the-scrappy-stinger:

mightymegatron:

To say that Megatron was shocked would be an understatement. Normally, someone’s reaction to the Kingpin of Kaon threatening them wasn’t glee. Much less did his cannon in their face ever inspire joyous, thankful rambling. The proper response should have been begging, or at least panic. This was… new.

Soundwave was similarly flabbergasted, though it was impossible to tell apart from a small tilt to his helm. He looked from the minibot to his Boss, but that didn’t help matters; Megatron was staring too. Soundwave took a step forward, images flashing on his screen, of Blindside and the footprints he’d found. The mech had just plainly admitted to being the one who’d been tracking them, clearly he needed to be disposed of… Megatron, however,
broke into a laugh, hearty and loud over the absurdity of it all.

“You… Haha, you’re somethin’ else!” His cannon powered down as he used that hand to brace himself against the wall, continuing to laugh. Soundwave kept staring. This was a serious matter, but he also hadn’t heard the Boss laugh like that in years. Finally, he began to calm down, straightening his tie before straightening up again. “Somethin’ else… You know I have kept every cyberhound-nosed cop an’ conspiracy theorist off my tracks for ages, and the one to find me is the Primus-slaggin’ minibot newsy?! Give this mini a medal…” Soundwave had no medals, and was still not laughing.

“Look, I can answer your questions sure, but I’ve gotta protect myself an’ my business here, so you’re gonna have to answer a few’a mine first. Did you really only follow me all this way to thank me?” His optics returned to Soundwave for a moment, his lieutenant verifying the mini had no recording equipment on him. “You know you could be slagged at any given moment, and you still came out here? Why?”

Well, ‘cause… 

(His hands flex in front of him as he struggles with the words.) I dunno. I dunno, just, here you is, some stranger walkin’ up in the dead of night blasting holes in the bridge and pushin’ a wad of shanix into the hands of a lowly little newsmech. I ask questions sometimes, but I didn’t have the energy to follow through ‘til I ate! 

(Bee points.) And you’s the mech what fed me! You! Here’s my employer tryin’ to take down your whole empire and whackin’ me in the head when I don’t sell it right, while you’re the Most Wanted Mech in Kaon and you’re bein’ nice to me!

Me!

You know I almost went to Blindside with what I knew? I wanted him to look at me and tell me I knew somethin’, that I was right just for a little bit and you know what he does? He runs me out of the room! Who else in the world was gonna appreciate all the hard work I did just to look you in the optic again?

… (Bee’s appropriately cowed when the answer finally came out.) I supposed you was the only mech who would. 

Megatron’s optics never left the mini, studying him as he spoke. He remembered what it was like to have no one care where you got your next refueling, for no one to listen. To be hit until he figured out that he could hit back. It wasn’t all that long ago, all things considered. Wasn’t that what had led him to treat the poor mech in the first place? 

Reaching into his jacket, Megatron pulled out a cygar and lit it on the end of his cannon. He drew a deep cycle of the thick smoke before letting it out in a deep sigh. He grinned as the tendrils framed his helm. Behind their guest, Soundwave nodded once, and turned to leave them. “Alright, then. In order.”

“That filthy ring was rigged. I fought to win, finally made a name and decent livin’ and then they told me to take a dive, an’ a hike while I was at it. That night there was an unfortunate ‘gas leak’, an’ I decided to start my own business, instead.” He took another drag from the cygar, leaning back against the wall.

“Soundwave didn’t go nowhere. He’s the one who dragged you in here, came with me after the fire. The mech who owned the ring suggested that I crawl back underground where I belonged, so I suggested he take a field trip downstairs, himself.” With another smirk, Megatron tapped the barrel of his cannon. “This was his. Confiscated from some titan tryin’ to smuggle it into a fight an’ always bragged about it. Gotta admit, he had good taste.”

“I didn’t wreck the place myself, you can’t be doin’ that with a recognizable mug like mine. But, it does my spark good to piss off that nosy sleaze. Seems like you didn’t lose any sleep over it either, huh? So that brings it to you.” Another vent of smoke. He took a few steps towards the newsy, towering over him. “A minibot who sniffed out my trail better than mechs whose job it is to sniff, all to find a mech who might hear you.” Megatron lowered himself to one knee, offering his servo.

“Congratulations, I’m all audials. How’d you like to work for me, ‘stead of that fragged excuse for a paper?”

 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.

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.