Title: D-HEX-23675: Tales of Quintessa: Sons of Cybertron.
Journal #3 in the D-HEX-23675 Journals series.
Author: Aerisnoir

Chapter: The Sinking Room
[location: Somewhere in the Khalanxis facility.]
There was a dull pain clinging around his processors. A static cloud hovering between delicate circuitry, fuzzing up his senses. A slight groan escaped him, but his lead brick recharge stupor was still too strong to wake up from. Voices reach him, words and sentences drifting slowly into perception and clearing up as his audio receivers reboot:

"No, my good mech, I only[…]few minutes ago [….]." A calm voice spoke, slightly slurred through audio receivers still recalibrating
"Hmm, well [….], and it[..] just this room?" A deep baritone voice answered, "[…] else?"
"It appears as such, lad."

He stirred, his systems slowly starting up one by one. The talking stopped, and he could sense that whoever were conversing out there looked in his direction. There was a pause before; "Ah SLAG, the 'Con is waking up!"
Combat drives jumped into action at the sentence and ruby optics flashed to life. Maelstrom planted his palms on the ground (barely noticing the thin layer of water that was covering the uneven floor) and pushed himself upwards in a battle-ready crouch. He roared intimidatingly in the direction of the voice, years of operating amidst other Decepticons having earned him prime reflexes.

His challenging roar was answered by a mech leaping in front of the other, shielding one body with its own. Maelstrom identified the action as submissive; if he was dealing with another aggressor it would be at his throat already. He fluidly rose from his crouch into a standing position, identifying the two other mechs: The one up front was bulky and heavily armored, clearly a melee brawler. Maelstrom's optics narrowed dangerously as he noticed the red sigil on the mech's chest. An Autobot.
The mech that was being held back was clearly not a fighter; the polished metal was not designed for battle and it regarded him with a curious yet unrecognizing gaze. There was no sign of a sigil anywhere.
Maelstrom rotated a shoulder, noticing how this little movement was enough to put the Autobot on edge. He looked around; they were in a single room with no apparent exits. There was one other mech, still slumped against a wall but also stirring. Maelstrom looked back to the 'Bot and Unknown, "Who are you, and what the slag is going on here?"
"You first, 'Con!" The Autobot bit back instantly, optics roaming over his form looking for weaponry.
"Really? You want a go, slagsucker?" Maelstrom growled, returning a dangerous, toothy grin.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen! This is unnecessary!" The other mech stepped from behind the Autobot, both hands raised in a placating gesture, "This is no time for pointless squabbles. Ahem, my designation is Branx Amolgoth the Third, I am a merchant mech from the Silix quadrant. This mech here, I understood, is Tesla, an Autobot. You are a Decepticon I see, also from Cybertron? What is your designation?"
Maelstrom narrowed his optics, taking in the appearance of Branx. Still no sigil. "Maelstrom, soldier of the Decepticon Vanguard stationed on Cybertron. You are a…. neutral? Don't see those around often."
Branx nodded, "Well, we no longer live around Cybertron anymore, the war-"
"Don't talk to me about the war, non-affiliated coward. I don't give a frag about you nor what you have to say!" Maelstrom growled, effectively shutting the neutral up. When did he give the impression he was interested in what the neutral had to say?
"Some choose not to fight, 'Con, leave him alone!" Tesla growled back, blue optics glaring. Maelstrom smirked, "Oh, don't worry; a weak neutral is hardly a challenge. Don't twist your gears in a knot, gunbait, if we are to have a fight then you are the first I kill."
Branx huffed and approached the fourth prisoner in search of distraction. He crouched near the stirring form, shaking the shoulder, "Comrade, wake up." Systems spurred into action at the touch, and yellow optics lit up. Branx smiled "Very good, you must activate as well, my friend. I don't see a sigil on you either, are you a neutral?"
"Neutral?" the fourth mech replied, "neutral in what?" It looked around the room, spotting Maelstrom and Tesla locked in a stare-down, and realization dawned, "Oh!" The fourth mech regarded Branx, "I see what you mean. Yes, I'm neutral. Like you then? You wear no faction signs. What are Autobots and Decepticons doing in the Selmax sector? This area is-" His voice trailed off as he looked around the room, "This is not the space station…"
"Neither is this the Silixian auction house, my good man, or any of the places that our Autobot and Decepticon companions found themselves last. I fear we have all been spirited away; Does your processor unit feel heavy and clogged? It feels that way for all of us; whom or whatever is behind this used quite some potent form of cybervenom. What is your designation, comrade?"
"I am called Mistwind, mate, good to meet you. Yes, my processor /does/ feel wracked. We were poisoned?" Rising to his feet, the other neutral regarded the rest, "Who are you?" He asked curiously.
"My name is Branx Amolgoth the Third, comrade. I am a merchant."
"Tesla, Shieldsman of Iacon." Tesla pronounced, straightening and tapping his chest lightly with a fist.
"Maelstrom, soldier of the glorious Decepticon Army." Maelstrom repeated, making sure to straighten more and look prouder than Tesla. He shot a dirty look to the Autobot, audio receivers picking up the faintest of crude retorts sounding suspiciously like 'the losers of the galaxies'.
"Nice to meet you" Mistwind nodded quickly, gaze already going around the room, "Place looks… cozy" He drawls sarcastically, trying to distract the two aligned mechs.
The Decepticon nods in agreement, "They will bleed for this. A crime like this will not go unpunished. Capturing a Decepticon fighter, whoever had the nerve will be hanged from the highest tower! I'll do it myself when I get out, I can tell you that." Having said that, Maelstrom turns to the walls to investigate their surroundings. With a scowl, Tesla also turned himself to the wall furthest from the Decepticon, trailing his hands across the surface looking for ridges betraying doors and whatnot. Mistwind loosened up his fingers and shoulder joints before also heading over to one of the remaining two surfaces. Branx watched them, crossed his arms in front of his chest and observed the three at work.

The room was rectangle shaped, with circle-shaped indentations in three of the four walls. The thin layer of water on the floor had no place to go; the room lacked drains. This lead to a dreary splashing sound any time one of the mechs took a step. There was a chill on the air, and the thinnest veil of swamp fog lingered over the liquid surface. Any organic being would feel cold but that was not something that the mechs had any trouble with. There were particles in the air that tensed their systems, however, a distinct tang of something that would be familiar, but hardly encountered. "It smells like rust in here." Tesla suddenly noticed, placing the scent. "Like the rust sea on Cybertron." He knelt on one knee, running his fingers through the water. "This ain't rust sea water though, that's for sure. PH levels don't match up. But this /is/ water with rust in it. That is worrisome."
Maelstrom scoffed and teased, "Afraid of a little rust, princess?"
"Afraid, no. Worried, yes, you fraggin' bullet biter. This will cost us our hide if we're made to stand in it for long enough. Rust can spread through the systems; a friend of mine is a medic, and has seen plenty of cases of rust infections."
"Well, I don't /intend/ on standing in it for long enough." The Decepticon retorted, "There's gotta be an exit here."
As if on cue, one of the circles in the wall receded further and slid open, drawing the attention of the group. A loud clanging, screeching noise drew nearer, more water beginning to leak into the room. Not before long another mech was spit out into the chamber. Before anyone could really react in a way besides staring in dumb confusion the circle closed up again, leaving them all standing there to watch the newcomer spasm and scramble to stand…

[Location: Khalanxis Aphos Wing, lower chambers.]
"My apologies." The Assistant whispered as it swathed the metal on which it was working with a cleansing agent. It wondered for a moment why it was apologizing in the first place, but the slight rumble that answered from above was an indication that the words were heard. It knew that the predator was following all of its movements.
The protective mask that was bound before its face only revealed the Assistant's eyes, and it glanced up for just a moment. There was a palpable tension in the atmosphere; The Assistant knew it was safe, but still it felt like it was under ever-present danger of falling prey to the prisoner.

As the Assistant pulled the cart filled with all sorts of canisters holding test compounds closer, it mused that it wouldn't take the inhabitant of this cell a lot of effort to kill. Not a very reassuring thought, but then again, the holding pens were filled with all manners of dangerous specimens. And yet…. this one was different from the others.
The Assistant took a small brush and dipped it into a compound, setting down a small stroke on the metal that it had cleansed. The sheet tensed ever so slightly, underlying systems pausing in anxiety at whatever chemical concoction that was being applied. The Assistant waited, observing the steel. There came no reaction.
"Test compound S-R-009 applied to nanofoldic steel on live test subject. No reaction to be observed. Continuing to compound S-R-010." It announced to the air. There was a camera affixed at such an angle that it could record the procedure. A new brush from a different canister lathered a stroke of the mentioned S-R-010 compound on an area next to S-R-009. It held better to the steel, but otherwise did not give a result that the Assistant was apparently pleased with.
"Test compound S-R-010 also seems to be ineffective. Proceeding to compound S-R011."
"What are you trying out on me?" A weary, baritone voice suddenly spoke, startling the Assistant. It paused, not moving an inch. Then, it exhaled and forced itself to relax. The prisoner was bound; it was illogical to let its presence have such influence. "I am trying out compounds, prisoner."
"Compounds that do what?"
"That information is classified, prisoner."
"Classified? You're smearing that stuff on my body, it itches like a scrapbug. Slag 'classified', tell me what it is!"
"It itches?" The Assistant frowned, looking at the metal. With a small gasp, it quickly spoke towards the camera, "Compound S-R-010 seems to have retracted and thickened its molecules into a gel-like substance. It currently displays adhesive properties. Test subject indicates to experience an 'itching' sensory impulse. This might indicate a proper influence upon the nanofoldic metal. Proceeding with S-R-011 and keeping a watch on the developments of S-R-010."
"You have yet to answer me, /squid/" Now the voice held the tension of a dangerous roar. But the Assistant knew that it would have no power to bring such an exertion to life, "I do not have to answer to you, prisoner." The answer was given sharply.
"I demand you to answer me!" It was a feeble attempt to exert dominance. If the Assistant was one to permit itself to do so, it would laugh. Truth of the fact; laughing was an action it was incapable of doing. It merely looked up, its even gaze enough to let the test subject know that it was crossing a line it really should not cross.
"… And I suggest you to be wiser, prisoner."

Their standoff did not last long: with an irritated growl the prisoner averted its gaze. With that, their exchange ended. The Assistant continued testing, and the prisoner spoke no words about it.

[Location: Khalanxis Research & Court facility, Aphos wing, lab G-20.17]
"Well, they didn't really ever /ask/" Fernicius grinned as he spoke of an anecdote of his off-planet years, "but we gave them the weapons-grade cargo /anyway/. Veiled, of course. By the time they found out they were already surrounded with Senate agents, our Justicars were assigned to the scene and it was over in a matter of minutes. Economy went right on its face there and our friends from Gorbul-7 were free to buy gigantic plots of real estate. Just goes to show you don't really need a fighting war to win dominion over a planet."

"But of course you don't." Emphisa agreed absently as he reached out, fastening a component inside the chassis of the micromaster sized mech that was lying prone on the workbench. "Now stop reminiscing and hand me Hextaida's fuel capacitor. You are giving me the impression that you miss working on a trading ship. The way you have been talking…"
"Oh, but I sometimes do, Revered colleague, I sometimes do." Fernicius admitted while handing over the requested item. He hovered closer to the body to assist with the installation of such a small component, "But I wouldn't trade this for returning to off-planet services to the Empire, do not misunderstand me, Chief. I value working alongside you on the D-HEX project more than anything else."
"Good." Emphisa nodded, satisfied by the answer. He paused, "I am not sure if we could find another programmer to take over in the case of your absence, so rest assured; I would forbid you to leave this project."
Fernicius smiled, "that is quite an honor, Sir, to be forbidden to leave one of your projects."
"It is. On that note, are your project documentations in order?" Emphisa replied lightly, fastening fuel lines and activating the inner systems of the cargolifter. He made it sound like an innocent question but Emphisa glanced up to give Fernicius a meaningful look. The other Quintesson met his glance, holding it for a moment before lowering his sight and nodding, "Yes Sir; that they are. Any Quintesson programmer could fulfill my function using the documentation, Sir." There was no actual danger of Emphisa deciding to send Fernicius away, but confirming each other's rank and place and pushing and pulling at the existence of function was an inherently Quintessonian mannerism. It kept the mind sharp and the ambitions sane.

The door to the lab buzzed and slid open. Emphisa and Fernicius looked up to see one of the receptionists standing in the doorway, clutching a datapad to the chest. It gave them a polite nod, "Chief Creator Emphisa Sir? I just received word that our Beloved Overseer, may his wisdom guide us all, would like to speak to you as soon as you can visit him, Sir."
"Ah yes, thank you, Siralya, for bringing me this message. I will finish this hardware upgrade and then I will be on my way to the Overseer's office. Please put my other appointments today on hold for the time being."
"Affirmative Sir. As you command, Chief Creator Emphisa Sir." The receptionist smiled and bowed its head in a nod before leaving again.

Fernicius frowned, faces switching around, "The Overseer would like to speak to you personally, Esteemed Colleague? I heard nothing about an appointment?" His confusion was clear.
"That is because there wasn't one, Fernicius. This is a spontaneous summoning. Also, I hereby remind you that your rank gives you no entitlement to knowing the details of my daily agenda."
Fernicius startled, bowing his head quickly, "Of course not, Sir. I had no intention of making such an implication, Sir."
The slight chuckle that was heard from Emphisa's direction as the Quintesson scientist continued working on the unconscious D-HEX unit showed that he did not mind that badly. Latches were closed up and locked before Emphisa retreated to observe his work from a distance. "Well, best not keep our Revered Overseer waiting. Fernicius, run an integrity check on the new sub-aqua routines that you programmed and benchmark that new fuel capacitor. I would like a performance report upon my return."
"Of course, Chief Creator Emphisa Sir."

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[End of Chapter: The Sinking Room]

Author note:
This journal will aim to give all of the characters some more scenetime besides pursuing the main storyline.

If you like the series (or find these stories interesting to read), feel free to leave suggestions or reviews. These are of course always welcome.