Zepar heard that last bit, “I recommend keeping that inside a case when not in use.” He said.
“So, what sorts of things are new for you?” He asked.
“I wish I could say I’m surprised there are factional tensions but then I remember our world’s history.” Epsilon says, “Good gracious, and Bludgeon’s trying to kill us.”
He mutters the next bit under his breath, “How can I be sure this isn’t some nightmare and I’m still in stasis?”
“Ah, nothin’ much,” Thrift says. “Got my back broken during the last battle, but I git it fixed up. Probably shouldn’t transform for a few days, maybe.”
■■■■■■■■■■■■ cracks his knuckles.
“I can hit you,” he jokingly offers as a way to test that theory.
“Probably a wise move.” Zepar said, eying at some of the things in the shop he could see.
“Worth a shot; just don’t break anything, please.” Epsilon said, figuring that was as good an idea as any.
Thrift nods.
“Not the worst injury I’ve ever had,” he brags.
Thrift’s inventory was displayed on racks extending from his ship. Over the course of his travels, the junkion had amassed a collection of ancient artifacts, bizarre and unconventional weapons, support drones, small mechanimals, mods for certain weapons, and other miscellaneous bits and baubles.
There was a CLUTCH attack drone resting on its side on one shelf, a flying mechanimal with large, round, blue eyes, and an old suit of power armor:
It looked remarkably similar to one that Ultra Magnus had worn early in the war, and appeared to have seen some better days.
■■■■■■■■■■■■ shrugs and jabs at Epsilon’s shoulder.
The door of Gronius’ CR Chamber opened, letting him fall out of it. Gronius quickly gained conscience, slowly standing up on his knees.
“What the hell happened?!” Gronius said, freaking out. “That Insecticon monster thing! Is it still here?” he said, drawing his sword.
Zepar looks over the armor; Angelicons, being smiths and warriors, would have a eye for detail regarding things like this.
Epsilon yelped a bit then looked around, “Nope, not a nightmare.” He said, a hint of disappointment in his voice.
“No,” Forcep calmly replies, not bothering to look up from the computer at which he worked. “That got taken care of a while ago; we’re moving again.”
The armor was a few centuries out of date (technology had a way of advancing rather quickly in the Great War), but despite that it seemed a reliable and well-made piece of equipment. It was damaged though; black scorch marks blemish the blues and reds of its color scheme, and it bore many dents and scratches.
“Unfortunately,” ■■■■■■■■■■■■ confirms.
Ace was looking around, he’d been knocked out
“What happened?” He asked
“You were asleep!” Road Lord sighs
“Where the insecticons?” Ace asks
“I fought them all off, turns out there were a few ‘cons who helped including your friend Gronius…” Road Lord lies
“That sounds… out of character” Ace pauses
“You can’t trust anyone Ace…” Road Lord sighs, Ace knew Road Lord was lying and he thought about his time with him, maybe Gronius was right?
“I’ll pay 500 Shanix for this.” Zepar said, feeling that such a price was fair but low enough to set off some haggling.
Epsilon looked saddened, “What now?” He asked.
“What, the armor?” Thrift asks for clarification.
“We fight, and we get to the Omega Lock before Bludgeon does,” says ■■■■■■■■■■■■.
“Well now, that’s no way to live,” a passing Facelift comments. “Well, in my opinion, anyway. Lots of folks don’t trust me, for some strange reason, so take my word as you will, I suppose…”
“Yes.” Zepar said.
Epsilon, hesitantly, nods. “I need a place to stay and don’t know the neighborhood.” He said.
Thrift laughs.
“Ha-ha! Sorry, kid, but that suit’s worth a little more than that,” he says.
“I get the sense that you might not be keen on its significance- where it’s been, what it’s seen, and so on.”
■■■■■■■■■■■■ nods.
“I’d check in with Motherboard; she’d get you into a hab-suite,” he suggests.
“And I know armor’s value when examined.” Zepar said, “What kind of price would you place upon this fine work of art?”
“Well,” says Thrift, excitedly and proudly, “considering the armor’s age, condition- quite good for a suit that’s been thought destroyed for the last 425 years- the… eh, difficulties I had in acquiring it, and its significance as the first iteration of Ultra Magnus’ armor, and I’d put the value at… say… maybe 25,000 shanix, give-or-take a few.”
Zepar checks his account, fairly certain he didn’t have that much.
He sadly did not; specifically, he had 14,000 shanix currently, though he and the rest of the crew could expect a paycheck soon.
“If you want to sell this, you need to lower the price; very few, if any, on this ship have 25K to spend and may want this armor.” Zepar told Thrift.
“I understand it has seen a lot and is rather old but a good seller knows that just because people may be willing to pay boatloads of money for something, it doesn’t mean that you’re obligated to set that high of a price as it may very well scare off potential customers and hurt your business in the long run.” Zepar told the Junkion, his tone was one with sincerity and concern.
Epsilon nodded, “Just one more question.” He said to ■■■■■■■■■■■■.
Thrift nods.
“Well, I said give-or-take; I might be willing to lower it a little,” he concedes. “Still, though, this is a kick-aft piece of history right here-”
He gestures to the armor.
“-and it wasn’t easy, nor cheap for me to come by. I can knock it down a peg, maybe, I still need to make a profit, you understand,” he explains.
“Yes?” asks ■■■■■■■■■■■■.
“Well, I think lowering it to be below two thousand Shanix may be a good start.” Zepar said as carefully took a closer examination of the armor, specifically the various moving parts to see if there were any flaws that could sabotage the use of it.
He wanted to find these so he could point them out to Thrift so he could possibly lower the price accordingly.
He was impressed at its amazing condition but centuries of presumed neglect brought on by it being believed to have been destroyed and the fact it was used early in the war can tend to create safety hazards that may or may not hinder the armor’s capabilities to some extent.
“If we all share a common goal and enemy, why are tensions so high?” Epsilon asked, most nonaffiliated Neutrals like himself tended to follow ideas like “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” in order to survive and defend one another from both Autobot and Decepticon conflicts, because they often were caught in the crossfire, as they either hid in corners for the proverbial storm to pass or they fought in self-defense of their homes and one another, which meant that some neutrals were changing ‘sides’ depending on what actions they felt would more likely to ensure they live another day.
“Below two thousand?” Thrift repeats. “Eh, that’s a tall order, friend.”
As damaged as the armor was now, there were indications that it had once been in far worse shape. This made sense; if it was the original Magnus Armor, then it had been torn to pieces by Megatron during a duel with Ultra Magnus on one of Junkion’s moons. Thrift, or one of the other bots who had held it for all this time, had apparently endeavored to repair it. The repair job seemed to be of a good quality. The burns and scratches that still adorned the armor seemed to be only surface-level damages.
From a glance, though, it was impossible to tell if the armor’s weapons or other systems were still functional.
“Most of the crew are either Autobots or Decepticons,” ■■■■■■■■■■■■ explains. “The truce has gone on for about four years now, but we’ve spent the last five hundred hating each other’s sparks and shooting at each other. Many of us are… still getting used to walking down the same hallways, or being on the same mission.”
“Our enemies’ being Decepticons doesn’t help relations, either. Some of the Decepticon crew feel as though the Autobot crew isn’t making the distinction between Bludgeon’s rogues and loyal Decepticons, and truth be told some of the… less disciplined Autobots are.”
