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Deadlock had spent most of his life killing people, at this point. It wasn’t something he was particularly attached to, but he was good at it. Really, really good at it. He had been a bounty hunter in the Dead End long before he became a Decepticon, and had been a killer for the ‘Cons for far longer than he had ever been a bounty hunter. And now that he’s left them behind… well it’s not like he knows how to do much else.
There were plenty of jobs for a recently-christened neutral to find. Someone was always willing to pay to take out an Autobot or Decepticon, or two. Sometimes even another neutral, or some organic on a backend planet in a forgotten corner of the galaxy. The want for professional killers was never in short supply.
He didn’t know the details of the job when he had landed on this planet. It was a neutral colony, with a large Cybertronian demographic — but not one that had a lot of deep pockets. Rich mechs tended to want to meet to discuss the details of a job at places like this, far away from prying audials and spyware, and with little chance of recognition. Deadlock was supposed to meet his newest client in a little bar on the edge of the city, and discuss the details of the hit. Unfortunately, it seemed that the mech he was supposed to be meeting with had little care for arriving at a meeting on time. Granted, it wasn’t an uncommon trait for rich fraggers with little care for those around them to have, but it was still very, very annoying.
Deadlock had sequestered himself in a lone corner of the pub, away from the bright lights and loud discussion placed at the busy bar. The bartender was absent mindedly cleaning a glass, the same one he had been holding for the past ten minutes, with a vacant gaze. Someone was speaking to said bartender in an obnoxiously loud tone as they tried, with no avail, to get his attention for whatever story they wanted to tell. Deadlock had ordered a glass of simple energon from there after it was clear he was going to have to wait for his client. The smooth drink did nothing to stop the slow itching anxiety from creeping its way under his plating.
Most of the mechs in the bar looked like they had just gotten off a shift from the local shipping dock. There was a happy comradery in the air, with friends pushing each other's shoulders and telling jokes that resulted in heavy laughter. It was clear who the regulars here were, which should make his potential client stand out in the crowd. Unfortunately, there was only one mech currently in the bar who was clearly not from here, and it was a boxy blue and yellow Autobot who seemed to be systematically interrogating every person in the room. Considering Deadlock’s next hit was supposed to be an Autobot, he felt confident in saying this was probably not his client. He took a sip from his energon, internally checking his chronometer. His client wasn’t late enough to justify leaving, but it was also probably a bad idea to stick around considering he used to be a Decepticon. Especially one who held a decently high rank.
For a moment, he regretted sticking with the name Deadlock. It passed quickly though. The name made him a target right now, sure, but there was a lot more clout attached to Deadlock than to Drift, and therefore it also generated lot more of a paycheck.
He put the cube down, and began to carefully stand up from the table, planning to get out the door and to his ship as quickly and covertly as possible. That plan was immediately halted however, as at that exact moment the obnoxious yellow and blue mech decided to come take a seat at his table. The Autobot was not particularly intimidating, and did not carry himself like he wanted to throw his weight around. Deadlock would be surprised if he had seen a lot of combat. He most certainly would have seen at least some, however, if only because of that bright red symbol painted over one of the vents on his chestplate.
The trespasser did not seem to recognize him however, or be deterred by Deadlock’s bared teeth and the way his hand had immediately moved to the gun at his side. For some reason, the stranger took this clear threat as the perfect opportunity to speak.
“So,” he started, voice smug and annoying, “come here often?”
Deadlock was a changed mech. He was above killing people for terrible pickup lines. Unfortunately, the silent glare he gave the other mech seemed to go completely unnoticed.
They continued undeterred. “See I would ask you what you’d recommend, but unfortunately I don’t drink,” he said, nodding at Deadlock’s glass. He had a visor that barely reflected the light of the room, casting it in a pale pink. It looked for a moment like solid energon.
“Me neither,” Deadlock said, figuring a neutral and not at all hostile response would be a better thing to do than throwing him through a table and making a run for it. Autobots rarely travelled alone, and he didn’t want to start a fight without understanding where this mech’s backup was.
“Why not?”
For a moment, Deadlock could faintly feel the filth of Rodion clinging to his plates. “None of your business.”
The other mech put his hands up. “Sorry, I was just curious. You don’t see a lot of mechs… abstaining from the good stuff, considering the war and all.”
“In case you couldn’t tell, we’re in a neutral establishment. So maybe you should go stick your Autobot nose somewhere where it might actually belong,” Deadlock grit out.
“I’m more inclined to stick my nose wherever it wants to be. Do you not like engex because of the taste or because you don’t like losing control of yourself?”
This mech really had to reevaluate his flirting technique if he thought asking overly invasive questions was the way to go. On instinct, he wrapped his hand around the hilt of his gun.
“What is your problem?” Deadlock asked, putting as much venom into his tone as possible.
“Ah, previous substance abuse, I get it now.”
“Yeah, so what?” Deadlock scanned the room, trying to identify any other potential Autobots. “Not like it’s any of your business.”
“I suppose that’s true,” he said. Deadlock could only see the workers and the bartender he identified earlier. “Anyways, I wanted to ask you a couple of questions.”
“Haven’t you already been doing that?”
“Well yeah, but that was more of a conversation starter,” he said. It was looking more and more likely this Autobot had entered the building alone, and the rest were somewhere outside.
“Right, because asking invasive questions is a good way to get someone to talk to you,” Deadlock responded.
He could take the Autobot hostage, and use him as cover to get off-planet safely. Most Autobots were reluctant to shoot down a ship that had one of their own on board. Maybe less reluctant if it also shot down a former high-ranking member of the Decepticons, but it was as good as Deadlock was going to get at the moment.
“Well you are still talking to me, and it was meant to be a conversation starter, but I think I got a little bit carried away,” he said. It was going to be now or never. “Can I ask how long you’ve been a bounty hunter next?”
In one swift motion, he brought his gun from his side to point it directly at the Autobot’s spark chamber. The muzzle of it barely pressed against his plating, right underneath the red symbol. The mech didn’t raise his hands this time, or drop the smile from his stupid face.
“That touched a nerve,” he said, barely phased.
“You think?” Deadlock snarled.
“I have a feeling you’re not upset about the comment itself, per say, but more so another factor surrounding it.”
Deadlock scanned the exits of the room, trying to find the easiest way out. The front entrance was completely out, as it led into the main street, and would be the perfect place for the Autobots to set up an ambush. There was another door, an employee exit, towards the back, but it was currently being obstructed by an obnoxious group of drunken mechs. He would probably have to move them out of the way by force to get anywhere.
“See, my questions would typically be read as social faux pas at worst, and would be met with a simple answer that can range from indifferent to cold.” Deadlock let the mech’s words fall into background noise, continuing to scan the room. “Your aggression definitely shows some upset, but it seems to be a bit odd in this context. Mechs don’t usually respond violently to discussion of their profession, unless of course they are doing something that might put them in some trouble. And considering how you seem to feel about Autobots, I have the feeling I might have some issues with whoever you were supposed to be waiting for.”
The back exit would have to be his best bet. The other mech was still continuing to speak. “Or, the aggression could be a cover-up for something else-”
Deadlock mercilessly grabbed him by the arm and started dragging him to the back exit. His questioning protests were drowned out by the continuous noise in the room, and Deadlock easily pushed aside the drunken mechs blocking the door.
The other mech tried to free himself from Deadlock’s grip as they raced towards his parked ship. Landing on a shipping colony had its perks, namely a nice open dock that made for easy take offs and landings. The Autobot didn’t manage to pry himself from Deadlock’s grip before being unceremoniously thrown onto the floor of the ship. Deadlock used one hand to keep his gun trained on him, while the other set course to get into hyperspace and out of this solar system as soon as possible. Losing the trail was the most important issue right now, he could figure out the destination later.
It took only a breem to make the jump, and he didn’t face anyone firing at him as he left the atmosphere. No tail either, from what he could tell. Deadlock moved out of the seat once they exited hyperspace, keeping an eye on the sensors in case another ship managed to follow.
The other mech stood up carefully, letting his gyroscope readjust itself. “Well that was rude.”
“Where are you friends?” Deadlock asked.
“My what?” The other mech responded.
“Your pals,” Deadlock said through gritted teeth. “The ones you were buying time for.”
The Autobot tilted his head like he just realized something, an infuriatingly casual motion that made Deadlock want to kill him even more. “I think we have different understandings of what’s happening here.”
“Oh yeah? What’s your fragging understanding of the situation?”
Deadlock had a perfectly fine handle on what happened. The Autobots showed up, scared off his client, and then tried to take out the highest possible target. They just hadn’t expected Deadlock to figure out what was going on before they could make their move.
“I thought it was worthwhile to try to figure out what your… deal is.”
“What my deal is?”
“Well yeah, you don’t typically see shady mechs armed to the teeth in a neutral outpost unless they’re an Autobot, or a bounty hunter.”
Deadlock just looked at him. Maybe he did need to re-evaluate this situation.
“Considering how you responded to me being an Autobot, I figured it might be the latter,” the other mech continued.
“And your plan was to what? Intimidate me until I told you who my client was?”
A lone Autobot trying to track down a shady mech with deep pockets, unaware of who he was actually dealing with. What an idiot.
“Not really. Again, I just wanted to figure out what a bounty hunter was doing in MONIST-1 of all places, and then go back to trying to solve my primary mystery.”
“Your primary mystery?”
“Yeah.”
Great, a wannabe detective out on the edges of the galaxy. Of course. “And what is that?”
The other mech leaned closer, like he was trying to get a better look at the projected map on the console. “I’ll tell you that if you tell me what got you upset enough to grab me and move into hyperspace 87 lightyears from where I’m supposed to be.”
Deadlock clamped down on his plating, hard. “No.”
“Seems like a bit of an overreaction on your part, even if you thought there were more Autobots on the planet,” he started, looking like he was preparing to do his little explanatory psychoanalysis routine again. Deadlock wasn’t having it.
“If you want to remain in here and not outside of the airlock I’d recommend you shut up.”
He shut up for approximately 2.5 kliks. “Can you at least bring me back, so I can return to my ship?”
“I’ll drop you off at the nearest Neutral outpost.”
“There’s an Autobot one that’s closer.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Any reason why?”
“You were saying it yourself - I don’t play nice with Autobots,” Deadlock said, keeping an eye on the other mech. “So again, shut up and sit down while I get us to an outpost.”
The silence in the ship that answered him was nice, and Deadlock let himself lose a little of the tension that had crept up his back strut since he first walked into that bar. It didn’t leave completely though, not with the other mech still standing there, looking like he had more he wanted to say.
—
The hyperdrive was malfunctioning. Deadlock should have been able to use it to make the next jump, but all he was receiving were error messages about improper alignment for one of the quills. He must have done something to them with his hasty take off, maybe not letting them warm up properly before making the jump. He growled to himself in frustration.
The Autobot was not helping matters, having decided sitting on the floor with his back leaned up against the wall was a perfectly fine place to be. His arms were crossed casually over his chestplate. Deadlock could tell the fragger was just biding his time until he could start talking again. The “shut up” mandate was useful, but now he was just feeling itchy all over again with the other mech staring at him.
“What?” he snapped, turning back towards the mech on the floor.
“What’s your name?” the other mech asked, his questioning tone the same as before.
“How many times do I have to tell you something is none of your business.” Deadlock flared his plating, trying to make it very clear he did not want to participate in another interrogation session.
“Well, considering you’ve essentially kidnapped me, at the very least you could tell me it,” he said, infuriatingly calm. “What’s so wrong with your name?”
Deadlock as a name was a promise, one that had been broken by Megatron. It was still useful, sure, but it wasn’t who he was anymore. Drift, on the other hand…
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” he said, slightly defensive.
The other mech just looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
“It’s Drift,” he said finally, slowly.
The Autobot responded almost immediately. “You sure? I’m not getting any hits for that name on any known bounty hunter databases.”
Deadlock clamped his plating down, hard. “See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you,” he growled. “Anything I do tell you, you’re just going to pick to pieces.”
“To be fair, I have been very upfront about that fact. Is there another name you go by?”
Deadlock turned back towards the window of the ship.
“Something you’d use for bounty hunting?” the other mech asked. “An alias mayhaps?”
Deadlock didn’t respond to him. He could hear him shifting behind him, seemingly readjusting himself on the floor.
“Fine then,” he said, pausing for a long moment. “I’m Nightbeat, by the way.”
Deadlock just tapped at the control panel again, futilely trying to get the hyperdrive to work again so he wouldn’t be stuck traveling with this mech for cycles on end to get to the next outpost. The red error message stared stubbornly back up at him. Deadlock gripped the edge of the panel, hard. His joints strained at the pressure. It was going to be a long trip.
—
Nightbeat had fallen asleep on the floor two joors ago, still slouched against the wall and venting softly. Deadlock, on the other hand, was desperately trying to ignore the compounding error signs that warned he needed to recharge soon. Not for the first time, he wished he had thought this through a little more. He angrily stood up, and moved over to the sleeping bot on the floor, nudging him with his foot.
“Get up.”
Nightbeat’s visor flickered to life with a staggered start. “Huh?”
“I’m moving you. You’re not sleeping out here.”
He gave Deadlock a quizzical look. “Where am I going to sleep then?”
“I’m putting you in the ship’s habsuite. Move.”
Nightbeat still didn’t budge. His visor flickered like it wanted to power down again, and his voice was full of static. “Why don’t you want to sleep in your own bed?”
“Because that would leave you alone out here with the ship’s controls,” Deadlock ground out. “So start moving it before I move you.”
Nightbeat leaned his head back so it hit the wall in exasperation. “Okay, fine. Am I allowed to ask you about your paranoia or are you just going to yell at me again?”
“I’m not paranoid,” Deadlock said.
“And I’m the Prime’s right-hand mech,” Nightbeat said. His visor dimmed, like he was trying to fall back into recharge. “You know, this type of ship is manufactured by IPS-N.”
Deadlock shoved him with his foot harder, trying to get him to move.
“It’s funny because while it was a prominent company before the war, currently they have gained most of their wealth by selling arms to our competing factions,” Nightbeat continued. “It’s interesting because while they are happy to sell to both sides, this type of ship is primarily made for the Decepticons.”
Deadlock stopped nudging him with his foot as he felt the energon in his lines go cold.
Nightbeat didn’t seem to notice. “The Autobot version is slightly different, made for longer journeys at the expense of less maneuverability. You can tell the difference by the shape of the cabin. Neutrals can get their hands on it too, but it’s more common for them to buy from SSC or Horus instead.”
Deadlock moved towards his subspaced gun. Nightbeat continued talking. “So either you forked over some cash to buy a very distinctly Decepticon ship, killed someone to get it, or…”
Deadlock had his gun pointed at Nightbeat’s head. His visor had turned back on, casting his face in a pale glow, even more vibrant than it had been in the bar.
“When did you leave the Decepticons?” he asked.
“What makes you think I did?” Deadlock snarled.
“Well,” Nightbeat said, still looking as comfortable as ever and not pausing for even a single moment, “you are obviously hiding something, and your behavior has been slightly off for someone who is supposed to be a neutral bounty hunter.”
“I am a neutral bounty hunter,” Deadlock said, keeping his gun steady.
“Yeah, but you also immediately thought that an Autobot was a hostile threat, and are keeping the name you are using for bounty hunting a secret. You’re obviously not a current Decepticon, considering you don’t have the badge and you’re about as far away from any major fronts as can be, so defector it is.”
Deadlock brought his gun to his side, and leaned in close. “That also means you’re away from all the action. Little Autobot couldn’t take the heat?”
“Wrong again,” Nightbeat grinned. “I’m trying to solve a mystery.”
This again. Deadlock impatiently waited for him to continue. “Again, which is?”
Nightbeat stood up, almost bumping into Deadlock’s head from where he was leaning over him. He raised his hands over his head, popping his back strut loudly.
“Let’s revise my earlier deal. How about I tell you that when you tell me your bounty hunter name, yeah?”
Nighbeat’s causal confidence had him feeling like he was on the back foot. “That’s not how this works!” Deadlock said, taken aback and feeling slightly flushed.
Nightbeat shot him a grin as he moved away from him and towards the habsuite. “Oh, but the game is afoot now my dear Drift. And personally, I think I can play it better than you.”
Deadlock stood there without a response as Nightbeat walked away, wondering when his core temperature had risen so much.
—
15 joors into the trip, Deadlock was starting to lose it at all of Nightbeat’s questioning. He couldn’t tell whether he wanted to murder Nightbeat or give him some other means of entertainment rather than letting him mercilessly question him. Unfortunately, his indecision meant he kept being drawn into impromptu interrogations.
“What made you get into bounty hunting?” Nightbeat asked, having returned to the floor once more.
“What are you, some kind of cop?” Deadlock replied, evaluating whether or not he really wanted to be Nightbeat alive. “And get off the floor, there’s a perfectly fine seat right there.”
Nightbeat remained on the floor. “I’m good here, thanks. And no,” he said, head tilted up like he was bored, “I’m a detective.”
“That’s still a type of cop.”
“I’d like to think there’s a distinction.”
Of course he would have the luxury to do that. “Okay Mr. Smart-Aft, what is it then?”
Nightbeat paused for a moment, moving his head to the left then the right. “Well I was an enforcer, before the war.” Deadlock raised an optical ridge at him. “Cold constructed, commissioned for hostage negotiation and diffusion of difficult situations. I wasn’t very good at it.”
“You? Bad at situations requiring delicate people skills? Honestly I couldn’t see it,” Deadlock drawled.
It figured the Autobot used to be an enforcer. He had that self-righteousness that came with the position.
Nightbeat raised an optical ridge right back at him. “Yeah, not something I was very suited to. And I didn’t like it all that much. I would have been fine in a different department, I suppose, but they put me in a job that required a lot of skills that I don’t have.”
He had a feeling those skills Nightbeat were missing was the ability to pretend to be someone else. Deadlock’s plating ruffled, shaking out angrily. “So what, you were a wannabe beat cop? Wanted to be out there cleaning the scum off the street?”
He thought of the Dead End. Gasket. The feeling of a gun in his hand for the first time. How it couldn’t save those he cared about, but it could stop the enforcers from hurting anyone else.
“No, I wanted to be in the major crimes division,” Nightbeat said matter-of-factly. He didn’t respond to the sneer in Deadlock’s voice. “That’s where the mysteries were. But I was told I didn’t have the processor for it - my frame wasn’t good enough to fit in that function.”
“Right, so if you were in that position you would be all too happy to help uphold the senate’s Functionism.” Deadlock couldn’t help himself from feeling hurt, for some reason. Like Nightbeat had betrayed him in some way.
“No,” Nightbeat said, looking directly at Deadlock. “I mean I wanted to solve mysteries. It just happened that becoming a detective was the easiest way I could imagine myself doing that.”
“And yet here you are,” Deadlock said, glaring at Nightbeat, the disdain leaking into his EM field. “Just another Autobot bootlicker.”
Nightbeat paused. “I guess you could put it that way. I never was super tied to the Autobots, ideologically. I always got called a Decepticon sympathizer,” he said, shrugging. “I just never ended up being much of a revolutionary.”
That was almost worse. “But you were one to side against them.”
“Only when taking sides was the only route left, and only after I’d seen what the Decepticons were willing to do.”
“The Senate crossed those lines long before we did,” Deadlock said, his conviction not wavering for a moment.
“You’re not wrong,” he said, before pausing again. “Do you still think Megatron’s still fighting for an end to Functionism? To establish a new government on Cybertron?”
Deadlock looked away. The ship’s engines were low and thrumming in the background. He could feel Nightbeat still looking at him.
“No,” he said, finally. “He’s not.”
“And that’s why you left?”
“Megatron left the cause before I did,” he said, keeping his optics on the console. “That’s all there is to it.”
Nightbeat didn’t respond, leaving Deadlock to drown in his own regret.
—
“So,” Nightbeat started, sometime later. “Ever going to tell me your name?”
Deadlock looked away, considering for a moment. It’s not like he had much left to keep hidden. He felt raw, like Nightbeat had taken a scalpel to his spark casing and started to scrape it clean. He didn’t even feel this way when he had gotten a piece of his spark casing removed to make his Decepticon badge. A badge that now sat broken and heavy at the bottom of his subspace. That felt like losing a part of himself. This felt like he was just giving a bit of it away. Not gone, just… placed in someone else’s hands for a little bit.
“It’s Deadlock,” he said, finally.
Nightbeat let out a low whistle. “Yeah, that’ll do it,” he said. It didn’t surprise Deadlock that he recognized the name instantly. “You were a member of the Conclave?”
“Yeah,” he said, still feeling the echoing raw edges of that hurt. “Until Megatron decided he didn’t like what I had to say anymore. Put me under the command of Turmoil.”
“And then you quit?” Nightbeat asked.
“Not for a while, but yeah, I quit.”
“How long ago was that?”
Deadlock could see him trying to construct a timeline, processor whirring with this new information. “4 orns.”
Nightbeat whistled again. “That’s fresh.”
“Yeah.”
Nightbeat paused, like he was trying to find a way to offer some comfort. “How are you liking the neutral life?”
Deadlock looked back at him, a small smile playing across his face. “It’s not too bad,” he said, letting his EM field expand slowly. He remembered the earlier deal Nightbeat was trying to make. “Your turn. What’s the big mystery that brought you all the way out here?”
Nightbeat sat straight up then leaned forward, his posture becoming more animated. “You ever heard of the Crystal City?”
“That’s an old legend right?” Deadlock wracked his processor for the details. “Primus built it or something? No, he gave his commandments there, I think.”
“Yeah, close enough,” Nightbeat said, grinning wildly. “I’m not talking about that Crystal City though.”
“There’s another one?”
Nightbeat’s visor flashed, and he held up a finger to give his explanation. “You heard of the Circle of Light?”
“No,” Deadlock said, not getting any hits on the name in his long-term memory storage.
“Optimus thinks they’re a cult, but he wanted me to see if I could track them down,” Nightbeat said. “Dai Atlas is supposedly one of their members, and apparently he’s got something that Optimus thinks could be useful.”
“What is it?” Nightbeat shrugged. Deadlock felt disgusted. “You’re telling me that you were sent on a mission by the Prime himself, and you don’t even know what you’re supposed to be doing?”
“To be fair, I don’t think Optimus knows what he wants from the Circle of Light either,” Nightbeat said, completely unaffected by Deadlock’s outburst. “It adds to the mystery in my opinion.”
Deadlock put his head in his hands. He couldn’t believe he was starting to like this mech. “What are you going to do once you find it?”
“Pat myself on the back for a success mystery solved?”
“Primus, is that honestly your only goal with this?”
“Yes,” Nightbeat said. “Obviously.”
“So then what happens next, you just move on?”
“Yep. Until I find the next mystery to solve.”
“What happens when you run out?”
Nightbeat grinned. “Well, I think that’s the best part. The universe is made of mystery. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to detangle all of it.”
Deadlock threw his hands up in frustration. “This honestly can’t be fulfilling for you.”
Nightbeat shrugged again. “I don’t know, I think solving a mystery is its own reward. I mean look at how it’s turned out with you.”
“With me?” Deadlock asked, confusion rippling across his plating.
“Yeah,” Nightbeat said. “I figured you out. I feel like that’s pretty fulfilling.”
Deadlock huffed, ignoring the part of his processor that wanted to stall at Nightbeat’s words.
“Alright fine,” he said, giving Nightbeat a grin. “But move on to something else, I’m not listening to any more sappy nonsense right now.”
Nightbeat gave him a grin back.
—
26 joors into the trip, Nightbeat was starting to lose it from boredom.
“How much longer until we get there?” he asked, having moved from the floor to sprawl on the other chair next to Deadlock, repeatedly turning it in circles.
The console blinked at Deadlock helpfully. The error messages still hadn’t disappeared.
“10 joors,” Deadlock said. “Minimum.”
Nightbeat groaned beside him, sliding further down on the chair. Deadlock had decided to deal with the increasing boredom by meticulously taking apart and cleaning his gun, inspecting each individual piece for any errors. It was soothing, and more importantly a distraction from Nightbeat’s growing restlessness.
“Could you manage to strand the ship in a more convenient place next time?” Nightbeat asked.
“We’re not stranded,” Deadlock said. “And besides there’s not going to be a next time.”
“There’s not?” Nightbeat asked. A flash of hurt went across his EM field.
“No,” he said. “I’m getting the quills fixed and I’m not to do any more improper takeoffs.”
“Oh,” Nightbeat said, settling back down. “You seem pretty reckless though. I’d give it good odds you end up breaking them again in the future.”
Deadlock put down his cleaning rag and fully turned to look at Nightbeat. “Oh yeah? What odds do you put it at?”
Nightbeat gave a vague motion with one of his hands. “You know, something greater than zero.”
“You’re saying that just to annoy me.”
“I’ll have you know that only 60 percent of my acquaintances have ever said I’m annoying,” Nightbeat said. “The other 40 percent have just been too polite to tell me that to my face.”
Deadlock huffed to conceal his smile, and threw the rag at Nightbeat. He caught it before it hit his face, having to readjust his spot in the chair to do so. The motion brought him closer to Deadlock, their plating almost touching.
Deadlock opened his mouth before he could even register the words that were coming out. “Could I kiss you?”
“What?” Nightbeat asked, visor flickering for a moment. He looked as stunned as Deadlock felt.
Deadlock sighed, already berating himself. “I asked if I could kiss you.”
“Sorry - let me rephrase that - why?” He seemed confused as to why anyone would want to kiss him. Deadlock was beginning to regret ever opening his mouth.
“Well, I kind of want to shut you up right now,” he started, refusing to stop and think through his words now that they had started. “And that seems like a better option than trying to smother you to death.”
Nightbeat looked considerate for a moment, as Deadlock wanted to crawl out of his plating. “An interesting proposal,” he said. “I accept.”
Deadlock reset his audials. “Wait, really?”
He didn’t have time to vent before Nightbeat put his hands on the sides of his helm and drew their faces together. The mesh of his face was colder than expected, but it quickly melted into a gentle warmth as they moved closer into each other. Deadlock put his hands near the vents on Nightbeat’s chest, and sighed into his mouth. They lingered for a moment before breaking apart, still in each other's laps. Deadlock let his forehead rest against Nightbeat’s.
Nightbeat spoke first. “How would you feel about finding the Crystal City with me?”
Deadlock had been killing mechs for as long as he could remember. It was time he tried out something new.
“Sure,” he said, softly. “I think I could do that.”
He moved his mouth to Nightbeat’s again, and thought that maybe, just maybe, this would be something he couldn’t regret.