Author's Notes: So far this is the only fic that has multiple part chapter names, and this is the second time I've done it in the same fic. Weird. Anyway, I'm pretty happy with how this chapter came out, and I hope you like it too. I'm just sorry it took so long. Please don't forget to review, and I hope you have a great week :)

Chapter 7

Transfers Part I

Ramjet and his trine spent the next 100 vorns working in the gulag in the wasteland with no name. The more time that went by the more the three Coneheads got used to a certain routine. Dirge repaired Decepticons and broke Autobots in every way imaginable. Thrust worked the patrols and shot at anyone that attempted to break into the prison to free Autobot and Neutral prisoners. Ramjet kept his command with no one willing to challenge him. Then again, who would challenge Ramjet when the prize was leadership over a desolate dump?

Thrust never went back to guarding prisoners. As much as he loved the power trip, he began to realize just how much he disliked killing those that couldn't fight back. Oh sure, he loved kicking minibots around and terrorizing prisoners, but a prison guard sometimes had to kill rebellious inmates or those that could no longer work, and Thrust just didn't have the spark for it. He kept this a secret from his brothers, but he suspected that they probably knew.

Dirge meanwhile was slowly losing any sense of morality that he might've had when he first joined Ramjet and started squatting in this fetid sewer they called a gulag. His job was to serve the Decepticons at the cost of any other entity, and he did this job quite well. When a prisoner died at his hands he felt he had done them a favor, since their lives were to be spent in a death camp anyway. Deep down he believed more damage was done to the living than the dead.

Sometimes Dirge would think about his family. His grandsire was the sole provider for his two surviving uncles, and he was also still able-bodied enough to produce more symbiotes on behalf of the Decepticons. He wondered what life would be like for his grandsire now that he served Megatron just as Dirge and his trine did. Stereopticon was a gentle spark, and Spinreel and Shellshock weren't exactly subtle in their distaste for the Decepticons. Could they survive the fate they had been dealt?

Their orns were spent in monotony, and it was almost too much for Ramjet to handle. He had ambitions, and had expected more by this point in his life. He had promised Thrust and Dirge that they would be powerful someday. This wasn't power! This was a consolation prize compared to what true power could be. Ramjet did his duty and supported his brothers, but deep in his spark he constantly worried that he was failing them by not leading them to a greater assignment.

Many times Ramjet would request a triad transfer for himself and his brothers. He didn't care if he couldn't command wherever they went next. He was simply tired of the drudgery of their current position. They would never get anywhere if they couldn't get out of this unforgiving place.

He didn't know why it was taking so long. Seven times they had been denied the transfer. He didn't understand. Ramjet was strong and willing to attack any opponent no matter how intimidating. Dirge had a sigma ability that caused fear in his enemies, and Thrust was...was...well, he had perfect attendance.

On this orn Ramjet was interviewing new transfers to his gulag, and was half-tempted to tell them they had been sent to a pit from which there was no escape, but settled on instead barking his tutorial at them like he always did.

"Now, if a prisoner revolt occurs, you are to storm in and subdue the prisoners by any means necessary, up to and including execution," Ramjet told the four rookies, "Your rations are given to you at the same location as the prisoners' rations, but you are under no obligation to eat with them. As long as the mess hall is locked when you leave you may refuel anywhere you choose. Now, are there any questions?"

The four rookies looked at each other, but none said anything. They seemed too afraid of Ramjet to ask him whatever was on their processors, which was annoying to Ramjet but not something he felt like addressing.

"Um, sir?" One of them finally spoke up after an awkward silence, "Do any of us have to work with Dirge?"

Ramjet growled and rubbed his face plate with his servo in frustration. He got this question every single time. How did so many mechs know about Dirge? It was insulting to his brother that everybody assumed the rumors about experimentation on fellow Decepticons was true. Truth be told Dirge didn't have the creative processor for something like that.

"Ask me that again and you're all working with Dirge," Ramjet threatened, and everyone gulped in unison, "Now, any questions that actually pertain to your jobs?"

One lone cadet was brave enough to raise his servo before asking, "Sir, do any of us have to work with you?"

This elicited snickers from the other recruits, and Ramjet glared at them angrily.

"That's it! You're all on waste management detail!" Ramjet bellowed, "Get the frag out of my office!"

The four young Decepticons scrambled to get to the door and out of Ramjet's sight. As they pushed past each other to get away, they caused a mech who was just entering to nearly fall backward. The new mech recovered, and came into the office with as much dignity as he could muster.

"I didn't invite you in," Ramjet sneered.

"Nor did you have to, since I outrank you," The mech replied haughtily, "My name is Octane, and I'm here with an important message for Ramjet, Dirge, and Thrust."

"I'm Ramjet. What's this all about?" Ramjet asked as he sprawled his servos across his desk.

"I work with the fuel distribution and regiment transfer department," Octane explained, "Due to massive casualties involving Decepticon officers, an opportunity has opened up for mechs that rank Lt. or higher, as well as their gestalt mates and/or trine mates."

"What kind of opportunity?" Ramjet asked skeptically; though inwardly was hoping this was for real.

"Before I answer, I will need to ask you a few questions to confirm you are worthy," Octane replied with an impish smirk, "First of all, do you or any of your trine mates have special abilities either through vector coding, experimentation, or bodily upgrades?"

"Dirge has a sigma ability," Ramjet answered, "He produces a sound that drives Cybertronians and organics crazy with fear."

"A sound-based ability?" Octane asked in mild surprise, "That is usually something reserved for carrier hosts or their symbiotes. Almost unheard of for a seeker frame type."

"His mother's side has carrier host and cassette coding," Ramjet replied.

"Alright, next question," Octane continued without missing a beat, "Would you consider your energon consumption to be average, above average, or below average?"

"Average," Ramjet replied, "Though I don't see why that matters."

"Third question," Octane replied after jotting down the answer on a data pad, "If Megatron were killed or otherwise incapacitated, who do you believe is best suited to replace him?"

"Is that a trick question?" Ramjet asked derisively, "Megatron can't die. He's Megatron! If he couldn't defeat Optimus Prime and everything else that stands in his way, then he wouldn't be leader in the first place!"

"Alright then," Octane replied without giving feedback on Ramjet's answer, "Final question, "Are you open to exploring new environments beyond Cybertron?"

"Beyond Cybertron?" Ramjet asked quietly, stunned by the question, but then replied with an enthusiastic, "Slag yes I'm willing! My brothers and I will go anywhere and do anything to further Decepticon supremacy."

"Then congratulations," Octane replied with an insincere smile, "You and your trine are deemed worthy to join Megatron's inner circle. Do you accept?"

"M-M-Megatron's...?" Ramjet stammered as his optics bulged in disbelief, "We...I mean I...we...get to work with...we get to work with the slag maker himself?"

"That's what I said," Octane replied; unfazed, "Megatron has lost many of his troops in the last battle in Iacon, and many Decepticons will be needed for the latest project. This assignment will involve the construction and voyage of a ship to search the galaxy for new sources of energon. The Autobots are planning a similar journey, but we must be the ones to come home with that energon. He who controls the fuel controls the world, and the Decepticons must be the ones to control that fuel. Do you think you can handle that kind of pressure?"

"Definitely," Ramjet nodded firmly, "Whatever it takes. When do we leave?"

"Two orns from now," Octane told him, "Megatron is currently at Darkmount getting everything ready for the journey. You and your trine must be there on time if you are to claim your positions as the secondary trine."

"Secondary trine!?" Ramjet choked, "Us? We get to work with Commander Starscream and the elite trine?"

"I have to go. There are some triple changers in Altihex that are also being recruited, and then I have to deliver energon to the Constructicons," Octane brushed aside Ramjet's sense of awe with a wave of his servo, "Just be sure to be there on time. Oh, and pack everything. This trip could take a while."

Ramjet nodded even as Octane turned his back on the white and grey Conehead and left. Ramjet couldn't believe it. Three seekers from the backwater of Cybertron were going to work with giants like Megatron, Starscream, and Shockwave? He was overjoyed at the opportunity. He had finally kept his promise to his brothers, and they were finally going to be big shots.

The Coneheads didn't even wait an orn before packing up everything they owned in their subspaces and leaving. Ramjet left Powerdown in command of the gulag, and gave Trigger Dirge's old job. Thrust's patrol was split between Outburst and one of the new cadets. Ramjet knew Powerdown was soft on the prisoners, but he was a fair mech to the crew and very efficient. Besides, it wasn't Ramjet's problem anymore so he didn't care.

The trine bond was filled with excitement and anticipation that was so profound it was hard to tell where one seeker's emotions ended and another's began. They were the secondary trine. Out of every trine on Cybertron Megatron had picked them! They were going on a super secret mission and going to meet the elite trine in person! Ramjet was beaming with pride, Thrust was as giddy as a sparkling at a playground, and even Dirge felt pumped up for what they were going to encounter.

They made it to Darkmount an orn early, but then Ramjet realized too late he hadn't called anyone to say they were coming.

"Aw, slaggit!" Ramjet cursed after he transformed, "We need to find a place to stay until next orn. I didn't call ahead!"

"That's okay. I'm sure we can find something in Polyhex," Thrust replied agreeably; too happy about the journey to care about the hang-ups.

"My grandsire lived in this city when I was a youngling," Dirge told them, "I can show you around what's left of it."

Ramjet agreed and the three of them flew off to try to find a motel or some other place to stay in. As they observed the city from above Empties saw the trine and took cover as quickly as possible. The Empties were so used to Decepticon bombings that a seeker trine was automatically feared whether they posed a real threat or not. Most of the buildings were abandoned and structurally unstable. The only places that looked lived in were the Decepticon barracks that surrounded Darkmount, as well as Darkmount itself.

Dirge was sure he could find a decent place for them to recharge, but nothing felt alive in this city anymore. Dirge could barely pick out where any of his favorite places had once been. Even the building where Stereopticon and his cassette progeny had once lived was gone now. There was nothing the war and time hadn't touched. Dirge felt a sadness in his spark that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time. The war had always been there, so its prolonged effects rarely got to him. This, however, made him long for his family and the places they used to go.

"I'm tired!" Thrust complained, "Can we stop?"

"Yeah Dirge, what looks safe?" Ramjet demanded to know.

Dirge looked around, but all of the buildings looked the same. He decided to go with a small flat building that he was pretty sure used to be a tavern. The Coneheads all dove down and transformed before entering the dark abandoned structure.

"It's so dusty in here," Thrust commented, "Hey look, there are maps on the wall! Does that mean this is a military safe point?"

"No, those are just for decoration," Dirge replied in a bored tone of voice, "Actually, now that I see this place, I think I've been here before. Several times, actually."

"Oh yeah? You know where they keep the cellar?" Ramjet asked, "Maybe we'll find some spare cubes."

"I'm pretty sure the Empties have picked this place clean by now," Dirge replied, "I suppose the tables would make decent berths."

"They're too small," Thrust pointed out, "And they're circular. We'd fall off."

"Fine then. I guess we're recharging on the floor tonight," Ramjet nodded with grim resolve, "Tomorrow we'll need to fly to the nearest barracks and get cleaned up. Don't wanna look like slobs in front of Megatron."

"Agreed," Dirge nodded before lying down on the hard dust covered floor, "Goodnight Ramjet. Goodnight Dirge."

"Goodnight Dirge. Goodnight Ramjet," Thrust replied, "Don't let the turbo rats bite. Seriously, I think I saw turbo rats a few breems ago."

"See you tomorrow, guys," Ramjet mumbled; already half-asleep.

Ramjet began to snore loudly like he always did. The other two Coneheads were used to sharing a room with him and found it hard to recharge without the sound of his snoring. Thrust went to sleep right away as well, but Dirge couldn't sleep. Being in this rusted out former tavern, surrounded by his memories, he just couldn't make his processor settle down.

Dirge's carrier sat across the table from him nursing her high grade. He didn't know what to say in situations like these. When she had given him the news that she had returned home he had flown back to Polyhex as soon as possible. He had taken her out someplace affordable since neither one of them liked fancy establishments. Dirge often felt he got his simple tastes and placid mannerisms from his carrier's side of the family. His carrier, his Grandsire, and his Uncle Forge were all very mild-mannered (unlike his other uncles).

Dirge drank his own cube of zinc-infused mid grade in relative silence. He didn't know what to say to her in moments like these, but he had to say something. She needed to know he wasn't going to abandon her in a difficult time like this. He couldn't help but notice how much older she looked. Her pink paint was fading, and her servos would begin to shake every now and then. He would honestly be surprised if she could transform them anymore. That prison camp had really done a number on her.

"Do you believe in the matrix, Dirge?" She suddenly asked him; forcing him out of his awkward stupor.

"Not really," Dirge shrugged, "I didn't think you did either."

"I don't know," She admitted as she took another sip of her energon, "I've thought about it a lot. After your sire left me I became a target. You always think it's going to happen to some other neutral, never to you. I always tried to let you make up your own processor Dirge. I don't know if you're doing the right thing, but I'm beginning to believe you're doing the safe thing. How is your sire? I haven't seen either of you since you were a youngling. I wish Pall had come to see me."

Her processor was wandering, and she sounded much frailer than she used to. Dirge was too young to deal with complicated situations like these. He had only had his own apartment for half a vorn, and he was still awkward when it came to conversation. That was especially true now when confronted with his carrier's fragile health and fading memory.

"Sire is dead, Carrier," Dirge informed her; surprised she didn't already know, "Grandsire took me in after Sire was shot down in Iacon. Oh, and Uncle Spinreel, Uncle Shellshock, Uncle Pain Wire, Uncle Hummer, Uncle Twister, and Uncle Forge send their love."

"Heh heh heh, I'm glad they've all managed to stay together," His carrier laughed mirthlessly, "I'm so grateful for my sire. I know you were in good servos with him. Have you trined yet, son?"

"That's not for another 20 vorns," Dirge told her, "So, do you have a place to stay?"

"Yes, but I won't be there very long," His carrier replied casually, "There's no point in giving you my address. I'm glad you comm'ed me though. This little dive is lovely, and this energon is the best I've tasted in over 100 vorns. The Decepticons might arrest me again, you know? I am an Empty now."

"If you move in with me that won't happen," Dirge offered, "I may not be of high rank, but I can still protect you. Stay with me and I'll make sure you have everything you need."

"I can't do that to you," She replied resolutely, "That would only make you look more suspicious in the optics of the Decepticons. Supporting me could cost you your job, your future trine, and maybe even your life. Don't worry Dirge, I know what I'm doing. Just keep your helm down and keep yourself safe."

"You sound just like Grandsire and my uncles," Dirge scoffed almost playfully, "They wouldn't stay with me either. Grandsire said he didn't want to impose."

"They're right," His carrier nodded curtly, "They're neutrals too, after all. You need to stick with your own kind, Dirge. You need to let everything about you announce loud and clear who you are."

"And who am I, Carrier?" Dirge asked with a twinge of regret.

"You are Dirge, son of Pall," His carrier said with conviction, "You are the honored son of a fallen Decepticon hero. You are strong, you are smart, and you are ambitious. You've wanted to make Cybertron powerful your entire life, and you will do whatever it takes to achieve that goal. When other mechs look at you, that is what they must see. They must believe that you are sure of yourself."

"But, I'm not," Dirge wavered.

"I know that," His carrier replied undeterred, "But that doesn't matter. Who you are inside is yours alone, but to keep yourself safe you must show the world a confident noble Decepticon seeker. Once you've made something of yourself, never look back. I know I don't intend to."

Dirge sighed when he remembered the last time he saw his carrier. He had forgotten that it was in this very tavern until he saw those maps on the wall. When she had said she was never going to look back, she meant it. Dirge was horrified four orns later when he found out she dove from the top of a building; taking her own life. She couldn't handle the discrimination against her and fear of returning to the gulags.

Back then Dirge felt anger toward her for leaving everyone else behind, because it meant he lost his chance to get to know her again. After that orn all he had were the stories his family would tell him about her. He was still a sparkling when she was arrested, so he didn't remember much about her, but he knew the shell of a femme he drank with that night wasn't the same person.

Dirge began to feel the sense of irony when he realized what he did for a living. He broke mechs and femmes the same way his carrier had been broken. She never got to meet his trine and she never got to see him rise through the ranks, and all because of the residual effects of her torment at the servos of mechs like him. It made him wonder who she saw in her nightmares.

The first light of dawn appeared in the sky, but Dirge still couldn't recharge. This orn was the first of the rest of his life. He was no longer an interrogator. He was a member of the secondary trine and a warrior under Megatron. He began to realize just how much he hated his old job, and he was also beginning to hope that he would never have to do anything like that again.