Authors' Note:

Auto: Hey kids. Please don't barbecue us. We kind of hit a dead end with Birds of a Feather, and are talking about perhaps reworking it. Ninja and I kinda barged into that story without any sort of foresight and well, it kinda kicked our butts in the end. We were both talking over Skype and agreed that since we were really just becoming stagnant writers, we should do a short collab piece to get ourselves back in gear. So here we are, bringing for your viewing pleasure, Ruffians and Renegades.

Ninja: You can call me Edge Lord cause I'm dead inside. Um, I mean, I haven't written anything in five months and I thought I'd forget how to write if I didn't get something done.

We do not own Transformers in any shape or form. This is purely a fan work and we make no money off it. Shadow Stalker is the Intellectual Property of Autobotschic. Amalga is the intellectual property of Ninja School Dropout.


Shadow Stalker dislodged her sword from yet another Decepticon, the scowl that had settled on her features earlier only growing deeper. The slaggers were everywhere. It was getting on her nerves just how many of them seemed to have appeared out of nowhere to attack Iacon. This was her city slag it, and they were not touching her home. Not over her cold, grey frame.

"Commander! We're surrounded!" one of her troops cried out, nursing a sparking and lacerated arm.

"That just means we can attack in all directions," she hissed under her breath, armor flared out and wings fluttering in aggravation. She would be the absolute last one to admit this was going terribly.

The femme jumped back into the fray, activating the shield on her forearm and brandishing her longsword in the other. A hideous snarl ripped from her throat as she slashed at a Con advancing on one of her wounded, quickly dispatching him with a huff.

"C'mon, get up and move to the center of the group," Shadow Stalker instructed, throwing up her shield as another Con jumped at them. With their weapon lodged in her shield, the unimpressed femme simply sent an electric shock through it to momentarily stun them while she assisted her comrade to their pedes.

"Go, quickly," she stated, turning and engaging with even more fury than before.

The femme twirled and parried with vorns of practice, her helm never once lost sight of her target to force a gap for an escape.

"Commander Shadow Stalker, we're being overwhel-ack!"

The cry sent her spinning as one of her officers was gunned down, the femme's optics widened as she took in to the extent they were buried.

Frag. Frag frag frag.

They needed reinforcements and they needed it now, but she knew that was not happening, not with the armies heavily set at the gateways.

A burning sensation in her side violently ripped her from her train of thought, glancing down at the graze mark from a laser. Those glitches, they'd pay for that.

Shadow threw herself back into the fight, but her stamina was running out and there were just too many. She may have been a gladiator, but one could only take so many rushing at every angle for so long.

Someone slashed the back of her knee and the femme crumpled. She lurched with a snarl, trying to stand again before being forced down, this time with a blaster shoved roughly to each side of her helm. A sneering con extended a blade forward, using it to tilt the Autobot's chin up to meet the other's optics.

Optics she'd hoped to meet again in a fight that ended in the other's slaughter, not like this.

"Plasma," Shadow snarled, antennae pinned back. The glitch that stood in front of her used to be the Fight Coordinator at the Gladiator Pits. The one who ultimately pitted Shadow Stalker against Aquarunner and forced the young femme to kill her loved one.

"Oh, look at this. Ironblazer will be so pleased to get his pet back," Plasma crooned, the femme cackling as she tossed her head back. When her fit subsided, she tilted her head and observed her prize. Who seemed to be whispering something.

"Speak up," the con snapped irritably, optics narrowing.

Shadow Stalker's voice raised slightly, but still not enough to decipher the muttering.

"I said, speak up!" Plasma hissed, bringing her faceplates down to Shadow's level.

The Con had less than a half a klik to register the grin on Shadow Stalker's face before she lurched forward and head butted the other.

Plasma reeled back with a screech, pressing her digits to her crumpled nose. It gushed Energon, which trickled down her face in a constant stream.

"I said, rot in the smelting pits," Shadow Stalker sneered, optics ablaze with dark glee.

Plasma's startled face was the last thing the Autobot Commander saw before something collided with the back of her helm and her world went black.


Amalga glared at the large green and yellow back in front of her, as she carried a huge stack of data pads, having to use her chin to hold the dangerous pile steady. Her commander, Springer, had been called to Iacon to discuss a new mission, and of course the mech thought, "Why not bring the reports from the previous mission along as well? It'll be faster to bring them in than sending them electronically!" An idiot is what he was. It was his way of getting back at her for making him do all the reports.

The halls of Iacon's military base was flooded with bots scrambling around trying to repair broken portions of the building while others cleaned scorch marks off the wall. Hall after hall was full of melancholy. Bots slowly did the cosmetic work as other rushed around to get where they were needed most.

"Guess that attack got them short handed." Springer grumbled as he sighed. "Man I hope they aren't gonna ask us to fill in for missing positions. I hate slow work. What do you think, Amalga?"

The femme glanced over to the mech. "I'd imagine whatever it is, it will be important. I don't see much use for us here."

Springer smirked. "Who knows. Maybe the big bad prime needs a scraplet exterminated." He laughed heartily.

Amalga sighed. "He is Prime you know. You should show some respect."

"Ah, I forgot you were the religious type. Primus save the Prime."

Amalga shook her helm. "You're so… you."

"Speaking of me being me. I forgot the passes."

"I have them." Amalga nodded her visored helm to her wrist where two cards hung from chains. "I figured you'd forget."

Springer smiled. "You're the best, you know that?"

"Whatever."

The two came to a stop in front of two guards. One of the guards looked the two over before holding out a servo. "Passes."

Amalga glanced at the large stack of data pads in her servos then to the cards dangling from her wrist. "Springer, a little help would be nice."

Springer carefully took the data pads, allowing her to pass the cards over to the guard. The guard help up the cards, allowing two holograms to flash to life. He looked over the holograms then compared the images to the real life forms before him. He nodded, passing the cards back.

The doors opened wide to a meeting room, two mechs were already there. One shorter mech, black and white, doorwings and a blue visor sat leaning back with his pedes propped up on the table. The other, a red and blue mech, that anybody could identify as Optimus Prime sat professionally at the head of the table.

"Optimus." Springer nodded, setting down the data pads and taking his own seat. "What can I do for you?" He smiled.

Amalga stood behind Springer calmly watching as the meeting began.

Optimus laced his digits together, laying them to rest on the table. "We'll cut to the chase, Springer."

Springer frowned at the slightly out of character mech. "Alright."

"As you know there was a battle here a few orns ago. The Decepticons tried to take control of Iacon. Luckily they were unsuccessful and pushed back by our own troops. During the commotion of pushing them back, however, Shadow Stalker's squadron has gone missing. Soldiers were sent out to investigate. They found signs of combat, but no frames have been recovered. We believe them to be prisoners of war at this point."

Optimus stood up, walking to a window and gazing out of it, his servos held firmly behind his back. "I'll be having Jazz's special operations team and your Wreckers team up in an attempt to recover the lost squad, and their commander."

Springer glanced back at Amalga and sighed. "Sir, with all due respect, this doesn't seem like a mission for the Wreckers. This i-"

"This is an order, Springer." Optimus turned to face Springer. "You are to team up with Jazz and save the squadron."

Jazz smirked. "No point arguin', mech. The mech's not gonna listen. Love's on da line here."

Springer sneered standing up. "So I'm to put my family on the line for your femme? Y-"

Amalga placed a hand on Springer's back. "We also get to frag up some cons, maybe blow up a stronghold."

Springer growled pushing his way out of the room. Amalga sighed. "Consider the Wreckers on the job, Optimus Prime, sir. We will be happy to work with Jazz and his mechs to save your troops." She bowed slightly to the prime before leaving the room, quickly following Springer.

Springer stood resting against the wall, his angry scowl on his face. Amalga stood in front of him. "We'll do what's asked of us." Her visor gleamed against the artificial lighting. "Not to save his femme, but to save a squadron, and destroy a decepticon base."

Springer glared down at the femme. "He doesn't give a frag about those other mechs. All he wants is his precious femme back."

Amalga nodded. "Probably so, but that's not for us to judge."

"So who is going to judge him then? Primus? Ha!" Springer growled. "You need to take that religious slag and stuff it up your tail pipes! Primus isn't going to do slag."

Amalga stared at Springer, her optics keeping contact through the visor. "You need to calm down. I will meet with Jazz to plan our routes and make preparations. You can go get the troops fired up. They work better when they're angry anyways."

Springer sighed. "Amalga, I didn't mea-"

"Don't worry about it." Amalga quickly walked away from Springer, leaving him to his own devices.