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        "I’m not doing it his way." Fortress stood looking down into the interrogation room, his arms crossed and his optics narrow.

        "Nobody’s asking you to."

        "He is."

        "That doesn’t count. It’s his plan—of course he wants you to do it his way." Although, to be honest, it’s a plan that at least offers some headway. Cerebros sighed. They’d been questioning Frenzy for hours on end, day in and day out, for over a week, and they still had nothing to go on. No great revelation as to what tactical genius was now ruling the Decepticons, no hint to the location of the Decepticon headquarters. Just half-witty comments from the small, resistant Transformer sitting, shackled, in the room below. In a way, Cerebros wouldn’t mind following through with Rodimus’ ideas—even if they were more like Decepticon tactics, at least they would put an end to this constant verbal sparring, put an end even to the War, if Frenzy’s databanks really did contain the information Rodimus suspected they did.

        Fortress shook his head. "It’s gotten ugly, Cerebros. I mean, how long did we spend by ourselves chasing Decepticons? Three million years, somewhere in there? And never once. . .never once. . .did we consider the sort of thing Rodimus Prime wants us to consider. I mean, directly accessing his memory banks? That would leave his mind permanently disabled at best, nonfunctional at worst! It’s not a fate I’d wish on my greatest enemy—and this guy, he’s not some great Decepticon villain. He’s just some pathetic little lackey."

        "Three million years, and the War still rages on to this day." Cerebros frowned. "I’m tired of fighting, Cerebros. Fighting him, fighting the Decepticons, fighting orders. And if finally doing what we never even considered before will end the fighting, then I say we should consider it. We can end the War! The War that’s consumed our every waking moment since we were created—the War that’s taken so many lives not even Vector Sigma could count them all!" Cerebros stopped before he could continue—he knew he could keep going, keep arguing with Fortress. But what would it get him? More fighting, that’s all—his mouth would run faster than his coprocessor, and his friendship with Fortress would only suffer as a result.

        The silence lingered on between them. Fortress finally turned, slowly, to look directly at Cerebros. Cerebros could tell from his optics that he was hurt—a pain that alternated with a suspicion that Cerebros had lost his mind. Both of these passed over his blue optics as he shook his head, his confusion finally overriding everything else.

        "You’re siding with Rodimus Prime? You think we should do this? You think we should gut Frenzy like a cyberfish and pluck out his memory circuits?"

        "I’m not saying we should—but I don’t think we should rule it out completely as an option, either."

        Fortress opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again before turning away. "You disappoint me, Cerebros. I would’ve thought that with that hyperactive cortex of yours, you’d at least see why this is the worst possible thing we can do."

        Damn. Damn, he knew this would happen. Everything around him was always destroyed, and he could never do anything about it. His friends, the Autobots that went with him and Fortress on their quest to bring fleeing Decepticons to justice—killed one by one over the course of three million years—and now even his friendship with Fortress was tearing itself apart. And he was the cause of it. He reached out to Fortress, tried to clasp his shoulder before he moved out of range forever. "Fortress—"

        Fortress stood in the door and turned around. "Well, what are you waiting for? Roddy wants his answers, and we’ve gotta give ‘em to him. Let’s go pluck some brains."

        Rodimus Prime stood alone in the observation chamber. Fortress and Cerebros had left minutes before—he didn’t want either of them to know he was here, watching this interrogation. He had already decided that this was to be the last of the old-style question-sessions Fortress would be allowed to run—if Frenzy didn’t break today, Rodimus was going to personally have him hauled into Perceptor’s workshop to have his memory cells scanned and catalogued. It was something he should’ve done a long time ago—but he’d let Fortress have his chance, his moment to capture the sun.

        Rodimus wasn’t sure why he was even bothering with giving Fortress enough rope to hang himself with. It was obvious from the very first time he had met the ancient warrior that Fortress didn’t like him. Despised him, in fact. And Rodimus knew why—Fortress had served under Optimus Prime, more than four million years past. Fortress loved and respected Prime. They all did. And they all knew that he wasn’t a worthy successor to Prime, that he was weak and unsure. Prime would’ve never let the Decepticons win so much, get so far in their conquest of the universe as he himself had, in the past year. Fortress felt the same way. Why else would he call the Bearer of the Matrix "Hot Rodimus" and "Roddy?" Neither showed him the respect he deserved, as the successor to Optimus Prime. They were ways Fortress could control Rodimus, ways he could make Rodimus smaller than him.

        But Rodimus could feel the warm pulse of the Matrix of Leadership within him—and knew that what drove Fortress was jealousy, nothing more. He was jealous that Hot Rod, a young upstart, could win the Matrix of Leadership for himself, and use it to defeat both Unicron and Galvatron. And he was jealous because he knew that, with the information he would collect from Frenzy, he would only further Rodimus Prime’s own glory.

        But even knowing that didn’t take the sting out of it. He wanted, just once, to hear somebody call him Prime. Just once. But it would never happen. To them, he was just Rodimus, and always would be, no matter what he did for the Autobots.

        Fortress and Cerebros filed into the chamber and waited for the door to clang shut behind them, sealing them in with a prolonged hydraulic hiss. Cerebros walked immediately over to the table and sat down. He didn’t know what Fortress’ plan was for today—he himself had come up with the tried-and-failed strategies they’d been using. But he knew that the ball today was completely in Fortress’s corner, and he’d have to do his best to keep up. Which was, in its own way, fine with him—he couldn’t help but feel he deserved it for not standing up for his old friend and what he believed.

        Fortress walked over to Frenzy and sat on the table immediately in front of him. Frenzy didn’t move—his hands remained folded over his abdomen, his legs crossed and propped on the table in front of him. Fortress glanced at the legs and, with one strong heave from his right arm, pushed them off the table, forcing Frenzy to sit up completely or fall over.

        "Hey! What’s the big idea, chump?" Frenzy sneered, his cocky attitude replaced with a flash of anger.

        "Shut up." Fortress pushed Frenzy back into the chair with a good shove on his chest. "Sit down, and listen, for just once in your life."

        Frenzy watched Fortress suspiciously.

        "Now, then. I’m going to tell you this flat-out. What you said about me—you were right. I don’t have it in me to torture you. I’m not a Decepticon. But the word’s come down from on high—if you don’t start answering questions, and soon, you’re gonna get your memory modules ripped out. Then, they’re going to be scanned and searched. Of course, if you know anything about mem-mod construction, you know that this will most likely render them completely useless, unless we’re really careful. Which I doubt we’ll care to be.

        "So, you’ve got two options. One, you can tell us what you know and keep your memory, and your mind, intact. Or two, you can keep your mouth shut and we can rip out your brain, find out what you know, and shove it back in your worthless cranium. Either way, we get the answers we want. The only difference is in what you lose in the deal." Fortress stood up. "So think about it, and let us know. You’ve got a few minutes."

        With that, Fortress walked to the far side of the table and sat down, completely relaxed. He watched as Frenzy’s optics sought out Cerebros’ and saw the truth of Fortress’ words there. He smiled secretly as Frenzy began to fidget, then wondered as Frenzy seemed to listen to some internal voice, as if finding the answers to his insecurity there.

        After about three minutes, Frenzy finally, stupidly, laughed. "Like I’m supposeta believe you guys? Come on. You’re Autobots."

        Fortress shrugged. "Should I take that as a ‘Yes, Mr. Fortress, please rip out my hard drive?’"

        Frenzy snorted. "You’re about as believable as that chick Arcee."

        Fortress’ vocoder stuck in his throat. If he remembered his names right, Arcee was the last surviving female Autobot. She left the Autobots a year before after her beau, Springer, was killed during a recon mission to locate the Decepticon headquarters. Springer was killed, and the other Autobots who went with him were lost in space afterwards—and the Autobots on Cybertron were still no better off knowing the Decepticon base of operations. The rumor mill said Rodimus Prime and she had some kind of falling out, that she seemed to think he sent Springer on that mission precisely so he would be killed—because Rodimus had a thing for her. Interesting, that Frenzy should bring her and her credibility up—because Fortress had always thought that particular rumor to be very believable.

        "Oh, am I?" Fortress asked. "And what do you know about Arcee?"

        Frenzy smiled. "I don’t know nuthin’—I’m just a poor stupid-bot, after all."

        Fortress shrugged. "Have it your way, then. A data wipe might just do you some good."

        Behind him, the door into the chamber unsealed with the hiss of escaping air, then rolled open with a clattering roar. Rodimus Prime stepped into the room, followed by the two guards who were standing watch outside. Cerebros stood up immediately out of respect for Rodimus, while Fortress put his hands behind his head and swiveled in his chair to look at the Autobot leader.

        Rodimus’ eyes never wavered from Frenzy, though. He strode across the room in three long steps, grabbed Frenzy’s throat effortlessly, and yanked him out of his seat, holding the small Decepticon up over his own head. Frenzy gasped and clawed at Rodimus Prime’s hand to no avail.

        "You will tell me what you know of Arcee." Rodimus Prime’s voice was cold, colder than any of the Autobots in the room had ever heard it. Rodimus, almost absentmindedly, pulled his arm back and tossed Frenzy across the room. Frenzy banged into the wall, connecting with the nape of his neck and a sickening crunch, then collapsed to the floor. "You will tell me now, without hesitation, and with absolute truth."
 
        Frenzy struggled up onto his hands and knees, sparks flying from his tortured neck. "You-you can’t do this! You’re an Autobot! I’m helpless! I’m your prisoner!"

        Rodimus Prime nodded. "Yes. And that means your life belongs to me. You will answer my questions. Now." Rodimus Prime raised one arm and aimed down it. Then, with the flash of three photon charges, he blew Frenzy’s left hand to pieces. The Decepticon howled in pain and collapsed back onto the floor.

        "What the hell do you think you’re doing?" Frenzy screamed, clutching the ruined stump of his left hand.

        "Getting answers. Now, you have ten seconds to tell me what I want to know before I blow up another part of you. Ten. . ."

        Fortress watched, horrified. This was the Autobot leader? It was obvious, now, that Rodimus Prime had the hots for Arcee—why else would he so blatantly violate the code of ethics followed by Autobots for millions of years? Fortress wondered, for a moment, if he would do any good by jumping in and trying to stop Rodimus Prime. He wanted to, very much—but another part of him was satisfied that Frenzy was getting hurt, was happy to see that the creators of pain could feel it themselves.

        "I’ll never talk!"

        ". . .nine. . ."

        "Rodimus, perhaps there’s a better way—" Cerebros murmured.

        ". . .eight. . .of course—namely, ripping out his memory components—but this is faster for the time being. Seven. . ."

        "You’re crazy! You know that? CRAZY!"

        "I’ve known it for some time. Six. . ."

        Fortress smiled. Rodimus hadn’t damaged any vital or difficult-to-repair systems, and the countdown was a nice psychological play to get Frenzy to buckle. This wasn’t half-bad work—he didn’t like it, no, but he could respect it. Just like he could respect his old battalion-mate Defcon, even if they never saw optic-to-optic on methods.

        ". . .five. . ."

        "I want to talk! I want to talk! Let me talk!" Frenzy screamed, clutching his head with his one good hand.

        "Then talk. Where’s Arcee? Four. . ."

        "He won’t let me talk! He won’t let me—" An urgency touched Frenzy’s voice, and Fortress had the sudden sneaking suspicion that Frenzy wasn’t talking to anyone in the room, but someone far, far beyond it. Fortress stood and began scanning the room for listening devices.

        "Well, that’s a damned shame. Three. . ."

        "It’s not too easy! He’s gonna shoot me! Please, let me talk!" Frenzy was panicked.

        "Two. Frenzy, you’re not saying anything I want to hear. One. So you deserve this." Rodimus Prime fired again, shattering Frenzy’s right kneecap. The Decepticon screamed again, his shrill cry nearly overloading Fortress’ audioreceptors, and fell in a heap to the floor, sobbing. Rodimus Prime began to tap his foot impatiently.

        "Frenzy," Rodimus said in a light, almost friendly voice, "I need to know what’s happened to Arcee. I need to know now. And I’m going to keep blowing little bits and pieces of you off until you give me an answer. And if you still don’t give me an answer, I’m going to have you brain-wiped. You’ve got another ten seconds starting. . .now."

        "No! No! I’ll talk. I’ll talk. . ." Frenzy began to sob, as if the pain were too much for him. Rodimus had been right—it hadn’t taken much. "Arcee—we captured her shortly after she left Cybertron. She’s been stuck in a cell on Charr ever since."

        "Charr?" Rodimus prodded.

        "It. . .it’s our new homeworld. Until we can get Cybertron back."

        "I see." Rodimus nodded and began walking to the door. "Thank you for your cooperation, Frenzy. It’s been a pleasure. Oh, one more thing—if I find out you’re lying, I’m going to come back and destroy every molecule in your body. One. . .by one. . .by one. Do I make myself clear?"

        Frenzy swallowed audibly, and Rodimus took that as an affirmative. As he and the other Autobots filed out of the room, he looked down at Fortress. "Excellent job, Fortress. Pitting him against me like that. You got him to open up, at least a little bit. Now we know where Arcee is.

        "Assemble the best strike force you can from the troops we have here on Cybertron. Enough for a cruiser-full. The time’s come to take this War back to the Decepticons, and I can’t think of a better way to do it than by rescuing one of our own. We need to leave immediately—have everything ready in an hour. Got it?"

        Fortress nodded. "They’ll be ready and waiting, Rodimus."

        Rodimus didn’t answer. He continued walking down the hall, his mind consumed with only a single thought: Arcee.
 
 

        To Chapter Thirty-Two