The petite Autobot sank to all fours and crawled across the marble floor, keeping a keen eye out for tripwires. Had he the misfortune of completing his timely mission at night, Tailgate was certain he would have to contend with laser beam alarm systems. During the day, however, his downfall could be brought about by just the innocent entrance of another.
The large machine hummed, meditating on its unholy calculations. It wasn't the machine's fault, Tailgate realized. She was molded by others for her purpose. Tailgate slunk up to her and bathed his face in the glow of her control panel. There were many buttons, most of them written in some ancient text that was incomprehensible to Tailgate. But he did recognize the digital message flashing on her LCD screen. A foreign spy was sending his daily communique and Tailgate was there to intercept it.
The machine began to shriek and Tailgate spun around, sure someone would respond to her calls. The remaining time for his task was infinitesimal. The machine gave sudden birth to her message and Tailgate watched as the paper lazily worked its way into his waiting hands. Someone walked into the room.
Tailgate yanked the paper from its holding before it could fully be released and whirled, hiding the precious information behind him. The Aerialbot, Slingshot, was watching him from the doorway.
Slingshot propped his left foot on a stool and crossed his arms. "What are you doing, Tailgate?"
Tailgate kept his cool. He didn't know if Slingshot could be trusted. The shifty Aerialbot generally had his own interests at heart and Tailgate suspected he would side with whomever would offer him highest praise. Tailgate tried to be most vague. "I'm on patrol."
Slingshot chuckled. "Really? I didn't realize you had been promoted to security."
Tailgate became flustered. Was Slingshot being sadistic? He must have seen him take the communique!
"Anyway," sighed Slingshot, straightening himself, "I've got more pressing things to do than chat. Have fun on your 'patrol'."
The Aerialbot strode from the room and left Tailgate to ponder. Had Slingshot truly not seen his actions? Or did they secretly champion the same cause? With that Aerialbot, Tailgate could not be sure. Fearing more intruders, he hid the communique in a storage compartment.
Alone again, Tailgate hastily embarked on his remaining task. Another infernal device cowered in a corner, hissing and spitting at objects much bigger than it. Tailgate approached it warily. This machine was obviously a product of neglected upbringing.
From a musty ledge, Tailgate procured the chalice he would need in taming the beast. Brandishing the chalice, he eyed the beast and it eyed him, measuring each other's tactics and patterns. Then, Tailgate lunged, snatching and restraining the angry machine with one arm. With the other, he thrust the chalice into the beast's mouth and extracted a sample of it's noxious venom. The secret venom, located only in that dank place, was craved by the one who gave his orders and Tailgate could not imagine why.
The chalice filled, Tailgate sprang back from the machine. It continued to growl at him, but was obviously too spooked to take action. Mission accomplished and the chalice in his palm, Tailgate prepared to exit.
Surveying the outside corridor, Tailgate heard only echoes. He carefully proceeded to his rendezvous point, but along the way he encountered more soldiers. Each one stared at him, every pair of eyes coming closer and closer to uncovering the veil of nonchalance that hid his deception. Tailgate desired to run, to be only at the rendezvous, but any quickened step would lead others to suspect and follow him. The chalice held tight and the document secured, Tailgate completed his seemingly endless journey down the corridor and entered his contacts' room.
The decor was meant to propose relaxation, but Tailgate couldn't be more anxious. His contacts, Rodimus Prime and Spike Witwicky, were seated in the room's center. But they were engrossed in conversation with Ultra Magnus, and he was not part of their circle.
Rodimus Prime looked up and noticed the minibot. "Hey, Tailgate," he beckoned, "Come on over."
Was Rodimus becoming careless? Tailgate pretended he didn't hear Rodimus and began to stroll about the room, examining the paintings.
Rodimus rubbed the back of his neck and turned to Ultra Magnus. "Magnus, would you mind leaving us be for awhile?"
"But Rodimus..." Magnus began, shrugging.
Rodimus pleaded kindly with his eyes. "We have private matters to discuss."
Magnus nodded. "Understood."
Once Magnus was gone, Tailgate approached Rodimus and saluted. "Sir, the mission has been accomplished."
Rodimus smiled. "That's good. Where is the paper?" Tailgate made a ceremony of retrieving the communique from his storage compartment and presented it to Rodimus. Prime took the document and surveyed it's message. His brow furrowed. "I see."
Spike coughed and Tailgate raised a finger. "I haven't forgotten." He offered the chalice to the human, who took it in his hands and inhaled the vapors of the secret venom. Tailgate wondered what kind of weapon the formula would be used for.
Spike grunted and looked at Rodimus. "I tell you, Prime, this is the best coffee I've ever tasted."
"It's the beans we gathered while in Columbia." Rodimus sighed. "I wish I could feel the same way about today's fax. This is the worst joke of the day yet." Spike took a look at the document and winced.
Tailgate spoke up. "May I leave?"
Rodimus looked up, surprised. "Oh, sure, Tailgate. You're dismissed. And thanks."
Tailgate saluted and left the room.
Spike watched him leave and turned to Rodimus. "Do you feel right, using him as a gopher like that?"
Rodimus laughed. "Well, I wouldn't normally give those duties to anyone. It's just that Tailgate takes so much relish in them."
Spike thought it over. "He's an odd one, alright."
Meanwhile, Tailgate embarked down the corridor and into another world of his own making.