Unspoken

The Consequences of Power

On the barren surface of the Moon, the Decepticon base was a hive of activity as repairs were underway. Inside the cold, metallic halls, Megatron lay on a repair slab, his optics flickering with a cold, steely anger. Tidal Wave stood nearby, undergoing his own tune-ups after their crushing defeat at the hands of the Autobots and the Requiem Blaster. The battle had exposed weaknesses Megatron hadn't anticipated, and it left him simmering with frustration.

Thrust, the ever-calculating tactician, approached cautiously, knowing full well the dangers of Megatron's wrath. He stood before his leader, optics narrowed behind his visor as he tried to read Megatron's mood.

"My lord," Thrust began, his voice smooth and diplomatic, "I know our recent defeat was... unexpected. But you must understand that the Autobots' victory was a fluke. They had the Requiem Blaster on their side. Without it, they're no match for our forces."

Megatron's optics flared as he slowly sat up on the slab, the metal creaking under his weight. "A fluke?" he growled. "The Autobots humiliated us. You assured me we would crush them, and yet here we are—licking our wounds while they celebrate victory."

Thrust bowed his head slightly. "And we will recover, Lord Megatron. With Tidal Wave at full strength and our new strategies in place, the next battle will be different. We won't underestimate them again."

Megatron's optics dimmed, his anger slowly cooling as he considered Thrust's words. He needed to bide his time, plan his next move carefully. The Requiem Blaster was a powerful weapon, but Megatron knew the Autobots were reluctant to use it. He would exploit that hesitation.

Back at the Autobot base, Optimus Prime sat at his desk, deep in thought. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the base's systems. He had a decision to make—a decision that weighed heavily on his spark. The Requiem Blaster had given them an edge in the battle, but the Space Mini-Con Team's reluctance to fight troubled him. These Mini-Cons were not warriors by nature, and using them as weapons went against everything the Autobots stood for.

Optimus's optics shifted from his desk to the berth where Skifira rested. Her wings, still healing, were carefully wrapped to prevent further damage. She couldn't fly yet, and the thought of her being grounded—of her being hurt—tugged painfully at his spark. He hadn't been able to protect her like he promised.

Sensing his turmoil through their bond, Skifira stirred slightly, her optics flickering open. She turned her head, her gaze soft as she looked at him from across the room. "Optimus," she said quietly, her voice tinged with concern. "What's wrong?"

He sighed, leaning back in his chair as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "The Mini-Cons... I don't know what to do. They don't want to fight, and yet... if we don't use their power, we may not be able to stop Megatron."

Skifira's optics narrowed in thought. "You know using them against their will isn't right. It's not who you are, Optimus. The Autobots fight for freedom—forcing the Mini-Cons to fight is no better than what the Decepticons would do."

"I know," Optimus admitted, his voice heavy. "But what if Megatron forces our hand? What if it comes down to their power or the destruction of everything we stand for?"

Before Skifira could respond, the base's comm system crackled to life. Jetfire's voice came through, tinged with frustration. "Prime, we've got a situation. The Mini-Cons... they're missing. And so are the kids."

Optimus stood abruptly, his optics widening in alarm. "What?"

Rad, Carlos, Alexis, Billy, and Fred hurried down the streets of Central City, their breaths coming in quick gasps as they dragged their bundled Mini-Con companions behind them. The Space Mini-Con Team—Sky Blast, Payload, and Astroscope—were safely hidden under layers of clothes, their small frames tucked into backpacks to avoid detection.