Title: Domestic Electronics, Pt. 11

Warnings: This barely resembles Transformers at all. You're better off not reading.

Rating: PG

Continuity: IDW/More Than Meets The Eye AU

Characters: Decepticon Justice Division, Pharma, Scavengers, Bob the Insecticon, Perceptor, Ultra Magnus, Brainstorm

Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.

Motivation (Prompt): There was a translation error, and then Shibara drew a picture based on that error, and then I had to give it a story. It all went downhill from there.

[* * * * *]

Look gift horses in the mouth, or "How Joe got Vos."

[* * * * *]

I still didn't know how I'd gotten stuck as the 'back up Bob' for the Domestic Electronics Department. Sure, I had one bitty-bot. Or four. But who was counting? They were all defective in one way or another, anyway. I hardly counted as an expert on what the electrodomestics were supposed to be like normally. I definitely wasn't somebody able to do sales for the department. You could watch sales plummet when I took charge.

Bob knew all the information on his aisle of tiny miniature minions. He spouted facts and talked about adaptive programming and main functions and whatnot. The extent of my sales ability was carrying six of them at a time and telling customers, "God, these things are cute. You should buy one."

Carl kept scheduling me to cover for Bob, however. Possibly because I could spend the hours doing inventory and rearranging the aisle even if I couldn't sell a thing. Following directions when the demo models pointed where to hang the hooks, I could do. Having an Ultra Magnus demo model active on the floor made easy work of keeping the A-line side of the aisle organized. Too easy, in fact. He had to be loaned out to oversee other departments on stock days so the D-line stock could be unpacked without miniature electronic judgment frowning down on the boxes.

He took his job as the duly appointed taskmaster really seriously, cracking down on the other electrodomestics indiscriminate of model line. Krok would schedule what Bob wore every day if Bob would let him, but yikes, this was controlling taken to another level! Ultra Magnus was meant to police an entire household's behavior and manage various appliances' schedules, and he was kind of fanatic about it when he went after the other demo models.

Bob warned me beforehand, or I'd have freaked out the first time I opened the ED department for him and couldn't find a single D-line demo model. Sure enough, Ultra Magnus had systematically tracked down every escaped electrodomestic who'd started fighting on the sales floor during the night, held a trial, and locked the guilty parties inside the break room refrigerator. That did explain why sometimes my sandwiches had footprints on them if I left my lunch at work overnight.

Left to their own devices, the D-line and A-line demo models would have at least one fight during the day. That's inevitable and why there always had to be somebody working the aisle. At night, Bob generally corralled them in separate display cases to keep them apart. As I'd found out, they could pick the locks instead of recharging like they were supposed to. And then Ultra Magnus would break up the fight and put everyone under lockdown until morning. He was programmed with something called the Tyrest Accord, which I guess was the base line of behavioral rules for the Transformers brand lines.

No wonder he always frowned. The little guy probably got no sleep for all the idiots running around breaking the rules. I'd been covering the aisle for three days now, and this was the second morning I'd come in to find a cluster of chilled, miserable little 'bots staring sadly up at me from the vegetable crisper when I opened up the 'fridge door. Busy night.

So, yeah. I was fully capable of doing what Ultra Magnus directed. It wasn't much in terms of sales, but holding armloads of cute, wriggling troublemakers while walking up and down the aisle to keep the different brands and demo models from fighting? That, I could do.

To my credit, I did manage to sell a handful of the cheaper electrodomestic brands, plus two Rewind models and a Brainstorm. The Rewind ones weren't hard; I just opened the YouTube channel on the counter laptop and let his videos speak for him. The second sale, I left the store Rewind by the laptop to blink the customer into dragging out his wallet. It worked like a charm.

Brainstorm…that'd been another sales technique altogether. I expected Bob to be proud of me for that one. Brainstorm's like that puppy who's so ugly he's cute, except that he's such a dick it's actually really funny to watch him. Selling him was kind of a minor miracle.

A professor had come idly browsing down the aisle, and she stopped to marvel over the Perceptor demo model, who politely pip-pipped back at her. He was the newer version of the popular model type, updated to enforce safety rules on even D-line's laboratory equipment, and she had to take a look at his specs when she saw him. Apparently, this professor's university chemistry lab came with a Perceptor safety aide from before the upgrade. He seemed to be much more of a busybody and far friendlier than this newer version, who refused cuddling with a cold frown that froze even me out. I couldn't picture a talkative, happy Perceptor.

The professor and I got to talking about electrodomestics. She mentioned that Perceptor was so good at his job that it was actually difficult to get the freshmen to remember laboratory safety procedures. "They never have to remember on their own because he keeps reminding them." She'd sighed and wagged a finger at the demo Perceptor. "Short of locking you up, I can't get you to stop, either! It's like you're programmed to get absent-minded about anything except obsessing about lab safety."

I'd stared at her for a minute. "So…wait, Perceptor is too safe?" The store's Perceptor demo model had been primly perched on my shoulder at that point, and he'd smiled just barely when the professor nodded. The guy was militant enough that I could believe it. He plinked me with his little injection gun any time I tried dragging stock boxes without help. They were just rubber pellets, but ow. His aim was really good, and he always went for behind my ear when I didn't listen to him the first time.

Safety rules my ass. I didn't need another person to help carry every single box!

The spirit of revenge came down to motivate me. I'd smiled slowly. "Lady, if you need someone to demonstrate to your students why safety procedures are important to remember, I totally have the ED for you." Perceptor's head had whipped around, and I'd practically felt the horrified look being directed at me. I'd definitely felt the injector gun prodding my neck in unsubtle hint. "The students would have to remember all the safety procedures, because this 'bot will probably blow the place up if you leave him alone. And he's compatible with the Perceptor model, too!"

She'd watched Perceptor twitch and raised an eyebrow. "Compatible?"

"Sorta. They're similar model lines. Somebody in the Transformer brand thought it'd be bright to make two lab assistance models, but one's for students and one's supposed to be the professional model. Guess which one's the professional?" I'd jerked a thumb at Perceptor, who was affronted dignity away from attempting to pistol-whip me. "He's a little high-tech for most high school labs, but he'd try to supervise if you put him in with a bunch of students." The scandal about the high school that'd tried that had been all over the Internet. "Big on safety, and he's got most of the EPA guidelines and all that stuffed in his head. Brainstorm, on the other hand," I'd turned to rummage under the department counter, "has all the same data but does absolutely nothing but assist. So if the kids want to build a giant bong out of a stick of dynamite, he's gonna be right there drafting the blueprint - ha! Gotcha."

Brainstorm had honked angrily as I dug him out of his plastic hamster cage. It was full of nothing but cotton balls and Q-Tips, and he'd been sentenced to another two days in there until Ultra Magnus was convinced he'd learned his lesson about taking apart Skid's accessories. I didn't think he'd ever learn. Perceptor was a stuck-up little glitch, but Brainstorm was amoral and annoying.

He'd spotted the customer and stopped struggling, but nothing could make Brainstorm stop sulking. He was a sulkmaster. He'd hung from my hand and glared at Perceptor, who'd glared right back.

The professor had looked back and forth between them. "Doesn't seem like there's any love lost, there."

I'd laughed. "Brainstorm is the children's model." There'd been a flinch and furious honk, but I'd kept talking with a ruthless, evil smile even as Perceptor drew himself up in unconscious pride. "Perceptor's the better known and 'adult' model, even though they're pretty much both the same except for, y'know, some differences in personality programming. Brainstorm doesn't adapt like Perceptor does. He's stubborn and way too curious to let safety get in the way of him trying new things out." Man, I couldn't tell you how many times I'd heard Bob bemoan this stuff. We kept Brainstorm in stock because he did sell to the rich kid mad scientist crowd. I guess instead of a telescope or a chemistry set, some parents bought their kids a Brainstorm. Fair enough, but heck if any of us liked having the demo model loose in the store.

Wait, to amend that last thought: "It's not that he's a bad assistant. As long as the students obey the rules, he's cool. It's just that he's not going to stop them if they try stupid stuff. He gets, uh…" How to phrase this as to not scare off a customer? "Competitive. Yeaaaaah," I'd drawn out, glancing up at the ceiling where everyone knew inspiration and facts were stored. "Competitive's a good way to put it."

That'd gotten a laugh out of the woman. She'd seemed amused by the sizzling glares being passed between the electrodomestic on my shoulder and the one grumpily hanging from my hand. "Rivals?"

"Big time."

"Do they try to one-up each other?" The idea must have appealed, because she'd held out her own hand for me to pass over Brainstorm.

"Careful, he flies." Brainstorm had sourly glowered at me as she'd tightened her hold on him. As if he'd be so base as to squirm free of a customer? Hmmph. How dare I cut off his escape before he could try for it? "And yeah. Except that Perceptor just ignores him, and he can't stand that, so he keeps trying to get more attention. Peceptor gets more and more rule-conscious, but Brainstorm gets reckless. He pulls the stupidest crap you've ever seen if he thinks he can get away with it." Seriously. He'd been hanging upside down from the ceiling while taking apart things. He hadn't even tried to hide what he was doing when the cashiers opened. And then he'd honked for hours inside his plastic hamster prison as if it was Ultra Magnus' fault for punishing him.

"Ah-ha." There'd been a definite sparkle of amusement in this lady's eyes. Somebody have been visualizing her freshmen facing consequences, I could tell. "Does he have a package?"

I'd gotten her one of the unactivated Brainstorm boxes to look over, and she'd gone off to talk on her phone and eat lunch. A couple hours she'd come back and bought a Brainstorm on her department's bill. I didn't think the Perceptor demo model was ever going to forgive me for inflicting that on his unsuspecting fellow Perceptor, but I bet lab classes at that university were going to get a heckuva lot more interesting.

That'd been yesterday, and I was still making sure that Perceptor couldn't get a clear shot at me. When Bob called the store to say he was back from the domestic electronics sales conference, I was ready to go. He wanted to take the rest of my shift so I didn't go into overtime because I'd been covering his department for his lazy butt this week. Three days of double shifts wasn't bad since the store had been slow, but - w00t! Two days off!

My buddy snorted Pepsi all over as I told the Brainstorm story. That made tolerating angry under-counter honking almost worth it.

Bob wiped splatters of Pepsi away with his shirt sleeve. "And I thought he hated me!"

"What'd you do?" I was still most of an aisle away from Perceptor at all times. It wasn't that he'd randomly plink me for no good reason, but his version of a reason right now could be as simple disobeying the dress code. I mean, I was off the clock, but I didn't think that'd stop him right now.

"Oh, hey, that's right. You weren't here when we still had the Prowl and Kup models." I blinked and eyed him askance for the odd answer, but he waved me off. "Don't ask. Hey! Hey, you gotta see this. Oh, man, you gotta see this!" Now, that manic grin? That was more like Bob. "The conference was for sales, right? So the brand sales reps were all over us." His hands gestured wildly, trying to convey fending off what appeared to be either a pack of attacking sales representatives or ravening wolves. I knew sales reps for big companies; sometimes, there wasn't much difference. "And I was there with, what, three others from our chain, right? Small group of us. We were sitting ducks, man. There was a friggin' gauntlet of sales reps waiting to get us after every meeting!"

While he was describing the sad plight of a guy who consistently tops our store's sales goals, Bob hauled a box out of his briefcase. He put it on the counter to sort the rest of his work stuff out later. I peered at the picture on the box and frowned, trying to figure out what it was supposed to look like. The box was pretty small for a domestic electronic, but the Minibot models were fairly popular. Looked like Bob had come back with new merchandise for the store. That was sort of the point of attending the conference, so that was good. Maybe. What was this thing?

Transformers brand, but I didn't see a transformation. The picture looked really weird, but the Transformers brand's package art made all the electrodomestics look really odd anyway. They always looked like sculptures instead of tiny moving 'bots. This one looked weird even for that, however. It had four legs, but…

" - bought us sandwiches and everything. I think they were trying to get us drunk, but Kathy doesn't drink and Ron's allergic to yeast or something, so we kinda skipped out and tried to hide in the Toys'R'Us group after a while. But holy crap, turns out that the Toys'R'Us guys are hardcore partiers, and they were like, 'There's a rave downtown! Wanna come?' I mean, shit, why not? We went, and - "

Giving up on deciphering the picture, I turned the box over and read the side. A pencil sharpener and stapler? The box said it was a combination electric pencil sharpener on one end, and the stapler was on the other end. This was hilarious. It looked like you could stick pens and pencils in some sort of holes on its arm like a mobile holder, and its back opened up to hold paper clips, which it would vacuum up off desks. That sounded cute. Useful, too.

" - don't know, but Krok's gonna burn those socks as soon as he figures out what I traded for them. Anyway, whatcha think?"

I thought that Bob needed to introduce me to the Toys'R'Us crowd he'd been hanging out with. It sounded like they had a lot more fun than people employed at a toy store for kids should legally be allowed to. "I think I've been waiting my whole life for an electrodomestic who eats pencils and shits staples."

I checked the model number above the barcode and nodded to myself. That made sense.

Bob snickered. "You just figured out it's a Pet model, didn't you."

"What?" Glancing up, I frowned a bit. "Well, yeah. Why?"

He just grinned.

"What's your problem? I just looked at the code, and - " It clicked. "Aw, c'mon! Just because I know the Pet model numbers doesn't mean I'm transferring to your department!" I liked my ovens and washing machines, dangit! They didn't shoot me with rubber pellets or frown at me when I hung a hook in the wrong area of the aisle. There wasn't a single washing machine out there that was nearly as frustrating as Brainstorm to sell, either. "I have a Pet! Of course I know what the code is!"

"Uh-huh." That, my friends, was a shit-eating grin. The smug bastard stacked a bunch of sample boxes around on the counter and gloated, "You keep tellin' yourself that."

I snarled to myself. Between him, Carl, and my mob at home, I was going to end up working this aisle any day now. Argh.

He shook his head at my resentful mutters and, still grinning, pointed at the box. "Okay, okay. Check out the model name."

His grin was the kind of grin he got right before he piled Misfire, Spinister, and Crankcase on top of Fulcrum when the poor dude wasn't looking. It was a 'cue the indignant yelling' grin. Not pure evil - I lived with that; it was far smaller than Bob and had a mask - but I knew to be wary of it.

I kept one suspicious eye on it as I turned the box around to read the name. I read it again. "…did you seriously get this one just because he's got your name?"

"Yes!" he crowed. "I knew you'd say that!"

I gave him the flattest look I could manage. "It's named 'Bob.' How the heck did you manage that?"

"Don't look at me! I just sell 'em! I don't even know who I'd bribe to get a bug named after me."

"A bug? Is that what he's supposed to be?" I turned the box over in my hands to squint at the picture again. "Doesn't look like a bug."

"It's an Insecticon model repurposed for the Pet line. A-line, though. Definitely a companion electronic," he assured me, taking the box back. "You're gonna flip when I activate this one." The demo models were always the first out when new stock started arriving, but…wait. We didn't activate the tiny ones! "Yeah, I know." Bob waved away my curious look. "It's a Minibot frame, but trust me, he's gonna be worth the hassle. This one's gonna sell like crazy. And you're not allowed to get one!"

There was a finger being shaken at me. Really? I batted at it and gave Bob a peeved look. "I'm not gonna buy a bug." I had more self-control than that. Sometimes. "Give me some credit."

"Ffft." Behold Bob's most doubtful stare. "You haven't seen him activated yet. He pounces on paper clips and rolls up into a ball when you poke him and gnaws on pencils and - "

"Oh God, shut up!"

Bob gave me a smug grin. I lowered my hands from covering my ears and huffed. Okay, he'd won this round. Bob the Insecticon already sounded forty kinds of adorable, and I didn't have a reason to get a desk appliance. Yet.

Yeah, I was going to be in trouble when this demo model got activated for the sales floor.

"On that note, I'm outta here," I said, hoisting my backpack off the floor. "I've got two days off, and I'm gonna have fun."

"Hold on, I got you something." Bob dug in his briefcase. "What's your plans? Wanna hit up Lenny & Spence tomorrow night? I want to see the band upstairs if they're playing."

"Mehhhh." That sounded expensive and social, two things I wasn't sure I'd be up to by tomorrow night. "I text you tomorrow afternoon if I wake up by then." I had every intention of making tonight a late night out. There were places to go, and I wanted to go out with people I didn't normally get time to see.

"Cool. Where did he go - rah!" Bob abruptly upended his briefcase and shook it, and something clattered onto the counter amidst the rain of coupons and a Toys'R'Us employment application. Also Misfire, but he clung determinedly to the edge of the briefcase instead of falling to the counter. He glanced around wildly only to spot Bob, who raised the briefcase up to look at his errant appliance face-to-face. Misfire smiled weakly and chattered, flustered that he'd been found out.

See, that right there was why I had to pat down my pockets and shake my backpack before leaving for work every day. Stowaway appliances were only funny until they started hissing at people from up in the rafters.

The little fetch-and-carry was snatched from his perch and shoved into a shirt pocket with a disgruntled noise from Bob. "Dumbass…here. I got this for you. One of the Transformers sales reps gave him to me." The thing that'd fallen to the counter was pushed toward me as my buddy started throwing papers back in the briefcase.

I had to peel layers of plastic wrap off it. Bob had apparently gone Saran-wrap happy on it instead of using proper gift wrap paper. "A keychain?" It had the Transformers' logo and some buttons on it, but it had a keyring hanging off the end. I dangled it from that and examined it dubiously. "Huh."

Bob shook his head. "Nah, it's actually a key for one of those really expensive import cars the Transformers brand teamed up with Ferrari to build. You know, the ones with the A.I. implanted in them?"

"You got a - "

A smack on the back calmed me down before my eyes bulged out of their sockets. "No! No way! It's the key, ya bum!" I braced my hands on my thighs and tried to recover as Bob proceeded to laugh his butt off at me. "What, did my luxurious lifestyle of hookers and blow give me away as a secret millionaire or something? I mean, yep, I totally don't need this job." He directed a disdainful look down the aisle at imagined peasantry. "I only wished to mingle with the commoners while incognito. Behind my humble apartment façade, I actually built a mansion. My closet is the secret entrance to the Batcave."

"Yeah, right. You as Bruce Wayne? I'd believe it's the door to the delusional land of Narnia, maybe," I managed when I could breath again. Trust me, the price tag on those A.I. Ferrari was enough to take the rug out from underneath anyone. "Depends on how hard you partied with the Toys'R'Us guys, I suppose." I picked up the key and gave it another look. It did sort of look like a car key, now that I knew what it was. Instead of flipping the key part out, it just looked like someone had taken a conventional carkey and added an electronic casing. "So…why did you get it?" A car key was a weird give-away sample.

"I dunno." Bob shrugged. "I told him there was no way the store would sell car accessories, but the guy was really persistent. You should see what he made Kathy take. Hold on, I've got a picture on my phone." Misfire pushed the phone out of his pocket before Bob did more than lift his hand. I didn't think Bob even noticed, but I sighed at the quietly chittering electrodomestic. He smugly perked his wings at me and ducked back out of sight. A cellphone was shoved in my face shortly thereafter. "Here, check this out!"

I obediently looked at the phone. "What."

"I know, right?"

I had no idea what I was looking at. There was a woman in the picture who was presumably Kathy, and she was smiling awkwardly as she held a flat golden thing. There was a man hugging her shoulders and beaming at the camera. From experience with overeager sales representatives, I was going to guess he was the Transformers sales rep. "Uh…okay, I give. What is it?"

"It's supposed to be the board for a chess game. It unfolds, see?" Bob turned the phone so he could point. "And then the A.I.'s supposed to talk with you as you play it." That sounded like a really expensive computer chess game over the Internet, but alright? I guess some people wanted to have even their board games semi-sentient. "The thing is," Bob said wryly, "all of the stuff this guy had was produced in either Germany or Italy, so the thing doesn't know any English. None of them do."

"So, what, he gave her a talking chess game that she can't understand?" And that couldn't understand her. Wow. Talk about a suck situation for that game's A.I.

"Pretty much." Misfire chattered as he was smushed under the phone slipped back into Bob's pocket. "Supposedly, the intelligent game board line will be introduced in the next couple of years with English options, but for now? Kathy's gonna have to work on her German."

I shook my head in disbelief. "Weird."

"You're telling me? Anyway, you should get going." The constant background chattering turned into a shrill gleep! of surprise as Bob expertly plucked Misfire from his pocket, dropped him in the reorganized briefcase, and clicked it shut before the little jet could escape to buzz around and pester people. The smile my buddy gave me was of the 'pile of mischief' variety, and I eyed it warily. I had the feeling I was missing something important, here. "Take care of your expensive new car-less key, now!"

Yeah, that. I held the Ferrari key up and let my expression speak for me.

"Aw, don't be like that. Dream big, man! Consider it motivation to learn Italian, marry for money, and get your rich honey to buy you the car to match it."

I narrowed my eyes at him. I failed to see how any of that fit together anywhere but Bob's skewed version of reality. My hypothetical future spouse spoke Italian in his dream world, it seemed.

His grin stretched wider at my confusion. "Someday you'll thank me. You'll see. Besides," he heaved his briefcase off the counter, setting off a muffled stream of unhappy sounds from inside it, "the key's plenty cool on its own. I thought of you right away when I got it."

"Uh-huh. Right." Still giving him my most unimpressed look, I tucked the strange gift into my backpack before slinging it on. "Someday," I said as I turned to leave, "I'm gonna steal the Batmobile right out from underneath your nose, Bruce Wayne."

"Never!" was shouted after me. "I am the night! You cannot steal the night's sweet ride!"

I grinned when my back was turned. It was a funny present, but what the heck. It's not like I didn't already have enough Transformers brand stuff causing havoc in my apartment on a daily basis. A keychain was useful enough, and it'd make an entertaining story to tell if only for the Toys'R'Us tangents. And it was way more fun than the handfuls of brand name-stamped pens I brought back from my own run-ins with sales reps.

Eh, nevermind. I had bigger plans for my night than thinking about my lack of ludicrously expensive cars. Starting with just going home.

Every once and a while, I could take my horrid mob by surprise. It's harder than it sounded. I swore that they had better hearing than I did, and they knew what my footsteps sounded like coming up the stairs. I could do it, however. It just involved getting the right series of coincidences lined up. If I got off work at a weird time and wore sneakers instead of dress shoes and didn't meet anyone coming down the stairs as I went up - I could do it.

I knew I had a real chance for some hilarious pictures today.

The cashiers knew it, too. "Going home?"

"Yeah, see you in a couple days."

Three of them shouted in chorus, "Bring back pictures!"

I just about fell over. "Waaaah! Geez, way to give me a heart attack!"

"Pictures!"

"Aye aye!" I saluted the registers and took off for the bus stop while the front of the store was still laughing at me.

It went just as planned, too. I crept into my apartment and caught the world's best blackmail happening in my sink.

Smiling so wide my face hurt, I did my darndest to be stealthy as I held my camera high up and just barely into the kitchen to catch a video. Oh, man. The cashiers were going to swarm me. Bob was going to laugh so hard he'd hurt himself. I had to e-mail him this to show his mob, because not even Fulcrum would be scared of Tarn after seeing him cannonball into the sink. This was like a Barbie pool party, only with purple instead of pink everywhere. Also, Tarn and Tesarus were hitting each other with dish scrubbies instead of pool noodles. The Pet was paddling around creating bubbles and snapping at them. Kaon sprawled on his back, hands comfortably tucked up behind his head, floating around on top of a sponge. He looked like he was in recharge.

So much blackmail. Although it really only counted as blackmail if I extorted them with the promise not to share, and I intended to share this adorableness with everyone. Everyone.

After I'd gotten a good five minutes worth of material, I tip-toed back to the door and took off my backpack. I winced when I set it down - it rustled - but the merry splashing in the kitchen continued unabated. Stealth mission accomplished. Cute acquired with no appliance the wiser for my sneakiness.

I grabbed Tarn's mitten and Tesarus' leash before clearing my throat loudly. "Huh! Looks like nobody wants to go to the store with me!"

WhhiirrWARK!

Scrreeeee-kztZAP!

Hissss?

VREET!

Whirr-chrrRRR!

"Hmmph. Off I go…all alone…into the shadows…" Bemoaning my dark fate, I wandered out of the apartment and off down the hall, leaving the door open behind me. "Perhaps I'll turn to a life of crime. Bob will be forced to stop me for the greater good." Heh, now I was thinking of everything in terms of Batman. "What should my villain name be? Can I be the Joker?"

Meanwhile, the cacophony of alarmed, urgent, and just plain pissed-off noises continued as a sink full of domestic electronics scrambling to catch up with me. Hopefully, the Pet would handle the water now slopped liberally on the kitchen floor as my three monsters rushed after me. Internet dial-up screebled behind me: slow down, Kaon's short little legs couldn't go that fast! There was a louder churning sound as Tesarus hit the hallway and transformed to barrel after me. An angry vrrrrm of a teensy tank engine finished off the parade, along with the click of Tarn closing the apartment door on his way out.

I stopped before reaching the stairs and made sure I had my phone ready. When they had just about caught up, I turned and gave them all a patently false look of astonishment. "Whoa, hey, where did you come from? I thought you were all too busy chasing bubbles!"

Perfect timing. Three dumbfounded expressions of embarrassment and one quick snap of my phone's camera later, and I was running down the steps two at a time as all three electrodomestics screamed furiously in binary and tumbled down the stairs after at me. My legs were longer; of course I reached the security door at the bottom first. I called up at electronic avalanche of vengeance, "I'm texting it to Bo~b, I'm texting it to Bo~o~ob!"

Shrieked declarations of hatred rained down upon me from on high. I chuckled as I did indeed text it to Bob. And four other people, because this was a wonderfully cute picture I felt I must share. Everyone needed to see the expressions of shock immortalized in this picture. Tarn's face alone was priceless, especially considering the fact that he didn't exactly have a face.

The threats continued the closer the glitches got, but I wasn't worried. It wasn't the first time I'd gotten an unnaturally cute picture of the D-line's psycho killer death squad. They'd forgive and forget it by the time we got to the end of the block.

Which they did. Tarn was safely installed in his mitten-pouch, Kaon rode in style on top of Tesarus, and Tesarus led the way with the end of the leash clipped onto him. Anyone under the illusion that I was in control of this group obviously couldn't hear the way that Tarn kept hissing instructions down at Tesarus on where to lead us next. I just smirked at gaping bystanders and fielded return texts from the people I'd spammed with the photo while following the pull on the leash.

Bob's return text was decidedly odd. *Where's Vos?*

How the heck would I know? *California? I dunno.* It sounded like a city in California, anyway. No, wait, maybe Maine.

There was a long pause of walking, until Tarn demanded I let him down to join the other two in trying to corner a feral cat. There were two that lived in the alley at the end of the block, and they were having nothing to do with the trio of determined 'bots attempting to capture them. I let them harass the poor cats because they weren't trying to hurt the kitties. Just, well, catch and ride them, it seemed. "You guys know that nobody's ever saddle-trained a cat, right?"

Me of little faith, apparently. I got three very dismissive glares.

My phone vibrated. *Dude. key. Where ishe? Did #$%er kill him already?*

I stared at Bob's message. Aside from the usual text-speak and Bob's obscene nickname for Tesarus, it was legible English. I still couldn't understand it. *?* I sent, beginning to get a bad feeling. A few seconds later, I added, *I left the key in the apartment. Why?*

Bob sent back a smiley face. With evil little eyebrows added. Oh, no. *How's ur Italian?*

Oh, Hell no.

A couple minutes later, I'd scooped up my three confused, enraged, and cat-less electrodomestics and was pelting back toward my apartment. My phone vibrated again. *I can'ttake him! He's djd!*

I stumbled to a halt and gaped at the message. Tesarus and Kaon kicked at me, demanding a return to chasing cats, but I ignored them for the moment. What the heck? Another D-line Justice Division model? With an absurd altmode that'd have absolutely no frickin' use in my life, because I didn't have a car and didn't want a car and goddammit, I didn't speak any Italian at all!

How in Flywheels' name had Bob ended up with the one freebie 'bot I still couldn't give back?!

…eh. Realistically, it couldn't have been any harder than a Pet model somehow sporting his own name.

Tarn applauded sarcastically when I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to shake my fist at the sky and yell, "Revenge will be mine, Batman! Do you hear me? Reveeeeeeenge!"

And that's how I got Vos.