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Southern Wing – Minimum Security

Airachnid observed Brace as he responded to her. This Kronus mech must be one interesting individual. While Brace didn’t seem afraid of him, at least not outright, it was clear that he was uncomfortable with him. Between that and the fact that he was in maximum security he must have done something fairly extraordinary. That didn’t mean he was dangerous necessarily. Those types usually got sent for spark extraction. Whatever Kronus had done must have been bad enough for the security but not lethal enough to earn extraction. That he was in the psychiatric ward meant that the Autobots thought something was wrong with him and that they could fix him. That added another twist to things. The mix of security and psychiatry wasn’t one that was used very often. Even she wasn’t sure what exactly would earn someone that treatment.

It was a bit frustrating to go into a meeting with someone blind, but she had little choice in the matter. She wasn’t about to ask Brace for more details and lose her standing as someone who was prepared for anything and in control. The Decepticon would just have to wing it and trust her instincts. Between her days as a soldier, interrogator and hunter she had encountered all sorts of beings, she was sure she could handle one prisoner, even if he was crazy.

Airachnid smiled at Brace as he took her hand, wishing her luck and giving her a bit of advice. It was amusing, this whole little act of formality they had going. It had been a long time since she had to engage in such things. They could be amusing for a time, but they tended to run their course quickly. Airachnid found that the little war of words only made her miss the real hunt even more. Words could inflict pain, even wound, but it took claws, hands and guns to actually snuff out a spark, and it had been far too long since she had done that.

Smiling, the femme made an exaggerated bow back to Brace. “We are all unique in our own ways aren’t we? Perhaps once we are free and out of this place I can show you what makes me unique.” In her mind she pictured slicing up the little annoyance with her extra limbs. The thought made her smile genuine. “Until then, I thank you for your assistance.” With the large guard motioning her forward Airachnid sauntered out of the makeshift office and back into the prison corridors, bound for a meeting with Kronus.

Southern Wing – Minimum Security

“This might not bode well for any of us. Especially if that little glitch is included in this plan.”

Brace Stepped back to his desk and mode his way around it until he was positioned just in front of his chair. Had he made the right decision in sending Airachnid down to see his old associate? He couldn’t be sure…in fact only time would tell. Preferably the business mech only wanted to get out of this hell hole, but with the addition of more stragglers that might not turn into a reality.

The short blue mech flopped down heavily into his chair and shook his head gently.

“Kronus, if you screw me I’ll gut you.”
____

Southern Wing – Security Complex

He had only five breems. Five breems to get to the complex and to disrupt the security feed to level 4…including that block’s maximum security psych block. Regulator let out a long heavy sigh as he came to a stop at the doors to his intended location. There would be one other guard stationed there with him, but he felt confident that he would still be capable of pulling off the job without the other mech finding out.

Regulator pulled in a deep intake and entered the clearance code. An astrosecond later the doors slid open revealing a bank of monitors that spanned two walls from half way up and coming to an end just before the wraparound desk’s top. As the guard stepped inside the other mech, already stationed at his part of the wall swiveled his chair around and offered the new arrival a welcoming smile.

“Hey! You must be Regulator. Name’s Whiplash. I was just transferred here from duty rounds in Block L. Hope I’m not in your seat. When I got here I didn’t know if you had a specific area you like to use more than the other…”

Can’t this slagger just shut up? I need to think and his incessant talking is already giving me a processor ache.

Regulator forced a smile and shook his head slightly. He made his way to the free chair located on the opposite side of Whiplash and took a seat.

“No, that’s okay. I’ve no preference. And it’s good to meet you, Whiplash. I really hope you like it here.”

The new guard’s smile widened as he gave Regulator a deep nod of thanks. He then turned around to face his bank of monitors and set to work watching and taking notes. Regulator remained in his position watching Whiplash’s back trying to keep his cool so he could perform his task and be on with the rest of his evening. After a moment he turned around and worked over the keyboard until the four video feeds focused in on their intended location.

Regulator took a tentative glance over his shoulder to make sure the other mech wasn’t watching…he quickly checked his chronometer and realized he had only three minutes of his deadline remaining. Positive he was not being watched Regulator began to recycle the images and carefully reworked the images into a continuous loop. Since there were no sudden movements made in the Block it was a simple feed and once implemented cycled through flawlessly.

With that task complete the guard sat back and simply watched the screens. When whatever was going was finished he would be signaled enabling him to reverse the process.

Southern Wing – Level 4 – Block C

The duo of Aileron and Airachnid took their time on their way down to Level 4 where the Cell Block Kronus was located in. The senior guard’s private comm channel with Brace was activated signaling that a new message from the blue was just received. The flier made a quick check of it and let out a grunt. The video and audio feeds were disabled giving them plenty of time to reach the cell where the Decepticon could converse with the freak.

“Video and audio feeds have been taken care of. You got your time…just be quick about it. I’d prefer to spend as little time in this reject ward as possible.”

Aileron picked up his pace and stopped before the reinforced doors to the Block. He entered the security code and watched as the door slowly slid to one side revealing a dark dank corridor. From behind the guard placed a hand on Airachnid’s shoulder and gave it a slight shove.

The two pressed forward until they reached a desk where Spree was located…still in a deep recharge. The flier knew the guard wouldn’t be waking anytime soon. From the sleeping guard Aileron cast his gaze on the door directly in front of the desk. There was no sound coming from the cell which worried the senior guard. He did not possess the codes in order to unlock the doors and raise the bars so if something had occurred he would be of no use.

“Kronus! You have a visitor!”

With a low grumble Aileron stepped to the door and took a peek through the small opening at the top of the door. He scanned the dark cell but saw nothing…not even the familiar glow of online optics. The sudden appearance of Kronus in front of the window is what caused the larger mech to pull back.

“You Pit spawned slagger! Do that again and I’ll tear off that thing on your head and watch as those I/D chips detonate!”

There was a slight muffled chuckle from within the cell as the flier moved further away from the door.

“Oh come now, Aileron. You and I both know that you’d never get in here…and even if you did you wouldn’t make is very far.”

Kronus peered out into the corridor and glanced around the large mech and set his nearly obscured optics on Airachnid. His eyes narrowed as he searched the femme’s features. She had a reputation…as most ‘Cons did…but she was different.

“You’re Airachnid. You’re reputation precedes you. Tracker…hunter…a true success story.”

The thief grew silent as he stepped toward the rear of his chamber. He pressed his back to the wall and slowly slid down…his metallic body scraping a screeching along the way. He settled on the floor and shut his optics down. He already knew what the femme wanted and he already knew he wouldn’t like it, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t listen.

“So, you want join me in escape. I could grant that but…”

He paused for several minutes and quietly began to hum an ancient tune. It was a soothing melody, one he performed several times in a cycle. It was strange as it never seemed to bother Streamlight, however it always seemed to disturb all others.

Case in point…Aileron ground his teeth and stepped ahead of the spider-femme where he curled his hand into a fist and pounded several times on the heavy door.

“Knock it off you deranged freak! Get on with things or so help me I’ll blow that demented little head of yours from your shoulders!”

It never failed.

“I may be inclined to include you in my plans, but that kind of generosity comes at a price. And frankly, Airachnid…I hope it is Airachnid I'd hate to get it wrong…I don’t think you can provide me with anything worthwhile. Of course I offer you every opportunity to prove me wrong.”

Cell Block -- Counterpunch and Skymauler’s Cell

“Oh, I have a would-be comedian in my cell. How droll.” Counterpunch’s optics glitter with thinly-veiled malice, “So utterly amusing -- I’ll withhold my critique of your performance until I hear more of your material, though.” He leans back, affecting an air of indifferent casualness, yet at the same time tensed and prepared for any potential... unpleasantness, while mulling quickly over what little information was provided. “You still didn’t answer me, though -- who’s got the connections around here? I‘m serious about that sun visor.”

The comment about fun brought a dark chuckle of amusement. Prowl was such an unmitigated skidplate, the way he never relaxed or showed any hint of enjoyment in... well, much of anything to be honest. If there was anyone with a metal rod shoved up their exhaust pipe, it was Prowl -- he never knew how to kick back and have a little fun.

Like the fun you’re having?

Counterpunch’s optics narrowed slightly. It appeared his little visitor in the back of his head had calmed down now. His alter ego was just as close-minded to the prospect of relaxing as the Autobot military strategist -- and just as rigidly inflexible. Flexibility, however, was something Counterpunch himself specialized in -- and it was that flexibility and willingness to bend that was the reason their shared consciousness had managed to survive as long as they had.

He suddenly leaned forward, gaze focused and intent on Skymauler. “Although... what, exactly?”

Southern Wing--Block B

"This story began... well, if I told you the where and the when of the story I would be publicly speaking classified information and that would get me some extra cycles in your little camp so I guess I will be skipping all the background information. It was the usual thing for me, though, get an order, identify a target, and blow it to Unicron."

Vroom moved a little bit as if he were trying to get more comfortable. Deep down, however, he knew that would be impossible. Nothing about this made him comfortable.

"I had been told by Prowl that the target was empty save for Decepticons so I did not have to hold back. So I went in and did my thing. Locate the weak points and place enough explosives to cause the whole thing to come down and, yes, some extras to make my escape even more dramatic."

He began to kick the wall with his right leg without really noticing it. A subconscious expression of his anger of what was coming.

"Everything went according to plan and I escaped with my usual flair, using my jump jets to take to the sky as the place went up and landed to take a bow at the Autobot forces that I knew would be watching. That's when I heard the screams. Turns out that the 'Cons there had hostages..."

His hands clenched into fists.

"Hostages I was never told where there. We tried rescuing them but it was no good. The room the 'Cons had locked them into was right in the path of one of my explosions. They got torn up pretty bad and there was no way to get them to medical attention in time. None of them were combatants... Primus help me there were even protoforms."

Vroom was silent for a moment. There was no hint of movement from him in the cell.

"I did a little digging up and found out that the preliminary scouting report had included those hostages. I went to Prowl to confront him on that and he began spewing me his logical scrap about how withholding of that information was key to achieving maximal effectiveness. Kinda lost it, I guess, and the rest you know."

"Maximus, you asked me why I am here. I'll tell you. I'm not here out of any respect of authority of you or the Autobots. I'm here because of the innocents that died because of me."

Rung’s Office

Lacking a proper mouth adorning his face made it rather difficult to determine Whirl’s exact expression, but from the brief illumination of his lone amber optic Rung was able to deduce that his response to the former Wrecker’s outburst was not one that he had been expecting.

“You were, huh? Well now that certainly was…dull.”

Whirl backed away from his psychotherapist and picked up his overturned chair. He promptly flopped back down into the seat and let out an exaggerated sigh of annoyance. He just wanted to leave and get back to work…well not really to work but he wanted to leave all the same.

“I can’t stand you. I give you as much bull-slag as I can muster and you just sit there mocking me. You never even flinched. Now I feel insignificant. I can’t even instill fear in a mech who’s…well, who’s you! I must be losing my touch.”

Rung shook his head slightly before leaning over to grab the data pad that contained Whirl’s psych files. In fact this was just one of the pads that contained information on the former Wrecker.

“Whirl, I’ve been at this far longer than anyone even realizes. I’ve dealt with some serious mechs and femmes…ones who were much more dangerous than you are…and none of them surprised me with their antics.”

The pincer-like hands on the blue mech dug dangerously hard into both armrests of the cushioned seat.

“Yeah they got nothin’ on me, doc. But I wouldn’t mind hearing about them…”

“I’m sorry Whirl, but I can’t breach the doctor-patient privilege of confidentiality. So, we’ll have to move on.”

Rung ran his slim digits over the keypad on the slate and brought up the notes from their last session together. It seemed as though the therapy he had recommended to the old watchmaker had not been completed…if done at all. That was certainly disappointing to say the least. He would need to address that now when it’s still fresh subject matter.

“Whirl, during our last session…”

“Gah! Don’t call it that! This is not a “Session” it’s more like a meeting. Yeah, use “meeting” instead.”

“Alright. During our last se…er…meeting I had recommended that you try one of the mood repair strategies…namely retrieving positive memories. How did that turn out for you?”

Whirl groaned heavily while tossing his head back. He released the armrests and laid his interlocked hands in his lap.

“It didn’t.”

“Didn’t? Didn’t what? Did you even take the time to try it?”

“No. Why would I? It’s not like I have any positive memories. So instead I decided to make present day memories my positive memories.”

The lithe orange mech let out a “Mhmm” as he gave a nod in understanding and added a few new notations to the slate.

“Can you tell me what present day memories you’ve made? Do they somehow involve killing, maiming, bullying or general bad behavior?”

Whirl’s head lowered back down letting him gaze at Rung who was still taking notes on their continuing meeting.

“Uh…maybe we should move on.”

Rung quirked an eyebrow as he raised his optics up to meet the blue mech’s gaze. It was always difficult to help any patient who simply refused to be helped, but his role as a therapist was to never give up.

“I really want you to share your past experiences with me... I’d like to understand where you’re coming from. It’d be the best way to help you to understand yourself. It would also help with making these present day memories into productive ones. You were a watchmaker but only after you had been a member of the Aerial Corps…let’s start from there.”

“I’d rather not talk about any of that. I wanna keep my past in my past…hence no happy, happy memories. So drop it, doc.”

Rung nodded reluctantly…he was on to something but he also didn’t want to push his patient too far. Actions such as that could turn out disastrous.

“Alright, Whirl. Our time is just about up but before I let you go I’m going to give you an assignment.”

Ugh! Really? It’s not more of that hoity-toity positive memories scrap is it? Because if it is I’ll have to just put to use my "present day memories".”

The threat was taken very seriously. Whirl was unpredictable and easily agitated…delicacy of the subject matter would need to be handled with the utmost care.

“Uh…well…not exactly. This time around I’m going to prescribe that you try a different aspect of the mood repair strategies. This one’s called active mood management. It involves a series of relaxation techniques which include meditation and controlled intakes. I also recommend you put in some time at the training facility. Physical activity can help a great deal with managing ones mood.”

Had Whirl actually possessed a face it would have been twisted in an angry scowl and adorned with a deep hate-filled frown. But since that type of physical expression could not be demonstrated Whirl had to settle for another overly dramatic sigh followed closely by a guttural growl of disapproval.

“That sounds like a load of slag. It’s actually the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard leaked from that slimy processor and slip from your mouth. You actually want me to meditate? I can do the physical activity, but the meditation? That ain’t gonna happen. In fact I won’t let it happen.”

“Actually you will do it and you will let it. I’ve just sent Maximus a detailed note on just what I’ve prescribed. Failure to follow through and I have the right to assign a punishment. It may not be protocol but if I’m going to help you than some rules have to be bent. Now, you may go.”

Another grumble of dissatisfaction escaped Whirl’s vocalizer as he left Rung’s office and made his way toward the Southern Wing Control Room where he was scheduled for duty. He stopped in his trek, however, before he turned the corner leading to his destination. If he was supposed to be meditating then that’s exactly what he was going to do. He opened a link with Maximus with the intention of letting his boss know just where he’d be if something were to come up.

>>”Boss, just left Rung’s hidey-hole. The twerp wants me to work on my attitude so he recommended I try some new cockamamie technique. So I’m gonna give it a go. You need me I’ll be “meditating” in the Greasepit while pouring copious amounts of high grade down my gullet. Wish me luck.”<<

Southern Wing – Level 4 – Block C

Airachnid did her best to remain amicable as she was slowly led through the prison. Her impatience with the leisurely pace they had taken was wearing thin however. She barely stifled a hiss as the oaf escorting her around gave her a shove to keep her moving. There was so much carnage she was going to have to reap once she had escaped to relieve this pent up frustration at being unable to lash out. She would have to find somewhere to store the trophy collection she would acquire as it would be far too large for a single ship to contain.

The Decepticon watched in mild amusement as her escort interacted with this Kronus. Despite being behind an impressive door the guard still seemed easily unnerved by him. Apparently whatever this one was known for was either so heinous or unusual as to warrant these extreme measures and reactions from everyone else. This was going to be an interesting conversation.

Finally Kronus addressed her. She smiled and gave a slight bow. “My reputation precedes me. I’m flattered.” She moved in closer to the window as he withdrew to the back of his cell. He went silent for a moment before he began humming some sort of tune. Airachnid was by no means a musician and she did not recognize the tune. It certainly seemed to set her escort off as he jumped up and began pounding on the door for him to stop. Whoever this mech was he had a knack for riling people up. Perhaps there was some way she could use that.

She was disappointed at his reply. Despite knowing her reputation he found her of little value. Once again she found herself insulted, but she kept it concealed. This one she could tell was far smarter then Brace. He would not be played as easily as he was. The combination of flattery and insults she had used on him wouldn’t be effective here. She was going to have to try a different strategy.

The femme stepped in closer to the door. “I have to say I’m disappointed at being dismissed so quickly. If you are aware of my reputation, and yes I am Airachnid, then you must know I can do lots of things other Decepticons can’t. Certainly once I’m freed from these restraints you would find me valuable ally, far more capable then Brace when it comes to escaping I can assure you. Perhaps you require a buffer or liaison between yourself and him? We both know that if he is to escape he will have to be all but carried out of here. Perhaps you’d prefer I do the lifting in that case?”

She suspected he might be planning to dispose of Brace altogether. Unfortunately she couldn’t address that directly with one of his paid goons watching their interaction. Hopefully he would pick up on her double meaning there. With the harness removed she would have access to all of her built in weaponry while she suspected Kronus and Brace would have to acquire weapons on their own. Once she was free of her shackles it would be easy to dispose of Brace. Of course if he did plan to keep him alive then he could take her offer at face value.

“If it helps at all as well, I am an accomplished flier. I assume you mean to leave this planet and not just the prison. It couldn’t hurt to have an extra pilot along in case something…unexpected happens.” She would let him ponder all of that for a moment while she plotted her next move in this new bit of verbal jousting.

Southern Wing – Barracks

What was that horribly loud ringing? Why in the Pit was someone ringing a bell…and why where they doing it so fraggin’ loud?! Streamlight let out a disgruntled groan and raised and hand to the side of his head giving it a gentle rub. The young guard on-lined his optics only to dim them considerably as the light in the room painfully flooded his senses.

“Ugh, geeze! What happened?”

With and arm draped over his optics blocking the light Streamlight dropped his free hand to the small table that sat next to his berth. After a few seconds of fidgeting he finally found the right slide bar that would lower the illumination above his head.

Slowly he removed his arm and powered up his optics again, this time he was able to keep them on. He took a slow look around and sat up. He noticed a few of the other guards already in recharge. Most of them obviously had only just returned to the barracks while a few had been there for some time and would soon be heading back out for another shift.

The flier let out a heavy sigh as he drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them loosely. How did he get here and why did his head hurt so much? Streamlight shook his head while trying to access the file that had been created the previous night. And everything was a blur. He laid his forehead on his knees and let out a disappointed grumble.

“Smooth move, Stream. I wonder if I missed…”

>>”Streamlight? It’s Rung. Have you forgotten that you were supposed to escort Kronus up to my office for his session? I hope everything is alright.”<<

Oh slag! Oh slag! Oh Slag! I can’t believe I forgot! What was I thinking?! Oh geeze, if Fortress Maximus finds out about this I’ll be relegated to refuse duty!

>>”Oh, uh…hey Rung. Sorry for the delay but…uh…I got a bit sidetracked and couldn’t get down to Level 4 just yet. But don’t worry I’ll be on my way in a couple breems. So…so no need to let Fortress Maximus know that there was any problems with moving Kronus. Everything’s fine.”<<

Streamlight’s face scrunched up in concerned uncertainty when he didn’t hear the other side of the line close but instead remained open…and disturbingly silent. Oh please just let it go.

>>”Streamlight, you sound disconcerted. Are you sure you’re alright? I could call in another guard to give you a hand. I know Kronus can be difficult at times…”<<

There was a heavy gust of air that past Streamlight’s lips but he quickly slapped a hand over his mouth in order to silence his panicked gasping.

>>”No! Uh…I mean no thanks. I’m good. Give me a few breems and I’ll have him up to your office in no time.”<<


This time the line did cut out letting the young guard release his long held breath. He stared at the far wall for a moment trying to calm his nervous shanking. Although he hadn’t even realized that he was so distraught. You are so going to the Pit for this.

Streamlight flopped back down onto the berth before finally rolling off its surface and getting to his feet, which seemed to be a feet in and of itself. What in the name of the Prime had he done last night?

Finally gaining some sense of balance Streamlight opened a link with the guard who had relieved him the evening before. It was funny how he could recall what had happened before he left his post but after that it was a blank. Maybe as the day progressed he’d be able to access that memory file, but for now he had to get things moving.

>>”Spree? It’s Streamlight. Look I think I over slept and…well, I need you to get Kro…the inmate ready for escort to Rung’s office. You know…strap him up to the wall, restrain his hands…yeah, and well…just get him ready for me. K? Thanks.”<<

The slim flier never gave the mech on the other end of the link to respond and instead closed the line down. He’d need to get down to the block quickly if he was going to keep things on track.

Southern Wing – Level 4 – Block C

“Oh believe me I had no intention of dismissing you.”

From his position against the back wall, shrouded in the inky blackness that had always consumed his cell, Kronus grew silent and simply listened. The Decepticon seemed to be so…desperate to leave the confines of such a cozy little home away from home. After all where else could one find a place to bed down and get two square meals a day? Well, if you were lucky you got two.

“My, my, my. You are a desperate one aren’t you? As tempting as it would be to make you my “buffer” so to speak, I must refuse. You see I already have my “buffer” and I don’t believe I’ve received all of his help. Besides, Brace can move around this place with no repercussions and you’re stuck in that tight little cell. No. Your talents are much more useful than any of that.”

There was a low bang in the back of the cell as Kronus leaned his head into the wall. The prisoner released a contemplative sigh but then grew silent for several moments.

“I do know you’re a flier…that precedes you as well. But I don’t need a flier.”

A shuffling noise and then light foot falls had Kronus standing before the small window in the door. He took a look at the spider-femme and form behind his face restraint smiled a broad toothy grin.

“I’ll tell you what…I get out of here I’ll remove those restraints and then we’re both on our way…you go one way and I go the other. In return…I want to retain my head. I doubt it’d look good mounted on your wall."

He shifted slightly and moved just a little closer to the door taking great care not to come into contact with the energon bars.

"I’d shake on it but I can’t quite fit my hand through these bars.”

Once his business was completed Kronus cast his gaze toward the large mech standing next to the desk the unconscious form of Spree was sitting at. Aileron took a good long look at the psychotic prisoner and let out a venom laced grunt.

“Heh. You know Aileron; I have an appointment to keep. Actually I’m running a bit late so you might want to take my visitor back to her cell and report back to Brace. You can let him know he’s losing his touch, but I’ll forgive him…this time.”

“Appointment? I wasn’t told…Brace…”

Kronus let out a guffaw while he watched the surprised expression take over the usually composed mech’s face.

“He was supposed to have gotten all the schedules including that quack psychiatrist's! Damn it!”

“Yeah, I feel your pain. It is so hard to find good help these days…wouldn’t you agree Airachnid?”

Starport - Security Control

It was rare to see a spaceship at Garrus-9's starport after just couple of mega-cycles having passed since the last visit made by a prison transport. In the early days of the war, this wouldn't have been anything special. Back then spaceships packed full of prisoners had flowed in and out almost without a pause. But the war had taken its toll. There simply were not enough warriors on either side anymore. Even Decepticon operations had become increasingly careful to a point of being quickly cancelled if the chance of losing troops had increased past acceptable levels. The war had turned from massive galaxy wide combat theaters into a galactic game of hide and seek. Still, it had been the earlier visit that had been unscheduled, not this one.

A number of security personnel had herded a small group of what appeared to be Decepticon genericons into the Security Control zone where they were being scanned for hidden weapons, planted bugs and smuggled goods. Of course, new arrivals hardly ever managed to smuggle anything past the security check. The smuggling operations were run by corrupt guards who were quick to secure their personal orders from the new prisoners and supplies brought to Garrus-9 before they actually reached the scanning point. And because of knowledge acquired of these shady deals, the Decepticon Secret Service had been able to build a network of information brokers who were piece by piece forming a detailed knowledgebase of the prison facility and its staff.

The group of genericons had been planted by the Secret Service to deliver a message to one of their contacts in the prison staff. Not that the genericons knew it themselves. The circumstances leading to their capture had been carefully set up to make both them and the Autobots clueless of the true operation being run under their noses. For the real star of the operation was already riding away from the Security Control zone inside one of the many supply crates that had already passes scanning, on their way to the prison's logistics center. An Insecticon, one of tens of thousands of its kind but with one major asset - it was sentient, not a clone but a source of them. His name - Hardshell.

In a less than two cycles later, Hardshell had burrowed into an open crack in the wall of the logistics center and created a small tunnel allowing him to move about. Already he had several clones of him ready to do his bidding but he had to be careful. The more clones he'd create, the greater was the chance of being found. Thus, he chose to send off only one remote controlled clone at time. The clone was after all sacrificeable. He wasn't.

Corridor by corridor, room by room the tiny Insecticon clone crept towards its target ward, often hitching a ride from the numerous members of the prison staff going on their business. Oh how, Hardshell would have liked to murder them on the spot. These mechanoids were his sworn enemies. They had oppressed his kind for too long. And yet, he could not give in for his desires. The mission was more important than few dead Autobots. He didn't know all the details but Scorponok never joked about issues such as a mission importance. No, quite the contrary - the High Commander had been dead serious. These mechs whom Scorponok wanted found, they had to possess something extraordinary. And for whatever the High Commander was after to be turned into a reality - Hardshell needed to find this mech, Aileron.

Cell Block

Skymauler smirked and stretched his gears a little.

"You do that," he said, before returning his gaze to the highly uninteresting ceiling above him. What a way to wile away one's days. He supposed it was better than the alternative. An alternative that was much too much a reality for frontline grunts like him which were usually only too expendable in the grand designs of some commander's war strategy.

As this Counterpunch had continued on though, it was clear that something in what Skymauler had said caught his interest. He wasn't sure what that was for a moment, but he quickly regained his train of thought.

"Although....word is there are some entertaining things that go on down in the mines sometimes. I've heard some of the guards mention it before. Hush hush stuff. They'd get thrown in the cells just as quick as us if even half of it's true. Sometimes they take prisoners down there...and...they don't come back up."

Smymauler's grin remained practically glued to his metallic face as he waved the digits on his actuators in front of Counterpunch in mock-fright.

"So scary," the Seeker said. "'Course, that's just what they say. I've never been down there. Guards might just be trying new ways to keep us in line. The guy who owns the bar on this rock runs the mines. Former 'Con, actually, but he's straightened up. Warden seems to think so anyway. He's pretty connected."

Skymauler paused.

"...as to who else has connections...hard to say. 'Bots tend to come and go around this place. 'Specially the ones that make themselves too noticeable."
___

Southern Wing--Block B

Fortress Maximus listened quietly but intently as Vroom relayed the experience that had landed him here. It was war, and war was dirty. And in many respects, they all had their own foul stories to keep with them for the remainder of their functioning days. All that being true, Vroom's account was a stark reminder of everything that Maximus hated about this war. No, not just this war. All war. The collateral damage. It was atrocious. And honestly, Maximus wasn't always sure exactly how he kept on wearing that red badge.

But he did.

"I'm sorry," Maximus said quietly. He was sincere, but he suspected it wouldn't matter much to Vroom. He had built a very tall and very thick wall of defenses around himself and Maximus was sure he wasn't about to let it down for the likes of him.

"When you get out of here, I know of some worlds that harbor a lot of non-aligned," Maximus said, as he started to turn away. Noticeably, he had said "when" and not "if". Fortress Maximus fully expected one with Vroom's history to not be behind cell walls for long, either because High Command eventually wizened up and overruled his sentence in the face of his little act of defiance or because he found some other way to avert the system. "It's an option."

Maximus began to walk away. The parallels of what Vroom had been asked to do and the potential repercussions of holding a mech like Punch here were eerily similar. Too much so for Maximus' taste.

>>”Boss, just left Rung’s hidey-hole. The twerp wants me to work on my attitude so he recommended I try some new cockamamie technique. So I’m gonna give it a go. You need me I’ll be “meditating” in the Greasepit while pouring copious amounts of high grade down my gullet. Wish me luck,”<< came a transmission from Whirl.

>>"Copy that. You've earned it,"<< Maximus commed back. Balancing the mental health of those under his command, especially under the strain of serving in such an isolated location as the Elba system, with their morale was a difficult highwire act. In most situations, Max tended to let the psychiatrist perform his function with little interference from him. Balancing work and....not-work was difficult enough under the most ideal conditions. He wasn't about to begrudge his subordinates an occasional indulgence at the Greasepit, or any of the other little makeshift ways the staff used to entertain themselves. So long as it didn't jeopardize anyone's safety, Maximus left well enough alone.

In fact, a little shutdown time in his personal quarters was sounding better and better now.

Senior Guard's Barracks

Steelhand still lay on the berth where Downfall had left him, still deep in his recharge cycle. While his body was still at rest, his processors continued to run, accessing files almost at random from his databanks. These files combined with Steelhand's own deep thoughts and emotions, causing the guard to dream as his body worked to repair and restore his various systems.

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Fortress Maximus looked at the datapad in his hand, then down at Steelhand, towering over in his office. The warden set the datapad down on his desk, then gave the senior guard a smile.

"You've served me well, Steelhand.", Fort Max said in a warm tone, "But it's time for you to go back where you came. Enjoy the mines!"

A grateful smile came over Steelhand's face- he was finally done being a guard! Done having to watch over killers and psychopaths! He would get to return to what he was built to do.

"Thank you, sir.", Steelhand saluted with gratitude, "I've been waiting a long time for this."

"You've earned it.", Fort Max replied, "The mines are that way, enjoy."

The large warden extended his hand to the right toward something unusual for a warden's office; a large mining tunnel of rock, right in the middle of an otherwise metallic wall. Steelhand didn't question it, though. He was just happy to see it.

"I know I will.", Steelhand said as he turned and walked into the mine, grabbing the pick axe from his back.

The mine was well lit, despite the fact there didn't seem to be any light source. Further and further down Steelhand walked with a spring in his step, going deeper and deeper through the tunnel.

After many breems of content walking, Steelhand was stopped by the bar from the Greasepit, which was oddly placed in the middle of the mine. Goldrush was standing behind the counter, wiping empty mugs clean.

"Can I get you a drink, Steelhand?", the Greasepit owner asked casually as he picked up another dirty mug.

"No thanks, Goldrush, not on the job.", Steelhand happily replied, "I'd like to get to work right now, can you move out of the way?"

A disappointed look came across Goldrush's face as he set down the glass and the cleaning rag. He shook his head.

"Sorry Steelhand, but you're not working for me.", the bartender answered, "Only miners can work in my mines."

Steelhand's optics went wide open in shock.

"What are you taking about?", the guard asked confused, "I am a miner, I've always been a miner. It's what I was built for!"

Goldrush shook his head again, "That's not what they told me.", he pointed behind Steelhand.

Steelhand turned around- from seemingly out of nowhere were a dozen or so of his old mining friends, all of whom he hadn't seen in countless vorns. One of them, a small gray mech walked up to his face.

"You're no miner!", he accused, "You quit on us! We fought to get our jobs back! We got our afts beaten by Autobot security, and look at you now!"

The small miner put his hand on the Autobot symbot on Steelhand's chest. He pressed his fingers into the insignia harder, and harder, until they were dug deep into Steelhadn's armor. Shocked at what was happening, but not feeling any pain, Steelhand looked down and watched as his old mining friend ripped the red symbol off of his chest, then rubbed it right into Steelhand's faceplate.

"You wear THIS, you have no right to say you're one of us!", the miner said in disgust before tossing Steelhand's ripped insignia on the ground, "You piece of slag!"

"I- I did what I thought was the right thing to do!", Steelhand protested, as he still stared at the hunk of armor lying on the ground, "I didn't want to hurt anyone! I didn't want to cause any trouble!"

"LIAR!", came a gurgling, static voice from behind Steelhand, "YOU KILLED US!"

A hand suddenly grabbed Steelhand by the shoulder and forced him around. To Steelhand's horror was a mech with his faceplate smashed in, and a deep hole in the side of his head. Looking around were many other mechs behind him, different sizes and colors, with varying types of damage to their body. But they all had smashed faceplates and holes in the sides of their head. Steelhand knew all too well, it was how his opponents usually looked when he had won in the arena. Out of guilt Steelhand dropped his pickaxe.

"No I didn't!", Steelhand pleaded as he couldn't look away from his victims, "You were still alive when I left the arena! I didn't know- I never knew they would-"

"Cut the slag!" the mech in front of him shouted from the wires and components that used to be his mouth, "You're a killer! You hurt us and you left us to die!"

"Sorry, Steelhand.", Goldrush apologized, still standing behind his counter, "Gotta listen to my customers. Can't let a killer work in my mines, especially when they're not a miner."

"No, no please!" Steelhand begged, "Let me work the mines! It's all I want! Just let me be a miner again, please!"

Steelhand was on his knees, begging for a chance. But no one would listen, as the voices of those he wronged filled the cave.

"Killer!", "Autobot Scum!", "Why did you smash my face?", "You quit on us!", "You let me die!", "You're no miner."

"Please just stop it, please!", Steelhand shouted, trying to make the voices go away, "I didn't want any of this! I didn't want to quit! I didn't want to be a gladiator! I didn't want to be a guard! I JUST WANT TO GO BACK TO THE MINES! I JUST WANT TO GO HOME!"

<<RECHARGE CYCLE COMPLETE>>

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Steelhand gasped as his optics came back online. He took in several quick intakes as he looked around, and realized he was in the barracks. He took a deep breath to try to calm himself down.

"It wasn't real.", the guard reassured himself.

Still feeling groggy from last night, Steelhand was slow to get off the birth, taking his time to regain his balance to stand up. He stopped for a moment to check his back- his pickaxe was still held in place, right where it alwasy was when it wasn't in his hands. He chekced the time- he still had some time before his next shift started.

And after that, I WILL be going to the mines. It was all just a dream, Goldrush won't turn me down for this job. Everything will get better, I'm sure of it.

Slowly walking around to get his systems fully online, Steelhand tried to remember as best he could about the night before. He felt bad about Streamlight running off after he had invited the young guard. Steelhand opened his comm system.

>>Streamlight? This is Steelhand. Sorry about what happened last night, are you doing okay?<<