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Cheetor stared in disdain at the black Predacon warrior before him. It didn't matter to him how or why the dark figure was here in their midsts, just that he was. And ignoring him. Deliberately ignoring him. Ever since he had arrived at their location, the ebony Pred had gone out of his way to avoid eye contact with the Transmetal cheetah, or even acknowledge his presence. For most of the past couple of mega cycles, the Predacon had focused his attention between Optimus and Rhinox, with occasional scowls at Rattrap each time the rodent threw a verbal jab at him. He even gave a curt nod to Silverbolt, which the bird-dog responded to in kind; far more than the icy-cold shoulder that Cheetor received. Given his past situation with the bot, though, Cheetor could neither blame him, nor give a flying slag.

He snarled a little as Ravage got done debriefing Optimus of his mission and the Maximals' part in it, the same old story of capturing criminals and bringing them to justice. Knowing Ravage and his 'employers' in the Tripredacus Council, however, things weren't going to be nearly that easy. He continued to stare at Ravage as the former Decepticon walked out of the command center for patrol, his gaze intense enough to nearly burn baneful holes into Ravage's Cybertronium hide, even without laser optic beams.

"I've said it once, and I'll say it again," Rattrap snarked as the panther vanished in the ship's shadows, "if dere's one ting worse den a stinkin' Pred, it's a stinkin' Decepticon."

Cheetor glanced over to Rattrap, a tiny smirk of pained irony fluttering across his fleshmetal lips at the rodent's quip.

"Shut up, Rattrap," he growled, before turning and storming out of the command center himself.

Rattrap stared, dumbfounded as Cheetor left, then turned to Optimus with a desperate look on his face. "What's wid Spots?"

"Don't worry about it, Rattrap," the gorilla-like Maximal replied, though he didn't sound very convincing. "Right now, we've got bigger things to worry about."

"Like helping Ravage bring Megatron to justice," Rhinox concurred, the heavy-set mechanoid furrowing his brow in concern. "And find out his real agenda. Remember, he was sent here by the Tripredacus Council, and it's unlikely that they would just send one of the most notorious and elite Decepticons for a simple retrieve and capture mission."

Optimus nodded. "Agreed. I've got the feeling that Ravage hasn't told us everything about his mission and the gravity of apprehending Megatron. There must be something more on that Golden Disk than any of us realize, far more than just a simple set of coordinates to an Energon-rich planet. We've got to find out what that is, and fast. We've already encountered too many strange twists to this war; I don't want to be caught off-guard again."

Rattrap nodded idly as the meeting broke up, only half-hearing what Optimus was saying. There was definitely more to this than meets the eye, and Optimus knew about it. Whatever was making Cheetor so jittery around Ravage, the rodent was going to find out. He knew he would probably not be popular with the feline or Fearless Leader for a while afterwards, but when was that anything new?

Optimus turned away as the other Maximals went about their business, not noticing that Rattrap had stuck around until he heard the rhythmic tapping of the rat-bot's fingers on the central console. Sighing, Optimus turned around and stared at his fellow Transmetal.

"What do you want, Rattrap?" Optimus growled, irritated. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm kinda busy, right now."

Rattrap frowned snubbily at the Transmetal gorilla as he continued to drum his digits, impatiently. After a few cycles, he slammed the drumming hand onto the console and pointed an accusatory finger at the Maximal leader. "Y'know exactly what I want, Fearless Leader. Sumtin's goin' on between ol' Decepticreep n' Spots, n' I'm bettin' a month's worth 'o' cheese tat ya got sum idea 'o' what it is."

Optimus sighed and shook his head, turning to the Transmetal rat with a displeased look on his faceplate. "This isn't the time, Rattrap, and besides, whatever history Cheetor and Ravage has is their personal business; you have no right to pry."

"Oh, for bootin' up cold!" Rattrap whined, exasperated. "My best bud's got his gears 'n' a grind over sum Pred-head, 'n' ya telln' me it ain't none 'o' my business? Tell me, Fearless Leader, when in da name 'o' Unicron's rusted head is it gunna be my business?"

Now it was Optimus' turn to slam his hands into the console in anger. "That's enough, Rattrap! Why do you even care so much about this?"

Rattrap opened his mouth to speak, but only succeeded in flapping it a few times as he struggled to come up with a satisfactory explination without giving too much away. He had his reasons for being worried about Cheetor and especially Ravage, but he doubted that Optimus would fully understand. Finally, he growled and snapped, "He's a friend 'o' mine. Ain't tat enuff fer ya?"

"I'm afraid not, Rattrap," Optimus replied, indignant. "If you can't tell me why this is grinding your gears, then I can't and won't answer. And I don't want to see you snooping around Cheetor or Ravage for the answers, either; I catch even one whisker near them, I'll have your tail slagged. Is that understood?"

Rattrap gritted his teeth, enraged. "But, Optimus..."

"That's an order!"

Rattrap stared at the Maximal commander for a few nanocliks, defiantly, but eventually sighed and gave a weak nod, defeated. As he turned to leave, he shot Optimus a disgusted look. "Ya don't know nuthin', Optimus," he muttered under his breath, acidly. "Ya don't know nuthin' at all..."

*********

Later that day, Cheetor was helping Silverbolt calibrate some of Sentinel's autoguns while Rattrap was monitoring the area inside, watching for any signs of Predacon attack. Rattrap grinned inwardly each time the security cameras panned in to Spots' and Bird-Dog's location; despite his arrogant bravado and talk of fembots, he couldn't help but admire the beauty of a nicely-molded skidplate and crankshaft. Not like he'd ever tell that to any of his fellow Maximals; he was already pushing their tolerance of him with his regular antics, and no doubt this revelation would not go over well with his comrades.

Rattrap tuned one audio receptor to his comm, keeping track of everything that the spotted Transmetal said. With Optimus of no help to him, he had secretly keyed into Cheetor's communicator, hoping to get a hint as to why he was so nervous around their new 'guest', but so far, not a peep. He was just about ready to cut the link, before Cheetor struck up an interesting conversation with Silverbolt.

"I overheard your little chitchat with Rattrap, back before you-know-who showed up," the feline told the Fuzor, a little more bluntly than he wanted. "I'm starting to wonder if there's more bones in your brain than in your grill structure..."

Silverbolt blinked and turned to the Transmetal, faceplate twisted in confused insult. "What do you mean by that? And choose your words more wisely, this time."

Cheetor growled a little, his patience with the Fuzor growing a tiny bit thin. "You know what I'm talking about. Blackarachnia. Ever since you set your optics on her, you've been dogging her like you're caught in a feedback loop, and it's gotten your lugnuts in a vice more times than I can count, sometimes literally." He pointed an accusatory finger at Silverbolt and snarled. "Haven't you gotten it, by now? She's the enemy, a Predacon first and a lover never. Why can't you just get a clue, stick it back in your codplate, and cut your losses?"

That shocked both Silverbolt and Rattrap; the former because of Cheetor's accusatory tone, the latter because of the hint of experience that seemed to ring from his words.

Silverbolt walked over and jabbed a finger into Cheetor's chest, glaring straight into the cat's optics as he spoke. "Listen, cat, I pursue her because I love her, and because I know that there is still some Maximal left in her. Each time she has 'betrayed' me, as you call it, she had always had the chance to extinguish my spark, and every time she refuses. She doesn't even have the compunction to torture me when I am vulnerable. Now tell me, pussycat: how many Predacons do you know of who would pass up an opportunity like that?"

Cheetor was taken aback at Silverbolt's words, drooping his head down a little as he mulled over them. He then straightened up and flicked the Fuzor's hand away. "Then you obviously haven't gotten the message drilled into your processor hard enough," he muttered, before tapping his communicator. "Cheetor to Rattrap. We're finished with the autoguns. I'll be out on patrol if you need me. Cheetor out."

Silverbolt could only watch as Cheetor transformed and jetted out into the wilderness below. He couldn't hope to know what had possessed the feline to ask him such an awkward question, or why he acted the way he did after he got an answer. Neither did Rattrap, for that matter, but the vermin was finally starting to piece it together, and so far, all of the pieces pointed to one thing: Ravage. Setting his comm to track the wayward feline, the rodent radioed Silverbolt to take his place while he headed out, making a fast break towards Cheetor in his roadster mode.

******

Meanwhile, Ravage was having a conversation of his own, with a secret informant in the bowels of an indiscriminate cave deep in the heart of Predacon territory..

"You slag-sucking spawn of Unicron," the ebony Decepticon spat, infrared eyes locked coldly on those of his companion. "You and your demented Tripredacus Council. Vhy in the mech-fluid drenched Pit didn't you tell me zat Cheetor vas among the Maximals on zis planet?"

The informant chuckled maniacally, unnerving Ravage. "You didn't ask."

"Zee deal vas for he and zee wrest of my followers to be left alone if I zerved zee Council as zheir agent. Zis wiolates zat contract."

"You have no choice," the mysterious figure giggled, as if in utter orgasmic glee in the torment that Ravage was feeling, at the moment. "We know you have knowledge of future events, or at least your part in it. You have to abide by the Council's orders to preserve the timeline."

"You zeem to be forgetting zat zat knowledge came as a wresult in my part of an historical event zat vas retroactively viped from existence. If I can survive zat little hiccup in time little worse for vear, zhen I have no doubt zat I can find a vay to survive zee hiccup caused by my NOT playing by zee Council's rules."

"But you don't want to risk it," the figure pointed out, grinning wickedly as he caught the Decepticon in a corner of irrefutable logic. "Any changes to the timestream could have drastically unforeseen consequences in the future, consequences that could erase your little 'club' and philosophies right off the map.You don't want your precious Cheetor to fall though the cracks of time, never to be seen again, do you?"

Snarling in rage, Ravage grabbed the figure by the throat and gave it a squeeze. "I don't like being used, spider, nor do I like being forced, threatened, or cajoled into doing things zat I don't vant to do. I swear to you, as Primus as my vitness, I vill survive this, I vill reunite with zee pussycat, and I vill ensure zat you and your Pit-condemned Council follow your creator into oblivion. Do you understand me?"

The informant's compulsory giggle died as he was throttled, instead giving a simple "Perfectly processed" to the Decepticon. Seemingly satisfied, for the moment, Ravage released his grip on the figure and walked away, growling slightly in enraged annoyance as his 'partner's' insane laughter started again and echoed ominously behind him.

********

Rattrap cursed under his breath, silently berating himself for pursuing Cheetor. The cat seemed to be flying aimlessly, and the rodent had to make many detours to keep up. It almost seemed like Spots was trying to avoid him, shake him off his tail, but there was no outward signs that he had been spotted. He should've headed back to base after a few megacycles of chasing after the cat. Heck, he never should've pursued after him, in the first place. However, he kept pace with the Transmetal, determined to find out just what was sizzling his circuits so bad. Despite his heckling, he was Cheetor's friend, and he'd be Galvatron's cousin if he was going to let the guy suffer through this alone.

Suddenly, Cheetor swooped in low and landed, transforming to robot mode just meters away from the still-revving rodent. Blinking in surprise, Rattrap slammed on the breaks and screeched to a halt at the feline's feet. Busted.

"Would you stop following me, Rattrap?" Cheetor cried, exasperated. "I didn't take off to have company following me."

Rattrap transformed as his buddy turned to leave, brushing himself off as he did so. "Ya can't fool me, pussycat. Something's eating ya up, and I want ta find out what."

"If you want to find out so bad, go talk with Optimus about it," Cheetor retorted, snarkily.

Rattrap simply shrugged. "I tried ta wrench it outta him, but he wouldn't talk. Besides, it's much bedder getting da juicy tidbits from da source, y'know what I'm sayin'?"

Cheetor sneered defiantly. "Then I guess you're out of luck. Now beat it before I decide to snack on some rat meat." That last part he emphasized with a snapping of his jaws, causing Rattrap to flinch back, instinctively. However, being the perverted 'mech that he was, the rat returned the threat with a wry grin and a subtle hand movement to his groinal plate. "Oh, I don't doubt dat, Spots. Problem is, ya gonna use dose teeth of yer's ta milk sum cream fer yer meat?"

Cheetor froze, stunned. He couldn't have figured out...

"Looks like I hit a noive circuit," Rattrap quipped, self-satisfactory. "So, you 'n' Blackie dere, huh? Who'd 'ave figured dat combination out? 'Specially wid you 'n' Silverboner goin' at it ova' da Preda-femme, back dere..."

Before he could get another witticism in, Rattrap felt himself lifted up by his collarguard to stare directly into the optics of a now-furious Cheetor. He gulped nervously and gave a weak chuckle, holding his hands up in futile surrender.

"No one is supposed to know about that, you hear me, you stinking rat? You tell anyone about this, and I swear to Primus I'll use your wires as dental floss, do you get me?!"

Rattrap turned his head away, trying to direct as much of Cheetor's fury away as possible. "Okay, okay already. I hear ya loud 'n' clear, pussycat. Yer secret's safe wid me."

Cheetor snorted, only half convinced of the rodent's word. "Good. Make sure you keep it that way." He dropped Rattrap and turned to leave again.

Rattrap brushed himself off again, smirking. "Guess dat explains all doze issues o' 'Maximal Underground' you've been hidin' unda yer bunk."

Bad thing to say. Cheetor was back on him, optics wide as the Golden Disks in incredulous shock. "How did you know about them?"

Rattrap just gave the feline a lopsided grin. "Easy, Spots. Ya ain't da only one who likes lookin' at a nice manbot skidplate every now and den on dis woild, y'know."

Cheetor just stared at him, not quite able to process what he had just heard.

"Hey, Cybertron ta Cheetor," Rattrap joked, waving a hand in front of his friend's face. "Ya in there, pal? Are ya circuits fried, or do ya at least have enuff RAM ta put a fella joystick-fondla' down?"

Cheetor finally came back to the world of the conscious, and realized he was still holding the Transmetal mouse. "Oh, sorry about that," he apologized, gently easing his friend to the ground. He glanced down at Rattrap, nervously, then popped the obvious question: "How long have you..."

"...known dat ya were an Interfacer?" Rattrap finished him, noting the blush that the word invoked in his comrade. "Since a few stellar cycles before de mission. Dat ya were a swing-gender Interfacer? A few deca cycles after we crashed on dis dirtheap. Dat ya were Interfacing wid ol' Decepticreep...?"

Cheetor nodded, no further elaboration needed. Only a few megacycles after the meeting. Well, that cleared up most of his questions, but not all. Even so, it was good to finally have someone that he could truly relate with, someone who shared his deepest, darkest secret with him, and understood the pain he was going through. But if that was the case...

"You knew about Ravage's betrayal, didn't you?"

Rattrap simply nodded, solemnly. How could he forget? The legends behind Ravage's radical movement and his eventual betrayal of said movement to become a government agent was known about by all Interfacers, no matter how closeted or flaming they may be...

********

Known as Interfacing, this controversial idea was rumored to have been stumbled upon by Ravage during yet another controversial period in Cybertron's history: the now-mythical Binaltech Incident. Though no one knows the precise details about the alleged incident (which had surprisingly little evidence that it actually happened, thus giving it an urban legendary feel), it is said that during the incident, Ravage was captured by Earth's forces and studied, before assailants unknown 'rescued' him. While in the former's grasp, however, the scientist that was doing the studying discovered an amazing - and scandalous - thing about Ravage that up till then no one had known about, including Ravage himself.

There, right between his tailpipe and his chassis was a long rod-like probe and two spherical objects, miniature factories for a slew of self-assembling nanites in a liquid silicon solution, all controlled by a heretofore unknown program that had decayed and fragmented slightly with disuse. While further investigation into this new apparatus' function and build would be interrupted by the unknown assailants, it was discovered that while the actual hardware was only a few dozen stellar cycles old, the software itself had existed for far longer. At first, he had dismissed the scientist's findings, too proud to admit that the fleshling had been on to something. However, as time went on, Ravage began to think back on the discovery, and - after a thorough scan into the 'testes' and 'penis' that the scientist had once compared the hardware to - Ravage began forging a theory, one that would rock the very foundation of Transformer physiology and reproduction.

He had theorized that the program was actually a subroutine naturally written as part of his people's evolution as a way to create new Transformers without the aide of a factory. Further look into the history of Cybertron revealed evidence supporting another such subroutine, though this one very different from the one he had, but having been lost in time for some reason. The method that the subroutine had been developed to utilize was quite similar to the odd human concept known as 'sex', and was probably the reason why the Transformers developed gender identification, without apparently needing them. However, as solely mechanical beings at the time, the Transformers believed that the only method of propagating their species was to use their respective faction's mechanics plant, literally forging a new generation from fire and steel. Without the knowledge of this newfound enhancement, the Transformers unknowingly allowed the software and whatever hardware would've been used at the time to atrophy and decay, until the crews of the Nemesis and the Ark crash landed on Earth and were reformatted into their now-famous alternate forms and bodies by Teletraan-1. The new equipment that he had was probably a result of Teletraan rebuilding the unused hardware in that area, using the reproductive organs of the humans and other biological creatures on the planet as a template for its new form.

As time went on, Ravage grew battle-weary and distrustful of Galvatron's leadership, having secretly experimented with his theory and cross-referencing his results with that of whatever info he could covertly gather on biological reproduction. He learned that not only were the visual effects similar, but the physical and emotional effects were, as well; he felt pleasure when his 'probe' and 'nanoplants' (as he called it) were caressed and teased, pain when they were damaged (though he found some forms of damage to his new equipment to be more stimulating than excruciating), and an odd sensation of mixed bliss and exhaustion when he finally released his 'solution', feeling like he was both simultaneously drained and revitalized of Energon. He later learned of a rare occurrence in human psychology where one becomes 'addicted' to sexual pleasure, as well as the various dangers in rampant sex, such as diseases and uncontrolled births. While he was fairly certain that his people's firewalls would protect them from any computer viruses transmitted during Interfacing, and that the nanites could easily be programmed to remain dormant until needed for procreation, the addiction mentioned with human sex he didn't know how to prevent, or even if he wanted to prevent it. The very act felt so good, why shouldn't he want more? Indeed, why shouldn't he share his new discovery with the rest of the Transformers?

Unfortunately, the people of Cybertron gave him a reason why he shouldn't; The Autobots determined his findings to be imprecise and unpredictable at best, dangerously disruptive, at most, while the Decepticons disowned him for even speaking the blasphemy that they could be anything like the 'flesh creatures', as the faction called humans. While a scant few Transformers accepted his findings as truth, most would not be swayed, and with the development of protoform technology in the works (which some say was reversed-engineered from Ravage's discovery, secretly proving his theories viable, all along), there was very little he or his followers could do to persuade the masses. They eventually became an outcast minority, despised by both Autobot and Decepticon alike, that prejudice against their 'heretic' lifestyle surviving far beyond the mass formatting that eventually transformed all Transformers into Maximals and Predacons. Sill, Ravage would not be intimidated, and continued to convert young Transformers to his 'movement', until their numbers became too great for either faction to ignore.

It was around then that Ravage was confronted by the Tripredacus Council, the ruling party of the Predacons, who offered him a deal; what exactly the deal entailed, no one really knew, though part of it did required him to become their top agent and have no more contact with his followers, which he seemed to readily accept. A few Interfacers believed that he had taken their offer to protect them, only agreeing to join the Council if they and the Maximal Elders provided sanctions to curb the amount of prejudice-based violence on their person; this seemed to be most likely, as the number of attacks against Interfacers did seem to significantly dwindle. Others believed that part of the deal involved an appeal to Ravage's former lust for glory and conquest, promised a chance to overthrow the vastly conservative governments in order to create a new world leadership where Interfacers ruled. Whatever the reasons, one thing was agreed upon: Ravage had sold out on them, and in doing so, betrayed them and the very foundation of his beliefs. That betrayal ran deep in the Interfacer community, and although it was easier now for them to coexist with the rest of Cybertron's populace, the gravity of Ravage's actions would change forever. It wasn't uncommon to read in the local news feed of yet another distraught Interfacer whose spark was self-extinguished or nearly so, as they sought to ease the pain of the crisis of faith in what they were taught, and the community as a whole was much more secluded than was intended.

********

"I wouldn't worry too much 'bout it, Spots," Rattrap finally responded, trying to sound casual, but failing miserably. "I'm, eh... pretty sure ol' Decepticreep knew how ta bargain for a bedder deal, before he, y'know, signed his name on da dotted line."

"You don't get it, Rattrap," Cheetor sighed, frustrated. "I was his lover, his Interface partner. I looked up to him like a father aas well as someone with a tight tailpipe and long, hard probe. When he turned his back on the Interfacer community, he turned his back on me, and that hurt, a lot. I nearly became one of those self-terminated Maximals on the news, were it not for my father and Optimus..."

So that explained why Optimus was so reluctant to talk with me, Rattrap thought. He could sort of see the Boss Monkey being an Interfacer sympathizer, as he had never known him to hold prejudices or grudges, though he had to admit he didn't think that Optimus would ever care to understand the ideosyncracies of their lifestyle and oppression. What surprised him, though, was the revelation that Cheetor's father was in on things, as well. There had been rumors that the cat's protoform-father, the Autobot spy Steeljaw, was an Interfacer supporter, if not an Interfacer himself, but to get confirmation straight from the horse's mouth, figuratively speaking...

"Heh, like fahdder like son," the rodent muttered to no one in particular. "Well, dere's no point in cryin' over spilled Energon. I'm sure dat, once we kick Megabutt's tailpipe back ta Cybertron, it'll all be like it was before we got ourselves stranded here."

"Not quite zat simple, I'm afraid."

Cheetor and Rattrap both looked up in surprise as Ravage uncloaked before them. He smirked thinly at the look of utter shock on his comrade's faces as he walked up towards them, folding his arms in casual patience.

"Hey," sputtered Rattrap, coming to his senses a bit quicker than Cheetor. "Who invited you ta da party, Blackie? Don'cha have a dinosaur ta cage?"

"Shut up, mouse," Ravage shot back, curtly. "I didn't come here to explain my actions to you."

"Yeah," Cheetor concurred, sarcastically. "They pretty much speak for themselves, don't they?"

"Listen, little cat," Ravage retorted, "I did vat I had to do to protect you and zee others from being viped out by both ruling parties, Maximal and Predacon alike. I don't like it any more zan you, but I didn't have much choice in zee matter."

"There's always a choice, Ravage," the spotted feline argued. "We could've shuttled off of Cybertron, found our own planet to live on."

"And vat? Starve to death vithout ever seeing our homeworld again, or friends and family?" Ravage glowered at his smaller counterpart, fuming. "Ve may have been persecuted on Cybertron, but at least ve had Energon to consume, loved vones to interact vith. Living on zis planet should've taught you zat even vith zee DNA wreplicators zat have been invented, organic matter isn't easily converted into fuel for us, and vouldn't be enough to sustain us vithout some vay of refining Energon. How those slagging Insecticons managed to do it, I have no idea, but I can tell you right now zat ve aren't zee Insecticons, nor do ve have zat kind of technology. But none of that matters, right now."

Cheetor simply stared at the ebony Decepticon, half furious, half confused. "Really? and why's that, O Great One?"

"Because Tarantulas and the Tripredacus Council broke our contract. I vas sent here to eliminate ALL involved in the Beast Wars, including the Maximals, but they failed to inform me exactly who vas among zee Maximals on your little ship. If I had known you vere part ov the Axalon crew..."

"WHAT?!" Rattrap screeched, horrified. "How in da slagging Pit did ya agree ta dat, Decepticreep? 'N' what's dat spider gotta do wid any of dis, anyway?"

Cheetor glared at Ravage. "Yeah, I'd like to know that, too."

"Tarantulas is a member ov zee Predacon Secret Police," the Decepticon explained. "A covert spy planted among Megatron's crew to sabotage zheir plans. Obviously, he didn't do zat great ov a job, or he vas too busy vith plans ov his own. Either way, I need his help in getting into Megatron's secret Energon stash so I can refuel my ship and get us all back to Cybertron, alive and intact."

"What makes you so sure that Tarantulas will hold up his end of the bargain?" questioned Cheetor.

Ravage frowned, indignant. "I'm not. But zere's another thing that you might vant to know about. Those rumors about how I came up with the theory behind Interfacing? Zhey aren't rumors at all. It actually happened, the Binatech Incident, my capture, everything, and I somehow got stuck vith memories from my future self, a future self zat vas scrapped after I switched allegiances and sided vith Megatron."

Neither Maximal could believe their audio receptors. There just was no way any of what they heard was true, was there?

"I've gotta hand it ta ya, Blackie," Rattrap finally exclaimed after a few moments, nearly all his usual sarcastic chipperness drained by Ravage's revelations. "When ya set up a betrayal, ya really go all out."

"It vasn't my intention to betray you, rodent," Ravage snapped, a slight edge forming in his words. "I can't tell you everything zat I know. I'm not sure if I half-believe it, myself, and even if I did, I'm not sure just how revealing zat information to you could change history, but all I can tell you is zat my defection to Megatron and everything zat develops afterwards must come to pass. I'm assuming you already know most of vat's on zee Golden Disk, correct?"

Rattrap shrugged. "Eh, ol' Dinobutt said sometin' 'bout future events an' da ability ta change history or sum slag, but I din't really pay attention. Besides, from what I hoid, he scrapped da Golden Disk, so Megs shouldn't be able ta use it, anymore. Right?"

Cheetor's optics widened, as the full gravity of what Ravage was trying to say hit him. "You know more about what's on that disk, don't you? That's why you defect to the Pred's side."

Ravage nodded, somberly. "Yes, zere is. I can't go into any great detail about vat, but..." He sat down, shoulders hung heavy in regret and shame. "I never told this to anyone, pussycat, not even to you, but zere's a part of me zat still vishes I had stayed vith zee Decepticons, still yearns for conquest and glory..."

"...And whatever else is on that Disk appealed to that side of you to the point where you couldn't help but defect," Cheetor mused, finding himself sympathizing with the former Decepticon, despite himself.

Rattrap wasn't so easily convinced. "Hold on fer a nanoclick. Ya said dat ya were scrapped after ya sided wid Megabutt, right?"

Ravage looked at the rodent, confused. "Yes. I was with Tarantulas in my ship attacking the Axalon when...someone I can't quite remember blew it up."

"You don't know who slagged you?" Cheetor asked, dubiously. "How convenient."

"You'd be surprised at vat little I actually retained from zee Binaltech Incident, little cat. Most ov it is corrupted files and fragmented images, vith only my part in zee Beast Vars held mostly intact, and even zen, I can only distinguish myself, Tarantulas, and Megatron in zee images; zee rest ov zee are faceless mechs."

"Probably because your 'other' self didn't care to notice us little guys, right?" Cheetor deadpanned, coldly.

"Zat may be," Ravage mused, hurt. "Zen again, I didn't have too long to get to know my new personality before ve vere separated by the Autobots. In any case, zere vasn't much left of me to be found, afterwards. In fact, zee only evidence zat I vas even zere vas zee ship's flight recorder...vith a copy of my personality on it...

Rattrap just grinned as realization dawned on the ebony warrior. Cheetor, still young and naive, didn't have a clue what was going on.

"What? What's the sitch?"

Ravage just grinned back at the pair of Maximals, a glint of mischief in his optics. "I told zat arachnid zat I'd survive zis. Now here's my chance to prove it."

********

The plan was audacious, and probably had little chance of actually succeeding without the rest of the Maximals' help, but Ravage couldn't risk letting them know what was really going on before it was time. Ravage would continue to play his part in history, right up to when Rattrap would bust in and bomb his ship (from Ravage's broken account of the events, it was determined that Rattrap would be the one who brought his "end", making their plan even more ingenious). In that final battle, Ravage would hand control of his ship to a decoy, specially modified to act as he remembered acting during his "final moments"; with the decoy piloting the ship, and its flight recorder filled with all the requisite memory engrams, he ensured that history played out as it was foretold while still surviving the ordeal to live his own life as he saw fit - just as he swore to Tarantulas he would. In hindsight, Ravage had to laugh in intentional irony at the codename he chose for the plan: Project Shrodinger's Box, the same nickname the scientists gave the flight recorder. As an added cover for him, he would then gain an organic alternate form and hide out in the wilderness until the Beast Wars were over, secretly helping the Maximals foil Megatron's schemes in the process. It couldn't have possibly worked, yet somehow, they pulled it off, and for some deca cycles afterwards, the trio were able to continue on with their lives unhindered and unknown by all. Until...

"How's the modifications coming, Rhinox?"

The rhinobot looked up at Optimus, straining his neck more than usual to compensate for his leader's new Optimal frame. "It's not pretty, but it should hold together until we get back to Cybertron."

Optimus nodded, patting Rhinox on the back for his good work. "Gather the team together in two megacycles for a debriefing, then break out the Energon kegs. I'd say this calls for a celebration."

Rhinox nodded and resumed his work. Modding Autobot and Maximal technologies together was still tricky for him, but he had gotten lots of practice during the last few deca cycles. Sighing contemplatively, he looked out towards the endless stretch of forest below, musing on all that had transpired up till now. Though he didn't want to admit it, he was going to miss Earth and its inhabitants. He even missed some of the battles they had fought, there. But, home beckoned, and with their task complete, there was really no reason to stay.

Taking one last look at the connections between the Autobot escape ship's engines and the Predacon transwarp driver, and testing the restraints on the shuttle's roof meant to hold Megatron during the trip for strength, he gathered his tools and headed back into base.

A couple of mega cycles later, Rhinox headed over to Cheetor's quarters, tapping lightly on the metal door when he arrived.

"Cheetor, it's Rhinox. Open up, please."

"Eh, keep yer chestplate on, big guy. We'll be out in a cycle."

Rhinox eyed the door, suspiciously. That was Rattrap's voice! Why was he in Cheetor's quarters? Unless...

He didn't get a chance to finish his thought, as a moment later the door opened up to show Rattrap, Cheetor and...another Transformer chatting on Cheetor's bed. The stranger, a Transmetalized black panther that seemed vaguely familiar, and the others looked quite disheveled, as if they had rushed to hide something from him before opening the door.

Rattrap simply stared at the husky Maximal, an odd lopsided grin plastered on his lips. "What brings ya ta our neck of da woods, big guy?"

Rhinox shook his head and took a deep breath. "Optimus wants us down in the briefing room for a pep talk before we head back to Cybertron. He also wants you to be present at the celebration he's holding, afterwards."

The three Maximals beamed at that announcement.

"All right, kegger!" exclaimed Cheetor, excited. His companion was much more somber, but still showed his approval of the news.

Rhinox, still confused about the new Maximal's presence, nodded towards him, questioningly. "Who's the new cat?"

"Nightstalker, at your service," Ravage said, not missing a beat. "Cheetor found me a couple of deca cycles ago and introduced me to zee Maximal vay of life."

"He was pretty banged up, when I found him," Cheetor explained, hopeful that their story would fool the Maximal second in command. "And he was pretty feral. I got him back to base and into a CR chamber while you guys were gone, managed to tame him down a little, but he ran off before you came back. We've been keeping in touch, ever since."

Rhinox nodded, only half convinced. He was pretty sure that, had the new Maximal entered the base at any time, he wouldn't have gone unnoticed, but with all of the activity going on for the past few mega cycles...

"So, what have you been doing all this time, Nightstalker?"

"Secret patrol for survivors," Ravage said, simply. "I figured zat if I had managed to escape destruction, others ov our crew certainly have, as vell."

Now that got the rhino's attention. "And are there?"

The dark Decepticon shrugged. "Maybe. I caught a few Maximal signatures to zee extreme vest and south of here, and some more in zee vaters in zee east, but if zey're still out zere, ve'll need to come back vith a vorking shuttlecraft to retrieve zhem."

Rhinox sighed in relief. "That's good to hear. It would take some time to convince the Maximal Elders to let us come back here, especially after this whole fiasco with the Predacons, but we don't leave our own behind. I'm sure they'll agree to a rescue mission, eventually."

Cheetor sighed, as well. That part of Ravage's cover story, at least, was true; he was spending most of his time hunting down any signs of surviving stasis pods, when he wasn't Interfacing with Cheetor and Rattrap, of course. He just hoped that Rhinox was right and that the Maximal Elders did allow them to return for a search and rescue.

"'ey, Rhinox," chided Rattrap, good-naturedly. "If ye're done gawking at da new Maximal, would ya mind lettin' us get freshened up for da debriefing an' party?"

Rhinox blinked in confusion, then blushed, realizing what Rattrap meant. "Fine. You've got five cycles. But if I see any fiddling from any of you on the trip back to Cybertron, I'm throwing you all out the nearest airlock, got it?"

Cheetor and Rattrap giggled, while Ravage simple gave a wry grin. It was good to be back among friends...

********

*AFTER THE PARTY*

********

"Oh, slag, Ravage, you haven't lost your touch...unnngh..."

"I keep myself in shape, though holographic simulations aren't nearly as preferable as zee real zing..."

Rattrap simply sat back and looked on in awe, mouth watering and Interface probe at full extension seeing his best bud going at it with his new partner. Ravage was currently situated between Cheetor's legs, lapping at his techno-organic probe like it was an Energon lollipop. Cheetor, meanwhile, was using his biotech tail to stroke the former Decepticon's own probe and tease his tight tailpipe.

Ah, pussycat, the rodent thought, giving his own phallic probe a squeeze. Ya really know how ta tickle my joystick.

Cheetor gasped as Ravage engulfed his aching probe, his impressive eight inches of pulsing fleshmetal vanishing into the ebony warrior's maw. He knew that he had grown quite a bit, since he had left Cybertron, and was still amazed at how easily Ravage could take his enhanced girth. Whining a bit in agonized bliss, he gripped Ravage's head between his hands and began to buck his hips, thrusting more of his interface rod into the eager lips of his lover. In response, Ravage reached down and slid a finger up the younger cat's spasming tailpipe, stroking against his internal silicon smelter/prostate (if Ravage remembered the terminology for the organic equivalent correctly) and bringing a shiver to the feline's endoskeleton.

Rattrap, no longer content to just watch, slipped in behind Ravage as stealthily as he could, lubing up his own 5-inch love rod with a bit of gear oil before carefully prying Cheetor's still-twitching tail from the ebony cat's tailpipe and replacing it with his probe. With a sly grin and a wink to no one in particular, he grabbed Ravage's hips and with a mighty thrust, slid the rod fully into the feline's back port, making him screech in surprised pain-pleasure. Giggling a bit in mischievous delight, Rattrap just slapped Ravage's skidplate and began thrusting into the former Decepticon. Unbeknown to the rodent, however, Cheetor's tail - now without a tailpipe to torment, sought another one...Rattrap's, who yelped in shock himself as the biometal appendage wormed its way into his rear passage.

It was a near cacophony of grunts, groans, moans, and yelps that emitted from the room, one that would've easily alerted all the other Maximals to their exploits, were it not for both the unusually sound-dampening configuration of the caverns the base was built out of, and the near-constant roar of magma flows surrounding them. Not like anyone would have responded had they heard them; Optimus was busy restoring the original Megatron's spark to his body, Silverbolt and Blackarachnia were taking a moonlit walk along the volcano's edge, and Rhinox...Rhinox was keeping one eye on the escape ship's diagnostics, and the other on a secret video feed he set up to capture the trio's post-party activities. I thought that 'Maximal' looked familiar, he thought, as he heard both Rattrap and Cheetor once again call out Ravage's name in their lust. Adjusting his groinal plate a little, the big Maximal returned to his work, his smirk growing a bit wider with each hump and groan given off by his comrades. If Ravage's story about there being survivors is true, then he wouldn't mind pulling a few of the remaining strings he had with the Maximal Council to 'mount' a rescue attempt, with him in charge and given full reign over the selection of crew members. The way they were going at it, he didn't want to risk leaving the trio alone for long...

Back in Cheetor's quarters, things were heating up between the felines and the mouse. Cheetor, bucking fiercely into the wanting mouth of his lover, unwrapped his tail from around Ravage's pole...only to shove the length that was cradling it deep into Rattrap's tailpipe, twisting it madly like a serpent and making the rodent squeak in ecstasy. That, in turn, drove the Transmetal rat's hips harder into Ravage's skidplate, pistoning his own throbbing probe against the ebony cat's smelter, which caused his own shaft to dribble sweet silicon lubricant like an Energon fountain all over Cheetor's bed. They were all very close to bursting, and they all knew it. The only question was, who would shoot their load first?

Not surprisingly, the least experienced of the group blew first. What was surprising, was that it was Rattrap who fit the description. Though his companions didn't know it at the time, the rodent was relatively inexperienced in the Interfacing department, having not had a partner to teach him like Cheetor or the time to go carousing around for tight Maximal skidplate like Ravage. All he really had was his hand and his collection of self-invented 'toys'. And that lack of experience would cost him dearly in the future. Right now, however, it brought upon a moment of sheer bliss as he emptied his nanofactories into Ravage's hindquarters, both its incredible tightness and the mad ministering of Cheetor's tail against his silicon smelter draining him dry. Instinctively, the rat reached down and grabbed Ravage's probe, grunting in pleasure as he stroked the former Pred's male-bot meat in time with his orgasm, gripping Ravage tightly around the waist with his other arm.

The sensation of Rattrap's nanofluid flooding his tailpipe and his hand around his own rod was little more than was needed to make Ravage release his own nectar, as well, until Cheetor - still young and undisciplined with the concept of holding back, gave one final shove into his mouth and emptied his own bio-mechanical balls. It was too much for the poor Decepticon to handle; he had engaged in plenty of threesomes and orgies during his time as the Interfacer's de facto leader, but the feeling of two well-skilled Maximals, both augmented with organic pseudo-tissue (a sensation that, he had to admit, he had never experienced before his arrival into the Beast Wars, but will most assuredly continue to do so from now on), filling him up so completely...It drove him insane with lust, letting out a feral snarl of pleasure as he finally 'came'.

For what seemed like stellar cycles, the three Transformers were locked in a repeating orgasm, each shot from one invoking another from his partner, and vice versa, until they all finally collapsed into one big Transmetal heap of exhausted male lust, their nanofactories and silicon smelters depleted to their last drop. It would take mega cycles for them to recover, and to start producing more of their thick nano-silica cream, but they could wait. They had to; the next day, they were shipping themselves and Megatron back to Cybertron, and they all needed to get a good night's rest if they were going to be at their prime for the trip. The night was still young, however, and after licking and sucking each other clean (with much protesting to go easy on their probes and tailpipes), the cats and rat stayed up a few more mega cycles discussing what they were going to do when they get back to Cybertron.

"So, I guess that, since history has it that you're dead, you'll be keeping your new persona?" questioned Cheetor, nodding towards Ravage in slight worry.

"Most likely," confirmed the ebony Decepticon, disconcerted. "Zough I feel the need to confront zee Tripredacus Council about zheir treachery, as vell as give zee rest of our kind some peace of mind over my actions as Ravage."

"Dat shouldn't be much of a problem, I don' tink," assured Rattrap, casually. "I mean, history has ya as bein' one wid da Pit, an' I doubt dat da Tirpredacus Pinheads would be willin' ta risk facin' down a mob 'o' angry Transformers, no madder what deir 'preference', just ta get da last laugh."

Cheetor nodded. "I also recorded your confession about the real reasons behind your betrayal, including the Council betraying you after ensuring our safety. Most interfacers know that we're real tight with each other, so they'll trust that the datatracks are legit, especially after it passes a thorough scrutiny test."

Ravage nodded, sighing in content as he laid back against the cavern wall. A familiar ripple went through his endostructure, one that neither of his companions could feel. Well, not quite; Cheetor did feel something, but then again, the cat did always have some kind of odd knack for sensing the flow of time and '"seeing" possible historical events in his dreams. The Decepticon figured that he'd be getting an audio receptor-full from the spotted Transmetal 2 about strange dreams about some future that was to be, but was averted. Whether the new future that would replace the old one would be better or worse, he doubted that even the Matrix new, but come what may, he had finally reunited with friends, and that was all that mattered to him, at the moment.

"Ya really tink dat da Maximal Elders are gunna agree ta a rescue mission for da surviving protoforms?" inquired Rattrap, idly batting at Cheetor's tail tip, which kept on deliberately brushing against his groinal plate every now and then. "I mean, after dis mess, I wouldn't be surprised if dey banned Transwarp technology, altogether."

Ravage growled in rumination. "Zhey have to. Zheir presence on Earth could disrupt history in vays zat cannot be predicted, and besides, datatracks all point to zere being next to no Maximal or Predacon ruins or wreckage having been discovered; my guess is, zat zee rescue operation is part of our history."

"Alright, already," panted Cheetor, still not fully recovered from their threesome. "We can talk about all that later, on the trip back. Let's talk about something else, for a change, like which Maximal or Pred you'd want to interface with."

Now Cheetor was talking! Getting comfortable, the trio chatted away until just before midnight, unloading their sparks and taking good-natured jabs at each other's secret crushes. Some were well-known or suspected, like Cheetor's interest with Blackarachnia, while some were not so obvious, like Rattrap's admitted crush on Dinobot (he said the ex-Predacon "knew how to push all his right buttons"). Eventually the conversation turned to Rhinox; considering his reaction to their *ahem* 'activities' before the debriefing, it was clear that he had at least some tolerance of Interfacers, and was probably a closeted Interfacer, himself. When the subject turned to the size and stamina of his probe, the discussion quickly degraded into a series of gropes, kisses, and moans, which were cut all too short by the lateness of the mega cycle and the still not fully passed exhaustion from their earlier orgy. Reluctantly, the three heroes turned in for the remainder of the planetary cycle, ready to face whatever laid ahead...

********

*REVISED COVENANT OF PRIMUS* For it was their love and devotion to one another and their people that the heroes broke the shackles of time and fate, joining if as one unto the very end.

And with a great roar, the mighty bird that was their salvation and deliverance flew into the inky black void and into a tunnel of stars, not to a trial of fire through termination and rebirth, as it had been so written, but a time of peace and prosperity, their testament and tribute to the salvation of all who will come after drawn into a gentler endeavor, one through which the rapture of the planet's race will remain unchanged from that which was to be and now will never come to pass.

For the seeds of the future lie buried in the past, and until all are one in harmony with machine and the earth alike, those who lived and fought and loved as both beast and mech will continue the war which had raged throughout the ages forevermore.

And lo, did Primus look upon his creations and upon their exploits, and found them to be pleasing. As it had been started millions of stellar cycles ago with but two ships and a species born not from fire and metal but of earth and sky shall be finished as such, and the climax of that unprecedented union shall ring out with the force of an exploding sun.

Blasphemous redeemers, impure saviors, rise up, for your time is now. Come, and come, and come again, to deliver your salvation to the world, for love will conquer all, and lust will be its mediator. In the name of Primus, the Matrix, and the Allspark, Amen.