Nature of the Beast

One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth

Part 9: The Horned Crown Killing Part 3

*The end of this case. So this is gonna be a bit longer.

"Okay, nightlight. Keep your promise. You're finishing that story tonight. Tomorrow is your solar cycle off. We got all night."

That was the first thing the Praxian heard on accepting the private communication this hot evening. He smiled, shook his helm, and wondered why and how he had fallen so badly for a femme like Sentenza. Oh, yes. He was admitting that now. The mech was too honest with himself to be in denial for more than a lunar cycle or two. He was patient. She was persistent. He was calm, logical, and sensible on and off work, never letting anything truly ruffle him. She on the other hand often let her emotions do the talking in her life. He stayed within regulation while also being very politically liberal for a rule-abiding Praxian. She had a tendency to bend the rules or break them outright. It was a mystery to him. Sentenza was as opposite from him as day was to night. Yet here he was attracted to her like a willing magnet, happily stumbling into her trap like a blind glitch mouse into the paws of a waiting cyber-cat.

"You've never heard the old adage of patience being a virtue, have you?" he chuckled lightly as he took up a post in the middle of the main living area.

There was an impish, mischievous undertone when she spoke: "Oh, no. I have. I'm just being impatient because I want to know the ending. And because I know it annoys you a little. You're fun to annoy. You have this funny habit of sighing and becoming like an old, disappointed Guardian when you're annoyed."

How? Why? What in the names of the Primes drew him to her? And was the Seeker even aware of the attraction he held about her? He sighed a little a shook his helm. A bit of discouragement bubbled in his spark but he forced it down.

'Ah, blast it all to the Pit. I won't say anything until she does. That's only courteous. I may be interested to no end in her, but she may not be. Both must be in accordance before courtship begins. No good comes from rushing a relationship. If she's happy for us to be friends for the foreseeable future, then that's that.'

He drew himself from his thoughts and asked: "You got your data pad?"

"Yep." answered Sentenza.

"Well then. I'd best started, shan't I?"

FIFTEENTH PRECINCT, PRAXUS
AEGIS'S OFFICE

The next morning...

"...–cilor. We've found nothing yet that would indicate why our victim was murdered and mutilated...Because my precinct is of the opinion that whoever did the murder is a new offender, meaning we have nothing in the system to help in identification...Well, we'd get a Predacon to see if they find any unusual scents in the dwelling but no one trusts them enough to let them into the city, and no offense, Councilor – you're one of them...Yes, some believe a Predacon might be responsible...No, we don't. This crime is far too violent to have been committed by a Predacon. Spiteful as we are to them as a whole, they have a sense of civility when it comes to kills...The glyphs? No. We're still attempting to find a suitable translator. Thanks to Counterforce's interview with Wordwise we know these glyphs are in a language our species no longer recognizes...No, they have never been translated in so far as we know, which is why finding a translator will be a miracle by itself..."

Counterforce waited patiently on the threshold while his superior finished his talk with Councilor Prowl.

"...No, we don't have reason believe the killer will expand out of the city. Even if they make the attempt we'll slagging well make sure they don't kill anyone else...No, no one has made an attempt on Folklore. My patrollers are watching the dwelling still. I think if they wanted to kill her or harm her they would've made an attempt by now, but I'l have them stay on another solar cycle just to be safe. Yes, Councilor...The warrant for Wordwise's security system will be sent within the next half joor? You managed to get a majority rule? I-I – well. Thank you. But I'll be honest with you, Councilor: I'm afraid this might end up as a cold case no matter how we play our tokens. We simply don't have enough evidence yet."

The red and purple Seeker mech disengaged the line and turned to face his officer.

The younger Praxian saluted: "Sir!"

Aegis smiled wryly: "At ease, son. There's no need for that."

Counterforce relaxed.

"So," said Aegis. "You find anything else? Any minor connections we could make use of till that warrant comes in?"

"Wordwise said he'd hand the feed over even without a warrant, sir."

"I know. But I also know how much the Council loves their precious regulations. It may take a bit longer, true, but if it keeps the Council from erupting into a firestorm then we'll grin and bear it. Still, I will admit that Prowl said the other Councilors were...perturbed by this case. They're anxious it keeps out of the media. Kills this brutal, this seemingly senseless...well...it could start a panic. We're under orders now to keep it contained to our precinct. No data leaks. That, and if it gets into the media the killer would become even more cautious. Pit, the scraplet might even try again if they know even an iota of what we're looking for. Of course, we don't have much to look for at the moment, but you understand the point."

His officer nodded: "Yes, sir. I'll try to help Evac keep the chattier 'bots quiet. I'm assuming Flint, Mazerunner, Gundog, and Junction are under the same restrictions?"

"They are. Only allowed to discuss it among themselves as long as they're in the field. If they tell Folklore it might make her even more of a target. There hasn't been an attempt so far, but it's early as yet. Whoever killed Inkblot doesn't strike me as the kind of 'bot to let loose ends lie," He leaned forward to rest his arms on the table, neatly folded. "Any luck getting hold of a translator yet, son?"

Counterforce shrugged in a slightly confused manner. He told Aegis that there were quite a number of skilled translators working out of the Iacon Hall of Records. He'd put in a request to their lead translator, Parlay, along with an encrypted image of some of the glyphs that he was to carefully pass around to his co-workers and colleagues to see if anyone recognized them or found anything like them in the Hall. Parlay would ping him once he'd found someone, as he was fairly certain there were datapads with some of those unusual glyphs in the Hall. He just didn't know where. He was a linguist but he focused more on modern dialects, not long forgotten ones no one could read anymore.

"Tell me the moment he pings you, would you? If we find out what even some of those glyphs say we might find a hint of motive. Every killer has a reason, no matter how subtle it might be. Or unsubtle in this case."

"Yes, sir. If you don't mind I'd like to use the panorama room to try to reconstruct what happened that night."

"Go ahead."

The younger Praxian spun about and headed for his destination.

"Ha! I know Parlay! He's the one who taught me how to speak formal Predacon after I graduated from Kaon's police academy!"

Counterforce smiled: "Did he, now? I always thought you'd learned it from the Predacons themselves seeing as you seem to enjoy working with them. Aren't there quite a lot of them in and around Kaon? I didn't see any in the city itself last I visited with you aside from Deadbeat and Dropout."

"Oh, yeah. They enjoy Kaon because of its more liberal interpretation of laws. Not just legal one but social, too. Kaon is one of the few cities on record that's always been generally welcoming to Preds. Tagan Heights, Iacon, and Altihex fall into close seconds. I learned their language as a gesture of goodwill and respect. I'm one of the minority on Cybertron who's willing to give the big lugs the benefit of the doubt. They're only really dangerous if you manage to frag them off somehow. You didn't see any because they still have a distrust of us city-dwellers, so they're not there en masse or anything."

"Ah. I see. It's merely an open-door policy with them?"

"You could put it like, yeah. There are some that work in business there, and who are employed by Kaonian law enforcement. The latter mainly constitute the Well Guardians. Y'know – Predaking's boys. Majority of them are just happy to trade with Kaonians. They find some pretty interesting stuff out there when hunting for scraplets in the Underworld. I think Skylynx brought back an old Rust Age doohickey recently. Researchers were fascinated by it and paid out some good stuff to the Well Guardians."

"I understand why. Rust Age items are rare. He...he didn't find that in an old Predacon tomb, did he? I remember my history well. The Rust Age was the height of the Predacon race in the past. Many tombs have been found but many more remain hidden or unexplored. Some have simply been destroyed thanks to cyber-quakes."

"No, no. Predaking has a policy set up about tomb raiding that applies to both our races. Plundering beast graves is an offense punishable by death in Predacon society. If researchers want in to study a beast's tomb they gotta have permission from the Predacus. Explicitly. Predacons regard the tombs of their dead as homes should the spark return for any length of time for whatever reason. Example: If you take something from such a tomb you have to return it when you're done so the spark can continue to make use of it. It's a fascinating belief system, really. But point here is: go in without their blessing and it's basically trespassing of the worst kind. And any Pred who finds out is gonna be none too happy with you. To the point of possibly taking your helm off."

Counterforce hemmed thoughtfully. "I wasn't aware of that. That is fascinating. I've done some reading into their culture as a hobby but I'm nowhere near the level of knowledge you seem to possess. Not even with the Blue Moons hanging around Praxus on a regular basis now. Thank you for that, by the way. I know I've said it before but that was very generous and helpful of you to set up that arrangement. We're making good use of it."

"Not a problem. I'm on good terms with them. They like me. Now enough small talk. Get on with the tale! When did you find a translator?"

"Well, not right away unfortunately. Parlay had to be careful, you know. I will say Flint had something rather peculiar happen to him that same morning. He told me about it afterwards. Our chronometers both agreed that it happened during my chat with Aegis. Gave him and the other patrollers on duty a nasty turn."

Flintlock was beginning to get antsy. He'd been on duty outside Folklore's dwelling for nearly a solar cycle straight now and he was bored out of his cranial chamber. Nothing had happened last night, and Folklore had yet to rise this morning. Nothing suspicious about that. Hoist had supplied some mild sedatives late last night to help keep her shock and ensuing emotional stress manageable. Poor femme had been too scared to let herself power down the other night, even with four Praxian officers parked in vigil around her dwelling and hot-wired into her comm. link.

He was about ready to call in to Aegis that there was "nothing doing" and they had no reason to fret when a shriek of absolute terror nearly split his processor in two. Transforming, he dashed for the front entrance and forced it open with a magna-key Folklore had provided him. His pace didn't slow as he careened towards her quarters. He half expected to experience gory déjà vu, and so he braced himself.

What he found was Folklore sitting up ramrod straight in her berth, legs tucked in close to her chassis. She looked spooked out of her wits, her optics so wide he was genuinely afraid the shutters might lock up. She was hyperventilating. Her plating was held tightly against her frame. He could hear a faint rattle as she trembled violently.

"What in the Pit happened, femme? Ya alright?"

Even as he asked he knew the second was a daft question. Of course she wasn't alright. She looked about five kliks away from having a spark attack. He wasn't usually as smooth as some of the other patrollers when it came to femmes but he'd picked up quite a bit from Mazerunner and Counterforce over the groons. The patrolmech slowly drew up beside her and took a seat. Folklore leaned in against his arm, still looking terrified. Her plating did loosen up a bit and the trembling wasn't as bad now. He used his free hand to hold her steady.

"What happened?" he asked again.

"Night-terror," she gasped out.

The femme began to weep at that. But Flintlock wasn't about to end it there.

He forcibly tried to keep his tone level: "Can ya give me a description? What happened in it?"

Folklore shook her helm. "No. I-I do not wish to remember! It was too horrible!"

The patrolmech's helm jerked up on hearing banging pedefalls. Mazerunner and Gundog appeared on the threshold, weapons drawn. They lowered them on noticing they weren't needed. Two tense frames relaxed somewhat.

"What happened?" Mazerunner reiterated as he came in.

"Night-terror," said Flintlock. "Real doozy from the looks of it. We better get her to Evac an' make sure she's okay. She's sufferin' system shock. We ain't medics."

Gundog nodded and went about pinging Circuitbreaker for a 'bridge. One appeared off to the side of the chamber. Flintlock helped the shaken femme up and guided her towards it. Mazerunner joined him and helped her through. Gundog, a big-framed, lean and intelligent looking mech who bore canine-like attributes, took a quick look around the room with his sharp pale green optics to ensure no funny business. There was a darkness in the room he alone seemed to have sensed. A hungry darkness. Growling, he pinged Junction to remain on site until one or more of them returned.

*Roger, Gunny. I'll stay put.*

And so Gundog left.

One Joor Later...

Pacing.

Counterforce paced to and fro in the panorama chamber, expression deeply thoughtful yet entirely dissatisfied. He was walking in a patterned design through the holographic reconstruction of the crime scene, body included more tastefully as an armor-less proto-form with its chassis ripped open. The scrawled horned glyph on the chassis seem to mock him alongside its many floor-bound mates. Around, between and behind he wove through the ghostly reconstruction frozen in time. He himself had lost track of time while in the chamber. All that mattered was the scene before him.

There were the transfer stains he'd found. There were the drag marks in the spilled fuel that indicated the corpse had been moved. All the overturned and misplaced furniture stood in testament of the one-sided, violent struggle that had taken place. All in all a violent crime. Too violent. Even staring at this ghostly mirror he got a chill lacing up his backstrut. Humans had a saying to describe this eerie sense: someone walking over your grave.

He paused by the body. That was odd to him. Why move the body at all? Logic told him that the symbol had been drawn beforehand. But Evac had found that Inkblot's Energon had been used to draw the symbols and glyphs. So had Inkblot been attacked, used as an artist's palette for the killer to draw the elaborate floor graffiti and, once the floor artwork had dried enough, been moved into place? Why though? Why move the body at all? There was a reason there strong enough for the killer to spend a long span of time to get this artwork done properly. Energon took about four breems to dry completely. But if the killer was so patient, why the scrawling, unsteady hand on the chassis? It was hard to deny the blatant difference in style. The same hand had done it though. Of that he was certain.

'Why? Why?' he mused silently.

'How?' another part of him argued.

The Praxian shuttered his optics in an attempt to visualize what might have happened. He re-opened them, unaware that his sole silver optic was shimmering faintly. He could see a ghostly Inkblot rise from a seat in the living area in response to hearing something towards the front of the dwelling. She returned, conversing with an invisible target. She and the target spoke for some time, seemingly debating something. Wordwise had mentioned a missing data pad with some untranslated cyberglyphs on it. Might that be what they had spoken about? The killer had most likely been let in, and strangers were not typically permitted into dwellings unless the occupant knew them. No robbery or a disruption in any of the other chambers supported that. What had turned a seemingly pleasant encounter backwards? The killer seemed to have planned this crime out to the cyberglyph. That kind of personality wasn't known for violent spur-of-the-moment personality swings. But planning required research! Aside from the mysterious data pad Inkblot was entirely innocent. What had turned Inkblot into a target for murder?

'If he or she wanted to know what the glyphs meant and got them, then why kill Inkblot? They'd got what they came for, hadn't they?'

His musings were interrupted when his comm. link pinged. The vision of Inkblot faded and left only the ghostly mirror of the crime scene.

"Hello?"

[Enchanté, my Praxian partner!] came a flowing, rich voice. [I do hope I am not interrupting you?]

A thin smile broke out on his lip-plates.

"Parlay! You got a translator for me? Please say yes. I'm in dire need of good news."

[Indeed I have. Young but promising linguist: Syntax of Vos. Not only is he an expert in ancient Predacon but he's talented with most any language no longer in common use. Took some wire-pulling to convince him to help but he will do so.]

"Give him the number of my precinct and have him 'bridge over. We need to find out what those glyphs mean."

[Already done, officer. But he is busy at the moment. Very busy. He teaches Ancient Languages at the Vosian Academy. Five separate classes today if you can believe it. He should be done by tonight if that is not too inconvenient for your precinct? Say 2430 hours or thereabouts?]

"Ah. It might be best for him to come in the morning then. We'd feel bad if we overworked him. Aside from a few officers our precinct is generally emptied out by 2700 hours. Aegis wouldn't want him to come here to a practically empty building. Everyone is generally here around 0800 hours. Aegis and I are the early arrivals; we're here around 0645 hours. Would that work for Syntax?"

[I'll ask him. I believe he only has one class tomorrow.]

"Thanks, Parlay. I owe you one."

[No, no. It is always a pleasure to assist good, honest precincts like yours. And Inkblot's killer cannot go unpunished. Any assistance I can render is happily given.]

After a few more exchanged pleasantries the line went dead.

Not knowing what else to do, Counterforce continued his pacing for the the remainder of the half joor wait for the warrant. When it did come through and was sent off to Wordwise's establishment, Flintlock came to retrieve him from the panorama room, joking he could wear a groove in the floor someplace else while analysts reviewed all the data. The Praxian homicide investigator did notice that Flint seemed perturbed, and he was headed in the general direction of the mortuary. Something was bothering him. He might as well ask.

"Flint? What's up?"

"Folklore had one Pit of a night-terror and she won't talk about it with anyone. Think you can lend us your silver glossa, CF? Evac's tried, Hoist's given it his best, my patrollers have had a go. Got nothin' out of her. She ain't spillin'. You and she got along real well last time. Here's hoping you can get her to talk as easily as you did during the questionin'."

Counterforce nodded: "Here's hoping."

The two mechs found Folklore being gingerly tended to by Hoist. Evac toiled in the background, doing her best to be a mere ambiance in the room. The young archivist honestly had looked better. Now the poor femme looked sickly. Scared and sickly. Counterforce's spark twinged in pity. First she lost her best friend, now she was tormented by bad dreams. Folklore couldn't seem to catch a break with the stress it seemed.

Counterforce approached the shaken femme and knelt a little so as to be at optic level with her. Her haunted optics snapped up to meet his dual-colored gaze.

"Hey," he said softly. "Flint told me you had a night-terror."

Folklore nodded silently. He was curious to note her own gaze then refused to meet his directly after the admittance. He didn't see any guilt in them. Of course, he hadn't seriously considered the femme as a suspect at any point (she didn't fit the psych profile of the murderer for one) but history revealed that anyone with a guilty conscience might be bothered by bad dreams. He believed Folklore was just plain spooked, nothing more. That haunted visage was not guilt but fear.

"You wanna tell me about it? I'm no psychologist but my Guardians always told me it's best to tell someone about a night-terror. Once it's out in the open where it can be interpreted and explained away it's not so scary anymore. I should know. I had a few bad ones as a sparkling myself. I even have night-terrors to this solar cycle. Usually job related. I just have a talk with Flint, Aegis, or Half-Pint about it and it usually stops occurring."

Folklore did not speak. It seemed she did not want to discuss the nature of her night-terror. Then:

"Mine needs very little interpretation, officer. It was about The Night. The night Inky died."

Attention was suddenly riveted on the archivist. Counterforce tossed a glance at the others in a request not to pressure her. The attention soon became more indirectly targeted.

"Tell me. What happened?" he asked in that same soft voice, "What did you see?"

She once more fell silent. Tears began to well in the corners of her optics. She shook her helm: "I-I can't. I-It's too frightening. I don't w-want to remember."

Counterforce gripped her hands and held them as he pleaded: "Folklore, listen to me. Please try to remember and tell us. If this is Inkblot trying to get a message to us through you we need to know. You could be her only means of obtaining justice for what happened. You might be her only hope for peace. Be strong. For her."

The femme stared at him in what looked like bewilderment. She demanded if he really believed that sort of thing. He admitted outright and calmly that he did. He had been raised in a more spiritual background than most other law officers. He was among those who believed that victims of violent crimes like this one had a hard time letting go in order to rest. That, and he'd seen and experienced some rather peculiar things in his life that didn't seem to have any grounds in raw science. As a matter of fact he'd felt...something at the crime scene. A chill. Like had someone had walked over his grave.

"Same," Flintlock added in, "I ain't got the same beliefs as you, CF, but I will say something weren't right in that room. Not one bit. Gruesome murder aside. Wanna say it stemmed from those freaky glyphs."

"Ditto," said Hoist. Evac grunted her consensus.

Folklore hunched up. "I-I guess if all of you agree on that..."

The Praxian gently squeezed her hands in encouragement with one of his gentlemechly smiles. Folklore stared at his unusual optics for a bit as if using them as an anchor. She gave a shaky exvent. She finally began to speak:

"I-I was in Inkblot's home. I think I may have been her. I don't know. That's not really the point. It was a nice enough dream to start out with. I was just sitting there, relaxing and reading. I don't know what I was reading. All I saw in my hand was a data pad; I didn't see what was on it. It was more like I was trying to conceptualize the general idea instead of going into fine details? I-I heard something – but didn't hear it. If that makes sense? I g-got up to go and – and see what the noise was. There was someone at the door. I think. I couldn't see them, not really. It was like the conceptualized data pad. I knew there was someone there – the general idea of a 'bot – but I couldn't see them the same way I'm looking at you. I don't know if it was a mech or a femme or a beast or what. It was just a 'bot."

Attention once more riveted on the femme archivist. Flintlock was tense now. Counterforce's grip tightened around Folklore's hands. She took another shaky intake of air and continued:

"I l-led them back to where I'd been sitting. We struck up conversation. Again, I don't know what we were talking about, just that we were talking. The focus point was the data pad I had. I do know that. But...something changed. I don't know what. What happened next was a blur. Next thing I know the 'bot was walking towards me with a strange smile. I-I was scared. The smile wasn't right. Cruel. The 'bot drew a plasma knife, scaring me even more. I tried to run but the 'bot grabbed me and said something in a language I didn't recognize. I-It was harsh and gutteral yet had this smooth undertone. An evil voice. They whipped out a plasma knife and lashed at me. The 'bot's optics flashed purple as they did and – Ah! I can't! I can't!" she wailed in terror, burying her faceplates in her hands, "It was too frightening!"

"Was that all you saw?" asked Counterforce. It was all he could do not to shiver. The whole thing just – it felt too real.

She looked at him then. It was a look the mech would remember for the rest of his life. Her words stuck with him as well.

"Darkness. There was a great, looming darkness. Black and shadow and wrath and hunger with no form. It swallowed the 'bot and then lunged at me. I was so frightened I woke screaming. Ah! No! It's seared into my mind!" she wailed again and broke down.

The golden Praxian squeezed her hands again to try to calm her. He removed one hand to massage her arm. The weeping lessened by a fraction.

"I can understand why that would frighten you, Folklore. That would've frightened me, too. I'm just sorry you weren't able to see who it was. Dreams are finicky like that. They rarely give you the whole picture. But I swear by the Primes, even if it takes vorns upon vorns or more we will find who did this. Justice will prevail for Inkblot. Count on it. This will not go unpunished. You have the word of the entire fifteenth precinct on that."

She looked up at him:

"Please find them."

The Following Morning...

"Um, h-hello. I, um, I-I'm looking for Commander Aegis and Counterforce? I, um, I-I'm supposed to meet them this morning...? Something about a, er, a translation?"

Gundog regarded the newcomer mech before him. Scrawny looking little flier. A lot of sharp angles in his design. Some glowing accents. Young to be teaching classes at an Academy in his opinion. Color scheme was pretty vibrant: bright red and gold. Blue optics and a Neutral crest. That was a bit odd. No command of language when he was nervous. Definitely a scholar. He didn't doubt his authenticity. He just doubted his ability to form a complete sentence and not waste time stammering.

"You Syntax?" he asked in a grunt.

"I, um, ah, I-I am. I-I, well, in all honesty I, uh, I wasn't expecting a half-beast as an employee here. How exactly did you – how did you get this position? If that's not too intrusive of –"

Gundog cut him short with two words: "With me."

"Oh! Oh. Okay. I'll just, ah, I'll follow you then."

Syntax let Gundog lead him through the precinct. He stopped at a door. It hissed open to reveal two mechs inside. One was a red and purple Seeker, the other a golden and silver grounder. He was curious to note the second mech wore an optic band. They thanked Gundog and gestured Syntax to come inside.

"Thank you for coming so promptly, sir," the Seeker said politely, "I know it's a bit early but we didn't want to take you away from your lesson later today. I'm Commander Aegis and this is Counterforce, one of my homicide investigators."

"Oh! It's no problem. Really," Syntax said. "Y-You said you needed my help with a translation of some mystery glyphs?"

Aegis and Counterforce shared a glance that made Lingo uneasy. The former nodded to the latter who slid a data pad over the desk to Synxtax. Aegis warned him he might not like what he saw. Syntax picked it up anyway. Aside from a horrified widening of his optics he remained relatively calm. He started mumbling to himself and pacing as his linguistics programs kicked into overdrive:

"Hmm. Interesting. I've seen some examples of these glyphs but this is the most complete set yet. Only a handful of these glyphs have ever been translated, so I'm not sure how helpful I'll be. Now let's see here...hm...yes, that one roughly translates to 'dark' or perhaps 'shadow'...that one I believe might mean 'innocent.' Bit odd that one being there...This one I'm unsure of; could mean anything. Ah, but that one I believe means 'servant'...You know, it's very interesting, the set up with these glyphs. I'm no detective myself but this looks like the set up of some kind of ritual. You see that sort of design in old Predacon tombs. They call it sacred geometry. It's supposedly meant to help protect the spark from anything that might try to harm it while it stays in the tomb. See how the body's been placed atop the floor glyphs, perfectly centered so that the glyphs radiate outwards?"

"Focus, son. Translation. Not history lesson," Aegis chided.

"Sorry, sorry," Syntax apologized quickly, "Ah, that one there has a bit of a blurry meaning unfortunately. Could mean 'chosen' or 'cursed.' Linguists like myself think it's the symbolic opposite of the Relkana glyph. Archaeologists have found it once or twice in old tombs on other planets but never figured out the significance of its presence. There were no other glyphs in those tombs to help in translation. As for the main horn glyph on the body...I've never seen that mark before. I don't even think it's a glyph. It might be some kind of brand with the way it's used here on the chassis and as a centerpiece to the ground glyphs."

"Brand? What for?" Aegis wondered.

"I-I don't know, sir. I don't."

"Pit," Counterforce cursed. "Anything else?"

Syntax looked over the glyphs a few more times. "Well, these glyphs here and here –" He pointed. "They're connected as a pair. I'm not entirely sure what they mean but they bear a faint resemblance to the old Predacon glyphs that translate to 'one who defiles.' Simplified it means 'defiler.' It could mean something else. Oh! And that one there. It's never been translated but linguists think it might mean 'gift' or 'offering.' Could solidify this as a ritual kill. What the ritual was exactly or what its purpose was I can't say. I've never read anything about ritual kills like this in connection with these glyphs. Whoever did this kill has more knowledge about this dead language than all the linguists today combined. That in itself is interesting, I think. Where or from whom did they learn it? It's a dead language we know very little about. Y-You can't just pick up a datapad and learn it in your spare time!" He gestured wildly. "Why I-I've spent most of my life trying to learn it! And we still know basically nothing about it other than a few words!"

Aegis gave a growling sigh and shook his helm. Inconclusive. This whole business was just one big merry-go-round of dead ends. If only a Predacon would have been allowed in to track perhaps they could've found the rust bucket by now. But the Council was leery of them, always had been and always would be. He hoped that would change in time. Maybe then crimes like this could have an ending.

"Wha...? That's it?" Sentenza cried. "But what happened? What about the killer? The motive? The missing data pad?"

Counterforce had been pacing around as he had been re-telling the end of this mysterious saga. He paused now. His expression was grim, dissatisfied. This crime had always bothered him, and he assumed it would until the killer was found.

"I warned you there was no ending, Sen. Some crimes have no conclusion. That's just how real life works. We've never found the killer, we've never gotten a concrete motive, and we never found that missing data pad from the museum archives. It's a harsh truth that some crimes go unsolved."

"Well, what happened after that? Anything relating to it pop up later?"

"Council reviewed it and classified it, oddly enough. Only our precinct has any knowledge of it, if what little we know could be counted as knowledge. We tried to ask why but we never got an answer. The security feed we got was inconclusive, too. One of the cameras was malfunctioning in one region of the building around the time Wordwise remembers the strange request for the data pad, which we assume is where the killer and Inkblot met. It happened three solar cycles consecutively so we have reason to be suspicious. Footage couldn't be recovered, unfortunately. In my opinion I think the Council was spooked; maybe one of them might have had a hint about the crime. If they did they never spoke up. As for later...Aegis has done some surreptitious snooping of late and found something a little peculiar in some old classified documents after getting a young hacker on the job. What he found raised some questions."

Sentenza asked breathlessly: "What did he find?"

"It took a lot of digging and some skirting of the law, but the hacker found old reports deep in the Iaconian Hall of Record's databases. Some pre-War data had been preserved on them: crime reports, Council reports; things like that. Hacker found that crimes like this had been found before by previous law enforcement agencies – at least one in every Age after the Rust Age, though Aegis doesn't think they didn't occur then. They never found the killer or the motive either. The reports were somewhat corrupted from time and heavily encrypted. Only some data could be gotten from them, but it was enough to pique our interest."

"That's the Pit. That the one cold case you never solved?"

"Oh, no. There are some still waiting in storage to be solved. Every precinct has them. That's the one crime my precinct's had where we kept winding up back at the start with nothing to go on. A crime with inconclusive evidence and no motive. Same as the others the hacker found. A modus operandi that repeats in completely unconnected crimes over billions of stellar cycles, some of which are separated by millions of stellar cycles? Tombs found with that strange anti-Relkana glyph? Something's going on there, and we don't understand what."

Sentenza agreed. Even she admitted herself stumped. Nothing added up. That mystery engine the civvie had heard could've been the killer, or it could've been her Guardian protocols reacting to an unrecognizable engine of a hoodlum or someone else making the rounds.

Counterforce looked out one of the windows to see his city shimmering in the light of Luna-2.

"Sen, I'm telling you this in confidence. This entire case and anything connected to is classified. Please, keep this to yourself."

"I promise. Won't tell a spark," She paused for a while. "Hey, thanks for telling me about it despite the rules, nightlight."

"No, no. It's fine. It's always a pleasure to keep you company at night. If you're not ready to turn in, is there something else you'd like to talk about?"

She laughed a little and said: "Yeah, actually. What's up with your optics? I keep forgetting to ask, and I...well, it's kind of an impertinent question."

He revved his vocalizer and tried to sound as much like a formal scientists as he could:

"While heterachromatism is not unheard of in our species, most sufferers of it simply have their optical sensors swapped to the same color. I was never tempted to do so. If a trait makes one unique, why alter it? The individual should not be forced to assimilate into the masses due to a peculiar trait, to be the same as everyone else. Individuals are what gives a society, a culture, its vibrant colors and countless, subtle nuances of character. Should everything be the same then life would be unbearably bland."

The Seeker on the other end erupted into giggles. He smiled. She really was lovely whenever she laughed. How he wanted to hear that carefree sound more often.

"Primus, you sound just like Perceptor!"

"Why thank you. I'll take that as the highest compliment. Any other questions?"

"Your light talent. What's the story behind it? I've never met or heard of anyone else with it. The Demon sure as the Pit doesn't like it."

"Well..."

Author's Note: And that's the mysterious Horned Crown Killing that Counterforce mentioned in Chapter 28 of Nature of the Beast! :D The other one he mentioned is more or less the same crime, so I'll leave that one unwritten. I'd basically be writing the same story twice. I'll perhaps mention it in another one-shot for this series. Hope that provides a little more insight!