The warehouses loomed above Bulkhead and company as they rode silently through the darker, less populated area of Las Vegas. The sky was darker here, as there weren't as many dazzling lights that covered the night. Bulkhead personally missed the starry skies of Jasper. He had gotten hooked on it after a night patrol with Jack and Arcee and when he wasn't rocking out to Miko's guitar or dune bashing or watching monster truck shows he made it a habit to climb to the top of the silo and revel in the natural lights and the wonderful, golden silence.
"Bulkhead, do you copy?"
"I hear you doc-bot," Bulkhead replied as he turned down a quiet half-lit street that was littered with trash. This was a part that the tourists of the town rarely saw. "What's up?"
"You should be approaching the magnetic disruption within the next three minutes. Once you recover the device, I will bridge in to examine it. I have already contacted Arcee, and she and Jack are close to retrieving their cylinder."
"Then we better catch up," Miko piped up cheerfully. "Wouldn't want to fall behind!"
"Of course not," came Ratchet's dry reply before he cut the link.
Xxxxxxxxxxx
Bulkhead stopped behind a warehouse just behind another building where the cylinder was supposedly located. He transformed and carefully set down his charge and the general. "Stay here while I check it out."
Sanchez grunted. "Like hell. I have a duty to preform and I am not going some gargantuan alien saying otherwise."
Bulkhead hadn't forgotten the immigrant comment that had been directed at Miko, and made sure that Sanchez knew it.
"Maybe the gargantuan alien should jut crush you and take chances with his leader's wrath, fleshie."
Sanchez smiled tightly. "I'd love to see you try. Then I'd have an excuse to throw an EMP gre-" He stopped short. "Just hurry up."
Bulkhead's eyebrows narrowed, but he just nodded. Turning to Miko, he issued his usual warning. "Miko, stay here. I mean it this time." Miko simply pouted in response.
Transforming his right servo into a blaster, Bulkhead crept forward towards the building. Well, at least he tried to creep. To another it looked like an upright tortoise trying to reach its toes with one hand. To make matters worse, Bulkhead's processor began replaying the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles theme song, which in turn caused bulkhead to unconsciously begin singing under his breath. As he'd told Arcee, green was good. Green was inspiring. Green kicked aft. Arcee responded with a reminder that he wouldn't have much green left if he continued to plunge himself into scraping, hot sand dunes.
Bulkhead shook himself. He should be concentrating, not thinking about the dark blue femme. True, blue was the color of his arch nemesis, but on Arcee it looked very good…
Scrap, he had it bad.
Almost thankfully, Bulkhead reached the outer-wall of the building. The inside was silent and dark, and unfortunately, Bulkhead didn't have the thermal optic capability of Arachnid. It looked like he would be doing this the old fashioned way.
His CPU automatically began going through battle plans and ideas. This went on for less than ten seconds, simply because he wasn't exactly known for his strategist capabilities.
"Scrap this," he muttered, and charged forward into the wall.
Xxxxxxxxxxxx
"How are you today sir?" the valet said politely.
Jack swung himself off of Arcee in a fluid motion, hiding the painful cracking of his burnt chest that was hidden under his jacket with a slight cough. "I'm doing fine, thank you," he replied simultaneously hoping that voice was deep enough to pass as a short adult and ignoring Arcee's subtle twitch at his words. He gestured at the cyclebot and said, "Park her close. I won't be long."
The valet chuckled. "No one stays in a casino for a short time, sir."
Jack walked away to the entrance. "I'll be the first to do so then."
The valet shook his head as he mounted the motorcycle. "Good luck," he said, though Jack had already entered the casino. The valet settled back on the young man's exquisite bike and attempted to start it. The problem was, the bike wasn't starting. Frowning, the valet tried again to no avail. Removing himself from the seat, the valet tried to wheel it away. The bike didn't budge, even though the kickstand was up. It was as if the wheels had locked up.
The valet had been parking cars for five years without fail, and he wasn't going to let some oversized bike beat his record. Glaring at the navy two-wheeler, the valet cracked his knuckles. "That's how you want to play it? Bring it."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Jack weaved between patrons, employees, and waitresses as he followed the signal through the spacious Luxor Casino. Ignoring the pain in his body, and ignoring the looks his cast attracted, Jack doggedly followed the signal to a point of ten feet. There the scanner began a low beeping.
Jack looked up just as the two dark suited men looked up and saw him. They all locked eyes before Jack's attention was drawn to the suitcase sitting on a chair next to the pair.
On a silent agreement, Jack turned a walking rapidly towards the nearest restroom. At the same time the two men stood up. One, a tall man with a gear tattoo grabbed the suitcase and both began to walk after the teen at a steady pace. The other man, a shorter person with large hands, made sure that the bulge in his suit was not visible.
Jack reached into his pocket with his good hand and slipped his trusty pocketknife into his sleeve. His face was determined and cold. As he entered the washroom he whispered, "Bring it."