Forget Me Not: Part 3: Living Shields (Side 2)
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Roulette whistles.
“Looks worse than the aftermath of a bombardiers’ night out.”
It does too. The street is full of bodies, most dead in the ‘in bits’ sense. Me, Rou, Flare Up and Racetrack are standing around the service hatch we just climbed out, trying not to look nervous. I am, anyway.

There’s no sign of Darkstar.
“No jokes.” Racetrack looks around. “Sensor sweep, everyone. I can still hear th’ madmech. I dinae wanna join this heap o’ scrap”
I can hear him too but I can’t pin down the exact…oh. Yes I can.

As one, we look up.

He’s got a lot higher. He’s above the tallest towers now, all alone except for the squad of Seekers trying to bring him down. They aren’t getting very far.
“Okaaayyyyy.” Flare Up rubs the back of her neck. “We’ve found him. Now what?”

Springer’s plan is so dumb that the only way to live with it is to act without thinking. So, as usual, I do.
“We get his attention,” I answer, raising the rifle I’d borrowed from Ironhide.
“Dya think he’ll even notice a shot from here?” asks Racetrack with a frown.
“One way to find out!”
The bolt of supercharged plasma rips through the night sky. It hits Darkstar on the back just as he finishes off the last Seeker. But he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Daeyamn!”
Then he turns. And sees us. And dives.

“Drive for it!”
In ‘seconds, a motorbike, an F1 racer and the sleekest sports car on Cybertron are rocketing up the street, weaving between bodies and fallen buildings. Darkstar accelerates, plunging out of the sky, Star Sabre shedding streamers of energy. Even though we’ve got a head start, even though we’re pushing our engines to the limit, even though we’re using every racing trick we know, he closes the gap frighteningly quickly.

As we crash through an intersection, he’s right overhead. Bolts of lightning come down all around us, stinging and burning. The sword whistles past, microns away from my windshield. I turn sharply.

Too sharply.

I spiral off course, out of control. The girls race on. I come to a halt with a jarring thud, bouncing off some kind of entrance ramp. Darkstar slows and turns to stare at me. Ohslagohslagohslag –

“What in blazes was that?”
The piercing voice comes from wherever the ramp goes. I feel even more vital innards seize up.

Starscream.

He’s practically on top of me, barely a metre or so up on an elevated platform. Two Earth-adapted Seekers flank him, one grey, one orange, both with nosecones for helmets. Thrust. Sunstorm.

And there was me thinking things couldn’t get much worse.

“Autobots popping up like rust rashes, Megatron rushing off to wrestle Prime, bits of Polyhex going boom every five ‘seconds – and now this! Has someone neglected to inform me that the world’s gone mad? Or is this sort of thing common around here now?”
Starscream sighs and turns to look at someone I can’t see.
“Honestly: you turn your back for a minute and everything goes to the Pit.”
“Right,” agrees a familiar voice, “And speaking of Autobots – YOU?!”

Astrotrain charges forward, looking ready to explode. But as he reaches for his rifle, Sunstorm points at Darkstar.
“Shouldn’t we be worrying about whatever that is?”
“Correct. Forget the Autobot,” Starscream snarls, staring at the cloud of blackness hovering on the other side of the road.
“But –”
“Forget him!”

The local psychopath (well, the newest one anyway) hasn’t made any move to attack. He’s just floating there with an odd look on his face.

Sheesh. Like he could have any other kind.

“Identify yourself!”
Darkstar doesn’t. Instead, he raises the sword so that it cuts across his face. His eyes burst to full life, brilliant red. At the same time, the colours on his armour invert and, just for a ‘second, there are two Starscreams.

Then everything’s back to ‘normal’. Except for the fact that Starscream’s gaping.
“You!” he screeches.
The other Seeker flows into a battle ready stance the moment before the Decepticon’s turbines start up. His swords snap out of their housings, glinting wickedly. And then they launch at one another.

“What the slag are you playing at?” Astrotrain roars.

His answer is a resounding clang-crash noise as the two swordsmechs fly into each other. Unfortunately, the resulting slicing/chopping fest doesn’t distract the triple-changer from the important things in life. The muzzle of his massive rifle practically kisses my canopy.

Starscream and Darkstar tear into each other like the loonies they are. They start off evenly matched but we have a lone Decepticon fighting someone powered by the Star Sabre. That sort of fight is not fair. Soon Starscream is giving so much ground that they’re nearly out of sight. Thrust makes a grinding noise.
“World really has gone mad. Sunstorm, with me!”
The two coneheads transform and take to the sky, angling for a bombing run. I can’t watch.

I’m too busy getting away from Astrotrain.
“Your funeral, Auto –” he begins.

One of the things you may not know about me is that I’m one of the fastest Autobots ever built – but only in short bursts. Y’see, my engine is built in such a way that, for a deci-cycle or so, I can become a rocket car. It’s got something to do with spark power and energy absorption – you’d have to ask Ratchet or Signalflare for the mumbo-jumbo – but it all means I can get really, really fast, really, really quickly.

“ –braaaatttt?”
I’m gone.

Even with everything that’s gone wrong, I’m starting to think that someone’s looking out for us. Darkstar is still going in the direction we wanted him to, the same one in which Starscream is now trying to retreat. I check my internal clock. Right on time! If the girls got to Ironhide and Springer knows the Polyhex sewers like he says he does, we’ll be able to ‘grab victory from the jaws of defeat’ and all that stuff.

Only one problem: I’m still going like a missile and I can’t steer very well at this speed. In the time it’s taken me to think that, I’ve gone under the flying battle, missed the rendezvous point and I’m now shooting straight towards our target.

Well, they said they need a major distraction. They’re going to get two.

The skyscrapers vanish. In their place is a tower that puts all the rest to shame. Two klicks high in all, a needle of grubby silver anchored in place by huge cables and surrounded by a web of gantries that makes the former power station look like a noughts and crosses grid. And caught within that are the four things that make Polyhex every sane Autobot’s worst nightmare: The Smelting Pools.

Oh, and then there’s the garrison of Decepticon commandoes standing in front of me. I spot Shockwave on the nearest walkway. I can see the Constructicons close by. A couple of claw-headed Frontline tanks. Mostly, I see a sea of ugly, battle ready, heavily armed nutcases.

My opinion of the Decepticons is not going up.

But that’s not what I’m here for. I’m going on impulse, fuelled by shear speed-thrill. Nothing can stop me! I can’t even come up with a battle cry. I just scream nonsensically.

Take out the combiners first: that’s rule two of attacking Decepticon strike forces. Rule one is never get into a fight without back up but that’s kind of useless right now. I plough straight for Steamhammer, burning up what’s left of my super-charge as I crash through the grunts. At sub-meteoric speed, I slam into the green giant’s legs in a move designed to deck him.

“YEEAAARRRGGGHHH!”

My front bumper feels like corrugated iron. Steamhammer looks down at me quizzically.
“Yes? Did you want something?”
He reaches down with his massive scoop-claw-hand thing.
“A redesigned chassis, perhaps…?”
He stops. So does the laughter from the rest of the ‘cons.

I check my rear view. Guess who.

Starscream lost. He’s hanging limply, held up by Darkstar’s hand round his throat. With a flick of the wrist, the mighty Aerospace Commander is hurled into the middle of the assembled masses. Most of the Decepticons step aside.

Shockwave aims his cannon arm.
“Destroy that creature at once!”
A stream of radiation shoots towards the Seeker. The Star Sabre cuts across its path and suddenly the energy’s going in the opposite direction. Shockers’ eye widens.

Even before the glare from the exploding cannon has died down, Darkstar is cutting through the Deceps. Steamhammer forgets about me and yells at the Constructicons to form up. But before Devastator can be unleashed, a well-aimed corpse does what I couldn’t and the ‘con engineer is thrown over the edge and down into the abyss between the Pools.

I struggle into robot mode and try to scuttle away from the melee. By rights, even a super-sword-powered-Armageddonist should have been beaten by the sheer size and number of his enemies. No. He just keeps coming, tossing them around like dummies.

“Comeere!”
Astrotrains thick fingers close round my spoiler and my feet leave the ground. I can feel the beautiful blue crystal cracking and my once-shiny red armour warps just that little bit more.

This is getting so old.
“Nothing fancy this time, brat! I’m just gonna smash your pretty face in!”
“Oh, get revved you piece of scrap! Can’t you see the slagger mashing up your pals?”
“Frag him. He can wait his turn!”
He draws back a fist.

“Ah can’t leave yah alone for a ‘second, can ah?”
Ironhide’s gun spews acid. The jet splashes across Astrotrain’s shoulder and he howls.
“You’ll pay for that!”
“Not in this universe,” I hiss.
And with that, using his arm as a pivot and a lot of frustration as energy, I kick out at his knees as hard as I can. He goes down with a very satisfying crunch and I make a point of landing on his face.

“Nice moves.” Ironhide twirls his pistol. “But I hope you’re not plannin’ on stoppin’.”
I grin savagely.
“I’m just getting started!”
“Great! Pick up yer rifle, soldier – AN START SCRAPIN’!”

We charge for the swarming Deceps, guns blazing. A red and orange bike thunders past, grenades scattering from her weapons rack. Ironhide whoops
“That’s mah gal!”
“You can see why they call her ‘Flare Up’.”
“Rou!”
She’s by my side, bow in hand.
“Wouldn’t miss this for the world!”
“Me neither!”
“And there was me thinking you might have gotten yourself into more trouble than you could handle.”
“Hey, I wasn’t worried for a nano-second!”
“Ah, but you aren’t very good at understanding situations!”

With Darkstar trying to rip open every Decep he can reach and a bunch of crazed Autobots blocking their escape route, they haven’t got a choice but to stand and fight for their lives. They don’t have a prayer. In fact, they don’t have a hope.

A minute later and only us and Darkstar are intact and on our feet, though Racetrack has a nasty break down her right leg and I’m about to come apart at the edges.

And I don’t like the way the freak’s looking at us.
“Um…guys…shouldn’t…I mean…err…help…”
The Seeker drops the head he’s holding and starts advancing.
“Stand ya ground. Wait fer it.”
We all draw closer to Ironhide. Stupid really but we do. Darkstar smiles again.

Two massive claws close around him in a bear hug that puts Megatron’s to shame. Dark lightning slashes across Landmine’s orange armour, making him screw up his face in pain. Before his prisoner can make another move, a hydraulic hammer comes out of nowhere and connects with the hand that holds the Star Sabre.

CRACK. “Arrraaaggggghhhhhh!”

Darkstar screams. The sword goes flying. As it curves through the air, the blackness seems to boil away, leaving clean, white and radiant crystal.

“And that,” says Rack, “Is the end of that.”
He and Ruin share a smug smirk. Unfortunately, it’s a bit premature. The aura around Darkstar hasn’t gone and it explodes into life. Lightning closes around the Star Sabre’s hilt, yanking it back down and flooding it with darkness again. Nearly.

There’s no sound, no light, no puff of smoke. One moment the Sabre’s there. The next, it isn’t. Darkstar screams one last time then flops in Landmine’s arms, head lolling.

“That was lucky.” Rotors clattering, Springer swoops, transforms and lands. With a flourish, he takes out a small black plate. “This is plain old good work.”

His thumb stabs the activator strip.

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Twenty days ago:

The door to Optimus Prime’s office is open and I can hear voices from inside. Nearly dropping the stack of datapads, I come to a terrified stop. Optimus’ sounds angry.
“The War must end at any cost, is that what your saying? That our troops are just cannon fodder? Even for you, this is too far!”
Springer answers, sounding just as mad.
“You know that’s not what I’m saying! What do you think I am? I’m just saying it’s time to stop playing about. We can’t go on with guerrilla raids and minor scraps! We have to retake Polyhex and –”
“And you think we have the resources for something like that?”
Jetfire, using his calm-to-drive-you-nuts voice.
“You think we don’t? We have ships, we have weapons – slag, we have more Autobots in a fit state to fight than we’ve had for vorns! We have Earth as a staging ground; we have GB to help us refine the Energon we need! We –”
“It’s not enough.”

I’m shocked to hear Ratchet. He never leaves the med-bay when he’s supposed to be on duty. What is going on? And why the hell am I listening? I’ll be slammered for this!
“It’ll never be enough.”
“And how would you know, medic?”
Silence. No one, not even Springer, speaks to Ratchet like that.
“I’m not sure. But I’ve seen the result of enough ‘last ditch all out assaults’ to know what happens. I’ve patched up enough old timers and lost enough neoforms to know that between unstoppable forces and immovable objects, it’s always the forces that come off the worse. You Wreckers think you’re so invincible and so essential and so elite and that you know best and that only your plans can work and that they always will – tell that to the mech who’s just been torn up by Devastator or the femme who’s just been cut in half by a Seeker.”
“I’m…sorry, Ratchet. That was out of order. But I can’t believe I have to talk like this. Prime, you of all mechs…when this thing started, it was you who came to us and tried to get us to fight. Me, Wingsaber, Jetfire, Ironhide – you put your career on the line to try and get us to see just how dangerous Megatron was, that he had to be fought. So why do I have to beg you to strike back?”
“It is not the end. It is the means. I will not send any more mechs to the slaughter needlessly.”
“Needlessly! There is so much need, why can’t you –”

“Ahem.” Tagline. “I don’t think we disagree with your sentiments. But your plans are unfeasible. Yes, we have the hardware. But we have no way to strike at Megatron’s strongholds. The energy grid over Cybertron’s northern hemisphere is impenetrable.”
“Then we find a way to break through it! We have thousands of mech, here, in space, with the Southern Resistance –”
“An’ Megs has thousands of his own.”

Ironhide. Oh no. If he finds me here, I’ll be stripped down for parts!
“An’ we can’t get our mechs near ‘em. That grid can’t be worn down, can’t be broke – our ships ain’t got a chance o’ dentin’ it.”
“Then we tear it down from the inside! Get squads in – tunnel under it, teleport, steal a ‘con shuttle – anyway we can and blow of those slagging towers!”
“You’d get one, maybe two.” Ratchet sounds even bleaker than usual.
“And it wouldn’t make any difference,” puts in Wheeljack, “You’d have to destroy at least fifteen before the shield would even flicker.”
“Oh come ON! Haven’t you got anything between those light bulbs? Think something up! Build something to break them all at once!”
“…I suppose a surge of directed energy might overload the net – channelled through the emitter of a tower…it might be possible…but –”
“Right! So all we have to do is sneak two, three squads under the shield, create a major distraction for the local garrison, the Wreckers can get that in place and it’s bye bye energy grid!”

“It’d be a suicide mission,” Ironhide grates.
“It might be our only chance. Are you saying any Autobot wouldn’t jump to volunteer?”
“Nah. I know they’d all jump at it like petrarabits. But the point is, they’d be jumpin’ to their deaths. An’ so would the Wreckers.”
“Since when has any of us been scared of that? And since when did we have the right to take away anyone else’s right to choose it?”

After another tense silence, Optimus speaks.
“I’m beginning to remember why I didn’t throw you in the grinder the first time you proposed a stunt like this. And once again, you are right. We will examine this strategy, plan every detail down to the last iota…but there is one thing I can say straight off: if it does proceed, I will be one of those providing the distraction.”
A chorus of protests and outraged gasps fills the air. I want to join in –
“Gentlemechs.” Tagline again. “Before we continue with this ‘debate’, I suggest we see to the personage standing outside.”

He opens the door fully and nods.
“Hello, Hot Rod.”
“Ur…hel – err…sir!” I salute as well as I can. “Physical records as requested by Optimus Prime, sir!”
“Flame-brain? What the slag do you think you’r –”
“Stand down, old friend.” Prime’s suddenly looming over Tagline’s shoulder. “Thank you for bringing those.” He takes the pads from my numb fingers. “Oh, and in future, if you find my door standing ajar when in shouldn’t, feel free to barge in and remind us of base protocol.” His eyes crease in an almost-smile.
“Urr…y-yes sir!”
“Dismissed.”
He goes back inside. I back off, hoping I don’t start running for it. Tagline turns as well then stops.
“I’m sure you are not the sort to spread rumour, Hot Rod.”
“Err…about what?”
“Good lad. Now, Springer: what was that you mentioned about a shuttle?”

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Nothing happens.

Springer pushes the control again. Then again.

Still nothing.

“Oh no,” Flare Up breathes.
“Wha’s wrong?” demands Racetrack.
“I don’t…know…” Springer’s face deepens into despair. “I don’t know!”

“Something gone amiss, Autobots?”
Like a bad dream, Starscream slowly levitates out from the wreckage of the Deceptigoons.
“In the same vein as my ‘brother’s attempt at murder, perhaps? Incompetence, possibly?” He laughs. Our guns snap up. The laughter doesn’t stop even as he raises his hands. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about me – I’d be more concerned about them.”

We follow his pointed finger. The sky above western Polyhex is filled with winged shapes. Everything from spy drones to war ships, from Seekers to Dreadnoughts – Decepticons, Decepticons and more Decepticons.
“You didn’t think we wouldn’t summon reinforcements, did you?”
He stops giggling and fixes his stare on Darkstar.
“And you can stop faking. I think I know myself well enough to be able to recognise the signs.”

Landmine jumps and tightens his grip. Grimacing, Darkstar looks up. Starscream grins.
“You are in a lot of trouble, brother. You must have wiped out, oh, about three hundred Decepticons! For shame! You are as much a Decepticon as I – why do all this?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Insanity, rage, pain – I’m sure you had your reasons. But it is time to put them aside. Your powers make you a god among mechs! Why waste such talents?” He puts out a hand. “Embrace your true heritage. Turn that power on a deserving target. Help us wipe Prime and his spawn from the face of the universe!”

I don’t know how we’ve let him talk so long. I’m all for blasting the creep out of the sky but somehow he manages to speak faster and louder than I can think. You almost can’t help but listen.

But we’ve all snapped out of it now. Optics narrow, teeth grind and fingers tighten on triggers. Springer’s rotors leap from his back to his hands.
“Time to shut up Screamer.”
“Urr…Springer…I…” Landmine’s voice is strained. “Something…I…arrrrr!”

With a thunderclap, he’s thrown aside, black lighting leaping over him. Darkstar straightens.
“Embrace my heritage?”
“Yes!” Starscream answers triumphantly, “Turn on those who would ally themselves with you persecutors! Take your rightful place in the Decepticon Empire!”

“Oh. I see.” His twin’s eyes brighten slightly. “And there was me thinking you just wanted to use me as a weapon.” Starscream’s smile seems to leap to the other Seeker’s face. “You see, ‘brother’, I know you just as well as you know me.” He opens his hand, reaching out, mirroring Screamer again. Embedded in his palm is a tiny shard of crystal.

Energy wraps around him like a cloak, the crackling noise filling the air, drowning out the ever-closer whine of jet engines.
“Or at least, just as well as you think you do. The Star Sabre’s gone again. My mind is clear of its addiction. My madness has receded. I can see the death I have caused, the destruction I have left in my wake. I can see what I have done.”

Is it me or does he seem to be growing darker? As if his armour is fading completely to black…

“And, once again, I have done exactly what those three wanted. I don’t really believe I can do anything else. No matter how hard I try, no matter how far I run or how much I plan or how insane I become, I cannot be anything other than what I was built to be.”

Then he’s airborne, creepers of blackness swirling around him.
“But I think, dear brother, you have just made up my mind. Because watching you stand amid the bodies of you comrades, listening to you try and make a pact with the monster who destroyed them, I realise that, in the end, whether it’s pre-programmed or pure instinct, I’m not cut out to be a Decepticon. Oh, I’m insane enough, I’m psychotic enough, I have every reason to become one… But if we do not try to be something we are not, if we do not try to make something out of our lives other than what is planned for us…then we truly don’t deserve life.”

He throws back his head and rises further, up towards the top of the grid-tower.
“Maybe this is what the Star Sabre wanted all along. Maybe it isn’t. Whatever the case, I do this because I choose it for myself. Seize the moment, brother, and everything shall be yours.”
The black light suddenly pours from him. He becomes a…a cloud of darkness in humanoid shape, a statue of oil in billowing smoke.

“What are you waiting for girl?”
I hadn’t even realised Rou had been raising her pulse pistol. I half turn. She hesitates, astonishment crossing over her face. Darkstar gives a shout that shakes the world.
“FIRE!”
She does.

The bolt flies upwards in slow motion. We track its progress, confused, baffled, helpless. Starscream cries out. Landmine staggers to his feet. I reach for Rou. Ironhide starts to bark orders. Springer grunts. Darkstar’s eyes shine out of the darkness, brilliant, vivid, alive.

The bolt hits. Something, somewhere explodes.

Blackout.

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I wake up holding Roulette tight to my chest. I ache all over. I feel like someone just used my head in a game of prisma-ball.

This is either the aftermath of my best dream come true or the beginning of my worst nightmare.

I choose option three: reality.

OK, first things first. Roulette feels alive. Her systems are operating at a decent power level and her spark signature is strong.

Second things: I’m alive. Bits of me seem to have given up but I can still think – not that anyone thinks I ever do – and I can still move. With great reluctance, I let go of Rou and roll onto my back.

The sky is full of battleships. And jets. And sky-sleds.

But even as I start to scream denials, I realise that they aren’t Decepticons at all.

They’re Autobot ships.

The shield must be down! We did it!

Well… Darkstar…Roulette…something happened…an explosion…we all got thrown everywhere…I remember catching hold of Rou and…

Does it matter how? It is! We’ve won! Haven’t we? I can still hear explosions and missiles and lasers, but our entire space fleet is overhead! There’s no way we won’t win this now!

I get to my knees and lean over Roulette. She’s still out. Now I get a better look at her, I can see the shattered armour on her right shoulder and the cracks across her helmet. Trying not to panic, I touch the broken bits as gently as possible. She groans and her eyes flicker.

Relieved that she really is still alive, I look about, trying to find help. We’ve landed close to the edge of one of the Smelting Pools. I try not to think what would have happened if we hadn’t stopped. The molten metal a hundred metres below moves about hypnotically, red and orange waves shot through with black rising and falling, burning, seething death in liquid form –

I snap myself out of it before I fall headlong in. A dip in there would really ruin my finish. Not that there’s much left of it anyway. I look like…like…

On the opposite side of the pool is a sight that really does hypnotise me.

Optimus Prime and Megatron.

Locked together on the very edge of the Pool’s rim. Each with wounds that make my cracked skin, useless wrist-guns and crumpled spoilers look like a few scratches and a dust speck.

Prime’s wings are in shreds. Megatron’s cannon barrels are twisted beyond repair. They both look exhausted. And they’re throwing every last erg of power into the fight, wrestling, tearing, ripping, pushing.

They’re on the brink. One of them, maybe both could fall over at any ‘second.

Prime gains the upper hand, flinging Megatron away. Not far enough. He comes up, fist sliding over Prime’s chest. Optimus buckles, fighting for balance. Megatron presses his advantage, landing another blow, then a third.

I’ve got to –

To what? Get Prime killed? Knock them both into the Pool? Do Megatron’s work for him?

Prime kicks out, crushing Megatron’s left treads.

He needs me about as much as he needs a hole in the head.

Megatron grabs Prime by the antenna and tries to ram him into the ground.

He’ll win through. He has to. He’s Optimus Prime.

Prime flails, forcing Megatron back.

Keep down. Keep away. That’s Prime’s fight.

They grapple. Megatron roars like some demented animal. Prime matches it. Horrifically slowly, Prime begins to give ground, literally scraping a trench as his feet slide from under him.

“The War must end at any cost, is that what your saying?”
“Save it, Hot Rod. Just get out of the way.”
“Ya got better things ta worry about than that, flame-brain.”
“And maybe that’s just what we want.”
“If we do not try to make something out of our lives other than what is planned for us …then we truly don’t deserve life.”

Roulette’s pulse pistol. It’s at my knees, microns from her limp hand. I reach out and close my hand awkwardly around the grip, cursing my oversized fingers. Prime’s visibly moving now, throwing up sparks as Megatron pushes him with all his might. I lift the gun, willing myself to go faster, willing the universe to slow down. I hesitate, insecure, unsure…

Megatron’s face contorts in triumph.

My finger snaps closed on the trigger.

As before, a bolt of light rips free from the tines and races towards a mech made from darkness.

It splatters against Megatron’s back, fizzing, crackling. He flinches as the discharge hits the gashes in his armour.

And that’s all it takes.

Prime swings. Megatron is spun round. Tipped over the edge. He falls. The surface of the Pool bubbles.

That should have been it. But it isn’t. As he falls, he slows, coming to a halt just above the metal. He begins to rise up again, arms outstretched, anti-grav drive lifting him clear.

A shot echoes out. He jerks as it cuts across his left thigh. I look down. Roulette’s awake, bow in hand, aim as perfect as ever.

Snarling, Megatron recovers and tries to carry on.

Another gun fires, striking his shoulder. Ironhide, a fifth of the way around the rim from us.

Megatron bares his dental strips and continues upwards.

Two more bolts. Racetrack, supported by Ruin, and Rack.

He starts to waver.

A rocket. A hail of bullets. A grenade. Landmine, Clawhammer and Flare Up.

He starts to fall again, clawing at the air as if trying to haul himself up.

A shaft of light. A plume of fire. A jet of hurricane force air. Refute. Stockade. Springer.

His toes touch the Pool’s surface. He hunkers up, still trying to get more height.

More shots and bolts than I can count. Arcee, Chromia, Stakeout, Sideswipe, Checkpoint, Drench, Overcast, Roadbuster, Tagline – the Autobots from the mission in, more from the invasion force. I keep firing as well. So does Rou.

Megatron drops further. He yells out as his legs disappear into the burning liquid. He tries to fire back but none of his guns work. His fusion cannon splutters. We keep up the barrage, pouring on the firepower. He screams as it rips through his skin, blowing out internals. His armour pours off him, melting, joining with the Pool. His hands clench and unclench uselessly.

He’s up to his chest now, stretches of circuitry open to the air, hydraulics weeping, tubes giving way, oil evaporating.

“NO!” he rages, just audible over the sounds of our weapons, “YOU… CANNOT… I…CANNOT!”

Up to his neck now. His optics spark. His face starts to flow away, bubbling and slumping, uncovering the hardier endoskeleton.

“THIS CANNOT… I… AM… NEVER!”

The Pool closes over his head. The greatest evil in the galaxy vanishes, sucked down into the Pit.

All the Autobots around the Pool keep their guns levelled, as if we can’t believe that he’s gone. I help Rou to her feet. She squeezes my hand. We look to Prime.

He stands silently, barely alive by the look of things, watching the slick of scum and the few bubbles that were once the Decepticon tyrant.

And then he lifts his head and looks straight at me. I don’t look away. He reaches up and takes off his battle mask. He smiles. He salutes.

I return it, feeling a hundred klicks high and like my spark has been touched by Primus.

Then he takes in everyone there and says four simple, wonderful words.

“Autobots: We have won.”







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