DISCLAIMER! I do not own Transformers, Hasbro does!
Most murder stories usually end with the alleged "masked caper" being caught or killed in some variation of a James Bond movie ending by the "heroic hero" sleuth. Said sleuth then is praised for his outstanding achievement for apprehending or killing aforementioned caper. But before the actual arrest or murder of the murderer, the detective usually goes through, what I would call, "the progress of withdrawal." This progress of the detective actually having some challenging work after a month or so from absolute nothingness to do (which was filled with constant partying at clubs, excessive drinking of alcoholic beverages, or just sitting on his ass in a chair, in a room, smoking a pipe), ultimately, the detective EVENTUALLY reaches an epiphany. The criminal is human. And you humans know how the earthen saying goes, "No one is perfect." Sadly, this statement or glamorized (though not too far off the track) scenario does not apply to this mystery.
As I have feared, the killer of all the recent murders in the northern hemisphere of Cybertron has finally seen me. He knows who I am, and can now systematically take me down just as he has been doing his victims for the previous dozen or so lunar cycles. This is when I curse my oblivious nature during the "hunt" as I call the mystery. I know him, and I did not realize that he—
END OF DATA LOG #3765221: NIGHTBEAT
"That's it?" A cherry red, nineteen-eighty-two Lamborghini inquired to a same era, white Ambulance with bright red medical crosses pasted on both sides of it.
"That's it," the Ambulance replied flatly. "Any other stupid questions you want to ask, Sideswipe?" The Ambulance shifted, rotated, folded, and stood up tall (twenty-two feet to be exact) in the golden rays of the summer morning along the coastline of Oregon. He had a white helmet with a black chevron above his brow.
"That data pad implies my brother, Ratchet. Yeah, I have plenty of stupid questions to ask, and I expect some legit answers to come out of that scratchy vocalizer of yours." The Red Lamborghini opened up from the inside and twisted in many ways like a person solving a rubix cube. He had a black helmet with two protrusions on both sides of his helm. Sideswipe stood tall like Ratchet, but narrowed his bright, fluorescent optics at the elder mech. Ratchet showed no expression.
"Remember what you say you little slagger. I still outrank you, and if you wait patiently for the other recruits to arrive, I'll tell you myself what that data pad was supposed to say." Ratchet huffed and folded his white metallic arms across his chest. He scowled at the younger red-and-black colored Transformer. Sideswipe averted his gaze to the sandy beach beneath his black and red armored legs. Just as he did that, a white, race car painted Lancia, and a black and gold Harley Motorcycle sped into view. They both unfolded like metallic origami, and formed into two more Transformers.
The Lancia had two head fins on each side of his silver helmet and had a gray faceplate (he was a tad bit shorter than Sideswipe and Ratchet). The Harley turned into a female (aka: femme) with a black tinted visor and two golden "antennae" serving as the "ears" of the femme's black helmet.
"Ah, glad that you could make it, Blitz, and Wheeljack." Ratchet hoarsely remarked while the two new faces walked up to the senior mech.
"It's our pleasure, Ratchet. Now, what is it you wanted to see us about?" Wheeljack's head fins flashed a sparkling aqua blue with each word he spoke.
Ratchet narrowed his eyes out of sorrow and turned his gaze to the golden purple haze that engulfed the Pacific Ocean. The sunrise was exceptionally beautiful this morning on the twenty-sixth of June. The beautiful scene was to be horribly offset by a tragic story the former chief medical officer was about to reveal.
"You all know about the 'N.C.M'. Then again, what transformer hasn't?" The three younger Autobots, whose armor gleamed in the soft morning rays, became ridged like a stone statue. A chill crawled through their bodies. "It's time that you all finally knew the truth about the N.C.M. And all of you, in some way, are connected to those murders."
The one named Wheeljack fainted on the spot.
6.7 Million Years Earlier
"Power core, at one-hundred percent. Thrusters, at one-hundred percent. Targeting system is online and operating at full capacity. Systems check confirmed. Weapons on stand-by ready to fire, Autobot." A purple and green colored mech with a charcoal black helmet scornfully spat at a mech who was considerably taller than the purple and green one. The taller mech was a combination of black and white with a white helmet, and on top of said helmet, sat a bright red chevron.
"The attitude is not appreciated, Hook. Remember what we all agreed on: A logical truce for the cycle. Deal with it, or leave."
"Humph. I'll leave once I think this beautiful piece of art is in capable hands, and since it's in the shared hands of the Autobots, no, I am not doing such a thing, Prowl." Hook crossed his arms and gave a disgusted look at Prowl.
"Enough!" A blocky faded purple mech, with a piercing yellow dot that served as an "eye" in the dead center of its rectangular shaped head, snapped at the two bickering mechs, "We are prepared to being this simulation. Optimus, Megatron, we are waiting for your orders." Shockwave, the cyclops, stated as he turned towards the two powerful faction leaders. Optimus glanced at Megatron, Megatron glanced at Optimus. They both nodded in unison.
"Blow it." Optimus and Megatron both said simultaneously.
Blackwing shoved aside a large, heavy piece of debris coated durasteel that crushed his legs and part of his upper torso. His senses were slowly trickling back into him—and so was the pain. What the slag happened..? Alright, don't panic. Retrace your steps. There were the familiar movements of the work place, and the city, and the day. Then after that, a noise and then—nothing. Now I have this slagging—huff—durasteel on me and the building…Oh Primus… Blackwing stood up, shakily, and gazed out of a hole through the west side of his former work office. He saw that his city, Utapau, was completely reduced to nothing more than gray ashes and half-standing structures. A wasteland and he was the only one who was left standing.
"The city? W-What happened to it? Oh Primus, Star Light, Diamond! NO!"From the former work building, he could see his "house" from the hole. It stood no more. That was where his wife and daughter were staying moments ago. Now the entire city was in ruins. Total and complete ruin. Blackwing could not bear to keep his optics on his hometown any longer. The sight killed a part of him. Everything he has ever loved, were now gone. His legs gave out and he fell to his knees, hands covering his soot encrusted, gray plated face. He roared up to the heavens, "NOOOOO!"
4.2 million years later
Being a self-proclaimed detective can be one hell of a task for one to uphold. The task includes having to solve a slag load of mysteries, unsolved cases, homicides, and whatever happens to unexpectedly fall into your lap. This "hunt" has just begun, and currently, I am perplexed. I have never seen such detail, such artistic qualities in any homicide cases I have worked in the past (and that is quite a few). For now, I must sign off and continue my work in the real world and stop writing my discombobulated theories and thoughts on my data logs. Maybe in the future, they will be deemed useful, but that is a long shot.
END DATA LOG #3734600
Nightbeat closed his completed data log on his personal computer. He moved the log onto a single data chip, and pulled it out of his computer. He then proceeded to file the tiny data chip in a combination-only safe, where he meticulously filed his data logs—numerically. When he stored away the data chip, a sharp spike of pain struck at his cranial unit. It would be his only warning for what lie ahead of him.
Nightbeat paused and placed a hand on his head (such as one whom would do if they experienced a migraine), and ceased all pain-educing movements. The pain was lightning quick, but it passed as fast as it suddenly appeared. When he regained his senses, he proceeded to find his Superior (which is always a mystery) about the new victim of the North Cybertronian Murderer. Apparently, this "N.C.M." is going after both Decepticons, and Autobots. The N.C.M's first victim, the Autobot police officer, Prowl, had been found deactivated in an alley next to an Energon malt shop. Two witnesses said that he was off duty and went to buy a "job well done" malt, because earlier that day he caught the Decepticon's largest mole in the black-market: Swindle.
"Unfortunately for him, that 'victory' goodie was short lived. His partner, Jazz who was also off duty, went to go and congratulate him, but instead found his decapitated body thrown in a garbage compactor," Nightbeat jumped in surprise when his Superior, Ultra Magnus, came up from behind him, hearing the self-proclaimed, ex-Autobot scout, ramble on his information he has obtained so far, "Poor kid, he was a damn good cop, and Autobot warrior." Magnus shook his head in grief.
"Magnus, sir!" Nightbeat saluted, "it is a tragic loss, but what about the new victim? Is he a 'Bot, or 'Con? And was the 'mark' found on him?"
"A Decepticon named Bombshell. He's the crazy fragging leader for the Insecticons. I'm kinda glad that he's gone, but unfortunately, yes, Nightbeat, that same mark was found on him as well." Magnus beckoned the electric blue, and sun yellow mech (who somewhat resembled Ultra Magus) to follow him to the conference room where myriad stills and videos of the recent and past homicides' were plastered all over the circular room's walls.
"All we know so far is that Bombshell was ambushed from behind by the N.C.M., and had his jugular tubing slit open by a sharp appendage. He bled out in about half a minute." Magnus pulled out a stylus from a control panel in the middle of the room with touch screens that contained shortcuts for the pictures and videos, and dragged three of them with Bombshell's body lying limp on a sidewalk. One picture showed an up-close and personal view of the jet black, and dark purple "insect" changing Transformer's torso area. There, carved into the mech's armor, showed a target with a hole through the bulls-eye.
"It's identical to the one we found on Prowl's body." Nightbeat pursed his lips and formed a frown. "Now the crazy slagger is after Decepticons? This mech should make up its mind on who it's killing. Now this case involves everyone."
"This is exactly why I have you running this case, Nightbeat. But I think now would be the perfect time to introduce you to your new partner: Thunderwing." Magnus stepped aside and allowed the mech, Thunderwing come forth. He was built like a linebacker, and was a dark blue mech with black and yellow accents. He had a black tinted visor, and an equally colored helm.
"Pleased to meet you, Nightbeat. I have heard of your reputation and it is phenomenal. I'm sure I won't be of much use to you anyways, but considering the circumstances, I'm sure you'll need all the help you'll need." Thunderwing extended out his right hand in the gesture for a hand shake. Nightbeat just stared at his new "partner" in disbelief, and hesitantly put his hand into Thunderwing's.
"Thunderwing, it's nice to meet you. The pleasure is all mine. Now, why don't you go find some suspects for the two murders, and report back to me." Nightbeat forced a smile. Thunderwing nodded his head in agreement, and went off on his way. Nightbeat faced Magnus and gave him a glare, "Are you trying to fire me, sir? You know what happened last time I had a partner, she got her motherboard fried from a sniper!" Nightbeat seethed quietly at Magnus, "I don't want another partner. I don't want the same incident to happen again." Magnus placed a reassuring hand on Nightbeat's shoulder.
"Nightbeat, listen, you're going to need some help on this case since now, it involves both factions. I know you're good, but no one's that good." Magnus glided past Nightbeat as the latter still was locked in the past with the deactivation of his former partner, Bluewing. They were investigating a possible gang hideout, and Bluewing ended up having her processor (brains) blown out from the concentrated laser beam from a sniper rifle. No, now's not the time. I have more important things to worry about now.
"Thunderwing, do you copy?" Nightbeat opened up a com-link that came out from the right of his helmet (he looked as if he had a head set on), to his new partner, "Do you know where the neutral territories are?"
"Look, man, I dunno whut yer pwobhem is, but leave meh the slag alohn." The buzzed mech swung his empty keg of high grade at something in the shadows.
"I have one problem in my life. It's you." The shady character said through a lowered synthesized voice and pulled out a silenced pistol. BAM!
"AAaaghhhh…" Stzzzz…Static.
"It's not much but this is all that we have of Bombshell's attacker. Looks like someone tampered with the file and deleted everything else before and after that scene. It's as if the killer wanted us to see this." One of the local police officers on the scene of Bombshell's murder in the alley next to Cyber-Night's pub, showed this clip to Nightbeat and Thunderwing.
"It is something, officer," Nightbeat mused, "Were there any witnesses?"
"No, I'm afraid not, sir. The only lead we have is this tampered video clip from the bar's alley camera. I'm sorry, but if we come across anything else we will notify you."
"Thank you officer," Nightbeat mentally cursed at his horrible luck. "My partner and I are going to inspect the crime scene, if you don't mind." The officer turned off the containment field (similar to a barrier) and allowed the two mechs to inspect the scene of the murder. Bombshell's body was still lying in the alleyway.
"Now listen, Thunderwing, I'm going to say this only once. Do. Not. Touch. Anything. Apparently, they don't teach that at the academy anymore." Nightbeat subspaced from a side compartment in his leg a digital camera to snap some photos of the scene.
"Then what would you like me to do, sir?" Thunderwing crossed his arms and eyed the detective as he picked up a piece of scrap metal that came off from Bombshell and started to examine it tediously.
"Get a line to Magnus. We need Ratchet to examine this piece of scrap for us." Nightbeat turned around and waved him off.
"Yes sir." Thunderwing rolled his eyes at his new hypocritical partner and went about fulfilling his newly assigned task. Nightbeat cautiously walked up to Bombshell's off-lined corpse and looked for the mark on his chest. The bulls-eye was there. His spark fell to his feet. Victim number two of the N.C.M. Nightbeat's gaze fell upon Bombshell's deactivated face. His mouth hung slightly agape, and his optics was gouged out of his head. Luminescent bluish-pink energon pooled where the laser wound penetrated his armor plating, and his spark chamber, killing him instantly. Nightbeat frowned and crouched to Bombshell's paled face. You were nothing but scrap, Bombshell, but you just don't fit into this strain of killings. First Prowl, an ex-Autobot Tactician whom was a damn good officer… Now you, Bombshell, an Insecticon who worked for the Decepticons back in the day. This doesn't add up. "Why were you chosen?"
"That's the question for you to find out, Nightbeat." Nightbeat slightly turned to face his attention to his department's medical examiner, also a former Autobot field medic: Ratchet.
"That has always been my job even before where we are right here, right now." Nightbeat smirked at the old-timer.
"Well, I can't argue with that, you slag head. Now get outta here. I have a job to do." Ratchet waved off the detective and went about to properly extract the body in a hovering capsule container. His assistance or who he sometimes referred to as "the annoying shrimp", First Aid, followed the veteran carrying a few bags filled with dressings, cameras, data pads, and some other basics for documenting a crime scene.
Nightbeat smirked at the dynamic duo, and ambled off to find Thunderwing amidst the dozen or so police officers still on the scene. He asked all the officers, but none of them knew where he was. Strange that no one could come up with a rational answer as to where his partner was. Oh well, he probably got called back to base or something. Better for me. Now, let's have a look at that metal fragment I found earlier… Nightbeat still carried that little, scorched metal fragment from Bombshell's chassis. He pulled out the fragment once more and examined it with times-ten-magnification. He noticed a scorch mark on the reverse side of the plating. Score, ten points for me. Nightbeat rushed back into the contained area, and searched around frantically for the source of the scorch mark. In the shadows he noticed a glint. He picked up the glinting object and found out that it was a laser casing to a hand blaster, but none that he had ever seen before. Standard casings usually are round like a torpedo, but this one had a pair of embossed ovals near the middle of the casing. He placed the metal fragment and the casing in separate portable containment fields and subspaced them back to his side compartment.
Blip! Blip! Blip! His com-link went off indicating someone was trying to contact him. Nightbeat opened it up and answered, "Nightbeat here."
"Nightbeat, it's a pleasure to finally speak with you." It was the same voice from the tampered video clip. Nightbeat froze.
"Who is this, for one, and how in the slag did you acquire this frequency?" Nightbeat spat back in a lowered voice.
"Pity, I expected better manners out of someone as sophisticated as you, Nightbeat."
"Who are you?"
"I'm the Northern Cybertronian Murder, and it seems that you are my number one fan. But let's stop with the theatrics and get onto business. As you can see Nightbeat, I am leaving you clues, ones that only you could ever find, and interpret their meanings. If you don't believe me, look in front of you. Those who lie down, shall reveal the next." Click!
"No, wait! Damnit!" Nightbeat cursed as the N.C.M. cut him off. He thought about the N.C.M.'s last sentence once more, "Those who lie down, shall reveal the next."
"Those who lie down…" Nightbeat repeated and glanced over back at Ratchet and First Aid who were still snapping some photos and recording their preliminary procedure on the body. Bombshell's body had yet to be moved, and Nightbeat noticed that his right arm was outstretched to the west, "shall reveal the next! Slag! There's already another!" Nightbeat dashed off to the west and transformed into what would most resemble a hybrid between a nineteen-seventy-three Camaro, and a two-thousand-nine Lamborghini Gallardo with no tires. Nightbeat's Cybertronian guise hovered over the surface of the road and was propelled by a set of rear thrusters. He shot out of the neutral territory and headed west to Altihex.
"Ultra Magnus?" Magnus turned to face the speaker from across the front desk in the Iacon Police Station, "I would like to report a missing mech. Name: Sideswipe. Affiliation: Autobot Mechanic." A lanky, worn down, yellow mech, with two crescent appendages on the sides of his black helm, spoke to the Police Chief of Iacon, "He's my brother, and I don't know where he is. All that I could find on my own was this note…" The yellow mech shoved a crumpled wad of aluminum into Magnus' hands. Magnus stared at the dented mech and realized who he was.
"Sunstreaker? What happened to you?" Magnus looked at the pathetic excuse for an operating mech. It seemed to him that Sunstreaker had been in a fight of some sort, and it did not appear that he was the victor.
"Doesn't matter. I want to know if you can help me find Sideswipe. I've been searching for him for the past few mega-cycles. Please, he's all that I got now, Magnus." Sunstreaker pleaded with his former comrade.
Magnus nodded and unfolded the note and read it. His optics widened when he finished reading the scrap piece of metal.
I have him. You want him you play by my rules.
Involvement = deactivation. I know who they are.
I am everywhere, and inside everything.
He's waiting for his flight.
xNCMx
"Primus," Magus shook his head in disbelief. "We'll help you, Sunny. I promise that we'll find your brother and kill this sorry son of a bitch."
"Earth language? I haven't heard that in a few years." Smokescreen, now promoted to second lieutenant (thanks to his brother's death) smirked as he glided past Magnus and Sunstreaker.
2.5 Groons (hours) later
Altihex, it is as shady as they come. Crime is nothing new to this violence infested city of Cybertron. Nightbeat knew he had absolutely no idea where to begin, so he pulled over to a cliff overlooking the stereotypical gang busting city, and decided to try calling Thunderwing again (for the umpteenth time).
"Thunderwing, this is Nightbeat, fragging answer already!" Nightbeat yelled into the com-link. He heard crackling at the receiving end.
"This is Thunderwing."
"Damnit Thunderwing, don't ever turn off your com-link!" Nightbeat snapped at his greenhorn.
"Sorry sir, I should know better, but I had to go over to the Hydrax Plateau space port to help a friend of mine who called at the last minute to find a place to stay."
"Forget it. Where are you now?"
"At the station, why?"
"Good! I need you to pull up some files for me. Location: Altihex. Search: Past offenders with, or suspected murder."
"Okay, give me a few astroseconds." There was a brief pause, "Results show a number of them but only two really stand out who are considered 'famous', and aren't deactivated yet. They are Blackbird, Hook, Red Alert, and Shockwave."
"Hmm…thanks Thunderwing. I'll keep you updated over here and see if you can find any leads on either murder."
"I already have, Nightbeat. I was just going to head on out to Kaon to pay a little visit to Soundwave, and a mobster called Off Road, aka: 'The Don.' They are two other prime suspects in Prowl's murder—Soundwave especially."
"Very well, but if you intend on getting the mafia involved, you better call in some backup. Don't screw with them alone, unless you have a death wish."
"Understood." Click!
"Damn kid needs to stop cutting me off." Nightbeat shrugged it off and gazed off to the sunset that wrapped its golden and purple rays around the dark city. He almost started to think of it as a symbol of hope for the city, but then realized it was Altihex. This place is always on fire. Nightbeat shrugged off that scary thought, transformed and sped down to Altihex to find out if any of the four suspects were for real or if they were red herrings.
Well, this is a very interesting predicament that I've found myself in. As I write, I'm being followed by someone. I'm in Altihex, searching for four suspects whom are likely suspects to Bombshell's and Prowl's deaths.
Blackbird: Decepticon, ex-criminal whom was just released from the prison cells a few orbital cycles ago from a double homicide. Records don't indicate that this guy was in the Decepticon army, but then again…those records are not complete.
Hook: Decepticon, Architecture and possibly the craziest frag I've ever had the pleasure to read about. Apparently, during his days in the Decepitcon army, he liked to "disassemble" living organisms and examine them while they had the few hours to live. Although Hook has been accused of murder, he has never been convicted.
Red Alert: Autobot, ex-security chief. He was the security chief until his paranoia got the best of him one day on patrol (down on Earth) and he opened fire on his partner, Inferno, and killed him accidentally, thinking he was a Decepticon. Unfortunately for Red, no one believed that he was capable of keeping his paranoia under control from that point on, and they forcibly removed him from his position and put him into therapy. His mind snapped at some point during his stay at Iacon's Therapeutic Center for Veterans. He killed two more of his inmates and he was transferred to the holding cells for the criminally insane in Altihex. As of two-point-five deca-cycles ago, he is a free mech, living on the streets of Altihex as a city bum.
Finally, Shockwave: Decepticon, walking computer. Hey, that's pretty much what this slagging son of a bitch is. He used to do horrific experiments on unknowing test subjects during and before the absence of Megatron when he and the Autobots crashed on Earth. He created the Duocons but the subjects (whose names have been lost due to Shockwave's intricate methods of secrecy in the Decepticon's base in Kaon at the time) unfortunately, went insane and they all "disappeared" mysteriously. Shockwave is also responsible for the creation of many triple changers during the Great War. Surprisingly, he is also credited as the savior of Cybertron during the "Great Shutdown". He is the only mech that I know, who exists to live his life by pure logic—and no emotion. A dangerous foe he was, until he slipped into a state of depression when he realized that no one would serve under his command. He dropped out of the ranks and proceeded to exile himself from any Decepticon contacts ever again. His logic decreed it.
But enough about them, let's talk about me and how much slag that I am in now. I have just found out who my stalker is. It's Blackbird. I think I will continue this some other time…
END DATA LOG #3732408
Nightbeat could not handle the hunched over, black and purple accented slime ball that was following him for the past two or so breems. The putrid stench of dried oil fluids and the fermented smell of high grade that drifted through his olfactory sensors, wrenched his gut. He turned around to face the street dweller face-to-face.
"Excuse me good sir, but what the hell do you want?"
"Who're you? You're a new face. New faces don't last long 'round these parts. Name's Blackbird. You look like one of them fancy 'bots who's out here for a reason. I'm just curious, sir." Blackbird huffed in scruffy, bass-like voice.
Well, this is a surprise. I just happened to find the mech I was searching for. "You see, Blackwing. I am a detective working on a few cases that are somehow related."
"And you're thinkin' I did it?" Blackbird's response sounded more of a statement than a question.
"Well, did you?" Nightbeat inquired.
"Listen here son. I don't know what I would want with that punk Prowl kid or that lousy good for nothin' Insecticon. I got nothin' against 'em and if you don't believe me, take me in. I'll tell ya everythin' I knows 'bout those two. I ain't afraid of goin' to the brig again. It's not that bad, 'less you be a weaklin'."
"How about I make a deal with you."
"I'm listenin'."
"If you help me out, I'll make sure your criminal records are wiped clean. I'll make sure that you'd get your hands on some credits, and you'll be able to go where ever you'd want once I'm through with this case."
"Bribin' the suspects? Ain't that not allowed?" Blackbird smirked and revealed a missing enamel plate in his mouth.
"When I have to catch a serial killer, there's no rules allowed." Nightbeat reciprocated an equal smirk.
"Fine by me. Let's discuss these matters somewhere private. I think I knows what you want to knows."
Blackbird lead Nightbeat to a rusted and abandoned bar on the corner of two intersections that used to pulsate with traffic, until the Decepticons lead by Megatron vorns ago. Altihex had seen better days, now it was mostly a dump and was inhabited by mechs of the same status as the city. This bar was no exception. The two mechs took a seat on a couple of rusted stools that creaked under their weight, but did not seem that they would give way.
"Now that we's in private, I guess it's my turn to keep the end of this deal."
"Very well." Nightbeat secretly activated an audio recorder from a dial on the side of his left foreleg. If this drunkard had anything useful to say, he might as well have evidence of it.
"As you know we used to be two factions at war. Well, some time before the famous Ark landin' on Earth, there was this fellow who came to Cybertron and he was nothin' like any of us ever seen before. See here boy," Blackwing leaned in close and spoke in a hushed voice, "This fella that came to Cybertron was ancient and powerful. He claimed to be The Fallen. The Fallen, ya know the one that's supposed to be the servant of the Destroyer. He came. Both factions knew how much of a threat he was, so they all decided to group up and take that slagger out. They came up with some sort of bomb that was none like anythin' ever seen durin' the early stages that blasted war. But there was only one problem: It had to be tested on some pit-forsaken city first. An' I don't know if you've know this but I was one of them weapons specialist who was there when this experiment took place. So was those two mech who got themselves killed."
"What are you trying to say, Blackbird." Nightbeat leaned forward to Blackbird.
"I'm sayin' that these here murders are linked. Apparently someone who knew about the experiment is killin' those involved. That's the only thing I can think of. That's the only way how Bombshell and Prowl are related. If you want the names, I have 'em at my place. I'll meet you in two cycles in front of the old city hall."
"Wait, you said you were a weapons specialist? Can you look at something real quick?" Nightbeat subspaced the cartridge case he found at Bombshell's scene. He handed it to Blackbird, and he took it between his index finger and thumb to examine it.
"Hmm…I haven't seen one of these in a while. Heh, yeah this casin' belongs to a Decepticon high power hand blaster. Look here," Blackbird pointed to the capsules on the sides of the cartridge, "This is a custom made one. See the detail work on the sides? That's definitely Hook's doin'. He's the only 'con that I knew who did that. Since word travels fast 'round these parts, I know how Prowl deactivated: Dismemberment—that was Hook's favorite thing to do on his free time. He'd dismember anythin' that he could get his grubby hands on. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you'd better find Hook before he kills another."
Nightbeat was still as a stone statue. He was taken aback at the sheer knowledge this bum knew. Maybe he was telling the truth. Either way, he was going to inform Ultra Magnus and continue his work. "Thank you Blackbird. I'll meet you in two cycles at the old city hall, and I'll make sure that your record never existed." Nightbeat got up and shook the other mech's hand.
"Keep an eye on yer back out there, son. You'll never know what's around the corner." Blackbird flatly warned the detective.
"I will." Nightbeat ran out of the warn down bar to find a place where he could send a clear transmission of what he just found out to Ultra Magnus. Blackbird remained in the bar and sighed. His worn gears and hinges screeched in protest. The door to the bar squealed open and a black figure appeared behind the hunched mech. It's shadow was cast over Blackbird.
"So, how long have you been there." Blackbird wearily asked his unknown guest.
"Long enough." The synthesized voice replied.
"Heh, a coward will always be a coward. Hidin' his own voice from his next victim? You must be a 'con or a very stupid mech." Blackbird felt something sharp pierce his neck. He tried to pull out the sharp object from his neck, but his assailant grabbed his right arm and pinned it up behind his back and tilted his head back. The unknown mech pulled the knife out of Blackbird's neck and slit his throat tubing. Energon was spurting out with every beat from his spark. With his free hand, he grabbed his "bleeding" throat. He looked at his hand and saw that it was covered with a glowing pink substance. His assailant pushed the mech up against the counter that was sitting in front of him and proceeded to stab the dying mech. Once, twice, thrice, the N.C.M. kept on stabbing Blackbird until he felt no more movement. He backed away and allowed his body to slump to the floor paneling. Energon streaked all over the counter top and down the side of it where Blackbird fell. Energon began to slowly pool to the side of Blackbird. His murder quickly moved his left arm so that it crossed over his body and pointed to the south. The unknown mech subspaced a tiny metal stamp. He turned it on and the stamp began to slowly glow a faint red. Then a little while later it started glowing a hot white color. The murder pressed the burning stamp into Blackbird's chest area just above the faded purple Decepticon insignia. His metal plating hissed and steam shot out from the sides of the stamp. The mech quickly put the stamp away and brought out a needle gun and aimed it on the bulls-eye and fired. The perfect shot.
Author's Notes: This is part 1 of my murder story I created for my Criminalistics class. I hope you all aren't pissed about all the changes I made in the G1 verse to help make my story "fit". OC's Blackbird, Blitz, Thunderwing are mine. Transformers © Hasbro. Thanks, and don't sue me.