Author's NB: Felt like writing something not so morbid, and everyone always likes a good Twins' antics fic. The pranks are based on what my friend and I did to our teachers on a school camp.

I was a mischievous little girl. HAHAHAH.

--

"WHAT ARE THOSE?!?!"

Optics widened.

"WHAT ARE THEY DOING IN MY MEDBAY?!"

Mouth agape.

"HOW DID THEY GET IN HERE?!"

Fists clenched.

"In answer to your first question, Ratchet, I believe they are of the genus Gallus, the epithet, gallus, also known as Gallus gallus domesticus – or chickens. I believe they are engaging in common Gallus gallus' behaviour, pecking, gathering, clucking, brooding. The males are engaging in…"

"PERCEPTOOOOOOOOOOOOR!!!"

"I was simply answering your queries".

The scientist found bright blue optics that were so focussed on his form that if he wasn't so well versed in structural mechanics he would have feared that glare piercing his body. He calculated better odds of a snow ball sustaining its structural integrity in a smelting pit then he had of getting out of this functioning at maximum efficiency if he remained here or further added his knowledge to the situation. The scientist smiled gingerly and then cautiously backed away, leaving the medic to the mess organic poultry was depositing in his infirmary.

A quick scan by the medic's keen visual sensors indicated ten thousand, four hundred and twenty eight chickens, the majority were females however, the two thousand, one hundred and fifteen males were more then making up for their sparse numbers. A group of them were involved in courting rituals, in particular fighting each other for the affections of the females, while others were chasing the females, others were engaged in mating. All of them were making a mess. The end product of their biological fuelling processes was splattered on every surface, feathers, claw marks, blobs of blood added to the sheer magnitude of the mess someone was going to have to clean. Vast amounts of ovum's were shattered and smeared on a great deal of places. And then there was the noise. The cluckings, broodings, squawking, well, it just wasn't a pleasant sound for the Autobot's audios.

The surly medic needed no proof, he needed no second guesses, he needed no assistance, it was pretty damn obvious who had visited this destruction upon his personal space; he just hoped that Sunstreaker was left in a similar condition from catching and transporting these birds. Of course, knowing those two retro rat bastards, they'd probably show up in the med bay after for help just to annoy him further. It was about the time Ratchet started imagining what he could inflict to Sunstreaker's finish with a flamethrower that the chickens decided they didn't like him and thusly, attacked him. Obviously an organic creature covered with feathers, the size of a ball attempting to push back a giant robot with a bad temper wasn't going to end well for them. However, led by one of the more audacious rosters, a large throng of chickens were enough to have Ratchet loose his balance, fall backwards and land hard on the floor – and a few of the slower chickens.

A flash of light suddenly caught his attention as he lay there, covered in grumpy chickens, feathers and their smelly leavings. The medic focused his optics and found the source. A red mech standing there with a camera in his hands.

"Oh man! This is gonna be priceless!"

"Its going straight on my Facebook page, bro!"

The two laughed and then made their escape. Ratchet's groan was a little more frustrated and a lot more vengeful. A chicken landed on his face and pooped on his nose. He exhaled through his oral vent, a stray feather floating upwards and landing in the poop that ran down his cheek plates.

--

Beachcomber had had a field day when Ratchet approached him and asked him to clear out the chickens. It meant the medic was going to have to put up with Beachcomber's silent treatment once the hippy-bot discovered the few unlucky chucklers that hadn't moved fast enough – of course, that was nothing that was going to eat at the medic's sensitivities. But as much as Beachcomber was a "stoner", often supplementing his energon with variables, he did manage to get all of the chickens out, find them a new home – some bleeding fuel pump liberal humans with an overt love of animals ran a reserve near by. The medic also gave the hippy credit as he had conned Red Alert into cleaning the lab. Something about the infectious nature of chicken deposits and how it could adversely affect the functioning of the security sensors if it seeped into the wiring. Skids joined in the cleaning when Beachcomber told him of the horrors of some microscopic life form that dwelt in the leavings that if humans came into contact with could fall very ill and actually cease functioning – which would be a PR nightmare if it happened to befall a visiting politician or human dignitary.

Within eight hours of coming upon a medbay full of chickens, it was spick and span as the human phrase noted.

It didn't, however, solve the problem of the twins and what pain filled torture or revenge Ratchet could drop down upon them once he got a hold of them. Something did tell him that perhaps Prowl would step in and increase their usual punishment; he was not one to go in for their shenanigans. And Optimus, well, rumour abounded that he was sick and tired of their antics, he was fine when it was a moral booster, but that meant nothing was harmed and messes weren't made.

So it was quite odd then, while Ratchet was running system checks to ensure no internal damage to his computer scanners and diagnostic equipment that he heard the familiar clucking. He sighed as robots did, and leant over the side of the machine and his optics rested upon the large rusty brown hen that was sitting in the corner.

"Booooooooooooooock, bock, bock, bock, bock, bock, booooooooooooooooooock".

It made quite a rhythmically soothing sound. Ratchet lent down and picked the hen up and sat it on the table next to the computer. It was rather calm and didn't seem too fussed about the antics that had exploded about it not so long ago.

"Well, now, chicken friend, what do you expect me to do with you?"

The medic noticed a bag of seed that Beachcomber had left sitting on a shelf. He picked it up and scooped out a few for the chicken, who was more then happy to peck them up. It was actually quite calming to watch, but more so because the medic was imagining it pecking the twins' optics out. The chicken finished its meal then made itself quite comfortable on the desk, tucked its head down into its front… somehow, and began its recharge cycle, which rather then angering the medic, gave him the reminder that it was probably time for his.

--

Ratchet lay in his recharge berth trying to initiate his cycle, but finding himself unsuccessful. His olfactory sensors kept alarming. He sat up and flared his nasal vents in an attempt to better gather in more information about this… absolutely foul stench!!

"HOLY PRIMUS!"

He roared as the full horror reached his CPU. Whatever was causing that smell it was absolutely horrendous. The medic was up and out of his berth, commanding the lights in his quarters to activate his optics began a scan of the area. It was so overpowering that even when he shut of his nasal scents he could still smell it!

"Seesh!"

He again, didn't need any second guess as to who was responsible for that ghastly aroma.

There was a slight distortion in the colouring around the top of his berth. He reached down and with careful digits wiped along the edge. Something came off on his fingers, it was a greasy, oily sort of sensation, and was obviously oozing off whatever was causing the smell. He lifted the top head panel off his berth and discovered a stash of different coloured pieces of material. That's when the stink hit him. The sheer ferocity of it was enough to make even Megatron sob like a little human girl. Ratchet stumbled backwards, his hands releasing the panel and coming up to his nose in an attempt to limit the fumes that were making it up his nasal vents, the panel of course was taken by gravity and slammed into his foot.

"DAMMIT ALL!"

The medic swore loudly as he began hopping about the room.

"Primus above!"

He growled as the smell continued to waft even further into the surrounds.

The Autobot activated the ventilation units in his quarters, thankfully he had a room with a view and so the vents would release the smell directly out into the night air and not into a corridor or a neighbouring room. So repugnant was this stink it'd be an awful crime to inflict it on any others. After a gust of fresh air rushed up his nasal vents, he covered his face with his hand and approached the open compartment – he had been in the thick of war on all worlds and had come across sights and smells that would make even the staunchest of Decepticons cringe, he had no excuse no to further investigate.

Socks.

Well, that was what he thought the human word was.

They were a piece of material that was fashioned to encase the human foot to provide both warmth and comfort when the human wearing a "shoe". And those socks looked pretty… manky – another human word. While the medic could still calculate as to what the colours had once been intended, they were now somewhat yellowed, browned and some even blackened – colours the organics could produce if they didn't properly adhere to regular hygiene practices.

It was truly foul.

Ratchet removed his laser from subspace and blasted the pile of socks. The black dust wafted upwards. A burst of one of the most powerful antiseptics in existence removed the oily substance the socks had produced and leaked about his berth. The problem was solved.

Unfortunately it wasn't, and the smell lingered in his quarters for at least six months.