Disclaimer: I own only the plot-line and Cripplerip, and I'm proud of her, so if you plan on using her somewhere, I'd better not find out only afterwards! Meaning: tell me before you publish.

This is the first of many one-to-three-shots about the history of my OC's, and how the refugees first came to be. They will be written in different POVs and are not directly linked to each other, even if they are written from the POV of the same character. This isn't necessary to read to understand the stuff going on in the main stories, but it will give more depth to the characters themselves, and explains more about their natures and pasts, thus clearing their reactions, if they at times seem weird.

Okays, enough of explanations for now. This first one is in the POV of Cripplerip, a young femme at the time. Age: 563 Earth years, time: just before the Decepticons made themselves known to the public. Sentinel Prime is alive and leading the Cybertronians with the High Council. The civilians don't yet know anything of the war that's right on their doorstep, due to the Council trying to cover it up to avoid mass hysteria. The place where everything begins here: Iacon.

Iacon.

The very center of the Cybertronian way of life.

Iacon.

A place where the past and the present meet and walk in harmony, hand in hand.

Iacon.

The greatest tribute to the Primes and their lineage for the peace and prosperity that rains upon their people. The city of great steel towers that draw figures into the lowest of clouds. The city of light, of literature, of music, of arts, the city of the High Council and the home of the elite families of the Cybertronian society.

Iacon…

What a load of slag, I thought as I peered from the dark alley I had crouched in to conceal myself from the people passing by on the well-lit street. I snorted. Had I taken two steps, I would have been in the clear view of the pedestrians walking by, presently blissfully unaware of the loathing glares I sent their way. It was a rather busy day, since one of the major enterprises of the city had a sale, and everybody wanted their share of the deal. Not only were there regular commoners, average people in the streets, as was usual, but some bigger transports from the really wealthy pars of the city were slowly trudging their way through the crowd. The elite families didn't bother walking to places. That had always been for the lesser people.

The elite… by no means was I elite! I spared a glance at myself and grimaced. My frame was dirtied, dull and covered in scrapes from places I wished I had never visited. My arms and legs were thin, and the few pieces of armor covering my body were screaming to be released to the scrap-head where I knew they were from in the first place. My whole body was a huge, walking malfunction with all the things that were wrong with it. All of my systems were running at half power or lower, and I knew that my optics had long ago lost their shine, and were now only a dull glow from behind the visor I had stolen from a dead mech some time ago. It was way too big for me and kept slipping half-way down my face, but that had never bothered me before. It did now, when I was supposed to have good vision of my surroundings. Then again, I thought to myself with a sardonic smile, having a visor of any kind is good when I'm on little escapades like this one here. I don't want anyone noticing my presence, and it gets tricky if I have my optics glowing so brightly that even a blind piece of slag would see me from across the town.

I stole another glance to the lighter, better world just two simple steps away. The civilians were not of high standard, they were the average mechs and femmes: basic armor, well-maintained with maybe a hint of polishing here and there… and they wore smiles. Genuine, happy smiles. Like everything was right with the world. Perhaps that applied to their world. The one I was gazing at, but was still unable to enter. But, they lived in a different world, a different universe, not the one I was struggling in…

I rolled my optics at my earlier stupidity. Two simple steps away? That world might as well have been in the arms of Primus himself, that was how simple it would have been to get to, looking like I did!

I shouldn't even be here, I reminded myself and shifted on the spot, making sure I was totally out of sight. I knew I was about to pull a stunt big enough to attract a lot of attention, so I really didn't need an audience when I was waiting for the opportune moment to act.

I checked my chronometer and swore under my breath. Either it was broken (again), which wouldn't have been such a surprise, seeing as it was an ancient model I picked up from somewhere after my old one broke when I landed from a fall inappropriately, or I was way early. I sighed. This was not going as I had planned.

Deciding the chronometer should still be in working order, I leaned against the filthy wall I had taken refuge by. I knew the shipment of energon I was waiting would not, according to my ever so disloyal chronometer, be there for several more breems. I settled down to wait a little further down the alley, but made sure I had an escape route should someone harass me, and also secured a constant view to the street.

After just a few clicks I was getting bored, so I entertained myself by wondering what kind of lives the people passing me were leading. There was a big mech that looked like he owned the place: I imagine he was a manager of a small company, but was really desperate to be more, perhaps even reach the title of Chairman of the High Council. Someone should tell the fragger that he'd be a bit more credible if he didn't have his head up the aft of his superiors, I snickered to myself and watched him hustle his way through the hordes of overly pleasant people.

There were two young mechs that were talking animatedly to each other about an Academy. They were probably trying to get to the Military Academy of the High Council, like so many others. They wanted to become warriors, protectors of the people of Cybertron, and get glory and respect for it. Protectors from what, I wonder…

A mother and her wailing child, a young femme openly flirting with three mechs, who were unaware of each other, some older 'bots telling each other stories of times old past, stories that were mostly made up because their memory banks had failed some time or another. Ordinary people. Happy people. And very, very ignorant people.

"You're late!"

"Sorry, some big bosses were blocking the way at the ramp. I came as fast as I could."

Slaggit!

I quickly scrambled my abused body as close to the edge of the light as I dared for fear of being seen. My fragging useless chronometer was determined to undermine my best attempts at getting my share of energon from the society, it seems. I made a mental note to dispose of it before it fooled me again before re-focusing myself on the important stuff.

Like how to get that high-security transportful of energon to my secret hide-out without getting the police forces of all Iacon on my aft.

The driver had stepped out and was talking with the merchant that had bought the energon. The energon the merchant had paid for. The very energon I was about to steal from him. I felt a sudden surge of sympathy, but quickly disposed of the ridiculous feeling. Since when did I give a piece of scrap for the higher classes, again? I shook my head and listened in on the conversation.

"Here it is: 300 cubes of mid-grade, as requested. And another 50 cubes of high-grade, specially brewed. Anything else?"

"Not that I know of. Where do I sign?"

I had to act quickly. The merchant wasn't going by the pattern I thought he'd go by. I knew the mech from afar; he was usually a very talkative mech and tended to get tangled in conversation every time someone so much as sneezed at him. Figures the mech would be too busy to talk the one time I actually wanted him to have a nice, long chat with someone. I'd have to stall them, but without involving myself on it.

"Hey! Don't run so fast! You know I can't keep up with you if you really start to run!" I heard a youngling's voice complain.

"Oh, come ON! Even you're not that slow!" I turned my attention to the younglings for a moment. "I feel like really starting up something! This place is so boring it's going to off-line me some day!" a young mech of maybe 12 orns exclaimed. I couldn't hold back the sinister smile forming on my face. The winded youngling behind my new mischievous friend stopped to catch his breath.

"Whatever, 'Knot. I'm going home, see you tomorrow!"

"Fine, see ya…" he sighed as his friend started to wobble to the opposite direction they came from. I took it as my cue to step in and make the youngling's wish about starting something come true. Hey, one does have to help those around him, right?

"Hey, kid!" I quipped at him, making him whip around and look at me. His face immediately turned into a disgusted grimace. I'd stepped into the light, and I wasn't the prettiest thing to look at. I smiled nevertheless. It was a part of the plan for him to see me like this; after all, my kind never came to the better parts of the cities. In fact, few of the citizens actually knew of our existence behind the city walls.

"Come here," I beckoned and motioned him to come hither. He did so, reluctantly, but left enough room for himself to run away if the freak femme from the shadows tried to eat him. No fear of such. He had his uses, but I needed to fuel myself otherwise.

"What do you want?" he asked wearily. I bowed a bit so my back hunched in a way that I looked old and crippled, and pitched my voice one octave higher than it actually was.

"I couldn't help overhearing what you and your friend talked about, and it stirred some memories deep within my old and withered spark," I lied. I looked to the sky wistfully, as if I was remembering times long since past. "I was once like you, you know?" I started, feeling like one of those story-telling old mechs. I was suddenly glad I couldn't see myself. I probably looked and sounded like an old geezer, and I was still only a couple of hundred vorns old, a femme in her prime! "I was the adventurous type in my time. Can't say I did anything with it, but life was good. Would you do an old femme a favor and do something for me?" I asked, praying with every single molecule in my ready-for-the-smelter frame that he'd buy my tall tale. Unbelievably, he did. But just barely.

"Okay… What do you need?"

I refrained from jumping up and screaming out of sheer joy. Instead, I kept my voice high and whiny and started to lie some more.

"I want to feel adventurous one more time before I truly retire. Like a youngling, you see?" I asked him and he nodded awkwardly. Great, I was scaring him with the old femme –act. I changed into story-telling mode, and for greater effect, turned my head and gazed longingly at the sky again while talking. "When I was a youngling, like you, we used to have contests of sorts. Running, jumping, climbing… everything one would need on an adventure. My favorite, however," I paused for a dramatic effect, hoping to Primus or any other deity that I wasn't over-doing it, "was the distance throwing."

He just nodded and looked at me like he thought I'd be better off in a facility for senile, CPU-damaged old exhaust fumes than out and about, roaming the streets and scaring the younglings into believing in Primus. I had to agree.

I gave him the best smile I could with my face still looking like an out-dated version of a commoner. "Would you compete with me? Just one round," I pleaded. The younglings thought about it for a minute, then shrugged.

"Fine."

"Oh, thank you, young one. You don't know what it means to me," I said, and for once in our conversation, I wasn't lying. "I'll take the first throw. Then you try and beat my score," I explained. He just looked at me like I had just stated that my main color scheme was yellow under all that slag on my armor. Surprising, yes, but necessary information? No.

"Riiiiiight…" he stretched and then gave me a slight bow. "Ladies first."

Honestly, I felt like punching the fragger. I was no lady! I did manage to smile a little, though it was tough, to keep up the façade that was going well so far.

"Thank you, my boy," I sneered and picked up a piece of metal lying around from the over-flowing trash canisters. I measured it carefully in my hand, and then threw it to the street when there was a pause in the steady flow of people. I purposefully made the throw weak, so the piece only sailed through half the street before bouncing on the ground. I let out a disappointed sound.

"Oh, well, I hope you'll have more luck. Then again," I said, measuring my next words carefully, "I doubt that a youngling such as yourself can beat me in this game, no matter how old I am. Besides, you are a sweet youngling, but you hardly have any brawn. Not at all like the mechs in my day…" I boasted, and from the corner of my optic I saw that his left optic twitched a little. Good, I fragged him off. I was right in assuming that this one had an ego.

"Not like the mechs in your day, eh? I'll show you, lady. Watch!" he yelled and threw the scrap-piece as hard as he could – straight to the direction I wanted him to! Primus is with you today, Crips… I thought to myself as I watched the metal fly.

The piece of metal he chose while I threw sailed through the air and landed into the window of the shop the merchant I was preying on had, and the window exploded into a shower of sharp blades cutting the air around them.

"Oh slag!" the youngling mech exclaimed and ran to check the damage. Idiot, I thought and shrunk back to the shadows to survey the damage I did. Both the merchant and the courier had been attracted to the sound of the voice, and as soon as they saw the mechling look guilty, the merchant mercilessly charged. The youngling proved me wrong in assuming that he was an idiot and legged it.

"Hey, you! Youngling! Come back 'ere!" the infuriated owner of the shop screamed after the poor unfortunate kid and tore after him.

"Wait up!" the courier yelled and ran after them, leaving the remains of the window on the ground – and the transport totally unprotected against scavenging outcasts. Such as myself, I grinned.

I watched the three race around the corner and out of my view and couldn't help congratulating myself on an act well played. I quickly sobered however. I did have an energon shipment to plunder.

As much as I did despise my ready-for-scraps body, it did possess one aspect I treasured more than anything: my hands and arms. Or more specifically, the built-in weapon they housed. Ten claws, as long as my forearms, capable of tearing through nearly anything. It was the only part of my whole body that I bothered to keep well maintained and in optimum condition. My claws had saved my aft many times before, and now they would secure me the energon I needed to keep myself alive for another day.

One last check for any patrolling officers and I dashed through the slowly moving crowd to the vehicle and thrust all five of my right-hand claws deep into the locking mechanism. I was rewarded with a promising sound of the lock disabling itself. I gave the lock one last twist before withdrawing my claws from it, only to slash the hinges off the door. I yanked the offending piece down to the ground, noticing that I had already gathered quite the crowd to watch me. I paid them no mind, my mission was much more important anyway.

I darted inside, pulling a small bag I always carried with me from sub-space. Once I disabled the lock on the cube-containers in the same fashion the door had gone, I started stuffing them into the bag when my optics hit a smaller container, almost hidden behind some of the others. I recalled the conversation I eavesdropped on and realized what I was looking at.

The high grade!!!

I threw the innards of my bag on the floor and disposed of the lock in an instant, and soon I was happily loading the brightly shining cubes into my bag. Once full, I turned around and exited the transport. I was extremely pleased with myself.

Nicely improvised, quickly instigated and beautifully executed… And I didn't even get caught!

"What the -? Hey! That's a private transport!"

I stand corrected…

I turned to see who it was they were yelling to, even though I did have a strong suspicion of it already. The merchant, the courier and the kid were back. And they brought company.

Apparently, the kiddo was a bit peeved at me for framing him like that.

"That's the femme I was talking about, officer! She tricked me into it!" the mechling babbled and looked at me with optics practically screaming: You're in it now! But I wasn't interested in him at that moment. Oh no, the one that really was worth my interest was the officer next to him.

He was a big, black mech, and he sported twin cannons on his forearms. His optics were a bright blue color, and he looked like someone you really didn't want to mess with. He was rather bulky, not very tall, but wide and, I easily guessed, quite heavy. He had six other mechs trailing after him, but he was clearly the commander of the group. I knew I knew him from somewhere, but where could I have –

My optics tripped on a small holograph on the merchant's window that wasn't in pieces. There it was, the picture of Sentinel Prime and his closest advisors. One mech looked eerily familiar…

Oh, of all the fraggers…! I thought to myself and once again stared straight to the optics of the irritated weapons specialist and friend of our Prime. Designation: Ironhide.

I almost felt like laughing out loud at myself. I was so dead. If I suddenly, against all odds, hit a lucky streak. If not, he'd make me actually live.

I could only laugh internally at my earlier naivety.

Beautifully executed, hmm? Didn't get caught, HMM? DIDN'T TAKE INTO ACCOUNT THAT THE PRIME HAD ALREADY NOTICED THE INCREASED ACTIVITY OF US DOWNWORLDERS, HMM?!?!?!?! Oh, WOW you're in royal slag now, Crips! I congratulated myself as I attempted to smile innocently at the growling mechs of law. I was a good actress, but even I couldn't pull something like that off. I had run from them before, easily evading capture, but with Ironhide and those twin monsters of his… I'd heard stories of the mech, and none of them had a happy ending in the criminal point of view.

I laughed uneasily.

"Hehhee, hey guys! What's going on? Doing good, feeling nice, patrol going smoothly, weapons primed…? Ehhehee…" I blabbered while taking miniscule steps away from them. I was sure that if he didn't open fire, I'd be able to lose them and get the loot away safely, too. There was a catch, though.

He looked like his trigger-servo was more than ticklish today.

And he had aim like Unicron himself.

OH. SLAG.

Before they could properly react, I made a valiant and just decision not to beat them up today, but to let them off with a warning. Translation: I legged it.

I did it way better than that young punk though.

"AAAAAH!" I screamed as I tore down the street, scaring, shoving and pushing people from my way. Just as I thought that I had some odd stroke of luck and Ironhide wouldn't dare open fire in such a dense crowd -

"AAAAAH!" I screamed again as I felt the heat of a plasma round tickled my left thigh's side.

"IIAAAAH!!!" I roared when a blast from, I would guess a small missile projectile, blew up a nearby crate, this time from my right.

Damn him to the Pit and back!

I weaved through the now scared and confused crowd of bumbling commoners and a few higher mechs with their families and attempted to shake my none-too-friendly-but-way-too-trigger-happy pursuers. Suddenly, to my horror, I realized I wasn't sure where I was. Swearing, I turned a corner, expecting to see another streetful of ignorant stand-byers whose lives were about to get unpleasant and very hectic, courtesy of the visiting lunatic with the illegally large cannons, when I was unexpectedly met with –

A wall.

OH fragging slagging Pit-headed Unicorn-spawned glitching frag-headed built-of-spare-parts malfunctioning half-rusted son of a slagtard! I once again congratulated myself as my feeble and undeniably out-dated battle computer tried to think of a way out of this mess, with or without the slagging high-grade. It came out as a blank an astrosecond before the fragging thing actually went and crashed. I grimaced. Note to self: if you get out of this mess, find the guy who did the so-called patch-job on your BC. He is pleading for an aft-whooping. I sighed, almost despairing. You're made of spare parts, I sighed to myself and got ready to face my impending doom who, to some, was known as Ironhide, weapons specialist in training. A very good trainee, I had to admit to myself.

"Psst! Hey, you!"

I whipped around to face a darker corner in the very back of the alley and saw two red dots insistently staring into my optics. I frowned. It seemed like I wasn't the only one not from around here.

"Who are you, then?" I inquired, painfully aware of the footfalls closing in on me, and the voices of the mechs shouting each other advice.

"No time to explain, but I am a friend. Come with me," the voice ordered. Despite my grim situation, I was too proud to just let someone lead me to an unknown location without giving me any more information than a vague promise of a friendship, a promise I could not trust. I didn't move, and set my jaw into a tight angle, making sure I looked as defying as I possibly could. The stranger saw that, and I heard a soft chuckle from the shadows.

"Or would you rather wait here for the officers to show up? It doesn't really matter to me, but you should know that they don't treat us lesser," he spat the word out like it was poisonous, "beings the same as the lazy bums living off our backs, no matter what the government," he spat again, "has to say for the matter."

I realized I had just two options: follow the stranger, who obviously held a strong grudge against the upper classes and was overly fanatic about it, translation: insane, OR I could let myself be found and risk getting pummeled, raped and/or killed by the lesser officers before I ever had a trial, and then get sentenced two centuries for theft. I had to admit the strange fellow in the shadows was right about something – the law wasn't on equal grounds on us.

The choice itself wasn't hard to make.

When the officers rounded the corner, I and my new "friend", and I use the term loosely, were well on our way back to the place we both called home, away from the dangerous lights of the great glass and steel city.

*(Two orns later)*

"Keep moving!"

I stumbled, a curse automatically flying from my lips just before the ground shook with the force of another missile exploding mere yards from where I lay on my stomach.

"Get up, cadet! If you want to die, I'll be more than ready to give a helping gun, but you aren't allowed to die on a mission just because you are a worthless pile of recyclables!"

"Sir yes sir!" I fairly screeched back and pushed myself back to my feet.

It was just another normal day in the life of a 'Con cadet. Shoot, dodge, run, fall on your face, shoot, run and shoot, dodge… A never-ending dance in the planes of death. Kill or be killed, no other rules. Sometimes I wondered if I'd made the right choice in coming here to join in the first place. Then I always remember the condition I used to be in. I remember my home, my friends… and my family, shredded, torn and tossed aside by the Council. My family before they perished because the higher classes refused to see our plight, to hear our cries for mercy, refused to care.

Or worse, as I'd later learned, didn't even know.

I pushed myself to go faster, dodging, running and shooting, feeding my strength with the anger and frustration threatening to boil my insides to a molten heap. How could they not know our situation?! Iacon, the city where I'd spent most of my life in, was the fragging capital, and in the edges dwelled hundreds of slowly dying Decepticons, for frag's sake, and if our so-called "leaders" couldn't even see their misery and do something about it, then how could they run the whole planet-wide nation? How could they look after their own people when they were so weak, so blind and helpless?

I could feel my lips set into a tight grimace of unhidden rage. It was time for a change. For revolution. For a different power to arise and claim its rightful place at the top of our corrupt society and make sure that, again after a time too long to remember, every mech and femme would be equally treated. It was time for Megatron, our leader, a son of two middle-class workers, to step forth from the masses and cast down the rotten remains of the Council that was so painfully clearly inadequate to lead. At first, when I learned he was only just fully grown, I'd laughed. And then I heard him speak to the crowd for the first time… I had heard many wannabe revolutionary leaders already, this was by no means a new idea, to be sure, but they had all been wind-bags with too much time on their idle servos. But this young mech… He spoke passionately, powerfully, ordering us to finally take what was rightfully our place in the society: not below others like mere drones or machines of hard labor, but as equals, or perhaps even as a higher power.

Another shockwave from an explosion shook me from my trance-like state and into the present. I had just about enough time to dodge another blast from laser fire when I saw another cadet go down hard, hit and downed by some Gatling gun. He fell with a scream, his right leg rendered useless in because of the heavy damage it sustained from the real-round bullets embedded deep within it.

"Help! Somebody, please!" he cried, pleaded while covering his helm with his arms in a feeble attempt at protection. I changed my course immediately, but when I moved to help him, a hand on my arm made me stop on my tracks.

"Leave him! Remember the mission, cadet," my senior officer barked and tugged on my arm, wanting me to keep moving towards the target. I was bewildered.

"B-But sir! He's injured and requesting help -"

"Do I look like I give a slag? Now run, cadet, or I'll make you look just like the sorry fragger!" he roared at my face and shoved me to the ground in front of his feet, leveling his big blaster rifle to point at my thin armor covering my chestplates. I quickly scrambled on my feet to salute him for fear of him actually coming through with his threat, as I knew he would.

"Sir yes sir!" and I was off again, throwing one last, apologizing glance at my fallen comrade-in-arms, still screaming on the ground, face-down and totally alone. My spark wrenched painfully. This isn't right. I turned and ran. Remember the mission. Always remember the objectives. It wasn't an objective to have the whole group survive, so it didn't matter, didn't matter…

I re-focused my optics to the true objective of our mission – we were tasked to retrieve a piece of machinery for the Constructicons to finish their latest project. It was essential for Lord Megatron's plan to overthrow the Council once and for all, to throw the army off balance and secure us a steady income of energon, to boot. Failure was not an option. I released a vicious snarl, baring my denta in a hideous grimace that I imagined looked more like a mask of death than the face of a young femme from the streets. I lunged forward once more, determined to get the piece of metal, whatever it would later be used for. I had another reason, too, for wanting to reach it first. There was supposedly a great prize for the one able to bring it to base and since the life in the 'Con ranks wasn't exactly a picnic, I was feeling like getting a little prize for once.

Dodge, run, weave, return fire… a dance with death itself was still going on.

I was only a few steps from the prize when a big mech jumped in front of me.

"Oh no, you don't!" he cackled and attempted to skewer me onto a sharp metal pole he carried with him. Twisting my body expertly to the right I easily evaded the rough attack, launching my counter attack not an astrosecond later, and my aim, as usual, was true and struck home, rewarding me immediately with a splatter of energon on my already stained armor.

"AAAAH!!!" he screamed as my claws tore through his vital circuitry, wrecking havoc in his abdomen. Retracting my claws, I leapt over his falling body and towards the prize so close. My objective was to reach and recover the piece of metal, and it was unimportant if I happened to kill one of the enemies or not in the process.

As soon as my claws circled around the metal and secured my grip, sirens started to wail like all Pit had decided to join the energon-fest. I, naturally startled by the sudden noise, nearly jumped out of what little armor upgrades I'd been given. My senior officer, just a few paces behind me, stood up for all to see.

"Okays, that concludes today's training. Cadet," he nodded at me, "you've earned your prize: you may dine with us officers tonight. As for the rest of you hunks of junk, get out of my sight, and don't hole yer breaths when waiting for your evening rations – they ain't coming! If you don't succeed, you fail, and if you fail, YOU GET NOTHING!!!"

Oh, that's gonna make me popular, I thought as I watched the scorned faces of my fellow cadets, slowly filing out of the huge under-ground hangar that served as our practice area. I glanced at the "important piece of machinery", which was actually a piece of scrap-metal, too bended and banged to be used for anything else except maybe as something to throw at an offending Autobot – or a 'Con, if they pissed me off enough. I sneered at it and tossed it over my shoulder casually.

As I'd already stated, a perfectly normal day in the life of a 'Con cadet. I cast a quick glance at the still moaning mechs that had been injured during the practice. The one I downed was still and quiet, probably in stasis. I vaguely wondered what would happen if I'd accidently killed him. I very nearly laughed out loud. If I knew my superior officers at all, the sadistic bastards would probably give me a medal. I couldn't hide the slightly disgusted face at the thought from my senior. He let his arm fall on my shoulder, making me sag forward a bit from the sudden additional weight on my neck. Before I got the chance to gather myself again, he started talking. But, it seemed to me that he thought I'd made the face because I was worried about the other cadets.

"Don't bother yourself with those who fall, cadet. It's war we're going to, there're no second chances. Those who fall behind are left so, remember that."

I shook my head. "But wouldn't they be more useful alive, rather than dead or in the hands of the Autobots?" This earned me a barking laugh.

"I like the way you think, femme!" he laughed, making me frown. That wasn't exactly how I'd intended my message to be understood… "But," he sobered, "you must remember this, cadet. I'll only say it once, so you better listen real carefully." He took my shoulders into his hands and stared straight into my optics intently, as if trying to see through them to my spark. "We are trying something that only strong mechs and femmes can attempt, let alone succeed in, as we will. The weak will try, too, but they won't survive. Think about it this way: when we are done, we will only have good, strong mechs and femmes left. Think of all the possibilities then! Why, we could conquer the whole universe with our superior race of strong fighters!" There was a glint in his optics that told me enough of him to figure out he wasn't quite right in the CPU. He seemed to take notice of me again.

"Now, let us go and feast, as the warriors that we are! You are now worthy of it, too."

As he dragged me to the officers' mess hall, I came to a conclusion despite my off-balance state.

I'd gotten myself into a mess so big I wasn't sure I'd get out of it. What's more, the only way to survive, which had always been my main principle in life, through the whole mess was to play the game their way. My optics narrowed.

They wanted strong? Ooooh, I'd pound them all to Pit and back, that's how strong I am! I, Cripplerip, risen from the ashes of a once proud and just civilization!

I squared my shoulders and adapted a determined expression on my face, and mentally prepared myself to shove strong all over my officers.

*(Thirty orns later)*

*knock knock*

"Come in."

I waited for the door to swoosh open fully before entering. I gave a swift salute and remained silent until the big, silver mech sitting behind the desk looked up. His optics, demanding, bore into mine.

"Well?"

I reached into subspace, and then proceeded to throw an energon-covered, almost cubic looking piece of metal on the table. He cocked an optic ridge in response, but betrayed nothing else of his mind through his carefully guarded body-language. I took it as my cue to explain.

"The last member of the Council is dead, Lord Megatron."

"And my brother?"

I cringed inwardly, as I'd dreaded this moment.

"My Lord, it seems that our informant was not quite as well-informed as we thought he was. I got some information out of our dear late Counselor before the Matrix called him back. Optimus Prime cancelled the whole meeting nearly an orn ago. I believe the reason was to help with a quarrel against your forces near Kaon."

I expected an outrage, flying furniture or a fusion cannon, but got nothing. He just sat there.

"Pity."

That wasn't Megatron's voice.

I looked over his shoulder and spotted a lithe, almost Seeker-like frame. A femme.

This time Megatron growled.

"What is, Thunderblast?" he sounded almost reluctant to ask, like he didn't really want to know what was a pity according to the femme Commander. Thunderblast chuckled.

"She's quite attractive, as I've heard. A little too thin, perhaps, but nothing that extra armor won't fix."

Thunderblast, the resident femme Commander and, more importantly, Megatron's lover. I would have to tread carefully. She wasn't known for her total sanity and reason, to put it lightly. If she saw me as a threat in any way, I was slagged.

My new battle computer that I got after I was promoted from a cadet to an assassin-in-training some vorns ago told me that the best course of action in the view of self-preservation was to get my aft out of there. Unfortunately I couldn't just leg it with both of my Commanders present. That just wouldn't do.

Megatron shifted and placed his fore-arms on the table before addressing me.

"Speaking of additional armor, do you remember the schematics of the new protoforms you scavenged from Alpha Trion's labs?"

Did I? How could I forget?! The whole mission was an embarrassing disaster, even if it was a success in the end. I'd gotten in without much trouble, seeing as it was only a regular house with the lab in the first floor. I'd laughed – this would be easy.

Famous last words, anyone?

As soon as I had touched the cabinet in which the schematics were, all Pit broke loose and danced on my aft.

First I got a virus, I still don't know where or how, that made my body spontaneously twitch, sometimes in directions it wasn't built to twitch or generally move in. When I got the lock open (picking a lock is exceedingly difficult if your hand is fragging around while you try to do some delicate work), I had barely enough time to dodge a laser blast from the ceiling. I had my blaster armed and ready before my feet hit the ground again. I looked up, prepared to see a cannon or some freaky creation of Trion's, but all I got was a lamp. Growling, I blasted it to bits before going back to my work on the schematics, which still lay inside the cabinet, twitching all the way.

I gathered the schematics to my subspace, cursing when a datapad fell from my grasp because of a random twitch and bounced under a counter. I bent down to pick it up when I heard an ominous hissing sound. Before I could move, a spray of cold hit my left leg from behind, from mid-thigh down. I yanked the datapad from under the piece of furniture and, with an INTENTIONAL almighty twitch, threw myself from the cold shower. I stared at my now frozen solid leg in disdain, wondering how the frag Trion got the officials' permission to build a shower of liquid nitrogen into his home. Brilliant. I could kiss my stealth good-bye. I was done here, though, so it shouldn't have mattered. I only had to get out.

Haha. Only. Because it really was that easy, right?

I started to hobble my way to the door leading outside, careful and wary of my surroundings. Then my audios picked up a suspicious whine that couldn't be coming from the fading shower of nitrogen (maybe it ran out of stuff to spew at innocent by-standers) because it came from the wrong direction.

It came from my both sides.

Oh slaaaaag… I hurled my twitchy, half-frozen body forward just in time – the place where I'd stood only an astro-second before was peppered with real-round bullets. But it didn't matter: the door was right in front of me, beckoning me to freedom and the dark streets of the sleeping city. Only a few more steps, and –

BOJOINGGGG!

"FRAAAAAAAAAGGGH!" I screamed as my body was abruptly thrown back to Pit by what appeared to be a giant version of a trampoline or something related. I was a bit too busy flying to really take notice of it.

I crash-landed a couple of astro-seconds later in an ungraceful heap, and after I'd gathered my wits about me again, I realized I'd landed in a pile of what appeared to be some tools and weird gizmos that I'd never seen before. I was apprehensive, so I quickly gathered my struts and removed them from the pile in record time. Okay, so that way is obviously – and painfully, one might add – blocked. How about a window then? I asked myself and turned to the nearest one. I took one step closer and was nearly crushed by a rectangular piece of ceiling that dropped to the ground with an audible crash. I winced, refusing to think that I could have been mistaken as a pile of random sheet-metal had I taken a couple of more steps.

So maybe not that way, I thought, quenching my rising panic. I'd never had so much trouble before, and for my credit, it should be said that I'd already finished off a couple of the old Council members. Suddenly I heard a noise. It was laughter. It was also a ridiculously bad quality, and I didn't even have to think if it was recorded or not (and it was), but the way it sounded was so demented that it made shivers run down my spine, tough as I may be.

I was really starting to get freaked out by this retarded funhouse… I was told that Trion was an accomplished scientist, and that he had some rather peculiar traits in his personality, but no one bothered telling me about his sick sense of humor, or managed to mention that he rigged his home with potentially fatal traps and toys! For an experienced saboteur and assassin, this was supposed to be an easy fetch-it mission, slaggit! And here I was, panicking away because some 1000-and-something-year-old record was laughing at me!

I was just about to collect my wits again to come up with a fool-proof plan on how-to-get-away-from-Trion's-lab-without-off-lining when a HOOONK!!! sounded close to my audios. All my careful training and experience went straight out the window and I just ran away from it all.

I don't know how exactly I made it to the base, but when I did, I didn't go and report, as I was maybe supposed to, but I made my way to the med bay in order to see Hook and check if he could do something about my numerous conditions. I received quite a multitude of amused glances and downright laughter as I walked… or more like twitched my way through the hallways, limping my frozen foot. Needless to say, I was taking names on the mechs and femmes I'd later have to educate about laughing at others' misfortune. Perhaps I could even persuade Hook to duplicate the annoying little virus for me, so I could see how funny it was when someone's arm twitched back-wards from the elbow.

If I was counting on our resident medic to at least have enough respect for me not to make fun of me, I was sorely mistaken, and corrected the moment Hook laid his optics on me. Hook, the fragger, laughed at me for breems before he actually got around to getting the twitchy-virus out and defrosting my leg (I'd long since lost feel of it). The aft still sometimes cackles when he sees me…

Oh yes, how could I forget…?

"Yes, sir, I do remember those schematics. Vividly," I added in a moment of annoyance and bravery. I didn't really care about the danger I put myself into with that – I was one of the best assassins in training that he had, he wouldn't off-line me for something that trivial. Crazy as he sometimes was, he wasn't, by any means, a stupid mech. I was, though, hoping to Primus above, if he still listened to me, that my Commander didn't know of my misfortunes. He smiled evilly.

"Oh, yes, I thought you might. I've heard your condition upon returning to base was rather… unique. Something unexpected happened?"'

Slaggit. No such luck. I forced myself to remain calm against the rising tide of annoyance and humiliation.

"I'd imagine so, sir. Alpha Trion, old as he is, can be rather… resourceful." I wondered vaguely if Trion was actually a 'Con in hiding. He certainly was twisted enough!

Megatron chuckled. Why did everyone laugh at me these days? I was an assassin, cabable of putting down a mech – permanently – with both my hands and feet tied! Didn't that count for anything???

"Yes, well, those schematics and calculations of his have proven to be very useful to the cause, despite their slightly damaged state." Usually a phrase like that was almost a promise of something good, maybe and extra ration of energon, or a few shifts free. This time, however, I was a bit skeptic about that. My abdomen was almost cramping from giving me danger signals, but I could see nothing wrong in the picture. I looked at him more closely. His elbows were resting on the desk, but his hands were in front of his face, fingers intertwined, and he leered at me over them. He did look menacing, but this was the mech that killed his own family single-handedly, bar his younger brother, who by some miracle managed to survive. It was normal for him to look menacing. Still…

He spoke again. "Do you know what you stole, exactly?"

"No, sir, I know they were schematics to some newer model protoforms, but that's it," I answered truthfully. His leer widened, and he was smiling like he knew something I didn't, something I'd like to – and really, really hate to – know.

"Correct, but unfortunately, those logs were too damaged to be of any use. However," he continued lazily, almost enjoying to see me just stand there and wait for my judgment, "the logs before that were up-grades for the earlier protoforms, such as yourself. Hook has run some tests on Autobot prisoners, and his experiments have proven to be successful. Now it is time to put this newly discovered technology in action, for the Decepticon cause. You, assassin, have been chosen from all our warriors to bear the new technology as the first one ever to receive these up-grades."

I could only stand there, staring at my superiors like they'd just announced their deep affection to our enemies and expressed their desire to hold hands and sing of peace and love. I was paralyzed, and felt like my CPU had spontaneously contracted a virus that made everything surreal and nearly impossible to process, let alone understand. I could hardly ventilate enough air through my systems to keep me from overheating. And for the whole time, my two commanding officers only smiled at me maliciously.

Thunderblast, finally tired of my unresponsiveness, shifted.

"Well? Do you accept our gracious offer?"

I knew exactly what saying 'no' meant. No one declined a "request" or an "offer" from these two. It was basically the same as saying "Yes, I'd like you to rip me open, grab my spark-chamber, hold it in front of my faceplates and then make me eat it." Not considered healthy in any company, my guess would be, if I ever was asked.

I looked at my superiors more closely to detect any sign that they had suddenly, unexpectedly and very much illogically wanted to pull a practical prank like this on me. I saw no such indication, to my instant despair.

So, I thought to myself grimly, this is it. If you still want to answer, Crips, you'd better talk fast, because you know how they dislike waiting. As if on cue, Megatron growled softly.

"Soldier… Assassin… State your answer!"

He meant business, it didn't take a rocket scientist or a psychologist to tell that, so I quickly made up my mind.

Squaring my shoulders and raising my right hand into a salute, I replied: "Yes, sir. It shall be my honor, sir." His answering grin was as cold as the void of space, and just as empty of feeling.

"Good. Hook is waiting in the special medical examination quarters, meet him there immediately. The procedure is long, and the recovery even longer. I want you to report back to me in exactly three vorns."

"Sir, yes, sir!" I saluted again, while my processor was screaming at me. Three vorns for RECOVERY?! His denta glinted as he grinned.

"Dismissed."

*(An unknown amount of time)*

"…-nd make sure she stays that way. Scrapper, give me that h-…"

*(An unknown amount of time)*

"…-k! Hook! She's dropping!"

"Slaggit, get the wires! Don't let her go off-…!"

*(An unknown amount of time)*

"You FOOL! This is delicate work, you moron! You clip those wires together even once and she's gone…!"

*(An unknown amount of time)*

"He's obsessed with this…"

"I know, but I think it's orders from above. Do you think…?"

*(An unknown amount of time)*

"…-h! Oh, ooh… Nh, d-do yo-ah! D'you think… this is okay with her he-aaaaar…?"

"Don't give a frag. Now open up, I want to…-"

*(An unknown amount of time)*

"…-he ready yet?"

"My apologies, but she needs more time. There were some unexpected… complications. This may not be the best way to do this…"

"She'd better get up soon, it's been almost seven…!"

*(An unknown amount of time)*

"Is she finally recovering?"

*(An unknown amount of time)*

"… should just un-plug her, she's as good as off-line… A failed experiment, Hook, and you know it."

"My responsibility, Longhaul, not yours, so back off before I …!"

*(An unknown amount of time)*

"… finally picking up. Perhaps she's ready?"

"I'll give it a few more cyc-…"

*(An unknown amount of time)*

"…-ke up, femme. Wake up. It's time to face the world as a newly born warrior… Can you tell me your designation?"

"…Cripplerip."

NEWS

Oh my God, that was long! When I was making the draft for this thing, I just thought that, hmm, that's gonna be a lot to write… But 19 pages in Word? What?!?!?! Even my real-story chaps are just a dozen or so long, though I suspect the next one will be a monster like this one… Anyway, next time, when this freak uploads, we'll see how our, hmm, should I say heroine (NOT THE DRUG) meets her future spark-mate, and things will start to get a bit more complicated. I'm actually quite proud of the whole network of happenings that will connect bit by bit in the stories. Anyway, the next chapter is called: Dark Embrace and it probably will have some adult themes (graphic), if I feel confident enough about what comes out. It'll be my first time writing stuff like that, so I'm not sure I'll put it there. Of course, my opinion can be swayed in one direction or another with a simple message… ;) Just teasing, although I will respect any and all opinions on the matter.

There will be one more one-shot with Crips after the next one, so she gets a three-shot, since she's a pretty important character, and well… You'll see what makes her so damn special.

R&R is inspiring to us writers (if I still can be called one, despite my inactivity), so if you have the time, please drop me a short notice and tell me what you liked/didn't like!