Ep 2 - Highway Trinkets (Closed)

[Carbine]

Best.

Day.

Ever!

Bolo was finding everything about this great. True, the rust stench was nasty, but it just added to the potpourri of new and delightful smells that were overflowing his mind. He had never imagined coming across such scents before, at least not some of them in the quantity he was experiencing now. A tiny little nagging in the back of his processor knew that he should check out the familiar smell, he should try to see what was actually recognizable on this foreign planet, but... he was having so much fun. Besides, he knew... he KNEW Master would be there soon to ruin things probably.

This just threw Bolo into gear, as he flipped onto his side, and started to run his legs along, kicking and sideways digging at the grungy ground until his entire body began to pivot and spin into a lazy circle. Everything but the kitchen sink, ((Ok, maybe a kitchen sink)) ground down against his armor as he spun, his helm smudging underneath a mangled chunk of wet cardboard that fell apart and wove over his ears.

Bolo sat still then once he couldn't see, thinking that he must have successfully buried himself in the filth. Maybe if Master got too worried, maybe if he got actually scared wondering where he was, he wouldn't be in trouble? This thought is what propelled Bolo into trying to hide, hoping to turn Master's anger into worry and relief.


Carbine was already worried, but that was bound to change.


"Don't you what tell k???z??z?t? me I can o?r? ca?n'?t do!"

The ex-cop squawked this back in anger as he charged up the side of the rocks and started to barrel through the thorny underbrush. Truth was, he could have flew and saved himself a lot of time and trouble, but what was also truth was the fact he forgot that he could legitimately fly. When one serves over 99% of their life as a hover car up to this point, suddenly being able to just say 'fuck you' to gravity entirely was a weird concept.

Either way, Carbine continued to cut forward, ignoring the small scrapes and cuts along his paint that the bramble so kindly gifted him. He was more concerned overall with the faint trailing edge of stench that was starting to grace his receptors, for it painted a direction for him to go. He was no scent hound, but the stench was just THAT potent, and he knew Bolo would have probably found a field day there if past experiences had any indication.

Bursting forth the last few paces, Carbine wrenched into the opening of the dump, his leading foot sinking down some in the nauseating concoction. The feeling of the ground turning from solid stone and gravel, to a spongy mass, made him wrench back, ped dragging with it a series of plastic soda rings and shredded bags that created a brown tinted webbing much like a spiders snare.

Absolute disgust flared through his field, there being no intent to block it out or smother it from Thunder's ability to sense. The appalling sight and rancid smell of rust and death, was almost overwhelming, reminding him of the scavenging expeditions he and Thunder did. He lifted his head a fraction of a klik later to glare across the mess-

Only to see a black and white dog half buried in the muck.

Carbine's armor flared out in aggravation, the rotors upon his back flicking at either side of his frame in some futile attempt to express and release some of the distress he was feeling. It didn't help though, and he found his anger squawking out verbally.

"BO?LO?!"

Instantly Bolo rounded upright his tongue poking slightly out of his maw as over bright eyes peered out from under an overhang of rotting cardboard that was stuck to his helm. The canine saw he was busted, and didn't try to hide again, instead bounding up and forward towards his Master with gleeful hops. He tripped some over the mattress that became tangled in his feet, but he ripped free and scrambled to Carbine and Thunder with a delighted smile on his face and field.

"P?RI?M?US? ?Bo?l?o!"

Carbine continued to shriek, wrenching away as he saw just how filthy and gross Bolo was now. The dog just started to wag his haunches in delight, sending loose food scraps flipping off to slap wetly on the ground below.

"FRAG- P?R?I?MU?S? ?look? at-? ?S?L?A?G?!"

Carbine was at a loss for words, cycling through different cusses trying to lead into an exclamation that wasn't profanity, but it wasn't working.

"HOLY S?LA?- What did you- F???R?A?G?!"

Bolo just continued to grin.

[Feldspar]

Bolo was foul.

Slimed and greased over three quarters of his frame, the dog was vile. It was a universal constant perhaps; all dogs when faced with disgusting things either ate them or rolled in them. Perhaps both at the same time.

Little bits of mattress flew everywhere, tufts of blue and black fuzz lifting into the air and then falling back into the scattered mess. Flies buzzed past them; swirling upward in the air, and then settled back to feast on the decaying sludge. A bag was caught in the breeze and rolled a few meters before catching on some underbrush.

The heat of the sun combined with the odor of the place and drew noxious talons along Carbine's paint. It attempted to seep into all the little vents and spaces on his frame. Huddled in the corner, the ancient heaps of rusting car sagged against the ground. Rotten tires were peeling off the rim in grey, crumbling strips; a vehicle caught in the final stages of rusting leprosy.

As the mech attempted to back up a bit from both his dog and from the nasty illegal dumping ground, his foot would come down with an odd crunch on something Bolo had brought to the surface during his escapades. The stink of rust and worse drifted upwards, and if he looked down, he'd find...

A rent, decaying face.

One empty, sightless white socket gazed past Carbine. The torn mouth and the dirt and filth that encrusted it made it appear shocked as if even it couldn't quite believe it had been uncovered after all these days spent under the stinking plastic bags, the ruined mattress, the rotting food and the decapitated, gutted toys.

Death, trapped under the weight of the mech's foot. Crusted with refuse from where it had been buried under human trash. Dumped here with little regard for what it had been during its life.

It was an Autobot sigil.

... what was left of it.

[Deleted]

Thundercloud really should have known better than to try to reason with Carbine. He knew all too well how unreasonable he could become when he was worked up about something, especially if that something was Bolo. Trying to have a logical discussion with the mech while he was running around like a panicked squirrel was an exercise in futility - one far more likely to result in him being bitten than if it was an actual squirrel he was trying to reason with.

That being said, Thundercloud made sure to keep a healthy distance between himself and the other mech, giving him a wide berth, room to breathe, so he wouldn’t be tempted to lash out at him in mindless panic, should he for some reason feel he was somehow impeding his ability to reach Bolo.

He followed after the ex-cop at a more sedated pace, allowing Carbine to clear a pathway for him as he made his mad-scramble towards wherever the hell Bolo had apparently wound up. The further he climbed, however, the less he wanted to continue onward, as it soon became apparent that wherever they were heading reeked like the dead.

Thundercloud curled his lip in distaste, his optics squinting slightly as he made his displeasure with the air’s foul stench perfectly clear. That Carbine somehow seemed unphased by it was a testament to just how worked up he must have been over Bolo’s disappearing act.

He was nearly to the top of the incline, taking his good sweet time getting there, when a sudden wave of pure disgust rolled off of Carbine’s field and crashed over him like a tidal wave.

He saw the reason for the mech’s disgust a moment later, when his optics traveled over to Bolo, locked upon his grime covered frame, and took stock of the filth that absolutely covered him.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Thundercloud let out a sharp, barking laugh that was so loud it startled a few nearby birds scavenging upon the garbage, causing them to take to the air as he laughed so hard his shoulders shook and his optics squeezed shut.

He laughed so hard he had to lean forward and plant a hand on his knee for stability so he wouldn’t fall on his aft as his amusement hit full force, while his free hand moved to clutch at his chest for lack of anything better to do with itself.

[Carbine]

Thunder was wise to keep some distance back when Carbine was in a frantic hunt for his Cassette. While he indeed knew Bolo was safe and unharmed, there was still that uncertainty and panic, fretting if the dog were to find other humans and cause a lot of trouble. It is because of this, he would have likely slashed out at the other mech if Thunder even made the faintest unintentional motion of getting between him and his dog. But alas... he was just protective like that. Once Bolo was in sight? And the horror revealed? That freakish protective edge vanished.

Thunder could HAVE the dog.

It was the JET'S dog now as far as Carbine was concerned.



"S?h??u?t? ?u?p?? ??T??hu???n??d??e??r??! F?raggin ?s?la?g? ?su?c?king frag weas-w?e?a?-w-?w-rodent..."

Some of the snarled squawked words were barely understandable as even being words, the stutter pop prominent from his stress and frustration. He legitimately didn't really know what he was going to do with Bolo. Like hell he was going to let the canine dock and fly him anywhere to be cleaned. The idea alone made his armor crawl with a nauseating level of distaste.

Carbine wasn't a neat freak; he would root around in garbage if he had to with little protest, but the idea of Bolo docking was something else all together. The armor on his back folded apart and exposed a lot of his internal mechanisms when the canine connected to his systems, which means that if Bolo were to dock, it would directly weave that garbage filth inside of him. Blood, grease, dirt, rot on his hands? No problem. Blood, grease, dirt, rot inside his body? NOPE!

He could just pick up the dog and hurl him into the sea off the rocky cliffs above, but that would not likely clean off the sheer horror that was plastered across his armor.

Though it could be funny...

As much as Carbine wanted to just throw his problems away to deal with at another time... maybe... he had stepped back and noticed an odd crunching sound amongst Thunder's obnoxious laughter. It only really warranted a glance from Carbine, as he lifted his ped up and set it beside the object. He turned away to regard Thunder again, not putting his back to Bolo.

"Oh oh! OH y?o?u la?ugh NOW but remember you k?z??zt?? ??just you have-"

A delayed reaction of what he had saw dawned upon him.

Yellow optics stared blankly ahead at Thunder, not seeing him anymore, before he looked back down and angled his frame at the object more. His field flickered with confusion and curiosity, unsure if he should be feeling this momentary alarm. Carefully, he knelt down and picked up the object, looking it over as if it were some foreign thing he had never seen before.

The ex-cop was deaf to Thunder's laughter, which may or may not have died off by now, while he turned the sigil between his tapered fingertips. He brushed his thumb over it to smudge the filth away and expose more of the red emblem welded upon a scrap of white armor. The sigil was cracked in half, but it was still recognizable as what it was.

"Whoa hoa? ?h?o?... Hey... bolt for brains... Bolo may a?ct?ua?l?l?y have done s-s?-?ome good here, ch?e?ck? t?h?i?s? out."

He held the object out towards Bolo, who looked about ready to try to sneak off to play more when his Master was distracted. Bolo froze in his tracks, ears pivoting around, freezing like he got caught doing something awful, before he sulked back to Master. Seeing the held out object, Bolo's snout lifted, and sniffed at it a bit, the lights on his frame clicking between their two colors before configuring into the blue array for 'rescue'.

The wordless command between the Carrier Cassette link had sent Bolo back off into the garbage. He would get to work and play! Horray! Carbine meanwhile, would then flick the scrap of metal between his fingers like a coin, the dulled and scraped paint reflecting trace amounts of light as it danced over his digits. Once he crossed the few strides to Thunder, he clutched it between thumb and pointer, holding it out for the jet to see or take, voice filled with amusement.

"We got o?urselves a c?ertifi?e?d mystery her-?h?e?-h-available."

[Feldspar]

The chunk of metal in the mech's hands had seen much better times. It was hard to tell if it was part of a shoulder, a chest or even a hip. Rust had started to eat away at it; being buried under damp, rotting garbage hadn't done it any favors. The paint was white, but if he stared long enough at it, there were a few flecks of another color along one edge. Well, a lack of color; it was either a metallic black or dark green.

It was a heavy piece of plating, armored well. In some ways it might have been faintly reminscient of the mech holding it in his hand- designed to take a good wallop or a good strike from an attacker. Apparently this hadn't helped what ever poor soul this once was; there was a vicious dent on one side of the metal in Carbine's hand... and an equally nasty groove under the rust and dirt that indicated a blow from a very sharp blade.

Meanwhile, set to work, Bolo's olfactory sensors were busy sorting through the garbage. Now that smell was in his systems. It had been there the entire time, but without a specific reason to search it out, the dog had been more inclined to take a good roll in two week old spaghettios. Not that anyone could blame him.

Well, okay, other dogs couldn't blame him.

Bolo's lights flickered in the shade as he searched.

There weren't very large parts to find. He would find scraps of metal, no more than remnants of what had been a fairly large mech. His quarry had been dismembered, ripped apart. There were faint, old traces of fluids; once, his muzzle would turn over a soup can full of greenish goo that sludged out of the can and puddled sluggishly on the soil.

The dog would be able to trail an outline of rust where it had run off the body with the heavy rains. That proved to him an interesting picture, and if dogs could have described things, what he would have likely told his master was that... the body had been here. Whole. And now it was not. Something had torn it apart time after it had been dumped here, and obviously to all, things were missing. A lot of things.

As the hound turned over one more oozing black plastic bag and a soggy blanket, maggots squirmed away at the touch of fresh air.

Underneath that, the dog would find two mangled Cybertronian fingers and a dark thumb, barely attached to what was left of a palm.

[Deleted]

Thundercloud continued to laugh obnoxiously, heedless of Carbine’s plight, lacking in anything that could even be remotely considered sympathy for his own best friend. His shoulders continued to shake, amusement continued to roll off his field in waves, and he continued to shamelessly mock Carbine for his undesirable fate until the mech in question gave him good reason to stop being a jerk for a second.

It took him a moment to swallow down his amusement to actually focus on the object that was being presented to him, but once he actually settled down enough to realize what it was, he began to sober a bit. He was still smiling like a jackass by the time he reached out for the bit of scarred metal in Carbine’s fingers, but his laughter had tapered off, allowing him to examine the sigil in respectful silence.

“Huh.” He replied, as if this were some sort of profound statement which needed to be said.

“Looks like somebody took the saying "havin’ one foot in the scrap-heap" a little too seriously.”

He flipped the sigil in the air as if it were a coin, before snatching it mid fall and allowing his arm to fall back to his side, the bit of metal safely clutched in his hand.

“Guess we’re lookin’ for one of our guys. Or their body.”

It was a bit disconcerting how utterly unconcerned he sounded by the prospect of one of his own being injured and MIA, or dead.

“You up for a scavenger hunt?”

...Make that very disconcerting.

[Carbine]

Bolo scuttled along the garbage carefully, sifting through the array of scents that would be overwhelming to nearly anyone's olfactory receptors. Trying to pick out such a refined smell amongst so much potent decay and filth, was a specialized talent the canine held close. True, he could bite and tear up things with his mouth, but scent had always been the Cassettes' primary goal since being manufactured. Smell for drugs, smell for survivors, and hunt down convicts who escaped. Smell. Smell. Smell. This specialty was being put to work just like the old days before Garrus.

And just like the old days, there was sometimes not much to find.

The dog scoured around the imprint left behind in rust and residue, his snout dragging in the outline of what had once been the lying place of a body. He had been hoping to find the individual alive; he had been hoping to find a whole Cybertronian, or... maybe one that was a bit worse for wear but still mostly whole... But the chances of that evaporated gradually.

Bolo pawed his foot down beside the imprint of scent, slapping a chunk of aluminum that had once been an old garbage can (irony). The sound would draw attention to him, as he looked down at the vacant point on the ground. Even though there was garbage there, it wasn't nearly deep enough to hide a body, even if it was a tiny two wheeler.

"One foot, one leg, one elbow... if ?what ?I? a?m ?gleaming? off Bolo is any indication, we aren’t going to find muc-?m-m?-alot here."

Carbine's optics narrowed a bit as he peered across the rolling mounds of filth and decay, zeroing in on where Bolo was making a notification. Deeming that avoiding moving forward at all was impossible, he started to step along carefully, his curved wheel of a heel puncturing through some of the top layers of filth as he traversed. Occasionally an arm pin wheeled out to maintain balance, his legs built to be narrow and slice through the air while running, not really broad enough to be super steady on giving ground.

"C?o?m?e'?re!"

Carbine barked this out to Thunder just as he got near the point, Bolo having scuttled off to the side while Master approached. The canine's snout turned over some garbage, and he happily, picked up the part of a hand in his maw, careful not to add any new dings or marks on its surface that would diminish clues. Carbine in turn, eased down into a sort of squat before the body shadow on the ground, looking for anything that visually showed anything of note.

"Hey, no ambul?a?n?ce? ?needed eh?"

He joked darkly, falling into his old ways rather readily. He eased down towards the ground, and looked upon the point for anything amiss, trying to access just HOW a body could be torn apart after the fact so readily. Back on Cybertron, a dead body being left to rust, would have a possibility of being found by scavengers who would pick it apart for their own needs, or even mechanical beasts trying to feed on Energon, but on earth this couldn't be the same. Only scavengers he'd be aware of were MECH, and they'd take the body, not scramble it.

"I think whoever dropped it? her?e? ?d?umped it, left it for a bit, then came back to m?uti?la?t?e? i?t? to hide the evid-evi?d-?e?v-?clues... I don’t think a con would be that self conscious... so... Autobot on Autobot mur-m?u?-m-slaughter?"

It was a guess, unsure about everything on earth. Because Carbine was occupied looking over the shadow, Bolo trotted over to Thunder, and tried to offer the chunk of hand to the larger mech. While Thunder wasn't a real cop, or anywhere even close to it at any point in his life, he was close enough in the canine's toddler processor.

If Thunder took the object, Bolo would turn and start to try to find another large chunk. Tucked back in his mind, he recorded the coordinates of exactly WHERE he found the pieces, as well as a tiny 'snapshot' of them before he picked them up, so that they could try to piece together HOW the body got mutilated later if they had to.

[Feldspar]

As Carbine soon discerned, the body had lain here for a while. The grass underneath the trashbags and filth had long gone fish-belly white, but there were still hints of green on the edges of the struggling sprouts. Going by the amount of rusting stains that had seeped into the soil in broad red smears... it was least a few months since anything had been disturbed under those trash bags. The humans had been here a few times while the Cybertronian had lain under the refuse; the more recent magazines and papers and random cell-phone bills covered in doodles and ketchup were scattered on top of the places Bolo had left undisturbed.

The rust likely meant that the body had been severely damaged when it had been dumped. Otherwise, that wouldn't have been the case; Cybertronian finishes were tough against simple rain. Even the salt-laden mist from the ocean below wouldn't have caused this much decay if the mech's finish or plating wasn't breached.

Bolo's hunt turned up only bits. A few smidges of shattered, tinted glass. Another scrap or two of once white plating; and a long twisted strip of of darker painted metal. There were some other colors on the twisted edge - blue and and a yellow-gold. Again, there was the mark of a cutting tool; a sharp knife or blade. Not a saw, it would have left burrs in the metal. Less than a handful of fine metal shavings. Part of a road tire.

It had an asymmetrical tire tread. The sort of pattern designed for maximum grip on wet roads and dry ones. It allowed a fast car to grip the ground and take corners at high speeds while wicking the water away and back from the pavement. This was a bit of the sidewall, and on it was written "outside only" in English.

The dog's nose would pick up all sorts of fluids that had seeped into the soil. Besides the stench of rotting organic soup, there was the sharp tinge of coolant, of fuel. Energon, not earth, there was a sweetness and a lightness to it. It hadn't traveled far from the body shadow- no spurting or splashing.

Good guess that this Cybertronian had been killed somewhere else and then carried here to dump... but hacked apart here in this nasty highway dump.

Other than that, there was nothing else to find under the sagging mattresses and broken chairs.

[Deleted]

While Carbine struggled to find his footing and keep his balance as the trekked through the waste, the inhospitable terrain on which they walked presented a different set of challenges to Thundercloud. While he had little difficulty retaining his balance, he found that the ground beneath his feet really did not like being walked upon by someone of his weight class. To put things lightly.

Unable to withstand the pressure of his impressive weight, the trash beneath his feet was crushed, broken down and compressed with every step he took. He sunk down into the mounds of filth with every step, sometimes all the way up to his ankle. As a result he was forced to take careful, lumbering steps, dragging his knees up a bit higher than normal with each stride in order to free himself from the sinkholes his pedes became trapped in.

Frustrated though he was by the slow pace, he knew better than to try to rush ahead. If he didn’t test the ground before leaning his weight into it, he might just step on a particularly flimsy bit of ground and sink all the way up to his shin, which was something Carbine would never let him live down.

As he made his way over, the mech in question chatted away as he was wont to do, providing a running commentary which kept him updated on the situation, which...was growing steadily more unpleasant with each new discovery he announced. By the sound of things, they weren’t going to find a body, but a horrible conglomeration of parts.

Thundercloud was decidedly less enthused by the latter than he had been for the former.

By the time he finally (finally) reached Carbine’s side, the ex-cop was already formulating a possible explanation for the peculiar situation they found themselves in. Unsurprisingly, he suggested foul play, which made sense considering their nameless KIA was apparently strewn here, there, and everywhere.

Frowning thoughtfully, Thundercloud fixed his gaze upon Carbine, carefully avoiding having to look at the ground.

“Dunno, mech. Don’t seem like something one of our guys would do.” He said, his tone uncertain.

All at once, the sigil he held in his hand seemed heavier. He subspaced it without a second thought, and was unhappy to note that its weight still lingered in his fingers.

He could deal with gore and disembodied parts being flung about while he was on the field, when the rush of battle took over and made such things insignificant, or when he was actively creating the carnage himself and therefore had a cloak of immunity draped over his sensibilities. Stumbling over someone else’s handiwork, however, was a different story. Especially when the leftovers bore obvious signs of being dismembered deliberately, in an almost surgical way.

He didn’t exactly have the best experiences with finding people purposefully hacked apart, and he didn’t particularly care to add further instances to his repertoire.

Hence why he didn’t look too closely at the body parts strewn across the ground, or really give much consideration to the situation at all. He didn’t want to think too hard about the possibilities, preferring instead to just let Carbine work his crime-scene magic while he stood there being pretty and useless, and pretty useless.

It was too bad Bolo seemed to have other ideas.

Thunderclouds optics flashed down towards his hand as he felt it being nudged, and before he could think better of it instinct prompted him to cup his hand as if to receive a toy meant to be thrown. Instead of a toy, however, what he got was part of a hand.

Grimacing, Thundercloud curled his lip and grudgingly accepted the ‘gift’, waiting until Bolo turned around to find more evidence before conspicuously taking Carbine’s wrist and shoving the mangled body part into the mech’s open palm and closing his fingers around it.

“There. Happy Birthday.” He groused, before irritably rubbing his palm against his thigh, as if it were now contaminated for coming into contact with the dead mech’s remains.

The autobot badge he could deal with. That came from an unidentifiable part of the poor fragger’s body. What Bolo had given him was quite clearly a part of a hand, something which made it a little more difficult to divorce his train of thought from the fact that they were dealing with someone who had been cut to pieces. Not just killed, dismembered.

God, but this place was starting to bother the hell out of him.

[Carbine]

Bolo stared at Thunder a moment before going to get something else. There was a lot said in that little glare he sent, and the Jet would probably have to be mindful on how he reacted with the next present offered to him either today, or five months later when Bolo's processor reminded him of the slight. The canine thought he was doing well, and to have what was presented simply taken and then the recipient not react in the PROPER way? Well it didn't settle to well in his little prideful processor. Either way he set back to work because Master was expecting him to do so.

Carbine was otherwise preoccupied, and completely missed the exchange that had gone on, instead focused down upon the body shadow still. He was noting the color of the foliage, but didn't understand what it meant. The plant life was green at spots, which if he understood organics he would have thought was odd considering everything, but he didn't and thus his attention was drug away when his hand was grabbed.

Yellow optics flicked down to look at the half palm that was plunked into his possession. He wasn't really bothered too much by the entire scenario, having laid witness to so many scenes like this both as a Cop and out on the battlefield that gore just... didn't really trigger in his mind anymore. He couldn't process that this hand that was just placed in his, was once a living breathing person that had been mutilated by some cruel individual. He understood all of that as FACTS but he couldn't grasp the emotional aspect that was plaguing Thunder.

"Oh ho?w generous..."

Sarcastic, but he was happy Thunder had gotten hold of it. Without another word, Carbine actually manipulated the body part carefully, gripping the two fingertips with either hand and gingerly starting to tug them away from one another so the joints were forced to move. It was almost like a child that was playing with a new toy or puzzle. The body part was held up in front of his visor so he could watch it carefully.

"Murd-mu?r?-?m-butchers can show up anywhere... I mean pit, I? rem?em?be?r this one fragger we eventually caught, you would have NEVER suspected him..."

Carbine pulled the fingers apart, before laying the palm flat in his left hand and curled the fingers. When this happened a small spurt of Energon was forced out from the compression, speckling along his own hand. It seemed this had to be important or notable in some way, as he made a little noise before diving into his story. His glitches seemed to subside, focused in on his 'job' and not really thinking about pronouncing things carefully.

"The m?u?rders had been going on f?o?r? ?twelve? Vorns, specifically focusing in on small individuals that had alt modes that can't move fas-f?a-?quickly. So you know, a lot of utility mechs and femmes... easy targets."

He turned the hand over in his own a few times, manipulating the fingers carefully. Carbine took note on how the hand was sleek, smooth, rounded fingers that tapered down. He counted the number of joints on the fingers themselves as well, which could be rather telling too.

The fact the hand had a full set of joints in each finger, and not simplified into two chunks like his own, meant that they probably had a job that wasn't labor extensive. Someone that may have not needed to use their hands for work often, or if so it'd be more delicate like computer or mechanical. But this was assumptions, but something to be noted nonetheless.

"Each body was found mutilated in the s?am?e? w?a?y. Sawed in half from inner leg up t?o? ?spar?k casing, being meticu-?m?e?t?-m-careful about avoiding major lines, so the victims died not from Energon Loss, but most likely from a ruptured tank or their engines being forced to a?n a?br?up?t? halt from a fissure. We were finding c?hu?nk?s o?f metal? shattered in pistons which is actually what led to their downfall."

He turned the hand over one last time to look at where the panels suddenly were cut and torn away. There wasn't anything notable enough for him to come to a conclusion however, so he subspaced the hand for identification purposes later.

"The metal shards ended up being f?ro?m ?med?ical? ?tool?s, and it turned out the fragger was a medic who was taking out ill patients that chose to be mend-m?e?n-m?-?healed by other medics instead of him. He w?a?s? such a sweet little ol?d ?mech? to?o, so tiny and innocent looking, everyone adored him at his practice, unknowing of the dark side he had. None would su?sp?ect? ?he could commit such heinous crimes in such ghastly ways..."

Carbine moved while he chatted, completely at ease and engrossed in his task. It seemed like his own processor had keyed into a new mindset, and he wasn't really the same individual Thunder saw every day. While he was chattering away like a femme gossiping with friends, he was immensely focused on his movements, carefully manipulating himself to throw one leg over onto the opposite side of the body shadow, so that he was crouched over it without touching it.

"Or if you want s?o?m?e?t?hi?ng? truly gruesome that makes this look like a scu?ff?e?d? ?k?n?ee, there was the Korrosion Killer. You kno-k?n?-aware with a 'K' because I guess th?ey thou?g?ht t?hey were clever or something. But idiotic in naming themselves or not, away kept k?z?z?t? they from d?e?te?ct?io?n fo?r a long ti?me?."

Carbine pulled back some more of the plastic bags, and looked at where the rusting was collected the most which seemed to be somewhere along the vague concept of an upper torso region. He took a half step forward, pulling himself higher up over the body, to peel some more plastic away.

"The pers-per-p?-?k?zzt-individual was killing i?ndivi?dua?l?s with no theme as far as we could tell, but what we were could k??zz?t??? find the bodies, or what was left o?f them?. They would stick them in larger containers and try to mel-me?l?-m?-corrode them awa?y? w?i?th? pot?e?nt acids. I guess they wanted them GONE, and m?e?lti?ng d?own? ?i?n? a sm?elti?ng pit wasn't available to them. This was als?o? q?u?i?e?t?... discrete..."

Carbine scrunched up his faceplate a bit, helm raising some but still peering down at the shadow. He clicked his teeth and Bolo came scampering over, dropping the chunk of twisted metal with paint scuffs along its edge nearby. It seemed an unheard command was going between them, a conversation settled in the silence that broke Carbine's story a minute, before Bolo started to sniff the body shadow again, tracing along its outline.

"-anyway... the real ki?ck?er fo?r u?s? is when we act?ual?ly? disc?ov?e?r?-ing where they were hid-hi?d-h?i?d?-ing the majority cargo the k?zz?t of containers full of acid. We only h?a?d to? ?ope?n? a few to reco?g?niz?e? what h?a?d ?to? b?e in?s?i?de all of them, and it was a rus-rus-rus?-?k?zzt-hurry to rip them get and k?z?zt? ? open out what r?emain?e?d ?so? ?t?h?e?re? could be SOMETHING to ident?i?fy and tell cohorts and the r?e?cor?ds."

Bolo was skirting along the outline, Carbine watching with a hawk's gaze, never once peering up to see if Thunder was even interested, or if he was mortified.

"Internals che?w?ed? a?w?ay?, pitted filled kz??z??t?? ?hole carcasses. You'd occas?-?o?ca-s-?sometimes find a near wh?ol?e ?one, recog?n?i?z?ab?le, save for thinn-th?i?n-?feeble patches like fac?e?pl?a?tes? ?a?n?d? delicate burned being k?z?z?z?t? ?internals into, o?t?her t?im?e?s k?z???zz??t??tt??? you get nothing but ma?ngl?ed ?strings and cables barely co?n?ne?c?t?ing? ?c?h?un?k?s? that was on?ce? ?a b?ac?k strut, or the collapsing shap-?s?h?a-outline of a spark chamber kz?z?t suspended in g?o?s?s?am?e?r? of? ?ne?ural? ?lines."

Bolo finished his circle, and had re done it a couple times to get things exact as possible. From the motions and where Bolo outlined with his snout, Carbine figured it had to have been a medium sized individual. This was not someone he or Thunder's size, nor was it someone Arcee's scale either. Either way Carbines words were slowly dissolving away, static growing more prominent and issues rising in frequency.

"After w?or?k?i?n?g? t?h?at ?j?ob? ?a?l?l? of us had to? ?hav?e t?h?e ou?ter ?portion?s? k?z?z?z?t?tt?tk?zt of our h?a?nds? ?re?d?one? just from handling the bod-bo?-corpses. One Enforcer a?ctua?l?ly? go?t? ?so?m?e ?aci?d? ?st?uck ?under his forearm plat?e?s?,? s?o?.?.?. ?y?ou ?know?..?.? d?is?c?omf?o?r?t ?and prid-?pr-arogance of not s?howi?n?g? ?we?a?k?n?es?s m?a?ki?ng it so five cycles later he ?le?arns? ?b?y? ?pu?nc?hi?n?g ?someone and having k?z???z???t??? his forearm snap in half..."

Reaching forward, Carbine ran his hand over Bolo's helm in praise, scratching behind his ears a moment, before picking up the mangled chunk of metal, manipulating it between his fingers. Bolo afterwards, bounded back out to go fetch the tire scrap and other small things if he could.

"I ?g?ot? ?away f?ro?m my?se?lf? h?uh?? ?We?ll,? poin?t? is? I wouldn't be sur?pr?i?s-su?-s?-shocked if this was an A?u?t?o?bo?t,? ?s?o?m?e? ?fra?gger ?who seems ?ni?c?e a?nd ?k?i?n?d?, o?n?l?y? to? ?h?a?ve? ?kz???z???z??t??? p??o??p? ??k?zz?t? a? d?a?rke?r? ?s???i??d??e??.? ??O?r? ?it? ???c?o?u?l??d??- C??R?A??C??K?L???E?"

Carbine lurched some as he let out a static filled whirring, the rotors on his back jittering and clicking together as he struggled. It seemed he had been talking just a bit too much, and had overworked his luck for the day. It was about time for a system crash on that front, and he frowned when he was suddenly plunged into only making unrecognizable noises and crackles that rumbled under some white noise.

There was a loud clicking as he tried resetting his vocal systems.

[Feldspar]

Underneath Thunder's heavy feet, damp dirt pushed up around the edges. Now that the garbage

had been disturbed, the flies droned in earnest, buzzing laconically and twisting up into the still air. They landed here and there, tiny feet sticking to whatever surface they found to rest on for a moment. As the mech rubbed his hand against his thigh, his toe came in contact with an old soup can.

It tipped and rolled away from him, spilling white maggots across the ground. They writhed and jerked at the sudden exposure to light, trying to find their way back to the protection of plastic and damp.

A tiny trail of rust clung to his fingertips, leaving a stubborn ruddy stain behind.

Overhead, the sun tried to filter through the scrubby trees, but faded before it reached the ground. There was silence except for the far off curl of the ocean waves, hushed by distance and terrain.

In Carbine's hand, the fingers rested. The metal was cold and lifeless. As he absentmindedly toyed with it, the loose joints caused it to cough up a dry rattle, like a hollow wind-chime. What was left of the energon had thickened and gelled; it didn't trickle off his hand, just sat in dull splots.

His voice drifted through the human dump. It slipped among the trees, drifting between Thunder and himself with clinical observation.

Pulling away the trash bags stirred up more debris and stench. A grouping of dirty disposable diapers rolled away from his touch. Here, he would find lines of rust against the earth.

Bolo's nose would confirm the size if he paced around it. Not a mini-bot, for sure. Not slender or delicate -well, no, that wasn't true. The fingers in his hand were tapered, not squared off across knuckle and fingertip. A femme? Perhaps. There was a knife wound at the base of the thumb, found mostly by touch and not by sight; the damage hadn't gone all the way through the hand here. It was a narrow slash, thin and glancing.

The dog would be able to pick up and carry a few more bits of plating back to Carbine, but... there really wasn't enough even to fill one of these large garbage bags. Well, not that anyone wanted to dump out what was within them to do so. A few more bits; a broken side-mirror that appeared to have the sleek, rounded corners of a sports car, not the practical squared off mirror of a heavier vehicle.

With a heavy flap of wings, a crow came to settle in one of the trees. It tipped its head towards the mechs and let out a grumble that sounded like a rusting gate as it eyed them, the dump, and the dog. It didn't take long before more birds shuffled down out of the sky, perching and muttering to themselves, hunched blackly against the thorny branches, waiting patiently for the interlopers to leave so they could go and get a meal.

[Deleted]

As Carbine played with the dismembered hand he had been given, as if it were some sort of macabre puppet and he its puppeteer, Thundercloud found himself second-guessing his decision to hand the part over to him in the first place. It was not unlike watching Bolo play with a dead turbo-rat - it was a almost innocent looking sort fascination, as if it simply didn’t register to the ex-cop that he was defiling someone’s last remains.

Not that he supposed the dead mech the hand belonged to was really in any position to care about what was done to their remains in the first place. They were, after all, dead. It wasn’t as if they could be hurt by the mistreatment of their body parts - unless there actually was an afterlife (which Thundercloud sincerely doubted) but even in that very unlikely scenario, something told Thunder the mecha in question probably wouldn’t mind Carbine’s manhandling as much as the dismemberment they underwent.

The ex-cop was just adding insult to a pre-existing injury, he wasn't doing the injuring himself. That had to count for something, right?

Right.

With the hand out of his, well, hands, Thundercloud turned his attention away from Carbine, not wanting to watch the mech as he played with the thing further. Instead, he turned towards Bolo, watching the dog as he sniffed about and rummaged through the garbage and filth, absently listening to Carbine with half an audio all the while.

Truth be told, he was kind of tuning the ex-cop out a little. He didn’t particularly care to hear all the gory details of the cases he worked on in the past - not because he was at all squeamish, but because his mind was occupied with other things. Namely, wondering just what the hell had happened here, who the corpse once belonged to was, and how in Unicron’s name they were gonna explain their findings to the brass back at HQ.

Somehow, he didn’t think they would be too happy to hear about one of their own being found dead and dismembered in a trash heap, rusting to dust under piles of filth. That he and Carbine were the ones to come across the body parts in the first place...well, the command cadre were probably gonna find that a little suspicious, or so Thundercloud’s gut feeling said.

Not that he could really blame them, if they jumped to that assumption. After all, it was kind of convenient that the two ex-felons just so happened to find a slain Autobot no one else even knew had arrived on the planet. He could only hope the severe decay of the parts would help clear them of guilt - with rust that severe, the body had to have been diced and dumped a looooong while before they ever set foot on the Primus-forsaken mudball the natives called a planet.

As he pondered how they were going to go about reporting all this, Thundercloud kept an optic on Bolo and an audial on Carbine. Between the two of them, he was kept fairly amused. While Bolo circled about doing Very Important Dog Things, Carbine kept right on telling his story, which was remarkable both in terms of subject matter and sheer length. Thanks to that knock to his noggin, the ex-cop tended to have trouble speaking for long stretches, so it was honestly a little impressive that he was lasting as long as he was. Sure, his voice glitched a bit here and there, and he garbled words or just spat up static, but still, it was a rare show of verbosity that deserved to be appreciated.

At least until it resulted in the poor mech lurching and hacking up a lung he didn’t have.

This broke Thundercloud from his silence, the sound of Carbine’s hacking prompting him to turn back to face the other mech. He frowned slightly, looking what only people who wanted to get punched in the face would call mildly concerned.

Then, without a single word of warning, he raised a hand and whacked Carbine hard between the shoulders, patting his back as if that would somehow help him recover from his fit more quickly. In all likelihood it probably wouldn’t do anything of the sort, but it made Thundercloud feel like he was doing something helpful so he made Carbine tolerate it regardless if it actually benefited him at all.


“Easy there Tiger, save that voice for later tonight.”

Carbine wouldn’t be able to see it, but he would be able to feel the smirk on Thundercloud’s face in his field.

“How’re we gonna wake the neighbors if you short yourself out, huh?”

[Carbine]

In contrast to Thunder's internal worrying about if they would be blamed for the crime, Carbine was calm and collected, not finding any issue in the situation. Perhaps one could call him a bit cocky, to be so confident they would be seen as innocent and not blamed, but the fact of the matter was that the decay to the corpse truly did outstrip their time here on Earth. An additional point to argue their innocence? Was the fact that neither of them were cold blooded MURDERERS. Well... not intentionally... Thunder did kill a mech... and there was also Carbine's hand meddling in the drug trade and money laundering which probably cost a few lives via overdoses or gang disputes... then there was those incidences in Garrus-1, and the Decepticons that were more or less smears on the gr-

Well Carbine wasn't a murderer proven in court!

And that’s what counts!

Either way, the ex-cop was busy trying to fix his voice. He really wanted to keep chattering away, not that Thunder was really engrossed in the conversation ((that didn't matter to him)). What did matter was that he was the center of attention for a bit there in every way he believed he DESERVED, and he got to feel like he knew what he was talking about. Granted, he did know what he was talking about, his past profession wasn't just words on an invisible resume, it was something he did for a living, but alas, his voice betrayed him as always, and Thunder rubbed salt in the metaphorical wound with a slap to the back.

Rotors faired out on either side of Carbine violently, the four posts spreading and skimming across the filthy earth in the process. This caused some bags of garbage and scrap metal to get launched like a sort of catapult gone horribly wrong, permitting a new wave of stench to cascade across them both. This startled reaction was paired with him arching his back away from Thunder, and letting out a garbled cry of startled distress. His hands clawed up and tried to reach over his shoulders in order to scrape and grapple at the impact point as if it would make the stinging pain disappear.

He couldn't reach it, but the action was attempted.

With Bolo out of his dock, Carbine's back was very vulnerable, the spinal strut covered in only thin plates to keep the most basic of dirt out, with splayed tiny panels creating ridges on either side. This meant that the slap was exceptionally hard to him, and did hurt a good deal. In a way, Thunder was lucky, as if anyone else tried such things he would have turned against them instantly to try to clock them in the face. The fact of the matter was Carbine was very protective of his spine, for some very good reasons.

Carbine's helm snapped over so fast to glare at Thunder, that it was a miracle he didn’t pinch off or tear out a cable in his throat. Paired with this motion, was a fierce glare that was portrayed via narrowed optics through the near opaque shield of his visor. This glare itself, was also accompanied by his jaw pushing forward forcibly, to add to the look of dismay. This action however caused a sliver of a gap to form between his jaw and the visor, the visor meant to dock down into the edge of the faceplate, but being unable to do so when it was crooked in such an angle.

With a hard thrust of inner leg mechanics ((including the replaced hydraulic that probably shouldn’t be taxed so hard)) Carbine flung up onto his peds and reeled about to point at Thunder. The action could have been seen as simply accusatory, but a maliciously vindictive element crept into his field, and what he had done soon became abundantly apparent.

Crackled crunches.

Heavy ventilations.

Snarling that was drawing nearer at an alarming pace.

If Thunder turned, he'd get to see Bolo charging at him at full force, the canine's frame barreling through the garbage with a savage ferocity and focus of a beast hunting for its last meal. The all blue array over Bolo's armor, was no more, the rescue and locate notification replaced by an all read array that signaled a hunt and pursue state of mind. Really, people didn't need to have the color warnings considering the body language was so pronounced.

A lowered helm, ears folded back to protect them from grappling hands that could try to use them as handholds to rip him off, a maw parted and locked like a mousetrap that was primed and waiting to be triggered closed. Everything about the canine's body posture screamed of focused trained aggression that was being directed right at Thunder via unheard communication from his Master.

At the last second during his charge, Bolo launched and tried to clamp down onto Thunder's forearm, namely his right arm since that was the one most commonly used to wield weaponry by most. This attack could be seen as truly dangerous, but Carbine was no monster, he didn’t want Bolo to truly HURT Thunder. First off he didn’t need that guy bitching to him about how he needed to get it repaired, and he didn’t need some medic whining to him about 'hurting teammates'. It is because of this, the command was to simply restrain, and not harm. This meant Bolo's jaws would snap down like a handcuff, and at most would leave a couple dents and scraps instead of a crushed injury. Despite this, his full momentum was in play, and Bolo was hoping to throw his entire weight and speed into Thunder to drag/shove him down into the garbage.

Meanwhile, Carbine was laughing, or trying to. While getting hit on the back did piss him off, he was over it rather quickly, delighting in Bolo's mostly harmless assault. He could have retaliated with far more ire, told Bolo to ACTUALLY try to down Thunder and disarm him by attempting to crush the forearm itself so the ligament cables couldn't grasp a weapon, but that wasn't the point here. The point was he wanted Thunder to get hauled down into the filthy dump.

[Deleted]

Thundercloud’s amusement was short lived.

He had forgotten, somehow, that Carbine was a vindictive little piece of work who let people know immediately and LOUDLY when he felt slighted. Sometimes violence was involved, but usually only towards non-teammates and Thundercloud, who held the special distinction of being the exception to the “no violently flying off the handle on teammates” rule. Why Thundercloud had neglected to remember this before slapping Carbine’s back is anyone’s guess, but the most likely reason is the simple fact that he rested assured that Carbine would never actually sincerely hurt him.

That said, when Carbine pointed at him menacingly, and he heard those rapid footfalls charging towards him, Thundercloud couldn’t help but feel he should have seen this coming.

Turning, Thundercloud glanced over his shoulder, watching Bolo’s rapid approach with an increasingly exasperated expression.

“Oh, come on.” was the only thing he managed to say before the dog pounced, leaping into the air so that he could clamp down onto Thundercloud’s arm with a fierce bite meant to restrain more than mangle.

It probably would have hurt like a glitch if Thundercloud had any pain receptors in his arms, but as it was, his sensors were dead to the cassette’s bite. Asside from a few dents, a couple scratches, the attack wouldn’t leave any lasting damage. At least, not physically.

The damage to Thundercloud’s ego was another matter entirely.

Bolo’s bite might not have been hard enough to hurt, but the force of his leap was certainly enough to knock most mid-sized mecha off their feet. Thundercloud, however, was a bit on the larger end of the scale, and so Bolo’s attack did not send him careening into the trash like Carbine hoped.

It did, however, send him staggering back towards Carbine, arms pinwheeling at his sides as he struggled to keep his balance in an effort to keep from face-planting in the disgusting mound of human refuse. Unfortunately for Bolo, who was clamped down tight on his arm, this meant the poor dog was being flailed about in a most undignified fashion while Thundercloud frantically tried not to fall on his aft. Unfortunately for Carbine, this meant he had the dubious honor of being the first mech to ever have their cassette turned into an impromptu flail and wielded against them in a stroke of karmic justice.

[Carbine]

This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Bolo collided at the full extent of what speed he could muster on the uneven terrain, his long limbs instantly folding up against his body the second they were wrenched clean off of the ground during his leap. This kept them safe, as well as made him even more akin to a ball and chain that was now latched onto Thunder's forearm. The canine went ragdoll, and just let his body weight do all of the work for him. Granted, it didn’t really get the dog as far as he'd hope, the ground not being met by them both, and Master not charging the two to try to assist.

Oh well.

Bolo didn't seem to mind, and only shook his head a few times in order to make his body thrash a bit from side to side to try to dislodge the lingering traces of Thunder's balance. Sadly, the mech was just too big for him to handle, and he ended up failing in his goal. Before the canine could really stretch his legs and try to claw at the ground to pull at Thunder, he found himself... flying?

Carbine was blind to what would come, as the second Bolo had slammed into Thunder he had cascaded down into cackled laughs that snorted out in the most undignified way. He was delighted at this turn of events, and ended up bending forward enough for his hands to hook over the arch of his knee armor into a partial hunch. It was here that he watched, vision blurred from squinting in his laughter, only to see things go wrong just as Bolo was confused about flying.

Oh.    Well.

Bolo was airborne, observing the world as it spun around upside down. His helm twisted slightly, to try to look about a bit, only to end up being swung back down towards the earth. The swing wasn't a bash, but was more akin to a hooking motion to scrape along the filth of the dump for a moment, only to fling back up into the air for another ride around the loop.

The impact on the ground caused a spray of trash and absolutely horrendous garbage that had been safely buried to flick up into the air in a splatter akin to water in his wake. The chunks pelted against Carbine who reeled back, while tatters of garbage bags fluttered in the animals wake. Upon the second pass, Thunder was close enough to cause Bolo to collide with Carbine.

It all happened so slow to them both, like gravity and time itself was going against their own laws, but in reality it really was fast, and neither Carrier or Cassette could do anything to stop it despite seeing it play out so clearly.

Carbine started to turn at the last fraction, recoiling into himself with his arms hooking up to run parallel with his chest in a shielding motion to try to protect his mending damages. That’s all he really got, before Bolo rammed into him and sent him reeling backwards with his own flailed attempt at balance. One stumble, one slip. Carbine's peds weren't as broad as Thunder's, and the heels were not getting any traction in the murk of the ground below during his backpedal. It is this that caused him to fall backwards and slap down onto the dump on his back,

The Ex-cop simply laid there, rotors having sliced into the filth enough to vanish beneath its surface, and arms splayed out on either side. His once white, now brown smeared, fingertips ground down into the mass below him. His field fluctuating with shocked alarm and disgust, large yellow optics staring up at the sky, before he let out an anguished cry as what had happened caught up with his senses.

Carbine rolled over onto his side, and clutched at his chest in pain; causing his shoulder to crunch and crackle further down between a shredded tire and some food that was so rancid rats wouldn't even touch it. This permitted him to curl forward into a sort of ball, the one rotor that was now popped out of the dump trembling with scraps of stained cloth dangling off of it. His field pulsed with spikes of pain, and it was apparent that something may have cracked or crushed inward on his chest injury. His front was freshly repaired from being blasted open, to have a seam in the mend crack or break isn't unheard of. It was more apparent it was the chest injury, when his ventilation started to rattle in his straining.




It was all bullshit.




Carbine was acting, and he was putting everything into it he could. He was trying his best to ignore the fact he was rolling almost in this... HORRENDOUS miasma of nauseating organic... stuff... and rust... and all the wrong that was there. He was doing his best to ignore it simply to play the role of injured and play off of sympathies. His ultimate goal was to try to lure Thunder closer, and maybe kick his leg out from under him, or pull him down into the garbage if he tried to lean over to pick him up. Really, Carbine would do anything he could to try to fell the massive tree that was the jet to the same level as him.

...Fragger