So, came inside, did ya? None of these oneshots are really in line with any one universe, and a lot of them came from the transformers pairing crack generator. Once I saw a few of the things it came up with, I had to write something. :)
Namely, this is for my own amusement, and to keep me procrastinating! No, really, I do it when I'm feeling in a silly mood. So, updates could be (read: will be) sporadic.
If you want to send in requests, go right ahead!
I like the title – its lame, I know.
DISCLAIMER – I do not own any Transformers at all. This applies for the whole story, such as it is...
Warnings: None that I can think of...
Prompt: Tracks / Red Alert / defiant
The blue corvette stormed down the halls, optics flashing with rage. He'd just gotten back from a mission – a filthy, dirty mission that involved checking for Decepticon activity in a swamp. A swamp, of all places. Prowl was just jealous of his shiny paint, and was getting his revenge in that sneaky, underhanded way of his. It had been impossible to stay his gleaming, polished self.
He'd hand his report in after he was clean. No one should see him while he was so filthy.
Hound – his partner for the mission – had loved every second of the swamp, the crazed fragger.
Tracks thought that Ratchet had left a few screws loose from his last examination.
Upon return, the first thing he did was go to the washracks, and clean off all the disgusting organic junk. Then he ran into a snafu – namely, the premium grade wax that he used to keep looking so perfect, was gone. The wax had special nanites in it to improve and boost the lustre of the paint, which made it doubly expensive.
Immediately, his thoughts jumped to the other mech on board the Ark that might have pussy-footed off with his precious wax.
Sunstreaker – the mech was even more self-obsessed than himself. True, the golden mech might be shiny and pretty, but it wasn't validated.
Anyone with a clear processor and working optics could tell that Tracks had the better form and paintjob. Really, Sunstreaker was just flogging a dead horse in hoping that others would cow to him – that, and the mech would pulverize anyone who said differently.
Tracks sniffed, before comming Sideswipe, the little bastard who he knew had taken off with his wax.
-Sideswipe, I know you pander to Sunstreaker, but doing your brother's dirty work is just despicable.-
-Huh? Tracks, I think you've cracked,- the red mech sent back, sounding confused, the glitch.
-My wax,- he sent back pointedly.
-What about it?- The red twin still sounded confused.
-Don't play coy, it doesn't suit you,- he sniffed.
-The frag are you on? I haven't touched your wax,- Sideswipe sent back, starting to sound irritated. –'Sides, I'm on a mission with Sunny. Have been for three orns now.-
The little twit was lying, clearly. He'd probably had someone else abscond with his precious wax to draw suspicion off of his little red-afted self.
He dropped the comm. link, determined to go to Prime himself if he had to. That wax had cost him a fortune, and he was not going to let it go this easily.
His perfect finish deserved only the best, after all.
Stalking the orange halls – orange, really, who came up with that eyesore? – he prowled down to the Security Director's room.
If anyone had video of the room, it would be Red Alert – and there had to be video detailing who had taken the wax.
He commed in, -Red Alert to Tracks. May I speak to you about a… delicate matter?-
There was a moment of silence, in which he waited outside the door, knowing the mech was probably just being paranoid, again.
-Very well,- the Security Director finally answered.
Red Alert met him at the door – a crazed mix of locks, scans and wires criss-crossing the area in front of him. The mech himself was barely poking out of the room, optics focussed nervously on the blue mech. Cameras lined the walls behind him, detailing the daily lives of the mechs who lived in the ARK
"Red Alert, I was hoping you could help me," he started, trying for some suave charm. Who wouldn't find his blue and red paintjob appealing?
The Security Director twitched. "Nothing you say will change my mind," he said.
Tracks felt his faceplates crinkle slightly in consternation, before smoothing them out. Crinkles in metal would be so unfortunate on a vision of perfection such as himself.
"It's nothing illegal – I just want to view the camera of my room for the duration of my mission," he cajoled, trying to convince the mech to help him. Surely, Red would see the importance of him staying as gorgeous as ever?
Immediately, the mech was screeching, "Security breach, security breach!" at the top of his vocal output levels. Tracks winced, dimming audial input swiftly. He did not need to see Ratchet about his audials – the mech had a thing for chucking wrenches, and his paint was too perfect to dent.
"What the slag, Red?" he growled out, wondering if Ratchet needed to take another look at the frantic Security Director. Red continued screeching, and frantically comming Prime.
"We have a breach, Prime! And the perpetrator's confessed! I'm coming up to your office now!"
Warily, Tracks eyed the mech that had appeared to 'help' Red Alert.
"Don't touch my paint – it's freshly washed," he sniffed, looking over Inferno's dulled paint. Clearly, the mech had no idea what wax to use to best suit his paint. Poor fragger. Not everyone could look as good as him though, clearly.
Inferno shrugged his shoulders – a human gesture he'd picked up. "Red's a little tempermental today, sorry."
Red and Inferno escorted the confounded Corvette into Prowl's office – were they actually taking this nut seriously? No one as beautiful as himself could be a spy – it was impossible.
This settled it – Prowl was still jealous and making him go through with this farce due to his rampant jealousy.
Prowl sat behind his desk, white and black paint gleaming in the lighting. Immediately, he was comparing it to his own usually lustrous paint. His came up lacking against the Datsun.
Had Prowl taken his wax? And was now hauling him in to rub in the difference in their glossy paint?
That must be it.
Prowl spoke. "Tracks. You have not handed in your report from the last mission."
He pulled the datapad out of subspace, and handed it to the second in command wordlessly.
Prowl placed it on top of another one, and then set Red Alert with a steely look.
"You say there is a security breach?"
The red and white Security Director nodded frantically, eyeing Tracks mistrustfully.
"Yes, Prowl! I have evidence!"
"Evidence of what?" Tracks managed, wondering why this had to happen to him. If he was polished and waxed, he was sure that this ordeal wouldn't feel quite as terrible.
As it stood, he couldn't bear looking at Prowl – the shiny, fresh-wax appearance nearly proving too much.
"Collaboration with the Decepticons!" The Security Director declared, pointing a digit at him.
Tracks gaped at him. "Me? A Decepticon?"
Prowl interjected. "If you could provide your proof of such allegations?" The Datsun's vocal output was steely. To accuse someone of being a spy for the other side… Those were serious allegations.
He sounded cool and collected, the gleaming paint taunting Tracks.
With some aplomb, the red and white Lamborghini sent copies of video files, and produced a tub. Track's eyes narrowed at the tub, and widened at the mech.
"My wax!" He moved forwards to grab the tub, but Red Alert snatched it back, a suspicious look on his faceplates.
Tracks halted.
"Why do you have my wax?"
He flipped to the video that Red had sent to the occupants of the room, and played it.
It was just video footage of him, walking the halls of the ARK, recharging, and grabbing a cube of energon in the rec room. He noted with pride and longing how sharp he looked, paint sparkling brighter than all the other mechs in the room. Why, he was the most handsome mech out there, it was proved.
Prowl flipped a glance at the Security Director.
"And how does this evidence prove his guilt?" the police Datsun said mildly, door wings flaring slightly.
"He's clearly a spy!"
"Based on what grounds?" Prowl asked, servos sitting on the desk.
Tracks could barely tear his eyes from the wax – his servos itched to reach out and grab it. Prowl was not the prettiest one on board, he was.
"In every shot, his paint is so bright it makes him hard to watch! He's hiding messages for the Decepticons in his wax! And the way he's been doing this is with this special wax! I had Wheeljack analyze it, and there are nanites in the mix. Those nanites could be programmed to take messages back and forth. If these nanites were scraped off in battle, they could be read by the Decepticons! He's a spy! He knew I was on to him, he's come for me!" The (clearly crazed) Security Director babbled, nearly hiding behind Inferno, pointing at Tracks, who was half focused on the wax, and half on the Lamborghini.
Prowl flicked a glance at Tracks, before looking back at Red Alert. The Datsun (shiny fragger) spoke.
"Did you remove Track's wax from his quarters?"
The Lamborghini nodded furiously, "Yes, Prowl – he's a spy, or at least in alliance with the Decepticons! Optimus needs to know!"
Prowl looked over at Tracks, noting the gleam of blue optics, focused on the wax.
"Removing a potentially dangerous substance from another's quarters might have proved hazardous to yourself if the material was being used to transmit to Decepticons."
Red froze, staring at the second in command. The thought had clearly not crossed his processors.
"I could be transmitting data to the Decepticons right now," he gasped out, looking like he was about to start stripping off armour in Prowl's office.
"However, I do not believe that to be the case," Prowl pointed out mildly.
"I'm not a Decepticon!" Tracks finally managed, optics still following the bounding tub of wax that Red was so carelessly moving around. What if he dropped it? Then his processor lodged on what Red Alert had confessed to.
"You took my wax?"
Red latched optics on Tracks, looking terrified. "This was your plan all along, wasn't it? To have me transmit data about the Autobots to the Decepticons!" He backed away, nearly running into Inferno. The red mech merely placed his servos on the smaller mech's shoulders, trying to calm the excitable Security Director down.
"I am not a spy," Tracks said, sounding annoyed and insulted. As if the Decepticons had anything to offer him that he didn't have already. He was perfection in a mech – and Megatron had a bad habit of injuring those under him, which would be a travesty to his immaculate paintjob.
Prowl steepled his digits. "Red Alert. Do you have any other proof of Autobot Tracks' alleged activity?"
The Security Director faltered for a moment, before shaking his head, suspicious optics on Tracks.
Prowl continued. "Please transmit a copy of Wheeljack's assessment of the nanites."
Tracks' optics widened in horror. "How much did he use for testing?" He managed.
Red Alert sniffed. "The smallest amount possible – I didn't want to turn his lab into a massive transmitter for the Decepticons."
Prowl spoke then. "There is no evidence of a transmitting system located in the wax, nor of any nanites other than gloss-enhancing nanites. Tracks is cleared from suspicion of being a Decepticon sympathizer, and you are required to return his wax to him," he finished, watching Red Alert.
"But Prowl!" The Lamborghini protested. Tracks grasped the tub of wax happily, already planning his immediate waxing, processor a million miles from the office.
"Furthermore, removing articles from another's quarters is prohibited according to section eight, paragraph four. The punishment for this is ordinarily extra monitor duty time. However, under the circumstances, I am assigning you washrack cleaning duties for an orn. Dismissed."
Red Alert looked like he was going to contest the order, when the Datsun's door wings flared upwards slightly.
The Security Director's optics landed on the second in command's shiny, shiny paint.
Red Alert nearly fritzed on the spot, racing out of the room. "Security breach, security breach! Prowl's been compromised!"