Tristesse Globale

A switch had been flicked, a shot had been fired. A war was started, and an entire planet was told to hold tight.

Blaster inched his way cautiously, slightly crouched, with his back to the torn and serrated north-facing wall of Polyhex’s central records hall. He flicked his head from side to side, continuing to monitor all frequencies. Without looking, he reached down and fingered the trigger of the electro-scrambler rifle that was mag-clamped to his thigh.

The city-state of Polyhex was the first to fall to the Decepticons, while the rest of the planet tended to the proton fallout from Tarn and Vos. Megatron and his frontline attacked Axis Mundi with such audacity that it was obviously a ruse. The Autobot Council were stretched so thin that when the majority of the Decepticon army struck Polyhex, they snapped. In fact, the whole of Cybertron snapped.

One by one, the rest of Cybertron’s city-states fell… all except Iacon: the Council’s seat of power. Refugees poured in from the rest of the planet, hoping that Iacon would take them in, keep them safe. But Iacon’s guards set up a barricade. The city was sealed and Iacon fell under the power of an introverted emergency committee.

The war took the lives of billions of Autobots. Survivors would crawl with trailing limbs up to the very doors of the city, scratching at them with weak hands, begging to be allowed in. There was no answer to their cries for help.

Blaster reached the corner of the records hall and threw a quick glance around. He was certainly not one of the Autobot survivors who begged at Iacon’s door for salvation. He was not one to beg for his life, not from friend, nor foe.

Iacon was of no concern to Blaster. Home, he was always told, is where the spark is. Polyhex needed him. He escaped the Decepticon war machine when they arrived in his home city. It wasn’t so much survival of the fittest, but survival of the luckiest.

Ahead of Polyhex’s records hall was an expanse of flattened land. A crater had recently been filled with molten slag from the city’s naturally occurring core-fed fissures. The Decepticons were hard at work constructing an airbase.

Blaster scanned local frequencies and tuned in. The Decepticons that milled in and around the base were unfamiliar to him, but from the intercepted transmissions, he was able to assign codenames to faces. A Decepticon called Airwave and his lieutenant, Flattop, were overseeing the whole operation, and a four-strong military patrol stood guard. Of course, they joked at the need for security since their stranglehold on the area was so tight, no Autobot survivors had been seen for weeks.

Blaster clenched his fists with unbridled anger, but quickly reminded himself of his mission. He turned back on his heels and made his way back. He left no trace of his infiltration.

All frequencies were quiet, save for the weak signals Blaster kept specific track of. He paced a circle around the neatly piled rubble. At first glance he idly thought it was the work of the Decepticons, part of their plans to reshape the city for their own twisted means. But the wreckage was strewn with such calculated randomness, it required a more careful look.

As twilight descended on Polyhex, the streets came back to life. Floodlights erected by the Decepticons pointed their beams onto the ground. They worked through the night, relentlessly. For a Decepticon there was no such thing as rest. Any downtime they might have requested was at the hands of Megatron, and it was permanent.

Working quickly, Blaster slid his fingers under a particularly loose chunk of metal. He had no desire to be caught by a Decepticon hunting party. The slab of metal relaxed to his grip, so Blaster tugged at it. To his surprise, it flipped up and opened like a trap door. Without a second thought, he climbed in, unclamped the rifle from his thigh and made his way into the tunnel he now found himself in.

Despite treading carefully, Blaster couldn’t help but make dull echoes with his footsteps. His lock on the underground signals grew stronger, and he could pick out six distinct Cybertronian life-signs.

The tunnel ended with a heavy door. It was round but didn’t quite fit the shape of the tunnel. Clumps of viagon had been moulded roughly and jammed into the gaps. Blaster shook his head at the sight. He stepped up to the door and adjusted his internal communications hardware. As soon as he realised exactly who was behind the door, he took a step back, jumped up and kicked at it. The door caved in, and the six robots behind it turned to face Blaster and froze with fear.

Blaster aimed his rifle. “Bang,” he said to them. “You’re all dead.”

Blaster moved his glance across each of the six panic-stricken faces, and then to the inside walls of the hideout. The lighting was muted. Tungsten filaments had been scavenged from nearby buildings and hung from the ceiling, and those that hadn’t burned out were running on near-empty energon batteries.

Behind the six robots lay countless offline bodies. They had been placed in respectful order, with the hope that one day enough energon could be found to revive them.

Everything about the makeshift den screamed desperation.

Blaster lowered his weapon and shook his head. He wanted to chastise them, to berate them for their cowardice. But deep down, he knew he had done the same to escape the Decepticons. It was just that he was a couple of steps ahead of them, that was all.

“Who’s in command, here?” Blaster asked.

One of the six robots stepped forwards. It was an Autobot called Countdown. His red and silver colouring was tarnished with backburn and scorch marks. A wrist-mounted pistol hung limply from his left arm. It looked like it had overheated and exploded some time ago. “I am,” said Countdown.

“How long were you planning on hiding down here?” Blaster probed. “The Decepticons outside aren’t going to go away any time soon.”

Countdown didn’t have an answer, but his comrade-in-arms, Erector, did. “We’re just trying to stay alive,” said the golden robot.

“Well you’re off to a terrible start,” Blaster said. He opened his chest door and pulled out two small grey boxes. He handed one to Countdown and the other to Erector. “You’ll find these handy if you want to evade the Decepticons’ sensors.”

“What are they?” Countdown asked.

“Frequency blockers,” Erector explained, saving Blaster the trouble. “They can scramble our transmissions and block out energy signatures.”

“Do you have any spare parts to build more?” Blaster asked. “You’ll need one each.”

Erector smiled. “I have a whole trailer of various and sundry, I’m sure I can put something together.”

“Good,” said Blaster. “If you intend on staying down here, they’ll keep you safe.”

Another of the six stepped forwards. “We don’t intend on staying down here,” said Eagle Eye. “We’re about out of energon.”

Countdown turned to Eagle Eye and put a hand on his shoulder. “Now hang, on,” he said. “We already agreed.”

“Agreed to rot to death down here?” Treadbolt said, angrily.

“And who are you?” Blaster asked.

“Name’s Treadbolt,” the dark blue Autobot replied. “I’m second-in-command of this… unit.”

Blaster leaned into the group. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll let you in on a little plan of mine.”

“Go on,” said Treadbolt.

“There’s a Decepticon squadron not far from here. They’re building some kind of airbase. And to help them do that, they’ve probably got quite a neat little stockpile of energon.”

“No way,” said Countdown, guessing where Blaster was taking his pitch. “It’s not worth the risk. We’ll be killed.”

Blaster continued. “Well the thing is, I was going to attack them myself and take the energon back to my own unit.”

“On your own?”

“Yeah, on my own,” Blaster smiled. “But I guess if I could persuade you to help me, I don’t mind sharing it with you.”

“And what makes you think you’ll survive?”

“I’ve been out there, I wouldn’t have found you otherwise, and I’m still alive aren’t I?” Blaster paused, hoping that his fellow Autobots could be stirred into fighting back. “These Decepticons aren’t as tough as they make out, you know. So, who’s in?”

Five of the group didn’t need to be told twice.

“In,” said Blazemaster.

“In,” said Treadbolt.

“In,” said Eagle Eye.

“In,” said Erector.

“In,” said Sky High.

Blaster and the five turned to Countdown. “Well?”

“Alright, you’ve convinced me. But I want a quick, clean, sortie. Just get the energon and back here.”

“You’re the boss,” said Blaster.

Tracer landed in helicopter mode on the first finished runway of the new Decepticon airbase. His fellow patrol member, Growl, walked out from inside the main control tower towards him.

Tracer transformed and tossed something leaking oil at Growl. “Catch!” he laughed.

Growl threw his arms up and caught a dismembered Autobot head. He looked into its optics and noticed a faint glow. True to his name, he grunted back at Tracer.


“He’s still alive,” Tracer said. “Can you believe I ripped his head right off his shoulders, and he’s still alive!”

Bombshock and Dropshot joined the pair on the runway. “Anything on the perimeter?” Dropshot asked.

“No, sir,” Tracer replied. “Well, not any more.” The black Decepticon let slip an execrable laugh, but was suddenly silenced.

The three other Decepticons stood still in shock and watched Blaster appear from behind Tracer and twist his laughing head from his shoulders.

Blaster held Tracer’s head up. “Swap?”

Airwave and Flattop dashed out of the control tower and transformed into aircraft modes. “How in Starscream’s name did you let an Autobot get onto the runway? You’re supposed to be guarding!”

Two Autobot jets swooped down to intercept the Decepticons. “Not just one,” Eagle Eye called out.

Bombshock, Dropshot and Growl curled up into their tank modes and fired on Blaster. The Autobot dove out of their line of fire, scooping up the unidentified Autobot’s separated head from the runway and storing it in his chest compartment.

Blazemaster hovered over the scene in helicopter mode, firing his heat lasers down at the Decepticons. Growl spun his scatter cannon up at the Autobot, showering him with a stream of liquid-hot bullets. Blazemaster’s rotor assembly ruptured and caught fire. He dropped from the sky and landed in robot mode in a heap on the runway.

Flattop made a sharp half-circle turn and fired onto Blazemaster’s body. In crane mode, Erector powered onto the runway and threw his crane arm at the fallen Autobot. Blazemaster grabbed at the hook and was whisked to safety.

Blaster took a shot at Flattop with his electro-scrambler rifle. A pulse of electromagnetic energy radiated through the Decepticon jet, shorting out his systems. It was his turn to drop to the ground.

Countdown and Sky High shied back from the battle. “I can’t tell who’s winning.” Sky High said.

Bombshock charged forwards towards Blaster with Dropshot and Growl following behind. Blaster turned his back as his armour was pelted with a barrage of low yield proton shells. He cried out in pain, and then fired his rifle. The electro-scrambler corrupted Bombshock’s targeting system, and the Decepticon inadvertently fired on his comrades. Growl and Dropshot both erupted into searing fireballs.

Blaster took a moment to take stock of the situation. Just Airwave to take out, he thought to himself.

And as if on cue, the Decepticon jet swept down from the sky and transformed into robot mode in front of Blaster. “This airbase belongs to me, Autobot, and you’re not getting it.”

Blaster pulled back his right arm and then punched Airwave square in the face, cracking his optic sensor covers. Airwave fell onto his back. “Do your worst,” he spat. “Reinforcements are already on their way.”

Blaster raised his rifle, but before he could fire Airwave tapped his fingers onto a remote device mounted on his arm and the airbase activated the atomic panels on its control tower. A white-hot flash of light energy burst from the tower and Blaster keeled over shielding his eyes. He lost his balance and fell to his hands and knees. “My eyes!” he cried.

Airwave rose to his feet, laughing. He activated the afterburners in his legs and hovered above the runway. He punched his remote control again. Serrated spikes sprang up from the surface of the runway, puncturing Blaster's hands and knees. He cried again.

A short distance away, Eagle Eye and Treadbolt landed by Countdown and Sky High.

“We’ve got to help Blaster,” Treadbolt urged.

“No point,” Countdown replied. “He’s already dead. We’re already dead. We should never have listened to him.”

Treadbolt turned away from Countdown. “Oh yes, we should. Your strategy was to hide away and ride it out, wait for the war to finish.” He gestured to Polyhex’s overcooked landscape. “This war isn’t finishing any time soon.”

“I have to agree,” said Eagle Eye. “Blaster has shown us the way, shown us that we can take back our planet. Even if it is a little bit at a time.”

“Yeah,” said Sky High. “We already took out five Decepticons in less than a breem. There’s only one left. We can do this!”

Airwave laughed as he jetted towards Blaster. “They told us there might be resistance. We laughed at the very notion.” The Decepticon commanded the runway to retract its spikes so he could land in front of Blaster. “They were right, and we’re still laughing!”

Blaster craned his neck to meet Airwave’s gaze then turned suddenly at the sound of his comrades charging towards them, with Countdown at the lead. “Still laughing?” Blaster smiled.

Blaster entered Autobase to the shock and awe of his old friends. Seaspray and Warpath dashed up towards him. He grabbed at their shoulders to reassure them that he was safe and still alive.

Perceptor approached. “Blaster! You’ve been gone for over a week. What were you thinking?”

Blaster opened his chest compartment and handed Perceptor the Autobot head that was still clinging to life. “Get this to Spanner,” Blaster said. “I know there’s not much to go on, but I patched into his neural conduits. His name is Rewind and he’s very grateful I found him.”

Perceptor grabbed the head, his train of thought thrown. “What? Wait! You found a survivor?”

“Not one,” said Blaster. “Polyhex is literally teeming with Autobot survivors and burgeoning resistance cells.”

“We had no idea. Where are they? What are they doing?”

“Still out there, forming a new front line against the Decepticons.”

“But…”

“Now, if there’s anything more pressing than an urgent battery change, then speak now or forever hold your lenses.”

“Actually, there is,” Perceptor said.

“Oh?”

“We received a tight-beam pulse from Iacon. From Prowl, actually.”

“And?”

“They requested your presence.”

“Now hold on,” Blaster countered. “My place is here in Polyhex.”

“I’m afraid it’s not negotiable.”

Blaster glared at Perceptor. “Are you saying that it’s not negotiable, or is Prowl?”

“Neither. The order came directly from the Autobot Council themselves.”

Blaster let his shoulders drop. “So, in other words, I’ve got no choice.”