| abstract
| - Black Market The fabled black market of Monacus is a somewhat small area about the size of a half of football field. Several junk dealers, part suppliers, and weapon sellers do their business from this area. Several tarp covered tables and shops are placed around the area. Rogues, thieves, and mercenaries walk the area looking for a kill, or to sell their illegal wares. If one is looking to put a hit out on somebody, this is a good place to find that type of worker as well. Almost anything imaginable is in this market, if you know where to look, who to ask, or know what to bring to get your prize. Obvious exits: East leads to Dim Alleyway. Red Alert arrives from the Dim Alleyway to the east. Red Alert has arrived. Swoop has arrived. Nightbeat looks right at home in a scummy back-alley black market. His ankle monitor doesn't, really, but he has enough swaggering confidence that the thing strangling his ankle can be overlooked. He consciously doesn't look too interested in any of the stalls. It's best to scope the place out first. No use blowing all his funds on the first shiny things he sees only to discover that the next booth down has the same things, only cheaper. Red Alert looks pretty much the opposite of at-home here. His lips are perpetually set into a mildly disapproving frown, and he's constantly shifting to try to get a better view. He needn't worry about looking too interested in anything, however - his attention is so quickly dragged from one thing to the next that it doesn't settle on any one stall long enough to draw out the sellers. "And just /why/ did we have to come here again?" Red Alert asks of Nightbeat. For some strange, unknown reason, Nightbeat and Red Alert thought it would be an amazing idea to bring a Dinobot along to help prowl around the sleazy black market scene. Luckily for them, it's Swoop and not, say, Sludge or Slag. Nevertheless, Swoop is just as out of place here as an orange in an apple basket. "Hmm..market not as black as me first thought. Lots of colors." Nightbeat glances over at Red Alert and explains, as if it is obvious, "Because they got what I need." Why else would anyone go to a black market? Also, Nightbeat thought that Swoop would be a great idea to bring along to a black market, because a) it is educational (in all the wrong ways) and b) Dinobots are handy to have around in case things go wrong. Granted, Swoop might be the cause of why things go wrong, but Nightbeat will take that chance. He explains to Swoop, "It's a figure of speech, y'know? Like a black operation ain't black, either." "Ohhhh..." Swoop drones, nodding his head in complete and utter comprehension. "Wait, what a black operation do?" "And just /what/ do you need that you can't go through properly approved chan-" Red Alert breaks off and suddenly directs his attention down the street, but there's nothing visible. He shakes it off, and finishes, "Approved channels?" Now, of course, Nightbeat can probably hear anything that's setting Red Alert off - the difference is Nightbeat seems to know better than to react to it all. Nightbeat doesn't react to the disturbance, that is true. Monacus is one big disturbance. The real disturbances are the quiet spots and lulls. Now those are worrying. Few people are quieter than when they're dead. To Swoop, he says, "That's when sneaky people do something in a very sneaky way and then don't talk about it." Then, he draws his index finger along his neck and grinds out, "Ixnay on the ed-approvay nels-channay. Don't mention those here. Really makes you stand out." Like the stick up Red Alert's muffler doesn't. "See, what I'm looking for, I can't just get an approved Porsche parts dealer, and while I could have your boys whomp something up, I assume they're much too busy doing, ah, what you tell them." "Are you saying I overwork my division?" Red Alert demands. Swoop sighs and silently hopes that Red Alert and Nightbeat don't start an arguement about something so incredibly trivial. "So, uhm, what this do?" he asks, pointing to a random gadget sitting on one of the shop tables in hopes to change the conversation. Nightbeat drawls, "I'm saying that they got better things to do than fix what ain't broken. Between the Ark II and that faulty training room and normal maintenance, you got anyone to spare to scratch-build a centrifugal turbojet that'll fit under my hood?" Nightbeat, as Intelligence XO, doesn't think Red Alert does. He rubs his chin when Swoop asks, and he reports, "That's a disintegrator. Illegal in most systems." He adds, after a beat. "Really good for destroying evidence." "Indeed," Red Alert agrees with Nightbeat's assessment of the disintegrator. Shock! Gasp! However, the distaste is evident in his voice. Then he sighs and goes back to scanning the area. "You realize that anything you purchase here is going to have to be checked over, anyway, right?" With this last, Red Alert is speaking in a whisper silent enough that Swoop may have to strain to hear it. "Ohhhh!" Swoop exclaims, gaze still fixated upon the disintegrator. "Me want one! Might need it one day. Maybe when me have lots of ev-ee-dense to destro-WOAH!" He points a large, grey finger at another shop table, this time with various hats lined on it. Big hats, small hats, hats with feathers, hats with smaller hats on them, you name it! "Cooooooool...." Red Alert grumbles, "You had better /not/ need lots of evidence destroyed." Such a kill joy! Now, he looks at what Swoop is pointing at. His optics widen, then he looks at Swoop out of the corner of his visual field. "Don't you already have... something of a built-in hat?" Nightbeat is speaking in normal speaking tones, because he really doesn't care if Swoop hears him arguing with Red Alert. "Yeah, I know, an' I know anything scratch-built would have to checked over, anyway. I'm just saving your boys some time." Nightbeat is so helpful! He looks over at the table of hats and then over at Swoop. Well, at least hats are safer than disintegrators, right? He looks at one of the hats carefully and notices that there is a razor-blade built into the brim. He mutters, "Weaponised hats. Only on Monacus, people." Sideswipe has arrived. Swoop crosses his arms and looks very indignant at Red Alert. "Well, maybe me Swoop want 'nother hat! Ever think that? Hm? Me not think so!" When Nightbeat mentions the fact that the hats are actually disguised weapons of death, he just snorts. "See? More reason for me to have one." Sometimes, when words fail, all that's left is the facepalm. That's what Red Alert resorts to now. Finally, he sighs and lowers his hand. "Okay, Swoop. Fine. You can have a hat. If you can find something to purchase one with, and provided it gets checked over on our return." Back alley fix jobs were never pleasent. The technicians hardly ever bothered with fiddling the pain receptors off.. Then again the fee was cheap and they often didn't question where the parts camne from. Why is this important? Because Sideswipe just emerged from a space between to buildings.. with a new set of hands. He holds them up, wiggling his fingers, flexing his wrists, and finaly forming a pair of fists. With a mental cue, the plating over the back of the hands ratchet up, allowing four sets of spikes to thrust outwards. Sideswipe smiles his approval, hiding the projections away, "Spikey goodness." "No problem!" Swoop says, waving a hand at Red Alert. He turns around to the weapon-er, 'hat' dealer and slams his hand onto the table. "Me will give you ten cyberapples for one hat!" Quickly, he adds a loud "Please!". Nightbeat heard Sideswipe coming, and he greets, "Hello, Sideswipe. Guess you won't be looking for handouts anymore." He then holds up a hand and asides to Swoop, "Y'might want to try growling a bit instead of sayin' please. I find 'big scary robot' is a strong currency on any world." He is a horrible role model; it is true. Re-commence facepalm. However, when Red Alert lowers his hand again, he turns to search out a familiar voice and spies the other Lambourghini. He gives Sideswipe a look that says, 'Those are getting checked over,' then turns back to the trainwreck that is Nigthbeat teaching Swoop to haggle. "Uhm, no," the hat-man says with a very unamused expression on his face. Swoop turns to Nightbeat and cocks his head to the side. "Not please? Want me Swoop to growl?" He rubs his chin as he ponders this new suggestion. "Look, are you going to buy somethin' or are you just going to sit around and waste my time?" Swoop smacks his fist on the table, leans in close to the shop owner, and, with a growling, gutteral voice, says, "Me want hat. Now." Nightbeat, apparently playing 'nice cop' for once, points out in a pleading tone to the vendor, "Do you know how hard it is to get good, fresh cyberapples on Monacus this time a year? I mean, seriously, I'd take that deal. You could make a killing reselling them, and speaking of killing, I can't be held responsible for what happens when my companion gets.... upset." He steeples his fingers. Sideswipe's lips split in a broad grin, a single finger extending from a lifted hand. He was telling Red Alert exactly which he could check over first. Swoop, still glaring and growling at the hat-man, begins to beat the table repeatedly with a heavy fist. Blade lined hats begin to bounce all over the place. "Oh my God, fine! Fine! It's yours! Just take it! Get the hell away from me!" the alien yells, throwing his hands up in the air. "Last thing I need is a guy and his pet retard dragging attention over here. Go on! Go!" He throws a hat at Swoop and scowls. Red Alert sees Sideswipe's reaction, sighs, and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Sideswipe," he says, speaking softly, "You're either going to have the work doublechecked by staff, or you can find a cosy garage out in town to sleep in. You're free to risk your own system, but I'm not taking the chance of you dragging a bug home." Nightbeat beams innocently up at Swoop, and he murmurs, "That was beautiful, Swoop." Luckily for him, Red Alert is distracted by his repaint and can't bother Nightbeat about his bargaining techniques. He reaches up to try to tug on Swoop's elbow, and he urges, "C'mon. I think I see my mark over there." He gestures at a stall that has proudly laid out a whole array of engines. "Fine, fine, whatever you say, Red Alert." Sideswipe relents, waving the matter away as he joins the gathering, a amused look cast over to Swoop and his newly acquired hat.. How it was going to stay on with that big crest of his, Sideswipe had no idea. "What's the big deal, it's just a little after-market modification. Came from a empty brawler, he only used them to punch back and forth from chuirch on sundays." claims Sideswipe, casting a arm over Red Alert's shoulders, "You going to frisk me too, Officer?" "Haggling not so hard. Fun too!" Swoop proudly declares as he places his brand spankin' new machete/hat on. And by on, I mean it just sort of dangles off the tip of his crest. "You Nightbeat finally find what you looking for?" "Why, do you want me to?" Red Alert answers absently, obviously distracted by the hand that's been thrown around his shoulder. The one that he knows to contain hidden spikes. "And it's not a big deal. It's a reasonable precaution to have technical work from... dubious sources checked by someone who's liable to be repairing it in the future." Red Alert would /not/ get on well in one of those canons where everyone gets weird, random upgrades out of the blue at regular intervals, and it's easy to imagine that he had a fit after the Matrix reformatted Hot Rod into Rodimus Prime. Nightbeat doesn't sound too excited yet and demurs, "Maybe. Just maybe." He cases the joint surrepetitiously. Certainly, it looks more promising than some of the other stalls in this place. He reaches out and knocks on one of the engines, complaining, "These are so covered in grease, I can barely make out the model." The vendor protests, "They're well-oiled!" "You? Nope." responds Sideswipe, "Have any cute, lady-bot deputies though?" Doubtful. "I get it, I get it. Big Brother is watching for my own protection." he answers, patting Red Alert on the shoulder with his free hand befor freeing Red Alert from the buddy-buddy shoulder grapple. Swoop steps in-between Nightbeat and the engine display, arms spread straight out on either side of him. "WAIT! Me can handle this!" He turns, glares at the vendor, and begins to growl and shake his fists around. After a few seconds, he shoots Nightbeat the robot equivalent of a wink. Red Alert mutters softly, "I'll see what I can do," in that tone of voice that implies, 'Not really,' then, when Sideswipe releases him, dips his head and says, more sincerely, "And yes, that is exactly it." Not /just/ Sideswipe's own good, but still, he's on the list. Then... Swoop steps in to 'haggle' on Nightbeat's behalf. A very faint smile ghosts it's way across Red Alert's expression, then is gone. "Well, /this/ ought to be interesting," he observes. Nightbeat takes a cue from Red Alert and facepalms. "Eh... Swoop, there's a critical timing issue here." He then informs Swoop about that on channel. As the vendor dives under the counter to hide from the terrifying Dinobot, Nightbeat attempts to coax him back out, trying to sound reassuring, "Hey, hey, there. Swoop just gets really... excited. How much for that one?" He points over at an a centrifugal turbojet. It's compact and will fit under his hood, but it has an awful lot more screaming horses than his current engine does. Ought to get him up to, oh, around 300 MPH? Enough to give Red Alert a headache, anyway. Pft. Like it takes much to give Red Alert a headache. Swoop waves a hand around in Nightbeat's face, laughing heartily. "Haahaha! You Nightbeat not need to thank me Swoop! Me just glad to help!" Much to the vendors delight, the Dinobot marches off to another booth: a fruit stand. Within seconds he is waving his hat blade around at the withered old alien woman behind the counter. Red Alert looks at Nightbeat, his face tired but otherwise blank. He says only, "I hold you responsible for this," then goes back to listening to hear how out of hand Swoop is getting. Who could ever put Swoop in hand in the first place? Nightbeat looks over at Red Alert, as if to ask, 'Who, me? I ain't the ranking officer here.' The vendor replies with a cautious, "5,000 Shanix." Nightbeat groans and places a hand on his hip. "A cool five thou? No way. I could get it for a single thou on Nil'Lix." The vendor smirks and points out, "Nil'Lix won't deal with your people... Autobot. You are lucky that we do." Swoop saunters back over to Nightbeat, a basket tucked under an arm. "You Nightbeat need me haggling ex-per-teese now?" he says, all while noisily crunching on a cyberapple. Meanwhile, the woman he was just harassing is crying to her mafioso husband. Dun dun dun. Red Alert brings both hands up to rub his temples and, for a moment, closes the lids on his optics. "Very good, Swoop. You have demonstrated your mastery at your newly aquired skill set beautifully. In fact, you've demonstrated your skills so well that I suggest that you not only not practice them anymore, but that we should probably move on to some other skill. Some. Where. Else." His optics snap back open, he looks at Nightbeat, and he hisses, "/Now./" Nightbeat's Porsche-sense tells him that he ought to get ready to go and fast. If only he already had that engine installed! He pinches the bridge of his nose and is about to try a counter-offer when Red Alert calls for a strategic relocation. Disgusted at himself, he sputters and pulls out the 5,000 Shanix - there goes his energon allotment for... uh... until the start of January. That's right, the Autobots are going to have to deal with a sober Nightbeat until the end of the year. Be very afraid. He transforms and directs, in quite the foul mood, "Strap it to my trunk - *quickly*." Nightbeat slouches down into Porsche 959 form. Time to roll. Swoop looks genuinely confused. "Hm? What me miss? Something wrong?" He gasps, almost dropping his basket of apples. "Something me did!? It him Red 'Lert's fault! He say 'Swoop, you not get hat!' and then me said 'No! You not get hat!' and now this!" Mr.Mafioso now has a gathering of similar looking aliens around him, all in dashingly nice suits. Red Alert puts on a very obviously forced smile and attempts to lay a comforting hand on Swoop's shoulder. Well, it would be comforting, if Red Alert himself weren't presently holding himself as stiff as a puppet. "Swoop, there is nothing wrong that can't be discussed later. Elsewhere. But for now, we should leave. I'm sure there are much better places where you can enjoy those nice apples. Some not-here places." And now, Red Alert attempts to exert a little more force (not that he has much force to exert) in order to turn Swoop around and get him moving Eastwards, towards the dim alleyway. As he does this, he leans very close to Swoop and whispers, "And if something happens, just take off and meet us back on the shuttle." The sports cars should be able to handle themselves just fine on the ground, where Swoop isn't exactly in his best element. You know how kids don't feel pain until they see their cut? Or they don't start yelling until you tell them to be quiet? Yeah, this is kind of like that. "What!? Why!? What me do!? Why me in trouble!? Me only doing what him Nightbeat say! You 'Lert am scaring me!" Swoop trudges towards the alleyway Red Alert is guiding him but it doesn't stop him from yelling and making a huge scene. The Italian stereotyp-GANGSTERS begin to reach into their jackets. One of them is puffing on a ridiculously large cigar while he does this. Porsche 959 gets his ludicrously overpriced new used engine strapped to the bakc of his trunk with bungee cables. He catches up with Swoop and Red Alert easily enough. Nightbeat drawls, "Swoop, Red Alert forgot to take his medication. So we need to make sure he gets back on the shuttle and back to Autobot City. Then you can show Grimlock your new hat!" He is a lying liar who lies, but it's better than telling a Dinobot to do something 'because I said so'. Red Alert looks down and /glares/ at Nightbeat, optics narrowed angrily. Then, through gritted teeth (this place has just enough Marvel in it for the Transformers to have teeth, right?) he grinds out. "Yes. My medication. Now. Very very quickly." Just for that, Nightbeat, you're filling up the upgrade forms in quadruplicate! Then, just to be on the safe-and-ready side, Red Alert falls forward in his alternate mode as well, finishing with, "But we have to get back to the shuttle first." Swoop makes a sniffling noise and clings tightly onto his basket. "Okay..." he says with a nod, following the two cars like a frightened pup. The gangsters notice the group leaving and pull their empty hands out of their jackets. They say nothing, but within the hour they'll be at Space Kinkos making WANTED posters with Swoop and Nightbeat's faces on them. Porsche 959 is probably already wanted on Monacus, anyway, for any number of things, including misconduct with a mafia don's private star yacht. Oh well, he won't have the funds to visit again for a very long time, and he didn't even hit the bars, which is a crying shame! He encourages, "C'mon, let's book it outta here." Nightbeat begins retreating, leaving itself vulnerable to parting shots from Fire Chief's Car. "Swoop," Red Alert orders, tone now firm, "either climb... aboard... my roof, or take off and meet us at the shuttle. That way... I can... get my medicine sooner. All right?" He's now rolling as fast as he can without leaving the Dinobot behind, but will slow down if it looks like Swoop decides to take the ride-along route. Swoop's entire expression magically lights up the exact second Red Alert says 'PIGGYBACK RIDES!' Okay, /obviously/ he didn't say that, but that's what Swoop heard. "Yessss! Me Swoop want ride along! Want tour of black market that not really black and also like a sneaky mission!" The Dinobot practically leaps on top of the Countach, sitting on it like it was a white and red fire horse. Well, Swoop had better hold onto his horsies, because the moment the Dinobot is on board, Red Alert's gas pedal hits the floor and he peels out of the area after Nightbeat. "We'll, erm, find some other not-really-black market for you to tour sometime, Swoop," the Fire Chief's car as he speeds away. Red Alert begins retreating, leaving itself vulnerable to parting shots from Porsche 959 . Porsche 959 is just happy that he isn't the one breaking his back giving a Dinobot a piggyback ride. Red Alert is going to make Nightbeat's life a living hell over this, isn't he? Perhaps he should lay low for the next millenia or so. Alternatively, he could explore his theory that shiny things will distract Red Alert. Choices, choices. Perhaps he should just clear his name and catch the real culprit. He opines, unhelpfully, "I hear Carbombya's got a wonderful little black market." You move east to the Dim Alleyway.
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