The Energon Pub

(Author's note: Hey Everybody! So this is the story I use for Seibertron's HMW, and I wanted to flesh it out a bit more because I thought it was a really cool concept. Below you'll find a Bio/prologue for the main character, Aston Beta, and then an excerpt a chapter or two into the story. If it goes over well, I plan to release a chapter every week or two. I've never written TF fiction before, so let me know what you think! Enjoy!)

(PROLOGUE)
Formed deep in the heart of Cybertron by Alpha Trion himself, Aston Beta started his life as a part of an elite espionage group, Project 12. They were tasked with some of the hardest missions Autobots had ever been given, but they took them in stride. Whether it was taking out a high-profile Decepticon target, or going deep into enemy lines to uncover that last needed piece of Top Secret info, Aston and his boys would get the job done. Not many knew of the group. Even Alpha Trion's closest advisers didn't know the whole story. That's just how Aston wanted it. No "Heroic nonsense", just getting the job done for the good of Cybertron and it's people. Working in the shadows, backstage. He was a major player in the world they didn't see. This all changed when the order came to disband Project 12.

One of the members had gotten too careless with the information he was trusted with and let it slip; what he was a part of, what they did, who was involved, and how long they had been doing it for. Of course, info spreads faster than fire, especially when the Decepticons are after it. Soon pictures of all 5 members went viral. Their names and addresses were soon in the hands of every Decepticon on the planet. So Alpha Trion thought it would be much safer for everyone involved to go into hiding.

So that's where he's been. For the last millennia Aston Beta has fallen back on his roots, keeping a low profile in the ugliest parts of Cybertron, acting whenever he's needed, turning into Cybertron's secret vigilante. Never keeping a permanent address, constantly on the move. He still obeys Alpha Trion's advice, however: "Don't try to connect with anything from your old life. It's a easy trail for Decepticons to follow. Don't revisit the places you've been, don't say anything, and absolutely do not contact anyone from the team." And he hasn't. Yet.


(Exerpt a couple Chapters into the book)
They reentered the landscape of Desacrus, a completely different world than the bright, shiny, Utopian Iacon that was just a few clicks to the north. As they exited the overgrown courtyard entrance to Longshot's apartment, they found themselves crammed into a tight market place, full of the roughest variety of Cybertronians. Some kept their rusty heads down and carved their ways through the crowd quickly, even wearing cloaks to shield their faces, while others sat against the walls, begging for any small scraps of Energon passersby might be willing to share. Neon light from the row of vendor's booths bathed the wet streets and the robots within them in a blue tint.

"Bring back any memories, Beta?" Longshot prodded.
"Mmm," Beta chimed back, "This is practically my natural habitat."

He smiled. He and his two companions practically ate, slept, and breathed locations like this: Rough towns where any and all info you could possibly want could be found and acquired...for a price. It was the first time the three of them had been together in more rotations than Beta could count. While it was dangerous to be together again, he couldn't have felt better. Though, he wondered how they would fair in a place like this now, having been out of work (and out of shape) for many cycles.
While trying to draw the least amount of attention to his party as possible, he couldn't resist prying a bit more to know what his old friends had been doing all this time.

"Well, we actually accidentally ran into each other..." Longshot began.
"That's not true...mostly. It just so happens that most of our main old info contacts are still alive and kicking." Deadbolt corrected. "A certain one had been keeping a special eye out for any of us as soon as we just dropped off the face of the planet. When that happened, he knew something had gone south."
"No, Server? That old scrap cube?" Beta asked with amusement.
"The very same. He happened to have spotted a certain robot here..." He gestured toward Longshot. "in this general vicinity. That's when we ran into each other. I knew if I hung around for long enough, I'd spot him eventually."
"Yep, then we started plotting." Longshot picked up. "Contacting as many still-trust worthy members of 12 as we possibly could. Finding their whereabouts, status, etc."
"But why do all this?" Beta asked. "We were given specific instructions to not contact each other. It puts us all at risk."
"Something's...happened. Something's wrong." Deadbolt explained, avoiding a puddle of acid that was running down the street. "We're not sure what, but we needed help. We contacted others, but..." He fell quiet and lowered his head.
Beta had accidentally ended up only partly paying attention to what his friends were saying. Something was wrong. Something had been listening. He felt optics searing into the back of his head, belonging to someone with specific interest in them. If we've already been identified this early... he thought.

He motioned for his partners to be quiet as they reached a cross street, built for citizens who preferred to travel in their alt modes. "Later." he hissed. They continued for the rest of their journey in silence. They had all been working together long enough to know each other's cues, no questions asked.

. . .

T-07 had seen the Cybertronian he was following enter the courtyard of a run-down apartment building, then leave with two others he quickly identified as robots of interest, belonging to the same violent gang as the first. Them all meeting again was worrisome, not only for the drone's mission, but for the Decepticons entirely. T-07 had accessed a Decepticon databank on Project 12, the gang these characters belonged to. He knew what crimes had been committed, he knew what they were capable of. Still, he had taken down stronger targets, but he knew he had to act now, before any more of this gang came out of the woodwork. Three he could handle, but more...

T-07 tracked them like a dog as the made their way through the marketplace, hidden amongst the crowds clamoring around assorted street vendors in their rusting metal booths. The steam that rose from the vents in the street helped to conceal his presence. He noticed the group was talking, but he was just too far to hear. He had to move closer. He left the crowd to keep up with his targets, a risky but necessary move. Suddenly, the group ahead stopped, with his original target turning to survey the area. He had gotten too close. He instinctively turned and made it appear he was chatting with members of the crowd behind him. Peering over his shoulder, he saw that his targets had moved on, crossing a street, but this time in silence. He had blown the chance for some additional intel, but that wouldn't matter in time. He continued to follow, this time maintaining a safe distance, keeping his head down, never losing them. Eventually, though, they ducked into a side alley. He followed, but passed the alley, looking down it as he walked by. They were gone.

It made no sense, he wasn't far enough behind for them to have reached the other end of the alley without him spotting them... He turned around and journeyed down the alley himself, looking for any exits around halfway down. Then, he spotted it: an abandoned pub, nearly perfectly in between the two ends of the alley. He had found his targets again.