Chapter 255: The Slums

Chicago, the slums.

Night blanketed the city in a dense silence, especially in neighborhoods like this, where outsiders rarely set foot.

A neglected alleyway reeked of trash and decay. Figures lay scattered along the pavement, sleeping rough not out of choice, but because they had nowhere else to turn.

At the mouth of the alley, an unsteady man stirred from a heavy stupor. He sat up, clutching an empty bottle, and pushed himself onto his feet to stumble toward the street.

Just as he reached the corner, twin crimson optics flared in the gloom above. A towering, armored frame materialized out of the dark like an iron wall.

Thud.

Clatter—

The man dropped cold to the asphalt, his empty bottle rolling across the cracked curb.

“Fascinating priorities,” Skygnaw murmured, glancing down at the unconscious civilian before looking back toward the shadows of the alley.

Ever since giant alien machines became public knowledge, people had turned to numbness in droves. Fatalism reigned supreme; if the world could end tomorrow, burning through today felt like the only rational move.

Skygnaw had returned to Chicago the previous day. After securing Cyclonus aboard the Nemesis and putting several contingencies in motion, he had slipped into the city alone.

Upon arrival, he received a deployment ping from Megatron. It wasn’t an order forced down his throat—at the Prime tier, Skygnaw held command authority of his own, meaning field tasks were carried out by designated subordinates.

Right on schedule, three identical dark utility SUVs rolled into the alley, their engines idling in perfect unison.

“Lord Skygnaw, the Dreads reporting for assignment!” the lead vehicle signaled, transforming before its wheels even came to a complete halt.

A heavy downdraft followed as a massive silhouette descended from the low cloud cover.

Silent, bulky, yet surprisingly nimble, the arrival made Skygnaw tilt his helm in interest.

The mech was colossal, standing barely a head shorter than Skygnaw, his plating broader and heavier than Blackout’s had ever been.

“Lord Skygnaw, Grindor reporting.”

“Grindor. Crankcase. You made good time.”

Skygnaw gave a slow nod. Grindor and the three Dreads were high-tier assets temporarily assigned under his wing by Megatron.

Aside from Grindor, who operated as an Elite-tier heavy combatant, the Dreads ranked as senior vanguard operatives. While Skygnaw had higher-tier forces back on Mars, these four were far more capable than standard frontline cannon fodder.

Megatron still operated under the belief that Skygnaw’s primary legions remained stationed on Mars, leaving him short-handed on Earth.

Grindor, an air officer formerly attached to Cybertron’s heavy assault wings, was built around raw mass. Transforming into a modified heavy transport helicopter, his combat programming prioritized direct physical dominance and brutal melee brawling.

He was a frontline powerhouse. Even if high-tier commanders like Optimus could overpower him in an extended duel, an Elite warrior capable of trading strikes with a Prime was no small asset.

By contrast, the three Dreads were built for a very different doctrine.

Sharing identical vehicle disguises, their frames carried a feral, armored aesthetic.

Crankcase, the squad leader, was a cunning infiltration specialist. Twin mantis-like alloy mandibles framed his head and shoulders, balanced by a cascade of metallic cords resembling dreadlocks trailing behind his helm.

Crowbar’s frame was just as menacing, featuring quad crimson optics, five whip-like sensory cables sweeping back from his head, and clusters of razor-sharp spikes studding his joints.

Hatchet looked slightly distinct from the other two.

Having undergone experimental triple-changer structural trials under Shockwave, the process remained incomplete, yet it granted him the ability to shift into a quadrupedal mechanical predator, tearing across terrain on all fours.

All three shared protruding lower tusks set into their mouthplates, giving their visages an unmistakable predatory edge.

Skygnaw studied the squad for a beat before speaking in a low, measured voice. “Did Lord Megatron leave any instructions before dispatching you?”

He wanted to see what directives Megatron was filtering through these operatives.

“Lord Skygnaw,” Grindor rumbled, tapping his massive helm with a thick claw. “Before departure, Lord Megatron instructed us that all operational authority rests entirely with you.”

“Is that so?” Skygnaw turned his gaze toward Crankcase.

Crankcase hesitated for a fraction of a second before bowing his helm. “The Dreads stand ready to execute your orders, Lord Skygnaw.”

The sharper the operative, the deeper the calculations.

Even as Skygnaw evaluated them, the Dreads were quietly observing this new Prime from the corner of their optics. Word had spread through the ranks that Skygnaw had climbed from a mid-tier soldier to an equal of Megatron in less than four stellar cycles.

Their core loyalty belonged to Megatron, leaving them inherently wary of any warrior whose stature rivaled their supreme commander.

“Then let us begin.”

Skygnaw looked past them into the city skyline. Whatever private loyalties these soldiers harbored, none would dare defy a Prime in an open theater.

“An Autobot cell and several human associates have entered this sector,” Skygnaw commanded, his tone cold and decisive. “Crankcase, take Crowbar and Hatchet. Locate their trace, establish a tail, and keep them under continuous surveillance.”

“Do not reveal your position. Under no circumstances are you to engage without my direct signal.”

“By your command, Lord Skygnaw.”

“As for you, Grindor,” Skygnaw said, turning to the heavy bruiser. “You remain on my wing.”

He hadn’t missed the calculated looks in the Dreads’ optics. Compared to that cunning trio, the blunt-minded Grindor was far easier to keep on a short leash.

“Understood, Lord Skygnaw.”

Grindor shifted smoothly into his heavy transport helicopter form, rising into the low clouds behind Skygnaw.

Below, the three dark SUVs slipped out of the alleyway, fading into the city traffic.

On the pavement behind them, the fallen civilian twitched, groaned, and pushed himself back up. He blinked into the empty fog, shook his head, and grabbed his dented bottle before stumbling onward into the night.

Inside the back room of the bar, Yevgeny and Andric led the way down a narrow corridor, with Sam, Simmons, and Chuck keeping close behind.

After a few paces, the two former cosmonauts unlocked a heavy iron door leading into a rear storage bay.

Stepping through, Sam and Simmons quickly realized the building held a deeper layer—a reinforced bunker carved beneath the concrete slab.

“Precautionary planning, I see,” Simmons remarked, hands tucked into his jacket as he scanned the entryway with a practiced eye.

“Down here. Step inside.”

The basement felt like an untouched archive room, crammed with dusty crates and vintage electronic gear that clearly hadn’t seen maintenance in decades.

“Take a seat,” Yevgeny pointed toward the single wooden table in the center of the floor. “Consider yourselves privileged. What you are about to inspect was classified at the highest clearance level.”

“Your country put the first men on lunar soil, but our program was the first to send optics into the void.”

Whether Andric was still half-drunk or simply a man of few words, Yevgeny handled the entire briefing alone.

“Nineteen fifty-nine,” Yevgeny set a stack of aged, high-contrast monochrome photographs across the table, his words deliberate. “That was the cycle Luna 3 captured the first aerial images of the lunar far side.”

“The resolution was crude, but we identified structural formations—hundreds of dense, elongated metallic pillars, scattered across the terrain without any natural formation pattern.”

“Nineteen sixty-three, Luna 4 secured a clearer pass over the impact crater, locating the downed alien hull. Strangely, those scattered pillars had completely vanished from the surface.”

“Shortly after, word of the wreck leaked, intercepted by your intelligence wings, and both nations poured everything into the race for orbit…”

“Wait!”

Flipping through the vintage prints, Sam suddenly gasped, his fingers freezing over an enlarged section of the crater floor.

“Look at those tracks… drag marks!”

His voice rose in realization as the shapes on the faded paper matched what he had seen in the hangar.

“These aren’t natural formations! I know what these are—they’re space bridge pillars!”

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