(Ethanol… Bee’d had a nip of it here and there, before the stuff was banned. It made him hungry, and after buying another treat from a vendor nearby he started scoping out the scene. The hole in the pavement caught his attention immediately. It was no bullet hole, not even a mortar shell at its size. No, the way the concrete and rebar melted and bubbled at the edges? This was the work of that big mech’s arm cannon. It didn’t go straight down like the hole in the bridge, either. Bee got flat on the ground, angling it out from the low viewpoint. The big mech had shot in front of the crash, like he was anticipating the mech driving into it. This was no accident.)
(That big mech must’ve been some kind of trouble. Bee flipped through one of his spare papers. “Terror stalks the streets! Corrupt cops cover up crimes on ethanol’s coin. Supposed city benefactor Megatron arrives at the scene of every major crime-”)
(And Bee scoffs at that. Every single one? Really? And who even is this Megatron guy?)
(He tosses the paper in the trash- he has plenty more- and starts following the thin, reedy tracks into the alley. Why were these so close to the scene of the crime, but ignored?)
Stupid slagging train and his stupid slagging alt-mode. He was fast but he was sloppy, and Makeshift was damn sure he’d been dipping into the supply. Why else would he had left these damn tracks if he wasn’t on something? But… hiding this not only from his fellow officers, but from Megatron? The triple-changer owed him big.
He kicked the dirt over another section of treads, sneering at the scent of ethanol it released into the air. Big. The shifty officer began pacing in the alley, concentrating so much on his task that he didn’t notice the one mini foolhardy enough to stick around a murder scene. Ah, correction. “Crash site.” He shook his helm, footprints nearly done with the tracks…
Megatron's back up 