SPARK-EATER

By Charles Ellis

CHAPTER ONE

It was four months before the horror, and dried grass crunched under Fractyl’s feet. His new Transmetal form gleamed in the hot Serengeti sun and his optics were concentrated on the readings on his portable computer.

   Vice Grip gave an elaborate yawn and clicked his grippers together irritably. It had been one month since the quantum surge, and for most of that month the two of them had been investigating the changes that the surge had made to this planet. Megatron had told them that this was a matter of most importance (“Yesssss…”). However, they’d only had two messages from the Darkside since they’d set up, and one of THEM had been a big rant about Waspinator’s stupidity.

   The other had mentioned that they were actually on prehistoric Earth.

   Therefore, reasoned Vice Grip, they knew what the planet would look like geographically, so why was he still out here?

   “Hmmm.”
   “Got something, Frac?”
   “I remember visiting this area last year,” said Fractyl. “It had been a forest, with approximately three tons of Energon crystals under it. Very strange mutations in that forest… The quantum surge caused the Energon to ignite, and now we have what appears to be the African Serengeti. The mutations are all dead and I can only detect three kilograms of Energon…” He frowned, stood upright and turned to face his comrade. “There should be a vast amount of radiation around here from all that detonated Energon, yet there isn’t… You could go for maybe a whole day without having to return to beast mode! And that doesn’t make sense. Lethal levels of Energon radiation doesn’t just disappear…” Fractyl looked rather unhappy.

   “Don’t look at me, the geochemistry stuff is YOUR field. So, you want lunch? It’s criminally small Energon cubes again, unfortunately.”
  “Joy,” muttered Fractyl. “You just know Tarantulus gets better rations…”

  “Ah, c’mon. It ain’t that bad.” Vice Grip sat down and waved a hand vaguely across the whole area. “We get to go see lotsa cool places, and you get to drone about science without Megatron whacking you and telling you to shut up! Everyone’s a winner!”

   Fractyl grinned and joined his friend. It was a rather nice mission, all things considered. He’d stayed in the Darkside too much last year- now he was getting to see the most beautiful places. It was rather relaxing, and far preferable to being stuck with a bunch of gun-toting imbeciles who jeered at him because he could say words with four syllables. Vice Grip never did that. Vice Grip was a friend- his only friend, he considered.

  It was nice.

  “So, Frac- it’s 1986. You’re in a room with Grimlock, Prowl and Optimus Prime. You have a fusion cannon with enough power for two shots. What do you do?”
  “I don’t know.”
  “Shoot Optimus twice to make sure he stays dead.”

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

It was two hours before the horror. Megatron, Quickstrike and Inferno had left to launch an attack on the Maximals. Vice Grip was involved in a heated game of Cripple Mr Onion with Fractyl and Waspinator.

    Somehow, Waspinator was winning.

  “You’re cheating,” he grumbled. “You have GOT to be cheating.”

  Waspinator grinned and put out a Three Onion Spread. Vice Grip moaned and threw his cards down.

  “I’m out! Waspy, how did you get this good?!”

  “Wazzzpinator not telling, noooo…”

  Fractyl and the bug played on, but Vice Grip couldn’t be bothered to watch. He hadn’t really been focused on the game anyway. He was getting rather sick of the Darkside, to be honest. Things had changed since the quantum surge, and not just bodies. Megatron had changed, become even more intense and arrogant than before. The spiders had changed, become more hostile than ever towards each other, and Tarantulus kept going AWOL- he was hardly ever around anymore. Attitudes around the base had changed- having normal beast modes weren’t cutting it anymore, you had to be a Fuzor or Transmetal to get any respect. You had to be flashier, faster, more aggressive looking. That seemed to be all that mattered.

   That was why Rampage was a Predacon.

   Vice Grip knew how powerful Rampage was, and how he was nearly immortal, and he still though Megatron was insane for making him a Predacon. Even with his Spark cleaved in two, he was still a menace to all Transformer life and Megatron kept him INSIDE THE BASE. But the crab, for all his danger, seemed to be the embodiment of the Predacon mindset right now. Was that why they were fighting? Was this what Megatron planned to turn the Predacon populace into when they returned home? Sheer madness.

   Bored and depressed, he checked the base perimeter, half-hoping that the Maximals would attack so he could shoot something. Nothing. Just lava and motion-tracking guns and a storm brewing in the distance.

   <Primus, I wish I was still out on the surveillance mission.>

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

He could hear voices.

  He had heard many voices over the years. When imprisoned in Omicron, when walking about the Darkside, when in battle, he could hear the faint whispers of Sparks. He could hear their emotions talking to him, and they thrilled him. He longed to tear them apart, to feel the emotions change and become more intense, more ALIVE. He drank from them, he revelled in the sound of whispers becoming screams, revelled in the feeling of the life that was denied him by the absence of death, and then he ended it.

   And in the night, when it was very quiet, he could hear the faint whispers of the Sparks he had devoured. It soothed him.

   These voices were different. They were louder, for one. They spoke directly into his mind. He could feel them giving off power, and such power… They said they were the Vok. That they could help him. They told him many things.

   Images flowed into his mind, incomplete blueprints and diagrams of the Darkside. They showed him the position of many important devices. And what to do with this knowledge.

   Megatron wouldn’t be able to punish him for this. Megatron wouldn’t even KNOW what was going on.

   The voices became silent. They had shown him the path to freedom, and he thanked them for it. The Darkside was a prison, but it wouldn’t be for much longer. Oh no.

   Soon it would be the heavens, and he a god, lord of this dank fortress, and all in here would face his wrath.

CHAPTER TWO

Rampage descended into the depths of the Darkside. It was rusted and dust-covered, and the planet’s spider population had made it their own. He strode calmly through the filth, his optics shining brightly in the dark dank corridors.

   Down here was where the engines had been back when this was a spacecraft, before the crash and before the Maximals had dismantled them. Nobody came down here, because they didn’t think there was anything important there anymore. However, what the Predacons had forgotten was that there were many cables and fuel pipes still down here that were linked to the base’s generator. Sever the right one and you could bring down several key systems.

    And the Vok had shown him how to bring down the communications system. Once he did that, then nobody in the base could communicate with Megatron via anything but their personal communicators, and they didn’t have the needed range to reach him now.

   He found the needed cables and tore them apart.

   “Can’t have you telling on me, oh no,” he whispered. “This will be our little secret.”

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

“Dr Tarantulus, I presume?” Vice Grip raised on optic. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

   “I’m checking up on Antagony,” he said. “I’ve been neglecting my efforts to crack into her databanks…”
  “Uh-huh.” Vice Grip took on an air of innocence and said: “It wouldn’t be because you’re thinking of doing a little Spark-merger with the deactivated, are you? Because, y’know that’s really not cool…”
  Tarantulus stayed silent for a beat before saying hurriedly: “Why is it you persist in spreading that rumour, earwig?!”

   Vice Grip chuckled and walked off. Ragging on Tarantulus was always fun…

   But the joke of Spark-rape didn’t seem as funny as it once did. Not after whatever he’d done with Blackarachnia. Nobody quite knew what had gone on between those two recently, but it was clear it had been something bad. Really bad.

    <Damn it. Everything has become corrupted lately. I live with Fractyl for a few months, and when we come back it’s like coming to some alien world.>

   It occurred to Vice Grip that, if he hadn’t been gone for those few months, he’d have become corrupted too. And he didn’t like that thought one bit.

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

“Override B-1.”

   And he was in. The Darkside’s computers were all protected by passwords and the like, so only Megatron could have full access, but this was a Predacon military ship, and they all had an override command, just in case the system was taking over by hostile agents. And thanks to the Vok, Rampage knew it.

   He didn’t change much. Just rearranged the order of systems that would be kept running should the main power fail. A little alteration to the security programs.

   <You believe yourself to be untouchable, you pathetic, doomed INSECTS. You hide behind walls and autoguns and Transmetal armour and Spark shards, and believe that it protects you. That this is the sanctum, and it cannot be touched.

   <There is no defence. From anything. The walls are fragile, and beyond them are horrors that you cannot conceive of. Things in the dark, waiting to break in. Things INSIDE, imprisoned, waiting for their chance to break loose and reduce you to a quivering, fearful husk.

   <The void. The Nothing that exists in the Spark. Nothing, nothing, hollow, no feelings, no pain, and you can’t stand it, can’t ssssssssssssssss…>

    Rampage gripped the side of his head. Panicked groans came from his mouth, and he shook and shook and groaned until he finally screamed in pain and rage, and tore at the computer, ripping out circuits and parts and leaving it strewn about the room.

   “Nothing…” he whispered. “The nothing…”

It was a little later. Rampage stood before the Darkside’s power generator. He’d never known what it was, until his new friends had told him in his sleep. But he was here now.

   It wasn’t a very fancy piece of machinery. No imaginative design or metal. Just drab, grey, boring. And yet it was the most important part of the base, this dull grey machine. Megatron’s entire strategy was based around it continuing to work, and the Darkside to continue to be a fortress.

  In theory, the Maximals couldn’t get in. It would be so easy to twist that, have it so no one could get OUT. It amused him- this way to his freedom from the Predacons was to imprison himself in this tomb. Ah, well.

   This dull grey machine… So fragile…

   He clenched his fist, focused all his power into it…

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

“Was it wise for us to use him?”
  “Of course. The Transformers are an anomaly and must be dealt with. But we can no longer just dispose of our experiment because of them; the experiment has changed, and is going in grand new directions we never foresaw. But they need to be dealt with. Our efforts have so far proven useless. This way, the Predacons will be annihilated from within, without doing a single piece of damage to the experiment. The remaining members of the group would die soon after, we direct this Protoform X to the Axalon for a repeat performance, and then dispose of him when his job is complete.”
  “It was indeed easy. All we had to do was give him the information, and he willingly does the rest himself. And in one fell swoop, the Predacons will lose their sanctum, several of their members and Tarantulus will finally be eradicated. There is no downside.”
  “Indeed. This will be a clean strike against the anomalies.”

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

…and smashed the generator.

  “Time to play.”

CHAPTER 3

“Do you ever think we’ll go back to Cybertron?”

  Fractyl looked over at Vice Grip and shrugged his great metallic wings. He laid his head back onto the ground and looked up into the clear night sky. “I don’t know. We no longer have the proper means to get to Cybertron on our own; if we do go there, it will be because of outside intervention- one of the Councils, or the aliens deciding they’re fed up of us. We might not even live that long.”
  “Does it ever worry you that you’ll never see your home again?”
  “Not really,” he said uneasily. “Back on Cybertron, I was one of the greatest geochemists on the planet, yet I never got into any of the prestigious Academies. I tried to, of course, but couldn’t because I was a Predacon,” he sneered. “This is why I joined the True Path- I wanted to see my race be allowed to take its place in the academic world. I wanted to have the chance to explore, to study, to gain fame and prestige.”

   “Sounds like a right smelt place to live,” said Vice Grip. “I can’t remember any of it, myself- the shell program, y’know. I know I used to be a Maximal but from what I’ve heard I’m GLAD I’m a Pred now. How are we the ‘evil’ side when we’re the ones being oppressed by the damn Maxies? That’s just propaganda!”

  “Indeed.”

  They fell silent, and continued to look up at the stars.

The present day, and the Darkside was hurled into darkness.

   Everything electronic died, every light and noise cut off, the whole base becoming a tomb. Fear stabbed Vice Grip in the gut and he leapt from his chair, his pinchers crackling with energy, giving the room a ghostly blue glow.

  “What the slag just happened?!”
  “Power must have gone off- no, wait, we’re supposed to have auxiliary power…” Fractyl glanced about, looking for any evidence pointing to the cause of this.

   “Wazzzpinator no like thizzz…”

   There was a brief pause as their optics recalibrated to operate in the darkness. Now everything shone in neon-green nightvision, only serving to make the room like alien and distorted. You could believe that Things were hiding in here, in the shadows, blended into the background…

  “We need to get to the armoury.”
  Waspinator nodded fervently, his face drawn with terror. “Need guns!”

  “Y-you think we’re under attack, Vice Grip?”

  “Yes. This power cut was deliberate. We need to be better armed. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here.”

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

Tarantulus looked up in annoyance at the looming figure of Rampage. “Cough or something when you’re coming up behind people! Who’s been messing with the lights around here?”
  “Power failure,” he said. Casually, he glanced at the laboratory where Antagony was kept chained down and mind-scanned. “The computers here still work, I see.”
  “Well, yes. They’re a high priority- if she ever got loose… Well, I’ve done a few… things… that might not endear me to her, heehee…”

  Rampage wasn’t listening. He stalked towards the restrained Herald, and carefully traced the curves of her body with his finger. His optics glowed, and he shivered. The hatred and bloodlust of the ant was like fine chocolate to him.

  “sssssssss…”

  Tarantulus raised his optical visor and folded his arms. “Hmmm. Should’ve guessed your tastes ran that way, crab-legs, heh heh.”
   Tarantulus was grabbed around the throat and slammed into the wall so hard it dented. Rampage was growling and shaking uncontrollably, tightening his grip on the sadist’s neck.

   “IDIOT. You, a gibbering fool of a bug, would dare to try and work your perverse will on this Angel of Death? Hsssgraggggg…” The neck began to buckle under his grip. “She comes from a world of such horror and madness the likes of which a pretentious cretin like you can not conceive of… Hssss… You believe yourself to be a monster, but you lack the grrrrrrssssss inner rage and artistry of those like us… Pretentious GRRRRRGGG…”

    Tarantulus fought madly to break free, only succeeding in causing himself more damage. Screaming, he opened fire with all his shoulder-guns, bullets tearing through Rampage’s chest like hot knives through butter. The monster snarled and dropped him. And then… smiled, and beckoned Tarantulus to take a look at his chest. The shredded circuitry was beginning to grow and intertwine like some virulent growth, and the monster’s armour was growing back over its wounds.

   Tarantulus stared until the process stopped, and then shrieked in utter horror.

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

The Predacons crept down the darkened hallways. Vice Grip led the group, with the others huddled behind him. They were scared, he knew- scared not just because of the attack, but because they were weak and didn’t know what they were up against. Their minds were free to imagine all types of creeping horrors in the dark that were loose in the Darkside, and despair at their weakness. Vice Grip was the only one with any real power or strength, and even he paled before most of the Preds in this new, Transmetallised age…

   “Vice Grip?” asked Fractyl, his voice quavering. “Do you think we’ll-“
   “I don’t know if we’ll survive, buddy. I don’t know anything anymore.”

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

Tarantulus crawled across the floor towards the door, mech-fluid leaking from where his right leg had been torn in half, his voice a panting cry of pain. The monster cackled and grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him backwards…

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

The armoury had been broken into and smashed. Bent and broken guns lay on the floor, covered with funeral wreaths of mangled ammunition. Crates lay splintered and long-range weaponry had been hurled viciously against the wall.

   Vice Grip felt his fuel dry. “Oh no…”

   Fractyl fell to his knees, scrabbling at the mess. “There’s got to be something we can use, there’s GOT to be!” he screamed, his voice taking on an edge of hysteria.

  “CALM DOWN! There might be some salvageable equipment here- stay calm and look for it. We can’t go into combat without some bigger guns, not when we don’t know what we’re up against.”

  Fractyl nodded and started to search more methodically. Vice Grip slumped against the wall in relief- so far, they were just avoiding from snapping completely. This was good. If they snapped now, in the dark, then he knew they’d just be picked off one by one by whatever Thing was out there…

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

  Tarantulus lay slumped in the corner, mech-fluid oozing from vicious tears across his head and chest, wailing softly and holding his hands over his head, trying to protect himself from more blows, not even trying to fight back.

  Rampage dipped his finger into a puddle of the spider’s fuel and stuck into his mouth. It tasted good. Tasted of feelings that he hadn’t had the chance to experience in months now. Bliss surged through him as he thought that he was finally free to rend and drink and destroy without restitution.

  He walked out of the room, whispering “See you soon”. The doors on the Darkside all opened automatically even on auxiliary power (he’d left that on, because how else would his prey come to him?), but, once outside of the lab, a quick bit of destruction ensured that this particular door would remain shut.

   Leaving Tarantulus inside so his fear and despair would ferment into a truly exquisite drink.

   And then, after he’d finished off the rest, he’d return for him. Bringing with him the heads of the spider’s comrades.

CHAPTER 4

Waspinator shifted uneasily from foot to foot, turning his head round every five seconds to see if the others were finished yet. He was meant to be watching for any signs of danger, but most of his efforts were spent trying not to bolt. Nightvision wasn’t doing anything to help- the darkened corridors actually looked worse with it on, all eerie green and ethereal. Waspinator, of course, didn’t know the word ethereal or indeed any of the words needed to truly express what he was feeling. But he knew that something bad was loose, that it was going to come after them, and that he wouldn’t be able to stop it.

    For the hundredth time, he turned round, making sure Vice Grip and Fractyl were still working on salvaging the firearms.

   Tap.

   Gears screeched as he whipped his head up towards the ceiling.

   Tap.

    His fingers shook as he reached for his gun. He took careful aim at where he thought the sound was coming from, tried to control the shaking. He didn’t make a sound, hoping that whatever the Thing was that was up there might not notice him and move on.

   Tap, tap, tap.

    “Come out to play…”

   The voice was like dry leaves blowing in the wind. Waspinator felt himself freeze, too afraid to move, too afraid to warn the others, maybe it would go away maybe it would go away….

    “Come out to play…”

    And then the ceiling was ripped open and something all tooth and claw reached out for him, and he fired, the sound of the gun lost in his high-pitched screams, and It tore a hole in him with its claw and lifted him up.

   Into Hell.

“Slag!”
   The two of them could only watch as Waspinator was hauled up into the Darkside’s venting system. They couldn’t fire without killing their comrade, and so… they let him get taken away to be killed anyway.

   “Th-that was Rampage,” said Fractyl, staring in horror at the hole in the ceiling. “His beast mode can fit in the vents.” A stupid comment he knew, but that was all he could think of.

   Vice Grip felt like hitting someone. He’d told Megatron that Rampage was a threat, that he’d turn on them the first chance he got. He’d been ignored. And now they were stuck in an offline base with a monster on the loose.

   Rampage had a powerful and indiscriminate weapon system. Rampage could physically tear apart Transformers. Rampage could heal any wound.

   He was terrified.

   Fractyl looked over to Vice Grip. He was scared, and he needed someone to tell him what to do. Vice Grip knew this, and tried to push his fear away, try to think clearly.

    “We… need to… We need to get Waspinator back. There’s a chance Rampage might leave him alive, toy with him, sorta thing. We also need to find Tarantulus. I think we should split up. I’ll go search for Waspy-“
   “N-no,” said Fractyl. He was shaking and felt more conscientious of his weakness than he ever had before, but he was resigned. “I will go retrieve Waspinator, and you can look for Tarantulus. I-I’m faster, I can get him away from Rampage quicker.”
  “No way!” he snarled. “I don’t care how fast you are- it’s suicide! I have the greater firepower-“
   “AND RAMPAGE WILL STILL KILL YOU.”

   Vice Grip fell silent, and looked at his friend helplessly. “I don’t want you to die.” He pulled himself together. “But you’re right. You can get Waspinator out quicker. You go do that, I’ll track down the spider. Take whatever guns you need, just to be on the safe side.”
   Fractyl nodded and picked up a small close-range blaster. He transformed to his Transmetal vehicle mode, his face resigned, and rocketed off into the darkness. His friend watched him go, and when he was out of sight he slammed his fist into the wall.

   “Damn it… Watch your back, Frac.”

CHAPTER FIVE

He had been dragged through a labyrinth, bleeding and crying as he went. His limbs had been subtly broken so that they remained attached while being unable to move in any way. Now he lay sprawled across the floor, abandoned by Rampage- he had no idea where the monster had gone, and this was worrying Waspinator. By all rights, he should be dead.

  Rampage is nearby, waiting in the shadows for the wasp’s friends to arrive. There aren’t many people in the Darkside to play with, so Rampage must make it last. Waspinator’s pain and fear is good, but if he is rescued, only for both him and his rescuer to be attacked, crippled and tortured, then such feelings will grow and by seasoned with despair. Rampage loves this sort of tactic, for it creates masterpieces like Depth Charge.

   Ah, poor foolish Depth Charge. He’d tried so hard to stop him, only to be crippled, have his vocal facilities broken and be bound to Rampage’s back. Everywhere Rampage had gone, Depth Charge had gone and had witnessed all the wonders that he created.

   So he waits. He can wait for days, if it means creating works of arts.

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

<Fractyl is going to die.>
  “Shut up.”
  <You know that he can’t fight off Rampage, no matter how many guns he takes with him. You should have gone with him. His death will be on your->
  “He is not going to die,” Vice Grip muttered. It had been ten minutes since the two of them had seperated, and ever since then a little voice had been whispering in his mind and he couldn’t get rid of it. He was becoming a raw bundle of nerves, just a few steps from breaking point. The voice, the darkness, the knowledge of what was on the loose and what might happen to his friends- he couldn’t take it, he might pretend for Fractyl’s sake, but he just couldn’t handle the situation. “He’s not going to die,” he repeated to himself.

   He didn’t believe it.

   He reached the laboratory where the future Predacon Antagony was held and softly tapped his mandibles on the door.
  “Tarantulus? You in there?”

  There was a long pause before the spider spoke up, timidly. “Who’s th-there?” he asked, his voice drained and scared.

   “It’s Vice Grip. I’m coming in.”

   He dug his mandibles into the side of the door, forcing it open. He walked inside and recoiled at the sight. Tarantulus was huddled in the corner, bloodied and whimpering, with the lower half of his right leg having been ripped off and hurled into the corner. This was not the Tarantulus that Vice Grip knew. This was a frightened child, not the proud sadist Vice Grip knew.

   To his shock, he found that what he actually cared about was not the horrors inflicted on his comrade, but the fact that the spider was crippled and thus would slow them all down.

   He knelt down by the spider, who was looking at him in a mix of hope, fear and shame. Mostly shame that the Predacon was seeing him in this state.

   “Hold on, I’m going to get you out of here.”
   Tarantulus sniffled and said: “H-how? I’m c-c-crippled.”

   “I have a plan. I have a laser blaster with me. If I can adjust the settings right, I might be able to do it to weld your lower leg back on. You won’t be able to use it properly, not until we can get the power back on and get the CR Chamber’s working, but at least you’ll be able to run somewhat. Should also stop you bleeding.”
   “D-do I h-h-have a choice here?”

    “Not really,” said Vice Grip, pulling out his laser blaster. “Just remain still…”

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

+++SCANNING FOR PREDACON ENERGY SIGNATURES…+++

   Fractyl was keeping his mind clear, or trying to. He couldn’t think too much about Rampage. If he did, he’d bolt and leave Waspinator to his fate, and then how could he ever look Vice Grip in the face again? Sure, Waspinator might already be dead, but then again he could just be wounded. And the longer Fractyl took, the worse Waspinator’s chances got.

  No, he was going to find the wasp and try to ignore the knotted feeling in his gut. He could handle this, he knew he could. He could be brave, right? He was a Transmetal, right? He was stronger, faster, better than ever before-

   <No. That mindset doesn’t mean slag now, if it ever did. Being a Transmetal is nothing against Rampage.>

   His scan completed, and he pinned down Waspinator to four metres away and above him, in the venting.

   Fractyl opened fire with his shoulder guns, blasting a hole in the roof, before shifting to vehicle mode and rocketing upwards into the unknown. He moved quickly, sighting Waspinator and moving towards him.

   “Waspy! Transform and cling onto my back!”
   Waspinator looked on the geochemist like he was Primus himself, and eagerly transformed and threw himself onto his back. Fractyl turned, ready to leave, and then Rampage leapt out of the shadows.
   The Predacons screamed in terror. Fractyl immediately fled through the hole and sped down the Darkside corridors, his gears spinning madly as he pushed himself to the limits, trying to get away. Behind him came loud thumping noises- Rampage was jogging after them, laughing as went. The Gatling cannon was whipped out and the whole corridor was rocked by explosions. The monster wasn’t even aiming- he didn’t need to, not in this cramped a space. Fractyl was being buffeted about, his armour dented and blackened, Waspinator screaming in pain as each blast came closer and closer to throwing him off.

    Fractyl knew he couldn’t keep this up. And he knew what he had to do- he had to either dump Waspinator, allowing him to flee to safety while the monster tore apart Waspy, or he could turn on Rampage, giving Waspinator a chance to flee. He had to live or die.

   He made his choice, and flipped over, letting Waspinator fall off.

   And then he turned and blazed towards Rampage, aiming for the chest, screaming as he went and crashed into the monster, impaling his beak into the Spark area and sending the both of them flying backwards.

  They crashed into the nearby wall and Fractyl became unconscious.

   Ten seconds later, Rampage pulled the geochemist’s beak free of his chest, leaving a massive gash where it had been. Twenty seconds later, the gash had gone.

   Rampage smiled. The wasp may have escaped, but this… this was much better.

  “Hrrr. Heh. HeheheheAHHAHA!”

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

It was a long, gruelling task. The blaster had simply not been meant for amateur surgery and in order to not ruin the attempt, he’d had to use the weapon on low power. Now the gun was out of power.

    Still, it was done. Tarantulus’s leg was complete again, sort of. The lower half jutted out about a inch to the left, and of course the spider wouldn’t be able to actually use it properly, but it made a serviceable crutch. He’d be able to fight, and right now this was all Vice Grip was bothered about.

   He was worried about Fractyl. Now he was beginning to realise that they should have arranged someplace to meet up again after their respective tasks were complete. Slag. He’d have to assume Fractyl and Waspinator were heading for the bridge.

   “We need to move now.” Vice Grip pulled Tarantulus up. “Do your shoulder-guns still work?”
  “Of course.”

   The two set off. Tarantulus was moving in a sort of high-speed lurch, causing his head to bob up and down every time he took a step with his right leg. Vice Grip kept an eye out for Rampage- if the monster came for them, they would need a head start thanks to Tarantulus’ injuries. And he could be anywhere…

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

“Ah, you’re awake…”

   There was a vicious pain in Fractyl’s hands, and he could feel himself stuck in a crucifix position. Weakly, he turned his head to see what was holding him in this position.

   It was his own wing-blades. Rampage had torn them off and rammed them through his hands.

   He felt ill.

    The monster stood in front of him, studying like an artist studies his painting. His head was in the cup of his right hand, and he was chewing on Fractyl’s shoulder guns as he watched.

   “Oh, don’t look so surprised,” he laughed. “I had to use something to hold you up! And I can’t let you lie here while armed with built-in weaponry, hmmmm?”
  “Why are you doing this?”

   “Oh, for a number of reasons,” Rampage said, stepping forward to trace the line of the geochemist’s face with his finger. “A number of reasons. It’s fun, of course, there is always that, oh yes. And because it gives me life, of a sort.” Rampage looked sad while he said this. “All of life’s wonder that I am denied, I can only ever experience them second-hand, through other people. But a taste of life is still better than no life.”

   Fractyl became aware that he was trying not to stare into Rampage’s eyes. He didn’t want to see what lay beyond him, into the twisted soul of the monster.

   “Y-you can’t be serious,” he muttered. “How can killing people give you a taste of life?!”
   Rampage pouted. “Oh, Fractyl, Fractyl, Fractyl… I thought you were intelligent! You should realise that life is defined by death. Without death, there is no point to life. And I cannot die. And with that gone, I cannot truly live. And because of this, I miss out on so many feelings and experiences… But you and people like you can help me in this, Fractyl.”
   And his hand lashed out towards his victim’s optics, and suddenly Fractyl was blind.

   “So species are afraid of the dark,” he said, ignoring the geochemist’s screams. “They rely on their sight, and when they lose it, they are unable to tell what may be out there, and that is when our minds take over, making us imagine Things all around us. A Transformer without optics is helpless, Fractyl. It is unable to tell what is coming, what is happening, and instead its mind must decipher such things. But the mind makes things worse. There are worse things in our minds than we shall ever know. And it only takes a small thing to set it off…”
   There was a sound of tortured metal, and he felt his gut tear. Something was probing the wound, tearing at his circuitry. Fractyl screamed and screamed, shaking spastically in an attempt to pull himself free.

   “…it takes just a small cut, and then you are plunged into the mind’s abyss. And that, my friend, introduces you to true fear. A truly exquisite taste, that fear… Yessssss…”

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

They reached the bridge eventually. The others weren’t there. This was worrying.

   “Why do you bother?” asked Tarantulus. “They’re most likely dead anyway.”
   “They’re not. Now shut up.”

   There was a knotted feeling in his gut, a feeling like circuits clenching each other. He felt like there was some corrosive substance in his fuel, eating away at his inner workings, stripping him bare. It was terror, it was guilt, it was the feeling of having sent his friend to his death.

   <He’s not dead.>

  Eventually Waspinator arrived. Alone.

  Vice Grip frowned. “Where’s Fractyl?”
   Waspinator just shook his head.

   “No,” said Vice Grip. “You’re wrong. He’s probably just hurt somewhere. We have to go after him.” He broke into a run, Waspinator struggling to keep up. “Fractyl’s still alive! He’s still alive!”

   He ran through corridors that seemed to span for eternity, feeling the knot in his gut grow tighter and tighter until it felt like it would tear. Still he ran, not daring to slow down.

   He was running quite fast, so when he reached his friend he slipped on the mech-fluid and fell.

   His eyes took in the scene, staring solemnly. Fractyl had been crucified by his own wing-blades. His optics had been gouged out and his face was frozen in a scream. Mech-fluid dripped from a variety of wound across his chest, mangled limbs and neck, and circuitry hung like party streamers from his gut. His chest had been torn open and his Spark was missing.

   There were bite marks were his Spark had been.

   It was a while before it finally struck him that his friend was dead. And then he screamed.

   He got to his feet, sobbing and turning his head from the sight. His friend was dead, and he hadn’t stopped it. He hadn’t even been there. After all they’d been through this year in the wild, and he hadn’t been there for him when he really needed it.

   “Waspinator,” he said faintly, “I know what we need to do. Please listen and go back to the bridge to tell Tarantulus. Don’t forget to pick up some weapons, can never forget weapons, no…”

   “Wh-what plan?”

“RAMPAGE!”

    Vice Grip strode down the hallway, his mandibles crackling with power and his eyes burning with hatred. Grief had given way to rage, and the Predacon welcomed it- it cleared away the knotted circuits, replaced the corrosive fuel with fire. It made him stronger. It gave him focus.

   “Show yourself!” he roared. “Show yourself, you aft-sucking, murderous, Unicron-spawned BASTARD!”

   The voice came from the vents. “Ah, the avenging friend. I was wondering when you would-“
   Vice Grip whipped out his blaster and fired at where the voice was coming from, rewarded by the lovely sound of hot laser searing through Transformer armour. Rampage snarled and tore his way out, landing and transforming right in front of the Predacon.

   Rampage gestured to himself. “Here I am.”
  “You crossed the line when you killed Fractyl,” hissed Vice Grip. “I’m going to gut you for that.”

   “Oh ho! Are you now? You know, I didn’t just targeted him out of pure chance, beetle. I did it because I knew you two were friends.” The monster leered. “Yes, he gave me quite a bit of pleasure and such wonderful pain to feel. But now… look at you. Not as great a masterpiece as Depth Charge, but spectacular in its own right when you consider what I had to work with.”
  “What the slag are you babbling about?”
  “You,” he said, “and the pure rage and hatred within you. It is a powerful mix, and such a joy to experience. And if I wanted, I could make it go longer, until, as with Depth Charge, I achieve my favourite goal and turn you into a monster. Just like m-“
   He never finished the sentence, because it was at this that Vice Grip lost it and unleashed his full electric power, blasting Rampage back in a tangle of spastic limbs.

   And then he ran. Rampage growled and set off after him.

   “You cannot run, Predacon! I am destiny to you, fool! There is nothing you can achieve by running. You can’t escape from me. I am god in this tomb, you hear me? I AM GOD!”

   Rampage tore into the bridge, where Vice Grip stood seething in the centre.

   “No place to run now,” he hissed.

   “Yeah. You’re right there.”
   And as Vice Grip spoke, Tarantulus and Waspinator rose up from their hiding places behind the computer consoles, clutching the strongest weapons they could salvage. Rampage was trapped in a three-way crossfire.

   Vice Grip cackled. “Open fire!”
   Electric blasts and machine-gun fire and lasers hit Rampage from all angles, ripping through his armour and out the other side, burning out circuits and gears. He screamed in pain, trying to move forward only for a blast to hit him upside the head. Mech fluid burst out in torrents as he was torn to pieces by the fire.

    “Are you enjoying this?” Vice Grip hissed. “Are you? ARE YOU?”
    Rampage half-collapsed, and the Predacons relaxed their fire. His armour was seared away in many places, revealing his skeletal framework and circuitry, and his left arm had been blown off completely. One side of his head was gone, exposing his brain module and shattering his optic. He was a mess, and almost certainly dying.

   Vice Grip prepared for another blast. This time, he was aiming for the head-

   Rampage pulled himself up, his Spark pulsating angrily and the glass of his optics beginning to regenerate, and fired off a missile. It struck Tarantulus and blasted him backwards, shattering his armour and knocking him unconscious.

   Vice Grip prepared to fire, but then the monster lurched for him and his throat and mouth were in the creature’s grasp. It tightened, crushing his vocal equipment.

   You thought that would stop me?

   Vice Grip unleashed an electrical blast, only to get himself hit at such close range. Secondary systems immediately were sent offline.

   Pathetic. As if you and your friends could kill me. Fools.

   <Get your voice out of my head!>
   And I thought you were a masterpiece. Here is what I will do. I’m going to throw you into lava, where you will melt and die slowly and painfully. And then I’m going to break off your wasp friend’s head, and feast upon the Spark’s of both him and the spider. And then I will take Fractyl’s corpse and I will tear it to pieces and defile it with waste fluids and leave it in the woods for the beasts to shit on. And there is nothing you can do about it.

   And he found himself being hung over the lava. He was going to be dropped, and he couldn’t save himself. Not now.

   That’s right. It’s all helpless.

   Vice Grip, however, would be damned if he’d die alone. And so he unleashed another close-range electric blast, and this time wouldn’t let up even when smoke and flame were billowing from Rampage’s wounds or when his systems started to shut off one by one. He continued the attack, laughing in his mind as Rampage screamed in pain, and as his vision went black the last thing he saw was the both of them falling over, locked together, towards the lava.

CHAPTER SIX

“We’ve received orders to return to base.”
  Vice Grip sighed. “Took them long enough. We’ve been out here for over six months! Should we good to get back to the ol’ Darkside…” He paused, looking over at Fractyl with concern. His friend looked saddened. “What’s the matter, bud?”
   “O-oh nothing!” said Fractyl, giving him a large fake smile. “Let’s head back!”

   “You don’t want to go back, do you?”
   “No. No I don’t. Those months travelling across the planet with you were far more enjoyable than the Darkside ever was. I… I’d like for us to stay here.”

   Vice Grip put his arm around Fractyl. “Look, buddy, I know how you feel about the Darkside. But I promise it’s not gonna be bad. We’ll return, and it’ll be better than you remember. You’ll see.”
   “You think so?”
   “Yeah, course! Things are bound to have changed there! It’s bound to be better…”

And then he woke up.

   Vice Grip climbed out of the CR Chamber, shaking his head to clear away the memory of the past. He didn’t want to remember that, not now. Because he’d convinced Fractyl to return to the damned base and because of that he was dead.

   Because of him.

   “Beetle-bot alive! Yay!” Waspinator was sitting near the Chamber, clapping his arms with a massive grin on his face. “Beetle-bot nearly fall into lava pit, but Wazzzpinator fly in and zzzave him!”

   “You saved me?” He chuckled and gave his friend a weak thumbs-up. “I guess I owe you one. But… what happened to Rampage? He fell into the lava and died, right? Right?”
  Waspinator looked down at his feet. “Rampage and beetle-bot locked together. Wazzzpinator saved both. Didn’t want to.”
   “But he’s dead now, right? Megatron and the others came back and killed him, right?!” Vice Grip’s voice was bordering on the hysterical, and he grabbed Waspinator by the shoulders. “Right?!”
   Waspinator shook his head.

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

“Ah, Vice Grip!” said Megatron jovially as the beetle stormed into his room. “So glad to see you finally up after two weeks of inactivity- we would have repaired you sooner, but we had to fix the generator and repair the system before activating the CR Chamber’s, of course-“
   “Stuff it,” he snarled. “Why is Rampage still alive? I talked to Waspinator, he says you came in a few minutes after Rampage was taken down…”

  “Indeed. Rampage had reprogrammed the defences to target me and had the doors fused shut, but I’d made sure long ago that there was a back door in, just in case, ah yesssssss.”

   “Why didn’t you kill him?”
   Megatron frowned. “Isn’t it obvious? We need him. Especially now, with my greatest plan on the horizon-“
   “I don’t give a damn about your plans!” Vice Grip screamed, electricity shooting from his mandibles. “I don’t care about your agendas and your slagging megalomania! That monster killed Fractyl and nearly the rest of us as well, and you let him get away with it!”
   “The trouble with you,” said Megatron, “is that you aren’t seeing this from a strategic viewpoint. Fractyl was a geochemist. Rampage is a powerful, murderous and indestructible warrior. Which is of better use to me in the Beast Wars? Which will wound more Maximals? I did punish Rampage for what he did, very much so in fact, but he is needed. Fractyl, on the other hand, is expendable.”

   Vice Grip felt his legs go weak. “Expendable?” he whispered. “Is that what you think? Is that all we are to you?”
   He ran out, trying to get out before he went mad. He’d thought Rampage had been a monster. And he was, but he was not the only one. Megatron was one too, and he was worse, because he was one who treated the death of his followers as just a minor inconvenience. Bastard. 

   <Smelt that. Smelt all of that!>

    “Ah, such rage within you…”

    Vice Grip jerked to a stop and fought the urge to scream. It was Rampage. Right behind him. And he was going to taunt him over Fractyl’s death, he just knew it, and he didn’t know what to do now…

    Rampage strolled along, drumming his fingers on the wall. “That was an interesting experience, I don’t think anyone has ever brought me down in such a way,” he said. “Not even Depth Charge.”
   “Go away.”

   “Why, is that anyway to talk to a comrade?” Rampage pouted before clasping his hands together gleefully. “After all, we are still working together, despite that little… unpleasantness. Oh, don’t look so surprised, Vice Grip! The monster won, oh boo hoo. Welcome to the real world. There is darkness, and it is everywhere, and it always wins in the end. Inside, as well as in war.” Rampage smiled slightly and gestured towards Vice Grip’s Spark. “I can sense it. It smells yummy. All tainted and dark, all because of little old me. Tainted and growing worse. Soon, just like him, you’ll be a monster too. In the dark, with me, in your mind, forever and ever.”
   And he cackled and walked off. Vice Grip felt like crying.

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

He was in beetle mode, standing on top of the Darkside. Equipment was strapped to his back, for geochemistry readings and mining and Energon conversion, along with supplies. He had no weapons with him except his built-in electric powers. That would be all he’d need.

   He just couldn’t take it anymore. Too many bad memories of the dark and the fear. Megatron and his apathy. Rampage.

   And the fear that Rampage was right. That he’d become a monster.

   He didn’t want that.

   So it was time to leave. Go back to where he’d been happy, where he’d spent the best days of his life. Back into the wilderness, away from this damned war and the damned deaths. Megatron might try to have him tracked down, but he doubted it- he was, after all, expendable. He figured he’d last in the wild for about a year at best. Still a safer bet then staying here, of course, and who really wanted to live forever?

   Time to go. But before he went, time to pay tribute.

   He activated the holographic projector at his feet, and words forty feet high were beamed into the sky for all to see. He nodded in approval and left, never looking back.

HERE LIES FRACTYL

THIS PLANET WAS HIS SALVATION AND HIS CURSE

THE END