AN: I swear, I'm having fun writing so much drama before we even have another murder on our hand.
"Hey, Deady, you're still here?" Wildrider said as he entered the bar again and looked around. It didn't take long before he found him at the counter, still drinking, although now he had the benefit of a drinking partner with Nautilator by his side, who was complaining loudly.
"I mean, could they not talk about their fragging swords for five seconds!" he complained to Dead End and the bartender, the latter looking bored as he leaned on the counter with one hand cupping his head and the other holding a jug half-filled with hih-grade.
"Hey, ignore them. Just drink up!" Dead End told him with a bump on the shoulder and a smile on his face.
"You got it!" he agreed before downing another and motioning for a refill, which the bartender did so.
"Oh dear… he's hit that phase again," Wildrider muttered.
"Who's hit what phase?" someone asked and he turned to see Scavenger standing at the entrance and looking inside.
"Around every twenty or so years, Dead End goes into a 'frag it' phase and decides to drink his misery away," Wildrider informed him.
"So he goes from waxing poetic about the darkness of the world to blackout drunk," Scavenger specified.
"Yeah. It's still based on cynicism, it's just that he's deciding to have fun, sort of like an end-of-the-world party," Wildrider told him.
"Doesn't sound too bad," Scavenger murmured.
"Oh, trust me, him getting blackout drunk is a big problem, as well as the comedown. He gets miserable," he shuddered. "Imagine what he's usually turnt up to such an exaggerated degree that it borders on parody."
"Oh, Primus," he muttered, looking over at Dead End enjoying himself with an arm around Nautilator and the two laughing it up with each other. "How long will this last?"
"He usually continues his drink-a-thon to the next day, so probably the day after," he told him.
"Okay… you think he'll be okay to be around?"
"Sure, he'll just act more like a prick," Wildrider told him, crossing his arms. "A big, giant prick."
"It can't be that bad, right?" Scavenger asked him.
"The first he did it during Reconstruction, he crashed the recently rebuilt racetrack at Ibex, got inside the announcer's booth and sang 99 bottles of high-grade on the wall before security took him to rest in the cool down before he broke out and proceeded to steal a van from one of the competitor's pit crew, and drove off with it out of the city. When our gestalt had to go search for him, we found him five days later. He somehow drove it into a chasm, and he was on top of the thing, writing another soliloquy about dying alone. He looked disappointed that we save him," Wildrider told him, who looked shocked.
"Was he punished for it?" Scavenger asked.
"He was forced into community service for five years in order to make up for it, under heavy overwatch. Not a fun time for him," Wildrider told him. "He was an extremely grumpy person those days."
"Frag, how can he get more insane than that?" he gasped.
"Oh, trust me. You don't want to see him when he's in that phase and high on syk. Pure, unbridled chaos that trumps everything I done. It's honesty kind of inspiring for someone like me," he sighed happily, thinking it over. "It may come rarely, but when it does, it's pretty awesome."
"Dude, you might need better influences and Dead End needs to get his brain checked out," he responded to him. "He has to have a glitch in his matrix somewhere."
"You think I don't have a glitch?" Wildrider asked, insulted.
"No, I think you have so many glitches, that they are probably no longer considered glitches anymore," he answered.
"Oh, well… thank you!" he thanked, pleased with himself before turning back over to Dead End with a serious look on his face. "He probably has only one glitch, but it's a big one."
"No kidding," Scavenger agreed as the two drinkers began a rendition of 99 bottles of energon on the wall. "Okay, I'm getting out of here before their singing gives me a headache," he said before walking away.
"Right behind you. I don't need something that repetitive to drive me crazier," Wildrider agreed, walking in lockstep behind him. "Hope you got some ideas to entertain me."
"Dude, go away. I'm heading back to the Science Labs where Perceptor and Mix-"
"Oh, I'm definitely coming over to see Perceptor again," Wildrider told him happily and Scavenger moaned in annoyance.
"Fine, but prepare to be bored to death" he told him.
"Right, Nightbeat's room," Onslaught muttered as he looked around. It was like anyone else's room, although Nightbeat was a bit untidy with a chair at the dining table out of place, a couple of the cabinets were half-shut, and an energon stain on the kitchen floor. "He needs to take better care of his room. Mine is better."
"Used to," Hoist reminded him and Onslaught flinched at that.
"Right… he's dead. My advice is pretty useless," he told him as the two looked around. "So, if Nightbeat was to hide a datapad with his thoughts on it, where would he place it?" he asled out loud.
"Well, we could start with his bedside dresser, obviously," Hoist told him, walking over to them. Onslaught sagged his shoulders from him pointing out the obvious before following behind him. "You take the left and I'll take the right," he ordered and once again, Onslaught had to flinch.
"Hey, I thought I was the leader here," he complained.
"You're the one who wanted to ask questions instead of actually searching around," he scoffed as he reached his bedside dresser and began looking through it. "Want me to look through yours as well?" he sardonically asked as he searched. Onslaught grimaced before heading over to his dresser and searched through it. It wasn't long before someone found a datapad.
"Found one," Onslaught said as he looked at it. "Let's see, possible masterminds: The Institute…"
"They don't exist, so irrelevant."
"..Jhiaxus…"
"Crushed into particles. He's so dead, it's impossible to find any trace of him."
"…Megatron, again…"
"Now that would be such a cliché."
"…and Trepan."
"Uh, who?"
"I don't know," Onslaught shrugged, "but I doubt he's involve if we don't know a thing about him."
"Hmm… trying to think of who he is… I got nothing," he agreed. "Must be a nobody."
"Right, found anything on your end?" he asked.
"Well, I think I got a datapad… yep!" he said, pulling it out and began reading it. "Huh, it's his thoughts on us."
"Really, what does he have to say on us?" Onslaught questioned.
"I'm sure he wouldn't approve of this," Hoist muttered.
"Eh, whatever," Onslaught shrugged. "Not like he was nice. Even if he was helpful."
"Let's see… oh, he was holding back," Hoist said, reading it with a grin. "Here's what he has to say about you. 'Obviously, the term "Ultimate Tactician" is a lie. He's more of a brute than anything else. How else could someone like him get his own men killed?' How brutal," he said and Onslaught was glaring at that datapad.
"Is that all?"
"No, but you really don't want to read the rest," he told him.
"I can handle criticisms," Onslaught muttered in a tone that suggests he probably wasn't ready for any more of them.
"I don't think that would be healthy for your self-esteem," he said as he put it up. "I'll probably take a read of it some other time and see if what's in it of any importance aside from insults."
"Hmpf, if you insist," he said, crossing his arm. "Let's look around for anything else."
"So what brings you two here?" Jazz questioned Blast Off and Bumblebee as him and Beachcomber got done with the lesson and were resting in the lounge's sofas, each of them nesting a glass of energon. Jazz and Beachcomber took one and the other two took the other.
"I needed people to hang out with and Blast Off needed time away from Onslaught's waning sanity," Bumblebee told him.
"Onslaught isn't doing very good?" Beachcomber asked, worried.
"Swindle's absence at the motive today has him worried and he's trying his hardest to break into his room, so he's busy trying to get Hoist to help him out, considering his ability to break down doors at the Shockwave's murder," Blast Off explained before taking a quick sip. "I do hope Hoist ignores his requests. Onslaught needs to calm down and think about the big picture."
"The big picture?" Jazz wondered.
"The mastermind. The one controlling Monobear," Blast Off answered.
"Oh, yeah," Jazz murmured, scratching the back of his neck while taking a drink. "Any ideas, because I'm drawing a black."
"Yeah, no chance with me. I have no idea," Bumblebee shrugged.
"Same," Beachcomber nodded. "Just like I have no idea who the mole is or the serial killer."
"Oh, I forgot about those," the scout groan, shaking his head, before turning to Blast Off. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you one of the suspects for being the serial killer?"
"Correct, but I'm not the one. Personally, and don't go telling Swindle this, but I think Smokescreen's the serial killer," Blast Off told them.
"Impossible. He has an alibi," Beachcomber told him.
"He does?"
"Yeah," Jazz nodded. "We determine that the serial killer had to have eavesdropped on the conversation between Ratchet, Knock Out, Scavenger, and me, which Smokescreen had an alibi for. He was the only one we can confirm couldn't be the serial killer."
"Oh, is that so? Hmm?" he murmured, a hand to his chin in thought. "Those two have always been a bad influence on each other. When they were partners before the war, both of their greedy sides were amplified. I just assumed that he was doing some terrible things for him."
"You think that it could be the other way around?" Bumblebee questioned.
"…Maybe," Blast Off nodded. "If you're sure Smokescreen can't be the serial killer."
"Positive, even though I can't really remember that day," Beachcomber muttered, rubbing the back of his head.
"Why can't you remember a thing that day?" Bumblebee questioned.
"I got really hammered that day. Barely remember a thing. I remember talking to Drift about something, and… that's about it," he said, disappointed. "I'm trying to remember more, but I just can't."
"Don't worry, not like its relevant," Jazz said, brushing it off. "No one's using you for an alibi, so it's all fine."
"Hmm, we keep talking about this, but it's rather irrelevant. He is technically on our side," Blast Off said.
"What? He's not on our side," Beachcomber disagreed.
"Last I check, he was forced into this game, just like us. He wants Monobear dead. The person we have to worry about among us is the mole," he informed them.
"Yeah, that's right. As much as I detest him, he's a victim of the game, just like us. The mole is actively working for the mastermind, so we have to snuff him out," Jazz agreed.
"Well then, if Smokescreen isn't the serial killer, than I say he's the mole. He likes money very much and would work for the craven slagger for a price," Blast Off said with disdain.
"How much does he like money?" Bumblebee questioned him.
"Almost as much as Swindle, but he gets it in different ways," he informed him. "Rather than trading and barding his way up, he rather outsmart people through games and such."
"So you think he would be greedy enough to work for such an evil person.
"Indeed. Swindle too, but he wasn't mentioned," he informed them.
"So, Smokescreen is highly suspect," Jazz said, leaning in and thinking about it. "I doubt that any others would have financial motives, so why would they do it?"
"Well, Perceptor may have done it for some scienc-y things I don't understand," Beachcomber suggested.
"Maybe, but we have no idea if he would find any use for this," Bumblebee told them.
"Plus, wouldn't something like this better fit a psychologist?" Blast Off asked.
"Maybe, but he is skilled in multiple fields of study. Psychology might be one of them," Jazz said.
"So, maybe for Perceptor," Bumblebee said. "What about Ratchet?"
"Of course not," Jazz said. "He confessed to me his secret."
"He did? What was it?" Beachcomber asked, interested.
"Hey, I'm not saying. I promised to keep it a secret," Jazz told them. "Now, about the-"
"What if he is lying?" Blast Off interrupted, glaring at him, surprising the spy.
"W-what do you mean?" he asked.
"I'm saying, what if he told you that it was your secret in order to throw attention off of him?" he specified. "If he's the mole, he knows that he would have to throw suspicion off himself. Confessing to a lesser secret that he didn't commit would be preferable over being exposed as the mole."
"That's ridiculous," Jazz scoffed. "He gave me a detailed explanation of what happened."
"On the spot or did he have time to make it up."
"Gah!" Jazz gasped.
"How long?"
"Uh, about four hours," he answered nervously.
"So, he had time to concoct a fake story," Blast Off said smugly, crossing his arms in superiority. "I believe that's enough to keep him a suspect."
"Grr… fine," Jazz said in disgust. "You win this one, arrogant bastard."
"As always," Blast Off grinned, which earned a angry look from him.
"Right, what about the other guys. The dead ones," Beachcomber said, wanting to defuse the situation.
"Well, Nightbeat is a pricked, but he seems well-intentioned," Bumblebee said, thinking it through. "I honestly kind of doubt he was the mole."
"True. I doubt it," Blast Off nodded. "Mirage, I doubt as well. He got too closed to Hoist. A mole shouldn't do that."
"Shouldn't a mole get close to people so that they don't suspect them?" Jazz pointed out.
"Not close enough that they would blow everything just to get him out," he deflected.
"…Maybe. Guess we can say the same about Chromedome," he compared the two.
"True… Mirage and Chromedome both had deep emotional connections here. It wouldn't make sense for either of them to be the mole."
"So, the likely suspects for being the mole are the ones that are alive. How grand," Bumblebee said sardonically.
"I don't want to suspect any of them as the mole. I would much prefer the dead," Jazz muttered.
"We can't have everything we want," Blast Off said as he looked back towards the stage. "Is that a piano?"
"Yeah, it is," Jazz shrugged.
"Some advice? If you want to pretend you're good at the piano, use only the black keys. The black keys are in pentatonic scale. If you just keep a simple rhythm, you can sound like a professional without being one," he told them.
"You're serious? No way that works," Bumblebee said, suspicious.
"Let's try it out. Follow me to the piano and I shall be proven right," he said, getting up and heading over to it. Bumblebee looked to the other two on the couched, who shrugged together in apathy, before jumping up and follow behind him to the stage. The two of them climbed up and approached it, a black, ornate one. Blast Off took the keys on the lower end while Bumblebee took the higher ones. "Now, listen. I'll compose a simple pattern using the black keys and you can freestyle it using the black keys as well, so long as you keep the rhythm. Understand?"
"Uh, sure," Bumblebee nodded.
"Good. Now, let's do a brief one for 30 seconds and don't be afraid to play whatever come to your mind," he said, and began playing a simple 4/4 rhythm using the black keys in the middle. Bumblebee glanced at his direction before playing some keys. He only played a few notes in the first half, but gradually played more, coming up with a surprising good melody. After time was up, Blast Off stopped him and looked over to the spectators for approval. The two of them looked at each other before giving thumbs up.
"Not bad," Jazz said with a grin.
"Yeah. Totally cool, dudes," Beachcomber agreed.
"Oh, uh, thanks," Bumblebee said with a shy grin, scratching the back of his head.
"Hmph, I told you that would work," Blast Off said with a pleased grin before getting ready to play again. "Alright, let's play again, but with a different composition in the same rhythm at 3 minutes."
"Sure thing. This is fun," he grinned.
"We certainly don't mind, right Beach?" he said with a nudge of his elbow to his blue companion.
"Yeah! Play that. I'm liking it," he nodded excitedly.
"Right. Act 2. Let's begin," Blast Off said as he began a new rhythm.
"Right, Chromedome. I hope Rewind isn't too mad at us for breaking in," Hoist said right after they broke in, the door barely hanging on with the bottom hinge.
"He'll be happy if we prove he isn't the mole once and for all," Onslaught countered as they took a look around. It was in a bit of a mess in the main room with the chairs a bit out of place and scuff marks indicating the Chromedome paced around in his room a lot. The other rooms, however, look perfectly fine. A scuff mark here and there that everyone had, but nothing too much. Chromedome must've enjoyed thinking by pacing around the place and occasionally bumping into the chairs.
"Hmph, he was a walker," Onslaught muttered as he went to the left bedside dresser while Hoist took the right.
"Heh, I do that sometimes. A good walk can get your wires surging enough electricity to the brain," he said as he quickly searched through the dresser. "Nothing except datapads on mnemosurgery."
"Same," Onslaught said, closing his. "He must have his personal datapad somewhere else," he thought, looking under the bed to find empty space.
"Not everyone keeps one. I sure don't," Hoist told him as he entered the bathroom and looked one.
"Conjunx enduras love keeping tabs on each other. There has to be one around here somewhere," Onslaught told him.
"And what makes you a master on them?" he asked.
"Conjunx enduras work a lot like gestalts, so if you apply something to one of them, it almost certainly applies to the other," he told him as he searched through the closet.
"Your men keep journals?" Hoist questioned.
"Yeah. Don't know what they wrote. Privacy is important."
"That is correct," he agreed as he walked out of the bathroom. "Nothing of note in there."
"I'm not find much as well… ah, found a datapad," he said as he pulled one out from on top and started reading it. "Hmm, as expected, a lot said about Rewind, so much so that he has it split up between him and Rewind."
"The parts about Rewind are probably irrelevant, so see what he did with other people," Hoist said, looking by his shoulder.
"Right, let's see… he apparently talked with Shockwave a little after dinner while Rewind was talking to Soundwave," he said, surprised.
"Looked like Soundwave wanted to know if he could access Rewind's recorder on his head while Shockwave was wanting to know how Chromedome was doing. Hmm," Onslaught muttered thinking it through. "Why would Shockwave be wanting to know how Chromedome was doing?"
"My guest, Chromedome helped him out with his memory. I heard Shockwave got shadowplayed," Hoist told him.
"Seriously? He got empurta and shadowplay? Damn, life was bad for him."
"Ended painfully too. Acid invading his energonstream must've been extremely painful," Hoist said with a shudder. "I wonder if he had anything to say about their death."
"Let's see. Oh, yeah. 'Shockwave and Soundwave are dead. Great.' Guessing that was sarcastic," Onslaught muttered. "I forgot, he liked to snark every now and again."
"He stole some low-grade from the party after viewing the videos about Earth for him and Rewind after the videos from Earth. I would've like that," he muttered.
"The note from before the second trial are scatterbrain. It's mostly him complaining about Rewind," Onslaught muttered, not liking this.
"The boxes in the vent in Rewind's room made the both of them into assholes. Makes sense," Hoist reminded him.
"I know. He makes note of it and those boxes affected my men," he said, morose. "Caused two of their deaths."
"Right… awkward," Hoist muttered. "After he got over it, he was mostly angry at the mastermind, because of course he was," he said, the reason obvious.
"Than, around the third motive, he talked a lot to Counterpunch, who, as we know, wanted to get rid of his other personality."
"And we both know how that turned out," he said, sadden. "Killed Counterpunch in self-defense and to save Rewind, and was executed for it."
"Yeah, that was a pitiful moment. It was unfortunate that we had to do that, but we would've died," Onslaught muttered.
"A tragic thing. So, you think anything here proves he is or isn't the mole?" Hoist questioned him.
"I don't think so. Yeah, he was mad at the headmaster, but considering what was done to him, whether he was the mole or not, he was going to be upset thanks to the motive affecting him as well and he died to save Rewind. Nothing is certain about this," Onslaught thought it over.
"So, zero for two. Guess there's no use postponing this," he sighed. "Let's head to Mirage's room."
*gasp*
"Frag this damn wall!" Bludgeon yelled as he and Drift impacted the glass wall in the trash room and slid against it down to a sitting position. "No matter what we do, this wall remains steadfast."
"No kidding," Drift muttered, pacing about and his holding right shoulder. "It is surprisingly resilient."
"It is probably made of similar materials of the wall keeping the academy up. Only reason I can think of for this being able to withstand our assault," Bludgeon hypothesized, thinking about it.
"Yeah, probably," standing still now as he thought it over. "Going to be impossible without some high-grade explosives."
"Hmm, since how efforts will be wasted, it's best to rest. Take a seat," Bludgeon beckoned him. Drift glared at him before relenting, taking a seat a bit away from him. That didn't escaped Bludgeon's notice. "Hmm, your interaction around me is unusual."
"Huh?" Drift questioned, looking at him.
"It seems, whenever you need me for something, it's always something physical. Practicing fighting ability, breaking down this wall, threats against the mastermind: things like that, I'm needed. Yet, you never find the time to strike a conversation with me or with Decepticons in general, even though I'm peripherally related to them," he said, thinking it through. Drift glared at him before he spoke.
"I used to be one of you, you know," he told him.
"Hmm, I have heard about that," he agreed. "Not very relevant to me. I was only working for the Decepticons for Jhiaxus who was only working for them for his own reasons. You betray the Decepticons? Matters little to me."
"Well, I don't trust them. You're sorta okay, but I don't trust you just like I don't trust any other Decepticons," he told him.
"Then, why are you here alone with just me?" he questioned him.
"Because, just like me, you care about your weapon of choice. I figure, as long as your sword is open, you can be trusted to be around."
"And what if I decided to kill you for it?" he questioned him, surprising him Drift.
"You're open about what I want to do," Drift muttered with disdain.
"Not disdain. Just me talking about the possibilities. Despite Nightbeat's unfortunate demise, I don't feel comfortable murdering someone," Bludgeon told him.
"Huh? But you live for the kill," Drift said, glaring at him.
"True, but I am not a moron, nor am I extremely clever. It's not that I am incapable of murder, but I know that I can't get away with the act. I'm not smart enough to think of everything," he told him.
"Hmph, good to hear, although I'm still watching you," he told him.
"I would to, now why do you not feel like talking to me or any other Decepticons?" he asked him again.
"You're an army of psychopaths. I shocked that anyone who isn't a part of your wants to talk to your group," he answered.
"My, how extreme your views are," Bludgeon muttered in disbelief.
"I was one of you. I have first-hand experience," he said.
"Hmm, true, but they can't resemble the vast majority of the army, true?" he said to him.
"It's enough for me," he told him.
"If you insist," he said, getting up. "Guess we should head back up."
"Huh? You're leaving the weapons behind?" Drift asked, standing up.
"It is as you say," he replied, heading for the way out. "We can't break it together. Only with explosives and the like. It is best to just keep with the crowd and make sure you don't get killed," he finished as he exited the room.
"Mirage kept his room pristine," Hoist said as they entered his room and looked around. As he said, it was kept unsullied, nothing looking out of place nor were there marks of any kind.
"Hmm, he actually keeps the room in better condition than me," Onslaught complimented, looking around. "Guess an ex-senator knows a thing or two about cleanliness. Blast Off sure does and he complains loudly when we don't keep certain areas in good shape."
"Hmph, what a prima donna," he muttered as the two of them went to the bedside dressers and examine them quickly.
"Found nothing but datapads of poetry and novels," Onslaught said, disappointed.
"Same here," Hoist said, shutting it closed. "Heading to bathroom."
"Closet," Onslaught muttered as he opened it up and began looking around. "Huh, he kept a lot of mechanic's tools in here. Wrenches, welders, and other such things," Onslaught said to Hoist.
"He was a good tinkerer," Hoist said. "Wished I could've elevated him to something greater. I imagine the two of us could've done something great together. Just a foolish dream now."
"Hey, it wasn't foolish. Don't say that," Onslaught said, coming up to the bathroom door.
"It was. I knew that it was too good to last," Hoist muttered. "Considering the state that we're in, it was likely that one of us was going to die."
"That's true, but, you still have the memories," Onslaught reminded him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Trust me, it's better to know someone than to never have. If you know the, then the memory lives on in you." Hoist sighed before he spoke up.
"I know, but the pain of having him die right in front of me… it was painful," he whispered, his voice breaking.
"I know how you feel. Brawl and Vortex were… excruciating," Onslaught muttered.
"Yeah… don't know why I'm complaining. We were only friends for a few days. You were gestaltmates. I have no right to suffer when that happen to you," Hoist chastised himself.
"It's not a contest. Our suffering maybe unequal, but that doesn't mean you don't deserve to mourn. It's natural," he told him, clinging tightly to Hoist. Hoist didn't do anything, keeping completely quiet, before he spoke again.
"Thank you," he breathed out softly.
"So, everyone doing good?" Smokescreen questioned Rewind and Hound as they were at the bar resting in a booth, all of them with a glass of low-grade. It was empty now and the only one there besides the three of them was the bartender cleaning up the bar where a massive amount of high-grade had spilled on the counter and around the floor. The bartender was grumbling to himself about the 'two crazies' who wreak havoc at the bar.
"Yeah, I guess," Hound said, him and Rewind sitting together at the other end.
"You don't sound very good," Smokescreen noticed.
"Well, I'm still peeved about my orchid's upcoming demise if something doesn't happen," he muttered.
"Hmm, and about you, Rewind?" Smokescreen questioned. "What was the item up for incineration?"
"It is a sketch of the inner workings of my brain that Chromedome sketched out. He investigated my mind once and decided to sketch that for me. It's… something that I don't think can be replicated," he told them. "They can redraw it, but it will never be drawn by Chromedome again."
"Wow, that's… kinda cool," Smokescreen admitted honestly. "Frag, I wish I got a better look at that back in the trash room."
"Well, if it all goes well, you won't. I really don't want another murder to investigate," Rewind muttered, worried. "Which item of yours is going to burn?"
"Heh, nothing I cared much about. The only thing I care about is cold, hard cash. He can burn my possessions, but I wouldn't care," he told them in a blasé matter.
"You're kidding, right?" Hound asked, leaning in. "You really don't have a personal item to save?"
"Of course not! Like I said, money, plus, if I can have it," he raised his glass and motion for them to do the same. The two looked at each other before doing what he wanted and clinked their glasses. "Good company is always good," he said as the three of them down the glasses.
"And then, BOOM! The explosives went off and I hightailed it out of there like a circuitbooster user on syk," Wildrider told Mixmaster, Scavenger, and Perceptor in the science lab, the former two trying their best to ignore him and the latter making him continue on, amused.
"How interesting," he muttered, a slight grin on his face. "And then what happened?"
"Well… oh scrap," he muttered, looking behind Perceptor. The scientist furrowed his brows before he turned around to see Dead End and Nautilator stumbling in the place, both having a drunken smile on there face.
"Oh, dammit. They're the ones drunk beyond belief," Perceptor cursed, whiched earned a shocked look from Wildrider.
"I swear, you cursing with that scientific voice is strangely alluring," he said.
"We'll talk about you're strange attraction to my voice later," he said as Dead End left Nautilator leaning against the door frame and approached the two Constructicons.
"Heeeeeeey, Mixmaster! Got *uck* a favor," he said to Mixmaster, leaning on the counter next to him for support.
"And what would that be?" Mixmaster asked him, scowling.
"I… want some syyyyyyk and circuitboosters," he told him, making him scowl even more.
"No. I'm not doing it just because you want-"
"I'll spill your seeeeecret," Dead End told him, making him gasp.
"What!?" he yelled, glaring at him. "You're the one who has it!"
"YEP! And if you don't *uck* give me what I want, well…" he trailed off, leaving it in the air.
"You…," Mixmaster growled, ready to attack, before taking a deep breath to relax. "Fine. So long as you keep quiet about my secret. Tell anyone and you'll find yourself without an arm."
"Yay! Nautilator, we're getting drugs!" Dead End shouted to Nautilator.
"WOO!" Nautilator shouted, his arms up high, before he collapsed backward. "OW!"
"What, but… Mixmaster, you got to keep off the syk," Scavenger told him, worried.
"And I will. I won't get tempted, Scavenger," he said, an arm to Scavenger's shoulder to ease him.
"But… I'm worried."
"You have a right to be," he told him before turning back to his blackmailer, who was having the cheekiest grin on his face.
"Now, I believe that was two orders of circuit boosters and syk. We're gonna get high."