Mouth open

'So here's yet another method I have (not) learnt from Tarn' the white mech mused to himself as he lead his mechs under the service corridors of Grindcore. Five battered warriors were following him, all of them were powered only by the enthusiasm of victory and the last vapors of energon. In fact, the young telepath also could have drank up an entire gallon of high-grade, but he ignored his own thirst – unlike his companions, he knew they would be refueling in a matter of kliks.

He looked back at his followers, who had seemed to need energon even more than he had. This little squad had been captured by the Third Party: bad enough start for the day. He had managed to at least get caught alongside with them, then to convince the captors to bring them to Grindcore, a fortress that was in the Third Party territory and out of use at the time. It had been like arriving at home for him, but a scary and unfortunate turn of events in the optics of the rest of his team. Since landing, they had tangled the captors in bladed chain, had grabbed some automated guns. He had also gathered three personnel-size shields that had once been the inner plating of the incinerator, so things were slowly turning for the better. Yes, he had felt at home here. With fuel finally in arm's reach.

His tanks were screaming for that fuel. His vocal modulator ran on the odd device in his mouth, assuring himself that they all would very soon get the energon they had needed.

"So, we're under the fuel tubes. Problem is, those are too thick for regular drillers, and we don't want to flood the entire cellar in precious energon, do we?"

The words 'fuel' and 'energon' triggered renewed warnings of low fuel level. Two pairs of hungry optics and three hopeful visors turned to him. He touched the round device in his mouth again. "Luckily, the gentlemechs were willing to give me the necessary tool, when I asked nicely enough."

Ahem. He had loudly threatened the Third Party to transform and call for help in his alt mode. After explaining for the third time that his signal range was eighty times wider in his alt, they had finally stuffed a round, coin-like object into his mouth to prevent him from transforming. One mech had even asked if Top Surprise knew what it was.

Oh course, he had known. Mouth flower. A powerful little driller that activated on extreme pressure, when it sensed transformation, or an attempt to remove it.

"Anybot thirsty?" Top Surprise asked. Then he spit out something.

It was a broken cover plate from a cuff – the only thing he had at hand when he was asking for his mouth to be pegged. The small grey piece had served its purpose well: an over-cautious third party mech had attached the mouth flower to it.

Top Surprise held the metal piece to the tube's side with one hand, then he made a fist with the other. It took him one precise punch to activate the mouth flower, and in the matter of milliseconds the tube had the desired hole in it. The Teeker even had the matching-size plug: he would later fill the hole with the exact same tool that had opened it. No need to flood the cellar, as he had said.

"Dinner's served, just open your mouth."

All five of the mechs were staring at him with their jaws dropped.