They were all quiet as the elevator moved slowly until it reached the top and opened up to reveal a figure.

"Hey," Drift said, sitting against the wall, holding a hand against his head. "How it go?" he asked.

"Drift, what are you doing?" Jazz asked, walking over to him and checking him over.

"I'm fine. It may suck to walk, but I can still do it," as he looked the group and frown. "Where's Ratchet?" Almost everyone went quiet at that and didn't want to mention it. Almost everyone.

"He was executed," Smokescreen told him, causing Drift optics to brighten. "Tough luck."

"What?" Drift questioned in disbelief. "But… he wouldn't murder anyone!" he yelled.

"Drift… it's a lot more complicated than you think. I'll explain it to you later," Jazz told him as he helped him get off the ground. "In private."

"Excuse me," they heard an annoying squeaky voice said and turned to see Monobear standing a bit away from them. "This is just a reminder. With the murder solve, all twenty-two personal items are available. I've already moved them to the auditorium. Pick them up at your leisure," he told them before walking off again.

"Alright," Smokescreen muttered before heading to the auditorium.

"My sword…," Bludgeon muttered before sprinting over to the auditorium, surprising Smokescreen who was passed by the brute before continuing to walk along.

"I'll head on over and make sure everyone gets what's theirs," Bumblebee told everyone before sprinting off.

"Jazz," Drift spoke up again, "why did Ratchet do it? Why he plant the bomb?"

"Drift, Ratchet didn't plant the bomb. That was Smokescreen," Jazz told him.

"Smokescreen?" the swordsman repeated. "But, he's still walking. He's still alive."

"Look, let me get you to the Med-bay and I'll explain everything," the spy comforted him as he led him away, leaving the rest behind.

"So… I'm heading to the auditorium," Perceptor told them. "I recommend we all go there together." Everyone voiced their agreement curtly and the group walked on over quietly, some of them glancing at Dead End suspiciously as they went along. He stayed at the back with his head down, not bothering to look at anybody. The group arrived at the auditorium and entered it to see Bludgeon admiring his sword, running his hand against the flat part of it, Smokescreen playing with a butterfly knife, and Bumblebee staring at a picture in his hand.

"It's perfect," Bludgeon murmured, his being the one with the old language on it. He admired it for a few more seconds before he proceeded to do a few practice swings as everyone came up on the stage to see the objects on separate stands that have a name on each one. They proceeded to grab their objects and took some time to look at it. Skywarp took his necklace and placed it on himself, the amethyst jewel shining brightly.

"Hmm, maybe a bit tacky, but I'll wear it," Skywarp muttered as he saw Knock Out grabbed something. He went on over and took a look at it.

"Is that an eyepatch?" Skywarp questioned, looking at it. Inded, it did appeared to be an eyepatch in a red-color.

"Breakdown made it. He lost his optic a while back from certain predator and needed something to replace it. I offered to make him a new optic, but he refused, saying he liked the eyepatch. He made this so that we could match. I naturally refused, because wearing it would be asymmetrical, but, now, I have no choice," Knock Out told him. "Ratchet was the only person around that I trust to install a new optic, but he's gone. An eyepatch is more fashionable than bandages."

"Yeah, he is gone," the warper agreed as he looked at the stand that belonged to Ratchet. There was the scalpel, never to be taken by its owner, but that didn't mean it was going to stay there forever. Skywarp grabbed it and turned to Knock Out. "Hey," he said and Knock Out turned to him. Skywarp outstretched his hand and offered it to him. "Here. You two knew each other more then me and him knew each other. I figured you would want this," he told him.

"The plague scalpel," Knock Out muttered, looking away. So Ratchet had told him about his survival of the plague. "I… don't feel comfortable taking something that belongs to him."

"Well, just consider it as passing it down the generations," Skywarp told him. "First it belonged to Downshift, then it belonged to Ratchet, and now it belongs to you." Knock Out continued to look away, thinking it through, before he gently took it away from him.

"Fine. I'll accept it. Someone has to hold on to it," Knock Out agreed, holding it on the handle. "For Ratchet."

Away from them, Swindle grabbed a datapad with the title 'How to Convince People to Like You.' He always had some problems with making friends, so this datapad was the first stepping-stone he needed to be his charismatic self. After that came the sales datapad and so much money being made. "So, this was the motive," he muttered.

"Yes, it was," Onslaught confirmed next to him, holding a datapad that dealt with strategies and tactics. It was a custom-made one, Onslaught taking his time to find and write down every strategy and tactic he could find and placed them in his book with examples in for each one. It took him many years to compose, but he did and he was proud to have all the information at hand.

"What was Blast Off's?" Swindle questioned him.

"Blast Off's was… hmm?" he wondered as he grabbed a datapad. "'How to get along and be empathetic to people you hate.' Huh?"

"Wait, really?" Swindle wondered as he grabbed the datapad and looked. "Wow… he was serious about working together with us."

"Indeed he was," Onslaught agreed as he placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let's head to your room. I rather not be away from you."

"Yeah, let's head out."

They headed out, passing by the Stunticons, with Wildrider engaging in damage control. "Hey, Deady, do you need to hug Sparky?" he questioned, holding out a plushie. This would be cute in most cases, but the plushie was of a sparkeater. It had its disgusting mouth open wide and was using the form of a turbofox. Yeah, being a plushy did make it kind of cute, but it was still creepy.

"No, now go away," Dead End ordered as he looked at his datapad with his only arm. It was a collection of private poems given to him by another poet that he admired. She was dying, so she gave it to him and he accepted it, not allowing it to be released to the public. It was a private gift and nothing more. No one was allowed to see it.

"Dead End," Wildrider said, adopting a serious tone, "don't push me away this time. You almost got us killed. Now, hug Sparky!" he told him, offering the plushie again. Dead End stared into the felt mouth of the creature, ready to eat sparks, with its body decayed. It wouldn't surprise Dead End if this was responsible for some of Wildrider's craziness. This was made to induce cute nightmares.

"Wildrider, I'm-"

"Hug him!"

"Um…," Dead End hesistated, not wanting to do anything with something that disgusting looking, but judging from the look Wildrider was giving him, he didn't have a choice. "Okay," he agreed, hooking the datapad to the side and grabbing the plushie. He looked at it, with its disgusting, unhinged jaw, back up to Wildrider giving him the most encouraging look possible, before bringing the plushie to him and hugged it closed to him.

"There, how do you feel?" Wildrider questioned him.

"Elated," Dead End deadpanned. "Now, will you help me to your room."

Away from them, Hoist was examining his personal item, a toolbox full of rusty, old tools, in a seat on the front row. They were his first set and he was forever grateful for it, but as time went on, better versions of the tools came out and he adapted to them. He had to make sure he had the best tools, so he had to discard these when their uses ran out. Still, he kept his first set, because it was a gift from his mentor. He couldn't exactly just toss it to the side.

"Those are really old," he heard someone said and looked up to see Smokescreen standing above him, still playing with his butterfly knife.

"What do you want, bastard?" Hoist questioned him, being extremely uncomfortable around him now.

"Oh, nothing much. Just hanging out with a friend," he told him.

"'Friend?' What makes you think I'm your friend anymore?" he questioned him.

"I don't. You voted me up to be executed. Obviously, you felt very strongly about my betrayal, which I understand. You're not a Swindle. You're just an average bot with average hopes and dreams. You're a very normal person," he answered his question.

"So why do you still call me a friend?" Hoist questioned suspiciously.

"Because we were friends before the whole bomb thing. Sorry about that," he told him in a blasé matter.

"'Sorry?' You manipulated me to injured as many people as possible! How can you I'll just forgive you just because you said sorry?" Hoist interrogated him, incensed.

"I'm not asking for forgiveness. It's foolish to do so," he answered honestly. "I still consider you a friend though. I mean, I already put this much effort in. Might as well not let it go to waste."

"Your reasoning is screwed up, you know that?" Hoist questioned him as he looked at the knife he kept flinging about. "Why is that knife your personal item?"

"Oh, this?" Smokescreen questioned, showing it off. "No reason, really. Killed some people with it. Keeps me entertain," he told him as he continued flinging it about and Hoist realized just how much Smokescreen didn't care about anyone. He didn't care about the knife in a sentimental matter, like Bludgeon and Drift did for their swords. It just because it's a weapon and it entertains him, however briefly.

"You disturb me, Smokescreen. Stay away," Hoist ordered.

"Alright, I understand," Smokescreen agreed, walking off. "Talk to you later, okay?"

"That's unlikely," Hoist muttered.

Away from them, sitting on the edge of the stage, was Bumblebee, looking at a photo of him along with Drift, Hound, Optimus Prime, and Crosshairs posing together at what looked like a forest. They had completed their campaign together on Devola to take out a Decepticon fuel depot. It was dangerous, but they accomplished it, and Bumblebee was the big hero that day. It was quite possibly his proudest moment.

"Interesting photo," he heard someone said and looked behind him to see Perceptor bent over and looking at the photo. "Where you take it at?"

"Devola. Ring-a-bell?" he told him.

"Ah, yes, I remember that," Perceptor nodded. "Quite impressive."

"Hmm-mmm. It was awesome," Bumblebee agreed as he looked at what was in Perceptor's hand, which was a datapad. "What's your datapad contained?"

"Many things. I use it to contain all my field notes in my experiment, scientific theories, some private entry. It's meant for me and me only," Perceptor told him.

"How many years' worth of knowledge is in that?" he questioned.

"Millions," Perceptor told him. "If this was destroyed, so much knowledge would be lost. While I'm sad that Ratchet and Blast Off are both dead, this is invaluable. I honestly couldn't take it if it was all destroyed."

"Wow… that's a lot of information," Bumblebee muttered.

"Indeed it is, but it's safe again and hopefully it'll stay that way," Perceptor said as he rose back up. "I'll go store this somewhere safe. See you later Bumblebee."

"Later."

Away from those two, Mixmaster was staring at Scavenger's personal item. "Are these all pictures?" he asked and indeed, it was. All of them had Scavenger in it, looking like he was hanging out with a different person in each one… or pretending to hang out with them, as some of them seem to barely register his presence or were glaring at him with a look of annoyance.

"Yeah… pictures of me and all my friends," he told him and Mixmaster had a tough time believing it, considering some of the facial expressions on them. Probably best just to add it to the ever-growing evidence that Scavenger has a drought of friends. The only ones who appeared to have some semblance of friendship with him the other Constructicons.

"It a wonderful collection," Mixmaster told him with attempted sincerity. In actuality, it was sad and desperate, but he didn't have the spark to tell him in the current state of the game.

"Yeah, it is," Scavenger agreed as he looked over at Mixmaster's item. It appeared to be a chunk of a green mineral held within a glass container. "What is that?"

"Element 113," Mixmaster told him.

"Element 113? Wait, isn't that, like, super-rare?" Scavenger questioned.

"Yes, it is. Extremely rare and extremely dangerous. Best not to take it out of the container," Mixmaster advised him.

"Right," Scavenger nodded. "Don't let anyone near it."

"Yes, correct," Mixmaster nodded.

"Sooooo… wanna hang out?" Scavenger asked him.

"Sure, just let me store this somewhere safe and we'll go wherever you want," Mixmaster agreed. Considering how things were, he had to make sure Scavenger was safe.

"That's insane!" Drift yelled at Jazz back at the Med-Bay after he explained what happened at the trial and how Smokescreen and Dead End were responsible for the events of the murder with Ratchet as the unfortunate scapegoat. "How could Monobear consider Ratchet a murderer in that scenario? It was all Dead End's fault."

"I don't agree with the outcome either, but according to the rules of this place, Ratchet is the murderer in this case," Jazz told him. "We had no choice but to vote him up in order to save everyone else."

"You actually voted him up?" he asked, his voice breaking.

"Yes, we did. Ratchet was the one to figure it out, he was the one to save us, and he voted himself up," Jazz answered his question. "We only did it because he told us to."

"He told you to?" Drift questioned. "He was actually… willing to die for us?"

"Yes, he did," he nodded. "And, before he was executed, he wanted me to give you the message that he was sorry you two wouldn't be able to talk again." Drift didn't say anything at that, instead looking away with a hand to his face. Jazz knew that Drift needed to grieve so he said, "I'll leave you alone," and walked away from him to leave him alone. He heard the door to the Med-Bay open and turned to see Rewind walking on in with a datapad in one hand and a glass container in the other holding a white flower with pedals that kind of freaked him out.

"Oh, hey, Jazz. Can you get this container? The flower isn't heavy at all, but the container is ridiculously heavy," Rewind told him.

"Oh, sure," Jazz said as he went over and took it from his grip to find that it was pretty heavy and Jazz struggled with it. "This isn't a normal container," he realized.

"Yeah, I think it's custom-made to resemble the environment that the plant belongs too," Rewind told him. "You might want to ask Hound about it when he wakes back up."

"Yeah… is this his personal item?" Jazz questioned.

"Yeah. It's a rare flower from Earth. Best make sure it doesn't die," he told him as they brought it over to Hound and placed it on a stand near him. Rewind stood over Hound, looking him over, who was sleeping uneasily, making small, raspy exhaling noises. It's obvious that it'll take time for him to heal before he'll be completely fine. "Smokescreen's bomb almost killed him and he still hasn't woke up," Rewind muttered, sounding hurt.

"Hey, it's okay," Jazz said, wrapping an arm around him. "He'll be fine. I'll get Knock Out to check on him later if he's feeling up to it."

"Thanks," Rewind nodded. "I've already lost Chromedome and I don't want to lose Hound as well."

"We won't lose him and we won't lose anyone else. I assure you," Jazz told him. "Ratchet was a loss too much. We can't afford to lose anyone else."

"No one else," Rewind agreed and the two were quiet as the door opened up again and they heard really loud footsteps. The two turned to see Bludgeon walking in, his sword in his hilt by his left side with a datapad in his left hand and three swords bundled up together in his right arm.

"Evening," he greeted them as he walked over to Nautilator and placed the datapad by his side. "For when he wakes up. I'm sure he wants it." With that, he walked away. "Inform me when he wakes up. I reckon it'll be soon." He walked on out and stop when he noticed Drift still being quiet. "Your swords," he told him as he laid them against the slab. Drift looked like he didn't noticed him. "When you're feeling better, let us train together. You need to keep your strength up." Drift continued being silent and Bludgeon understood. "Go ahead and grieve. I know your pain. It took me several weeks before I could get through Jhiaxus death. I wish you well, fellow warrior." With that, he left the room.

"He's weird." Rewind muttered.

"And dangerous with his sword back in his possession," Jazz murmured. "Don't trust him completely."

"Wasn't planning on it," Rewind agreed.

"Hey, could you come over to my room later?" Jazz questioned him.

"Sure, no problem. See you then."

"Thanks for pouring one out," Beachcomber thanked Blurr as he poured him a glass of high-grade at 7 at the fourth-floor lounge.

"No problem," Blurr told him. "Came from Mixmaster and his is the pure stuff."

"Good. I want to forget where I am in record time," the geologist said as he brought it close to him next to an ornate box.

"Don't blame you," Blurr nodded as he looked behind him. There, on a shelf, was a platinum trophy that had a generic car as its centerpiece. The grand prize for winning the Ibex Cup was a gold cup for the specific year you won it and the Platinum Cup that the winner gets to keep for the year until the next tournament. Blurr was the last winner of the Ibex Cup before the war kicked into gear. Now, he was basically the formal owner of it.

"I swear, I thought my body would give out on me before Ratchet kicked it. He was old, but he had so many more years left before his gave in," Beachcomber muttered as he took the lid off the box and looked inside it. Inside was several different uncut stones including diamonds, rubies, garnets, and many different stones.

"Wow, nice stones," Blurr complimented.

"Thanks. An archeologist friend often invited me to his excavation from before the war," he told him before taking a shot. "We spent a lot of time looking through them. After examination of the area, he lets me keep them."

"You know, if you get them to a jewelry, he could cut them to perfection and they could sell these at an excellent price," Blurr told him.

"You think I care?" Beachcomber asked him. "I prefer them in their natural form. Don't understand why everyone loves them in their cut-up form."

"The rich loves things that are aesthetically pleasing and the non-rich want to be rich or look like their rich at least," the racer answered his question.

"Should've known an ex-celebrity like you would have an answer for that," Beachcomber muttered.

"Still a celebrity. Trust me, I still get asked for autographs," he told him with a smile as the Combaticons entered the area, collapsing that smile. "Hey, guys. What up?" he questioned as the two took a seat at the bar.

"Just some flavored-energon for both of us," Onslaught told him. "Preferably with some detoxify bromine."

"Alright," Blurr agreed as he prepared it. "How are you two doing?"

"We're well enough," Onslaught told him. Blurr nodded as he finished the drink off and set it in front of them. Onslaught took his and swallowed half of it quickly while Swindle grabbed it timidly and just sipped a small amount.

"Are you okay?" Blurr questioned Swindle as he stood over him.

"I'm fine," he answered softly and Blurr didn't buy it. Getting your head bash in, drugged, watching your gestaltmate get blown up in front of him, and being manipulated by Smokescreen must be making Swindle miserable. If he has PTSD, Blurr wouldn't be surprised in the least.

"You know… I've been a bit of a dick to you," Blurr told him and that was putting it nicely, "but if you need support, I'm right here. After all you've been through, you need it."

"Yeah, dude," Beachcomber agreed. "Take it from experience, isolating yourself won't help you."

"Yeah, see, the constant drug abuser agrees with me," Blurr told him, which earned a dirty look from the geologist. In response, Swindle took another sip of his energon before he responded.

"Are you… offering to help me?" he questioned him uncertainly. "What's the twist?"

"No twist, I just want to," Blurr told him and Swindle looked surprised at that. He must've been used to people making deals. He probably didn't believe people in altruistic people and Smokescreen's betrayal must've made it even worse.

"Why?" he questioned.

"Same reason I would," Onslaught told him. "We're soldiers, comrades… friends."

"Yeah, dude. Most people are willing to help you if you just ask," Beachcomber told him.

"Yeah, right," Swindle sarcastically muttered as he took a big gulp that empty it. "The only one I trust here is Onslaught. The rest of you could betray me at any moment."

"Swindle, please," Onslaught begged. "We have to work with them and you know it, especially once we're out of here. I don't know what's going on outside, but I rather make sure we have everyone here by my side than what's going on outside."

"The outside is scary, if all the implications are true," Beachcomber muttered.

"We'll worry about that later when we kill the mastermind," Blurr told him. "Best to worry about now then later."

"Which is exactly why I can't trust you guys," Swindle told him. "As long as we're still playing this game, it's best to just keep everyone at arm's length."

"Swindle, if we want to find this mastermind, we have to work together," Onslaught told him. "He feeds off our paranoia so that we won't be able to work together." Swindle sighed, keeping his head down, before he spoke up.

"Fine, I'll try and be 'friends' with everyone," Swindle said, sounding uncomfortable. "Just don't expect much."

"Fine enough," Blurr agreed as he refilled Swindle's drink. "You won't regret."

"…and here's a datapad about how to cope with depression," Wildrider said to Dead End at the book store. Dead End was trying his best to ignore him and read his personal datapad with Sparky resting on top of his head. Wildrider gave strict orders that he was not allowed to have the plushy away from him, so he just let the infernal thing rest on top of his head where it wouldn't block his field of vision. Wildrider was being so overbearing, it was insufferable.

"HEY!" Wildrider yelled at him and Dead End jumped, startled, before glaring at him

"What?" Dead End asked him.

"These depressive and suicidal thoughts you have? We're going to defeat them using these cunning strategies," he said, showing off several datapads. "We're going to defeat this and if these datapads don't work, then I'm going to beat the sadness out of you!"

"Great…," Dead End muttered. Looked like he was stuck with Wildrider the therapist.

Primus help him.

"Hey, how you're doing?" Jazz questioned Rewind as he opened his own door.

"Fine. Mind if I come in?" Rewind asked him.

"Sure, come on," Jazz invited him in as he stepped aside. Rewind stepped on in and looked to see many datapads on the dining table. Obviously, Jazz has been busy.

"Please, mind the datapads. Those are filled with redacted information that I'm trying to solve," Jaz told them as he closed the door. "We can talk in the kitchen," he offered and he agreed as they went in and took a seat together on the kitchen counter. "So, are you feeling alright, Rewind."

"Yeah… fine enough," he told him. "I still miss Chromedome, but Hound has been so helpful with me. Having him so injured by that bomb made me worried that the one I care about the most was going to die again."

"Well, he's still alive," Jazz told him, "and he'll stay that way."

"Yeah, he will," Rewind agreed.

"You just need to forget about Chromedome. Trust me, Hound is looking better by the day," Jazz told him and Rewind looked angered by that.

"What? Why? He is- or, was- my conjunx endura. I can't just ignore him," he told him.

"Yeah, I know," Jazz chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck, "but, still, you got to move on someday."

"But, why?" Rewind asked him. "Thinking about Chromedome keeps my strength up."

"Well, that's good to know," the audiophile told him, "but, you have to faze him out at some point."

"Huh?" Rewind wondered. "Why are you saying that?"

"No reason. Just giving you some advice," Jazz told him and Rewind didn't buy that for a second.

"Jazz, what are you hiding?" the archivist asked him.

"Nothing," the spy continued to assert. "Just giving you some advice with Chromedome."

"Huh-huh, yeah, right," Rewind muttered as he hopped off the counter and started walking away. "I'm heading out as you're weirding me out."

"No, wait, Rewind," Jazz insisted, getting on his feet.

"No. I think you've gone a bit out of it looking at these datapads," Rewind told him as he looked them over. "Reading all of this must make you in… sane," he trailed off as he stared at a datapad. He picked it up and stared it, disbelief all across his face. "What… is this."

"Rewind… please-" he tried to speak up only for Rewind to ignore him, droping the datapad to the ground and running out of the room, leaving Jazz behind. The spy gave a sigh before walking over to the datapad and picking it backed up. It was one of the more heavily redacted files and he spent a lot of time sorting through it. It interested him, considering the picture of Chromedome and Shockwave on it. It further interested him when he got through the headline and figure out how what it said, much to his surprise.

ULTIMATE MNEMOSURGEON AND LOGICIAN ACCUSED OF INCITING MASS SUICIDE