Working-Out.
Someone had been blackmailing the inventor. Bluestreak knew this because standing in front of him were two Transformer-sized arcade machines that Wheeljack would never have otherwise torn himself away to create. 'Dance Dance Revolution' was scrawled across the tops of the devices while little arrows scrawled across dark screens, reflecting off the smooth sheen of Jazz's paintwork as he stood beside one of the computers. Music
"Like 'em? Wheeljack built these f'r us so that we've a new way t' work-out."
"That's not working-out," Bluestreak replied, a little puzzled how such a simple contraption could equal the same number of cycles sprinting or practicing optimum capacity with weights. He looked from Sunstreaker to Sideswipe to Jazz: each seemed equally capable of riffling through the mad scientist's affairs until they found and used some leverage.
"Sure it is, Blue Boy! Wait 'til ya pass the easy levels an' 'ave been doin' it f'r a while!"
"It's still not a proper work-out…" he looked at Sunstreaker and Sideswipe who had begun to bicker over whose turn it was on the one machine despite there being two.
"Hey, Jazz! I'll be on your team!" Sideswipe shouted.
"No fair – you were on his team last time! It's my turn this time!" Sunstreaker rebuked, pushing his brother's head against the screen.
"Well c'mon, guys! One of you make a decision!"
Moments like this were always depressing for Bluestreak: not a single word was said about him, he was completely ignored – it was as if they were fighting to not be his partner… because that's what it essentially came down to. Sometimes the paranoia in him had the only plausible answer: he was not there to participate as an equal – he was there to sabotage his party so that the others had a greater chance of winning. And so it was that, currently, they were choosing who would win and who would lose before the game had even begun. Bluestreak despised his clumsy moments – there were times when he could hit a target ten miles away with a perfectionist's accuracy and then there were situations where he clipped a 'bot accidentally in passing and sent whatever they were holding whirling into gravity's hold. And of course, no one remembered when he did something well, only when he-
"Hey, Bluestreak!" Sideswipe waved a hand in front of him, keeping a grin as confident as it ever was. "When you come back from wherever you've gone to, we're ready to begin." …Maybe this time he was wrong.
"Hey," Sunstreaker intoned. "Who's going up against who?"
"Who's going up against whom, Sunny," his brother retorted. Bluestreak looked from the yellow Lamborghini to the Porsche. Sunstreaker was intimidating, but the cool and charismatic exterior that Jazz presented himself as was not something he wanted to test himself against.
"Well, I'll go up against Sunstreaker, so you can take Jazz if you want, Sideswipe." The yellow twin latched optics with the Datsun, his faceplate clearly showing his unimpressed disdain.
"Oh? And why do you want to go up against me? You think I'm gonna be an easier opponent?" He shook his fist in threat. "Bring it on – I'll prove you wrong!"
"No-no! That's not it at all!" Bluestreak placated. "Don't you want a change from going up against your twin all the time?"
"…No!" The tone of the reply communicated more than the actual reply itself. "If you think that I'm going to let you beat me-"
"That's not it at all!"
"Guys, c'mon! Can't we start already?"
"Hey, 'Streaker, y'know Blue mean' nothin' by it! Chill, man!" The tinny, musical beeps of the machines continued on in the background while their voices escalated, arms becoming involved in their furious communication. The music turned flat and faded into silence and the screens were no longer illuminated.
Prowl cleared his vocaliser to gain their attention.
"This -" he gestured to the machines with a hand containing two unplugged power-leads. "-Is not a work-out. Besides which, your noise is waking the night-shifters; they've requested that you move outside." Ratchet lingered by the doorway, listening in on the conversation with a semi-comatose expression not uncommon on mechs after long, arduous shifts. Both officers gave Jazz one flat, critical glance before moving away.
"Well guys, we've been told! Fancy doin' a few circuits 'round the base?"
"Did that yesterday," Sunstreaker sulked. Bluestreak looked back to the dead sound and light boxes: the arrows travelling up the screens had given him a new idea – something they had not done before in all of their years of existence. It was something that had the potential to keep the twins entertained for hours and worn-out by night-fall.
"Anyone want to try rock-climbing?"
End.