Disclaimer: The Transformers franchise is the property of Hasbro/Takara.

Warnings: Interactions of dubious consent.

Author's Note: This is chapter three of five. A big thanks to those who have sent reviews!


"Monitor duty with a geek like you — I don't know what Megatron was thinkin'."

Thundercracker had to agree. Megatron, for reasons unknown, had placed the seeker on a shift with Rumble, of all the 'cons on the Nemesis, and it was maddening. The blue jet had been lucky to reach the sunken Decepticon ship a full cycle before the start of his assigned shift — but had he known it would be shared with the diminutive, loudmouthed cassette, Thundercracker might have reconsidered the urgency of his return.

Leaning back in his chair with one leg crossed over the other, Thundercracker attempted to look bored; as usual, the wall of closed-circuit monitors before him showed nothing out of the ordinary. But the calm façade was far from the truth — Thundercracker was terrified. Blitzwing had yet to copy or distribute the holovid: that much Thundercracker knew, thanks to some covert, undercover questioning from Skywarp (who, understandably, wasn't too pleased about the current state of affairs). But the film had been compiled — all six camera angles, accompanied by sound — and now everything hinged on whenever Blitzwing felt compelled to finish the slagging thing. It was nerve-wracking, and Thundercracker needed some form of distraction.

Luckily for the seeker, there was Rumble. "And what the frag happened to your wings? You and Skywarp get in another fight, or what?"

Thundercracker resisted the urge to cuff the much-smaller Decepticon. "No, and maybe you should mind your own business!"

"That ain't healthy! Better have that creepy Constructicon look 'em over."

"Mention my wings again and I'll send you to Hook as spare parts!"

As always, it was an empty threat. The Decepticon ranks were a violent place, for sure — but there was an unspoken rule onboard the Nemesis that Soundwave's cassettes were off-limits. Aside from their sneaky behavior, Laserbeak, Buzzsaw, and Ravage were mostly benign — but Rumble and Frenzy took advantage of this untouchable status and milked it to its fullest potential. Thundercracker had an inkling that the twin cassettes were subject to far stricter treatment in Soundwave's care, which would explain the chaos they had the tendency to create when out of their maker's sight.

"— are you even listenin' to me?"

Apparently, Rumble had been speaking. The jet had heard nothing of it, but thinking about the cassette's comrades got Thundercracker's processor turning. "No, but I have a proposition for you."

"A propo — a what?"

"Never mind," said Thundercracker. "Which of you cassettes is the sneakiest?"

Rumble mulled it over. "Buzzsaw's the sneakiest, but she's on Cybertron with Ratbat."

"Okay, then that leaves who? Laserbeak?"

"Or Ravage," said Rumble. "They're equally sneaky. But Laserbeak's a sassy little scrap pile, too."

Thundercracker considered this information. He hadn't even been aware that Buzzsaw identified as female in the first place, nor had he known the animal-form cassettes had the capacity for sass. Perhaps their combined emotional capability compensated for Soundwave's complete lack of it. "Who's easier to work with?"

"They're both disgustingly loyal, if that's what you're askin'."

"Negative," said Thundercracker. "Let's just say — if I wanted one of them to complete a favor for me, a sneaky one — who should I choose?"

Rumble smirked. "This is soundin' really shady, TC!"

"I need someone to execute a heist," Thundercracker elaborated. "That's all."

"Where?"

"Here, onboard the Nemesis."

"Then Ravage," Rumble offered. "She's been in a mood lately. Says the boss has been neglectin' her."

"Think she'll be game?"

"I don't know," the cassette said, his voice laced with suspicion. "Who're you gonna be stealin' from?"

There was no point in lying — Thundercracker was quite certain the triplechangers were universally hated onboard the Decepticon ship, especially by 'cons of smaller stature. "Blitzwing."

Rumble crossed his arms over his chest, red visor turning back toward the wall of monitors. "And the thing you want swiped is?"

"You're asking too many questions!" was the growled response.

"Hey, when it concerns one of my brothers, it concerns me."

Thundercracker allowed himself to smirk, both at the cassette's failure to grasp gendered nouns, but also at his dedication. "Alright. Get me Ravage, and I'll let you in on it, too. Maybe you can be of some help."


A cycle after completing their shift, Thundercracker reconvened with Rumble — along with Skywarp and Ravage — in the seekers' shared quarters. It didn't take long for Thundercracker to learn that it wasn't wise to talk down to Ravage. The animal-form cassette was not a child, nor was she an automaton — Ravage was incredibly smart and cunning, and, in the surprise of the meta-cycle, Thundercracker discovered that she could talk.

It was just Thundercracker's luck that Ravage was also a typical Decepticon.

"What's in it for me?" the cassette panther hissed. "I don't work for free."

"I don't know yet," the blue jet admitted. "All I know is that it needs to be done now. Then we can work out the specifics."

"It's a poor plan," Ravage rasped. The small 'con paced, then met optics with Rumble; for a klik, the cassettes seemed to exchange words in a private conversation, and then she returned her attention to Thundercracker. "Do you not understand how thievery works? This isn't a simple task. You cannot simply steal a video chip and not expect Blitzwing to notice."

"Well, if you've got better ideas, let's hear 'em!" Skywarp declared as he crossed the room. The black jet crouched low to the floor beside Ravage, patted her head, and jeered, "Here, kitty, tell us how it should be done."

Ravage didn't take kindly to the patronizing speech. With a snarl, she swiped at Skywarp's face — nearly ripping out an optic — then wheeled to glare at Thundercracker and Rumble. "I can steal the video chip — that's easy. But it needs to be replaced with something."

Well, that made sense. Thundercracker glanced down to Rumble, then to Skywarp — who was straightening himself out — then back to Ravage. "So, what, do we need a decoy video chip? I've got plenty of blank ones."

Rumble shook his head and snickered. "Nah. You'll need more than a blank chip to fool Blitzwing."

Thundercracker didn't like where this solution was headed, not one bit. "What does he mean, Ravage?"

"You'll need to substitute it with a film of similar length," the panther cassette replied. "Not necessarily a deactivation holovid, or even pornography — but the closer in content and file size, the better."

"Does it have to be original material?" Skywarp asked.

Ravage nodded. "Existing videos contain metadata that can be detected without viewing the content — in short, the metadata contains a script that will let Blitzwing know if the video has already been —"

"Cut it with the tech talk," Thundercracker snapped. "It's gotta be a new video, I get it. And it should probably be pornography." This was becoming far more complicated than he'd ever imagined — for Pit's sake, how had the simple filming of a slagging holovid brought them to this point? For what was probably the hundredth time, Thundercracker mentally punched himself for deciding to return the body of Sunstreaker. "Frag it. We're running out of time. Any volunteers?"

Predictably, there was silence.

Thundercracker cast a sidelong glance to Rumble. "You said you wanted in on this, pipsqueak."

The blue cassette scowled. "You've gotta be kidding me!"

"Not an exhibitionist, eh?" Skywarp laughed.

"No! Don't even think about it!"

And then Ravage spoke up. "Rumble, go get the boss's mics and cameras. I've got an idea."


"So — great, it'll be like a home video, then. No."

"Hear me out, Thundercracker," Ravage hissed. "It will look like an honest mistake, or a technical glitch. It'll be a video not intended for public viewing. Blitzwing will still get his pornography in the end, but — ideally — he'll find out a little too late that it's not the video he thought it was. Thankfully for him — and for you — he'll still get credits out of the deal."

Rumble glanced up from his assembly of the recording equipment. "Yeah, but who wants to see them bumpin' uglies?"

"Quite a few, I'll have you know," Skywarp growled. "I'm in, if only to bail your stupid, sorry aft out of this, TC."

Thundercracker frowned, realizing he no longer had a say in the matter, and then he began to pace. Rumble was already setting up the sixth and final camera, and soon he would move on to the microphones. The blue jet cringed, displeased by the entire situation.

Out of the blue, he received a private radio message.

Status report, asshole.

Thundercracker sighed, then excused himself from the room. Thankfully, the corridor was deserted, and he responded, We're just about to set our plan into motion.

Good, was Sideswipe's reply. I'd hate to see you fail. Explaining to Prime why I was ripping out your interface cabling during our next battle is a conversation I'd rather not have.

The Decepticon chose not to answer. He terminated the message then returned to his quarters, only to find Rumble conducting a mic-check with Skywarp. Ravage was inspecting the cameras, and she seemed pleased by their positioning. "Did the Autobot comm you?"

Thundercracker nodded. "He'll kill me — or worse — if we don't succeed."

"You in, then?" Skywarp asked from the floor.

The blue jet dreaded his own reply. He bit back his hatred for himself and the situation he'd gotten them all into, and grumbled, "Yes."

"Excellent," said Rumble. "Let's get this show on the road!"


Never in his wildest dreams had Thundercracker thought he'd have to perform explicit acts before an audience. He'd argued against it, of course: Rumble and Ravage would have to go. Simply put, there was no way in the Pit that he'd screw his wingmate in front of Soundwave's cassettes — but Ravage held her ground. Rumble was required to work the camera equipment, she explained, and she would stand guard. Besides, the panther cassette added, she considered a front-row seat ample payment for her involvement in this whole clusterfrag of a situation.

Thundercracker didn't want to think too hard about it. And, really, now he couldn't, because he was supine on the deck, legs spread, and Skywarp was towering above him, a horrible, perverted grin on his faceplates. "I am gonna fuck you through the floor."

Mentally, the blue jet grimaced at his wingmate's dirty talk. All Thundercracker could hope for was that things wouldn't get too embarrassing. It's time to put on a show, he told himself, and as Skywarp kneeled and hoisted Thundercracker's legs skyward, he forced what he hoped sounded like an aroused moan.

Skywarp was used to this kind of slag — the Sunstreaker snuff film aside, he'd apparently been in a handful of other videos of pornographic nature — and he took the lead. Thundercracker noted, with a tinge of worry, that his wingmate seemed entirely overzealous about the whole affair. Perhaps the fact they had an audience was getting him off, a thought which was decidedly disturbing.

"Open up."

Skywarp's hissed command brought Thundercracker back into the present. Purple digits danced across white pelvic armor, wandering roughly into seams, tracing circles on port covers. This time, Thundercracker moaned in earnest, deciding to completely forget the six camera lenses — and two pairs of optics — that were trained his way. Interface port covers slid aside, all three of them; Skywarp claimed the blue jet's mouth in a deep, violent kiss.

Thundercracker returned the gesture with equal ferocity, hands scrabbling at his wingmate's shoulder vents, pulling Skywarp further into him. The blue jet could feel the other playing with his interface ports, digits probing them, and Thundercracker whimpered with want for more. His partner didn't hesitate. Skywarp brought his own hand to his mouth, licked his fingers, then plunged three of them deep into his trinemate. Thundercracker — who always prided himself in being so stoic, so sober — howled.

"You like that, don't ya, you second-rate Kaon pleasure drone?"

Thundercracker was too far gone to be embarrassed by his trinemate's words. A charge was beginning to form in his systems — his spark was skipping — his vents hummed loudly. Control yourself. You gotta make this last. Skywarp flared his energy field, then withdrew his digits from Thundercracker's pelvic housing — before pulling his wingmate up, flipping him over, and slamming him face-down into the floor.

The blue jet grunted, pain and pleasure prickling his systems. His body was still agonizingly sore from his run-in with Sideswipe — and now Skywarp was pulling on his already-dented wings, and Thundercracker screamed. The sound only seemed to please his partner further. "Get your aft in the air," was Skywarp's hissed command.

A hesitation. Thundercracker knew where this was headed: it was well on its way to becoming a horribly painful, ridiculously rough interface. Why not go the extra mile, then, and make it something Decepticon audiences would truly enjoy? Encounters of dubious consent had always been a hot sell back on Cybertron — and Thundercracker knew, then, that it was the route to go. "Make me," he growled in reply, much to his wingmate's surprise — and delight.

Skywarp didn't respond, at least not verbally. He slammed Thundercracker's head down to the floor — Primus, did that hurt — and then the blue jet, his processor still swimming, felt his aft pulled up into the air. It was an incredibly vulnerable position, and Thundercracker, still vaguely aware of the recording being made, could only imagine the camera lenses trained on his exposed interface paneling.

It was a fleeting thought: Thundercracker felt Skywarp's bulk behind him, grinding against his aft and open ports. It hurt, and Thundercracker, face still pressed into the floor, moaned in pain.

"You're gonna take it in all three, whorebot."

That was unprecedented. Without delay, Thundercracker booted up several firewalls to act as a surge protector — without them, he knew, the force of such a high-energy exchange would certainly offline his systems. And Skywarp wasted no time: the blue jet felt an interface cable plugged into one port — then another — then the last. With each connection came an exponential increase of data and raw energy, and Primus, did it feel horrible and wonderful, all at once.

Pulse after pulse of electric power surged from Skywarp. The energy slammed Thundercracker's motor relays, forcing his legs to quiver and misfire; it reached his spark, making it throb and spasm wildly beneath his cockpit. And the data that was carried through the interface connection — it was a mixture of lust and of hatred, all streaming from Skywarp. It manifested itself as a presence within Thundercracker's being; it berated the blue jet for being such a fragging sympathetic aft — it hissed dirty, perverse, unrepeatable things — it was violent and tender and angry and placid all at once —

And then Skywarp whispered against the Thundercracker's audial, "Gonna rape that pretty little spark of yours."


"And that's a wrap! Good thing, 'cause I've got — uh, stuff to attend to."

"Oh no you don't, Rumble. You need to get the cameras packed up!"

"You're a real fraggin' jerk, Ravage —"

Thundercracker onlined to the din of an argument between Soundwave's cassettes. He soon became very aware of the pain that was throbbing in his wings and especially in his back — not to mention the dull ache pounding his head, as well. Finally, his optics flickered back on, and the blue jet was dismayed to see he was still face-down on the floor. Thundercracker groaned.

"H-e-e-e-y! Welcome back, TC!" The overly-jubilant voice belonged to Skywarp. Thundercracker groaned again as he pushed himself up into a seated position. His purple and black wingmate stood over him, hands on his hips, looking far too pleased with himself. "Nice cruddy surge protectors you set up."

"Wha — oh." And then Thundercracker remembered the series of events that had led up to this point, and he grimaced. "How long've I been out?"

"Eh, half a cycle, tops," Skywarp said with a shrug. "Ravage is already starting to edit the videos — on your computer, of course."

Thundercracker didn't find himself willing to care. "I feel — I feel like slag, Skywarp. What did you do to me? Why did I offline?"

"You don't remember?"

"Would I be asking if I did?" Thundercracker snarled in reply. "My back hurts. You're grinning. What — did — you — do?"

Skywarp held out his hand, helping Thundercracker to his feet. "Just a little bit of sparkplay. No big deal."

"— through my back?"

"Maybe."

"I am going to kill you!" Luckily for his trinemate, Thundercracker was still unsteady. He swayed, halted his advance, and glowered at Skywarp. "I have to be flight-ready ASAP, and you go and —"

"Don't worry," the black jet purred. "I'll fix you up. Take a seat, let me find a repair kit, and then I can fill you in on everything."

And so he sat. It became clear that Thundercracker's wingmate had all but torn his back open to access his spark from behind, and Pit did it burn. It was far from life-threatening, of course, but the blue jet was thankful that he couldn't see the damage. To distract himself from the searing pain, he glanced uneasily to Rumble and Ravage. Both cassettes were now stationed in front of Thundercracker's computer, making the necessary edits to the videos before compiling them into a single file. He was disturbed to hear that, between hissed instructions to her brother, Ravage was purring.

Thundercracker sighed. He knew he should feel considerably more appalled about the whole situation — about doing whatever the frag he had done with Skywarp in front of Soundwave's Pit-spawned cassettes — about the inevitable swap of video files, if Blitzwing hadn't already distributed the original film — about reconvening with the very-irate and seemingly-unbalanced Sideswipe. But he hurt, and he'd done far too much in the last megacycle and he just wanted to go into recharge. The time Thundercracker had spent offline, on the floor, had done little to refresh his systems.

Skywarp returned, dragging behind him a cart full of tools and other repair paraphernalia. "So, what's gonna happen when Sideswipe has the holovid, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

A shrug. "Don't you think he'll show the rest of the Autobots? And don't you think they'll retaliate?"

Thundercracker shook his aching head. "I've got a hunch that it'll be an internal affair, handled strictly by Sideswipe."

"Huh."

"He's not all-there," the blue jet elaborated, "not anymore, at least. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that killing his spark-twin has something to do with it."

"Yeah, well, I don't think you're all-there, either," Skywarp grumbled.

"Just get me fixed. We can discuss sanity and which of us has more of it later."

Skywarp nodded and went to work; the black jet was not a skilled medic, but he'd helped mend Thundercracker and Starscream a countless number of times — whether it was after a regretful battle or following a rough interface. Skywarp wasn't precise, nor was he gentle, but Thundercracker no longer cared.

He just wanted everything to be over.


Barely nanokliks after the film was compiled, Stage Two of the video chip heist went into effect.

"According to this megacycle's work schedule, Blitzwing is currently on air patrol duty with Astrotrain," Ravage explained in a hiss, "and he will be occupied with that for the next five-plus cycles. This gives us more than enough time to make the switch and get that video out of here."

Thundercracker, freshly-repaired but still very sore, considered this information. "Alright. When will you have the stolen film? How long will that take?"

"Give me thirty kliks," the panther cassette replied. "I possess every access code imaginable onboard the Nemesis."

Skywarp frowned in disgust. "How the frag did that happen?"

"I know nearly everything Soundwave knows," she purred. "And that's all you get to know."

Thundercracker, though, found the time estimate sufficient. "I'm going to contact Sideswipe. Rumble, help Ravage get ready to execute the swap."

"Sure thing!"

The blue jet found the Autobot's frequency, then sent a short message: One point five cycles.

Sideswipe's angry response was nearly immediate. Do you really think I can get out there that fast?!

Nope, was Thundercracker's taunting reply. So you'd better get moving, groundpounder.

I'll get there when I get there! Sideswipe snarled. Come alone.

Don't worry.And then Thundercracker cut the transmission. Truth be told, he was surprised that the Autobot had left the Olympic Peninsula in the first place — if he had left. How much time had passed since their original meeting? Thundercracker knew that Sideswipe did possess some sort of rudimentary, short-distance flight capabilities — that would explain the ambush on the precipice — but there was no way Sideswipe could have brought Sunstreaker back to the Ark, flying or driving.

It was troublesome, but Thundercracker decided he really couldn't worry about it any further.

"You look preoccupied."

Thundercracker glanced up to his wingmate. "I am. Just hoping this all works out."

Skywarp shrugged. "It will. Once Ravage comes back with that video chip, I'll teleport you outta here. Just don't hang around this time, huh?"

"I'll make it a point not to." Thundercracker glanced over to the cassettes. "Rumble?"

"We're good to go," was the reply. "Ravage has a surveillance camera that she'll switch on when she leaves. The signal is synched to your computer, so we'll be able watch her brilliance in action."

"Sounds good," said the blue jet. "Anything else, Ravage?"

"Negative," the panther cassette replied. A small camera lens emerged from the top of her head; she took the video chip carefully into her jaws, then said, "I'll return in less than thirty kliks." And with that, Ravage whisked away.

As soon as she left, the video feed switched on. Thundercracker eased himself off his berth to join Rumble and Skywarp in front of the monitor, and from the looks of it, Ravage was using the main corridor for her path — so far. It was strange to see the passageways of the Nemesis from such a low vantage point; Ravage kept to the shadows, slinking her way along the walls, her movement quick and confident. Thundercracker found himself impressed.

At a junction between corridors, the camera took an abrupt left turn — and then descended into darkness. Ravage had entered a floor-level ventilation shaft.

Skywarp whistled in approval. "She's good."

"No kiddin'," said Rumble. "When it comes to this kinda thing, she's the best."

Ravage continued; the grainy video was deathly black, but it was accompanied by sound: silence save for the tap tap tap of the cassette's metal paws along the duct. Thundercracker finally felt his confidence in the whole situation start to grow, and he cycled a short sigh of relief. It's going to be okay.


Author's Note: To be continued… Thanks for reading!