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 favourites) 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: Same deal as before - I went back and read the original version of this and thought 'Oh by Primus . . .' and just had to redo it. Also, a big shout out to Starfire201 for being such a loyal reader! Additionally, I hope everyone who reads this remembers to leave a comment - because comments are good and help a writer improve. :)

Epoch:

Restless

Joshin Yasha (joshinyasha at yahoo dot com)

This is internal log ninety-seven of Eventorn the twelfth of orbital cycle six. I've kept these logs so that when I die, there will be a record - a warning to anyone who finds my body.

I've known about this from the beginning. When I was sired, my father told me stories that I hadn't believed. To prove himself, he told me stories of things yet to pass, things that were outside his control.

They always happened.

There were revolutions on planets that Cybertron had no affairs in; assassinations of political figureheads that he had no way of orchestrating; predictions of televised, celebrity deaths right down to the exact time and element of their demise.

Father knew them all before they happened.

Even when his point had been made, he kept going. He told me of stars that were to vapourize entire civilizations in the beat of a spark.

The first time it happened, I asked. I asked why he hadn't warned them, why -if he knew- he did nothing to save them. It came down to one word:

Destiny.

It haunts me even now. Every point in time is defined as happening with one specific outcome in mind. Sure, we have free will. We can try to change our lives for the better, but Destiny will always seek to write events as they were meant to happen.

Things so infinitesimally small that you wouldn't think would affect the universe do, in fact, have weight. I've learned over time that Terrans call it the butterfly effect: one small act, such as stepping upon an insect on one planet, will directly influence a natural disaster on another.

My brother and I once sought to challenge it, to prove our father wrong. He took us to Carnivàle on Nouveau Versailles one season and introduced us to the troupe leader. Afterwards, in private, Father had said, "That man will die before sundown by careless action".

Five times we saved him. Five times my brother and I pulled this man from the path of death. Each time our father shook his helm, silently and dejectedly implying our wasted efforts.

Five times we saved this man, and at the end of Carnivàle, Father's prediction came true. We failed to save the troupe leader from a fuel container. It had been knocked over by a drunkard looking for a place smoke powdered catcit, a hallucinogenic poison manufactured by Matsuda Executions.

My brother and I learned that day that we could not stop Destiny.

Jetzt, you may ask why I've told you this. You see, it's because I'm going to die soon. This guilt has weighed me down since Father told me of what was to come of Omicron. I have to come clean.

I'm going to die here.

I can't atone for my sins, not when I know of what's to come. But I can tell you this was needed. I am but one Maximal. I alone cannot change what will come in the days to follow, but I can make sure everyone knows I stayed to fight regardless.

If you found this recording, then it means Destiny has devoured Omicron with the same causality of a trapdoor opening for a lynched man.

I didn't - I mean . . . I just-just wanted someone to know that I am guilty. Guilty with prior knowledge of what is to come. The knowledge I possess could have saved lives. But it would also have sentenced us all to a fate much worse than this.

Ten-thousand eight-hundred fifty-six.

That's the total number of casualties you'll find here. Ten-thousand eight-hundred fifty-six casualties and two missing guardians.

Just know that this had to happen. Omicron cannot be undone. I cannot regret my actions, but I can tell you that my hands are just as soaked with mech fluid as the beast who will ravage this colony.

Herein lies judgment: I am Air-slake, and I am guilty.

Ending his internal recording, the red and white Autobot-sired composed himself and tucked a data pad under his arm. Rapping thrice upon the door, he patiently awaited outside the communications tower for the officer to invite him inside.

"Enter," she shrieked from inside the tower once the door had receded into the walls. Following a comical somersault and near catastrophic pitch over the railing that lined the interior network of computers, the Autobot-sired found himself caught in a mess of cables, both mineral and fiber-optic. Air-slake called out to the monitor to ask for her assistance.

"Oh, hmm," in a mess of her own cables - these attached to various parts of her body - Shock Therapy descended upon the jet and inquisitively observed him. "I advised earlier that this tower would be restructured to suite my needs."

Spinning upside down in a web of tensed lines, Air-slake fished for the data pad that was teetering on the edge of the platform. "Could you-could you grab that, please?" he strained, dactyls swatting for the device.

The violet Decepticon-sired reached out and collected the data pad, turned it over in her hands multiple times before reading through the report. "You could have sent this via the subnet."

"It's on a closed unit. I haven't officially submitted the report yet," the lazy rotation of his swing brought him to face the wall. Hello, wall, he thought, as it was the only thing that came to mind during his embarrassing stint. He then continued, somewhat muffled, "If you scroll down, you'll see why."

Her canary orb flashed with suspicion, then she flipped her thumb across the data pad and skimmed the last of the report. "A tag?" she asked. "You mean a termination tag?"

"There was no serial number on it, but I suspect it may have been someone . . ." he left the sentence to dwindle, praying that she would take mercy on him and cut him down.

Shock Therapy upturned herself so that she, too, hung from the cables like an opossum. "You seek to investigate the cause of death for someone who is potentially on the veil-list."

"Well, that is to say," Air-slake widened his optics as the female Decepticon drew uncomfortably close to him. "I'm sorry, could you . . . ?"

She gripped him tight by the leg, jerked him free of the cables, and ascended to the control room of the tower. Releasing him upon the platform, Shock Therapy moved with serpentine accuracy to her chair and perched contemplatively. "That list is guarded by the High Council."

"I," the jet furiously examined the control tower before returning his attention to the female, "I understand your grandsire was never on the list."

"That is correct," she said.

"I also understand, per rumours of course, that he may be privileged to the names upon that list."

Blinking once, she revealed nothing. Examining the fingers of her left hand, Shock Therapy ruminated to the clanks of automated reconstruction of the tower's interface. She repeated, "That list is heavily guarded by the High Council."

"Yes, but I was wondering. If you could-"

"Please leave me," she cut him off. When it became clear to him that Shock Therapy would not comment further upon the request, Air-slake humbled himself with a bow. Before he could completely dismiss himself from the tower, the Decepticon-sired yielded, "I will ask him, but I do not know if he will answer. I only ask that you refrain from submitting the report until you hear from me on this matter."

"Thank you, 'Therapy."

"Do not thank me, yet."

". . ."

"I think this is a nice touch, don't you?" Stricture disappeared from one side of the table and reappeared with a plate of energon delicatessens in one hand and a bottle of refined oil in the other. He went about decorating the table with props ranging from computers to fuel to transparencies with encoded information, all in an effort to portray the right image for the camera mounted to the back of another chair. It was stationed at just the right height to be eye-level with a mid-size Cybertronian, all in a contrived effort to maintain some symbolism of order.

". . ."

"This is just for show, of course. There is only so much I can do under the circumstances." Leaning across the table, Stricture circumvolved a chalice on its edge and guided it with two fingers tours chaînés déboulés to the Patriarch. "For you," another chalice found its way to the table, in the place setting in front of the camera, "and for your guest."

". . ."

"I know, I know, the Vaidya cutlery is last year's model and shouldn't be served with Sahft metalware, but the colours go so well together. You don't mind, do you?"

The burthen of Esoteric's malice-laced optics heaved copious threats at the Decepticon. Muzzled and restrained, the Maximal made an impressive display of flagrancy. More importantly, he held on to his self-aggrandized conceitedness.

"Oh, don't be like that, Eso'. We're here to have a nice tête-à-tête." The blue and gold male tipped oil into both calices, examined the one closest to the Patriarch for a bit, and poured enough oil to raise the level by millimeters. His hex-wings flexed, oscillated, and cringed.

Smacking the chalice from the table, the Patriarch jerked in his restraints at the off-kelter display by his captor. "No, no, no, it's all wrong. We'll have to start over again."

Misery drew her handgun, pointed it at the door, and spoke without looking away from the monitor. "Have you come to provide oversight?"

"I'm not dumb, Misery. Ya promised you wouldn't kill him, but that doesn't stop your pets."

Depth Charge tromped to her as Misery holstered her weapon. Since they were alone, he greeted her with a hand on her backside and man-handled her around. Now that they were facing each other, the leviathan issued a low, guttural razz into her face. "You call him in here. Ya tell Stricture he will not do anything to harm the Patriarch."

"Stricture's methods are psychological. He will not act without my consent." Misery traced an icy dactyl under the Maximal's chin. "You tie my hands."

"We'll discuss thrall opportunities later," Depth Charge laced his fingers around Misery's arm and pulled her close. "You guarantee me right now that neither you nor any of your ilk will do physical harm upon Esoteric. That there will be no danger to his life, limb, or psyche. That you will do everything in your power to keep him alive."

Brow once furrowed, Misery withdrew to an expressionless mask that betrayed nothing. "Very well, Depth Charge. I will agree. For now."

Realization poked him between the eyes. "Where's Tass?"

"I am thorough if nothing else," Misery turned back to the monitor. The camera caught Stricture rearranging the amenities on the table closest to the Patriarch and substituting in replacement chalices for the ones he had broken. "It stands to reason that my immortality benefits this contrived abduction of Esoteric. Stricture's grandiose gesture convinced Esoteric of my death. His actions now are to enervate the Patriarch while my left hand canvases his estate."

"I give ya credit, chickypoo. You thought this one out." Tired of being on edge, Depth Charge resigned and unhanded Misery's arm. Grinning, he nudged her playfully with his elbow, "Nice effort on trying to swindle me. You almost had me with that promise of yours."

"Tit for tat, precious pet, since you have perked my interest. How did you locate us?"

If Jazz³ prided himself on swagger for the sake of showboating, then the leviathan could preen with the best egotists. "I'm proud of myself over that one. If you didn't catch it, then it means I'm getting good."

"Be plain, Depth Charge," Misery averred. "Tit for tat entails exchange."

His mien never failing, Depth Charge responded, "Slight of hand mix of tritium into his oil."

"Impressive resource." The Decepticon female flexed her dactyls then closed them into a fist one at a time. "However, your radioactive tracer could have been fouled by the chemical lighting."

"So, what do you expect Tass will find at the Patriarch's estate?"

Misery inclined her helm towards the screen where the Patriarch was doing his best attempt to become one with the chair in an effort to get away from Stricture's sinister grin. "A Maximal such as he covets his secrets where he can ensure they will not be exposed to others. A depository will keep records, which he cannot have. His estate will provide answers to why the International Labour Union fixated upon Esoteric specifically."

"For someone as radical as Viper, I couldn't find anything in Esoteric's public records that would incite him to orchestrate an armed kidnapping-is he okay?"

"It is Stricture's fourth time clearing the table. It is a method to portray himself as unstable to conjure fear."

"Yes, but is he okay?"

"Certifiable."

"That's . . . not comforting."

"You were postulating . . . ?"

". . . Esoteric shouldn't have been the target of kidnapping. There's nothing in our public records or classified profiles that would make him worth targeting. Aside from him just being an asshole."

"Then perhaps Taciturn will unearth Viper's motivation."

Narrowly escaping the probing sensors of a transitory drone, Taciturn slipped into the vacant flat that had become the Patriarch's elaborate estate. Stealthily, he navigated the apartment to discern the layout and began formulating possible hiding places for any covert materials. Once he established that there were no listening or surveillance devices, the red and black Decepticon rapped once on his comm. link and continued working.

Pausing in the most center room, Taciturn asked aloud, "Now if I were an egotistical prick, where would I hide my darkest secrets. Where would I be most comfortable, but not overtly apparent . . . ?" Mentally, he crossed off the lavatory, berth, and dining areas. That left the study, which was too obvious, and several drawing rooms. "If I were suspicious evidence, where would I be concealed?"

He wandered halfway down the hallway, paused, and snapped his talons in triumph. "Of course," he began feeling along the paneled walls, searching for potential latches. Several passes later, and he discovered what he was looking for: a latch hidden within the seam of a lower panel, obscuring a meter-wide deedbox.

He withdrew multiple stacks of credit chips, bound together by sequential notes. Next he collected data crystals, memorandums, and a data pad. "Let's see, now," he knelt along the floor, examining the objects he had removed from the case. The elements together did not amount to an escape bag, but they did direct his thoughts to corporate conspiracy.

"Hmm . . . need a power source," Taciturn attached a cable from his hip to the underside of the data pad, interfacing directly with the information. "Time to find out what he's hiding."

"Hey, Jazz!" Cybershark meandered into the third's office and rounded the desk. "Any idea where everyone's gone?"

Without looking away from his screen, Jazz³ typed furiously while narrowing his optics in concentration. "Well, Dee Cee and Miz are investigating that labour group by doing a bait and trap with the Patriarch. The twins said something about a gas explosion in one of the wards that could be criminal in nature, and I think 'Therapy's secluded herself to the comm. tower while she remodels it."

"Which leaves you and I on active roster in case things go to hell. Glorious."

Jazz³ paused long enough to shrug and raise his visor. His pale blue optics darted from side to side as he read over his notes. Suddenly, he looked away from the screen and stared down the second in command. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"If it's about how giddy Depth Charge got around Misery, then I'd prefer not to answer."

"Well, that's part of it," Jazz³ reacted, taken aback by Cybershark's caustic accusation. "But I'm more concerned with the way everyone's been acting."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for instance . . . something Air-slake said yesterday. I don't think he meant to say it, but it sounded like his father told him something to do with Depth Charge and Misery."

The teal male crossed an arm over his chest and tucked his hand behind his right elbow. Cybershark wiped his fingers over his mouth before clutching at his chin in thought. "Most of the published accounts of his . . . prophesies relate to natural disasters on uninhabited planets."

"But the ones that pertain to well publicized deaths, like the ambassador from Omahik forty stellarcycles ago, they released that one to the Omahikians ten minutes before he died while giving a speech. To children."

"I know. It was tasteless. Even my sire agreed," wincing, Cybershark turned and walked across the office in order to not show his emotions to the second, "and he's as emotionless as a door."

"So, yeah, you can understand why what Air-slake said has made me nervous," Jazz³ pushed himself to his feet and stared across the desk at the other Maximal's backside.

"You are . . ." Cybershark hesitated, gripping for the right words. "You are asking me to pry into the minds of our friends."

"I'm," Jazz³ hurriedly modified his word choice, then began again, "I'm only suggesting that if you skim their heads and snag a line of thought that implicates 'something wicked this way comes', then just give me a heads up so I can run my aft off."

"-and then Duth Pohbai tried to run for the loo, which is how he fell out the window."

"Mm, that is intriguing. All my informants implied he lost his tentacles when he solicited concubines of the Kinytre Mlu."

"No, I think the concubines came when he lost his . . . well, ya get the idea." Tilting his helm against his pauldron, Depth Charge leisurely raised a foot and propped it against the wall behind the monitor. Nonchalantly, he punched Misery in the arm.

In response, she rotated only her helm and leered with slit optics.

Grinning, the leviathan playfully punched her a second time. When it became apparent that the female Decepticon had no intent of reciprocating the action, Depth Charge raised his hands in defeat. "When's your boy Tass getting back?"

Misery inclined her helm to the clock above the monitor and recumbed. "When he is certain no one has followed him, my left hand will descend."

Quizzically, the chief of security soured his face and sucked in his lower lip. With the anxiety bubbling in the pit of his spark from the impending arrival of Taciturn, Depth Charge rubbed his foot against the wall, toeing a rivet. "If this pans out the repercussions from the High Council could be overwhelming. You'd have to disappear after just one mission here."

"It is not inconceivable, nor an inconvenience. I am accustomed to disappearing."

"That's unfortunate," said Depth Charge, regret welling at the back of his throat.

"Feh, sympathy is a priori and unnecessary. I have survived for aeons through evasion and subterfuge. If my immortality is any indication, then I will continue to survive so long as . . ."

"So long as you don't end up like Xyston? Trapped in some cage and made into a lab rat?"

Before the conversation had a chance to continue, the door opened. Taciturn wandered in, opened his subspace, and in a single motion withdrew the contents of Esoteric's deedbox. The red and black Decepticon acknowledged his captain, then turned to the Maximal. He nodded, "Depth Charge."

"Tass," the leviathan tipped his helm, then motioned to the data crystals and the data pad. "What's this?"

Taciturn looked to Misery for direction. Receiving a nod of approval, the third then pulled up a steel crate to serve as his seat. Plopping upon its surface, Taciturn crossed his legs and held the data pad in his lap like a trophy. "It would seem the Patriarch is not quite an arriviste, but is most certainly a vulgarian. I present to you first, his accounts - or rather, his public accounts."

His talons pressed against the screen and enlarged the information, displaying various account numbers paired with intimidating lines of currency. "What you see here is a net worth of four-point-seven quintillion. Not overtly rich, but well in the black. But when you compare it to this . . ." Taciturn readjusted the screen, then presented numbers that could have eaten the quintillion three times over. "These are his grey accounts. A net worth of seventeen-point-two novemdecillion."

"Primus, how'd he get so rich?" Depth Charge asked, leaning forward to inspect the figures. "I knew there was money in mining, but this is ridiculous."

"It is obvious," Misery pointed to the screen. "What you see in the public accounts - that is money accrued from mining. What is in the grey accounts - that is comprised of corporate theft."

"Exactly," Taciturn nodded. To Depth Charge, he continued, "I've traced nearly everything in the grey account. Most of it comes from syphoning corporate funds for the past two-hundred stellarcycles. Money nicked from just about every economical transaction you can imagine."

The Maximal considered it momentarily, then gestured for the Decepticon to continue.

"As we suspected," he opened a corresponding file on the data pad, loaded the information to the screen, and indicated to it as well. "He's been financing TRUNDLE's research into the Protoform Project. His most recent transactions to the company align with each of his visits to the facility here on Omicron."

"So he's preparing to acclimate himself to TRUNDLE in order to gain the best advantage. The bastard's trying to buy immortality."

While Depth Charge's hands clenched into fists, Misery suggested, "Esoteric desires to live indefinite as the Autobots and Decepticons of old. Fuel and subsequent repairs maintained our sparks, but this-" Misery indicated to her chest where her spark dwelt "-is eternal. No power in the universe to compete with his greed if he obtained the secret."

Pressure built behind his optics, causing Depth Charge to pinch at his brow. "Misery, I can't condone holding the Patriarch here for much longer if ya can't produce evidence that would vindicate Viper's actions."

"Oh, but let me continue," Taciturn sneered, jerking the leviathan's focus back to the data pad. "Money is one thing, but I found whitewashed documents, too."

As the third scrolled through information on the screen, Depth Charge batted his hand away and grabbed at the pad. He said, "It'll be easier if I just look for myself."

Misery waved off Taciturn when he shot her an offended look. "Precious pet, I suggest you permit Taciturn to continue. He has thoroughly researched the Patriarch in this matter. Do not discard him so rashly."

Looking over the rim of the data pad, he acceded, "Fine. You talk, I'll read. It'll speed things up."

"Very well," the Decepticon climbed to his feet and laced his talons together in contemplation as he meandered around the room. "Document three-two-point-one, subheading Genesis details the corporate takeover of the Tyr Corporation using a permutation of employees. Document seven-nine-point-nine, subheading Salruw details a buyout of Foc Efe and its subsidiary Veneg Cee-Dee-Are, both of which support the medical research of the Nitamiv Consortium of the Sablef Nimmo. Document one-one-six-point-seven details the purchase and resale of barbiturates from Furtado Industries of the Imperio Nuevo de España . . ."

As Depth Charge reached the second of the aforementioned documents, he realized with great embarrassment that Taciturn was thoroughly familiar with the information and was, out of courtesy, skipping ahead to the good parts. Handing off the data pad to Misery, who in turn sat it off to the side, the Maximal draped his arms across his lap while he inclined to the pacing Decepticon. Giving him his undivided attention, Depth Charge rounded his pauldrons and said, "Okay. Still waiting to be impressed."

Taciturn shot him a deplorable look, all the while reciting paragraph headings and summaries, "-three-seven-eight-point-four, subheading Court Seal details the bribe and subsequent blackmail of forty-six supreme court justices of the United Colonies of New America. Document nine-nine-three-one-point-five, subheading Tasmos details the bribe and blackmail of fourteen employees of Praxus-Delta Inquests. Document nine-nine-five-"

"Wait!"

Depth Charge rose suddenly, leaned across Misery's lap, and fetched the data pad from the floor. Before raising up, he flicked a glance over his pauldron and gave the female Decepticon the most fulsome smile he could manage. Much to his displeasure, she did not reciprocate his expression.

Returning to task after mumbling under his breath, the chief of security took up root once more on the settee. "That last one, what was the document number?"

"Nine-nine-five-"

"The one before that one."

"As rude as you've been, I should be a smartass and quote you nine-nine-four -interrupt me again and I'll break your face- but I'll concede to my captain's wishes and tell you it was document nine-nine-three-one-point-five, subheading Tasmos."

Misery raised an eye arch to Depth Charge's questionable haste, "You have made a discovery?"

"Not yet," he admitted, "but that name sounded so familiar."

"Is Tasmos not a planet from the Virgo Supercluster?" Misery probed.

"It is, but . . ." Depth Charge drew up a secondary display on the reverse side of the data pad. What was displayed was an advert for a colonial research facility. "Tasmos Ess-You-Are Nuclear Nanomaterials and Biochemical Research is a joint Cybertronian-Cloran consumer research facility based out of Tasmos. They used to have a contract with Omicron for the mining rights before I came here. My predecessor terminated their contract after the Gonongam mining disaster outta Ward Nine."

"Gonongam?" Taciturn and Misery exchanged puzzled glances, blinked several times, then Misery supplied, "No publication was submitted to the Intergalactic Disaster Compendium."

"Agreed," Taciturn said. "I read everything published by the Intergalactic Council. I'd have remembered a mining disaster involving Cybertronians."

"It was before I got here, so I don't have all the details," the Maximal combed the document, dactyls analyzing the information in collusion with his optics. "But it happened back-" mentally, he completed the thought as: when I was Nainsook; verbally, he corrected himself to say "-before I was built. There were three-thousand five hundred thirty-three miners who died in the explosion. Biggest mining disaster in modern history."

Exchanging glances once more, the Decepticons shared the same thought. Tentatively, Misery tried to direct the leviathan's attention away from the document. "Depth Charge, precious pet, have you surmised what we have?"

With what seemed to them as obliviousness, the chief of security scanned the document with narrowed optics and concentration unbroken. Twice more, Misery called his name in effort to coax him into the first-class caravan of hers and Taciturn's train of thought. "Depth Charge," she grasped the Maximal's chin and jerked his face towards hers. A mix of emotions had manifested across his face, and Misery recognized all of them. "Calm yourself, precious pet. Wield your wrath with exactitude, else you may overlook the evidence presented."

"Miz," he whispered slowly, voice deepening with the physical effort to restrain himself, "my mind's tryin' to make sense of this but I don't think my brain wants to accept it."

"It is the rationale of Maximals," she insinuated, thumb tapping his chin once with minimal force. "You must accept the facts presented."

"Hey!" Taciturn hissed, jerking the other's attention upon himself. He jabbed a black talon to the side of his helm for emphasis, "Use your head, boy! The Patriarch obviously blackmailed Praxus-Delta Inquests so he could gain from the expulsion of Tasmos."

"Tass," there was a faint pop as the frame of the data pad cracked in his grip. Depth Charge dropped it to the table before he broke it further. He began, "You read the document. You tell me you didn't read the date on the file."

Furtively, Taciturn ran over the mental file he had created. "It was from fifteen stellarcycles ago. Why does the date matter?"

"Because, smartass, the date on the file is marked a month before the explosion."

The red and black Decepticon suddenly felt his spark pulsing in his audios. The thunderous drumming deafened him as his optics darted from side to side - his entire conjecture had been turned on its side! "Esoteric bribed the investigators before the explosion. That explains why nothing was filed with the Compendium. The explosion was labeled natural disaster, but the deaths of the miners were too high a price that your predecessor had to hold Tasmos accountable and terminate their contract. The Patriarch must've had the investigators determine natural disaster, only to then have them withhold the reports to the Intergalactic Council."

"Had the Council received those reports, there would have been an independent investigation," Misery finished. "The Intergalactic Council would have discovered Esoteric's guilt and filed criminal charges."

Depth Charge was halfway to the door of Stricture's impromptu interrogation room before Misery and Taciturn had jumped the upturned lounge and tackled him to the floor. As he struggled to get free, Misery palmed his helm into the ground and uttered in his audios, "Shoulder your fury, Depth Charge. Otherwise you will compromise this operation."

"The bastard's responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent miners. I'm gonna ki-"

"Control yourself!" Misery roared, pressing the length of her body along his for added leverage. "Listen to me," she whispered, trying to force him to settle in his rage, "you kill Esoteric, and you are left to conceal another crime."

"The bastard's dirty," he struggled. Halfheartedly, he realized that struggling against two bots twisting his arms in fulcrum was inescapable. "He's a rich asshole. No way they'll put him away for murder."

"Depth Charge, if you restrain yourself, I can offer an alternative." Cautiously, slowly, Misery released her hold on the Maximal and motioned to Taciturn to do the same. Climbing to their feet, the Decepticons backed away and gave him room to roll upon his posterior.

"What," he huffed and adjusted his pauldrons before erecting himself, "do ya have in mind?"

Misery oscillated once to her third, then turned back to Depth Charge. Her face barren and with lips unmoving, the blue and black Decepticon imparted, "The guilt extends beyond the Patriarch. The employees of Praxus-Delta Inquests are accessories to this mass murder."

"Say it, Misery," he grunted.

Watching his fists alternate between clenching and unclenching as a means to calm himself, Misery continued, "The Patriarch believes me dead."

"Say it."

"Your natural inclination - warrants, arrests, trials, convictions - you understand these procedures would be ignored due to the Patriarch's wealth. What you learnt of the High Council's ambivalence has soiled your perspectives." She recognized the unhinged, detached glint in his optics for what it was: Depth Charge was fading into the static of sociopaths. "Depth Charge, you cannot allow yourself to be tainted by lawful vengeance."

"You're young," Taciturn interjected when he saw the Maximal was about to lose his temper. "Misery, Stricture, and I have millions of years experience with covert operations. Keep your hands clean this time. Let us do your dirty work."

"Why?" he narrowed his optics. "I wouldn't be a leader if I'm not willing to do my own dirty work."

"You must learn delegation, precious pet." Misery walked to him and put her icy dactyls against his chest. "Trust me in this matter. It would benefit you to charge the outcome of this operation to my squadron and myself."

He eyed her suspiciously, all the while working to level himself. It was becoming surprisingly easy to with the white noise invading his thoughts. "You want me to untie your hands."

"Yes," Misery nodded. "If it comforts you, a specific parameter is applicable."

"Explain," he said.

She complied, "If you desire, I shall limit the deaths to those involved with the murder and subsequent cover-up of the miners' deaths."

The leviathan wiped a hand over his face, glanced to the monitor that showed Stricture's interrogation of the Patriarch, and said, "You kill the Patriarch. You kill him and anyone involved in the deaths of the miners."

"Of course," Misery walked past him to the door of the interrogation room. Before entering, she shot a look over her pauldron to her third. Whereas some might celebrate success with a smile, the female Decepticon played her face with a minute twitch at the corner of her optic. Not quite a blink, not quite a twitch, but the implication was there. A victory had been had.

~"Air-slake, I thought you should know that I got a response from my grandsire,"~ Shock Therapy's hand touched at something off screen that he couldn't see, most likely fingering a display of the information she had received. ~"The tag belonged to Scrapper, one of the Constructicons granted amnesty after the war."~

"A-are you serious?" He lurched forward, fingers splaying out on either side of his monitor. "Scrapper was here?" Behind him, Jazz³ and Cybershark exchanged glances.

She nodded, ~"So it would seem. The tag was due to transmit its beacon in four hours time. When it does not transmit, we'll have Imperial Peace Marshalls bearing down on us for an investigation."~

"The last thing we need here is a group of marshalls running around making our jobs more difficult. Especially with this operation going on," Cybershark shouldered his way into the camera's view. Tilting his helm to the side, Cybershark made the call. " 'Therapy, I want you to contact Lio Convoy with the Marshalls and let him know Scrapper died while squatting in an abandoned warehouse. Tell him our results were conclusive and that we'll be sending him the remains that we recovered."

~"I understand."~

Severing the transmission, the four males exchanged worried glances. Jazz³ was the first to speak, "You think it'll be enough to keep the marshalls off our back?"

"I hope so. Otherwise we won't be able to complete this sting," Cybershark drummed his fingers on the desk where Air Lock sat. "What's your opinion? I know we all think the Patriarch is dirty, but do you think we'll be able to find anything pertinent?"

" 'Lock's not the one ya should ask," interrupted Depth Charge. He stepped into the office with Misery following closely at his side. After Misery tossed the data pad into Cybershark's waiting hands, the chief of security went on, "The Patriarch confessed to the deaths of the miners from the Gonongam disaster."

Blank, doe-eyed faces came first, then after reason absconded with composure and eloped, voices filled the room in uproar.

"What?"

"You can't be serious!"

"How's that possible?"

"Cy', play the video, would ya?" Depth Charge huddled into the sanctity of the nearest chair. The weight of his actions from the day pinched at his bridge much as his fingers did, the terrible memory worrying at the front of his helm. To himself, he continued the charade, "I'm just glad we got the damn thing on camera."

Fiddling once with the data pad between his hands, Cybershark drew up the video, attached it via cable to the larger monitors, and engaged the recording.

The camera caught a shadow that closely resembled Misery's frame, indicated only by the silhouette of the wings. The voice off-screen, however, unquestioningly belonged to Depth Charge. "It's time ya talked. Twice now these bastards've come after you. Why do they keep comin' at you, Eso'? What is it you've got that they want?"

The Patriarch, who the camera was focused upon, sat unchained with his palms flat upon the table. Unknown to anyone outside of that room, Misery controlled the physical actions of the Patriarch with her magneticus while Taciturn had spliced in recordings taken from a separate conversation. "The Gonongam disaster," he began. "It wasn't an accident. The proof on these data crystals shows that the equipment was sabotaged." The image jumped, a small bit of static flaring from side to side to cover a third of the screen. The quality of the recording shimmered to black and white, to grey and white, then returned bits of colour where they ought to be.

"What's that . . . ?" Cybershark gulped, air wheezing past predatory teeth. "What's wrong with the footage?"

Depth Charge flicked solemn, bloody eyes to his second. "It'll be on there in a moment. We almost lost the camera."

In unison, the males continued the film. Aside to herself, Misery flowed through the office, examining each one in turn as they observed the recording. She was looking for reactions, judging not for herself but for the chief of security the believability of the video.

"What the hell? You knew something about that and didn't tell anyone?" Depth Charge moved into the camera's line of sight, fist slamming upon the table in front of the Patriarch. The businessman yelped and withdrew his hands, moving them stiffly up to guard his face. In return, the leviathan spat, "Answer me, you bastard!"

"It wasn't just me," cowered the Patriarch. "There were others. The contracts that we gained when Omicron severed ties with Tasmos increased profit margins exponentially." Seriously, Esoteric calmed himself and retorted, "We all stood to gain. Including your predecessor."

"That doesn't make it right!" Depth Charge curdled, fists hammering again into the table, this time leaving dints.

"No, it doesn't," eyes wide and fear-filled, the Patriarch fished a hand under the table, gripped hold of an energon dagger, and in the span of a nanoclick plunged it into his spark chamber. The resulting explosion cascaded in all directions, knocking the leviathan off his feet and out of vision of the camera, the least of which exploded in a hail of shrapnel that left the image black.

"Shit . . ." Jazz³ spoke first.

"I wasn't expecting . . ." Air-slake gaped, tried his mouth a second time, then settled for: "Well, fuck."

"Pregnant words," Air Lock elbowed his twin.

"I think what you mean is 'poignant'," the twin rebuked, fingers making air quotes for emphasis.

"Pregnant, poignant, they're both arousing," shrugged the older brother.

"Enough," Depth Charge exhaled, stretching himself in the seat. "There's barely a scrap of 'im left on the walls to clean up and I think we all know this video isn't gonna go well with the High Council."

Cybershark turned from Depth Charge to Misery, sniffed the air once, then looked back to his commanding officer. He chose his words carefully, "So he killed himself to keep from being sentenced?"

"Yeah," the blue and purple Maximal leaned forward, wrung his hands before standing, then said, "I guess he thought we wouldn't convict him posthumously. Don't know about the rest of you, but I'll drag his name through the sludge if I have to. Dead or alive, he's gotta hang for Gonongam."

"What'd'ya need us to do?" Air Lock took charge, wading into the thick of the other Maximals and Autobot-sired. Something his father once said gnawed at his mind, encouraging him into agreement. And when twisted words are spoken, security will be broken. "I'm with ya, chief. If you need kerosene, a deep hole, whatever - I'll happily fetch so long as I can leak on the bastard's grave."

Jazz³ raised an eye arch, then added, "Pretty much what he said, but I just wanna make sure the miners see reparations for Gonongam. There's a handful of 'em still workin' the other mines, even though they've got contaminated sparks."

"Agreed," Air-slake jabbed at his twin. "Sorry, as much as I'd love to see you get sloshed and piss on the remains, I agree more with Jazz this time."

Air Lock shrugged nonchalantly, "No offense taken."

"Cyba?" Depth Charge probed hesitantly, "you with us on this?"

"I am," he sniffed again at the air, the slits along his face widening systematically with each inhale. "I take it the drones are patrolling the grid so no one wanders into wherever you were keeping the Patriarch?"

"Yeah. Gonna need some-"

"Ground control," Jazz³ chuckled.

"To Major Tom?" Air-slake offered, surprise and confusion muddying his face.

Depth Charge asked, "Are you volunteering?"

"Sir," the two saluted humourously.

"At ease, soldiers," Depth Charge raised a brow, then indicated with his helm to the door. "Jazz, 'Slake. Go secure the scene. 'Lock, can I trust you to do damage control?"

"You mean I get to play 'No comment' and defer silly business associates with my shining personality?"

"O . . .-kay. Good point. 'Slake, you do damage control, Jazz take 'Lock to secure the grid."

Snorting, the second in command rambled around the others and returned to the video. "How do you want me to deal with this?"

As the other three males danced off to complete their duties, Depth Charge considered for a moment bringing Cybershark up to speed on the day's events. Did he risk everything on their friendship and tell him of how Misery and Depth Charge conspired against the Patriarch? Did he tell Cybershark of how Misery used her magneticus to manipulate Esoteric into becoming a felo-de-se for the camera?

"Cyba, I need you to . . ." the leviathan never completed his sentence. Instead, he sought council with Misery, asking her with his eyes how he should direct his second in command.

"Depth Charge," Misery approached, cupped the side of the Maximal's face, and forced their crimson optics to meet, "perhaps you should notify Magistrate Heinrad. He is head of the judicial assembly, is he not? While you attend to the verbal needs of the Council, I see it prudent for Cybershark and I to evaluate the footage and compose the reports."

There was no doubt in his mind that the Bi-Partate Committee for State Affairs would want reports to satiate their need for conclusive evidence. But even while he nodded in agreement with Misery, Depth Charge eyed his second in command with consternation.

Tension crept between his shoulders. He was now acutely aware that Misery had sensed the hesitation and suspicion in Cybershark's actions. Even as the other watched them, sniffing at the air like their secret was tangible and permeating, a haunting feeling entered his mind: what would the universe be like without his friend?

Having agreed prior to their return, the female Decepticon implied private conversations with any of the crew who expressed the slightest hesitation over the validity of the video. If Misery had even the tiniest indication that Cybershark might not go along with the cover story . . . Depth Charge dreaded to think of what she might do to convince Cybershark otherwise.

"Depth Charge, do not fret," Misery coaxed, leading him seductively by the arm and to the door. Tension began to ease from his body as she continued, "Cybershark and I shall have the reports ready for submission. Simply call for us when you have completed your report to Heinrad." After shoving the chief of security out of the office and locking the door after him, the black and blue female spun to find the tip of Cybershark's snout millimeters from her face.

Inhaling just above her blue lips, the teal Maximal flared his sensors once more. If she had been organic in anyway, the second might have given her a complex. Instead of taking offense, Misery gripped both sides of the Maximal's helm and jerked their faces together. Eyes widening in surprise, Cybershark nearly fell over himself in effort to draw away, but the grip on his helm was paralyzing.

In fact, Misery's two thumbs on his nose had triggered a primitive, tonic immobility that froze him physically. "What . . . how . . . ?" he grunted, mouth unmoving as the rest of his body deactivated to the sensation. In a fit of sheer panic, hundreds of microscopic pores on Cybershark's snout dilated and became a bridge between their two minds.

The city was burning. Thousands of corpses laid charred and dismembered, heaped and piled one upon the next at the foot of the massive Cybertronian. The combined stench of mech fluid, energon, and oil penetrated his olfactory sensors. Blackened smoke tainted by embers rose higher and higher into the sky, reflecting the light from the flames back down upon the devastated city, leaving Cybershark unable to describe the Cybertronian's face save for his equally crimson optics.

Instincts pumped through him, ushering him towards predatory thoughts. So much mech fluid, so much food-

Blood was everywhere. It danced and dissipated like red smoke, though it was suspended in water. The density of the tank pressed in against his placoid scales, reminiscent of the ocean's strength. Beside him, his brothers, tanned olive-green and dark grey-brown from their last venture out to sea with their father on holiday, tore the rind off the fresh salmon that their father had just dumped into the tank.

Outstretching a webbed hand, the eldest of the three plucked a fleeting fish and drew it to his mouth. While his rows of serrated teeth punctured the dainty fish, he turned to the tank's window and watched his father, a reasonably-sized hammerhead with a narrowing brow and slender shoulders, discussing a lab expenditure with a robot roughly the same height. Though he wasn't familiar with the language the two were speaking, Mok understood his father's body language as being jovial.

For minutes, the two went on laughing and joking, and once his father even tapped on the glass and waved to Mok and his younger brothers who were playfully chasing after their breakfast. Sniffing at the blood distilling in the water around his nostrils, Mok dreamed of the day he would go out to the deep waters for a hunt unsupervised instead of being quarantined to the tide pools.

But then his thoughts were interrupted when it appeared the tank had turned from a shadowed blue to fiery red. At first he though his brothers had bitten into fish somewhere close to him, but when he turned to look for them he felt the draw of the water forcing him to one side of the tank. Hastily, he tried to swim, webbed hands and feet and tail all thrashing with straining effort, only to succumb to rush for the left side of the tank. The next thing he knew, he was being bashed against the side of the tank as rapid waters forced him out, slivers of broken acrylic cutting him from caudal fin to snout.

"Fascinating," Misery preened, dropping the labouring second in command to his knees. "Your actions suggested a connection to the evolved sharks of mu Ara A, but to know you are one of them given Cybertronian form is astounding."

Breathing heavily and clambering away from her for the nearest chair, Cybershark reeled from side to side, trying to refrain from tearing into things. There was a new . . . freshness to the room that transpired against him, enticing him to sniff after individual items and taste their particular metals. "You weren't," he hissed, finding his voice strained and unnerved by the influx of new, vulnerable indicators. "You weren't supposed to see me like that."

"Cybershark, do not think of yourself as an abomination," she approached him, gauntlets gesturing to placate. "You were once a shark of flesh, but now you are a shark of metal. I am intrigued. How did you survive such a procedure."

"Very carefully," he huffed. "Very luckily."

"Cybershark," Misery knelt next to the larger Maximal, offering the palm of her gauntlet just below his face. "I have seen what you are, and you have spied what I am."

"I didn't," despite his blatant attempts to lie to himself, to deny what he had seen, Cybershark suspired the female Decepticon's essence into his nostrils. Nuzzling into her hand, he breathed in metal and mech fluid and life. Her body was thriving with nanites, each reaching out in response to his electroreception. "I can smell you, Misery. You're different than the others."

Coercively, Misery slid her hand over the teal Maximal's face, rubbing her fingers across the slope between his optics. "Cybershark, you are a predator. You hunt by instinct. You devour the weak and the wounded. I have no doubts you read my mind. You have only to make sense of what you saw. Understand that I accept you for what you are and what you will always be."

"I'm a . . ." his optics widened and white rings dilated to focus upon Misery's face. Peering around her hand, he asked, "I'm a shark, how can you accept me as a Cybertronian when I used to be of flesh and blood?"

"Because," she smiled tenderly, like a mother explaining that no matter how many faults her child may have, she will always love him - or in this case, as a manipulator of a self-doubting individual, "you are not a milquetoast. You are unique - virile. Beautiful in every carnivorous action. Abide by me, Cybershark. Swear fealty to the Decepticons, and you shall never have cause to believe yourself anything other than a predator."

"I . . ." He craned his neck, ran his tongue over what lips he had, and considered her offer. From what he had seen of her past, Misery had accepted Xyston despite his origins. Would Cybershark be any different to her?

Finally, he asked, "What would you have of me?"