25.Feb.06
Phoenix into Flames
He made his way down the corridor carefully, warily watching for signs of sentries. Spying none, he slipped from the shadows of one cranny and carefully concealed himself into another nook of darkness.
A single blaster hung at his side, ready in the instance he needed it. Ravage did not plan on any close-quarters engagements, however. He had seen too much hand-to-hand fighting in his last mission, and had no desire to repeat it.
He sprinted from his hiding spot, entering the central room. The object of his mission—a massive power crystal—lay underneath a glass case in the center. Ravage carefully watched the cameras along the walls, and waited until they pointed away before he made his move.
He was upon the case in a flash, and began to saw away at the side nearest him. Although Ravage was not normally a jewel thief, the Predacons employed his skills for a wide variety of missions.
Every time the cameras made their sweep towards him, he ducked behind the case, avoiding their field of view. He would then resume his work, and it was not long before he had extracted a circular hole in the side of the case. He removed the glass carefully, and then placed the circular fragment on the ground. He reached forward, intending to claim the gem . . .
But his hand faltered, and he mentally rebuked himself. He was getting too far ahead; he needed to slow down, look at the situation objectively. He removed some chalk from his satchel and then rubbed his hands together, spreading the thick dust throughout the air. Sure enough, a red laser beam became visible through the cloud. Ravage smiled with satisfaction, and then brought forth a small defracting mirror. He slid it carefully into place, ensuring that the laser beam was cut, but did not trigger any alarms.
Ravage carefully placed his hand into the case and seized the massive jewel by its top. He then pulled it through the hole, took another glance at the cameras, and began to slink silently away.
"Bang. You’re dead."
The words echoed throughout the otherwise-silent hallways, and Ravage whispered an obscenity. A score of lights illuminated, and Ravage went ahead and placed the jewel on the floor. Another Predacon—Ravage recognized him as Sky Shadow—came through a set of double doors, holding a data pad.
"I don’t get it, Ravage. This is the second time today you’ve botched this training simulation. This time, you forgot to take into account the weight sensor beneath the crystal. Something like that should be second nature to you," Sky Shadow continued.
"I know," Ravage replied, refusing to offer any further explanation.
Sky Shadow shook his head. "You’re done for the day," he said. "There’s no sense continuing these exercises if your head’s not in the game."
Ravage glared at the smaller Predacon, but said nothing in reply. He simply began to walk towards the double doors, exiting the training simulation.
"This doesn’t have anything to do with that mission to Necros, does it?" Sky Shadow called after the Tripedicus Agent. "I mean, you only got back a week ago—maybe it was a little soon to start these exercises again."
"There is nothing wrong," Ravage replied. "We will run the simulation again tomorrow. Now leave me be." Without saying any further words to the Predacons who had assembled, Ravage exited, intent on returning to his quarters.
She stood on the balcony of the high tower, watching the sun of Necros rise over the mountains in the distance. Despite the complete and total lack of fauna, of native life forms, Valkyrie supposed that Necros had its own horrible beauty.
The Maximal thought back to the events that had suddenly transplanted her as the goddess of this alien culture; of her archeological mission to the dead planet, the excavation of a Heart of Cybertron, of the mysterious Predacon Ravage. Valkyrie remembered Ravage bringing destruction to both the Maximals and the Necronians, of killing the previous goddess and leaving Valkyrie for dead in the ash-like dust of the world.
She glanced down at her chest panel at the memory. Despite her mechanical anatomy, she could still see the remnants of the bullet wound. She should not have survived Ravage’s attack.
A sudden rustling behind her earned her attention, and Valkyrie spun to face her visitor. A Necronian priest, clad in a blue robe, fell to a single knee as his goddess faced him. "My lady Nahara," he explained, "I come to give you my humble report. The repairs to the sacrificial towers are nearly complete."
"Excellent," Valkyrie responded. "You have my thanks."
She turned away from the priest, looking out over the kingdom that fate had thrust upon her. Outside of the city walls lay an immense cemetery, holding the remains of innumerable Necronians. Such admiration and care for their dead.
She had yet to have visited beyond the cemetery, and Valkyrie pondered as to what lay outside the confines of this country, if there were any beasts that swum in the massive, black oceans that filled the majority of the planet, or if there was any portion of this world that was more hospitable to life. Perhaps, through her virtue of being a Transformer, there was a way she could make life easier for the Necronians, to find a way to sate the eternal hunger that filled their stomachs, to somehow—thankfully—put an end to their life-giving cannibalistic sacrifices.
"My Lady, I unfortunately have more grievous news."
Valkyrie turned, and was surprised to see the priest still behind her. Normally, her aides would quickly excuse themselves from her presence after making their reports, maintaining their demeanor of humble dignity.
"Of course, please take all the time you need," Valkyrie instructed.
"I fear that the Necronian’s faith may be misplaced," the priest continued. Valkyrie sighed, realizing that the sudden change in goddesses must be confusing for many of the Necronians. Not only had the preceding Nahara been cut down by Ravage prematurely, but they now gave their allegiance to an alien being.
"I’m sure that time will sort out the people’s fears," Valkyrie responded. "We must simply give them the time they need to adjust."
"My lady, forgive my impetuousness, but I fear you misunderstand," the priest stated. Without any further words, he held forth a small, palm-sized statue.
Valkyrie, full of curiosity, took the small idol from the priest’s outstretched hand, and then held it up to her face to get a better look. Her optics then widened with surprise.
Small, cat-like, the figure held a pair of blasters crossed over his chest. Valkyrie immediately noticed the Decepticon insignia chipped into its right shoulder.
"Ravage," she whispered.
"The Agent of Death," the priest finished, his eyes also gazing upon the tiny figure.
Ravage entered his chambers, and placed his dual blasters atop a small table. The lights cut on as he entered, and he shielded his red optics from the glare.
"Cut lights by sixty percent," he commanded. In response, the lights dimmed, casting long shadows throughout the room.
Better. Ravage liked his quarters with dimmer lights; it made him feel more comfortable. He had tried several times—unsuccessfully—to program the lights to stay at that intensity, but had yet to make the computer understand his query. Perhaps, he thought, he was getting old.
No. That wasn’t it. He didn’t age. The world moved on without him.
The thought reverberated through his head, and its weight took hold once more. The possibility remained, he considered, that he was a relic. A joke to these Predacons. Ravage, the loyal Decepticon who didn’t know when enough was enough, when it was time to call it quits.
Sky Shadow had been right. His journey to Necros had taken a personal toll upon him. It was not Valkyrie, not Nahara, but the Necronians as a whole that weighed upon his mind.
The Necronian race lived on a planet devoid of animal and plant life, and so survived through an extraordinarily low metabolism, ritualistic cannibalism, and long periods of hibernation. Ravage had journeyed to Necros just as the Necronians emerged from their hibernation cycle, and Ravage drew parallels of his own personality towards the Necronians.
Time-lost, the Necronians were creatures that sought out the past while the rest of the universe left them behind. They clung tenaciously to outdated ideals, giving unquestioning loyalty to a single leader, never doubting their role in the universe—all the while unaware that they were woefully out of date. In another time, another place, Ravage would have considered them a joke.
Not now. Although he would admit it to no being, Ravage found far too much of himself in the Necronians. His own loyalty to the Decepticons, his vehement defense of the original Megatron—did he really believe in the original Decepticon cause, or was he simply living in the past, as Nahara had? Did the Predacons of today regard him as a quaint remembrance, regarding his loyalty to the Decepticons as a necessary quirk to put up with just so that he would complete his missions?
Ravage realized that he had far more questions than answers. Looking out the high window to the barren landscape of Charr below, Ravage thought back to the days of the conflict with the Autobots, of conducting missions in his jaguar form across the great expanses of American desert. But those days were long past, and now Ravage only had an uncertain future.
She heaved a sigh of apprehension as she looked out from the balcony, towards the large expanse of barren landscape that stretched before her. The Necronian sun dipped towards the horizon, and Valkyrie stepped out to face the assembled crowd below. The priest, still clad in his blue robe, followed her. The priest would serve as a translator as Valkyrie delivered her message.
Valkyrie spread her arms outward, allowing the light breeze of the Necronian evening to catch the sleeves of her red robe. "Necronians," she announced, staring at the sea of questioning faces, "you have been deceived."
She thought over her words carefully; she had no desire to serve as the goddess of this world, but realized that the Necronians were a fundamentally simple people, who needed a central leadership figure. Valkyrie needed to dispel the myths of Ravage as being an other-worldly agent of death, while maintaining her following--not for her personal power, but for their benefit as a race.
"The off-wordler who arrived a week ago is no god," she stated. "He was an assassin from beyond the stars, one that hoped to spread pain and destruction to Necros. He is not to be revered."
A quite mumble passed from the crowds below as the priest translated the message into the strange, clicking Necronian language. A figure in the center of the crowd pointed upward, giving out a loud bellow.
"What’s he saying?" Valkyrie whispered to the priest.
"He says that the Agent of Death is real, and that this is a sign of the end days," he stated. "According to Necronian legend, Nahara would fall herself in a grand battle against the god of shadows. That would signal the end of Necros and the freedom of all Necronians from their cycle of death."
Valkyrie sighed. "Unbelievable."
The priest nodded his head in agreement. "The teachings are very well ingrained within the soul of Necros; all Necronian children receive this story as a part of their lessons in school. The end of Necros is not an event to be feared, but one to be welcomed. It is understandable—although wrong—for the Necronians to doubt your word, Great Nahara."
"In other words, I’m going to have to convince them that their world isn’t about to end. We’ll discuss this at length after we finish our message."
Valkyrie turned and faced the crowd once more. "Necronians, the end of days is not upon you. Do not construct any more false idols. Abandon those that have been sculpted. They will lead you to ruin."
The voice of the priest faltered with the delivery of this message, realizing that it would not prove popular with the crowd below. Sure enough, a large mumble of dissent stirred from those assembled, and Valkyrie could see several Necronians weeping openly.
Valkyrie began to fear that the Necronians would soon rise into open revolt, but a sudden roar blasted over the crowd, cowing them into silence. The warning horn sounded once more, and Valkyrie turned her attention towards the noise.
"My Lady Nahara!" Valkyrie turned and looked behind her, at the runner that stood panting at the base of the stairs in the tower behind them. "Strangers have arrived at the East gate! Should we prepare the defenses?"
"Instruct the guards to stand at the ready," she responded. "I will come and make the determination as to what their intentions are." She then stepped from the tower, her long robe trailing on the floor behind her.
Within moments, she arrived at the East gate to the city, and stood before a score of soldiers armed with spears and shields. "Allow the strangers to enter," she instructed. Only a single thought pounded through Valkyrie’s head; what if this was Ravage, returning to finish what he had started? Valkyrie hoped to make Necros a better place for this people, and the return of Ravage would do nothing to help her achieve that end. She bit her bottom lip out of apprehension as the sentry pulled back on the long bolt that held the gate closed. However, her optics widened with surprise when she got her first look at the visitors.
"Lio Convoy!" she gasped as the white and gold Maximal entered the compound. Valkyrie was sure that the Maximal expeditionary leader was smiling under his mouth plate.
"Valkyrie," he said, "we’ve been looking all over for you and the others. I suspect that you’ve got a lot of explaining for us."
Night passed over Charr’s capital city of Cypopulus. While the majority of the Predacons entered their stasis cycle, one Predacon remained functional.
Ravage crept into the simulation chamber once more, the poor performances that he put forth earlier still smarting. The chamber now stood barren, simply a square room with a harsh overhead light. He stood in the center, waiting for the computer to acknowledge his presence.
"Welcome, covert agent Ravage," the voice finally chimed. "Which mission pre-set do you wish to load?"
Ravage considered for a moment before speaking. "I’d like to vary the parameters this time. Mission is close quarters combat, hand-to-hand. Vary terrain and weather conditions on a random basis, shifting at least once every thirty seconds. Mission will end after five minutes or twenty incapacitations, which ever comes first. Disable safety protocols."
"Presets input and acknowledged," the computer responded, and Ravage watched as the simulation chamber shifted around him. He suddenly found himself standing atop a snow bank in a fierce blizzard, and he squinted through the dense snowfall, attempting to find his foes.
A set of arms gripped around the back of his neck, and Ravage responded instinctively. He drove his right elbow back, into his assailant’s abdomen. Gripping the left hand in his own, Ravage spun outwards, maintaining control of the limb. He then executed a fierce chop into his opponent’s arm, and Ravage smiled as he heard the limb break. He followed up the attack by executing a kick to the head, and then swept the enemy’s legs from underneath him. Ravage followed up the brutal attack with a harley kick to the face.
He stood, panting, as the blizzard grew even fiercer. A new set of arms gripped him about the neck, and Ravage was hard pressed to see his new opponent in the white-out. Ravage bowled forward, knocking his foe to the ground. Ravage then pushed his advantage by falling atop his enemy and wrapping his hands about the neck.
A ferocious blow hit Ravage on the side, and the Predacon spiraled from his unconscious opponent. As he rolled down a small embankment, the terrain parameters changed, and Ravage pushed himself upwards and found himself in a steamy jungle.
Ravage could see his enemies now; there were five of them, attempting to surround him. He smiled to himself, relishing the challenge. He rolled to his right, and seized a large stick from the ground. The Predacon then whipped the crude club about his head in an arc, catching several of his adversaries across the face. Ravage then dropped his weapon and fell upon the nearest one. Seizing the simulated combatant about the neck, Ravage gave a cruel twist, shattering the neck joints. He then sprang to his feet, ready to take on the next round of opponents.
"Simulation end."
The jungle dissipated around Ravage, and he found himself standing in the empty virtual chamber once more. He grunted with disappointment and exasperation as he turned and faced the green figure standing in the doorframe behind him.
"Sky Shadow," Ravage stated. "Why have you interrupted me?"
The green Fuzor approached Ravage slowly, a look of anger written across his features. "While I appreciate your zeal, covert agent Ravage," Sky Shadow explained, "I must protest you overriding the safety protocols, and also using the virtual simulation chambers unannounced without conferring with the training staff at this facility."
Ravage stared hard at the smaller Predacon; although he realized that he broke protocol, he had difficulty feigning compassion for Sky Shadow.
"I am in charge of these training grounds, Ravage, and you will not use them without going through the proper channels. Do we have an understanding?"
Ravage reached forward, seizing Sky Shadow by one of the orange wings that sprouted from his back. He then lifted the Fuzor upward, so that Ravage could now stare at the smaller Predacon eye-to-eye.
"We understand each other perfectly," Ravage replied, and then unceremoniously allowed Sky Shadow to crumple to the floor in a heap. Sky Shadow gasped in pain and surprise, and then looked up in time to see Ravage leaving the simulation chambers.
On the planet of Necros, Valkyrie found herself attempting to entertain her unexpected guests, as well as explain her presence on the planet. Lio Convoy and his crew—Valkyrie recognized Torca, Long Horn, and Sonar—currently sat along a low bench behind a crude Necronian stone table, listening to Valkyrie’s exploits as a fire burnt in a fireplace behind them.
"We arrived on the planet as expected," Valkyrie explained, "and we entered the city, and climbed the high towers that remained intact. We wanted to find out what caused the mass extinction of the Necronians, and were determined to find answers before we left."
Torca cleared his throat at this juncture, and then motioned with his head towards a group of Necronians that sat cross-legged on the floor behind him. "Extinction my skid plate," he said. "Explain them."
"And I’m getting there," Valkyrie responded, a little annoyed by Torca’s interruption. "As we found out, the Necronians never left the planet. They entered a stasis cycle, and were close to returning to wakefulness when we landed on the planet. We didn’t want to interfere with the Necronian society or their development, and so we immediately began preparing our shuttle for take-off. But we were unable to do so. The Predacons attacked."
"The Predacons?" Lio Convoy interrupted. "Don’t they realize that this violated the stalemate between our factions?"
"Of course," Valkyrie finished. "The Predacons think that I’m dead. They figured that the Maximals would have written off our deaths as an unfortunate result of the mission and ended the investigation."
"That’s a load of watered-down fuel," Lio Convoy surmised. "The Maximal Elders wouldn’t have reached that conclusion."
Sonar cleared his throat at this point. "Actually, Lio Convoy," he explained. "This sort of thing happens all the time—on both the Predacon and Maximal sides. We send over our agents, they send over theirs, and when they get killed we write it off as a freak incident by a rouge terrorist cell. Neither side wants to risk the stalemate."
Lio Convoy looked annoyed at this revelation, but said nothing in response. After a slight pause in the conversation, Valkyrie continued her story.
"I know exactly which Predacon it was, too. Ravage. Ravage, the former Decepticon." She paused a moment, waiting for the inevitable interruption from the other Maximals, and was surprised when they remained silent. She had expected a look of shock, at least, but the assembled Transformers only bid her to continue.
"Ravage was in search of a Heart of Cybertron. He realized that a Decepticon dreadnaught crashed on the world over a thousand years ago, and sought to retain its energy core. However, I refused to tell him about the Necronians awakening from their hibernation. The rest of my crew died by Ravage’s hand, but I thought I had stayed his murderous intent after we were captured by the Necronians.
"But Ravage managed to escape, and re-captured me. In his attempts to retain the Heart of Cybertron, he mounted another offensive against the Necronians and slew their high priestess in combat. I managed to escape from the cell that Ravage locked me in and took the Heart from him; however, he then shot me through the Spark housing chamber and abandoned me on this world, after discovering that the Heart of Cybertron no longer existed. When I awoke, I found that the Necronians had rescued me and deemed me their new high priestess. It’s a role that I am reluctant to fill; I’m simply doing it because they have no other leader currently. I hope, that with your arrival, we can make efforts to return the Necronians to their former state."
Lio Convoy looked at Valkyrie for a long moment; the flames in the fireplace behind him cast mysterious shadows over his battle helmet. Finally, the white Maximal rose to his feet. "Valkyrie," he stated, "we will do everything in our power to help the Necronians. But we must alert the Maximal Elders to everything that has transpired. We were sent to this planet, after all, to discover what happened to you and your party. We are incredibly grateful to have found you alive—we feared the worst. Now, please, excuse me for a moment while I make my transmission."
Lio Convoy and Sonar then left the small building where the meeting occurred, carefully shutting the door behind them. Valkyrie looked outwards at Torca and Long Horn, a look of apprehension on her face. "What do you think the Maximal Elders will decide?" she asked.
"Personally," Long Horn stated, drawing his words out slowly, "I think they’ve had enough of the Predacons and their shadow ops. War is upon the winds, mark my words."
Second Lieutenant Hellscream of the Predacon Expeditionary Marines grew tired of waiting.
Sure, the recruiters had told him, receive a commission in the Predacon military! See new and exciting places! See something other than Charr!
Hellscream had fallen for it. Hook, line, and sinker. The most exciting place he had seen since joining the Marines was Point Horizon. The rest of his time was spent aboard this cramped vessel, patrolling the demilitarized zone between Maximal and Predacon space.
He stared out the view port, into the blackness of space, the drum, drum, drum of his fingertips tapping against the table reverberating loudly in his ears. Nothing ever happened here. Nothing was ever going to happen.
"Sir! We’re receiving a transmission!" a Predacon suddenly yelled in his direction.
Hellscream’s head sprang upward. Finally, something, however mundane, had happened. "Origin?" he demanded.
"Necros," the soldier replied. "It’s on a Maximal frequency."
"Intercept the signal! Don’t let it get past us!" Hellscream yelled.
"Unable, sir. Our jammer is deadlined. All we can do is listen, record, and retransmit."
Hellscream beat his left fist against a control panel in exasperation. He finally had the chance to do something for the Predacon cause, and he had blown it through not keeping up with the maintenance needs of his equipment. Before he could make any further demands, the voice of Lio Convoy drifted through the small speakers aboard the Predacon bridge.
"This is Lio Convoy of the away team to Necros. We have recovered Valkyrie. All other members of the expedition are dead. The situation reeks of Predacon treachery. Request further guidance. Situation X-9. Lio Convoy out."
The signal faded, and Hellscream let out a sigh. "Where is the signal headed?" he asked.
"Cybertron, sir."
Hellscream thought for a moment. "The Maximals mentioned ‘X-9.’ What is that? Search the files for it, I need to know."
The other Predacon Marine confronted a computer file for a few moments before turning to face his superior officer once more. "We’ve found several files that mention X-9, sir, but they’re all locked. I don’t have the proper clearance to access them. Perhaps you do?"
"Maybe," Hellscream admitted. "Let me take a look." Hellscream then bent over the computer monitor, and then input a few deft key strokes. A moment later, he was confronted with a host of information regarding the mysterious ‘X-9.’
"X-9 is a Maximal code word," he whispered to himself. "It refers to the suspected Tripedicus Agent, responsible for the destruction of at least seven Maximal outpost and the deaths of several dozen soldiers. Ravage."
Cybertron. Four hours later.
The Chamber of the Maximal Elders was in an uproar, each member of the assembly loudly protesting the events that occurred on Necros.
"This is an act of war!" one blue Maximal bellowed, standing with an accusing finger pointed at the skies above. "The Predacons have violated the sanctity of our treaty for the last time. We must stand strong in this, or risk the deaths of more innocent Maximals!"
A mumble of agreement passed through the gathered members, and the head of the Council was forced to beat a gavel against the podium to call for order.
"Elder Kup, I appreciate your zeal in this ordeal, but we must carefully weigh the facts before we take any military action against the Predacons. We must respond to Lio Convoy’s message, and quickly, in order to determine the best course of action."
"What I don’t understand is why Lio Convoy used normal space communication," another Elder shouted. "Why did he not open a secure sub-space frequency, High Elder Perceptor? Did he not know that the Predacons could have intercepted the message, jammed it, prevented it from getting to us? Even now, it’s entirely possible that the Predacons are aware of the transmission!"
"That is a lack of foresight on behalf of the Elders," Perceptor signed. "Sadly, we did not give Lio Convoy a ship with such capabilities. We felt that he would either return with all the archeologists, or discover their corpses. We did not consider the Predacons a threat at the time. Given the lack of technology at Lio Convoy’s disposal, I propose that he send one final message to him; that he is to return to Cybertron with Valkyrie so that we may learn exactly what transpired. We cannot risk any further possible intercept from the Predacons. All talks of war will stop until Valkyrie has been returned to Cybertron."
Charr. The scorching sun of the burnt-out planet sunk low upon the horizon, and Ravage walked down one of the narrow corridors of the capital city. He thought back, to a time nearly three hundred years ago, that no cities existed on Charr at all. The only things there were the ruins of a forgotten civilization, and a band of Decepticons attempting to scratch out survival under the maniacal leadership of Galvatron.
But Galvatron had disappeared, and leadership of the Decepticons fell towards Cyclonus. Cyclonus had managed to reconsolidate the Decepticon’s resources, to make a treaty with the Autobots, to give a civilization to those who existed without it for so long. Before much longer, the entire Cybertronian race downsized into the Maximals and Predacons, and the war started once more before retreating into another stalemate.
Ravage thought about Megatron’s heir, the plotting, conniving purple Predacon who hoped to uncover the Golden Disk. He, like Galvatron, disappeared a long time ago. No trace had ever been found of his vessel, the Darkseid. Megatron had been banded as a terrorist, a thorn in the side of the Predacon’s Pax Cybertronia. Although Ravage personally agreed with much of what Megatron preached, it was now for the best that the Predacon had disappeared.
Pushing the thoughts of the wars from his mind, Ravage entered the main governmental chamber in the center of the city. He flashed an ID card at the central desk, and the droid sitting at the chair bid him to enter an elevator with an outstretched arm. Ravage took the lift up to the top of the tall building, and found himself in the lobby in front of the Predacon briefing chamber.
Ravage had returned to his quarters nearly six hours ago and received a message from the High Proctor, Cyrotek, instructing Ravage to meet him here at this time. He pondered the meaning behind the message; he had been guaranteed a month of downtime on Charr before being sent out to his next mission, whatever it may be. This was highly irregular.
Ravage entered the automatic door, and found himself staring at Cyrotek. Ravage sighed with exasperation when he found the Tripedicus Council also seated at the table—Sea Clamp, Ram Horn, and Jetstorm. This did not look good.
"Ravage. We have problems. You will fix them," Cyrotek stated, without bothering to give any introductions. "Perhaps you can explain the meaning behind these messages." Cyrotek then pushed a button on the table in front of him, and Ravage found himself listening to a deep-space signal.
"This is Lio Convoy of the away team to Necros. We have recovered Valkyrie. All other members of the expedition are dead. The situation reeks of Predacon treachery. Request further guidance. Situation X-9. Lio Convoy out."
Ravage remained impassive as the message played. So, Valkyrie had survived his assassination attempt after all.
Cyrotek glared at Ravage from across the table before pressing another button, and Ravage found himself confronted with another message.
"Lio Convoy, bring Valkyrie here. Retain radio silence."
"Do you have any idea what this means, Ravage?" Cyrotek demanded. "You blundered your mission. When Valkyrie delivers her testimony to the Maximal Elders, they will have undeniable proof of our actions. The stalemate will end. The Predacons do not currently have the military capability to ward off a Maximal assault. Because of you, our entire existence is in jeopardy."
The aura of impassiveness emanating from Ravage seemed to infuriate the Predacon Sea Clamp. He stood, pointing a single claw at the Tripedicus Agent. "I’ve been against your activities from the start, Ravage. You’ve done nothing but exacerbate tensions between the Maximals and ourselves. You should be executed."
"Council member, I must respectfully ask you to fall silent," Cyrotek stated, but Sea Clamp continued unabated.
"Do you know why we even bothered with you to begin with, Ravage? You’re a joke. We only put up with you because . . ."
Jetstorm then interrupted. "Sea Clamp, now is not the time or the place. We have a much larger issue to deal with than your personality conflicts with the Tripedicus Agent."
Cyrotek took the opportunity to regain control of the meeting. "Thank you, Council Member," he stated. "Ravage, we expect Valkyrie to arrive on Cybertron within the next seventy-two Charrian hours. She will likely deliver her message to the Council four hours later, after she receives a medical examination and brief."
Cyrotek then slid a blaster across the table. Ravage reached outward, accepting the firearm. "Go fix your mistake. Do not allow Valkyrie to testify in front of the Elders."
With these instructions ringing in his audio receptors, Ravage offered a salute before leaving the chambers.
As the doors slid shut behind Ravage, Jetstorm turned upon Sea Clamp.
"You better watch what you say. You nearly let everything slip. What were you thinking?"
Sea Clamp remained abrasive. "I’ve been against using Ravage from the start. I knew that he would eventually lead us into a situation like this. He is too unruly, dedicated only to destruction and not to the greater Predacon cause. There’s still too much Decepticon pounding through his fuel lines."
Cyrotek interjected at this point. "Which is precisely why we use him, Council Member. Ravage failed in his original mission to kill Valkyrie. The mission that we have sent him on now is suicidal. He has no hope of leaving Cybertron alive. After his death, the Maximals will find his Decepticon insignia, and we’ll explain away the situation by offering a back story of a disgruntled former Decepticon, disavowing any connection that he had with us. I’ve already taken measures to ensure this. Ravage will succeed but die in his escape, and we will avoid war with the Maximals . . . for now."
"I imagine he would hate being used like this if he suspected," Ram Horn offered.
Cyrotek laughed lightly. "Ravage would have no opinion on the matter. He is a soldier, first and foremost. He will always follow his orders, despite the politics involved. Ravage knows this better than any Transformer."
The sun rose over the city of Necros, and Valkyrie stood in the massive cemetery that surrounded the walled structure. The Necronians stood assembled by the main gates, watching their priestess board the shuttle that would take her to Cybertron.
Valkyrie turned to her high priest, and offered a final set of instructions. "I’ll only be gone for a few days," she stated. "This is of the utmost importance to the Necronian people, to ensure that we can give them a new future—a future that will end the eternal hunger. While I’m gone, I need for you to finish collecting the forbidden statues. I trust that most have been acquired?"
The priest bent to a single knee, keeping his head low. "My lady, we have searched all the homes and taken any of the Agent of Death statues we found. They have been destroyed. The populace was originally unwilling to turn them over, but when they learned of your promises of a new future, one that would destroy the eternal slumber and hunger pains, they relented. May the winds carry your craft to safe harbors."
Valkyrie tried to stifle a laugh. The Necronians were still simple, and had limited seafaring capabilities. It was the first time that they had encountered a spaceship, and obviously had some difficulties in understanding what they were.
Valkyrie took the hand of the priest in her own, and helped the elder Necronian to his feet. "I trust that you will do well," she stated. "I will return shortly." Looking at the people behind her once more, the Maximal boarded the vessel. She looked towards the cockpit, where Lio Convoy made the preparations for take-off.
"You ready for this, doctor?" he asked. Valkyrie nodded once. "Let’s get this over with," she stated. "We need to get the Predacons taken care of, and get this civilization back on track." She then removed the ceremonial red robe that she wore on-planet, and carefully placed the garment on a seat next to her. The Maximal rescue team finished making their checks, and then the craft rose slowly into the morning sky.
In the main armory of the Predacon Secret Services, Ravage prepared for his mission. He carefully placed the twin blasters at his side, and began selecting weapons he thought he would need once he arrived on Cybertron.
A rifle hanging upon a rack caught his attention, and he removed the firearm and carefully examined it in the pale light afforded by the bare bulbs overhead. He ran a hand along its surface, carefully feeling the length and heft of the weapon.
Yes. This was it. This was the same sniper rifle that he used against Valkyrie on Necros. A small smile played upon his lips, and Ravage wound the sling across his chest, allowing the weapon to fall into the small of his back. This time, he wouldn’t allow her to survive. There would be no resurrection for Valkyrie the phoenix. Events would come full circle with a precise trigger pull.
He continued his preparations, selecting for himself a small satchel of grenades and some bladed weapons. He wondered briefly how he was going to get through the security on Cybertron—all weapons were collected at the spaceports. He supposed that he would have to use the Transwarp ship to slip through the numerous security drones that scoured the edge of Cybertronian space.
A noise behind him caused Ravage to turn around, and he found himself looking at Frostbite, another solider who operated with the Predacon Secret Service. The blue Predacon approached Ravage, his blade arm hanging awkwardly at his side.
"I’ve heard about everything," Frostbite stated.
Ravage snorted. He had imagined that Cyrotek would have kept this mission under wraps. Apparently, that was no longer the case.
Frostbite continued. "You’ll need help getting through the Cybertronian defenses. Reptilion and I are willing to accompany you, to keep the Maximal police forces busy while you hunt your prey."
Ravage shook his head. "I must decline. This is my mission, and mine alone to execute."
Frostbite stared at Ravage for a long moment, before extending a hand outwards. "Good luck, then," he stated. "May the Last Warrior guide your actions."
Ravage returned the handshake, thankful for the gesture of goodwill. Although he did not know Frostbite and Reptilion very well, he knew that they shared his fervor for the Decepticon cause. Wordlessly, Ravage then withdrew his hand, and then bent downwards and collected his belongings as he made his way towards his vessel.
The heightening of tensions between the Predacons and Maximals was already being felt, despite the unofficial start of hostilities. No where was this more clear than on the demilitarized zone between Maximal and Predacon space.
Immediately after the Second Great War ended, the zone had been established between the Maximal Elders and the Tripedicus Council. Both Maximal and Predacon patrolled the sector warily, their ships coming within meters of each other as they passed the imaginary line that separated the two warring races.
The Maximal Rapticon stared outwards, towards the blackness of space as his craft continued its rounds. A grey speck in the corner of his optics caught his attention, and he turned to look outwards as it approached rapidly.
Rapticon suddenly realized that a Predacon ship was drawing alongside his own craft, and he called forward for his own vessel to put some distance. The orders came a second too late, and the Predacon vessel pulled parallel to the Maximal ship.
Rapticon grew rigid with apprehension, pondering the Predacon’s next move. Looking through the view ports that separated the two ships, he gasped with surprise as he saw the Predacons committing a despicable act.
A group of Predacons had assembled on the deck of their ship, and were laughing as they beat a small effigy of the former Autobot leader, Optimus Prime. Rapticon realized that the Predacons were only trying to provoke the Maximals into committing an act of war. He keyed the intercom on the console before him.
"Maximals, we are currently in contact with a Predacon vessel. I am sure that many of you have seen them committing a most unsavory act. You are not, under any circumstances, to retaliate. The Predacons have retained their territorial space. I repeat: do not retaliate. Commander Rapticon out."
Rapticon drew his attention away from the Predacons for a couple of minutes in an attempt to convey to them that they were not going to be provoked into action. However, when he glanced upwards he found his entire body quaking with rage.
The Predacons had now severed the effigy’s head, and were playing a crude game of soccer with it. They laughed uproariously as the head bounced down the corridor. They were obviously gleaning more enjoyment at infuriating the Maximals than they were at the game.
Suddenly, a shot discharged from the ship, catching the Predacon vessel in the starboard side. It was not a crippling blow, but a shot fired nonetheless. Rapticon noticed a look of shock come over the faces of the Predacons, and then the soldiers scrambled for their battle stations.
"Maximals!" Rapticon bellowed into the intercom system, "cease all hostile functions! Turn your attention to the engines, get as much distance between us and the demilitarized zone as possible. Send a message to the Council, inform them of the breach of procedures. And bring me the Maximal that fired that shot."
Charr. Two hours later.
The city was in an uproar, and a large assembly of Predacons now stood assembled below the high towers of the Tripedicus Council, bellowing their distraught at the recent turn of events along the demilitarized zone. Cyrotek looked downwards towards the teeming masses from his offices above, and a deep sigh of disgust escaped from his massive form.
The door chimed, and Cyrotek called out tersely, "enter." The double doors hissed, and Cyrotek found himself staring into the demonic eyes of Scavenger. The ant-like Transformer crossed the room intently, not meeting the stare of the blue Predacon that sat to his left.
Finally, Scavenger spoke. "The populace is agitated, High Proctor. They scream for the blood of the Maximals for their attack against our vessel. Will you be issuing a statement to them?"
Cyrotek heaved another massive sigh. "Yes. Shortly. However, the message I have for them will not agree with many. There will be no war with the Maximals. Now, our entire cause rests with Ravage."
Scavenger thought intently for a few moments, before turning again to his superior officer. "Excuse my impetuousness, High Proctor, but I must beg the question—what if Ravage fails?"
"I’ve already thought of that," Cyrotek explained. "The Maximals know that Ravage was sent to Necros. However, they don’t know all of the specifics. Ravage will silence Valkyrie before she is able to debrief the Maximal Elders. If Valkyrie told her tale to anybody else, it will be regarded as a secondhand source—not enough for the Maximals to declare war on us. After all, they are well aware of Ravage’s reputation, and his reported ties with us—they just had nothing to act on, not until now, that is. We will ensure that he dies, credit the Maximals with his death, and then we explain him away as a rogue Decepticon attempting to re-establish the Decepticon empire."
"Do you have agents working on eliminating Ravage, then?" Scavenger asked.
"Oh yes, indeed," Cyrotek replied. "We’re going to make sure this is executed . . . properly. In fact, our agent should be arriving shortly for his debrief from me. You’ll have a chance to meet him, if you so desire."
Scavenger stood for a long moment, thinking over Cyrotek’s words. "I would very much like to meet this agent, High Proctor," Scavenger finally agreed. Cyrotek opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted when the door chimed once more.
"That must be him," Cyrotek replied, and with those words, he pressed another button on the desk, causing the doors to hiss open.
A dark figure stepped forward, the clanking of armor reverberating heavily throughout the close confines of the office. The helmeted figure extended a single hand outward in greeting towards Scavenger. He then turned towards Cyrotek. "Here to do your dirty work again, yes?"
"Scavenger, surely you’ve heard of Death’s Head?" Cyrotek asked.
Scavenger stared at the bounty hunter for a long moment before speaking. "Of course. You’ve had several other entanglements with Ravage before. You’re supposed to be the best bounty hunter in the business."
"Don’t like the term ‘bounty hunter,’ eh? Prefer ‘freelance peacekeeper," Death’s Head replied. Cyrotek laughed at this comment.
"I take it you know your mission. After Ravage eliminates Valkyrie—ensure that he does not leave Cybertron alive. The Maximals will need a body to satisfy our claim of a rogue Decepticon agent. Ravage is it. Do not fail us."
Ravage checked the controls to the ship as the Transwarp vessel made its journey through subspace. Thus far, everything seemed good to go. The ship had just had maintenance performed on it, and its armament had been restocked.
He briefly thought over his mission again. Valkyrie was set to arrive on Cybertron in the next fifty-six Charrian hours. He would arrive in the next four. That gave him fifty-four hours to slip through Cybertronian territorial space, to hide the ship, and then to blend into the populace.
He conferred with the blueprints of the Maximal High Chambers of Iacon. The structure reached high into the clouds; nearly as large as the Spires themselves, the High Chambers only had a single entrance at the bottom.
The High Chambers themselves were nested at the summit, underneath a dome that exposed the ruling body of the Maximals to skies. Ravage ruled that out as a point of entry; he would have to enter by rappelling from the Transwarp ship, and the winds at that height would make an air assault operation impossible. In addition, the High Chamber was surrounded by automatic dual machine guns. Such a method of insertion would result in death.
He needed to enter through the front entrance, then. The front lobby held several security measures, including guards that searched for weapons, automatic cameras, and hidden weapons. He thought briefly over this method, and then rose from his chair and checked the storage closet at the rear of the vessel.
Reaching inside, he grabbed hold of a small, spherical device. It felt cool in Ravage’s hand, and the Tripedicus Agent briefly pondered over using the miniature cloaking device. Although the Decepticon loathed using such a cheap tool—he preferred the challenge, the excitement, of slipping through enemy lines without such aide—he determined that it would be a necessity. Ravage grimaced as he replaced the personal cloaking device in its locker.
Returning to the blueprints, he thought briefly over his plans. Valkyrie would undoubtedly be given a room as soon as she arrived. Ravage recalled from an intelligence report that he read years ago that all visiting representatives to the High Council Chambers were ushered from the main lobby to a guest relations room, immediately to left of the main lobby. There, they were given room assignments and keys. A small guard room stood behind the desk. Ravage decided that he needed to infiltrate that room and confer with the computer in regards to where Valkyrie was being sheltered. He could then take the elevator and eliminate her in her chambers.
Ravage’s attention drifted to the sniper rifle that lay against the bulkhead behind him. It had been his original intent to snipe Valkyrie from afar as she testified before the Council, but there was too much margin for error. He needed to execute her up close, providing himself with some extra time in case he needed to re-plan this mission.
He checked the timer to his right. Fifteen minutes until he entered Cybertronian territorial space.
He began his preparation, removing a can of black polish from a container to his right. Dabbing a small amount on his fingers, he proceeded to rub it over the Predacon symbol on his left shoulder. The insectoid head quickly disappeared under the polish. He then turned his attention to the Decepticon symbol on his right.
Ravage was much smarter than the Tripedicus Council gave him credit for. He realized that there were other Predacons better suited to stealth missions, those that were stronger. And yet the Predacons relied upon Ravage because of his sense of duty to the Decepticons. If he were to fall in combat, he realized that they would run his name through the mud, to label him as a Decepticon extremist that held no ties with the Tripedicus Council.
However, he couldn’t leave the Decepticon insignia exposed as he walked about Iacon. Ravage covered his proud lineage with the black polish as well, removing its existence from his body.
His attention drifted to the timer once more. Ten minutes.
Ravage ensured that the ship remained on auto-pilot, and then checked his weapons once more. All weapon systems were fully loaded, ready for whatever combat the Maximals might provide.
The ship then dropped from subspace, and Ravage found himself staring once more at the crevassed world of Cybertron—his homeland, taken from him by the Maximals.
As her vessel made its way through the depths of subspace, Valkyrie dreamed.
She found herself lying in the ash-like soil of Necros once more, squirming as pain raced through her entire being. The bullet wound to her chest pounded with an intense agony, and she felt her life essence fading away.
She was dying. As her optics faded, she looked upwards—towards a single hope for salvation—and found herself staring at him.
Ravage. The demonic Decepticon from the Great War, now in a new, dark body. He came as death itself.
She sat up suddenly as she emerged from her dream, gasping with surprise and pain. It took her a full moment to take stock of her surroundings; the lights of the compartment glimmered dimly in the darkened chamber, and Valkyrie suddenly came to the realization that she was still alive, safe aboard the vessel with Lio Convoy and his crew.
She rose from the low bed where she rested, and stumbled her way through the darkness to the door. She hit the door release, and it took her optics a few seconds to adjust to the harsh light that now spilled into her chamber from the exterior hallway.
"Are you alright?" the question startled her, and her head spun quickly to the right, where she found Long Horn concernedly staring at her.
"I’m fine," she said. "Just a bit restless, I guess. It’s been a long fortnight."
"I can only imagine," Long Horn stated, shaking his head as he recalled the battles that the Valkyrie held with Ravage. "Don’t worry, we’ll get everything sorted out with the Maximal Elders. And then we can turn our attention to this inherited planet of yours, look at getting the Necronians some proper nourishment and a proper planet to call their own."
"How much longer do we have until we reach Cybertron?" Valkyrie asked.
"Still a while longer—a few Cybertronian days. This ship isn’t made to go terribly fast. We’ll get there soon enough, though. Until then, just try to relax. It’s all downhill from here."
He stared at the controls of his own ship, and heaved a sigh of contention. The hunt was on.
Death’s Head reveled in the game, the never-ending power play between cat and mouse. He lived for the thrill of hunting down his query, of bringing them to his employer, of reaping the rewards of his troubles.
And he was now hunting Ravage again. The Predacon and mercenary crossed paths many times in the past; they held an interesting relationship, with one holding a deep respect for the other. Although not specifically enemies, they found themselves on opposite sides of the fence more often than not.
Death’s Head smiled with anticipation. Ravage was undoubtedly the best prey he had ever hunted. The coming battle was sure to be a clash of titans.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he pondered Ravage’s courses of action. The Predacon agent preferred stealth and guile, only occasionally going for the grand-standing tactics that the Decepticons used during their exile on Earth centuries before. Ravage would play it safe. Death’s Head went ahead and pulled up the blueprints for the High Council Chambers.
Like Ravage, Death’s Head was well familiar with the customs and procedures that guests to the structure went through. The bounty hunter surmised that Ravage would attempt to slip through the main entrance, and then make his way to Valkyrie’s chambers from there.
He could try to follow Ravage, but why risk giving away his presence? Death’s Head then pulled up a city map, looking at the surrounding structures. Had he been capable of it, Death’s Head would have been smiling as he decided upon a course of action. He then reached forward and thumbed a subspace communicator.
"The Maximal High Chambers of the Elders reservation desk," the voice at the other end stated. "How may I help you?"
Death’s Head made a few adjustments to a computer system as he spoke. "I’m a sightseer from the planet of Belmundo Seven, yes? I’m anxious to see the sights on Cybertron. Are the rooms at the High Chambers open to tourists?"
"No, sir, I’m afraid not. The rooms in the High Chambers are reserved for visiting dignitaries. However, I can refer you to several hotels in our proud city of Iacon. Would you like me to connect you to the Grand Spires Hotel?"
"No thank you, that won’t be necessary," Death’s Head stated as he checked his computer monitor. Good; he had successfully hacked into the Maximal computer system and found the room reservation list. "Sorry to waste your time, eh?"
"No problem at all, sir," the clerk finished. "I hope that you enjoy your visit while on Cybertron, and will come by for the guided tour of the Maximal Chambers."
Death’s Head then replaced the receiver, and checked the computer monitor. Valkyrie would be staying in room number 111705. Death’s Head was pleased to see that it was an exterior room, with a long balcony overlooking the city below. Perfect.
Ravage quickly ensured that the Transwarp ship was cloaked, and then pressed the ship into a gentle downward plane as he drew closer to Cybertron. He eyes drifted towards the innumerable robot mines that surrounded the planet. Once a ship was cleared for landing, the mines would propel themselves out of the way of the ship. Otherwise, they remained in their locations to prevent unauthorized ships from reaching the planet.
However, Ravage’s Transwarp ship was invisible on many different spectrums. A smile crossed his cat-like features, realizing that he was essentially invisible to the automatic defense systems.
A warning light suddenly cut on inside the cockpit, and Ravage’s attention flew upwards to the blinking light. An automatic voice echoed throughout the close confines of the ship a second later:
"Warning. Detecting five magnetic mines approaching port side. Suggest evasive action."
Damn. The Maximals had taken more precautions than he had given them credit for. They now outfitted their space mines with magnets, apparently; there was no ship capable of avoiding those, no matter the stealth technology involved. He pulled the yoke to the right sharply, hoping to shake off the mines.
No luck. The mines remained on his tail, and their speed was increasing. Ravage needed to do something, and quickly.
A sudden idea crossed his mind, and Ravage hit the reverse thrusters, watching the approach of the mines intently on the screen as they approached his vessel. Just as the first mine was about to impact, Ravage hit the forward thrusters, catching the mines in the rear back blast of the main engine. The mines exploded, sending a shockwave throughout the minefield.
The ship flipped forward from the explosion, and Ravage fought to remain control. The automatic flight assistant chimed on again, and Ravage growled with fury as the feminine voice gave him another unwelcome update.
"Cloaking device damaged. Transwarp ship now decloaking."
The ship became visible to the naked eye one more as it spun out of control towards the planet below. With the sudden emergence of the vessel into the visible spectrum, innumerable mines suddenly marked the ship as a target, and began their head-long charge towards the crippled vessel.
Ravage eyed the mines approaching, and braced for the inevitable impact. A slew of bombs hit the ship, and the Transwarp vessel spun from the upper atmosphere towards the planet below.
There was darkness. And then, light.
Ravage sat up, trying to clear the static from his vision. Finally, his optics snapped into focus, and he found himself staring at the Cybertronian landscape.
He recognized this place. The Dead End. During the Great War, it had been inhabited by the derelict Empties, who continually begged for Energon. After the Maximals took over Cybertron, the Council approved the Dead End for zoning. However, developers had never moved into the ramshackle suburbs of Polyhex, and it still retained the tired, empty demeanor of the Great War.
Polyhex. Damn. He was in Polyhex. There was nearly a quarter of a planet between him and Iacon, which lay situated near the North polar cap of the planet. Finding transportation was not an issue, but it would take precious time from his mission.
A group of Empties began to shuffle towards the downed vessel, and Ravage pulled out one of his blasters, ensuring that the Empties saw the firearm. The run-down denizens realized the danger the blaster presented, and began to put some distance between themselves and their unwanted visitor.
A strong hum reverberated through the evening sky of the city, and Ravage found his attention drifting upwards. Propeller-driven drones now scoured over Polyhex, intent on finding the downed vessel of Ravage. The Predacon realized that he could not allow his ship to fall into Maximal hands; the cloaking technology was too new, to secret, for it to be compromised.
Ravage then sprinted for the cover of a small overhang, and then spoke into a small communicator. "Activate self-destruct sequence. Authorization D-7."
He then turned as the explosions went off within the ship, and when Ravage returned his gaze a second later, he found his ship completely obliterated. The Maximals would not be able to salvage any technology from it.
That was the least of his problems, though. The Maximals knew that an unauthorized ship had made planet fall on Cybertron, and they would do everything in their power to account for the pilot. The journey to Iacon would be long and treacherous, with all of the odds stacked against Ravage.
Death’s Head smiled as he approached the planet. Soon, he would settle all of his scores with Ravage. He gripped the microphone in front of him.
"This is Somada Actriso from Belmundo Seven. Request clearance to land, eh?," he stated.
"Request denied. The planet has been quarantined. We apologize for any inconvenience," the voice at the other end stated.
The bounty hunter leaned forward in his chair at this news, the anger pounding through his circuits as his grip increased around the microphone. "What? Why? Tell me!"
"Sir, an unauthorized ship has landed on the planet. We must take every precaution to ensure the safety of our own civilians, as well as tourists to Cybertron. We once again apologize for your unfortunate wait. Are you willing to put your ship into a holding pattern over Iacon airspace for the foreseeable future?"
"No, I’m not," Death’s Head snarled. "This is unacceptable, yes?"
"I’m sorry, then. Perhaps you will be able to visit Cybertron some other time," the traffic controller stated, and Death’s Head snapped the microphone in his iron-like grip as the communication line went dead.
No. There would be no waiting on his part. If Ravage was brazen enough to make planet fall without the proper procedures, he would be, too. A maniacal grin crossed his face as he pushed the nose of his vessel downward, and made a line for the Iacon spaceport.
Ravage made his way warily through the derelict structures, keeping his guard up against the Empties. Although not known as hostile, the Empties occasionally attempted to press their luck against strangers.
The layout of the Polyhex began to return to him; Ravage once explored these crumbling alleyways and buildings in his original jaguar form, back when the Decepticons still stood as a prevalent faction. He recognized an old city square, and made a right turn. An old hover transit system should lay nearby, if he recalled correctly. Perhaps it would still remain in service.
The sight of the station greeted him, and Ravage pushed his way past a rusting turnstile and into the empty structure. His gaze drifted upward, towards the signs that hung over the clear tube system. The proper date and time greeted him; perhaps the trains still stopped here, for whatever reason.
It appeared as if the next car would arrive within the next ten Cybertronian minutes. Feeling somewhat foolish, Ravage checked the satchel that hung by his side and found a handful of loose Cybertronian change. Hopefully, he had enough to get him into the center of Polyhex, and there it would be an easy matter to arrange travel using interstellar credits instead of his meager amount of Cybertronian currency.
His weapons remained on his person, and Ravage suddenly became keenly aware of their presence. He wouldn’t get far with the sniper rifle; he needed to ditch it. A pity, he surmised, but it would do him more harm than good at this juncture. He could always buy another on the prominent Iacon black market if he really needed it. Looking both ways across the empty station, Ravage unslung the rifle from his back and cast it into a pile of refuse nearby. The twin blasters than hung at his hips were much easier to hide. Ravage simply disassembled them and placed them in his satchel.
A few minutes later, the hover car arrived, and Ravage paid the fee as he entered the vehicle. The doors hissed shut behind him, and the car became cast in darkness as it entered the underground system.
It took only a second for his eyes to become adjusted to the dark, and his red optics then glowed ominously in the inky blackness. He stretched his senses outward, ensuring that no other beings could disturb his ride.
"You’re not from around here, are you?"
The question caught Ravage by surprise, and he spun around in the car to find himself looking at a run-down, decrepit being.
"Who are you?" Ravage asked, warily.
The strange robot became overcome with great wracking coughs at this point, and Ravage waited for a long moment before being awarded an answer.
"My name’s not important, stranger. What’s important, though, is why you’re here. You’re no Maximal, I can tell that about you already."
"And what made you reach that conclusion?" Ravage asked.
"The way you carry yourself. The way you stand. The cold emptiness of your eyes. You’ve seen war. You understand, Decepticon."
Ravage looked down at his right shoulder at this point, but found that his insignia still remained covered under the thick layer of black polish. "How do you know?" Ravage asked.
The old robot laughed lightly, and opened a rusty panel in his chest. Ravage found himself staring at a small, but proud, Autobot insignia. "The universe has gone on without us," he said. "Nobody cares for yesterday’s heroes anymore, do they? Although I suspect that you know that better than anyone."
The ancient Autobot leaned backwards onto a bench, resting his hands on a crude walking stick. "It’s strange, isn’t it? That yesterday we fought each other tooth and nail, and now we find ourselves on the same side of the fence. Obsolete models looking into yesteryear. But excuse these ramblings of an old Empty. I suppose that you’ve got better things to do. Don’t let them forget you, boy. That’s the worst thing that you can do."
The Autobot remained silent for several long moments, and Ravage waited to see if the robot had anything further to add. When no further words came, however, Ravage leaned in close and found that the old Empty had fallen asleep. The hover car stopped suddenly, and Ravage looked out the window to see the bustling city of Polyhex before him.
"Rest easy, old one," he whispered as he exited the car, "I haven’t forgotten."
"Visiting ship, you are ordered to stop and desist at once!" the command boomed through Death’s Head ship, and he flipped a toggle to cut off the speakers. Nobody was going to keep him from his prey—not now, now ever.
The ship entered a hard trajectory, and Death’s Head grunted as the hull of the ship began to heat up with the force of entry into Cybertron’s atmosphere. A sudden shot burst across the nose of the vessel, and the bounty hunter realized that the planetary guns had opened fire on him. The Maximals now regarded him as a threat.
He pulled the nose of the ship up sharply, narrowly avoiding another blast. A barrel roll and a sharp dive soon followed; any organic being would have been killed by the move, but Death’s Head held steady through the difficult maneuvers. Another set of blasts ripped through the Cybertronian atmosphere, catching one of the wings. Death’s Head cursed and attempted to straighten the ship back out.
The clouds in the upper atmosphere began to clear, and the bounty hunter earned his first view of the Cybertronian landscape. He noted with a sense of unease that numerous gun emplacements continued to fire towards his position, and a few small ships began to take to the sky.
"Unknown vessel, this is your last warning. You will be escorted to the Iacon spaceport and detained. Do not resist us or you will be destroyed," the air traffic controller demanded into the microphone.
Death’s Head looked behind him, gazing at his weapons rack. The mace, the ax, and a blaster all hung in their place. He would play the Maximal’s games for now. But then—all bets were off. Gripping the microphone, he spoke.
"Understood. Ready for my escort, yes?"
Without any further words of argument, a score of fighters maneuvered around the bounty hunter’s ship, and Death’s Head descended to the bustling city of Iacon below.
Although most cities in Cybertron remained peaceful, each major city-state maintained an independent law enforcement agency. In Polyhex, the central crime investigation and detainment facility was housed near the center of the city. Crime rarely proved a problem in Polyhex, but the station chief insisted on readiness and constant training.
The desk clerk looked up suddenly as a rusty and decrepit Transformer entered through the front door. An Empty, the clerk realized. He was probably coming by to beg for a handout. The clerk rose from his desk, preparing to turn the beggar away.
But the homeless Transformer presented a different item instead, dumping a long rifle atop the desk. "I found this in the Dead End," the Empty explained. "I don’t know nothing more, I never used it for nothin’."
The desk clerk handled the weapon carefully, judging its heft as he held the gun to the light. He smiled slightly; he was something of a self-taught gun expert, and he rarely had a chance to put the skill to use in the relatively crime-free city.
"Customized sniper rifle," he announced. "Long point, single bolt action, it only holds a single round. But in the hands of a capable sniper, one round is all that’s needed."
He whistled once as he continued his assessment. "Typical silencer, easily bought on most black markets. There’s a bore sight attached to the top of the weapon. Whoever ditched this gun knew what he wanted to do with it."
The Empty looked disinterested, but the desk clerk continued regardless. "The bore sight projects a single dot within the scope, instead of sending out a laser beam. Much more accurate, and it also prevents the victim from sensing the laser. The bore sight and the rifle are of Quintesson design. Highly illegal throughout seven systems and outlawed on Cybertron—but not on Charr. Interesting."
The desk clerk then pulled the bolt back, extracting the single round, and then flipped on the weapon’s safety catch. He then placed the weapon behind the desk and extracted a small handful of change.
"There’s a reward in Polyhex for turning in weapons," the clerk explained. "You use that to get a good meal, now. No spending it on refined Energon."
The Empty mumbled a word of thanks and then shuffled out the door. The clerk picked up the weapon and took it into the back offices, and then knocked on the chief’s door.
The Polyhex police chief looked up from his work suddenly. "What can I do for you, Rebound?"
"Well, chief," Rebound started, but his superior cut him off. "You know I hate it when you call me ‘chief,’" he said. "Call me by my name, damn it."
"Yes sir, Nightbeat," Rebound replied. Without waiting for any further instructions, he presented the sniper rifle. "An Empty just turned this in. Said that he found it in the Dead End. I paid him off and sent him on his way."
Nightbeat took the weapon and then gave it a careful look. "What do you think?" he asked finally.
"I think there’s a Predacon out there, sir," Rebound stated. "We know that the Preds continue to buy arms from the Quints. Very few other beings have any business dealings with them. I’d stake my badge on it."
Nightbeat regarded Rebound coolly for a long moment, and then heaved a sigh. "A Predacon, eh? Well, we’re not getting anything done sitting here admiring his weapon. Put all units on high alert, and tighten down security at the hover train depots."
The night-time city of Polyhex continued to bustle around him, and it took Ravage a few minutes to locate the inter-planetary depot. It had been awhile since he last visited the city, and the layout had changed somewhat since he was last here.
He found a directory and studied it intently for several minutes. A money transfer booth lay nearby, and he decided to change his credits there. When he turned back around, he found himself returning the stare of a large crowd. Obviously, his cat-like features seemed out of the norm, and they immediately suspected him. Ravage checked both of his arms to ensure that his insignias were still covered with the thick layer of black polish, and then continued about his business.
He approached the exchange counter and set down two hundred interstellar credits. "Cybertronian currency, please," he asked the clerk working the desk. The green robot stared at Ravage for a long moment, but then produced the money. With a nod of thanks, Ravage scooped up the pile of change and deposited it into his satchel. He then turned in the direction of the main depot.
He immediately noticed a group of Maximal sentries beginning to gather at the gates to the station, and he mentally prepared himself for a coming confrontation. They didn’t know that he was a Predacon, at least not yet. Perhaps he would be able to bluff his way past the security.
He approached the first sentry, and plastered on a fake smile. "Good
evening," he announced. "I’m looking to get to Iacon. This is the right station,
isn’t it?"
"That’s right," one of the guards agreed. "But we’re currently on
high alert. It might be very dangerous in Iacon right now. We’re going to have
to see some identification. Please present your Cybertronian citizenship."
Ravage was in luck. Forged citizenship cards were produced and issued by Predacon intelligence to all the field agents. Ravage extracted the card from a compartment in his leg and held it forward. The guard took the identification and scrutinized it carefully. Ravage felt a sense of unease creeping into his circuits as the guard frowned.
"I’m sorry, sir. These cards haven’t been used for four months. We’re using a new format now. We’re going to have to ask you to come with us for questioning."
Damn. Predacon intelligence hadn’t updated their forgeries. Ravage opened his satchel. There was no way he was going to bluff his way out of this now.
"Sir, please leave your bags alone. You are being apprehended by the Polyhex police. You are aware of this, are you not?"
Ravage withdrew his dual blasters. "Absolutely," he stated. "And there’s no way in the Pit that I’m going with you."
He pulled off a single shot, killing the first sentry instantly. A barrage of fire opened up on either side of him, and Ravage sprinted behind a pillar. Looking outside towards the open plaza, he saw numerous Maximal citizens scampering to get out of the way of the crossfire.
He was still outside the station at this point, and a whirring sound suddenly reached his audio receptors. Ravage realized that they were closing the security doors to all the open entrances. Ravage abandoned his cover of the pillar and rolled under one of the heavy bulkheads just before it slammed shut.
He rose to his feet quickly to get a better stock of his situation. He could see five more sentries running towards him, firing off a few rounds as they approached. A train car stood nearby and open, and Ravage realized that the word "Iacon" was being projected on its front screen. He would commandeer that train as soon as he took care of his pursuers.
Ravage surmised that his Maximal adversaries were no crack shots with pistols, judging from their scattered firing patterns. He took careful aim and shot another one of his pursuers through the chest panel. Four left.
A wild shot sent the weapon flying from Ravage’s hand, and he saw it spin through the air and come to a halt against a pillar. He turned towards the Maximal, and then brought a vicious kick around and knocked the Maximal to the ground. Half a second later, Ravage straddled his opponent and broke his neck. He then dove after his fallen weapon, and skidded backwards as he brought both of his blasters to bear. Two more shots took down another two Maximals.
The remaining guard turned to run, and Ravage cruelly shot him in the back as he fled. He fell to the ground with a loud thump. The station remained strangely quiet for a long moment, and then Ravage heard the train beginning to move away. He glanced to his right, and saw the scared face of the driver and he tried to maneuver his vehicle away from the sight of the massacre.
Ravage took off running after the hover train, and managed to grab the rear bar before it could pick up too much speed. He was inside the rear car a couple of seconds later, and immediately grabbed the first passenger he saw. He then held a weapon to the frightened Cybertronian’s temple, and held him in a headlock as he pushed his way to the front of the train.
Maneuvering through the cars with the scared hostage proved more difficult than expected; the Maximal kept tripping over his feet, and the surprised passengers continued to rise and try to challenge him. A quick jab to his captive’s head with the blaster would always make the would-be heroes fall back into line, though.
Ravage finally reached the engine, and pushed his hostage into the corner of the control car. He then held a blaster downward, leveling it at the hostage’s head.
"Take this vehicle directly to Iacon. Do not make any other stops. Do not attempt to call for help. I will execute this Maximal if you do not comply."
"And what would you do if I ignored your demands?" the conductor asked. Ravage was momentarily taken aback by the question; most Maximals would have caved into his demands immediately.
"Then I will kill you and disconnect all the cars on this train. We are currently moving at a speed nearly three times the speed of sound. I sincerely doubt the sudden stop would be kind to the fragile bodies of the passengers."
The conductor stared at Ravage, anger boiling in his optic sensors as he bit his bottom lip. "You’re a monster," he finally announced.
"I know," Ravage replied. "It’s what I do best. Now obey my demands."
Death’s Head heaved a heavy sigh as he landed his ship at the Iacon space port. He could already see a squad of Maximal police surrounding his vessel. He glanced upwards at the night sky, thinking over his next plan of action.
He was well-known throughout the galaxy, and had countless bounties on his own head. His presence on Cybertron would become immediate public knowledge, and if the Maximals successfully apprehended him, he would be most likely turned over to an interstellar court.
"Not fair, eh? Carry out a couple of business deals, and everybody hates you, yes?" he spoke aloud in the empty confines of his ship, trying to bring some levity to his current predicament. The words sounded empty and hollow, though. Another sigh escaped his mouth, and he extracted the axe from the sheath on his back and then snapped into place on his right arm. There was no way that words would suffice for this confrontation.
He then lowered the ramp at the back of the ship and proceeded down the back ramp. The effect was immediate as soon as the squad saw him. "Look out! He’s got a weapon!" one called out.
"Drop your weapon and put your hands above your head," the squad leader called out. "You have ten seconds to comply before we take measures against you."
"Death’s Head doesn’t comply with anything," the bounty hunter responded. "You drop your weapons, yes?"
A long moment seemed to pass in which none of the beings made a move. Finally, the squad leader called out, "take him down! Make sure he doesn’t get away!" A hail of laser blasts flew through the air, and Death’s Head sprinted forward, narrowly avoiding them. He swung his axe hand downward viciously, cleaving a Maximal in two.
"This is no good, eh? No pay involved," he said aloud, to no one in particular. The remaining squad members seemed to grow apprehensive and afraid after witnessing the death of their comrade. Death’s Head imagined that he could taste the tension in the night air.
Another Maximal opened fire on him, and the bounty hunter dived out of the way and seized the rifle from the slain Transformer. Gripping the weapon in his left hand, he quickly took out three more members of the Maximal squad.
That left five remaining. Death’s Head primed a grenade that he had hanging from the belt on his side, and rolled it towards the hanger were another two squad members had taken cover. The grenade went off a second later, and a pair of screams greeted the bounty hunter’s audio receptors. Three left.
Two more approached him quickly, trying to take out Death’s Head with hand-to-hand combat. It proved to be a fatal mistake. Death’s Head spun quickly, decapitating the pair with his axe arm. Only the squad leader was left alive at this point. Death’s Head scanned the landing pad, attempting to find the surviving Maximal.
"Headquarters, this is Alpha Squad. Situation uncontrollable. It’s Death’s Head."
Death’s Head cursed silently as he heard the report given by the Maximal. Now the whole planet would know that he was here. He rounded a corner and found the squad leader crouching as he gave his final radio transmission.
"I must commend you, yes?" Death’s Head stated. "It was a good fight. But I was better."
A shot reverberated throughout the dark spaceport. The shadowy figure of Death’s Head emerged from the alleyway, his long cloak sweeping behind him as he disappeared into the darkness of the city of Iacon.
At the report of Death’s Head being on-planet, and emergency session of the Maximal Elders met in the middle of the Cybertronian night.
The Council Member Polar Claw rubbed the effects of stasis out of his optics as he tried to concentrate on the meeting at hand. "The presence of Death’s Head on planet poises a very grave threat," Kup stated. "We have no idea why he’s here, and what his mission is. Perhaps the Predacons sent him to eliminate a Council Member?"
"I don’t think so," Razorbeast interjected. "The Predacons aren’t that stupid to send a bounty hunter after one of us. They would have sent one of their own agents to do it. Now, I recall reading in the intelligence summary from today that there was an incident in Polyhex. First, a weapon of Quintesson design was found abandoned by an Empty. Then, there was a shoot-out at the main hover train depot. Five sentries were killed by an unidentified Transformer, although an outdated Cybertronian identification card found at the scene indicates a "Jaguar" may have been responsible. Finally, a train bound for Iacon missed three of its stations, rolling straight through the city-states of Nova Cronum, Dataium, and Cytrax without stopping. I say we may have more than just one concern on our hands."
"Another point that we need to bring up is Valkyrie," Perceptor stated. "The planet is currently on lock-down. But her ship is expected to land within the next day. How should we deal with this matter?"
"Let her land," Polar Claw stated. "It is of the utmost importance that she testify in front of the Council in the event that we must wage another war with the Predacons. The worries over these supposed assassins will have to wait while we deal with this matter."
"You’re right, my friend," Perceptor stated. "This does take precedence. Very well. Valkyrie’s ship will be allowed to land tomorrow, but only under a heavy escort."
Valkyrie awoke from her slumber, and then made her way to the front of the tiny vessel. Lio Convoy sat in the navigator’s seat, checking the instrument panels. He turned and gazed in her direction as he detected her approach.
"Awake, I see," he asked. "Any more nightmares?"
"None this time," the
female Maximal responded. "How much further are we until we reach
Cybertron?"
"About another day of travel," Lio Convoy responded. He then held a single finger outward, pointing at a speck of light in the infinite blackness of space. "There," he said, "that’s Cybertron. We’re still to far away to make out any of its features, but that’s our home planet all the same."
"Just out of curiosity," Valkyrie asked, "can we see Charr from here, too?"
Lio Convoy shook his head. "We’re on the other side of the demilitarized zone. We’d need some sort of telescope if you wanted to see that system. But there’s not too much to observe there anyway, eh? Mostly just the burnt-out husk of a world the Preds claim as their own and a few gas giants. Why do you ask?"
"No reason," Valkyrie responded, attempting to cut the conversation short. Lio Convoy swiveled in his chair to get a better look at his fellow traveler.
"You’re still thinking about him, aren’t you?" he asked. "About that Predacon agent. Ravage."
Valkyrie nodded her head slowly. "Yes," she answered. "I’ve been unable to stop thinking about him. He was just . . . so cold, so ruthless. His mission was the only thing that mattered to him. He didn’t care about anything else, who he hurt, who he killed, just as long as he got his job done. I saw him take a child hostage back on Necros and use him as a bargaining tool. What kind of monster could do such a thing?"
Lio Convoy sighed at this question. "Ravage. Most of the files on former Decepticons have been locked by the Maximal Elders, but I know some things about him. He’s been around since the Great War first started, and has been fighting against either Autobot or Maximal ever since. Perhaps the war had jaded him; perhaps he really is nothing more than a demonic tool of the Tripedicus Council. Either way, there’s no use lamenting his lost spark. The entire universe would be better off if he were dead."
Valkyrie nodded once more. "I know what you say is right," she stated, "but I can’t help but think that there’s more to this Ravage than meets the eye."
"You’re just under a lot of stress," Lio Convoy responded. "A typical side-effect of post-traumatic stress disorder. In any event, just rest up. We’ll be on Cybertron soon enough, and then we can put the past behind us and concentrate on rebuilding this new-found civilization of yours."
"Yes, the Necronians," Valkyrie sighed. "I hope that all is going well back there."
"Don’t worry any," Lio Convoy responded. "I’m sure that you left them in very capable hands. Those Ravage statues will be destroyed soon enough." A moment of silence then passed through the cabin of the ship, and the pair turned their attention to the stars beyond the view port. "I wonder where he is now," Valkyrie suddenly whispered.
"Who?" Lio Convoy asked.
"Ravage. I wonder if he returned to Charr, what he’s doing now, if he’s still fighting for the Decepticons at heart."
"Need I remind you," Lio Convoy interjected, "that Predacon scum shot you and left you to die on a forgotten world."
"I know," Valkyrie sighed. "I’m afraid of him. I hate him for what he did. But still . . . I can’t help but wonder."
"You don’t have any hope of escape," the train driver hissed at Ravage, keeping the blaster in his line of sight as he maneuvered the hover car through the dark tunnels. "The word’s already gone out that we’ve missed our stops. The Maximal police will be there for you as soon as we get to Iacon. That’s in the next few minutes, you realize."
"I didn’t ask you for your opinion," Ravage growled, and to make his point clear, he leveled the blaster at the head of his hostage. "Keep your eyes on the tracks and your mouth shut."
The train rounded another corner, and the driver turned to Ravage once again. "I have to start slowing the train down now," he said, "if we’re going to get off at Iacon."
"Reduce speed to three hundred miles per hour and hold the train steady," Ravage replied. The driver maneuvered a couple of levers, and Ravage felt the train begin to slow. A look at the speedometer confirmed that the hover train had reached its new speed designation.
"I have to take it down further," the driver argued. "Iacon is our last stop. We’ll crash if we don’t stop the train now!"
"I know," Ravage replied. Without any further words, he shot the conductor in the face, and then turned and executed his hostage. He then lifted a trap door in the bottom of the driver’s compartment and slipped out the bottom of the train.
The landing proved extremely rough, and he scratched his right arm quite badly against the bottom of the train as it passed over him. The last car finally passed over his head, and Ravage looked up in time to see the train collide with a wall at the end of the station. A fire immediately broke out, and countless injured passengers began to spill from the burning cars. The waiting Maximal police immediately sprang into action, pulling trapped victims from the vehicle.
Ravage smiled to himself, and then silently slipped out a service door in the side tunnel. That would keep the Maximals off his back for the time being. His next move now, he supposed, was to find some replacement weapons on the black market of Iacon and then find a place to hunker down until Valkyrie arrived on-planet.
The bounty hunter looked over his shoulder as he jogged down the narrow alley. Good; there was no sign of pursuit. Death’s Head glanced down at the array of weapons that hung from his belt. A pistol, a flash grenade, and a long knife. He also had a rifle, the axe and a staff stashed in the sling across his back. That should be more than enough to destroy Ravage. The only problem now was finding the Tripedicus Agent.
He could see the spires of Iacon lining the horizon, and determined that Ravage would more than likely try to eliminate Valkyrie in her room. He needed to find a hiding spot across from Valkyrie’s quarters so that he could snipe Ravage as he completed his task.
He could almost see the events before him now; Ravage slipping into the darkness of the Maximal’s chambers as she slept, and then executing her in her stasis pod. The flash would briefly illuminate the dim chambers, and then he would line Ravage up in the sights of his rifle. Peering down the scope, he would align the crosshairs with the unknowing agent’s head. A smile of satisfaction; a steady, slow pull of the trigger. Ravage would die. The Maximals would be unknowing and have the body of a Decepticon dissident to explain Valkyrie’s death. The Predacon’s silly war would be averted, and Death’s Head would be a million credits richer as a result.
A beeping sound suddenly pulled Death’s Head out of his reverie, and he realized that his interstellar communicator was going off. He pulled the device from his belt, found a dark corner, and flipped the switch. A small hologram of Cyrotek’s face immediately greeted him.
"Death’s Head. What the hell are you doing down there? Our orbital arrays have picked up transmissions from Cybertron stating that your presence has been discovered. On top of that, it seems that Ravage is making a mess of things as well. This is not going according to plan. Fix it now or we will be forced to withdraw our generous offer."
"Relax, eh? Now that I’ve escaped the spaceport, the Maximals have no chance of finding me. This is going well, believe it or not. When Ravage relays to you his intent on how he is going to assassinate Valkyrie, let me know so that I can be sure to get the job done. I’m sure that you don’t want anymore hold-ups, yes?"
Cyrotek sighed. "We will do as you ask. Do not be seen again. Cyrotek out."
The interstellar communicator went dim, and Death’s Head replaced the device on his belt. The only thing that remained now was the waiting.
Back on Charr, Cyrotek leaned back in his chair and rubbed his optics. This plan of his was not going as well as he would have liked. Already, he received reports that the wreckage of Ravage’s ship and weapon had been discovered in Polyhex. On top of that, he had caused a massive hover train accident. The Maximals knew that somebody was there. He just hoped that they would write off all the previous events as belonging to Ravage when they discovered his corpse.
He heaved another sigh. Ravage had been his best agent, and he hated having to double-cross him like this. But he was sure that Ravage would have done the same if he were in Cyrotek’s position. That was the main reason they kept him around, after all; his outdated dedication to the Decepticons, his insistence on wearing that antiquated insignia on his right arm. He made the perfect scapegoat if he was ever compromised. And now, Cyrotek was sending him to his death exactly for that purpose.
The bird-like Deployer Chro fluttered onto his desk, and the High Proctor took several minutes to stroke the blue Transformer’s head. The Deployer could assume the form of a crossbow and be used in battle, but Cyrotek regarded Chro more along the lines of a pet than anything else.
The interstellar communicator whirred to life, and Cyrotek turned to face the projection of Ravage.
"Where the devil are you now?" Cyrotek demanded.
"Iacon," Ravage replied. "I’ve lost one of my weapons and my ship. I’m going to get another rifle on the black market and then wait for Valkyrie to arrive."
"You’ve bollixed this up," Cyrotek snapped. "Losing the ship, the weapon, causing the train accident. The Maximals know that somebody is on-planet. It’s a good thing that . . ."
Cyrotek suddenly stopped, realizing that he nearly said too much. A quizzical look crossed Ravage’s face at this comment. "It’s a good thing about what?" he asked.
"That you’re already in Iacon," Cyrotek finished. "Don’t mess this up. How do you intend to kill Valkyrie?"
"I’m going to sneak into the Maximal Chambers and determine her room number using my personal cloaking device. When she arrives to her chambers to retire before testifying in front of the Maximal Council, I will be there waiting."
"Excellent," Cyrotek stated. "Stay undercover, and don’t be seen anymore. We can’t afford for you to be compromised, especially at this point. Cyrotek out."
Ravage snapped a salute before the hologram went dead, and Cyrotek was left alone once more. The situation was growing increasingly difficult; there had been another incident of fire exchanged between a Maximal and a Predacon vessel along the demilitarized zone, and both governments had agreed to write it off as a misunderstanding. But the Predacon populace was growing agitated, hungering for war against the Maximals. And then there were the concerns of the bounty hunter . . .
Death’s Head. Nobody was quite sure where he came from, if he was created or if he hailed from a long-forgotten world, but his name was feared throughout the galaxy. Cyrotek was sure that he had hired the absolute best in the business.
But Death’s Head and Ravage had crossed paths before. It was entirely possible that Ravage would walk away from yet another confrontation with the "free-lance peacekeeper."
The Predacon High Proctor pushed the thought from his mind. No. Failure was not acceptable; it was unthinkable. Ravage and Death’s Head would succeed in their quests, and the Pax Cybertronia would be spared from another war with the Maximals. Cyrotek reached forward and opened another channel with Death’s Head.
Ravage closed the communicator, pondering his next move. He could no longer afford to be seen on Cybertron. There would be far too many survivors from his train accident that could identify him, and wanted posters would soon spring up across the city. He needed to proceed carefully, to find a hiding spot and stick to it until he was sure that Valkyrie had arrived on Cybertron. He had acquired a brown cloak from the station; it now hung about his shoulders. The hood covered his head loosely.
The deserted alley he now stood in proved dark and foreboding; it seemed an appropriate place to hide for the time being. He first decided to pick up some new weapons, in the instance that his plan needed to change. He still clung to the dual blasters, but decided that he needed another sniper rifle and perhaps a selection of energon knives. He would be able to hide them under his cloak.
There was no use in waiting around any longer; Valkyrie would arrive on planet in less than a day, and he still had a lot of legwork ahead of him. If he remembered properly, the black market of Iacon was only a few blocks distant.
He made his way down the alleyway carefully, looking intently for any sign of the Maximal police. The streets seemed strangely quiet, and Ravage felt a sense of unease creeping into his circuits. He needed to gather his new weapons quickly and then proceed to the Maximal Chambers.
Ravage checked over his shoulder quickly, and then entered a small enclave in the side of another alley. He remembered that the small store within was still notorious among fugitives and bounty hunters for selling illegal wares on Cybertron. The Iacon police attempted to shut down the illicit front again and again, but all of their attempts thus far had ended with failure.
The store proved cramped on the inside; there was no furniture, and a thick haze hung just under the ceiling. Ravage approached the small slot in the far wall and whispered, "Neith a shog nalla tag."
The tongue was an ancient one, one that was still honored among thieves and hunters throughout the galaxy. The words that Ravage spoke held a secret meaning, one of honor and trust. "From the shadows, we struggle to live." Ravage received his reply a moment later.
"Krag a nath asog." The typical and usual reply. "And live we shall, through any means necessary." Ravage then slipped several credits through the slot. "Sniper rifle, bore sight, set of energon knives."
The credits disappeared from his hand, and he received his weapons through the slot a moment later. He carefully wrapped the sling to the rifle around a shoulder, ensuring the weapon hung loose at his side under his brown cloak. The energon knives were a simple matter to hide, as well.
Ravage gave a nod of thanks as he turned to leave. However, the door to the shop suddenly opened, and the Tripedicus Agent suddenly found himself staring at a face from the past.
Death’s Head recoiled noticeably as he confronted Ravage. He had no planned on running into the covert agent prior to the execution of Valkyrie. Death’s Head cursed silently, hoping that Ravage wouldn’t become too suspicious.
"Death’s Head. What brings you to Iacon?" Ravage asked.
"The usual, yes? I’ve got work to do," the bounty hunter responded, choosing his words carefully.
"That’s interesting," Ravage stated, drawing his words out slowly, "I remember you telling me several years ago that you wouldn’t take anymore assignments on Cybertron. Too much interference from the Maximal police, as I recall. What’s made you change your mind?"
"It’s a lot of money, yes?" Death’s Head said curtly, trying to cut off any further conversation. He couldn’t risk having Ravage guess his true intent on Cybertron; not when there were a million interstellar credits at stake.
"I see," Ravage replied. "Do me a favor while you’re here. That traitor and coward Laserbeak should be somewhere in the city, living under Maximal immunity. Make sure he doesn’t see another day, would you?"
"I’ll see what I can do," Death’s Head stated. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do have some work to attend to, yes?"
"Of course," Ravage finished, offering a mock bow. "Best of luck to you in your chase, bounty hunter." Ravage then laughed slightly, and turned to make his way out the door.
"I wouldn’t worry too much about it," Death’s Head called after the figure of Ravage. "And the correct term is ‘free-lance peacekeeper,’ yes?" He then turned to the slot cut into the wall. "Laser sight for a rifle," he specified as he passed a wad of credits through the slot. "For long-range shots, eh?"
The darkness of space finally gave way to the late afternoon skies of Cybertron as her craft descended into the upper atmosphere, and Valkyrie heaved a deep sigh. Lio Convoy turned to the young Maximal, a look of concern written across his face. "Nervous?" he asked.
"Somewhat," Valkyrie replied. "What I’m about to tell the Council could very well launch the Maximals and Predacons into another war."
"I realize that," Lio Convoy stated with his own sigh. "But what else can we do? We can’t let this injustice go forgotten. We need to do this for the memory of your comrades."
Valkyrie remained silent for a long moment as the craft descended further, and she began to make out the details of the Iacon spaceport. "How much time is left before I’m expected to testify before the Council?" she finally asked.
Lio Convoy quickly checked the interstellar clock on the side of the compartment. "About eight hours," he said. "It may seem a bit excessive, but the Elders want you to go through a medical and a psychological evaluation before they hold the emergency session this evening. You’ll have some time to rest in your room before the meeting is held."
At this point, the shuttle finally touched down on the Iacon landing pad, and Long Horn made the final checks to the ship before opening the side hatch. The ramp extended, and Valkyrie warily made her way into the Cybertronian city. As she emerged from the shuttle, she found herself staring at a representative from the Maximal Elders, who had an armored hover car with him.
"Doctor Valkyrie," the representative droid stated, "the Maximal Elders are glad that you have arrived safely. If you’ll please step this way, we’ll go ahead and take you to the medical facility."
Ravage made his way towards the High Chambers as the sun grew lower on the horizon, carefully checking behind him every couple of seconds to ensure that nobody was following him. The cloak still hung about his shoulders, concealing the weapons within. Ravage also carried the personal cloaking device in his left hand.
The cloaking device would keep him hidden from visual sight for ten minutes. After that, it needed several more moments to recharge, and then he could use the device again. Ravage estimated that it gave him just enough time to get into the main office on the bottom floor of the tower, and then to slink into the elevator.
The Maximal High Chambers stood before him now, and Ravage watched the entrance intently from the shadows of an alley. A pair of hopeful tourists exited the double doors, loudly expressing their disappointment at the planet-wide quarantine. Ravage waited until they passed, and then activated the cloaking device.
He stepped into the setting sun of Cybertron, and then quickly made his way for the automatic revolving door. Looking overhead, he could see several security cameras making their automatic sweeps across the lobby. Ravage hoped that the Maximals had not had the foresight to emplace them with thermal detectors.
But as he silently stalked into the lobby of the High Chambers, no alarms sounded. Ravage coolly regarded the secretary at the front desk for a moment, ensuring that he didn’t see him. Ravage then made his way to the left, and then entered the small security office on the left-hand side of the lobby. The door stood open, as if inviting the Tripedicus Agent to enter.
He realized that a security guard stood inside the office, and was confronting the computer. Ravage cursed silently, and then checked the charge on his cloaking device. Eight minutes left. There was still plenty of time, but he needed to create a diversion so that he could get into the computer system. He briefly pondered his options, and thought about throwing something into the lobby to make the guard move. He discarded the idea as quickly as it sprang to life, though; it wouldn’t provide enough time, and it would arouse too many suspicions. He looked around for an alarm that he could trigger, perhaps to raise a false fire alarm or something of that nature.
Before he could act, however, the secretary called into the office. "Hey, Watchdog, get over here!" he yelled. "I’m getting in a report from the city of Kaon. The Kaon Warfighters have made it to the Cybertronian Energonball semi-finals!"
"No way!" Watchdog replied, getting up hastily from his computer. He joined the secretary a moment later, and together they watched the report on a small inter-planetary television screen.
Finally. A stroke of luck. Ravage quickly crossed the office, and began hacking into the computer as soon as he sat down. He glanced down at the cloaking device; six minutes left.
Within another moment, he found the listing for Valkyrie’s room: 111705, one-hundred and seventeenth floor. Ravage rose to leave, but then a set of key cards on the desk next to him earned his attention. He grabbed the keys, and then placed them under his cloak. He left the office just as the security guard rose to return to his post, and the Tripedicus Agent gave a smug smile as he passed by invisibly. He then entered the stairwell next to the elevators.
He ascended the stairs quickly, and entered the second floor to use the elevators. He had not used the elevator in the lobby to avoid giving away his presence; the secretary and security guard, and incompetent as they seemed to be, would have surely noticed a phantom elevator door opening. Ravage pushed the button for the 117th floor and entered the car.
He let out a curse as he glanced down at the buttons. The car needed to stop on ten floors in between. Ravage pushed on the trap door at the top of the car and entered the crawlspace above, carefully replacing the panel beneath him just as his cloaking device ran out of energy. He then hit the button to begin the recharging process on the small sphere, and then stared up the empty shaft as the elevator car began to move.
Fortunately, Ravage found that the Maximals placed the floor numbers on the inside of the elevator shaft, as well. He carefully counted the stops as the car made its ascent. Finally, when the elevator stopped on the 114th floor, Ravage carefully moved the trap door and peered inside the car. No more Maximals remained, and so he slid back inside and ensured that the button for the 117th floor remained lit.
The car moved upward once more, and Ravage finally reached his destination. He triggered his cloaking device as the doors opened, but he found the hallways empty. It only took him several moments to locate room 11705, and Ravage used the key cards and made his entry into Valkyrie’s chambers.
Long shadows were cast by the setting sun, and Ravage quickly but precisely checked the chamber for video and audio devices before decloaking. He then took a seat out of view from the door in the bedroom, awaiting the arrival of Valkyrie.
Death’s Head peered down the sights of his weapon from his vantage point on the neighboring building. He could see room 11705 quite clearly, and witnessed the doors mysteriously open as the cloaked Tripedicus Agent entered the room. He had seen Ravage decloak, and then assume his position in the bedroom.
The bounty hunter smiled to himself, aligning the sights of his weapon up with Ravage’s head. All it would take now was a pull of the trigger, and his old rival would fall.
But no; not yet. It was still too early. He needed to wait for him to kill Valkyrie, and then he could make his move. Death’s Head ensured that he remained covered and invisible under the pile of rubble the he laid upon himself, and then returned his attention to his vantage point. All the remained now was the waiting.
Night had fallen across Iacon as Valkyrie was ushered to the Maximal High Chambers. She peered at the brightly-lit city streets out the windows of the armored hover car, and then thought back to the medical evaluation.
The Maximal doctors expressed surprise at her survival; Ravage’s bullet had been removed by the Necronians, but there was still quite a bit of internal damage. She recalled—painfully—the medical droids removing the last remaining bits of shrapnel from her chest cavity.
But she persevered. The psychological examination, on the other hand . . .
The psychologist feared that Valkyrie was suffering from post-traumatic stress, and had recommended immediate evaluation and perhaps even hospitalization as soon as she finished her report in front of the Maximal Elders. She worried about the Necronians, the simple race that she left behind. She hoped that Lio Convoy and his band would be able to adequately get them the aide that they so desperately needed.
The armored car stopped in front of the Maximal High Chambers, and a plethora of armed escorts emerged from the base of the building to escort her to her chambers. Lio Convoy fell into line behind the assembly, and they all squeezed into the elevator car.
The ride proved quick, and Valkyrie and her guardians departed down the hallway. One of the escorts dropped a keycard into her hand. "We’ll have a pair of guards outside of the door, doctor," he stated. "There’s also a duress alarm in every room. If you find yourself in any trouble, it’s located adjacent to the stasis pod. Do you need anything else?"
"No, that will be fine, thank you," she stated. "How much longer before the Council meets?"
"Three hours," the escort stated. "We’ll come and get you in two and a half. I recommend that you use the time to get some rest; it looks like you need it."
"Thank you, I will," Valkyrie replied. She then turned and inserted the card into the door mechanism, and then stepped inside as the doors hissed open. The lead escort motioned for his squad to fall away, leaving only a pair of guards and Lio Convoy behind.
The white Maximal lingered in the doorway for a moment. "Valkyrie?" he finally asked. "Is there anything else that you need? You’re going to be fine here by yourself?"
Valkyrie took Lio Convoy’s hand in her own and held onto it for a long moment. "Yes, I’ll be fine," she stated. "I’ll let you know if I need anything. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done."
Lio Convoy nodded once in assent, and the placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. He released his grip, and turned and gave Valkyrie one final look as he made his way down the hallway.
Valkyrie heaved a sigh, and then looked about her quarters. They proved spacious enough. She briefly considered turning on the lights, but then recalled the harsh glare of the medical facility, and her optics stung at the memory. She decided to keep low illumination in the front room.
She sat down in a large chair and peered out over the nighttime city. It looked so peaceful. It was hard to believe that in two hours she would discuss plans of war with her Elders.
She rose from the chair, determined to get some rest before her testimony. She pressed the door release for the bedroom, and then let out a strangled scream.
"Oh, Primus. No."
There he stood, a nightmare brought to life, his red optics shining dimly in the shadows of the room.
"Good evening, doctor," Ravage smiled as Valkyrie recoiled from him. "We’ve got some overdue business to discuss, do we not?"
"Here we go, yes," Death’s Head whispered to himself as he peered down his scope. "Just get the job down, Ravage. I want my money."
Ravage dealt Valkyrie a cruel backhand across the face, sending her sprawling to the floor. The Maximal attempted to crawl away from him, but the Predacon gripped her by the back of the neck and hoisted her from her feet. Valkyrie let out a gasp of pain as his hands wrapped around her throat.
"Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me, doctor?" Ravage demanded as he strangled the life from her. "It seems that you have trouble staying dead. This time, there will be no phoenix rising from the ashes. The Maximal war dies with you."
Valkyrie let out another gasp as Ravage increased the amount of pressure around her neck, and Ravage felt her go limp. In another half-minute, this Maximal would be dead, and Ravage’s mission will have been fulfilled.
A sudden shimmer caught his attention. A red dot appeared on Valkyrie’s limp form, and then moved slowly toward Ravage’s right. Ravage tracked the dot carefully, and then realized what it meant.
Snipers. Ravage dropped the prone form of Valkyrie and ducked to the floor just as the window behind him shattered.
Death’s Head cursed as he let out another shot. Ravage had detected him, and had successfully eluded him again. He could see Ravage duck behind the stasis pod, and a pair of shots from his blasters rang out. They passed over Death’s Head’s position, and the bounty hunter did his best to line the Predacon back up in his sights.
Valkyrie regained her senses quickly, and saw another bullet pass over her head. Ravage now crouched behind the stasis pod, and had turned his attention from her. Valkyrie pushed herself along the floor using her elbows, and then reached up and shoved the duress alarm on the side of the wall.
The security lounge in the lobby immediately bustled to life with activity.
"According to the sensors, we’ve got an entire window missing in Valkyrie’s chambers," Watchdog called out. "Why hasn’t the security detail entered the room yet?"
"The door’s been sealed from the inside," somebody else responded. "I don’t know why, but it seems that somebody hacked the door system. The security detail is cutting through the door now; they’ll be inside in a couple of minutes."
Lio Convoy paced frantically outside of Valkyrie’s door. He had heard the duress alarm go off immediately from his position in the lobby, and had taken the elevator. He could hear gunshots being exchanged through the thick door, and he worried if Valkyrie was still alive or not. The hiss of the blowtorch against the bulkhead didn’t seem to be cutting fast enough. Lio Convoy regarded the door for a moment, and then commanded, "both of you, stand back!"
The white Maximal charged headlong into the door, knocking a portion out of the bulkhead. He struggled to clear the wreckage in front of him, and turned to face the direction of gunfire from the bedroom.
The sudden crash of Lio Convoy charging into the room caused Ravage to look up from his position. He cursed silently, and then triggered his cloaking device. He sprinted into the living room, nearly brushing against Lio Convoy. He then waited on the right-hand side of the door while a squad of soldiers charged into the room and assumed fighting positions behind the furniture, each scanning outside for signs of the sniper. A few more frustrated shots rang out through the darkness, and then the rifle fell silent.
Ravage regarded the door for a moment, and then carefully slipped outside as he thought over his options. He suddenly remembered the sniper rifle hanging at his side, and he felt slightly foolish for not using it during the exchange of fire with the unknown sniper earlier. Ravage surmised that it must have been a Maximal emplaced to watch Valkyrie’s chamber from an adjacent building.
He decided that he would rely upon his original plan of sniping Valkyrie as she testified before the Council. It didn’t leave much for a margin of error, and it would make his escape nearly impossible. But it was the only chance that he had left. The Maximals would surely meet immediately now that another attempt had been made on Valkyrie’s life. Ravage entered the empty elevator and pushed in the button for the top floor.
Valkyrie sat up and gasped as Lio Convoy crouched by her side. "Are you alright? You didn’t get hit, did you?" he asked.
Valkyrie wrapped her arms around Lio Convoy’s neck. "Oh, Primus, it was him. He came back. He came back!"
Lio Convoy helped Valkyrie to her feet. "It’s OK, you’re fine," he whispered reassuringly. "It’s almost over." He then called over in the direction of the squad leader. "Get the Maximal Elders. We need for them to meet now. We can’t afford to wait any longer."
The squad leader nodded in assent and then exited the room to carry out his assigned task. Lio Convoy then motioned to the rest of the squad. "The rest of you, come with me," he said. "We’re going to the Chambers."
Death’s Head threw down his rifle in disgust. Ravage still lived.
He forced himself to slow down, to think rationally without blind rage overtaking him. The Maximals Elders would hold session immediately now, and the building would be locked down. Ravage most assuredly knew this as well, and was heading to the High Chambers to complete his mission.
Death’s Head only had one option open to him now; to force his way into the building, and then enter the Chamber as silently as possible and eliminate Ravage. He leapt up from his hiding spot, leaving the rifle where it lay. He descended the interior of the building quickly, taking the steps within three at a time all the way to the bottom floor. He then charged out the front of the empty structure and pressed his body against the side of the building, scanning the streets carefully as he screwed his axe arm into place.
He then approached the revolving doors of the Maximal High Chambers, and found them stopped. He began hacking at the glass, and then stood in the threshold of the building as the surprised secretary and security manager rose to their feet.
Death’s Head threw a grenade through the hole in the glass door, taking out the two Maximals. He followed up the attack with an electro-magnetic pulse grenade, effectively knocking out the security cameras and alarms.
The furious bounty hunter finished hacking his way through the glass door, and then turned his axe on a Maximal clerk who had come racing around the corner at the sound of the explosions. Death’s Head cleaved the luckless Transformer in half, and then turned his attention in the direction of the elevators. He entered the car, and then punched in the number for the High Chambers.
Death’s Head stared at his axe as the car began to move. "Ravage," he whispered. "This time, we’re going to finish it, yes?"
Ravage exited the car and then stepped carefully into the light of the lobby for the Maximal Chambers. The lobby was shaped in a crescent, with the oval-shaped chamber lying directly behind it. Ravage peered out over the night city of Iacon for a long moment, remembering back to the days of the Great War when the skies were continually filled with flak, explosions, and the drone of Seekers as they passed overhead.
But now was not the time for memories. Ravage entered a service door on the side of the lobby, and then scaled the metal framework to a catwalk that looked over the High Chamber. He peered down into the floor of the empty room, noticing the rows upon rows of empty seats where the Maximal Elders would sit in session in just a few minutes. He then lifted himself up into the scaffolding, and secured for himself a dark corner in the back of the dome. He extracted his sniper rifle and peered down the bore-sight, ensuring that he would be able to see the speaker at the podium clearly.
There. All that remained now was the waiting. In just a few minutes, the fate of two worlds would be decided with the pull of a trigger.
Valkyrie continued to shake as Lio Convoy escorted her down the hallway to the elevator. "I can’t believe he came back," she whispered.
Lio Convoy became concerned that her mind may have snapped under the strain of having Ravage attack her again, and he turned to face his smaller companion. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Are you going to be able to do this?"
She gave a small shiver, but then looked upwards to him and nodded once. "Yes," she said. "I’m ready to tell about what happened on Necros." Lio Convoy placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Don’t worry," he said. "We’re almost done."
He put in the number for the High Chamber, and the car began its ascent upwards. A few moments later, the doors hissed open and Lio Convoy and Valkyrie found themselves in the lobby. A gathering of Maximals had already assembled there.
Lio Convoy gripped Polar Claw by the arm as he passed by. "We’re here with Valkyrie," he stated. "Are all the Elders here?"
Polar Claw shook his head. "No. They cut the service to the elevators as soon as we reported that you got here. There’s word going around that there was an assault in the lobby. There may be more than one Predacon."
"We’ll have to go with what we have, then," Lio Convoy responded. "Is Perceptor here, at least?"
Polar Claw nodded, and then pointed into the corner of the lobby. "Right there. I recommend that we leave Valkyrie here with a guard until we get the session under way, and she’ll testify immediately afterwards."
"Alright," Lio Convoy responded. He thrust open the doors to the Chamber, and Perceptor moved to the front of the assembly as the Maximals filed into their seats. Perceptor then stood at the podium, waiting for everybody to sit down.
"Fellow Maximals," he stated, spreading his arms wide. "We are here tonight for a most important matter. Tonight we will hear a testimony that will decide whether or not we will return to hostilities with the Predacons. Lio Convoy, will you take the podium, please?"
Valkyrie stood outside the chamber with six other Maximals, listening to Perceptor speak. Her mind returned to Necros, remembering how Ravage had slaughtered her comrades, how he had tried to kill her. He remembered the Decepticon insignia hanging from his right arm, and how he tried to re-take the Heart of Cybertron from the Necronians.
The thoughts proved almost too much to bear, and she tried to block them out. But the memories of nearly dying in the deep, ash-like soil of Necros continued to return, and she struggled to put the thought from her mind.
Tonight, her testimony would determine if they would return to war with the Predacons. Countless Maximals would fall and die depending upon what she said.
She remembered dying . . .
A phoenix to the dust.
Death’s Head felt the car shake as it stopped. He glanced at the control panel, trying to determine the cause of the problem.
ALL ELEVATOR FUNCTIONS CEASED, the digital screen read. This told the bounty hunter nothing. Had the Maximals already met? Had his presence been discovered? Had Ravage succeeded in killing Valkyrie?
He had no more time to waste. Death’s Head moved the trap door from the ceiling, and then peered upwards. He was only about ten floors down from the High Chambers.
Gripping a pick in his left arm and retaining his axe arm, Death’s Head began to scale the slick metal walls, cursing all the way up.
Ravage peered down the weapon as Lio Convoy delivered his speech. "Fellow Maximals," the white Transformer stated, "I departed to Necros to determine what happened to Valkyrie and her away team. Valkyrie was the only survivor. The tale that you are about to hear is one of Predacon treachery."
Lio Convoy continued on for a few minutes more, and Ravage felt the excitement and the tension begin to found through his circuits. Soon, this would end. Finally, Lio Convoy spoke the words that Ravage wanted to hear; "Valkyrie, will you please enter the Chambers and deliver your testimony?"
Valkyrie approached the door with her guard escort, and then looked carefully down the rows upon rows of seats as she made her way to the podium. All eyes rested on her. She ascended the steps at the front, her head hung low, the toils of the past few hours hanging onto her heavily. She gripped the podium, and then looked outwards to her audience. "Maximal friends and Elders," she said slowly, "I’m going to tell you what happened on Necros exactly."
Death’s Head pried open the doors to the High Chamber lobby and took a minute to gather his strength. He could hear a female Maximal beginning a speech at the stand; it must be Valkyrie. Ravage was nearby. Death’s Head entered the service door and carefully crept across the catwalk, looking for any sign of Ravage.
Every circuit in Ravage’s being demanded that he pull the trigger, but a nagging doubt pulled at the back of his mind. She was right in front of him; all that it took was a slight backward pressure of the finger. But questions continued to rise.
First, there was Sea Clamp’s impassioned speech to Ravage, which had been cut off by Cyrotek. Then there was Cyrotek stumbling over his own words in his transmission to Ravage.
And Death’s Head’s presence on Cybertron. And the unknown sniper as he tried to kill Valkyrie earlier . . .
He looked down at his right arm, and noticed that the Decepticon insignia peeked out from under the layer of black polish. Suddenly, everything snapped into place. Ravage was nothing more than a sacrificial lamb, sent to the slaughter to prevent a war with the Maximals. The Predacons sent an agent after him, to ensure that his corpse could be explained away as a rogue Decepticon.
He lowered his rifle as he fought a deluge of emotions. He had taken a commission with the Predacons, after all, and he was bound by honor to them. But he retained his loyalties to the Decepticons first. He raised his rifle once more as he struggled with his decision.
Valkyrie peered out over the Council. "We found what some refer to as a Heart of Cybertron," Valkyrie explained. "We encountered a Decepticon on the planet who had dreams of rebuilding the Decepticon Empire. There was no involvement with the Predacons."
A mumble of disbelief passed through the assembly, and Lio Convoy sprang from his seat and strode to Valkyrie’s side. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "This isn’t what you told me at all."
"I know what I’m doing," Valkyrie responded. "I’m preventing a war."
A Maximal rose from his seat. "Valkyrie, this isn’t the story that we received initially," he stated. "Why has your story changed?"
"I was still in a lot of pain from the attack from the Decepticon," she said. "Perhaps there was a misinterpretation. But the Predacons were not involved. Of this I am sure."
Perceptor took the podium back from Valkyrie. "Well," he stated, "it seems that we have our testimony. We have no basis for war with the Predacons at this point. Valkyrie, I recommend to the Council that you be returned to Necros so that you can oversee the rebuilding effort there. Now, I understand that there was an incident in the lobby earlier. We’ll wait here for a while, and then we will depart to our rooms. This session is adjourned."
"No!" Death’s Head whispered to himself. "I won’t be denied. I will take in my prey, one way or the other."
Ravage laid down his rifle as the Maximals filed from the room a half hour later. Valkyrie, for reasons he had yet to fathom, changed her story at the last minute, and sparing the Maximals and Predacons another costly war. He rose to his feet and dropped from the scaffolding onto the catwalk.
"Ravage. I was wondering when you were going to show up," a voice behind him stated.
The Tripedicus Agent turned to find himself facing Death’s Head. "I know why you’re here, bounty hunter," Ravage stated. "You’ve been sent to kill me. By my own superiors, no less. Sorry to disappoint you."
"Don’t be sorry, yes?" Death’s Head responded. "After all, I’m still going to kill you."
Ravage smiled. "I figured as much," he said. "But the Predacons aren’t going to pay you your bounty now. There’s no need. The war was still averted, without our help."
"I’m willing to take that risk," came the reply. "After all, one million credits is a hell of a lot of money, eh?"
Death’s Head charged at Ravage, his axe arm singing as it sliced through the silent air. Ravage ducked, and then kicked Death’s Head’s feet out from under him in a low sweep kick. The bounty hunter fell, and Ravage jumped atop him in a flash and tried to get his hands around Death’s Head’s neck.
Death’s Head balled his knees into his chest and kicked Ravage off of him, sending the Tripedicus Agent flying across the catwalk. Death’s Head then regained his feet, and approached Ravage with his axe arm held high. Ravage rolled to his right, and then extracted an energon blade and scored several cuts along Death’s Head’s left arm.
Another backhand sent Ravage flying backwards, and he struggled to regain his footing. Death’s Head stomped towards Ravage, and then buried his axe arm into Ravage’s shoulder. The Tripedicus Agent bellowed in pain, and then lashed out with his own energon blade, scratching Death’s Head across one of his optics. Death’s Head recoiled, and Ravage pushed backwards. The axe came loose from Death’s Head’s arm, remaining stuck in Ravage.
Death’s Head screamed in agony and rage, and rushed towards Ravage. His attack pushed Ravage out a window behind him, and Ravage fell from the heights of the Maximal High Chambers in a rain of broken glass and internal mech fluid.
Death’s Head stared down from the ledge for a long moment, looking for any sign of the Tripedicus Agent. Only gusts of wind met his search.
Iacon. Three days later.
Valkyrie gave a small smile as she boarded the shuttle to take her back to Necros. Already, the Maximal Elders had sent innumerable ships to bring agricultural equipment to the planet, in hopes that foreign seeds could be tilled in its soil. Animals and other products had been collected from other helpful worlds, and interstellar aide was now being given to her planet.
She looked out the window of the ship and saw Lio Convoy staring after her. He was still angry with her for changing her testimony, she supposed. But in the long run, she felt that she had done the right thing. She raised a single hand and gave him a slight wave. He made to move to reply, instead moving back inside the spaceport.
She sighed deeply. Lio Convoy was a warrior, she realized, one who felt that all injustices needed to be righted. Although she lamented the loss of her comrades on Necros, Valkyrie believed that she spared more Maximals this way.
She thought back to the events of the past few days, and despite the stress of the situation, a smile crossed her lips. What is it that Ravage had told her as he held her in his death grip?
"This time, there will be no phoenix rising from the ashes."
No. Ravage had been wrong. There was only a phoenix in flames now.
She turned to her pilot. "Are all the checks made on the ship?" she asked.
He nodded once. "Yes, ma’am," he replied. "I’m ready to go when you are."
"To Necros, then," Valkyrie said as she leaned back in the chair, allowing sleep to overtake her.
Cyrotek stood in the briefing room, staring at the figure of Death’s Head as the two argued.
"I don’t care if you killed Ravage or not. The fact remains that our intelligence indicates that Valkyrie was allowed to testify in front of the Maximal Elders. Why she changed her story, I don’t know, but that’s not the point. You’re not getting a single credit out of us," Cyrotek bellowed.
"Unacceptable, yes?" Death’s Head replied. "The end result is still the same, and I lost my ship and my axe to boot. I had to steal a ship from Iacon, and now I’m wanted on Cybertron."
"You were wanted on Cybertron, anyway!" Cyrotek growled. "The answer is still no. No payment due."
"You have made an enemy, then," Death’s Head replied. "Death’s Head remembers
those who don’t meet their end of the bargain. It won’t be today, but I’ll make
sure you receive retribution soon enough, yes?"
Although Cyrotek did not fear
the bounty hunter, he grew weary of dealing with him. He finally sighed and
tossed a credit chip on the table. "There," he said. "500,000 credits. That’s
the best you’re doing, so don’t ask for anymore."
Death’s Head took the chip and pocketed it. "Still don’t like it," he said, "but it’ll do in a pinch, yes?"
"Of course," Cyrotek replied. "I trust that you know the way out." Without turning to speak to the bounty hunter anymore, Cyrotek left the briefing room and walked down the hallway to his personal office.
He punched in the key code and noticed that the room seemed unusually dark. "Lights," he commanded.
"I’ve cancelled all voice activations," a heavily accented voice whispered from the shadows behind the desk. "Don’t try to summon security. I’ve got you lined up perfectly with my blaster."
Cyrotek peered into the darkness, and made out the figure of a Transformer sitting behind his desk, his feet propped atop a stack of data pads. "Ravage?" Cyrotek asked. "How the devil did you get here?"
"Doesn’t matter," Ravage replied. "You set me up."
Cyrotek sighed. "Yes, I did," he said. "We needed a scapegoat, and you were perfect. You would have done the same in my position."
Ravage briefly considered this statement, and then withdrew his weapon. "You’re right," he said. "I would have."
"Excellent," Cyrotek stated. "Come on down to the briefing chamber, we’ll discuss what the next course of action needs to be."
"No," Ravage replied. "I’m done." Ravage threw his Predacon insignia onto Cyrotek’s desk.
"You can’t quit!" Cyrotek yelled at him. "You think I’m going to just let you waltz out of here, what with what you know? You swore an oath of allegiance to the Pax Cybertronia, have you forgotten that?"
"Just fancy words," Ravage replied. "Nothing more. I’m leaving, High Proctor. Do not expect me back."
"If you leave, you’ll be an enemy of the Predacons," Cyrotek stated through gritted teeth. "We’ll pursue relentlessly, bring you up on charges for the crime of treason. What do you have to say to that?"
"For the glory of the Decepticons, High Proctor," Ravage replied. "And I’m not too concerned about you. I’ve been chased by Maximals, Autobots, Quintessons, and bounty hunters. Having one more enemy means little to me."
"I’m not going to let you leave here, Ravage," Cyrotek stated, and then glanced down at his desk and hit an alarm. But when he looked back up, Ravage had disappeared.
Space. Four days later.
Ravage peered down at the instruments of his stolen vessel, pondering his next course of action. He had, as of thus far, encountered no pursuing Predacon forces. But that could change at any time.
His gaze drifted down to his right arm, towards the Decepticon insignia.
"Decepticons forever," he whispered to himself.
Embarking on a quest now for his very survival, the shadow agent set in a course for the Point Horizon station. It was time to start recruiting.
To be concluded in the third and final chapter, Phoenix to the Dust.