Chapter 261: Obey, and She Stays Safe

Heavy steps echoed across the courtyard paving.

The moment Dylan’s voice fell silent, a towering figure stepped smoothly from the darkness, casting an overwhelming aura of physical dread over the plaza.

Noticing the massive mech, Dylan bowed his head respectfully. The remaining socialites standing upon the museum terrace choked back their murmurs, no longer daring to point or gawk as they had moments before.

A rabble of opportunists, Skygnaw thought, sweeping a cold gaze across the upper steps.

Their presence here made their intentions obvious. No deep thought was required to see what kind of game they were playing.

“Lord Skygnaw, these are several of my quiet associates,” Dylan offered quickly, taking note of Skygnaw’s glance toward the terrace. “They have rendered considerable assistance to our faction over the years.”

“Much of the background groundwork directed by Lord Soundwave would have run into friction without their cooperation behind closed doors.”

“Among them is a retired cabinet director from the state you recently visited. If you wish, I could have them come down to pay their respects—”

“Unnecessary,” Skygnaw cut him off with a flick of his wrist. He held zero interest in a clique of greedy middlemen.

Collusion rarely ended well for turncoats, and he had no desire to share their bad luck.

Skygnaw understood the geopolitical reality on this world. Ever since giant alien frames were brought to light, the local superpower had locked down their alliance with the Autobots, keeping access sealed tight from competitors.

Any rival faction or ambitious network wishing to secure advanced technology had no choice but to look toward the Decepticons.

Morality was an artificial line drawn by the living.

When an action threatened one’s own skin or assets, it was labeled villainy. When the violence struck down a distant target, observers excused it as the law of the jungle, the inevitable friction of the natural order.

When a predator ran down an herbivore across the savanna, nobody labeled the hunter evil or scrambled to stage a rescue.

A wave of the hand, a mention of natural cycles, and the spectators nodded along, admiring the predator’s sheer raw power.

As for the helpless young hidden in the hollows below ground?

Nobody spared them a thought.

If the rule of the strong was accepted as the baseline truth of existence, then looking out across the wider cosmos changed nothing: the roles simply shifted from beasts to civilizations, and the hunting ground expanded from grasslands to entire planetary orbits.

Where was the fundamental difference?

Besides, the belief that villains were inevitably hunted down by a united front was a pleasant fiction. Righteous intervention only materialized when the champions stood to harvest tangible profit from the campaign.

Ever since departing Earth following the desert campaign, Skygnaw had maintained radio silence for three straight years, but his assets had kept him well informed. Through regular briefings passed along by Alice and Vennir, he was fully aware of the quiet maneuvering between various human nations.

The slogans demanding the eradication of all Decepticons were repeated for public cameras, serving as an acceptable veneer for the press.

What occurred in back rooms after hours was a very different story.

Skygnaw shifted his gaze away from the terrace. There were almost certainly formal government envoys mingling among Gould’s associates tonight.

None of it mattered to him.

Under his instructions, Vennir had abandoned his old reclusive habits, stepping into high society as the refined chief executive of the Carl Group with Alice managing his security.

It was all groundwork for a longer play he planned to unveil down the line.

“Dylan, clear them out.”

Skygnaw’s tone was flat. He cared little whether these people reported his presence to local military authorities or the Autobots.

“Right away, Lord Skygnaw.”

Dylan was thrilled. The command played directly into his hands.

As long as he held the exclusive channel to alien command, he remained the undisputed leader of this underground circle, his influence untouchable.

Having high-tier commanders speak solely through him suited his ambitions perfectly.

Turning back toward the guests, Dylan smoothed his jacket, slipping back into his accustomed posture of effortless authority.

The subservient posture he had shown to Skygnaw vanished as if it had never existed.

The patrons looked at Dylan with eager expectation. Yet after a few quiet sentences from him, their faces fell into polite disappointment, though none dared argue.

The word of a Decepticon Prime was absolute.

Recovering their composure, they offered warm smiles and traded parting pleasantries with Dylan before dispersing:

“A splendid evening, Mr. Gould. I shall take my leave.”

“Good night, Dylan. Please extend our highest regards to Lord Skygnaw.”

“Until next time, Mr. Gould.”

“The Witwicky boy is headstrong, but I am confident he will recognize the wisdom of our arrangement…”

Dylan nodded with a polished smile, watching the town cars pull away one by one.

Skygnaw ignored the departure line, walking straight toward the pair sprawled across the stones.

“Sam?” Skygnaw muttered, tilting his helm slightly.

Was this the package Dylan had promised?

The human on the ground had looked familiar from a distance, but seeing the kid up close was a pleasant surprise.

Skygnaw hadn’t sought out this meeting. Dylan had triggered the signal receiver built into the custom wristband, requesting an urgent audience.

Seeing the man’s earnest tone, Skygnaw had stopped by to see what assets the contact had secured, only to find an old acquaintance sitting in the dirt.

While Skygnaw viewed Sam as a familiar face, Sam certainly didn’t look back with any warmth.

Trembling against the cold stone, Sam pulled Carly close, inching backward toward the curb.

The kid certainly has remarkable luck with women, Skygnaw mused, casting a passing glance over Carly. The nature of their bond was obvious at a glance.

“Sam… who is that machine?” Carly whispered, her voice tight with terror.

“Skygnaw,” Sam stammered, his breath ragged under the crushing presence. “I saw him yesterday… he ranks directly beside Megatron.”

The physical presence of a Prime was suffocating to frail humans.

Nearby, the silver luxury coupe that had tossed them aside remained utterly motionless, showing none of the typical chaotic twitching of a feral machine.

“Barricade,” Skygnaw acknowledged, turning his optics toward the scout.

The mech disguised as Carly’s high-end sports car was indeed the long-absent Barricade.

Skygnaw had crossed paths with him yesterday after clearing the military outpost, likely drawn out by instructions left behind before Blackarachnia departed for Cybertron.

“Lord Skygnaw.”

Barricade bowed his helm, his chest plates unlocking to let two smaller mechanical figures hop down to the ground.

“Skygnaw, you’re back!”

“Lord Skygnaw, our honors on your return!”

Ascending to the Prime tier brought an unmistakable shift in how lesser ranks addressed him. Skygnaw gave an approving nod, looking down at Scalpel and Frenzy.

When Skygnaw and Blackarachnia had left the Moon, Scalpel had chosen to stay behind on Earth to pursue his biological dissections.

Blackarachnia had quietly conferred with Barricade, leaving the technician under the scout’s wing.

Barricade was a survivor through and through. One could question his willingness to cover a teammate’s flank, but his knack for slipping away from losing battles was second to none.

Given that he held elite-tier combat specs, Skygnaw had seen no reason to interfere with Blackarachnia’s arrangement back then.

He had pressed her on her origins while stationed on Kugrage, but she had avoided the topic, and he hadn’t pressed the issue.

“Skygnaw, where is Blackarachnia? Did she accompany you?”

News of Skygnaw’s ascension had swept through the Decepticon ranks cycles ago, and Barricade’s crew was well aware of his new standing.

While Scalpel’s optics flared with scientific fascination, Frenzy kept his distance, offering nervous, jittery twitches and deferential bows, perhaps recalling the friction they had shared cycles ago.

“Lord Skygnaw,” Dylan said, stepping back over after the last car cleared the gate.

“You are likely familiar with the young man before us.”

“I have monitored his movements for months. He is the sole civilian permitted inside the Autobot perimeter, holding the complete confidence of their command.”

Hearing that, Sam finally understood why the crosshairs had locked onto him again. Gould had been pulling the strings from the shadows all along.

Skygnaw remained silent, watching the human perform.

Dylan took the silence as permission, turning toward Sam as his bodyguards moved into flanking positions.

“Sam, do you know why our country abandoned the Moon after nineteen seventy-two?”

During that era, public enthusiasm for another lunar expedition had reached a fever pitch, with citizens convinced humanity was on the verge of claiming the stars.

Yet the programs went dark.

The reason was elementary: resources.

The initial landing had drained the treasury, consuming tens of billions in vintage capital, which translated to trillions in contemporary purchasing power.

When ordinary citizens on the avenue were struggling to patch the canvas on their shelters, nobody cared about flags planted in cosmic dust.

Was a displaced laborer surviving on soup kitchen bread truly expected to weep with pride over an orbital rocket?

“A single digital communication changed everything. The Decepticons made contact with my father, steering that massive government audit straight to his firm, with simple instructions to doctor the ledgers.”

“Suddenly, the projected costs were astronomical, and the legislature shot down every allocation request.”

“Both global powers walked away from the surface, and from that cycle forward, the Decepticons became my father’s primary client.”

“Today, as you can see, that partnership has passed down to me.”

“Did you order Jerry killed?” Sam blurted out, the memory of his frantic coworker flashing through his mind.

Ordered?

Did an intermediary truly hold that kind of leverage?

Dylan offered a thin, pitying smile, choosing not to answer such an elementary question. “My involvement is indirect, Sam. You saw the people who just departed; I am simply a coordinator.”

He cast a cautious glance toward Skygnaw. “Tasked with maintaining liaison duties for Lord Skygnaw.”

Skygnaw kept his faceplate impassive, neither confirming nor rejecting the title.

Dylan let out a quiet breath of relief, ambition surging through his veins.

The giant hadn’t corrected him, meaning his standing remained secure.

“You absolute monster!”

Sam scrambled to his feet, lunging forward with balled fists.

Thud.

A bodyguard intercepted him with a heavy shove, sending Sam tumbling straight back onto the stones.

“Wasting our time shows a total lack of manners, Sam. I preferred to handle this with civility, but you leave me very few options.”

Dylan’s gaze turned cold. Taking a hit was trivial, but looking incompetent in front of an alien Prime was intolerable.

He had to prove his worth. If sweet talk failed, force would suffice.

“Bring Miss Spencer over here.”

Two guards stepped forward, closing in on Carly where she sat on the grass.

“Stay back! Sam!”

Panic washed over her face. A civilian woman had no leverage against seasoned private security contractors.

“Leave her alone!” Sam roared, trying to push through the line, only for two guards to twist his arms behind his back.

“A word of advice, kid: when the other party holds all the cards, keep your head down!”

Sam thrashed against their grip, earning a heavy fist to the midsection.

Oof!

The wind was driven from his lungs. Sam doubled over, wheezing as bile rose in his throat, his face flushed dark crimson.

“Show some decorum with our new associate,” Dylan chided calmly, gesturing to the guards. “Raise his arm.”

Dylan caught Sam’s wrist, the custom metallic watch glistening against his skin. “I need you attached to Optimus Prime. Among humanity, you are the only one he trusts without reservation.”

“I want the operational layout for how the Autobots plan to engage our allies. Tactics, safehouses, contingencies, all of it.”

As Dylan spoke, the casing of the watch clicked open, its polished segments shifting into a segmented, metallic crawler that skittered across Dylan’s palm toward Sam’s forearm.

Snap!

The tiny legs clamped down, sinking sharp prongs into the skin.

“Aaargh!”

“A bit sharp, isn’t it? Like an insect bite.”

Dylan waved his hand, and the guards released their grip, letting Sam drop to his knees.

“A specialized piece of hardware provided by Lord Skygnaw. It interfaces directly with your sensory cortex.”

“Put simply: whatever your eyes register, it transmits. Whatever your audios pick up, it records.”

“Do not attempt any clever games.”

“Sam, don’t listen to him, don’t—” Carly cried out, only for a guard to clamp a heavy cloth over her mouth, muffling her pleas.

“He will cooperate,” Dylan said, looking down at Sam before leaning close to his ear. “Use your head, kid.”

“Keep your head down, and Carly stays entirely safe. Breathe a single syllable of this to an Autobot, and the Decepticons will rip her throat out in an instant, before coming back to finish me.”

“Go, Sam. Do your job, and she walks away unharmed. You have my word.”

Sam stared at Dylan with venom in his eyes, shoved the man aside, and threw a parting growl through clenched teeth:

“Remember that promise. Because if she bleeds, I will end you myself.”

Clap, clap, clap.

The moment Sam’s rusted sedan rattled away into the night, slow, rhythmic applause echoed across the plaza.

Skygnaw lowered his massive hands, having enjoyed the theater.

“Dylan, this was the token you spoke of?”

“It was, Lord Skygnaw,” Dylan replied, a knot of nervousness tightening in his chest as he waited for the verdict.

A moment later, the response he craved drifted down:

“A commendable arrangement. You have done well.”

“Thank you, my Lord! Your approval is all I seek,” Dylan beamed, his composure restored.

Skygnaw smirked inwardly. It was easy to see why those in power leaned so heavily on superficial praise.

Here stood a titan of industry across this region, trembling with excitement over two empty words of approval.

The calculation behind Dylan’s move was transparent.

As Soundwave’s human asset, bypassing his handler to present this prize directly to Skygnaw was an obvious play.

Dylan was trying to secure a second patron, and Skygnaw saw no reason to turn him away; otherwise, that tracking crawler wouldn’t have linked so smoothly to his private receiver.

Sam was indeed a valuable pawn, and keeping eyes on the Autobot camp was critical.

While the Decepticons now fielded two Primes against Optimus alone, Skygnaw remembered how the original timeline played out. Megatron had turned on Sentinel Prime in the final hour, proving their secret alliance was built on sand from day one.

It was never a union of trust, merely a temporary pact of convenience.

Fragile to the core.

“Dylan, that human may attempt to coordinate an Autobot recovery team to extract the woman. Maintain tight custody over her. Do you follow?” Skygnaw warned, his tone carrying quiet weight.

In the original sequence of events, this very woman had used a handful of sharp words to shatter Megatron’s fragile pride, goading him into turning his fusion cannon against Sentinel.

At present, Skygnaw’s interests aligned with Megatron and Sentinel—at least while Optimus remained on the board.

He had no desire to test his odds against Optimus Prime in a solitary duel.

“I understand completely, Lord Skygnaw,” Dylan nodded solemnly.

“Good. The boy remains under your supervision. If his transmissions yield actionable data, contact me directly.”

Skygnaw looked down at the human collaborator, his optics burning with steady crimson light. “You are an intelligent creature, Dylan. But the universe has never suffered a shortage of clever men.”

“The front lines are shifting. A major offensive is approaching, and I shall notify you when the hour strikes.”

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