his fingers to cause him to drop the gun. I pick that up and bolt, running right through my would-be killers. They seem a little surprised, and so it's about a second before they start firing again, but by this time I'm already up the hallway.

Behind me, I can hear a rhythmic thumping noise and a growl- I'm not even going to bother looking round, it'll only slow me down and I know the guy's chasing me like a Turbofox would. I fire randomly behind me and smile at the sound of a strangled yelp.

I run into the room where my comrades were last and slam the door shut. The room is empty.

And now I realise I'm still alive, and I collapse to the floor, thanking Primus as I go.

************************************************************************************

Triton is worried. The situation is getting out of control. Sure, if the plan is pulled off, it'll be a great victory for the Decepticons, but Wingspan is going too far. Attacking the Institute of Higher Programming with Autobot simulacra's?! Why doesn't he just blab the whole plan on live newsfeed?!

Triton is an Autobot ambassador. Supposedly. In reality, he was won over to the Decepticon cause long ago, and serves as a deep cover agent. And that fool is going to blow it all. Getting the Turbofox chain by hiring Nightbeat and saying that they'd been stolen from him (since "I need you to get an important tool from a Decepticon agent to me without anybody realising anything" wouldn't cut it), that was a risky enough plan. But now...

"Wingspan, this is Triton. Yes, this is a secure line. What in Primus' name are you doing? Aha. That doesn't cut it, Wingspan. Stop using the Decoys for your little criminal activities- they are not intended for that and you'll jeopardise the mission! Use normal hitmen next time, it'll be easier for us all. No, stop, I don't care. Now, we either see some sign of progress in the next two weeks- a working Decoy, in other words -or the whole thing's off. Is that clear? Good."

*************************************************************************************

Getaway had gone, but he'd left a datapad behind. It's dull reading, so I'll cut to the gist: his pal had worked out what the Turbofox brain modules were being used for and how they'd be used like this. They'd heard the Institute come under attack and figured out that the attacker's were these 'Decoys', if you will, and that they wouldn't allow any witnesses. So they'd inserted a program into their minds that would wipe all memories of this situation from their minds- the program would kick in once they were outside the Institute, ensuring that nobody would be able to link them with me and terminate 'em.

Smart guys. Doesn't help me much though. 

I wonder what Scrounge is going to do. I'm guessing he'll go underground- he knows they're after him, and he's no fool.

"They"? There's no mysterious "they", I know Wingspan is behind this. It fits. Now, the hard part- what do I do about it? 

Well, that's obvious- I'm going to find out why he's doing this and get some evidence I can use to nail him. Why? Because if he's behind this, he's behind that cybercide and also a terrorist attack on the Institute. Because he's trying to kill me. Because he's hiding the Truth. 

Mainly, I realise, it's because of the Truth. Heh. That's me, putting truth ahead of my own life, which is why I always get into so many fights in seedy bars.

OK. I need evidence to link Wingspan with those crimes. I need to go to ground somewhere. And I really need to get out of here before the Decoys get here.  

************************************************************************************

 Getting out alive was easier than expected. The Decoys were too busy killing witnesses and destroying the security surveillance footage, so I was able to sneak out back. The newsfeeds are saying this was the work of Decepticon terrorists. Could that be it? Wingspan's a Decepticon? Makes sense, but again I need evidence for it.

I jot down everything- thoughts, ideas, events -onto a datapad. I don't need to do it, it's all wired into my core processor, but it helps me think. I do that first. Secondly, I recharge. Third, I go to the phone- I want to call Downshift, get his help on this, because Security Forces resources would be very useful right now. He might even have some data on the SSF stiff- knowing why Wingspan used the Megatron Decoy on him would be nice...

My phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Nightbeat!" It's Scrounge, and he sounds scared. "Nightbeat, you have to get out of the hab-unit, get somewhere else, hell get out of Iacon-"

"What's going on?"

"It's all over the Greased End! There's a big frikkin' contract on your head- ten thousand credits! You probably have a few cycles before every single bit of scum in this city comes gunning for you-"

The phone goes dead. Not because he hung up- it is literally dead. The lights snap off, plunging me in darkness. Someone's coming for me. Someone who believes in flash and being ominous. I activate my night-vision and open a compartment in my side to get my gun.

My door swivels open.

PART EIGHT: THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE by Richard Ahern

Cybertron 2016

A streetlamp flickered and exploded. The resulting cascade of light and sparks showered two passing Autobots as they slowly trudged down the midnight streets of Iacon.

‘This place gives me the creeps’ the younger Autobot detective confided to his superior.

‘Iacon isn’t what it once was’ admitted Nightbeat ‘I can remember the days when this place was alive; really alive – not just given a new coat of paint or a quick spring-cleaning. Back bef – hang on. Did you hear something?’

‘I think it came from over there’ Fastform said pointing nervously at one of the many mouldering piles of rubbish that decorated the streets. As the two Autobot watched, the rubbish shifted slightly. Nightbeat drew his gun and waited. Suddenly a Turbofox burst from the rubbish, slipped past the startled Fastform and scurried down the street before stopping to look back at the Autobots.

‘Primus! That thing scared me to half to death!' Nightbeat admitted ruefully. ‘Did you ever imagine a harmless little critter like that scaring us?’

‘I wasn’t scared’ Fastform claimed half-heartedly.

‘Sure kid, sure. You know something? Strange as it sounds I remember a time when you NEEDED to be afraid of those things.’

‘Pull the other one sir!’ Fastform laughed

‘No honestly, it really happened. I’ll tell you about it; it’ll pass the hours. Let’s see. I guess it started when Wingspan hired me to recover Triton’s Skulls. Wingspan was still an Autobot back then, a little shady, but well respected. Triton’s Skulls were a chain of Turbofox brains that absolutely dripped matrix energy...’ Nightbeat trailed off, the present forgotten as he stared fixedly at the shadows of his past.

‘So what happened?’ Fastform pleaded. Nightbeat remained silent.

**************************************************************************

Iacon before it fell.

Nightbeat pulled himself to his feet and held his gun in readiness, despite the almost total darkness there was still enough light for his nightvision to discern the shape of a small robot that had stuck its head around the door.

‘Don’t shoot’ it pleaded. ‘I have information for you and...I need your help’. Nightbeat strained to see the Transformer but couldn’t see any more than the robot’s basic size and shape. The newcomer didn’t look very threatening.

‘Alright. Come in slowly and with your hands in the air.’ Nightbeat said.

‘I can provide light if you’ll let me black out the window and scan for bugs’ the Transformer offered.

‘Give me the scanner’ Nightbeat replied.

 The other robot slowly pulled a small object from its place of secretion and then slid it along the floor. Nightbeat bent down and without taking his eyes off the other Transformer searched the floor for the object. Nightbeat’s fingers brushed against one of the buttons on the scanner and it became illuminated. Warily, he looked at it and quickly deciphered its operation. Holding it aloft he slowly swept the room for bugs. Finally after endless seconds the scanner found something and started to beep. Praying that this wasn’t all an elaborate plot Nightbeat used the scanner to emit a low frequency pulse and a small explosion in the far corner of his hab unit rewarded his faith. Further sweeps of the room revealed and destroyed two more spying devices. Nightbeat went to the room’s solitary window and barred any light from Iacon’s curfew shrouded night by pushing a computer terminal in front of it, the room was now totally black and Nightbeat was acutely aware that he was totally at the other Transformer’s mercy.

Suddenly the room became lit. The source of the light was two lamps on the other robot’s feet. The newcomer was predominantly yellow and he had two horns protruding from his head. ‘My name is Bumblebee’ he introduced himself ‘and as I said before I need your help. I work for Autobot High Command. Two years ago I was assigned to infiltrate Quadrine Wingspan’s operation- I have been trying to evaluate his long-term plans, especially in reference to the Decoys project. Lately things haven’t gone exactly to plan, the Quadrine has had me do things I didn’t want to do and I’ve lost control of the situation. I...had to kill an Autobot’ he said brokenly. ‘I didn’t actually kill him, but it was at my order that the Decoy did. I think you saw the body.’ Nightbeat nodded and Bumblebee continued. ‘My superiors wanted a field test of the Decoys because they hope to steal the tech back from the Decepticons. They told me I wasn’t allowed to break my cover. I had no choice...’

‘What do you want with me?’ Nightbeat asked brusquely, wanting to get to the point – to the truth.

‘Wingspan needs to trust me, if he wants you dead then I have to kill you and I don’t want another Autobot’s oil on my hands. After you gave Triton’s Skulls to Wingspan he ordered me to follow you. I’ve seen you work, I think you can help me.’

‘I knew it’ Nightbeat breathed. ‘I knew someone was following me.’

‘I’m running out of time. You’re an outsider – you’re smart, if you crack this case then I can get off it and go back to the kind of work I was meant to do. I don’t want to kill for Wingspan.’

‘Okay, let me get this straight; Wingspan is a Decepticon and he’s working on some kind of infiltrator program that puts Turbofox brains inside Cybertronian bodies?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘The dead guy from the SSF. He was getting too close to all this, so you had him killed and his computer destroyed, and then your superiors hushed it up?’ Bumblebee nodded. ‘Where do the Triton’s Skulls fit into all this?’ Nightbeat asked.

‘The Skulls are soaked in Matrix energy’ Bumblebee explained. ‘A Decoy with one of those in his head will be smart; it’ll almost be alive. It’s possible, even probable, that only a mere fragment will give life. In a way the Skulls are even more valuable than the Matrix; the troops that are created using them are completely programmable – they’ll do what their master wants them to do even though they’re alive and can adapt.’

Nightbeat had a sudden flash of intuition ‘Who is Triton?’

‘Triton? I, I assumed the Skulls were named after the moon. Now that you mention it though the name does ring a bell. I think there used to be an Autobot Ambassador in Tarn called Triton. I’d never given it any thought. Do you think it might be important?’

‘I don’t like to guess.’

‘I’ve only managed to observe Wingspan reporting to his superiors on a few occasions. On each of those he talked to Soundwave – you’ve heard of him?’

‘Of course.’

‘As far as I’ve been able to tell Megatron leaves the Decoys project to his underlings,’ Bumblebee said.

‘You said your superiors wanted to "steal the tech back",’ the detective reminded the spy.

‘Yes, the academic Brainstorm was trying to design functioning but lifeless brain modules, he wanted an outside company to do some of the work. I don’t know this for a fact, but I suspect Soundwave found out about it and told Wingspan. Fortunately I was already watching the Quadrine at the time; the authorities had long been suspicious of his various activities.’

‘What, exactly, do you want me to do?’

‘Solve the case; find out what the exact nature of the Skulls is, what Wingspan is up to and then make the whole thing public. My assignment will be finished and the threats to your life will be over. Hopefully we can all get back to more normal lives. There is evidence at Wingspan’s residence, I’d bring it to you myself but there’d be too much risk that The Bots Upstairs would know what I’d done. I’m risking a lot just being here now.’

‘I have one more question. I’m pretty sure that Wingspan has an alt mode, what is it?’

‘A jet,’ Bumblebee replied.

Nightbeat was silent for a time while he thought his way through the problems that awaited him. Bumblebee twitched nervously as the seconds passed but Nightbeat would not be hurried. Finally content he said: ‘I’ll need a power failure at Wingspan Towers – like the one you’ve manufactured here and I’ll need it in four hours. Okay?’

Bumblebee simply nodded and turned to leave. Then remembering something he had forgotten, he looked back over his shoulder and said: ‘watch out for Wingspan. There’s something about him; something dangerous, it’s almost as if he can be in two places at once. Good luck, Nightbeat.’ Bumblebee smiled and then left. Nightbeat was left alone in the dark.

*********************************************************************************

Nightbeat looked around nervously; it seemed that one half of the population of Iacon wanted to cut his head off and sell it to the highest bidder while the other half merely wanted to kill him. He’d finally managed to find a secure line with which to contact Downshift; he’d warned the security chief that something major was likely to go down and had asked if help would be there if he needed it. The Omnibot had offered him the services of the SF as bodyguards but Nightbeat had very reluctantly turned him down. If he was going to find the truth in this whole mess then having a bunch of heavily armed, thick fingered security bots getting in the way was out of the question.

Nightbeat still had two hours to go until his appointment with Wingspan’s computers. Four hours hadn’t seemed much when he had picked the time for the power-outage to occur but after two hours of being shot at he was pretty sick of the whole thing. Keeping to the shadows he made his way back to the place he had left his car. When he reached it he wished he hadn’t. All that was left was a smoking ruin. His car, his little A-B, was gone. Nightbeat turned and ran.

He’d need those two hours now; it looked as though he’d have to run the entire way. A small Autobot, his arm raised, stepped out into the street in front of Nightbeat. The Autobot shot him. The blast lifted the attacker off his feet and sent him crashing into a nearby wall. The sound of the blast echoed of the nearby buildings and rang like an alarm signalling Nightbeat’s location. Nightbeat cursed but kept running.

He knew Iacon like the back of his hand and he ran down ever narrowing streets and tunnels; places where he was less likely to be seen and more importantly less likely to be shot at. His route to Wingspan’s palatial residence was circumspect; he criss-crossed and doubled back on himself many times. After an hour of uninterrupted street pounding his rotators and motors began to stiffen slightly, he hadn’t been designed for this. He’d heard no sounds of pursuit for almost thirty minutes; it was possible that he had finally lost the bots that were chasing him and so he
slowed his pace to a walk and took a better sense of where he was. He was closer to Wingspan than he had meant to be – near the city’s edges. Much further and he would be right on top of Wingspan’s tower. Forty-five minutes remained until Bumblebee was supposed to put Wingspan’s lights out. If Bumblebee was able to put them out. And if he wanted to.

Iacon’s fringes were mostly made up of warehouses storing armaments for the war as well as everything else a functioning city needs. Nightbeat decided that the safest thing to do was to lie low for a little while. Choosing a dark uninviting building he silently broke in and settled himself in a dirty corner to wait until it was time to move on. The seconds ticked by slowly, but despite desperately wanting to get up and get things resolved one way or another, Nightbeat forced himself to sit tight until it was absolutely necessary to leave. Finally the moment arrived and Nightbeat hurried towards the city’s perimeter. He easily slipped passed the guards that patrolled the boundary and made his way along the road that led towards Wingspan. The road was empty and the night oppressively silent but Nightbeat forced himself onward. If any one of the various groups looking to cash in the price on his head was to find him now, alone on the open road, he was finished.

Wingspan’s tower slowly came into the view. Which was a bad sign. If Bumblebee kept to his part of the bargain the tower should be not be illuminated. Nightbeat checked his chronometer; the four hours had passed, but only just. He lay flat on the ground, just off the road and waited. As he began to worry that he would have to go back into Iacon the lights went dead.

Under the cover of the darkness the Autobot pulled himself up and sprinted the last few hundred yards towards the building. A single guard stood before the main entrance, Nightbeat ignored him. Instead he circled around the building and then put a pair of magnetic clamps onto his hands and began climbing up the walls. Under normal circumstances he would have had little chance of making it to the roof undetected, but with the power and security systems offline he had a chance. But he didn’t have much time. 

He climbed as rapidly as he could, determined to make it all the way to the roof from which Wingspan had virtually threatened to throw him. Finally reaching the top of the wall he peeked over its lip and onto the unguarded roof. Nightbeat quickly pulled himself over the wall and made for the staircase that would lead him into the penthouse suite that he guessed would be Wingspan’s personal office.

The staircase was totally dark and Nightbeat had to turn on a torch that he had brought with him so that he could find his way. It appeared Bumblebee had done his job well, not even the emergency lighting was functioning. At the bottom of the staircase there was a single door. Nightbeat listened at the door but could hear nothing, recalling the details from his previous visit, he tried visualise the building’s layout. It was logical to assume that the workings of the building – its engine room if you like – would be located on the lower floors or in a basement. Nightbeat prayed fervently that most of Wingspan’s guards would be down there trying to get everything back online. Because the power was down Nightbeat had to pull the door open by main force and when he had the door slightly ajar he shone his torch around the room. He couldn’t see anyone. He pushed the door open further and stepped into the room all the while continuing to probe it with his torch. There was somebody behind him, he knew it, he didn’t know how he knew, but he knew.

Nightbeat span around. Wingspan smiled at him and then leapt into the air and transformed as he hurtled towards the Autobot. Nightbeat’s response was instantaneous, instinctive. He pulled his gun from his side and fired. 

The blast hit Wingspan full in the head, but it didn’t stop the Decepticon from smashing into the Autobot and sending him crashing to the floor. Nightbeat picked himself up, the Decepticon didn’t. The detective shone his torch on the fallen robot; it had transformed into a four-legged animal, not the expected jet. Something very strange was going on here but Nightbeat wasn’t sure what. Lowering the power setting on his gun and making its laser beam constant he began the search for the truth. He had come to gather evidence and this Transformer was quite possibly the best he was going to get. He used the laser to cut open the transformer’s head; it was disgusting, time consuming work but Nightbeat felt he had no choice. As carefully as he could he pulled the Decepticon’s brain module form the oozing electronics and cables that comprised its mind. Stowing the brain module in his subspace shunt he began to search the rest of the room.

A hastily reviewed pile of datapads revealed nothing about the Decoys project, it did however leave Nightbeat with some very disturbing questions about the after-hours interests of several high ranking Autobots. Nightbeat discarded the data as worthless and continued to search. He cursed aloud the lack of power that prevented him from examining Wingspan’s computer and then was forced to wish he’d kept his mouth shut. The lights and the power came back on and he knew that he was almost out of time.

Quickly he pulled his forensics drone from his subspace shunt and set it to downloading the contents of the computer. He knew the data would all be encrypted but it was possible that the SF would be able to do something with it.

As the drone continued its search for vital clues Nightbeat took a final look around the room and then he saw them. The Skulls. Warily, afraid of their power he lifted them from their unopened box. He noticed instantly and angrily that one was missing. It was time to go. He placed Triton’s Skulls around his neck, grabbed the drone from the computer, shoved it back into his shunt and then headed for the door that lead to the stairs and from there to safety.

*****************************************************************************

Wingspan was in a foul mood. It was clear that the power outage had been no accident and he had ordered his men to search the whole building, but he had little hope that they would find anything. Delays, it meant more delays and more questions. He hated answering questions. The door into his room opened silently and he passed into his suite.

‘NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!’

 He collapsed on his knees beside the fallen, mutilated body of his brother. ‘What has happened?’ he cried, his voice stricken by sorrow. But Wingspan’s grief soon switched to anger and from there to revenge. He slammed his fist on his computer and the face of his Chief of Staff appeared on the screen.

‘Sir?’ The yellow robot asked.

‘There’s a dead robot in my suite! I want the killer found NOW!’ Wingspan yelled.

‘Yes Sir. I’ll send some bots to remove the body for you.’

‘NO! No. Don’t do that, I’ll do it myself. The guards have more important things to do.’

‘Sir, are you sure?’

‘Do not think to question me.’ Wingspan stopped speaking, a terrible sense of foreboding clenched his chest. He looked at the titanium glass box that he kept the Skulls in. It was empty. Who could have done this? Nightbeat. It had to be. Nobody else other than Soundwave, Triton and poor Pounce had known anything about them. He turned back to the screen. ‘Forget the search, I know who has done this. It’s that scrawny little Autobot detective. Send half the guards and all the other personnel to find him, double the bounty on his head and give the Decoys his scent. FIND HIM.’

******************************************************************************

He couldn’t shake them, they were hounding his every step and no matter how many times he twisted and turned and tried to shake them off they continued to gain. He could hear their howls and barks in the distance and growing closer with every second. He needed help, now. If he could get in contact with Downshift, then the security chief would be able to send the SF to deal with them – the Ferals.

The sounds of pursuit stooped suddenly and Nightbeat began to hope against all likelihood that he had lost them. He was back in the heart of the warehouse district, he thought that if he could get inside one of these buildings that it would be easy enough to find the equipment he would need to get a message to Downshift. It wouldn’t be a secure line, but he had more important things to worry about at the moment. He turned around a corner and came to a long, narrow alley, there was only one way in and one way out; it wasn’t a street so much as a gap between two buildings. Nightbeat forced his aching joints into a greater effort. He had a very bad feeling.

******************************************************************************

Wingspan was nervous, absentmindedly he played with the single Skull that remained to him – his insurance policy. If Nightbeat escaped, it was just possible he would have to answer a lot of questions that he didn’t want to answer. Maybe it was time to start taking a few precautions. He lifted his Ion Blaster and unleashed it at his computer terminal, continuing to fire until the computer vapourised. There was a lot of incriminating evidence in the building, not least the body of his brother. Perhaps it was time for the cremation.

********************************************************************************

Nightbeat was surrounded. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were walking awkwardly towards him and Wheeljack, Trailbreaker and Tracks were coming from the other end of the alley. The eyes of all four glowed blue and vacant. The Decoys didn’t move quickly, they seemed unhurried, they snarled and clawed at each other occasionally but it seemed that this time their programming was strong enough to keep them focused on the job at hand. Nightbeat spun around, loosing blasts from his gun, first at one group of attackers and then at the other. But these were no common street criminals, the Decoys’ bodies were clearly faithful replicas of the originals and their armour easily stood up to the limited firepower at Nightbeat’s disposal. The chain of Turbofox processors around Nightbeat’s neck seemed to glow eerily in the darkness and the PI could see their gleam reflected in the empty optics of the Decoys.

Then they struck.

PART NINE: TRUTH, JUSTICE AND THE CYBERTRONIAN WAY by Richard Ahern

These were no silent assassins that Wingspan had dispatched, they were little better than animals and they screamed and barked as they set upon the Autobot. The Sunstreaker Decoy grabbed at Nightbeat and landed punch after punch. Nightbeat tried to fight back but the Sideswipe-alike barged him to the floor and the other Decoys bundled in. They clawed, butted and kicked savagely and Nightbeat was rapidly slipping into unconsciousness when the Trailbreaker Decoy grabbed hold of Triton’s Skulls. His eyes turned from blue to yellow and he howled in exultation. 

Nightbeat found new strength; he had to keep the Skulls from the Decoys. He punched the Trailbreaker Decoy hard, sending him spinning away, Nightbeat tried to break from the press of bodies, but the Decoys were too strong. They brought him to ground again and continued to rip and tear at his body. Eventually the damage was too great and he went offline.

The Trailbreaker Decoy quickly recovered from Nightbeat’s blow and fought his way through his fellows and grasped the chain once more. He tugged and yanked at the chain until it finally snapped. The Feral fell backwards when the chain broke and the Skulls were scattered amongst the other Decoys. Each time one of the Decoys made even the faintest contact with one of the Skulls the result was the same; their eyes turned from blue to yellow and they set about trying to claim all the Skulls for themselves. Nightbeat was soon forgotten as the Ferals tried to
destroy each other in pursuit of life. The Trailbreaker Decoy having gathered several of the Skulls to himself finally seemed content and had started to edge away from the wild melee. He was far down the alley when the other Decoys realised what he was doing. With some unspoken agreement they put their quarrels aside and sprinted down they alley to cut off the Feral’s escape route. They quickly encircled the Trailbreaker Decoy so that it couldn’t escape and then they pounced on it with an even greater savagery than when they had attacked Nightbeat. Try as he might the Trailbreaker Feral was unable to truly fight back because he wouldn’t release the Skulls and so was only able to kick at his attackers. Gradually he was beaten down, but he clung to the Skulls desperately, protecting them by lying atop them in the fetal position whilst the Decoy’s blows rained down on him.

Then he blew himself up.

The detonation was huge and the night sky was lit up for miles around, it hurled Nightbeat’s body clear of the alley and the Decoys into its walls. Only the Sideswipe and Sunstreaker Decoys survived the explosion. Both robots were blackened and seriously damaged, their optics flickered constantly between yellow to blue. Their faces were masks of terror as they looked around the blasted alley, then they fled.

*******************************************************************************

Triton flicked between the various news nets. It was a slow day and they were all carrying stories about rampaging robots and burning buildings. 15 had been killed in the last thirty minutes alone. Ageing broadcasters were talking hysterically about the start of the Decepticon assault on Iacon. Triton laughed to himself at the absurdity of Megatron starting without him.

Then one of the networks announced that they had an exclusive. A single robot of unknown allegiance was somehow still standing (and punching and kicking) despite a barrage of laser fire from a squadron of SF tanks. Finally the robot fell. The camera drone flew in for a closer look, the robot was so badly damaged that its own designer wouldn’t recognise it and yet some force kept it alive. As the drone got too close to the robot, it almost seemed as if it growled.

Triton began to feel nervous. And then the real news came in. The wealthy philanthropist Quadrine Wingspan was feared assassinated by the evil Decepticon forces. The destruction the cameras showed was distressing; fire-fighting apparatus surrounded the blackened ruin of Wingspan’s home. So far every Autobot that had been pulled out was already dead.

Triton decided it was time to make some calls. Whether he was dead or not Wingspan and his project were finished. Triton quickly arranged for all of Wingspan’s funds to be transferred to his own accounts and for all records of their contacts to be annihilated. Then he started packing; he needed a holiday anyway – the Rust Sea was supposed to be nice this time of year.

*******************************************************************************

The darkness before Nightbeat’s optics turned to static which turned from black and white to full colour and gradually morphed until he could make out the shape of a Transformer. So I’m still alive, he thought.

‘So you’re still alive,’ Downshift said.

‘Huh, I was just thinking the same thing,’ Nightbeat replied. ‘So are you going to tell me what happened or just stand there looking stupid?’

‘I can’t do much about the stupid part and to be honest I was kind of hoping you’d be able to tell me what happened. All I know is that some of my men found your body on the edge of a huge explosion crater.’

‘I have some evidence for you, or at least I hope I do.’ Nightbeat pulled himself up and the opened his subspace shunt and pulled the forensics drone and the brain module from out of the air. ‘This drone contains as much of Quadrine Wingspan’s– ’

‘WINGSPAN?!’ Downshift exploded.

‘Yeah, why?’

‘The residence of Quadrine Wingspan’s burned down last night, there would appear to have been no survivors, the fire-fighters have been pulling bodies out all night.’

‘Well, isn’t that interesting?’ Nightbeat mused. ‘Like I was saying, this drone has as much of Wingspan’s computer on it as I could download in five minutes and this brain module WAS Wingspan, or then again, maybe it wasn’t.’

‘Nightbeat, what in the pit are you taking about?

‘I followed up that case you gave me and it seemed to be leading in the same direction as something else I was working on. It seems Wingspan was working for the Decepticons; developing a program that implanted Turbofox cerebral processors inside exact replicas of the bodyshells of certain key members of the Autobot hierarchy. He even had one that looked like Megatron. I guess the plan was to infiltrate High Command and destroy it from the inside. However because of the limitations of the t-fox processors these ‘Decoys’ were far to dumb for the task the 'Cons had planed for them. Wingspan seems to have taken to using them to hunt down those he doesn’t like and he didn’t like that SSF stiff or myself. From what I’ve been able to learn the bots upstairs didn’t want the SSF death investigated because they knew about Wingspan’s little project and wanted to see what if he could get it to work.’

‘They better not try and use my city as a lab,’ Downshift fumed. ‘Go on, finish your story.’

‘I guess, if nothing else the Decepticons could use the Decoys to discredit various Autobots. Anyway, I broke into Wingspan’s tower on the outskirts of town and when I was looking around Wingspan attacked me, but his changeform was wrong. I‘d heard that he could transform into a jet but the robot that attacked me transformed into some kind of quadruped form. I killed him. I pulled the dead robot’s brain out, downloaded what I could from his computer and ran like a Minibot from Megatron. Somebody must have found the dead body because five Decoys beat the crap outta me and that’s the last thing I remember.’

‘I guess that explains the three stiffs we found in that alley someone seems to have blown up. I’ll leave it to forensics to work out who blew up who. We also had two other robots go on the rampage in the city last night, they made a right mess, it’s possible they were the other two.’

‘Did any of the bodies have anything with them?’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know, maybe some processors or something?’ For some reason Nightbeat didn’t feel comfortable talking specifically about Triton’s Skulls.

‘No.’ Downshift replied.

‘Just no?’ Nightbeat asked almost desperately.

‘That’s what I said isn’t it?’

‘Okay. If you want my guess, I’d say Wingspan probably isn’t dead. I think he had some kind of double, not a Decoy, but an actual Transformer. Hopefully we’ll be able to work out who I killed from that brain module and the computer data.’

‘I don’t suppose you know anything about brains?’ Downshift joked rather ineptly.

‘Not personally, but the word on the street is that a couple of Autobots called Chromedome and Brainstorm are very good with ’em.’

********************************************************************************

Two Days Later

Downshift lead Nightbeat around the SF morgue. The remains of a whole host of Cybertronians were spread on cold metal slabs; everywhere the inner workings of Cybertronian bodies were exposed in gruesome detail. Nightbeat spent some time looking at the Decoys. To the casual observer they couldn’t have looked less like their illustrious models, but to the trained eye there were just enough details, the odd fleck of still vibrant red paint, an oddly shaped head and even the suspicion of arrogance playing around the edges of a mangled mouth. Finally he looked at the twisted frame of a quadruped.

‘So is it Wingspan?’

‘The transformation simulations we’ve run would say yes, the id chip would say yes and the SF will say yes.’

‘But what do you say?’

Downshift looked uncertain and then shrugged. ‘You’re right about the transformation, it’s not the one he registered, but then he might have had it changed. Unfortunately the brain mod you gave me was little more than useless, there was far too much damage to the core stem. At the best of times we aren’t great at recovering data from inactive modules, but in that condition we had no chance. We could only get one word from it; Pounce. We haven’t a clue what it means, it might be his name, it might just be what he was thinking when he died. We’ll keep the mod in storage, maybe one day we’ll be able to get something more from it. Is that Wingspan? To be honest I don’t really know. However, it is interesting to note that all Wingspan’s accounts were closed and all the funds transferred to an account we can’t trace AFTER the fire had started.’

‘Wingspan lives.’ Nightbeat said. ‘Why did you bring me here anyway?’

‘I thought you might like to see the fruits of your labour. The computer information was more interesting, there’s some great stuff on there, enough to send our stiff – or someone who looks very much like him – to the executioner’s chair along with an extremely high ranking Autobot called Triton. Strangely, Triton has also gone missing; he was in Iacon within the last week, but then he left rather suddenly. But I admit it; I did have bit of an ulterior motive for bringing you here. Something has been sticking in my exhaust pipe; if Wingspan could already create an almost perfect double of himself why was he messing about with t-foxes?’

‘The rational argument would say the Decepticons can’t afford to waste troops on dangerous experiments. But then when were those creeps ever rational? My gut feeling is that they wanted to create a double that actually believed it was the Autobot it was impersonating; you couldn’t get a much more convincing impersonator than that. If the 'Cons could still control it externally, it might never have known it was working for the other side. I suppose it’s even possible that whatever tech they used to create ‘Pounce’ over there, has been lost or forgotten.’

‘I hardly think that’s likely!’ Downshift laughed. ‘I think I like the second explanation best, well, not LIKE, but you know what I mean. Come on, let’s get out of this miserable place.’

As the two Autobots walked Nightbeat asked ‘So how long do you think I’m going to need SF protection for?’

‘I imagine word of Wingspan’s death is already pretty wildly spread amongst the crims, in a little while they’ll realise that not only is there nobody topay the price on your head, but there ain’t no money to pay it either. One last thing, I don’t suppose you know anybody called Bumblejumper do you?’

‘Never heard of him’ Nightbeat replied with absolute sincerity.

******************************************************************************

Two Years Later

Decepticon base-camp outside the besieged city of Mandros.

Wingspan moved wordlessly through the camp, he walked quickly and confidently through the massed ranks of lounging, arguing warriors. He practically floated across the ground so great was his anticipation for the moment of his reunion.

‘Stop’ somebody called.

Wingspan turned around slowly. ‘Hello Soundwave,’ he said ‘Nice to see you again.’

‘I see the rumours that you yet live were true. What have you been doing for the last two years?’

‘This and that’ Wingspan replied evasively.

‘I see... Normally Decepticon Command would frown on your plans, but in this case, or should I say, in his case, you have my approval. Please proceed.’

‘Thank you Sir.’

Wingspan found the tent he was looking for and with a carefully placed blow sent the guard that stood outside it crashing silently to the ground. Then he walked inside to meet his betrayer.

‘Triton.’

‘Wingspan!’ The former Autobot exclaimed. He quickly rose from the chair in which he had been reclining. ‘I didn’t hear you come in. I mean, it’s really great to see you again.’

‘And you Triton. I’ve waited for this moment ever sense you betrayed me.’ Wingspan was strangely calm, his words hushed, barely above a whisper. ‘You left me to die in Iacon. Can you imagine how difficult it was to escape the city with no money, no friends and no support from the Decepticons? I must congratulate you on so completely severing every tie and contact I had ever made. The SF spent months looking for me and if that wasn’t bad enough you left me in debt to half the criminal gangs on Cybertron. I had to scavenge Energon in the garbage, I had to beg from the rootless, I had to submerge myself in slag so deep I nearly drowned. And now you are going to pay.’ Wingspan took a step closer to the cringing autonomous robot.

‘Wingspan, please. I’ll pay you anything!’

‘Justice will be served. You and the other will be made to pay. He may have to wait, but justice comes to all.’ Wingspan replied putting his hands around Tritons neck.

‘Guard! GUARD!’ Triton yelled frantically.

‘He can’t hear you.’

‘And I wouldn’t bother ringing that bell anymore.’ A second Transformer walked into the room and then hurled a fistful of wires in Triton’s face.

‘Pounce? You’re not even alive!’ Triton screamed hysterically. ‘It’s a dream. All a bad dream.’

‘You wish,’ the Transformer hissed and his eyes flashed a light starved and lustreless yellow.

*****************************************************************************

Cybertron 2016

‘Sir, please tell me what happened?’ Fastform begged impatiently.

‘You know something kid? It’s too dark a night for that kind of a story. It was a long time ago, Cybertron was more alive back then, but now I think about it, it wasn’t all good life. Why don’t I tell you about the Case of the Blocked Battlecharger instead?’ Nightbeat offered. Then he led the way down the street describing the merry tale of the unfortunate Battlecharger as he went.

The Turbofox had watched the entire exchange with curiously. Then when it appeared the show was over it sniffed the air. Smelled like chromium was on the menu tonight – the Turbofox part of the almost immortal creature was delighted, but the little bit of it that remained forever Triton shrieked in horror. He was cursed by the Turbofox's unceasing quest to stay alive, because the creature would never role over and die, he in turn could never stop. As the t-fox bounded along the streets, Triton managed to exert enough control over it to howl his frustration at the stars.

But like everything else in Triton’s Universe, they couldn’t have cared less.

THE END