Growing Pains

The attack came without warning. The early afternoon sun cast long shadows over Redstone Army Airfield as the hum of engines and distant radio chatter filled the air. Soldiers on patrol glanced up at the sky, their eyes narrowing at the approaching shapes on the horizon. At first, they thought it was just another routine flyover. Then, the ground trembled.

A thunderous explosion erupted near the control tower, engulfing it in fire and debris before another rocket hit the tower causing it to collapse. Before anyone could react, a hulking green tank plowed through the perimeter fence, its treads grinding asphalt and dirt alike, and transformed. Brawl opened fire with his turret, blasting a row of hangars apart in fiery bursts. Chunks of concrete and twisted metal rained down as alarms blared across the base.

Above, Blast Off soared in low, weaving between surface-to-air missile launchers before unleashing a barrage of plasma bolts that tore through aircraft parked along the runway. Fuel tanks ignited, sending pillars of flame skyward as personnel scrambled for cover. Vortex followed close behind, her rotors slicing through the air as she fired upon grounded helicopters, sending shrapnel and wreckage flying in every direction.

Amidst the chaos, Onslaught pushed deeper into the base, picking off military vehicles with precision shots. The base's defenses retaliated, gunfire and missile trails cut through the smoky sky, but the Combaticons shrugged off most of it. Their reinforced armor absorbed small arms fire, and any heavier resistance was swiftly silenced with overwhelming firepower.

With the airfield in ruins, the Combaticons moved to their primary target: The Marshall Space Flight Center.

The massive complex, home to some of humanity's greatest engineering feats, became their next playground of destruction. The main entrance was obliterated as Brawl rammed through it, followed by Onslaught and Vortex. They tore through laboratories, research facilities, and storage depots, stealing years of human innovation in minutes. Rocket engines, experimental aircraft, high-tech components, all seized.

Vortex made quick work of the facility's communications array, ensuring that distress calls were jammed or cut off before reinforcements could arrive. Blast Off helped secure fuel reserves and transport containers of materials onto stolen transport trucks which would be hitched to Onslaught and Brawl.

By the time military reinforcements arrived, it was too late. Smoke and fire consumed the facility, and the Combaticons were already vanishing into thin air, leaving behind a smoldering battlefield. What once stood as a symbol of human progress was now a graveyard of shattered ambition, and the Combaticons left with exactly what they came for.

Meanwhile, back in Chicago, Jeopardy, Impulse, and Stormsurge were out in the concrete lot by the base, beginning Stormsurge's non-lethal self-defense training. Today's lesson? The basics of throwing a punch.

Impulse lifted an old, rusted car off the ground and held it up like a makeshift punching bag. "Alright, Storm, show me what you got," he encouraged.

Stormsurge squared up, took a deep breath, and threw her fist forward with all the strength she could muster.

THUNK!

Her punch landed solidly, leaving a noticeable dent in the car's side. However, what she didn't anticipate was the shockwave of pain that immediately traveled up her arm. Her fingers throbbed, her joints rattled, and she let out a strained, "HNNGGAAHGH!" through clenched teeth.

"You alright?" Impulse asked, tilting his head.

"Ngh, yeah, I'm good," she managed, shaking out her hand.

"Maybe we should start with something softer," Jeopardy suggested.

"But she's gonna be punching mostly metal," Impulse countered. "Might as well get used to it. I did."

"You had 6,000 years to get used to punching metal," Stormsurge pointed out, still wincing. "I have a few days."

"Exactly! We gotta make up for lost time!" Impulse said enthusiastically.

Jeopardy was about to argue further when something caught his attention: a crowd gathering near the perimeter of the lot. Several large vans had pulled up, each bearing logos he was unfamiliar with: CNN, NBC, MSNBC, FOX, CBS, ABC.

"Oh, is that the ice cream truck again?" Impulse asked, dropping the car with a loud clang as he followed Jeopardy's gaze.

"Impulse, keep working with Stormsurge, but go easy on her," Jeopardy instructed, already heading toward the growing mass of humans. As he got closer, he saw Simmons standing in front of the fence, addressing the crowd while dozens of cameras and microphones were shoved in his face.

"Simmons, what's all this?" Jeopardy asked.

"The Press," Simmons sighed. "You guys made the headlines again, and they don't feel like waiting for a statement."

No sooner had the words left Simmons' mouth than the reporters' attention immediately shifted. The moment they spotted Jeopardy, the entire press swarm surged toward the fence, shouting over each other, microphones raised, cameras flashing.

Jeopardy's optics flickered.

Oh, fantastic.

Dozens of microphones and cameras shoved toward Jeopardy, each reporter clamoring over the other to get their questions answered. Their inquiries bounced between national security, human politics, and bizarre cultural debates Jeopardy barely understood.

First came the national security concerns:

"Jeopardy, are the Autobots going to intervene in Decepticon activities or leave it to the American military?" the MSNBC reporter asked.
"Jeopardy, will the Autobots help to combat the hostile invasion at the border?" a FOX News reporter demanded, almost certainly not referring to an invading army.
"Jeopardy, what are your views on the Russo-Ukrainian War?" the CNN reporter asked.
"Jeopardy, will the Autobots be intervening in Gaza?" the CBS reporter asked.

Jeopardy, unfamiliar with the intricacies of human geopolitics, did his best to respond.

"We're doing our best."
"What invasion?"
"I don't think it's our place to get involved in human conflicts."
"What's Gaza?"

If the reporters were unsatisfied with his answers, they certainly didn't let it slow them down.

Then they moved onto current events:

"Jeopardy, is it true one of you considers humans an inferior species?" the ABC reporter accused.
"Jeopardy, do you support the attempted assassination of Donald Trump?" a FOX News reporter threw in.
"Jeopardy, who will the Autobots be endorsing for this year's presidential election?" CNN pressed.
"Do you support AI taking American jobs? Are YOU an artificial intelligence?" the CBAS accused.

Jeopardy struggled to keep up.

"Hermit is opinionated, but I wouldn't go there."
"I don't know who he is, but political violence should never be tolerated."
"I don't know much about elections, let alone who you're all voting for."
"I—can you repeat the question?"

Then came the culture war questions… oh boy.

"Jeopardy, what are your thoughts on the woke agenda infesting our schools and politics?" a FOX News reporter pushed.
"Jeopardy, do Cybertronians believe there are only two genders?" CBS demanded.
"Jeopardy, will the Autobots be taking a stance on women's rights in this country?" CNN asked.
"Is Slipstream a DEI hire?" FOX accused.

Jeopardy blinked.

"I don't know what woke is."
"I don't know about all of Cybertron, but personally, I've never understood there only being two."
"Well, I feel it's a pretty obvious answer."
"No, she's an Autobot. What's DEI?"

The reporters continued throwing questions at him, barely processing his responses before moving on to the next controversy.

Jeopardy internally cursed whoever thought giving humans microphones was a good idea.

Jeopardy held up his hands, trying to get them to quiet down for just two seconds.

"Hey, time out, okay?!" he shouted over the chaos.

The reporters didn't stop. If anything, the sheer volume of overlapping voices grew louder.

"Look, I get that you're all curious, but I do not have the answers you're looking for! I am not a politician! I don't even understand half of what you just asked! So maybe instead of bombarding me with things I don't have the context for, let me get back to doing what I actually know how to do!"

The moment he finished, the crowd immediately resumed their shouting, throwing even more follow-ups at him.

Jeopardy groaned. He wanted out of here. Now.

Before he could even think of an escape, a familiar voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

"Alright, enough."

The crowd turned as Agent Simmons stepped forward, his expression one of complete and utter exasperation.

"You're all getting one official statement, and that's it," he declared, stepping between Jeopardy and the horde of reporters. "The Autobots are not political pundits, they are not taking sides in your stupid little debates, and they are not here to give hot takes on human social issues."

A reporter from FOX immediately fired back, "But don't you think the American people deserve to know—"

"No." Simmons cut them off flatly.

He turned to Jeopardy and jerked a thumb toward the base. "Get back inside before they start asking for your thoughts on the stock market."

Jeopardy, completely overwhelmed, nodded and swiftly retreated.

Meanwhile, across the lot, Impulse, who had just noticed what was going on, began casually strolling toward the crowd, clearly about to make things infinitely worse.

Before he could get a single word out, Stormsurge grabbed his arm and yanked him away, already imagining what will happen if the press get their hands on him.

"Aw come on, I wanted to see what was going on!" Impulse protested.

"Exactly why I'm stopping you," Stormsurge muttered, steering him toward the opposite direction.

Jeopardy found Hermit Crab inside, working frantically to get the ground bridge up and running. The meticulous engineer was moving with urgency, his optics flicking between screens as he fine-tuned coordinates.

"Somewhere important you gotta be?" Jeopardy asked.

"The Combaticons just resurfaced and attacked a research center," Hermit replied, his tone clipped and businesslike.

Jeopardy's optics narrowed. "When did this happen?"

"About a megacycle ago."

Jeopardy tensed. "Then we should go out and stop them."

"I've already told Slipstream," Hermit informed him, still working the controls. "I'd recommend sending her and Impulse."

Jeopardy raised an optic ridge. "YOU recommend her?"

Hermit didn't even look up. "Better she be out there than here being unproductive."

Jeopardy rolled his optics but didn't argue. He turned to retrieve Impulse, only to find him already coming inside, practically being dragged away from the press by Stormsurge.

"What'd I miss?" Impulse asked, immediately sensing something was going on.

"Combaticons attacked a human facility," Jeopardy informed him. "You and Slipstream are coming with me."

Impulse immediately brightened. "AWESOME! You were right, Storm, I got no time for the press!"

Stormsurge muttered something under her breath, shaking her head as Impulse rushed forward.

With a final keystroke, Hermit activated the ground bridge, its swirling green and yellow vortex lighting up the room.

Impulse immediately ran headfirst into the portal.

Slipstream, unfazed by his enthusiasm, simply walked in after him.

Jeopardy, taking one last glance at Hermit and Stormsurge, followed.

The Autobots emerged from the ground bridge just outside the Marshall Space Flight Center. Smoke still lingered in the air, and the facility itself was riddled with fresh damage, shattered windows, scorched walls, and gaping holes in the sides of buildings. But as Jeopardy, Slipstream, and Impulse scanned the area, one thing became immediately clear.

No Combaticons.

"Aw man, what a letdown." Impulse groaned, arms slumping in disappointment. "We missed all the fun."

"What would they even want in there?" Slipstream asked, gesturing to the battered facility.

Before anyone could answer, a voice suddenly shouted, "THEY CAME BACK!"

The trio turned to see a squad of human soldiers and a tank training their weapons on them.

"No NO, we're the good ones!" Jeopardy quickly called out, holding up his hands in surrender.

"BLUE OPTICS!" Impulse added, figuring that would be enough to jog their memory.

The soldiers hesitated for a moment before finally lowering their weapons.

"Where are the Combaticons?" Jeopardy asked.

"No clue," one soldier answered. "They showed up, took whatever they could carry, and left."

"Damn, they flaked on us." Impulse muttered.

"Which way did they go?" Jeopardy pressed.

The soldier pointed northwest. "I think that way."

Slipstream followed his gaze, scanning the horizon. "I could go look for them."

"Good idea," Jeopardy agreed. "But remember, this is just recon. Do not engage."

"Got it." She acknowledged, transforming and taking off into the sky. Impulse immediately followed suit, transforming into his vehicle mode and speeding off after her.

Jeopardy sighed, shaking his head. Now alone, he turned back toward the soldiers and the wreckage of the research facility. If nothing else, he could help the humans recover from the aftermath.

While searching for the Combaticons, Impulse quickly grew bored of the silent drive and decided to strike up a conversation.

"So Slip, what do you think the Combaticons are working on?" he asked, his tires kicking up dust as he sped along the road.

"Probably fixing their ship," Slipstream answered, gliding smoothly above him in jet mode.

"Oh yeah. You think it's still at the bottom of the lake?"

"I think so, but now that you mention it…" she trailed off, considering the possibility.

Impulse processed what she was implying. "…You make a good point."

"Cause we didn't actually watch it sink… Can spaceships float?" she wondered aloud.

"I've seen normal ships float, and they're made of metal."

"But you sink, and you're made of metal… Would we call this metal?"

"Well, it sounds like metal, tastes like metal, and it gets stuck to magnets like metal. I'd say it's metal." Impulse reasoned.

Slipstream took a pause. "How do you know what our skin tastes like?" she asked, her curiosity piqued by that bizarre detail.

"One time I took a Camien femme back to my place after some drinks back on Cybertron. It got WEIRD really quick."

"Weird how?"

"Weird like… I may have rearranged something inside her."

"Wow…" Slipstream murmured, unsure how to respond.

"Yeah…"

A beat of silence.

"…I don't know what that means."

"Do you want to?"

"…Honestly, I think I'm good."

But while she was distracted talking to Impulse, she didn't notice Blast Off rusing up to her until the roar of his engines could no longer go unnoticed. She snapped her attention forward just as he streaked toward her, barely missing a direct hit as he tore past. He was already banking hard, looping around for another run.

She stabilized herself in mid-air, transforming back into robot mode and pulling out her null rays. But aiming at a moving target as fast as Blast Off was easier said than done.

Then, from below, a rapid burst of energon rounds lit up the sky. Impulse had noticed the attack and was already opening fire with his minigun. The sheer volume of firepower was impressive, but his shots trailed behind, struggling to keep up with the evasive aerial fighter.

Blast Off spiraled gracefully, Slipstream's own shots going wide as she struggled to track his movement. Then, before she could adjust, a burst of plasma fire tore through the air, hitting her square in the ankle thruster.

"Frag!" she hissed, her balance immediately thrown off. Her entire frame lurched, arms flailing as she struggled to steady herself. She was like a bot trying to balance on an ice rink with only one skate, completely unprepared for the sudden instability.

Blast Off shot past her again, his jet wash buffeting her, making it even harder to recover. And before she could regain control, another shot hit her from behind, striking her wing. The impact sent her spinning wildly, her optics catching brief glimpses of sky and ground as she tumbled uncontrollably.

Satisfied with his disruption, Blast Off peeled away, disappearing into the horizon.

Slipstream, meanwhile, was plummeting.

"I GOT YOU, SLIP! I GOT YOU!" Impulse yelled from below, sprinting under her descent with his arms outstretched.

Unfortunately, the physics of a full-sized Cybertronian falling from several hundred feet in the air didn't care about good intentions.

Impulse had just enough time to realize, "Oh, this is gonna hurt," before Slipstream slammed into him with full force.

The impact created a small crater in the dirt, sending up a cloud of dust as the two landed in a tangled heap.

"You alright, Slip?" Impulse groaned from beneath her, feeling like he'd just been hit by a freight train.

"I think so. You?" she asked, not bothering to move just yet.

"I'll live."

A brief moment passed as the dust settled.

"Hey, Impulse?"

"Yeah?"

"This sucks."

"Yeah, I hate losing too."

Back at the base, Jeopardy was hard at work repairing the damage to Slipstream's ankle thruster. He carefully opened up the casing, inspecting the burned and warped components inside.

"So he just showed up out of nowhere?" Jeopardy asked, his optics scanning for what could be salvaged and what needed replacing.

"Yeah, it was crazy. One second I'm just flying, next thing I know, I'm spinning out of control and slamming into Impulse." Slipstream recounted, still a little frustrated at how easily Blast Off had outmaneuvered her.

"Uh-huh. Well, this should be an easy fix, just gotta get some help from Hermit for the turbine." Jeopardy muttered, already forming a mental list of what he'd need.

"And if you're wondering, I'm fine." Impulse chimed in, arms crossed confidently.

Jeopardy looked up from his work and gave him a once-over. The giant Slipstream's-face-shaped dent in his chest was a testament to how "fine" he actually was.

"You sure?" Jeopardy pressed.

"Oh yeah, I can just get it out myself." Impulse declared with the utmost confidence.

Jeopardy made a mental note to have tools ready for when Impulse inevitably realized he couldn't just pop the dent back out.

From the background, Hermit Crab, who had been silently observing the repairs, finally spoke up.

"So did anything come from speaking to the witnesses?"

"From what was stolen, it seems the Combaticons are trying to fix their ship." Jeopardy reported, tightening a bolt inside the thruster.

Hermit let out an exaggerated sigh. "Thank you for the insight, Obvious Prime." He deadpanned. "So let me get this straight: we don't know where they are, they're repairing their ship, and one of them just blindsided and took down two of us. Yeah, we're totally screwed."

"Would it kill you to not focus on all the negative stuff?" Impulse shot back.

"Would it kill you to take things seriously?" Hermit countered.

"Guys, come on, we're 'sposed to be united in this." Jeopardy interjected, before the argument could escalate into something truly pointless.

Hermit sighed again but relented. "Fine. When do you need the thruster fixed?"

"As soon as possible." Jeopardy responded, returning his focus to Slipstream's ankle.

"Part should be done in two days." Hermit answered before turning on his heel and heading back to his workshop.

As he left, Slipstream called after him, "Thanks for finally caring about me!"

Without turning back, Hermit responded dryly, "I'm only doing this so they have to fight you and not me!"

Impulse, watching him leave, turned back to Slipstream and grinned.

"You know, I think you're getting through to him." He said, completely serious.

Slipstream snorted. "Yeah. Sure. Any day now."

With that, Jeopardy completed the repairs he could immediately make to Slipstream's ankle and closed it up. He, Slipstream, and Impulse believed that they'd be more prepared next time and would finally get a victory over the Combaticons. Though, for now, it was simply wishful thinking.

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