While Storm had tried his hardest to focus his processor upon the task at hand, it had never been a strong suit of his. Ultimately, something would distract him away from what precious little work he could cobble together, and Storm had to deal with the same irritating feeling when he began sorting through the orange stamped datapads.

Orange, like Jetfire.

It wasn't even the same shade of orange, but Storm couldn't help but think of his brother otherwise.

Jetfire had been one of the few constants in his life, besides datapads and the silence of isolation.

Sure, he'd often spent his time alone, even when his brother was on base.

But at least back then, he had the comfort of knowing his brother was but a comm away for a conversation.

He'd taken that for granted...

Now he only had his own processor to talk to.

He wondered if Shockwave ever "talked to himself."

Maybe. Maybe not.

It was a toss up.

Either, Shockwave was crazy enough to splice an AI companion into his own thoughts; or, he had no internal dialogue at all - insisting speaking would just slow down his calculations and schematics - something, something, equally as crazy...he mused.

After all.

He was under no delusions that Shockwave wasn't completely insane.

As much as he pretended not to be.

Storm made a mental-note to ask Shockwave himself, "What do you do with your thoughts?" the next time Storm was brave enough after a cube of high-grade.

That was another thing.

Another problem.

He was incredibly hungry.

And there were no spark-chambers in sight.

'I should've eaten more cores before I left.' He practically snarled as he began to twitch, his body quivering from lack of sparks.

Starvation was a dilemma Storm and Jetfire had to deal with over and over. A single spark-chamber only went so far when split between two ravenous hunters.

A sparkeater was always hungry, especially when amongst technically edible Autobots.

Typically Storm would be able to sneak away...and would be gifted a spark-chamber or two from Shockwave's stock of slaughtered vehicons, and so-called- bandit -neutrals.

But now Storm was trapped in the tiny Autobot-base for the foreseeable future. Anybot he dared to eat would be reported missing immediately; and he didn't exactly want to kill anyone - the Autobots had treated him fairly, all things considered.

He didn't want to lose that.

Whatever it was.

"Hey Ratchet, do we have any mid-grade energon laying around I could have? The usual stuff isn't doing it for me, and I'm guessing high-grade isn't an option." Storm commed Ratchet on a whim, if only to hear another bot speak, and to remind himself ripping out an Autobot spark-chamber simply wasn't an option.

A notification-ping sounded to show that Ratchet had received his message, and Storm awaited a response for a few anxious clicks.

'It wasn't a weird question, right? It was perfectly normal to request better energon.'

Seconds passed.

And a minute.

Then a minute more.

"Sorry, I was in the middle of a weld." There was a clang and clatter from Ratchet's comm line. "Better energon you say? Sure, I'll bring you over a cube. Feeling sick or something?"

"Something like that."

"Right, I'll be there within a joor. I'll have to mix the mid-grade so gimme a sec."

"Thanks Ratchet."

"Don't thank me. I haven't brought you the cube yet." Storm huffed in amusement when Ratchet disconnected his comm. He'd often heard Jetfire banter back and forth with Ratchet, but hadn't given it much thought before.

Perhaps Ratchet was being friendly with him because he missed Jetfire's banter?

It was a bitter thought.

'Do the Autobots just see me as a spare Jetfire?' he wasn't insulted, but he wasn't flattered either. He was Jetstorm, his own bot, and the less the Autobots knew about him the better. He certainly didn't harbor regrets about isolating himself; it was simply how he was.

He got absorbed back into his work, noting what replacements each datapad needed. He took aside a hefty pile of broken charge-crystals, palming a servo though the mess mindlessly as he typed out his observations within his UI visor-optics.

"Open the door, I'm outside." Ratchet commed, and Storm was silently grateful that he'd been given some measure of privacy. When amongst his brothers, they typically broke down his door without hesitation, seeing it only as an obstacle to challenge.

Storm opened the door, hoping he was smiling correctly.

"Here we are. One mid-grade, enriched with metals to upkeep your nano-repair systems. Drink it slowly, else it might clog your tanks if it goes down all at once."

"Oooo, fancy." Storm couldn't look away from the delicious golden cube, the energon inside was thick like a syrup.

"Also, there's one other thing. I was walking down the hall and Smokescreen was asking about you. He's looking for a sparring partner; apparently, Bumblebee is out patrolling with Optimus Prime."

"Ick, that. Fighting was always more of my brother's thing."

"Yes, I figured you'd prefer to stay working here, but if you want to go hangout with Smokescreen you can always pick this up later."

Storm grimaced. "I'll think about it." And he waved a servo. "Thanks for the energon. Maybe after a refuel I'll be in more of a fighting-spirit."

"Of course." Ratchet swiveled his head around the room, nodding in approval. "Good work so far." Ratchet stepped out of the room and Storm looked over his shoulder, unsure if he'd actually been complimented. The room was a complete mess, and only a single filing cabinet of datapads had been sorted into complete order. The Autobots were strange; they showered him with compliments even when he hadn't asked for any.

He fixated his attention onto the golden cube Ratchet had placed onto his desk and he gingerly lifted off the lid, swirling the contents as if it were a fancy high-grade. He still had to alter the fuel before he could drink it. He had to trick his systems into believing he was eating a spark-chamber, so the dangerous craving could be stalled for as long as possible.

Luckily, he'd mastered the method as a child, else the fuel was liable to blow up into his face. He placed his fingertips against the cube, sliding out his claws to gently puncture into the glass surface. An electrical-charge jumped from his claws and the energon inside began to boil at a steady rate. It fizzled like sparkling cider, a drink human's celebrated with, and Storm thought it was a fitting comparison.

After a few minutes, the process was completed, and he was relieved no one had broken down his door to ask what he was doing.

The high metal content of the mid-grade was easier to manipulate than low-grade, tasted more authentic too. The top of the cube was already off, so all he had to do was to drink deeply, slowly, as a spark within a chamber never gave itself up easily.

Then it was empty.

Storm sighed, observing the now useless, punctured cube. He couldn't return it to Ratchet in such a state. It wasn't as if he could explain to Ratchet that he had claws and liked to stab his energon. Turning his servos back to normal, he knocked the cube off his desk, watching it shatter with a forlorn expression.

He would clean up the mess later.

He got up, his systems alive with energy and newfound satisfaction. He rolled his shoulders and neck experimentally, considering all the organization he was still expected to do. He clasped his servos behind his back, and walked out of the room.

For once, he was looking for a fight.

"Hey, Smokescreen, watch out!" Smokescreen had only nanoseconds to respond and to dodge the incoming fist looking to impact with his face. He had fallen backwards onto the floor, catching himself with his servos.

"Scorching-slag, Jetfire!" He started laughing. "You almost took my helm clean off!" Smokescreen stood up, coming face to face with a very angry mechling. It was shorter than him, but that didn't mean the bot couldn't be terrifying. "It's Jet STORM, you jackaft! Get it right!" Suddenly, Storm was very disappointed that his punch had missed. "Right right right, Jetstorm, sorry!" Smokescreen raised his servos in surrender, and reluctantly, Storm slowly winded down his next punch. "So, Ratchet gave you my message then? Awesome!" Smokescreen extended a servo, wanting to shake his hand. "Let's start over. I'm Smokescreen and you're-"

"Jetstorm." Storm snapped, "And don't you forget it." Smokescreen retracted his servo, forgoing the formal greeting much too Storm's irritation.

"Why are your designations so close together? I get you guys are twins and all, but so are Sideswipe and Sunstreaker back on Cybertron and they have different names."

"Does it matter? Let's not get into that. I'm called Storm for a reason."

"Right...err sorry about that! But I'm the one who got ambushed, I should be the angry one." Smokescreen made an exaggerated expression.

"Hrmmm," Storm made a noncommittal noise at Smokescreen's flat attempt at humor. He walked pass Smokescreen down the hall he knew led to the Autobot equivalent of an arena.

"Actually, looks like we might have to use the simulation room today. Bulkhead and Miko are out there doing donuts, and then Jack and Arcee are running an obstacle course, so it's too crowded."

"Doing donuts?"

"You know, that thing humans do with cars?"

"Cars can make pastries?" Storm asked slowly.

"What? No... you know, burning rubber, peeling out?"*

"What?"

"Look nevermind. They're just spinning around really fast."

"What? Why?!"

Smokescreen shrugged defensively, "Hey I've done it. It's not as weird as it sounds."

"Right..."

"Well, it's this way."

The simulation room was unremarkable, and of a smaller make and model from the other versions Storm had seen before. He could only assume it was due to Autobots conserving resources; a simulation room used up a lot of energy, no matter the size.

"Anyway, on the walk over I remembered you are a flyer. That's why you didn't know what 'doing donuts' meant." Smokescreen smugly leaned back as he sat in the simulation console chair, inputting the commands to manipulate the room.

"Yes, what's your point?"

The simulation room shimmered into life. It looked to be an unremarkable patchwork of green hills, dotted with small birch trees and the occasional boulder.

"These settings are what Jetfire and me typically work with. Sometimes we use a desert canyon but this is good for now."

Storm walked into the middle of the room, atop the highest hill, waiting. The green of the grass didn't look quite right, it was too bright. Smokescreen must've set the color saturation too high for the room, but he wasn't there to nitpick, he was just there to fight.

"You coming up here?"

Smokescreen held up a servo, still seated in his chair. "Yah, hold on. It's still loading something."

"What else are you-" Storm's words died in his throat as a hologram manifested in front of him. It took him seconds too long to process what was right in front of him - smack!

"Oh!" Smokescreen shouted when he was struck. "That's gonna leave a mark!"

He went sliding down the too-green hill, kicking up simulated dirt as his talons tilled the ground. At first he'd thought Smokescreen had been the one to punch him, but then clawed hands reach out to grab him and he realized how wrong he'd been.

"You summoned Starscream!?"

"Yah don't worry, the guy's a pushover. Jetfire fights the Air Commander all the time."

"W-what?!"

Suddenly, Not-Starscream paused his attack, the hologram began flickering as Smokescreen continued to fiddled with the console and adjusted conditions within the simulation.

Not-Starscream leaped into the air and transformed into a fighter-jet. The jet began circling overhead bizarrely, the wings jittered side to side as if its engines were on the verge of failure.

'That thing is about to fall out of the sky.' Storm couldn't help but notice.

"Watch this!" Smokescreen jumped, twirling to maintain momentum as he launched himself at the jet. There was a surprising amount of power built into Smokescreen's legs. He couldn't fly as his alt-mode was a sport's car, but he gave the illusion of flight for a second or two while he kicked Not-Starscream out of the air. Predictably, the jet lost control and crashed into a sharp inferno.

The hologram sputtered out with a startling screech, and Storm was dumbfounded, stuck staring at the scorched spot it had destructed.

'That had almost sounded like Starscream...' Storm grimaced. Not-too-nice-memories were associated with that very sound - his mind, threatened to spillover ugly reminders into his visual-processor.

He scowled in Smokescreen's direction, projecting outward an excessive amount of anger into his EM field, overwhelming his growing air of malaise.

Fortunately, the hologram had flown so poorly that the sting from Starscream's fist had already been forgotten. He placed a servo against the cheek he'd been hit, and realized his plating was beginning to shake.

'Starscream punched me.' And he rubbed the place he'd been hit. 'He's an aft but he'd never just punch me. He'd make up an excuse not to. ' He wondered if his optic now sported a crack. It certainly felt like it, and dark greasy tears began to pool underneath - but when he realized what was happening, spying a droplet across a fingertip, he flinched away dramatically, as if burned.

He. Did. Not. Cry.

He wasn't the type.

It was a disgusting thing.

Fortunately, Smokescreen seemed too absorbed by his "victory" and gave Storm the time to clamp down upon any malingering upsets. He corrected his posture, considering best how to tackle the situation.

'I came in here to fight him, not to stand around playing spectator.' He thought, with a touch of pride.

"Am I supposed to be impressed? That was pathetic!" Storm spat, with real vitriol , which caught Smokescreen's attention. Storm smiled when he saw a nanosecond of fear alight within Smokescreen's optics...or perhaps it was simply what he wanted to see - regardless, it had done wonders in boosting his confidence.

"Let me show you how a real mech fights!" he flared his arms outwards, issuing a challenge.

Smokescreen was surprised, but then he smiled.

''Good luck winning with your wings clamped together!" he teased.

'I've never needed wings to kill.' Storm dangerously thought. His fists itched to become claws, but he wasn't about to give up his secrets over some play-fight.

Smokescreen quickly took a fighting stance, his back arched to charge forward, with the intention of ramming Storm against his heavy armor.

'Big mistake, rookie.'

Storm used the hilly terrain to his advantage and ran up to the highest point he could. He launched himself at Smokescreen with talons flared, pinning him down to the ground like a clump of tin foil. Smokescreen had crumpled against the weight of his own momentum, and the match had barely begun. 'That was too easy.' Storm wanted to gloat, but he was also disappointed. 'Didn't Jetfire show this guy some moves? He should be better.'

Not much had happened so far, and Storm intended not to waste his time much longer with Smokescreen. He expected the rookie to put up a better fight. 'We are only getting started." He muttered. Smokescreen's audials twitched, perhaps straining to hear him.

Storm felt bile build into his words and he spoke louder. "Come on, you've been fighting Jetfire! Does he win every time?" Storm hissed, and stepped off of Smokescreen, who's optics looked up at him with a strangely guarded composure. Was it fear? Crushed pride? A reality check? Whatever it was had Smokescreen shaken.

"What was that?" Smokescreen asked, and he stood up slowly, his servos kept to a guarded position.

"What was what?"

"That look in your optics."

"Hrrmmm?" Storm pretended not to understand. "Whatever do you mean, Smokescreen?" Storm smiled, hoping he was doing it correctly, without flashing too many teeth.

"You know, there was that-"

A change of topic was in order.

"Come on, rookie! We fight fists only!" Storm punched the air, and whatever unease Smokescreen had been feeling melted away. "Alright, but I won't be going easy on you!"

Storm simply smiled, when Smokescreen charged forward.