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South Wing Activity Area

Disappointment washed over Umbra when she heard the voice over the intercom. Despite herself, she had been enjoying speaking to Icepick. There was something to be said for good company, though most Autobots would not consider a Decepticon good company, but they were all prisoners here. All equal. Besides, Icepick and Scowl would not be the first Decepticons that she had become friendly with. Umbra shoved away that idea almost immediately and turned her attention to Scowl.

“I doubt you’ve been out of action longer then we have,” Scowl replied to Umbra. “Did you know, they practically built this place around us.”

Umbra chuckled at that and smiled back at Scowl. "I guess we're all in this together then," she replied. Umbra glanced over at the senior guard when he interrupted their conversation. She nodded to Scowl in response and sighed, "Bah, I was hoping we'd be able to escape his attention for a few more astroseconds."

As Umbra moved to get into line, someone bumped into her. A cold wave of dread washed over her as she recognized the voice that spoke. Oh Primus, please don't let it be her. As Umbra turned to face the speaker, she had to come to terms that it was her. Airachnid. Umbra fought to keep down a groan, making her features unreadable in the process. The recon agent could only wait until Airachnid went away, growing more unsettled by the astrosecond.

When Airachnid finally did move away into the lines, Umbra let herself feel some emotions again. At first, dread was all she felt, but that soon melted away replaced with a sense of resignation. Whatever would come would come. "But hopefully not too soon," Umbra muttered under her breath as she moved into line.

((OOC-Part 1 of Garrus catchup. Part 2 coming soon after.))

South Wing Activity Area

"We're all in the dark, my dear," Icepick said calmly as he nodded at Scowl's urging for them to obediently follow the guard's request. Activity time was valuable, particularly for Icepick. It was a chance to mingle and for this wretched facility to feel not so much like a prison. On the odd occasion that someone disrupted this period, the guards could be sure that it wasn't him.

"Information about the warfront is few and far between here. The war doesn't even exist for me, anymore."

Shrugging, Icepick moved in to follow Scowl.
___

The Greasepit--Garrus-9 North

Activity period was over. That usually meant a shift change. Goldrush didn't follow Maximus' staffing schedules too closely, though he did make a point to schedule an extra tender for the breems surrounding all major shift changes within the facility. He had tended to maximize his profit margins that way. Garrus-9 was a full-orn operating facility, after all. It only made sense for his own establishment to be as well.

"Rung, a pleasure. Always. Imbibing anything in particular today?"

The staff psychoanalyst tended to be one of his better customers. Apart from good conversation, he also had a good taste for both naturals and synthetics. It was a pleasure for Goldrush to serve such individuals.

((OOC-Part-2 of owed posts. Max will get his next.))

Cell Block

The cell door opening and sealing itself shut again was something that Skymauler hadn't heard in a while. Given the violent tendencies of his previous cellmate, the Seeker thought that he might be spared the company of another prisoner to this glorious institution for a good long while. It would appear that this was not his cycle for good favors.

"You must be new," Skymauler said, the slender, radiant-pink and black Cybertronian said, looking across from his own bench to the one that was now occupied by the new mech. Decepticon markings, but Skymauler didn't recognize him. But he had also been locked away in this pit so long that he'd be lucky if he recognized Starscream if the famed Seeker Leader suddenly found himself thrown behind these walls.

No, that was a lie. He would recognize Starscream anywhere. Anytime.

"Welcome to the land that time forgot," Skymauler said, putting his hands back behind his cranial unit and staring up at the ceiling again. It's what he did most of the time. It was maddening. Or at least it used to be, a long time ago. He supposed it was possible that he had lost his mind and simply wasn't aware of it anymore. Stranger things happened behind these walls.

"What are you in for?"
___

Southern Wing Activity Area

"An Autobot who don't play nice with the guards. That's pretty slaggin' rare," another one of the inmates said as he moved to line up with the others and be processed back in to their cells. He looked at the Autobot, Vroom, and smirked a little.

"What happened? You get passed over for promotion by Prowl one too many times?"

Stormwrecker had always found the political dynamics of this prison to make for interesting viewing. It wasn't exactly the gladiator combats of the good old days, but it was close enough. Normally everybody stuck to their own little gang, but he'd watched this one for a while now. And if anything had become evident over time, it was that he just didn't quite blend in with anyone. Not that Stormwrecker could see, anyway.

Cell-Block.

"Half a breem if I get my way"

Counterpunch hadn't spoken to another Decepticon in nearly a thousand years and Skymauler was as good a start as any. From the look of resignation on his face, he has clearly been here for an eternity and would be suitably detached from the rest of his faction to have not the slightest clue who he was. Perfect.

Counterpunch didn't really care though, he was just happy to be in charge again. None of these prisoners had to go through what he endured for almost a thousand years - trapped, disembodied, reduced to a floating conscience dominated by that paranoid fool Punch, but Counter was back in control, and he would make sure it stayed this way. He knew that despite his violent denials, Punch secretly loved his illicit life as a Decepticon, he enjoyed giving over control to his darker side... well now Counterpuch resolved to never pass the reigns back again.

The huge grin at the ironic freedom he was enjoying was hidden by his faceplate and visor, but Counterpunch still turned towards the door and pretended to inspect its construction. He muttered some technical jargon nonsense under his breath. He already knew the entire layout of the whole facility right down to the tensile strength of the rivets in the door to Maximus' office, but he didn't want anyone knowing. The agent part of Punch's personality still held sway there at least, and he knew he could never reveal his passenger - that would be an instant death sentence for both of them - but if he was going to be stuck here for a while, he may as well act the part of the new fish.

He stood silently for a few seconds. He could hear a terrified Punch bemoaning what he had got himself into for the hundred millionth time in the back of his head. He violently quelled his private irritant. Then, still facing the cell door, he replied to Skymauler's question with a simple statement.

"I broke Rule One. I got caught."

Even his voice sounded different. It had an extra modulator so it was different, but it felt.. rusty, as if waking from hibernation for the first time after the longest winter in existence.

"The names Counterpunch and I have two questions." That felt good, just to say his own name felt good.

"First off is who do I see to get fitted up in here? I'm going to need a sun visor if I'm going to have to look at your neon paint job all day, and they took away my polish when I arrived, I can feel myself getting duller by the second."
Counterpunch turned to his new cellmate and sat down on the bunk opposite him. He was thinking for himself. For himself! Punch was still screaming and desperately trying to regain the tiniest bit of control, but Countrpunch's grip was far too strong.

"Secondly, what do we do for fun around here?"

Southern Wing – Activity Area

Vroom could hear the command to stand in line to be sent back to the cells and stopped his exercising. He was getting bored with it anyway. He stepped out and stretched, moving with all the calm in the world. He knew there was a thin line between being slow and non-compliant and he happily walked down it. He began walking towards the line when one of the other prisoners spoke to him.

"Not play nice is too strong. I prefer to think they just don't appreciate my sparkling personality." He said with a grin. "As for why I am here. Well it seems Prowl doesn't appreciate getting his optics punched out. Who knew right?"

He shrugged but smiled broadly. He could still feel the memory of his fist hitting Prowl's face plate and it was a good one.

Southern Wing – Activity Area

Streamlight was worried that he’d made some kind of mistake..a faux pas as it were…in the attempt to shake Steelhand’s hand. The motion caught the senior custodian off guard causing him to think twice about taking the young guard’s hand. The small smile on Streamlight’s face faded as he waited for Steelhand to return his gesture.

He was about to pull his hand back when the other guard flashed him a smile a grabbled a hold of his hand. The smile that had so recently fade made its way back to Streamlight’s face. At the sound of the announcement Streamlight released Steelhand’s hand and let his smile melt in to a stoic expression.

Streamlight was ready to turn on his heel but stopped when Steelhand mentioned he would be heading to the Grease Pit after his shift. The young guard nodded before turning and heading toward his inmate.

----

Kronus watched as Brace stepped off and made his way to the line that was already forming. The thief would not be joining the other inmates in their sorted dance through all of the security protocols; instead he would be escorted by his assigned guard past all of the others.

On his journey he knew there would be jeers and the occasional vulgar comment, but none of that really mattered to Kronus. As long as no one spit on him things would go rather smoothly.

From across the yard the inmate spotted his young guard as he shook hands with the older, more experienced guard. From behind his face restraint Kronus smiled. His personal guard would be of good use once his plan was set in to motion. Hopefully Brace would actually come through.

Standing with his wrists secured to the energon chain around his waist and the face restraint securely in place, Kronus waited patiently as Streamlight finally arrived by his side.

“Sorry for the delay, Kronus. I…uh…had to take care of something important.”

Kronus nodded in understanding. Of course, you had to suck up to the senior watcher. But don’t you worry, kiddo, you’ll be put out of your personal misery soon enough.

“That’s alright, Streamlight. Besides, the later you are the more time I get out here.”

The thief let out a chuckle as he looked over to his escort who also chuckled.

“Well, it’s time to head back in. A few rules. Keep your optics ahead. Don’t talk to the other inmates on line. You respect their space they’ll respect yours. Got that?”

Kronus nodded slightly, a gesture used as his understanding and his readiness to move on. At that Streamlight took a hold of his prisoner’s elbow and began to guide him toward the open gate that would lead back into the cell blocks. Along the way, Kronus was marched past the inmates who were waiting in line to be counted and anything else G9’s protocols entailed.

At several instances Kronus glanced sidelong at the ‘bots along the way. His gaze lingered on both Icepick and Scowl, but his head never moved so he could stare. From his left he could see that Brace who kept his attention ahead, was eagerly waiting to get back inside. A broad smile formed under the face restraint as Kronus understood Brace was already in the process of making the necessary arrangements.

The Greasepit

Maximus had to admit, the energon here was good. Certainly a notch better than the standard-grade stuff that was par for the course in and around the facility proper on a cycle-to-cycle basis. The additives that Goldrush found, whatever they were, certainly enhanced the taste of what was already a pretty refreshing fuel.

Rung had arrived a short time after he did and sat himself down at the bar with no pomp or circumstance. Just another staffer unwinding.

"Yeah. I'm sure it won't be long, in my case. I've never been one to know what exactly to do with a lot of downtime."

That, as much as anything, was likely a large part of why he had remained with the Autobot cause for so long. He had no love for the war, but at least he had a purpose here. If he had attempted to go along with the non-aligned, all those vorns ago, what would he have done with himself? He had no idea. And so, now, sitting here...he also had no regrets.

There were worse lives one could lead out there. Far worse.

"And you?" Maximus began. "Did I detect a hint of concern from you in my handling of the Kronus situation?"

Maximus wasn't sure if it had been the manner of his response or the speed in which he had responded that had prompted the staff psychiatrist to request a quick meeting with him, but he had no doubts that Rung would clear that up in short order.
___

Southern Wing Activity Area

"Prowl eh?" Stormwrecker said absently, searching through his memory databanks. The last time he had a face to face with an actual Autobot, outside of this place, had been eons ago. Even in the surging days of the war, Stormwrecker hadn't much bothered to keep track of one Autobot versus another. There was their glorious Prime--Optimus. And the one before that had been a pain. And given the business that Stormwrecker had been in, Ultra Magnus had given him more than a few fits. Beyond that, though, he'd be lucky to tell one from another. Prowl was one of the ones that at least rung a vague memory bell.

"That's one o' the ones we heard about on the streets. In the backrooms. Don't think I ever saw 'im in person. Sure he messed up more'n one of my good deals though, so a lost optic is the least he deserved."

"This way, Stormwrecker," a guard said, motioning the bulky, gray and silver mech in his direction.

"So, why you not a 'Con, then?" the former arms dealer asked. "Yer attitude woulda been better taken under Megatron than Optimus slaggin' Prime. Hell, if you done that to Prowl, yer the type who'd probably be a commander now. Out there. Not here."
___

Cell Block

"Half a breem. Heh," Skymauler repeated, half-chuckling as he continued to look up at the cell ceiling.

So, Counterpunch was the name. Skymauler wasn't really sure he cared, but he supposed it was at least marginally useful to be aware of the designation of one's cellmate.

"Skymauler," the Seeker said in response, before considering the rest of Counterpunch's statement. He looked over from his bunk to find the other mech looking at him. Ah. A reference to his garishly distinctive color-scheme. He got a lot of that back at the academy. He'd grown accustomed to it. His duty back in his old squadron had been to draw attention. He did so very well. Likely a key reason why he himself was here now. The other part of his function was to avoid getting caught.

Hadn't done so great on that one.

"Well, if you get bored, you can always polish my aftplate. It doesn't get the attention it used to," the Seeker said with a smirk. At Counterpunch's second question, Skymauler sat up on his bunk a little. This didn't sound like a mechanoid who was just going to sit quietly in his cell. That was refreshing, on some level. How many vorns had it taken before that last glitch had finally gone all sparky on those two guards? Skymauler had lost count. Maybe the turnaround on this one would be much quicker.

"Fun? You're in the equivalent of Prowl's library. This is where fun goes to die a slow and painful death, friend. There's the occasional prisoner attacking a guard, or a yard fight, or cafeteria mauling...but it all gets put down so quickly that it's barely worth taking the time to look."

The devious smirk that had been on Skymauler's face earlier spread just a little bit wider.

"Although..."

Southern Wing Activity Area

Vroom chuckled and shrugged.

"After all this time I'm not sure there is much a difference between the two sides anymore."

He pointed to the guard that was telling Stormwrecker where to go.

"I got a feeling that if you took this slag-head and traded him with any slag-head guard in a Decepticon prison camp you won't get too much of a difference."

He spoke without a care of what the guard he was insulting thought of his words.

South Wing Activity Area

A smaller guard stood by the entrance with a datapad in hand as the line of inmates slowly made it's way out of the activity area. All the while Steelhand kept a watchful eye that none got out of line, but deep down he was getting restless. Though he always strove to do the best job he could, it was always more difficult the closer it came to the end of his shift. Every astrosecond having to watch over dangerous criminals, the constant threat they all posed to each other and the staff, and the reluctant necessity of possibly having to use force on any one of them, the sooner he didn't have to deal with all of it the better.

"Firewheel, Hoverblast, Skydirt, Icepick,", the small guard called out in a monotone voice as he checked them off the list, one-by-one leaving the activity area to head back to their cells, "Scowl, Umbra, Airachnid, Boltcutter, Ironslag,"

Nobody try anything, slaggit just behave yourselves so I can get the slag out of here!

While most of the inmates were in their usual line, Steelhand noticed Streamlight escort Kronus back to the thief's cell seperate from the others. Again the younger guard showed a little nervousness toward his assigned inmate. Steelhand hoped that he would accept his earlier invitaion, and maybe the two could talk things out more. Streamlight needed to learn more about keeping his emotions better in check.

"Scraptrap, Spacebomb, Groundblaster. All inmates accounted for.", the small guard announced as the last prisoners left the activity area.

Steelhand sighed in relief, the hard expression on his face softening a little now that there weren't any prisoners around. As physically demanding as the job could be, the former miner had always felt the mental and emotional strain was the worst. The only good days on Garrus-9 were the ones that were easy to forget- for the most part, this was not a good day.

Steelhand and most of the other guards headed to the staff's exit, they all started shootin' the slag with each other.

"Rough day, huh Steelie?", one of the larger guards, Hardfist, said, "That fraggin' kid wasn't watchin' his 'con, and then he pushes you in Max's line of fire. What's wrong with that slagger?"

"Ah, don't be so hard on him.", Steelhand patted the other guard on the shoulder, "He's still new, he'll learn. Let's just forget it now, there's some drinks at the Grease Pit waiting for us."

The Greasepit

A bright smile worked on to Rung’s face at the greeting the resident bartender offered. The psychoanalyst had been in plenty of times to become acquainted with most the employees.

“Thank you, yes. I believe I’d like some mid-grade, light on the additives, please.”

While he waited on Goldrush to fill his order, Rung cast his gaze on the warden. The mech was wound tight, but it was obvious it had nothing to do with the everyday activities that came with the job. No, this was something else entirely.

The mention of the ‘Kronus’ situation caught Rung slightly off guard. He had thought that incident was taken care of. The surprised expression the psychiatrist had quickly melted in to a much more concerned one. He seemed to be avoiding the a subject he really needed to discuss. He would just need to be patient.

“Actually, I was under the impression that I was to meet with someone. But it seems that he hasn’t arrived yet.”

Rung turned fully to face Maximus as he began to address the incident that occurred in the activity area.

“And as far as the incident with Kronus, you handled the situation as the professional you are. Kronus is a difficult case. But he has earned his time out of his cell every now and again. Up until that point in the yard he was quite submissive.”

Turning back to face the bar Rung let out a heavy sigh. His eyebrows nit together as he spoke in a low tone to the warden.

“Has something happened recently that you would like to talk about?”

Southern Wing – Level 4 – Block C

The young guard was sure to move his prisoner past the others as quickly as he could. The group already knew what the thief was capable of if provoked, but he was still easy pickings what with his bound hands and the face restraint in place.

The two moved into the penitentiary without incident and Streamlight led Kronus back down to the lower levels. Neither spoke as they finally arrived in Block C. The area was quiet not because the inmates were in recharge, but because there were no other prisoners locked up in this particular block. The days in his cell were passed usually just staring at the ceiling and if he was feeling adventurous he would stare at the floor. Neither brought any joy. Such was his existence.

Once in front of his cell Streamlight input the security code for the door and waited as it slid open. The young guard then nodded and Kronus moved forward. He stopped in the middle of the cell and waited until the door shut and locked behind him. He was tempted to turn around but he knew Streamlight already had his weapon trained on his back.

“Okay. Step to the wall and turn around.”

The thief obeyed the command, his back flat against the cold surface. The security restraints locked in to place, all except the ones used for his wrists. Once Streamlight was satisfied that he could approach the prisoner he stepped forward and removed the waist chain and released his arms. Streamlight quickly moved out of arms reach and backed up to the door.

“Once I leave the cell and the door locks the restraints will be retracted and you’ll be free to move about your cell. And remember don’t tamper with the face restraint.”

“I know, kid. Play with the restraint and I lose my head.”

Streamlight nodded and backed out of the cell completely. The door quickly slid shut and the locks engaged. An astrosecond later the restraints retracted and the thief was free to do...nothing.

Once outside of the cell Streamlight let out a heavy sigh of relief. He really had no idea why he was assigned to guard Kronus…maybe it was some kind of initiation…maybe someone up on high hated him…or maybe it was just Primus that hated him. No matter what it was he was certainly glad when the nimble mech was safely locked in his cell.

As the young guard turned to leave he opened up a comm link with Steelhand. He didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to head to the Greasepit. In fact this was the first invitation he received…ever.

>>”Steelhand? Streamlight. I hope that invite to meet in the Greasepit still stands because I’m off duty and headed over there now.”<<

Garrus-9 North- The Greasepit

"You invited that slagger?!?", Hardfist exclaimed, "After he blamed you for his own glitch?"

"Look the kid apologized, okay?", Steelhand calmly exclaimed, "Give Streamlight a break already, he's new, he makes mistakes. I figured we make him feel like one of the bots, help him adjust better."

The other guards started to grumble as they made their way to their favorite energizing hole. They'd all served on Garrus-9 together for many vorns, and during that time they'd formed a strong bond much like any other unit that had held together. Everyday they had held together, trusting each other as they kept watch over the most dangerous criminals Cybertronian society had to offer. It was a bond that was hard-earned, and the idea of welcoming a newcomer into their circle was not well recieved by most of them.

"That kid ain't one of us, he don't get how things run here.", a shorter, stockier guard replied, "Have you heard some of the slag about him?"

"I heard he lets that freak Kronus run free in his cell block when no one's watching.", another much taller guard added.

"I heard the kid likes to remove Kronus' face mask and watch the sicko chew himself up.", said another.

"Well I heard that Streamlight is a neutral who's just acting as an Autobot, and he's gonna use Kronus to start a riot.", Hardfist said with conviction.

Steelhand shook his head as he listened, disappointed that the mechs he considered his friends would fall for such rumors.

"That's all a bunch of slag, and you know it.", Steelhand sternly answered, "It's just like that rumor about Whirl being a clone of Shockwave, a big pile of slag."

The other guards scoffed at Steelhand. He may have earned their trust and respect when it came to guarding the prisoners and watching each other's aft's, but as usual they refused to listen to common sense.

The dozen or so guards reached the seemingly rusty doors of the Greasepit and entered casually. It was then that Steelhand recieved the message from the bot they'd been talking about.

>>"Of course the invite is still good, Streamlight. I'm already here with some of the other guards, I'll be right at the bar waiting for ya'.<<

"Just try to be nice to the kid for once, huh guys?" Steelhand turned around and asked.

"Slag that.", "No fraggin way.", "Screw that glitch.", were some of the replieds that came his way as all the others walked away to one of the far tables.

Steelhand sighed as he stood alone for a moment, wondering if he really had anything in common with the others besides being a guard. Hopefully they would warm up to Streamlight soon, hopefully.

Getting over the other's rejection Steelhand made his way to the bar. Looking for a couple of empty stools, he noticed two familiar forms; the warden, Maximus, and the psychologist Rung. Steelhand couldn't help but think the sight a little comical, the massive Maximus right next to the diminuitive Rung. He tried as best he could not to chuckle as he walked by the two.

"Sir, doc.", Steelhand nodded as politely and respectfully as he could while containing his laughter.

Eventually he found two empty stools at the end of the bar. Sitting down he put his hand over his mouth as he finally let out the laugh he'd been holding, lasting several astroseconds. As he waited to be served, the smile on his face wore off as he noticed Goldrush.

Aw slag, don't let Goldrush come over here.

Steelhand remembered the last time he had spoke to the bar's owner. He had made a complete fool of himself, and he couldn't blame it on too much energon either. With any luck Goldrush had forgot all about it or didn't think it was worth any further mention. Or even better, maybe one of Goldrush's employees would tend to him. Either way, Steelhand didn't want to be reminded, and he didn't want anyone else to find out.

Southern Wing – Level – Block C

Streamlight began to walk back the way he and Kronus had come but the young ‘Bot stopped suddenly. He took a look over his shoulder at the cell he was just standing before. The mech let out a heavy sigh as he slowly turned around and went back to Kronus’ cell. Streamlight quietly stepped up to the reinforced door and peered inside. The small enclosure was illuminated lowly and its lone occupant was seated on the floor against the far wall, his legs up, head lowered and arms draped over his knees.

At first Streamlight thought the thief had slipped into recharge, but when he spoke the young guard took a quick step back away from the door.

“You should go. You don’t want to be late for whatever you have planned. And I certainly would not want to be the cause of that.”

Streamlight stayed put as he listened to the mech’s deep smooth voice. He swallowed hard before he responded to the convict.

“How did you know I had plans?”

“Oh come now, Streamlight. I'm no idiot, I’m observant.”

The newest guard looked at the door with a deep sneer plastered on his face. The thief was good when it came to reading others; it’s obviously what made him good at what he did. Streamlight opened his mouth ready to send a retort, but quickly thought otherwise. Instead he turned on his heal and began to leave.

“None of them like you, Streamlight! They all know you don’t fit in, and so do you!”
That stopped him in the middle of the corridor.

“I’m the only one who believes you’re worth anything! I ‘m your friend, and I always will be! And when you come back from your attempt at impressing the others; I will be here. Remember that!”

Streamlight ground his teeth together as he stomped off and left the block.

The Greasepit

On his way out of the cell block, Streamlight received a response from Steelhand. The message brought a bright broad smile to his face and caused him to pick up his pace. His excitement was almost palatable. The guard finally arrived at the large doors to the bar and waited for them to grant him access.

The doors slid apart to reveal a large space bustling with activity. Bots of all sizes were seated at tables while others were standing and milling about. Servers moved about with trays perched high above the heads of all the patrons.

All of the activity was simply too exciting for Streamlight to stop staring, but if he wanted to meet with Steelhand he’d have to start his search. He shook off the enthusiasm and began to weave in and out of the crowd until he made it to the long bar. Streamlight noticed the warden seated on one end of the bar with Rung on the stool right next to him. He shrugged slightly just as he turned to look down the opposite end of the bar.

The mech’s smile spoke a thousand words as he carefully moved down the length of the counter and stopped next to Steelhand.

“I apologize for taking so long. Things tend to be….tedious when securing Kronus.”

His mile faded a little as his optics lowered to the floor.

“I know I said this earlier, but I’m sorry for my unprofessional behavior in the activity area. Things have been pretty hard for me here.”

At one of the tables that hugged the back wall of the establishment sat Downfall and Drudge. Both guards had showed up just prior to Steelhand and his group of cronies and took a back table so as not to be bothered.

They were on their second glass of high grade when the newest guard showed up and headed right for the senior guard. Both mech’s lifted their glasses, sent a smirk to the other and took a hearty swig. When both had finished swallowing their fill; Drudge placed his empty glass on the table and gestured toward Streamlight.

“That him?”

“From what I know, yeah. Word is he’s gotten friendly with Brace’s former business partner.”

Drudge leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head.

“This shouldn’t be hard at all. The kid’s just ripe for the picking. HA!”

Downfall leaned over the table and kept his voice low enough so as not to draw attention.

“All we have to do is work him over; have him….accidentally provide us with the security codes and boom, we’re good to go. Brace is happy, we’re happy. And the kid ain’t happy.”

Downfall leaned back up in his chair and placed his hands behind his head mirroring Drudge’s position. They both let out a hearty laugh before returning to their surveillance.

The Greasepit

Steelhand didn't really mind waiting for service. Right when the staff was switching shifts like now was when the place was at it's busiest, and this was no exception. As he took in a deep breath to soak in he atmosphere, Streamlight came in and took the seat next to him. Steelhand smiled and gave he young guard a hardy pat on the back.

"It's all good.", Steelhand replied, "Can't leave the job half-aft, after all."

He was glad that Streamlight had accepted his invitation, it was a shame the other guards wanted nothing to do with him. Oh well, he'd get used to things over time and they'd warm up to him. If Streamlight was lucky maybe he get the chance to save one of the other guard's lives from a violent inmate; it was the quickest way to earn their respect. After the young guard apologized, Steelhand smiled and shook his head.

"Aw, it happens sometimes. In a place like Garrus-9 emotions can ride pretty high if you're not careful. Especially when you're still getting the hang of things.", Steelhand tried to reassure, "Now if you want to talk about 'the office' we can, but how about right now we try to fill up our fuel tanks until our optics start to glitch out."

One of the bartenders- thankfully not Goldrush- was walking by, possibly trying to get to something else. Steelhand knocked on the counter, getting his attention.

"Can ya' get me a low grade, heavy on the fillers, thanks.", Steelhand politely asked as he opened up a storage compartment on his hip, grabbing a handful of chits as he looked to the young guard sitting next to him, "What'll you have, Streamlight? First one's on me!"

The Greasepit

Goldrush nodded pleasantly and set about pouring some mid-grade into a cylinder, careful to keep it away from the additive processes that many of the other staff here seemed to favor.

"One mid-grade, no fluff," Goldrush said, sliding the container across to Rung. Recognizing that he and the warden were probably--or were about to be--engaged in some sort of serious conversation tempted his curiosity nodes. With individuals like that, there was likely to be information passed around that was probably just as valuable as any drink he might throw together within this establishment; however, Goldrush's stock in trade was not information. People came here because they knew their conversations would remain between them and whoever they chose to speak to. Unless someone made an obvious display of what they were discussing, that was how things tended to remain.

As he stood back, he couldn't help but notice one of his bartenders pouring one of the concoctions that he had been thinking about earlier: loaded with the stuff he tended to bring up from the mines below this facility. Almost antithetical to what the staff psychiatrist had ordered.

Youth, Goldrush thought. Just don't appreciate a simple surge of energon derived from a raw crystal.

Granted, energon that was derived purely from energon crystals was about as rare as someone that had survived a one-on-one fight with Megatron, but it did exist out here in no mech's land. Goldrush himself kept a small stock of it around for special occasions. And he charged through the spark for even a taste of it.

"How you drink that stuff, I'll never know," Goldrush said pleasantly in Steelhand's direction, looking over at the individual who had ordered it. Another one of Max's staff. "But I suppose it keeps my profit margins up. Just go a little easier on the stuff this time, eh?"

As long as he was ordering drinks and not bothering him about work on the side, Goldrush was content.
___

Rung's mention of the Kronus situation eased some of Maximus' concerns. He hadn't been sure what he had detected in Rung's transmission earlier about his handling of the Kronus situation, but it appeared to be nothing. That was always a plus. Rung was always one of the key people involved in nearly any decision that was made within this facility, especially when it came to the psychological well being of both the staff and the inmates. Rung's support in any decision always helped it go down more smoothly, especially if it was an unpopular one.

"Yeah. I want to give Kronus every opportunity to forge some kind of productive existence for himself here. It just seems like there are individuals who might try to sabotage that, and he's probably only too willing to let them."

Rung's last question, however, triggered a whole new set of thoughts in Fortress Maximus' mind. That conversation with Punch hadn't played out like he had hoped or expected it would. Or maybe it had. Maybe that was exactly what he was expecting, and he just didn't like it any more now than he did when the orders were first given to him about this little espionage mission that someone was running, comfy in their little office within Autobot Command. It was probably etched all over his face. He would have to make a better show of hiding his frustrations in the future. Especially about this.

"Something has happened recently. And I would like to talk about it, actually," Maximus said, taking another drink from his oversized cylinder. "But I can't. Not now. Maybe never. Just my luck, huh?"

The Greasepit

A small smile formed on the young guard’s face as Steelhand agreed that the job came first. It was something Streamlight agreed with wholeheartedly. He became much more at ease when Steelhand accepted his apology again. He was grateful that the senior guard wanted to get to know him and give him a chance to actually become one with the crowd.

Streamlight sat with his head turned and nodded at Steelhand. He was new to all of this. Only been on the job for half a vorn. Another smile crept onto his face at the senior guard’s mentioning of actually drinking. Streamlight had to agree, he’d much rather forget about the day, about Kronus and actually unwind.

The young mech listened, and watched as Steelhand ordered his drink and then turned to him and asked what he’d be drinking. If he could Streamlight would have blushed. As it was the young guard lowered his head slightly in embarrassment. In actuality the mech had never set foot in the Greasepit or any other bar. In fact the only reason he showed up was because he was invited. This marked the first time he had been invited anywhere. So when it actually came to drinking he had absolutely no experience.

“Umm. I hate to admit this, but I’ve never even been in a place like this.”

Streamlight looked around the entire expanse of the bar before settling back down, but his head turned right back down so his optics met only the top of the counter.

“First time I’ve been here in fact.”

He tilted his head slightly to look at Steelhand.

“Can you…um…recommend something?”
____

From the young guard’s body language both Drudge and Downfall could tell Streamlight was embarrassed about something. It took a moment but Downfall’s lips finally curled up forming a wicked smile. Drudge cocked his head to one side as he looked back at his partner.

“What’re you smilin’ about?”

Downfall gestured at Streamlight with a slight movement of his chin. The mech let out a low chuckle just as he lifted his mug and put its rim to his lips. After a long gulp he put the vessel back down on the table and leaned in so Drudge was the only one who could hear him.

“This is going to be a piece of oil cake. All we have to do is get the kid over energized. A bit of high grade and some gentle prodding and the punk is ours.”

Drudge smiled while his lips were pressed to the edge of his mug, but as he placed it back down a deep frown formed on his visage.

“That’s all well and good, but how do we get rid of Steelhand? The guy’s suspicious about everything and everyone.”

Downfall flashed his friend a broad smile.

“You keep forgetting just how far up the ladder I am. Steelhand won’t do anything when it comes to a superior. Besides, we get Steely drunk enough he’ll forget everything that happens. Now, what do you say we go and introduce ourselves?”

As both mechs stood they each chugged down the last of their drinks and made their way toward Steelhand and Streamlight.
____

Rung flashed the bar’s proprietor a smile as he slid the drink over the counter and into the psychiatrist’s waiting hand. He had been anticipating the smooth liquid since Maximus contacted him. With his drink in hand Rung took a satisfying gulp as he listened to Max finally open up.

It seemed that the warden was more than willing to give Kronus a chance to prove himself and to make a place amongst the other inmates. But in order to do that the thief needed to have the noose loosened, but only slightly. If he was given too much slack he’d fall right back to where he was before he was given the little freedom he has now.

Rung placed the glass gently back down on the counter and glanced over to where the warden was seated. He gave the large mech a nod in understanding. He too was leery, and slightly worried that Kronus would fall to the whims of another, but that’s why he was here. Rung’s job consisted of keeping the inmates from working back to what they were before they arrived.

The psychiatrist remained quiet with his optics forward as Maximus finally spoke about just what was troubling him. Rung had known the warden had come across something that had disturbed him greatly. Unfortunately, he could not speak about it…or he didn’t want to speak of it. Rung pressed, but not too forcefully.

“I see. But I’m wondering if you truly can’t…”

He looked over at the larger mech before he spoke again.

“Or you just won’t. Because I can already see that this…whatever it is one of the higher ups has ordered…is already weighing on your conscience. Now, I can’t force you to open up, but if this burden starts to affect your work or your health then I would have to insist that you break your silence and speak about it.”

South Wing

Airachnid walked quietly down the hallways, escorted by guards of course. While she wasn’t exactly kept in maximum security or solitary confinement her violent past meant extra security for her. Part of her was pleased by that. It was certainly a sign of respect for her abilities and accomplishments. It was nice to see that some one respected her work. On the other hand the extra security limited her mobility. While she knew that, as a prisoner, she would never be able to simply stroll the hallways freely. Still, she could do with some more time out of her cell, time that was allotted to some other prisoners.

Of course even if the femme was given greater freedom there wasn’t much she could do with it. The inhibitor claw attached to her back prevented any use of her extra limbs, weapons, transformation and flight abilities. It was as if she was tied down, limited to only walking on her two legs when she normally had infinite freedom. It was an irritation to say the least, not to mention humiliating. If she was ever to get out of this place, or, at the very least get revenge on that Autobot female she needed freedom of movement.

As she marched down the cell block her optics spotted a familiar face. She recognized Brace from the courtyard. He seemed to have some sway in the prison, the mech who could get things for people. Of course what she needed was a fairly tall order, but it was worth a shot. Anything would be worth getting her freedom back. She didn’t have much time, so she moved quickly. She increased her pace a bit to get ahead of her guards. Airachnid then leaned over to where Brace was walking in the opposite direction next to her. “Brace is it? So happy to finally meet you. If what I hear about you is true I think we should talk some time. The sooner the better. Maybe we could help each other out somehow.” She offered him a smile as her optics flashed before she was quickly led away by the guards. At the very least the seed had been planted, it would be up to him what happened next.

*

Southern Wing, Block G

Scowl walked back into his cell, not exactly happily, but somewhat content. The cycle outside the cell had been quite eventful, and you couldn’t ask for much more then that really, anything to help break the boredom and monotony was welcome. The best part though was there would be something new to talk about. The prisoner sat down quietly and began to listen. He could hear prisoners talking back and forth in shared cells or across the hall. They were all abuzz with the attack on the courtyard. Scowl smiled slightly, enjoying hearing new words coming from voices he heard every day. It was a very small pleasure, but he could take what he could get.

Southern Wing – Cell Block B

Back in her cell, Umbra heaved a mental sigh as she sat down on the cot that made up the entirety of her cell’s décor. She watched as the trail of the prisoners returning from the activity area shuffled past her cell. She watched them pass, and the agent considered finally being alone with her thoughts. Umbra chuckled at that. Her thoughts were more hazardous to herself than being out in the activity area even with Airachnid now aware of her presence.

A scowl creased Umbra’s delicate features. Airachnid. There was a Decepticon she had hoped that she would never cross paths with again. Prison life wouldn’t be dull at least. Umbra had little doubt of that much. Shaking off a growing sense of unease, she rose from her cot and moved away so that she had some space.

When she was on the verge of thinking herself into lunacy, going through the fundamentals of diffusion always calmed Umbra down. She pictured an enemy’s approach and began the motions to counter and retaliate. The agent moved slowly and smoothly as she continued on through the forms.

The familiar motions reassured Umbra. She considered the problem Airachnid posed. The hunter would find a way around the guards. There were always ways. It appeared that she might have to find one soon to prepare for the problem of Airachnid. Airachnid might even find a way around the inhibitor that all of the prisoners were forced to wear. “Slag…” Umbra muttered under her breath. That possibility left a very low chance of survival for any guards that interfered and herself.

What can I do?

There was always the choice of actually…sending herself to solitary. But…Airachnid would still probably be able to find her there, and even if she could not, Umbra wouldn’t stay there indefinitely. She could act up, start a fight and be guarded more heavily. Probably by Steelhand. Umbra’s shoulders slumped slightly at that thought. She wished she could get Steelhand or some other guard to help her, but…she was a prisoner. Icepick and Scowl seemed fairly friendly, but they had just met. Who would believe her? Who would even care? Umbra had “chosen” to come here. She deserved whatever fate befell her, didn’t she? It would be her penance…

The agent had to shake herself out of her dark thoughts. What would happen to the guards in Airachnid’s way? Nothing good, and Umbra couldn’t stand the thought of that disgusting spider harming any of the honest guards. Her frustrations came to a boil, and she punched the wall. She plopped back down on the cot, holding her cranium in her actuators, running through all of the countermeasures that she could think of.

The Grease Pit

Steelhand couldn't have had a bigger smile as his drink was placed in front of him. He'd waited all day for it, and for a moment he forgot that Streamlight was next to him as he paid the bartender. As he gripped the handle though, his long awaited moment was interrupted; Goldrush.

Please don't mention it, not in front of another guard! Don't want them to know!

Relief came over him as the bar's owner simply brought Steelhand's choice of energy into question. He wasn't the first, a lot of the other guards wondered why he drank the low grade stuff. Most thought he was cheap. Though his time as a miner followed by unemployment had taught him to be thrifty, that wasn't the reason. His smile came back as he decided to let Goldrush in on his little "secret".

"This 'stuff' ain't just a drink to me.", Steelhand revealed as he brought the mug to his lips, "It's a trip home."

Just as the energy fluid reached his mouth, Steelhand shut off his optic and audio sensors. As he tasted the bitterness of the low grade fuel, followed by the zesty kick of the added chemicals, his databanks recalled memories of his mining days. The loud clangs of hammers and pick axes hitting against rock, the loud, rough hums of drills. His servos aching, his armor covered in layer upon layer of dirt, coolant dripping down his faceplate, his optics straining to see through the dimly lit tunnels. Good times.

Less than a mega-mile from the mine was a small, rundown bar just outside the Dead End. Most Cybertronians wouldn't go anywhere near the place, so of course the miners made it their go-to spot after work. Everything was rusty, dirty and falling apart, but slaggit it was like their own private club. They couldn't get any high-grade energon, but the bartenders really knew how to mix the chemicals just right, some would swear the drinks were better than Maccadam's.

As the last drops of energy slid down Steelhand's fuel pipe his sensors came back online. He sighed as he stared at the empty mug and realized that he wasn't a miner on Cybertron anymore. He was a prison guard on a planet far away from his home.

The senior guard slowly put the mug back on the counter, trying his best to hide his sense of depression and hopelessness as he looked at Goldrush. For a while Steelhand had asked the bar owner for a job working in of the mines he ran, but no matter what the former miner said or did the answer was always no. The last time he spoke to Goldrush he was practically begging, offering to work for just fuel and maintenance. Now that Steelhand thought of it, it was pretty pathetic and humiliating just how low he brought himself just to try to relive the old days. He was just glad that he'd done it in the back where none of the other guards could see or hear. And he was even gladder that the bar owner never brought it up to anyone.

Looking over to the stool next to him, Steelhand was startled as he remembered that he had company with him. He shook off his earlier thoughts and brought the smile back on his face.

"Oh, uh sorry about that, Streamlight.", he apologized, "I'm not ignoring you, I just really like that drink. Now it's probably a little too harsh for a newcomer like you, but there's plenty here that you'd like, and it's better than the sludge that comes outta the dispensers in the barracks."

Steelhand opened his storage compartment and grabbed some more chits. He didn't normally buy the more expensive drinks, but this seemed like a special enough occasion to do so.

"Goldrush, how about two high grades for me and my friend here.", Steelhand ordered as he placed the money on the counter, "That should cover it.... plus a little extra for giving you problems lately.... sorry."

Southern Wing

The whole of the activity area had been emptied at a rather expedited rate. At least that’s what Brace thought. After all the illegal arms dealer had been on this particular rock for thousands of vorns. He knew people both inside cells and out. He had intimate knowledge of how the facility worked thanks to all of the guards and staff on his payroll.

At this particular time Brace was positioned toward the front of the march with another line moving along on the right hand side in the opposite direction. The bulky mech had kept his optics plastered on the back of the lead guard paying little attention to the other inmates. He didn’t have any dealings with a great majority of other prisoners, in fact as of late he only had the business of his former collogue. In fact the thief’s business would probably be the last he’d have to work with.

Kronus had offered to take him with him once he finally made his escape from this Autobot run hellhole. The deal was a sweet one. Provide the means and the thief, who just so happened to be a lithe escape artist, would break Brace out as well. The arms dealer knew Kronus was capable of the feet; he escaped from another facility once before. Granted he was recaptured not long after, but back then he was new to his profession. After a few hundred vorns Kronus was able to hone his skills until it came off as a stroke of genius.

Brace chuckled to himself as he ran through the entire scenario in his processor once more. But his concentration was broken when he heard his name sliding off the tongue of what he thought might have been a femme. When he finally looked from the back of the front guard Brace almost came face to face with a most captivating visage. Airachnid, he thought her name was. He flashed a dashing smile and listened as the femme spoke quickly before being led off in a separate direction.

The mech thought carefully on what the ‘Con had to say before he had finally made a decision of just how he would handle this new development. A half breem latter the small group of mechs he was amongst arrived in Cell Block A. The location was known to house inmates who were of the least security risk. With Brace comfortable running his business from within the walls of the prison, he never caused a fuss thus securing him in a rather comfortable locale. There were even occasions when he was permitted out of his cell, but under guard. Brace didn’t mind such an inconvenience, after all Aileron was also on his payroll.

Once securely in his spacious cell, Brace went to the small table and plucked a tiny data device from a hollowed out panel. The device was capable of holding a few lines of code, but that would be enough to get his message across. As soon as he completed the download he moved to the bars and placed an arm outside. From the end of the block Aileron saw the slight movement and began to slowly make his way down to Brace’s cell. As he walked by he took possession of the small device and continued on. When he came back around he slowed considerably in front of the prisoner’s cell and listened carefully to his instructions.

“Deliver this to Block G. A Decepticon by the name of Airachnid will be waiting for it.”

Without a response that he had even received orders from an inmate, Aileron moved on to his original location. The senior guard would have to wait until his shift was over in a few cycles.

Southern Wing--Block B

Stormwrecker had laughed out loud at Vroom's response, largely in a good-natured way. There probably wasn't a whole lot of difference between the Autobots and Decepticons anymore. Who knew? It had definitely been a long time since he'd been in the thick of it. Though if they had evolved to become pretty much the same thing, that would make getting back in to the arms dealing trade a whole lot easier whenever he got out of here. Both sides would probably be willing to by some extra stuff on the side. The Decepticons certainly, but maybe the Autobots too.

With no further ruckus, Stormwrecker had shuffled off to his cell, ignoring his cellmate as he followed after, the bars locking in place behind them. They didn't warrant the kind of ultra-restrictive treatment that some prisoners got, and that suited him just fine. He felt he had earned that much at least. Besides, escaping would just put too big a price on his head. Better to just get his time done and do things under the radar. Well under it.

Looking over he noticed Vroom, the Autobot instigator from before, was being led in to a cell just across the way.

"The guards are gonna put a big red target on you eventually. I can jus' see it, heh."
___

"Home again, home again," Icepick sing-songed as the cell door closed behind him. The activity period had been fruitful, even if Icepick had only been able to reconnect with a couple of his associates. That was better than none at all, which was sometimes the case. The guards had weird little systems that they liked to try out in terms of keeping all six of them from being in one area at the same time--ever. Icepick liked to try and keep mental note of each of them, even if he was in no particular hurry to test their effectiveness. Neither Scowl nor Slog had seemed especially scheme-y either. Just a quiet outing. It sort of left Icepick looking forward to the next one.

Granted, that new Umbra femme played a certain part in that as well. Many of the femmes who wound up here were decidedly bitter, guarded individuals. Icepick supposed it was a necessity, if they were going to continue functioning. The guards did what they could to ensure safety here, but there was always the occasional slip. They couldn't have eyes on everything all the time. And those who had been here the longest knew how to capitalize on those slips. In any case, she seemed remarkably pleasant and.....well, well, also had a cell just one down from his own. How convenient.

Icepick sat down in front of the scraps of cloth that he had arranged on the floor in the midst of a checkered, chalk-drawing. Each of the scraps had drawings on them, indicating the type of piece they represented. A request that Icepick had made of Slog ages ago.

"My gladiator takes your Knight of Cybertron," Icepick called out, loudly enough so that Scowl could hear him from the wing below. He was usually the only one who ever played with him, unless the place went on lock-down for a while. Then there were usually several who caved in to the boredom and looked for any kind of relief, hence the three similar checkered chalk drawings Icepick had arranged on the floor nearby.

He then directed his voice to the left, where Umbra's cell would be.

"Kudos. You seem to be adjusting pretty well," Icepick said, finding no harm in firing off a bit of idle chit-chat.

Southern Wing - Block B

Seething in her own frustration, Umbra was brought out of her reverie by a familiar voice. The voice was...very familiar...extremely...familiar...She just couldn't place it. It came from the cell directly next to hers, curiously enough. And...was her neighbor playing a game with somebody? The agent stared curiously at the wall that separated the two cells.

It was only when the voice spoke again did she realize who it was. "Icepick?" Umbra asked incredulously. "It's good to hear from you. Didn't think that anyone I knew had a cell near me."

Umbra laid down on her cot, leaning slightly against the wall, staring out at the cells across from her. Surprisingly enough, she had meant that sentiment. She would surely go crazy if left alone. She considered Icepick's statement about adjusting and chuckled dryly. "Well, I tried to stay neutral for as long as I could before the war broke out. This isn't much different. Only, everyone else is neutral now too."

Airachnid crossed the agent's mind once more, making her scowl. "Mostly anyway," she said dourly, "I had the misfortune to run across an old acquaintance of mine. We had a bit of a disagreement the last time we met. I sort of interfered with her work. I don't think she's very happy with me."

Umbra felt grateful that she had someone to talk to, though a small part of her still held reservations. Part of her training made her very...aware. Some might call it paranoid. The trick was to know which it was. The agent smiled ruefully, feeling a bit silly for being paranoid.

A question nagged at Umbra's thoughts. "Hey Icepick, are...you playing a game?"

Southern Wing--Block B

Vroom grinned.

"If they already have or if they will some day all I can say is... bring it on."

He continued to walk to his cell. Whether or not Autobots wanted to get him for his behavior he did not care. He had survived the worse the Decepticons had thrown at him for many years now. He doubted Autobots could do anything worse. He walked in knowing he would be alone. The guards claimed they did not want to risk a Decepticon trying to hurt him but he thought they were just afraid he would be a bad influence.

"Have fun over there 'Con."

The Greasepit

The exchange between both Steelhand and Goldush had the young guard slightly perplexed. It was as if these two mechs had known one another during some other era. The way they spoke to one another only proved his hypothesis. This actually brought a smirk to Streamlight’s face as he looked from bar keep to guard. It was certainly entertaining.

With Steelhand’s last words the young mech’s smirk faded slowly into a somewhat troubled look. He’d never heard their home world compared to fuel before and frankly he wasn’t even sure what it meant. Streamlight was about to ask the senior guard just what he’d been talking about when he noticed that his companion shut down his optics and simply partook in the entire experience that was the drink. He was still a bit confused as to what Steelhand had meant but right now the young guard decided to let him have his trip back home.

When Steelhand had finally returned to the here and now Streamlight was right there to welcome him with a bright, but slightly awkward smile.

“Oh, it’s okay.”

The young mech listened intently while the older ‘Bot had begun to explain the differences between a few of the available grades on tap. Streamlight simply stared and nodded completely at a loss and definitely out of his league.

Streamlight smiled as the money was placed on the counter and Steelhand offered his apology. It really wasn’t necessary as most was his fault to begin with. The guard shook his head and looked back up to the taller mech.

“No, you didn’t give me any problems. In fact you’re probably the only one who’s even given me a chance. So I suppose we’re even.”

Streamlight’s smile broadened, as if that were possible, as he watched Steelhand. His attention was pulled away from the other stool when both of their drinks came sliding down the bar. Luckily the young ‘Bot was quick enough to catch it before it slid all the way off the counter. While Streamlight caught one mug the other was sent straight to his compatriot.

With his hand encircling the mug Streamlight brought the drink up to his mouth and took a tentative taste. The fuel trickled down his throat, but the harsh flavor notes caused a slight backwash and a slight coughing fit. While trying to clear his lines Streamlight cast the older guard a sympathetic look. And when he had finally cleared his intake he let his head hang slightly.

“Sorry about that. I guess I’m just used to the sludge available in the barracks.”

He let out a low sigh but then let out a surprised yelp when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. The smaller mech slowly turned around to see two unfamiliar guards standing right behind him and Steelhand. The taller mech flashed him a friendly smile before he turned his attention over to Steelhand.

“Well, long time no see Steelhand. You probably don’t remember me. Downfall. I was actually the one who set up your assignment.”

Downfall’s smile remained as he gestured to the other slightly shorter bot.

“This is Drudge. We were having a couple of drinks and noticed that you and, Streamlight is it?...Streamlight here were partaking in a few of your own. How’d you like to join us? There’s plenty of room at our table. What do you say?”


Southern Wing – Cell Bock G

It had been several cycles and finally Aileron’s replacement showed up. After giving the mech an audio full, the senior guard left his post for Cell Block G and his intended delivery location. The mech was thankful that he would be able to make the drop and get out easily. After all he had to pass through the Cell Block in order to reach the exit he used to get to the barracks. His presence in the location would not draw any unwanted attention.

Aileron took his time but he did not want his trek to seem too casual. After all most guards were all too happy to finally get off shift. He was certainly no different. A breem passed before he finally arrived at the block. Now all he needed to do was locate this Airachnid’s cell.

He made his way over the catwalk and checked every cell’s prisoner ID until he finally came across the ‘Con he’s been looking for.

Without stopping in his stride, Aileron slipped the small data chip into the cell and whispered to the femme low enough so only she was able to hear.

“From a friend, ‘Con.”

The Greasepit

Steelhand expertly caught his glass of high grade that slid to him right after Streamlight caught his own. He smiled as he watched the younger guard hesitate a little with his drink, taking a sip, only to cough it up. The former miner shook his head and chuckled a little as Streamlight apologized..

"It's okay, this stuff's not for everyone.", Steelhand replied as he lifted his drink, "After the mines closed down I couldn't be picky about fuel, so now I can pour just about anything down my fuel line no problem."

Steelhand brought his glass up to his lips and began to drink. Unlike his last drink he didn't shut off any of his sensors, nor did he take the time to savor it. The high grade was good, he wouldn't argue, but it wasn't the kind of fuel he was used to on Cybertron. Tilting his head back he quickly guzzled down every drop of fuel. As soon as the glass was empty he slammed it down on the counter with a loud thud. He wiped a small amount of fuel that had dribbled down his faceplate and looked back to Streamlight.

"Well if the high grade is too much for you, I'll finish it. Maybe a Protoform Punch would go down easier.", Steelhand offered as he reached for some more money.

It was then that the senior guard noticed two guards approach him and Streamlight; Downfall, one of their superiors, and another mech who he recognized but didn't know the name. Downfall placed his hand on the younger guard's shoulder, surprising Streamlight, and gave both of them a seemingly friendly smile, introducing himself.

"Sure I remember you Downfall, sir.", Steelhand replied respectfully, but with a smile still on his faceplate, "Haven't spoke with you since your last promotion. Good to see you."

Downfall then introduced his friend- Drudge, now he new the name. Steelhand looked over to the smaller guard.

"Good to meet you, Drudge. I've seen you a few times and I've heard your name before, but I never put the two together.", Steelhand greeted, "I heard you got a promotion a few cycles ago, congratulations."

Steelhand looked to Streamlight as the offer was made to join the two officers. It seemed a little odd, Downfall had never shown any interest in hanging out with Steelhand or his usual group of friends. But maybe it was just the energon talking.

"Slag, I got no problem with that. The more the merrier.", Steelhand replied, then looked back to Streamlight, who was looking a little uncomfortable, "What do you say, Streamlight? No pressure though, if you don't want to we can stay here at the bar."

The Greasepit

His apology came out of his vocalizer harsher than he expected. But once his coughing fit finally subsided, Streamlight was able to speak slightly more coherently. The whole ordeal was extremely embarrassing, but thanks to Steelhand’s reassurance the young guard was able to manage a small smile of thanks.

He then flashed Steelhand a insulted expression before he let out a low snort.

“Hey, I can handle something better than Protoform Punch.”

That strange look faded away and was quickly replaced by a quizzical one.

“Am I really that bad?”

The arrival of Downfall and Drudge was a surprise, but not as much as Downfall’s heavy hand coming to rest on Streamlight’s shoulder. The act brought out an almost femme like cry. Completely embarrassed by his reaction, he took a quick look around and noticed a few bots staring in his general direction. Streamlight turned back to the bar, placed his elbow down and tried desperately to hide his face from the piercing eyes. This was all he needed, he was still considered an outsider by the senior guards and his reaction to the situation, as witnessed, would only solidify what they felt about him.

While the young mech had his attention diverted toward the back of the bar he listened to the conversation Steelhand was having with Downfall. The added ‘sir’ at the end of his drinking partner’s sentence caused Streamlight’s optics to brighten in realization that they were in the presence of a superior officer. He quickly turned the stool around and shot up onto his feet.

“Sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My apologies for not greeting you earlier.”

Downfall flashed Steelhand a friendly smile as the large mech offered him a gracious acknowledgement; Drudge gave a curt nod in response to the other guard. But the sudden turn around by Streamlight threw both new arrivals for a loop. Downfall had to step back slightly for fear the young bot would land on one of his feet, this in turn caused him to back into Drudge.

“Heh. No need for apologies, lad. And everyone here is off duty so you can call me Downfall. I’ve never been one for titles anyway.”

Downfall slapped the youngster hard on the shoulder and turned back to Steelhand and Drudge. It seemed that their new friend was more than willing to join the two of them for a drink at their table. This would be perfect. Get the idiot senior guard drunk enough to forget the entire ordeal, and then get Streamlight alone and convince him to cough up the security codes they needed. Simplicity itself.

Steelhand seemed more than willing to join both officers, but Streamlight was a bit apprehensive. The mech rubbed the back of his head as he looked between his friend and the other two mechs all of whom sported inviting smiles. He certainly had no desire to remain at the bar alone; after all if he wanted to do that he could’ve had a drink in the barracks. No, right now the best course of action would be to join them and ride out the wave of jealousy the other guards in the room would be having. That thought gave Streamlight reason enough to go along.

“I’m game! Actually I’m more than game! Where’s your table, si…I mean Downfall?”

The senior officer let out a hearty laugh as he gestured to the back table he and Drudge had been previously occupying.

“Right over here my two friends. Right over here.”

Drudge took the lead and boldly placed an order with one of the service drones for four low grades. No sense in over-energizing them right off the bat. These things take time. And right now that’s what they had; plenty of time.