Author's Notes: Hooray! Two updates in one day! *throws confetti*. Anyway, I think Friday is going to be my day of the week to update fics from now on. Fanfic Friday. LOL! Hopefully this will help me get organized and make it easier to get new chapters up for you all. I've been wanting to post this chapter of "I Owe You" for a while, though admittedly I still may be doing it too soon. This is the first chapter of the B plot, involving everyone's favorite panther cassette :)


Chapter 7

Old Wounds

The Tripredacus Council had a serious problem on their servos. For decades they had done their best to foster peaceful and mutually beneficial relations with the Maximal High Command. Someday the Tripredacus Council intended to try to take over the Maximals in a bloodless coup, but these efforts would take time and patience. That rogue terrorist Megatron and his followers were ruining everything, and they needed to reel him in before their carefully crafted plans went by the wayside.

Fortunately for the Council, they had a double agent on their side that was more than qualified for the job. One of Cybertron's oldest citizens, a master spy by the name of Ravage. He was an odd mech in the way he transformed. Rather than being a mech that transformed into a beast, he was a beastly looking mech that transformed into an old-fashioned tape. Being a former cassette symbiote of the ancient Decepticon Soundwave, it was no wonder that old habits remained.

The doors to the council chamber opened and in walked a black panther looking mech standing on two legs. He was short even by the standards of the current beast-frames on Cybertron, but he had a determined and regal bearing that made him look formidable. It was hard to believe he was millions of years old. The three council members said nothing, but Ravage could tell they were sizing him up. Well, let them. He knew his abilities were unmatched.

"Greetings, Tripredacus Council," Ravage bowed formally as he spoke with an odd accent that indicated spark language was his native method of speech, "I understand you have a job for me. What was so important that you refuse to discuss it over my encrypted comm frequency?"

"I trust you are familiar with Megatron?" The council member to the left asked him rhetorically.

"My former master or the dinosaur?" Ravage asked for clarification.

"The dinosaur," The council mech replied flatly, "Our sources tell us he got into a fight with a Maximal science vessel before both ships were lost in a wormhole that affected both space and time. I'll cut to the chase, Ravage. We fear that the golden disk Megatron stole might be historical records that he intends to use to alter the timeline. We need a specialist to capture Megatron and his crew for trial, as well as someone to do away with the Maximals that witnessed the theft. As far as Cybertron is concerned the disk was never stolen and everything is fine."

"Why not simply leave the Maximal dolts to their own devices?" Ravage shrugged indifferently.

"That's not possible," The council mech on the right interjected, "The ship is called the Axelon, and it was seen leaving the Wheeljack Memorial Research Center. I'm sure you'll recall your last mission at that particular lab."

"Ah yes, Project X," Ravage recalled fondly, "I destroyed their notes and left them with nothing but a single prototype."

"We have reason to believe the Maximals that ran into the terrorists have the prototype," The center council mech informed Ravage.

"I see," Ravage replied thoughtfully, "That does complicate things. I may be a good spy and a decent warrior, but I cannot take on the likes of Project X should I encounter him. I am going to need some muscle."

"I was afraid you would ask," The center council mech said hesitantly, "I can think of one individual that might be able to help you, but you'll have to make a stop at the Flatline Asylum in Kaon."

"A mental patient?" Ravage asked skeptically.

"Yes," The center council mech nodded firmly, "You will ask for a Maximal inmate named Quillbit. I know the name sounds innocuous, but this creature is dangerous and has unpredictable mood swings. Quillbit is incredibly powerful and was used as one of the original guinea-pigatrons for Project X. Quillbit's hatred for the Maximals that conducted the project as well as for Project X's existence should be enough for you to work with."

"Fine," Ravage replied less than enthusiastically, "I do not like this idea, but I will travel through space and time in a cramped ship with an criminally unstable Maximal if it means taking down the dirtbag that dares to call himself by my deceased master's name. Now if there is no other business, I have other things to do today."

Without waiting for a response Ravage turned his back and walked away from the stunned council. Normally no mech could slight the Tripredacus Council and get away with it. These were not normal circumstances however, and this was no normal Predacon. They knew if they were going to be rid of Project X and Megatron, they needed a master of persuasion like Ravage.


Ravage was running late for his previously scheduled appointment, but he knew he needed to go to Kaon and clear the release of his so-called partner so the mission could begin quickly. He hated working with a Maximal, and he especially hated unknown elements being thrown into his carefully crafted plans. He didn't know anything about this Quillbit mech. All he could gather was that the name indicated either porcupine, echidna, or hedgehog. Those were the only three beast frames that used such a name.

Ravage showed his security clearance to the mech standing at the front gate and walked into the Flatline Asylum without incident. Most of the patients and attendants were Predacons, so Ravage fit right in. He vaguely wondered for a moment why a Maximal would be locked away in Kaon, and felt that the most likely scenario was that the foolish creature had been charged with a crime of some sort by the Tripredacus Council and sent here. He hoped it was murder, since he needed someone strong and without conscience to help him deal with Megatron.

"Welcome to Flatline Asylum," A friendly lizard-frame receptionist greeted Ravage, "Are you here to visit someone, sir?"

"Yes. I am here to see Quillbit," Ravage replied.

"Quillbit?" The receptionist blinked in surprise, "No one's ever come here to see Quillbit before. That might be a bit of a problem."

"How so?" Ravage asked.

"Well, we can't exactly let Quillbit leave the secured area," The receptionist replied nervously, "Last time that slagging needle-bag escaped two of our orderlies were forced into stasis lock. We were lucky no one was killed, but three rooms in the asylum were destroyed. We had to replace walls, the ceiling, part of the roof, and four broadcast screens. It was a disaster area for orns."

"I see," Ravage said disinterestedly, "I will meet with the patient in the secured area, and then I will discuss with the manager of this facility an order I have directly from the Tripredacus Council."

"Did they finally find a way to kill Quillbit?" The receptionist asked hopefully.

"Not to my knowledge," Ravage replied, "Now, take me to the patient."

"Hold on. I'll call the guards to escort you to the secured area," The receptionist told him, though it was clear she felt he was making a mistake.

Ravage waited without complaint until two large insect-formers arrived to take Ravage to the holding area where they kept the patient. They got on an elevator, and Ravage noted there were 7 floors, a lobby, and a basement on the selection pad. Just his luck, the guards selected the basement. It reminded him of the scary movies his younger siblings used to watch, and a smile crossed Ravage's faceplate. He could still see Rumble throwing popcorn at the earth-made TV. Nobody ate popcorn on board the Nemesis, but the cassettes made popcorn because they needed something to throw at the screen.

When they got to the basement Ravage saw that there were several cells on this floor, and every one of them was reinforced with lead walls that were 7 feet thick. Whoever was in this section was staying in this section.

"Each cell has a walk-in area with a clear diamond barrier," A guard explained to Ravage, "You will be able to speak to the patient via the intercom system, but you will have no physical contact with the patient. Understand that this is for your own safety. The patient is considered violent and dangerous."

"So are most Cybertronians," Ravage replied with a sly smirk.

When they got to the desired room one of the guards leaned his face against a screen for an optical scan. The machine recognized his clearance and they walked into the visiting area. It was a barrier with barely enough room for Ravage to lean against the wall at his back. He could move from side to side, but he could not sit down. The room behind the diamond wall was slightly larger, but still small considering it was a place the patient was never allowed to leave.

Ravage looked in on the patient, and just as he guessed Quillbit was a porcupine. Quillbit was dark grey with a light blue face and yellow optics. The quills around the back, arms, and legs were a beautiful design of alternating grey, white, and black markings; just like on earth. The torso was muscular like with many soldiers, but something seemed off about the design to Ravage. Quillbit was tall, but not very stocky. That meant...

"You are a femme," Ravage commented.

"Huh?" Quillbit lifted her head from her sit-sleeping position to regard Ravage, "Oh, right. I heard I had a visitor. I thought that fraggin' nurse was playin' a joke on me. What do you want, Pussycat?"

"I wish to discuss your release," Ravage replied with a confident grin, "I have been granted the power to free you."

"I checked myself in, Pussycat," Quillbit stated listlessly, "I ain't leavin'."

"Even though your planet needs you?" Ravage asked in an effort to appeal to her sense of patriotism, "Cybertron is in grave danger. All that we know could be lost if something is not done. A terrorist that calls himself the new Megatron has stolen something very valuable, and your services are required to retrieve it. Come now, Quillbit. Surely you don't want to see Cybertron destroyed, do you?"

"I've given enough to Cybertron," Quillbit replied bitterly, "Let it burn. Let it drown. Let it get stuck up a Unicron-sized tree. I don't care."

"I must say Quillbit, for someone in forced isolation you are very coherent," Ravage commented in an effort to move on to a more pleasant mode of conversation, "I am certain you are an intelligent femme. If Cybertron dies, then you die. Do you want to die?"

"You say I'm smart yet you talk to me like a sparkling," Quillbit retorted as her optics narrowed in warning, "You're wastin' your time. I don't wanna help you."

"Even if it makes you a national hero?" Ravage asked, grasping at anything he can think of to persuade her, "Even the Maximals cannot ignore a hero. You would be welcomed back into society. Is that not what you want? To be respected?"

"I wanna die," Quillbit replied bluntly, "I wanna die, and if I can't do that then I wanna feel somethin'. The nurses give me pretty little pills that make me feel dead without killin' me, and they do it because it makes their lives easier. You want my help because it'll make your job easier. I'm already stifled and kept alive, but I will not be used. Now get lost before I show you why they keep me down here."

"There must be something else you want," Ravage insisted, "Something that would make your life worth living again. Perhaps a little revenge?"

"I outlived everyone I could ever want revenge on," Quillbit growled and stepped closer to the glass; her back hunched like a shambling ghoul, "I wish you'd just leave already! I feel itchy around you. I can't be around mechs like you anymore. I don't wanna talk to you anymore!"

"I wish you would reconsider," Ravage replied disappointedly, "I need a partner to take down Megatron and Project X, and the Tripedacus Council were certain you would-"

"Project X?" Quillbit interrupted as she stood to her full height and her quills stood on end, "You wanna kill Project X? HAHAHAHAHA!"

Quillbit started beating the diamond barrier with her fist she was laughing so hard, and Ravage just stood there trying not to feel humiliated at the fact that a mental patient thought he was the crazy one.

"You wanna kill-? Hahaha! You must be jokin'!" Quillbit gasped from laughing so hard, and then finally after a few more soft chuckles managed to compose herself, "So...if I got this straight...you want me to help you kill Project X?"

"Technically I need to silence the Maximal scientists that were charged with moving Project X," Ravage clarified.

"Really?" Quillbit asked; interested, "So, if I leave here and go with you, I get to kill the slag heaps that created Project X?"

"Yes," Ravage replied as he stood straighter and crossed his arms; knowing he had her where he wanted her, "So Quillbit, do you have something to live for now?"

"No," Quillbit replied, to Ravage's shock, "Once I kill them I'm still me. Avengin' Project X won't fix that. Besides, without my pills I'll go into a psychotic rage. If you're the closest thing to me when that happens, you're dead. Plain and simple."

"That is a chance I am willing to take," Ravage affirmed, "So tell me Quillbit, what is it about you that makes everyone fear you?"

"Nobody knows how to kill me," Quillbit shrugged, "Oh, and you might want to invest in a really thick hull for your ship. I break things when I get upset and space has no gravity."

Ravage's optics went wide at the casual way Quillbit said that. He realized then that this was going to be a dangerous and complicated mission, and the partner that was supposed to make this easier was in fact going to be his greatest liability.

"I will see about getting you released by next orn," Ravage promised, "For now I must leave, however. I have an appointment I must not miss."

"You're leavin'?" Quillbit asked in disappointment, "But you're my first visitor ever! Don't leave! We didn't even play 'guess that smell'!"

Ravage cringed, both at her sudden shift in desires and in the idea of a game called guess that smell. She had tried so hard to get him to leave, and now she begged him to come back. It was true, this patient was unpredictable.


Ravage drove down the streets of Polyhex, his home city-state, in a shuttle and briefly glanced up at the starry night as he went. That trip to Kaon had been rough, and his new mission seemed like suicide itself, but at least now he was back on track. He had stopped by the grocery store on his way to Polyhehis destination, and now he could keep his regular appointment.

He stopped the shuttle in front of an apartment complex that had seen better orns. It was a trip he made every other orn, and virtually everyone that lived here recognized his shuttle, even if they didn't necessarily know him. He opened the back seat and lifted the cube of groceries onto one of his shoulders to carry it inside.

One elevator trip later and Ravage found himself at apartment 0814. He took out his spare key and unlocked the door, knowing he was expected by the residence's occupant. He was greeted by the stench of rotting fruit peels and the feel of sticky carpet under his pedes. It was expected. He came here every other orn and knew the femme who lived here couldn't properly clean the place.

"Ra-vage!" A cry of joy escaped from the armchair, and a bat-former femme eased herself up to shamble over to where Ravage was standing at the doorway.

"Hello Syphon, I trust you are well this evening?" Ravage asked warmly as he walked over to the counter to start putting away groceries.

"Ya shouldna strain yasef," Syphon chided in an accent that sounded like her mouth was swollen, and since her mouth couldn't close that wasn't too far from the truth.

Ravage chuckled lightly but didn't stop putting away her groceries. He knew Syphon always wanted to be a good hostess, but he also knew her physical capabilities grew more limited by the orn. Her drooling open mouth, crooked limbs with rusting joints, and matted black fur was enough to tell him she needed every ounce of help he gave her.

"So, how was ya day?" Syphon asked jovially as she opened the fridge and pulled out a steak, "Did ya see da council?"

"I did, and I have a new mission," Ravage replied vaguely, but then saw what she was doing with that steak and frying pan and asked, "Why do you do this? You know you cannot eat that."

"I know. It'sh not fo me," Syphon replied with a wide grin, "I know how nuch ya like steak. Ifs ya got a new nission, then ya need ya stength. I also got ya favoruh shoda. Cannon Cola."

Ravage shook his helm and chuckled at the femme. She was always trying to please him, always trying to help. He didn't know how a femme that had suffered so much for so long could be that cheerful. Then again, she was only like that in here. The old bat never left the apartment anymore due to PTSD and onset agoraphobia. Ravage knew her mental damage was more crippling than her physical damage, so he always did his best to assist his late brother's widow.

Ravage saw that she wasn't going to stop until she had made him dinner, so he sat down on the marble loveseat and worked a crossword puzzle on one of her loose data pads.

"You should see the Tripredacus Council these days," Ravage said conversationally, "They would not be able to find their own tails if it weren't for mechs like myself doing all of their dirty work. It is not like it used to be, Syphon. Back in our day mechs stood on their own merits. I believe you and I may be the only ones who truly understand what sacrifice and hard work actually mean anymore."

"Uh-huh," Syphon nodded while she stirred a pot of gravy, "Ya want steak sauce?"

"Yes, please," Ravage replied with a nod, "I went to Kaon tonight. It is still a turbo rat infested pit. The Maximals force us into squalor and don't even seem to care."

When Ravage didn't get a reply he turned around to see Syphon's red optics wide and her entire frame shaking while she still held her stirring spoon. Her wings were tight against her frame, and Ravage could tell she was either having another seizure or another flashback.

When Syphon started to fall Ravage sprang into action immediately and caught her. She felt rigid in his arms for a moment but then when she caught his worried gaze she relaxed and went limp in his hold.

"Sowwy, Ra-vage," Syphon apologized sheepishly, "I finish dinnah now."

"No, you sit now," Ravage insisted gently as he carried her to the kitchen table and sat her in one of the thin metal chairs, "I can cook dinner for myself. Now, what kind of juice do you want?"

"O'ange, tees," Syphon replied, which Ravage knew meant "Orange, please."

Syphon was not capable of digesting most forms of organic matter like a normal Predacon. She could only drink liquids, which normally meant either having nothing but juice or else shoving real food in a blender. After trying to blend cookies and ham she learned not to try that again.

Ravage made his meal and got Syphon her juice. She shakily tried to get the glass cube to her open maw, but realized her wrists weren't up to it so she set the cube down before it broke. Ravage took a few bites of his steak and gravy, but then looked up from his meal to see Syphon looking dejectedly at her full cube of orange juice.

"Do you wish for me to assist you?" Ravage asked, knowing sometimes she needed his help to refuel.

"No, no, I got it!" Syphon protested, trying to save some sliver of her dignity.

Syphon tried with both servos to lift the cube and tilt her helm back to drink, but most of it spilled on her body rather than her mouth. This was why her floor was always sticky and her fur always matted. It was because of this infernal struggle to keep herself fed.

Ravage sighed and then got up from his own meal to help Syphon. He poured another glass of juice and then put his servo on her leathery wing in a silent command to tilt her helm back. She complied and looked lovingly at Ravage's impassive face as he tilted some of the contents of the cube into her damaged mouth and down her fuel intakes.

"Sank you, Ra-vage," Syphon said after he was finished, "I lovthe you, Ra-vage."

He knew she did, and not in the same way he did for her. Ravage took care of Syphon because she was the widow of his brother, and he viewed her as a younger sister. Syphon however was desperately lonely and starved for the kindness that Ravage showed her. She did love him; intensely loved and craved him. Ravage knew if he asked her to throw herself from the balcony with her wings clipped from her body she would do it for him. She would do anything for Ravage.

Ravage of course would never take advantage of this situation. While he would not mind a femme's touch once in a while Syphon was old, damaged, and needy. She had been a great beauty once, and had once been powerful as well. Vorns of abuse and loss had ruined her. Perhaps if she had shown interest in him before she met...no, even then it never would have worked. Syphon simply wasn't his type, even back then.

"Ra-vage," Syphon called his attention back to the present, "I wish ya had cun ovuh yestaday. Yestaday was da day...da annidersary. I niss hin..."

He can see tears welling up in her ruby optics. Ravage knows exactly what she is talking about. The anniversary of the orn when Syphon felt her spark bond break. When she knew for certain that her bondmate was dead and was never returning to her. He had saved her from a cruel fate, and Ravage was pleased when the couple bonded. The joy was not to last, however. Like most Decepticons, Ravage's brother had a stubborn streak and a lust for power. That encompassed everything else, even the bond with his beloved Syphon.

"I am leaving tomorrow," Ravage suddenly finds himself saying before he can stop himself, "My new mission involves hunting down the false Megatron and his rebels. I will be gone for a long time. I do not know when I will return."

"What? No! You can't!" Syphon screeches in misery, "I can't lose you too! Ra-vage, tees don't go! I'll die wissout you!"

"I am sorry, but it cannot be helped," Ravage said resolutely, "My planet needs me. The Predacon cause needs me. I and my partner are the only ones that can do this. I shall do my best to return alive."

"I'n going, too!" Siphon declared, and the forcefulness and absurdity of those words makes Ravage quirk an optic ridge, "I need ya, and ya need ne. I can helt ya. Tees let me go, too. I tromiss I'll de heltful."

"No, absolutely not," Ravage replied adamantly, "This is too dangerous for you. Not only will I be dealing with rogue Predacons and a deadly secret project, but I will also be going through a time/space wormhole and I will be traveling with a crazed mental patient with an immortal spark! You will stay here."

"Are you sure adout dat?" Syphon asked with a sudden mischievous glint in her optic as Ravage tries to figure out her sudden change in mood, "Cause if I got dis straight, you just told ne eserysing adout yah nission. Da time wonhole, da Negatron, da crashee nental tayshent, eserysing. I can tell on ya. So, ya has to take ne. I'n a witness."

Ravage's spark nearly hitched when he realized she was right. Syphon was loyal to no faction and he feared she might actually turn on him if she felt abandoned. He was surprised however at how much she wanted this. She was afraid to leave her apartment and now suddenly she was willing to travel across space and time with Ravage and a dangerous criminal? He was right. She did love him.

"Be ready by morning," Ravage said coolly, "If you cannot keep up you will be left behind, and if Project X kills you I will simply say I told you so as your spark fades out. Understand?"

"Yay!" Syphon cheered undeterred, "We goin' on a field trit!"

Ravage groaned and rubbed his helm in exasperation. Syphon was the closest thing he had left to a living relative, and she was just as annoying as the siblings he had already seen deactivate. Ravage knew this was a terrible idea, but he supposed her being killed quickly in battle would be a more dignified death than wasting away in a smelly sticky apartment as she slowly starved. He could have killed her himself to keep her quiet, but he knew deep down he couldn't bring himself to actually do it. She had meant too much to him for far too long.