Shoot to Kill

Cybertron's Beautiful People

On a large road, crowded with cybertron's people, surrounded by tall buildings and crushed near to each other, walked a mech with two femmes draped around his frame. The mech, Snapshot, was a gladiator. New to the business but quickly moving his way to the top. Apparently, somebot didn't enjoy that.

A loud BANG rushed through the road, bots screamed. The mech dropped. Bots ran in unknown directions, trying to escape from the danger, but the treat has passed. The bounty hunter's ( or assassin as some would say ) job was done.

On top of one of the buildings, laid the small frame of a femme with a large weapon. She stood, brushing some of the dust that had collected on her during her wait, and leaped off of the building, free falling. Loving the rush, she transforms at the last second into a standard low profile cybertronian jet, and lifts off into the sky, high above the peacekeepers that would be arriving at the scene soon.

Casually flying as to not bring unwanted attention to herself, she arrives near her destination and transforms onto the ground, beginning to head towards the meeting place arranged by the client, a popular cybertronian area. As she scans her surroundings, she sits down, ordering a stronger high grade drink then even a mech would think twice of. Cautiously sliding the cup of high grade to the masked femme, the bartender tries to estimate how long it will be until his new customer requires medical attention. Not caring about the caution of the bartender, she picks up the drink, swiftly swigs it down, and displays a picture of the number 2 in cybertronian.

Soon enough, her client arrives. Along with a small case of her intended payment.
" I've already heard of the success you made earlier."
His optics trailed down her frame. She was a desirable femme in the area. Slim, smart, a knack for weapons, and the sense of mystery and danger that everyone loved. From the head down she appeared femme, dark green plating, close to black, shone along her armored plating, while the area that was not covered by armor- her protoform- was pure black.
But above her slim neck, was her mask. A mask with a sleek streak of visor across the area that a bots optics would reside, with sharp extrusions poking out at certain points to create a small helmet around her helm.
Not noticing her glaring at him through the dark plating of her visor, she grabs the bag and stands, chugging her last drink before she finally speaks to the bartender in a voice. An automated voice, sounding like that of a mech.
"He's paying."