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SOFTWARE WARS III |
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By Charles Ellis |
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Meet
the New Boss II By Charles Ellis New
Iacon, kilometre from the Citadel, 15/4/2299 To get to Springer’s Citadel, you had to walk through the remains of the last riot. Past burnt-out wrecks that could have been vehicles, or could have been Transformers. Through an almost solid aura of fear and anger.
“Never again.” Grimlock looked over to the Citadel and scowled.
“Never again.” Jazz’s position happened to be 40 metres above the Citadel in an anti-gravity jet-pack, with Swoop half a kilometre to his West. He peered through his binoculars, keeping an eye on the Guardian units, while an old Earthen metal song blared in his internal radio. “BZZT. This is Hound. The guards are concentrated at the sides of the Citadel- this is your window, guys. BZZT.” “Gotcha.” Jazz moved through the air like a hand in a silken glove. He was moving fast and reached the roof of the building in ten seconds, from the rear. Reality gave a shudder and a long coil of rope was taken from subspace and fastened to the top of the building. The rope was dropped down the side of the building, and Jazz began climbing down. He inched down carefully, staring downwards towards the two Guardian units that stood like statues by the doors. Swoop locked on to the part of the Citadel where, according to Siren, the security systems were run from. A small rocket streaked from his wing, carrying within it a powerful EMP charge that would knock out all cameras, remote weaponry and also the security card readers on doors, allowing anybody to be able to enter important areas. “This is Swoop. Move in five.” Cybertronian
space The bridge of the TTSC (Terran Technical Starcraft) Trojan. Commander Witwicky leaned in his chair, reading the latest status reports. Already seven hundred Transformers were dead, 85% of which had had their corpses intercepted en route to the Sun. The population appeared to be rebellious, with twenty riots having occurred across Cybertron since 7th March, five of which had occurred in New Iacon, the latest of which had been a mere kilometre from Springer’s Citadel. Tension was rife, and Cybertronian colonies such as Yerril were debating whether or not to send peace-keeping forces in.
<Perfect. The whole festering boil is ready to pop. Hope so-
we’ve been in this patch of space for months now. We should be able to
return home, surely?> “Sir!” Hallo, part of the team in charge of controlling Springer. He sounded worried.
“What is it, Hallo?” New
Iacon, Cybertron “GO!”
“CanWeReachTheCitadelInTime?” “Hush your mouth.” Grimlock ran, Sludge trying to keep up. The promise of combat, the thrill of battle, it filled his every circuit and code, it made him feel like he was pumped full of Nucleon- it made him feel ALIVE. Without even thinking about it, he transformed and roared into the night. Jazz had been timing it. The others would hit the Citadel three minutes after Swoop had fired his EMP-missile. The Guardians needed to be offline by then. It had been two minutes, 32.5 seconds… He drew his photon blaster. He was ten storeys above the Guardians, the weak point he needed to hit was at an odd angle to him, but he could make it. He fired two shots almost lazily. Each one hit the back of the Guardian’s necks, burning through it and frying the circuitry inside. They went offline. Four seconds later, the Turbo Racer came into view. Bluestreak fired the proton missiles, blowing the Citadel gates off their hinges. The vehicle screeched to a stop and Blurr jumped out. Several guards came running over, arming their rifles; Blurr reached them, knocked them out and confiscated the guns in five seconds. The other rebels showed up soon afterwards, overwhelming the guards- faced with the Dinobots strength and Blurr’s lightning attacks, the guards quickly surrendered. Grimlock kicked the door down and stormed into Springer’s office.
“Springer! You being kicked out of office!” Planet-wide
broadcast, 16/4/2299 “Autobots, this is Grimlock. Me has taken over from Springer- Springer’s head now being debugged, since he mind-hacked. All that Springer done lately has been caused by mind-hackers. Me Grimlock not like mind-hackers, or any who steal free will from Transformers. Me find them, and me slag them. “This all you need to know. Good day.” Debugging By
Charles Ellis TTSC
Trojan, Cybertronian space, 16/4/2299- 20 minutes after
Grimlock’s broadcast Commander Witwicky took a deep breath and turned to face the most powerful men on Earth. They were light years away and he was merely facing a giant TV screen receiving transmissions from Earth, but it still scared the willies out of him. Roache, President of the European Union. Walker, President of Western America (a coalition of West Coast states, formed after the Second Civil War of 2208). Ishida, Prime Minister of Japan. Gerald Way, the head of computing conglomerate GateWay LTD. Very, VERY powerful men, all of whom had large investments in the Software Wars, none of which wanted Witwicky to fail and all of which could make his life very miserable if he did. “Report, Commander,” said Roache.
He cleared his throat and went into it. “There has been a coup on
Cybertron, and one rather more successful than we anticipated. We expected
the Autobot populace to have broken down into mobs, fighting amongst each
other out of paranoia and fear. Instead, a group of war veterans has
seized control, knocking Springer offline and doubtless debugging him, and
we have lost all but two of our spy sensors after the new leader Grimlock
ordered a sweep of the whole Citadel.”
“Any chance of the new administration linking the hackings to
us?”
“Yes, that’s another thing,” broke in Walker. “What about
the fugitives? Are you quite sure they’re dead? They’re an impressive
group- several Wreckers, an ex-Mayhem, the Combaticons and an unknown
Micromaster. We can’t afford to have them find out the truth and come
gunning for us.” “Do we have enough Cybertronian technology for our goals?” asked Way.
“I believe so. We’ve shipped approximately three tonnes of raw
material to Earth, including working brain modules for examination;
we’ve already started building weapons based on the technology, and
twelve prototypes of the Nightbird All-Terrain Combat Units have been
constructed, ready for testing.” He controlled his voice, not wanting to
seem too eager to return home. “With the information we have, Earth can
be advanced by three decades scientifically, and will take its place as
the galaxy’s new major arms and software dealer.”
“Excellent. Continue the good work, Commander. Report if you gain
any important news.” “You visibly wet yourself when they showed up,” she said, grinning fit to burst.
“I was that obvious?” he chuckled. “Still… Three more weeks
in this godforsaken stretch of space? Bollocks. Why can’t the damn
robots just kill themselves already?” ???,
New Iacon- 25 minutes after Grimlock’s broadcast “Grimlock’s rebellion does not change a thing,” said Onslaught. “We are still fighting this campaign by ourselves; if we get the Autobot government involved, it could make it easier for the humans to find out what we’re planning.” He looked at Whirl, obviously sceptical judging by his body language, and sighed. “Yes, there is ALSO the fact that I’m worried that me and the boys would get slagged by Grimlock- he’s not the sort of ‘Bot to ally himself with Decepticons. Still… Do we really want our strategies to become more widely known? Who knows how many Autobots in High Command are mind-hacked puppets? It would jeopardise the mission.” “He’s right,” said Star Saber. “The smaller our operation, the less chance of the enemy finding out about our plans, or that the Off Road Patrol didn’t kill us.” “Fine,” sighed Whirl, spreading his arms in an ‘I surrender’ gesture. “We won’t go to Grimlock. I just thought that would be better for us, in terms of resources. We aren’t sure if the modified Cerebro-shell will work.” “It will,” said Onslaught. Whirl didn’t believe him. The plan was that they would blast off a coffin containing the corpse of the Reductionist that Vortex had salvaged last week; the humans would pick it up, not knowing the coffin also contained a modified Cerebro-shell capable of flying towards the nearest computer outpost and easily hacking into the system. It would then fashion as a link between the system and the group’s little computer, allowing them to damage the human’s system. IF the coffin was picked up, IF the Cerebro-shell worked, IF they weren’t beaten by the system’s protection programs, IF something new happened to screw up everything. It was too risky a plan, and Whirl didn’t like it. It was unlikely they’d ever get another shot at this and if they didn’t, they’d be forced to try a direct assault on the human’s space station. Whirl liked tough odds, but he drew the line at certain death.
Star Saber said: “Are you absolutely certain Swindle can handle
this?” Star Saber narrowed his optics. “Oh really.” “I shouldn’t have said that, should I?” “No.”
“Anyway,” broke in Whirl, “how long before we can launch the
coffin?” Whirl nodded. He knew that he and Carnivac would be better suited for guard duty, due to their respective aerial and Pretender abilities. However, to be on the safe side, he’d made it so Brawl, Blast Off and Vortex would all be going out to launch the coffin. He didn’t want a full force of Combaticons inside the hideout, especially while Topspin and Twin Twist were still being repaired; it would be too easy for Onslaught to decide, at some point, that he didn’t need the Autobots anymore. Onslaught knew Whirl’s reasons, though the Wrecker had never mentioned them out loud. He didn’t need to. Onslaught knew, and had agreed to having the other Combaticons being sent out. However, he’d secretly informed the three of them to, when returning to the hideout, go to a nearby Decepticon base, get some support and annihilate Whirl & Carnivac when returning. <Nothing personal, Autobot. I’m only obeying orders. And once you two die, I can deal with Shorty and your hospitalised buddies. That should help get me back in Soundwave’s good books.> Star Saber had no ulterior motive that he’d inserted into the counter-offence plan. He was content to watch the other two, dissect their actions to reveal the schemes beneath and formulate plans based on that. The
Armoury, the Citadel, New Iacon It was a room of death. Shelf after shelf, stacked high with devices designed for slaying and smashing. Subtle weapons for assassinations, battlefield weapons, weapons purely designed to cause as much destruction as possible. Mudslinger liked this place; the dormant weapons gave off an aura of power that calmed his troubled mind and made him forget himself. He ran his fingers delicately over a downsized fusion cannon, and a sigh escaped his lips. Then his face hardened, and he grabbed the weapon. It latched onto his shoulder like it was a part of him. He turned to Highjump and Powertrain, as if to say something, and then fell quiet. Nothing needed to be said. They knew what to do. Their commanding officers had been told the fugitives were dead, as they’d promised Whirl. They’d also promised him that they’d leave him and his band of murderers alone. They were breaking that promise. They owed it to Tote. “An optic for an optic,” whispered Mudslinger, and his voice burned with rage.
TTSC Trojan, Cybertronian space, 17/4/2299- 1530 hours Witwicky was feeling restless. He’d spent too much time planning attacks and hackings, he’d spent too much time away from home… He was tired with the mission. He’d never expected it to take this long. Witwicky had always subconsciously expected the robots to have all turned on each other after a week of the Software Wars, and was feeling rather pissed to find out otherwise. So he’d come back to his quarters, and decided to look through the history records. Specifically, the ones dealing with Earth/Cybertron relations. It didn’t make for very varied reading. It always involved Earth being torn up. His hands shook every time he read about 1994. The Transformers had attacked Earth in full force, devastating cities the world over. Millions of lives, snuffed out. The world’s economy badly hit. It had been the worst war-related atrocity in Earth’s history until 2040, and what had happened? The American government had let the robots build a city there. They had LET the murdering bastards use our land and resources… <They still do. Autobot City has been on Earth for centuries now, and what do we have to show for it? The countless dead, and our resources being taken so they can further their own war. They won’t even share their technology with us, we had to STEAL the Pretender technology despite how useful it would have been medically and for emergency services… <That’s not what irks you though, is it? What irks you is that your ancestors were in the Transformers cheering section, isn’t it? Every little schoolboy learns about how Sparkplug Witwicky betrayed his nation by repairing Transformers so they could continue to fight and kill. Every little schoolboy learns about how your family helped warmongers.> Witwicky, his eye twitching and his skin clammy, shot out his hand and shut off the terminal. Records of ancient carnage disappeared in the blink of an eye. <Calm yourself, Witwicky. It’ll all be over soon. All be over… And the Witwicky name will be redeemed after two centuries of shame.> ????
Medical Room, New Iacon, Cybertron- 1549 hours He awoke from a dream of teeth and pain, and shook his head slightly as he tried to work out who he was.
<I’m a Wrecker- <My name is…
(Tote) <…Topspin.
I am… where am I?> Topspin turned to see Twin Twist looking at him, trembling, as if he were a human and about to burst into tears. They were both lying on an operating table, wires attached to their core processors. “I knew you wouldn’t die,” he whispered. “Not you. Not Topspin.” Topspin slowly reached out for Twin Twist’s hand, and clutched it tightly. He wasn’t sure what was going on or why he kept recalling searing acid and comrades melting before his eyes, but he was hear, with his friend, and his friend loved him. And that was enough. Industrial
district, New Iacon, Cybertron- 1800 hours The coffin vanished from sight, and Vortex sighed. “Well, that’s that done. C’mon, let’s get some muscle and go kill our allies.” “Sounds good to me,” chuckled Brawl. The Combaticons started to walk. “So, once we’ve wasted the Autobots, what’re you gonna d-“ Blast Off thrust his arm out, blocking his comrade’s path. “There’s a factory just a few metres away, we can make it if we move quickly.” His voice was low and his optics fixated on the road ahead.
“Why do we need to-?” They were backed up against the factory door- a quick wind funnel blast from Vortex and it was halfway across the floor. They scrambled in, used Blast Off’s laser to weld the door back in place and darted around, looking for cover. There was a large conveyor belt the dominated the building and a few small stacks of crates- it wouldn’t work, it was far too open. They could hide by transforming, but that would limit Blast Off & Vortex.
Brawl activated his communication systems. “Brawl to Onslaught,
we’ve got-“ Brawl cried out and instinctively took a step back- that was Mudslinger’s voice.
“We have a Communications Dampener in place- nothing in this
area can send any transmissions, except for me and my men. You k-k-killed
Tote, and we’re taking that out of your chassis…” The
transmission ended, and was replaced with a new one, a single word
repeated over and over on an infinite loop, full of hate and loathing: “Die.”
TTSC
Trojan, Cybertronian space- 1812 hours The corpse was removed and taken to the lab, the coffin stripped down for spare parts. As the engineers did this, they chatted about Earth sports events and going home and completely failed to notice the Cerebro-shell skim through the air and attach itself to a computer terminal. ????,
beneath New Iacon- 1813 hours “OK, I’m in,” said Swindle. “They’ve got some nasty little encryption codes, they might take a while to crack.” “You haven’t been detected yet?” asked Onslaught. “Nope. Course, I haven’t really done anything yet. I have access to really boring stuff, like waste disposal rota…” Swindle was connected neurally to the ratty computer terminal they’d scavenged. This allowed for easier hacking on the human ship’s computer, but it was far riskier. Any anti-virus program they had could potentially trash his systems. Still, Swindle wasn’t worried; he was in his element. He enjoyed hacking, the way it made him feel powerful- he could manipulate systems to his liking, do anything he liked to them and he could never be traced. He occasionally hacked Galvatron’s personal files, just to prove he could (and as a slight rebellion against Galvatron). Sure, the human system was tough, but he could deal with it. He’d already used several special programs within his brain module to decipher the lower level security passwords, and now he had access to the surveillance systems. They could prove useful; he tried them out, watching the ship through the dozens of cameras, seeing all that was going on- “Oh Primus.” He was seeing into the ship’s laboratory. He was seeing the bodies of Transformers, carefully dissected, their every component laid out for all to see. He was seeing brain modules being examined, plundered. He was seeing… everything. And he remembered a few weeks ago, when Bombshell had discovered that the virus’s the humans were using (the ones you helped to spread) weren’t killing Transformers, but were creating a simulation of death good enough to fool Autobot medical systems. And now they knew why- the humans wouldn’t to examine how Transformers worked, so they could use that technology for their own ends. To fully examine Transformers, they needed living specimens. They were dissecting living Transformers, and he’d helped them do it. “Oh Primus,” he repeated, and now his voice was choked. Industrial
district, New Iacon, Cybertron- 1830 hours “Die.” “Die.” Blast Off felt on the verge of going mad. That damned message wouldn’t stop playing- he didn’t know what device the Off Road Patrol were using, but they couldn’t stop their communicators picking up the message. There had been no attack. Nothing even close to one. Nothing but the message, repeating over and over. “Die.” They’d considered running for it, but no- Blast Off could tell they were surrounded. They’d be lucky to get two steps before being mown down. “Die.”
Brawl’s hands were shaking, and his gun was serving about the
place. “I swear I’m going to shoot myself if it doesn’t stop,” he
hissed. “I can’t take this anymore, I’ve got to get OUT, gotta
actually fight-“ “Die.”
“That might be preferable!” Brawl started to pace again.
“What is with those slagging Autobots? Why don’t they attack?” Gunfire tore through the factory windows. The Combaticons screamed and fired their guns wildly, not knowing where the attack had come from, not caring, reducing the crates in the factory to splinters and the conveyor belt to slag. After a minute of hysteria, they stopped and looked around. Blast Off could see that one window had been broken by enemy fire- maybe three, four shots had been fired. Nobody had been hit. But it had been enough to set them off, cause them to use up half their ammunition and destroy what little cover they’d had. And now Blast Off knew what the Micromaster’s plan was- they didn’t just want to KILL them, oh no. They wanted the Combaticons to be reduced to quivering, screaming wrecks before they were gunned down. And maybe they WOULDN’T kill the Combaticons, maybe they’d blow off their limbs, immobilise them, let them lie in pain before the final release. “Die.” “Die.” “Die.” Blast Off hissed and holstered his gun. “Screw this! It’s time we stopped playing by their rules.”
“What?!” exclaimed Vortex. “You’re not seriously thinking
of trying to shoot it out with guys we can’t SEE, are you?!”
“NO! I plan to fly upwards, call for help and come back down. I
need you two to distract the Micro’s with random fire- I don’t want to
get shot outta the sky. Clear?” Blast Off flipped over, transformed in mid-air and landed nosecone-up. His shuttle’s engines roared into life and he launched, blasting an exit in the roof with his frontal laser. He could hear Brawl and Vortex fire out the windows as he went. Hopefully that should distract the Micromaster’s- WOOOOSH He can detect a heat-seeker missile coming up fast from the factory roof- there was a Micromaster hiding there! It was locked onto his engines, it was too late to dodge, he was 900 metres up and climbing, he had just one shot at this… “Blast Off to Whirl! Off Road Patrol is back, we’re trapped in the Industrial Sector, come qui-“ The explosion hurled him out of the sky and he was dashed to pieces on the ground. Highjump smiled. “Strike one.” ????,
beneath New Iacon- 1900 hours Swindle hadn’t talked since he’d seen the lab. His face was a mask and inside he nursed a cold rage. Rage was good. It wasn’t shame, or grief, or- <Stop. Concentrate. Can’t make a single mistake.> He was slowly working his way through the human’s systems, gaining access to everything and deactivating security programs as he went. This was slow work, and hard for him- usually he’d cracked a system by now. But he had to remain patient and calm, or they’d catch him, and- He’d found them. The confidential files, containing lists of those who’d financed and directed the Software Wars. Many high-ranking Earth politicians, businessmen, military officials and scientists had been involved in this. Then there was the programs dealing with the ship’s weapons, radar, communications and cloaking field. Jackpot! Eagerly, he plunged into the files and set off every single alarm the ship had. “Ooops.” TTSC
Trojan, Cybertronian space- 1901 hours Witwicky slammed his fist on the terminal. A Transformer was hacking their systems, and they’d only just noticed. Damn it! “Bring the security programs back online,” he barked. “We can’t let the robots find out anything!” ????, beneath New Iacon- 1901 hours, 32 seconds His gears were locking up in fear. He didn’t know what to do- he had at least three minutes before the security programs activated and wiped his core. He had no idea of what files he needed to grab, no idea of how to respond, he could feel the seconds ticking away and- Swindle fought against the panic and set to work. He needed to do as much as possible in under three minutes. Calmly, he selected a random file and started to download it into a spare part of his brain module. It’d take roughly ten seconds to get the file; already, he was selecting the second for downloading. He devoted a small part of his system to the downloading; the rest was working hard to drop the ship’s cloaking field. There were passwords needed to access that, but Swindle managed to hack it easily. Now, here was the tricky part- keeping the field offline for long enough. Already another part of his system was deploying one of his private viruses. And now… Surveillance/defence satellite Retina, Cybertronian space- 1902 hours Cosmos shook himself out of his bored stupor as a space station suddenly appeared on the satellite’s radar. At first, he thought it was just a prank by Neogen Autobots, but the space station still remained there. No hoax could last that long, not against this sophisticated a system. <So… It must be a Decepticon satellite.> A flick of a button, and the satellite’s solar cannon began to charge up. TTSC
Trojan, Cybertronian space- 1902 hours- 24 seconds “The
robot had deployed a virus in our system, sir- it’s trashing our safety
checks, we can’t use passwords to access anything.” Swindle was racing through the system, downloading file after file. He thought he had enough files, but best to make sure. After all, he didn’t want to run the risk of pissing off- The anti-viral programs reactivated and, seeing Swindle as a hostile alien, proceeded to delete his mind. Industrial
district, New Iacon, Cybertron- 1902 hours Whirl could hear the snarl of gunfire in the distance. He ignored it. Every line of code screamed at him to charge in and save the day through heroic use of firearms, but therein lied death. It had taken him over half an hour to get what he needed- finding a black-market dealer he knew by rumour, killing said dealer to stop his trade hurting civilians (and to avoid having to pay for what he wanted), reaching the Micromaster’s Communications Dampener without being spotted… He was ready now. He blasted the Dampener, taking it offline, and quickly placed radioed the Combaticons: “Shutdown audio receptors!”. That done, he shut off his own, activated his illegally-purchased sonic mine, and flew as far up as possible. As he watched, the ground below rippled slightly as the sonic force spread outwards. The sonic force destroyed every window in a 30-metre radius, short-circuited the Micromaster’s cloaking technology and caused them to collapse in pain. The mine was now spent, and Whirl switched his audio receptors back on & flew down, firing as he went.
“Whirl to Combaticons,” he radioed. “I’m going for an
aerial assault on those Micro’s- prepare to back me up.” Brawl and Vortex nodded to each other and prepared to move, when grenades came down through the hole in the roof, blasting them to the other side of the room and trashing their armour. Highjump leapt down and sprang towards Brawl, preparing for a headshot, but Brawl fired first. The blast tore Highjump in two. “Pretty dumb move, shorty,” he muttered. Their fire was wilder than before, and Whirl was finding it harder to dodge. Lasers were clipping his sides and he couldn’t slow down to target without making it easy for them to blast his rotor. Desperately, he fired several missiles, hoping to cause them to scatter, but they didn’t even flinch. Vortex shot out of the factory, creating a wind funnel which blew the Micromaster’s over. Whirl stopped in mid-air and fired once, taking out Powertrain. Mudslinger rolled away from the Autobot’s fire and blasted Vortex once in the chest. The Combaticon went down, his fuel pumps ignited. Mudslinger laughed and turned to Whirl, his lips curled and his optics gleaming with hatred. He had the helicopter dead in his sights… Whirl blasted a wide-range paralysing ray. Mudslinger was frozen in place, unable to move, and Brawl took this opportunity to come over and beat seven quarts of lubricant out of him. ????,
beneath New Iacon- 1903 hours “SWINDLE!” Swindle was shaking and screaming. His optics were wide and unfocused, and his scream was building and building in pitch and- Onslaught ripped his comrade’s neural connections from the computer and caught him as he collapsed. His face was frozen in the scream. Onslaught looked at him numbly for a few seconds before running to the medic’s room. TTSC
Trojan, Cybertronian space- 1903 hours- 17 seconds Witwicky smiled and cracked his knuckles. The robot intruder had been defeated, and any data he may have stolen would have been wiped. They were still ahead of the game. He casually glanced at his terminal and his blood ran cold. +++WARNING. Cloaking field offline for 1 minute 17 seconds. Reactivate it Y/N?+++ The implications of them becoming visible on radar sunk in. His hand slammed down on his terminal, cutting in on the station’s radio, and yelled: “Evacuate the Trojan! We’ve been detected by Cybertron, we MUST evacuate!” He threw himself out of his chair and started to run for the lifts- he knew there were not enough ships for get everyone on board out, and didn’t intend to be left behind. Behind him came the sound of feet pounding on the floor as the rest of the bridge crew ran after him. He’d reached the lift first and fought his more baser instincts in order to let them get on. They reached the Spacecraft Hanger ahead of the crowd, and packed themselves into a small 5-seater- there was no time for comfort, they had to get OUT. Witwicky was able to fly the craft out into space and turned to wait for the others. His brow was matted with sweat and he found himself shaking- he was terrified. Terrified of how many were going to die because HE had let one of those fucking robots hack his system. He watched the open hanger doors, waiting for any other craft to come out. He waited for only five seconds, but it felt like years. And he never saw anyone else come out, because then everything went white as the solar beam hit the TTSC Trojan and turned it into white-hot slag that froze in the abyss of space. ????,
beneath New Iacon- 1912 hours Swindle’s eyes glowed as he came back online. Groaning, he got up and shook his head.
“Uh… I’m alive, right?”
“Ah. So, I guess the plan to kill all the Autobots and leave is
out then?”
“So. It’s over. The Software Wars are over.” Software
Wars: Epilogue By
Charles Ellis The
Citadel, New Iacon, Cybertron, 18/4/2299 Grimlock could get used to this. The chair was comfy, the office had a GREAT view AND he was in charge of the entire planet. There was the pressing need to find who had started the Software Wars and destroy them, and he was planning for that, but right now all he could do was look out the Citadel window and watch the giant red jet coming right towards him WHAT THE- The windows opened a second before the jet reached them and it flew into the room and transformed into the titanic form of Star Saber.
“Ah, Grimlock,” he said. “You can stop down now.” “It’s a long story. Suffice to say, I’m alive.” <And luckily I have several secret storerooms dotted about the planet, one of which included a replica of my giant form. Had to wait until the Software War was over before trying to retrieve it, if the human’s mind-hacked puppets had seen me alive…> Grimlock glared at Star Saber. The door behind him swung open as Great Shot, Siren and Jazz came running in. There was a lot of pointless exclamations and the like, all of which ended when Grimlock whipped out his sword.
“Me not stepping down,” he whispered. “Me not letting you
rule Cybertron again. Not after what you let happen, not after all you
done to Cybertron.”
“You think you could rule any better than I have,” asked Star
Saber, his voice casual. “Your first two attempts at commanding the
Autobot army during the 20th Century were a bloody shambles!
First time round you were a tyrant yourself; second time you got most of
your men killed in a simple ambush and were only saved by the timely
arrival of the Last Autobot. What makes you believe you could run
Cybertron? Run it well, keep the Energon coming in and preventing the
Decepticons from regaining a foothold? Do you really think you could? Are
you really willing to risk the planet’s stability because my reign is
slightly restrictive?”
“Good boy, Grimlock.” And he left.
Maccadam’s
Old Oil House, New Iacon, Cybertron Whirl, Carnivac and the Jumpstarters watched Star Saber’s broadcast about how the mind-hackers (Decepticons, of course) had been defeated, how it was all over etc etc… “Ah, I can’t take this slag anymore,” said Carnivac. “The only good bit is that he’s excusing Sideswipe and Ratchet for their crimes done under mind-hacking. The rest is spin served up with a helping of major bull.” “That’s all past us now,” said Whirl. “It’s over, we did our part, time for a drink.”
“What about the Off Road Patrol?” The Autobots lay back and enjoyed their drinks. A while later, the door opened and the Wreckers came in. They stared in awe at Topspin and Broadside had to sit down.
“This is impossible,” whispered Ultra Magnus. “You’re
alive…” There was silence, and then they all began laughing. And there were explanations and drinks and celebration, and it lasted for the night. U.N.,
America, Earth The
screen crackled and Star Saber came into view. The most powerful men on
Earth looked at him in surprise. President Walker, trying to control his
face, said: “Hello, Star Saber. We weren’t expecting a communiqué
from you, we’d heard you were… er…” “I have footage and reports on your dealings with the Combaticons, criminals wanted throughout this galaxy, and also of your laboratories and what you did to living Transformers in them. I know what you were doing with that knowledge and how you were trying to destroy my government and throw Cybertron into chaos. I know all this. “I don’t like people trying to destroy or harm what is mine. And not only did you try to destroy my planet, you tried to kill me and have my loyal associate Sideswipe do it through mind-hacking. He and Ratchet have been excused for their crimes by me- after all, why should I punish them? You made them do it. There’s a lot you did. Earth is an unimportant planet and is desperately trying to take a higher position in galactic politics. Now, I wonder what all this would do to that decision? The universe hates Transformers, but it also hates people who start wars, who brainwash people, who vivisect living sentient beings, who deal with wanted terrorists and who try to overthrow regimes. You might end up blockaded from the rest of the universe. The universe might even let us unleash a full-scale assault on your planet. “I won’t tell them, because I see no need. This is a private affair, wouldn’t you agree? Now, I leave you with this message- STAY AWAY FROM CYBERTRON. You interfere with my planet or regime again, and I will hit you. I will hit you harder than your world has ever been hit. Your world would never recover.
“We are now enemies. You will allow Autobot City: Earth to remain
there, but it will ignore you and you will ignore it. Autobot City is the
ONLY reason I don’t send in Cyberforming crews right now. Pray that
Autobot City never becomes obsolete, because if that happens, then I will
have no further reason to be nice to your world.” THE END |