Project: Sidewinder

Genre: G1

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"Slagging stupid, door-winged demon from the lowest level of the Pit," Sideswipe snarled in contempt.

Sunstreaker echoed the sentiment, scanning through a request form that seemed abnormally long winded. If someone wanted extra polish, they could slagging well go get it themselves. Or send one of the humans on a supply run. Simple problems demands simple resolutions. The bureaucracy was a pit spawned bitch to get through.

"I'll get him back for this," Sideswipe vowed, his optics burning from staring at the scrolling text on a datapad.

"You even think about it, and I'll rip your legs off," Sunstreaker promised, sending a foreboding darkness through their bond.

Sideswipe sent his twin a Bronx cheer. After years of causing trouble and enjoying the many punishments Prowl saw fit to bestow on the twin troublemakers, he had finally found the worst punishment of all.

His job.

Forget the brig. Scrubbing halls and personal quarters. Monitor duty. No bathes or polishes. Human babysitting. Muddy chassis. Low end oil. Skimpy rations. Pit, once he even had Wheeljack to lock the twins into car mode and made them endure an automotive show, complete with signs offering the public a chance to get 'hands on'.

But this… this… slag.

Schedules and rules, documents and complaints and requests forms. The twins were currently up to their optics in Prowl's workload. How Prime agreed to this debauchery of justice the twins would never know. But Prowl sent them a large data packet and once it was downloaded, the twins' hell had begun.

Datapads began arriving. Bots started to filter into their room, all demanding or complaining about something. Gears and Mirage were now guests of Ratchet thanks to Sunstreaker's temper. Red Alert was still in medbay, but Ratchet promised the culprit, Prowl, a thorough thrashing when the SIC returned. Apparently the Second had been under orders from the cranky medic and Prime to get some rest, claiming the tactician was overworking himself. So with their gentle reminders (Jazz standing nearby looking very grim), Prowl had to think of something quick. His schedule was already set for the coming day. Sideswipe was due for a punishment detail for contraband high grade (Prowl still wasn't able to locate the still), and Sunstreaker was in trouble for shoving a paintbrush up Brawn's olfactory sensor. Neither twin seemed to learn any lesson from their punishments, and the idea struck just as Jazz followed the tactician to his office. Prowl sent out the data packet that virtually sent the twins into meltdown.

The packet included everything that had to be done by a specific time, and everything had to be finished with the level of efficiency and accuracy according to Prowl's standards. There were to be no shortcuts, but if any discrepancies were found, the twins were to do all the paperwork over again. A sentence they decided they didn't want to repeat.

As Prowl was lead from the Ark by Jazz and Bluestreak, he sent a message on all comms, informing the occupants of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's new duties. The trio was gone by the time Ratchet got to Red Alert, who had completely fritzed upon hearing the twins were now in charge of all his security reports. Hence Prowl's promised thrashing upon his return.

Now both twins had processor aches, their backs hurt from bending over data pads and still more were coming in. It was a never-ending stream.

"How does the slagger do it?"" Sunstreaker asked, tossing a completed request form on the short pile.

"Beats me," Sideswipe grumbled with a pout. "It's taken nearly all morning to figure out this diplomatic junk and I think I just about have it finished."

Suddenly klaxons went off, sending Sunstreaker out the door before Sideswipe could react. He tossed the datapad onto his desk, vowing to finish it if he survived the coming battle. Secretly he hoped he'd be laid up for weeks in medbay, preferably in deep stasis. He despised doing Prowl's job, and it had only been the first few hours.

No one saw the tiny saboteur slink out of the shadows, exploring, before disappearing out the door an hour later.

Four hours later the twins came trudging into their room, exhausted and as uninjured as they had left. Apparently the Decepticons finally realized the ground vehicles had to follow roads and traffic laws, and decided to hit a power plant a hundred miles away. By the time the Autobots arrived, the Cons had already taken a substantial about of energy and left, promising the humans another visit. Now, back at base after driving hard and fast to save the human facility, only to find no one to fight to rid of pent up energy, the twins had raced hard to get back to base. It wasn't as satisfying as hand to hand combat, but it helped release the unspent energy.

Sunstreaker groaned, his frame creaking. He made for his berth, but upon seeing the mound of datapads, he growled. One swipe of his arm and they went skittering across the floor.

"Slagging Prowl," he groused, getting into bed and closing his optics. "Remind me to kill him when I see him."

"You wouldn't let me have retribution," Sideswipe sulked, picking up the datapads and placing them on his brother's small desk. "If I don't get to make him pay, neither do you."

"You just want to prank him or do something to make him miserable," Sunstreaker said, settling in for a quick recharge. "I just want to kill him. Big difference."

Sideswipe snorted, giving his mountainous workload a groan, before sitting at his desk with a mutinous growl.

"Slagger."

"Amen," Sunstreaker muttered before slipping into recharge.

Sideswipe thought about joining his brother in slumber, but he was determined to finish the diplomatic summary. He picked up the datapad from the floor, frowning at its dark screen.

"I could have sworn I left this on the desk," he muttered, flipping the switches for activation. The screen glowed a pale gold, but no words appeared. Frown deepening he typed a series of commands, followed by his access codes. When they didn't work, he tried Prowl's and Jazz's. Even Prime's personal command code wouldn't bring up the file he spent the morning working on. With a low growl he ran a search and felt his energon run cold. The datapad was empty, save for a few human games. There were no files. No diplomatic requests, schedules, meeting alternatives, individual itineraries…. Nothing.

"Sunny!" he screamed, staring in horror at the blank screen.

Sunstreaker let out a strangled curse and squawk, falling off the berth and jumping to his feet, gun in hand before his optics fully onlined.

"Is it an attack?" Sunstreaker yelled, his fuel pump racing and ready for the fight he'd already been denied.

"No," Sideswipe said, keeping his distance. He didn't need to be skewered again by an angry twin. "The diplomatic meeting I was working on when we left."

"The … the diplom…"Sunstreaker trailed off, his groggy processor finally catching up to his attack instincts. "You woke me up for 'work'?"

"No. The work isn't here," Sideswipe said. "I was almost finished so I left it on my desk before the Con attack. When we got back, it was on the floor and completely blank."

"What?" Sunstreaker said, anger disappearing with his weapon.

"You don't suppose the Con attack was a diversion so someone could get the itineraries? Do you?" Sideswipe asked, feeling his tank disappear through the floor. There was a lot of information about high elected officials in that file. If the wrong person got a hold of it, all of Sideswipe's hard work would be used against them. Not to mention, Prowl would be furious.

"You tried the back ups?" Sunstreaker asked, looking the pad over.

"Uhmmm…." Sideswipe stalled, hoping to gauge his brother's reaction. "I was waiting until the very end to save."

"Smart," Sunstreaker deadpanned. "Really intelligent processor you have there. Quality. Top of the line, idiotic subroutines working at optimal level."

Sideswipe frowned. "If no one bothered the pad, then everything would still be on the screen."

Sunstreaker thought for a moment and gave a nod. "Okay. Point taken. So, what do you think we should do?"

"Prime needs to know," Sideswipe said, starting for the door.

Against his better judgment Sunstreaker followed. Half an hour later, Prime finished his reports for the local human government with Red Alert and Ironhide's assistance. He turned to see a disgruntled golden warrior and jittery ruby Lamborghini.

"Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, what's wrong?" Prime asked, instinct telling him that something was up with the pair.

Sideswipe looked too embarrassed to speak, so Sunstreaker yanked the datapad from his brother's hand and presented it to their leader. "Sideswipe was working on the diplomatic slag that Prowl sent before he abandoned us, and my dear idiotic brother swears he left the data pad on the desk, but when we got back, it was on the floor and blank."

"What about back ups?" Prime asked, accepting the pad and scanning through its menu.

"Numb nuts here doesn't like to save things until the very end," Sunstreaker said with a roll of his optics. "I've already explained his idiocy, but I doubt it sunk in. I recommend Wheeljack weld it to his aft. That may teach him."

"The point is, Prime," Sideswipe put in, sending a violent push through the bond with his twin, "When I tried to finish the report, the screen is blank. All of the information is gone. Wiped from the system completely."

Prime nodded, typing in his access code. When nothing happened, Sideswipe added, "I've tried several codes. None of them work, not even yours. Do you think this is a Con trick?"

"How do you know Prime's code doesn't work?" Ironhide asked, frowning at the blood red front liner.

Optimus didn't catch the slip and asked, "Was anything else out of place?"

"How could anyone tell in that mess they call a room?" Ironhide quipped.

"Nothing else was touched," Sunstreaker confirmed, giving Ironhide a steely glare.

"Check the security logs," Prime ordered and several rushed to obey. With Red Alert in the medbay the crew had to rely on the paranoid Security Directors numerous cameras.

"Do we inform the diplomats?" Sideswipe asked, watching as Teletran zipped through footage around the Ark.

"Humans have a tendency to overreact when simple explanations are available," Prime said enigmatically. "We will wait to have confirmation of Con involvement before we proceed."

An hour later, the reports came in. Hoist, Tracks, Ironhide and Smokescreen all reported no activity on the monitors, apart from Hound wandering the halls, apparently lost in thought. Mirage limped into view, confirming he had checked their perimeter and found nothing. Bumblebee, Huffer, Windcharger, and Wheeljack all confirmed that the sensors hadn't been tripped or sabotaged. All cameras were operating at top efficiency and no outside influence had corrupted or hijacked their systems.

The Ark was as secure as it was before they left. Ratchet ran scans on random members of the crew, confirming their identities and reported no signs of Con interference.

"What about humans?" Sunstreaker asked, giving a pointed look to Spike and Chip as they joined Bumblebee. "The Cons sometimes employ humans as their spies."

"Nothing showed up on scans or screen," Ironhide reiterated.

Sunstreaker glanced to the active camera feed on the far screen and scowled. Hound was prowling around the corridors again, his head bent and sweeping from side to side. He looked like he was arguing with himself. Again.

"Should we recall Prowl and Jazz?" Ironhide was asking.

"Perhaps they can offer some assistance?" Mirage added, carefully maneuvering himself into a chair to take his weight off his injured leg. Sunstreaker knew how to twist a mech.

"I had hoped Prowl could enjoy some time off," Prime said, weariness creeping into his own struts.

"Where'd he go?" Spike asked, noting the tactician was suspiciously absent.

Ratchet stepped forward to answer. "Jazz and Bluestreak escorted him on a little vacation. He is allowed to return in one earth week. Doctors orders."

"Stressing himself again, huh?" Spike guessed. "Do you know where they went?"

"Jazz said something about attending an outdoor symphony and then they were to travel to the mountains," Ratchet said, giving a little shrug. "But if I know Jazz, it was a mad concert that's going to have their audios ringing for hours, then a trip to the mountains to enjoy the snow." When Spike gave a curious look, Ratchet added, "Jazz just loves snow."

"The mech is crazy," Sunstreaker supplied. "Liking the cold, the wet, and the miserable."

"Sounds like a soap opera," Spike laughed.

Prime switched to an alternative frequency and called through a secured comm, 'Prime to Prowl.'

'Prowl here,' came the automatic response.

'Prowl, there has been an incident and we were hoping you would share some insight,' Prime said, wondering if Jazz and Bluestreak were physically restraining the hard working Second in Command. His voice had sounded a little stressed. 'Prowl, are you alright?'

'I am currently enduring a rather vocal rendition of a classical masterpiece that I'm sure the original composer did not intend. To answer your question, no, I am definitely not all right,' Prowl deadpanned. The exasperation was clear in his voice. Prime could almost see the tacticians optics rolling. 'What have the twins done this time? They had better perform their assignments to the utmost efficiency or else they will have to do double duty for the next six months.'

Prime winced. Even he didn't like the thought of doing Prowl's paperwork. 'Sideswipe was working on the diplomatic meeting for next month when there was an alarm of a Decepticon attack in Alta City about a hundred miles from here. When he returned, he found the datapad wiped. We have searched the Ark and have found no infiltration from Decepticons or possible humans.'

Prowl listened, grateful to have something to ponder on while the aria continued, his audios turned off so he could understand the incoming transmissions. Jazz and Bluestreak clapped and cheered with the crowd, oblivious to their charge and his unintentional work.

'All video feeds have been confirmed and all mechs accounted for?' Prowl asked, receiving the affirmative. 'No signs of infiltration or sabotage?'

'Nothing. Only a blank datapad that is now missing essential information for a diplomatic meeting,' Prime supplied, staring at the offending datapad.

'Has Red Alert detected any anomalies?'

'Red's still in the med bay.'

'Oh. Please, extend my apologies to him and Ratchet. It wasn't my intention to cause strife.'

'Figure this out and we'll call it even.'

'Has Ratchet interviewed or scanned all residence to ensure no outside influence?'

'Yes, he conducted a random test and all proved without a doubt that everyone is in perfect health and frames.'

'Wheeljack been experimenting?'

Prime paused, wondering why he didn't think of the explosive inventor. He stared at Wheeljack, looking for signs of recent experimenting. No dents, dings, wrench-like impressions, or soot adorned his person.

"Wheeljack, have you been in your lab today?" Prime asked, just in case the inventor created something that messed with internal workings. Wouldn't be the first time and the thought always gave the Autobot commander the shivers.

"I checked in there, but I didn't see any evidence of Cons or wayward humans," Wheeljack answered. "Want me to go check again?"

"No, I believe you," Prime supplied. "I was just curious to know if you were building anything this morning."

"Not recently. Have a few schematics, but I'm still waiting on the request forms to go through for the deliveries." Wheeljack looked expectantly to the twins.

Sideswipe looked sheepish, Sunstreaker looked combative. He was working as hard as he could. Some bots just didn't know what went into the request forms and the stress it put on the mech who had to deal with the issues. Begrudgingly, Sunstreaker's opinion of Prowl went up a little.

'Wheeljack's innocent,' Prime said. 'For once.'

There was a moment of silence as Prowl's battle computer worked. Each mech was analyzed and eliminated, factors of hostility, socializing, patterned behavior, and ability to hold grudges against pranking or aft-whooping twins. No one raised the preverbal red flag. Prowl turned to the current schedule, overlapping it with the roster of who was on base. One thing immediately came to the tactician's mind.

'Prime, has Hound returned from his ecological trip in Utah?'

'Yes, he's been back since mid-morning. Why?'

'Where is his current location?'

'Port side personnel quarters, section 5-Kappa.'

'I suggest you have word with him. Prowl out.' And without another word, Prowl cut the connection, his attention drawn to the assembled choir. Jazz and Bluestreak had settled down, their optics still glued to the stage. Prowl sighed and switched his audios on just in time to hear the announcement of the selected piece before the choir came alive in perfect harmony.

"Let's go have a word with Hound," Prime said, motioning for the twins to follow. They looked to one another, bewildered and confused, but followed their leader as he led them into the section for personal quarters. Ratchet and Ironhide followed trailed behind.

Hound was staring at the wall, oblivious to the world around him. A low hum was coming from somewhere in his frame and hot air was puffing from his vents in either frustration or anger. Knowing Hound, it was probably frustration. No one ever saw the jeep get angry.

"Hound, may I have a word?" Prime asked.

Hound nearly jumped out of his plating when Prime's voice sounded so close. He whirled around, staring with wide optics as Prime, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Ironhide and Ratchet looked at him with curiosity. Well, Sunstreaker looked murderous, but that was normal for him.

"Prime! What can I do for you today?" Hound asked, and there was no mistaking the nervous twitch.

"Hound, by any chance, and we're not accusing you of anything, but would you know what happened to Sideswipe's report on the diplomatic meeting next month?" Prime asked, not liking the panicked look in the scout's optics.

Hound relaxed, expelling a gust of air, his tense body returning to its normal easy-going state. "No, Prime. Haven't seen it. But I can look for it."

"It was on a datapad in my room and when we got back, it was gone. Erased!" Sideswipe snapped, pointing to the datapad still held in Prime's hand.

"Or wiped," Sunstreaker amended, taking a step toward the scout and puffing out his armor with a blasting cycle of hot air. When Sunstreaker struggled to keep his temper in check, he expelled hot air from his overheating systems. Nothing assuaged his anger better than a good fight, and he was already denied twice today.

Hound never got the opportunity to explain what happened. Next thing he knew, a thick wire fell out of the wall and landed on the citrine twin. Sunstreaker yelled and cursed in a variety of languages, his body being slammed against the wall as he fought off the vicious intruder. Flailing, he tried to grasp the thick cord and pull it free from his body, but it twisted and coiled, evading his grasp.

A stab of iciness erupted over Sunstreaker's plating, chilling him to the core. Hoping to put distance between himself and the thing intent on ending his life, he started down the hall, back pedaling and thrashing, his hands whipping through the air in a golden blur. He felt the cold slip under his armor and caress his protoform and with an undignified scream and last attempt at saving his life, he bolted down the hall.

And ran head first into a stalactite, knocking himself cold. Everyone stood frozen, their sparks stopping in their chests. Sunstreaker lay, unmoving, the cord slipping along his torso to disappear behind his body.

Hound seemed to snap out of it first. He ran to Sunstreaker's side, his hands skimming along the body and floor.

"Be careful, Hound! It may still be live." Ironhide warned, his optics wide.

"I hope so," Hound said, still searching. With a happy chirp he stood, displaying the cord. It was nearly three feet in length, dangling like a dark noodle from his pinched fingers. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, until they saw the supposedly innocent cord coil and a low rattle fill the hall.

"Hound, what is that?" Sideswipe asked slowly, staring at the living electrical cord that had possibly ended his brother's life.

"I tried to find her before she could cause any trouble," Hound started, looking from mech to mech. "I didn't know the lid on her container was loose, and when I got back from getting some energon, she was gone."

He looked to Sideswipe, his optics full of regret. "She must have got into your room and sought out a heat source. Her species is attracted to heat, so she must have wrapped around the datapad to stay warm….so…" Hound trailed off, not liking the mixed looks he was receiving.

Prime looked stunned. Ironhide looked confused, Sideswipe was amused, and Ratchet looked ready to kill.

"What is it?" Prime asked, staring at the thing trying to strike the hand that held it.

"Crotalus Cerastes," Hound provided with a proud smile. "More commonly known as a Sidewinder." He offered a crooked half smile, "But I just call her Sally."

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I just had to write this out after I caught a 2 ft copperhead in my house.

Its not beta'ed, but it gave me a kick to write. Inspiration comes at the oddest times!

As always, reviews are appreciated and any ideas will be considered. I don't bite…. But I do hisssss…