Je Me Souviens

Mindset had ten minutes to live.

He stood on the edge of the Cam Rahn Plateau on the planet Karn. Removed from his usual cyberforming duties, his mission here was to simply eradicate the planet’s inhabitants in an attempt to lure the Autobots from hiding. He wasn’t happy about it. He was cold, and the dusty environment played havoc with his joints, and he hated the feel of rock under his feet. He was far happier co-ordinating sorties from the comforts of his control base and it was very rare that he had to visit a planet’s surface. Technically not a cyberformer, Mindset’s reputation for devising economical methods for genocide quickly earned him the rank of Phase II Suzerain. In other words he was in charge of sterilising organic life from planets picked for cyberforming. Like his fission-brother, Obsidian, he didn’t do anything by halves; and they both enjoyed rapid ascension in their chosen vocations. How it annoyed Mindset that his commander, Jhiaxus, saw fit to send him to Karn.

I bet Obsidian never got this treatment, he thought.

Mindset’s thoughts were interrupted by his second-in-command. There was a problem. Loss of contact with the Northwest perimeter watch. Mindset watched in quiet horror as a black tsunami appeared over the horizon and consumed his minions. He barked an order at his Stormtroopers, but there was nothing to be done. Mindset tried to defend himself but the Swarm simply mimicked him and dark claws came down upon him like a falling cloud of death.

The ebony plague devoured Mindset in an instant. Each circuit consumed by the Swarm was agonising retribution for every single life sacrificed for the sake of the cyberforming project. Mindset’s last thought was of the Hub as his life force dissipated and became one with the Swarm.

On board the Warworld, a central strut-wrenching sensation rose up inside Onslaught as he clutched his torso and keeled over with an uncharacteristic, “EEUUARGH!”

It must have been the fourth or fifth such attack since he came online, but this one was definitely the most painful. Despite several consultations with Hook, Onslaught never understood the cause of the attacks. He had assumed it to be some kind of mechanical glitch never fixed when he was built, but Hook threatened to over-tighten his lug-nuts if he ever entertained such a theory in public, putting the Constructicons’ abilities in a bad light. Onslaught had come up with many theories in his seven years of existence. He even questioned his own origins.

Maybe the Constructicons didn’t build him on Earth.

It would certainly explain a few things. His instant leadership of the Combaticons and subsequent promotion to Military Operations Commander when Ratbat came into power on Earth for one thing. It was clear he was Megatron’s favourite in any case, much to the chagrin of Motormaster. Onslaught didn’t believe that leadership came naturally. It had to be worked on. Developed. So much just didn’t compute with his logical mind. But there was one thing he was sure of, if he didn’t act soon the next attack could well kill him!

Blast Off reached forward to help his distressed leader. But it was clear that Onslaught didn’t want his help. The Combaticon Space Warrior put it down to embarrassment, he knew all too well that his leader had his pride.

Despite his general aloofness, Blast Off was close to Onslaught. As were all the Combaticons. There was an unexplained and unspoken emotional connection between them all. But they were warriors and would never consider bringing up the subject. Nevertheless, the combination process did involve the necessary physical connections and pooling of life force. And on some levels, certain Autobots considered bonding to be quite intimate.

Most Decepticons considered such a thought to be just plain gross!

As the intensity of his attack began to subside, Onslaught made his way to his personal quarters. By the time he reached the command level, the excruciating chip flashes had disappeared and he almost felt well enough to activate the visitor alert console on Motormaster’s quarters and make a dash to his own room.

There was a priority schedule alert waiting for him as Onslaught entered his quarters. A meeting with some of the Autobot delegates currently onboard in 27 cycles. It could wait. Onslaught removed the photon missile launcher from his back (how he hated lugging that thing around all the time) and settled down to interface with his computer console.

Since the discovery of the Transformers genetic code by Vorath during Mindwipe’s exile from Scorponok’s Decepticons in the early nineties, the Transformers Mastercomputer Underbase had been extensively updated to include the unique Vorcode of every known Transformer in its records. It was a logical first step, Onslaught concluded, to perform a search of his own Vorcode to see if there were any Decepticons before him with the same genetic configuration.

1000 1000 11 111 111 1000 1000 1001 111010 11010 was transmitted into the console and Onslaught waited impatiently for the Warworld to contact the TMU on Cybertron. Soundwave had obviously not yet installed the new T3 connector and the mastercomputers on Cybertron were a femme-bot for bandwidth!

On board the Autobot shuttle on its way home from the Kol system, a priority alert broke Megatron’s hateful gaze directed at the back of Grimlock’s head. How he hated the Dinobot! And why Optimus insisted on his presence was beyond the comprehension of the Decepticon Leader. Megatron rose from his seat and moved silently to a discrete area at the rear of the bridge.

He opened a channel to the Warworld and spoke into the personal communicator on his left forearm: “Come in Soundwave! Someone on board the Warworld is attempting to access TMU files on Onslaught!”

“I know what to do, Lord Megatron,” came the crackled reply.

“Make it a priority, Soundwave,” Megatron spoke with a little more urgency. “We cannot afford any doubt on Onslaught’s part at this critical time.”

Megatron snapped his communicator shut and returned to his seat. He gasped a short breath as if someone had ethereally tightened his Cobra armour. Grimlock turned behind him and played an audio sample through his vocal circuits of an old recording of Joy Meadows tut-tutting at Sludge. Megatron narrowed his eyes and targeted the Dinobot Commander with his rail gun. Grimlock smiled and turned around knowing full well at this range, Megatron’s weapon would breach the shuttle’s hull from the inside and no one would get home.

Onslaught’s eyes widened with intrigue and the mastercomputer returned results of his search. Two names flickered into view. Onslaught. And Obsidian.

Onslaught rarely lost his temper. But when he did, it was explosive!

“What happened to you?!” balked a perplexed Soundwave as the door to Onslaught’s quarters slid open to reveal a dripping wet Combaticon leader.

Onslaught turned his back on the Communications Officer and threw his arms up into the air. “You tell me,” he cried, “you’re the mind-reader!”

Soundwave cautiously walked into the room, treading carefully so as not to slip on the wet floor. He glanced around, surveying Onslaught’s quarters. It was unheard of for Soundwave to visit other Decepticons like this. True he spent a lot of time in the corridors, using his mind-reading capabilities to scan for anything that might hold him in higher regard in the optics of Megatron. Military paraphernalia littered the walls, along with a few medals and some kind of sculpture crafted by the other Combaticons from the carcass of a Karkan foot soldier. Most noticeable though, was the smouldering pile of debris where the computer console used to be.

“The sensitivity of the new anti-fire system needs recalibrating,” said Onslaught, a little calmer now.

“Well you would launch a close-range photon missile inside your own quarters!” Soundwave switched to his affable mode. The outcome of this very meeting could well shape the future of the Decepticon war effort according to Megatron, and Soundwave needed to employ every trick in the book to make sure it was the right outcome.

He continued. “What were you doing anyway?”

Onslaught raised his left hand to his helmet and dragged his fingers slowly down one side of his face. “I may as well be honest. I’m sure you already know my thoughts.”

Soundwave sensed something in Onslaught he had never encountered before. Paranoia.

“I had another involuntary power ebb just two breems ago. And it got me thinking.”

Soundwave hated Decepticons who spent their time thinking. Megatron valued them more than mindless warriors, and Onslaught was certainly one of his favourites. “Thinking about what?”

“My creation. Who I am. Who I was.”

Soundwave paused. Motioned to speak but then stopped.

“It’s like for no reason, I started questioning my identity. And now with what’s just happened I’m questioning it all the more.”

Soundwave interrupted. “You found out that you share the same genetic sequence as a Transformer called Obsidian?”

“I don’t like you reading my mind!”

“I’m not,” reassured Soundwave. “I was present when the Combaticons were created. I watched the Constructicons build Vortex, Brawl, Blast Off and Swindle from scratch.”

“What about me?”

“All I know is that you already existed in some capacity back on Cybertron. A tactician known as Obsidian, whose military career Megatron kept a close eye on.”

Onslaught’s optics flickered brightly. The less cynical side of him felt no small amount of pride. The great Megatron had chosen him to lead the Combaticons: The Decepticons’ crack commando team selected for dangerous special operations. What an honour! But he was getting ahead of himself. He was not the mind reader here.

Best let Soundwave continue, he thought to himself.

“Obsidian was killed in the line of duty and Megatron instructed Lord Straxus to safeguard your remains so you might be reanimated at some future time.”

“The time the Combaticons were built!” Onslaught surmised.

“Quite,” Soundwave started to look slightly less comfortable, adjusting the mortar cannon on his shoulder. “Your superstructure had to be completely rebuilt, mainly to facilitate combining with the other Combaticons, but also to give you your earthen mode.”

“But what happened to my memories?”

Soundwave took a step closer to Onslaught and scratched at a tiny scuff on the surface of his chest. “Megatron felt it wise to wipe your memory clusters to aid the mind-merge during the formation of Bruticus.

“It is our experience that a merge group works best with all minds at the same age, so to speak, though we required a group leader with the necessary innate experience and skills.”

“Not like the Stunticons!” joked Onslaught.

“Do not interrupt me.

“We transferred your memories as Obsidian into locked memory clusters located within your auxiliary neurones. They are still there somewhere.”

Soundwave leaned forward into a shadow cast from the hanging Karkan and lowered his voice, switching from affable to unnerving: “Megatron would forbid it, but I could use my skills to unlock them and you can learn the whole truth.”

Onslaught took a jump back out of the shadow and held his palms open towards Soundwave, nervously shaking them. “No need!”

Composing himself, he continued: “All you’ve told me is quite sufficient… it’s just seeing the two names on the screen there…” he pointed to the debris, “just kind of freaked me out. That’s all.”

“Very well,” said Soundwave, uncomfortably aware of the length of time he’d spent in an other officer’s quarters. “I had better get back to my post. Megatron’s shuttle is due back soon.”

Onslaught gestured to the door, remaining silent.

Affable Soundwave again: “But, please. If there’s anything else you need, I’ll do all I can.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Soundwave paused by Onslaught’s hanging medals on his way out and cupped one in the palm of his hand. “You were missed at the meeting today. We might have to start taking these back from you.”

Onslaught just glared. Greasy lug-nut, he thought.

“I heard that,” Soundwave calmly said as he left the room and the door slid shut behind him.

Onslaught paused momentarily to let it all sink in. But he was stirred as his personal communicator blip-blipped.

It was Brawl: “Hey boss! We’re having a few low-grades in the bar. Vortex has just come up with another prank for Motormaster! It’s gonna be--“

“Not tonight, Brawl,” his leader replied. “I have some thinking to do before downtime.”

Onslaught glanced around his quarters. Till about twenty minutes ago, he thought all that made him was here. But Soundwave had a different story to tell. On some levels Onslaught was satisfied, and he certainly wasn’t going to let Soundwave inside his mind to find out more. Nevertheless, Megatron chose him for his skills as a strategist to be the command element of the Combaticons, and Onslaught was proud of such a thought.

Megatron’s voice crackled out of Soundwave’s communicator: “Excellent work Soundwave!”

“As commanded, great Megatron. I timed the computer to crash before the TMU datafiles were downloaded, I earned his trust, I told him our version of events, and I put the willies up him!”

The radio crackled with no response.

“Er… it’s an earthen term, my Lord!”

“As long as he no longer questions his origins. Or feels the need to look any further.”

“No need for further worry Megatron. The truth is still safe.”

Soundwave narrowed his optics and concentrated. Hard.

The Decepticon mind-reader stood motionless in his quarters and focused his gaze upon a wall-mounted crystal on the other side of the room. Everything was dark and there was no sound save for the near-silent hum of the Warworld’s environmental conditioning system. It was supposed to be his downtime, but he had been thinking about Onslaught. He executed Megatron’s plan flawlessly. But did Megatron’s agenda match his own? Soundwave was clearly jealous of his fellow lieutenant and perhaps if he did learn the truth of his own existence Onslaught would rebel against Megatron. And strengthen Soundwave’s position of power.

Besides, Soundwave was keen to know the truth of Onslaught’s origins.

Soundwave concentrated harder still and the crystal began to shimmer. It was a new technique. Soundwave got the idea from a human intelligence agency project known as remote viewing. If he could focus his ability, he may be able to read minds at a distance. Soundwave thought he was about to blow his resistors. He didn’t even know if it was going to work!

Onslaught froze. The cannikin of radium-free premium grade dropped from his numb fingers. Absolute fear gripped every single one of his circuits and a wave of dread flowed from his neck down his arms to the tips of his fingers. He felt cold. His optics failed. He couldn’t move. He thought he was dead.

Suddenly a high frequency shrill invaded his consciousness. It was almost too painful to bear. Through the noise he could just about make out a familiar sound.

A voice.

“Soundwave…

“Get… out… of… my… head!”

War and death filled the air.

A mercurial, dual-rotor helicopter soared through the skies of Cybertron, raining sweet extinction onto the scarred surface below. It dodged under skyways, over highways and around towers in pursuit of its panicked target. The bold Decepticon logo painted on its nosecone signalled one thing only to its prey. No escape!

It radioed its command, “execute manoeuvre beta-epsilon-nine!”

On the ground below, the three members of its team transformed into vehicle mode and sped off to predetermined co-ordinates. A dark green and purple thunderjet overtook the helicopter’s target by 50 metres and transformed and landed out of view. The two ground vehicles positioned themselves 50 metres directly left and right of the target. They remained in tank mode. And waited.

The target -- an Autobot -- clearly out of his league, drove straight into the carefully prepared trap. Cursing himself, he transformed to robot mode and desperately tried to find a way out. There was none. The two tanks opened fire with precision and blew the arms off the Autobot. His own screams were drowned out as the helicopter plummeted from the skies and perforated his steel skin with a hailstorm of bullets. The Autobot fell. The purple Decepticon approached their quarry and scanned for vital signs.

“All systems functioning at nominal efficiency, commander.”

“Excellent,” the helicopter transformed and hovered menacingly over its fallen prey. “I do love it when a plan comes together!”

High Councillor Traachon marched through the corridors of Autobase. He barged his way through the double doors that led into the massive Council Chamber. Xaaron and Tomaandi turned as one in surprise, moving their attention from space cruiser schematics to their distraught fellow.

Traachon lowered his head and spoke slowly: “I’ve just received word from our espionage team.

“Councillor Obsidian has been captured by the Decepticons.”

Obsidian was in so much pain, he wanted to die.

His restraints were so tight that the metal armour around his wrists and ankles buckled under the pressure. The long titanium spike lodged through his neck and embedded into the floor of the Medi-Pod he was being transported in made sure there was no escape!

The only direction he could look in was up. Through the plexi-glass of the pod door he watched a carousel of neon lights speed in and out of his field of vision. Wherever he was being taken, it was in a hurry.

His four captors marched silently behind the group of generic technicians accompanying the pod. One technician recalibrated the temperature gauge of the pod… it was climbing again, and the subject needed to be kept cold. Obsidian felt a chill as the pod temperature was lowered to minus four Rads.

Obsidian lurched as the pod came to an abrupt stop. The restraints tugged at his limbs and the pain in his neck intensified. Maybe they would finally release him from this claustrophobic tomb. Not just yet. The technicians rotated the pod into a vertical position. Obsidian felt the floor of the pod with his feet and he moved up on his toes to relieve some of the pressure of the restraints. As the pod came to a fully upright position, Obsidian’s obscured view through the plexi-glass was filled with an enemy he thought long lost in the many chapters of war.

Jhiaxus!

The door of the pod opened and Jhiaxus reached in with clawed fingers and slowly – painfully – ripped the Autobrand from Obsidian’s chest. Obsidian cursed through clenched teeth.

“I believe you know who I am,” hissed Jhiaxus as Obsidian’s four captors stepped to his side, “but I don’t believe you have met my Special Operations squad.”

Each of the four Decepticons smiled as Jhiaxus introduced them to Obsidian: “Vortex, Brawl, Blast Off, and Swindle.”

Jhiaxus reached for Obsidian again. Obsidian winced. He wasn’t sure how much more pain he could handle. Jhiaxus flipped open a small panel positioned dead centre in Obsidian’s forehead and plugged in a small connector.

“We just need to disable a few of your non-essential systems,” said Jhiaxus as he flicked a switch on a console on his left arm.

Obsidian’s entire body went limp. Now only suspended by the spike impaled into his neck, the pain was too much for him to bear.

“W-what do you want with me?” he groaned, expecting a standard Decepticon interrogation routine. As head of the Autobot Elders tactical section, he knew every one of Resistance Movement’s counterattack strategies.

Jhiaxus explained: “You are about to create history, my friend! You will herald the dawn of a new and exciting Decepticon Empire!”

All Obsidian could manage was a dumbfounded, “what?”

“You are to be our first subject! We plan to abduct high ranking Autobots and clone them for our Empire!”

“Clone them?”

“Of course! We need leaders. Strategists. What use would our Empire be if we went around cloning Empties!”

“Clone them how?”

“Oh, I don’t need to tell you, dear Obsidian. I am going to show you!”

The cable connected to Obsidian’s head sparked into life with a frightening crackle. A wave of intense pain (yes, even more painful than having a titanium spike through your neck for five hours!) coursed through his body, localising itself in the middle of his abdomen. His stomach churned and boiled like a burning pit of hellfire.

Jhiaxus and his followers took a few steps back. The evil grins on each of their faces betrayed any sign of fear. A technician lowered the pod temperature to minus 50 Rads.

The air around Obsidian was ice cold, yet inside his very being burned red hot. Droplets of oil and lubricant from screaming mouth froze, forming a shell over his metal skin. It was an incredible feeling. So unbearably horrific, he wanted to leave his body. But his mind was trapped and he felt everything.

Because of his restraints, Obsidian could not see his own stomach as it slowly began to swell. The pain was so much that he began to lose consciousness. A cloak of black agony engulfed his optics. He welcomed it.

“Keep him conscious!” screamed Jhiaxus.

A technician administered some kind of electric shock into Obsidian’s cerebral port and he screamed again.

Metallic tumours bubbled up through the armour of his abdomen. Like gas escaping through a pool of molten mercury, they slowly expanded into large vesicles. The pod began to topple forwards with the change of weight distribution. The technician grappled with the back of the pod in an attempt to balance it.

Obsidian could now see the monstrous malignancy in his field of vision. He screamed harder and louder. The growth, now at least the size of Obsidian himself, began to tremble. The pain was just too much. Obsidian cried out in short, sharp bursts as if panting. The growth was now throbbing intensely as waves of energy were transferred from Obsidian into it. He was too weak to scream any more. His cries of agony turned to silent groans. Out of energy, Obsidian went offline with a slump and the massive growth came away from his body and landed on the floor in front of the pod.

It lay on the floor like a cocoon. Jhiaxus stared at it. Waiting for a sign of life. There was a barely audible crackling and then a sudden flash of light as the outer shell burned off to reveal an identical clone of Obsidian lying in a foetal position. An unseen cloud of dark matter evaporated from the burning shell.

Jhiaxus pressed his hands together in glee, “Administer 100 joules of Energon to Obsidian. I want him to see this!”

Obsidian regained consciousness to see a clone of himself standing in front of him, looking deep into his optics. The clone’s optics were filled with curiosity, but then anguish as Brawl and Swindle dragged him away.

“Wait!” cried Obsidian. “Where are you taking him!”

“Tests,” said Blast Off, “just tests.”

Jhiaxus stepped up to Obsidian. “Well done, Autobot! I doubt any of my Decepticons would have the resolve to see the process through to the end!”

The silver Decepticon turned to Vortex. “But sadly your usefulness is over my friend.

“Vortex! Dispose of Obsidian!”

High above the Dead End region of Cybertron, Vortex released Obsidian from his grip. The battered Autobot plummeted to the ground with a deathly clang. Vortex didn’t bother to make sure of his death.

But he should have done.

The streets of Cybertron were a death zone.

Obsidian had no idea how long he had been here. Staccato memories clouded his broken mind. How long? Months? Years? Centuries? Whatever time had passed since he was abandoned in the Dead End, Cybertron had certainly changed. Now under almost total Decepticon domination, Obsidian surely conceded his survival was due to the whim of a higher power. He had never fully recovered from Jhiaxus’ cloning procedure. Obsidian was certainly no medic, but he managed to subsist from crude, self-administered field surgery. He was driven to murder several times, just to glean the tiniest amounts of energon (not to mention information on the Decepticons’ latest activities) from the Empties who inhabited the Dead End. He wondered if this nightmare would ever end.

Hold.

Voices. He heard familiar voices!

“I bagged mah’self three of them there critters!” it was Brawl. One of Jhiaxus’s Special Operations squad. Or at least he used to be.

“Please, Brawl, keep your voice down,” requested Vortex. “Lord Straxus wants all Empties retrieved for the Smelting Pool.”

Blast Off scoffed: “Seems like his Harvester Units are too unwieldy for the streets of the Dead End. And now we have to do his slaggin’ dirty work!”

“I’m just keeping my optics on max,” said Swindle. “You never know what we might find around here. Something we can use to deal with Straxus. Get ourselves a more,” he paused, “glamorous assignment!”

Obsidian stepped out from his hiding place, right into the path of the Decepticons. “Will I do?”

“Great Xal!” exclaimed Vortex.

The four Decepticons instinctively levelled their weapons at Obsidian. He didn’t even flinch. He was past any point of fear. He simply walked up to Vortex and took the weapon from his hand, and magnetically holstered it on his left hip. Brawl, Swindle and Blast Off turned to one another and slowly lowered their weapons.

Obsidian spoke carefully and clearly: “I am taking command of this group. You are my ticket out of here, and I am yours.”

Vortex considered the offer for a second. He turned to Swindle, who was nodding his head vigorously. Vortex shrugged and yielded command.

“Excellent,” said Obsidian. “I have a plan!”

Lord Straxus looked down at his four Decepticons, and whatever the hell pile of junk they had brought in from the Dead End. “I asked for Empties, not scrap!”

“But sire,” pleaded Vortex, “we believe this to be the body of Obsidian.”

“Obsidian?” pondered Straxus. “The long-lost member of the Autobot Council of Elders?”

“We believe so, sire.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Barely, sire. But it occurred to us that he could be used as raw materials for Megatron’s project.”

Straxus stopped before he responded, and considered his options. Megatron had been hounding him for weeks for a group of five of his best troops. There was an apparent attempt by Megatron to use a cerebral shell to tap into the Matrix, but it had failed. And now he wanted existing Decepticons to rebuild and reprogram. Megatron had built the Stunticons, but was ultimately disappointed with the results and he was too fearful of the visions provided by the Matrix not to build a second Special Team. Straxus needed all his forces for the war against the Wreckers, and there was no way was he going to give any to Megatron!

Swindle spoke: “Our deal is to offer you Obsidian in return for a more glorified position in your ranks.”

“Very well,” Straxus said, eyeing the group. “I will take Obsidian, and the four of you, to give to Megatron. He has special plans for you, and you will have your glory in the efforts to bleed the planet Earth dry of its resources.”

“Thank you, sire,” smiled Vortex.

From his uncomfortable position on the floor of Darkmount’s Royal Chamber, Obsidian smiled too.

Onslaught burst into Soundwave’s quarters and wrapped his steel hands around his neck. As if waking from a trance, Soundwave choked into consciousness and tried to free himself.

“What the krakk do you think you’re doing?” demanded Onslaught.

“I thought you wanted to know the truth!”

“I do not want you in my mind Soundwave!”

Soundwave looked at his chronometer. The only time that had elapsed since he began his remote viewing ritual was the time it took Onslaught to reach his quarters. “I didn’t even get in, Onslaught, something blocked me.”

“My mind is stronger than you think,” said Onslaught, his hatred for the robot in front of him increasing by the moment.

“Can you let go now?”

Onslaught’s grip tightened, and the steel skin around Soundwave’s neck began to tear. “If you attempt to enter my mind again, I will… put… you… down.”

Soundwave managed a strained, “uh huh” before Onslaught let go.

Onslaught took a step back and turned to leave.

“You will never know the truth now, my friend,” baited Soundwave, “it’s all locked up in that mind of yours, and I’m the only one who can access it.”

Onslaught made his way to the door, as quickly as he had arrived.

“Stay out of my way and out of my mind!” was all the Combaticon had to say.

Soundwave slumped to the ground in frustration. The remote viewing didn’t work, and he was none the wiser as to Onslaught’s past. He took solace, however, with the fact that Onslaught didn’t know any better either.

Back in his own quarters, Onslaught took a data-cassette from the debris of his burnt out computer console. There was a wave of anticipation as he looked at it intently.

Onslaught handed Brawl the truth.

It was a small, unmarked data-cassette, the contents of which Onslaught had downloaded prior to his “explosive outburst” on the Warworld. Brawl uploaded the data within seconds and passed the cassette onto the other three Combaticons. (Onslaught decided to give it to Brawl first, knowing he’d take the longest to fully comprehend the information.)

Onslaught anxiously made a circle in the Coahuilan sand, waiting for the reaction. The same reaction he had when he realised his past life. After several years of analysing the files, he was sure he could answer all their questions. The TMU files were thorough -- a comprehensive anthology of field reports and accounts from numerous Autobots and Decepticons. Every report was an abstract piece of Onslaught’s jigsaw.

As he looked down at his feet, he pondered Soundwave. The communications officer had detected a Khyaxian Strife-Fighter energy signature on the planet’s surface and sent the Combaticons to investigate. Another waste of the team’s talents, ten miles west of the small town of Puesdo, Mexico. A good opportunity, however, for his team to learn the truth. Away from the other Decepticons and away from Soundwave’s prying mind.

Vortex was incredulous: “Is this for real?”

Onslaught nodded.

“So,” confirmed Blast Off, “we have been together for several million years, not fifteen?”

“You four were,” said Onslaught. “I came in kind of late. According to the files, I saw something in the four of you and switched sides to become your commander.”

“Not quite the natural-born leader we were all led to believe you were,” said Swindle.

“It was rumoured that Megatron himself had always wanted the Elder known as Obsidian to fight on the side of the Decepticons,” Onslaught cross his arms in front of him, almost smug. ”And it looks like he finally got his wish.”

“But you chose us,” said Vortex.

“It seems our lives have been intertwined since the very beginning. Souls returning to each other, time and again. As if fate had always meant for us to remain a team.”

“I dunno, boss,” Swindle rubbed the left side of his chin with his thumb. “I think you’re reading into this too much. Transformers don’t have souls. There’s no such thing as fate.”

“The fact remains, Swindle, we are here now. All events in the past have led to this moment.”

“You sure have given this a lot of thought.”

“It’s important to me. To fully comprehend who I am.

“For a long time I have been lost, questioning my identity. Considering who I am, who I want to be, who my peers want me to be, and who I was always destined to be. Now that I have finally accepted who I am, I feel renewed and reinvested. I feel more confident now to lead you and face whatever the Autobots have to throw at us with reaffirmed energy and strength of spirit.”

Vortex laughed. “Ugh! You really did used to be an Autobot!”

Onslaught lifted his right arm over his left shoulder and swung round with his fist. It connected with Vortex’s jaw with the force so powerful that his visor cracked. He stumbled backwards and was caught by Brawl, who, incidentally had just caught up with what was going on.

“That’s for dropping me from fifty thousand feet in the air into the Dead End!”

As Onslaught walked away from his Combaticons and Blast Off tended to his comrade’s wounds, an alien watched.

Cloaked from view, the green lizard spoke into his communicator: “Visual confirmation of target, my Khyogi!”

“Hold position, Scrul,” was the distorted reply.