Swindle

Another day, another sucker.

I left Onslaught and those chuckleheads early this morning. Weather was nice, little bit of Cybertronian fog plattered my windscreen. Good thing I keep a set of Arurdian windscreen wipers on me. One of the benefits of rolling with the Combaticons: isolated base of operations. Which means its harder for the Guard to catch up to me.

Currently we’re stationed out on the Torque Flats, roughly four Klik’s, twenty-three Kix, and eight Kil’s from the frontlines. Makes it easy for us to charge in and assist our… Decepticon brethren. It’s also a short drive from where I’m headed today.

My first stop was downtown Vos to pick up a shipment of Nebulon Personal Shields, smuggled straight from the Drillers maw. Vos is closer in style to Iacon than Kaon. A dense populated city made up mostly of guys like me, getting their hands dirty to make ends meet. There're a few massive towers towards the center of the city, but on the whole its smaller four to six story buildings full of Miners, Decepticon’s on leave, and workers who help make the city run. And plenty of factories that refine Energon for the whole of Cybertron. 

The deal was easy. I showed up early, the nervous ‘Con showed up late. Got an extra hundred Shanix for the pick up thanks to it. And I figured since I’m in the mining capital of the Decepticon Empire, I might as well get some refined Energon from the local Ener-to-Go. You can’t get that stuff in Iacon. Mostly due to the tariffs on trading. 

So, with my Personal Shields stored away and forty of my extra hundred Shanix spent, I made my way toward the factory district of Vos to check in on some investments. Along the street were ten or so Factories in a row. Each owned by a different shanix grabbing sparkeater in one of those big towers. ‘Course who am I to judge, if I struck a vein of Energon, I’d do the same damn thing. 

I drive past the slowly dilapidating factories - it’s not going unused but from lack of maintenance bots due to the war up north - and pull into one with a nice green finish, in between a Kremzeek Factory and one of Lockshot and Martron’s several weapons manufacturing plants on this strip. The factory is a proxy, completely empty, save for some crates stacked up throughout the place. In the past, I have used it for storage before I got my personal Transwarp Storage built into my chest. Much easier to hide things there than having to run it back here every night. So now, this place is where the magic happens.

Standing in the middle of the factory is one of my favorite customers, Snaptrap. He’s a good bot, gaudy color palette of pinks and blues, but I would kill for one of his back cannons. Maybe next trip. He’s got one of his crew members off to the left of him, Skalor, who’s placing a crate down next to one of my own. I see we both shop at the same crate manufacturer. The old kook has been around as long as Kup, with just as many stories to tell. Thank Solomus they usually keep him cooped up on the King Poseidon. Unfortunately, Snaptrap and I’s last deal didn’t go over as well as I needed, so it looks like he opted to take this ‘bot with him for back up.

“Snaptrap, you look great!” I say. I’m not usually one for compliments, but Snaptrap likes a good conversation.

“Swindle old buddy,” the turtle Transformer hoists me up into the air in a big hug that’d make a Eukarian Ursa blush. “It’s been a while,” I can see in his yellow optics a look of glee. These bot’s don’t come home too often, so when I heard they were docking I figured I could pawn something off of them.

“That it has,” I say, grinning. “I see you brought Skalor with you.” 

The old ‘bot stops inspecting his Plasma Shotgun and turns to me. “Swindle,” he says in a gruff, weathered voice, “You remind me of that ‘bot we ran into on Velocitron, ey Captain?”

Snaptrap chuckles and places a hand the size of my head on his First Mate, “Skalor, that’s because we ran into him on Velocitron. He was smuggling tires to sell to those racers here on Cybertron.”

“I love the races,” Skalor sighs, looking up at the blank ceiling.

“Right,” I say, slowly, “so, you bring back the components I asked for?”

“Oh, yes,” exclaims Snaptrap, turning to a crate behind him. “Genuine Prysmian Steel.” He opens the crate, revealing raw materials to the brim. The purple iridescent steel is cut into one-and-a-half Kix pylons - about an arm’s length each - perfect for smelting and turning into material. 

“How much for it?” I ask, ready to fork over the three thousand Shanix we agreed upon earlier.

“Two hundred and forty thousand Credits,” replied Snaptrap, his yellow optics dimming.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” I stammer. “When I asked for this, we agreed on three thousand Shanix. A deal is a deal.”

“Well,” Snaptrap said, the excitement lost in his voice, “that was before we had a run in with Thunderclash. And, if I remember correctly,” the large bot leans in, trying to intimidate me, “we agreed on three thousand credits per ten rods.”

I breathe and look between the two pirates, who actually think they can scam me. “You’re telling me you ran into THE Thunderclash, and still made it here and not in custody?”

Skalor scoffs, “The King Poseidon is one of the fastest ships in the cosmos. You should know, you scammed us on our original Transwarp Engine.”

“Two hundred,” starts Snaptrap. I can hear the hum of his cannons starting to charge, “and forty thousand credits. Or we make sure the Guard won’t recover a trace of your CNA on these walls.”

I throw my hands up, “you two drive a hard bargain. But I really need that steel, otherwise I’ll have the whole Decepticon Army after me too.” I open my gut window, revealing my Transwarp Storage. “I’m sure I’ve got some Shanix in here.”

“Credits,” hisses Snaptrap. “They don’t take Shanix out there no more, and the conversion rates at any place worth spending them make it useless.”

“I don’t use galactic credits,” I say, reaching into my gut. I feel my hand disappear into a cold, empty space. 

“Credits or we leave,” says Snaptrap, his golden optics piercing. Skalor cocks one of his shotguns, the red glow emanating from his barrel.

I feel the cold handle against my hand. I feel my right shoulder tingle as it starts to transform. “I’ve got your credits right…” the side of my shoulder expands into a long, black Photon Cannon, “Here!” I say as I draw my Gyro Gun. I fire two purple laser bolts at Snaptrap and duck behind a nearby stack of three crates.

Skalor unloads two rounds at me, denting the gun metal crates. A red bolt flies past my face, the wind pulling on my nose. The sound of gears shifting and metal hitting metal fill my audio receptors. A lump forms in my inner refinery. I raise my eyes above the crates as Snaptrap converts into his turtle mode. His front feet slam into the ground, his glowing twin cannons pointing directly at me. His green and pink face snarls, revealing rows of jagged teeth. 

“Oh scrap,” I mutter. The crimson glow from the cannons explode out from them. My cover absorbs the lasers, though the force rolls straight through the crates, landing square in my torso. I fly back, careening through more empty crates. 

I groan, lying prone on the ground with a cracked optic lense. “I’ve got to say,” I manage to mutter, getting up to a knee, “those cannon upgrades definitely are an improvement. Where’d you get them from?”

A smile crawls across the turtle’s face, “Always looking for more business, ey friend?” The cannons glow red again. “Maybe I’ll tell you if this doesn’t blow through you first.” I reach into my torso and start to dig. “Looking for another toy? I don’t think that hole is big enough for you to climb in through.” Heat begins emanating from Snaptrap’s cannons. “Here, old friend, this should help.” I feel a round disk slide between my finger and thumb.

The two red laser bolts come flying out of Snaptrap’s shell. The glow reflects through the grey factory, illuminating it in ways the old ceiling lights never could. I remove my hand from my gut and slap the disk on my chest. Blue hexagons form around my vision as the laser bolts impact. The hexagons flicker for a frame before my vision fades.

A heavy pain fills my back, and small dents impact on my shoulders. My vision returns, and I find myself stuck in a wall, sitting in it like a chair. The smell of burning fills the air, as Snaptrap’s blast completely overcharged the Personal Shield. I look up, my optics still calibrating. Snaptrap finishes converting, standing up onto two legs, a smirk appearing behind his jagged faceplate. 

“Should we finish him, Captain?” Skalor asks.

“Well I didn’t waste four plasma bolts for nothing,” grins Snaptrap, pulling out a long, ornate, coral colored blade. That’d be a hefty paycheck on the aftermarket.

The two Seacons make their way towards me. I attempt to shimmy my way out of the wall, but those cannons back a punch harder than a Gladiator on Quintessa. Skalor flips his guns down and reloads them, the plasma shells red glow escaping into the back of his shotguns. I give a massive grunt as I raise my right arm up, taking with it my Photon Cannon. I fire the large purple rocket, sending my shoulder farther into the crumbling wall.

The rocket roars far to the left of Snaptrap, towards Skalor. The old bot ducks to the side, as if he was my target. The rocket continues on its trajectory. The two turn and witness the final moments before the rocket impacts with their crate of Prysmian Steel. Little fact about the steel. You have to be very careful when you’re smelting the raw materials down to mix with our naturally occurring Cybertronium, as in its raw form, Prysmian Steel is extremely volatile. 

The rocket erupts in a kaleidoscope of magentas, yellows, and blues. The Seacons hit the deck as the ground shakes me out of my wall. I’m sure you can hear this box detonate on the other side of Cybertron, and I’m more than positive I’ll hear tomorrow on ICN that the tremor this thing caused is believed to be Decepticons testing a new form of WMD. 

The dust settles, and where the crate once stood is nothing but a black smolder on the ground. Snaptrap and Skalor lie on the ground, their systems rebooting. The two start to look around the factory. Skalor’s jaw drops and turns to his Captain. Snaptrap begins to stand up, stretching out his servos, and starts laughing.

“That was clever!” laughs the jolly captain, “using the Steel as an explosive, not bad Swindle old friend.”

Skalor tilts his head at his captain, “Snaptrap,” he asks, “What are we going to do now?”

Snaptrap places a hand on his First Mate, “I think its time we head back to the ship.” He chuckles again, “I’ve heard that some Camiens are shipping a load of Energon Goodies to Devisun. We should make it in time to intercept them if we depart now.”

A green glowing circle appears in the middle of the room. It spirals like an optical illusion, warping space and time. Skalor starts to head towards the Space Bridge as Snaptrap turns back to me. “Let’s do this again sometime, maybe I’ll actually make a profit for once!” He laughs as he enters the Space Bridge, the two vanishing from sight to who knows where. 

I grunt as I stand up, dusting myself off. I remove my cracked optic lense, which given its purple hue does a lot to change the environment. Flashing my optics a few times, I adjust to the duo tone and grab a fresh lense from my Transwarp Storage. I make my way to the scorch mark in the middle of my factory, inspecting the damage Snaptrap caused to my other goods. 

Static appears in my receptors. I tap the side of my head. “Swindle?” I hear come over the radio, “Are you there?”

I sigh, shaking my head, “I’m here Blast Off, what’s up?”

“Onslaught asked me to check on you, everything okay?”

I head towards a crate turned on its side along the wall. Skidmarks lead its trail, and it's covered in a hefty amount of dust. I turn the crate back on its side and sigh. Another three facts:

Number one, the Seacons may be pretty dull in the brain module, with all their years in space devoid of any meaningful connection outside of each other, but they know how to store good product.

Number two, I am a notorious liar, and that is probably the most truthful thing I have ever said in my life.

Number three, Photon Rockets were invented in the waning years of the Second Great War. They were great at destroying buildings and vessels made out of pure Cybertronium. The two combined to form a very corrosive element, which meant that it takes one Photon Rocket to crumble a building it’d take ten normal rockets.

“Swindle?” Blast Off chimes over the radio.

“I hear you Blast Off,” I say, removing the lid off of the metal crate.

“And?” asks Blast Off - what I assume to be - worriedly.

“Everything is just fine.” Inside, the glimmer of rows upon rows of purple iridescent pylons smile back at me.