Lennox and his surviving Rangers, along with Mikaela—who was still steering the tow-truck carrying the mangled Bumblebee—finally reached the center of the intersection.
Sam, still reeling from Optimus's words of gratitude, felt a wave of relief wash over him the moment he saw Mikaela. They exchanged a weary, knowing smile; the kind shared only by those who had stared into the abyss and survived.
"The Spark is gone. Megatron is dead."
"The Decepticons have scattered. We won."
Voices rose and fell as the group surveyed the devastation. The street was a graveyard of twisted metal and scorched asphalt, a silent testament to the brutality of the conflict. They stood around the massive, unmoving frame of Megatron, their faces etched with the hollow exhaustion of survivors.
"Optimus, there's something you should know." Lennox looked up at the Autobot Leader, his expression grim. "We took down one of the big ones—the helicopter—but his remains were recovered. That flyer, Skygnaw, and another one took the body before we could secure it."
"Skygnaw?" Optimus repeated the name, his optics dimming for a moment before he shook his head. "It matters not. A Decepticon force without Megatron is a leaderless swarm. They are no longer the primary threat."
Prime straightened his massive frame, his gaze turning toward the stars.
"I am Optimus Prime. I send this message to any surviving Autobots taking refuge among the stars. We are here. We have found a new home. We are waiting..."
Konnas Canyon. Decepticon Outpost.
Skygnaw, in Pave Hawk mode, cruised slowly toward the hidden ravine. Passing the Hoover Dam, he saw the aftermath of Megatron's brief, violent liberation. The facility was a charred ruin, weeping fire and smoke—a calling card of Decepticon vengeance. Megatron had clearly not taken his imprisonment lightly.
Mid-flight, Skygnaw's comms had been bombarded by Soundwave. The Master of Communications was incensed, his digital monotone vibrating with a rare edge. He couldn't fathom how Megatron had fallen to a "primitive biological," nor why the recovery of the Leader's body had failed.
Skygnaw had ignored the noise. Compared to Barricade, who had virtually disappeared during the climax, Skygnaw had fought at the front lines. He easily parried Soundwave's accusations with combat logs and tactical justifications.
As he touched down in the hangar, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Grunts like T-19 were scurrying about, their optics wide with a panic that only the death of a god could cause.
"Lord Skygnaw, you've returned."
"Status?"
"Lord Starscream is expecting you," T-19 reported, his servos twitching. "He ordered that you see him the moment you arrived."
Starscream.
Skygnaw paused. The news of Megatron's death had clearly spread through the ranks like a virus. The hierarchy was shifting.
Three Days Later. The Pentagon.
In a subterranean briefing room, Secretary John Keller sat at the head of a long table.
"The President has issued a formal executive order," Keller announced, his voice heavy. "Sector Seven is to be disbanded immediately. All records are to be purged, and we are to dispose of the extraterrestrial remains."
The "Battle of Rushville" (Mission City) had been over for seventy-two hours. The cleanup was a logistical nightmare. While the public was being fed a story about a massive gas main explosion and "terrorist activity," the men in this room were looking at high-definition photos of a ten-meter silver monster.
"Based on our research, the best site for disposal is the Laurentian Abyss," an officer in a lab coat explained, sliding a folder toward Keller. "It's seven miles deep—one of the deepest points on the planet. The extreme cold and crushing pressure will act as a natural tomb. No one—not even their kind—will be able to reach him there."
"Over time, the pressure will collapse the internal structures. He'll be nothing but a crushed heap of scrap at the bottom of the world."
Because of Optimus Prime's intervention, the military wasn't allowed to keep Megatron's body for study. Optimus knew human greed; giving them Megatron was like giving a toddler a loaded handgun.
"Very well. Put it to a vote."
A moment later, every hand in the room went up.
"Notify Optimus Prime," Keller told his secretary. "Tell him he can send an observer to follow our fleet to the drop site. We move in total secrecy. No other nation can know."
He cleared his throat, moving to the final item. "Next: the proposal for a joint task force. 'Project: NEST.' We need to decide if we are officially entering a coalition with the Autobots to hunt the remaining Decepticon holdouts on this planet..."
Back at the Konnas Canyon base, Skygnaw strode through the main corridor. The lower-tier bots he passed offered deep, fearful bows.
The power dynamic had changed. Starscream had officially handed over the day-to-day management of the base to Skygnaw before vanishing into the upper atmosphere.
Skygnaw suspected Starscream was heading for deep space to consult with The Fallen, the ancient master of the Decepticons. Since Skygnaw was now the highest-rated combatant left on Earth under Starscream's direct command, he had been left with the keys to the kingdom.
He entered Scalpel's laboratory. The doors hissed open to reveal Brawl lying on a repair slab, his chassis being stitched back together by the spider-like medic. Blackout's massive frame lay on a secondary platform nearby.
"Skygnaw," the tiny, buzzing voice of Scalpel chirped. "The item you requested is ready. It is on the table."
"And Blackout's weapon modules?"
"Extracted. I can begin the integration whenever you wish."
"Later," Skygnaw said. He picked up a small, translucent black crystal from the bench.
He took Blackout's memory crystal to a private research sanctum. He had locked the permissions to this room the moment he took command; it was the only place in the base where he could truly be alone.
Skygnaw extended a port from his forearm and slotted the crystal in.
Data flooded his processors. Thousands of years of history flickered past his optics in a blur of light and shadow.
After twenty minutes, the stream ended. Skygnaw pulled the crystal, a frown etched on his faceplate.
"Strange..."
The haul was less than he'd hoped for. Blackout's memory was vast, spanning eons, but the content was repetitive. It was a cycle of war: battles on Cybertron, skirmishes in the colonies, long hauls guarding Energon mines. The "deep secrets" of the Decepticon high command were buried under layers of military conditioning.
However, the crystals provided a vivid, terrifyingly detailed record of Cybertron itself—from the golden ages before the war to the hollowed-out husk it had become. It gave Skygnaw a depth of understanding about his heritage that he'd never possessed.
He realized the Great War wasn't just a simple conflict; it had devolved into a galaxy-spanning guerrilla campaign. The memory crystals revealed the existence of specialized units he'd only heard rumors of—the Autobot Aerialbots and the Decepticon Terrorcons.
But there was one anomaly in the data. Blackout's records showed that before the Civil War even began, Cybertron had faced an external threat. An unknown enemy from deep space that had nearly extinguished their race. The war had been so brutal that the surface of the planet was literally paved with the bodies of the fallen.
Blackout had been sparked after that victory, so even his records were second-hand. All he knew was that the Cybertronians had won, but the cost had fundamentally changed their society forever.
Skygnaw leaned back, his processors whirring. The universe was far more crowded—and dangerous—than the human movies had suggested.
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