// Author Notes:

First thing, yes, Beast wars and Transeformers belong to me. Serious business.

Second, Rattrap's Japanese name is Rattle – Also, wiki stats (love for wiki) Rattrap is Ransack. How.. ammusing? Oooh-ho-ho.

Third, This writing is none linear. In other words if you can't piece together things you might not get it. This may be the first chapter but it is not the first segment. Understand? Might I explain further, I write usually in a scattered timeline. Seen KillBill? Like that.

Fourth, suggestion gives way that Dinobot did survive. Don't bitch at me for OOCness because in contrast with whats happened over the years I can damn well absolutely see these actions. MIND EXPANDING. Horay for the use of your mind.

Fifth, if you believed the first addressed you're pretty stupid.

Enjooooy children//

Dirty Little Secrets
Chapter one. One more lie.

His body hit the ground, cornered in the back of an ally; boy did this bring back memories. Nothing really changed did it? A shift of who held power; it kept going back and forth and he'd withdrawn from the battle long ago for his own pursuit. Still, sometimes good old nostalgia had him partaking in stupid self assigned missions that got him in situations like this – surrounded by a dozen vehicons. A long sigh, well.. this was it. He was weaponless even if he'd regained his mobility and form over the years, after strong pursuit he was out of ammo anyways. Dying in the back of an ally, how typically suiting.

As they came in, and Rattrap was completely sure one hundred percent that finally at long last this was definitely the end of him, yet again the small mech was proven wrong. Between polished silver fingers red optics peered at a large mech who came from who knew where; he was too worried with hiding behind his fingers like that would make his death less painful or somethin'. Optics ran over the larger bot.. he looked.. so familiar.

Little by little he rose, "Hey eh.."

"Go, There will be more coming."

The rat almost dropped right than, right there. End life. An electrical torrent bolted through him like lightening, through his head down to his toes when that voice rose – one so foreign to his ears. His optics looked down to that rotating serrated blade, up to the blue face that was half canted over a broad shoulder just enough for him to see the faintest toothy smirk. How.. did he..? Of course there was differences but, that voice.. that weapon. There was no doubt.

Rattrap stood there dumbfounded for the first time in so long watching the warrior walk away without another word. Slowly he canted his head to the door.. somehow entering this place suddenly became really difficult.

One more lie. Just one more lie.

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So his memory was blown? That was why he disappeared without a trace almost a decacycle. It was what everyone figured at any rate. A strange desire always fueled the rat to find the truth, for once in his fucking life – the truth; the truth was something funny wasn't it? And so here came that big old question that every form whether mechanical, organic or something else asked themselves at one point or another and usually when they were at the pit – like he ever really wasn't to begin with – what was the truth now a days? It seemed to go in circles over one's lifecycle; at least this was the case for the rat.

Now in a small area of Cybertron, dirt cheap more like. It was where he always was and after all, he was a rat. No affiliation, he was a free agent so they called him. More like a washed out mech reaching the end, or just really hoping the end would come soon because by the matrix for how many times he wailed that everyone was all going to die he sure proved that wrong.

Getting back to the truth though, if you asked a good few decacycles ago the truth would have been different than what it was now, maybe five decacycles ago it would have been different from before and present day. Did Rattrap, Rattle, Ransack whatever the fuck you wanted to call him, did he ever know the truth? At one point.. you could say he did. Long, long ago he stumbled across it one moment too late as usual. It was standing right in front of him just moments ago and he let it go. He let it walk away; lied to himself one more time just for memories sake.

"Hey Rattle, you're looking pretty glum chum," up came the voice of one of them femmebots who sadly knew him more than he knew himself at the current moment.

Red optics shifted to the one who hopped up 'pon the bar table in front of him, "Ya think?"

"Well than," and had some interest in him for whatever reason, "spill it out sugabot, its no good keeping everything all locked away you know."

This would have been more entertaining maybe a light-year or two ago, now it was tedious, dirty. He didn't even know why he came here anymore. Nostalgia maybe, he'd been doing a lot of that. Nevertheless the small mech got up from little wedge between seat and femmebot placing a hand on the woman's shoulder, "things you wouldn't understand."

"You leavin' so early?"

"Got plans elsewheres," he moved towards the door.

You should thank him Rattrap.