Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Our story begins many millions upon millions of years ago, in a corner of Universe 7 truly untouched by the wrath of Moro, the Planet Eater, and the great Majin Buu, the physical embodiment of chaos itself. 

For a time, there was nothing but empty space occupied by the occasional cluster of stars and other celestial objects.

But apart from that? No sentient life existed whatsoever.

Then comes… well, we’ll call it The Cube.

No one knows of its origin; some believe that it was the relic of a long lost civilization. Others believe that it was merely an extension of Primus looking to expand its influence beyond its normal confines.

But whatever it was, it brought change. Change on a scale the likes of which no one has seen before.

For it had constructed around itself a suit of armor: a spherical planet-sized hunk of metal, imbued with The Cube’s life giving properties.

Slowly but surely, the first Sparks were being formed, and it was only a matter of time before they began making metal exteriors of their own to protect their fragile cores.

For a time, all was peaceful.

Then came a sudden surprising change.

The accounts regarding this statement are varied, and all are as equally uncertain of what truly happened.

But it was less than 40 million years ago that the first Transformer tapped into the gift imparted into their very beings: the ability to change shape to suit their needs. 

The first golden age of Cybertron came… and then it began crashing down with the planet’s first conflict: another race of sentient mechanical beings, the Quintessons, came to the metal planet to enslave its populace and turn the other machines on there into their personal work force.

It succeeded for a time, but oppression can never truly last.

It was only a matter of time before their labor force turned on their masters.

With the first swing of a single energon pickaxe, the war against the Quintessons began.

And when the dust settled, the once proud race of multi-faced machines were sent running away with their tentacles tucked beneath them. 

Cybertron had won, but the toll was great: millions of sparks had perished in the fight for freedom. But no more.

Cybertron picked its last remaining pieces back up again, and rebuilt itself into something greater, something grander, something much more of a force to be reckoned with.

The Second Golden Age had begun… although if one were being honest, a more appropriate name would have been “Fool’s Gold.”

For you see, Cybertron’s people had been changed by their Quintesson oppressors.

No longer were they so naive, so peaceful, so… weak.

They would not let what had befallen them once take them again.

And so they set their sight out onto other worlds to conquer. To control. To drain.

To propagate Cybertron. To turn their home into an invincible, untouchable, unblemished society.

But these efforts required certain liberties to be taken away.

A caste system would be formed, where one’s alternative mode would decide their lot in life, without giving them a say in the matter. 

The Quintessons had left, but in their place stood beings just as horrid: the followers of Functionism would enforce their views on Cybertron’s populace, and say it was for the betterment of its people. A greater good, they’d say.

But while some would fall for their honeyed words, others saw the bitter truth behind their saccharine lies.

And yet only one would dare to take a stand against these brutes: a lowly miner, designated as unit D-16. 

D-16 would take the first steps toward revolution, by staining his hands with the blood of one of his many oppressors: a senator’s guard who had taken the life of his fellow miner. 

He would escape the attempts the Functionists made to shackle him and silence his insubordination.

D-16 would find his way to the gladiator pits of Kaon, where his thirst for blood, lust for battle, and hunger for change only grew. It was there that he'd earned his title. The first designation he had ever given himself: The Gladiator of Tarn. 

He would cultivate his forces, gather his followers, forge weapons out of whatever he and his fellow warriors could scavenge.

And when the time came… they struck with the force of a rampaging Titan.

They stormed Cybertron’s capital, Iacon, and slaughtered all of those who stood in their way.

But this wasn’t enough. They wanted more. They wanted to burn the rest of the universe into ash, tear it asunder, and take the remains to make a new order: one where Cybertron stood above all others, and one where the only thing that separated their brethren from their fellow brethren would be what they earned, and what they earned alone.

However, they were met with resistance. Resistance in the form of someone that not even D-16 had expected. 

An old friend: Orion Pax, the archivist turned super cop, and someone who had helped D-16 to create the doctrine that his Decepticons would go on to live and die by. 

Orion had believed in The Gladiator, believed in change. He believed that there was something wrong with Cybertron, and that it was up to its people to change it for themselves. To make it suit their own needs. 

But D-16 had taken it too far. 

To trample on the lives of others for the sake of bettering their own… that wasn’t what Orion had envisioned.

The Primes were corrupt, and the senate was no better. But this wasn’t the way to beget change: shedding energon would only lead to more destruction and needless carnage. Killing to prove their worth would make them no better than the oppressors they swore to stand against. 

D-16 had lost sight of what he once stood for, and so, in secret, Orion Pax had gathered a militia of his own, made of like-minded bots, or at least those who had come to hold a disdain for The Gladiator’s methods. 

For every loyal follower who had come to believe in The Gladiator’s visions for Cybertron’s ultimate future, there was another who believed in the teachings of Orion Pax, that there was a better way than The Gladiator’s more brutal methods. 

For every warrior who hoped that the next fight would be their last and the final tipping point to end the war, there was a soldier looking to make their mark and find meaning within the battles they hoped would come. 

For every loyalist that wore their badge loud and proud, there were those who found shame in their ideologies, but stood side by side with their fellow Mecha without hesitation.

For every low caste soldier looking to enact change the only way they saw was effective, through the most extreme methods at their disposal, there was a high class aristocrat who had come to hold a disdain for the ways of old, who believed that it would be through moderation and more subdued practices that Cybertron would be made better for all of its inhabitants.

And for every single bot who wore their true intentions with eager grins, who showed themselves to be genuine in their beliefs and flaunted them for all to understand, but not necessarily accept, there were those who hid their real selves away from prying eyes, who kept their cards folded to their chests and out of sight, who waited until the time to reveal their hand would inevitably come upon them. 

Yes, Orion Pax had gathered many from all walks of life, and regardless of where they came from and the ideals they fought for, they all chose to stand with the natural-born leader for one reason or another.

But so had Megatron.

Both had a way with words unlike anyone else before them.

Both could move mountains with a single rousing speech, or unite anyone and everyone of all sorts with the right words and motivation.

Both were impressive on their own, but together? They could have been unstoppable. They could have made a difference.

Perhaps they would have, had things not turned out the way they did.

A hurtful remark here, a brushing off there, and all sorts of missteps in between.

But nevertheless, neither side came out of it happy.

And from that day forth, peace between the two factions was simply not an option. Not anymore.

From that day forth, Orion Pax and his Autobots would be at war with D-16 and his Decepticons. 

From that day forth, the fate of the universe was changed forever, and there would be no backing away from what was to come.

From that day forth, the four million year slog known as the Great War had begun, and no one would be spared its wrath.

At first, the skirmishes were small, at least relatively speaking.

Some solar cycles saw each side focused on procuring arms manufacturing plants and the like to arm their forces.

Others saw energon refineries being sieged and shaken to their very foundations in an attempt to keep the fuel supplies stable.

And some even saw battles take place over key towns, settlements close enough to whatever the Autobots or Decepticons needed at any given moment.

But never had they touched a major city. It was an unspoken rule, after all; they were home to the neutrals. The neutrals... they hadn't asked for this war. But no one had. And eventually? Something would give.

The Crystal City was a place of beauty, art, culture.

It was the last remnant of Cybertron's prior golden age.

It was the last semblance that the Transformers had of any normality.

It was their last hope. Their last hope that things could go back to normal. Their last hope that war wouldn't swallow them whole like it did for the organics they'd come to share the galaxy with. Their last hope that maybe, just maybe, they could make it out of this relatively unscathed.

They weren't wrong for being hopeful. But their hope wouldn't be enough to stave off the inevitable.

Perhaps it was on purpose. Perhaps it was by accident. But a bomb was detonated in its main center of commerce. Thousands of sparks perished that day. Thousands that would never see the sun set again.

But perhaps they were the lucky ones. For they were never made to see the horrors that would follow. 

Enraged, pointing the blame at one another, and itching for a true battle, the Autobots and Decepticons would engage in what is regarded as the battle of firsts.

The first battle fought over a city, or rather, what now remained of it.

The first battle where Megatron and Optimus truly locked horns.

And the first battle where Cybertronians on all sides understood the true meaning of war.

Thousands more would follow their neutral brethren into the well of the Allspark.

An even greater number would escape the battle, either too shaken by the fight to continue waging war against the opposing side, or with a lust for blood awakened by the actions of their most hated enemies.

Orion Pax and D-16 had torn into each other; the former's orange energon axe and beam rifle clashed with the latter's purple energon mace and arm-holstered fusion cannon. 

Both had left each other with scars, physical and mental, but only some of them would ever truly buff out.

Both had left the other unable to move under their own power, their joints too damaged to even make the slightest bends.

Both had left in one another a hatred that burned brighter and hotter than the star that Cybertron orbited; a hatred of each other... and of themselves.

And both were soon dragged away by their subordinates, to be rebuilt so they could fight another day.

Alpha Trion, the last of the 13 primes, and one of the original Cybertronians born from the first of the planet's spark hotspots, would help reformat Orion into an even bigger, better, stronger, tougher body. The super cop's already imposing figure would only be made even grander. Even greater. Even more awe inspiring.

He would be fitted with the Matrix of Leadership, the last gift that the first Transformer, Prima, had left his people before his passing.

Orion Pax had died... but in his place stood something even greater: Optimus Prime was born. And he would lead the Autobots into victory. He would protect, he would fight. He would win. For the Autobots. For all life across the galaxy that was sure to be stamped out under D-16's wrath... and for himself. 

As for D-16? 

Well, he had also been rebuilt with a body similar to Orion's new form in principle. 

But when he had heard of the rumors about the supposed "rebirth" of his most hated nemesis and former friend?

Well... he fell silent. Simple as that.

But on that day, he declared that he would be D-16 no more. 

From this day forth, he was to be referred to as Megatron, after the Fallen Prime himself: the one to break away from it all.

Perhaps it was a mockery of his former friend's newfound status. Perhaps it was to make himself seem even more imposing. But either way, the name had stuck.

And from this day forth, the war between the Autobots and the Decepticons had changed.

No longer was it Orion Pax and D-16 pitting themselves and their forces against each other; now it was the era of Optimus Prime and Megatron, leaders beyond all recognition. 

The Great War would begin to pick up in pace from there.

Weapons of mass destruction produced by each side were unleashed upon their opponents.

Although none could ever quite reach the scale of the Combiners of old, or the Omega Guardians, or the Titans that were once so common-place on their world, they were no less terrifying to go up aginst.

Cosmic rust, the cybonic plague, the hate plague. 

Thermo rocket launchers, path blasters, x-18 scrapmakers.

Black hole bombs, turret drones, anti-personal mines.

Those, and many, many, many more would be churned out by both sides.

Although it would be the Decepticons who particularly favored the more energon-curdling methods the most.

Inevitably, the war would spread far beyond Cybertron's limited space.

Soon enough, the Decepticons had taken to seizing planets for themselves; whether they were populated or not was a non-factor, for they were just as quick to wipe out the organics as they were with the Autobots they had fought for eons prior.

It was through their efforts, and the efforts of many more Decepticons as well, that they had made it so far.

Half of South Galaxy had become theirs. But the other half? Oh, how it pained them.

For the other half had been placed under the control of the Autobots. 

The Decepticons were powerful. Pound for pound, they could crush an Autobot in a fair fight at any given moment whatsoever... that is, if they ever gave the Autobots in question a fair fight to begin with, anyway.

But they were... much more unified than the Decepticons. In a way that had allowed them to hold on despite the difference in raw power.

Yes, the Decepticons... they had the might. But the Autobots had strategists like Prowl, scientists like Perceptor.

The Decepticons had their fair share of brilliant minds, but somehow, they'd always fall just short of victory.

By no means were they easy opponents for the Autobots to take on. No, this sort of stalemate on this grand of a scale had been common-place for almost as long as the war had raged on.

But both sides were crafty; already, they had set their eyes on something much more enticing than the galaxy that they had been fighting over for far too long.

To the Decepticons, these uncharted lands would mean the resources they could use to tip the scales; the raw materials alone were already enticing as it is: energon veins that could fuel weapons and the soldiers manning them for vorns to come, ununtrium deposits that could toughen up more of their strongest warriors and make them into even more formidable fighters for the Autobot war effort to handle, and molten cores that could be cooled, mined, and then fashioned into everything from handheld guns to artillery cannons the size of mountains.

And as for the potential organics that could be protecting them?

Well, the Decepticons could always grind them up and make them into extra energon cubes as needed. 

To the Autobots, those very same lands were filled with those who needed protecting, those who needed to be kept away from the Decepticons, no matter the cost; while they could see the same values in North Galaxy that the sector of space held for their Decepticon enemies, they saw something much more important, something that they believed would be even more paramount than what raw material could achieve on its own: allies.

The organics that the Decepticons so constantly looked down upon, that they believed were nothing more than squishy inferior beings to be crushed beneath their pedes, were made of much sterner stuff than they had any right to be.

Sure, they had much more fragile bodies made of flesh and blood rather than metal and energon, but... they were persistent. Determined. And some of them were strong. Very strong.

To the Autobots, it would be through garnering support from whoever they could, through sharing the resources needed to bring an end to the Decepticon movement once and for all, that the Great War would finally come to its end. 

But to the denizens of North Galaxy?

This would change everything.

They would be tossed into a war that none of them had asked for. They would face challenges beyond any recognition, take on horrors beyond what they would have thought possible. They would see many fall in battle, and even more rise up to continue the fight. They would see warriors of legend achieve forms only thought to be possible in myth, and ancient artifacts return to change the power balance of the universe as we know it. They would see a new universe, reborn from the fires of war and risen up from the ashes left behind. 

But the greatest changes always begin with the smallest of catalysts; to make a great wave, it sometimes only takes a mere ripple.

The smallest of these disturbances would shake Universe 7 to its very foundation, and it would be through these light nudges from fate that the legacy of its people would forever be etched into history.

It would be with the story of a single Saiyan warrior in his final days that his universe would know peace: a peace that embraced everyone and everything from all walks of life.

Yes, it would be through this single soldier under the rule of the Frieza Force empire that things would change for the better.

And it would be through his final actions that the greatest heroes the multiverse had ever seen would make their first steps toward a brighter future... and it all begins here.

On a desert planet of vision bearers: a race of people who could see the future, and be damned to a fate beyond their control.

Yes, this story begins with Kanassa... and it begins with the final days of Bardock: the father of who would come to be known as Son Goku, and the first Saiyan to meet the Decepticon armada head on. This is his story. But it is only one of the many we shall see. 

And for this Saiyan, it is only appropriate that his tale begins not with a whimper, but with a bang, as the sounds of explosive energy beams and the screams of those many unfortunate souls caught in their paths echoed through the air. 

The visions had foretold of the great power these simian invaders had within their possession, and showed a scale of death never before seen by either the planet or its people, but no matter how diligently the Kanassans had prepared for their darkest hour, it simply wasn't enough. 

None of their attacks could even so much as ever so slightly graze the primal creatures before them.

No matter how coordinated they were, no matter the angles from which they chose to strike, no matter how many of their finest warriors and bravest soldiers they threw at these monsters, they weren't enough.

They had known this to be the case for quite some time now, for their visions had always shown them the exact same outcome, no matter what they did to try and avoid it. 

It was disheartening to know that their end was inevitable... but it did not stop them from going through with their futile attempts in trying to prevent their ultimate fate.

But while Kanassa's populace -brothers and sisters, elders and younglings, its strongest fighters and its weakest links- worked together to pool what resources they could muster against their greatest and final foe, only one looked beyond the end. Only one looked and saw what fate would befall the rest of the universe upon their passing. And only one would ever know the full truth.

Toolo tried to warn his fellow Kanassans of the horrors to come and befall the rest of what lay past their little planet, but to no avail; for why would his people worry about threats far off into the future when there were more immediate matters to concern themselves with? 

But Toolo had known that this vain attempt was all for naught, and instead, he'd focus his efforts on passing his message to someone who was sure to leave this planet alive; the invasion be damned, he had to prevent something far worse from ending all manner of life as everyone had come to know it.

And so he waited... and waited... and waited... even as his brothers cried for help that would never come.

Even as the resistance against these giant apes faltered.

Even as their numbers dwindled from a race spanning in the thousands... to the hundreds... and to the tens.

Even as he had soon become the last surviving Kanassan.

But still, he lay in wait, keeping himself hidden, until finally, the chance came.

Opening his aura and using the energy he had conserved, he blasted apart the rubble he had surrounded himself with to come face to face with one of the very last living souls on the planet.

This warrior wore black armor with yellow shoulder and waist pads, and a yellow section that covered his abdomen to boot.

His blue tights were slick with sweat and blood, although the latter was decidedly not of his own; the same could be said of his pair of white boots and their yellow tips. 

His armbands were worn ragged, but were still intact despite the heavy damage they had taken from the legions of Kanassans who had thrown himself at him.

And his tail... that tail... it swayed freely, as if this planet killer was relaxed. Like this was nothing to him. 

Toolo looked the scarred warrior in the eye, and prepared what would be his final action, ready to die if it meant he could pass on his message.

But that final sprint never came.

For instead, it was the invader who took the initiative.

"Hey. You guys can see the future, right?"

Toolo's fists balled in uncertainty, but he responded with a nod.

"Good. Then maybe you can help me with something."

"What's your name?"

Toolo's expression went blank for just a moment, before it shifted to one of surprise.

The air was silent for but a moment before the beast in humanoid form took a problem with the Kanassan's hesitation. 

"I'm not gonna say it again. What's. Your. Name?"

This time, Toolo was able to offer up an answer.

But he never expected to get one back from one of the beasts who had killed his fellow Kanassans. Let alone one so open.

"Nice to meet you. I apparently got a few nicknames back home, but for now, you can just call me... Bardock."

"You got anywhere private we can talk, or what?"

Toolo responds with yet another nod, and with a fair bit of hesitation, he guides this Bardock fellow over to the remnants of an old market.

He hands Bardock the remains of an old stool he found, but the invader refuses his offer, instead opting to stand, which Toolo did as well.

Once again, silence took hold of their environment, but this time, it would be Toolo who would take to starting the conversation first.

"So... you needed help with something, huh? Could've just asked instead of wiping out my planet's people."

Bardock shrugs at the remark, very much unphased.

"Mm. It's not personal; we were sent out here on orders to conquer your world, and stamp out any and all of its inhabitants. I'd rather not buck those sorts of things when the higher ups can crush my head like a piece of overly ripened fruit."

Toolo gives a light chuckle, but he showed no signs of finding the invader's answer funny.

"Really now? Warriors of your caliber actually have something to fear?"

Bardock grimaces at Toolo's retort... but he doesn't completely disagree. 

"Well, I'd say it's more like we're obligated to respect it. We do what's asked of us, and we don't ask for anything in return. Not the best, but we make do where we can."

Toolo's eyes widen at the grave tone in Bardock's words, but nevertheless, he continues on.

"Wow. Something to recognize for certain. But I digress." 

"Let's get back to the real reason we're here to begin with: you need my help with something, right?"

This time, it's Bardock's turn to nod, as he meets Toolo's question without reluctance.

"Want, not need, but... yes." 

"Something... something's been bothering me for the past few months."

Toolo's brow scrunches as the gears in his brain begin to turn, but urges Bardock to continue on.

"I... I've been having these weird dreams." 

"I see things. A lot of things."

"It's not exactly clear, and I can't make out the faces, but... I can see fire, and lots of it; I can smell the smoke, and fumes of molten metal too. But most of all... I can hear them. All of them."

Toolo asks who, and Bardock responds, showing a fair bit more emotion than anything prior. Certainly the most the Kanassan has seen out of the warrior yet. 

"Their screams... I try to reach out, but I can't find them. My squad... my neighbors... even some of the other prats I have to call my fellow comrades."

"But one stuck out among them."

Bardock closes his eyes as flashes of the mental hellscape ring through his mind.

He can still hear the screams of other Saiyans as they were swallowed whole by blue and purple flames, smell their skin melting away and their hairs burning into nothingness as even their bones slowly turned to ash.

He can still hear the cries of his squad mates, the defiance in their voices slowly draining away as they were drowned in the molten metal, the smell of which assaulted Bardock's nose to no end, one by one. Increment by excruciatingly small increment.

But most of all, he hears her. 

He hears her wailing for him, for her children to be in her arms one last time.

He hears a mad cackling as some sort of bladed device powers on, and slowly tears her in half. The gargling of blood in her throat. The sobs... the sobs.

He hears the blade power down... and all that he is left with are the voices.

The voices telling him that he failed.

The voices telling him that he was too weak.

The voices telling him that his defiance is why they are all gone.

The voices telling him that he is why everyone he knows and loves are dead.

The voices telling him that he will be forever remembered as the greatest failure in Saiyan history. That his legacy will be nothing but ash, sorrow, and ruin.

The voices telling him that even if he were to become the warrior of legend, he would only lose. He would only delay the inevitable. HE WOULD NEVER BE ENOUGH, AND IT IS BECAUSE OF HIS INABILITY TO MATTER, TO PREVENT THE WAR TO COME, THAT HE WILL ONLY EVER BE RECOGNIZED FOR WHO HE TRULY IS: A FAILURE OF A SOLDIER, A WARRIOR... a friend, a leader... a husband, a father. 

That will be his legacy. And there will be nothing that he can do to change it.

Bardock opens his eyes, and wipes away the tears flowing down his cheek.

"I don't know how I've been having these dreams, but I do know this."

"They're trying to tell me of the future. And I will not let it come to pass."

"...That's why I'm here to begin with. I think you can help me. And I can help you."

Confusion understandably wracks Toolo's frazzled mind, as the profound display of emotion was nothing like what he'd expected from the fighter. 

At first, he finds it hard to really believe in the scarred warrior's supposed plight; after all, could a killer like him really have the ability to feel sorrow? Fear? Pain?

Could someone who had helped to wipe out an entire civilization without batting an eye really have the ability to care for anyone but himself?

Could he simply be luring the last Kanassan into a trap, waiting until the planet's last son would let his guard down, only to plunge a fist into his heart? Ready to laugh about the matter as if it were all a game? 

Could he... could he truly be lying? 

But Toolo pushed those doubts out of his mind.

No. If the invader had really wanted to kill him, then he'd have done so already.

And besides... this man didn't seem like the type to mess with his targets. He didn't understand the how or the why behind his recognition of such -it was almost otherworldly, really-, but nevertheless, he was willing to take that leap of faith. 

He had to. If only to make sure that the grim future he foresaw would never come to pass.

If only to make sure that his people hadn't died in vain.

If only to make sure that maybe, just maybe, he could make a real difference.

And if it had to begin with helping one of the invaders who had wiped out his home as he once knew it... then so be it.

With a deep breath and an even deeper sigh, Toolo took the plunge, and decided that, at least for now, he’d believe the invader’s words.

“Alright then. What’s in it for me?”

Bardock was surprised by the Kanassan’s response, completely expecting the planet’s last survivor to laugh off his plea, or at very least, brush it aside.

Would he have killed him if he’d done so? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

But that wasn’t a train of thought he’d have to follow. At least not for the moment, anyway. 

And so, being a man of his word, Bardock would follow through on his end of the deal.

“Listen. When the rest of my team leaves, you can climb into my pod with me. It’ll be a tight fit, but it’ll work all the same.”

“I’ll drop you off on as far away of a planet as I can, but I can’t be gone too long, or else someone will suspect something’s up.”

“It’ll be down to you to survive from there, but judging by how long you’ve lasted compared to everyone else prior… I’d say you’ll do fine.”

“That good enough for you… Toolo?” 

Toolo mulled over his options as soon as the murderer of his people has finished; on one hand, he could simply wait it out and repopulate his planet through the power of asexual reproduction. 

That was how they’d survived their prior cataclysms, after all.

But on the other hand, who knows if he and his team of planet killers would return to finish the job? And with the potential for even stronger forces to boot? 

There’s no way that any of his offspring and their descendants would survive going through an extinction event as severe as this Bardock fellow and his fellow ape people had waged again, let alone one of even greater magnitude.

He hated the idea of leaving behind the only home he had ever known. He really did.

But between that or certain death? 

He knew what he had to do.

“It’s acceptable… Bardock.” 

He didn’t quite like having to refer to the fighter by name, but it was necessary to build the trust he needed to survive. 

And the second hurdle he needed to get through? Fulfilling his end of the bargain. 

"Okay, so you've been having these dreams for months now, and you can't exactly make out the faces of anyone in them, but your senses can clock everything else."

"Believe it or not, I've seen this before, in our younglings; they can't exactly focus their abilities, so the most they can get of the future is in glimpses, when their minds are at their most imaginative, I suppose."

Toolo saw that the monster in human form was taken aback by his statement, but cut him off before he could offer a retort. 

"Yes, yes, I know, you believe they're just dreams, and that you can't really see the future."

"But you don't have to be a Kanassan to see what’s yet to pass; sometimes, there are other forces out there that reach out to us, regardless of our biology." 

"Fortunately, we were taught just the solution to help our younglings with these sorts of matters."

Toolo then took a step forward, but Bardock took a step back. Clearly, he didn't trust the Kanassan that much. 

"What are you trying to pull, fish face?"

Toolo simply put his hands up in the air, giving Bardock a roll of his eyes.

"Take it easy; I need to mix my energy with yours. It'll help focus your visions of the future; you'll be able to see what's to come with greater clarity, and you won't have to be dreaming to be able to do so in the first place. As for the physical contact, that's necessary. The closer I am to your life energy, the more control I have over my own. Trust me, if you'd seen the last of us who tried to do this from afar... well, there wasn't really anything left. Of either him or his subject."

"Now relax; this won't hurt. For either of us."

Toolo then slowly walked forward, placing his hands on Bardock's face and resting his forehead against the warrior's own. 

The close contact was... odd, to say the least.

But soon enough? The process began.

The invader's energy mixed together with that of the Kanassan's, as it flowed through their now connected bodies.

And just as their energies began to meld together, so too did their memories.

On one hand, Bardock could see flashes of the life that Toolo had led up until this point.

The cool starry nights spent sand-sledding in the vast deserts that covered the planet.

The rituals he took part in as yet another of the years had passed by, its end bringing about even more vision bearers, ready to be guided by their elders into making the most of their new abilities.

He could hear laughter, smell feasts, see smiles, and he could feel the cold but pleasant breeze against his skin.

The love that Toolo gave, the love he received, the highest highs and the lowest lows of the Kanassan's life: he was completely enthralled. This... was nice. 

And then it all came crashing down: under the full moon's brilliant glow, he saw five figures, each towering over even the tallest of the planet's many buildings, crashing down upon the ground beneath them; when the dust had finally settled after the impact, Bardock could see that the one at the front, leading the pack, was clothed in... his armor. 

This was... him.

But of course it was him; there was no mistaking him with that scar running across the left side of his face. 

He could feel the burning desire within him to fight, but it was no use; he was just a specter in Toolo's mind, watching the past be replayed before him while he was in someone else's shoes.

It... it didn't eat away at him as bad as he thought it would; he could certainly feel the Kanassan's fear, sorrow, and rage, amongst countless other emotions he couldn't really describe, but... he was too used to death at this point. Especially the death of strangers he didn't really know. Did he feel bad? Perhaps he did, perhaps he didn't.

But as of now? He could understand what Toolo felt, glad that at least something good had come from those dreams. 

And all the while more, the aforementioned Kanassan was having an incredible out of body experience of his own. 

He saw everything that was on Bardock's mind. Everything.

And he felt it all too: the pangs of hunger that gripped the Saiyan's stomach as he ran off with some old produce from an angry vendor, the desperation to not starve to death giving him the adrenaline he needed to make his getaway. 

The drive to have a good fight overriding his better judgement as he picked a brawl with warriors well above his weight class.

The pain from the following beatdowns.

The sting of defeat as he licked his wounds.

And then, finally... warmth.

The play fighting he took part in with the other low class children.

The occasional story time as a Saiyan veteran, be it a low class soldier with nothing better to do or a mid class looking to stroke their ego, with one or two elites sprinkled in between, told stories of battles that had long since passed, on a scale neither he nor any of the other kids could quite comprehend.

...The smile that one of them gave him as she offered a candy she found dropped out of a crate.

The days he spent defending her from other Saiyans who didn't know how to pick on someone their own size.

The nights he spent with her as they simply laid on top of the roof of one of their planet's many towers, simply gazing up at the stars... her tail wrapping around his as he looked away with a scoff, never really making an effort to push her off.

The years passing by as they grew taller and they both grew stronger, with himself leading a squad of his own choosing.

The slight pain in his heart as his love was forced to retire from the frontlines, but the happiness within him, knowing that she'd found something she was much better suited for.

The apathy he showed as he began to sweep through planets, growing stronger with each mission, becoming a better fighter as he tore through hordes of opposing warriors with a feeling of... boredom, almost.

Yes, this Saiyan, for all of his proficiency in doing so, had gotten burnt out on the constant cycle of killing, resting, and then killing again.

And yet still, he persisted, for through it all, there would always be a beacon of light at the end of the tunnel: yes, this Gine women really was quite the woman. She had truly changed him with her presence, her thoughtfulness, her truly kind and genuine nature. 

It stuck out to Toolo, how someone like the Saiyans could make someone as pure-hearted as her, but he wouldn't complain.

For if she could find love in Bardock, and Bardock could find love in her... then maybe he wasn't all bad.

But eventually, that thought was pushed to the side, as soon enough, both of them found themselves in a dark void, shifting back into their original bodies as they locked eyes with one another.

Once again, Bardock was left reeling from the shock of having been put through yet another odd experience.

And once again, he found himself questioning what had just happened... and whether or not it was necessary to begin with. 

"Oh... haven't felt this out of it since I first got on a ship..." 

He covers his mouth to prevent himself from hurling all over the place... assuming he could even do that, anyway.

Toolo, on the other hand, was simply unphased by what had just occurred, and instead waits for Bardock to recuperate before he begins to speak.

"Yeah, I wasn't lying when I said it wouldn't hurt for either of us, and to be fair, it really didn't. But the merging of energies on such a level does take quite a bit out of anyone who's inexperienced with that sort of thing."

"I do apologize for the rough landing, however."

Bardock shakes his head as he forces himself up, clearing his throat and wiping the nonexistent dust off of his mental avatar's armor. 

“Yeah, you better be sorry…”

He then looks around, scanning the area for anything that stood out, but to no avail.

“So… what are we supposed to do now?”

Toolo responded with a gesture for the Saiyan to follow him, as they floated through the pure black emptiness.

“Well, we first need to go to where your past dreams are stored: your subconscious; that part of your mind is at its most active in rest, which means that it’s also probably messing with the actual visions you’re supposed to be getting.” 

It took a fair bit to reach Bardock’s mental archives, much longer than either he or the Kanassan would have liked, but eventually, they had reached their destination. 

Much to Toolo’s surprise, it was actually well organized; there were sections dedicated to Gine and the rest of his family, sections dedicated to his squad, sections dedicated to the various missions of conquest he took part in, and many more.

But he couldn’t find where his dreams had been placed.

He looked and looked… and looked… and looked… but he couldn’t find them.

And eventually, he found himself on the verge of giving up.

And he would have too… had he knocked at one of the sections in question, dedicated to anything he couldn’t quite fit in the rest. 

It crumbled apart, and the rest of the wall of memories soon followed.

In its place stood a mural that towered over even the greatest mountains: a painted picture of the mental horrors that Bardock had been plagued with for far too long now, with the added bonus of every face -from the sheer agony in every victim, to the demented pleasure that their tormentors took from their wails of pain- being clear for all to see. 

Bardock looked away from the sight, but Toolo, as tempted as he was to do the same, pressed forward.

He looked over the mural, feeling for something, anything really, that stuck out.

The part dedicated to his lover’s demise gave nothing except glimpses of her killer ripping his own head off… and being completely and utterly unphased. 

He then saw more flashes of the future to come: this time, it was the same green and purple behemoth, doing battle with another metal automaton painted in blue, black, and silver, the latter's red glowing badge contrasting with the former’s purple. 

The hatred shared between them was palpable, as they tore into each other with reckless abandon, before they then knocked one another way.

The purple and green Decepticon snarls in anger, before he charged again, turning into a scorpion-like shape while his Autobot opponent met him head on with just as much force, turning into a massive tank in response to his enemy’s own transformation.

But Toolo would never see the continuation of their fight, as a bright white light consumed his sight, forcing him out of the vision and to focus on the next.

Then came the grim fate that the warriors he led were forced to suffer.

But instead of looking down to meet their faces, mouths open in unadulterated anguish, he looked up to meet those carrying out the torture in the first place.

Much to his surprise, he found not one, not two, not even three or four, but a group of six giant robots, wearing a color scheme much like the scorpion mechanoid.

In his views of the future and this disgusting group's connection to it, all he saw was the fun that they regularly poked at one other in the midst of the unwarranted brutality, the way that they talked as if the gruesome act before them was as normal as a walk in the park, their complete and utter disregard of any and all organic life as they dared to laugh at the sheer scale of death that they willingly left in their wake, as if all organic life was beneath them, as if it were their right to treat beings of flesh and blood the way they did, as if it was the way that the universe simply intended for things to be. 

He could see their victims and their desperate attempts to climb out and escape their imprisonment and assured deaths, only for their futility to be reassured as the six purple and green mechanical monsters simply picked up a few nearby metal rods to gently push them back in, their strength towering over anything that the dying simply didn't have the ability to go up against. 

As Toolo continued onward, forcing himself to see more of the future that touched upon these six disgusting wastes of sentient machinery, he would go on to see even more of their heinous acts, completely and utterly unfiltered by the muck of Bardock's active imagination during his body's rest; what they were doing in the Saiyan's dreams and the exceedingly clear images of the future he received was simply one of their many routines, a sort of ritual to ensure good luck in the projects and feats of engineering they had left behind on every world they had been to, and more importantly, every world that they would ever be visiting. 

The way they poked and prodded at the organics like mere children messing with the bugs they found. 

The slow and methodical methods they used to maximize the most that they could get out of anyone who they'd set their sights on.

The way they toyed and played with everyone that they looked down upon with contempt, from the smallest and weakest they squashed beneath their metal feet to the biggest and strongest they tore apart with their bare metal hands.

But soon enough, Toolo saw for himself that not even their twisted sense of fun and the games they played to entertain themselves simply couldn't last forever: he saw the ground beneath them shake as they grimaced, turning their collective gazes to the horizon.

They grimaced, and one of them, the leader, stretched out his left arm to call his fellow Decepticons to arms. 

"Constructicons! Let's show these Autobrats what true power looks like! Merge into... Devastator!" 

The giant metal Combiner was a sight to behold, and towered over even the Oozarus that had rampaged across Kanassa not too long ago.

Yes, it looked like a mere step alone from the titanic robot would be more than enough to crush in the skull of the giant apes, even with their immense strength.

Toolo hoped that their immense stature was simply a way to make up for their lacking power, but he had a feeling it was nothing of the sort.

Thankfully, that dread had somewhat lightened with the arrival of this Devastator's opponent: a massive robot, equal to it in size, but donned in a much less garish color scheme compared to the former. 

It, like the blue and white mechanoid from before, also sported that peculiar red badge on its chest, but that same symbol could be found on its other limbs too.

"My calculations are that your defeat is 100% certain. Stand down, Devastator, or you'll have to face the power of Computron: the true Combiner." 

With Computron's closing remark, both massive robots simply fell silent.

For a moment, both Combiners stood still, simply waiting for the other to make the first move.

And then, completely losing his patience, Devastator lunges forward, throwing a mighty punch that Computron matches with a blow of his own.

The resulting shockwave was immense, and the light that followed was blinding, forcing Toolo out of yet another part of the mural, and forcing him to concentrate on the last remaining area he hadn't dared to touch.

Even though the fire was merely a mental construct formed by the flashes of what was yet to come, Toolo could still feel the sheer heat and intensity of the flames that had burned the rest of Bardock's people into ash and dust. 

But once again, he ignored the flames, and instead forced his way through them to get at their source.

He could feel his flesh teetering on the verge between staying intact and turning to ash, his mental fortitude being his only form of protection against the blaze, and even that was beginning to take a strain with the sheer scale of effort her exerted. 

He could feel the blood within him boil, desperate to simply evaporate from the fires which had claimed so many other lives in this imagined hellhole. 

The rage inside of him only pushed it even further; the Saiyans were bonafide killers, murderers even, no doubt about it, but still... no one deserved to suffer a fate like this. No one. 

Not even beings who prided themselves on the deaths they caused.

At least with the Saiyans, they had a clear intent. They had restraint.

They had the mind to spare a bit of the worlds they were sent to raze.

But this was just mindless, unadulterated death on a scale of brutality that he'd never thought was possible.

It was clear to Toolo that this was no conquest for any real purpose. 

The Kanassan could see that this was no ordinary mission to preserve what could be used and simply destroy what they couldn't. 

This wasn't a mission to pillage, plunder, and kill for the sake of gathering resources from Bardock's home; this was a mission to flout their strength. To take their first real steps in the galaxy. To make themselves known to the worlds that would soon fall beneath their metal feet. Planet Vegeta had not an ounce of worth to these monsters made of circuits and armor plating. 

But that didn't mean its death would serve no purpose.

Oh no, it would be an everlasting symbol for years, decades, centuries, perhaps even eons to come. 

It would be a symbol of Decepticon superiority. 

It would be a symbol of Frieza's weakness to stop an attack on one of the many planets he owned. 

It would be a symbol that nothing could stand in the way of the Decepticon war effort. That North Galaxy would fall under the purple badge. That its conquest was simply inevitable. No more. No less. 

But to Bardock? Most of all, Planet Vegeta's fall meant one thing, and one thing alone: the Saiyans were marked for death. His squad... his friends... his neighbors... his wife... his family... everything he cared for... 

The dreams... they couldn't be real... they couldn't be... they couldn't be... be... THEY COULDN'T BE REAL!! 

The mental stronghold that Bardock had constructed for himself was ever so slightly beginning to crumble.

Toolo exerted more of his mental strength, desperate to see this through. He sympathized for Bardock, he really did. But to stop here would be to lose everything that they'd worked for: this would all be for nothing if they couldn't see this through to the end. His people would have died for nothing... and the rest of North Galaxy would soon follow.

And so, with as much effort as he could muster, he pushed forward.

The cracks began to grow. The fires began to burn brighter and hotter, consuming everything caught within them at an unprecedented rate. 

Toolo's body had almost given out... but then, against every odd, every impossibility, every chance that he should have failed... he saw just who he was looking for.

A trio of robots who could turn into jets, looking down upon the carnage with varying degrees of contentment and pleasure.

The purple one, the one who could bend space to his will, simply looked down with a smile, as if he were a carpenter admiring the finest set of furniture he would have made yet.

The blue one, the one who could make the skies roar with a single burst of his speed, looked down with a grimace.

Toolo was unsure of the cause; was it his hatred for flesh and blood... or was it something more? He wasn't quite sure.

But nevertheless, the blue jet simply looked up and away, to what lay beyond the planet's atmosphere.

And the red jet?

Well, his mouth was open.

Open in some sort of... declaration.

It was odd. Definitely odd.

But considering the way he was placed at forefront, while the others were simply kept back?

Yeah. He was definitely the one to most heavily focus on.

And Toolo did just that, as he waded through the endless pool of possibilities to see just what the future had in store for this mech who screamed to the stars.

Countless visions of him leading his forces into absolute victory against insurmountable odds were met with just as many instances of his superiors beating him around for his insolence, his attempts at usurping their leadership to replace it with his own failing at each and every turn. 

Starscream and the grandeur he worked so carefully to cultivate were regularly undercut by his various machinations, born out of a genuine belief that he was the future leader that the Decepticons needed, and not the silver bucket-head he finds himself forced to call a leader. 

As such, it wasn't uncommon to see the leader of the Seekers plotting the respective demises of each and every single one of his superiors.

Of course, he was too cunning for some of them not to work: a little energon poisoning here, a firing exercise gone wrong there, some occasional moments of hitting two prospects at once.

Yes, his silver tongue worked wonders in helping him to make leaps and bounds up the ranks of the Decepticon empire.

Yes, he had proven himself a valiant leader, a skilled tactician, a brave and skilled warrior.

And yes, perhaps the future of the Decepticons would truly lie in his rise to power.

But for now, that future would be just out of his reach, blocked off by a red-eyed silver mech even greater than he is.

Starscream would always fall to Megatron, no matter what he did: he was simply too strong, too resilient, too cunning to ever fail against any of his subordinates. Not even his Second In Command. 

But oh, did Starscream try. And oh, would he suffer with each and every failure: shattered wings, ruptured fuel lines, and mangled frames were just a few of the many injuries that Starscream would accumulate in his attempts to throw out Megatron from his position as the supreme leader of the Decepticons, to become what he believed his fellow Cybertronians needed to be. 

And although his efforts did earn him quite a bit of ire from mechs below and above him in rank, ranging from Megatron himself to the lowest of grunts, angered that they could not get away with the same treachery that the Seeker Commander had been able to, they also earned him a fair bit of respect, loyalty even, from those who could see past his machinations. 

Yes, the admiration he received from his fellow jets would most certainly be of great help in his future endeavors, and soon enough, he would have the commanding force he'd need to rip the Decepticons from Megatron's hands once and for all.

And yet... it felt hollow.

For while Starscream was sure in his inevitable triumph... he didn't really have anyone to share the spoils of victory with.

Sure, the Seekers, among many others, would most assuredly follow him to the blackest depths and brightest skies.

But they weren’t him.

They weren’t the one who tore out his spark and lodged the dagger of betrayal into it, never to come out again.

They weren’t there for when he first took to the skies.

They weren’t there when he was but a mere scientist whose curiosity outweighed any ambition he had. 

They… they weren’t the flier who he thought was his other half. 

The one who abandoned him in the aftermath of the toughest battle the Decepticon army had faced midway through the war.

The one who defected to the Autobots, who dared to face him and the rest of his former comrades in combat on a planet that Megatron had set aside for its rich energon veins.

Oh sure, there was a certain fire lit within Starscream as he personally faced the jet-turned-shuttle, even if his strength was nothing in the face of his foe. 

But even that slowly gave way to something lesser.

A cold mixture of sadness, apathy, and what have you, buried underneath bravado, cunning, and the rush of the fight.

And when he had fallen off the face of every map conceivable... well, let's just say that Starscream was as happy as he was bitter, as bitter as he was in mourning.

He tried to shrug it off, and acted as though he couldn't have cared less; to his credit, there were many who bought the act.

But the few who he could consider friends could recognize the farce.

For his name never left Starscream's spark.

Toolo tried to dig even deeper than he already had, thinking that knowledge of this metal giant could give them the leg up they sorely needed.

He groaned as he shook his head, struggling to get his bearings and wiping a streak of blood running down from his left nostril.

He would’ve barked a curse at Toolo for not giving him a heads up about how much it’d hurt, had his scouter not registered four energy signatures flying over to check in on him. 

Bardock’s eyes widened in shock, realizing that his accidental surge of energy must’ve set off the rest of his team’s scouters. 

For a moment, the thought of killing the Kanassan before him to save face had crossed his mind; after all, it wouldn’t be too hard to say that he’d been looking for survivors, which wasn’t a lie, and got caught off guard, forced into an ambush. And yet for some reason… he didn’t want to; he didn’t understand exactly why, of course, but nevertheless, it would still be something to think about later on. For now though? He was dead set on filling his end of the bargain, and would stay that way until he could see it through to its very end. 

And with that, he simply turned his attention over to Toolo, grabbing his shoulders to get his attention and looking him in the eye.

“Listen, my squad’s coming, and I don’t think they’re gonna be as merciful as I’ve been. To them, you’re just another mark.” 

“Fly away as fast as you can: I’ll meet you on the other side of the planet. Lead them off your trail. Just keep low, and soon enough, you’ll be off-planet and out of here. Got it?”

Toolo nodded, and immediately dashed away, not keen to get yet another showing of the strength the Saiyans had proved themselves capable of once again.

With only minutes to spare, Bardock immediately set to work scuffing himself up, dirtying his armor and making it look like he had bruises.

With gritted teeth and great force, he also went so far as to rip open a gash in his left shoulder. 

Launching a final ki blast to further destroy what remained of the old market, he had done quite the good job in making it look like a fight had broken out.

Now all he had to do was make sure that the rest of his squad believed it.

The sound of boots lightly touching the ground broke Bardock’s train of thought and prompted the Saiyan to turn and look behind him. 

There they all were, standing at the ready and sporting looks of… actual concern?

Although this weirded Bardock out, he had more pressing concerns than the weird gazes each of them had; like say, when they’d ask what he’d been up to while he was away from them. 

For a moment, the air was as silent as they could be, the slowly settling dust only helping to punctuate the lack of noise.

Finally, the pause was broken, as Borgos noticed the blood dripping out of his leader’s fresh wound. 

The normally quiet warrior moved forward, bringing out a peace of cloth as he voiced his concerns over Bardock’s state.

“You okay? You look like you’ve lost a bit of blood with that hole in ya.”

The giant Saiyan moved over to try and wrap the wound up, but Bardock waved him away.

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch that a survivor got off on me as a cheap shot, that’s all.” 

Bardock could see that his squad mate wasn’t exactly comfortable with the answer, but nevertheless, the bald-topped warrior backed off.

He then looked toward the horizon, before speaking to the rest of his teammates, all while never taking his eyes off of the great expanse of desert. 

“Look, I’m gonna be falling a bit behind, alright?” 

The former put on a strained smile, wrestling his limb out of the layer’s grip.

“As nice as that’d be, no. Just get onto your pods and go back home; I can do this myself.”

Fasha simply rolled her eyes at the display before her, and then added in a comment of her own.

“You know Gine’s not gonna like this, right? Your second kid’s probably already in his growing chamber by now; you already missed out on Raditz, and I don’t exactly think she’d be any more lenient on you this time around.”

Bardock grit his teeth as he felt a vein bulge on his head in frustration.

“I’ll… I’ll find a way to make it up to her later. Did it last time, and I’ll do it again… even if I have to eat out for a month. Or two.”

The low class Saiyan warrior hated the way that everyone else looked at him as he finished that last remark; he didn’t need their concern. Or their pity. He was fine; at least, he would be if he could find the opening to finish what he needed to. 

Toma attempted to add his own input into the mix, but Bardock cut him off before he could even get out a single word, his aura flaring up with his temper.

“When I say to go home, I mean it. When I say I’ll be fine, I mean it. And when I say that I’m the only one who needs to do something, I mean it.”

“Fly back to Vegeta. Rest up. Tell Gine I’ll be gone if you can. Or don’t, and I’ll cope with sleeping on the floor. It doesn’t matter.”

“Just. GO. That’s an order, not a request.”

Bardock’s squad was taken aback by their leader’s current demeanor; even at his worst, he he usually wasn’t this… pissed. 

One by one, they slowly vacated the scene, until soon enough, it was only himself and his second in command… his best friend, he supposed.

They stared at each other for what felt like hours, before Toma finally spoke up.

“Hey, listen, I… I don’t know what’s going through your head right now, and I get not wanting to talk about it. But when you want to… if you want to… we’re all ears. All of us.”

“Just try not to starve out there, okay?”

Bardock simply nodded, before soaring away in the opposite direction.

He could hear Toma’s energy forming an aura around him as he did so, the pony-tailed warrior following suit. 

He didn’t feel good about what he was doing. Not in the slightest.

But it didn’t matter what he felt; the only important thing was avoiding those visions of the future.

Because he’d be damned if he let the only people who truly mattered to him suffer their fates.

It didn’t take very long for him to eventually make it to where Toolo was hiding, although the latter was definitely surprised that he seemed to have kept his word.

“Are your friends gone yet?”

Bardock shook his head.

“It’ll take them a bit, but they’ll be off planet soon enough.”

“Gotta put on a show though. Make them think I’m actually searching for survivors.”

“…Are you sure you’re the only one left?” 

Toolo nodded.

“Your attack caught us all by surprise. Even if we did have anywhere to go, it wouldn’t have helped.”

“It doesn’t matter though. I just need to get out of here.”

Bardock let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, before he then plopped down on a spot right across from the last of the Kanassans. 

“Well, that’s gonna take a bit then.”

Toolo simply grunted in acknowledgement as they both waited until sun began to set to make their departure. 

By the time it did, they finally made their way over to the landing site that Bardock and his squad had chosen almost 24 hours earlier.

The others had long since departed, leaving his pod as the only one left under the brilliant night sky.

It was only then that a realization dawned on Bardock: who was going to sit on whose lap?

Toolo had also come to revelation, and both simply stared down at the space craft, before they then turned their attention on each other.

It took a solid seven minutes for Bardock to simply give up, as he sat down on the relatively comfy chair, before gesturing at Toolo to come over.

The Kanassan, although not quite as tall as Bardock, was still rather bulky, which made the resulting space quite cramped.

Finally, after plenty of jostling and other uncomfortable movements, Toolo was able to fit inside.

The pod door then closed, blasting off into space and easily breaching past the stratosphere.

The trip to the nearest planet on neutral territory took just about three or so days, most of which the pair spent in an induced slumber.

And so, needless to say, they were each quite glad to finally get out and stretch their legs as soon as they made planetfall.

Bardock cracked his back against the metal curves of his attack pod, while Toolo quickly sorted out the crick in his neck.

Just ahead of them was a small outpost, surrounded by a vast forest.

Bardock slowly levitated into the air, gesturing at Toolo to follow him.

It didn’t take long for the Kanassan to follow the Saiyan’s example, and soon enough, they were able to set out for the cluster of buildings. 

The trip itself was rather silent, save for the occasional cough. 

Eventually, after a little bit of searching around, Bardock had found just what he was looking for; immediately landing with only a single thud, he quickly punched his bank code into the ATM, his Frieza Force credits immediately converting into the standard galactic currency.

Upon getting this simple chore out of the way, he then went toward a noodle stand, slamming the credits down onto the wooden counter. 

The vendor then looked toward the Saiyan, clearly not fazed by the bonafide planet killer before him.

“What’ll it be, sir?”

“A bowl of whatever you sell the most for my friend over there, and 10 of those for me.”

Said vendor simply shrugged, taking the money and ringing up the register before he set out to work.

As he did so, Bardock took a seat on an old stool, with Toolo doing so as well. 

Bardock then handed him the rest of the withdrawal, as the first of the bowls were placed before the odd duo.

“There’s a shuttle service nearby; it usually only goes to civilizations in the Galactic Patrol, but paying the right amount to the right pilots ‘ll get you to any world of your choice if it isn’t too out of the way.” 

He then took a massive slurp of his first serving, before he continued on.

“I used to go here when I was younger, you know.”

“Made the same excuse that I did for my squad with everyone else I’ve worked with.”

“Kind of surprised that it worked.”

Toolo then took a bite from his own bowl, before he responded back.

“Any real reason? You don’t exactly seem like the type of guy to stay at a place as quiet as this.”

Bardock’s brows furled at the question.

“That’s a bit personal, isn’t it?” 

Toolo just shrugged.

“This is probably the last time either of us will ever see each other again, and it’s not like I’d benefit from spilling your secret anyway; plus, I’ve already got a small picture from that mind merger we did, so I might as well get the full thing.”

Bardock rolled his eyes and sighed, but nonetheless, he saw Toolo’s point.

“…You know what I do for a living, right?”

Toolo nodded.

“Good. Then know this: I don’t regret what I’ve done, what I do, and what I will keep doing for a living. To me, it’s just a job; it’s a job that many take, and that’s fine. We all have to make our dues somehow.” 

“That said, going through the same cycle over and over again can get pretty boring. Or worse.” 

“Some of us drop it and find other things to do to survive, either for a little bit or a good long while.” 

“Others go all in on it, seem to really get off on the death and destruction they actively cause just to not have to think about what they've done.” 

"Me? I just live for the fight."

"I like it when we get sent to actually challenging worlds where the people there can actually hold their ground, even if we win sooner or later."

"Of course, not everyone has this same sentiment; I know a lot of people, Saiyan or not, who'd prefer a one and done mission instead of a grueling slugfest."

“My team sort of gets it.”

“But not really.”

“My wife, even less.” 

“It’s… lonely, to say the least, but I can take it.”

“And from what little I could read of you, I’m guessing you had something similar going on.” 

The Kanassan shrugged.

“My people never focused on anything past the immediate future; a later threat could only be focused on if the one before it was dealt with.”

“They believed they could overcome what you and your crew would bring.”

“But me? I saw you for what you truly were: the final death knell for our people.”

“Of course, there will eventually come a time where our way of life can eventually be rebuilt, but I digress.”

“My point is this: unlike the others, I could accept that our time as we once were was up. And while everyone else worked their hardest to fending the lot of you off, all I had to do was simply hide away and wait for the dust to settle.”

“I know it hurt my fellow Kanassans to see one of their own just give up against the tide of fate, but sometimes, things just have to happen.”

“And while that made me quite the lonely sort… well, you can clearly see how that turned out.”

“So yeah. I can feel for you, at least in regards to our respective solitudes.”

Bardock’s mouth turned up the slightest bit at that, before he and his companion returned back to their respective meals.

Soon enough, they were both finished and completely stuffed.

They walked out of the restaurant, leaving a decent tip for their server, and were on their way to the shuttle facility, when they locked eyes with someone walking past them. 

The tension in the air suddenly became palpable, as Jaco hovered his hand over his blaster.

“What’s a Saiyan like you doing out here?”

Bardock’s muscles tightened in response.

“I could ask the same o’ you, Patroller.” 

The outpost somehow went even quieter than before, as if their very surroundings were waiting for a response.

But thankfully, Toolo was able to intervene, stepping between the trigger happy Galactic Patroller and Frieza Force soldier.

“We’re just here for a bite to eat before I leave. I’m assuming that you’re in the same boat?”

Jaco looked perturbed by the Kanassan’s actions, but nodded.

“Had a long shift today. Bad enough stopping drug runners and weapon smugglers as it is; seeing a Saiyan soldier around these parts just makes it worse.”

“You’re lucky that we’re in neutral territory and I’m on my break.” 

Bardock relaxed the slightest bit in response.

“I could say the same for you, little man.”

The two parties then went their separate ways, the Saiyan and Kanassan duo passing by the Patroller’s spaceship. It was certainly quite the looker, but it definitely wasn’t standard issue.

Something else about it was… off, to say the least. 

But they couldn’t pay it any mind.

Soon enough, it was time.

The pilot had been paid, Toolo’s destination was set, and it was just about time for the Kanassan and Saiyan to part ways.

“Well, I guess it was nice knowing you while I could. Hope you find a good place for yourself out there. Far from whatever might be knocking on our doorstep.” 

Toolo nodded, and responded in kind.

“And I, you. Good luck out there, Saiyan; if the visions of yours truly do hold a grain of truth, then you and everyone else in the galaxy will need it.”

And with that, the Kanassan made his exit, closing the door behind him.

Bardock watched as the shuttle left the planet to parts unknown to him, the bright light of the spacecraft’s jets forcing him to put up his arm and squint.

When the Saiyan finally couldn’t see or hear its departure, he slowly walked back to his pod, thinking about what he’d just been put through. 

He was tired, his head was ringing from its constant aches, and he’d probably be sleeping on the floor when he’d get back home.

But he could see what was to come now.

He could see the faces of their soon-to-be executioners.

And he could see their equally mighty opposition standing against them. 

Bardock’s hands balled up into tight fists as he slowly settled into his ride.

The future had shown him the consequences of failing. 

The future showed his team suffering, his wife being tortured, down to their last breaths.

The future showed his planet crumbling to ash as he was too powerless to stop its destruction. 

But he'd be damned if he wasn't going out swinging.

Would the salvation of his entire planet and its populace be feasible?

No. They wouldn't believe him, and for good reason; after all, the mad ranting and raving of a single low class soldier burdened with the ability to see beyond the present wouldn't hold much weight. 

Was he certain that he could keep his friends and family from suffering their prophesized fates? 

Not really; if those showings of might he saw in his visions were anything to genuinely go by, then he was definitely outclassed as he currently is, let alone those he was trying to keep alive.

But if there was one thing, and one thing alone that he was truly certain of, it was this simple fact. 

"I'll find a way... I have to."

And as Bardock went his own way from the planet, leaving behind a trail of light, he fell completely into the pod's induced hibernation, unaware of what was going through the minds of the mark he'd saved... and the Patroller they'd both encountered.

Jaco walked out of the vendor with a pep in his step and a bag of food in his left hand, finally rejuvenated after going far too long without a decent meal. 

Making his way to his "ship" with a smile, he didn't have to wait very long for the cockpit to open up for him, gladly taking his place on its comfortable pilot's seat.

"Sorry if I took so long; had to wait for the guy to make a new batch after the Saiyan apparently cleared out his old stock. Also had to get some of his stuff for Irico and Calamis too; you know how they get when I don't bring back anything for them to munch on."

Jaco waited for a response from... whoever he was speaking to, but none came.

"Uh, hello. Jaco to Jetfi-"

The ship then roared to life, as if it was frustrated with Jaco's choice of words.

"Skyfire." It spoke through its speakers connected to its comm systems. 

"My designation is Skyfire. You know this." 

Jaco cringed at his partner's tone of voice, but didn't take any real offense; after all, he did push his buttons for a rather minor inquiry. 

"Sorry about that, but you were off in your own head... again. What is it this time?" 

The ship seemed to sigh in response, before closing the cockpit door and revealing what it, or rather, he was doing.

A miniature holoavatar formed, the hardlight persona becoming a one-to-one replica of the spacecraft's true form.

It then pointed at an array of various different frequencies and signals.

Many of them were ones that Jaco recognized; other Galactic Patrollers, hotlines, and even a few gang operations too.

But some of them were... odd. And didn't seem to come from this part of the universe at all. 

Still, while the sequences themselves were foreign, their basis wasn't. At least, not to Jaco and some of his fellow patrollers anyway.

"Searching for more of your friends again?"

The Cybertronian grimly let out a slight chuckle at the patroller’s remark.

“I wouldn’t call them friends. I’d say more along the lines of… well acquainted faces, as some of you organics might be so inclined to say.” 

He then pulled up a database showing just who each of the signals belonged to.

"Okay, I at least recognize those first... seven or so. They're those Combiner guys, right?"

The holoavatar nodded, before continuing on his spiel. 

"Yep: Motormaster, Scrapper, Hun-Gurr, Razorclaw, Leozack, Onslaught, and Snaptrap. The leaders of our war's strongest weapons: the Combiners. As for the rest? Well, in order, they're Overlord, Black Shadow, Heretech, Scorponok, Six Shot, and Tarn respectively. Megatron's toughest unmerged warriors and most dangerous followers." 

"Their lines of communication were hard to break into, but they don't have the securities offered by Megatron's inner circle." 

"I've just been keeping an eye on who I can, but these 13 require particular focus."

"Soundwave, Shockwave, and... Starscream might run the Decepticons' inner workings, but you don't see them in the line of fire like these guys."

Jaco felt a bead of sweat drip down from his blue forehead; with the way Skyfire spoke of them, he could imagine them being able to take entire planets on their lonesome. 

Skyfire, noticing Jaco's anxiousness and seemingly reading his mind, elected to continue on. 

"Currently, their whereabouts are as follows."

"Scrapper and his Constructicons are in the middle of assisting construction on a newly made Decepticon outpost in South Galaxy; it's a rather remote section of the cosmos they're doing so in, but nonetheless, progress is steady. They're to work on a few more projects over the coming Mega-Cycles, or standard galactic years for you and everyone else who lives here." 

"Hun-Gurrr is still out with his Terrorcons on some sort of black ops mission; they seem to be extra paranoid and secretive about its content, even in otherwise private quarters, and especially over their communications with Megatron, but it seems like that'll be taking up a good bit of their time as well."

"Razorclaw and his Predacons are out scouting for any potential Energon reserves in South Galaxy, but they're currently busy quelling several rebellions in numerous star systems. "

"Leozack and his Armormasters haven't been spotted since Deathsaurus' departure, but they're still mechs to keep in mind; as loyal as they might be to him over Megatron, I wouldn't put it past them to lay waste to a planet if needed." 

"Onslaught is currently assisting Overlord in the siege of an Autobot prison with the help of the other Combaticons."

"Scorponok, Snaptrap, and the other Seacons have been surprisingly quiet in their activities. At least, relatively speaking anyway."

"Tarn is still out there somewhere, picking off those poor souls who don't fall in line with their definition of a true Decepticon."

"And I believe that Heretech and Black Shadow are neck-deep in Phase Six worlds right now." 

"Which leaves us with these two."

Skyfire then places particular focus on Sixshot and Motormaster respectively, before pulling up images of their involvement in numerous campaigns. 

"Sixshot is by all means a powerhouse in frame, spark, and processor. He's one of the few who I can believe beat Megatron in a no-holds-barred duel, and I've personally served by his side on one of the many battles for Simanzi. He could stalemate with Optimus Prime, and his six different modes only enhance how dangerous he is.” 

“But at least he has a sense of honor. Motormaster and his cronies, on the other hand…” 

He then plays a video of the Stunticon leader gathering with four of his eight subordinates, sadistically looking down at the battered and exhausted organic forces before them.

“You know, this wouldn’t have happened if you had all just done the rational thing and keeled over for me and my crew.”

“Well, the death would have still happened. But at least you would’ve met a far better end if you hadn’t been so stubborn.”

“Normally, this would be the part where we just take what remain of the bunch of you and wring you out for all your worth; maybe some form of slave labor, or perhaps turning you into livestock, ground up into mulch for energon cubes.”

“But we already have what we need from your miserable dirt ball of a world; its energon veins will more than suffice as a reward, and that core of yours will definitely go a long way too.” 

“And besides, right now, I’ve got a lot of stuff pent up inside of me.”

“Mostly boredom from your pitiful struggles.”

“So you know what? I’m going to give all of you a little treat. Each and every single one of you pathetic fleshbags.” 

“Stunticons… UNITE!”

Motormaster launched himself into the air with a mighty leap, arcs of electricity pulling Dragstrip, Deadend, Breakdown, and Wildrider towards him.

The sounds of shifting metal, whirring cogs, and the impact of different mechs slamming together echoed throughout the ruined world.

This continued on for what seemed like forever, until finally… he had arrived.

“Menasor destroy!”

A single swing of his charged ionizer sword was all that it took to cut off the camera feed, leaving Jaco even more nervous after the Combiner’s showing of his power.

Noticing this, his Cybertronian partner then closes every single tab he’d opened, save for the ones showing Sixshot, Motormaster and his Stunticons, and the latter’s main combined form in full display.

“With Leozack and his Armormasters, it’s at least highly unlikely that they’ll want to blow their cover, lest the DJD knock on their doorstep.” 

“But Motormaster and his cronies aren’t normally this quiet. And neither is Sixshot. They’re always in the middle of some brutal swathe of destruction, and are often the driving force behind them.”

“What if they’re up to something? What if they're getting ready to scout North Galaxy like they've done with every other section of the cosmos, every star system, every planet that the Decepticons have conquered? What if they come over here and drag us into the war?” 

“Their war.”

“I know what they’ll try to do if that's truly the case. I’ve seen what they’ve done. I’ve helped, and I’ve opposed it too.” 

“If they make their first steps here, if they make even the slightest holding, they’ll buckle down and never leave!” 

“I didn’t escape all those years ago just to be brought back into the fold with even less to work with than I ever had before!” 

Skyfire was genuinely tempted to transform right then and there from the emotional overload, but was stopped by Jaco putting a hand on his dashboard. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It's okay. Those Stunticon guys and that six-moder being radio silent doesn’t have to mean that they’re making plans to come over here.” 

“Besides, even if they were, we wouldn’t be able to act anyway; it’d take solid evidence and reasoning for the Galactic King to condone it, and even then, for all we know, they could be out exploring some other derelict corner of the universe.” 

“And hey. Maybe they’re gunning for West Galaxy over us. Or they might even be taking the East first.”

Skyfire considered the notion, and even found it to be reasonable. 

But still, something just didn't feel... right. 

"I understand where you're coming from. I really do. But for some reason, it's like my sensors are telling me that something's bound to go wrong. It's like it's right in front of me, telling me that if I lean forward just enough, I can finally reach it."

"And yet no matter how hard I try, I can't force myself to take that leap."

"It's shameful. It's truly and utterly shameful."

Jaco… didn’t really know what to say.

But he could see that his partner was honestly hurting. And so, he did the only thing he could.

“Hey… what was that place you really liked when we went a few months back?”

Skyfire's holomatter avatar quirked up an eyebrow at the patroller's question. 

"Yes, it was that... that nature reserve we were allowed to explore for a week or so. The climate was a bit too humid for my liking, but the skies were simply beautiful. Being in the night sky almost made me feel like I was back home, before it all went downhill." 

“Why?”

Jaco leaned back in his seat, blowing air out of his mouth in an attempt to seem nonchalant.

“Well, maybe I can get us another stint there. Longer this time around. That should do you some good, right?”

Skyfire put some thought into the offer, contemplating if taking his rampant mind off the Decepticons seeming to slowly make their way towards North Galaxy would be worth it or not. 

He was worried, and rightfully so.

But in the end… he conceded.

“I’m already getting the forms filled out on my end. You do the same for yours? Got it?”

The fellow Galactic Patroller nodded.

And with that final response, the duo found the end of their break upon them, prompting a quick return to their organization's headquarters.

Even so, nothing could shake the feeling of trepidation in them or the Saiyan. Not with the future being so... uncertain, anyway.

But only one could truly feel the effects, as he tossed and turned in his sleep aboard the way to his new home.

Toolo could do nothing as the future seemed to shift around him.

Faces, hair, shapes: they all seemed to blur the moment he got too close, and yet feel so... certain.

Different routes began to play out.

Some of victory against the odds, others of crushing defeats.

Some of true unity and peace, where arms could be laid down and bonds could be forged anew, repaired even.

And some... of complete and utter destruction.

An empty void devoid of life-giving stars and the flora and fauna they'd helped to cultivate.

No signs of even the smallest microbes. 

Nothing... save for a single giant mass of glistening metal and lights, staring down upon the ruins it had helped to create.

It smiled at its handiwork, proud of the new blank canvas it would create out of the ash.

Toolo could only stare in awe at the unmoving figure.

There was no way to run, there was no way to fight, there was no way to even hide.

But he kept silent, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

Time stood still... and the giant looked back.

It turned, viewing him with the same contempt a god would have for an ant.

It didn't speak, but its cold eyes, so bright and yet so dark, said all it would ever need to.

The monster levitated over, somehow casting a shadow over the last member of the Kanassan population.

The last thing Toolo would see was its giant maw, opening up and revealing the sharp dentition it housed before... CRACK.

Toolo woke with a start, a trickle of purple blood leaking out of his nose.

The other passengers looked at him as if he were a madman, but he took care to hide himself away, wiping away the fluid from his face.

He looked at his now stained hand: it shuddered like it never had before. Not even when Bardock and the other Saiyans touched down upon what was once his home planet.

Whatever that thing was... it felt ancient. Malicious. Pure evil incarnate.

He could only force himself back to sleep, but thankfully, no more visions of the cosmic entity would make themselves shown.

But its impact could be felt.

And as he fell into what would be the first of many dreamless slumbers, Toolo could only ponder a single question.

When all was said and done, would there be a future for anyone... or would there be no one left to cherish what could remain? 

Toolo would not figure out the answer until... many years later.

Chapter Text

But we are not so unlucky: we are watchers. We are viewers. We observe, we react, and we march onward.

But unlike the pieces vital to this intricate game of fate, we are not bound by their passage of time.

We can leap back, we can pause vital moments, and in this case? We can leap forward.

Imagine this, just three years later: a galaxy slowly creeping closer towards its day of fate. 

Unaware of the coming tide, save for a select few who can only cause ripples, in the hopes that waves will eventually form.

And while the Kanassan's aid in this part of the story is now more or less finished, the same cannot be said for the man who he helped, who helped him in exchange.

A man who's done all he can, who can only keep doing so as fear and paranoia slowly eat away at his essence.

A man with everything to lose.

And right now?

A man on yet another job.

Things had changed for him since Kanassa.

He'd started taking solo missions, more and more.

Whatever his employers could offer, he accepted eagerly, using the opportunities of bloodshed and conquest he had long since gotten tired of to make leaps and bounds in strength wherever and whenever he could absolutely, positively do so. 

He kept his team as uninvolved as he could muster too, only ever bringing around those who were absolutely necessary for each mission. 

But even so, he would frequently opt out for complete strangers more often than not, much to the chagrin of those he'd come to call comrades. Friends, even. 

And yet... he couldn't quite let them go off and do their own thing either.

He kept them close. Trained them as hard as he could.

Put them through every regiment and grueling drill he could.

Not even his wife, the woman whose life he held in the highest regard, was free from this treatment.

In the time since he'd met Toolo, things had only gotten worse.

What he had was... broken.

Repairable, but not like this. Not now.

But he was stronger for it. He had to be.

Maybe they'd never look at him the same way again, but... at least he could keep them alive. Keep them safe. Keep them away from the visions. As far away from them as he could muster.

And he could keep doing that.

All he'd have to do is wrap this mission up... all he'd have to do is finish the job, and then he could go back home and continue his due diligence. 

All he'd have to do is end this mark.

All he'd have to do... is kill a reminder of what he'd once had.

But no matter how much he wanted to just lift his arm and fire off a fatal blast... he just couldn't.

Things were a blur after that.

Names. Faces. Chain reactions that he seemed to forget.

And now here he was.

Any moment now, he'd be forced to make a decision: end it quick, get back home, and return to training up himself, Gine, and his squad. 

Or fight for three people he barely even knows, all because they remind him of what he cut himself off from ever since Kanassa. 

He'd get stronger either way, but... he just couldn't decide.

But fortunately, or rather, unfortunately, he didn't need to have a say in the matter.

A cavalcade of unfamiliar race cars drove onto the scene, each without a single driver at the helm.

One was a six-wheeled yellow racer, who immediately took on his true form.

Blue and white followed next, with his compatriots bringing up the rear.

Bardock and Gas were the only ones who could react fast enough, but alas, they were too late.

Four more cars came at them from the other side and changed form as well, the axe-wielder propelling his gestalt mate up into the air to knock their newest marks out of the sky.

Bardock felt his armor crack from the impact of being thrown back down to solid earth, but forced himself back up immediately.

That... that hadn't hurt as much as he thought it would.

But it still hurt nonetheless.

The axe-wielder then landed back down, a cocky grin on his face and just a hint of confusion in his glowing optics.

"Strange. Most fleshies usually burst apart from that first hit." 

"And none of them survive being tossed into the ground either."

"You though... you're different."

"I'm gonna enjoy taking you apart, little dude."

The yellow one then slapped the axe-wielder on the back of his helm.

"Gah, Drag Strip, what was that for?!"

"When the eight of us talk it out with meatbags, I go first, Offroad. We've been over this a dozen fragging times already." 

The blue and white one then put a hand on one of Drag Strip's shoulder spires.

"Hey, lay off the kid. He's not exactly been at this as long as us, now has he?"

Offroad nodded in affirmation, but Drag Strip just scoffed. 

“He ain’t gonna get better if we keep coddling him, Breakdown. Besides, if he’s plenty old enough to hash it with us, then I think he can handle speaking up for himself.”

The especially crazed looking one was the next to speak up, opening with a hearty guffaw that put even the rest of his team on edge.

“He’s got a point though. Squishies aren’t exactly the toughest thing around, and yet these shmucks,” he stated, pointing at the Saiyan, the Heeters, the two Cerealians, and the Namekian, “are still standing. I don’t think they’re all quite on each other’s level though.”

“What do you think, Dead End?”

The bored looking robot just shrugged.

“I think you’re probably right, Wildrider. Doesn’t matter though: they’ll all end up like the rest we’ve taken down anyway,”

As the first five of the Stunticons continued to engage in their weird form of banter, another pair - seemingly their own little clique from within - started holding a discussion of their own.

"Tch. These idiots have those organic shmucks right where we want them, and they can't take the time to actually finish the job? I swear, it's like the standards for Decepticon conduct have gone down since the first cycles of the revolution." The bulky silver 'con with blue and red accent marks grumbled.

"Ah, cool your exhaust port, Slashmark. Those four've been at it longer than either of us, and we both know the sway they've got on what gets done. Besides, they'll all be crushed beneath our pedes sooner or later, so why rush it?" His pure gunmetal grey partner replied, rolling his blood-red orbs at the complaints being thrown about as he jabs a digit at the Saiyan and everyone else the ‘Cons had lumped him in with. 

“Easy for you to say, Heatseeker. You barely think with that puny processor of yours as it is, so I can see why you’re so keen to let everyone around you do the thinking instead.”

“Not my fault I don’t have a rod up my afterburner port, you sod.” 

The bickering between the Stunticons then continued on, with even the last of their number finding himself being dragged into the verbal sparring match taking place before him; seeing how distracted the eight car-robots had become before him, Bardock seized the opportunity laid out before him, now armed with enough wiggle room to finally breathe. 

He sees Monaito holding his broken arm, Muezli grasping her head and trying to push through the induced concussion, and Granolah, still unconscious and scuffed but not too worse for wear, on his left. 

On his right? The Heeters in varying degrees of injured, with Elec clearly having been left the worst off, even if his siblings had taken the brunt of the impact.

The Heeters were definitely strong, but he couldn’t count on them to not stab him in the back. Monaito wasn’t exactly in great shape either. And so, he turned to pretty much the only one he could honestly trust.

“Hey, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Muezli blinks several times, but she’s able to muster up an answer.

“Uuuuhhhhh… seven?”

Bardock looks at the single hand he was using, and cringed a little. But still, he couldn’t really complain.

“Good enough, I guess. Look, those guys over there,” he said, pointing at the Stunticons, “have us on the ropes as it is, but I think you, your kid, and the green guy can make a break for it if things go according to plan.”

“Don’t know about those four,” he added, jabbing a thumb at the Heeters, “but they’ll probably be fine too. Just stay as far away from them as you possibly can, and you’ll do fine.”

The cerealian nodded, priming herself to run as fast and as far away as she could with the only other survivors left.

The Heeters looked like they were coming up with a similar plan.

Gas and Oil began to growl as their powers slowly surged forth, their muscles bulging from the effort to do so.

Thankfully, the noise of whatever the Stunticons had going on drowned them out, but nonetheless, it still put Bardock on edge.

Could he could make use of the distraction they'd provide? Yeah, for sure.

But if they caught on too early, then he'd be done for.

And so he waited, slowly charging an orb of energy within his hands, but making sure to leave it just under the threshold for activation. 

He waited and waited and waited, until finally, one of the Stunticons caught on to what some of their intended victims were up to.

Or at least… two of them, anyway.

Offroad was surprisingly the first to notice, having said his piece and simply being too entranced with the car wreck going on before him to do so until now.

He nudged the last of their number to have joined to get his attention.

“Uuuhhhh, Black Jack.”

The purple-helmed and blue-visored sports car turned, mouth halfway open to tearing the pickup truck a new one, only to have it be slammed shut by the tiniest Heeter’s savage upper cut.

Offroad found himself in a stupor from the surprise, but tore his processor out of the fog and gathered his bearings, swinging his axe down to try and cleave the little organic in half, only to be bashed out of the way by a charging Oil.

The Decepticon skidded across the solid ground, righting himself as he put up his axe to block the berserker’s blows. 

Every so often, the occasional wild punch or kick would often sneak its way in, actually denting his plating and even leaving his head ringing too. 

But it wouldn’t be enough.

And Bardock knew it.

But he was prepared.

He launched the energy ball in his hands, hitting Dead End dead on and knocking the Stunticon down, but that wasn't its main purpose.

He raised his arm into the air, closed his open hand, and shouted as loud as he could.

"BURST OPEN AND MIX!!"

And the sphere of ki did just that.

Bardock could already feel the changes setting in, but still had enough of his mind intact to immediately turn around towards Monaito, Muezli, and the groggy Granolah.

"RUN!"

His eyes turned blood red as they did just that, bolting in the direction opposite of where Macki and Elec were heading.

Fur grew all over his body. 

Teeth sharpened into perfectly symmetrical, jagged fangs. 

His jaw developed into a fullblown snout.

And most importantly of all? He grew massive.

Bardock slammed a fist down on where the red Stunticon stood, only narrowly missing thanks to Wild Rider's interference.

He roared as he attempted to grab Breakdown, missing only by mere inches.

He was strong now. Faster too.

But even with the Oozaru's benefits in mind, its cumbersome bulk would most assuredly prove to be a problem.

Still, he couldn't back down. Not now.

He kept swinging and stomping, stomping and swinging, trying to give the Cerealians and Namekian as much distance as they could muster.

But the Stunticons had fought bigger and tougher before.

He could kill them if he played his cards right.

But they could do the same.

Drag Strip immediately took command, barking orders left and right.

"Slashmark, Heatseeker, hunt down those blue fleshies! If they make it off of here, then we aren't gonna have the element of surprise!"

"Breakdown, Dead End, go after the green one and his friends! Maybe we can wring some info out of them about their planet's resources... just try to keep them intact for once!"

"And Wildrider, you're with me! We'll need everything we got to take this giant hairball down."

"Is that understood!?"

The five Stunticon cars nodded in understanding, before they first four quickly transformed into their respective alt modes, driving after their designated targets like madmen down the dirt roads. 

Meanwhile, Wildrider's servos rummaged through one of the many, many metal slots on his body, before he finally pulled out just what he was looking for. 

“I swear, it’s like you always have an energon grenade on you.” Drag Strip muttered. 

The red faced Stunticon madly grinned at the remark, tossing around the deadly explosive in his hands. 

“Well, you know what they say, Drag.” 

He then primed the device, lobbing it at Bardock, who had to put up his arms to block as it exploded.

“Better safe than sorry, am I right?”

The smoke then cleared to reveal that the massive Oozaru only had singed fur.

Having raised his power to its fullest as he just barely avoided the blast zone, it was really only the heat that did its work. 

Drag Strip grimaced as he pulled out his two swords, glowing a bright blue from the special energon flowing through them. 

“Well, your aim clearly needs work.”

“I bet that if you put as much processing power into lining up your shots as you did hoarding junk, we’d have at least blinded him.” 

Wildrider simply rolled his optics, pulling his thermal spread shot out from its holster.

“And I bet that if we don’t find a way to bring down the hairball over here, then we’re gonna be scrap.”

Drag Strip scoffed as he set his sights on the Oozaru, now on his two feet instead of all fours.

Much to their surprise, it was able to speak. In fact, it was as able to speak as he was before the change.

“If you two could finish shooting the air, then that’d be great. I only have so much time in a day, and I’m not wasting anymore of my breath doing you two in.” 

Drag Strip was as surprised as Wildrider was excited, before he then followed the latter’s example in giving a wide grin at the sight before him.

His swords glowed a rich light blue, crackling with electricity as arcs of lighting flashed around them.

“Ohohohoho. I’m gonna enjoy carving you up like a turbo-fox.” 

Wildrider cocked his shotgun, energon pumping through his systems as he let out a mighty guffaw. 

“Make sure to leave me a piece this time. I think I’d like a pelt hung up in my hab suite too.”

With a snarl and a shout, the two cars then leaped into action, with Bardock lunging forward, mouth open as a beam charged up within his gaping maw.

Upon his unleashing of the attack, Drag Strip and Wildrider leaped out of the way, transforming into their vehicle modes and circling the raging Oozaru.

Wildrider’s roof opened up to reveal his shotgun, blasting away at the giant target.

Bardock winced in pain as he worked to put out the fires growing on his fur, while Drag Strip switched in and out of his two states, using his alt mode’s speed until the last moment, where he then switched back to his robot mode to land cuts and slashes where he could.

And when Bardock got too close for comfort?

He simply transformed back into his alt mode, using the speed of his car form to make a quick getaway where he can. 

Wildrider followed suit, weaving in and out of the stomping Oozaru’s attacks as he singed more and more patches of fur and skin.

But as they steadily ramped up the aggression behind their attacks, their movements, and their tactics, they started to get sloppy.

Drag Strip’s wild swings and slashes, Wildrider’s rabid shots and stunts: sooner or later, they’d have to slip up. 

And eventually? They did.

Wildrider soared through the air, aiming his shotgun at Bardock’s red eyes to blind and finally begin finishing him off once and for all.

But in his deranged drive to deal out as much damage on the giant Oozaru as he could, he’d failed to notice the massive hand coming his way, swatting him down into the ground.

Wildrider’s plating cracked from the impact, and he could feel energon leaking out from the wounds. 

If he’d focused on the pain just a second longer, he wouldn’t have been able to avoid the stomping foot that tried to squash him flat.

Thank Primus he hadn’t held back the recoil on the weapon like everyone else told him to. 

Drag Strip attempted to gouge out the giant ape’s brain with his swords in response, but the latter’s giant tail simply slapped him away and into a nearby hillside.

The yellow Stunticon gripped his head, a blue eye peering out from his cracked red visor as he massaged his metal noggin.

A voice then rang through his inner comm systems: Breakdown, grunting in exertion, the sounds of a massive fight going on in the background.

“Drag Strip, you there?! We’re getting hit left, right, and center!” 

“Two more organics ambushed us, both female! One of them’s copying your- gack! One of them’s copying your style! Got two giant swords and everything!” 

“I- I think they’re with that giant ape guy! They’ve got tails too! Just like him!” 

“If you could come over and help us, that’d be great!” 

Then another voice made its presence known: Slashmark.

“You think you got your hands full with two extra?! Try us with three!” 

“Forget my brother: we need your help more!” 

“The blue organic, the fem, she’s gone berserk!” 

“And these three extra monkey guys aren’t letting up either!” 

Drag Strip grinded his metal teeth in frustration, looking around him as he heard the chaos going on in the background.

Offroad and Blackjack were holding their own, but clearly still had trouble with their own respective opponents.

Gas especially seemed to prove most troublesome.

But as he heard the constant salvo of Wildrider’s shotgun emptying its clip into the Oozaru, he realized that the biggest threat before him was quite literally the biggest threat before him, first and foremost.

Drag Strip finally responded with a snarl, the frustration in his voice clear as can be.

“Listen! We’re taking a beating out here as well! Just hold your own, and we’ll try to do what we can after! Got it?!” 

The two Stunticons tried to form a rebuttal, but Drag Strip hung up too quickly, forcing himself out of the rubble as he brandished his blades yet again.

He looked to Wildrider, who understood immediately and whipped out a set of heavy duty energon pistols.

Speed would be key to surviving. And speed was just the thing they were all capable of.

Drag Strip let out a mighty battle cry of a roar, throwing himself back into the fray once more.

He wasn’t going to lose out to an organic of all things. Not here, not now, and not ever.

And so, he fought on.

“Drag?! Drag Strip?! Dammit!” 

Breakdown cursed under his breath at the audacity, but couldn’t exactly focus on his petty revenge for later.

Right now, he had to make sure he could survive to fight another day to begin with.

He used his alt mode’s cameras to look behind him, and found a surprisingly startling sight: one of the monkey people, or “Saiyans” as the databases he’d pulled up on the go called them, was flying behind him, holding up an absolutely massive boulder.

She then threw the massive rock with all of her might, taking care to make sure that it landed just in front of the blue and white super car.

Breakdown immediately skidded out of the way, drifting into an open clearing as he shifted forms and pulled out a blue plasma rifle, getting off a few shots before he returned to his alt mode once again.

Fasha was able to dodge a majority, but was still nicked by several rounds.

The sheer heat cauterized her wounds immediately, but the resulting pain kept her from being completely on guard when Breakdown rammed into her full speed, knocking the wind out of her.

The Stunticon then plowed through as many trees as he could, hoping that enough concussive force would knock her out so he could get this over with.

But he’d failed to notice the smug grin on her face.

And unfortunately for him, his awareness only kicked in when her two gloved hands gripped his front bumper, leaning back and slamming him roof-first into solid earth.

The sheer force sent his transformation cog into overdrive, immediately knocking him back to his less armored robot mode just in time to be put on the receiving end of a ki blast barrage.

Pushing through the pain, Breakdown tapped into more of his energon reserves to throw up a kinetic shield, deflecting just enough of the attacks to make his getaway.

He gave himself as much distance as he could and then spun into a sharp u-turn, using his alt-mode’s rocket boosters to build up enough speed to pull off what he was trying to do.

Charging up his blue plasma rifle as far as it could go without blowing itself up, he proceeded to use the shot to launch himself into the air.

This, combined with the momentum he’d already built up to begin with, allowed him to turn into a missile. One aimed at the leotard-wearing annoyance who’d been pissing him off.

Breakdown stretched his legs out as far as he could, hitting the Saiyan dead on.

The drop kick was devastating, and would’ve been the end of Fasha herself… had Deadend not been launched through the air as well, colliding with Breakdown and preventing the worst of the damage from taking hold.

The red car’s purple visor was cracked, and his face plate was chipped, showing off some of his youth’s facial scarring for all to see.

There were hints of a grimace behind his otherwise blank expression, as he gripped his gash-ridden left arm. 

Functional, but damaged nonetheless.

A figure then caught Fasha, urging her to stay awake as Monaito made his way over.

It took a lot out of him to do so, but he was at least able to replenish his current ally’s stamina. Just a bit.

The fourth then finally arrived, her outfit torn up but still intact despite the struggles she’d been going through.

Breakdown was surprised by her most of all: at least the other two were fighters, and the greenie was smart enough to keep his distance.

But just how had she, seemingly one of the weakest among their number, been able to persist? 

Much to his surprise, she’d responded to his silent inquiries.

“Didn’t think it’d be so hard to put us down, huh?”

“You’re tough. Tougher than any game I’ve put down, and harder to hit too.” 

“I’ll give you that much.”

“But I know your kind: bastards who think they can just walk around and take as they please.”

“I hate you, and I hate people like you too. You take, and you take, and you just keep on taking more and more and more until there’s nothing left.” 

“You’re worse than scavengers. At least they do the planet a service.” 

Breakdown’s brows furrowed at the Cerealian’s audacity.

“You don’t get to say anything about what I or any of my team get up to, squishy.”

“You work with the same people who killed your friends and family.”

“You call us worse than scavengers, but at least we aren’t hypocrites.”

“I wonder what your people would say if they saw you now?”

Muezli grimaced, but her resolve had already been steeled.

“Nice try with the mind games, but it'll take more than that to faze me.” 

“Besides, these two here aren’t the ones who did the deed. At least, not directly anyway.”

“And even if they were, I think I can trust them.”

“After all, if they really wanted me dead, then what would have stopped them from just letting us have at it before they take out the victor?”

Fasha then walked over, next to where the Cerealian stood, hacking up a wad of ichor that splattered on the ground.

“Actually, we’d have probably just taken the both of you on at the same time. But she’s right.”

“We don’t want her dead. We don’t need to kill her. All we want is to beat you down into the ground.”

“That, and it’d be a shame to see someone as cute as her get crushed by a giant metal lug like you.” 

It took Muezli a good moment to process the comment, but when she finally did, she felt a blush form on her face in response.

Gine joined the two, rolling her eyes at Fasha’s antics.

“Seriously? This isn’t exactly a pub, Fash.”

“Ah, you’re no fun.”

The Saiyan then entered into her usual stance, Gine following suit as she brandished her twin butcher knives, and then Muezli as well.

Breakdown sneered at their continued resistance, mostly due to the amount of damage he’d piled up and how easy it could’ve been to avoid.

If only he’d had enough energon to function at full capacity.

And Motormaster just had to keep pushing them forward to, “not lose their momentum.”

That fragging glitch would be the death of them all sooner or later… but not today. Not this cycle.

“Hey, Dead. You still able to function?”

The red car-bot nodded, before offering a question of his own. 

“Why? What’re you thinking?”

Breakdown chuckled.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m thinking we end this, once and for all. Leave them flat on the ground, buried six feet under, turned to ash, anything.”

“And I think I know exactly how we can do that.”

Breakdown’s hands then grabbed onto his fellow teammate, lifting him up into the air as they began to change.

Dead End’s arms merged back into his torso, as his legs shifted to take up the gap.

Breakdown’s arms did so as well, but the torso went an extra step and folded down, launching cables to drag Dead End down onto him.

Two ‘Cons had merged into one.

An energon-heavy symbol of unity that summoned a level of power much needed for the battle taking place before them.

A Powerlink.

Dead Break had arrived onto the battlefield.

And oh boy, was he ready to fight.

Heatseeker grimaced as he read his hud, seeing that Breakdown and Dead End’s spark signatures had merged into one.

Things had really gotten that bad?

The additional barrage of yet another salvo of energy attacks from the four combatants (and one guy with an energy pistol) seemed to more than suffice as an answer.

Heatseeker responded in kind, unleashed a flurry of missiles right back at the three Saiyans and two Heeters.

Explosions rang across the battlefield, indicating that at least a few of his rockets had hit their mark, but the rest has either been shot down or sent flying into the surrounding geography.

Even a brute like Heatseeker knew that this sort of couldn’t be sustained for much longer.

And Slashmark knew it as well.

In fact, he was driving straight towards Heatseeker as a desperate last gambit, hoping that crashing into the other Stunticon would somehow jumpstart the combination process.

Heatseeker hoped so as well, and transformed in response.

His speed kept rising and rising.

The rocket boosters he used were burning hotter and hotter.

And his desperation only grew as their opponents got closer and closer.

Until finally… they collided.

The shrieking of whirring combination cogs and shifting metal followed suit, as an even greater titan now stood before the Saiyans and Heeters.

The mass shifting that came with the combination process had clearly done them some favors.

Heatmark roared as he rushed towards the quartet, slamming them down into the dirt with his mighty metal limbs and giving them a beating like what they’d given him just moments prior. 

The only ones who’d been able to move out of the way were Toma and Macki, their smaller builds just that bit more agile than those of Borgos and Shugesh.

The latter pair coughed up blood from the impact, as Heatmark began wailing on them with no restraint.

It was only through exploiting the giant’s inability to fly and his fractured mind that the two were able to get away, just barely able to avoid its leaps toward them.

All four of the fighters were left panting, with Elec being especially scared out of his mind.

“We-we need… we need to go back to the ship, now. Get off planet, find someone, anyone, to warn.”

Macki agreed, but had to point out the one flaw behind his plan.

“And how do you l suppose we get to it when that thing’s still lurking around?”

“And don’t say Gas. We don’t know if he’s still fighting that one guy or not.”

The two Heeters were left pondering their next move, and the Saiyans did as well.

Until finally, a most unexpected source gave a potential solution.

“The answer’s quite simple, actually.”

The sudden appearance of two new figures prompted the Saiyans and Heeters to immediately turn around, their energies raised in case of yet another fight knocking on their door.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

“I ain’t looking to pick a fight.”

"And neither's my partner."

"I'm Jiya. A Galactic Patroller."

"And this is Chiwak. A new recruit of ours. Relatively speaking, anyway." 

"Tell me: what brings a bunch of Frieza Force soldiers, let alone some of Frieza's business partners, out to this sector of space?" 

Shugesh balled one of his fists and winded it back, responding with a snarl before he did anything too brash.

"Question for a question; we could ask the same for you patrollers." 

In response, Toma quickly put himself between the two figures, making sure to try and keep what little peace in the ever growing group he could. 

"We were just out here on a job by Frieza. Those two," he said as he directed Jiya's attention to the eldest Heeter and his little sister, "and their brothers were probably out here as surveyors of the aftermath- to see if they could sell it to anyone who needs a new world, you know?" 

"And you?"

Chiwak seemed to roll his eyes at the inquiry.

"What do you think, Saiyan?"

He then nodded over at Heatmark, who'd finally had enough of trying to close the distance between himself and his marks, and instead opted out for unleashing his arsenal of ranged weaponry onto them.

Twin double-barrel forearm blasters popped out of his metal limbs, and shoulder cannons made themselves visible as well, before he unleashed a wild assault into the air as he aimed wildly for the Saiyans and Heeters.

Once again, they weren't able to dodge everything, but at least the missiles seemed to be a non-issue with two extra pairs of eyes and hands around.

Jiya himself made use of a rifle slung around his body, melting each and every single projective he could into superheated slag.

Chiwak, on the other hand, preferred to go about things in a manner much more precise than his mentor, freezing the projectiles mid-air with well places shots from his dual pistols.

It wasn't too surprising to see that they were able to simply bob and weave out of the way of the rest of the attacks that came as well, considering the fact that they were in perfect health compared to the Saiyans and some of Frieza's most common business partners, but still... that sort of speed wasn't found in most patrollers to begin with. Or most anyone save Frieza's elite and the tyrant emperor himself.

Nevertheless, doing so seemed to still be quite the close call for either of them. Especially for Chiwak himself.

"Damn. Way closer than we were told to expect. Think he was lying to us, sir?" 

"No. I think things just advanced far faster and far further than he expected. That's all."

Jiya then turned a dial on his semi-automatic rifle, its color changing from a rich orange to a bright blue.

He redirected his attention towards the Saiyans and Heeters as he did so, a serious expression etched across his metal face.

"Now, before we go all in, let me give you the run down on a couple of questions that I know you're probably thinking of." 

"No, this isn't standard Galactic Patrol equipment. It's something an old friend of ours has been supplying us in exchange for our help." 

"What we're doing here isn't under the Patrol’s orders either: getting the rest of them involved would take too much paperwork and red tape, and if that guy down there is any indication, then we need all the time we can get." 

"To bring that guy down, we need to break him apart. His connection point is in the center of his torso: it's the location of their respective combination cogs, the anchors for the two bots to be able to merge into one. Not as tough to break apart as the bigger mergers of its kind though." 

"Still, we'll need to weaken it as much as we can before one of us makes the final blow to split them back up."

"Hit that specific point on the center of its torso hard enough once its defenses have been lowered, and it'll jar them back to normal."

"And finally, if you're wondering why we're so strong... well, we can't spill every little secret to some random strangers, now can we?"

He then entered into a horse stance in the air, ready to fly down and lay the pain upon the powerlinked Decepticons just as he was taught to be able to do.

"Now then, the rookie and I need to know this: can we trust you to work with us and take down that raging beast, or do you lot value your pride so much, you'd rather take your chances chipping away at its defenses by yourselves?" 

Normally, this level of snark wouldn't exactly roll well with any of the people before him. Especially the eldest Heeter.

But at this point? They were just desperate to survive, and it showed.

Toma was the first to respond.

"Think you can lead the way?"

The answer came in the form of Jiya cocking his rifle.

"Sure. Now let's see if you can keep up."

The Galactic Patroller then proceeded to fly into battle, his apprentice and partner following suit with the Saiyans and Macki, still carrying Elec, just behind them. 

They unleashed a salvo of kikoha and energy bolts as they did so, forcing Heatmark to have to actually defend from the attack by way of blocking. 

The distance between them now being too short for his heatseeking missiles to actually be effective forced him to have to rely on his other half's unique abilities: rings of green energy, perfect for either tossing at unsuspecting targets at mid range or tearing apart your most hated enemies up close.

The powerlinxed Decepticon began to wildly swing about from there, his tougher body allowing him to endure their counterattacks as he nearly lopped off heads, arms, and legs alike. 

Macki landed a nasty overhead blow to his metal temple, staggering him as she continued to wail against his metal exterior with reckless abandon.

Heatmark grabbed onto her in response, throwing her against the charging Borgos and sending the pair flying over the horizon.

Quick to recover, they joined back in by laying down much needed cover fire, all while Toma and Shugesh kept the freshly merged Stunticon from being able to recuperate up close.

It wasn’t too hard to break past their defenses, but no matter what he did, they just wouldn’t stay down.

And even though he could repeatedly force his way past through the pony-tailed Saiyan and his stout comrade, he also found himself being repeatedly forced back by a hail of energy bullets and orbs of ki.

The Patrollers were doing the most damage especially: the shots of frost and flame, the constant fluctuation of temperatures on his frame. It was starting to damage his armor’s integrity. 

He was slowly whittling away at the Patrollers and their newest allies, but they were starting to do the same to him.

It went back and forth, forth and back, each pair swapping in and out of their respective positions.

One moment, it was the rapid fire combos doled out by Toma and Shugesh; another, it was the savagery of the berserk Macki complementing the much more evenly tempered Borgos as they tore away at his plating, dealing out as much damage as they could, the latter staggering him through sweeping out the metal monstrosity’s legs from underneath him and setting up the former to rip and tear until she was forced to avoid the swings of his green rings.

Sometimes, the Patrollers even decided to let up from dealing out damage with their blasters, instead opting out to simply tear away at him with a spear and twin swords respectively.

The pairs even seemed willing to swap partners with each other, so just when Heatmark had found himself a decent rhythm, he’d be forced to adapt yet again.

But they weren’t exactly getting out of this unphased either.

He couldn’t land as many attacks on them as they could on him, but what Heatmark lacked in speed, he easily made up for in sheer strength and durability.

Every backhand against vulnerable torsos that cracked ribs. 

Every leaping kick he landed to slam his opponents into the ground and force them to cough up blood. 

Every gash he opened with his rings.

They were signs of progress. Slow progress. Steady progress even. But it was working.

Flesh against metal.

Energon vs blood.

Sparks vs souls.

And to think… this was only one of many to come.

Dead Break slammed his arms into the ground, revving the tires attached to them in order to kick up as much dust as he could. 

He then leapt from the fray and up onto a nearby rocky outcropping, his arms pointed out and turning into a dual set of neutron assault rifles. 

The whirring of the barrels was only drowned out by the collective battle cries of his targets.

The Saiyans and Cerealian were followed by two Patrollers, equipped with dual SMGs and a shotgun respectively.

He sighed inside, cursing himself for thinking that a basic powerlinx would be more than enough to finish the job.

Because of course the universe would decide to work against him today of all days.

When it became clear that the hailstorm of bullets wouldn’t suffice, he then opted out for the only other close combat option at his disposal.

Dead Break then raised his arm blades up to block, skidding back as Gine and Fasha launched a flying kick straight for the center of his torso.

The impact shook him up a lot more than he’d care to admit, even with his narrow success at a block kept in mind, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on that when he was immediately being assaulted with gunfire and ki bolts alike. Not now, anyway. 

Too big to really dodge any of them, he instead decided to make the most of his naturally high durability to simply barge through.

He attempted to gouge out the guts of Calamis and Irico at the same time, but the Patrollers were able to sidestep out of the way.

More shots from Muezli rained down from above, pelting Dead Break and keeping him in place long enough for a two pronged attack from the Saiyans.

Metal against metal rang through the air as Gine and Fasha, the latter now wielding the other half of Gine’s set of twin butcher knives, swung their blades at the opposing superheated energon swords. 

Dead Break began to struggle, surprised that his armaments hadn’t immediately melted through their weapons.

Sweat poured down the pair's thoroughly bloodied and bruised heads as they felt the heat themselves. 

Neither knew they were subconsciously channeling their energies into either oversized cleaver, but it kept them in the fight all the same.

A whirlwind of stabs, slices, parries, and blocks broke out from there, their noises of clashing metal and rabid blows separated by grunts of pain and the whirring of energy based attacks.

Dead Break was soon finding himself having to defend from all sides: two at his front, one on the left, one on the right, and always one from the back. 

Sometimes it was the Cerealian, hitting his weakest points and momentarily cutting off energon flow to certain parts of his body at key moments.

Other times, it was one of those pesky little patrollers, shooting away at his frame with  all sorts of ammunition; some of it burned, others were colder than ice, and more still sent jolts of lightning through his entire system. They even had the audacity to bring out melee weapons and get up close and personal with the Powerlinx Decepticon: a battleaxe that glowed as bright as any energon-based weapon for Calamis, and a pair of glowing energy-knuckles for Irico. Both dug in as equally deep and proved as equally painful to the Powerlinx, who would quickly turn around and attempt to swat them away. 

But the most infuriating of all? The Saiyans.

They weren't anything particularly special. Strong? Yeah. But they didn't have the ability to seemingly pinpoint just where his weakspots were.

And they definitely didn’t have weapons that could burn, freeze, or shock away at the Powerlinx either. 

And yet no matter what he did, they just wouldn’t. Stay. Down. 

It was through sheer force of will that they were able to persist, slashing and hacking away until Dead Break forced them to back off by attempting to skewer them alive.

But not even that could keep them away forever.

For every pest he could get to back off from one spot, another was there to take its place.

And all the while more, other parts of the group shifted accordingly.

Close range, long range, mid range: it didn’t matter. All of their efforts were dedicated to bringing him down.

But Dead Break was certain of one thing, and one thing alone.

He wasn’t gonna be the one to fall. Not here, not now, and not ever.

And so, he too persisted, swinging around his dual energon swords with the skill and precision only millions of years spent entrenched in war could bring about.

All he had to was land one hit.

One hit on each of them. Five in total.

He just had to keep going.

He had to.