Amanda was the author of the system used for the Beast Wars RPG she currently runs; the RPG which is responsible for this fiction having any reason to exist. Details both on her system and on the Secrets of Cybertron campaign can be found at her website: http://www.crosswinds.net/~nightspider
--Lacy Conley
Stalker was designed to be a "one shot" character. Needless to say, this did not happen. If the 'fic looks like a self-insert, that's no coincidence: Stalker is Lacy's character and I make no claim to her or any of her actions.
The "Beast Wars Vets" belong to Mainframe and Hasbro... and all the incidentals, or, as we like to call 'em, NPCs, like Upgrade, Epitaph, Sellsword, Angel, etcetera, belong to me. See if you can guess who the other player characters are.
For those wondering how I handle continuity: It's 30 years after the Beast Wars. It's Cybertron. The vets arrived home safely, and, thus, I ignore all aspects of Beast Machines, save those that are written in back story and amuse me. ...And, yes, the vets are in the story. Next chapter pending, as a matter of fact. Visit the URL!!
--Amanda Flowers
Inergo was never what one would consider the most well-lit of sectors. As the Cybertronian night fell, the pools of gloom deepened and broadened across the scarred alleyways. Stalker walked smoothly through the blending shadows, her thoughts blurred -- as dim and nondescript as the scenery around her. For a brief, beautiful moment, it occurred to her that she was, at last, free of Bloodwing. Just as quickly, she realized how little that mattered. She had traded subjugation with hope of escape for subjugation even her paranoid trainer had been unable to evade. It hadn't been a fair trade. As ever, she had been given no choice in the matter. In Inergo, those with power kept it to themselves. Those without waited for a chance to wrench it from the unsuspecting. Eventually most gave up, loosing their edge and their livelihood. It was the nature of life, as she had always known it.
Immersed in her thoughts, the stoat narrowly avoided collision with the speeding black form which intersected her path. "Hey, watch out," she called to the still-running panther. There was a raccoon riding the cat's back; he waved by way of nonconcerned answer. Turning to backtrack the panther's path, it wasn't long before she encountered a group that looked out of place, even by the low-key standards of Inergo.
Two Maximals -- a mammoth with military bearing, and a fuzor who seemed to be Predacon in origin -- were walking with an angelfish and an iguana, both of whom were Predacons. The iguana looked familiar. After a moment's thought, Stalker realized why. She'd seen him in the local haunts, heard him addressed by name in the back rooms of taverns. Sellsword: a fellow mercenary, and a successful one at that.
They were moving in the same direction the panther had been, traveling purposefully up the street directly headed for the Predacon border. Stalker approached the fellow merc, hoping to address him as one compatriot addressed another, despite their experience-borne differences in station. "Did that panther belong to you? She nearly ran me over."
The majority of the group didn't seem to take notice. Sellsword, however, looked her over. "Yeah. I'm taking them to the border; she's just a little eager."
A mixed group -- some military -- being led to the Predacon border by a hired fighter? Whatever was going on, it might be interesting, or at least entertaining. The Predacon Revolutionaries were active in the neighboring sector. "Mind if I tag along?"
"If you want to." Sellsword took stock of her again. His assessment seemed lacking, and he gave a single laugh. "You're gonna get shot." Mumbling that she'd take her chances, Stalker fell in with the unlikely quartet.
Within sight of the border, the two groups reunited. The raccoon -- a Warder -- seemed to be the only bot to notice Stalker. "Who invited the weasel?" he asked.
Growling softly, Stalker hurried to correct him. "Stoat. Not weasel, stoat."
"Whatever. Who asked you to come along?"
Stalker gestured toward Sellsword, who glanced back at them noncomittally. The raccoon seemed satisfied, if a bit displeased.
The Warders were a sub-Maximal group, most of whom distanced themselves from the Maximal race entirely. They colonized widely on planets outside of the Cybertronian system, where they mainly kept away from Cybertron politics. Those who did remain on Cybertron -- there only to hold on to the Organization's best interests -- were regarded at best as eco-terrorists. Such an instant dislike for a spare Maximal tagalong did little more then prompt Stalker to keep in mind all the rumors she'd heard as to the Warder methods and tactics.
The border itself was heavily guarded: five Predacon agents stood in front of a tunnel cut through a solid metal barricade. A scorpion proudly decked in Predacon regalia immediately asked Sellsword his business.
"Takin' these Maxies in to see the Revolutionary boss." His cool demeanor was directed half toward the guard, and half toward the Maximal panther, whose eagerness to enter the tunnel was apparent.
"Can't do it," said the guard. "Energon leak. Organics won't make it through."
"We have beast modes!" the panther complained.
"I got 'em cleared," insisted Sellsword. "Call command if you have to."
The scorpion walked to his station, and after a moment waved the group through. Her nerves building, Stalker shifted to beast mode. No doubt the energon leak was purposeful: the kind of tactic the Revolutionaries would use to keep organics from crossing into their border. The Revolutionaries were known for preferring Transmetallized members -- all of the guards at the gate were Transmetal -- and they weren't shy in their methods to keep organics out of their pure sector. A heavy, impure Energon concentration: the kind of energy that would surely damage her if she attempted to switch modes.
Everyone tensed as they walked through the tunnel. Darker then the alleyways, and offering little escape should anything go wrong, the location was ripe to breed paranoia, even among trusting Maximals. Still in his Transmetal robot mode, Sellsword looked up at the Maximal mammoth, and over to the angelfish, then suddenly broke the silence. "Now."
The autoguns on the wall, which had tracked the group's progress, opened fire as the non-conspiritors were trying to absorb the shock of hearing the Maximal officer shout, "Stampede, Terrorize!"
Largely ignoring the tagalong merc, Sellsword, the angelfish, and the mammoth Stampede turned on the panther and raccoon. Sellsword's attention was directed at the Warder, who provided a challenging opponent. The raccoon transformed quickly, firing a blast at close range, and stunning the Transmetal mercenary momentarily. Suspicious that this was an elaborate hit, Stalker jumped to help. If this was a job, perhaps she could demand a cut.
Pursued by the female fish, who had a Maximal demeanor but had been Predacon all along, the panther charged forward down the long tunnel. There was an immense crash as she ran, full-speed, into a war mech posed and ready at the opposite side.
When the melee ended, the Warder was down, and the angelfish was dragging the unconscious panther. Stalker looked up to find herself surrounded by Predacons, most of whom were pointing firearms at her. Stampede was no where to be seen. Sellsword tripped forward, limping on a bruised leg, and sheathed his sword.
A Predacon guard stepped toward Stalker. "You with us?" he sneered down at her.
How many of them? And only one of her? The choice seemed clear. In any case, she had never heard of Sellsword being on the losing team, and he seemed to be one of them. "Sure," she answered, trying not to sound as though the question had been surprising.
In spite of his injuries, Sellsword laughed. "Not bad, for a rookie."
Stalker gave him an almost-smile. "I didn't get shot."
He laughed again. "Not yet."
Arrival to the Revolutionaries' base was a rush of faces and names. She was introduced to subcommander Epitaph: a spark-staff wielding Transmetal II pterodactyl; tall, dark, and with a kind of effected mystery. Angel, the fish she'd met earlier, gave her a brief tour of the base, ending in the basement laboratory of a Transmetal hornet. There was something simply out of place about the design of his frame; Stalker stared a moment, then realized what was amiss. His arms were out of proportion, and off-color, as if they did not belong with the rest of his body. Most likely, they'd been only recently rebuilt: an add-on to increase his physical strength. It was little wonder they called him subcommander Upgrade.
Marveling at all the equipment around her, Stalker picked out a strange device in one of the corners. It was a large containment unit, locked down tight and shut: something like a Maximal R-chamber, but larger. "What's that?"
The subcommander took one look at her, and his expression darkened. He picked her up by the scruff of the neck, his face contorting as his hand contacted her fur. "This," he said, "is where we make sure you don't get FUR in my LAB." He unceremoniously threw her into the cage attached to the device, throwing the door closed behind her. Before she could inquire further, he threw a switch.
An electric shock shot through Stalker's body. It was numbing, and burning, and sharp all at the same time. Between the flashing haze and the painful spasms, she swore she could feel her very circuits moving, rearranging... When a slightly stronger jolt of power hit her, the world faded to black.
fin