Here we meet two more members.. :D
Disclaimer: The usual.
Hope you enjoy!
Chapter Three - The Frontliner and the Tactician
The young mechling couldn't help but roll his optics.
Even as he ducked to avoid being hit by a flying mecha who normally would not be a flier at all.
If it weren't for being thrown that is.
Swiftly dodging between two other large mecha, the lanky fourteen-vorn-old began to make his way across the room.
The very large room, filled with many mecha. Whom were pretty much all bigger than him and his friend.
Who he had lost sight of.
Again.
"He's always in the thick of nonsense like this," the mechling thought, ducking under a flying punch with wide optics.
"Or the cause of it."
However, it was not his fault this time. Someone, he didn't know who, had started a fight in the base's energon hall.
And from there, more and more mecha got involved until it was utter chaos.
Ranking officers and take charge mecha with a good helm on their shoulders were yelling and pulling apart the brawlers, slowly making headway in the mess.
Others were still very much involved in what they were doing and were either unhearing or ignoring the would-be peacekeepers.
"This is ridiculous."
The mechling was about to comm his friend when he saw a flash of bright orange nearby.
"There he is."
Giving up pushing past mecha who weighed three times as much as he did, the green and blue resorted to crawling through the mass on his hands and knees.
And still almost accidentally got kicked several times in the process.
The red and orange mechling meanwhile, had been surprisingly holding his own against a mech twice his height.
By punching him in the tank and then dancing away mainly.
"Had enough yet?" the mechling challenged, grin wide despite the split lip he now sported.
"I think you have," remarked a familiar voice from behind him.
Bolt punched the mech once more and then turned to face the speaker.
The green and blue mechling crossed his servos, optics narrowed with one optic ridge raised.
The bulkier mechling gave him a lopsided grin, ignoring his friend's disapproval.
"Oh hey, Jolt. Where ya been?"
Jolt grabbed his servo and started pulling him away, weaving between the lessening crowd.
"Looking for you."
"Oh. Makes sense," nodded Bolt, willingly following wherever it was they were going. "How many punches did you get in?"
Rolling his optics again, the lankier mechling decided not to grace that with a reply.
Not that Bolt cared.
"Hey, everybody's splitting off now anyways. I guess fighting practice is over, huh?"
"Is that what that was?" Jolt asked dryly.
He stopped suddenly, Bolt running right into him. Shoving them both forward several steps with a grunt.
"Oof! Jolt! What gives?"
"You might want to shut up and listen a minute, Bolt," whispered Jolt, nudging him away.
Bolt looked in front of them to see what had stopped them.
An Autobot officer was standing a few feet away from the pair with his servos crossed.
Despite being only about a helm taller than the pair, who were the same height as each other, the mech managed to stare them down as if he was much, much taller.
And he did not look happy.
"Oh." Bolt's grin and cheery attitude were suddenly nowhere to be found.
"That's what gives," he whispered with a gulp.
The pair soon found them seated in the mech's office.
Seating himself, the black and white mech pulled out a file from one of the drawers in his desk.
"Do you think that's the file of all the trouble we've been in?" Bolt asked in a low whisper, eyeing the file with worry. Inwardly, he was thinking it was much too thin for that.
Jolt sent him a look. "How am I supposed to know? And you mean the trouble you've gotten us in. And stop whispering."
Bolt leaned closer to his friend. "Do you really think he can hear us?"
"He's Praxian."
"So?"
"When you two are done discussing whether or not I can hear you, I would like to get this over with," the mech said without looking up from the open file. "I have other more important matters to attend."
The mechlings shrunk in their seats.
Flicking a doorwing, Prowl turned his attention to them.
"I'm sorry! It wasn't our fault this time!" Bolt blurted out in a rush. "I was just uh... Defending myself... Yeah, that!"
Jolt slapped a hand over his faceplate.
Prowl simply rose and optic ridge and stared at the orange and red mechling.
Who then slapped a hand over his mouth.
"Oww," he muttered, hitting his injury.
With a sigh, the officer placed the file down on the desk.
"While you two were involved in the fight that went on, that is not why I called you here. Or at least it was not my reason to come looking for you," he said, sending Bolt a look.
"Then, if I may ask, why did you?" inquired Jolt, removing his hand from his faceplate.
The Praxian tapped a digit on the file in front of him. "You two are being transferred to a base in Altihex.
"I do not know why, but a captain there asked for you both personally. It seems he is forming an elite, small team. Somehow, you two made the list."
Bolt's mouth dropped open. "An elite team? Like the special ops? Or the Wreckers?"
Prowl frowned and shook his helm. "No. Not either of those."
Getting to his pedes, he folded his servos behind his back.
"You will leave early next orn. I have already arranged a transport to take you there. Please pack whatever you wish to take with you and say your goodbyes this offcycle."
"Wait, that's it?" demanded Bolt, flinging his servos out wide and almost smacking Jolt. "No telling us any details or even what the mech's name is?"
"I thought your friend was the detail oriented one, while you were the one that blindly rushed into things," Prowl replied dryly, quirking an optic ridge.
"Yeah, but I've been around Jolt long enough I know what he asks. And I talk more anyways."
"I have noticed," the officer grimaced. "The mech's designation is Scatterstrike. Ask for him once you get to the base.
"That is all. You may go."
"Thank you, Sir," Jolt said quickly, nodding his helm as he got to his pedes.
With a firm yank, he led Bolt out of the office before he could say more.
"But I don't wanna go," protested the orange and red. "I like this base. And Iacon's pretty rad."
Jolt gave him a look. "That isn't the word I would use, but I suppose. And perhaps, I think, we should be glad this Scatterstrike asked for us both."
"You have never used the word rad. And good point."
Prowl watched the pair walk down the hall from his office doorway. He shook his helm as the more muscular one started rambling away to the lanky one.
They reminded him of other mecha he knew.
Perhaps that was why he had been easy on them.
Retreating back into the seclusion of his office, Prowl got out a stack of paperwork that needed looked over and completed.
It would, he had to admit, be a small relief to have the duo elsewhere.
They were at times, too mischievous for the base to handle.
Which of course, was mainly Bolt's fault. Jolt just followed him out of loyalty or trying to preserve the other's life.
Now, they weren't Prowl's problem anymore.
"I wish Scatterstrike the best with those two."
