Chapter Text
Rodimus banged his scanner against his leg, trying to knock the dirt out of it. Granted, that hadn’t been the best landing he had ever had, and he would need to patch up his ship, but any landing he walked away from was a good one.
Satisfied that the scanner should be working, he stopped banging it and turned it on. The signature of his target popped up instantly and, surprisingly, so did another signature. This one was also Cybertronian.
Rodimus pulled out his bow and silently moved on the other Cybertronian’s position. If he had company, he wanted to be the one to shoot first.
The target was tired.
When the target was tired, the target got sloppy.
Megatron unhooked his hip flask and drank-- there were mines of raw energon on this planet, but his systems still hadn't refreshed from the last time he'd been forced to stuff a chunk of the stuff into his moderator slot in order to keep functioning long enough to off his target. Since then, he'd carried a flask bottomed with a subspace generator full of the well-processed energon he liked.
He squinted down the long sight of his cannon-turned-rifle. The target was a mech named Sidearm-- tall, golden plated, smooth-talking. He'd kidnapped the bitlet of two wealthy mecha and abused it-- broadcast the whole sick spectacle on sky-drones. Megatron had started hunting him down long before a bounty had been placed on his head, and Sidearm had known it. He'd been frantically trying to escape, always with the threat of Megatron on his back.
Megatron fired.
Far off, Sidearm jerked, a gash opening on his midsection. Amidst his howls, Megatron transformed into his tank mode, barreled down the cliff, and landed atop him.
"You're mine," he purred into the gasping mech's audial. "You're going to tell me where the bitlet is, and perhaps I'll decide to take the alive portion of the bounty instead of the dead."
Sidearm's optics widened in blatant fear.
"Hey!" came a scream from atop the ridge, and Megatron jerked around. "That's my bounty!"
Oh, you have got to be kidding. Him?
Rodimus gasped for air as he ran down the cliff.
“That’s my bounty!” he repeated again. “Back off or I’ll make you!”
“With what?” the taller mech responded. “Will you scorch my optics with your paint choices?"
“Ha, ha, you’re a real comedian.” Rodimus slid to a halt—a perfect and flashy move if there ever was one—and loaded his bow. “I’ll just use this.”
The mech just stared at him, a slightly amused look on his face. When the injured bounty lying at his feet tried to move, he placed his pede on the mech’s chest without even looking at him.
Rodimus knew this guy. Flawless score, high number of kills, ruthless. And here he was threatening him. If Rodimus wasn’t Rodimus, he’d be more scared.
“I found this bounty first,” the mech said, his voice not loud, but projected in a way that carried. “By the rules, he’s mine.”
“Yeah, but I put my name down first for catching him, so by other rules, he’s mine .” Rodimus stared the other bounty hunter down, determined not to be the first one to break eye contact
Megatron knew this bot. This flashy, over-painted excuse for a bounty hunter. His name was Hot Rod, but he'd changed it once he'd gotten one famous hit and started broadcasting his services all over Cybertron. Rodimus.
"What other rules?" he asked tiredly. "The rules of the trade state that the first one to the mech takes the bounty."
"I don't wanna hear it!" the little mech shouted. "I was here at the same time as you!"
"Listen," Megatron grated out. "Rodimus, this mech has a bitlet he's kidnapped. This is far more important than you and your petty pride."
The mech's eyes widened in outrage. "How dare you?" he hissed. "I'll have you know that I was gonna ask him about the bitlet too!"
"Then go away. Let me find out. Find yourself another bounty."
Rodimus folded his arms. "No."
"Go away," Megatron growled. "I can let this one up, beat the slag out of you, and chase him down again. Don't make me."
Rodimus smirked. "I'd like to see you try."
Well, what was there for him to do after that statement but get up and prove his point?
Ten minutes and an annoying burn of energy-arrow on his helm later, Megatron's point had been made.
"You've cost me an easy target," he hissed into Rodimus' audial after he had him pinned, chest to the dirt and bow discarded. "You're going to help me find him again."
"Frag off!" Rodimus screamed, bucking against Megatron's bigger frame.
Megatron chuckled. Reaching into his subspace, he pulled out a circular item-- a remnant from his days in the gladiator rings, useful for keeping hotheads in their place-- and fastened it around Rodimus' neck. As he did so, he stood, allowing the smaller mech to get up.
"What the slag is this?" Rodimus gasped, pulling at the collar.
Megatron waggled a remote at him. "Electric collar. Crude, but efficient; and it'll stay on until you help me find my target."
Rodimus' eyes slowly narrowed, and he began cursing inventively as Megatron beckoned him to follow.