eugenesis-text

fleets in the galaxy. Guarding Darkmount itself were the gestalts, neatly alphabetised, Abominus thru
Predaking. They cast shadows on the ground troops, on commandos like Blitzwing and Metrocon,
Roadblock and Titax – bug-eyed gun-lovers who locked themselves in their rooms to polish their bulging
weaponry.
Sygnet clutched his laser pistol, balanced on tiptoe and looked at the rows of Decepticon warriors in
front of him. He saw wings, fins and war paint, faces turned skyward and boot-jets sparking up for the big
push. Although blessed with an aerial mode (albeit a shaky stop-hop tri-wing), he was glad he’d never
qualified for the AC. At least the rejection had allowed him to concentrate on engineering. He wished the
weapon clamped between his fingers were an arc-welder or a laser scalpel, and that he were a good few
hundred miles away.
Soundwave slid the Detonator’s crosshairs into position and waited. There was no rush. He’d reacted
to the hyperspatial breach like Galvatron, with his fists and feet, spearheading the charge onto the
battlefield. Now he thought like Shockwave: watch and wait, see who fires the first shot. Perhaps the
Quintessons weren’t here to fight
A blast of coppery wind hit the battlefield, clammy and rootless. It curled between thousands of
mechanical bodies, tested their rigidity and clawed back into the sky. In the distance, the Quintesson fleet
remained motionless, as poised and glossy as a photo finish.
‘Look at them, Quantax! Beautiful!’
On the bridge of the Conquest, Jolup bathed in the glow of the huge monitor screen and the closeup
of the Decepticon front line. ‘All of them gathered in one place, in one spot! You cannot waste this
opportunity!’
‘Be patient,’ said Quantax. ‘Savour their confused, frightened little faces.’
‘Frightened’ Ryknia pointed to Soundwave’s huge head. ‘They don’t look frightened to me. They
look like they’re going to attack us.’
A technician looked up from his console. ‘Receiving a transmission, General Quantax.’
‘Patch it though, Q-219.’
‘This is commander Soundwave,’ said the figure on screen (although the voice and face were slightly
out of sync). ‘I know who you are. State the reason for this violation of Decepticon airspace or we shall be
forced to take action. You have three seconds to comply.’
Jolup laughed.
‘Three.’
Quantax reached for the trigger button.
‘Two.’
‘Is everyone ready’ he asked.
‘One.’
It looked like a flare, urgent but harmless - just a crimson flash low down on the Conquest’s belly.
But then it stretched into a laserbeam and hit Darkmount with the force of a comet. The base burst like a
water balloon, spraying the ground with flame.
Soundwave’s forces were plunged into disarray. Some instinctively ran for home, but Darkmount no
longer existed. In its place was an open coffin and a mound of bones, picked clean, scrubbed raw, wrapped
in orange and red.
Autobot City was no more.
It had given up the fight, so to speak, when Metroplex had punched his way free and ended a fouryear
residency as the HQ’s sentient core. Autobot City was not only dead, it had already been cremated,
and its ashes had already been scattered. Scrape back the powder and underneath were the bullet shells, the
bright white missile casings, the empty clips and the engine oil.
The Autobots ran towards the command tower, ramping over ridges and crawling from craters, their
injured friends strapped to their roof racks like battered luggage. Ultra Magnus led the way, bunting
Sharkticons aside and waving weapons the size of mini-Autobots, his eyes betraying a feeling of
nonchalance and extreme psychosis. His chop ‘n’ change, off-the-shelf Flamebirth features – all white-steel