First of all, my apologies for taking so much time to update this story. I had this chapter and the following in my head, but hadn't had the time to sit and put it down in words. Anyway, I plan to be more constant with this and my other not so frequently updated fics.

I want to thank QoS for letting me use her idea of Wildrider having a certain obsession with the Seekers. If you haven't, I highly recommend you to read her stories. She's one of the best writers I have found in this site, not to mention my favorite Stunticon writer. She gives souls to those guys, I swear it. Since the first story I read of her, she has been a big inspiration.

Another inspiration is my beta reader iratepirate, who has helped me a lot with my limited knowledge of the English language and has been with me in all those ups and downs life is made for. Writing with her and calling her my dear friend is a big honour :o)



Chapter 8

Becoming a Gestalt for dummies, part one

Subject: Principles of teammate's comradeship, or how not to kill your fellow Combiners.

Imparted by Wildrider, aka The Nutty Professor.

As every Seeker, Thundercracker considered himself a creature of the air. Not by definition, not by classification, it was just as natural as being online. He loved the skies, his element, the only place he considered home, the only world that made his processor compute feelings that were considered weaknesses by his own warrior code.

But in the place where the ground was the only foe, where nothing and nobody else could touch him except the air embracing his own velocity, such contradictions didn't exist. Hell was far beneath, covered with dust, enemy of wings and, thus, of freedom.

But hell was exactly where he currently was, struggling as he tried to restrict his speed at one miserable hundred and thirty terrestrial miles per hour. Whatever definition of the inferno he had before was being completely rediscovered as he kept following the reckless Ferrari through his path of destruction.

No, reckless had been a wrong term to use. Insane would serve better to describe whatever Wildrider was doing.

Thundercracker had always wondered what happened inside the processor of a Stunticon, what mysterious directives guided them toward impacting anything that moved. In a flat world of roads, the ground-pounder brats had created their own – understanding roads, of course, as wherever they pleased to go, no matter if structures, vehicles or Primus himself stood in front of them.

Was that courage? Was it stupidity? Was it the same thing? Just some force field couldn't provide the Stunticons with such displays of bravado. It was very simple in the end; they had never assimilated the concept of fear, such an irony considering they were nothing but a team made of rejects: a sadist, a fatalist, a paranoiac, a competitive freak and a lunatic.

But that was not the big question. The current enigma of Thundercracker's life was what the slag he was supposed to learn from Wildrider, the loose cannon of such a colorful group of failures. The answer came from Wildrider's vocalizer itself.

"Melon!"

"Melon?" Thundercracker repeated through his comm link.

"Yeah, melon!" Wildrider managed to scream from the mayhem around him. "What did I tell you before, fly boy?"

"Slag it, Stunticon! Would you mind activating your anti gravitational system and fly somewhere we can actually talk? The sooner we are done with this, the better."

Wildrider replied with a loud guffaw as he skidded brusquely to avoid a grey trailer at the exit of an interstate. Thundercracker found it curious that immediately after such maneuver the Stunticon seemed to think about it twice, applied his breaks and impacted the trailer before resuming his race. Not mysterious, though, considering the resemblance the human vehicle had with the infamous Stunticon leader, Motormaster.

"And that was for using my DVD collection to sharpen your sword this morning…. Huh, what was I saying? Oh yeah, cherry and what else?" Wildrider spoke again as the music coming from his stereo challenged the friction of his tires as he gained speed again.

Thundercracker sighed. That was a battle he was not going to win. And he was right about something; as soon as his bizarre session of practice with Wildrider was over, the better.

"Fine…" the Seeker complied. "Cherry, strawberry, orange and apple."

"Don't forget melon," Wildrider said.

"That's the last one you said… Oh, what do I care, anyway? What the slag are those things?"

"Fruits."

"Fruits?"

"Yeah, you see, first comes the cherry, one hundred points, then the strawberry, three hundred… and so on. Oh, see that orange one? That is a ghost. Clyde. He's the stupid one."

"I don't understand what you are talking about, and I don't see what crashing human vehicles has to do with our practice. You were supposed to instruct me on being a combiner team member, and so far we have done nothing!"

"Those are power pellets," Wildrider said, ignoring Thundercracker's words. "You eat them and you can bust the ghosts, for a while. They are usually located in the corners, but I have discovered that they are everywhere."

"That is a human mailbox, and I don't see how a minuscule piece of scrap can grant you any power."

"That's what Dead End said when he played level one. And look at him now. He even finished level 256, you know, the one with a glitch?"

"Wait… is this about some stupid video game?"

"Yup. Pac-Man. Ever heard of it? Talking about coincidences, I just bought my 256th copy. Motormaster crushed the other 255 against my head. No, make it 254. Drag Strip shot the remaining one when I told him he was fat and yellow, just like ole Pac."

"It amazes me you can do the math."

Wildrider giggled, apparently flattered by what was supposed to be an insult. Thundercracker lost him visually when the Stunticon entered a tunnel, but his energy signature was easy to track, and even if it hadn't been, the sound of the destruction pinpointed his location better than any radar.

"Hey, flyboy?" Wildrider asked through his comm link.

"What now?" Thundercracker grunted.

"Why don't you release one of those booms of yours?"

"A sonic boom? What for?"

"Duh! Not to compete with my sound system, for sure. You know what we should do? Organize a competition, your sonic booms against Breakdown's vibratory pulses? Heh, now that would be a competition!"

"Unlike you, Stunticon, I'm not interested in meaningless destruction. And I hope you have enjoyed your stupid Pac game or whatever its name is, because unwanted attention has been called. Check your radar."

"Nah, that's Dead End's job," Wildrider vocalized again, coming out of the tunnel with a crashed bike between his front wheels.

Thundercracker took an astro second to try to calm down and not challenge the resistance of Wildrider's force field with a missile. "Autobots arriving at quadrant C-81."

"Yeah, they always show up. Wanna bust them a little?"

"Combat maneuvers are not scheduled. I'm not supposed to engage in anything that compromises the modifications the Constructicons did to my structure for at least five cycles."

"Ah-huh, make sure you don't break a nail."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Figure it out, flyboy! Now, since you don't want to shoot the 'Bots, there's an abandoned warehouse near here. We can go and hide there while your manicure dries."

"Frag yourself."

"Uh, no fun there. Why don't you frag me, better?"

"After or before I purge my fuel tanks? Where's that warehouse of yours?"

"Follow me, flyboy, if you can, that is!"

………….

Almost four breems later, or, as Wildrider had hurried to correct, half an hour, Thundercracker was testing his patience again as leaned arms-crossed on a big brick wall, watching Wildrider scratch something on the ground with the barrel of his gun.

Finally, the Stunticon finished and stood up, a wide smile on his face. "Oooookay, this is the deal. See? It's not that difficult."

Thundercracker grimaced and approached the childish drawing made in the dust. He had to apply all his imagination to recognize Menasor in the creature with extremely out of proportion limbs with a smaller figure at his side. Thundercracker figured that one was Wildrider because he had a couple of spikes at both sides of his head.

"So, the thing about combining is letting yourself go," Wildrider said. "See? Me, here, I'm the left leg, so when Motormaster gives the order, I just let myself go, and we are all Menasor. Gets really wild up there, but it's easy."

"Is that all?" Thundercracker asked with sarcasm. "Why were you assigned to this mission in the first place? I thought Dead End was supposed to instruct me about this whole gestalt madness."

"Yeah, but Motormaster told me to come in his place. He doesn't like Seekers, you know?"

"And sending me the psycho instead of the undertaker was the perfect way to prove it, in case I didn't know. What a waste of time!"

"Hey, no need to be nasty. I'm the one who's wasting his time here. I'm no teacher, you know? Besides, I don't think you guys can become a gestalt."

"That makes two of us now. And how did you reach such a brilliant conclusion?"

Wildrider smiled, as if he had discovered the biggest truth in the Universe. "Easy. You're not a team."

Thundercracker hesitated, momentarily taken aback. "Excuse me? We have been flying together for vorns! What would you know about that?"

"That doesn't make you a team. You don't watch TV together, don't do anything together, all you do is fight."

"And don't you? All I see is Motormaster using you as punching drones. Do you call that a team?"

"Yep, 'cause if he beats one, he beats all."

Thundercracker shook his head. "That has to be the worst excuse ever created."

"Well, the system works. Motormaster messes with us because he can, and we don't mess with him because he's stronger than us. Now, what happens if any of you flyboys try to be the smart ass with any of us?"

"Let me guess… Motormaster kills us."

"You're starting to learn, 'Cracker."

"That kind of reasoning is not only brutal, but conformist. I would like to see Starscream trying to beat me around. He wouldn't live to tell about it… And don't call me 'Cracker."

"That's exactly your problem. You wing boys think you're all divas. One thing you need to understand to be like us is that you have to be… ugh… different? Let one lead, let another throw the parties. There's room for everyone, you know? There's nothing wrong in being a leg. Let some other guy be the head and take all the blows."

"I'm an arm, at least I'm supposed to be."

"Which arm?"

"Right one."

"Second in Command, that is. Get ready for some extra pressure."

"I thought Dead End was the Second in Command of your team, and he's the left arm."

Wildrider giggled. "Don't let Drag Strip hear you saying that."

Thundercracker frowned. Among all the nonsense Wildrider had said, perhaps he had mentioned something basic, even instinctive, about how to approach the still bizarre idea of becoming a combiner team member.

Still lost in his thoughts, the Seeker startled when he saw a thin, grey form falling at his feet. His glance went from the shackles on the ground to the figure of the Stunticon before him.

"So," Wildrider said with a wicked smile. "Wanna take me prisoner?"

………………..

Subject: Mind fusion, or how five sets of cerebro-shells work better than one (in theory).

Imparted by special guest teacher: Blades.

"Slag you!!"

Ramjet only smirked when the spit of lubricant fell on his cheek.

"You'll pay for this, Decepticon scum! I swear by my maker that you will!" Blades continued shouting.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Ramjet said, cleaning his face plates with the back of his hand and adjusting the chains that kept his prisoner motionless. "Mind changing the tune? You have been talking the same scrap for about… what… half a breem?"

"What about this tune, then? You suck, bad joke of a flier!"

Ramjet burst into laughter and pushed Blades, forcing him to sit on a small pile of containers on the human dock. "Where does that leave you, Autodork? You fell so easily, so, so easily... Crashing against you was easier than crashing against a building. Even they can move faster."

"Remind me when to laugh… What the frag do you want from me? I know you well enough and it's not your style to take prisoners. Are you going to torture me… rape me?"

"Oh, you would like that, wouldn't you chopper lips?" Ramjet sneered, slapping the Protectobot's face. "But sorry, as much as I would like to satisfy your fantasies with a real flier, you're really not my type."

"Then what do you want?"

"Easy, nurse boy. I'm the one who asks the questions here, got it? So, starting now, we're going to play a very fun game. It's called I-ask-you-answer, how do you like it?"

"But what the… aaaaaaahhhhh!" Blades cried in pain when a thin laser beam scorched his right thigh. Ramjet had lowered the intensity of his rifles, but still the pain inflicted had been considerable.

"Not the answer I want to hear, Autobot. Now, second chance. Ready to play?"

"Slag yoursel-- aaaaghhhhh!!" Another shot, another roar of pain. This time the target was Blades' left propeller, which partially melted.

"Next time I'll take both of your propellers. Ready to play now?"

"Y… yes…"

"Good Autobot," Ramjet said, resting his right foot on the Protectobot's lap and subspacing a data pad. "Question number one: How does it feel to be a Combiner team member?"

"What? What kind of question is that?" Blades replied, confusion momentarily overcoming his dread.

Ramjet lifted a brow component and prepared to honour his promise of relieving Blades from the weight of his propellers.

"No, no, wait!" Blades said hurriedly. "It… it feels natural, I guess…"

"Mmmph," Ramjet said, frowning. "That really doesn't help me. See, it took me the entire night shift to prepare this quiz, but what I really need to know is how the slag you manage to merge with the other Protectobot losers. And I don't mean all that servo-clang-clang thing, but how you guys actually merge your minds."

For a moment it seemed that Blades was about to ask why Ramjet needed to know that, but, fortunately for his health, he thought it twice and decided to reply instead.

"I'm not an expert myself, but the whole purpose of a composite mind works very similar than the physical combining part."

"So you became an arm, a leg?"

"No, you became one much bigger being, in which the arm or leg you are supposed to be, becomes your arm, your leg. And the same applies to the rest of the team."

"Suppose you are the torso…"

"I'm the right arm."

"I don't care! Interrupt me one more time and I'll stick your helixes up your exhaust! Got it? Good… Now, suppose you are the torso and somebody shoots you… let's say, a missile. Does it hurt you?"

"Yes, as it hurts the others. A Combiner team member, let's say the one that forms the torso, stops being a torso but still keeps that torso as his own."

"Huh? You're not making things clearer for me, Autobot, so you better start doing it or you'll be lucky if you manage to merge into an aft plate when I finish with you, did you hear me?!"

"Slaggit, I'm doing my best! What I'm trying to tell you is that once a Gestalt member merges with his teammates, he becomes a completely new being, not just a body part. Do you want me to spell it for you? It's not my fault that you are such a slow aft hole…"

A violent punch to the head silenced Blades.

"Let's continue," Ramjet said calmly as he continued reading whatever he had written on his datapad. "Okay… so you were saying that merging minds is just like merging bodies? A-ha, let me note that… So what happens with your individual mind when you merge into the big guy? Can you peek into your buddies' thoughts, dig into their dirty little secrets?"

"I can imagine the Decepticons have the most twisted thoughts, but not us. So no, that's a question I can't answer."

"Oh great, so you're not only a bunch of retarded goodie goodies, but boring also? You should do yourself a favour and put your head into a trash compactor."

"I have the feeling you will take care of that for me."

"Yes, you're right about that… Okay, next question. Let's talk about… what was the name? Individuality, that was it."

"I'm surprised you can pronounce the word-"

A strong kick to the chest sent the Autobot to the ground. "Like this!" Ramjet mocked. "Who decides when it's time to crash and when it's time to shoot? Do you gestalt freaks have some sort of meeting to figure out those things?"

"Yeah…" Blades growled from his new spot. "We comm each other all the time… Hey Streetwise, next time one of those Seeker freaks flies above us, you take that giant flyswatter and squash him…"

Ramjet's next kick impacted Blades' head, severely hurting his neck and making him realize it would be wiser to moderate his comments. He needed to buy time for his teammates to realize he was in trouble, but he also needed to remain functional.

"Look Ramjerk, I already told you! It's difficult to explain and more so when the student has some dumb processor like yours. We don't plan things, nobody decides more than the others. Our minds fuse and become one. We are still ourselves, but at the same time we are somebody else. If we want to move a leg, we do, by decision or instinct, but it's a common thing. It's not that three of us decide to move that leg and the others don't."

"So you all think the same…? Ah… and isn't that difficult?"

"Not for us. Of course, that changes when we're talking about some stupid, dumb aft Gestalt like the Decepticon ones…"

Blades was expecting more pain but, much to his surprise, Ramjet didn't seem interested in defending his comrades in arms. But then again, loyalty had never been a Decepticon specialty.

"Mmmh," Ramjet growled, more to himself than to his captive audience. "That didn't even get me close to what I wanted to find out… Frag it! Why does this combiner slag have to be so complicated?"

Blades couldn't resist it anymore. His curiosity and the proximity of four very familiar energy signatures gave him the courage to defy the Conehead one more time.

"So why don't you answer a question, for a change? Why are you so suddenly interested in Combiner teams? Are you Decepticon maniacs creating another giant super failure?"

Ramjet burst into laughter. "Yeah, and not just any super robot, it's more like THE super robot. You'll see. Unfortunately I was ordered to keep you alive, so I don't… how did Screamer put it? Oh yeah, spoil the fun… So you can return home with the other nurse bots and keep polishing each other's intakes or whatever it is that you do. By the way, I was also ordered to erase everything that happened in the last breems from your memory banks, so smile and look at the light!"

……………

When Blades returned to online status, he found himself lying on a dock, surrounded by seagulls and some curious humans. But what really disturbed him was having no idea who had painted with big red letters "Nurse Nightingale" on his chest plates.


To be continued.

I don't own Pac-Man, and to be honest I was never a fan of the game. I remember I played Miss Pac-Man once but didn't hook me, so please forgive my disrespect for a classic. I just thought Wildrider would be one to be crashing cars as ole Pac would eat those dots on the screen.

Also, the "see the light" thing? Of course, the idea came from that device in 'Men in Black' that could erase partially memories with a blink of a light. How cool was that?

Thanks for reading. The lessons of how to become a Gestalt will continue next chapter. Please let me know if you liked this.