My sister told me the most amusing thing the other day. Apparently, we have corrupted a young and innocent mind with Transformers. My 5 year old step-nephew had to write a letter to Santa for school, and my sister asked him what he wanted for Christmas. He said he wanted a Transformer. My sister asked him, "But I thought you wanted a toy airplane for Christmas." To which he replied, "I want a Transformer that turns into an airplane!" Ah, another Starscream fan begins early in life. ;p We're so proud.

Sorry this took so long to crank out, it was amazingly hard for me to write this chapter. Thankfully, my twin was there to kick me in the butt and make me finish it, so here you are. I hope you enjoy it. Thanks ever so much to my wonderful reviewers as well, you guys rock.

It has been a while since I mentioned this, so here goes: I own nothing, and I am broke. But Christmas is coming soon. --hopeful grin--

Now, enough with my rambling, on to the story.

It had been a peaceful few weeks for the beleaguered Autobots living at the Ark. The Decepticons' activities had been limited to a few minor raids on shipping and the like, easily stopped with few injuries.

Most of the mechs were enjoying the mild respite from the ages-old war for as long as it would last, knowing they might not get many more chances like this. However, there was one mech who did not relax. Every day that passed wound him tighter and tighter with tension, waiting for the inevitable attack.

Red Alert fretted. He fretted about everything. He was good at it. After all, in a way fretting was his job. As the security director for the Autobots, he had to worry about every aspect of the defense of the Ark and its inhabitants.

There were many mechs who dismissed him as fanatical and paranoid. He thought they were too careless with their own safety, and he just knew that some of them were Decepticon sympathizers, but Prime refused to listen to him on that point. In Red Alert's opinion, Prime was entirely too trusting for his own good, so it was up to Red Alert to make sure that trust was not abused.

Anyway, if the security director's detractors knew all of the ways the 'Cons could murder them as they recharged, they'd be paranoid, too.

It didn't help that the criminal element among the Autobots did their level best to feed that paranoia, finding it hilarious to see the poor Lamborghini fritz out, and even funnier to hear Ratchet's cursing when the medic had to fix him. It was as much due to Red Alert's fear of being pranked as it was threat of Decepticon attack that had Red constantly glancing over his shoulder, twitching nervously as he made his rounds.

So far, the usual tricksters had been as quiet as the Decepticons. Most of the command element breathed a sigh of relief and hoped that maybe, just maybe, this time they had learned their lessons. Red Alert knew better. Sideswipe, at least (who was usually the ring leader), was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. The security director knew that the longer his fellow Lamborghini was quiet, the more elaborate was the prank he planned. Add to this the fact that Red Alert had not been the subject of a prank for quite some time, and you had a recipe for disaster.

It was with a great sense of relief, then, when Red Alert made it to the security center to do a last systems check before the end of his shift. If he could make it to his quarters without incident, he'd be safe for one more day, at least.

He typed his access code into the main console. As he waited for the computer to acknowledge his passcode, he visually checked each monitor showing every part of the base, barring personal quarters. (He had argued for cameras in the living quarters as well, but Prime had firmly denied him.) All monitors showed normal activity, or at least as normal as the Autobots ever got.

The main console beeped, drawing his attention away from the security cameras. It took a moment for his mind to make sense of what was on the screen.

"Access restricted: security level gamma zulu access code required."

Red Alert stared. "What the…? That makes no sense! I've never heard of that security level before…" He retried his code with the same result. He then tried the master override code, which should have gotten him into any system in the base save Prime's personal files. Still, the same response.

Red Alert started to fritz.

Inferno checked his internal chronometer again. Red Alert was several breems late from his shift. It was normal for the red and white Lamborghini to work extra hours, but the fire truck had made him promise to come back on time today and spend some time with his best friend. Inferno had every intention of dragging Red to the common room, if need be, and drink a few cubes of high grade together. (Red didn't need to know it was Sideswipe's special home-brewed high grade; that would spoil the fun.) Inferno was determined that Red would relax for once if it killed him. If he ever got back from his shift.

Inferno began pacing Red Alert's quarters with anxious energy. It wasn't like his friend to just ignore a promise. He hoped Red hadn't gotten into trouble again with his wild conspiracy theories, or worse, locked his processor. As that thought entered Inferno's CPU, he abruptly stopped pacing and decided he'd better go check on Red, just in case. He opened the door and set out for the security center at an easy jog.

When he reached his destination, he found an all too familiar sight—Red Alert was slouched over the console typing and muttering to himself madly. Inferno was surprised that there weren't sparks flying from the Lamborghini's vents, he was so worked up. "Uh, Red…what's going on?" Red Alert ignored him. "Red. Red. RED ALERT!"

The security director jumped, startled, then lunged for Inferno. The fire truck dodged before he realized that his friend wasn't aiming for him. Red Alert slammed the open door closed and locked it with a jerky motion. "We can't be too careful," he mumbled fearfully.

"What's wrong, Red?" Inferno asked, with a placating gesture toward the excitable Lamborghini.

Red Alert's expression softened briefly, before hardening into harsh lines. "You're the only one I can trust, Inferno," he said anxiously.

"'Course you can trust me, Red," Inferno replied soothingly. "Can you tell me what's going on?" Inferno knew that his only chance at talking Red down was by playing along with him, at least for now.

"I think the Decepticons have infiltrated the security network," Red Alert said quietly, returning to his computer console to continue his furious typing. Inferno took advantage of Red's distraction to send a quiet comm message to the Ark's resident medic.

::Inferno to Ratchet.::

::Ratchet here. Go ahead,:: the CMO replied.

::We've got a problem with Red Alert. I need you to get to the security center quick before he blows a circuit.:: Inferno paused for a moment. ::You may want to bring backup.::

There was a certain grim glee in Ratchet's tone as he answered. ::Always do, when Red Alert's involved. Those glitching Lamborghini twins are here pestering the slag out of me right now; I might as well put the fraggers to work. I'll be there shortly. Ratchet out.::

In the med bay, Ratchet turned an evil grin onto the two unholy terrors that were currently making his life miserable. "Hey. Frik and Frak. If you're going to hang around me, by Primus you're at least going to make yourselves useful. I need some muscle to restrain Red Alert at the security center and you two just volunteered."

Two pairs of blue optics widened innocently. "Uh, Red Alert, Ratchet?" Sideswipe stuttered.

"Yes, you malfunctioning glitch, Red Alert," Ratchet replied in annoyance.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Doc? I mean, he don't exactly like us much…" Sideswipe wheedled.

"He's starting to fritz, and I need someone who can hold him if he tries to kick up a fuss. You two happen to be convenient." Ratchet's optics narrowed suspiciously as an idea occurred to him. "You wouldn't happen to have had anything to do with this, would you boys?" he purred with silky menace. This question was met with frantic headshaking and denials. "Then you won't have any trouble helping me, now, will you?"

"I guess not," Sideswipe mumbled, sharing a resigned glance with his brother.

"Good," Ratchet said, with satisfaction. "Now get your afts in gear and get moving!"

Upon reaching the security center they found the door locked. Fortunately Ratchet, as CMO, had the authority to override any door lock in the Ark, and he wasted no time in silently opening the door and slipping inside, the twins on his heels.

Inferno looked up at their entrance, from where he stood at the security director's shoulder, murmuring soothing words and trying his best to calm his friend down. Red Alert was oblivious to the new arrivals, babbling nervously over his console about Decepticon spies and traitors in the Ark.

The medic sidled up to the other red and white, a tranquilizer in hand to sedate Red Alert before he could hurt himself. Something must have given Ratchet away, however, because the ambulance was unable to administer the tranquilizer before the security director turned and sprang on him. This created a Lamborghini dog-pile as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker joined the fray, pulling Red Alert off his fellow officer and pinning him to the floor. Red was snarling and hurling curses and accusations of treason at the twins as they held him down.

"Now, Red, this is for your own good," Ratchet said firmly, injecting the sedative into a main energon line. "He must have seen my reflection in the monitors or something," he said wearily as Red went limp, and the medic got to his feet. "Get him down to the med bay and I'll keep him for observation overnight. What do you think set him off?" This last was directed at Inferno.

"He said something about Decepticons hacking into the security network. I suppose we could have Wheeljack or Perceptor come in and have a look at it later. It's probably just a glitch in the system," the fire truck replied. "Will he be alright?"

Ratchet nodded. "He'll be fine once he wakes up. I'll call you when he does." Inferno smiled in relief and helped a grumbling Sunstreaker pick Red Alert up. The CMO then turned to Sideswipe as the two maneuvered their burden toward the med bay. "A glitch in the system, Sideswipe. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Sideswipe gave what he had come to think of as the 'stupid Lamborghini' grin, the one that said, 'Look at me, I'm too dumb to do anything.' "C'mon, Ratch'. You know I don't know anything about computers."

Ratchet stared at him contemplatively for a moment, then nodded. "I suppose that would be a little complicated for you to pull off, wouldn't it." The medic turned and left for his med bay.

For once, Sideswipe was grateful for the universal assumption that he and his brother were all brawn and no brains. As soon as Ratchet was out of audio range, Sideswipe quickly turned to the console and typed in a few commands. He then typed in Red Alert's access code and grinned when the screen flashed "Access granted."

"Mission accomplished," the red troublemaker said with satisfaction, then logged out of the system and sauntered out of the security center whistling jauntily to himself.

Rule # 173: I am not allowed to create new levels of security clearance.