Epoch:

Candles
By: Joshin Yasha

Beast Wars and all related belong to Hasbro. The story, its original contents and ideas, and any original characters belong to the author and cannot be used or reprinted without the author's permission.

Disclaimer: No money, no rights, no life. I own all original characters unless otherwise specified.

Dedications: Like usual, the story is dedicated to the writers for their excellent work. It's also dedicated to all the voice actors, especially David Sobolov and Campbell Lane, for bringing these wonderful characters (especially my favorites) to life. As well as the writers of Beast Wars, it's also for the people I love in hopes that this will show that one day I can do something better.

Author's notes: Second series! Woot! I'm surprised I've made it this far ^_^ So, same news as before, pretty much the same characters as well as some new ones. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce: Omicron!

Depth Charge looked up from his paperwork as he felt his mech chill. Diagnostics of the room confirmed that the temperature had dropped four degrees Celsius and was still on a downward spiral. The chief of security reached behind his back, intent on drawing his gunblade but found it missing. He stood up and glared around the room, "Alright, you've made your point."

Receiving no response other than the feeling of the room temperature still declining rapidly, Depth Charge felt his body begin to frost. His joints were already covering in ice, and if this kept up, he would soon not be able to move. "Enough, Misery!" he ordered, trying to move but only falling back into his seat.

Struggling to sit up was no good, and fighting the ice would only tear his wires and joints apart. The leviathan knew when he was beaten; he had that much sense to him at least. "You left yourself weakened."

"So I didn't have my gun," he retorted to the hollow female voice resonating within the room.

"I stole your weapon from you twelve minutes ago and you never noticed. You left yourself open to attack," she hissed slowly, her form taking shape as she stepped into the room and removed herself from a cloak of shadows. "I thought you smarter."

"So you've proved your point. I'd like to have my gun back now," he tried to shift in his seat, finding that he could barely move.

Misery gave him an awkward glance, the green orbs on her shoulders dimming as the room began to slowly warm once more. Sauntering slowly, she sat down on the edge of his desk, her feet planted firmly between his legs against his seat. "You made the Tripredacus Council transpose my post from Home to here," the downgraded Decepticon crossed her legs, pressing her right heel firmly against the edge of Depth Charge's chair. "I do not enjoy being driven from my plans, lovely boy."

"Ah, yes, those. Have you found your dear lover boy yet?" the Maximal security chief questioned with a snarl. Xyston was who Depth Charge was referring to, and Xyston was once known during the Great War as the Autobot killer. From what Misery had explained, he had betrayed the Autobots in favour of aiding Misery and the Decepticons. If it hadn't been for the Quintesson virus, he learned once, then the Decepticons would have won the war and advanced Cybertron's empire to the furthest reaches of the galaxy without the Autobots to stop them.

And as far as Depth Charge was concerned, and despite what he had forced himself to try to once believe, Xyston meant danger whenever around.

"My business is of no concern of yours, lovely boy," she slinked forward from his desk to his lap, placing her legs on either side of his as his body continued to unthaw. "Xyston legally killed you last time. I would not want the same mistake repeated again."

"Showing concern?" he grimaced when she shifted in her place upon his lap, scraping frosted metal as she went. A minor flinch was all it took to draw her attention to his face. "You're hurting me on purpose."

"You were careless, so I deemed it necessary to begin the training with you," Misery grinned then, wrapping an arm around his neck and leaning in close. "Every good leader must do everything they ask of their men."

"But of course," Depth Charge flashed her a skeptical look, questioning her current motives. "So the Tripredacus Council informed you of your job, I take it."

"Of course," the Decepticon female hissed. "Serve under Depth Charge's command and train the Guardians of Omicron." Misery took a deep breath, her cold contaminators completely decommissioned now. The feeling of cool air rushed into her tanks as well as his, warming once inside them both. "I have . . . lacked your presence for some time now."

Depth Charge chuckled, wrapping his massive arms around her waist and pulling her against him. "I'd say I missed you, too, but I know that's not what you meant to say," he gave her a wink as the final watery remains of the frost trickled down his form.

The door opened then and Jazz³ walked in, nose in his report. "--and this thing here about Karnasians needing green pyre due to a lack of it is a bloody lie--" Jazz³ looked up from his report and saw that Depth Charge was currently . . . entwined. "WHOA!" he jerked back, looking from side to side and back to the two sharing the seat in a compromising position. "Dude! Is she humping you? Primus-uh--" he checked to make sure it was only the three in the room before he made his hasty retreat from the room.

Depth Charge and Misery blinked after him. "That was . . ." Misery paused as she tried to find the word.

"Bad," the security chief finished for her. "Very bad. Jazz can't keep his mouth shut to save his life."

"Oh, well then. He shall be the first I deal with."

Thankfully, Jazz³ had returned to Depth Charge's office and been corrected of all problems. Despite immediately disliking Misery because of her Decepticon heritage, the third in command obeyed the chief of security when he was told to shake hands with the new captain. Soon after, Depth Charge, Misery, and Jazz³ made their way to the recreational room where the others had been informed to converse with them.

Once everyone had arrived (minus one Shock Therapy who had barricaded herself in the tower to work on organizing things her way) Depth Charge went about the introduction. It was simple, to the point, and the others were skeptical of Misery's ability.

"So . . ." Air-slake looked back and forth between his chief of security and the new captain.

"So . . . can I have her?" Air Lock mimicked his brother's slight sway, putting more movement into his upper body until he was finally dancing in his seat. The others ignored him in favour of more serious of questions.

Depth Charge began, "Misery here is a good friend of mine--" there was a snicker from Jazz³ "--who I invited to help us in taking care of Omicron. In other words, your skids are now hers should you mess up."

Jazz³ placed his hand on the Decepticon female's shoulder and looked to his commanding officer. "Now, boss, not to be too personal, but I like my ass right where it is. But I wouldn't mind giving it up a little bit to her," he blinked and found himself staring up at the ceiling, bruised back and semi crushed hand from where Misery had flipped him.

Misery placed the heel of her foot against his cranium and began pressing down. "I do not take such comments lightly, fool."

"As I was saying," Depth Charge shook his head, "you mess up and she's kicking you before I get the chance. From now on, you need to pay attention to her orders as you do mine. Misery's got the experience of millions of stellarcycles on her side. She knows what she's talking about." The leviathan turned back to his third and the captain, her foot almost breaking his helm. "Alright, Misery, let him up."

She flashed him a look and tilted her head, not removing her foot quite yet. Misery was making it quite clear to him that she only refrained from killing the bot beneath her by an act of her own will, not Depth Charge's, and for that, he sighed. "Misery, let him up," he commanded once more, taking a step forward.

"His head would crush so easily. A light mess on the floor, but enough to please me for his insult. He would survive, of course, but he would know his place." Misery narrowed her red optics in spite and stared the leviathan down, raising her foot up just enough for Jazz³ to roll away. "Then again, the thing that makes a great leader is the ability to forgive . . . even at least once."

"Please allow me to adjust my pants," Stricture didn't step into the room so much as he bounced, "So that I may dance the good time dance / And put the onlookers and innocent bystanders into a trance . . ." By now he had everyone's attention in the room, and from the looks they were giving him they were not happy. "Oh, well, my motivation's shot now."

Six of the seven bots in the room pulled guns and focused on Stricture. "Who are you?"

"Oh, well that's easy enough. I'm the one," in a flash of blue, silver, and gold, Stricture was gone and when he reappeared he was next to the only transformer in the room who had not pulled a weapon, "who's here for information."

When one bot turned to fire, Stricture grabbed the bot next to him, spun around, and threw him across the room and into the other. Another flash of blue, silver, and gold and Stricture was between two more bots, grabbing their helms and bouncing them off one another and cracking their heads. With a hard second smash the two were immobile for good.

He jumped into the air, spun, disappeared, then reappeared above another bot and brought his soleret into the bot's helm, smashing it. Landing on his feet, he spun once more, driving his left hand into the other's chest and ripping open the spark cavity. It was minor damage, the bot would live, but the repairs would be long and strenuous.

Back flipping and disappearing once more, Stricture materialized next to the sixth bot and made short work of him before turning his attention to the last. He sidestepped a punch and tripped the other up, and brought his couter into the other's back, breaking the metal and then twisting his body to dive his hands in and rip the backside open completely. The other dropped to stasis lock almost immediately.

"Now," Stricture stood, turned, and marched across the room to the bot who had no weapon that was beginning to stir. Grabbing him by the gruff of his neck, Stricture lifted him off the ground and into the air. "You and I are going to talk now."

"Smelt you," the other breathed slowly.

Stricture picked the other off the floor where he had thrown him. "I hear you're a smuggler, and you smuggle for the scientists because they pay well." He leaned down to face the other on optic level, his gold optics burning. "Now I'll tell you that I'm looking for a special friend of mine, and you'll tell me . . . ?"

"Smelt you," the other said again.

"Ah, wrong answer." The blue and silver bot broke the hands of the one on the floor, sending the other into responsive pain. "Give me the location of the TRUNDLE corporation's supply station." Before the bot was halfway through the same response once more, Stricture had punched him in the face and broken the nasal guard of his mask. "Tell me the supply station's location, now."

"Go smelt yourself." Stricture rose up, shook his helm, and then reached into subspace and removed a box like object with a circular end. Tiny panels on the sides opened as he held it up, and eight minute tentacle style needles extended and waved around. The spider was what the colloquial name for the device was, but the bot knew what it was for.

Without hesitation, Stricture leaned forward, held the box over the bot's face, and smirked as the other screamed when then the needle tips drove into his forehead, humming as it zapped the information from his head. "There now, that wasn't so hard," he removed the spider, stood, drew his weapon, and blasted the other in the chest. He shook his head slowly as he stood, walking out of the room and into the hallway where Taciturn stood waiting. "Got it, killed 'em, torch it."

"My pleasure," Taciturn made his way to the door, went inside, and placed small bombs on each body as well as the four walls. There would be no trace left when the bombs went off, and he severely doubted that the Guardians would be able to track this back to them. He walked back out into the hallway and joined his partner.

"I said torch it, not--" he stopped himself mid sentence when his wingmate gave him a wink. "Ohhh, I see."

As soon the two were clear of the building and on their way in the transport towards Ward 13, Taciturn opened his arm panel, pressed a sequence, and smiled as twenty seconds later an explosion was heard. The two mimicked the actions of the others on the shuttle when they jumped and gawked out the window to inspect from the distance as smoke rose into the air.

Taciturn couldn't help but think: would Misery be able to keep them safe enough from the Guardians to continue? Or would the glorious plan fall apart before it had even begun. Either way, Taciturn grinned at the thought, Omicron was sure to be the first to face destruction.

When the call came in, Shock Therapy was not quite sure how to contact Depth Charge since she had most of the communications tower disassembled and in crates to be replaced with what she wanted. She had to settle for the old fashioned way. The Decepticon sired ran down seven flights of stairs (the elevators were too slow), and straight into his office.

The leviathan looked up at her and said simply, "I already know."

" . . . why did you hire me, then?" asked Shock Therapy, a little perturbed.

"If I said it was for your voluptuous body, will you hit me?"

"Yes. Very hard, actually."

"Oh, well, then, I hired ya to be my communications officer," if Depth Charge was in the mood to crack a smile, he would have, but, time of duty calls for straight faced humour. "I already ordered the Air twins out ahead of us, so Misery and I will be going along to assist them."

"Not one to pry, but why am I being stuck with the statue and the siren?" Depth Charge took a moment to blink as he stood from his seat, and his inquiring look was enough for Shock Therapy to continue further. "Cybershark and Jazz."

"Oh, cause Cybershark's tough and Jazz is cynical. You'll need them here should anything go wrong."

"Expecting problems?"

"Usually whenever things go up in flames and explosions, I begin to worry. That, and I get paranoid." He stepped towards the door, his hand on her backside as he guided her out of his office. "Get back to the tower and finish what you need to be done. Jazz will check in on you, and Cyba will be his normal methodical and meticulous self."

Shutting the door behind them, Depth Charge and Shock Therapy parted ways down their separate hallways to take care of their own affairs. Hoping it would be a routine pipe explosion or leak, the security chief of Omicron was highly surprised once he and the Decepticon female arrived at the scene. Or rather, highly disappointed.

Air Lock had to almost fight the investigators to keep them at bay. As far as he was concerned, the news reporters should be limited to weather, traffic accidents, and escaped criminals. Of course, though, Air Lock could only wish since the reports had already recorded half of the crime scene by the time that he and his twin had arrived.

Thankfully, Air-slake managed to detour the obstacle while Air Lock carefully picked the recording devices for the memory cards. In an on going investigation, any and all parties were by Cybertronian law required to aid with any evidence they might have acquired. Besides, Air Lock figured that if they trampled over their crime scene that they were obligated to turn over the recordings.

Not soon afterwards, Depth Charge and Misery flew over head, transformed in mid-flight, and landed next to the Autobot descendant. "Found anything?" Depth Charge inquired, his mask moving away from his face as it retracted to show his mouth and the area surrounding it.

"I found indications of three bodies, and those three bodies were the centers of separate bombs. There were eleven bombs in total, so I'm thinking four to the walls to bring the place down . . . giving us."

The other took a sigh and the security chief finished his thought for him. "Seven bodies. Slag . . ." he turned around and caught sight of Misery poking around. He did notice, however, that she was being careful of where she stepped, tracing her steps as she made them, and tilting his head he was inclined to inquire. "Your thoughts, Misery?"

"This was an execution of sorts," she stated, staring at the previous place she had stepped. "A careful set of killers, I should say. No doubt that it was done by more than one."

"Making a big jump, aren't you?" he glided forwards with ease, almost as if the air parted for him as he moved. "Don't you think even you would be able to do this by yourself?" He was fishing, and he was hoping she would take the bait.

"There are only three bots in the universe who could kill so quickly and without others noticing. One is too big to even step in this colony without the ground shuddering underneath his step, the other would draw out their deaths and dismember them, not blow them up. The final one, as you know, is myself, but of course you have been with me the entire time since I arrived."

Depth Charge wasn't stupid, but he was smart enough to give Air Lock a denying glare before the other could ponder her comment further. "What about your friends?" he asked, ruby optics careful, giving her the cop eyes that never revealed anything. That happens after a few years; the cop stops reacting to the sickening things, eyes or optics becoming dead to the world.

Misery never smiled, but she moved close enough to the larger male to crowd his space. "There are no friends among the great. Only alliances, treaties--forging a balanced plan between the centurions. The leaders, the followers, and the partners. There are no such things as friends, pretty boy. There are never friends within the darkness, because you do not know if the hand you reach out to will be an ally or enemy."

"Pretty speech, Miz," he lowered his face closer to hers, glaring his scarlet optics against hers. He felt the flash of several cameras and ignored them. Let the news have a photo or two, it wouldn't mean much considering that the information had to be finalized before placed in print. "Now who would be good enough to do this?"

"Anyone, precious pet, would be able to beseech for the power to destroy all, but very few can wield such power. No doubt we should look for a warrior designed bot." Misery tilted her head and looked out to the gathering crowd of onlookers who merged with reporters. "No matter how much a scientist or a droid may wish, they never have the power to kill on a grand scale," she looked back to him and the smirk in her optics was apparent. "Why do you think the Autobots were losing before the Quintesson virus?"

"I'm going to ignore that comment for the sake that we're in public," so she wanted to play her games, well that was fine, he could play his too. Depth Charge opened a comm. with Jazz³. "Jazz, this is Depth Charge."

~"I'm going to tell you now. This bitch is really pissing me off."~

~"Oh, stop complaining. Just because my baby shocked you you're going to cry over it?"~

~"Piss off before I come over there and show you how it feels like to be shocked!"~

"Jazz . . ." Depth Charge's tone reached annoyed, but this time his third in command finally replied.

~"Yo! What's up boss? Find anything yet?"~

"Yeah. Hey, listen, put out a profile for warrior castes with records. I wanna know what's going on, and who's behind this."

~"Will do, boss! Jazz Cubed out!"~