When the Autobots and Decepticons crash-land on Rubicon, humanity's leaders see them not as potential allies or invaders but as existential threats. These alien machines, capable of immense destruction and unprecedented adaptability, threaten to des...
621's grip tightened on the controls. "Walter, we've got company. Unknown contact—fast, deliberate."
"Details?" Walter demanded.
"Can't pin it down. It's not RLF tech."
Walter's tone hardened. "Keep your focus. Whatever it is, deal with it after the mission. Secure the energy cells first."
621 didn't respond. His eyes remained locked on the shadow, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving him staring at nothing but jagged rock formations. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched—stalked, even.
Shaking off the unease, 621 turned his Core back toward the command hub. He launched a salvo of missiles, the projectiles slamming into the structure and tearing it apart in a violent explosion. The remaining rebels fled into the canyons, their resistance shattered.
"Outpost neutralized," 621 reported. His Core's scanners swept the area, confirming that all hostiles had been eliminated.
"Good work," Walter said. "Now locate the cells and secure them for pickup."
621 guided his Core toward the wreckage of the command hub. The energy cells were stored in a reinforced crate, now partially buried under the rubble. Using the Core's manipulator arm, he pulled the crate free and secured it to the machine's cargo mount.
"Payload secured," 621 said.
"Roger that," Walter replied. "Extraction team is en route. Hold your position."
As 621 waited, his sensors continued to sweep the area, but the mysterious flicker was gone. Whatever had been stalking him had vanished—at least for now. But deep down, he knew this wasn't the end. Something else was out there, and it was only a matter of time before it revealed itself.
For now, though, the mission was complete. 621's Core stood motionless in the canyon, its weapon systems idling as the dust settled around it. The battlefield was quiet again, but the silence felt heavier than before, as if the planet itself was holding its breath.
. . . . . . . . .
Wheeljack crouched behind the jagged remains of a canyon wall, his white and green frame muted by the haze of dust that hung in the air. His optics zoomed in, adjusting focus on the desolation below. The outpost was unrecognizable—nothing but scorched rubble and twisted metal. Smoke curled in the faint light of Rubicon's sky, the acrid scent of burned fuel hanging heavy in the air.
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His gaze locked onto the towering figure of an Armored Core standing amidst the ruins, its gray plating dulled by soot and debris. It moved with unnerving precision, securing a crate of energy cells like it had all the time in the world. Wheeljack's servos tightened instinctively. The machine was efficient, no doubt about that, but to him, it was nothing special.
"Amateurs," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with disdain. He leaned forward slightly, getting a better view of the battlefield. The outpost defenders had fought hard—he could see that from the scorched terrain and spent munitions scattered everywhere—but the Corporations' forces had overwhelmed them. This wasn't a fair fight; it was a one-sided purge.
Wheeljack activated his comms, his tone brisk as he reached out to Ratchet. "Ratchet, it's Wheeljack. I'm at the outpost."
"What's the status?" Ratchet's voice came through, calm but heavy with expectation.
"Total wipeout," Wheeljack replied. "The place is a crater. Defenses, structures, people—nothing left. They sent an Armored Core to finish the job. It's still here, mopping up whatever scraps they think are worth taking."
Ratchet hesitated before responding. "An Armored Core? What do you make of it?"
Wheeljack scoffed, his optics narrowing as he studied the machine's movements. "Standard corp issue with some custom work. Good engineering, I'll give them that, but nothing I haven't seen before. The pilot's efficient, I'll grant that too, but they're predictable. These Core pilots are just tools, Ratchet. No creativity. No spark."
The Core paused, its head turning as though scanning the horizon, and Wheeljack froze in place, his systems going quiet to avoid detection. He waited, watching as the Core returned to its task, lifting the crate effortlessly.
"Did it spot you?" Ratchet asked.
"Not a chance," Wheeljack replied with a smirk. "They're good, but not that good. It's all protocol and training with these types—no instinct. If I had to take them on, I'd run circles around them."
"Wheeljack..." Ratchet's voice carried a note of warning. "Don't get cocky. You're out there alone. I don't want to be scraping you off the ground next."
"Relax," Wheeljack said, transforming into a sleek, high-tech car that resembles a futuristic sports coupe or hovercar. . "I'm not looking for a fight. I'm just calling it like I see it. They might be tough, but they're not invincible."
His tires spun softly against the ground as he began retreating into the canyon's shadows, the wreckage disappearing behind him. He kept the comms open as he sped away. "Send this up the chain to Optimus. The Corporations are stepping up their game, but they're still playing by rules we've seen before. We can handle this."
"Understood," Ratchet replied, though his tone was still cautious. "Just don't take unnecessary risks, Wheeljack."
"Always careful, doc," Wheeljack said with a grin as he disappeared into the terrain.
