It wasn't as hard to go back there as she'd assumed.
Her first task was simple enough. It would require being fast and enterprising and being evil, though.
The alleys were the same: thick, crowded, violent, cold. Dark. She heard the bike gangs grunting and the neutrals scurrying and the scavengers trying to be silent but failing. Throughout the area was the aura of hope...for today was Feeding Day.
Most charities had long given up on making any headway in this dismal pit of Cybertron, but the Church of Primus had some particularly stubborn acolytes. Giving away free energon on a specific date was their longest-running patch over a deep wound, and their most popular, which lead to a lot of bad behavior by a large mass of Cybertronians desperate for ANY scraps at all. Their resources were limited and heavily guarded. Being a non-pacific religion, they'd beaten everyone into submission by forcing the receivers of charity to form a line. Bullying was not tolerated (paradoxically) and after two misbehaviors you were put on their permanent rejection list. This Lyra already knew. She needed to catch up to what had changed in her absence. Luckily, some groups were bigger talkers than others.
Their latest attempt to "fix" things was a Work-for-Energon program, where you were put on a waiting list and when your time came up you were called upon to help with one of their mission projects (usually rebuilding some blighted area that would go back to ruin soon enough) and once you'd fulfilled so many hours in a day you would be rewarded with weak-grade fuel.
This would not be useful. At all. But it was what was going on that day, and she had a limited amount of time to accomplish this task. It didn't help at all that she was closer to the back of the line and many many others were in front of her.
Worse still...who was behind her. "Hey there, cutie. Haven't seen you here in a while."
A shrug was all he got. She couldn't bear to look at that nasty pile of scrap. He'd recognized her? Maybe Arkvander hadn't done as good a job.
"Hard up for fuel again? Too bad. Pike's been hard up for somethin' else." He thought that stroking her arm was a good idea. She yanked it away.
Long ago, she'd been taught the art of refined conversation and manners. Ladies de-escalated the situation, never made their harassers uncomfortable, smiled through the humiliation. She was at a loss as to how to get this guy to leave her alone. The memory of Decepticon bruisers kicking her brother and her to near-death came to her in an instant and she had to keep from panicking. They could do that, too. 'Ignore them, they'll go away,' her creator would say.
"Aww, don't be like that. I'm just being friendly." She continued to ignore him, keeping a hard frown on her face. Like Mercuria would. "Fine, you weren't that great anyway, and you look like slag." He turned back to his buddies. "Some tricks think they're platinum-plated," he sneered.
"I'd hit it from behind," one of them growled, leading to laughter.
The line moved about a foot.
Lyra somehow kept from shaking when they changed the subject and ignored her for the rest of the time they waited.
"Name?" the 'bot taking information was bored but trying to seem pleasant. Someone's minicon stuck doing something paltry.
"Mishap."
"Oooooh!" The biker behind her had overheard. "Cute!" Suppress the shudder. "Misssshaaaaaaaap..."
"Any special skills?"
The biker was quicker to reply. "Nope!"
Frag the plan, this guy was DEAD. She pulled her blaster out of subspace, shot him in the face, and disappeared in the confusion, jumping the table the minicon had been hiding behind and stepping nimbly around the equipment and volunteers rushing to quell the surging riot.
"WHERE THE FRAG IS THAT GLITCH! IMA PUNCH HER FACE IN!"
'Been there, done that,' Lyra mused, ducking away from the security guards who had come in to beat those bikers into sheet metal. Being invisible after such a long time felt AMAZING. She didn't bother to hide the grin since no one would see it.
And there it was!
The energon dispenser was smaller than your usual mass-production model, being crafted for easy travel. They'd bolted it down. She didn't have that kind of time and the confusion had already begun to be mollified, with a few volunteers already starting to turn back into the beverage vehicle. It was now or never.
Four accurate half-power blasts knocked those bolts off and left the machine - for the most part, there was a little scratch or two - unharmed. She already heard cries of indignation as she grabbed it and took off.
As part of her deal Dauber had removed her restraining bolt. Flying again... 'Don't cry, you need the lubricant.' she reminded herself. But it was too late.
Land while transforming mid-air, duck into the myriad tunnels that went to nowhere but easily confused anyone attempting to follow. Because she WAS being followed. She could hear them, searching fruitlessly, yelling in frustration. They passed her hiding place four times.
"Give it up, it's long gone, whatever it was that took it."
"We CAN'T. Without it, we're out of luck. We don't have the funds to get another."
"Wait, what?"
"...not for a long time, I mean. In the meantime, all of those poor 'bots will starve."
The guilt-trip approach. Nice. This meant that they were giving up completely in about five seconds.
"Let's go. PRIMUS will deal with it."
Clank clank clank clank clank.
Yeah, pretend to leave. Nice try. She waited three cycles before taking another way out different from where she'd come in, stashing the energon dispenser any time there was a sign of anyone. It didn't fit in her subspace compartment, which made this all the more difficult.
Dauber's optics GLOWED. Mercuria was clearly impressed.
"Well done. REALLY," she gushed, hooking it up in the energon room. "Let's see if that wiring job/blocking apparatus works with it." Click. Hum. Whoosh. "I'm a genius!" she crowed.
"Yes, you are." Dauber had a mug out already. "Come on, then, Lyra. Get a mugful and get ready for Task Number 2."
She heard them first.
"We're going the long way to avoid detection!"
"Then shut up!"
She couldn't lift her head. She couldn't speak. Mirage groaned.
"What was that?"
A short gasp. "More dead civilians."
Mirage's voice came up like a haunted spirit. "Helllllp..."
"It lives!"
"Drill Bit, we can't go picking up every dying 'bot you come across, or we'll never get back to base."
"Code Red, shut up." He put his head on her chest and she squeaked. "You okay?"
"Help."
The one called Code Red crossed his arms. "What can you do for the Autobot cause that would motivate us to risk our wheels for you?"
"Turn invisible..."
"Can you do that now?"
"Code Red, they can barely utilize their intake manifolds. This'll take a while to fix as it is."
"Then leave them. We're out of time and out of space. Sentinel Prime already told us 'no more refugees' and I'm NOT going to get in trouble for this!"
Drill Bit wasn't having it. He'd already radioed for backup.
"I won't forget this," Oasis swore.
Wandering that tiny corner of the planet got old quickly.
Once again, she was starving. Did she dare 'rent' herself out again? Her tab was due and they didn't look like they'd go easy on her. One of the barflies was more than willing to make an exchange. This one was filthy but he paid up front and didn't ask for anything crazy. He did, however, feel the need to comment on her technique.
"You keep disappearing," he complained. "Like you were surveillance-trained."
"Sort of." She had only spied for a short amount of time, and it had been her only sell to get Autobots to adopt her. She was not that great in combat...and neither were they, really. What little they knew, they'd learned from Decepticons. She'd been on both sides; unfortunately, her training had been haphazard. Since she'd been kidnapped and stuffed in a mine, she didn't really know that much, except to get out of the way and follow orders. This, according to the wheezing pickup truck above her, made her a mediocre lay.
"Why are you here, anyway?" he demanded. She made something up. Then returned the query.
"Heh. I got too old to be their ninja."
She'd heard of it, but not about it. "Ninja?"
"Contract killer. People will pay good money to eliminate the competition without it being traced back to them." He smiled. "Go back in that bar, listen to a few conversations, show 'em you can go invisible, you'll see. Business is better than banging a half-dead 'Con next to a dumpster." He cracked a few joints. "You good to go again? I'll throw in a goodie or two."
"On the house." Best payment for information ever. Two cycles later she'd scrapped an irritating small bike that was cutting into someone's profit margins and got enough fuel for a week.