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He knew he was being watched.
Sure, perhaps not this exact moment, but there were always optics ready to take note of when he deviated from his usual schedule, such as when he went to a bar that was not one of his typical haunts.
That was the danger of being well-known in Tyrest, and the danger of being well-known for where he put his allegiance in the growing tensions across Cybertron.
Trailbreaker gave him a nod of greeting as he joined the mech at a table along the wall of the bar. "Glad you could make it, professor." Trailbreaker was known to the laborers in and around the city, and he too was becoming infamous for his Autobot leanings, and for his association with Perceptor. The two of them had met often here over the past vorn to discuss the political situation.
To discuss how to keep the city out of Decepticon hands, even as the rest of the Decagon fell under the Lord High Protector's sway all about them.
To discuss how protecting their city no longer meant simply being vocal about their disapproval of Megatron's actions as of late. How it meant being ready for when--not if--the Decepticon forces at their door decided to come for the little upstart Autobot city.
Perceptor returned the greeting, taking the cube that the miner pushed across the table to him. "I've always kept my appointments." He glanced at the third mech at the table, a smaller fellow in green armor he did not recognize. This mech was taking an enormous risk to himself in meeting with the unofficial leaders of the growing Tyrest militia, though if the danger unnerved him, he was not showing it.
Trailbreaker motioned toward the mech. "Perceptor, this is Hound, the army scout I told you about. Hound, this is Perceptor, from Arnis Hul."
The scientist nodded to Hound. "We appreciate you being willing to speak with us," he said. He remembered to take a drink from the cube he held, so he could at least attempt to appear to not be planning what was likely high treason against Megatron.
Hound slowly turned the cube he held in his silver hands, as if pondering its contents. Then he leaned forward slightly, a sturdier pair of forelimbs unfolding from his upper torso to brace against the edge of the table, a comfortable resting position for multi-limbed, facultatively qudarupedal mechs like him. "You teach at Arnis Hul?" the scout asked.
There was no way Trailbreaker hadn't mentioned that to him. He was, like Perceptor, playing the game of appearing to be simply meeting for an idle chat. At least for now. "Teach, and research," Perceptor replied. "Currently, mostly in holomatter theory, on both accounts."
Trailbreaker had a bemused smirk on his face. "Don't get him started," he said to Hound, who tilted his head slightly, curiously.
"And you?" the scientist continued with the game. "You're still scouting for the army?"
Hound shook his head at that. "Not for several vorns now. I finished my tour of duty. Was out hopping the Skuxxoid ports for work after that, but I was convinced to return home." His blue optics met Perceptor's pointedly, as if willing him to read between the lines on that statement.
And he certainly did. "I assume Trailbreaker told you what we need."
The green mech made a noncommittal sound and peered down at his energon cube again, his mask-like face unreadable. "Listen, I'm not in the army any more, but I don't think these Decepticons would care about that. I'll be a traitor to them, and you will be too, and you know how traitors are dealt with."
"And yet you're still here."
The edges of Hound's mask twitched, in what for his facial type was a smirk. "If you have the mechs and the weapons, I'll do what I can to help train them in combat, for whatever I can teach. I was in recon, remember, so I'm better versed in guerilla tactics and one-on-on fights than pitched battles."
"Which I sure to Primus hope we'd never have to face," Trailbreaker muttered.
"We would gladly accept whatever training you can offer us," Perceptor said, also keeping his voice low. "Firing a weapon is easy enough to learn--"
"Yeah, if you can do it..." the miner jibed.
Perceptor leveled a mock glare at him. "--but turning that into a cohesive and effective militia is beyond my skill."
Hound had taken a swig from his cube during this, and his thin mandibles retracted back beneath the edge of his face mask as he lowered the cube once more. "Then let's do this. And pray we never need to use it."
Given his schedule with his university responsibilities, Perceptor had less time to meet with Hound and the various mechs in Tyrest's militia than he would have liked. It still earned him several stern reproaches from the university administration, for such unbecoming and dangerous behavior. It was much the same words as their earlier lectures to him, back when he had procured a weapon for himself and altered the hold space on his leg to accommodate the gun, about why a professor should not be walking about obviously armed. And the more aggressive lectures that soon followed about not encouraging his students' fascination with his weaponry and his blatant support for the Prime. Just turn it down a notch, they told him.
He ignored them. Tyrest was officially an Autobot city, and if the residents showed any signs of hesitation about that fact, the Decepticons all around them would take advantage of it.
Let the 'Cons target him. If it meant another mech could stay safe, Perceptor would take every bullet and energy bolt for them.
But he fully intended to bring the shooter down with him in the process.
The only problem being that yes, he had taught himself to fire a gun, but he had far less of an idea of how to protect himself at close range. Even still, Perceptor was having just a moment of dread at the smirk Hound gave him when the scout decided it was time for a sparring match. Nothing too difficult, he said. They'd been over the basics. Time to try it out, see what needed improving.
That smirk, though.
Perceptor was an average-sized mech, of a decently bulky T-class build, and agility was not something his lifetime in the sciences had taught him.
Hound was a full size class smaller than him, with a flexible R-class body, and he was facultatively quadrupedal to boot.
He simply dropped to all four feet, beneath Perceptor's reach, and slipped quickly and closely around behind him to appear at the scientist's other side, too low to the ground, too fast for Perceptor to react to. Then Hound reared up and struck at him with his forelimbs.
Those solid forefeet slammed into Perceptor's chestplates like a powerful pair of ground-shattering pistons, hard enough that his energon pump stuttered as he was thrown backwards. He felt himself hit the ground some distance away, his processor spinning as he slid along until he finally came to a stop.
Before he could even register what had just happened, a firm pressure suddenly appeared on his already crushing aching body. Hound was standing on him, forefeet on his chest, hind feet pinning his legs down. His smaller arms had unfolded from his torso; in one hand, he held an energy blade, the point of which was pressed firmly against the scientist's collar armor, while in the other was Perceptor's own gun.
Hound tapped the gun's muzzle against Perceptor's temple. He was alarmed to feel the hot prickling of an active weapon against his helm.
"Dead," Hound said simply. It was all he needed to say.
"Yeah," was all Perceptor could find to reply with.
He knew, with a growing fear in his spark, that this was the only warning he would receive of the reality of what he was trying to do with this militia.
Hound stepped back, powering down the gun and offering it back to Perceptor, who took it shakily. "Gonna have to do better than that, professor."
Snapping the weapon back into its hold, Perceptor stood, wincing. 'Primus, four-leggers have powerful limbs.' He ran a brief scan on himself, and was pleased to find nothing was seriously damaged though damn, his chest was going to hurt for cycles. Absentmindedly, he ran a hand over the armor, his fingers tracing over the ripples of new and very obvious dents and scuffs. "Oh, my students are going to love hearing about this."
"I'm sure they'd rather love hearing about you staying alive."
"Yes, yes. All right. Let's go again."
If it would help keep Decepticons out of this city, he would let himself get pounded into scrap. But Primus help him if he wouldn't make the enemy pay for it.
"If you will not cease this pointless resistance, then you may consider yourself dismissed. Megatron's orders."
It struck Perceptor, in an oddly detached way, that it was ironic how his fellow professor Landslide slipped under, behind, around him, the same way Hound did that first time they sparred. He found himself twisting around almost without even thinking about it; there was no shockingly powerful blow to his chest this time, but something sharp traced across his chestplates, then a fiery and rather concerning pain suddenly exploded in his right shoulder.
A charged blade of some sort, which had been intended for his spark chamber.
Perceptor kept his momentum going, grabbing Landslide and swinging him around, sending them both crashing to the floor. In the same motion, he pulled his gun free, his right arm tremoring painfully, and kept rolling with the mech until he was straddling Landslide's torso to keep him down. With his left hand he pinned the mech's weapon-holding arm to the floor, though he could not pry the blade from his grip.
Landslide was shocked by the quick turn of events, and by the active gun that was being held to his forehead, the energon that was dripping freely onto him from the wound in Perceptor's shoulder.
Perceptor had known this mech for a long time.
He sent out an alarm on the militia's comm frequency and pulled the trigger.