Side Salad Shooter
AN: THANK YOU GIRAFFECHAN and RAP BEAR for your continued patronage and feedback!
AN2: Radiation is going well. Taking it one day at a time. THANK YOU To all who have sent kind messages of support and prayers. They are working! Love to you all!
AN3: Couldn't let you hang too long. Sorry it's not long or edited. All mistakes are mine. SORRY!
Takes place within a few days of waking up on Earth.
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"These human creatures are disgusting," Sunstreaker said, staring at the main screen of Tele-Tran 1.
The show was commonly known as a 'soap opera' and was currently detailing the intricate and outlandish lives of several humans. Within the span of a week, there had already been two attempted murders, pirates, kidnapping, a near death experience in a freezer, and three different males confessing to be the father of a love child. The actors stared into the bright lights of the studio, making their eyes water to simulate tears of joy, sorrow, and betrayal, their bottom lips quivering with forced emotion.
And no less than a dozen Autobots were gathered around the screen, watching intently to find out what would happen before the next commercial.
Ironhide shushed the Lamborghini, not daring to pull his optics away from the screen in case he missed something.
Realizing his teammates weren't going to change the channel, Sunstreaker left the command center in an irritated huff.
Honestly! They were sentient beings from another planet with an entire world and history to explore and learn. Surely there were better things to do than watch bad actors overly dramatize and spout endless words of loyalty and true love, while simultaneously stabbing their loved one in the back and banging circuits with anything offering a quick frag.
Why couldn't his teammates find something better to focus on? Like the PBS thing.
Well, not the sparkling programming. That was lame. Puppets and repetitive songs… it was enough to make one want to jump off a cliff.
However, there were some interesting programming about art that Sunstreaker had been immediately drawn to. Those humans were clever, creative creatures, some more adept than others.
He entered his quarters to find his brother tipping back a glass bottle of clear liquid. A box was sitting on Sideswipe's berth, flaps open, the labeled designated to the idiot twin.
"What are you doing, or should I not ask?" Sunstreaker smirked.
Sideswipe was notorious for experimenting with ingestible substances. It appeared as if he had found a new bio-fuel.
Sideswipe swallowed the last bit of liquid and smacked his lip components.
"These humans are so clever!" he extolled.
"What stupidity has your circuits singing now?" Sunstreaker asked, noting he also had a box on his berth. Strangely enough, it was still sealed.
Eagerly he ripped off the tape and waded through the endless packing materials and found what he had requested when Prime mentioned the humans offering aid, including recreational items.
A stack of flat canvas and a dozen colors of paint, with twice as many brushes, set the frontliners optics alight. He didn't pay attention to his twin, nor heard his words. He wasn't even aware Sideswipe had left their quarters. His focus was sorely on the paint containers. He opened each, sniffing the various fumes.
Humans would say there wasn't a difference in the odor between colors, but Sunstreaker's highly tuned analyzers detected the distinct odors of oxides and pigments making each color unique. If he was blindfolded, he could tell you the color under his olfactory sensor just by its smell.
He opened a comm. to Prowl, asking for any available space to have a nice, quite, Sideswipe-free zone to return to his first love, ART. Prowl was haggard, the poor mech now overworked to find ample space for their soldiers, but also dealing with humans and their governmental 'red tape.' He begrudgingly agreed to give Sunstreaker supply room three, as it had been emptied of all the spare parts it held when they repaired the ship to resume base operations. It wasn't much, roughly twice the size of the twins' quarters, but it would do.
Sunstreaker packed up his supplies, calling to the empty room, "I'm going to my studio. Talk later, bro!" before he was out the door.
Sideswipe was on the other side of the ship, nonchalantly wandering the halls, looking for mischief. He found it in the way of Wheeljack, who had finished setting up his makeshift lab. The room appeared as if it had not been cleaned since the wreck, but it was, in fact, exactly how Wheeljack liked his worked space.
Chaotically cluttered.
"Hey, Wheeljack," Sideswipe called, entering the room.
Wheeljack jumped a foot in the air, helm fins flashing dangerous red.
"Sideswipe, warn a mech next time!" the inventor chastised. "Give me a spark attack!"
"I have that ability," Sideswipe preened, joining the resident inventor/leader in self harming. "So, what are you working on?"
"I am running diagnostics on Earthen alloys, if you must know," Wheeljack stated, returning to his examinations.
It was then Sideswipe realized Wheeljack was not alone. Perceptor was in alt mode, the magnifying lenses humming as he zoomed into the slide currently residing on his examination arms.
"You are quite correct in assuming the nutritional properties of the alloy," Perceptor said, his slide tray moving so he could focus in microscopic detail.
"Check out the magnesium," Wheeljack said, swapping out the large glass slide for another.
Perceptor made noises of delight, or Sideswipe figured he was jacked into the electricity again, because the normally docile mech was practically vibrating with glee. It was funny seeing the scientific mech so excited.
"Check out the carbon variant!" Wheeljack said, equally as exuberant.
"Oh, my!" Perceptor said, zooming in. "Compound … thirty-eight point six, I believe!"
"Oh yeah!" Wheeljack confirmed. "And it's abundant here."
"Oh, my!" Perceptor repeated, obviously stunned into using single syllable words instead of his normal compound tongue twisters.
"Good or bad?" Sideswipe asked, not sure what the big deal was.
With Wheeljack, it could be anything from benefiting their planet in revitalization, or blowing off a limb. It was hard to tell with the self harming inventor.
"Very good," Wheeljack said, removing the slide and placing another one on the microscope. "Out bodies require a certain amount of metals and minerals, much like the humans, though in smaller increments." Wheeljack scribbled on a log, cataloguing his findings as Perceptor verified the numbers. "Our own world is nearly depleted in metallic alloys, due to the extensive mining we required to build our cities, leaving little in way of fuel. Energon gives us energy we need, in the form of concentrated liquid electricity, but there physical, elemental supplements we require to keep our systems functioning at top capacity."
"Huh?" Sideswipe asked.
"Think of it like human machines," Wheeljack said, trying to figure out the best metaphor. He opted for Sideswipe's favorite invention, the television.
"Take the television, for example. You construct it and sell it brand new, but as it gets older, the tubes and buttons go bad. The remote loses its function and requires new batteries. The base structure is still the same, unchanged, but the parts have worn out and require replacement to make them work as new again. Like batteries."
"So the metals here on Earth are compatible with us and basically, feed us?" Sideswipe asked.
"Precisely," Wheeljack praised. "Added to energon rations, this can improve our quality of life, as it will provide much needed nutrients we have been lacking since the closure of the mines."
"Cool," Sideswipe vented.
Wheeljack's helm fins flashed so fast, Sideswipe got dizzy.
"Thus far, we've categorized eleven edible alloys," Wheeljack said, adding notations next to Perceptor's own neat machine script.
The two hand writings were hysterically polar opposites.
"Did you know, there are some elements the humans haven't even discovered and charted, yet?" Wheeljack asked.
"Didn't know, didn't care," Sideswipe said, amused to see the scientist so excited. When Wheeljack got really excited, his helm fins were a mosaic of colors and his optics became overly bright. "But I'll take your word for it."
"Fascinating," Perceptor interjected, extending the slide for Wheeljack to remove and replace. "These compounds have such potential, not only for digestive purposes, but also to strengthen and reinforce our own Cybertronian alloys!"
"You don't say," Sideswipe muttered, not really paying attention. His optics had alighted on a tray of multicolored piles of powder that glowed prettily, begging for Lamborghini inspection.
"The combinations are virtually limitless!" Perceptor was saying.
"Oh, those are the samples I've been able to collect thus far," Wheeljack said, noticing what garnered Sideswipe's attention. "I've already been experimenting with their cohesion to create edibles."
"Like?" Sideswipe asked, mesmerized by a powdery red dust. It sparkled so prettily.
"Magnesium stick, nickel drops, and sulfur cakes."
Sideswipe spun, wide optics staring at Wheeljack. "Like the treat shops on Cybertron?"
Oh, Sideswipe had loved the confectioners shops when he was a youngling. Course, he had to steal any treat he could and when the war started, and rationing began, the dessert shops were closed. It would be nice to have such delicacies again. Maybe Earth wasn't so bad after all?
"Those are the powdered forms I'm experimenting with to make the treats, so don't bother them," Wheeljack waggled a finger.
Sideswipe step a back out of reverence. If Wheeljack was going to make desserts, Sideswipe would give him plenty of space, and that included not playing with the metallic samples.
Oh, the thought of the treats made Sideswipe's tank churn. He couldn't wait!
"Let me know when you have the first batch ready for sampling," he said. "I'll be happy to be your test subject."
The thought of sweetened magnesium made Sideswipe's internals do a happy little flip. He held his midsection, already imagining the spread of confectioner's delights. Oh, he'd gorge himself on the new treats. He couldn't wait!
And neither could his tank.
It rumbled again.
Figuring he was hungry, Sideswipe waved, "Better go refuel. Catch ya later, Jack, Percy."
Wheeljack waved but Perceptor let out an exasperated sigh in farewell. Like Sunstreaker, he didn't approve of nicknames.
Sideswipe entered the rec room to find the new humans, Spark Plug and Spike, seated at a table with Bumblebee and Huffer. Brawn was nearby, filling up a cube of energon, leaning against the bulkhead, optics dim. Obviously he had just woken up after performing monitor duty all night.
Tracks was admiring himself in a mirror, loving his new alt mode. The slagger boasted about being fast, but the twins had already beaten the axels off him. Earth or Cybertronian model, they still whip him.
"Hey Sides," Tracks called, flashing his paint job as a high priced courtesan. Sideswipe had a suspicion that's what Tracks did before the war. "Come and join me."
Sideswipe waved good naturedly, grabbing a cube and hearing Brawn grumble about loud, perky mechs who needed a good slagging. Cube filled, Sideswipe joined his horsepower nemesis, when his tank bubbled again.
He downed half the cube, humming at the sheer power of Earthen refined energon. It went down easy and was smooth on the analyzers.
"We have patrol this evening," Tracks was saying. "I checked the weather forecast. No rain, so we should be good."
"Excellent!" Sideswipe agreed. Like all sport models, he detested precipitation. Thankfully, Earth rain didn't eat away metal and strip paint. "Good thing I'm fueling up!"
Sideswipe's midsection rumbled and growled menacingly.
"Sounds like you let your tank get empty," Tracks commented.
"Guess so," Sideswipe shrugged. He downed the rest of his ration, glad it wasn't as regulated as it was back home, and got up for a refill. He was refilling his cube when he felt this tank do a strange inside back flip, doubling him over.
"Hey, Sides, you okay?" Bumblebee called, noticing the Lamborghini in distress.
"Fine," Sideswipe said with a cheery wave. No sooner were the words out of his vocalizer when he frowned, feeling something strange. Glancing down, he saw a weird, gelatinous substance ooze down his inner thigh.
His HUD suddenly lit up red, signaling over heated frame, abnormal spark rhythm, low pressure lines, misfiring receptors and a host of things he couldn't decipher.
"Ratchet!" Sideswipe bellowed, bolting out the door, heading toward medbay.
Unfortunately, whatever was oozing down his leg reached his pede, and with a strange windmill dance, he careened into a bulkhead. Groaning, he steadied himself and resumed his course at a more sedate pace. Every other step, his pede would slip in the viscous substance seeping from his frame.
It felt like an eternity to reach medbay. When the door opened, he sputtered, "Ratchet," as he crossed the threshold, his pedes slipping as if on ice from the greasy substance now coating his inner thighs.
Sideswipe slipped, dropping to hands and knees, his tank quaking. With a mighty retch, his fuel reappeared. He was barely aware of Ratchet's concerned voice before darkness claimed him.
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It was some time later when Sideswipe returned to consciousness. Sunstreaker was seated nearby, reading a datapad, looking bewildered.
"What happened?" Sideswipe asked, sluggishly.
Sunstreaker didn't bother looking to his twin.
"Human elemental fuel had a bad reaction to your system," he said by way of explanation.
"The energon?" Sideswipe asked, wondering what was used as the bio fuel so he could avoid it.
Sunstreaker didn't get a chance to answer. Ratchet came thundering as hell from above.
"What were you thinking, ingesting human substances that haven't been cleared for consumption?"
"The label said it was safe for consumption," Sideswipe argued.
"For humans," Ratchet growled, causing the heavens to peel back, ready to release retribution. "In case you haven't realized… we're not human!"
"But… it was oil! It should be safe!" Sideswipe countered, unperturbed by the hellfire threatening to rain down on him.
"Wrong kind of oil!"
"But, it's for loose joins and lubricating moving parts," Sideswipe explained, not understanding what went wrong. "I thought if it worked on castors, it could work for our internals. Better than crude."
"That's not what castor oil is used for!" Ratchet thundered.
"Oh." Sideswipe grimaced, feeling as if his internal workings had been stripped and squeezed and scoured with steel wool.
The sensation was most unpleasant.
"Well, the castor oil may have been an unwise move, but it has proven to be beneficial, just not in the way you thought," Ratchet added, losing some of his vehemence.
"Are my parts going to fall off?" Sideswipe asked in all seriousness.
"No, but it did liquefy the impurities in your system and flush them," Ratchet appeared impressed with the newfound knowledge. "You had plaque build up in your fuel lines and this stuff went through them, purging everything out your tailpipe."
Sideswipe squirmed. His tailpipe was sore. Raw. Yet, greasy.
It was extremely strange and off putting.
"So, it's safe to ingest?" he hazarded.
"Not for your purposes, but yes, it's safe." Ratchet ran a quick scan over his most troublesome patient and continued, "I think it would be wise for everyone to have a dose on a regular basis to keep their systems cleaned out and removed the impurities built up in our systems. We don't have anything to flush our systems so thoroughly on Cybertron. Typical system flushes take cycles to complete, often times requiring extensive time to recover. But this stuff cleaned you out and left your internals as new as if you just stepped off the assembly line."
Sideswipe beamed happily. "Glad to be of assistance!"
Clank!
"One in a million!" Ratchet hefted his favorite wrench, grinning at the now dazed Lamborghini. "Don't be getting any more foolish ideas! This was a one in a million shot! Next time, you might find something that rots your internals or makes your favorite parts fall off." Ratchet hovered over Sideswipe as an angry white demon with bared teeth and razor wit. "And I won't bother welding you back together again. You can live your life as a Cyber-Leper!"
Though dazed, Sideswipe whimpered. He liked all his parts, even the ones that were scarred and original factory. There weren't many, but he had fond memories of them.
Perhaps he should delegate testing future Earthen edibles by those who could confirm if they were poisonous?
Just then Prime entered the medbay.
"You wanted to see me, Ratchet?" Prime asked, unconcerned with Sideswipe's pained moans.
Ratchet grinned, pointing to the far end of medbay.
"Have a new flushing system," he said, grasping the backpedaling Prime trying to escape at the mention of the dreadful circumstance. "Will only take a couple hours. Promise!"
Ratchet pinched a couple wires in Prime's sides, directing his heavy steps toward the partitioned portion of medbay for privacy or isolation. Like all bots, Prime hated to have his systems flushed. Had Ratchet not held a firm grip on his wires, he would have bolted and not looked back.
But Ratchet was determined.
And sneaky.
And he now possessed the cure for all the backsass he endured from his patients!
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Totally blame my mother for this one. She asked if I had done a castor oil chapter and I nearly face palmed! OBVIOUS. DUH! Sometimes I totally miss an obvious misunderstanding and try to warp things totally outlandish.
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