A/N: Extra 11 corresponds with Chapter 21: Defeat.

Extra 11- Spy

The Decepticon was restless. He shifted on his berth, got up, sat down, shifted. It was the middle of the night-cycle and any sane mech who wasn't on duty was deep in recharge, except for this one. He'd developed a nervous twitch in his wiring. Usually getting out of the base and going for a walk was the quickest cure; after going out he always came back refreshed, able to recharge and go about his business as usual.

Finally he left his quarters. His pedes guided him to the surface, where the guard at the entrance greeted him by designation.

"I need air," the Decepticon said.

"Third time this decacycle you've been up when you should be in recharge. Even the Seekers aren't sky-crazy enough to go out in the middle of the night-cycle."

"I can't help it. I guess it reminds me of Kalis. My 'master…'" He mimed the organic habit of spitting. "…didn't let me out often."

"At least you weren't stuck in an energon mine," the guard answered. "Be careful of ghosts."

They both laughed and the Decepticon left the guard behind. Both moons were up, making the jagged surfaces of Kaon gleam. He knew his way around the city, even in the dark. His pedes clanked softly against the ground as he walked towards the outskirts of the city proper, further from his fellow Decepticons.

His sharp audios picked up the sound of metal on metal and he slowed.

"Who's there?" he called, unsubspacing his blaster.

Something pinged his sensors and he whirled, blaster charged and aimed…

Crimson optics locked with azure and programming was activated, the Decepticon snagged and submerged while the slave burst to the surface. The blaster clanged on the ground, followed by the slave's hands and knees and forehead. He trembled, fearful that he would be punished for pointing a weapon at his master. The shadow-echo of defiance flickered briefly before his master's approach dashed it away.

"Report," his master ordered. The slave reviewed his memory banks. To the original, the actions of his artificial "self" were as distant as a dream. It had been a nightmare at first – he'd been terrified at every turn, still a slave at Spark, watching the actions of the courageous – false – self that his master had created for him. But he'd gotten used to it after several vorns.

He felt echoed emotions from his other self—he shouldn't be able to feel what his other half did, but he'd never told his master about the echoes. He hid them guiltily, keeping them in his Spark. The stronger emotions could sometimes fool him into believing they were his own, and that… appealed to him. Somewhere deep down, he wanted to be like his false self. He wanted to be brave. He wanted to be strong.

He… wanted… to hate his master.

"The troops will move to Praxus," he said. A tiny part of him felt a "real" emotion… shame. That was illogical – he was a slave. He had been created to serve his master. "We will move out in three orns. Our force will be comprised of eight hundred mechs."

"Report on the commander."

The Commander. Shadow-emotions burned and boiled in his Spark. His other self would die before betraying Nova. Like the rest of the Decepticons, he adored the young Seeker with devotion bordering on love. The slave should have been willing to serve his master without question, and yet…

"He maintains his popularity," he answered. "He has recently put down a minor rebellion…"

"Will he be at Praxus?"

"I—unknown."

"There is an uncomfortable number of things that are unknown by you, slave." His master's optics hardened. "Like Vos, for example."

The slave flinched and cowered. "I heard nothing, Master, I swear it."

"I would punish you for your failure if I knew that the marks would go unnoticed." His master stepped closer, reaching out to plug his finger-cables into the ports at the back of the slave's neck. "Your disguise shell has received a recent promotion. It will aggressively pursue the goal of rising through the ranks, for the sole purpose of gathering more information."

"Y-yes, Master," the slave said meekly, holding obediently still as his programming was altered. Highbrow was an expert programmer; he'd created a near-flawless set of secondary programming, a completely separate persona. Or perhaps not completely. Those echoes lingered, ever-present, like dreams to his submerged true self.

"Now go," his master commanded, detaching with a painful jerk and flicking his fingers disdainfully. "When next I call you, I expect that your shell persona will have infiltrated the upper ranks."

"Yes, master." He remained kneeling as his master's steps retreated. Again he would sink into his false identity, his dream-self.

He… admired his other half. He had earned a designation for himself. His master had never called him anything but "slave," though he vaguely remembered a time when his creator had cradled him in her arms and stroked his face and crooned "Torsion." He almost longed for the times when he was not Torsion, but—

The Decepticon blinked at the ground. Why was he on his knees? Had he malfunctioned? His chronometer read several cycles later than it ought to. He got uneasily to his pedes, looking around. No attacker was in range; no damage registered on his scans. Then… how had he ended up on the ground?

He shook himself. He was a Decepticon and this could not scare him. He could take on any enemy; he could defeat any foe, even his own glitching processor.

The Decepticon set off back towards base, now eager to recharge. His unit would be in Praxus; there was no sense in losing megacycles of recharge worrying over a few missing cycles.