Turbulent times were upon the “new world”, as most inhabitants of this world called it. The World was split into three: Those who would impose a united tyranny upon this new world, those who would battle that tyranny at all costs and those who simply wished to make their way in this world without any bloodshed and banded together to avoid being swept in the tide of violence. Each and every day, the threat of the cold war between the Directorate of Global Hegemony and the United Defense Forces turning into a full blown, global war lingered, if it didn’t increase through an act of subterfuge or espionage by one side or the other. Two thirds of the world prepared to rip each other apart, and the remaining third barricaded themselves in the safety of their “national borders” and “policies of non-alignment”, much like a child barricades themselves under a blanket while a storm raged on in the night.

Yet even in these dark and troubling times, dialogue was needed. Everyone knew this, and despite the dangers of the world, dialogue was occurring.

Copenhagen. A city that used to be a part of a nation called “Denmark”, as the people who came before called it.

A special administrative city under the joint control of the Copenhagen Coalition. Capital of the neutral powers and the home of embassies of the UDF and the Directorate alike. Normally, the dignitaries and heads of state who come to this city are members of the Copenhagen Coalition, but today there were many, many more.

A global summit had been called for, and leaders of all nations, whether they be Copenhagen, UDF or Directorate, free or tyrannical, malevolent or benevolent, had been invited. An emergency meeting had been called for these heads of state concerning the discovery of a new nation, located within the Indian Subcontinent.

Tensions were, of course, threatening to run high, and as such the Copenhagen Coalition, the hosts of the meeting, had placed security all throughout the city to ensure that no one would try anything at the meeting. Knights from the Hero’s realm held their swords alongside Imperial Rising Sun Soldiers wielding kinetic burst rifles. Mannequins from the Warriors of Light made patrols along the streets and the skies were secured by flights of VX striker helicopters and One Demonbane from the Order of the Raven, sent by the ancient order to fulfil their commitment as a neutral member of the Copenhagen Coalition. The UDF and Directorate members were of course, allowed to bring their own personal guards, but each were limited to a force of five bodyguards total, and only two armed men from each visiting nation be allowed to enter the summit itself.

The summit, to be held in Christiansborg Palace, was about to begin.

Crown Prince Tatsu of the Empire of the Rising Sun, here in place of his father due to the Emperor’s ailing health which discouraged him from making the trip from Tokyo, waited to welcome the visiting dignitaries alongside Supreme Shogun Miyako and the other leaders of the neutral nations at the entrance to the Palace. Around the two imperial officials were various Japanese attendants, but in truth they were imperial shinobis ready to protect the shogun and the prince in case a threat or incident was to occur.

"Attention, members of the Copenhagen Collaborative Counci: We have seen over the time in our position in the Copenhagen Coalition that things are not the same as we had been lead to believe. The people's leaders in the world should all know that Nerth, otherwise known by our dramatic name as Hero's Realm, has been isolationist, almost to an extreme. We've found from the people that came in our current territories before, once known as Australians and New Zealanders, that they had official hostilities with the "Soviet Union", which we have come to know it as it is today. Nuclear Wars, espionage and conflict was once the order of common intrigue for decades. . . It now seems that the Soviet Union will begin to encroach on Coalition territory. We highly advice against such measures, and will defend ourselves should intimidation begin."

"That is not what the Coalition has come to speak with outside parties about, however. I now grant the floor to the official spoke's person".

It had been an ....interesting, six months since the occupants of the Axis asteroid base found themselves in North Africa of all places, with their mobile suits, vehicles, a years stockpile of helium 3, and precious little else. Fortunately, they had Haman Karn, who had quickly reasserted her authority in the general confusion and put them to work, fixing infrastructure, claiming territory, beginning the exploitation of natural resources, and upgrading the dated Earth technology to a level at which they could produce mobile suits, space ships, and modern consumer goods. Certainly not an easy task, but they had gotten a start at it.

At the same time, they had been intrigued to learn that theirs was not the only country this had happened to. The world appeared to be a patchwork quilt of transplanted peoples, and it would be inevitable that they would align against each other. With the 'Atlantic Federation' to the north, Zeon had sought alliance with the 'Soviet Union', joining their Directorate, though the level of commitment to that alliance was uncertain at this point. It wasn't as if the Soviets could force them to fight if they didn't want to.

Now they were here. Copenhagen, Denmark, a city from Earth, yet older than they were used to, not the bastion of technology like it had been back on their world. yet the Zeon delegation didn't comment on that as a limousine took them from the Komusai shuttle they had flown here to Christiansborg Palace. Mineva was too busy looking out the window, admiring all the foreign things, the many sights and sounds that accompanied the multinational deployment here. Meanwhile, Haman looked as well, but her mind was busier with planning ahead. And Mashymre was merely enjoying being in his idols presence. He was easily satisfied as such.

"Now remember," Haman said as the car pulled around to the entrance. "We must make a good impression today. These people have had no experience with Zeon and what it can do, or the oppression we suffered under the Earth Federation. We will show them that we are strong, but dedicated solely to using that force to maintaining peace. I trust that won't be too difficult for you Mashymre," she asked casually.

Mashymre nodded emphatically, a pink rose pinned to the lapel of his uniform as blue hair waved from the movement. "Yes Lady Haman," he said eagerly. "I will do my best to show these people the truth of your, and Princess Mineva's rule."

Haman then looked over to Mineva, who was pressed to the window as an Autobot walked by. "Mineva, please try to stay with me when we're there. With so many strange people here I don't want anything to happen to you."

Aware of being spoken to, Mineva looked back, complete trust in her gaze. "Alright Haman," she said happily.

At last the car arrived, and Mashymre exited the vehicle, holding the door open for Haman and Princess Mineva, both of whom exited, with Mineva giving him a 'Thank you' in the process. Then the three of them advanced towards the entrance and the gathering of world leaders, the eight year old Mineva to Haman's left, and Mashymre to her right. as they advanced, looking resplendent in regal military attire one would see at the court of the Principality of Zeon.

A few steps away, Haman came to stop. "Gentlemen, ladies,' she said with a nod of her head. "I would like to introduce Princess Mineva Lao Zabi, heir to the Zabi Royal Family, and leader of the Principality of Zeon." She gestured to the short brunette beside her, who did her best respectful bow. "I am her sitting Regent, Haman Karn, and this is Mashymre Cello, one of my most trusted officers," she added, gesturing to herself, and then to the blue haired man beside her, who bowed as well, though with a bit more of a sophisticated charm than Mineva had.

"A pleasure," he said, prepared to do his utmost to give these people a good impression of his beloved lady, and her noble ideals.

"We are grateful that you would allow us to be here," Haman concluded, looking down the rows of leaders to get first impressions, determine the weak, the strong, who would be the biggest challenges, and the easiest to handle. This would be interesting.

Amongst this gathering of nobility, dignitaries, and leadership, sat figures dressed in vestments of such grandiose and archaic design that they seemed to have come from an age long forgotten by most. Others within the crowd wore the regalia of the baroque and modern eras, carrying with them that empty hedonism of the gilded age. Despite such shocking transitions in terms of style, there was an air of horrific beauty to them that allowed the miasma of styles and fashions to seamlessly join together into one great pit of decayed glory. Such were the courtiers of the king in yellow, men and women drawn to a life of excess and nihilistic debauchery that could only be described as inhuman. Beautiful as they were, they were also terrible, donning masques to conceal their faces, or wearing tattered cowls to obscure any sort of distinguishing features. They sat, laughing and socializing as though they were at some formal affair, rather than a summit of world powers. Harlequins dressed in sickly yellow and vibrant silver danced and performed for them, and indeed for the entirety of the audience, while masked servants in tattered suits walked among the rows, offering each guest strange Hors d'oeuvre and glasses of sweet wine of foreign vintage. A symphony of horns and strings unknown to earthly men accompanied the dancers, leading and directing their every step with a gloriously cacophonous melody.

T'was customary for the people of Carcosa to conduct their politics in an atmosphere such as this, where gossip and guile were interwoven with affairs of state. These courtiers were by no means royalty of any sort, rather well connected or praised individuals in the eyes of the King in Yellow and his messenger. Among them were philosophers, artists, thespians, merchants, writers, producers, people dedicated entirely to some school of the arts, oration, or thought. At the very front of their socializing, was a figure clad in tattered yellow robes, so disgusting and vibrant, that they strained the eyes of any who looked too long. Around its neck hung a disk of white gold, the sign of their king proudly worked into the metal by a master craftsman. The figure sat there, wineglass in hand, looking out upon the growing crowd of dignitaries, the bright stars he called eyes burning brightly within a void of darkness. This was the Herald, chosen of the King in Yellow, his messenger and hand in the affairs of day to day life, while the King himself sat upon his conquered throne, working on whichever plans he saw fit to pursue at the moment.

Such was this things destiny, to no longer be person, for it had transcended such titles in favor for the great task of leading the flock. It was more than content to have such an existence, and to be thrown away when that existence had met its ultimate purpose, or at the very least no longer amused the King in Yellow. The Herald looked to its right, and regarded on of the more favored members of the court, Bernard DeChriste. A producer, writer, artist, and thespian, who in his former life on old earth lead a small flock of his own. He wore a dingy black suit, which accentuated the leanness of his form almost to the point of him looking like some grotesque caricature, his pale face hidden behind an equally alabaster mask depicting the dichotomy of comedy and tragedy. They talked for a few moments on a shared acquaintance of theirs, a man known to be a repairer of reputations, before moving on to the subjects of the American Monarchy and Carcossan theatre. Eventually this string of topics lead to the dignitaries that filled the room.

"Tell me, Bernard," inquired the Herald, "what do you think of our new allies from the Orient?"
The producer laughed for a moment before responding, "I find them amusing, such great things they've built since my time. When I came to own my theatre, that island was nothing but a radioactive stain on the world! Though it would seem that they only became increasingly tenacious as time went on. I always thought that they would resort to barbarism after the bombs, or at the very least topple over themselves. But alas, it seems our master has seen fit to sow change in other ways."

They both laughed at this, before Bernard continued onto the other powers who had come to this world.
"The Soviets are as intimidating as ever, order within, order without, always so high strung and grim faced... never were my kind of people anyhow. But now, they've gone into bed with this new power, oh what is it, Zion? They build great machines to do great works, expanding further still if i'm not mistaken, but as always their works will crumble and become changed by time or new hands. Then there is talk of Heroes and mercenary bands, how unseemly they are. Not to mention this, 'Order of the Raven'."

Bernard straightened his tie upon mentioning the group, a common insult amongst Carcossans, meant to imply you are not worth the attention one would give to dressing themselves. "They claim to have the grimoires of the Old Ones, and that they're used to power war machines. That's a bold faced lie if I ever heard one. Not to mention, they have the audacity to take Arkham! I spent the better half of a decade in the walls of Arkham's sanitarium, I learned what lied beneath the streets of that city... I know what waits, and they have the gall to try and claim it as their own."

The Herald found the producer's rambling to be amusing. More and more representatives entered, and so the dancers finished their performance, great applause was given from the Carcossans, as well as from the rest of the crowd. The strange music did not stop entirely though, it simply changed to a subtler sound. This made it smile, for just like the King in Yellow, just because the music was seldom heard or seen, did not mean it wasn't there.

Copenhagen,Denmark

The galaxy drop ship hovered a short distance away and unloaded it's cargo, among them were four men one in a coal black tux with a red tie, and four men in heavy exosuits that made them stand to about 10 feet in height, the exosuits were spray painted in a mock manner to their leader, they were painted coal black with a red tie painted on, but there were things that set them apart to, on ones visor there were painted Maori warrior markings, on another a smiley face, and on ones shoulder was a female devil who sat in a seductive position, while these men were all painted to look nonthreatening, the miniguns on their armor and the grenade launcher on the lead suits armor made them anything but non threatening.

The small group of Terran Republic individuals made their way through the other delegates and processions, the heavy exosuits followed slowly behind their leader and tried not to step on any toes as well, but what was on everyone's mind was that it was like a celebration not a meeting of nations that could starting tomorrow start slaughtering each other at any moment but no one was going to say anything about it atleast not now anyways. Slow and steady apparently did not win the race was when they separated and the lead MAX,and one of the lower ranked MAX's escorted the president to their spot they were one of the last ones in, while the president was getting his stuff ready the exosuits stood silently waiting for the process to start.

Computers were a new convenience and way of life for the people of Nerth. How strange that sixty years after the world had been saved from the forces of darkness, that they would be mysteriously faded away from Nerth into an entirely different world. Coastal towns still had their old lives. . . as strange as it was, the temperate climate had covered all of Australia through some strange cosmic quirk. How does an entire continent disappear off the map while staying in the same geographic location? Nerth. That's how. The people just faded into Earth through a mysterious magical phasing of dimensions. It was almost as if people woke up from bed and were on Earth.

The conference was then joined by the representatives of the Order of the Raven, who entered the chamber with neither flourish nor introduction. The two men simply stepped in silently, made note of those present, and continued further in. One was a spindly, strange man with white hair, dark skin, and s garish suit. The rings on each of his fingers clacked quietly as he idly stretched his hands. The other was obviously much younger and more muscular, pale and dark-haired, with a more robust, handsome face. His clothing was more plain, though his cloak and lavender eyes still had him stand out in the room. Both had their Grimoires clearly on their person, the books hanging heavily at their hips like bolstered weapons.

Augustus sent Levi a telepathic message, Remember: austere, unyielding, inscrutable. Like a true sorcerer.

Levi replied testily, Yeah, yeah, I know. Fill them with fear of our arcane knowledge and all that.

Augustus tried to stay patient with the young Grand Master. Good. Now keep your eyes open. Stay aware of any threats. For instance, there, those in yellow. They bear the ancient sign of Hastur.

I see them.

I will keep watch of them. Why don't you introduce yourself to the nobles? Don't ingratiate yourself too much.

Levi wordlessly set off to do so, though more wandered about aimlessly, unsure of who to talk to or what to say. All of this talk was Vespasianus' thing, not his, and yet because he was the face of the Order, he had to keep potential partners friendly. The Order needed funding to restore their facilities, which meant West Industries needed customers. But even then, Lucy was better for that job. Levi sighed. If only being Grand Master meant all he had to do was sit in his Deus Machina and beat the crap out of renegade sorcerers. That he could do without a problem.

Zefryin wandered over to Levi and Augustus as they sat down. "Welcome to Copenhagen. I'm glad to meet some fellow magicians of like quality." She said pleasantly. "I would like to speak with you gents." She stated as she held the goblet of wine in her hand. "Would you like some fine wine? They are preserved somehow by the citizens of Elfora. This wine is well over three thousand years old and much different than anything else ever seen in any of the factions across the Earth. We could probably buy a private jet for what just one bottle of these tastes like."

Tetora was a simple person. She disliked politics. She disliked work. She would rise late in the day and would do nothing but laze around. She would eat her three square meals a day, and then bum off to read a book or go sleep. That was the nature of Britannia’s princess. But while she was lazy, she was not spoiled; she was wise enough to keep herself in check and not waste herself away eating pastries. There were responsibilities to uphold as a member of the royal family, but she was the fifth in line to the throne. Therefore, she never asked for this. It was beyond her, annoying, inappropriate. Inaction was the right choice for her when the King disappeared; the fifth in line had no business in the complicated politics of a ceremonial head of state. But her elders squandered their opportunity. They lost the favor of the public with political blunders. The people were outraged. It almost caused a civil war. Without lifting a finger, the people began rallying around her. And Tetora was unable to do anything about it.

A month later, she found herself on a plane to Copenhagen as a head of state.

Tetora sighed. The incessant, droning sound of jet engines was starting to get to the young princess. For a person used to being pampered in a large, quiet, and comfortable manor, the cramped quarters and loud noise aboard even a spacious private jet was bothersome. She had been told by the pilot that the plane was a Boeing Business Jet, the most state-of-the-art and accommodating travel arrangements money or influence could buy. It had a range of 12,000 kilometers and could fly at 900 kilometers an hour, more than triple the speed and range of the best airplane in Europa. She agreed that it was kind of cool, but being told fascinating things about her method of travel did little to mitigate her discomfort.

She rolled around on her bed in her comfortable pink pajamas, hugging her pillow. She could faintly hear her set of advisors arguing about something in the next room, probably regarding the nature of her security detail. Jerome himself had telephoned her directly informing her of the security arrangements; two girls from the 501st, an elite, independent military wing within the UDF, would be accompanying them to the diplomatic proceedings. She had yet to meet them, but they were from Europe and were supposed to be very good at their jobs, more than the so-called Special Forces that the advisers were bickering about. Tetora had already approved of the detail, so she keyed the intercom, telling them to “Please, be quiet.”

The electronic screen on the desk across from her bed made a soft chiming sound, indicating that they were probably nearing Copenhagen.

She realized she should probably get dressed.

Celina gazed out of her plane window, wondering why so many people thought this view was beautiful. It was just the same boring blue sky with the same boring white clouds. There was nothing new or exciting to see. Then again, most things were incredibly boring for Celina. She has known the exciting life of the fabulously wealthy, as well as the painful life of a street rat. Nothing was really new to her, nothing at all.

Sitting next to Celina was Viktoriya, the Premier of the USSR, and technically, her boss. Not that the two of them had that kind of relationship. They were fairly close, often having tea together and discussing what they should next. They would usually be planning now, but they did that before they got on the plane. Given how Russian stormtroopers were in every other seat on the plane, and Viktoriya's usual paranoia, this was no big surprise.

Celina decided that it was time to prepare their ride to the meeting. They left Warsaw a while ago, so they must have been close to Sjaelland, specifically, Copenhagen. She managed to get them a transport VTOL, just to be safe. Once again, Viktoriya was extremely paranoid, so this might let her relax some.

Well, now it was time to relax and prepare for the upcoming meeting.

[Jake]

Fifth floor. Almost there. Pausing at the fifth floor landing to catch my breath a bit, I look out the window towards the palace. While he'd been climbing, it would seem that more of the representatives for other factions had arrived and were already heading inside while their transportation pulled way from the palace to be parked in their respective holdings;parking lots, hangars, airstrips, things like that. Sighing as the last of a pair of black clad people went inside the palace, I take the last two flights of stairs to the sixth floor and open the door to the balcony I would be set up on.

As I step out, I pull my plasma rifle over my shoulder and hit the form change switch, resulting in the barrel elongating by a couple extra inches and a scope rising out from a hidden compartment within the main body of the weapon, locking into place and then lengthening as well. Pulling a chair from a nearby table, I sit down at the railing and place the rifle on top of it. Looking down the scope, I look at the front entrance through the crosshairs, watching three black suits of power armor with a red...was that a tie?

I chuckle as I note the red tie painted onto the black suits of power armor and shake my head. Their visors were interesting as well, but I had to wonder how those images made it past any kind of official inspection for...something. I didn't know what, but I didn't dwell on it, instead continuing my inspection of everything and everyone else. The Autobots were sticking to their routes and moving in pairs mostly. Fliers seemed to be in decent patterns. The only thing that worried me was how quickly these currently peaceful patrollers would turn on each other if things went poorly.

"Bah," I mutter, "don't need to dwell on that."

Argon Charr didn't want to be here the Mandalorian could think of many other things he would like to do. But sitting in a meeting with other leaders was definitely not what he wanted. If wasn't for the fact that he could use the meeting to get some possible contracts and some revenue for the clan he wouldn't even bother showing up. Argon entered into place in his full armor with his helmet on with five other Mandalorian officers all of them were in there armor. The group walked into the palace Argon scanned the room looking at the representatives of the other faction. The Mandalorians deiced to avoid mingling for now and to rest into one of the lounges to wait for the meeting to start.

Cybertron – Approximately 6 Earth Months ago

All was silent above an alien world. The metallic planet, completely covered in city-like structures and large expanses of metal plating glistened from the light emitted by a nearby sun. It was about that time a bright beam of energy shot up from a point on the planet, apparently creating an object similar to a black hole. The main differences, however, was that it didn’t seem to be pulling anything in, and it was surrounded by a gaseous cloud of swirling blue energy. The object was called a Space Bridge, an artificially induced wormhole designed to transport cybertronian life.

The Space bridge vortex remained active for a short while, however suddenly something happened. The beam that had been feeding it stopped. The last of the energy sent up to the portal zoomed towards it at an alarming speed, before slamming into it. That caused a massive explosion, and caused the portal to start rippling. The blue energy turned yellow as it started to lose power. Meanwhile, on the planet, the cybertronians watching became alarmed.

“Prime! The space portal Grimlock identified is becoming unstable!” A white colored cybertronian known as Ratchet turned towards his leader, Optimus Prime.

“How much time to we have?” Optimus said, despite his medical officer’s apparent panic, he remained calm.

“Impossible to know, the sooner we launch the Ark, the better.” Optimus frowned at the reply, knowing that they didn’t have the Energon to launch the Ark. They had used it all up in the battle to defend it, and subsequently lost the load incoming from one of the last remaining Energon lakes located in the Sea of Rust.

“Optimus, take whatever spark that remains within me. Use it to light your way across the stars.” A deep, robotic voice interrupted the Prime’s thoughts.

“Metroplex my friend, you don’t have to do this.” Optimus turned his head towards the screen displaying the giant city-sized cybertronian, “There’s no guarantee you have enough Energon to even get us to the Space Bridge.” The risk was too great, and more importantly he wanted to find a way to do it without losing one of his subordinates. Optimus only got a simple response; “This is my choice.” It was a statement that Optimus could not refute.

As Metroplex fastened an Energon hose to his chest that connected to the Ark’s fuel cells the Autobots sounded the boarding call. The final Autobots that were guarding the Ark from Decepticon attack fell back and ran up the boarding ramp. At the hatch, a certain yellow bot turned around and took one last look at his broken home. The city surrounding the Ark was covered in dust, Building once clean and majestic, were now broken and falling apart. Truly, it was a dead world. With one last sad look, Bumblebee turned away from his home for the last time, and entered the bowels of the Ark.

With the last of the Autobot forces onboard, the Arks engines lit up. The powerful rockets pushed it up slowly at first, causing smoke and dust to shoot up around the massive ship. As Optimus looked down from the Bridge of the Ark back at their home, he saw Metroplex fall to his knees. “You sacrifice will not be forgotten.” Those were the only words he could think to say at the loss of his friend. He hoped that Metroplex would be the last casualty of the War for Cybertron.

As the Ark finally boosted into space, Metroplex managed to turn his head towards the stars. With his lights fading and Energon levels completely depleted, he spent his remaining life force on his final words. “Till all are one” His lights then flickered out, and his head dropped down. The Autobots exodus had begun, and he felt content to know that he had succeeded in his objective.

New Planet – Current time (A few hours before Copenhagen summit)

He was wrong. Although Optimus had hoped Metroplex would be the last casualty of the Great War, he was wrong. Their mortal foes, the Decepticons had pursued the Ark using a vessel recycled from the remains of the massive Decepticon, Trypticon. Apparently, Megatron had named it 'The Nemesis'. The two ships entered a frenzied fight, ensuing in massive casualties on both sides. By the time the ships had reached the portal, The Ark was barely flyable. They both careened into the portal and vanished from Cybertronian space. It was after they had entered the portal that the Autobots found themselves unconscious. They had no clue why though, and they also found that there were no Decepticons. Although it was unnerving at first, they had decided to not question good fortune. Although, they were worried about the world they were on, seeing as how there could be Decepticons ransacking it for all they knew.

Of course, that had been six months ago. Since then, the Autobots had seen no evidence of Decepticon activity. They were also not alone. There were numerous alien factions, each one seeming to not originate from their current world. Although it had been hectic at first, things quickly sorted into place. Factions were created, and a cold war was started. Now refugees, the Autobots wanted no part of it. They retreated into the Ark, their new base, and chased off all who sought to interact with them. Although it wasn't in their character to be rude like that, their current situation demanded it. Their Energon supply was incredibly low. Only about a year or so left, and it was demanding their full attention. They couldn't afford to be brought into a war of any kind, or they would all perish in few months, if not even shorter. They decided to join the Copenhagen Coalition, at least until their energy crisis was solved.

Despite the low fuel levels, they spent much of their time examining the remains of the human settlements around them. Optimus' lieutenant Jazz was spearheading this endeavor, requesting all information on the previous culture be cataloged in their databanks to preserve the history of the world. They were also working on repairing the Ark, and fitting it to work better as a base instead of a ship. This was due to the little fact that it was currently lodged two thirds of the way inside a mountain, with the aft engines poking out of the hill at a slight upward angle. They had only recently excavated the external cannons that had been buried, and were situating them at the entrance of their new base. They had also drilled tunnels through the mountain, clearing up the Launch tubes that the Aerialbots used to get flying. Much of their Energon use was currently designated for keeping their computer system and basic functions activated, such as opening doors and keeping adequate lighting. However, despite that there were frequent blackouts.

Optimus had just finished reading a report from Cliffjumper, a red colored Scout very similar in body design to Bumblebee. The red 'bot was working double time, driving around the abandoned roads and finding out about where they were. Much of the area that the Autobots protected was desert like, and the other parts were mountainous and snowy. He heard a clanking sound as he looked up to see Jazz giving a relaxed salute. Getting up, Optimus signaled for his leutennant to speak.

"Just received word from the Copenhagen group, they wanna have some Meet'n'greet. Discuss world peace and stuff." Jazz explained, handing a copy of the summons to Optimus. "I'd like to go if you don't mind me asking."

"I don't mind" Optimus replied, putting the down the copy. "Get a team ready and we'll go immediately." Optimus then activated his communicator and contacted Ratchet, informing the medic of the situation. It was then quickly passed along to all Autobots using a similar method. Within a couple minutes, it had been decided that Ironhide would be in charge, and a small team would be sent to the meeting. Optimus, Jazz, Sideswipe and a couple other soldiers including a duo of Titans would be sent. They would fly to the meeting using one of the still functional dropships stored aboard the Ark.

After getting everything in order, Optimus and his team set out for the summit. Due to the speedy nature of most Autobots ships, it only took about an hour to arrive. As they came to a landing on the outskirts of the city, the Autobots made sure they were prepared. The Titans would be armed, in case of anything going haywire, and would also stay by the ship. They would be joined by Sideswipe, who was the pilot. Going to the meeting, unarmed of course, Optimus knew that neither he nor his subordinates could fit inside the designated building. They would most likely have some sort of video feed to allow them to join in from outside. As they arrived, they ignored the odd looks they got. Being much larger than the other delegates, they were prepared for staring. They were currently situated in a couple groups around the outside of the building. A couple soldiers were having a talk about the 'good old days' before the war. Jazz seemed to be looking around and talking with the other delegates, no doubt trying to squeeze as much information about cultural practices from them. Optimus was by himself, silently watching everything going on around him.

BGM - The Touch ((The quintessential Transformers Song!))

An older woman approached Levi, bearing wine and speaking of magic. Ah, this must be one of the others capable of magic that had been brought to this world. That saved Levi the effort of having to narrow them down. He looked to Augustus, who was entirely focused on the yellow cultists (or was at least pretending to be), and so Levi took it upon himself to handle this.

"Ah, lovely, thank you." He said in a deliberate tone that was polite, yet still somewhat brusque. "I had not thought to encounter many other magicians of prestige in this place," he lied, "I don't believe we've been introduced."

This strange, deceptive sort of interrogation was something Levi prided himself on. It wasn't often that he was able to put to use the detective skills that he spent endless hours in his youth honing, only to forsake them for his sorcery training.

"Don't think you can probe me so easily, stud." Zefyrin stated in a firm but polite tone of voice. "I have a crystal ball and I know how to use it." She joked with a voice of light hearted satire. "You're covered in Cthulhu, but I like to be a good Samaritan, especially to new neighbors. I hope that we can be friends, or at least, some kind of significant, "friendly".

Haman watched the other delegates with interest as more and more world heads arrived. they certainly seemed to be an interesting bunch, from a variety of nations, some similar to Zeon, and some not so much. In turn, she gave each her own appraisal, both the member states in the alliance they were currently a part of, as well as opposing nations. After all, Zeon was willing to play fast and loose with her own political allegiances should it benefit her end interests, so it was worth making these sorts of judgements.

It was in the course of this though that the trio found themselves being approached by one of the giant robots, the 'Autobots', if memory served correctly. Haman stepped forward, Mashymre at her side, while Mineva looked up at Jazz with wide eyes, natural curiosity and awe tempered by years of training in royalty. Naturally, the blue haired man was ready to intervene should he need to, though what he could actually do in this situation was minimal at best.

"Yes, would you like something," asked Haman calmly, no betrayal of annoyance or negative emotions, but much rather preferring to converse with someone who had actual authority. But still, small beginnings, and any ties that could be built up between Zeon and other countries would be useful, even if they couldn't directly aid them.

"Oh, not much. Just a tad curious about your kind." Jazz replied nonchalantly. He had approached the group because they just so happened to be the nearest humans. From the remains of the previous culture that the Autobots had gained dominion over, he learned quite a bit about the humans. However, he didn't get to talk to living ones, so he found this to be the excellent time to find out more about them by listening to actual humans.

While Jazz interacted, Optimus watched his lieutenant carefully, watching to see how the interaction would play out. If things started to head south, which he highly doubted, he would intervene and break Jazz away. Although he still thought that Jazz was a really hard 'bot to dislike. His calm and respectful, but also fun personality made him friends with many Autobots. His deadly skills in combat made him feared by his enemy, which resulted in the saving of many Autobot lives, another thing to be grateful for.

---

Back at the ship, Sideswipe found himself very bored. In fact, so bored that he simply just wandered off. Normally he wasn't one to defy orders, but he felt he had it under control. He doubted anything too crazy would happen, and planned to stay close enough to the ship to remain useful. It had been a long time since he had seen a city that wasn't under attack or falling apart, this 'Copenhagen' was a nice refresher for the Autobot warrior. Of course, his real reason for leaving was to try and find someone to show off to. Although the Autobot Titans were good company, they were far to serious to react much to the smaller Autobot's brags.

"I see," Haman replied calmly, glancing about while aware of Mashymre hovering nearby should she need him, or he need to take a bullet or some sort of attack for her. He was the kind of subordinate she liked, devoted, skilled, willing to do whatever he asked no matter how unethical it might be. He might object, of course, but once he heard that she had given the order he would go for it, Compared to Chara Soon or someone like Rakan, that kind of blind devotion was very welcome.

Well, no one else was approaching the trio to speak, which perhaps spoke on their low opinion of Zeon, that they didn't feel them worth talking with. A mistaken opinion that they would soon find to be wrong, but for the moment there was little she could do about it. "Well then, ask away. We seem to have some time."

Before Jazz could begin with any questions though, Mineva stepped forward, looking up at him and her head cocked. "Um, so where's your cockpit," she asked curiously. "I'd really like to speak to you in person, Mr. Pilot." A silly question perhaps, but one couldn't fault her for not quite getting that Jazz didn't have a human inside piloting him. Artificial Intelligence was pretty much nonexistent in the Earthsphere, so the concept of a 'sentient robot' was a bit difficult for her to grasp.

Levi quirked an eyebrow at the mage's rebuff, but upon her invocation of a certain Great Old One, he visibly winced. Was she mad or just plain stupid? Any mage worth their salt knew that names had power (the titles of the Seven Emperors existed for this very reason), and beings such as the Dreaming God took every opportunity they could to manifest themselves. Sure, it wasn't like he was about to wake up and rise from the depths just because some mortal mentioned his name, but that was not a risk Levi really considered worth taking.

He looked at the woman warily, "Keep to what you know, and stay out of what is obviously forbidden, and there is no reason we cannot be civil. I will speak more on this at the conference." He turned to leave, but a bitter taste in his mouth left by the meeting led him to pause and add, "Knowledge is power, but be wary of those that should not be trusted with either."

Meanwhile, Augustus brooded. Hands tented in front of his face, he pondered several ideas that he had been mulling over for the past few weeks. Though they put on a front of power and prestige as always, the Order was in dire straits. They needed raw materials, income and manpower, in that order. Deus Machina were fine, but they needed repairs, maintenance and transport, none of which being free.

Their solution in the past had been West Industries, which turned the brilliance of the West Family to gold for the Order, but all of the infrastructure, factories and such, had been left behind in the Old World. The consumer base was also lacking; mostly military organizations advanced enough to not be impressed by the sheer novelty of West's creations, and requiring more reliability than he could offer.

Allying themselves with a larger faction would work ideally, exchanging their unique expertise and technology for reasources. It was almost too obvious a solution. However, in the back of Augustus' mind nagged the thought that such actions were against the nature of the order. Had Levi's father still been alive, and Grand Master, he would have surely disapproved of the Order backing any particular nation. However, that man was dead and these were troublesome and uncertain times. The Seven Emperors would have to convene on the matter later; for now Augustus would survey the powers at work.

As much as he disliked it, the powers of the Directorate would be most advantageous to associate with. Their territory surrounded the Order's headquarters, and would be most predisposed toward a mutually advantageous relationship with the Order. As it was, the representatives of the Principality of Zeon sat nearby. Augustus approached them boldly, grabbing Levi by the arm as he passed to lead him over.

At the moment, they seemed to be preoccupied in speaking with a large... robot, of some order. Still, the two stood in the wings, clearly awaiting their attention.

"At your leisure, Your Grace." Augustus said to the child-ruler, still pushing Levi forward.