Cyclonus nursed his second glass of Engex and scanned the room for what felt like the hundredth time that week. He had set up a permanent residence in one of the seediest bars in Monacus and was not ingratiating himself to the owners with his overly slow drinking speed. Cyclonus did not care. He had studied the bar, the staff and the patrons for five days. He had taken particular interest in two mechanoids who seemed to have no official staff roles but were able to access some of the staff-only areas behind the bar and to the back of the establishment. His senses - already beyond a regular Transformer's after being forged in the fires of Unicron - could detect energy weapon heat emissions on both mechs.

Both of them had taken another strange mech through to the back earlier. Cyclonus, via the gift of his enhanced audio sensors knew from their conversation at the bar that they were arranging for the sale of some weapons. Not his business, but it seemed these two had the range of Underworld contacts that Cyclonus desperately needed if he was to become whole again. The office they had gone to with the other mech appeared to be sound-proof as Cyclonus was unable to hear even the slightest noise emanate from that direction.

As he waited for his targets to return, Cyclonus' thoughts returned to his chance encounter two days ago with the pair of Autobots. Had it been any Autobot other than Ultra Magnus, Cyclonus would have immediately left Monacus, fearing immediate arrest by Autobot reinforcements. But Ultra Magnus had always been a valiant and honourable opponent, one who had earned Cyclonus' respect over the course of their many battles. He knew Springer less, but had always found him a courageous warrior in battle, albeit not the equal of Magnus or Optimus in the art of warfare. That was no disrespect to the Autobot triple-changer, merely an acknowledgement that some Cybertronians, be they Autobot, like Magnus, Prime or Grimlock on his day, or Decepticon like Galvatron and Cyclonus himself were just capable of turning a battle on their own. That battle could turn on inspirational acts of leadership (Prime) unparalleled ferocity in combat (Galvatron, Grimlock) or by being the perfect soldier (himself or Magnus).

No, Cyclonus thought to himself, Ultra Magnus lived by his word. He would not send Autobot forces to capture Cyclonus, and he could continue his quest to have his transformation cog repaired.

He raised the vial and sipped some more Engex. He quickly ran an internal diagnostic to see his energy levels were at 64%, with, until his T-Cog was repaired, a possible maximum of 78%. As a far more technologically advanced Cybertronian than any left alive, Cyclonus was very fuel-efficient for his size and power. Should things go wrong he was confident he could over-power both mechs and any number of bouncers too, but he hoped it would not come to overt displays of violence.

A slight commotion saw the door to the back offices open and the two mechs and their smiling customer exit. The customer nodded to the barman and left, while the two had drinks poured for them. Now or never Cyclonus thought grimly to himself. He quickly downed the remainder of his Engex and walked up to the bar, as the barman finished pouring the drinks for the pair.

"Another Engex please, barkeep. And I'll get these also," Cyclonus said smoothly, indicating to the two freshly poured drinks.

One of the mechs turned to face Cyclonus, a curious half-smile on his face.

"Mighty kind of you, friend. Had a big win in the casino today?"

"I find the biggest gambles and biggest wins rarely come in casinos," Cyclonus responded in his low rumble, as his Engex was poured. He pulled far more Shanix than he needed from sub-space to show he had means and paid for the three drinks. Both mechs clearly took notice and eyed him slightly more suspiciously. The second one put on a big fake smile and raised his glass.

"Well here's to your health… what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't, but my name is Nightlight." He lied smoothly. The name Cyclonus was not unheard of and had been mentioned in reports following the Battle of Junk. Best not to draw attention to himself.

"I'm Folsooth, and this is Ishlack. To your health!" Folsooth ostentatiously raised his glass toward Cyclonus and then took a long drink. Ishlack and Cyclonus both reciprocated his gesture.

"What brings you to Monacus then, Nightlight? Especially to a den of vice and iniquity such as this?" Ishlack asked very matter-of-factly.

Well, at least they get to the point thought Cyclonus to himself.

"I'm looking to locate a surgeon who specialises in mechanised conditions. One who would be willing to look past certain…prejudices…when it comes to client background."

Folsooth leaned back in his chair, and shook his head in an exaggerated way, immediately putting on a his "concerned salesman" act.

"I was just saying to Ishlack yesterday, that the amount of prejudice that exists in this universe, both against us mechs from organics, and even from mechs to other mechs is a sad, sad state of affairs."

Ishlack immediately picked up the thread in full-on charming salesman mode.

"You sure were buddy. I remember agreeing with you also. It's a sorry situation when one mech can't lend another mech a guiding hand in these dark times. Say – we might just happen to know where there was a mechanical surgeon on board this very asteroid – we could help yer out right now, Nightlight."

Cyclonus leaned forward eagerly "you would do that?"

"I do wonder, Ishlack old pal," Folsooth interrupted, stroking his chin with a thoughtful expression on his face "what kind of mech with transport and plenty of money would require a black-market medic. Seems to me the only race that really gets looked down on is Cybes…"

"But not just any old Cybe," Ishlack continued. "Purple design ain't very common among yer Autobots, is it? And there are plenty of Autobot medics on Cybertron or Earth or Kimia which are easily just a few days travel from here in a planet hopper..."

Stony-faced, Cyclonus rose from his chair.

"I have someplace else to be."

Ishlack shook his head. He and Folsooth both drew guns. Cyclonus turned to where the barman had a pistol levelled at him also.

"Afraid not, Decepticon. You're gonna come through the back with us, where we'll discuss that little lot of shannix yer carrying."

"If it's about the money just take it" Cyclonus said. "I desire no trouble."

"Oh it's no trouble," Ishlack grinned at him. "Through the back, now." He motioned with the gun, and Cyclonus, appraising his options, nodded and started walking slowly to the office.

"Ha! Galvatron's so-called chosen race who would rule the universe. What a buncha cowards!" Ishlack mocked as the pair marched Cyclonus into the room, where Folsooth locked the door behind him.

No sooner had the door been locked than Cyclonus sprang into action, his left arm smashing down hard on Ishlack's gun-wielding arm, and his right fist launching in the most perfect uppercut he had ever thrown, smashing his would-be-muggers jaw to pieces, in a satisfying shower of inner energon. Folsooth whipped his gun up and fired, even as Cyclonus grabbed Ishlack and used him as a shield from the energy blasts then hurled him at his companion with maximum force, knocking Folsooth to the ground, dazed.

In an instant Cyclonus was on Folsooth, lightning quick punches rocking the foolish criminal. He grabbed Folsooth's gun and cracked it in two over the unfortunate mech's head then grabbed his arm and, bracing his foot against his adversary's chest, cruelly and spitefully ripped it clean out of the socket as Folsooth screamed in agony. Whirling round, Cyclonus smashed the severed limb into the back of Ishlack's head as, dazed and barely functioning, he tried to climb back to his feet. The sheer ferocity of the blow split the arm and knocked Ishlack completely offline, face-down in the remains of his shattered jaw. Cyclonus threw the remnants of the severed arm aside and moved to Folsooth who was spurting pink and purple fluids from his wounds onto the floor, and huddling in the corner, clearly now terrified.

As Folsooth cowered Cyclonus reached down and picked up Ishlack's discarded weapon and then moved up to Folsooth and levelled the weapon at his head, preparing to end the miserable robot's existence.

Cyclonus felt his rage slowly subside. The mech looked pathetic. Killing such an over-matched and wretched foe was not why he was here. He turned and took a cursory look at Ishlack. He would survive. And so, thought Cyclonus to himself as he slowly lowered the weapon, would Folsooth.

"Cyber-surgeon. Name. Location. Now."

"Gah…huh, huh… my arm…ah… his name is Docholli. You can find him at The Big Wheel most days, or the Twisted Circuit in the evenings. I can't believe you tore my arm off, we were only kidding around…gah!" The puddle of fluid was growing thicker, and Folsooth would soon go into stasis lock. Cyclonus unlocked the door, and as he opened it, turned back to Folsooth.

"I'll tell your friend at the bar to get you patched up." A thin smile crossed his lips and he imitated Folsooth's voice "After all, it's a sorry situation when one mech can't lend another mech a guiding hand, isn't it?"

Cyclonus moved out of the office and back to the bar, where the barman looked at him with astonishment. Cyclonus nodded to the office and then continued marching straight out past the bouncers as the barman moved to the back to check on his associates. He turned and started to lose himself in the cut and thrust of mechs from every race and background who were freely mixing on the streets and alleyways of the Monacus mechanical district.

Galvatron would have hated this, Cyclonus thought to himself. He probably would have hated it himself during his time as a Decepticon lieutenant. These were all what Galvatron - and Megatron before him - had referred to as lesser races, fit only for conquering, subjugating and destroying. While Galvatron had been alive, Cyclonus had felt nothing but disdain for these races, and their would-be Autobot protectors. Now…now he felt nothing. Without a war to give him purpose, Cyclonus felt lost. He had been prepared to kill both of those criminals in that locked office, and part of him felt they would have deserved it. Their type was without honour, without strength. They preyed on the weak and the vulnerable. And yet, he hadn't been able to go through with it, his finger just didn't want to pull the trigger.

Self-doubts had plagued Cyclonus since he had come back online following the battle of Junk. He'd kept a handle on them until the encounter with the two Autobots the other day. It had actually been, well, good to talk to the Autobots and share his doubts about his place in the universe. Now he found himself once again drawn back to violence, and whilst not outright rejecting it, he felt more in control. He felt he had rejected the chance to end a life, which was something he had never had pause or opportunity to do whilst a soldier.

The Big Wheel loomed ahead. A steady stream of patrons were entering, looking to make their fortune in one of the most infamous establishments in the galaxy. Neon lights shone from every aperture, and musical tones designed to be engaging to mechanoids played. Cyclonus deactivated his internal weapons systems at the sight of the scanner. Mechs were having energy weapons confiscated and tagged, for return upon their departure from the casino.

Cyclonus quickly disassembled the weapon he had confiscated in the bar and stored the pieces in separate components within his body. He moved freely up to the security personnel at the door, tipping them both a few shanix as he was scanned and admitted. As far as anyone was concerned, he was just another mark, here to have a good time and lose his money, completely blending into his surroundings and passing unnoticed.

Well, almost unnoticed. One pair of crystal blue optics had watched him from the moment he left the bar and tailed him all the way to The Big Wheel. Smiling to himself, the Autobot known as Devcon prepared to wait. He had a mission to carry out, and he was going to do it right.