Transformers: Salvation

SideStep nods and hands her the axe hilt.

Scorchlock recoils from the blow. Then, he lunges forward, swinging a punch with his right arm.

“Yeah, some things don’t change, do they?”


Sprocket cocks his head.

“What?”


“Can-do, my man!” Thrift excitedly says, before looking through the assortment of cages and pens for more glitch mice. Their were many different mechanimals Thrift had for sale. Some were merely for food, but others had weapons and other pieces of equipment built into them.


Salvo takes the hilt in one hand and begins to look it over.

“Say, what are some of those bigger ones for?”
He asked, gesturing to one of the more well armed beasts.

‘Firepower," Thrift replies. "Y’know sometimes you find yourself in the middle of a firefight thinkin’ ‘man! I wish I had a trusty, dependable, loyal friend to back me up here!’? Well, turns out the residents of the cybertronian animal kingdom can fill that roll pretty well. I mean just look at the driller- if Primus didn’t make that thing purely to be a badaft killing machine, then really I just can’t see any other reason to justify its existence."

"…Unfortunately, I don’t have the means by which to contain or transport one. Hell, I’m not sure I’d even wanna if I did… eh, but then I think to myself: ‘Dude: robot-thresher maw-sawblade-drill-worm-thing! Hell yeah I want one!’ "

Thrift appeared to have gotten sidetracked.

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“I could use a friend right now…”
Broadwing absentmindedly said under his breath. Probably too quiet for thrift to understand, but easily able to hear.

Indeed, Thrift did not quite fully understand Broadwing.

“Bread?” he says. “Huh, well lemme see what I got…”

Thrift reaches his arm over to another shelf, and picks up a tiny loaf of bread inside a plastic wrapper with his thumb and index finger. He narrows his optics, examining it closely.

“Mmmm… hey, is terran bread good two hundred years past the sell-by date?” he asks.

“What? No. Not bread. Never mind. Which mechanimal do you have makes the best companion? Preferably something that can fly.”

“Flying critters,” Thrift summarizes. “Good companion. Okay. You lookin’ to take this prospective pal into combat at all?”

“Not a lot. But I want to make sure if we do get in a fight he could hold his own.”

“Well, the glitch mice ain’t quite what you’d be looking for, then…” Thrift tries to joke.

“Speaking of the little guys, here you are! Three glitch mice!”

“Thanks.”
He said as he took them and handed back the appropriate amount of shanix.

Paradox moves slightly to the side and blocks the punch with his right forearm.
“No they don’t.” he said, swinging a counter punch at Scorchlock’s abdomen. “Just so you know, I am all too familiar with your wrecker tricks!”


“So you gonna give me a drink, or what?” Sidestrike asked, Lurch (@Chromeharpoon)

“What’s his problem?” She whispered.

The hilt was rusted, and the wiring inside was corroded.

The appropriate amount was sixty shanix.

“Now, let’s see about getting you a pet,” Thrift says. “Flying, capable of self-defense… what about an insecticon? You seem like an insecticon person.”


Scorchlock doubles over, before swinging a backhand slap with his left hand.

“They’re your tricks, too, y’know!” he retorts.


“Right, right,” Lurch says, retreating behind the bar. Moments later, he slides Sidestrike a glass of minty green engex.

“So, what’s troubling you?” he asks.


“Nothing I can’t fix,” Salvo says aloud.

Paradox moves his had back letting the slap go pass his face and strikes with a karate chop hand at Scorchlock’s gab between the shoulder and neck.

“Oh…it might sound stupid since well, you are a Con.” he said taking a drink. “But I met someone.” he takes a sip of his drink.

SideStep nodded.
“Also, by any chance, could you install that into my arm?”

That sounds great!’
He said excitedly.

Scorchlock winces as the blow connects. He swiftly transforms to vehicle mode and spins around, his tires screeching as he attempts to trip Paradox.


“And it didn’t exactly work out,” Lurch infers. “Shame.”


Salvo shakes her head.

“I don’t know how to do that, sorry.”


Thrift nods, and produces a small, glass box in which was held an insecticon:


“He’s just an aft, I guess,” Sprocket says with a shrug.

“You aren’t exactly pleasant company, either!” Grommet retorts.

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Paradox trips and falls to the ground.


“Yeah, you could say that,” he said taking another sip of his drink. “Things have been crazy around lately.”