Title:Homeward Bound: The (Not So) Incredible Journey

Warning: Most of the parts of this were written after MTMTE#8, so if the Scavengers do reappear in the series, this story will likely contradict however they get written. Other than that, beware of Decepticons being Decepticons. Not the brightest and best, but still. Decepticons.

Rating: PG-13

Continuity: IDW

Characters: Fulcrum, Krok, Flywheels, Misfire, Crankcase, Spinister, Grimlock

Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.

Motivation (Prompt): Separated out from Candy From Strangers, most of these were Halloween Candy prompts. It just finally got long enough that I'm making it a story on its own so people can read it straight through.


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"Danse Macabre"

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They'd come from all walks of life, from strategist to combat specialist to technician. They'd held every rank in the faction: commander, subcommander, lieutenant, corporal, sergeant, and grunt. They'd been set-up and guilty, defiant and apologetic, traitors and loyalists, terrified and enraged. Some of them hadn't even been convicted yet.

When the orders came down, what the Decepticons had been no longer mattered. The prisoners' short futures became the focus as their pasts wiped cleanly away in a mass reformat. A thousand different mechs had been imprisoned, but only the K-Class emerged from Styx.

Cowardice didn't mean much once he jumped - or was pushed, really. The drop guards were sure to place him at the front of the formation. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to escape to. There was nowhere left to go but out and then down, pulled by gravity and fate.

Fulcrum turned in midair, and he watched through the detachment of paralyzing fear as the Decepticons around him nosedived in a suicidal rain. They dropped amidst explosions of Autobot ordinance, dancing on the shockwaves and hot air, and everything they had once been became unrecognizable in what they transformed to become. Their pasts were unimportant; rank and personality and crimes erased by imminent death, indistinguishable at the very end.

A thousand bombs fell from the sky, in a thousand equal payloads.


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