An Exploration Mission (Closed; Att'n Vallermoore)

[Vallermoore]

Vallermoore

"This is a bit outside of the normal operations of the Temple of Megatron, but as staunch representatives of the Decepticon Way, we are also expected to have mastery of it. You have the rare opportunity to either take on this work, or leave it for someone who makes it a career...As you might have been told early on, we have believed that there was a mole in our organization for a long time. A federal agent. We believe that we have found this agent. We set up a counter-sting in which everyone of note was told something else about an 'operation' we were supposedly going to do. The key difference in what we told them was where it would take place. Then, when the feds showed up to raid a particular location, we could just correlate that location with who we told it to, and we'd have our mole." The supervisor's eyes narrowed hatefully. "The raid happened yesterday. The identity of the spy is now uncovered. We want this mole tortured to death, and his head left on the front steps of Investigative Headquarters in Grand City. This will send a strong message that the Company knows who is not a part of it, and that our operations are not to be meddled with. Torture is not a typical part of the Decepticon Way, but it IS a common tactic in our circles. That said, it is to be done fairly quickly for what it is, so as not to overexpose ourselves to the possibility of turnabout. "I figure that one of us is the best bet for this job. You would not be bothered if he starts shooting or tries to shank you. However, I know that this sort of work isn't really what you're suited for. So, if you would rather someone else get the assignment, just let me know. After this job, you have orders to return to the Main Temple, so you would just be going back home a bit sooner if you don't want it."


When Loyal Star was asked to find someone and torture them to death, it didn't feel right. He didn't mind beating someone up, or just kidnapping them, or even killing them for the greater glory of Megatronism. He didn't mind war either. But being asked to keep someone alive whilst pulling out various body parts-even if it was a nark-he considered that his fuel pump was not really in it, and he didn't want to have to go to Debugging afterwards. There were enough bots who needed to be Debugged without him taking up Debugging's time if it could be avoided safely.


"I hate narks as much as any proper Decepticon and I once flew with the Genocide Battalion but...please don't take offence, but torturing someone to death slowly is not really something I'm into. I'm sure you could find another bot who would really like the job, rather then one who would have to go and take up Debugging's time afterwards."


"I thought you would say that. Don't worry, I think you're right. It's time to mind transfer to your main body which is in the Main Temple so it didn't get stolen, sabotaged or melted down whilst you are away.You can have a few days off to reimmerse yourself in Cybertronian culture."


"Thank you." Loyal Star mind-transferred back to his body and with a rev, his engine roared back to life.He ran a finger lightly across his arm, happy to be in a proper body again. When he walked outside, the hard metal of the Cybertronian planetary panels felt to his foot-treads like soft grass had once felt to his hooves. As a Full Priest, as long as he caused no trouble to other bots, they would very likely feel holy fusion fire if they attacked him, which made Cybertron relatively safe. He remembered once chatting to Fire Eater who had been a Priest far longer then he, about how on the first day of the Priesthood being created, other Decepticons had thought that Megatronist Priests would be weak and unwilling to fight and that their Temples could be robbed easily. It had taken only a few bots losing their bodies to being cremated alive by their foe's blasters for the rest to get the message loud and clear. He went for a walk through one of the immigrant districts where shopkeepers were decorating for Christmas, and he decided to look in his Priestly Files to see what the position was on off duty Megatronist Priests celebrating Christmas, not wanting to annoy Domintel. He also thought of Cybertron as a planet sized pirate ship in a way, with a huge crew that, whilst in many cases they would happily fight and kill each other, would always unite in the face of any non-Decepticon threat. He felt so lucky to be one of them. This in many ways dangerous planet was his home now, just as Vallermoore had once been.

Cybertron

Marketeer got a nasty shock-a row of elete soldiers with blasters raised like a firing squad. Behind them a steel wall marked Restricted Area. The commander yelled at Marketeer in angry Binary.


"You're going to have to do better than that to raid the Main Refinery! Now get out of here right now unless you want to find out why we have a blast-proof wall here!!"

"Yes Sir!" Marketeer bowed and then got out of there as quickly as possible, took off, circled the Main Refinery and flew off looking for somewhere further away where he could get safely underground without getting blaster's shoved in his face. He wished he could have brought protection but his immigration chances would have been ruined.

Equestria


"If you want to go out there and bring back our slaves I won't stop you, but it is very dangerous to do so, and I can't rescue you if you are captured by Decepticons and end up in a mine for the rest of your lives. I wish you luck of course, but I will stay here for my own safety," Whipcracker told them. "Anyone who wants to go can do so with my blessing."


The six ponies plus one more set out in a group with three unicorns, two pegusai and two sturdy earth ponies, ready to risk slavery for themselves or death to get their own slaves back.

[Victorious Decepticons]

Cybertron/Vallermoore

As Loyal Star came back online in the First Temple of Cybertron and walked down the hallway, he saw an acolyte coming toward him with a rather sadistic grin. Soon, the strange bot stood right where Loyal Star's body had just been a few moments ago, gave a wave and a chuckle, and said, "I'm glad you didn't take that job. Now I can put my Biological Functionality data pack to use!" With that, he mind-transferred away, leaving his old form as inert as a shut-off vehicle.

Outside, Loyal Star was glad to be back on metal ground. While the biological world of Vallermoore had once been home, now, he felt more at ease on Cybertron. Here, he could go ahead and be the full Decepticon he came to be, and before long, he was enjoying a flight above the planet's shining buildings.

~~~~~~~

In the mob boss' office, the little humanesque body came back to life. Now, however, it was obviously being run by someone else. The posture and all of the mannerisms had changed.

"Here, put on a new faceplate," the boss ordered the new arrival as he tossed him one from a secret compartment in his desk. "That way, we won't have to explain why there has been a sudden change in personality in the old person. As of now, he has officially 'fallen overboard,' never to be seen again."

The acolyte nodded, and soon, had the new faceplate properly installed. The old one was stowed in the same hidden spot that the new one had just come from. "So where's this guy I'm supposed to play with?" he asked with just a hint of eagerness.

"You sure you know how to play this game?" The boss asked with a little skepticism. "After all, the rules are a bit different than they are at home..." He expertly used 'game' references to refer to the actual job, which still needed to be done. While someone with a bug might figure out something was up, the verbiage would leave no evidence that was solid enough for charges, let alone a conviction.

"I am a master of this game," the acolyte harrumphed. "I've been on the Foreign Team for longer than some have been alive." A former ForIntel agent. "Just tell me where the competition is taking place, and I'll get that trophy."

Quickly, the boss briefed the new arrival, who had 'changed teams' to the Temple in hopes of spreading the Way by force. Several hours later, the acolyte headed off to a 'night game' that would not be broadcast. News of the 'trophy,' however, would be on every station in Vallermoore before long. As planned, it appeared on the front steps of the Federal Investigative building, complete with a horrified look on its face.

Investigators at first figured that it'd be easy to find out what had happened to their agent. However, examination of the head indicated no signs of anything horrifying other than the fact that it had been severed. When the body was found in a dumpster the next day, they didn't find any evidence of torture on it, either. Yet the expression on the head's face showed that something very terrifying and painful had surely happened!

To the consternation of the feds, there were also no fingerprints on anything. The only lead was the project the agent had been working on - trying to infiltrate the underworld - and even that one was quite cold. It would clearly take much more work to get any convictions on the oil transport mob.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Near the Main Refinery, Cybertron

As Marketeer flew along, he noticed a quite impressive bot with swirling paint flying around as if sightseeing. As he got closer, he saw the Priestly Seals on his wings along with the usual Decepticon ones. That gave him an idea - perhaps instead of going back underground, where he could find himself blasted by some kid or stumble into a Scrounger gang's hideout, he could go to a Temple and try to get some tips from one of the priests or acolytes there. There was no "Temple charity," but at least nothing bad was likely to happen.

Marketeer began to look around for whatever Temple the priest he saw might have come from, and soon enough, he spotted the First Temple's majestic structure in the distance. He adjusted his course and began to fly there.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Equestria

For about a half-day's hike through the woods, the hunting party didn't spot any evidence of human activity. Still, they continued on in the direction they'd seen some of their escapees travel, and eventually, they began to find the bones of wild animals. Some of the bones were quite fresh, and came complete with beetles and maggots that were busy getting the few scraps of remaining flesh off of the remains.

One of the earth ponies was the first to spot the next important sign of human activity: some scat. Now, the hunt was truly on. It was much like hunting wild animals - looking for droppings, footprints, and other such signs and moving in the direction of the freshest evidence.

Suddenly, the sound of some scurrying was heard. Its distinctive sound marked it as having come from several humans, and everyone's ears perked up. Now at the ready, the band of ponies moved towards where they'd heard the noise, only to find themselves in a hastily-abandoned camp area. It wasn't even a clearing, but instead, their quarry had been sitting on fallen logs and sleeping on the forest floor amongst long pine needles.

"Where did they go?" One said with aggravation as he kicked at some sand.
"It's not like they can fly..." Responded one of the pegusi.
"No - but they can climb!" Alerted a unicorn, his magic picking up the points of sapience up in the trees, "and then~"

Almost immediately after that sentence, a hail of rocks banged down from the branches, thrown by the desperate humans who had shimmied up the tree trunks just moments ago. Soon, the rock barrage started to contain some deadlier implements: makeshift spears created from sharpened sticks. The battle was on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the mine, it wasn't long before the first group of humans there had managed to sneak away. Compared to their docile Equestrian co-workers, they were quite sneaky and strong-headed, especially since they came from wild stock that had previously managed to evade capture for a long time.

Right after leaving the mine, they split up into groups of just two or even stayed alone, figuring that it'd be harder for Decepticons to get them back if they weren't all in a big, easily-spotted group. "Even if a few of us get caught again, some will surely get away," they reasoned. Most of them, however, intended to go back to the pony village so they wouldn't have to rely on hunting on this unfamiliar planet. It would just be a matter of getting there without getting recaptured by the mine overseers or even killed by either wild animals, environmental hazards like unexpected cliffs, and other such dangers.

Other mine escapees had different ideas. These went off into the woods on their own, determined to make it as bushmen. It was fortunate - for the Decepticons - that the humans had been sterilized. If it wasn't for that, this escape would be the start of a human infestation on a planet that had no natural predators against the notoriously-invasive species.

[Vallermoore]

Cybertron


Quietly, so only he could hear it, Loyal Star was playing Christmas music in one ear, and he would buy himself a couple of fun games from the proper store. On the surface, all it looked like was a Priest buying himself something for fun-there was no outward sign that he was celebrating Christmas.


*****

Near the Main Refinery, Cybertron


Marketeer noticed an impressive bot with swirling paint that looked rather like the clouds of a gas giant and got an idea. He would go to a Temple of Megatron and perhaps Megatron's Holy Book or a Priest or an acolyte could give him some help. He didn't expect charity, but at least it would give him some short term safety. Bots were unlikely to just attack for no good reason in a Temple after all. When he reached the First Temple he decided to look in a Book of Megatron first and soon found some chained to the wall with titanium chains to stop bots from stealing them, as well as a priestly Face of Megatron on one wall.. He carefully looked through it for anything at all that might be in the least bit helpful to his situation, grateful that they spoke plainly unlike the holy books of most religions. There were a few other bots there looking through them, paying no attention at all to him. He could sense the sanctity of this place, almost as if Megatron was really there-and having encountered Megatron Himself once and lived through the experience, he knew the feeling. Megatron really was the Ultimate Decepticon.

Equestria


Despite the very real dangers of getting killed or enslaved themselves, the pony hunting party was determined to risk everything on recapturing their slaves. They found a camp and were soon engaged in pitched battle, the ponies with hooves, teeth and stunning spells and chains, the humans with stones, rocks and spears. One pony was killed outright and found himself in the metal waiting room of the Megatronist afterlife, and several others were injured, but they managed to subdue their slaves, which they then whipped painfully, gagged them to stop them calling out, chained them up and dragged them in a coffle towards their village. "The only reason why you are still alive is that we need your labour," an angry pony told them. "Otherwise we would hang you for killing Fire Eyes." The ponies did a short prayer for their dead friend and left his body to rot.


*****
The bots there were used to watching ponies which didn't try to escape and worked very hard indeed, more so if they were given fruit and allowed Heathswarming Day as a holiday. The humans managed to escape-it was that or die within a few years from coal dust. Many decided to surrender to the ponies who would surely want them back, but there were those who prefered to stay free as bushmen. If the humans had not been sterlized, the place would soon have been infested with wild humans, which would be bad news for the animals there.

[Victorious Decepticons]

First Temple of Cybertron

Marketeer suddenly felt as if someone was staring at him, and after this went on for a while, he turned around with a bit of a rev in case someone was about to pick a fight with him. At first, he was surprised not to see anyone looking in his direction. Then, he noticed that there indeed was an observer. The Face of Megatron now had a skeptical and slightly disapproving look on its face, and the eyes were glowing just enough to indicate that it was now inhabited. It seemed to indicate that Megatron had expected a better performance from the would-be immigrant who had once exhorted a whole town to follow the Decepticon Way - a much better performance.

Suddenly, the Book of Megatron that Marketeer had been reading switched to a different page as if blown by a wind. He looked back, and noted the passages that had opened up.

"A true Decepticon does not hide in the way of a coward. If he hides, it is to ambush his enemies. Such tactics, however, are only to be used when necessary. Otherwise, he is to face danger head-on, brave and sure, and seize the victory. Force of body or force of mind; it matters not - the exemplary Decepticon has both and will use the combination that is appropriate to the situation."

Later on the page, another passage stood out:

"It is not mere physical power, nor an abundance of CPUs, that make the Decepticon a Megatronist. Those things are always important, but it is the mindset that makes someone a Megatronist instead of an overbuilt loser. Defeat, for the Megatronist, is always for the other guy. Therefore, the Megatronist knows no fear except by seeing it on the face of his opponent."

As soon as Marketeer had read this, another wind came and the pages shifted again.

"There is a gang for everyone, for that is one of the glories of the Decepticon Race. The young, the ancient, and even those who no longer want to raid mere oil - all can find cohorts among our huge and glorious population. If you do not want to forge your own path, find the group that is traveling in your direction. Then show them your force, and travel the path of Decepticon greatness together. There is only one type who will not find fellows here, and that is the traitor. Just one place exists for him in this entire realm, and that is the Slag Pit."

Now, it was clear that while Megatron would not provide Marketeer with any direct help or personalized advice, he was paying attention and believed that the tips from his Book would be enough. It seemed that there were two messages: Get brave, stop the hiding, and hook up with a gang that suited him.

Marketeer wondered where he might find such a gang, but when he looked back toward the Face in hopes of getting a clue, he found that it had already returned to its neutral state. The Spirit of Megatron had once again left the building.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Outside, Marketeer took to the skies with the determination to at least act as if he were as brave as Megatronism said he should be. He, of all people, knew that a follower of the Decepticon Way really had no business hiding underground. However, he still had no idea where to look for a gang he could work with.

At about that moment, he heard the roar of an interplanetary cargo-bot. By looking at his trajectory, he realized that this bot hadn't taken off from the Cargo Zone, but instead, some private area. Below, in the distance, the roof of a building was still in the process of closing. Apparently, the cargo-bot had taken off from inside of it! This was all but unheard-of, and showed that whoever sponsored this flight had the money to custom-make a building with sufficient foundation reinforcement to handle not only the weight of the cargo-bot, but also the forces of his liftoff.

On the side of the cargo-bot's body, the name of a group was painted in surprisingly commercial style. It read, quite clearly, Sinaloa Group.

Marketeer was so shocked to see this that he came close to getting too near another random Decepticon in flight, but soon corrected his trajectory to avoid being blasted as a threat to safe flying. Inside, his mind raced. Several questions, which he had pondered for years, were answered with the sighting of the cargo-bot.

The mighty Sinaloa Group was well-known as one of the best and most powerful smuggling organizations in the as-yet-discovered universe. Run by the mysterious El Chapo, it was able to get past every form of border security anyone ever came up with. Its principal product was drugs, but it was also into smuggling fugitives, slaves, and even products. The biggest mystery, and the source of its fame, however, were the constant jailbreaks its leader pulled off. In one case, they had even found that they had arrested a "fake" El Chapo - or at least, that's what they thought when they found a deactivated lookalike android body in what they'd believed to be an inescapable underwater pod cell.

All of this made perfect sense now. El Chapo hadn't been "replaced by an android," as had been reported - he had actually been in an android body in that country all along, and when put in the physically-inescapable cell, he'd eventually mind-transferred out and left the body behind. As for the group's ability to sneak past border security, it wouldn't be a problem at all if it brought its shipments in from space - as the cargo-bot clearly was on his way to do.

As Marketeer considered this, he was impressed. Everyone had thought that the group was a Mexican cartel, and that the "real" El Chapo had died 220 years ago in a hail of gunfire from a competing group. Yet he was surely here...

That's when it hit him. This would be a great gang for him to join! If El Chapo really originated in Mexico, his gang would probably be friendly to immigrants! Not only that, they were masters of smuggling, just like Marketeer. The Xaxhazian turned in a slow arc and headed toward the giant building the cargo-bot had come from. He would have to be careful even in his excitement, though - one story that had remained the same throughout Sinaloa's long history was that they were very brutal toward those they believed to be enemies. Marketeer would surely make a point of carefully watching what he said and how he said it as he initiated contact with this infamous gang.

Soon, he landed and approached the building on foot. Once again, he was taken aback. Instead of using a fake name or a legit-looking front, the group had plastered its fascia with bold markings:

- SINALOA GROUP - SUPPLIERS TO THE UNIVERSE
- EL CHAPO GUZMAN, PROPRIETOR -
-HALL OF GREAT CONNIVERS INDUCTEE for SUBVERSION OF OFFICIALS -

Soon, the heavily-tinted glass door opened. A bot with dark copper paint was visible. His upgraded blasters picked up the sunlight just enough to accentuate their presence.

"You're clearly here for us," he said. "Come on in, and let's talk about your business needs." This, of course, was not El Chapo, but instead, a low-level functionary at about the same rank as a receptionist. Though what he said was friendly, there was a slightly dangerous edge to his tone and demeanor which never went away no matter who he was talking to. Years as a cartel man, and then a Decepticon, ensured that.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Equestria

Back at the village, everyone was glad to see that the hunting party had captured some of the slaves back. Some immediately put down their work tools or tossed them to the incoming involuntary laborers. A few snarky remarks were also made. Later, several would quietly ask about the missing slave hunter.

When Whipcracker learned that a pony had been killed by the slaves, he had those responsible dragged into the town square. There, he had them branded with an extra symbol right on the forehead, and decreed that they would only ever be eligible for the worst and hardest jobs. The brands would ensure that nobody mistook them for the "good" slaves, who would have the better work. Most of the other slaves were afraid now, though a few smiled because now, they wouldn't have to do the nasty jobs.

Later, in the middle of the night, the village got a surprise. A large group of humans had arrived and was asking for forgiveness for their "mistake." They were covered in coal dust, and many appeared to be half-starved. Upon questioning, they told horrible tales of the Decepticon-run mines, where the work was tailored to the capabilities of highly genetically-engineered workers, there were no dust masks, and there was little food or water.

"The Decepticons have made their usual slaves like little machines! They're so efficient that they need much less food than usual, and can do 10 times the work! Yet they wanted US to work just as hard, and on the same feed! Even worse, they had no dust masks for us. If we didn't starve or get worked to death, we'd soon get black lung! Finally, we decided to escape and go to the only place where we'd be safe from being taken back there. Here..."

In the distance, jets could be heard flying in ever-widening circles. The mine was trying to find its missing livestock.

[Vallermoore]

First Temple of Cybertron


Marketeer got the sense that he night soon be in another fight and looked around, but instead of another bot, the eyes of the Face of Megatron were glowing dimly. Being a bot himself who was built right from the start, Marketeer recognised the look as the sadness of dissapointment that such a loyal acolyte who had risked his life by setting up a Megatronist temple in what at the time was hostile territory, who had slain a bot who tried to steal one of his bodies, and who was a great smuggler too, was doing so badly on Cybertron. The pages of the Book of Megatron blew as if by a wind although they were in a building, and certain words seemed to glow slightly too.

"A true Decepticon does not hide in the way of a coward. If he hides, it is to ambush his enemies. Such tactics, however, are only to be used when necessary. Otherwise, he is to face danger head-on, brave and sure, and seize the victory. Force of body or force of mind; it matters not - the exemplary Decepticon has both and will use the combination that is appropriate to the situation."

"It is not mere physical power, nor an abundance of CPUs, that make the Decepticon a Megatronist. Those things are always important, but it is the mindset that makes someone a Megatronist instead of an overbuilt loser. Defeat, for the Megatronist, is always for the other guy. Therefore, the Megatronist knows no fear except by seeing it on the face of his opponent."


A few pages shifted.


"There is a gang for everyone, for that is one of the glories of the Decepticon Race. The young, the ancient, and even those who no longer want to raid mere oil - all can find cohorts among our huge and glorious population. If you do not want to forge your own path, find the group that is traveling in your direction. Then show them your force, and travel the path of Decepticon greatness together. There is only one type who will not find fellows here, and that is the traitor. Just one place exists for him in this entire realm, and that is the Slag Pit."


Marketeer realized at once what Megatron wanted. He needed to be brave and find a gang who would want him. He bowed to the now inert Face, left the Temple and then saw a cargo-bot marked Sinaloa Group. Marketeer was shocked and nearly got close enough to a Decepticon to get blasted at as a threat to air safety. If this gang was headed by the orginal El Chapo, he would not have a dislike of immigrants just because they were immigrants. He would have to be careful though, as if they thought he was some kind of threat to them or that he was showing them disrespect he could very well end up resting in pieces. One thing was for sure though-his not being Cybertronian-built would not count against him. He landed and walked to the building which announced

- SINALOA GROUP - SUPPLIERS TO THE UNIVERSE
- EL CHAPO GUZMAN, PROPRIETOR -
-HALL OF GREAT CONNIVERS INDUCTEE for SUBVERSION OF OFFICIALS -


He was allowed in by a receptionist bot with upgraded blasters, bowed politely and told the bot that he was a smuggler and a trickster bot who was trying to immigrate and had tricked a Decepticon into helping him get into a Decepticon body, and had before that fought a gang of ten bots and lived to tell the tale. He wanted, if they would have him, to join them, but he only had one on-planet body and needed to stay on Cybertron until his immigration test period was over.

Equestria

Every pony was glad to see the recaptured slaves and there were a few cheers and Whipcracker thanked those slaves who had risked their lives on the mission. When they heard a pony was killed they all said a short prayer "My soul has joined a thousand, for Bright Eyes stopped living today." Whipcracker had the three slaves who he found responsible branded on the forehead and told that their work hours would be longer and their jobs fouler then any other slaves. Later on a large number of humans showed up begging to be enslaved by the ponies. Whipcracker chose six of them and told the rest "Much as we would like to enslave the lot of you, first there are too many of you and you might revolt and second, if we steal Decepticon livestock-even though it is just to re-enslave them with us as the masters-Domintel won't protect us, as we stired up trouble. The rest of you must go-but a few of you might manage to stay free, in which case you will be pleased as you won't have to be anyone's slaves. Go, before we teleport your hearts out of your bodies." The six hurriedly washed in the stream and were allowed to hide in places where they might escape a cursory search. As a couple of mine overseers landed the ponies bowed as if the bots were alicorns and Whipcracker said "Welcome to our colony. How can we help you?"


"We are looking for some escaped slaves who busted out of our mine. If we catch them, we'll body chip them."


"They came here and asked to be enslaved by us, but we sent them on their way. We would be stupid to pick a fight with war robots such as you who could kill us even if your blasters had got thoroughly fubared. We are about the size of one of your fingers." Whipcracker showed the bots his gleaming Decepticon Seal cutie mark.

[Victorious Decepticons]

Cybertron

It always took him by surprise when someone applied to the Sinaloa Group as if it were just another employer, but the receptionist didn't show it. He had been on Cybertron for 150 years, after all - he figured that he should act like he was comfortable with the idea that the Sinaloa Group wasn't operating openly only due to bribes, but because its activities were fully legal here. Still, it just seemed so unnatural to be standing there, behind a door proudly advertising its activities and ownership, and being asked about a position!

"Si," he said, "what you want is to be an adjunct. We can't take someone who's going to be moving on in a real role. A full position with the Organization is for life." He said this last part very firmly, as if he himself had executed more than a couple of people for daring to try to leave the gang. "We do not do the adjunct hiring here. That happens over in Gearwrench. Go there and apply at the drug store." With that, he politely ushered Marketeer back out before the Xaxhazian had a chance to say much more than "thanks."

After his last experience with a news chip stand, Marketeer wasn't eager to patronize any other ones. Still, he had no idea where Gearwrench was, so he had to use one to buy a map. Fortunately, the map chip was clean and the data was legit. Soon, he found the town's location, about 100 miles to the east via flight.

He didn't have to wonder much about what type of area it was, as he could see the slightly-rusted buildings as he approached from the sky. Ironically, the people there weren't poor in the true sense, but they felt no need to waste their money or time on light maintenance. An occasional rust-free building stood out - apparently, they just threw away the outer panels of their structures when they were deemed too rusty, rather than bother to repair them in the interim.

As he landed, he could hear salsa music blasting from various windows. Different songs were playing from each sound source, resulting in a cacophony of noise, but this seemed to be accepted as normal. Down one road, he could hear some violent clanging - a fight was clearly going on. Nobody around seemed to care, and in fact, they seemed to be purposely pretending that they didn't hear anything.

Marketeer wasn't bothered as he walked around, even though he was swiveling his head trying to find the "drug store" the other bot had mentioned. Everyone seemed to accept him since he appeared to be looking for something (or someone) in particular, rather than just randomly gawking. He also made a point of carrying himself in a confident way, which - while not foolproof - was always somewhat of a deterrent to low-level opportunistic muggers and the like.

Finally, he saw a giant storefront. Inside, packs of kilo, 10 kilo, and 100-kilo substances were clearly seen. Four guards were posted; two near the doors and two near the ends of the giant retail-style windows. Above, the name SINALOA DRUG STORE glowed in a colored fluorescent sign shaped as the letters. Marketeer stopped and couldn't help but smile slightly. He didn't know why he had expected one more like a Walgreen's or a Boots, but this one made perfect sense. As he watched, many people flew in - most making surprisingly pinpoint landings just out front - as many others came out carrying large hauls of product for resale on other worlds. The traffic was steady enough to make it clear that this was a large source of drugs that would be distributed all over the local area - "local" as in, on nearby planets.

After watching for a short time, Marketeer steeled himself and walked in. There, he told the person at the counter what he'd told the other bot.

"Bienvenido a Cybertron!" The clerk said with a grin. "You have found the right place for a foreigner! I'll get the manager for you!"

After what seemed like a long wait, an off-white and cream bot came out from a back room. He had "Sinaloa Drug Store - Gearwrench - Manager" written across his wings in clearly-removable vinyl letters. Unlike the town itself, he and his clerk were both clean and well-waxed, showing their finest retailish appearances.

"The first thing you gotta know is that you were right about us hiring new arrivals. However, since you want to immigrate on the up-and-up, that means that you won't be staying with us for long. We don't allow that at all for actual members of the Group, or for adjuncts tasked with anything of high value. If you become one of our Temporary Adjuncts, that basically means that you'll be doing warehouse work. You'll be filling up our loading equipment - that equipment then fills up the cargo-bots that go to our major distributors. The pay's 1,000 Cubes/day."

Marketeer activated his freeze-face quickly, but he was shocked that he could make so much money by working in a warehouse! The rumors of ridiculously-high wages on Cybertron were clearly true!! Obviously it was indeed genuinely hard to get anybody on the planet to do a regular job.

The manager went on, not waiting to see if there was a reaction. "You need these physical specifications to do the work." He then listed several specs for strength, reach, balance, and the like. These specs were stated as one would do for a piece of equipment rather than a biological, which sounded a bit scientific and cold, but the style made perfect sense for a machine race.

"So, are you interested in that position, and do you meet the specifications?" He paused, and added apologetically, "I know it's nothing glamorous, but it'll give you some Energon to use before you get a proper body from Immigration and start your military service. It'll also make it pretty hard for your enemies to get to you..." the manager looked at a few of Marketeer's damaged spots. "People do not try to go 'fast and hard' through a Sinaloan installation unless they're seriously motivated. And, if you want to, you'll be able to mark yourself with the company name and your position even when off-duty. Nobody'd be impressed by 'warehouse loader,' but they might not care about that part if 'Sinaloa Group' is in front of it. Most people don't know which jobs here are in-Group and which aren't." He imitated a wink using the light of one eye.

"As for your qualifications, if you impress the right people at the warehouse, and then apply again after your Military stint is over, you might get a recommendation put in for you. But it's MUCH harder to become a Member than it is to become an adjunct. It's a good idea to build some local reputation before trying for that. You may be well-known back wherever you came from, but WE don't know you from a used oil filter, at least unless you're quite notorious there..."

The manager waited to see if Marketeer was still interested in the job. He expected him to say no...after all, they practically had to draft people into doing grunt work that didn't offer the chance for excitement abroad. Marketeer, however, knew that he would be much safer behind guarded walls that weren't of the prison variety, surrounded by lots of people willing to kick the ass of anybody foolish enough to try to trespass within.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Equestria

"We know that some of those humans came from your village. Maybe all of them! But we captured them fair and square when they came skipping up to our installation singing about being free! We're going to look around a bit, and then if you want to argue against them being ours now, we can duel for ownership. I know you horned dudes are only pretending to be weak," he pointed out some unicorns, "so I'm not fooled by this big display you're giving. You've probably got the livestock in one of those buildings!"

The dominant overseer then got down on his belly and began to peer into all of the windows. He was actually right that some of the former miners were in one of the buildings - a storage barn - but they crouched down just below the window ledge. This natural blind spot let the bot's gaze pass on an angle that allowed him to look past them, but not straight enough down to see them.

After quite a bit of this, the bot stood up and considered whether or not to rip all of the roofs off for a better look. He finally decided against it, figuring that if he was wrong, he could get negative attention from DomIntel and not have anything good to show for it.

"I still think you have them," he said to Whipcracker angrily. "Your flank symbol just proves that we should expect tricks from you just like we expect them from each other! We'll be watching you, and if we see our livestock, be ready to duel!"

With that, the two flew away, their engines growling.

Whipcracker was relieved when they went away, but he knew that once the slaves were put to work, they might be recognized. He decided that instead of giving them up if they were later discovered, he would prepare himself for the possibility of a duel. He knew from the Zombie Event that he could drop a Decepticon body under the right circumstances. With practice, he might be able to blast through the Faraday cage of a living one and then fry him. He began to do the practicing, just in case he ever needed it.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The humans in the river quickly got out and hid in the bushes when they heard the overseers' jet engines coming. Once everything was quiet again, they quickly made their way through some low brush and tall grasses, being sure to stay as hidden as possible from anyone who looked down from the air or a giant body. Since they knew what the mine was like, they would be far more careful than the first group of wild humans, and would be very hard to catch again.

[Vallermoore]

Equestria


The sight of the gleaming Seal let the Decepticon know Whipcracker was up to no good, but he wasen't quite angry enough to just squash Whipcracker like a bug or blast him. This small colony was protected by Domintel as long as it caused no trouble and stayed loyal, and he didn't want a warning blast from Domintel-or worse. If he destroyed the colony like a human or a pony destroying an anthill and none of the slaves were found, there was at least a possibility, however unlikely, of a treason charge that could end up in a fatal blasting or even a meltdown. These rare colonies of biologicals were always tolerated for some important reason. He had a look for the slaves but coulden't see any with his camara-eyes. I still think you have them," he said to Whipcracker angrily in Equish rather then Cybertronian Binary, wanting to get his point across.. "Your flank symbol just proves that we should expect tricks from you just like we expect them from each other! We'll be watching you, and if we see our livestock, be ready to duel!"

When they left Whipcracker started practising for long periods of time on one of the dead Decepticon bodies, working out how to use his magic to penertrate the thick armour and the Faraday Cage behind it. If he could somehow get magic through both of those, the vulnerable boards and circuits would be fried by pony lightning, shorting out and possibly even outright killing the bot. He certainly didn't want to fight a bot the size of a human sized skyscraper any more then the average tarantula spider would want to fight a human. But if he had to do so and won such a fight, bringing down a war robot many, many times his size, the other ponies would be in true awe of him. He did have one advantage-the fact that the Decepticon would be hugely overconfident against an opponent that was about the size of one of his fingers and seemingly unarmed, so overconfident at first that he might just try and crush him underfoot.


The slaves were happy to work for ponies under the sun rather then in a mine.

Cybertron

The receptionist was so used to the Sinaloa group being illegal that even after 150 years as a Decepticon he was still unused to being in the open. He quickly made it clear that Marketeer was at the wrong building. Si," he said, "what you want is to be an adjunct. We can't take someone who's going to be moving on in a real role. A full position with the Organization is for life." He said this last part very firmly indeed, as if he himself had executed more than a couple of people for daring to try to leave the gang, which he had both several times as a human and at least once as a Decepticon. "We do not do the adjunct hiring here. That happens over in Gearwrench. Go there and apply at the drug store."


Soon enough Marketeer located the town of Gearwrench which like nearly all Cybertronian towns had a mechanical-related name. He was not bothered as he went around looking for the drug store. From the music being played, many of the bots here used to be Mexican or South American. This was not the only immigrant enclave on Cybertron-somewhere there was even a single town block in one of the cities inhabited by former Vallermoorians. When he found the store the bot at the desk was happy to see him. "Bienvenido a Cybertron! You have found the right place for a foreigner! I'll get the manager for you!" He was offered warehouse work and happily accepted. If it were on a biological world, the work would still be illegal, he would not have to worry about death by starvation, and if a bot randomly went after him in here, the other bots would blast the bot before the stock was damaged or destroyed by blasting. He said yes and was soon hired, and a few months later a uniformed Domintel bot came in and told him to report to Scope and Gatekeeper for their verdict on if he could legally be allowed to become a Decepticon. If the verdict was yes, porting to a new Decepticon body would not be painful unlike with biologicals. Taking up a job might count against him, but things like the fact it was the Sinola Group, the fact he had fought and defeated a whole gang of ten bots earlier by himself, and his tricking a bot into helping him into a Decepticon body would be plusses.

[Victorious Decepticons]

Cybertron

Marketeer had a bit of trouble adapting to actually doing a regular job, but his managers were - unlike those on biological worlds - well used to this and were patient with him, though they did make sure to keep on him and the other workers so things would actually get done. Once he got more into it, he was amazed to actually be loading up 100-kilo packs of pot and coke as a regular job! It seemed that this group must be the largest drug-oriented smuggler on Cybertron, at least from what he had seen so far.

His mind raced to try to place seeing their cargo-bots or aircraft on Xaxhaz, but he didn't recognize a thing about them. Instead, he realized, the humans on his planet had likely been dealing with another Cybertronian gang. In fact, he realized, there had first been one and then another. One liked to graffiti fancy oil derricks in its territories, while another had an almost federal-looking symbol. The IOPC and then the ICC - though he didn't know them by their real names. After the humans were defeated, though, all of that activity had stopped. Robots, after all, never bought drugs for themselves.

Despite the lack of local demand, the warehouse was always filled with plenty of heavily-armed people. Some of them were explicitly working as guards, while others had labor positions but were built up in order to provide extra security. Marketeer asked about this, and was informed that many other gangs would love to get their supplies for free...

~~~~~~~~~~

One day, all of the seemingly-unnecessary firepower was proved to actually be needed. Another gang announced its arrival with the loud clanging of blasters and battering rams attacking the warehouse wall. Immediately, the Sinaloans took up battle positions inside, swiping drug bales off of the tops of the packing tables and then positioning the tables as shields. Marketeer realized that these tables weren't just the plain metal that he'd assumed they were - they were actually made of armor paneling!

At first, he crouched down, feeling quite vulnerable in his unarmed state. Suddenly, a manager ran up to him and a few other foreigners with an armful of blasters and attachment brackets. He tossed one to each worker. "Get these on right now! This isn't the time for BSing around with stupid regulations!" He ordered. Eagerly, many of the people strapped a bracket to their arms and a blaster to the bracket. Marketeer followed suit - it may have been against a regulation for a non-Decepticon to get a Decepticon Standard Blaster, but this was clearly a war situation, and he couldn't immigrate if he was dead.

Right at that moment, the outer wall of the warehouse was breached, revealing a force of about 100 ICC-marked bots outfitted for full battle. He noticed the words "Market Share Protection Force" on the attackers' wings. Meanwhile, the Sinaloan front-liners were marked as the "Asset Protection Force."

"Bienvenido a Cybertron," one of the Sinloans said with a laugh and a grin as he got into position and noticed the shocked looks on Marketeer's and a few other guys' faces. "This is the most fun part!" He eagerly raised his blasters and started firing at the attacking raiders. "It's totally legal! No Mexican Army will show up to try to play killjoy!!" He continued to rattle on, now in Spanish, as blaster fire cut through the air in both directions. "Hey, don't just crouch there like cowards - open fire!" He finally yelled over, this time in Binary.

The battle went on for several hours, with both sides deactivating opponents every so often, but eventually it was clear that the ICC was running out of guys. Just like rumors of Cybertron said, they fought to the last bot, nobody content to concede and admit personal defeat. Finally, the last ICC bot clanged to the ground as a scorched mass, and it was over.

"NOBODY DEFEATS SINALOOOAAAAA!!!" The cheers went up all around the now fairly trashed warehouse. They pumped their blasters in the air and started belting out victory songs, both of Cybertronian and Mexican origin.

For the rest of Marketeer's stay, the warehouse would be protected by twice as many guards as usual, all of which were more heavily armed than usual. The warehouse itself was quickly fixed. The destroyed stock was covered by another Sinaloa installation elsewhere, so there weren't even any delays noticed by its customers.

One day, a clearly-wealthy, yet somehow sleazy looking, bot came through. Everyone's engines went up in pitch, and looked at this bot in awe. Clearly, he was VERY important. He slowly looked at all of the operations as he passed each work station, and someone whispered to Marketeer: "It is Senor Guzman!" It was obvious that this bot thought more of Guzman than he did of Megatron himself.

Suddenly, Guzman stopped right where Marketeer was busy loading up some equipment. "I know you. You've done business with me!"

Marketeer looked confused. He didn't recognize this guy at all!

"DomIntel told me who you really are. Marketeer of Xaxhaz. Perhaps you remember moving a shipment of Grenelian Banknotes~?" Guzman prodded. Marketeer did immediately remember. The notes were delivered directly to the office of the president of Grenelia, a fairly small country, which located next to a quite big one. The smaller one was a nation known for having a highly corrupt police department that, if the rumors were to be believed, was actually in the drug business instead of fighting against it.

"Aha, so that's what that was about!" Marketeer blurted out. "That was quite a little job! It brought a bit of excitement! Wait, YOU were the contact?!" He began to laugh. "No wonder the cops never found you. They were looking for some human!"

El Chapo grinned. "I like to get a close look at my operations sometimes. It's too bad for that human they caught and executed, but it's business. You know." He said matter-of-factly. "You'll do great here once you get used to the openness. Just remember one thing: If you touch drugs from Cybertron, they'd better be mine, and you'd better be on our side. Because we're proper Decepticons. And proper Decepticon businesspeople like me don't put up with competition."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

That was the only real excitement at the otherwise-boring warehouse job, and Marketeer was glad when marked DomIntel agents arrived to let him know that his Survival Test was over. It seemed so strange for marked federal agents to come into this sort of a warehouse, and not only have the doors opened for them, but for the work to progress as if nothing was even remotely worrisome about doing it right in front of these feds!

Soon, he put his money in the vault he had procured at some time during his warehouse stint, and flew over to Immigration for the results.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Equestria

For a long time, everything went well. The occasional sound of a jet landing, followed by the screams or curses of a human (depending on the unlucky one's personality), could be heard from within the woods. However, the pony village went unbothered.

Nothing like that lasts forever, though, and one day it happened. The jet noise ended with a transformation noise right outside the town. One of the escapees had been spotted.

The overseer wasted no time with talk, and immediately reached over to get "his" livestock back. The human, however, was quick and agile now that he'd been working outside doing lighter forms of labor that didn't make him stiff and cough-ridden. He dodged the hand easily and then ran and hid behind some hapless unicorn, who looked up from blithely eating some hay with a "wtf" look on his face.

Whipcracker, hearing the commotion that was starting to happen, came out and saw the situation. He had been practicing, and now, it looked like the time had come to test the results.

[Vallermoore]

Equestria


Whipcracker came out, saw what was happening, and decided that although it might very well lead to his extremely violent death, he would duel the huge robot. The bot didn't know it, but Whipcracker had been practising a long time on the abandoned body of a former zombie bot until he thought he knew exactly what combination of magic he needed to make a small hole about the size of a revolver bullet in the armour of the bot-and the Faraday cage inside. If....if he could breach both of those, he could send pony magic lightning into the soft wiry electronics within...and fry the motion boards, the mind boards and very likely even the personality chip of this giant bot-bringing it crashing down and possibly even killing it outright. But it was a BIG if, and he'd have only one chance at doing it. Should he slay this bot, his fellow ponies would be in awe of him as if he were an alicorn. He came out and faced this bot that was so large that he had to tilt his head slightly down to see his challenger.


"I'm Whipcracker, the ruler of this colony. I challenge you to a duel for the slaves that ended up here from your mine."


The bot did none of the normal things that bots did before entering battle, like turning down pain signals, putting on Bravery Up, or turning on his camouflage. He thought of Whipcracker as no more danger then a somewhat larger then normal ant. "I'm Slave-Breaker, and I accept your challenge. I'll crush you like a bug." Without even using his blasters, the bot raised a foot and brought it down, only for Whipcracker to teleport behind him, and send a fireball spell against the armour, melting a tiny hole in it. Then came the lightning a second later. Whipcracker was about to find out- most likely very painfully if he failed-if his spell had broken through the Faraday Cage under the armour to the innards of the Decepticon. Either he would fail and the bot would start blasting at him-and one blast would kill him-or the bot would find out that the "ant" he was targeting was more of a Bullet Ant-an ant with an enormously painful sting.

Cybertron


It was lucky for Marketeer that his bosses were Decepticons and understood Decepticon culture. Soon enough though he got used to it and one day he was handed blasters as a gang, none other then the ICC-invaded the warehouse. Firing from behind cover he blasted at least one of the foe back to the ICC Save Vault. The Sinola Group gave as good as they got, and some lost their bodies and a lot of drugs burned in the battle, but the ICC bots were ultimately reduced to foundry food. "NOBODY DEFEATS SINALOOOAAAAA!!!" Songs of victory, some to the beat of Mexican cumbia, and some Cybertronian, were sung and there was much cheering. Then the bodies went to a foundry to help pay for the damage done, and the place was cleared up and extra guards called in. The next day things went back to normal, until a bot in red, green and white armour showed up. The engine pitch of the bots changed, for this bot was none other then Senor Guzman himself!


Guzman saw Marketeer ands said in Binary with a slight Spanish accent "I know you. You've done business with me! DomIntel told me who you really are. Marketeer of Xaxhaz. Perhaps you remember moving a shipment of Grenelian Banknotes~?"

"Aha, so that's what that was about! That was quite a little job! It brought a bit of excitement! Wait, YOU were the contact?! Hahaha! No wonder the cops never found you. They were looking for some human!"

El Chapo liked that memory and thought Marketeer an asset to the Sinola Group but warned him not to touch the drugs of competertors.

Soon afterwards Domintel came, openly as unmarked agents might have trouble getting in. Soon enough Marketeer was facing Scope and Gatekeeper and waiting for their verdict.

[Victorious Decepticons]

Cybertron
Immigration Office

When Marketeer came into the office, he saw just a glimpse of Scope pushing a large cart of cubes of Energon Supreme into a back room. The agent soon came back with an uncharacteristically warm smile.

Gatekeeper was more professional and stern, and soon began a recap of the report he had gotten from Domestic Intelligence. Marketeer noticed a mostly-consumed glass of Supreme on his desk as he started to speak.

"DomIntel tells us that you started out well. You defeated a gang by yourself, got one of our merchants to transfer you into a better body, defeated some Scroungers, and basically kicked exhaust pipes all over. Then, however, you seemed to lose your nerve and tried hiding in the Underworks, where you only ended up getting into more adventures and misadventures. You were able to correctly identify a 'bodyguard' as a DomIntel agent - the Supercomputer notes that this was most likely possible because others in the area also spotted his agent-ness and shied away, and you noticed that. You noticing this shows a good level of observation on your part. Then, you were almost blown away under the Main Refinery by its elite guards. By then, you had sustained quite a bit of damage, and your surveillance team had a death pool going on when you would end up at a foundry."

"By serendipity, or perhaps Megatronian Intervention, you then spotted a syndicate cargo-bot and got the idea to go to their offices. They offered you a job as a warehouse grunt...and you took it for the safety and security it provided." His voice showed heavy disdain. "And that point there is where we would ordinarily thank you for your interest in becoming a Decepticon, explain that we do not need to import mere laborers, and send you back to Xaxhaz with a souvenir." Gatekeeper tossed a small metal Decepticon Seal across the desk. It was obviously a booby prize for those who failed to gain citizenship but didn't die in the process.

Gatekeeper paused, and took an exaggerated sip of his Supreme. At the edge of his vision, Marketeer saw that Scope was grinning and pouring himself a glass of the same grade of Energon.

"Fortunately for you, you have something that most 'warehouse work' types do not: Prior connections. You could have told us that you knew one of our most successful immigrants. Not that you wouldn't have been tested, though. In any case," Gatekeeper finished his glass, "Mr. Guzman has put in a good word for you. VERY good." He set the now-empty glass down with a firm thunk.

Scope finally began to speak. "Normally, we would tell an immigrant not to use some human name like 'Mr. Guzman.' In fact, we did make him choose a Decepticon name when he first came. However, upon finding that nobody knew him from a used oil filter as 'SkyHigh,' he successfully got Foreign Intelligence to verify that he was indeed quite famous under his human name, and that the use of this name was essential to his business - and he managed to convince Leader Megatron himself to grant him an exception."

"You," Scope continued, "also won't have to change your name. 'Marketeer' is sufficiently Decepticon as it is. Of course, you're welcome to change it anyway, as long as your choice is within the usual regulations."

With that, they ushered over to the transfer seat, which had been replaced with a Decepticon-sized one in order to accommodate his current body. Next to it, a brand-new, though basic, Decepticon body waited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marketeer had expected being ported to be painless, and he did get to skip the surgical aspect of the process. However, having his code changed from the Xaxhazian OS to the Decepticon one wasn't as smooth as he'd figured it would be. His old OS kept trying to process the new code format, resulting in him experiencing millions upon millions of errors - a very discomfiting state, and 'painful' in its own way - until the process was complete. Fortunately for him, it took only about half the time to complete the port thanks to the fact that Xaxhazian Code was far more intuitively organized than the biological equivalent.

Eventually, the process ended. After a code-read which showed that he was indeed truly loyal despite his time as an employee, and a check by Debugging to find and fix any errors that might have existed, Marketeer automatically rebooted. He came back online with the roar of his brand-new engine, which had the power of newness to make up for this body's lack of specialized upgrades.

With all of his Code ported, he finally was able to access the full power of his Decepticon mind-boards, which were - as one might expect - optimized to work with the Decepticon OS. The result was a definite upgrade in his thinking speed and clarity compared to what he had been able to achieve in the body he had swiped. (While his stolen bodies had managed to handle Xaxhazian Code, his processing hadn't been as efficient as possible because his original Code didn't segregate itself according to purpose-dedicated hardware modules, nor could it use several other Decepticon OS-specific capabilities.)

Marketeer's eyes shined brighter as he regained his bearings, and for the first time, a Cybertronian body truly felt like his own. After some conversational wrap-up, and the installation of an SEDP and other important modules, he was presented with a Cube of Energon and given his official "welcome to Cybertron" speech. He noted, to dismay that he quickly hid, that his Cube was just Standard. Even so, unlike most other immigrants, he had a vault full of Cubes from his warehouse pay. This made it so that the time before his first Military stint would be much easier than usual, at least from a financial standpoint.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Equestria

The overseer realized that his foot hadn't popped the arrogant little pony he'd tried to step on, but before he could look around for where his target could have gone, he felt a sudden hot spot on his back. He was just reaching his hand back to scrape off whatever was damaging it when a sudden blast of electricity ripped into him!

It had been well-known in research circles that biological bodies could respond to damage almost instantly, though these responses were usually quite futile if the damage itself was too great. Still, Decepticons didn't like that biological forms could do anything faster than them, so engineers had long been working on speeding up mechanical responses. Now, this sort of "competition," which the overseer hadn't even been aware of, was paying off.

Almost instantly, several junctions inside his body disconnected, stopping the electrical overload from traveling further up his wires. In some places, mechanical switches and breakers had still been deemed too slow by the designers of the Minimum Specifications for the Decepticon Body, and fuses were used instead. A handful of these blew, and in the process, the ability for electricity to pass by them was removed.

A moment later, the overseer's system let him know that the damage had been contained mostly in the rear torso area, and the main command cable had been protected. However, periphery wiring to the legs was affected down to the thighs, leaving just 1/10 of the normal motion-command ability there and none of the sensory relays. It was far from fatal damage by itself, but it would make it very hard for him to move at a decent speed without losing his balance. In a duel, that sort of a disability would almost surely spell his defeat, at least unless he managed to connect a blast with his opponent.

He began to turn around, slowly so he wouldn't fall over, and soon saw Whipcracker standing there, likely readying another fireball. The overseer's top half still worked fine, and he aimed his blaster as fast as he could, hoping to beat Whipcracker's magical firing speed.

[Vallermoore]

Equestria

As it turned out, Whipcracker managed to do some damage, dramatically reducing his gargantuan foe's ability to move at speed without falling over, without defeating him utterly. As the vast blasters, which seemed to Whipcracker to be large enough to trot down, swung his way and started to glow, he teleported to one side just before the area he was at was reduced to a small crater. He got in one more fireball and lightning blast, this time higher up in a different area before his foe turned on his camouflage. Unfortunately for the bot, the damaged areas of the body from both Whipcracker's hits were unable to turn the camouflage on as their arrays had no power to do so, meaning some parts seemed to disappear whilst other bits like the knees were in full view like a piece of strange Dadaist art, and these parts pointed out at least partly where the rest of the bot was. Whipcracker hoped this second blast, if it didn't bring down his foe, would at least damage one or preferably both of the blasters. Then he would be facing huge hands and feet rather then battleship sized blasters-huge hands and feet that perhaps had been numbed or otherwise damaged in some way. He still knew he had a high chance of ending up dead, but his chance of staying alive had risen from near zero to at least a bit better. Only if he managed to bring his robot foe down so that the overseer was dead or dying or had mind transferred away would he be safe and even then he would be very careful of going near the great body. Even a dying Decepticon could crush a biological-if he could catch him. Whipcracker very much did not want to end up in a metal grip. The bot cursed in angry Binary when the second blast and lightning bolt hit it in the right shoulder. Whatever he was saying, it was nothing either nice or polite.

Cybertron
Immigration Office

As Marketeer arrived he noticed Scope pushing a huge cart full of Energon Supreme cubes-the highest publically avalible grade of Energon (an equvilent for humans would be cavier and smoked salmon in a food sense or small gold bars in a money sense) into a back room. Scope grined, but not Gatekeeper.

"DomIntel tells us that you started out well. You defeated a gang by yourself, got one of our merchants to transfer you into a better body, defeated some Scroungers, and basically kicked exhaust pipes all over." His voice tone got more unfriendly. " Then, however, you seemed to lose your nerve and tried hiding in the Underworks, where you only ended up getting into more adventures and misadventures. You were able to correctly identify a 'bodyguard' as a DomIntel agent - the Supercomputer notes that this was most likely possible because others in the area also spotted his agent-ness and shied away, and you noticed that. You noticing this shows a good level of observation on your part. Then, you were almost blown away under the Main Refinery by its elite guards. By then, you had sustained quite a bit of damage, and your surveillance team had a death pool going on when you would end up at a foundry."

"By serendipity, or perhaps Megatronian Intervention, you then spotted a syndicate cargo-bot and got the idea to go to their offices. They offered you a job as a warehouse grunt...and you took it for the safety and security it provided." Now he sounded really unfriendly. What most countries saw as a plus was on Cybertron a major minus equvilent to a criminal record for minor to middling offenses on a biological world when it came to Immigration. And that point there is where we would ordinarily thank you for your interest in becoming a Decepticon, explain that we do not need to import mere laborers, and send you back to Xaxhaz with a souvenir." Gatekeeper tossed a small metal Decepticon Seal across the desk, the size of a human child, a booby prize for failed immigrants who were persona non grata. He sipped his Supreme-grade Energon.

"Fortunately for you, you have something that most 'warehouse work' types do not: Prior connections. You could have told us that you knew one of our most successful immigrants. Not that you wouldn't have been tested, though. In any case," Gatekeeper finished his glass, "Mr. Guzman has put in a good word for you. VERY good." Marketeer grinned. There were stories about Mr Guzman that said that as well as being bloodthirsty against his foes, he would help his friends when they really needed it, which was one of the reasons for his sucess. Fear by itself was brittle-if the threat got badly injured or locked up on a biological world by the police, it would rust away, but helping people meant they would help the person back when the person was really in dire need of it. Now these rumours were, it seemed true. The Boss of the mighty Sinola Cartel, a bot almost on a level with how Masher had been before his banishment, had intervened, no doubt with a large bribe, for him because of that banknote smuggling all those years ago. Marketeer thought to himself that if it turned out that there was not a space for a new Assisstant Priest or if his grip of doctrine was not quite good enough to be elevated to the Priesthood, he could work for the Cartel at the warehouse until he had enough Energon for a good enough body and then try and join it properly and serve Mr Guzman for the rest of his hopefully very long Decepticon life, until some day centuries or more in the future he died in one battle or raid too many. Most bots lived for hundereds of years, but not eternally-Decepticon culture saw to that. Only Megatron as a God, and defacto the richest bots enjoyed true everlasting life.

When Marketeer was transfered, whilst it was not agonizing like with a biological, it did hurt quite a bit. His code-read showed he was loyal-and loyal to Megatron above all, although second to Megatron came Mr Guzman. A minor error or two was fixed by Debugging, and after a check that he was aware, he was turned on. His mind felt amazing-much more then it had in an effectively stolen Decepticon body. He was presented with a token Cube-it would not do after all for an immigrant to starve to death within minites after all, and a welcome to Cybertron speech. He decided to go back to the warehouse and earn more Energon there until his first conscription order was delivered and he took his place in the Decepticon Military to be trained and then preform his military duty. He was welcomed back and several bots gave him little bows-the equivilent of back-slapping to congratulate him. Soon enough he was called up and reported at a base where a trainer named Framebreak awaited.

[Victorious Decepticons]

Cybertron
Military Base

When Marketeer got his orders, he was a bit disappointed that he wasn't assigned to the Main Military Base. Alas, there were far too many conscripts to send all of the first-termers through a single location. Therefore, he was assigned to a different one. Unbeknownst to him, his placement was also influenced by his DomIntel file, which included the known aspects of his past history on Xaxhaz.

Framebreak was always happy to get immigrants under his command because they tended to be more controllable. He was about to get a surprise, though, and that was that Marketeer was very much of a Decepticon mindset. Within the first two weeks, he had to be given a good denting to convince him that following orders wasn't such a bad idea after all. Once that was done, he, like many other new conscripts, became more trainable.

Marketeer quite enjoyed the flight drills, and this is one thing that set him apart from natives who had been flying since the day they were built. As could be expected, he started out sort of poorly since Xaxhazian bodies didn't tend to have flight as a base-form capability, but he learned fast and was soon soaring along in mass formation with no problems.

As the drill teams went about these flights, Marketeer naturally took note of every road, alley, and unintended byway below. He mentally determined which pathways would be the best to use as smuggling routes, as well as how much stuff could be carried there without either standing out or getting robbed. It's not that he was planning anything in particular, but as a long-time smuggler, doing this came natural to him. It was also strategic, just in case he ever wanted to get somewhere - or move a load. By constantly calculating routes like this, he would be saved from having to figure it out later, when he might not have the time to do it right.

~~~~~~~~~

After an otherwise-uneventful few weeks in Basic Training, Marketeer learned that he had been assigned to General Soundwave's division. This made perfect sense to him, given his known background as a smuggler. Soundwave, after all, was the Head of Intelligence, and it was known that within his wider division, he had a quite effective Espionage Battalion. Despite the name "Battalion," these soldiers often worked alone or in pairs - there were just a whole lot of them in total. Unlike ForIntel, which mainly did spying to glean information, the Espionage Battalion was used just prior to and during wartime to sabotage enemy positions and equipment, sneakily take out key personnel, disseminate fake news (and sometimes, fake military orders), and other such things.

Marketeer and the other new division inductees were given a week off, after which they were ordered to report to Soundwave's part of the base for their introductory speech and - if applicable - specialized training. As he flew away for his leave, Marketeer noticed that Soundwave's area was the largest of this base, with much smaller partitions for the other generals. Apparently, his assignment to this location wasn't because he wasn't deemed "good enough" for the Main Base, but instead, because the Spymaster preferred to work out of a less-obvious location and MilIntel had figured that Marketeer would likely end up in his group.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Equestria

The overseer was just about to fire his blaster when Whipcracker's next attack hit his shoulder. Immediately, his system took automatic steps to protect itself as before, and despite the overseer's best attempts to power through the damage, fuses in the command wiring for his weapon blew out. He knew that there would be no point in trying to fire now, though he still had some use of the arm. Immediately, he raised his other blaster, and simultaneously, he put the hand of the other arm over that shoulder to try to protect it from being taken offline.

Of course, hitting either the command wire or the (internal) fuel line at any point between the mind-boards or Energon tank and the blaster itself would disable that weapon, as well. Still, he hoped that by forcing Whipcracker to aim somewhere else besides the same spot on the other shoulder, he would be able to buy enough time to get a blast out and be done with this pesky biological, who he now knew was a "stinging insect."

[Vallermoore]

Equestria

Whipcracker's heart was beating as fast as it could, his eyes were wide, his ears were right back and his tail was between his legs. All his biological systems were telling him to get away from this terrifying and now partly cloaked bot. Even with one blaster firmly offline, the other could kill him and cook his body with one shot on target. He knew the bot would be expecting him to go for the other blaster, so he decided upon a different tactic. First he cast an invisibility spell on himself- that would only work for a few seconds until the bot started tracking him by body heat-unless the circuits to do that were damaged, which was unlikely. Then he forced himself to teleport directly under the bot, looked up at the huge visible knees and with them as a guide, opened fire with a fireball and a lightning bolt at the left ankle, all within seconds, then teleported further away but behind the bot. He hoped to short out and bring numbness to one of those huge feet.

With one foot numb, the bot would find moving much harder-if he could do the same to the other one, he might be able to make his foe fall over-bringing the head down to blasting range.

Cybertron, Military Base

Marketeer got dented a few times in Basic Training-which would not be held against him later in his military career-all Decepticons were like this at first. Soon enough he became more orderly and learned valuable military skills that could help him if he became a full time smuggler later. He wondered to himself if he should have a clerical career after his first military stint, or if he should align himself with Sinola and try to properly join them. Either would be a worthy cause.
When he passed his training, he found himself to his delight serving under General Soundwave, head of Domintel and Forintel. Perhaps his smuggling skills would be of good use to the Decepticon Government.

[Victorious Decepticons]

Cybertron
Military Base

At first, the new arrivals to Soundwave's Division were put through exercises that seemed like more basic training, just a bit more advanced. Then, things began to change.

The first sign of change was the introduction of new drills for flying under cloaking. Marketeer knew that these would be dangerous exercises when the first order was to make a fresh Save and test one's connection to the Main Save Vault as well as any spare bodies each soldier might have. Clearly, it was well-expected that at least some of the relatively-new troops would be failing this drill, and hard.

Throughout training, Soundwave had been remote and mysterious, preferring to let Trainers handle the n00bery on their own. Now, however, he got on a small stage in front of the assembled crowd of Basic Training graduates.

"The drills we are about to begin are some of the toughest in the entire Decepticon Military. Some may wonder why you are even being assigned to them at this early point. The reason for the assignment is simple: Those of you who have aptitude in this aspect will need to begin much more advanced training soon, while those who do not have it would waste our resources if not sorted into other specialties quickly. These drills will help to make it clear who goes where - or, at least, who will NOT be going into the Scythes of Death Sub-Battalion."

There was a short but excited murmur among the troops when they heard the name of the sub-battalion they would be testing for. Almost everyone instantly wanted to be in this group, just because the name sounded cool and like it had to stand for something really deadly.

"What the Scythes do is simple: We fly into enemy territory under extreme full cloaking. You will not be able to see nor detect each other at all. Your mastery of your prior training is what will keep you alive, and keep you from blasting or bashing into each other. All of you scored 100% on the last drills that you did, showing that you have a good chance of having the patterns memorized as you were supposed to. Some of you, however, likely did not really memorize them, but instead used your visual systems to ensure that you were properly placed within your drill swarms. Those of you in the last group will be among the first new recruits to experience the Main Save Vault, while those somewhere in the middle will get some practice at staying in the air despite being bumped. A few, however, will complete the drill unscathed. Those who do will proceed to further testing for the Scythes of Death."

When Marketeer heard this, he quickly understood the challenge. The group would fly under total cloaking, while in close formation! They would be unable to see or even detect each other. Even for Decepticons, this would be a suicide run for many if it wasn't for Saves and Spares.

Despite this, everyone was up for giving it a try. They could all see the great strategic value in being able to come in to an enemy position from the sky, completely undetected, and then blast or bomb the crap out of it while retaining the strength of numbers. Even if they failed, they figured that they'd also get some valuable education from trying. After all, what couldn't be done in a group of 1,000 would be far easier to accomplish in a group of 5 - such as with their raid gangs.

Soon, the group, which was indeed 1,000 strong, was standing in the formation used for the most basic newbie's drill. With no cloaking on, everyone had enough practice to do this drill without even having to think about it. Doing it with no outside cues as to where everyone else was, however, would take far more concentration! Engines revved quietly and the tension was thick as almost everyone had some misgivings, though they didn't admit it.

After a moment, a loud bang went off - the cue to transform and begin the drill. Soon, they were all taking flight with full cloaking on. When it came for the usual time for Marketeer to take flight, he did so, hoping that he wouldn't hit anyone once he was up there - and that nobody would bash into him, either...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Equestria

In an instant, the bot yanked his leg up, exactly like a human would do if suddenly stung by a serious wasp. He looked at it and examined the damage, realizing at the same time that his cloaking had now failed for his ankle and foot. Now, he looked down for his assailant. With a deliberate move, he slammed his foot back down, intending to stomp the painful little nag into the ground. He didn't consider whether or not the damaged foot would bear weight - as long as it landed firmly on Whipcracker, all else would just be an annoyance that he could easily fix with his field repair kit.

Regardless of whether he aimed right, it actually would bear weight. Decepticon systems weren't like muscles, which essentially turn to mush if the command relay is cut. Even so, the ankle was now immobilized, making it impossible for him to adjust it to compensate for motion or terrain. Since walking normally involves quite a bit of ankle flexion even on a robot, he would have to consciously make up for the loss of movement in order to avoid tripping on his own foot. If the other side was similarly damaged, he would find himself having to walk very stiffly and carefully.

[Vallermoore]

Equestria

Like a human who was stung on the foot by a wasp, the gigantic Decepticon war robot raised his foot and looked at it, and then brought it down. Whipcracker put the teleportation spell through his horn just as the metal foot touched his back and only just avoided being crushed. His natural equivalent of Bravery Up was running at full force to fight his urge to flee from his huge foe. He knew within that body was a very much alive computer mind that would be fully occupied with trying to kill him. Most likely the bot, Whipcracker thought, would turn on infer-red to penetrate Whipcracker's invisibility spell and then try and barbecue him with his one working blaster. He had to put that blaster out of action and quickly, and then target that other ankle to slow his foe right down. Then he could try and damage those arms and those grasping metal hands whilst keeping himself out of said hands so they didn't crush him like a fly. After that, he could try and go for the center of the bot where somewhere there must be a cable that was it's central nervous system. If he could knock that out-the huge bot would be helpless and would have to mind transfer, and he would have won the duel and could keep his slaves. Still thinking he would die, he aimed for the forearm with the working blaster just below the wrist and opened fire with his fireball-lightning combination, then teleported behind the bot again knowing that the damaged ankle would win him precious seconds. An undamaged Decepticon could turn as quickly as a human or even faster, but if this bot swiveled around that fast with one ankle in effect broken, he might well fall over and put his head within attack range.

Cybertron
Military Base

When Marketeer went through such a dangerous drill he turned up his Bravery Up, and concentrated hard on maintaining his position, ignoring the crash of two bots that soon happened behind him. If he could suceed in this and other such drills he would have made it into the Decepticon Special Forces, something he could feel justly proud of, and could go on covert missions against foes that were even a danger to Decepticons.

[Victorious Decepticons]

Cybertron

Marketeer was doing fine in the air, seemingly all alone, when he suddenly felt the turbulence created by someone coming way too close to him. Even the best cloaking couldn't hide the way the wind moved when it passed a jet's wings, and this turned out to be a lifesaving fact. He moved over just the slightest amount, and soon heard the WHOOSH of the other guy, who would have surely clipped him if he hadn't noticed the change in the air. If he'd moved over any more, he would have plowed into the person just to his left, and judging by the sound of it, he'd avoided a collision by just a couple of inches.

As the drill/test progressed, there were two more close calls like this, but Marketeer managed to keep flying despite them. Finally, the sequence was done, and everyone came in for a landing. At that time, three more soldiers ended up failing - they transformed and landed, but then ran into each other on foot while still carrying high momentum. The result was a small pile of smashed bodies, with two offline and one still alive - but heavily damaged and cussing with rage. Marketeer carefully avoided landing into that mess, and safely came to the ground in his pre-designated position.

When all was said and done, about 25% of the testees were now in the Main Save Vault or a Spare on the base, while another 40% were slightly dented. None of these would be progressing further for Scythes of Death consideration - if they couldn't do a basic drill under cloaking, they surely wouldn't be able to master the new maneuvers they would have to learn. Instead, those troops would be trained in how to spot and attack key installations in the open, not by just bombing them flat, but by blasting essential equipment.

"You who have made it through unscathed have passed the first, and most basic, test," Soundwave informed them. "You have the flight skills needed for Scythes of Death training. However, there is another set of tests. These are psychological. The psych tests help determine whether you're really better off flying in cloaked formation, or if your ability to operate under cloaking is better used in 'other' ways. Many people who are observant enough to have learned your drills well enough to do them 'blind' are also observant and sneaky enough to get up to a lot of other things that involve extreme stealth. For example..."

Soundwave made a gesture, and a large hologram appeared behind him. On it, a helicopter was flying, clearly marked with the insignia of the leadership office of a foreign nation. Suddenly, the heli plunged to the ground and burst into a ball of flames. A chyron below reported the event as "Wind Shear Kills Prime Minister."

The general's eyes shone clearly now, though only those in the front row caught this change. He made another gesture, and the hologram seemed to repeat. Now, however, a dotted outline was clearly visible. It denoted the location and shape of a Decepticon agent, who physically grabbed the helicopter out of the air when it was about 70 feet up, and then forcefully threw it into the dirt.

"That prime minister's pet project had been a space-based missile system. Everyone thought it was a crazy notion. As you might imagine, his unfortunate encounter with 'wind shear' meant that his ideas were mothballed."

Behind him, the holograph continued to play, but switched to a scene of the relevant planet from the perspective of an arriving raid gang. A few derelict surveillance satellites, clearly no longer operational, were all that were in space along with them. The planet would clearly be an easy mark.

"As you can see, you do not have to end up in the Scythes of Death to help your division fulfill its duty of easing the way for Decepticon citizens. However, we do need to add 100 members to the Scythes as well. The psychological tests will simply ensure that we have the right people in the right places."

With that, the group was dismissed for the day. It would meet again at 4 AM. Soundwave didn't choose this time just because it could be considered "early morning" - in fact, he didn't consider that aspect much at all. Instead, he preferred times when most people were asleep so that there would be fewer around to snoop on him. After doing so much spying himself, he was a bit paranoid about being spied on.

~~~~~~~~~~~

As Marketeer watched the holographs and realized some of the possibilities, he began to recall all of his adventures from before he'd started his Megatronist temple. He was realizing that this is what really got his engine revving, and started to worry that he'd be bored as a Priest of Megatron. He could imagine himself yanking that helicopter down and making it look like an accident, and it seemed far more exciting than standing somewhere spreading the news of Megatron's divinity. He also thought it'd be much less nervewracking to work alone than to try to avoid being hit by hundreds of invisible planes, so he decided right then to try to skew his psych test results in the "lone operator" direction.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Equestria

The bot cursed when the next fireball/lightning combo hit, but did not turn around as Whipcracker had hoped. Instead - as Whipcracker had guessed - he put on his infrared detection, but moved as little as he could to get his arm to clear his wing enough to aim in the right direction. This made it a 90-degree turn instead of a 180. Then, he let off a powerful blast where he detected his target's heat signature.

The control wiring for the blaster, it turned out, was actually connected at the upper arm where the connection bracket was, and it was perfectly operational. Aiming similarly was done using parts higher than the part Whipcracker had hit, with the shoulder and elbow being the most important parts of the apparatus. It would take some very fast thinking and reacting for Whipcracker to dodge the blast, especially since he had likely thought that his opponent wouldn't be able to fire.

Several spectators were now watching the fight, with the ponies and a few humans standing far away and a couple of mine-bots arriving and taking somewhat closer positions. None, however, interfered with the fight. It was clearly a one-on-one duel. Plus, no Decepticon could really imagine that one of their own would need help against some puny little biological - it'd be insulting to the overseer to even suggest such a thing!

[Vallermoore]

Cybertron

The drill was a pretty dangerous one, but Marketeer was able to manage it without crashing-and land without crashing as well unlike three bots who smashed into each other, leaving two in the Main Save Vault and one swearing away and badly injured. General Soundwave informed those who had avoided any sort of crashing that they had passed the most basic test to enter the Scythes of Death. When Marketeer saw the helicopter vid, he decided that if he was able to pass the tests to get into a unit capable of doing that, he would rather serve in that way then be a priest. He did however keep the possibility of the priesthood as a back-up option, either if he failed to get into the unit, or perhaps for a few centuries in the future. Unless he was either traitorous, stupid, or very unlucky, he could live for several centuries at least, and, technically, forever. Not being one of the Decepticon 1%, he didn't think he would live forever-one day battle would take him, but death was a possibility rather then with biologicals a certain fate. Maybe in three hundred years he might indeed become a priest, but for now he decided he could better serve Megaton by serving Soundwave. Another possibility if he failed to get into the unit, was to try and join the Sinaloa Group for real. Unlike Loyal Star, he had not been born or in his case built for the religious life. He wondered what the next test would be.

Equestria

The bot let out an angry cry in Binary that was most likely something very rude and let off a blast which Whipcracker barely countered with a shield spell. The blast broke the shield and burnt off most of Whipcracker's fur, only his cutie mark somehow remaining undamaged, and he was in pain, but or now the adrenaline of battle turned the pain down to make it bearable. If he did somehow win this fight, he would need medical attention from his fellow ponies and death of infection when the bacteria, germs and fungus had time to infect his body was a real possibility. Also if he did win, the pain would really start kicking in. He next targeted the undamaged ankle of the bot, teleporting close in, hoping that this time he could indeed wreck the ankle and foot, making it hard for the bot to walk at all.

The ponies and their slaves watched in amazement at their leader going hoof to foot with a towering war machine and-so far-still living. Two mine-bots watched, but they didn't intervene or offer to help. Not only was this clearly a duel, but it would be very bad manners and an outright insult to suggest that the bot could not defeat such a miniscule foe-on the same level as calling him a bunch of reject parts. An armed society like the Decepticons, with so few laws to boot, was-most of the time, anyway-a polite society.

[Victorious Decepticons]

Cybertron

As Soundwave had promised, the next test wasn't nearly as dangerous - but it was still extremely important. Those who passed the prior test were taken into a large area like a high-school gymnasium, but this room had been outfitted with hundreds of separate, standing-room-only soundproof booths. Inside each one, there was a small holovision.

A Trainer called out troop numbers and directed each person to a booth of their own. Once everyone was standing in the right spot and the doors were closed, the holovisions began to play. The first thing up was what looked like a tiny Soundwave, who gave directions for what was to come.

"You will be shown several scenes, and your reactions to these scenes will be monitored. This is the first part of the psych testing. Unlike the Military in general, I do not rely on mere written answers. As you all know, anyone can write anything they want, and someone with a lick of sense can easily fool that sort of test."

The image of Soundwave dissolved with a dramatic zapping sound, and in its place, a huge military installation appeared. By the camera view, it was plain that this was meant to convey the sense of being part of a group meant to attack it. Suddenly, there was a whooshing sound, followed by the crunch of metal. The view changed to that of the ground coming closer and spinning around at the same time - simulating the death spiral of someone who would surely crash! At the very last scene, nothing but static showed. Jammers were running, and the viewer was clearly to infer that this meant death.

After a few moments' break, another scene came on. Now, the viewer was again in first person, but instead of being in the sky, he was on the ground at an airport. Many other planes were parked around him. Soon, a self-important looking human with an entourage strode up, and the Decepticon put down a set of stairs just like a classy private jet. The human boarded along with his servants and some apparent business partners. One was a pilot, and took the control seat in the cockpit. Then, the stairs retracted, the door closed, and flight began.

The scene paused, and a notification came up on the hologram: "Your mission is to crash into the nearby lake with these targets aboard." A set of actual controls now came up from a panel in the booth. "Make the 'accident' happen, Soldier."

Marketeer realized that now, what happened to the plane in the hologram, which represented him, was under his control. He wouldn't just need to drive 'himself' into the lake, he would need to make it look legit. That meant keeping the guy who thought he was the pilot from sending out SOS messages indicating his own lack of control over the plane, flying in such a way as to seem he was trying (vainly) to avoid crashing, and finally, forging a fake Black Box recording and flight records just before going underwater. He concentrated hard as he took the control to try to carry out this simulated mission...

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Equestria

The overseer was surprised when the biological kept functioning after losing its fur, but then figured that this outer coating must be expendable. He'd remembered how his slaves needed it shaved down occasionally, and that they didn't complain about losing it. The skin underneath looked a bit wrecked, though, and he had thought that sort of damage was more important. Yet, here the pony came again - now warped in close!

Almost instinctively, the overseer swung his good foot to kick the now-known-dangerous thing further away. This, however, caused him to lose some balance since he'd forgotten to compensate for the damage to his other ankle. He had to slam his kicking foot down early to avoid falling, and at that point, Whipcracker nailed him with another fireball and lightning blast. Now, neither foot wanted to respond properly, and the robot had to stand there for just a couple of seconds to run a compensation script to try to work around the damage.

Whipcracker knew that this was his first serious opportunity to get a win in a long time. If he could zap his foe right in the mind-boards, or detect the personality chip's location and hit that, it would be all over - in Whipcracker's favor. Causing the engine to seize up might also bring about victory, but he would have to hope there were no backup engines if he tried that strategy. Many Decepticons had a smaller electrical engine that they could use for a short time if they ran out of Energon or suffered some other problem with their main power plants.

Whichever attack Whipcracker chose, he knew he would have to make it count. As a biological, he was far more subject to tiredness and exhaustion than his robotic foe, who didn't really even know what "tiredness" was. Engines did not fatigue, per se, so as long as they were running and undamaged, they could deliver full power. So far, the overseer's engine had avoided damage despite the destruction done to some of his other parts, so he was feeling as energetic as ever.

Whipcracker's body, on the other hand, called for rest more and more strongly as he used his powers. He would have to get the final shot in soon, or he would risk losing just because of this inherent difference between biologicals and machines.

[Vallermoore]

Equestria

The massive bot raised a foot to kick Whipcracker, something that even if he were totally uninjured would kill him as sure as a blast or being stepped on would-only to nearly lose his balance. With the sensors in his legs and feet shorted out, he could not raise a foot and stay upright at the same time. Not wanting to fall over on his face in front of all the Decepticons who were watching and possibly expose his head to attack if he fell over as well, he had no choice but to run a script to work around the damage and restore feeling to his feet. Whipcracker had about five to six seconds to react. He teleported a little further away and cast a spell to tell him where the mind boards were. Even as the bot raised his undamaged blaster, a weapon the size of a battleship gun or larger, Whipcracker blasted him with a fireball followed by a lightning bolt in the pace where the spell had located the mind boards, which had the motion boards just below them as was common in Decepticons. If his spell was accurate, the lightning would sear the boards, terminating the bot's running instance or possibly even killing him outright. In naval terms it would be as if a speedboat had defeated a battleship the size of the Bismarck. If he was victorious, Whipcracker's fellow ponies would need to give him magical and medical attention at once and even then death from infection was at least a possibility. On the plus side, the ponies would most certainly see him as truly one of the Strong. He would need to explain to them that he won because the bot had been so overconfident that his foe was nothing that he hadn't made any plans, and that those who failed to plan were in effect planning to fail-even if they were gargantuan war machines. The possible defeat of one bot didn't change the fact that Decepticons were the supreme life form in the universe and he was determined to tell them that, for the sake of the colony's survival.

Cybertron

Marketeer realized at once what he as the plane needed to do-crash and kill those aboard whilst making it look like a plane crash by a genuine accident. There were worlds that like Tabriz were so techologically advanced that even the Decepticons prefered to use conniving rather then open attack, or worlds where conniving was just seen as more fun. He shut off the radio and headed deliberately for a large flock of birds, turning down the simulation's pain sensors as he did so. Sure enough, both his engines got bird strikes in them and he radioed to the ground control using his mind boards and the pilot's voice whilst effectively gagging the pilot by leaving the radio off. "Bird strike, bird strike! I'm going to have to ditch in the drink!" It was easy to land in just slightly the wrong way so he would flip over and crash, sinking to the bottom and drowning all the biologicals whilst making his black boxes say what needed to be said. Then the simulation ended and he wondered how well he had done.

[Victorious Decepticons]

Equestria

The robot was still distracted a bit by his already-accumulated damage, so by the time he realized why Whipcracker was staring at a point just above the bridge of his nose, it was too late for him to move or put a hand in the way to block the shot. All he could do was hope that his armor there would be thick enough to hold.

In an instant, the flash of fire and electricity hit, searing its way through several layers of armor. However, to the overseer's relief, it did not make it all the way to (or through) his head's Faraday cage. He was just about to gloat, when to his surprise, another two fireballs came one right after the other. "Third time's a charm," it turned out, wasn't just some empty human saying. The third fireball penetrated the armor, and right after it, lightning came - and this time, it ripped through the board that was directly behind that spot.

The rest of the sequence was automatic. That one board was taken offline right away, and then the electricity seared through the wiring connecting it to the ones on each side of it. Then, the power went through the outer two boards in the series, and down the cable to the motion boards in the chest. These boards had to have a direct connection in order to allow for immediate responses to "move" commands, and the reaction speed it enabled was usually more than enough benefit to make up for the associated risk. Usually. Now was the exception, and before the overseer could even finish his mind-transfer, the motion boards were offline.

From there, the current ripped through a secret wire, barely visible to anyone who would physically look at his boards. This wire traveled to a spot behind the Energon tank, and now, so did the remaining current from the last lightning blast. A moment later, there was a loud pop as the overseer's hidden personality chip was overloaded.

Externally, the overseer jerked once. His eyes got extra-bright for just an instant, and then went out. Meanwhile, his engine, now with no superseding commands or instincts interacting with it, began to idle at an eerily smooth and soft level. The blaster that he had been raising now stuck out slightly from the plane of the rest of his body, giving his weight a slight imbalance.

Eventually, if left alone, this imbalance would cause the body to tilt more and more forward until it fell. However, it could take a long time for that to happen. For now, the duel was over. The overseer would have to be restored from a Save, if anyone cared to do it, or he might simply be left offline for being such a loser as to be defeated by a seemingly-twerpy little pony!

The Decepticons who were watching cringed a bit when they heard the engine - they knew that there was no longer any mind interacting with it. Still, they were not willing to just leave the remains of the "unfortunate results" there to be reverse-engineered, or worse, turned into some kind of grotesque hotel for the ponies. They were well aware that many kinds of biologicals thought that deactivated Decepticon bodies made good houses, and while they didn't know if this species would do that, they weren't taking any chances.

After informing Whipcracker that they intended to take the body away and getting his agreement not to blast, a couple of them dragged it from the area. Whipcracker and the other ponies didn't relax until they were definitely gone.

Behind Whipcracker, several biologicals cheered, and some of the loudest cheers were from the slaves. Now, it seemed, they could finally be sure that they wouldn't be seized and taken back to the coal mine.

While victory was great, medical ponies were already galloping to Whipcracker to begin delivering treatments. With his housing so damaged, they would have to work fast to keep him from getting an infection, gangrene, motion-blocking adhesions, or other such problems.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Equestrian Resource Assimilation Company
Recycling Plant

"He got unfortunate results against a WHAT! And he lost our right to our property!!?" The shock and outrage was obvious in the tone of the Regional Manager's voice. "Throw it in the pit. And don't admit that we ever hired such a worthless piece of junk!

The two who had dragged him here, to the company's on-site foundry, grabbed the body by the arms and legs. They began to swing it to get the momentum needed for a good toss.

"HOLD IT!" A voice cut through across the industrial noise. Everyone stopped and looked, partially raising their blasters at the same time because they didn't recognize whoever was talking. Almost immediately, though, they lowered their weapons - the seals of Domestic Intelligence were clearly displayed on the newcomer's wings.

"We need that body to reverse engineer the method used by the deliverer of the unfortunate results." The agent informed them. Behind him, three other agents landed, all displaying very official body language. "There is no need to worry about secrecy. We will be sure that our official records show that he went off 'exploring' and was never heard from again, just like most others who encounter such...unlucky situations."

Nobody was willing to argue with DomIntel about some loser who wasn't even related to them, so it didn't take but a few moments to load the body into a fully-enclosed, opaque government cart. Almost as fast as they had arrived, the agents were gone. The body would be taken to Cybertron, where the top engineers (both military and civilian) would examine it to find out how it was defeated and then immediately start work on an upgrade that would stop that from working again.

This new upgrade wouldn't immediately be available to the general public, but it would be in the MilSpec body format as soon as it was at least 80% effective - and even before it was that ready, if an emergency situation arose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cybertron

To Marketeer's horror, his final holograph image was not a win screen, but the word FAILURE in glaring white letters against a black background. He backfired in shock, and clearly looked horrified. He looked around, and realized that the test proctor was going from person to person and examining recordings that their testing machines had made. Then, a final score was being computed based on that.

After several agonizing minutes, the tester finally got to him. He looked quite stern when he saw the notice, but dutifully played back the recording. As it ran, he kept muttering things like "uh-huh" and "okay," clearly waiting to see for himself what caused the FAILURE rating to appear.

Finally, at the very end, he saw it.

"Well, Soldier, it seems that you were so into the mission that you forgot one important thing: Yourself. You expertly blocked the real pilot's calls for help, got some birds in your engines, went down as if by accident, and even flipped so the targets couldn't escape. Then just before sinking, you forged the proper records for your black box and flight recorder. After that, you sank, along with your now-dead quarry."

"But through all of that, you did not do one thing. You did not mind-transfer yourself out, so you died along with them. Decepticons are not to die. Death is for our enemies only. What good is a victory if you aren't around to enjoy it? Plus, we do not like to waste soldiers. Soldier training is not cheap, and it's time-consuming, too."

"Your error is simple enough to correct since it basically involved forgetting to run the mind-transfer sequence at the end, so you're not out of the program despite its severity. However, any Death condition is automatically recorded as FAILURE, because if this was real life, it would be a very serious failure indeed. If for some reason you were not restored from a Save, it would be the end of you. We want loyal people, yes, but we want them to be living people. We will have more sims for you later. For now, remember: The enemy dies - you do not. Otherwise it is considered a loss."

Further tests would take place the next day. For now, Marketeer was given a chip containing a copy of his test recording, now with light critique commentary added to several key points - and then a big red "X- MIND TRANSFER NOT INITIATED" emblazoned at the bottom of the final scene.

[Vallermoore]

Equestria


When the glowing eyes of the overseer winked out and his engine ran harmlessly in neutral, there was whinnying and cheering from the ponies and the human slaves alike. None of them thought that a non-alicorn pony could defeat a Decepticon many times his own size, and they were in awe of their leader who really was one of the Strong. A medical pony with a red cross for a cutie mark galloped up, eased Whipcracker into the stream, then put a forcefield around him to lower the pain and keep most of the infectious bugs out. Two bots stepped up but only to ask for the body, which Whipcracker at once gave to them. When they had gone dragging the inert body with them, the ponies had a party with the slaves serving the hay and fruit. Even the slaves were happy-it was so much better then toiling away in a mine.

Whipcracker, by now bandaged, said to the ponies "The only reason why I defeated my gigantic foe, was because he failed to plan, and those who fail to plan, automatically plan to fail, even if they are huge war robots. He was so certain that he could defeat me with ease and that his armour was unbreakable that he didn't try to cloak himself until he was already wounded. I was able to damage his feet and blaster and then fry his brain-the robotic equivalent. Despite his defeat, the Decepticons as a whole are still the supreme form of life in the universe. It is our loyalty to them that keeps us alive and unenslaved, the one pony virtue that is a Decepticon virtue too. Should this planet ever be attacked by foreigners, we must fight with the Decepticons against their foes. If we should die in the process, that won't mean we are tortured in the afterlife. Red Cross has given me a 50/50 chance of dying within a week from my wounds. If that happens, bury me and say a Megatronist prayer over my grave. I have faith that my afterlife will be OK. If I survive a week, I am very likely to fully heal although my fur will take months to grow back. At least my cutie mark is undamaged." He stroked it with a hoof and it glittered under his touch as if it were made of metal.

Decepticon Afterlife


The bot found himself in a small room with three screens representing the Realm of Endless Energon, the Neutral Realm and the Realm of Punishment. He knew that he was very unlikely to get into Decepticon Heaven as being defeated by a biological the size of his little finger due to his own enormous overconfidence and pride would surely count as a minus. Soon enough an Afterlife Administrator came into the room and he didn't look happy.

Equestrian Resource Assimilation Company
Recycling Plant

Back at the mine, the mine owner was furious, his eyes dark and his engine running roughly. "He got unfortunate results against a WHAT!?? And he lost our right to our property!!?Throw it in the pit. And don't admit that we ever hired such a worthless piece of junk! " Within a short time the company records would be changed to delete the piece of junk's name No bot there would look for a Save Disc for him as they saw him as an utterly worthless failure who was better dead. As they were about to toss the body into a foundry..."HOLD IT!" Domintel had arrived to take the body for an autopsy to find out what catastrophic failure had resulted in the bot's death at the hooves of a single ordinary pony. The secrecy of his death-and of how he died- would be maintained for the sake of his family Line. Only the deaths of traitor bots were ever made public and this bot's Coder should not be shamed.


Within a day or so a bot named Mortician was investigating. He soon reported that the mind and motion boards and personality chip were so closely linked that one board being fried by what appeared to be lightning shorted them all out at once, most likely killing the bot outright.

Cybertron

Marketeer backfired in shock and horror when he failed despite seemingly doing everything right. When he heard the cause, he would have blushed with embarrassment and shame if he had been a biological. He had forgotten to mind-transfer himself out at the end and if it were real would have killed himself. He set up something in his mind boards to stop that ever happening again.


An Asteroid somewhere in the Empire


A pair of FNGs were manning a listening post that listened into planets that were many light years from the borders of the Empire, and they overhead a Vallermoorian space admiral talking to someone else over the radio.


Vallermoore: “Please divert your course 15 degrees to the North to avoid a collision.”
Roquatirrin: “Recommend you divert YOUR course 15 degrees to the South to avoid a collision.”
Vallermoore: “This is the captain of a Vallermoorian Navy ship. I say again, divert YOUR course.”
Roquatirrin: “No, I say again, you divert YOUR course.”
Vallermoore: “THIS IS THE AIRCRAFT CARRIER HMS ORION, THE SECOND LARGEST SHIP IN THE VALLERMORIAN SPACE FLEET. WE ARE ACCOMPANIED BY THREE DESTROYERS, THREE CRUISERS AND NUMEROUS SUPPORT VESSELS. I DEMAND THAT YOU CHANGE YOUR COURSE 15 DEGREES NORTH. THAT’S ONE-FIVE DEGREES NORTH, OR COUNTER MEASURES WILL BE UNDERTAKEN TO ENSURE THE SAFETY OF THIS SHIP.”
Roquatirrin: “This is a space lighthouse. Your call.”

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!! That stupid biological! Let's send this up to General Soundwave so he can have a good laugh at it." It was signed and hashed and sent up to the General. Making Soundwave laugh would do no harm to the FNGs or their careers.

[Victorious Decepticons]

Equestria

Even though Whipcracker attended the party, it wasn't long before his adrenaline levels dropped and a combination of pain and exhaustion set in. He retired to his house early, accompanied by Red Cross and a couple of attendants. For the next several days, he would not be seen, though his attendants came out every so often to collect apples.

As the week went on, the other ponies made sure to drop off "get well" presents and even more apples, but Whipcracker did not come out. Red Cross informed them that it was a bad idea for him to see visitors directly because so much foot traffic would bring germs into the room where he was recovering. All of the ponies in the village were worried, though the slaves didn't seem as concerned. "Horses are strong," they figured, "and ponies are just little horses!" Of course, the slaves had never been told of all of the ways ponies could crash, since they were easier to keep under control if their masters seemed extra-sturdy.

Finally, at the end of the week, the door of Whipcracker's house opened and everyone waited to hear whatever announcement would be made. Red Cross came out, looking professional like a doctor should, and ponies crowded around to hear the news.

"Whipcracker has made it through the most critical time," Red Cross told everyone. He then had to wait for the cheers to die down before he went on. "That said, he still isn't guaranteed to remain with us. He will have to remain in quarantine for a while longer to help reduce the risk of infection. He will also have to keep eating applesauce in order to avoid taxing his digestive system. This will allow his body to devote most of its energy to healing. It could be another two weeks or even a month before he comes out, and then, his activity will likely be limited. That is, of course, if he listens to my advice. Like any leader, he is a bit of a go-getter, so he may decide to resume his activities a bit sooner..."

Though Red Cross seemed a bit guarded, everyone cheered. Even some of the slaves joined in. As Red Cross gave a slight smile, the town cat slipped in for a closer look.

~~~~~~~~~

Whipcracker didn't take long to detect the DomIntel agent now that he had used his magic against another Decepticon. He instantly spotted the unique energy signature of a sapient machine and looked over through somewhat bleary eyes, doing his best to come to ready in case he would be forced to fight.

When he saw it was a "cat," he visibly relaxed. "DomIntel," he said with relief. "Damn, I thought you were some friend of that other guy here to do me in!" His tail flicked weakly.

"You biologicals sure take a long time to repair yourselves," the 'cat' said openly, now that his cover was blown. "It'd take a Decepticon about 17 hours to replace all of those outer panels, at least if he had the cash on hand to buy them. The worst part would be walking through the streets all scorched, because everyone would assume there were unfortunate results even if you won."

The "cat" paced around the room a bit. "I suppose you have no way to turn your pain sensors off. I think I could hook you up with a fix for that. It would, however, cost you. This sort of substance doesn't come for free. You got anything worth trading?"

The agent's guess was right: Like other biologicals, Whipcracker would ordinarily feel pain until the damage was at least mostly healed, and it would take some sort of painkiller to jam the signal. The pony knew that the agent surely meant to hook him up with some sort of drugs, likely of dubious legality and high risk of addiction, but the pain of near-100% burns was quite extreme even with magical treatment. It would surely be worth the risk of "a little something" from one of the Cybertronian syndicates, if he could come up with some sort of a payment.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Decepticon Afterlife

The Afterlife Administrator was aloof as he said, "you have brought shame on the Decepticon People by losing to such an inferior. However, you did not act out of treasonous intent. You simply forgot that not all biologicals are limited to worthless little pistols and such. That fact has spared you from the Realm of Punishment, but such a loss also bars you from the better parts of the Neutral Realm. Also, you were a mere employee at the time of your death. An overseer. While that is better than a factory employee, and gave you dominion over many of our lessers, it was still just employment."

"With these things in mind, you are assigned to serve as a battle simulation machine for the next 200 years. This will hopefully get any desire to just be a service-bot out of you, while also giving you 200 years to watch how to win battles. After that, your case and progress will be re-evaluated for possible re-assignment, hopefully to something better."

At that, the floor opened, and the overseer felt himself drop sharply - only to end up with his mind now in some sort of arcade-type machine. In front of him, a long line of Paranormal Battalion soldiers waited their turn to fight it out against the machine's AI - which, it turned out, was now integrated with the mind of the new arrival.

~~~~~~~~~~

Cybertron
Military Development Complex

The engineers here were more than a bit dismayed when they got the forensics report on the overseer's deactivated body. The findings highlighted a problem that they'd known about for years, but had never come up with a suitable solution for. Adding fuses between each board would contain the damage to whichever one was struck, but cutting off the power in that way often stopped critical programs midstream - causing the affected bot to crash in a catastrophic way. Though catastrophic programmatic crashing itself typically wasn't fatal, it did shut down the afflicted one just as good as killing him, and this typically gave enemies the chance to make the condition permanent.

"There is only one good solution," the project leader said. "We must develop armor that cannot be defeated by fireballs of the strength or heat level generated by the victor of that duel, even if the same spot is hit multiple times. We must also develop a better type of board coating - one that provides actual insulation - as a further line of defense against overload from external sources of electricity. And, of course, we need to make our Faraday cages more resilient."

With that, work began on the stated developments. It was likely that any Faraday improvements would go straight out to the general public, but the rest would, at least for now, be kept as part of the MilSpec body system. Even though it was a non-soldier who had suffered the unfortunate results, the Military figured that the chance of a civilian regularly needing such protection was relatively low. Therefore, it was best to retain the element of surprise for soldiers, who had a higher chance of running into something like that when invading some place that was full of magical ponies.

~~~~~~~~~~

Marketeer's Military Base

Marketeer and a few others were subdued after the first simulation exercise, and they went to their rooms to mull their results and to defrag. The next day, they were back in the same room, but the sims had been changed.

Now, the holovisions showed the trainees as human soldiers on a military base. They were each portrayed as the only Decepticon in a group of about 100 humans. All were dressed in combat fatigues and apparently taking part in some drill for the unnamed country whose army they were in.

After showing this scene for about a minute - giving the trainees a chance to get a bit familiar with the setting - it paused, and words came up.

"Like many armies, this one has drills for dealing with enemy fire. The one you are getting ready for involves the use of rubber bullets, and is intended to emphasize the importance of properly wearing and using body armor. In every drill like this, some take a rubber bullet to some unarmored body part. Since the bullets aren't meant to be deadly, this typically results in some bruises, and for the unlucky, a broken finger or some other such damage."

"Decepticons, you are to replace as many of those rubber-bullet magazines with real bullets as you can. This likely will not result in much death, but if you can switch enough of the magazines, it will create enough maiming to severely compromise the effectiveness of the unit."

"The difficulty of this mission won't be in gaining access to the rubber-bullet magazines. You can assume that you have been set up with the proper security clearances to be in that part of the armory. The hard part will be smuggling the real-bullet magazines in from the Dropoff Point" - a big, red X began to pulse in the woods several yards outside of the training area - "switching them, and then getting rid of the unused rubber-bullet magazines so that there are no unaccounted-for extras in the ammo room. This test will be measuring your ingenuity at getting this done, your speed, your ability to avoid raising suspicion, and the overall success of your mission."

[Vallermoore]

Cybertron
Military Development Complex


The engineers were in a bit of a pickle, because adding fuses between the boards would protect them but in tests under controlled conditions, first on boards, then on live bots who had made Save Discs first, had caused crashes to happen, leaving the bot defenceless against his foes be they robot or biological. It was decided upon stronger Faraday cages to protect the delicate electronics from lightning and other electricity, better insulation for mind boards and stronger armour in the first place that could withstand multiple fireballs or the equivalent energy. Clearly the armour on that bot was substandard if pony magic could bust it up. It was very much in the interest of the Decepticon Nation as a whole that average biologicals should not be able to defeat the huge war robots. Although Megatron would never admit it to anyone else, and maybe not even to himself, in a way he saw the Nation like a Changeling Queen viewed her Hive. Individual bots did not matter, but the Nation as a whole very much did, and He had a love for it and it's piratical ways. The improved Faraday Cage would find it's way quickly to any bot who could afford it but-for now-the other improvements would be limited to Mil-Spec bodies only. Given enough time, they too would eventually find their way to the general population as well, sooner or later they always did even if it took decades.

Decepticon Afterlife


The Afterlife Administrator was rather haughty and annoyed. "You have brought shame on the Decepticon People by losing to such an inferior. However, you did not act out of treasonous intent. You simply forgot that not all biologicals are limited to worthless little pistols and such. That fact has spared you from the Realm of Punishment, but such a loss also bars you from the better parts of the Neutral Realm. Also, you were a mere employee at the time of your death. An overseer. While that is better than a factory employee, and gave you dominion over many of our lessers, it was still just employment. With these things in mind, you are assigned to serve as a battle simulation machine for the next 200 years. This will hopefully get any desire to just be a service-bot out of you, while also giving you 200 years to watch how to win battles. After that, your case and progress will be re-evaluated for possible re-assignment, hopefully to something better."

The Paranormal Bots would face anything from simulated Coltani and Xaxhazian revolts to changeling hives to pony planets to human planets to strange aliens. As an afterlife, it was not as bad as it could have been. Overconfidence was hardly the worst of Megatronist sins after all.

Marketeer's Military Base


This time Marketeer would be ready to mind-transfer out when the job was fully completed. He found himself in the woods, where he had to sneak past a couple of human patrols with his camoflauge on, then bluff his way through the sentries, switch the magazines, make sure there was no trace of the switching, get out, get back to the woods with his camoflauge on and finally, when everything was done as well as possible, mind transfer out. He had one or two close encounters but managed to do the job without being compromised and then to mind transfer out at the end.

Equestria


Injured as he was, Whipcracker insisted on attending the party held in his honour and even managed to eat a few apple slices and give a much needed speech before, with the danger gone, his wounds began to really hurt and tiredness set in. He went back to his house early, Red Cross atending to him. Every pony there wanted him to recover, and left him apples and other pony treats. They were truely in awe of a pony who could defeat a war robot foe the size of a block of flats and still be alive. If he could short out a bot, he was much stronger then any pony foe in their minds. Also, he had made sure they got to keep their slaves which was a massive plus. Red Cross had to stop them coming in to see Whipcracker, because dirt, spores and other random yukkyness brought in on their hooves and their breath could prove fatal. A single spore of the wrong kind getting into the wrong place could possibly make Whipcracker scratch himself to death if it spread fungus all over his body. A germ that was normally pretty harmless might cause dreadful disease. Whilst he had survived the critical time,death was still not fully at bay yet.

"Whipcracker has made it through the most critical time," Red Cross told everyone. He then had to wait for the cheers to die down before he went on. "That said, he still isn't guaranteed to remain with us. He will have to remain in quarantine for a while longer to help reduce the risk of infection. He will also have to keep eating applesauce in order to avoid taxing his digestive system. This will allow his body to devote most of its energy to healing. It could be another two weeks or even a month before he comes out, and then, his activity will likely be limited. That is, of course, if he listens to my advice. Like any leader, he is a bit of a go-getter, so he may decide to resume his activities a bit sooner..." There were cheers from all the ponies and from those slaves who had been saved from mine slavery as well. They hoped he would soon be back in charge, and a couple of mares were making a coat for him to wear until his fur grew back.


*****

When Whipcracker detected the energy of another bot, he thought it was a problem solver sent for revenge at first, and managed to make his horn glow, and was relieved that it was Domintel. DomIntel," he said with relief. "Damn, I thought you were some friend of that other guy here to do me in!" His tail flicked around a bit in sheer relief, as even a relitively weak android (compared with a full size Decepticon) could easily kill him injured as he was. "You biologicals sure take a long time to repair yourselves. t'd take a Decepticon about 17 hours to replace all of those outer panels, at least if he had the cash on hand to buy them. The worst part would be walking through the streets all scorched, because everyone would assume there were unfortunate results even if you won."

"Our bodies do heal themselves...but very slowly and sometimes not fully at all."

The "cat" paced around the room a bit. "I suppose you have no way to turn your pain sensors off. I think I could hook you up with a fix for that. It would, however, cost you. This sort of substance doesn't come for free. You got anything worth trading?"

"What would you like? I gave my DNA already in exchange for slaves, and pony food and the like is useless from a bot's point of view. I could show you how to do pony magic if that is any use to you. I do have some money, but you bots can forge all money but your own."

[Victorious Decepticons]

Cybertron

Marketeer was lucky that his mission didn't include the need to stay embedded in the unit, so his hasty mind-transfer didn't count against him. However, whether or not to mind-transfer would normally depend on the specifics of a mission, and if they didn't include the deactivation of the body he was in, it was sometimes better to stick around in order to cause more mayhem (or spy more) among the enemy ranks.

This time, though, he passed without any problems.

"Now, you will face your biggest challenge so far," a Trainer announced after entering the room. "So far, you have shown your skills at flying at ace level, and then faked an accident to deactivate specific targets. Now, however, your greatest flight challenge awaits: You must fly like a biological! Which is to say, you will not be the plane. You will be a pilot, human-style, using an android body. You'll figure out how to use the controls fast enough. The problem is, you'll naturally attain an extreme skill level - a level that a human would need at least 10 years of stunt pilot practice to match. In this mission, you'll be pretending to be someone with just regular commercial aviation experience. To pull off the ruse, you'll need to...basically, suck at aviation."

Everyone groaned. It was well-known that regular human pilots had trouble with even the simplest maneuvers, especially when tasked with flying large planes. They could barely do a barrel roll with a 300-passenger aircraft, while any Decepticon with a decent navigation module could do all of the tricks that species thought of as high level! Humans were so bad at it that they thought it was against the laws of physics to make that kind of a plane perform that way. Even worse, some aircraft makers thought the same thing, so they really didn't even build the needed durability into their products.

"Watch your holovisions for the details," the trainer instructed.

Everyone looked down, and there, the mission "set up" was already being displayed.

In this scenario, the soldier had infiltrated - using a human-android body - and had been slipped into the position of pilot for a charter flight. This flight was intended to take 100 scientists, engineers, and related people from a military-industrial conference on a tropical island back to the mainland airport.

In this case, the goal wasn't simply to delete them. Instead, they were to be flown to a different island, where Soundwave and several ForIntel agents would code-read them to find out their secrets. In order to prevent chaos on the plane - and attempts at redirecting it to the proper destination - the Decepticon pilot would have to perfectly imitate the way a human one would fly. If anyone on board noticed that they were going to another island, rather than the expected mainland airport, the pilot would also have to come up with some BS on the fly in order to convince them that the detour was both legitimate and necessary.

After this, instructions for flying a 2000s human-style aircraft scrolled by in fast Binary. Thanks to being a robot, he had no trouble reading and understanding them at this speed. His system automatically converted the information into the needed scripting. As the Trainer had warned, the resulting code was indeed at a far higher level than a human would have at his character's time of training. He would have to nerf it to a large extent, or else end up doing things that no "average human pilot" could hope to pull off.

After Marketeer hit a button indicating that he had read the set-up and instructions, the scene opened. He found himself sitting in the cockpit of a decent-sized commuter plane, its engines idling. By checking a tiny screen near the instruments, he could see the intellectuals filing into the seats. Most looked tired, and some were clearly either a bit drunk or quite hung over. Obviously, the conference they had attended included a lot of time for fun the night before.

Finally, everyone was on board, and the stewardesses (who were NOT in on it), closed the door. Marketeer was given the okay to take off...

Equestria

The "cat" acted as if it was thinking for a while, but this was just a ruse. In reality, he had a plan already formed.

"We have a general who is into agriculture," it began. "You may have heard of him...General Carjack? He has a good mastery of destructive magic. In fact, he is suspected to be behind a few sudden crashes that seem to have had no physical cause. However, he isn't all that great at what some call 'white' magic. He can get his crops to grow a bit better than what pure physical means would bring about, but he isn't satisfied with the results." The cat did not look pleased to be bothering with this sort of thing now. Perhaps it thought that it would be better to just have Biological Research code in the desired effects.

"It is our understanding that 'earth ponies' have the ability to magically enhance crop growth. The General would like the best of these to train him in this skill until he has proper mastery over it. In exchange, he will provide a suitable quantity of opium-based painkillers. If he is highly pleased with the results of the training, he'll send along a DeAddiction Patch once your treatment is complete. This patch will block all negative withdrawal symptoms as well as cravings."

"This is not actually a DomIntel project. I will disclose that I will personally benefit from improving my favor with the General if you agree. DomIntel can do many things, but some issues must be dealt with in a more private way..."

Whipcracker thought for a bit. He remembered that it was illegal for a DomIntel agent to use his position for matters of personal revenge or rivalry. Those matters were to be dealt with "privately" - the exact word the agent had just used. Was he trying to entice Carjack to be his problem solver? It was likely the case.

Even so, that matter didn't concern Whipcracker. All he'd have to do for effective pain relief is order some earth pony to go (or more accurately, get a ride) to Earth and teach Carjack how to make things grow great guns by magic. Surely he knew of one who would be both willing and able...

[Vallermoore]

Cybertron


When the bots heard of their next test, they all groaned. This time they would be an android pilot flying a plane at a biological level, which was rather like asking an adult human or pony to crawl along the floor like a toddler. They could not mentally switch off or the plane would crash and the mission would be a big fat failure. But they could not fly like a Decepticon or they would be found out and fail. Marketeer put himself into "work mode" like he did when working for Mr Guzman and so managed to beat the urge to go gallivanting around the sky and blow his cover. It was possible that not all the other bots would be able to do that. When he needed to come up with an excuse to change direction he told the passengers that drones had been seen in the airspace over the planned landing area that were a danger to the plane. He landed it at the spot where the ambush was planned and let the passengers out, then took off again, and used his android body's internal radio in coded Binary to ask his superiors if he should crash the plane in the sea and mind transfer out or just go back to the airport he had come from.

Equestria

The cat told him that General Carjack the Genocider could use the help of an earth pony or two so that he could held his crops grow. Once he had checked that the ponies would not just be deleted on sight, as General Carjack was not exactly pro pony, two ponies with crop-growing cutie marks named Warm Sun and Grow Up were selected, warned not to anger the General-or wake him up, which would be just as bad-and the agent himself would come in a full size body and fly them there. Since the agent really needed the General's help, he would bear the feelings of biologicals in his body even though the feeling was unpleasant.


For Whipcracker, the pain was growing and worse, some areas were itching. He scratched the itches with the magic from his horn, but that tore the bandages and pulled off many of the scabs. Red Cross came in to find Whipcracker bleeding in many places. Assuming Whipcracker survived and did not die of his wounds later on or of a raging infection, he would now have several scars at the least. Whipcracker's body had a glow of magic as random itches were scratched.