#coldbloodedcorruption

“He doesn’t lie by the way”

Iacon Park. That had been unexpected but also not, it would be the quietest part of the bustling city. It would take few minutes before he even typed in the coordinates as he had absently prepared a cube for his visitor. Either out of habit or concern, he couldn’t quite place it.

But ultimately, he’d moved to the controls and entered the coordinates, opening the groundbridge and stepping back. He pinged, carefully, and almost bounced in place as he waited. It’d been some time since he last saw Barricade in what he had supposed was good health.

::Mkay, have them get ahold of…the frag is her name…Elita I guess….real:: the audio cuts out as he says some not so nice things about her in his native tongue

::And yeah, get me out of jail. APPARENTLY fraggin no one thinks to pull the blind mech out of the street and enforcers get dumb and wonder why I’m so mad, so lock me up as a result”

Jazz had nearly made a comment on the the audio cut, but something far more important grabbed his attention. He stood with one swift motion, the stack of datapads on the desk had almost flew through the air.

//What?!// Jazz normally didn’t voice confusion or anger, but this had come as a surprise. He was the acting Security Officer, this should have been brought to his attention sooner. //I’m going to kill them.//

He was out of the office and on the move with little thought; a fury of black and white, and blue and red, and doorwings out straight and aggressive. Bots moved out of his way, thankfully, which made the trip all the shorter--not even the front desk mech seemed at ease with the spy master in this moment.

                    HE WAS too big for a quiet city full of Autobots. It didn’t help that two security mech followed him, weapons drawn and aimed every single time he even looked at the Autobots that purposely scurried out of his way. But he managed to get to the hotel without being shot or beaten by the guards, who were now chatting away with the security located in the hotel and guarding Barricade’s room.

                    A PING was sent to Barricade as Blackout watched the mech around him. It took approximately twenty long minutes before the helicopter was given a room number and allowed to move without his armed escort. An extra ten just to find the room and knock as loudly as he could.

“Aw, you think I’m shiny and flashy? That’s almost a compliment, Barricade–what would the universe think? Knowing that you, the universe’s punching bag and overall aft, is giving out compliments? And to me no less!

     Long, sharpened digits dipped pass the outer edges of the wound and the sharp tips pressed firmly against the shattered spinal strut. The mech on the examination table screamed hoarsely, vocal processor long since fried and spitting sparks, and his blunt fingers tried to claw against the table. The broken toy had pleaded and begged for mercy--‘kill me,’ he had whimpered throughout the session, ‘please, just end it!’--but they fell to deaf ears.

     A revved of a finely tuned engine occurred, followed by a purr. The mech spoke no words as he dug the talon deeper, which had been followed by the familiar sound of cracking metal. And just before he could snap the strut further, a sound rang out--the sound of someone having passed through the door of his little clinic--and Flatline pulled energon slick digits from the frame.

     He hadn’t bothered to retrain his patient; it was far too damaged to roll off the berth, let alone flee. He simply walked from the surgical room, closing the door behind him, and approaching the front of his filthy little clinic.

     “I’m not doing the arena today, boy,” he called out, believing it to be one of the conmech that ran them. “I’ve said time and time again, I’m a--”

     There were few things that surprised Flatline; purple frame and optics, the familiar scent of Dark Energon, always among them. Instantly, his own tainted optics brightened, almost giddy, and he strolled forward with grace that no frame his size should hold.