Code of Honor: The Agendas part 3

Note: From here on, I’ll purposefully misspell Tarantulas’ name because I’m sick and tired of grammar check. I also won’t be able to update very often because of school and because altering the rest of the Agendas will be anything but easy.

Disclaimer: It’s obvious that I don’t own any form of Transformers, but I must also say that I don’t own the Secura name; I just own the character in this fic, since Secura’s namesake belongs to the creators of Star Wars.

“You are our elite commanders. Would each of you swear on our sacred honor to keep our secret?” General Seaclamp passed before a row of Predacon warriors as they scanned the newly developed spacecraft before their optics.

“You honor us and this deed will be reciprocated. I, on my honor, will not speak of this.” A commander who looked very much like Dinobot was the first to vow.

After what seemed to be an eerily silent eternity, Dinobot finally spoke, carefully phrasing his words so as to not betray his vow to the ultimate leaders of the Predacons. “Ravage.”

“After the Great War, a few of our… their were granted amnesty. Ravage was reprogrammed into a Predacon. He helped us.”

“You mean we gotta stinkin’ Decepticon on our hands? The only thing worse than a Pred is a slaggin’ Decepticon.” Cursed Rattrap as a pair of crimson dots darted from Maximal to Maximal, scanning their weapons. “Sentinel…”

“What, please tell me dat brain of yours is still under warranty; dat’s a stinking tape thug from old phone-face.”

“Ravage is a respectable spy and honored warrior, vermin, as was Soundwave.” Growled Dinobot as he struggled to his feet and transformed into beast mode. As he began to charge at Rattrap, he asked himself.

A wave of wind and dirt threw the raptor off his feet, making him hit the ground with a thud as the craft landed noiselessly beside the Axalon.

“Strange. One would think a greeting would be the next step.” Commented Silverbolt.

“Hey, not everyone’s palsy with the enemy.” Sneered Rattrap. Silverbolt shot Rattrap a searing glance, which Optimus noticed before the leader redirected his attention to the next speaker.

“He had the perfect opportunity to terminate us, yet he did not.” Added Dinobot.

“Dis is gettin' weirder and weirder.” Rattrap’s optics narrowed as he spotted the outline of an invisible figure sauntering toward the Maximals.

“Ravage is here. I know his smell. We merely cannot see him.” Said Dinobot as he sniffed the air with his sensitive, raptor nose. In response, Cheetor, the only Maximal whose weapons remained undamaged, raised his cheetah mouth blaster in suspicion, but only to have a searing blast forced down the throat of his beast mode.

Laughter echoed in the arid, barren landscape as a tall, dark figure with a thick, feline cast and a panther head appeared amidst the stunned Maximals. The figure grinned as he cross-holstered his weapons in a Slavic fashion.

“Very good, Optimus Primal. I see now how you have survived against Megatron this long.” The feline figure then turned to the raptor, who was damaged to the point where he could barely turn his head. “And you, Edge, must have an interesting tale.”

“It is a long one.” Dinobot added mentally. And a most dishonorable one. As the other Maximals opened their mouths to question Dinobot about the former Predacon’s past, Ravage spoke.

“I apologize for my intrusive manners. I shot your weapons because I wished to avoid any accidents to my person.” Sighed Ravage.

“Well, next time, could ya try hailing us?” Protested Rattrap just before Optimus held up a restraining hand.

“Shut up, Rattrap.” Optimus then turned to Ravage. “Sorry, we’ve been fighting the Megatron a long time.”

“For which the Predacon Alliance is deeply apologetic, I assure you. This is why I am here.” Ravage clicked his metallic boots together and formally saluted. “Covert Agent Ravage at your service.”

Rhinox asked as his damaged, golden brows frowned with suspicion. “Wait a cycle. What about the Maximals?”

“I’m afraid the signal was very weak. Only the Predacon sensors could detect it. I’m sure that my great-nephew has told you that we prefer to handle matters discretely.” Lied the former Decepticon while maintaining a sympathetic expression that the sun behind his back only served to enhance. Sensing Rhinox’s anger and distrust, Ravage quickly turned to a different subject. “I must say, some of you look… how should I say it? Different?”

A young Predacon who much resembled Dinobot vented heavily as he held a rotating sword up against a much older opponent, analyzing the other fighter.

“You have mastered our arts, but I cannot deem you a full warrior.” Grinned the aging bot.

“A warrior relies not on skills with the sword alone, but also with stealth. Your alternate mode gives you an advantage in that field, yet you waste it in not mastering the last form of the warrior. Your uncle, Ravage, will complete your training. When he deems you fit, you will be one of the Predacon Elites.”

“But the one who created my creator had no other works; I have no uncle.” The younger bot gripped his sword all the harder as it clashed with the golden staff of the old bot, creating a shower of fiery sparks.

“True, but Ravage is actually your great-uncle. You know that you were created from the data of one whom Ravage considered to be his brother.” The older bot grinned as he disconnected his staff from the sword with a flick of his wrist and then wove the weapon into a 180-degree-arc that brought its other end to meet the sword, forcing the younger Predacon’s weapon to intersect the staff at a point below their waists.

These are the words of a weak race of flesh creatures. Why should we heed them? The young Predacon asked himself but dared not to ask his instructor. The young bot’s grip on his sword loosened as he lowered his weapon slightly, allowing his opponent to perceive the turmoil in his systems. “Commander Rumble.”

In the moment it took for Dinobot to lower his guard, the older bot slammed the sword down and then, in a motion to fast for the unaided optic to follow, brought the staff up to the younger bot’s spark cavity. “This is an example of stealth. This, too, you have yet to master.”

In the dark recesses of the CR Chamber, Dinobot lay in a heap as mechanical hands repaired his damaged beast mode.

“I was Edge the naïve fool then. Attention is vital, and yet I refused to stay aware of my surroundings. Why do I remember this?” The raptor muttered weakly as he stirred slightly.

The young bot from the previous vision, this time a few cycles older, perhaps around Cheetor’s age, knelt in the middle of an arena as Ravage approached him with a new, Predacon sticker.

“Do you accept our code of honor and agree to serve the Tripredacus Council as a leader of its soldiers?”

The young bot’s optics widened as he recognized the speaker, but he quickly bowed and offered his sword. “Yes, Sensei.”

“Swear not to me, but to the Council.” Replied the distant voice of the one whom the young warrior referred to as Sensei.

“I offer myself to the great generals of the Tripredacus Council and I accept the honor.” The bot quickly offered his sword before the three generals of the Tripredacus Council as he knelt down on the unblemished arena floor.

“We welcome you into our army of Predacon Elites, Laserbreath. Now, you are Edge the Sword. Take your badge.” Ordered the bot called Sensei and the younger warrior simply obeyed.

“What is the meaning of this?” Dinobot demanded. His reptilian knuckles were on the verge of striking the stainless metal of the CR Chamber’s door when it hissed open, revealing Ravage.

“We thought you were terminated.” Said Ravage as he offered Dinobot a drill-like sword and a spinning tail-shield.

“If only I was. They had died honorably and yet I live a traitor. Maximize.” Answered Dinobot as he accepted his weapons.

“How did you come to battle alongside Primal’s crew on this planet? Tell me, Elite to Elite. We will not be heard.” Asked the former Decepticon, gesturing to the Maximal-filled CR Chambers.

“You offer to chat when this is the time to devise a plan of attack.” Dinobot sensed suspicious details about Ravage, but he carefully disguised his worries with a warrior’s mask.

“We already have a plan. You should know the Council well enough to know this.” Replied Ravage.

“Very well.” Dinobot eyed the old Cassetticon with suspicion, but convinced himself to relate the matters to the ancient spy, for it was better for the covert agent to hear from him rather than Megatron. Besides, I have already uploaded a copy of my memory to the ship’s computer. Still, I must be careful. Something is amiss.

A heavily battered Cheetor lay in an unconscious heap, moaning from time to time. The cat blinked and expected darkness as his eyelids dropped, but instead, he saw the image of the femme who created him.

A small, half-completed Maximal dug through a box full of pictures until he stumbled upon one of a femme with a gold and black color scheme. The child asked. “Who is she?”

The older person to whom the child spoke saddened at the reminder from the past, but stifled her emotions and answered. “That’s my first creation.”

“My, my, I sure have piqued your curiosity, haven’t I? Yes, she is your sister.” The femme forced herself to smile.

“I don’t believe it.” Scoffed the child as he roughly slammed the picture into the metal flooring.

“She’s yellow for the same reason as we are; does that convince you?” Replied the older bot.

“If she really is my sister, then why haven’t I seen her? Where is she?” Asked the disbelieving child.

“She’s on a far away planet called Earth, in a place the locals call Japan. She loves to explore, so I let her go.” Recalled the femme.

As one flashback faded, more images and numbers came to Cheetor’s head, with the last one, one of a slightly older Cheetor promising his creator news on the long-lost sibling.

Blasts illuminated the Cybertronian night sky as Predacon Elites engaged Megatron’s army, each side massacring the other as various followers of Megatron’s passed the stolen disks amongst themselves. The chaotic light reflected off of the plating of a gun turret that stood in the midst of battle as deadly shots sprayed from the turret.

“Arresting criminals is for local security. We are Elites and we live for conquest; this is a waste of our skills.” Complained the turret as he targeted a member of Megatron’s organization and fired.

“Commander, I think we got called because the local security’s full of idiots and we’re the only ones who can take this nut-head on.” Countered another Elite before the bot took a deadly volley of fire from one of Megatron’s followers.

“Insector!” The turret wanted to ask if his comrade was hurt, but he instinctively knew that his friend was too far-gone and he continued to shoot at those of Megatron’s followers that were still capable of battle.

‘There are actually political reasons for our assignment; Chief Secura of the Maximal Police requested aid from our Council.” Corrected the old warrior who fought with the gun turret back to back. Although not strongest of the Predacon Elites, the old bot was well respected, both as a fighter and a former politician.

The turret merely shouted to the Predacon Elites between shots. “We are warriors. Let us complete this battle.”

Just as the former ambassador was about to nod in agreement, he swallowed three massive blasts, one that tore off his head, another that melted a hand, and a third that took the spark out of his body. The battle raged on without many audible words or any spectacular actions that did not contribute to the chaos. For an indefinite amount of time, the numbers of both sides continued to dwindle at a fractional rate, but neither gained any advantage over the other. Then, Megatron and the gray goon at his side fired off several shots, terminating every one of the Tripredacus Council’s Elites except for the gun turret.

“Terrorize.” The gun turret transformed into a bot similar to Dinobot when he realized that he was the sole survivor. His troops had lived and died so honorably, yet their shells were left to burn in the ravaging fire rather than given to warriors’ funerals. For their sakes, if not for any other, the turret must battle the five survivors of Megatron’s organization to the death. “This was to be a simple assignment, an easy test, yet we were defeated.”

“How very correct, yesss.” Grinned Megatron gloatingly as he advanced toward the ship that the gun turret blocked. “The only thing standing between myself and the disks that will bring us unimaginable glory is you, Edge, alone and about to meet a most humiliating end, yesss. But it doesn’t have to be this way, no.”

“Finish this off. Do not prolong this.” The turret said as he charged at Megatron with a drill bit sword that came from one of the support beams in his alternate mode.

“You are a traitor to the Predacon Elites. If I cannot terminate you, then I shall be destroyed trying!” Snarled Edge.

Blackarachnia grinned as she put the graviton generator into its proper slot on Quickstrike’s old stasis pod, which a few hydraulic generators supported. The generator glowed before making the pod airborne. Just as the black widow began to marvel at her creation, Megatron’s voice came booming over the comlink.

“Uh-oh. Sounds like old Purple Face has a bug up his duct about something.” Blackarachnia muttered as she punched in the sequence necessary to hide the stasis pod beneath the lab’s floor.

“You bellowed?” Blackarachnia asked as she ducked a hovering display and joined Waspinator and Rampage, both of whom were drifting about Megatron. Her circuits churned with nervousness as she noticed missing pieces on Waspinator and dents on Rampage, which indicated a serious battle.

“Yes, in fact, I did.” Replied Megatron. He then ordered the image of a barely repaired Rampage on the display. “Rampage, Position yourself in Subsector Hooks. I know I can count on your... best efforts. Hmm?” The Predacon leader grinned as he tapped on his chest plate.

The Transmetal continued. “Blackarachnia, we missed you at the battle today.”

“Really.” Megatron conveyed much of his disbelief through his voice. “Well, so long as you’re here, get to your battle station. I anticipate an attack at any moment.”

“Yes, Megatron.” Blackarachnia feigned an expression of obedience before veering her hovering platform out of the chamber.

“Waspinator.” Megatron turned to the insect when he believed Blackarachnia to be out of hearing range.

“Oh, goodie.” Waspinator rubbed his forest green ‘hands’ together in anticipation.

“I need you and Transtermite in the following coordinates.” Continued Megatron.

From a dark corner, Blackarachnia grinned excitedly as she overheard the conversation. “This is it.”

Endnote: Who wants a DB vs. Ravage duel in the alternate Agenda 3? C’mon, we all know that Ravage was sent to kill everyone.