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When Megatron had at last been cast down by the mighty hand of Optimus Prime, and the war that had raged for longer than most Cybetronians had been alive at last ended, there had been cheer beyond belief. From the streets of Iacon to the slums of Kaon itself, booze and party had flowed for cycles on end. Even the Decepticons had not taken long to join in the celebration, not realizing until just then how sick they too were of the war, and their tyrannical ruler.
Not all was fun and games, of course. Mass incarcerations followed, war criminals being prosecuted for their horrific actions. Most of the Decepticon high command now rotted away in cells. However, overwhelmingly, there was an aura of contagious optimism that reflected off the populace.
The Council had been reestablished with brand new leaders, both young and old, who were much beloved by the people. Systems were put in place to never lead to an era of vindictive political decadence as what had happened in the past.
Yet through all this peace, happiness and prosperity, Long Haul remained the same. If not worse for wear.
Not sentenced to prison, but banned from military duty due to his actions, his one funneling point for his frustration over just being the loader was gone. His team was scattered all over the planet, supposedly because of their talents being necessary all over, though almost certainly to keep them from ever forming the unstable and highly dangerous Devastator again. And worst of all, Bulkhead deliberately didn't mix the right amount of sulfur with his morning energon, which made it taste putrid.
He'd never been much of a drinker, but after a particularly nasty day of moving over 90 statues of HIS HIGHNESS, LORD Megatron, he found himself needing a good processor fritz. He'd have future Long Haul deal with the consequences in the morning.
Already he ran into problems while entering the bar, his sheer bulk making it nearly impossible to fit through the door. And once he finally managed to slip in through some good ol' servo grease, he witnessed a most unsavory sight.
The bar was a dimly lit ramshackle place, which only had it's sheer size to flaunt. It was sparsely populated in the relatively early joors of the afternoon. But it'd fill up soon enough with the worst scum left on Tarn. It was both what he liked and hated about the place: it was a relic of it's Decepticon occupation, perhaps even more so than Kaon was.
He made a point to forget any of that nonsense as he had sat down to have a drink however.
"Gimme the strongest thing you have."
"Coming right up Hauly."
Long Haul's optics shot open in sheer terror of the voice he'd just heard, having recognized it immediately. He looked behind the table, only to see exactly what he'd dreaded.
"Vortex?"
"In the metal, Hauly," the...bartender?! replied in good cheer as he was fixing up the drink.
"What in Unicron's arseplate are you doing here?"
"Oh, is that how you greet a friend? It's been how many solar cycles since we've seen each-other?"
"Cut the scrap, I've seen you butcher whole cities with your loon squad. How are you not rotting in a cell right now?"
"Oh that was simple: I managed to convince them I was insane the whole time. Something the 'Cons had put in me," Vortex grinned, or at least got as far as he could with his facial configuration.
"You are despicable."
"I'm not spending the rest of my life in some forgotten pit in the middle of nowhere Hauly. Besides, I'm not even close to the most guilty soul in the war, and you know it."
"You enjoyed every single one of the deaths you inflicted though," he said, leaning in, his massive bulk making the table groan. "You're a monster Vortex."
"When you do what I do, Hauly," Vortex continued, completely unfazed. "You either grow a sense of humor, or you go insane. After a while, death stops being a tragedy, and starts being a comedy. It's the only way you can cope."
"Saying it as if you're not crazy."
"That's what the report card says. Now if you don't mind, you're scaring the clientele."
Long Haul looked around and indeed saw the few bots present staring at them. Sighing, he reclined back into his seat.
"Just gimme my fraging drink already."
"Aye aye."
Long Haul accepted the glass, and drowned down in the time it took a newborn's spark to beat. He requested his second not soon after.
"Long day eh?"
"Why are you still talking?"
"Oh c'mon Hauly. You and me, we're connected," the mouthy copter took a seat alongside the massive construction vehicle, judging his bar sufficiently dead for the moment to just not bother with handling the drinks.
Long Haul released a long sound, somewhere between a sigh and a growl.
"Please never say something like that again. You sound like the one Autobot that is constantly high on simultronics."
"...Beachcomber?"
"I don't slagging know, they all look and sound the same to me."
"See, that's what I'm talking about Hauly. We're both the old breed, the vanguard. Unlike these," he said, pointing his head towards the other patrons of the bar. "Newer models. Babes that have never seen war. Ever since the Well started puking up souls again, this is the majority now."
"Would you rather we fill the planet back up with corpses? I actually prefer these ones. They're not as psychotic as the average 'Con such as yerself."
"Your words wound me," Vortex put his hand to his spark in a mocking display of hurt.
"Good. Why are you even here? How'd you even get this place?"
"Well, just like yourself, I'm not exactly allowed in military anymore, even if I'm a warframe. They keep me on a tight leash like they do all Combiner components," he leaned in somewhat. "I'm sure you know all about that right?"
Long Haul grunted, but otherwise said nothing.
"Yeah, well, anyway, I can still call in a few favors. Not everyone has forgotten us Hauly. Maybe you can even get out of that slaghole you've been stuck in, for, what, five solar cycles?"
"There's a difference between us. Scrapper is the only that gets special treatment out of all the Constructicons. He's the only one who ever dealt with the matters outside the team, and thanks to his connections, abandoned us as soon as he could," Long Haul paused to collect his thoughts on the matter. "Bastard Pit spawn."
A brief amount of time was spent in silence.
"Will you get me a slagging second shot or will I have to haul your aft to the hospital after I'm done kicking it?"
Author's notes: Also known as the one-shot dump truck (pun intended). This continuity will sorta just be built from the ground up as I please.