Respect for the dead was a novel concern for Wheelie, and as he watched the Decepticons move around the vast underground chamber, preparing this crypt, he was glad he had come. In his new life, even 'the bad guys' saw bodies as something other than spare parts, and there was something comforting in that.
Still, his old instincts lingered, and he avoided Dirge who had joined the Decepticon party this morning and was wandering dolefully around the hallway making disheartened recommendations. Dirge was a non-survivor. Wheelie had encountered too many of his type on Quintessa. Crash victims who succumbed to their shock were swiftly captured by the Quintessons and then executed. Back then, Wheelie had attempted to help them for lack of any other option. Here on Cybertron, he could afford to ignore Dirge.
He had been instructed to ignore the Decepticon cassettes. It seemed they were holding a grudge against him and were openly hostile. Wheelie had proven to Rumble yesterday that he wasn't afraid of them, but that had not gone down well with the Autobots. In the scant week that Wheelie had known Springer, the triple-changer had been laid back and reluctant to exercise any authority; yesterday, Wheelie had discovered that Springer could put as much weight into his words as his fists. (Actually, he was still making assumptions about Springer's fists, but he had no desire to confirm them.)
So, he left the cassettes to Steeljaw's supervision, but he was under no such injunctions when it came to Soundwave. The communications officer both fascinated and unsettled him. His emotionless affect reminded Wheelie of the Quintesson judges, and that made Soundwave the lead contender for biggest threat in the room. Wheelie was determined to keep optics on him at all times.
Currently, he was trying to spy on Soundwave's conversation with Scrapper, but Decepticon interior design favoured purple and provided no camouflage for Wheelie's orange paintwork. He had no chance of hiding here, though he did his best, lurking in an alcove.
It was not long before a Constructicon stalked up to his vantage point, growling: "What are you anyway?" Behavioural characteristics were distinguishing the Constructicons faster than their physical features, and Wheelie identified him as Bonecrusher the Bully.
"Really Wheelie," he told the Constructicon blandly, still watching his primary targets.
"Where'd you come from?"
"Outer space some place." Wheelie could do this all day.
Bonecrusher's optics were doing their level best to burn a hole through him.
"Actually, he's a one-Autobot-army," Springer said breezily, falling in alongside Bonecrusher as if he'd been working with Constructicons all his life. "Trained in seventy-three different forms of martial arts. Rumour has it he can take a Con down with a flick of one finger."
A rule of survival: never waste time being surprised. Wheelie kept his gaze on Soundwave, but now he was smirking.
"Yeah, Scavenger might fall for that, but it's not gonna work on me." Bonecrusher redirected his ire towards Springer.
The triple-changer shrugged. "It's a theory. Or maybe he's a serial killer wanted across half the galaxy for genocide. Due to a complicated political loophole, we had to grant him refuge, but Rodimus posted him here to keep him out of Iacon." Bonecrusher huffed, and Springer looked him straight in the optic. "He's not denying it, is he?"
Wheelie neither denied nor confirmed anything; it was always better to receive information than to give it, and Scrapper and Soundwave had just finished their conversation. Scrapper stepped away with a nod, leaving Soundwave who had noticed the tension between Bonecrusher and Springer.
Bonecrusher looked back at the other Decepticon, and he suddenly lowered his voice, stooping slightly as he leaned over Wheelie. "Yeah, well what I do know, little Autobot, is that Soundwave over there can read minds. He'll tell us any secrets you got."
A bolt of fear went through Wheelie, and he saw Soundwave's optics flash—did that confirm Bonecrusher's story? He stepped backwards, automatically shifting himself behind Springer.
"Get out of it, Bonecrusher. You're supposed to be removing walls not gossiping," Springer said with sudden aggression, and the Constructicon smirked as he moved off.
"Trick or truth? Fiction or fact?" Wheelie whispered. He had already been warned that the com-link wasn't safe around Soundwave.
Springer sighed. "Both? We don't think it's as straightforward as Soundwave hearing our thoughts. We're not totally sure how much he can interpret, but there are definitely limitations or the Decepticons would have won the war long before we were built." There was curiosity when he looked down at Wheelie, a slight hesitance, but then he quirked his lips in a wry smile. "For the record, if you really are a serial killer, my official recommendation is that you file a report with Kup about it."
Wheelie gave him a look he had picked up from the other Autobots: the "We don't appreciate your humour, Springer," look. He wasn't yet ready to examine his own memories, so he sure as slag wasn't going to let somebody else do it. The one right he had had on Quintessa was keeping his thoughts to himself. His head might be a mess, but it was his mess.
Springer's attention drifted to where the whiny, white-faced Constructicon was complaining to Arcee about the damp working conditions. Soundwave was still looking at them and Wheelie turned away, deciding to follow Scrapper instead.
In the hallway, a couple more Constructicons were marking up the walls and floor with some form of spray paint, watched by a very anxious Rewind. The nervous Constructicon with a scoop-arm tail was reassuring him for what was probably the hundredth time that the paint would just wipe off once they finished.
As Wheelie passed them, a hand grabbed his shoulder. He was spun around and tilted slightly backwards to face the only Constructicon he'd not yet met though he was one of the easiest to recognise. With a full complement of facial features, Mixmaster was more expressive than most of his team and he gave Wheelie a maniacal leer: "Ravage was right. It's like looking into a mirror!"
There wasn't much to understand beyond this being a joke at Wheelie's expense. He twisted away, ducking out of Mixmaster's reach. "You reflect; I reject!"
Only the Constructicon's laughter followed Wheelie down the hallway and into the entrance chamber. There was no sign of Scrapper the dapper, so he climbed the stairs to the next level. The Crypt itself would only take up the base level of the ancient fortress, but the second level would be partially restored for maintenance purposes.
There, in an empty room, he found Scrapper tinkering with something behind a wall panel.
He hadn't just found Scrapper. Ratbat was hanging upside down from the ceiling, and he shrieked an alert as Wheelie entered. The Constructicon spun around, startled, revealing a concealed camera within the wall, a blinking orange light at its base.
Warily, Wheelie stayed in the doorway. "An eye to spy?" Cameras had not been in the plans approved by Perceptor.
Scrapper used that condescending chuckle of his. "Wheelie, buddy… I'm just using it to test the electrics in here."
There was no tension in him—he wore his salesman charm with all the comfort of an old habit, and Wheelie couldn't tell if he was lying or simply on automatic. "And for your test a camera's best?" he challenged.
"It isn't even our camera! Believe it or not, little guy, this is an Autobot spy setup. A group of she-bots used to raid our energon stores, and they installed this on the sly. Prime's army hacked it later on to spy on us."
Despite Rewind's best efforts, Wheelie was still vague on Cybertron's history, but the references matched what he had heard about the status quo before Unicron. Scrapper's story was plausible, and even if he was lying, he wasn't threatening. Wheelie might not be a murderer, but he had dealt in fraud before and knew how this game was played. With a glance at Ratbat, who had returned to silent observation, he drifted closer, non-committal, not commenting.
Scrapper took his cue and began a presentation. "It's just connected to the system on stand-by. The camera isn't even activated, see?" And he snapped off the camera's head, crushing it, before tapping the orange light again. "But it's powered up from the generator you Autobots so generously provided us, and that means the electrical wiring is sound up here, which is good news for the ceiling fixtures downstairs."
"Scrapper has spoken; the circuit's unbroken," Wheelie confirmed amiably.
He decided he liked the Constructicons. He might not be able to trust a word they said, but at least they dealt in old-fashioned mentalism and wouldn't literally invade his thoughts. Besides, Wheelie was still struggling with the concept of trusting his fellow Autobots. Second-guessing others and looking for the concealed danger was his comfortable habit, and he was ready to appreciate the Constructicons' show.