CHAPTER SEVEN
"What... what is this, Tarantulas?"
Tarantulas cackled as he led Prowl to the one vacant chair among those that held the Wreckers. "I'm so glad you asked. You remember Aequitas, don't you?"
Prowl grimaced but did not answer. Tarantulas already knew it anyway.
"Well, this is its successor. This is Aequitas improved. This is Impetus."
"How is it an improvement?" Prowl asked.
"Because rather than calculate guilt, which is only good when you know the crime committed, this extracts guilt. It takes all of your sins and lays them all out for everyone to hear." Tarantulas became more aggressive in pushing Prowl towards the chair as the Autobot showed more resistance.
"What is this about, Tarantulas?" Prowl asked, trying to stall. "What are you trying to tell me?"
"We all have our demons, Prowl," Tarantulas replied, his voice a low growl. "Yours just so happen to number more than most Autobots."
"What are you even referring to?"
"Tell me: Is Optimus Prime informed of all the Secret Service's activities? Does he know about the Tyrest job? The Vyrgul incident? Operation: Dead Silence?"
Prowl's mouth fell agape as energon drained from his face. "How do you...?"
"The two agents you sent after me provided with some very juicy details," Tarantulas hissed in his audio sensor. "Or at least, one of them did. The other proved to be more of a challenge."
"What have you done to them...?"
Tarantulas let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, don't tell me you actually care for them. Otherwise, you'd have never sent them in the first place."
"What have you done?"
"It's me, Prowl. What do you think I've done?"
Prowl shut his optics, his body shaking with anger. "You twisted spawn of Unicron...."
"Ha! As if you're not one yourself."
Having finally reached the vacant chair, Tarantulas became more forceful as he tried to get Prowl to sit in it.
"Now then, why don't you have seat? You've had a long day."
"We all have, web for brains."
Both Tarantulas and Prowl froze at the sound of the familiar voice. Slowly, they turned around to see the blue clone of Optimus Prime standing at the end of the room, a gun in his hand. With him was the other Optimus clone Toxitron, as well as a particular yellow Autobot.
"Hubcap?" Prowl said, incredulous. "What are you-- what's going on here?"
Hubcap did not answer, a petrified look permanently etched on his red face. Convoy responded instead, keeping his gun trained on Tarantulas.
"Apparently this little Wrecker here has been in cahoots with Eight-Eyes. He was the one who allowed the spider to overwhelm us and bring us here."
Prowl frowned as he looked at Hubcap. "Is this true, Hubcap?"
"You don't get it," the small Autobot murmured, his entire frame trembling. "You just don't get it. None of you get it."
Tarantulas shifted on his legs as he glared at the three newcomers. "How did you even get here?"
"Your little buddy was guarding a portal and activated in in a panic," Convoy replied. "We chased him through it and... well, here we are."
"Wait," Prowl said. "A portal? Are you saying we're in--"
"Enough!" Tarantulas shrieked, rising up on all limbs. "We have stalled this long enough! It is time for everyone to know of the Autobots' sins! They must realize that their idealized heroes are not the paragons of virtue they claim to--"
Suddenly, the arachnid went silent, frozen in place. It didn't take long for Prowl to realize why he had stopped.
The whole room had fallen silent. The Wreckers were no longer speaking their sins.
Impetus had been deactivated.
Without warning, Tarantulas morphed to his beast mode and skittered out of the room, leaving the others behind. Convoy raised his gun, aiming at the spider's retreating back, but was stopped by Prowl.
The clone looked at him incredulously. "You can't be serious."
"I'm always serious," Prowl said. "Now help me get them free."
Convoy sighed as he put his gun away. "You know, this is going to bite you back in the end."
"It already has," Prowl muttered.
As the two of them set to work freeing the Wreckers, neither of them had the chance to notice the absence of a small yellow Autobot.
Or that of a green Optimus Prime clone.
* * *
This is for you, Artfire.
Ricochet allowed himself to relax as he stepped away from the computer. He wasn't exactly sure what this was other than it had to do with the spawn of Mortilus that was his captor. Whatever it was the spider had running, it was undoubtedly diabolical.
He heard the sound of skittering coming from outside the room, fast approaching. It was the sound of his death. And this time, there was nowhere else to run.
After making sure his comm was still on, he turned around to face the doorway. No more than a minute later, the giant arachnid form of Tarantulas stormed through it, all eight eyes blazing with anger.
"You!" he screeched. "How did you get in here?!"
"You left the door open," Ricochet replied.
"But-- how did you find it?!"
"I followed someone here. I figured it had to be something important... and sure enough, it was." Ricochet gestured to the computer. "Word of advice: upgrade your firewalls. While your current setup might stump the average hacker, it's not so strong against a Secret Service agent."
Growling, Tarantulas transformed to robot mode, his hulking frame looming over Ricochet. "You realize you have made a terrible mistake, don't you?"
"Yes." Ricochet stared defiantly at the monster, bracing for its next move.
Tarantulas' claws fell on his shoulders as the arachnid leaned in, mandibles clicking together. "I am going to make you suffer."
"You do that." He prayed that the comm would pick him up, since his arms were in no position to raise it closer to his mouth.
A hiss sounded from Tarantulas' maw as he leaned in dangerously closer. "Any last words?"
"Just one: Ostaros."
Tarantulas said nothing for a long time. As the moment grew longer, Ricochet began to wonder if he had even heard him.
That was when he noticed the spider leg that had impaled him.
Then everything went black.
* * *
Outside the portal to the Noisemaze, Counterpunch received Ricochet's call. Accessing the portal's control panel, he entered the seven-letter passcode.
It went through.
Whether or not it would do anything was anyone's guess. Whether or not he would even find out was also up in the air. Point was, his job was done. He had done all he could.
You could still help those on the--
No. He was done. The mission was over. It was time to retire.
Ignoring the protests of his subconscious, Counterpunch transformed to his car mode and sped off.
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