A NEW SIDE
Prequel to Chapter 42: A Formidable Streak
Huge THANK YOU to: Starfire201, Blitz-Krazi-1, Kimmie98, Amy (hello and great to hear from ya!), Angelcakes19, Guest, SEZwho94, Aura Black Chan (your message box is closed so I couldn't send you any messages), Lovely Rain Dancer, Tiamat1972, Elita-2, StarLitDawn, Cmdrtekk, Lady-Nebkhat, AD Axel, KayleeChiara… My gratitude is in your Inboxes on the site… and don't worry.. I killed it before stuffing it in there. :D The twins have taught me SOME things….. I'm not clarifying past that.
No Bluestreak in this one I'm afraid. But there's everyone else… hehehe
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"Welcome to your first self defense lesson you processorless glitches," Ironhide barked, spinning on his heel and stalking down the line of new recruits. "You think you're tough? Well, you're not! You think you can outwit the enemy? You're mistaken. You think you can defeat a Con by sheer strength? You're a weakling. You think you can outmatch a seasoned soldier? You're about to get your aft handed to you."
A soft snicker rent the crowd. Several bots stiffened, their optics going wide when they noted the red mech in front of them falter. They pressed their lip components together in a thin line, proving they were not the source of the disruption.
Ironhide missed his step when he heard the mirth. He halted mid-stride, turning on his heel and staring at the scared and ramrod straight recruits. Each one showed the proper amount of fear and respect that the weapon's master garnered. A glimmer of red caught his attention.
"Do you have something to say, femme?" he barked to the obviously guilty mech.
A cheeky smile was sent his way before a strong, male voice answered, "Plenty."
"Well then, why don't you come forward and educate the class, if you're so skilled," Ironhide barked, motioning for the mech to join him in front of the recruits.
"Gladly," the red mech said, sauntering forward. He was shadowed by a golden mech who kept his optics trained on the red armor in front of him. When the red mech stood in front of Ironhide, he offered a wide, friendly smile that the weapon's master did not return.
"Who's the turbo puppy?" Ironhide asked, nodding toward the silent gold mech.
Before Ironhide could blink, the gold mech had punched him twice in the face and flipped him onto his back, his arms pinned beneath him and pain filling his sensor net. A golden pede was planted on the middle of Ironhide's chest, ensuring his immobility and attention. The red mech knelt in front of the disabled mech, his charming smile still in place.
"That is my brother," he said, nodding toward the golden mech. "His designation is Sunstreaker. I am Sideswipe."
"Get off of me!" Ironhide yelled, struggling with the odd angle. He never felt so helpless, nor so embarrassed, in all his life. How the mech got the drop on him, he'd never know.
"Let him go, Sunny," Sideswipe said, returning to a standing position. Sunstreaker released Ironhide's cursing form and retreated behind his twin, his optics hard and unwavering. With the same lightening speed he clipped his brother upside the helm, sending him staggering sideways.
"Don't call me that," Sunstreaker growled, his deep bass voice sending shivers down the other mechs' spines.
"As you can tell, we are well versed in the art of self defense," Sideswipe said, rubbing the side of his helm and casting his brother a reproachful look, which was reciprocated. "I suggest you allow us to excel to the next lesson, where we may actually learn something of importance."
Ironhide gained his feet, staring malevolently at the two who dared to interfere with his class.
"Self defense huh?" Ironhide taunted, widening his stanch and taking a defensive posture. "Think you could take me down."
"In a spark beat," Sideswipe smiled.
"Let's see you try, femme," Ironhide jibed.
Sideswipe canted his head, Sunstreaker mirroring the action. And before Ironhide knew it he was flat on his back again staring up at a smiling Sideswipe. Though the mech was attractive, Ironhide was getting tired of looking up at him upside down.
"How did you do that?" Ironhide barked, scrambling to his pedes and squaring off against the relaxed and easy going mech.
"Fighting in Kaon taught us a lot of tricks," Sideswipe said, jerking his head toward his brother who scowled in answer. "We can defend and we can kill. Have no problem with either. You point us to who you want terminated, and we'll get the job done. Without hesitation."
Ironhide stared at the two, his processor active. The Autobots could use the skills these two possessed. And from the way both handled themselves, and rendered Ironhide immobile, then there was little that the weapon's master could teach them that would assist them in doing their job. The main thing Ironhide had to worry about was a mech's ability to terminate another's spark. Most recruits had a difficult time in adjusting to the role of obedient soldier. Apparently that type of training was unnecessary with these two. A welcome change.
"Report to Ratchet for full medical check up," Ironhide said, softening his stance in a show of non-aggression. "Have to make sure you're up on all virus scans before we send you out to face the enemy."
"I'll be slagged if I 'face any of them," Sunstreaker said, his deep timbre causing that damnable shudder to run through so many spinal struts.
Sideswipe snickered at his brother's joke and lead the way from the stunned weapon's specialist.
"Wonder who will be doing our scans?" Sunstreaker said, following his twin into the main command area.
"Hope it's a femme,' Sideswipe said, waggling his brow plating in a suggestive manner.
Sunstreaker made a noncommittal noise, glancing at the directional signs in the hall. He made a mental note of the Armory and Main Command Center. It would be wise to know their location in case of an attack.
The med bay doors were the usual pristine white with the red markings and sigils for medical care. Sideswipe puffed his armor, flexing his powerful build and stepped forward, activating the doors. They opened without a sound, allowing admittance. As soon as both brothers crossed the threshold it was utter chaos. White clad medics were bustling about the room scanning over readouts and nodding in affirmation of findings. Almost every berth sported a mech or femme. One medic performed a system check while another checked over structure. Another hooked a hardline into the patient and scoured through virus programming and checking on intelligence modules. Those with extra skills were being lead off by specialists for testing and further training, herding them toward questionable futures. All those clad in white were gruff, burly looking mechs who seemed more interested in their tests than their actual patients.
"Slag," Sideswipe sighed, looking at the scanning medical personal. "All mechs. Just our luck."
"You there," A medic called, pointing to the twins. "Find a berth and await your turn. Stay out of or way and you won't get slagged."
"I'd like to see you try," Sideswipe smiled before sauntering over to a free berth and sitting down. Sunstreaker joined him, as was their usual custom. One didn't go anywhere without the other.
A white clad mech showed up, frowned at the two sharing a berth, then shrugged, starting his integrity scans. Both new recruits showed wear to their bodies and lack of proper nourishment, which was rather common in the current war torn cityscape. But their physical infrastructure scans were good, considering the normal weakling builds coming through the door. Both of these new mechs wore dense, protective armor that wasn't found in the general population. Formatting them to combat armor wasn't necessary. Their own armaments were more than capable of withstanding combat. Close range fighting and weapons fire would also be easily deflected.
Without a word the medic hurried off to the next mech in line.
"That was odd," Sideswipe said, watching as the medical staff danced in a crazy pattern that sent the processor spinning. One would think they were crazed and uncoordinated but when the twins watched the dance more closely, they realized that they were working in tandem. A coordinated dance of life and death. Beautiful, Efficient. And from the raging coming from one medic in particular, it was proving to be disastrous as well. Apparently not all medics were privy to the syncopated dance and were throwing off their counterparts.
"What were you thinking?" the burly medic yelled at a cowering recruit who had two junior medics cowering behind him. "Structural integrity is at eighty one percent. Prior damage, untreated, leaving behind residual scarring that will impede neural connectivity. Processor damage and two compromised major circuit boards and you think you were going to let this mech get placed in the ranks?"
A loud squeal of fear came from the mech before he keeled over into unconsciousness, exposing the two cowering medics behind. The screaming white medic turned away, his gaze zeroing in on the two bright colored mechs sharing a berth. He stalked up to them, expecting them to cower like all the rest. But both offered relaxed gazes. Well, the red one was grinning in an idiot. The yellow one was scowling, optics hard as titanium.
"Separate," he barked.
The two mechs looked to one another and then back to the medic and shook their heads.
"No," The red one said. "We stay together."
"Is that so?" the medic asked, barreling down up on the two.
Now, any normal mech or femme would see that look the medic wore and know they were about to meet the Pit maker. But the two mechs on the exam berth merely offered cool looks and unwavering frames. They weren't going to be swayed by the mechs thunderous orders.
"Designations?" the medic asked, staring between the two who dared to disobey his orders.
"Sideswipe and Sunstreaker," Sideswipe answered, pointing to himself and his twin. "What's your designation?"
"Ratchet. CMO of the Autobots. And you better remember it!" Ratchet's voice thundered from the underworld.
Most mechs in the room flinched. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker merely gazed with impassive expressions at the one who ruled the medical ward with an iron fist clutching a wrench.
"Reason for enrollment?" Ratchet asked, sizing up the two recruits.
"That's our business." Sideswipe said.
Much to Ratchet's chagrin, the ruby mech wasn't twitching under his reproachful glare.
"Oh really?" the medic asked. "So you expect me to believe that two able bodied mechs such as yourselves volunteered to fight for… what? Equality? Compassion? Protecting innocents? Prime doesn't have time to entertain glitched idiots who are looking for a quick rush." He gave a derisive snort, looking from one to the other. They resembled the usual mechs who were all vocalizer and no substance. Half of the recruits weren't physically or emotionally stable enough to fight. The other half had difficulty in pointing a weapon and taking another's life. Ratchet was curious as to which category these two would fit.
"This new Prime seems to have his cogs in working order," Sideswipe said with a half shrug. "And we figured he could use some help." Sideswipe offered a quick, serious expression before treating back to his quirky grin "And we're just the mechs for the job."
"Qualifications?" Ratchet asked, skeptical about the two. He doubted that either were serious about fighting. Most mechs were all talk and no action.
"Pit fighting in Kaon" Sideswipe said, sending his twin a jubilant pulse when Ratchet emitted a startled beep. There was just something about the way bots reacted when they found out you killed for a living. It was priceless.
"You going to give me problems?" Ratchet asked, one optic cocked in expectation. He knew the type of personality that thrived in the illegal gladiatorial rings. They were trouble wrapped in chaos and hidden behind mischievous malice.
"Only if you want us to," Sideswipe smiled.
Ratchet noticed Sunstreaker's quiet demeanor and asked, "Do you speak?"
"When needed," Sunstreaker offered, his scowl still entrenched on his face.
Ratchet huffed but didn't press. He motioned to the new vacant berth beside of them and nodded, "You, over there. You, stay there."
"We stay together," Sideswipe said, all jovial mood gone in a spark beat.
"I'm not joking," Ratchet said, optics narrowing.
"Neither am I," Sideswipe put in. "Run your scans, but we won't be separated."
Ratchet paused, staring between the two sets of unblinking optics. Both were a cold, icy blue that bore directly into his spark. He felt a shiver around his spark casing. These two didn't take orders very well. They were going to be a handful.
"Very well," Ratchet relented.
The green spray of a scanner erupted from the medic, gliding over Sideswipe's ruby armor, then to Sunstreaker's. Both twins watched for signs of recognition when the scanners passed over their chests. Every medic had the same response. Shock. Incredulity. Fascination. ….fear.
They were abnormal. They shouldn't be alive. But yet, they broke all odds and strived in a world that physically demanded they couldn't exist.
But Ratchet made no motion of understanding. No startled expression. His scanners passed over their chests twice. Sunstreaker tensed, ready to act at a moments notice. He didn't like the solemn look the medic wore. The disquiet unnerved the golden gladiator. Ratchet should be showing the usual signs of disgust and loathing. It was what the twins had come to expect from every one who attended their structural health.
But Ratchet didn't display any of the normal reactions associated with finding split spark twins. He adjusted his scanners and ran the tests again, the green light dancing across the two chassis.
A second medic came up, hardline connection at the ready to scan for viruses and to check for upgrades, but Ratchet waved him off. The dismissed medic gave his superior a confused look, but ventured to the next patient without word.
Ratchet's open hardline connector extended from his left wrist. He stepped forward, grasping Sideswipe's hand and connected their ports.
Sideswipe felt his firewalls fall away as the medical overrides threw his systems wide open for inspection. Beside him Sunstreaker tensed. He could sense the intrusion upon his brother's mind. Though he wasn't the one enduring the excavation, he could sense the unease and surprise filtering through their open bond. Main systems were opened and checked, virus programs were pursued, data caches were scoured.
But memory files and subfolders that made a bot who they were, were overlooked. Systems were reconfigured, offering Sideswipe a surprising ability to calculate and react, his processor speed nearly doubling as Ratchet deactivated basic programming that became redundant with adulthood. Being a Pit fighter for who knew how long, Sideswipe didn't have the maturity to understand how his processor worked and therefore, didn't know how to turn off the instinctual settings that were no longer needed in adult frames. His intelligence quota was higher than expected for a lowly pit fighter. Most were considered just dumb brutes who fought, killed, or stared at blank walls until ordered to perform a task.
"You need a deep system scan and defrag," Ratchet said to Sideswipe. "I'm going to initiate the sequence. While you're out I'm going to remove the damaged circuitry to your shoulder and reinforce the actuators on your left side."
"I have pile drivers that slags my structure," Sideswipe admitted, feeling his brother's anxiety over the thought of being unconscious with this unknown mech affecting 'repairs'. Sideswipe sent reassurance to his twin. The medic was right. Sideswipe did need repairs and a good defrag. Sideswipe could never get his systems to apply that aspect of his programming.
Worry and fear seeped into the bond and he sent a half glance to his brother. Both were startled when Ratchet spoke to Sunstreaker.
"I take it you are in the same condition?" Ratchet said, not waiting for a confirmation. Still connected to Sideswipe Ratchet opened a port on his right wrist and reached for Sunstreaker.
Unfortunately Sunstreaker wasn't in a mood to be touched. As soon as Ratchet brushed against his plating, Sunstreaker lashed out, cuffing the medic on the face in warning. And before Sunstreaker knew what was happening, Ratchet had reciprocated with a powerful slap that sent the golden mech reeling. As Sunstreaker tried to recalibrate his equilibrium circuits, Ratchet grabbed his wrist in a deathlike vice and slammed into his firewalls so hard Sunstreaker gasp at the ferocity.
Sideswipe stared open mouthed at Ratchet. No one dared to touch Sunstreaker. Well, people dared all the time but they rarely survived the encounter. Sideswipe was dumbfounded as to how Ratchet still existed.
And the surprise flowing through the bond sent his processor into a dizzy whirlwind. Sunstreaker didn't like anyone. He never wanted anyone around. Didn't want to talk. Didn't want to socialize. Didn't like to be challenged.
And Ratchet just cuffed him like an unruly sparkling with the speed and agility that rivaled the Pit fighters' own. Not only was he fast and accurate, having knocked Sunstreaker's circuitry into a chaotic mess that he was having a hard time recovering from, but Ratchet had done so without fear of retaliation or possible termination. He had reacted as the twins, with careful, precise attack, though Ratchet didn't intend on terminating his patient. He just wanted cooperation.
"I'll initiate a shut down sequence," Ratchet said, as if he never touched the stunned golden mech. "You should wake up feeling a lot better than what your slagged up systems are currently reading."
"You know we can terminate you in the blink of an optic, right?" Sideswipe asked, feeling something boil within his twin that made his tanks clench.
"And you know that one strand of errant coding and I can crash your systems so badly you spend the rest of your limited existed in a state of unfathomable misery and suffering?" Ratchet asked unperturbed.
"But there are two of us," Sunstreaker said barely audible. His optics were narrowed as he sorted through his emotions to find out what emotion he should center on. And decide if he was going to kill this insolent medic.
"And I know that if I terminate one, I'll terminate the other," Ratchet said, his voice dropping so low only the twins could hear. He looked form one to the other, his expression sharp and unrelenting. "I have dealt with twins before. You may believe it gives you leeway for obnoxious behavior and that gives you some right to bestow your warped sense of humor on others. But know this," Ratchet took a step closer, looming over the duo and shielding them from the rest of the medical facility. "Just because you are split spark twins does not mean you garner any special privilege or ranking. You are just any other mechs on the street. You mess with my patients or destabilize the function of my medical facility, and there won't be a pit deep enough you can go that I can't find you. Am I understood?"
Sideswipe beamed a glorious smile, looking up into the optics of the only one whoever treated the twins as any normal mech.
"Abundantly clear, Ratchet."
Ratchet looked to Sunstreaker, who still had his torn expression. With a slow nod Sunstreaker added, "You are understood."
"Good," Ratchet said, starling both twins with the strength along the hardline connection as both felt an overwhelming pressure in their processors as the medic began their deep stasis procedure. Primus, the medic had a powerful processor!
"When you wake up, you'll feel like you just walked off the factory floor." Ratchet said with a smile that seemed more predatory than reassuring.
"I'd settle for less aching in my processor," Sunstreaker admitted, feeling a burning sensation along his neural net.
Ratchet leaned over the golden warrior, causing him tense. Sideswipe's presence curled in his twins in reassurance.
"Believe me when I say, that in my medical ward, you will get nothing but the best," Ratchet said, starting the shut down cycle so his two patients could get some rest before he affected their repairs. "And you will never be treated as differently as any other mech."
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Sunstreaker awoke to strange sensation. He was content, comfortable. His body wasn't aching or sore. The berth was well cushioned and a warm body was pressed against his side. He opened his optics and looked to his right shoulder and felt Sideswipe curl tighter around him, his arm draped over his brother's midsection. Sunstreaker thought back, trying to remember where they were. It obviously wasn't the Pits or a hostelry. The room smelled too clean. It was when his main systems booted up that he remembered.
Structural integrity was at one hundred percent. Processor activity was rising steadily toward the same percentage. Neural synapses were firing with razor sharp efficiency. Fluid pressures were at optimal level. System caches were cleaned, filed in orderly fashion, redundant programs turned off and in some cases, erased all together. The irritating scrolling text was gone from his HUD. Core temperature read along the normal parameters and there were additives flowing through his lines that made his body feel fresh and newly activated. Power levels had never been so high, reserves showing ample compliment. Energon levels were low, but that was nothing new. Numbed areas were once again sending signals, making the golden mech feel small inside of his own body. Now he felt as if he could 'move' inside his own frame without being restricted by broken hardware, limited energy reserves, burnt out circuit boards and deadened areas where damage had rendered plating and circuits numb.
Sunstreaker had never felt so good. What in the name of Primus could have done to deserve such astute attention to detail? Where did all these meticulous repairs with a caring servo come from?
Then it hit him.
They had enrolled with the Autobots. Their CMO had decided to repair the hasty patch jobs the PIT medic had performed. Sunstreaker shifted, noting that his right knee joint didn't squeak anymore. Sideswipe's arm tightened around his middle, his face burrowing further against golden armor as if trying to go through it.
Sunstreaker sighed. Sideswipe always was a cuddler. But he could understand the lethargy. It felt good to be pain free. Sunstreaker stared at the sleeping helm of his twin and felt a gentle peace brush against his spark. Sideswipe was content, his systems showing the same amount of care and professional touch that a true medic could provide.
Sunstreaker had expected the medic to separate him from his twin, seeing how the Pit maser had used the tactic many times to punish the duo. But the medic did in fact have experience with dealing with twins. Both were placed in the same small room on the same berth. There were two cubes of energon on the side table and a stack of datapads.
He looked to Sideswipe again and noted how shiny his armor looked. Apparently the medic ensured a full detailing as well. Sunstreaker felt along his grill and smiled when he realized it was cleaned. And upon closer inspection, Sunstreaker found himself polished like a gilded mirror as well. He smiled, reveling in the feeling of being cleaned to utmost perfection. A mech as handsome as himself could never be dulled and dingy. The medic certainly knew how to treat patients.
Speaking of medic, the door chime signaled a visitor before opening and allowing the medic admittance.
"Feeling better?' Ratchet asked, datapad in hand as he glanced up to see Sunstreaker's narrowed optics.
"Much," Sunstreaker admitted, his voice rumbling from deep in his chassis, causing Sideswipe to stir.
Sideswipe sat up, rubbing his optics. He looked to his twin and offered a strong pulse through the bond, letting his twin know his feelings. Sunstreaker rose from the berth, having been freed of his brother's hold, and returned the sensation.
"Took a while to get your systems properly cleaned," Ratchet said, going over the datapad in his hand. He tapped a few symbols before stowing the pad away in his subspace and staring at the two mechs. "I'm surprised the two of you are even functioning. Do you know the extent of damage that was done to your frames? Not to mention the fragged up programming you had that was riddled with so many glitches, I had to dump half your cache and rewrite the codes!"
"Feels great," Sideswipe said rubbing the side of his helm.
"Well, before you go spouting sentimental slag, we're going to check to see if there is any residual damage," Ratchet said, grabbing two datapads off the table and handing one to each twin. "I need to ensure your codes are in working order. So I want both of you to go through these simple tests while I link to your systems. If you feel any discomfort or if something doesn't make sense, let me know. I may have to write a patch."
"Understood," Sideswipe said, taking the datapad.
Sunstreaker took the other and as mirror images both twins turned on the screens and extended their wrists toward the medic. Ratchet fought back an urge to jump for joy, but he extended the two hardline connections from his wrists and connected to both simultaneously.
The twins scoured the datapads, finding that Ratchet was correct in telling them how simple the tests were. When the first one was complete, Ratchet nodded to the next phase, his connection active in pursuing glitches.
As one unit the twins went through every level of the datapad, though Ratchet had only instructed them on the first two tests. Each level increased in difficulty, testing not only a bots recognition and cognition skills, but testing their flexible ability to formulate, plan, and chose the right answer for each scenario. Ratchet remained quiet, allowing the twins free reign, his processor scanning their neural nets and processor activity.
When the tests were complete both twins offered Ratchet the datapads. He disconnected from their systems and took the pads, setting them on the desk once more.
"If you feel up to it, there are a couple more tests I would like you to do," Ratchet said, grabbing the last two datapads and handing them over.
Both twins took them and extended their wrists, giving permission for the medic to connect to their systems once again. But Ratchet shook his head, the two hardline cables retracting into his wrists.
"Hardline isn't necessary for this test," Ratchet said, pulling out a scanner.
"This has nothing to do with being twins, does it?" Sunstreaker asked, having a feeling that someone was once again trying to use the twins as an experiment.
"No. All personnel have to perform theses tests," Ratchet said, holding up the scanner. "I'm only going to be monitoring your physical reaction."
The twins offered derisive noises but turned on the datapads. The first test was merely a brief questionnaire, most questions relating to the idea of termination and how best to terminate an opponent. Most recruits balked at this particular aspect of a soldier's life. They skirted the questions and always went to the next test with nervous disposition.
But not the twins.
They answered the best way to terminate a mech or femme, even giving detailed descriptions of the suitable way according to frame type. When the question popped up about taking a life, neither hesitated in answering 'yes'. Emotional questions arose, asking if they had a difficult time in charging and if taking a life would affect that aspect of their lives. Both had exchanged a look, smirked, answered 'NO' and moved on to the question of where a spark goes after termination.
Sideswipe answered, "To the Well."
Sunstreaker answered, "Who cares as long as they don't come back."
Ratchet watched the twins with a practiced optic. He had noted the damage to their bodies and the unmistakable taste of a master's handling upon their protoforms. He had no doubt that either wouldn't mind terminating someone if asked to do so and by both of their calm spark pulses, the idea didn't disagree with them. Vitals registered steady and calm.
The last test showed pictures of various wartime atrocities. Most recruits cringed or gagged, and a few had even fainted upon seeing the images. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker viewed them with neutral expressions, Sideswipe sometimes offering commentary on a crude suggestion. When they were finished the twins handed the pads back, looking as unperturbed as ever.
"That it?" Sideswipe asked.
"That's it," Ratchet confirmed and nodded to the two full cubes of energon on the table. "I suggest you refuel. Ironhide has requested that the both of you give a demonstration to the more advanced level recruits."
"Can do," Sideswipe said cheerfully, reaching for the cube. His tank chose that moment to emit a rumble. He turned guilty optics to Ratchet, who only frowned in answer.
Ratchet subspaced a datapad and handed it over to Sideswipe, who took it with a sour expression. "It's a schedule, not a test. You are expected to report to Ironhide for weapon fittings."
"Oh good," Sideswipe grinned, downing half his cube. "I always wanted a big cannon."
Sunstreaker offered a snort and sipped at his energon.
"If you have any problems, don't hesitate to contact me. You will be assigned quarters by the end of the joor," Ratchet said. Without another word he grabbed the datapads off the table and took his leave.
Jazz was waiting outside when Ratchet closed the door on the already infamous twins.
"Well, how are they?" Jazz asked, as eager as ever.
"See for yourself," Ratchet said, extending the testing pads.
Jazz took the data pads, his optics scanning over the twins' answers. When he got to the end he shook his helm in slow motion.
"They scored only two points below you," Ratchet said with a smirk. He loved pulling surprises on unsuspecting mechs.
"Primus," Jazz muttered, going over the tests and staring at the precise calculations and counter answers.
"And they took only a third of the standard time,' Ratchet added, feeling his spark flutter when Jazz squawked in disbelief.
"They finished?... In…?" Jazz sputtered, his optics wide behind his visor.
"They almost beat Prowl," Ratchet said, knowing the Praxian was going to be interested in those who neared him in time and efficiency.
"Oh, we are going to have to monitor these two," Jazz said, turning toward the hall and falling into step with Ratchet.
"Oh yes, we will," Ratchet answered, grinning.
"They are going to be invaluable officers," Jazz said, staring at their test scores again.
"If they can stay out of trouble," Ratchet amended.
"Trust me, with intelligence like this, trouble is the last thing on their processors," Jazz said, offering one of his 'I know it all' looks that made the CMO snort through his vents.
"I don't know," Ratchet said, giving Jazz a critical optic. "You give us enough trouble as it is."
Jazz offered a big grin. He knew Ratchet was telling the truth. But Jazz never did anything to endanger his comrades or jeopardize a mission. He was fun loving, but he was smart. Sometimes a little too smart.
"You wait and see," Jazz taunted, handing the datapads back to Ratchet so he could enter the test scores into the mainframe along with his findings. "They'll be just like Prowl. All calm and efficient and with the intelligence they are displaying, they'll be officers in no time. You mark my words."
Ratchet shook his head and departed, leaving behind a very self-assured Special Ops agent.
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