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[Refueling Bar]

Within a flash of a second, Offroad shifted his optics from Waspinator towards the newcomer in the bar. A white and black beastformer of some kind. She had the mean spirited kind of optics. The green-faced devil smirked and quickly returned his optics to the green Waspy boy.

There was a quality about the femme that gave him a vitriolic feeling. He made another glance within a nano-klik, confirming that the femme was still sitting where he last saw her, and sent her a comm with his credentials encrypted.

The daredevil’s message was simple, but disguised under a veil of anonymity. >>”Perhaps it would be in your favour to think better of what you are doing.”<<

Corridors

Having finished working on his patients in the Med Bay, the tallest of the Constructicons had made his leave of the Med Bay, before casting a glance at Bonecrusher. He wondered what Bonecrusher was going to do now that Scrapper had given the word to them that they could take a break or whatever since there really wasn't any work to do right now. Well...Scrapper and Hook went to do something important, Scavenger figured, but beyond that, it wasn't his concern unless Scrapper called him for help, which he didn't think would be necessary. Scrapper, being the grand architect, knew which hands he needed and didn't need for assignments. So, here Scavenger was, bumbling his way out of the Medbay and into the halls.

He didn't really like being alone for long, and he wasn't tired...so it wasn't time to go to charge yet. He knew if he went off on his own and upset some other cons, he might get sad, so it was best he find out where Mixmaster was and so, he commed him, >>"Mixmaster...it's me, Scavenger. Where are you? I wanna come to you.", he said simply. Whatever Mixmaster was doing, he wanted to do it too. It would be better than doing nothing.

Oil Slick’s Laboratory

The newest results of his experiments were disappointing, but nothing he had experienced previously. Not all mechs were created equal, and the cyber rat was one that wasn’t equal to many. He stood watching passively as its flailing about slowed to twitching, then its head fell off as the corrosiveness of the acid finally ate through the metallic band around the cyber rat’s neck, connecting its mostly organic body to its robotic head.

It was a new fluid he’d found by accident when some cosmic rust samples fell into a small vial of a highly corrosive acid. The effect was a gaseous form he hadn’t seen nor expected to happen. From the initial accident, that cost him one of his aeration fans, to now, he’d felt he made some progress, but not enough to warrant taking it out of its test phase. Though, he did relish the potential of a gaseous form of acidic cosmic rust in a prelude to combat, he doubted it would ever be a viable option.

Even by his standards, it was too difficult to control. Not to mention it took far longer than either chemical separately to destroy the cybernetic organism exposed to it.

Checking it off as a failure, he marked his samples for potential disposal. He hated throwing away something that had so much potential, but there were other things that his attention was better suited to.

Even locked away in his private laboratory, word of Megatron’s return and rampage had reached him. He knew it would shock other Decepticons to learn that he had his ways of knowing what occurred within their ranks despite the distance between them. No matter. How he accomplished his objectives was for him alone to know. Besides, it wasn’t like the comms were all private. It would behoove many of his brethren to keep their opinions silent and to themselves more. But then they’d have to interact with him, and he doubted any of them wished to do that.

He couldn’t help but wish to know how the Fallen had taken over Megatron and the others. The capabilities of doing such a thing was something beyond his own, and could only better serve him in his role without the Decepticon ranks.

Maybe it was time he visited the bridge and offered his assistance to Razorclaw or whomever was in command currently.

At the very least, he needed to collect samples for future tests, so perhaps Razorclaw knew where he could procure some mechs or other lifeforms to test his chemicals on.

Taking a minute to dispose of the cyber rat efficiently and without causing potential harm to others, he turned and left his lab.

Corridors

“Grah! Sod off, boot licker!” Fangry’s wolf-like head snarled back, his clawed hand moving to cup the former knee wound now located on his side. “This glitch is being taught a lesson in respect!”

“On the contrary, you it is who is in need of a lesson in respect,” Weirdwolf said with a sigh, looking Fangry up and down once. With those injuries, he needed a handicap, but what...ah. He had it. Taking out a data pad, Weirdwolf approached while idly fiddling with it.

“The Rules of Ettique. Part one,” he began as his arm lashed out and threw Fangry onto the floor as neatly as a sack of bricks. “Always one must respect their elders for it is they who hold considerable wisdom and knowledge of the world. To disrespect them is to cause oneself a great deal of grief.”

Spinning Fangry around as easily as one might a protoform, Weirdwolf deliver a sharp kick to his back, right at the base of the spinal column. He applied enough force to stun for a moment at least. He could have snapped it if he had wanted, but that related to the next topic.

“Restraint in conduct and demeanor is the key to success. Think whatever you may, but always suspect that an elder can outwit or otherwise outplay you in every regard. Restraining oneself provides a theatre for both parties to come to an equitable arrangement of respect.”

Weirdwolf kept his optics glued to his data pad as he gestured for Fangry to approach. The lesson wasn’t over quite yet.

((OOC: MasterSoundBlaster agreed to let me attack Fangry in this manner.))

Shockwave’s Laboratory

Boring, boring, boring, boring, boring, boring, boring, boring.

Wildrider would’ve fidgeted if he could have. But being secured—and rather comprehensively—to the berth, he couldn’t move much. Wiggle a couple of his digits, lightly shake one of his pedes—that constituted the bulk of his motion. Killjoys.

The restraints, he’d been told, were a “necessity” because “moving around” while Shocks and the ‘Structies and the mechanical equipment worked their magic on him would “impede” on the procedure they were performing. Well, paint him blue, slap a ‘Bot insignia on him, and call him Skidmark, the other long lost twin Sunny and Swipy had. It was a necessity for him to be moving around, and it was really starting to impede on the steady progress his patience was trying to maintain.

Wildrider groaned. He needed a distraction. This staring contest with the ceiling he was having wasn’t going well. Fragging spawn of a glitch was beating him three to zero.

“Please restrict any influence Wildrider may have on this thing,” Dead End said.

And there it was!

Wildrider giggled. “What Deadster meant to say was make sure to give Wildrider his influence of this giant death warrior, ‘cause it’ll be no good walking around with a dead leg.”

If Wildrider wasn’t killing it on the battlefield and taking lives, he was killing it with his team-mates and splitting sides right open.

He grinned. “Get it? Get it?”

Corridors

Since Scrapper hadn't needed him in the laboratory, Mixmaster decided the next best use of his talents would be to make sure this ship was in tip-top condition. For the time being, that meant making sure that the melee that happened between the Decepticons on one of the upper decks was washed away.

Sealing another pristine panel into place from the stack that he had brought with him, Mixmaster paused when a comm came through.

>>"Mixmaster...it's me, Scavenger. Where are you? I wanna come to you."<<

Mixmaster looked airily around him, as if wondering where he was, before responding.

>>"Scavs, heheheh, erm, I'm um, I think, one deck above. Like maybe literally. Like maybe you could really really really drill a hole in the ceiling and be where I am. Heh. But don't do that! Just follow my internal transponder."<<

Corridors

Scavenger hoped he found Mixmaster. He was worried if he got lost. Though he knew the layout of the ship, it was several miles long and full of multiple decks, hallways, rooms, and had an assortment of mechs, not all of whom would be nice to someone like Scavenger. Who would want to make a Constructicon upset? Scavenger could get sad, but then he could get angry too. When he got angry...well...things got crushed and pulled apart. He didn't want to do that. Someone might not like it, like Scrapper or..M...Megatron. He stopped in his walk and started twiddling his actuators. Luckily, he received a message then, from Mixmaster.

>>"Scavs, heheheh, erm, I'm um, I think, one deck above. Like maybe literally. Like maybe you could really really really drill a hole in the ceiling and be where I am. Heh. But don't do that! Just follow my internal transponder."<<

'Drill a hole in the ceiling? Hmmm...', Scavenger considered for a second, until he realized yah...not a great idea. Besides, he'd have to smash through the ceiling with his crane shovel instead. Luckily, Mixmaster was smart though. He gave his brother a better alternative, in which Scavenger replied,

>>"Your transponder? Umm....you mean your signal? Oh..yah, I'm coming."<<, Scavenger replied. He was a little confused. But he had heard that word used before and was fairly certain that's what it meant. He found Mixmaster's coordinates on a frequency with his own unit and found his way eventually towards the lift at the end of this hall. First though, he found a shiny trinket on the ground. It glittered red. Some kind of stone. He wondered who dropped it. Looking around though, he didn't see anyone, so he bent down and picked it up, then studied it with his optics visor while turning it in his hands and watching how it shone in the artificial light.

"This is pretty. Whoever dropped it, finder's keepers. I know....Mixmaster can have it when I find him!", he said aloud. He then entered the lift and headed on towards where the cement truck mech was on the next level. Then, once he had exited the lift, he found himself in the battle razed level in which the battle with Megatron and Sixshot had occurred, not that it mattered to him who or what did it. Being a construction worker, he saw the damage and knew it was his job to repair it. First though...

"I'm here! There you are.", he said, locating his fellow green and purple teammate. "I brought you a present. Here...", he said, pulling out the little red gem, and he handed it to Mixmaster. "Now, how can I help?", he asked.

Shockwave's Laboratory

Dead End knew that what he had said would not go unanswered. They were Stunticons. This was what they did.

“What Deadster meant to say was make sure to give Wildrider his influence of this giant death warrior, ‘cause it’ll be no good walking around with a dead leg. Get it? Get it?” the Stunticon Terrorist shot back.

Dead End sighed and let his head fall back against the berth. A little too hard. He would have rubbed his cranial unit, but he was completely incapable of most movement at the moment.

"Ahah! Ha! You're so funny! Pfeh. If they give you my share, that only makes it two-fifths more likely that this thing will accidentally blow itself up fighting Protectobots. How lucky for us."

Motormaster decided it was for the better to ignore the other members of the Stunticons for now. With all five of them equally restricted into the operating tables, he lacked a major part of his usual arsenal of controlling the other Stunticons – namely violence. Besides, ignoring Wildrider altogether was the worst thing he could do to the unhinged idiot right now. As for the others, Dead End was likely convinced of dying due to malpractice and Breakdown was probably on the brink of nervous meltdown anyway. Dragstrip likely faced similar feeling as Motormaster himself but one had to be content with the opportunities given at times. He could always enforce his superiority over the winning obsessed racer later.

"Devastator, ideally, is a melding of our team's best qualities--plus massive size and significant strength improvements. Psychologically, however, there are still issues to be worked out."

”Hah, no kidding.” Motormaster chuckled half-heartedly. ”Sure as slag the big green was working as planned.”

"Primarily, the new central processor is receiving too much feedback from the component parts," Scrapper continued. "We're, of course, working to remedy that."

The brutish Stunticon would have rolled his optics if he had been able at Scrapper’s explanation. ”You’d better find that remedy. Otherwise you are going to have a fragging headcase to watch over. Even worse than Devastator, hah.”

Re-Fueling Bar

>>”Perhaps it would be in your favour to think better of what you are doing.”<<

'Phehh.', the fembot thought to herself, twitching her tail and never ceasing to stare across the room at the male "standard" mech. He was trying to be threatening to her, but she wasn't commiting any crime just because she was looking upon him. He looked battle hardened, cold, ruthless. That sent a surge through her spark chamber that she enjoyed. 'He seems like fun.', she thought.

A smirk played across her steely countenance and she got up, taking her drink and slamming it back. She then tossed her mane of flowing metal plates which cascaded from the back of her head as the rich energon coursed it's way through her and further empowered her motives. It would soon be apparent to the male warrior that this cat was rather fearless. She sauntered then over to his location, saying "I hope you don't mind if I join you? Oh yah...as for what you said earlier...what's the harm in me studying you? You're obviously the most interesting mech in this whole bar right now.", she said, then glanced at the green bug bot. He looked like a total pushover...a real grunt sort of goon. He didn't interest her at all, but he wasn't bothering her either.

The beastformer leaned back in her chair and propped her clawed feet up on the table, letting out a content yawn, before asking, "So, Mr. Green Face? What's your name? I'm Technikiller.", she asked, and waited. She could see the crazy in him. He was a lot like her. She knew she had to be on guard just by looking at him, just by the aura he seethed. Her hand which wasn't upon the table was hidden underneath, grasping at a weapon, should she need to quickly defend herself.

Corridors

>>"Your transponder? Umm....you mean your signal? Oh..yah, I'm coming."<<

>>"Okie,"<< Mixmaster replied with a chuckle before returning to his work, installing new and pristine plates in place of the damaged ones. And there were quite a lot of those.

"I'm here! There you are. I brought you a present. Here...Now, how can I help?"

Mixmaster had been expecting Scavenger's impending arrival--and still he almost fumbled and dropped his blowtorch when Scavenger had called out "I'm here". Oh well. That's what he got for having such a low startle point. He turned to the approaching Constructicon and offered a friendly wave, clicking off the torch for a moment so he could examine this present.

"Oooh! Shiny, shiny, shiny, heheheh. I love it," the Chemical Engineer said, turning the shiny, red gem over and over within the digits of his left actuator for a few moments before stashing the curious object away for the time being. "Replacing paneling. Making the ship look new. Don't want our leader thinking about what happened here. Hafta erase it. Take some. We'll get it done twice as fast. Maybe three or four times if Long Haul or Bonecrusher show up. Would be nice. Not getting my hopes up."

Corridors

Chuckling as a mech sidestepped into an ajoining corridor to avoid him, Oil Slick continued toward his destination. His long, gangly arms swung at his side as his dagger-like fingers made slight screeching sounds as he wiggled them in anticipation of his future experiments.

His expression remained passive under his protective yellow dome. The ramifications of what it could mean if one mastered the Fallen’s method of control was the type of thing that helped to fuel his desire to create new substances.

Imagine, having an army of willing test subjects that were unable or unwilling to resist instructions to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. That would speed up my research by vorns.

That was more than enough incentive to continue his research, especially when his current experiments were at an impasse.

As he walked, his processor ran through various scenarios that would become open to him. It was something like this that nearly made him feel happy enough to smile.

As he turned a corner, he paused as another mech saw him and nearly tripped over his own feet to head back where he’d come. There was something Oil Slick had overlooked; he was sure of that.

The fact it didn’t involve his testing had meant he considered it menial and not worthy of his concern. But what if it did? While Razorclaw was the ship’s commander, there were others onboard that could offer an insight. The question was, would they wish to talk with him or send him any pertinent information?

He highly doubted it, but he could always “coerce” them into helping. Once never knew where a chemical could be found…

He pushed that thought aside for the moment and decided to complete his initial plan to contact Razorclaw. Then he’d worry about his fellow scientists.

Clearing his vocalizer (and scaring another mech approaching him that hadn’t been paying attention) he opened a comm channel to the Predacon.

>>Razorclaw, this is Oil Slick. I have a couple of requests. I could use some random samples to test out a few new creations of mine. Also, I would like to learn everything about how Lord Megatron was controlled. It could become a useful tool against the Autobots in the future.<<

There, that was simple. Nothing like a lie to help sell an idea.

[Refueling Bar]

Offroad wrote:"I hope you don't mind if I join you? Oh yah...as for what you said earlier...what's the harm in me studying you? You're obviously the most interesting mech in this whole bar right now."

Offroad smiled charmingly. “Of course, ma’am, please, have a seat. You are very much welcome here.” He broke eye contact with her for a second, looking quickly back to Waspinator, and then back again to Technikiller. Although this time, there was a thunderous look in his optics, yet it was accompanied by the same, charming smile from before. “Perhaps you should know that most who attempt to study me may leave with mixed results.”

The devil stared right into her optics. “And those mixed results are not always the most desirable of observations.”

Offroad wrote:"So, Mr. Green Face? What's your name? I'm Technikiller."

“Offroad.” He grinned at the nickname. “A pleasure to meet you too, Technikiller. Lovely making your acquaintance.” I may just be a cynic at best, but my crimes imitate art. He slid his own hand under the table, not taking his own optics away from hers. His optics glowed an uncanny red, with a relentlessly piercing gaze, and he touched her, ever so softly and soothingly, on her hidden hand.

“There won’t be any need for this.” He gently pushed his hand against hers, putting pressure on it so that she would let go.

Bio-metrics Laboratory

From within the darkened confines of the bio-metrics laboratory, a dozen machines hummed with life as various compounds and synthetics were being generated. Moreover, the next waves of facsimile humans were almost ready for deployment. It was here that Thunderwing felt most in his element. Megatron may have reacted poorly to the Valckastan Warlord's physical advancements, but it was clear that he still saw the value in the facsimile technology. It was all techno-organic. It would be the salvation of their species.

>>"Declarative: your departure was not inconspicuous,"<< a familiar voice said in Thunderwing's internal comm. Shockwave.

>>"Megatron will see the value in what I've done. In time,"<< Thunderwing transmitted back, curious as to what had prompted the cycloptic mech's attention but not curious enough to ask directly.

>>"Perhaps. In the interim, I have intercepted a transmission that you may find intriguing. Pursue it. See what can be done with his talents,"<< Shockwave continued.

Whose? Thunderwing almost asked, before a communications file was received.

>>Razorclaw, this is Oil Slick. I have a couple of requests. I could use some random samples to test out a few new creations of mine. Also, I would like to learn everything about how Lord Megatron was controlled. It could become a useful tool against the Autobots in the future.<<

>>"Ahhhhh...I see. Well played, Shockwave. Hmm......very well, I'll take a peek down your little cyberfox den. Thunderwing out,"<< the warlord transmitted before opening up another channel with this "Oil Slick" individual. >>"Thunderwing to Oil Slick. It would seem to me that your curiosities align with some of my own. I'm curious to know more of these creations of yours. Meet me in the bio-metrics laboratory. I have little doubt I can authorize the samples you require. You can enlighten me further regarding your work whilst you're here."<<

Corridors

Thunderwing wrote:>>"Thunderwing to Oil Slick. It would seem to me that your curiosities align with some of my own. I'm curious to know more of these creations of yours. Meet me in the bio-metrics laboratory. I have little doubt I can authorize the samples you require. You can enlighten me further regarding your work whilst you're here."<<

Thunderwing’s voice made him pause briefly as a slight smile appeared beneath his protective dome. Though never one to trust or care about others, Oil Slick had always held a special place in his spark for mechs similar to himself. Though they dabbled in different areas of expertise, there was no denying Thunderwing’s skill.

Still, that didn’t mean he could be trusted, and Oil Slick felt secure in knowing Thunderwing felt the same about him.

Pleased and curious as to where this new potential partnership would lead, Oil Slick responded, >>Well, well, this is an unexpected… privilege, Thunderwing. I shall be there directly. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on my proposal.<<

He rounded the corner and turned away from the bridge and toward the turbolift. If Thunderwing could give him the aid he needed, then perhaps they could usher in a new age. Until their objectives diverged, that is.

He was so focused on his upcoming meeting that he didn’t even note the look of dread on the three mechs in the turbolift as he stepped into it and instructed the computer to take him to the proper deck. Though, in the astroseconds it took to reach his destination, which happened to be before his compatriots, he decided a little levity was need. As he stepped out, he “accidentally” dropped a small splotch of harmless oil. His receptors tingled with their exclamations.

While it wasn’t in his programming to be spontaneous, but sadistic was another thing. Besides, he had a reputation to protect, and if the rank and file Decepticons lost their fear of him, it’d mean an assistant would eventually be assigned to him and they could potentially… bond.

That was one thing he felt certain he wouldn’t have to worry about with Thunderwing. Although, becoming Thunderwing’s next test subject was a legitimate a concern as Thunderwing becoming his.

This should be a profitable endeavor, he thought as he approached the bio-metrics laboratory. He paused outside the door and debated about activating the door chime to signal he had arrived. The first rule of genius was to never enter another’s laboratory unannounced. Professional courtesy and all that. Though, with Thunderwing expecting him in a mostly public laboratory, was he required to follow that unprogrammed rule? Was the door even locked?

In the end, he decided it best to observe protocol and he activated the door chime.

Bio-Metrics Laboratory

>>Well, well, this is an unexpected… privilege, Thunderwing. I shall be there directly. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on my proposal.<<

>>"I thought it might be. But you'll come to discover that in the realm of Decepticon science, nothing goes under the radar."<<

A short time later, an external chime signaled Oil Slick's arrival. Thunderwing authorized immediate entry. he had no wish to play political games with a creature of science, should that ultimately prove to be what he was. He had not had extensive dealings with this particular Decepticon. This would be a good opportunity to size the other mech up and see if his projects were the type that piqued curiosity and investment or were fringe quackery. Given the nature of Shockwave's transmission, the Decepticons' Military Operations Commander was equally curious in that regard.

"Enter, my friend," Thunderwing said pleasantly, before slowly rising from his seated position, several holodisplays powering down as he did so. "Welcome. Now...I'm more than curious to hear of your proposal. I daresay I'm not the only one who is. And I'm sure we can be more helpful to you than some Predacon."

Corridors

Thunderwing wrote:>>"I thought it might be. But you'll come to discover that in the realm of Decepticon science, nothing goes under the radar."<<

So it would seem. Just what is it you wish out of this… my friend.The term friend was a foreign on to Oil Slick. Oh, he had acquaintances or occasional partners, but friends were something he neither enjoyed or wanted. He was certain that given Thunderwing’s reputation, which was every bit as morbid as his own, that his new “partner” felt the same way. Take what we want or need and leave the rest. It was a simple methodology, but one that had served him well over the vorns.

Thunderwing wrote: "Enter, my friend," Thunderwing said pleasantly, before slowly rising from his seated position, several holodisplays powering down as he did so.

When the door slid open and Thunderwing’s voice bid him welcome, a series of doubts entered Oil Slick’s processor. Too friendly. He does want something, but so do I.

Oil Slick took in the bio-metrics laboratory and found he was impressed. While he had much the same technology available like the holodisplays, his was covered in various chemical stains that were impossible to remove or partially destroyed when similar chemicals were spilled. He didn’t worry about changing or replacing anything that was damaged, unless it was a necessary component or storage container or something similar. Those… imperfections reminded him of his failures and missteps, but also he never knew how long his laboratory would be in existence since he tended to be moved to where his skills were needed, like the Ultrax and now the Thanatos.

At least this time I don’t have to develop mood enhancers for Motormaster.

Thunderwing wrote:"Welcome. Now...I'm more than curious to hear of your proposal. I daresay I'm not the only one who is. And I'm sure we can be more helpful to you than some Predacon."

"Yes, I’m sure you are." Oil Slick noticed Thunderwing hadn’t moved from his initial position. Unsure if it was because of his own reputation or other reasons, Oil Slick stepped toward him, his gangly arms swaying in even, fluid motions. He came to a stop a couple of strides from Thunderwing. He didn’t want to press his luck if this mech could help him, which he believed was possible.

For that, he was willing to be upfront and honest.

“It’s simple, really. I’m currently working on an airborne version of cosmic rust. It’s in the developmental stages, but I may need more cooperative assistants to help it progress. To aid in that, I believe controlled but fully cognizant test subjects would be perfect. To that end, I’m interested in…” he paused as he searched for the proper word. “Perfecting the affliction that had struck Lord Megatron as a deliverable weapon. If perfected, it would end the war and give us all the test subjects we’d need to perfect our skills.”

Priority-1 transmission from the Obliteration to the Thanatos

>>"Obliteration to the Thanatos. This is Vortex. We have recovered the primary mission target and are returning to Thanatos airspace. Requesting that Megatron be notified and awaiting further orders."<<

Bio-Metrics Laboratory

"Yes, I’m sure you are."

Thunderwing's expression remained pleasant but mostly passive at Oil Slick's initial comment. Careful, little scientist. Confidence will get you only so far. Hollow ego will get you killed in the presence of your betters. Hopefully this scientist would prove to be more than just empty words and ambition. Thunderwing was a lord, but as his core he was a scientist. He appreciated results.

“It’s simple, really. I’m currently working on an airborne version of cosmic rust. It’s in the developmental stages, but I may need more cooperative assistants to help it progress. To aid in that, I believe controlled but fully cognizant test subjects would be perfect. To that end, I’m interested in…Perfecting the affliction that had struck Lord Megatron as a deliverable weapon. If perfected, it would end the war and give us all the test subjects we’d need to perfect our skills.”

Thunderwing nodded, still gazing at Oil Slick from behind steepled fingers.

"A not unworthy project," Thunderwing said at last. "Those in our community know that Cosmic Rust is not to be trifled with. Some might call your work 'madness'....but then....some have referred to my work with that same term. I'm confidant time will prove them wrong. Just as I'm sure you would believe of your own naysayers.

"But you have arrived at a problematic obstacle: Megatron has allowed his soldiers to be experimented upon in the past, but not wantonly. You will need proof that you can successfully contain whatever strain of Cosmic Rust you've concocted and will likely then need to prove that said strain is indeed somehow more 'perfect' than that which already exists in the universe."

Thunderwing then rose from his seated position and walked over to one of the monitor displays, bringing up the current state of knowledge regarding cosmic rust and its effects.

"That alone will be difficult enough. Moreover, Megatron has tended to prefer research that makes his soldiers stronger and more effective in combat. We both know what the end result of a cosmic rust affliction is. Are you expecting him to simply consign a small cadre of his warriors to the grisly fate you have in mind for them?"

Breakdown's optics darted from side to side as his brothers bantered and bickered. His paranoia was rising as they argued about who would gain more control of the monster.

"Wait wait, s-so... what would we feel like? If my brothers have more control would I still be conscious but unable to move? That.. I hate that! I have.. claustrophobia.. Would I have less control or the same as the others? Would only Motormaster be in control? Mhhhhh..."

Breakdown closed his optics. His fear of restraint and enclosed spaces were getting the best of him, and being strapped to the table didn't help. No. Not one bit! And Motormaster didn't exactly have much care for the rest of his team, so what if he was the only one in control? Would they all take a beating as he kicked and smashed everything he could see? Breakdown jittered his head in fear.

Bio-Metrics Laboratory

Oil Slick had no doubts as to what others thought of him and his endeavors, but that didn’t mean he would allow his work to be brushed aside. If his superiors knew half of what he dabbled in and the risk if offered to those on the Thanatos, he’d probably be jettisoned and sent to an isolated moon. If he was allowed to function.

All of that was moot as none cared about what he did so long as he fulfilled his assignments — as fleeting as they were.

Thunderwing wrote:"A not unworthy project," Thunderwing said at last. "Those in our community know that Cosmic Rust is not to be trifled with. Some might call your work 'madness'....but then....some have referred to my work with that same term. I'm confidant time will prove them wrong. Just as I'm sure you would believe of your own naysayers.”

Believe? No, not believe, my friend. I know that of my naysayers. As I’m sure you do as well. Oil Slick remained passive, showing his compatriot the respect he deserved while taking in Thunderwing’s words as well as his laboratory. One never knew where they could draw their inspiration, and simply being in a renown scientist’s laboratory had ignited his processor to various possibilities.

Thunderwing wrote: "But you have arrived at a problematic obstacle: Megatron has allowed his soldiers to be experimented upon in the past, but not wantonly. You will need proof that you can successfully contain whatever strain of Cosmic Rust you've concocted and will likely then need to prove that said strain is indeed somehow more 'perfect' than that which already exists in the universe."

Oil Slick nodded, but remained silent. I believe I am being tested for my thoroughness. That, or you intend to steal my idea for your own use. The thought was always near the surface of everyone of Oil Slick’s experiments, and one of the reasons he preferred to work alone. Still, if Thunderwing approved of his intended testing, then perhaps it would be worth the risk.

Oil Slick’s optics followed the mech as he stood and approached a computer consol. He patiently waited for Thunderwing to continue. He wasn’t disappointed.

Thunderwing wrote: "That alone will be difficult enough. Moreover, Megatron has tended to prefer research that makes his soldiers stronger and more effective in combat. We both know what the end result of a cosmic rust affliction is. Are you expecting him to simply consign a small cadre of his warriors to the grisly fate you have in mind for them?"

For the briefest of astroseconds, Oil Slick contemplated lifting his yellow dome so Thunderwing could see directly into his optics and see his sincerity, but he decided against doing so. It was an act beneath the both of them. Besides, how could he ensure he wouldn’t need a quick escape? Just because he respected Thunderwing didn’t mean he trusted him. Both of their reputations came at the expense of others.

“I am pleased you have so eloquently cited your concerns, Thunderwing. It is a pleasant experience to speak with one that understands our… creative process so well. I do not wish to experiment on our fellow Decepticons. Not at first. I would prefer Autobots as they’re the closest to our own designs and residences and we would not miss them. But acquiring any of them are problematic at best, so, I offer another solution:

“I recommend trying to learn how our beloved leader and the others were controlled by the Fallen and find a way to replicate it. In doing so, I would be better able to determine a defense against it. If successful, bringing the Autobots to heel will be far easier than previous attempts and we can — how should I say this? — have our pick of test subjects? Keeping in mind, of course, there would be other mechs we would have to deal with that may break away from said control.

“Until then, I’m afraid I may have to resort to indulging my testing on our comrades that have fallen out of favor until we acquire Autobot prisoners. You did mention augmenting our strengths being favored, and what could possibly be more powerful than developing a resistance to Cosmic Rust in all its forms?”

He paused for dramatic effect, and not knowing how Thunderwing was interpreting his pitch. He hadn’t expected to offer so much, but to gain the support he needed, such a sacrifice was needed.

There, that was his intent. Of course, creating a resistance to both the control aspect and his new Cosmic Rust was a priority for himself. After all, if he was infected, another would step in and take all the credit. Someone such as you, my friend? Oil Slick thought as he awaited Thunderwing’s response.

CR Bay

The CR chamber’s door hissed opened, allowing a considerable amount of steam to escape before Razorclaw finally stepped out. The synthetic flesh covered his body, only allowing some areas of metal to show through. Those areas would be concealed in beast mode where he would look like an ordinary lion apart from the much larger size difference. There was even synthetic hair around the lion’s head that adorned his chest plate. It was a weird and somewhat disgusting sensation, but it was a necessary evil for the mission ahead.

A few astroseconds later, the other CR chambers began to open and expose the Predacons within. Razorclaw turned to regard his group who had begun to catch their barrings and adjust to their new "skins". They certainly looked different with flesh surrounding them, but at the end of the cycle they were still his Predacons, one of Megatron’s elite specialty units.

“Predacons, adjust to the synthetic coverings later,” the lion-former spoke firmly to his team. “We have already spent too much time in preparation. The vehicon miners and extraction equipment are surely waiting for us down in the primary hangar. Let’s move and get this mission underway!”

With those words spoken, Razorclaw led his team through the corridors towards the hangar bay where their shuttle would be waiting for them. While en route, the lion-former received a comm from a surprising individual:

Oil Slick wrote:>>Razorclaw, this is Oil Slick. I have a couple of requests. I could use some random samples to test out a few new creations of mine. Also, I would like to learn everything about how Lord Megatron was controlled. It could become a useful tool against the Autobots in the future.<<

Razorclaw smirked under his faceshield at the requests. If he wasn’t already busy with other matters, the lion-former might actually indulge the chemical expert. Although, Razorclaw had no idea what he meant by “random samples”.

>>”Oil Slick, this is Razorclaw. As much as your requests intrigue me, I’m afraid I have a mission to attend that was given to me by Megatron, himself. I’m sure you understand that this takes precedent over your project. I’m also sure that Shockwave would be of better use then myself in regards to how the slagmaker was controlled.”<<

Primary Hangar

A short time later, Razorclaw entered the main hangar of the Thanatos with his unit in tow behind him. He could still see some of the damage a crazed Megatron had caused only a few cycles ago. Vehicons were still busy cleaning up, but at least the hole that had been blown in the ceiling was almost completely repaired like the slagmaker had never blasted through it. The visual signs of that horrible conflict might almost be gone but the memories would last for many vorns to come.

Shaking them from his processor, Razorclaw approached the large shuttle that would take them down to Sol-3. An entire contingent of vehicon miners were milling about around the craft as the extraction equipment sat nearby. “What the slag is this?!” The Predacon Commander bellowed, shaking the miners from their chatter. “Get this equipment secured aboard the shuttle NOW! This should have been done before we even got here! MOVE!!”

Wasting no further time, nor wanting to face the wrath of the lion-former, the vehicon miners began to scurry about, loading the plasma and mineral extraction equipment into the shuttle’s cargo bay. Razorclaw then turned to address his Predacons: “Let the vehicons handle the grunt work. All of you get on board. Divebomb, the pilot’s chair is yours as usual. Get the shuttle warmed up and ready to depart in two breems.”

With his orders given. Razorclaw turned back towards the shuttle and ascended the ramp into the passenger cabin.

Bio-Metrics Laboratory

Never one that believed in politics among peers, Oil Slick had long ago accepted it as a necessary evil for him to acquire what he needed, on the few occasions he needed something, that is.

Still, he was surprised to find that he rather enjoyed being in Thunderwing’s presence. Why, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was the sheer genius of a mech like him being so close that was intoxicating. Or, more likely, it was the reputed danger he and others that stepped through those doors faced each time.

Not that he gave the rumors of Thunderwing’s experiments too much credit. He just preferred to be safer than usual. If that wasn’t a habit of his, he knew he would’ve ceased to function long ago,

Besides, he didn’t intend to remain here longer than necessary. Once his request was authorized, he’d—

Razorclaw wrote:>>”Oil Slick, this is Razorclaw. As much as your requests intrigue me, I’m afraid I have a mission to attend that was given to me by Megatron, himself. I’m sure you understand that this takes precedent over your project. I’m also sure that Shockwave would be of better use then myself in regards to how the slagmaker was controlled.”<<

Some have the worst timing, Oil Slick thought. He had no doubt Shockwave was monitoring their transmissions through some nefarious means, but he accepted it for what it was as he privately answered, >>Thank you for your time and assistance, Razorclaw. Yes, I am aware that whatever Lord Megatron needs is vastly more important than my request. That is more than acceptable. I believe I have found one that can aid me in my request, but I shall be sure to notify Shockwave of any further needs. Oil Slick out.<<

Well, he thought, feeling certain Thunderwing had noticed the communication. This is where our mutual trust shall be built. So be it.

“My apologies, Lord Thunderwing. As I’m sure you are aware, a communication from Razorclaw per my request we are currently discussing came through.” He didn’t feel a need to mention Shockwave at the moment. The more transparent he appeared, the better chance he had of succeeding in his endeavor.

CR Bay

At the prescribed time, more of the chambers began to open, indicating that their work as complete. One by one, each of the Predacon warlords began to emerge. Razorclaw, unsurprisingly was first. Divebomb was next, followed in short order by Tantrum. Both of them looked at their own coverings--and that of their teammates--with disgust.

"This feels so unnatural," Divebomb huffed.

"Gonna burn it off first fraggin' chance I get," Tantrum grunted, as angrily as ever.

"You and me both," Headstrong snorted in response, before Razorclaw's first set of orders cut off any further grumblings.

“Predacons, adjust to the synthetic coverings later. We have already spent too much time in preparation. The vehicon miners and extraction equipment are surely waiting for us down in the primary hangar. Let’s move and get this mission underway!”

"With pleasure," Divebomb agreed, more than ready to see some action again.
___

Alpha Hangar

Divebomb and Tantrum followed dutifully after Razorclaw along with the other Predacons. As they approached the shuttle, Divebomb could feel his systems gearing up for the unknown.

“Let the vehicons handle the grunt work. All of you get on board. Divebomb, the pilot’s chair is yours as usual. Get the shuttle warmed up and ready to depart in two breems.”

Pfeh. Inefficient automated drones. That slag should have been more than finished by now, just as Razorclaw had said. Nevertheless, Divebomb said nothing and simply nodded as Razorclaw directed him to his usual place, piloting the vessel. Tantrum just huffed, practically plowing over a pair of Vehicons as he, too, boarded the ship.

Shockwave’s Laboratory

Immediately forgetting what he’d said to Dead End, Wildrider didn’t wait for an answer. He’d gone back to fidgeting under the restraints that fastened him to the berth, so annoyed that he could barely move. He didn’t want much—just a little bit of freedom for his arms, legs, torso, and cranial unit. As it was, he felt like he was glued to the table.

Even though he knew he should be still—important operation kind of happening now—he kept shifting around because he didn’t give a—

“Ahah! Ha! You’re so funny! Pfeh. If they give you my share, that only makes it two-fifths more likely that this thing will accidentally blow itself up fighting Protectobots. How lucky for us.”

Flying Autobot without a jet pack. Back up, back up. Did Dead End just say something that wasn’t a thousand per cent negative?

That gave Wildrider pause and he stopped moving. Slowly and with purpose, he turned to look at Dead End. Turned like six degrees to his left because he was strapped down rather considerably.

“Two-fifths? Accidentally?” Wildrider was stunned. “Vector Sigma, Dead, that’s the most positive thing you’ve said in forever. I’m worried about you. I better tell Scrapper to fix your malfunctioning processor before this whole combiner thing gets done.”

There was silence then a laugh.

“Wait wait, s-so… what would we feel like? If my brothers have more control would I still be conscious but unable to move? That.. I hate that! I have.. claustrophobia.. Would I have less control or the same as the others? Would only Motormaster be in control? Mhhhhh…”

“Him, too,” Wildrider said, still laughing. “Breaks! Cool it, will ya? Everything’s gonna be just fine. You’ll be an arm or a leg and you’ll get to punch or kick the slag out of everything!” Wildrider made some weird noises with his vocaliser that were supposed to sound like punches and kicks. “Roundhouse kicks to the face! Punches to the crown and jewels!”

Frag yeah. Destruction on a BIG scale. Bring it on.