Beast Wars and all related belong to Hasbro. The story, its original contents and ideas, and any original characters belong to the author and cannot be used or reprinted without the author's permission.

Disclaimer: No money, no rights, no life. I own all original characters unless otherwise specified.

Dedications: Like usual, the story is dedicated to the writers for their excellent work. It's also dedicated to all the voice actors, especially David Sobolov and Campbell Lane, for bringing these wonderful characters (especially my favorites) to life. As well as the writers of Beast Wars, it's also for the people I love in hopes that this will show that one day I can do something better.

Author's notes: Yeah . . . this only took forever. Regardless, here's the first chapter of Omicron Chronicles. This series is the direct sequel to Epoch: Ascension, and will be uploaded chapter by chapter until completion. I hope everyone who reads it will enjoy it!

Epoch:

Another Day

Joshin Yasha (joshinyasha at yahoo dot com)

The three cutter ships were fast, but Jazz³ was more than capable of holding his own against them. As the third generation-sired, it had been expected of him to be a racer, but Jazz³ had preferred the extreme velocity of jet thrusters and wings. And he knew the fields outside Omicron, unlike the three cutters soaring ahead of him. He felt confident about taking care of the thieves on his own - Air-slake and Air Lock were chasing down two others in Ward 5, while Cybershark and the chief pursued the remaining six that had fled towards Ward 3.

He swerved, his tracker narrowly escaping from missiles fired from all three cutters. "That's an unfair jive, guys. But we can crank the bass if you want!" he frowned, lights of the cockpit flashing over his face as his visor crept down over his ice blue optics. "Well, ladies, time to see your dance moves," pulling hard on the drive stick forced his tracker to bank right, curving around and then up in a steep slope into the space above Omicron. The stars flickered around his ship as he summoned his commands to the computer. "Tell me something I don't know, Duchess."

His ship's computer beeped and whirred as it began compiling data from the three cutters. |SYSTEM SCAN YIELDS FREQUENT COMMUNICATION FEEDS AND COORDINATION OF MOVEMENTS|

"Oh, well then, they like to chatter. Thanks, Duchess," he flipped several switches, barked commands, and then flew in close once more behind the three cutters who were now huddled close in a triangle formation. The four ships swept the space above Omicron, closing in on the jump gate. "Let's flood the airways. Duchess, a little Radar Love, if you would?"

Silence, and then for a moment he could hear the three communicating back and forth as his computer connected to their frequency and overwhelmed the airways. "Bionc, take his left engine, Galix, take his-" silence once more, then Jazz³'s cockpit, as well as the three cutters' cockpits filled with the old Terran song that his grand-sire used to play for him.

~"I've been drivin' all night my hands wet on the wheel / There's a voice in my head that drives my heel / It's my baby callin', says I need you here / And it's half past four and I'm shiftin' gear . . ."~

Already his foot was tapping against the floorboard, hands working swiftly to target the central ship. It was wrong of the cutters to cluster together like that, it meant that for the center one to dodge, he would have to pull up or take a nose dive into Omicron. There was only one way to go, and Jazz³ would be ready for the thief.

~"When she is lonely and the longing gets too much / She sends a cable comin' in from above. / We don't need no phone at all! / We've got a thing that's called Radar Love / We've got a wave in the air - Radar Love . . ."~

Five missiles were launched from the tracker, accelerating with every meter they consumed, targeting locked on the center cutter until they split into three groups: two above, one in the center, and two below. No matter which direction the cutter in the center chose, he would be hit. "Come on, baby," Jazz³ begged, the missiles finally catching up to the three thieves. With last minute realization, the cutters attempted to split, but the middle one was still impacted with two missiles from where it had ascended upwards.

"Alright," the Maximal smiled. "Next one," he banked to the left this time, following close behind the cutter. His dactyls punched hard on the reload button, causing the clicking of rotating gears beneath the floorboards. Outside his tracker, the missile doors closed and then rolled open once more. "The radio is playing some forgotten song," he sang along, Duchess's targeting system training on to the thief.

~"The radio is playing some forgotten song, / Brenda Lee's comin' on strong. / The road has got me hypnotized, / And I'm speedin' into a new sunrise . . ."~

The tracker spun several times on its axis, launching off six heat seeking missiles, creating a circle pattern with their formation. Just like the others, they gained speed with each meter they crossed, homing closer and closer each second towards the cutter. Jazz³ flipped open the cover to his flight stick, waited what seemed like millions of seconds before pressing the red button, detonating the missiles millimeters from the hull of the cutter.

~"When I get lonely and I'm sure I've had enough / She sends a comfort comin' in from above / We don't need no letter at all / We've got a thing that's called Radar Love / We've got a light in the sky . . ."~

The engines of the cutter erupted violently, igniting a chain reaction that climbed through the other systems, neutralizing the ship until finally it exploded. Jazz³ wiped at his mouth for no reason other than suspense and adrenaline. "Last car to pass, here I go," he turned the tracker, banking back towards the last cutter. He was pleased to find that instead of it attempting to attack him, it was fleeing, aiming for the jump gate forty kilometers from Omicron's second Bay.

~"No more speed, I'm almost there / Gotta keep cool now, gotta take care. / Last car to pass, here I go / And the line of cars drove down real slow . . ."~

"Heh, you won't get away from me that easily . . ." he locked on target, gaining speed in his tracker and closing the distance between himself and the thief. "Oh, one more radar lover gone!" he tapped his foot to the beat, launching off the final barrage of missiles.

~"And the radio played that forgotten song / Brenda Lee's comin' on strong / And the newsman sang his same song / Oh, one more radar lover gone!"~

Jazz³'s optics widened in surprise, his visor flipping up into his helm as the cutter exploded mere seconds before the missiles were intended to connect. He growled as the missiles careened passed the implosion, seeing the bot in the distance with energon sword sparking in hand. "Duchess, open a comm.!" he yelled angrily. Several beeps were heard and then the connection opened. "Cybershark, just what do you think you're doing? I could have shot you!"

"Doesn't matter," the blue and grey bot retorted back over the communicator, holstering his blade inside his pauldron. "These three weren't important. We found the credit engine on one of the others."

Jazz³ growled once more. "I still could've shot you, though!"

"You didn't. Get over it and get inside, now. There's a solar wind gathering." With that said, Cybershark extended his six wings and shifted to his flight mode, blasting back to the docking bay. Jazz³ was left alone for a moment, shaking his head and turning his cutter back towards Omicron. He'd find a way to pay Cybershark back, and he knew just how to do it, too . . .

When Jazz³ jumped out of his tracker Cybershark was waiting for him, smirk on his face. "You stupid sonova-!"

"Stand down, Jazz, and remember who is your senior officer," Cybershark barked, predatory teeth shining in the light of the docking bay as the last shuttles arrived and departed for the day. Once the last shuttles cleared the bay, the doors would eventually seal shut until the wind had passed them by.

"I may be third in name and rank, but you have yet to show me why the boss put you his second!"

"Because Cybershark demonstrated his abilities long ago," the giant blue and purple bot stepped into view from the bridge over them. "He doesn't need to prove himself again." Leaping down from the bridge to the suspended platform, the larger bot joined the others. "Jazz, I see ya managed to kill the three you went after. Not even planning on bringing them back in?" the leviathan of a bot inquired, leaning forward on his massive arms against the railing, observing as the last ship powered slowly out of the bay.

Jazz³ didn't so much as salute as he sneered. "The Karnasian ambassador authorized us to execute them if they endangered Omicron in anyway. Besides, they were headed for the jump gate, and most likely would have detonated charges to keep us from pursuing."

"Maybe, but that still wasn't your call to make." The purple and blue chief of security smirked, his battle mask retracting from his face. "Nor was it yours, Cybershark. But I'm glad to see that you both managed to save the gate." He chuckled, rose to his full height, then stalked off over the platform with Jazz³ and Cybershark in tow. "Jazz, I need you to work on hacking the credit engine before the Karnasians get down to Headquarters to claim their own. I want to know just how much they stole from that vault."

"Of course, Depth Charge," Jazz³ nodded. "I just wish you would have contacted me out there."

"Tried, got a bunch of music in the comm." Depth Charge glanced over his shoulder, smirk on his face.

"Oh-erm, sorry . . ."

"Yeah, next time remember to jam only the enemy's communications, and not ours." The chief of security tapped the doorway open and waited for it to reach full width before the three of them walked into the tunnel between the Wards and Docks. Without wasting time they climbed into the security shuttle, taking seats so that they could return to Ward 1.

"Sorry again," Jazz³ bent his head down, looking at his feet as he took his seat. Now he was painfully reminded why he wasn't second in command.

"Don't take it so hard," Depth Charge reclined in the seat, arms stretched out over the back of his chair. He stared across to his second and third. "Just makes me wish we had someone to focus solely on communications, instead of having you pull double duty all the time."

"Perhaps," Cybershark started, head cocking against his shoulder, "if you petitioned the High Council once more, only this time include a statement from the Karnasian ambassador concerning the lack of radio scans that could have detected the coded transmissions."

"Maybe," Depth Charge thought, hand cupping his chin in thought. "We should have filled that position a long time ago with someone full-time."

Jazz³ lowered his head further, feeling shame for his inability to provide total system coverage of the airways for the past seven stellarcycles. "I'm sorry," he said again, optics blinking several times as he continued to stare at his feet.

"Stop apologizing and look him in the face," Cybershark ordered, body unmoving as the shuttle was closing in on Ward 1. "You act too much like a human."

Jazz³ gritted his teeth before facing Depth Charge, ignoring Cybershark as much as he could. "I think getting a permanent communications officer is a great idea. If you'll allow it then I'll get in contact with a good friend of mine."

"No, no," Depth Charge smiled then, getting up when the shuttle came to a halt. "Go on to Headquarters, I'm going to make a call and then catch up with you two. Tell the twins to keep a look out. And Cybershark," he turned from the doorway, looking back at his second. "You're in charge until I get back."

"Huh? Where are you going?" he said to the air as Depth Charge was gone. "Oh, why does he always have to be so ominous!"

Depth Charge sauntered into his flat, shut the door behind him, and ran an automated scan for listening-devices. Satiated with the results, the chief of security pulled a container of energon from his storage shelf and unscrewed the lid. Drawing a tube from his side, the leviathan connected it to the lid and sat it upon his desk. Sitting down himself, Depth Charge initiated the desk computer and flew his fingers across the interface. "Now, to find us a communications officer."

Sliding his dactyls across the interface screen, the leviathan dragged a tactile box to the center of the desk, tapped it to enlarge, then leaned back in his chair. Beeping in confirmation, the computer signaled that the connection had been established. |ALL CONNECTIONS ENGAGED. ESTIMATED WAIT TIME IS: THIRTY-FOUR CYCLES|

Had he been more relaxed, the chief of security might have over-tipped himself to the floor. As it was, the energon syphon had disconnected and spilt down the side of his leg, which gave him an idea. Someone had once told him to appear as imposing as possible when dealing with the Council, and that was his intent. Gathering as much of the pinkish fluid in his hands, he sat about smearing what remained across his chest and face. With any luck, it would dry before he was connected to the Council.

"This is the last time I take the normal channels," he sighed, resting his head in his hands with his elbows on the desk. After twenty-seven cycles and many disconnections, the chief of security was pleased that the line now connected to the central desks at Home. So much in fact that he almost felt like clapping his heals together. "Maybe if I ask nice enough I'll get a fruit basket for my wait," Depth Charge smirked, trying to remain in good humour.

~"Who is this?"~ a dark face filled the screen, one crimson optic unlit as the other flickered weakly.

"First of all," the leviathan sat back, smirk still on his face, "if the Tripredacus Council put a monitor on the desks over there who could actually see, then you would know who I am. Secondly, I'm tired of waiting, patch me over to the Tripredacus Council."

~"You blasted Maximal!"~ the monitor seethed, fangs snapping at the screen in revulsion. ~"The Tripredacus Council is in session - they do not cater to Maximal filth like you."~

"Now, now, be a good secretary and put me in contact with the Tripredacus Council. Tell them that Depth Charge is calling and I do not want to be kept waiting." He waited patiently, not hearing so much as a scream from the Predacon on the opposite side of the universe as the screen went blank and filled with the connection line again.

Three tired blank, red faces filled the screen. ~"Maximal Depth Charge," the center one, General Cicadacon, sighed, "to what do we owe your filthy appearance?"~

"Well," he beamed, leaning in closer so that his face took up the entire field of the camera. "I've been talking it over with my men and I've come to the conclusion that Omicron needs a permanent communications officer, as well as some additions to our security." He leaned back then, looking proud and arrogant, mimicking the Predacons he had come to deal with. "And you have what I want, so I think it would only gratify the pleasantries between our two peoples if you so humbly offered your services."

The three red Predacons rolled their optics, shooting one another exhausted looks. "Maximal Depth Charge, we grow tired of listening to you. Be candid and say what it is that you want."

"Of course," Depth Charge leaned back further, propping his feet up so that they blocked half of the screen. Behind the security of his legs, the leviathan fiddled with a device that was attached by cables to the side of his desk. When the indicator light atop the box shifted from red to green, the blue and purple bot announced, "The line's no longer bugged . . ."

"What is it that you want, Maximal? We grow tired of waiting."

"Just remember that I've covered up several of your messes, and will continue to do so if ya provide me with a communications officer, specifically one who has the background of a monitor." He sat up then, face calm and unreadable. "Also, I need a weapons officer."

General Cicadacon raised his brow, then furrowed it once more. "You have someone in mind."

"That I do," Depth Charge rose and drummed his fingers on the table. A smile creased his lips, "Designator code fifteen dash four dash thirty-six. I believe she is more than capable to fill the position. I'll be awaiting her arrival." With that, he cut the line.

The Predacon haven, a colony just above the Cybertronian atmosphere, revolved in the opposite direction of the planet's rotational axis, leaving it a fixed point in their sky much like the sun. Home - so-called by the Predacons and remaining Decepticons - was a feat of engineering littered with flats, facilities, and scrap yards, most of which were fronts to hide what really transpired behind the curtains of the Pax Cybertronia.

After the Great War ended and the Pax Cybertronia had been signed, the Decepticons in pursuit of traditions, fostered the posterra brands that were originally to be phased out by the Maximals. However, the idea of legally owning one's property as a confederation loyal to the Tripredacus Council was so popular that the Predacons had threatened to overturn the treaty if they weren't allowed to continue the tradition.

It was a threat that the Maximals weren't willing to allow, and rather than the High Council and the Imperium striking with force, they gave in eight stellarcycles ago and seceded posterra to the Home authority and the Tripredacus Council to govern. Now, close to all residents had applied for posterra and been granted confederacy, which meant that the green markings that once could be used as guiding marks reflected the haphazard construction of the streets.

And that was how it was meant to be.

The third flat down on corridor 3-C looked as dismal as any, even in broad starlight. Its inhabitants inside, however, were much more twisted in their ways than their home suggested. The third flat was owned by Stricture the Decepticon sniper, and Taciturn the Decepticon pilot, both of whom downgraded to a Predacon form. Although they both had been retired from the business of commercial killing for sometime now, they did manipulate their time with the occasional kill out of boredom.

Currently stretched out on the metallic couch, the Decepticon Misery slept in stasis with her head hanging over the edge. The blue and silver Decepticon - Stricture - and a red and black Decepticon - Taciturn - slowly rose up behind the couch, glanced at each other once, then leaned towards their sleeping captain. Being the closer of the two, Stricture examined her sleeping face from only millimeters away. Resting the tip of his metallic nose against Misery's, the blue and silver Decepticon leered, "Not exactly a sleeping beauty, are you?"

Optics wide and aware, Misery stared back at her second in command, body shifting against the couch as she focused upon him. "What," she began, placing an icy dactyl against Stricture's bridge and threatening to carve into him, "do you want?"

"You've got a call," Stricture pointed to the black vid screen behind her, grinning from audio to audio. "The Tripredacus Council. One of their cronies, actually."

"You know what they want," she made it a statement, judging by their grins.

Stricture and Taciturn preened amongst themselves, and only after Stricture cupped a hand to his mate's shoulder did they disappear in a cloud of coloured smoke. Behind the lounge, the screen became white with static and then filled with an arrogant face. Misery turned then, arm laid across the back of the couch while one leg was bent under the other, her right hip joint pressed firmly against the couch. "Councilor Countenance," Misery cocked her helm to the side, "to what do I owe the honour of your . . . intrusion upon my sleep."

~"Charming,"~ he narrowed his chestnut coloured optics, scanning the area behind the female to delay while the scanners secured the line. Finally, he returned his glance to the center of the monitor. ~"The line is secure."~

Misery spoke without moving her lips, not willing to risk recording devices of any kind. "My crew is continuing the integrity of this line. Speak, Councilor."

~"Captain Misery, why is it you never climbed the ranks if you are so clever?"~ the Councilor inquired, optics perking upwards around the outer edges.

"I was content to sequester my control to a limited number of troops." She slowly turned her helm until it came to rest against her left shoulder. "You did not contact me to inquire about my rank."

~"Ah, well, your line of work does fit into this,"~ the Councilor curled his lips into a fine line, seriousness written up his face.

Off to the side, far enough away not to be caught on the screen, Taciturn sat down a private communicator that he and Stricture had been listening to. The two of them ran over to where Misery was seated, flailing their arms behind the monitor to catch her attention.

Looking down quickly with just her optics, Misery glanced away from the screen to look at her two subordinates. She widened her red optics once and gave a small but barely noticeable jerk of her head to indicate for them to be silent and wait, then she turned back to the screen.

~"Moreover, Captain Misery, it has come to our attention that a certain Maximal - whose bane of an existence hinders us very much - has demanded your services-"~

Stricture disappeared briefly and reappeared next to Taciturn, giant poster boards under his arms and assorted coloured markers in his hands. Where he had gotten them, the red male didn't know, but he was impressed regardless. The second stepped under the vid screen, just out view like his wing mate, and handed him a poster board and a marker. They scribbled quickly, Taciturn finishing quickly and holding his up for Misery to read. She looked away from Councilor Countenance with her optics once more to gaze at what Taciturn had written to her.

She read it quickly, processing in her mind what it said. We foundXyston! it read, sporting several swirl marks around it for emphasis.

~"-And so you will-"~

Misery flicked her red optics shut once and then opened them again, looking at what Stricture was now holding up in large, bold letters: HE'S-

~"-report for work-"~

-ON-

~"-on-"~

-OMICRON!

~"-Omicron."~

The two males blinked, glanced to one another, then shrugged, completely vexed by the sudden twist of fate.

Councilor Countenance growled, patience gone. ~"Captain Misery, are you listening to a word I am saying!"~

She blinked, helm snapping back to look at him. "Report for work on Omicron, understood." Misery cut the signal, grabbed the nearest unbolted objects, and threw them towards the two males who had to duck to keep from being hit. "And that could not have waited another twenty seconds?"

"Sorry," Taciturn shrugged as Stricture chuckled, "but the look on your face was hilarious!"

Misery said, "I do not care how I looked. Explain yourselves now."

"Oh, that was our contact on Colony Omicron," Stricture flopped down on one side of Misery as Taciturn took the other side, both sliding their arms around her shoulders and gripping her tight. They leaned in close, smirks and whispers about them. "He said that they've traced the ship that took Xyston. I guess we'll be off to Omicron, then?"

"Councilor Countenance has ordered me to Colony Omicron to work there for the security. Mmm," she pouted her lips, leaning forward and placing her couters against her tassets, gripping her helm in her hands. "I am to be detained while you both do our work."

"Oh, don't fret, Misery," the two of them said, pulling her back to a straight position and then began swinging their upper bodies from side to side.

"Do not start!" Misery blinked in surprise, trying to get out of their grips.

"Matchmaker, matchmaker make me a match," Stricture and Taciturn began to sing, smiles upon their faces as they swayed more forcefully with Misery in their grip.

Misery covered her optics with her hands, sighing deeply as she whispered, "I keep company with morons . . ."

"I need a five letter word for 'pottery made in this style,'" the red and white Maximal tilted his helm back and glared across the room to his twin. "Yo, Air-slake! You hear me?"

The red and white Maximal turned around, dactyls tapping at a computer as he listened to his twin. "What'd you want?"

"I said 'five letter word for pottery made in this style.' You got the answer, Air-slake?" he asked again, setting his stylus down next to his data pad.

"'Delft,' Air Lock, 'delft.'" He turned back to his computer, typing faster this time as he continued his report. His twin went back to work, having already completed his task of the report. Well, Air Lock wrote it, and Air-slake checked it for errors; it was riddled with errors. Lots of errors. Within several minutes, however, he completed his task and turned to the sound of the doors opening.

Depth Charge strolled in with the look of the cat who ate the canary. "Well, boys, ya got a report done yet or what?"

"What, is the operative word, here. Actually, I think, Air Lock, that you meant to say 'opposed' instead of 'appeased.'" Air-slake struck the last error from the report and ejected the disk. He spun in his chair and offered it to Depth Charge as his twin began to speak.

"Yeah, well, you know me and words that sound the same . . ." Air Lock prinked with good nature.

"Sound the same?" Air-slake turned, blue optics wide and confused. "Opposed and appeased sound nothing alike!"

The other red and white jet crossed his legs at the ankle joints and stared innocently around the room. "They do if I say they do."

Depth Charge chuckled. Having spent seven stellarcycles with Air Lock and Air-slake taught him to appreciate intellectual humour; their focus was more on words themselves, unlike Jazz³ who cracked his jokes about peoples and objects. "Why are you in such a good mood?" Air-slake inquired, tilting his head.

"Yes, share with the rest of the class," Air Lock bent forward, crossing his legs and placing his elbow on his poleyn as his other arm laid limp across his leg. "You seem in such good moods at this moment that you have to share."

Depth Charge smiled and said, "Well, I've gotten us a permanent communications officer, as well as a weapons master on the way."

"I thought the High Council told you 'no,' but in a more hurtful way," Air Lock stood, trotting towards the other two as they began to move out the door and down the hallway.

"I asked elsewhere," the chief of security answered flatly, their heavy footsteps echoing off the walls as they made their way through the Omicron Security Headquarters. Depth Charge was bound and determined to see what information Jazz³ had gotten from the remaining Karnasian thieves.

"You didn't?" Air-slake blinked his blue optics, tilting his helm.

"Didn't call who? I would never dream of hiring a Decepticon."

"Decepti- Wha-what!" the twins stopped in their tracks. "Depth Charge, are you crazy? Don't you have any idea how dangerous they are?"

"Yeah, I know. And right now that's what we need. There's so much going on that we can barely keep up with the crime. We need to straighten Omicron out, and having someone on staff who can help us work the streets will be good." Depth Charge opened the door to the observation room and engaged the speakers upon entering. The three of them stood together on the opposite side of the two-way mirror, staring into the interrogation room where Jazz³ sat with several restrained Karnasians. "For now, let's focus on them."

"But, Depth Charge! " the two whined, only to be silenced by his hand up.

The chief of security indicated to the Karnasians in custody, then typed in a sequence on the console. A display flickered to life upon the two-way mirror, offering him assorted options - one of which the volume controls.

"Suppose," Air-slake sighed. "Suppose the Karnasians weren't working alone."

"What? You mean like a conspiracy?" Air Lock smirked again, "you think everyone's out to get us?"

Air-slake gave his brother a solemn look, one that said weights without speaking. The two blinked at one another behind the leviathan's back, sharing an unspoken warning.

"Fine," his brother resigned, "if the Karnasian's weren't working on their own accord, what do you hypothesize?"

Depth Charge shook his helm, "Alright, both of you stop. We know facts of their species, but it can't be applied to all of them. Karnasians are business aficionados - they'll make deals that benefit them, not deals that'll put them behind bars." He side-stepped to the door and opened it for Jazz³, who had now finished with the interrogation. He waited until his third in command took a seat along the wall before asking, "Find anything pertinent?"

"They were hired by someone they never met, so they say, and they were sent to steal energon and green pyre from the vaults. They were caught when those tertiary alarms we installed inside the vault tripped."

"Do we know how they got past the first and second alarms?"

"Yeah, they back-fed the signal on itself and reflected the trip wires perfectly. I feel really guilty, though. I installed those alarms, they should have caught them before they ever got into the vault."

Depth Charge regarded his third momentarily, then said, "The system would have worked if we had a full time communications officer to monitor those alarms. Which is something I'm working on."

Air Lock eyed his brother, "Well, looks like you were right about your conspiracy theory."

Air-slake didn't answer, but instead Depth Charge interjected, "Jazz, did the Karnasian say anything else?"

"Well, they told me where I could stick a pistol but I had to inform them that I didn't have the anatomy for it," the Autobot descendent chuckled.

"Nice," Depth Charge looked around for a moment and then a thought occurred to him. "Where's Cybershark?"

"Oh, you put him in charge, remember? Where do you think he is?" Jazz³ chuckled.

"-Get outta my chair! " Depth Charge yelled only after he had stomped through the building, followed closely by the other three, entered his office, and jerked his chair out from underneath Cybershark who promptly hit the floor.

Cybershark blinked from his very contorted, very humourous position on the floor. "You coulda just asked for me to get up . . ."

"Or he could have thrown you out the window," Air Lock mused.

While Cybershark glared accusingly, the screen behind them alit with static and a red pulse image, indicating a transmission. Depth Charge rapped his console and the image of violet female filled the screen, her single orb of an eye giving no emotion. ~"Security Chief Depth Charge, this is Shock Therapy, agent of the Tripredacus Council. Under orders of the Tripredacus Council and under the sanctity of the Pax Cybertronia, I have been assigned to assist Colony Omicron as your new communications officer."~

Jazz³ stared at the screen, considering the female briefly, then realization punched him in the face, "You're a Decepticon."

"That's right," Depth Charge relaxed into his chair and propped his elbows on the table. "Shock Therapy is trained as a city monitor. Omicron will be a cinch for her."

~"That is correct,"~ Shock Therapy's singular orb darkened to goldenrod before she added, ~"I will be arriving within the next three megacycles. I would appreciate a liaison to greet me at your port of clearance."~

"You'll have it," Depth Charge nodded. "We'll see you in three."

The image of the female blinked once, then the transmission ended. Cybershark tested, "Depth Charge-"

"Everyone save Cybershark get back to work." They obeyed him soundlessly, and as the last one out Air Lock pressed the switch as he left, sealing the door behind them.

The leviathan of a bot turned back to his second, "That's one down, one to go."

"Do you honestly think it wise to invite two Decepticons here around three Autobot-sired? You're asking for confrontations."

"Jazz and the twins can handle themselves. I'm confident they can get along. After all, there is a treaty."

"Depth Charge," Cybershark spun to face him, glaring the other down. "I have no doubts you've contacted that Decepticon of yours. What's her name. Misery?" He sat down opposite his chief, not bothering with the formalities any longer. "You know I will stand by your decision, but I am also troubled that you will spend more time watching her then you will Omicron."

The blue and purple Maximal blinked once, furrowed his brow, and darkened his crimson optics. "Are you insinuating that I can't do my job?"

"I was there," Cybershark reminded. "She staged her capture at our training facility and you made giddy faces at her the entire time. She's not good for us. She's-"

"Completely capable of doing the job. If you want to go on official record against me, I'll understand," Depth Charge took a deep breath, reseated himself to a more erect position, and issued a low growl. "If there's nothing else, then get out."

Cybershark got out.

She was bored, restless, and decided two minutes into the agonizingly slow trip that she wanted to perform some mindless killing. Currently, Misery rapped her fingers across the arm of the chair, drumming with a steady hum that created enough noise that those who were sitting in the other aisles had become annoyed and moved. She added the tapping of her foot along with her dactyls, trying to create as much noise as possible to drone out the thoughts in her head. Later, one of them attempted to tell her to stop, which only resulted in receiving the a glare that threatened death if not left alone.

The shuttle was slow, but the jump gate at least made the travel in one third the time it would take to reach from Cybertron to Omicron. Normally, the trip would take four days by shuttle and only two by tracker standards. Either way, Misery loathed the travel through commercial means. Give her the Cenotaph any day and she would be happy.

Of course, the Cenotaph was currently in the use of Stricture and Taciturn, who had gone ahead to Omicron. Their plan was simple: while she worked for the Guardians, Stricture and Taciturn would be searching the depths of the colony for Xyston.

Misery sighed once more; if only she still had her original crew, the work would be that much easier to complete.

She tilted her helm, looking at the bot standing in the aisle next to her seat. Apparently another had been elected to persuade her to stop annoying the others. "I said you're getting on my last nerve. Stop. " He did not continue when he received a look from her.

She purred casually, "Who are you?"

He seemed slightly taken aback by the question but gave her his name despite it, "Skywarp."

Misery cocked her head and lost the expression she had been giving him. "You take the name of a Decepticon martyr yet you bare the Predacon mark. No, what was your name before you changed it?"

He growled at this, sitting down across from her and leaning in close so no one could hear, "Rhyton. Though I don't see why I should cooperate with you, Decepticon wannabe."

Misery said bluntly, "You believe yourself entitled to use the name of our once-proud Seeker. You are a fool to think that. We Decepticons have no use for imbeciles like you."

"I'm tempted to kill you for speaking to me like that," he snarled.

"You are welcome to try. Many before you have, but none have succeeded," she drew her handgun from her side and pointed it at him from underneath the leg, obscuring it from his view. He only had time to hear the distant click and the whirr in his leg before he fell forward and into unconsciousness.