C.M.D: Back during the earlier hype years of "Skies of Vermillion", I wrote a spin-off story involving First Aid and not long after that, was plagued by a bout of plot bunnies. Thus, I started making notes for yet another SoV-related fanfic, this time featuring my newest "odd" couple match-up (no thanks to kittycon/autodog stuff). It was a never a story that I actually sat down to write, but with the dramatic climax of SoV close approaching, now seems like a grand time to get this spin-off pumped out before I get saddled with too many projects again. So please, enjoy the birth of "Master of None"~

It was a hot, ill-suited sort of orn. The opulent sunshine drew everyone outdoors, but the high walls of Iacon kept any manner of breeze out, steaming the cobbled streets and clay brick buildings alike. It made the entire city heavy with heat; nearly tripled, as hundreds of 'bots squished together through the ever buzzing market square.

Condensation slicking its way down his large back, a towering mech of ashen brown plodded deeper into the overbearing throng, the sharp colours of his military cloak hardly cutting a swathe through the crowd as his mere size did. As he stomped through the sea of civilians, his helm scanned high over all the 'bots and stalls, puzzlement growing on his minute features.

Not for the first time that morning did he vocalize his confusion. "Why are we going to the market again?"

Hidden in the shade of the giant, crept a slightly shorter, yet frighteningly wiry, mech. He too wore the dusky cloak of the Empire's forces, the deep plum and iron colours of the clothe complimenting his plating's own blacks and greens. But unlike his larger companion, his hood was drawn upwards, so only the cruel, thin slits of his bloody gaze was visible from the void within.

"Veer to the left," the second soldier intoned, a scowl forming on his hidden lip components. "Left, you oversized shaftgrinder," he hissed, finding both his partner's question and his incompetence the bane of his life, "The stall is on. Your. Left! The banded mauve flags, idiot, and I have an appointment to keep. As I have been saying all this early morn."

"Okay, okay...," the larger Decepticon grumbled, complying with the other mech's demands, "You don't have to be snappy about it, Oil Slick."

"I don't recall asking for an audience while I did my business, Blackout," the newly-named soldier returned angrily, his patience worn thin. "If I wanted the speed and intellect of a training dummy, I would have brought one myself from the barracks. It would hardly be amiss with your presence there."

For the most part, Blackout did not seem perturbed by the insults or his companion's ire. He only kept on walking, his beady, little optics squinting against the harsh sun and his mouth lain in a neutral line beneath his moustache. "I was bored," he added lamely.

Oil Slick didn't deign to reply. They had sloughed through the thick of the market and now walked the short perimeter fence around their destination. An old, brick building a couple storeys high, the bottom had been segmented away to leave a wider, open space for potential clients to browse freely, supporting the rest of the structure by a handful of wooden posts and the occasional cage. A length of chain led through the open yard of the domicile, at each welded end a slave lay attached, their blank expressions turned slightly downwards, away from the perusing customers.

Blackout slowed to a pause at a gap between the fence, his helm cocking to the side, puzzled at the sight of the bedraggled 'bots. "We're going to a slave market?," he asked dumbly.

Oil Slick sneered, slipping around the brown mech's large girth and heading deeper into the recesses of the stall, where a row of cages marked the stairs leading to the building's second landing. He was quiet as he roamed around the openly displayed slaves and shaded cages with carefully measured pace, optics drinking in the sights intently. Blackout followed with his uneven loping gait, jostling both customers and merchandise alike to his ignorance.

"Why do we even have slaves for?," the larger soldier questioned, huffing as he had to bend low to enter the shaded part of the building's yard. Under here, the space was narrower, only two rows of cages acting as both support and displays to the squat structure.

Oil Slick rolled his optical sensors with a scoff. "Understanding that an imbecile such as yourself is bereft the concerns of homely hygiene and physical wants, it's a wonder you can even speculate the necessity of the market at all."

"What?," Blackout returned ever so smartly.

"My point exactly," the shorter Decepticon drawled. He added no further comment as he rounded the end of the row; optics lighting on a mech a few metres away. Pedes moved quickly, bringing him up to the stout merchant, who was currently resting on a cushioned seat before a table full of papers and scales -the area where purchases were finalised, clearly, with a retinue of strong-looking guards to match- settled next to the flight of stairs that led further up into the building.

"Ah, my lords!," the portly mech jittered in greeting, fumbling to rise to his pedes at the sight of the two soldiers, "H-how may I ever help such fine mechs on an orn like this?"

Oil Slick slowed down to allow the rotund Decepticon a chance to come around his table; a scowl pulling sharply on the black mech's face as he eyed the dealer's over-dressed state with disgust. "I need slaves," he supplied, disdain rich in his tone. "Clearly."

The merchant bowed profusely, a miracle given his girth, though he vented hard when righting himself after. "Y-yes, o-of course, r-rightly so," he stuttered, servos wringing together nervously. "We-well, I h-have a great n-number of l-lovely merchandise for y-you today! W-will this be purpose o-or pleasure?"

"Neither," Oil Slick answered, flicking a servo out dismissively. His hood twisted this way and that slowly, gazing over every chained slave once more. "I have other intentions in mind. Simply put, I need some disposable product. A variety, if you will, but not so broken as to be tossed away immediately."

The stout mech blanched at the request, looking -to Blackout's opinion, as he tired of leaning over and made the decision to sit on the dirt floor- like a distended fuel tank, ripe for the puncturing. "O-oh...," the merchant wheezed, fumbling for a worthy reply. "W-well, um, I-i've-"

Something clattered loudly, followed by a vulgar string of obscenities, as chaos seemed to erupt back behind the stall's tables. All optics turned at once to the disturbance, a fact that the slave dealer cursed at, as he hobbled over to the scene in a panic.

"Grab him! Grab him! Oh, get the clamp on him already!"

Three thugs wrestled against the dirt at the foot of the stairs, grunting and stifling mild yelps as they worked to subdue the writhing mass beneath them. The merchant, dancing on the edge of the disaster, aimed a poor kick at the lump and nearly fell for his troubles. Mortified, he was caught and placed back on his pedes by another guard, snapping at his staff impatiently while he attempted to smooth his ridiculously, lavish robes.

"H-hurry up! Hurry up already! Get that disgusting slug out of here and back to the cages!," he hissed, none too discretely, as chains and extra cuffs disappeared into the centre of the mayhem. "We have customers at hand!"

As the gang shuffled awkwardly to their pedes, the merchant hastened back to Oil Slick's side; bowing thrice fold in repentance. "I-i'm sorry, e-ever so s-sorry, for the scene, m-masters. A-allow me to t-take a percentage o-off your sale t-today," he blubbered, pitch rising as he noticed his feeble prostrating was garnering no favour with the soldiers. "N-no! O-one whole s-slave free, f-for the trouble!"

Oil Slick's expression had yet to change. With one, deft shove, he moved past the merchant and headed straight for the site of the scuffle. Blackout got to his own pedes with a groan and a grumble, shuffling forward as well. He paused a few paces behind his companion, shuttering bewildered optics at the slender figure clasped between several servos.

"And what is this?," Oil Slick demanded icily, his optics scanning the stranger over.

Red and orange, the tethered 'bot looked like a piece of the desert sands wrapped up tight in a few layers of iron, but it was the golden panels on his back and the sharp cut of ice-blue optics that truly caught Blackout's attention.

"N-no one i-important, I a-assure you, lords," the merchant said, having obviously collected himself again. He coughed, and a thug brought forth a piece of metal shaped awkwardly like a jaw. "J-just some Autobot t-that was r-retrieved f-from the south-west. H-he's unfit f-for sale; j-just returned from an e-exceptional n-noble like yourselves."

The black soldier gave a dark chuckle, ignoring the dealer and his staff as he leaned toward the slave. "Oh, really?," he said, mirth still evident in his vocalizer as he reached out to cup the Autobot's chin. "He'd be perf- ARRRGH!"

Quicker than one could predict, the red mech lashed forward, denta sinking into Oil Slick's dark palm and crunching deeply. It provoked the Decepticon into drawing his servo back toward himself; an opportunity that the slave used to twist free from his guards and kick the helm of one of them as he rode the forward momentum. In a matter of moments, everything had devolved into the same cacophony that had greeted them kliks before. Only this time, it took the staff a few tries, plus several heavy beatings to the face, before they had regained control over the Autobot.

As the guards dragged the unconscious slave into a nearby cage, the merchant was frantically begging for forgiveness and trying to provide medical aid to the soldier's injured servo. "A th-thousand apologies, my lords! H-he is too f-feral, I w-warned y-you thus! He is set to undergo r-re-conditioning, o-or b-be e-executed sh-shall he b-be unfit st-still! P-please! My lords! D-do not l-leave d-displeased! I-i-i-!"

"SHUT UP!," Oil Slick yelled, optics glowing brightly with murderous intent. "I will have your entire stall burned before I-!"

"Can I have him?"

The innocent question left both mechs stunned into silence. Face twisted in suppressed rage, Oil Slick was the first to turn to his companion, and snarl out, "What?!"

Blackout paused a moment to drag his optics away from the cage housing the Autobot to his two onlookers. "Well, he's a slave, right? I'll pay for him."

"And what, pray tell," Oil Slick sneered cruelly, "Would you even do with a mad creature like that?"

The brown mech blinked. "...I dunno," he answered truthfully. He shuttered his tiny optics at the other soldier. "What are slaves for?"

His companion gave a bark of a laugh, as the merchant stepped forward, intakes ragged as he continued to blubber his way through amendment. "P-please, g-good lord, y-you don't want it. I-it can't b-be trained a-and I can o-offer you m-much more a-agreeable m-merchandise." The portly mech rushed to a blue femme chained to the public line, yanking her forward a couple steps unceremoniously. "S-see," he gushed, pushing her into the large Decepticon's line of sight, "V-very curvy! A-and still s-sealed! Perfect for warming your berth!"

A scowl began forming on Blackout's face. "What would I need her to warm my berth for? It's not very big."

Oil Slick sneer grew, his attention divided as he tore a swathe of clothe from the merchant's cloak and began to bandage his servo. The dealer did not notice; he was too busying gaping up at the giant soldier in mounting horror.

Blackout didn't understand what was happening. Shaking his helm to clear the fuzz from his processor, he reached under his sash for his coin purse; taking it out and dropping the heavy sack on the stout dealer's hat. "That's enough, right? I gotta pay, I know that."

"B-bu-bu-bu-"

"Oh, am I forgetting something?," the brown mech mumbled, a large claw scratching idly at his helm. "Does he need a leash?"

"You are more stupid than I first assessed," the black soldier chuckled at Blackout, finally done tending to his wound. He paused, fixing the merchant with a glare. "You: snatch my moronic comrade the defect as he requested. Make sure to give him extra chain and shackles. If it doesn't get killed by the dumbaft's ignorance first, than I shall have the pleasure of peeling the thing apart piece by piece."

The slave dealer nodded rapidly at the orders, skittering off and giving his staff hushed demands as he went. Blackout, as ever, stood by and watched, uncertain if he was supposed to be doing something just then. He remembered, as two guards dragged the beaten slave back out of his cell and hooked him over a pull-cart, that he was taking the Autobot back home. This was to be his very first slave purchase.

Giddy, he looked to his companion. "I've never had a slave before. Shopping like this is kinda fun!"

Oil Slick was currently glaring at the unconscious stranger, fantasies of torment playing through his processor silently. "Oh, it's going to be a very interesting experience for us both," he muttered to himself, spitting on the Autobot before he walked off to accost the merchant once more. There was still the matter of his own slave order to be made.

C.M.D: Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?