Context: This happens sometime around chapter 51 of Revolution. Just a handful of random scenes featuring minor characters.

Impactor sat on a low wall outside the apartment building he and his mecha were living in. He watched a group of Autobot soldiers playing some kind of game where they threw a disc back and forth to each other. It was kind of interesting to see these mechlings behaving normally—using their free time to play games—while the world was collapsing.

But what else were they supposed to do?

There was an even bigger crowd of mecha watching the sport, some sitting or standing along the wall, others watching on the other side.

Impactor hadn't seen this game before and he didn't know the rules, so watching it wasn't more than mildly interesting, but he didn't have much else to do either. The higher-ups were trying to sort the trouble with the government, and so, except for the groups who'd been assigned to help enforcement keep things under control, the Autobot soldiers had been left to their own devices.

"Hey, mechling!"

Impactor didn't respond. He didn't usually get called 'mechling' so he was fairly certain whoever it was wasn't talking to him. It was a strangely familiar voice, though…

"Oi! Drillerhelm!"

Impactor's optics widened and he turned around just in time to dodge the mech's swinging fist.

"Hey!" He grinned. "Kup, you old predacon!"

"The frag is your designation?" Kup slurred. "I know you from the construction crews."

"Impactor."

"Taught you everything you know, did I?"

"Sure did," Impactor said "Sit down, mech, you look a bit overcharged."

"Who, me?" Kup said, but sat down clumsily next to him on the wall. Impactor hadn't seen the old mech for decavorns. He wasn't surprised Kup had joined the army, though he was a little surprised the mech was still online.

"Yeah, you," he said.

"Overcharged? Sparkling, I can drink a whole barrel of Vosian triple grade and you wouldn't be able to tell."

Impactor snorted.

Kup glared at him. "Don't mock me you clumsy cityformer. Th'frag are you doing here? I thought you'd have thrown your lot in with that glitched gladiator."

"Guess you underestimated me."

"Guess I did." Kup met Impactor's optics and there was more lucidity in his gaze than Impactor had expected.

"So," Impactor turned to look out at the game again. "What have you been up to? I would have thought you'd be in the scrap heap by now."

"Nope," Kup said. "Still kicking… I can kick pretty hard too."

"I don't doubt it." Impactor said. "Still in construction work?"

"Nah," Kup said. "Too much yelling."

"Hey, you were the one doing all the yelling."

"Wears the voice box out," Kup said. "No good. Stupid mechlings don't know what they're doing anyway. I got fed up with them."

Impactor recalled all the long orns working construction with Kup' voice ever present in the background, telling shamefully exaggerated stories and punctuating every second or third sentence with a barked order to "Move that two units left" or "don't pour that there, you got scraplets for brains?" or "Put that down, clumsy servos, you're going to kill us all."

Kup sighed. "How 'bout you?"

"I bounced back and forth between that and the gladiator pits."

Kup shook his helm. "Lawless hooligan."

"Learned from the best," Impactor said.

"So," Kup glared at him. "How'd you end up in this self-respecting army?"

"I listened to both sides," Impactor said. "Megatron's got a few too many loose wires in his processor for my liking, and besides he says one thing and does another. Optimus's upright and honest, even if he's trying to preserve the current system. At least he's not replacing it with something worse."

"Got that all figured out, huh?" Kup said.

"How'd you end up here?"

"Heard there was a war," Kup said. "Figured I might as well get involved. Joined the wrong side at first and had to get rescued by Solus Prime."

"Yeah?" Impactor said.

"'s a good story," Kup said.

"I'm sure it is."

He waited for the old mech to start telling it, but silence fell and Impactor's old mentor just put his helm in his hands with a quiet moan.

"How overcharged are you?" Impactor asked. "As a matter of curiosity."

"Not as much as I wanna be," Kup said, then sighed and sat up again, crossing his arms.

Impactor waited for him to explain.

"I'm the last one," he said. "I kept track of 'em all after a while. I knew every mech on the planet who'd lived through the wars. But they're all dead now, excepting the thirteen who don't count… the last one—my brother—offlined a couple orns ago." He shook his helm. Silence fell again.

"Sorry to hear that," Impactor said.

"Yeah," Kup said, then hesitated. He frowned, like he was thinking hard about something. "I… heard about you."

"You heard about me what?"

"You got an opening on your crazy little death crew?"

"Why? You want to join us?"

"Yeah."

Impactor raised an optic ridge. "I don't know if that's a decision you want to make right now."

Kup ignored him. "I've been training these mechlings, but I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want to be in one of the cannon fodder units and I don't want to be in charge of one either. But I can't quit the army. You know?"

"Well, we'd be happy to have you," Impactor said. "If that's really what you want."

"All right," Kup said. "What you mechlings calling yourselves again?"

"Wreckers."

"Huh," Kup said. "Okay. Guess I'll be a Wrecker."

"I'll talk to you about it again when you're sober, mech," Impactor said.

"Don't patronize me," Kup growled. "I've been making decisions like this while I'm overcharged since your creators' creators' creators were sparked."

"Mhm," Impactor said, trying not to smile. "That explains a lot."

Kup glared at him, then snorted and turned to squint out over the crowd. Impactor followed his gaze.

"What are they playing?" Kup asked.

"I don't know," Impactor said. "Some newfangled game."

"Mechlings always gotta come up with those, don't they? It's hard to fragging keep up."

"Yep."

"You know, I was there when they invented lobbing."

"Sure," Impactor said, then listened absently as the older mech launched into one of his ridiculous stories.

Hurricane waited outside the door. He didn't want to request entry, but he knew he had to. It was his responsibility, and he was also probably the only one who cared.

He reached for the entry request button, but lowered his hand again. Deep vent. It was fine. Prowl wasn't that frightening, just kind of… cold. He wouldn't get angry, probably, just make Hurricane feel like an idiot.

No big deal. Hurricane felt like an idiot all the time anyway. He still wasn't sure why he'd been picked for this. He'd done well in school, but he'd always intended to do something a little less stressful. He'd applied to be an Autobot tactician, yes, but he hadn't thought they'd want someone with absolutely no experience.

And the last thing he'd expected was to be second in command.

But it was a little too late to back out.

He raised his hand again. He just needed to get this over with. He knew he was probably going to sound ridiculous, but… he really had to find out what was going on.

The door opened before he pressed the entry request.

"Are you done loitering?" Prowl said.

"Um… sorry, Sir."

The Praxian nodded and moved out of the doorway. "Come in. I assume you have something you need to talk to me about. I'm rather busy so make it quick."

"Yes, of course," Hurricane said, and followed him into the room.

"Well?" Prowl sat down behind his desk.

"Commander… there's… a bit of a concern in the department."

"About what?" Prowl picked up a datapad and started scrolling on it.

He didn't seem to be listening, but Hurricane spoke anyway. "Well, I mean, not everyone's concerned, and there's been a lot of napping and talking and computer games, and… well, Sir, we just…"

"Just what?" Prowl glanced up from the datapad.

"Just don't have anything to do," Hurricane blurted out. "You've re-routed all of our work to yourself for the past few orns. I just wanted to come and see if something was… I don't know, if it was some sort of mistake or something."

"Hmph," Prowl looked down again. "Maybe if you were actually competent I wouldn't have to do everything myself. But as it is…" he trailed off.

Hurricane took in a deep vent, and let it out. He didn't think it was fair to call everyone in the department incompetent. Compared to Prowl, maybe, but they weren't that bad.

Prowl sighed. "Just keep yourselves busy somehow. There's got to be something you could do."

"Sir, if…" Hurricane trailed off, afraid to ask.

"If what?" Prowl snapped. "Just talk, would you?"

"If we're so incompetent, maybe you could come and teach us?" Hurricane suggested. "There's not much going on right now, other than some coordinating of the mecha helping enforcement keep the peace, and plans for future battles. It might be a good time to come train us. Then maybe you wouldn't have to do everything on your own."

Prowl shuttered his optics and put his datapad down. "No," he said.

"But Sir…"

"I can't!" Prowl said. "Just go away. I need to work."

"We can help with some things, at least."

"Please," Prowl said. "I... have to do this."

His annoyance had melted away, and he looked almost… vulnerable.

That was even more frightening. "Commander… is everything all right?" Hurricane asked.

"Just get out. Go."

"But—"

"Go!"

"Yes, Sir," Hurricane said, and backed out of the room.

The door slid shut behind him.

Well… that hadn't gone the way he'd hoped it would or the way he'd thought it would. In fact, he was even more concerned than before. He wasn't sure what to do, though, or who to talk to about this. He didn't want to go over the commander's helm and talk to the Prime about it, but Prowl seemed… different somehow. Almost… emotional. And he was doing everyone's work. How did he even have time for that? Was he not recharging at all?

Maybe it was none of Hurricane's business.

Maybe Prowl was just having a bad decaorn or something and things would go back to normal if Hurricane was patient. Sometimes working hard on things made Hurricane feel better.

He'd give it a couple of orns, and if Prowl still wouldn't let him and the others help with the workload, he'd talk to someone.

That was a good plan.

He headed back toward the elevator, trying to figure out what to say to everyone else. If he could actually get them to listen, that was.

Old Friend,

I know I have no right to ask for your help after so long, especially since I haven't contacted you for more than a hundred vorns. But the past orn or two, I've been thinking about you, and I felt the need to reach out. First, let me tell you what I've been doing lately. You probably don't know this, but I've joined the new Prime's army, and somehow I ended up in a leadership position. This has given me a unique opportunity to work with Optimus Prime and his friends. Despite what the Councils and Megatron have said about them, I know them all to be upright and honorable mecha, doing their best in service of Cybertron. I've never worked harder in my life, but I've also never been prouder of that work, and there's no one in the world who I would rather follow than Optimus Prime.

That said, they're also all young and inexperienced. Some of them rose to commander status right out of the Academy. I am not worried about their leadership abilities, but I am worried about their mental and emotional capacity to weather the hardships of this war.

It's just been one thing after another. Tesarus, then Vos, then the Iacon Council. On top of that, the Prime and our tactical commander recently lost a mentor who they were both very close to. I don't know how much more these mechlings can take, and I don't know how to support them. I don't have time anyway, since I'm so busy with my responsibilities.

And all of that boils down to the fact that we could really use your help. I know you always have work, and I can't ask you to drop everything and come here. I do want you to know that you would be very welcome in our ranks if you chose to join the Autobots. But even if you don't, I would be very grateful for some advice, and I want to catch up some time anyway. If you're willing to chat, feel free to comm. me whenever you're available.

I hope this letter finds you well, and I look forward to hearing from you soon. Thank you for all you have done for me in the past.

Your humble student,

Mainspring.

Notes:

1. Thanks for reading!

2. Hurricane is actually a canon character, from some continuity(s) I'm not sure which. He's not a significant character in Revolution. In fact, he didn't even show up at all in the first draft. But he might end up being a fairly frequent POV character in later stories, so I thought I'd introduce him. :)

3. Any guesses who Mainspring is writing to?