Of All The Engex Joints on Cybertron

In the back corner of the establishment is a boxy blue mech with his nose buried in a datapad. A half-drank cube of something green and glowy rests semi-forgotten at the table. His finger traces over an occasional text passage, as if highlighting points of interest. The cube is then no longer forgotten, at least in the moment it takes to knock back a sip, then he returns to his reading.

The Circle was loud and full of Blurr. Therefore, Override decided to make her way to another one of the planet's foremost watering holes: Maccadam's. She pushes open the door and has a look inside; things are quiet enough for her, and there don't appear to be any other racers here. Good. She can stay.

Moving over to the bar, she has a seat and orders something that is entirely healthy and not at all intoxicating. Which, given that this is a bar, is going to single her out immediately.

Nightbeat takes a modicum of notice of Override's arrival, as well as her beverage of choice. He finds it a bit bemusing, and potentially something worth knowing more about. Knowledge being power, and all that. He glances over the top of his datapad and notes the cube's empty enough to warrant a refill. Pretense unlocked.

Nightbeat slides his datapad into a subspace pocket, takes the cube in hand, and vacates his table in order to rest it on the bar and flag down a server. "Another one of these, please." His only regard of Override is a polite nod.

"Didn't I hear you on the radio just a bit ago?" Override asks Nightbeat, picking up on his voice.

Nightbeat glances over to Override, somewhat surprised that she picked up on that, but then slightly admonishing himself for falling into the lure of Cybertronian social media. "Not something I indulge in often. I guess crowd mentality infects us all." The server brings another cube of his beverage of choice, also something unebriating, and sets it front of him.

"It's about the only resource I have available to me at the moment. Transmissions from home have gone dead again, probably another wave of solar activity. Makes communication impossible during the radiation waves," Override confesses. She reaches down and picks up her cube, taking a sip. "I don't suppose you know a lot about racing...?" she asks, letting the question hang in the air.

Nightbeat takes a sip before answering, "Only tangentially, I must admit. I try to stay up on all of the news, but I mainly focus on the political spectrum." As it goes straight into the loadpan, he'd like to add. But doesn't. "I presume you race?"

"Well, I'm not wearing this altmode for looks," Override smirks, quipping playfully. "Yes. That's why I'm here. Velocitron's election-Speedia is coming up, and I have to train off-world. There's too much at stake now, especially with the Galactic Council offering us amnesty if we cut ties with Cybertron. I need to be here, to really see what's going on, and if I stay on Velocitron I might end up sabotagued in my recharge cycle."

Nightbeat nods, his neutral expression not wavering much beyond what he's emoted with thus far. "Can't blame the Council for trying to circle the wagons. This pinball's on the verge of becoming a powderkeg." He looks sidelong at Override after another sip. "You may have picked the wrong world to shake off the track-rust."

Override takes another drink. "No, it's the right one. Animatron's fastest racer is somewhere out there, and your boy Blurr isn't half bad. If I can train against them, my victory is guaranteed. Being here? Well, now I get to see first-servo if breaking away from this place is a good idea, or a bad one."

Nightbeat gets the faintest hint of a grin for the first time in the conversation, and lifts his cube to her. "Here's hoping then you learn what you need to before some triggerhappy dimbolt decides to light the fuse."

Override chuckles. She raises her a glass. "A toast to hope, then," she offers. "--I didn't get your name, sorry?"

Nightbeat clinks his cube against hers and replies, "To hope then. And it's Nightbeat. And now you've got me at a disadvantage, Miss..?"

"Override," she answers. "So far you're one of the first reasonable people I've encountered on this rock." She finishes her drink after the toast, setting down the cube on the bartop with a light -thunk-. "Not to continue to pick your brain module--" She will anyways. "--But I don't suppose you've heard anything about this 'Ibex Athletic Association' group. The rumor mills around the Ibex Cup tracks are that the IAA is beyond bad news. Reprogramming people, murder, blackmail -- more than just the usual fare for cheating on the speedway."

Nightbeat sighs and nods. "You could say I'm very familiar with the IAA and their methodology. Unfortunately, they've been very careful. Working through middlemen, twisting the datatracks, making damn sure they aren't directly tied to any of the wrongdoing. Someone at my job used to race for the IAA, I've heard. He wiped himself out in a race, just to make himself no further value to them. It was that bad, I've heard. Still is." He pauses. "Have you had any direct dealings? If you don't mind me asking."

Override shakes her head no. "I'm trying to find a track without needing a sponsor, but it looks like the IAA is the only game in town. I've turned down the offers so far. I want a clean, fair competition. I don't do 'fiex outcomes'."

Nightbeat nods sagely, pausing to take another swig of his beverage. "Good to hear. That you're looking for honest competition, I mean, instead of whatever the IAA's willing to do to keep their little demolition circus going and keep people's afts in the stands." He sighs. "If it weren't for the security forces' concentration on dissension and terrorism, I'd imagine the IAA would be first on a major case list. As it is..." He trails off.

"Too much trouble, not enough cops," Override nods. She sets down her payment for her drink. "I'd watch out for Blurr if you ever end up having to investigate the IAA. Something about him isn't right - at least, that's what my struts are telling me." She stands up and prepares to leave. "Nice meeting you Nightbeat. Happy hunting."

Nightbeat smiles to himself. "I'll bear that in mind. Good meeting you, Override. And best of luck." He carries the remains of his drink back to the corner table and withdraws his datapad from subspace. Looks like he has a few new casefiles to call up.