Murusa Ironhide Prowl Sky Lynx Galagatron Lifeline Jazz Whisperwind
Murusa is a femme who does follow up work, hence she is seen coming walking up to Iacon's Dome. Unlike her last visit, she isn't carrying her CC Guard issue spear. Though her CC Guard symbol is obvious against her faded paint job.
Ironhide nods. "Yup. I've been gettin' reports about the criminal activity in Cubicron. It's high time we did somethin' about it before the crime problem spills into Iacon. So I'm puttin' together a posse to go and clean up the city. We'll smoke 'em out of their hideaways." Sky Lynx hrms softly and shakes his head gently, "Cubicron is inside area, I am too large for such locations." He raises up his index claw, which is as large or larger then Ironhide. "Secondly, I may be a Guardian of Cybertron and thus by Optimus helping me-- am helping you Autobots, but Cubicron-- is not my problem."
Prowl turns to look at Ironhide. "Ironhide," he begins slowly, as if already anticipating resistance to what he's about to say based on the profile of the Autobot security specialist. "I think that's a great goal, and it sounds like you've already come up with a workable plan. But Cubicron already has an established government, defense force, and peacekeepers. I recommend we work with them as well." He hesitates, then adds, "In fact, analysis of the information available at this time suggest the best approach would be to work...-for- them."
Murusa comes up onto the group of mechs, "But it may soon be your problem." states the femme. "It will become a planet wide problem if we don't deal with it where it has concentrated itself. Or do you really want the criminals working side by side with the Decepticons to take this planet from a free society to one where death is the only thing you wish for yourself." Then she looks at Prowl, "I am sure that Metro-X would back me up in saying that such a tight knit group are very particular about letting newcomers into their fold. You'd need a very good, convincing warrior who can be recommended by one of their own to have any hope of getting on the inside."
Ironhide frowns. "That's too bad, Sky Lynx. Once the crime bosses organize and strike out against Iacon, it's gonna end up bein' your problem. All our problems, matter of fact." He nods to Prowl. "A good point, Prowl, but I'm afraid the corruption goes too deep. Cubicron's government is crooked -- that's a well-known fact. An' the cops are mostly paid off. Other than Metro-X, I don't trust a one of 'em. But we do have some allies from Crystal City." He nods and smiles at
Murusa. "This here's Murusa, she's a big player in Crystal City. We've been workin' together to hatch a plan to take care of these cretins. The way I see it, we can avoid steppin' on anybody's toes if we limit our activity in Cubicron to tactical strikes with definitive targets. Then the Decepticons can't go accusin' us of bein' in cahoots with neutral forces."
Sky Lynx looks over to Murusa, then to Prowl, then back to Ironhide. He then raises up fully on all four, before he leans his head down to Ironhide, teeth close to the mech's face, optical band flickering, "Then have your leader order me-- for I follow no Autobot expect for him." Sky Lynx then huffs smoke to the side, as if agitated by this whole ordeal and then moves away from the group, tail low to the ground and almost seems to be 'sulking' away. Sky Lynx then peers over his wing slightly at the group, "After all-- Prime can't even say hello to the very Guardian he saved-- let alone inform of any situations.. instead he sends all those whom follow him.."
Ironhide makes a fist, waving it at the draconic Guardian. "Now see here, yuh pile o' bolts, Optimus Prime's got business to attend. He can't be runnin' around the galaxy just to drop by an' ask how your little feelins' are. He's busy tryin' to end the war and protect innocent lives, which I thought was YOUR job. Besides, Optimus don't owe you nuthin' if he saved your life. Sounds to me like maybe you owe HIM somethin'. An' maybe you missed the part where I said I was lookin' for volunteers. That means this ain't compulsory. I'm lookin' for those who care enough about their communities to go out and serve 'em, not sit around waitin' for someone to polish their darn tailfins! You don't wanna help us, don't! But can the attitude, mister!" He's practically spitting energon. Apparently, he doesn't take well to those who insult the Autobot commander.
Murusa nods to the two mechs then pulls a data chip from her subspace, "Speaking of definitive targets, I have those right here for you courtesy of Metro-X. I already made myself a copy of it and studied it. It is interesting reading to say the least. I don't foresee any issues collecting bounty's, so long as we remain focused on just that." she stops there when Ironhide let's loose on Sky Lynx. "Chain of Command can get busy with a multitude of things. I should know. I was ill for some solar cycles."
Prowl glances back and forth, gauging the situation. Then he adds his two enercreds, "What we mean to say is, Optimus Prime is an exceptional leader, but he can't be everywhere. He has to trust that those who wear the Autobrand will cooperate with each other, but also that we will show initiative." He pauses, then adds, "And patience." Turning back to Ironhide, Prowl quickly continues, "I have dealt with Metro-X several times, and I find him to be a dedicated, trustworthy individual. If we can gain his support, that should be enough." He glances back at Sky Lynx out of the corner of his optic, silently willing the giant mech to go along with the subject change.
Sky Lynx spins around quickly and growls at Ironhide, his optical band flaring brightly, "I do owe Prime much yes, it is the only reason I am with you Autobots in the first place." He snorts to the side and then shakes his head, heaving a sigh and then looking upward as if looking for something, before making a click sound. His optical band then looks at the three, before he inhales deeply and speaks softly, "Excuse me.. and apologize.. I should have not.. been so.. forceful." Sky Lynx then looks to Ironhide fully and lowers his head, "Forgive me, Ironhide.. I.. don't seem to be myself right then.."
Ironhide lowers his fist slowly, struggling to regain his own composure. "Yeah... welll... all right, then But like I was sayin', you don't hafta get involved if you don't wanna. I just wish that you would." He calms totally now, unclenching that fist. "Prowl, I agree 'bout Metro-X. He's a good mech and a friend of mine." He addresses Murusa, "I'm glad that you're feelin' better. This situation ain't gonna fix itself, and we sure could use your help."
Murusa inclines her head, still holding that data chip for Ironhide to take. "You know you do." is all she really has to say.
Prowl cuts in quickly, "Er...may I?" He reaches for the chip, a small panel in his forearm armor clicking open to reveal a data port (actually a set of data ports to better accommodate chips of various size and model). Prowl is quite used to handling the raw data and processing it into a form his superiors among the Autobots can more easily use.
Murusa allows Prowl to take it, "So long as Ironhide’s gets it after you are done with it." she tells the mech.
Ironhide assures Murusa, "Prowl's a strategic expert. He'll retool the report to a format that I can display." He points at his windshield, which doubles as a monitor.
Murusa shakes her head a bit, "Best to keep that within the confines of privacy, Ironhide. Never know who is watching. Or did you not hear the rumors about me coming over here?"
Prowl plugs the chip in, and in moments provides a sleeker, shinier looking data chip (this one marked with an Autobot symbol) to Ironhide. He also surreptitiously scans the data for viruses, backdoor subroutines, and other security issues. Since Red Alert has yet to make his appearance here in Iacon, Prowl has had to take up a lot of the paranoia slack.
Sky Lynx remains silent for now and sits down, listening to all the conversation, his gold optical band dim as his head lowers, and is apparently contemplating over the whole matter.
Ironhide waves his hand. "Aww, I ain't afraid. I've survived worse than a bunch of greasy punks threatenin' me over bringin' them to justice. I bet we go down there an nothin' happens. In fact, I suggest that we do. Let's scope out the region."
Prowl snaps his fingers. "I recognize one of the individuals detailed in this information. He's serving as a worker in the El Sleazo Cafe in Cubicron. He's probably there right now! If we hurry we can catch him!" Prowl transforms from Robot to Police Hover car Mode.
Murusa smiles a bit at Ironhide, then a nod to Prowl. "I can come along."
Prowl's police car lights, used so seldomly, flicker to life and he races off for Cubicron.
Ironhide transforms. "Roll out!" He flashes his headlights at Sky Lynx. "No hard feelings, Sky Lynx. Prime's my best friend. I sort look out for him. Gotta roll." He drives away.
Ironhide falls forward, but suddenly collapses backward upon himself, and transforms into a sturdy-looking transport vehicle.
You say, "Race you."
Prowl pauses at the door to the unfortunately named bar, then looks back at the others. "This place has quite an...er, unique clientele. We'd best be prepared for anything."
Ironhide says, "Nuts an' bolts! You're too cautious." He walks right in. "I dare 'em to try somethin'."
Murusa transforms, making sure her CC Guard symbols are flipped around. Now she's undercover. Smart for an old femme eh?
El Sleazo Cafe
Whisperwind is fully stealthed and fully silent as he makes his way through the bar, easily weaving his way through the mechs assembled without alerting anyone to his presence. He's not here to make trouble, but the situation in Cubicron lately has been... well, worrisome to some. He, being a Cubicronian himself before he was an Autobot, has pretty much taken this in stride as just another turf war between mobs--which isn't surprising--but apparently others don't see it like that. But so be it. Here's hoping nobody gets killed for sticking their attention where it doesn't belong...
Ironhide saunters in, walks to the bar, and waves over the bartender. He shows him a photo on his chest-mounted view screen, muttering to him about something. The bartender, looking nervous, leans in very close, whispering to the grizzled veteran.
Ironhide nods, bouncing an energon chip across the counter. The bartender turns around and starts pouring drinks, pretending like nothing unusual has just happened.
Lifeline is standing behind Galagatron with her arms crossed, looking displeased. For anyone that knows her, this is not out of the norm.
Galagatron, in all his vigilance, had not noticed Lifeline as she stepped into the Cafe. In the middle of gulping down some more of his drink her presence was finally felt, almost suddenly directly behind him. Startled would be the right word to describe the Decepticons reaction, and as her voice boomed behind him he immediately leapt from his seat and straightened as he turned around. "Hail Megatron! Please don't scrap me!" he calls out, optics closing tightly as his arms lifted into the air to cover his head. After a moment or so, the con realizes that it is Lifeline and not one of the Decepticons hunting him. "...I mean, hah! Just kidding... What, I can't come by for a drink? I've been working non-stop!" A lie, as he'd been in the Cafe all morning.
Murusa follows Ironhide in, shaking her head at his very unsubtle approach. She settles on a barstool, taking a moment to absorb the atmosphere and get a feel for those hanging out here. A glance at Galagatron. Well that explains Prowl's comment about unique clientele quite nicely.
Lifeline isn't fooled. She TOTALLY startled him, but isn't one to gloat. So instead she just keeps glowering. "Working non-stop doing what? Keeping that barstool from floating away?"
Whisperwind barely spares a glance over at Galagatron. The mech, Decepticon or not, has been here for a while and hasn't caused trouble... well, yet anyways. He notes Ironhide's entrance and moves to a place where he can keep an optic on things yet not give himself away. An Autobot here can mean trouble very quickly...
Prowl stands back, watching Ironhide work. It seems like every single Autobot has more experience than Prowl in dealing with shady underworld types. After a second, Prowl nods internally. That's because it's true. Since about three days ago Prowl had never stepped foot in this bar. Then he takes a few steps to one side, so that he's near the door yet not blocking it. It's a common tactical position used to help control a room. Although few people actually use it in practice, as it is so common (and predictable) and since it doesn't work in all situations. For example, it doesn't work very well in a bar filled with various mechs.
Galagatron scoffs and folds his arms over his large chest, and his chin rises slightly as he takes on a rather superior poise. "Among other thing..." he replies. "I'll have you know that I have been attempting to bargain with many of the mechs around here, trying to find precious scrap metal and parts all for you. You know... Lifeline, it would not hurt for you to show a little gratitude every now and then, instead of simply finding fault with the five nano-cycles that a mech takes for himself."
Murusa is stationed at a barstool near what could be called a back exit. She keeps tabs on things though, waiting to see what the two Autobots may do about the one that works here. She hmms softly at the commentary from the Con though.
Lifeline just keeps glowering at the Decepticon. "If you were actually doing something useful, I might actually show a little gratitude. But I know as well as you do that you've done nothing all morning but sit here and imbibe tainted energon." She is pulling out all the stops on the sarcasm. "Oh, yes, this must be the glorious Decepticon existence that you're always going on about. Hmph." In one corner of the bar, a seedy-looking mech is sipping on a beverage. His eyes dart from side to side, first to Ironhide, then to Prowl, then back to Ironhide. He tries to play it cool, but it's easy to tell that he's at least a little nervous about the Autobot presence in the room. He doesn't pay heed to Murusa or Whisperwind, not recognizing either, or to Lifeline and Galagatron, who are common sights here in Cubicron. But the Autobots? That can't be good.
Whisperwind stays where he is, stealthed and remaining somewhere near yet slightly above the crowd, keeping a careful optic on everyone. The nervous, seedy mech in the corner doesn't escape his attention, but he only makes a note of it as he continues to scan the room--blue optics narrowed behind his black full-face visor. Anyone would be nervous with Autobots showing up in here without saying what they want. He moves his fingers a bit as if twirling an invisible throwing knife between them, calm but cautious and ready.
Galagatron growls and takes a single step closer to Lifeline, and one of the trio of clawed fingers of his right hand points at the femme's chest plate. "You listen here! I am a WARRIOR! Combat flows through my circuits, lubricates my pistons! You have me running around this junk-pile trying to barter with mechs that I could easily just take what you need from! Do I argue though? Do I do things MY way which would get it done right quicker and cheaper, and ultimately benefit us both a lot more? NO! I do it your way... The slow, tedious way that rarely if ever produces any results..." Turning to face the bar, Galagatron grabs hold of his drink and downs the rest of it before turning around to again face Lifeline. "So come on! Give a mech a break, huh? Give a mech a slaggin break!" With that, Galagatron begins to jump up and down, and stomp his feat as he throws a rather tame Decepticon tantrum.
Ironhide glances over at the two robots bickering at the bar. "Glorious Decepticons, huh? That's an even worse joke than one of Foz-E's." The bartender slide Ironhide a drink, but he doesn't take it. He just leaves it sitting on the bar, turning toward the seedy mech and taking a step in his direction. Just then, a small, unassuming mech steps in front of Ironhide. "Hey, aren't you Ironhide?" he asks him. Ironhide peers down at the little mech. "Yeah, that's me..." The little guy responds to him. "Wow! I thought I recognized you! Listen, this place is dangerous. I got a message for you that I think you might be interested in..."
Prowl is forced to step even farther away from the door as it opens to let a few other robots in - they're natives of Cubicron, and unimportant to the scene. But Prowl has unknowingly made the way in or out even more accessible to others. Then he compounds his rookie mistake by letting his attention be drawn to Galagatron.
Murusa keeps her profile low, being undercover until the two Bots act on the perp in question. She’ll just guard the back door here.. drink this.. Primus what is that stuff.. she literally spit takes. "Nasty." she mutters. Sadly that spit take ends up on Galagatron. "Oops."
Lifeline has heard the arrivals, but is honestly too peeved at the obnoxious and childish Galagatron to really care who they are. "Slag. You're reminding me why I refuse to have anything to do with EITHER gaggle of branded morons." Yes, she just lumped Autobots and Decepticons together with that insult. "If you're really that superior, then you can fend for yourself...and explain to Metro-X why I am no longer claiming responsibility for your welfare." And with that, she turns to leave, muttering darkly.
Motion, motion, motion. So many things going on, so little time to process. But Whisperwind is rather used to this--you don't survive in Cubicron and become a Stealth Specialist for nothing, after all. He notes more mechs entering, moving Prowl out of position, and the rather odd timing of Galagatron's temper-tantrum. He shifts where he is slightly to move closer to Ironhide, not liking the small mech getting so close to one of his superiors, rank wise.
Ironhide looks at the little guy. "Yeah? What kind of message?" The small mech waves him down to his level, and Ironhide stoops to listen. The mech says, "The message is.... Stay out of Cubicron." He draws a pistol and, before Ironhide can react, blasts several rounds into Ironhide's chest. At this point-blank range, even Ironhide's heavy armor is breached by the blasts. He staggers back and drops to a knee. The seedy mech in the corner uses this moment as an opportunity to bolt for the front door. Meanwhile, the gunman splits and dashes for the back door. Ironhide gurgles on his own energon, pointing towards the front door. "The perp... get... the.. perp..." He then collapses forward and stops moving.
Galagatron blinks his optics once as he watches Lifeline begin to storm off, her last words not sitting too well with him considering that she's been giving him a place to recharge and has both his weapons and flight activators in the shop. "Wait..." he starts, and when Lifeline doesn't stop, Galagatron's eye ridges narrow slightly. "Hey, wait a nano-cycle! I..." he starts, grinding his teeth hard enough for them to spark. "I apologize..." With that, the Decepticon almost looks as if he was ready to expel lubricant all over the cafe from his mouth, but the feeling doesn't last long as something quickly grabs his attention. "Hey, watch it you little piece of scrap!" he snorts, optics narrowing deeper as he looks to Murusa. "If you don't know how to drink it, don't order it!" the con growls. "..." Suddenly, Galagatron notices something a little off. Far too many of the mechs here seem to be rather well armed, and they don't look like the norm for Cubicron at all on top of that. That's when the first weapon goes off, and the con does the only thing that a WARRIOR built for combat and glory would do in such a situation... He dives behind the bar. "Incoming!"
Murusa jumps at the gunman going for the back door, since she is right there. No one shoots a fellow security type and gets away with it. Leaving Prowl to get the guy heading for the front door.
Lifeline stops at the sound of weapons fire and sees Ironhide collapse. She ignores the shooter, rushing over toward the fallen Autobot to turn him over and assess the damage. By the string of curses she's uttering, it's not good. She actually bodily scoops up the mech and starts for the door as fast as she can, not explaining herself to anyone. But Primus forbid anyone tries to get in her way. Prowl, this means you. Jazz walks in the doors and guess who he comes face to face with, "Why-- hello Lifeline, long time no cycle." He says with a soft smile.
Prowl also has trouble tracking all of the different things going on at once, and only when the shooting starts does he jerk his attention back to what is on retrospect the most dangerous person in the room - the unknown robot being accosted by an intimidating Autobot with a reputation for gruff, no-nonsense heroics. Prowl had actually calculated the probability said unknown criminal would do something crazy like try to attack Ironhide. But he'd quickly discarded the idea - what could a Cubicron criminal do to hurt the legendary -Ironhide-? But now, faced with first-hand proof that a small chance is still a chance, Prowl freezes, trying to process what just happened and what he should do next.
Whisperwind lets the two 'Bots with Ironhide deal with the perp and the gunman, jumping down towards where Ironhide falls. He silently stays out of the way of Lifeline, not letting anyone get near, and follows her out. "Bad timing, sir," he growls towards Jazz as he jumps past his immediate superior and takes off after the actual gun-mech when he sees Prowl freeze.
Lifeline snarls at Jazz, "MOVE." She actually uses Ironhide's feet to shove Jazz out of the way, then is out the door with the injured mech, heading for her clinic at an almost-jog. Sorry, Jazz. No apologies this time around.
Murusa just misses that small mech that shot Ironhide. She mutters something that isn't very ladylike as she picks herself up and frowns. Prowl is frozen, Ironhide just got carried off. So much for this plan. "GET HIM!" she yells at Prowl. Jazz ehs as he seems utterly confused, "Why is like the doc carrin' off 'Hide-- and just wha' in tha' slag is goin' down around here?"
Prowl jerks again, circuits still scrambled from the unexpected (sadly a weakness that he'll never truly overcome). He's only now coming to terms what's going on, after his processor analyzes the information from his own senses, cross-references it with what people are saying, and then adds in Ironhide's last gasped commands. The directive from Murusa only reinforces that, and then Prowl shouts, "Autobots! We've -- we've got to stop that Cubicron mech!" He points out the door. "HE JUST SHOT IRONHIDE!!"
Popping his head up from behind the bar, Galagatron glances around to make sure that the coast is clear. "Hmmm..." he sounds quietly to himself, eye ridges narrowing slightly. "I need my weapons back... This is ridiculous. I am a Decepticon warrior. I am the one that is going to dethrone the great Megatron, and crush him before the optics of his troops! Reduced to a weakling to quell the paranoia of others... Argh!" he snarls, and climbs out from behind the bar in order to begin heading toward the door. He's getting his weapons back if he has to travel into the heart of the black market to do so. Jazz over-hears Prowl, then notes Galagatron, "Yo, Galagatron!" Jazz then quickly moves over to the Decepticon, "I'm gatherin' ya like ta fight right, and remember wha' I said last time about if ya work with us." Jazz then opens up a compartment and pulls out some parts, he then quickly puts it together to create a photon rifle. Then clicks the last part in. "You help us get whoever shot Ironhide, alive-- please.." Jazz hoped that is all he had to say as he pulled out his own silver hand-gun and checked the ammo. All was good on it. Then Jazz looked at the Decepticon once more. "..and yea-- arm shots, leg shots, hip shots-- that is all good-- just no kill shots.. if ya could so /nicely/." Jazz then looked over to Prowl, "Which way did he go?"
The gunman is collared by Whisperwind, flailing wildly and firing shots erratically that harmlessly end up in the ceiling. He's trying to pull free, but not very successfully. He's in a panic since he didn't think anyone would actually catch him... the thought he saw all the robots in the room. It seems he thought wrong.
Murusa moves toward the door since Prowl is totally useless. But looks like someone else caught the shooter and by now the bar worker is long gone. "That certainly could have gone better."
Whisperwind decloaks and holds the shooter by the scruff of his neck, what little that could be seen of his optics narrowed to slits behind the visor. "That--" He slams the shooter against the wall, unsheathes a sword, and presses the point just under the lowest edge of his helm as if ready to stab him straight through the head, "--is an understatement." He directs that at Murusa while maintaining control over the gunman. "What the PIT is going on?" Yeah... this mech is not very happy.
Galagatron squints as he looks to Jazz, and his head cants slightly before recognition sets in. "Ah, yes... I remember you from the other day," he states with a curt nod. "I have no weapons, that femme took all of them and my flight capabilities as part of their precautions against me doing anything that they do not like," he growls. "Yet there are so many others that walk around with weapons and their other abilities in tact! Ah, the hypocrisy of it all makes me so angry!" the Decepticon snarls, and his ruby red eyes flash with intensity. "So...very...angry!" he snarls, and turns to march over toward Whisperwind and the downed gunman. A heavy foot stomps upon the ground, and the Decepticon's force field activates to form a dome over the Autobot, himself, and the gunman. "You will stop your struggling NOW, or we will scrap you immediately! Surrender yourself for interrogation!" the con bellows out, his foot stomping once more for emphasis as an animalistic growl booms forward yet again. Unfortunately, it doesn't help very much that he's covered in foamy substance from when he'd leapt behind the bar.
Murusa looks over at Whisperwind, then at Prowl. "I don't believe I have to reply to that question." she tells the former. Jazz smirks and puts away his own gun and then takes a part of the rifle. "Nice job Whisperwind, good havin' ya around down here." Jazz then hops over the bar, gets a bottle of some high grade, pours him a shot, walks back around the bar as he drinks down the shot, still holding said bottle. "So like-- this little pee-shooter got 'Hide, eh? Part of some gang group I'm takin' it? Or maybe someone wanted 'ol 'Hide offline?"
The gunman shrieks! He blinks, completely speechless, and waiting to see what Whisperwind will do next. He opens his mouth to speak, but only a squeak comes out. "I..." When he is accosted by Galagatron, he notes the mech is unarmed and covered in booze. He stops struggling, but tries to act bold. "I think you need a power wash, big guy. I ain't tellin' you nothin!"
Whisperwind ignores Galagatron and keeps the mech flat against the wall, blade still tucked into a space just under his helm. Best to stay very still, mech--one wrong move and your head will be shishkabob'ed. He jerks his head back and the visor flips back up into his helm at about forehead level, a scowl down turning his features and his blue optics still narrowed to slits. "Very well then. There's more than one way to get information."
He looks over at Jazz, keeping a very firm grip on the gunmech's neck. "I believe this has something to do with the mob war lately down here. If Ironhide was nosing around, there's no way anyone would tolerate an outsider getting involved, no matter how good-intentioned it is." Blunt and to the point--no need to mince words, especially /here/. "But sir," still speaking to Jazz, "I think you should find out straight from a source..." very slight nod to the gunmech.
Prowl seems to be coming back to his senses now. "Yes..." he draws out the word while his mind works furiously, comparing internally filed reports cross-referencing it with snippets of rumors that have been floating around, and then finally going back to some of the possible outcomes he had calculated at the beginning of this ill-fated mission, only hours ago (although it somehow feels like years now).
"Yes," Prowl repeats. "This was most likely the work of one of Cubicron's gangs. There have been whispers that one or more have targeted Ironhide for reprisals, and there may have been foreknowledge of the start of our campaign here after we discussed it in the open -- " here Prowl falters, but then goes on. "In the open before travelling here." Static comes strolling in, glancing around a bit. "Seems a bit more lively in here tonight...that’s for sure." He shrugs his shoulders a bit, as he moves through the room to find a seat.
Murusa lowers her voice as she speaks to Prowl, "Why do you think I suggested keeping it in private, to avoid just this sort of situation."
Jazz then poured another shot, placed the bottle down, drank the shot, put the glass on top of the bottle, and all this as Whisperwind spoke. He was silent, very silent, even as he moved over. His visor locked on the gunmech. Then Jazz looked over to Prowl and the Crystalin, then back to Prowl, turning to face the tacticians, "So-- your tellin' me, this scum-mech.. hmm.. I see.." His voice was very calm, even as he spoke those words, no emotion on his face what so ever.
Jazz then moves over to Whisperwind, the Decepticon, and the gunmech. Taking note of someone entering, but at this point not caring. "So then-- let’s play a game, pal." He addresses the gunmech as his visor locks on him. "You tell us what you know-- and the big guy here," Motioning to Galagatron, "wont turn ya to scrap."
Well, this is a good at place as any, isn't it? He'd spent most of the day looking, and right now, he didn't really care how rough or rowdy a place was so long as he could plant his aft in a chair for a while. If he had to bust a few heads in the process? Well, Sunstreaker was cool with that. He steps out of the way of the entrance to avoid blocking it, then makes a sort of snorting sound in his vocalizer. "Nice ambience here..." A little crowded for his taste, but eh. There's an open chair (which he immediately heads for) and that's really all he needs. Of course, he does notice whatever it is that's going on... and once he sits, he settles back to watch the show, mildly amused. Whatever happened, it must've been big.
Galagatron's optics flash impossibly bright at the gunman's words, his jaw clenching like a vice as he looms beside Whisperwind over the defenseless mech. "I am the mech of your nightmares..." he starts, and reaches over to snag the leg of a chair, his gaze still focused intently on the Gunman's. "You have just fired upon and damaged one of these bot's comrades in arms... They are a soft lot, but even that will not stop them from taking you back to their base and making absolutely certain that you are melted down into spare parts to help put their comrade back together..." A growl and the Decepticon steps closer. "This mech and I have become friends," he states, pointing a clawed finger to Jazz. "We Decepticons are quite versatile in our ability to extract information through means that are frowned upon by most, and I am certain that he would have no problem allowing me to slowly dismantle you piece by piece while you sit awake...watching as I remove your insides. I will personally see to it that your death does not come swiftly, but over several cycles, painfully slowly... Only for you to teeter on the very brink of total destruction, so that I may reassemble you and do it all over again. This, I promise you... On my pride as a Decepticon, I promise you if you do not...talk...now."
Whisperwind stays still and silent, his senses more directed to the mechs still leaving and entering to make sure there won't be a round 2. He does raise the mech off the ground, still pinned against the wall, as if to emphasize the points made by Jazz and Galagatron.
Murusa idly notes, "There are ways to make mechs talk that doesn't involve violence. But then I'm merely a old femme with not an ounce of her younger years charm to use against a mech anymore." she notes, leaving them to do whatever they will to the shooter.
Prowl nods gravely at Murusa. "Noted. And acknowledged. You were right - and we won't forget that. But I'm afraid it's too to avoid the situation now." He turns to look at Jazz and says in a low voice (that still carries throughout the room now that most normal bar-room conversation has died off). "If Ironhide is..." he trails off, unwilling to complete the sentence. "If Ironhide is not in a position to continue commanding, it's up to the two of us. Until Optimus says differently, of course. I recommend you, Jazz, take charge of Cubicron campaign, including... 'dealings' with the gangs and any individuals," His optics blaze slightly as he glances at the gunmech in custody. "I will attempt to cover Ironhide's duties with regards to Autobot security." He takes a few steps away from Jazz, then turns to scan the room, looking for reactions and clues as to intent and noting he should also identify the newcomer who just entered. He turns his attention to Sunstreaker.
Lone Gun-Mech darts his optics from person to person. He's done for, it seems, and his courage is dwindling. "If I talk, I get scrapped anyway. Just get it over with!" He closes his eyes, winces, and turns his head, expecting the killing blow that he expects to come. It's up to the assembled robots what'll happen next. But the little mech appears to be putty in your hands.
Sunstreaker notes Prowl looking at him, and just watches him steadily. The mech is young and he doesn't really look like the sort to be hanging out in this sort of place... but then, the same thing could probably be said about the mech sizing him up. His expression stays unreadable, not in any particular mood to get involved with whatever's going on... though he's well aware that could easily change.
"But those ways... Are nowhere NEAR as much /fun/," Galagatron hisses toward the gun-mech, in response to Murusa's input. "You have a choice. Imprisonment, or a painfully slow death. We will not destroy you if you cooperate." Galagatron offers, though the Decepticon is lying through his teeth. Granted, he doesn't get to make that call anyway, but if it was him he would certainly still dismantle the gun-mech.
Murusa smiles a bit at Galagatron, "Apparently you haven't had a femme flirt with you, lad." she notes, but moves back to the bar to sit and watch them grill the gun mech. She may as well see this through as she trusts Lifeline is taking good care of the injured Ironhide.
Whisperwind has to mentally stop himself from audibly /snorting/ at Prowl and Murusa's words. This isn't about being an Autobot, or anything else. This is about one mech having the ball-bearings to take down a high-ranking comrade and not enough intelligence to get out. Assassinations are one thing--he can almost admire that, really, since he's familiar with that line of work--but attempts are totally different. Attempts don't deserve nice-ities, especially from a mech like himself. Yes, this is a different side to the goody-goody Whisperwind, and right now he doesn't give a slag. He keeps his attention on the gun-mech, his optics narrowing as he just lets the others talk.
Prowl walks over to stand next to Sunstreaker, although he still keeps his gaze on the Autobots and others interrogating the Gun-Mech. After a bit he suddenly says in a low voice to the other mech, "I notice you arrived here after the...incident." Prowl doesn't elaborate on what 'incident' he's talking about. "Did you notice anything from outside? Both before Ironhide was carried out, and after?"
"To be perfectly honest," Sunstreaker responds casually, glancing up at Prowl with a dark expression, "I don't really give a scrap. I just got here, I wasn't payin' any attention, and I've got more important things to worry about than your buddy or whoever getting carted out." He gives Prowl a look over, still not really revealing much of what he's thinking through expression or body language. "So nope. Can't help ya." It's not particularly clear, though, whether he's telling the truth or just being uncooperative. Jazz really-- should have taken another shot. It been a /long/ time since he had to play these kinda games, also it was very distracting in here-- to many people for his liking. "Trust me-- he will scrap ya." Jazz hrms as he rubs under his visor at the bridge of his nose. "Lets move him outside-- a bit more to.. a dark.. secluded area. If someone is gonna kill him for squealing', maybe we outta let 'em."
Galagatron hisses as he leans closer to the gun-mech, his face only a few centimeters from the other mech's. "I hope you don't talk... Look forward to seeing you real soon," the con offers, and then a disturbingly broad smile spreads across his face. "We're going to get to know each other very well over the next few cycles." With that, he backs away as the Autobots decide to relocate their new prisoner. Watching for a few moments as they prepare the gun-mech for his 'walk around the block', the Decepticon turns finally and fixes
Murusa with a rather arrogant expression. "None that are worth my time as of yet, at least..." he finally replies to her comment.
"To be perfectly honest," Sunstreaker responds casually, glancing up at Prowl with a dark expression, "I don't really give a scrap. I just got here, I wasn't payin' any attention, and I've got more important things to worry about than your buddy or whoever getting carted out." He gives Prowl a look over, still not really revealing much of what he's thinking through expression or body language. "So nope. Can't help ya." It's not particularly clear, though, whether he's telling the truth or just being uncooperative.
Lone Gun-Mech peers out of one of his shuttered optics, surprised that he still exists. He tries another approach, hoping to weasel out of this yet. "It's like this...
Ironhide went poking around where he didn't belong... and some mechs don't like outsiders coming into our turf. The old fool went looking for trouble and he found it. Same thing that'll happen to all of you if you keep it up. This territory is spoken for. Do yourselves a favor and back off... there are enough guns in this town to take you all down. Let me go and I won't tell my boss that you're into his business." Jazz really-- should have taken another shot. It been a /long/ time since he had to play these kinda games, also it was very distracting in here-- to many people for his liking. "Trust me-- he will scrap ya." Jazz hrms as he rubs under his visor at the bridge of his nose. "Lets move him outside-- a bit more to.. a dark.. secluded area. If someone is gonna kill him for squealing', maybe we outta let 'em."
Prowl's lips compress into a flat line, but he nods slightly. "I see." he responds to Sunstreaker. Strange, he tried to craft a response based on advice found in Autobot intel protocols and guides on interacting with neutral mechs...and this is the second time such an approach has failed him. Prowl is starting to wonder if the people who wrote those protocols are the ones who are successfully gathering intelligence for the Autobots in the field.
In any case, Prowl walks over to the door and holds it open in case Jazz wants to drag 'the perp' out or anything. It also gives him a chance to quickly scan the area outside for himself.
Murusa slides off the barstool, seeing it may be time to get out of here. Whisperwind silently stares at the gun-mech, listening closely, and he moves the blade away from the back of the mech's helm. "Outside it is," he replies quietly. He moves the blade right up against the mech's throat, threatening without words to slit his throat if he tries to run, and (still having a tight grip on the back of the mech's neck) marches him right out the door without sparing a glance at Prowl or anyone else for that matter.
"Feh," the gold-plated mech huffs, leaning back in his seat, ankle resting against his knee joint as he watches. The proceedings seem to be moving outside. Pity... Sunstreaker was sort of enjoying watching them intimidating the little scrap that must've been the start of all the trouble. "Ah well." He tips his head back, gazing at the ceiling. He probably could've tried to negotiate something... maybe gotten some information on the mech /he/ was trying to find... but he didn't always think before he spoke, and that apparently nailed him this time. Jazz follows and controls himself, his fist tightening up as he whispers to Galagatron, "He is hiddin' slag-- he ain't givin' the full info. I want a name-- I want the gang.. once we get him outside-- lay it into him.. dun kill him.. just let him know we ain't screwin' around." His voice was dead serious, actually-- it was downright creepy from an Autobot how it growled almost. Galagatron has connected.
Whisperwind silently stares at the gun-mech, listening closely, and he moves the blade away from the back of the mech's helm. "Outside it is," he replies quietly. He moves the blade right up against the mech's throat, threatening without words to slit his throat if he tries to run, and (still having a tight grip on the back of the mech's neck) marches him right out the door without sparing a glance at Prowl or anyone else for that matter.
Jazz follows and controls himself, his fist tightening up as he whispers to Galagatron, "He is hiddin' slag-- he ain't givin' the full info. I want a name-- I want the gang.. once we get him outside-- lay it into him.. dun kill him.. just let him know we ain't screwin' around." His voice was dead serious, actually-- it was downright creepy from an Autobot how it growled almost(repose for Gal).
Murusa slips out the door.
Cubicron
Galagatron steps out of the Cafe behind the line of Autobots, watching briefly as they carry on with the gun-mech. He had to admire that kind of courage, attempting to shoot a large mech like that Ironhide fellow in a room full of his comrades. Oh well, too bad he would soon be scrapped for not having a good enough exit strategy. "I am growing tired of Cubicron..." he offers to Jazz as he passes by the bots. "I do hope that the next time we meet it will be Megatron that is on the receiving end of the beating. Good...luck with your interrogation."
Murusa stands nearby, hands behind her back, watching to see how they deal with the shooter. After all she is curious about how Autobots operate and can compare with what she had seen back in her city.
Sunstreaker steps outside, staying off away from the main action to watch the other mechs work.
Jazz follows and cuts a glance over to Galagatron, a slight chuckle, "Wha'?" He then looks at the former con, "Not gonna beat the slagger to a pulp? Leave me tha' pleasure?" Sadly Murusa, you’re looking at the worse two to actually compare 'what' Autobots normally do. Even more so-- Jazz. Who by no means did things sometimes the 'Autobot' way of going about stuff. Jazz then fully turned back to the gunmech, "However-- before the big guy their answers that question." Jazz then quickly steps to where Whisperwind is, snatches the gun-mechs are and then gives it a hard yank back pressing his knee between him and Whisperwind, to pop the whole arm itself out of its socket joint, "That, pal--" He said with a hiss, "--is for tryin' to cover ya sorry scummin', slaggin' aft-plate. Dun cross me.." He then walks front of the mech and pats the mechs face a bit harshly, before squeezing his thumb and index finger around the mechs cheeks, "..or they won’t find enough of ya left ta even know who ya were.. got me?"
Whisperwind steers the mech outside and into an alley, his sword moving away only when Jazz has command of the shooter's attention. He doesn't flicker an optic, maintaining his grip and keeping an optic on the neutral who Prowl had evidently been talking to earlier (Sunstreaker). He maintains his silence, waiting for the word one way or another.
Murusa winces at that action, hearing that socket come free. Even after all her years she's not quite used to such sounds even after all the times she heard worse coming from construction mechs on builds.
Prowl steps out of the El Sleazo after the others, extremely careful to keep shifting his attention around rather than just watching the proceedings surrounding the Gunmech - he's obviously trying to keep track of everything at once, possibly as an over-reaction to his earlier lapse. Prowl pauses at the mouth of the alley, then steps out of sight from those questioning the would-be assassin, down the main street and around the 'corner' formed by the walls of the bar.
The poor gun-mech is visibly shaken, letting out a cry when his arm is popped out of the joint. That wasn't at all pleasant. Not even /remotely/. Right now, he's in too much visible pain to actually answer anything. He does look, though, like he's really starting to understand his predicament... even if he doesn't want to actually talk. The way he continues to see it is... if he says something, he's dead... and if he doesn't say anything, he's dead!
Galagatron watches for a moment longer from afar, and a smirk plays across his face as he watches how Jazz deals with the assassin. "Just like a true Decepticon..." he comments quietly to himself, and a chortle flows from the large mech. "Listen! You should probably offer him some kind of... Amnesty for his actions! It might make this easier for you, bots..." Turning then, Galagatron continues on his way toward the heavily shuttered building not far from the Cafe. "Whether or not you actually keep your word," he murmurs too low for perhaps any of the others to hear. That's how he'd handle this situation anyway...
Murusa looks between Jazz and Galagatron, since they seem to be doing the interrogating. She sighs softly, muttering something along the lines of ' there are worse fates than arms out of sockets'. Jazz then steps away from the gun-mech, placing his hands behind his back, looking upward, "So-- mech.. what's ya name? Can I get that out of ya?" He then turns toward the gun-mech, his visor looking at him. "Hate ta keep makin' up names for ya-- by the way, clock is tickin' on tha' info. I dun get it-- I'll start takin' shots.."
Whisperwind holds up the mech off of the ground in front of him but far enough away to keep him from getting kicked or something, seeming to have no fear or concern of Jazz possibly missing and shooting /him/. He snaps his head down slightly and the full-face visor shields his face once more, only the faintest of glimmers showing that his optics are still online and narrowed. He maintains his silence--Jazz is the interrogator, not him.
Was it worth it? The poor gun mech seriously considers that. He did this for glory. And now he's getting ripped up for it? One way or another, he's dead, after all. Unless... "A-all right!" he cries, struggling. "All right! But... but first... I want somethin'! Y'gotta promise me protection!" Another moment or two of struggling. "Yeah! Protection! That's right! Till you promise me that, I ain't tellin' ya nothin'!"
At hearing the continued threats behind him, the Decepticon slows his trek toward the Heavily Shuttered Building. Ugh, these Autobots... To think that it was a possibility that he would be walking among their ranks in time. Turning to take another gander at the interrogation, Galagatron folds his arms over his chest, and before any of the bots are able to respond to the gun-mech's plea for protection Galagatron answers for them. "Consider it done! Your boss will never find you!"
Jazz glances over to Galagatron and then smirks softly, a very-- deadly smirk. "Ya got it-- protection.. now then.. start talkin' lil' cyber-bird-- dun wanna pluck no more feathers."
Murusa crosses her arms over her chest, continuing to watch on quietly.
"L...look..." the mech stammers. "Look, I was told... I was told I could join this gang if I popped an Autobot! Didn't think he'd have buddies!" He swallows, struggling again. "I don't know th'name a'the boss! I really don't! I swear!" He struggles yet again. "I /swear/!"
Could it be? Is it possible that Jazz actually understood by that subtle smirk exactly what Galagatron had meant by 'your boss will never find you'? The Decepticon couldn't help but return that oh so 'deadly' facial twitch, and with amusement within his expression the con lowered himself down into a crouch, still watching the scene unfold from afar. Not all of the Autobots are complete fools it seems. "Good to know..."