Hunting for Sport

Jumplead slid his fingers across the open wound on his stomach, winced, and initiated a core systems diagnostic.

+++ Energon channels at 98% dilation. +++ Opticwash discharging above recommended parameters. +++ Ansidoc reaction time fluctuating between 12 and 25 microseconds. +++ Burnup disposal malfunction. +++ Fuel pumps on overdrive. +++ Lubricant/coolant blockage in microsystem 3342. +++ Neurosystems functioning at 0.001% efficiency…

(Equivalent human emotion: Blind panic.)

The pack of “animals”—Jumplead wondered what else to call the beasts—closed in on his position, slowly padding forwards, snarling with feral anger. Despite the depixelation of his optical receptors, Jumplead could make out seven of the creatures. They paused for a second. If he wasn’t so scared for his own life he might have wondered if they were communicating with each other on some level he couldn’t detect or even comprehend.

What Jumplead could comprehend, however, was the fact that Chameleon had taken a hasty leave of the facility several breems ago. Coward.

The animals made their move.

Before he could react, the wound on Jumplead’s stomach yawned wide. The attacker shook a chunk of Jumplead’s armour from his serrated claws. A mass of burning circuitry ejected itself from the wound and crashed down onto the steel floor. A band of thick black oil seeped from Jumplead’s stomach onto his eviscerated components. The Autobot staggered back, clutching at his wound, vainly hoping that by covering it with his shaking hands that no more of his hardware would escape.

A second beast leapt up at Jumplead’s head, clamping its jaw over his neck and sinking its teeth into his skin. Jumplead’s vocaliser erupted into a minute explosion. The creature felt the burning on its snout and momentarily retreated.

Jumplead fell to his knees. His broken body initiated stasis lock and his optics faded to black. The animals pounced on the twitching husk that used to be an Autobot and proceeded to rip it to shreds.

Mirage lined the sight on his hunting rifle with his left optic sensor and tensed his finger over the trigger. He’d heard of Wheeljack’s weapons research and the new wave of auto-targeting systems, but Mirage preferred the old fashioned way. “Got you now,” he smiled, squeezing the trigger.

Hound lowered the sonic emitter on to the pre-marked surface and took ten paces due South. He’d heard of Perceptor’s geographical research and the new wave of auto-mapping systems, but Hound preferred the old fashioned way. He activated the emitter, expecting a low hum that his receptors could detect. What he heard instead, was a loud bang—most likely an explosion—and he instinctively threw himself to the ground. He looked up and saw a plume of black smoke rise up into the Kalisian air. He was about to report the incident to Prowl when he realised what was happening. “Mirage,” he muttered to himself.

“Mirage!” Hound called out as he sped towards his fellow Autobot. The tracker transformed into robot mode and reached out for Mirage’s weapon.

Mirage flinched backwards and snatched the rifle away from Hound. “How’s about some peace and quiet? I’m working here.”

“Working?”

“Yes, working. This is a state-sanctioned pest control sortie.”

“So in other words you are hunting Turbofoxes.”

Mirage scowled at Hound. “I prefer to call them Volpers—their proper name if you must know. Calling them ‘Turbofoxes’ is a transparent attempt to beautify these pests and—“

Hound raised his arm up at Mirage and his condescension. “And referring to them as Volpers is an equally transparent attempt to demonify—“

“Don’t interrupt me, Hound,” Mirage said, a little too abruptly.

“Oh I am sorry,” Hound slurped sarcastically. “Do continue with your indiscriminant cleansing of any life we don’t yet fully understand.”

Mirage relaxed his stance and raised his head to Hound.

Hound continued: “Kill ‘em all! I mean, if the Council—sitting in that big ol’ Dome—deem it morally dandy to murder any and all Cybertronians that don’t drive on four wheels, then who am I to raise objection.”

“It’s not like that,” Mirage argued. “The Volpers are reputed pests. If their population remains unchecked they could over-run us. I am merely performing my duty to the Council and the rest of the Autobots.”

Hound stepped up to Mirage and looked him directly in the face. “I don’t believe that you believe that for a moment. You wouldn’t know the meaning of the word ‘duty’ even if it was slap-bang dead-centre in the sights of that hunting rifle of yours.” Hound pressed his forefinger into Mirage’s chest. “The truth is that this is all just a sport for you—you enjoy it.”

Mirage clasped his hand around Hound’s and removed it away from his chest. He turned away without a convincing counter-argument.

“So what exactly are we dealing with?” asked Tomaandi. His voiced boomed across the Council chamber making Chameleon feel altogether less than comfortable.

The small Autobot looked up at the assembled Council members: Tomaandi, Traachon, Xaaron and Obsidian. “Well no one is one hundred percent sure. Some theorise that these creatures are mutated forms of the Volpers while others believe them to be an entirely new species that has, as yet, remained undiscovered.”

“But either way, they are dangerous,” confirmed Traachon. “An Autobot is dead.”

A pang of guilt surged into Chameleon. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and fought away the flashbacks of Jumplead’s demise.

“Do you think it could be the Decepticons?” asked Xaaron.

Tomaandi laughed. “Again with the Decepticons,” he said. “They are an inconsequential band of rogues.”

“I doubt it to be the work of the Decepticons,” said Obsidian. “Megatron’s attitudes are too… elite. He would never use any such devolved creatures in his—“ The strategist paused. He had given himself an idea.

“In his what?” asked Traachon.

“Ah, nothing.”

“So how do we deal with the problem?”

Emirate Xaaron exploded into the laboratory. The double-doors swung brazenly behind him. “Explain yourself!”

Without looking up from his work, Flame replied: “Had Ratbat not informed me of your arrival, I would surely have flinched, thus inadvertently triggering this thermonuclear device and obliterating a good two-thirds of our planet.”

Xaaron forcefully slid a datascreen across the table into Flame’s field of vision. “I said, explain.”

Flame carefully placed aside the device he was working on and looked at the picture on the datascreen. “Some kind of solar flare?”

“You launched an Autobot directly into the heart of Alpha Centauri!”

Flame rose from his chair and theatrically pointed up to the ceiling of his laboratory. “There is no science without sacrifice,” he reasoned. “If I am to succeed with the creation of a supersoldier, then certain parameters must be tested to the extreme.”

“But—“

Flame turned to Xaaron and flashed a manic smile. “Dear councillor, please remember that it was you that approached me in the first place.”

“Yes but the funding was to create stronger Autobots, not kill them.”

Flame’s smile vanished. “Take your funding back to Wheeljack then! I am sure his weapons designs have killed a lot more test subjects.”

“Actually, Wheeljack hasn’t—“

“Oh don’t tell me. He uses non-sentient automated targets.”

Xaaron relaxed his shoulders in exasperation.

“Are you here for anything else, councillor? Would you like to see another demonstration of my Hoverbot Death Troopers to appease those unfounded fears about those Decepticons you have?”

Xaaron turned to leave. He’d been made to look a fool long enough. “Thank you, Flame,” he said trying to regain some dignity. “I have nothing more to discuss with you right now.”

Flame returned to his work as the doors swung again as if waving good-bye to Emirate Xaaron. Flame pulled a lamp over the device and continued his fiddling. A hand on his shoulder made him jump.

“A thermonuclear device you say? You really shouldn’t lie to the Council.”

Flame stood up and turned. “How did you get in here, Obsidian?”

“Sit back down, Flame,” Obsidian ordered. “I have a proposition for you.”

Mirage paced slowly along the outer wall of Auto-Assembly Plant 5, ducking occasionally underneath the support struts that poked out from the gas vents. The barbaric grind of machinery working on overdrive, begging for their joints to be lubricated, pierced his audio sensors like a drill. The ground was uneven and thick with Energon run-off. Mirage glanced down at the viscous gloop that covered his heels. He looked and felt grubby, unclean. How dare his prey not stalk the most immaculate and affluent areas of Cybertron!

The weapon Flame had given him felt bulky in his hands. Mirage was used to the form of his slim and delicate hunting rifle, not this massive launcher that had the look that only a scientist with no style could conceive.

A heavy stench of noxious burning hung in the air. It was Mirage’s personal hell. Where were the gleaming spires, the golden polished dome, and the splendid amphitheatres that Grapple had become famous for? There was no sign of his architectural repertoire here, which was one thing Mirage was sure of.

Mirage wiped the grime that had collected on his face and re-focused on the task at hand. It was simple enough: hunt, sedate, and collect the seven animals that had killed Jumplead. And in return, Flame promised that his high-powered friends in high-powered places would… liaise with him.

Ahead, Mirage noticed the first of his quarry. He crouched to the ground and deftly set up the massive launcher. Mirage was silent and unseen to the beast. It carried on with its business, unaware.

Resting on his elbows, Mirage peered through the viewfinder of his weapon and squared up his target. Without taking his gaze from the creature, he fingered a bullet-shaped projectile (a non-lethal beta-4 “supertranq”, Flame had explained) from a storage compartment and loaded it into the launcher.

Without missing a beat, Mirage fired at the unsuspecting animal.

To Mirage’s surprise and confusion, the dart went right through his target and embedded itself into a nearby storage tank. The animal flickered and then disappeared.

Mirage turned around and saw Hound, that perpetual thorn in his side, standing there smiling with his hands cocked proudly against his hips. “Fooled you!” Hound laughed.

“Oh grow up,” Mirage barked sternly. “This is serious stuff.”

“So you’ve been promoted from sanitation officer to game hunter, then?” Hound mocked.

Mirage rose to his feet and rested his weapon by his side. “If you must know, I have been asked by Flame to bring in those animals that attacked Chameleon and Jumplead.”

“Flame?” Hound spluttered. “He’s as mad as a box of chatter-chips! What does he want with them?”

“The same as the rest of us,” Mirage said. “He wants these animals put away so we don’t get any more dead Autobots.”

Hound opened his palms out as a gesture of understanding, but before he could say anything:

“And before you get all sanctimonious on me again, I am not using lethal force. Flame doesn’t want them dead, just detained.”

“I see,” Hound said curiously. “Why’s that then?”

“Not my place to ask.”

“Fair enough.”

Mirage turned away from Hound. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to my work.”

“Hold on,” said Hound. “I know I had a bug in my duct about you hunting Turbofoxes, but I appreciate that this is different. I’ll help you.”

“I hunt best alone.”

“Oh come on. I have an instinct for tracking.”

Mirage smiled at Hound. “Okay, then,” he agreed. “I’ll get the gun ready and you ‘Hound’ them out!”

Mirage laughed but Hound dryly said: “Wow. A sharp wit as well as a sharp aim.”

Flame grinned from receptor to receptor as the seven sleeping beasts were wheeled into his lab. He clasped his hands together and wrung them in anticipation. He wanted to let slip a child-like giggle, but not until the techs had left.

“Sign here,” said one of the technicians.

“Of course, of course,” Flame purred. “This is all official and above board and completely sanctioned by the Council and—“

“And here.”

Flame pressed his thumb down twice on the foil top-sheet, leaving an imprint of his serial number behind. He quickly ushered out the technicians (“Scoot, scoot!”) and locked the double doors behind them.

Now it was appropriate for that child-like giggle he had promised himself.

The seven bodies remained motionless on their slabs. Flame ran his palm across the surface of the nearest one. Its form was lean and slender. The surface of metal skin was continuous across its body, the burliness of it hinting at the powerful pneumatic musculature that slept within.

Flame smiled.

He spun on his heel away from the animals and activated a console. Seven grappling claws swung from the ceiling and were lowered over the creatures. The chains that suspended them rattled. The claws opened and scooped up the beasts. Flame looked up in awe, his face painted by their shadows, at the seven magnificent forms. He flicked more switches and seven vats of liquid energon rose from underneath trap doors on the floor. Each animal was lowered into each vat. The claws disengaged and plexi-glass domes slid out from the sides and covered the vats.

Flame hurried himself over the vats and double-checked that they were secure. He pressed a panel on his forearm and the energon bubbled up. He waited for the animals to regain consciousness.

Nothing happened for nearly ten minutes. Flame stared intently into the plexi-glass waiting for his raw materials to emerge from the blue liquid.

One of the animals launched itself at the clear barrier. Flame jumped backwards. He laughed at himself for reacting so nervously. He approached the dome. The animal inside remained focused on Flame, its red optics glowing fiercely at him. Steam from vents on its face condensed on the glass.

“Hello, my pretty,” Flame sneered.

Flame was not seen for months. All access to his labs was prohibited. Not even members of the Council were allowed. Xaaron voiced his concerns, but nothing was done.

Some Autobots just shouldn’t be left on their own.

Exhausted and shutdown-deprived, Flame fell into the chair at his main desk. He cupped his chin into his hands and refocused his optics.

On the desk stood a picture of two Autobot scientists. One was named Vorn, and the other, his assistant, Breem. In one way, they were Flame’s mentors—two fantastic minds that the young scientist aspired to. And in another way, they were his worst enemies-two fantastic minds that the young scientist could never match.

Too long, had Flame lived and worked in their shadow. Nothing he developed had even come close to their achievements. But Flame was relentless and refused to give in to celebrated memory.

It was finally Flame’s turn to shine once the rumours of the Decepticon movement started. The Council needed contingency, just in case it was true—that an Autobot known as Megatron would launch an army at them. Xaaron was the most vocal. He approached Flame with funding and a mandate.

The Autobots were not warriors. They were scholars, artists, athletes, and scientists. While the other Councillors were opposed to forming an army, Xaaron knew what was coming, and what had to be done.

“I will create an army of supersoldiers,” Flame had promised.

Now, encased inside the energon-filled containment units, Flame had almost completed the first wave.

His name would become immutable from the records of history.

Flame picked up the picture of Vorn and Breem and, with a shout of intellectual triumph, threw it to the floor. He stepped up and crushed the picture underfoot. He walked up to his new warriors: Five robots (two had died during the “refit”) suspended like humanoid war machines in a blue glow of sheer power.

Flame proudly threw his arms up at them. “Not long now,” he said. “Before your new bodies are complete and you will free once again.”

Unknown to Flame, his five test subjects were talking to each other. They communicated on a level completely uncomprehensible to Transformers. Some might call it an additional sense, some might call it instinct. But whatever it was, they had communicated with and supported each other throughout their entire ordeal.

They screamed as living tissue was sheared away from their superstructures. They cried as their skeletons were contorted into upright forms. They wailed in agony as morphcores were hardwired into their systems.

Flame may not have noticed, or realised, or even cared, but they had felt everything. The supposedly intelligent scientist tore them apart, blindly assuming that because they didn’t talk back in a language that he could understand that they couldn’t really feel what he was doing—that he had the right to do what he did.

The five robots kept their gaze on Flame, chattering away to themselves. They also discussed the two had that captured them and regarded them with equal distaste.

There was one single emotion that pervaded their group consciousness: revenge.

The Council was surprised to see Flame. Some thought he had given up, and some thought he might have even died down there. Nevertheless, Flame was uncharacteristically chirpy and upbeat with the news he had to share with them.

As the Councillors marched in unison along the corridors towards his laboratory, Flame skipped ahead gleefully confusing them with science-talk and techno-babble.

Flame danced into the lab, tossing the double doors wide open. “Esteemed Councillors,” he sang, “may I present to you… the Preda—“

Flame noticed the liquid energon on the floor. He ran to the containment units. The realisation dawned on him as he looked up at the shattered plexi-glass.

They had escaped.

Hound scanned the horizon, looking for Mirage. He’d been gone for three days. Nobody was really worried until he hadn’t turned up at the opening of Grapple’s latest masterpiece. The Autobots found it disquieting to say the least—heck, Mirage was the sort of bot that would be there at the opening of a Pretender Shell.

His scanners were telling him that Mirage and two other unidentified signals were dead ahead, not three clicks away. Hound transformed into vehicle mode and sped towards the signals.

The road ahead was far-reaching and as straight as the optic could scan. Mirage’s signal was offroad and Hound prepared to return to robot mode.

A blip on his scanners attracted his attention. There were three more signals racing towards him. Hound put thoughts of Mirage aside for a moment and sped up. The signals continued to catch up. Hound scanned for energon residue. Whatever was chasing him wasn’t giving off the same levels of discharge as a standard Autobot vehicle.

Mirage was on his back and desperately scrabbling away from his predators. His fingers tried to find a footing in the metal rubble. For once, he wasn’t thinking about the dirt—he was thinking about his own survival.

The two animals padded towards him. They looked similar to the ones he had captured before, but now they seemed a little more angular, a little more like Transformers.

The two creatures smoothly unfolded into robots. Before, they were just animals that fought with tooth and claw, but now they were armed and clearly all the more dangerous.

The one on the left wore a double-barrelled concussion blaster on his shoulder and a sonic sword in his hand. (Mirage was good with his weapons.) The other was armed with a hand-held catalytic carbine rifle and an electro sword.

There was a brief pause as the two seemingly—and silently—communicated with each other. Before Mirage could react, a volley of white-hot lead peppered his shoulders and a dual sword strike effortlessly sliced into him and removed his lower limbs from the rest of his body.

Mirage tried to blank out the pain, but the horrific sight of his detached limbs that now lay before him was too much to bear.

He was de-limbed and defenceless, and there was no escape.

Hound unloaded his rotating machine gun into the chests of the three attackers. The middle robot (the one that sported wings on his back) lept skywards and dodged the volley. Of the other two, one just shrugged off the bullets, and the other dived forwards, plunging his thermo sword into Hound’s stomach.

Hound wailed out in pain. Not waiting for another strike, he transformed back into vehicle mode and sped off the edge of the road towards Mirage. The three robots transformed as well. The winged one took to the air, while the other two (Hound noticed the massive spear mounted on the forehead of one) gave chase.

Before he could even reach top gear, the three animals had already caught up with Hound. They were fast, make no mistake.

The winged creature landed atop Hound’s open roof and ripped into his exposed circuitry. Then the horned one rolled Hound over onto his side while the third animal tore at his underneath fuel lines with serrated claws.

This is it, Hound thought to himself.

A sudden stream of plasma tore into the three creatures. They growled loudly and looked around. They couldn’t determine where the fire was coming from. Three more consecutive blasts appeared from nowhere and pierced their armour once again.

The three beasts made a hasty retreat, leaving Hound wondering who had saved him.

The two robots transformed into robot mode and pounced onto Mirage. Through his clouded optics he could see two spiralled horns mounted on the sides of the head of one of the creatures. The left horn connected with Mirage’s body and pierced his armour right through to the other side. As oil sprayed over the beast’s face, the second animal sunk his teeth into Mirage’s back.

Mirage had been screaming so much that his vocaliser had completely burned out. He had no way of defending himself and bore the pain until he was flung aside by the animals. Now lying on his side, Mirage watched helplessly as the two animals stampeded towards him.

There was a small explosion between the Autobot and the animals. Then another. Mirage squeezed his optics shut, not daring to open them again until it was all over.

“Are you online?”

Mirage blinked and looked up at the source of the voice.

“They’ve retreated,” Chameleon said. “For now. But I think they will be back.”

Chameleon wrapped his arms around Mirage and tried to get him upright. “I don’t suppose you can transform with your legs missing can you?”

“You’ll have to carry me.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. There’s no time to lose. I managed to scare the others away from your friend, but, like I said, they will be back.”

“Hound’s here?”

“Yeah, he must have come out here to help you.”

Mirage furrowed his brow, thinking back to all the arguments about hunting for sport. And then he wondered why Chameleon was out here. “And what about you?”

Straining with Mirage’s weight, Chameleon replied: “If I hadn’t have run out on Jumplead, he might still be here. And that’s a mistake an Autobot only makes once.”

“Well, thanks,” Mirage said genuinely. “I would have died.”

“There he is!” Chameleon said, changing the subject. “And he’s still alive.”

Hound rose to his feet and walked slowly towards Mirage and Chameleon. “Oh my god,” he said. “Look at you!”

Mirage tried to laugh. “It’s rare that they actually fight back.”

“We’ll think about the irony of the situation later, right now we need to concentrate on getting home.”

“And how do we do that?”
“Well I can project holograms, Mirage can make himself invisible and you can blend in with your surroundings. I think that alone should get us home in one piece.”

Night fell on Cybertron and the three Autobots continued their journey home. They spoke not in voices, but via internal radio; except Mirage. He was in stasis lock.

+++Not long now,+++ Hound transmitted.

+++I don’t think Mirage is going to make it,+++ Chameleon replied.

+++Don’t think like that!+++

+++Any sign of those animals?+++

+++Nothing’s showing on the scanners.+++

+++Well let’s hope it stays that way.+++

Hound stopped suddenly. +++Scratch that last remark,+++ he said. +++They’re here.+++

+++Uh-oh.+++

+++Just keep as still as you can. They can’t see us, and they can’t hear us while we use the link to communicate.+++

The two Autobots froze. And waited.

Minutes turned to hours

Chameleon and Hound continued their fevered hold on Mirage’s inert body, daring not to lay him on the ground. Hound’s scanner showed five bright red dots flashing against the dark green screen.

They didn’t move.

The wait was agonising.

+++They won’t leave us alone, you know,+++ said Chameleon.

+++I know. But what else do we do?+++

+++Just keep waiting.+++

The two Autobots kept still and kept waiting.

+++We’re going to be okay, Chameleon,+++ Hound reassured. +++They can’t see or hear us, we just have to wait.+++

They waited more. Hound thought of the other Autobots safely back in Iacon. Time hadn’t stopped for them.

+++I think I can see them,+++ Chameleon said.

Hound looked forwards. The dual moonlight glinted off the animals’ sleek forms, betraying the outlines of their black armour. They were walking, slowly, directly towards them.

+++They’re coming straight for us!+++ Chameleon started to panic.

+++How do they know where we are?+++

Hound thought what to do next. They couldn’t see or hear them, but yet they came closer.

+++They may not be able to see or hear us,+++ realised Hound. +++But they can still smell us!+++

The Autobots options boiled down to one choice: Keep still or run. The animals had known exactly where they were all along. They were just being played with.

Keep still or run.

The creatures padded forwards, ever forwards towards them.

Keep still or run.

+++What do we do?+++ Chameleon shrieked.

Keep still or run.

+++…+++

The two Autobots panicked and then the beasts pounced.

Five weeks later:

Mirage lined the sight on his hunting rifle with his left optic sensor and tensed his finger over the trigger. “Got you now,” he smiled, squeezing the trigger.

“What in Xal’s name are you doing?” cried Hound, running up behind Mirage.

Mirage patiently rested his rifle on the ground. He should have been used to this by now. “What do you mean?”

Hound shoved Mirage. “I cannot believe you! After everything that just happened to us… Ratchet had to rebuild your body near enough from scratch, I had to get a new morphcore installed, and Chameleon is still in therapy.”

“And your point is?”

“You really don’t know, after all that’s happened? Haven’t you learned anything at all?”

“Nope.”

The end.