Risk swung down and landed lightly in a crouch on the balcony of the top floor office. As he stood, his auditory sensors picked up the hum of weapons charging. He sighed. "You really need those? I'm not here on a job." He directed the comment at the large chair facing away from the glass doors.
The chair turned away from the desk, revealing a large matte-black Predacon sitting with his fingers steepled. "My message did not request a meeting, assassin. I don't like surprises." His deep voice was calm and even.
"Oh, come on. As if you were actually surprised." Risk's targeting eye zeroed in on the two guards hidden in the room who had him in their gun sights. "Mind telling the bodyguards to slag off? I came here to talk."
"Really." Chronos pressed a button, and the glass doors slid open, creating reflections against Chronos' dark red accents as they moved. "Don't think for a moment that I will even discuss raising the fee for this job."
Risk stepped inside. "That's not what I'm here about. This is personal." He glared in the direction of the hidden guards. "Would you get them out of here?"
Chronos regarded Risk carefully for another moment, then turned to the guards. "As you were, gentlemen." The guards abruptly headed for the door.
Risk waited for the door to close again before speaking. "And don't record this."
"I don't take orders, assassin." Chronos' tone was steady and authoritative. "State your business, or leave."
Risk sat down on Chronos' desk, shoving datapads aside. "So…do you keep records and information about the people who work for you?"
"And why do you ask?"
"Just wondering. I mean, you must, right?"
An impatient sigh. "I would appreciate hearing your point. Business hours are over now, and I have better things to do."
"Fine. I want to know if you know anything about me." Risk picked up a datapad, looking it over.
Chronos narrowed his eyes, annoyed. "In what respect? Besides that you are an assassin with as little respect for your employers as you have manners?" He snatched the datapad from Risk's hands and put it in a desk drawer with the rest.
Risk hopped off the desk. "Hey, I've got respect for the creds you pay me. I don't know what else you expect when you try to have me offlined the first time I work for you."
Chronos sighed. "Purely business, assassin. You know I appreciate the work you do for me now."
"Yeah, I know you do. I'm here to find out if you appreciate me so much that maybe you wanted to learn a little more about me. And then maybe, I don't know, share what you've learned."
Chronos smirked and shook his head slowly. "And what makes you think I would care enough about you to bother? You perform the occasional task for me. That is as far as it goes. I neither know nor want to know about you."
"You sure? I thought you crime boss types liked to know everything about everyone."
"I assure you, I have no need for such information about you."
"What, I don't rate?"
"Not particularly. You are just one of a great many outside sources who occasionally contribute to my business. Perhaps you're not quite as important as you think you are."
Risk scowled. "I could be real important if I ever felt like it." He gave Chronos a pointed look.
Chronos simply raised an eyebrow. "Are you threatening me?"
The two stared each other down for a long moment before Risk finally spoke. "Nah, all your job info is safe with me. I'm no squealer."
"Good. Now I believe you have a job to do?"
"Right. Sure." Risk stepped out the open glass doors and onto the balcony. His proximity sensor suddenly beeped, but before he could react Risk was on the ground with a large foot on his head.
"That was your one chance, assassin." Chronos' voice was as smooth and calm as ever. "Any attempt to threaten me like that again and I will see you rent limb from limb."
Risk tried to move, but the only result was a none-too-comforting creaking of the gears in his neck. "Get off me," he growled, his voice muffled against the floor. "Get off…"
Chronos ignored him. "You perform the assignments, and the specified amount of credits will be transferred to your account. That is the full nature of our relationship. I would not appreciate seeing you here again. Do we have an understanding?"
Risk grunted an acknowledgement, and in an instant the foot was gone. By the time Risk had pushed himself back up on his hands and knees, Chronos was already back inside the office, and thick metal shutters were closing over the glass doors. Risk picked himself up and rubbed his neck indignantly, feeling the gears complain slightly as he moved his head. He scowled at the metal shutters for a moment, then gave them a hard punch before turning and jumping off the balcony into his waiting jet.
*
***Two stellar cycles ago: Two hundred eighteen days After Escape. Mission two-one-zero-three***
I can see why this Maximal is annoying people. Slag, it would annoy me if he was poking into my business like that. Maybe I'd want him offlined too. Some people just seem to deserve it. I mean, I know lots of things. You can't be in this business and not pick up information here and there. I know about a Maximal project called "Protoform X", and I also know of a couple of other things that the TriPredacus Council themselves are funding. But you don't catch me trying to give up what I know, for money or not. I stick to my own business.
I read over the specifics of the job. The contact's name is Vector, which something in me finds amusing. It's obviously a made-up name, but I always think it's funny what some bots will come up with. I've had more than one contact name himself as some famous Decepticon, like Soundwave or even Megatron. I'll never get over the nerve of some people.
But this one makes me laugh even more, because I've just figured something out. I know certain jobs have been coming from someone pretty high up in the Maximal government—like from Maximal High Command—and I'm sure now that General Sigma is behind them.
Sigma. Vector. Vector Sigma.
It's so easy it makes me laugh. I've heard that that guy has an ego, but this is pretty ridiculous. Naming yourself after the legendary entity that gave Transformers life and intelligence? Come on. But whatever—he pays well. After this job I should be able to afford that jet I've been wanting.
This Maximal he wants me to take out is an official named Flare. Apparently he somehow looked into some private files and he'll probably try to give the information to the press. Primus, I hate squealers. Well, there'll be one less after tonight.
"Send affirmative reply to contact Vector. Mission will proceed tonight."
"Acknowledged."
I love this new computer. I'm direct-linked to it now, and I fit myself with a download connection so that I don't have to keep all the information for all the jobs in my head at once. A good thing, too, because my upgraded targeting software doesn't leave me a lot of hard drive space for extras like that. I simply can't keep all the records in my head any more.
"Download mission specs and target area maps."
"Acknowledged."
I absorb the download, shifting the files around in my internal computer to make them easily accessible. The maps and target description are left on top of the queue, and I push the motive for the job to the back.
This guy should be pretty easy to get. As the work day finishes, I position myself on a nearby rooftop and watch him as he leaves his building and joins the crowds of bots on the sidewalks heading home. If he follows his regular schedule, he should go and line up at the nearest public train stop, making himself a perfect target.
But he doesn't. Instead he turns into a small café about half a block from the train stop. I curse to myself. I wanted to just get this job over with. Stupid squealer. Now I have to wait.
Or maybe I don't. This café has a terrace out back. Maybe he'll go there. It means I'll have to change position, but that's no big deal. Avoiding air traffic, I fire lines across back alleyways and jump from building to building until I'm on top of one overlooking the terrace. Sure enough, there's the target, sitting at a table.
But he's not alone.
I climb down from the roof and onto the fire escape, carefully dropping from level to level. I wonder who that bot is that has just come up to him. They shake hands and the other bot sits down at the table. Maybe this is the guy he's gonna give information to! Slaggin' squealer. I should drop them both. The contact—Vector or Sigma or whoever—will probably thank me.
Once I'm in perfect position, I pull out my gun and take aim, zeroing in on Flare. He and the other bot are talking over an energon drink. I suddenly find myself very curious as to what they're talking about. Probably that secret information. I move down a couple more levels, increasing the range on my auditory sensors, and take aim at the other bot's blue helmet, then at Flare's head. They're both gonna get it—it's just a matter of who I drop first.
"…wonderful, Optimus! Isn't that the ship you were hoping for? Deep space exploration, right?"
"Yes, the Axalon. Skeleton crew for the first part of the journey, and the rest to be woken from stasis pods once we land somewhere."
What? Come on, squealer. I know this isn't what you met this guy to talk about. Just spill it, already.
"Nervous at all? I know this is your first command."
"No." The bot pauses, then smiles. "Well…maybe a little. But I did manage to convince an old friend to join me on the mission. I'm sure everything will go smoothly."
My finger squeezes the trigger slightly. Just say it! I know that's why you're here! Hm…maybe it's a code. Maybe he's passing the information in another way. I watch their hands carefully for any sign of that, and switch on my transmission detector.
"When do you leave?"
"In twelve days. I guess you'll have to tell the kids I won't be around as much. How are they, by the way? And Cyan?"
"They're doing just great. Zia starts school again in a few days. They'll miss you, Optimus."
"Tell them I'll miss them as well." The bot sighs. "I'm sorry, Flare, but I have to be going. I'm meeting the other two crew members for the first time tonight."
"Of course. We'll do this again before you leave?"
"Absolutely." He gets up, and my gun follows him as he shakes hands with Flare again. "Things might be a little tight between now and departure, but I'll be sure to make room for an old friend."
What? That's it? No information transfer at all? This guy is supposed to be a squealer! That's what the contact said! I should have been able to take them both out!
I suddenly realize how close I am to firing on this Optimus, and carefully ease my finger off the trigger for a moment.
Holy slag, what's wrong with me?
I'm supposed to take out Flare. That's all. The contact never mentioned taking out anyone he might have talked to, but suddenly I'm—
Focus. Gotta focus. I have a job to do, here.
The other bot is walking away, leaving Flare alone at the table to finish his drink. I take careful aim at Flare's head, and drop him with one easy shot. He slumps over at his table.
At that moment the other bot turns back to look at Flare. "Oh, and tell…" His optics widen and he trails off. "Flare? Flare!"
I holster my gun, finding myself still watching as the bot runs back to the table and lifts Flare back up in his seat, shaking him. "Flare! Can you hear me? Primus…somebody get help!"
It should be obvious that it's too late for that. Flare was offline before he hit the table. I made sure of it. Still, serving bots and other customers either rush towards the scene or away from it, and I duck down, quickly moving away as several pairs of optics start scanning the area.
"Flare! No…" Optimus is roaring with grief now. "Who did this? Who did this?!"
I realize that my auditory sensors are still on hyper-sensitivity, and I switch that off as I hurry away from the scene, transforming to speed away once I have the space to do so. The pieces of their conversation are still playing in my head. That Optimus should consider himself lucky. He has no idea how close he came to being offlined too.
I screech to a stop in a dark alley and transform back to robot mode, playing and replaying what just happened over and over. What was I doing? What was I thinking? Wanting to take out someone else besides the target? I never do that! Non-target casualties are messy and unnecessary! It was just an innocent conversation! What am I, paranoid? Why'd I need to think that it wasn't?
Because it had reminded me of something.
Deadline and his friend, talking and laughing in the bar. But that was personal! This isn't.
At least, it's not supposed to be. But I know…I know it is. It always is. Every one of them that I've killed since then. I can't seem to kill Deadline and Verge enough. They still won't leave me alone.
This has to stop. I can't keep doing this. Well, that's it—I'm gonna make sure nothing feels personal again. If I hadn't been told why the contact wanted Flare dead…well, from now on, I don't want to know anything about the target. I'm gonna be a true professional.
It makes me wonder, though…why did that Vector guy think I needed to know that Flare had information?
No, no. Not Flare. A target, that's all he was. A nameless target.
But the contact does have a name, and I know I'm right about who he is. I'd like to let him know that he's not as clever as he thinks he is. Maybe I'll give him that message when I get home.
I'm just about to transform again and head off when I hear a voice cackle.
"Gonna stand there all day, mate?" The accent is pretty thick, and the voice laughs again. It's almost like whoever this is can't seem to stop laughing. "Been watchin' you a while. I coulda taken you out cycles ago, and you wouldn't even have noticed. But what fun would that have been?" More laughter.
"Who in the Inferno are you?" My gun is instantly drawn. I'm just annoyed enough right now that maybe I'd prefer to stay and fight instead of escaping. After all, I'm sure I can leave whoever this is in the dust whenever I feel like it. Sure doesn't sound like a cop or anything, though.
"Aw, you don't know me? I know you, mate. You've got a big ol' bounty on your head, and I want it."
Another hunter. I groan inside. "Well, you're not gonna get it." I look around, my targeting eye scanning. But my scanners aren't picking up any visual at all. There does seem to be a faint signature—a Maximal one—but it's hard to track. The voice is also echoing, bouncing off the walls of the buildings. I can't quite place its origin.
"No? I always get me mark, just like you always get yours. But 'ere, lemme properly introduce meself." I follow the sound of clanking on the nearby fire escape, and then something invisible drops to the ground about fifty meters away. I spin towards the sound, but still see nothing.
The voice giggles again. "You still don't see me, do ya? Time for an upgrade on that optic, I think." A dark blue and grey bot suddenly shimmers into view, standing with arms folded before taking a sweeping bow. "Name's Crash. Thought you might wanna know the name of the bot who's gonna take you in."
"Well, since you seem to already know me, I guess I don't have to introduce myself. So we don't have to waste any more time."
"Nope." Crash grins. "Let's get right to it, then." He clenches his fists, and a long blade suddenly snaps out from the back of each wrist. He brandishes those, swinging them expertly as he jumps up and slices through the railing of the lowest fire escape balcony.
Right. Blades. Impressive-looking, but you have to get close enough to use them. I fire on him, but somehow he manages to dodge away at the last moment so that the shot isn't fatal. Still, it leaves a smoking hole in his side.
"You like that? That was a warning shot," I call to him.
Crash just giggles in return. "Oh, is that what you call it? I'd call it a miss." He looks down at the damage, and my optics follow his gaze. The damage is healing itself at a rate that I've never seen before.
With the damage nearly repaired, he looks back up at me. "Gettin' an idea of who you're up against yet, mate?"
"How…" I start to back away, gun still ready.
"Oh, the 'how' ain't important. What's important is that I'm gonna bring you in. Do you know how many bots are lookin' for you? I just need to find the highest bidder, and I'll be set for life."
"You won't be the first bot who's tried—and failed." I fire again, but Crash is quick. The shot goes harmlessly past him to impact a dumpster.
"Ain't so great when the target sees you comin', are ya, mate?" He suddenly rushes at me, blades swinging.
"Get slagged!" I curse at him, firing again as I back away. The shot hits him, but he only laughs and keeps coming. This guy is definitely making me nervous.
He lunges at me, but I dodge away. Still, one of his blades manages to catch the end of my gun, and slices it right off.
"Slag," I mutter. Well, enough of this. I don't feel like dealing with this guy up close any more. Let the glitched scrapheap chase me. We'll see what he's got.
I holster the gun and transform, taking off at full speed. He tries to catch me as I go past, but I swerve around him.
"Oh, don't think you're gettin' away so easy, mate!" He suddenly disappears from my scanners again, leaving behind only that faint Maximal trace signature. He opens a channel, laughing crazily into it.
He's still after me as I veer through the streets and alleys. Every time I close the channel, he just manages to open another one. "Not gettin' away this time! I've hunted you before, but you always manage to run away somehow. But you know what I did this time?"
"Shut up!" I scream into the channel, closing it.
Another channel opens again an instant later. "You think I was just standin' around watchin' you back there? Oh, no, mate, I was makin' real good use of my time! Just in case you tried to disappear again, I made a copy of your energy signature." Crash laughs again. "You really should pay more attention when you're out in the open."
He got a copy of my energy signature? Oh, slag…if that's true, I'm in trouble. He'll be able to track me as long as I'm outside my base and within his range.
So I gotta get out of his range.
I change tactics, leading him into a deserted sector. He thinks he's invisible with that personal cloaking device? Well, I can still "see" his trace signature. I scan for that and double back, following it as he tries to follow me. When I've almost got him, I transform and pull my other gun from subspace, zeroing in on the energy signature as I run. Until it suddenly stops.
"What?" I stop too, looking and scanning all around. How could the signature have just disappeared? Now all I'm getting is a faint Predacon signature, which obviously can't be his. There must be a street bot hiding around here or something. So where'd Crash go?
The Predacon signature is slowly coming closer, and I keep my eye out for the street bot to appear while still searching for Crash on my scanners. Then suddenly the Pred signature moves really fast. Before I can make sense of it, something slices across my back and I drop to the ground with a cry of pain.
"Too easy," Crash sneers as he shimmers back into view.
Diagnostic reports from my damaged back are covering half my vision, but my scanner is telling me that his energy signature is now completely Predacon. He might have been able to fool my scanner before, when it was just a faint trace signature, but this… "But…the energy signature…that's impossible!" I get up slowly, sparks flying from the damage.
He pushes me back down. "Not for me, mate. Wanna see a trick?" He pauses, and the signature on my scanner switches back to Maximal.
I can't help simply shaking my head in disbelief. "You can't just switch back and forth! The programming…!"
Crash laughs again, then suddenly sobers. "I'm master of me own programming." He looks down at me. "Are you?" More cackling.
This is bad. I have to get out of here. I start to get up again, and Crash immediately moves to push me back down. I dodge away this time, but his blade still cuts into my gun arm. I can't help but give another yelp of pain, but I fire anyway.
This time the shot goes through his torso, leaving a large hole right through him. He manages to lunge at me anyway, slicing my gun in half with one of his wrist blades before collapsing.
I back away a bit, leaving him unconscious and leaking mech fluid onto the ground. Both my guns are ruined now, so I can't finish him off like that. Instead I tentatively walk towards him and nudge him. He's still non-functional, so I take his arm, twist it around, and plunge his own blade into his head.
That should do it. I limp away and transform with some effort, still sparking from my own damage. My speed isn't quite what it was before as I head for base. Primus, that guy was a freak. I've never seen self-repairs that work so fast, and I've never heard of anyone being able to switch their signature back and forth like that. No wonder he acted so glitched. I mean, what does all that tampering do to a bot?
A voice appears in my comm, making me startle so badly that I nearly skid. The voice is weak and getting fainter as I drive out of range, but it's unmistakably him. "Run, run away. Still got…your energy signature…mate."
And then the comm goes dead. I pour on as much speed as I can to get back to my base, shaken.
*
The job for Chronos completed, Risk returned to his base. He checked the time, noting that the job had taken him under a megacycle to accomplish. Once he had sent the customary "mission complete" message to Chronos, he purged the mission specs from his personal computer and filed the whole thing under "Too Easy". His dissatisfaction in the events of that evening was plainly written across his face as he flopped down on his bed, muttering to himself.
"Command?"
"Television."
The computer complied, choosing a random station that was airing a news broadcast. The reporter voice-over overlaid the scene of a smoldering building in an industrial sector, with a banner that read "Earlier Tonight" running across the bottom of the screen. "…flames were finally extinguished. The explosion that occurred earlier this evening in Materials Factory Forty-two destroyed more than half the building, causing many deaths among the Predacon workers. Rescuers are still combing the wreckage, but there are already nine confirmed offline." The camera panned the scene, coming to rest on the body of one Predacon that had been pulled from the building. His optics were dark, his chest was a gaping cavity, and what was left of the lower half of his body was a mangled mess.
Risk's optics widened, and he got up and moved to the chair in front of the screen for a closer look. "Grid…?" He stared at the body of the young Predacon, his gaze remaining riveted to the screen even as the camera moved to show something else. "What the slag were you doing there?"
The sound of a voice calling out in the background drew the camera's attention, and it focused on a Predacon survivor being pulled from the debris. His entire left shoulder had been crushed, and the rest of him was blackened. "The inspector was here only a day ago!" he wailed. "He said everything was up to code, but Grid knew…" The poor bot trailed off as the rescue workers quickly put him in repair mode and carried him away.
The desk reporter's voice-over continued. "The Inspection Office has released a statement affirming that the factory was indeed inspected yesterday, and all equipment was found to adhere to safety codes. Worker error is being investigated as a possible cause for the explosion. Fortunately, the blast occurred during the night shift, when only a skeleton crew of Predacon line workers were in the facility, otherwise the tragedy could have been far worse."
"Yeah, like you care," Risk muttered. "It could have been so much worse if the Maximal bosses had actually been there, you mean. Then you might care." Grid's body was still visible in the background of the shot, and Risk continued to stare at it, shaking his head. "What were you doing there? Thought you went to school and were headed for a good job. A slaggin' drone could do that work."
When the news finally switched to another topic, Risk had the computer switch off the television. He slumped down and sat in silence for a few moments, brooding. "So who was right, huh?" he said suddenly. "Which one of us is still here?" It almost seemed as if sadness flickered on his expression for an instant, but that was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
"I've got other things to worry about," he finally said, straightening up in the chair.
"Command?"
"It wasn't Chronos who gave Damask the info about LostBot."
"Command?"
"I got rid of the files from LostBot stellar cycles ago! Nobody should have had access to them! Nobody should know!" Risk seethed silently for a moment, trying to calm down. "Computer, access LostBot. I want to know if there's anything left there about me that anyone could have gotten a hold of."
"Acknowledged. Searching…"
Risk waited impatiently as the computer hacked the old databases. "I took those files out myself," he grumbled to himself.
The computer beeped. "Search complete. Files not found."
"Like it should be." Risk paused. "Has anyone tried to access them?"
"Searching…Access attempt confirmed."
"Who? When?" Risk demanded.
"Accessed sixty-four days ago."
"Yeah, I'll bet that was Damask. Did he get anything?"
"Negative. LostBot private files moved three stellar cycles ago."
"What? Moved? Don't you mean deleted? I got rid of my file nearly four stellar cycles ago."
"Negative. LostBot private files moved three stellar cycles ago."
"Slag, you mean there were more?" Risk began pacing. "Can you track where they went?"
"Processing…negative."
Risk groaned. "Any other access attempts?"
"Accessed three hundred seventy three days ago. Accessed five hundred eight days ago."
"Those records were supposed to be closed! Who's been doing this?"
"Unable to track."
"I'll find them," Risk growled. "Whoever's been doing this is gonna learn to stay out of my business. Computer, I'm going out."
"Acknowledged."
Risk angrily made his way out of his base. Any movement was caught by his harsh glare as he stalked down the darkened street, fists clenched. The small Predacons peeked out from their hiding places, but prudently stayed out of the way of his obviously black mood. Once inside his jet, Risk set a course and sat back to brood. After a few moments he accessed a file in his personal computer, one that he had not looked at in a very long time.
"LostBot: Predacon one-one-nine-seven-two," the file stated inside Risk's head as he stared at the image of his childhood self superimposed on the left corner of his vision. "Activation date: Sixteen Deci, 523 ADU, taken from child's internal systems. Whether child has been orphaned or simply abandoned is unknown."
"Yeah, like most of us. Anyone care to try and find out? Course not. Not that it matters."
The file continued. "Child demonstrates aggressive and reckless behaviour, and resistance to authority. Punishment appears useless as a deterrent to such behaviour." The file went on to list various instances where those traits had particularly stood out, and Risk skipped through them.
"Child instigated fight, with injuries…child found in possession of exceedingly violent holo-comics, protested their confiscation…no change despite punishment… child confined to school and bunk for extreme resistance to adult authority…no change despite attempts to model appropriate behaviour…child committed to repair unit for two days for observation after jumping off orphanage roof for unclear reasons…"
"He dared me," Risk smirked. He continued skimming the file, which cited almost innumerable accounts of bullying and fighting, but his smirk disappeared when the topic changed.
"…abrupt shift in child's behaviour. Child has demonstrated defensive aggression in regards to LostBot Maximal one-two-zero-five-eight…"
The jet beeped that it was nearing its destination, interrupting the file and bringing Risk's attention back to the outside world. He closed the file and sent it to the very back of his memory banks once more, then jumped out of the jet and ordered it back to a more secure location to wait for his call. Risk hopped a few rooftops in the mostly abandoned old neighbourhood, then landed lightly on the street in front of a familiar building.
The derelict building that was once LostBot orphanage loomed in front of him.
*
***Two stellar cycles ago: Two hundred twenty-seven days after escape***
I've finally found him. I've been stalking him for days now, and I'm finally gonna get my chance.
I watch him as he approaches the facility. This doesn't look like an "official" visit. Not only is it after-hours, but he only has two bots with him. I know he usually travels with an entourage worthy of his rank.
The guards at the gate clear him for entry, and I focus on finding my own way in. This place has more security than an innocent transport loading facility. Definitely gotta be more to it, especially if he's here. At night. With no fuss. Because if there's anything this guy seems to love, it's feeding his ego.
I take careful note of the guards' movements and make my way to the roof of the two-storey building, then let myself down on a line to peer through a small vent just below the roof. My targeting eye scanner enhances my view of the building's interior, which appears to be a mostly empty loading area.
Yeah, there he is. One of the bots who works there steps forward to greet him and salute. "Welcome to Infinity Enterprises Eight-fourteen, General Sigma, sir. What can we do for you?"
Sigma replies with a short nod. "It's time for an update on your progress, doctor." He almost dwarfs the bot standing in front of him, being much taller and wider. I can tell that the bot is nervous in his presence. I'll bet most bots would be. Not me, though. All those medals and stripes are just ornaments to me.
"Of course, sir. Would you like to tour the facility?"
Sigma nods again, and the bot politely gestures for him to follow. They start across the large open area, heading for a door on the far wall. Slaggit, I guess I'm gonna have to lose him for a while.
"Is the Corrostop research progressing on schedule?"
The doctor looks pained. "We've had a few minor setbacks, sir, but I assure you, we are very close. Unfortunately, after exhaustive research, we have found it to be true that no more of the necessary ingredient "X" exists in the known galaxy. But we truly believe that with the right methods and combinations, we can synthesize it."
"Your tests so far have been unsuccessful."
Again the doctor winces. "Yes, sir. We thought we almost had it once, but the compound broke down after a few megacycles. The rust then spread even more rapidly, and the subject decayed to the point of death within the megacycle."
"And your supply of the germ?"
The doctor almost smiles. "Still plentiful. It multiplies so quickly when unfrozen that it is a very simple matter to ensure that we have all we need. And it is carefully contained, especially when in use. Used subjects are disposed of properly. There have been no accidents."
Sigma simply nods again as they all step through the door and into an elevator, which descends. Hm, sub-levels. I'll bet this place is a lot bigger than it looks.
So these guys are researching rust? I thought our alloys were immune to rust. Even the oldest street bots I've seen have nothing more than wear and tear and a little tarnish. But that guy said this rust could kill a "subject" in under a megacycle.
Primus, if the rest of the Maximals only knew what was going on right under their noses! But what do I care. This is none of my business. I'm just here for Sigma.
Over the next couple of megacycles I carefully and quietly cut around the vent to make a hole just large enough for me to fit through. There are fewer guards inside this loading area than outside, and I'd prefer my meeting with Sigma to not be so limited by their scheduled security sweeps.
Once that's done, I wait just outside my new window for Sigma to return. Considering what they're doing here, the near-lack of security is almost ridiculous. Must be all part of the cover. After all, this is supposed to look like an ordinary transport loading facility. Security is probably really tight on the inside. Good thing I didn't try to go in…last thing I want is to get mixed up in all this slag.
It's another twenty cycles before the elevator returns to the ground level and Sigma and the doctor step out, minus Sigma's escorts.
"I am quite satisfied, doctor," Sigma is saying. "I will see that your funding needs are reexamined by the budgeting department."
"Thank you, General, sir," the doctor simpers, and I can't help rolling my eyes and mockingly mouthing the words back. I can't stand watching bots fall over themselves to please someone just because they supposedly have authority. "Is there anything else we can do for you tonight while we wait for your inspectors to finish? Refreshments, perhaps? There is high-grade energon in the lounge…"
Nobody's looking this way. I take the opportunity to finally climb through the hole I've made and drop lightly onto a large crate, then duck down behind it.
"Very well. I'll wait here."
The doctor nods so deeply that it's almost a bow, and hurries off to the elevator again, leaving only two guards and Sigma in the loading area. I pull my gun and fire, quickly taking down both guards. Non-lethal shots, since they're not targets, but they'll be out for a good long time.
Sigma turns quickly when he hears the guards drop, but doesn't startle in the least. "Show yourself, now."
I step out from behind the crate, keeping my gun ready and not getting too close. Sigma has to be at least two-thirds of a meter taller than me, and he looks like he could break me in half with his bare hands.
Sigma makes no move towards any weapon of his own, simply glancing towards the two unconscious guards. "They never heard you coming. Perhaps being sent back to basic training will teach them to be more aware."
I shrug. "If they had heard me, they'd be dead."
"As will you, if I find our conversation...unsatisfactory." Panels on his right forearm open and slide back silently to reveal a small arm-mounted missile launcher. He doesn't raise the weapon towards me, but my gun is instantly aimed at his Spark.
"Not likely. I'd get to you first."
"So sure. That might be considered a weakness." He smiles and looks around the room, obviously pointing out that I can't see everything at once. I put my scanners on full, just in case.
I'm keeping a careful eye on his weapon. Is that supposed to intimidate me? He's gotta know that if it moves at all, I'll shoot. "I thought it's why you hire me. Because you know I'll get the job done—Vector." I can't help smirking as I say this.
His tone and expression don't change one bit. "As can many others."
No reaction at all? He doesn't even care that I know? "Not as well as me. If you really thought that, you wouldn't be paying so much to hire the best."
Sigma smirks. "There are always Predacons willing to risk their lives if the pay is high enough. You're as disposable as the rest."
I roll my eyes. "I'm pretty sure you don't believe that any more than I do."
"Oh? You're nothing more to me than a tool, boy."
Anger swells inside me. "Don't call me that."
Sigma just laughs. "Do not presume to give me orders, assassin. You're still free because I allow it."
"That's a load of slag. I haven't been caught because I'm good."
A smirk. "Of course."
"Yeah, so maybe you don't want to get on my bad side, because I know all about you."
Sigma chuckles. "And I know all about you. Perhaps you're not as good as you think you are."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Suddenly this isn't going quite the way I'd hoped any more.
He smiles a moment more, then goes back to business, ignoring the question. "Now that we've finished with the formalities, what is it you came to say? Surely you didn't go to all this trouble just to make empty threats."
Slaggit, I want to know what he meant just now! I keep my game face on, though, and simply shrug. "Just wanted to let you know that I know."
"That I am Vector? I'm sure a comm message would have done just as well."
I wanted to see your face, scraphead. "I just thought it was time for a face-to-face. You know, just so you really know who you're dealing with."
He raises an eyebrow, then chuckles. "Indeed." After a moment he looks over my head to the opening I'd made. "Looks like you were here for a while before deciding to introduce yourself. I assume that you overheard some things here that are clearly not your business."
"Yeah, enough."
Sigma still looks as calm as ever. "You realize that if you say a word about whatever you know, that I may have to resort to a contingency plan?"
"Oh, yeah? And what's that, you're gonna try and kill me?"
Sigma glances down at his weapon, which is a prime example of military hardware at its best. "There would be no 'try' about it."
Yeah, sure. "I thought everybody knew by now that I can't die."
"There are those who would be happy to test that theory—at length." Another smirk. "But then again, some bots already tried that, didn't they?"
My gun hand wavers, and I hope he didn't notice that. "I don't know what you're talking about." I try to replace the rising fear with anger, and my finger twitches on the trigger.
Sigma looks down his nose at me with a disdainful smirk. "I know what happened at the Assassins' Guild, boy. Reveal any of this information you've learned to anyone, and I will personally ensure that you never see to aim a gun again."
My finger twitches again as memories come surging back, and I barely realize what I'm doing before I've fired on him. Sigma easily deflects the round off his armoured gauntlet, and his missile launcher is instantly aimed at my head. "Pull that trigger again, and we'll find out if you really are immortal, or only think you are."
My gun is still aimed at him, for all the good that'll do. Slag, I'd need a missile launcher of my own to get through that military armour. I'm in trouble here. It wasn't supposed to come to this! Okay, calm. Stay calm.
"Well?"
It's taking some work to pull myself back together and push those memories back down. "That was just a warning. Next time I'll bring a bigger gun," I manage to say, trying to sound like I'm in complete control.
"There will be no next meeting, if you have a functioning processor in your head. However, our…relationship…need not dissolve. Keep working for me, keep what you know to yourself, and you will continue to be paid well for the jobs I give you. Of course, if you're no longer interested, I could give the jobs to some other assassin who would appreciate the work."
"Fine." Gotta get back in control of this situation. "Just one thing: I don't need to know why the target needs to be offlined. Just send me what's necessary to get the job done. I have no time for useless details like that."
Is that another smirk? "Agreed. I'm pleased that we have an understanding, Risk."
Primus, this guy makes me really uncomfortable. Time to go. "Yeah…sure." I back away from him towards the crate under the vent.
Sigma's optics continue to follow me, although he still hasn't moved. "Besides, you know that no one would believe you. After all, I am a respected Maximal military leader, and you are simply a Predacon killer."
"Yeah, whatever," I mutter as I hop up onto the crate and fire a line up to the vent.
Sigma calls up to me as I climb out the opening. "Remember what I've said, Risk. You know I have the power to carry out any threat."
It's obvious what threat he's talking about, and I feel a shudder pass through me as I jump down from the opening and sprint away, still avoiding the outside guards. I transform and take off for home.
He knows all about me? What's that supposed to mean? He's obviously known who I am for a long time now. I'm the guy who does his dirty work. What else is there to know?
And Primus, it sounds like he knows exactly what the Guild did to me. Slaggin' piece of scrap, threatening me like that! Would serve him right if he had to find some second-rate killer to get his jobs done. Still…he pays better creds than most. I've already placed my order through Solder for that jet I want, and I wouldn't have been able to afford it without the jobs Sigma's given me. And he's never tried to cheat me like Chronos sometimes does. Not like I'm gonna squeal on him. I don't care about all these glitched politics and the secrets those big corporations often have. So there's no real reason why I shouldn't keep working for him.
I'll just stay away from him. Really far away.
"Hello!" The sudden voice nearby makes me skid, and I sideswipe the wall of the building beside me, making a noisy shower of sparks and some pretty bad scratches down my side.
"Been talkin' to the General, I see!"
"Slag!" No, not now…I just want to get home!
Crash pulls up behind me in his vehicle mode. "I heard it all. So the competition at the Assassins' Guild was too much for you, eh, mate? I've heard what they do to little freelancing brats like you." He cackles.
I speed up again, hoping to leave him behind. I know my cycle mode has to be faster than his vehicle mode. "Leave me alone and stay out of my life!" Primus, does everybody know?
"Oh, I don't think so. You're so very interesting—and there's the little matter of that bounty that I want!" He transforms without slowing down and shoots.
I dodge, and end up putting myself right in the path of a net fired from a spring-load mechanism on his arm. The net catches around my front wheel and I lose control, transforming as I hit the ground hard. My momentum forces me to roll, which traps me even further in the net.
I can't help groaning—I'm gonna need some time in the CR-tank after this. I struggle in the net, trying to reach my weapons as Crash comes closer with that mad grin on his face.
"Gotcha!" Crash pops out one of his blades. "Easy! Did your little chat with the General scare you that much?" He comes to stand over me, putting away his gun as his other blade snaps out. "I can scare you much worse than that. What was that he said about your eyes?"
"No!" I struggle more fiercely, but I'm so tangled in the net that I can't reach my holster or my subspace pocket. My optics widen as Crash comes to stand over me.
"Let's see, seems this contractor wants you alive. Didn't say you had to be all in one piece, though." Crash laughs again as he reaches down to grab my face and hold it steady even as I try to thrash free. He raises his blade above my face. "I guess the only question is, which one should I do first?"
"Don't!" I can barely think through the panic. I can't move! I can't fight back! Primus, he's gonna blind me! Not again, not again…
Then something clicks inside me. My last resort. As Crash tightens his grip on my face, I give my computer the command.
The extra set of wiring comes to life, and electricity blasts through my superstructure in a deliberate short-circuit, ripping right through Crash's hand into his circuits. We both go rigid for what seems like forever, and then the surge blows him backwards off of me with energy still crackling around him, his optics dark and his hand burnt black and half-melted.
I stay there for a few moments to regain my senses. My vision is flickering, and excess energy from the surge is still bleeding off, making my joints twitch slightly. That sure wasn't comfortable for me, either—that's why it's a last resort. I'm gonna need more energon as soon as possible.
I carefully untangle my arms enough from the net to be able to use the spikes to cut the rest of it away, and can't help groaning as I get to my feet. As I look down at Crash, I can already see his incredible self-repair programs fixing his damaged hand. His optics flicker, and I know he'll be back online in less than a cycle. Primus, that surge was meant to cause a near-fatal overload…any other bot would be down for a day, at least. But he's gonna come right back online…
Hold me down again, go for my eyes again…
Okay, just get out of here. Just go. Just go.
I transform and take off at nearly my top speed. My sensors tell me just as I'm nearly out of range that Crash is getting back to his feet. A giggle crackles in my comm, followed by Crash's voice.
"That wasn't very nice at all, my target. But I'll see you again, oh yes…"
A loud burst of static comes from the comm before it goes completely silent, and it takes me a moment to realize that I just offlined it myself to shut him up. Primus, he's never gonna leave me alone…
*
Risk crept around the back of the building and quickly scaled the fence, dropping lightly to the ground. The meager and battered playground equipment of his youth had almost completely been stripped away, scavenged for bolts and scrap. Risk crossed the empty yard to the door to find that it had been carefully sealed years ago. After a quick scanner sweep of the area to make sure he was alone, Risk set to work stripping away the seal with a precision cutting laser. Even though the tool was top of the line, it took him several cycles to open the door.
Risk quickly entered and shut the door behind him. He looked down the hallway, the silence thick around him. Aside from the fact that his view of the hallway was now down his gun sight, it looked just as he remembered it. He started down towards the bunkrooms, sensors alert as always for any sound. As he pushed open the door of each bunkroom in turn, he half expected to find the rooms bustling with small Predacons playing, fighting, and generally making noise. But the ten metal beds bolted along the walls in each room were empty, and the rooms were as quiet as the rest of the forgotten building.
Risk shoved open the final door on the right, his gun steady and his body tense as if expecting resistance from the bare walls that greeted him. He held that pose for a moment, then relaxed and headed straight to the bunk on the far left, looking down at it a moment before dropping onto it. The metal groaned a little as he did so. "Always thought these things were cheap," he muttered.
Risk sat there for a long moment, unmoving. Then in a single swift motion he leaned down and looked under the bed. Finding only dust, he righted himself and got up, looking around almost guiltily. Risk glanced over to the bed right beside his, and for a moment it seemed as if there was a small bot crying there once again. Risk narrowed his eyes and suddenly gave the bed a hard kick, denting it in. "Your fault."
Taking a moment to calm himself, Risk glared at the walls, his targeting eye allowing him to see the room through frequencies and with resolutions he hadn't had as a child. Something in the upper corner caught his attention, his enhanced vision zeroing in on a lone electrical connection nearly lost in the shadows of the ceiling. "There wasn't a light there," Risk mused, searching through his memory files to confirm it. He switched to his scanning mode, letting his targeting eye strip away the layers of the wall to find that the electrical connection was paired with a data line. Optics narrowed, Risk traced the hidden wires out of the room and down the hall. The lines split off in several places to lead into other bunkrooms, the indoor playrooms, and even towards the back and the playground. Hidden plates were in every room, positioned to blend in and go unnoticed by any but specialized scanners. It was all too clear to him now what these sconces had once held.
Cameras.
"Watching us." Risk's quiet tone held barely contained anger. "Should've known." He traced the camera wiring back through the walls, expecting that their source would be the headmasters' suites. LostBot's main computers were in those rooms, their monitors dark and their keyboards dusty. Reminded of his original reason for being there, Risk strode to one of those, and was about to turn it on when he noticed that the dust on some of the keys had been disturbed. Much of it had resettled, suggesting that it had been a while since whoever had touched them had been there. Risk performed a quick scan of the keys, but the bot had left no residual energy signature traces, again reinforcing the amount of time that must have passed.
"Accessed three hundred seventy three days ago. Accessed five hundred eight days ago."
The building had long since been powered down, so Risk pulled a portable battery from subspace and plugged it into the computer. The system came online, error messages written in Maximal lettering highlighting the absence of several operating files. Risk growled to himself and accessed the remaining data. Parts of the record files remained, containing names of Predacons that Risk recognized from his childhood. However, he could not find any references to the few Maximals that had been there. All of their files had been moved, including that of the younger Maximal he'd known as a child. His own file was, of course, gone, still leaving no trail that he could follow. The latest update specified LostBot's closure date at nearly five stellar cycles ago, long before all the unknown accesses. There was no mention of the hidden cameras, no hint that they had even existed.
Risk sighed and shut down the computer, returning his battery to subspace. With the files only leading to a dead end, he turned his attention once again to the wiring and data lines. They stood out in his targeting eye's scan readings, silent proof that someone had been watching, all through his childhood.
But strangely enough, the hidden data lines did not connect to any of the computers in the headmasters' suites. Puzzled, Risk exited to the hallway to seek out the source. The wiring from all areas of the building converged, then ended abruptly within an ordinary section of the wall. No matter which direction Risk approached it from, there was no doorway that suggested a room there into which the camera feeds could lead. Even more oddly, a regular low-level scan refused to let him see through this wall as he had done with all the rest. Risk switched to a more powerful probe, its pulse bouncing back to create images behind his targeting optic. The walls were nearly half a meter thick, but the scan peeled the layers away until a small room finally appeared, a well-shielded space hidden in the center of LostBot. One that had no door to lead out into the orphanage.
"What by Primus…" Risk pulled his cutting laser from subspace and set to work on the wall. After nearly twenty cycles of frustratingly slow work, he brought out one of his bigger guns and fired straight into the wall. The blast opened a hole about a meter wide, hurling debris halfway down the hall. Risk let out one of his nastier curses, then picked himself back up and pounded the butt of his gun into the edges of the hole, slowly making it big enough for him to climb through.
The room was an observation center. There was no doubt about where the camera feeds led, as monitors covered most of one wall. There were three seats, and the same amount of computer terminals. Shaking his head in disbelief, Risk sat down in one of the chairs and turned on the computer with the help of his battery.
The screen lit up, but it was blank. Risk tried to hack in, but, unlike the records terminals, there was simply nothing to be found. This computer had been wiped clean, and Risk soon found that the other terminals had suffered the same. Risk growled as he disconnected his battery, barely stopping himself from pounding a fist into the keyboard.
"There's gotta be something!" He tried his scanner again, taking a careful look around the room. It appeared to be completely self-contained, the electric wiring within its walls showing that its power source was separate from the rest of LostBot. "They had to have gotten in here somehow." Still, there was no hint of a door—until he scanned the floor. The trapdoor wasn't hidden at all, and Risk mentally kicked himself for not having noticed it sooner. It was supposed to be motorized, and without power Risk was forced to dig his sword blade underneath it to pry it open until he could get his full strength behind it. The trapdoor groaned as he shoved it open, and Risk peered down the stairs into the unlit tunnel beyond.
Gun ready, Risk switched to night vision and cautiously made his way down the stairs. The tunnel was large enough to comfortably accommodate bots larger than himself, and Risk scanned it for any traces of sound or movement. Finding none, he started along, noting the presence of ceiling lights. Once again, his targeting optic zeroed in on their wiring, which connected to that of the observation room above and led down the tunnel. With all his sensors on high alert, Risk followed the tunnel.
It was a long way, but Risk opted to walk it in bot mode rather than transform. He moved silently, ever prepared, scanning around each corner before turning it. The tunnel went on for nearly two kilometers before finally ending with a single door. A tug on the handle proved that the door was locked, and there was no power to the keypad beside it. Risk took a connection from his targeting eye and attached it to the keypad, at once supplying it with minimal power and allowing him to see its inner workings. In less than a cycle, the lock clicked open.
Risk disconnected and readied his gun, then carefully opened the door. He met with no resistance; the space beyond was as empty as everywhere else he'd seen tonight. It was another observation room, though the monitors along the wall had been replaced with a large window. Risk stepped up to the window and barely managed to suppress a gasp.
The adjoining room held various computer terminals, monitors and equipment positioned around a table. Risk's optics went dark for a moment in a slow blink as he fought to regain a cold detachment from what he saw. "It's not the same," he murmured. "Different place. Not them." And yet he found himself opening the door to the lab and stepping through, dazedly moving to have a closer look at the equipment. There were circuit etchers, with their vacuum-sealed clean working boxes, and the specialized input boards and readouts of software analysis computers. Other tools were clustered around, all designed to have a very close look at whatever might have lain on that table.
Risk's attempt at stoicism wavered as he took all this in, his expression becoming increasingly disturbed until he caught sight of the attachments on the table. Restraints. And judging by the size and placement of them, they were meant for a bot the size of a child. Shaking his head in disbelief and horror, Risk slowly backed away from the table—until something was suddenly shoved against the back of his head. He startled and froze as a voice came from behind him.
"Welcome home, mate."
*