Title: Domestic Electronics, Pt. 25

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

Show Rating: G

Continuity: IDW/More Than Meets The Eye AU

Characters: Decepticon Justice Division, Pharma, Scavengers, Bob the non-Insecticon

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.

Part 25

[* * * * *]

"What in God's name is happening in this store?!" Bob and I exchanged surprised looks and dropped our sandwiches. Carl sounded like he was tearing out his hair.

The customers were laughing, shocked and appalled. The Constructicons were taking far-too-interested notes.

Bob swore in a high-pitched, embarrassed voice and ran down the aisle to pick up love that had no brand name happening right there, out in the open. I guessed from the hissed threats and shaking of the little dude that this was why the store didn't typically carry the Ratchet demo model.

Last time we borrowed one from another store, either.

[* * * * *]

Somewhere in the apartment, there was an alarm going off. Beeeeeop. Beeeeeop. BeeeeeeOopOopOop. Beeeop.

"Frreroffamit," I mumbled from under my pillow. Translated from the language of Rudely Awakened: it's my day off, dammit.

Which I had told Vos yesterday. And last night. I'd even made a calendar on my whiteboard and drawn pictures to make sure he understood. The little glitch didn't speak English, but he could understand me when he tried. I knew he could. He knew that I knew that he could.

Being evil, he'd decided to ignore me and go off anyway. I swear he's the world's tiniest sadist. Why the heck had I started using him as an alarm clock? I had a cellphone. I could use that. I didn't need to make him feel useful. He didn't need to watch the clock and set off his car alarm alert.

But I'd started using him as an alarm clock, and now I couldn't get the fancy car key to stop. Ugh. He'd gone off, so I had approximately 5 minutes to get up and hustle into the kitchen before Tesarus decided to pick out coffee beans on his own. It's not that he'd make a mess on the counter. He's good at getting all the beans into him, and from him into the attachment cup. He just couldn't tip the grounds into the coffee filter without spilling them into the pot, too. Coffee full of grit wasn't how I wanted to start out my day.

I couldn't smell anything yet, but I knew Vos going off was Helex's signal to start breakfast. He'd crack two eggs into his tummy and settle down to cook them without me there, which was fine. Not so fine was the fact that if I didn't get up and stop him, he'd be perfectly content to burn them to cinders.

I invoked the power of the Pillow Shield to save me from reality. It was. My day. Off. "Muh."

Beeeeeop. Beeeeeop.

"Woke up this morning," crooned from the bedstand, "got myself a gun…"

I pushed up the pillow enough to glare at Tarn. "You are not helping. You have no idea how tempted I am, right now."

BeeeeeeOopOopOop.

Tarn hissed cheerfully and turned up the volume. He'd get his speakers under the pillow after me if I tried to retreat at this point.

Alabama told me how it was shame. According to the music, I had a blue moon in my eyes.

The alarm continued to be just annoying enough that I couldn't block it out. "Vos!" I gave up on sleeping and sat up in a rush.

Vos skedaddled. Tarn hopped off the bedstand and took off trailing music and mocking hisses. I chased after them. There was the faint scent of burning eggs and fresh, grounds-filled coffee in the air. The shenanigans had started early, I could tell.

There was only one solution to D-line insolence: peace through household tyranny. Time to reassert my rightful owner dominance over the herd. "That's it, you guys. It's cuddle time. All the cuddles!"

Electrodomestics fled in every direction.

[* * * * *]

"Fucking bitch." Angie hit the breakroom at full steam.

I about jumped out of my pants. "The heck?"

"Some people should never be allowed to breed." She slammed a box down next to the coffee machine and pointed a finger at all of us. Us being Bob, the current cellphone sales flunkie, and me. We blinked back at her. "Say you had a kid. The kid wants to be a doctor. Do you A: get her a plastic doctor kit with the cute stethoscope and spend some time playing with her, or B: buy her an expensive toy and let her junk it?"

We looked at each other. Bob checked his coffee mug for traces of drugs, as if that'd explain Angie's rant. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say 'fucking bitch' went with option B," I ventured.

"God, yes. Bitch." The repetition apparently helped Angie feel better, because she said it a few more times. She shook her head violently to try and drive the anger away, then ran a hand through her hair. "Bitchzilla came storming in and started screaming at Rick in front of his whole line of customers waiting to be rung up. Wanna guess what she was upset about?" Without waiting for an answer, she opened the box and - gently, I noticed - reached in to lift out a…what the fuck. Seriously? This was option B? "Apparently," Angie snarled, rolling her eyes and setting the domestic electronic on the countertop, where he promptly plopped himself down and looked around in a daze, "her brat threw this out the window of the apartment after chopping off his hands for freakin' transplant theatre on another electrodomestic. Was she upset about the kid mangling the toys? Fuck no. She's - get this - pissed off because we should be," her voice pitched into a mocking whine, "selling better quality products. This is substandard! Look how it didn't even fly! It just crashed to the pavement outside instead of zipping back up through the window for more abuse!"

The handless domestic electronic on the counter looked like he was still in shock, which he probably had been since retail nightmare-woman's brat went surgery-happy on it. The Transformer brand electrodomestics were kind of delicate that way. I wasn't surprised he'd crashed. The AI had to be spinning.

"Daaaaaaaang," Bob and I chorused, eyebrows nearly in our hair. That seemed to freak the little thing out even more.

Hey, I wouldn't blame him. It sounded like he'd had a tough time. I didn't work the DE department, but even I knew that the more sentient electrodomestics had personality matrixes meant to conform to their owner. Anybody working sales crew in that department played really nice, because you never knew what aspect of you the display models would pick up on. If this guy's owner had been a bratty would-be surgeon who'd amputated his hands and thrown him out a window, well, what kind of matrix had he ended up with?

"Here, do something with him. I gotta get back to my register. Dr. Frankenstein's mother upset the customers before Carl got to her." Angie patted the bitty 'bot roughly on the head and took off back out of the breakroom. At least she looked less about to strangle the next customer she met.

We all got up to gather around. Cellphone flunkie took one look and shook his head before leaving, but Bob and I had been at the store longer than he had. We were used to looking at returns with an eye to rehabilitate or adopt.

"Look at those." I flinched as I touched the stumps of his arms. He recoiled and scooted himself back using just his feet, trying to hide the stumps. "Cut clean off. That's just twisted."

Bob looked as sick as I felt. "Not going to be able to fix that easily. We'd have to order the parts for the arms up to the joints, I think, and no way he's going to be salesworthy without the same kind of hands. I don't think I can clear that kind of expense before the holidays."

"Expensive parts?"

"Yeah. Hands always are, but he's "One of the Delphi models," Bob assessed. "A Pharma, I think. Shit, man, this's a heckuva expensive toy for a kid. This is something you get somebody goin' into med school. C'mere, you." He picked up the thing with the ease of a guy who'd been working this store forever. He was a professional wriggle-wrangler at this point. A quick look at the bottom of the squirming electrodomestic's feet, and Bob nodded. "A-line, Transformer brand, Delphi. Definitely a Pharma. Yeah, no way I can get his hands ordered before the holidays, and we wouldn't get a resale without a total wipe and reprogram." That didn't surprise me. Trauma hit the bitty 'bots hard, and resales generally got at least a partial wipe to imprint on a new owner. A full wipe would be a better idea for this poor thing, but the wonder brat programmer was booked solid doing holiday gift tweaks for people. Word had gotten out that the Trouble Troops could special-order little programming changes, and they were swamped already. Christmas was going to be a nightmare, I could tell.

"Can you shut him off until after the holidays?" Aww, aww no, he was kicking and fighting to get loose now. I felt so bad for him.

Bob rolled him from hand to hand, keeping his hold. "I could, but honestly, he's not a sale I think I could make. Medical models don't get good resales. Even the med school kids don't like secondhand electronics." Pharma beat his stumps on Bob's thumb. Bob held him upside-down to get a better look at him. "He's a write-off. It's too bad, 'cause he's not in that bad of shape other than the hands. They're gone, but I bet he can still transform." He gave me a look.

I knew how this was going to go. I always got the cripples. "Dude, no. I already have a bunch from the D-line. I don't need a companion electronic. I've already got appliances coming out my ears!" I backed away from the poor little 'bot being held toward me. Bob knew my weakness. The minute I held that thing, I'd be taking him home.

Unfortunately, the choice was taken from me. The second Bob's grip loosened, the electrodomestic zipped out of his hands. He darted into the cupboard to go hide up by the ancient tea bags nobody liked. And, of course, Bob was off break in two minutes while I still had ten minutes left. So guess who got to fish Pharma out from behind the paper plates and plastic forks? That's right: me.

I found him trying to bury himself in Earl Grey. He was frickin' sullen and scared and argh. Why the heck were these things so cute? They were like Pokemon for adults, and I had to collect them all.

[* * * * *]

Check Ao3 or Tumblr for picture of

Pharma by Shibara

[* * * * *]

House-sitting for Bob was more like pet-sitting. It's not that we started out great friends or anything, but once you pick up your first electrodomestic, everybody else with one automatically joins your buddy club. Bob and I just naturally got along and worked at the same store. Things snowballed from there.

In the back of my mind, at least, I kept in mind that somebody else with domestic electronics knew that they weren't content to just sit in a cupboard somewhere. Having that person who got why your apartment needs to be checked on every one or two days certainly helped when making plans. I mean, I left for one weekend early on when it was just Tarn and Kaon, and they got the window open to come looking for me. Being met at the end of the block by smug appliances had definitely made me feel hunted.

The need to keep tabs on my horde had kicked up a notch when I got an A-line appliance. Pharma had taken one look at Tarn's predatory little grabby-hands and hidden in my shirt pocket. It'd been a week so far, and the squeaky, squawky constant companion was getting tiresome. Pharma was a fancy talking pharmaceutical/medical terminology dictionary of no use whatsoever to the average Joe, but I didn't dare leave him at home alone without someone supervising the inevitable chaos.

So when Bob asked me to check in on his bunch, I agreed immediately. Sure, we were buds, but I also had every intention of calling in a similar favor next time I got a week off. Somebody had to keep an eye on Tarn and Co. Besides, Bob's misfits were far cuter than mine. I liked spending time with them.

Don't get me wrong - I liked my guys. They're D-line and therefore less cuddly than a cat, but they kind of had the stand-offish cat attitude down pat. My landlady wouldn't let me have a cat, but she couldn't say squat about me having seven electrodomestics running around vying for my attention while pretending they didn't care if I paid attention to them. Bob's mob, on the other hand, had somehow missed the memo on how the Transformers' D-line was supposed to behave. They acted like companion electronics instead of appliance electronics.

They made Pharma look aloof, and Pharma practically lived on my shoulder. Admittedly, that was to escape the rest of my bunch, but in Fulcrum's case, that evened out to about the same idea.

Anyway, I was house-sitting for Bob this week. I didn't have to do more than check on the scavenged bitty 'bot gang, but I had ulterior motives today.

I got hit by his fetch-and-carry when I opened the door. I think Misfire got so bored he just waited to ambush anyone who came in. "Yeah, yeah," I said, prying the jet off my head. He clamped onto my arm, but at least I could see where I was going. "I have no idea what you're saying, but I agree." He continued chattering at about a million miles per second without any care that I didn't speak binary.

Spinister hovered by the door in 'copter mode, his little box of first aid hanging off his landing slats. If Bob hadn't taped my picture to the inside of the door, I would have gotten attacked by the little buzzing pest for the sixth time. He had no memory retention. Outside of his emergency first aid programming, saving anything past temporary files became a laborious process of repeated failure and the occasional golden victory.

I could almost feel him scan me. "No injuries today, Spinny." His rotor blades somehow managed a disappointed sag in midair. I'd have to let him treat my hangnail before I left, or he'd get angry and attack my foot.

Or maybe not. "But look who I brought you!" Alarmed squawking came from under my chin as I fished in the folds of my scarf. "Come on. Be nice. He likes you." Pharma was not convinced by my coaxing. He rustled about in the scarf and squawked angrily as I pried tiny fists off my collar to finally get him out.

Ever seen a miniature emergency response helicopter brighten? God, these things would be the death of me. If Bob hadn't adopted him, I'd been taking Spinister home with me.

Pharma caught sight of his biggest fan, squawked again, and transformed to zoom away. Spinister took off after him. "You guys have fun," I called after them. A squawk informed me that Pharma hated my guts. Misfire got interested and zipped after the aerial chase, still chattering. Good. That let me put my groceries down without having to listen to him talking at me nonstop.

I didn't usually make dinner at someone else's place, but adopting Pharma had upset my household. Tarn was sulking at me, and because Tarn was sulking, the whole Justice Division had it out for me. Anything I tried to cook at home would end up burnt or splattered around the kitchen as they made themselves a pain in my ass. Instead of showing any form of affection, they just got possessive and hostile at the same time. It was like slowly being buried alive in jealous cats.

My solution to this problem was guaranteed to piss them off further. Babysitting Bob's group meant that I had access to his kitchen and his appliances. My guys grouched when I spent time at Bob's place, but they hated it when I cooked with his appliances. I wasn't above exploiting that. I was just waiting for them to line up in front of the door one morning very soon, refusing to let me leave for work until I promised to come home to cook dinner. I'd only agree if Tarn promised to play nice with Pharma.

I wasn't terribly worried about Pharma playing nice, not when Tarn was the one who controlled the apartment's electrical outlets. I just needed Tarn to recognize that Pharma was my property now and therefore not to be broken.

"If this doesn't work, I'm going to start bringing McDonald's home," I told Fulcrum when I dropped the grocery bags on the kitchen table beside him. He scowled. "Yes, I know. None of you guys like it when we eat fast food. Tough. Tesarus and Helex will throw a fit, and they'll make Tarn stop sulking before I have to buy double cheeseburgers more than two nights in a row."

Beedle? Krok's head popped out of the cupboard. Beed-beed.

"Hey, you." The default leader of the Bob-mob gave me a wary look. I made his life difficult. It wasn't hard for him to keep up with Bob's to-do list, but what was a tactical taskmaster to do when I refused to let him set up a schedule?

Was I ever going to make his day today. I offered him the print-out of the pasta dish I wanted to make. "Recipe?"

Little optics lit up, and suddenly I was being imperiously beedle-beeped at by an officious domestic electronic. Fulcrum almost fell off the table before snapping to attention. Crankcase came running out from underneath the sink still holding the tube of pipe sealant he'd been using. Krok snagged the print-out and started reading.

I stood back and let him organize his troops for the work. I knew he'd like that.

Spinister and Misfire didn't come running, but when I looked out into the living room, there was a pile of flyers on the floor under the window. That explained it. Pharma had probably put up a good fight until the sunlight hit them, but now he was a motionless bitty jet at the bottom of the pile. The flyers at the store were like that, too. Give them a lamp, and there'd be sleepy electrodomestics basking under it.

Man, I wished that worked on the rest of my group.

That was most of the scavenged 'bots accounted for. That left just one.

"Grimlock! Where are you?" I poked my head into Bob's bedroom looking for his Pet. There was a Dynobot-sized lump under the covers of the bed. It moved when I called its name. "Griiiiiimmy." More movement. From what I could tell, Grimlock had probably been trying to make the bed before getting hopelessly tangled in the covers. My turbofox model was more of a fancy Roomba than anything meant to tidy my apartment, but except for drooling dishwashing soap everywhere, I think the Pet was actually more useful. Grimlock seemed to make more of a mess than he cleaned up.

"Stop thrashing. Hold still, you stupid little - okay. There." A toothy mouth emerged from the hole I opened in the blankets, followed by perpetually baffled optics. They blinked at me. "Hello, stupid. Tried to eat a rock lately?" The dinosaur head tilted. I'd confused him. I sighed and knocked on his head with my knuckles. "Dumbass. Alright, let's do the rounds."

He transformed and toddled after me. Together, we checked the plants (he'd only remembered to water two of them) and got the mail (he'd lost the key again). Then I sat in the kitchen watching Krok direct dinner-making while Grimlock scuffed around the living room trying to put the cushions back on the couch. Pharma was being a nasty little glitch and knocking them off as soon as the Dynobot put them up. Since Grimlock really wasn't smart enough to make the connection between 'mean jet' and 'falling cushions,' I expected another ten minutes of peace before I had to pry the A-line electrodomestics apart.

If the fights weren't so adorable, I'd get tired of nights like this.

[* * * * *]

A tiny purple mask peeked up over the foot of the bed. Tarn was glowering at me again.

I flicked a look at him over my laptop's screen and smiled. "Don't look now," I told the small jet sprawled out on my thigh, "but you have a stalker."

Pharma stayed lax, utterly relaxed under turbine petting. He might be a little shit with an attitude the size of a bus, but he was still the cuddliest of my lot. I rubbed his turbine a bit harder, and one leg seized up. He kicked for a moment before shifting around and sprawling again. Soft squawky-talky noises dictated that I keep doing whatever magic I was currently doing. I rubbed. The squawking slurred into engine purrs.

Tarn glared harder. The D-line was meant more for the appliance side than the A-line, but that didn't mean they weren't possessive. Pharma had moved in on Tarn's turf, and now my evil glitch was jealous. He'd allowed Pharma's presence. That didn't mean he approved, and he in no way approved of how the jet had helped himself to the companionship side of the companion electronic deal.

Which Pharma knew full well. I could see him smirking. However, he also knew that as long as I was scriching my finger down his turbine, he was safe from Tarn-style justice. I'd protect him.

The little purple mask at the end of the bed lurked back and forth, barely visible over the edge. "Who's my widdle jet-baby, awww, are you my widdle jet-baby?" I cooed to Pharma without looking away from my laptop. Pharma scoffed and elected to ignore the babytalk. The shark-like lurking down by my feet picked up. Ohh, who was a jealous little electrodomestic? Was it my darnit-Tarnit? Was it? Oh yes it was. Oh yes it was! "Pha~aarma," I sing-songed. The jet remained limp, purring his motor on my thigh. "Phaaaarma, somebody liiiiiikes you."

A hiss came from behind the shelter of my feet. Tarn hated it when I talked about him like this.

"Where's my Tarn?" I squealed, extra baby-happy. "Where's my Tarn? Is my darnit-Tarnit a jealous dum-dum? Yes he is!"

Oh, did he hate that. Hiss hiss hiss. A thousand shames upon my foul bones. He was not jealous of a stupid A-line electrodomestic!

But he didn't stop glaring over the foot of the bed at Pharma. As much as Tarn disliked me cuddling him, he wanted my attention just as much, especially since it was turned on another electrodomestic.

I clicked an oft-used bookmark and turned the volume on low. The Transformers brand Christmas commercial began playing. Tarn's head popped up into view, and he began making sputtering fuffing noises. Pharma stretched and yawned before rearranging himself on my thigh. His wings waved lazily. He didn't care about the commercial. I pet his back.

The commercial reached the midpoint, and the Megatron model said something. Suddenly I had D.J.D. 'bots converging on me from every side.

Pharma shot toward the ceiling, squawking indignantly.

[* * * * *]

Apartment life with domestic electronics was hilariously normal. Before I started working at the store, I'd thought sentient appliances would be kind of weird, but it really wasn't. It was like getting cats. That kind of normal, y'know? You figured out their personalities, how they fit into the apartment, what vet you could go to (repair dude, in this case), and everyday life adapted around them. Different than before, sure, but not noticeably strange.

Not for me, anyway. Other people had strictly-disciplined domestic electronics or big enough places that their appliances were kept busy. I had no idea what their apartment lives were like. Me, I let them run rampant around the place, so it was a lot like having seven particularly useful pets than anything else I could compare it to. Electrodomestics were programmed to adapt to owner preferences, and I liked them with attitude. It was funnier when they had real personalities to sass me with. The Transformers brand was pretty good at adapting like that. Most of my guys were defective or pre-owned anyway, so I was fairly lenient with them.

Heck, I let them get away with murder. Literally. Poor Black Shadow. They were excited for weeks after that. I think they thought I was going to start using them to hunt down the List. Uh, no. It was bad enough what they did to Bob's group. My guys just didn't play well with others.

Like cats. Really territorial, really jealous cats who saw all other electrodomestics as prey or competition. God, the hierarchy fights every time I brought a new one home. I had to rescue Vos from Helex. The little crockpot had him stuffed inside him two hours after I brought him home, and Tarn had been just standing on the sidelines looking interested in the proceedings. Seriously, what the heck?

Then I adopted an A-line appliance and everyone united to level shovel hate on Pharma.

I'd adjust apartment routine around him, lately. That was unusual for us, but I didn't mind unduly. It was just until the D.J.D. stopped trying to kill him when my back was turned. It was taking a while, but I'd known going in that D-line appliances and A-line companion electronics didn't mix well. The people who could afford to buy electrodomestics usually had enough space to keep the model types further apart and too busy to wage war, but the Transformers brand had an emphasis on adapting. The longer you kept them, the more they learned to do. I couldn't see how even having a bigger house would keep the models apart for very long if they were actively looking to do more around the place. The display models at the store were on separate sides of the aisle, in separate display cases, and the cashiers still took bets on when the daily brawl would break out.

Knowing that, I shouldn't have taken Pharma at all, but dangit. Me and cute. No resistance at all. He had bitty wings. Wings, man. None of my guys flew. I figured he'd be okay if he survived the first week.

The dominance fights had been interesting. Pharma had a superiority complex straight from his model type, sort of an entitled belief that he was more worthy of my attention. That worked out okay, most of the time. He wasn't the cuddliest 'bot, but he learned early on that none of the others would do more than poke at him if he stayed close to me. He all but lived in my immediate vicinity unless I shooed him away. He was the only one of the herd allowed to go to work with me - he tormented First Aid - and that only fed his attitude.

Cue the jealous glaring. Such miniature plotting you ain't never seen the likes of. The D-line's territorial programming extended to me as part of 'their' apartment, and they didn't take kindly to Pharma strutting about on my shoulder. Tarn set out to humble his new archnemisis, and the rest of the D.J.D. pitched in to help. I kept an eye on everything and kept the beatings from turning Pharma to scrap, but I didn't try to interfere. This was, according to Bob, normal for D-line/A-line household integration.

Who controlled the electrical outlets was a big deal in an apartment as small as mine. Tarn controlled them, so he controlled the D.J.D. All the outlets were floor-level. Pharma could stay out of reach and razz down at the floor-crawlers most of the time, but eventually he had to land. The D.J.D. set up ambushes. They didn't catch him every time, but they caught him often enough.

He'd given up trying to stand up to Tarn after the first few beatdowns. I thought I'd have to rescue him, but Tarn remembered the Garfield mug. There would be no more breaking of Joe's property. Pharma was knocked about into submission and nothing more. Now, if he couldn't get away, he stayed cowed until he could slip free.

The jeering resumed the second he was up in the air. What an arrogant, insufferable little shit. Squeaky, squawky, arrogant, horrid little electronic.

He fit right in.

If it wasn't all so funny and they weren't so dang cute, I'd have tgiven the whole lot of them away. But it was and they were. Stupid me and my weakness for cute.

Stupid or not, I liked my horde. When I got home, there was a routine to it.

"Heyoooooo."

Hiss!

Whirr-chrrr.

Screeeeeep-screeble!

Vuummm.

Hi-yi-yi-yip!

Insert unintelligible Italian here. I swear Vos had picked up the fine art of calling me bad words in another language. I eyed him suspiciously while stepping over the other anklebiters. As soon as I opened the door, electrodomestics started fighting for attention. "Yeah, sure, hello to you, too."

It was best to just leave them to run after me while they sorted themselves out. Off to the kitchen did I go. Hisses chased me as Tarn zoomed to catch up. The moment I stopped, the Pet drooled dishwashing soap all over my shoes. I toed them off so I wouldn't be scooting it around on my foot all night. My backpack went on the table with the groceries, and I opened the cupboard by the sink.

Tesarus and Helex immediately tried to climb my pants. "What, you want this? You want this, huh?" I jostled the bags down at them. "You want something?"

Chrr chrrr whirrRRRRrrrr.

Vuuumm!

That would be the sound of a tiny blender and walking heating coils getting excited. I jiggled the bags some more, and the excited noises picked up.

"What? Whatcha want?" They got up to the counter as I dangled the bags over their heads. Jumping up and down after the treats commenced. "I dunno, have you two been good? Are you good little monsters?" Tiny grabby hands flailed after the treats. Yes, yes, of course they'd been good, they were good appliances, now fork over the treats, human! "Nuh-uh. You're going to be nice tonight, right? You're going to be nice, or you don't get jack squat, munchkins."

Sullen binary promises were made. Fine, since I insisted, they wouldn't help Tarn torture Pharma. Muttergrumblefriggin'A-line.

"Good boys." Tesarus got an extra-large walnut from the stash as a reward. He sat down on the counter and began trying to fit it into his grinder. It'd take him at least five minutes to chip the shell down enough to get it in. I put the vegetables in the sink and the ground pork in the refrigerator for later. After he finished making a crushed mess with the nut, he'd clean himself up and eventually get around to finding the veggies. By the time I was ready to start making meatballs, they'd be grated and put in a bowl for me.

Helex had run to fetch the graham crackers and a leftover Halloween bite-size Hershey bar out of the breadbox while I gave Tesarus the nut and put away groceries. When I turned around, he had his tummy popped. He gave me an expectant look. He'd given me his promise, so give him his reward!

I handed him the bag. "One s'more," I warned him.

He pretended not to hear me and stuffed himself full of marshmallows to toast.

"Hey! I said one!"

Vuuuuummm went his heating coils.

"You little sonnuvabitch - "

I held Helex over the sink and tried to shake the extra marshmallows back out, but I was too late: they'd already started to get a little gooey. One went flying across the kitchen to splat on the floor. The Pet hi-yi-yipped some more and skittered over to vacuum it up.

Helex wasn't letting go of the rest of the marshmallows, so I just put the bag back in the cupboard. He hunkered down and toasted away happily. I rolled my eyes and yanked the refrigerator door open to get a soda.

Tarn had already clambered up onto the table to stalk my backpack. "Get away from there," I told him over the 'fridge door.

Hissssss. Butt out, human. This was domestic electronic business. He had an A-line to pummel.

"Here. Go play Mozart in the bedroom or something." Shutting the 'fridge, I pulled my MP3 player from my shirt pocket and gave it to him. He glowered at me. How dare I interfere. Unimpressed by his ire, I picked him up and put him back on the floor, which only pissed him off more. I toed him toward the doorway.

Once the evil glitch trudged away, I let Pharma out of my backpack. Distant, irritated hissing and classical music made my mini-jet look around warily, but I had his back tonight. "You're safe," I told him, handing him the treat bag I kept in the 'fridge. T-cogs didn't need to be kept cool, but Tarn would raid the bag if I hid it anywhere else. Even working together, the D.J.D. wasn't strong enough to haul the 'fridge door open, thank God. "Here. Take this. You're in charge of it tonight."

Handless arms hugged the bag close, and Pharma gave me a nonplussed look. What was he supposed to do with these? Bad human! Unhelpful human! This wasn't what he wanted at all! He didn't want Tarn more interested in stalking him; he wanted Tarn to go away!

"Oh, calm down. Just stay out of reach, and you'll be fine." He gave the kitchen doorway a nervous look and tried lifting off. He could just barely stay aloft while clutching the bag. "Hang out on top of the light fixture or something."

That got me an annoyed squawk - was I telling him what to do? - but Pharma flew off to cause mischief elsewhere. I figured if he controlled Tarn's favorite treats, he might not get pounded so much. I think Tarn's addicted to those things.

It sort of worked out as planned. Helex happily assembled an ooey-gooey s'more for me to munch on while Tesarus and I worked on dinner. By the time the meatballs were cooking, Pharma had taken shelter at the top of the bookcase. Tarn stood at the bottom looking up, hissing threats that sounded slightly bewildered to my experienced ears.

Hisssssss. Hiss? The power hierarchy of the household had changed, and he wasn't sure what to think of the shift yet. Pharma had his precious t-cogs. This was a problem. Tarn didn't know what to do about this new problem.

"Good luck with that," I told him as angry jet-engine revs and a squawk came from on high. Pharma had figured out how much power he had, controlling that bag. If he was smart about it, he could negotiate diplomatic immunity as the apartment's sole A-line appliance. "He has to come down sometime, but what happens if he leaves the bag up there? I'm not going to get it for you."

Tarn gave me a hiss all my own. I laughed at him and went to take a shower.

Afterward, I was sitting on my bed arguing with Kaon about upgrading my laptop when a weird sound from the living room gave away that something had happened. What was that? I'd never heard it before. Did Tesarus get a spoon stuck in his chest again? Was he trying to court the garbage disposal?!

I stuck my head out of the bedroom, only to realize that the noise was coming from the bookcase, not the kitchen.

Tarn was...purring. Playing U2 on low volume, and purring his engine. Cautious but intrigued, Pharma peered down over the edge of the shelves at him.

I grabbed my phone and fumbled around trying to make the video work while texting Bob at the same time. *Dude. DUDE. I have a Misfire-Fulcrum moment happening in my gorram living room RIGHT NOW.*

*HO SHIT SON STOP TEH PRESSES. No, srsly. Which 1s!?*

*Tarn's trying to play nice with Pharma. He's playing Bono!* U2 had never struck me as particularly seductive, but heck if I knew what an electronic found alluring. I still didn't know, but awww. This was the cutest thing my electrodomestics had ever done. *asdaf;kj DUDE I'm showing everybody at work this tomorrow. There are wing flutters! WING FLUTTERS.*

"Nooo," I whispered, filming and grinning away. "Don't come down, Pharma. You know better. He's gonna fuck you up." Pharma hesitantly hopped off his safe perch and zipped down a few shelves. Tarn continued purring, suddenly six kinds of guileless cute instead of the hissing menace that attacked my socks when they came out of the dryer. It's hard to take him seriously when static cling was his greatest enemy.

*F-U, dude. I don't show U every time chatters n crumbs get snuggly.*

There was a pause. Tarn purred and watched, waiting with menacing patience. I silently urged Pharma not to fall for it. Pharma hovered just out of reach, clutching the coveted treat bag to his chest as he obviously debated the wisdom of getting closer. In a moment of wisdom, he landed just long enough to put the bag down on a high shelf and cautiously returned to circling Tarn. Tarn's treads tensed in displeasure that Pharma hadn't fallen for the act hook, line, and sinker, but the purring and U2 upped their volume. He could still pull this off. He could get the A-line. Pharma just had to be charmed down within his reach.

I got ready to dive in and separate them if it got ugly, but I didn't think Tarn was stupid enough to skip straight to violence. I think I was watching the beginning of Tarn assimilating the prickly A-line into his pack of D-line yahoos, just to get steady access to his bag o' addiction.

My phone buzzed. *...I totes do. Gimme pics.*

This could only end badly. I was so dang happy they were finally getting along.

[* * * * *]

"I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, I'm - " I was screaming, was what I was doing. I didn't know what everyone else was doing during the Apocalypse, but I was up to my neck in chaos, invasions, and giant robot death matches. I still wasn't sure this wasn't a dream, but when an arm busts into your apartment and starts rooting around, intelligent people didn't sit there and ponder if it was real. I booked it out the door just ahead of huge fingers.

I'd already spent a frantic, hazy period of time trying to find my herd of electrodomestics, throwing things into a bag, and getting haphazardly dressed to run out into the cold. I'd succeeded in one of the three before the arm crashed through the window, so at least I wasn't sprinting through the streets naked. God, I hoped my little guys were okay.

I had slightly bigger concerns at the moment, however. "Priiiiiiiime!" something bellowed up ahead, bursting through a falling building. It was silver, sounded incredibly angry, and was far, far too large for my comfort.

"Oh shit." Spinning around, I almost fell on my ass before my legs caught up with momentum and started following me down the side street toward WheeZee's ShopMart. I nearly fell over my own feet again as a gross, rattling snarl came from behind me. "What the fu - "

Whatever that thing was, it had teeth as long as my arm and oozed a rancid liquid from its mouth that bubbled the way mad scientists' beakers did. It was also staring at me.

"Uh…nice doggy. Good doggy." I was so screwed.

It cocked its head and gave an odd whine, sniffing. That's when I noticed the chain. This thing had been chained at some point, but apparently it was let off its leash or had broken loose or heck, I don't know. It accessorized in dungeon wear, maybe.

"Shoo," I muttered, inching toward the drugstore's open door. "Git."

Sitting down, it wuffed a strangely familiar sound at me, half curious and half excited. Except for the aforementioned acidic drool and giant teeth - and the fact that it was taller than me - I'd have thought it sounded like a dog. That impression only strengthened when it threw its head back and howled. Although I'd never heard a dog give such a haunting sound of empty metal tubes and shrieking ki-yi-yi laughing yips.

Another building fell, somewhere up the street, and grinding roars I hadn't heard outside of military movies advanced toward me. I bolted for the drugstore.

The huge metal junkyard 'dog' went after me, of course, but I sprinted through the store while it was rootling its way through the door. The Employees Only door was locked, but pounding on the door brought a scared pharmacy lady running. She let me in after seeing big paws dig into the front of the store. That dog thing was digging open the store the way a dog dug up a bone.

The pharmacy employee and I ran for the back door.

Outside again, the noise had gotten worse. The robots I'd glimpsed fighting were knocking over buildings left and right while beating the tar out of each other. I was never one for giant robot flicks. This was freaking me out. I picked the quietest direction and ran for it.

I didn't get far. A wall of metal scooped me up around the next corner and hoisted me into the air, screaming and kicking to no effect. I was going to die!

"Good work," a deep bass rumble complimented someone warmly. My bone rattled. I kept struggling. "Inform Lord Megatron that we have acquired our target. Those dregs of the List have escaped with their own target, but we can hunt them down easily enough." I went still and stiff as the metal around me squeezed lightly. I was about to get mushed into Joe paste. "Their demise is a secondary goal, for now."

"For now," repeated more thoughtfully, still in that skull-rattling bass, and the metal around me unfolded.

I curled into a ball and whimpered to myself. "Help, help, help…"

"What's wrong with him?" Another deep voice, but faster and more demanding. "He doesn't look right. Did the fraggin' turbofox take a bite outta him?"

"No!" a higher, rasping voice snapped back. "He wouldn't do that. Not to this human." The voice went weird on the last words, dropping from a sneer to - to -

I didn't know what. But I wasn't dead yet.

Something hard and cold slid from my head down my back. And again, over and over until I realized it was supposed to be stroking. A petting motion. Hard and angular, like a metal finger that didn't exactly know what kind of pressure to put on me. I curled up tighter, terrified all over again. What the hell was going on, here?!

"Get him sustenance," the deep booming voice instructed. "Humans find food comforting, I believe."

There were rustles and thudding crunches I thought were footsteps. The metal I was on swayed a bit. Oh crap, the robot was moving. Why was the robot moving? Where was the robot taking me?

"No!"

"It's food."

"It's junk. There's more nutritional content in building materials."

"It doesn't have to be a good meal. It just has to be something he can eat."

"You're not giving him that slag!"

"It will do," the robot I thought was in charge said. "Give it here."

More footsteps, and then plastic crinkled near my head. When I peeked, I saw a bag of Cheetos. "What the hell's going on?" I croaked, barely speaking.

But they heard me anyway. "I, ah." A click. "I cannot exactly say, Joe." Oh God. It knew my name. I drew up my knee and tucked my head under my arms, shivering as terror crushed my chest until I could barely breathe. "Scrap. Stop that. Joe, stop that. Don't do that. Stop making that noise."

The higher voice murmured something about heart rate and health. My hammering pulse almost drowned him out, and I thought the thin scream was coming from me.

"I knew that junk was a bad idea!"

"He hasn't even touched it yet!"

"Both of you, be silent!" The metal…finger?...returned to stroking my back. "Look at me, human. Human!" A short pause, and then quieter, "Joe, you're not harmed. Joe, look at me."

How the hell did this thing know my name?! Eyes watering, I peeked out from under my arm at the giant robot thing holding me. A huge purple mask peered back at me. I slammed my arm back down.

"Joe." An exasperated sigh, and the robot prodded my arm gently. Very, very gently. "Joe, we're not here to hurt you."

Yeah, right.

A disgruntled, angry sound like an engine backfiring. "This isn't working."

"We could…well, we could try…"

After a long minute of me trying to remember how lungs worked, a gust of air sent me back into mindless shivering terror. However, there was also a tiny, quiet hiss.

I knew that sound.

When I peeked out this time, I was already looking for what I saw. I just hadn't thought to look for it on this scale. If somebody knew to look for it, that purple mask and the red optics behind it looked embarrassed.

My jaw fell open. "Tarn?!"

[* * * * *]

"Dude!" Bob flagged me down from across the store. "Dude? Dude. Dude, come here. You've gotta see this."

My eyebrows popped up. "I'm not sure I'm awake enough to handle more cute this morning, man. Be gentle." I'd woken up from the mother of all nightmares with Pharma tucked against my neck, Tarn propped half on top of the little jet. Bitty robots in the face had been the worst thing to see with my heart still hammering. I might have fallen off the bed trying to get away, but I'd never tell. Tarn and Pharma might have been so surprised they'd fallen off the other side.

It'd been a rough start the day. Tesarus and Helex had sat on the kitchen table nudging coffee and breakfast toward me like I'd snap if they moved suddenly. They hadn't been too wrong. I'd almost climbed a chair when Kaon shocked me good morning.

The good news was that Pharma had decided not to come to work with me for the first time ever. I knew he thought it was his decision, but triumphant tank engine revs had followed me out the door. Tarn had gotten his way. Pharma just hadn't realized he'd fallen for Tarn's charms yet, the silly squawker. This wasn't going to end well for the jet.

Bob shook his head and waved more insistently. "No, dude, you've got to see this."

"What? What do I have to see?" I sucked down the last of my coffee as I meandered over.

It nearly choked me as I spied the poster Bob was holding. "The hell - ?!"

"Yeah. I told you they were going to pull something big for Black Friday this year." My buddy shook his head, resigned to the Transformers brand's sales shticks. Last year, they'd released the Mirror Image model line on Thanksgiving, and hadn't that been the opposite of fun? Different colors, swapped programming, and two each of Ultra Magnus and Rodimus on the sales floor. One of the Rodimus - Rodimi? - had had a mustache. It'd been a sales gimmick, but I'd just been plain confused by it. The similar models and weird programming had ended up with more evil twins running around than I knew how to deal with.

This year…

"They're offering companion program patches for the entire D-line, available to download off the Cybertron Registry. Calling it 'advanced household electronics networking,'" Bob said.

I stared at the poster. "But…what the crap, man. Isn't the D-line getting A-line stuff in their programming, like, bad?" The original List models had been made with something tweaked in their programming, anyway, and the D.J.D. were dead-set on destroying them. Ultra Magnus policed any A-line who pushed into D-line rulebreaking, and the Justice Division handled keeping the D-line out of A-line territory. Or something. I still wasn't clear on why the Transformers brand wanted the semi-sentient AIs they produced to constantly be at odds with each other, but you couldn't deny that their sales strategies worked.

Most of the time. This, however, seemed wrong even to me. "Tarn is going to fry his circuits," I said after blinking repeatedly. Reality failed to reset.

The Megatron model on the poster still had a bright red A-line insignia displayed on his chest.

Ooooh boy.

[* * * * *]