Chapter 12 - Galaxy

Flashpoint shut his eyes, cutting off the blinding light of the heavy glowing chain that bound himself and his comrade, Raid. Krusher had finally given in with the beatings and stomped off down a side tunnel, leading away from the chamber they were being held in. A few torn panels of armour that had been torn away from both Autobot's bodies lay at their feet. Raid grumbled something, just loud enough for Flashpoint to hear.
''Galaxy should've enetered the atmosphere by now...'' The transformed fire engine whispered back.
''What's taking her so long?''
''Probably our lack of communications making it harder for her to locate us.'' Flashpoint replied.
Raid grunted and both halted their talk when another Decepticon walked in. He looked them over, trying to avert his gaze as much as possible from the optic burning glow of the chains. To the two Autobots, the newly arrived Decepticon looked like a mere plain white dot amidst a sea of ever changing colours.

''Come to finish Krusher's dirty work?'' Raid commented with a snort. ''Wouldn't be the first time he's done something of the like.''
''Nah. I'm just here to keep an optic on you. Make sure you don't escape or anything.'' Roadtrain replied evenly and strolled almost aimlessly over to a spot where a cluster of rocks had been discarded from the carving of the chamber.
He sat down on it and watched them, only averting his attention elsewhere when he started seeing luminous green spots hovering before his lenses.


Rifle looked out the cockpit window and gave an electronic whistle of admiration.
''Lot more greenery down there than I imagined.'' He commented.
Galaxy couldn't help but agree.
''Yeah. You'd think it'd be more of a dead brown colour, what with what the planetary news has been saying about this two hundred year war. Heck, I'm even surprised such a primitive species has survived for so long on a planet like this.''
''Eh, each to their own, I guess.'' Rifle replied evenly with a half-hearted shrug.
He settled back down in his seat and strapped himself in. He knew what the large Autobot was like for her landings on newly discovered planets. Some were smooth, and went according to plan, others, they were lucky to make it out with their Sparks intact.

The trees rose up higher and higher by the second, their green canopies stretching up to graze Galaxy's under-carriage. Then the large foliage gave way to an unmistakable sight; That of a warzone. Where buildings once stood proud and inhabitable, now stood torn and blackened shells, broken and flattened images of a battle long since lost. Galaxy's powerful visual sensors flicked through the debris, even as she slowed, looking for any signs of life. Amongst the wild life of birds, insects, canines and felines alike, lay the charred skeletons of those who fought in that particular segment of the war, their now permanent grins belying what had been done to them. It was not cheerful, and Galaxy supressed a shudder. Rifle just looked on with his equally powerful optics, staring at the scenes with interest as they flitted by. Why would anyone flee their own war-torn planet to supposedly seek refuge on another war-torn planet was beyond them both.
''So, this is what Earth looks like up close, huh?'' Rifle muttered.

''I hope it ain't all like this. I've seen enough death and destruction to last me three life cycles.'' Galaxy snorted.
''And yet you're still bent on ripping Krusher apart...'' The much smaller Autobot mused and almost fell out of his seat when Galaxy banked hard.
A few moments of silence passed during the low flying. Then a clearing in the industrious wasteland opened up ahead of them.
''I can set down over there.'' She stated.
''And then what? We're miles from our target location!''
''I need to rest regularily too, y'know!'' She snapped and proceeded to lower her landing gear.
The wheels of the alien space shuttle grazed the surface of the debris lightly, before slamming down abruptly, sending up rocks, mortar, greenery and various other pieces of debris in up her wake. In the cockpit, Rifle gripped the arm rests with all the force he dared as Galaxy came to a rough skidding halt. A deep, femenin electronic sounding grunt was emitted from the speakers.
''Easier landin' in a damned tar pit!'' She mumbled angrily to herself.
''No damage done, right?'' Rifle queried with one optic held shut.
''No.'' Galaxy replied simply.


Sat hunched behind an old building on the far outskirts of the industrial estate that had long since seen better days, Turbulance inspected the damage he'd unexpectedly recieved from Speeder. His cirucits were cooling down nicely and the areas where he'd been hit were badly dented, but thanks to Speeder's slight neglegence in maintaining a same-area-shot, his armour was not penetrated. This he allowed a sigh of relief for. He'd live to see another day, the day that would see Carjack returned to Earth and Speeder reduced to his component parts. A metallic finger slid across the dented surface of his chest armour and a low growl escaped him. So very close to his most vital area. A few more well aimed shots there, and his Spark may well have been thoroughly extinguished. His fist clenched and slammed into the ground between his legs, sending cracks spidering away in all directions from the resulting mini-crater. Many ideas wound through his mind, each one viewed in as much detail as he could muster. He'd just reached the fifty-ninth way in which to destroy Speeder when black clouds started to roll in, a heavy mist hanging below them. Yet another down pour was on its way.


George wound his way through the large, sterile building, briefcase in paw, a frown furrowing his brow. He knew he'd left it behind. He always left something behind, usually something important. He rounded another corner and came to a halt at the lifts. Pushing a button he waited almost impatiently, foot tapping the hard white linoleum floor. A ping and the chrome lift doors slid open. He stepped in, mind on another world and pushed another button absent mindedly. Not like he needed to concentrate on where he was going. He took this route every damned day, so often that he could probably navigate his way to his office blind folded. Thoughts of a homicidal washing machine free existence played through his mind. So did the fantasy of what he would do to the machine when he got the upper hand. He was so into his musings that he neglected to pay attention to the tall, spindly robotic figure pressed into the corner of the lift.

Red lenses studied the back of the Fox's head with as much interest as a starving Cat would eye up a Mouse who'd strayed too far from its hole in the wall. The Decepticon took a slow step forward. The lift stopped. He froze as George shifted. A ping and then the doors opened. George exited swiftly ignorant to being followed. Carjack could do whatever the hell he wanted. Spinner had other things to do. Like getting a little revenge on a certain flea bag who'd kicked him, insulted him and tried to flog him to the highest bidder at every moment available. And also for beating the one person who actually seemed to care about the second-hand washing machine, even if it was just because it'd lasted longer than three months without breaking down. He followed him into a wide corridoor that was plushly furnished like that of a five star hotel. Deep red carpet and creme walls, with matching half-tables and soft seats lined against the walls at regular intervals. The doors that dotted the light painted walls were a deep brown, some doors being framed by rectangles of frosted glass. Spinner was about to continue when a fresh set of foot steps sounded out. He swore inwardly in Cybertronian and swung out of sight, pressing himself up against the wall just around the corner. A few words were exchanged; nothing important, then the foot steps vanished through a door, which promtply clicked shut behind them.

Spinner hazarded a look around the corner and into the corridoor. George's back was receeding into the near distance, a paw pulling a key out of his pocket. He stopped at a door that lay to the right at the end of the corridoor and the key was inserted into the lock and twisted. The lock clicked and the door was pushed carefully open. George vanished through the portal and into the room beyond, letting the door close behind him. Spinner took one last check of his surroundings and made a dash for the door. Once there, his spindly metallic fingers gripped the door knob, red lenses peering carefully through the frosted rectangles of glass, his optics giving him a clearer view of what was going on than any organic optics could. George had sat down, briefcase on his desk in front of him. He bent down slightly, pulling a desk drawer open and rummaging through it. Apparently not finding what he wanted, he spun around in his chair and set upon the cabinets behind him. Only then did Spinner proceed with gently and oh-so very carefully opening the door.

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