KNOW YOUR ENEMY – Part Two of Four
Written and posted in 2007 © by SolitaryHawk
"Dinobot, Beta, 4K21A-T4."
It was all that the soldier said. He stood immobile with his arms crossed and just stubbornly repeated his current ident, rank, and serial code over and over to the blackness that encompassed him. He had already crossed paths with this enemy twice and had been scrapped for no damned good reason. Right now, he refused to be baited into action. He would not give this unknown threat the satisfaction of responding, despite the fact that it appeared his damage was now repaired. That included the injuries he had sustained from Terrorsaur's earlier assault.
"Dinobot, Beta, 4K21A-T4."
Despite his rigid pose, his mind was a whirling vortex; strategizing, contemplating scenarios, debating others, wondering what course of action he dared to initiate to get out of this situation. It was fortunate that Optimus Primal had endured this attack first so that he at least had an idea of what to expect: Darkness, disembodiment, being studied. Optimus, in his usual cockeyed benevolence, had simply allowed his examination to go on without fighting back. That did not sit well with Dinobot because it stank of surrender and that was a recourse that was NOT in his circuits.
"Dinobot, Beta, 4K21A-T4."
It seemed like he had been standing around for hours! If these aliens were waiting him out to see if he was going to finally snap, he figured that they weren't going to have to wait for very much longer. He was starting to shake from the toll restraining his battle mode was having on him. Charging headlong into this void would do him absolutely no good, he knew that, but his instincts were screaming that something was wrong and his Predacon nature knew only two things: Attack the threat and kill it-
"!!SCANNING:…"
Finally! Having waited for something like this, he dampened down on his audio feed and stood expectantly in place waiting for the rest.
"UNIT SERIAL CODE: D8WC9-4G
PERSONAL IDENT: Quarrel
CALL SIGNS: Sidekick, Rattrap (IDENT: Current), Truant-"
"What?!" Dinobot asked in confusion. Were these aliens so incompetent as to actually confuse him with the rat?!
"FACTON: Maximal
GENDER: Male
RESIDENCE: Cybertropolis, Cybertron
DESIGNATION: Infiltration Model
SPECIALIZATION: Espionage; Munitions
CIVILIAN RANK: Navigator
SECURITY LEVEL: 2
ASSIGNMENT: C-Class Long-range Cruiser / IDENT: Axelon
COMMANDING OFFICER: B2NQ4-1H (IDENT: Optimus Primal)
ASSOCIATES: Y5SM3-8K (IDENT: Cheetor), I7LF0-3E (IDENT: Rhinox)
MISSION: Space exploration
CURRENT STATUS???
SCANNING: ...
RESULT: Unit Rattrap is successfully off-line."
"I AM NOT THAT STINKING VERMIN!" Dinobot screamed back, actually managing to surpass the volume of the probe's scan. "I'm a decorated Predacon soldier, not some repulsive Maximal garbage eater! Get your facts straight!"
There was a long considering pause as his captor considered his explosive tirade and Dinobot, perhaps realizing that might have gone just a tad too far, gingerly reached behind his back for his sword. Just in case. He found the weapon inaccessible. When he tried to arm his optic lasers they sere similarly disabled.
Just as he started to look around desperately for an escape, it seemed like a super nova exploded before his optics, sending him stumbling backwards and blinded from the glare. He ducked his face protectively into the crook of his arm and tried to wait it out. There was no heat, no pain, just piercing brilliance and it wasn't going away. When he dared to risk a glance, squinting painfully, he found himself surrounded by thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, of tiny image screens. They were everywhere, scattered around in a haphazard mess that made his mind ache from the clear chaos of it all. Some had dates; most didn't, and were arranged in no particular order. When he looked down at his feet, he saw that it even looked like he was 'walking' on a litter of file screens.
Dinobot identified the writing as standard Maximal text but he didn't realize what was happening here until he stared at a data screen and caught sight of a familiar face apparently reflected back in a mirror.
Rattrap.
Somehow, for some strange perverted reason, he appeared to be trapped inside the loathsome rodent's mainframe for no purpose he could fathom. His earlier impressions of the supposedly superior alien mindset were slipping by the minute. Instead of being stuck inside some encompassing void, he was now a prisoner of the rodent's mind? Intolerable. The beast form pseudo-flesh along his chest and arms seemed to crawl with disgust as he unwillingly looked around, seeing the faces of Maximals he didn't know (or cared to), and places he didn't recognize. It seemed the little bot was as well traveled as he liked to boast, which actually came as a surprise. The Maximal had the skill to weave fact and fiction together until one could scarcely be separated from the other and Dinobot just tended to scoff at everything he heard. From what he could gather from evaluating the haphazard mess, Rattrap had engaged in a staggering multitude of vocations; Spy, Navigator, Deputy, Energon miner, Security officer, Courier, Munitions expert, Disc Jockey, Informant, Salvage pilot, Building caretaker, and (Dinobot particularly relished this last title) Janitor.
Oh, he would definitely have to remember that one the next time the little rodent started in on his proud Predacon heritage. Yes, indeed.
There were an astonishing number of females to be seen here, unmistakable in their supple design and generous breastplates. As far as the soldier could make out, Rattrap often played the voyeur; seemingly more comfortable to spy on couples than be an actual participant. The screen grabs were filled with an uncomfortable amount of what could best be described as Transformer porn. It was enough to make the large Predacon, who was by no means a prude by any stretch of the imagination, wish for a bath. A voyeuristic, peeping tom Maximal janitor. By the Pit, he had to get out of here!
As if reading his thoughts came the bellowed monotone of the probe: "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"
"An exit," Dinobot said immediately.
"REQUEST DENIED. YOU MUST KNOW."
The words faded and the soldier's face twisted in confusion. "Must know- what?"
"YOU MUST UNDERSTAND."
"WHAT?!" he was back to screaming again.
There was no answer and Dinobot made a backhanded gesture of frustration and regarded the scattered datatracks with contempt. He didn't want anything to do with the rodent and resented having this experience being forced upon him. Rattrap had been nothing but a pain in his aft side the instant he had joined their ranks. Concepts of gratitude and appreciation were alien to him. Aside from challenging the other Maximals over leadership, which was ingrained in a recruit the second they emerged from the protoform stage, Dinobot followed his orders and had even saved their lazy hides on more than one occasion. When he considered the hassle the rodent gave him on a daily basis he often wondered why he even bothered. The little bot was steadfast in his distrust of Predacons and would not be wavered. In the back of his mind, Dinobot sometimes wondered why.
"YOU HAVE CHOSEN," the probe thundered, making him visibly flinch in surprise.
"What are you talking about? I didn't say any-"
He received the sensation of being pushed backwards by an unseen force and it actually had the strength to make him stumble a few steps. When he looked around, he saw that he was standing on a street that was a highly polished chrome while around him were the looming spires of immaculate silicon towers. There was a sensation of motion out of the corner range of his optics and when he marginally turned his head, he saw a huge land-bound transport bearing down on him. Throwing himself to the side, the vehicle barely missed him as it flew past on its mag cushion, not even slowing down. The huge soldier glared after it and then went back to appraising his surroundings as he got slowly to his feet.
There were a few stragglers walking along the sidewalk and his appearance didn't appear to raise any interest. He tapped his foot on the hard surface beneath him and then gingerly reached out and touched the wall of the nearest building. He could feel firm surface and he actually projected a shadow under the harsh lighting. Shielding his eyes, he looked upwards and had his suspicions confirmed when he saw the tech net that made up the city's "sky".
He was on Cybertron and that wasn't a good thing.
A trio of Maximals were approaching and he visibly tensed, pressing himself up against the wall and reaching for his sword in apparent self-defense. The weapon was still off line and he almost went into battle mode until the peaceful inhabitants casually strolled by without sparing him so much as a glance. Compared to their smooth robotic forms and lack of weapons, Dinobot stood out like a neon beacon but they didn't appear to be able to see him. He decided to try another tactic...
"Maximals breed with garbage scows!" he shouted after the departing bots and clenched his hands into tight fists, waiting for the reaction. There was none. The insult had no effect. Apparently they couldn't hear him or see him. He was stuck inside some sort of simulation, then; able to interact with the environment, not the citizens. The aliens' purpose in subjecting him to this new torture escaped him.
Considering his surroundings again, he idly wondered which city he was in. It's prissy cleanliness identified it as one dominated by Maximal tenants and he knew of only two newer Capitals that had been upgraded recently: Cybertropolis and Nova Cronum. He had never set foot in either. In truth, he had only visited the Transformer homeworld twice, the last time reporting for a maintenance service at a Military repair facility in the old Decepticon capital of Kaon. Like most soldiers, Dinobot was kept off world and stationed to satellite bases scattered throughout the galaxy, and he was content to bide his time until Cybertron was back under Predacon rule, no matter how long that might be. His military programming simply could not endure being regarded as a second-class citizen on a planet where the inhabitants presently outnumbered his breed thirty to one.
So why was he here now?
The answer came as a knapsack landed near his feet and he looked up just in time to see a body plummeting towards him. He jumped back just as the bot collided with the sidewalk with a loud clang. For a moment there was silence and then the Maximal released a pained groan and pulled itself up to his hands and knees before sitting up with difficulty, cradling his head. Dinobot's optics widened in surprise and recognition, realizing who was presently moaning at his feet.
Rattrap.
The small bot still had his tacky gold and silver color scheme but now lacked the organic components that he had adopted after crash-landing on the planet. Aside from the lack of a rat head on his chest plate, there was little that was different about him.
"Aw slag, I hate it when that happens..." the little Transformer moaned and flinched when a camera bounced off of his head and landed on the ground in a litter of broken parts.
"I warned you, you little creep!" shouted a voice from above. A yellow bot was hanging over a balcony two floors up and waving his fist down at him. "I slagging warned you that if I caught you spying on me again I was gonna evict you! Get out of here!"
"Why don't you byte me -" Rattrap threw himself forward as a heavy piece of equipment, it looked like a recycler, was thrown over the balcony missing him by mere inches. Blinking in amazement at the heap of broken metal, he still couldn't resist one last parting shot up at his now-former landlord; "I've stayed in better dumps than yours anyway-"
"I don't doubt it!" came the response and the door to the apartment slammed shut.
Dinobot shook his head and chuckled.
Rattrap suddenly swung his head around in his direction, red optics blazing in fury. "And what the heck're YOU laughing at?" he demanded.
His shouders rising in tension, Dinobot opened his mouth to begin another round of their usual insults and was interupted by a voice behind him; "Y'know Quarrel, last time I looked you weren't a Flyer!"
The Maximal's eviction had attracted a fair bit of attention despite the late (or early?) hour and several of the little bot's peers were standing nearby watching the show with clear amusement. It was curious to Dinobot that no one appeared either surprised or sympathetic with this rough act of eviction, especially among a group of citizens that were supposed to be close converts to the Pax Cybertronia, and the representatives of all things that were good and just in the universe. The soldier had always thought that rubbish as some sort of propaganda; Maximals clearly had a dark side of their own. The only difference to their Predacon counterparts was that they were in denial of possessing one while the other side embraced it.
"Har de har har, Goldcrest," came Rattrap's sarcastic retort. "Thanks for breaking my fall by the way."
The other bot offered a lame shrug and entered the building without another word, his friends all in tow. They each spared Rattrap a sly glance as they passed by. Dinobot could hear them laughing it up long after the front door slid shut. "You make friends everywhere you travel, I see," he commented with amusement.
Not hearing him, the smaller bot slung his bag over one shoulder. Muttering under his breath, he stomped on down the road, deftly maneuvering around other Maximals who were moving too slowly to suit his humiliating retreat.
Even though Dinobot elected not to follow after the disgruntled Maximal, he received another one of those formless 'pushes' and got the hint. For whatever reason it was clear that he had to keep the obnoxious rodent in sight and he decided that his best course of action was to humor the probe's agenda, for now anyway. Besides, witnessing the other bot's misfortune was actually starting to cheer him up a little...
Rattrap was still cursing under his breath when he reached a depot where a cluster of Maximals were standing. One turned its head towards him as he approached and greeted, "Hey Quarrel, how goes the job search?"
"I don't wanna talk about it, Ruffalo," Rattrap grumbling, settling into step beside him, preceding to wait.
"That good, eh?"
"My last captain was a slag-spoutin' idiot!" the smaller bot told him. "Wolfbane kept expecting me to kiss aft and do everything he was too lazy to do. I signed on as Security officer and more times then not, I was cleanin' out the ship's recycler. When we got back yesterday I told him to take that job and shove it up his tail pipe!"
Everyone started laughing and he flashed them a dirty look. Wisely, they all fell silent until a large public transport came up the line and settled smoothly into place in front of them. The other Maximals began to walk on but Rattrap remained standing where he was. His companion lingered back, "Not coming?"
"Naw. I'm gonna head into Pitch and blow off some steam."
A look of concern crossed the other Maximal's smooth features. "Be careful. You know that it's considered dangerous territory-"
"-For you, maybe," Rattrap shot back. "I can handle myself."
The other bot passed him a short nod and boarded the transport without bothering to try and reason with him any further. The vehicle rose silently on its cushion of energy and purred down the street to unknown destinations. Watching it leave, Rattrap crossed his arms and stared down at his feet as he waited alone at the transportation depot. Eventually another vehicle appeared, this one not so new or quiet, and the Maximal boarded the dented transport and chose a seat in the back.
Coming along for the ride (he really had no choice in the matter), Dinobot banged his forehead on the entranceway's overhang and, once inside, banged his head again on the ceiling when he tried to straighten to his full height. Slagging inferior Maximal design... He opted to sit awkwardly on a bench clearly designed for models of greater bulk and watched the sights with little interest as the transport took them progressively out of the city. It made several more stops along the way and picked up a few more travelers; two were Maximals but Dinobot brightened a little when he saw that the rest were fellow Predacons. Onboard, there was a lax truce as bots of either faction simply nodded to one another in recognition. A few even called Rattrap by his personal intent. Rattrap responded in kind.
Dinobot's curiosity grew.
The transport's destination became clear when a small city came into view on the horizon, growing quickly as the transport sped up along the route rail at a speed surpassing Mach 2. It was not nearly as shiny or new as the metropolis they had left. Like the vehicle heading towards it, the urban development clearly showed signs of neglect and poor funding that marked it as a Predacon township where the inhabitants had clustered protectively together instead of opting to live among their more-peaceful cousins as a scorned minority. Predacons were the established second-class citizens of Cybertron, especially since the "Great Upgrade" that had resulted in all Transformers receiving smaller forms and greater intelligence. The Maximal Elders, recognizing a possible threat, did everything in their power to ensure the protection of their citizens and their decisions resulted in isolated communities like this one, which in reality were little better than detention camps.
The only one true freedom that a Predacon possessed on their home world was that they could leave the planet at their leisure, and it was something that the Elders actually encouraged. Once out in space, they could go anywhere or do anything they wished. As far as Cybertron was concerned, they were then someone else's problem. But while on the planet, considerations of employment, advancement, traveling, and procuring funds for development were carefully screened and deliberately involved a lengthy application process. Even encoding a new spark from Vector Sigma to a Predacon affiliation was an exercise in frustration: Only thirty percent of sparks from the Matrix were permitted to be encoded that designation. It was another way to ensure that there could never be another rebellion, or another war. Not so long as the ruling party had superior numbers.
Once inside of the township's limits, the transport pulled to a stop at a station that looked as if it had been recently firebombed. Still muttering to himself, Rattrap exited the transport when everyone else unloaded and Dinobot unwillingly trailed along after him (banging his head on that blasted overhang again as he did so). The rest of the passengers dispersed quickly, lost amidst the shadows of the looming, sloped buildings.
The odd pair stood on the curb as the vehicle departed for other destinations and then the small Maximal said under his breath, "My life sucks," and proceeded to walk slowly down the littered sidewalk.
There were large packs of disgruntled Predacons patrolling the streets and one group emerged from a side alley directly in front of them. They identified the lone straggler with interest and immediately diverted their course to intercept.
"You're out of your territory, Maximal scum," the large bot in the lead rumbled as they walked over.
"Any place on Cybertron is my territory, chromenuts," Rattrap shot back. "You lost the War, remember?"
The brown Predacon's optics widened in astonishment. When he moved in, raising one huge fist, the smaller Transformer had already drawn his pistol and had it aimed at the antagonist's crotch. He looked up at other bot fearlessly. "Get back or I'll transform your voicebox into soprano-mode. I mean it, rusty, I'm in a bad mood."
The quartet pulled reluctantly back, the one in the lead reduced to inarticulate snarls of fury. Their pack was armed with handmade weapons of crude iron pipe clubs and whips made of razor wire. It was an indication of another brutal truth of what Rattrap had so bluntly said earlier; because they had lost the War, a Predacon was only permitted to stay on Cybertron if their innate weapons were unarmed. That didn't mean that they couldn't improvise (and did) but the sight of his brothers reduced to carrying such crude weapons only justified Dinobot's hatred towards Maximals even more.
Rattrap kept his weapon trained on them as they passed by and then returned it to his holster with an elaborate flourish, immediately losing interest. He seemed to be intent on a predetermined destination and was not going to be sidetracked by a bunch of rough punks. Cutting behind an abandoned tenement and through a side alley, he stepped out into a street that had a little more action. A pair of Predacons (Assault models to Dinobot's experienced eye) were brawling on the street with a crowd of onlookers shouting encouragement or taunts, depending on whom they were supporting.
Rattrap had to jump up and down to try and catch a glimpse of the action and then turned to the nearest Predacon, "Yo! Who's winning?"
The larger bot eyed him critically for a few seconds and then grumbled out; "Staccato had the upper hand at first, but Blackhorn is wearing him down."
Rattrap offered him a credit note. "Fifty on Blackhorn, then."
For a split second it didn't look as if the Predacon was going to take the bet, not considering the breed of who was offering the note, but he finally relented. Money, especially Maximal currency, was in short supply in this district. "Agreed," he said and made it disappear. He and the small bot exchanged names and the Rattrap was off again without waiting around to see who would win the fight. He must have known, as Dinobot did, that such brawls could take as long as several hours before both fighters used up the last of their reserves.
Ducking down another side alley, Rattrap stopped at a rusted door that had the words "The Smelter" scrawled across it in chipped fluorescent paint. He rapped his armored knuckles on the metal twice and then settled into place, fidgeting restlessly. "C'mon, c'mon..."
A slot pulled open and yellow optics stared straight out and looked around. The bot behind the door was about to pull it closed again before he noticed the diminutive Maximal standing underneath of it. There was an audible sigh before a rough voice snarled; "Quarrel, isn't there any other place you can go annoy for a night? Preferably in your own flakking city?"
"Aw c'mon Barrage, there ain't nothing going on over there! Besides, I got kicked out of my apartment."
"Again?" There was another disgruntled sigh and that was followed by several locks being undone before the door swung open on rusty hinges. "Diamondback and Bludfist are downstairs in the-"
"-Yeah, yeah, I know where they are," Rattrap squeezed himself past the larger Transformer and quickly headed down the corridor without another word.
Dinobot managed to wedge himself past the green Security model before the heavy door slammed shut. The bot was glaring after the Maximal with concentrated hatred. "Arrogant little flakker," he growled as he reset the locks.
"You don't know the half of it," Dinobot muttered, reluctantly giving chase. He had to hustle to keep the small Maximal in his sight and it was difficult in the poor lighting and the fact that this place, whatever purpose it served, was crowded. Predacons of varied models and sizes were milling around in haphazard clusters, seemingly engrossed in conversation rather than battle, a true rarity. Rattrap ducked and wove around them with skilled ease, heading straight for a flight of stairs and Dinobot finally caught up to him at the lower level, almost running into him.
The basement of the building had been changed into one gigantic room with dim track lighting and vibrating with the beat of rhythmic heavy bass drums and robotic screams that was the thinly veiled equivalent of what served as Predacon music. They were the majority of the revelers down here, packed shoulder to shoulder in this smoky, dim hellhole, but here and there was a Maximal apparently accepted amongst their rougher counterparts just as Rattrap appeared to be. A few crossed their path on the way to the bar, calling the small bot by his name. One dented male actually punched him playfully on the shoulder as he staggered by. The overall mood of the place was one of restrained tolerance; everyone here just seemed to be intent on socializing, as evident in one shadowy corner where two soldiers were bumping their chestplates against one another; a rough display of foreplay.
Initially, Dinobot tried to avoid contact with the occupants of the crowded establishment but soon realized that he didn't have to bother when one bot ran straight through him. It was the first time that he realized that he could have spared himself a lot of grief by all this dancing around. Strange that he could interact with the environment but not its inhabitants... He attempted to take a swipe at Rattrap's head while the bot's back was turned and frowned when his hand went through him.
These aliens definitely had a twisted sense of humor.
Rattrap pushed himself up to the bar and hollered to the male behind it; "Hey! Where are Diamondback and Bludfist holed up tonight?"
"I ain't telling you a slagging thing until you settle your tab, you little moocher!" the bartender snapped back.
Rattrap looked stunned. "I'm all paid up-"
"The Pit you are! You still owe me for last month."
"I do not!"
While the pair argued, Dinobot leaned against the counter and crossed his arms as he cast a shrewd eye over the crowd, identifying Military soldiers that appeared to be on leave, several smaller Infiltration models, and the majority of the rest being Security bots that were no doubt employed in the Maximal Capital. There were only a two females to be seen and Dinobot, while disappointed, was not surprised. Predacons were a male dominated breed with the ratio of females making up about only eleven percent of the active forces. As a result, male soldiers adopted the sexual orientation of 'Opportunist'; roughly translated to mean; Anything, anytime, anyplace. It could be a non-sentient creature, a piece of vegetation, a non-consenting hostile, or even a fellow soldier. It almost always ended up being the latter, when the other diversions proved disappointing, and it was the most accepted practice. Concerns about same-gender pairings went ignored among a race that was based on technology and didn't procreate, and it was a well-established fact that the Quintessons had intentionally programmed their ancestors, the Decepticons, to be 'male' for their perceived heightened aggression and fighting ability.
Despite how he was hardcoded, Dinobot preferred the company of that elusive female breed and was often content to dampen down his hedonistic urges until one became available and was equally receptive. He had been fortunate during his prolonged posting on Charr and he ducked his head in sudden grief at the thought of those he had left behind. He had volunteered to serve as Megatron's second-in-command but the choice to leave was never an easy one for him. He had his days when he tried to remember just what had motivated him to give up everything to go work for the tyrant in the first place and always came up blank.
The blaring music came to a sudden end (to his eternal relief) and a voice shouted over the loudspeakers; "And now presenting the incomparable Red Carnivora for your listening pleasure!"
There was a twisting blur as a figure somersaulted in the air and landed on one tall table and when the crimson Flyer spread out her iridescent red wings, Dinobot immediately forgot all about Charr and Megatron. The lithe female had a build that was deceptively waif-like and fragile, but when she started to sing, her voicebox was tuned into the ultrasonic range that resonated along the gathered crowd's armor. Everyone instantly ceased what they were doing and paid her rapt attention.
That included Dinobot, who had his head cocked to the side and an odd expression on his face as he listened. He didn't notice that Rattrap had paid his tab and had been directed to the other side of the building by the now-satisfied bartender. Shouting back some retort to the smug bot, the Maximal gathered up his belongings again and left the bar area.
Focused intently on the attractive singer, Dinobot was coming to terms with the fact that he had definitely been in space for far too long when the aliens, no longer content to just give him another nudge in Rattrap's direction, actually picked him off of his feet and threw him. He flew about twelve feet and smashed into the nearest wall, falling to the ground in a jumble of arms and legs. Rising quickly to his feet he cast a quick glance around, assured that no one had witnessed this humiliating scene and, with a grumbled curse, followed after Rattrap without hesitation, having gotten the brutal hint.
There was a section in the corner that was raised on a platform and had several tables arranged on it that were all full of drinking, laughing Predacons. Rattrap climbed the stairs and settled into a seat at the head table and immediately plucked a glass of Afterburn out of the hand of the bot seated next to him. He downed it without hesitation.
The Predacons at the table had all ceased their conversations and were now staring at him, thunderstruck. Noticing their stares, Rattrap belched, wiped his mouth, and then held out the glass. "How's about a refill?" he asked neutrally.
The group burst out laughing.
"Quarrel, sometime you're going to tick off the wrong bot and get yourself scrapped," commented a Predacon who leaned across the table and refilled his glass. Her voice and those generous curves were distinctly female.
"Never happen," the small Maximal quipped. "Besides, you'd protect me, wouldn't you Diamondback?"
"Uhm," the female said with a lopsided smile and settled back into her seat. The silver male on her left placed a possessive arm around her shoulders as he considered the new arrival with sullen green optics. "Kicked out of the Capital again?" he asked.
"Same old, Blud, same old. Nobody in that city gets me, you know?"
"No," remarked the large Predacon as he nursed his own drink. "Can't say that I do. That's why I live here with my brothers-"
"-and sisters," Diamondback cut in.
He cast her a resentful glare and continued on as if he hadn't been interrupted, "-instead of amongst that gathering of snobs. I should think you would have learned your lesson by now, Quarrel."
"Hey, whatd'ya expect? I'm a Maximal!"
"Who prefers the lifestyle of a Predacon," Bludfist said coldly.
For once, Rattrap had no comeback for that and only eyed the other bot over the lip of his glass while he drank. The varied conversations of the table's other occupants started up again and Afterburn, a banned intoxicant on Cybertron, began flowing freely. It didn't take long before two bots began arguing and one reached across the table to grab the other. With a move like lightening, Bludfist got to his feet and pulled a laser dagger out of his wrist gauntlet and pointed it to the antagonist. "Take it outside, Gharial. You know the rules: No fighting in The Smelter."
The gray bot bared his sharp fangs at his taller counterpart and then glared at his original target. "Outside we'll go, then," he snarled.
"Agreed," said the other and the pair left the platform in search of the nearest exit.
Bludfist shut off the dagger and returned it to its hiding spot while he watched the pair leave. Standing nearby, Dinobot regarded him warily, recognizing a fellow Infantry soldier when he saw one. Their color-schemes and armor design were vastly different but the height and the well-proportioned body and limbs were a dead give away, as well as that authoritative manner of speech. Infantry soldiers had more processing power than most models, needing the additional banks to make snap judgments on the battlefield. As a result, they rose swiftly through the Military ranks and made up the majority of experienced officers. The fact that one of his peers was hanging out in a dilapidated bar in a Predacon tenement bothered Dinobot for no reason he could immediately identify. For the first time since Rattrap had dropped at his feet, he started to take the situation seriously and paid keen attention to what was going on.
"Aw, whatd'ya go and do that for? I was looking forward to a rumble," Rattrap said, refilling his glass for the third time.
"Maybe you should pace yourself-" Diamondback attempted when Bludfist cut her off with; "You know full well that if a brawl started in here, it would set everyone else off like a bomb. It's a miracle that this place is even still standing."
"Yeah, you gotta point there. It ain't as if there's really any other place to go," the Maximal sighed. "I checked out The Deadfall last month and it was abandoned. Same with The Foundry and World's End. In a couple of weeks, this place will probably disappear, too."
"Boy, you really know how to liven up a party," one Predacon said in disgust and got up to leave. He was followed by several others.
Bludfist sighed in annoyance. "Quarrel... why exactly are you here?"
His fingers tapping nervously on the tabletop, Rattrap mumbled, "I need a place to stay."
"Not a flakking chance-"
"Of course you can stay!" Diamondback spouted until the livid soldier raised his hand up to slap her. She cringed back in her seat and fell silent, her blue optics were wide open and scared.
"Go back to your own slagging city and bother those oppressive bastards you call friends," Bludfist yelled at him. "Why should we have to bail out your sorry aft every time you tick them off?"
"Because you know what it's like!" Rattrap shouted back. "Of anyone, you know what it's like to be treated like some second-class hassle. I'm sick of it, Blud. I've got one friend in Cybertropolis. One! And he's busy with his mate. At least here in Pitch all you guys know me."
"We may know you. It doesn't necessarily mean that we like you," the soldier said bluntly.
"C'mon, you've let me shack up with you before!"
"He's got a point," the female pointed out.
Bludfist's optics narrowed to a livid squint. "You really want to get hit, don't you?" he cautioned her. "Shut up!"
Rattrap started to object, "Aw, she doesn't mean-"
"You, too!" the soldier said, pointing a finger at him. "I'm sick and tired of you running back and forth between alliances, Quarrel. I think it's time you finally decided just what breed you truly want to be. Predacon or Maximal. Choose!"
Rattrap opened his mouth to debate and fell into troubled silence. He picked up his glass and started drinking instead.
"Coward," Bludfist continued. "Hiding behind the banner of one side while pining away for the other. You'd join us without hesitation if you didn't have all the privileges that the Maximals boast: Weapons, security, employment-"
"Employment?" Rattrap broke off coughing. "You think things are so great for me? Do ya? I just quit, like, my tenth job for booting up cold! I was a Security officer for a slagging ship called the Starwreath. D'ya know what they had me doing up 'til yesterday? D'ya? Cleaning out recyclers!"
"The Starwreath-" one of the other Predacons muttered and Bludfist passed him a sharp glare and kicked him under the table.
In his agitated, inebriated state, Rattrap didn't register the change in the group but Dinobot certainly did. He noticed that an unspoken communication seemed to have circled the table as they all lapsed into meditative silence. Diamondback broke the silence first by refilling the Maximal's glass. "Looks like you're running low, little guy," she said sweetly.
"Thanks," he muttered, staring at her chest plate as she moved. He suddenly passed her a broad grin. "Y'know, you're one of the nicest babes I've ever met."
"Thank you," she said, adding a giggle of amusement.
"Cute, too," Rattrap added and went back to drinking again.
Bludfist's optics went from the female to Rattrap and back again. He suddenly broke out into a smile that contained absolutely no humor, exposing double rows of sharp teeth that would have intimidated a shark; "What do you say we continue this little get-together at our apartment?"
The Maximal's eyes lit up. "You're gonna let me stay?"
"Consider it one last ditch effort towards your conversion," the tall soldier said amiably, rising to his feet. The others at the table followed his lead and, as a unit, they were all heading for the exit with several bottles of Afterburn in their grasp for the trip.
As they walked the few blocks to the housing area of the city, Diamondback kept Rattrap occupied with aimless small talk while Bludfist hung in the back between two of his fellows. He didn't say a word but every once in while he nodded or made a gesture and Dinobot knew from his own experience that the three were communicating via a personal communication node inside each of their mainframes that was attuned to a predetermined frequency. It was a necessary adaptation for soldiers involved in missions requiring stealth where vocal communications were considered a liability.
He tried scrolling through the bands on his own receiver and picked up a faint signal. It sounded like Bludfist: "... let her find that out. That's what she does best..." That was all that Dinobot was able to decipher but it was enough to put him on his guard. He hurried his step to keep tabs on the inebriated Maximal and his escort.
From the sounds of things on that end, Rattrap was pouring out his soul to the female Predacon; "-I mean, I try to be a team player and all, I really do! Honest! But for some reason they just don't get me, y'know?"
"I know," Diamondback said gently.
"It just about drives me nuts. It's like what ol' Blud said back there before; Maximals can be a bunch of snobs, it's true. But I'm a Maximal, too. So what does that make me? How come I don't fit in?"
"I don't know sweetie. You fit in just fine with us."
"Yeah..." the little bot became lost in thought. "Mebbe Blud's right. Mebbe it's time to make a choice. Slag knows I ain't happy over there... I just- I dunno what to do!"
"I think you would make a wonderful Predacon," she gushed, rubbing the top of his head.
He craned his head up to look at her. "You do?"
"You're smart, you're skilled, and you're great company. We'd be happy to have you," she suddenly dropped her face down close to his and whispered into his audio receptor, "I'd be happy to have you."
His lopsided smile increased just as much as Dinobot's sensation of dread. The little bot was being manipulated in a manner that predated time and he was too drunk and vulnerable to realize it. He only knew that he had found a sympathetic ear and he wasn't going to let his seemingly good fortune go to waste. Diamondback clearly had her own agenda and wrapped one slender arm around the Maximal's waist and guided him deftly down the street, steadily gaining Rattrap's trust until he was caught hook, line, and sinker.
The 'apartment' was really a collection of barren rooms with sparse furnishings located on a second level that overlooked the street. None of the rooms looked particularly lived in and probably served more as temporary lodgings as the Predacon couple came and went to whatever destinations interested them. The five sat at an old table for a while and drank some more, engaging in random banter until it became clear that Rattrap's conversations were peppered more with yawns then words.
One of Bludfist's companions, a hulking armored form named Hammerhide, chuckled while the Maximal struggled to keep his optics lit. "Might wanna be like us, but you sure can't drink like us!"
"I can, too!" Rattrap slurred, gesturing dramatically. "I've jus' been up, like, for over forty megaclicks, tha's all. I'm jus' tired."
"Surrre you are," the other bot commented with a smile.
"Diamondback," Bludfist said shortly, "Take Quarrel to his room."
She looked over at him. "But it's still early-"
Bludfist slammed one hand down on the table and raged; "I'm getting slagging tired of your constant arguing, female. Do as I ordered!"
Her eyes started to narrow with just the slightest bit of defiance before he brought his hand up and curled it into a fist. "Don't test me," he cautioned her in a dangerous tone and she wisely took the hint. She rose to her feet and placed a hand on Rattrap's shoulder, offering him one of her radiant smiles; "Come on, Quarrel. Let's get you settled in."
He staggered along beside her into one of the side rooms that had the long, wide shelve unit that was the equivalence of a bed. Concepts of mattresses and blankets were a concern for organic-based forms and there was really little need for anything more in terms of comfort for a Transformer; just so long as the space wasn't on the floor, although even that could serve in a pinch. Even so, this arrangement was crude by Maximal standards but Rattrap wasn't about to complain about his seemingly good fortune. At least it wasn't on the street-! He sat down on the hard surface with a sigh of relief and flopped backwards gracelessly.
Diamondback leaned over him and smiled. "Comfy?"
"Yeah..." Rattrap said with a broad grin. His expression suddenly became serious. "I really don't like th' way Blud talks t' you."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh that. Don't pay him any mind, he's just impatient. That's how he's always been."
"You deserve better."
"And who would that be? You?" she said with a grin.
"Yeah," he told her, jutting out his jaw in defiance. "Me."
She blinked in surprise and considered him for a moment and suddenly kissed him. It had been meant as a friendly peck, something between friends, but it quickly became passionate.
Touching his face with delicate fingers, Diamondback whispered to him; "He beats me, you know. Bludfist is sometimes too rough and it... hurts."
He looked up at her and said sincerely, "I'd never hurt you."
"I don't know what it's like to harddrive without pain."
"Lemme show you," he said.
It should have looked ridiculous. Rattrap with his buck teeth and oversized feet, not exactly a model from the Matrix that had been blessed with any attractive attributes; he was short and his design was one for rough utilization inside crawlspaces and dirty places. Diamondback was tall and perfectly proportioned, her body covered in elaborately paneled scales that rippled with each supple movement, and her dark green and black color scheme was in direct conflict with the Maximal's, who looked like he was covered in faded rust.
Their union should have looked ridiculous, but it wasn't.
The pair engaged in a slow, thorough harddrive. Hands quested unfamiliar places and mouths nipped playfully at sensitive modules along the armor. The only sounds in the room were soft gasps of effort and gratified moans.
Standing over in the corner, Dinobot cast a veiled eye to the door and saw a shadow looming on the other side, peering in through the crack where the uneven surface didn't meet with the rest of the metal. He wasn't sure if that was Bludfist or one of the other Predacons but across his internal comm he heard the words; "... there she goes..." followed by some audible snickers from the other room.
As an invisible spectator Dinobot had no choice but to watch this memory play out to its conclusion, and he already knew that it wasn't going to be a good one. He settled into place, looked down at the floor, and just waited for it to be over.
When it was, Diamondback stretched her arms and legs out along the bed and released a long sigh. "That was what I've been missing. Something tender and sweet. Thank you, Quarrel."
"M' pleasure," Rattrap murmured, using her breastplate as a pillow. He was already half asleep.
"Poor baby," she cooed, stroking his head. "You've been up for so long. What did that nasty captain of the Starwreath do to you?"
"Flat-afted piece of crud," he muttered in drunken annoyance. "I wuz supposed to be a Security officer. I thought it wuz gonna be my big break but I wuz just a joke to him. Slag 'im anyway. Slag 'em all," he nuzzled her chest and started to doze off.
She had no intensions of letting him do that just yet. "Such an important position on such a well-known ship! Surely there must have been something serious onboard for them to hire someone as smart and skilled as you to oversee it."
Rattrap pulled back and appeared to seriously consider her words. "Well yeah, it was pretty cool-"
Dinobot's optics widened in alarm. "Shut up, vermin," he cautioned.
"- the Starwreath, see... It gets used for mining ops a lot of the times but 'cause it's designed as a transport ship, nobody pays it any mind. See, the real deal with it is-"
"SHUT UP, VERMIN!" Dinobot shouted.
"- it's got this state-of-the-art drilling module, see? The damn thing can sniff out energon from almost any depth and then shoots a laser t' extract it. I was s'pposed to make sure it adjusts okay t' rough space flight but that thing's steady as a rock! It's a one of a kind deal. The engineers haven't even started t' replicate it yet."
"Is that a fact?" Diamondback asked with polite interest. "And where, precisely, is the Starwreath right now?"
And, still numb from an over consumption of Afterburn and giddy from the recent sex, Rattrap actually told her.
Dinobot slapped a hand to his forehead. "Idiot," he muttered under his breath and slowly shook his head in dismay.
Rattrap passed out and the memory faded to black. There was a pause as the aliens rifled through the disjointed mess of the Maximal's datatracks and came up with the next ones in succession. Dinobot found himself back in the small downtime chamber of the Predacon apartment with the little bot beginning to stir on the hard bed. The light in the windows didn't change; Cybertron's tech net remained lit throughout the planet's revolution cycle, and there was no visible chronometer, but the soldier got the impression that a great deal of time had passed. Half a day, perhaps even more.
"Oh slag, my head!" Rattrap moaned, clutching his face with both hands in an attempt to block out the light. He abruptly rolled over and vomited a gout of undigested Afterburn on the ceramic floor. When he was finished, he limply lied on his side. "Why, oh why do I do this to myself? Every damn time..." he grumbled in disgust, wiping his mouth with an unsteady hand. He tried to sit up and managed on the third attempt and sat there, cradling his aching mainframe between his hands, moaning.
There was the sound of the apartment's front entrance opening followed by laughter and Dinobot looked at the bedroom's door in alarm. "Rodent, if you can hear me at all I would suggest that you vacate these premises immediately."
Of course, Rattrap couldn't. He just sat there, oblivious, until the door opened and another of Bludfist's comrades, this one a Flyer going by the name of Shrike, peered in. "Holy flak!" he said in surprise. He turned to the other room and called out; "You aren't gonna believe it. He's still here!"
A few seconds after that, Diamondback and Bludfist walked into the room. In the short (or long?) time that the Maximal was unconscious, the pair appeared to have gone through a startling transformation. The soldier had changed his bright silver and gray color scheme for one that was dark and camouflaged, and all of the scales of armor along Diamondback's body were engaged in cloaking fields, mirroring the textures of everything she came up against. It was an adaptation for Subterfuge models and one only reserved for those on missions requiring expert stealth.
Diamondback was a Spy.
"Well well, so he is," she said neutrally. That teasing, pleasant note had gone out of her voice and it was now as cold as ice. "How do you feel, Quarrel?"
"Like slag," he groaned, squinting painfully at her. "Hey! Look'it you. Did I miss something?"
Hammerhide and Shrike chuckled from their place at the door. Bludfist crossed his arms and bared his teeth in that intimidating grimace of amusement again. "You could say that. We've just been out shopping."
"I brought you back a present," Diamondback said and threw something in his lap.
Blinking in confusion, Rattrap picked it up and examined it curiously. It was a Maximal insignia with a scrap of white fur and pseudo-flesh still clinging to the metal. He dropped it in a hurry when he recognized it and backed away in horror. "Aw slag-!"
"Your former Captain sends his regards," she said with a broad smile and then shrugged. "Or at least he would... if he was still online, that is."
"Which he isn't," Bludfist added with a snort.
"You sons of bots-" he started to rise to his feet and Diamondback pushed him easily back down. "What going on?" he shouted helplessly. "What the slag did you do?!"
"It's like Blud said, sweetheart," she said, running a teasing claw along his cheek. He slapped the hand away in anger. "Thanks to you, we've now got the most unique piece of hardware in the system. Once the Tripredacus Council gets their hands on this little gem, our concerns about energon rationing will be a thing of the past."
Rattrap optics lit up in shock. "You used me!"
"You let yourself get used," Bludfist told him. "It was easy to manipulate you because, deep down, you wanted revenge on your peers for how they treated you. You told us everything we wanted to know about the Starwreath and its cargo because you wanted this to happen-"
"I did not!" he shouted, pressing the heel of his hand to his aching forehead and grimacing. "Agh, you slagging, back-stabbing Preds! I trusted you!" He cast his wounded, scared gaze to the only female in the room. "How could you do this to me?"
She stared back impassively and actually had the audacity to offer him a gloating smile. "I told Blud that you would have your uses. He wanted to scrap you on first sight. But I told him to hold off until you could provide us something of worth. I never would have expected that it would have a pay-off like this! An energon-sniffing prototype." She blew him a kiss, "Thank you, lover."
With a snarl of fury, the Maximal jumped to his feet, stumbled, and tried to draw his pistol. He was terribly uncoordinated and by the time the weapon was freed, Bludfist had pulled his dagger free and stabbed it through the smaller bot's hand. Diamondback swept in and claimed the gun when Rattrap fumbled and dropped it.
"Another present," she marveled as she examined the hardware before making it disappear in her subspace pocket. "This is definitely my lucky day."
Cradling his wounded hand, Rattrap edged away from the bed and tried to sidestep his way towards the nearest window. "Aw, c'mon guys! If this is-y'know, some sort of sick joke, I ain't laughing! Just tell me it's some sort of twisted Pred initiation thing, eh? Huh?" he looked desperately at Diamondback again and his voice dropped to one of pleading, "...Please?"
The female only stared coldly back at him.
"We no longer have any further need of you, Quarrel," Bludfist said coldly. "It's time you left our city. Preferably in pieces."
"Look, Blud ol' buddy-"
"I'm not your buddy. I was never your friend," the soldier said, advancing on him. "And my name, you miserable little flakker, is Bludfist!" With that, he proved his namesake as chrome knuckles rained down upon the helpless Maximal in powerful blows. Rattrap didn't have a chance and fell to the floor, curling up into a helpless ball, his small form contorting in pain each time Bludfist made contact. Even more pathetic was the fact that he was still trying to reason with the crazed soldier and, when that didn't work, actually called out to Diamondback for help. She simply stood by and allowed this punishment to continue.
His own fists clenched in anger, Dinobot tried to arm his lasers and found them off line. He moved in to separate the two but his hand went through the attacking soldier. Frustrated, he paced the small confines of the room restlessly, watching the assault and unable to do anything to stop it. He didn't like Rattrap, and probably never would, but what was happening here was wrong even by Predacon standards. They had manipulated and humiliated him, and now Bludfist was beating him just for the sheer joy of it. There was no logic to the act; it was just blind, senseless aggression.
"Remember your Code! Where is your honor?!" Dinobot shouted to the other soldier in disgust. "He's unarmed and defenseless! Stand down!"
But the beating continued.
By the time that the huge soldier stepped back, breathing heavily from his efforts, Rattrap was almost offline. His entire form was dented from the blows, limbs were damaged, and mech fluid was seeping out of tears in his armor, puddling around his contorted body. He was shaking in shock and pain, actually trying to rise, and Diamondback knelt down beside him and placed a gentle hand on one broken shoulder. "It's nothing personal, Quarrel-"
"Speak for yourself," Bludfist grunted over by the door where the other two bots growled in agreement.
"- but we need time to leave Cybertron before Maximal Security detects us. We can't take the risk that you'll turn us in. After all, look at how you just betrayed your own kind." She shook her head in dismay. "This is the only way to ensure you'll stay silent for the short term."
"Not... fair," the little bot sputtered, choking up fluids from some internal rupture. "You... used me... I-I trusted y-you- I-"
"Never trust a Pred, honey," she said, kissing his forehead. Rising swiftly to her feet, she kicked the Maximal across the face as hard as she could. His body smashed into the far wall and remained there, going into sudden stasis lock.
Again, the memory faded to black.
Dinobot figured that was the end of the playback, and it was enough to give him some pause for deep consideration. He was just starting to process the information when the lights snapped back on and he found himself standing in what looked to be a repair facility. Judging by the rows of the above ground regeneration tanks along the wall, it wasn't difficult to tell what alliance this station appeared to be in. Two Maximal Security bots were standing at stiff attention besides one chamber that was presently cycling down and Rattrap had no more than taken one step out of the unit when the pair grabbed him by the arms and led him down the corridor into a private room.
"Hey! What the slag?!" the Maximal protested, fighting their grips. "Lemme go ya apes!" The pair shoved him into the room and slammed the door shut, locking it from the outside. He hammered on it in futility before it registered he wasn't alone.
"Quarrel. D8WC9-4G. Last assignment: Security officer on board the Starwreath," read an officious looking Maximal seated at the end of one small table. He looked up at the small bot gravely. "Greetings. I am Chief Investigator Bearsonic. At 06:45:12 there was a raid upon the Starwreath. The Captain was scrapped beyond recovery and the top secret cargo was stolen. Where were you yesterday?"
"Obviously scrapped myself, or I wouldn't'a woken up in your blasted CR chamber!" Rattrap fumed, choosing a far corner and crossing his arms in defiance.
"You were found on the outer limits of Pitch over six megacycles ago. What were you doing there?"
The Maximal regarded his authoritative counterpart for a long minute before he reluctantly admitted; "I went into the city to party."
"When did you leave Cybertropolis?"
"Shortly after ten, there was a whole crowd gathered outside of my building who can confirm it, too," he said, frowning at the memory. "I got in Pitch around eleven and ran into a gang. They scrapped me on sight. That's all I remember."
Dinobot snapped his head up in surprise.
Bearsonic nodded slowly as he entered the data into a pad. "Is there a possibility that your core processor might have been hacked?"
"Anything's possible. I was offline, remember?"
Nodding slowly to himself, the older Maximal prompted; "Is there any other information that you can provide? The identity of the Predacons that attacked you, perhaps? This is a very serious offense as you can understand."
"Oh yeah, I understand all right," Rattrap said soberly. "Unfortunately all Preds look alike to me. I can't tell you what I don't know."
Standing beside him, Dinobot considered the other bot in confusion trying to figure out his motives in keeping up with the lie. He would have thought that the pest would have ratted (pun intended) out his associates in Pitch without a second's hesitation. A part of it probably had to do with self-preservation; admitting to knowing Bludfist and Diamondback would have pulled him into their ring as an unwilling accomplice to a very serious crime and implicated him. He had to protect his own tail first, which was a thing that Dinobot observed he was extremely proficient in doing.
"You're no stranger to us, you know that, don't you?"
"...Yeah, I know it."
"Disorderly conduct, assault, petty theft, harassment, public intoxication-" he broke off and fixed the Maximal with a glowering stare. "Need I continue?"
Rattrap shrugged.
"All nuisance charges, fortunately," the Officer relented after a long pause, leaning back in his seat. "No indication of treason or grand theft... You're a loyal Maximal citizen of Cybertron, am I right?"
Gritting his teeth, Rattrap told him, "You bet I am and I don't appreciate you suggesting otherwise!"
The Officer held up his hands in surrender. "Calm down. We obtained some footage on the spaceport just before the raid that confirmed there were four intruders on the premises. No one among them matched your size."
"That a short joke?"
"Just a fact," Bearsonic said patiently. "What surprises me is that I've told you that your previous Captain was scrapped and you didn't appear to register any concern."
"That's because I didn't like him."
"I'll have you know that I've already conversed with the bridge crew. You had quit your position as Security officer the day before amid a heated argument that was witnessed by three people. You were overheard telling Wolfbane that you would get even with him, eventually."
Rattrap chose this moment to keep his mouth shut and it obviously took quite an effort, if his tightly, vibrating form was any indication. He tried to maintain his level glare with the suspicious official and was having a rough time of it.
"Something isn't right here," Bearsonic concluded, reading the other's body language with an experienced eye and finely tuned sensors. "You're lying about something, your infrared signature is all over the map, but I can't quite pin down precisely what."
"I've toldja all I know," Rattrap repeated stubbornly.
"And I suppose a stay in detention wouldn't improve your memory?"
"There's nothing to improve. I keep telling you that I was offline!" he shouted in frustration.
"Oh, that's right. My mistake." The Investigator tented his fingers beneath his chin as he became lost in thought. "Holding you here won't accomplish anything, I can see that plain as day. I suppose that I have no choice but to let you go-"
Rattrap immediately turned and began hammering on the door to be let out.
"- but I'm ordering you to stay on the planet until I've completed my investigation. Is that clear?"
"As glass," he muttered, listening to the locks on the other side of the door being unsealed.
The door opened and he ran into the chestplate of one of the two Security guards standing guard, not permitting him an escape. Bearsonic took advantage of the lapse and called over to him; "It could be a week or a month. You are to stay on Cybertron for that entire time or I'll haul you into detention myself. I mean it, Quarrel-
"Yeah, yeah, I heard you. I got no job t'go to anyway. Can I go?"
The two armed Maximals cast their superior a questioning glance and, after a long pause, he waved them off. With a huff of breath, Rattrap pushed his way through the part in the bodies and hauled tail out of the Security building. When he reached the street, he stood on the curb and ran a shaky hand back and forth along the top of his head. "Oh slag, that was just too fragging close for comfort!" he whispered under his breath. "Flakking Diamondback and Bludfist! No way in the Pit am I gonna let them get away with this. No flakking way!" he finished the last in a shout of rage and ran down the street.
He hopped on one moving transport as it swept past, holding onto the external metal grating with a firm grip. In the background, Dinobot had no choice but to give chase and he was NOT happy with this new game of playing tag. He fondly wished he could utilize his beast mode that was more suited for this kind of foot race but transforming, like his weapons, was not an option. He had no choice but to try and follow the vehicle under his own power, cursing the aliens with every profanity existing in his mainframe as he did so.
Crossing the city, Rattrap finally jumped off the vehicle and landed easily on the curb of a residential district. He walked slowly along the sidewalk as he counted buildings. At the end of the street, he craned his head up to look at the smooth lines of the last residence. "Here we are."
As he walked up the stairs, Dinobot finally caught up to him, huffing and puffing, and sat his exhausted bulk down on the bottom step as he struggled to get his breath back. He was a surprisingly fast runner for his size and weight but it was good only for short distances. This extended sprint was definitely not a high point of his already very long day. Under his breath, he was still cursing the aliens with each tortured wheeze; "-arrogant, useless, manipulative sons of bitches-"
Stepping up to a console set beside the door, Rattrap entered a code and waited impatiently. A few seconds later came a female voice; "Residence 17A, Battleaxe speaking."
"Howdy babe!" Rattrap said with forced good humor.
The recognition was instantaneous. "... Quarrel."
"Now, I know that I'm not in your good graces right now-"
"-I'm going to hang up-"
"I just want to speak to Rhinox!" he said quickly. "Please-Pleeease Battleaxe! It's serious. Just let me speak to him for a sec, awright? Huh?"
There was a long pause and then a recognizable voice came out of the speaker. "Hey Quarrel, what's up?"
Rattrap leaned against the wall in relief. "Ol' buddy, am I glad to finally hear a friendly face." He tried to laugh and it came out as a choked garble of sound. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. "I... really need your help."
"I'll be right down," his friend said quickly.
The large engineer soon emerged from the building's entrance and he was little changed now than from when Dinobot first laid eyes on him; at least he didn't have half of a mouth glued to his chestplate any more, which was an improvement in design. The green bot led his small friend over to the stairs and they sat there together for a few seconds in silence. Finally, the larger Maximal asked, "What's wrong?"
"Oh buddy, I am in a pickle," Rattrap muttered. "Is that offer with the Axelon still open?"
Rhinox's eyes widened in alarm. "Why? What did you do?"
"I just, y'know... quit my last job, is all. I'm in a bit of a bind," that at least was true, anyway.
"Debts?"
"Uhm, no. Not exactly."
The large technician sighed gravely. "When I offered you the Navigator job the last time, you said that you didn't want anything to do with any exploration mission. In your own words I believe you said; 'I ain't gonna let myself get stuck way out in boring space with nothing to do and nobody to see'!"
"The sitch's changed. Is the job still open?"
"Well..."
"Is it or isn't it?!" Rattrap snapped.
His large friend cast him a tolerant glare. "Easy, calm down. Optimus Primal is a new Captain so he's having trouble finding experienced crew. The position is still open if you want it. Just remember, it's a two-year tour."
"It ain't long enough," the small bot murmured.
"What was that?"
He shook his head. "Nothin'. I owe you a big one. When do we leave for space?"
"End of the week. I'll come get you -"
"Uh, I got kicked out of my apartment-"
"Again?!" Rhinox asked in disbelief.
The little Maximal offered him a lame shrug. "I thought I had a place to stay but that..." he trailed off and became lost in thought. "Well, that just didn't work out like I hoped it would," he finished in a voice very different from his usual brassy tone.
Rhinox slowly shook his head. "Battleaxe would tan my hide if I let you move in with us again. I'm sorry. Besides, this is her last week on Cybertron, too. She's serving a term on one of the moon bases. We kind of wanted to spend that time together, if you know what I mean," he spared his young friend a sly wink.
In the background, Dinobot tried to suppress a shudder of disgust.
"You're a lucky bot, Big Green," Rattrap said listlessly. "It's okay. I'll find a place to shack up for the short term. Just call me on my personal comm when you're ready to go."
Passing him a congenial slap on the back, Rhinox hauled himself up to his feet and started for the front of the building. He suddenly turned and spared his friend a look of concern. "Are you sure that you're going to be all right?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine."
"You're not going to go stay in Pitch are you?"
Rattrap winced and he had to look away. "Naw, those days are over. I'm staying put right here in Cybertropolis. You can bet your chain guns on that."
"Glad to hear it. I'll see you soon," his friend said, passing him a wave, and went back into the building.
Sitting alone on the step, Rattrap watched him until he was out of sight and then turned his troubled gaze back to the rest of the city. His small shoulders slumped with weariness and despair. Reaching behind his back, he pulled an object out of his subspace pocket and regarded it with a deep concentration. Dinobot was not surprised to see that it was Wolfbane's insignia; ripped from his offline body by a Predacon who Rattrap had thought was once his friend. And possibly more.
"Diamondback..." the small Maximal said under his breath, squeezing his fingers around the small object so tightly that his fist trembled. He suddenly looked up with blazing optics, "Never trust a Pred. You got that right, babe. Never again!"
He got back to his feet and walked down he steps to return to the curb, looking around as if unsure of what course to take, or quite where to go. It was precisely that sort of indecision that had haunted him ever since he first came online; programmed as the representative of one faction but doomed to possess the darker, more restless nature of the other. As he finally turned and walked across the street towards some unknown destination, the surroundings around Dinobot went dark and he found himself standing in the rodent's mainframe again.
"NOW YOU KNOW," the probe told him.
"Yes," Dinobot said out loud, although he doubted any response was really necessary. The aliens appeared to be able to pluck his thoughts out straight from his processor. Still, he acknowledged the declaration just the same, becoming lost in thought.
The probe went silent as he did so, as if its point had been made. The soldier supposed that it had, although the logic of displaying these particular datatracks possessed no tactical advantage for the aliens that he could fathom. It had merely showed him why the despicable rodent distrusted Predacons, and him in particular. Rattrap had been betrayed by a faction he envied, expertly manipulated by a skilled Spy intent on information gathering, beaten near to death by an Infantry soldier he had thought was his friend.
Dinobot realized that Rattrap had voluntarily returned to space, not to escape a possible stay in Maximal Security but for a motive as old as time; revenge. He had been hoping to cross paths with his old Predacon associates and settle a personal score. Nothing more or less. When he and the rest of the crew of the Axelon had crossed paths with the Darkside, and the space battle had resulted in them both crashed landing on this miserable planet, all of the little Maximal's frustrations and resentments over being denied that closure intensified. It stood to reason that his hatred and anger was now focused on the only other target available: On the new member of their crew who represented everything he had lost, and everything about the Predacon breed he now loathed.
Dinobot had changed sides at the worst possible moment.
Even worse, he didn't know how to resolve it.
Part Three: Rattrap witnesses the first encounter between Megatron and Dinobot.