Storm didn't bother to go back; his room was a mess.
Maybe if he kept it that way, his brothers wouldn't steal from him a second time.
He had intended to pass by Quasar's room, to no doubt recollect his lab equipment; but he'd must've taken a wrong turn earlier. The path he was on led outside, the metal flooring eroded into noticeably wet mud.
In front of him was the behind of a waterfall, cascading above the holographic rock which sealed the entrance. With a wave of a servo he was allowed through the hidden exit and he gingerly stepped through the waterfall, feeling a slight sense of wonder as he noticed curious algae growth along the rocks he passed through.
"I wonder what type of filth you are." He muttered to himself. Normally, he'd take a sample to study for later, but with his subspace currently occupied with a generous red energon specimen and his lab equipment "out on loan," he had to reconsider his habit.
As soon as he stepped into the sunlight, he transformed into his altmode - and the jet hovered gracelessly above the water, splashing the already scarce riverbed into a muddy slurry as his engine's blazed by. He flew low, surrounded on all sides by pine trees, and he didn't dare to fly higher, least a human saw him and snapped his picture.
Not even a minute passed as he flew and the river matured into a pond, a pool of glistening blue water. He'd been here once before, but it looked healthier from his last visit. He transformed into root mode, tapping his optics to take a recording for later.
The water was clean and pristine, and he couldn't help but become enamored by the view. Before the water had been frozen over, the winter season had taken every cheerful bit of green.
''You scared the beavers!"
Storm panicked as he heard a twig snap behind him. From out of the bushes tumbled a human, a small boy with dark hair and the most dejected, black beady eyes he'd ever seen. Storm could only freeze in place as the boy crept closer, his head low to the ground as if the boy hadn't noticed the gigantic metal alien currently standing next to him.
Storm backed away as quietly as he could. He didn't like to be around humans, especially children, who thought it wise to run around in random directions near his legs, where he could accidentally step on them.
Not that it ever happened.
But there was a first time for everything.
"Well, aren't you going to say sorry?" asked the boy. There was a wild look in his eyes, one screaming vengeance.
Storm could only look down dumbly. The boy, perhaps ten years of age, still wasn't screaming, running away back into the bushes he'd tumbled out of.
Was that a good sign? Storm wasn't sure.
"Storm?" said the boy, and suddenly Storm was struck with the realization that the boy wasn't human after all.
'He knows my name...who-' Storm had no time to finish his thought, but now knew who the bot was.
Crrrzzzzkttt!
The shudder light of a camera snapped in his direction, the boy held a satisfied expression, looking up into Storm's optics as if all his problems had just been solved.
"Are you in there? Or are you suffering a malfunction?" The boy crept closer, persistent with his questions. "Some kinda glitch?" He mused, kicking one of Storm's talons, an action so comically small when done by an itty-bitty fleshling - or at least, the facsimile of one.
The shudder light of the camera went off again, and this time Storm was coherent enough to snatch it away. With two claw tips, it was unceremoniously ripped away and the "human" could only reach out with his hands glumly, the camera just out of reach.
"What are you doing with this relic? I thought humans took photos with their phones now, exclusively." He recalled how Miko and Raf at the Autobots had defended their technological obsession, attached to their phones as much as Arcee to her wheels and Bulkhead to his swinging maces. 'At least Jack can be reliable without technology...sometimes...' Storm thought.
"They do!" The boy spat. "But do you really want me running around with one, its GPS signal ready to crack open this entire operation?"
Storm rolled his eyes, and against his better judgement, gave the camera back. "Fair enough." He muttered.
"So, what did you say earlier?" asked Storm.
The boy bit his lip, the action a mere expression but the slightest movement did appear ethereal - his tiny body was enveloped in a strange, deceptive oscillating-light. "About the beavers?" he grumbled. "I know you know what they are. You downloaded the same wildlife directories I did."
Reluctantly, Storm internally rolled back his optics, perusing his database of Earth wildlife. He found "Beavers" quickly enough, the species inane, yet distinct for being one of the few organics with enough processing power to build "houses" just like the sapient humans.
He looked over the pond again, noticing a pile of sticks beavers would inhabit, called a dam.
"Snapshot." Storm sourly said, his tone serious. "That hideous mess can't be called a house."
Snapshot laughed. His body flickered like candlelight, but he appeared happy.
"But it's home to them." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Haven't you seen the inside of a human house? How cluttered with useless knickknack-decorations their nests are?"
Storm nodded "No." He'd yet to see the inside of a human's home that hadn't been from a magazine or the internet. It'd always been Arcee, Bumblebee, or Bulkhead who had minded the humans. He didn't want to bother with such nonsense. It's why he kept Snapshot around. Someone needed to keep tabs on the humans, mindless data no other cybertronian typically wanted to collect.
Suddenly, Storm felt his tanks drop, his percentage of energon lubricating his systems was less than ideal. He remembered the red energon crystal tucked away in his subspace and he mused what it would taste like if he dared to eat such a rare specimen raw.
"Say, Snapshot, 'little buddy,' could you perhaps, pretty please do a favor for me?"
"Well sure." It was said with a sarcastic-bent. "Maybe, if you promise to never ever 'little buddy' me ever again."
Storm chortled, the sound distinct and strained. He wasn't the type to be amused often, but it was safe to say that Snapshot was his favorite brother of them all.
Snapshot, like most of the sparklings, cursed-never-to-grow, was horribly sensitive about his size, but while the majority accepted mediocrity in being the size of Storm's fingertip, Snapshot had embraced his shortcomings and thrived.
"Tell you what, let's make a deal." Snapshot held a mischievous grin. His human expressions never were completely right, nor his hair which remained uncanny, like wet-hot plaster atop his skull. "Bring me an alt-mode scan of an osprey, the bird, not the plane, and I'll do whatever you wish."
Storm wanted to snarl out in frustration, but he wasn't a temperamental sparkling - he was a mechling - with an intelligent processor - and Snapshot was the most reasonable of his brothers.
In fact, the request was suspiciously mundane. "Really, you just want an alt-mode scan of an obscure animal? Couldn't you just do it yourself?" After all, Snapshot's life purpose was to track down and to catalogue every organic he set his little optics upon, notably by his lonesome.
"Not this one. It's too... out of the way. It's in Florida you see, amongst the mangroves. I can't afford to travel from Nevada right now, unlike you. It's springtime for the beavers and I need to take many pictures of the new baby-ones. "
Storm sighed. It was a way out to travel, but he'd get it done eventually. "I'll do it, but I can't do it right now. I have to return to the Autobot's before they mark me off as dead."
"Really? You're leaving the tunnels so soon?" Snapshot rolled his eyes. "But they'll keep you there - trapped. You won't get my osprey scan, then."
Storm stomped a ped down, for emphasis. "I know I'm giving up my freedom, just like it's nothing, but I'm keen to get back to the Autobots regardless. The sooner I return, the quicker I can regain their trust to let me out when 'something actually happens,' which I can't tell when will happen." Besides, Storm wasn't eager to stick around his brothers, Shockwave, and his mother; especially since the privacy of his room had been invaded. His room at the Autobot-base was the only space of his currently respected - and he wanted to return to it - his unsullied possessions.
Snapshot sighed in turn. "Yes, I suppose we can't all be omnipotent."
Storm waved a servo."Yah yah, you're not Sunstorm with his 'god-complex.' either. Don't try to fool me."
"Hehe, of course, but you try telling that to a few of the local humans. They think I'm some kinda fae-genie...or sometimes even 'Bigfoot.'"
Storm didn't think too hard about whatever nonsense Snapshot was admitting. He didn't have time to go down whatever rabbit hole of information Snapshot was proposing. He didn't know what a "fae, genie, or a bigfoot" was, and he didn't want to know.
"Look, while that sounds fun, could you still do my favor, early? I can't exactly bring it to the Autobots without losing it."
"Without losing it? Are you sure you haven't already?"
Storm snorted, but took out the red energon crystal. Snapshot's eyes roved over it silently, before holding up his camera and snapping a picture of it. "I can't see my reflection in it. Just like the pond." It was a dejected statement, but Snapshot filled it with such unwarranted enthusiasm.
"Could you hide this? From everybody else, including Shockwave?"
"What?! What do you even expect me to do? It's bigger than me by ten times you bolthead!"
"Please? I'll even bury it for you. I just need you to keep an optic on it."
"Right, but what if someone finds it? I can't exactly guard it, not even from the humans."
Storm huffed. "Don't discount yourself. I know you can eat a pack of humans if you wanted to."
"But do I?" Snapshot spat.
"Right, well, if somebody takes it you can tell me who and I could take it back."
"But what if Shockwave finds it?"
Both Storm and Snapshot made a noncommittal whimper. They'd let Shockwave have whatever. It's not like they could convince him otherwise, to let them keep a shiny mineral 'just for keeps.' "Or Starscream?" It was the same situation, if only more loud and messy.
"What are you even going to use this for?" Snapshot asked.
Storm shrugged his shoulders. "No idea, but I'm not about to leave it for anyone to find either. I'll think of something."
Snapshot shook his head, but amusement was plain upon his face.
"Fine. But if you don't get that scan, expect revenge."
"Right."
Storm wandered a mile or so from the pond, coming across Snapshot's log cabin. "Are you sure you want it inside? It barely fits and it's crushing your stuff." Snapshot grumbled. "Well no, but you don't give me much choice. My cabin is the only spot that is plated to block cybertronian signals. If someone, like ma-ker, scans for energon deposits it won't come up."
"How can you be sure of that? It's mainly just wood."
"I'm not, but it's all I've got."
"Right."
The red energon took up every nook and cranny of Snapshot's log cabin. It sat unassumingly against a cushioned bench, narrowly avoiding Snapshot's cooking equipment and stove.
"It's explosive, remember." Warned Storm, but it only came off as condescending to Snapshot, who looked back with hot ire.
"No matter how much I look it, I'm not a sparkling. I'm as old as you, you imbecile!" He snarled. "Now get out of here! Scurry back to your pathetic Autobots." Snapshot's holoform illusion disintegrated. A small sparkling stomped a ped or two, his paint camouflaged perfectly to melt into the woodland. A moment passed, and Storm withheld any apology. "I'll find your stupid bird, Snapshot. Just hold it together!"
"You don't know what you're asking of me, you fool!" Snapshot transformed. His form was of a small quadrupedal mammal - a "beaver." It was made of camouflaged metal, colors of grey, brown, green, and even lichen yellow - but then his holoform shimmered again, a golden glimmering mist, and then a beaver remained, appearing as organic and perfectly brown as any. "I have a new cabin to build - and that means I have many trees to cut!"
"Get out of here, you fool!" Snapshot shouted, a garbled mess of beaver-tongue, incomprehensible to Storm, but amusing all the same.
Storm shot off into the sky, his jet alt-mode collapsed together, shooting away with the Autobots clicking upon his radar.
'Home sweet home, here I come.' He mused.
Storm paced around the Autobot-base nervously. The ceiling was high, curved upward like a stretched off-white eggshell against packed earth. The soft glow of yellow lights could not fool him into believing he was under sunshine. As soon as he walked into the Autobot base, he'd gotten prisoner-clamps locked onto his wings, courtesy of Bulkhead and Arcee.
They didn't want him potentially "running off" again.
His aerial-sensors would occasionally ping, to remind him he was underground; it annoyed him, but also kept him focused upon the task at hand - his punishment. He'd known that going back to base after such a long hiatus, without his brother to boot, would cause him serious trouble.
He just didn't expect trouble to be so mundane.
When Ratchet had saw he was alive, instead of reprimanding him or shouting during his checkup, Ratchet had given him the biggest smile he'd ever seen on any mech.
Not even Optimus Prime smiled that wide, at least from what he could tell when the Boss's face wasn't obscured by a mask.
So Storm had asked for a punishment, just to make sure things felt normal again - to feel like he deserved to be there. Ratchet had taken him down a dusty hallway, with a room that hadn't looked used for decades. Crates of supplies and racks of datapads littered every nook and cranny of the office.
"This used to be Prowl's office and workstation." Storm hadn't heard of a bot named Prowl. He wanted to ask specifics, but by Ratchet's strained tone of voice, he guessed that mech died a while ago...
So it didn't matter anymore...who he'd been...
"Prowl? I've never heard of him." said Storm.
Ratchet laughed, one obviously forced.
"He would've had a spark-attack hearing you say that. Back during the heyday of the war, he had been one of the most feared Autobots, just for the simple fact he got things done better than almost anyone." Ratchet leaned over a stack of datapads, reaching for something left atop a desk. It was a bright orange holopicture in the shape of a rhombus. The mech depicted had a professional, almost stern expression, with black and grey colors, with accents of brown and gold.
"That's Prowl, one of the most competent mechs I ever knew. He didn't take slag from anyone." said Ratchet.
"What was his job exactly?"
"He kept the prisoners inline and organized all of our covert operations. Overseeing security was more of Red Alert's thing."
Storm sighed. "And who was Red Alert?"
"Honestly, he was one of the most paranoid guys I've ever met. Sadly, all that fear never saved him from the wrong end of an ion-cannon."
"Ouch." There wasn't much else Storm could say or do to express his sympathies. Slag-happened.
"Anyway, that's enough reminiscing. I can tell you are eager to get started." Ratchet smirked, an iota of humor slipped into his tone.
"Get started on what exactly?"
"Cleaning out this room, organizing all this stuff Prowl left behind. The room has barely been touched since he died. Honestly, this job should've been done years ago, but I only trust Optimus Prime or myself to clear this out."
"Pfft, what? So why make me do it?"
"You asked for a punishment didn't you?" Ratchet crossed his arms. "Well, this is it. Unless you want to clean the shower drains."
"No, no, this is fine." Storm said, a little too quickly, and he waved a dismissive servo. "Is there anything else? Should I put aside anything specific when I find it?"
Ratchet put a servo to his chin, scanning the room. Briefly, he looked distressed, before shrugging away whatever had disturbed him.
"Unmarked datapads for sure. Prowl had them all organized by color, so any without a color stamp are empty, or at one point, held sensitive information."
"Sensitive information, huh? You sure you wanna tell me that Ratchet? I might have to take a peek at everything now, to sate my newfound curiosity."
Ratchet rolled his optics. "I guarantee if you find anything, it'll either be encrypted gibberish or outdated system updates. Optimus stored anything useful for the war effort and destroyed all the incriminating stuff. "
Storm grumbled in disappointment. At least he knew now that Prime hid potential treasures out of sight. "Right, well, I'll still be looking for anything Prime might have missed."
Ratchet snorted. "As you should." He held out the rhombus shaped holopic for Storm to take. "Here, you'll need this to unlock the lockers and cabinets. It was his ID badge."
"Oh, gotcha." Storm had been momentarily confused as to why Ratchet was handing him a dead-mech's picture; he'd never known the guy, so why would he care to look at him? Storm paid more attention then, and noticed Ratchet was a bit shaken up. Ratchet was glancing around the room, as if his processor was filling up with flashes of a thousand horrible memories - Storm saw that very same look on a lot of old bots from New Vos.
"Alright, comm me if you need anything."
"Of course, Ratchet."
Storm vented a sigh of relief when Ratchet left the room. He certainly didn't remember the mech being so chummy and friendly before.
'Ick, he must feel bad my brother got captured, or something dumb like that.' He thought.
He started by thumbing through a filing cabinet full of datapads, which certainly didn't instill Storm with confidence that he would find anything worthwhile. Most of the datapads needed repairs to work or a new charge-crystal to activate to life. It was unlikely he'd be able to read anything significant until he cleaned everything up.
With that realization in mind, Storm decided to take the project seriously; it was unlikely the Autobots would be letting him off the base anytime soon.
"Well, I asked for this." He grumbled.
Unfortunately, his situation was a bit too familiar, and he couldn't help but recall the majority of his childhood, trapped in the repeating empty corridors of Shockwave's various interconnected hideouts. In the early days of the Great War, Cybertron beneath-its-shell, had been carved open, quickly becoming a desperate underground city, a place for neutrals to flee the endless conflict above. However, whatever unity the people had been able to cobble together had quickly withered away when energon did. Jetstorm had been fortunate enough to have been born after all the bloodshed; he only had to walk past harmless bodies, instead of strangers looking to gut him for energon.
Once-upon-a-time, a scraplet had bitten Starscream.
One that had escaped Shockwave's cage for it.
By the end of the "Underground War," his family had all been struck by the sparkeater's curse.
As far as Jetstorm knew, he'd been born as a sparkeater.
His first memory had been of Starscream's fiery-red optics, a look of endless hunger and sudden, twitchy movements.
Shockwave had been there for him then, his surrogate-father, when Starscream sought out bots to slaughter - to feed - to eat.
Either Storm would be perched atop Shockwave's shoulder for a view, or placed within a container full of his siblings, a container Shockwave had welded to his chassis and dragged around, a literal treasure chest full of sparklings.
He'd been so incredibly tiny then, perhaps even smaller than the size of a human like Jack Darby.
His fondest memories consisted of being bored to bits, wandering empty space over and over, wearing out his talons down to numbs as he paced restlessly back and forth; daydreaming of fantastical places he could only speculate about. Learning had been his only salvation and one of the few activities Shockwave had actively encouraged with any sort of enthusiasm. When giving a lecture Shockwave looked happy, giving uncanny yet inspired gestures. Despite being trapped underground, Shockwave had fostered a healthy appetite for learning about the outside world, filling Jetstorm's datapads with whatever obscure information he'd requested.
Back then, Storm believed Shockwave had cared about him...that Shockwave had been his friend...
But in reality, Storm was just a number to him.
Just like the rest of his brethren.
Now Storm had no one, not even his twin-brother, to lean on for support.
Just himself.
And he found he liked it that way.
A tower of supply crates reached to the ceiling in a corner of the room, and Storm hoped the Autobots forgot about him.
He had work to do.