Yeah, it's been a really long time since this one was updated, I know. (I'm trying to keep up with writing an all, but honestly my life has gotten very busy lately, so I can only focus on one or two stories at a time these days. On the upside though, I might've gotten a second job! Just waiting on the call from the human resources people, really.)
This takes place directly after the final chapter of "Season Two" of Beast Saga, where Archadis's ship has landed on the Maximal-controlled Cybertron. (Of course, he doesn't know he's got Arcee and Wheeljack/Snarl in the hold, hiding).
Big Bar Fight - apologies to Firefly
For all his roguish behavior, Archadis ran a tight ship. He didn't let his Predacons fight, and he didn't tolerate mutiny. That being said, the newest occupants of the Lucky Draw were coming dangerously close to breaking those rules.
Shokaract had been allowed out of his lab/cell to see Cybertron as they landed - a decision that had not been popular with, well, anyone. In particular, the "Mayhem Squad" (he was going to have to find them a better team name. They weren't going to intimidate anyone that way!) stood as far away from Shokaract as the main deck would allow and shot murderous glares in his direction. For his part, the crablike scientist stared right back with something cruel and calculating in his gaze.
Archadis decided he did not like the way the hulking fellow was looking at the one called Blackarachnid. Oh, he didn't doubt she could hold her own in a fight, but as captain it was part of his job to prevent fights from starting in the first place. Somehow he doubted that the restraining order with Megatron's signature on it was going to mean much to Shokaract. Not after he'd blown up several Decepticon mines for no discernible reason.
The captain rested his chin on one clawed hand and frowned at the sight before him. One of the Cruellock members of his crew passed by, and he caught her arm. "Stomp, lass, would you do me the most tremendous favor?"
The gray-green Irritator Challengeri halted by his chair and tilted her helm. "Aye, Captain? What is it then?"
Archadis stood, coming up to Stomp's shoulder, and nodded discreetly towards Blackarachnid. "Do you see that frightfully angry creature by the viewport? Well she seems to have some kind of history with our resident mad scientist. I know she didn't come with our crew: that poor Decepticon's been experimented on."
Stomp raised an eye ridge and glanced coolly in the direction of Shokaract. "I take it he's the moldy chancer that did it?" she said in a tone of disgust.
Archadis frowned again and crossed his arms. "That's just it. I don't know! I'd have thought that was more Shockwave's line of work, but he got sent back to the other Cybertron. Allspark only knows where this dreadful creature came from, but he's made it quite clear that he enjoys experimenting with angolmois. Whoever he was before, angolmois made him what he is now."
Archaeopteryx and Spinosaurus cast distrustful glances in Shokaract's direction, not even trying to be subtle about it. No one else was, after all. "Well then, what do you want me to do about the snake, like?" Stomp shifted to look down at her captain.
"Nothing yet," he murmured, "Not until we've more than enough reason. But if things should come to blows between Shokaract and the Mayhem Squad, I want you to be in Blackarachnid's corner. She looks as though she could use an ally or two."
"Are you sure she wouldn't just kill said ally?" Stomp asked dryly.
"No, no…" Archadis studied the magenta femme, optics twitching back and forth. He spoke almost more to himself than to Stomp. "I was where she is now, once upon a time. Behind all that anger, and show of cruelty, I think she's probably frightfully lonely." He chuckled. "It might take her a while to realize that, of course, but for now just be ready to take her side in a fight." Stomp saluted and headed for the cargo bay with the rest of the crew, ready to head out on a brief shore leave.
Archadis elbowed Doom-lock as he strutted past, a heavy crate on one shoulder and jauntily whistling The Empyrean Suite. "You and Blackout stick close by Shokaract when we get to The Widow's, alright? For all that I'd just as soon dump his chassis on the nearest moon and leave him, I don't want him starting any fights and getting us arrested."
"Roger that, boss," Doom-lock yawned. He set the crate down and strolled over to Shokaract and the Mayhem Squad and ushered them out of the main part of the ship with little preamble.
Arcee slid out of the ventilation duct as the ship emptied. Arms crossed, she perused the data left on the screens of the ship. As Wheeljack, in Snarl-mode, exited a storage chamber he'd squeezed himself into at the beginning of the voyage, Arcee spoke casually over her shoulder.
"You'd think a mercenary like Archadis would be a little more careful about leaving his records unattended. Looks like he's planning to rejoin Galvatron's forces on Earth. That's good for us."
"Because that's where the kids are?" Snarl guessed, transforming into his bipedal mode. The compartment had been horribly cramped, and he could barely feel his extremities.
"Exactly." Arcee cast a glance back towards the open cargo bay and frowned. "Hmm."
"What?"
"It's probably nothing," she mused, "But I don't really like the idea of the Predacons and Airachnid being out there without us knowing what's going on."
Snarl shrugged. "So we follow them. There, solved that problem."
Arcee snorted and rolled her optics. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't exactly blend in around here. You go ahead of me, for once you'll attract less attention. I'll have to rely on some old Cyber-ninja training to get to this bar they said they were going to."
Carefully, the two Autobots slipped into the shadows and left the ship. Sticking to the shadows, they kept pace with the procession of Predacons, who were too elated by the idea of shore leave to be concerned with listening audial receptors.
As they walked, Shokaract's mind raced. He'd thought having the Mayhem Squad banished alongside him would prevent him from facing the Decepticons' wrath, as they would never learn what he had done to Airachnid. Now he was faced with another dilemma: the crew of the Lucky Draw had made it very clear that he was trusted little and liked even less. He was larger and stronger than most of them, but they had the advantage of numbers and more sophisticated technology, and he could not afford to make them angry while they still served a purpose. If "Blackairachnid" were to reveal her origin - the fact that she was still sentient and independent baffled and intrigued him, but he was clearly not going to get a chance to run any tests on her neural net - it was no great stretch of the imagination to assume that the Predacons would demand some kind of retribution. A fair amount of them, he'd noticed, seemed to suffer from a deplorable excess of compassion. Hardly becoming in mercenaries, much more so in mercenaries descended from Decepticons!
A cursory scan in fleeting moments in the corridor of the ship had revealed to Shokaract that there was still a fraction of his software left in "Blackairachnid"'s processor, just enough to override certain memories if forced. He could not afford the Predacons knowing he was also Shockwave, or his plan would be discovered long before he was ready! Shokaract resolved to wait until they were indoors, and then burn out the last piece of software and destroy the memory of seeing him transition from Shockwave to Shokaract and back. It was a desperate move, and would mean that he was sacrificing any further attempts at manipulating her mind, but to preserve his main goal, sacrifices had to be made. He could come up with some other explanation that she would no longer be able to refute, something these sentimental beast-mechs would accept.
For all that Stanix had a substantial Predacon population, it was nothing so ill-kept or degrading as the Around Cybertron news crews tended to portray. Though narrow, the alleys between buildings were clean, and the evening was lit with the glow of electronic lights. In fact, it bore a striking resemblance to the Cybertron that Breakdown had grown up on, if one excluded the window-gardens, and overhanging mountains. For a moment, he even forgot to fix a hateful gaze on the back of Shokaract's helm as they walked.
"It's...it's pretty," he said with some surprise, "I kinda thought I was gonna hate it."
Doom-lock chuckled from behind him. "Just you wait until you get a load of the energon waterfalls up in those mountains."
The Mayhem Squad shot interested looks at each other, and a smirk tugged at the corner of Blackairachnid's mouth. "What do you think, boys?" she asked teasingly, "Fresh world, fresh start, opportunity in the mountains?"
Saberback stretched as he walked, grinning wide. "You sound like a human." He yelped as she casually struck him across the face and walked on to the front of the line as Crazybolt and Lazorbeak laughed.
She hadn't been kidding about the possibility of making a new life in the mountains. Blackairachnid had plans for her life and they didn't include Shokaract, Autobots, or humans. Here, for the first time since choosing to cast off her past, she felt free. Given that her tormentor still walked three meters behind her, this was quite a statement.
Determined to distance Blackairachnid from Airachnid in all ways save for basic allegiance, the black and magenta femme flung open the doors of The Widow's Cafe and sauntered in, drawing stares. It was almost worthy of an audible snicker to see Killer Punch and the others slipping meekly in behind her. The slight tension in the atmosphere evaporated instantly as Archadis walked in and waved cheerily to the bartender.
"Drinks all around tonight, Pathfinder! We've had a very good week."
The blue and yellow minibot - someone reminiscent of a scarab beetle in shape - giggled and waved back in acknowledgement. "You're in luck, bright-eyes," she drawled, "Shipments just came in from the main Kaon Imports hub, so everything's stocked up. Find a seat, somebody'll get to ya eventually."
The crew of the Lucky Draw - plus their several Decepticon "extras" - took a side room in the cafe. Once seated, the collected mechs and femmes stared awkwardly at each other for several minutes. Now that they were out of the line of sight of the rest of the cafe, inter-group tensions were beginning to rise once more. In particular, Shokaract seemed to be attempting to drill a hole through Blackairachnid's helm with just his optics.
For her part, the spidery soldier had her helm clasped in her hands and had her denta gritted as though she were suffering some kind of headache. Each of Blackairachnid's reptilian comrades had fists clenched or weapons drawn with knowing looks cast in Shokaract's direction. Finally, Gore-drip could stand it no longer.
"Alright, 'Cons," he groaned, and he slapped a hand down on the tabletop for emphasis. "Once and for all, let's get this over with. What did he do to her, what did she do to him, and was it at all justified at the time? Murder isn't generally allowed in places like this, so if one of you kills another in here and we all get kicked out, you'd better have a blasted good reason."
Archadis put a hand on Gore-drip's arm, silencing him. "Not appropriate, shipmate," he said softly, but with a touch of steel in his voice. "It was a Tarantulas/Grotusque situation. That's all you need to know."
The Dive-bomb winced at the mention of his former comrade and stuttered some half thought-up apology. Blackairachnid hissed something through her teeth, but it was impossible to tell if it was in response to the apology or to whatever was causing the pain in her processor. Under the table, Killer Punch noticed her claws beginning to dig into her palms, so he reached over and laced his servos through hers.
"Need a stress ball?" he asked over a private comm link.
"Feels like a virus in my prefrontal cortex. I'm trying to run a diagnostic, but the programs are lagging." her words were terse and without emotion.
"I don't like the sound of that. We'll have Fractyl take a look once we hit the road, wherever-it-is we're headed. In the meantime, if you want to take the pain out on my servos, it won't hurt my feelings."
Blackairachnid would have smirked if her helm didn't hurt so bad. Killer Punch's well-intentioned offer - though probably just out of a desire to look after his crew - came across as rather juvenile flirting. "Why Killer Punch," she cooed with some effort, "If you just wanted a hand to hold, you should've said! I'd have cut off Saberback's so you could have one!"
Shokaract had no idea who "Tarantulas" or "Grotusque" were, but by the looks he was getting, he needed to defend himself before some Predacon took it upon themselves to stick an energon blade in his spark while he was recharging. Conspicuously, Shokaract cleared his vents and shifted in his seat as though he were uncomfortable. He channeled all of Shockwave's cold cunning to form a response.
"You know, I'm not certain who you're talking about, but I've the distinct feeling that this Tarantulas fellow was the sort to willingly experiment on another, incentive not provided."
All optics were on the crablike mech as he leaned back in his seat and surreptitiously ordered a Sirian Brandy off the electronic menu - not that he had any idea what it was supposed to be.
"Oh, you mean like you?" Blackairachnid snarled, servos clenched into fists, nearly crushing Killer Punch's hand. "Don't think I don't remember you standing over that pod with that goo, messing with my head."
Shokaract affected a guilty manner and shifted his multiple optics away. "I'll admit, I probably shouldn't have found that as fascinating as I did. But on the whole, I'd rather that wasn't attributed to my own decidedly unusual scientific methods and mannerisms. I was, after all, acting under duress. You know as well as I that Shockwave is not the sort of Decepticon you want to cross!"
Archadis frowned. "Perhaps this isn't the most proper time or place to discuss-"
Blackairachnid cut him off with a wave of her hand. "No. We're getting this out in the open right now. You can decide then whether or not this scum lives."
"There a problem here, loves?" a cool voice asked.
A slim femme in indigo and scarlet leaned on the open doorway of the side room, a bored expression on her faceplates. It was Crystal Widow, the proprietor of the bar. Archadis rose and bowed politely.
"Not at all, dear lady. We've just picked up some new crewmembers, that's all, and they're working out past grievances so that we don't have any physical altercations."
Crystal Widow smirked, and the collected Predacons were struck by her striking resemblance to Blackairachnid. "Well, if that's all then, y'all ready to order? I know Tall Dark and Gruesome here already did." She set down the beaker she'd been holding in front of Shokaract and took the rest of the crew's orders individually, stating that Pathfinder was too busy at the bar to come to the table.
She grinned when she came to Blackairachnid, and leaned her weight back onto one foot. "Well! Nice to see another Arachnacon around these parts!" With a self-deprecating laugh, she tilted her helm back dramatically. "I was beginning to think I was fated to be the only tragically beautiful Cybertronian left in this dump!" Crystal Widow handed over the menu. "What'll it be, gorgeous?" she chuckled.
Her frame-sister perused the list for a moment, still keeping most of her attention on Shokaract, then leaned back, ordering on a whim. "Decanter of Engex, two shots of oil and a shot of nucleon. Shaken, not stirred, slice of chrome-alloy on the side."
Archadis's metal brows nearly met the edge of his helm. "You certainly know the high-grade stuff, don't you?"
Arcee had been right. Snarl caught no more than two half-interested stares as he entered the Widow's Cafe and took a seat at the bar. He could see some of Archadis's crew off in a side room, but no one who would recognize him was sitting at the right angle to see him.
"Hey cher, you gonna order or what?" Pathfinder sighed, cleaning a glass. Snarl's audial fins twitched, slightly embarrassed.
"Right. Sorry. Engex, if you got it?" he slid an energon credit chip he'd stolen from the Lucky Draw across the counter with a charming grin.
Arcee had taken a position on the roof of the establishment, keeping an optic on everyone who entered or exited. Given her very non-animal appearance, she'd have blown their cover just by walking through the door. As Snarl tried to inconspicuously spy on the Predacons in the side room, Arcee silently moved to crouch near the window, listening in on the solemn conversation within.
"What happened to you was very unfortunate, Aira- sorry, you've changed that name, now haven't you? All the same, if you want someone to blame for it all you need look no further than Shockwave! I was just a Decepticon with an interest in science before, you know. Nameless, faceless, like our friends the Mayhem Squad." Shokaract was saying, waving his claw in protest.
Oblivious to the Autobot on the other side of the window he leaned against, Blackout snorted. "Yeah right. How does a Decepticon drone turn on his cause like that? I ain't convinced pal."
Shokaract made a face and shrugged, sipping at his drink. Well, it wasn't energon, that was for sure, but he couldn't say he didn't like it. "It started innocently, of course." He made an attempt at a bitter laugh. "These things always do, don't they? It was 'help me research the substance known as "angolmois", soldier', and 'make a list of the side effects of angolmois, if any, displayed by the Mayhem Squad, soldier', and I got to work with equipment and information I never would have had the clearance to touch before."
He took another sip of the Sirian Brandy. "But then one night I was scheduled to bring him some data, and it was the night the Autobots and Mayhem Squad fought him in the cave - oh, didn't hear about that, did you? No, I expect you didn't."
Crazybolt made a face. "I remember that night, I didn't see any drones there."
"No, because you lot had made good your escape right before the tanks blew. Naturally, that was when I chose to enter the cave, as did a rather large earth shellfish - or is it an insect? I'm not an expert on organic life - and hence Shokaract was born. Oh, but Shockwave was still observing it all, so very watchful with that hateful optic of his." The deceitful mech now had his audience's attention, and he poured all his guile into his tale, playing the role of the abused henchman perfectly.
"He found me the next day, and from then on it was 'Do as I say, Shokaract, or I'll turn you over to Megatron and say it was you that stole the angolmois'. The demands grew more extreme, more uncomfortable."
" 'Test this serum on yourself, Shokaract. You know I've only to send a signal and Megatron will know about you.' 'Kill the Autobot femme poking around the old lab, Shokaract, and bring me her body'. I was almost pleased when she escaped, since Shockwave went without his ghoulish prize. Of course, he just found a substitute. 'Bring me the traitor Airachnid, Shokaract. Experiment on the traitor, Shokaract,' 'Remember, I've got my claw on the comm signal, Shokaract.' 'Build the cerebellum-blocker, Shokaract.' It was a nightmare."
"Oh, I'm so sorry for you," Blackairachnid snapped sarcastically, "Poor baby."
She couldn't exactly fault his reasoning, however. "Save your own skin" was practically the second-most important tenet of the Decepticons, right after "Never question Megatron". It was an uncommon tale, but not an implausible one. If only she could remember what had happened in the caves, she would have some idea of whether or not to believe him! But for some reason, her memory banks were showing nothing but error messages. It couldn't have been forgotten, or erased. It almost seemed as though she had taken some damage to her pre-frontal cortex. Troubling, but she would have to look into it later.
"Now, where did blowing up Decepticon mines come into this?" Fractyl mused, "Couldn't have been once the experimentation was done, because we interrupted the "beta test", so to speak."
Shokaract shook his helm. "No, you're right." He had no need to scramble for an excuse: he'd long since had one prepared. "But Shockwave couldn't monitor me all the time. I believe it would be fair to say I was...rather disillusioned with the whole Decepticon cause by then. So I played the good little lab assistant and did lots of….very questionable things, scientifically speaking. But when he wasn't there, I'd run off and cause trouble for him. I thought if I started enough fires, Soundwave would come poking around and find the secret testing site."
"Yeah, how'd that work out for you?" Doom-lock sneered.
"Badly," Shokaract answered, in seeming perfect candor. "All past research aside, no sooner did Shockwave figure out where I'd been slipping off to than he turned me over to Megatron. Of course," the gruesome mandibles spread into a sinister grin, "I didn't exactly make it easy for them to bring me in. Shockwave actually had to do some of the heavy lifting for once!"
Suddenly eager to hear this part of the tale, Saberback leaned forward. "Yeah? What happened? Please tell me somebody actually managed to land a blow on that smug cyclops!"
"Ah, if only!"
A little of Shockwave's natural pride came to the forefront now. He couldn't have the Predacons thinking he was so easily dealt with! No, that wouldn't do at all.
"I'm afraid Shockwave is far more canny and skilled than his appearance would suggest. No, he beat me soundly, then when he was done Megatron added a few blows and nearly tore off one of my legs. They took a day or two to patch me up at least a little before marching me off to exile."
It was a rather anti-climatic ending to the story, and with that, the rest of the drinks arrived. There were a few miraculous moments of silence until the varying ranges of intoxication began to kick in. Seats shifted, names were exchanged, and the tension began to lift. Before long, an air of friendly camaraderie began to drape itself over the side room, even among the more surly members. Fractyl and Lazorbeak found themselves dragged into a "Flyers-Only" card game with Blackout, Gore-drip, and another Dive-bomb named Zipper - yes, they'd all agreed, it was a fairly unfortunate designation to have, if one had any knowledge of earthling apparel.
Bazooka frowned into his mug and never took his optics off of Shokaract. There was something about the tale that rang false to the usually-gentle listener, but for the spark of him he could not place it! Bazooka had no love for the former Airachnid, no reason to protect her. But Killer Punch was his friend, had been his friend for many years, and Killer Punch cared for the femme. That alone was cause enough to keep a watchful optic on this mutated scientist - who had already proven to have a sadistic streak.
"You don't care scads the blackguard either, I see."
Stomp had left her seat by the open doorway and sat down next to Bazooka, across from Blackairachnid. "Why the cap saw fit to take a chancer like that aboard, I'll never know, but if he comes near me, I'll whack his head off an' I won't be sorry," The blue-gray femme shrugged coolly and spun a mini-cube of energon on one servo-tip.
Blackairachnid snorted. "Easier said than done. That armor of his is fairly thick. Even Arcee and a Prime had a tough time knocking him down."
Stomp rolled her optics. "Arcee? You mean that uptight little two-wheeler we met in the cave battle?"
"That's the one!" Blackairachnid growled. Then, remembering who she was - and was not - supposed to be, she loosened her posture. "She's an old nemesis of mine. Well, we're here now, so I guess it'd be ex-nemesis, wouldn't it?"
"Nah," Doom-lock drawled from the next table over, "Ya never forget your best nemesis. I've had some real whoppers, too. Compare notes?"
Chair legs screeched across the pockmarked metal floor as Bazooka found himself in the middle of a "Bad ex-nemesis comparison club" of sorts. It was bewildering for a former Drone, to say the least, and he was fairly uncomfortable. His plate-armor tail, currently forming most of his right arm, rippled in a state of mild agitation as he tried to block out the enthusiastic conversation in order to focus on the hulking mad scientist three seats away.
Shokaract just watched.
He studied every faceplate, every interaction. A single twitch of a feather, a smirk that didn't reach the optics, any little involuntary tic or nonverbal gesture could mean the key to understanding the mecha that made them. He needed to know the Predacons. To understand each one inside and out, to know their weaknesses and their fears. Shokaract was still Shockwave inside, and Shockwave never stopped planning. They didn't necessarily trust him, and he doubted they ever would. He would certainly never trust them. It would be illogical.
As Shokaract's multiple greenish optics roamed the room, they caught on something just through the open door. With Stomp having moved to sit with his former victim, he now had a clear view of the bar...and of the very familiar mech standing at it, watching him right back.
The Wolf!
A small thrill of panic - an emotion beginning to grow all-too-familiar to the once emotionless being - shot through his spark like a sliver of ice. The wolf was still the only mech who seemed capable of causing him as much pain as Megatron, and unconsciously his hands tightened into fists as he studiously relegated those particular memories to zipped files. How had the wolf even made it to this universe? And had he been alone? There were too many coincidences here.
Something would have to be done about the Autobot.
In the main area of the cafe, two imposing Predacons brooded over their drinks. One appeared to have had the two halves of an enormous nautilus welded to his shoulders, and his arms ended in purple cable-tentacles. Of course, this was entirely due to having an alt-mode more suited to Aquatron than Cybertron. The other, though in his bipedal mode, still looked mostly like a shark.
Shokaract sidled over to their table and cleared his vents.
"Please excuse my interruption, gentlemechs," he said smoothly, "But you look as though you may be the strongest Predacons in the establishment, am I correct?"
The shark with arms puffed up his plating, very proud. "Yar dern right, laddo. Now what's got a fellow shellformer like yaself comin' to Hammerstrike's table, eh?"
In an exaggerated show of humility, Shokaract bowed slightly and motioned to the bar. "Well, mighty Hammerstrike, I merely thought it best to warn you that there is a Maximal standing at the bar."
The nautilus-mech, a bloodthirsty soldier-for-hire who called himself Dead-End, glanced over his shoulder with a bored expression.
"Now now, let's not be racist. Just because it hasn't got a Predacon stamp doesn't mean it's a Maximal. It might be a non-aligned for all you know. They come in here sometimes."
"Yes, I'm sure they do," Shokaract said in a conciliatory way, "But I'm personally familiar with that one. Not only can I assure you that he is a Maximal - and a follower of the old Autobot ways as well - but he is also a bounty hunter, sent here to find the highest ranked Predacon!"
Trap set and baited, Shokaract stepped back a pace or two to wait. He was not waiting for long. The words took only a few seconds to sink into Hammerstrike and Dead-End's heads, and then they were on their pedes in a rage.
"I'm the top of the list, everyone knows that!" Hammerstrike growled, "I'll teach the little dogfish to swim in our waters without permission!"
"Oh please no, not with the metaphors and the puns," Dead-End covered his face with one tentacled hand. "You're not good at this, Hammer."
Hammerstrike ignored this. He stormed over to the bar, where he loomed a good head and shoulders above the canine mech leaning insolently back at the bar. Snarl had witnessed the exchange and had a pretty good guess as to what Shokaract was planning. A little misdirection, a little violence, and he could slip out while his pursuer was - in theory - torn to pieces by a pair of angry fish-pirates. They reminded the Wrecker of Bulkhead's descriptions of Aquatron and the odd forms the near-Cybertronians had chosen.
Snarl braced himself as the two large mechs approached.
"Hey, Maximal scum!"
The nautilus brandished a pair of fists, unwilling to violate Crystal Widow's primary house rule: no blasters. Snarl tensed and raised his own fists, ready to fight. A thick claw closed around his ankle joint and hurled him across the room. Snarl made impact with a frustrated exclamation, scattering patrons and drinks every which way.
"Hey!" one of the displaced patrons stood up, quivering with an unholy rage. "Who do I gotta kill around here to have a quiet drink?!"
"Whoa!" Snarl leaped backwards out of the range of Terrormander's thick arms and pointed to Hammerstrike and Dead-End. "Don't look at me, mech. They're the ones that started it!"
Terrormander turned ever-so-slowly to stare at the two, who pointed back at Snarl.
"He's a Maximal bounty hunter!"
"Then I kill all three of you!" the angry Predacon howled. He drew back a fist, but it was caught in a much larger hand.
"Easy there, bucko." Killer Punch had heard the commotion and eased out of the side room to investigate, most of the rest of Mayhem Squad trailing behind him out of morbid curiosity. He glanced around, not recognizing Snarl, and shook his helm.
"Why don't you sit back down, take a drink. Your yelling is gonna mess with Lazorbeak's card game, and you don't wanna see him when he loses."
But Terrormander was a brash younger mech, a bully who had not been blessed with an overabundance of common sense. He yanked his arm free and drove his fist into Killer Punch's maroon torso plating. It made a muffled tip noise, and the rest of the cafe froze.
It was so quiet that the creaking of neck cables was audible as Killer Punch slowly tilted his helm down to look Terrormander in the optic. "Bad call." he growled.
Seconds later, Terrormander hit the bar, causing Pathfinder to shriek and drop behind it. "No bar fights!" she hollered.
"Yes bar fights!" Saberback whooped, flinging himself headlong into the fray. He ripped up a chair bolted to the floor and swung it back and forth, laughing. Naturally, this caused the altercation between three or four to escalate considerably.
Blackairachnid leaned to one side to glance out the doorway. "Oh this should be interesting," she deadpanned, "I can't wait to see who almost-dies this time."
Bazooka glared at her. "You're not going to help?" he asked pointedly. He was boxed in by seated Predacons, and could not go to his teammates' aid.
"They got themselves into that mess, they can get themselves out of it." Blackairachnid answered coolly.
"Well, I'll go." Stomp stood up and stretched. "I've not done any good punching in ages!"
"I'll go too!" Crazybolt climbed over the tables in the side room, and their occupants, to join the much taller femme at the door. "You never know what kind of knick-knacks a knocked-out 'Con is going to drop!"
Arcee squinted through the window to what little view she had of the main room. It was beginning to look like one of Fowler's old Western movies in there, and Arcee was regretting sending Snarl/Wheeljack in alone.
Not, of course, that her presence would have done them any favors.
She raised a brow in a half-sympathetic wince as Snarl took an elbow to the gut from some smaller, feline Predacon. He abruptly retaliated by shifting into his wolf form and snapping at the mech. Predictably - and oddly cliche - the Predacon yowled and scrambled up onto a table where he sat hissing at Snarl.
The fight got larger and noisier, and Arcee pulled herself up from the window and back onto the sloping, multi-faceted roof. She needed to find a window to the main chamber. If push came to shove, Arcee wanted to be able to shoot into the room without alerting Blackairachnid to her presence. As she walked noiselessly across the plating, she was suddenly caught in a beam of blue light.
"You on the roof: freeze!" a raspy voice commanded.
The speaker was a grey and yellow armored mech about the size of Bumblebee, armed with a Photon burst rifle aimed right at Arcee's helm. The blue light came from a bulb mounted in the grill on the crest of his helm, which looked a little silly all in all. Arcee supposed it was probably removeable.
He had the drop on her, and she didn't have much of a chance to dodge. Not with a Photon burst rifle. Slowly she raised her hands and turned to face the light more fully. It caught her Autobot insignia and sent the reflection bouncing around the alley in four or five pale Autobot marks. The newcomer froze, staring first at the reflections, then at Arcee herself.
"You're not a Predacon!" he managed to say after a few moments of nothing but awkward static. "You're not even a Maximal! Are you Velocitronian?"
"None of the above," she answered dryly. "Can I come down, or are you going to start shooting?"
The second the stranger lawered the rifle, she launched herself into the air and landed gracefully in front of him. Arcee kept her stance loose, ready to fight or to flee as needed.
"I'm an Autobot." She would've been lying if she'd said she hadn't enjoyed the spark of awe and astonishment that flickered through the mech's optics. "My designation is Arcee, and no, I'm not as old as you think."
The rifle clattered to the ground as the mech took her hand in his and shook it vigorously before saluting. "No kidding! It's an honor, Arcee. I used to read about your adventures a lot when I was a youngling. Detective Solid Bullet, at your service."
"A detective, huh?" Arcee stooped to pick up the Photon burst rifle and handed it back to Solid Bullet, taking note of the Maximal brand displayed prominently on his upper arms. "This doesn't exactly seem like a Maximal-friendly neighborhood, y'know."
Solid Bullet shrugged and slung the rifle up to rest on one shoulder. "It isn't. Most cops plan their routes to avoid this neighborhood, just because of all the anti-Maximal sentiment. But I grew up around here. I can handle it."
Both Cybertronians took a step back as a window shattered, sending some poor spark flying out of the cafe and onto the street. Crystal Widow could be heard yelling indignantly from within, over the racket. Arcee shook her helm in wonder.
"Well, Detective, are you on a case now, or do you think you could help me extract a friend of mine from that mess?"
Solid Bullet squinted through the broken window at the brawl, then chuckled. "I'm actually not on a case. We're shorthanded at the local station, so I'm pulling double duty as street patrol tonight - and you're lucky it is night, or the flares from the sun would be wreaking havoc on your non-organic components. I don't think we need to worry about the fight: Crystal Widow's mad, and when she gets angry, everyone runs."
"Yeah, about that…" Arcee scowled and powered up her blasters. "Everyone also includes a crew of Predacons with fugitive Decepticons I'm tracking. We're hoping they'll have a way of getting us to Earth."
Before Solid Bullet could reply, Arcee hopped through the broken window and into the press of bodies, looking for Snarl. There was enough chaos that no one took much notice of her.
"Why I decided to take a full crew, I'll never know!" Archadis muttered to himself.
When it had just been Doom-lock, Blackout, and himself, bar fights were easy to avoid and easier to sneak away from. Now he had a crew of almost thirty, plus seven ex-Decepticons, all of whom he still needed to take to his private arms dealer before returning to Earth….and said dealer kept very particular hours. Besides that, he had been to Crystal Widow's cafe more times than he could count, and he knew all too well what happened full-blown brawls broke out: she brought up the ion displacer.
"Alright, everyone not fighting, go find a crewmember that is fighting and drag them out the back door!" the captain grumbled to those remaining in the side room. "You are free to use any means necessary, but I want them alive. No disintegrations this time, please."
Fractyl raised a claw tentatively. "Ah...most of the crewmates are much larger than me. How am I supposed to convince them to sneak out the back, exactly?"
Archadis shrugged sharply, already in a foul mood. "Do what you have to do. Stun them, poison them, bash them in the head, I don't care, just make sure they know we're leaving in ten minutes! Hellbat closes his shops in three hours, and if we Bridge, we'll just be able to make it."
Shokaract waded into the mess, and returned with a Cruellock in each claw. It was infuriatingly undignified, of course, but the more he proved his usefulness, the more trust he would hopefully earn. He passed Killer Punch on the way and glanced over at him in a condescending manner.
"If you could perhaps be bothered to leave off with your barbaric behavior for a moment, the good captain wishes to go." he sneered.
Instantly, Killer Punch dropped the Predacon he'd been throttling and sounded a piercing whistle. "Show's over, Squad, let's go!"
Crazybolt hastily shoved a purse full of energon chips into his subspace compartments and made a playful salute. No one had even noticed him crawling around and robbing those who had been knocked into stasis. Stomp and Saberback were a little harder to convince, but eventually, threatening and cajoling by turns, the crew managed to coax the combatants outside.
Arcee slipped quietly through the mayhem left behind, looking for Snarl. She found him standing on a heap of stasis-locked Predacons, drinking some sort of glowing orange liquid out of a mug.
"Having fun?" she asked flatly. Before he could answer, she motioned to the crowd. "Where's Archadis? And his crew?"
The canine Autobot looked around, and his audial fins visibly drooped when he realized they were nowhere to be seen. "Ah….look, this was my bad….we should go back to the ship before they leave, right?"
Wordlessly, Arcee grabbed Snarl's arm and dragged him out the door. Outside, Solid Bullet was waiting with a bemused expression. "You're still here?" the femme asked, a little surprised.
Solid Bullet sighed, helm drooping. "I ended up calling the fight in. They said since I was dumb enough to patrol this part of town alone, I get to take care of any arrests I might want to make by myself."
Snarl blinked. "Wait, seriously? They sent a - it's Maximal, right? - into this mess without backup?"
"Yes, well, that's what you get when you tick off the chief." Solid Bullet waited until he heard Crystal Widow firing the ion displacer. "Well, she seems to have the situation well in hand. There's never any repeat offenders at CW's place."
His next words were drowned out by the roar of an engine as the Lucky Draw rose above the buildings of the small village.
"Oh no," Snarl's jaw dropped.
"Scrap!" Arcee gritted her denta, unable to do anything but watch as the internal Bridge mechanism kicked in, coating the ship in a blanket of green light. In seconds, it was gone.
Arcee did not speak. She walked away from Solid Bullet and Snarl and ripped a piece of siding off the wall of the cafe, which she very slowly and methodically began to tear into tiny pieces. She looked back at the mechs, expressionless.
"We...really needed to be on that ship." Snarl managed to croak after a few seconds.
Solid Bullet walked cautiously towards Arcee and held out a hand. "Look, obviously this is really important to you, or you wouldn't be this upset. I have a buddy stationed on Earth. If you come down to the station with me, I can maybe work something out."
"Thanks, Detective," Arcee said with a touch of bitterness in her voice, "But unless you have a Space Bridge waiting, we're not going to be able to get there."
The armadillo glanced around the alleys and streets and frowned. "Hey look, this isn't the neighborhood to be talking in, but we'll figure something out at the station. Come on." He beckoned to them once or twice before Snarl and Arcee gave up and followed him to an anti-grav cruiser. "No vehicle modes," he joked, "We have to have something else to haul in suspects with."
The ride to the dingy station - formerly the wartime Decepticon stronghold, Fort Scyk - was tense and silent. Solid Bullet wasn't sure why this Autobot and her apparently Maximal companion needed to get to Earth so badly, but he understood - better than most, in fact - the feeling of being so close to accomplishing something, only to have it ripped away at the last moment.
The hovercraft floated to a smooth stop at a landing pad in front of the repurposed fortress. It hummed as it powered down, and a shallow depression in the ground expanded slightly beneath it. The skiff settled into the indentation and collapsed into a flat hexagon of metal. Once its passengers stepped off, it locked into place in a complex anti-theft setting.
The detective waved the two Autobots in after him as he entered a hive of activity. For all that the Maximal police had been thoroughly inactive in the Predacon village, they were all too busy at the station - though very obviously shorthanded. It didn't take long for Arcee to start catching stares, and by the time they'd made it to a short doorway with Solid Bullet's name next to it, all activity had ceased. Solid Bullet shooed them inside and turned to face the gawkers.
"Whatsamatter with you?" he demanded, "You never see a Velocitronian before? Tourism ain't illegal, you know."
One of the officers made a vague gesture towards the office. "Sol, Velocitronians don't visit Cybertron. The energon-magenetite pulses mess up anyone without a beast-mode, remember?"
"If you're outside, yes. And if the part of the planet you're standing on is facing the sun, yes." Solid Bullet rolled his optics. "Pssh. Amateurs." He stepped into his office and the door swished shut behind him.
"Sorry about that," he leaned against the desk and shrugged apologetically. "They should leave you alone now."
He shuffled through a stack of datapads on his desk in a half-attentive way, stopping to read one of them. He grimaced, moved it to the back of the pile, and shoved them into a drawer. "Alright!" he said, sitting on the edge of the sturdy, utilitarian furnishing, "Now that we can talk without over-energized Predacons flying through the air around us, why don't you tell me what you need to get to Earth for? Because it takes a lot of red-tape-cutting to pull something like that off."
Snarl ground his denta, ears pinned back. "I don't think you get it. We need to get there yesterday, we got kids waitin' on us!"
Solid Bullet almost fell off the edge of the desk. "By the Allspark! You two have younglings stuck down there? Aw scrap, aw, I'm so sorry! We'll do everything we can to get your sparklings back, don't worry!"
"Wait, wha?" Snarl and Arcee blinked, then their optics met and they understood.
"Gah! Nonono it's not like that!" Arcee squawked.
"No! They're not our kids! Well, they are, but not like that! They're family, let's just stick with that, okay?" Snarl groaned, faceplates planted very firmly in his hands.
"Oh." Solid Bullet's internal fans kicked into high gear, a sign of embarrassment even in Maximals. "I, er - ahem! - sorry, I just assumed. Well, we'll still try to get you to Earth. It'll take a while though."
Arcee shifted her weight to one leg while Snarl began to pace restlessly - here on integrated Cybertron, the Snarl side of him was growing stronger than the Wheeljack side, and it was beginning to show in various wolf-like behaviors.
"How long?" Arcee asked.
Solid Bullet ran a hand over the pebbly scale-like armor on the back of his helm, then blew out a breath. "Look, the thing is, we have a Space Bridge, but it's up in Iacon. That's highly political territory. You don't get to use the Bridge unless you have three layers of permission. Mostly because of the Anthropoid Statute." He shook his head despairingly. "Even after the Wars for Earth and Cybertron, our species is still notoriously xenophobic."
The mech brightened somewhat a second later. "But my buddy stationed on Earth has some pull: he's in a unit with a pretty well-known Convoy. As soon as the planets pass near enough in orbit to establish a stable satellite connection, I can work out permissions and get you where you need to go."
"And if you don't get the permissions?" Arcee's question contained a hint of a challenge, one that Solid Bullet met with a grin.
"I've probably gotten in trouble for worse things than smuggling Cybertronians off-world."
Sparks immeasurably lightened by this news, the three turned to talk of how they would get to Iacon from the edge of Kaon without being noticed - it was a continent away, after all. The armadillo detective tugged at his chin thoughtfully as he looked Snarl over.
"You know, you're going to draw a lot less attention if you're a Maximal."
The Autobot bristled slightly, a little worried about letting his Wheeljack side go forgotten for too long. "Whoa now, bub. Snarl looks Maximal, but under all this fur I'm still a Wrecker!"
Solid Bullet raised his hands placatingly and slid behind the desk in a subtle bid for some distance from the irritated wolf. "Take it easy, mech. I have no idea what you're talking about, I'm just saying that a Maximal badge will give you some standing with local governments. And we would appreciate someone tracking down those pirates you were after." He offered a winning smile.
"So what you're saying is, you're offering to deputize me." Snarl glanced at Arcee with a hint of Miko-like mischief in his optics.
Arcee grimaced, but smiled back. This seemed like it had the potential to go horribly wrong, but so had most of her missions with her former par- no, we're not going down that road right now, 'Cee.
"Essentially, yes." Solid Bullet answered Snarl's earlier question, clearing his vents.
"...Do I have to follow your police protocols?" the wolf-mech squinted at him.
"No, not necessaril-"
"Done! Gimme the badge." Fangs bared in a gleeful grin, Snarl looked for all the world like a youngling on the way to the Old Zoo as Solid Bullet fixed a red Maximal badge to the front of his chestplates.
He admired it for a moment, then looked up at Arcee. "What do you think?" he posed in an intentionally ridiculous manner.
Arcee shrugged. "The wolf's head...on a wolf. It's a little redundant, don't you think?"
"You kiddin' me?" Snarl laughed, "I'm gonna get away with all kinds of scrap with this thing!"
"Uh, no, that's not really how it works," Solid Bullet ventured. "Now we have to make false identities for you two, in case we happen to run into a border patrol in Iacon. Especially since we're saying that Arcee is a Velocitronian tourist."
"Yeah yeah, fake IDs, go for it," a little of Wheeljack's original voice began to leak through in his excitement until Arcee elbowed him in the tank. "I mean, sure. Sounds good. When do we leave for Iacon?"
"Just as soon," the detective said as he fired off a message on his private comm line, "As we get those fake documents. Come on, I clock out in ten minutes."
Arcee and Snarl gratefully accepted a few packs of refined energon to be converted into ammunition for their internal weapons. Neither said anything else as they left the station and got back on the hovercraft, but both were thinking the same thing.
We're coming kids.