A/N: today we feature the slag-type weapons from Borderlands 2.
Brawn swung around and shoved Brawl straight into the path of Ramjet's kamikaze dive, and the two went down on impact. Sunstreaker, who was the original target of the jet's suicidal attack, flashed a grin in thanks before he was tackled by Blitzwing. He was face-to-muzzle with the triple-changer's cannon, and before he could react, Blitzwing was jerked up and the blast missed him by inches. With one more pull, Warpath and Ironhide successfully hauled the Decepticon off their compatriot.
Sunstreaker rolled to his pedes, seeing red. He'd probably had paint scraped off his back from that move!
"Hold him there!" he shouted, brought his newest blaster to the forefront, and pulled the trigger. A wide spray of what appeared to be purple goo emerged from the muzzle, and splashed across Blitzwing's chest and shoulders. The ooze evaporated almost instantly, and a mix of shock and relief flashed across the tank-plane's features.
"Hah! Is that the best you-"
Ironhide socked Blitzwing right in the spark chamber.
The triple-changer collapsed with a gurgle, the shape of the van's fist imprinted deeply into his chestplate.
At the others' shocked expressions, Sunstreaker explained, "That stuff will soften up anything it hits. Temporarily."
Ironhide checked to see if any of the substance transferred to his hands.
Brawn whistled. "I have got to get me one of those."
Although the Decepticons were successfully beaten back, the berths in the Autobot medbay were full. First Aid wheeled Brawn past Sunstreaker, who held up a mostly-melted hand in greeting.
"You still want one of these?"
Sideswipe, in the berth beside Sunstreaker, rubbed his temples. "Only you would be in here not because some Con shot you, not because you were trapped in a natural disaster, but because your own weapon melted down in your own hands!"
"Not just me," Sunstreaker grinned, as he caught sight of Wheeljack making his way towards him. "Take a look at this guy, Sides. When he stays at base, he blows himself to pieces. Send him into battle, and he comes back without a scratch!"
Indeed, Wheeljack didn't bear more than a few dents and tears. "Sunstreaker! How did my molecular disruption compound work?"
"See for yourself." Sunstreaker brandished his mutilated appendage.
"Hmmm." Wheeljack inspected the damage. "Is there anything left of the gun?"
Sideswipe rolled his eyes.
Swoop rolled a cart of medical supplies between the berths. "What him Sunstreaker do now?"
The Dinobot leaned over to take Sunstreaker's arm, but Wheeljack waved him off.
"Wait just a minute Swoop, I want to get a better look at the effects of the compound-"
"Him Sunstreaker need full replacement. Again. Him Wheeljack bring spare servos and me Swoop give melted part to him Wheeljack."
"But-"
Swoops wings twitched a few degrees upward.
"-I'll be right back."
"Swoop, are you going to do me too?" Sideswipe asked.
"Yup. Him Sideswipe after him Sunstreaker."
"I think you've been our medic the last five times we were in the medbay."
"Him Ratchet say him Sideswipe and him Sunstreaker good practice."
Sunstreaker attempted to sit up. Swoop used one arm to slam him back down.
Figuring escape was a futile endeavor, Sideswipe made himself comfortable.
"I found Grapple, just tell us what you need-"
"What's HE doing here?!" Grapple screamed in outrage.
Perceptor tilted his head. Hoist facepalmed.
Sunstreaker uncapped a bottle of benzene and glowered.
"I already told you, Sunstreaker's been helping me out in the lab for awhile now," Wheeljack offered as way of explanation. "Hoist, help Perceptor with the antidote. Grapple, I want you to figure out the dispersion system."
"He knows nothing about engineering!" Grapple sputtered.
"He learns fast, has steady hands and an eye for detail. Sunstreaker, put that benzene down and get me my electromagnet."
The construction bot continued protesting. "But he's a grunt! A punk! A Grade A i—"
"You'll shut up right now if you know what's good for you, freak," Sunstreaker growled, brandishing the magnet tool in Grapple's face.
"Sunstreaker! I need that electromagnet. Grapple, get to work," Wheeljack snapped. "We need to figure out what the Decepticons were planning to do with this, and how to stop them if there are any more."
"R-"
Hoist swiftly elbowed Grapple, and gave him a pointed look.
"Right. Get out of my way," Grapple muttered, and stepped up to the lab bench.
Hoist smiled apologetically at Sunstreaker, when something in Wheeljack's corner exploded. Without turning to look, Sunstreaker produced the extinguisher from thin air and swiftly put the fire out.
Let it never be said that the Ark team couldn't throw a party. Following a human tradition imparted to them by Sparkplug, they held group creation-day parties for every Autobot born within a month. Also following a human tradition, they used it as an excuse to get tanked. Blaster played DJ, Jazz did lights, certain crew members broke out their personal concoctions of high-grade, and practically everyone had a good time. It was at one such party where Wheeljack overheard the following exchange:
"Help me get Red Alert overcharged."
"No."
"Please, Sides," Sunstreaker begged. "You know what he's like when he's overcharged."
The pleasant buzz Wheeljack had cultivated during the evening instantly went sour.
Sideswipe continued to protest. "Exactly. The answer is no."
"Come on, you know you like it. And I like it. And he definitely likes it. Don't tell me you don't want to have a good time."
The engineer decided he was not tanked enough for this. He made a beeline for the energon bar, thankfully moving out of earshot of the pair. He took two cubes and picked a seat to sulk. Unfortunately, when he sat down, he was treated to a perfect view of Red Alert. The security chief was conversing with Inferno on the other side of the room.
He gulped down his high-grade and went back for more.
When Wheeljack returned to his chair, he saw Sunstreaker had pulled Red Alert away from the fire engine, and was now chattering enthusiastically. The engineer scowled and began knocking back cubes in rapid succession. He was so focused in this endeavor that he didn't notice Sunstreaker until the frontliner fell into his lap.
"Jaaaack—" he whined, throwing his arms around the Lancia's neck. "Help me get Red Alert overcharged!"
Whoa. "No," Wheeljack said. Self-control for the win.
Sunstreaker pouted. Honest-to-Primus, big goo-goo eyes and wobbly-lip POUTED. "Aw, but Red Alert is so fun when he's tanked!"
The Lamborghini was a highly attractive drunk. A very nearly irresistible drunk. Wheeljack was starting to regret all those cubes.
Then Sunstreaker turned around and straddled him.
The engineer's brain shorted out. His hands came up around Sunstreaker's back, pulling their bodies flush.
Sunstreaker breathed into his audios. "Please…"
Scrap.
The next thing the Lancia knew, he was being dumped onto the floor of his quarters.
"Hey," he groused, rolling over to face his assailant.
Though his visual input was blurred, his processor registered "Red Alert," and recognized his facial expression as "disdain." Hanging off the security chief's shoulder was Sunstreaker. Wheeljack pushed himself up to object. Ugh. His arms wobbled, and he collapsed. Sunstreaker giggled and clung tighter to Red Alert, who slung an arm around the other Lamborghini's waist.
The doors to his room slid shut.
A/N: yes, this a very slow moving story. have a little semi-action to hold you over.