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“Seems like the coats have their hands tied,” Scope laughed, watching the cephalopodic carnage in the wake of their ship. Scourge grinned at his brother, wiping the soot from his lapel as the two thorns in his side disappeared into the haze.

For all the trouble the Prime’s navy was worth, they’d bought the pirates time with all their meddling. Two birds killed with one stone- they were no longer being pursued by the law, and that damn kraken had finally left them alone long enough to continue their search un-hindered.

The fog never truly did fully dissipate, but today it was better than it usually was- the winds had blown the mist clear enough to make out the shoreline in the distance, though the shore was not what he was looking for. He whistled to his brothers Swashbuckle and Scabbard to trim the sails and turn them towards the open waters, and sent Sliver to man the crow’s nest, to keep a watchful eye and yell for any darkness in the fog- be it land or tentacled adversary.

His siblings scrambled to their positions, while the other two and Nightbird, his first mate, examined the damage that the leviathan had left. This time, they’d been unlucky- the beast had taken one of their sails clean off. This would cost a pretty coin to have repaired for certain, but the sail might still be salvageable. They did need to hoist it back onto the ship, where as it sat now it was hanging onto the mast only by the rigging, the yardarm dragging in the water below as they swept through the eerie sea.

Their ship, The Fleeting Sweep, was a fine craft- a brigantine on the quite smaller end from the ports of Nebulos, judging by the chiseled handicraft and the familiar choice of wood- and it was the fastest ship he’d ever steered. It had two masts with lovely linen sails and ports for oars, and was adorned with fourteen cannons when they’d first… taken it off someone’s hands. Over the years, the cannons had dropped to just eight in number with the addition of a dozen harpoon guns, the rigging customized to be worked by fewer hands, the below-deck divided off to hold personalized quarters. This was the ship they took their crew’s namesake from- on the sea, they were the Sweeps.

Scourge dropped to the main deck to join the others in hoisting the yardarm back aboard, to which the other two riggers quickly attended to once they’d turned the sails sufficiently. He and his siblings were hardly enough to run the whole rig on their own- the job had eased when they brought aboard Nightbird, but they were still quite short-handed for a proper pirate crew. It was moments like these that he was grateful to have as much family as he did- the nuisances that they were, but they were helpful nuisances. Ones that worked in synchrony very well, and saved most of the bickering for the shore leave.

With six hands on the splintered wood, the pirates managed to haul the sodden rod back onto the deck, where another of his brothers, Spindrift, set about tying it to the mast for stability. In the meanwhile, the rest dispersed, Scourge himself going about re-aligning the cannons while Nightbird brought up more ammunition. The storm would be returning for their ship, after it had mown through the navy’s, and he didn’t plan to face the menace unprepared. It really was unfortunate that they had to make the journey back into the open sea while still carrying the spoils of their most recent raid- the crates of goods really were weighing their vessel down quite a bit. But it was too late to turn back to port- not when they’d made it this far into the open sea.

There was the faint trembling of water as the winds shifted again. Scourge whistled up to his sister in the crow’s nest- and she responded with a negative whistle back. No sign of that cursed island. Perhaps it was time to cut the day’s losses and return to the shoreline, back to the ports, before that kraken could deal them any more damage.

The waves rippled in bubbling anticipation as the thought left his mind. Or, perhaps, their adversary would catch up faster than he’d thought.

“Damn. Out of time. All hands on deck!” Scourge commanded, regrouping his crew to the top deck as he manned the bridge and spun the ship’s wheel. The ship lurched, changing course sharply just in time for those snapping jaws to plunge forth, narrowly missing their stern.

“You worms. You dare attempt to flee when I rule the domain you trespass in?” The voice boomed through the mist, echoing in the rapidly-whipping winds blown in by the arrival of the adversary, all hands lunging for the cannons, now packed and ready for their second dance.

“You beast! You dare allow us to slip away to pursue our chasers instead?!” Scourge shouted back, standing his ground as he drew the thick cutlass from its sheath at his side. “You’re getting sloppy, Cyclonus!”

“Sloppy, and yet I only need to catch you once.” The kraken snapped at him for his words, as if the very name was a terrible slight to his ego. Scourge grinned sharply as he brandished his blade and swung it up into the air. Right on cue, the four cannons fired off, one-by-one.

Cyclonus was wiser to their tricks this step in their dance, retreating down for the water as the fireworks burst in his face, spraying him with prickles of fire as he dropped into the depths.

“Douse the sails. We’ll ride the storm!” Scourge cried to his crew, Nightbird immediately taking off across the rocking deck to the buntlines to carry out his will. And at a rope’s-pull, they were off, riding the growing cyclone and using it to slingshot his vessel out of the kraken’s blast radius. Not that it mattered, because the blasted beast could swim right after them, but there was still an out- Cyclonus would not follow them out of the fog, for the same reason Scourge frequented the sea. They had their parameters in this game they played. And as much hold as that kraken had over the winds and the weather, a good captain didn’t need to hold himself mercy to the winds- he mastered them, and bent the odds to his will. And Scourge always did like impossible odds.

“Scourge, he’s gaining- we’re not sailing fast enough!” Sliver yelped, her head stuck over the railing, staring into the dark mass writhing in the sea below them, following them knot-for-knot.

“Fool, of course we aren’t. We’re bogged down by cargo and down a whole sail!” Swashbuckle smacked her upside the head. “The harpoons are ready. Should we try and fire them?”

“Hold them. Not till the wretch surfaces- then on my mark.” Scourge ordered. “He’s hurt, I saw it- those coats gave him a beating, and I’ll bet he’s-”

He was cut off by the spearing of a tentacle through the waters, rearing up to intercept their vessel. Scourge snapped into action, pushing Swashbuckle towards the harpoons. “All hands, fire!”

The thick rods arced through the air, striking suckers all up-and-down the exposed arm. Scourge laughed victoriously as the appendage retreated below the surface. But the dance was not yet over- he whistled, and all seven of them raced to the port of the ship just in time for Cyclonus’s other arm to sling itself up, suckering onto the ship in hopes the other arm had had them all distracted. The kraken re-surfaced, pulling needle-sized harpoons out of his bleeding arm, and raised a hand to strike the vessel. Scourge locked on with the nearest harpoon, his eye settling on a crucial weakness- the mangled hole of flesh in the kraken’s moving hand. The admiral’s doing, for certain.

“From me to you with love, dear monster.” He chuckled under his breath. His harpoon whistled through the air, catching Cyclonus’s hand almost dead-on in the point he had been struck, just as the kraken made contact with the mast. The crack of wood was audible, but instantly drowned out by the roar of pain- a bone-shaking sound that almost brought tears to all of their eyes.

Cyclonus gritted at the needle sunk deep into his wrist within the open cannon-wound, the pain distracting him just enough for Scourge to hop to the bridge and steer their ship clear of him, ripping free of his suckers’ grip as they did and leaving him with an armful of splinters and sawdust. Aligning with the winds, their ship picked up speed, jetting off through the rolling waves into thinner mist. They were almost clear of the danger.

“Your distraction has granted you your seconds, but don’t think your luck will guard your lives forever.” Cyclonus made a motion as if to pursue them further, but he already understood that he’d strayed too far, and with far too many injuries- and it wasn’t worth chasing this nuisance out of the sea. “The next time you return, I swear on it that you shan’t leave in one piece, or any piece at all!”

Scourge laughed as the ship cut through the mellowing waters, the purple form staring from the distance as they escaped its grasp. “Then I do look forward to your attempt! Until we meet again, Cyclonus!”

–

It was late after nightfall when they docked in the rickety port in Chaar, barely a stone’s throw away from the old capital of Thrull. Standing in the cold, waiting for them on the shore was a pair of misty figures, carriages parked further up the dirt, barely visible in the nighttime mist. Scourge really did hate the northern fog. The sooner they found that damned island, the better.

As the gangplank was laid down, Sliver shimmied to his side to confirm their cargo had survived, and without damage, which was good because that shill Octane and his partner Sandstorm loved to shake off fees for faulty merchandise. Then again, if he’d wanted to deal with someone less penny-pinching, he wouldn’t be trafficking stolen goods through shady ports, but it was all just part of the job. Besides, the tariffs alone on official imports were enough to make these two seem benevolently generous.

“You’re late,” sneered the purple-helmed merchant. “You’ll pay a penalty for’at, y’know. My time’s precious, and doesn’t like to be wasted.”

“And I’ll kick up the gangplank and sail on out if you scam me out a single coin. How’s that for wasted time?” Scourge bantered back. “It’d be a sure shame, because our haul was a pretty one this run…”

Octane rolled his optics with a dirty look on his face, but was assuaged by his trading partner.

“We’ll take your stock as-is. It’s better to move goods at these late hours, anyways,” Sandstorm stepped up to the gangplank, holding out a hand in greeting. Scourge shook his hand, and backpedaled onto his ship to allow the merchants to hop onboard to take a look.

Sandstorm caught a look at the felled yardarm as the trio made their way to the hatch, and made a face at the splintered wood. “You lot must’ve been in for it. Get hit by any storms on the way in?”

“You could say that. But it doesn’t matter, because we’ve still delivered…” Scourge said. They descended through the sleeping quarters into the cargo hold, where some of his brothers were already moving the crates. Scourge had one of them stop to open one up, revealing to the merchant the loot inside. “Behold!”

“It’s… liquor.”

“Not just any rubbish liquor, good sir- it’s Lunar.” Scourge patted Sandstorm on the shoulder. “Imported from across that sparkling ocean yonder from one of Cybertron’s new island strongholds, approved by the Prime himself. Note the label?”

He held one bottle up to the light so that the duo could see, and Octane tilted his head in awed interest. “The Isle of Earth’s a long way from here, that’s for certain. We could make a good mark off of all this. Shame the haul’s so small…”

“As if you could do any better?” Scourge laughed, hauling the crate into his arms and passing it to Nightbird. “You can find your own ship and crew, try your greasy little fingers at nabbing from the Prime’s reserves. Now, none of this is leaving my hold till you pay up, so if you please…”

“I’ll give ya five hundred gold for the whole haul.”

Scourge shot the purple-garbed merchant a dirty look. “Nothing lower than seven-fifty. I’ve got ship repairs to make, coming all this way for you.”

“Tch. six hundred? I’ve got mouths to feed at home…”

“Seven hun’s the lowest I’ll go. I’ve got mouths to feed right here.”

“Six twenty-five, and we load the cargo ourselves.”

“Make it six-fifty and we’ll load it for you, since we wasted your precious time.” Scourge snapped back. “Seven of us versus two of you, and y’wouldn’t want to risk dropping a crate, now would you?”

Octane sneered, but Scourge did have him there, forcing him to relent. “Six-fifty. But I’m a careful man, and I wouldn’t want to be duped by just one box of fine wine and a dozen more of swill. You’ll open those boxes and show me I’m getting what I’m paying for, and then you’ll load us up.”

Scourge scowled at the offer, but he was getting a decent deal- no point in dying on such a tedious hill. “Deal. Lads?”

His crew gave each other tired looks, and started the least glamorous part of their privateering jobs- the shipping logistics. It was going to be a long night- longer than if they’d braved it fighting Cyclonus.

–

By the time that Octane and Sandstorm had drawn their carriages away into the night, it was too late in the cycle to sail any further, and the Sweeps were exhausted. It had been a very, very long day of running, sailing, kraken-fighting and crate-hauling, and even Scourge wanted nothing more than to lay his head down and get his forty winks. They would have to spend the night in port, and then head out to sea first thing in the morning, before their vessel could be caught by any early patrols.

With the gangplank brought back in, the ship was at least secured of any passer-by would-be thieves, and Nightbird stepped up to secure them as the night watch on-duty. She’d get the chance to rest in the morning, when they set off to Nebulos.

But in the meantime, Scourge made his way to his little loft, partitioned off from his siblings with old canvas, and rolled into his bedspread. They had a long day of sailing ahead of them, and coin to deposit in their hold. And then, the cycle would repeat all over again, just like it had for the last fifteen years.

Fifteen years of stealing, and sailing, and searching. Scourge sighed as he started to nod off to sleep, the garnet eyes of his nemesis searing into his eyelids as they shut. One of these damn voyages, he’d have to find that damned island. Unicron’s Head couldn’t hide from him in the mist forever.

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