Disclaimer: Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun.

Warnings: Typical mayhem in a collection of snapshots

Skrillex—With Your Friends (Long Drive)

Panic! At the Disco & Fun. C'mon


"Beneath"

A mega cycle later, Arcee used an errand run as an excuse to go off alone and hunt. It was always hard to find mechanimals near high-traffic areas, Uraya had a beautiful subterranean selection. Letails was busier so she had to travel further out. Now, deep in a fissure she'd been fortunate enough to find a wandering stag. She'd been successful this time, but prey was getting harder to find. This forested area in between several cities should have been full of creatures. It wasn't and a painfully familiar scent permeated the area. Her sensors picked up the burnt circuitry of an older 'former combined with something else, something odd that smelled like …her.

Arcee was startled as a green-yellow, smoking lump crashed to the ground before her. The Terrorcon skirted the crash site deciding whether to attack or move away. As it happened, it was a chopper. The resounding groan confirmed it was sentient and what she identified as Springer transformed, sitting up in a daze.

So, he was a triple changer… They weren't rare or anything, just awkward looking. No wonder he was so huge.

Springer seemed to realize where he was in stages. The dank air. The high walls. The scent of spilled energon. Her bright yellow optics.

The cadet slowly backed away, arm reaching back to grab a massive blaster. She groaned internally. Where was he getting these guns?! Her EM field extended outward like icy digits, freezing his motor controls.

"NoW wHeRe wOuLd tHe fUn Be wItH ThAt?" Arcee transformed herself to all fours and roared, "YoU dArE TrEsPaSs?!"

Distorting fields had the unfortunate effect of inducing hallucinations and terror, hence her build's name. Without the EM, a typical Tcon looked like a featureless Transformer depending on the region—in her case a pleasing cross between a saurian and a felid. With the field, a 'former's worst fears could be projected in the Terrorcon they saw before them.

She imagined what he saw before him was a vision of underworld horror, something to be shot. Her unassuming quadruped form had jaws splayed in warning. Not that he could see her. All he probably saw was a writhing black mass. His vents were pounding, desperately struggling to dispel the heat from his frame.

This was too much fun. She hadn't scared someone into stasis in forever. Considering she'd probably have to treat him if she screwed his processors up, she'd settle for making him leak. His motor controls glitched their last as his back met the wall and he dropped his weapon.

"It's been a long while since I've had one with a spark as strong as yours," she crooned with a soft rasp. "Stop resisting, I'll make it quick."

Arcee was impressed he hadn't had a panic attack by now. He kept gasping for ventilation but never fully succumbed. It took a few vocalizer resets but he finally managed to speak. In ancient Cybertronian, of all things. The stuff their kind had still used when the planet was still vibrant.

"Bah-weep-Graaaaagnah wheep ni bong."

And just like that any though of mauling went out of her helm. She broke into peals of laughter distorted by her field. "You get—pbbht! You get a pass. I haven't heard that in a while! What's your designation?"

"Sp-Springer. Just Springer."

She reverted, fully dropping her EM, and wiping whatever energon that was left over from her mouth, "You've been raised by an ancient one, haven't you?"

Springer frowned, derma sealed. If he wasn't going to give her an answer, she'd find out herself. A vision change gave her the answers faster than torturing out of the 'former. "You two are close and he's waiting for you, as is your—brother?"

"It's complicated," he said curtly, apparently not phased at all by her sensors, like he'd seen this all before.

"Believe me, I have seen stranger. How'd you crash?"

"I got shot in the air," Springer winced, "But you should see the other guy."

"With that big, honkin' Autobot sigil on your chest, I'm not surprised." She began to scale the walls of the hole, "Come on then, we'll get you back to them. Can you walk?"

Springer seemed to realize he was still dented up from his crash landing. He pushed himself away from the wall with a shaky sway, left ankle giving dangerously. Then he sprang vertically, landing a bit higher than she.

"Your designation is a little on-the-olfactory," she said, "But at least it makes sense."

"Oh yeah, then what's yours, buddy?"

"I used to be called Halfcut." She said.

"Cute name for a Terrorcon," he stopped, "Why are you helping me?"

"Dunno. I'm running with some normies like you, they freak out if I even joke about eating sentients. I'm getting soft."

"Good for me, then."

She grasped him by one wrist and helped hoist him to the lip of the hole. "Don't mention it. I have a reputation to keep."

He glanced back down into the gully, "You're not going to finish?"

"You know where I am now, I have to move."

"So, what do I owe you, Arcee?"

Said femme lost her grip, nearly plummeting back down and Springer pulled her back to a handhold. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"I know you're Arcee." He folded his arms, smugly leaning backward with his peds jammed into the wall. "A wild Terror would've eaten me, but then again, they wouldn't be in someone else's territory hunting. You forgot to distort your voice at points so it's the same and you've got pink streaks on your face."

With a terrible rushing noise, she took on her bipedal vehicle mode form before pulling herself over the edge. "Slaggit all."

He followed her up, "You're too cocky. Not everyone is Terror illiterate, so really you owe me."

She let her fangs peek out in a grimace and strode off. "You know the law. Your silence and a favor at a later date."

"You didn't ask what I want."

"Not waking up with my daggers in your spark would be ideal, don't you think?"

"You could fix my ped?!" Springer yelled at her retreating back, "See you at home, then."

After that botched attempt at terrorizing, Arcee cleaned up, went home, and found a pale spot just beneath her left-wing kibble. There went the shreds of her good mood. Her guise was cracking and it was the one thing Spade never knew how to fix. Time was running out.

Arcee didn't recharge that lunar cycle. She needed answers. So, she rose, made sure the others were in unaware and headed for the front door.

"Yi."

The Terrorcon threw a glance over her shoulder to see beady lavender optics staring back at her. She hissed at pup, "Not now, go back to Lockdown."

"Yi," Flamewar said again, stubby tail thrashing as she waddled to the door.

Arcee blocked the way, "I said: GIT!"

There was a sickening crunch from one of Flamewar's paws and the Terrorcon rushed to pull her ped back. "Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Don't click."

Flamewar let out a spark-breaking wail and she scooped the hound up, trying to shut her up.

Somewhere down the hall Springer groaned, "Lockdown…your pet… Get your pet!"

"You little pipsqueak—," the dark, flame printed mechling stumbled in, rubbing at faceplate. He looked up and spotted her, "Pinky?"

"I stepped on her paw."

Flamewar whimpered pitifully and Arcee was all to eager to hand her over.

"You're not that hurt, pet," she grumbled.

Lockdown allowed her to cuddle beneath the fold of one arm. His optics brightened as he began to put two and two together. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know," she answered truthfully.

Lockdown stared. It was something he was incredibly good at it, he'd mastered looking right through people. He reminded her a lot of a reptilian the way his face didn't emote—Maybe it was the spines...

He finally frowned and walked around back of her, "Your wings bugging you?"

"One of them."

"You sensitive like a Praxian?"

"No—" To her surprise he pushed her left kibble up and away from her back, digit landing on the flaking spot on the first try. "Is that bad?"

"Honestly, I don't know, paint isn't going to cover this one." The tingling sensation spread across her sensor grid like nuzzle and against her better judgement, she relaxed.

Lockdown made a thoughtful noise, "What do you need?"

She never got a chance to answer as the other green mech called from the back of the flat. "So, what's wrong with your mutt?" At that moment, Springer decided to walk in and judging by the jerking of his frame, immediately wished he hadn't. "I didn't see anything."

"Didn't see wha-" HotRod trotted in taking the slyest expression. "I knew it. I KNEW IT! Springer you owe me fifty credits!"

"Shut it, Roddy!"

"But seriously the walls are really thin, so could you—"

Springer wrestled the skinny mech into a chokehold. "Look, we've lived in barracks, you don't have to explain yourselves. We're just going to head back here…"

"Nothing's going on!" Lockdown snapped. Yet in all his anger he didn't think to let her kibble go. His digits were burning up and there were minute tremors going through his servo. Nervous. Oddly enough, she didn't mind it. Partly because it felt nice, partly because she had no shame. Too bad it had to be in front of a pair of gawking idiots.

By now Jazz came in, dragging Prowl behind him. "We got rust. Making a night run," he chirped, scooping up Flamewar on his way out. Since waking, he'd made it a point to be friendlier toward the cadets. Only Springer had been smart enough not to take the bait.

HodRod, instead, played along. "You're all going?"

"If you travel in packs yah less likely to get jumped."

Prowl rubbed his optics, "Why are you all yelling?"

His visor flashed in good humor, "I told you, they just walked in on 'em feeling each other up."

"I said: NOTHING IS GOING ON!"

"Then give me my kibble back," Arcee said flatly.

There were three hard knocks from the floor below them. "Glad you're feeling better, but talk in the morning."

There were a chorus of "Sorry, Beryl" and a long pause as they waited for the femme to stop listening in on them.

"Hey," HotRod commented, "We were checking out the town and I saw her in a dumpster…"

That caught Jazz's attention, "Really?"

"Yup. Our landlord's a dumpster diver."

"I gotta get out more," the sometimes assassin sighed.

"There's an empty stretch of road a couple kliks out. Wanna race?"

"Only if you're prepared to lose, Roddy. Catch you in the morning!" he grinned swinging out the door.

Arcee was quick to follow behind the Poly. "Go ahead, I know you're curious. Get it out of your system."

Jazz rushed them down the stairs towards ground level, still hauling Prowl. "Nah," he started, vocalizer barely a whisper, "If you don't wanna talk, you don't have to." Half his visor blinked out in a wink.

"I don't know what I'm doing."

"That's when the best stuff happens. I wouldn't have picked him if I were you though… The mech's weird."

She frowned, "What is it with you and Lock? You act like you two can't stand each other."

"Friends out of convenience."

"Huh. He sure was worried about you while you were sick."

Jazz missed a step on the narrow staircase nearly taking everyone down with him. He looked around before speaking, "Because he lost his twin the same way. That's enough to mess anyone up—and I remember watching him thinking I'd never be like that: completely broken."

"And?"

"So far, I'm not."

"Seems like you two would have made an alliance being two halves."

"Bond physics," Prowl muttered, "It's balance and stuff."

"Heh, don't let anyone tell you you're slow on the uptake." Jazz smiled, turning back to Arcee. "You need balance in anything. We match cuz Prowl is boring and I'm not, Springer an HotRod match cuz they're used to each other, and you and Lock match in a different way. You're the same, an it works."

"Emo physics," said Lockdown's disembodied voice, startling no one.

They were crude explanations for the way their bonds worked, but it would do.

"So that means we wanna hang out, but you two wanna suck face," the Praxian slurred, just alert enough to know what he was saying judging by that stupid grin.

Arcee snarled, "I'd be quiet, Prowly. You are all worse than gossiping femmes!"

"Prowlers one of us now, need someone else to tease." Jazz said.

At the lobby, Lockdown held the door open for the Terrorcon and Prowl made a noise like he'd ingested bad fuel.

"You two are disgusting."

"You sure you and Jazz don't have your ages switched? Don't knock it, nerd, 'till you've tried it."

"Yeah, how do you think you got here?" she taunted.

"Arranged bonding."

"Explains a lot." Lockdown sniped, "So which one of your parentages was the drone?"

Before they could gear up for a not-so-friendly verbal spar Jazz huffed air out of his vents. "Sparklings! Can we do this when it's not dark…darker I mean. We're not all up because we need a metallurgist."

Arcee took the lead, the squirt had a point, "It looks like my guise is cracking. I'm going to only place that can jog my memory."

"The lower levels?" Lockdown asked.

"Yup, field trip time, everybody."

They had to go in through a sewer system and climb down several tics. It was rough going but she had to give them credit, they held in there. Smoggy sky turned to dark, smooth metal, sparse bioluminescent fauna, and abrupt drop offs.

Lockdown's ped slipped into a hole and some slippery creature came out with it. "Arcceeeee…."

She learned in, "Cool, I haven't seen one of those in vorns!"

"Here," he ripped the squid-like creature off and dropped it into her arms, "When. Are. We. Getting. There."

"Just a little further, "She tossed it back into its burrow and clapped a slimy servo on his shoulder, just managing to avoid the spikes.

"You said that before!" Jazz complained, "Somethin' dripped in my gears that don't feel right!"

"I swear if you get sick again…" Prowl murmured, "Seriously, Cee, how much further?"

"Buncha city-'formers." Arcee's peds finally landed somewhere that felt right. "We're here."

She led them into a network of stalagmite-like metal projections and she sat still, tucked among the metal spires that supported a huge chamber.

Jazz looked around, sarcasm heavy in his voice, "Wow, a big hole in the ground! Amazing!"

Prowl and Lockdown stifled snickers.

"I'll give the acoustics a ten, but this sucks. I wanna go home."

He was jerked off balance as Arcee dragged him down to sit. "If you'll withhold your judgement… Something cool is going to happen."

No sooner had she said it than a metallic tang rose from the depths, uniting with the waves from above and igniting thousands of small, glowing, nearly white spheres throughout the cavern.

Prowl laid flat with his helm pillowed on his arms, "I've read a lot but never anything like this. What is it?"

"Scintillam agri," Arcee tilted her helm, "Something everyone forgot once we started living on the surface. The ancients used to call them spark fields, where the first Transformers came from, y'know the thirteen clans and all their descendants. Whether it's true or not is anyone's guess. They're natural occurrences all over the planet. It doesn't happen so much anymore. If we're going to leave, I wanted you all to see this. The last of the best Cybertron has to offer."

Her optics closed, quietly rehashing what she knew. "You know they said there was a meeting between Predacons and Dreads over how to combat a great evil that had taken over the planet and before they could finish misshapen creatures wandered upon them with the body of a vehicle mode and the internals like that of an organic monster. The last build of Transformer."

"What was the evil?" Jazz asked quietly.

Only then did she realize she had graduated from a having a death grip on Jazz's arm to hugging him as if he were going to vanish… and her spark was flooded with the sense of nostalgia.

"Sorry."

The Polyhexian gave the bond equivalent a pat, "It's okay."

The bond illiterate and damaged one didn't do much in the way of replying.

Arcee restarted the conversation, "So yeah, it was…aliens? Organics? Take your pick. I don't even think they knew."

"So, your build's claim to fame is that of a guardian," Prowl nodded.

"Pit straight, we're the original Enforcers. Then the Dreads became…" she trailed off, "Like a backup guard. They're not really a build, they're more of a faction; they modify themselves to be alien looking. Now that there's no one else left—the Dreads will take over again. We're in bad shape if they have to."

"That's all you got?" Lockdown asked.

"Yup. It figures I can remember everything but what to do about my kibble. But, hey, the view was nice."

"Cee, is Cybertron dying?" Jazz whispered.

"It may be." She answered mutely, "And there's a good chance I will too, that or I'll go crazy and turn into a voracious monster or lose my abilities and become normal. Nobody knows for sure. Fuel for thought."

"How do you know all this?"

She shrugged, wiping at the cyan tears pooling in her optics, "Part of its Preda lore, other parts I just do. I learned a long time ago, I think. Spade brought me down here to remember a few times. I never did."

The small youngling allowed himself to be hugged even tighter for a brief moment before she straightened, finally releasing him. "We should go. It isn't good to stay down here too long these cycles. You touch one of those lights, you die."

Prowl yanked his servo back from one of the spheres, narrowly missing getting his systems fried, "Besides that, it's so beautiful down here..."

Arcee dusted herself off as the glow died down, "Yeah, between that and the charge down here it's a great spot to interface."

"Arcee!"

She raised an optic ridge, "What? It's true!"

Prowl's wings slammed down flat on his back, "Why are you like this?"

"Because you three are wimps. C'mon, don't you have a race tomorrow, Jazz?"

Lockdown stayed put, optics transfixed on the dimming lights around them. She tilted her helm, poor thing. She'd run bloodwork and he hadn't been nearly as much of a unique find as she thought, just an offbeat vehi-mode missing his twin. That wasn't too bad. Personality and spark covered a multitude of problems.

She leaned over his back, putting them face-to-face albeit upside-down, "Hey, Lock? Time to go."

He snapped out of his self-induced trance, "Huh? Oh...sure."

~o~o~o~o~o~

Still in the cavern, not too far away

After so many vorns, there was another bloom. It was always nice to sneak down and see. You never knew when it would be the last time with the planet so frail. As a bonus, there was actually another Terrorcon here…drawn by the pull of the discharge. He looked over the fact she'd brought non-Terrors with her. All types of packs were forming now.

It was so strange seeing another after so long. They were all supposed to be dead like himself. Yet there was a little, pink newbuild with a wiped processor laughing and joking before him. He supposed whoever in her clan that had reached her last had done her a favor by destroying her memory. No one deserved to remember the sheer brutality of that purge—except maybe himself.

He watched them go in silence and then left for his own pack.

~o~o~o~o~o~

Recharging for an orn did stuff to your processor, like insomnia...especially insomnia.

Jazz lurked around Lockdown's door out of nothing better to do. His processors would let him rest.

As if he'd been summoned, the green mech wrenched it open. "What?!"

"I'm bored."

"Go bug Prowl."

Jazz made a face, "He's showing Springer a flick."

"I thought he didn't watch normal movi—" he stopped himself, "It's something related to history aint it?"

"Yessss and it's boring as watching paint dry. Matter of fact it is about drying paint. Ah wanna fight."

"Not here," Beryl called from the hallway, "There's an old warehouse about three ticks from here. Have at it."

Lockdown growled, "Who let her in here?"

"I've got a master key," the slate femme replied smoothly, dragging HotRod and a violently resisting Arcee down the hallway. "If you need these two, they'll be helpin' me wit' plumbing. If you're spritely 'nough to harass and stab each other you can work pipes."

The Autobot had resigned himself to his fate, walking in time with his captor. Arcee, however, dug in her heels and bit her on the arm.

Beryl laughed, "That's demolition grade armor. The last saurian-build I tangled with couldn't make a dent, I highly doubt you will, youngin'."

They could hear Arcee snarling long after they'd left the flat.

Jazz turned back to the mechling, "Her?"

"Yes."

"You weird."

"You like RoadRage and she's bigger and older than you. That's weird."

"She don't bite people." Jazz shuffled off and Lock followed.

They'd made it all the way to the streets before he made an effort to speak again. "How's your arm?"

"Itches."

Jazz supposed it was better than the alternative, busted and unsalvageable. "Why'd you even push me out of the way if you knew you were going to lose it?"

"Ask a stupid question…" he trailed off.

"Answer it, dumbaft."

The green and black side-eyed him, "Because as much as I can't stand you, I don't want you dead."

He had nothing to say to that.

"Whatever I did to you is nothing compared to what Cabal might have done. He would've killed you."

Jazz fiddled with the latch on the door that was suspiciously unopened and they slipped in, "It doesn't make it right."

The other mechling explored the nearly spotless area, turning on the lights one by one, lingering on each switch as if it were so interesting. "Guess not, but I rather you be mad at me all the time than offline. You're welcome."

Without thinking Jazz spat, ~ Aft. ~

~ Shut up. ~ Came Lockdown's automatic reply.

No gunshot could have been louder.

Jazz frowned, ~ What the— ~

"No," Lockdown snapped, "Don't say anything, you didn't hear anything."

But he had, and he didn't like it.

"Ahm callin' Arcee."

"Don't!" He grabbed his shoulder, "Is there a reason we can't just keep this between us?"

He raised an optic ridge, "I can think of like twelve."

Lockdown normally didn't show anything above active or bored irritation, "scared" was a look he thought they'd left in The Depths with Deadlock holding him at gunpoint. Or after Tsui.

He'd never been the same after she passed. Yeah, he'd always been ornery but all the play he'd once had evaporated in the cycles after, like part of him had died too. When they were still in the neighborhood, Stepper hadn't taken an interest in what was going on. Jazz had.

His twin had called him a nosy gawker but he couldn't help it. The whole fiasco was like watching a tram wreck; you couldn't look away. Lock's clan tried to bring him back around, but even the kindest family he'd ever seen couldn't help if Lockdown didn't want it. He was too far gone. Waking up next to a cold frame did that to people.

He still didn't fully get how someone could go from fascinated with anatomy, to creeped out by dead frames, to okay with looting the same thing he'd been scared of.

~ Jazz…you do know what trauma is, right? He just learned to cope in a—different way. ~ Prowl sounded just as apprehensive as he felt.

Jazz could feel angry heat seeping over the new line with Lockdown, ironically not nearly as painful as establishing one with Prowl.

Ever the mediator, Prowl addressed Lockdown, ~ You can't get mad at him, it's an open line. We'll be down there in a kilk. ~

While they waited, uncomfortable silence stretched, but soon enough the Praxian strode in toting a squirming steeljaw that immediately snuggled up next to Lockdown after being set free. His wings bobbed awkwardly, stood tall, and finally sank behind his back. ~ Where's—~

Without a warning on his or anyone's HUD, judging by the flinches, the pink femme dropped from the ceiling. In less than a nano she'd snarled, seeing whatever they hadn't. ~ Surprise, idiots. We're talking. Now. ~ Arcee called, one set of digits rapping against her folded arm like bullets, ~ What did you do?! We're all connected! ~

"Not by choice." Lockdown rumbled.

Arcee held up a digit, ~Shu. I know you won't like it but only in bond. This isn't natural. If anyone finds out we're gonna be the biggest freak show ever. Or worse. Now. ~ She sat in the middle of the floor, whipping out a datapad, ~ Symptoms? ~

~ Purging? ~ Jazz offered.

~ We've all either been through pit or sick or both. ~ Arcee argued, ~ I've run every test I know, made some from scratch, and we still could be sick. Besides…Terrorcons can't purge. ~

~ Prowl knew I mess with crystals in my down time and Jazz knew about Hyra before anyone else. ~ Lockdown added.

She wrote something down in an indecipherable scrawl onto a datapad, ~ Makes sense. He must be getting feedback from the Massis. At least your wound was worth it. Do you hear anything? ~

Jazz's derma pressed into a firm line, ~ Nada. It just came to me, it was a bad place to go. ~

~ No wonder nothing is showing up! ~ She hissed, ~It's all in our helms. ~

~ Partially psychosomatic. ~ Prowl supplied.

~ Well if you wanna get all fancy with it, Mister Study-pad. ~

The Praxian ignored her, ~ Jazz's systems were attacked by both a programming and a physical virus. That made it easier for a bond to make the jump to me since he was already connecting. So, it jumped from us to you guys. ~

~ Our virus mutates? ~ Lockdown asked.

Arcee narrowed her optics, ~ And probably learns. The only things we have in common are… ~

~ Weird bond status'. ~

~ Trauma and losing multiple relatives at once. ~

~ We've been around each other for a while. ~

~ And we've been forced to place a strong measure of trust in each other. ~ Arcee nodded, biting into a rust stick—and everyone grabbing a stick from the open tin in turn.

~ These taste like scrap. ~ Lockdown hissed.

She grinned, ~ Closest flavor to sentients, Purple Acid. ~

~ Of all 'formers, why you? ~ Jazz muttered.

~ Science and dumb chance. ~

Prowl balked, ~ A literal manifestation of friendship. ~

Lockdown had a less gilded view of it. ~ It's like that virus you get when you first start hanging around other sparklings. Congrats, you morons gave us the skitters. ~

~ You don't just wind up with the skitters or bonds on your own. ~ Arcee baited.

The green mech let out an overwarm ventilation, ~ Now what? ~

~ There's a matter of privacy. ~ Prowl began, ~ Otherwise this system bleed will keep happening. ~

~ You really think you can stop it? ~ Lockdown asked.

~ None of you have gotten anything from me, have you? It helps to be intensely private. ~, he shut his optics off, folded his legs and let his frame relax. ~ Try this. ~

~ You're serious. ~ Lock snorted, ~ This whole meditation slag? ~

~ We wouldn't be having this issue if you three weren't accustomed to being connected to others. If what's happened isn't normal it would reason that it's the inverse of a natural bond. No restrictions, guidelines, or an senior to provide structure. Whatever happened to you this would be an opportune time to begin treating it. ~

Jazz noted Lockdown didn't have much to say following that.

~ Look, just focus and separate yourself. ~

As expected of an uptight prick, Prowl was good at keeping his internal thoughts aligned and ordered. Through their parasitic link Jazz got the impression organization was something he genuinely enjoyed, not just something borne out of survival. Nerd. He singled each member out working with them one-by-one until he'd gotten everyone sectioned off as well as their rooms in the flat.

Lockdown tested the boundaries and pulled back, satisfied, ~ That simple? ~

~ Not quite, we could use this to our benefit—with a little retooling. ~

Jazz sat up taller, quickly gathering what Prowl was planning.

The Praxian snatched up a nearby pole...that hadn't been there a little while ago. ~ Fighting. ~

He didn't have long to think on it as Arcee was already on her peds with an antsy grin, Lockdown with a wicked one.

~o~o~o~o~o~

Beryl held one audio and summoned a comm with her free servo, pacing around the youngling's flat. HotRod sat on the kitchen table, peds swinging aimlessly with the same issue she had. One moment, Arcee had been grudgingly helping with the plumbing the next, she'd tensed and raked her digits down the wall swearing up a blue streak in Predus. Presently, Beryl was placing a call to the one 'former she knew would be in the area.

"And you're sure you don't know where Arcee went?"

Roddy shrugged, "All I know is: she's got a smoking frame, but meaner than a serpent-build. Like I said, we room with them but we don't actually hang out all that much."

"How about you, Springer?"

The green and yellow mech groaned, "Who knows, she might be having someone for lunch."

HotRod cackled but the way Springer said it didn't sound like a joke. He had a look like he'd just let a secret slip but he cleared his vents and continued. "Prowl just got really quiet and said he'd be back."

With the youngling other engrossed in a chip game, Beryl let her comm servo down, "You were gone an awful long while the other cycle."

"I got shot down on the outskirts and 'Cee found me; I'm still looking for the Wreckers."

Now that was a problem she could solve, "Kid, you've been going the wrong way. Their base is downtown and a couple of 'em room here. It's like the Ninety Vorn War out there, they're running interference. They'll be back soon enough."

His optics brightened, "Is Kup with them?"

"Ehhh," Beryl jeered, "Where else would that old coot be? You know him?"

"He's our guardian."

"Ha," she rubbed the back of her helm, "My bad."

"How do you know him?"

"We've crossed paths…the way things are going we'll probably be crossing paths in the morgue too. Haven't seen in a couple dozen vorns. There's a limit to how many times ya should run into a 'former during your life span."

Springer canted his helm, "He's never mentioned you."

Beryl put on her best "make-nice" smile. They were sweet kids, really, shame they were 'bots. "Ah, he knows a lot of 'formers, probably never came up. Hey, what was Cee doing all the way on the outskirts of the city?"

Unfortunately, the line picked up before he could answer.

:: Twitch? ::

Her derma curled into a smile at the quiet voice, "Greetings, Master. How have you been?"

:: Well. To what do I owe this comm? ::

"I sent two younglings to your warehouse and the other two that normally are with them are gone."

:: They are all here sparring. ::

"Good. Thank you."

:: They are rather violent. ::

She took the comm into the furthest room, "Sorry…I know…and one of them may be…ya know… prone to carnivorous episodes."

:: I see. ::

"They're new renters," Beryl continued, "I'm not sure where they came from, but they're off the street."

:: You are going to attempt to allow them to turn over a new line of programming. ::

"No. Yes. I mean… I don't want them to get into the worst of things, but I don't want them to be 'Bots either."

:: Then you are the best 'former for the job. ::

"Thank you, Master."

:: You did not train under me, the title is unnecessary, Twitch. ::

"Term of endearment, and I apologize but I go by "Beryl" now."

:: Of course, good cycle. ::

She slid down the wall she was and played with the plastic rod on the floor, until she found it was actually a hidden shank.

"Who's knife, younglings?"

"MINE!" HotRod crowed.

"Keep your scrap up, I'm not your maid!"

Beryl groaned. She worried about the new arrivals.

Sure, there'd been an uptick in them since the city-state attacks. Most were either adults or younglings with an adult, these six were some of the few she'd seen alone.

The green cadet and his friend always left early to look for anyone they knew from their old academy. The Wreckers would get them in touch with the local Autobot militia. Three of the others mainly kept to themselves, she only caught brief glances of them coming and going and they rarely ever socialized.

The last one though…

She'd been curious when he'd been brought to the building passed out, concerned when her sensors found he was still in the same condition, and about to ask about them herself when she hadn't seen him stirring around at all. Now he wasn't even here.

The slate femme stopped herself, all in good time. She didn't want to crowd them. If it meant keeping them alive, she'd do it.

Someone had to.

~o~o~o~o~o~

Meanwhile

Prowl slid across the floor and came to a halt, one wing bent. He turned to Jazz, who was still unharmed. ~ How are they doing that? ~

The "they" in question being Arcee and Lockdown circling them. Every move was timed and paired like clockwork: two so called loners working in perfect harmony. Meanwhile, when they struck he was the last to know. Jazz leapt out of the way and he got run over.

Jazz watched them for a nano, ~ They're synced, united in purpose and mind. So, what are we doing? ~

~ Trying not to die. ~

The Polyhexian huffed, ~ You gotta be fast. ~

Lockdown cut while taking a lunge at Prowl, ~ You're fast, you're just not making a connection. Come on you're just going to fight me. One on one. ~

~ I want to fight the nerd. ~ Arcee argued.

~ Arcee, ~ Jazz "said" flatly, ~ I watched you turn a mech twice your size into confetti. ~

~ And? ~

~ You're a level ten threat. We want him alive and he's already fought me and you. ~

~ He's never gonna learn if you don't train him... ~ Arcee warned.

Prowl hissed, ~ Quit talking about me like I'm a pet! ~

~ Ah, but you are. ~ She purred, ~ And since you've been such a good mechling I'll go easy on you. ~

He stalled again and Jazz dragged her off the scrape-laden floor.

~ Yah nasty. Go 'head, I got her. ~

Watching the green and black mechling sink into a fighting stance reminded Prowl why he didn't toy around with him. Jazz did—when not in striking range. Lockdown was a triple-threat build-wise: lanky, armored, and tall. Factor in a psychopathic streak that extended to nearly everyone and it made for a formidable opponent. Lock was already helm and shoulders over any of them. He was going to be a monster when he got older.

The mech lifted his helm up, preening, ~ Already am. ~

Prowl shifted his frame, digging out two shards of metal he'd snatched up. Lockdown went in weaponless. The key was to keep out of his range and distract until he could get an opening, as he'd picked up on. He tucked his doorwings to his back and lunged.

Lockdown still nearly decked him.

~ Like ah said, what are we doing? ~ Jazz asked again.

~ Fighting. ~

~ Dense. You're so busy building barriers you forgot doors. Let me in. ~

Prowl grudgingly accepted, seamlessly gaining a view of he and Lockdown from the side. ~ What is this? ~

~ Useful. ~

He got his helm clipped by a fist. ~ Not in this case. ~

~C'mon Prowler. What's holding you back? ~

~ I'm not supposed… ~

The green mech finally landed a solid hit sending Prowl to a knee.

~ Fat load of good that's gonna do you now. ~ Jazz snapped, ~ You gonna get creamed, or you finally gonna fight back? ~

~ This aint like class. ~ Jazz continued, ~ No law, no rules, just survive. ~

Prowl squared himself. He made a valid point, times had changed and without a wide range of skills he'd be among those who wouldn't make it. He wanted to make it…if only just to see somewhere outside of Cybertron. He had people that counted on him now.

Prowl ducked beneath Lockdown's swing and sliced his arm. He came back around faking for his jaw, Lockdown blocked, and Prowl forced his full weight onto the mechling, slamming him to the ground.

After a stunned moment, Lockdown decided not to take kindly to that and flipped him.

As his helm cleared he looked up to an outstretched servo and three voices.

~ Better. ~

~o~o~o~o~o~

And by "better" Lockdown meant he wasn't getting slung all over the place anymore. The nerd actually had some five cycles he decided to call it and head to the flat.

~ I told ya so. Watch out for the quiet ones. ~ Arcee chirped, bright paint standing out plainly against the darkening light outside.

~ Hey, you don't think this spread to Springer and HotRod? ~ Prowl asked.

~ You gotta form link first. And don't let them in. ~

Lockdown stopped in the shadow of the place he didn't want to admit was becoming like a home. ~ You really want to go back to the flat right off? Kinda crowded. ~

Prowl's wings dipped. Jazz's visor dimmed.

Arcee finally spoke up, ~ The building roof? I got some old, sticky gels we can drop on 'formers. ~

~ Sounds like a plan. ~ Jazz rubbed his servos together.

Turning back to catch the nerd's expression, Lockdown nearly crashed into Beryl on the way into the lobby.

"Well, look who's back. It's the slacker," she glared at Arcee, "Who claws walls like that?"

"I get migraines," she said lamely.

"And you're the medic…you okay?"

The pink femme grumbled, stalking off.

"Cy-Stan, femmeling."

"As ok as I'll ever be." her plating bristled, ~ Nosy. ~

Jazz looked between them, ~ This lady's always like that? ~

~ Has been since we made it here. ~ Lockdown confirmed.

~ She's a landlord. ~ Prowl grumbled, ~ It's what they do. If you were in her situation, you'd do the same. ~

"Prowl's right." Beryl said offhandedly still standing in the sliding doors.

Behind her Arcee spun around, EM flickering, ~ Frag. Frag. Frag. ~

The slate femme nodded, "You spend long enough reading cues for a living you learn a thing or two. Watch your mouths. Good seeing ya, Lil Poly."


:)