Epoch:

Another Day

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!

The three cutter ships were fast, but Jazz³ was capable enough on his own to keep up. The third generation sired of the original Jazz was currently engaged with three thieves who had parted from the main group. He felt confident --knowing that Air-slake and Air Lock were chasing down two more in Ward 5 while Cybershark and the boss took care of the remaining six who had fled towards Ward 3-- about taking care of these three on his own. Well, almost confident.

He swerved, his tracker narrowly escaping from missiles fired from all three cutters. "So, you like to play rough," he frowned, lights of the cockpit flashing over his face as his visor crept down over his ice blue optics. "Well, ladies, you're about to be spanked for such naughty tricks," pulling hard on the drive stick forced his tracker to bank right, curving around and then up in a steep slope into the space above Omicron. The stars flickered around his ship as he summoned his commands to the computer. "Tell me something I don't know, Dutchess."

It beeped and whirred as it began compiling data from the three cutters. |SYSTEMS SHOWING FREQUENT COMMUNICATION FEEDS AS WELL AS SEQUENCED MOVEMENTS|

"Oh, well then, they like to chatter. Thanks, Dutchess," he flicked several switches, barked commands, and then followed in close once more behind the three cutters who were now huddled close in a triangle formation as the four ships swept the space above Omicron. "Let's flood the airways. Dutchess, a little Radar Love if you would?"

Silence, and then for a moment he could hear the three communicating back and forth as the computer named Dutchess connected to their frequency. "Bionc, take his left engine, Galix, take his--" silence then once more, then Jazz³'s cockpit, as well as the three cutters' cockpits filled with an old Terran song that his grand-sire had introduced him to.

I've been drivin' all night my hands wet on the wheel. / There's a voice in my head that drives my heel / It’s my baby callin', says I need you here. / And it’s half past four and I’m shiftin' gear . . .

Already his foot was tapping against the floorboard, hands working swiftly to target the central ship. It was wrong of the cutters to cluster together like that, it meant that for the center one to dodge, he would have to pull up or take a nose dive into Omicron. Jazz³ would be ready for him, though.

When she is lonely and the longing gets too much, / She sends a cable comin' in from above. / We don’t need no phone at all! / We've got a thing that's called Radar Love. / We’ve got a wave in the air - Radar Love . . .

Five missiles were launched from the tracker, accelerating with every meter they consumed, targeting locked on the center cutter until they split into three groups: two above, one in the center, and two below. No matter which direction the cutter in the center chose, he would be hit. "Come on, baby," Jazz³ begged, the missiles finally catching up to the three thieves. With last minute realization, the cutters attempted to split, but the middle one was still impacted with two missiles from where it had ascended upwards.

"Alright," the Maximal smiled. "Next one," he banked to the left this time, following close behind the cutter. His dactyls punched hard on the reload button. Outside his tracker, the missile doors closed and then rolled open once more. "The radio is playing some forgotten song," he sang along, Dutchess locking on to the thief.

The radio is playing some forgotten song, / Brenda Lee's comin’ on strong. / The road has got me hypnotized, / And I’m speedin' into a new sunrise . . .

The tracker spun several times on its axis launching off six heat seeking missiles, forming a circle pattern with their formation. Just like the others, they gained speed with each meter they crossed, zooming closer and closer each second towards the cutter. Jazz³ flipped open the cover to his flight stick, waited what seemed like millions of seconds before pressing the red button, detonating the missiles millimeters from the hull of the cutter.

When I get lonely and I’m sure I’ve had enough, / She sends a comfort comin' in from above, / We don't need no letter at all. / We've got a thing that’s called Radar Love. / We’ve got a light in the sky . . .

The engines of the cutter erupted violently, setting off a chain reaction that climbed through the other systems, neutralizing the ship until finally it exploded. Jazz³ wiped at his mouth for no reason other than suspense and adrenaline. "Last car to pass, here I go," he turned the tracker, banking back towards the last cutter. He was pleased to find that instead of it attempting to attack him, it was fleeing, aiming for the jump gate forty kilometers from Omicron's second Bay.

No more speed, I’m almost there. / Gotta keep cool now, gotta take care. / Last car to pass, here I go. / And the line of cars drove down real slow . . .

"Heh, you won't get away from me that easily . . . " he locked on target, gaining speed in his tracker and closing the distance between himself and the thief. "Oh, one more radar lover gone!" he tapped his foot to the beat, launching off the final barrage of missiles.

And the radio played that forgotten song, / Brenda Lee's comin' on strong. / And the newsman sang his same song, / Oh, one more radar lover gone.

Jazz³'s optics widened in surprise, his visor flipping up into his helm as the cutter exploded mere seconds before the missiles were intended to connect. He growled, seeing the bot in the distance with the energon sword in hand. "Dutchess, open a comm.!" he yelled angrily. Several beeps were heard and then the connection opened. "Cybershark, just what do you think you're doing? I could have shot you!"

"Doesn't matter," the blue and grey bot retorted back over the communicator. "Everyone's captured their thieves inside. I have orders to bring you back inside to Omicron so you can give us a hand."

Jazz³ growled once more. "I could've shot you, though!"

"You didn't. Get over it and get inside, now. There's a solar wind coming soon." With that said, Cybershark extended his six wings and shifted to his flight mode, blasting back to the docking bay. Jazz³ was left alone for a moment, shaking his head and turning his cutter back towards Omicron. He'd find a way to pay Cybershark back, and he knew just how to do it, too . . .

When Jazz³ jumped out of his tracker Cybershark was waiting for him, smirk on his face. "You stupid sonova--!"

"Stand down, Jazz," Cybershark barked, predatory teeth shining in the light of the docking bay as shuttles arrived and departed. "Remember who can pull rank."

"I may be third in command, but you have never shown me why the boss put you his second!"

"Because he showed me just what he could do in the academy," the giant blue and purple bot stepped into view from the bridge over them. "Jazz, I see ya managed to kill your three that ya went after. Not even planning on bringing them back in?" the leviathan of a bot inquired, leaning forward on his massive arms against the railing.

Jazz³ activated his jets, taking to the air --Cybershark following after him-- and landing on the bridge with the chief of security. He didn't so much as salute as he growled. "The Karnasian ambassador authorized us to execute them if they endangered Omicron in anyway. The missiles they were shooting at me is the proof I need to back that up in the reports."

The purple and blue chief of security smirked, his battle mask retracting from his face. "Well, glad to see that you weren't just humming a tune back there." He chuckled, approaching the two bots and stalking off over the bridge with Jazz³ and Cybershark in hot pursuit behind him. "Jazz, we need you to get these guys to talk before the Karnasians get down to Headquarters to claim them for their own. I want to know what they were after."

"Of course, Depth Charge," Jazz³ nodded. "I just wish you would have contacted me out there."

"Tried, got a bunch of music in the comm." Depth Charge glanced over his shoulder, smirk on his face.

"Whoops . . ."

"Yeah, big whoops. Got worried at one point when your transmission started fading. Didn't know if the winds had gotten ya." The chief of security tapped the doorway opened and waited for it to reach full width before the three of them walked into the tunnel between the Wards and Docks. Without wasting time they climbed into the security shuttle, taking seats so that they could ride into Ward 1.

"Sorry," Jazz³ bent his head down, looking at his feet as he took his seat. Now he was painfully reminded why Cybershark was second in command and not he. Cybershark would not have made his friends worry about him; he would have followed in pursuit and left the three thieves to communicate as much as they wanted. He would not have cared if they talked, he would have just taken them out.

"Don't take it so hard," Depth Charge reclined in the seat, arms stretched out over the back of his seat. He stared across to his second and third in command. "Makes me just wish we had an easier way to get these guys."

"Perhaps," Cybershark started, head cocking against his shoulder, "if we filled the position of communications with someone who could do the job full time instead of Jazz³ pulling a half-and-half."

"Maybe," Depth Charge thought, hand cupping his chin in thought. "We should have filled that position a long time ago."

Jazz³ lowered his head further, feeling shame for his mistakes that could have helped made their work easier for the past seven stellarcycles. "I'm sorry," he said again, optics blinking several times as he continued to stare at his feet.

"Stop apologizing and look him in the face," Cybershark ordered, body unmoving as the shuttle was closing in on Ward 1. "You act too much like a human."

Jazz³ gritted his teeth before facing Depth Charge once more, ignoring Cybershark as much as he could. "I think getting a permanent communications officer is a great idea. If you'll allow it then I'll get in contact with a good friend of mine."

"No, no," Depth Charge smiled then, getting up when the shuttle came to a halt. "Go on to Headquarters, I'm going to make a call and then catch up with you two. Tell the twins to keep a look out. And Cybershark," he turned from the doorway, looking back at his second. "You're in charge until I get back."

"Huh? Where are you going?" he said to the air as Depth Charge was gone. "Oh, why does he always have to be so ominous!"

Depth Charge sauntered into his office, rounded the desk, pulled the chair out, and sat down. Setting his container of energon down next to his computer he began to tap his chin. "So, shall I go for the pleading ' 'Ello, 'ow are yah? Woul' ya do me a favour perhaps?' or the dramatically badass 'Hey, I want you to help me' voice . . ." Depth Charge tilted his head, shrugged, smiled, and began typing the communication code. "Badass it is . . ."

Completing his typing, he sat back, relaxing as he propped his feet up, and took a sip of his energon. His computer beeped a confirmation, signaling that the connection had been established. |ESTIMATED TIME OF WAIT IS: 34 CYCLES| Needless to say, Depth Charge over-tipped himself and hit the floor with an audible thud.

He picked himself up off the floor, wiping at his chest where energon had deposited, then got an idea. 'Imposing' was how he was once told to look, so imposing he would be. Depth Charge was sure to smear what energon was on his body as much as possible, giving it time to dry. If he could look like he just kicked some tailpipe, they would be more focused to listening to him.

Finally, deciding that he was ready enough to look how he normally felt, he took his seat again, deciding to wait. |CONGRATULATIONS| his computer whirred again, |THERE HAVE BEEN FORTY-SEVEN THOUSAND DISCONNECTIONS. NEW ESTIMATED TIME OF WAIT IS 30 CYCLES| Thankfully, this time he wasn't leaning back in his chair.

"This is the last time I take the normal channels," he sighed, resting his head in his hands with his elbows on the desk. After twenty-seven megacycles and millions of disconnections, the chief of security was pleased that the line now connected to the central desks at Home. So much in fact that he almost felt like tapping his heals together. "And if I ask real nicely perhaps they'll send me a gift card for my wait," Depth Charge smirked, trying to remain in good humour.

"Who is this?" a dark face filled the screen, one optic unlit as the other flickered weakly.

"First of all," the leviathan sat back, smirk still on his face. "If the Tripredacus Council put a monitor on the desks over there who could actually see, then you would know who I am. Secondly, patch me over to the Tripredacus Council."

"You blasted Maximal!"

"Now, now, be a good secretary and put me in contact with the Tripredacus Council." He waited patiently, not hearing so much as a scream from the Predacon on the opposite side of the universe as the screen went blank and filled with the connection line again.

Three tired, blank, red faces filled the screen. "Maximal Depth Charge," the center one sighed, "to what do we owe the fifth appearance of your energon covered face in the same decacycle?"

"Well," he beamed, leaning in closer so that his face took up the entire screen. "I've been speaking it over with my men and I've come to the conclusion that Omicron needs a permanent communications officer, as well as someone else to help with security." He leaned back then, looking proud and arrogant, mimicking the Predacons he had come to deal with. "And you have what I need and I need what I need so you need to help with what I need."

The three red Predacons sighed, rolling their optics. "Depth Charge, we grow tired of listening to you."

"Of course. So you'll give me what I need," Depth Charge leaned back further, propping his feet up once more. A light turned from red to green on his monitor. "Line's no longer bugged now . . ."

"So, what is it that you need this time? Connections? Power? Weapons? We grow tired of supplying you around the way, Omicronian."

"Just because I covered up for you and now you owe me big you're ungrateful," he sat up. "And I really do need a communications officer. Also, a weapon would be good."

The center one raised his brow, then furrowed it once more. "What type of weapon?"

"How does . . . designator code fifteen dash four dash thirty-six sound?" the Maximal sat up that time, face serious. "I really need a warrior and a communications officer, Council. I'll be awaiting their arrival." With that he cut the line.

The Predacon haven, a colony just above Cybertron that revolved in the opposite direction of the planet's spin on its axis, was just one of the few that circled the planet. Unlike the others, though, this one was called Home by most Predacons and remaining Decepticons. The colony was littered with flats and facilities, most of which were fronts to hide what really went on in the Predacon Home colony. It was no secret: The Predacons wanted Cybertron, and while it was understood by the Maximals, most were just too apathetic to do anything about it.

Just as normal, all the flats belonged to the individual owners. Posterra, best described as multiple countries within a country. After eight stellarcycles all, or close to all residents, had applied for Posterra and received it. Because of the green mark that went across the entrance to the flats, it was very difficult telling them apart now. Eight stellarcycles ago, of course, one could have counted the random markings and found their way much easier. Now, it was confusing if one did not know the way around. That was how it was meant to be.

The third flat down on corridor 3-C looked as dark as any even in broad starlight. Its inhabitants inside, however, were much darker in their ways. Stricture, the Decepticon sniper downgraded to a Predacon form. Taciturn, the Decepticon pilot downgraded to a Predacon form. Both owned the third flat, and both had been retired from the business of commercial killing for sometime. Subsequently, they were both back in the game now that their captain had returned to them.

Currently, stretched out on the equivalent to a metallic couch, the Decepticon named Misery slept with her head hanging off the edge. A blue and silver Decepticon, Stricture, and a red and black Decepticon, Taciturn, slowly raised up behind the couch, looked at each other once, then leaned forward towards their sleeping captain. With megaphones in hand they took deep breaths and then yelled as loud as they could manage, "AUTOBOT SHUTTLE AHEAD!"

They couldn't help but laugh as Misery stared back up at them from the floor, body twisted in whichever way and optics wide and aware, focused on the two.

"What," she began, climbing shakingly back onto the couch, "do you want?"

"You've got a call," Stricture pointed towards the black vid screen behind her, grinning the entire time from audio to audio.

The two males stood, then, disappearing from view as the screen became white and then a face filled it with colour. Misery turned then, arm laid across the back of the couch while one leg was bent under the other, her right hip joint pressed firmly against the couch. "Councilor Countenance, to what do I owe the honour of your . . . intrusion upon my sleep."

"Charming," he narrowed his chestnut coloured optics, peering from side to side at the space behind her, ensuring that none others were in the screen. "The line is secure, as always then?"

Misery spoke without moving her lips, not risking anything. "My men are continuing the security of this line; speak Councilor Countenance."

"Captain Misery, why is it you never climbed the ranks?" the Councilor inquired, optics perking upwards around the outer edges.

"I was content to have more control over what went between my troops. Thus, I decided to remain a captain." She slowly turned her helm until it came to rest against her left shoulder. "I know you did not contact me just to inquire about my line of work."

"Ah, well, your line of work does fit into this," the Councilor curled his lips into a fine line, seriousness written across his face.

Off to the side, far enough away not to be caught on the screen, Taciturn sat down a private communicator that he and Stricture had been listening to. Turning, the two of them ran over to where Misery was seated, flailing their arms about to catch her attention.

Looking down quickly with just her optics, Misery glanced away from the screen to look at her two subordinates. She widened her red optics once and gave a small but barely noticeable jerk of her head to indicate for them to be silent and wait, then she turned back to the screen. "Moreover, Captain Misery, it has come to our attention that a certain Maximal whose bane of an existence hinders us very much, has need of your services--"

Stricture ran back in, giant poster boards under his arms and assorted coloured markers in his hands. He stopped under the vid screen, just out view like his wingmate Taciturn, and handed him a poster board and a marker. They scribbled quickly, Taciturn finishing quickly and holding his up for Misery to read. She looked away from Councilor Countenance with her optics once more to gaze at what Taciturn had written to her. Misery read it quickly, processing in her mind what it said. We found Xyston!! it read, sporting several swirl marks around it just for looks.

"--And so you will--"

Misery flicked her red optics shut once and then opened them again, looking at what Stricture was now holding up in large, bold letters. HE'S

"--report for work--"

ON

"--on--"

OMICRON!

"--Omicron." The two males blinked, glanced to one another, then shrugged, completely unaware that it would happen like that. Councilor Countenance growled, patience gone. "Captain Misery, are you listening to a word I am saying!?"

She blinked, helm snapping back to look at him. "Report for work on Omicron, understood." Misery cut the signal, grabbed the nearest unbolted objects, and threw them towards the two males who had to duck to keep from being hit. "And that could not have waited another twenty seconds?!"

"Sorry," Taciturn shrugged as Stricture chuckled, "but the look on your face was hilarious!"

Misery said, "I do not care how I looked. Explain yourselves now."

"Oh, that was our contact on Colony Omicron," Stricture flopped down on one side of Misery as Taciturn took the other side, both sliding their arms around her shoulders and gripping her tight. They leaned in close, smirks and whispers about them. "He said that they've traced the ship that took Xyston to Omicron, so I guess we'll be off then?"

"Councilor Countenance has ordered me to Colony Omicron to work there for the security. Feh," she pouted her lips, leaning forward and placing her couters against her tassets, gripping her helm in her hands. "I am stuck serving someone once again for the 'greater good.'"

"Oh, don't fret, Misery," the two of them said, pulling her back to a straight position and then began swinging their upper bodies from side to side.

"Do not start!" Misery blinked in surprise, trying to get out of their grips.

"Matchmaker, matchmaker make me a match," Stricture and Taciturn began to sing, smiles upon their faces as they swayed more forcefully with Misery in their grip. "Find me a find, catch me a catch / Matchmaker, matchmaker look through your book / And make me a perfect match!"

"I am going to kill you two!" she yelled.

"Oh, Misery, for once just sing with us!" Taciturn chuckled, still holding tight to Misery. "Matchmaker, matchmaker, I'll bring the veil."

She sighed, then for once gave in, singing along. Very horribly, "You bring the groom slender and pale . . ."

Taciturn and Stricture realized just how poorly she was singing, so they upped their voices to cover hers, "Bring me a ring for I'm longing to be / The envy of all I see!"

Misery covered her optics with her hands, sighing deeply as she whispered, "I am surrounded by morons . . ."

"I need a five letter word for 'pottery made in this style,'" the red and white Maximal tilted his helm back and glared across the room to his twin. "Yo, Air-slake! You hear me?"

The red and white jet style Maximal turned around, dactyls tapping at a computer as he listened to his twin. "What'd you what?"

"I said 'five letter word for pottery made in this style.' You got the answer, Air-slake?" he asked again, setting his stylus down next to his data pad.

"'Delft,' Air Lock, 'delft.'" He turned back to his computer, typing faster this time as he continued his report. His twin went back to work, having already completed his task of the report. Well, Air Lock wrote it, and Air-slake checked it for errors; it was riddled with errors. Within several more minutes he completed his task and turned to the sound of the doors opening.

Depth Charge strolled in with the look of the cat who ate the canary. "Well, boys, ya got a report done yet or what?"

"What, is the operative word, here. Actually, I think Air Lock meant to say 'opposed' instead of 'appeased.'" Air-slake ejected the disk and handed it to Depth Charge as his twin began to speak.

"Yeah, well, you know me and words that sound the same . . ." Air Lock prinked with good nature.

"Sound the same?" Air-slake turned, blue optics wide and confused. "Opposed and appeased sound nothing alike!"

The other red and white jet crossed his legs at the ankle joints and stared innocently around the room. "They do if I say they do."

Depth Charge chuckled. Having spent seven stellarcycles with Air Lock and Air-slake taught him to appreciate intellectual humour; their focus was more on words themselves, unlike Jazz³ who cracked his jokes about peoples and objects. "Why are you in such a good mood?" Air-slake inquired, tilting his head.

"Yes, share with the rest of the class," Air Lock bent forward, crossing his legs and placing his elbow on his poleyn as his other arm laid limp across his leg. "You seem in such good moods at this moment that you half to share."

"'Have," his twin corrected absently, even though he knew his brother had done it on purpose.

Depth Charge smiled and said, "Well, I've gotten us a permanent communications officer, as well as a captain on the way."

"I thought the High Council told you 'no,' but in a more hurtful way," Air Lock stood, trotting towards the other two as they began to move out the door and down the hallway.

"I asked elsewhere," the chief of security answered flatly, their heavy footsteps echoing off the walls as they made their way through the Omicron Security Headquarters. Depth Charge was bound and determined now to see what information Jazz³ had gotten from the remaining Karnasian thieves.

"You didn't?" Air-slake blinked his blue optics, tilting his helm. "You didn't call in Predacons, did you?"

"Oh, no. Decepticons work better than Predacons."

"Wha-what!?" the twins stopped in their tracks. "Depth Charge, are you crazy? Didn't you pay any attention to who we are?"

"Yeah, I know, you two are second generation sired of Air Raid, and Jazz³ is third generation sired of Jazz. So, you three can get over it and treat your new team mates with the same amount of respect you show each other." Depth Charge opened the door to the interrogation observation room and waited until it was completely open to enter. The three of them stood together on the opposite side of the two way view, staring into the other room where Jazz³ sat with several restrained Karnasians.

"But, Depth Charge!" the two whined only to be silenced by him as he held his hand up. Quickly getting back on track to the task at hand, Air Lock inquired, "Who do you supposed hired them?"

"Suppose," his twin sighed. "Tenses, brother, tenses!"

"Hey, you stopped correct me, I stopped with butcher," Air Lock smirked again, knowing he had won this fight.

"Fine," his brother sighed.

Depth Charge shook his helm, "Alright, both of you stop." He opened the door for Jazz³ who was now finished with the interrogation. He waited until his third in command took a seat along the wall. "Find anything out?"

"They were hired by someone they've never met, so they say, and they were sent to steal energon and green pyre from the vaults, so they say. But, of course you know that our vaults are unbreakable, so we say, so that's why we caught them--"

"So we say," Depth Charge, Air Lock, and Air-slake chorused as they completed Jazz³'s sentence. "Did they say anything else?" Depth Charge asked.

"Well, they told me where I could stick a pistol but I had to inform them that I didn't have the anatomy for it," the Autobot descendent chuckled.

"Nice," Depth Charge looked around for a moment and then a thought occurred to him. "Where's Cybershark?"

"Oh, you put him in charge, remember? Where do you think he is?" Jazz³ chuckled.

"Get outta my chair!" Depth Charge yelled only after he had stomped through the building, followed closely by the other three, entered his office, and jerked his chair out from underneath Cybershark who promptly hit the floor.

Cybershark blinked from his very humourous position on the floor. "You coulda just asked for me to get up . . ."

"Or he could have thrown you out the window," said a female voice behind them, and as they turned to face the speaker, Jazz³ was taken aback by her beauty. "That's what I would have done, anyway." Well, maybe not so much her beauty as her pronounced chest.

"Helloooo, Nurse!" Jazz³ howled, stepping close to her. "You're rather fine, you know."

She looked at him incredulously, glaring at his insignia. "I do not couple with Autobot filth."

"Eh?"

"She's a Decepticon, Jazz," Depth Charge rounded his desk as his third in command shot away from the female, wiping his hands in disgust. "Shock Therapy, I presume?"

"And you must be Depth Charge. You're tall for a Guardian," she looked around the room, observing all their heights. "You're all tall. What's your specs, Depth Charge?"

"Four-point-nine meters. The others are just under me, as you can see, except for Cybershark of course," he jerked his thumb back towards the Maximal who had just climbed to his feet from the floor. "He's five meters. And you?"

Shock Therapy shrugged, tilting her helm to the side and looking better at them with her center orb of an optic. "Four meters exactly. Not too small for the job, am I?"

"Hardly," Depth Charge took her hand and shook it firmly. "Our communications tower is upstairs, Jazz will take you--" he heard a protest from his third but the other knew it was for his own good; he would have to learn to work with her now or later, "--and show you the equipment we have. You may change it and order new parts as you please. I hear from your sire that you are very talented with straight plug in and control."

If she had been human, she would have blushed. "Why, yes. Yes, I am very good at grid controls as well. Well, Jazz? Shall you show me where my new room is, then?"

"Room? You mean your quarters? I thought Depth just said . . . ?" he trailed off, looking to his chief for confirmation.

Depth Charge chuckled. "She's one of Shockwave's sired, Jazz. They live in the towers."

"Oh . . ." he turned back to face her, shaking his helm, "well, let's go then." Jazz³ took off with Shock Therapy, walking with her down the hallway but keeping a careful distance from her.

"Depth Charge--"

"Everyone except for Cybershark get back to work and close the door behind you," they obeyed him wordlessly, Air Lock pressing the switch as he left, sealing the door behind them. The leviathan of a bot turned back to his second. "That's one down, one to go."

"Depth Charge . . . do you honestly think it's wise to invite two Decepticons here around three Autobot sired Maximals?"

"Ah, so you've figured me out," he chuckled, rounding his desk and taking his seat.

"It wasn't that hard to put two and two together. You've invited that Decepticon Misery here," he sat down opposite of his chief, not bothering with formalities anymore. "You know I will stand by your decision, as you are in command here, but I am also troubled that you will spend more time watching her then you will Omicron."

"What Misery and I choose to do will be on open time, just like our trips to the pub at night, but we will not bring anything that could be personal into the line of duty."

"Oh, this coming from the Maximal who was making kissy faces with her when she was supposed to be our prisoner in the academy?" said Cybershark flatly, tilting his helm to the side and giving Depth Charge a look that seemed to say 'I see more than you are aware, friend. Careful what you try to hide from me.'

"Yeah, but she also used that as her opportunity to escape, thus giving me the handle over the Tripredacus Council that I do. If the Maximals had gotten a hold of her . . ."

"I know, you told me, and I understand. But listen to me and listen wisely: she also does not care for you, she plays with you, she only uses you for her game. I have seen this, Depth Charge, I have read it from her."

"I thought you were a telemetrist . . ."

"Listen, listen, Depth Charge. She cares nothing for you, at least nothing that is above her surface. Be wary of her, Depth Charge, she's after something bigger, I know it, I saw it."

"But until you learn to read the future with a crystal ball, I shall continue to play my own games with her as well."

"I know, I see that in your head even now."

"Then stay out of my head, I don't want more than me in here."

"Forgive my curiosity. You may continue if you wish, Depth Charge."

"I do wish. Like I said, she can have her games, and I will have mine. She has to obey my orders, and you have no idea what I can gain from having her here."

"The Patriarch?"

"Exactly."

"Careful with that game, Depth Charge. No telling what the High Council will do if you mess things up with him."

"With Misery here? Hah, she'll be able to take care of the problems for me."

"Now you're playing dangerously."

"Is there any other way? Cybershark, I've told ya before, the High Council--"

"Cannot be trusted, I know. I saw it in Misery's mind, or what she believed."

"'Believes,' my friend, she's much older than we, and much trickier, so we must attempt to be just as cleaver as she if we are to win the battle of wits."

"Just be careful, alright? I do not wish to go job seeking, or worse, no job seeking at all."

"Afraid I'll get us killed?"

"Slightly, yes."

Depth Charge laughed this time. "Misery could fix that for you if you asked nicely, I think."

"That," Cybershark cocked his head once more, "I do not wish to understand."

"Good, she probably wouldn't do it anyway. Now, we still have seven hours of duty before off time. So let's see what else we can do to entertain ourselves until tonight."

She was bored, restless, and wanted to perform some mindless killing. Currently, Misery rapped her fingers across the arm of the chair, drumming with a steady hum that created enough noise that those who were sitting in the other aisles were beginning to get annoyed. Then, she began tapping her foot along with her dactyls, trying to create as much noise as possible to drone out the thoughts in her head. Later, one of them attempted to tell her to stop, which only resulted in receiving the Glare of Death that would silence anyone.

The shuttle was slow, but the jump gate at least made the travel in one third the time it would normally take to reach from Cybertron to Omicron. Normally, the trip would take four days by shuttle and only two by tracker standards. Either way, Misery loathed the travel through commercial means. Give her the Cenotaph any day and she would be happy.

Of course, the Cenotaph was currently in the use of Stricture and Taciturn, who had gone on ahead of her to Omicron. Their plan was simple: while she worked for the Guardians (training from what had been explained to her), Stricture and Taciturn would be searching the depths of the colony for Xyston. Misery sighed once more; if only she still had her original crew, the work would be much easier that way.

She tilted her helm, looking at the bot standing in the aisle next to her seat. Apparently another had been elected to persuade her to stop annoying the others. "I said you need to stop disturbing the other passengers." He did not continue when he received a look from her. He gathered his courage once more and continued, "Miss, you need to stop disturbing the other passengers with these threatening looks as well."

"Who are you?" she purred slowly.

He seemed slightly taken aback by the question but gave her his name despite it, "Skywarp. My name's Skywarp."

Misery cocked her head and lost the expression she had been giving him. "You take the name of a Decepticon martyr yet you bare the Predacon mark. No, what was your name before you changed it?"

He growled at this, sitting down across from her and leaning in close so no one could hear, "Rhyton, my name is Rhyton. Happy? Though I don't see why I should cooperate with you, Decepticon wanna be."

Misery latched her fingers around his throat and brought her face dangerously close to his. "Difference is, fool, that I do not need to steal another's name. I am the original Misery." When she saw that her name meant no impression to him she growled, "Of course, you would know nothing of the true glory of being a Decepticon, you were never one of us. You were not there for the glory, the victory, the honour of serving Lord Megatron and Lord Galvatron."

"I doubt you are who you say you are, and I really doubt that the Decepticons would have had a putrid harlot such as yourself."

Clenching tighter around his neck she closed the distance between them so that her helm touched against his. "Ever heard of the Autobot killer?" That title received Rhyton's full attention; the rumours had been passed down through the years.

"No Autobot I ever heard of killed his own kind. Nom de guerre if I ever heard one."

"Do you honestly think that? Very well," she released him with enough force to sling him against the chair, "begone from my sight. I have no need for non believers." She snarled, a wicked smile gracing her lips. "No need for you to earn the name you have given yourself."

"Wait, wait, I never denied that he could exist," Rhyton checked left and right, leaning forward once more. "You think there's such a bot that could bring we Predacons to a new glory?"

Misery said bluntly, "Predacons will not rule, foolish boy, we Decepticons shall be returned to our glory. You will be no more than a building stone to a righteous pathway that will bring Cybertron back under the footing of its proper owners."

"Easy, harlot, I could be tempted to kill you now for speaking to me like that. I've killed for less," he snarled right back.

"You are welcome to try, many before you have, but none have succeeded," she drew her handgun from her side and pointed it at him from underneath the seat. He only had time to hear the distant click.