(Just about the turn of the millenium, a time of rough production and rough builds, and a scourge sweeping the planet. Ethanol, a low-cost fuel cutting chemical, had been outlawed on Cybertron. Bumblebee didn’t know much about why. He only just had the energy to sell the papers, much less casually read them. He usually only gave them a quick look-over so he could shout the headlines and get people to buy, and mechs weren’t buying.)
(Even now, as a femme passed him on his turf, he mustered up enough for a yell.) Extra, extra! Investigation turns up traces of ethanol in suspected arson case! Police suspect connection to off-world ethanol smugglers-
(The femme brushes him off.) “Shut yer yap, kid, everymech knows the manager hit an energon vein tryin’ to bury his booze in the basement. Your story’s all wet.”
(Bee looks over the paper as she passes. That isn’t what the article says at all! But it isn’t the first time he’s been told his paper’s not accurate…)
(But, Blindside pays, and so Bee keeps shillin’ the Sundays.)
Come buy a paper now, come buy a paper now. I told you once or twice to just pay me once and read it twice, come buy a paper now~
Ah, Kaon. The air in the rusty town smelled like drying fuel and exhaust and Megatron wouldn’t have it any other way. It smelled like a fight he was winning.
All things considered, last night had gone remarkably well. Not for Swindle of course, but when Swindle wasn’t happy, it was almost always good news. That grubby dealer had been getting a little too comfortable in a city that didn’t belong to him. Outside business was fine, this was a free planet after all, if the council was to be believed. But when that business started taking away from his own business, it became personal.
Getting personal with Megatron usually meant much worse than a little fire. Swindle had gotten off easy; as far ass the underground king of Kaon was concerned, he’d done the mech a favor by letting him live with a warning. Swindle had graciously apologized, the police were investigating the wrong people. A good night, overall.
Megatron strutted down the street, dressed to the nines to celebrate. Normally, no one dared walk alone at night in this town, much less advertising their wealth, but the crime boss was a force of nature and a celebrity rolled in one. Low-lives loved him or owed him, police couldn’t touch him. He couldn’t be safer if he was in his own home. A little tune caught his audial, and he glanced down to the minibot selling his papers. Well, look at that, Blindside’s rag…
Leaning down, Megatron squinted at the front page. Blindside needed to learn to mind his own damn business. “Hey, how many’a those you got?” He pulled out a thick wad of shanix, five times what the pile was worth.
Megatron's back up 