From the depths of deep space, at the forgotten edge of the Milky Way, there lay a solitary system bathed in such faint sunlight that it seemed to struggle against the darkness of the void.
A colossal gas giant stood out amidst the shadows. Its atmosphere was a wall of dense clouds and eternal storms. Yet, buried within the atmospheric chaos, there was an anomaly: a habitable zone, shielded by a pulsating energy field. Within that vortex, a city of gleaming metal stretched like a living structure, resembling a massive command bridge.
There, flesh-bound creatures covered in tentacles frantically typed into holographic terminals. Their movements were hurried, almost desperate. Metallic chains wrapped around their necks like suffocating collars, reminders of their wretched condition.
"Keep working, you filth. I don't want to see any of you wasting time," declared an imposing Cybertronian with disdain, striding firmly across the main hall.
The Bot observed the rhythm of the enslaved with cold eyes. One of them, slower than the rest, drew attention. Without hesitation, the Cybertronian raised the sword already in hand and, with a single strike, severed the prisoner's head. The sound of the body collapsing and the viscous splatter of green blood provoked muffled cries among the other Quintessons.
"I don't want to see anyone here slowing down, understood, you sacks of flesh?"
The order, cruel and direct, was enough for everyone to resume their work in panic, typing as if their lives depended on it and indeed, they did.
Minutes passed. The stench of freshly executed flesh still lingered in the air when one of the main sensors began to emit an alert. One of the satellite-posts scattered across the galaxy had detected something unusual.
"Energy spikes detected… equivalent to type-five supernova explosions," reported one of the Quintessons, trying to remain calm.
"Find the origin of that spike… and the composition of the energy," ordered the knight, dragging the tip of his sword across the metallic floor, sparks leaping with each scrape. The grating sound was a silent threat, like a veiled countdown.
"Composition identified… it's Energon, sir. But in its purest state… it resembles the readings of—"
"Allspark," the knight interrupted, his voice low and heavy with gravity. "Deliver the energy spike data. Now!!!"
One of the Quintessons transmitted the coordinates and collected information directly to the main storage core.
The knight then tilted his head, his gaze serious—this was only the harbinger of the end. With a sudden and brutal movement, he swung his sword through the air and, in the blink of an eye, decapitated everyone present. The silence that followed was deadlier than the blows.
The knight turned, walking calmly toward a second Cybertronian who had been observing from a distance. Without a word, he tossed a metallic cylinder—a device containing all the accumulated information from recent years.
"I'll handle this. You can tell him," declared the knight, his eyes burning like a blazing forge.
The companion caught the cylinder and, without hesitation, turned on his heels, leaving the chamber.He walked through the dark corridors of the facility, flanked by rusted panels and metallic beams that whispered with ancient echoes. Through the grates of a honeycomb-shaped window, an industrial forest of twisted iron and towers could be seen. Below, countless Quintessons worked under inhuman conditions, chained and bent beneath the weight of their servitude.
The knight did not look away. To him, that race deserved suffering and worse. It was a blood debt, a price for everything their ancestors had done. Redemption, if it even existed, would never come through mercy.
He continued until he reached a colossal door forged of blackened metal. With silent precision, he entered the code. A metallic groan broke the silence as hydraulic engines opened the path to the next wing.
He entered an even larger corridor. The walls bore massive pillars scarred by colossal claws. From the ceiling, hanging like an ancestral shadow, a metallic tail lazily coiled around a cylindrical support.
In the half-light, the orange glow of the creature reflected the scarce illumination. Metallic scales clinked softly as one of its wings stretched—broad, sharp, and menacing. This was no mere beast. It was a Predacon.
But the knight ignored it. That monster no longer threatened him. It was a living memory of ancient times, of the blood-soaked wars of his homeworld. And he had other matters to attend to.
He advanced until reaching the main command post, a vast chamber filled with terminals and control panels. Other knights were present, their body armor worn but functioning, as if this were just another day in a millennia-old routine.
"So, man… what did you find? You're more excited than usual," mocked one of the knights, his armor dyed in dark red, weathered by time.
"Shut up, you idiot. We found the signal we've been waiting for," the newcomer replied coldly. He tossed the cylinder onto the command table, where it was instantly pulled in by magnetic force and locked into a specific slot. A hologram of the Milky Way projected itself at the center of the room, pulsing slowly with bluish energy.
"That signal… then it means we can finally—"
"Exactly. The moment of our vengeance is about to begin."
The voice did not come from any of those present. Deep, dark, and heavy with authority, it echoed through the chamber. The knights immediately snapped to attention.
From the back of the room, a figure emerged, one that made the very light hesitate around him.
It was Lockdown.
His black armor was stained with subtle traces of rust, like scars of time. Parts of his body glowed with verdant circuitry, pulsing with living energy. His eyes, two emerald beacons, cut through the darkness. But the most striking detail was the deep scar that crossed his face—an old, grievous wound, a memory carved into metal and hatred.
"Commander Lockdown, we are ready for the attack," said the knight responsible for the report.
"I know," Lockdown replied, his voice low, almost mechanical, yet filled with conviction. "My knights… for years we have waited for this chance. The opportunity to restore what was lost. Our home fell into darkness, abandoned to the childish wars between Autobots and those false Decepticons—both unworthy of the heritage they fight over."
He walked as he spoke, as if his words weighed more than the very ground beneath his steps.
"Our isolation was never a prison, but a forge. Even reduced, we survived. And now, the signal has appeared. The AllSpark. The spark of origin. The flame that can reignite everything."
"Commander, shall I prepare the ships for battle?" asked one of the soldiers, eager.
"Not yet. Keep the AllSpark's signal under constant watch. I don't want it slipping from our sight. I will make a consultation… and then we shall decide how to proceed," he ordered. "Above all, remain vigilant. The AllSpark's location coincides with the current battleground of the Autobots and those impostors who dare wear our name."
Silence fell over the chamber. Every knight understood the weight of the moment. After ages hidden in the shadows, they could finally force their way out of isolation.
Lockdown followed a path apart from the base's common corridors. Now his footsteps echoed into an isolated chamber—his personal chamber. The place was dim, dusty, and the air carried a heavy silence, as though time itself had stopped there. The walls were lined with rows upon rows of weapons: swords, rifles, daggers, plasma launchers—each carefully placed, as if handpicked by a curator of destruction. They were all he ever knew how to wield.
The veteran Decepticon walked slowly until he realized he was not alone. Something was… out of place. He sighed, annoyed.
"May I know what you're doing here, Blackarachnia?"
He turned to face the intruder. She was perched casually atop one of the elevated shelves, her long legs crossed provocatively, as if defying Lockdown was nothing more than a game. Her slender body, nearly six meters tall, was clad in black armor accented with golden lines. From her back extended three pairs of spider-like claws, sharp as guillotine blades.
"Just watching," she said with a mocking smile. "I noticed you slipped into your 'sacred hideout,' so I thought… why not join in? It's unusual to see you this restless. I've never seen you like this before."
"You're lucky you're useful. Otherwise, I'd have torn your head off long ago," Lockdown growled—not raising his voice, but stating a simple fact. And she knew it.
Blackarachnia didn't respond. She knew her place, and that she wouldn't stand a chance in a direct confrontation with Lockdown. Testing her luck was the last thing she wanted.
"So, you're going to contact him," she said, her sharp eyes following every movement of the leader.
"That much is obvious, girl." He pulled a lever embedded in the wall. With a metallic boom, a sliding panel revealed yet another hidden chamber.
"How cliché… a secret vault with a secret room inside. You really live inside a foolish stereotype," she remarked sarcastically as she followed him down the stairway.
The inner structure spiraled downward, as if they were descending into the entrails of a dead planet. At the end of the staircase, it opened into a vast subterranean cavern. The place was filled with crystalline mineral formations and improvised technological stations. At the center, a laboratory gleamed beneath a translucent metallic dome, where circuits pulsed like living arteries.
A figure worked at a nearby table, focused. A single glowing eye reflected the light like a blade. His body was a deep shade of purple, fragmented by scars and grafts. One of his arms was a massive cannon—an artifact of destruction capable of obliterating armor with ease.
"Shockwave," Lockdown announced as he approached. "Have you finished the interdimensional transmission system?"
"Constructing a transmitter capable of breaching dimensions is no simple task, Lockdown," Shockwave replied, his voice cold and precise. "But now, with my efforts properly directed, I have completed the project."
He turned slightly, revealing an artifact resting upon the workbench. It was a mask of ancient design, forged in a dark hue with ancestral symbols etched into its surface.
"Additionally, I considered reconstructing an item of singular relevance: the Triptych Mask, once belonging to Onyx Prime."
"So you finally fixed that thing?" Blackarachnia stepped closer, examining the artifact with sharp eyes. "What did it take you—two million years?"
"Precisely 8,583,393 years," Shockwave corrected, with his usual mathematical accuracy. "The mask's complexity involves multiple technological layers and mystical components. As you know, I am not an enthusiast of mysticism in science."
He pressed a button on his terminal. The mask began to pulse with a faint light, and a flickering hologram shimmered in the air, projecting interdimensional data.
"The last time we activated the mask, we encountered critical audio failures. Now, everything is fully functional. According to my calculations, the communication channel is stable."
"Then you already know what to do," Lockdown declared, folding his arms. "Input the coordinates. I want the connection with the dimension where Megatronus resides."