Disclaimer: Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own Transformers. I just like hounding their giant robots.

Update: Exciting developments some of you will love in-story! Excuse the lateness; I moved, visited friends, helped move an awful couch, caught the plague, made it worse by being outside in pollen, stayed in bed for a week, and found cough syrup still makes me argue in my sleep.

Also, an old crush actually acknowledges my existence now. The bad news is that he's as close to a shape-shifter as you can get—the traditionally hot/people-eating ones, I mean.

Everything seems right at first glance, but something is just wrong when you're the focus of his attention. The jerk likes playing with people's heads.

Am I jealous of his people skills? Yes.

Do I secretly want to kick him in the nads for unrelated reasons? Yes.

Is the feeling mutual? Possibly YES, so we avoid each other.

2024 has been wild, to say the least, so it's escapism time!


"Say Ahhhrgh"

Let's see. Hold still. There! Designation: Cypress of Earth, conscientious objector, scout, medical assistant. Good cycle.

I don't have an official designation or rank on file; bear with me. You can track down my serial numbers, but I dont recommend it.

We are undergoing a crisis, but there needs to be a record of the Ark crew's medical condition. This is that record; the written document will be included next to this video file.

Cypress patted Flamewar on her head and stood, detaching the camera and placing it on the opposite med slab. "Thanks, girl. We're going to be examining you first."

Lockdown's pet was following her around anyway; might as well practice on her. Flamewar laid down when prompted and opened her glossy fangs, and lack of poorly healed scars betrayed her age. The steeljaw had a dangerous life but was well cared for.

The telltale 'mystery wiring' half the Sparkeaters crew shared was in Flamewar, too. It was a different prototypical composition, but Flamewar was also an experiment. The hound's claws were sharp, her optics bright, her systems responsive, and her ID chip active. On the other hand, there was no record of mechanimal-grade shots, and Ratchet didn't carry pet vaccines.

Cypress made a note: Healthy; keep away from scientists. Needs updated shots.

"You're clean. Treat?"

Instead of biting her servo, Flamewar licked the goodie off and waited for instructions. Finally, they had a steeljaw that didn't openly want to eat her.

"Good girl. Let's go find Prowl."

Prowl should have been in the med bay, but the stubborn mech regained his mobility. He could be anywhere. Fortunately, the black and gold mech didn't hide as much as she did. He was in one of two rooms.

~ Prowl, I need to check your welds. Where are you? ~

~ With the twins. ~

Fraggit. One of three rooms, then.~ Why there? ~

~ I felt like it. Hurry up. Sunny's busy. ~

The once-Enforcer was sprawled across Sideswipe's berth, studying his new, sharpened servos. Gidget chirped in greeting, not bothering to get up. Her whole body lay curled over Prowl's chassis like a blanket.

A jolt ran through the steeljaw, and Flamewar rushed up to greet Prowl. Gidget wasn't having it.

The turbofox went from doting to snapping at the approaching newcomer.

Flamewar slid to a halt, letting out a pitiful wail. Cypress let the chaos unfold. It was better to let their fight play out now. Flamewar couldn't get within a foot of the berth without an angry fox screeching at her.

"Gidget, enough. She's fine." Prowl leaned over to pet the crying steeljaw. "It's good to see you again."

Flamewar purred, breaking Cy's list of noises she assumed a canid mechanimal made.

While Prowl was preoccupied with Flamewar, Cypress snagged the camera and checked Gidget over. The fox was in just as good condition as Flamewar. Gidget wiggled as she worked, often trying to chew on her servos.

Cypress finally gave in and mussed her audios. "Fine. You're healthy, silly girl."

Gidget headbutted her chin and started scrambling up her frame. It was a good thing the turbofox was light.

A burst of color caught Cypress' widened optics, and she looked up.

A massive constellation of a distant star system stretched above them, its colors rich enough to touch. Cypress traced the patterns until they came down over her archrival's berth.

Oh. Right, he was a painter.

"You're taping this?"

Cypress glanced over at her actual patient, "It's for records and will remain private. If anything happens, no one can say we were completely crazy."

With an accepting grunt, Prowl sat up, letting his plating resettle. His ports clicked open to accept monitoring lines. Cypress, in turn, fished out her diagnostic tablet.

"How are you feeling? Anything conflicting? Leakage?"

"Much better. My processors are clear."

Prowl's plating had a brighter sheen, and his repairs were close to healing. As she warned, faint bronze stripes appeared in waves along his hips and doorwings.

"My optics are up here."

"Ha, ha." She tipped Prowl's chin back, watching the cycle of his optics, especially the suspicious, mottled left one. "You feel happier."

"I haven't felt this good since I was your age–Well, your old one."

It definitely showed.

"I'm glad," Cypress rolled her shoulders to work out a persistent kink in her left. "It's weird seeing you smile so much." Not being in chronic mental and physical pain was working for him.

Prowl observed her just as closely, "Do you miss your old frame?"

"A little bit, I miss having less plating. You're going to have to transform. Take it slow."

"Not again…"

"Go on. You have to keep your system going. It'll get easier with time. Tell you what: You do physical therapy, and I'll teach you how to be human."

Prowl leaned forward, stiff doorwings hiked, "Prove you're not bluffing."

Cypress nodded, sticking the camera back onto Flamewar, and scooted backward onto the berth. Returning to such a small size wasn't like squeezing into a beloved but outgrown sweater anymore. It felt like home–but right this time around. She stretched and tied her braids back with a hair elastic. A little taller, a few persistent frown lines that were probably well-disguised scars. Still undeniably her.

"You look like your father," Prowl hummed.

Cypress snorted, "Which one?"

"Sean."

She flinched and looked up at the rarely thoughtful mech.

"Bumblebee was insufferable about forwarding pictures of pictures and your home for a few hours."

Cypress smiled, "I understand you need to share information, but you are some of the nosiest creatures I've ever met. No privacy at all…"

He scoffed. "I'm not the one that saves detailed photos of 'formers frames." Prowl continued, "The Dread had to have taken samples from both Pierces for your alt."

"I figured. Some CNA takes to adaptation easier and they probably have a specialist onboard."

"How does that feel?"

She wasted time picking dried energon from one of the mech's seams.

"I'm proud. My parents still survived in some small way." Cypress studied her hands, then pointed to her eyes. "See, no flare. Maybe a little red when a camera flash hits them. Humans don't have night vision or eyeshine. You can tell a lot about someone by their eyes."

"Are Transformers much different to you?"

Cypress cringed, "Yeah. You know how freaky it is seeing a blank optic for the first time?"

"You mean not seeing someone's optic workings? It's not unusual."

"I mean, it's like a human with no pupil…"

"Or a Cybertronian with dark optics."

"Exactly."

Cypress reverted to the alt that was harder to kill. "You're going to want to set a steady breathing pattern too. Air comes through the nose and mouth and fills your chest. It doesn't come from vents all over your frame."

Prowl leaned back, nodding his acceptance. His beast transformation went smoothly, with only one hiccup. Cypress smacked the center of his back to realign a stray piece of plating. Otherwise, there sat a giant metal thylacine ready for trouble. The chaotic field of despair he'd hauled around had evaporated. At least he had the chance to get a beast alt on his terms.

Prowl also took his time checking himself over and continuing their conversation. "I have my suspicions about Barricade. He looks like a Dread, which is funny. The Dread alter their bodies to appear that way. Short of insecticons, his configuration isn't prevalent. It's like a subtle tribute. Does he ever talk about his city-state?"

"No?! He's trying to kill us half the time. I thought he looked familiar… Wish I could help, but my memory is shot. Anything corrupted is just shadows and half-memories now."

"You already have." Prowl said, "I wouldn't mind borrowing your processor for better imaging power."

"Why do you only think in geometry…"

"I thought you were a visual learner?"

"Not like that; you think like my geometry textbook looks." Cypress traced imaginary cubes in the air, "No one's gonna understand that."

"Hence the borrowing processor power."

"You give me nose bleeds."

"And you have been a constant migraine."

"Sorry,"

"Well, I was threatened into working with you."

"My bad." Cypress hissed, "Come on, dude, you're making me feel worse."

"I am joking."

For once, their conversation was easy. Prowl had just reverted from his vehicle mode when the other twin burst in unannounced.

"Hey, I found some mid-grade. Can you keep that down?" Sunstreaker paused the nano he saw Cypress.

The soft tone he'd used for Prowl vanished, replaced by a jagged EM, "What are you doing in here?"

"My job," she said with more denta than necessary. Looking back to Prowl, Cy asked, "You can't eat?"

"That's just Sunny being overprotective."

"When you're up to it, you can try fis–" She hadn't gotten the words or the prepared food out entirely before he'd snagged it and consumed half the package.

Prowl remembered himself almost immediately. "Sorry."

"Nothing wrong with your tanks then…"

Sunstreaker handed Prowl the mid-grade. "I can't tell what's going on with him. He's getting better, just starving half the time."

"Changing forms takes a lot out of you. I was hungry all the time, too. It's worse in vehi-modes, I guess?"

The gold mech huffed, worrying with his right servo, "I would hope you don't have to guess. You're supposed to be a medic."

Cypress rolled her optics hard enough to make the three medical guides on her HUD glitch. "Forgive me for not having centuries's worth of knowledge; I'm playing catch-up. How's your servo?"

"Busted."

This time, Cypress snarled wide enough to expose her denta, molars and all. "I need details. Unlike you, I have clearance to root through people's medical history."

That was part of the reason why she was making rounds. Reading was hard when you could clearly smell a mortal enemy's scent all over your records. If he didn't like her in his room, that was tough. Turnabout was fair play, and if he didn't like it, could get eaten here.

Instead of smacking her, Sunstreaker laid his servo down on a nearby desk with digits splayed.

Cypress got to work.

The nasty grey welts told of recovery from swelling. Sunny's gears were wrecked and struggling to heal. The tension in his servo said more about the pain he was in. She considered jabbing a spine through his servo and watching him squirm.

Prowl pinched the edge of her audio.

"What was that for?!"

"You know why." ~ I don't want to smell energon. I can't right now. ~

Prowl meant cant. The pure bloodlust that seeped from his side of the bond was explanation enough. It wasn't even the type borne out of survival; the sensation was void of feeling. Like how someone would feel about a sneeze.

She could see why Prowl and the frontliner got along.

Cypress nudged Sunstreaker's digits further apart. She was still going to prick his servo with antivenom. Mech was going to be prone to overhealing without it.

Sunstreaker tried to jerk away when she yanked out a handful of spines from the underside of her tail.

"Anti-venom, it's anti-venom!" When that didn't work, she jabbed a nerve cluster that temporarily paralyzed his arm.

Watching him panic wasn't as fun as she imagined.

"Give it a cycle. I'll come back and do it again. It should help with healing. You have to work the stiffness out. While you're with Prowler, you can work out at the same time."

"Or Lockdown can get you a new servo. Might not match, though," Prowl said bluntly.

Sunny lightly punched him in the arm, "Fine. Why are you doing this?"

In answer, Cypress pointed to the ceiling, "You do that. I figure permanent damage is punishment enough. We need all the able bodies we can get." She subspaced her equipment and stalked off.

~ Progress? ~ Prowl sent.

~ Frag this. ~

~ It'll get better. ~

Overly optimistic Prowl was partly right. Next up was their captive.

Thundercracker still sat in his corner chair, muted. He sat up slightly when he caught sight of her and Flamewar.

"So I need to make sure you're not falling apart."

No answer.

"Right. Legally, I have to disclose I haven't had full medical training. Also, as a prisoner, you will not have your weapons activated. I am not registered for torture, but there is always a slight chance of unintentional injury. Do you accept these terms? Hang on." Cypress adjusted his stasis cuffs settings.

Thundercracker screwed his mouth up, working the feeling back into his jaws. "Go ahead. I've had worse medics."

"Aren't you one of Megatron's inner circle?"

"We didn't have the best health care in the beginning. Most of our medics are offworlders now."

Cypress stifled a 'Wow, I wonder why.' Because, as with most cases, survival increased when you didn't start arguments with twenty-foot-tall murder robots. "Is there any problem with their care?"

"No, even the grounders are passable."

"Why wouldn't they be?"

"They're grounders. Nothing remarkable about them."

The Seeker's tone wasn't mean-spirited, but he spoke like this was fact. Thundercracker continued, "No offense, but you'd never understand. I'm shocked Voltage took you three on. It's unheard of–desperate."

"Didn't Megs win your trine in a card game?"

The rambling Seeker shut up. "Who told y– it was Deadlock, wasn't it…"

"Bet you think the same thing about MTOs. Desperate is latching on to someone for the smallest shred of affection when you know they don't care for you like that. I'm not supposed to be talking to you anyway."

"You're talking about Voltage…"

"You'd better not hurt her," the fact Cypress had a scalpel hidden under her plating was irrelevant.

They lapsed into silence.

"It's a formality…a faction thing. A show of alliance. If one member from each trine is close, there will not be hostility between trines because you'll damage your own members."

"Ah." She tried to ignore the itchy stare beaming down on her. It wasn't easy, but TC's frame was more than enough of a distraction. The mech had been through some rough miles. Gidget had fewer severe scars. Besides that, Thundercracker was armed to the teeth. With weaponry, air superiority, speed, and maneuverability, Seekers really were a battlefield nightmare.

"Your team picks on you too?"

Cypress pulled back enough to see her dinged-up frame was getting the same amount of scrutiny. "I'm not joining the Decepticons. Give it up."

"Ew, no. Making conversation."

"I'm still on probation from the last time I talked to a Con," she put her tools down.

"No law against talking—anymore, I mean."

Cypress shrugged, feeling lenient, "Do you ever want to run away?"

"Tried it once. Skywarp hunted me down and wouldn't leave me alone for a vorn. Why?"

"You're not like what everyone says Decepticons are. Not many of you seem that way, minus Cade."

"Simple. This isn't a warzone. We have what we fought for. I have made peace with what happened. Had the war not happened, my trine would be unrecognizable or dead, as would most of your friends. As I recall, none of us are from the best backgrounds. We were all slowly dying, yet the Autobots still refuse to admit it today. They left the lower caste to perish and left us no choice."

How do you respond to that?

Cypress shuddered. Everything circled back to its origin: everyone had a similar story. "This is some bull. I see why Ratchet drinks. How are you still sane, mech? Aren't you like a billion years old?"

"I'm not that old. I'm a writer."

Cypress cackled. "That doesn't prove sanity. What do you write?"

"Historical fiction, romance, whatever is interesting."

"Huh. Let me know if you need covers. I draw. Don't use my name."

"I heard one of the terror twins is artistically inclined." He grit his denta slightly.

Cypress moved on to his wings, "What do you know about them?"

"They were frontliners and Seeker killers, some of the only grounders crazy enough to try aerial combat. They tend to cut their targets in half. I've seen it."

"I'm sorry."

"War is war. I overheard the Predas talking. Where are you from exactly?"

"The middle of nowhere, and I'm wearing someone else's plating."

"I also heard that you're touched up here," TC tapped his helm for emphasis.

Cypress shrugged, "Everyone is. I'd rather tell the scattered version and seem crazy than the whole thing. Trust me, it's bad, and you don't want in. Everyone says you're soft."

"Don't believe everything Deadlock says." He was trying to posture, but it wasn't working.

"Please, that's a good thing. You're one of the few that hasn't tried choking me out. I don't want to assume, but you're from Vos?"

"West of Vos."

"Yeah, they drag Seekers all the time here."

"Drag?"

"Uhh, make fun of. Your build is the butt of jokes. I think you're cool enough. Can I see your thrusters?"

"Why?"

"Cybertronians are really hard to draw. I need references. Plus, Ratchet said to memorize what functional parts look like so I can tell what's screwed up."

"They joke to cope. Air superiority gave us the advantage."

"Yeaaaah. I saw. Freaking terrifying. Running into you guys…that was on my first mission."

"Oh," he winced.

"I thought I was going to die."

Silence lapsed.

"He's not dead. Your guardian."

"What-"

Thundercracker continued, "None of them are, barring Hide if he's lost his slag."

"Thank you."

"I like not getting beat up. Which will happen if I tell you more."

"Autobot formality. You like TV?"

"Kid, I can't understand half of what you're saying."

"Entertainment. Here."

Cypress slotted a chip into his arm and secured the plating over it.

"It's all fiction programming. Terrible for intel. If I hear you used this against me, I'll hunt you down and eat your wings."

Thundercracker regarded her carefully, then nodded. "I've got better things to do than snitch, thanks."

"The silencer has to go back. Sorry."

"At least I've got something to distract me."

With that done, next was Jazz. And Sideswipe and Voltage and Rager and Arcee and Lockdown. Fortunately, the bridge was packed. "Hey, check-up time!"

"Busy!" Sideswipe yelled.

Yeah, he wasn't coming to the bay willingly. Cypress whipped out the scanner.

"Fine, just hold still."

The mech jerked back teasingly.

"Come on…I have intel," Cypress whined, "I talked to Thundercracker."

"Voltage…" Jazz hissed over his shoulder.

Her sister sat perched in front of a console, multitasking star maps and playing what looked like a Pong game. "Hey, she's a big girl."

Frustrated, Jazz returned to Cypress, "And what makes you think it's true?"

"A wild hunch."

"I don't care how chill he seems. He's still a Seeker," the red twin countered.

"And easier to talk to than your brother."

Finally, Sideswipe remained still long enough for her to scan him. "Kiddo, they raze towns for fun. He'd say anything to get loose."

"I gathered that, but he's still locked down. Your legs are on the fritz, aren't they?"

"What'd you trade?" Lockdown asked.

"Conversation," Cypress dove into Side's leg workings to end the questioning.

Yeah, Lockdown wasn't the type to be easily deterred. "And? Don't make me beat it out of him."

"Like a terabyte of children's shows and Jane Austen remakes as a treat. He's bored and alone. I think he just wants someone to talk to."

Voltage piped up, "I'll vouch for him. TCs strutless in a team, but he's no liar."

"They are called Decepticons." RoadRage ground out, "What is so hard about that for MTOs to understand?"

Cypress threw her servos up, "He said the guys were still alive. I don't care if it's true or not. It's hope."

"And on the chance he's lying?" Jazz said.

"Punish him for it."

"Don't hang out with him again," Sides began.

"If he's injured again, I'll have to look at him. Hold still."

"You haven't had enough of Cons?"

"If I'm going to be neutral, I can't be partial. You knew I was a security risk from the start."

"I don't want it to be an order, wolfy."

Cypress withheld a bristle and kept working. Right…they had a new command group.

"Message received," Cypress said.

It really wasn't. The Preda had lost her will to care. She loved her team, but why should their bad experiences carry over to her? It wasn't her fight at all. She was just the one made for a war she was too late to and stuck repairing the fragged-up aftermath. If getting beat up by the bad guys and the good guys was an equal guarantee, she stood a better chance in her own lane.

Cypress was beginning to doubt that they should contact the main Autobot groups again. They didn't need to know she thought along those lines. From the discontent in certain corners of the bond, Cypress gathered she wasn't the only one, and this wasn't a new fear.

The fact remained: Decepticons couldn't be trusted, TC was to be left alone, they needed to be a unit, and Jazz was boring holes into the back of her helm. Because Jazz knew she was lying.

The Ops mech dropped himself on one of the low dividing walls of the bridge.

"Got anything ailing you, boss?"

"Nah."

Mech was more unnerving than Prowl when quiet. His wrist was fractured in three places and was already in the process of healing. Jazz's visor remained blank throughout the process of re-breaking. Cypress was so focused on his bent struts that RoadRage's raised voice caught her off guard.

"Seriously, Lockney?"

Her roomie wasn't even on the bridge, and neither was Lockdown.

"I asked you not to call me that."

The frigid, rolling tone the chainsaw-wielding mech used was enough to make Jazz tense up.

Cypress' audios stood at attention, frame ridgid. She tracked their voices to the ceiling. It felt eerily similar to listening in on a domestic spat–which reminded her of Michaels and, for some reason, a pair of feuding bobcats.

She nudged Jazz, "What'd I miss?"

He slouched moderately, testing out his wrists. "Lockdown finally snapped over his old name. Stupid, everyone calls him Lockney."

Something else was going on then.

"Maybe I'd stop if you told me what's going on. What happened to you?!"

Something crunched under ped, an ill-fated datapad. It crossed Cypress' mind that she'd never seen RoadRage genuinely furious. She could feel the poorly contained tension through the ceiling, though.

"You disappear with a guy you hate, only call every other vorn, and now I find you're wrapped up with some ancient organization?!"

Cypress didn't realize she was kneading Jazz's arm, or vice versa, until Voltage came over to hover.

"I think his wires are relaxed enough." Volt attempted to extract Cypress' claws from his arm, only to find Jazz was magnetized.

Cypress watched as mischief danced in Voltage's gleaming optics. "You're scared of Franken-bot."

Jazz clenched his fists, tensing his welds. He didn't need to speak.

Voltage showed her Decepticon side and dug into the sore spot she'd hit.

"You poor thing…"

"Voltage," the Ops mech warned.

"You want me to stop," she lilted, ending on a sweet note. Her next sentence dove into a growl, "Grow a spine."

All the bravado of having a kick-aft new body evaporated with the condensation trickling down her neck cabling.

She sank into the Ops mech's EM like a second skin, making her field as unnoticeable as possible. Jazz waited until his plating had been replaced and examined the fresh welds.

"Thanks, Cy."

Cypress nodded but kept her spot crouched by the divider.

He slunk past Voltage, stopping shoulder-to-shoulder with her. "You want to run this show?"

"I'd love an example, Captain."

There was a deep creak of warning before part of the ceiling buckled.

"Down here. Now."

Jazz waited until the cousins were back on the bridge.

"What he's too stubborn to tell you is that we made a deal with the Dread to stay alive. Lock took the worst of it, and it involved isolation. You couldn't have done anything, Rager."

Jazz rounded on Lockdown, "As for you, you're fixing that."

"Come on-"

"No. You might run the outside jobs, but I control the Ark. Get to it."

Voltage was the last to receive his wrath. "Your job is to be a Dread liaison and a Con liaison and to keep your sister coherent. Remember that."

Voltage dipped her wings in acknowledgment. She side-eyed Cypress, ~ Good job. ~

~ What? ~

~ You have to let leaders win. Gas them up. ~

~ We're plotting something? ~

The Preeker's bravado quickly turned into a cringe, ~ That wasn't an act? ~

Fear still throbbed in Cypress' chassis.

~ Oh. ~

As much as Cypress wanted to deny it, loud arguing made her panic. Two steps forward, one step back.

"Come ." Voltage started checking her over instead. At least V's wings weren't damaged. Her frame was as sturdy as ever, still whole and here. It was nice having someone fussing over you. It made Cypress question what it would have been like to have been together from the start.

~ You remember when I asked you where your loyalties lie? ~ Jazz asked from his side of the room.

Cypress played at nonchalance and started Voltage's check-up, ~ I also remember something about thinking for yourself and loyalty to team and family. I still believe that. ~

~ Harder than it seems, hmm? ~

~ It's the 4-D chess of morality. Jazz, I'm not asking forgiveness, but I won't put a gun in everyone's face just because of a badge. ~

~ You prepared to die for those values? ~

~ That's a real stupid question, boss. I told you: I'm still here, aren't I? You say jump, and I'll judge you immensely, but I'll do it because I trust your motives. ~

Jazz responded with a snort and went back to his files, ~ Watch it. ~

Meanwhile, RoadRage sulked in the corner, stroking Flamewar. Cypress went ahead and ran her scans on her simmering roommate.

Rager still had all her original parts. Huh, that was a rarity. It was the perk of being raised in a colony. Her roomie's frame sagged under what seemed like the weight of the universe.

Cypress tried to help, "He's probably just cranky. Bad energon?"

"It could be anything," Arcee shrugged, "We just let Lock fume around the ship until he gets over himself. You ever notice it's kinda crowded in here?"

The chorus of groans was loud enough to make the Terrorcon pause her blade cleaning. "Well, dang. We have enough space not to try to–"

"Constantly try to kill each other," Sideswipe finished, "I don't want to upgrade. I know The Ark inside and out, and I'm not leaving him."

"It's not sentient, mech. It's not gonna care!" Lockdown bellowed.

"You gonna leave your trash barge, then?"

"What did you call Death's Head?"

Cypress nearly muted her audios. This footage was going to be a disaster… Bud had probably learned editing by now and was loving every second. But seeing that he was lightyears away, Cy would have to cut out the violent bickering herself.

"It's like Lock's not even the same person anymore." Rager finally sighed.

"Uh, no?" Arcee said flatly.

It was such a bizarre statement. Of course, people changed. That didn't seem to be Rager's point. The morally adverse bounty hunter opened up over bond.

Always ready for a free movie, Cypress settled in for the ride.

Rager's sequence of scenes floated in the ethereal shared space between the eight of them.

An innocent, wide-eyed, non-tattooed sparkling and his mirror image of a twin. Playing from sparkling's point of view… As the sparse memories progressed, Lockney morphed from lanky and defensive to increasingly cruel and finally jumped to the cobbled-together, scratched-up mech looming from the ceiling.

When you put it like that, his transformation was a shock. It's like the Cybertronian equivalent of coming home from college to find your straight-laced kid sibling in the throws of a metal phase. At the least, that comparison made RoadRage smile.

"What type of mods does he have, Temp?"

Cypress didn't bother hiding her grimace. Scavenging parts was one thing; stealingbody parts from the living was another. Cypress didn't want to know what exactly Arcee saw in Lock.

"I don't know. Which he are you talking about?"

"The Seeker."

"He's normal."

Lockdown let out a grumble and forwarded his list of preferred parts.

"Gross."

"If you find those, let me know."

"Okay, sure." Cypress made optic contact with his mate. ~ There is no way in hell– ~

Voltage popped and wrenched something in her back into alignment, wrecking Cy's concentration.

"There you go."

"Thanks."

Now for Arcee–

Halfway through, the camera alerted to footage corrupting, and Cypress put her scanner away. She managed to tear her gaze away from the monstrous internals before her. It didn't look–right.

The more Cy looked, the crazier it got until she asked where a part was. In a flash, Arcee reset herself back to a standard configuration.

"I-uh-well you're doing something right. You're alive. Good job?"

Arcee offered a smug grin.

Cypress glared up at the ceiling ghoul. The scanner was alerting to twelve different 'formers parts in one arm alone. "No."

"What? It's good practice. Come on up."

"Nope. I don't want to know. Treat your own augmentation issues."

The eerie glow of Lock's optics shifted as he got back to repairing the hole in the ceiling, "Fine. Go check on Slick."

Lockdown barely managed to dodge the knife Arcee chucked at him. He slung it back without looking, and the crazy femme snatched it out of the air blade first.

"Don't send her in there with him!"

"What? She's got the hound."

On second thought, Oil Slick couldn't be any worse than the circus on the bridge. "Kay–Well, thanks."

"Take Bumblebee with you," Jazz called over one shoulder, "Comms on."

"Got it!"

Good, there were only three formers to go. Cypress dropped into her alt and sprinted the rest of the way, stopping only for a lift ride. Flamewar beat her to their destination.

"Yeah, yeah, good job," Cy muttered, absently massaging the hound's helm as she transformed.

Per tradition, she walked in unannounced, "Yo, Bee, I gotta…go…check on…what's going on in here?"

Barricade stood in one corner, claws dug into the walls. Bumblebee blocked him there with Cybertron's answer to a fire extinguisher—another gun-shaped hunk of metal.

The Praxian huffed, "He won't leave."

"Hey, Cy! Just telling him what a nice room he has."

"Can you go die somewhere, Cade? I'm busy."

"Rude. I live here now."

"NO. YOU. DON'T." Bumblebee hissed. He'd gotten fully worked up for his mask to begin flipping down. Why wouldn't he? Tight, cluttered, and smelled like scorched tires, this was undeniably his sanctum.

Barricade's biolights brightened slightly, and his scent changed.

'Cade was counting on Bee's defensiveness. The 'Con wanted something.

Dead mechs couldn't enjoy their rooms, though.

Cypress tugged on one of his horns. "C'mon, mech. Grab the important stuff, and let's take a walk."

"Yeah, take a walk Bumb–"

Barricade didn't finish. He had a spine jutting out of one thigh.

Cypress started checking him over for external damage. There wasn't anything she could do for his mental state. Unfortunately, the monochrome limp body reanimated before it was wholly sedated.

"That doesn't work anymore…" Barricade trailed in a sing-song tone.

The substitute medic felt the terrible uneasy feeling return to her spine, "Please die."

"No." Barricade continued, "Actually, I want you to look at something."

Bumblebee waved his gun arm in Cade's direction. "I've had it up to here with you."

"You wouldn't shoot a carrier, would you?"

Barricade opened his chestplates, splintering down to his abdomen. Twined from his spark-casing around his vital organs to his tanks was a miniature Driller. Its nasty little fangs were firmly dug into his spark-casing biolights, fluttering with every pulse.

Cypress gagged.

There was a reason you didn't eat before medical exams. Cy's systems were working overtime to keep her fuel down.

Bumblebee had his thousand-yard stare, completely refusing to acknowledge the situation. "You know what? He can have the room."

Cypress stood between bolting or staying rooted in place, "Is it killing you? Is it contagious?"

Four smiling optics glittered back. "You tell me, doc. It's a little present from Sweet En."

"Stay in here."

"Gladly."

Cypress slipped out of the commandeered room just in time to see Bumblebee punt a trash bin to the end of the hallway.

:: Arcee! What do you know about larval Drillers? ::

:: Ew. Never seen a parasitic one before. If it's in that young of a stage, it shouldn't be ready to spread for vorns. Is it inside Cade? ::

:: Unfortunately. ::

:: Throw him out of the airlock. :: Arcee said bluntly.

:: You mean it? ::

:: With my whole spark, but we need him for negotiations. Quarantine. ::

Cypress glanced at the decimated can, "I think it's dead."

Bumblebee rubbed his temples, "Yeah, I know."

She tilted her helm with a chirp, motioning further down the hall to the cargo hold. Being smaller and lighter, Death's Head was jacked into the underside of the Ark. They walked. Bee refused to let his clinking crate of mementos out of his sight.

"So, how was your day?" He asked casually.

"If I weren't the only medic here, I'd be drunk off my aft. None of y'all should be alive…"

"I thought humans could survive some gnarly injuries, too?"

Cypress opened her mouth to say getting ripped in half lengthwise wasn't survivable, but she thought better of violating robot HIPPA.

"Have you considered retirement?"

Bumblebee's chuckle sent tingles down the backs of her audios, "I never thought I'd get the chance."

"Not funny, mech."

Bee raised a doorwing to block the view of the hold cameras and stole a kiss.

"What was that for?"

He shrugged, "Just cause. Come on."

Beyond their ship's connector, the difference between the Ark and Death's Head was night and day. Lockdown had a hoarding problem. Or an eccentric taste in trophies. It was clean, but every room held an undercurrent of spilled energon. They took the lift down to the "basement," which led to a dark hallway.

"Oil Slick?" Cypress called.

"Does he have a title?"

"Mr. Slick?!"

"Not like that, Cy."

Flamewar barked twice.

A door slid open three steps away, framing the spindly, spiked two-wheeler. The mech paused, eyeing them with suspicion.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm here for your routine check-up."

"Don't need one," he attempted to close the lab door back.

Cypress took advantage of his lax movements and jammed the door open. "Please? You're my next-to-last appointment. I'd like to finish this as quickly and bloodlessly as possible."

He let out a put-upon rev before making his way around the examination table.

And the roughed-up corpse lying in the middle of it.

"Don't mind Piecemeal."

This time, Bee gagged.

"My specialty is corrosives."

"That's nice." Cypress lied. At least it was clean in here.

"Been thinking about moving. Lock's place is nice, but there's only so much you can do on a ship. You know, without damaging structural integrity and all that."

He could ramble about whatever ethically unsound thing he was up to. Cypress was just glad she had a cooperative patient.

Bee waited out of her peripheral vision until Oil Slick cleared for duty.

"You have nice servos, tactile but multi-purposed…. Keep them away from Lockdown."

Oil Slick returned to his project, "Close the door on your way out."

They made it out of Death's Head without incident, and Bumblebee griped each nano.

"I can't stand this place. Why? Just why?"

"That's his house. At least you don't have to live there."

"We're really associating with guys like this? Doesn't look great."

"Dude, we're going by 'Sparkeaters'; if anything, it's free infamy." Cypress paused halfway to her room, "You wanna come to my bunk?"

"Nah…Wouldn't mind finding somewhere else." Bee walked backward, wings bobbing in tandem with his steps. "I'm tired of people breaking into my personal space. Let's go to the attic."

"We have an attic?"

Apparently, they did.

A few confusing twists and turns later, Bee climbed halfway up a wall just to fuss with a blank panel.

"Incoming!"

Cypress caught the falling panel and watched as he scrambled to climb into the void.

Bee dangled upside down, "Grab my servo."

Like a rehearsed act, he pulled her up, and she slid the panel back into place.

A loud whine made them pause.

"Ah, hang on. Grab my ankles." Cypress hung upside down and motioned for Flamewar to jump. The Steeljaw flew, using her magnets to get a better purchase.

It wasn't so much an attic as a more oversized maintenance closet. There weren't any homicidal Decepticons or upset roommates, "Nice. Hey, turn on your boob-lights."

"They're not bo–what's?" Bumblebee was cut off by her cackling. He turned his headlights on anyway, sweeping the empty room. Except for some old posters on the wall and a cot, it was exactly what it was—a blank canvas.

"Sweet, okay, sit down."

"Why?"

"You're my last-last appointment. How's your leg?"

Bee dropped it onto the cot with a thump, "Great, if I stand for too long, it cramps up."

"Right, lay back."

The CR chamber did its job, but the frame had a long memory. His connections were still tender, and for someone as active as Bee, they weren't getting rest anytime soon. Cypress ran her servos along the underside of the offending limb.

"What's the verdict, doc? Will I live?"

"No, you have terminal dumbassery."

Bee snorted.

"On a serious note, you need a break."

"No time like the present," he sat up, servos squishing her faceplates together. "Your turn."

"Nooo."

"Yeah. Now, what hurts?"

"Nothing; V already fixed me up."

"Are you okay with Sunny?"

"Yeah, we're good. I'm just tired of it. Are you?"

"Nope."
"Don't do anything stupid."
Bee mimed her back in a higher-pitched tone.

"Whatever. The rounds are over. You ready to go home, Flamewar?"

The hound snorted, parking herself on the edge of the berth.

"You want a big treat for being good?"

That got her attention.

A roasted fish and a gentle lower down, and the hound was off to terrorize The Ark again.

She caught Bee staring at a poster. "Someone you know?"

"Archelon 9. I wish I could have seen them live."

"I don't get Cybertron music. It's like Skrillex but ambient."

"Yeah, you listen with your whole body. You ever sing?"

"My voice is bad."

"I've never heard you howl either…"

"I don't do that."

"Why?"

"There was this girl I went to school with. Thought she was a werewolf. Howled and ate raw meat. It was embarrassing to watch."

"Let me guess, she turned out to be a real werewolf?"

Cypress leaned closer, "Nope. She had clinical lycanthropy, so her parents sent her to a special school. She ate a guard's face and escaped. I'm scared she'll hear me and come back. And it's weird to do."

"Oh…that sucks, you should really get Rilo to test Sawback. That town's weird." Bumblebee frowned, "If we can track him down."

"You should see the next town over, and Midway is spookier."

"I bet she can't hear you all the way out here."

"Both of them are embarrassing, okay?"

"Then how are you going to–Fine, come here." Bee dragged her up and close as if he were about to start waltzing.

"What are you doing?"

"Listening," he tweaked a hip compartment and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Music is like Cy-Stan; there's so much more under the surface."

He twined their digits together. "Every tweak, every pause, every phrase; it all builds to a part of a greater picture."

Bee took them in a slow circuit of the room, letting his EM curl around her.

Cypress curled her tail around his waist, relaxing into his embrace, "You never told me you dance."

Bee flushed, "Yeah, well, just with you."

The sound poured through his pocket radio, reverberating through their frames. Cypress looped her arms around his neck, claw tips resting at his wing juncture. A traveling servo slipped further to the small of her back and kneaded her frame with light pulses. She was about to tease him about the static when a hesitant kiss brushed her derma.

"You ever wonder who's room this was?"

"Not really, but they're about to be really mad," he rumbled.

Bee took her into a low dip when his leg gave out. He made it look like an accident, aiming for the rolling chair in the corner.

"Hold on, give me a sec."

Cypress instead dropped into Bee's lap, sending the chair rolling backwards.

"Uggh."

"It was a good save!"

"You weren't supposed to notice!" he groaned, resting their helms together. Eventually, Cypress found her way to his mouth. Some experiences were better face-to-face. Reality was thin, life was fragile, and times like these were meant to be seized.

Sure, making out was trickier than the human version. But it was like music, she supposed. Electric and full of deeper meaning, with drops that leave you hungry for more.

"Hey. I–" Cypress choked on the sentence. She lifted his servo and pulled it into her chest. "I need your help with something."

Bee mopped at the oral lubricant in the corner of his mouth, "Chest hurts again?"

"Not exactly." She bit her derma, "You wanna see another use for HDMI cables?"

"You mean. Oh…" Bumblebee trailed off.

"You know, I don't think I ever thought of you romantically-"

"Good god…you don't have to do this. I'm fine with waiting."

"But I'm not," Cypress rubbed ginger circles into his cheek, "Lemme finish. Until we went out on the wing, you worried about me. You're a good friend."

Bee's optics darted to meet hers, then away. "Getting repaired on a kitchen counter was weird, but kind of hot looking back. You didn't leave because you realized something was wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you."

Cypress popped her chestplates unprompted. What resided there and in pockets under her plating was proof of the deeper human influence she held. Instead of a solid casing, her spark sat back further in her chassis, bound by fragmented shards and tendon-like metal. "It's weird and gross, and it only gets worse from here. You're not dying until I show you what you mean to me."

He didn't flinch, "Is this why you're scared of mecha?"

"Scared is a strong…"

Bumblebee worked his thumb along one of the flat planes before splaying both servos over her chassis. The blue-tinged light refracted and began to dig through his servos. "You're still scared. Of yourself."

Cypress let her helm rest atop his, tweaking his horns. "The weird thing is, there's order in a beast. It only does what it's supposed to do. Anything that takes a humanoid image is like chaos incarnate. I'm proof. I did this on my own."

"It's pretty. Like a disco ball."

Cypress shrugged as Bee ran his digits over her cheek, leaving static along her plating.

"Look at this."

Bright blue light spilled into the space between them, revealing a pulsing vortex. Bumblebee brought one of her servos within touching distance, "I'd like you here. Close."

Cypress planted her palms against the crystal shielding his spark, letting the tendrils climb her shoulders before drawing back.

You had one chance to bond correctly. Aligning frequencies could mean all the bliss in the universe or a nasty shock worse than a caffeine overdose. Some people were worth the risk. One person always would be.

"The blade at my side, the shelter," Bumblebee began.

"In crisis, the warmth of the lost," Cypress continued.

"Sparks in kind, until dull."


Next time: we're getting back to the other, other, other plot….