Sticky Situation

Oct 28, 2033

EDC HQ - Underground Manufacturing and R+D - 

Deep underground, just a hundred miles from the outskirts of the capital city of Ouagadougou, rests this sprawling labyrinth dedicated to Earth Defense Command. Upon emerging from the GroundBridge terminal, one is confronted with directions to either Manufacturing or R&D. Manufacturing is a huge factory, with gritty assembly lines and fire belching machines that work to build the high tech equipment used by the EDC to fight the Decepticon menace. Everything from power armor to hover tanks to shuttles can be created by this highly adaptable facility. Watching the process from any of the catwalks that run above the city is awe-inspiring.

In stark contrast to the industrial center, the R&D facility has clean white walls and laboratories. Both mechanical and biological inventions can be worked on here. Men and women in lab coats can be frequently seen here, chatting to one another about their latest projects. Transformers can also receive medical attention here. The Manufacturing and R&D facilities can be defended by a number of experimental weapons, though being deep underground buys it time to receive reinforcements if needed.

Contents:

Franklin Cross

First Aid

Obvious exits: &lt;Hub&gt; leads to EDC HQ - Ground Bridge Hub - &lt;Korea&gt;. &lt;Out&gt; leads to Western Africa.

Apocryphacius is in a clean white laboratory... wait, no. It's a clean /black/ laboratory. Yes, he had the laboratory repainted black because he felt that the white was 'too neon'. He also had all the neon lights replaced with candles. Most of those around him have just dismissed this as 'typical inscrutable Quintesson behaviour'. It would take someone who knows Apocryphacius fairly well to realise that the Quintesson has had a mental break. He is still bandaged over to cover his numerous sets of stitches. A few of the stitches busted while he was out in Nevada looking for Cross and had to be resewn, which earned him a scolding from the unimpressed EDC surgeon who worked on him. He still has an IV drip taped to his dome to get his fluids. Apocryphacius should probably be resting, but instead of that, he is in the laboratory, working with the weird partially extra dimensional crystal, looking at adjusting the frequency slightly. Sure, they have a great frequency for killing robots, but if they could be a bit more energy-efficient, they could make these disintegrators smaller, maybe hand-held. Work keeps his mind off current events. He tests things and he gets his data. It's simple and soothing.

Franklin Cross arrives in the laboratory, his gait halting as he takes in the now black room. The candles give the impression that he's walked into some sort of Satanic ritual... but he knows Apocryphacius better. He thinks. "Apocryphacius, I heard you led the efforts to recover me from the Decepticons. I..." He steps around some of the lab tables carefully, finding it hard to navigate in the dark room, and he really doesn't want to knock something over. "...I just wanted to thank you. I know that my command has been... controversial, but it's good to know I've got a few friends in the EDC." His lips press together as he approaches the Quint himself. "And I suppose I also wanted to ask about this... accident you had? Machetes, salt, and dud grenades? Seems like one hell of an accident."

The woman is sticking with Franklin Cross, as she has been ever since the General was returned to them. In the aftermath of the infiltration at Area 51, Agent Blue Jays was carted off for medical attention, never suspecting that Cross was in further danger. That she was wrong about that is something that irks her, digging under her skin. The memory of the broadcast sent by the Decepticons digs under her skin like an itch she can't quite get at. Despite the inner turmoil, however, her face still displays a casual smile, as usual. Stepping into the lab, she raises an eyebrow from behind her sunglasses. She stares at one of the candles for a moment before stepping over to Cross and the Quintesson, listening to the thanks. Ah yes, the 'accident'. Yet another security mistake that pains her greatly. These failures are nothing short of a personal insult to her capabilities--the kind of insult that can only be remedied with blood.

Apocryphacius would never engage in a Satanic ritual. That would be silly!

Unicronian rituals have a /much/ better success rate.

Apocryphacius answers honestly, "Lieutenant Reynolds," since that is what her player says her rank is, and that is good enough for cartoons, "was in command on the mission, sir. I merely provided technical assistance. The signal was being rebroadcasted to disguise the source. I was able to narrow it down to three locations. We then split up. She picked the correct location and was thereby able to rescue you, sir. I regret I was not able to provide assistance in locating you sooner. You should not have had to suffer through that, sir." His tentacles clench, and his faces rotate around. He glares at the part he is working on angrily, as if it is responsible. "My incident is of no consequence, sir. I was clumsy. It is regrettable."

Franklin Cross nods, leaning over the table to see what Apocryphacius is working on. "I know some people have looked at your behavior, and said to themselves, 'Oh, that crazy Quintesson is at it again,' but amongst my degrees, I've got a degree in psychology, Apocryphacius. I've even done some work in xenopsychology, so... to me? This?" He looks around the room pointedly. "This looks like Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder." He sighs, and puts a hand on the side of Apoc's shell, since he might as well put it there in place of a shoulder. "Apocryphacius, if something happened to you, you can tell me. You can trust me. If somebody hurt you, and is blackmailing you into not telling us what happened, we can deal with him. We have people who are... quite skilled at it." He gestures behind him at Blue Jays.

The woman would agree with Franklin Cross and try to convince the Quintesson to spill the beans on what happened, but that isn't her style. Plus, the General has it well in hand. She would have simply ordered the creature to do it rather than ask nicely, but Cross probably knows best. It is only through practiced skill that she's able to avoid smirking when Apocryphacius puts the blame on his own clumsiness. Moving off to the side of the blackened lab, she merely nods when Cross mentions her.

Apocryphacius does not know what is up with the Baseball Hat Agents. They are above his pay grade, and they frankly unnerve him. He tweaks at the frequency modulator nervously, trying to hide the frown on his current face by burying himself in his work. General Cross wants to talk about his degree in psychology, when the man professes that Transformers are not even sapient? Either General Cross's psychology degree isn't as good as he thinks it is, or he's lying when he says that he thinks Transformers are not sapient. Neither thought is very reassuring. Apocryphacius suggests, "It... might not be a prudent idea to discuss such a thing at the moment, sir. You have been through your own unjust ordeal. You might be projecting. Sometimes, there is just a lack of coordination, and that is all there is to it."

Now if he tunes the frequency down a bit, the effects start to change. Instead of promoting disintegration, they increase adhesion. There are so many interesting experimental and manufacturing applications for these crystals, which can essentially perform /alchemy/ upon matter, and here Apocryphacius is, trying to find a better way to kill robots with them. It is rather bleak. He sighs and asks, "Sir. The Quintessons. May I... ask about them?"

Franklin Cross stares at the Quintesson for a moment, thinking of what to say. Finally, he replies, "Well, don't worry about me. That's not the worst thing that's ever happened to me, not by a long shot. But if you change your mind, and you want to talk to me about this, you know where to find me." He raises a brow about the question over the Quintessons. "The Quintessons, yes, ask away. I understand they invited you to their ship...?"

The woman doesn't say so, but she disagrees with Cross letting Apocryphacius off the hook so easily. Nevertheless, she trusts the General enough not to openly challenge him in front of an outsider. As the topic turns to Quintessons, Agent Blue Jays does some research of her own. She watches Apocryphacius very carefully. Not just the active face, but the inactive ones as well. She idly circles the room, ostensibly to examine the alterations, but really so she can see the target from every angle. She wants to know what a Quintesson looks like when it's lying so she'll be ready the next time it happens.

"Not the worst...?" Apocryphacius's voice quavers. What he saw was abjectly awful! Being kidnapped by Laserbeak and Fakeswipe is not the worst thing to happen to General Cross? "I. I am so very sorry, sir. I cannot imagine..." He takes a moment to compose himself, and his faces rock back and forth a bit before shifting around.

Before General Cross was kidnapped, Apocryphacius was going to ask him about the Quintessons. He cannot keep putting it off. The General is a busy man, after all, who needs his own time to recover. Apocryphacius starts carefully, "You yourself told me that Quintessons are not be trusted, sir. So with your alliance with the Quintessons, did you change your mind?"

Either General Cross changed his mind or he expects the Quintessons to betray him, and if he expects that the Quintessons are going to betray him, he is probably planning to betray them first, and if that is the case, that is simply no way to establish a stable partnership!

Also, it really seems to upset the Transformers, but screw them; they are awful and no one likes them here.

Apocryphacius continues to play with the adhesion frequencies, looking at the results, which are nominally comparable to the effects of a... glue gun.

Apocryphacius transforms into his Apocryphacius &lt;Judgement Face&gt; mode.

Apocryphacius &lt;Judgement Face&gt; his other faces mostly seem to be numb, the optics hazy, when he is not using them, expressionless and neutral. When he is indecisive, his faces rock back and forth. (Since Agent Blue Jays was looking.)

Franklin Cross stands up straight, smoothing out his uniform. "Mmmh, yes. That. Well, no, I didn't change my mind. I'm just taking a calculated risk. You see, it's quite simple. We both want to take down the Transformers, but the Quintessons' forces are rather depleted and, well, it's hard to rely on an army of retarded robot sharks in any case. We, on the other hand, do have the forces, but we lack ships, and we have *no* cloaked ships whatsoever. The Quintessons have cloaked ships to spare, and, well..." He sighs. "Theirs were handy. And there's another problem. A lot of our research was destroyed at Muskrat Falls. While we managed to save some of our projects, that's largely only through virtue of shipping them elsewhere. But the point is, a lot of the weapons we had completed were destroyed by the Decepticons, and we didn't have time to start from scratch. So... we were forced to share some of our research with the Quintessons, and they helped developed the Deathsat that we used to such great effect against Polyhex."

He looks down at what Apocryphacius is doing. "Did you just... glue those two things together?"

Agent Blue Jays of course knows all this, and so is only partly paying attention to the General. Instead she is focused on Apocryphacius, watching her from the corner of her eye as she slowly meanders throughout the mood lit lab. She hasn't forgotten Apocryphacius's dodging of the question on his 'accident', though. No, the Quintesson is going to have to answer that eventually.

Apocryphacius &lt;Judgement Face&gt; reports, voice pleasant, "Yes, sir. My calculations suggest I could actually initiate nuclear fusion at &gt;this specific frequency&lt;," and he flashes a series of numbers on a datapad, "but obviously I have not tried that frequency yet. The facilities here are insufficient. This current frequency you see here just has an adhesive effect. Could potentially be useful for nonlethal applications," which, of course, no one cares about.

"But just so have this straight... you shared sensitive research with beings known for their treachery? With beings who want to kill and/or enslave our Autobot allies?" A pair of tentacles that he was not using prior come up to rub his temples, "...who are so obnoxiously /neon/, grr... I, ah, did you know that these Quintessons have made me a job offer, sir?"

Franklin Cross frowns as he appraises the stuck-together items. "Nuclear fusion? At that frequency?..." He blanches when he sees the frequency. "...that frequency isn't authorized for research, Apocryphacius. We tested it on a small sample and wrecked a lab in the process. If our personnel weren't safely watching from another room, they would have been killed. But... that 'sticky' effect, that sounds promising. Maybe we could use it to capture more of those robots." And electrocute their brains for info.

Cross sighs. "Yes, I realize that, Apocryphacius, but... the loss of Muskrat Falls put us up against the wall. We're working on a very strict timetable, and we absolutely have to fulfill certain requirements before our deadlines are up." He glances at the Quintesson. "Job offer, you say? Really?" He glances back at Blue Jays briefly. "What kind of offer?"

The woman also frowns at the mention of the job offer, but in her case it is only inwardly. On the outside it isn't even clear if she heard the Quintesson's comment. She doesn't respond to Cross's look other than to adjust the brim of her Blue Jays hat slightly. Apocryphacius's loyalties may be suspect, but there is opportunity here to possibly out-fox even the Quintessons themselves.

Apocryphacius &lt;Judgement Face&gt; bobs in a nod when General Cross says the one frequency is off limits and agrees, "Of course, sir. I would want a dead star system if I was going to test it and appropriate force field systems. My condolences to the families of the lost researchers. As far as the adhesion effect goes, it is much more energy efficient than disintegration. I think I could assemble a small demonstration model without much trouble," and he starts on doing just that, taking a break from frequency checking to work on something more applied - and to continue distracting himself.

"The job offer is... well, they would like me to come with them. Leave Earth. Do research in space. I am aware that I am under contract, sir. However, I suppose that I... do not have to re-up, do I? I could take their offer later," probably not, given the circumstances, but he is entertaining hypotheticals, "but all of it raised the question of, well, sir, what did you offer them with regards to me? I know that the surprise Sharkticons guards for my person were part of the deal."

Franklin Cross rubs his chin. "Hm. They just wanted to talk to you. But... I had an idea, Apocryphacius. Next time they make the offer, act like you're reluctant but may come around to their thinking eventually. Eventually, once the... Decepticon problem has been taken care of, you'll give them your research on the crystals... except your results will be falsified. Harmful results will be misinterpreted as harmless, and so on." He smirks. "That oughta throw them for a loop."

Franklin Cross rubs his chin. "Hm. They just wanted to talk to you. But... I had an idea, Apocryphacius. Next time they make the offer, act like you're reluctant but may come around to their thinking eventually. Eventually, once the... Decepticon problem has been taken care of, you'll give them your research on the crystals... except your results will be falsified. Harmful results will be misinterpreted as harmless, and so on." He smirks. "That oughta throw them for a loop."

The woman and Cross are going to have a long conversation after this about the chances that Apocryphacius is likely to run off and join his Quintesson buddies. As far as she's concerned, it's very likely--and why wouldn't he? As much as she worships Franklin Cross, having him as your only 'friend' can't be easy. Agent Blue Jays stops as Cross lays down the plan, watching Apocryphacius carefully for his reaction.

Apocryphacius &lt;Judgement Face&gt;'s faces wobble and then spin. He says slowly and carefully, "Sir, you are asking me to betray military contractors?" Apocryphacius picks up a gutted handgun and slots in a sliver of a crystal plus a frequency modulator. He holds up the gun, staring down the barrel with one pinpoint blue optic.

Apocryphacius &lt;Judgement Face&gt; transforms into his Apocryphacius &lt;Death Face&gt; mode.

"Don't think of them as contractors, Apocryphacius," Cross says. "Think of them as... allies formed out of necessity, nothing more. We don't owe them anything. They're doing this out of self-interest. Nothing more. Wait..." He glances at the pistol. "What's that?"

The face changing, Agent Blue Jays wonders, is it entirely voluntary? Or is it a pure hint of what emotions the Quintesson is feeling? It's one hell of a tell if it's the latter. She makes a note to question some Autobots about this later, as they may have insight into the matter. No, being a Baseball Agent is not going to hinder this; Autobots aren't that hard to fool.

"Glue gun, sir," Apocryphacius says wryly, "or it will be, shortly. That demonstration model I just mentioned. Sliver of crystal, frequency modulator set to 'adhesion'..." he reaches for a power pack and solders it in delicately, "need a collimator, of course, to focus the beam..." and he works on soldering that in, too.

He debates with himself, faces rocking back and forth some more. "Sir. You should be aware that they predicted that you would betray them and are planning on betraying you first. This whole situation makes me feel, ah, intensely uncomfortable. I do not think I could give a convincing performance. I am sorry, sir."

Franklin Cross smiles. "Just act really awkward, and they should take it for reluctance. You don't have to be a world-class actor, Apocryphacius--just let others come to the wrong conclusion. And... yes, I predicted that they would... predict that. What they don't know is the surprise I've got planned for them."

The woman suspects it will not be as easy as Franklin says. She also suspects that everyone in this lab suspects the same, and given the dangers of being found out, she doubts Apocryphacius will be willing to try tricking his own people in this manner. Both the EDC and the Quintessons want to betray one another, and Apocryphacius has every reason to choose the latter. Concerning the discussion of the weapon Apocryphacius is working on, Blue Jays has no real opinion. The tech talk goes over her head.

Apocryphacius &lt;Death Face&gt; points out, "You are aware that I am, ahem, a juvenile of my species? If I deliver the wrong data to them, it is entirely likely that they will know it is wrong and simply decide that I am an /idiot/."

So basically he is sulking that the Big Kids will make fun of him on the playground.

"And I just find all this duplicity ethically uncomfortable. I would rather work with allies that I do not need to worry about trying to double-cross me, so I have to double-cross them first, only they anticipated that, and..." He brings that other pair of tentacles up to his temples again. "I would prefer a situation where simple forthrightness would not be suicidal. Dealing in bad faith puts a rather sour taste in my mouths, like salt in a wound."

His tentacles twitch and kink at that, and he turns back to the handgun he is assembling. Apocryphacius runs a few checks on it with a circuit diagnostic tool, and then he picks up a folding chair. He tosses the chair at the ceiling, fires the 'glue gun', and watches the chair stick to the ceiling with some satisfaction. Then he tries to hand the gun to Cross, butt-first, of course.

"It can't be helped," Cross says. "We've been dealt a bad hand. And... we've just got to decide how to play it." He takes the gun from Apocryphacius, glancing at him before looking about for something to throw up as well. He grabs a plastic beaker, throws it up at the ceiling, and fires at the beaker. He manages to hit, and now it's also stuck to the ceiling. "Interesting." He gives Blue Jays another glance. "...so how soon could we start mass producing these things?"

Cross is many things, Agent Blue Jays knows, but a people-person is not one of them. But she and Cross can discuss Apocryphacius's inevitable betrayal/chickening out at another time. So long as the EDC is prepared for both outcomes, they should be fine.

Now they are in a black room, with candles, with a chair and a beaker stuck to the ceiling.

Great.

Apocryphacius blinks and speculates, "Oh, rather quickly, given the new rapid prototyping machines this base has, sir," and also because 2 CP Cripple attacks are cheap, "Now, you were saying something about an external timetable, sir?"

That aspect also bothers Apocryphacius. It is pretty obvious that someone else is pulling General Cross's strings. This shadowy 'Council of Nations' thing. The Baseball Cap agents. Dr. Arkeville. General Faireborne's illness. Apocryphacius, is foolishly willing to believe that General Cross is between a rock and a hard place with regards to options - that maybe making General Faireborne sick really /was/ the better option - because the other option was 'kill her', but who is pulling these strings? Who is making these demands?

He goes back to his main crystal sample and announces happily, "And at /this/ frequency, oxygen makes eight stable covalent bonds!"

Franklin Cross gives Apocryphacius a narrow-eyed look. "I'll be quite blunt--the less you know about that, the better. Just focus on your research for now and think about my plan for the Quints. So. Eight stable covalent bonds?" He thinks about that. "So... we could... make objects out of *oxygen?*"

Agent Blue Jays finally stops pacing the room, having found out all there is to know about Apocryphacius's speech patterns and body language when he lies, is uncomfortable, or even tells the truth. He glances in the direction of the device Apocryphacius is working on, but it's all mumbo jumbo to her.

Apocryphacius &lt;Death Face&gt; mutters, "Yes, of course, above my pay grade, sir," his own optics narrowing - well, the black sockets narrow. The blue pinprick pupils cannot really narrow. "But yes, are the possibilities not staggering? However, I must confess a concern. These crystals are partially extra-dimensional." He pulls away from his equipment, scooting back to take a good, hard look at Agent Blue Jays. "Now then. Imagine that her hat was partially extra-dimensional and that someone in the other dimension discovered that her hat makes an /excellent/ weapon. So he picks up that hat, in the other dimension, and walks off with it to take it to his laboratory - and this moves her hat in /this/ dimension, too, so suddenly, her hat is just wandering off, seemingly of its own accord. I would imagine that she would be rather vexed, sir. I could even imagine, sir, that if she were of an intemperate disposition, that she might try to devise a method to visit that other dimension and recover her hat. So my concern is this: what if these crystals are owned in that other dimension where they partially exist, and what if beings there object to us moving these crystals around?" He rotates around slowly to face General Cross.

Franklin Cross's face is blank for a moment. He... hadn't considered that angle. He rubs his chin again. "...one of my researchers pointed to an odd discrepency in the weight of the crystal, said it weighed less than it's supposed to. He was ridiculed by his peers, but with what you told me... maybe he wasn't wrong after all." He paces about the room slowly. "Hm. Well, that's merely conjecture at this point. It's only a small amount of matter; you'd have to be extremely perceptive to notice this minor amount of matter moving about on its own."

The woman glances up from behind her sunglasses at the brim of her Jays hat. Partially extra-dimensional? Of course not! It's just a normal cloth hat one could purchase at any fine MLB establishment. It worries her that these weapons that they're using... nobody fully seems to understand them. She realizes that they've been flying without a net for some time now, though, so there's no need to quibble over potentially disastrous details at this point.

Apocryphacius &lt;Death Face&gt; suggests thoughtfully, "Small amounts of matter can still be valuable. Crown jewels, for one thing, sir. If these crystals are half as useful in that dimension as they are in this one, they would still be inordinately useful," and he giggles a bit, raising a tentacle daintily to cover his mouth.

Yes, there is absolutely no need to quibble over these details until Apocryphacius summons Cthulhu while dorking around in his laboratory with crystal frequencies.

Franklin Cross shrugs. "Well, perhaps. But that's conjecture as well, I'm afraid. For all we know, we're just moving about a bunch of material as common as Hydrogen is in our own universe. Besides, we don't even know this other dimension is inhabited. And if it is? What can they do?"

Agent Blue Jays makes a note to read up on all the prior shenanigans involving alternate universes. The last thing they need is another Militant fiasco throwing a monkey wrench in everyone' plans. The woman returns to her spot near the far wall of the black lab, continuing to add nothing to the conversation.

Apocryphacius &lt;Death Face&gt; is entirely serious as he replies, "If they know how these crystals work?"

"Everything."

Then his faces go all tilt-a-whirl again. He has asked about the deal with the Quintessons. He has asked about the timetable. He has pointed out that these crystals do all kinds of freaky things, and they have barely even scratched the surface. He thinks that covers it all, for now? Obviously, Apocryphacius is not going to get an answer if he asks about the Baseball Hat agents. Oh wait, he had one last question! Apocryphacius turns a rather concerned face on Cross, and he asks, "Sir, do you think I will pass my sapience test?"

It is not a question of ability. Actually, he thinks that he could probably code an AI that could pass that test if he had a year's free time and if the test was fair. However, he is pretty sure that the test is not going to be fair. Given how Cross wants to double-cross the Quintesson contractors, it might be beneficial if Apocryphacius fails and Quintessons are thereby declared nonsapient.

Apocryphacius &lt;Death Face&gt; transforms into his Apocryphacius &lt;Darkness Face&gt; mode.

Franklin Cross may already know the result of that test! It's not like there's anything shady going on here, is there? "I'm sure you'll pass, Apocryphacius. You've already convinced me, after all," he says. "And don't worry about some hypothetical entities from another dimension. If they haven't already come after us then I doubt they ever will."

Ah ha, the tests, the woman thinks. Cross had fought tooth and nail over the battle of who's sapient and who isn't. For her part, Agent Blue Jays never considered it a particularly relevant question. They are, however, useful politically. For not the first time, she's pleased that Cross is the one who has to deal with the UN and not her.

Apocryphacius &lt;Darkness Face&gt;'s shift again, and he says sincerely, "Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me. In any case, I am and will remain more worried about the entities in this dimension. Please take your time recovering and be careful with yourself. The Autobots who tried to rescue you were... not particularly helpful." Translation: Scattershot called Apocryphacius mean names and threatened to shoot him and then First Aid made an unintentional hands-ist slur. He turns back to checking frequencies. Hey, this one turns metal into foam.

Apocryphacius &lt;Darkness Face&gt; transforms into his Apocryphacius mode.

Franklin Cross ignores further talk of the other dimension, considering it resolved to his own satisfaction. "Of course they weren't, I'm sure a lot of those Autobots would be more than glad to see me gone. Well, tough luck. That incident was embarassing, yes, but at least it showed that we can solve our own problems. Can you imagine the situation we're in now, Apocryphacius? The Autobots aren't a military organization. For that matter, neither are the Decepticons. They're like rival gangs. Disorganized. Unprofessional. Sloppy. And yet we've relied on the Autobots for so long, when they struggle to even manage their own affairs! Do none of them care that humans are being caught in the crossfire?"

Disorganized. Unprofessional. Sloppy. All these things described Earth Defence Command before Franklin Cross took over, the woman thinks. She gets the impression that the conversation is coming to an end, and so pushes herself away from the wall.

Apocryphacius says faintly, "I... do not know anymore, sir," when Cross asks if the Autobots care. "I really do not." He checks one of his bandages again, and he buries himself in his work. "Thank you for your time, sir."

Franklin Cross nods at Apocryphacius. "Continue your experiments, Apocryphacius. Just... be careful with certain frequencies, alright? And remember, you ever have a problem, you know where I am." He pats the Quintesson again, then walks off. The man may not realize he's going to get an earful from Blue Jays before long.

Agent Blue Jays nods to Franklin Cross and heads for the exit after him. Passing by the Quintesson, however, she stops and whispers with complete sincerity.

Agent Blue Jays mutters to Apocryphacius, "... really... be for the... told... General... your accident. He... protect... unless... has... the information... needs.... best... him,... anyone... stake... Autobots,... I wager none... in this room... going... Apocryphacius. Conflicted... navigate.... letting... trust--or... can... secrets just for... secrets, but... that... idea... divulge... In a... this,... General could... use... information for good."

Agent Blue Jays whispers, "It really would be for the best if you told the General about your accident. He can't protect you unless he has all the information he needs. It would be best for you, best for him, and best for anyone that has a stake in Earth. Well, perhaps not best for the Autobots, but I wager none of us in this room will lose sleep over that. I understand completely what you're going through, Apocryphacius. Conflicted loyalties aren't an easy thing to navigate. You're scared. You're worried about letting down people that you trust--or people that you hope you can trust. It's tempting to keep secrets just for the sake of keeping secrets, but you can take it from someone who's been down this road before that there are times when it's a good idea to divulge information. In a case like this, the General could only use such information for good."

Apocryphacius likes to think that some of the Autobots (and a few of the Junkions) are decent people. Childish, maybe. Rude, maybe. But decent. They do not deserve to be wiped out just because the Decepticons are terrible people. Furthermore, those decent Autobots do not deserve to suffer just because some Autobots are about as bad as the Decepticons. He likes to think that. So Agent Blue Jays is wrong, there.

What Apocryphacius sees happening is pretty simple. If he tells Cross what happened, he will pass his sapience test, and then suddenly, it will be a sapient Earth citizen and EDC private that was tortured by Autobots, and the Autobots? Will be off Earth. Or dead. Or both. And the Decepticons will not have their counter, and the EDC will be unable to handle the Decepticons without the Autobots running interference.

Meanwhile, somewhere, those Quintessons contractors will be laughing their faces off, Oh, there will be such chuckles.

No, Apocryphacius cannot tell the General. The chance for collateral damage is simply too high. Maybe not telling Cross is wrong, but... telling Cross is not right, either.

But the data? The data is true, and Apocryphacius can take comfort in that. Data never lies. It simply is.