SCRAM! It's the cops!

Nyon, beautiful Nyon: with its crumbling buildings and abandoned industry, its fallen temples and shattered ruins, it's truly a marvel of Cybertron. Follow the rusted streets past broken windows to an old, ooold part of the city, deep in its heart, past murals and shrines to where a grand hall now stands largely open to the air above, its ceiling long since fallen.
There, in that wide, clear space, Hot Rod is getting the scrap kicked out of him. He goes flying through the air once again to thump up against an already broken wall. He fall with a shower of dust that dampens the bright flames of his chassis, but mutes none of his zeal. He bounces to his feet. "Awesome."
"Are you saying awesome because you really love gravity, or because you can see what I did?" Chromia strides across the new distance she has created between them on long, loping strides. Bracing her weight at her knees in case he gets smart like Nautica and tries to yank her down, she holds out her arm for the leverage he can use to haul himself up.
Iacon PD is slowly moving through the Rust Narrows, but he's a long way from home. The black and white police car is on the prowl (not literally), searching in particular for a specific rebel that's kind of famous in these parts.
He stops, his doors opening by pivoting forward and up. Out of each side of the car a data slug ejects, transforming: one into a condor, the other into a feline minicon, both blue. << See what you can find, and stay out of trouble, >> Barricade rasps over the com frequencies. << When you see that flame-wearing idiot, send me a signal. >>
Hot Rod will never get smart like Nautica. It's impossible. In all ways. Nautica is smart in ways that go far beyond him. He just takes the hand up. "I totally saw what you did," he says with perfect confidence. Despite the number of times she blocks, dodges, or throws him, that confidence refuses to shatter. He'll get it. One more try. Watch this next time. "I hope /you/ love gravity, because you're about to get a face full of it." With their practice ground open to the air, it won't be hard for Barricade's little helpers to spot them. Dusty or not, the paint remains bright, the flames clearly outlined, and it's not like his spoiler is exactly a subtle thing, either.
Less attention-grabbing than her current pupil in her long line of blue and mildly sarcastic, Chromia gives Hot Rod a sharp smile. It's not her first of the day, not any more than it has been his first time today eating wall. It appears there is a degree to which she finds his unrelenting confidence ... entertaining. Releasing him, she steps back. "You aren't going to take an experienced opponent by surprise when you charge like that," she says. "Think about where the power is coming from. It's your center of balance." She spreads her arms as she backs up, giving him a little beckoning gesture of her fingertips. "All right? Show me your best shot."
Barricade turns off his lights, and Howlback and Garboil scatter in opposite directions. Garboil begins searching from above, peeking in windows, while Howlback pads through the streets, listening for the sounds of activity. The cop and his partners have been scouring the entirety of the rust narrows, and it's only a matter of time before they find who they're looking for.
Exodus has once again come looking for Hot Rod, hoping to notify him of the time and place of the speech the aforementioned mech had agreed to give. He arrives upon the scene and immediately notices the two female Autobots. He smiles a little, slightly amused. Popular with the ladies? Exodus is not surprised. But perhaps now isn't the time to discuss this topic. "Hey, Hot Rod, whenever you're finished, could I have a word?"
Nothing like having a cocky student who not only lets you throw him into the wall, but bounces back for another shot. "Yeah, because I look like the kind of mech who gets by on stealth and surprise," Hot Rod retorts. He takes a moment to focus and shift his weight. He makes a clear and concentrated effort to find his center of balance, and his next approach shows promise -- but he never gets the chance to deliver his best shot, because Exodus startles him into a standstill. "Oh -- hey! I guess we could take a break," he says with a glance at Chromia for confirmation.
Narrowing her gaze where she stands ready for an oncoming charge, Chromia straightens perceptibly and drops her hands to the frame of her hips. "All right, break time it is, but if the big guy's here to beat you up, I'm not promising to help you," she says. She scuffs a little off to the side and picks up the training stick by kicking it up into her hands; she brought it, but hasn't used it yet, preferring to take a closer hand-to-hand approach for now than to permit Hot Rod to handle anything that looks like a weapon, so who knows why it is here. Staff in hand, she pokes at the crumbling wall that has made itself their perimeter.
It's Garboil that finds them first. Like laserbeak, he clamps onto the side of the building and peeks in from above - possibly spottable if anyone happens to look up. << Mnn. Yes, I believe that's the mech we're looking for. Looks like has company, Barricade. You're going to need to use your 'nice' face. >>
Howlback lifts her head towards Garboil's general direction. << Hah! Boss is not haffink 'nice face', Garboil, is that some kind of jokink? >>
Internally, the cop smirks. << Just send the coordinates and converge on my position. Garboil, transmit visual. >>
"Nah, he's one of the good guys." Hot Rod turns a grin on Exodus that carries the full force of his confidence in labeling him as such, despite how little time they've actually spent together. /Obviously/ you can /totally/ trust instinct. "What's up?" He does not look up, speaking of. He's comfortable in this space, secure enough to relax. He lacks the wariness that would turn his gaze upward. "When do I get to hit things with sticks, anyway?"
Exodus arches his brows at Chromia, holding his hands up innocently. "Take it easy, ma'am, do I look like I'm about to tear him a new one? I apologize if I do," he says, rubbing his helm. Hot Rod's blind confidence gets a surprised look but he doesn't comment on it. "Oh nothing for now, we can talk later--carry on," he says, "I'm sorry for interrupting. Besides, I'd like to see what you can do," he says with a grin.
"I operate under the assumption that everyone who talks to him is about to tear him a new one," Chromia says with a bland humor as she flips her stick up across her shoulders and braces her wrists against it, feet planted wide. "Because I've met him." She cants her head. "You can move on to the next steps when you've demonstrated /these/."
A police siren goes off outside, just for a few moments. The bird in the window is gone, and shortly after, heavy footfalls are tromping towards the little secret fun clubhouse.
Hot Rod's expression is surprised, but willing: "Have a seat," he invites, gesturing at all the many seating options. Dirt. Also dirt. Broken stone. "I'm going to make her eat wall." He turns toward Chromia with a wounded look. "Aw, come on. I grow on you. Let's go." He bounces lightly (relatively, anyway) on his feet, shifting his weight from one side to the next. He's dreadfully eager to go again with an audience now in place for him to show off. Then there's a /police siren/, and Hot Rod goes very still. He has the sharply focused expression of a mech thinking (and radioing some distant faces) very hard. He is no longer smiling.
Chromia flips her staff down off its long brace across her pauldrons and strides forward a few paces to let it crack the rubble-cleared dirt underfoot, turning the cant of her head toward the sound with an expression far better described as exasperation than any of the versions of panic or guilt that might arise should she really consider the potential for guilt by association under the Cybertronian justice system. She sighs a little, instead. "What were you saying about growing on me?" she says. She faces the broad, open crags of broken wall that make up what might be classified as a 'doorway' if you squint and tilt your head. At this angle, she might even be upstaging Hot Rod a little, bracing between him and the entrance. Some of her habits are a little unexamined. Either that or he really has grown on her. Don't tell him.
"Me too, and I can't imagine why anyone would want to." Exodus says, giving Hot Rod a friendly sideways glance. That was sort of sarcastic. Sort of. "Besides, I can't even remember the last time I wanted to beat someone up anyway." 
Then there's the sound of police sirens and he frowns.
He's tall, he's black and white, and he has a scowl that could make a scraplet turn around and run away, yipping like a terrified puppy. Crimson optics look over the group of malcontents and misplaced colonists, and his sickle-like claw fingers twitch.
Barricade has arrived.
"Which one of you is Hot Rod?" His voice is a raspy growl, and it does nothing to make him look like the friendly, helpful policeman that's there to help missing protoforms find their caregivers.
"I am." Of course. /Look at them/. Which one of them looks like they go by 'Hot Rod'. It'd be the red-orange-and-yellow mech with the flames and the spoiler and the everything, stepping forward to ruin Chromia's staging. He squares his shoulders and faces this arrival of authority with every scrap of defiance one might expect. In the face of less overtly threatening representations of the law, he has, at times, looked guilty. DESPITE BEING TOTALLY INNOCENT. Now he just looks stubborn and rebellious and basically like trouble.
Exodus' frown deepens and he stands, easily becoming the tallest person in the room. He approaches Barricade, standing in front of Hot Rod and pushing him back a little protectively. He looks as unintimidated as Hot Rod. "What's it to you?" he asks, his tone of voice void of any kind of malicious intent. His expression then eases. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come off as aggressive--what do you need?" he says politely.
Chromia thunks her staff thoughtfully against the ground. Her brace is wide, feet planted. She doesn't immediately say anything; she waits, watching. The quirk of her mouth suggests a certain humor, but she leaves it for the moment unspoken.
"So you're the soggy little punk I keep hearing about," Barricade announces with no small amount of amusement. "Got plenty of friends here ready to save your scrawny aft, I'll give you that." -Very- complimentary. He looks at Exodus and Chromia in return. "So what the slag are you two doin' with this guy? He ain't exactly makin' the top 'good citizen award' list." His posture relaxes - he doesn't feel threatened by any of them, not even Exodus, but then, Barricade can be as prone to overestimation of his abilities as Hot Rod. It's probably one of the two things they share in common.
"The name 'Shiftlock' mean anything to ya, flames?"
That would be the other thing.
"I'm not afraid to butcher my own reputation for the sake of someone else," Exodus says genuinely. He looks over at Hot Rod, waiting on a response from him. The name Shiftlock sounds vaguely familiar to Exodus, but he knows nothing about her.
Suddenly finding himself facing Exodus's back rather than Barricade's face, Hot Rod huffs a little and steps to the side. "Yeah, I'd like to hear /you/ define good citizen," he growls. He settles his arms in an aggressive cross. "Nope. Never heard it before," he lies right at Barricade's face. Probably he has not made a very important connection as to who he might be. All he can see is cop. DOWN WITH COPS.
"Throwing him around, mostly," Chromia says. Any instinct she has as to protecting her erstwhile charge clearly does not extend to protecting his dignity, such as it is. She glances at Exodus, and then Hot Rod, and then back to Barricade again. 
Tone edged sardonic, Chromia lifts her head and states: "I don't know what constitutes 'good citizenship' around this scrapheap and I don't really care. He's seriously obnoxious and he makes you want to thump him but he gives a scrap and keeps his word, so. Here I am." She smiles. "Making him eat wall."
Chromia's comments actually make 'Cade grin. A low rumble starts in his chest that eventually turns into full blown laughter. 'Making him eat wall'. Ohhh, he can appreciate the candor in this femme already. She seems to have her head on straight. Still, there's the problem of Hot Rod and he can tell the little spoilerback is lying to his face, trying to be brave and protective and rebellious. Part of him wants to push Rod's face onto a belt sander and remove that smug, arrogant expression permanently, but that wouldn't get him what he wants. "First off, you can drop the act," he retorts to Hot Rod, humor melting away into business mode. "She's mentioned you multiple times and she's not cunning enough to pull off a lie that'll get past me. Secondly, I ain't here t' bust you kid. Prowl and his march-loving aft-kissers can die in a smelter. So /relax/."
OMG. Hot Rod gives Chromia the dismayed look that younger brothers have given older sisters since time immemorial: the look of one watching another ruin their game. /Chromia no/. Disgruntled as he returns his attention to Barricade, he gives him a longer, thoughtful look. "Barricade?" he says after a moment. There are very few places he could have learned the name other than Shiftlock; it's as good as admission, provided that's who he is.
Exodus glances over at Chromia. "That sure sounds a lot like what you said you weren't going to promise to do earlier. You know, about Hot Rod getting torn a new one." He flashes her a broad grin. "And you should definitely smile more often, it suits you." 
So much for Hot Rod stepping to the side, Exodus just moves again, placing an arm in front of Hot Rod. He doesn't obscure his view of Barricade though. "Again," Exodus says politely. "What do you need?"
"I didn't promise either way, and you can keep your opinion of what I do with my face to yourself, thanks," Chromia says with a snort that seems hued by the sputter of a motorcycle engine, turning over en route to a roaring start. She spins the long spoke of her stick between her hands, letting it hit the ground with a brief crack as she eyes Hot Rod. "What?" she says. She doesn't do 'what'd I say' anywhere near as well as, say, Hot Rod.
"Yeah, that's me," he says to Hot Rod, acknowledging the other bot with a return signal of name exchange. Easier than secret handshakes. "You mechs wanna know what I'm doin' here in the aft-end of this primus-forsaken little borehole? It's simple."
He takes a deep vent and something about the hardness of his body language and facial features softens. "I'm kickin' her out, and I want you t' make sure she doesn't come back t' the Forge. She thinks she's a Decepticon. She ain't."
"Oh. He's okay, you know -- for a cop," Hot Rod tells Exodus and Chromia. He's not quite as quick to give Barricade a pass as he was Exodus, however. He adds a somewhat dubious, "Probably," as he eyes him. Barricade just doesn't look as /friendly/.
Also, he called him a punk /and insulted Nyon/. "Hey! Watch what you say about this place." Hot Rod's expression only grows darker as Barricade continues. "That's a load of scrap. You know how she's going to take that? Give you a hint: not well! What business do you have telling her what she is and what she isn't, anyway? Enough people do that around here that I figure she should get some say of her own."
Exodus chuckles a little, completely unruffled. "Yes ma'am!" he says subordinately, with zero sarcasm. He smiles kindly at Chromia. 
Exodus gives Hot Rod a concerned look. "Hey, it's alright. He may not have the right to tell her who she is but I can say one thing for sure--The Forge isn't a place anyone should be encouraged to go to. If you care about Shiftlock, you would do everything in your power to dissuade her from going there."
"Hnh," says Chromia. So it's more like a noise than a word, a neutral sound on the edge of disapproval. She glances at Hot Rod with a narrow-eyed look. "I don't remember who Shiftlock is but I don't know why she'd listen to him, anyways." What was Hot Rod's brother/sister meta saying earlier?
"I don't give a good primus-fraggin'-damn what she thinks about it!" Barricade suddenly booms, emotion surging out of him as if Hot Rod stepped on a raw nerve. "You know what makes it my business? /Because she's gonna get killed/, an' she's runnin' off every chance she gets to come down here and find you. -Obviously- she cares about what happens t' you an' she gave me the impression you're tryin' t' help her, but it looks like she's as ignorant about -you- as she was about half of everything else!" Barricade tromps closer to Hot Rod, wanting to get right in his face. "She /sold herself to Clench/. That means she's -Forge property- an' eventually he is gonna wanna cash in on that. That means she's gonna be forced t' fight in the pits. I dunno how much time -you- spend with her, but I just spent the better portion of the last couple of weeks makin' sure she got a -basic education- since no one else bothered t' do it!"
"Lemme tell you a hard, cold fact of life, little mech: Sometimes you gotta make people do things for their own good, even when they kick and fight and protest. Givin' a damn requires -effort-. Any lazy, ignorance, selfish /aft/ can let people do whatever they want and get killed, and call it 'freedom'."
Hot Rod glances at Exodus, weighing his words with a thoughtful expression. "That bad, huh?" The Barricade breaks in, and he responds to that outburst with a fairly predictable riling. A low growl turns in his chest. 'She's gonna get killed' cuts him off quite neatly, and he listens more or less intently as Barricade goes on. He doesn't look /happy/ about it, but he does look like he is paying attention.
Hot Rod squares off against him as he tromps closer, giving nothing away: he doesn't step back, he doesn't lean away. He pushes right back in turn, straightening. (Until Exodus maybe pushes his arm a little more pointedly between them which is NOT OUT OF THE REALM OF POSSIBILITY, let's say.) "You call it whatever you want. I'll call it cruel. And if you kick her out, she's got a place here."
"Please," Chromia growls in plain exasperation. "So you couldn't stop this femme from doing something stupid and you come to /Hot Rod/ to clean up the mess? What about this flame-painted nincompoop makes him look like he's capable of cleaning up any mess?" Chromia slides the stick in place across her back and reverts to root mode, single headlamp flaring to life in a blaze of white light as her engine revs alive. "I'm going to go make a few calls," she says, her voice sharp where it crackles from the sleek blue of her chassis. "Ping me when you're not so /busy/." Dust rises in the wake of tires spinning on rubble as she turns to wheel off out of the semi-enclosure with its broken walls.
Exodus steps in front of Barricade and pushes Hot Rod back, preventing either of them from getting in each other's faces. "Look, I'm sorry to hear that. I know that's a tough situation to be in, when the people you care about throw caution to the wind." He glances at Hot Rod but doesn't comment. "But we will do everything within our power to keep her from going back to the Forge." He didn't know Shiftlock, but he isn't sure Hot Rod can keep this conversation from escalating. "However, she is her own person. And sometimes, you can't stop someone from making a bad decision." He gives Barricade a sympathetic look. 
"Hot Rod, I think that's exactly what he wants. To make sure she has a place to go after she's been kicked out," he says, his arm still protectively in front of Hot Rod.
"I'm kickin' her out so she don't end up -broken-." Barricade is ironclad in his will on this matter, and despite the stony expression, his voice tells the deeper story. There's compassion there - real, sparkfelt concern and mercy. "Like I said, I spent time trainin' her, tryin' to give her what no one else did, and when I did, saw I what kinda mechanoid she is. She's too /kind/. She won't kill, she's too stubborn to even think of it, and if she's thrown into the pits she will -have to kill or she will die-. When that happens...? She'll break. Ratbat's gunnin' for her too. There's a price on her head." He clenches his hands. "I'm a cop, dammit. I'm supposed t' protect innocent sparks like that. She wouldn't consider gettin' refitted with a new body so I could carry her - that's the only way I can keep her -truly- safe. She won't have it. I can't take her wheels, it'd wreck her." Chromia's comments get under his mesh. He raises his voice to snap at her as she leaves: "Maybe I thought he could because this FLAME PAINTED IDIOT is supposed to be some GREAT REBEL LEADER!" Oh he is going to have to finish that conversation when she gets back. He's just irritable enough to do it.
"Weld her damn feet t' the floor if you gotta, but I'm gonna drive her out. Better she hates me than endin' up in the meat locker after a lost fight bein' scavenged for parts."
Hot Rod stares after Chromia. /With friends like that--/. He's still annoyed as he listens to Exodus and Barricade, which limits his response to a short nod and sharp words: "Yeah, yeah -- scrap, I get it, it's terrible, it's terrible for her. But that's going to be almost as hard on her. Do what you have to do. We'll have a place waiting for her."
Exodus nods. "I understand," he says kindly, "and if I were you I'd share your same concerns. You can rest assured, that we will try our best to keep her safe. " 
Exodus pauses. "He is," he responds, "or, will be." 
"Your supervision of.. Shiftlock is admirable," Exodus says.
Barricade vents and rubs the back of his neck. "I used t' train rookies for the Iaconian Police Department. Guess old habits die hard." He presses a finger to the side of head, activating an internal comm.... and his expression turns back into that hard scowl. "--Whaddaya mean you /can't find her/?" he snarls aloud into the comm, followed by a put-upon and weary growl. "... slaggit. Fine, I'll look."
Turning to leave, he mutters, "She's gonna be your headache soon, Hot Rod. Don't screw this up."
Hot Rod throws a hand up in an exasperated gesture and says, "Yeah, well, right with everything else I'm not screwing up." His gaze weights toward Exodus as he says that and he scrubs his face as Barricade gets ready to head out. "Clearly I need to keep you around for diplomacy. 'I understand'? 'Rest assured we will try our best'?" He repeats the phrases with distancing skepticism. Delicacy and tact. w/e
"Hey," Exodus says to Barricade. "Take it easy, alright? I'll let you know if I ever run into Shiftlock near or in the Forge," he says with compassion, "best wishes to you with everything." 
"No," Exodus says pointedly, "I won't always be around to be... 'diplomatic' for you. You'll have to learn it yourself. C'mon, mech, it isn't that hard, honestly. All you have to do is check out some of the archives on communication. " A cheeky wink.
Barricade tromps off into the distance, still yelling into his comm. "--headed to the DEAD END? What the slag would she want THERE!?" His footfalls fade into silence. Surrogate Decepti-Dad is going to have a very long night.
"Ergh." It's hard to say whether it is the idea that Hot Rod will have to learn to be diplomatic or that he'd have to learn from /archives/ that gets the bigger marked lack of enthusiasm from him. After a long moment, he deflates in a sigh. He turns to trudge back toward portions of the city in better repair. "Fine. I'll ... figure something out. For now, let's go sit down and you can tell me what brought you out here." So that plans of speeches and further whispers of responsibility can wind Hot Rod up that little bit more.