State Games

A tale from Cybertron, State Games

Out of the ashes of a friendly contest, the Decepticons were born!

“Megatron!”

The first blow fractured Sunstreaker's battle mask. Fluid seeped across his forehead and down towards his face.

“Megatron!”

A second blow, this time unseen, splintered the Autobot's shield and almost severed his left arm.

“Megatron!”

Yet another blow and another. Another. A rythmic assault timed to the crowd's growing chant.

“Megatron! Megatron!”

Sunstreaker took a step backwards. He raised his broken arm and with a single graceful movement he cast the now useless mask to the far side of the arena. Fuel and lubricant impaired his vision and the crowd blurred to a deafening roar.

Sunstreaker had expected a hard contest; Megatron was a citizen of Tarn, and here in this arena he had the advantage of fighting in front of a home crowd. But something else was wrong...terribly wrong.

Gladiatorial contests were common throughout Cybertron. Steeped in tradition, they were primarily designed to test an indivdual's althletic ability, his aptitude with shield and energy weapon, his acrobatic skill. The actual combat itself was far less important.

Yet from the moment of entering the arena, Megatron had fought wuth an unbelievable ferocity. Every vulgar movement timed to the swaying of his frenzied supporters. Each bestial attack punctuated by their screams. With growing horror, Sunstreaker realized that this was no rituralised conflict he was engaged in.

This was...

...Circuit numbing agony as Megatron's energy ace lodged deep in the golden Autobot's sholder. The world became dull, the crowd somehow remote and then Sunstreaker was thrown to the arena's smooth surface as with a brutal tug, Megatron tore his weapon free from his opponent's body.

Tarn's crowded citizenry howled their approval as their champion loomed towards his stricken foe. He raised the energy axe once more, his pace slow and deliberate. His weapon shimmering in Cybertron's cool night air.

“Megatron! Megatron! Megatron!”

Last in a Line

The Autobot Overlord slowly opened his eyes. His circuits were now fully charged and the growing chant from the arena outside told him he'd soon be presenting another winning gladiator with an award.

Electricity hummed and sparked as with weary resignation he pulled away from the circuit-encrusted wall he’d been imbedded in. The fact that his energy levels now needed almost constant replenishing was but another indication of the Overlord’s great age.

He was the last in the line of Autobots that once ruled Cybertron and this fact weighed heavy on him. What had finally caused the planet wide autocracy of his forefathers to give way to the loose collection of independent states that existed today, the Overlord could not say. But he was convinced that the Autobots thirst for fuel sources had contributed to the change.

The overlord himself was testament to the fact that the people of Cybertron were a hardy race. For thousands of years, perhaps longer, natural death had been an alien concept to them; Yet with the creation of new transformer life continuing unabated, It should’ve come as no surprise that one day the planet would face an unprecedented energy crisis.

That day had arrived. Cities swelled to capacity and competition for fuel had become an intense and bitter struggle. The largest of Cybertron's cities were able to monopolise the planets meagre resources and as the crisis deepened, not even the Overlord of the time could prevent his people from fragmenting into countless groups.

Iacon emerged as the strongest of these newly-created city states and its council of governing elders use their powers to ration and distribute fuel to the city's less advantaged neighbours.

Not so Shockwave, the military ruler of Cybertron's second largest city Tarn; nor Starscream, figurehead of the controlling dictators of Vos, Who use their not inconsiderable fuel stocks to create and maintain vast armies.

“You seem tired.” An ebony cat-like Transformer padded into the cavernous room. He moved with heavy lumbering steps, and pointed fangs, well kept and incredibly long protruded from his mouth as he spoke.

“What? Oh... Nightstalker.” The Overlord turned with stiffening joints towards his visitor. "No, old friend, at least, no more than usual.”

“Then you need much rest.” Nightstalker grinned.

Along with Ravage he had been bodyguard to the Overlords for generations and now he thanked the celestial spires he had been spared the peculiar melancholy that seemed to take hold of them in the final centuries of their lives. “Do the Games progress well?”

“The Games,” the Overlord said, shaking his head slowly, “The Games do not progress at all.”

He placed an ancient hand on his companion's shoulder. Recent years has seen an alarming increasing tensions between the city states. It appeared that now the unthinkable was no longer so and many openly expressed their fears that Cybertron was moving rapidly along a path towards global warfare.

In order to promote goodwill, the Overlord had used his still considerable influence to organise an inter-state competition. however the Games, as the competition had become known, had if anything widened the deadly rift between the city states, particularly Iacon and Tarn.

The Overlord rose. “It is time to prepare for…the award ceremony,” he said, his words punctuated by a long, considered pause.

Solitairy Watcher

The spectacle of Gladiatorial combat held little interest for Ravage. He was a creature at home in the shadows and the incessant noise of the spectators to such affairs held little appeal to his solitary nature. Yet now he watched, with mounting curiosity as as spectacular drama unfolded in the arena before him.

Megatron was indeed a formidable warrior; He fought with a skill and determination ravage had not seen for centuries.

But there was more to Megatron than combat. His perfectly executed movements suggested the sharp, calculating mind of a true tactician and the manner in which he incited the crowd and bent them to his will, needed a particular spark of leadership Cybertron had not seen since the time of the ruling Overlords. Yes, there was more to Megatron than combat - much more.

In the arena, Sunstreaker could no longer hear the crowd. The spectators continued to mock him but there was no sound. There was nothing but an icy grip at the base of the Autobot's neck. Megatron bent lower, his voice wispered from behind a highly polished battle mask, “It is time this farce ended.”

“That is enough!”

The auditorium fell silent and Megatron, sholders hunched, turned to see a tall crimson figure. "Prime," He roared, “I'll brook no interfearence from the likes of you!”

The savage assault took Optimus Prime by suprise, and Iacon's chief athlete found himself lying on the floor of the arena. He tried to regain his footing but Megatron followed his attack though and a gleaming energy axe creased Prime's chest.

Sunstreaker now forgotton, Megatron lurched towards the fallen Iaconian. He raised his energy weapon and... his arm fell limply to his side. His eyes widened and he simply stared into the barrel of Prime's photon pistol.

“Put an end to this violence.” The Overlord's voice carried poorly across the arena. He was now dressed in the heavy robes of his office and appeared, to many amongst the crowd, old and feeble.

Prime stood and holstered his weapon. "My Lord, Megatrin tried...”

“Silence,” the Overlord cut in. “You shame these games, but more importantly you shame yourselves.”

“But...”

“Enough, Prime. I shall postpone the award ceremony for another time cycle, and until then, we should all endeavour to re-establish friendly relations.”

Ravage rose from this vantage point in the crowd and followed Nighstalker into the tower that housed the Overlord's chambers. Was the Overlord so naive as to be unaware of Megatron's true nature? Perhaps. Perhaps not, it mattered little anyway, for the Overlord would be gone soon and with him the planet's ties to the past. And as he was swallowed by the shadows, Ravage reflected that quite possibly, what he had ditnessed in the arena this day, was the opening chapter in the bold new history of Cybertron.

Sabotage!

Framed by a lightning-streaked sky, Tarn's power plant lay ominously silent. Since the start of the Games, only a minimal workforce had been on duty. Which was unfortunate, for had the full engineering staff being present, the group of saboteurs would undoubtedly have been intercepted long before they located the main generator.

Tornado placed a hand on the generators cooling system. “It would take little effort,” he said, “For me to unleash the power necessary to level this pitiful city. Why do we cloak ourselves in darkness, like common criminals? Why?”

A tall Autobot moved determinedly towards Tornado. He silver coloured body was uncharacteristically free from markings, save for one small insignia and this identified him as a commanding officer in the armed forces of the city state of Vos. “We do so because we have been ordered to do so,” he said. “And that is all you need to know!”

The officer stepped back and began to lay the explosives the group had brought with them around the base of the generator. The destruction of this power plant was crucial to the future plans of Vos. After such a blatant act of sabotage, Tarn would almost certainly demand retribution and if evidence suggested Iaconian agents... the neighbouring cities would soon be at war.

Of course, Vos would maintain a strict neutrality... at least until Iacon and Tarn were virtually destroyed, and then, with little effective resistance left to meet them, the armies of Vos would embark on a campaign of global conquest. It was a simple yet effective plan. But it was a plan that failed to account for a solitairy Autobot engineer strolling into the generator room.

The engineer stared with horrified fascination at the small group of saboteurs. “By the Primal programme,” he whispered, all thought of his forthcoming work forgotten.“I recognise you - you're members of the athletic team from Vos!”

The engineer turned and began to make for the room's exit. That a group of supposed athletes had infiltrated such an important power station was cause enough for concern, but the engineer had seen the explosive strapped to the generator and even an Autobot of his limited thought process is could guess at the saboteurs' grim intention!

He opened his wrist communicator and began to broadcast a frantic message to the power plant security officer. Yet this action proved futile as with ease, Tornado used his wind-creating powers to hoist Autobot aloft and throw him violently against the side of the enormous generator. The engineer fell to the room's floor, his limbs twisted under him.

the only evidence of life was a faint crackle coming over his communicator: “Second engineer... we need confirmation of your last statement. Has station security being breached by Agents from Vos? Second engineer, please respond...”

A full quarter of a time cycle after the small band of agents returned across the border into Vos, their explosive detonated, consuming Tarn's power station in a hideous fireball. Night turned today and across the city, countless Autobots stared at the brilliant radiance that filled the horizon with mounting apprehension...

War!

Emeirate Xaaron enter the celestial temple. Iacon's ruling councils deadlocked, and had been since Tarn declared war on Vos. However, the Autobot was determined that today's meeting would produce some positive action.

“How goes the war?” Tomaandi asked, as Xaaron entered the council room.

“It is as we suspected,” Xaaron replied. “Agents from Vos destroyed Tarn's power plant, and...”

“Yes... but there's been only minimal penetration of Vos defence net and shock troops from both cities seem to cross the border indiscriminately.”

“And the refugees,” Tomaadi continued, “what of them?”

“They're being housed in various cities,” Xaaron said. Autobots from both warring states had flooded into Iacon. They were offered fuel and shelter, but Xaaron was convinced that the refugees were only a symptom of a disease that the council had as of yet failed to combat. He raised his head and looked across the council room. “General Traachon, I urge you once more to send a peacekeeping force to the warzone.”

Traachon rose. “No!” he bellowed. “I will not allow an Iaconian force, peacekeeping or otherwise, to be caught in this conflict. Besides, have you considered that it's perhaps in our best interests if Vos and Tarn continue to destroy each other?”

Dangerous Journey

Megatron looked out across the scarred wasteland that had once been his home city. Tarn held little for him now; His destiny lay in Iacon. It was only there he had hoped to create a power base large enough to fulfil his ambitions. Ambitions that would transform Cybertron into a mobile battle-station, which could be then used to establish a galaxy-wide empire. Megatron smiled, and was still smiling when Ravage approached.

“You find our situation amusing?” he asked.

“Oh,” replied Megatron, “I find our situation amusing in the extreme!” and the gladitorial champion of a dying city laughed long and loud at the twist of fate that had allied him to both Optimus Prime and the Autobot Overlord. Prime had been determined to escort the Overlord to the safety of Iacon, yet with the destruction of Tarn's power station, the only way to do so was by travelling through the central combat zone on foot. A treacherous journey at best, so recognising safety in numbers, and having already decided to travel to Iacon himself, Megatron offered to help Prime in his endeavour.

The group's progress had been slow, hindered by frequent encounters with groups of shock troops and by the Overlord's constant need to recharge his ageing circuits. But now they were nearing the border. One final expressway to cross and they would be safe inside Iacon's boundaries.

Megatron turned and stared at where the Overlord lay in the shadow of a building that had once been one of Tarn's border fortresses. The journey across the city had placed two great a strain on the Overlord's feeble circuits and he was undoubtedly now very close to death. Prime was bent low, administering what help he could to the aged Autobot.

This was the opportunity Megatron had been waiting for, and with cautious steps he began to negotiate the non functioning bodies of the autobot warriors that littered the expressway into Iacon. Maintaining a precarious balance, he managed to walk halfway across the gleaming structure before before a weakened support shattered - producing a gaping hole in the expressway.

There was no time to react and Megatron, all thoughts of war-worlds and galactic empires forgotten, found himself falling to Tarn's lower levels. The last thing he experienced before losing consciousness was a sharp, tugging pain in his right arm.

Rescue

Megatron awoke to see Prime standing above him

“It was fortunate I was able to prevent your fall,” the Iaconian said, his words tinged with contempt for Megatron's attempted desertion of the group. “For we'll need all our strength if we're to find an alternative route into Iacon.”

“I'm afraid that will be impossible.”

Prime slowly turned to see Nightstalker approaching. “Why is that?” he asked.

“The Overlord cannot be moved just now... he would never survive another journey.”

then you free must remain here to guard him,” Prime ordered. “I'll travel to Iacon alone and return with help.”

But that will take days,” Nightstalker protested. “The Overlord is in need of immediate medical attention and...”

“I do not intend to try to map a different route into Iacon.” with that, Optimus turned, let over the hole in the expressway and was soon out of sight.

To Nightstalker Tarn had never seemed more peaceful. Before the war the city had teamed with life - boisterous and loud; Yet now all seemed silent. It was a deathly silence which reminded Nightstalker of the Overlord's deteriorating condition and he began to walk towards his master, hoping all the time that Prime would return.

An electron pistol suddenly flared in the darkness and almost simultaneously a high intensity laser beamed melted Nightstalker's missile launcher.

“What - ?” Nightstalker raised his head and saw a small force of shock troops, members of Tarn's now all but defunct military, moving quickly towards him.

“Down!”

Nightstalker ducked and the first of the advancing shock troops were caught in a tremendous explosion. The smoke and debris cleared and the cat like Transformer turned to see Megatron, a fusion cannon from one of the dead warriors on the expressway strapped to his arm. Ravage was standing by, his missiles primed and ready to launch.

“Quickly, move back! They'll re-group soon and attack a second time,” Megatron bellowed.

Final Mission

“Ravage!” cried Megatron. “This is proving fruitless. Our only hope of survival lies in somehow bridging the hole in the expressway. Are you with me?”

Time cycles passed and despite Megatron's deadly weapon, the group found themselves trapped between the shock troops and the impassable expressway.

“No!” Nightstalker leapt into the pack of shock troops. “You can't abandon the Overlord now - you can't!”

The ancient bodyguard soon began to buckle beneath the troops' relentless blows and as an officer prepared to render Nightstalker non-functional, the entire group were destroyed in a thunderous explosion.

His eye circuits momentarily blinded, Megatron could do nothing but remain still. “What happened?” he whispered.

“A bomb,” Ravage explained. “Quite a large bomb to be precise. All Overlord bodyguards are fitted with them. They're designed as a last line of defence. Most effective, don't you agree?”

“Help... please.”

forgotten in the heat of the battle, Megatron now walked over to the Overlord. “Yes?” he asked.

“Your energy... I need some of your energy,” the dying Autobot begged. “Please, just until Prime returns... please.”

“No, old one,” Megatron sneered. “No energy for you!” he smiled a humourless smile. With the Overlord dead, there would be one less to oppose his future plans. And it would be easy to convince Prime and the other Iaconians that the shock of coming under attack had proved too much for the Overlord's weakened circuits...

The Autobot Overlord turned his gaze towards his bodyguard.

“Do not even consider asking the same of me,” ravage growled. “the balance of power on Cybertron is changing and I have chosen to ally myself with the planet's future ruler.”

The final sight to greet the Overlord before becoming non-functional was Ravage slowly stalking over towards Megatron.

Dangerous Developments

From his raised dais, Megatron gazed at the seemingly countless Autobots that had crowded the auditorium - Autobots who had once been proud citizens of Vos and Tarn. But Vos and Tarn longer existed. They had been consumed in the fiery light of two exploding photon missiles.

Megatron did not know what had led to both cities simultaneously launching Cybertron's ‘ultimate deterrent’... he didn't care to know. All that mattered now was that the survivors of the war were united as never before. United in their feelings of hopelessness and frustration.

It had been such a simple task for Megatron to play upon this bitterness, to convince the refugees that Iacon could have ended the conflict, but had failed to do so. And it was with satisfaction that Megatron had learned that many of those gathered in front of him now believed Iacon had actually caused the war, in an attempt to be rid of its more powerful neighbour.

The ex gladiator raised his arms and the restless crowd fell silent. “Our ranks have swollen, our stockpiles of weapons grown,” he bellowed, “But still we must bide our time. From this day forward, we are not merely Transformers, we are not Autobots — we shall call ourselves Decepticons. And when they least expect it, we will have our revenge on the Iaconians!”

As he left the auditorium, Megatron could hear the war of the crowded Decepticons. They were chanting a name. His name.

“Megatron! Megatron! Megatron!”