Title: Sector Capri

Genre: Friendship/Adventure

Characters: Nightbeat/Mirage

Summary: Growing up in the lower caste levels of Iacon, sparkling Nightbeat- a self-proclaimed detective with a toy gun- has come across a number of cases of desperation, violence, and sad endings. But what is he to do when he's a victim caught in the midst of a dangerous plot by gangs tied to the Gladiator Circuit landing him as a captive in the high-caste Tower Pavilions? G1, look for lots of cameos!

Rating: T for Barricade and Nightbeat's cybertronian swearing and some violence. Drinking refrences.

POV: goes back and forth from Nightbeat's prespective to third-person.

A/N: Hi! This is my first fic (I'M NERVOUS!), and I'm up for constructive criticism. Imagine this being a mix of G1, WFC (awsome game), and a dash of Megatron: Origin. Not that it makes much of a difference, but I just love the designs of the settings and characters from WFC and Origin makes for a nice set-up. Also, Nightbeat is a youngling. :) Please Enjoy and Review!

The cooling vents of the slowly decaying manufactoring facility provide no refreshing breeze as I stealthily pass through them, following a pre-destined path through the winding and intersecting tunnel-like structures that anyone else would be hopelessly lost in. This factory used to produce a constant stream of high-quality cybertronium which would then be sold to anyone from egineers, artists, or armories. However, once Kaon began refining the raw materials they dug up from their mines themselves and offered a lower price, the factory lost its support from the middle and higher caste market- the only ones who could actually afford what we, the lower caste of Iacon, produced- and the factory was shut down. Since then, our little community has been slowly decaying, just like the rusty bolts holding this place together.

Not many in the higher castes, living in their great tower-like structures of artistic ingenuity, care for a small lower-caste sector hidden below the turning clouds of orange smog in the lower levels of Iacon. Most wouldn't believe that we even exist. They don't realize that Cybertronians can endure some of the most extreme conditions that this universe can throw at us.

I reach my destination, an end to the vent seperated from the open air of the spacious factory beyond by an immense fan. If the cooling system were still operational, I would surely be caught in the suction of the fan and shredded by its rusty rotors. I crouch and move without a sound until I am at the edge of the tunnel, holding onto one of the blunt blades and peeking around it to take a decco. I see my quarry, on time as usual. Five out-of-towner hard hitters, lead by their head honcho who's voice is hard to forget, Barricade, approach three smarmy-looking members of the local "protection service". I feel like spitting at the sight of them.

This sector of lower Iacon is a magnet for low life criminals, an unfortunate fact for the hard-working citizens and families just trying to get by with their diminishing job opportunities. Known officially as Sector D-12, it's better known to the locals as the Cavum de Primus - the pit of Primus. In short, we call it Sector Capri; it has a more pleasant ring to it, I think.

Initially, we had gangs coming in from the Badlands to take over the factory when it was still up and running. After that piece of the pie was cut out of the equation, they turned to other means to satiate their greed, namely the low incomes of the locals. "Protection" is what they call it, and I'm guessing they mean protection from them- which they've clarified on numerous accounts- as there are no other real threats down here save the environmental and occupational hazards.

I've kept tabs on who's who in the currently reigning gang, who are calling themselves the Circuits. I have a hunch they're connected to the illegal Gladiator Ring that's made its way into the subsurface levels of Iacon, supposedly hidden from the High Council's prudent eye. Following their namesake, the Circuits may be sending their collections of protection fees down a feeding tube into the belly of the Gladitorial beast that's been ravaging other helpless communities that are under the cares of the higher-ups.

Since no one on the outside of our little world seems to be making any moves to help us, I've made it my mission to follow and crack this gang of theives myself, perhaps in turn leading other communities to do the same once they see it can be done. Sure, I may be little and fresh from the Well of Sparks, but I'm not to be taken as just some sparkling. My older friend from the Enforcer Academy, Prowl, tells me to let the correct authorities handle it, but I'm sick of waiting and doing nothing. Tonight, I act.

Just then, Barricade begins to talk. He doesn't sound very pleased. Unable to make out his contempt grunts at the native gangsters, I look for an opportunity to snag a better seat. I see my opportunity presented as a thick, soot-covered cable hanging from a decommissioned crane just beyond the vent's opening. I could easily jump and grab it, but I have no doubt that the old machine would squeak and whine in protest to the additional weight.

As if Primus himself saw my inner conflict, Barricade orders his men to open a crate that was offered by the Circuits trio. Two of Barricade's lackeys begin bashing the crate open, creating quite a ruckus, and without a second thought I make my move, leaping the small distance. I quickly slide down the length of the cable, having to drop down twice my height when it ends short. I touch down as lightly as I can manage and made a quick dash to a safe viewpoint from behind a large machine beside the conveyor belt assembly line.

"What is this? Is this your idea of a joke?" Barricade barks in a deadly tone upon seeing the contents of the crate spill onto the aged floor, casting a dim, pinkish glow.

The three thugs cower before the smaller but lethal bot, the center one managing to muster up an excuse, "This sector is nearly run dry, boss. And this is all the people are receiving as income. We should just leave this sector, we could do better-"

"I didn't ask for your pathetic excuses!" Barricade roars with a fury he surely picked up from the Kaon Gladiator Megatron himself. "Low-grade energon rations?" He violently scoops up a servofull and takes quick, wide strides until he is face to face with the speaking thug. "We need credits, you glitch! You seriously think I'm gonna just waltz up to Megatron- Megatron! -and give him a box full of rations that couldn't sustain a single Gladiator for a cycle?"

Barricade lingers in their faces for a moment, the thugs quickly averting their optics from his blazing glare. Tilting his head and leaning in closer, Barricade takes on a low, quiet tone, "Maybe.. Maybe you? Why don't I make you give it to him yourselves? I think that would just solve everything. Yeah, I think I'll do that."

Quickly, the thug being adressed makes his plea, "W-wait! Barricade, sir, there's- there's gotta be somethin' else we can do! This sector, it's empty! It'd be more useful as scrap!"

Barricade shoves the blubbering thug away from him and turns his back on him and begins walking to the back entrance of the factory. "I've heard enough. And there is something you can do. Bleed." With that, he's gone, leaving his men behind.

Seeing the tell-tale signs that this is gonna get real ugly real fast, I turn to take my leave. I make a mad run for the front entrance while keeping to cover as I hear the first cracks of busting plating and spliting cables. I reach the entrance door for the factory workers and shove it open with all my might, only to see a tall, looming silhouette acting as a second door.

That's right. Barricade doesn't make his collection runs alone.

I try to turn and run back into the factory, but I'm seized around my head by a large, black, gritty-smelling servo. I kick my pedes aimlessly as they're lifted off the cold surface of the factory floor.

Brawl chuckles with his demented vocal processor, twisting his wrist to get a better look at me. I'm unable to stop myself before I throw a right hook his way, only to miss by an arm's length. This only incites louder cackling as Brawl lifts his other servo to touch his com link at the side of his ugly head.

"Hey, Barricade. I've got a surprise for ya. What starts with 'Night' and ends with a thud?"

"What? That kid? Ha. I could go for a laugh. I'll be right there." Brawl is sure to put Barricade's cold response on speakerphone so I can know what I have coming.

A/N: Well? Like? :) I've already got the next three chapters written, but I may publish them once a day so I can collect some reviews for each one. I'd really appreciate to know what's on your mind with this, so don't be shy! ^_^ The action will be startin up in the next chapter, and I'll probably post it today just because :D Ciao!