5.Nov.08

Cat and Mouse

Part 3

By: Taratron

Cat and mouse

tis but a feast

in the end, who will eat...

Living in the modern age

death for virtue is the wage

So it seems in darker hours

Evil wins, kindness cowers.

Ruled by violence and vice

We all stand upon thin ice

Are we brave or are we mice

here upon such thin, thin ice?

Dare we linger, dare we skate?

Dare we laugh or celebrate,

knowing we may strain the ice?

Preserve the ice at any price?

 -Dean Koontz

The Book of Counted Sorrows

Dragon, X.  Meagos.  For some reason it was raining, and the water splatters echoed and streaked down the window of his quarters.  Dragon.  One drop.  Dihex.  Two.  Meagos.  Dragon, one, Dihex, two.  Three, Meagos.  Four, X.  Four, himself.

Rampage knew he was awake, but at the same time, remembering, dreaming in recharge, was preferred.  It was so much easier to rage at the sheer injustice of every world than dare to try and change it.

Try to?  What have I been doing all this life of mine?

One drop, two, three, ten.  Dragon, Dihex, Meagos, escape.  The second escape from Dihexaline, he had been alone.  But he had not gone without information.  He had escaped, and this time Dihex had been destroyed, been nearly detonated in chemical explosions.  But knowing them, knowing High Command, or at least of them, he doubted it was still in rubble.  No doubt it had been rebuilt.  After all, he had been recaptured a second time.  And now here he was. 

And Meagos, here he is too.

He wondered, not for the first time, what they had precisely done to him.  Reprogramming was obviously the first answer.  Perhaps erasing memories.  After all, what a black mark would have been on Dihex had anyone discovered that they had not only allowed a rampaging Meagos to escape, but he had been able to leave with a protoform experiment, hadn't he?  Of course.  What kind of security was that?  Rampage had to admit (grudgingly, of course) that even Megatron had better measures than Dihex.

And what does THAT say about the government?

No.  He had known from the minute he left Dihex alone that Meagos was still alive.  Being a Guardian on some colony Omicron.  Tracking him down had been easy; watching him in action even more so.  And only a minute of watching that action was enough to spur on and expand that raw rage as to what had happened to Meagos.  How different he was then...and now, of course.

And yet it's a good thing when Maximals do reprogramming...when Megatron does it, it's a tragedy.

He felt his claws clenching in vague memory.  After Meagos and he had been captured, surely long after Meagos had been reprogrammed or unprogrammed or whatever the technical terms were, the tests had started again, and for several weeks, they had been so much worse.  Locking his systems into shocking him whenever he tried to recharge.  Stabbing his spark, and then finding ways of making him stay conscious and online during such sessions.  The shock boxes surpassed even the number three.  And then they had slowed down again; the tests reverted back to their old fashion.  He imagined the first furies of them had been as a grim reminder as to who was in charge of his life.  He had known it then, of course, and he remembered it now.  They were.  Had been.  And now it was only Megatron.

He should have been working WITH High Command.  He would have enjoyed the perks.  It was a toxic thought, but that was all Rampage could afford for now.  Forever, even.  He had escaped again in another flurry of explosions and fire and electrical haywire, again because of a mistake, a technicality that someone had forgotten to check how tight a restraint was.  And then he had nearly been free again...but there had been a loose end, hadn't there?  He remembered killing Ivex before, but he had not know that Ivex was one of the head researchers who had created his spark.  He knew at the time of his second escape who else had, and was.

"Dragon," he hissed softly, and yes, that chatterbox who had never outgrown that flaw had discovered, like everyone else in Dihex, how badly some people wanted freedom.  How much they were willing to go through and endure...and how it was always much much more than the oppressors.

"Nooooo," the red bot tried to gasp, but with limited energon reaching his head and vocal units, it came out as a hissing sound, like something inflated deflating slowly.  His optics were dull, their glass shattered, and the rest of him leaked steadily onto the ground.  X appeared not to notice.

"You will answer me," he said simply, and that was the truth.  He had one of his hands supporting the head of the protoform project.  The other was wrist-deep into the chest cavity of the very same bot.

"Please," Dragon tried again to say, and then could only scream, then gargle as mech fluid rippled through his chest and up his throat, spilling warmly onto X's arms. 

"Password," repeated X.  "Where is he?  Tell me and you die now, quickly."

The lights in Dragon's optics finally went out, and amidst the now steady stream of silver and gold, he managed to spit out the main computer code passwords, which X would use to erase the security (Dihex was dead now, he certainly had the time) camera recorders, and as well to gain access to an escape shuttle.  Security HAD beefed up somewhat.

"What is his name now?" X demanded, letting his fingers coil and curl around a circuit of a motherboard, lightly twisting and snapping.  Dragon could only shudder in agony, unable to see, only able to barely understand that he was not dead yet.  "WHAT is his name, Dragon!"

"Meagos," came another gasp.

"I checked the computers.  His name's not there.  What is it?  Where is he?  WHERE IS HE?  WHAT is his name?"

"Me, me...me..."  Dragon drawled off, and for a scant moment X thought he was brain-dead, his spark dimly alive and awake.  And then came the softer whisper of the dying, and after those words X did as he had offered in promise; he devoured the bittersweet spark: "....Omicron...DepthCharge..."

Colony Omicron, population zero.  Status: dead.  Starbase Rugby, population zero, status dead.  Meagos, population one.  Status: gone, missing, reprogrammed.  Possibly dead.

As if any of this was news.

The only question, if there was indeed any questions left….was what he planned to do about this knowledge.  Rampage was fairly certain (if not precisely positive) that DepthCharge remembered nothing about Meagos.  High Command and Dihex would have taken care of that. 

The question is…the question is…?  And this we’ll defend?

The question also was if DepthCharge retained any memories.  Anything at all.  A face, a name, a word.  Rampage could build upon those.  He couldn’t start without foundation.

And why?  Why even bother?

Because….  And that was the sticky part of it all, to be sure.  Because he had to.  He wanted to.  He wanted Meagos back.  They should have never been captured. 

Haven’t these people ever heard of EVOLUTION?

The question also was…if there was no Meagos left, if he indeed was dead and gone, and the technicians correct…what then?  What could he do then?

Rampage clenched his claws again.  He knew, of course.

It’s not as if I’ve never killed before.  And DepthCharge is…NOT Meagos.  DepthCharge is prey.  Meagos was…is…was is my ally.  Comrade.  Friend. 

If Meagos is dead, then the Guardian has no worth to me.

He transformed and set out for patrol, questions, as always, unanswered.

For once Primal had halted his own stupidity; if nothing else, that was what DepthCharge hated the most about the ape.  The sheer idiocy of him, and as for the rest of the Maximals…well, they had their moments of sanity.  But they were truly abusing the privilege of stupidity. 

I was…I was too, once.  Stupid, that is.  I didn’t see X coming…not at Omicron, not at Rugby.  And Alphix, no one TOLD me about Alphix!

And no one told me how X knew me either…

Of course, he had not asked.  At the time, there had been more pressing matters.  Omicron, for one.  Then Rugby.  And the messages.  Here kitty kitty…but it’s only ONE.

He had not thought to ask anyone, and now he was the only one with any information.  But the holes were large, he knew, simply too large.  How could a protoform locked away in Dihex have heard of him, much less tracked him down?  There were countless colonies and planets between Cybertron and Omicron, but X had come there.  To Omicron, and then to Rugby, and left messages at them both, with the intent that he, DepthCharge, find them.

What does he know?  What does he know that I don’t?

And why do I care?

That was the difficult item.  He didn’t care; what mattered now was justice, was finding and killing X as he should have been killed long ago.  He knew that; it was justice, not revenge, not anything of that sort.  Justice…but he was finding and had been finding that he did in fact care.

It didn’t matter, of course, he felt.  So what if X had known him before, somehow, from some eerie odd source?  Some tech might have mentioned DepthCharge to X…save DepthCharge had never been that popular as a Guardian until after the massacres.  It was a chance, still, however. 

It was madness, and like madness, it attacked at the worst times.  At times he couldn’t even concentrate on something as simple as monitor duty (of course all he was monitoring was Rampage’s movements…the rest of the Predacons he could care less about) or as complex as plotting new ways to get the spark box from Megatron.  The curiosity, the wonder of it all…lunacy, and he knew it. 

You have to do something about it then.

He knew that too.  The only problem, the only person he could ask would be Rampage…and nothing the beast said would be true.  Even madness was better than deceit.

And this we’ll defend, he thought with disgust as he left the Axalon, glaring at the ship and its inhabitants.  He had never sworn to defend Optimus.

But I wasn’t good enough even for Omicron…

He closed his mind on that.  It was not that he had not been good enough; it was that X was bad enough.

How did he know me?  HOW?

That was the million credit question, and he knew it.  Unanswered, but perhaps soon, that would change.

It truly was a piece of work, a novelty of art, and even Quickstrike understood that.  And like all true pieces of work, it was original, and never too far from its owner.

Megatron was never plagued with nightmares, but nor was he foolish enough to believe that Rampage would not be tempted to try and take the spark box, and the core of his spark, back.  So the box never left his sight, and was always within reach. 

He did not have to use it often; Rampage seemed to have learned who was in control.  That didn’t mean, of course, that the box could not be used for other purposes.  In example, most Predacons, by nature alone, were never too pressed with deadlines or with punctuality.  They tended to treat the idea of being on time as an option or suggestion; as such, that often meant that Megatron would have to wait to dole out punishment for the offense later.  With Rampage, it merely took a few hand flexes, and he would be at Megatron’s throne within minutes.  Megatron didn’t care about his turn of speed, as long as the crab arrived.

“Rampage?” he said casually, but the crab was hardly dense enough to miss the lead tones under the otherwise carefree voice.  Trembling with barely disguised rage (all of which Megatron picked up, and personally enjoyed; the crab did know who was in control.  He could hate it all he wanted, as long as he did not forget.), the crab stilled, waiting for further words.

“You will be back in three hours,” the tyrant continued, and his hand lightly closed on the box, not enough to compress the spark in the shining shards, but enough to make the crab duck to the ground in reflex.  “And be sure to set up an interference station in Sector Nado.  The Maximals are getting too curious about that area for my liking.”

Rampage was silent; for him, that was basically assent.  When no more words came forth, he left, this time to the supplies chamber.  Megatron did not compress his hand into a much-enjoyed fist.  No…he decided he would wait until later.  Giving the crab an illusion of freedom, only to remind him who really was free, often made up for the various idiocies of his other Predacons.

If he is still alive under that programming…

Rampage clamped that thought closed as easily as he shut the bottom supports into place; setting up stations like this, like nearly everything the Predacons did, was menial at best and otherwise pointless.  And hoping had gotten him nothing in life thus far.

But if he is…or if he is but can’t get out, how can I bring him free?

Free from the tyranny of forced programming, freed by a current slave.  The irony of ironies, but it was not enough to crack his face into a grin.  A slave.

You’re free, and I’m free, and we’re never going back to how we were.  You, at Dihex, and me…well, being extremely stupid and wanting, wanting of all things to defend those…things!

“You were wrong, old friend,” Rampage hissed softly, setting the tower into place; slowly its console lit with power as it activated, blocking radar effectively for both factions.  Bittersweet victory, indeed.  “You were so wrong about that.”

And how I wish he wasn’t.

But the question of how remained.  Rampage had learned a lot from the Predacons, mostly through their computers, but very few files explained how to undo programming, or redo it.  Such topics seemed to be taboo at best.  And the only Predacon who might have had any information to offer was Tarantulas.  And knowing the arachnid, he would say anything to make Rampage leave him alone, and in one piece this time.  He would give false information, he would make things up, and he certainly wouldn’t tell a word of truth.  The spider was out. 

There was also, he knew darkly, the chance that the programming might not be alterable.  Whatever Dihex had done, it might have erased Meagos completely.

If that is the case…better I get rid of this imposter.  True, Meagos’ form was very similar to DepthCharge’s.  The beast mode had certainly added parts, as alternative modes tended to, but the face was different around the mouth.  The optics were the same color, but the burn in them was a fire reversed and turned in on itself, devouring as a self cannibal.

And one less Maximal.  As if he cared about this foolish war.  Prey fighting prey.  Leashing the predator, and then leashing another so tightly he had become prey too.  Whether or not the leash could be severed and the real beast could returned was yet to be determined.

If he can come back…I will bring him.

And why?  Why, as he had once asked Meagos repeatedly?  Why?

Because.  Because he is MINE.

That was true.  Dihexaline Labs had given him life, but had taken from him freedom on two occasions, the right to recharge, the right to energon, simple rights given to every prey person.  They had taken from him every form of freedom…and they had taken his only friend.  Rampage had gained back the former.  The latter was still lost to him. 

But like freedom…I may yet have him back.

And if I cannot…if I cannot, then DepthCharge still has no worth.  Killing him will be pleasure, if only in Meagos’ memory.

Rampage could still sense sparks; after all, he had sensed DepthCharge even from space.  His systems, his spark was that sensitive.  So even with the loss of normal radar, he was not surprised to find that DepthCharge was nearby.  But he also knew enough that the ray would never listen to him face to face…however, if there was no target, perhaps there was hope.

He settled into hiding in his beast mode; crabs were naturally suited for such a life and niche, and even a very large monstrous crab had the edge still.  Rampage did not have to wait long.

DepthCharge had been tracking via radar, and when that went out, he knew there was an interference station around.  But he also knew that Rampage could not have gotten away so quickly.  No…and knowing the monster, he was still around.  Waiting, watching.  Watching him, of course.

“I know you’re here, X,” he volunteered to the empty area as he stepped closer to the station.  Destroying it was secondary to Rampage, of course.  But if destroying it helped getting that primary prize…

“Oh, do you, Fishface?” came that hateful voice.  “Do you really?”

“Show yourself,” spat DepthCharge, pulling his remora blaster out. 

“Or what?”  Light, challenging, enjoying this. 

“Show yourself, X,” he growled.  He scanned over the nearby shrubbery the best he could, but there were no telltale signs.  Someone as large as Rampage, however, could not simply disappear.

“What do you defend, Meagos?” Rampage called out lightly.  “What do you defend now?”

“You’re insane.”

“So they’ve said.”

DepthCharge aimed his blaster at the station.  He had to ask.  “Who is Meagos, X?  Let me guess…another colony.  Another starbase.”

The laughter was cold and dark, like a river running under ice.  “No…no, DepthCharge, Fishface.  You have some names…I have some.  X and Rampage.  But for you…it’s Meagos and DepthCharge.”

The ray was silent.  Lies.  All lies.  What did I expect from this?  “You’re lying.”

“Don’t you wish,” came the spat reply. 

“I’ve never heard that name before in my life!”

“And you remember Dihex, don’t you?” crooned Rampage; he watched the ray calmly, even though he trembled in anticipation.  “Dihexaline Labs?  That’s where you met me, Meagos.”

Only silence from the ray.  “Lies,” he finally said.  “Lies.”

“You don’t remember, do you?”  Soft, cold.  “No…of course not.  You don’t remember Dihex…you don’t remember Ivex, or even Dragon.  That red chatterbox, you called him.”

“Shut up, X,” snapped the ray.  “Whatever you’re trying, it’s not going to work.”

Don’t I know it, thought Rampage dully, and slowly let the disc slide from a notch in his claws.  He had discovered some time ago the usefulness of pretending to pay attention while on monitor duty.  It had taken weeks, but Megatron finally trusted him on it alone and unsupervised. 

The Darkside’s computers had not held any helpful information; it was, after all, a war ship.  A Predacon war ship.  And the bot who had procured it had had no interest in High Command, save perhaps how to bring that government to its knees.

Sentinel, on the other hand, had been part of the Maximals’ arsenal until recently, and it was not only a defense system, but a keeper of records.  And files.  Most of them, Rampage had not been surprised to find, were coded and severely under lock and key.  In other words, they were delicacies to Megatron and Tarantulas, and they were hence decoded, and then recoded in Predacon script. 

It had been the Axalon’s aim and intent to leave Rampage’s pod somewhere cold, somewhere barren, desolate, lifeless.  Those were the exact words used in the reports about him, and Rampage knew all about those because he had read each and every one.  They had not been flattering…but they had been filled with information.  Mostly about him, but either Primal had been a close follower of the X project, or because he was simply trusted enough in getting rid of it, there were profiles of Dihex techs and scientists in the vastness of information.  Information Megatron had not truly cared about; there was more than enough from Sentinel’s defenses and the Maximal crew’s profiles to keep him interested.  He knew what he needed to about Rampage: how to control him.

And how odd it had been to read about his old ‘friends.’  Dragon, for one.  Dragon, and Ivex, and some hundred other techs and scientists…and then there had been some images.  Crew profiles.  A few pictures of Dihex before its grand destruction.  They were all dated.  And in one image, a shot of Dragon with another tech, there was Meagos.  In the background, but it was him. 

Rampage had copies of this image, of course.  He kept them in subspace, because if nothing else they were evidence that Meagos had existed.  He did not expect justice, of course, if Meagos truly was dead.  He was not that stupid.

“Do you remember me?” he called out lightly.  Let him shoot the station.  Go ahead.  “Do you remember me at Dihex, Fishface?”

DepthCharge was silent; here it was, and he knew it utterly.  Here it was, the answer, the question, but the source was poison, the answer a lie.  Deceit.  “X,” he started, uncertain of what he was about to say.

“I remember you there, Meagos…I remember you all too well,” Rampage had time to say, and transformed the same moment as DepthCharge fired on the station.  He drew his blaster back around to the crab, but three rapid-fire missiles from Rampage’s tank barrels knocked him back, toppling the interference tower, and blaring the radar nearly audibly loud.

DepthCharge had time for one quick yell of surprise, and then another missile tore his blaster from his hands, nearly taking his hands in the blast, and even as he tried to get up from the ground, Rampage, who had transformed to bot mode by then, seized him hard, slamming him back to the ground.  DepthCharge roared, trying to get up with more fervor, only to feel something clamp against his disc launcher, and he realized that a second after he fired.

The disc ricocheted in his chest, blasting out his back, and left him in stasis.  Rampage stared at him cautiously, but DepthCharge’s (or was it Meagos?) spark was strong still, merely not conscious.

Good.  Good.

He removed the image hologram disc from subspace and carefully fixed it in a torn part of the ray’s hands.  Hidden under some ripped armor, no doubt it would stay in place, but also be a pain enough for the ray to remove it, when he woke up.

The station was not ruined.  Rampage managed to move it into another clearing, and reset it there.  The only reason, of course, that he bothered was not for Megatron’s benefit.  If Meagos was alive, he would need some time to prepare.  And that was time in which he would have to think clearly, and not have his mind and body, not to mention spark, flooded with pain.

He left DepthCharge in the clearing, resumed patrol, and returned to base an hour early.

DepthCharge awoke in the Ark on the way to the R chamber.  They had managed to salvage only one from the Axalon, but it had to do.  He jerked awake with a start, making Silverbolt and Cheetor nearly drop him in surprise.  They stepped back, somewhat alarmed, as the ray stood up easily. 

“What happened?” he demanded with a snarl, but his hands questing over the greatest injury, his chest, explained it all.  Stupidity again.  He had been stupid with Rampage.  It could have cost him his life.  Instead it was merely his pride, but sometime the two were hard to distinguish.

“You need the R chamber, DepthCharge,” insisted Silverbolt, and for once the ray was not going to argue.  His torso felt scorched, and he was in no condition, he had to admit grudgingly, to return to find X. 

“Fine,” he snapped, and stalked toward the chamber, ignoring the other two Maximals as they trailed behind him with some amount of worry.  He continued to overlook them when something small struck the inside of his hand; with a wince, he stopped, glaring at the offensive metal shard.  The small gleam of gray was barely distinguishable from his fingers, but it was enough that he could draw it out. 

The source of annoyance pain was a disc.  A shine revealed a holographic gleam on its surface, and he eyed it only for a second before subspacing it.  The last thing he needed was the Maximals asking about such a thing.  Of course, he knew where it had come from.  Where else, save Rampage?

Throw it away!  It’s nothing but LIES and you know it!  Perhaps…but perhaps Rampage had not intended to lose this disc.  What kind of slag is THAT?  It was embedded in your armor!  Do you think he was trying to massage you or something?  He LEFT it there on purpose!

The ray ignored these voices as he stepped into the R.  Purposeful or not, the disc might be useful.  It might, if nothing else, show some weakness in Rampage. 

The cooling sensation of repairs began, and DepthCharge slipped into a form of recharge stasis, unknowing, and even had he known, not caring that the two Maximals were watching him still.

For once the Ark’s main room was empty, and DepthCharge was able to leave the ancient ship that had caused him so much lost time in the search for Rampage.  X, Rampage, it didn’t matter.  None of the Maximals saw him leave, or if they did, they had, in his opinion, wisely decided to let him get to work.  Let them defend some hunk of metal buried in the dirt. 

He took to flight mode, the disc still in subspace, and coasted over and under to his underwater base.  It was nowhere as nice as his ship had ever been; in fact, it was nothing but a large cavern in the ocean, but it did have the advantage of air pockets and, due to some random land shifts, a large area of flat surface.  Once the walls of the craggy cavern had been unmarked, but now they were scarred and scrawled with ideas, sketches of weaknesses in normal bot bodies (which might or might not apply to Rampage, but it was worth a shot), and other items of interest.  There was a even a very small computer, nothing more than a disc reader, with limited radar capacities, but it was really amazing what things Rhinox thought he was missing but always blamed Rattrap for.

He had no defense system for this hideaway, but the natural sea had provided enough.  The passageway was lined with toxic organic animals that clung to the walls and devoured most fish that passed.  The passageway was also narrow enough that DepthCharge could barely fit through and in it, but he did not mind the tight squeeze.  He would have even found a hideaway on land in a tree if that had been the only resort.  He was a solitary creature, and these Maximals he could care less for.

Plus it gave him time to think. 

He transformed to bot mode, checking over the small room; it would barely have fit himself and Primal in the best of times, and since his ‘wings’ were so large, they often scraped against the ceiling, crumbling bits of salty rock to the ground or the water itself.  But his computer was safe where he had left it, on the highest naturally-formed shelf he could find.  He drew it down, blew off some salt dust, and clicked it on.  The monitor slowly warmed to life, and as it did so, he seated himself, leaning against the wall, and brought out the disc.  It gleamed coolly in his hands.

It was about X, he knew it.  It had to be. 

Rampage left it.  You KNOW it’s a lie!  A lie!

He didn’t.  He might have dropped it.

Do you realize how stupid you sound?  And then the computer monitor flared to life.  He watched it grimly, shutting the voices down, and lifted the disc to the light of the monitor.

He had been correct after all; there was a holographic image on it.  But it had either been damaged when X dropped it (left it, dropped it, did it matter, really?), or when he had scraped it from his hand armor, because the image was blurred and scratched.  He thought he saw a building in the scratches, but that meant nothing.

Are you insane!  What are you doing?  Don’t read this thing, don’t do anything but destroy it!  It’s poison, it’s from Rampage!  What do you need, a skull and crossbones on this to realize it’s nothing but deceit?

He growled and inserted the disc.  The computer whirred briefly, then brought up several file folders.  And an image. 

DepthCharge stared at the computer; he knew enough about Dihexaline Labs, had studied it in as much detail as was available, and had once even been a supporter of the techs there until X had destroyed the place.  He remembered vaguely that early in his career, he had even volunteered there for a time for research purposes.  So he knew enough about Dihex to recognize the image as its main entrance room.  He did not, however, know all the techs and faces in the image, but thankfully (or unthankfully, he was still very uncertain as to this image, or its importance), there was a data key identifying every face in the image.  There was a blue bot, there was some green and gold, there was some red-

He stared at the red bot, who took up most of the lower frame.  Somehow he looked familiar…which was impossible, since DepthCharge remembered faces quite well.  Even this bot’s name, Dragon, seemed familiar.  But it was hardly an uncommon name; on Cybertron, some time ago, it had been fashionable to rename yourself as creatures of old: Dragon, Sphinx.  Stupid things, pointless things.  But the red face stared back at him almost condemningly.

“What…”  DepthCharge hissed, because another face struck out from the picture at him.  He knew that face; it was too similar not to.  The colors were the same.  The shape was the same.  Even the facial expression was one he had often seen reflected in the Ark’s walls when he spoke at Primal, sometimes to him.  That expression of disbelief that anyone could be so slagging stupid.  It was his own face.

But the name didn’t match.  The name of his face, the name of him?, was Meagos.  Not DepthCharge.

He stared in mute disbelief, and his optics were drawn to the corner of the data key.  The date was there.  It read a date a full three months before he could ever remember hearing of Dihexaline.

Something is wrong.  This is wrong.

He knew that.  Of course he knew that.  He knew it utterly, just as he knew the bot at the main desk console in the image was a mech named Flyfire.  He knew it.  He knew something was wrong, and it wasn’t the date, it wasn’t Flyfire.  It was the name, and his face that went with it.

It can’t be ME! his mind raged and wailed.  It’s a fake, it’s not real, it can’t be true!

But how can Flyfire be true?  How can he be real?

Maybe part of the image had been falsified.  He knew that was very possible…except in the date box, there was text revealing this image to be a security scan.  And he remembered enough of Dihex that it had had a good defense and security system.  Once.  At one time. 

It can’t be, he insisted, and on the tracks of that, X.  Rampage.

This came from him.  How did he GET this?  What does it mean?

You know what it means, wheedled a dark voice.  You KNOW what it means.

“No,” DepthCharge growled, shaking his head, and checked over the file folders.  They contained nothing but past security scan texts…and another image of his face with the name Meagos, talking to Flyfire and the red Dragon.  “No.”

“It’s a lie!” he cried aloud.  “It is…”

Security texts?  You used to read them…slag, you used to MAKE these for Omicron! crowed the dark voice.  You used to make these.  And it was hard enough to fob them there.  At Dihex, it would have been impossible!  Im-slagging-possible!

“No…it can’t be.”

But it is and you know it.  Don’t pretend stupid now of al else.

“It’s a fake,” he growled.  “It’s not me.  I never even heard of Dihex until months later!”

And how positive are you of THAT?  You’ve never heard of memory swipes?

“Don’t talk paranoid!” he ordered, but that wasn’t quite what it all was, now, was it?  “Dihex had no reason to swipe me!”

Unless…?

“Unless what!”

Unless there is something they didn’t want you to know.  At least you have admitted it IS you in that image.  You know how hard it is to fool defense scans.

“It’s not,” he repeated.  He was aware of how pitiful a litany that was.

It is.  And you are.  You are in that image.  And your name was Meagos.

“That name means nothing to me!”  Pitiful.

Was.  It does not have to mean a thing.  You simply might not remember a time when it was.

“Even Primal knows my name!”

Yes, and we all know how stupid he is.  But he knew of you AFTER the Omicron and Rugby incidents, didn’t he?  Your name was DepthCharge then, and it still is…but X knew about you BEFORE those both.  What does he know, ray?  What does he know that you still refuse to see?

“It’s NOT!” screamed DepthCharge in despair, unaware that his grip had destroyed the data entry keypad on the computer.  The monitor was not faring well either.  “It can’t be!”

Don’t be Optimus.  You’re not stupid.  You know what you see.  You might not know who you are…or were…but you’re not stupid enough to pretend they might not be the same person.

“It’s a lie.  Scans can be faked.” 

Then you are lying to yourself.  Because you know.  You know there was always something wrong.  How did Rampage know about you BEFORE he attacked those places?  You never saw him before in your life…not in a life you can remember at least.  But trails prove that he was stalking you down.  He stalked you and killed every place where you should have been but were not.  And no one could tell you WHY.

“Because he’s a beast!  A monster!”

And what makes you so special, DepthCharge?  Meagos?

“My name is DepthCharge!”

Names don’t matter, do they?  You said that about X.  Rampage.  The monster is the same.  The label won’t and can’t change it.  No…what matters is what you know.  What you remember.  And why X went after you.  What ever made you so special that not even you can remember?

“No…”

You know what this means.  Perhaps you were Meagos.  Perhaps you were always this Meagos.  And perhaps…that is how Rampage remembers you.

“NO!” he screamed, and on the trails of that, another unraveling thought: How would he remember me?

You remember that Dihex said he escaped two times?

“No….no…”

Yes, yes.  You do.  But no one told you any details now, did they?  And even when you thought to ASK, someone changed to Omicron, to Rugby, to the SECOND escape.  What didn’t they tell you, DepthCharge?  What didn’t they tell you, Guardian?  And what’s more…why?  Why would it matter how X escaped the first time?  You had a right to know, after all.

“It was confidential…”

That’s professional words for: it’s none of your business.  But it was your business.  Everything about X WAS your business, wasn’t it?  Isn’t it?  You had a right to know how he got away the first time.  Perhaps had someone told you, X might not have ended up in stasis.  Perhaps.  Perhaps.  But there was no perhaps because NO ONE told you!  And why not, DepthCharge?  What was so special about that first release that they couldn’t tell you?

Was it about you?

“Shut up!” he bellowed, and flung the computer as hard as he could; it shattered and ricocheted in a million shiny pieces against the wall, to the ground, and into the water.  But he knew, or at least a part of him did, that it didn’t matter how great the silence was; something was unraveling.  Something was clicking.  And he was afraid to see just what.

It had to have been…because none of the techs at Dihex would tell you, would they?  And no one else knew.  They never said a word to you…perhaps because it was about you.

Rampage has called you Meagos before.  And the image, the picture.  How did he know you?  Did he know you before he escaped?  That doesn’t explain why he tracked you down…or does it?  What did he know, what does he know?  Why did he track you down, DepthCharge?  And why has he always called you ‘old friend?’  An insult? 

DepthCharge could only growl.  His fists were clenched hard enough to draw mech from the armor, and his optics were as dark as the voice.

Or something more?  What is it, DepthCharge?  How does X know Meagos, but you don’t?  If not a memory scan, then what?  You said you never knew him before Omicron, but he certainly knew you.  No one told you about Alphix, or anywhere else X might have gone or DID go on his first escape.  No one told you a thing…but X knew you before Omicron, I think it is safe to say.  Because after his first escape and recapture he went after you.  No one told you anything, but he went after YOU.

What makes you so special, DepthCharge?  What makes you special enough that Rampage-X went after you…but no one could tell you a thing about his first escape?  About Alphix?  What makes you so special that you were allowed every slug of information about his second, and his second recapture but not a word about his first?  What makes you so special, DepthCharge?  And why did X track YOU down with messages and claims of old comradeship…those two things are linked, and you know it.  You know it.

Perhaps he did.

And he even said he MET you at Dihex…

He wrote those messages to YOU…and no one told you a thing about his first escape.

Could it be possible then, DepthCharge…that you were there?

“I would have remembered,” he whispered darkly.

Unless there was memory replacement…but perhaps it is much worse, because it always almost is.  Perhaps…perhaps you were not only there when he escaped, DepthCharge.  Perhaps there was something worse, and that is why you got the replacement and scan…that would explain so much.  Like why X would track you down.  How he knew of you before Omicron and Rugby.  And why you were never told about his first escape…because perhaps you were at fault for it?  Perhaps…you even did it?

Without a target to strike out at, DepthCharge rallied magnificently, stepping back and away into the ocean, the water splashing roughly from the abrupt entry, beastmoding as he rammed into a wall, destroying a century of native coral, and fled to the surface.  There was someone up there he had a need to speak with.  Although he was not certain speaking was the best word for what he had to do.

A full hour after his old friend went in search of him, Rampage left the Darkside again.  Not on patrol, this time, but merely because…he could.  He had no idea if the ray had looked over the disc yet, and even less theories of how DepthCharge would take the information (if he read it at all), but he wanted to be out of the Predacon ship in the case the ray went looking for him.  That factor, combined with the fact he despised the base for many reasons, and he currently had an hour of off-time before he was due back at the base, made for a nice, although speedy, trip to the beach.

Rampage liked the beach.  Or at least his beast mode did, and when it all came down to the nitty gritty of life, he was his beast mode, his beast mode was him, and so he liked the beach.  None of the other Predacons went near the ocean if they could help it.  He surmised it was mostly because of their beast modes…and the fact that they were afraid to run into him on his native turf.

He relaxed in the sands, digging himself a small burrow; even though it was technically impossible for a Transmetal to sun itself, it was certainly worth a shot, especially when a beast mode demanded it.

I wonder, and he truly did.  What would DepthCharge do with such a disc?  It had been painfully obvious that he, Rampage, had left it for the ray.  So either the Guardian would destroy it…or would look it over.  What his reaction would be was anyone’s guess.  Rampage knew that it was premature hope, expecting Meagos to come back (if he could, of course) from a mere disc, a few images and texts…but hope, he had come to understand, was always premature.  Hope had gained him nothing thus far in life.

He let his optic sensors dim; even though his beast mode lacked eyelids, and was not technically blind with optics off, it was a sensation like closing the lids.  A natural feeling like recharge, sleep.  If he had the power to close down radar, he would have as well.  Rampage knew the ray would be coming for him no matter what his reaction to the disc was; it only seemed right that he use what had started all this to track his progress.  He did not have to wait long, again.

The explosion from the sea barely startled him, and the crab lifted his head, antennae perked in interest as DepthCharge burst from the waves, water streaming from his form.  His optics blazing, in one hand he held his remora blaster, and in the other, his tail spear in the other.  But he did not seem prepared to use them.

“X,” he said, his voice tight and taut. 

“Hello, Meagos,” replied Rampage as politely as he could manage, and dodged the first shot quickly, transforming to bot mode with his launcher in hand.  “Something on your mind, old friend?”

“Where did you get that disc?” demanded the ray; he seemed to be shivering, but from rage…and something else?  Rampage could not tell for certain, but he was willing to bet there was another emotion under there as well.  “WHERE, slag you, X?!”

“From archives,” purred Rampage, emerald optics narrowed.  How much had DepthCharge retained, how much had he simply ignored?  Was there really anything left?  “All from Dihexaline Labs itself, Fishface…and what do you remember about that place, hm?  You always commented on Dragon and his stupid stairs.  Remember those?”

“You’re mad.”  Another shot from the remora blaster, which Rampage sidestepped easily with a laugh.

“I can’t deny that,” he admitted truthfully.  “But you are insane yourself, Meagos!  Or stupid, to deny the truth!”

“Don’t call me that!” roared the Guardian, and flung his spear; had Rampage stayed still, it would have chopped his right arm off at the elbow joint.  But instead the crab shot it to pieces, taking another step from the ocean.  DepthCharge’s optics flared as the pieces landed like rain, and stepped closer.

It ends now, X.  But no…no, there was something small inside him that ordered him to stop, to pause, to think for once.  It was madness, it was lunacy…but that image.  His face at Dihex months before he ever remembered being there.  The messages.  But it’s only one.  Here, kitty kitty.  He stared at Rampage in raw fury, his blaster arm trembling.  What do you know, damn you?

“It’s a fake,” he finally growled, when he trusted his voice enough not to bellow his rage.  Rage at everything, at Rampage (Omicron, Rugby, for all those innocents), at Rampage for everything that had gone wrong in his life, for all of it could be traced back to one protoform freak who killed for pleasure.  Rage…and doubt.  Yes, doubt.  Rage and then raging at doubt.  “It’s a fake.”

“Who are you trying to convince, Meagos?”  Rampage smirked.  “I know who you are.  I know what they did to you after Alphix…but you read about that, didn’t you?”

“It was a colony,” said DepthCharge thickly as the Guardian inside him wailed how big a mistake this was, listening to X, of all people!, “a colony you destroyed!”

“I didn’t do it alone,” purred the crab.  “You were with me!”

The ray stared at him in silence.  “You lie,” he whispered fiercely.  “I never-”

“You don’t remember,” said Rampage coolly.  “You just don’t.”

“I think I would remember something like that,” snarled DepthCharge.  What am I doing…what are YOU doing!  You’re a Guardian, you can’t be LISTENING to this!

“You would…and you would have remembered Altair-5, and the shuttles we stole…and Sycorax too, I bet, and every other colony and starbase…but you can’t even remember Dragon, can you?  That red chatterbox?  You don’t even remember me, Meagos…because of that memory wipe!  That glitch-”

DepthCharge screamed in rage, opening fire, and then in sudden shocked pain as his remora blaster was shot from his hand, singeing his fingers and smoking his wrist.  He stared in astonishment for a moment.

“It’s not there.  What, did you think I’d shrunk it?” growled Rampage with a low chuckle.  “Stop this, Meagos, just admit it!”  DepthCharge stared at him in shock…and something else besides naked wrath.  Whatever it was, it was enough to keep the ray from attacking him.  “It was a glitch, Meagos!  I know they reprogrammed you, because you were just like me once!  You wonder why no one ever told you about my first escape?  It was because YOU got me free!  YOU set me loose!  And then they recaptured us…and Omicron, and Rugby.”

“You lie,” whispered DepthCharge.  He was paralyzed, and not solely from fury.  It can’t be, it cannot BE!

What else is true then? demanded that dark voice.  You…wanted to know and Rampage is the only one left alive now.  And Dragon…he knows Dragon!  That red bot in the image…well, we could see him again save you destroyed it, didn’t you?  Yes, you did…denial is so powerful.

“It’s not true,” whispered the ray again.  “It’s NOT.”

Then what else is?  Ask the Maximals.  Ask Primal.  Ask ANYONE.  Perhaps you can even ask Megatron to read over Sentinel; perhaps that computer system kept some files.  You can ask and you can read…and what if this is all true?  It makes sense!  What else does?

“No….!”

Those missing months.  You were never at Dihex until much later…but that image!  That image!  How else would X have known you…tracked you down…he only killed Omicron and Rugby because YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE THERE.  And you weren’t!  But he left those messages to make you follow him…those missing months, Alphix.  The unanswered questions.

X has escaped again?  What do you mean, AGAIN?  And then how they all ignored your questions, changed the subject? 

You were told Dihex was your sponsor, and that sounds true.  And your name is DepthCharge.  But you were also told Dihex suggested that name change.  From WHAT, ray?  From WHAT did they change it TO!?!?

Was it Meagos?

“NO!” shrieked DepthCharge, and that was when he felt something grab him from behind, spinning him around suddenly, and even as he saw Rampage was the one holding onto him, a vicious snarl on his face, something strong and oddly sticky was slammed against his disc launcher again, and then he was shoved hard into the sand.  He barely managed to scream out a curse, and then Rampage was standing on his back, forcing him into the sand even deeper.

“SHUT UP!” bellowed the crab, and DepthCharge struggled all the harder as he felt large, monstrous hands close in on the back of his head.  “STOP fighting, you idiot!”  Rampage growled.  “ADMIT IT!  Admit it, you idiot!”

“Never!” the ray shrieked, and in his head came the dull dark echoes of that alien voice.  The same one that had insisted X deserved nothing but death…the very same voice that had mocked him from day one in his quest to find X and bring him to justice.  To death.  Laughing.  Laughing at ME!

Admit it!  What other answer makes SENSE?

The Guardian screamed in rage, trying again without success to get up, to knock Rampage from him.

He’s not killing you, fool!  He’s not killing you!  He wants something else!

Then LET him WANT!

“Get off!”  Of course, with his head in the sand, only vague noises came back from the dirt, and Rampage certainly was not going to listen to them.  “Admit it!” he challenged back.

Admit it, you!  Go with what he says!  What else makes sense?

“I’m not him!” shrieked the ray, finally moving his head up enough that speech was understandable.  “I’m not Meagos!  I’m not a killer!”

“You called it culling the weak!” snarled Rampage, and felt something within him start to wilt, to fade.  Could it be true, could it be possible that Meagos was indeed dead?  He was silent for a moment, then shoved the ray even harder into the sandbank, leaping from his back and landing some yards away.

The ray sputtered to his knees, and then feet.  Sand, wet and sticky, clung to his face and torso, which he wiped away in a near-blind rage; he snatched up his remora blaster with shaky hands, aiming at Rampage.

“You’re really dead, aren’t you,” said the crab flatly.  “Those Dihex creeps really did a number on you.”

“They didn’t do a thing,” whispered the ray softly, his voice tight with fury.  “They created you.”

“And that image I sent you?”

“A lie.”

“Of course.”  Rampage pulled his launcher from subspace.  “So you’re dead, Meagos.”

“That’s not my name, X.”

“Rampage.”  He fingered the trigger.

“Names don’t matter,” spat DepthCharge.  He was fighting the urge to hold his head, to scream at that dark voice to shut up with the laughing.  His entire head ached.  It was hard to concentrate on Rampage.  “You’re still the same monster.”

“So are you.  Only your target has changed.  From the stupid to…me.”

Laughter.  Cold, heartless laughter echoing and reverberating in his cranium.  From the stupid to Rampage.  Only you fall into that first group, ray…you know you do.  What is the definition of stupidity?  Seeing the truth with open working optics but choosing to believe a lie instead.  Stupidity: see Primal.  See…a reflection?

What was your name before DepthCharge?  Why couldn’t didn’t anyone tell you about X’s first escape?  WHAT happened at Dihex, what has happened, what did happen…and you can’t remember a thing about it.

What has happened to you, DepthCharge?  What hasn’t anyone TOLD you?  Why hasn’t anyone been able to say why Rampage came after you?  How did he hear of you?  What has happened to you…that you don’t even remember?

“Nothing,” he growled.  “No.  No….no.”

He suddenly couldn’t stay here any longer.  He had to leave.  No shooting, no talking…merely to walk back to the ocean, and DepthCharge knew if he did that, he might survive.  His head might stop, the voice might stop.  It was the only way.  He could kill Rampage another day.  Right now…his body had turned traitor on him.

            "Meagos,” came from behind him.

            DepthCharge felt the snarl building, and it took all of his (his?  was it really his?  And if it was, which part of his?  The voice?  Something…else?) willpower not to fire, not to shoot, not to obey instinct.  Walk away, ordered his mind….just leave.  Walk away.

This is X, this is the person who had killed everyone on Omicron, this is-

            "You remember, don't you."

            "I'm not him," spat the fish, about to turn away.  "Don't call me that."  It’s too late.  You spoke…and now you will listen.

            "But you are him, Meagos.  It is you, it has always been you.  Those scientists may have reprogrammed your memories, but you're no fool, you know this is me, and this is you.”  Rampage lowered his launcher, and waited.

            The ray gave a low groan that was not one of defeat but pitiful denial.  His head ached…and the laughter was louder than ever.  "That's not ME, X, and you know it!  I’m through with your mind games!"

            "Rampage is the name now, Meagos, DepthCharge, the names don't matter.  The people do.  Remember that conversation we had on the way to Altair-5?”  Rampage stepped closer, watching the manta ray, the Guardian, the torn expression on his face of denial.  “About being labeled protoform first, and a letter tacked on for classification, both of which formed a name?"

            "Shut up!"

            "But you DO remember, or some of it at least...do you remember that settlement we found?"

            The remora wavered.  "I told you to SHUT UP!"  Laughter.  It was as loud as detonation.

            Rampage didn't waver; for once, the bitter taste of hope rose again, and this time did not sink.  "You possibly do, in the depths of the darkness of your spark, you remember, and you remember that you LIKED it too."

            "I was reprogrammed, it was a glitch!" 

There is it.  There is it, that is what I needed to hear!  And aha, Rampage thought privately, if you cannot accept the whole truth, take in piece by piece.  Meagos…I think he is alive still.  I think.  I hope…he HAS to be!

            "Yes, it was a glitch,” he soothed, “but it was a glitch that unlocked the truthfulness of yourself!  You were beholden to no Maximal programming."

            "I was a monster!"

            "So you accept it now?"

            “NO," roared the manta, and the released energy blast shattered a stone yards from Rampage; it occurred to him that DepthCharge was not aiming at anything.  “NO, I am NOT who you say, it's all lies...I don't even know why I am LISTENING to you!”  The ray was still shaking, and his optics grew brighter.

            “I'll tell you why," Rampage whispered, his voice dropping an octave, and hating himself all the while, DepthCharge listened.  If asked why, he would not have been able to explain; but he did know that the moment he was silent, agreeing to listen…the laughter stopped and was just as silent.

            “You listen because you hate me, yes,” soothed Ramage softly, optics green flame, and he lowered his launcher, “and even as Meagos I think part of you hated the fact I could kill and kill forever and you would one day die…and now my immortality has a price, and that is slavery.”  He was silent for a pause.

“But you hate me now and you listen because you must deny this, you must deny it all, otherwise you are myself, you are no better than me.  And yes, you WERE reprogrammed, but only after the glitch was found.  They sought to keep you from yourself, Meagos, they sought to keep the Guardian alive.  And that’s not what you ever were, really.”

            “I AM a Guardian!”  Soft laughter now.  Oh…are you?  Really?

            "Of what?” challenged the crab, echoing the black voice within DepthCharge.  “Omicron is dead."

            "YOU killed it!"  DepthCharge took a careful step forward, but could not, for some reason, raise his blaster. 

            “Only to remind you!  You had no idea I existed…you had no idea WHO you were, what you were!  And I know that part of you, even with this Guardian protocol slammed through your circuits and forcibly being …I know a part of you liked it."

            The manta was shaken now to the point that Rampage could physically take note of it.  "I did not.  You KILLED-"

            "And you did too, and the only reason WHY this bothers you is because of that slagging protocol that was forced into your head!  Do you remember nothing?”  Rampage paused as memory surged across his mind, a dank trail of decadence.  “How they dragged us down and had to send in over ten bots apiece to subdue us?  How they stuck a prod on you and gave your spark a jolt of electricity so great it went into shock?  Do you remember the screams and then realize they weren't from prey but from me, being tormented and tested on by those slagging scientists, by Dragon?  Do you remember releasing me from that damned table of operations?  What do you remember, Meagos?"

            "THAT IS NOT MY NAME!"

            Rampage seemed to smile; hope was barely visible on his face.  "But names don't matter…no, they don't.  You know that.  X, Rampage, Meagos, DepthCharge...it doesn't matter the name or the form but the mind.  In your case, your mind has been muddled with, covered and congealed with lies Maximals saw fit to throw over on you.  And how rewarding WAS it, Meagos, to be their little puppet, to rescue little brats from falling buildings and work with land disputes?  How rewarding WAS it to be a slave to the public as I am slave to Megatron?"

            The ray was silent.

            "Because I know how rewarding it had to have been...how you must have fought that darkness after you were reprogrammed and forgot nearly everything.  How you had to deny that the beast, that monster, for a better word, existed.  How you were a Guardian, you were sworn to protect the stupid and the weak rather than remove them, to be an evolutionary conquest.  You deny Meagos is your name, because Meagos killed over one hundred people, but you cannot deny that a beast may change its stripes or its spots or its form, stasis pods prove that...but its nature is always the same, and its nature is always revealed in its eyes.  A professor I knew once told me that.”

            Rampage waved with a hand, near flourishing at the ocean, subspacing his launcher in the same smooth movement.  “What do your optics say, Meagos?”  And DepthCharge, unable to stop himself, could only look.

The ocean made an eerie mirror at best, but it was a clear day, and so close to shore, the water was nearly the same.  DepthCharge stared, his remora launcher held loosely in one hand, and even as a part of him screeched about leaving his back turned to Rampage, the larger part of his mind only softly laughed, and then was silent.

Yellow and teal stared back at him.  But that was normal; those were the same colors, however, that Meagos had had on his face.  His fins arched behind him, but DepthCharge only had eyes for his face.  Yellow, yes, teal, yes…and crimson.  Brilliance crimson, as bright and as dark as fresh fire, as organic blood.  He had once seen a sharks’ feeding frenzy on patrol, and the gaze back at him was that same tint of red. 

What do they say?  What do they say?

They speak…red.  Organic blood.  Fire.  Sweet, delicious organic blood…a memory of eating once, beast mode and tuna.  Red.  Crimson.  How many shades, how many colors?

Colors are mute.  What do they SAY?

“What do,” he whispered, unaware that Rampage was standing behind him, watching warily, but hopefully, “what do…what do they say?”

He might have answered when there came a terrible shriek behind him; a shadow fell, and the ray spun around with wide optics.  Wide, however, but now silent.

Rampage still had a few minutes left, to be certain.  And Megatron was not usually in the kind of mood to go looking for him.  But then again, sometimes being cooped up in a ship of idiots was enough to make one crave fresh air. 

The Transmetal dinosaur had not been looking for his crab puppet.  But when he had seen Rampage’s…and a Maximal’s!, energy signatures so close together, he had decided to investigate.  It was hardly likely that any Predacon to stay in the same area as a Maximal without fighting…and Megatron had heard no sounds that would have proven a battle taking place.

Megatron did not have a stealth mode, but leading these Predacons, as well as plotting with them and others to steal the Golden Disk itself, not to mention the getaway, had given him an edge to silence.  Most bots were far too used to others, like assassins, who moved stealthily.  Being stealthy was no good.  Silence, however, had yet to fail him, and in this instance, had given him quite a lot of information about his pet crab.  Megatron would have never thought Rampage so eloquent, much less civil in speech.  Yet here he had been, speaking to the Maximal manta ray Megatron vaguely recognized from Sentinel’s records, and about such things! 

Rampage is the name now, Meagos, DepthCharge, the names don't matter.  The people do.  Remember that conversation we had on the way to Altair-5?  About being labeled protoform first, and a letter tacked on for classification, both of which formed a name?

Do you remember nothing?  How they dragged us down and had to send in over ten bots apiece to subdue us?  How they stuck a prod on you and gave your spark a jolt of electricity so great it went into shock?  Do you remember the screams and then realize they weren't from prey but from me, being tormented and tested on by those slagging scientists, by Dragon?  Do you remember releasing me from that damned table of operations?  What do you remember, Meagos?

Megatron had listened most calmly throughout most of these eerie and rather strange rants; he had no idea if what Rampage was saying was true, and nor did he particularly care.  There were, after all, much better ways of obtaining information, and when he got these two back to the ship, no doubt they would inform him of everything. 

The Maximal looked stunned, astonished, weak, and surely was not concentrating on his surroundings at all; he even turned his back on Rampage to look in some slagging water!  Megatron watched this with interest, transformed to bot mode, and then compressed the crab’s spark box in his left hand.  Now Rampage was three minutes late to being back at base…and he knew the consequences for being late.

The crab was dropped almost instantly to his knees, hands at his chest with a shriek loud enough to scare away seagulls nearly a mile away.  He barely managed to turn his head to see Megatron, and then was floored from the tyrant making a fist with the box in his fingers.  His spark screeched in near-mortal agony, and his vocal unit seemed to be trying to match it decibel by decibel.

“Stay there, Maximal!” ordered Megatron, and DepthCharge’s optics flickered to the tyrant, and then seemed to be trapped on the glowing mass of spark box.

Spark, whispered the dark part of his mind that was spreading like a plague, a virus injected in a blood stream, conquering native cells in swoops.  SPARK.

As if drawn by magnets, his optics trailed along a shock box’s cord; the cord was not attached to anything, but the spark itself, or at least the bearings under it. 

To shock the spark, he realized dimly, and he stepped closer, the protoform freezing and staring at him warily.  To shock its SPARK?

Yes…and judging from the scorch marks on the cord…they had been doing just that.  Those technicians were SHOCKING its SPARK?

Shocking its spark!  Shocking…the shock boxes, the glow, the electricity and the cords.  The cart of shock boxes being flung over by something…a body.  A torn and ripped screaming body that was not a body yet because it was still screaming alive.

He’s shocking the spark! screamed that darkness, and for one second, DepthCharge’s optics flared in horror.  His arm came up suddenly, and Megatron, who had his attention diverted for only a second, when the Guardian needed only half of that time, did not see as the remora blaster was fired.  He did feel it, however, because the Maximal had aimed for his chest and released several high blasts of laser energy. 

Megatron roared in surprise, nearly falling back from the surprise of it all, and the Maximal plunged forward, firing rapidly.  In one smooth movement, he bent quickly, snatching up a shard of his broken tail spear, and whisked it at the shocked tyrant.  Shock blossomed into pain as his left hand was sheared away, the box glowing brilliantly as it landed.  Another handful of bright and agonizingly well-aimed shots flung Megatron face-down into the sand. 

He laid there, stunned, for less than three seconds, but by the time he had started to roll over, he heard the sound of metal on metal, sand flowing away, and the Predacon looked up to see the box in one hand of the Maximal.  The ray stared at him with sanguine optics, then fired again.  And again.  Again, and the Predacon’s torso was a smoking ruin.

Still, it would not be long before someone else came.  DepthCharge stared at the tyrant, at the box, then at Rampage, who was on his back, optics off.  A quick glance at the spark box would have revealed why, but the ray had never examined it closely before.  After so much wear and tear and use, a shard of energon crystal, small to be certain, nearly microscopic, had broken from the original crystal and landed in the spark core.  The crab was not offline, but in a stasis-like form.

Megatron.  The spark box.  Rampage.  The ocean…and his optics gleamed back at him. 

That was enough for the Guardian.  He subspaced the box quickly, and after some careful rearranging, managed to grab, carry, and partially drag Rampage into the ocean.  It was much easier to drag him along underwater.  They made it back to DepthCharge’s base in nearly record time.

Click here for part 4