Well that escalated quickly.

I loved this. Infinitely amusing...ya know, how stupid Barricade can be. He's clearly no Karma Houdini, though.  

 

25: Quiet

Some bots wonder why I'm quiet. Perhaps you wonder that too. In turn, I wonder why they insist on talking all the time.

Actions speak louder then words. It's an old saying, a saying my kind shares with the humans that inhabit this planet Earth. And it is a saying I have taken to spark; judge me for my capabilities as shown before you, not my ability to tell you about them.

There are benefits to be being quiet. I hear things no-one else does. I find that observation is more focussed when not contesting with one's own voice. Beneficial indeed.

Of course, any deeper reason I may have for my lack of words is confidential. But that's okay; I won't probe if you don't probe.

But another benefit to this silence is that I can really hear people. Hear what they insinuate, what they desire, not just what they say. Have you ever really paid attention to how and what someone says? Try it one day; you may learn something interesting.

Take my own commander, Starscream. He speaks loudly and with confidence. He demands attention and obedience. When contemplative he murmurs, when angry he screeches and when calm he speaks wit far more flair than any other Cybertronian.

But listen closely. Do you hear that hint of longing underneath his noise? Do you understand the context of that little phrase he often says? Starscream wants respect. Starscream wants glory.

Starscream wants to be somebody you can recognise. Someone you can respect and admire and praise. Starscream is scared of being nobody. No-one recognises a nobody.

Oddly enough, for someone so loud and demanding (a clear contrast to me), I find that Starscream and I share a close friendship, more so than he and I do with the others. Perhaps it a mutual benefit; he speaks for me far greater than I could ever speak for myself, and in turn I listen to him more intently then anyone else would.

Maybe that's all he really needs. Just someone who will listen to that wish to be recognised.

How about Soundwave? Sometimes he will state something in a factual and mechanical matter, like a drone, but truth be told, he is being condescending. He is being sarcastic or insulting, and he hides it by acting like a.... well, a robot. It works as well.

Not on me.

Slipstream often means the opposite of what her tone may imply. When she is annoyed with you, she is actually happy you survived. When she speaks sweetly, she may be musing on how idiotic she finds you. She's bizarre and asymmetrical, which is fitting considering that arm of hers.

And Barricade?

Well, perhaps I was too wide in my previous assertion. Not everyone has a hidden voice underneath their tone. Barricade is a brutally blunt and disturbingly hateful and crudely vulgar Decepticon. There is no pain or insecurity or fear under his boasts.

He's as shallow as a puddle. I bet if you stepped into the puddle of his intellectual depth, you'd wonder why the water even bothered to make such a shape.

In the end, though, I don't talk that much myself. If I must, it is a correction or a fact or an additive or a reassurance. Something that is necessary or helpful, not something just to add a bit of sound. The humans have another saying; the wise have something to say, the foolish have to say something.

I think myself as belonging to the former concept. Barricade is most certainly the latter.

Why don't I talk that much? That's what they ask, that may be what you're wondering and even I sometimes feel unsure as to the exact reasoning. Perhaps its for those benefits I mentioned earlier. Maybe I'm shy. Maybe this War presses down on me more than I realise.

My reason behind my quiet is whatever you'd want it to be, I suppose.

Of course, the other thing other bots wonder is why I fly. Why I never touch the ground unless I must. Well, to be honest, I think I've said enough. Maybe next time, I'll tell you why.

Thank you for listening.

--

She hovered upwards, higher and higher into the night sky, before shifting into vehicle mode and flying away. Below, the basket of kittens at the window of the local pet shop, their noisy visitor having vanished, resumed mewling and pawing at each other.

 

Drabble 26: Untitled -_-

A/N: Takes place shortly after the events of Bee Free Or Bee Gone.

EDIT: Forgot to mention that I loved your drabble, Meta...getting insight into Nighttrace's psyche is a real treat! She's so enigmatic, it's wonderful! (It's also kind of funny, now that I know where the drabble came from.  )

___________________________________________________________________________

Grimlock sighed and shifted somewhat to induce more comfort. Laying in the middle of the floor with his optics have-offline, all there was to do was stare at the grey metal wall and think. Although at times the simple act was more compelling than other times, this particular instance poked at his aura slightly, his form sagging soberly the more he entertained certain notations. Now that everything was back to normal and calm again, the ship had adapted a much more tolerable air of calmness and contentedness than it had shortly prior. Grimlock expected to feel settled down once everything was worked out, but he was still rather disconcerted.

Fear was a stupid emotional phenomenon, Grimlock usually thought, fear is irrational and all it does is slow you down. For as long as he could remember, (although that didn't extend to as far back as it probably should), he had never been afraid of anything. It was always easy to scoff upon the notion of it when he couldn't rightly recall ever feeling it. After all, what was there to be afraid of? He's a fearsome warrior, has a universal reputation...even the most notorious of Decepticons fear his wrath. Being a societally shunned monstrous image whom has successfully murdered more deserving Decepticons than he could count, there was nothing for him to fear. Not even death itself.

That was, until he joined Jazz's team. Even at first, he was still the same revered Grimlock that even fellow Autobots kept their distance from. But then, that one fateful day, he was confronted by a small, noisy rookie. He remembered how annoyed he was at having to deal with the irritation at a time of peace. He remembered the hurt look on Bumblebee's face when Grimlock rejected him. He remembered how guilty he was...and how new that feeling was to him.

To this day, he hasn't figured out how somebody like himself had ever allowed for his relationship with a silly little rookie to escalate to the level that it had. He thought about it and it almost came off as a talent that Bumblebee had...a talent to worm into the most unsuspecting sparks. Grimlock inwardly smiled at the thought. At first it was just a friendship that he hardly regarded seriously, a friendship with whom he realized was the only person, probably in the universe, that looked into his optics with a genuine absence of fear. That looked into his optics and knew everything that he was thinking.

Among his unique talents, Bumblebee was, ironically, also the only Autobot who had ever invoked fear upon Grimlock. A new, strange, unexpected fear that was so unfamiliar to him.

The tyrannosaur cycled some air through his vents and he sunk further into his laying position. If something ever happened to Bumblebee...what would he do?

He squeezed his optics shut for a moment and tried to banish the thought. A sudden urge to see the youngun washed over him. They had been conversing in the rookie's quarters moments prior, but Hound had come along and politely requested Bumblebee's presence, which the latter gleefully provided and Grimlock subsequently returned to his own room. It was getting late, and everybody was probably preparing to recharge. After all, it had been a very long...couple of days.

His thoughts paused periodically at the sound of knocking at his door. "What?" he grunted out of the corner of his mouth.

"Grimlock?" a familiar voice that made the berserker raise his head sounded through the metallic barrier. "Can I come in, buddy?"

"Yes, come in," he said, though he was inwardly much more eager than his intonation let on.

Bumblebee appeared through the door a moment later and, shutting it behind him, advanced toward Grimlock with the expectant look of glee on his face. "Hey! Just wanted to stop by and say goodnight."

"I hope you intend on getting plenty of recharge," Grimlock verified, eyeing Bumblebee as he came closer. "You need it after all that's happened."

"Oh, I know, I know, I already got plenty of that from Hound," Bumblebee said, sitting down cross-legged beside Grimlock.

"What did he want?"

"Just to talk." Bumblebee had attempted to readjust his position a little bit, but regretted it when he felt a sudden pain in his chasis. He brought his hand to the scratch that Airachnid had left on it and grunted in spite of himself.

Grimlock caught it and quickly twisted his helm around to eye his friend. "Are you alright?" he speedily inquired, his optics wide and flooded with concern.

Bumblebee's own optics widened at the intensity of Grimlock's worry. "Yeah! I'm just a little sore," he attested, rubbing the spot on his chasis slightly. The scratch was pretty shallow and already fading. Despite as much, Ratchet had bombarded him about it shortly after he had talked with Hound. Luckily, the medic was also preoccupied with Jazz, so slipping away without reprimand was made easy enough.

Perhaps Grimlock realized the unusual aggressiveness in which his inquiry was made, and he quietly looked forward again taking his friend's word for it, although being sure to eye the little one suspiciously before completely turning around.

Bumblebee cocked a lip and watched his buddy as he stared at the wall, breathing slowly and heavily. From the corner of his face that Bumblebee could see from his position, the disconcert in Grimlock's optics was apparent. He got up--carefully to make sure there would be no more random bouts of pain--and wheeled a little closer to his friend's audio receptors. "Why are you so worried?" Bumblebee softly inquired. "I'm back now, you know. Everything's fine."

No answer. The scout trainee's vision somberly fell to the floor and he made his way over to Grimlock's head where it was resting on the floor and bent down to look into his optics. A moment of visual exchange was shared between the two before Bumblebee sunk down onto the floor and laid on his side before his friend.

All they did was look at each other for a moment, before Bumblebee's beckoning glance got the best of Grimlock's silence. "Everything's not fine. You've gotten into trouble two times in two days already. Mathematically, that's a rate of once per day. What's it going to be tomorrow?"

Bumblebee suddenly smiled and a light chuckle escaped from his pipes. "Silly Grimlock," he said, reaching out to place a hand on the tyrannosaur's snout. "I know that I've been getting into trouble...kind of a lot lately. But Hound says 'live and learn.' Now I know how to not get captured by Decepticons...two ways!"

Grimlock's optics brightened somewhat with the attempt at reassurance, but he made no reply. Bumblebee's face fell from its wide grin and he slowly got up to his wheels, wheeling nearer by to stand over Grimlock's snout. "You're tired," he suddenly said. Wasn't a question. His face looked almost authoritative. He gently raised a hand a swept it over one of Grimlock's optics, prompting for them to close. The tyrannosuar reopened them a moment later, though only halfway. Bumblebee was right, he was tired, and he didn't bother countering his friend's attestations concerning him.

"I'll recharge if you recharge."

Bumblebee smiled and patted Grimlock's nose plate. "Deal. I'll see ya tomorrow morning, buddy," he said as he began to make his way toward the exit to his own quarters. "Goodnight!"

Grimlock cycled his vents one last time. "Goodnight."

The door reclosed and the room was engulfed in its typical dimness once again. The berserker finally offlined his optics and cycled his vents, attempting to welcome the sensation of sleep. Inside, he was still worried for his little buddy. But, he assured himself...fear is irrational. Humorously enough, he remembered Bumblebee telling him something that Hound had told him..."don't worry about the future, because we don't know what's going to happen. There's no point in worrying about things outside of your circle of influence." Circle of influence, whatever that was supposed to mean.

Either way, he wouldn't worry about the future. Besides, as long as he had anything to say about it...everything would be fine.

 

Excellent writing, Jamocha! Loving the expansion on Grimlock's views and his brief fear with regards to Bumblebee's kidnapping, as well as the duo's heartfelt reunion. Aw, I love it when buddies get to be together again  

Drabble 27: MetaPrime
A quick spoof, if Transformers Meta acted like a typical TFP episode  
Inspired by some random conversations I had  


The scanner in the Zeta-1 console began beeping, and the Autobots came to look at it. It displayed an image of an ancient Cybertronian artefact, hidden in the middle of a random quarry.

"Oh whoa!" Wheeljack declared with an epic voice provided by Dwayne Johnson a.k.a THE ROCK. "It's an ancient relic! We can use it to send those damn dirty Decepticons packing!"

"Indeed, it would be paramount to utilise this ancient piece of the past to secure an optimal advantage over our enemies." Jazz stated stoically. "We shall approach with caution and make use of our familial bond to secure victory. Autobots transform and roll out."

"We had better be careful." Hound advised. "The Decepticons may already be there."

"Beep beep beep." Bumblebee added. As he was beeping, he accidently rolled over something, which broke. Ratchet leapt forward upon seeing this and grabbed Bumblebee by the head, forcing him to look at him and gazing deep into his optics.

"Bumblebee." Ratchet whispered sensually, gazing deeply into Bumblebee's terrified eyes, leaning in so closely his breathe tickled Bumblebee's skull. "I needed that."

"Hound, Wheeljack, Grimlock, we will retrieve the relic." Jazz stated stoically. "The rest of you stay here. Autobots, transform and roll out."

They transformed and rolled out through the portal thing.

"Beep beep beep." Said Bumblebee.

"I agree." Evac said. "I wish I could go too. But I am big and clumsy and I might break something with my breaking hands. Hey, did I ever tell you guys about the fact I like breaking things?"

Evac picked up something and broke it to demonstrate. Ratchet leapt forward upon seeing this and grabbed Evac by the head, forcing him to look at him and gazing deep into his optics.

"Evac." Ratchet whispered sensually, gazing deeply into Evac's terrified eyes, leaning in so closely his breathe tickled Evac's skull. "I needed that."

---

Meanwhile, in the evil Decepticon ship of evilness, the console beeped and showed that quarry that the Autobots were just looking at. They all came to look at it.

"Well, here is an awesome relic that I can use to boost my power and take over the Earth." Starscream purred in his sensual Steve Blum voice that tickles your spine. "I cannot wait to have it in my clutches. I hope the Autobots haven't discovered this."

"Autobots inferior, Soundwave superior." Said Soundwave.

"I hate Autobots. They always mess up my paint job." Slipstream said.

Barricade said a lot of swear words. Nighttrace just stood in the corner. Staring at them. Ominously.

"Send the Seekers! And they better not fail me!" Starscream stated.

The Darksyde deployed like 200 Seekers who flew down to the quarry.

---

In the quarry, out came the Autobots. The relic was nearby, impaled into the ground or something. They walked over to it, when suddenly, Seekers appeared and surrounded them!

"RAWR." Said Grimlock.

"Don't worry, Grimmy my boy." Said Wheeljack with his amazing Dwayne Johnson voice. "If these Cons wanna mess with the jack, they'll get the wheels."

A Seeker shot him and his chest exploded. Wheeljack groaned, collapsed and died. But don't worry, he'll reappear in a Season 2 Flashback episode. So yeah.

Anyway, Jazz stated stoically: "We must avenge our fallen comrade and defend the Earth and the relics from the Decepticon threat. We will know victory, for our cause is righteous."

The Seekers attacked them and the Autobots began to kill all of them by poking them and occasionally blasting them with pew-pew lasers.

As the fight raged on, Hound saw Ellen Sherriff chilling out on a rock and asked: "Ellen what are you doing here it's dangerous why are you here?"

"Came to snap some pics!" Ellen replied happily, using her snappy cellphone to snap some pics of the Seekers, one of which walked over to step on her.

"One shall stand one shall fall." Jazz stated stoically, shooting the Seeker dead.

"Booyah!" Ellen cheered happily, before the ground bridge opened and Hound had to punt her back through it.

Grimlock ate the remaining Seekers. The Autobots gathered by the relic and picked it up and punted it through the ground bridge.

"Well done, Autobots." Jazz stated stoically. "You have fought with honour and upheld our strong moral beliefs. Now let us leave all these corpses here and be on our way."

They left.

---

In the Darksyde, Starscream threw a temper tantrum.

"Noooooo I sent all the Seekers and they failed me and I am very very mad!" Starscream snapped in his amusingly high-pitched Steve Blum voice that makes you want to laugh a lot. "Now the Autobots have the relic and that is bad!"

He punted Barricade in the face, who promptly swore a lot.

"Soundwave superior Starscream inferior." Soundwave said.

"I really need a new wax-job." Said Slipstream.

Nighttrace just stood in the background. Staring at them. Ominously.

---

The Autobots reunited in the Zeta-1.

"Now that we have the relic, should we use it to defeat the Decepticons?" Evac asked.

"Nope we'll put it in the closet." Hound replied. So he did. He went and put it in the closet. But don't worry, it'll come back for the Season 2 Finale. So yeah.

"Beep beep beep." Said Bumblebee.

"Rawr." Said Grimlock.

"Indeed, Autobots. We would not have won the day without courage, nobility and family." Jazz stated stoically. "I am proud of you all. Freedom is the right of all non-Decepticons."

"And I got some new pics on my phone!" Ellen stated happily. "Now who wants me to use my inexplicable hacking skills to get us some Decepticon relic-codes that can lead us to more relics?"

As Grimlock nodded in agreement, he broke something. Ratchet leapt forward upon seeing this and grabbed Grimlock by the head, forcing him to look at him and gazing deep into his optics.

"Grimlock." Ratchet whispered sensually, gazing deeply into Grimlock's terrified eyes, leaning in so closely his breathe tickled Grimlock's skull. "I needed that."

Wheeljack was still dead. But his death made sure we know that this show is DARK AND MATURE.

 

.................. 

BEST MOCK AT TFP EVER!!!!

 

That was the funniest thing ever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Oh my sweet Jesus!  

 

Drabble 28: Don't Die

A/N: Some really stupid OOC friendly feels because I'm tired and this thread has been abandoned for too dang long.

______________________________________________________________________


“I can’t seem to take you anywhere.”

“Shut the frag up.”

A lowly dust was settling over the room, encrusting the furniture somberly as the time ticked on with teasingly monotonous pace. Barricade was lying with his back facing the ceiling, his head cocked awkwardly toward one side and he heatedly yearned to be able to readjust it; but he had been sufficiently drugged up and by now was unable to feel anything below his face. The numbness was bittersweet at best, effectively vanquishing the pain, but also being an inevitably irksome sensation since now the shock trooper felt so helpless to budge. The fatigue was just an unavoidable integral to the ordeal, rendering Barricade’s dialogue as humorously weak, contradiction his habitual brusqueness. It still, however, retained the same undertone of vulgar that it always had.
To make it worse, Soundwave was lingering around and Barricade was just as able to get him to leave as he was to lift a hand and scratch that itch on his face plate. For the love of him, he couldn’t be bothered to deduce why the communications expert was loitering about the otherwise reclusive Mustang, but it was extenuatingly irksome no matter the reason. He had been there since he had remembered returning to consciousness, and the room fell to silence with just the two there when Slipstream had left the medbay succeeding the body-numbing pain relief treatment she gave to Barricade.

“You might as well not become so belligerent,” Soundwave retorted; “-Especially not toward me. If you had listened to what I said, you wouldn’t have gotten into this grand mess.”

With his face turned toward the opposite wall, Barricade’s reply came back muffled and tired, “Soundwave, there’s a train leaving in a few minutes. You should go be under it.”

The communication officer’s visor narrowed and the yellow light slightly intensified. He could never shake the talking-to-a-wall feeling he got whenever he tried to converse with Barricade. “Look, let’s be serious for once,” he said, advancing toward the patient’s bedside as if to make sure he could hear clearly. “You’re always irrationally impulsive, so much is inevitable. But do you have to be so lacking in basic tact all the time? Slipstream and I had a clear execution plan in a very hostile situation, and you blatantly disregarded these scrupulous blueprints just to—“

“We knocked out one of those fragging Autobots and got out fine, for Primus’s sake!” Barricade suddenly growled, even though his intonation was still humorously weak. He managed to turn his neck just slightly to get an enraged sideways glance at Soundwave.

“But look at you!” Soundwave exclaimed back in protest, in an exasperated tone that was so uncustomary for him. “You were delirious afterwards—again—Slipstream had to bodily carry you back and we thought it was going to be another project to get you repaired—“

Even Barricade might have been caught off-guard by Soundwave’s relatively uncharacteristic extravagance, but he made it a point not to show any disturbance…which was pretty easy since he couldn’t really move. “Slag, Soundwave,” he hoarsely said back, “would you fragging relax? Why do you care so damn much?”

Soundwave hesitated; long enough to warrant another sideways glance from Barricade. The question was perplexing, surprisingly, so much so that Soundwave’s visor furrowed somewhat in curiosity because he earnestly couldn’t produce a good retort. The concept of “caring” about Barricade was somewhat laughable when he contemplated it, and yet he couldn’t find himself reliably denying it; then again, he was Soundwave. He made it a point to appear as monotone as possible, which probably by all standards including not indicating a closeness to anybody. Acquaintanceships were inevitable, but not friendships, really. However, if he internally considered his relationship with Barricade a mere acquaintanceship, would he be so perturbed at this whole thing? He knew as he ran these notions through his processor that it wasn’t just an annoyance at Barricade’s inherent disobedience—although that is unbelievable irritating—but there was an actual fear there. As he sought to identify it, he could only conclude that the fear germinated from a concern…for Barricade’s safety. The conclusion was off-putting at best.

After a good apathetic pause during which Soundwave thought, Barricade had given up on the controversy and decided to accept that there was no shaking Soundwave from his presence. His interest was somewhat resparked, however, when he heard a sigh waft over form the communications officer’s general direction.

“There are certain standards,” Soundwave started, unsuccessfully trying to sound stoic as usual, “and protocols that we need to abide by. All in all, to keep it simple so that you can understand, none of us are supposed to die. And yet—“

“Oh shut up, I’m not going to die, fragger.”

Soundwave twisted around and flipped his hands. “Why do I bother?”

“Not to mention, you almost died a few times too, you know.”

Soundwave turned back around and one side of his visor ridge warped upward incredulously.

“Like, at least twice since we’ve been on the same team. And why the frag should I be concerned over my own wellbeing for the sake of your sensitivities if you don’t give a slag about mine?”

Soundwave stood stock.

“I mean—frag—not that I care what happens to you!” Barricade interjected before his company could say anything, floundering as he just barely caught himself. “But—don’t tell me I’m ‘not supposed to die.’ This is fragging war, everything and everybody dies. That’s basically what it fragging means. Face it, we’re all about to die.”

“Jeez. What’s the rush?”

“…So I’m tired and would personally rather be dead right now, Soundslag,” Barricade murmured. “If we come to an agreement, will you leave it at that and maybe even get the frag out of here?”

Soundwave almost felt like laughing at how uncharacteristically tired and almost—almost—docile Barricade sounded now that the drugs were taking their fullest affect. “I’m listening?”

“I’ll try not to die if you try not to die. Then everybody and their motherboards are fragging happy. Got it?”

Soundwave paused a moment and decided to accept the subliminal message and let it slide. He closed the distance between himself Barricade’s berth and picked up one of the limp hands at the shock trooper’s side. Shaking it in a way that was yet another sway away from his usual stiffness, he said, “Deal.”

“Good. Now stop touching me and let me rest.”

Sounwave obeyed and stepped back from Barricade’s berth, looking at him for a moment as it the spectacle of an entirely still and quiet shock trooper, being as unfounded as it was. It was perpetually odd, hearing him talk to quietly and seeing him so listless. Although humorous to an extent, it was also perturbing…and Soundwave hated being perturbed at it, but he was. In all of his deep, dark contemplations he would never be able to forgive himself for having founded an actual inkling of care for that moron.

“Hey, Soundwave…”

Soundwave stopped just before reaching the doorway and turned around to face his comrade. “What?”

Barricade’s voice was somewhat difficult to hear as he was facing the other way and his voice was as diminutive as ever; “Don’t take this the wrong fragging way or anything,” he started, narrowing his brow despite that Soundwave couldn’t see it, “but, er—thanks for pulling my aft out of that whole…thing.”

Soundwave would have smiled, had he a mouth. “No problem.”

He turned and left his friend to his peace.

 

Drabble 29: Jazz's Long (1)

A/N: This is kind of a writing exercise. Every time I try to write something sophisticated, I just end up getting stuck, so instead I went for something lighthearted and easy. I'll probably do more of them.

Warning: I did not revise, typos abound.

___________________________________________________________________________

Day 1> Jazz’s Log>>
Not really sure how this works, feeling like there’s that obligatory introductory paragraph that explains who I am and why I’m logging my daily scrap in this, etc, etc, etc, so I guess I won’t disappoint in that regard. So basically, Wheeljack, the mad scientist on this ship—telling myself as if I’ll forget or something in the future, but anyway—he was mad because he lost something or another and I don’t even remember what. Then he hassled Hound and I to help him find it, and we were just browsing the internet for the time being before he barged in making this demand, so we said sure, why not. And as we were digging through some junk in one nook or another, Hound pointed out that we have these data logs that are like pads specifically designed to hold personal data. He said that it’s the equivalent to what humans would call “a journal” and suggested that I put one of them to use because they’re therapeutic or some other scrap and it’d be good for me because sometimes I get “stressed out” and whatever else. I don’t even really remember what happened, most of what I recall from that incident was Wheeljack and I starting to argue with each other about organization and possessive justifications or something. For as much use as he is with his firearm doodads, sometimes I wish I could use him as fodder and shoot him out of the broad side of the ship.

Anyway, not sure exactly what I’m supposed to be writing about. Or if there’s an obligation to write about a particular subject. If I understood Hound’s explanation for the purpose of these things, then it’s supposed to be whatever I feel like writing and that’s supposed to help organize your thoughts and do some other great slag so I guess I’ll be jotting down whatever comes to mind. I’m only slightly perturbed by the notion of using this habitually because when Grimlock found out, he basically called it girly. Apparently he knows a thing or two about gender stereotypes despite his inherent and habitual idiocy. It’s not that I care what he thinks, but I kind of agree with him. Except right now it’s late and I can’t seem to recharge so I don’t know what else to do. I guess ordinarily I would stare at the ceiling, but that’s boring as tar.

I can start with continuing to allude to some basic principles about myself to go along with the whole obligatory introduction thing, even though my audience is nonexistent and all I’ll probably do with this when I’m done is toss it somewhere and let it gather dust. But having some basic information in here will be good for when somebody in the future finds it and they want to know more all about me and my awesome legacy and my general awesomeness for that matter. Or like if I die heroically in an epic boss battle and somebody’s cleaning out my room and so on and so forth and they find this. Now that I’m writing this down, I feel an even greater sense of motivation for everybody to have the opportunity to learn of my great and incredibly interesting/influential existence. Wow, I’m tired.

So my name is Jazz, formally Lieutenant Jazz, second to Optimus Prime, one of the three Autobot leaders in this war and stuff. I’m so great and have done so many great things, that I’m pretty sure people who don’t have the decency to call me by my actual fragging name would rather just call me “the Lieutenant,” because that’s right, I’m not just a lieutenant, I am the lieutenant. The Fragging Lieutenant. Actually, that’d be cool, if I could insert the actual word Fragging in my alias. I need to write that down. Or I guess I just did. Tired.

And basically, my planet has been fighting this war for a really long time, and it’s been going for such an aforementioned long time in part because there are Cybertronians literally everywhere in the galaxy and the fighting has extended to so many fragging territories, that it’s going to take forever for the battling to actually dissipate, basically. I was around before the war and I unfortunately find my memory of our once beautiful planet fading every day, but that’s not the point. So by now, after we’ve been doing this slame slag for so long, we’re finally running out of energy and Zeta was like “let’s send an awesome person to somewhere else in the universe so that they can find energy,” and so he chose me and I had to assemble a team and all that jazz and after a while of prepping and planning, we were off. Eventually we came to this planet called Earth, which incidentally has a lot of water and critters like Riva Li did. Not as much water, but like, a lot of water. And it luckily has some energy reserves that we’re tapping into and stuff, so it’s going good. Actually not really, but I kind of don’t feel like writing about how there are fragging Depcepticons here too. Not to mention that one of them is Starscream. Ew.

But yeah, so war, then Zeta, then team, then departure, then Earth, now energy, except there are ugly con butts. Like I said, I don’t really feel like elucidating on those numb nuts (if that’s how humans say it, I don’t even know) so I guess I can elaborate a little bit on my team. I’ll just be all classy and list them in turn, so here goes,

Ratchet—This guy also personally knew Optimus Prime. In fact, they were good friends. It’s pretty sad that they had to leave without saying goodbye, but I guess he gets that urgent situations warrant some urgent consequences. I’ve known this guy for a while and I know that he’s a really great person and a really great medic, which is why I needed him on my team; as a commander, it’s my job to keep everybody in top condition, and I couldn’t think of a better person to do that than Rathcet. His skills in the medical field are practically legendary. Granted, he’s a bit uptight, to put it lightly. I mean, I guess we all are in our own senses since this war started, but he’s like eccentrically stressed out all the fragging time. It’s always, “don’t do this, it’ll cause rust” and “don’t do that, your metal might oxidize” and all that scrap. He’s really worried about everybody’s wellbeing, which is of course great, but I can’t help but feel a grate on my nerves every once and a while because of it. Regardless, he’s an incredibly strong sense of morality and I’m not sure that I know anybody who’s so devoted to our cause. So yeah, Ratchet’s a pretty cool dude.

Hound—Now here’s a guy that’s almost as awesome as me, and probably my closest friend among these goofballs. I’m not really sure what to say about him, other than I can’t show enough appreciation to have him on my team. Being surrounded by so much responsibility and chaos and crazy fraggers all of the time, it’s nice to know that I have direct contact with another sane being around here; and the closest I have to somebody like that is Hound. Him and I have a lot of the same interests, like, we both love to know about things like different cultures and principles, scientific and otherwise. However, while I like to have the general ideas for what it’s worth, he’s an explorer and a biologist by profession (or at least he was before the war) and has seen a ton of amazing things. I feel like sometimes he gets a little too sentimental over his desires to study when I would rather his focuses be on the obligatory shooting and ducking of war, but that’s not saying much; he’s got his head in the right place for the most part. Other than that, he’s also just generally really nice and loyal and I’m glad to have him as my personal lieutenant. Not to sound all sappy, I’ll probably cringe when I read this tomorrow. But I’m tired, so there’s my excuse. The main thing to know is that he’s great, but I’m greater. Always.

Evac—One of our rookies, a medic in training under Ratchet. The thing about Evac is that he’s a great kid, but I wouldn’t say he’s very confident in himself when it comes to battle situations. I mean, he’s always optimistic and wants to help in any way that he can, but he’s definitely not as natural on the battlefield as he is in the medbay. Granted, a medic is a medic and I don’t know too many who are just as great at fighting as they are at healing. I just hope he that one day we can get him to own up and channel his strength to develop some real fighting skill. I have faith that he will, granted. No telling how long it’ll take, though. Other than that, he’s really chipper and everything, a happy kid. Which of course is good. He’s fun to be around because he gets unbelievably excited over the tiniest things. It is not difficult to impress him, and I like that characteristic in others personally. As much as it does, though, I feel as though he needs to harden up just a bit…it’s a shame how it’s inevitable that I’ll have to watch his innocence deteroriate, but I can only hope that he’ll be ready for any battlefield situation that he finds himself in.

Bumblebee—The other rookie, a scout in training under Hound. Not…really sure how to effectively summarize him. He’s just, like, really…a lot of things. Loud, for one thing. He knows how to use those pipes that Primus gave him for sure, since he never stops talking. He’s also really energetic to the point that I wonder how he’s probably recharging right now and yet I’m not, and I can’t count on him to sit still for any extended interval of time. Not to sound like I’m bitter about all that, though; he’s one of the most endearing bots on this team, but he’s really unfocussed and has a lot to learn. The youngest and the smallest—well, besides me, but I make up for my lack of height with general awesomeness—and probably the most innocent, if he’s not tied with Evac. I have a lot of confidence in him and he can’t have a better teacher than Hound, but he has a habit of getting himself into trouble. Emphasis on the word “habit,” like, it happens pretty often. The good news is, he learns from his mistakes as far as I can tell.

Wheeljack—Nothing nice to say about this guy. Nah, I kid. I mean, no, he’s a glitch, but he’s aight. He’s our resident mad scientists, which translates to IT and firearms expert and destroyer of all things of monetary value. Not sure how many times he’s blown up the lab. Blown up himself. His teammates, etc. I tell myself that I wanted him on this team for very pragmatic reasons, which I did, but another part of me thinks that I wanted him to come along just for the comical element that he unwittingly brings to everything. He thinks he’s so great that it’s really stereotypical and laughable. He’s always preaching his intelligence and experience and general greatness and wisdom, and it’s annoying to the point that I find it endearingly obnoxious. Granted, sometimes I would like to remove his vocoder. But it turns out that he really does have a genuine spark underneath all of that arrogance. I’ve seen the big lug get all protective. I seent it.

Grimlock—Now I genuinely don’t have much to say that I actually feel like venting about. Sometimes I doubt that there’s anything redeeming about this character. He’s got an unfortunate past, but I guess he uses it just to catalyze his intolerably hostile behaviors. I can try to sympathize with the history that he struggles with, but I can’t just as easily condone his habitual insubordination because of it. That being said, it’s not like having to deal with him all the time doesn’t pay off at least to some extent, because he’s a reliable and fearsome warrior; his skills in combat admittedly come in handy in numerous instances. But, despite my better nature, him and I do not get along. I wish I could change it, but I do everything that I can and he doesn’t even give a frag to try in that regard. Sometimes I question if there’s anything redeeming about him…and, since I am thinking about, his friendship with Bumblebee comes to mind. Which incidentally confuses the scrap out of me, but he loves the kid. His one true friend. Sometimes I wish I could see what Bumblebee sees, but then again, I’m not sure that anybody can see what he sees in not just Grimlock, but everybody. I guess that’s the one factor that makes those two friends. Some kind of understanding that I haven’t been able to channel; maybe not everybody has it. Eh, I’m too tired to really think about it that much.

So that’s all of them, the bots that am forced to spend every minute of my day with and boss around. I guess that’s all I can come up with for now, but wow, I am so tired. Writing all of that made my optics pretty exhausted (and in pain), so maybe now I’ll actually get some recharge. Maybe if I remember that I have this I’ll write some less boring and explanatory things in the future, but then again, maybe not. I dunno. But right now Imma turn it off and try to give my systems some much needed rest. I wonder if I’m supposed to say goodbye to the journal. Or I’ll say goodbye to all those nonexistent readers. Goodbye, my intangible audience. May Primus be with your soul.

Okay, sleep.

 

Drabble 30: Jazz's Log (2)

Day 2>Jazz’s Log>>

I’m not as embarrassed at my exhausted rambly writing as I thought I would be. I’m way more eloquent than I suspected when I’m tired; granted, it’s late at night again and I’m headed toward the fatigued state I was in at the time last night when I wrote that, but it’s better than it was, so I guess I’ll just continue and see how much my articulation deteriorates. I’m also in a slightly better mood, so yeah.

We were actually all up late tonight because Friday is Autobot Family Movie Night, so the past couple hours were spent with the entire team sitting around the screen in the rec room watching a movie about the weirdest-looking fragging humans I’ve seen so far. I guess like any society, humanity’s got their various eras of time and have those primitive days where the clothes were weirder than they are now and they didn’t have the simplest commodities like digital telecommunication devices. Which incidentally, were outdated on Cybertronian so long ago. Anyway, the characters in this particularly movie were dressed in a lot of different ways based on their wealth/ethnicity (if I understood correctly), but it was centered around the misadventures of the blatantly most eccentric guy. If I remember right, he was what’s called a pirate and to be honest, I’m not even sure what the movie was about. There’s no way I can tell how these Movie Night episodes will go. Sometimes we can sit and watch the movie with relative peace, and other times it’s absolute discord and it makes me want to kill myself. The tradition isn’t relatively new, so we’ve been going through the same scrap for a while and it still manages to be something different every week. One time instead of watching a movie we all had to go out and rescue somebody, not dropping names. That particular week it was “Autobot Family Rescue Mission Night.”

I can’t even remember whose idea it was, probably Bumblebee’s since he’s always browsing the internet and having us do weird slag. He ordinarily is the one that catalyzes the event since usually none of us ever actually feel like it. I was never much of a cinema freak back when anybody had time for that, but movies are cool I guess. It’s weird watching them about aliens, though. I didn’t really care though, I was just happy that we picked something eventually because the first ten to thirty minutes of the whole night is Wheeljack and Bumblebee yelling at each other about which movie to watch. We occasionally get a fist fight too. Granted, it’s obviously play fighting and it’s not like they’re going to hurt each other, but it gets old. However, it’s funny when Bumblebee overcomes Wheeljack because he’s so short compared to him.

Occasionally, one or two other teammates will jump in and give their two cents, but it’s ordinarily between those two dorks. If I’ve picked up on the trend, Bumblebee usually wants to watch violent action movies with convoluted plots (which is surprising, honestly, because he also watches things like cartoons with talking sponges), and Wheeljack is one thousand percent a romantic drama geek. He has this weird attraction toward inter-mythological-species lust. One time he accidentally picked a movie that was pretty graphic in regards to human reproduction methods and it made Hound and Ratchet pretty mad.

Usually it ends with Bumblebee getting his way though, which is cool in my book, because I’m not personally a big fan of rom coms and sparkling stereotypical human males and sexualized characters and so on and so forth; it’s just so weird because they’re aliens. Sexualized aliens. I don’t know how to describe, but it’s like, Cybertronians should be the only ones with a culture. I’ve come across and learned about other species from other multi-verses before, and it’s all the same thing with me, thinking that it’s weird how there are any parallels between us and aliens. But so anyway, we’re watching this pirate movie, and the night goes on like usual. It’s mostly Ratchet criticizing every injustice, Grimlock chastising whatever he feels like too, Wheeljack interjects with his whines every so often, and then Bumblebee and Evac ask a million questions throughout the duration of the film. Things like “who’s the bad guy?” and “what’s going on?” and “so is he dead?” etc, etc, etc.

So needless to say, all of this does not go by peacefully and we all end up getting mad at each other because nobody can keep quiet and usually ends in at least two arguments; whether they’re about stupid questions, or who’s not paying attention, or what’s going on in the actual movie, or whatever. Like I said, I can’t predict these things. I usually end up losing focus on the movie halfway through because of it. The only one that ever stays quiet is Hound and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s trying to stay polite or if he’s just fed up with us all from the beginning and doesn’t have anything to say.

We were all quiet for the last half hour or so of the film, either because nobody felt like debating with anybody anymore or because we were all just really tired. Then after Bumblebee made us sit through all of the credits (because “you never know when there might be a clip”) we all just slinked off to our rooms. As everybody was dispersing, I had asked Hound what the movie was even about and he said he didn’t know. If neither of us is too dead inside on a particular movie night, we’ll stay up and chat a little bit while everybody else goes to recharge. He’s nice to talk to because he’s a listener, I guess, but he also doesn’t make it awkward with one-worded answers. I mean, he’s pretty quiet in general in like a modest way, but he knows how to hold a conversation if he has to.

Speaking of, Wheeljack is a glitch to talk to. On occasion he can actually interest me with whatever he’s saying, but he’s the kind of person that’ll contrive whatever the topic is at hand to have some bearing on him. Usually it ends up doing a three sixty, starting out with him saying something about science/how great he is and then going back, after however long, to him saying something about science/how great he is. I’ve even tried to start conversations not related to either of these things and he’ll legit just forget whatever I was trying to say and ramble about whatever he wants to at the time. I occasionally think he does it specifically to troll me. Ratchet’s a little better, but he’s so pedantic. He always twists something into a lecture about all his medical woes and worries. I’ve been able to hold a few good conversations about other things, but it’s a treasured rarity. Except sometimes we both like talking about what we don’t like about Grimlock, and that’s fun.

With Bumblebee, you can’t get a word in edgewise, but I never expect to whenever I start talking to him. At least with him it’s fun to hear what he has to say, because he’s usually chattering about all of his fantasies and ambitions and some other funny stuff. Sometimes listening to him go on for so long makes me tired, but I guess he’ll grow out of that someday. Contrast Evac, who although is a chipper soul, is kind of ditzy, so conversations with him are just pretty awkward. Besides the occasional silent gap, he’ll also react in the wrong way. Like for example, he literally cannot identify sarcasm for his life.

How do I always end up talking about these losers.

---

It’s like for o’ clock and I woke up and now I can’t get back to sleep but I don’t know what to write about.

For one thing, I vaguely remember having a dream a few minutes ago where we were all in the canyon nearby and one of the Autobots came onto the scene with a pretty simple gun and started shooting everybody. We all dropped like flies too, but I can’t remember whether or not we tried to fight the shooter. Can’t remember who it was, either. I keep thinking it might have been Wheeljack, but that doesn’t seem right. It might not have even been anybody on the team, I dunno. It was freaky, though. And then I remembered it transitioned to me being a girl and I was on the Decepticons’ ship but they were all really brightly painted—in like oranges and pinks and purples and stuff—and I was in a romantic relationship with this guy named Rage Quit. It was weird, nobody better read this.

Now that I’ve jotted it down, I’m actually kind of afraid to try and go back to sleep, lest I should have another stupid dream like that.

I think I just hear a noise outside my room but I’m not sure, and I’m too lazy to get up and go investigate it. It’s a probably a ghost. Frag ghosts.

 

Excellent drabble, Jamocha! Jazz's thoughts and moods were reflected very nicely, as was his opinions on his team, his musing on the war and his bouts of self-assured ego :3

Drabble 31: Singular
(In reference to the recent episode of TFM)

Shockwave's Interrogation Log, Mark 1134. Subject: Examination and Interrogation of Seeker-class vessel crew, ship designated as Darkysde and commanded by Decepticon designated as Starscream.
Prompt; theft and concealment of experimental technology (specifically Battle-Inducement Nodule, one of three prototypes) by crew member of Darksyde designated as Barricade.

Initial crew of Seeker-class vessel designated Darksyde;
Commander: Starscream
Lieutenant: No official document; position often delegated to units Nighttrace/Soundwave/Slipstream.
Crew: Nighttrace (reconnaissance), Soundwave (communications), Slipstream (medical services), Barricade (warrior), eight Seekers (enforcers, drone-type), Waspinator (reconnaissance, drone-type).
Mission: Energy reconnaissance.

Updated crew of Seeker-class vessel designated Darksyde;
Commander: Starscream
Lieutenant: No official document; position often delegated to units Nighttrace/Soundwave/Slipstream/Grindor
Crew: Nighttrace (reconnaissance), Soundwave (communications), Slipstream (medical services), Barricade (warrior), Grindor (engineering), Sideways (support), seven Seekers (enforcers, drone-type), Waspinator (reconnaissance, drone-type).
Mission: Energy reconnaissance.
Fatalities: One Seeker (killed by Autobot designated Grimlock in battle).

It is a rare event for the technology of a Conciller to be withheld from them and yet not be utilised in a particularly treacherous fashion. Most Decepticons credited with such thefts typically attempt to employ their spoils into actions of assassination or mutiny, but this particular example is a simple case of vengeance, which makes condemning the action a tad more intricate an affair than with other cases.

To elaborate on how this situation came to be, I deployed my personal lieutenant, Decepticon scientist designated Airachnid, to the Darksyde in order to test a new invention; three prototypes of a Battle-Inducement Nodule, a device designed to adhere to a Cybertronian's neck and engage with their neural net to provide sensations of rage and battle-lust. The test was simultaneously successful and inefficient; whilst the nodules functioned as expected, one of them was destroyed in battle, the second failed to activate and the third simply vanished.

The cause of the third nodule's disappearance was due to the covert theft of the aforementioned Barricade, who withheld the device for himself until he was deployed on a scouting mission in search of an alleged Autobot solar foundry. Engaging Autobot scout designated Hound, Barricade activated the nodule for use in combat, supposedly to ensure his vengeance against the Autobot, whom he designates as his nemesis.

I find nemesis to be a rather dull concept. To allow a single individual amongst an entire army to disturb you in such a manner is telling of a shallow processor incapable of grasping the larger picture. But I digress.

The revelation of Barricade's theft was uncovered by drone unit Waspinator, the personal supplement to Commander Starscream, who accompanied him on his mission and subsequently recorded the usage of the nodule in combat. Waspinator revealed this to Starscream, who in turn informed the rest of his crew and punished Barricade for his crime.

I am informed Starscream made use of electricity in his punishment. I am bewildered at the sudden brutality of his methods, since he has never before employed such drastic measures, and I wonder if his fragile ego felt intensely threatened by both Barricade's insubordination and the possibility of being punished himself. Regardless, I will see if I can uncover this intriguing change of reaction during the interview. But I digress.

I was informed of the transgression via an anonymous report from the Darksyde, which elaborated on both the crime and Starscream's response. I admit, I was highly indignant at the fact that one of my nodules had been kept from me in such a manner and felt inclined to summon Starscream to Shokaw to inform him of my displeasure both personally and painfully. But I am nothing if not fair, so I decided to interview the crew and determine whether or not they were aware of their comrade's actions and any malicious intentions.

The Darksyde was subsequently summoned to Shokaw, and its crew, excluding the drone units, have been placed into the interrogation chambers for interviews carried out by myself and Airachnid. I am curious as to whether or not Barricade's intentions were as simplistic as the footage suggested or if he had darker machinations, as well as the views of his comrades.

Airachnid has deigned to carry out interviews with Slipstream, whom she shares a history and a genuine friendship with, and Grindor and Sideways, who were recruited by Starscream after the testing of the nodules and thus less likely to have any knowledge of the incident. I would personally interview the perpetrator himself, as well as the commander, Soundwave and Nighttrace.

I began with the latter; her record of competence and loyalty is quite impressive, so I doubted she had any involvement in the crime or any knowledge of it at all until the revelation provided by Waspinator.

--

Interview with Decepticon reconnaissance unit Nighttrace, in regards to Incident 1134, Interrogation Chamber 1-E.

Subject: Decepticon Nighttrace
Spark charge: Positive
Position: Reconnaissance
Rank: Six
Alternate Form: Alien aerial surveillance vehicle.
Other notes: Subject remains airborne at all times via back-mounted wings, subject rarely speaks.

"Hello Nighttrace. I am Conciller Shockwave, Head Scientist of Shokaw, Head of the Abominus Initiative and a personal right-hand of Lord Megatron, Leader of the Decepticon Faction. I'd like to discuss the incident caused by your fellow soldier Barricade, and your personal experience and views of the matter."

The subject nods politely, hovering ever so slightly above the berth. I have been informed of both her aversion to contact with the ground as well as her quiet demeanour. While I am extremely curious over the psychological conundrums to have coerced such dramatic design and a silent outlook, I remind myself to keep to the subject at hand, as well as the fact I should ask questions that can be answered with either yes or no.

"I am obligated to inform you that our conversation is being recorded, and anything you say can be used against you if it is determined you played a part in this crime." I state, preparing my data pad. "However, its contents will only be released if I see fit; otherwise, it will remain confidential and no-one else need know what you say to me. Is that clear?"

She nods. I appreciate her professional demeanour; many Decepticons tend to either cower in fear of me or act disdainful or brutish to try and assert themselves. To begin, I ask her whether or not she was aware that Barricade had stolen the nodule. The subject shakes her head, and I then ask her if she would have reported his theft had she discovered it. She nods.

Whilst I had intended to respect her desire to remain quiet, no interview can remain one-sided for long, and thus I ask her a question she must respond in detail to: "What was your reaction to the discovery that Barricade had stolen prototype technology for his own uses?"

Thankfully, the subject replies promptly, instead of struggling with her silence as some other quiet types tend to do: "I was at first appalled; whilst I find him rather distasteful, I had not imagined even he would ever sink so low as to steal from a Conciller. And then I became nervous; what consequences may his actions bring upon us?"

I accept the answer and write it down; her sense of realism appeared fairly developed, and her notion of being appalled by the depravities of her comrade indicated a reasonable standard on how others should behave. Interesting; not many Decepticons have such an amiable mind-set.

I ask her another question: "I'm informed that in response to the theft, Starscream employed an electric prod to punish Barricade. Your reaction to that?"

"Disgust." She replied. No elaboration was granted, but the sharp fashion in which the subject relayed the word spoke volumes. Her antenna seemed to twitch in a distasteful fashion, and I suspected a sense of deeper disappointment in her commander.

There wasn't much left to question; it was obvious a Decepticon of her rather honest and respectful manner had had nothing to do with Barricade's crime. I thanked the subject for her cooperation and honesty and allowed her to leave, informing her to send in Soundwave. As she left, I offered her a hand to shake, which she accepted, and then I asked her an unrelated question: "Why the hovering?"

Her response was brief: "I appreciate some buoyancy in my life."

Most others would be satisfied with the answer and feel disinclined to question her on the matter again. I, however, am aware that she is lying.

Subject: Nighttrace, confirmed innocent.

--

Interview with Decepticon communications unit Soundwave, in regards to Incident 1134, Interrogation Chamber 1-E.

Subject: Decepticon Soundwave
Spark charge: Negative
Position: Communications
Rank: Six
Alternate Form: Alien luxury civilian vehicle.
Other notes: Subject utilises calm/mechanical exterior to preserve inner feelings, subject's visor tends to reflect emotional alterations.

"Hello Soundwave. I am Conciller Shockwave, Head Scientist of Shokaw, Head of the Abominus Initiative and a personal right-hand of Lord Megatron, Leader of the Decepticon Faction. I'd like to discuss the incident caused by your fellow soldier Barricade, and your personal experience and views of the matter."

He nods. Similar to Nighttrace, the subject is of a calmer and more polite disposition than most, but unlike Nighttrace, his optical sensors are bright yellow. It's a clear symbolism of his past as a Neutral, since he was recruited into our faction not long after the war began from one of the colonies. That said, I am unaware of the exact reasoning behind his joining the Decepticons; all that is known is that Lord Megatron himself was personally involved and has thus declined to enlighten us on his exact reasoning.

I can only assume the matter is a deeply personal and sensitive affair, and thus I refrain from desiring to ask the subject about his past.

"I am obligated to inform you that our conversation is being recorded, and anything you say can be used against you if it is determined you played a part in this crime." I state, preparing my data pad. "However, its contents will only be released if I see fit; otherwise, it will remain confidential and no-one else need know what you say to me. Is that clear?"

"Clear, sir." He replies, his tone rather mechanical. I have heard it said from other Decepticons that this type of inflection, similar to a drone, is a façade the subject employs to make him appear more stoic and obedient than he actually is. With this in mind, I make a note and decide to observe him very closely throughout the interview.

I ask him the first question: "Were you aware that Barricade was withholding prototype technology for himself?"

"I was unaware." He replied. "Though I had suspected Barricade may have been hiding something, I had not predicted it to be the nodule."

"You had suspicions, but you did not raise them to anyone else? Your comrades, your commander?"

The subject's wheels rotated slightly, a subtle sign of agitation, though his visor remained unchanged. He considered his reply, before giving it: "I admit, that would have been the best decision to make, Conciller Shockwave. But I regret to say I did not deem it worthwhile to hound Barricade over his obnoxious manner; I put it down to his usual hostility in regards to be questioned over important matters."

There is a weakness in his tone; a tiny hint of irritation crossed with slight regret. I develop a theory as to why this weakness have revealed itself, and thus I raise it via another question: "You and Barricade are reasonably close, would you say?"

"We tend to spend more time with each other than with the other Decepticons." He replies. "Mostly because we are on an even level unlike our taller comrades and tend to share at least some opinions."

The subject pauses, then adds: "Though I assure you we're just as prone to demean and hate each other as we are to relax together."

I nod in acceptance and note down my thoughts. Regardless of his additional comment, it is fairly clear that Soundwave holds Barricade, even if only on a small level, as a friend, hence that weakness; he regrets prioritising his faith in his friend over the simple logic of taking his suspicions to his commander. A common mistake to make, to value one's companions over the simpler solutions, but it is one I cannot condemn him for; we all have a weakness, one way or another.

So, my own suspicion answered, I change the subject back to the matter at hand: "When you realised he had possessed the nodule all along, how did you react?"

"I was quite surprised." He admits, and the way his visor dims slightly indicates that surprise is a rare experience for him. "I've told you that I thought he may have been hiding something, but I had not imagined the depths of his subterfuge. I felt... disappointed. Horrified. That we may well have brought your wrath upon us over the actions of a... unintelligent design."

"Do you feel he was justified in attempting to use my technology to secure vengeance on the Autobot Hound?"

"No. He put our entire operation at risk, and the most frustrating part is, he refuses to tell any of us the exact reasoning for his hatred of Hound. He hasn't confided anything in us except that Hound has apparently done something terrible to him, but how terrible can it be if we have no idea of its depth?"

He raises a good point. Soundwave always was a more perceptive individual than most. I agree with him in a nod, before replying: "It is indeed a matter of concern when our comrades expect us to take everything they say at face value without explaining themselves. It implies a sense of distrust, a belief or even a demeaning thought that we are incapable of comprehending their feelings."

The subject nods in agreement, and I sense the disappointment he mentioned is manifesting potently right now. As it is, I so not believe he had any involvement in this incident. For a Decepticon renowned for playing the drone, Soundwave can be quite Cybertronian if you have the mind to look closely.

I make a note of this, idly musing that perhaps he should chose his acquaintances more carefully, before I state: "Another question; what was your reaction to Starscream's punishment?"

Soundwave's visor narrows: "I don't approve. Barricade may have been stupid- No, an understatement, he was completely and utterly demented- but what he did was certainly not enough to justify that kind of response."

Defensive now. Despite the doubt he has shown, he remains relatively inclined to look out for his comrade. Admirable. I make a note before I nod in acceptance and state: "Very well. I believe you are innocent of any involvement in this affair. You are free to go."

The subject seems surprised, before he thanks me and moves to leave. I offer him a hand to shake, which he accepts, before I add: "And Soundwave; don't place too much faith in the faithless."

"I'll keep that in mind, Conciller."

Subject: Soundwave, confirmed innocent.

--

After the first two interviews, I convene with Airachnid and we discuss our results. She has interviewed Sideways and Grindor so far, and confirms to me that they had no part in this. After all, they were new arrivals. I note that Soundwave and Nighttrace are not quite as mechanical as they may seem, and she agrees with me, musing that their pasts seem to define their current attitudes of preservation.

The past is always a strong motivation. Of this, I am all too aware.

Airachnid also informs me of Grindor and Sideways' reaction to Starscream's use of electricity. Grindor is discontent with his commander's ability to pas appropriate judgement, and Sideways feels his environment now has an element of paranoid terror to it. If it hadn't already of course, considering his typical demeanour, it certainly did now.

She is to interview Slipstream next, and I in turn am to speak with Starscream and Barricade. I decided to begin with the commander.

And let me say, which every amount of sarcasm intended, that it would be lots of fun.

--

Interview with Decepticon commander Starscream, in regards to Incident 1134, Interrogation Chamber 1-C.

Subject: Decepticon Starscream
Spark charge: Negative
Position: Commander
Rank: Eight
Alternate Form: Alien aerial military vehicle.
Other notes: Subject prone to extremisms in temper, then immediately denying said extremisms; possible case of selective negligence.

"Hello Starscream. I am Conciller Shockwave, Head Scientist of Shokaw, Head of the Abominus Initiative and a personal right-hand of Lord Megatron, Leader of the Decepticon Faction. I'd like to discuss the incident caused by your subordinate Barricade, and your personal experience and views of the matter."

The subject just glares at me. I am all too aware of his dislike of myself, on account of the fact his egotistical perception believes I usurped him of his rightful position of Conciller long ago. A foolish notion; Lord Megatron choses his seconds based on their ability to contribute to the cause, not their own self-pampered views of superiority.

"I am obligated to inform you that our conversation is being recorded, and anything you say can be used against you if it is determined you played a part in this crime." I state, preparing my data pad. "However-"

"Oh, spare me the rehearsals, Shockwave, and just get on with it." The subject snapped, irritated at my obligatory notes. He was always a very impatient creature, and I feel inclined to remind him who is the higher ranking between us. However, it is best not to rise up in anger at the subject's callous demeanour, so I move on and ask him a question.

"Were you at any point aware of Barricade's theft before you recovered the footage from your drone?"

He hesitates somewhat, optics flashing with dislike, before he lowers his gaze and mutters: "No. I was unaware of his crime until I saw Waspinator's footage."

A reluctance to admit any kind of lack of knowledge on his part, especially in regards to his own crew, which in turn implies a reluctance to admit any kind of flaw on his part. The subject's egotism has always been his defining trait, and also his greatest weakness. I am not surprised to see this aspect of him has remained unchanged after so long.

Regardless, I ask another question: "What was your reaction to discovering Barricade had withheld the nodule for himself?"

The subject revs slightly and dully replies: "Anger. I was very, very angry."

Interesting; he rarely if ever admits to some kind of dramatic response, what with his constant attempts to maintain his image as a calm and intelligent commander. I continue: "What about the situation made you angry?"

His response is irritated and aggressive in a fashion that relays how obvious he feels his reasoning is: "Well, wouldn't you feel angry if your own subordinate had put your entire operation at risk solely to kill just one measly Autobot?! The humiliation of knowing they were smuggling prototype technology right under your plating?! The horror of realising exactly what might happen to you and your crew if it was uncovered?!"

The subject revved heavily and continued with his rant: "So yes, Shockwave, I was very angry, incredibly angry, so damn outraged that this worthless insubordinate crass piece of filth had the fragging neurals to betray me in such a manner and compromise my entire operation over his petty rivalry! Believe you me, he's lucky I stuck with a prod; I could have torn him limb from limb for what he did!"

He revs heavily now, his feet flaring jets of flame from the thrusters, his very plating shifting somewhat, before he pauses, closes his optics for a moment, and then mutters: "Sorry. I'm just feeling a bit stressed right now."

I merely shrug. It's another side of his processor for me to document at any rate; a high sensitivity to acts of possible treason, not just because it defies his desire of control, it's a honest fear for his work and cause. How interesting that the subject is simultaneously honest with his concerns and craving for his egotistical superiority to remain intact.

I make a note, before I reply: "It's quite alright. No-one is perfect."

He mutters something, and I inquire him to repeat himself. Louder, he grunts: "Especially not Barricade."

Resentment now. I suspect tensions may run high between the subject and his subordinate for quite some time. Regardless, I stand up and say: "If you insist. The interview is over now."

He's surprised: "What? Already?"

"It is quite clear that you had no involvement in the crime." I reply. "That much is obvious, considering your tendency to, shall we say, let it all out. You're free to go, Starscream. Only Barricade is at fault now."

The surprise lingers for a moment, before it trails into relief (obviously reflecting the superior concern for himself and his operation over his clearly disliked minion), before hardening into indifference: "If you say so, Conciller."

He moves to leave, and I offer him a hand to shake, which he predictably rejects. Nonetheless, as he reaches the door, I ask him: "Your crew have reacted unfavourably to your method of punishment. Why is that, do you think?"

"When the burden of leadership is placed on their shoulders, I'd love to see whether or not they can maintain their old perceptions." He snapped, and then he was gone.

I am intrigued. A statement from Starscream that actually relayed an interesting idea of how views change depending on one's rank. I make a note.

Subject: Starscream, confirmed innocent.

--

Interview with Decepticon warrior unit Barricade, in regards to Incident 1134, Interrogation Chamber 1-C.

Subject: Decepticon Barricade
Spark charge: Negative
Position: Shock Trooper
Rank: Five
Alternate Form: Alien racing vehicle.
Other notes: Subject is prone to outward displays of aggression, rudeness, negligence and insubordination.

"Hello Barricade. I am Conciller Shockwave, Head Scientist of Shokaw, Head of the Abominus Initiative and a personal right-hand of Lord Megatron, Leader of the Decepticon Faction. I'd like to discuss the incident where you stole one of my prototype Battle-Inducement Nodules to satisfy your desire for vengeance against the Autobot scout Hound."

The subject glares at me vehemently. His reputation as a surly and temperamental type precedes him wherever he goes, and Shokaw is no exception. I am well aware that this interview will not nearly be as pleasant and efficient as the interviews with Nighttrace and Soundwave. Regardless, he says nothing and does nothing except glare.

"I am obligated to inform you that our conversation is being recorded, and anything you say can be used against you if I decide to bring this case to Lord Megatron." I state, preparing my data pad. "However, its contents will only be released if I see fit; otherwise, it will remain confidential and no-one else need know what you say to me. Is that clear?"

"Crystal clear." He snaps, his tone as crude as I expected and relaying the notion that he was well and truly viral of this affair. I wonder if it might be a defence mechanism to hide his inner doubts, but regardless, it is time for my first question.

"What provoked you to steal and hide technology belonging to a Conciller?"

His response is quite dramatic, immediately sitting up and gesticulating violently: "Because I wanted an edge, a new weapon, that could let me kill Hound! I wanted to ensure that I would win, that I could finally crush his stupid wortheless spark between my bare hands, and I would have too if it hadn't been for that fragging meddling chopper!"

I recollect the two Autobots the subject mentioned; Hound, infamous for his clever use of holograms, and Evac, a rookie medic employed by the Lieutenant. Hound in particular is important; he is the designated nemesis of the subject, his most hated enemy, and the concept that he stole the nodule purely to kill Hound is not implausible.

As he calms down from his brief tirade, I ask him: "You hold Hound in high esteem, shall we say. What did he do to deserve your retribution?"

The subject glared viciously at me: "He did something terrible to me, pulled me through the Pit and back, and had the nerve to forget his crimes! He doesn't deserve to live, and if it takes my final spark, I'm gonna make sure he pays for what he did! I'm gonna kill him, slowly, and I'll kill all his friends, and-"

"What did the Autobot do?"

He pauses in his rant, before folding his arms and glancing away from me, muttering: "None of your business."

"It became my business the moment it motivated you to steal my technology. I am not asking for your life story; merely a clear reason."

"Fine. If you really want to know, Conciller-" The subject imbues the rank with such venom, it would seem that Concillers are as highly regarded by him as much as the Autobot he seeks to annihilate. "-I'll tell you. Do you remember that science facility that had to self-destruct because its supply of filthy Insecticons got loose and started fragging slaughtering everyone?"

"I remember."

"Well, guess which Autobot set up that carnage in the first place, oh, and guess which Decepticon said Autobot left to die there! I'll give you a fragging hint, Mr Logic; ME."

Now this is a surprise, and I rarely get surprised. I had not expected that the Decepticon before me had been the lone survivor of that event, nor had I expected it was the Autobot Hound who had been responsible for his suffering. This certainly explains a lot.

But one discrepancy is apparent; I point out: "You don't resemble the Decepticon retrieved from the wreckage."

"They had to re-do me, cover me up in places." He snorted, before locking a challenging glare at me, a sort of sadistic smile on his mouth. "Would you like to see what's hiding underneath, Conciller?"

His attempt at intimidation is annoying. I lean in close and murmur: "Only if you are willing to see what I am hiding as well."

His moment of defiance, the one advantage he thought he had, vanishes, replaced by uncertainty, before he regains his crude demeanour and revs, grudgingly submitting in face of my reversal. Excellent; despite Soundwave's noting him as unintelligent in cases, at least he is fully aware of his place.

I lean back and ask: "So, your intentions with the nodule were to simply kill your opponents, not as a form of treason in any fashion?"

"Of course." He grunts. "I'm not interested in leading. I just want to kill Autobots. I figured your gadget would make that easier."

"Despite the fact it is an offence to a higher-ranking Decepticon to withhold their property?"

He doesn't reply, simply glaring. How shallow; focussing merely on his own violence than basic logic. Well, as I contemplated earlier, we all have our weaknesses. The subject's just happen to be more obvious than others.

Regardless, I state: "Well, fortunately, I have no intention of punishing you. At least, not yet."

He seems surprised, before again masking it under that glare. Whereas Soundwave and Nighttrace value stoicism as a defence, this one focuses on plain aggression and hostility to avoid seeming weak. Of course, Nighttrace and Soundwave may actually have sensitive reasons behind their façade. This one is just a brute.

Regardless, I continue: "The readings I gained from the nodule are absolutely phenomenal; unlike any test recording I've ever seen. The neural stimulus is off the charts, the emotional frenzy is a chore to comprehend and the motivation behind it is all so damnably simple. Quite frankly, you've made the nodule react in a way even I did not conceive. Everything was exaggerated, furious, to the point your own systems seemed to have trouble maintaining it."

I lean in close to the uncertain Decepticon and state: "I want to see more. I must uncover the exact reasoning behind your psyche's effectiveness in utilising it. So, here is my proposal for you, Barricade; return to Earth, and take the nodule with you. Continue to test it for me, continue to provide me these interesting results, and I will graciously wipe all charges off the slate."

He considers this, than tentatively asks: "So what you're saying is.... If I go back to Earth, and I keep using that nodule against the Autobots, and I just send readings back to you whenever, you won't dump my aft in Polyhex or something?"

"A simplistic way of putting it, but that is correct."

His expression immediately brightens, a frenzied smirk of anticipation spreading across his face, no doubt imagining being able to relieve the frenzy I observed in the drone's video against his enemies, mauling them as viciously as he did the scout. And he says: "Well, I'd have to be as dumb as Soundwave to refuse! You've got yourself a deal, Shockwave!"

I refrain from noting the moronic notions behind implying a character like Soundwave being dumb considering his own processing levels, but I nod and reply: "Excellent. In that case, the interview is over. You are free to go-"

He jumps and leaves the room before I can even offer to shake his head. I shake my head; were it not for the necessity of uncovering the enigma behind his impressive connection with my Battle-Inducement Nodule, I would have certainly, as he so eloquently put it, dumped his aft in Polyhex.

Subject: Barricade, confirmed guilty. Punishment has been withdrawn on accounts of desire to continue testing effects of Battle-Inducement Nodule upon the subject.

--

With the final interview, I again convened with Airachnid, who was pleased to report that Slipstream had had no involvement with the shock trooper's crime. Her tone is genuinely pleased as she speaks this, and I am reminded of her rare compassion for her old friend. Considering Airachnid's typically aloof and sadistic aspects, this is an interesting alternate side to her. I make a note of this, before informing her of my final decision.

I have decided to clear the Darksyde's crew of all charges and allow them to return to the planet of interest they are currently examining, but in exchange, their shock trooper must continue to make use of the Battle-Inducement Nodule and produce further results for myself to study in order to improve upon any flaws in the design and such.

Airachnid is bemused by my mercy, but she nevertheless agrees with the logic. She also agrees to re-join the Darksyde in order to keep an eye on Barricade, as well as Starscream, whom I suspect has suffered a recent fracture to his psyche. I have always been intrigued by the conundrums of another's processor, and this may be an interesting topic to study.

Regardless, before I allow him to leave, I inform Starscream of my decision and my requests; predictably, he is disgruntled, but he nevertheless accepts. I suspect he hopes to ensure a clean record for himself by doing this, which would prevent any impediment to his quest in becoming a Conciller. I doubt one of his temperament and attitude will ever reach the position, but it matters not.

What matters is that I get what I desire, and for his sake, as well as his crew's, he would do well not to displease me.

 

I love and miss doing these................I'll do one later

 

32: Changing Tides.

A sequel to Jamocha's Inevitable Change, an AU where Hound, trapped in a virtual reality by Shockwave, experiences a Cybertron where the Decepticons have won and joins an Autobot resistance group led by an older and changed Bumblebee. Hope it goes well!

"Evac's coming back in." He heard someone mutter, possibly Cliffjumper. "If we're lucky he'll have some supplies. If we're unlucky, he's a Decepticon wearing his shell."

Someone reprimanded him, but Hound remained ignorant, silently fiddling with his energy pistol. The weapon was the same it had even been; a slim and lightweight tool, silvery in colour and smooth. Hound gave a soft rev; of all the things in this dark new world, why is it that this weapon, this device designed to kill and maim, was the only thing that made sense now? Everything was different save for the weapons used.

The door opened, and Evac stepped in; he had shed his Earth mode for a Cybertronian quad-jet transport, and it was bizarre to see him like this; his proportions were slightly different, his arms longer, the jets settled on his back like those old rotors and his colouring was a deep navy-blue instead of the bright orange he used to wear. His head remained unchanged, the one part of a Cybertronian that never changed, but the optics...

Bumblebee, the Bumblebee he used to know at least, had always placed such faith in the optic's ability to convey things the body or the voice would never say. And Hound can see now that Evac isn't the same person he used to be either; optics were dimmer, clouded. His optics were dirtied by dust, and they were dirtied by the harsh reality of this world ruled by Megatron.

In his arms were a few crates, and the other Autobots came over to him, relieving him of his load and opening them, eager to see fresh Energon cubes and extra weapons within. Cliffjumper expressed his impressment on how he had pulled this off, Hot Shot was desperately calling dibs on the strongest gun and Kup had to yank the crate off of the smaller Autobot lest he set it off or something.

Evac shrugged and noted: "It wasn't hard; it was just left out there, along with a bunch of mangled corpses and Insectoplasma. I checked it over for tracking devices, none. Probably just a brief supply trip that went the wrong way."

Hound bowed his head in shame. In no just universe should Evac, always the lovable and ditzy and friendly rookie, ever have to sound so... broken. So disinterested with his occupation, with his mission, with even his life. Bumblebee had been forced to mature during Megatron's victory; Evac had merely retreated into his shell.

If only he hadn't vanished. If only he'd been strong enough to win, to win whatever battle had cost him his memory for so long...

"The Insecticons are getting restless." Kup stated dully, sitting back down with an Energon cube clutched in his hand. "They're coming up to the surface more and more often these days. Megatron hasn't bothered purifying the underground, so they're gonna keep coming up to find food. Reminds me of the time me and some Wreckers fought a bunch of drones in the Sea of Rust, we were trying to reach the old ruins for any kind of new advantages before they were upon us-"

As the other two immediately requested for the older Autobot to shut up lest he bore them all to death, earning an angry response in turn, Evac turned his head his optics met Hound's. They stared at each for a moment, before the medic's gaze fell to the floor and he shuffled away.

Hound thought his spark had broken when he had seen what had become of his beloved apprentice. Evidently, there was still another crack in it waiting to split open for when he saw what happened to Ratchet's own apprentice.

It seemed he found a new victim of this war every day.

"Do you think he's justified?" A voice asks, and Hound tilts his head to take note of Wheeljack moving over to sit next to him. The tow truck is the only one of Bumblebee's resistance, as well as the Beetle himself, to have retained his Earth mode, and quite frankly, the only one here who hasn't completely succumbed to despair.

With a plop, the inventor settles next to him, idly waiting for an answer, which the jeep softly gives: "I'd sooner blame myself than any of you."

A chuckle: "Exactly the kind of answer I thought you'd say."

"I'm surprised, Wheeljack." Hound admits, casting his comrade a bewildered glance. "I honestly thought you'd have the same views as the others."

"What, that you stuck us up? Left us all to suffer? It wasn't your fault; Shockwave was the one who captured you, put you through whatever Primus-damn torture he could think up and then left us with nothing but a loose visor. Put plainly, I blame Shockwave for what happened to you, not you."

Hound managed a weak smile: "That's refreshing."

"The problem is, Bumblebee never thought like that. Most of them didn't. They got it into their heads that you died, and when you came back, they couldn't handle being wrong so they put it into their heads that you abandoned us. Primus forbid we blame Unicron before we blame his victims." The tow truck shook his head in disgust, before continuing: "The thing is, Hound, you know me. I've always been one to go with the flow, no matter where it actually flows."

"Do you think you can overthrow Megatron?"

"Primus no. He's got entire galaxies bent to his will, and we're a group of less than ten hiding out under the ruins of Iacon, barely able to communicate with other resistance pockets and barely able to keep ourselves alive, never mind fight him. If you ask me, we'd have been better off stealing a ship and blasting off to some faraway corner where, ideally, we can live out the rest of our lives with some sense of freedom."

"You'd abandon Cybertron to Megatron?"

"I would." Wheeljack revved softly. "I'm not stupid, Hound. It's us against the entire Decepticon armada, and who knows when an Insecticon horde might burst in and eat every last one of us...." A pause, before he added: "But Bee won't. He couldn't. He's optimistic, I'll give him that, and he won't stop fighting until either Megatron falls or he does. And well.... no matter how unrealistic it is for us to win, I can't abandon him or the others, you know? I suppose I'd rather die with my friends than live in isolation."

Hound stared at him for a moment, before he murmured: "I'm going outside. I need a drive, I need to think..."

Wheeljack stared at him, bewildered, before he deduced the reasoning behind Hound's sudden desire to leave: "You can't blame yourself for all this, you know. One Autobot couldn't have stopped what Megatron did."

"In an ideal world, one Autobot could...."

"The ideal world died a long time ago, Hound."

"I know.... If Bumblebee asks, I'll be back soon. I'll stick to this area. If I'm not back in thirty minutes, something's either distracted me or killed me. Hard to tell which anymore."

With that, he turns and heads for the door. The others stare after him, probably wondering if he'll pull another disappearing act on them. He doesn't look back.

--

Iacon is a ruin now. Bombed into rubble and dust, the once pristine silver now the dark browns and blacks of rust and soot. There is Energon stains all across what remains of the main road, acid-burned holes where Insecticons have emerged, collapsed buildings and mountains of rubble littering a once great city. In the black polluted sky above, Decepticon drones scout the wreckage, constantly scanning for any Autobots to capture or kill.

Hound doesn't care for them; his hologram generator bypasses their basic sweeps, blending him into the environment, and he is free to drive as he pleases. Though to be honest, this drive is hardly the reassurance he so desperately wanted it to be and was more along the lines of getting away from it, getting away from a tormented Evac and a disillusioned Wheeljack and all the rest of them.

He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand what it had all become. Everything was gone, every hope they had was gone. The Autrio was dead, their armies wiped out, Critico seized and all that was left of their faction was pockets of resistance, struggling to hide never mind fight.

How could it have gone so wrong? How could he have failed to have been there for his friends? Jazz was dead. Ratchet was dead. Grimlock had vanished. Bumblebee told him what had become of those who were absent from his group, and each name struck Hound's spark with the unrelenting force of pain. The pain brought on from guilt, from failure and from despair.

His comrades were dead. The others forced into hiding on a planet ruled by a tyrant. And he... he hadn't been there. He had never been there for them when they needed him most....

The jeep drove into a dark alley, away from the drone's probing searchlights, shifted into robot mode and slumped against the wall. A low moan as he clasped his head in his hands and he murmured: "Why? Why does this have to happen? Why does Megatron have to do this?"

So much destruction and death, and yet even in victory, Megatron refused to fix what he had broken, to clean the sky of fire and acid and wash the land of Energon and rubble. He had Cybertron bent to his will yet he continued to keep it the desolate wasteland it had been transformed into.

And for what? To demoralise the resistance? To show off his power and confidence? To force his enemies into desperate measures? Hound knew why Megatron had started the war, and yet he had no idea why he refused to truly end it....

The Insecticons were uprising. Other Decepticons had to be getting restless over the continued suffering of their home. Suriving Autobots would fight harder and harder. What was Megatron doing?

"Can I sit next to you?"

He reacts swiftly, immediately drawing out his energy pistol, but the voice moves even swifter, slapping the gun out of his hand and shoving him against the wall before his movement to get up is even finalised.

Slammed against the wall of the alley, he gives out a grunt of pain, before his optics take in the figure above him and he freezes, optics widening in surprise before he finds his voice and asks: "Arcee?"

The speedster, assuming she still retained that title, smiled grimly at him, before handing him back his pistol and replying: "Don't make such a ruckus, Hound. Would hate to draw in an drone armada so soon after meeting you again. You've been gone for quite a while."

He doesn't reply for a moment, simply staring at her. Last he saw her, she'd been in pristine condition, healthy and vibrant. But now? Now her purple paintjob was dark and muted by dust, her frame bearing multiple scars and dents and where her left optic should be, there was just torn metal. In short, she'd looked like she'd gone a few rounds with a Marauder, and given the circumstances, she may well have.

She sits down next to him, nearly as tall as him but much slimmer, her legs double-jointed, and she gives off a soft rev: "I know, I don't look the best right now. But it's okay; I may be a wreck physically, but my psychological state is actually fairly intact."

She turns her head to him, the jeep shuddering at her missing optic, and asks: "And what about you, Hound? Last I heard, Shockwave killed you. Bumblebee was torn apart by it. We all were, really. And yet here you are, looking pretty well."

"It's hard to explain." He muttered. "One moment I was in Shockwave's lab, the next, I was waking up to this. I was lucky Bumblebee found me when he did." He hesitated, before continuing: "Even with the war in effect, Cybertron's different. I wouldn't have survived long if he and the others hadn't found me."

"He's a good Autobot." Arcee murmured. "Dumb, but good."

"And what about you, Arcee? What happened to you? Why aren't you with the others?"

"What happened to me? Well, I considered joining his resistance, fighting the good fight and all that, but it dawned on me that I really, really didn't want to. So I went solo. It's easier for someone of my talents to look after myself rather than others. But as you can see...."

She gestured to her damaged body with a short chuckle, before she continued: "It didn't always work out so well. I got this-" She pointed to her missing optic. "-after I forgot to listen out. Stalker jumped me, but luckily for me it was too hasty; it had already torn it out before it could inject the venom. It hurt like the Pit, let me tell you, but one optic is all I needed to watch it burn after I tore it apart."

She smiled to herself, and Hound asked: "But I don't understand. If you stayed with the others, you could get repaired, you could have a chance to turn this around, make sure Megatron can't maintain his tyranny. What are you hoping to accomplish all on your own?"

She gave a whimsical sigh, her smile shifted into a bizarre kind of peace, and she replied: "Bumblebee is good, and Bumblebee is dumb, and while that might work for him, it doesn't work for me. The war's over, Hound; Megatron's won. A rookie and his bunch of friends can't change that. Nothing can."

"Arcee-"

"No, hear me out, Hound. Ever since I was sparked into this war, grown into another soldier to toss at the Decepticons, all I've ever dreamed of is for it to end, for a winner to emerge so I can finally, finally quit it. Quit the fighting, quit the suffering! And this is it, Hound!" Her expression is delighted now, and she's on her feet, gesturing before the stunned jeep with gusto. "Someone finally won! It's over! I'm not obligated to play soldier for the Autrio anymore!"

She clenches her hands into fists, the thrusters on her shoulders puffing out pink jets of flame, before she rambles on: "What do I hope to accomplish? Eventually, inevitably, there's going to be an actual ship coming here, maybe a fleet of them, intending to burn it to the ground even more, and when that day comes, I'm going to steal one and I'm getting myself off this rock. I'm going to fly somewhere faraway, away from all this slag, and I'll finally, finally be free."

She leans down, her single optic bright with demented eagerness: "This is all I've ever wanted, Hound. It may not be the side who sparked me that won, but at least someone won. I don't have to fight them anymore. I'm just going to survive, and I'm going to leave, and whether it's a day or an eternity, I'm going to live the rest of my life away from the planet that stole my future for an extra soldier."

"Arcee... you..." Hound muttered, barely able to comprehend her. "You can't just... can't just leave them-"

"I asked if they'd come with me, if they'd escape with me. Believe me, I asked. But he said no. He said he'll fight to the end. And that was it. I left, and I've never went back."

"There are things worth fighting for, aren't there?" Hound pleaded, as she stood up, apparently and suddenly losing interest in the conversation. "How can you live with yourself, abandoning Cybertron to Megatron?"

"I'm rather live without a cause than die for a failed one, one that was never mine to begin with, may I add." She stated coldly, her enthusiasm bubbling over into distaste. "Why else did Grimlock vanish? He saw the pointlessness, and he became the monster we all knew he'd been holding back for so long. He might be dead now, but at least he'd have died without clinging to a false hope."

She revved sadly, before moving to the alley's entrance: "Wherever you were before you woke up, you should have stayed there. Maybe you could have saved yourself some disappointment."

"Arcee." He murmured, reaching and stopping her by gripping her arm. "How can you ever leave them to die?"

She turned to stared at him, before giving a cold laugh: "Don't you get it, Hound? Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, Evac, all the others; they're already dead. It's just the coffins don't fit them right now."

And then she flickered, and then she was gone.

And Hound fell to his knees, wondering how it could have all come to this, and desperately, desperately wishing he could cry.

Just a single tear. Anything to let out the pain.

And yet there was none. He couldn't cry. Cybertron couldn't either.

Author's Notes: Quick drabble for Jamocha; hope it's acceptable, even if lacking in Bee.

 

33: Sparks and Hearts

Valentines Day special, featuring Barricade egotism and shenanigans! Enjoy!

Ordinarily, the most intelligent and handsome of the Decepticons aboard the Darksyde- Nay, the most intelligent and handsome of the Decepticons ever to exist!- was the type of individual who found indulging in the customs of clearly inferior species to be a colossal and ludicrous waste of precious time that may be more productively spent dismantling and degrading the pathetic little Autobots.

But even the lustrous form of Barricade himself, gleaming beauteous sunset crimson and moonless night black, with eyes that smouldered with his unending passions and superiority and a body that reflected everything powerful and graceful regarding Barricade, supposed that maybe some alien customs were more productive than others.

Take Valentines Day, for example, an event the humans utilised to celebrate the joys of love and to insult those who hadn't found a mate. The latter concept he found highly amusing, because it provoked his laughter at their pitiful misfortune, and the former, well.... Let's just say that even an individual as self-sufficient and independent and glorious as Barricade occasionally felt the need to indulge in whatever wonders existed in another virtuous character.

In this case, the fair and amiable lass they called Slipstream.

Ah, Slipstream. Normally, she could be as irritating and demeaning an individual as the other troglodytes whom the generous Barricade had deigned to share his well-kept ship with, but there were times when she rose above her primeval instincts and displayed something as wondrous as a rising sun. Her voice was a soothing wind brushing over a wide open field of fresh flowers, her optics the very heart of the greenest supernova, her frame a symphony of shimmering glossy black metal and her personality an endearing and adorable little sight that could warm even the coldest of sparks.

Ah yes, when she wasn't part of that primordial sludge, she was truly something to behold. The noble and courteous Barricade was a Decepticon of restraint and subtlety, but even his impressive self-control felt challenged by that wondrous flyer. So, it would she who he would woo on this day of significance to those dirty little primates.

Valentines Day had many suggestions for how to woo one's desired, and the handsome Barricade, who an intelligent and innovative individual himself, had decided to humour the Earth planet and take some of its advice. After all, Slipstream was the most welcoming of alien cultural holidays and such a display of open-mindedness was sure to earn her respect.

Valentines Day recommended the use of simple letters that had writing in them, writing that contained all the feelings of romance and desire and lust and affection, writing that would be sure to grant the reader emotions they had never felt in such intensity before! The highly literate and educated Barricade was very good at writing such things, so he used his superior stealth to steal some spare supplies from the engineering hulk and remake them into a letter substitute. Using his scythe as a pen, he began to carve words into the first step in wooing the beautiful Slipstream-

Someone knocked on his door, and in his moment of irritation, the grand and glorious Barricade declared, his voice holding all the authority and divinity of a deity: "Leave me be, intruder, I am indulging in activities beyond your comprehension."

The silly sap ignored his decree and entered his quarters regardless; ah, it was the blue simpleton that he occasionally hung around with. What was this sap's name again? It sounded like soundsomething. Soundwave, possibly. How drool.

Regardless, the blue simpleton asked, his voice squeaky and pitiful: "BARRICADE, wat r u doing 2day? We has been veeeeeery curieous ovur wer u hav been latelee."

The ever gracious Barricade enlightened his inferior comrade: "If you must know, Soundwave, I am preparing something of great importance to my personal endeavours. As such, it is none of your business and I must kindly request you leave my presence."

Soundwave always struggled to grasp basic concepts, and thus he inquired: "wat do u mean, o fantaboulouslee awesomeness BARRICADE?!"

"You shall find out soon enough." The mighty Barricade declared, setting his work done in a secure compartment for later. "In the meantime, I must collect another item to fulfil my objective. Fare thee well, Soundwave."

He swaggered past the simpleton and walked through the corridor, another idea coaxed from his marvellous processor. Another tradition on this day of Valentines was to present the target of your affection with simple botanical reproductive organs.

AKA flowers.

Barricade, for all his reasoning and logical capacities, was unsure why humans were so obsessed with presenting items of their affection with the reproductive organs of plants (perhaps implying something maybe?) but he supposed it would have to do. It was a tradition, after all. A quick ground-bridge to Earth would secure him some flowers, and that would another endeavour completed.

Obviously, it didn't have to be particularly extravagant. A simple card and flowers were often enough to suffice for young humans, so he supposed he would keep it simple, at least until the next Valentines Day. Excellent strategy, oh wise and great Barricade.

Within the control room of his ship sat the egomaniacal fool Screamstar. Or was it Starscream? Barricade had trouble remembering nothings and more nothings. By him was the hovering one, Nighttrace, and around the control room sat those simple Seekers, who never did really seek for anything except who could be the most sycophantic towards the fool who assumed he commanded Barricade. Ah, Barricade was a generous chap though, and thus he indulged the insignificant jet's delusions.

A brief thought reminded him that the hovering one was also female and that he could well attempt wooing her in addition to the beautiful Slipstream. But then the savvy Barricade remembered her crucial flaws; one, her dislike of basic speech and conversation. Two, her unfortunate fondness for the foolish screamer.

And three, the fact she had a tail instead of legs. Barricade had heard the humans had similar problems with those elusive mermaids, so he decided to avoid that hassle.

Starscream noticed his arrival with a rarely seen display of basic observation and squealed in the most audio-grinding voice ever to spawn from the Pit: "BARRICADE, u've been in dat room of urs 4 like aaaaaalllllllllllllllllll day! Wat u been up 2?!"

"I've been settling some personal matters, Starscream." The smooth Barricade replied smoothly. "And in order to complete that endeavour, I request a ground bridge to Earth in order to conduct some basic observations."

"Butt BARRICADE, if u do dat, da Autobutts wil detect da grund-bridg signull!"

"Calm yourself, Starscream, I assure you it won't take long at all. And even if any Autobot interferes with my work, particularly that slimy snivelling squirming snot Hound, I will simply dismantle them with my typical flair and efficiency. Relent your doubts and grant me passage to Earth."

"ok, butt don't screw anyting up!" The foolish incompetent so-called-commander squealed, as the flutterer fluttered over to a console and tapped some coordinates into it, creating a majestic portal that reflected of Barricade's sleek and strong armour. He knew that Nighttrace was swooning in the face of his illuminated beauty, and he knew she would forever regret that her flaws were too potent for him to acknowledge her primordial desires. Oh well.

As the intelligent and savvy Barricade had assured the squealing fool, his trip to Earth was short. He stepped into a forest, collected a collection of particularly colourful flowers and promptly requested a bridge back to his fine ship. His measly minions obeyed and he returned to the Darksyde with satisfaction boiling through his neurals and a sense of near-completion soothing his processor.

"Wat did u do on da Earf, BARRICADE?" Starscream squeaked shrilly, and the highly focussed Barricade neglected his foolishness in favour of leaving the control room and returning to his lustrous quarters. The flowers he had snuck onto the shop were swiftly placed into a makeshift vase, filled with a bottle of water he'd stolen from someone or other, and he grabbed his letter from its compartment.

At last, the great and glorious Barricade was ready to grace Slipstream with an aspect of his affections, a deed so noble and heavenly it would be as if Primus himself had descended to place a kiss upon her hand. Assuming Primus had lips, but that was besides the point.

Deeming himself ready, the intelligent Barricade promptly cloaked under his impressive cloaking field, deciding it was not worth having to deal with the constant bludgeon of questions from his less intellectually gifted companions. Slipping through the hallway with all the stealth of a ghost's shadow, the quick-witted Barricade made his lustrous way to the med-bay, where the subject of his rare displays of mortal affection awaited.

Upon reaching it, he ensured no-one else was around, before he knocked twice then knocked thrice upon the door.

"Who is it?" The golden tones of beauty and acceptance cooed from within. The great Barricade tingled slightly under her voice, before he called out, glorious and proud: "It is I, Slipstream, Barricade, here to deliver onto you a gift from the depths of my pulsing spark!"

She squealed in delight and opened the door, admitting his excellence to her chambers. Decloaking, he strode into the med-bay, bearing his great gifts. She stood by one of the berths, graceful and poised even in her most non-formal attitude, her optics shining bright like stars streaking through a forest, and she was positively adored to have his presence by her. The noble Barricade stepped forward and declared:

"Oh fair Slipstream, I, the grand and glorious and almighty Barricade, have seen fit to take advantage of the cultural phenomenon currently sweeping amongst the measly humans to deliver to you a token of my all-consuming affection for you. Behold, a letter depicting a literal interpretation of my affections for you and a vase full of flowers to symbolise my plant powers. Of affection."

Slipstream cooed in delight at these gifts, accepting them gratefully and graciously from the oh-so smooth Barricade, stating: "Aw, BARRICADE, this is so sweet of you! I'm delighted that you're being so open-minded and thoughtful of other planet's customs."

He just smiled and awaited yet more praise.

"This is very lovely, BARRICADE. I'm going to add these to my collection."

Wait what?

Collection?!

For the first time since he had entered, the horrified and still very handsome Barricade realised there was a massive pile of Valentines goodies, ranging from gigantic fluffy pink teddy bears to huge fluffy heart-shaped pillows and all sorts of chocolate-shaped Energon bits and a multitude of letters, each so much sweeter in their fond notes than the last!

"WHAT THE FRAG IS THIS SORCERY?!" The shocked Barricade shrieked, his righteous fury echoing across the universe.

"Oh, someone's been ground-bridging me these treats all day!" Slipstream giggled. "I don't know where they're from or who's sending them, but they're just so sweet! I think I have a secret admirer- BARRICADE?"

Barricade was a Decepticon of many talents, and rage-quitting so hard he knocked the door down in his violent exit is one of them.

--

Wheeljack was quite perplexed: "Bumblebee, you've been using the ground-bridge all day! How come? And heck, what's with all this lovey-dovey stuff?"

Bumblebee didn't even look up from the pile of letters he was writing in, next to a pile of fluffy toys and pillows and the like, as he cheerfully answered: "Oh nothing, Wheeljack. Nothing at all.

--

The blue simpleton Soundwave found the much more handsome and intelligent and powerful Barricade lounging over one of the consoles, playing Auto Combat and drowning his potent grief in needless violence. He sat down next to the glorious Mustang and asked: "Y r u so sad naow, BARRICADE? U were muuuuuuuuuch mor cherfull dis murning!"

"Shut your fragging mouth, Soundwave."

 

Soundwave often contemplated the oddity of Earth’s inhabitants’ seemingly perverse culture. While he concluded that it was inevitable that an alien race would have adapted habits that were curious to a foreign visitor, he was perpetually perplexed by but a few particular contingencies. Specifically, he would ponder that questionable attraction—he may even call it an obsession—with their personal methods of sexual intercourse. He thought it a reasonable effort to endeavor at empathizing and perhaps adapting the quirks of these small and abundant organisms; however, some things he failed to completely comprehend.

Of all the people that he expected on his team to immerse themselves into the perverse ways of humanity, Barricade was among the last of them. Soundwave felt little shame in “snooping,” as some would call it, in the former’s personal files, for it seemed perfectly rationalized in his processor when he conceived all of the reasons that Barricade was a satisfying victim. Not necessarily victim, however: only if he successfully discovered material to use against him. For all of the distasteful actions and dialogue the shock trooper had blurted out in the duration of his acquaintance with Soundwave, the occasional peering of personal folders was entirely justifiable. Especially when Soundwave was trained in communications: it was important that he gathered and guarded information.

He went back to his curiosity regarding human sex drive. It would seem that the boisterous Barricade took some kind of interest in at least one factor of this cultural integral. He wasn't sure if it was a fetish in the latter or a mere curious infatuation, but, either way it was perfectly fine to use against him.

“Barricade,” he had said, approaching the latter at a counsel on one idle afternoon.

“What?” the Mustang grunted, not looking up from the screen before him.

“I would like to consult you briefly on a somewhat disconcerting matter.”

“Whatever, spit it out.”

“I feel the need to question your seemingly strong attraction to the graphic nature of the humans’ sexual photography.”

There was a short moment of silent contemplation, Soundwave eagerly watching his companion’s face contrive from brief thought, to stricken surprise. Barricade stared blankly at the screen for a moment, the anxious expressive ridden hilariously over his face plates and Soundwave waited quaintly behind him, his hands folded importantly behind his back.

In an instance less foreseen than it should have perhaps been, Barricade sprang up from the chair with outrageous velocity and practically jumped on Soundwave’s chest, bringing him forcefully to the floor with a metallic clang.

“You went through my personal files!”

Soundwave hardly moved under the wait of Barricade kneeling on top of him. “I may have been doing some system cleaning,” he said, the intonation of his voice showing no sign of disconcert. “Too much storage in the drive slows down the computers, you know. “

“You slag sack!” Barricade yelled accusingly, leaning in farther towards Soundwave’s face. “I can’t believe you did that! Those are fragging personal, only an inconsiderate dolt would look at somebody else’s own folders!”

“I’m merely curious as to what your attraction is to sexually appealing images involving half-aquatic models.”

“They’re called mermaids,” Barricade angrily corrected, pressing his hands into Soundwave’s shoulder plates. “They’re pictures for important research so that I’ll be prepared to find them as fast and as efficiently as possible when I go the Earth,” by now he had assumed an air of condescension over the communications officer, leaning back to tip his chin and fold his arms whilst still sitting on top of the latter.

“That’s interesting,” Soundwave asserted with facetious stoicness. “I assume, then, that you wouldn't mind if I disclosed your innocent immersion of these images with other members of the team…say, Slipstream—“

“No!” Barricade suddenly screeched, falling forward again, pushing his hands back into Soundwave’s shoulders as if hoping to shove him through the floor. “Fragging—I don’t want anybody to know about this! If she or anybody finds out, they’ll probably steal my findings and go to find the mermaids for themselves!”

“So you insist that your collection of these pictures had nothing to do with—“

“No it doesn't, shut the frag up!”

“I’m telling.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“You won’t.”

“I will.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Worth it.”

“…What’s going on…?”

Both figures, slightly terrified, looked in the direction of the sudden approach of a familiar voice, a weak and timid one, owned singularly by the diminutive figure standing in the entrance, Sideways. Barricade’s optics were wide and anxious at seeing the little worm standing there; the squirt had already asserted his opinion towards the “weird” relationship between Barricade and Soundwave. And here was Barricade, sitting on top of Soundwave, leaning towards him, the ambiguous discussion of what else but porn being disclosed between the two.

“Sideways, guess what—“

“Soundwave, shut up!” Barricade screamed, shoving both hands over his companions’s mouth plate.

Soundwave reached up and yanked Barricade’s offending claws off his face. “Barricade has p—“

“I said shut up!” Barricade screeched again, attempting again to muffle his comrade, although this time, Soundwave retaliated. In a frighteningly quick instance, either figures were rolling around outrageously about the floor, their servos flailing at one another with spare snippets of speech erupting from the cluster;

“Barriace has—“

“I’ll kill you—“

“You should see—“

“You manipulative fragger—“

“You’re just mad because—“

“I will find the mermaids—“

Sideways watched, optics wide in terror. These two never failed to horrify him whenever he was in their presence, each simultaneously contributing their own inputs into the relationship that Sideways simply could not decipher for the life of him. Growing progressively more afraid of the escalating scuffle, he slowly began to back out on his single leg, before turning a full three-sixty degrees and charging down the corridor at full speed to consult Grindor about this.

He could hear the clangs and shouts from the two far behind him.

 

35: Serpentine

Based off an excellent doodle spawned with Energon Waffles  

The Autobot was in a bad position, as the system's star began to set over the edge of the forest, casting the planet in darkness. This sector's unit, supposed to set up outposts to secure a decent fortification in the area, had found themselves assaulted by a group of Decepticons when they'd been scouting out potential building sites. One by one, they'd been picked off by the hunting Decepticons, and now this Autobot was the only one left.

On the bright side, the Autobot had evaded the Hunters (for what other group could be so efficient and methodical in the forests of the great Swollen Plants?) and escaped into the foliage. The Autobot had a chance to survive. But on the downside, that depended on whether or not escape from this damnable forest was possible.

The mud slurped up to the knees. The vines tangled and twisted. The leaves clung tenaciously to armour. And the Swollen Plants themselves were a nightmare; if you so much as brushed them, their sickly thick trunks would spray a viscous goop to deter contact. The Autobot was struggling now, plodding haphazardly through this damn swamp. Of all the planets to try and civilise, Gairatic was possibly the last place any self-respecting civilisation would consider. Bah.

But, the Autobot considered, it was better to plod through it than stay behind and fall prey to the Hunters. Those brutes were good at their job, admittedly; no-one had even caught sight of one as they fell to the gunshots and the slit throats and the envenomed valves. Terrible things to have seen, the way the others had died.

But the Autobot had survived, and that's what mattered. Still, maintain a tight grip on your grenade launcher; you never know when another enemy might appear.

Gairatic's ecosystem was reasonably silent as the Autobot shifted through the muddy water, simple swimming creatures darting around the metal invader before treating into the roots below the surface, simple crawling things scuttled through the vines and branches and there was an occasional squeak of some nocturnal creature hunting for prey.

The ripple of water. The squeaks and chattering of little organics. Wind brushing through leaves. Very simple sounds. The creatures here would be better at detecting any Decepticons than the Autobot, and so attention was paid to them; if they fell silent, then it meant another metallic being was around.

The Autobot plodded on. The Autobot had to survive. No matter what.

A faint rattling. The Autobot paused and listened. Now, Gairatic's ecosystem did play host to a rattling organism, a stocky four-legged creature that brushed sharp scales on its back together to form a rattling noise, designed to intimidate potential attackers. That was all well and good, until you realised that those particular beasts did not live in these soaking swamps, preferring the neighbouring grasslands.

So what was rattling?

The Autobot turned around slowly, assessing the environment. No sign of anything, yet the organics had gone silent; the rattling was as alien to them as it was to the Autobot. Where was it coming from? Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

Tentatively, the Autobot plodded on, keeping a steady finger on the grenade launcher's trigger. If it was a Decepticon, they'd only be getting a big fragging explosive shoved into their face. The thought was comforting, though somewhat dulled by the reminder of how easily the others had fallen-

The rattling came again. Closer this time. There was a metallic edge to it; definitely a Decepticon then. The Autobot spun round, scanning the environment intently; still no sign. The murky water and the dark conditions made this all the more difficult. What a time to have decided against getting a thermal vision upgrade.

Again, the rattling. And at last, the Autobot pinpointed the source; behind a nearby Swollen Plant, a bizarre black thing was shaking softly, protruding from the water and clinking components together to produce that rattle. Narrowing optics, the Autobots aimed at with their grenade launcher, but then the device shifted backwards a little, covered behind the plant.

Annoyed, the Autobot adjusted their position, slogging through the water to get a good aim at the rattling thing. It must be some type of drone designed to track Autobots in rather gruesome conditions, using the rattle to draw them out or track them with echolocation or something. Well, a quick grenade will sort it out.

The rattling drone wasn't moving now, simply rattling away. The Autobot took aim; didn't need a strong grenade for this. Just a quick tier-5 would take this little thing out. Take aim and-

Red optics flickered menacingly in the Autobot's peripheral vision. Realisation; the drone wasn't a drone at all. It was just a distraction. Too late, the Decepticon lunged; a bestial head framed with skeletal struts, and lethal fangs sunk into a shoulder. The Autobot howled in pain, batted the attacker away. Repelled, the Hunter slunk back into the water, vanishing into the murk.

The distraction rattle thing vanished under the water as well.

The Autobot staggered, the wound immediately and terrifyingly flaring up in a wave of agonising pain that seemed to burn from directly within the very valves. Cyber-venom! It was burning through the Autobot, impeding physical systems and over-stimulating pain receptors, and the Autobot staggered backwards as the pain shorted out the legs, the grenade launcher dropping into the water when the Autobot's hands were overcome by the pained shaking.

The rattling sounded again as the Autobot crashed into a Swollen Plant, ripping open the side of the plant and spilling fluids over the shaking chassis, flooding into the ambient water as the venom continued to spill agony into the processor.

The Autobot knew death would come to it now, when, through the pain, a sinuous metal form began to curl around the Autobot, pinning the limbs and withholding the shaking. The head of the killer came into view, some kind of beast without limbs, bearing fangs, those struts and the flicker of a crimson appendage from within the mouth.

The murderer's head tilted, the hint of a smile playing over bestial jaws, and it spoke, voice gentle and feminine: "Mm. Thought you might have lasted a little bit longer."

She shook her head, as if disappointed in the Autobot, stating: "How boring."

The pain was wearing off now, but there was no hope regardless; the Autobot's systems were fragged, too slow to recalibrate, no weapon for defence, pinned in the Decepticon's coils. No hope now.

The Decepticon raised a tail from the water, and at the end protruded the black apparatus, rattling softly before aligning itself with the Autobot's face, revealing the spiked mace at the very tip. The Autobot's optics widened with horror, as the Hunter stated sweetly: "Don't worry; if I'm not too careless, this won't hurt a bit. But I won't make any promises."

The mace reared back.

--

Lockdown glanced up at the sound of his comrade's distinctive rattling, observing the serpentine Decepticon slithering towards him, satisfaction gleaming in her optics. The serpent's body was slick with whatever muddy waters she'd had to swim through, a portion of her body was coiled around and dragging along what looked like a particular large grenade launcher and her mace was rattling away at the end of her tail.

"For you?" He asked, gesturing to the weapon in her coils.

"For you." Rattlemace replied sweetly, rearing up to be on optic level with him, tongue flickering at her jaws as the purple Hunter granted the commander a cold smile. "Thanks for letting me take the last one."

"You were better suited for the environment."

"Of course."

She relinquished the weapon and he picked it up, idly assessing it and wiping away any stray fluids from it, murmuring its capacities and capabilities under his breath, before nodding his approval and sheathing it onto his back.

She moved to slither past him, but he added: "You forgot to clean a part."

She tilted her neck around and glanced at what he was pointing to; ah, her mace was still dirty, wasn't it? How silly, to have forgotten to wash it off in the swamp, contradicting as that sounded.

"So I have." She purred, cheerfully scraping her weapon along the grassy ground to wipe it clean of the bits of cranium lodged onto the mace's spikes. "Even in death, the Autobots are always so persistent in their futility."

"Of course."

"I'll give the last one this, mind you; didn't scream, didn't beg. Quite brave, I dare say. Did you catch its name?"

Lockdown simply chuckled, tapping his new grenade launcher fondly on the barrel. "Autobots are not names. They are trophies."

 

36: The Rock

BRINGING IT BACK FROM THE DEAD.

Takes place after recent events.
Edit: Fixed some spacing errors.

__________________________________________________________________________

There never was such thing as peace and quiet anymore it seemed; for all the original mission's supposed simplicity, the atmosphere on the ship seemed to grow progressively staler as time pressed on, the company of each individual relentlessly more tense. As a scientist, Wheeljack could understand the inevitable qualms that were inherent of a situation in which individuals were confined to interact with each other almost nonstop; of course they were going to get antsy. But if just being around each other too often wasn't enough, recent events certainly took a turn for the worst and expectantly doubled any unrest that there already was. Even in the hallway toward the back of the ship now, as he made his way to his private quarters, could he hear the jibes and arguments resonating from the interior bowels. He wasn't sure, by this point, whether or not the noises were residual.

His hydraulics squeaked wearily as he approached the door, the raise of his hand lethargic as he moved to punch in the code so that the keypad would recognize him and grant him admission. The day's activities hadn't been the most taxing experiences that he had ever been forced to endure, but the poor morale that settled like floating dust all around him seemed to deplete his energy faster than any physical phenomenon. It probably did for everyone, he supposed. Or maybe he was just getting old and it was just his imagination.

He stepped into his room as the doors swished open and absent-mindedly threw a PVC pipe off to the side that he had carried back as a discarded carnage from his lab. For no discernible reason, he had stopped dead in his tracks after that moment, keeping his optics locked on the pipe where it had fallen, rolling up against another pile of junk that had a similar fate. Of all the bots on the ship, he imagined that he probably had the messiest quarters; as a habitually recycling builder and inventor, he hated to throw anything out and all of those materials had to go somewhere. True that he could at least try to organize them instead of just tossing them aside until further notice, but he found that having his stuff laying all over the place instead of tucked away made it easier to keep track of everything.

He cycled his vents and let his hands, which had been gripping his hip plates, fall to his side. Tuning his senses to work his way in, he barely made it a few steps toward his berth before he pulled up short, his optics staring wide at the sight ahead of him.

"What the--"

Wheeljack blinked and then put a servo to his helm as though trying to dislodge the confusion that buzzed inside of it. He was way too slow for this kind of thing today; no way that he placed a huge pile of rocks in the dead center of his room without being able to remember it. He momentarily went through his memory banks to be sure that he never tried anything with geology since they arrived on Earth; no, he certainly hadn't. Maybe he was actually going crazy.

The span of befuddlement morphed into spite the longer he thought about it. First of all, it would have been nice to know who exactly had gone into his quarters and dumped a bunch of rocks in there, and second of all, he would like to know why the frag anybody would do that. Literally the entire circumference of the center of his floor was piled up with rocks from the variety of boulders to pebbles and he sure as heck wasn't going to be the one that cleaned it up if he wasn't the one responsible for it being there. He had enough of a mess in his room to worry about before this happened.

"You kept saying I owed you a rock."

Wheeljack flipped around as fast as the voice had appeared, the sound of it forcing him to brace himself which subsequently led to him scolding himself for being so skittish. He relaxed as soon as he saw the figure leaning in the entry frame where the door hadn't closed yet.

And then his face fell in realization.

"Are--are you serious?" the inventor sputtered, both more and less angry than he wanted to sound. The ambivalence of his emotions was likely germinating from several perspectives; he was surprised that it was apparently Hound that would make such a mess of his room, of all people. At the same time, he was mad about it. But subconsciously, he didn't want to be too mad...because Hound was going through hell and it showed in his face and his posture all the time, no matter how much the scout tried to make sure it didn't. The last thing he probably needed was for one of the only other sane people left on the ship to reprimand him for pulling a practical joke.

"Yeah," Hound eventually said, his weak form silhouetted against the backlight of the hallway. His voice was a little hoarse, but more audible than it had been for the past week. "So I got you a lot of rocks. That ought to set you up for a while."

Wheeljack sighed, looking back at the rocks and then toward Hound again, feeling a protectiveness that was weakening his determination to be agitated in spite of himself. "I guess you think you're funny."

"Yeah. I'm hilarious."

Wheeljack's brow furrowed at the short response; the denotation of it was something humorous, but there was no humor at all in the scout's voice. Perhaps there was supposed to be, but any such effort to be sure of that was wasted by the seemingly perpetual lack of energy. Wheeljack nearly cringed at it; nobody would probably ever get used to Hound seeming so vulnerable all the time. And the latter's constant denial of that only ever accentuated it.

"Are you even supposed to be walking around?" Wheeljack suddenly said, edging toward the door somewhat. "It's late at night. You of all people should be recharging. Take it from a scientist."

"Just when I thought I had escaped Ratchet's wrath." Again, perhaps the comment was supposed to be comedic in a way. But it only came out with a melancholy disparity.

Wheeljack sighed again. He lessened the distance still between himself and his fellow scholar and braced himself to drag Hound in or out if he had to. "If you're going to be here, then at least come in and sit the pit down already. You look like you're about to keel over."

Wheeljack had reached for Hound's servo, but the scout shook it off. "No. I mean, no thank you. I was just stopping by. I'll clean up that mess for you later if you want. But you can't tell me that I owe you a rock from now on."

Hound made a movement to turn and leave, but Wheeljack caught him by the arm just as one of his legs had unwittingly buckled and Hound's vents had contracted, causing him to grunt painfully as the inventor forcefully hauled him up and started to drag him into his quarters. With hardly any wind in him or reason to care much about it--didn't really make a difference to him if he was being bombarded by Ratchet or Wheeljack at this point--Hound allowed Wheeljack to pull him in. The quirky scientist was probably better company than the paternal medic anyway.

"You're so full of slag, you know that?" Wheeljack remarked unapologetically as he lowered Hound into one of the seats on the perimeter of the earthy mess in the center of the main room.

Hound grunted as his hydraulics adjusted to the new position, but didn't try to retort. His face contracted with the pain of the movement, although he had willed himself to keep his eyes open through it.

Wheeljack sat down across from him, kicking a pebble with his pede. "When was the last time you got any recharge?"

Hound cycled his vents, not making eye contact with his company. He went through the motions of this potential conversation in his head, the one that he had already had with Jazz, Ratchet, and even Bumblebee, who had become way more avidly protective ever since Grimlock's incident. In his experience, it always went one of two ways--he could tell the truth and say that he hadn't really gotten much recharge at all since he had been attacked about a week ago...or he could lie and say that he did and then get called out on it and reprimanded for lying.

Entertaining these notions, Wheeljack already picked up on the conflict and responded before Hound could. Maybe he was intuitive enough to know that the scout had already gotten all of this paternal nonsense from most of the other bots on the ship and nothing anybody had said so far was enough to make a difference. "You know...I would have expected this from almost any other bot on this ship, plus Kup's lackeys. But you? I didn't think you're the kind of guy who's all for practical jokes."

Hound chuckled at that, toying with something tiredly on a stand next to the chair. The laughter had caused some pain in his chest and he couldn't help but cringe at it, but hoped to Primus that was inconspicuous enough to not warrant more authority. "I guess that's because you don't know me well enough yet. You should have seen some of the things I did back on Cybertron."

"Seriously?"

"One time, I had loosened Jazz's hubcaps while he was sleeping."

Surprisingly, perhaps out of sympathy, Wheeljack uncharacteristically humored the conversation. Not to mention that he was genuinely interested about this bit of unfounded knowledge. "What? No you didn't. No way."

Hound smiled, still toying with the little trinket on the table. "Ask him." He nearly added, ‘where do you think bumblebee gets it from?’ but stopped himself.

"And so how did you get a bunch of rocks in here anyway?" Suddenly, Wheeljack's voice went back to being authoritative. "You didn't leave the ship this past week, did you?"

Hound rolled his optics. "No. I already had a collection for studies that I was willing to dump out. The other bigger ones...well, I did get help with those."

"From who?"

"It would be unfair to him to just give out names."

Wheeljack inwardly attempted to deduce who could have been the one to assist Hound with his grand idea, to little avail. With all the tension that had been lingering around recently, it would hardly seem that anybody would be willing to humor him with such shenanigans. At another time, the inventor might have suspected Bumblebee...but now, that seemed unlikely. If there was anybody beside Ratchet that was being adamant about keeping Hound grounded in the med bay or in his quarters during his recovery, it was the newly wayward apprentice scout.

“Alright, whatever,” Wheeljack replied submissively with a roll of his optics. “But what did I do to deserve this anyway?”

“I told you. You said that I owed you a rock. So I got you a ton of rocks.” Hound raised a fist to his mouth and coughed into it, which braced Wheeljack. The fit ended after a short time to both bots’ relief and Hound leaned back as if tired by it and continued, this time more somberly. “Just trying to have a little fun, I guess.”

“Hmmph. Smooth.”

Hound’s mouth played at a smile, but his face fell suddenly. “This way you’ll always have at least one rock. Even when I’m not around anymore.”

Wheeljack nearly jumped at such a remark as it registered, a swarm of repugnance causing his brow to narrow…frustratingly, without consequent amendment from his company. “Wait, what—“

“I’m just saying,” Hound defensively cut off. “Just in case.”

Wheeljack’s tone escalated to something frantic, as though he was trying to assert his argument while simultaneously resigning himself to the scout’s thesis. After all, this was war. And as the team had recently witnessed, even the strongest of the strong die from it. Regardless, Wheeljack leapt to the contrary. “Oh, please. You’re not going to die from this.”

“No, no, not from this,” Hound quickly agreed, his voice weakened and quieter than it was before. “But you never know what could happen.”

“Hound, you need to stop thinking like that—“

Hound tried to dismiss Wheeljack’s franticness with a wave of his hand. “Wheeljack, don’t read too much into this. Really. I just wanted you to get your rocks. That’s all.”

Wheeljack leaned back into his seat, suppressing any regret that he might have felt from having accentuated any despair that was already here in the presence of one of the last people on the ship who needed it right now. Regardless, he couldn’t just let go any of the implications that were brought up.

“But you’re not okay.”

Hound’s head swiveled to look up at Wheeljack for the first time since he had been dragged into the room, but the inventor interrupted him before he could say anything.

“And don’t try to tell me that you’re fine. I know that you’re not fine. I can tell.”

Hound’s expression became unreadable, almost hurt in a way and it took Wheeljack aback. Inevitably, he had caught Hound by surprised, which, as he thought about it, wasn’t too astounding. From day one when he had come out of his coma, Hound had been assuring everybody who inquired that he was just fine and that he was ready to do whatever he had to do. Of course Ratchet didn’t buy into attestations to his physical wellbeing but didn’t press further than that; and Wheeljack wasn’t sure if Bumblebee had caught onto the façade, but his main issue was making sure that Hound never got so much of a scratch on his paint. It was almost humorous in way, but then again…it really wasn’t.

“Look, Hound—“ Wheeljack tried again, gentler than before but not without authority.

“We all just want you to be okay. But it’s painfully apparent that you’re not, and I’m not just talking about how you can’t make a lap around the ship without almost passing out. Probably from all that sleep that you’re not getting, I may add…”

Hound’s face barely changed. His uncharacteristically innocent optics remained locked on Wheeljack’s. Maybe he was intrigued, maybe more surprised, maybe too tired to retort.

“I’m probably the last person that you want to be hearing this slag from,” Wheeljack admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “So…look. Just know that…that if you ever need to , you know…talk to anybody or whatever…get something off your chest…I’m always…I guess we’re all always, ah—“ Wheeljack loathed at his rueful attempt to verbalize his compassion; he was never good with this mushy stuff. “…Just know that I’m here if you ever want to talk. You know. About…anything, I guess. Including rocks.”

At that, Hound smiled which Wheeljack never thought he would be so relieved to see.

“It’s, uh, nothing I haven’t really heard before,” the scout said and Wheeljack nodded almost shamefully. “…but, I really appreciate that, Wheeljack. For all your quirks…you really are a good friend.”

Wheeljack jokingly flipped a hand at that. “Ah, don’t get all soft on me—wait, ‘for all my quirks?’”

Hound “ahem”’d into his fist.

Wheeljack prepared to go off on a tangent, but a familiar voice suddenly broke into the atmosphere with the static distortion of a comm. link.

“Ratchet to Wheeljack. Do you read?”

Wheeljack spared a questioning glance at Hound and then raised his servo to his mouth plate to respond. “Yeah. What’s the matter, Ratchet?”

“Have you seen Hound? His comm. is off and I can’t find him anywhere. Nobody’s seen him.”

Hound cringed and sighed sharply at soon as his name had been spoken. Wheeljack raised his optics to exchange a look with the scout and took in one warning glance before preparing his reply. “Er—no, I haven’t seen him. But if I do, I’ll bring him up to the medbay…kicking and screaming if I have to.” With that, Wheeljack winked at his company, earning another smile.

Ratchet cursed something silently on the line. “Alright. Thank you, Wheeljack. Ratchet out.”

The link dropped and Hound leaned forward, placing his hands on either arm of the chair. “I think that’s my cue,” he said with a grunt as he forced himself shakily to his peds.

Wheeljack leaped to his own. “I’ll walk you.”

“No, that’s fine—“

“Um, no. I didn’t ask for permission. I’m walking you.”

Hound looked ahead into space submissively, not bothering to resist as Wheeljack approached him and pulled his arm around his shoulders, slipping the other onto the scout’s back and guiding him toward the door.

Wheeljack was surprised by how much Hound was actually leaning into him as they exited his quarters. “Jeez. Ya know, the walk from the medbay to my quarters is pretty long. How did you even get down here?”

“Ah—“ Hound stopped early-reply to suck air in through his denta when a pang of pain erupted in his chest. “—shut up.”

“Hound.”

“What?”

“Ratchet’ll take care of yelling at you more and stuff when we get up there, so…thanks for the rocks.”

Hound snickered, the motion causing him to momentarily lean further into Wheeljack when a wave of dizziness washed over him. Maybe the inventor was right…maybe the lack of sleep was just as harmful as everybody said it would be and he was always too delusional to recognize that for himself. That didn’t mean that Hound had any intention of acquiring it in the foreseeable future…but he resigned himself to his fate in the medbay regardless, where he knew Ratchet would probably sedate him anyway.

“Yeah…no problem, ‘Jack,” Hound finally said, slurred and tired. If there was one thing he was glad he could get off his chest, it was just now he would never have to worry about owing the mad scientist a single rock.

 

I didn't know you wrote drabbles!

Big brother Grimlock! That's new. I approve.  

Maybe its explained in your other work (it probably is), but why does Grimlock seem to talk intelligently, but still refers to himself in third person? Any particular reason for that?

Either or, I liked it. Very cute.

 

37: The One Where Another Hound Beats The Shit Out Of Barricade.

Author's Notes: Shameless random AoE pseudo-crossover where the fat ballerina delivers some much needed pain to the Reaper.

One day, Barricade was driving along a long and lonesome road in order to contemplate some things to himself without fragging idiot Lamborghinis to annoy him or fragging idiot medic jets to lecture him. Without such fools to distract, Barricade could at last turn his thoughts to more productive matters, such as how to make a game of kicking Autobot's innards around and how to capture mermaids.

Yes. Truly productive matters indeed.

Suddenly, his scanners detected a bizarre energy surge, similar in composition to that of a space bridge but yet disturbingly twisted. Barricade paused for a moment, determining that the anomaly was coming from somewhere over the dusty plains to his right. If he wanted to, he could drive right over and reach it within minutes. It could be fun! Or stupid. Who knows.

Of course, the Darksyde had most likely picked it up as well and thus he'd probably just get a call from that moronic waste of jet fuel Starscream to go check it out anyway. Damn he hated that con. Well whatever, he might as well check it out, if only for something else to do other than lament the lack of Slipstream/Airachnid yuri.

So, he drove off the road and headed off towards the source of the weird signal. He drove and drove and drove and when he got there, boy was he in for a surprise. Sitting in a heap of weapons in a smoking crater by some big old mountains was a Cybertronian, but arguably the weirdest Cybertronian he'd ever seen, excluding that weirdo Nighttrace.

This Cybertronian was kind of green like Grindor, but its face looked like some sort of human with a big wiry beard, with a bullet sticking out of a mouth, and there were bags and ammo belts all over it and its torso was thicker than Airachnid's head, with legs squat, arms pretty long and overall looking rather armoured. Huh.

In hindsight, Barricade would suppose it would be rather hypocritical to judge a member of a shapeshifting species to look different, but currently he was just bewildered and bewildered Barricades say what they wanna say without a care in a world.

So he asked: "Who the frag are you, how did you explode this slag and who in their right processor gave you so many guns?!"

Bewildered, the other Cybertronian turned at the sound of someone talking and, upon noticing the vulgar crimson robot, replied: "Hell if I know, I was just driving around one day, slitting throats and taking names, when I suddenly exploded or something."

"What a painfully generic origin story so generic it honestly makes my sense of imagination want to go stuff its rear end into Insectoplasma." Barricade huffed. "Well whatever. Who are you anyway? Robot Santa? You look like Robot Santa except green like weird human vomit and with way more guns."

"Man your ass just loves to go on and on, doesn't it?" The mystery robot replied, getting back up onto its feet and scratching its rear, idly dusting itself off and checking the bags on the rotund abdomen. "I'm Hound, who the hell are you?"

Suddenly, Barricade froze: "Hound?!?! HOUND?!?! HOOOOOOOUND!!!!"

Hound raised a brow: "Is that a problem?"

"It is a problem! You're Hound! My nemesis, my hated enemy, the one Autobot above all overs I must kill with my bare hounds- I mean hands! This is another one of your stupid coward hologram tricks, trying to fool me! Well, think again Hound you fragging fragger you! I'm going to tear your increased mass a new one!"

The robot Santa did not approve of such threats being flung at him, immediately assuming a fighting pose: "You wanna try and mess with me, you red-wrangled piece of crap? I'll take a grenade and shove it so far down your throat so hard you're gonna be choking pins and pooping shrapnel!"

"You will know me by my name, Autobot filth; BARRICADE! THE REAPER WHO WILL CLAIM YOUR SOUL!"

"Yeah, that's nice and everything, but I'm a fat ballerina. Let's go then, you barricading reaping hardass!"

Round 1, FIGHT!

Hound swung forward in a powerful punch that had Barricade leaping back to dodge it. With a screech of fury, he lunged forward onto the Autobot's torso, attempting to claw at him! But his armour was thicker than anticipated and thus Hound was able to wrangle the Decepticon off of him and toss him away.

Barricade landed on his feet and charged again, but this time Hound was ready with a flurry of punches at his smaller foe. The Mustang twisted and turned to avoid these attacks and lashed back with his claws, scratching at his foe's armour. Alas, Hound caught one such attacking appendage and flipping Barricade over onto the ground hard.

With his foe downed, Hound raised a foot and stomped on him to pin him down. Struggling against the heavier robot, Barricade suddenly realised that his opponent's foot was a tire.

"Oh nooo, did you just fragging tire me?!?!" Barricade shrieked. "I WON'T STAND FOR THIS!"

Violently struggling, he managed to kick himself free of Hound's pinning foot and roll back upwards, pulling out his Shredder shotguns and aiming them at the damnable Autobot.

"Woo damn, nice guns you got there rookie." Hound offered, before yelping as he had to roll to the side to avoid the blasts sent at him. Luckily, his impressively round frame enabled to roll with more easer than other robots, allowing him to keep ahead of the Decepticon's wild shots.

"How the Pit am I not hitting that a target that big?!?!" Barricade protested, before Hound rolled to his feet and whipped out one of his ammo belts, using it as a whip to knock the guns right out of Barricade's hands. "Ah, what the frag?!?! You made me drop my guns that were gonna kill you, you inconsiderate jerk!"

"And so the pot talks crap to the kettle." Hound scoffed, retracting his belt and putting up his fists. "Come on, little con, fight me robot-to-robot!"

"Yeah frag that. Taste my scythe, you bloated pile of Theritron excretions!"

Barricade whipped out his scythe, extended the chain and swung it at the bulkier robot, who was forced to duck backwards to avoid it. Enraged, the Decepticon swung it at him again and again, Hound managing to use his ballerina talents to avoid each attack before finally catching the blade in his hand!

"What the frag?! Hacks!" Barricade protested, just as Hound thundered: "GET OVER HERE, BITCH!"

He pulled the Mustang over to him via the scythe and deliver a punch to his abdomen so hard it practically caved in at the hand. As Barricade dropped down, sputtering and whining and losing grip of his scythe, Hound tossed the weapon aside and delivered a punch to his foe's face that cracked the outer armour.

The Decepticon fell back from the hit but managed to fling himself back upright, as the Autobot snorted: "Not much of a reaper without a scythe are you, Mr Loud and Annoying? Why don't you give up now before I really have to kill your ass?"

"The Reaper does not surrender to Autobot scum!" The con shrieked angrily. "The Reaper will have your damn spark, Hound, you piece of molten slag straight from Grimlock's ugly maw!"

With that, he activated his cloaking device and vanished into thin air.

"Aw crap, cloakers. I hated this part of that one game." Hound sighed, as he assumed a defensive pose and circled the area, keeping an eye out for any sign of his crude foe. Carefully he analysed the dusty landscape, fists clenched tightly in anticipation of any kind of attack.

And an attack there was, a battle cry sounding from behind him and the sensation of claws digging into his back! Ow, the little crap was trying to claw into his back!

"Nobody can save you now!" Barricade shirked, latching onto his struggling opponent, determined to rip into him! "Prepare to be reaped, you fragging troglodyte spawn up Unicron's exhaust!"

"Your language is bad and you should feel bad!" Hound retorted, before flinging himself backwards, crushing Barricade beneath his robot fat on the hard ground. Satisfied that his foe was stunned, he got back to his feet and darted over to the crater, deciding to finish this fight once and for all!

Barricade got back up, shaking his head in disorientation, only for his optics to widen in shock as he saw what he saw before him.

"Aaaah, minigun, little bitch!" Hound hollered as he pulled up said minigun and immediately unleashed it upon the shocked Decepticon in a storm of firepower! Bullet after bullet after bullet riddled the unfortunate Mustang as he jerked this way and that in his unfortunate circumstance, squealing and swearing as he got further and further perforated.

"I'm the fat ballerina, bitch! Hell yeah!"

Eventually Hound ran out of ammo for the minigun and thus his cartoonish and exuberant assault was cut short. With this done, Barricade was now quite literally a Swiss cheese of a robot, trembling and barely able to stand with so many holes shot through him. That he was even alive was miraculous and oddly convenient.

Still, ever the moronic antagonising antagonist, Barricade saw fit to sputter: "You damn dirty Santa coward! When I stop bleeding out of every newly acquired orifice I'm going to feed you that damn gun, I'm gonna rip your valves out and your optics and replace them with each other so you bleed out your eyes and see your own innards getting torn apart! I will destroy you, I WILL FRAG YOU UP-"

Hound just gave a hearty chuckle as he stood before the bullet-ridden Decepticon, dumping his empty gun onto the floor: "Right, whatever you say. Well, now that all's said and done, I gotta hurt you now. You're just too damn insulting to live."

With that, he got his cigar and idly flicked it at such a an angle and force that it ended up jamming right into Barricade's right optic. Barricade squealed at such an intrusion and hollered, hand coming up to clasp this dastardly projectile: "OH MY OPTIC! MY POOR SWEET OPTIC! YOU FRAGGING JERK! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?!"

"You. You are everything wrong with me. Somehow. Don't think about it too much." Hound said, casually striding over and flicking the cigar lodged in the car's eye.

Immediately, it activated in a burst of miniature firepower and promptly and gratuitously exploded Barricade's head in a burst of torn metal and Energon in an impressive display of robo-gore. Barricade's body stumbled around for a bit a bit at the whole head-exploded thing, arms pointlessly flailing around, before finally collapsing over onto the floor, continuing to twitch and squirm.

Content with his brutal yet immensely satisfying victory, Hound drew another bullet cigar from an ammo belt and nestled it in his mouth, offering a final word to the corpse: "And that, children, is why we don't talk crap about our fat elders."

Hound wins! Fatality!

"Wait, who the crap is saying this stuff? Ah, this place is weird."

Hound then exploded back to whatever universe he came from. Which is probably for the best considering how easily he killed this bad guy and ergo could probably kill the rest of them easily, so, yeah, whatever.

 

Forever AOE Hound bro