Episode 4

TFWire presents War Stories, a fanfiction podcast.

Hello and welcome to TFWire's War Stories, Episode

4. I am your host, Steven Slash Megatron. The

story I will be reading tonight is called The

Bogs by Dragontail. Fan out. Keep your weapons

ready and your optics peeled. Ooh, don't we just

sound all leader -like? Don't try my patience,

Strongarm. We were the closest available unit,

and so it's up to us to contain the situation.

So sorry, Commander Treadbolt. I'd forgotten

you were a rough -and -tough military genius

now, instead of the formack of a geological -slash

-metallurgical survey. I said that's enough,

Strongarm. Get your processor on the job, all

right? Signal flare deactivated his internal

communicator, silencing his two best friends

in the process. He couldn't take any more of

the argument. They'd been through a lot together,

seen a lot of worlds, mined a lot of ore, refined

a heck of a lot of energon, but combat was alien

to them. Small wonder tempers were fraying already,

even before they'd met up with the strike force

proper. He swung his energon -powered radar dish

over the area, until... The call he, Treadbolt,

and Strongarm had been surveying the Hydrix Plateau

for possible ore deposits. Since the destruction

of Unicron and the Great Reformatting, the planet

Cybertron was fairly bursting with resources,

fuels, energy, and essential minerals. The act

of transforming to robot mode and back had replenished

Primus' surface just as surely as their creator

had renewed its children. Wounds. Both personal

and planetary had been healed. The world dominated

by the Decepticons for nine million years had

been swept away, and in its place revolved a

globe of seemingly endless possibilities. That

meant redrawing the geological maps, looking

at old regions in new ways. The Hydrix Plateau

had always been a spaceport and transport center,

nothing more. Signal Flare was confident it could

be the source of glorious wealth. Another Calus,

perhaps, given time and careful study. And he

and his team are the second best metallurgics

and geologists in the Autobot army, after Swerve.

Now it seemed they were going to be dragged into

combat just as he had been. Engines sounded overhead

and his fluids chilled. Instinctively, signal

flare transformed to robot mode and held his

deflector shield aloft. Decepticons, he thought

grimly. dropping to one knee to brace himself.

I'll have to let the others know that. He caught

sight of the incoming aircraft and he relaxed.

One was a long red and white craft with swept

back wings. The other was a snub -nosed blue

plane with large rear engines and gold trim.

Storm Jet and Terror Dive had arrived at the

rendezvous point as scheduled. Talking about

conditioning, Signal Flare thought dourly. I

watched the Decepticon retreat with my own optics.

I know Ultra Magnus and the Impossibles drove

them off -world, but I still duck and cover whenever

I hear a jet. Guess that's what millions of years

of fearing the skies will do for you, he coughed

and corrected himself. Well, the Impossibles

drove off every Decepticon, save for one. As

he watched, Storm Jet transformed in mid -air.

With a yelp, Signal Flare dove out of the way.

The maniac was falling right toward him. He crunched

onto the metallic planes, narrowly avoiding the

warrior's large black feet. A booming laugh echoed

around him. Come on, scrubber, get up. That's

no way to greet a colleague, is it? Signal flare

had heard all about Stormjet. He'd let a resistance

sell for most of the war, but it could hardly

be called underground. Possessed of an... Arsenal

considered by most Autobots to be a generous

upgrade. Stormjet fought the ruling Decepticon

class face -to -face. He also fought with most

of his troops. He had a reputation of starting

brawls with the subordinates just to pass the

time. Legend held he was to be the next inductee

to the near -mythical Wreckers prior to their

demise, and so chose to honor their memory by

continuing their Wreck -and -Rule style of combat.

Conversely, he'd heard almost nothing about Pterodive,

nor had anyone else, according to rumor. All

Signal Flare knew was that the cheerful, golden

-faced Autobot was supposed to be a berserker

on the battlefield. Looking at his goofy grin

and obscured hands, the geologists wondered how

that could possibly be. Sorry, Stormjet, he mumbled,

returning to his feet. I'm not so used to your...

style of welcome, shall we say. he stared hard

through his visor the warrior grinned leeringly

check out the bearings on this one he said over

his shoulder the comet meant for terradive spends

half the war off -world scratching in the dirt

then comes back to peace time and thinks he's

a big shot signal flare bristled he knew what

he'd contributed to the autobot war effort together

with strong arm and treadbolt he'd spent vorns

clinging to precarious or strapped to meteorites

with decaying orbits, scrounging up the energy

unnecessary to power lunkheads like Stormjet.

He'd been happy with his offstage role, with

the quiet praise of Optimus Prime in the inner

circle, but this was too much, even for his tiny

ego. Listen closely, you poorly assembled excuse

for a Transformer, he sputtered, sounding less

authoritative than he'd have liked. The only

reason you're able to carry even a third of those

jumped -up, high -octane, multi -purpose, fully

automatic cannons you have strapped to your frame

is because I dug up the energy I needed to keep

you running. So if you think you can drop in

on me, belittle me, and then expect me to follow

you into a combat situation I'm clearly not experienced

for, then you can reset your transistors and

blow it out your afterburners. He fell silent,

his body shaking with anger. He clenched his

shield tightly, fearful of a retaliatory strike,

and yet, in some part of himself, welcoming it.

Aw. Pterodive said simply, The little miner doesn't

want to live anymore. Signal flare froze rigid,

suddenly terrified. Comet was frightening enough

without the realization Pterodive was a femi.

She didn't move so much as an inch. Her creepy

smile unchanged. There was no indication, not

in the slightest, that she was joking. Signal

flare had met RC once, and yes, she was clearly

lethal. But this femmy was out of her processor

deadly to everyone, friend or foe. The geologist

stayed right where he was, too scared to move

either closer or away. A familiar rumbling rang

in his audio sensors, and he welcomed it. Treadbolt

and Strongarm had caught up with them. Treadbolt

transformed, unfurling from a tan and gold Earthmover

into a towering robot. The Formax stood at least

twice as tall as Stormjet, and with perhaps three

times the aerial warrior's shoulder span. His

long, treaded arms ended in a powerful, pincher

claws, and the look on his white and blue face

was menacing, as Strongarm had once commented.

The boss couldn't tackle a con to save his own

life, but he looks like he could cause a decent

scrap. There's a problem here? He bellowed. Treadbolt's

sheer size had always been enough to end any

excavation site scuffle, but Signal Flare doubted

it would help much here. Stormjet looked the

larger mech up and down, then sniffed. You look

kind of like an old friend of mine, he said sourly.

But there's an essential difference. He's dead

and I'm alive? Treadbolt glowered, seeming to

understand the reference. no storm jack growled

he was a warrior and you just look like one his

left foot snapped out catching treadbolt in the

right knee servo the big mech yowled and pitched

forward throwing his arms out in time to save

face but not to prevent an embarrassing landing

i've had just about enough of this slag strong

arm roared the little jeep twisted and turned

it until it became a stubby stocky angry little

mech with a big frowing axe then leaped at the

resistance leader. Pterodive was between them

in less than an astrosecond, reaching out and

changing Strongarm's path mid -flight. The diffusion

technique worked perfectly, and the miner was

dumped unceremoniously next to his boss. Pterodive

hissed. Let's clear up the chain of command,

Stormdret said grandly. He pointed to himself.

Leader, he gestured to Pterodive, second in command.

He pointed to each of the miners. Cannon fodder,

cannon fodder, cannon fodder. We clear? Good.

He sniffed again, running in gunmetal blue. Thumb

under his olfactory sensor. The rest of it goes

like this. When they turned tail and ran, the

cons left one of their own behind, here on Cybertron.

Some of the resettlement units have reported

seeing this mech around, swiping from their energon

supplies and scaring the non -warrior mechs.

He all but spat the last three words. Sensor

sweeps have tracked the rogue here, to the plateau,

though it's more likely the con is operating

out of the Rust Sea region than borders it. Autobot

High Command wants to guarantee a safe environment

for the Transformer population, especially in

light of the incident at the Underbase a few

cycles ago. Ergo, it falls to the five of us

to find this rogue con, recycle its chassis,

and take its head to Iacon as proof of its expiration.

Treadbolt growled. We were the closest unit,

and so we got the call. He said darkly. I spoke

directly with Red Alert, and he told me to bring

the refugee, whoever it is, in, but fully functional.

Red Alert isn't here, Pterodive said smoothly,

and anything can happen on a battlefield, Dirt

Scratcher. Well put, love, Stormjet said. The

briefest of moments Pterodive's ever -present

grin changed to a smile of actual joy, then vanished

abruptly. Maybe, Signal Flare mused. Stormjet

is the reason nobody knows anything about Terradive.

Without another word, Stormjet and Terradive

transformed and took to the sky. Sweep the coastline

and keep in touch. Leave the real scouting to

us, they called back mockingly. They rocketed

away, twin plumes of exhaust marking their trajectories.

Not too obvious, Strongarm equipped. Come on,

Treadbolt said. Does it loot her, really? Let's

get this over with. Are we having less fun now?

We're not in charge, Mr. Leader Man, sir. Ah,

stick it in neutral, would you? A few hours later,

when Strongarm began to crack wise about combing

the beach, Signal Flare knew they'd been searching

for too long. The Rust Sea wasn't a sea, per

se. Cybertron in its natural state had no water.

There were lakes of energon and lakes of coolant,

but no actual water. Had there been, the scraplet

epidemic of a few centuries back would have been

cured easily. The Rust Sea, which ran in an L

-shape from polyhex to the tip of terrorists,

was actually an area of unstoppable matter and

molecular flux. Bigger processors than his would

likely be able to connect it with some mechanical

function of their living planet. Some need of

primuses. but signal flare wasn't about to enter

such debates the hydrix plateau was bordered

on each of its five sides by the sea that wasn't

and connected to mainland tagon heights by a

single narrow freeway every now and again the

whole area would be illuminated by a solar flare

the power plants of the heights venting off excess

energy while it was great for cybertron it was

bad for signal flare and his friends The more

the planet inhabitants embraced alternative energy,

the less work there was for them. That would

increase their uselessness, and, if Stormjet's

opinion was any indication, further erode their

standing within the Autobot forces. He tried

to push such thoughts aside, to concentrate on

his task, but he couldn't. Even within the Autobot

ranks, scientists fought hard to earn any measure

of respect. Few did. for every red alert downshift

or swerve there were countless others who toiled

in obscurity or worse ridicule sometimes signal

flare felt megatron had done more than wipe out

colonies and thousands of lives sometimes he

felt the despot had destroyed the cybertronian

way peace thought enlightenment advancement with

his warmongering these days it was hard when

you looked at mechs like stormjet and femmys

like pterodive to tell the difference between

the bots and the cons suddenly he skidded his

four front wheels lost all traction while his

rear tread scrambled for purchase he caught brief

glimpses of strongarm and treadbolt having similar

difficulties even the jeep's thick heavy tires

weren't helping tide's rising treadbolt called

out it's all well and good except for one thing

strongarm yelled back The Rust Sea doesn't have

tides. Signal flare cast his scanners upwards.

It does now, he told his friends. Unicron's head

is exerting gravitational pull on the surface

of Cybertron. Our planet has a moon for the first

time and the sea is reacting as any fluid mass

should. Terrific, Strongarm grumbled. Why the

frowl would a con pick this area to hide in,

anyway? I mean, who wants to get wet? none of

us signal flare thought but we don't have much

choice the waters are rising pretty quickly he

transformed to robot mode just as his friends

did the same walking had become their only choice

the search had to continue as they pushed on

the sea crept up and over the edge of the plateau

flooding the disused spaceport and its runways

the area kept filling the fluid levels rising

higher and higher within a few hours found themselves

waiting The waters came up to the mid -sections

of the smaller two Autobots and to Treadbolt's

knees. Now, walking wasn't much more of an option

than driving. This seems really familiar to me,

Treadbolt mused. I can't remember why. Maybe

something I read somewhere. Ah, who cares, Strongarm

groused, holding his hook gun over his head to

keep it dry. This is a big, fat, dumb waste of

our time. We're either going to get washed off

the plateau or rowed in place before we find

this alleged rogue Decepticon. And let me tell

you, getting my tailpipes wet so the good citizens

of the Taken Heights resettlement can power down

in comfort and safety isn't real high on my list

of priorities. As one, Signal Flare and Treadbolt

turn to look at him. Sorry, he grins sheepishly.

I'm wet. I'm tired, I'm getting low on power,

and we're doing someone else's dirty work. While

that someone else and his lady feme swan about

in the skies above, I might add. His shockwave

hit them from behind, pitching them into the

bog. Signal flare went under, spinning over himself.

He started to panic. He had no idea which way

the surface was. The waters of the Rust Sea were

thick, brown and murky, like being entombed in

mud. no light penetrated the turgid depths and

his own headlights made barely a dent in the

gloom transformers couldn't drown of course but

they could be swept away dashed on the ruins

of his spaceport at the jagged edges of a powerful

fingers wrapped around his neck and dragged him

coughing and sputtering back to the surface his

hazy vision refocused on treadbolt the big mac's

face was etched with concern You all right, little

dreamer? He asked, and Signal Flare nodded. Treadbolt

set him right on his feet, then fished around

and pulled strong air on him, clear and much

the same way. Come on, Grumpy, he sighed. Get

back on your... feet? Treadbolt screamed. Signal

Flare had never heard this sound before, never

even seen his boss express the remotest of terror.

He shook his head to degauss his vision. trained

his optics on his friends and understood why

the Formak was screaming. He'd found Strongarm.

All right. Half of him. The jeep had just been

cleaved in two, his lower torso and legs entirely

missing. His face was a mask of agony and shock.

His once amber hues had already faded to the

dull steel of permanent deactivation. Sweet Primus,

Signal Flare whispered hoarsely. with a loud

splash treadbolt fell to his knees he cradled

strongarm's remains against his massive chest

buddy he groaned mournfully oh frell no oh no

signal flare rested his hand on his friend's

shoulder as he continued speaking we were going

to macadam's he said voice thick with disbelief

it never closed during the war you know but it

was hard to get to especially if you weren't

carrying firepower but we used to go together

back in the day before the war and all and we

were going to go there again too you know celebrate

his tone grew better celebrate the new peace

it's okay no it's not because my best friend

is dead and the last words he ever spoke to each

other were harsh and cruel. Someone in this blasted

muck stole my pal, and stole my chance to make

amends. He stood up suddenly, flexing one of

his claws. A subspace pocket opened in response

to the silent command and ejected a long, slender

demolition missile. Treadbolt inserted it into

a small slot on his waist. Then he reached for

a round and fastened Strongarm's ruined torso

to the magna clamp on his back. The shockwave

came from that direction, he said gesturing.

Let's go see what it was. As they started waiting,

Signal Flare did a quick check of his systems.

His power levels were starting to run low. All

this wading through thick muck is draining me,

he thought. And I'm far more fuel efficient than

Treadbolt. The big guy must be near running on

fumes. Or rage. We need to find this Decepticon

soon or hightail it back to the Heights and recharge.

If there was one thing in the universe Signal

Flare knew about, it was Energon. When Downshift

had discovered the means to solidify the fuel

source and use it to construct tools and weapons,

he was one of the first to embrace the concept.

Many a dull day of mining had passed with him,

sculpting intricate patterns, sculptures, and

artifacts out of the glowing substance. Even

the axe Strongarm used well. had used was a signal

flare creation if i can imagine it i can make

it he used to tell his friends he knew energon's

range and he knew its limitations he knew how

far it could be stretched before it snuffed itself

out and he feared treadbolt was fast approaching

that critical watershed over here strong arm

called signal flare quickened his pace as much

as he could By the time he caught up, the bigger

mech had already pulled a struggling, threshing

form from the water, but it wasn't the Decepticon.

Surprise! Pterodive muttered. Her optics glazed

and synthesizer garbled. Taken by surprise! Her

two -tone blue armor was cracked and pockmarked

in several places, and one of her wings had snapped

off. Her head -mounted dual guns were gone, a

tangled mess of wires marking their passing.

What happened? Fractify now. Treadbolt replied.

Check out her foot. The right one. That's the

cockpit of her flight mode, and it's all crumpled

and twisted and mashed in, almost like something

hit her. Head on. Something fast. And blunt.

Treadbolt agreed. Years of mining had made him

an expert on impact patterns and relief. Maybe

even a bullet -shaped. Pterodive rubbed her head

with one stubby hand and eased out of Treadbolt's

grip. Trying to stand in the tide, little taller

than signal flare, she was almost lost beneath

the waves. The dirty fracker timed it with solar

burst from the heights. She spat angrily, her

faculties returning despite her damage. Hit me

right in the nose. Rammed me. The crazy mech

and I went down. I was starting to regain control

when the sonic boom pushed me down into this

slag. What the fro was it? Did you see? Signal

flare heard a gentle plop sound behind him. He

turned, but there was nothing there. Another

plop, this time to their side. Followed by another

and another. He looked up, wondering if it had

somehow started to rain. As impossible as that

was, and was struck in the face by a falling

metal object. Ow! He yelled, stumbling. Treadbolt

caught him before he fell into the water, just

as two more pieces of debris clanged off his

outstretched arm. Objects rained down around

them, and each one that connected was heavier,

more painful than the last. Over here, Signal

Flare called, raising his shields. The others

ducked under it, Treadbolt almost submerging

to fit, as he willed it to expand to its limits.

He could almost feel the drain on his dwindling

energon reserves, but it had to be done. Let's...

Having lots of power would do him no good if

he was unconscious. Pieces kept falling, bouncing

harmlessly off the shield. None of them were

particularly familiar. Just jagged shards of

metal, chunks of wiring, and what looked like

broken weapons. Maybe a defense satellite blew

up. Signal flare wondered aloud. With a dull

thud, a clunk of garbage impacted on the dead

center of the shield. Lifeless optics stared

at them, accusatory, while the remnants... of

olfactory sensors crumbled into dust as they

watched. Half of the proud black helm was missing,

and the gold eyebrow band had been tarnished

and blackened by heat. Despite it all, the decapitated

head was unmistakably that of Stormjet. Frill,

Treadbolt muttered. The god must have detonated

his payload, an explosion so big it's taken this

long for the parts to fall back to Cybertron.

The sight was too much for Pterodive to bear.

No! She screamed again and again, pushing past

Signal Flare and back into the maelstrom of pieces.

Not him! Not now! Not ever! She ranted from a

subspace pocket. She drew an oddly shaped, twin

-barreled, blue Energon rifle and started firing

into the air, into the water. Her pattern indiscriminate

and maddened. Take my wings, take my guns, but

you won't take him. You can't. She wailed, emptying

her chambers at nothing. You won't take me or

him or us or... A snarling, roaring sound echoed

over the flooded area, and with a shocked yelp,

Terradive was sucked under the water. Seconds

passed. Waters turned and bubbled. Then her steely

gray carcass bobbed to the surface, floated for

a moment, then sank out of sight. Signal flare

retched, his sump turning. Treadbolt was muttering

again. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it, I knew

it, he said quietly. A battle on earth, a book

I scanned, that Misha showed me, when we went

scouring for Energon that time, Culloden Moor.

He said the name like it was a tomb. Culloden

Moor, the English wrote in the Scottish. The

Scots chose their territory poorly, making their

charge across a peat -up bog. They weren't just

defeated. They were massacred. They were exhausted

from wading across the mess, and the English

routed them, butchered them, and hung anyone

they caught running away. Signal flare swallowed

hard, and undulations in his sump unbearable.

Just like us, he gasped while thinking of his

energon levels running on empty. Treadbolt stepped

out from under the shield. He held his claws

out in front of him. and something resembling

a fighting stance and swung his waist from side

to side. Whoever this Khan is, he's been to Earth,

read about the same battle. He said darkly, optics

fixed on the water. But that makes no sense.

All the best tacticians are accounted for. He

started walking forwards. Shock blast, star scream,

sound wave, crew lock. He took one more step

and froze. What? Signal flare asked, his voice

trembling. What is it? the big mech gulped landmine

he said hopelessly with a geyser of water and

a howl of pain treadbolt exploded the force of

the blast lifted signal flare off his feet and

threw him arms and legs waving uselessly hundreds

of meters back he slammed into a left -over side

post marking the edge of the spaceport and started

to fall something in him cried out and so he

grabbed madly at the side shaft iron diggers

dug into the softer metal and held fast keeping

him out of the murky depths he'd lost his shield

but he'd kept his head so far anyway his processor

raced why can't we see this slager it can't be

that he's using the waters for cover that's too

simple he's got to have some kind of on -board

stealth package as well some kind of device that's

shielding him from unconventional detection Storm

Jet and Pterodive obviously couldn't pick him

out from the solar flare, so it's unlikely he's

radiating heat. But there's one thing no Transformer

can hide, his Energon signature. Signal flare

raised his cannon -like right arm and concentrated,

willing a small red Energon disk into existence.

He pointed it at the water and it started to

spin, scanning for anything that matched its

very substance. If I can manage it, I can create

it. And I'm imagining a device that can pinpoint

the very spot you're swimming, you sneaky fracker.

He growled inwardly. A display came to life inside

his head, toggling over the visual of his left

optic. It detected the faintest trace of Energon

moving in a serpentine path under the muddy brown

waters. Faint because you're hungry. Perhaps

even starving, Signal Flare grinned. You're raiding

the settlers' supplies just to keep yourself

online. Using whatever weapons you have left.

He was thinking like a geologist and a metallurgist.

Breaking down all the composite elements of the

situation and analyzing them one by one to learn

the truth of the whole. That's the reason for

the sneak tactics. For using Stormjet's own arsenal

to detonate his arrogant hide. You're strong,

but only if you can sneak up on a helpless miner

or a distraught flyer. That's why you needed

the mine to take out Treadbolt. But it was your

last piece of ordinance, too. That's why you

won't get me. Keeping his sights locked firmly

on this slithering signature directed another

burst of energy into the disc. His imagination

was running overtime, with a thought. He could

create a single -shot energon cannon powerful

enough to pierce the Decepticon's weakened armor

and bring him down. Revenge for Treadbolt, for

Strongarm, for poor, deluded Pterodive, and even

the arrogant, spiteful Stormjet. One shot, and

he'd still have enough power to stay online and

call for help. A voice rang out in his mind.

I spoke directly with Red Alert, and he told

me to bring the refugee, whoever it is, in, but

not fully functional. Signal flare grimaced.

He couldn't do it. Have the first shot he'd fired

in combat be not only fatal, but against orders.

He thought again, twisting his energy on creation

into a form of a net instead. With enough power,

it would be able to contain this fugitive. it

might knock him off -line though he activated

the magnet clamp in his hand locking himself

to the sign -post then switched on his passive

distress signal he'd be in stasis lock but the

decepticon would be captured and reinforcements

would be on their way greeting his jaw servos

he fired the glowing net sailed over the waters

guided unerringly by the scent of energon and

splashed down over a certain area The filthy

muck churned and bubbled once again as a large

bullet -like shape burst onto the surface, his

power cells draining from exertion. Signal flares

still gasped at the black, orange, and purple

shape before him. Four sets of twin cannons swiveled

uselessly, rear -mounted slashing fins flailed

without effect. The oil -stained monster, pieces

of the deceased sticking jaggedly from his armor,

was Shark Decon. Makes no sense, Signal Flare

thought weakly. Sharkticon is a coward. He's

been running scared from Bulkhead for centuries.

He runs from any fight as soon as it starts.

Every mech knows that. So why, and how, has he

killed everyone here? Sharkticon seethed beneath

the net, his rage almost tangible. Let me out,

Attlebot, he said, his voice ice cold. And I'll

make it quick and painless. You can't hold me.

Your friends couldn't stop me. You're dead anyway.

Signal flares shook his head. You're nothing

but the power of suggestion, a ghost story, a

horror movie, he spat back, sneaking and lurking

and killing from the shadows. Face to face, you've

got no sway, no abilities. You're just a fish

in a net. The Decepticon lost his composure,

thrashing about in the water and trying to transform

to robot mode. You're no butcher of the bogs,

Signal Flare continued, remembering the story

of Cullodenmore. You're a... He jerked suddenly,

feeling fuel in his throat. An astrosecond later,

his depleted systems registered the four laser

blasts that had dug into his back. Still magnetized

to the signpost, he slumped forward, fighting

to stay conscious. A second dark shape crossed

his viewscreen. a long purple skiff decepticon

logos emblazoned on its side from its deck rose

a massive four -barreled cannon the weapon that

had just ended his life as his perceptions darkened

signal flare watched the skiff crack open and

swing out to reveal a lithe gray and gold femmy

her long smooth legs dropped into the water but

she did not sink thanks to the curvaceous flotation

devices sprouting from her chestplate to his

surprise she winked at him then spoke to sharptacon

in a voice like razors and so the mighty hunter

is caught she rasped centuries of what was it

laying traps and fattening bait yes that's it

Millions of years of planning all undone because

you don't have enough power left to kill a single

miserable Autobot. Forced to hunt to survive.

Forced to wipe out an entire Autobot strike force

to prevent capture. You've finally broken cover.

If that little smear on your signpost lives,

the whole world will know the truth. Sharkticon

is no coward. But the worst serial killer Cybertron

has ever seen. All your power. She gestured with

one hand. Poof. Up in smoke. Gone forever. Sharkticon

struggled to his robot mode and glowered at her.

Get to the point, Chromia. The Femi smirked.

If you don't want to go down in history as the

Butcher of the Bogs. Then you don't want the

infamy that comes with your kill telly. Then

it's time to consider a new allegiance. A different

way. A true path, if you will, to the conquest

and domination of two worlds. Starscream left

you behind after the Iacon typical. And likely

hasn't noticed you're gone. We can provide you

shelter. Energon and, best of all, obscurity.

Let you kill in the quiet as long as you kill

for us. Gromia fired her weapon a second time,

severing the Energen net. Shartacon threw off

his bonds and stood up, tall enough for the waters

to come only to his upper thighs. His dark green

optics flashed murderously. Not that I have a

choice, of course. Not a one. Gromia giggled

unpleasantly. But if you keep an open mind, you

might find an opportunity with as zealotry as

I have. She winked again and nodded meaningfully.

Your arm, Sharkticon said. He gestured at Signal

Flare. And the Autobot? Signal Flare shook his

head, trying to clear the static from his optics.

It was no good. His systems were powering down

and he could feel no longer. His legs. And he

was going to die, and his distress call was yet

to elicit a response. He'd done his best, and

it simply was not good enough. Cannon fodder.

Dead max, Chromia sneered. Tell no tales. Then

she raised her weapon and fired a third time.

The end. And that concludes the story. If you

would like to hear your story read on a future

show, please post it in the War Stories area

on the TFWire forums. After doing that, all you

have to do is give us permission to use it in

a future podcast. This is Steven slash Megatron,

signing off. The preceding story was not endorsed

by Hasbro and is meant for entertainment purposes

only. All fan fiction stories are copyrighted

to their respective authors, and all fan fiction

stories used within this podcast are used with

permission from the author. This has been a TFWire

.com production.