Seibertron.com Energon Pub Forums

Southern Wing – Minimum Security

Airachnid smiled at Brace as the other Decepticon got right down to business. She could admire that, but what she wanted was rather big by his standards. She wasn’t interested in extra energon rations, more yard time or the latest news from the war. No, what she wanted would be far more difficult to get, and so she knew that they payment would be steep. The femme just had to make sure the payment was in line with her capabilities.

The female Decepticon sauntered over to him, her feet lightly touching the ground as her hips swayed from side to side. “What I want is a trifle really, for someone of your intelligence and capabilities. What I can pay you is far more impressive.” She walked behind him, lightly brushing her hand over his arm. “I can offer you so much, but I’m sure someone with your capabilities has already read the file they have on me. Let me refresh your memory anyway.” Standing behind him she placed her hands on his shoulders.

“I am a very skilled fighter. A bit more finesses then some of your men that I’ve seen to be sure, but sometimes finesse is needed isn’t it?” She let out a light chuckle at her comment. “Of course I am a skilled spy. I’m always able to get placed that other Decepticons can’t. I can get mechs to talk to me, one way or the other. Even with all of the guards you have working for you here, I bet you don’t hear all that you want to hear, know all that you want to know. I can help fill in that knowledge gap you have. I’m a saboteur too, although the way you run this place you probably don’t want any part of that.” She laughed lightly again.

Airachnid bent over, bringing her face next to his as she gently squeezed his shoulders. When she spoke it was in a whisper. “Or maybe you need certain mechs…taken care of, quietly. I can assure you I’m very good at that. I was a bit of a hunter back in the day, and its been far too long since I’ve been on the prowl. I would relish the chance to hunt again.” She gently brushed the back of a hand on his cheek. “I can offer you these things and oh so much more.”

She slowly stood up, pulled her hands back. The Decepticon moved around in front of Brace and sat on the desk in front of him, crossing her long legs. “All I need is the deactivation code for this terrible inhibitor claw.” She turned so he could see it attached to her back. Her face took on a sad, slightly pouty look to it. “It’s garish really. I think I would look much better without it, don’t you? Of course, without it I could do so much more for you.” She placed her hands in her lap and smiled, her optics twinkling. “I’m sure you could do this for me, and for you.”

*

Southern Wing - Block G

Scowl twitched when he overheard Umbra mention the name of the warden. Again he wasn’t really listening in to the conversation, but he couldn’t help but overheard some of what was said throughout the prison, especially when it was near Icepick who he was listening to for game moves. With the mention of Maximus however he began focusing his hearing, trying to hone in on the warden’s voice, if he was there somewhere. At the very least he might overhear some little tidbit of information that would be of interest. It wasn’t exactly a regular thing to have a visit from him all the way down here.

Focused on listening in for more talk of Maximus Scowl lost his concentration on the game. He looked at the board and made a quick move that he began tapping out. “Knight of Cybertron to D-7.”

Southern Wing – Minimum Security

The first thing about the femme that Brace noted was that she had no interest in many of the things some of the inmates requested. She had a set of goals and she needed him to help fulfill them. As Airachnid moved past the offered seat Brace eyed her carefully gauging her every movement. She was good, he had to give her that, but ultimately his decision would be made based solely on her counter offer.

Brace narrowed his optics once Airachnid laid out her proposal. All the while the business mech sat back and listened and watched. At the femme’s movement to stand behind his chair Aileron made to move in, but was stopped by a simple raise of Brace’s hand. Why end something that was just so amusing?

While the Decepticon pressed on Brace placed both elbows on the arms of his char and steepled his actuators in front of his face. What Airachnid was laying out was impressive, but certainly not something he hadn’t heard many times before.

He stiffened slightly when he felt her hands press lightly on his shoulders…it was something he wasn’t expecting, but not all together unwanted. He relaxed once again at the sound of her voice. Oh, she was very good.

It was her whispered voice that made him lower his hands back down to the desk. And the gentle sweep from the back of her hand was what brought out a low chuckle. Once her hands had been removed from his shoulders and the femme migrated to the desk, Brace shook his head.

“My, my. You certainly are an ambitious one aren’t you.” It was in no way a question but a statement.

“I must admit you are quite good at manipulation. The best I’ve seen in fact.”

With a broad smile on his face Brace stood from his chair and leaned against the desk next to where Airachnid had taken a seat. He was silent for a moment, hand rubbing thoughtfully over his chin.

“Your offer, however beneficial, is just not feasible. You see my dear; things are run very differently here on G9. A business like mine cannot be run with the inclusion of the inmates. I simply can’t profit in such a manner.”

He cast a fleeting gaze in the femme’s direction before focusing on the dark corner of the room.

“I provide services to those who request it…but they must pay the price. Offering yourself and your abilities, no matter how they may benefit me, will not work.”

Brace shook his head as a deep frown formed on his face.

“I am offended, though, that you would just assume I could not attain information on my own. You see, I know all there is to know already. I have informants throughout this facility. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised if the warden and that quack psychiatrist were the only mechs not on my payroll.”

The dark blue mech pushed off the side of the desk and turned to face Airachnid who was still seated on the desk.

“Now if what you’re really looking for is to get out of that dreadful inhibitor claw I suggest you request I help you get off this rock because I don’t perform that type of service twice.”

He flashed her a broad smile before he moved in closer.

“You see, I’ll be leaving soon along with a close friend of mine. You want that claw off you’ll need to come with. You want in; however, you’ll need to make arrangements with him.”

Southern Wing – Cell Block G

Why did I have to choose living the remainder of my life with my spark still safe within its chamber? Oh yes that’s right, I wanted to make them all see that I was right. That everything I had done was right from the very beginning.

Flame rolled from his side onto his back and placed his servos behind his head. This was the norm. Come out of recharge, consume his morning ration, stare at the ceiling, consume his evening ration, stare at the floor, just to spice things up a bit, and then back into recharge. Pretty monotonous.

He was on his back with his hands position behind his head when he heard the doors to the block suddenly open. Interesting. Rations were already distributed joors ago. Flame tried to ignore the happening, but the scientist in him, and his need to know won him over.

Coming to the door of his cell the orange and red mech peered out to see a guard he did not recognize show up and stop in front of a Decepticon femme’s cell door. He had been locked away in this cell on this level ever since he was found guilty of trying to help his race.

Flame grit his teeth as he watched the unknown guard escort the femme out of her cell and down the walkway. He strained to see as both of their forms vanished into the shadows. Flame stepped back from the door and moved to the center of his small confining cell. Even though he had little space to do it, Flame began to pace, a deep frown on his face.

“Whatever she’s up to I want in.”

Solitary Confinement

Seated on the floor with his legs crossed and actuators resting on his knee joints, Bludgeon was motionless, as inanimate as the few items of furniture occupying his cell. Grey steel greeted him from every angle. Against his dreary surroundings, even his dark aqua colour scheme appeared as though in defiance of the mass of tedious grey enveloping him. In a strange way, Bludgeon looked out of place, inconsistent with the interior.

His optics were devoid of vitality, hollow orbs featuring only darkness. Having completed his daily training session under the careful supervision of the guards, they had escorted him back to his cell where he would pass the remaining cycles in the orn in silence, entertained only by meditation and the drills he performed to maintain his lethality in combat.

Tomorrow would eventually come around, and Bludgeon would repeat his routine all over again. This routine applied to the next orn, as well. And the one after that. And the one after that. And the one after that.

Colour flooded back into his optics, two pools of blood red filling to capacity. Meditation concluded, Bludgeon lowered his cranial unit. He brought an actuator to his face-plate and examined it, gaze latching on to it.

They would have never been aware of Bludgeon's unique yet potent ability had he not guaranteed his ignorant opponent, a powerful individual whose belligerence equalled his impressive strength with ease, that he could defeat the challenger without the aid of physical force. Chainfist, well known to the guards and inmates alike for constantly broadcasting his obsession to beat Bludgeon to scrap, scoffed at the master of Metallikato, saying that madness had finally seized his mind.

The fight began when Chainfist launched a quick right hook at him. It ended three astroseconds later, courtesy of two electric fireballs discharged at point-blank range.

Or so the tale went, as far as the two guards who were present during the encounter claimed what their optics had witnessed. It had happened so fast—perhaps too fast for the pair of guards to register and comprehend in its entirety. But they saw Chainfist fall, a broken body, off-lined as a result of the damage inflicted upon him, crashing to the floor as gravity went about its business. He neither uttered a single word nor twitched to confirm his survival.

While Chainfist's continued functioning seemed dubious Bludgeon had not killed him. Logic frowned at that very action. Logic, prior to the confrontation, had informed him of the consequences involved in the poor fool's termination. Logic persuaded Bludgeon to deviate from his original plan and prevent himself from making an error.

To have killed Chainfist, Bludgeon would have been immediately shown his new home: The Rig. Most likely as a permanent resident, too. Given how deadly the electric warrior was, owing to the legendary reputation he had garnered before being incarcerated and the amount of wannabes he had bested in this facility thus far, no argument no matter how well supported with facts and statistics would have saved him from The Rig. Bludgeon knew Maximus had reached his limits with him and had cast his optic on the martial artist, scrutinising every movement he was now making.

It was as much for the inmates' protection as it was for Bludgeon's. He considered it ironic, almost laughable when Maximus told him that, but chose not to express his opinion to the warden. The line was so fine between solitary confinement and The Rig, even a regular cell and The Rig, that Bludgeon could barely identify it. That, and Maximus wasn't particularly fond of violence and those who had the potential to excel at it.

Rising from the floor, Bludgeon composed himself, his stoic visage gazing straight ahead. He was wary of the penalties bound to his actions, should he find himself being challenged once more by another inmate. One more punch, one more kick—even in self-defence which was often the case—and it would be all over. Maximus had made that very clear; he'd dedicate a great deal of effort to personally ensure Bludgeon's spark was extracted, that he lived out the remainder of his sentence in The Rig.

While he understood those penalties and accepted them, his concerns did not lay with them. Not at this moment. All likely trouble-makers, all those idiots who continued to believe they could defeat Bludgeon despite the atrocious head-to-head between the electric warrior and his competitors, would be relocated to different blocks upon his return to general population.

If they gave him the green light to return. Not a certainty. And even though those inmates suspected of looking for a fight would be residing in different blocks far from Bludgeon, the possibility of conflict was still not completely eliminated. For all he knew, some moron, deemed harmless, might pluck up the courage, seek him out, and take a swing.

Then it would be a one-way trip to The Rig. Not quite the adventure Bludgeon was after.

If he was ever released from solitary confinement. That was his concern. Truth be told, this place, this isolation—it wasn't as horrible as some of the other inmates having experienced it described it to be.

Solitary confinement offered Bludgeon generous servings of peace and quiet, two valuable qualities he appreciated when lost in meditation or heavily engaged in training. Neither of these qualities were obtainable in general population. Not in abundance, anyway.

The again, it would be interesting to see if anything had changed out there during his absence. The sudden emergence of his curiosity surprised him somewhat, expecting it to be lured to more important matters. Of course, Bludgeon had been locked away in solitary confinement for a while. A long while. Perhaps too long.

Whatever the case, Maximus—or one of his little yes-mechs—would apprise Bludgeon of his situation soon enough.

Southern Wing – Minimum Security

Airachnid maintained her smile as Brace began his rather long reply. The smile faded as he spoke on how her request was ‘unfeasible.’ As he continued droning on she maintained a neutral look on her face, but inside she was seething. She had tried things the easy way, dealing with this insignificant little worm. He thought he had power controlling this little prison, not knowing that he was just the kind of the bugs. They were all just insects crawling around in this filth, fighting over scraps, thinking that it all mattered.

She had known true freedom, away from the Decepticons. There were no rules, no regulations, just her and her prey. The femme longed to be out of the prison or even just to have the use of her trapped limbs. That would have been a start, giving her some freedom of movement in the prison. With that mobility she would have begun to plot her escape on her own. Now she just wished her limbs were free so she could torture this idiot Brace and mount his head in his makeshift office.

The Decepticon refocused her attention on Brace when he mentioned escaping the prison. Perhaps there was still something to salvage from this situation. Of course once the inhibitor claw was off she would dispose of him as soon as she could. He had upset and annoyed her, and she wasn’t going to forget that anytime soon. Besides, she didn’t like owing anyone anything. Then he mentioned having to make arrangements with some other mech and she could barely contain her annoyance.

Finally he finished. She replied with a resigned, “I see.” She hopped off of the desk, landing lightly on her feet, a sigh escaping her lips. When she spoke her tone was a mix of accusatory and condescending. It was only partially an act as she was exasperated that this fool apparently couldn’t help her. “Apparently I came to the wrong mech. I thought you ran everything in this prison, knew everything there was to know. Now you tell me that’s clearly not the case. I have to go talk to some other mech who can get me out of here. I didn’t know you needed permission from anyone in this prison to do anything, but I suppose even you have to answer to someone don’t you?”

Corridors- Senior Guards Barracks

"Right... right right.....", Steelhand replied, his drunkenness starting to be replaced by drowziness, "I got.... I got work in the mmmmorning...... Right right, gotta rest....."

Steelhand held on to Downfall as best he could as the officer entered in the security code that opened the door to the barracks. He was then helped inside, where Downfall helped him to one of the recharge berths. Compared to the others guard's slabs it was sparsely furnished. There was an old holo-photo of a group of miners at a bar, though it was starting to fade with static, and the broken off head of a miner's pick axe hanging on the wall.

"Yeah... yeah, thi-this is my sspot. Thanks, Dow-Downfall."

With effort Steelhand let go of Downfall, and just managed to stagger over to the slab. He held onto it for almost a breem, using it to keep him standing, while trying to regain enough coordination to get himself onto it.

"Thanks, thanks allllot Downfall.", he managed to spit out, "We..... we should, should do this again sometime."

With plenty of effort, Steelhand clumsily managed to get onto the slab and lie down on his back. Before the recharging mechanisms started to do their work, Steelhand remembered the message he received from Goldrush.

"Not... .not tomorrow, though...", he added to his earlier statement, "I got.... I got some.... something to do. But some other time, be great.... And this, this time.... I'll pay....."

A smile came across Steelhand's face as his recharge cycle started and his optics went offline.

Gonna get back to the mines tomorrow..... Can't wait.

Southern Wing--Block B

Maximus was about to fire back a quick reply at Vroom's remark, but he held off. That was the sort of tete-a-tete this Autobot was looking for. Maximus did not need to engage him in that manner. He actually was digging for something deeper.

"Restate the question, hm?" Maximus began, before falling silent and considering a way to do just that. "I suppose I'm probably digging too deep in to Rung's line of work. I know the literal 'why's' of why you're here. I guess I'm just curious every time an Autobot winds up behind these walls. Why shuck the system to such a degree that you'd get put here? I dunno. I think maybe--"

"Maximus?" another inmate had said, garnering Maximus' attention. It was not a voice he recognized. As he looked over, he could see that it was not an inmate that he recognized either.

"Yes. I'm Fortress Maximus," Maximus said, looking the inmate over more closely, attempting to match her description with his current internal roster. Nothing was matching up. "Should I know you?"

It was a femme of some kind, which could automatically be a red flag in a facility like this one since there weren't many. But of those few, some of them had been amongst the worst inmates he--or anyone else--had ever had to deal with. It was going to put this one, whoever she was, in a precarious position. But, in the end, she had done something to get herself here. This was not some Decepticon gulag where any captured prisoner of war just happened to be sent.

Southern Wing - Cell Block B

Icepick's sentiments warmed Umbra's circuits somewhat. Still, she remained fairly surprised at seeing the warden wandering the halls of their cell block. She wondered what purpose he had for coming here of all places. If she were a guard, she would probably have spent her free time lounging about somewhere, over-energizing with a couple of good friends. Perhaps something was troubling him?

Umbra's thoughts were soon cut short by Maximus actually taking note of her outburst. It had been merely surprise that had made her speak and not any desire to actually get the attention of the warden. The warden's scrutiny made her want to shrink back into one of the far recesses of her cell and disappear. The agent fought that impulse and straightened up, coming to the sort of attention that had been drilled into her long ago. She hurried to answer Maximus's question.

"Er...No sir," fearing that she had made some sort of error like she had with Steelhand, Umbra hastily added, "Designation: Umbra, sir."

The sooner Maximus's attention was away from her, the better. She had always been nervous around superiors, even when she had an untarnished record. Umbra didn't know why. She waited for Maximus to either respond or return his attention to whatever had been occupying it before. Still, being a femme as she was, she would naturally stand out. It was endlessly frustrating for someone like her who hated attention.

Southern Wing - Cell Block B

Vroom narrowed his optics.

"So you really don't know the exact reason why I am here? Either you are a completely idiot that does not pay attention to things or some important pieces of information where not given to you as part of your report."

As much as fun as Vroom poked at Maximus he knew that the later was much more likely than the former. Another possibility is that Maximus was trying to manipulate him for some reason but which seemed unlikely.

He waited for the lady to stop speaking and then continued.

"Well, Fortress, if you really want to know why I punched out Prowl's optics I'll tell you."

Southern Wing – Minimum Security

Brace moved back slightly to let Airachnid hop of his makeshift desk and watched carefully as she landed lightly on her feet. The femme was quite graceful but even he knew she was deadly and was not one to be trifled with. However, neither was he.

With his optics set of her moving frame Brace backed up further and sat back down in his chair while the spidery femme let out a defeated sigh…or so he thought. What passed her lips was anything but defeated; in fact she had decided to play on the self-made mech’s pride by throwing the accusation around that he, Brace, was not the right mech for her to see…that he even had someone else to answer to…that he was not the one who was in charge within the prison walls.

Try as might to keep his composure, Brace simply could not be condescended to. With a growl and a dangerous snear the dark blue mech slammed both hands down on the surface of his desk and quickly got to his feet. His optics narrowed into nothing more than mere amber slits as he eyed Airachnid with murderous intent.

“Now you listen to me femme, and listen well! I take no orders from any other mech…or any disgraced femme for that matter. I am in charge here! I call all the shots! Nothing happens in here without my say so!”

Brace straightened up to his full height and brushed himself off of some invisible mess and composed himself. Slowly the business-mech sat back down and folded his hands on the desk top.

“-Ahem- Now then. As I was saying before…I can get you what you want but only if that something is absolute freedom. My friend has indeed employed me in his endeavor. In return for my part his payment will be my freedom. If that is what you wish than I suggest you have a discussion with Kronus.”

From his position Brace glared at the spider before leaning back and placing his elbows on the arm rests of the chair.

“But if you want me to just remove that inhibitor claw you’ll find it extraordinarily useless. For you see, once you leave this office and you are out of my guards’ hands the absence of the device will become evident. And once that occurs you’ll be dragged out of your cell and forced to go through another implantation of the restrictive device.”

Brace leaned back and let out a low chuckle while crossing his legs. He shook his head slowly as he met Airachnid’s optics.

“No, it seems, my dear that you are between a rock and a hard place. Now, I can set you up with an audience with Kronus. I must warn you, however, that he’s located in a most unpleasant area known as the psychiatric block in maximum security. So what shall it be?”

Senior Guards’ Barracks

Downfall never spoke another word as he practically dragged the drunken body of Steelhand into the barracks where the officer had spotted the unmistakable holo-photos of a group of minors…one of which happened to be the mech he was helping out right now.

Downfall let Steelhand loose so the former minor could mount his berth and lie down. The officer looked down at the other mech and forced a smile onto his face at the suggestion of meeting up once more and tossing back a few. It was tempting but Steelhand was not the kind of mech Downfall wanted to be seen with. In fact he was the kind of mech he’d like to ruin.

“Yeah. We really should. It was fun…except for me dragging your aft back here. Haha!”

He cast Steelhand a mock confused look when he was told that tomorrow was a bad time to get together. In fact tomorrow was booked due to Steelhand’s work schedule in the mines…of so he thought. Downfall watched as Steelhand’s optics finally flickered off-line and the mech slipped into a deep recharge.

The officer’s jovial expression was replaced by a disgusted look. Dealing with the low life inmates was enough, but having to be in contact with the lower cast dregs that were considered his equals…that was simply sacrilege.

“You piece of trash. I should have terminated you a long time ago. But don’t worry I’ll just destroy you slowly. And I’ll start with your little appointment with that dirt hauling bartender.”

He spoke in a low whisper so as not to disturb Steelhand and rouse him from his recharge cycle. With an evil grin Downfall pat the senior guard on the shoulder before offering him a farewell.

“Recharge well my friend. Tomorrow is going to be a…busy day.”

Downfall took his leave of the lower casts’ barracks and worked his way back toward the bar where Drudge would be waiting. But before he would meet with his friend Downfall would have to deliver some dreadful news to Goldrush concerning his just hired miner. Downfall let out a hearty laugh as he left the corridor leading to the senior guards’ barracks.

Southern Wing - Cell Block B

Icepick grinned, moving the Knight of Cybertron as Scowl had wished. The move had taken his Omega Sentinel out of play and potentially exposed his Prime. Not exactly the way he had envisioned this all going down, but that was part of the satisfaction of the game: seeing one's strategy carried to victory or sent crashing down in defeat.

The member of the Monstructor Six tapped the digits of one actuator idly on the side of the cot as he examined the totality of the board. Whether it was this move or the one right after, his Prime was fully compromised.

"Blast. The Matrix is yours," Icepick chuckled, tapping along his message of acquiescence to Scowl. It was a good game. Perhaps a little shorter than he had hoped for originally, but enjoyable nonetheless. For Icepick, it always felt like it kept the circuits firing in all the right places.
___

Maximus' gaze remained on the femme for a few moments longer, even as she backed away and looked for the closest shadowy corner to retreat in to. The response had not been what he had expected: around here most questions of the kind that the warden had asked were met with varying levels of derision--Vroom bring a prime example at the moment--but Umbra's response and tone had elicited a different internal response from the large and powerful Autobot. In that moment, she seemed like some Autobot rookie on the field of battle. Someone that just needed a little guidance, inspiration, and maybe even a little protection, in order to get back out in the field and do what they did best. Maximus could not afford to allow that feeling to linger for long, however. She was here for a reason, like everyone else.

"Hm," Maximus said at last, turning his attention away from Umbra and back to Vroom and his latest response. Though he wasn't going to attempt to pet her more at ease, he wasn't going to unnecessarily intimidate her either. So long as she did not make things difficult for him, he was inclined to return the favor in his own, small ways.

"Assume both, if it makes you happy Vroom," Maximus said, a large metallic grin returning to his face. "And yes--given the fact that I have admittedly wanted to do it myself once or twice, please tell this story. my audio receptors are turned up."

Southern Wing - Cell Block B

Umbra felt a wave of relief wave over her as Maximus turned away back to the other inmate. Thank Primus. The agent quickly retreated to her cot and did her best to relax. She didn't know what it was about higher ranking officers. Team Leaders were fine and most officers were fine. When it came to commanders though, Umbra wanted to shrink away and melt into a dark corner. She admired them, but she found them almost impossible to talk to. Umbra shook her head and collected herself.

Well, it didn't really matter at this point anyway. The relationships between prisoner and guard were different than subordinate and superior, though the agent knew that she would have to work that one out more slowly. She sighed and glanced around her spartan room. What she would've given for anything to distract herself. She glanced at the pieces she'd gathered to construct a playable Matrix game. Best to start making the board at least.

Umbra slid off of her cot and began to scratch out the lines of the game with a pointed digit on one actuator. She began to sketch the lines faintly to get a feel of where they went, then made the lines more pronounced once she was sure that it was right. It was an enjoyable task. As Umbra made progress with the game, her thoughts wandered back to Airachnid. Having a femme like her around could only lead to trouble.

Though that's also probably what most guards think after they take one look at me, Umbra thought wryly to herself.

It couldn't be helped. The agent heard Icepick's good-natured chuckle from the cell next door. Scowl had won. She simply shook her cranium with a slight smile. She'd never met such an....interesting Decepticon. Far from the stereotype that most Autobots clouded their vision with. What had the war reduced them all to? Umbra's smiled faded away to a frown as she thought about that. It had made her a murderer. Not just a murderer though. No. She'd killed her best friend. It didn't matter that she hadn't dealt the death blow. She had still killed him as surely as if she had torn out his spark. That had been the start of it all. Her career as an Autobot had only gone downhill from there. The guilt had been eating away at her for decades. The big train wreck of an ending that had warranted her stay here had probably been coming for quite some time.

The agent longed for forgiveness, but from whom she did not know. The dead were beyond such things. Frustrated, Umbra let out an angry huff. She flicked one of her game pieces absently and looked over to where Maximus and the other inmate were. Curious and seeking something to distract her from her frustration, Umbra strained her audios to listen in to their conversation.

Solitary Confinement

In prison, time was nobody's friend. Nor would it even extend an invitation to anybody for mere acquaintanceship. It simply kept to itself and tended to its duties, performing them with an unrivalled efficiency for as long as it could claim to remember.

Bludgeon felt as though he and time shared similar characteristics.

Not a single being existed within the entire facility that could have affirmed Bludgeon to be his friend. Garrus-9 was inhabited by thugs, psychopaths, a colourful assortment of good-for-nothings—most of which who were only interested in the pursuit of challenging the electric warrior to a fight. To Bludgeon, “friendships” could not be developed here—certainly not in his case—the possibility of such a thing as mythical as the colossal golden Ick-Yak.

Instead, he preferred his own company, the silence solitude offered as opposed to the raucousness and unproductive ways of social interaction. With this tranquil state at his disposal, he could concentrate far more effectively on his training. And since interruptions were minimal, his exercise sessions went well more often than not.

A series of knocks, more vigorous than necessary and so numerous that they were to the point of excessive repetition, pounded on the cell door, as if seeking entry by planning to break it down with brute strength. They produced an atrocious noise, overflowing Bludgeon's cell with echoing waves of a sharp metallic nature.

On the verge of practising a variety of kicks and punches but finding his focus shattered, Bludgeon stopped. He stood tall and firm. Immediately, he hid his irritation caused by this display of insolence.

Unlike time, however, untouchable to all, there was one force out there determined to obliterate Bludgeon's relatively undisturbed routine that had flowed steadily for so long—to plunder what precious little luxuries he'd been allowed.

“Oh, Bludgey! You in there, buddy?”

Bludgeon had eventually learned this mechanoid's name through the many occasions he had visited the electric warrior's cell. Though more had been learned from his frequent appearances than just his designation.

“And how is our resident superstar this fine solar cycle?”

His name was Groundshock and he served two roles at Garrus-9. One of them as a guard.

“As my favourite prisoner, my most beloved inmate ever, I sincerely hope that you are doing well.”

The other? As Bludgeon's own personal tormentor, Pit-bent on making his lengthy sentence as miserable and unpleasant as possible.

Solitary Confinement – Security Housing Unit

Bludgeon remained still, silent. He had his back to Groundshock, facing the rear end of his cell, but was aware of where the guard would be positioned: directly at the centre of the door, spearing Bludgeon with his intense gaze through the small, rectangular panel of glass.

He wasn't here to deliver news concerning the electric warrior's situation. Aside from supplying Bludgeon with his daily ration of energon and sometimes escorting him to the exercise pen along with several of his fellow guards, Groundshock had never visited him owing to orders issued to him by Maximus or any of his superiors.

It was true that he worked in the Security Housing Unit, otherwise abbreviated to the more convenient SHU, but his duties didn't stretch so far as to personally monitor the prisoners as if he were part of the surveillance systems over-watching them in their compact chambers. Or to engage the prisoners in conversation, either.

Stopping by their cells every fifteen to twenty breems to check up on them was all that was required of Groundshock. Naturally the video cameras did the rest. But he possessed little self-restraint, often halting in front of many cells, attaching his hostile gaze to the inmates for long periods or speaking to them, telling them that they were worthless, that they were going to rust in their cells until death snatched them away.

While Groundshock exhibited a small amount of self-restraint to the other prisoners, special circumstances surrounded Bludgeon. He received none.

“I asked you a question, you cyber-maggot.”

Groundshock shed the false aspect of pleasantness and sincerity he currently wore. What lay beneath, a potent blend of disgust, hatred and fury, ascended to the surface, and solidified on his face-plate.

Bludgeon was prepared for this. Every encounter he'd had with Groundshock led to these vehement moments. Moments always incited by the guard.

He spun on his heel, granting Groundshock the bulk of his attention. It was recommended to face the guard in the appropriate manner, for if one didn't, he would then throw a tantrum involving all the classical symptoms. Chief among them were smashing the door with his fists, shouting at ridiculous levels, and hurling obscenity, after obscenity, after obscenity in a seemingly endless fashion at his victim.

One occasion where Bludgeon had blatantly ignored Groundshock proved to be enough. From thereon, he gave the fool what he wanted, purely to hasten their interaction and get it over with. The sight of Groundshock—because of his constant appearances, his perpetual harassment—made Bludgeon crave his destruction, preferably brought about by his own actuators.

He wouldn't normally waste his energy on somebody so weak and pathetic, but the guard's irritating presence warranted it. Demanded it, even.

A pair of icy blue optics, wide open and harbouring the utmost loathing, stared at Bludgeon. “You're gonna die in here, you know that? But it's fitting, isn't it? That a piece of slag like you should...kick it in a place like this.”

Bludgeon said nothing. Responding to Groundshock only caused matters to worsen.

“Die, you afthole. You hear me?”

He maintained his stoic expression. He still chose not to reply.

Groundshock struck the cell door with his fist multiple times. “Fragging die! Die! Die! Die!

The silence continued.

The guard's outburst subsided, but his frigid stare showed no signs of letting up. “One of these days, I'm going to rip your putrid spark right out of your chest-plate. And nobody—nobody—will give a slag.” He cackled wildly. “In fact, Maximus will order it. Yes! No reason to keep such a frag of a thing alive, is there?”

No other prisoners in the SHU were subjected to this degree of ill-treatment. Bludgeon, though, was the exception, and he had been privy to this knowledge ever since the beginning of his stay in solitary confinement.

After all, who better to know than the one who killed Groundshock's best friend?

Southern Wing – Minimum Security

Airachnid almost smiled at the little mech’s response to her words. It was almost too easy to push his buttons. It brought the slightest bit of satisfaction to her to have antagonized Brace. With the boredom and monotony of the prison she had come to appreciate the little joys in life. Those little joys would have to suffice until she could get free and resume her ‘hobby.’ Brace’s head might even be the start of her new trophy collection.

As he began yelling at her she clutched her hands to her chest, as it she had been shot. “Disgraced femme? You wound me sir.” She gave him a mock look of anguish as he finished his ranting before shifting back to a more serious air and attitude.

The femme listened as Brace gave out a little bit more information on his escape plan. Unfortunately the details weren’t there. Either he simply didn’t have them and was relying on his partner a great deal or was withholding them on purpose. Either option was possible but he didn’t really strike her as being bright enough to just hide the information from her, especially after she had provoked him. He was dumber then she had thought if that was the case. Whoever this partner is that he might have may very well just be planning his escape and either leaving Brace behind or eliminating him all together. It was what she would do at least.

She was going to have to meet this Kronus and feel him out. Airachnid needed to know how she could fit herself into his plans. Depending on how it played out she would either have to go in like Brace did and hope Kronus was honest, which was doubtful considering he was a prisoner like the rest of them. She could play along with them all and betray Kronus once he had made his move, a risky move that would run the chance of her getting eliminated in the process. The best alternatives were going in with this Kronus up front, agreeing to eliminate Brace when the time came and then striking out on their own separately, or simply finding the ideal time, like when the inhibitor was deactivated, and kill them both and go it alone. The last option was certainly the most appealing but she was likely to need them both for a good while to get as far as she could.

In any case she would need to meet this Kronus so she could get some sort of read on him. She smiled back at Brace. “Oh don’t worry about me Brace, I’m not as weak and innocent as I look. I can take care of myself, I just need you to get me to this Kronus and I’ll handle the rest.”

Southern Wing – Minimum Security

From his chair behind his desk the dark blue mech regarded Airachnid and her theatrical performance. She obviously believed the businessmech was nothing more than a fool that could be trifled with. Still this femme was here for a reason…she was a hunter and an assassin…talents he could always use. Perhaps she would be willing to join him in future endeavors in fact he would enjoy it immensely if she agreed to a future proposal.

Still Brace held a neutral expression as he let her go through her motions trying desperately to make her point and once she was finished he finally flashed the spider femme a broad smile and a deep nod.

“I believe you, my dear. I believe that you are most certainly not weak and innocent. In fact I believe those to be your most redeeming qualities.”

Brace finally rose skirting the subject of his client altogether…at least for the moment. He quietly contemplated what he was about to say…fingers rubbing gently at his chin…feet moving him slowly around his desk.

“Now, Kronus…the mech is…well, no one’s quite sure actually.”

He let out a low chuckle as he glanced in Airachnid’s direction.

“Aileron will be able to take you down to Level 4 where the maximum security psychiatric block is located. There will be a short in the security video by the time you two arrive.”

Brace kept a steady pace back and forth in front of his desk all the while rubbing at the guard that adorned his chin.

“The guard on duty has already been dealt with so he will prove to be no distraction, however he will be discovered at some point. The regular guard will soon be back on active duty in the next few cycles.”

With everything said and done Brace looked over his shoulder at the dark colored femme and flashed a dashing smile. He kept his optics glued to her lithe form and turned around to fully face her. He took a moment but soon he approached Airachnid and took her hand in his.

“My dear, I wish you all the luck in this and any other world that Kronus will grant you what you wish. Be warned, he can be quite…well, let’s just say he’s unique in his own way.”

Brace released her hand and back stepped until he was positioned directly in front of Aileron. With a tilt of his head Brace caught flier’s attention. Aileron leaned down slightly to listen to the orders Brace was about to give.

“Aileron, be sure that maniac remains within that cell. He has the codes but I do not want him getting out just yet. The crafty psychopath expressed his desire to remain locked away until he was ready to leave. At this point I have no clue when that is and per our agreement he’s not leaving without me. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Brace nodded at his guard’s response and gestured to the door.

“Aileron if you will escort the lovely Airachnid down to Level 4. I will see to it that the video feeds are thoroughly interrupted.”

The large flier stepped out from the shadows and moved toward the femme where he guided her to the door, keeping the hunter in view at all times.

The Greasepit

“I’m tellin’ ya the guy was dead. D.E.A.D. Dead.”

Downfall quickly sat up in his seat and leaned over the tabletop catching the forearm of his comrade and pulling Drudge nearly across the table. The sneer on the officer’s face told the senior guard that he was playing with fire.

“Will you keep your voice down. We don’t need anyone getting wind of any of this…whether it’s true or not.”

Downfall released Drudge’s arm but not before shoving him roughly away from the table. This far things had been going smoothly, but this new development…this supposed dead guard outside of that freak’s cell was not something they could cover up. Not without drawing suspicion as to why the guard suddenly vanished.

“What’re we gonna do? Brace’s buddy got to him before he even had the codes! Who’s to say he hasn’t been crawlin’ around this place already? I mean, he could have weaseled into our own bunks…gotten within biting range!”

“I said shut up! Look, did you even check to see if Spree was really dead?”

Drudge set his lips in a tight thin line while he regarded Downfall. The mech’s silence caused the officer to send a growl warning his subordinate that he required and answer.

“No.”

“You slaghead! Then how do you even know he was dead? He was probably drunk and just sleeping it off. And don’t you even try to tell me that he couldn’t have been drunk because he was on duty! I know plenty of mech who show up to work drunk off their afts…in fact I’m lookin’ at one right now!”

Downfall ground his teeth together as he watched Drudge shift uncomfortably in his chair.

“I’m gonna contact Brace right now. If anyone would know what’s going on with Spree he will.”

>>”Brace. Downfall. Drudge found Spree outside Kronus’ cell. He’s swearing to Primus that he was dead. You know what’s going on? I need something to tell him before he blows a head gasket.”<<

The line was silent and for a brief moment Downfall felt panic rise in his frame. If that guard was dead he’d be question. Spree was one of his own. Finally the line buzzed with Brace coming through clear as a bell.

>>”Spree is perfectly fine Downfall. You have no need to panic. I had someone slip something soothing into his last mug of energon. He’s simply in a deep recharge. You can let Drudge know he can hold his transmission fluid. I have everything under control…as I always do.”<<

Drudge leaned over the table top expectedly as Downfall finally closed down the encrypted private line. He flashed the senior guard a half smile and then added a reissuing nod.

“He says Spree’s in a deep recharge, you lugnut!”

Drudge leaned back heavily and let out a long gust of air…relief washing over his tense frame. He shook his head slightly and gave a low chuckle.

“Primus, that was slaggin’ nuts. I hope this whole crackpot plan goes off without a hitch.”

Downfall raised his mug and nodded in agreement before taking a long slow swig of high grade. With any luck things would keep on track making their lives a lot easier…not to mention less stressful.
____

The small gathering of mechs that surrounded the bar had been engaged in one of the more popular drinking games when one of them received a private communique from the one mech who had the code. Without so much as an optic quirk the mech excused himself and calmly made his way to the corridor outside of the Greasepit.

He had never gotten a call from this particular mech before only because he was never needed until now. The encrypted line was given to him vorns ago as an agreement between Brace and him. He thought he’d never hear that unwanted ping…yet here it was.

>>”This is Regulator.”<<

>>”Ah, I’m so glad you picked up, Regulator. I must apologize for waiting so long to contact you. I know you’ve been waiting for such a long time.”<<

>>”Cut the slag, Brace. What do you want?”<<

There was a slight pause and a light tsk came over the line.

>>”Now, now, Regulator. You don’t want me to have Max find out about that little…problem you had not so long ago…do you?”<<

The audible sound of Regulator grinding his teeth could almost be heard through the heavy metal doors that lead back into the bar. The guard composed himself enough to push himself further down the corridor until he found one that was vacant of any traffic.

>>”Alright. You've made your point. What do you need?”<<

>>”That’s better. I want a temporary shutdown of the video and audio feeds on Level 4. All blocks including the maximum security psych block. And I want it done within the next five breems.”<<

Regulator took a quick look around the hall and then once over his shoulder. He’d need to get back to the Southern Wing’s security complex but considering just how late it was, and that he was going on shift in that location, he’d be able to show up and disrupt all the feeds to that location.

>>”Okay.”<<

>>”Excellent! Oh and Regulator…I want you to remember something…”<<

The guard remained silent and waited for Brace to finish his statement.

>>”I own you! Keep that in mind the next time you decide to mouth off! Now get going!”<<

Regulator let out a desponded sigh as he closed the line and began to casually make his way to his intended destination.

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.

---------------------------------


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>>

------------------------------------


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?<<