Zepar tries to find a way to run diagnostics on the armor’s weapons.
“25K is a tall order to ask of a customer.” Zepar told Thrift.
Epsilon nodded, “Then stop thinking of our enemies as Decepticons and more like what they are: monsters.” He said.
“Look, no speech is gonna end five centuries of hatred and death but that’s the past and that isn’t healthy to let a grudge eat at you like that.” He told ■■■■■■■■■■■■, “You’re walking in our turf now, we neutrals didn’t exactly care about the war in some way or another because we were more worried about surviving.”
He turns to go back to the Peace and Tyranny to just hang out by there.
Zepar was sadly unable to do so.
“Touche,” Thrift concedes. “Still, though, I’m not sure I can do quite what you ask.”
“Our turf?” ■■■■■■■■■■■■ repeats, raising an eyebrow. Did Epsilon realize he was talking to one of the ship’s captains, he wondered.
A large Decepticon stands by the entrance to the Peace and Tyranny, likely to try and keep any Autobots or other individuals Lurch disproved of out of the place.
Repairs to Little Iacon were nearly complete; it hadn’t suffered any severe damage in the battle with the insecticons. The crew seemed to be in good spirits, but some individuals were keeping themselves only in the company of others in their own faction. A few adventurous spirits, though, were mingling with their former enemies.
Gronius eased up.
“How long have I been off-line?”
“A few hours, give or take,” Forcep replies, still working at his computer.
Gronius sighed as he stood up.
“Thanks.”
He said, leaving the room.
“Just doing my job,” Forcep replies as Gronius departs.
As Gronius left, he started looking for somebody else to talk to. Maybe with Song, maybe with Ace.
Alterion, meanwhile, was looking for his brother.
By “our turf”, Epsilon meant that the people on this ship were in what appeared to be a similar situation to his and many other Neutrals’ situation back on Cybertron: they had no real side in the sense that you can’t exactly slap an insignia on it and call it a day and how there were enemies that may have once been an ally some time back and their only connection was something that didn’t really matter in the long run.
Neutrals often worked as mercenaries or errand boys for both sides because they were able to survive off their payments and didn’t really have much bias against them, “Don’t kill the messenger” was often a phrase they used to describe the latter example’s risks and rewards.
Epsilon looks at the bouncer to try and gauge the risks and rewards of trying to get closer or even enter the establishment again.
“Well, it’s either lower the price or wait until people can afford to make such an investment.” Zepar said as he picked up some food for Shadowraker and examined a few other items.
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The bouncer was paying little attention to Epsilon.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to go with the latter,” Thrift says, a touch of apology in his voice.
The food would cost Zepar only 150 shanix.
Thrift also sold some mods for weapons, and a few pieces of equipment. A dimensional decimator with a cracked shell rests on one shelf, and datacards containing schematics for new alt-modes could be seen on other.
Zepar carefully handled the cracked Decimator and showed it to Thrift in a manner that made the crack visible, “Isn’t this supposed to make a tiny black hole when detonated?” He asked.
Epsilon walked inside and tried to find a spot that wouldn’t draw much attention and tried to pull up whatever counted as a newspaper on this tin can; if he was gonna be stuck here, he may as well try to catch up on what’s going on.
Gronius might pass the entrance to one of the cargo holds, where he might hear a loud crash, followed by the blast of a shotgun.
“Yeah, something like that,” Thrift affirms with an enthusiastic nod. “Don’y worry about that crack, man; I’m pretty sure it still works.”
From a nearby terminal, Epsilon could catch himself up on what he missed: the initial attack of the Decepticon heretics, the retrieval of Inquisitive Savant, the battle at the ancient culture ark, the rescue of Shockwave, and, most recently, the battle with the insecticon hive on the uncharted world. There were also reports on the ongoing attempts to find the spy that had been leaking information to the heretics, led by Autobot intelligence operative Darkrazor, with assistance from crewmen Zepar and Flareshot, and forensics specialist Phasewing. The attempts had sadly yielded little.
Gronius quickly ran into the hangar.
In the cargo hold, Gronius could see the mercenary he had met a while ago, Mallet, standing with his right forearm reconfigured into a scatterblaster shotgun. The hold was dimly lit, with stacks of crates, energon cubes, and raw materials scattered about. The remains of one box, likely the victim of the earlier shotgun blast, smolders near Mallet.
“I’ve got ya now, you spawn of a glitch!” he triumphantly proclaims to his opponent, the Autobot marksman Matchstick, who was taking cover behind a dark brown container.
“Now where have I heard that one before?!” Matchstick tauntingly retorts. Neither combatant seemed to notice Gronius’ entry.
“Mallet?” Gronius asked, confusion in his voice. “What is happening?” the Autobot said, tensing up, preparing to draw his sword.
Mallet turns, surprised.
“Gronius?” he says. “What are-”
At this moment, Matchstick takes the opportunity to pop out from behind cover at fire a shot from his rifle at the mercenary. Mallet is hit in the shoulder, and he cries out, responding with a blast from his shotgun as he dives behind a stack of canisters.
Gronius drew his sword and approached Mallet.
“Who the hell is this guy?”
“You know that other merc I was tellin’ you about?” Mallet growls, inspecting his wounded shoulder. The forest-green armor was burnt, but not severely damaged.
“Y’know, Fusebox?”
Across the hold, Matchstick vaults over the crate he had been using for cover and begins running over.
“Step back, mate!” the Marksman calls to Gronius. “I’ll handle this!”
“No! Let me help you!”
Gronius said, eager to help.
“Much appreciated, mate,” Matchstick says, coming to a stop beside Gronius as he raises his weapon at Mallet, “but truly, I can handle this brute myself. Been doing it for a year or so, now.”
Mallet laughs.
“Heheh, a lot longer than that, pal,” he says, rising to his feet and bringing his shotgun to bear.
OOC: Wait, I am a little confused. Gronius said that to Mallet, not Matchstick. Because… You know… Mallet is the good guy, The one Gronius became friend with.