Title: Finding a Hive
Location: Dead End, Polyhex
Date: 01 June 2015
NPCs: Various (OC)
Summary: Overclock goes looking for a domesticated hive but starts her search with some charity.
++ Dead End <CON> ++
One of the most infamous points on the planet, the Dead End of Polyhex has
become synonymous with desperation and criminality. A slum barrio that
exists in stark contrast to the wealth and prestige of Darkmount on the
other side of Polyhex, the Dead End is composed of ramshackle dwellings
made of storage containers and refuse pulled from nearby scrapyards and
welded into barely functional mounds. Rusty oranges, corroded blue-green
coppers, dull flat grays and splotches of worn out and peeling paint
compose the landscape as far as the eye can see.
The Empties - a mixture of criminals, homeless and the insane - congregate
this area. Shuffling wrecks meander to and fro, eking a miserable and
desperate living scavenging from the junkyards near the smelting pools
nearby, while others turn to illegal activities to try to earn enough to
Overclock slips through the shambling masses, a towering alien in the crowd she was once a part of. Her clean paint, smooth gait, and even the simple fact that she has all her parts make her stand out as an outsider even before the chimeric appearance that normally clues others in to her uncomfortable uniqueness. The basic necessities of life - health and energon to drink - are taken for granted on most of Cybertron but here they're precious, and the empty turned Insecticon turned Decepticon is well aware of how hard it can be to keep them both.
While the armed nature of her frame keeps some at bay, with claws and a sharp tail on display, it's only a barrier to those not bold or desperate enough and Overclock finds herself approached from multiple sides by the beggars able enough to approach her. For once her Vehicons are absent, leaving the femme alone.
"Fuel? Spare fuel?"
"Wouldya have a spare circuit board?"
"Got any speeders left? I'll take a used one."
The list goes on, most in the distinctive slow voice that becomes the overriding accent of all empties as energon starvation takes its toll on the vocabulator and the processor is forced to underclock. Overclock stops and silently reaches into a compartment in her torso to produce an energon cube and hand it to the first empty, then another to the second.
"Sorry, no spare parts, but here... Take this and walk to DE161. The clinic there can help," she offers sympathetically. In a break from the normal verve that backs her voice around the Decepticons, here among her fellow empties the Insectibeast unconsciously reverts to her natural drawl. A transplant ago, Overclock was as native to the shanties as anyone. Not that anyone was really forged in the Dead End... except maybe the femme herself.
Overclock's optics sweep from side to side as her small act of charity draws more empties from the scrapworks and she continues to slowly, in an unhurried cadence, pull out one cube after another of precious energon. Each mech and femme she helps in turn, each battered gaze she meets, until the glow from her open compartment ceases and the last scrap of fuel is given away. More hands are left out-stretched and Overclock takes one carefully in her own as she looks at the empties still present with unfilled mouthes.
"I'll bring more tomorrow - not enough, but some." It's a simple, honest offer. "To bring more than that, I'll need help - information."
With their small rations of fuel, most of the lucky empties are already dispersing while drinking as fast as they can. The quicker they refuel, the less likely they are to have their new cubes stolen. Left around Overclock are some of the still-hungry and two of the most grateful bots. Seeing that she's retained some audience, the Decepticon continues.
"Megatron's expandin' the energon mines to help the shortage and we need Insecticons to produce more fuel. The hives here... where are they?" That there are hives in the Dead End, Overclock knows by rumor before anything else; not even a smelting pool can consume an unwanted body with less evidence than a hungry Insecticon. More than that now, the faint, skittering wavespeech of a headless hive flickers on the edge of the Insecticon's perception. It's there but it's too weak to pinpoint. Or rather, the femme reminds herself, she's too weak to sense it more clearly or tell direction. That will have to be a later upgrade...