"Blaster," Silverbolt said, bypassing any inquiry regarding why the scout had left the subterranean sanctuary without authorization.
"Optimus has commanded us to leave Cybertron and rendezvous with his position; we must return to the lower levels immediately."
"Leave?" Blaster glanced at Fireflight and Slingshot, who were hauling Rumble's neutralized frame over the ridge.
He nodded slowly. "Then let us move fast."
He offered zero objections, readily accepting the strategic reality.
He calculated that the escaped Laserbeak and Ratbat would immediately transmit their lunar coordinates to Shockwave and that Decepticon named Skygnaw.
Their final sanctuary was compromised; choosing not to pull out now meant they would never leave the moon alive.
Across the secondary hemisphere, Laserbeak and Ratbat finally cut their thrusters after putting vast distances between themselves and the combat zone.
They verified their scanner feeds to ensure no Autobot interceptors were tracking their telemetry.
"Drop your velocity, Ratbat," Laserbeak signaled, searching the craggy terrain for a secure coordinate to land.
The moment their boots touched the metallic soil, Laserbeak routed a comprehensive field log directly to Shockwave's network.
He omitted zero details, delivering a perfectly accurate metric of the skirmish.
"Lord Shockwave has ordered our units to hold position while he mobilizes a detachment of the Assault Corps," Laserbeak reported.
The manifestation of the Aerialbots on Hecate completely altered the tactical math, meaning even the master logician couldn't ignore the variable.
"Laserbeak, Overkill, Slugfest, and Rumble have all been completely terminated by the resistance," Ratbat said, his vocalizers cycling with deep irritation.
Laserbeak fell silent for a brief second.
Losing an organic-class tracking beast like Ravage was one thing, but Rumble's crew represented the primary combat elements of their entire division.
Such an inventory loss hit their specialized network incredibly hard, especially since the remaining operatives focused almost entirely on pure espionage.
"Ratbat, our master will balance the ledger for them once we regroup," Laserbeak muttered after a long pause.
"Let us calculate that outcome instead," Ratbat replied coldly, his optics dimming as he cut the feed.
Deep within the dark side of Hecate, the heavy security doors of the underground base parted.
Silverbolt led the Aerialbots back onto the command deck, with Blaster's cell trailing right behind his wings.
Spotting the successful extraction of their primary scout division, several lower-tier Autobot refugees let out a cheer.
An outside observer would have calculated that the resistance had just secured a massive victory over the Decepticon regime.
Silverbolt held zero interest in entertaining the crowd, briefly issuing a few defensive parameters to Fireflight before tracking down Hound and Wheeljack.
"Wheeljack, what is the timeline to ignition?"
The chief scientist and the elite tracker were currently stationed on the upper hangar deck, racing through a final diagnostic sequence.
The Ark had never undergone a live test flight since its structural restoration, leaving them zero room for error.
What if the primary thruster array experienced a catastrophic failure the exact millisecond the ignition matrix fired?
Naturally, the technical calibration of the systems fell entirely on Wheeljack's shoulders, while Hound anchored the security detail.
Anticipating his imminent return to the organic world he had grown to admire, Hound felt his internal processors hum with excitement.
He drew from his metallic bullet-cigar in rapid succession, the shifting ember drawing frequent glances from the scientist.
Wheeljack assumed the tracker was simply struggling with the emotional weight of abandoning their home world, misinterpreting the behavior entirely.
"Maintain your baseline calm, Hound," Wheeljack said, tapping a series of diagnostic tools against a data console linked to the ship's frame.
He kept his optics locked onto the interface screen. "Just give my systems a few more micro-cycles; the sequencing is almost verified."
As an elite engineer and inventor, patience was a fundamental subroutine within his core programming.
"Understood, Wheeljack; I calculate that I could learn a great deal from your behavioral pipeline," Hound replied.
He patted his reinforced midsection, though his internal thoughts were entirely focused on the lush landscapes of Earth.
For Hound, the distant organic world he had accidentally stumbled across during his early exploration cycles held everything Cybertron lacked.
His devotion to the breathtaking natural wonders of that planet had long surpassed his attachment to the cold iron of his home world.
Back when his alternate configuration matched a Willys military tactical vehicle, he had courageously scouted an outpost belonging to a human faction known as the Third Reich.
During his recreation cycles, he would freely wander the terrestrial sectors, constantly marveling at the planet's evolutionary masterworks.
He had fallen completely in love with the dense forests, the vast oceans, and the primitive animal kingdoms.
It was an undeniable truth that while Hound operated as a fiercely loyal and highly courageous soldier, his inner spark secretly yearned to live as a true human.
His tactical specialization focused heavily on heavy fire support and cover maneuvers, driven by a personal motto he frequently shared with his squad: "I will anchor the rear guard; if my signature drops off the radar, it means I am scrap."
Life and termination were trivial data points to his processing core.
The pneumatic seals of the heavy blast doors suddenly hissed open just as Wheeljack completed the final diagnostic sweep.
Silverbolt stepped onto the hangar deck.
"Wheeljack, I have secured a small payload of energy pillars; the reserves should contain enough fuel to bridge the gap to Optimus Prime's coordinates," Silverbolt announced.
"Magnificent!" Wheeljack cheered, his helm snapping up from the console.
"Your timing is flawless, Silverbolt; the remaining survivors will certainly praise your private stockpile of fuel rods."
Silverbolt's optic sensors dimmed slightly, though he chose not to offer a counter-argument, silently accepting the scientist's teasing.
As the primary aerial powerhouse of the resistance network, the Aerialbots naturally operated under specific resource protocols, enjoying a higher percentage of fuel allocation.
While some lower-tier units might calculate the arrangement as unequal, the reality was the exact opposite: it represented absolute structural fairness.
After all, while the ordinary refugees remained safe within the underground bunkers, Silverbolt's wing was constantly trading metrics with Decepticon elite squads in the line of fire.
Silverbolt delivered the energy pillars to Wheeljack before departing to oversee the final troop mobilization across the lower bays.
Wheeljack carried the fuel rods onto the main access ramp of the Ark.
For the modern Autobots, executing an interstellar transit to regroup with Optimus Prime didn't depend on the ship's hull integration, but on its primary fuel reserves.
These specialized energy pillars served as the most efficient fuel source for the Ark's unique engines, yet their inventories had been nearly picked clean.
Shortly after Wheeljack cleared the boarding threshold, Hound initiated the loading protocols for the refugees Silverbolt had assembled.
The entire lunar sanctuary housed fewer than one hundred active Autobots, a passenger volume that was entirely trivial for a ship of the Ark's proportions.
The construction of the dreadnought had commenced during the absolute dawn of the civil war under the direct conceptual design of Optimus Prime.
The framework was engineered to utilize localized space bridge wormholes, allowing the vessel to execute instantaneous, long-range physical transits across galaxies.
But as the war escalated and resources began to deplete, Optimus shifted his strategic intent, altering the ship's classification from a heavy war-dreadnought to a global survival ark.
Although the construction process faced constant disruptions due to heavy Decepticon raids and severe global resource deficits, the Prime refused to compromise on the specs.
He commanded Grapple and the specialized construction teams to utilize the highest tier of military components and advanced hardware for the vessel.
Consequently, the final dimensions of the Ark were staggering.
By packing the internal layouts tightly, the ship could comfortably house over three hundred active Autobots alongside its standard logistics arrays.
Beyond its extensive living quarters and secure cargo bays, the flagship was integrated with state-of-the-art research laboratories and medical repair chambers.
The primary launch bay also housed several independent scout shuttles, providing the crew with external combat deployment options or emergency escape vectors.
"Now, our calculations simply depend on Silverbolt and Hound to clear the decks," Wheeljack murmured.
He completed the fuel integration sequence and made his way directly onto the primary bridge tower.
As the chief designer and architect of the Ark, no entity understood the vessel's technical specifications better than his own core programming.
A short duration later, once every remaining refugee had cleared the staging ramps, Silverbolt and Hound strode into the command deck in unison.
"Initiate the ignition sequence, Wheeljack," Silverbolt said, his optics tracking the view through the main viewport. "It is time to sever our ties with Cybertron."
"Acknowledged," Wheeljack replied simply, leaning over to input the initialization codes into the primary terminal.
The system automatically booted up the ship's most valuable computer network: Teletraan I.
Teletraan I was a planetary-scale supercomputer network, packing unmatched logical deduction engines and advanced data analysis subroutines.
It also served as a global communications nexus capable of routing sub-space frequencies across star systems, rendering standard artificial intelligence completely primitive by comparison.
In truth, the network had received its legendary title solely because of its most formidable asset: its global scanning technology.
Teletraan I could analyze the exact environmental parameters surrounding the Ark, running a localized formatting script to reconfigure an Autobot's transformation templates.
The process would wipe the outdated structural models from an operative's T-cog, returning their chassis to a baseline state before scanning the local terrain to integrate a brand-new vehicle form.
Of course, the algorithm operated within logical boundaries.
Attempting to reconfigure a bipedal mechanical warrior into a human shopping bag was mathematically impossible.
Meanwhile, across the dark side of Hecate, inside Sector Sixteen.
Rumble...
The metallic terrain shook violently as a massive lunar ridge split down the center, revealing a deep, wide volcanic trench.
A sleek, fan-shaped starship featuring smooth, minimalist aerodynamic lines slowly rose from the subterranean depths of the chasm.
Looking down from upper orbit, the shifting bay doors of the hidden bunker were clearly visible beneath the rising hull.
This vessel was the Ark, its systems cleanly running under Wheeljack's precise execution commands.
The massive thruster arrays at the broad rear of the flagship unleashed a blinding stream of blue particle fire, preparing to break free from the moon's gravitational pull.
At that exact fraction of a second, a terrifying, purple-grey wedge silhouette streaked across the lunar horizon, crossing the boundary separating the light and dark hemispheres.
It was the Nemesis.
The hyper-velocity particle rail gun extending from the flagship's spine pivoted smoothly, its barrel locking dead center onto the rising hull of the Ark.
30+ chapters are available now and daily updates!
@patreon.com/AgentTwilight