- Tied winner for Most Creative Plot Idea '04

A Weasel in Maximal's Clothing

Chapter One of Merciless

By: Miss Special

She hoped she had the coordinates right. People would have told her she was crazy for coming out this far, if she'd actually told anyone where she was going. That, however, would invite competition, and she wanted all this for herself.

Assuming there was anything here. Maybe that quantum surge she'd detected while she was "fishing" was just some freak random occurrence and not the result of some conflict somewhere.

She was taking an enormous risk, coming out here. Supplies and fuel weren't cheap, and she hadn't been making much of a profit lately. There was just too much peace around Cybertron these days.

Unfortunately, the planet in front of her didn't look very promising. It had plenty of life, to be sure, but so far her scanners weren't showing much in the way of intelligent beings.

But then, just before she was about to call it quits and head back to her native time and space, several small blips came up, some Predacon energy signatures, some Maximal.

A slow grin spread across her face. Though there were Transformer energy signatures, there were no energy signatures for engines. Could these really be the missing Maximals and Predacons? Could this really be the setup she'd always dreamed about?

She set in a course for a spot between the signatures and began the procedure to enter the planet's atmosphere, spirits riding high.

Cheetor congratulated himself on his innate ability to get himself into trouble. Waspinator kept dodging his shots, and it was all he could do to avoid getting hit by return fire, especially since there wasn't much room to dodge in the middle of a forest.

A shot from Waspinator grazed his shoulder. Waspinator gloated. Cheetor snarled and used the opportunity to shoot the wasp in the chestplate. Waspinator went flying with a "Bzzzzz!"

"Good riddance," Cheetor grumbled to himself. He took a moment to breathe, looking around just in case another Predacon might get the idea to make Cheetor's day a little harder.

He did not expect to see a large weasel-like creature coolly lounging on a branch. It looked slightly amused, and had probably been watching him fight.

"Hello," it said genially. Its voice us unmistakably female.

"Who are you?" Cheetor asked, wary of the smirking newcomer.

"My name's Mercy," she replied, grinning and showing off a set of pointy teeth. "I'm new here."

"I didn't hear anything about a stasis pod landing," Cheetor wondered aloud.

Mercy smiled and shrugged. "Dunno what to tell you."

"So you're a Maximal?" Cheetor asked. "Well, I guess you are, since you're not trying to kill me."

Mercy continued to look like she was enjoying a private joke.

"My name's Cheetor," the cat said. "We should probably get back to base before Waspinator brings any reinforcements."

"Lead the way," Mercy told him in extremely friendly tones.

Perfect! Mercy thought to herself as she and Cheetor went up the lift of the Axalon. Cheetor explained everything to Mercy on the way to the ship. Both the Maximals and Predacons were stranded on prehistoric Earth, where they'd had some run-ins with aliens. One such occurrence resulted in the quantum surge, which had transmetallized some of the Beast Warriors.

Mercy transformed from mink to robot, keeping a slight smile on her face. She'd have to keep her happiness relatively concealed if she wanted to keep her game going until the right time.

"Look what I found!" Cheetor announced to the Maximals in the control room. Mercy's smile momentarily disappeared. "Found" indeed! She'd found him, not the other way around! It was a minor thing, though, and Mercy's smile returned.

The Maximals stared at her.

"We haven't detected any stasis pods…" Optimus started.

"Yes, Cheetor established that," Mercy answered.

"This is Mercy," Cheetor told everyone.

"Are you a medic, then?" Rhinox asked.

Mercy's smile widened. "No."

"If you're not from a stasis pod, how did you get here?" Optimus said.

"A ship," Mercy stated simply.

Rattrap was looking her up and down suspiciously, not looking at her physique (which wasn't anything terribly grand), but looking for something…

"I don't see a Maximal symbol anywhere on 'er," he observed.

Mercy shrugged.

"You ain't a Maximal, are ya?" he accused.

"I'm not a Predacon, either," Mercy replied, knowing the best part of the game was coming.

Cheetor stepped away from her. "Then what are you?"

Mercy's smile turned into a full-blown grin, complete with an expression of utter deviousness. She loved this part.

"A mercenary," she said.

The more experienced Maximals looked disgusted. Silverbolt looked somewhat confused and Cheetor didn't understand.

"I'm neutral in faction," Mercy explained, "but my skills can be bought for a price."

"She plays da sides against each other fer a profit," Rattrap said.

"Oh, now you're treating me like I'm the bad guy," Mercy said, pretending to pout.

"Have you no loyalty?" Silverbolt asked her.

Was this guy for real? Asking a mercenary about loyalty? "Nope," she brightly replied. "Not a smidgen of it. Completely neutral."

"Try the Predacons," Silverbolt said, glaring at her. "We have no need of your services."

"Oh? According to Cheetor, you're outnumbered."

"Be that as it may," Optimus answered, giving Cheetor a reprimanding look, "we're willing to take our chances without you at the moment."

"At the moment," Mercy echoed, still smiling. "Well, then, I'll see you later."

"Hold on a moment," Rattrap said before Mercy showed herself out. "Why come t' us first? You know Maximals don't like mercs."

Mercy shrugged. "You're also less likely to shoot me on sight. Working for each side has its advantages and disadvantages. See you around!" She flashed them a grin before finalizing her exit.

"That arrogant li'l…" Rattrap caught himself before he let loose a curse in front of Cheetor. "Struttin' about like she owns da place."

"She has reason to," Optimus said. "We're prime targets for just this kind of thing. We could use another ally, but we're not that desperate yet."

"But what if the Preds hire her?" Cheetor wondered.

"She seems to be an experienced mercenary," Rhinox said. "She's not going to work for them for too long at a time. She knows we're stuck here, and she's going to use that to her full advantage."

"Da Beast Wars just got a whole lot more complicated," Rattrap said, stating the obvious.

Mercy sat perched on a rock near the perimeter of the Predacon base, too deep in thought to be smiling. She was serious at the moment. Dealing with Predacons was a tricky thing. She could get killed if she went about this the wrong way. But that was the hard part.

Rhinox's observations were correct-- she was a very experienced mercenary. It was the perfect occupation for her, and she loved nearly every moment of it.

She didn't really care if the Predacons hired her or if the Maximals did. The Predacons were more likely to hire a merc, but they were also much less likely to pay her fee when collection time came. The Maximals despised the mere thought of a merc, but if they really needed one, they would pay.

And if neither side took any interest in her, she could always go somewhere else. This was the best looking situation of her career, but she could always find work on another planet. Wherever there is strife, there is need for a mercenary.

But how to get her foot in the door? If push came to shove, she could wait for a Predacon as naïve as Cheetor, but that still didn’t decrease the likelihood of getting shot at.

Wait… there was a chance the autodefenses were rigged so that they'd only shoot at Maximal energy signatures. And if this was the case…

Mercy jumped off her rock and ran by one of the autodefense turrets, stopping when she was out of range. She looked back over her shoulder at the turret, which hadn't fired a shot.

This didn't necessarily mean she could waltz in and speak with the leader, but she could at least get to the perimeter without getting shot at. Which is exactly what she did.

She inspected a turret for a camera or something along those lines. Finding a camera lens, she tapped it and smiled into the camera.

That oughta get their attention.

Sure enough, a tall, red, menacing Predacon came running.

"What business have you with the Royalty?" he demanded.

"Royalty?" This Predacon was… odd.

"The Queen of the Colony!"

Queen? The leader of the Predacons was Megatron, or so Cheetor had said, and Megatron was a mech.

"I wish to speak with the Queen," Mercy replied, not sure if she was going about this the right way. "I have an offering for the Royalty." She smiled up at the large bot innocently.

The bot stared at her for a very long moment. He then tapped into his comm.:

"Royalty!"

"What is it, Inferno?" The voice on the other end was male. It occurred to Mercy that she should concentrate on more important things than why Megatron was referred to as the "Queen".

"An unknown drone brings you an offering," Inferno reported.

"What kind of offering?"

"What kind of offering?" Inferno relayed, apparently not aware of the fact that she could hear Megatron just fine.

"It'd be best if I present it in person," Mercy said.

"She requests an audience with you, my Queen."

"I can hear her, Inferno."

"Yes, my Queen."
"Whoever you are," Megatron said, addressing Mercy, "I am a very busy tyrant, and I have little time for whatever game you're playing. State your business, which had better interest me, or Inferno here shall see to it that there isn't enough left of you to identify should anyone try to do so."

"Very well," Mercy said, a touch peeved and disappointed, "I'm a mercenary. I've come here to see if you have any interest in some hired help. I've got credentials, if you want to see them."

"Mercenary, yesssss… Inferno, being her in, but watch her to make sure she doesn't try anything."

"Understood!"

Wow, this place was a dump. The Predacons definitely picked a bad place to crash-land. Between the pools of lava, smell of sulfur permeating everything, and bad lighting, she wondered how any self-respecting bot could call what was left of the ship "home".

"The Queen grants you your audience," Inferno told her. "You are to be respectful at all times."

"All right." Inferno was definitely a weird one. She made a mental note to be careful around him.

"Royalty!" Inferno addressed the purple mech sitting in a throne-like chair. "I have brought the 'mercenary'."

"Good," Megatron looked at Mercy skeptically. "You call yourself a mercenary?"

"I am a mercenary, thank you very much. My credentials." She pulled out a handful of papers and certificates and went to hand them to him. Inferno stopped her before she got close.

"You do not approach the Royalty without consent!"

"Hand them to Inferno," Megatron told her. She felt like saying something mean, but caught herself before she did. First impressions were essential in situations like this. She handed the papers to Inferno, who gave them to Megatron, who looked them over thoroughly.

"You seem to have an excellent record," Megatron confirmed, handing them back to Inferno, who returned them to Mercy.

"Why, thank you," Mercy said sweetly.

"What is the Mercenary's Code?" the Predacon leader quizzed Mercy.

"There isn't one," Mercy replied, annoyed at all the skepticism. "Mercs follow their employer's orders. If we don't follow orders, we don't get paid."

Megatron smiled at her. "Well done."

"Now that I've proven myself," Mercy said, "shall we move on to business?"

"Indeed. You do know the Predacons already outnumber the Maximals, correct?" Megatron said. "Why would we need another to join our ranks?"

"Because then you'd outnumber them even more," Mercy said coolly, smiling a little. Things were going better now.

"Excellent," Megatron laughed. "I trust your rates are reasonable?"

"It depends. If you want me to be a Pred for a day, that's pretty cheap. But if you want me to, say, assassinate someone, it's gonna cost you."

"How much?"

"Assassination? More than you can afford." Mercy smiled.

"Job security?"

"Something like that. Wouldn't be profitable to end the Beast Wars on my first day here."

"Nooo," Megatron agreed. "Well, Miss Mercy, I think we can arrange something that will work for us both, yessss."

They worked out the details. Mercy would become a Predacon for a designated amount of time, during which she would be appointed a task or two. If she succeeded during the allotted time, she would be paid. If she didn't, well, too bad. The deal was sealed with a handshake.

Mercy returned to her well-hidden ship that evening, extremely pleased with her first day in the Beast Wars. She'd established contact with both sides and even been hired!

Mercy smiled to herself as she drifted off to sleep, comforted by the quiet noise of her ship's systems, knowing that luck was turning things in her favor, at least for the moment.