CHAPTER 8: In the eyes of a boy

.

There had been the hint of suspicion in the mode of his final smile, in how he held his glass between his thumb and middle finger making slow wet patterns in the perspiration undecidedly just before he departed for the exit. Being time travelers was probably not his first opinion of them, but this Dourjer, Metatisic, had indeed observed something. Cyclonus was positive of that much. If the monarch was even remotely in mannerism to that of Galvatron, it was a sure bet that all three of them were going to be slowly dissected for the answer. He had to know more them and their situation, and there was no time for either.

“Decepticon Cyclonus!” Sarterius boomed from behind, “You answered first for your men; I’m assuming that makes you the leader of this operation?”

Cyclonus hadn’t the chance to clarify his intuition before the commander nodded to himself, and signaled the direction to take with his rifle pointing. “You and your comrades will follow me.” He decreed.

That was four minutes ago. Five, perhaps. Rounding his attention from Scourge marching directly behind him, and Rumble in front at his feet, Cyclonus’s thoughts moved passed the miniature ‘con and fastened upon the outline of Metatisic just ahead of them several feet down the castaway with Sarterius joined at his side. The tails of the scarlet mantle the leader wore synched shoulder to shoulder lofted around his stride and it anchored Cyclonus’ own disturbing, nagging hunch.

Was it the manner in which he spoke? ... Something lingering in the confident attitude of his marching gate? Metatisic’s studious first inspection haunted him. Images flicked through his mind like a jerky, silent black and white film smearing grainy pictures of Galvatron and pictures of home. ....Pictures of that first swine grin in all it’s familiar grace.

Briefly, Cyclonus toyed with the memory of the ceremonial plaza where Starscream had been momentarily crowned their new king. All the statues curving round about the forum bore that same identical teased smile craved across their faces. It could, in fact, just be a ancestral trait. But that sentiment would still not explain why Rumble had reacted the way he did upon their being introduced to the ruler. Rumble knew something about Metatisic. Whatever it was, he had been on the verge of telling him earlier.

Certain that the general was far out before them and that Beat Down wasn’t behind them, Cyclonus tugged the electro-chain hooked between himself and his companion.

“Rumble?”

The ramp angled left here steeping to usher a long vaulted sector of the passageway. Clearly this was no longer the way they had originally come. Arch after arch seemed to lead off from it, opening out only to yet further corridors of the same, and yet further series of arches, so that there appeared to be no end to them. For an instant, it’s grandeur stole the questions from him and reminded the lieutenant of the position they found themselves in. Glorious as the triumph of this architecture was, there was no way back or out he could see.

“Rumble? Rumble I saw the way you loo--”

“Looked at him?” Rumble said, already knowing what Cyclonus wanted. “Or, that he looks like the bust we discovered at those ruins?”

The cue of an insult in the cassette’s tone triggered a swell of anger within the co-commander, but the small Decepticon equally sounded concerned. Maybe even looked a little scared. He almost dared to glance forward to where the section began to yawn out. It was much brighter ahead of them now, and Metatisic disappeared in the momentary glare.

“I’m surprised you didn’t notice.’ Rumble continued, “I don't know of too many that haven’t at least heard some legend regarding him.”

“Then count me as one of the rare few. What do you know of him?”

“You want to know the truth?”

“Enlighten me.” Scourge interrupted from behind Cyclonus’ shoulder.

“You’re dealing with a god.” Rumble replied.

“Try to be serious!”

“I am! Metatisic was a brilliant strategist, Scourge! His reign was virtually unprecedented. The few documents I’ve known about say he ruled for some-- what?, like, 15, 18 million years! Most of the greater flourishing of the empire was under his command!”

Rumble gasped at his own knowledge as his tone perished to a mere hush. He looked at Cyclonus again,

“.. He was a genius.”

.

1

.

The testament of a ancestor so mighty in stature. Like the Bractos he commanded, he had become nothing more than a shadowed name within the blends of mythical lore until he was lost forever. His very existence most modern Decepticons had long since degraded to simple fantasies and wishful fiction. Was this all it was? If the attributes of Metatisic’s wisdom were in fact now truth, then perhaps Rumble really felt they had much to fear if the king should ever learn the truth about them?

If so, then why hadn’t the revelation quailed the questions still resounding his speculations?

.

2

.

Cyclonus thought about quizzing Rumble some more, but ahead of them, the general Sarterius was waiting for them, watching and gilded on each flank by elephantine pillars where the corridor suddenly zagged through what turned out to be the gargantuan belly of a dome shaped chamber instead of the outside Cyclonus had figured it was. The questions would have to to wait.

The magnificent spills of light seen earlier from the corridors came from the discovery that the new room had no ceiling at all and hardly any floor besides the path they walked. It broke just ahead. Wordlessly, Cyclonus’ lips cracked open. Beneath the span, waters boiled and hissed as they split from a wave-wore precipice into a river system several hundred feet below, and then slipped black and silent between three vertical megaliths belonging to the Iysurus’ superstructure.

“Trypticon would get lost in this place!” Scourge sputtered, “Thirty Trypticons even!” The sweep craned his head up a staircase twining another colossal pillar within the dome. Following the stairway’s curl, he saw how it left the pillar and arched away to what appeared to be nothing more than a tiny platform bearing an altar. It floated there under the skies directly over the city. Scores of bridges latticed throughout the interior.

“Impressed?” A voice asked suddenly. Startled, Scourge’s optics snapped to his side and gated upon its owner, the Decepticon Dourjer, Metatisic was pridefully lofting his eyes towards the spaces overhead. In the blaze of the star, none of them had seen him standing there.

“My father’s grand-creator built this.” He revealed. “It was his greatest triumph. The magnitude of Decepticon supremacy prisms within every beam until there is nothing left to proclaim.”

“The stair doesn’t go anywhere.” Scourge picked out, “What is it for?”

“Doesn’t go anywhere?! Of course it does. It touches the very breath of Karna so that I might commune with him.”

Metatisic promptly pointed now, “You see all those pads there?” Metatisic asked, “Each one of them absorb the power of the Karna when its greatest rays are at their summit so that it can be used to generate the city.”

“Magnificent, mighty one.” Cyclonus’ concentration sailed from the overpasses to settle upon the ruler who stood beside him. Metatisic immediately reveled in a smile — not at their praise, but to the attention of a lift pod that was nearing the bridge from below.

“Master?” Sarterius pointed it out.

Nodding once, Metatisic moved towards it; a mechanical purr resounded throughout the combs of the palace complex as the lift thudded into its port and cued yet another surprise; a viaduct lofting just to the right, droned to life suddenly, elbowed towards the transport unit, and locked with a boom into place at the base of its gate completing the remainder of the castaway. When the doors peeled aside, their audience was welcomed to a very familiar robot:

Cyclonus flinched backwards, his attention flowed across the visitor’s empurpled armor just in time to catch Rumble’s alarmed expression. His lips were moving, but he wasn’t saying anything. Trying to conceal his surprise from Sarterius’ constant, watchful interrogation, Cyclonus’ gaze settled upon the being.

“Shockwave.” Metatisic reached to touch the transformer’s shoulder affectionately.

It really was Shockwave! The giant formally held his hand flat to his head like a visor, “Hail! Mighty Metatisic!” He greeted.

Watching as he spoke to his leader, the yellow neon bulb winking from the center of his face plate --that had always been its only signature ornament-- called to mind a phantom recollection within Cyclonus to when Unicron launched his final attack on Cybertron. Shockwave had been one the last of a dying bred of guardian robots. True to his function, he perished in defense of that duty for the sake of his home. It was a powerful act of commitment that very few would be willing to make now. It was a sacrifice Cyclonus held much respect for.

“It does me good to see you well, Metatisic.” Shockwave rejoiced, “I was informed of the disturbance.” He peered over at Scourge, “Are these the intruders?”

“Them? No. Sarterius caught them at the Ta’nakian borders. They are expeditionist .. Or so they say. I have in mind to satisfy that claim for myself in due time.”

“I see.”

His stance shifted. It was then that they realized that Shockwave had not come alone. A smaller Decepticon, not much taller than Rumble, stood soundless and level with the guardian’s thigh. An unexplained chill spidered Cyclonus’ central system when he saw him, and the volume of the conversation suddenly shrank away.

“And the intruder?”

“The intruder was swiftly dispatched.” Sarterius said.

“Yes, the guards took ample care of that” Metatisic agreed, but then quickly tsked, “– Dammit!” He grumbled, “Nah! Well it’s no longer important.”

Cyclonus zoned in on the youth once more. Strobes of light refracting across his armor plating harked back to the silver fields of Cybertron turned white in the zenith of the Alpha-Centari, and now revelation threatened to tear him apart. His eyes gulfed wider as the volume magnified once more.

“Yes, of course.”

“What of them?” Shockwave injected; his single eye looked more like a search light beacon crossing over the three Decepticons from 2009.

“I will have Legate appoint them some duties shortly, and that’ll be where I’d like you to come in. This one here is the ring leader if I recall.” Metatisic turned to Cyclonus and thumped his shoulder when he didn’t respond directly,

“You!”

Cyclonus jerked his direction.

“Yes, you! Cyclonus, are you? This is Shockwave.” The emperor introduced, “Do know him well as I’m sure you’ll be seeing him a lot in your future.”

Metatisic went on to finally reveal the scope of his plan for them. One by one, and what their jobs would be. For each he also added a firm, strong admonition about limits, his expectations, total discipline and obedience. There was no in between and nothing beyond that would be tolerated.

“In lue of the charges that were spoken against you and your comrades,” He said looking over the lot of them like so many heads of cattle, “You are all free at my ordering as I have previously spoken. However, that freedom will be to the confides of this palace only. This will stay in effect until I personally feel it sound to acquit you of those suspicions. .. or, in a matter of saying, when I have decided you were telling me the truth. Your duties ---”

Their duties would be as he appointed them, Cyclonus listening to him explain feeling full with equal conflicted doses of excitement at the prospects of being here, and yet a complete and total comprehension that the reason for the potentate’s sermon meant his degraded position. He, Scourge, and Rumble were nothing to this Decepticon ruler. They bore no standing, no rank, welded no authority here, and worse yet, they were labeled traitors. To Metatisic, each of them were no more important to him than the slagged ruins of the Rougeon femme that the palace guard slaughtered earlier.

Shockwave, Metatisic disclosed, was not only the chief-puppeteer of the Iysurus compound’s security, but that he held an even higher position of standing as the royal guardian to his son. Anything to do with the prince was Shockwave’s matter, and absolutely none of their business or concern. As the controls behind the Iysurus’ defense, however, Shockwave was to, from time to time, see to it that they each carried out their duties quickly, efficiently, and soundlessly.

Was that understood?

Cyclonus wavered, thinking. Choice? Not really here. If there was another option it was no doubt be viewed as proof of their guilt and most certainly, their deaths.

The rouge panels of the monarch’s optics slanted, darkening in various degrees.

“All royal quarters are off limits unless I command otherwise.” He stated, “Your treatment here I will leave entirely up to you. If you are fair with me, I will be fair with you. Deceive me once -–” Metatisic scolded with a stiff straight finger, “--and it will be the last error that you will ever make.”

“Yes. And that I would be making certain of.” Sarterius’ hand crept to his weapon and empathized the point, “You’re much too merciful, M’lord.” He said with a coltish grin.

“Yes, yes, I know it. You don’t have to tell me. Now,” A smile glazed Metatisic’s lips. Stooping towards the vornling still anchored at Shockwave’s flank, he took the Decepticon by one hand.

“My son.” the monarch spoke pointing, “This here is Cyclonus. And these here are his friends, Scourge, and Rumble. They’ll be here with us for awhile. They’ve been to Cybertron. They are explorers.” Metatisic blinked Cyclonus’ direction sharing his smile and the child. Mech fluid prickled the lieutenant’s brow. If it was clear at all before, it reached a pinnacle even the Karna could not challenge:

“This is my son.” Metatisic delighted, “Megatron.”

.

3

.

Nothing.

There is no sound. No Iysurus. No nothing at all. A mock unconsciousness where everything else was shut out and so suddenly unimportant. Ripples of reality bloomed in Cyclonus’ eyes, racing his circuits, and flushing his face with the aftershock. The name echoed over and over immobilizing with the magnitude of the shock. Everything, with that single mentioning, at last made sense. Every single thing all in the eyes of this child----Megatron! This was Megatron! This would be Galvatron! And this Dourjer called Metatisic who’s first original stare had demanded so much of his attention, so much of his ponderings, was in fact, his creator!

Words stolen from his lips, Cyclonus’ legs wobbled with weakness. His optics still large, slowly he sunk to one knee until he was face level with young boy.

“My ..Lord.” Cyclonus could barely manage to speak. He noticed now that Metatisic’s brow had arched questioningly at his intense reaction, but for some reason it just didn’t matter to the second-in-command.

“Are you under arrest?” The prince asked. His face was beaming curiously, but he was reluctant to break away from his father’s side.

“Yes ..yes I suppose we are.”

“You’re not a member of the resistance are you?”

“No I am not.”

“All the prisoners say that.” The child looked at him with one eye only. “Especially when they’re afraid to die.”

“But it is true.” Cyclonus insisted.

“Have you really seen the new robots on Cybertron? I heard that they look a lot like us.”

“Yes.” Cyclonus nodded and said somewhat monotoned. He cleared his throat, “Yes they do.”

“Will you be staying here a long time?”

“I-I don’t know that, I’m afraid. Maybe.”

“I was studying. I’ve been learning how to transform.” Megatron mushed one side of his face not so sure, “Well ...I almost got it.”

“You will.”

“Megatron!” Metatisic said firmly, “That’s enough now. Um, Shockwave? Please take Megatron to his quarters.”

“Yes, Highness.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, young master.” Cyclonus finished.

As he lifted back to his feet, he could see that Metatisic had not turned away from him at all. His eyes pinched closed to nothing more than a slim slit within his ashen gray face. Frozen and fixed until Shockwave left, they were deep-seated in their triangular sockets and so heavy-lidded it was impossible to fathom their true color. From a certain angle they were black, shiny as wet pebbles, while from another they were orange where a feast of gold starlights were shimmering across the mirrors.

“What did you do that for?”

“Mighty one?”

“The way you reacted just then. Why? The way you looked at him?!” It wasn’t just a question. Metatisic was sincerely shouting now, “Why?! What are you thinking?!”

“N-nothing, Great One.”

“Don’t fool with me!” The emperor snapped ferally.

“Master, I swear I meant no harm!” Cyclonus quickly bowed employing the soothing but not patronizing voice he had used more than once on Galvatron to swerve his paranoid schizophrenic bouts. “I heard, Mighty one, about the child.” He fibbed, “I desired to meet him, and now I have. Such a rightful heir, M’lord. He will be a powerful ruler. There is no doubt in my mind.”

Hesitation --a sign the sweetened, hasty lie may actually be working, even though Cyclonus still didn’t dare to look the king in the face.

“Certainly.” His anger stilled, but it hadn’t cooled completely, “You sound so sure of yourself, Cyclonus. Quite sure in fact. Clairvoyant as well as an explorer? That wonderful is he? Hmm, supposing that is no great surprise. Everything I am is within him. Complete anatomical perfection.”

“And one that is clearly witnessed in the majesty of his parent.”

“Please dispense with your flatteries, my wayward adventurer.” Metatisic’s tone took on a new round of caution; low and mocking to a point. Even smiling, the twin scarlet windows creased turning a dark maroon in the thick congested shadow just under his helmet.

“I’m keen to the ways of the Rougeons and their rebellious rabble, Cyclonus. What better is there a way to lure the hungry than to throw him a lavished banquet? Eh? Ah yes .. Of course you would shower me with everything you feel I would want to hear.”

Metatisic jabbed a knuckle up under the frozen jet’s chin. Tipping his head back until he could look into Cyclonus’ eyes, he leaned close just to the right of his cheek, whispering: “Wouldn’t you in your situation? Wouldn’t anyone with half intelligence?”

“Should you have me destroy them now, master?” Sarterius asked.

“No.” Metatisic drew back putting an arm out to block the general’s advance, but he never once pulled his attention away from Cyclonus and his mates, “No .. Stay your weapon. The Iysurus and its cargo bays are already teaming with tired, sickly, scrap bucket slaves. I would like to have my use of these three. Take them to holding!”

“Yes, Mighty Metatisic.”

“Sarterius! Do keep in mind that I still would like to discuss their matters in Cybertron. I want to know more abou ---- ”

The Dourjer paused. He didn’t finished what he was saying, merely blinked. When he snapped his head to the direction of the corridor passage, Cyclonus’ stare followed after his.

“Metatisic!!!” A clamant peal from the corridor came surfing over the urgent pounding of feet closing in upon the dome. Activated by it, and his leader’s sudden alarm, Sarterius sprang and braced himself at the doorway leaving Rumble and Scourge stooping and instinctively reaching for weapons they didn’t even have.

“Metatisic!!!” It was Beat Down. Feverish with urgency, he rushed the room, “Master! He --”

“What?!” Metatisic grabbed the warrior’s shoulders firm and hard. His fixation hadn’t left the hallway the soldier had just come from when fluorescent green suddenly flashed from its pitch dark recesses. Beat Down didn’t call out, he merely grunted, and jerked forward crashing against Metatisic’s chest. For the sheerest moment, the sovereign’s expression dominated with mostly unsettled masks of confusion rather than stunned surprise; all boggled by what had even occurred. When a thin line of smoke swirled off from Beat Down’s back however, Metatisic’s lenses sprang full and wide on a shape looming in the entrance way.

The figure was hardly ignorant to Sarterius’ presence to his left and he lept, ducking from the general’s line of fire. With the plasma rifle he carried tight in his grip, he pressed the blunt of it into Metatisic’s breastplate.

“Tell them to come no closer!” The robot ordered him, “Tell him now!!!”

“Stand down, Sarterius.”

“But --”

“I said stand down!!”

“Good.” The intruder’s smile was crooked with nervousness and there was good reason; more sounds of rushing feet was beginning to fill the halls. It wouldn’t be long before he was discovered. Unsteady in his resolve, the optics of the mech monitored every twitch of the general, and every shift of his royal hostage.

“You!” Metatisic spat.

“Yes, It has been awhile hasn’t it, my king. Well, I was looking forward to a meeting with you once before, but your guardsmen, as you see, are so incredibly rude. They wouldn’t permit me a proper audience so it seems as though I am left with force.”

“Is this your idea of a joke?!” Metatisic straightened to his feet allowing Beat Down to fall away from his embrace. The soldier hadn’t moved, nor spoke another word since he stormed the dome in panic. Either he was unconscious, or worse yet, dead! Either option, it was clearly obvious that this gloating mechanism was to blame.

“Get out!” Metatisic stood stock still pointing with so much demanding wrath that his fingers trembled, “Out!!”

“Now, now, M’lord. I commend your bravery, I really do, but you are hardly in any position to be making demands of me. My weapon stays where it is, and we’ve time only for what I have to say!”

At last he got through to the monarch --or so it would seem-- that he was in real danger of his life. Scoffing at the gun tip butting his chest, Metatisic sneered casually considering his host.

“I supposed you should commend your own bravery, Shard. Infiltrating the Iysurus temple in broad daylight is quite a remarkable feat. Even more incredible that you’ve survived to make it this far. That’s much more than your friend’s success this morning.”

“Shard?” Rumble’s brow lowered and gabled in one confused motion, “You think he knows this guy, Cyclonus?” He struggled to whisper, but Metatisic still managed to catch the query anyhow:

“He is a former member of the imperial regime here within this complex, and a once member of it’s court. A might good one too.” The Dourjer said. Harsh and calculating, he flowed from Rumble’s direction back to the transformer, “It makes the light of his treason that much more a weight upon his shoulder. Why are you here, Shard?”

“As I told you, a proper audience. I’ve come to talk soundly with you, Metatisic. I haven’t come here to ---”

“To kill my mechs?” Metatisic cut him off homing a eye upon the wreckage of Beat Down slumped upon the floor.

“A careless mistake.”

“YOU ARE A TRAITOR!!!”

“I have some information before you move your troops into the Nin’gur pass.”

The emperor paused. In fact, he nearly chuckled, “You have information? .. You?! Self-professed king of your renegade Decepticons and lying your fictitious claim to these borders in some delusional hope they might be true?! How DARE you?! As if you’d put your Rougeon comrades in danger.”

“I want the fight to end.” Shard did not change his demeanor, “Helping you will make that happen faster.”

“I find that hard to believe with your weapon against my chest.”

“I’ll not withdraw my weapon without your guarantee that you’ll hear me out.”

“Your time in the prisons have taught you nothing of respect!” Sarterius snarled. He stepped towards the two, but Shard’s finger itching on the trigger of his pistol kept him at bay. Other guards had arrived now, and more still. Flocked at the entrance, Sarterius shooed them back.

“I was guilty only of the crime of hunger.” Shard ho-hummed the remark but deep inside the cracked and potted armor, he was boiling in rage at the memory of the ordeal. “Your battalions destroy and seize our energy supplies and left us no other resource.”

“My energy supplies, Shard!” The emperor corrected immediately, “You keep forgetting to make note to that fact .... MY energy supplies.” His tone dropped slightly and he snorted, “I don’t like thieves. They not only steal, they lie. Which will put doubt into anything you even have to tell me now.”

“You’ll kill me if I lie.” The Rougeon stated calmly, “And being found dead is not part of my plan.”

“You’re gamble to be here now is already making that part of the appointment, Shard. I can just as easily have the information beaten out of you.” Metatisic said, “That usually saves time and guarantees that I’ll hear the truth.”

“Need I note that I was not dragged here, your highness.” Shard poked him with his gun as he spoke, “You said it yourself how amazing it was that I would dare come here and challenge this domain in broad daylight, but I walked in with the choice to instead tell you what I know. Not the Rougeon uprise.”

“Care to tell me why I am now your chosen one?” Metatisic asked, his voice flush with sarcasm.

“Well. The truth is that I stand a better chance to make a profit working with you. Other renegade leaders see information as a duty to the cause, and resistance fighters expect it for free. I don’t work for free.”

A smile waxed across Metatisic’s cheeks. He was able to stifled his chuckle at first, but as one brow rose after the other, he exploded into laughter, “See this. Sarterius!” He said uproarishly, “Even within traitors there is treason... hahaha! Heh–and just what makes you think I would be so free with my credits.”

“Your patrols are in danger, Metatisic. If you care for their continued ability to function, you’d pay to save their lives. That is, unless, you planned to decrease the population of the empire.”

“You would dare to threaten me?!”

“A fact is not a threat!” Shard defended. The vats of his lenses were all aslant. He seemed not to see too clearly even though there was no doubt that he could. The Rougeon’s free hand gripped Metatisic’s arm hard just above the elbow tight.

“Truth is,” He began again, “The might of our cause has come to the gates of this undefended captial! And you can be assured that they aim to slaughter just as much innocence as you intend to do in Nin’gur!” The look in Shard’s expression highlighted with newfound ludicrous, laughing at Metatisic’s wide open eyes.

“I am only it’s harbinger,” He delighted further, “And you’re such a trophy. Oooh, how I worshiped you once.”

Swelling in his moment of pride, a rifle cock alerted Shard to the catwalks above him. “What?!” Foolishly, the former imperial guard pulled his gun away from the leader’s chest and took aim ---It was his gravest mistake. With one powerful swing, Metatisic stole the distraction knocking the weapon clear from his hand. It skidded in cartwheels across the castaway. The Rougeon threw himself to reclaim it, but Sarterius kicked the rifle off the ledge.

“Worshiped me did you?! Then be the good burnt offering that you are!!”

Metatisic roared shoving the renegade hard. He barely hit the floor of the dome path when Metatisic growled viciously again, and suddenly transformed. The three Decepticons from the future shared the same moment of amazement. Eyes broadened upon the new alternative; a giant infantry canon of sorts. Fixed on tank wheels that reminded Rumble of the same grounding traction of the rolling prison cell that brought them to Bractos, inner mechanisms purred with thunderous power and equal fury. Metatisic’s tri-canon lowered to the Rougeon’s eye level from his position upon his knees.

“No .. no ... Metatisic waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait!!!!!!!”

No mercy. No vacillation from the angry ruler. The explosion rocked the perimeter. The three Decepticons from the future, even Sarterius and several other guardsmen, were knocked by the concussion of the blast. When Cyclonus finally could pry an eye open, Metatisic was transforming back to robot mode. Scowling at the whole experience, the Dourjer straightened and stood triumphantly with his head bowed towards the twist of iron at his feet.

The attack had torn Shard’s left arm and more than three quarters of the joining collar from the transformer. Ruins of metallic plate and rods sprayed out all around him for several feet. Some slivers burnt to color of charcoal smoldered as Shard’s jaw hung low captured entirely in the seizure of horrific agony.

“You were right, Shard.” Metatisic took aim at the traitor’s face and grinned at the drains of energon gushing forth from his quivering lips, “This IS a harbinger. And I don’t need your information...BAAAH!!”

The last shot took the trespasser’s head clean off. Hissing with disgust, Metatisic kicked the remaining wreckage from the bridge to the rushing waters far below. He didn’t say anything at first, and didn’t even bother to watch the body immediately lost in the mist. Instead, with his canon still smoking, his head scoped out over the thick assemblage of soldiers.

“Me!!” He bellowed feverishly; the volume steadily mounted, “I, alone, am the heir of Karna!!! As was inherited by my creator, his, and theirs before them!!! I’ll NOT share my privilege with riff-raff from the desert!! Destroy them you hear me!!! You will destroy them alllll!!”

Sarterius tucked his chin to his chest when Metatisic’s stare landed on him, “And you!” He fumed, “The most feared army this side of the universe and you cannot so much as dispense these shoddy constructs!!”

“My Lord, I ---”

“Shut up!!”

“But ---”

“Ouiet! And be thankful that you’re not joining what’s left of that no count double-crosser at the base of this ravine!”

Renegades --the identity of these mysterious “Rougeons” at last. Renegade Decepticons. Rumble dealt with them once before, and Cyclonus and Scourge both at least had heard of them. In a bid for their own power and prizes, they divided the empire throwing a large wrench into eons old traditions. They ignored order, sold out their patriotics for greed, and chose rulers from amongst themselves all while attempting to thieve territory from the rightful leader. Some centuries later, Megatron would cement the finale of the fruitless cause. To the last surviving group of them, he had their bodies destroyed saving only the personality components.

“The Combaticons.” Rumble thought of Swindle. He, and the rest of his gestalt team, were resurrected by using those components thanks to Starscream back in the year 1985, earth date.

In this time during Metatisic’s reign however, quickly judging the immediate situation, the renegades are more than apparently abundant as they are nuisance sacrilege. As the small Decepticon pondered the moment, loud whoops began to blare loudly throughout the maze halls of the Iysurus.

Shard wasn’t fibbing.

.

4

.

Another pair of soldiers, and Shockwave parted the guards at the door, “Mighty Metatisic!” He announced urgently, “Resistance units have been sighted just outside the capital gates!”

“Dad!” Megatron wiggled under the giant guardian’s leg and squeezed past a couple shields held by the guards around him, “There’s a bunch of Rougeons at the gates!”

“Megatron.” Metatisic touched the youth, but hurled the brunt of his concern back to the purple Decepticon, “How many?” He demanded.

“Several legions have been spotted, sire.”

Metatisic growled.

“That Rougeon tried to kill you?!”

“No need to fear, Megatron. He’s been terminated. .. consider it a lesson to you of what befalls all traitors. Remember that, Megatron.”

“I’m not afraid.” The prince insisted, “If I had been here I would have made him pay.”

“Heheh ..and I’m sure that you would.” Metatisic attempted to smile at his son’s declaration and hugged the boy to his leg, “Sarterius!! Where exactly is your men now?”

“Too far away yet, Great One.” Sarterius frowned, “I’ll radio them immediately, but most of them have already been dispatched to the Nin’gur pass. They’ve tricked us.”

“And we won’t left them know it, nor give them the moment to praise that accomplishment. What have we got available now?”

“There’s four units with me, M’lord. Aside those here that remained in Bractos.”

“Fine, fine. I want all able-bodied warriors to prepare to strike. I won’t have these reprobates breeching the city.” Shifting his focus for a moment, the monarch’s gaze fanned over Scourge. He paused, thought for a second, then peered over at Rumble and Cyclonus standing nearby.

“Decepticon, Cyclonus!” Metatisic beckoned his attention, “Are you and your mechs trained in any military tactics?”

“Oh.. No, Metatisic.” Sarterius laughed lightly, “Master, I am sure the size of our arsenal is already well enough than to include--- ”

“I said all those who were able-bodied, general. I don’t like to my victories to rely on another's sincerity. I want to be positive. Cyclonus!” Metatisic continued, “You claim your innocence and your desires for me to trust you ...well, then allow me to grant you that opportunity. Can you fight?”

“Um..” Cyclonus puzzled his reason for asking. Just before the renegade Shard stormed the dome, the Dourjer ordered Sarterius to take them to holding and he didn’t appear to trust him at all. This new quiz caught him off guard, “Y-yes, Mighty One.” He hesitantly replied. Pressing his lips together, Cyclonus regained his wit and confidently raised his head, “Yes, Mighty Metatisic, of course. What Decepticons would we be if we could not defend our plight at least once in a while?”

“Sarterius!! Release their braces.”

“Mighty One, If I may. My weapon, and the weapons of my fellow Decepticons were confiscated when we were arrested.”

One shackle fell. Then another. Scourge held his arms out.

“And restore their weaponry!” Metatisic added to the order and sieved Megatron close to him. Cyclonus’ study followed the great emperor and how tainted his expression was so immediately with spiderings of concern as he motioned his offspring towards Shockwave.

“Shockwave.” Galvatron’s second-in-command picked up on his low and breathy octave, “Shockwave listen to me. Take Megatron, keep him safe and close to you.” Metatisic’s voice was serious, “My ancestors .. each one of them who’s steel fist forged this land.”

“Metatisic, if anyone should understand the importance, I---”

“You must hear me out, Shockwave. Megatron is my only pedigree to the pact first sealed by Karna. If something should happen to me this day, Megatron MUST inherit! Yet he is still a child and I fear those who would take advantage of that fact to seize the throne from him. Swear to me, swear that you will uphold the empire by your duty to see to it that he remains favored, and grant to him your honor as you would respect me. Protect him, Shockwave. Please.”

As before, Shockwave saluted with his hand held to his forehead adding yet another to cross his chest, “As you have ordered, Metatisic. It will be done accordingly.”