"Starscream, once I am restored, I will support you as the new Leader of the Decepticons. The true Leader."
The Fallen dangled the ultimate prize before Starscream, his voice a dry rasp that filled the ancient hull. "For now, all warriors on this vessel are under your command. I have only one requirement."
Starscream's face twisted into a mask of fawning obedience. The promise was exactly what he wanted to hear. He knew the Fallen's true identity; with the blessing of a Prime, usurping the throne would be as easy as flickering an optic. He had dreamed of this cycle for eons.
However, Starscream was too busy bowing to see the flicker of pure contempt in The Fallen's red gaze.
"While I finalize my recovery, you are to expand our ranks," The Fallen commanded. "When the time comes, I will lead a grand armada back to that planet. I will extinguish the Autobots, crush the humans, and then... I will unmake that world entirely."
"By your will, Master."
As Starscream backed out of the chamber, The Fallen's head slumped back into the nutrient fluid. "Soon," he hissed to the empty room. "Soon, I will return to Leader-Class strength. And then the harvest begins."
Konnas Canyon. Decepticon Base.
The laboratory doors hissed shut as Skygnaw turned to leave. He had officially signed over Blackout's chassis to Scalpel.
An Elite-Class frame was a fortune in raw materials, but compared to the secret of ascending to the Commander-tier, it was a fair trade. As he walked through the main transit corridor, Scalpel's parting words echoed in his processors:
"Skygnaw, you should know... Earth is not a simple rock. Soundwave tells me that even in our First Age, this planet was a battlefield for the Primes. A war of the elders took place here, and their disappearance... it started on this soil."
Scalpel had promised the secret of the Spark-split, but he had also provided a map of the "Real Earth." Skygnaw, having watched the movies in his past life, already knew some of this, but hearing it confirmed by a Cybertronian specialist added a layer of gritty reality.
In the First Age, the AllSpark had plenty of energy. The Primes didn't fear splitting off Commander-Class life-force back then. The warriors who fought alongside the six brothers on Earth weren't just grunts; they were the elite of the elite. And when the brothers fell, their armies fell with them.
Some, like Jetfire, slept in museums. Others were buried in the deep crust.
I can't take on a Commander-Class warrior in a fair fight, Skygnaw mused. But a wounded one? One whose systems have decayed for a million years?
A dangerous, opportunistic spark of an idea began to take shape. He pulled the AllSpark fragment from his chest, looking at it through a protective transparent casing he'd fashioned. He'd stowed it within Black Panther's chassis for safekeeping. He was planning a trip, and he couldn't risk the fragment's radiation accidentally waking up something he wasn't ready to kill.
The problem remained: he didn't have the source code to trigger a Spark-split, and the fragment was too small to "talk" to. He was like an ancient human holding a smartphone—he could poke the screen, but he didn't understand the circuitry.
Just as Skygnaw was finalizing his departure, a shadow fell across the hangar floor.
Barricade.
The black-and-white scout stood at the canyon floor, looking up at Skygnaw with a strange, hollow expression. He had vanished during the height of the Rushville battle, and no one knew where he had spent the last three days.
"Barricade. Why are you here?" Skygnaw asked, his optics narrowing.
"Soundwave sent me." Barricade's voice was flat, devoid of its usual predatory bite. The loss to Bumblebee followed by the death of Megatron had clearly broken something inside the scout.
"Soundwave?" Skygnaw relaxed slightly.
He had already reported Starscream's disappearance and his own assumption of command to the Spymaster. If Barricade was here on Soundwave's orders, it meant the eye in the sky was still watching.
"What are the orders? New mission?"
Barricade looked at Skygnaw for a long moment. "The Master has ordered me to attach myself to your unit. I am to follow your lead... and obey your arrangements."
Skygnaw was surprised. Soundwave's trust in Barricade had clearly plummeted after the scout's "tactical withdrawal" in the city. Now, Barricade was being demoted to an underling.
"Very well. Follow me."
Skygnaw turned toward the base entrance. He had recently integrated Blackout's EMP Cannon into his left forearm, replacing his standard blasters. He'd passed on the heavy space cannon—too much weight—but the EMP was a surgical tool. It could paralyze a Cybertronian's nervous system in a single pulse.
He led Barricade into the research wing, giving him a perfunctory tour and introducing him to the remaining grunts. Skygnaw was treating the base like his own property now—"selling the father's land," as the saying went.
Once they were inside the secure research lab, Barricade hesitated before speaking. "Skygnaw... there is something I found. Something you need to see."
"What is it?"
Barricade projected a high-resolution hologram into the center of the room.
"While I was off the grid, I tracked a specific Decepticon signature to Peru, in South America."
The hologram zoomed in. In the dead of night, a massive military convoy was emerging from a hidden mountain facility. The trucks were loaded with heavy-duty equipment, and in the center was a massive, 'V'-shaped ship of dull reddish-bronze metal.
Skygnaw felt his internal fans spike. "Is that...?"
Beside the Decepticon insignia on the hull was a stylized violet spider.
The exact mark Scalpel had shown him.
"The ship Scalpel was looking for," Skygnaw whispered.
He had intended to start a global search after the dust settled from Rushville, but it seemed luck had a way of finding him now that he was an Elite. Peru was a large country with plenty of places to hide a starship, but a convoy that size left a trail even a human satellite could see—let alone a Decepticon scout.
"Barricade, you did well."
Skygnaw headed for Scalpel's lab. It was time to collect on his investment.
Thirty minutes later, Skygnaw left the lab with a predatory grin. Scalpel was ecstatic; he was willing to pay a king's ransom in tech and medical support to get that ship back from the Peruvians. The only catch? The tiny doctor wanted to come along for the ride.
"The client is always right," Skygnaw thought. "Pack your bags, Doctor. We're going to South America."
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