Slag, I wish Prowl were here, Bumblebee thought as he wormed his way deeper into the crevice where he’d taken refuge. He’d have processor-over-mattered our way outta this in a nanoklik, or at least kicked afts and taken names. Hope he’s enjoying his vacation, because we sure aren’t. This should have been a simple mission. Go to the island, check and see if the Dinobots were still there, ask Grimlock if he wanted to go to Cybertron, and hurry back to the mainland once Grimlock told them to slag off. It should have taken them an hour, two hours tops, and they could go back to helping to pack up the base and driving Ratchet up the wall. And on the slim chance that Grimlock actually agreed to go back with them, they could have brought back some help. Hauling all their junk to the new base by Sumdac Tower would go much more smoothly with three extra pairs of arms, right? He should have known by now that things could never go smoothly for the Autobots on this dirtball. Yes, the

ATTENTION ALL JAEGERS AND RANGERS Effective immediately, all Jaegers will return to their Shatterdomes of origin. With Kaiju landfall imminent, effective coverage of all Pacific Rim coastlines is of paramount importance. Any Jaeger teams not found in compliance with this order within 72 hours will be disciplined. The exception to this order will be Tacit Ronin, originally from the Tokyo Shatterdome, who will remain at Hong Kong with his Ranger, Marshal Tendo Choi. Any other Jaegers who wish to transfer Shatterdomes will be required to submit a request to Marshal Choi and wait for approval. All possible haste is recommended. The world is counting on the Jaegers. We will not let them down. Marshal Choi Sasha considered deleting the memo, as it had absolutely no effect on their team -- they were already well-settled into their old haunt at the Vladivostok Shatterdome, not gallivanting about elsewhere. Instead she filed the e-mail into her “PPDC” folder. She made it a habit to

“I refuse.” Five Council members stared back at Optimus Prime as if he’d just spoken Binary instead of Standard. He stared back at them, jaw set beneath his mask, almost daring them to press him further. These mechs had pushed him to the edge of his patience countless times over the cycles, and today they had finally pushed him against a line he refused to cross. Xaaron, predictably, spoke first. “You cannot refuse to testify against Megatron, Optimus. Even the Prime is not above being subpoenaed as a witness.” “Perhaps not,” Prime replied, “but I still refuse.” “Are ya nuts, Prime?” Kup demanded. “You of all mechs know better than anyone what that mech did to Cybertron! Do you WANT him to get away with everything he’s done?” “It’s not like we have a shortage of evidence against him,” Dai Atlas pointed out. “At this point, the trial’s just a formality. We all know he’s guilty, we just need to see justice done.” “Prime still needs to testify!” Star Saber insisted. “Do you

“Come out wherever you are, little one.” He huddled under the seat, hardly daring to cycle air as his pursuer stalked past his hiding place. He knew he couldn’t hide forever… but if he could just put off the moment of discovery a little longer… “Where are you?” the hunter asked, voice a low, taunting sing-song as he turned around and crept closer. “I know you’re in here… I can smell you…” The thought of his pursuer sniffing him out was too much, and he snorted in laughter. It was a single burst of sound, no longer than a couple astroseconds, but it was enough to catch the mech’s attention anyhow. Optics flashing, he strode towards the chair and swooped down to grab the little mech. “Gotcha!” He shrieked and kicked his legs as hands snatched him up… and let out a whoop of laughter as his captor tossed him into the air and caught him. Strong arms held him aloft a moment longer before cradling him close, and he giggled in delight as the larger mech sat down in the chair that had

It would have been a bizarre sight for any human or Jaeger had they been able to witness this tableau -- Kaiju not just cowering in fear, but scrambling to put distance between themselves and their perceived threat. The three newcomers -- Knifehead, Leatherback, and Trespasser, as the humans would have identified them -- scurried out of Slattern’s reach, while Mutavore shifted to put himself between the angry titan and Otachi, who in turn hunched low over their cub. Onibaba hung back, grumbling quietly to herself and fiddling her claws together. Raiju, Slattern’s target, hunched his shoulders and neck like a dog being scolded, tail tucked between his legs. He flinched as Slattern flashed a paw out and cuffed him over the head, but didn’t back away. He seemed to accept that he’d erred, and that he deserved whatever consequences their leader chose to dish out. You IDIOT, Slattern hissed, whacking him again. You let them see you! I’m sorry, he whimpered, backing away a step.

Orion later learned that the only reason he wasn’t grounded for the rest of his functioning days was because of his injuries. Not just the sympathy factor -- though Prime admitted that punishing Orion after he’d already been shot in the back by a Decepticon sympathizer felt too much like kicking him while he was down -- but because Prime and Elita figured that being berth-ridden for a couple decacycles while he underwent repairs was pretty much the equivalent of a thorough grounding. And honestly, Orion couldn’t help but agree. Oh, it had been almost enjoyable for the first few days -- his parents, brother, and friends had all fussed over him, and being under doctor’s orders to stay prone meant he was excused from his usual chores. But laying in bed bingeing on entertainment feeds and playing video games had long since worn thin, and his wings were twitching with impatience to be up and about. At least he had Caliber and his friends to alleviate his boredom somewhat. He was sure

In a chamber deep in the heart of Iacon, a meeting took place that would decide the future of Cybertron. This wasn’t nearly as heavy a statement as one might expect. Every meeting of the Council decided some aspect of Cybertron’s future, even if it was something as miniscule as whether to raise a certain tax a fraction of a percent or change the design of the capital city’s seal. Of late, however, almost every Council meeting held a solemn air, one that reminded every mech present that they played a hand in historic events… events that would have vast repercussions for Cybertron’s future. Optimus Prime should have been present at this particular meeting. As the one who had captured Megatron and his double-agent within Autobot High Command, it should have been his privilege and honor to tell his story to the Council. But he had respectfully declined to stand before the Council, insisting that he was needed back on Earth to round up Starscream’s clones and recover the last few

Uncle Newt was dreaming again. Mustang Omega could feel it, the images playing out in the back of his mind like a video file. And as always, it took all his willpower not to charge into his Ranger’s bedroom and shake him awake. It was one of THOSE dreams, and though Newt insisted they didn’t bother him, Mustang knew otherwise. He looked up from the tank of Kaiju flesh samples he was taking notes on, his visual sensors making “eye” contact with Uncle Hermann at his desk. The scientist gave a slight nod, indicating that he sensed the nightmares too, then shook his head to warn Mustang off of waking him up. The black Jaeger wanted to fuss, but he didn’t like to argue with his Rangers if he could help it. They were usually right about things, after all. “Yo ‘Stang, wanna get me some fresh slides?” Mustang nodded and hurried to the supply closet. “Yes, Van Pelt.” “I have asked you time and again not to refer to him as ‘Stang,’ Gideon,” Hermann grumbled, going back to his

If Orion’s history classes were to be believed, the Great War had begun in this very arena, informally known throughout Kaon as the Pit. Megatron had established himself here as one of the best gladiators in all of Kaon, if not Cybertron itself, and used his charisma and fighting prowess to assemble an army of Decepticons. And his oilthirsty ways had carried from the arena to the battlefield, turning all of Cybertron into a killing field before Optimu Prime had finally ended his reign of terror. Of course, that was history as written by the victors, Orion thought. He was sure that Megatron himself would tell a very different story if asked. Though at this rate he was going to be very lucky if he ever got a chance to ask him. “You’ve gone quiet, little Autobot,” Strika rumbled as she chained him to a heavy pole in the center of the arena. “Electro-cat got your vocalizer?” Orion forced himself to grin at her. “Just struck dumb by your incredible beauty, ma’am.” Strika growled

Cherno Alpha stared up at his old chassis… or his new one, he corrected himself. His entire body save his Conn Pod had been obliterated at the Battle of Koko Guyot, sheared apart by the jaws of the Kaiju Armada and further wrecked by the explosion of the nuke that had sealed the second Breach. The survival of his Conn Pod, however, had also meant the survival of his computer core, and Dr. Lightcap had transferred said core into a smaller body after the battle. It had taken the PPDC two years to build this new chassis -- one similar in almost every way to his old one, but glossy and new, free of the dents and scars he had accumulated over a lifetime of battles. And Cherno couldn’t help but feel a rush of awe at the sight of it… but also a sense of loss. He’d wanted to keep some of those scars as mementos of victories and losses, and they’d been erased along with his old body. I wonder if Mama and Papa can get the maintenance workers to replicate them in this body, he mused.