In the very center of the Gobi desert, miles from any prying human eyes, worked a small battalion of Vehicons, the faceless, nameless legions of the Decepticon army. That they were anonymous in both appearance and designation was a result of their master Megatron’s, philosophy. Names belonged to the strong-it you wanted one, you had rip and claw and fight your way to recognition, like he did, in the Gladiatorial pits of Kaon. Then, and only then, would you be worthy of personhood.
These particular Vehicons were hauling unrefined Energon out of nearby cave. Currently, a trooper referred to as J0 (‘Joe’ to his friends) was carrying a cluster of the life-giving crystals before dumping them into a hover-cart being monitored by MAR-10. Marten was in charge of keeping track of the energon’s status, making sure nobody was skimming off the top (at least nor without giving him a cut) and that it wasn’t about to