Hello, hello!
These are responses to some prompts I've gotten over the course of the last couple of years.
Just thought I'd finally put 'em all together for easy reading.
ENJOY. It's all quite random!
Excuse the weird formatting; I have no idea how to properly display my text documents here. Blah!
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1: "Ratchet and his horde of ill-behaved children. One of them got shot. The others are not dealing well."
Honestly, the entire thing was nothing short of stupid.
Ratchet huffed in the medbay, glaring eyes focused completely on the task before him. He neither glanced up nor gave any kind of response to the whispers and hushed queries from around the room.
Oh, sure, now they're all remorseful. Now they regret what happened; but why did they have to huddle in ihis/i medbay to do it?!
Beneath his hands, an unconscious-from-a-slag-load-of-stasis-medication Swoop lay. Half his head was missing. Thankfully, not the most vital parts, or this would all be a much different situation.
From the back of the room, a worried mass of aerialbots sat and whispered amongst themselves. What he could hear made little sense; half the conversation, he wagered, was done in gestalt-bond. Did they even realize it? Probably not.
At various points around the room were the rest of the dinobots. Well behaved, for once. Grimlock, even, was stone cold quiet.
As well he should be. He was the one that accidentally shot Swoop in the face, after all. At close range. If it had been a centiclik closer, Swoop could have died.
"Now, what did we learn from this, everyone?" Ratchet grumbled.
"...No unsupervised training exercises without prior knowledge." Silverbolt whimpered; poor sap had actually scheduled the thing. He had said something about 'family bonding' as a reason why no one else had been told about it.
"Me sorry." Grimlock bowed his head.
"You better be!" Ratchet still didn't look up; if he did, he feared, they'd actually see how worried he truly was.
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2: "Red Alert and Prowl commiserate over the fact that they are nothing more than glorified baby-sitters."
The war had been going on for a very, very long time. It defied explanation, really; millions of years seemed ephemeral to humans, but to them?
It was just a 'damned long time'.
Which was why Prowl was so gobsmacked by how such a large number of the mechs serving the Autobot cause acted like such children.
Not that he would ever let it show. Oh, no; to let the 'troops' - if they could even be called that - know that their actions bothered him would just encourage more of it.
So, Prowl had suppressed the cringe as fresh paint seeped in to his joints. Instead, he simply looked up and gave a vicious glare at the paint trap someone had set there.
Which was how he ended up ihere./i
"Again?" Red Alert shook his head as he entered the washracks. "Let me guess... The second left in wing A-9?"
Prowl didn't answer; his mouth formed a flat, thin line.
It was all the answer Red Alert needed. "If it helps, my request to have additional surveillance equipment installed were approved last week."
That was a surprise. "You have footage, then?"
"Absolutely."
"Wonderful." Deadpanned Prowl, still scrubbing of the bright pink splotches on his armor.
For a long moment, there was silence. The only sounds came from the showers for a long few minutes.
"They act like newsparks." Prowl found himself finally gasping in exasperation. "They were not built yesterday!"
"I think Ratchet's had the right idea all along. Keep smacking them with blunt objects and, maybe, eventually, they'll behave."
"Prime frowns on that, though."
"Granted, but no one pranks Prime. The rest of us have to corral them as if they were hyperactive turbo rabbits. If I didn't monitor as much as I did, there'd be chaos! Absolute chaos!"
"Which is why your services are so valuable." Prowl gave his fellow officer a deep, studious stare. "I'll make a request to Prime for additional security features."
Red Alert lit up with absolute joy.
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3: "Cassettes and Minibots fending off a Cybertronian zombie apocalypse!"
"There's a zombie… On your laaawn!"
"Primus, not this again."
"There's a zombie… On your lawn!"
"I swear to Primus, if you don't shut up, I will kill you."
"We don't want zombies on the - gak!"
Four pairs of optical visors - half red and the others blue - stared in mutual amusement as Cliffjumper physically grasped Powerglide's throat in his hands, fuming. By the complete lack of struggle or reaction on the latter's end, it couldn't have hurt him much or even bothered him.
The four cassettes were there simply for training purposes; Rumble and Frenzy - along with a shockingly uninfected, but injured Soundwave - had only been rescued from what remained of the Nemesis for barely a few days. Blaster had only recently agreed to allow his surviving symbiots out of his sight; bringing all four together on this little trip seemed like a fantastic idea, if only to try and encourage their fragile new peace.
The fact that the minibots tended to make these rounds as a group was simply good timing.
"Guys." Bumblebee let out a deep sigh. "Guys. Really. We're supposed to be showing these guys around the caves, not…" He made a vague gesture towards the halfheartedly fighting pair; it seemed like something that the yellow minibot dealt with on a regular basis. "..Whatever it is you two are doing."
"But there are -" Powerglide choked out.
"I WILL END YOU." Cliffjumper seethed.
"No, there's -" The plane pointed, arm flailing around the other red minibot.
A low growling came from behind them; at once, the group turned.
"Oh, slag." Both Rumble and Frenzy said at once. "TWO of 'em!"
It had started off as such a good day, too; the caves beneath the ARK had been ripe for the picking after the initial chaos and infection had died down and they had since been down there dozens of times. A great deal of the ARK's initial supply had even fallen down back who knows how many millions of years ago, and their previous lack of interest was now their fortune.
They had conducted raids down here before. However, as close as it was to their former base, it was also dangerous; an infected wandering in was not unheard of.
Two at a time, however, was a bit out of the norm.
It didn't help that the cavern they had gone in to ended in a dead end.
"Slag!" Bumblebee was first to bring up his gun. "Fan out! They'll lunge eventually! Shoot 'em when they do!"
So they did. Or, rather, most of them; the four recordicons - Rumble, Frenzy, Rewind and Eject - looked to each other for only a moment before moving out in a completely different direction.
"All right, guys." Bumblebee stood stock still, optics on the two undead Cybertronians as they slunk forward. "We've done this before. Just don't get bit and we'll be fine."
"…Are those Grapple and Hoist?" Windcharger boggled from the left flank.
"…I think so." Bumblebee grumbled; after a while, the undead became difficult to tell apart. Fading paint, missing limbs and disfigurement tended to do that. Still, a pang of sadness went through him as old memories came up. "Even now, they're together."
"Yeah, yeah, fraggin' romantic." Rumble grumbled. "NOW, GUYS!"
The four cassettes had somehow managed to maneuver behind the zombies. At the yell, both of the undead mechs turned; noise had always attracted them.
Then, piledrivers were promptly shoved in to what had once been Grapple's face.
"Yeah!" Frenzy cheered from atop the wailing zombie. "I got 'im!" With that, he kept on pounding.
"Hey, guys, up top!" Rewind barreled what were left of his own piledrivers - they had malfunctioned, he had said, weeks ago, and they simply hadn't had the parts to repair them - were rushed in to Hoist's legs; he fell to the ground with a wail of his own.
From there, Eject and Rewind simply shot the screaming zombie in the head.
The yells quickly stopped. Incredibly quickly, in fact; the undead both began to fade to gray before the supposed guides were even able to react.
"… Well." Bumblebee sputtered. "Unorthodox, but… Good job. Wow."
"Touchdown!" Eject cheered; the cassettes all had their fists to the air.
"I told you we could work together fine!" Rumble humphed at Bumblebee.
The four cassettes cheered loudly for a good few minutes more; Bumblebee didn't even try to stop them.
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4: "Cliffjumper/Beachcomber peace"
This was, honest to Primus, the absolutely dumbest thing that he ever had to do in his entire life.
And he hated every minute of it.
It wasn't even fair; usually, after a stay in the brig, he'd be tasked with something mundane. Some cleaning job or another round of psychiatry with either Ratchet or Smokescreen; you know, the usual.
It hadn't even been anything really bad; another little spat with Sunstreaker. Slag, he had been the one they had to remove from the ceiling, not that brightly-painted dipswitch!
"Take in a deep breath. Feel that soft rumble slowly go through your systems." The slow, soft voice came from Beachcomber. "Now we'll begin to move to a cross-legged position. Cross your right shin in front of your left shin."
Yoga.
His punishment detail was a round of slag-sucking yoga.
When did Beachcomber even become an expert on this slag!?
"And set your shins forward until they're parallel to the front of the mat."
Cliffjumper fumed; it took everything he had not to jump out of the room.
Though, if he did, he had the feeling he'd only be punished with more yoga.
"Rotate your pelvis over your thighs, and reach your arms in front of you. Spill your torso in to your legs. Now, focus on breathing. Let your fans do the work, but take in a deep, long intake."
'This would install peace', nothing; Cliffjumper only thought of murder.
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5: "'huddling for warmth': Fireflight/Silverbolt"
It wasn't often that the Aerialbots had a snow day.
As it was, this one was something of an accident. As far as Silverbolt had understood of it, someone in high command – probably Prowl – had mentioned that they needed some more exercises in different environments, a snowstorm just happened to be billowing not too many miles away, and then there they went.
'Team bonding' was how Prime had put it. 'Getting used to inclement weather'.
Optimus simply neglected to say how they bonded.
Air Raid's wild laughter rang across the snow-covered field; it was quickly followed by Slingshot's yelp of surprise as the snowball smacked him in the shoulder. Skydive had taken cover behind a very large snowman rendition of Optimus that they had built some time ago, and threw a few unsuccessful shots at both of his running brothers.
Meanwhile, Silverbolt and Fireflight looked on, packing snow in to bricks; both of them grinned at the three-way mini-war.
"At least we won't be leaking water out of our joints for the next week." Silverbolt laughed.
"Week?" Fireflight moved a few bricks of snow in to place; they had set the heat in their own systems as low as possible to keep it all from melting. So far, it seemed to be working. "They'll probably still find water coming out of them in a month!"
"We heard that!" Skydive waved a fist from behind his snowy shield; almost immediately, a snowball struck him in the face.
Silverbolt rolled his optics and looked over the creation of ice and snow that he and Fireflight had been working on. The igloo – at least, that's what Bumblebee had said it was called, and had sent a few picture file references when they had asked – was almost finished. He wasn't certain how to get the ceiling in place, though; flying might crush the cube of snow. He stood, staring and pondering, before a shadow moved from the coner of his view.
"I got it." Silverbolt turned to see Skyfire pick it up; the much taller Autobot barely had to stretch to get that last piece in place, smiling softly as he did so.
"Thanks, Skyfire!" Fireflight beamed in delight; then, he scurried in to the igloo through the tube-like opening he had insisted look exactly like the picture files. "This is so awesome!"
Silverbolt shook his head in amusement before looking to Skyfire.
"I'll watch them." The scientist let out a small chuckle, gesturing vaguely to the still ongoing snowball fight. "I'll make sure no snow-related fatalities occur."
Silverbolt let out a laugh at that and a nod; for someone who was supposed to be overseeing aerial maneuvers, Skyfire certainly knew how to encourage them to goof off.
With a smile, the leader of the Aerialbots dropped to his knees and crawled inside the igloo.
He was immediately surprised to see that Fireflight had already set up little lights. Tiny glowing cubes – the kind they usually used for nightlights in their bunks – were all around the dome-like interior.
"Silverbolt, come on!" Fireflight grinned, and held out an energon cube.
Silverbolt took it and was again surprised to find that it was warm. Fireflight held one of his own, a wide, delighted grin on his face.
An ice cold little dome, well lit and with heated energon?
"You planned this, didn't you?" Silverbolt chuckled.
"I just wish we could make s'mores." At the quizzical look, the grin only grew wider. "The humans have these things called 'marshmallows' that kind of melt, and I figure partially hardened energon could do it, but Prime wouldn't let Wheeljack experiment on making it."
Silverbolt laughed again, and moved in close. The igloo wasn't all that large to begin with, and the two Aerialbots ended up huddling close together.
It was really rather peaceful. The laughter from outside could be heard, the energon was nice and warm, and the slight rumbling from Fireflight's systems made everything feel as if they were at peace. They didn't get this sort of relaxation often.
Fireflight took a sip from his own cube. "Mmm. We need more team bonding trips."
Silverbolt chuckled, took a gulp of his own cube, and huddled close. "I agree completely."
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6: "Prowl/Red Alert: Accidental baby acquisition"
Sometimes, the humans were hit hard. Sometimes, it was especially hard; the battles between metal beings many times their size would have eventually had that effect, no matter how Optimus tried to steer it to uninhabited areas. There were only so many barely-manned power plants and only so many desert fields with energon underneath the cacti.
This time, it was a town. A small one, by human standards; ten or fifteen thousand inhabitants at best. The collateral damage had been extensive, but most of the population had been evacuated.
'Most'. It was a very key word to pay attention to; a few bodies had already been dug up, of the few that had stubbornly refused to leave their houses. Animals had been found, as well; pets that couldn't be taken with their fleeing masters. The Autobots were checking in the aftermath for them all, moving through fields of rubble too dangerous for human authorities to get in to. Fallen power lines and half shattered trees weren't quite as dangerous to giant robots, after all.
Some things still surprised them.
Prowl, at least, had been shocked when he found it. The roof of the once three-story house was gone; most of the second floor was, as well. There was a gap between the bottom level and the top just large enough for the Autobot second in command to fit through if he hunched; the bassinet was on the far edge, next to a shattered window. He had checked it, tilting it ever so slightly to the side just to be sure.
He hadn't actually expected to find a baby in it.
"Prowl to Prime." He almost sputtered, and wouldn't that have been an embarrassment, even as he gently picked up the entire cradle in his hand. "I found an infant."
"An infant?" Optimus sounded shocked; at least he wasn't the only one. "Head to the central point. The humans will take care of it."
It was the best that they could do; it wasn't as if they were equipped to take care of a baby.
The infant in question wasn't making any noise, but scans showed that it was alive. A small miracle; Prowl walked slowly, unsure if too much movement would injure the frail little thing any worse than it probably already was.
Red Alert met him halfway there; a datapad was being poked and prodded in a furious assault in his hands. A damage report, most likely; paperwork.
The security director's helm looked up as he moved close; then, he stopped entirely.
Prowl stopped in some surprise at the stone-shocked expression. "…Red Alert?"
Without a word, black hands grabbed the cradle; the datapad was suddenly nowhere in sight. One finger let out a glow as it scanned the child.
"I already checked its' vitals." Prowl couldn't help but be slightly annoyed. "Prime wants me to bring it to the humans."
"Her."
"…What?"
"She is a female." Red Alert didn't even look up. "Ratchet and First Aid are both at the ARK, and Hoist isn't the least bit equipped for this."
"Yes…" Prowl paused in a moment of confusion. What was Red Alert getting at? "Which is why Prime wanted the humans to take care of it."
"Her." Came the correction again. "Surprisingly, there isn't any damage to her internal organs or brain. A few minor cuts and bruises, but otherwise healthy. Although..."
As if on cue, the infant began to stir; a few seconds later, it was wailing.
Without missing a beat, Red Alert dug in to subspace and pulled out an incredibly small glass vial of a sort Prowl couldn't identify; the pink, bulbous tip was brought to the human's face. It – Her – mouth latched on to it, and the wailing shut down.
"...What..." Prowl's processor actually froze. "Red Alert, how…"
"Please." Red Alert huffed. "I'm the security director, and humans mill about the ARK on a regular basis. I know everything about them."
Of course he would. Still, Prowl stared in bewildered shock.
He didn't even dare to ask why Red Alert's arm began to rock, and why it made the human so happy.
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7: "Jazz/Starscream: post-apocalypse"
No one had expected that the humans would be their undoing. Honestly, it had been so far out of the range of thought that the possibility alone hadn't even been entertained. They had literally not been able to see it coming.
At first, it had been a sickness. A small, growing patch of rust on a few members of both sides; even then, no one had thought too much about it. It took a while for it to grow, for more to become infected, and for the worst of it yet to fall.
Three months. It had taken three months between the first sign of rust and the call in to the ARK; some human scientist asking how the 'infection' was going with a smug grin that had alarmed them. Two days after that, what they had initially been simply alarming became outright terrifying.
The infected became... Violent. Aggression turned to manic behavior and quickly devolved in to mindless lunacy. It happened so quickly – a span of a few short days – that they were completely unprepared.
A rust infection became this?
Somehow, those that were infected became immune to pain. Or, perhaps, they simply no longer had the mind to let it bother them. They did, however, remember how to use their weaponry and, once they got out in to the world proper, wrecked havoc the sort of which no one had anticipated.
Six months. Within six months, entire countries were left devastated by mindless beasts that had once been Cybertronians; even those that were either not infected or immune couldn't stop them. At least, not after their former friends attempted – and, in some cases, succeeded - to eat them.
"Zombies." Jazz brought it up one day, seemingly out of the blue. "That's what the humans called them, you know. Zombies."
"Mmhmm." Was the noncommittal response. Nimble fingers twisted wires and connected conduits; what could hopefully be a generator had been found in the ruins of the ARK. They had been searching on it for months.
Well, ihe/i had been searching on it for months. Jazz probably wouldn't recognize one machine from another, let alone what a generator was. Spy or not, he had a certain… Denseness about him.
"It's a good name." Jazz, if he was doing what he was supposed to be doing, should have been looking out for any incoming trouble. Should. One could only hope. "Rolls off the glossa. Zombies."
"Are you just going to prattle nonsense the entire time we're out here?" A hiss as a panel was opened; the entire internal conduit was fried. That certainly made things difficult.
"Aw, 'Screamer." Jazz's smirk was actually audible. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't like the company."
Starscream did glance up long enough to glare at Jazz before looking back at the damaged generator. "We're going to need to bring this back to…" It wasn't really 'home'. "… Base. There's too much damage to do anything with it out – "
There came a very loud 'thump'.
Starscream let out a deep sigh. "Fantastic."
It was with only slight disgust that the once Air Commander dove for cover underneath a heap of fallen orange metal that resembled a tent; there was more than enough room for both himself and Jazz to fit inside. Speed was the key in these sorts of situations, and he no longer gave it a thought to what dirt and muck could be inside.
Although, Starscream had to admit surprise when Jazz pulled the generator with him. Usually, they left things behind when they needed to hide. He let out a grunt, the closest thing to gratitude that he could grant.
Jazz beamed. It was possibly the most annoying facial expression he had ever seen.
A piece of metal was pulled up to cover the opening. Not enough to be any real shield, but enough to conceal them away from any incoming infected. At least, it had worked in the past on multiple occasions; a small gap was unavoidable, but they both peered through it.
Beyond the opening of the makeshift hideout, another 'thump' sounded out. A few seconds later, an incredibly large foot slammed itself on to the earth. From where they hunched, all they could see were parts to a very large pair of legs.
"… Superion?" Jazz gasped.
"… Infected gestalts." Starscream mused. "Interesting."
"They've never combined before." Jazz had hushed to a whisper; Starscream really couldn't blame him. "Does... Does this mean that they're... Getting better? That they remember how to combine? Are they getting better?"
There was so much hope in his voice that he almost felt badly about crushing it. "It could mean that they're still mindless brutes and accidentally figured it out. It doesn't mean that the infection is dying."
Jazz deflated only a little. That hope was still there. Starscream could only sigh.
Outside, Superion shifted metal that had once been the ARK apart, apparently searching for something.
"We'll head back to base when he's gone." Starscream huffed in annoyance.
Jazz didn't respond; he only looked out at Superion.
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8: "Truth Or Dare: Bumblebee/Cliffjumper"
Deep in the ARK, there was a room cloistered off from all the rest, surrounded by nothing but ruins and uninhabitable spaces. It was a large area by itself, and the only section of that part of the ship that had survived the crash. From the start, they had reserved the now private and silent space solely for special occasions and group meetings; a place where the rest of the ARK couldn't hear what was happening. At least, not without outright spying.
For this reason, it tended to be reserved weeks in advance. The Aerialbots used it to practice maneuvers when they couldn't go outside. Wheeljack and Perceptor tested weapons there. Even the Dinobots made use of it, using the area to practice battle tactics when they didn't want to be bothered.
So it wasn't really a surprise whenever the minibots reserved the space as a group; the curious part was that none of them said why. Secrets weren't easy to keep amongst the rank and file, yet this one seemed impenetrable; none of the minis would say what, exactly, went on when they were in there.
There were rumors, of course. Bumblebee, on his part, was privy to more than a few of them. Being in special ops kind of had that extra bonus; he was good at not being noticed, decent enough at spying that even his fellow Autobots didn't watch their mouths around him. What was whispered in the hallways and murmured in hushed tones was, for the most part, absolutely hilarious.
Everything was theorized from simple team bonding exercises to intense group therapy sessions and even, to his great amusement, 'ancient minibot religious exercises only found in long forgotten texts'. Bumblebee had no idea who came up with that one, but he had to give them points for creativity.
No, what really went on when they took up that space was far simpler. Though, none of the rumors came quite close to the truth.
"I love this stuff… So… Much!" Came from Powerglide after his fourth – or possibly fifth – cube of Extra High Grade energon. Usually, it took less than half a ration to get someone tipsy on the stuff.
The cubes had been passed around a while ago, but most of them had the sense not to drink too much too soon. Most of them, that is; Powerglide aside, Gears was on his third cube, and had long since gone from his usually grumpy self to the thoroughly disturbing and extra giddy mech that tended to be at these meetings. The first time he had overcharged like this, he had given them all nightmares for weeks.
"Okay!" Said too-happy Gears, beaming in an only slightly terrifying manner as he waved around a small box. "Spin the tube time!"
"No spin the tube time." Windcharger set a hand on Gears' arm, gently lowering it back down. His voice had gone slow, as if he was talking to a newspark. They had learned that it was the only way to get through to him in this state. "Remember what happened the last time? Besides, Cliffjumper is picking the game this time."
"…Oh." Still, Gears was smiling. "Fantastic! What's the game?"
Cliffjumper sipped from his cube, lounging on a couch that was far too large for them all. A small grin that could only be described as 'evil' graced his face. "Truth. Or. Dare."
This actually garnered both interest and a nervousness easily seen on a few faceplates. The lot of them moved around Cliffjumpers' chosen perch, pulling a few pillows and oversized chairs of their own.
"Brawn." That evil grin had actually grown as everyone's attention turned to the green and tan form sitting on the floor.
On his end, Brawn peered at the red minibot with narrowed optics. "Truth."
Now, Cliffjumper was grinning wide enough to show his dentals. "What base are you at with Windcharger?"
A wheeze and a cough came from a few seats off; Windcharger held a cube in one shaking hand and coughed wildly, pounding on his own chest. "Guys!"
Brawn glanced from the one red mech to the other. His optics were still narrowed, and it took him a few seconds to actually answer. "…Second. 'Charger's hesitant."
"Guys!" Windcharger looked mortified. "Really, guys, really?!"
"Oh, calm down." Gears patted a gray and red arm. He practically reeked of high grade and continued to grin like a loon. "It's nothing we can't share in here! I only got to third with Huffer – "
"I was drunk!" Huffer glared.
" – and we're still buds! Right, Huff?"
The only response was a murderous glare.
"Moving on!" Cliffjumper laughed quietly, entire frame shaking with hilarity.
"My turn." Brawn took in a deep breath. "Powerglide?"
Powerglide turned so quickly from the energon dispenser on the other side of the room that, for a moment, he appeared dizzy. "What?"
"Truth or dare."
"Truth!" The full cube was swung as another deep gulp was taken. "Truth me!"
Brawn blinked once. "…Okay. You and Fireflight. How far'd –"
"Sixth base!" Some energon drops fell to the floor from the visibly unstable flier.
"… There is no sixth base." Brawn rubbed his face.
"All the bases!" Powerglide pumped his hands in to the air; more energon spilled to the floor. "All the bases! All of them! Mine!" His intakes hiccupped.
"You're so drunk, you don't even know where you are, do you?" Bumblebee sighed, unable to keep from smirking.
"All the bases!" With that, Powerglide gulped down half his cube and sat down with a hard 'thump'.
"All your base are belong to us?" Seaspray bubbled, half the words a laugh.
"Did.. Seaspray, was that a joke?" Cosmos – a rare appearance, considering he was usually in space – threw a pillow at the aquatic Autobot.
Seaspray caught it, laughing as he did.
"…I'm going to call that invalid, as Peeg is too drunk to answer coherently." Beachcomber covered his mouth with a hand, but the humor was clear.
"This game isn't going to be interesting without a few dares, you know." Huffer sighed. "Otherwise, might as well just call it 'the truth game'."
"Fine, I'll take a dare." Cliffjumper was still grinning.
Suddenly, Brawn's stoic expression shifted to a wide, beaming grin. The sudden change caused a few of them – Cliffjumper included – to lean back in surprise. "I dare you to make out with Bumblebee, then. Right now."
"…Guys!" Bumblebee shook his head, but still couldn't help being amused. "Guys, come on, CJ and I are best friends…!"
It was likely because he wasn't looking at anyone in particular that he missed it. One moment, Bumblebee had his optics shut down as he tried to keep from laughing at the absurdity of the dare; the next, he was on the floor, and Cliffjumper had his mouth on his.
"…Pow!" That sounded like Warpath. At least two more people were laughing wildly – one of them might have been Gears – and a third was applauding. Possibly a fourth.
Bumblebee simply boggled once Cliffjumper climbed off; the open-mouthed grin on his friends' face left him sputtering, equal parts surprised and delighted.
Things like this was why he loved coming to these meetings.
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9: "Genderswap: Lockdown"
After the Autobots had won, things had become a little bit… Crazy. Any Decepticon that wasn't already in custody knew that they would have Elite Guards after them in no time, and even the neutrals were a bit nervous.
None more so than Swindle. It was a struggle to force himself to keep things quiet for a while. Non-Cybertronian affiliated planets were visited to keep his funds up, a long overdue vacation was taken, but that only used up so much time. He had to get back to his usual dealings; he hated the idea of his money taking any bigger of a hit than it already had.
It was a risk to try and forge new business ventures. Half of his usual clients were either in jail or Stockade wardens; what was left likely didn't have the funds to make it interesting or worthwhile.
Still, there was one mech left; one that he doubted had been caught. Oh, he was probably one of the top guys the Elite Guard wanted to get, now, but Swindle knew that if anyone was to skate by them, it was him.
So, a text only file was sent out; ordinarily, he would go with a full audio and visual recording, but things had to be kept to the minimum. No point in getting arrested now, after all.
Hopefully, Lockdown still kept his old frequency.
As it wound up, he did. By the next morning, a text-only response had been sent back; agreeing to his meeting time, and a list of certain types of mods he was looking for. Nothing out of the ordinary; spark, if it hadn't been a text-only document, this would have been just like old times.
Swindle found that he was actually getting excited. The first real business contact since the Autobots messed everything up; this was perfect!
The planet they decided to meet at was a little out of the way little dustball. An organic place, but a highly evolved one; they even had bars tailored just for Cybertronian visitors, and he stopped by his favorite one before the meeting. The waitress was given a decent tip; it was good to be thought of highly in these places. Never knew when he'd need to hide out in it, or buy a large quantity of supplies.
The oddly shaped container was still being sipped at – not the best grade of energon, but considering the locals couldn't eat it without poisoning themselves, it wasn't bad – when a ship landed nearby. It took a moment to recognize it as Lockdown's ship; it was the same craft, just given a new paint job.
Clever. But then, he shouldn't have expected anything else; he had done the same thing to his own ship. A very simple disguise could sometimes throw the most intelligent of mechs off the trail.
"Lockdown, my friend!" Swindle approached the landing gear as it swung down; he knew he could be heard. The door opened. "Why, I haven't seen you in vorns! I love what you've done with the ship. Is that chrome plating on… The…"
He stared at the form that walked out of the ship. Purple optics couldn't tear themselves off of the tall figure as it headed down the stairs.
"…You're not Lockdown." This was said with some hesitation.
The tall, lithe femme – and it was, in fact, a femme – stared back. A brow was raised, and a very, very subtle smirk crossed her face. "Aren't I?" That was one incredibly high pitched voice.
Still, the way that she carried herself, and her expression – the gleaming red optics only rattled him further. It took a long few seconds for it all to click.
"…You got a frame transplant?"
"Like the idea hasn't crossed your processor." That expression didn't shift; it was a mannerism too much like Lockdown.
"You're… Pink!" Swindle found himself sputtering in shock.
"Yeah, well…" A low chuckle. "Femmes usually are."
The spikes were still there, adorning the femme's frame in ways Lockdown certainly would have approved of. One hand was even still a hook, but the rest of it was entirely different. Not to mention that shade of pink! It was as if he had bathed in energon and then highlighted himself. Herself? This was getting confusing.
What was that expression he had heard of on Earth? 'Neon'?
Swindle must have been staring for a bit too long because Lockdown let out a sigh. Still, he – she? Argh! – seemed amused. "The Elite Guard wouldn't expect this. You didn't."
Which was true. Swindle had to shake himself a bit to get his focus back. "…Right. Of course!" Time to get his grin back in place; he already knew this was going to give him the weirdest recharge sessions for weeks, if not for months to come. "Come inside, my friend! I managed to pick up some things you might be interested in…!"
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Tadaaaa!