After Action Review

By Nopporn Wongrassamee the Evil Author

Summary: Criminal activity takes on a whole new dimension.

Disclaimer: Everything belong to Hasbro.

Docks

A port on the Black Sea

Three months after an American victory

The man was an arms dealer. Although he had a sideline in shipping other illicit goods, his primary business was shipping and trading things that went boom on command. Business had been up lately, but so had expenses. While the War on Terror had seen an increase in sales, it had also seen an increase in expenses as various governments tried to crack down on the people supplying the terrorists.

All in all, the man considered, profits were coming out about the same, and the only thing he had more of than before was stress.

Still, he was here for a face to face meeting. It wasn't even a sale really, so he hadn't brought more than a few personal weapons and bodyguards, nothing that couldn't be explained away to some nosy government busybody. If this was a sting, then he had no evidence with him that he was doing anything illicit.

The meeting place was practically a cliché. It was a warehouse on the docks, currently unused and empty of any inconvenient witnesses. His bodyguards had swept the building and found no one.

That was a problem because the person he was meeting should have been here by now.

"No one at all?" he asked his head body guard.

"No, sir," came the reply. "We've checked every inch of this place. Not a soul to be found."

"Then who does that," the arms dealer pointed at the old Land Rover sitting in the middle of the warehouse, "belong to?" The vehicle had already been checked for explosives. You never knew when a customer might think it expedient to get rid of a supplier.

"I? I belong to myself." The voice, harsh and mechanical, came from the Land Rover. Then the vehicle seemed to explode as it seemed to come apart and then rearrange its component pieces into a humanoid form. The process took mere seconds, and the arms dealer found himself looking into glowing red eyes.

He stifled a gasp of awe and astonishment. He immediately recognized it as one of the same kind of machines that had recently fought in the streets of an American city. The American government claimed they were top secret experimental robots gone haywire. Some individuals like the arms dealer were inclined to doubt the claim.

It looked like he was about to find out personally.

"And to who do I have the pleasure of addressing?" he asked calmly. Giant killer robot or not, the arms dealer was not about to show weakness to it.

His guards on the other hand, were openly nervous and pointing their weapons at the robot, not that submachine guns would be all that effective from everything he had heard. Still, they hadn't fired and the robot made no threatening moves. But this seemed like a time for negotiations, not combat, so the body guards were largely irrelevant anyway.

"The closest term your language has to my name is 'swindle'," the giant replied. "Yes, I like that name. I am Swindle."

"And what business do you have with me, Swindle?" the arms dealer asked. "Somehow I very much doubt that you have a use for anything in my inventory."

"Oh, I don't want to buy your primitive scrap," Swindle told him. "I want to sell."

"Sell? Sell what?" the arms dealer wondered aloud. "Do you by chance have a cache of ray guns available?"

"Alas, no," Swindle sighed, rather melodramatically the arms dealer thought. "I only arrived on this planet recently carrying nothing but what you see before you. I can however, supply you with advanced weapon designs. With those, you could manufacture your own 'ray guns' and so much more."

"Sounds… intriguing," the arms dealer replied. God, what could he not do with such weapons? Still, years of experience in this business made him cautious. "And what do you want in return? Somehow I don't think you're giving all this away our of the goodness of your heart… or whatever you have for a heart."

"Ah, you mean besides a cut of the profits?"

"Of course."

"Refuge," Swindle told him. "My people are in need of refuge. Our enemies have allied themselves with the American government. No doubt, they both will hunt down more of my people as they arrive upon this world. Having one or more of your local governments to shield us from persecution would be… immensely profitable for our hosts. I am sure you would know any number of third rate nations who are looking for a… status upgrade shall we say."

"Your offer is tempting," the arms dealer admitted. "But how do I know I can trust a… being named 'Swindle' of all things?"

"We are much alike, you and I," Swindle told him. "It would be in my best interests to honor the deal. It is especially in my interest since I intend to make my fellow Decepticons – as you humans say – 'pay through the nose' for any refuge I may be able to supply them."

The arms dealer couldn't help himself. He smiled. "Yes," he said slowly. "I do believe we can do business, Swindle. I'm certain I can find a country or two that will take your people in."

"Excellent," Swindle agreed. "All that remains now is to work out the details, Baron Mc…"

"Please," the arms dealer interrupted. "For this business, I prefer my nom de guerre, Destro."