"Destroy them!" shouted the massive grey battle-tank, firing a salvo to distract the behemoths they were fighting, to allow his team to scatter and flank the monsters.

"I want his faceplate!" said the flame-tank, transforming as he did, leaping at one of the massive robots, deflecting the shot meant for the battle-tank.

"Not if I get it first," smirked the grey and golden warrior to the other side, whirling his flail, before bringing it round to crash through the face of his opponent, smashing optics and spilling fluid over the arena floor.

"Focus, Snarl," berated the first tank, transforming into a thirty-two foot avatar of menace. "Swoop," he said, not taking his eyes off the oncoming forces, as he shot off a round from his dual-rocket launcher, "transform, and give us air-cover. Sludge, take Snarl's place while he cuts off their retreat. Move, move, move!"

With shouts of assent, the two transformed, the slender one named Swoop turning into a battle-glider, and the other into an amphibious tank and moved to their positions.

"The nerve of these Decepticon Guardians, thinking they can take us on," taunted Swoop, unloading his ordinance on top of the slowly moving mechs below him. "They're slow, they're stupid, and their armour can't deflect spit."

"Unh! But they big," said Sludge slowly, catching a sweep from a massive claw. "Hit hard."

"Then keep out of the way," said Snarl callously, diving under another claw, and rolling under the feet of another Guardian, "unless you want to end up looking as ugly as Slag." He gave a cruel laugh, peppering the backs of the Guardians trying to keep up with the five smaller machines.

"You will suffer for that, Snarl... as soon as I'm through with this one, I'm coming after you... I'll rip out your optics, pull off your armour layer by layer, and then..." seethed Slag, punctuating each threat with another shot at their lumbering opponents.

"It's time to finish this," said their squad-leader, cutting off Slag mid-rant. "Switch to your melee weapons, and terminate the Decepticons!"

With grunts of assent, all five of the gold and red-trimmed robots flipped their ranged weapons into subspace, igniting their energo-swords, the blades ablaze with a fire that matched their fiery souls, as they swept in like the fury of gods...

"Are they not magnificent, Prowl?" asked Lord Prime, never taking his eyes from the slaughter before him.

"Of course, Lord Prime," agreed Prowl, "but can they be trusted?"

Before Prime could answer, a voice called out from the arena, and all other noises stopped. Their energo-swords still ablaze, the five mechs stood before the dying chassis of their opponents, awaiting a signal from their dark master.

Lord Prime flashed an unseen smile from behind his face-plate, and stood, signalling that the defeated Guardians be terminated.

"Were I to ask, Prowl," said the tyrant, revelling in the carnage, as the five drove their swords through the laser-cores of the Guardians, "these five would terminate themselves. Their devotion to me is unquestioned... unlike some others that I could name. And when we return from vanquishing Megatron and his band of renegades, I have half-a-mind to replace you with them. Think of that as incentive for your continued loyalty."

With that, Lord Prime swept off, but not before acknowledging the five assembled warriors, their salute of "We function for you and you alone," echoing through the arena...

"Come on, Sludge, you're not even trying," taunted Snarl, laughing as he cut at the larger mech's 'wings'. "I've seen seekers present a greater challenge than this!"

"Snarl lucky Sludge cannot move arms," grunted Sludge, weathering the pain as he danced out of the way of twirling energo-sword. His arms tightly bound at his sides, he kept himself in a half-crouch, trying to keep his centre of gravity low, but this was complicated by Snarl clipping off bits of his armour, anticipating his every move.

"'Or what,' you tin heap? You'll try to take my head off with that absurdly slow uppercut of yours? Don't make me laugh!" said Snarl, swinging one of the flails from his vehicle mode with a shake of his shoulder, as he cut at Sludge with the sword again.

"Yeah! Pound him good, Snarl!" Slag cheered from outside the ring. "Tear him a new one!"

Grimlock watched them all. Sludge and Snarl in the arena, Sludge bound and unable to fight back, but refusing to step out of Snarl's reach; Slag cheering Snarl on, as the sadist took pleasure in his work; Swoop, seated at another bench, meticulously disassembling the rest of the team's weapons and repairing them, replacing parts that he judged to be inadequate or on the verge of burning out; they were his, and he could allow himself a moment of pride.

Sludge himself had come up to Grimlock, and asked to be punished for allowing himself to be touched by the filthy Decepticon Guardians. And Grimlock was more than happy to oblige. This way, not only would Sludge be allowed to atone for his mistakes, but would improve his performance against a smaller, quicker opponent. It was the only way he could better himself, physically, and in the eyes of his peers. And the fact that he had come to Grimlock for atonement was only proof that the Enforcers were the elite, and as such, always mindful for opportunities to learn from mistakes.

At times like this, Grimlock could not help but wonder how a race as proud, as obviously superior as the Autobots could ever have been suppressed by such weaklings as the Decepticons. They knew nothing of order, nothing of glory, nothing of warfare... and yet they had been masters of Cybertron for so long that it made his brain module ache. It didn't make sense.

But now... now, at last, there was a Prime to set things right. Optimus Prime had arrived and set things right, put Autobots back on top where they belonged. For this alone, the Enforcers would continue to fight for Prime against any who thought to stand against him.

The fight would have gone on for several cycles before either combatant showed any effects from the violence they displayed (and indeed, before Grimlock would decide to halt the proceedings) when Slag turned away from the ring, and called out to Grimlock, breaking him out of his reverie.

"Orders from Command. They need us to run a sweep of grid Alpha-7 through to Gamma-3. 'Cons seem to be extra-jumpy since the fall of Darkmount."

"Snarl, Sludge," Grimlock ordered, even as the two exited the combat area, disengaging weapons and binds, "report to Repair Bay 2. Slag, accompany Snarl and Sludge to the Repair Bay and make sure that their injuries are repaired quickly and without cutting any corners. Swoop, report!"

With a grunt, Swoop sealed the main-emitter on Snarl's Electron Cannon, and blew off a few charges at the targets on the far side of the room. "All operating at maximum efficiency, Grimlock."

"Excellent. Return the weapons to their appropriate subspace coordinates, and begin planning the most optimum patrol route through grids Alpha-7 to Gamma-3. I want us all to be ready for departure by 1500 joors."

A round of acknowledgments answered Grimlock, as the various mechs went about their assigned duties.

Four massive grey shapes lumbered through the Cybertronian night. The scowling Autobot battle-mask adorned their frames proudly, and seemed to stare into the gathering darkness, even as turrets tracked landmarks and unseen targets.

"So, Grimlock, what do we call ourselves?" asked the flame-tank of the menacing shape ahead of it in the convoy.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, sir, we're now an 'elite team'. Shouldn't we get an elite-type name?"

"We're Autobots, Slag," replied the battle-tank. "We are Enforcers for the Lord Prime, not some ridiculous wannabes like the 'Constructicons', or 'Combaticons'," sneered Grimlock, as though the last two were the most vile of curses.

"Swoop's returning," interrupted the flail-tank, as a grey-and-red battle-glider swept in and transformed into a thirty-one foot tall robot with wings on his back.

"Report," ordered Grimlock.

"Decepticon activity just outside of Polyhex, Grimlock. Six sky-raiders, nothing special. They're about 25 units off of our patrol route at sector 7."

"Were you spotted?"

"Of course not!" replied Swoop indignantly.

"Alright. Circle the area, keep out of sight, wait for my signal, just like we trained. The rest of you, form up! Let's see to these rebels."

With that, the four ground-vehicles continued on a slightly altered vector, while Swoop transformed and once again vanished into the night air.

"Iacon has been notified of the situation and our course change, Grimlock," reported Slag.

"Excellent. And we're coming up on our targets. Transform!"

Grimlock waited for his squad members to draw level with him and transform, drawing their ranged weapons from subspace, before addressing the Transformers standing in front of him. He was gratified to see the looks of wariness in their optics as they began to power up their weapons and prepared to fight or flee.

"Attention Decepticons! By order of Lord Prime: you will put down your weapons, and accompany us to the nearest detention centre!"

"Never, Autobot!" called back a green sky-raider, voice quavering slightly, in spite of his bravado. "We will not lay down for your oppression!"

"Aw, let's just pound 'em!" Slag suggested impatiently.

Grimlock rounded on him, motioning him to shut up, taking the opportunity to signal his three squad-members to take their positions.

"We are keepers of the peace, Slag," Grimlock said, projecting his voice across the desolate landscape that had once been Straxus' stronghold, more for the benefit of the Decepticons than for his own troops. "We are not ruffians."

Grimlock again turned to the Decepticons, and said, "Decepticons! This is your final warning." He transformed, and the turrets on his frame began tracking the closest targets. "You have until the count of five to power down your weapons."

The sky-raiders looked to each other uncertainly, as Grimlock called out, "One!"

"Two!"

Half of them were deactivating their weapons, while the rest seemed to be thinking it over. Excellent.

"Three!" Grimlock and his squad opened fire, while Swoop flew in faster than anyone could see, and blasted the ones who had transformed almost instinctually. Not a single one escaped damage in that first barrage, and all were rendered unable to escape.

"Four," Grimlock counted quietly in the aftermath, the stunning silence only broken by the moans of the damaged Decepticons. He transformed and walked up to the closest sky-raider, picking him up with one hand and flinging him into the pile that his fellow Enforcers were corralling the rest. "Five," he finished contemptuously, giving Snarl the go-ahead to interrogate those that still functioned...

"... at 2100 joors, encountered a squad of sky-raiders, designations and descriptions follow..."

Snarl listened to Grimlock dictate his meticulous log of the encounter and subsequent investigations, watching his fellow squad-mates go about their business. Swoop stood apart, serene and still, all sensors turned outward, scanning for friendly and hostile targets in the area. Slag was loading up Sludge, who was in his armoured amphibious mode, with the remains of the six sky-raiders.

A single head fell out of Slag's arms, and rolled out to near Snarl's leg. The optics were shattered, and the vulpine set of the face (which indicated that this sky-raider had identified itself as a female) was frozen forever in an expression of unspeakable agony. Snarl smiled with pride, before reaching down and grabbing it by its interface cables, and carrying it to Sludge, as Grimlock completed his report.

"... and after questioning, the rebels were then cautioned in accordance to Autobot Dominion Ordinance 27-dash-3-alpha. Report ends." Grimlock flipped close the communication on his arm, and looked around at his troops. "Slag, have you finished loading up Sludge?"

"Yes sir. Awaiting your orders, sir."

"Energy expenditures?"

"Twenty-five astro-litres. Sky-raiders were running half-empty... as if that were anything new," Slag laughed.

Grimlock allowed himself to express some amusement by brightening his optic-band.

"Very well, Autobots. Three more waypoints, and then we can head back to Iacon. Transform and roll out!"

On Earth, four million years ago...

The Ark lay bleeding, its life-blood seeping into parched earth that cried out for moisture.

Far within the bowels of the mighty space-craft, amongst the tangle of deactivated Transformers, the semi-sentient supercomputer, Teletran-I, still active, attempted to carry out procedures laid out for scenarios similar to the current one. It stretched its limited awareness through the broken ship, and began scanning.

Sparking terribly and dangerously, Teletran-I was made aware of the damage to itself and to the Ark. The engines were damaged, beyond the capability of self-repair. Thus, power to the engines was shunted off, and connections severed to prevent an explosion that might further damage the ship or its crew. The defence systems of the Ark were partially active. Teletran-I prioritised repairs to the least-damaged auto-guns, and to the control-routines associated with them, encoding them to code-signature Kappa-9-7 slash 13, accessible only by the highest ranking Autobots.

Teletran-I scanned further, searching through its databanks, and cross-referenced the original crew manifest against the sparks that it could still detect. Ensuring first that the command crew was merely in stasis-lock and not permanently non-functional, Teletran-I continued to scan despite 24.53 % error in its primary scanner, bringing up supplemental scanners that it would not otherwise use, running secondary and tertiary sub-routines with the single-mindedness absent in more sapient machines.

Satisfied, the supercomputer began creating an ordered list of mechs to re-activate. Lord Prime had priority, but damage to the primary power-coupling was complicated by the proximity of the wire-cluster XJ-17 which provided power to the laser-core. Teletran-I could not touch the Autobot leader unless it could be assured of a 99% efficiency rating by an outside source to confirm its internal diagnostics. Thus, priority was switched over to the medic/engineer Ratchet, and engineer Wheeljack. However, neither was cleared to perform in the absence of a party which had a loyalty rating defined as Alpha-One by Lord Prime. Some of the crew, as yet untested, did not have any rating. Others, while loyal, were eliminated in due to their inability to monitor repairs to the damaged Prime, or for menacing the two engineers into doing their jobs properly. At last, Teletran-I happened upon the five records of Grimlock and his team, all rated as Alpha-One, and classed as "Heavy Enforcers", with Swoop rated for Observation and Battlefield Repair, and Snarl for Programming Proficiency (though only up to the level of Protraan-VII machines, which was sufficient to ensure that Wheeljack did not add extra coding to Teletran's operations matrix).

Teletran-I isolated the signatures of the five Enforcers, and turned its scanners outwards, to the alien world it had crashed on. The atmosphere was largely (approximately 70%) a non-volatile gas, and 25% a combustible gas, but was unable to discern any further. It estimated that its external scanners were functioning at 36% efficiency, but with nothing to confirm these estimates against, assumed that what little it could detect was correct.

Within the radius of its scans, there was no evidence of metallic life, whose forms could be adapted to allow the Enforcers to fit in unobtrusively amongst native creatures. Teletran-I widened its band, scanning for organic forms as well. It was certain that it would miss creatures that were rated as smaller than "Class 5" (which would one day be measured as 6 feet by humans), but this was hardly a problem, considering that it would not have to calculate sub-space allocations for the alt-modes of the mechs it modified if the alt-modes were of a size comparable to their current dimensions.

Finally, piercing soil and rock, Teletran-I was able to detect large structures that it identified as the skeletal remains of massive creatures, and it was able to extrapolate their appearances to (what it felt was) a reasonable degree of accuracy. That these creatures had not walked the Earth for better than 60 million years did not occur to Teletran, and it began to modify the body-shells of the five mechs, matching form to function as best it could.

Grimlock, besides being leader, was rated highly for psychological warfare and for assault, and was given the shape of what would be called the Tyrannosaurus Rex, for its fearsome appearance. Slag, brawler and close-quarters combat-specialist was made into a Triceratops, modifications made to the oral apparatus of the creature to allow him use of his flamethrower. Snarl was made into a Stegosaurus, to allow him to utilize the vehicular tactics he'd learned in his Cybertonian form. Sludge was perhaps the easiest to assign, given the largest form, that of an Apatosaurus, to accommodate his great berth and physical power. And finally, Swoop was made into a Pteranadon, as the only available aerial creature within scanning range of an appropriate size.

Teletran worked tirelessly, pooling all of its resources on the reactivation of the five, ignoring the input from its malfunctioning external sensors, trusting in the now-repaired auto-guns to stave off any attack for long enough for it to complete its current directive. And thus, when the volcano that would one day be known as Mt. St. Hillary erupted, Teletran was caught completely off-guard.

The interior of the Ark shook almost as violently as during the first impact, and bodies flew across the interior, sparks flying where they skidded across surfaces. The exterior of the volcano rumbled, and triggered a rockslide that would hide the majestic space-craft from all eyes for the next 4 million years. Inside too, stalactites made sharper by force, impacted the hull of the Ark and pierced the structure, crushing entire sections of the ship, and walling off others.

Teletran-I was knocked into a forced hibernation cycle, in which, over the course of millions of years, it would passively repair itself and its remaining facilities, awaiting a time when another thunderous eruption would bring it back online.

And farther in the ship, in a part that would be considered unsalvageable when the Autobots were activated again, the newly created Dinobots waited for the activation signal that never came, violent sparks raging for a time that they would once again be free to wreak havoc in the name of their dark lord and master...