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"It's no good. We're being overrun!"

"...Everyone, fall back across the bridge, now! It's our only chance!"

"But what of the Overlord? There's no possible way we can get him across, not in his condition."

"Then leave him! He's scrap, either way, and if we don't get across that bridge, we'll be joining him."

"NO! We must protect the Overlord! We can't abandon him!"

"Don't be a fool, Nightstalker, we need to get across that bridge now, while we still can!"

"I will not abandon our lord, Ravage! How dare you even consider that notion!"

"Nightstalker, please!"

"NO!!! I cannot abandon the Overlord. If you truly love me, my friend, you will understand what I must do."

"Nightstalker... Nightstalker, wait!"

*CRACKA-BOOM!!!*

"NIGHTSTALKER!!!"

Ravage awoke in a cold oil sweat, fuel lines pumping at a highly elevated and irregular rate. He gasped for air, vocal circuits raw from the screaming he unconsciously mimicked as the nightmare had again taken its hold on him. It was always the same; night after night after night, reliving those events to the last agonizing detail. It was enough to drive him out of his positronics... at least, it would be, had he not have mastered the art of burying his past and desensitizing himself to the ugly choices of war and betrayal. And yet, still the visions persisted, a constant subconscious reminder of his first - and most shameful - traitorous act. If only he could go back in time, do it all again...

A beeping at his private communications console rescued him from his musings, and he turned to answer it.

"Ravage, here. State your business, if you have any at this Pit-condemned megacycle..."

"I see you haven't lost your knack for getting straight to business, Covert Agent Ravage."

The ebony Decepticon snarled softly in annoyance. "General, it is unbecoming of you to contact me on an insecure channel."

The Predacon on the other line simply chuckled in amusement. "Who says I'm not?"

"What do you want, Sea Clamp? I'm supposed to be on leave."

"And now, you're off leave. We have an assignment of a delicate nature that requires your...specialized techniques."

"Get Flamewar to do it, then. She's competent enough for covert ops to take my place, if you need stealth that badly."

A pause, then... "It's Megatron."

That got Ravage's attention. "That is impossible. His signal was lost somewhere in the far corner of the sector and he and his crew were declared terminated by the ruling council."

"It seems the counsel's judgment was a little premature," Sea Clamp countered, gravely. "We have intercepted a transwarp wave whose signature matches that of the ship commandeered by the Predacon criminal calling himself Megatron, and believe him to still be alive somewhere. We've managed to pinpoint his location in space/time to within a few hundred light-minutes. And, as far as we can tell, he still has the Golden Disk. You know how sensitive the data on that disk is, and how reckless Megatron has shown himself to be. We cannot risk a political incident with the Maximal High Council at this critical stage."

Ravage considered the General's words carefully. "I still see no point in sending me in, General. Not to sound insubordinate, but there is nothing about this incident that doesn't require my personal expertise."

"We beg to differ," Sea Clamp growled in annoyance. "There is no one else more suited to this assignment. We're not at liberty to discuss our reasons, but we would not select you for this arbitrarily; our reasons will become clear to you once you have arrived at your destination, of that we can assure you."

Ravage growled, irritated at the General's lack of clarification, but nodded in acknowledgment; it wasn't his place to question the wisdom of the Tripredacus Council, but he got the distinct feeling they were holding back vital information from him, information that he needed to know about...info that he suspected the Council would do anything to keep him from being privy to.

"Very well. What time should I report for duty?"

"We have a prototype stealth ship custom-made for your unique abilities already in our docks. Report there at 0300 tonight; you shall get your full orders when you arrive. Sea Clamp out."

Ravage glanced over at his chronograph as the transmission was cut off. 0225, only 45 cycles to get organized and get to the Council's loading docks. Leave it to that damned Unicron's spawn to put a rush on him. Sighing a little in weariness, the pantherine Decepticon forced himself out of bed to start packing.

Within the megacycle, Ravage was in the stealth ship and on a course to the coordinates the Council had given him: Sector Sol-003, approximately 4 million stellar cycles in the past. Earth, shortly after the Ark and Nemesis crashed there. He didn't like it; there was no way to determine if Megatron had arrived there by his own volition, or if some freak of chance tumbled him to that time and place, and if it was willingly...then what does that say about the information supposedly on the disk he stole? The ebony Decepticon cursed the Tripredacus Council for their reticence, severely wishing that he could pry out of them more data about the disk and what was so slagging important on it. Still, he had a job to do, and despite his misgivings, he had a feeling he'll learn everything, in time. In the meanwhile, he had enough time to catch up on a few things before he arrived, one of which he was more than inclined to do, now.

Digging through a small metal container he had taken with him on this journey, he pulled out a small cassette-like data storage container and inserted it into the 'tape deck' of his ship's computer. Tweaking a few knobs on the 'deck's' console, he turned on the ship's holo-imager and laid back in the pilot's chair as the data contained on the 'cassette' started playing. What was shown brought back many fond memories for him; there was he and Nightstalker, as they were before the onset of the Cybertronian Civil War, during one of the few bits of downtime their previous function as the Overlord's bodyguards allotted them. Typically of the Autobot fox, Nightstalker was feeling particularly frisky, that evening, and after much goading and poking, finally convinced Ravage's past self to join in. The Decepticon panther felt a familiar stirring in his groinal plate as Nightstalker laid down on his back, the very tip of his vulpine sexual interface probe poking out of its confinement. Ravage knew what his Autobot counterpart wanted, even more so when Nightstalker unexpectedly retracted his chestplate, revealing his dazzlingly blue, pulsing spark to his partner.

The present day Ravage instinctively did the same, the tip of his own feline probe sliding out of its hiding place. Spark-based sexual interfacing - the act of rubbing ones sexual interface tools against another's exposed spark to achieve sexual stimulation up to and including what the humans call 'climax' - the most taboo and forbidden of all Transformer sexual fetishes, aside from Transformer-organic relations and sexual termination. Those who do talk of it say that engaging in any sort of sexual play with ones spark would defile it and cause it to be rejected by Primus and the Matrix upon its extinguishment; a few say that doing so would even snuff out a spark during the process, essentially linking it to sexual termination. Even Ravage didn't know how Nightstalker became so addicted to such a fetish; there was some mention of the Decepticon medic Glit, medical fetishes, and a close call during one of their past assignments, but Ravage was too awestruck at what his partner was proposing to really listen. What he did know, however, that the termination part of the rumors were untrue, and in fact, such relations with with their sparks proved electrifying, the ultimate high one can achieve in their life. The voltaic crackle of Nightstalker's spark energy against his long, hard probe; the cold, pleasurable shock of his own spark being humped against by the Autobot fox's own rod; the pure, unadulterated ecstasy of their mutual sexual interface fluids coated each other's sparks and flooded their chassis, threatening to overload their entire bodies with the sensations...Ravage had become hooked, and from then on, whenever he and his partner had enough free time for an intimate reprieve, they had always ended with their favorite kink.

Ravage gave a muted purr as a long, prehensile spiked tendril unwound itself from his spark and immediately retreated down to his growing probe, lightly stroking it to full erection. That was the best part of the fetish, he thought; many Decepticons and Predacons had such a tendril guarding their sparks - including himself - and while he didn't know what its true purpose was, he found that it was very agile and easy to control, and made an excellent makeshift probe to tease his lover's tailpipe as he rammed his probe against his spark (making sure Nightstalker had cleaned himself out of dirty exhaust buildup, to prevent undue contamination of his chassis). Now, he used that same tendril to stroke himself as he allowed himself to reminisce about the good times from his past that was playing before his optics.

A scant few minutes of this, however, and Ravage's mood turned foul. With a snarl, he terminated the playback and closed his chassis. Those were times of a bygone era, he reminded himself, times that he will never return to and should not be reminiscing about. Popping the data "cassette" out, he tossed it back into the container and adjusted himself to quash his lingering arousal, before fiddling with a few more switches on the command console, bringing up a full crew manifest of the Axalon and _Darksyde_ships, the same ships that the Maximals used to chase down Megatron and his ragtag bunch of miscreants, respectively. He had a job to do, and if he was expected to do it thoroughly, he needed to brief himself on his targets' abilities and weaknesses...

As Ravage's ship exited Cybertronian airspace, General Ram Horn turned from the monitor he had watched the departure from and back to his companions, a troubled but satisfied look on his faceplate.

"I am still unconvinced of the wisdom of this plan. Ravage was suspicious of our assigning him to this mission, and undoubtedly he will attempt to pry more out of our agent among Megatron's ranks. If he should find out about the message on the Golden Disk..."

"You worry too much, Ram Horn," General Sea Clamp shot back, dismissively. "He is a soldier, first and foremost, and knows better than to overstep his place. Besides, should...'complications' arise with his loyalty, his ship contains an encoded message for our agent in Megatron's party with instructions on how to 'deal' with him. And even should he discover the message unhindered, simulations dictate that his reaction will simply lead to more problems for Megatron, enough to severely disrupt his agenda."

"And let us not forget, brothers," General Cicadacon spoke up, pointedly, "that from our analysis of the transwarp wave, Megatron is already dealing with problems of his own."

"Yes, the taint of an extradimensional presence within the wave," Sea Clamp explained. "The same alien presence we have been dreading for centuries. This could also be a problem to us, if left unchecked. Fortunately, those same encoded instructions we left for our agent also contains orders to that affair. If the Lieutenant has encountered the aliens, we must ensure that they cannot interfere with our plans."

Ram Horn nodded in agreement. "In that case, let us move on to other matters, such as Cerebrus. I fear he has become a liability to us."

"That cannot yet be proven," Cicadacon countered. "We know he has been leaking secrets to Maximal confidants, but we don't know who. We need to assess which Maximals he has betrayed us to, and eliminate them all, quietly."

The three Predacon generals mulled this over for a few cycles, before Sea Clamp spoke up. "I believe I know of the perfect operative for the job...one who would also provide the perfect test subject for the last stages of our plans."

Ram Horn frowned at those words. "You don't mean..."

Sea Clamp simply smiled in response. "I do. If we are to ensure that all is a success, we must use him. He is the closest confidant to Cerebrus that we know of, and will be best able to force out the names of his conspirators out of him; also, his 'other' will ensure swift justice to the traitor and his allies for us. The perfect sleeper agent."

"Indeed," Cicadacon concurred, though a little hesitant. "He is best suited to be the instrument of our experiment, a ticking time bomb, if you will, for our rise to glory. Once we have established our plan's feasibility through him, not only will the traitor finally be be destroyed, but we shall be ready for our final strike on Cybertron."

Ram Horn, still deeply disturbed by the numerous gambles they were taking, considered his comrades' logic carefully...and came to the same conclusion. "Very well, it is agreed. I shall alert for Rabid Fang immediately. But I must proscribe caution; we are taking very big risks, here, and if we should fail..."

"If all goes according to plan, we should not fail," Cicadacon snapped, growing a tad annoyed at his fellow general's apprehension. "Now, if you are done, we have work to do. I motion for this meeting to be dismissed."

Sea Clamp seconded the motion, and with that, the generals headed out to prepare, though Ram Horn was still grumbling about the impatience and incompetence of his fellow council members as he opened the frequency by which to summon Rabid Fang...

Millions of light-years - and millions of stellar cycles - away, Ravage dropped out of transwarp, the acid-tripped blur of stars around his ship coalescing into a very familiar, if otherwise alien, sight; nine planetary bodies circling a bright, yellow, medium-sized star, and divided roughly in the center by a dense asteroid field. A quick scan of the system confirmed his suspicion; the composition and orbits of the planets were a dead give-away. He had made it to his destination, cruising along the edge of what the humans of Earth will eventually call their solar system.

Flicking the autopilot off, the robotic feline took control of the ship and activated its active cloak, carefully maneuvering it towards the third planet of the system. He didn't want to be detected too soon, by either faction, if they were still alive; he needed to assess the situation first, determine if there were indeed survivors on the planet, and what their agenda was, before revealing himself. Again, he had to wonder why Megatron had come to this place, at this timeframe; he explored various possibilities as to why the Predacon would voluntarily come there, from altering the timeline through various means to ravaging the planet of its resources before humanity even came into being for a full-scale retaliation against the Maximals, but he dismissed them all in turn, unable to fathom any reason for him to do so at this time and place specifically. The disk, he knew, was the key; there was a reason why Megatron had gone through the trouble of stealing it from the Maximal archives, a hidden knowledge that only he had access to and could take advantage of. He had to know what was on that disk, and what Megs had planned to do with it. Only then could he properly complete his mission.

Taking one final course correction to avoid the planet's moon, he arrived at Earth's orbit. Curiously, there seemed to be a small ring of metallic debris circling the planet in a closer orbit than that of its natural satellite. Ignoring it for the moment, he dropped down further, prepping the ship for entry into Earth's atmosphere. The sensors flashed as they scanned the planet below, scouring its surface for any hint of Cybertronian technology or lifeforms, chirping ominously after several long cycles as they signaled a hit. Ravage frowned as he looked at the results; several faint Maximal signals, almost undetectable even to the prototype ship's advanced scanners, scattered over a distance of almost 70,000 square hics. Two unusually ancient, disabled signatures near the northwestern corner of what would be known as the North American continent and far west of that area's coast, respectively - too ancient for him to bother with. And, finally, two distinctly modern and active Cybertronian signatures, one Maximal, one Predacon, located not 70 vuns from each other and 13 hics from the landlocked ancient signature.

Growling in frustration, Ravage programmed in an entry course to the Maximal signature; while his orders were to eliminate all involved in Megatron's schemes, including the Maximal crew sent to stop him, he was also to keep this fact from the Maximals, instead making them believe he was there to merely help them apprehend the wayward Predacon - if Megatron was still active and had one or more of his crew on hand, he would need the Maximals' help in his apprehension, and only when the upstart was in his brig and ready to be executed, would he turn his guns on the Maximals. He hesitated for a moment to brace himself for the rough ride to come as his ship dove sharply, cutting a swath straight through the planet's cloud layer as it pierced the stratosphere in a beeline to its target coordinates. As he drew closer to the surface, Ravage could clearly see the growing outline of the Axalon in his forward viewscreen, as well as several bright flashes of light that indicated a firefight going on at the ship's location. Ravage's frown deepened; that proved that at least some members of both ships were still functioning, and were still going at it despite being timetossed and stranded, and as such, he needed severe subtlety to make his mission work.

With a flick of his wrists, he pulled his ship up out of the dive, leveling out at about 5 vuns above the Maximal's ship. At this distance, he could clearly make out several of the members of the battle; despite their unusual appearance, they were all clearly recognizable,. Unfortunately, his spark sank as he spotted the primary target of his mission among them: Megatron was alive and fully functional. With a consigned snarl, he readied his ship's guns and banked into a tight circle around the battleground, zeroing in on the Predacons.

It was time he made himself known.