eugenesis-text

dumb, loyal, sweet-smelling Autobots massaged his ego. Five hundred years posing as an Autobot had
taught him many things about the nature of the enemy, and this display of hero worship proved that old
Decepticon adage: the Autobots are nothing without a leader.
No one could recall the exact time when he had surreptitiously swapped sides (1493, shortly after
Cyclonus and Scourge, fleeing Death’s Head, had appeared from the future). Casual lapses of memory like
these helped people forget his ‘foolish’ Decepticon dalliance. He was trusted. In fact, some of the Autobots
in his squad – Jackpot, Seisor, Rumbler, Rearguard – trusted him with their lives. That was the good thing
about being a Decepticon: you had a natural talent for deception.
Remain undercover until you are in a position to assassinate the Autobot leader.
The mission was simple but, over the years, the specifics had changed. Kill Fortress Maximus became
Kill Xaaron, then Kill Triax, then Kill Optimus, then Kill Rodimus. It had taken five hundred years of
selective murder (Autobot and Decepticon) and lies of breathtaking audacity to keep his secret undisclosed,
to climb quietly up the ranks. Second-in-command of a respected SAR squad, he sometimes wondered
whether he could have made it to squad leader or even High Command.
That wouldn’t happen now, of course. Not after today.
The cheering stopped. Rodimus Prime stepped off stage flanked by Thunderclash and Red Alert and
began walking between the squad-blocks, shaking hands.
Emyrissus did not know why Galvatron chose that precise moment to leave his throne, but within
0.17 seconds of doing so a scalding red dot was searching for the Decepticon’s neural cluster.
He slid his finger around the ultra-sensitive trigger. The metal nuzzled his knuckled joint and begged
for pressure, and as soon as Galvatron stepped in front of the weakened plexiglass he was quartered by
crosshairs. The Decepticon leader was talking into his arm, into some sort of communicator or remote
control. Another half step, a shrug of forward gesture, and he would become vulnerable.
And then it happened.
Emyrissus lowered his rifle and stared at the empty throne room, stunned by what he had just seen.
Loosening his grip, Rodimus gave Vroom a parting smile and moved a step onwards. The Pretender’s
second-in-command was waiting with an open hand.
‘I think this is a great idea,’ said Doubleheader. ‘You should do it more often.’
Prime took his hand.
‘Thank you. It’s good to know I’m doing something right.’ His smile flickered a little as
Doubleheader tightened his grip.
‘It’s good that you take the time to see the troops, you know The people that actually do all the hard
work.’
The laugh was a little too late and a little too loud.
‘Yes, well, we all have our part to play.’ He heard Doubleheader say something else and leant
forward, frowning. ‘What was that’
‘I asked if you’ve every wondered what it would feel like to die.’
‘Excuse me’ Rodimus looked down at his hand and saw the shining badge on Doubleheader’s
forearm. ‘Your Autobrand – it’s fake.’
Doubleheader’s chest split open to reveal something unnatural, something wedged between a fuel
pump and a block of energon ducts.
Red Alert yelled ‘Bomb!’
Rodimus tried to break away.
Everyone within earshot reached for their rifles.
Doubleheader smiled. It was a proud smile, a sad smile.