(Kaon)

 the-scrappy-stinger:

(Stepping into that old site was like
stepping into another world. Bee reels as he cranes his neck back,
trying to take it all in. He grew up here, knew how a building fell
to pieces over time, or how a frame looked after a building burned
down. This place didn’t just burn, just fall, it wasn’t even just
demolished. It was wrecked.)

(Light came through the ceiling in
patches. It was dim, but he can see them, and especially how the
edges of the holes were bubbled and scarred from a plasma cannon. His
stained feet crack glass and scratch pebbles against the weathered
concrete as he surveys the shattered trophy cases. Lots of names,
some he recognized and most he didn’t, all members of the independent
circuit that was big about a year ago. Impactor was a prominent name,
as was Groundpounder- he’d graduated to the big leagues and Bee could
recognize him- and Megatronus.)

(He gasps and rifles through the burned
papers on his hands and knees. Megatronus, a prize fighter and
heavyweight, rising star of the league. Some were tickets, some were
programs, some were promo fliers for bouts. Megatronus was a
money-maker and nearly undefeated. One mech from another venue, a
Soundwave, had fought him to a standstill exactly once. He finds this
in a newspaper wedged under a particularly heavy cinderblock.)

(He has to use that cinderblock as a
stepstool to look into the hole, as high up as it is on the wall, but
he sees it. A smiling manager with his arm around the waist of a
gruff-faced, dented heavyweight in suspenders and handwraps. Blue
eyes, maybe, but the helm is a near-exact match, and his hands are
the same broad, clawed specimens that put the money in his hands that
day.)

(That’s him. The big mech. Megatron
from Blindside’s office, and Megatronus the prize fighter. Man, Bee
feels silly. If he’d known the names from the start, he probably
coulda made the connection easy. But it almost feels too easy. He’s
gotta be sure. Is this ex-boxer and the crime lord Blindside’s
dedicated to taking down the same bot? How does he find out for
sure?)

(Well… if he could run into the guy
once, he can do it again. One thing’s certain. The mech keeps himself
close to water. Bee bounces over to the crumbled wall, and as he
pulls himself up higher to look over the water, his fingers fall into
deep furrows left by Megatronus’s clawed hands. Very close.)

(Blindside’s corkboard had a chart of
speakeasies and how far they were from water, but Kaon was a port
city. EVERYWHERE was close to water, and the mech could only be one
place at a time. If the last joint he visited was raided, then the
bot would probably be moving onto somewhere better, safer, closer to
water? Available and just recently snatched up…)

(He transforms again and peels out of
the old ring in a cloud of dust and shattered glass. He’s off to
check the probate for recent building purchases within 3 miles of the
coast, the farthest the Kaon Coast Guard could patrol. Plans start to
form in his mind. He needs one more little meal before he heads out.)

(Because his trip to the stationery
store is gonna cost him every little bit he has left.)

Soundwave hadn’t returned yet from his errand. The notion that he could have been picked up by the cops was too absurd to entertain, but it was unusual for him to be gone for so long without checking in. If something was holding him up, the silent mech would usually at least send Laserbeak to explain his absence. No, more likely he was taking care of something unexpected. Mildly concerning, but he had enough trust in his oldest associate not to let it occupy his mind. It would get handled, it always did.

Megatron took long drag from his cygar, the smoke curling with his sigh. He could replace the ethanol in a week, but that was a week where only 4 of his houses had a supply. Four houses couldn’t reach all of his customers who couldn’t afford to pay for the pure stuff. It’d be rough, but they’d survive until the “Shoreline Tire Shop” was up and running… as long as they didn’t have another bonfire. He could lay low for a few days, but he couldn’t let anyone know he was laying low. Any change in the routine and he’d play his hand. Therefore… it was time for another walk. Flicking the cygar into the trash, Megatron went to make his rounds.

~~~~~~~

The probate office was about as exciting as it sounded, files upon files of forms and records and index cards, all run by a harried minibot clerk named Rewind. He didn’t seem to be in at the moment, but it was easy to see through the windows and the door had been left unlocked. Drawers and cabinets had been left wide open, and there was even evidence that some had been used as stairs, to get to those stacked near the ceiling. The clerk likely would return, soon.