A/N: If you see any unfamiliar names, disregard them as OCs. Because they are (mostlikely), and are being used to fill in whatever needed spaces.

---(1:42 p.m., TripleCharger Cafe)---

Starscream had walked down the street, exiting to the left after leaving his apartment building. It wasn't that exiting to the right had anything wrong with it, but the stupid little logic he'd picked up somewhere that 'right must be right!' ticked him off enough to turn left instead. Thus, he walked to the left.

He was also unarmed, and the thought unnerved him greatly. Mostly because in his home neighborhood, being armed kept you undesirable as a target for whatever freak stumbled out of an alleyway. But another (different) fragment of logic cropped up to comfort him, 'Being unarmed is only a temporary state of mind'.

Oddly enough, they had been said by the same person.

Currently, the second piece of logic was further being reinforced by the cafe silverware in front of him. While he wasn't all together sure he would actually need to use them (you could only do so much with a sandwich), their proximity made him more comfortable. (Something that was actually necessary because he couldn't find one strategic position in the cafe.

There was glass all around the seating area inside, and doorways were at every 'dead end'. Booths were a cornered death-trap waiting to happen, and the tables left your back completely exposed inside of the cafe. He'd stepped outside to look over all of his options, before deciding he'd have to deal with the threat of a long-range gunshot to the head/being jumped from around the corner. His current position was near the outside corner of the cafe, keeping his back somewhat to the wall and using a metal napkin dispenser to reflect and cover his blind spot. This way, he could see people walking on the street and entering/leaving the cafe.

Later, as he became more used to the city and familiar with his surroundings, he would be more relaxed and maybe less defensive.)

Thinking about the silverware brought him to thinking about his food, and considering over watching his food being made. That would mean going into the kitchen. Once, he'd been in the kitchen of a restaurant, and had been amazed with all of the... tools that chefs used to prepare food. Starscream had come to the quick conclusion that even though he didn't know how to cook, he could kill someone with any kitchen utensil. And as soon as his target had stepped into the kitchen, he'd done just that.

After he'd made a bloody horrible mess, and the owner of the restaurant had complained to Megatron (who he was paying protection to), Megatron had sent Starscream off to a slaughterhouse to learn about anatomy. If asked, Starscream would have said everything he knew, he learned there. His amateur swordsmanship had benefited from it, and some actual professional sword classes later, Starscream was at his current level of skill (with a sharp object).

Come to think of it, he didn't own nearly enough knives. And he hadn't brought any of them with him either. The more he thought about it, the more important it seemed to go find a place to buy knives.

"Your tri-tip sandwich," The serving girl's voice was chipper and customer friendly, making Starscream look up and shift in his seat to assess his meal, "Do you need anything else?"

"No." Starscream shook his head somewhat and glanced back up at her briefly. She hitched the smile up a bit and nodded,

"Okay. Just tell me when you're ready to pay."

It was a few minutes after she left that Starscream realized why she'd smiled so tensely. She'd hoped to get a thank you out of him. If he was going to blend in and mesh with regular citizens, he'd need to be more... open. And polite. Keeping his professional and social lives seperate would be difficult, because regular manners with the Decepticons consisted of giving others their space when they were mad, giving others their space when they were sad, watching your comrade's back in a fight (on occasion), calling Megatron 'sir', being behaved when Megatron was in the room, and following Megatron's orders. Please and thank you were words that indicated great respect, severe submission, or mockery.

A note was made to at least smile and attempt a 'thank you' when he asked for the bill. He'd probably just shorten it to 'thanks'.

---(1:18 p.m., Iacon Police Department)---

Jetfire put a letter of complaint through the shredder. The shredder did its job and made confetti of the letter, the sort of confetti that would make pretty good bedding for a small pet. If Jetfire had a small pet, its bedding would consist of shredded documents from work.

Part of his job as a lieutenant was to deal with public relations between the department and the public. Namely; news interviews, public ceremony, and letters of complaint. He had to restrain himself from talking like a normal person, and type out responses in legal-speak. Letters he had to put in an envelope and mail back to the recipient were even worse. Most people had converted to e-mail, some though... stuck with paper.

Don't these people know all the trees they're killing? Jetfire thought absently, putting the envelope through the shredder as well. Most letters were scanned over, the complaint identified, and then got a copy-pasted, pre-saved response with blank spaces to fill in personal/specific information. There were a few (paper) letters he'd started to recognize over the years as coming from the same person though. Complaining about every single goddamn irrelevant speck of an annoyance and wouldn't the police department please do something about it? These were shredded into small-critter bedding.

Once, Jetfire tried to understand WHY. Why would someone be annoyed by every little disturbance? Why would they refuse to deal with it themselves? WHY would they write to the police department about someone's underwear being dried in the front yard?! Eventually he came to the conclusion that some people had no life, and then he decided to start shredding the letters.

Sometimes the shredder really fascinated him. He tried putting in multiple layers of paper to see just how hard-core it was. It could shred credit cards, CDs, and floppy discs. If he timed it right, he could keep the shredder going continuously by putting in paper after paper after paper.

The case reports on his desk had been reviewed and filed away earlier today. By the end of the day, he expected more monotonous case files to be on his desk to be reviewed, noted, stamped and then filed away. He'd made a call to Iacon Montessori, and talked with the principal about what time he should show up and if he should bring little stickers or something. She said it was a good idea to bring stickers or plastic hats and to print out certificates for the children. They agreed the presentation should last about an hour, enough time for questions to be asked, demonstrations to be made, a car to show off, and swag to be handed out.

Jetfire made an idle list of things he would talk about in his presentation, and then decided that Hotshot would be coming along as well. Hotshot loved kids. Jetfire was fine with kids, so long as they were someone else's and there weren't too many of them. And provided they weren't brats.

Oh right, he also had a high school newspaper interview to go to. It had been what Optimus wanted to talk with Jetfire about. Apparently the school was doing something about drunk-driving accidents, and they wanted to talk with the local police department about specifics. The whole 'something about drunk-driving accidents' had been rather vague, so Jetfire wasn't sure exactly what it entitled. There had been a hint that an organization was doing something for the school as well, and Jetfire had the feeling his participation would go farther than just a newspaper interview.

"Hey Jetfire! Optimus asked me to give this to you," Sideswipe suddenly poked his head in the doorway, holding up a small packet of papers and watching as Jetfire's shoulders sagged. The younger officer looked at the packet and read it over, "Something about Iacon High and... Every 15 Minutes?" His eyes went from scanning the packet to looking up at Jetfire, who looked confused.

"It must be that drunk-driving thing. Give it here." He reached out for the packet as Sideswipe stepped into the office, handing the papers off to the lieutenant and then standing next to the desk. Jetfire had gotten to skimming over the second page before looking up at Sideswipe, observing he was still there. He blinked patiently.

"... Um... Right. Did you need me for anything else?" bright blue eyes stared at Jetfire with a 'pick me pick me pick meee!' look in them. The kid was too enthusiastic for his own good (and sometimes, other people's good). Jetfire paused to think, then looked down at his desk and spotted the list of ideas he'd thought about presenting to the Montessori school. Technically, it was just his responsibility to coordinate public relations. He didn't actually have to be there if he handed it off to someone else. Or he'd just have to sit there and watch over Sideswipe to make sure he didn't shoot himself in the foot (in front of small children) or something.

Deciding it was genius, Jetfire pulled some clean paper out of his printer and started to write down the date, time, school and principal's name. He wrote down the general schedule for the hour they were supposed to be there, and wrote down Hotshot's name as well. To anyone else, he'd just tell them directly, but he kind of felt like he had to write a note and pin it to Sideswipe's shirt to make sure it wasn't lost/forgotten, "You like kids, right? There's a presentation at the elementary school next Tuesday. I want you and Hotshot to go there. If I have time, I'll come." the paper was handed to Sideswipe, who looked intrigued and curious at the thought of an assignment from Jetfire. Then the look jumped up to 'woo hoo!'

"Sure! Kids are okay. I'll take care of it." He grinned and left the office. Jetfire grinned behind him and inwardly gave himself a high-five for quick thinking. He'd fit in juuuust fine with a bunch of 8 year olds...

Jetfire looked around at the rest of his desk to see if there was anything else he needed to do. Yesterday had been busy, but today looked slow. With nothing else to distract him, he leaned back in his chair and picked up the packet from the high school, spinning the chair around a little as he read.

It didn't take too long, and it was only about 5 pages. The Every 15 Minutes organization just wanted assistance going through standard procedure involving a drunk-driving accident. Officers were needed to rush to the fake crash scene, help the 'wounded' along with the paramedics and fire department, and arrest the 'drunk driver' while doing what they would normally do in such a situation. The simulation would carry through taking the wounded to the hospital, and the 'drunk driver' being taken down to the station to be photographed and put in a holding cell. They would even go to court, and the entire simulation would be videotaped.

The whole thing sounded pretty elaborate and... ingenious. Getting some volunteers to help out for a day should be pretty easy.

Jetfire looked up from the packet, and was shocked to see a large, stocky FBI agent sitting in the chair in front of his desk. Scavenger had a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, and the usual passive/bored look on his face. It wasn't uncommon to see Scavenger and Blurr separated, just like it wasn't uncommon to see them talking about something. It also wasn't uncommon for Scavenger to just walk over and take a seat in your chair to drink his cup of ever-present coffee or to use your computer for something. It wasn't that he actively wanted to be rude or off-putting (if you were 'old friends' with Optimus, you couldn't be that bad a guy), it was just as if Scavenger had reached the point where he didn't care anymore. You could walk up to him and call him a jerk or asshole, and he'd just stare, blink, take a sip of coffee and then tilt his head with a dismissive 'Right...' and then walk around you. Normally Jetfire would find the behavior a bit off-putting. On the other hand, in comparison with obsessed-with-guns Blurr, the choice between the two FBI agents was easy.

But for a big old guy, Scavenger was scarily fast and quiet, "Er... hi." Jetfire raised both eyebrows and lowered the packet he'd been reading. Scavenger just blinked at him slowly, large arms resting on the arm rests as he... processed. Who really knew what he was thinking about any way?

"What's that?" After a long pause, Scavenger gestured to the packet Jetfire was reading, lifting his coffee and taking a sip. The police lieutenant blinked and looked down at the packet, turning back to the front page and getting up from the desk. He walked around and handed the packet to Scavenger, who took it and brought it down in front of him to read.

"Some anti-drunk driving organization is doing a simulation at the high school. They wanted us to help." Jetfire leaned back against his own desk, moving his arms back to support his weight. Even though Scavenger and Blurr were stationed here for some counterfeit money ring, it always seemed like Blurr was really busy and Scavenger was just... bored. Or not around. He disappeared a lot.

"... Sounds like a good idea. You going to do it?" He used a finger from the hand holding the coffee to turn the page, looking through the packet slowly.

Jetfire adjusted his position against the desk, shifting his weight to one foot, " Yeah. I don't know if I'll do it, but I'll get some volunteers." He shrugged and waited for Scavenger to finish reading the packet. As the local department, they were helping the FBI with the counterfeit problem, but sometimes the FBI (mostly just Blurr) withheld information. The incident earlier this morning surfaced, and Jetfire wondered if Scavenger would be more open about it.

"... Hmm. If I have time, I'll come and watch." Scavenger leaned forward and tossed the packet back on Jetfire's desk. The lieutenant watched as the packet slid and then settled, then he looked back at Scavenger.

"Hey. This morning I saw Blurr talking with Optimus about something. You know what it was?" Jetfire watched as another sip of coffee was taken. Scavenger let his eyes wander away as he thought over the request. Then he looked back at Jetfire for a little while and took another sip of coffee.

"Yeah. There's a new lead in the case, but we need to find someone first. Or find someone to find him. The chain can get kind of complicated." there was a vague wave with the free hand and another sip of coffee.

Jetfire tilted his head and shuffled his shoulders a bit in thought. The way Blurr had put it (for as long as he'd remained there to listen), they had nothing, "Anything I can do to help?" He watched as Scavenger's golden-white eyes went from wandering around the room to snapping back to Jetfire. Again, he contemplated something,

"... Do the names Swindle, Lockdown, or Razorwire mean anything to you?" the coffee cup with inspected and shaken slightly. Some liquid sloshed around.

"Mmm... can't say they do. You could try asking Sideways..." Jetfire let the suggestion trail away, thinking about what he was saying. Being in debt to that man was not at all... inviting. Apparently, Scavenger was of the same opinion,

"Hmm. No, I'll keep looking on my own. There's something I don't like about that guy..." the rest of the coffee was downed and the cup crushed, Scavenger leaning to the side to toss the empty cup into the trash.

While Jetfire agreed with Scavenger all the way, he was still a police officer (and therefore Jetfire felt some obligation to defend a fellow officer), "Yeah, I know. There's something off about him, but maybe it's what lets him be such a good undercover guy. I saw Blurr talking to him a while back..."

Scavenger waved a hand, "Blurr does whatever to get the job done. To him, the end justifies the means," he stood and stretched slowly, back popping in a few places before he dropped his arms. The FBI agent gave Jetfire a vague nod, "I'll keep working on my own for now. You going out for lunch?"

Jetfire took in a slow breath before letting it out, thinking over where he wanted to go, "Yeah. Did you want something?" There was that new cafe a few blocks away from his apartment. On a day he wasn't busy, he could show the new tenant around and stop by there. He'd been wondering about the food in the Triplecharger Cafe anyway.

Again, Scavenger thought it over, "... Sure. Something that isn't soup," he gave Jetfire a gruff smile before turning and walking out of the office, "I'll pay for it when you get back. Be in the break room taking a nap." AKA, snoring louder than anyone has a right to in public. Jetfire shrugged and grabbed his jacket, searching for his keys before walking back to leave a note on his desk in case anyone was looking for him.

He flicked the light off on his way out and closed the door, tossing the keys up and down as he walked to the parking lot to pick out a car.

---(1:50 p.m., Triplecharger Cafe)---

Starscream had wanted a pet when he was little. He'd rescued a stray dog, and kept it at home for a while. Then his dad had discovered the dog, the fleas, and the fact the dog wasn't house broken. His father had smacked him over the head and taken the dog away. Starscream never saw it again after that.

Since then, Starscream had regarded things that tended to draw emotional attatchment as things that could (and would) be taken away eventually. That would lead to heartbreak and depression, neither of which Starscream wanted any part of. The Decepticons further reinforced that feeling; targeting emotional attachments as weaknesses that could be used against you. Heck, Starscream had done it in order to lure a target. It just further cemented his conviction that he didn't need anyone to depend upon but a teammate that could take care of themselves and had motivation. And he definitely didn't need anyone or anything to lavish attention and love upon as an outlet for suppressed emotions.

Unfortunately, the stray dog sitting next to him was trying its damndest to convince him otherwise. It had short fur, and looked... like a stray. The fur wasn't scruffy, and it had a kind of a blue-ish, purple-ish, silver-ish tone to it. There was a name for the specific breed, and Starscream was fairly sure it was a bird dog or hunting dog of some kind.

He wasn't even entirely sure where the dog had come from really, just that it had appeared from behind and around the corner (too low for the reflective napkin box) and whined softly at his feet. Its short tail wagged when it saw he was looking down at it, and it whined again when Starscream looked away. The dog tried pawing at him, and Starscream shot it a venomous glare that he wasn't entirely sure had worked. The pawing had stopped, but the dog's stubby tail had started wagging again, and hopeful crystal blue eyes looked up at him... hopefully.

Starscream went back to eating his sandwich, but as soon as he raised it and opened his mouth, he heard the dog lick its chops and could see it shift slightly in hope. The sound made him pause and lower the sandwich in annoyance and some... other emotion. He sighed and looked down at the dog with less malice, "Go." He pointed away.

The movement just excited the dog, and it followed Starscream's hand attentively. After it saw nothing of interest, it looked back to Starscream and squirmed with renewed excitement. The Decepticon agent sighed extensively and went back to trying to eat his sandwich. He took one bite before the dog started whining again.

As he chewed and swallowed, Starscream looked over his options;

1) Kick the dog and tell it to go.

2) Give it some of the meat in his sandwich.

3) Throw the meat across the street.

4) Try and ignore the dog and wait for it to go away.

Before simply choosing an option, Starscream paused to review the new identity he was trying to create. Making a negative impression on the local population was probably a bad thing. At the same time, being really friendly would encourage people to talk to him, and in turn try to come over to his apartment. That was something he did not want. Or did he? Who would expect a friendly young college graduate to know how to eviscerate you with a spoon?

Okay, so being friendly (EEGHHH) would do well for his cover. But could he, Starscream, handle having to put up with people? He still had to get a job later. And would the friendly-ness pose a threat to his obligations?

It was all a very delicate balance... and you couldn't have it all one way (unfortunately).

Starscream took out a slice of the meat and dropped it next to the table. The dog got up immediately and was on the small piece of meat as if its life depended upon it (judging by the visible ribs on the dog, it probably was). As soon as the piece of meat was eaten, the dog looked up with newfound hope and earnest begging eyes.

Okay, he'd just have to live two different lives. The business side (the assassin/bureau runner/Decepticon) and the cover identity side (a freshly graduated college student who wanted to be a chemist). The business side would come first of course. He'd just have to learn to deal with the college graduate part of his life. It couldn't be too hard; just be friendly(ish) on the surface to avoid suspicion.

Starscream pulled out some more meat from the sandwich and dropped it, taking a bite of the rest of his sandwich while the dog was distracted by the meat. He noticed the tall, red-headed police officer through the napkin holder before he'd even said anything.

---(1:58 p.m., Triplecharger Cafe)---

Jetfire had seen the dog as soon as he'd parked his car on the street. Initially, concern had sprung up when he noticed how skinny the thing was. He'd looked to who he could only guess was the owner, and contemplated saying anything. When the man had taken some meat and dropped it for the dog, that sealed the deal. Upon closer inspection, the dog looked more like a stray (no collar), and the man looked remarkably like the new tenant in his building.

He had time, he could sit and chat for a bit. With a grin, he stopped slightly behind Starscream (who had gone suddenly still) and put his hands on his hips, "Didn't know you had a dog."

There was a pause before Starscream turned around, looking up at the officer with an expression that didn't quite convey 'oh, it's good to see you too', "... I don't."

Jetfire took the chilly response as 'hi, sit down', and took a seat in the chair just opposite of Starscream. He looked down at the dog, who looked back with gratuitous amounts of enthusiasm. Then it seemed to notice Jetfire had no food, and looked back at Starscream instead, "Maybe you should adopt. It'll make the transition easier." Jetfire reached down and patted the dog on the head, who ignored him and remained focused on Starscream (and his sandwich).

"... Transition?" Another piece of meat was dropped, and the dog went for it immediately.

"Yeah. Living on your own, you know?"

"Hmh. Maybe." Starscream's eyes wandered across the street for a while before returning to the sandwich and proceeding to finish it. The dog whined and reached up to paw at his leg. The younger man seemed to pause in thought before lowering the last corner of his sandwich. It was eaten with gusto, bread and all.

Jetfire couldn't help but smirk a little. For all his angsty youth/cold greetings, Starscream wasn't a bad person. After all, he was giving up his lunch for a dog.

"So, you out looking for a job yet?" Jetfire rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward. Starscream avoided eye contact, watching the dog lick its chops and look back up at him for more.

"... Yeah. Still not moved in yet," Starscream spared Jetfire a glance before looking back at the dog, "Go. I don't have any more food." he moved the dog's head away to the side to try and encourage it to go.

The dog whined and stayed, shuffling and looking as adorable and hungry as possible.

"Ahh... moving in can take a long time. If you've still got some time, maybe you'd like to come down to the station. I can show you around." And get out of a day's work. SCORE. Sorry OP, can't do paperwork today. Why? I'm showing around my new neighbor and setting an example for the community.

Jetfire almost missed the look of abstract horror on Starscream's face. For all he knew, he'd just invited him to participate in a sacrificial ceremony as the guest of honor. The large orange eyes blinked once before recovering and looking away with a dismissive 'Ahm'.

It was like the same look he'd gotten when he'd knocked on his door the other night. What gives?

"Awwwh! The puppy is soooo cute!" The cry had been distant, but audible.

Jetfire turned in his seat to see the source of the exclamation. Three teenage girls with ice cream across the two-way street. Skirts shorter than they should be, and one of their tops depended on elastic and breasts alone to stay up. They blushed and waved at Jetfire and Starscream. Purely for public relation's sake (as was in his job description), Jetfire grinned and waved back. The girls giggled and turned to gossip.

His ego sufficiently boosted, Jetfire turned back with a large grin. It was lessened when he came face to face with a 'you're an idiot' look from Starscream. But not to be defeated, Jetfire hitched the grin back up, reaching out and giving him a friendly slap on the arm, "What's your problem?"

Starscream's look narrowed into a glare after he was patted, and he rolled his eyes with a short huff, as if he'd already given up on explaining it. Next to him, the dog yipped and took off. Jetfire turned to watch it for a few seconds, then looked back at Starscream. What kind of a 'normal young man' was he anyway?

"Hey, lighten up. Live a little. Sheesh," Jetfire paused, thinking over Starscream's odd behavior. Well, someone would have to tell him to take the stick out of his ass if he wanted to function around others. Or just if something was bothering him, and if he was like this all the time (in which case, the stick would have to be removed with a trip to the theme park and some alcohol at the end of the day). Making up his mind and putting himself in the right, Jetfire opened his mouth to start telling Starscream how to live his life.

Starscream on the other hand, was looking at something past Jetfire's right ear, and his pupils contracted sharply with thought, "Stop the dog." It was more of a command that had already been passed, and Starscream was standing up to carry it out. He ripped one of his gloves off, sticking two fingers into his mouth and whistling a loud, attention calling whistle.

Jetfire turned and looked over his shoulder, wondering what had interrupted his purely helpful advice. The dog had turned its head back due to the whistle, blundering right into traffic without showing any signs of slowing down. In fact, it had already been going full tilt through the first lane when Starscream had whistled.

An oncoming car honked and the dog skittered to a halt in the middle of the second road, stubby tail down as it stood like a deer in the headlights. The driver swerved in panic, first heading toward the sidewalk before seeing the teenage girls and swerving the other direction instead. All three girls screamed right before the car crashed directly into an oncoming car from the other lane. Behind the other car, the driver veered off to the side and crashed into a lamp post. Car alarms blared and breaks screeched.

Jetfire was up as soon as he saw the first crash, running and being distantly aware of Starscream following behind him. He grabbed at his radio, watching the stray dog flee the scene unharmed, "Dispatch, this is Jetfire. I need three 10-78's 10-18 at the TripleCharger Cafe, there is a three-car 11-83 in progress."

He let go of the radio and stopped at the car crashed into the lap post, crouching to look down in the window, "Sir, are you all right? Can you hear me?" The old man in the car didn't respond. It looked like the steering wheel had crushed his legs, "Sir?" Jetfire stood and looked around at the gathering crowd of people, hearing horn honks distantly. He didn't realize Starscream was next to him until he spoke up,

"He's bleeding out. Femoral artery," the brunette started unbuckling his belt and walking around the car to the driver's side, trying the door. It was locked. He looked up at Jetfire, "Help me open the door."

"We can't move him, he's probably suffered spinal injury." But Jetfire was walking around the car anyway, pulling out his gun and drawing back before smacking the glass on the passenger door.

"And cutting the femoral artery is like cutting out the bottom of a cup."

He heard the sirens before he heard the replies over the radio,

"Hotshot and Sideswipe 10-97."

"Arcee and Ironhide 10-97."

Jetfire pushed and smashed his way through the glass, reaching in and unlocking the door. Starscream pushed him aside and opened the door, straightening out the belt and wrapping it around the old man's left thigh before pulling hard and trying to fasten the makeshift tourniquet. The officer turned his attention to the other crash, jogging to the closest car and leaning down to look in through the passenger window, "Miss, can you hear me?"

The college girl groaned, and her shoulders shook as she tried to sit up and push at the air bag.

"Okay, don't move. Help is on the way. You've suffered spinal injury, so just sit tight," He turned his attention to the other car, looking in through the driver's window and knocking on the glass, "Sir? Sir can you hear me?"

"Oh my god! There's a child!" A woman on the other side of the car gasped, trying the door handle and finding it locked.

"Ma'am, does it look like he's moving?" Jetfire looked over the car's top briefly, looking into the card again but having his view obscured by the airbag.

"No! No! It doesn't look like he was wearing a seatbelt! He's upside down!" She tried the handle again.

"Ma'am, please step back. We can't move them yet. Sir, can you hear me?" He knocked on the glass again, watching for movement and seeing none.

"Sir, please step away from the car."

"The ambulance will be here soon."

"Everyone step back and don't touch anything!"

"Hey!"

Jetfire turned to see his fellow officers jogging around the cars, organizing a perimeter and checking on the accident victims. Ironhide stopped to yell at Starscream, who (still in a crouched position), yelled back at him. With the situation explained, Ironhide bent down to assist and tie off the belt forcefully. Then Starscream was directed to leave and give them space. The brunette did so without question.

---(TBC)---

POLICE DECODER:

10-18 : Get here/it done ASAP

10-78 : Send ambulance

10-97 : Arrived at scene

10-80 : Traffic accident - major injury

11-83 : Traffic accident - no details

Every 15 Minutes really is an actual organization. And by the way, they do a freaking amazing (depressing) job.