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Rattrap may or may not have been debating his place in this war for the past several decades.
He knew that the Autobots were on Earth; he had intercepted several of the chats. He also knew that they had brought the Decepticons with him, for the exact same reason. Rattrap also knew that, should he need to, he could easily be a sellout, trading information between the two factions.
Luckily for him, though, it hadn’t come to that. Rattrap was a SCAVENGER. He was able to grab whatever the other two factions had left behind, and that included the energon in their precious mines. He had gone in a number of times after the Autobots and Decepticons had taken their fill and finished the mines off. Of course, there had been other times when he’d walked in and seen a half-empty mine and lived there for a while.
Still, he had made his way to Nevada. If he was going to get in on this relic deal, he was going to need some allies. And the best way to do that was by making friends—on both sides, of course. And so, Rattrap steeled himself. He knew he was going to regret this, but there was no other way. If he wanted to stay alive, he was going to need to do exactly as he had always done. He was going to need to SURVIVE, by selling his skills and selling his knowledge.
{{If there’s anyone out there listenin’ to this channel, I got some IMPORTANT INFORMATION available to sell. The coordinates are 36.0161° N, 114.7377° W.}} He paused, then took a deep breath. {{If y’all want ‘em, you’re gunna have to meet me here before the days are out, ya hear? I'll be here until sunrise, an' then I'm out.}}
Prowl was not, technically, on monitor duty when the consoles picked up the broadcast. He was also, in theory, not allowed to have his systems synced with the HQ’s mainframe. No one had, however, told him how to spend his free shift nor to keep his processors to himself. Prowl like to think that gave him certain freedom of choice.
As usual, he chose overworking.
The voice in the broadcast was familiar. Indeed, it was one Prowl was well-acquainted with. He sent a databurst to HQ, letting them know that he would be dealing with the situation. Then he turned on his police lights and gave a sharp turn, speeding down streets and highways as he raced to the given coordinates.
Prowl’s tacnet lit up his mind with hundreds of reasons why this particular mech would choose to show his face now of all times. There was a good chance that had to do with the Relics. It would fit the animecha’s opportunistic streak. It would also give the Autobots a wild card that they had been lacking in their game tactics. That is, if the mech was still worthy of trust. The line had always been blurry when it came to Rattrap.
The tactician turned off his police lights as he reached his destination. The animech would be quite restless already. It wouldn’t do to scare him away before having the chance to talk. Prowl rolled to a stop and switched off his headlights. After a quick recon-sweep, he transformed.
“Rattrap,” he called, his tone taking a stern edge that he hadn’t used in millennia.
If there was Rattrap knew he could count on, it was war. Both sides in this damned war were desperate to get a leg up; they wanted a bit of extra strength, one last nudge, to shove the other side over the edge. And if there was even a small chance that a rogue that Rattrap could give them that opportunity, then they were willing to pay out of the AFT for whatever information he could provide.
So, really, it wasn’t a surprise that he received a response. With a smirk, the beastformer settled himself in the shade of the dam walls. Luckily for him, Rattrap’s alt mode was a common sight around this planet, and so no humans really turned their attention towards the napping silver mouse. In fact, it wasn’t until the sun set and a Cybertronin approached that he even dared to move.
Slowly, the rat pushed himself to his feet, shaking the dust from his fur. He knew that voice; it was one that he had remained in contact with for a long time. The voice belonged to the mech he had dubbed his “parole officer,” despite the fact that Prowl had really just been his supervisor. Prowl had seem his as untrustworthy, like everyone else did. Because of that distrust, he had kept an extra optic on Rattrap, and now it would appear as though he had come to check on his wayward ward.
“Prowl. Good ol’ PROWL.”
Reaching up, the rat pawed at his ears, cleaning the dust from his fur. Once that was done, he transformed, a smile curving his lips. He was more than relaxed now, glad to see an Autobot, although he wasn't going to tell Prowl that. After all, he and the tactician had a... strained relationship. Sometimes it was best to keep things that way.
“It’s been a good minute, ain’t it? To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Like he often did, Prowl didn’t answer at once. Instead, he observed. His optics roamed Rattrap’s frame from behind his golden visor, taking in the small details. Mechs like Rattrap were all about appearances, showing only what they wanted others to see. Someone with professional training, however, could pull apart the act and have a look at what lied underneath it. The story Rattrap’s frame told wasn’t one Prowl hadn’t considered—cybertronians rarely fared well on their own these days.
Rattrap could be a lot worse, however. But he wasn’t. In fact, he seemed to be doing almost fine in comparison to most lone bots. That was worth noticing. Prowl filed that piece of information away; he would go back to it later. If Rattrap had found a way to scrape by on his own, that was information worth having, and if Rattrap had found sponsors on Earth that weren’t Autobots… Well, that information was also worth having.
But there would be time for that later. Prowl needed Rattrap complacent now. An interrogation would have to wait until he either had the beastformer cornered in a room or the rat gave Prowl a reason to drop the niceties and give chase.
“You claimed to be in possession of sensitive intel through an open broadcast,” Prowl said, replying to Rattrap’s question. Knowing the mech’s modus operandi, it was possible that he had been bluffing just to see if he could strike a deal with whomever showed up first. “Since I am sure I need not tell you how foolish that was, I will simply get to the point. In exchange for your information and services, we Autobots offer you medical assistance, access to our facilities, and fuel.”
Prowl didn’t mention that Rattrap’s access to all those things would be monitored and limited for the time being. He was sure the mech knew. Their professional relationship had always worked because they understood each other. Prowl respected his agents, but he didn’t trust them on principle. Unfair, considering that he worked with deceit as much as they did, and often on a bigger scale, but that was how things were.
“It would please us to have someone with your talents amongst our ranks again,” he added, remembering that he wanted Rattrap to feel safe. Not that there was any reason for the rat to feel unsafe. If he was still a loyal Autobot, that is.
Shoutbox
Please respect the space and don't hesitate to ask questions!
altria : please dont be dead?
Jun 14, 2023 22:40:34 GMT
Partia: Is this still alive?
Dec 17, 2022 6:02:02 GMT
Partia: Is this still alive?
Dec 17, 2022 6:01:34 GMT
Aug 13, 2020 16:26:13 GMT
Sept 14, 2019 18:53:42 GMT
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