CHAPTER 10: ART OF WAR

Jeopardy rushed into the Autobot base, his frame battered and bleeding energon from multiple wounds. His mangled hand hung awkwardly by his side, his shoulder showed signs of charred damage, and his dented torso bore the marks of a hard-fought battle. Despite it all, his focus was razor-sharp as he stormed toward Hermit Crab's workshop.

"Hermit, PLEASE tell me you have good news," Jeopardy demanded, his voice strained.

Hermit didn't look up from his console. "Slipstream and Impulse are en route. Estimated arrival, 15 cycles."

Jeopardy sighed in relief, though his pain made it short-lived. "What about the Combaticons?"

"Their ship is currently sinking in Lake Michigan," Hermit reported as he jotted down the sinking vessel's coordinates.

"Better the lake than downtown Chicago," Jeopardy muttered. "We'll have to deal with them eventually, but that's tomorrow's problem."

From the corner of the room, Agent Simmons piped up, still clutching his phone. "Did you guys almost blow up a hospital?!"

Jeopardy turned to him, exasperated. "I didn't see a hospital."

"Well, the soldiers who were watching you sure did!" Simmons fired back, his tone laced with accusation. "And now the Pentagon is breathing down my neck about your reckless—"

Jeopardy cut him off with a sharp glare, his exhaustion and injuries finally pushing him to snap. "Simmons, as much as I would love to hash this out, I'm currently dealing with a missing hand! We'll finish this conversation later."

"But—"

"Later!" Jeopardy shouted, the word echoing through the room. Without waiting for another word, he barked out his next order. "Storm! Med bay! Now!"

He didn't wait for her response, storming off to the medical bay, leaving Hermit and Simmons in stunned silence.

Stormsurge followed Jeopardy into the medical bay, watching as he fumbled with tools using his good hand. Despite his injuries, his focus remained steady, though his movements were slower and more deliberate.

"Sorry about yelling at you earlier," Jeopardy said, breaking the silence as he gathered supplies. "It's been... a stressful day." He looked at her, his expression softening slightly. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," Stormsurge replied, though her optics flicked to his mangled hand. "Are you going to be okay?"

"That's what I need you here for," Jeopardy explained, strapping his right forearm down to the operating table.

Stormsurge tilted her head, her optics narrowing in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"Preparing my arm for surgery," Jeopardy said, his voice calm and clinical. "This hand needs to be either repaired or replaced. To do this I need to remove it, but doing that one-handed was not something I was trained for. So I need your help."

The realization hit her, and she tensed. He was asking her to amputate his hand. "Can't you have Hermit do this?" she asked, her voice betraying her discomfort. The thought of performing such an dangerous and irreversible procedure on someone she cared about made her hesitant.

Jeopardy shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You really think Hermit has the patience, or the manifolds, for this?" He asked, recognizing Hermit's squeamishness.

"And you think I do?"

"More than him, yes," Jeopardy replied matter-of-factly.

"Why?"

"Because Slipstream doesn't have the precision, and Impulse... well, he's Impulse," Jeopardy said with a faint chuckle, then added, "You, on the other hand, have excellent fine motor skills. I'll admit, it's not ideal, but we gotta work with what we're given."

Stormsurge felt a strange mix of pride and dread. "Uh... thank you?"

"Don't worry," Jeopardy reassured her. "I'll guide you through it. I've done plenty of amputations before, just not on myself. First, I need to disable my pain receptors."

He opened a panel on his bicep, clipped a circuit, and immediately his tense expression softened. The sharp edges of pain that had contorted his face smoothed out. "Alright," he said, his voice steady, "we can begin."

Jeopardy gestured toward the rolling table beside them. "First, bring those tools over," he instructed.

Stormsurge complied, pushing the table closer. It was neatly arranged with an assortment of surgical tools, their metallic sheen reflecting the harsh lights of the med bay. Jeopardy ran his finger just below his damaged hand, tracing an invisible line along his wrist. "Now take the saw, the big one, and cut along this line," he said evenly.

Stormsurge picked up the saw he indicated, her grip shaky. She looked at the tool, then at his wrist, her processor racing with doubt. "I… are you sure I have to do this?"

"I can't function properly with just one hand," Jeopardy explained. "This needs to be done so I can replace it with a new one."

"But this is… this is… I'm hurting you!"

"You won't hurt me. My pain receptors are disabled, remember?"

"Still, I'm cutting off your hand! That doesn't bother you?"

"No," Jeopardy said firmly. "It's pretty standard procedure."

"Not for me," Stormsurge replied, her optics wide with apprehension.

Jeopardy paused, recognizing the distress in her voice. "I get it," he said, softening his tone. "My first operation was pretty nerve-wracking too."

Stormsurge set the saw down for a moment, gripping the edge of the table. "How did First Aid help you through it the first time?"

Jeopardy smiled faintly, nostalgic for his mentor. "Exactly what I'm doing right now," he replied. "I'm gonna talk you through every step, this will remain a calm environment, and remember, I'm gonna be here with you through the whole thing And above all else, remember you any question and voice any concern without judgment. If you gotta take a pause, we will."

"While being operated on?" she asked skeptically.

"I'll admit," Jeopardy said, "this is a bit of a role reversal, but I trust you to do this. And I'll guide you through it every step of the way. Just trust me, we've got this."

Stormsurge looked at him, still nervous but feeling a flicker of reassurance from his confidence. "Alright," she said, picking up the saw again, her grip a little steadier this time. "Let's do this."

Jeopardy adjusted his instructions, reading Stormsurge's hesitation. "Let's start with the plasma scalpel instead of the saw."

"I thought you said to use the saw first," Stormsurge said, confused.

"I did, but I was out of order," Jeopardy admitted. "Before we amputate, we need to staunch the energon flow so I don't bleed out."

Stormsurge frowned. "How do I do that?"

Jeopardy grabbed a marker from the nearby tray and drew three lines on his forearm in the shape of an incomplete rectangle. "Use the scalpel to cut into my forearm along these lines. We're going to make a flap in the plating to access the inner components."

Stormsurge picked up the plasma scalpel, her hands trembling slightly. She lowered it carefully toward the marked lines, but the scalpel hovered over his arm for a moment.

"It's okay, Storm. I won't feel anything," Jeopardy said calmly.

Taking a deep breath, Stormsurge slowly pressed the scalpel into Jeopardy's metal plating. The plasma edge glided through the material like it was melted butter, and she followed the marked lines carefully. Once the cuts were complete, she hesitated again before gently peeling back the flap she'd created to expose the inner workings of Jeopardy's forearm.

"Alright," Jeopardy said, leaning forward to peer at the opened area, "do you see a valve in there?"

"Yeah, I see it," Stormsurge replied, leaning in closer. "Ugh, it's weird seeing the inside of your arm."

"You'll get used to it," Jeopardy said with a faint smile. "Turn the valve to the left. That'll close off the energon lines going to and from my arm."

Stormsurge nodded and carefully twisted the valve. She felt a slight resistance at first, then the mechanism gave way and locked into place.

"Done," she said, stepping back.

"Good work," Jeopardy said. "Now we can actually begin the operation."

Stormsurge gripped the saw again, her focus locked on the spot Jeopardy had marked on his wrist. She pressed it gently against the plating and began to move it back and forth, wincing as the blade cut deeper into his arm. The sound of metal grinding against metal filled the med bay, sending shivers down her spine and irritated her ears.

"I'll admit," Jeopardy said casually, "it's slightly unnerving watching my own hand being amputated."

"Told you, this is insane," Stormsurge muttered, her voice strained with discomfort.

"Hey, I'm usually the one holding the scalpel. It's been a while since I was the patient," Jeopardy tried to joke. Then, with a glance at the incision, he warned, "Careful now. You're getting close to the energon line."

"I thought we stopped the flow," Stormsurge said, her grip tightening on the saw.

"We did, but there's still residual energon in there. It might—"

Before Jeopardy could finish, a sudden spurt of energon shot out of the incision, splattering across Stormsurge's face, neck, and chest.

"UGH, AGH, EUGH, AAHHH!" Stormsurge gagged, recoiling.

"It's just energon," Jeopardy said calmly. "Nothing you haven't seen before."

"It's energon that came from inside you!" she shouted, her hands trembling as she dropped the saw for a moment. "Oh, Primus, I think it's in my mouth! UGH, I CAN TASTE IT!"

"Yeah, it's pretty gross the first time," Jeopardy admitted, trying to stay reassuring.

"Has this happened to you before?!" she demanded, gagging and frantically wiping at her face.

"Yep. Had almost the same reaction you're having now, except I kept my mouth shut when it spurted."

"AAGH, IT'S GOING DOWN MY THROAT! OH, I THINK I SWALLOWED IT!"

"Believe me, I genuinely feel sorry for you," Jeopardy said with an apologetic smile.

"WHAT DO I DO?! OH, I FEEL LIKE I'M GONNA DISCHARGE!"

"No, no one's discharging. Just calm down, Storm. Deep breaths, okay? And must I remind you there's a saw halfway through my wrist?"

Stormsurge groaned in disgust, shaking her hands as if trying to fling off the energon. "Why couldn't you just do this on your own?! WHY DID I HAVE TO BE INVOLVED?!"

"You can take a break and clean off if you need to."

"You sure? I don't want you to bleed out."

"The energon lines are sealed off from the cut site. I'll be fine," Jeopardy assured her. "Hermit's got a washing station near his workshop. You can rinse off my energon there."

"Okay, okay, yeah," Stormsurge said, backing toward the door. Then she paused, frowning. "Wait, shouldn't you have a washing station? This is a medical bay."

"We haven't set it up yet. I've been using Hermit's," Jeopardy said dismissively. "But that's an issue for another time. Just go clean up and come back when you're ready."

"You sure you'll be okay?"

"Surgeons take breaks all the time, especially for stuff like this. Go ahead. I'll be fine," Jeopardy said with a reassuring nod.

Stormsurge hesitated for a moment longer, then turned and rushed out of the med bay, muttering disgusted sounds under her breath as she went.

After a few minutes, Stormsurge returned to the med bay, now cleaned off and composed. Picking up the saw once more, she asked, "So I just cut the rest of the way through?"

"Yep, simple as that," Jeopardy reassured her.

Taking a deep breath, Stormsurge resumed cutting through the remaining metal, and with one final motion, the damaged hand was severed cleanly. She set the saw aside and looked at Jeopardy. "Alright, what gross thing do I have to do now?"

"That's it," he said with a calm smile.

"Wait, really? That's all?"

"Yeah, that's all you needed to do. I'll take the stump to Hermit. Between his skills and my guidance, I should have a replacement hand, or this one repaired, within a day or two."

"That's… surprisingly fast."

"Well, Hermit is a brilliant bot. And when he's motivated, he can work wonders." Jeopardy unstrapped his forearm and inspected the exposed stump before looking back at Stormsurge. "Seriously though, thank you. I couldn't have done this without you. Turns out, you make a surprisingly good nurse."

"Oh, I am never doing this again."

"Primus willing, this is the last time you'll need to operate on me." Jeopardy grinned, standing up from the med bay chair.

Stormsurge sighed in relief, shaking her head with a faint smirk. "Yeah, I'm holding you to that."

Jeopardy exited the med bay, Stormsurge trailing close behind, and found Hermit Crab deep in conversation with Agent Simmons. "Hermit, I need a new hand," Jeopardy said bluntly.

"Do you have the original?" Hermit asked, glancing up from his discussion.

Jeopardy handed him the mangled remains of his damaged hand. "Here. Think you can work with this?"

Hermit inspected it for a moment before giving a short nod. "I can work with this."

"Great. Let me know if you need anything," Jeopardy said, turning his attention to Simmons. "Now, where were we?"

"I was about to chew you out for turning Chicago into a warzone and bringing even more giant robots to Earth," Simmons snapped. "How many more of you are we expecting?"

"We don't know," Jeopardy replied honestly.

"So for all we know, a whole army of Deceptiwhatsits could be on its way?"

"That's highly unlikely," Hermit interjected. "Earth holds no significant strategic value to justify a full invasion. At best, you're looking at an expeditionary force, like the one we just dealt with."

"Was that supposed to make me feel better?" Simmons retorted.

"I'm just pointing out that, to them, your planet is an irrelevant frontier world with no valuable resources, material or labor," Hermit said matter-of-factly.

"And what if they eventually decide we are worth taking a look at?"

"Then we can start to worry. But for now, there's no evidence to suggest the Decepticons consider Earth worth conquering. It's too far off the beaten path to bother with. Not even worth establishing an outpost."

Simmons crossed his arms, his face a mix of skepticism and frustration. "You sound pretty confident for someone who couldn't be bothered to step outside and face the problem you brought to my planet."

"Hey, I play to my strengths," Hermit shot back. "And I suggest you do the same: stay out of the way."

Jeopardy interjected, trying to diffuse the tension. "Now, Hermit, Simmons is our government liaison. Cutting him out entirely isn't going to help our situation."

"Exactly," Simmons said, latching onto Jeopardy's point. "You bots need me. For instance, there's a massive spaceship that just sank in Lake Michigan, carrying enough firepower to flatten the entire Midwest, and I have the Joint Chiefs of Staff on speed dial."

"I've told you already, human casualties must be avoided at all costs," Jeopardy insisted, his tone firm.

Simmons wasn't backing down. "You lost the right to make that call the moment the one thing you claimed was 'unlikely to happen' dropped out of the sky and started blowing things up. I gave you the chance to handle it when it was an unknown. Now that I know what we're dealing with, I'm calling in the big guns. It's time to wake up the Pentagon."

"Hostile or not, they landed on your sovereign territory. Restraint must be paramount in any human operation," Jeopardy pressed.

"Oh, absolutely. But if we get a clean shot," Simmons said, his voice darkening, "we'll be finding their parts scattered as far as Reno."

The roar of turbines then announced the return of Slipstream and Impulse. Moments later, Impulse crashed dramatically through the skylight, landing in the atrium with a triumphant pose. "WOO! DID YOU SEE THAT?! DID YOU SEE HOW WE KICKED AFT?! ME AND SLIPSTREAM ARE UNSTOPPABLE!" he shouted, still riding the adrenaline high from the battle.

Slipstream floated down more gracefully, landing beside him with a heavy sigh. "Next time, can you ask before jumping on my back?"

"Next time, I promise! But come on, admit it, we were AWESOME! We threw the Combaticons out of their bridge before they even knew what hit 'em!" Impulse boasted, fists in the air. Then his eyes scanned the room, stopping on Jeopardy. "Hey, Jeopardy, where's your hand?"

Slipstream winced, noticing Jeopardy's injuries. "Oh yeah, that's… brutal."

Hermit Crab, still seated at his console, interjected, "Did either of you see where the Combaticons went after the ship went down?"

"They were still inside last I checked," Slipstream replied.

"Then I will continue to monitor the situation. In the meantime, Simmons should have the humans patrol the area but avoid engagement," Hermit said.

"Only patrol?" Simmons shot back, arms crossed as he stepped forward. "Those five nearly turned Chicago into a crater—"

"Well, actually, we—" Impulse began, about to brag about how they almost crashed the Combaticons' ship into the city, but Slipstream elbowed him hard in the ribs, a silent warning to keep his mouth shut.

"Military will be monitoring the Combaticons and WILL engage if attacked," Simmons insisted.

Jeopardy tried to reason with him, his voice firm but calm. "Simmons, I do not believe escalation is the best approach—"

Simmons cut him off sharply. "This isn't just your war anymore, Jeopardy. Humanity is now part of this fight. You said it yourself: we have a right to defend our planet, and that's exactly what we're going to do. Maybe you should focus on not getting your ass handed to you next time, so you don't lose more than just a hand."

With that, Simmons turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Jeopardy standing in silence, his injuries and frustration weighing heavily on him.

"Just so we're clear, I still get to kick aft, right?" Impulse asked, practically bouncing on his feet.

"Yes," Jeopardy replied, already regretting the inevitable chaos to come. "If the Combaticons cause trouble, you can fight them."

"Alright! I'll get ready to fight them again!" Impulse shouted, already hyping himself up.

"You want to do that AGAIN?" Slipstream asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, that was SO fun!" Impulse grinned, as if the battle hadn't been a life-threatening ordeal.

Jeopardy stepped in to refocus the conversation. "Currently, the Combaticons aren't trying to attack anything or cause trouble, so we have no reason to antagonize them."

"So what are we supposed to do then?" Impulse asked, sounding almost disappointed.

"We use this time to improve our combat capabilities," Jeopardy said. "I don't know if you've noticed, Impulse, but you're the only one with any actual training or experience."

"I don't know," Impulse said, pointing at Slipstream. "I think she did pretty good going off instinct. I mean, we did overpower the Combaticons."

"Yeah, because we caught them with their pants down," Slipstream countered.

"Exactly," Jeopardy agreed. "The two of you can't take on the Combaticons alone. The rest of us need to be able to effectively defend ourselves."

"Is self-defense training necessary for the two bots who want nothing to do with the 'thrill of battle'?" Hermit asked, clearly referring to himself and Stormsurge.

"Perhaps not as rigorous," Jeopardy admitted. "But learning the essentials wouldn't hurt." He then turned his gaze to Stormsurge specifically. "I understand this isn't what any of us were anticipating, but the War has come to Earth. That means being ready for whatever comes next, which includes learning how to hold our own in combat."

Jeopardy looked back at Hermit. "In short, you were right, Hermit. This isn't a vacation. It's a new world we need to fight for if we want to survive."

"Thank you for the acknowledgment," Hermit said, his tone smug but also slightly validated.

Jeopardy took a deep breath and turned his full attention to Impulse, mentally bracing himself for what he was about to say. "Now Impulse, since you're our only professional soldier… could you please teach us everything you know about combat?"

Impulse's face lit up. "Give me half an hour and YES!" he shouted, racing off to prepare… something.

An hour later, Impulse had gathered the group in an empty parking lot near their base, where he'd arranged a collection of rusty and damaged cars.

"Where'd all these cars come from?" Jeopardy asked, looking over the impromptu training area.

"I found a junkyard. Thought they'd be fun for target practice," Impulse replied matter-of-factly. "Alright, let's get started. Jeopardy, you're up first, show me those internals!"

"What does that mean?" Jeopardy asked, confused.

"Internal weapons. You were part of Kalis's warrior caste, right?"

"Well, yeah…"

"Then you've probably got some kind of built-in weapons. Every warrior caste bot I've met had 'em. Like this." Impulse demonstrated, transforming his hands into flat jackhammers.

Jeopardy hesitated. "I'm not sure if I can do that."

"It's just like transforming, but focused on your hands," Impulse explained. "Try it."

Jeopardy focused on his stump, concentrating as it shifted and transformed into a short but sharp blade.

"Oooh, nice!" Impulse exclaimed, genuinely impressed.

"This feels… wrong," Jeopardy said, looking down at the blade uncomfortably.

"It's a bit short, yeah," Impulse admitted, misunderstanding his discomfort. "But it's how you use it that matters. Now, let's see what you've got for ranged weapons. Like this." He transformed his other hand into a spinning Gatling gun barrel.

Jeopardy shook his head. "I think I'll stick to the blade for now."

"Alright, alright, we'll start with melee training," Impulse said, waving it off. "Let's get you moving!"

Impulse took a step back, readying himself for a spar, while Jeopardy, blade still in hand, seemed distracted by its presence and kept glancing to see what Impulse was doing.

"What exactly is this training you've come up with?" Jeopardy asked skeptically.

"Just some stuff I remember Bulkhead talking about when I tried getting into the Wreckers," Impulse said casually, stretching his shoulders.

"And why do I have to go first?"

"'Cause you can take a hit and not get pissed. Now quit stalling and come at me!" Impulse yelled, motioning for Jeopardy to make the first move.

Jeopardy hesitated, awkwardly walking toward him, unsure how to begin. His movements were slow and without intent, clearly hoping Impulse would get impatient and take the first swing.

"Oh, come on, you can do better than that," Impulse taunted, shaking his head. But Jeopardy's aimless approach didn't change.

"Okay, okay, stop, what the hell, man? You're embarrassing me!" Impulse said, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"I'm sorry, I just don't have the passion for fighting you do," Jeopardy admitted, lowering his blade.

Impulse stared at him incredulously. "The Combaticons made it very clear they aren't in the mood for talking things out. Either we figure this out here and now, or I'm bringing you back to Cybertron in a box."

"It's not like I have some switch in my head that can turn on 'combat mode,'" Jeopardy argued.

"Sure you do! You're Kalisian warrior class, those guys are hardwired for fighting!"

"That is entirely inaccurate. Kalisian warriors are not instinctively ready for combat; it's the result of thousands of stellar cycles of training. Training I missed out on when I left my caste and became an outcast."

"Oh…" Impulse blinked, processing this. "Oh, I get it. You don't have the fire."

"The fire?"

"Yeah! That burning feeling in your spark when you're in the heat of battle, when your servos feel like they're exploding with energy, and you just wanna keep hitting and hitting and hitting until you win! That's what you need: to get fired up!"

"Okay," Jeopardy said cautiously. "How do I… get it?"

"Allow me to demonstrate." Impulse said with complete calm, then, without any warning, slapped Jeopardy across the face as hard as he could.

"Agh, what the hell?!" Jeopardy yelled, rubbing his face.

"There you go! Now push that anger into fighting!" Impulse encouraged, practically bouncing with excitement.

Jeopardy raised his hands, ready to engage, but before anything could start, Hermit Crab's voice rang out from the sidelines. "Transform your hand first, genius! Something tells me you're aiming for his face!"

"Right, sorry," Jeopardy muttered, quickly retracting the blade back into his arm.

"And now for the fun part!" Impulse cheered, throwing a punch straight at Jeopardy. Jeopardy ducked out of the way, barely avoiding the strike. Impulse kept swinging, relentless in his attempts to land a hit, while Jeopardy frantically dodged and blocked, his movements clumsy but improving with each attempt.

Finally, one of Impulse's punches connected, hitting Jeopardy square in the chest and knocking him backward.

"Dude, come on! I thought you had some spark in you now!" Impulse complained, flexing his fists.

"That doesn't mean I'm gonna go nuts and swing at you!" Jeopardy shot back, brushing himself off.

"Well, you gotta do something, or you're just a sitting duck! You can't let someone hit you and not at least try to fight back."

Jeopardy sighed. "Alright, but isn't there something I can do that doesn't involve, you know, killing someone?"

"Yeah, it's called fighting back. That doesn't mean you gotta kill 'em. Just… what's that word? Uh…"

"Incapacitate them?"Jeopardy completed

"Yeah! Incompapulate them!" Impulse said, completely genuine. "Now come on, just try throwing a punch. I promise I won't die."

Jeopardy hesitated. "As hard as I can?"

"Yep, hard as you can. Straight at me." Impulse nodded confidently, pounding his chest like a drum.

Jeopardy shifted into a stance, took a deep breath, and threw a punch at Impulse's armored chest as hard as he could. His fist slammed into Impulse, causing the larger bot to stagger back slightly. Impulse barely flinched, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"OH, THERE WE GO!" Impulse shouted, clearly thrilled. "Now let's try this again!"

Impulse and Jeopardy sparred for a few more minutes, with Jeopardy gradually adapting to the flow of combat. Despite his lack of formal training, he managed to keep up with Impulse's wild, unorthodox fighting style.

"There you go! Just pretend I'm Onslaught!" Impulse shouted mid-swing, grinning as Jeopardy deflected his strike. "Bet you wanna punch him right in the face, huh?"

Jeopardy didn't respond verbally but used the distraction to land a solid blow to Impulse's side. After a few more exchanges, Jeopardy caught on to Impulse's patterns and tactics. He ducked under a haymaker, swept Impulse's leg out from under him, and sent him crashing to the ground with a heavy thud.

"WOW! Where the hell was that a while ago?" Impulse exclaimed, more impressed than upset by the outcome.

"Guess I just needed a good warm-up," Jeopardy admitted, though he still found no enjoyment in the sparring. "I'd rather not do this again unless I absolutely have to."

"Fair enough," Impulse said, pulling himself up. "You're not bad, though. Might be a fighter deep down, even if you don't like it."

"Doubt it." Jeopardy dusted himself off.

"Alright, alright, we'll cool it for now. But next time, I'm coming back for that win." Impulse transformed his hand into a machine gun barrel, already refocusing on the next part of training. "So, who's ready to shoot some stuff? Slipstream, wanna try out those null rays again?"

"Sure," Slipstream agreed, stretching her arms and activating her weapons.

Impulse turned to Jeopardy. "Hey dude, how's your aim?"

"Eh, 50-50," Jeopardy admitted.

"Good enough! Go help Hermit and Storm with their target practice while I work with Slip."

Jeopardy sighed but nodded, heading over to join Hermit Crab and Stormsurge as Impulse led Slipstream to the makeshift firing range.

"So, did both of you bring the guns Impulse got you?" Jeopardy asked.

"I couldn't find it," Stormsurge admitted sheepishly.

"OH JEOPARDY, I ALMOST FORGOT. I FOUND THIS IN THE SHIP!" Impulse suddenly yelled from across the lot, holding up the railgun he'd gotten for Stormsurge. "HERE, STORM!" Without hesitation, Impulse chucked the weapon toward her.

Caught off guard, Stormsurge scrambled to catch it, but Jeopardy quickly stepped in, grabbing the gun out of the air before it could smack her. "Next time just bring it over!" Jeopardy shouted back at Impulse.

"You're no fun!" Impulse yelled, already walking off to train with Slipstream.

Jeopardy turned his attention back to Stormsurge and Hermit Crab. "Alright, do you two know what you're doing?"

"I mean… not really," Stormsurge admitted nervously, staring at the gun in Jeopardy's hands.

"I understand the basics, which should be good enough," Jeopardy said, handing his pistol to Stormsurge with the grip facing her. "We'll start with something easier before we move on to the railgun."

Stormsurge gingerly took the pistol, holding it awkwardly. "Now, you're going to want to—" Jeopardy started to explain, but was abruptly cut off by a loud bang. Stormsurge had accidentally gripped and pulled the trigger while adjusting her grip on the weapon.

"—Not do that," Jeopardy finished tersely after the shot whizzed harmlessly past him and buried itself in the dirt.

Stormsurge dropped the pistol like it was on fire. "Did I hit you?! Are you okay?!" she asked, panic flooding her voice.

Jeopardy exhaled, doing his best to mask how rattled he actually was. "No, no, I'm fine," he assured her, picking up the gun and inspecting it. "Just remember to keep your finger off the trigger unless you're absolutely certain you want to fire."

"Jeopardy, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—" she started, her hands fluttering in distress.

"You're fine, Storm," Jeopardy said firmly. "What matters is no one got hurt. Accidents happen. That's why we're practicing."

Stormsurge nodded, trying to calm herself, though her hands still trembled slightly. "I'll do better next time."

"I know you will," Jeopardy replied, offering the pistol back to her. "Now, let's take it slow, step by step."

"Okay, what now?" Stormsurge asked, now holding the pistol more carefully.

"So, uh, now try aiming it at that car," Jeopardy suggested, pointing to a rusted vehicle a distance away. Stormsurge raised the pistol, ready to shoot, but before she could fire, Hermit interrupted.

"And this is where I step in because if I let you two handle this, she's going to hurt herself," Hermit declared, stepping closer.

"What are you talking about? That's how I do it," Jeopardy countered, trying to justify his instruction.

"And how you do it is wrong. Storm, hand me the gun," Hermit said flatly, extending his hand. Stormsurge turned to him and offered the pistol, barrel-first.

"Okay, NEVER do that again," Hermit said sharply, taking a moment to look her in the optics. "Whenever you hand someone a gun, do it the way Jeopardy did earlier: grip first, barrel facing away from them."

Stormsurge quickly adjusted and held the pistol out properly this time. Hermit took the weapon and assumed a perfect stance, raising it to aim at the car. "This is how you do it," Hermit stated confidently, taking a shot and hitting the car dead center in the hubcap.

"How do you know how to handle guns?" Jeopardy asked, genuinely surprised.

"I designed and built Autobot tech for 6,000 stellar cycles. A large part of that job was testing weapons. What good is designing a rifle if I can't properly evaluate its functionality?"

"So I guess you're running the lesson now?" Jeopardy asked, a little sheepish.

"Yes, because the way you're teaching will have her dislocate her shoulder or worse," Hermit replied as he handed the pistol back to Stormsurge, this time grip-first.

"Alright, first thing's first: basic safety," Hermit began, his tone more like a professor giving a lecture. "Always treat a gun like it's loaded, even if you know it isn't. Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire. Never point it at anything you don't intend to shoot, and always be aware of your surroundings. Got it?"

Stormsurge nodded, taking the instructions seriously.

"Good. Now let's talk grip. Your dominant hand should wrap securely around the grip, and your non-dominant hand wraps around your dominant hand."

"What if I'm ambidextrous?" Stormsurge asked, adjusting her hold.

"Then use whichever hand feels most natural," Hermit replied, "but always use both hands for control."

Hermit stepped back to observe her stance. "Now, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, and keep your weight balanced slightly forward."

"Like this?" Stormsurge said, mimicking his instructions.

"Exactly. Now, aiming; raise your arms until the sights are level with your optics. Keep your arms parallel to the ground."

She adjusted her stance, raising the weapon.

"Align the front sight post with the rear sight notch," Hermit continued, stepping beside her to guide. "The top of the front sight should be level with the rear sight, and the front post centered in the notch."

Stormsurge squinted slightly, uncertain. "I think I've got it?"

"Let me check," Hermit said, moving behind her to see from her perspective. "Yes, just like that. Focus on the front sight while keeping the target slightly blurred. Don't switch focus between the sights and the target."

"Alright, I'm ready," Stormsurge said confidently.

"What are you aiming for?"

"The rearview mirror."

"Clear to fire," Hermit said, stepping back.

Stormsurge exhaled, squeezed the trigger, and a burst of energon fired from the pistol. The shot hit the rearview mirror cleanly, knocking it off the car.

"Good job, Storm," Jeopardy said, smiling.

Stormsurge couldn't hide her pride at the result, a small grin forming as she lowered the weapon.

"Just don't let that go to your head," Hermit added. "Becoming consistently accurate is a skill you hone over time, not something you master overnight."

Hermit then took the revolver from Stormsurge and handed it to Jeopardy. "Now repeat what Stormsurge just did," he commanded.

Jeopardy nodded, took the revolver, and mimicked Stormsurge's grip and stance. He raised the weapon, aimed at the car, and squeezed the trigger. The shot hit the same spot Hermit had struck earlier.

"That look good?" Jeopardy asked, turning to Hermit.

"Dead on," Hermit responded. "Do it again."

Jeopardy fired five more times, managing to hit the car four times.

"80% accuracy. Not bad," Hermit remarked. He took the revolver back from Jeopardy and handed it to Stormsurge. "Continue practicing your aim," he instructed her. Then he turned back to Jeopardy. "Now bring out your shotgun. We'll begin practicing with it."

Jeopardy pulled out his shotgun, holding it how he thought he should.

"Alright," Hermit began, inspecting Jeopardy's stance, "your form looks adequate, but make sure the stock is snug in the pocket of your shoulder. Otherwise, the recoil will throw you off."

Jeopardy adjusted his grip and positioning, raising the weapon properly.

"This model has an adjustable spread," Hermit noted. "See the knob on the side? Turn it, and the display will show the spread setting."

Jeopardy turned the shotgun over, found the knob, and used the display to adjust the spread.

"Now, when aiming, align the bead sight with your target. But unlike with a pistol, focus on the target itself, not the sight." Hermit explained.

Jeopardy took aim at the car, adjusted his focus as instructed, and fired. A cluster of energon bolts hit the car with satisfying precision. He took a few more shots, each striking the car with decent accuracy.

"Is there supposed to be this much recoil?" Jeopardy asked, stepping back slightly after the last shot.

"Yeah, it's a shotgun," Hermit replied dryly. "Get used to it."

"Any more questions before we move on?" Hermit asked, watching as Jeopardy looked down at the shotgun.

"Yeah," Jeopardy said, tilting his head. "I've seen some warriors fire their weapons like this—" he shifted the shotgun to his hip, "—does that actually work?"

"If you don't have time to properly lift and aim it, sure," Hermit replied. "But generally, you're sacrificing accuracy for speed. Only do it when you have no other choice."

Jeopardy nodded, returning the shotgun to his shoulder. "Got it."

On the other side of the lot, Impulse and Slipstream were causing quite the commotion with their aerial combat training. While Hermit and Jeopardy had managed to tune it out initially, the noise and chaos eventually became too much to ignore.

"WAY TO GO, SLIP! DO IT AGAIN!" Impulse bellowed, chucking a rusty motorcycle into the air towards Slipstream. She hovered high above him, deftly dodging the projectile, and retaliated with a blast from her null rays aimed at the ground near Impulse's feet.

"YEAH, GOOD JOB!" Impulse shouted in encouragement, completely unbothered by the near hit.

Hermit, watching from the sidelines, pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Isn't the point to make sure she actually hits her target? And where is that motorcycle going?"

"Into the river," Impulse replied nonchalantly, only for the unmistakable crash of it not landing in the river to echo across the lot.

"Besides," Impulse continued, "she is hitting her target!"

"How is hitting around you considered success?" Hermit asked, exasperated.

"She didn't want to shoot me directly cause she didn't want to hurt me too much, so I told her to aim at the ground near my feet. It's good enough, right?"

Hermit raised an optic ridge. "You do realize that, eventually, she's going to need to actually hit her target, right? Preferably before the Combaticons come back?"

"Yeah, yeah," Impulse waved him off. "But that doesn't mean we can't make training fun, right?"

Turning his attention back to Slipstream, he yelled, "WANNA TRY DIVING AGAIN, SLIP?!"

"YOU SURE IT WON'T HURT TOO MUCH?!" she called back, already angling herself for a descent.

"TOTALLY! TRUST ME!" Impulse shouted, his voice brimming with far too much confidence.

Slipstream dived at breakneck speed, tackling Impulse with surprising force and lifting him into the air. She then dropped him unceremoniously to the ground, causing a cloud of dust to erupt on impact. Impulse groaned, shook off the debris, and gave her a thumbs-up as she fired another round of null rays around him, leaving scorch marks in the dirt.

"HELL YEAH! WAY TO GO, SLIP!" Impulse cheered from his crater, as if he hadn't just been used as a practice dummy.

"Primus help us," Hermit muttered, turning away and focusing back on Jeopardy. "You said he was professionally trained."

Jeopardy simply shrugged. "And you thought that was going to translate into your style of instruction?"

"So, what'd you all think? Was she amazing or what?" Impulse asked, beaming with pride as Slipstream walked over.

"You two are just playing. This isn't training," Hermit criticized, his tone flat.

"What do you mean? This is how I was trained," Impulse argued, crossing his arms.

"You got trained by having hunks of metal thrown at you mid-air?" Hermit asked skeptically.

"Well, not exactly, but you know, we made it into a game. Me and Warpath used to spend hours lobbing grenades at each other, or seeing who could destroy the most dummies, or who could take being dropped from the highest point, or—"

"But you said you were a soldier," Jeopardy interrupted, trying to wrap his head around this. "As in, professionally trained?"

"Yeah, I did that. Then I went through the Wreckers' boot camp to join their ranks… and failed."

"But the regular army training. That involved, you know, actual skills, advice, techniques, stuff you could pass on, right?" Jeopardy pressed.

"Yeah, obviously. I couldn't have kicked Brawl's ass if it didn't."

"And that's what you're teaching her?" Jeopardy raised an optic ridge.

Impulse hesitated for a moment. "… I think?"

Slipstream returned, dragging the mangled motorcycle Impulse had tossed earlier from across the lot. "Hey, saw you guys watching the last bit. How'd I do?"

"You were awesome, Slip! No comments. A perfect score," Impulse encouraged enthusiastically.

"That's it? Just compliments?" Hermit asked, incredulous.

"There used to be a lot more comments. But I figured I wouldn't be a good friend if I only said negative stuff."

"You're not her friend. You're her teacher. Teachers aren't supposed to be your friend," Hermit pointed out sharply.

"Well, then you must've had really crappy teachers… or maybe you just weren't… uh…" Impulse trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Engaged?" Jeopardy offered helpfully.

"Yeah, engaged." Impulse nodded.

"Unbelievable. You're going along with this?" Hermit Crab asked, staring at Jeopardy with a mix of frustration and disbelief.

"He's got a point, Hermit," Jeopardy replied calmly. "I mean, I was close with First Aid when I worked under him. That relationship helped me learn a lot and I felt more comfortable in my work."

"Exactly!" Impulse interjected, puffing out his chest. "and Me and Jeopardy work together like apples and peanut butter. That's why he was able to kick my ass earlier."

Before Hermit could respond, a deafening BOOM rattled the air. They turned to see Stormsurge standing frozen near the smoking, fiery remnants of a car she had clearly shot in the wrong spot.

"Uh… are they supposed to do that?!" Stormsurge asked shakily, her optics wide with alarm.

"Are you alright?!" Jeopardy immediately rushed to check on her, his concern overriding everything else.

"I… I think so." She nodded, still processing what had just happened.

"GREAT AIM, STORM!" Impulse cheered, giving her a thumbs-up from across the lot. "NEXT TIME DO THAT TO VORTEX!"

Hermit Crab put his face in his hands, muttering something inaudible, as Jeopardy sighed and declared, "And I think with that, we're done with training for today."