Several hundred years later...

Scrapper looked out of Guardian Tower's highest window and down at the siege going on outside the gates of Guardian City below.

The Constructicons may have represented some of the most brilliant architects, engineers, scientists and builders Cybertron had ever seen, but they were pretty lousy when it came to naming things.

"Ingrates!" Hook growled from his position next to Scrapper. His fist clenched in fury. "We gave them the grandest civilization this pathetic organic world has ever seen, and the moment the Autobots came sniffing around, they turned on us!"

Capstone had been right. With Omega Supreme's pursuit done, the Constructicons had been unable to resist the internal demand for conquest. Thinking they could stop at just one, they seized the world they were on; the local militaries proved no match for the might of Devastator. But the truth was, once they had a planet, the Constructicons frankly had no idea what to do with it, besides use it to prepare to take the next one. They were not bad rulers so much as indifferent rulers, leaving the world to more or less run itself so long as their construction demands were met. It was from the areas that ran themselves poorly that most of the dissidents came from.

Guardian City had not run itself poorly. Guardian City had received special attention, so much so that much of the populace, raised for generations under Constructicon rule, actually took arms against rebels and Autobots alike to defend their home and their masters.

It had taken a long time for one of the Autobot clean-up crews to stumble on Kirastak, but once they had discovered a whole "oppressed" populace under Decepticon rule, ousting them became a top priority. The Constructicons had done well for themselves, but not well enough to stand up to a force like that. They had held the whole of Kirastak. Now all they had left was Guardian City, grandest of the Constructicon-Kirastakian cities, and its jewel, its center piece, Guardian Tower.

Scavenger peeked over the shoulders at the other two. "You know, the natives have been talking about some sort of legend. Apparently they say... they say that in a time of great crisis, the Tower will come alive to defend the city."

There were a few rueful chuckles from the gathered mechanoids. Mixmaster tittered. "Organics and their stories," he laughed, his tone almost fond, like someone speaking of a dear family pet. "What will they think of next?"

Long Haul shook his head. "Ain't no one going to step in and take care of this for us. This is something we've got to do for ourselves."

The six stood in silence for several minutes as the battle raged on. Finally, Bonecrusher spoke up. "The gates won't stand much longer."

Scrapper straightened and stepped back from the window. "It's time," he declared.

The six traveled together down from the tower's lofty heights, taking the elevator they had crafted themselves. They exited, and headed towards the collapsing city gates. They could have flown. They walked.

Before they left the Tower's courtyard Scrapper stopped suddenly and looked up and back. He gazed at Guardian Tower, at the face of his old friend crafted from the body of his child. Several hundred years before, Capstone had merged with Omega Supreme one final time outside an old Kirastakian building while the Constructicons watched on, waiting to see if their procedure worked. They waited still; neither had moved since.

When the others realized he had stopped, they paused and listened.

"Well, old friends," Scrapper rasped, "this is it. I won't lie; we did consider running again. We just couldn't. We couldn't leave another city. We couldn't leave you."

He sighed, and took a few moments to choose his next words. Around him, his subjects rushed madly to and fro, running messages and supplies, sending reinforcements to those segments of the defenses about to fall. Part of him absently wondered if any of them were listening in to these, his final words. "I guess it's our turn to be the Guardian now. Finally."

"I wonder, perhaps, if once we've fallen, they'll let you keep standing."

And then he turned and rejoined others. Together, the six of them walked out to the gates to meet their destiny.

Dedication, acknowledgement, and author's notes:

Final Stroke is dedicated to Lunatron. It would not exist were it not for her help and encouragement. She helped me with things large, like tweaking the broad concepts and suggesting the time period, to small, like translating normal English into Omega Suprese for me. She even suggested Capstone's name. Thank you, Luna. I couldn't have done it without you.

I would also like to thank all of those who have provided their feedback and support along the way. You guys helped me to keep going when I was ready to quit. Specific call-outs: Beckyh2112RavenclawDevi, and Ragedaisy. Thank you all. Also, a thank you to my mother, who knows very little about Transformers and has never had an interest in them, and yet has provided me with compliments and encouragements.

Final Stroke started with a dream. Literally. I had a strange dream one night where one of the Constructicons (Long Haul) was rebuilt to be the head of Omega Supreme as a means of bringing their point of view to him in an attempt to get him to... not try to kill them anymore. I told Lunatron about this dream. We were amused by the idea, chattered, batted it around, but decided that the Constructicons would not break up Devastator for the role. Thus Capstone, and this fic, was born.

I do not intend to write a sequel. I consider this fic complete. They probably die. Maybe they don't. Maybe Omega Supreme and Capstone do wake up and save them, or just smash everyone. Maybe the Autobots make them pancakes. I don't know, and it doesn't matter. That's not part of this story.