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Southern Wing - Block G

Scowl had decided to relax after tapping out a ‘good game’ signal to Icepick at the conclusion of their latest match. With an activity period having ended so recently there was little else to do but sit around, relax and listen in to whatever interesting conversations were going on around the prison. Unfortunately there wasn’t too much of interest to listen in on as the warden soon left the prison facilities. After his departure it was just the usual chatter and gossip. The really good stuff was discussed out of the range even his enhanced audio receptors

The Monstercon shifted his focus back to Icepick and Umbra as the former began to explain how the game was played. Listening to the myriad instructions for the little code they had come up with made Scowl wonder how even he and Icepick managed to keep it all straight. With unlimited time and boredom anything was possible apparently. As he reached the end of his explanation Scowl moved to reset his own board. It would be rather exciting to play someone new.

The short Cybertronian rubbed his hands in glee when he heard her make the first move. He duplicated it on his board and then paused to think for a moment. The early stages of the game were fairly elementary. Still, these early moves could dictate the rest of the game, so they weren’t to be taken lightly. Finally he settled on a move, a basic and fairly neutral one. He wanted to get a feel for his opponent before becoming to aggressive. ‘Scout 5 to E-6’ he tapped out on the wall.

*

Southern Wing – Cell Block G

Airachnid had quickly and silently returned to her stand spot in her cell. She sat down in the chair in the middle of it, her legs crossed at the knees and her hands folded in her lap. She was the absolute picture of calm, giving a broad smile to any guard who passed by. It was her typical way of spreading confusion and intimidation. She didn’t want the guards to think she was angered, depressed or even inconvenienced by being in the prison. Sitting calmly and smiling was far more likely to confuse and frighten them then any standard display of rage that most other prisoners would use. The guards who didn’t know her history would be lulled into a false sense of security while those who did would be disturbed by her. Both reactions worked in her favor.

Of course this act was far easier to do when the Decepticon had nothing else to do or look forward to. Now that there appeared to be a very real possibility of escape it was more difficult to maintain this façade. Still, she had to keep up appearances so as to not arouse any suspicion.

Fortunately for her the series of loud sighs and other noises coming from a neighboring cell would have been enough to annoy her on even the calmest of days. With no guards currently in sight she took the time to address the mech next door. “Something wrong over there neighbor? Not getting enough fresh air over there?” Her tone was taunting, as it often was. She had little fear of the guards and even less for her fellow inmates. If this prisoner, Flame was his name she recalled, was capable of more the sighing loudly then he would have done it by now.

Southern Wing – Cell Block M

Oh was he getting to this one. Then again Spree had a knack for getting under any mech’s plating this, ‘Con would be no different. And the best thing…he’d get away with it. He always did after all.

Spree watched intently as Wildfly tried like hell to hide his growing anger. He won’t hold out long. Stupid ‘Con can’t take it. Spree let out a hearty chuckle while he slammed the palm of his hand against the door several more times.

Now he’s pacing! Oh this was great! And he’s mumbling! Not only is he angry, he’s crazy! Even as Wildfly charged the door and began thrashing angrily against it Spree continued his mocking laughter. This was getting good. With another guffaw Spree upped his taunting. “Wow. I just realized somthin’. Those over-bright optics, that rigid body, those tightly clenched fists…you are ugly when you’re angry! HAHAHA!”

Spree stepped closer to the door and shook his head slowly. So pathetic. “I know what’ll make ya feel better. How about I put a collar and leash on ya? Then I can walk ya out here so you can lick up this mess. Would ya like that? Would ya, boy?”

Southern Wing – Cell Block G

Flame continued his inane grumbling, coupled with some over exaggerated movements. There was nothing worse than living out his days remembering what his superiors had done to him. Fortunately he had all the time in the world to plan his return. And when he did return those narrow minded fools would finally see the error of their ways.

The scientist was pulled from his delusional musings when he heard the silky smooth voice of the femme occupying the cell across from him. Well, now this was good. Someone to talk to and someone to listen. “Wrong? Oh my dear, there is always something “wrong.”” Flame took hold of the lone chair in his cell and moved it to the door and took a seat…mimicking Airachnid’s won move. “As for the fresh air…no. I’ve no need for it. No, what I need is for one of these fools to see that I was right and they were, and still are, wrong!”

The mad scientist stood up from his chair and began pacing his cell. “I was the one who was on the verge of ending this war! I was the one who could have saved us all! And now…” He spread his arms wide gesturing wildly all around him. “…now I can do nothing! They put me here because they refused to believe me.” He stopped his movements and returned to his chair. Slowly he began to calm down. He carefully crossed his legs, folded his hands and laid them lightly in his lap. A gentle smile spread over his face as he regarded the hard to see image of Airachnid. “So, tell me, my dear. Where was our little friend Aileron taking you to? I’m quite certain it wasn’t for a visit to our resident psychiatrist, nor was it to our believed warden. Besides, everyone here knows that over grown aft-hole doesn’t answer to Maximus…not anymore anyway.”

Rung's Office

Fort Max listened quietly as Rung spoke. He had not asked the psychiatrist for his opinion with a decision already made. Maximus' leadership style was far from that which would pay anyone lipservice. When he wanted to know a mech's thoughts on something, it was because Maximus' own were usually still a work in progress.

Kronus was hardly the first violent, unstable inmate to work his way through the Garrus system, but his case was still unique. And if both rehabilitation of the individual and safety of the masses could be achieved, Max would do it.

"Alright. In that regard, I suppose I was coming to you to affirm my own thoughts. Spark extraction is never something I would advocate for. It...well, you know....I feel it's something I'm just forced in to every so often. Let's hope this one doesn't push the system too much further down that road."

As the doctor made note of his perceived progress with the inmate and his intent to increase sessions, Maximus nodded and slowly got to his feet once more.

"Go for it. I hope it works," Maximus said, looking down at a report that had come through from Armor Aid. It pretty much confirmed what he had thought. Feared, maybe? On some level. "I guess that's all I needed to hear for now. We both have plenty of work ahead of us, so I'll leave you to it."

Maximus smiled in his usual, half-ish sort of way before turning to exit the psychiatrist's office. He wasn't the happy-go-lucky sort of 'Bot, but he didn't mind conveying a little bit of positive emotion, or any emotion, unlike mechs such as Ultra Magnus who wanted to be taken super seriously at all times. He really did hope that this would turn out for the best at the end of the day, and that Kronus did not simply become another casualty of the system. The war, however, had consumed many in its time. Maximus did not like his odds.

It was an uphill battle for all of them.
___

Elba Mines

Goldrush didn't really need to hear Steelhand's words to know that he would be a better fit down here than the industrialist had thought. Everything about his tone and his body language suggested that this was a place that he wanted to be. He would surely prove to be as effective a miner as he was one of the warden's stronghands. Maybe more? Goldrush didn't want to set the mech up to fail, but his prospects were looking good. Maybe he himself had made a mistake in waiting so long in allowing the guard to work down here. Or maybe he had just primed his engines that much more. Who knew, really? Goldrush didn't care, so long as it meant increased profits for both of them.

"No. No they didn't," Goldrush said, thinking back to his own mining operation, as well as the state of the mining industry in general during those last days leading up to the start of the Great War. A war that had been started by a miner-turned-gladiator. Or maybe the other way around. Goldrush was not expertly familiar with Megatron's biography. The mines themselves, though, by that time, had been largely stripped of most of their precious resources. Many of the miners burned their sparks at every angle simply because it was their function to do so--wrecking their bodies and churning out nigh-worthless scrap. It wasn't until after the war began, and both sides began to dig deeper, that their homeworld provided new treasures for them to uncover.

"I think you will. I definitely think so," Goldrush said as he continued to lead the guard through one of the winding caverns of the mine, while pointing out others that Steelhand would likely be assigned to. "Some shafts are more complex than others. More unstable. The more seniority you gain, the deeper the shaft and richer the profits."

Ahead, Goldrush could hear a rising chatter of numerous mechanoids. There was one last area of this mining operation that Goldrush wanted to ensure the guard was familiar with so that it didn't take him by surprise when he inevitably discovered its existence later.

As Goldrush and Steelhand walked in to the open area, they joined a crowd of a few dozen mechs who were cheering on a fight between two others in a sunken pit just a few meters below them. A cheer went up as one mech tackled the other to the ground and landed a furious punch.

"This...so I hear, is one of the ways that some of the mechs down here like to burn off a little excess energon. I can imagine what you might be thinking, but it's not," Goldrush said, pausing as another cheer went up. The gladiator arenas of old were dens of destruction. Mechs fought for survival in those days. Miners were starting to notice his presence now and point it out to others. "No weapons. No death. Just the sport of winning and losing. What a bot can do with his hands. And, well, the enjoyment of picking a winner and walking away with some extra chits."

Goldrush grinned and looked on, watching as the mech that had been tackled earlier now indicated his desire not to continue, and the other mech's arms were raised in victory. Cheers went up from some and jeers from others as small amounts of currency began changing hands.

"Break's over! Back to work!" one of the foremechs called down from a higher level cavern.

"You have any money on that one, Goldy?" one of the miners said as he walked past Goldrush and Steelhand.

"Not this one. Just missed it. I'm sure I'll catch another," Goldrush said, looking back over at Steelhand. Like most guards, he possessed a solid physical design. He would likely do well as a miner. But he would also likely do well in this arena, too. Very well. But he didn't want to push the young guard too hard yet. Let him get acclimated to his new surroundings, find ways to balance it with his traditional facility work assignments and, well, let the chits fall where they may.

Goldrush would surely have some riding on him.

"Well, I think that's as much damage as I can do," the golden mech said, chuckling. "I'll let you start putting pick to stone and hand you off. Copper! He's all yours!"

The larger, copper-colored mech closed in on them, having obviously been watching the goings on from some other part of the mine. Goldrush gave Steelhand one last nod of encouragement before starting to walk off himself. It was good to get down here every once in a while and stay in touch with one of his earliest sources of wealth, but there were still operations on the upside that required his attention. If only there were more breems in the orn.
___

Southern Wing - Cell Block B

"Oh, not too late at all. What you did on the outside and what you do in here are two different things. Some mechs can't separate the two but, well, those who can.......they do better," Icepick said, listening as Umbra and Scowl began playing their game. Truthfully, he kind of found the whole thing relaxing, even when he wasn't playing.

The question about Fortress Maximus was a natural one for any newspark to wonder about. After all, one was only really motivated to do their best if they knew they weren't being set up to fail at every step. Icepick, for his part, had never got that impression during his time here.

"The warden? Oh, I suppose so. He's probably as fair an Autobot officer running this joint as we've had in a good long while. We've had a couple of real crazies before Max got stationed here, when he was off fighting...well, us. Some of us, anyway. Has a grind for Scorponok from what I hear. Don't know what went on between those two. Whirl's one of the ones you gotta watch out for. He's more glitched than some of our old battlefield commanders, and that's saying something. Fortunately the warden has pretty solid mechs in most of the senior positions. With his big ship docked here, and his crew running around, it helps keep the place stable. As stable as anyone could keep it, I guess. We're not the most accommodating bunch, as you'd expect."

Medical Ward

Armor Aid stepped out of his office, reluctantly, just as the drones were finishing their cleanup. As expected the ward was shining clean, no doubt sterile, and every tool and piece of medical equipment put back in it's designated place.

"Good job you two.", he said to the drones, "Now if only you could do surgery, maybe the patients would actually have a chance."

Both drones stopped for a moment when Armor Aid addressed them, waiting to see if the acting CMO had any orders or commands for them. When none came they went back to cleaning as if he had said nothing. Armor Aid sighed.

"Yeah, you've never really been much for conversation.", he pitifully said to himself.

He looked to the Medical Ward's main entrance, the one barrier that seperated him from the rest of the Penitentiary. Since Lancet's death he hardly ever left the medical ward, thanks to a sufficient supply of energon and a fully furnished private office he had little need to leave except for the worst kinds of medical emergencies. Other than those and the rare orders from his superiors, he had no deisre or need to leave the medical ward.

With effort Armor Aid took a step toward the door. Then another, and another, with each step requiring more effort than the previous one. He didn't want to leave the relative safety and seclusion of the ward, but if he didn't Rung would probably intrude on him, and he wanted that even less. Finally after several breems he reached the door, and his hand hovered over the button that would open it.

Just do it already., he thought, his cooling fan taking short intakes as it seemed like there was a forcefield preventing him from opening the door, his optics shut off, Just open it, get out there, and get this over with.

Suddenly Armor Aid slapped the button with his palm, and the door hissed open, though his optics remained disabled. He didn't want to look out because he already knew what was waiting for his in the hallway.

They're staring at me now, I just know it, all the inmates and the guards and the other stafff. Staring at the sorry excuse for a medic that's too scared to leave his own office. Any minute now they'll start laughing their vocalizers off, probably come up with some new jokes about how I'm Garrus 9's greatest killer.

Slowly, Armor Aid reactivated his optical sensors. To his dread there were several guards standing around, some of them whispering and snickering, and all of them looking and pointing toward him. In a panic he transformed into an armored medical transport, and sped off with reckless abandon. If he was lucky everyone would think there was an emergency, and they would stay out of his way.


Elba Mines

Steelhand continued walking through the mines with Goldrush, he was so excited to get started that he felt like he would explode if he didn't start swinging his pickaxe at one of the walls. The mine's owner showed him some of the areas he would be working in, and Steelhand took careful note of each one every turn and intersection. It had been an awful long time since he'd walked through caverns, and the last thing he wanted to do was get lost, especially if he needed to get back to his regular duties at the prison.

As they went further, Steelhand's audio sensors picked up a number of voices up ahead. Though he didn't know the voices personally, something about them seemed somewhat familiar to him. He could make out what seemed to be a few cheers, a boo or a jeer here and there, some taunts. As they got closer, he thought he heard the sound of metal hitting metal. Although not nearly as loud or as aggressive as he remembered, the general tone gave him a cold chill. As they reached the open area that Goldrush was leading him to, Steelhand dropped his pickaxe as a look of horror came across his faceplate.

No...... no, no, no.... this can't be real..... not here.....

Steelhand couldn't believe- no, he didn't want to believe what he was seeing. It was much smaller, and more crudely made then what he had fought in, but it was a fighting pit none the less. The two mechs fighting in the middle weren't as violent, and the gathered miners watching didn't seem to be nearly as bloodthirsty as the spectators Steelhand had fought in front of, but that didn't matter. It was a sight that Steelhand had hoped he would never, ever, have to see again.

Steelhand couldn't hear much of what Goldrush said at first, as his memory banks brought up memories that he had long wished he could erase. Visions of energon gushing from limbs that were ripped off, electrical sparks spewing from torn armor plating, and the sickening crunch of servos and circuitry as his powerful fist made contact with another mech's faceplate, all the while a crowd that resembled an angry mob demanded more.

As his new boss spoke some more, Steelhand tried as best as he could to rid the images in his head and stay focussed on the present. He slowly picked up his pickaxe and placed it on his back, still shaking a little as he listened to Goldrush explain the pit. Apparently it was a way for some of the miners to earn some extra money and blow off steam. At first Steelhand was skeptical when he was told that there were no weapons and no killing, but to his relief that statement was confirmed when one of the mechs submitted, and the match ended with barely a scratch on either fighter. Still, the mere presence of the pit left Steelhand deeply unsettled, and conflicted inside.

I've wanted to work down here- slag, I've wanted to work in ANY mine since they were all closed down before the war., he thought, oblivious to all the miners who were walking past him as he seemed in a daze, I can do this.... yeah, I know I can do this. No one's getting killed, no one can force me in there. I can still work here, and I'll just go somewhere else when this is going on. RIght, this isn't Cybertron, I'm not desperate for money, I don't need to fight to survive like I had to back then. This can still work, I know it can. I'll make it work.

Once Steelhand had convinced himself as best he could he stopped shaking and his smile came back, though it seemed a little forced now. He nodded back to Goldrush as the owner walked away.

"Thank you, boss. I promise I won't let you down."

With that said, Steelhand turned to face Copper, reaching behind his back to retrieve his trusty pickaxe.

"Just tell me where to start, and I'll get right to it!", he said to the foremech with professional enthusiasm.

This will all work out okay, I know it will.....


Rungs Office

Armor Aid's tires came to a screeching halt as he reached the door to the psychiatrist's office, his vehicle mode stopping just past it. He transformed, hurried to open the door and rushed in as if he was avoiding laser fire.

"Lousy slaggers, think I'm some joke. Think everything I've tried to do is so funny.....", he said to himself as he took a deep intake, calming down.

Who are you kidding? You are a JOKE!,, he thought to himself, standing with his head down, You've got no business trying to be a doctor, you don't even have a LICENSE! What right do you have to replace the most important mech in your life? How can you even TRY to replace him after you-

Armor Aid was brought out of his train of thought as he realized there was a very large mech who was about to leave. As it turned out it was none other than the warden himself, Fortress Maximus. His mere presence made Armor Aid nervous, and the paramedic started to shake.

"S-sir!", he saluted as best he could, trying to look his commander in the optics but barely being able to. He really wished he had a cy-gar-8.

Please just leave, don't remind me how much I fragged up.... Just let me see Rung and get this over with already so I can get back to my office.....

Southern Wing – Cell Block M

So much for unpredictability. By enforcing silence and marshalling his rage, therefore lending his outward aspect an appearance something in the way of indifference or composure, Wildfly thought he had been rather clever and deceived Spree, hoping the bucket of bolts would pack it in and leave him be. He was wrong.

As his fists crashed against the cell door, adding to the growing amount of indentations already populating its surface and deepening others, and as he hurled countless obscenities at Spree, he finally realised this. That realisation, however, didn't cause him to stop. No, he wouldn't stop—couldn't stop. Fury's disease had infected Wildfly, and its symptoms would not be so easily evicted from his systems.

Spree wasn't going anywhere, but neither was Wildfly's rage.

After a good breem of physically assaulting the door and verbally abusing that oil stain, Spree, Wildfly let up. Arms hanging by his sides, though still threatening to lash out with violent intentions—his quivering fists evidence to support that possibility—Wildfly peered through the small viewing square the guards themselves loved to use so they could monitor the incredibly exciting lives of their inmates on an hourly basis.

Just as he was about to fire a retort at Spree—that cyber-weasel, that piece of slag, that fragger!—Wildfly's nerve receptors registered something sloshing around his pedes. He looked down, and he cursed once, twice, three times.

The sound of Spree's voice filtered through the door, along with his irksome laugh. “I know what’ll make ya feel better. How about I put a collar and leash on ya? Then I can walk ya out here so you can lick up this mess. Would ya like that? Would ya, boy?”

Wildfly's energon ration. All over the floor. Unfit for consumption. Wouldn't receive another ration until who knew when. Expletive. Expletive. Expletive.

He almost questioned himself over the energon ration. Then he remembered why it was pooled on the floor. In his rage, he had forgotten about it, too preoccupied with fantasies involving the agonising death of Spree.

Yet another reason to murder this guard. And didn't they just keep on piling up?

Wildfly did not look at Spree as he spoke, his optics aimed at the energon enveloping his pedes. “When I get out of here, you'll be the first to die. Mark my words.”

Southern Wing - Cell Block B

Umbra mulled over what Icepick said as she plotted her next few moves. It was still very early in the game, so there were still numerous ways to move. The beginnings of a plan formed in Umbra's processor. It was similar to how she went - er, used to - go about her missions long ago. It actually involved quite a degree of deception and subterfuge. She had been in pretty sticky situations before that had required some ingenuity on her part.

It wasn't long before Umbra heard Scowl's reply. A smile formed on her processor as she moved the corresponding piece where Scowl had wanted it. "Moved his Scout..." she murmured to herself as she thought of her next move. He seemed to be playing fairly neutral...probably to get a sense for her play style. New opponent and all.

The femme spent a moment or two deciding between two different moves. In the end, Umbra tapped out her move to Scowl, 'Scout 3 to G-3'. More neutral than her previous move had been, but it set the foundation for a series of traps. She hoped that some of her more bold moves would detract attention from some of them.

Umbra leaned back, satisfied with her move and listened to Icepick as he talked about the Warden. What he said was mostly reassuring. She made a note of Whirl's name in her mental list of guards not to cross. Not that she intended on crossing any of them at all. A little smirk crossed her face when he spoke of prisoners not being the most accommodating bunch.

"No, I guess we're not. But you've been fairly friendly toward myself which was the last thing I was expecting when I shipped mys- got shipped to Garrus-9. An Autobot femme in a prison whose vast majority of residents are Decepticons? Haha, yeah...I wanted to keep a low profile, but that's hard when you're a femme."

Umbra paused in her speech for a moment, considering.

"Thanks Icepick. For, you know, not ripping me limb from limb," she added with a chuckle.

"So, Icepick. Why did you join the Decepticons? What's the appeal versus...say, the Autobots?" Umbra asked curiously.

Southern Wing – Cell Block G

Airachnid maintained the smile on her face, perhaps even grinning wider as Flame took up a seat with posture and position mimicking her own. Was this an act to annoy her or some misguided effort to ingratiate himself to her? Either way it wouldn’t work. While she preferred to work alone there had been a time when she was more involved with the core Decepticon movement. Back then she had worked with all sorts of beings, as associates, prisoners and victims. She had learned to size up another being quickly, tolerate whatever insults or platitudes they threw out and, most importantly, how to get under their skin. She had become quite adept at prodding and poking others, with weapons or words, and getting an amusing provoked reaction from them.

The Decepticon listened and watched as the apparent Autobot spoke. It really didn’t take an expert to see that this one was a self professed ‘genius’ who felt he had been misjudged by those who were too stupid to understand him, or were afraid of what he could do. Airachnid had seen a few of these types in the Decepticon ranks. The Decepticons were more then willing to take in rejected scientists from the Autobots, whether it be for immoral practices or work in more unsavory technologies. Unfortunately very few of them lived up to their own hype. Unfortunately for them rejection from the Decepticon ranks usually ended in the smelting pits.

The scientist retook his seat, again mimicking her, and asked her where she had been. Airachnid had no intention of telling him where she had been. She considered concocting some elaborate lie, but it would probably be more amusing to just ignore the question all together. She still had a response for him though, one she was sure would stir things up for her amusement.

“You said they put you in here because they refused to believe you. Are you sure they didn’t put you in here because they couldn’t believe? Is it possible that you are, in fact, insane, and they put you in here for your own good? Your ranting and wild claims give off that impression at least.” She offered him the same smile she always offered the guards as she awaited a response.

*

Southern Wing – Cell Block G

As Scowl waited for the next move he listened in to some of the conversations going on around the prison. Wildfly wasn’t hard to miss with all of his yelling and banging on the door. They were lucky they didn’t all catch trouble from the way he acted. Certainly there were probably guards who would take out their frustration from Wildfly on his teammates, but fortunately it hadn’t happened yet. He could hear a couple of the more hardened inmates in his cellblock chatting back and forth. They were the types he tended to avoid. He went through all of the usual chatter in the prison before focusing back on Icepick and Umbra.

The Monstercon found himself nodding in agreement at Icepick’s assessment of the warden and guards. Everyone kind of knew about Whirl and how unstable he could be. While Whirl didn’t really pick on Scowl that was probably more because the Monstercon avoided him when he could. The rest of the guards in his cellblock were a pretty decent bunch, to him at least. Sure they were all on the take and crooked, but they treated him well and that’s all he cared about.

Finally his attention shifted back to the game as Umbra made her move. He mimicked the move on his own game board and studied it. So far the game was going very slow, the moves almost out of a text book. He was being cautious but he wasn’t sure if she was doing it because she was new to it or she was also being cautious. Scowl was feeling a bit adventurous, and a little bored, so he settled on a more aggressive move. He adjusted his game board before tapping out the move. ‘Knight of Cyberton 1 to B-7.’

Southern Wing – Cell Block M

This was getting better by the astorsecond. Spree snickered as Wildfly’s fists connected continually against the heavy, nigh impenetrable door. In response the Monstercon’s tormentor slammed his open hand against the outer surface of the door; goading the raving mech even further. The resulting sound from both mechs echoed loudly throughout the entire cell block.

After some time the physical abuse of the obstruction finally subsided when Wildfly let up. And there he stood arms at his sides, fists still clenched tightly. Spree had also stopped his pounding and quietly stared back at the prisoner through the small window.
The smile that had worked onto Spree’s face slowly faded and was replaced by a placid yet neutral expression. His laughter quieted while his optics raked through the cell. There was really no need to push the miserable wretch any further, unless, of course, he gave a good reason.

It was then that the guard’s audios picked up something. Spree tilted his head slightly to the right as he heard Wildfly finally speak. The ‘Con had his optics focused on the floor and not on the guard just outside of his reach.

“What was that? When you get out…? And just what makes you think you’ll ever get out of here, ya freak?” Spree snorted. “None of you dirty little piston-lickers are gettin’ out of here. See, you’re all already dead. You just don’t know it yet.” The guard smiled and let out a low chuckle.

Southern Wing – Cell Block G

At first the Decepticon femme said nothing. She simply sat quietly with that smile plastered on her face. Had it not been for her pleasing features Flame would have been disturbed. As it was, however, the scientist simply took it as another trait held only by Decepticon heathens.

And then she spoke. Flame perked up immediately. Finally, someone with a semblance of intellect to talk to. Perhaps now time would pass a little more smoothly. However, Flame’s hopes were dashed when Airachnid spoke. Flame’s face twisted in disgust. The nerve! To suggest that he…?!

Flame shot up from his seat with such force that the motion sent the chair to the floor with a loud crash. He then stalked to the bars and glared at the femme. “I am not, nor have I ever been, insane!” He threw his arms up in the air and shook them violently. “I am the epitome of sanity!” With a grand sweeping gesture Flame crossed an arm out in front of himself. “I offered them a way to win this Primus forsaken war, and they, THEY, refused to accept it! No, it is not I who is insane; THEY are the ones who are mad!”

He began pacing the length of his cell as he pressed his position further, all the while gesturing fiercely in order to add emphasis to every word he was spewing. “Illicit spark transplants. Desecration of corpses...” Flame shook his head. “All of it was done for the betterment of our kind. But no one could see it.” He looked back to Airachnid a deep frown etched on his face. “So you see; I did nothing wrong.”

Rung’s Office

Rung had risen from his seat and walked around his desk to escort Fortress Maximus to the door when it suddenly slid open giving a very agitated Armor Aid access. The CMO rushed in and instantly began babbling to no one in particular. “Oh my.” Rung let out in a low breathy tone. He was expecting the doctor, but not in such a distressed state.

“Um, thank you, Fortress, for stopping by. I’ll keep you informed of my progress.” Rung kept his optics on Armor Aid while he gently took a hold of the warden’s elbow and guided him out the door. Once the door had closed and the two mechs were alone, Rung made his way back to the worked-up Autobot. “Armor Aid. I’m glad you could come. Please…” the psychiatrist motioned to one of the two chairs that were set in the center of the room.

In order to placate the mech and make him more comfortable with being in the presence of the psychoanalyst, Rung took a seat first. He waited a moment before he began. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll be recording our sessions.” The orange mech raised his right hand and wriggled his thumb. “It’s nothing new; I do it with all of my patients. It helps when I need to review meetings and for writing reports.”

Rung settled in to his chair while he also considered Armor Aid for a moment. He casually crossed his legs and rested his elbows lightly on each of the armrests while interlacing his actuators in front of him. “I’ve read through your file.” The psychiatrist began while also steepling both forefingers and placing then against his lip as he regarded the CMO. “Lancet and you were…close.” It wasn’t a question as Rung already knew of the circumstances of the former doctor’s death. “What happened, even though you may not believe it, was not your fault.”

After a moment Rung leaned forward slightly in order to catch his patient’s optics. “Tell me what happened.”

Southern Wing – Cell Block M

“Oh, I'll be getting out of here, don't you worry. Not sure when, but I will.” Wildfly lifted his gaze from the pool of energon. “You'll see.” He peered through the viewing glass and smirked at Spree. “And you know what? We'll all be getting out. We'll all eventually be free. All the prisoners. Won't that be lovely?”

Considering Wildfly had been confined to a tiny cell for... No, that estimation didn't sound right. He suspected his sentence's length to be around... No, that couldn't have been it, either. Just how many vorns was it now?

It was easy to forget things when Wildfly felt as though he'd been one of Garrus-9's permanent residents since Cybertron came into existence.

Anyway, before he ventured to other thoughts and forgot what he was currently thinking about, Wildfly ruminated over his odds of escaping, scant as they were. And they were scant. Really scant. But they didn't discourage him from daring to nurture a small amount of hope in the event that someone or something would be the cause of his freedom.

Particularly when revenge could be inflicted on Spree. Sweet, sweet revenge.

Corridors

Fortress Maximus had left Armor Aid to his meeting with Rung without any additional interference from him. Just a smile and a nod and the large warden had been off. He wouldn't have much to speak with Armor Aid about until he had a chance to read that report more fully. And even then there were pretty good odds that the report would be more or less a cut-and-dried case with little need for additional investigation.

"Back to work, I suppose,"

"Say what, sir?" another guard said as he walked past the significantly larger warden. Maximus slowly looked around and then looked down, noticing the mech who had spoken to him.

"Oh. Um....good work. Keep it up," Maximus said, offering the guard a quick thumbs up before continuing on the trek back to his office. Never hurt to offer up a little extra encouragement to the staff around here, even if he hadn't specifically been intending to right at that moment. He probably was doing a good job, right?

Another cycle, another credit.
___

Southern Wing - Cell Block B

Icepick smiled wistfully at Scowl's acknowledgement of his good game and sent him a similar reply.

"You too, my friend. You too," he said quietly as he made himself more comfortable in his cell and began the process of retreating--at least partially--in to his mind, where the time passed a little more quickly. Not that time meant much of anything given how long they had been here. Even so, the Monstercon's options were limited and this was the best among them at the moment.

"Ah. Indeed indeed. I think my attitude takes many off guard. As for why I joined....I don't know. Take that back. I do. I think the glitch is that I don't fit in too well with many Decepticons. I like the power and all of that, but having to act like a royal aft to get it just isn't my style. In another life, I might have made a decent Autobot. But Slog is a good mech. Wonderful artist. Inspires me regularly. I suppose that's what bought my loyalty as much as anything, ages ago. And then power came after that. Power and control that I would have never dreamed of on my own. Cybertronians would speak of the Monstructor Six in the most hushed tones. And Primus forbid more than a couple of us start to gather in the same place. Some of it I can see as clearly as I see the walls in front of me. Other parts of it...well....they seem like dreams I suppose. As if they might not've even happened. In any event, now I stand before you as as Decepticon. Or lay in my cell, as the case may be.

"As for keeping a low profile, I'd say you're doing fine so far. You're not killing or cannibalizing other inmates. I suspect the staff will have their hands full with that for a good while. I certainly won't be doing any limb-ripping."
___

Elba Mines

"You'd better not," Goldrush said good-naturedly, before heading off in the direction of the large elevators that had brought him down here in the first place. Next stop would probably be the Greasepit, get the usual affairs lined up for the evening, ensure the accounts were balanced and make sure staffing was set. Then, well, he could probably afford to ingest a little high-grade himself.

"Second shaft on yer right," Copperhead said, pointing behind Steelhand to the access tunnel that branched off in to several support caverns where various miners could be heard clinking away as their tools connected with the stony and metallic minerals inside.

"Don't stop swingin' 'til yer told."