Megatron was mad. Of course, that wasn't at all unusual. Rare were the times when Megatron wasn't mad, after all. But today, Megatron was beyond mad. Today, Megatron was downright furious, and for a very good reason. Or at least the reason was good enough for Megatron's purposes. Somehow, somewhere, somewhen, Megatron had…misplaced his troops. Not a single one of the them - except, of course, for Soundwave - had shown up for duty, and Megatron, try as he might, couldn't track them down. It was very frustrating. He'd done everything that he could do to find them from the Control Room. He'd even screeched at the rest of the Decepticons over the intercom, threatening excruciatingly painful death to anyone who didn't answer him. But no one answered. That meant that he had to track down and kill everyone in Decepticon Headquarters, and that was maddening. Not because he had to kill everyone, of course. That was actually going to be the fun part. No, the maddening thing about the situation was that, after killing everyone, he'd have to drum up new troops. He hated doing that. It made him feel like a…a politician. And even Megatron wasn't as slimy as the average politician. Megatron made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, stood up from the chair that he had petulantly thrown himself into after no one responded to his order to report to him, folded his arms across his chest, tapped his foot impatiently, and generally glared at everything in the room, Soundwave included. But then, suddenly, incongruously, he smiled beatifically and affectionately rubbed the shiny black fusion cannon attached to his right arm as if it was a genie's lamp. "Come, Soundwave," he said, chuckling with anticipation. "It's time to go…find…the others…" As Megatron walked out of the Control Room , as Soundwave obediently fell into step slightly behind him, Megatron began to hum a tune that he'd heard somewhere, somewhen. The tune was A-Hunting We Will Go… And Megatron figured that it was very…appropriate.
The thing that betrayed the recalcitrant Decepticons who didn't feel like working on Christmas Eve was noise. Lots of it. Of course, the noise couldn't be heard from the cargo bay that the Decepticons had crammed themselves into unless the door opened. Unfortunately, due to the extreme popularity of the party, the doors were constantly opening and closing and opening again seconds later, letting people in, letting others out, letting still more people in. At first, everyone clammed up whenever the door opened, for fear that the party would be overheard and discovered by someone who would not look kindly upon it. That had been before everyone had started to have fun, of course, before the spiked energon had been brought out, and before someone had figured out a way to have seasonally appropriate noise piped into the cargo bay, at a volume that might have ruptured delicate human eardrums. Now everyone was apparently having a good time, unaffected by the volume of the music or by the fear of discovery. In fact, most of the Decepticons were having such a good time - or they were already so drunk, of course - that they didn't even notice it when Megatron stomped furiously into the room. And those that did have the presence of mind to notice Megatron's grand entrance were, apparently, too busy partying to care one whit about their grumpy leader's presence at the party. The festivities continued apace. That gave Megatron a few moments to gape at the scene, openmouthed, in amazement. Horrible music - something about a large-ish Earth mammal with a red nose - assaulted his audios. Decepticons of all shapes and sizes milled about the room, all with at least one drink in their hands. Some were singing in a key that was entirely different than the key that they should have been singing in. Some were doing weird dances to the music. Others were having tinsel fights. Still others were having SuperSoaker battles. But the center of attention was a sequoia tree. Somehow, the huge coniferous tree, the biggest tree that Megatron had ever seen, had been smuggled into Decepticon Headquarters without Megatron knowing about it. It dominated the center of the room, where it had been stood up and braced. A small horde of Decepticons were gathered around it, currently adorning the thing with strings of tiny multicolored lights and thousands of ornaments, all of which had been stolen from who-knew-where. Starscream was presiding over the operation. Not too far away from him, Nightwind was standing on top of a big, expensive, complex piece of machinery that was normally used to monitor energon cubes. She was apparently telling Starscream where more lights were needed on the tree. Next to her on one side, sitting down, was Spade, who was apparently sloshed on spiked energon. He was unsteadily reciting what he considered to be the best lines from The Maltese Falcon, and he was doing so loudly enough to be heard over the din of yelling, speaking, and singing voices and the horrible music. On Nightwind's other side as Skywarp. Or, more accurately, one of Skywarp's feet. Presumably, Skywarp had once been standing or sitting on the machine, too, but had fallen off, except for one foot. Probably passed out, Megatron thought sourly, Skywarp never could hold his energon. For a long moment, stunned, Megatron could do nothing but stare. If not for the subtle poke that Soundwave gave him, he might have stood there, frozen with horrified fury, for at least a week. As it was, he shook himself, took a deep breath, and yelled at maximum volume. "SILENCE!!!" Megatron roared. And everyone ignored him. Megatron stewed for another moment. Soundwave gave him another, not-so-subtle poke. Blindly, Megaton leveled his cannon at the opposite wall and fired. Luckily, at that very second, no one happened to be in his line of fire. "I said, silence, dammit, and I really mean it this time!" Megatron screeched. Slowly, every Decepticons in the room turned to stare at Megatron. On the radio, Burl Ives continued to merrily sing "Holly Jolly Christmas" in the background. Wisely, someone turned it off. The room, once, indeed jolly, was suddenly deathly silent. Everyone stopped dancing and singing and decorating. Spade stopped quoting…well, Spade. Nightwind froze in mid-giggle. Starscream stared at Megatron, grinning drunkenly and swaying slightly in place. The bright, blinking chaser lights that adorned the edges of his wings illuminated his face and reflected cheerfully off the red and green tinsel that Nightwind had carefully wrapped around his laser rifles. Thundercracker, with reindeer antlers attached to his head, peeked out from the other side of the tree, quietly muttered, "There goes the party" under his breath, and then ducked back behind the tree's protection, hoping for the best. Skywarp, roused by the deafening, reverberating sound of Megatron's cannon blast, moaned and pulled himself up to kneel by the machine that Nightwind and Spade occupied. He blinked dully, unable to focus on Megatron clearly through the drunken fog that half blinded him. He looked up at Nightwind. "I think I'm gonna be sick," Skywarp softly moaned. "Unless you shut up," Nightwind hissed down at him, "you'll be dead before you can be sick." Skywarp blinked again and looked back at Megatron, apparently seeing him more clearly this time. "Oh," Skywarp uttered…and then sank bonelessly back down to the floor again. Whether he did so to avoid Megatron's wrath or because he really was going to be sick was anyone's guess. Meanwhile, Megatron stared angrily at everything for a moment longer. Then he stalked over toward Starscream, stopped, and stood glaring down at him menacingly. Starscream blinked, hiccuped, and stared back. "What…is the…meaning…of…of…this, Starscream?" he demanded, gesturing wildly at the brightly-lit tree, and at the Christmas decorations that were strung all over the cargo bay and all over Starscream and some of the others. "Merry Christmas, Megatron," he said, grinning widely. And sincerely, even. "Wanna join the party?" "Christmas?" Megatron echoed. He was momentarily dumbfounded, taken aback by Starscream's cheerfulness. He briefly wondered how many gallons of unstable energon Starscream had consumed in order to be that cheerful. It was a wonder that he wasn't as unconscious as Skywarp apparently was. Meanwhile, Nightwind jumped down off the of the machine that she had been standing on, stumbled a bit when she lost her balance as she landed. Then, while Megatron watched, still dumbfounded, she walked crookedly over to stand next to Starscream. She had a large, green Christmas ball hanging from each of her wingtips and she had something attached to her head. It was a short pole with a little hook on the end of it. Dangling from the hook was a piece of vegetation, green with paler green berries. As she stepped up next to Starscream, he bent to plant a kiss on her cheek. Nightwind grinned, but otherwise seemed to take the gesture in stride. Megatron, meanwhile, gaped. Nightwind gestured at the plant above her head. "Mistletoe," she said, as if that explained everything. "Gets 'em every time." "Mistletoe?" Megatron echoed dully. "Yeah," Starscream hiccuped, suddenly, drunkenly belligerent, "Misha-Mishel-Mistletoe. Christmas. You know? Deshem-December 25th? Santa Claus? Holiday? Presents? Partying? No working? Ring any bells?" Megatron scowled. "To coin a phrase," he said, "bah, humbug." Out of nowhere, Spade laughed. "Hey! It's Megeneezer Scroogetron!" he said, much too brightly. From the floor next to Spade, Skywarp - apparently still conscious against all odds - began to laugh hysterically. Most of the other Decepticons joined in shortly thereafter. The laughter was cut short when Megatron fired his fusion cannon again, the time blowing away a few unfortunate Decepticons who happened to be in the way. When the smoke cleared, Thundercracker called out from behind the tree, close to the line of fire, "Ewww! Anybody got any Superglue on them?" Skywarp started to laugh again, but no one joined him this time. Everyone who was still alive was staring more or less fearfully at Megatron. Emboldened by the unstable energon coursing through her systems, Nightwind sidled up to Megatron and whispered, "That was just a little violent, don't you think?" Megatron glowered down at her. "I think," he said coldly, "that everyone had better get their afterburners back to work before I kill more of you. And get that damned tree out here now!" With that, he turned and stalked toward the door. And Thundercracker, with a wonderfully angelic grin on his face, gave the half-decorated tree a mighty shove. It began, ever so slowly, to fall. It was heading straight for Megatron, who was too busy thinking that he was making the perfect dramatic exit to care about falling giant specimens of Earth flora. Just before he reached the door, though, the tree fell on him, smacking him squarely on top of his head. Megatron fell, pinned down and covered by the branches of the tree. At first, it didn't seem to have any effect on him. Grunting, Megatron levered the tree off of himself, stood up, and turned around to face the knot of fearful Decepticons behind him. The top of his head was caved in clear down to his eyes. He had silver tinsel icicles and unsteadily blinking lights hanging all over him. He opened his mouth to say something. But before he could make a sound, he toppled over in much the same way that the tree had toppled over. He fell to the ground, taking a couple of nearby Decepticons with him, and was finally still. In fact, Megatron was dead.
Megatron was dead. Starscream shoved his way to the front of the crowd that quickly gathered around the fallen Decepticon leader. He stared openmouthed at him. He shook his head, not quite believing what he was seeing. He stared. Again. He screamed. He cursed. Then he laughed with drunken delight. "I don't believe it!" he yelled. "I don't $#^%ing believe it!" "Hey!" Nightwind protested with a hiccup. "Watch your @#$&ing language, guttermouth!" Then she giggled to herself, apparently thinking herself quite clever. Starscream ignored her. "I don't believe it," he said again. "After all these years, after surviving everything - and I do mean everything - Megatron gets done in by a Christmas tree!" He paused. "I just don't believe it," he repeated, for good measure. For a few moments, no one moved. Everyone stared down at Megatron, wondering what in the world to do with him…
He was lying on his back, and the first thing that he saw when he awoke was a dark, intricately carved wooden ceiling. He rubbed the back of one hand across his eyes, groaned a bit, rolled over, and looked around himself, not quite believing what he saw. As he pushed himself to his feet, he wondered what he had been doing on the floor in the first place. He had awakened in what appeared to be a large, dark, Victorian-style library. It was Transformer-sized, but otherwise appeared entirely authentic, as if it had been lifted from an Edgar Allen Poe horror tale. Outside, it was early evening, just after sunset, and large snowflakes could be seen falling outside the window. Megatron could hear the wind howling furiously outside the house, too, indicating a cold winter's day outside. But inside, it was warm, and the room was scented lightly by the smell of drying pine needles, bayberry, and burning wood and lit softly by a couple of oil lamps and a fire that crackled and spit cheerfully in the grey marble fireplace that dominated one wall of the room. Other than that, though, all was silent. The floor was covered with a thick Oriental carpet worked in dark winter shades, and three of the walls were covered in dark, well-oiled walnut paneling that shone dully wherever the dim light touched them. Set into one wall was a heavy mahogany door…which Megatron proceeded to try to open, but it was locked. He tried to beat it down, but insanely, it wouldn't budge, even under his great strength. Frustrated, Megatron tried to shoot the door down, but for some reason his fusion cannon wouldn't work. He tried again, thinking that there must be some mistake. But, again, the cannon only made a sick-sounding sputter at him, utterly useless. Megatron turned around again, looking to see if there was any other way out besides the obvious one. But there wasn't. In one corner of the room was a tall, fat Christmas tree adorned with bright glass ornaments and lit with tiny candles. Looking at the tree made him…faintly uneasy for some insane reason, so he turned his attention elsewhere. One entire side of the room, he suddenly noticed, was lined almost corner-to-corner with built-in walnut bookshelves. The shelves were filled with hundreds - maybe even thousands - of leather-bound books, all with gold leafing on their spines. They were of little interest, however, so Megatron shifted his attention to the final item of interest in the room. Sitting in the corner of the room, there was a large, heavy walnut desk. On top of the desk was a large, open book. Megatron could only just make out some scribbling in the book, written in flowing, old-style calligraphy. Next to the book was a solid gold inkwell, with a large feather sticking out of it. And behind the desk was a huge, dark, leather chair, turned do that the back of it was facing him. Megatron didn't know exactly why he was in the room or how he had gotten there, but he was sure of one thing… "I must be dreaming," Megatron murmured. For some reason, he rubbed the top of his head tentatively, but it felt as it had always felt. "No, Megatron," a voice from nowhere suddenly said. "You're not dreaming, precisely." Startled, Megatron jumped. He hadn't been expecting a voice at all, and it seemed to come from everywhere at once. But the voice was somehow vaguely familiar. He knew that should know to whom the voice belonged, but he couldn't quite place it… But then the chair behind the desk slowly spun around with a soft squeal, and Megatron suddenly had his answer. Soundwave was sitting in the chair. At least, it was someone who looked an awful lot like Soundwave. He looked at Megatron, detached amusement somehow conveyed in his expression, in the way that he lounged in the chair, with one arm flung over the back of it. But the voice didn't sound like Soundwave's at first. But then, Megatron realized the difference: The voice sounded the way that Soundwave's voice would have sounded if he didn't have his digitized, monotone one. "You're not dreaming," Soundwave repeated quietly when Megatron just started dumbfoundedly at him. "You're just dead." Megatron blinked and shook his head quickly, as if to clear it out. "Dead?" he echoed. "Impossible." "No, it isn't," Soundwave answered with un-Soundwave-like flippancy and an unconcerned shrug of his shoulders. "Happens all the time." Leaning forward slightly, he consulted the open book in front of him, flipping through the translucent pages and murmuring "Hmmmm" at least six times. "Ah, here it is," he finally announced, gesturing for Megatron to come closer. Megatron, still in a daze, waked obediently over to Soundwave's desk and looked down at the book, at the spot that Soundwave was indicating. He read aloud what he saw on the page. "Megatron," he said flatly. "Died December 24, 1993, on Earth, Decepticon Headquarters, Cargo Bay 2. Cause of death: Massive cranial trauma caused by…falling Christmas tree?" He drew in a deep breath, rubbing the top of his head absently and glaring at the Christmas tree in the opposite corner. He still couldn't quite believe any of what he was experiencing. Soundwave sighed knowingly, carefully closed the book, stood up, and walked around the desk to stand next to the baffled Decepticon leader. Megatron looked down at him, only just noticing and hearing the chains that Soundwave dragged with him, hanging from his forearms and ankles, on just then noticing that Soundwave looked a little less that solid, only just noticing that he himself was also somewhat less than solid. "You're…you're…" Megatron stammered. "Dead, too," Soundwave finished for him. "Brilliant deduction, Megatron." "But…but…That's impossible! I was just with you when…when…I can't remember when." "When you got bopped on the head by a very large Christmas tree," Soundwave supplied for him again. "I know." "Then how…why…?" Soundwave nodded sympathetically and wrapped a ghostly but somehow supportive arm around Megatron's equally ghostly shoulders. He led him over toward the two chairs situation in front of the fireplace. "Come sit down, Megatron," Soundwave said comfortingly. "You look a little pale." "Yes," Megatron said complacently as Soundwave deposited him in a wing chair. "Right. Sit. Dazed, he put his feet up on the ottoman in front of him while Soundwave went back to his desk, picked up the book, and then went back and sat down on the settee next to Megatron's wing chair. Soundwave opened the book on his lap, turned to a section in the back of it, and began to read. "Hmmmm," he commented after a few moments. "This is interesting." Megatron turned his head to aim a scowl in Soundwave's direction. "What's interesting?" he asked, leaning over the arm of his chair to sneak a peek at Soundwave's book. "Well," Soundwave said, glancing sidewise at Megatron, pointing to a long paragraph at the bottom of the page, "it says here that you're going to get the Scrooge Treatment." "'Scrooge Treatment?' What, pray tell, does that mean?" "Ever read A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens?" "Um, no," Megatron replied impatiently. "It's very simple, really. You died and angry, irretrievable evil robot on Christmas Eve, a night when all is supposed to be calm and bright. There's something poetic there. So the Big Guy figures that maybe-" "The Big Guy?" Megatron interrupted skeptically. "Yeah, the Big Guy," Soundwave replied. "That's what he liked to be called. Many humans call him God. You and I call him Primus. But it's really all the same guy. Anyway, he figures that, somewhere, there's maybe a part of you that can be redeemed, somehow. The Scrooge Treatment is the best way that he's devised to find out whether or not that's true. If it's true, then you can live again. Maybe. If the Big Guy wants you to." "But I thought that I was dead! Optimus Prime is the only guy in the universe that can die a horribly gruesome death one week only to come back from the dead the next." Soundwave sighed tolerantly. "You are dead," he said patiently. "Right now, you're dead. But that can change. Everything can always change, you know." Laying aside the book on his lap, Soundwave got up from the settee and paced over to the wall of bookshelves. He ran the fingers of one hand almost lovingly over a few of the volumes housed in the shelves. Then he turned back to Megatron, who was regarding Soundwave thoughtfully and with remarkable calm. "But…how?" he asked. Soundwave thought for a moment, trying to determine the best way to explain the situation to Megatron. In the end, he gestured at the room around them. "Think of this," he said, "as the control center of the universe." Megatron looked at him skeptically. "Really!" Soundwave insisted. "This is the…the hub of the universe as we know it. As everyone knows it. As all of the versions of ourselves in all of the different, alternate universes that coexist with ours know it." He turned back to the wall of books. "Each book here is the ongoing record of one timeline, one alternate universe. Megatron still regarded Soundwave dubiously. "This is a place," Soundwave said imploringly, "where miracles can and do happen. You're dead back in your universe. I am irrevocably dead in mine. But think of this place as a little slice of purgatory. The Big Guy isn't sure what to do with you yet. Pass his test and you might be able to return to your universe unharmed. Or maybe you'll get to return to a different one. A better one. Maybe even this one right here," Soundwave said. Turning back to the shelves, he scanned them for a second and then reverently brought down a single volume from one of the top shelves. He carried the book to Megatron and offered it to him. "It's my favorite," Soundwave announced. Giving Soundwave yet another dubious look, Megatron opened the book…and inside he found a little slice of heaven. The universe that he almost literally held in his hands was dominated by the Decepticons. Megatron ruled ever corner of that universe. He was powerful beyond his wildest dreams. Paging through the death records at the end of the book, he saw that the Autobots had been decimated, and with them gone, Megatron had had no trouble conquering every planet and every solar system and every galaxy that he'd been able to get his hands on so far. Megatron smiled. He laughed, even. But suddenly, Soundwave grabbed the book out of his hands, closed it carefully, and returned it to its place on the shelves. Then he picked out another book and turned somberly back to Megatron, and, chains clanking, walked over to Megatron and offered the new book to him. "Of course," he said. "If you fail the tests badly enough, he might send you here." Megatron hesitantly opened the book and found a horrible place nestled within its pages. A pace where the entire population of Cybertron - Autobot and Decepticons - had become the mindless slaves of an insidious, telepathically powerful race known as the Vulcans. Megatron shuddered and quickly slammed the book shut. Chastened, he looked up at Soundwave, who was looking down at Megatron impassively. "What must I do?" Megatron asked, as Soundwave took the book from him and put back in its place on the shelves. "What is this 'Scrooge Treatment?'" Soundwave turned around to face Megatron again. If Megatron hadn't known any better, he would have sworn that Soundwave as smiling at him in…anticipation? "You will have three visitors while you are here, Megatron," Soundwave explained. "Three visitors who will…test you. When they are here, you will know what to do." And with that, the ghost of Soundwave abruptly vanished. "No!" Megatron protested, blindly lunging out of the wing chair, grabbing for the spot that Soundwave had occupied half of a second before. He glared up at that ceiling, as if he half-expected Soundwave to be lingering up there. "What do I do until they come? You hear me, Soundwave? I am Megatron, and I demand that you tell me what's going on!" Megatron's demands went unanswered, however, and, after several minutes of yelling at the top of his voice, he finally figured out that yelling like a lunatic was useless. He sat back down in his chair for a moment and allowed his gaze to slide to the wall of books. Getting up out of his chair, curiosity getting the better of him, he approached the shelves almost…warily. But eventually, he reached out for one the books…except that the book he tried to grab wouldn't budge. He tugged at it, even going so far as to brace one foot against the bookshelf and pulling backwards with all his might. Still, it wouldn't budge. He tried another book. And another, with the same result. He furiously wondered why Soundwave, a mere subordinate that he could step on like a bug any time he chose to do so, had been able to peruse the books when he, master of his domain, could not. It wasn't fair… Grumbling menacingly, Megatron went back to the curiously comfortable wing chair. He turned it so that it fully faced the fire and sat down again, his feet propped up once again on the ottoman. He listened to the wind whistling outside and watched the flames dance in the fireplace. Calmed by both, Megatron sat and watched the fire, waiting until…whatever happened.
Starscream still found it difficult to believe that, in agreeing to help Nightwind organize the party - very much against his better judgment - and that, in helping to devise a way to smuggle the fateful tree into Decepticon Headquarters, he had managed, perhaps, to make his wildest dreams come true. A Christmas miracle, indeed. He'd have to thank Nightwind later… While Starscream mused, the medic sat back on his heels and sighed raggedly, a confused expression flickering across his features. "Well?" Starscream prompted impatiently. The medic winced, cleared his throat nervously, glanced down at Megatron, and then reluctantly looked up at Starscream. "Well, sir," the medic said cautiously, "he's, uh, dead. Sort of." Starscream frowned, perplexed. He was about to say something, to ask for a clarification, when Spade, standing across from Starscream, suddenly spoke up. "He's 'sort of' dead?" the detective snapped with a disgusted snort. "How the hell can he be 'sort of' dead? What medical school did you graduate from? Either he's dead or he's alive; there's no in-between. Make up your mind!" The young medic was not at all used to being the center of attention. But, since the senior medic on duty had just been blown away by Megatron and since some of the others were currently unconscious, the task of diagnosing Megatron's condition had fallen to him. Just my luck, he thought disgustedly, and then he cleared his throat again and, ignoring Spade, looked helplessly up at Starscream. Forcing himself not to impatiently throttle the medic, Starscream folded his arms across his chest and calmly but sternly ordered, "Explain yourself, medic!" "Well, uh, all of his major, vital system are down, sir, apparently totally nonfunctional. Power levels are down to zero. Um…a good percentage of his brain seems to be damaged, maybe permanently, which is probably why his systems won't function, but, uh…" The medic paused, staring disapprovingly down at his scanner again, as if it were a misbehaving child. "But?" Nightwind prompted, daintily slipping underneath one of Starscream' wings with a grace only available to the relatively small. She crouched down next to Megatron's body to have a better look and then she smiled encouragingly at the flustered medic. "There's a part of his brain that's very active," the medic said to Nightwind, and then he looked back up at Starscream as he continued. "It's almost as if he were…dreaming, for lack of a better term. I've never seen or heard of anything like this before. And I can't declare him truly dead when there's brain activity, sir." Starscream frowned deeply at that, and then sighed long-sufferingly. He was tempted to ask if several really hard, swift kicks to the head would stop the puzzling brain activity, but then decided that that would be bad form…and might just get him killed by those Decepticons who fervently supported Megatron. Besides, Starscream had a distinct sinking feeling that whatever anyone did, Megatron would continue to have this weird brain activity. Even when dead, Starscream groused to himself, Megatron just has to be unreasonable... So Starscream sighed and asked a question to which he really didn't want to know the answer. "Will he live?" Starscream grudgingly asked. Several Decepticons in the crowd that had gathered around Megatron did surprised double-takes at Starscream, amazed that he of all people would even ask such a question, much less give a flying flarg about the answer. The medic, in answer, shrugged, but then added, "I really don't know, sir. I'll…I'll take him to the repair bay, but I don't think that there's really much that I can do for him. I…think that whether or lives or dies is totally up to him." The medic, of course, had no idea how accurate his statement really was… "Fine," Starscream said with a decisive nod. "Whatever. You do that. In the meantime, let's party!" So, while Soundwave and the medic carried Megatron's limp, unresisting body to the repair bay, a small squad of Decepticons, including the still-antlered Thundercracker and directed by the still-mistletoed Nightwind, worked to lever the ponderous Christmas tree upright again. Someone turned the music back on, Astrotrain hopped back behind the improvised bar, Skywarp crawled unsteadily to the bar, and the First Annual Decepticon Christmas Party got back into the swing of things as if nothing had interrupted it in the first place…
Onward to Part 2: A Trip Down Memory Lane...
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