Chapter 2

A large black raven flying over the landscapes of prehistoric earth discovered a mostly serene and peaceful view. As it flew over the land which would later become western Oregon, the bird noticed a strange oddly shaped structure perturbing out of the snow-capped mountain. Its curiosity took over, and the raven dove in for a closer look. As if on cue, the mountain rumbled, and it flew off, fearing for its life. Further in land, the raven flew over a small rock formation. It settled down on a branch of an old, dying tree next to the hill. There was no way the bird could have known who dwelled within those seemingly harmless rocks. By the time the raven realized its mistake, it was far to o late to flee. There was an explosion and all that was left was a burnt corps surrounded by a pile of singed feathers on the ground.

"Infernal Pest," the violet colored Predacon hissed as he stepped away from the fire controls and began to walk back inside his lair. Usually shooting the wild life for target practice soothed his fury at least a little, but nothing seemed to help his anger at the moment.

Inside his lab, Tarantulas picked up the data pad from the table, and in his fury, hurled it against the wall. The pad shattered, but it was no loss; the information had been useless. The Predacon sat down at his lab desk, and then angrily swiped his hand across the table knocking everything to the ground. Test tubes shattered, flex pads fell, and the electronic equipment began to give of sparks from the disturbance. Why was this bothering him so much? Blackarachnia's protoform had been reprogrammed into a Predacon over two and a half stellar cycles ago, at the beginning of the Beast Wars. He had noticed the strange anomaly then but had no time to examine it closer, and it hadn't come up since then. So why had he remembered about it now?

The answer was obvious. While Blackarachnia had defected to the Maximals about half a stellar cycle ago, the shell program he had implanted insured that her programming had remained that of a Predacon. But no longer. She was now a Maximal in every way, and that meant she was truly out of his reach.

The fascination was purely scientific, of course. Nothing more than creator to creation interests. She had been the most impressive and complex specimen he had ever studied. True, she was beautiful, but if there was ever any attraction it was only physical. That was not what interested him. Blackarachnia's protoform was different from the others. There was something there, something he could not yet see.

Once he'd worked through his anger and frustration, Tarantulas began to think more clearly. He didn't have Blackarachnia, but maybe he could to the next best thing. He got up and left the lab to go to a different chamber in his lair. The room was large nut mostly barren. It contained five empty stasis pods. Three were simply here for comparison purposes, since they had never been used. Of the remaining two, one belonged to Inferno and one to Blackarachnia. He swiftly headed for the correct pod and examined it. There was nothing of interest inside, but when he flipped it over, Tarantulas discovered that there was another containment unit on the back. It was much smaller than the one which was supposed to hold the protoform, only about half a cubic meter in volume. Inside he found a black leather backpack. The Predacon reached in and discoved three heavy books with thick spines and old, beat-up leather covers. He placed then on the table and searched the bag again. His claw closed around something soft, and when he pulled it out, his surprise increased even more.

"I don't care who she was on Cybertron," Tarantulas muttered to himself, as his optics fixed on the brown stuffed animal. "There is no way in the Pit that this thing belongs to her."

He put down the bear and instead picked p one of the books. "The Two Towers," he read the title and raised an eyebrow. The books were certainly a good read: power, corruption, torture, blood, death, and the octagonal psychotic dark lord, but he would have never placed Blackarachnia as someone who would have read The Lord of the Rings. He flipped through the book then took a glance at the inside of the cover.

"Perhaps," he said thoughtfully, "they are not hers after all."

Inside the cover there was a gold plate with the words 'Property of Anárion' carved into it.

"Ah, the hero lives," Tarantulas mused. He remembered Anárion very well. The bastard had been a thorn in his side for over three stellar cycles back on Cybertron. So the books belonged to him. That explained a great deal. It meant that Blackarachnia wasn't just any protoform No, she was so much more than that. He chuckled at the thought; she had no idea. More importantly, she didn't know who he was, otherwise Tarantulas was possessive she would have never let him live this long. With another insane laugh, he rubbed his hands together. The bitch had no idea what was coming.

He put The Two Towers on top of the other two books that still lay on the table next to the stuffed animal and returned to the laboratory. There was another piece of the puzzle that had slipped his mind. Another piece involved in this game of chess, but this one was no pawn. He was the one who set the wheel in motion over four stellar cycles ago. Tarantulas himself rarely interacted with him, and therefore had nearly forgotten about his very existence. It had all started with this person, and now it looked like the wheel had turned full circle. Fate, it seemed, lead back to him.

By this time, Tarantulas' furious mood had slipped away completely. What could be better than this? Blackarachnia was in for the shock of her life, and he had a front row seat for the events of the century. With a grin, he put away the equipment and the items from the stasis pod and headed out of his lair. He had to tell Blackarachnia what he found out, otherwise she would never know, and where would the fun be in that?

Oh yes, this was going to be interesting. Very interesting indeed.