Clean Streaks

AN: THANK YOU GIRAFFECHAN and RAP BEAR for your continued patronage. Exclusive updates are coming soon to my pat re on (all one word) page!

AN2: THANK YOU to all who have sent PMs and reviews concerning me and my mother's health. Mom is doing much better. :D My own surgery has been postponed due to health complications, so I'm looking at Mid December to end of January as a surgery date. (don't ya just love the vagueness of the medical field? Ranks right up there with cable repair)

Attempting to get back into the groove of writing so I've been working on this for the past three weeks. *Yikes! Has it been that long? I'm so sorry!* There were several parts I wasn't happy with and kept rewriting, but I think it's right where I wanted it, originally.

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Prowl paused, watching two large mechs carry a chunk of what appeared to be a blasted out Decepticon transport ship into their shared quarters. Curious as to what the two were doing, Prowl approached the door in time to hear one of them speak.

"Wish we could have brought the whole thing. Talk about a trophy!"

The other mech chirped in agreement.

"Did you see everyone's faces when we carried in the infamous high speed supply transport of the Decepticon's?"

"Envy!" The other crowed happily.

There was the sound of clanging metal and mutters of congratulations. Prowl peered around the corner and nearly had his jaw hit the floor.

The quarters the two mechs shared was crammed full of what Prowl declared, 'junk.'

Broken machinery. Pieces of terminated mechs and femmes (being used, Prowl hoped, for spare parts.) Dozens of empty energon cubes and crumpled up outdated ration packs of minerals. The kind of nutrional rations given to injured bots to aid in healing.

"What is the meaning of this…collection?" Prowl asked, stepping across the threshold. He couldn't advance far due to the clutter.

"Souvenirs," one of the mechs said, smiling and leaning on the chunk of transport ship bearing the Decepticon sigil.

"Spoils," the other one added, cracking open a sealed cube of half congealed energon labeled for medical use.

Prowl's battle computer began computing data and within a couple of seconds, he made some critical observations.

First, there were enough supplies in this room for medics to replenish their forces after a battle. Second, the place was barely suitable for habitation and would require a thorough cleaning. Third, there weren't any regulations pertaining to living quarters, meaning Prowl had no authority in ordering the room be cleaned and potential medical supplies handed over to appropriate personnel. A mech's quarters were private and therefore, not regulated with strict codes of conduct.

Without further word, Prowl whirled and marched to Prime, requesting an immediate audience while also asking Ratchet's attendance. He was given Prime's assurance to be in his office and was soon joined by Ratchet, who wisely kept his vocalizer shut until they were in Prime's office, the door closed for privacy.

"Sir, it has come to my attention several among our ranks have been pilfering supplies from the enemy, quite possibly from their own comrades as well," Prowl started without preamble. He was never one to beat around a platinum bush. "I have bore witness to many mechs accumulating 'souvenirs' and spoils of war. Though I understand their need to commemorate epic wins and glorious moments on the battlefield, I am hesitant about allowing Decepticon technology within our base."

"Like what?" Prime asked, settling behind his desk and steepling his long fingers.

"Two mechs on deck 31 Beta have recently taken possession of a piece of a Decepticon supply ship. They are housing this large chunk of Decepticon tech in their quarters."

"For what purpose?" Ratchet asked.

"Decorative souvenir, I assume," Prowl answered. "They also have a cache of medical grade nutrients and energon stored in their quarters for personal indulgence."

Prime's expression darkened. "I have already given strict orders that medical teams receive top priority when it comes to potential supplies in the battlefield."

"I am aware, sir," Prowl said with a single dip of his helm. "That is why I am reporting my observation. If two mechs are pilfering supplies without following the proper chain of command regarding supplies, then it is safe to assume others are similarly raiding Decepticon bases and taking medical supplies before the medics arrive for assessment."

"You mean to tell me, there are mechs out there with medical grade energon and nutrional mineral supplies, indulging whenever they want, while I'm stuck in medbay, begging bots to donate energon to keep my patients alive?" Ratchet thundered.

Oh, the medic wasn't happy. Actually, he was downright murderous. Maybe the information wouldn't have affected him so greatly had he not lost over a dozen soldiers within the past two solar cycles, a handful of which due to the shortage of medical supplies.

Ratchet's mood was most foul.

Well, more so than normal.

It was a wonder fire wasn't exploding from his frame.

"One confirmed location, yes," Prowl said, without batting an optic. Like Optimus, he was built of stronger stuff and didn't quail under the medic's glare. "Sir, I believe it would also be prudent to limit… souvenirs in the likely chance of entrapment and prevent the base from resembling a junk yard."

"Agreed," Prime said. "I'll leave the details up to you, and Prowl, take Ratchet with you. If anyone gives you grief, you have my authorization to give them brig time to think about the dangerous situation they put their teammates in."

"Sir," Prowl said, offering a crisp nod and exiting.

Ratchet followed behind, not even bothering in acknowledging the Prime. He kept pace with the silent Praxian.

Prime echoed in their audios as they walked, startling several bots in the hallway with the sudden explosion of a pissed off Prime filling the frequencies.

"It has come to my attention our forces are pilfering parts and energon for their own personal use instead of remanding the needed supplies to our medical team. I am also aware of the vast amount of trinkets my soldiers are collecting on the battlefield. Though I understand your desire to save mementos of battles, it is unwise to bring Decepticon technology within our base when it has not been properly vetted by our science and medical teams. Effective immediately, all personnel are to give access to their assorted collections to the science and medical teams. Items deemed medically necessary are to be handed over to the medical teams. Second In Command Prowl will have total authority over the cleaning of this base and enacting rules to create a safe, functioning living space without this base turning into a junk yard. Failure to comply with his orders will result in a lengthy brig time. That is all. Prime out."

Prowl led Ratchet along the hall to the Beta section.

"I know exactly where we can start," Prowl said after a moment. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Ratchet sneered, cracking his digits as a security detail arrived at the same door Prowl stopped. "Forewarning, I may inflict some damage to those who have so blatantly put other's lives in danger and hoarded much needed supplies."

"I see and hear nothing," Prowl promised just as the door opened to reveal the two mechs and their vast hoard. "Chief Medical Officer Ratchet is here to ascertain medical supplies to be immediately remanded to the medical ward."

"The slag you are," one of the mech's said. "We took this from the Cons as spoils! I don't care what you or Prime says. It's ours!"

Which was all the incentive Ratchet needed.

One astro-second he was standing behind Prowl, the next, he was a phantom of pain and retribution. The two mechs didn't know what hit them. When Ratchet was finished, both were crumpled heaps of twisted metal, sparking and twitching.

"Termination?" Prowl asked with a raised optic ridge. He had remained stoically impassive during the medic's impressive (and violently efficient) tirade.

"They'll wish it," Ratchet growled low, causing the air to stir and sensors to vibrate harshly. Prowl's doorwings gave a noticeable flicker. "Nothing permanent. Merely, twisted a few things and made them wish they'd were terminated. They'll survive."

"Brig," Prowl stated flatly to the two security guards flanking him. "Separate cells. Low rations for a mega cycle."

The two bots nodded, picking up their unconscious burdens and hauling them off. They passed six more security mechs, two of which were Praxian build like the SIC.

"Look at this!" Ratchet exclaimed, half angry, half frustrated. "These supplies were here, on base, all this time, and I lost patients? I lost them? When life saving supplies were so close?"

Prowl stepped forward, showing the rarest sign of emotion. He knew how much Ratchet cared. How deeply it affected him to lose a patient. He placed a servo on Ratchet slouched shoulder.

"You did not know," he said softly. "However, now you have hope. And though it may not seem like it, what is here, in this room, may save a life. That should give you comfort."

Ratchet rolled his optics, swatting at the SIC. "Since when are you so emotional?"

"I am merely stating a fact," Prowl said, pointing to the cache on one side of the room. There were at least two dozen medical cubes of energon. "If others have been this wastrel, no more innocent lives will be lost due to medical shortage."

Ratchet perked up considerably. With a huff, he motioned to the medical energon and the stack of nutritional packets next to it, and barked at the security detail, "Well? What are you waiting for? Get these supplies to sick bay!"

Two of the mechs hastily obeyed, their arms laden heavy with supplies. They hurried while their comrades stayed behind, ready for orders.

It took Ratchet several hours to go through the collected junk. Two more security details had to join him and Prowl as he found several severed Decepticon limbs (complete with gears, hoses, and weaponry) and sent the security mechs packing off to medbay, where Ratchet stayed in constant communiqué with his subordinates, coordinating the relocation of supplies.

When Ratchet was nearly finished, a science team arrived, tittering over the broken tools, drones, and ship parts that would come in handy for repairs on broken Autobot ships.

As Ratchet finished up, Prowl was standing at the doorway of the next room, the security detail flanking him. Two mechs answered, sullenly, grieved over losing their assorted junk, though their hoard wasn't nearly as bad as the first quarters. There wasn't much by means of medical supplies, but they gave up their battlefield treasures without word.

Prowl moved on to the next quarters and found them empty due to the structural damage. Then he investigated the supply closet, and found a large stash of pleasure gems. The gems used a combination of electricity and (illegal) intensifier agents to generate a harmonic frequency in a bot's cortex and keep them in a state of near overload, without the need to engage interface panels.

The gems were illegal because some of the minerals were rare, usually found at a site of devastation where intense heat, metals, and ions fused into an amalgam of unstable crystals. As such, the destabilizing nature of their sub-frequency had a side effect of destroying a bot's meta, erasing memories and removing the ability to use ether bands for communication or access subspace pockets.

The Cybertronian frame was a very delicate machine. It was easy to cause a disruption and potentially cause catastrophic failures.

The gems also caused the spark to pulse out of rhythm, sometimes burning itself out in an effort to keep up with the pleasurable input from an overly stimulated cortex.

"These need to be destroyed," Prowl said, narrowing his optics at the innocently glowing gems of death.

"They're dangerous, yes, but there is a way to liquefy them to be used for medicinal purposes," Ratchet said, knowing the stash in front of him was enough to kill every single bot on base….. five times. "But we can't let anyone know we have them. They're illegal for a reason. Who ever has hidden these was hoping to continue their addiction, which means when we remove them, there's going to be one cranky mech who will be needing a dose. If he knows they're in the medical bay, he'll tear the place apart to find them."

"Suggestions?" Prowl asked.

"Wheeljack can store them until I can liquefy them safely, without bots realizing what they are," Ratchet said. He turned laser like optics to the security detail behind him. "You two, take these to Wheeljack's lab. He'll know what they are and where to store them for safe keeping. If you speak a word of this to anyone, you will not only face brig time, but my wrath as well."

The mechs nodded, accepting their burdens and placing an anti-static dust cloth over the boxes to hide their content. They left the room in a hurry, fearing the medic more than anything else.

Ratchet and Prowl waited until the last box was gone before moving on. When they exited, they found two banged up, scuffed up, exhausted mechs entering the next quarters. One was carmine, the other golden.

Ratchet and Prowl had typical run ins with the infamous twins, though neither appeared affected by it. In fact, the two officers had never received so much as a smack down, despite yelling and arguing with the twin menaces. Other bots had been sent to the medic on far less provocation, but for some reason, the medic and SIC were granted more leeway than most.

"Sunstreaker! Sideswipe!" Prowl called.

The twins paused, turning weary optics to the one who called their designations. Sunstreaker offered a curled lip but he was so tired, that was all he could muster by way of warning.

"Prime has ordered quarters to be cleared of debris and potential medical supplies," Prowl said without preamble. "We are here to inspect your quarters and confiscate any medical supplies."

Sunstreaker huffed through his vents, shouldering his way into his quarters without looking back.

"Nothing here," Sideswipe said tiredly, turning to enter his quarters, but Ratchet gasped his wrist, halting him.

"Have you been to medbay?" Ratchet asked, forgoing any anger at the menace to ensure he had proper medical attention.

"Not seriously injured. Mostly…tired," Sideswipe muttered.

Any question to his validity was found in his optics. Normally so bright and shiny and full of mischief, the poor mech was nearly dead on his pedes.

"The slag!" Ratchet barked, pulling out a scanner and finding several error codes registering. "You need medical attention."

"Charge," Sideswipe said sternly. "Now, leave us alone. We need to charge."

Prowl, made of stronger (and probably slightly dumber) stuff, sidestepped Sideswipe and entered the twins quarters. He expected to find it as cluttered as the others but to his utmost surprise, the place was immaculate.

Where other bots had mementoes from their battles, the twins had opted to leave the battles behind them. Their quarters was sparse, practically uninhabited, save for the vast collection of weapons arranged on shelves and filling the storage closet. The only thing of a 'personal' nature was basic cleaning supplies for the weapons and the twins, which occupied a full shelf.

But that was it.

No holograms. Pictures. Pieces of ship. Limbs of the enemy.

Totally Spartan, save for the weapons, which were needed for the battlefield. The twins engagements were twice as long as any other soldier. While others needed down time between battles, the twins thrived on it, often times volunteering for dire combat situations with low percentage of favorable outcome.

Strangely enough, every battle they volunteered was met with success, and minimal losses.

"Get out," Sideswipe grumped, placing a couple of broken rifles on the table for later repair. He settled on his berth, "I'm too tired to frag so go find someone else to annoy."

Sunstreaker was already deep in charge on the berth opposite. It was surreal, seeing him inert, the only sign of his life coming from the low hum of cooling fans. He must have been exhausted, as he slipped into charge without buffing his scratches.

"Sideswipe, do you not have any personal items?" Prowl asked, ignoring the innuendo.

Sideswipe enjoyed riling up the Praxian. It rarely worked, though Sideswipe tried at every opportunity.

"What's the point?" Sideswipe said, cycling air through his vents. "Might terminate tomorrow. What's the point in keeping junk and making someone else clean up after you when you're gone?"

"How very astute of you," Prowl put in.

"Told you, not in a fragging mood," Sideswipe said, glancing to the SIC and giving a cheeky wink. "But if you're really needing it, I can stay awake long enough to watch you finish, though you may have to do all the work yourself."

Prowl's optic ridge rose slightly. A door wing flicked in annoyance.

"Sideswipe, when you and the fragging menace wake up, come to medbay. You need medical attention," Ratchet said, grasping Prowl and herding him toward the door. Ratchet knew better than bother either twin when they were charging. Their survival instincts were brutal.

Sideswipe offered a rude gesture as he powered down.

Prowl shut the door behind Ratchet before the medic could retaliate and escalate the situation.

"Next quarters," Prowl said by way of distraction.

Ratchet grunted, following the Praxian to the next quarters as the security detail returned from delivery the pleasure gems to Wheeljack. Prowl was almost palming the door alarm when he paused, turning to Ratchet.

"You don't think the twins were hiding the pleasure gems, do you?"

Ratchet gave a very unsophisticated snort through his vents.

"Pleasure gems make you happy and near overload. Neither twin fits that description, unless you count Sideswipe trying to seduce everything with a spark chamber."

Prowl agreed. There was a pattern to those who used the illegal stimulants. Though the twins were crazy, lusted for battle, bloodthirsty, brutal, and sometimes grossly inappropriate, their behavior, though disturbing at times, didn't fit the typical pattern of someone who indulged in fake stimulants.

He would have to keep his optics open. Which may be difficult, as he was greeted at the door to the next quarters with a fist to the face.

Last thing Prowl remembered was a large black servo and then the world went dark.

When Prowl woke up, it was to find a full cycle had passed. He groaned, clutching his helm. Ratchet was hovering over him a minute later.

"Sit rep?" he asked Ratchet.

"You are an idiot," Ratchet deadpanned.

Prowl grunted, rising to sit on the berth and blink slowly at the medical ward which slowly came into focus.

"I meant, have I missed anything of importance?" Prowl asked rubbing his helm. Oh, his processor was aching in ways he forgot.

"Couple of staff meetings," Ratchet said, running a scanner over Prowl. "Couple of minor tussles. Friendly brutality."

"What?" Prowl asked, wondering if he heard correctly.

"The twins."

Yup, Prowl heard correctly. He rubbed his aching helm, wondering what trouble the two had gotten into now that they were back, rested, and refueled with fresh orneriness.

"What did they get into this time? Or should I ask, whom did they slag off?"

Ratchet hid a snicker at the SIC's rare use of profanity. He was becoming better at it thanks to the twins. And maybe a little of Ratchet's influence.

Said twins then entered medbay, and to Prowl's disbelief, they were carrying the massive arm of a triple changer. They bypassed the berths and headed straight to one of Ratchet's supply closets.

"Dare I ask?" Prowl said, glancing back to Ratchet.

Ratchet offered a one sided shrug.

"After the twins charged and refueled, they began assisting me in collecting supplies."

"They know what to look for?" Prowl scoffed.

"Better than we realize," Ratchet said and there was no mistaking fondness. "They suggested rotational patterns of inspections of quarters, coupled with added security measures to prevent mechs from hiding their stashes in places we've already checked, and have been working diligently with the reclamation of medical supplies. Two of the supply closets are now full."

"That's uncharacteristically helpful of them," Prowl muttered, narrowing his optics as the two miscreants exited the supply closet sans triple changer arm and waltzed up to the SIC, Sideswipe with a slag eating grin and Sunstreaker with his usual handsome scowl.

"I told you, Prowl, medbay isn't the place for a frag," Sideswipe snickered.

Prowl glared in annoyance. He didn't appreciate the innuendo, especially when there were other bots around to overhear Sideswipe's inappropriate suggestions. That's how rumors got started. Prowl wasn't in the mood to deal with gossiping mechs and having his authority questioned by those who believed they could dissuade their punishment details by trading favors.

"Do you want brig time?" Prowl asked.

"Not enough room!" Sideswipe cackled, nudging his twin in the shoulder.

Sunstreaker offered a deadly grin to make plating crawl. The mech could be downright terrifying when he wanted to be.

"Come on, idiot," Sunstreaker said, grasping his twin by the arm and marching him toward the exit. "We have another thirty-nine rooms to clean out."

"Bye Prowler!" Sideswipe called, laughing all the way out the door.

"I'm going to send them both to the brig for the duration of their activation," Prowl huffed, doorwings hiking painfully in agitation. Nearby mechs scuttled away, sensing danger.

"As Sideswipe said, there's no room," Ratchet put in with an amused smirk. "When they heard you had been attacked, they went to the brig and properly disciplined the mech who punched you. Not sure if he's regained consciousness or not, I haven't checked on him."

Prowl scowled. "Why would they do such a thing?"

It didn't bother him that Ratchet had not attended a patient the twins had roughed up. He was more concerned over why they would do such a thing. It wasn't in their nature to defend someone's honor.

"Honestly, I think they retaliated on your behalf," Ratchet said, offering an affectionate chuckle. "Sideswipe may give you grief but I think deep down, he likes you. Respects you."

"Then why does he constantly strain my resolve and question my orders at every opportunity?" Prowl asked.

"Because he likes to rile you up," Ratchet deadpanned. "You have to admit, you've expressed some rather strong and often times irrational emotions when the resident idiot is involved."

Prowl opened his mouth to speak, paused, then closed it again, huffing air through his vents. He frowned.

"Wait, why is the brig so full? Was there an attack?"

"You could say that," Ratchet chuckled darkly. "Anyone who doesn't let the security team or medics into their quarters for inspection get the slag beat out of them and dragged off to the brig."

"Why…would they do such a thing?" Prowl muttered.

"Personally, I think it's because you were knocked out, so they're taking their aggression out on anyone who disobeys your orders," Ratchet said with one sided shrug. "Then again, maybe they just enjoy beating the slag out of everyone and didn't get it out of their system on the battlefield."

"I find either scenario to be highly unlikely," Prowl sniffed.

Two security mechs entered carrying several crates of medical grade energon. And sporting severe scuffs of gold and red scratches.

Apparently the security detail didn't want to take orders from the twins and were educated on duties.

They deposited their loads near one of the supply rooms, gave crisp nods to the SIC and CMO, and exited.

"I'll have to have a word with the security teams," Prowl frowned. "They should have sent the twins to the brig for attacking an unarmed prisoner. Not allow the twins the opportunity to run this operation."

Ratchet laughed, rolling his optics. "Like the security detail can give either of them orders. The only one they go to the brig for is you. And when you were hurt, they got even on your behalf. Then assumed your role while you were out of commission and have been overseeing the task. Quite a few bots were foolish enough to argue and refuse their orders, hence why the brig is so full. A good smack down and security took them to holding cells to await your orders. They may not possess your finesse but there's a lot less resistance now that everyone is aware of who is in charge."

"I bet," Prowl sighed.

The comms erupted over both senior officers, making them wince at Sunstreaker's irate voice.

'Hey slaggers! If Prowl's better, both of you get your afts to section zeta zeta four. Eight mechs thought they could jump us so we wouldn't go through their quarters and now they're all over the hall down here. The brig's full. So you two aft heads get down here and figure out what to do with them. Sideswipe's nearly through breaking their code. Might want to bring extra security. There's probably something in their stash they didn't want us to find.'

'On our way,' Ratchet and Prowl confirmed in unison.

They were out the door and heading to the mentioned section when Ratchet frowned, turning to Prowl.

"Wait, did Sunstreaker just give us orders?"

Prowl's scowl deepened. "Appears so. I shall add the offense to the list and adjust their incarceration time."

Sunstreaker broke over comms again, cutting off Ratchet's response.

'Ratchet, bring a big transport! We found over fifty cubes of medical grade, unrefined carbon, at least two hundred Decepticon weapons, and at least one hundred spark chambers!'

'Affirmative,' Ratchet said, sending out a request to any available transport model. To Prowl he said, "Can you wait to punish them? They're better than turbo-ferrets finding supplies."

The weapons would have to be checked by the scientific crew, but the spark chambers were especially interesting to Ratchet. The alloys used in the housing for their life force was unique. Typically if there was damage to the chamber, a bot terminated because their spark could not survive long being exposed. But with a ready supply of spent chambers, Ratchet would be able to weld patches and thus, save lives.

Oh, he was so happy, he could dance!

Until he entered zeta zeta four section.

Bodies and parts littered everywhere. A couple of limbs were removed, lying innocently in the middle of the hall. Energon was spattered on the walls and floor. Eight mechs lay in assorted heaps, unconscious, disfigured, and requiring extensive medical attention.

"Those slagging Pit spawned hellions of Unicron's rusty spike!" Ratchet bellowed, realizing how much work he was going to have to perform. "I'll slagging terminate those two fragging menaces!"

Prowl grasped Ratchet's arm to keep him from advancing. Just then, the twins exited a room, one dragging, the other pushing a Decepticon satellite relay.

"What is that doing here?" Prowl asked, elbowing Ratchet aside to join the twins who were huffing and puffing, trying to move the heavy chunk of machinery.

"Think this thing is active?" Sideswipe asked, panting from the exertion of shoving the machine.

"If not, our Special Ops teams can get it operational. This could be the tactical advantage we have been waiting for," Prowl said, rubbing his chin. He glanced to the assorted mechs decorating the hall. "The question remains, why was it hidden on base?"

"Probably a spy," Sunstreaker said, dark optics scanning the unconscious mechs.

"High probability," Prowl agreed.

"There's some crates in back," Sideswipe said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Had to move this out of the way so we can get to them. Let's go see what else they're hiding."

Ratchet shoved the ruby mech out of the way, earning a disgruntled half chuckle. He checked the locks on the top crate and released the mechanisms, allowing the crate to open and reveal its contents.

All four mechs gasped in alarm, Prowl immediately flooding the comms with orders.

'Hazardous material team to zeta zeta four! All personnel, evacuate the area. This is not a drill!'

Hurriedly the four exited, Ratchet waving at the transport and security detail who had answered the summons.

"Unstable chemicals!" Ratchet yelled. "Everyone grab an unconscious mech and fall back to the med bay for medical check."

"Slag! We were in there a long time!" Sideswipe said as carried one of the unconscious mechs across his shoulders. Sunstreaker kept pace beside him. "Our parts aren't going to fall off, are they?"

"We'll see," Ratchet said ominously.

As soon as they entered medbay they rushed into the isolation ward, where they were scanned for contaminants. Thankfully everyone was cleared, including the unconscious mechs. Ratchet kept them in stasis until Prowl was ready to deal with them. And considering he had a brig full of disgruntled bots, and two miscreants frontliners who enjoyed pushing the limits, it may be awhile before Prowl was able to determine the best course of action in finding out the truth. If there was a spy on base, they needed to know.

Inspiration struck.

"Ratchet, bring the mechs out of stasis. Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, I believe both of you are accomplished interrogators?"

Sideswipe grinned. Sunstreaker nodded once.

"Very well. You have permission, barring termination, to interrogate the ones hiding this worrisome contraband."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Ratchet asked, jerking his head to the twins. "Might not be wise letting those two idiots be in charge of finding out crucial information."

"If there is a spy amongst our ranks, it is imperative we know, including any co-conspirators," Prowl stated sternly. "The twins may lack certain skill sets, but their reputation is well known. Fear can be a powerful ally."

Sunstreaker's scowl nearly burned a hole through Prowl. He didn't like the idea of someone questioning his skill set. He may lack a certain grace and disregarded most rules of engagement, but he had saved countless lives. Prowl was right in that Sunstreaker's reputation proceeded him. Everyone knew he was not a bot to mess with.

"We'll get answers," he promised darkly. "If there's a spy, we'll find him."

Sideswipe agreed. "Can we have first dibs on terminating him when we do find him?"

Prowl didn't even pause. The punishment for treason was immediate termination. Didn't matter the manner as long as it got the job done. And the twins wouldn't slack when it came to terminating someone. In fact, their brutality may serve as a reminder to any other potential spies in their ranks. Fear was a great motivator and deterrent.

"Agreed," Prowl said.

Prowl didn't need the sensors on his doorwings to sense the jubilation radiating from the twins at the declaration. If anyone could find a spy hidden in their midst, it was the twins. They may be brutal and scarily efficient, but they didn't back down from any one or any thing. They were fierce. Loyal. Determined. Hard working. Tough armored and reinforced back strut. They didn't take slag but they could sure dish it out.

They were the perfect bots for the job.

Prowl would trust no other, aside from himself, with the task. He was secretly thrilled they volunteered. Determined he may be, but he wasn't sure he could effect the same level of brutality as the twins.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have a brig to clean out," Prowl said, whirling and marching away.

The interrogations were in great servos.

Until Sideswipe spoke.

"Hey Ratchet, strip off your armor before you reboot them. That will scare them more than me and Sunny!"

Clang!

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Yes, Sideswipe is a lovable idiot. Oh, how I have missed these two and their high jinx.

Hoping to get back on a regular schedule. Reviews help the muse, so be sure to click that button right down there and let me know what you think.