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Waving a servo through the miasma of smoke covering the bar in an intoxicating haze, Swindle brought his en-smoke to his lips. Inserting the end chip on his glossa, a numbing buzz settled across his intake as the laced, heated energon steadily flowed into his lines. Pulling it away, he vented out the excess steam which fogged up his optics considerably.
Thankfully, there wasn't much to look at in the crummy hovel the Decepticons hunkered down in for the night. The scratchy, static filled media recorder played songs that—should the small device shatter into plastic—were soon to become lost media, like every other damn artistic pursuit on Cybertron. Rumble had gone through great pains to reconstruct the Earthling device into playing compatible Cyonictra tracks and with him gone Skywarp took to stationing herself by the player every night cycle.
Primus forgive whatever fool winds up breaking it. Swindle highly doubted Skywarp would take pity on a fellow Decepticon if they bumped into it in a drunken stupor. And if the Autobots found this ramshackle bar, well, they were dead on principle. They'd never notice the difference if the sculpted claws pulling out their spark did so with a personal vengeance.
He brought the en-smoke back up. Setting it against his lower lip, he debated taking another drag. Against his better judgment, he refrained.
Seated on stacked tires around a makeshift table composed of perfectly positioned rubble, Thrust asked Ramjet, "Got any threes?"
The counterfeit Cybertronian-sized playing cards, courtesy of Swindle's own services, looked pitiful in the seekers digits. Bent and corners torn, hardly the pristine dupe he originally sold them as. "Go Ghoti."
"Scrap," Thrust muttered, avoiding a piece of rusty rebar sticking out of the chunk of what was formerly a wall to pick up another card. Dirge snickered, even as his servos shook from the prolonged effort of holding the cards straight. Knowing the habits of the three, he was due for a break soon.
Across from him, Brawl shuffled in his own seat—which, if he was not mistaken, was an overturned trophy cabinet at one point. Balancing a chip on his knuckles, he tried to mimic a parlor trick that Swindle frequently did himself. Unlike the munitioner, Brawl couldn't get the defunct currency to travel cleaning across his scarred digits. The chip fell to the table every time, but the brute picked it up to try, try, try again.
Not like there was much else for them to do. Swindle traded his en-smoke for his bent cube of crude low-grade. The second that the device hit the table, a familiar servo snatched at it. Huffing out a laugh, Vortex swung behind Swindle to settle roughly at his side. A slot opened on his mask, inserting the en-smoke as quickly as he could.
Brawl paused in his game, with Swindle stilling himself. A manic sort of energy thrummed through their teammate as he puffed out steam, condensation curling out from under. It gave him a slight sheen to his brow, as he laughed.
"Can you believe this slag?" Vortex said, incredulous. "I mean– Seriously?" Another frantic drag. "Seriously!?"
"What's got your rotors in a twist?" Brawl questioned. Two of his digits pressed the chip against the table.
"My– There's no way you're asking that! We– Hah! We got our skid plates handed to us by a bunch of misbegotten Autobots not even a full rotation ago!" Visor glinting dangerously, Vortex brought a servo up to his helm and reared it back. "It's one thing if that bastard Superion gets one over us but—just plain old Autobots?!"
"I'm fairly certain I saw Jazz directing the counterattack from afar," Swindle commented, adding fuel to the mechanism. He supped from his cube, swishing the crud around before swallowing with a grimace.
"Jazz," Vortex spat. "Oh sure, that makes me feel so much better to know that Prime's joint-SIC took time out of his precious day to ensure that a literal Autobot transport crashes on top of our slagging helms."
"We failed. So what?" Brawl shrugged. "Not the first time, nor will it be the last…"
About that. Now would, indeed, be the perfect time for Swindle to make his announcement.
"Gentlemen, I have news," he cleared his intake. Folding his servos, one on top of the other, he tacked on the slightest bit of charm as he said, "I am formally resigning from the Combaticons."
The media recorder skipped. The trio of seekers paused their game, glancing their way over to the gestalt huddle. Skywarp ignored them, her lips pursed since she—after all—already knew this tidbit of information.
"What?" Slowly, Vortex stared at him.
"I have sent a request to the good mechs in high command to resign," he repeated. "Furthermore, I have asked for a permanent relocation to Earth so that I may join our valiant peers in their battle against those pesky Autobots and their Prime."
"What?"
"Megatron approved the request a megacycle ago," he ended succinctly. "It's been a good run, but in a couple of cycles I'm shipping out alas. I know, I know, no need to cry tears for me."
The en-smoke clacked against the tabletop as Vortex reached out and squeezed Swindle's wrist. "You're lying."
"I am not. After all, there's money to be made over there! Opportunities for business to bloom galore," the pressure increased. Dropping his persona, Swindle leveled with the mech, "Look, Hardtop's stationed on that mudball with Starscream and the rest of 'em. I wasn't the biggest fan of separating from him to begin with and now is as good a time as any to re-link with my brother. Plus," he wrenched his servo away. "Rumor has it that something big is going on down there. I want to know exactly what that might entail."
"You– You–!"
Unexpectedly, Brawl groaned. Leaning back, he shook his helm. "Really Swindle? Why have you made it your mission to beat me to the punch at every turn? I know I owe you Shanix, but seriously? If owing you a debt meant you'd follow me, I would have reconsidered my choice…"
"Oh?" Optics gleaming, he directed his attention away from Vortex and onto his compatriot. "Don't tell me… You're heading to Earth as well?"
"It's like you said—something big is going on down there and if that's where the action is, then that's where I'm gonna be."
"I can't believe either of you!" Vortex exploded, slamming his servo down onto the counter. The en-smoke cracked under the force of his palm, Swindle sneering as soon as the damage sounded out.
"You're lucky I'm in a generous mood, otherwise I'd bill you for that," he snipped.
Vortex pushed away so that he could stand and loom over them. Hunching his back, his visor brightened in a glare shared between the two of them. "Generous? You call betraying the very foundation of our gestalt generous?" He snapped his attention onto Brawl, "This, I could expect from Swindle, but Brawl? You too?"
Allowing a beat to settle, Brawl eventually said, "If you were smart, you'd do the same. The Combaticons are dead. Have been for a long time now."
Reeling back as though Brawl had struck him, Vortex shook his helm in denial. "No we're not! We've–" He let out a breathy, hysterical laugh, "You call a couple of rough patches and a losing streak us being dead? Methinks you're giving up too easily, you coward."
He realized then, at that precise moment that Vortex didn't know.
Swindle stared down at his clenched fists. "Hook says Blast Off isn't going to make it to the end of the orbital cycle. Maybe not even the next few days."
"I–" Vortex stumbled back into his seat. "Wh– What?"
"His fuel tank cap was punctured in the transport collapse," Swindle sighed. "There's not enough resources to replace it. Everything left is either rusted, damaged, or incompatible to his schematics. He's losing fuel faster than they can stem the flow."
Somber, Brawl added, "Onslaught is with him now." An undercurrent of what that meant—what such a gesture signified—went unsaid between them all.
Wordlessly, Vortex slumped. His digits went flat against the table, before curling close to his palm. "How… How come nobody told me?"
"Your comms were silent. And… Not like it would have changed anything."
"No." He slammed his fist against the table, "No! This is wrong! All of this is wrong!" Sliding his servos underneath the structure, he suddenly flipped it and howled. "We were supposed to die as Bruticus! All of us together! This– No! You mean to tell me that Bruticus died not knowing that he has perished at all? There is no honor in that! There is no–!"
Helm bowed and still leaning against the back of the bar, Skywarp adjusted the dial—increasing the volume of the fractured rock ballad. A silent, subtle warning to knock it off that Vortex took none too kindly.
"Frag you! Frag all of you!" Vortex screamed between the two. "How could you do this to us? How dare you just leave!"
"Take it easy, Vortex," Swindle warned, every line in his frame tense. His digits twitched, wanting nothing more than to pull his gun on the increasingly agitated mech. However, doing so would escalate the situation in a way all of them would regret.
"You take it easy, you materialistic opportunist!"
Going for levity, he forced a laugh out of his shaky vocoder. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"I bet this is what you wanted from the get-go, I bet you're happy that you've bled us dry—made us weaker so that you could take your cut and run," spouting off pure nonsense, Vortex hissed, "You traitor."
Striking a taut wire, Swindle rose. "Hey, hey! I may tolerate you lot calling me a lot of things, not all of them pleasant, but traitor is where I draw the line."
"Upset? Why? That's what you are–"
"He's a survivor," Brawl interrupted. "Loath as I am to admit it. We all are. All of us," he looked up at Vortex, not finding the need to stand. "Except you."
"Bastard!" Vortex lunged, with Swindle quickly intercepting him. They grappled with one another, before Vortex gained the upper hand and tossed Swindle across the bar.
His back cracked against the serving station, disorientated and dizzy, but not so much that he didn't realize the teetering back and forth of the media recorder. It tilted off the counter top, every spark stilling as they watched in belated understanding that it was going to fall.
Scrabbling, Swindle caught it because he had to. He could not afford for that small, dingy device to break. The sanctity of his continued existence and all future profits hinged on that media recorder not shattering because Vortex threw him into it.
Checking it over quickly, he cataloged any potential damage. If anything, the sound quality increased as words flowed from the speakers clearer than ever before.
Bvvvvop.
A crackle of arcing red in his periphery foretold Vortex's doom before Skywarp even appeared in front of him. Startled, but surrendering instinctively to his fate, Skywarp wrapped her claws tight around his neck cabling as she wrenched him up into the air. Her thrusters clicked menacingly throughout the stifling quiet of the bar as the gasping and writhing Vortex hung from her grasp.
Tossing him out, his rotors cracking against the ground as he tumbled.
"Out of my sight." Her optics glinted with a promise of punishment should he disobey. "Lick your wounds elsewhere."
Hauling himself up, Vortex debated continuing the fight. Evidently, he thought better of it as he spat out, "Fine."
And yet, not willing to leave without the last word, he leaned to the side and glared at the gathering of mechs behind Skywarp. Swindle carefully cradled the media recorder, not even willing to set it down lest it fall again with the fault at his helm this time.
Directed at Swindle and Brawl, Vortex promised, "Go ahead and leave Cybertron behind, but know this— If I ever see any of your ugly mugs again, you're going to regret it. This I swear."
Ignoring him, and not particularly caring about the interpersonal drama between Combiners, Skywarp turned her back and crossed the threshold into the bar. Reluctantly, they all followed her lead in turning away.
Vortex shook with rage at the final dismal and stalked off, transforming in his retreat.
Swindle hoped that he would go find Hook and make his peace with Blast Off while he still could, but knowing that guy… he doubted it. A reputable firecracker in all of the best and worst of ways, Vortex was careening towards a burn out that would take out all who dared to get close.
Not wanting to test her patience any more than necessary, Swindle approached Skywarp and handed over her precious item. No words of gratitude were exchanged, because unlike the Autobots… Such things were unnecessary amongst the Decepticons. A nod of a helm was more than enough to convey the sentiments they lacked the fortitude to air.
In the clear, and not lined up for the chop shop, Swindle found his way over to Brawl. Curious, he asked him, "Did you mean what you said? That whole survivor spiel."
"Suppose so." Brawl attempted to fix their seating arrangement, but the 'table' had cracked even further in half. Instead, he plucked his forgotten chip up—the useless thing somehow surviving the whole altercation. "Vortex… Has had a bit of a death wish for a while now. Dying together as Bruticus? That was never in the cards, not for us… Not for me."
Privately, Swindle agreed, it was not for him either. If he were to offline, he'd much rather it be fighting side by side with Hardtop. Not… Not with his gestalt.
Not without his kin there to see how he went out.
Shaking away the macabre turn of his GPU, Swindle glanced over at the seeker trio. "Got room for two more?"
"For you? I'll make an exception," Ramjet bitterly smiled at him. His remaining optic darted to the media recorder, dimming ever so slightly before returning back to the cards. "Brawl, not so much."
"Hey now, I'd watch your intake lest you want to lose your other eye," his compatriot said, moving towards them regardless.
"You're a cheat! Why would we want to play with you?"
"And Swindle somehow isn't?"
"The hell am I getting dragged into your little back and forth for?" Swindle whined, pulling up a seat next to Dirge and tapping him carefully against his side, "Take a break, I'll handle your cards."
"By all means," Dirge handed them over with a grateful slump of his shoulders. "I was getting bored of that Earthling game anyhow."
For all that he tried, indulging in round after round of cards didn't distract his computer nearly enough as he hoped it would. The smoke in the bar filtered out, his en-smoke nothing but garbage littering the ground further.
'Survivor.'
Brawl's words bounced around his helm. The recollection of Blast Off drifting into stasis under Hook's exhausted tender care as Onslaught sat patiently by his side merged with the hurt stemming from Vortex as they callously told him his entire purpose in this war was a closed chapter in a history book that would treat none of them with kindness.
Rumble's media recorder swapped to a wordless orchestrated tragedy, Skywarp leaning over the device and running her thumb across the silver scuffs.
Survivor… Was this surviving?
Or merely a prolonged death that none of them—not the Decepticons, not the Autobots, and not even the scattered neutral Cybertronians fleeing a crisis of hunger and strife—could reign under their control.
Scowling, Swindle figured that it was no matter.
"Swindle, got any fives?"
Soon, he'd reunite with his brother and from there? Who knew what Earth had in store for him. "Go Ghoti."