Disembarking on Monacus, Octane felt more confident than he had done in years. It had been less than a decade since he had returned to Cybertron to discover that Megatron was back in charge and military service was no longer optional; it felt like centuries. No, the soldier life was not for him.

It was a pity about the company, really. Having a rainmaker as well as Dead End was never going to be a winning combination, but most of the others were stuck in shellshock. He remembered Blitzwing being a lot more fun—or at least easier to provoke—way back when. Astrotrain did not even transform once everybody was out.

"Hey, Astro, are you coming?"

"You don't want me to wait here?"

Military conditioning had a lot to answer for, Octane thought. "Come on! We're gonna find a bar drink a toast to our fallen comrades and then another toast for our future!" And quite possibly some more toasts beyond that. "Ah… I don't suppose any of you have a galactic credit account?"

There were some baffled looks. Megatron had never prioritised a payroll, and some of the seekers had never even been off Cybertron before. Thankfully, Ramjet's competitive streak was dependable. "Of course," he scoffed.

Astrotrain glared suspiciously at him. "You were embezzling from Megatron?"

Ramjet sniffed. "No, just some moonlighting from time to time. Galaxy's a lot more fun when you've got cash to hand."

"Words of wisdom," Octane agreed, benevolent. "Right, first round's on me, second round's on Ramjet." Ramjet looked indignant but could not protest if he was trying to score points off Octane. The triple-changer viewed the expense as an investment; loosen everybody up a bit, and maybe he would be able to get somewhere with them.

A round of drinks—even the cheap and nasty energon Octane ordered—definitely helped. Sure, it made Drag Strip talk more, but it was Dead End who was stuck next to him, and the two had got fixated on giving their fellow Stunticons some truly backhanded eulogies.

"To Motormaster." Dead End raised his glass. "He stripped away our youthful naïveté, our ideals… made me the 'bot I am today."

Drag Strip sorrowfully clinked his glass against Dead End's. "We shoulda had Breakdown here for this. He really had a way with words, y'know?"

They were in the Out of Luck, a no-frills pub in Sheol—Octane was not going to risk Casino Row with this bunch—and he had managed to shepherd the Stunticon memorial service to one end of the bar so Drag Strip's other neighbour was a wall.

At the table nearby, Vortex had pinned one of the seekers in the corner seat. Star Hopper was unfortunate enough to share a colour scheme with Onslaught, so perhaps Vortex was also missing his team. Octane could not hear what the Combaticon was saying, but he was grinning maniacally while Star Hopper's face was a rictus of horror. The rest of the seekers had gathered at a larger table: Ramjet was holding forth on the secrets of the Galaxy, while they drank in his every word.

Leaning against the bar, Octane turned to look at his fellow triple-changers. Blitzwing had managed to relax a little, and Astrotrain was actually smiling. Octane beamed at them. "See fellas? Things aren't so bad after all!"

"O.K. Coming here was a good call," Blitzwing conceded. "But I still don't know what we're gonna do now."

"Have another round! Go on, Ramjet, you're up!" As the jet grudgingly went to the other end of the bar to get the barkeep's attention, Octane took over his audience: "After we've had another drink, we'll get a job! Find a hustle! Earn a dishonest day's pay!"

"We need money…" Astrotrain was waking up to how sheltered his life had been. "But how are we gonna get more?"

It would have been a damn sight easier if they had still had ownership of Gyconi's Pit, Octane thought with some bitterness. He had established that arena centuries ago and made a gift of it to Shockwave, just to keep Cybertron's guardian sweet. Then Megatron woke up, and within a year he had lost it. Some Xetaxxan was running the place now.

Realising his smile had slipped, he firmly plastered it back on. "Astrotrain, you're your own space transport. You were literally made to be a taxi service or courier… You'll have no end of job offers!"

"Yeah, but all we know how to do is fight," Ion Storm said.

"And that, my friend, is the most marketable skill of all," Octane assured him, honestly. Just looking around the room, he could see at least three patrons who would be in need of a bodyguard before the night was over, and on the way here they had passed a shadowy figure who had definitely been recruiting.

"Yeah, some tout gave me a flyer for the Pit," Ramjet added, returning with a tray of drinks. He dumped a piece of paper on the table as well. "Apparently it's open fight night, but it looks like they're still using those Animaliens, so I'd advise against it."

As everybody else lunged for the drinks, Octane picked up the flyer and considered for a moment. Perhaps it was time to come to Star Hopper's rescue.

"Hey, Vortex, old buddy! Have you seen this?"