I'm not reposting all the warnings. If you didn't read them in Pt. 1, then on your head be it.

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Pt. 12

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The pop of displaced air couldn't be heard up on the platform, but Starscream whipped around and dropped into a defensive stance even before the purple flash of light consolidated into Skywarp's distinctive colors. He looked as if he expected the purple-and-black Seeker to attack, too.

"You as well?" he barked, angrily shrill as the audience erupted into startled chatter. "Has the entire Armada gone mad?!"

Skywarp's hands went up, and the flyer stumbled back a couple steps. His optics were locked on the gruesome drip of internal fluids down his wingmate's hands. "Hey, no, back off!" His volume dropped a little, and the crowd hushed to listen. "Like you're one to talk? Since when do I have to be the reasonable one, anyway?"

That bought him a moment; Starscream relaxed fractionally to eye him askance. "What?"

Skywarp nodded up into the audience, a petulant scowl replacing words as he switched to internal comm. Starscream's optics followed the gesture, zeroing in on Jazz like the Autobot had a target painted on him. Narrowed, serious blue met furious red, and Starscream seemed confused. Combat-ready eased into wary, then into disbelieving. The Air Commander snapped his optics back to Skywarp, obviously incredulous. Whatever the other Seeker was saying, Starscream either couldn't believe it or couldn't believe who it was coming from. Jazz could almost sympathize with that last one.

Skywarp, in turn, wasn't shy about vigorously waving his arms in the air as he tried to drill holes in his wingleader by glaring alone. Exasperation windmilled around him. It seemed that he couldn't believe he was the one acting as mediator. If he had be the reasonable one for the greater good, then he was going to be as unreasonable as possible about it. Starscream bristled back at him, unwilling to concede whatever point had been raised.

There was only a flicker of red optics toward Jazz after the silent gesturing began, but some of the audience turned to follow that look. Acid Storm shifted uneasily at the Autobot's side as an ugly murmur began to spread. The atmosphere in the arena darkened underneath the night sky, and something close to the charge of impending lightning started to gather.

This could still turn very bad.

Jazz wasn't watching the crowd, however. He could feel the mood shift and change, but his visor stayed on the dimly-lit shape sprawled behind Starscream's thrusters. It twitched in the rust of the arena floor. Blue narrowed further, urging, 'C'mon.' The mangled body was slowly turned onto one wing, huddling in on itself, but that was an involuntary - if useless - movement. He'd seen mechs without heads try to curl inward like that in their last seconds. It was body-reflex to try and protect the spark chamber. 'C'mon, Thundercracker.'

Now, the hand groping toward Starscream's foot? That was conscious.

The argument stopped as sensors registered the motion, and a tense coil around Jazz's core twisted just that much tighter when Starscream and Skywarp looked down. The audience went dead silent, ugly rabble-rousing diverted as Thundercracker's searching hand touched a crippled turbine. The fingers hesitated. Everyone's vents closed, holding a collective breath.

If Thundercracker tried to fight again, Jazz was going to let him die.

The dark, crumpled helm lifted laboriously from the intake it'd slumped onto, and an abrasive metallic skreel buzzed through the waiting silence. Thundercracker tried to turn a little more onto his side, but although his wings were damaged, they hadn't bent enough to allow that. When he coughed his mouth clear, the murky fluids oozed down his cheek instead of spattering onto the ground.

The word gurgled alarmingly, but was still understandable: "…y-yield."

Starscream snarled, and it was as sinister as a gunshot during a fist fight. From the look Skywarp gave him, it was as unexpected, too. "No, you don't." He turned on his injured turbine, deliberately setting the flat of his foot on Thundercracker's reaching fingers. He leaned forward to really grind his weight down on them. "And do you know why?"

A pained whine was clearly heard through the arena. "St-arrrgulk," another glob of fluids coughed up from atop his vocalizer, and Thundercracker's tugged futilely on his trapped hand. "S-starscr-ream..?"

Skywarp warily laid a hand on Starscream's upper arm, leaning closer to catch his wingleader's optic. It was either internal comm. or long experience that let the two Seekers exchange something in a glance, but the teleporter let go a moment later. He folded his arms and looked down at the pathetic wreck that had been his wingmate. No evidence of pity crossed his face. There was no hope of rescue from this mech. He seemed to have adopted a bored sort of tolerance for Starscream's mindgames.

Thundercracker's remaining optic sputtered orange and yellow behind broken glass as he tried to focus on the Air Comander sneering down at him. "Because you're not a warrior. You're an oath-breaking glitch who doesn't have any honor left to yield." The smelters operated off of less heat than the vengeance driving Starscream, burning in his own unbroken optic. The outraged hiss he spoke in could have ignited brushed steel, but his wings straightened into a more authoritative position as he sucked in a deep in-vent. The cool mask of an officer made the anger disappear as if it'd never existed. He lifted his chin and looked contemptuously down his nose at the mech huddled nearly under his feet. "Decepticon Thundercracker," he said in a voice so coldly formal it seared fury into the words, "you are hereby demoted from my wing - and from the Armada. You are stripped of all rank within it, nor will contracting with any wing inside it allow you to hold any."

Even through the pain and what had to be truly spectacular onslaught of damage alerts, Thundercracker managed to turn his face up toward the Air Commander. There was stunned horror written among the cuts and scrapes, and an honestly sympathetic 'Ohhh' ghosted through the audience as that registered. Skywarp reset his optics through a blink before shrugging. He nodded acceptance and looked vaguely impressed by the ruling.

"Can he do that?" Jazz whispered, tipping his head to the side without taking his visor off Thundercracker.

Acid Storm tipped his head to meet him halfway, attention engrossed in the show. "Apparently," he whispered back.

"I thought he had another rank?"

"Decommissioned."

"Ouch."

Lit all around by the light of many optics and from below by one badly-protected spark, Starscream had never looked more imposing. "Do you understand, Decepticon?"

Fluid-coated lips moved silently for a very long moment. Eventually, having no choice, Thundercracker found words. "Yes." He flinched as the foot on his hand crushed it further. "Commander!" Metal sheared, and the blue Seeker cried out hoarsely. "Sir, yes sir, I understand, Air Commander - sir!"

Starscream scraped his foot away, dislocating two of the blue Seeker's fingers in the move. A muted cough answered the move, scream blocked by more fluids, and Thundercracker tried to pull in his newly-damaged hand. The awkward position he was in didn't allow it. For a klik, he just lay there. His helm had slumped back to rest on his intake, but Jazz thought the jet seemed to be gathering strength. His functioning optic dimmed, and the horror on his face fell into a kind of hollow despair. The whole arena hushed even further, leaning forward, and Jazz risked a glance up in to the tiers. The flyers all seemed to be waiting for something, understanding what was going on at a level he, the outsider, just didn't see. He looked back to the arena floor.

"What're we waiting for?" Jazz asked, still whispering. He was oddly reluctant to raise his voice. It was less a feeling of 'yelling in a recovery ward' and more of 'don't be a target'.

Acid Storm gave him an impatient flick of his optics. There was a second of silence where the Rainmaker seemed to debate the wisdom of answering an Autobot's questions, but Jazz's dubious status won out again. "He's out of the Armada, and now he's got the rank of, what, a footsoldier?" He seemed a little amused by that thought. "Thundercracker the grunt. Huh. That's going to take some getting used to." He shook his head. "That doesn't make him any less of a Decepticon, however, and he got into a fight with an officer. Not just any officer, either."

"The Air Commander, Second-in-Command of the Decepticons," Jazz finished, mouth twisting to one side as he got it. "Punishment?"

"Oh, yes."

"Bad?"

"He'll probably survive. Examples are more effective when you can watch them crawl away afterward." The mottled green Seeker didn't bring up the fact that having the Autobot Third-in-Command around to witness might play into the life-or-death decision. Down in the arena, Knock Out had bustled forward and totally ignored the more critical patient. Instead, the flashy red medic started fussing around Starscream. The Air Commander traded snarking comments with him and Skywarp, who just looked bored now. "We're waiting to see if Thundercracker can appease our beloved," ah, sarcasm, everyone's old friend, "Air Commander enough to be punished personally."

Now there was a mental image Jazz didn't really want. It had poked something uneasy in his fuel pump to see Sunstorm crawl to Starscream's feet, and the golden clone had been in better shape than Thundercracker. The fight hadn't gone to these extremes even before his…punishment. "What's the alternative?"

"Somebody'll haul him to the nearest Decepticon base to be strung up by the barracks' master for insubordination, treason, disrespect, failure to obey, resistance, conspiracy, noncompliance, mutiny, and assault." Just in case the Autobot forgot he was talking with the officer who'd led the Armada for four million years, the look on Acid Storm's face was all the reminder needed. There was something infinitely ruthless burning in those red optics. "Basically, he'll be charged for the crime of existing with intent to continue living."

"Everything but the kitchen sink," the small black-and-white mech muttered.

That earned a tranquil smile. "I have no idea what that is, but probably that, too. Twice, if the Air Commander's really riled." The smile twisted like a knife and sliced across the Rainmaker's deceptive charm to show the officer he was underneath. "I doubt anyone would see our poor dear grunt off-base ever again. The first thing I'd do is take his wings, and he'd never get them back with a list of offenses like that." A quick flick of thoughtful optics. "Plus a kitchen sink."

"Wonderful," Jazz said heavily. "Just peachy."

Acid Storm gave him a strange look. "What do Autobots do when two mechs get in a fight?"

"Depends on the mechs," he replied absently. Most of his thoughts were on the scene below. His HUD popped up a window to zoom in on Thundercracker, running calculations on just how badly the blue Seeker was damaged. Thundercracker was slowly gathering himself up into a less heap-like position. How much 'punishment' could he tolerate before offlining? "Punishment detail usually ranges from extra scutwork to brig time. Sometimes we transfer the mechs t' different units to prevent future conflict. Demotion," he added, "if it's a repeat offense or Medical files charges." He blinked and threw a look up at the green Seeker. The strange look had intensified. "Why?"

"You get brig time for hitting an officer?" Acid Storm asked, frankly incredulous. "I - you know, I'd heard about how soft-sparked the Autobot ranks are, but - really? That's it?"

"There're exceptions for special circumstances, but yeah," the Autobot said cautiously. "We don't promote physical violence as the answer to misbehavior." He just couldn't visualize any circumstances in the Autobots where Thundercracker propping himself up on shaking arms, drawing in audible gasps of air to cool damaged systems, would ever happen. Even Optimus Prime and Grimlock throwing each other around over disagreements was a real rare case of violence being specifically requested, and that'd been by the Dinobot himself. Prime only humored Grimlock when the sparring let off steam instead of causing more strife. Because that's what violence tended to do: feed on itself until it got out of control.

Jazz didn't say anything about his thoughts on how answering violence with violence had led to, well, this. It was probably pretty obvious what he was thinking, however. It wasn't that dark out.

The Rainmaker didn't dismiss the unspoken thought, at least. He just answered it with some spoken skepticism of his own. "How, by Cybertron's silver skyline, do you keep discipline?"

There were a hundred ways to answer that question. First and foremost was responding with a sharp comment about how , hey, because beating on each other for millions of years had done just great things for everyone's discipline! Oh, wait, no, that was called civil war, and the Autobot could use a little less of that in the ranks, thank you very much.

Jazz weighed the possibility of starting a philosophical debate with a Decepticon officer right here and now, but this really wasn't the time. Okay, blunt-object honesty or acidic sarcasm aside, there were still a thousand flippant remarks he could make. But he didn't want to dismiss an open question from someone who was a potential ally.

Argh. Talking with Decepticons was almost as stressful as shooting at them. His threat assessment subprocessor didn't like how everything here had to be triple-analyzed.

He settled for a half-serious answer he thought even a Decepticon could get behind. "Have you ever heard Prime lecture someone?"

"What?" That surprised Acid Storm.

"You must have heard Prime give a speech before, right?" Jazz's lips twitched, trying to stay straight as the Rainmaker hazarded a nod. "He's good at speeches. Great at 'em, really."

"I suppose," the Seeker said neutrally, obviously confused about where this topic was going.

"He puts lotsa thought and emotion into them. Lots of concentration on really making the audience feel what he feels." A hesitant nod. Jazz nodded, too, more ruefully. The Decepticons probably didn't have a clue what being under Optimus Prime was like. The majority of the initial Decepticon High Command officer cadre had been formed before the Matrix chose Optimus, after all. "Now imagine he's very disappointed in you. Just you. All of that speechifying directed at you, disappointed at you, personalized down to the last detail, for hours and hours. It's not pretty."

A dim bulb brightened. "Oh." Brightened further as that scenario really sank in to the Seeker's mind. "Oh."

"Yeah." The rueful twist to his smile had a faint air of nostalgia to it, but Jazz just folded his arms and looked down again. "The thing about liking your leader as well as admiring him," no insult intended; Skywarp seemed to admire Megatron, anyway, "is that it hits you where it hurts when you screw up."

It really did. The lectures were spark-wrenching, but it was worse when Prime just gave a mech his Y U Hurt Me? sad look. Not only did it make the unfortunate mech feel like an utter greaseblotch, but then everyone - yes, everyone - made a point of riding that dumb mech's aft until they felt that he felt properly sorry for making Prime sad. Slingshot had lasted about two days of that treatment before caving and apologizing. That had almost beat the Wreckers' joint record. Although, to be fair, there'd been a lot of distance involved with the Wreckers' incident. Also pride. Slingshot? He was just a jerk.

Mental note: get Prime to try the sad look on a Decepticon. Maybe Megatron. Jazz kind of wanted to see what would happen.

There was still a faint aura of confusion around Acid Storm, but he seemed to accept that for the moment. Mostly because there were more interesting things happening down below.

Thundercracker had managed to get his torso off the ground enough to force his wing out from under himself. Part of an already broken wingspar cracked as that wing dragged across rust. He winced, but the move allowed him to rest on the elbow of his uninjured hand. It also allowed him to hold his damaged hand close, covering the obscene gap that was all that remained of his cockpit. He stared down at the ground as if looking for the right words, but apparently there were no easy solutions there. He slowly winched his helm up, losing another few vent fins in the motion.

"Air Commander, sir?" the blue Seeker asked, and Jazz had never heard someone sound so exhausted.

Starscream took his time turning around, letting Knock Out finish patching a puncture on his lower leg first. Jazz wasn't surprised at the way the medic's hands were, ah, wandering. Skywarp grinned when Starscream had to shake the medic loose, in fact, and the vain little Decepticon leered in return. It was an oddly familiar look. How well did the Decepticon Elite know the medic? Information had always indicated that the Constructicons personally worked on the Elite, yet Knock Out seemed too at ease standing between two superior officers.

Jazz shoved the question into the back of his mind to worry about later as Starscream finally deigned to bestow his attention on the defeated challenger. "Yes?"

Thundercracker almost visibly swallowed his pride. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. "Sir, I withdraw my challenge. I regret my - my presumption. I am unworthy of any position but that far below you, and I - deserve nothing less than your contempt." That looked like it'd hurt to get out. The audience leaned forward, listening eagerly, and even Starscream's coldly displeased expression developed a tint of satisfaction. Watching a former officer grovel was a crowd-pleaser, alright. "Please, Air Commander, sir, I…I beg permission to apologize to you. I ask - " A full-body flinch from Thundercracker as he caught himself, and Starscream tsked just loud enough to be heard. Oops, language of an equal not allowed.

The blue Seeker ducked his head a little - 'Sorry, sir, won't happen again, sir' - and stumbled onward, "I, uh, humbly request you accept my unconditional surrender and…and…" Jazz was actually squirming a little with how uncomfortable this was to listen to, but if the rapt expressions around him were any clue, he was alone in that feeling. "…and punish m-me appropriately for. For my. My."

"For what, soldier?" Starscream rasped, and Skywarp's obnoxious interest beside him was vastly overshadowed by the Air Commander's gloating. "What exactly should I punish you for?"

For once, however, his voice wasn't the worst nasal whine present. Thundercracker's deep bass had devolved into an ingratiating snivel an octave or two higher than his usual voice. It was a pitch he obviously had very limited practice in. "For - for - " His shattered optic glanced frantically around the arena, searching for a way out, a friendly face, anything, but Thundercracker was well and truly trapped by his own actions. Even Jazz could tell the mech had no way out, here.

And his inexperience being in this position made the downed flyer's stretched nerves snap at the worst possible moment. He burst out, "Scrap metal and iron, Starscream, just put me out of my misery already!"

For being dark already, the arena suddenly developed a whole new blackness. This one crackled like an oncoming storm, or like a flouted Air Commander's gathering rage.

"Oo, not cool," Jazz winced. He had to catch himself and translate the Earth lingo. "Means not, uh, good."

"You said it," Acid Storm seconded, but his sympathetic wince had definite undertones of gaiety. It was mirrored throughout the crowd, which was merrily taking bets again. This was the best show in town!

"Nice knowing you, Thundercracker," Skywarp quipped, positively gleeful, but his ex-wingmate was scrambling back with strength only desperation could lend.

Ruined leg or not, Thundercracker wasn't staying within arm's reach of anybody who looked like that. Frag, dead bodies would try to get away from Starscream when he wore that expression. Especially if the Air Commander was stalking after them. They'd probably get up and run if he were closing his fists like that.

Thundercracker didn't have that option, and his babbling narrated a descent into panic: "I'm sorry! Sir! I'm sorry, sir, I meant no disrespect, Air Commander, sir, forgive me, please, pardon m-my error, sir, it was a mistake, I'm sorry!" The cowering mech scooted himself across the ground before Starscream's slow advance. "Please, sir, I apologize, sir! I sur-surrender, I b-beg your forg-giveness, sir - !" Thundercracker's good turbine clanked off of Starscream's foot, and the blue Seeker's voice ended in a frightened squeak.

He froze into a trembling statue. At some point, even terror recognized there was no escape. He just stared up at his doom, one functioning optic wide and mouth silently forming a litany of useless words. Starscream loomed over him, and Jazz couldn't imagine what the frightened Seeker saw by the upcast light of his own spark.

He should do something. But Jazz didn't have the slightest idea of what, and that had him as paralyzed as the helpless mech below.

"Is that what you want, Thundercracker?" The Autobot jolted in surprise, and he wasn't the only one. Around the arena, the husky rasp ran a seductive caress over a thousand wings. Acid Storm snapped straight beside him, and every single optic locked on the Air Commander. Starscream ignored their astonishment to kneel beside his ex-wingmate and grasp the crippled mech's throat in a cruel hand. The rough grip was all the harder to understand for Starscream's thrumming tone. "I could put you out of your misery, if that's so."

"No." Thundercracker seemed half-hypnotized, half-petrified by Starscream's behavior. His hands hovered defensively in front of his open chest, dislocated fingers stark against the light, but Starscream's other hand brushed them aside easily. It dipped into the nearly-solid glow, playing gently in the streamers of plasma, and the blue Seeker keened as his optic suddenly shut off. "Please. Sir. Air Commander, sir. No."

"No?" And Starscream's face was indeed terrible, lit into ghastly relief. The hand on Thundercracker's neck was the only thing keeping the blue Seeker down as blue fingers twined into his spark, and he writhed, back arching an involuntary echo of Starscream's stroking. The Air Commander ruthlessly pinned him down and tugged on a near-solid strand of sparklight until his challenger cried out. It was something more pain-ravaged than a pleasured wail, and it tore from Thundercracker's vocalizer to echo around the arena. "I'm fairly certain you gave me - me! - that order not a klik ago. Isn't that so, Skywarp?"

The purple-and-black Seeker was a dim shape, barely lit by the mesmerized optics of the crowd. He shook himself out of his own staring. "Uh…yeah, I'm pretty sure I heard that, too."

"What did he, hmm," a particularly sadistic pull had Thundercracker wriggling like a fish on a hook, "say? Remind me. I'm not very good at remembering orders given to me by rankless empties."

Skywarp stepped closer, until his sweetly insincere smile could be seen in the light as he so-innocently repeated, "He said, 'Beat me into spare parts, because I'm a space-case geek.'"

"Really? Is that what you said, Thundercracker?" Starscream turned sharp optics toward the blue Seeker's beaten face, turning his head as if the spark he played with was suddenly beneath his notice. "Is that what you are?"

Air stuttered in and out of Thundercracker's vents in big gulps: sobs of terror and pain and something even worse that had Jazz pressing a hand over his own spark. It fluttered in troubled response to the helpless mech's choked cry.

Thundercracker's fritzing optic came back on, and it mutely beseeched his ex-wingleader for mercy. Shaking hands lifted, daring to touch Starscream's wrists. He seemed afraid to risk trying to push them away. "Y-yes, sir, Air Commander, sir," he mewled, arching again with a gasp. "I'm…I'm a space c-case g-ge-geek."

Starscream made a small sound of agreement. "What else did he say?" he asked Skywarp, mockingly attentive despite the rising sound of an excited crowd all around them. Where the sight of the Air Commander swirling his hand inside Thundercracker's chest disturbed Jazz immensely, the Decepticons apparently liked it. Acid Storm's fans were burring away beside Jazz, and the Rainmaker was riveted by the scene.

"He said he's a dolt and a boltbrained dweeb who can't fly worth a credit."

"Oh?"

"Yes - augh! - y-yes, ssssir." A mechanical creel of agony interrupted his tortured self-abasement as fingers clenched. Thundercracker's head fell back, held upright only by the hand wrapped around his throat as the pain mixed with undiluted bliss until it became a purely loathsome sensation, and he cried out weakly. His hands feebly pushed, but Starscream shook them off. He also shook the blue Seeker until he managed to raise his head again and blearily continue, "I-I'm a…a dolt, a-and…and. And I'm." He hesitated, giving Skywarp an unconsciously pleading look.

"A boltbrained, underclocked, grounder-loving dweeb who can't fly worth a credit," his ex-wingmate repeated, ever the helpful mech.

Thundercracker whimpered, trying to process that. He gave up after a moment, unable to repeat something that complicated. "Y-yes, sir, Air C-Comm-aand-der," his ducts were so damaged air pressure was plugging vents as broken fins flipped up and stuck in place, and he had to pause to pant. It drew cooler air in, but it also bent things inside already-damaged intakes. "I'm…wh-whatever you say? S-sir?" He cringed as far as he could, expecting a blow for his failure.

Starscream rewarded him with another tender stroke, however. That had him cringing for an entirely different reason. "Hmm. I suppose it's good you know your place. You do know your place, correct?" he asked pointedly.

The blue wreck of a Seeker nodded as vigorously as he could against the hand on his throat. "Yes, sir, Air Commander, sir!" The force of his words brought up another glob of fluids, and Thundercracker's face was comical in its horror as yellow-green lubricant dripped from his lips down onto Starscream's wrist. A wave of chuckles went through the audience, but it was the kind of amusement found in a hyena's laugh. "S-orry, sir, please, sir, I-I didn't - I didn't mean to - !"

A sneer of distaste silenced the downed flyer, and Starscream shook him again for good measure. "Disgusting waste of engine pieces and used oil," he snarled.

"Yes, sir!"

"I'd send you to the recyclers, but you'd never make it through their standards. You're only fit for the smelter!"

Thundercracker wilted. If there was anything left of the dignified Elite Decepticon Seeker Jazz knew, he didn't see it in the mech who lowered his sole remaining optic and meekly said, "Yes, sir. I…I a-apologize for - for my poor qu - " He hastily swallowed down a bubble of something before it seeped out. "For my poor quality. Sir."

The whole arena practically hummed with the power of over six hundred flyers' fans going all at once. Starscream raised his head and looked around the optic-lit darkness, and his face slid into a crafty expression. "Yes, I should have you melted down for floor paneling, but Skywarp?" Skywarp perked to attention, bending over his wingleader solicitously. "I believe Thundercracker ordered me to do something?"

That lone optic shot up, barely daring to hope. Jazz felt a weird surge of hope as well, because Skywarp was a mean, evil fragger with the most twisted sense of humor ever birthed by a war - but he wanted Jazz to be in his debt. It was there in the way the teleporter glanced quickly up at the Autobot. They nodded fractionally at each other.

"I think he said you should beat him," he said to the Air Commander.

Starscream seemed to think that over, shifting his grip on Thundercracker's throat until he had the blue Seeker by the chin instead. He studied him. "I don't know. Do you deserve a beating, soldier?"

Trick question: say yes, and Starscream would bring down an even harsher punishment for being impudent enough to set terms. Say no, and Starscream would punish him further for failing to recognize the severity of his crime.

Talking with Decepticons was sort of like an extreme sport version of Russian Roulette. Or juggling live grenades with one arm. Things were going to get messy; it was only a question of when.

Even pain-addled and spark-tormented, however, Thundercracker was a Decepticon himself. "I deser-serve the whip, Air Commander, sir. It is at…at your discretion, sir, that I live or die by it."

That was a good answer, evidently. An approving murmur swept through the crowd, and Starscream's sneer upticked into something in the vicinity of neutral. That was an improvement over the burning anger that had been the dominant emotion driving him since Thundercracker first challenged. Skywarp barked out a laugh, folding his arms and giving Jazz a triumphant smirk. The Autobot met his smug look with a steady blue gaze, but Jazz just inclined his head in acknowledgement.

Starscream stood up abruptly, thrusting Thundercracker away as if his very presence were a contamination. The blue Seeker stifled a cry as he was knocked flat. "Knock Out!" The pleasing rasp was gone, replaced by the Air Commander's regular screech. "Get this pile of junk functional enough not to deactivate immediately. You two!" He pointed to a couple of random flyers in the first tier. "Have him positioned and bound by the time basic repairs are finished. Pick a good spot." The sneer returned briefly. "I want everyone to see this."

The medic hustled over, smarmy grin already in place, but Starscream had already strode away. An impatient gesture had Skywarp following at his heels. "And someone get those lights operational! Primus, how many Decepticons does it take to screw in a lightbulb?!"

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End Pt. 12

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