#Rattlegun's engravings are inspired by someone i knew who would do their own tattoos as a method of harm reduction

[agentsquirrelsgotrobots]

"Oh. Hi." Blades said, inching awkwardly towards the scary, scarred up bot currently sitting on the steps of the courthouse. "Uh, well, you see, you kinda can't have open engex here? It's not safe for the humans."

"Uh. Cool. Yeah, I will put a safety cap on." The bot grabbed a cap and straw out of his ragged duffel bag and twisted it on. Have a good one, officer...?"

"EMT Blades, but no, I just drew the short straw. At least you're nice? Are you staying here?"

The bot smiled, relaxing from his easy-going but cautious mood. "Yeah, I will be looking for work later on. Just wanted to watch people. You don't mind me using the stairs as a seat? I didn't see anywhere else I could rest for a moment. I'm Rattlegun, and i have a microcon named Squeak around here somewhere. Trust me, i don't like the name either, but he likes, and that's what matters. "

Blades noticed that Rattlegun's arms were covered in scratched engravings, scars that never quite matched in age. There were some dress paint, fresh from his retirement ceremony, including several for exemplary service and extended contracts. Blades wondered if it hurt to get them done. He just had to ask. "Did it hurt getting the engravings done?"

"Yeah, no worse than the autobrand, though. Better than engex after a battle, am I right? Huh, wait, no, you look too well fed. You must be someone recovered from some stasis pod somewhere."

"Yep. You got me. Ran into a sparkeater, had to rush into stasis, no time to signal for help."

"Eh, you didn't miss much." Rattke gun though for a minute. "A war, a couple genocides, war crimes, collapse of civilization, and the death of the planet. You're lucky you missed it, really. This town is nice. Got any recommendations for a warehouse rental and a local construction or shipping company looking for labor?"

"Unfortunately, no. Griffin Rock is too small for big construction. Try the docks? Warehouses are hard to get. Land is expensive here. You are better off renting a space in the underground overnight parking next to the courthouse until you save up a little nest egg to buy a more dilapidated one and just get some permits to rebuild it. I know that my buddies, Heatwave and Chase, can make sure everything is up to code and won't be a hazard to the humans, and my friend Boulder and I could help with construction. Also, thank you for your service. "

"Eh, to be honest, joining the army branch of the Autobots wasn't the greatest life decision. But at least we eventually won in the end." Rattlegun chuckled, and Blades flinched as the plating on Rattlegun's throat vibrated and shook. "You wh-eh-wanna get out, buddy?"

Rattlegun cleared his intake before lifting his hand towards his mouth, opening it as far as it can go, and coughing as a microcon the size of Cody climbed out of Rattlegun's throat. "Blades, this is my microcon friend Squeak. Squeak, this is medic Blades. Be nice to him. He seems to be good people, and we need to keep some of those." Squeak, well, squeaked, in that high pitched cybex that was just barely out of Blades's audible range without his translator.

"You better treat my amica right, medic. I'm watching you."

"Squeak, I promise Rattlegun will find nothing but allies here. You got an alt mode that's comfortable for the night? I can pay for parking? As a measure of thanks for your service, I noticed your exemplary service markings."

Rattlegun gave Blades a strained smile, fed up with hearing about the worse mistake he had made in his life yet again being framed as his greatest honor. "That would be lovely. It's getting late, I'm getting tipsy, and the walk isn't getting any shorter. Let's get going."

Blades paid for the parking spot, and Rattlegun folded into his humvee alt mode, his military badges morphing into bumper stickers proclaiming him a proud veteran. Squeak settled into the driver's seat, and the two of them settled in for the night, hoping to find work in the morning.