What is teamwork but manipulation of the highest order?
"I'm telling you, there were scraplets! They attacked us," cried the first bot.
"Right, right," a second muttered, well used to his comrade's tall tales. "And Chopper's paying us extra today."
"He is? Great," a third cheered, before peering suspiciously at his companion. "Wait… the Boss'd never do a thing like that!"
"Exactly my point," grumbled the second. "Why on Cybertron would the Boss put scraplets, of all things, in his scrap warehouse?"
"I dunno," the first grudgingly admitted, "But I know what we saw."
"Heh, right. Too much unrefined energon last orn, I'm sure."
"No, seriously, you gotta believe us," the fourth cried excitedly, waving his arms for emphasis, "there were, like, a million of them. They swarmed everywhere!"
The four arguing guards stood at the entrance to Chopper's warehouse.
"A million? Heh, sure." The two new guards exchanged looks before breaking out in laughter. "A million scraplets. Hahahahaha!"
"I swear, we saw them! Ya gotta believe us!" The other two guards were distinctly unamused. "We were just inspecting the boxes, and one of 'em flew right at us!"
"One?" If anything, that made the other two laugh harder. "You ran from one scraplet? Hahaha!"
"Ahahaha! One! Oh, this just keeps getting better and better! Hahahahahaha! Losers!"
Inside the warehouse, two mechs crouched in the shadows near the single exit, deliberating over escape plans.
"Ok, we'll go on three." The dark green medic's blue optics met identical red ones. "Ready?"
The dark red mech looked skeptical. "I still say—"
"Excellent! One, two, three, GO!" The medic dashed out into full view of the warehouse guards.
"—that this is a bad idea. Oh, never mind." The mech promptly facepalmed as startled shouts erupted from around the corner. A loud crashing noise followed as a guard tackled the dark green flier.
"AAH," screamed the medic, "help!"
"Who're you talking to?" One of the guards sounded suspicious.
"No one," came the unconvincing reply. "Just let me g—"
"You wouldn't be screaming for help if no one was there," another guard growled.
Metal clashed, and the medic cried out. "Ok, ok, just don't hurt me! There's a mech—"
The mech tiptoed back down the aisle, cursing his bad luck. Now the guards knew another intruder was cornered in the warehouse. With the single exit guarded, it was only a matter of time before they found him. If only the medic had listened to him and waited instead of dashing off… he might at least have two functional servos by now.
As the mech snuck away from the guards, his optics landed on a small pile of dead scraplets near the box he had recently escaped. Since throwing a single scraplet frame at the two guards from earlier had made them run, maybe he could scare all four of them off with the help of a few more deactivated vermin. He stealthily picked through the pile, subspacing the ones that seemed more intact.
There was a twisted piece of red metal in one scraplet's toothy maw. After some confused consideration, the mech realized it was one of his missing digits. He subspaced it, along with a few more vermin frames, and quietly made his way back to the entrance.
The medic's processor had been running overtime ever since his great escape plan had epically failed. If only the other mech had helped… but, no, the mech had just stood there while he ran into full view of the guards.
"Hey! Hey, come on. I told you what you wanted to know."
"Ah, shut up," one guard growled, striking him again.
"No need to break anything," the medic cried out. "You know who I am. I'm Chopper's apprentice!"
"Then why you be lurking in his warehouse? I hear Chopper don't need you no more."
"Wha—lemme show you! I know I have something to convince you not to scrap me." The green flier pulled an energon cube out of subspace, hiding his welding torch in his servo.
"Well, maybe something could be worked out, y'see," the guard mused, red optics brightening at the sight of the glowing cube. "Maybe you just got eaten by scraplets or something and I never saw you?"
"Ya got that, right fellas?" he asked, turning to his fellow guards. "We never saw him."
"Yeah, sure, just hurry up, would you? I'm sure them scraplets are still around here somewhere," one replied, optics shifting around nervously.
"I'm glad we could work this out," the green flier said, carefully activating the torch and sticking it to the cube. The explosive fuel would ignite if the cube was shaken too roughly. "Here's your cube."
The dark red mech reached the entrance, subspace loaded with scraplet frames, only to see his companion offering the guard an energon cube. His optics widened, and he very nearly shouted at the other flier. Energon was far too precious to waste on bribing guards! The medic clearly lacked common sense.
With some effort, he refrained from making any noise, instead reaching into subspace and grabbing the first scraplet frame he could find. This one's mouth was wide open, and, when the mech manually rotated its teeth, it made the characteristic hungry-scraplet whirring noise.
"What was that?" One of the guards jumped, swinging his blaster around. "I'm sure I heard something."
The mech chucked the scraplet at the guards. It landed on the nervous one, its sharp teeth hooking onto cracks in the unfortunate guard's armor.
"SCRAAPLEET!" The guard started running, trying to brush off the offlined scraplet that refused to let go. "Get it off, get it off, AAAAAH!"
"Not again!" His partner was quick to follow. "Let's get outta here!"
Two guards, who were holding the medic and the energon cube, laughed while the others took off. "You're so full of it, mechs. You know there's no scrAPLETS! AAAAAH!"
"RUN!"
The dark red mech threw more scraplet frames at the disbelieving guards.
The guards took off after their coworkers, shoving the medic towards the swarm and dropping the cube…
…the explosive, torch-rigged cube…
For the third time that orn, the mech found himself caught in an energon-based explosion.
"We swear, we was attacked by scraplets! They musta gotten one of those mechs, 'cause there was a mighty big explosion right after we ran—"
"Ehm." Chopper's optics narrowed. "Ran, did you?"
"As I was saying, ran to handle the scraplets, y'see." The guard hastily added. The other three nodded behind him.
"Oh really? Would you mind telling me," Chopper hissed, optics bright with anger, "what exactly you did to 'handle' the scraplet issue?"
After a long pause, the second guard stepped up.
"We offlined 'em, see?" He held up a dead scraplet, clearly melted by a welder.
"And which of you fine mechs has a welder? Who is to blame for this… unfortunate destruction of my merchandise?"
"T-the scraplets were y-yours…?"
"Well? I'm waiting."
"Uh…" The four guards looked at each other with despair.
"That's what I thought. What'll it be, get fired or have your hopes… crushed?" Chopper grinned and patted the door controls.
The heavy blast doors around his office closed with an ominous clang.
The third guard suddenly spotted a scraplet frame clinging to his companion's back. He swatted it off without a second thought, realizing too late that he had propelled it toward Chopper.
"What's this? You throw an offline scraplet at your boss?" With lightning-fast reactions, the parts dealer batted the scraplet into a pile of discarded metal. "That was your last mistake."
Chopper drew one well-polished sonic blade from his rotary assembly. It powered on with a high-pitched hum as he advanced upon the guard.
"Nonono! I didn't mean it!" The unfortunate bot backed off, servos raised and optics wide. "I didn't know it would fly that way, honest!"
Unnoticed by the arguing mechs, the scraplet's optics slowly started glowing and its teeth started whirring. It dug into the scrap pile, self-repair activating as it slowly consumed the metal.
The red mech onlined with a start. His optical feeds were hazy with static, but he could make out a vague shape near his helm. There was one thick blob attached to five little blobs—
A servo! Just what he needed!
He reached out with his working limb and grabbed the servo, tugging at it gently—and then roughly—when it refused to move.
"Give… servo… I need it more, anyway," the mech grunted.
"Leggo of my servo… leggo!" The green medic tugged his servo back, onlining. He pushed himself upright. "Ohhh, my helm. What hap—"
"Just give me the servo," the red mech cried, tackling his companion to the floor. "Mine."
"What the—OW!" The medic started thrashing as the mech pinned his arm to the ground and tore out a servoful of wires. "Get off!"
"My ser—Agh!" The mech had almost reached the arm's energon lines when a flailing limb struck him. His helm jolted to the side, and his still-blurry optical feeds detected a brightly glowing rectangle.
The door!
He scrambled off the medic, servo forgotten as he dashed towards the unguarded door.
"I'm free," the mech cheered, standing outside the warehouse. "Freeeeeee!"
Passer-bys gave him odd looks as he did a little victory dance before promptly dropping into stasis. The medic cautiously made his way over to the exit, cradling his wounded arm.
"That was odd," the dark green flier mused, rolling the stasis-locked mech into a side street. Upon examination, he found a large dent on the back of the dark red helm.
"Must have knocked a few wires loose in the explosion."
Chopper flicked the energon off his blade. All four guards lay upon the floor, groaning from wounds of varying severities along key motor relays. After disdainfully watching one's frantic—and ineffective—crawl towards the closed door, he walked over to the guard.
One perfectly buffed pede landed on the guard's arm. He looked up, optics widening in fear as he met his boss's gaze.
"I'll give you a chance, you hear? One chance. You can stay online, but only if you follow my instructions exactly."
"Yes, yes!" Nodding frantically, the guard tried to pull his servo away. "I'll do anything! Anything you ask! Please don't offline me!"
"Good, good." Chopper grinned menacingly. His pede pressed down on the guard's servo—not enough to seriously damage the appendage, but enough to cause a great deal of pain.
The guard whimpered.
"Good, you're listening. There's this other boss I need you to hit, see, but he's a tough one. Arena boss. He's got some of the best bots around. The second largest energon store, too. Take him out, and I'll be the richest boss this side of Iacon."
"You can't mean..." The guard's optics widened and the energon drained from his faceplates.
"That's right. Sharpspike."
"Nononono! That… it's almost certain we'll offline!"
"Well, if you don't want to do it, I can certainly deactivate you now. No almost." Chopper waved his sonic sword to make the point, gleaming optics regarding the other three mechs.
"Ah, hehe." Laughing nervously at the blade flicking dangerously close to his optics, one of the other guards spoke. "Who said 'we'? It was all his fault! We're loyal guards!"
"Loyal? Hmm… yes. Exactly why you're going to help defeat Sharpspike."
"WHA—"
The gleaming sword raised fractionally.
"I-I mean—thanks, Boss. We appreciate the chance." The guard recalled all the other mechs whom Chopper had offlined for arguing.
"Excellent." Chopper threw a datapad at the guards. "Read carefully. Those are your individual assignments."
The plan was simple. Sharpspike would be weakest in a few orns, when his best fighters would be too occupied in the upcoming regional gladiator championships to properly guard their leader. The guards' little failure had given Chopper the perfect team of assassins to take out his rival, and, if they failed, no bot would ever trace the attack back to him. After all, warehouse guards rarely, if ever, interacted with the other bosses' underlings.
"Any questions? No? Good."
"W—wait. I can't move. How—?"
Chopper turned away with a soft growl. "If only that medic hadn't been in a Seeker-frame… oh, well. You'll just have to wait until self-repair fixes your motor relays."
The door shut behind him, trapping the four unfortunate guards within the office. A slight whirring noise came from a pile of scrap on the side, but it was ignored. The bots had bigger problems to worry about.
"Great. Now what?"
The guards exchanged worried glances, all fearfully pondering the same question.
"D'you think he knows we can't read?"
Some units:
orn - day
decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week
vorn - year
megavorn - 1,000,000 years
Thanks for reading. Stay tuned for more next week.
~The Voids