The Diego Diaries: Slag (dd7 51)
=0=In the Land of the Most High (Up)
Prowl came to sentience on the couch where he had crashed to keep the drunk(er)s company. A message demanded him so he answered it, came to total awareness immediately, glanced around, then down. Optimus was where he left him, sleeping on the floor.
Glancing on the chair next to the couch, he noted Ratchet had shifted a bit. His aft had slid to the ground, his arms were still hanging over the chair's own arms and his helm was face first into his knee assemblies which were just under his chin. He was bunched up on the floor and oblivious to anything but the inside of his optics.
Ironhide had finally given in to gravity and was laying face first on the floor in a pile. He was dead to the world. All of them would take rousing, he thought, as he got up. Rapping Prime on the helm, he grinned. "Rise and shine. We're needed."
Prime surfaced slowly as Prowl stepped over him.
Prowl tapped Ratchet with his toe, watching as the big slagger tipped his helm back, fritzed a moment, then stared up at him. "Get up. We have to go."
"Grandma? Is that you?" Ratchet asked as his systems took over and the cure flooded him. He vented a sigh, then stood up raring to go. "Where? Who? When? How? Why?"
"All of us," Prowl said. "Fix 'em. We have to go."
Ratchet shot out scripts, mechs jolted, then sat up.
Ironhide glanced at the other three. "Where am I? Who am I?"
Ratchet snickered, then turned to Prowl as Ironhide and Prime staggered to their peds. "What's happening, Prowl?"
"There's trouble at The Crystal Ball," Prowl said as he walked to the door. It opened as he arrived there, then Kes and Tagg walked inside. They chatted a moment, then the other three walked to the door to leave.
"What is happening, Orion?" Kestrel asked with concern.
"Nothing to concern you, Ada. Sometimes when things happen we get called out. Its just a precaution. A bit of trouble in a club in Retriades," Prime said soothingly as he kissed his ada's cheek. "Thank you for this. We shall be back swiftly."
The four left and the door closed.
Tagg patted Kes. "Come on. Let's get a bit of sleep. It might be that we have to take the children to school. I'll have Ravel and Tie help us."
They walked to the living room, settled on couches, then called down the lights. It would take a few moments to sleep again but they would succeed.
=0=On the Metro going to Retriades
Prowl discussed off line the facts as presented. All round them revelers were either going to their next fandango or heading for home. Some of them touched Prime and all of them nodded respectfully. After all, this one had just been to the Matrix.
When they arrived, then stepped off, went up and walked briskly down the street to head for Eighth and C, the big plaza near the Sports Center where the clubs, theaters, cinemas and restaurants were congregated. It was obvious that things were going on from the number of vehicles, lights, police tape marking off the scene and horses from patrols that had converged on the scene.
Cops are a nosy bunch no matter what planet you care to name.
They reached the scene, moved through the crowds behind the cordoned off area, then reached a crowd of Watchmen and others who were meeting the emergency. Waving over Springer who was talking to Sky and another Seeker, Prime waited as he came. Stepping around a vehicle, an ambulance, Springer stopped beside the four.
"What happened?" Prime asked.
"A number of kids got drunk, then a fight ensued. This time they shot at each other. It was over caste, rudeness, remarks about someone's bond and something about gangs. There are no deaths but two of them are in bad shape. They just left for the hospital. The other eight are over there," Springer said as he pointed to a row of prisoners who were cuffed and sitting cross legged on the ground under guard. "I don't know if you recognize them but I do."
"That's Mistermaster's nephew, Haro-n. Remember him when we had the fracas and got brigged. Club Cybertron was the place and that's when Sio was taken into the Processor Health Hospital and we got four orns in the aft," Ratchet said. "Drum head. Remember?"
"Who can forget?" Prowl said darkly. He glanced around. "We should go in and see what the situation is. Are they going to be taken to jail?"
Springer nodded. "The scene is in lock down and when everyone is interviewed, we're going to clear the area for the forensics team to canvass it." He led the way inside the vast building where it was more than half filled with subdued mechs and femmes.
Some of them were being interviewed by the detectives and others were waiting for their turn. Some of them were alone and some with others. None of them had kids with them. This wasn't a family sort of place. This was where young mechs and femmes came to dance, drink, celebrate and hook up.
Prowl glanced around and saw bullet holes in the wall nearby and a pair of shattered mirrors on one perpendicular to it. The shooting must have been a bit on the wild side given the shots landing so strangely. He noted one of the owners, a mech named Shandy. Waving him over, the cop in Prowl resurfaced. "Shandy, what happened?" he asked.
"There were about eight young mechs who came here to drink and hang out. It was Festival and we have busy orns for about a week afterward. Three came in first, then four joined them. They took a table and got loaded.
"The table next to them had about six kids, mechs who may or not be in a gang. The eight from the first table got into it with the six, verbally, not physically. They gave them slag so the others warned them off. They said they were a gang and it wasn't smart to frag with a gang.
"The first group laughed and began to taunt them more. It led to a confrontation. Two of them stood up to slag each other, then one threw a punch. Our bouncers were heading toward them when tables dumped and it was a melee."
Prowl looked around. "How many got hurt?"
Shandy frowned. "There were half a dozen shot, a few hurt running into things trying to get away and lots of dents from fights. It sort of engulfed the room until the shooting, then everyone was running to get away."
"Thank you," Prowl said as he walked further inside.
Prime, Ratchet and Ironhide watched him, then turned to Springer and a pensive Drift. "Then this was started by I would guess, Haro-n? Who was the shooter?"
"Haro-n," Springer said. "I'm having a search of things at his apartment. He has no bond and works for Colonial Power and Lights. I'm sure that made his shit list, too. We're tracing the gun as well. It was your ruling with Momus and Sherma about guns being carried by no one but Watch and Army mechs and femmes."
Prime nodded. "Good. Ratchet, could you track down the injuries and get as much information as you can about them?" Prime asked as Ratchet nodded, then walked toward the door to go outside.
"I want to be there when you book them. Are any of that group among the wounded?"
"No. The others got the lion's share of that. One got a helm shot and the other across the face. The shots were wild, mostly, but there's nicks and a few grazes here and there," Drift said.
Prime nodded then watched as the civilians interviewed walked out, some with fear and others with something grimmer on their faces. It would take a while to clear the room for Forensics.
=0=Outside on the street
Ratchet watched as the medics including Partition prepped the two for transport. None of the injuries looked fatal to Ratchet but they would be transported as fast as possible anyway. Several with minor wounds were getting treatment from Partition as they stood in a line. None of them were happy but Ratchet was. Partition was doing a slagging fine job.
He checked the chief Watch medic who worked at Substation #122 nearby. A swift drive to the Autobot City Medical Center for the two worst harmed and a short walk to the Retriades Medical Center Annex two streets over would take care of everyone else. Images would be taken from their hurts and enter as evidence about the shooting in some future legal accounting.
Crowds stood around, grim-faced and silent, watching with the usual intensity all rubberneckers do when they see something odd and exciting then gather to watch. Stretchers bearing the two seriously injured moved from the sidewalk in front of the door to ambulances that were waiting. They were loaded, the doors closed and then driven away with lights flashing and sirens calling out.
It would take a while for the scene to disperse but by then Prime and his officers would be arriving in the Jailhouse parking lot at the second courthouse in Crater District 2, City 4, itself as yet unnamed.
=0=Courthouse in Crater District, City 4, Autobot City, Primal Colony of Mars, Cybertron and the Empire, Postal District 13257-A
They drove into the parking lot of a building that had been completed shortly ago. It was a tall building with ceiling to floor walls, plants visible to sight in areas inside that were state of the art. They were in the parking lot behind the building where 'Intake-High Security' could be found. It was here that prisoners began their sojourn in the confines of the state.
Two police vans drove up and parked as jailers walked out with tazing sticks and other non-lethal control devices. Prime, Ironhide, Ratchet and Prowl walked to the sidewalk to watch the show.
Mechs opened the doors, then leaned in. After a moment, the prisoners began to file down, their surly attitudes on full display as they were led in a line into the building. Each of them passed Prime, all of them snarled at him, then disappeared inside.
When the last one entered, Ratchet grinned at Prime. "Are you feeling the love? I sure am."
Prime grinned slightly. "You would." He walked toward the door to enter followed by Prowl, Ratchet, Drift, Ironhide and Springer.
Inside the building, the white walled space was designed to withstand a lot of abuse from 'guests'. There were holding cells against one wall, the one that had a lounge for crew and a big law library next to it. The Intake boss sat in a comfortable enclosed space which went down into the floor, all of it, during a fracas.
The mechs stood on a line as told, then glared at everyone. It was Sargent Moto on the desk, something that boded well for comedy.
He stared at the mechs, then Springer. "You're late. I nearly fell asleep waiting for business. What ever will my quarterly reports look like?"
Springer smirked. "Then accept this donation from us with all the love it deserves."
The mechs all laughed rudely as Prime took a seat on a bench nearby. Prowl stood by the door as Ratchet and Ironhide sat on a couch near it as well.
Moto pulled up a screen. "Name, address, job title, all that slag. You know the drill or am I confusing you with another slagger?" He looked at the miscreants with an expression only the truly indifferent could effect.
None of them spoke.
Moto frowned. "Tell me your details, infant, or I'll punch your ada in the face."
"I bet you would, slagger," Haro-n spit out. "I'm Haro-n of Capital City and my uncle is Sentinel Prime."
Moto didn't look up from the screen as he input the data. "Haro-n of Capital City … big mouth … nephew of a traitor." He looked up. "Address?"
That's when Haro-n lunged at Moto.
=0=TBC 7-31-19