Author's Note: I do not own Beast Wars obviously, only my own original characters and plots. I am indebted to Amber Tiger and her story "Wrath of the Femmes" for inspiring me to write this. For reference, this story is set 817 years after the end of Beast Machines and all the Transformers are technically Maximals as a result of the Maximal victory.

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The endless white-streaked expanse of hyperspace dropped away as the Exile dropped into normal space. Around it, normal space shivered as the heavily-armed military escort ships appeared. To an outside observer, the six Destroyer-class warships might seem excessive, but to the powers-that-be, the warship escort seemed too light for the Exile and what it carried.

Captain Veximus wiped a drop of oil from his forehead as the bleak rock that housed the Omicron Penal Colony came into view on the sensors. Ever since the prisoner had been transferred to his ship on Cybertron he'd had a cold, nervous fluttering in his spark. The Exile was a prison transport ship, used to transporting dangerous criminals to the various penal colonies scattered around Transformer space, but transporting this prisoner carried risks, risks that could get Captain Veximus and his entire crew slagged if it didn't go off just right. The only question was...who'd do the slagging?

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The young ocelot paced in her forcefield, glaring bitterly at the darkened room beyond the neon-blue haze of her prison. Feline claws tapped the floor with every step, a long tawny-orange tail swished behind her with each move. She'd had sight of no one since the heavy blast doors had been magnetically sealed at the start of her journey. She occasionally heard the sounds of her guards, nasty brutes with military-issue, handheld plasma cannons, pacing about outside or changing shifts with others, but other than that and the hum of the forcefield, no sound had come to her ears for megacycles, possibly even for solar cycles.

Slag it all! If anything, their bosses should be the ones in this cage, not me! The thought exploded within her mind with the force of a plasma bullet. How could I have lost?! She growled as she sank down on all four paws.

It had seemed so easy, all those days ago. Her fleet had taken the shipyards at Epsilion X. It was a strategic target for the Plebicons, the resistance forces against the Aristocons, the elite Maximals who had seized control of the corrupt "Council of the People" and had been squeezing the lower classes for years until the people had had enough and had taken up arms against them. The Plebicons, as they were commonly called, had seized ships and had challenged the Space Navy as the revolt had spread across Transformer space. Some worlds had joined or fallen to the Plebicons, others were loyal to the current government, ruled by the Aristocons.

The ocelot growled lowly. Epsilion X had remained loyal to the Aristocons. Their mistake. The shipyards of Epsilion X helped the Aristocons maintain their dominance in space and would prove vital to the Plebicon cause, so she had been sent to take them, for the good of the people. Unfortunately, the Epsilion X Defense Force had proven more capable than anyone had thought and had stalled her force until an Aristocon fleet had shown up. Even the new weapons she'd been outfitted with had failed her and her ship had been captured, along with others, during the general retreat.

Now she was here, in this...cage. She bared her teeth at the cage and prowled restlessly. She'd been stasis-cuffed, hauled in shame back to Cybertron, and placed on "trial" by the very criminals she fought against, then sentenced to the pit that was Omicron. If those fragging metalheads think they're going to keep me-keep the Movement--down, they're sorely mistaken! No lousy Aristocon is going to stop Optima Primal or the Plebicon Movement!

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"Exile, confirm landing code and coordinates now." The smooth, disembodied voice of the security officer was a relief to Captain Veximus, who immediately had the ship's helmsbot transmit the data. After a tense few seconds the code and coordinates were verified and the ship was given clearance. The Exile joined the flow of colony-bound traffic, its' hulking escorts following along like shadows. Within a decacycle the Exile was coasting past the multiple security forcefields to a landing on the Omicron arrival pad, a plain, white-paneled hall carved into the asteroid itself. The escorts landed around it and before the opening hatch was even opened the pad was surrounded by over three dozen guards in the blue cloaks of Omicron Security, packing laser and plasma cannons, as well as stasis nets. They were joined by Aristocon soldiers from the escort ships, making the Exile's security detail look small by comparison. Captain Veximus felt that shiver in his spark again as he looked out over the sea of security, and he wasn't even the prisoner! He couldn't imagine how that Plebicon general had to feel right now.

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"You! Up!" The voice came from the bright light that had temporarily blinded Optima Primal's optics. The guard-bots had clomped into her chamber, an orangutan and a giraffe, both in their transformed states and pointing their plasma cannons at her. She heard the infernal hum of the forcefield stop.

Now! Internal servos whirring, Optima sprang to the left, into the shadows. No time to transform, she'd have to take them out quick in beast mode. The surprised gasps of the guards lasted just a few nanocycles...just long enough. Optima was airborne, pouncing like the wildcat her beast form was. The orangutan had time enough to widen his optics before Optima was on him, her claws ripping into his torso and her fangs tearing gears and circuits from his shoulder. Her dark-ringed tail swept up, knocking the arm of the giraffe-bot and sending his panicked reaction shot wild into the corner. Ignoring the yells of the orangutan, Optima braced herself on his chest and sprang. The giraffe-bot raised his plasma cannon but there was no time for him. Optima's fangs were in his throat, mangling his vocals while her hind-claws ripped open his chest-plate. The security officer stumbled back to the wall, firing wildly. Chunks of reinforced steel plating fell from the blasts and the forcefield platform spluttered and released great arcs of energy as the shots went through it. Ripping out the giraffe's vocal circuits, Optima leapt away, her claws scoring the other guard's face in passing as she grabbed his plasma cannon in her mouth and darted out into the hall...

...only to run up short against a wall of approaching military guards. Skidding to a halt, her claws tearing grooves in the smooth gray metal plating, she turned back the other way and bolted. The surprised shouts turned into the thrum of laser blasts and the whine of plasma bullets before a roar cut them off. "Fools! We need her alive!!" Optima paid little attention, dropping the cannon and concentrating on the warm place within where her spark and her brain met, the place from which her beast form was tamed and her inner self came out.

"I am...aaahhh!" She screamed as she felt a sharp prick in her upper thigh. Her circuits scrambled as the energon pulse shot through her. Her spark went numb instantly as the stasis dart's charge raced through her ocelot form, causing her graceful run to end as she crashed to the ground in an ungainly heap. Panting, helpless, she could only watch as the stasis nets came down over her and all became blackness.