I. Threshold

Scourge had related the events surrounding the cessation of Galvatron’s plasma bath to a mass of half-bewildered, half-enthusiastic Decepticons. "The Sweeps and I will serve as your elite guard," Cyclonus had proclaimed on Thrull, "and the other Decepticons will make excellent gun fodder."

Spoken in jest, Scourge had assured the gathering, made to appeal to Galvatron’s biting sense of sarcasm, but Soundwave nevertheless found the offhand way with which Galvatron and his officers lumped together all the non-Unicronian Decepticons distressing. Individual talents were ignored as all became mere pawns, to simply attack when ordered. Those with the ability to form gestalts now did so on their own initiative, with no order from above, and not always on the most tactically advantageous occasions. While the Decepticon army remained comparable in size to that of the Autobots, its lack of coordination made it a much less effective fighting force; moreover, Cyclonus was reluctant to implement any more than the barest organizational measures, as much as from a fear of Galvatron’s anger at such planning being done without his knowledge as from an inclination towards disinterest.

Soundwave’s cassettes, once considered indispensable, were now barely acknowledged by the Unicronian officers. The exception was Ratbat, who occasionally performed long-range scanning that utilized a paltry fraction of his resources. It was true that the surveillance and espionage talents of Laserbeak and Ravage were not as applicable as they had once been, once the Autobots had finally implemented effective security measures throughout Cybertron, but they remained skilled combat veterans. Now, however, they were never individually summoned, and the decision over whether to employ them defaulted to Soundwave, who knew better; all battles against the Autobots these days were losing ones, and there was no reason to release his warriors from the safe confines of his chest, except back at headquarters where they might assist with some task or simply enjoy freedom of movement. In the latter endeavor, there were careful rules to be followed: the Sweeps, childlike and antagonistic, were to be given a wide berth; Cyclonus and Scourge were unimportant, invariably displaying utter indifference; and Galvatron was to be avoided at all costs.  

These rules were never ignored, yet it was not always possible to obey them, as trouble wandered in its own almost intelligent path around the base. One might seclude oneself in a locked room, but that was behavior unworthy of even the lowest-ranked Decepticon; besides, Galvatron was likely to show up anywhere, unexpectedly, with samples of unpleasantness to distribute from his inexhaustible supply. Unless one had significant amounts of time to spend developing avoidance techniques (and undoubtedly some did just that), one simply went about one’s business with a wary eye and adapted to a weekly allowance of abuse. A few, however, still had sufficient pride to walk completely without regard if they decided the vicinity was clear.  

In that spirit Ravage now prowled about the energon processing center, somewhat restlessly. When the rate of incoming energon was high, as it had been years ago, one of his functions had been to apply his scanning abilities to fresh cubes in search of defective mixtures. Ever since the Decepticons’ expulsion from Cybertron, however, the energon flow had slowed to a trickle and there was little of that work in the queue. He had already finished his scans--twenty cubes were today’s output, scavenged from the weak geothermal energies of Charr--and was now only searching for a distraction.

He came upon Astrotrain, Motormaster, and Soundwave as he rounded a corner of the energon pile. The first two had finished their accounting for the distribution of energon to the rest of the force, and were currently enjoying their share early in front of the meager store. The third was some distance away, apparently studying a portable display screen. He paused, then padded forward. Motormaster saw him and lowered his cube.

"Well, look who it is," the Stunticon leader half-snickered. "What do you think he wants?"

"Same thing we all want," said Astrotrain. "You’ll have to wait until the distribution, Ravage."

Ravage’s optics glowed, as if to show what he thought of that.

"You’re a greedy one," said Motormaster.

"He’s hungry," Astrotrain replied. "Can’t say I blame him. I wonder if--"

The sound of approaching footsteps, angry ones, cut off the dialogue. A shadow grew rapidly in the entrance to the complex. Astrotrain and Motormaster, perhaps from extrasensory perception but probably from experience, jumped to attention. Soundwave glanced toward the entrance . . . and stepped quietly behind the energon pile, unobserved.

As the owner of the shadow rammed through the doorway; the remaining two Decepticons executed a chest salute and rapped the standard reception, slicing through the room:

"Hail Galvatron!"

Galvatron’s optics panned them. He gave no at-ease command. Indeed, one might have thought he did not recognize them but for the fact that he was not attacking. He only looked, at them and everything else.

Perhaps half a minute passed. During that time, Galvatron was the only source of movement in the room. Even Ravage dared not budge; he remained standing as he had been. Faint sounds of work in other parts of the complex drifted through, but they were another universe. Here there was only Galvatron, tension, and possibly death--who knew?

Finally Galvatron began to walk foward, and as he did, his foot struck a piece of equipment that had been carelessly left in the middle of the floor. Abruptly his face contorted hideously. He barked a short scream, and, lightning-quick, drew back his leg and kicked the object in a random direction.

Ravage had been too far out in the open for Soundwave to have called him back upon Galvatron’s arrival; seen fleeing, there would have been immediate suspicion. The now-dented piece of equipment had chosen a path directly toward him. He leapt out of its way, growling involuntarily. The sound of it stopped Galvatron neatly.

He slowly turned toward Ravage, his face twisting in on itself even further. His voice was deadly soft. "You dare?"

Ravage was still and silent, at the moment not even angry with himself for being careless, or frustrated with the misunderstanding. The stare of Galvatron had frozen his thoughts. They were released when Galvatron began to advance upon him.

He had two choices: retreat or attack. The latter was unthinkable against the leader of the Decepticons, and so he backed away slowly, silently. Galvatron came steadily, and as Soundwave looked at the face of his leader, his composure, already rattled, was cut cleanly through. Galvatron’s features were a picture of infernal rage--but utterly blank. There was no thought in them at all. His optics had actually dimmed, almost so that their red tint was not visible.  

Ravage must have also seen it, Soundwave thought; he was afraid. This was an emotion rare for Soundwave to feel from any of his cassettes, but especially Ravage, who would have unhesitatingly thrown himself against Metroplex if called upon to do so. Soundwave felt his fear, but kept as silent over the mind link as he did outwardly. He had no advice to give. What advice was there when dealing with a wholly unpredictable entity?

Perhaps simply because he no longer wanted to bear the gaze of the frighteningly hollow face in front of him, Ravage whirled and began to run. The instant he did so, Galvatron uttered an incomprehensible shriek, raised his cannon, and fired.

Ravage could not have gotten more than ten feet. The blast caught him fully across the side; his scream resonated through the complex, halting the sounds of work. He skidded across the ground and collided with a console, which uttered an electronic belch and shut down. There he lay, motionless and in a heap.

Soundwave stood immobile, unable to do anything, as much from apprehension of receiving a comparable display of wrath for interference as from a dreadful mesmerization at seeing Ravage, who had served the Decepticon cause as effectively as Megatron himself, receiving such an unmitigated and potentially fatal punishment. Astrotrain and Motormaster remained at attention as they had been since Galvatron’s arrival. Their postures were the most idiotic contrast to the events in front of them.

Galvatron crossed the floor, drew back, and with a cracked scream dealt a savage kick to Ravage’s unconscious body, sending it into the nearest wall. It fell and crumpled into a form like the one of seconds ago. The leader of the Decepticons looked at it for a few moments, then stalked out, looking directly ahead.

When the footfalls had faded, Soundwave emerged, walked to the broken shape, knelt down, and gathered it in his arms. As he stood up, he saw Motormaster and Astrotrain studying him. Their faces were expressionless.

Without a word he turned and headed in the direction of his lab.


II. Sentinel

Shockwave was bored.

For perhaps the thousandth time he looked around the miniature base, at the many Decepticons performing wholly unnecessary maintenance on themselves for lack of better things to do, and at the few performing critical maintenance on the artillery that kept this small piece of Cybertron, no more than a few square miles, Decepticon property. 

He was justifiably resentful at having been left out to dry on Cybertron, tacitly deemed not worth retrieving or even calling away after the majority of Decepticon forces had fled Unicron in the war. He imagined that Elita One was basking in the irony of it all, wherever she was. At least it was not necessary for him to try and find diversions for his companions; they understood the situation as well as he and had worn out their bickering long ago. Not even trifles remained to quarrel about. They could only keep themselves in good order and the Autobots repelled.

News of anything outside his own microcosm or the Autobot dominion came only through periodic communications from Soundwave, the highest-ranking member of the old generation--his generation--still in active service under Galvatron. The communications were sent over an indirect telepathic link, using aging relay stations floating in subspace to traverse long distances. The actual messages were concise, impersonal, and accompanied in most cases by relevant diagrams and video footage. The diagrams were depressing in what they didn’t show: expansion off the makeshift base of Charr. Video consisted largely of military "conferences" in which Galvatron, with whom Shockwave had never been fully acquainted, raved in disjointed fragments about the destruction of the Autobots and his own immutable glory. After viewing several of these in consecutive communications, Shockwave considered them redundant and bad for morale, but Soundwave clearly intended to be thorough--or to make a point.

Point taken, Shockwave had thought after observing the eighth spectacle.

With all the free time now available to him, he was able to engage in some of his past scientific pursuits, albeit with extremely limited resources; at one time he might have worried that some of his older research would have been eclipsed, but Soundwave’s messages eliminated that particular concern. Little technological advancement was possible in the stifling, disordered, unmotivated environment that suffused the majority of Decepticons; research and development fell almost entirely to Soundwave, who had to work independently with no backing, and with no assistance other than that offered by his cassettes and his own competence. In one of his more recent messages, Soundwave had indicated his decision to not apply some of his high-energy physics discoveries to weaponry. He had not expounded on it, but Shockwave had understood: the weapons would have eventually landed in the hands of Galvatron, who would doubtlessly have used them in the most unwise of fashions, probably to the danger of his own troops.

Shockwave absorbed all of this with a certain clinical detachment, and remained grateful for Soundwave’s unfailing contact; there was no reason the once Guardian of Cybertron should not be kept abreast of all developments, even those of a gasping empire.


III. Psychology

Optics unlit, Ravage might have been giving a good impression of death were it not for the surrounding life-support equipment.

He had received both ends of the spectrum with regards to damage. That done to his limb control systems was academic and a matter of course to repair. That around his brain was anything but: the energy surge generated by Galvatron’s blast had destroyed most of the pathways connecting his cortex to the rest of his body. Protective cutoffs had prevented the surge from reaching the brain itself, but reconstruction of the pathways would be a slow matter of infinite care that Soundwave would not have entrusted even to the Constructicons, skilled as they were in such surgery. As a safeguard and to make the work easier, the brain had been placed in a low sleep; duty would be a dream, perhaps literally, for several weeks.

Even if consciousness had been possible, he would have refused it. The masses of tubes and wires running into him made him nearly unrecognizable, stripped him of his character and dignity--for a creature such as he, a fate more humiliating than death. Soundwave understood this and so did not intend to revive him until he could at least move about normally.  

All that was possible had been done; now Soundwave sat in front of his console, reviewing.  

Contained within the massive data banks of his computer was a near-complete schematic archive of Decepticon technology going back to the early days of Megatron’s command: weaponry, base plans, gestalt designs, energon distribution systems, and miscellaneous research. The weapon collection was really quite remarkable--ah, here was a device theoretically capable of subatomic dispersal, a perfect disintegrator conceived as a response to the Autobots’ Negavator of old. And here was a bomb which, upon activation, released two hundred canisters of chemical toxins in a pattern of concentric circles over a ground area of several square miles. The ideal use of the bomb was for quick removal of city populations. Soundwave had been personally responsible for much of the archive’s content; it was sometimes satisfying to look over, even if present circumstances did not require or were otherwise not conducive to the realization of its abstracts.

A casual observer might have wondered why nothing in the library was ever considered as an instrument for Galvatron’s removal. The reason, Soundwave knew, was simple: Galvatron could not be killed. He was invincible, not physically, but in the sense that what little vitality remained in the Decepticon army was entirely dependent on his continued existence. Unicron had redesigned the Decepticon leadership to be under his own control, bonding Galvatron to himself, and then Cyclonus and Scourge to Galvatron; since his death, the rigidity of his structure had become a vulnerability. Dissension had been slowly accumulating in the rank and file with the ascent of Galvatron’s madness, but it was a passive, lackadaisical affair that would never amount to anything so long as the Unicronians remained so fiercely loyal. It was a no-win situation, Soundwave had dryly concluded long ago. The Decepticons would never realize their potential as long as Galvatron was alive, but to eliminate him would mean the collapse of authority and the beginning of directionless anarchy. They were perpetually trapped between the life and death of their insane leader.

And here were the madman’s schematics, fascinating from a research standpoint, if nothing else; in his redesigns, Unicron had replaced nearly everything internal with completely alien elements, while merely altering those things close enough for compatibility, such as the personality component chip. Soundwave regarded it with some interest. 

Between life and death, he thought suddenly. The solution presents itself.

He looked up, and insofar as it is possible for an expressionless face to be set in shock, his was. Abruptly he swiveled around his chair and, over the telepathic band, ordered his own army to report at once. 

He made no apologies for only belatedly resorting to treason. It was interesting, he reflected, how much circumstances dictated one’s possible lines of thought. In the days of Megatron, such plans as he was making now would have been literally unthinkable. Then, there had not been constant fear of hidden mines and undeserved reprisals, only respect and loyalty. These elements would never have found their place with Starscream, loathsome, self-serving child that he was; they had settled almost gladly on his assassin. It had only been natural for them to persist for so long over all the observations of Galvatron’s degenerative state. The question whispered in circles for years had been: What remained of Megatron in Galvatron? To his surprise, Soundwave had realized that it didn’t matter. If the question even had to be asked with such frequency, what meaningful residue of their former leader could there be? Only chaos was here. 

It had been obvious from the beginning that his operation would have to be utterly clandestine. He had briefly considered adding others to his small conspiracy, but there were few reliable names to choose from. Most of the other Decepticons were members of gestalt groups, or, more accurately, gestalt cliques. To take any one member into confidence would result in the information spreading like wildfire, after which heads would literally roll. No, it could not be taken beyond his cassettes, whose trust went without saying.  

His inspiration had produced a theoretically very simple plan. It called for a rewiring of the lines around Galvatron's laser core into a short loop. With nowhere for the power to go, the core would rapidly burn out, after which the body would appear dead. He would then recover the personality component chip--the metaprocessor--and place it in a protected circuit. The matrix of Galvatron’s damaged mind would be preserved in an immobile and harmless form, to serve as the iconic backbone so vital to the Decepticon command structure. 

What had been slightly more difficult was the determination of how he would obtain the opportunity to operate on such critical components. They were both self-sustaining and never touched in routine maintenance. It was therefore necessary to arrange an incident of extensive damage, one that appeared accidental to such an extent that suspicions would not be raised if it were not successful. This was most easily accomplished by taking advantage of the few areas of Galvatron's behavior that were predictable.  

One of these was his slow destruction of the landscape of Charr. Outcrops of rock, cliffs, any natural formations were targets for his fits of unexplained anger, and leveled accordingly with his cannon. A cursory evaluation of the current geography would reveal probable targets--high things usually went first. Within these, Soundwave's cassettes would bury explosives which, when struck by an energy blast, would create explosions of a magnitude calculated to bring about bodily incapacitation but not death. Fortunately there was a wide range of injury that was acceptable: all that was needed was a way to bring Galvatron onto a repair table so the crux of the plan could be carried out. And there was no worry about interference from Cyclonus or Scourge; for all their elitism, the Unicronians were not knowledgeable technicians in self-maintenance. That task had fallen to Soundwave and the Constructicons.

Presently he finished assembling the last of the explosives, and placed it in the arms of Rumble, who, along with Frenzy, Laserbeak, and Buzzsaw, stood around him in a rough semicircle. Ratbat was far away on a scouting mission. Each held three explosives which, from their external appearance, could have been practically anything. No problem to be seen carrying, but one would have been hard-pressed upon discovery to explain burying anything in areas as strange as the ones for which these were intended.

You realize that if we're caught, they'll scan our minds, Rumble said as he took the cylindrical device.

Frenzy jerked a thumb at Ravage and shrilled: We’re all dead anyway!

All of them looked in that direction for a moment, then back. Soundwave fixed his conspirators with his optic band.

Aloud, he said: "Proceed."


They returned an hour later relieved of their bundles. No one had been caught.

Return to normal business, Soundwave advised. There is nothing more for you to do.

Buzzsaw and Laserbeak flew off together. Rumble and Frenzy remained where they stood, looking at each other uneasily. Soundwave regarded them briefly and then turned his attention to Ravage. There was little they could do to assist; eventually they sat down against opposite walls, fidgeting. He considered telling them again that events might not turn for days--everything depended on when Galvatron’s next destructive spree broke out. There was no question that it would happen, but it was like watching for novae in uncharted starfields. But they knew that; they were simply in a nervous limbo, awaiting results from work which carried the heaviest of weight, and so he kept silent.

Hours passed, during which time Frenzy left and returned with no explanation. Laserbeak arrived and departed in a similar fashion. Soundwave continued his work. The only visible evidence of progress was the disconnection of one of the wires leading into Ravage from the life-support equipment.  

At one point he was contacted over the viewscreen by Astrotrain, who wanted to know if he still desired the delivery of Ravage’s energon allotment.

"Affirmative," snapped Soundwave. He closed the channel without waiting for a response.


IV. Execution

Two days passed before the expected. There was a distant rumble, and a very small vibration rippled through the lab. Soundwave heard shouting and the sounds of Decepticons scrambling to the source. He joined them without pause.

They arrived at a clearing thick with dust. Boulders of moderate to small size lay everywhere. In the center were Cyclonus and Scourge, kneeling by a smoking form. Soundwave broke through the crowd into the clearing at the same time as Scrapper and Hook; they joined the three in the middle.

"Mighty Galvatron," Cyclonus said, "if you need help--"

"Fool," the huddled shape on the ground rasped. "Leave me before... I..."

Scourge looked up. After a time Cyclonus met his stare. Then, simultaneously, they slid their arms under Galvatron and hoisted him up, to his grating objections. Their thrusted activated and lifted them a few inches off the ground. Scourge threw a look at Soundwave and the two Constructicons: they were to follow.  

The Sweeps, who had been at the front of the crowd, started forward.  

"No!" Scourge barked. "Return to your duties." He panned the rest of the gathering. "Now."

They slowly complied, with many glances back.  

"There must be volatile rock deposits out here," said Scrapper. "We’ll have to do surveys."

Soundwave made a mental note to have the explosives removed before that occurred.

"To the repair bay," Cyclonus ordered. They took off.

"Let me go," Galvatron croaked, optics flashing erratically. His arms lifted perhaps two inches and then fell back.

"Mighty Galvatron, we must help you," Cyclonus said. "You need attention."

"I need... nothing."  

There was no safe reply to that.  

The dome over the repair bay had never quite been finished, and as a result, those lying on the operating tables could look up at the stars while they underwent repair. For some the stars held a natural tranquilizer, for others, mockery. Soundwave had never known either; it had been some time since he’d received an injury that required outside assistance. He guessed that Galvatron despised the stars and would have blotted them out if possible. Pity they did not have a Quintesson quadrant lock.

They entered the dome through the top and carefully set Galvatron on the nearest table amidst his grunted protests. Soundwave remained by the table, making it clear that he would be the one to perform repairs. He certainly could not have any of the Constructicons observing at close quarters. Cyclonus and Scourge would keep a respectful distance away from Galvatron in any case; perhaps they thought it sacrilege to peer closely inside the body of their leader.  

Soundwave's optic band brightened. A scanning beam materialized from it, and slowly ran over the length of Galvatron's body. The damage was significant but not severe. In addition to the obvious changes in his exterior, the motor relays and speech center had been affected; they were the cause of Galvatron's near-paralysis in movement and voice. Only Soundwave knew that none of it mattered. If things went as planned, Galvatron would not be needing his body in the future.

"Condition critical," Soundwave said to Cyclonus.

"How critical?" 

"Laser core has been damaged. I must attempt to stabilize it."

"Then proceed."

The two commanders and the Constructicons watched at a distance as Soundwave did his "critical" work, which was infinitesimal repair of those relays close to the laser core. Throughout it, Galvatron swung his head and writhed as far as he was able, repeating orders to release him at once. He appeared not to realize that he was not in restraints.

Suddenly he ceased moving entirely and stared upward. For an instant his optics locked with Soundwave's and brightened. Soundwave regarded them steadily. Then they dimmed as Galvatron resumed his random movements. It was only a spasm, and although he was not superstitious in the slightest, Soundwave interpreted it as a warning. Too long of a wait, and a sudden core overload would be suspicious. The time was now. He moved his tool over the connections around Galvatron’s laser core, a small, marvelously intricate crystal network of light.  

A movement of yellow caught his eye. With an imperceptible movement, he looked up to see Hook standing noticeably closer to the end of the operating table, focused on the cavity in Galvatron’s abdomen. Then, with a similar motion, Hook raised his view to roughly Soundwave’s chest.

Up until now everything had gone according to plan. Soundwave had made every effort to appear natural in his activity, but nevertheless he had aroused the Constructicon's interest. Hook knew Galvatron’s body as well as he and must have understood now what he intended. Whether Hook suspected Soundwave of trying to secure leadership for himself was immaterial; there was nothing to lose either way by sounding an alarm.

No, thought Soundwave. We have everything to lose.

After several seconds, Hook dropped his gaze.

With one quick motion Soundwave connected the core into a loop.

The flash was brilliant, blinding. It was more that than Galvatron's scream that caused them all to stumble away from the table. There were shouts of surprise from most of those present. Only Hook and Soundwave were silent. The light died quickly.

"What’s happened?" demanded Scourge.

Soundwave reapproached the table. The body upon it now lay completely still. His optic band again brightened and sent out a beam over the laser core, 

"Laser core has overloaded," he said inflectionlessly, aware of Hook’s optics on him again. "All circuits are inoperative."

"There must be something you can do!" Cyclonus cried. "He cannot die!"

"Recovery... impossible."

"He cannot! He--"

"Wait." The beam moved to Galvatron’s head. It confirmed what Soundwave already knew: the metaprocessor was untouched. The beam vanished.

"Correction," he said. "Personality component intact."  

For a long time Cyclonus stared at Soundwave’s impenetrable face. Silence spun out.

"But what--" he began, then snapped his mouth shut. He was perhaps loyal to a fault, but no fool. There was nothing more to be done here. He recognized that he was now at least temporarily in command, and the biggest mistake he could make before his inferiors would be to request advice on such a critical matter. As the old maxim went, a commander could be wrong, but never uncertain.  

He gave Galvatron’s form a final look, then turned to Scourge.

"Assemble our fellow Decepticons," he said. "An announcement must be made."


The entire force, minus those out on energy scouting missions and the small group on Cybertron, was gathered in one of the many open areas of Charr. They stood at attention, listening to Cyclonus speak of what he termed the "discorporation" of Galvatron. Soundwave stood in the front row, surrounded by his cassettes: Laserbeak on his shoulder, Buzzsaw hovering nearby, Rumble and Frenzy flanking him. Ratbat was still away; Soundwave had relayed all that had happened.

He was only partly listening, already having a good idea of the direction of the speech. His thoughts were running over the incredible events of the past few hours. That he was directly responsible for them in no way lessened their impact.  

He had half-expected Cyclonus to ask if any sort of replacement body could be constructed for the personality chip. He had been prepared to answer negatively, and to falsify as many technical reasons as necessary for justification. In a sense, though, his response would have been proper. It would have been impossible to give the chip a body approaching the quality of the original, because there was no way to duplicate the forges and assembly devices of Unicron. No blueprints existed for such systems, and the real examples had of course long been destroyed. None of the Unicronians, including Galvatron himself, would have tolerated a conspicuously secondhand body in any case; perhaps that was why Cyclonus had not asked.  

Soundwave could only hope there were other reasons.

"Here," Cyclonus now said, holding up the protected circuit containing Galvatron’s metaprocessor, "is the essence of our leader."

There was murmuring among the crowd. Cyclonus held up a hand.

"At the moment," he said, "we lack what is necessary to create a suitable vessel, but we shall obtain it... by any means. Until then, I intend to command in his image, and from his wisdom."

I sincerely hope not, thought Soundwave. He glanced to his right and saw the Constructicons looking at him; sure enough, Hook had given them the full story, or as much of it as he knew from the operating table. It didn't matter.

Cyclonus reached behind his back, drew his gun, and raised it to high port.

"If there is anyone who would challenge me," he boomed, "let them step forward now."

Silence from the crowd. Cyclonus waited.

At last, satisfied, he replaced his gun.

"Then so be it! We shall begin massive energy scouting at once. Gestalt groups, report to Scourge for assignment. Soundwave and Astrotrain, report to me."

He raised his fist and roared:

"To victory!"

And a cheer of a confidence and power not heard since Galvatron had first taken command rose up in the ranks.  


Half an hour later, Soundwave found himself in Galvatron's disused throne room. His stare was fixed on the throne itself. There, hardwired to a protected power circuit and surrounded by a small forcefield, rested Galvatron's metaprocessor, home to a mind possessed by a madness strong enough to overpower even the treatments of Torkulon. 

His objective had been completed; what, then, was he doing here?

He must have had some reason, but he couldn't remember. It was unusual for him to forget anything.
No matter. There were more immediate concerns. He left to join Astrotrain for lift-off.  

***


Shockwave read the message once more. It was four words:

Galvatron neutralized. Cyclonus instated.

That and an image of Cyclonus addressing the Decepticons were the only items in the communication. Slowly he set it aside and looked out once again over his soldiers.  

He was no longer bored. Now he waited.