S.C.U. more like SUCK

A breaking point is often reached when a group is pushed too far, where desperation overtakes reason and they feel compelled to act because they simply can't take it any more.

The poor Special Crimes Unit has seen over the last couple of days a number of their installations and operations either shutdown, or worse, claimed by the rebels and their raids. A safehouse here and a depot there all add up to a major loss of resources on their end. So it is about time that they do something about it.

In the early hours of the day the S.C.U. struck, and to Hot Rod's last known location. The hovel of Nut and Bolts was raided and, with little else there to be claimed, the two disposables were forceably removed from their abode. With arms (in Bolts case) or hands (in Nut's) the pair wouldn't have been able to resist much, not that either would have anyway as they went - resigned to their fate. Rather than being gunned down in the street like the clinic owner Mender had been, the S.C.U. loaded up the pair and rode out of town - literally. Let Nyon wander this time, rather than see, what happens to those that shelter Hot Rod and his kind.

Patdown in his patrol car mode rides out into the Rust Narrows, and once far enough out of the city he transforms, literally kicking Nut and Bolts out of him. "Stay down," he growls to them as he draws his pistol and waits.

Patdown doesn't have to wait long. The speed with which Hot Rod appears suggests that his band of miscreant menaces had been on watch for the S.C.U.'s latest act of terror.

"The thing I can't figure out," says Hot Rod, transforming to pace toward Patdown with weapons hot, "is if you were forged such a waste of metal or learned it. What is it, huh?" Nature or nurture? "Those two don't even /like/ me, so why don't you let them go? What's your problem? Can't you see that you're just turning people against you?"

"Good!" Patdown snaps as he pivots that firearm away from the two disposables to Hot Rod. "Good," he reaffirms. "Because then they might stand for something. Show some \*fight\*. Then they would be useful for something rather than \*nothing\* like the mobile trash they are." Patdown seems wholly unconcerned with Hot Rod and/or the weapon the rebel leader points at him. "Even then, they are not near the level of blight that you are, \*Hot Rod\*. Are you even aware of your level of arrogance?"

With Patdown focused on Hot Rod, Nut attempts to help Bolts up so they can scramble away. Yet, without hands, that doesn't turn out so well. "Leave me, Nut," Bolt frantically whispers, "Just go and don't look back. I'll follow."

From where Hot rod approached comes another vehicle, one that is slower than he is, maybe because she is so much bulkier. When close enough Arsenal becomes less of a truck and more the large combatbot she is. Her dome is down and her rifle is up. "... like I said, this is obviously a trap," she scowls to Hot Rod's back. "Get behind me so I can get you out of here."

"That's rich, coming from you," Hot Rod shoots back. He shifts restlessly, watching as Patdown swings his weapon away from the two disposables. As soon as the weapon is pointed at him instead, he strides forward. "Go ahead, lecture me about arrogance while you're holding /innocent civilians/."

Although he doesn't glance away from Patdown, Hot Rod turns his head slightly to address his words to Arsenal: "I'm not letting him to do them what he did to Mender. Get ready to grab them and move."

"They're not innocent. THEY'RE NOT INNOCENT! None of ~them~ are," Patdwn sneers as he looks down to where Nut and Bolts fall all over themselves to get away. "They're trash. Worse than trash. They're coddled. And you," he levels his stare back at Hot Rod, "Try to tell them they can be something more. Their function is only to be stepping stones, so that other bots - better bots - might rise to greatness. So why not give them purpose."

Nut tries to tune out what is happening as he shakes his plateless head at Bolts, some of his exposed wiring spilling out. "No, not without you Bolts! Don't ask me to do that!"

Arsenal growls as she advances. "Let them fend for themselves. They got into this mess. You, I am getting out of it." She stalks forward, weapon on Patdown.

"That's far enough," is the only answer Patdown gives. Just like that there is the sound of gunfire and then \*WHOOOOOOMPSH!\* an explosion. Buried under the sand along this roadway are some mines, unarmed but yet when shot... The one that went off was there Arsenal's foot was, as she goes tumbling up through the air to land with a crash a slight distance away.

"No, Arsenal. We have a responsibility--" Ugh, r-word. "--here." Hot Rod angles slightly in his approach to turn Patdown away from Nuts and Bolts, but pauses, caught by surprise by the gunfire and explosion. "--Arse? /Arsenal/?"

Hot Rod glares back at Patdown, all heat and fire. "Were you dropped on the head? What kind of half-bit processor did they stick you with? The only difference between you and them is /they/ aren't murderers. The same spark beats in your chest, in my chest, in their chests. We're all Cybertronians. All they need is opportunity, and the freedom to choose, to act."

"Now THAT is a load of scrap," Patdown grumbles as he walks over to where Nut and Bolts are. He steps up to Nut and jams his pistol into the mech's head, since there is no plating to stop him. "Weapon, drop it now. Or." He gives Hot Rod a moment to comply.

Arsenal, a little distance off, groans. Maybe her mangled leg has something to do with that, yet before she can get to far up she's driven back down again as Hondo very literally drops out of the sky on her. He lands, and from him detach the others of the S.C.U. as they seek to keep Arsenal pinned down.

"Your responsibility is as much of a fabrication as your unbound duty, Hot Rod. You were built for a purpose, given a task to perform. Your ~job~ is one embedded in your code. That's sacred. Yet you do everything to avoid it." Patdown tsks sharply. Bolts, without arms, tries to plead Patdown to get his gun out of Nut's head, but the cop silences the armless mech with a look.

Dropping it isn't really an option, but Hot Rod turns his hands up, palms out, and cycles down the guns built into his arms. He glances over at Arsenal, waiting a moment to be sure that she's okay -- /ish/ -- before looking back at Patdown. Okay but surrounded. GREAT. "You're not going to convince anyone if the only way you can get people to agree with you is at gunpoint." His words as fierce, and after a slight pause, he steps forward again, advancing toward Patdown. "Stop threatening them.

"If our code was sacred and immutable, then why can people change function? Why can people be declared alt-mode exempt?" Hot Rod asks, daring another step. "If meaning ended with form, why are there miners who write such incredible poetry? Why are there police who reject the system? Everything you've been told has been a lie designed to make you feel like your life is beyond your control."

Since Hot Rod powered down... Patdown does too. He withdraws his gun from Nut's head and scowls at the pair. "Leave," is all he says to them before he leaves them alone. He holsters his weapon and walks away from the pair, over to where Arsenal is being held. "Who says I want to convince them? I want to be purged of them, Hot Rod. There is no saving those that cannot be saved."

The others in the S.C.U. struggle to keep Arsenal down, which gets easier as Cuffs moves about her, clamping Arsenal's appendages to stakes that Outrage drives into the ground. "Hot Rod, run! You idiot! Get out of here before they... I'm not worth it, let them have me! You have to go!"

"See?!" Patdown points at Arsenal, with Hondo still sitting on her. "What kind of false loyalty you conjure... same spark, what kind of nonsense is that. You claim I have a faulty processor, but what about \*you\*, Hot Rod?" Patdown nears Arsenal now. "You speak of sameness yet how unique do you claim to be? 'All are precious' and yet we both know that equality is a wish that can never be realized. You think ~that~," he points to the fleeing Nut, "Is the same as ~me~?!?" That causes the rest of the S.C.U. to chuckle. "There are flaws in the system, I admit, but that only serves as motivation to make it better. To bring purity."

Hot Rod laughs, bright and cocky. "No. I think he's /better/ than you."

If Hot Rod hears Arsenal, he's certainly not listening to her. He does the opposite of going away. He moves closer. He clenches his fists, weapons sputtering to life and then back out again. His voice is flat as he says, "Let her go." His tone warms into anger: "What's your problem, you've always got to have a hostage? Is that the only way you can get people to hang out with you? You /are/ pretty unpleasant."

Well, that little joke sure shut down the S.C.U.'s chuckleparty REAL fast. Outrage, fresh from driving stakes, moves to advance on Hot Rod with a growl... but Reload grabs her to pull her back. Hondo shifts, sliding off Arsenal's chest. They might be silenced but Patdown is determined to not let this punk have the last word. "No. You don't get to make terms." Once he reaches Arsenal he reaches down to grab her protective dome and them with a screeching yank he tears it off to toss away.

"By Primus, RUN! Hot Rod, go." Arsenal leaks from her optics, frantic to get Hot Rod to listen to her. He shouldn't see her like this. He shouldn't have said what he just did. For her. "Go."

She's silenced as Hondo brings the butt of his rifle down on her face. Hard enough that it cracks in half and the femme goes silent.

"My problem," Patdown says calmly, "Is you. My problem is every bot that steps out of line. That forgets what their programming is. My problem is every piece of scrap that forsakes their function. I'm going to show this to you. So I don't have a hostage, because you're going to come willingly. Or ~this~!," he points down to Arsenal, "Happens to \*all\* of Nyon unless you do."

Hot Rod has about two seconds to look smug that his barb found a mark, then Patdown ruins it all. When they tear at and strike Arsenal, he lunges forward. His self-satisfaction trades for a protector's rage. "Hey! Leave her alone!" He meets Patdown's level calm with rebel heat. "You want me? You've got me." He flings his hands wide, palms open and empty. "Leave her alone. Leave Nyon alone."

As Hot Rod lunges... he holds up his hand to keep the others from engaging. Once more, like he before, he is content to let Rod get in the first blow. He's already planted his feet in preparation for this, and braced as he is, he grabs and then means to fling. To toss Hot Rod away, far from Arsenal. "It is YOU that needs to leave Nyon alone. Don't you get it?! \*You're\* the problem here! I am the law. I am the answer to your problem!" Patdown now means to tackle, to try and take Hot Rod down with him on top.

Getting in the first hit doesn't mean much when Hot Rod gets thrown away the next instant. He stubborns back to his feet with the fire of determination in his eyes. When Patdown tackles to bring him down again, Hot Rod rolls, like he can somehow conquer physics and get the massive copbot pinned. (HA.)

"The law is wrong! It doesn't serve the people, it serves those in power," Hot Rod says, drawing back to headbutt Patdown. This is a terrible idea. He's briefly stunned silent by the rattle of his head. "You removed your processor to put in extra armor, didn't you. Spark too!"

"If I could," Patdown growls as his own head rattles. His jaw feels it most, since that is the newest part of his body, being the last thing he had to replace. Since Hot Rod punched it off last time. "Anything to enhance my function. \*Anything\*," he seethes. Yet, down under Hot Rod, he's not in much of a position to retaliate. His leverage is gone, except for... "Have at him."

Upon Patdown's command, the other S.C.U. members swarm Hot Rod from behind, meaning to pull him off their boss. Why? So that they can beat him senseless - Outrage most of all.

Hot Rod should've brought a team. As it is, he looks startled to be plucked from Patdown, a 'no fair' very nearly on his lips. He puts up a fight -- of course he puts up a fight, he's put up a fight this entire time -- but he's outnumbered in close quarters in a way that he just can't outrun.

It is a beating that will be immortalized with a vid capture or two, pictures that Hondo is sure to take for reasons to come. Patdown has all the time he wishes to survey the viciousness that his mechs will unleash on Hot Rod. Even after he finally calls them off, Outrage will continue, until she has to be pulled off several baton strikes later. Once there is no more fight left in the rebel leader, that is when Patdown will give the signal to move out.

Some time later, something liquid and cold is dumped on Hot Rod from above. When he comes around he should find himself in the middle of an open space - the central room of an old abandoned theater. The middle stage has had crude walls erected around it, to keep Hot Rod boxed in. There's a gantry above this where Patdown stands, empty bucket now in hand. Outside those walls is a rustling though no clear voices or sounds. Patdown tips the bucket to let the last few drops of oil drip down to Hot Rod. "Got any fight left in you?"

Hot Rod comes to with a snarl that coughs off into a sputter and a choke when pain catches up with him. He bites back a groan, limiting it to a low noise in his throat. He laughs at Patdown's question. It's not a very good laugh. It sounds a little more the wheeze of a broken engine.

Turning his head to spit and clear energon from his mouth, Hot Rod glances up and grins. Light spills from a cracked optic, but his gaze is challenging as he calls, "Why don't you come down here and find out?" He's all frenzied bravado -- less afraid of the beating, or having his spark extinguished, than other possibilities that sometimes follow arrest. It's that which drives him to the four corners of his wall, kicking and punching. One of his legs drags a little from the damage he took while being subdued.

"No. No I don't think so. See, if you think that disposable back there is \*better\* than me, well... you will see." Patdown keeps his optics on Hot Rod as he tosses the bucket away. Next he draws a road flare, ignites it. "I was build for war. I know it, right to my spark. It's at my source code. So... war I will have. For so long I fought it, thought I could mask it with this protection," he scoffs. "Of what? Bots that can't even be given a purpose. They are hollow, empty, in every way. You see that, don't you? You've been among them. You know," Patdown decides for his captive audience. "You claim to fight for them but really we both know it's to claim your own glory. You're no different than me in that regard, 'hero'. We're the same, you and I. Walking on their backs because we both know that is all they are good for."

"He's not a murderer." Hot Rod punches the wall. "He's not a psychopath." He kicks the corner. "Of course he's better than you." He whirls, pivoting to face Patdown with hands clenched to form fists at his sides.

Hot Rod glares. "We're nothing alike." Other than, you know, the spark thing which has been the core of everything else he's said so far. Shh. "This isn't about me. It's never been about me. That's what you don't get. It's about /them/. About helping the people that the Senate has left behind. It's about recognizing that every spark deserves the chance to make their own choices. And you want to take me out of the picture? Fine. I hope you're ready for ten more people to rise in my place."

Patdown... shakes his head, clearly disappointed. Without any further ceremony he drops the lit flare to the theater floor below. "That is option one, should you choose to burn out," he chuckles. "To go out as brightly as you sought to come in. A coward's way, but a fitting end to the majesty that is ~Hot Rod~," he mocks.

The banging on the walls is cause for there to be some attention from the other side as some bangs are returned. Smaller, weaker, but all around.

"Let's see who is willing to be the next champion of the weak then, shall we?" Patdown raises his arms and as he does a winch winds somewhere above and those walls, they start to come up. Behind them are gathered up disposables of Nyon, weak and clearly battered, yet fueled by desperation as they have been denied even the most basic of rations for cycles upon cycles. "You think they are the same? You think there are \*better\*? Hah," snorts Patdown from above. "ALL THE ENERGON YOU CAN DRINK TO THE ONE THAT BRINGS ME HOT ROD'S SPARK!"