Chapter 6

Rage is a rotten gummy bear

Motormaster had always been a practical robot. He had lived his entire life running over whatever stood in his way. Autobots, Decepticons, humans, Primus… nobody had ever managed to make the King of the Road hit the brakes. Subtlety had never been his thing and it would never be.

Servos creaking in desire to crush, fuel boiling in anger… Motormaster refused to let the slagging 'helpless' word get comfortable in his data banks as the putrid human protoplasm ran along the console of his computer with the most irreverent familiarity. He just had to find another way to return things to his control, an alternative to violence, the logical and effective way… How the slag was he going to—

A sound to his left shook his frustrated thinking session. His optic sensors focused on the data pad on the floor, sparks flying from its broken screen. A purple stare fixated on flesh like the aim of a weapon. The human noticed it and seemed to hesitate, exposing a face of impudent innocence.

"Uh… somebody broke that."

Liars were something that Motormaster hated almost as much as cowards. "You broke that! Who else is fooling around on my fragging console? Lie to me again and you'll regret it!"

The human's mouth started to tremble again, a gesture that Motormaster was beginning to associate with weakness. Good. It was bad enough that he couldn't physically punish the germ to force discipline into its stupid processor.

"You will stay here for some time, so it's time to set some rules. Following them is your only option."

The human's face was not sending any signals except for its trembling mouth. Motormaster continued.

"Rule number one: you will not touch anything."

"What about the floor?"

Motormaster raised an optic brow. Was the slagging creature making fun of him?

"Can I touch the floor?" the human insisted, smiling,

"Yes, you can touch the floor…" Motormaster hissed between clenched dental plates.

"And the air? Can I touch the air?"

"Do you think this is a fragging joke, fleshling?" he said, waving a fist so close to the human that he felt the warmth coming from its small body.

The human giggled and suddenly embraced his clenched hand, as much as its little arms allowed it to. "Can I touch this?"

"No!" he roared, shaking his fist slightly and sending the human jolting backwards. "Rule number two: you will not bother me! That means you will stay quiet and silent. Is that understood?"

The human frowned and grabbed its chin. "Like a statue?"

"Yes, like a fraggin' statue," Motormaster replied impatiently. A dead corpse would suit you better. "Rule number three: you will not whine, or laugh, or talk unless you are addressed. This is a very important rule, so make sure to insert it in your organic processor. No annoying sounds!"

The runt stared at him fixedly, as if it was actually processing what he had said. Then it put its microscopic hands on its cheeks and drummed them. "Does this count as annoying?"

There had been times – not few – in which Motormaster had had to make a supreme effort in order to avoid pummeling his teammates to death. This one surpassed them all by far.

"VERY."

The creature only giggled in response, sending two rules of three to the Pit in a matter of an astro klik. With a trembling and eager-to-kill hand, Motormaster grabbed the bug and returned it to the drawer. At least there he wouldn't have to see it.

"I don't it like here, Mister Motor," it said with trembling voice when darkness surrounded its frame.

See if you laugh in there, you fraggin' pest. He closed the drawer, relieving his optics of the sight of the human. Shutting down his audio sensors again added a very welcome silence, providing him with a temporary feeling of peace, something he was very fond of despite being a robot who was used to solving everything with violence.

It was about an hour later when Motormaster felt the tremor under his feet. He stood up and turned around. Had that been an explosion? Too soft for an attack, too strong for a generator humming… The answer came from a thin line of smoke sneaking beneath his door.

He subspaced his sword and proceeded towards the door, not caring a slag for stealth. If Starscream and his Seekers wanted a piece of him, they would have it, stuck up their tail pipes. The same went for the Combaticons or whoever dared to mess with him. But when he opened the door all he found was the smiling face of Wildrider, still playing with a small smoke bomb and opening his mouth as if he was speaking. Drag Strip was behind him, leaning on the wall of the corridor.

"WHAT?" Motormaster roared, grabbing Wildrider by the neck and roughly shaking him. Whatever game the slagger was playing was definitely not amusing.

Wildrider kept gesticulating and only then Motormaster remembered he had flicked the off switch to his own audios. The smoke bomb certainly had been some idiotic way to call his attention. When he corrected the relieving anomaly, he was welcomed by the voice of his lunatic subordinate, who was speaking very cheerfully considering his neck components were being crushed.

"…but we lost the Autobots as soon as we hit the highway. Sorry for losing the crack, boss. I'll get you some next time 'cause I did a quick search on the internet and it seems like you could definitely use it."

Motormaster frowned and shot a questioning glance at Drag Strip. "A human stimulant, you don't want to know… At least five Autobots ambushed us and had Wildrider surrounded, but I saved him and made sure to successfully complete the mission, wasting the Autobots in the process."

Five Autobots… that made two or three at the most. It was so easy to read between Drag Strip's lines. Motormaster threw Wildrider into his quarters and signaled Drag Strip to follow.

Wildrider tumbled a little but came to a stop when he crashed against Motormaster's chair. "So where's the kid, boss? Drag Strip said she would be slime within your wheels by now," he said, rubbing his head and looking around.

Immediately, Drag Strip quickly denied it with his head. That reminded Motormaster of something.

"So you wagered my trailer," he growled, seizing Drag Strip's arm and making sure to leave the marks of his fingers embedded on the polished yellow metal. "I suppose you won, because as far as I could tell I still had my fragging frame complete the last time I transformed."

Drag Strip's optic visor seemed to increase its size. "Who told… It was Wildrider's idea! He said you wouldn't miss it!"

Motormaster growled and slapped Drag Strip, almost dislocating his head from his neck joints. "I'll deal with you two idiots later," he said, walking toward his chair and sitting on it, kicking the fallen Wildrider out of his way. "Now empty your subspace pockets."

"Why? Is this a robbery?" Wildrider giggled.

Another kick and Wildrider's smile was erased. "Don't make me repeat myself! Show me what you got from your raid, NOW!"

Soon, the formerly bare floor was filled with the most colorful and senseless collection of garbage that Motormaster had ever seen. There was nothing there that he could recognize, except for the textiles that looked like the ones Dead End and Drag Strip used to polish their frames again and again. But except for that, nothing called his attention.

"What the slag is all this junk?" he asked, summoning Breakdown and Dead End through the Gestalt bond at the same time.

"Wildrider said that anything shiny and crunchy would work," Drag Strip hurried to excuse himself. "I can't tell you more because I don't know slag about humans and their stuff. If something's missing, blame Wildrider."

"What about this?" Motormaster said, pointing toward at least two dozen cans of car waxes and something named 'Detailing Machine'. "Should I blame Wildrider for this too?"

Drag Strip opened his mouth but didn't say a word, as he did every time he was caught telling lies. It was so unnerving. Motormaster somehow had managed to live with the idiocy of his teammates, but he couldn't stand when any of them tried to fool him. When he punched Drag Strip again, he made sure to make a point.

The door opened right after Drag Strip had become the only decoration on Motormaster's wall and the two missing Stunticons entered, neither of them surprised by the sight that welcomed them.

"Mm," Dead End said. "I take it that the gathering of human objects was a failure? It was a doomed mission from the beginning."

"Shut up and start classifying that junk on my floor. You have half a breem."

Dead End shrugged his shoulders and proceeded to obey, his lack of motivation not being an obstacle for him to do efficiently what he had been commanded.

"Breakdown!"

The addressed Stunticon froze, half in the process of helping Drag Strip to remove his helm from the wall.

"Y-yes?"

Motormaster signaled his teammate with his finger to approach. Breakdown released Drag Strip as if he was on fire and obeyed.

"Since you love to research about the humans, I'm counting that you will provide some light. What are this flesh bag's needs exactly?"

Breakdown stuttered something, unable to speak clearly with the close gaze of his leader attached to him.

"Where is the human, by the way? Did it already end its short lifespan?" Dead End asked, sitting on the floor and tidily organizing the objects scattered around him.

Motormaster stood up and liberated Breakdown from his penetrating glare, giving his subordinate the chance to pull himself together.

"Stored", he said bluntly. "I'm waiting, Breakdown."

"Ah, well… they… they refuel about three times a day, recharge more or less the time we do, and they… ah, they also…"

Breakdown hesitated and approached Motormaster, a surprising attitude considering that he always did his best to keep his distance from his leader. But when Breakdown whispered some of the most strange and disturbing words Motormaster had ever heard, he understood the reason of his subordinate's sudden courage.

The moment for becoming a 'They-do-what?' kind of bot had arrived, and even with all his stoic roughness, Motormaster couldn't help but open his optics as widely as he had never opened them, turning fast toward a certain drawer.

Oh slag… if the human worm had dared to make a mess in his drawer… then blood would happen, and crushed miniature bones, and an even bigger mess of human tissue all over his fist…

"Humans need oxygen to keep functioning, especially considering we are thirteen thousand feet beneath the sea," Dead End said absent-mindedly. "Shall I prepare the waste disposal unit to get rid of the corpse?"

"Oh my God, you killed Kenny!" Wildrider laughed, peeking from behind Motormaster's shoulder.

"You bastard," Drag Strip's voice could be heard from his very uncomfortable spot, his head still half embedded into the wall.

Motormaster was so disturbed by the possibility of failing Megatron that he didn't even care for his teammates' lack of respect. He would always have time to murder them later. The human, on the other hand, was a casualty that he couldn't afford.

He opened the drawer carefully, not even noticing when Breakdown peeked behind his other shoulder in another display of unusual courage.

"I don't think she's dead. See? She's breaching."

"The word, Breakdown, is breathing," Dead End corrected immediately.

It was true. The human was alive, although it seemed upset. Motormaster didn't give a slag about its mood, relieved– once again – by not having managed to kill the slagging creature. But relief didn't stop him from turning around and shooting an angry look towards Dead End. "Time is over. For your own sake, I hope you've finished."

"I have, actually," Dead End said, standing up and holding a data pad in his hand. "After an examination as thorough as possible given the deadline you gave me, I came to the conclusion that most of these objects are useless to this human creature. Here is a complete list of the objects acquired."

Motormaster snatched the data pad from Dead End's hand and read some the alien words, as comprehensible as the mumbling of an over energized Insecticon. "Fifty boxes of matches, seventeen tennis balls, twelve cans of shoe deodorant, thirty three and a half boxes of condoms… what the slag is all this?"

Dead End shrugged his shoulders. "As I said, nothing useful for this specific kind of human creature."

Motormaster shot daggers at Wildrider and Drag Strip, who had managed to get his head out of the wall. "Did I send you to get human fuel or to make complete idiots out of yourselves?"

Wildrider rubbed his chin, actually considering the question. Motormaster was about to punch him when the chirping of the creature resounded again.

"I wanna go out! It's dark in here!"

Confirmed, human worms didn't come with an off switch.

"It's better in the dark," Breakdown said, not addressing anybody in particular. "That way no one stares at you."

"Mister Motor!"

Wildrider chuckled. "Mister Motor, I like it! Can I call you that too, boss?"

Motormaster hit Wildrider in the back of the head, but that didn't stop the insane idiot from opening the drawer completely. "Hey, are you okay down there, kid?"

"I want to go out!"

Wildrider seized the human with so much familiarity that Motormaster felt disgusted. Even though the lunatic fragger's knowledge about the human race would prove to be useful, it was very disturbing to picture one of his teammates interacting so naturally with the bags of flesh. As much as the Stunticons had spent most of their lives on the terrestrial roads and were very used to the creatures that inhabited the planet, Motormaster had never considered them much more than bugs. Their roads were his to reign, and every time the cockroaches dared to step in his way it was only to end up crushed.

"Hey, are you hungry?" Wildrider said, putting the human before his face. "Drag Strip got you nice things to eat, didn't you Drags?"

"I want Cheetos!" the human croaked.

Drag Strip cast Wildrider a killer glare before addressing Motormaster. "I found the slagging crunchy fuel, but Wildrider didn't allow me to—"

"Wait," Motormaster said calmly, the kind of calm that preceded a storm. "Are you saying you didn't bring the fragging Cheetos?"

Drag Strip stepped back. "I… we… Wildrider got ambushed by the Autobots. I had to save him!"

"You did?" Wildrider asked, clearly confused. Either his data banks were playing tricks with his mind again, or Drag Strip was lying. Experience had taught Motormaster that it was always a combination of both.

Discipline was about to be imposed when Breakdown spoke timidly, already hidden behind Dead End's frame. "This might work…"

Motormaster turned around and saw the large number of small plastic bags filled with something colorful.

"I saw this on television the other day, I'm sure," Breakdown said, seeming to slump with the sudden attention. "Human children refuel with this."

"Gummy bears!" the excited scream confirmed.

Gummy bears… another fragging word that didn't mean anything. One thing was for sure; humans were surrounded by all kinds of idiotic, useless slag.

Motormaster extended his hand and received twenty nine packages of the strange solid fuel. He placed them on the console of his computer and signaled Wildrider to put the human there.

"Heh, she's funny. Can we keep her?" Wildrider said as he saw the slime-squirt running happily toward the plastic bags and extracting some kind of rubber.

"Yeah, you can put her on a leash and hang her around your neck," Drag Strip sneered, unconsciously starting to refer to the creature as a 'she'. That was a club Motormaster was definitely not going to join. Having pets was an Autobot thing. That creature was an acquired target and thus it had to be addressed.

He caught Dead End's stare. Despite being the less expressive of the team, Dead End had a very annoying way to silently expose his thoughts without the need of words whenever he considered it convenient. Motormaster didn't need to take a look at the Gestalt bond to know that Dead End also considered the current scene inappropriate and ridiculous. If there was something that Motormaster hated the most it was to be exposed before his teammates in a situation that he could not control. As if dragged by a magnet, his worst memory arrived brutally to his memory banks to torture him again. Suddenly he was in that Autobot cell again, defeated by Optimus Prime and humiliated in front of his teammates…

"Mister Motor?"

He should have ignored the flesh bag. His processor knew, also his spark, even his joints knew better… But he turned around, still disturbed by the bad memory, as if weakness attracted more weakness.

The creature was looking at him as if nobody else existed. Her childish, pathetic anguish was reflected on that organic face half covered with the slagging gummy bears. "I have to go to the bathroom."

The words that Breakdown had whispered to his audios returned as comforting as acid. It was official. His worst nightmare was yet to be written. At least inside the Autobots cell anger had helped him to pick up the pieces of his shattered dignity.

To be continued.

I'm currently going through a Stunticon writing streak, so expect constant updates on this and my 'The Left Leg' story.

Those of you who watched 'Despicable Me' must have recognized the lines in which Agnes asks about what she is able to touch, and the bit in which she drums her cheeks.

There's also the classic 'Oh my God, you killed Kenny!' line from South Park, followed by the priceless 'You bastard'. I couldn't resist using them here. I was laughing maniacally last evening watching a South Park marathon and I had to include those lines somewhere. I think Wildrider and Drag Strip would be familiar with that show. Is there a better way to acquire the basics of human culture? I don't think so!

Many thanks to iratepirate for her beta services and to all of you for reading. Reviews are very much appreciated :o)