#shockline

An Autobot generally went unnoticed within Iacon in comparison to a Decepticon. Even an “Autobot” wanted for espionage and treason. Hardly anyone saw Longarm Prime slip from the shadows and through the entrance into long-abandoned underground tunnels.

Longarm navigated the labyrinth of tunnels with familiarity and a tight hold around the package under his arm. After a series of twists and turns designed to lose any prying optics, he emerged into a clearly-not-abandoned hideout. His hideout. Well, his and another’s, to be precise.

A pink and blue Decepticon looked up from where he was sitting hunched in the corner. Flatline straightened, revealing the small gas canister he had been tinkering with in his lap.

“Welcome back.” Flatline smiled. His optics flicked down to the package Longarm was shielding. “How did it go?” Longarm sighed with a wide smile of his own and looked back the way he had come from.

“Uneventful. It appears Iacon’s criminal element is thriving, despite Sentinel’s claims.” Longarm’s brow creased, thoughtful and concerned, before he crossed the space to join Flatline. “Though I am sure the news of my betrayal will be spreading swiftly, even to those presently willing to...help us out.”

Flatline stood and pocketed the canister. He stood at nearly twice Longarm’s size, even without including his wings, which currently twitched with unspoken agitation. Longarm’s expression warmed in a way that didn’t reach his optics as he shifted the package into his servos.

“Here,” He placed it into Flatline’s claws, “You first, my dear.” Flatline hummed and unlatched the package’s flimsy covering, revealing a small cache of energon; enough to sustain them both for a short while.

As Flatline examined the cubes, Longarm’s gaze lingered on his faceplate. He took a step to the side, closer to Flatline’s hip, and moved to wrap an arm around him. Longarm was halted by a servo shoved into his faceplate, pushing him back. He made a muffled noise and squinted at Flatline through the bot’s digits.

“Uh uh.” Flatline chided. He removed his servo, thankfully, to tap at the faction symbol on Longarm’s chestplate. The Autobot symbol. Longarm looked at his chestplate for a moment before lifting his optics back to Flatline’s. His smile fell into a small line with only the faintest curve to it, his tank-tread shoulders relaxed, and his blunt digits fell open at his sides.

“My apologies.” Longarm’s rumbled reply was spoken with a voice lower than his usual register. The lengthy ch-ch-ch of a transformation cog with additional processes filled the space, twisting and stretching Longarm’s wide body into the lithe but looming frame of his true form: The Decepticon Shockwave.

Flatline’s smile returned twicefold as he tilted his helm back, now the one at a significant height disadvantage. A set of long, razor-sharp claws curled around his waist, pricking the exposed protoform.

“Is this more to your liking?” Shockwave asked, draping his long neck around Flatline’s shoulder pauldrons like a python. Flatline chuckled.