@madmud2730 @thesoundlessvoid @oneshallstand

You guys are so sweet slkdjfaslkdj ❤ 

Update: I am no longer on the floor, I have graduated to a chair and am eating a bagel and listening to Act 1 of The Protomen. Thank you so much for the support, it might seem small but it really means a lot to me!

(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.

(Kaon)

 the-scrappy-stinger:

“Where the hell are your papers THIS time?! Did you sell any of them?! At this rate I won’t have any to print TOMORROW!” 

(Blindside would have been red with rage if he hadn’t been dyed black from trying to repair his printer all day. Ink stained his hands, his face, his feet, and the floor where it had all been spilled or crushed underfoot. The printing room was a wreck, and the window was still broken, and Bee was STILL hearing Blindside rail at him.)

But I found something! I followed tracks from the crime scene to this backroom joint that got raided-

“I don’t need YOU to do anything but sell, you little glitchrat! Get out of my office!”

(He just misses the swing at his head, and Bee makes quick for the door…)

(No… he was onto something. This wasn’t going to stop him.)

(He slams the door shut, but transforms onto his clean wheels and rolls into the never-used broom closet. It gives him time for the ink on his feet to dry, for Blindside to clean what he can and leave to buy more ink. Once the office is quiet, Bee slips out of the closet and upstairs to the record room.)

(Blindside knows something, and he pours through the open records on his desk to find out what. The corkboard on the wall paints an interesting picture, threads going from nightclub to sin spot to hotel lobby, with every major break-in and fire marked with a big red pin. Megatron buys a building, building goes up in smoke a week after a big investigation there turns up nothing. Megatron speaks well of a mech, who’s dead in a gutter a month later from a shooting. Every suspect found dead within the next couple of nights. Ethanol floatillas moving in and out of the Kaon Bay, one night after another, but always within a 10 minute flight from a Megatron-owned business in the greater Kaon area.)

(Bee finally sees a picture of the mech, sees that canon on his arm, and knows this is him.)

(But who is he? He has to cross-reference the card catalog, dig into the papers well into the night when Blindside comes in, fixes the printer as best he can, and locks up to go home.) 

(He finds nothing in the criminal records. Nothing in the missing persons, or even in the job applications. This Megatron guy came from nowhere.)

(The breakthrough doesn’t come until he falls asleep on a sports page and wakes up to a full-page spread on up-and-comer Megatronus, heavyweight boxer, and his “future” fight against Onslaught, dated almost a year ago. He’d been working that day, expected to hear the turnout for that fight, but… he didn’t remember a thing.) 

(Sneaking out the window in the morning, Bee heads for the boxing ring. He didn’t have the time or the guts to keep snooping around in Blindside’s office, but maybe the owner of the ring would know.)

Laserbeak perched in the window, scanning the room. A camera flash sounded from his optical band, a sound he didn’t need to make when taking pictures but when no one was around, where was the harm? It was a fun sound. What they’d found here was less fun. Blindside was gathering intel on them, not enough to convict but enough to prompt a full investigation if that goody-six-wheels officer got hold of it. Kicking off from the window, he did a circle around the room before flying through the window, folding neatly back into Soundwave’s chest. His wings flattened against the material of his jacket, forming sharp lapels.

Soundwave went through the photos, the images flitting across his screen. A low static permeated the air that if one was listening closely might resemble a growl. Wait. He flitted back to a shot of the floor. A second set of footprints, smaller than Blindside’s. He didn’t recognize them. They had a problem.

~~~~~~

The old ring was a shell of a warehouse building, in the slums near the docks. A fire had destroyed nearly all but the basic structure, the platform for the boxers in tatters from the flames. Somehow, despite the disaster, the place still smelled faintly of exhaust and ozone.The back wall had fallen down in a heap of bricks, exposing what was left of the building to the open water, where the glimmer of far-off ships could be seen on the horizon. The stars too filtered in, from a few holes in the ceiling that definitely weren’t the result of flames.

A wall that had once contained the portraits and certificates and news trimmings of all the champions remained on the side, in danger of meeting the same fate as the other. Scattered chairs, abandoned medals, broken glass and burnt paper all littered the floor beneath it, and one photo in particular appeared to have been punched into the wall.

(Kaon)

the-scrappy-stinger:

(As soon as Bee opens the door, The Pit breaks loose.) 

(A scream goes up all at once, and feet rush him from both sides. At his back are the heavy treads of police bots pushing against the scrambling feet of bots of every class he can name. High-heeled Seeker feet and flat ground soles mash the ground in every direction, some of the bigger bots just barely missing him, and he has to dash further inside with the cops to keep from being trampled. They step right over him in their rush to upturn tables, smash bottles of ethanol lining the walls, and tear down the walls themselves with the flat of their axes.) 

(There, out of the corner of his eye, Bee spots him. He’s almost like those newsreels with the silouettes of Bigtire, that gigantic mech with the canon on his arm and the fedora on his head. He’s only there for an instant as his broad frame fills out a doorway, and he disappears into the sunlight.) 

Hey! HEY! 

(He darts out of the ruckus like the rest of the speakeasy crowd, one of the lucky many to not get caught up by the cops, but he’s too late to catch the guy. He steps out into another empty alley, no sign of tire tracks to follow. He doesn’t catch until he’s halfway back to the office that he lost his paper bundle in the confusion.)

(He buys himself and another newsie dinner with the Big Mech’s money.) 

(He’ll need a full tank for the earful he’s gonna get from Blindside…)

“I wanna know what the frag just happened.” Megatron stood in front of his closest associates, minus Soundwave. The shadowy figure was behind him, staring the rest of them down from against the wall. Megatron continued, arms folded behind him.

“I’m not upset about the bar. I ain’t even upset about all that ethanol we so carefully procured. But I want to know exactly how Orion slagging Pax got dropped right in my lap, and how I had all of five seconds to get away! Explain that to me!!” They all collectively flinched as Megatron’s sword slid from his arm. He pointed it at each of them as he walked down the line, pausing at Makeshift. “You got an answer for me, officer? Or how’s about you?” The blade pressed into the flat of Astrotrain’s chest. “You’re lucky I don’t slag you for the stunts you pulled last night. I want to make one thing very clear, I don’t like killing cops. It’s messy, it means we’ve gotta be extra careful… it means we can’t leave a trace!” 

After a few tense moments, Megatron’s blade retracted. “But I need fliers like you, and I need cops on the inside. But the second I decide I might be better off without either of you, you’re going to join that flatfoot in the Allspark even if I get caught, understand?!”

Behind him, Soundwave’s screen flashed the image of a red X.

(Kaon)

the-scrappy-stinger:

mightymegatron:

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…

(”Corrupt cops cover up crimes…”)

(Bee ducks against the wall of the alley, and if he hunkers down, he can practically hide behind his paper bundle. It’s enough to keep him screened behind a trash can and keep watch on the crooked officer. Street cops did not make a habit of covering up tracks and looking over their shoulder.) 

(In fact, he could probably follow the cover-up. As Makeshift moves past his hiding place, Bee slips out and slings his papers over his back. He follows the little twin troughs that Makeshift’s kicked up to cover the trail.) 

Unbeknownst to Makeshift, another mech had already followed the trail. Pax couldn’t be bought by anyone, and he knew that he was one of few. People called him ‘the good cop’ regardless of whether or not he had a partner, and it was for good reason: he’d put away more criminals than the rest of his unit combined. Most of the others regularly took bribes, ‘overlooked’ minor offenses that weren’t so minor. That lack of resolve is why this city was falling under the control of kingpins like Megatron.

He hadn’t been dumb enough to waltz into the place on his own. Pax had stayed nearby, watching the building, until he’d seen a slender mech with a mask and a dark suit leave. Megatron’s assistant. He had to be inside. He radioed a few officers he was reasonably sure he could rely on, privately, and they’d all surrounded the building. Laundromat my left taillight, he thought. ::On my signal.::

~~~~~

“What d’ya mean, now?!” Megatron growled into the receiver. “If I don’t get outta this Shockwave I’m gonna have your helm mounted on my wall!” Slamming down the phone, Megatron gathered his things and hit the basement alarm, throwing open the trapdoor. “Clear out!” he yelled as he jumped down to the main floor.

(Kaon)

 the-scrappy-stinger:

(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…

(Kaon)

the-scrappy-stinger:

(Bee must have flown back a few feet, not from the blast but from the shock! There went all his day’s lack of work in one flash of light with nothing left of it but a hole straight through to the water below. He stuck his hand into it just to be sure. The heat from the plasma singed his paint even from a distance, and it sent a shudder up his struts.)

(The mech was gone by the time he’d got his bearings, and through a stunned fuzz in his head, Bee pocketed his money, transformed, and rolled back to his little hidey-hole in the alley. His CPU spun the whole way back. Who was that mech? Why was he so well dressed AND well armed, and what did he have against Blindside’s paper? Where did he make the kind of money to throw around like that?)

(Deciding he wouldn’t let Blindside know what happened was an easy decision, but it cost him in the morning when he went in with no papers to sell back.) 

 “Where did they all go? You dumped them in the river, didn’t you?! Damn mini! I’ve got a menace to society to uncover and you can’t even get the public reading the truth!” 

(It got him a cane to the head and his latest stack thrown at his back as Blindside slammed the door behind him. Bee popped out one issue and skimmed the headlines as he, for the first time in weeks, ate a quick energon breakfast.) 

“Town darling dead in disaster! Officer loses life in a harrowing high-speed chase ending in a crash on-”

(Bee knew that neighborhood. He starts walking there, papers on his back and selling a few while he’s not really paying attention, making his steady way to the scene of the accident. Paper said the officer had spun out on a slick road from the acid rain.)

(It hadn’t rained in days.)

Megatron glared at the paper Soundwave had tossed on his desk. It would seem that Blindside hadn’t noticed his warning. Fair enough, it was rather subtle compared to last night’s chase. At least Longarm had been able to keep a few important details under-wraps. “You know where the mech gets his ink?” Soundwave gave a short nod from where he leaned against the wall. Of course he knew. “Maybe it’d be better fer him if there was a shortage.” The slender mech removed himself from the wall, straightened his tie, and walked out without a word.

~~~~~~~

The road had indeed been slick hours ago, but not with acid. The scent of ethanol had yet to disappear, wafting from the pavement, under the skidding tiremarks of the unfortunate officer. The wreckage had been cleared away, but not fast enough to keep the energon from staining the ground. A section of the backroad was still cordoned off, though not a soul seemed to linger by the scene. They knew better in his town.

Another, narrower set of marks peeled off down a wide alley, but no police tape had been put up around them, footprints even suggested there had been foot traffic over them since then. The only other bit of blockage was a set of traffic cones around an oblong hole in the pavement, a little ways farther than the crash site.