The large group went over to the foundry. Inside was a highly industrialized, wide-open room with machines all around, ready to help people make whatever they want. The walls and floor were an ashen gray with steel girders easily noticeable around the walls, ceiling, and columns to help keep it up. The place had two levels, the second being way up on walkways to help guide people on the ground for larger productions.

"This place is not friendly looking," Beachcomber immediately noticed as they looked around.

"It's a foundry. What do you expect?" Scavenger immediately responded to him. "These are places where you build things, a lot of the time, those things are weapons of war. We certainly built a lot…"

"We're not here to build those this time, Scavenger," Mixmaster told his gestaltmate. "We're here to honor the dead."

"Yeah, of course," he nodded.

"So, what type of an effigy do you make?" Jazz asked Bludgeon.

"A simple metal figure with the name of the deceased on it. You can decorate it however you please to further resemble them," the metallikato expert explained to them. "Any amateur metalworker could craft these."

"Most of us aren't even that," Blurr responded to that.

"Well, me and Scavenger could probably make some if Bludgeon can as well," Mixmaster volunteered the two of them. "We're the Constructicons for a reason."

"Y-yeah… I guess," Scavenger nodded along. "I won't promise it'll look good, but I can make one."

"Anyone else?" Bludgeon asked the group.

"Unfortunately, metallurgy isn't a field of study I'm knowledgeable of," Perceptor told him, with the rest of the crowd agreeing with the scientist.

"So, me and the Constructicons will create the effigies. Once we're done, you can modify them as a group," Bludgeon told them.

That sounds alright. How long will it take you?" Onslaught questioned them.

"To create an effigy for all of the dead plus Punch and Jhiaxus, I say at least two hours," he estimated. "Could be more."

"All right, then we'll leave you to it," Jazz agreed.

"Feel free to explore the other areas while we are engaged with our task," Bludgeon encouraged them.

"Sure thing. I'm sure we're all interested in exploring them."

"We'll get you guys when we're done," Mixmaster told them as the three went off to start building.

"Right, you hear them. Let's go check out the rest of the buildings," Jazz told them.

"Hey, Hound, are you awake?" Rewind asked Hound as he went back to the medical bay to find him groaning softly, his EKG starting to normalize. Drift was busy recharging, his EKG showing his spark pulsating mostly normally, while Nautilator appeared to still be in his coma, his EKG being really slow.

"Rewind, is that you?" Hound asked as he moved his head over to look at him.

"Yeah, it's me," he said as he took a seat on the slab next to him. "How you're feeling?"

"Ugh… lots of pain," he told him, "but I can bear it. I've been through worst in the war."

"Hah, I sure hope so," Rewind laughed roughly.

"It still hurts. Been dealing with this for a half-hour. Wanna get Ratchet to help get me on some painkillers?" he asked him with a rough smile only to make Rewind slump his shoulders and twiddle his fingers together apprehensively. "What? Did I say something wrong?"

"Ratchet… was executed."

"What?!" Hound barked as he sit up before hissing in pain. "Ah!" he hissed as he laid back down softly.

"Hound, please don't stress-"

"How the hell did that happen?!" Hound hissed darkly. Rewind sighed before he explained the whole situation to Hound, who got progressively more pissed off as he went on until he finished with Ratchet's execution. "I knew I should've killed that fucker!" he growled at the end of it.

"Please, calm down, Hound," Rewind insisted with his arms around him, trying to cool him down. He wasn't used to Hound being this hostile.

"You expect me to remain calm with that bastard and that narcissistic nihilist still having a pulsing spark? They have to pay for this," he told him.

"And they will. Jazz has already agreed to put Smokescreen on trial for his actions. As for Dead End, he needs help. There's something wrong with his mind. When we get out, he needs a therapist. Maybe Rung can help him," Rewind told him.

"What makes you think we'll find people out there?" Hound asked him, startling him. "We've seen so many signs that things are wrong outside. How about, when we kill the headmaster, we just take justice in our own hands and execute them as well."

"H-Hound!" Rewind yelled, dumbfounded by how severe he was acting. "That's insane. We can't just execute people like that! I mean, you're a preservationist. You should know how valuable life is."

"And sometimes, you have to snuff a life out in order to preserve more lives," he told him darkly and Rewind could only stared at him, speechless. His face had scrunch up into a look of pure hatred, his blue optics turned icy, and his scowl deeper than anyone else's. Rewind had greatly underestimated Hound's capability for malice.

"Hound, please, this isn't like you and-"

"What are you talking about? Are you saying it's not like me to care about people's lives, including yours?" Hound asked him and Rewind was unnerved by this. He could see the reason to execute Smokescreen, but Dead End? He was mentally ill, not evil.

"Hound… maybe you should just rest. You just woke up from getting injured. Your mind is not in the best place," he said, depressed.

"Rewind," Hound said, his tone lightening, "I care for you, okay. There's nothing wrong with me. Just with those two. It's just like removing an invasive species to save all the others in an area."

"No, it isn't, Hound. It's- forget about it," Rewind muttered as he got off the slab and walked.

"Rewind!" the preservationist begged as he left the medical bay. He sighed as the archivist left and just relaxed on the slab again. He hated upsetting Rewind like that, but Smokescreen and Dead End were toxic elements that had to be taken care of for Rewind's sake. Worst of all, as he felt the pain in his chest flare up again, was that he didn't get his damn painkillers.

"Impressive place," Jazz said as he walked into the music room with Bumblebee in tow. The place was a bit smaller than the foundry, but it certainly felt a lot bigger with how open it was and it's inviting red-and-yellow tile flooring with red walls and yellow ceiling. At the end of the room was a conductor stand where they lead the group and all kinds of synthetic instruments were around the area, with the occasional organic instrument.

"This place is pretty nice," Bumblebee agreed as he took a seat at a piano and examined it. "Looks clean too." He pressed a few keys and the notes were played beautifully, no sounding at all decayed or out of tune. "Kept in good condition too."

"Excellent," Jazz hummed as he went over to a steel drum, grabbed a stick with a rubber end, and lightly tapped it the inside of it, eliciting a bright, cheery sound. "Heh, sounds nice," he said giddily as he played a few more notes, trying to figure out all of the possible notes before imitating an old song, humming along with it.

"Hey, that sounds alright. What is that?" Bumblebee asked him.

"Oh, this?" Jazz asked, pausing his playing. "It's a short song called 'Hope to the Hopeless.' It's an old song created during the first war."

"Right, the first war… what was that like?"

"I don't know. I was created after that. The song became popular after the war even though it was created after it. Lots of different variations of it have been made over the years," he told him.

"Hmm, how interesting. Know how the lyrics go?" Bumblebee asked him.

"Yeah, sure. They go… hey, Rewind! How you doing?" Jazz yelled out and Bumblebee turned to see the archivist entering the room, looking morose.

"He doesn't look cheerful," Bumblebee noted as he walked around and examined the area. "Want to go see what's up?"

"I don't know if I'm the best at this current moment… why don't you go see what's going on by yourself and I'll listen in from over here," he said, earning a look from the scout.

"Is there something going on between you two that I should be informed about?" he asked.

"Don't ask any more questions," Jazz ordered and Bumblebee gave him a suspicious glare.

"We'll talk about this later," he said as he approached Rewind, who took a seat on an empty chair. Bumblebee took a seat on another chair beside the archivist. "Hey, Rewind," he began softly, "how are you feeling?"

"I'm… unsure about things," Rewind responded, looking up at him with pain in his optics.

"Does it have something to do with Jazz?" the scout asked.

"This particular problem doesn't involve him. It's Hound," Rewind told him, which surprised him, but it made sense. Hound was still unconscious.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm sure Hound will wake up soon."

"He's awake."

"Oh," Bumblebee murmured, confused. "Then what's the problem?"

"I told him what happened to Ratchet," he said and Bumblebee understood what he meant.

"Damn… imagine just waking up from being injured and hearing that," he muttered, sympathetic.

"He… didn't take it well. He believes that, after we kill the headmaster, we should execute Smokescreen and Dead End," he told him and Bumblebee appeared to be a bit surprised at that.

"Really? He doesn't seem that vindictive," he asked in disbelief.

"You should hear him talk about it. He sounds like a completely different person," Rewind told him. "He looked so angry and spoke with such venom. I never seen him act like that before, much less want people to be executed. I could understand Smokescreen, but Dead End? He's mentally ill, not a sociopath."

"Yeah… executing Dead End is a bit much, even if he played a part in Ratchet getting executed," Bumblebee agreed. He was mad at Dead End, but in the end, he appeared to forgive him and pin most of the blame on Smokescreen's. That isn't to say he had no problems executing Smokescreen as well. It seemed wrong to him to do something like that.

"He even justified it by saying he wanted to protect us; to protect me. That just felt so… wrong," he muttered and Bumblebee couldn't help, but place a hand on him.

"Don't worry. He was critically injured, remember? He may be acting a bit off because of that," the warborn tried to comfort him. "We'll talk to him later when he's a bit calmer."

"Yeah… although he probably needs some painkillers first. Must be in quite a bit of pain… scrap! I forget to get him some painkillers. I was too busy explaining the whole situation to him," he realized.

"Well… maybe we should give him some time to himself. If he's that ticked off, he needs some time to himself," he told him.

"I-I guess," he nodded. "But, we should still go see him soon so we can administer a painkiller to him. He has to be in a lot of pain."

"Sure thing. Until then, let's examine these instruments. They look fun," Bumblebee tried to cheer him up.

"Yeah, I guess… I need something to lift my spirits," he agreed.

"Yeah! Come on. Let's have some fun."

"This is marvelous," Perceptor said as he examined the spacious laboratory with Beachcomber, Hoist, Smokescreen, and the Stunticons. It was far bigger than the ones in the first building with far more chemical around the cabinets and multiple floors with walkways for bigger experiments, with all of the wall, flooring, ceiling, and tables being white to make stains very noticable.

"Hello, murder central," Beachcomber sarcastically said as he examined a cabinet full of chemicals. "Seriously, this place has a lot of items one can use to kill people. Poisons, chemicals to make explosives, acids: might as well make the science store obsolete in terms of murder potential."

"I know! Isn't that wonderful?" Wildrider shouted as he got near Perceptor, who was examining a computer terminal, and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

"Please, let go," Perceptor ordered and the manic did so.

"You got him trained pretty well," Hoist noticed next to Beachcomber.

"Not bad at all," Smokescreen agreed, sitting at a table.

"Your opinion is not valued here," Hoist told him bluntly.

"I was agreeing with you, friend," the gambler told him.

"Don't call me a friend," the repairer said harshly.

"It's sad how you two have ended up. You should be like me and Perceptor," Wildrider told them while bumping the scientist with his elbow, which earned a sigh from Perceptor.

"Friend might be a bit pushing it...," Cue Wildrider looking sad, "but I certainly find you tolerable, unlike the other serial killer."

"Seriously? You remember what he did to Counterpunch's corpse, right? The way he desecrated it. I'm sure you remember, Beachcomber, since that was the body of your former friend," Smokescreen reminded him.

"Of course I know. That was a disgusting thing to do, but it's better than bombing us all to hell like you did," the geologist accused and Smokescreen sighed at that.

"If you insist," he muttered.

"You're both a couple of sociopaths. What do you expect?" Hoist questioned him with disdain.

"I actually looked that up and I'm actually clinically labeled as a psychopath, thank you very much," the gambler corrected him. "Wildrider, I believe, is an actual sociopath."

"Docs says I am, so that's true," Wildrider said with a grin as he crossed his arms in a cocky matter. "You're talking to one certified sociopath."

"Please try not to brag about that," Beachcomber insisted.

"What?" the sociopath asked, confused by his reaction.

"Just… ugh!" Beachcomber groaned with his face in his hand. Obviously, he wasn't amused by the Stunticon.

"Got any ideas what they mean, Deady?" Wildrider asked his gestaltmate, who was staying quiet in a corner by himself, sitting at a table with sparky on a table and a datapad in his remaining hand. He shifted his look over to him with a glare before returning to his datapad, ignoring him. "Love you too, buddy."

"Well, if you were sane, you might understand," Perceptor told him with a condescending pat on the head.

"That is a major handicap," Smokescreen agreed with them.

"Could say the same about you," Hoist told him.

"You wound me," he replied in faux sincerity. "I'm perfectly sane, thank you very much. That's the main difference between a sociopath and a psychopath."

"I highly doubt that."

"This… is fine," Onslaught said as he was in the Combat room fighting a holographic entity. He ducked a punch from the being and quickly move to the side and stick a combat knife that used to belong to counterpunch in its side and ripped through into the front. The holographic entity bled holographic energon and Onslaught sliced his throat and stabbed it in the heart, destroying the being when it hit the ground.

"Nice work," Skywarp praised as Swindle watched on with a small smile.

"Thank you," he said as he walked down from the combat area and offered the knife to Swindle. "You want to give it a try?"

"Um, sure," he said as he took the knife cautiously and went up to the combat area. Onslaught noticed how strange he was acting, but ignored it as he went to the console and activated the simulation. The holographic entity returned and the two began fighting, the holographic person attacking first. Swindle dodged it, but didn't dodge the second swipe that hit his side.

"Gah!" he yelled as he felt a shocking sensation in his side, but no actual wounds. "That actually stung a bit."

"You're not bleeding, so kill the fragger," Skywarp ordered and Swindle heard that loud and clear as another strike was heading for him. He dodged that quickly and proceeded to send it to the ground with a kick. When his opportunity in hand, he jumped on it and brought the knife down on it repeatedly and savagely and kept doing so, even after the holographic entity disappeared and he just kept stabbing the ground.

"Woah, Swindle! Calm down!" Onslaught ordered as he went over and took a hold of him. Swindle kept trying to break free before he calmed down.

"Sorry… Ons," he said while rapidly exhaling. "I just… I thought it was Smokescreen and…"

"Okay, you're really out of it, aren't you?" Skywarp said.

"Yeah… I guess I am," he admitted. "Blast Off's death and Smokescreen's betrayal has really gotten to me."

"Swindle, I'm here for you," Onslaught told him. "Come see me whenever you want and I'll get you through this."

"I hope so. I really hope so…"

"Wow… this place is nice!" Blurr shouted as he entered the cleaning room with Knock Out to see a clean, long reception area with comfortable seats and warm colors around the area. At the reception desk on their left, they found another monochromatic robot that they assume was the same AI as the one controlling the ones in the mall.

"Welcome to the cleaning area! Do you want a buffering, waxing, joint reorientation, greasing the joints, or anything else?" he asked them.

"You are thorough," Knock Out muttered.

"Of course we are. We want the best for you. Just one thing. I can only take care of you one at a time," the AI responded to them.

"Of course you do," Blurr muttered at that before turning to Knock Out. "I imagine you want to use it first."

"Why bother. Not like I'll ever be perfect again. Go ahead," the fashion expert said.

"What?" Blurr asked, shocked by what he said.

"You got a problem? Go on," he insisted, stepping back to let him through.

"Okay…," Blurr said suspiciously before moving up to the counter. "Alright, I'll go first."

"What do you need?" the receptionist said as it got ready to input information to his computer.

"Well, I haven't had a good shine in a while, so I'll take a buffering and waxing, thank you," Blurr said.

"Alright. If you want more, just ask the one who joins you," he said as the door inside opened up. "Head inside and they'll take care of you. Have a despairing time."

"Alright," Blurr said as he headed inside and the door closed, leaving Knock Out alone with the receptionist.

"So, shall I go ahead and reserve you for the next session? You may cancel at any time," the receptionist said.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt," Knock Out agreed.

"Anything specifically?"

"No. I'll decide when I get in."

"Alright. Any questions?" it asked as it inputted the reservation.

"Well… is there anything else you do?" Knock Out asked.

"We also clean items, like weapons and the like. However, those we can only do one at a time when the place is empty, whether it's another object or a person," he told him.

"That seems really inefficient."

"I'm sorry. Monobear cut funding and resources for the place, so we can only do it like this. There's me and another shell that I control here that can help you and that's it," he told him.

"Hmm, guess he doesn't want us having it too good here," Knock Out muttered.

"Duh. We got to have despair, like the slowly burning one in you," the AI said.

"Come again?" the doctor said as he glared at it.

"You used to care for your looks so much and now? You seem to have lost that spark," the receptionist noticed.

"I took a bomb blast and lost an optic. Why bother when there's no way to return to my old self without a competent surgeon like Ratchet," he told him.

"Yes, I remember the whole incident. What a surprising result," he said with a grin. "Caused so much despair among you. It was glorious."

"I wouldn't brag about that," Knock Out warn him. "Ratchet was a dear colleague of mine and his death was undeserved. You and I both know that if you know what happens."

"I admit, the rules were a bit weird, but I can't argue with the results," he replied to that.

"Listen," Knock Out said, slamming his fist on the counter, "I understand your way of thinking is screwed up as you were created that way, but I won't betray everyone after this. The mastermind made this personal. I lost Ratchet and my aesthetic perfection to this game. The only thing that's keeping me going is the hope of the mastermind's death. This isn't despair, but a renew hope for seeing your mastermind die." The AI stared at Knock Out in surprised. He wasn't expecting a speech that impassioned before going to a more neutral expression.

"So… you still want the reservation?"

"Of course. I won't pass up the chance for a good waxing, even if I'm not perfect anymore. I can still try my best."

"Alright, if you insist. We'll treat you as best as we can. Oh, and will you sing this?" he said as he brought a datapad out and gave it to him. "Please, read it carefully."

"What do you want?" he said as he looked the datapad open to see a single sentence on it.

HAVE YOU FOUND THE MOLE?

Knock Out looked back up at the AI before signing his name and a single word on it before handing it back. The AI read the datapad to see what it said.

NO

"Thank you. I wish you luck in this game and I said that sincerely," he said and Knock Out believed him. "Maybe you should talk to your repairer fellow as well. Someone that average needs a good shine." That was true, but Knock Out could tell what the underlying message was. He needed to talk to him about the possible mole and as he thought about it, there was a good reason why. With Smokescreen out of the running, that left Perceptor as the only living suspect.

"I'll consider that," he said as he took a seat.