Disclaimer: Transformers belong to Hasbro and Takara, and are licensed to IDW and Dreamworks. My original characters are my own and any similarity between them and any existing characters from canon or fandom is purely coincidental. I claim no ownership by writing this work.
AN: Thank you to Jecca Meitahn for pointing out those two errors. Both have been fixed.
Sideswipe had finally gone too far. Smokescreen could appreciate a good joke. He even saw the benefits of a few harmless pranks on the morale of the crew, but this was too much. Normally he had an infinite amount of patience, but when he awoke that morning to discover all his face cards had been glued to the ceiling and his betting sheets had been posted to the Internet, he snapped. He was going to get back at Sideswipe in kind. Prank for prank. It was juvenile, sure. It was hardly something that tested his abilities. But he was beyond caring. All he wanted was to wipe that smug, self-satisfied look off the red Lambo's face.
So now he waited patiently on a catwalk, careful to remain in the shadows. The location was perfect. From the ground he could not be seen, while he could see everything that was occurring below him. Since he had no way of knowing when his target would pass below, he had been in position since daybreak, just watching and waiting.
Finally his patience paid off. His adversary came into view, and with perfect timing he dropped the payload on his target.
"Oh slag!" he said after he heard the indignant yell. He dropped the bucket and bolted, hoping that no one had seen him up there.
In another part of the Ark Jazz and Prowl were deep in conversation.
"I've spoken to Prime and he agrees that we need to do something about Sideswipe." Prowl said.
"Yeah, but what can we do, man?" Jazz asked. "Extra duty, rationing, time in the brig, ain't none of it havin' no effect on him."
"I suppose that we could –Ooff-" Prowl was cut off as Smokescreen rounded a corner and barrelled into him.
"Sorry 'bout that, Prowl. 'Scuse me, Jazz!" Smokescreen cried as he got up and ran out of the room.
"What was that all about?" Prowl asked, looking down at the mess Smokescreen had made of his white paint.
"Ain't got no clue …?" Jazz began. He stopped dead as Sunstreaker ran into the room.
"Where'd he go?!" the yellow Lambo yelled.
Prowl could only point and Jazz had to fight back laughter. Sunstreaker stood before them, dripping in neon-orange safety paint.