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Chapter Text

The air was torn apart by thunderous impacts and laser fire. Yelling, metal on metal, battle cries, and last gasps all slurred together. Menasor walked through it, face splitting wide with a terrible smile. His long, slow strides pounded out the beat of battle. Faster and faster, until the song changes- the beat skipped, and then returned louder than anything else when Menasor's blade swung down on the Autobots’ reactor.

The Decepticons couldn't hear their fellow's cheering- their audials as shot as they were from the explosion. But they could see the Autobots turn tail and drive away.

Their celebration was short-lived.

***

"So what's the problem if some Autobots got underfoot?"

"Over half the casualties were our own troops!"

Commander Slipstream slammed her hands down on the table. Motormaster didn't flinch, but he heard one of his siblings take a step back. Probably Wildrider. Wimp.

"They should have moved faster! Not my fault Menasor flattened 'em," Motormaster sneered.

"Your commander did NOT call you to form Menasor for exactly that reason!"

"His mistake. Good thing we made up for it so generously!"

If looks could kill, Slipstream's glare would have given even The Fallen pause. Unfortunately, it merely bounced off Motormaster's ego.

"He was one of the casualties," she ground out. She was about to say more (a lot more) but stopped when her comms pinged. She took the call without looking away from the Stunticon leader. "Report."

Slipstream’s optics narrowed at what she was hearing. The Stunticons standing behind Motormaster shared looks. Wildrider shuffled his servos, shrinking back when Motormaster's head twitched in his direction.

"No. I'll be right there." Slipstream's hand left her comms. "I don't have time for this. I'm taking command of the Pitfire platoon," she declared. "What's left of it anyway. Dismissed!"

Silently, Dead End held her hands together in prayer.

Motormaster, entirely oblivious, asked: "Where does that leave the Stunticons?" Behind him, there was a combination of cringing and silent put-upon sighs. Even Drag Strip, who would in any other scenario proudly declare that she "doesn't know when to quit", knew that her brother needed to shut up.

"Excuse me?" the commander's wings twitched.

"The Stunticons were never part of Pitfire! We're our own team! And that team follows me!"

"And now." Slipstream's voice dropped low. She jabbed a finger at the living pain in her gears standing in front of her. "You follow me. Dismissed."

Motormaster's engines growled as he led his siblings out of the office.

As soon as the door slid shut behind them Wildrider opened his mouth. "Did you have to ask about-" He was cut off by a jab to the side from Breakdown. Motormaster stomped down the corridor, pausing to check that the others were following.

Dead End sighed, slumping down and dangling her arms. "Can't we do this later?"

"Quit whining!" came the barked reply from the other end of the hall. "Get over here!"

"Here we go," muttered Breakdown. Obediently, the four followed their brother's lead.

Outside the outpost, the air stank of burning metal and spilled Energon, just as it had for hundreds of years now (except when it smelled of burning metal, spilled Energon, AND charred circuits). The base, designated D - 51, was built into the side of a mountain. Its entrance was hidden in a shallow cavern that poked out just beneath a ridge. The Stunticons emerged from that cavern and were greeted by the sky, still clouded in smoke from the battle cycles ago. The remains of the Autobots’ former reactor a sector away had yet to stop burning.

Motormaster glanced around before he transformed into vehicle mode, and his team did the same.

They traveled in a very loose formation (if it could even be called that): Motormaster's bulk of purple and gray cut through the smog in front. Drag Strip's yellow rocketing close behind. Breakdown’s blue and white, always on the lookout for whatever might be a threat on one side. On the other, Dead End’s red and black, searching for anything that might be of interest to her at all. Ricocheting between the other four, black paint chipped and scratched from bumper to tailpipe, was Wildrider.

They drove until they reached an overlook of their most recent battle. The wrecked landscape was dotted with smoldering rubble. The stench of death was even worse here, but every Cybertronian had long gotten used to it.

"Does anyone," Motormaster began, switching back to robot mode "want to tell me what happened?"

The other four changed modes as well. Four figures of identical height stood before their brother. Motormaster hadn't always towered over the rest of them- but he had always been the loudest.

"We won!" Drag Strip hopped on top of a suspiciously gray pile of ashes and tangled metal that was definitely not a deactivated body. Dead End sighed.

"We lost control of Menasor. Again." Motormaster's low rumble seemed to carry across the empty battlefield.

"We can't control what he does," Breakdown quieted his shaking engine. "You know-"

"We COULD if you ‘lot would do what I say!"

Breakdown flinched, and then threw up his hands in defeat. He wasn't having this discussion again. Wildrider laughed, high and manic. "Who cares?! Let Menasor do what he feels like doing!"

"Even if he feels like getting us all turned into scrap?" Dead End crossed her arms. Wildrider wasn't paying attention anymore. He was trying to push the not-a-dead-frame off the side of the ridge with a servo, with Dragstrip still on top of it.

"And NOW we have a new commander!" Motormaster continued. "AGAIN!" Behind him, Drag Strip joined her brother in trying to lift the twisted metal off the side of the ridge. Even with the two of them together, it refused to budge. "And she doesn't WANT Menasor! She thinks she can order US around!"

"That's what a commander does," Dead End said flatly. Motormaster glared daggers at her.

Suddenly, he spun around and shoved Drag Strip and Wildrider out of his way. With almost no effort, he lifted the lifeless heap that had once been a living person above his head. He roared as he threw it off the ledge. For a moment, it hung silhouetted against the smoldering reactor and the reddened sky, its limbs flailing in all directions. Then it went down, down, down to the ruined battlefield below, greeting the ground with the echoing crunching clang of dead metal.

"That could be ANY of us!" Motormaster turned back to his siblings, his voice reverberating in their joints. "ANY OF YOU!"

There was the creaking of metal, of legs being shuffled and transformation seams locking and unlocking. There was the shuddering of Breakdown's engine and the whirring of Drag Strip’s wheels. And below them, there was the wind whistling through holes in once living bodies.

"Cool."

"Dead End!" Wildrider hissed. Breakdown chuckled quietly.

"Motormaster, look at us." Drag Strip gestured at all of them. Motormaster seemed unimpressed, but she grinned. "We're awesome."

The rest of the Stunticons waited for her to continue.

"See that guy down there?" she said, after realizing this. "He got offlined because he wasn't awesome. He wasn't us.”

“We've beat everything the Autobots have thrown at us- even what other Decepticons have thrown at us!" Drag Strip paused again, not sure where she was going with this. She looked to her siblings.

Breakdown took the cue. "Drag Strip's right." Motormaster looked at him, optics burning like angry suns. "We've gone through hundreds of battles and come out fine. We stick together, and we'll make it through the war."

He said it with such confidence that even Dead End wanted to believe him. Motormaster's gaze softened almost imperceptibly.

"Hey!” Wildrider chimed in. “You know what would burn off all this extra energy?"

"If you say 'group hug'-" Dead End started.

"- I wasn't going to say that!" he interrupted, definitely about to say that.

"How about using that rock down there as a ramp?" Drag Strip pointed at one of the debris below.

"'Could get a bunch of speed driving between those rocks afterwards," Breakdown suggested, moving his hand along an imaginary race track.

"...Heh." The other Stunticons looked up at Motormaster. Slowly, his fists unclenched and his shoulders relaxed. "Heh," he laughed again, low and soft.

"Stunticons!" His scowl cracked, melted, and finally reforged itself into a smile as he looked down at his siblings. He punched his fists together. "Let’s tear up the road!"

Chapter Text

Dead End had once given her siblings a presentation on her view of the Decepticons. She had said it was important to know who was going to try to stab you in the back because they could, and who would try to stab you in the face because you looked at them funny.

"The Decepticon ranks are overflowing with freaks," she had started "Therefore, it’s important to know what kind of freak they are."

For whatever reason, that talk had stuck with Drag Strip; which meant that all the other Stunticons remembered it too. Breakdown found himself coming back to it more often than he’d like- It gave him something to think about during the worst part of being a Decepticon.

Drag Strip grinned. "Ready to introduce ourselves to our new squad mates?"

Wildrider's battlecry only got partially out before being smothered by Breakdown's hand.

"Be cool," Breakdown reminded them.

"Bro, don't be such a buzz kill," Drag Strip groaned.

"Just 'cause Dead End and Motormaster aren't here doesn't make you the boss!" Wildrider struggled to escape his brother's chokehold.

The three were standing in the sparsely lit corridor outside the recreation room. The gray paneling and glowing purple accents were familiar. Modular parts meant that all Decepticon outposts looked the same, just with the rooms shuffled around. These hallways always made Breakdown's armor plating itch- he could never tell where the cameras were.

Wildrider wiggled out of Breakdown's grasp. He shoved his brother away. "'Sides, the only one freaking out here is you!"

"Do I look like I'm freaking out?" Breakdown's smile came so easily that it didn't look forced. "I don't want to tell Motormaster that we started a brawl on our first day." He looked between his siblings. "Save it for the second, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." Drag Strip moved up to the door, pressing her golden yellow fingers against the access panel. It slid open and she strode inside like she was the queen of Cybertron.

"WHAT'S UP RUSTY SPIKE VACUUMS?!?!"

Wildrider grinned wide at Breakdown and clapped his shoulder. "We'll take point on this one,” he said, before racing after his sister. Breakdown took a moment to adjust his expression from "absolute horror" to "neutral but friendly" before he followed his siblings inside.

"You guys are still alive," a familiar voice said. A mech, black and blue with yellow accents, sat at the table closest to the door. "Huh."

"Blackjack!" Drag Strip made for his table. "Good to see other people from Pitfire made it out alive!"

Blackjack looked unimpressed. "Yeah. Wonder why so few of us did." There was an accusation in his tone that flew right over Drag Strip’s head.

"'Cause we're winners!"

Blackjack rolled his optics. "I'm sure everyone else would love to hear all about it. Especially that one." He moved his chin at a pointy looking 'Con on the dead opposite side of the room. Drag Strip bounced away, taking the bait all too eagerly. She was intercepted by an unfamiliar face.

"You're the Stunticons, eh?"

A smiling gray and purple flier blocked her path. She grinned back, and Wildrider, not to be ignored, jumped over a table to position himself behind the mech.

"Who's asking?" Wildrider giggled.

Breakdown slid around the edge of the room as quietly as he could.

"I'm Octane." The flier wrapped an arm around one of Drag Strip's shoulders. "I've been dying to meet you! Single handedly winning scraps with the Autobots! And the way you took out that reactor back there!"

Drag Strip's pauldrons relaxed at the praise. She beamed.

"And you-" Octane spun around, thin gray wings fluttering, and moved in close to Wildrider. His hand gestures were smooth and controlled as he talked. "Everyone's heard of how amazing you are out on the field! The destructive force! The raw power!"

Breakdown's leg joints froze when Octane's gaze fell over him. He shook them out as casually as he could. He’d hoped to go longer before people started looking at him.

"Uh, weren’t there supposed to be five of you?"

"Motors and Dee are with the commander," Wildrider waved his hand dismissively, "talking 'bout boring stuff."

"That so?" Octane's smile widened. "I would love to introduce you to my friends here. Some of them are real... Characters."

"The schemers are always plotting to get what they want," Dead End had said. "They always watch people, use them- playing like they're your best friend so they can turn your corpse into a ramp."

"Kinda like you, Dee," Wildrider had cackled. “The people watching. You've never been friendly in your life!”

Octane was laying it on thick, and Drag Strip was falling for it. There was no hope of prying her away from praise and compliments. Wildrider was keeping her in check… for now. Breakdown scanned the room for any more familiar faces- anyone that he had already figured out, and that he could hang around to avoid attention.

Like most rec rooms in Decepticon bases like this, it was a few tables and chairs, a radio and (if they were lucky) a couch someone had scavenged from somewhere (They were not lucky this time). There were a bunch of bots gathered around a table in the center of the room, but he didn’t see any of the ‘Cons from their previous unit. That didn't mean Blackjack had been lying, right? Just that they weren't here right now.

He turned to Blackjack. “You mind company?”

“Yes.”

There went the easy way. Blackjack wasn’t great, but Breakdown knew him well enough that sitting with him would be the safest option. With that no longer possible, he chose a section of wall further into the rec room and leaned his back against it. This would have to do. He kept his head down and listened.

There were conversations about raids, about rivals, just nonsense. No scheming to take down their commander or bragging about kills. When they spoke about High Command there was exhaustion and disillusionment. Even wondering what it was like to be an Autobot instead. Which was…odd. Usually people didn’t complain so openly, or else they’d draw the wrong kind of attention. Guess there weren’t many loyalists here.

Dead End had stopped talking when it became obvious none of them were listening to her. For a while, it was just the sound of their wheels against the road and the roaring of their engines. That is, until Drag Strip had asked "What other freaks are there?"

"The loyalists. The ones who would follow Megatron into the Pit itself."

"Pfft. Every Decepticon is loyal to Megatron. 'Cause he's right!"

More bots filtered in and out of the rec room. Most joined the crowd in the center. Colors and frame types blurred together. A black four wheeler with colorful decals. A mini bot with big, circular optics. A bot with long cables hanging from their head. Breakdown didn't engage. He was fine here. It was fine. None of them were watching him. Occasionally one would look over, notice him standing. Breakdown crossed his arms and smiled, trying not to scratch his paint off to get at the crawling metal beneath. And then they would look away. He just had to bear it until Wildrider and Drag Strip figured out how things worked around here.

Sure, Slipstream was Commander. But they were Decepticons. There was always at least one bolthead who thought they should be in charge. And it was safer, Motormaster had decided, to know who that was.

"That is the worst idea you've had," the black four wheeler said. She turned as a new mech walked up to the table. "And speaking of the worst..."

"Oh, I didn't know we were talking about your work."

"Hush up," another said. "You here to place a bet?"

A bet? That was interesting. Command generally looked down on gambling- not that that stopped anyone. And it could get ugly. Real ugly.

Breakdown cringed as Wildrider bounced over to him- did his brother have to be so noticeable? The mini bot's head rotated entirely around in their torso to track his movements. Awful.

"How you doing, Breaky?"

Breakdown smiled. "Great. You making friends? Let me guess- You're already the most popular 'Con here!" His gaze drifted behind Wildrider. The 'Cons at the table had looked away. Or were pretending to. Except for one- a red mech was still staring at them both. What did they want?

"We aren't making friends," Wildrider grinned. "We're making bets!"

"What exactly are you betting on?"

Wildrider shrugged. "All sorts of things! Octane says he can kill more Autobots than that guy. That one," he pointed at the black mech, "name is Pain-Tear I think. She said she'll give anyone new decals if they manage to dump a bucket of paint on Optimus Prime! And Drag Strip-" He paused, mouth hanging open, "Isn't betting on anything."

Oh no.

Breakdown pushed himself off the wall, looking across the room. The red mech was STILL watching them. No, watching him. Waiting for him to let his guard down. Where was Drag Strip?

The sound of a weapon slamming against a table clued him in. His sister was standing on the far side of the room, in front of the pointy white and blue mech Blackjack had indicated. The skinny one whose hand had just transformed into an axe.

Thank Prima’s blade- there was going to be a fight.

Breakdown rushed behind his sister, vaulting over a table, and ignoring the clattering of Wildrider crashing through the furniture. He bounced on his heels, fists up. The pointy mech was grinning, tapping his axe against his palm.

"The misanthropes," Dead End had continued, "Who love to hurt others and use the war as an excuse."

"'Cuz you'd rather be sharing Energon and waxing your chassis with the Autobots." Wildrider swerved into her side.

"Ugh. Don't insult me." She dropped behind Wildrider and rammed his back bumper. "That's the last kind of freak."

"I've fought a Dinobot, with just these!" Drag Strip puffed out her shoulder wheels, holding up her sword and blaster. "Nearly got 'em!"

The pointy mech transformed the axe away and crossed his arms. "Nearly?"

"We were-"

Wildrider jabbed her with his elbow. "We fighting or what?!"

Drag Strip punched him back. "No! I was telling uh," She gestured at the mech, "Uhhhh."

"Axor."

"Axel here about the time we smashed the Dinobots!"

"Aw," Wildrider frowned.

Breakdown stopped bouncing on his servos. "Aw."

"Aw," said a voice behind Wildrider.

It took everything Breakdown had not to spin around and throw a punch. Instead, he turned around (calmly and casually) with his siblings. A pink and black flier looked between them, then to Axor. "No fight? Bummer."

Breakdown kept his optics on this new bot as everyone else in the room kept doing whatever. Octane was waving Dragstrip over. Axor grunted as the Stunticon moved away from him and clattered back into his chair. That red mech was looking at him again.

"I've never seen you guys before which means you've probably never seen a bunch of us, right?" The pink mech's hands gestured around as he talked, never staying still. "I'll introduce everyone! I'm-"

"Octane beat you to it," Wildrider said, attention already wandering. Breakdown tried to focus on his brother instead of every other threat in the room.

"Really?” His face fell. “Introducing people is like, one of my top three favorite things! Okay, top five." He thought for a moment. "Top eight."

"Mine's making a mess."

"Ohhh that's a good one. Top fifteen for sure," He nodded. "Anyway if you want to know anything about anyone, I'm Misfire!"

Breakdown startled as Wildrider grabbed him and pulled him in close, ignoring his yelp of surprise. "YOU'RE Misfire?!"

"Uh. Yes?"

"I'm a huge fan!"

"You are?"

"Absolutely! The way you destroy everything in your path! And everything not in your path!"

"Whoa! Hey! I don't -"

"Gemini Falls! Thirty six dead!"

"That was an accident!"

"Breakdown! Can you believe it?!"

"Nope," Breakdown said. "How do you kill thirty six on accident?"

"I was trying to, y'know- not die!" Misfire insisted. He cringed. "One thing led to another. And another... And another."

"...Which is?" Drag Strip prodded after another silence.

"The losers."

"Some Autobots aren't that bad," Breakdown said pointedly.

"Doesn't matter." Dead End fell back to drive alongside Breakdown. "Losers don't have to want to be best friends with the enemy; they just don't want to fight."

"More for me!" Wildrider cackled.

Drag Strip reappeared, smiling wide as she shoved Misfire aside. "Guys! Get over here!" She grabbed her siblings and pulled them towards the center table. Breakdown fought back, digging in his servos and yanking his hand away. Drag Strip scoffed as he backed away towards a less crowded part of the room. Misfire trailed behind them, intrigued.

Breakdown put his back against the wall again.

It was over. The immediate danger had passed. But there were too many people in here- and they were all watching them, waiting to get them! After that little show, every optic was on them. It made his armor itch, made him want to transform and drive away.

And that red mech was STILL there. Hungry red optics on a white face. Breakdown wanted to scream. He crossed his arms over his chest and held his hands tight, so he wouldn’t scratch his paint off. Everyone could see how scared he was. Everyone knew how scared he was. He couldn’t take it anymore! He had to do something!

Breakdown silenced his screaming processor with a single, steady string of thought: let's see what they've got. He grinned at the red mech.

The stranger's optics narrowed.

Breakdown waved them over.

As the red mech got closer, Breakdown noted the difference in height. A direct attack would be easy to deal with. Hopefully, he could say something to defuse the situation before it came to that. Maybe ‘Like what you see?’ or ‘you a fan?’ or ‘what do you want?’

Oh, who was he kidding? He was going to punch their faceplate in.

Wildrider’s bright blue optics appeared in front of Breakdown’s vision. His blocky black plating flared up, and his hands clanged against his brother’s upper arm.

“Drag Strip is doing a death pool!” he gasped, every word rushing out.

“You squealing glitch!” And then Drag Strip was there, pushing her brother off Breakdown’s arm. Wildrider cackled.

“Hey!” the red mech protested, stepping back.

Breakdown’s plating relaxed. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding it. “Drag Strip, you remember what happened last time there was a death pool.”

“That was Dead End’s fault!”

“Yeah, but you cheered about it!” Wildrider dodged another swipe.

“Death pools don’t work if you kill people to win, Drag Strip,” Breakdown added.

"Bro!” Drag Strip gasped. A real gasp, not a fake one for effect. “I don't need to do that!"

"But you've thought about it."

Drag Strip's expression darkened. She pushed Wildrider off of her brother and took his place on his arm. Her grip was tight, and she was scratching his paint, digging in with her fingers. "If we're usin' that stuff then none of us can be around anyone,” she spat back. “Especially you."

That wasn't fair- Wildrider had thought much worse- but arguing about it would be pointless. And dangerous- People were listening. The red mech’s face had gone from annoyed to intrigued. Breakdown pushed her off and they glared at each other. He looked away first. He always did.

"Anyway," she said, putting on her classic Drag Strip ‘I won ha ha smack me please’ smirk. “I’ve bet on a bunch of other things too! I’m gunna get lightning bolts after I drench Prime with a bucket a’ yellow!”

“Oh, please,” the red mech scoffed. Drag Strip spun around.

“Haven’t seen you make any bets! Scared of losing?" Drag Strip grinned. "I don't blame you. I always win."

"I'm sure you do." He sounded bored. And Drag Strip took that as a challenge.

"You think you can beat me?!" She jabbed a finger into his chest plate.

As Drag Strip's volume increased, more 'Cons started paying attention and the newcomer noticed this. He glanced at Breakdown again, but Wildrider quickly blocked his line of sight. Breakdown moved, back still against the wall, away from his sister and whatever she was getting herself into.

The stranger leaned closer. “I know I can. How about a race?”

"Ha! Too easy! Howsabout..." Drag Strip looked around for inspiration.

"How about whichever one of you can kill more Autobots than Misfire tags us?" Octane chimed in, striding over to them. He was practically rubbing his hands together.

"Hey!" Misfire grumbled, listening from the center table.

"Think about it!” Octane leaned in, putting a hand on Drag Strip’s shoulder. “Having another person makes it more fair."

"It does?" Wildrider asked.

"Leaves it up to chance! And he's a wild card! Might hit all of us, or miss us and get the Autobots for once!"

The red mech's optics darted to Misfire, then to Octane.

"Sounds good to me!" Drag Strip agreed.

"Thats-" the red mech looked towards the bot with wide arms sitting at the center table. “Sea Sure would never agree with that.”

Everyone at the center table was watching this happen. No one was looking at Breakdown as he slipped further away. The wide armed bot- Sea Sure- smirked. “Makes sense to me,” she said. She tilted her head towards the minicon with the round glowing optics. “Search?”

Search made a reply that Breakdown couldn’t hear.

“We think it’s fine. Unless you want to back down, Knock Out?”

Wildrider looked towards his brother, completely confused. He had never been good at picking up social dynamics. Breakdown at least, could see that something was going on… but he didn’t know these people well enough to figure it out.

The red mech- Knock Out- knew he was being set up; his fingers were curling into claws at his sides and his pointed finials twitched downward. Then something shifted, and he relaxed. Breakdown could almost hear the gears turning in his head.

"That's being a bit cruel to poor Misfire." The confidence had slid back into his expression. "His aim has been getting better."

"Yes! Thank you!"

"In fact, I don't think he'll shoot any of us at all next time." His hand gracefully moved to point at Drag Strip. "And I'd be willing to bet oh, a bottle of high grade on it?"

"Whoa hold on-" Octane held up his hand. "That's like handing her a win for nothing! There's no way you believe that'll happen. I smell a turbo-rat."

"Then bet against it," Knock Out hissed, composure cracking. "You're the one who dragged Misfire into this."

The thoughtful look on Drag Strip's face fooled everyone but her siblings. She had already made up her mind. "A bottle of highgrade. From Swindle?"

"Who else?"

Drag Strip grinned wide. "Deal!"

The two looked at Sea Sure, who nodded and wrote it in a data pad. Knock Out did a mocking bow, and came up from it with a smirk. "Don't let me down, Misfire!" He said as he turned around and sauntered out of the room. He waved at Blackjack as he passed, who made a gun with his fingers and mimed shooting himself in the head.

Before Breakdown could say or do anything, the door opened again, revealing the imposing frame of Motormaster. The Stunticon leader scanned the room, locking optics with him first. Motormaster didn’t need to say anything.

"Funs over," Breakdown muttered to his siblings. “C’mon.”

Drag Strip led them out of the rec room, waving at several ‘Cons as she went. Breakdown felt a nudge at his side.

“Don’t start a fight on the first day,” Wildrider said in a poor imitation of his voice.

“Shut up.”

Dead End was waiting in the hallway. "Ah, he meant 'outside' outside." She rolled her optics, watching Motormaster leave down the corridor.

"How was it?" Drag Strip asked as they followed.

Dead End sighed. "The commander wanted to know what it is we do. I believed I could give her a less exaggerated account.”

"Did she get it?" Drag Strip walked backwards to face her sister. "Between Motormaster talking us up and you putting us down?"

"Yes, she ‘got it’." Dead End didn't try to deny it- that was exactly why she had been there. She lowered her voice. "She was asking about what we do individually. I believe the commander wants to split us up. Motormaster will not take it well."

"The higher ups wouldn't let her disband the Stunticons," Drag Strip frowned.

"And she can't stop us from forming Menasor," Breakdown added.

Dead End sighed again, in the way she did when she had to explain something to her much slower siblings. "She doesn't need to officially split us up. Merely keep us apart."

Wildrider laughed, shrill and loud enough to drown out the anxiety.

"Hurry up!' Motormaster bellowed from the base's entrance. He waited for his family to catch up before his thunderously loud engine propelled him into vehicle mode and into the blasted landscape. He was Motormaster, the king of the road! And he didn't need anyone's permission to leave base. The other Stunticons raced around him, settling into their usual formation. His spark swelled with relief- everyone was where they should be.

"Any of the other Decepticons trouble?" Motormaster asked.

"Nah," Drag Strip swerved to ramp up a nearby ridge.

"I wasn't talking to you!"

"Only troublemakers were us!"

"Wasn't talking to you either, Wildrider!"

Breakdown was still thinking. Inside, it had been intense. But out here, away from them? "Just the usual 'tough guys'," he answered. He tried not to think about what that schemer, Knock Out, might have wanted.

With that, the Stunticons drove off into the night. They kicked up dust and rammed each other off ledges. They returned to base before sunrise, not bothering to keep quiet.

"You forgot one, Dead End," Motormaster's voice rumbled through all their comms.

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"There's us."

Chapter Text

“-We are to hold the Autobot’s attention here, until we are given the signal to fall back.” Commander Slipstream pointed at a spot on the map. Blue light lit up her features as the next battlefield floated above the projector. Her second, a flier with four optics, stood next to her at attention. They glared out over the assembled unit, picking out who wasn’t listening.

The Stunticons, despite their reputation for charging ahead, were actually paying attention. Most of them. Wildrider had tried, at first, but had zoned out after namecall. Breakdown was, and was also watching every other ‘Con in the room, so he may as well have not been listening at all.

“While we are distracting them, a smaller team will split off and go here,” She pointed at a location further away from the battle and a glowing red dot appeared on the projection. “They will be picking up a dead drop left by a Decepticon operative. Our main objective, however, is to hold their troops so the platoon at C- 49 can advance unimpeded.”

“That means,” the Commander’s second cut in, “That we can’t blow through them. If we force a retreat, Axor, then the other team might be overrun.”

There was the sound of an axe being put away, and someone snickered.

“Thank you, Elevon,” Slipstream nodded. “Diversionary tactics are best here. Give them the run around, dive in and out- kill them if you have to. But don’t press too hard unless you get the command otherwise.”

“Who gets to play fetch?” Asked a mech with two cables hanging from their head. “I can jump over and grab it and come back and-”

“Vaultor, I need you up front. Your electricity will be useful for detaining any Autobots who try to fall back too early.”

Vaultor hopped from one servo to another.

“I’ll need someone fast.” Slipstream looked at Breakdown. He pushed himself off the wall and stood straight.

“Get one of your own guys to do it,” Motormaster rumbled. “The Stunticons stay together.”

Breakdown’s engine shuddered.

“You said he was the ‘fastest Decepticon on Cybertron’.” Slipstream arched an optic ridge.

“What?!” Drag Strip hissed. Motormaster ground his teeth.

“Excuse me, Commander?” Knock Out’s voice said from across the briefing room. Slipstream tilted her head up and closed her optics, like she was begging some higher power to intervene or fighting off a headache. Or both.

“Oh this is it,” whispered Octane from the back of the room.

“With all due respect,” Knock Out gestured towards himself, “I would be the best option for this, being the fastest one here.” His optics flashed towards Breakdown.

Slipstream opened her own optics. “Fine. The both of you can go.”

“What?! But-”

“What the Commander says, goes,” Slipstream’s second barked, “If you don’t like it, you can be in the forward group.”

“Breakdown stays with me,” Motormaster growled. Dead End placed a hand on his arm, her most gentle way of saying ‘shut up right now you lumbering scrap heap’. But nothing slowed him down. “The Stunticons can take the forward group. We’ll pulverize the Autobots!”

Slipstream’s wings flared and her red optics burned. “You and Dead End will be in the forward group.” Her voice was firm, and ran over Motormaster’s protests. “Wildrider and Drag Strip will be here,” she pointed at a position further back from the front charge, “giving the Autobots something to chase.” Her volume increased as the Stunticon leader’s did. “And Breakdown will be picking up the dead drop with Knock Out.”

Just before the storm in Motormaster’s engines erupted into violence, Breakdown touched his brother’s back. Those angry suns turned their full force on him, and he faltered for just a moment.

“It’s fine,” Breakdown said, finding his voice. “I’ll grab the data and be right back. You won’t even miss me!”

The growling died down- not completely, but enough. Motormaster’s hand landed on Breakdown’s closest shoulder tire and squeezed hard. All the Stunticons were his family, his responsibility. They belonged to him.

Wildrider breathed out a sigh of relief, and the briefing continued.

“I thought for sure she’d go ballistic,” Octane whispered, disappointed.

The Con next to him leaned over. “Guess you owe us ten Shanix.”

The briefing continued. Their unit had about twenty Cons in it, and each one was assigned a position. There was no more complaining- not openly, at least.

“If you have any questions, take them to Elevon,” the Commander finished, tilting her head towards her second. “We leave at the nineteenth cycle. Dismissed!”

Anyone in Motormaster’s path to the door got shoved aside. The remaining Stunticons exchanged grimaces and frowns.

“I have questions,” Dead End muttered to her siblings over the shuffling of dispersing ‘Cons. “I’ll rejoin with you anon.”

“Why’d he call you the fastest?! I need to know what else he said!” Drag Strip raced out after her brother. Wildrider followed after her, giving his siblings a look on his way out. His message was clear: “Don’t take too long”.

Despite his interest earlier, Knock Out had only looked at Breakdown when the Commander had told him they’d be working together. Maybe he knew that the Stunticon was on to him. And now that Breakdown knew that he knew, Knock Out was being careful and purposefully NOT looking at him. Right now, he was examining the projected map, hand on his chin, looking deep in thought. His tapping servo said something else, though. He was up to something.

Breakdown chose to make the first move.

“Hey!” Breakdown clapped a friendly hand on Knock Out’s shoulder. The bot jumped, and Breakdown smiled down at him. “Looking forward to working with you, Knock Out!”

Knock Out looked at the hand with a glare that could peel paint. “I’m sure you are,” the red bot said with a smirk. He ducked out of Breakdown’s grasp and waved as he walked away. The Stunticon blinked. So that’s how it was going to be.

“Misfire! I do hope I’m not interrupting!” Knock Out sauntered up to the brown bot. Breakdown watched him leave with Misfire and Search in tow, noting the predatory look in his optics, and shuddered in sympathy.

***

Decepticons filed out of the base in groups, waiting in the mouth of the entrance. Their chatter was half nervous and half excited. That was good- it meant there was a good mix of personalities. Breakdown stood off to the side scanning what little horizon he could see from his position. The sky still smoldered and the air still smelled like war. Nothing new there. And neither was Motormaster’s hovering presence behind him. Or the industrial strength grip on his shoulder wheel.

“You go and come right back to battle,” Motormaster hissed.

“I got it.”

“And keep your radio on.”

“I got it!”

The Stunticon leader spun him around and gripped both his shoulders. “Don't you dare get hurt,” he growled.

Breakdown’s vocalizer caught and he nodded instead. Motormaster released him.

“Finally!” He grunted when the other Stunticons emerged from the base to join them.

“Relax, Motors!” Drag Strip grinned. “We got this!”

“I am relaxed,” he snapped.

Dead End rolled her optics. “The Commander said she’d give us the signal when we are to move out.” She looked to Motormaster. “We're all clear on that, right?” What she was really asking was ‘Will we be following the Commander’s orders… or yours?’

If any of the others had asked, there would have been trouble. Instead, Motormaster glowered. “Until I say otherwise.”

“Let’s go! I wanna tear ‘em up!” Wildrider waved his gun around, the panels on his arms opening and closing, opening and closing.

Dead End shook her head. “Were you listening?”

Breakdown laughed. “C’mon, Dee.”

“Right, why did I even ask?”

Commander Slipstream whistled and the chattering faded away. Breakdown bounced on his servos. She scanned her platoon and frowned, and he realized she was doing a head count. And, he realized as he followed her gaze, coming up short.

Knock Out.

“Everyone to your positions!” She ordered.

The sound of transformation echoed through the cavern. Some of the alt modes were a surprise- he wouldn’t have guessed Octane turned into a fuel tanker with those wings (unless he was a triple changer). Sea Sure jumped on top of his trailer, a little orange drone perched on her shoulder. Blackjack zoomed past him as a four wheeler, a bulky black all terrain vehicle following behind him. Vaultor sprinted out of the entrance and got taller as they moved, legs unfolding completely before they disappeared around the corner.

Motormaster yanked Wildrider back as a four wheeler with a spiked bumper nearly ran him over, and then shoved him away. “You all have your orders,” he growled. Drag Strip and Wildrider took that as their cue, diving into their own vehicle modes and racing out into the open. Dead End winced when, predictably, Wildrider took the turn too late and scraped against the rock face.

“Weren’t you assigned someone?” Dead End asked.

Still no sign of Knock Out. He wouldn’t have to go solo, would he? That sounded dangerous. Breakdown hid his grin from Motormaster.

“Breakdown!” The Commander called, striding over to him. “Head to your position. Knock Out will meet you there. If I don't kill him myself.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “See if you can keep him from causing more trouble.”

“You come find me after,” his brother hissed behind him.

“What are you waiting for?! Move out!”

Breakdown’s cheers echoed behind him as he rocketed through the cavern, leaving Motormaster and Dead End behind him. As soon as the turn came up he changed into robot mode to fling himself around the corner, transforming back again before his servos touched the ground.

Motormaster was quiet as he watched Breakdown go, and Dead End knew that could only be an ill omen.

Chapter Text

“Aren’t you supposed to be fast?”

Knock Out transformed out of vehicle mode. “I was held up,” he said casually.

Breakdown’s optics gleamed in the dark. The cliffs here blocked out what little light was left in the solar cycle. He leaned against the rock face, staying as far away from the edge as possible. Not that he minded heights- being this high up got his energon pumping- but they were supposed to be hidden.

“Say the word, Slipstream,” Knockout said over his comms.

Their commander circled the air far above them in her jet mode. Even down a ‘Con, this would work. It was a good plan, she reminded herself- as long as the rest of her troops followed it. From up here, they were all just tiny dots. Tiny, differently colored, chaotic, frustrating dots. One of the autobots below her took a potshot and missed, horribly. They were playing their part perfectly. So why did she have a sinking feeling about this?

“Forward team, charge!”

The dots beneath her moved through the canyons. She could hear that imbecile Motormaster’s yelling even from up here. Claxons rang out from the Autobot’s base, and flashes of laser fire sparkled below her.

“Elevon, keep me informed.”

Back in the shadow of the cliffs, Breakdown and Knock Out waited for their signal. The Stunicon realized that if Knock Out wanted to try anything, this would be the perfect time to do it. He looked at the red mech hopefully.

“...See something you like?”

“Nope,” Breakdown grinned. “Was wondering who’s gunna take point?”

“I am, of course.”

He shrugged. “Alright.”

They listened to the distant sounds of weapons and explosions in silence. Breakdown tapped his servo. The Stunticons were doing fine, right? There was nothing to worry about. Except that Knock Out was looking at him again. Suddenly, over their radios:

“Retrieval team, you’re up.”

And then they were speeding across the cliff sides in vehicle mode. Well, they weren’t ‘speeding’- Knock Out was setting the pace and it wasn’t what Breakdown had been expecting from a racing frame. Especially since he’d been willing to talk back to his superior officer over being called the ‘fastest’. Acting cautious here was for the best, though, as much as Breakdown hated it. It gave him the time to sense the ambush before they drove into it.

***

“There’s nothing here, and no one's coming.” Hailstorm kicked at the dust, his Autobot brand flashing in the fading light.

“Then leave.” Geo-Cache didn't turn around- he just kept looking out at the empty plateau and the boring rocks and the silent cliffs and the nothing that they had been told to keep watch over!

“This is a waste of time!” Hailstorm complained.

Pyrite sighed, rubbing her face with a pale purple hand. “Hate to agree with him.”

“Pyrite, please.”

She turned away from the cliff’s edge, and the dizzying drop to the plateau below. “How do you know your source is good?”

Geo-Cache sighed. “Because he doesn't get the money if it's bad.”

The sniper considered this as Geo-Cache's communicator pinged. He frowned at what he was told.“Decepticons are attacking the base.”

“Yes!!!” Hailstorm pretended not to notice the glares from his comrades, even as he withered inside. “Let's go!”

“We're staying here.”

“Come on!”

Pyrite looked wearily at the bulky brown and gray excavator and then to the black and orange helicopter. She turned back to the drop. “Great,” she muttered to herself. “Alchemist’s dented hands, give me a drink…”

“Hailstorm, get back to your position.” Geo-Cache resumed his watch and Hailstorm moved to the other side of the canyon. The blissful quiet lasted for less than 5 klicks. Pyrite’s comms rang, and it was Hailstorm’s voice on the other end of the call.

“Hey! Look at me- No, through your scope!”

Pyrite took her fingers off the trigger before she did so, lest any unfortunate ‘accidents’ happen. Hailstorm transformed his right arm into a ridiculous cannon. Her fingers twitched as he did “cool” poses with it. Her cross-heirs found his head as his voice filled her comm link again.

“Like it? Brainstorm made it for me!”

“He showing off his cannon?” Geo-cache asked behind her shoulder. So much for ‘Get back to your position.’

“It's called a “Distraction Blaster 3000”, but I call it my ‘Decepti-killer’ Cannon. His assistant tried to talk him out of giving it to me, can you believe that?” Hailfire snorted. “What would some creepy organic know about arm cannons?”

Geo-Cache sighed. “Hailstorm isn’t a bad guy, really.”

“He’s saying that Nebulans are disgusting and the Autobots don’t need organic allies,” Pyrite said over the unending chatter.

Geo-Cache grimaced. “Really?”

“No. But he’s getting close.”

“He’s-” The bulky bot sighed again. “-He’s been through a lot.”

Pyrite rolled her optics beneath her visor. She bit back a response and Geo-Cache took the invitation to go off with a speech that would make Optimus Prime blush. ‘Experience’ this, ‘looking past first impressions’ that. Hailstorm was still flooding her other audial with slag- going on about the Headmasters and how weird it must be to be that integrated to another person the way they are. She grit her teeth.

“You’d never catch me doing it! Having an alien be inside my head-! So weird!” Hailstorm sneered.

“I like to see the best in people,” Geo-Cache finished quietly. The earnestness in his voice pulled Pyrite out of her fantasies of blowing both their brain modules out. She dared a glance over her shoulder. Geo-Cache was smiling. “I think we have to, or else this war is never going to end.”

In her right audial: “Having anyone inside my head would be awful, but it would be worse to be in someone else’s head-”

In her left audial: “Take you for example: you act cold and standoffish all the time, but I know you’re more complicated than that-”

“Both of you, Shut up!” Pyrite growled. It was deep, and low, and signaled that she had had enough of them. And they had enough respect for her- or maybe her long, long list of kills- to fall silent.

“I- sorry,” Hailstorm whimpered and ended the call. Geo-Cache backed away. It was finally quiet.

A loud whoop of excitement rang out behind her. Pyrite didn’t have time to swear before she registered a blue and white mech charging at her. She didn’t have time to line up a shot before she was being grappled. She had even less time to see Geo-Cache’s stunned face before she was plummeting through the air. In fact, going off the calculations her processor was doing (based on the force of her attacker, her weight, the height of the fall, yada yada yada) Pyrite had 5.8 nano Kliks and counting before she died.

That was bad. That should make her feel something. Angry or scared or sad- but if Pyrite was being honest with herself (and why not? She only had 4.9 nano Kliks left in her life) she’d stopped feeling most anything after her first battle. All she felt was how annoyed she was that the last thing she’d ever done was tell people she couldn’t stand to shut up. She should’ve done it sooner.

Pyrite wondered briefly what would happen to them. Then decided that she didn’t care.

The people she had cared about were already gone. She’d see them again though- in 2.7 Nano Kliks. And then she’d tell them how she’d gone out: snuck up on by a Decepticon during an ambush with incompetent teammates and hugged off a cliff.

Before she hit the ground, Pyrite barked out a short, sharp laugh.

***

The sniper’s body folded under Breakdown’s weight with a satisfying CRUNCH! He jumped up, grinning wildly. He whooped in delight as he pulled his blasters out of his subspace compartment and twisted around, firing up at the bot he had missed in his charge. Knock Out watched from where he had hidden himself at the entrance to the opening. That fall really should have hurt him more than it seemed to. Lucky him- he got to keep being bait.

Knock Out checked the image of the dead drop’s hiding place he’d been given: a section of particular rocks on the cliff face that a brute of an Autobot was sliding down right now. Great.

“How exactly” he muttered angrily to himself “am I supposed to pick out one rock from another when they all look exactly the same?!” He looked up from the image just in time to duck out of the way of a barrage of laser fire with an undignified yelp. A second Autobot jumped off the canyon wall, transforming into a helicopter.

“This is for Pyrite!” the Autobot yelled.

Knock Out dived into the opening to avoid another salvo, bumping up against Breakdown as their enemies moved in. He knew they’d get boxed in like this, but had the bolt head been listening?

“What now?!”

Breakdown raised his smoking blasters. He subspaced one. “Get the thing!”

Faster than Knock Out could react, Breakdown grabbed his arm and spun the both of them around. Knock Out looked up at his new opponent as his ally bolted away, firing shots at the helicopter. The Autobot in front of him was a specimen of a mining frame. Thick brown plating, powerful limbs, at least one arm that could transform into a drill, and- oh yes, three times Knock Out’s body mass!

None of the weapons he had on him would even dent this brute. His own drill was meant for precision and his buzz saw wouldn’t even scratch their paint! Knock Out desperately searched for anything he could use to his advantage, optics landing on a familiar pattern in the cliff face.

The Autobot rushed forward, each step shaking the ground, and Knock Out did NOT make an embarrassing noise this time. No, he stayed calm and collected and screamed instead as he dived to the side and transformed. Knock Out swerved around his attacker. He had bought himself a few nano kliks. He screeched to a stop at the indicated rock, popping out of alt mode. His lip plates curled at the prospect of physical labor. What was Slipstream thinking, sending him to do this job?!

He yanked on the rock, not expecting anything to happen, and was surprised to find his hand phase right through it. A hologram! A glance behind him confirmed that the Autobot had found their footing and was getting ready to rush him. Breakdown was too busy to help, darting in and out of vehicle mode to avoid the helicopter’s fire. Knock Out would have to be quick.

His hand grasped around a metal cylinder. He yanked the thing out of the hole and could feel the displaced air against the back of his helm from the brute’s fist as he dived into vehicle mode. The impact of the punch shook his wheels and sent shards of the cliff exploding out like shrapnel. The sound of rock ricocheting against metal and the sudden pain made Knock Out skid to a halt. He transformed to get a better look at himself.

A piece of rock - a tiny thing, really- must have hit him, leaving an ugly gash across the shiny red paint of his left arm.

“Last mistake, Autobot,” Knock Out growled. His attacker was stuck trying to pull his pylon of an arm out of the side of the cliff.

“How fortunate,” Knock Out grinned wickedly, tossing the data cylinder from hand to hand, his gaze landing on an exposed gap between his would-be killer’s leg plating and hip joint. “For me that is.”

The plates on the Autobot’s shoulder and arm began to shift as Knock Out moved closer. Mining frame! Drill arm! He heard the thing rev up from inside the rock.

“On second thought…” Knock Out backed away as the Autobot wrenched his arm free, the drill on their arm whirring to a stop. “I’ll let it slide this time.”

Breakdown made a sharp turn to avoid another barrage of laser fire. Every shot missed made the helicopter hovering over him more and more angry. With a cheer, he flipped himself out of vehicle mode and fired off a round from his own weapons.

“Hailstorm, don't let him escape!!”

Breakdown looked just in time to see Knock Out race past him in vehicle mode. Where was he going? There were still bots to fight!

The Autobot helicopter changed directions and zipped upwards, transforming and landing on the canyon’s rim with an outstretched arm. That arm became a cannon and Knock Out sped up.
A solid beam of red energy shot out with a deafening roar! Breakdown covered his audials and rolled out of its path as it chased the red mech, leaving gashes in the ground behind it. The beam followed Knock Out as he passed back into the canyon they’d come from. It clipped the walls and rocks tumbled down, crashing in his path. Knock Out’s brakes screeched as he danced around the falling debris.

And then Knock Out disappeared from sight. The beam petered out, and Breakdown saw the Autobot up on the cliff slump. Still alive, but exhausted. Which just left the big brown driller. They looked at him sympathetically and motioned towards the exit with their head. Breakdown raised an optic ridge as he bounced on his feet.

“No one else has to die. Could just go,” the big guy said softly.

Breakdown stilled, thought about it, and put his fists back up.

“Nah.”

The drill whirred to life. “Suit yourself.”

Breakdown grinned wide and threw himself back into the fight. He got in close and sidestepped the drill being swung at him. He landed an uppercut on the big guy’s chin and the Autobot staggered back, shaking it off and coming at him again. Breakdown pulled out his blasters and fired shot after shot. The lasers just bounced off his opponent’s plating. The Stunticon moved too slow to dodge the strike and staggered back as it clanged against his chestplate.

Breakdown was very glad the big guy had switched to his fist before he swung. It had hurt, and had left a pretty bad dent- but he wasn’t torn apart into little shreds! He recovered just in time to block another punch with both his arms. Metal screeched as he blocked another. He dug his feet in. On the third, he remembered that Wildrider wouldn't suddenly appear behind his enemy and smash ‘em like usual. Before the next one hit, he transformed into vehicle mode and reversed, getting as much distance as he could. He almost tripped over the sniper’s body as he went.

A quick glance told him the helicopter was recovering. They were starting to aim that cannon. This was turning bad, fast. Staying here and fighting these guys would be dangerous.

And that made Breakdown smile even more.

Suddenly he was in vehicle mode boosting wide laps around the arena, the death beam on his tail. He spun wildly, finding the big guy and racing straight for him. He was counting on his opponent being too slow to get out of the way- and he was right.

“Comin’ through!” Breakdown drifted into a spin and his rear panels crunched against the Autobot’s shins. The big guy toppled forward, arms flailing as Breakdown sped away, and his own ally's weapon washed over him.

Breakdown could hear the guy’s plating crack under the laser, even over his howls of pain. The cannon angled upwards, and the beam shot through the canyon’s opening and then up into the sky before fading away.

“No!” The Autobot on the cliff fell to their knees. He leaned over the edge and screamed for his friend to get up. “Don't be dead! Don't you dare be dead!”

Breakdown transformed out of alt mode, wincing at a jolt of pain. He grabbed at his thigh, and looked up at the crying Autobot.

The Autobot stopped screaming. He whimpered “no” over and over again, like it would change anything.

“Nice arm,” drawled a voice behind him. His head shot up-

Knock Out pulled the Autobot up by the rotor mast onto the precision drill. He had angled his arm perfectly, barely needing to guide the tool as it shredded its way from the back of the neck into the cranial chamber. The screaming stopped once Knock Out hit the brain module.

Then the Autobot fell, down, down, down, to join his deactivated friends. His body crunched against the ground, lifeless.

That could be ANY of us!

Breakdown shook Motormaster’s words out of his processor. Didn’t need to hear his brother’s voice any more than he already did. Besides, three Autobots? Even Dead End would have called that a win.

He looked away from the offlined bots. His siblings were fine. They could take care of themselves. And he was trying to stop thinking about his favorite brother every time he offlined an Autobot.

Knock Out slid down the cliffside. He slipped on pebbles when he reached the bottom, landing on his knees next to the Autobot he had taken out. Breakdown strode over to him, fixing a smile on his face and ignoring the pain in his leg. They had won! It was worth celebrating!

"I thought you ran." Breakdown offered his hand as he scanned the area. He spread out his senses, listening for anything that might be a threat. Just tumbling rocks.

"Please," Knock Out scoffed. The harsh sound of metal sawing against metal made Breakdown look back towards him. There was a squeal of snapping wires and something was shoved into his outstretched hand. "And leave this in the hands of the autobots?"

Breakdown stared at the severed arm he had been given. "Why?"

"Exactly! Why let them keep all the toys when I can make so much better use of them?" Knock Out sawed another line through the lifeless frame, prying it apart, finding the cables and circuits he was looking for. "And here-" A loud, wet, squelch announced another mechanism being stolen. "-is the power source! Clever; hooking it directly into auxiliary fuel lines." He looked up at Breakdown. "Why are you laughing?"

"Nothing!" Breakdown smothered his laughter behind a grin. "This isn't the best place to hang around, is all."

Knock Out grinned back (or was it a smirk?) as he stood up. He flicked Energon off his claws and took back the limb, stowing his prizes away in his subspace. "Shall we be going now?"

"Unless you wanna loot anything else."

Knock Out looked at the other fallen Autobots thoughtfully. Breakdown was beginning to realize what the commander had meant when she had said to keep him out of trouble. He laughed again at that and threw himself into his vehicle mode.

There was an unpleasant crunch.

"Ow."

"That didn't sound good." The metal beneath Breakdown's plating itched as Knock Out leaned down to peer at him.

"I'll get it looked at when we get back!" With that, Breakdown shot off through the valley, darting around rocks and ramping over gaps. He was pleased when Knock Out appeared in his peripherals, and laughed when he found himself falling behind.

Chapter Text

Knock Out flipped out of vehicle mode first, landing on his servos before the threshold. He looked back, smirking, to see... No one. Of course the big lug had fallen behind. He weighed at least 2.25 times more than Knock Out did. As if he could ever hope to keep up!

Breakdown's whoops echoed into the enclosed space. A white and blue blur sped past the opening to the entryway and Knock Out had to resist doing the math to figure out exactly how fast that was (Because it didn't matter, he was faster). A screech announced a sharp turn, and then Breakdown was sliding to a stop, leaving dust and tire tracks behind. It would have been impressive- if he hadn't ruined it with a transformation that stalled out halfway through, trapping his legs and throwing him off balance. There was a loud thump.

Breakdown looked up at Knock Out from the ground. "Ow."

Knock Out leaned over the prone mech, scanning him up and down. "Can you free your legs?"

Breakdown smiled up at him. What was he so cheerful about?

One nasty transformation sound later and Breakdown was walking inside the base. His limp didn't go unnoticed, but being leaned on was (thankfully) not one of Knock Out's obligations.

"Take a right, two doors down," Knock Out instructed, pointing in that direction.

***

The door to the medbay slid open. Breakdown hesitated, squared his shoulders, and walked in.

The medbay was… like the rest of the base: dark gray walls, dark gray floor, gloomy atmosphere. Unlike the rest of the base however, it had decent lighting!

The equipment looked functional and the operation tables were clean. There were no Energon stains or dismembered limbs lying around.

Breakdown gently swung his injured leg. "You let the Commander know we got the thing?"

"The dead drop," Knock Out corrected. "I did, yes." He moved to a console nearby. Pointed fingers tapped against the screen. Mechanisms inside the table shifted, and Breakdown's internal threat level rose from base "alert" to "get ready for a fight". He sprang up, and as he landed on the floor he also landed on his injured leg. Knock Out caught him by the arm.

"Ow."

"Don't like doctor's visits?" Knock Out smirked. The big bot was so nervous in here! Except then Breakdown grinned wide and laughed, so maybe not?

"After being in Shockwave's lab? Nah, not a fan of 'em."

"Hmm." Knock Out's gaze lingered on worn down transformation seams and the huge dent on Breakdown's leg.

Breakdown suppressed a shudder and pulled away, leaning against the table.

"Speaking of places you've been..." Something had been tugging at Knock Out's memory banks since he'd first seen the bot. "Did you ever race on Velocitron?"

"Uh. Once or twice, maybe." The Stunticon shifted his weight off his leg, and tried to ignore the unsettling sound Knock Out's fingers made as the mech tapped his chin. "Why?"

"There was one track in particular that was quite popular with sightseers. The 'Theta 3000'- everyone just called it-"

"-The one with the giant loop!"

Knock Out forgave the interruption this time. "That's the one! You've raced on it."

"You... uh-" Breakdown gripped the table so hard he left dents in it. "How'd you know?"

Knock Out's face lit up. "I knew I recognized you!" He pointed with a single, shiny finger. "You're that maniac who skipped the loop!"

Breakdown smiled at the memory. Last lap and he had been going so fast when he took that loop. He had ramped off another racer and transformed and flipped around- landed on his wheels on the other side! It had been awesome! Such a rush! Free falling and the shock from the landing and-

Except that Knock Out seemed to remember it, too. Why? A grudge? Was he a stalker? A fan?

"Hold on, I lost that race!"

"Of course you did," the red mech's smirk was back again. "I was in it."

Not a grudge.

"Do you always remember people you beat?" Breakdown asked casually, as he wrestled his threat level down to "caution". One of his stunts had left an impression. That’s all. No need to panic.

"Only the interesting ones."

"Yeah?"

Interesting, huh? Being 'interesting' was bad. People looked at you, watched you, judged you. It was dangerous.

And the best way to deal with danger was to drive into it.

Breakdown let go of the table. "How 'bout a rematch? Soon as I get my leg fixed up."

"I'd love to crush you again." Knock Out lifted his chin, that smirk lighting up his face. It was funny how a smaller mech could seem like he was looking down at the Stunticon. "Now let's see about-"

Breakdown shushed him.

It took Knock Out's processor a moment to catch up to what had just happened. The red hot fury followed after. "Did you just-!"

The larger mech had gone still, his brows furrowed in concentration. A component shuddered somewhere inside Breakdown's frame (his engine perhaps?) and the sound distracted Knock Out from his indignation. Knock Out’s finials twitched as he tilted his head to listen closer to it... And heard something else, too. Heavy footsteps stomping down the hall. Something slamming angrily against the medbay door controls.

Standing in the doorway was a huge black and purple frame. Metal bricks pretending to be legs carried the mech inside the room. Silver arms, each the size of Knock Out's torso, ended in curled fists. A boxed hood cast their faceplate in shadow, save for the glowing orange optics glaring straight through him.

Knock Out's first thought was that there was no conceivable way this build was natural. This mech had been heavily modified for combat (literally! Three times Knock Out’s weight class!) and judging by the battle damage, they saw a lot of it.

And they were angry. Air whistled between teeth clenched into a vicious snarl, making a sound like a malfunctioning piston with every cycle. Their engine revved violently, threatening to propel the mech forward into a fight right here in his medbay. Which led to Knock Out's next thought:

Breakdown's reaction had been the 'uh-oh' before an explosion. Whatever this was about, it was in Knock Out's own interests not to draw attention to himself.

"Can I help you?" Knock Out drawled, hand on his hip.

It would have been easier to stop the sun from rising. Ah, well. He couldn’t help that he was just so flashy!

The visitor's optics flicked towards Knock Out, like they were just noticing him for the first time.

"Get out," the warmech rumbled.

Knock Out's finials lowered and his fingers curled. "Excuse me?"

The hulking wall of barely contained rage and metal took a step towards him, and that was all it took. Knock Out moved around the brute and scurried out the door. He didn't want to be there when the bomb went off.

***///***

For the second time today, Breakdown watched Knock Out leave him to face down danger on his own. Not that he could blame the guy this time- Motormaster could crush him like scrap metal without even trying. Breakdown held up his hands. "Before you say anything, it isn't that bad!"

"It isn't that bad," his brother repeated in a low growl. "It isn't. That. Bad." They both knew what Motormaster wasn't saying.

It could get so much worse.

"What did I tell you?" Motormaster moved closer, each footstep shaking the room. Breakdown's coolant pump rattled inside his chassis. "What did I say before you ran off?"

"To be careful," he sighed. Breakdown knew this dance.

"What else?"

“To not get hurt…”

“And?!”

Had there been anything else?

Motormaster's voice drove through Breakdown's silence. "To come back as soon as you were done..."

Breakdown tried to keep still so his coolant pump would shut up.

"...And to keep your comms on!" Motormaster was getting louder even as he was getting closer. Breakdown pressed himself back against the edge of the table. He winced as his injured leg complained. "How am I going to keep you safe when you don't listen to me?!?!"

Breakdown crossed his arms and looked away.

Motormaster's voice dropped to an almost normal speaking volume. "I can’t keep you alive if I don't know where you are! You can't break off from the rest of us like that!"

"Hey! I didn't want to split up! It wasn't my choice!"

"You didn't ARGUE when you got the orders!"

"Yeah! 'Cause I don't argue with my commanding officers!"

"You're arguing with ME RIGHT NOW!!!"

No one wanted Motormaster to be their leader. He had made himself the leader, and the Stunticons would have been better off if he hadn't. Breakdown grit his teeth and buried that thought. His brother's engine revved.

"Who does she think she is?! Using MY words against ME! Commanding MY troops!" Motormaster backed away and began pacing the floor, his greaves clomping with each step. "She'll see! The Stunticons are MY responsibility!"

His attention snapped back to Breakdown. "They won't split us up."

Breakdown's pump shuddered. Who were 'they'? He meant Slipstream, right? He held up his hands. "Of course not," he said reassuringly.

"I WON’T LET THEM!!" Motormaster got real close to him again, voice dropping to what could be generously called a whisper. "They'll be watching us! They already are!"

No. Shut up.

"Waiting for us to make a mistake!"

No one was watching, right? Motormaster was trying to scare him. It wouldn't work. Breakdown stared at the scratches on the floor, making patterns out of the faint lines. Those ones looked like an aircraft doing loops.

"First they split us up! They'll watch us to find whose weakest!"

The ones crossing each other a tile over looked like a sword. Breakdown squeezed his arms tightly against his chest plate.

"And then, when we aren't expecting it, they’ll take us down one by one!”

"Don't!" Breakdown snapped, looking his brother in the face.

Motormaster's angry optics flared. "What'd you say?!"

“None of that-” Breakdown looked at the scratches again. He could barely hear his own voice over the clanging of his coolant pump and the roaring of Motormaster's engines. He raised his voice. "None of that makes sense."

"Yeah?"

Unless Motormaster found something and was trying to tell him, then it didn't make sense, so shut up. Soundwave had ears everywhere, he must have spies planting the devices, but it didn’t make sense- shut up. Or maybe the urge to ignore it had been shadowplayed into him and he was doing exactly what Soundwave wanted and-

Those curved scratches by his servo looked like an optic. He covered it with his heel, but the eye didn't close. It stared at him through his servo.

Gradually Motormaster's engines quieted down.

"Heh." Motormaster twisted his ash gray face into a smile. "I'm starting to sound like you."

Breakdown imagined tackling him to the ground and feeling the crunch of Motormaster’s face plate against his knuckles as it caved in. He buried that idea next to the others.

Motormaster put a hand on Breakdown's shoulder. "You need to be alert. Our new ‘commander’ will be watching. Got that?"

"Got it."

"Hey," Motormaster squeezed his shoulder until Breakdown looked back up at him. "It's like you said: We stick together and we'll make it through this. You meant that?"

"...'Course I did."

Motormaster leaned in close to his brother’s face. Those angry glowing suns blotted out everything else. "Then act like it," Motormaster snarled.

Breakdown's coolant pump threatened to shudder out of his engine block. The edge of the table cut into his finger joints. And that optic on the floor was still looking at him. Motormaster clapped his shoulder, turned around, and strode out of the room.

Chapter Text

Knock Out exchanged the dead drop that he had risked his life and finish for a glare from a slightly damaged Blackjack and a comment from Elevon about how thankful he should be that no one died.

“I had every confidence in your ability to play decoy.” Knock Out tightened a bolt until the joint it was affixed to snapped back into place with a soft clang.

Elevon shook her head and walked away. “Search!” Her voice bounced around the base’s cavern entrance. Quickly, the orange minibot darted over to her and stood at attention. “Where’s Axor?”

Blackjack flexed his repaired arm. “Octane is annoyed,” he commented. “You know why?”

“I have a hunch. Keep still.” Knock Out welded a patch over perforated metal on Blackjack’s upper arm.

“Great. Next time, keep the rest of us out of whatever it is you’re pulling.”

“I didn’t know you were such a team player.” He let his annoyance leak into his voice.

“Did I say us? I meant me.”

“I don’t recall you being involved, Blackjack.”

“Neither do I,” Blackjack said as Knock Out sawed the extra bit of the patch away. He stood up, and brushed his fingers against the bandage. Knock Out rolled his optics when he winced.

“Your repairs are done, although I can’t do anything about your bad attitude.”

“Knock Out!” Elevon called. “You stay in the medbay until further notice.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but the second in command moved on.

“Blackjack! Assist Search and find Axor!” Elevon glanced at Knock Out. Her four red optics glared at him before turning back to the black sports car. “If he’s wounded, take him to the medbay but stay with him until he’s fixed.”

Blackjack transformed and an orange blur hopped onto the hood of his alt mode. Search beeped an affirmative and they drove off, leaving Knock Out behind with a very annoyed Elevon. Her gray, rectangular wings twitched. “How long until Misfire is battle ready again?”

Knock Out retracted his hand into his arm with a click, bringing his saw blade with it. The appendage rotated within the limb, and then darted back out, fingers flexing. He noticed a tiny bit too much resistance during the transformation process- he’d have to oil those joints later. And file down his fingertips, they were getting blunt. Ah, Elevon had asked a question. “A few more cycles, a solar cycle at most.”

Elevon had a lot of practice frowning without a mouth, a skill which she often found herself using around other Decepticons. She mimicked the sound of a sigh with her vocalizer and left without another word. She’d get the details from Slipstream after she’d located Axor.

“Not even a goodbye,” Knock Out muttered to himself as he returned to the medbay.

The rest of the unit had split off in different directions before returning to base to avoid being followed. From what Knock Out overheard from the comm chatter, there weren’t any serious injuries. Their new comrades hadn’t been watching where they were driving. One in particular had repeatedly rammed into the others, so Knock Out would be straightening out a lot of dents in the near future. For now, though…

The medbay’s door slid open. It was a welcome surprise to find everything as he had left it, minus the angry mech.

Breakdown’s uninjured leg went still as he looked up from the floor. “You’re back?”

Really, was no one happy to see him?

“Miss me?” Knock Out smirked. He tilted his head as he moved closer to the Stunticon. His frame was still making that sound. Like the engine was shuddering against its casing- but not quite. It oscillated in intensity, whirring and then rattling. Knock Out would have to open the mech up to see the problem.

“Uh…”

“Yes?”

Breakdown shifted against the table. “Look, I appreciate that you’re waiting with me but I’ll be fine on my own.”

Knock Out blinked.

“It’s real nice of you! But I’m not hurt that bad. You don’t have to stick around ‘till the medic gets here.”

He stared at Breakdown. His finials twitched. His hand went to his face. Oh, it had been a while since this had happened. Knock Out started to laugh, low and dark.

“Oh, Breakdown. No one’s told you?” He dragged his hand down and expelled the rotary saw from his arm chamber. The tool popped out with a click, its blade catching the light as it fanned into a disc. He caught it by the handle and twirled the thing in his fingers, activating it for good measure. Knock Out grinned at Breakdown’s bewildered expression.

“I am the medic.”

That was always the best part.

The larger mech looked confused. “But…”

Here came the response. He’d heard them all before, and they were all so rude. ‘You’re a racing frame’, or ‘Can I get someone who knows what they’re doing?’, or his absolute favorite ‘please no, anyone but you’.

“You’re…”

“Yes? Go on.” Knock Out caught the way Breakdown’s optics flicked across his frame.

“A racer?”

“How observant!” his optics flared and he grinned wickedly. “I am also the only medic in this sector at the moment.” Knock Out could see the gears turning in Breakdown’s processor. Weighing his options, no doubt. While his injury didn’t demand immediate treatment, it could worsen without it. And Decepticons didn’t have the luxury of being picky with who gave them-

“So, you’d know if there are cameras in here?”

“...Cameras,” the medic said as he grinned, “Won’t stop me from doing what I want.”

Breakdown stared at him. Then his face broke into a grin. The rattling coming from his frame faded into nothing.

“Alright, Doc!” Breakdown laughed. He hopped up onto the table and turned himself so his legs could lay flat across it. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

Now it was Knock Out’s turn to stare. “Right. Yes.” He reset his vocalizer and activated the examination table’s controls. The table adjusted itself to Breakdown’s weight, and this time the bot didn’t jump off like he had been electrocuted.

“Guess this explains the arm thing, right?”

“What?” Knock Out shook himself out of his stunned daze. “Ah, yes. The arm cannon I salvaged.” He removed his prize from his subspace compartment and gently placed it on a counter on the far side of the room. Breakdown had twisted around on the table to watch him, and didn’t stop watching as the medic crossed back over to him and leaned over his injured leg. Breakdown’s mouth tightened. He obviously had something to say, and wasn’t saying it. Fine. To work, then.

Knock Out tapped his fingers against the plating on Breakdown’s uninjured leg. It was thick, probably reinforced at some point. The dent was on the lower right leg, above the servo. It was hardly deep, and there was no cracking around it or the edges of the plate, just chipped blue paint.

“Does this hurt?” Knock Out brushed his fingers over the dent.

“No.”

“And when I do this?”

Breakdown flinched and grunted.

“Interesting.” He took his fingers away and placed down the rotary saw. A moment later he returned with an airbrush. His patient watched him apply a coat of numbing agent to the seams around the damaged panel. The gel left an iridescent sheen as it took effect.

“You might want to look away,” he said as he picked the saw back up. Breakdown did not do that.

There were sparks, whirring sounds, and a few precise cuts and then Knock Out was prying the armor plating off his patient’s leg.

It took Knock Out 4.8 nanokliks to find the problem. “The joint is out of alignment. This won’t take long. You just stay still and I’ll-”

“Are there cameras in here?”

The medic, both hands inside Breakdown’s leg, looked up. Breakdown shifted on the table, embarrassed that the question had made it past his processor and out of his mouth.

“I don’t know,” Knock Out said, absolutely caught off guard. “Maybe?” He thought for a moment. “Although, if there are, they’d be looking at me.”

“Why’s that?”

Knock Out shut his mouth. He reset his vocalizer and put on his usual cocky smirk so fast it broke the sound barrier.

“Have you seen me?”

“You are pretty shiny.” Breakdown laughed.

“At least someone notices!” Knock Out beamed at him and turned back to the repairs. He shifted a few wires, took hold of the two struts on either side of the joint, and applied force. Breakdown cried out and grimaced, sucking in air through his teeth.

“Warn me next time!”

But Knock Out didn’t respond, already reimmersed in his task. It was simple to reattach the armor plating. Sparks jumped off the welding tool, and a few moments later the repairs were complete.

Breakdown flexed his leg and grinned. “Hey, nice job!” He twisted to get off the table.

“Where do you think you're going?”

“Aren't you done?”

“Your engine?”

Breakdown looked at him blankly.

“It was making noises!” He huffed.

“Oh. Yeah it does that. Never been a problem, though.”

So it was a recurring condition. Knock Out waved his hand. “It hasn’t been a problem yet.”

“That’s… what I said.”

“How long has it been happening?”

Breakdown’s optics flicked to the door behind him. The big bot sighed. “I don’t know. A while?”

“It could be causing all sorts of havoc on your systems and you haven’t gotten it looked at?!” Knock Out leaned forward. “Breakdown, you need to take care of your frame.” He put a shiny silver hand on the bot’s chassis, pushing him to lay back down on the table. His patient resisted him and remained upright. Knock Out narrowed his optics.

“Relax! Opening you up won’t take any time at all!” Knock Out’s most soothing tone of voice was made of warm oil and sharpened knives. “Just a quick look at your engines and I’ll put everything back together!”

“Yeah, maybe next time?”

Knock Out calculated how fast he could reach the control panel and activate the magnetic restraints. Breakdown must have seen him looking at it, because he put his hands up in a placating gesture. “Can you do a scan? You know, instead of… what you said?”

His finials twitched in confusion. “A scan?”

Breakdown pointed at the machine attached to the ceiling with a finger. Ah, yes… diagnostic scanners. Knock Out was going to force the issue- say that scans simply weren’t as good as visual confirmation (which they weren’t) or that it would take longer than if he did it himself (which it would), but Breakdown took advantage of his pause.

“They teach you how to use ‘em on Velocitron?”

Knock Out blinked slowly. Breakdown just grinned.

The truth: No, he had not learned how to use medical equipment more advanced than electro-pulse resuscitators until he had gotten to Cybertron. Was he going to let this lead wheeled, gravity dragging, planet weighing, black hole for a brain bot know that?

“Oh, if you insist. Since you’re so squeamish about doing things the fast way,” Knock Out snapped.

There would be another opportunity to open him up and take a look inside. Everyone ended up on Knock Out’s table eventually.

The scanner hummed to life, optic sensor lighting up and motors spinning. Knock Out scowled as Breakdown lay back down on the slab. A scan would detect what was malfunctioning, once it finished. He tapped his claws against the control panel. He glanced up and met his patient’s gaze, only for the bot to quickly look away. The confidence Breakdown had shown earlier seemed to have run dry.

The machine finally whirred to a halt and sent the results to Knock Out’s datapad. As soon as he turned his back, Breakdown jumped off the table. “Lemme know if you find anything!”

Knock Out spun around, but Breakdown was already halfway out the door. The big bot stopped mid step, turning on his heel. “Oh, and thanks, Doc!” Breakdown said with a wink. There was a transformation sound then he had sped down the hall, leaving Knock Out standing stunned in his med bay.

***

Knock Out was forced to conclude, after looking over the results for the third time, that the diagnostic machine hadn’t found anything wrong with Breakdown’s engine. So, he had decided to take a well-earned break by disassembling the arm cannon he’d procured from that Autobot. He’d realized it was one of Brainstorm’s as soon as the removed firing mechanism had caught fire, and was in the middle of admiring how the mad genius had neutralized the radioactivity of the secondary power core when the med bay door opened.

“Commander Slipstream!” Knock Out stood up at attention. Slipstream rolled her optics which was… not a good sign.

“Knock Out. Do you know why I’m here?”

“To congratulate me on a successful mission?”

Slipstream’s lips tightened.

“...To get that twitch in your left optic fixed?”

The Commander made a conscious effort to relax her face.

“You do have such pretty optics, Commander. It’d be a shame to let such a minor motor malfunction distract from that.”

Slipstream growled and lunged forward. She jabbed a finger into Knock Out’s bright red chassis. “Misfire! I'm here about Misfire!”

“It was an accident, Commander! Honest!” the medic held up his hands. Slipstream was bigger than he was, even without accounting for her wings. “I thought I could save myself some work later by upgrading the stabilizers in his shoulders- but he just wouldn’t sit still! His gyroscope will realign itself within the next few cycles, so no harm done!

“Great!” Slipstream backed off. Knock Out slowly opened one optic, peeking out from behind his hands.

“Here I thought you were trying to undermine my command!” Slipstream turned away. “But it turns out you're just incompetent at the one thing I keep you around for!”

Knock Out curled his claws at his sides.

“Any flight frame could have told you that gyroscopes are connected to the clavicle struts! You obviously don't know what you're doing, so why should I continue to allow you the opportunity to damage my troops?!”

“I know exactly what I'm doing!” Knock Out snarled. Too late he realized that he should have let her rant, that if he didn't say anything he might have gotten out of this with only minimal damage and wounded pride. Now he’d be lucky to get out with his life. Then again, what was she going to do? He was the only medic in this sector, after all.

“The gyro’s horizontal axis is only directly connected in Seeker frames.” He had discovered that himself during his first examination of one such frame. “Every other flier has a separate mechanism inside their cockpit! Which! When given a small electric charge, becomes misaligned and needs to recalibrate itself!”

Slipstream spun back around and pointed an arm at him. The attached missile launcher clicked. “You WERE trying to undermine me!”

“No! Me? Never!” Knock Out switched into reverse. “It was a lapse in judgment- I got caught up in winning and- and it was only Misfire! Who cares if Misfire doesn't show?”

The weapon powered down. Cautiously, Knock Out stopped cowering.

“Winning what?”

“There’s a …betting pool. I could name the other gamblers?”

Slipstream made a sound of disgust as she lowered her arm. “All this over a bet?” Had he done it? Had he convinced her not to kill him? The Commander shook her head. After a moment, she sighed. “Knock Out, I don't care what my soldiers do for fun so long as it doesn't interfere during operations.”

“It was a mistake, Commander. One I won't be making again, I assure you!”

“Misfire was going to provide cover fire during the retreat. You're lucky no one got hurt today because he wasn't there.”

More people may have gotten hurt if Misfire had been there, but Knock Out kept that to himself. His face must have betrayed him, because Slipstream added “I need to use every soldier to my advantage, and have them act according to their strengths. I'm not given a lot to work with, here.”

“Oh, I don't know about that.”

Slipstream rolled her optics.

Now that his imminent death had been postponed, Knock Out slipped into a comfortable conversational tone. “Besides! You just got those new bots! They seem capable!”

“Eight new soldiers and five of them may as well be time bombs…” the Commander groaned.

“If we’re thinking of the same five…” Knock Out picked up the datapad with Breakdown’s scan. “Having a combiner on your side would certainly make up for any eccentricities its individual components might have.”

Slipstream paused. “Knock Out…” she was exasperated. “How do you know they’re combiners? That’s supposed to be classified!”

“I took a scan of Breakdown when he was here earlier. His fuel circulation system can support another alt mode and he only used one during our encounter with the Autobots.” Knock Out shrugged. “Even if I hadn’t, there are five of them- the standard number for a combiner team- and there was a combiner in the area during the ‘reactor incident’. They aren’t subtle.”

“Something you have in common,” she muttered, rubbing her temples.

Knock Out flashed her a smile. “What can I say? I act according to my strengths.”

Slipstream’s wings twitched and Knock Out didn’t know enough about flight frame body language to tell exactly what it meant. “How was Breakdown during the mission?”

“He was passable. As in, I could easily pass him. Fastest Decepticon! Please!”

“Knock Out!”

“Ah, right. He’s,” He thought for a moment. What would she most want to hear? Knock Out settled for a mix of positives and negatives. “A strange one. Performance wise, he did well. Sniffed out an Autobot ambush before we drove into it, held his own in a fight. Reckless,” Knock Out said, tapping his chin with a finger. “Once we got back… he was jumping at his own shadow. And,” he added, “He scratched up the floor and put a dent in my table!” There. Let her reach her own conclusions from that.

Commander Slipstream acted like she was considering this, and hadn’t already made up her mind on the matter. “But during the mission, the two of you worked well together?”

Knock Out, meanwhile, had a feeling he knew where this was going and he very much did not want it to get there. “Commander, I don’t ‘work with’ anyone.”

“You do now.” Slipstream raised her voice over Knock Out’s sputtering protests. “I want you to watch him! Make sure he doesn’t cause any problems!”

“But-”

Slipstream bent down and put her face to his. “Am I understood?!”

Knock Out’s shoulders dropped. “Yes, Commander.”

Slipstream turned to leave, stopping just short of the door. “Think of him as a deterrent. If something like this happens again, I will write you up for insubordination. And you already have a record…”

Behind her, Knock Out shuddered. She didn’t have to elaborate. Everyone knew what happened when ‘Cons were found “insubordinate”. You could get away with it once if it wasn’t too serious or if you were lucky. Or if you were so talented that Soundwave decided that it would be a waste to have you die screaming.

Commander Slipstream glanced back one more time. She frowned, said “Your desk is on fire.” and left him to his own devices. Knock Out closed his optics, processed what she had just said, and scrambled to get the fire suppression hose out of the wall. By the time he had contained it, just about everything he’d had out on his desk was ruined.

Knock Out poked at the mess. He shifted through the charred wires, salvaging what he could and coming to yet another disappointing conclusion: The weapon had been unstable from the beginning. Disassembling it had only caused the fusion core to immolate itself faster, as it no longer had anything siphoning excess energy.

“Just once,” Knock Out muttered as he rolled the burnt fusion core in his palm. “I’d like it if these things didn’t explode in my face!”

Chapter Text

"Why do you let him compete?" Octane whined.

"Side bets!" Sea Sure laughed as she divided the winnings. "And it's funny!"

"Not when you're the one who couldn't stand for 7 cycles!" Misfire rested his head on the table. "I still feel like I'm about to lose my fuel..."

"Yer own fault for being alone with him!"

A stray screw pinged onto the table that the three were seated around. Search waved down at his partner from the ventilation grate, before turning back and continuing his effort to open the thing.

Unless you enjoyed brooding, gossiping, gambling, or plotting the demise of your sworn nemesis, Decepticon rank and file didn't have much to do when off duty. The mini-con Search didn't personally care for any of those activities.

Octane swatted away the grate as it fell from the ceiling. "Watch it!"

Instead, Search spent his free time getting into places he shouldn't. Ventilation ducts were a long time favorite of his. The best ones wound around every room in a base in a circuit, letting him peek in as other Decepticons pursued their off-duty leisures of choice. And even if he didn't care for gossip, Sea Sure was always interested.

Decepticons were scattered all throughout the base. In the repurposed storage room, for instance, were Axor and Trace Fire.

"Little to the left! Sorry, your right, my left!" Trace Fire stood across from Axor, holding a thick plate of metal in front of him with a target painted on it.

An ax hurtled through the air and embedded itself slightly above the center of the target.

"Hold it still!" Axor grunted as he took aim with another ax. This one hit true and buried itself hilt deep into the metal.

"Good shot!"

With a flick of his hands the weapons darted out of the target, spinning back towards Axor. He caught them effortlessly, much to Trace Fire's delight.

Search was about to continue his journey through the ducts when he heard Axor ask "You think Pandemic would like that?" Search tilted his head. That name wasn't in his database.

Trace Fire shrugged as best he could with his hands full. "Maybe! You trying to impress him?"

"Hrnnn," Axor responded. "He's got style. And an impressive arsenal. You know him."

"Sure! You want me to introduce you sometime?"

"There's no rush..." If Search had a proper angle and if Axor's mouth guard didn't cover most of his face, the minibot may have spotted a blush of Energon. But the coy tilt of Axor's pointed servo and the subtle rolling of his tires gave him away.

"It's no bother!"

"Hrnnn..." Axor grunted.

"Wait, is this why you asked me here? I thought you just wanted to hang out!"

***

Now Search was in the outer ductwork. A grinding sound echoed into the vent, and he looked out the small slits in the metal. Three of the new squad members occupied the entrance cave. One of them, yellow with small wheels folded over their back, paced in frustrated circles. Search struggled to remember her name.

"I didn't LOSE! He CHEATED!!!"

"No one cares, Drag Strip."

"I care! I'm not no one!"

"That is, unfortunately, a truth I must grapple with every day of my life," the black and red one sighed.

"Both of you shut it!" The big one looked up from the sword in his lap. He waved the sharpening tool at Drag Strip. "You lost, get over it."

Drag Strip flopped down in a heap of yellow and purple, crossing her arms and sulking. "I don't lose!" She muttered to herself. The big one turned back to his weapon and the grinding resumed.

"If you decide to kill this one, please let us know beforehand this time," the other one said, her voice smug.

Drag Strip's engine growled and so did she.

"Dee!" The big one barked, his voice bouncing off the cavern walls. "Make yourself useful for once, and check if Breakdown has his radio on!"

"I believe you told me to 'shut it'."

The grinding abruptly stopped.

There was a heavy sigh, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, before Search heard her initiate the call.

"Breakdown, you there?" The black and red one waited for a response. "Good. Motors was besides himself with worry."

The giant sighed. Drag Strip scooted away from the other two and rubbed her hands together, leaning forward to better watch the show.

"No, nothing's occurred." The caller crossed her legs. "...No, I haven't killed Drag Strip. Yet."

"That's enough, Dead End."

"Keep Wildrider from driving into a ditch, won't you?" She drawled. She listened to a reply on the other end of the call. Then she sighed again. Then she asked "How bad is the damage?" In a voice that told Search that this happened all the time.

Her larger sibling frowned at her, but the grinding resumed. Drag Strip threw her head back and groaned, kicking at the air.

"You are so booooorrriiing! Tell him Wildrider's up to something! Or that you found a listening device!"

Dead End's fingers left her comms with a flourish, ending the call. "I am not your entertainment."

"Oh, lighten up! You might start enjoying things instead of dragging the rest of us down!"

Dead End suddenly stood up. "I would enjoy not having to hear your voice ever again!" Search blinked. Was she trembling? She spun to face the giant. "You're going to let her behave like this?!"

Drag Strip jumped to her feet. "Me?! You've had your tires in a twist all solar cycle!"

The big one didn't answer at first. He had been running the sharpening tool up and down his sword, sparks leaping off the metal with each pass. It was sharp enough to cut through titanium. Now, he ran a finger down the edge of the blade and looked up at Dead End.

"Quit bothering me!"

Dead End's optics burned into him harmlessly.

"I'm the leader, remember? I don't take sides!"

"And look at what's come of that!" Dead End spat back.

Drag Strip backed herself against the wall, looking between the two of them like they were lit fuses. The grinding stopped again, and the mech straightened his spinal strut.

"And what." His voice rumbled through the cave. "Does that mean?"

"Perhaps you should consider making more of an effort to 'take sides' before one of us decides they've had enough!"

The sword clanged to the ground. Standing at his full height, it was impossible for Search to see the giant's face. His roar shook the ventilation duct. "DEAD END!"

It was time for Search to go.

***

As he approached the next opening, an unfamiliar voice floated into the vents.

"Don't think getting your own command means I am no longer your direct superior."

Search peered through the grate. Terminals and communications equipment blinked up at him. He was overlooking the relay room and its sole occupant.

"Yes, sir." Commander Slipstream spoke towards a screen that was just out of Search's line of sight. "I'm... S-suprised that you called, after the way you ended our meeting last time, sir."

"Unfortunately, circumstances have changed since then. Believe me, you weren't my first choice," the voice said dismissively. It was snide and arrogant, like its owner was far above this conversation. And the way the Commander's wings fidgeted uncomfortably confirmed to Search who she was talking to.

"If it were up to me, you wouldn't be operational after your little... outburst," sneered Air Commander Starscream. Search's well trained optics caught the way his Commander's fist curled around the edge of the consol. "These are coordinates for a Decepticon black site a sector West of you. It's past their check in date. I want you to go there and make sure everything is running smoothly."

"Sir, is this-" the Commander considered her words. "What..." she stopped again.

"Spit it out! I don't have all day!"

"I- I would like more information, sir. What kind of facility is this? How long ago did you lose contact? Do you suspect Autobot involvement? Who was overseeing the-

"I can't tell you anything about a black site, Slipstream! And we don't know why they missed their check in, that's what you’re for!"

"Sir, I n-need more information than that..."

"Are you questioning my orders?!"

She flinched. And then-

"Yes!" The word burst from Commander Slipstream like a missile. Search tilted his head, unseen. "Yes, I am! And I have every reason to!"

"How dare you?!" Search could clearly imagine the way Starscream clutched at his chest in offense.

"You expect me to send my unit on an errand to a secret black site you won't give me intel about, without wondering if you're setting me up to fail?!"

"Ugh," Starscream scoffed. "The stresses of command have made you paranoid. Know this Commander, I have put my grievances aside for the good of the Decepticon cause. Because despite your past... decisions, I know I can..." His voice softened. "...Count on you, Slipstream."

The Commander's wings lifted in surprise. She looked down at her hands, squeezing one into a fist. "We- I..."

"Don't disappoint me."

"...Yes, sir," she said through clenched teeth.

"And consider getting that motor malfunction by your optic repaired." Search could hear the smirk on his face. "I hear you have an excellent medic. Over and out!"

Commander Slipstream's fist slammed down. She turned around and leaned against the console, tilting her head up.

Search shrank back from the grate and dimmed his optics. For several long moments, he didn't dare move- not until he heard the Commander push herself up and stagger to the door. Her hand hovered over the control. She straightened up, wings back and jaw set. Only once she gathered herself did Commander Slipstream dare to stride out of the communications room, and did Search dare to move.

***

The minibot continued his journey through the vents. He was getting close to the end of the circuit, now. He could hear voices again, this time from hallway C, he guessed based on the lights (They flickered slower than in hallway A, and quieter than in B). Again, he looked through the grate.

Just below him were Elevon and Blackjack.

"I am unsure what the issue is, then." Elevon's flat, paneled wings rotated until they were angled down. "You say you have no grievances with them, and that they are a fine soldier."

"I have my reasons. I've been in squads with them before and I really really" Blackjack sighed. "REALLY Don't want to be near them. At all."

"Tell me those reasons."

Blackjack frowned and shifted uncomfortably. Elevon stood perfectly still. "...They have too many legs," he said finally. Search blinked.

Elevon reeled back, straightening her spinal strut and her wings suddenly folded. "Oh. I see." One wing raised slightly, spinning around in the joint.

"Yeah..."

"That is extremely funny." Elevon's voice was completely flat.

"Uh. Sure." Blackjack crossed his arms. "So... Are you going to put me near them or...?"

"Very well. I will ask the Commander to consider your fear of insecticons during battle planning."

Blackjack grimaced and rubbed a hand over his face. "Appreciate it," he said through his hand.

Elevon dismissed him with a wave. Just as Search turned to leave, there was motion below him. He looked back down through the grate... And four red optics stared up at him.

Laughter filled Search's head. Clamping his hands over his audials did nothing to block the sound. His servos tapped against the metal. It didn't stop even as he transformed and zoomed through the ducts as a drone. It didn't stop as his spark pulsed and his HUD blurred at the edges. It didn't stop as Search dropped down through the grate he'd opened in the rec room.

The mini-con transformed out of his alt mode as he fell. He landed on Sea Sure's shoulder and covered his audials. The turquoise bot jumped in her seat.

The rec room door control was slammed from the outside! The door opened as fast as it ever did, indifferent to the world around it. Sea Sure and Misfire turned to look at the second in command.

Now, the laughter stopped. Four red optics stared at Search, glowing against a stark white face. The mini-bot stared back. His fingers clutched the edge of his partner's arm guard. No one in the room moved... Except for Octane who was juggling some purple orbs with his back to the door like he had been for the past fifteen kliks.

"Hey, Elevon!" Misfire waved and Elevon twitched. "What's up? Cyber-cat got your tongue? ...You two having a staring contest?"

Elevon made the universal gesture for 'Im watching you' at Search (adding an extra two fingers to it). She backed away and the door closed, breaking the stalemate with an unamused click.

Sea Sure would have rolled her optics if she could. She tilted her head towards Search. "She catch you?"

Search beeped affirmative.

"Seriously, why is she like that?" Misfire asked the uncaring universe, knowing his comrades didn't have that knowledge.

"Who knows?" Octane answered, still juggling. "Everyone has theories- Aw no!" The balls scattered across the rec room, bouncing off walls and rolling under tables.

"So," Sea Sure started as Octane scrambled to gather up his toys. Search's round yellow optics blinked. "Ye find anything interesting?"

Chapter Text

The briefing had concluded, and Motormaster had kept the Stunticons in the room for a “check in”. They all stood around him, listening like good little soldiers. Except for Dead End.

“Go mope somewhere I can't see you!” He had told her.

She had chosen a spot behind a column on the far end of the room, propped herself against it, and sunk into her misery. And there were countless things for Dead End to be miserable about. The fragility of life and its inescapable end. The pebble stuck in her front right tire. The forces of entropy that would one day wear away any trace of civilization. Her voice. The futility of fighting in a never ending war. Being trapped with her family until one or all of them perished.

She curled her lip as she glanced at the other Stunticons having their gathering. She had earned Motormaster’s ire by giving voice to things he didn’t want to hear, and now she was being ostracized. She had no energy to feel annoyed, and what would be the point? Her brother would never accept that she was his second, even if the others had. To him, she was merely one of his responsibilities. One of his burdens.

“You’re Dead End?”

A bright red mech, three heads shorter than her, appeared in her vision.

“Correct.”

The way he smiled annoyed her. Like she had shared a secret with him. “Knock Out.”

“Ah. You’re the reason Drag Strip has been assaulting my audials.”

“I'm afraid so. I hope you don't hold it against me.” His voice annoyed Dead End more than his face.

“Holding grudges…how dull,” Dead End shrugged. “And she should have known better than to expect fair play from one of you.”

Knock Out blinked. Opened his mouth, closed it. Blinked again. “Sorry?”

“Scheamers.”

“Okay. Rude.”

Dead End rolled her optics. “What do you want?”

“Why don't you tell me? Seeing as you already know so much about me?” He waved his hand. “Go on! I insist!” Where was this mech getting the energy to get so worked up?

She sighed. “You were assigned to my group, along with my brothers,” she sneered at the word. “And someone else. You approached me to forge a rapport, because you think it will help you stay alive. But it will only delay the inevitable.”

Knock Out raised an optic ridge.

“One day you will perish. Creating attachments makes the meantime more bearable, but even those fracture and fade. Face it, you're wasting your time, filling it with nonsense schemes and pointless games to distract from the futility of continuing to function.”

In the course of the conversation, Knock Out had gone from smiling, to stunned, to offended. Now he looked bemused, which would vex Dead End greatly if she cared. He didn't understand, no one did.

Not even her siblings.

A metal body slammed against Dead End’s side and arms wrapped around her in a clumsy grapple! Her combat protocols activated and her misery vanished, defeated by the joy of being able to tear her attacker apart!

Wildrider screamed in her audials. “Dee!”

Dead End dismissed the image of her retaliation with a wistful sigh.

“It's you and me and Breakdown today!” She staggered under his weight as Wildrider practically climbed on to her.

“Great.”

The meeting must’ve ended. Breakdown waved at her from across the room, making sure she had seen him before he approached. Behind him, Motormaster sent one of his trademarked ‘death glares’ in her direction. Drag Strip was already one servo out the door. Dead End looked at them all wearily, then continued clawing at Wildrider’s arms.

“Hey Doc,” Breakdown greeted Knock Out before he even acknowledged his own sister. “Enjoying the show?”

“Oh, I think it’s just about to get good.”

Dead End batted Wildrider’s hand away from her face. “Get off!” His grip was only getting tighter.

“Dead End show you her pottery yet?”

Three faces looked at Breakdown, each with a different expression. One confused, one unamused, and one alarmed.

Breakdown focused on Dead End, a mischievous twinkle in his optics. “Yeah, she writes it sometimes. Uses lots of big words to make herself sound fancy. It’s kind of predentous.”

Dead End scowled. Even seeing the trap, she couldn’t help herself. “You mean ‘pretentious’, Breakdown.”

“Hey, you said it, not me!” he snickered.

Wildrider had gone still and Dead End felt a rare tug of sympathy for him. “He’s doing it on purpose.”

“That’s not funny,” Wildrider snarled, which only made Breakdown laugh more. He released Dead End and stepped up to Breakdown, shoving him with one hand. “It’s not!”

Typical. Dead End shook her head. And then noticed Knock Out was still around, watching her brothers with a mixture of bemusement and confusion. She moved closer to him. Something that Breakdown had said intrigued her. “You’re a doctor?”

“I am,” he replied slowly.

“Do you practice euthanasia?”

Knock Out considered the question. “Only if I can keep the body afterwards.”

Wildrider spun around. “How about-” He darted back to Dead End, planting himself between her and Knock Out. “How about, instead of that, we think of ways to kill Breakdown! That’s always fun!”

“Hey!”

“Like road spikes! Or… or an oil spill off the side of a cliff!”

“He’d survive those.” Dead End swatted Wildrider’s arm as he tried to wrap it around her shoulders.

“EMP mines!” He giggled.

Breakdown crossed his arms. “Quit it.”

The beginnings of a smile pulled at Dead End’s lips. “Scraplets in his Energon patches. They would chew him up from the inside.”

Breakdown’s optics widened. It wasn’t so funny now that he was the target, was it?

“Hmm. Maybe too much effort,” she mused. “A blast to the spark chamber. Simple and satisfying.”

“Yeah?” Breakdown got close, squaring up and looking her in the optic. “And how’d you get that to happen?”

“Force a transformation while he’s driving at high speeds.”

All three Stunticons looked at Knock Out. He smirked back at them.

“Sudden pressure to the T-Cog can cause an involuntary transformation. Do that during a race and he won’t be making it to the finish line.”

“Have you… done that before?” Dead End asked.

“Me? I’d have to have an astronomical amount of precision to pull off something like that!”

Wildrider hummed. He did that when he thought he was seeing something. And despite how annoying he was… every once in a while, he could be razor sharp. Dead End would have to find out what it was later- she was getting a call.

“Dead End, move out,” said Slipstream’s voice through her comms.

“We’re missing our fifth.”

“Uuuugh!” There was a pause, and someone else was patched into the call. “Pain-Tear! Why aren’t you with your group?”

“Sorry, Commander!” Said a low voice. “I was waiting in the cave.”

“Fine! Dead End, get your group in position. Remember: Don’t move unless you see my signal.”

“Understood.” Dead End motioned to her brothers. And Knock Out. “Time to roll.”

She found the missing member of her little group as she led them through the base’s entrance: A sturdy, black four wheeler with colorful decals and accents.

Knock Out stood as far away from the mech as he could. “Is this what you’ve been doing?”

Pain-Tear looked up and wiggled her digits at him. “Careful, paint’s still drying. Might splash on you.” Her brush dripped white onto the ground.

“Are you going to add a coating this time? Or will I have to look forward to finding your transfers on every door control for the next orbital cycle?”

She scratched at the tip of her thumb, pinching and peeling off a strip of white foil, then did the same at her knuckle. With the covering gone, all that was left was a clean white ring on a dark unpainted finger. “Neither.”

Dead End was too tired of this to even roll her optics. She activated her comms. “Slipstream, we’re moving out.”

“Copy that.”

Dead End had barely finished transforming into her alt mode when her comms rang again.

“Dead End?” What did Slipstream want now? “Will Motormaster cooperate?”

She considered the question. Motormaster hadn’t seemed keen on it during the briefing, but Dead End knew better than to hope that would last.

“Menasor is an inevitability,” Dead End sighed. “He’ll show, whether you want him to or not.”

Chapter Text

There were some lovely vistas on Cybertron- places that would have awed Slipstream even seeing them from the ground. Energon springs hidden on top of mountains. Clusters of great columns of metal that split into cables and dug their roots into the surface. Chasms that revealed the deeper layers of the planet, each reflecting a different hue like a crack in a geode.

This sector had none of that. This sector had been a blasted wasteland, even before the war! Meteors had torn apart the landscape, leaving pockets and gouges and mounds of debris behind. The only worthwhile thing it had was a clear view of the equally clear blue sky above it. The place was as ugly as it was ideal for a base like this.

The black site had been difficult to spot from the air. Slipstream had passed over it twice during her initial scouting flights, even with the coordinates that Starscream had given her. And unless a secret Decepticon research facility was only a single room tucked into the side of a crater, most of it was hidden underground.

"Commander, the final group is in position." Elevon told her through comms. "Search and Sea Sure are waiting for you at the rendezvous point."

"Copy that. I'm entering the dead zone now. Keep me updated."

Slipstream descended gracefully. Her landing gears grazed the dust and she flipped out of alt mode without breaking her stride, heel struts crunching against the uneven ground. Sea Sure rose from behind a rock, Search perched on her shoulder. The Seeker flicked her wings, but the pair didn't follow her. She suppressed her annoyance and gestured with her hand instead.

"A reminder for all units," Elevon's voice echoed in Slipstream's audials. "Do not enter the designated area until you see the signal flare."

The exposed section of the black site was an unpainted metal hangar. Its entryway was an unassuming set of double doors in the far wall. Slipstream approached it cautiously.

"Aye, we remember. We'll be right behind 'er." Sea Sure said. "Anything else to know? ...Elevon? Hello?"

"She can't hear you." Slipstream glanced back and moved to the doors' control panel.

"But she told me..."

Search made annoyed beeps.

"Another of her jokes?” Sea Sure threw up her hands. “One day she’ll make a good one, eh Cap'n?"

Slipstream smiled to herself. Out of all of her troops, Sea Sure was the only one to call her ‘Captain’.

She pulled up the credentials Starscream had sent her on her wrist screen and held them to the scanner next to the door.

Nothing happened.

Slipstream put a hand to her optic to stop the twitching. She tried again- still nothing. She touched the pad, but it didn't so much as light up.

"Power's out," she muttered, relieved. She banged on the door with her fist.

"Now, that doesn't mean they're all dead," Sea Sure reasoned.

Search made a noise of agreement, followed by several thoughtful beeps, and he pointed to a ventilation grate in the ceiling.

Slipstream weighed her options. She didn't have clearance to enter the facility- no matter what Starscream said. In fact, she suspected that the credentials that he had given her were false, and had everything been working, would have triggered some kind of defensive measures. This was almost certainly a set up. On the other hand, Starscream wouldn't accept anything but success, and if she was thorough maybe he'd be so impressed that she'd followed his orders anyway that he'd-

Slipstream nearly smacked herself. She didn't care what Starscream thought, she reminded herself. What mattered was how well she performed.

So, what was Commander Slipstream going to do?

When opportunities appear, you must seize them!” He clenched his fist and looked down at her through red optics. He was not chastising her, she realized. He was telling her something important. “Not cower and hope that someone else can take advantage in your place!

Slipstream jumped into the air, boosted herself to the grate, and pulled. It clanged against the floor. "Search? Make it quick. And try to be quiet."

***

Several solar cycles before Slipstream had been ordered to visit the Decepticon black site "Genesis’ Forge", its entrance had been discovered by an Autobot scout. This scout, naturally, wanted to know what the mysterious, unmarked door was hiding. Slamming into it repeatedly with his shoulder, driving into it at high speeds, and asking it nicely failed to open the way. It did, however, open him to suggestions.

"The charges are set."

"Now, these bombs won't cause any noise complaints, will they?"

"These Molten charges will burn through without alerting any Decepticons. And they'll keep these tunnels intact for our escape."

The Autobots could only guess what the purpose of the building was. Weapons lab? Energon depot? Secret underground base containing all the knowledge of the universe? They needed in.

Except, the team in charge at the nearest outpost weren’t thrilled at the idea. The scout couldn’t really blame them. They were fliers- and being stuck underground for a non essential mission? No, thank you! (Still, Slingshot didn’t have to be such a jerk about it!)

So, they called in Jazz.

Any competent Decepticon base would have a guarded front entrance once they got inside, but if their scout was right (which he usually was!) the ground in that area had underground tunnels and cave systems crossing all the way to the other side. Perfect for Jazz to sneak in, do his infiltration and information gathering routine, and sneak back out.

Except the tunnels didn’t go as deep as the scout had expected. The white and black four wheeler had hit a literal wall with no way around it, and scouring the area for a better entrance point would take time. Add on the radio jammer that seemed to be running from inside the place, and you had a sticky situation waiting to happen! Jazz was an expert at getting out of those… so long as he could get in first!

That's what Chromia was for.

The blue two wheeler activated the detonator. The bombs lit up with a flash of heat and when the light faded, all that was left was a smoldering hole. The scout watched Jazz jump in, his weapon drawn.

“Keep watch for us,” Chromia told him before she followed.

“You can count on me!” the scout saluted at her.

***

Slipstream grimaced at the screech Sea Sure made sliding down the side of the elevator shaft. The room it opened into was dark, and the red emergency lighting was doing nothing except making the Seeker's head hurt.

There were a series of soft excited beeps.

"Ay, just like those derelicts in the Argon Sea!" Sea Sure rubbed her hands together.

"Quiet! Both of you!" Slipstream hissed. "Search, light!"

The drone flew above their heads, casting his underside light over the room. An elevator control had been torn from the ground. It sparked weakly, revealing the imprints of fingers that had been dented into its base. A trail of paint transfers and scratches on the floor led from that, to deeper into the base.

Further into the room, boxes had been opened and overturned. Sea Sure picked one up and held it to the light. Search chirped and moved closer, and Slipstream squinted down into the dark red corridor beyond, trying to see the trail.

"These are for transporting Energon cubes," Sea Sure turned it over. "Someone was desperate." She pointed at a broken seal and the claw marks warping the box's lid.

Search was snatched out of the air. Gyros spun wildly trying and failing to find 'up'. Slipstream held him in front of her with both hands, the light pointing into the gloom like a weapon. Something glinted as it disappeared around a corner.

Search screeched, jostling out of the Commander's grip. He transformed and dropped onto his partner's shoulder.

"Not okay!" Sea Sure snapped.

"Did you see that?" Slipstream's voice was calm and level.

Search beeped cautiously.

Slipstream stared down the hallway, daring it to try anything. "Stay close."

"Aye."

Drip. Drip.

Search's optics glowed bright enough to light their way forward. Slipstream led from the front, following the trail of scratches and paint transfers. Every footfall was an explosion in the quiet. Something dripped nearby- a broken pipe, maybe?

The trail grew more noticeable the further they followed. The paint transfers became fewer, but the scratches were getting deeper. And there was noise up ahead.

Something small skittered across the floor. Sea Sure jumped backwards, wide arms held up in front of her to form a shield. The Commander aimed her missiles.

Drip. Drip.

Search pointed at the source: a piece of debris that Slipstream's servo had sent tumbling down the hall. Weapons disarmed.

Drip. Drip.

Slipstream moved to take a closer look and stepped in something wet.

***

The Autobot saboteur Chromia was no stranger to violence or horror. She’d been at Dion’s bridge when they had been routed. She’d survived the Sojourhex barrage. She had seen this much spilled Energon in one place before.

…But not without the lifeless bodies that Energon had come from.

The blue two wheeler gestured around her at the fluid on the walls, on the floor, even the ceiling. All of it half dried and coagulated under the red light. "What... happened here?"

"Looks like a fight, 'cept the loser got up and left."

"Decepticons fighting amongst themselves? That would never happen."

Her teammate grinned. "Who says you don't have a sense of humor?" He put a hand to one of the many scorch marks on the wall. "Seems like whatever it was, was serious enough for 'em to cut the power. Too bad they didn't turn the jammer off with it."

"Think you can find it?"

"I know I can!" Jazz checked around the corner. "All clear."

They moved forward. Every so often, Chromia would plant a device somewhere nearby.

Jazz stopped, tilted his head. He could hear something up ahead. Loud somethings, banging and fire and… he opened up his audials, taking in every little noise he could. Dripping fluids, clanking metal. Footsteps? Many footsteps. Coming from…

Behind them.

***

Drip. Drip.

The debris was a mangled, discarded blaster.

Drip. Drip.

And the wet puddle was...

"What is this stuff?" Slipstream crouched down. It wasn’t Energon, she could tell that much. She flicked her wing for Search to get closer so she could see. When he didn't, she turned around to check on him. He and Sea Sure were staring above Slipstream's head.

The mangled metal of a dead mech was affixed to the ceiling. The external plating on its upper body, from the hip joints all the way to the helm, was gone. Cables dangled from its midsection. Its T-Cog sat crushed and dormant, wrapped in the coils of a twisted back strut.

Search transformed and hovered by what probably used to be the mech's facial structure. He beeped out an observation- the body had been welded to the ceiling.

"How...?"

"No clue, Cap'n."

Slipstream put a hand up to block the view of its open spark chamber. She felt foolish then; the corpse didn’t have any dignity left to protect. Two drops of liquid landed on her hand and she held them up to Search's light. It was silvery and viscous and it was crawling over every part of the corpse. It flowed around struts and up from scraped leg panels, rivulets of it rolling upward to the ceiling and then streaming into the darkness of the hall like an upside down channel. It leaked off a sharp angle of metal near the center of the chest, and drip dripped down into the puddle at Slipstreams' servos. She reeled backwards and the fluid clung to heel struts, holding her fast like tar. Sea Sure put a hand on her wing to stabilize her, and she flinched, not knowing which was worse- the goo, or her own display of weakness.

In a flash of purple, Sea Sure pulled an empty tube from her subspace and collected the falling silver. Commander Slipstream felt her optic twitch again.

"Scavengers' rights," Sea Sure shrugged, capping the tube.

Search's beam of light followed the ceiling stream until it was swallowed by the darkness… which spat out its own light back at them. A glow at the end of the hallway.

A disfigured Cybertronian silhouette was illuminated by a strong, deep crimson light. It stood, unmoving. Before any of them could pull a weapon, it fell to its hands and knees and crawled out of their sight.

Slipstream really, really wished she had told Starscream to shove his orders up his exhaust.

She braced herself, armed her missiles, and crept forward. Sea Sure charged her rifle and followed, her partner hovering behind.

The three Decepticons emerged into an atrium, of sorts. The air shimmered in the heat. A guard rail marked the edge of the balcony, overlooking some kind of manufacturing area. The liquid above them floated in ribbons, joining other streams pulling from elsewhere in the base. They gathered and pooled into a cylindrical container that hung suspended from a motorized track.

To their left, the crawling bot stood and reached with both arms, up and up. Its shoulders dislocated with a pop, and the remaining wires in its arms unfurled and stretched, grasping around the hanging track. It climbed on and swung itself upright, balancing on all fours. It oozed along the rail until it got to the container and flipped it, the silvery contents pouring into a funnel below.

"What are they doing?" Sea Sure whispered.

There were at least five on the factory floor, each crawling or shambling, pushing and pulling part of the assembly line. Molds were filled and conveyed into the furnace, and after a flash of blindingly hot, red light, were brought out again and brought to a staging area. Hooks and scaffolding supported bigger pieces that had been fit together. They shone, glinting in the deep red light.

"There's no power," Slipstream realized. "They're operating the forge manually."

"Aye'. But why?"

The mech at the cylinder fell from the track and hit the floor with a clanging thud. Slipstream's tanks churned as, through the distorted air, she saw it rise completely unbothered by the impact.

"I don't care," Commander Slipstream decided. "Search, go back and fire the signal flare. Plan Gamma."

The drone beeped and sped back the way they had come from.

"You and I will find the computers," she told Sea Sure as she activated her thrusters. She floated over the guard rail, taking care to make as little noise as possible. She didn't want to find out if these things were hostile. "And destroy them."

***

On the surface, the Autobot scout was keeping watch. It had been Chromia’s idea to bring a static sensitive signal beacon- a Camien device that used an array of palm sized relays that she’d place as they snuck around. Once she hit the button, they’d carry a charge of static electricity from one to the next, all the way back to the start. If the beacon lit up, their trusty scout would drive off and return with back up.

He hadn’t forgotten! And he would have remembered the plan even if Chromia hadn’t made the scout repeat it back to her twice! It was just that it had been some time since they left, and he had gotten nervous. And there was enough room in this crater to practice doing Donuts… And he could multitask so really there was no problem!

And then he felt the prickling on his plating. Static crackled out of the tunnel, making little pops and flashes of light as it arced towards the beacon. The light on top of the device blinked on.

The scout ramped out of the cavern, a little yellow blur streaking towards the Autobot outpost.

Chapter Text

"Try to spot this, like I did with my optics, something that is" Wildrider looked around. "Sad."

"Paint-Tear's detailing?" Knock Out brushed dust off his left shoulder pauldron.

"No-"

"That sound Breakdown's engine makes!"

"How would I have seen that?!"

"...Your driving?"

"You don't know how this game works!"

The doctor shrugged. He held up a hand to examine his claws in the sunlight and smirked. “Something sad, hm? How about whatever is going on there?” He pointed at Dead End and Pain-Tear with his thumb.

Dead End stood with her arms crossed, leaning against the side of the crater. Her effort to make Pain-Tear spontaneously combust through the power of her disdain was failing.

"What you said about death being certain was deep," the un-combusted annoyance said in the low, resonant voice that Dead End wished she had.

She wasn't interested in being patronized. No one understood. She was alone, just waiting for Motormaster to call for Menasor and make existing that much more-

"Hey, say something cool."

The Stunticon sighed. "What for? Your interest is as ephemeral as my patience."

Pain-Tear whistled, and pulled out a thin airbrush. Dead End found herself watching, despite her indifference.

Pain-Tear’s lettering was a neat white scrawl, crowding against a rainbow accent and a purple vortex. She sucked in a breath and ex-vented over her newest decoration, and held it up to the light. The paint gained an iridescent sheen as it dried.

Interest is as ephemeral as patience

There were her words, shining in rainbows on another mech’s arm. Or, close enough to her words that Dead End felt a stab of… something about it.

“Looking good!” Paint-Tear grinned. “Really makes a statement!”

“Elaborate,” Dead End demanded. The words had been divorced from the context they had been said in, any ‘statement’ they made had been forced against a wall and shot.

Pain-Tear stood on the tips of her servos and put a hand up like a screen, palm facing their teammates in the center of the crater. “All the paint I make is soluble!” she whispered. “In other words, temporary. Ephemeral.”

Dead End squinted. That was… sort of right?

“Don’t tell Doctor Unoriginal over there.” Pain-Tear wiggled her white-ringed fingers at Knock Out.

“Soluble…” Dead End repeated. “Just like people.”

“Yes!” Pain-Tear’s voice rose several octaves. “I mean…” her vocalizer clicked as she reset it. “That’s deep.”

“It’s a double meaning.”

“Yeah!”

Breakdown half listened to their chatter from the lip of the crater. He was idling in vehicle mode, extending his senses while tucked besides a plateau that blocked out the light. There were vibrations coming up from below- a lot of activity happening, but nothing he could identify.

He felt one of his teammates transform, heard their engine rev. He popped out of vehicle mode. Easier to defend himself that way.

Knock Out ramped up the crater’s side, hanging in the air for just a moment before switching modes and landing on his servos. Breakdown ignored the very Drag Strip urge to push him back down the side, and instead turned back to the facility entrance in the distance.

“See anything interesting?”

“No,” Breakdown lied. He raised his voice over Knock Out’s groan of frustration. “But I have a feeling the Autobots’ll be showing up soon.”

Knock Out groaned louder.

***

Somewhere below them, unaware of any Decepticon presence, Jazz peered over the railing. Chromia and he had managed to give two of their "hosts" the slip, and the third one... Well...

The braid of tangled cables and internal components dragged itself over to his servo. Its cranial chamber lolled up at him, expressionless.

"I am having fun." It seemed to say. "Come back so I may crawl inside you."

"The heat must be gettin' to me." Jazz deftly stepped around its flailing cables and darted back to the computer terminals. A floor below him, Chromia had been attaching bombs to the furnace- until Jazz had lost sight of her. He wasn’t worried though- she was a tough one.

The creature coiled and twisted like some kind of serpent, fixing cracked purple optics on Jazz. It began to make its way over to his new position. They'd been dancing like this since he'd started running the data burner on the base's systems. No power meant no access, but as soon as that little device was finished they'd have a copy of the hard drive to take home. And it couldn’t finish soon enough!

Jazz heard a screech over the cacophony of the factory floor. It was nearby. Behind and to the left. He ducked behind a terminal.

A Decepticon- a live one! Dark reddish brown with a teal visor and huge light blue arms. Jazz didn't recognize this one- must be rank and file. They moved to a computer terminal, one of the several lining the alcove, and punched down, arm smashing clear through it. They yanked out its innards.

The creepy crawly twisted towards the ‘Con. Its head lolled in their direction.

“What’s a matter? Don’t wanna play anymore?” Jazz whispered.

The ‘Con moved to the next terminal over. They plunged an arm inside and ripped it off the ground, tossing it over their shoulder. Jazz was picking up on the pattern. If they got to the one his burner was working on, he’d never get that data.

A flash of blue caught his gaze. Chromia was climbing up the elevator rail! She braced herself with her legs and pointed across the atrium. Jazz darted back to the balcony.

Bombs. On every piece of machinery. Jazz grinned and gave her a thumbs up. Chromia pointed at the hall they arrived from, gestured with her head, and pulled herself on to the floor to flank the ‘Con. Jazz’s new pal was joining the fun and was also sneaking up behind the ‘Con, one slithery drag of its arm at a time. Guess it wanted to help out.

His target went to the next terminal. The one after that had Jazz’s data burner in it. He moved slow, servo after servo. This verse would go different: Con’s arm goes in, pulls out the internals, and then he’d drop ‘em.

The Con’s arm dove in. Rooted around-

And then everything went sideways.

***

Plan Gamma, as Slipstream had explained during the briefing, was to demolish the black site. The most precise way to do that was with Menasor.

"Answer is still no!" Motormaster crossed his arms and glared out at everyone around him. Who did that stuck-up no-wheeler think she was?! Trying to order him and his Stunticons around?! "She didn't want us to combine before?! We won't be combining now!"

"Fine," Elevon turned to Octane. "Arm the-"

A chunk of rock clanged against Elevon's helm and Motormaster pulled his fist out of a pile of rubble that used to be a boulder.

"Arm the missiles."

The next best way to guarantee the facility's destruction was to have Octane drop a barrage of missiles at the ground and collapse the black site in on itself. After Slipstream fired off a signal flare to let them know it was time. Motormaster glanced at Drag Strip, and his lip curled.

He knew she wanted to be out there. He could feel it.

"No one orders us around!" He told her, clapping her shoulder.

Her optics flicked to the pile of rubble for only a klik. "You said it!"

Fine. So long as she listened.

Suddenly, Elevon shot into the air, wings opening wide and twitching. Motormaster grit his teeth when he heard her voice in his head.

"Autobots approaching."

Drag Strip's face lit up.

"Five grounders, five fliers."

Five fliers? Autobot fliers weren't rare these days but...

"Are they in formation?" Drag Strip asked.

The Insecticon, who had been helping load the triple changer with missiles, dropped one. Motormaster's engine revved violently. It could have exploded and Drag Strip was right there. Before he could lay a hand on the mech, they had sprung into the air, a green blur going up and up in an arc. They hung next to Elevon before falling down and landing with a thud.

"Yeah, looks like." the Insecticon put two fingers together in a point. "Like this!"

Drag Strip slowly turned to look at Motormaster. She waggled her optic ridges.

"Prepare to engage," said Elevon's voice. "Charge on my signal."

Drag Strip tugged at his arm. He could feel her vibrating with the need to drive out there and destroy! And even the score! And get herself shot by an air barrage!

"Wait," he growled at her. “It may not be them.”

“It is! I can feel it!”

His engine rumbled. Any other team of fliers was like taking Energon goodies from a protoform. If it was them... He grit his teeth; his team was split right now, comms were down. It would take all five of them. His engine shook with all the rage of a dying star. This was why they needed to stay close to him!

He could see the fliers now, shining little specks in the sky. And Drag Strip was right, he realized, his temper flaring again.

The Aerialbots.

***

Out of sight of the blue sky, Slipstream floated on the smoldering air coming off the assembly line. If those things had seen her, they didn't seem to care. They kept working, piling and arranging parts as they came out of the forge, still molten hot. Then more of the things would carry them up scaffolding, dragging and pulling them over for yet another one to weld them to… something.

Whatever they were building, it was big. Clusters of completed parts hung from hooks in a loose arrangement. Clearly it was nowhere near finished. And yet…

She squinted. It was hard to see clearly, with the heat warping the air as it was, but it almost looked like-

Below and behind her, Sea Sure yelped and swore. And then screamed.

Slipstream maneuvered herself to Sea Sure's position. Her processor absorbed several pieces of information at once.

First: there were several computer terminals in the area, meaning that Sea Sure had been in the process of destroying them. Second: one of those things was wrapping itself around her. This one was mostly exposed cables and dismembered limbs, and her soldier was trying to cut at it with a knife. Third: there were two other bots here. Fourth: They were-

"Autobots!"

Slipstream fired her arm-mounted blasters at both Autobots. The white and black one on the right took cover behind a terminal, while the smaller, blue one on the left dodged, leaping over the lift shaft and returning fire with a laser rifle. The Seeker focused on that one, rolled in the air and engaged thrusters to charge at them.

Sea Sure struggled with the hand clawing at her face. She jammed her knife in again and again but it wouldn't! Let! Go! It wrapped around her chest plate and her back slammed into the terminal. She cut one arm free and pulled, as on the edge of her vision she spotted the white and black four-wheeler. Or, his leg, coming at her hard and fast!

Sea Sure toppled, hitting the ground hard. Something crunched under her weight and suddenly the cable squeezing the life out of her went slack. She squirmed like a rust worm caught in a net.

The Autobot snatched a plug-in device from a terminal. "Hate to leave you tied up, but I've gotta split!" He paused and spared a glance into the hole she had punched into the computer. "Uh, I think this is one of yours."

Sea Sure tore the rest of the bindings off, quickly rising to her servos. "Haven't you heard of scavengers rights, Auto-bore?! It’s all mine!"

"A 'bore'?! Maybe you'll like something with more flash!"

All Sea Sure could see became bright, flashing lights. She covered her visor with her arms just in time to see her enemy jump towards her, land on his hands, and flip himself to the balcony. He leaped, but she acted fast, catching his legs and spinning him against an untouched terminal. He slammed into it with a satisfying thunk.

***

Drag Strip's rifle whined as it cooled, just like its owner. “C’mon! Motors, they're gunna do it first!"

Motormaster ignored her and transformed. He drove his massive bulk into a weak Autobot four wheeler and crushed them under his tires, before switching back to bot mode and driving his sword into them for good measure.

One of the Aerialbots- Air Raid, his inner Dead End told him- flew over head. Missiles exploded, heat and dust pinging off his plating. "IS THAT THE BEST YOU CAN DO?!?!" He roared.

"You haven't seen anything yet!" Air Raid circled for another pass.

"Neither have you!" Drag Strip fired off a barrage from her rifle, hitting the tip of the flier's wing. She chased him in vehicle mode as he tilted towards the ground.

"Air Raid!"

Motormaster laughed as the Aerialbots’ leader appeared: Silverbolt. He was the biggest of the Aerialbots, and somehow the weakest. And he was flying low- low enough for a Stunticon to knock him out of the sky! Motormaster didn't bother transforming- all he needed was a running start. He leapt up, slashing with his sword-

But Silverbolt hadn't pulled up to avoid the swing like Motor Master was expecting. He had pushed his thrusters harder, and Motor Master was hit by the full force of a Cybertronian cargo plane trying to make up for his teammate's recklessness. His sword flew from his grip and for a moment he was just a flailing bot caught on the nose of a cargo plane as it rushed through the air.

Motor Master grinned into Silverbolt’s windscreen, his face twisting into a storm of malice and rage and delight. He plunged his hands into the sides of his rival’s nose cone and the metal twisted under his grip. He started to climb, punching dents into the metal to pull his upper body on to the Autobot’s fuselage- and to pull Silverbolt down into the Pit.

“You’re too heavy! We’ll both crash!”

The Stunticon only laughed.

Silverbolt had already been flying low, and Motor Master’s weight forced him lower. The Decepticon felt his servos brush the ground, and with a final tug he brought the plane low enough for him to touch down. The bottoms of his servos were filed smooth by the friction, and he howled, but he dug them in.

“NOTHING CAN STOP THE KING OF THE ROAD!!”

Motor Master arched his back, and flipped Silverbolt over his head. He twisted, forcing his rival underneath him. Metal screeched and crunched as it folded under his weight. He felt struts snap and he smiled, vicious and cruel, as Silverbolt screamed.

A distance away, Drag Strip was winning, as usual! Air Raid was swooping down and pulling up and cheering and missing every shot because Drag Strip was just that good! And then she’d go in, leaving him with a chip in his wing or a blast to his cockpit. She was diving into another clash when something exploded behind her.

Drag Strip's world went spinny as she was flung through the air bumper over tailpipe. She traded in the panic and nausea for focusing on a nearby crater. It was a trick she’d learned a long time ago: when she was spinning out, locking her sensor network onto a fixed point kept things calibrated. And it helped her block out the pain of hitting the ground and also the feeling of metal burn as she skid to a stop. She transformed and flopped over to her back as her attacker looped around for another try.

Skydive, the Aerialbots’ know-it-all, had pulled a fast one on her! Drag Strip scrambled upright and fired her rifle at him wildly, her brain module still spinning in her head. She swore as she engaged her visor, and again as its targeting display helpfully pointed her attention at another incoming missile.

Motor Master's engine roared above the sounds of battle and her spark froze mid-pulse. Her brother was a purple and silver blur, rocketing towards Drag Strip! He was going too fast for her to dodge, and a head on collision would kill her. She hadn’t thought he’d actually… Fine. Fine! Drag Strip aimed her weapon at her brother.

She wouldn't go down without a fight.

The missile exploded against Motor Master's back! He tumbled forward, nearly crushing his sister under his weight. He winced at the crinkling of his back plating. Smoldering shrapnel fell out of his wheel wells, and he could smell parts of him burning, but he was alive! And so was Drag Strip.

Until he said otherwise.

"Get off!" She whined.

He pulled Drag Strip to her servos, and she fired off her rifle at the Aerialbots behind him. Motor Master transformed and she ducked behind his trailer for cover.

"Drag Strip," he rumbled.

"I was doing great until the other one showed up!"

He noted her scorched right pauldron, her cracked visor, her shaking voice.

Motor Master had given up his chance to crush Silverbolt into scrap metal for her, and she wasn't even grateful.

He watched as Skydive and Air Raid abandoned their assault to circle above their injured leader. The other two Aerialbots were landing near Silverbolt and helping him stand. The Stunticon roared. He transformed and tossed Drag Strip behind him. The five Aerialbots stood at the ready, with their precious leader in front. They loved him, didn't they? They would die for him.

And where was HIS family?

"YOU THINK YOU'RE SAFE, SILVERBOLT?!" Motormaster shook with rage. His voice echoed across barren rock, louder than the siloed pockets of battle around him could ever be. "YOU THINK THEY'LL PROTECT YOU?!?!"

Motormaster deactivated the safety program.

Chapter Text

If someone had asked Breakdown what a Combiner was, before he became part of one, he would have shrugged. Combination was some mythical thing one of the thirteen could do, right? Who knew if it was even possible?

The Decepticons cracked it first: As Devastator tore through Crystal City, everyone found out that combination was very real. The other team scrambled to find a way to fight back, and by the time they had, the Decepticons had already brought two more online. Menasor had been one of them.

And it hadn’t taken long for Breakdown to figure out what Combining really was after that.

It was a hijacking.

Breakdown drew Autobot fire, spinning up the dirt and debris and creating a veil of low visibility. Wildrider charged through it at ramming speed, with Dead End giving him cover fire (or trying to shoot at him. Maybe a little of both.) Somewhere in that dust cloud, Knock Out was welding Pain-Tear’s leaking wounds shut. Breakdown cheered as he jumped out of vehicle mode, weapons ready to fire!

And then something changed. His T-Cog spun on its own and plating flexed in response. He felt off balance, too light and too heavy at the same time.

That was all the warning he got before the command tore through his processor and hooked into every part of him:

MERGE

All at once, every strut inside his frame was a magnet being driven towards a central point. Breakdown drove, as fast as his engine and wheels could carry him, passing by colored, bot-like shapes that he guessed were his allies? He couldn’t recognize them, and couldn’t apologize for leaving even if he had thought of it. Which he hadn’t, because his processor was consumed by how best to reach that central point, by the desperate need to get there now, and by the dread that was creeping out of his spark.

Right now, he was still Breakdown. He was still feeling the ground against his wheels, still hearing blaster fire and yelling through his own audio receptors. Someone swerved too close to his left side, and he didn’t need to look to know it was Wildrider. The *tug* in his brain gave it away, just like how it told him that Dead End was right behind him.

Sounds and sensations got louder and stronger. He had twelve wheels all turning at the same speed. He could feel just how misaligned Wildrider’s axles were, and every dent on his bumper felt like one of his own. He could see himself from the side and back, a sort of live feed overlaying his own vision. It didn’t matter how fast he pulled ahead of the other two, or how much he wanted those new senses to go away- they were his now, the same way his were theirs.

As Motormaster and Drag Strip came into view that pull on his frame got worse, and other, weirder sensations joined in: an ache in limbs he never had, a presence of something looming down on him, a lurch and shift in gravity. An incessant hum that blocked out any other noise and thought apart from that ringing command.

One of the Stunticons screamed and each one hoped that it hadn’t been them.

Breakdown's motor functions locked and he was lifted into the air by some force none of them fully understood. He was jolted into place, and a part of him was relieved because it felt horribly right, like it was where he was meant to be. The world went dark and silent as optical and auditory sensors were rerouted through a new body. His new body.

His siblings' thoughts pierced through him, linking into his own so thoroughly that he couldn't tell where he ended and they began.

He remembered raging at the sight of Silverbolt when surrounded by his Aerialbots, and calling for his Stunticons to combine.

Drag Strip had been so excited when Motormaster started getting worked up. Yes! They were going to form Menasor and then she would feel strong!

Breakdown had been afraid that Motormaster had done this to punish him.

No, it was just Motormaster losing his temper and dragging the rest of them into it. Always taking it out on them, especially Wildrider!

They were all so ungrateful for everything Motormaster did to protect them, all the sacrifices, all the pain.

No one had asked Motormaster to be their leader. He was the worst: angry and demanding and cruel!

Motormaster was the only thing keeping them together!

Drag Strip did more to keep them together, and she was all talk!

Hey! Drag Strip was amazing, the way she put up with the rest of them. At least she was honest! They all knew Motormaster was a monster! And Breakdown was a coward hiding behind his false confidence! Wildrider was a freak and Dead End was one stubbed servo away from trying to kill all of them!

Dead End was dangerous. Always ready to kill the others.

That was *not* unique to Dead End.

All the rage and resentment and fear churned and twisted together into the spine of something new and powerful, and Menasor onlined his optics.

***

Slipstream didn’t feel the ground shake- she was in the air. But she saw the ceiling warp and shed dust. Then she saw the Autobot lose balance, and so she kept firing. The two wheeler was hiding behind a shield as tall as they were, and they were good with it.

"Too scared to fight back, Autobot?!" Slipstream darted upwards and almost over heated her arm blasters firing another round. None of her shots got through! Her opponent moved as soon as there was a break, dashing towards where their four-wheeler friend was battling Sea Sure.

Slipstream followed, hot on their heel-struts, each deflected shot making her see red. She was about to activate her thrusters and engage in melee when-

"Jazz! I need a boost!"

The four-wheeler, Jazz, rolled under Sea Sure's swing, and positioned himself by the bannister. Slipstream's opponent met him and leapt and then was meeting her in the air.

Slipstream was dragged down, thrusters burning to keep herself up. She was spinning, the world a blur of red light and orange heat and the *audacity* of this Autobot grounder!

Her wing hit something with a resounding clang! As Slipstream fell, she caught a glimpse of the two-wheeler's face. She was smiling- smiling! Slipstream kicked herself free of the grapple, drinking in the flash of panic on the Autobot’s face. Wheel-bound grounders wouldn't know how to fall even when their life depended on it.

The Seeker angled herself to catch an updraft from the forge, changing her introduction to the assembly line floor from a "wing snapping disaster" to an "embarrassingly solid thud". She groaned as she picked herself up, leaning on a piece of machinery for support. Where did the Autobot go? There was movement and she pointed her arm-

One of those... husks were hunched over a conveyor belt across from her. Parts moved from out of the furnace, still glowing red. It reached in and scooped them out of their molds, not minding the searing heat, and snapped them together. It didn't care for her- Until it was interrupted.

The world shook, harder and more rapidly, and this time Slipstream felt it. The ceiling groaned and cracked! Chunks of it crumbled down and crushed machinery! A slab of metal plating missed her by a fingertip and smashed the conveyor belt into uselessness. The husk straightened, head flopping back and offline optics staring at the mess.

Slipstream went airborne as it swiped at her leg, and kept going up. The staging area was in front of her, and... It wasn't the heat making her see things- The parts were moving! Clusters of components that dangled on hooks or were piled on the floor were whirring to life. Some of them unfolded and crawled up scaffolding, while others twisted as they floated through the air. Struts connected and joints clicked together with deafening mechanical fanfare.

Her first thought was that she was watching a transformation sequence from the inside of a mech.

Her second was that it was time to go.

The Autobot Jazz seemed to agree, because suddenly Slipstream was boosting out of his way as he drove off the side of the balcony above. "Chromia! Let’s blow this place!"

Slipstream’s foe was pushing back the hostiles slamming against her shield. She pulled a glowing blue battle ax from subspace and split her attackers in two. Together, the Autobots moved towards the exit.

Slipstream’s aim was true. Her shots hit Chromia’s back wheel and blasted the Autobot off balance! The Seeker smirked as the two wheeler was forced to transform into a roll. She moved closer, ready to deliver the killing blow, when the Autobot looked her in the optic and raised a clenched fist.

A detonator. That Autobot scum was holding a detonator! The bombs blinked on the machinery around her, hidden in the shadows of every machine and support beam in the atrium.

Commander Slipstream glowered at the challenge being issued… and conceded defeat. Just in time to see a combiner’s servo break through the ceiling above her. The two bots, Autobot and Decepticon, gaped at the sight.

“I told them to wait for my signal!!!” the Decepticon roared.

“I wish they’d listened,” the Autobot said, her tone somehow both sympathetic and scathing.

Slipstream glared down at her enemy and flew up to reunite with Sea Sure. And as she rose, something tantalizing peaked through the cracks in the ceiling.

Forget the Autobots, forget the mission, forget whatever that construction was- she could see sky. Bright blue, almost blinding in the horrible red light. The heat hissed towards it, just as desperate to escape this place as she was, and it carried her up, closer to her freedom. She would feel the wind on her wings and the sun on her back. Slipstream's navigational systems were already tracing the trajectories of falling debris. The best path up was right there.

Except… Her gaze flicked down to the dark red speck that was her soldier. The hall they’d come in through had been blocked by the collapsing roof. Sea Sure had slid down the elevator shaft and followed behind the Autobots. There were too many husks between her and the exit. She wouldn't make it.

Commander Slipstream looked up towards her closing window of opportunity and a string of unwanted thought flashed through her processor:

What would Starscream do?

The ceiling shook again, more of it tumbling down. On the floor below her, Sea Sure rammed another wastrel aside with one arm. The Autobots were out of sight. The explosives blinked up at her, twinkling like stars, ready to go off at any moment.

"Make cover!"

Sea Sure dropped the salvage she was holding, not noticing the flicker of life that dropping it had caused. She turned on her heel and held her arms in front of her. The long flat plates on her arms folded outward and snapped together, shielding her from what was about to happen.

Slipstream's missile hit the forge and exploded. The blast set off a bomb, and that triggered a chain reaction. The husks were blown apart, their bodies too weak to hold together, but Sea Sure stood firm- the hull of her rarely used nautical alt mode serving as a make-shift shield. Her Commander felt something that could be called pride.

And then she heard laughter. Not through her audials, but in her mind. She scanned her surroundings and noticed- the parts in the staging area had stopped moving.

Slipstream floated above the heat and noise and shock waves and held the gaze of a giant. Its face was barely half finished, all exposed cables and pistons. Its single, empty, optic socket glowed, a furnace all on its own. Countless circuits glinted red, highlighted against the equally countless shadows of the gaps in its incomplete plating. It was only half a head, the framework of a chest, and a spine, and that was big enough to take up all three levels of the atrium’s staging area. Her thrusters sputtered as she realized what she was looking at; what this thing was supposed to be.

She heard static inside her head. Distorted and chopped up, like a bad signal.

"I will remember you,” The titan told her.

Scrap.

This.

Slipstream transformed and dived through the explosions to reach the exit. Laughter filled her senses. It blocked out her HUD and prickled at her wingtips. She banked hard to avoid another detonation and changed out of alt as she sailed into the hallway.

A half built face leaned down to peek through the passage, just as her missile collapsed its entrance.

***

Electricity crackled through the air as the beam from Superion's rifle hit Menasor's sword. It was nothing compared to the storm singing inside the Decepticon combiner.

Get closer Run him through Kill!

An arm made from a jet slammed into Menasor's face! He staggered!

Useless Get him!

The sword swung hard at Superion. The sound it made as it sliced through the air was like nothing else. It was a song of brute force and violence that Superion ruined by blocking, but now Menasor had him on the defensive! He lowered his head and charged!

As his horns caught the chest and his sword held back the arms, Superion lost balance and crashed to the ground.

Now! Kill! Wait look out

An arm detached from Superion, rocketing out and tearing Menasor's incoming punch apart. Pain vibrated through him as plating shattered and struts snapped. Superion stood and his arm returned, narrowly missing Menasor from behind. The song faltered and Menasor roared.

"You will pay for that!"

"Come and make us!"

He raised his sword and activated it. Electricity hummed through the blade and into his working arm. It crackled in the air, a storm ready to be set free. Menasor plunged it into the ground and everything lit up in blue. Towers of lightning spread out and towards Superion, moving faster than the Autobot could react. He screamed as electricity wrapped around his legs, and Menasor grinned viciously at his nemesis' suffering.

In the distance there was a glimpse of a bright yellow insect.

Bee?

The song faltered. Menasor gaped at the direction he had seen the insect. He didn’t… understand. Menasor wanted to squash Autobots, he was supposed to squash Autobots! But not that one. That one would stay alive. That was... Good?

No! Yes! Eh Focus!

Suddenly, Superion was rising to his full height. The Autobot combiner took a step towards him. lightning crackled against his legs but he grunted as he took another. And then another. The electricity wasn't working anymore! Menasor pulled his sword from the ground and listened to the rhythm of his foe's strides. The storm inside him spoke in perfect harmony:

Now

His Ion Sword sang as it cleaved through metal!

But Superion kept moving forward, tackling Menasor with the force of a falling star!

Just like Silverbolt... What? FOCUS!

The two giants shook the world beneath them as they landed. Menasor reached for his weapon as Superion raised his arms to smash him into dust-

A tower of silver metal burst out of the ground! It stretched, reaching up and up, taller than either combiner. It twisted and shifted as it rose, revealing the struts and cables it was made from. The sounds of transformations all slightly out of sync, layering on top of each other echoed across the battlefield.

What is that? Crush Superion! Is that an arm!?

It looked more like one with each passing moment. The pillar had split at the bottom, moving in front of the hole it had come out of. Its base expanded and finger joints unfolded outwards, twitching and flexing and pressing into the ground.

Menasor kicked the stunned combiner off of him. "Your trick won't save you, Autobot!"

Superion shook his head. "Superion is... Confused. We- I don't know what that is."

"Lies!"

I don't think he can lie. Just kill them already. Who cares about fighting? This is much more interesting! Shut up!

And then, over the horrible cacophony, there was the sound of snapping cables. The transformations slowed, and then stopped. Energon gushed down and splattered on the ground, hissing and steaming. Metal groaned as it bent, and then shrieked.

Both combiners stared at the collapsing tower.

Split up! Now!

Chapter Text

No one understood it, but everyone had seen that tower rise from underground and take out both Superion and Menasor. And they had certainly all felt the shock wave that followed. Had Knock Out been as slow as his fellow Decepticons, it would have caught him before he ducked into a crater for safety!

Unfortunate, then, that he hadn't been able to avoid the aftershocks that caused the ground to collapse.

Knock Out dusted himself off (for what little good it did) and drove towards where he last saw the combiners. The tunnels didn't make it easy, and his route was winding and broken by rubble he would (carefully!) climb over. But what else could he do? He couldn’t climb out! And besides, there may be fallen bots to scavenge. Or repair- he did have a job to do after all, and by the sound of it, there was at least one, very dramatic bot somewhere further ahead.

He reached something of a chamber and moved in, taking his time to sweep the area. The only notable thing was a weirdly smooth metal column leaned against the far wall. But just because he didn’t see anything to worry about didn’t put him at ease. Visibility was limited- clouds of dust blocked the sky, and only a little sunlight managed to find a way through. The darkness itself didn’t bother him, his optics were well tuned to it even without using his high beams, but his tires on the other hand-!

His tires were meant for magnetic roads, not this kind of terrain! Pebbles were getting stuck between his treads, irritating the soft metals he took such great pains to take care of!

“When I get back to base I’m going to give these a thorough cleaning!” Knock Out muttered to himself as he cautiously entered the chamber… And did a full body flinch as those same sensitive, chafed tires bumped against jagged metal. He immediately switched modes and glared at the offending piece of shrapnel, ready to stomp it flat. But… something about it was… odd. There were several pieces, all scattered around. Not just on the ground, either- some were embedded into the rock face of the walls. Had all this come from the tower? He knelt to get a closer look...

VROOOOOOOM!!!

A six wheeler landed in the chamber. Their wheels screeched, punctuating a razor sharp turn, and they spun to a halt. A bot, covered in dust from helm to servo, sprung out of vehicle mode. They rolled into a standing position, coming up with a sword pointed at Knock Out.

"No- No don’t-!" His own frantic voice echoed through the chamber back at him.

Drag Strip squinted down at him. "Oh! You're on my side!" She twirled her weapon away from his face, resting it on a cracked shoulder. Her other arm dangled limply at her side. She didn’t see Knock Out clutch at his chest in relief. "Did you see me out there? I really got Air Raid good! He was diving and I blam! Got his wing! Then bang! I drove in... And..." She stomped her servo. "Are you listening?!"

"Of course I am!" Knock Out wiped dust off a piece of shrapnel. It squealed as he tugged it free of the crusted metal ground and he turned it over in his hands. It was odd how new it looked- no rust or scratches. What was this made of and could he smelt it down? "I'm sure it was a fierce battle." He offered.

"Pffft. It was barely a fight!"

"Mmm."

He tapped it with a finger and it chimed. No imperfections, either! The ends of the parts were rounded. A linkage, maybe? It must have fallen off the tower.

"I'm always the first one back on my servos," she said. "'Cause I'm the best at being me. And I know... You..." Drag Strip scrunched her face.

Knock Out glanced up to find her staring at him. "Okay..." he said slowly. He picked up another piece of metal and compared it to the linkage. This one was almost certainly a gear, about the size of his arm. All this hadn’t come from the Black Site had it? He looked at the column… and found Drag Strip was much too close to him, and was still staring at him. He (cautiously!) pushed her back with his finger tips. She jumped as soon as he touched her, like she had forgotten he was there at all!

Normally Knock Out appreciated being admired but this was uncomfortable. "Why don't you sit down and I can look you over for helm damage?"

"No! I'm fine! I'm great! I know who you are!" She snapped back to life, twirling her sword around.

"...Glad to hear it." Maybe she was just running low on fuel. Knock Out shrugged to himself and tossed the piece of shrapnel aside. He moved to the large column, placing his palm against it. It was made of the same metal as the rest of the scraps. But why was it so much bigger than the other pieces? Whatever it was, it was worth looking at, if only because doing so got him away from Drag Strip and her sword!

"Oh. Oh!" Suddenly, she was next to him and slamming her fist against the thing. She poked him in the chest, hard. "It's you."

"Do you mind-!"

He was interrupted by a nearby shout for help.

Drag Strip froze. "What was that?"

"The screaming? It's been happening for a while. I followed it here, actually."

"Aren't you... going to help?"

"And get ambushed by Autobots?" He waved his hand. "Besides, if they can carry on like that for this long, they aren't in any danger."

Drag Strip gasped. She'd just thought of a new thing to be the best at. "I can do it!"

"Sorry?"

"I'll fix them myself! ...Oh, shut up! It can't be hard if you do it!"

Knock Out stopped laughing. Drag Strip didn't see the way his optics flared, and she wouldn’t have cared anyway- she was already up the pillar and out of sight.

"Oh, I've got to see this!"

***

"Ha ha! What luck! I, a mere Autobot scout! Am going to ki- uh. Destroy! This. WOUNDED DECEPTICON!!"

"I told you this would be a trap," Knock Out whispered, smug.

He and Drag Strip crouched behind a pile of mystery components at the edge of a large crater. The tower (which, up close, looked more like a tangled knot of machinery) had fallen across it, its mess of parts settling into the empty space. Standing next to it and yelling his voice box out was a little yellow and black four wheeler. An Autobot scout, it seemed.

"It's too bad no one's around to see this!" He shouted. "No one will ever believe me that I got a WOUNDED DECEPTICON by myself!!!"

Knock Out rolled his optics and turned to Drag Strip. "So, what's your plan, Drag Strip?"

The Stunticon leaned over to get a look, and Knock Out had to hold his hands together to stop himself from slashing at the wheel tower she was shoving in his face. She braced herself against his shoulder and he could feel her grubby finger tips scratching his finish! If he wasn't trying to be stealthy right now...

Drag Strip's visor slid down as she squinted. Then it went back up, then down again. She mouthed the Autobot's words silently, staring at him for long enough that Knock Out started to worry she'd be seen. He took hold of her arm and yanked her safely behind cover. She shook her head. "C'mon!" She whispered.

Knock Out examined her, warily. As fun as it would be to watch Drag Strip crash and burn, she was (unfortunately) his only back up. He sighed internally and switched gears. "What's wrong?"

"It's fine!" She hissed.

It almost wasn't worth asking, but, as a medic, ensuring she was functioning properly was one of his responsibilities. He was a professional, after all, no matter how obnoxious the patient. Or how much she kept getting in his personal space!

"Drag Strip! Let go of my plating!"

"I know him... He's... What is he doing?"

The Autobot had found a long, thin rod of shrapnel and was using it as leverage. It snapped as soon as he put weight on it. Then he switched to using his hands, struggling to pull something out of the wreckage.

...He didn't actually have a wounded Decepticon down there... Did he?

The little yellow bot grunted as his grip slipped and he fell backwards. He threw up his arms. "Wow! This DECEPTICON! Is TRAPPED!! And HURT!! I hope no one will COME AND HELP!!! Him!"

"Oh..." Drag Strip whispered. It was like she was galaxies away as she stared at the Autobot. "What are you doing, bro?" Suddenly, she flinched and slapped her open palm against her helm. "No! Stop that!"

Once again, Knock Out pulled her down out of sight. This time he entered her personal space; turning her head, brushing his fingers over the back of her helm: no dents or cracks. This didn’t look like Energon depletion either- meaning whatever was happening may not be physical. In which case, it could be beyond him. The doctor discarded that idea immediately: He'd get her back to base for a closer examination, and then he would fix the problem. He snapped his fingers in front of Drag Strip’s face, and almost sighed in relief when she noticed. He spoke slowly. "Here's the plan: you distract him, and I'll sneak around behind and take him down!"

"What...? But-" Drag Strip's optics focused on him fully. "I'm not a decoy!"

"Fine!" He growled. "You can get the kill! How does that sound, hm?"

"Great... But..."

Knock Out rose to step away, and a yellow hand grabbed his upper arm.

"I have a better idea," Drag Strip said, straightening up.

And then she shoved him, hard, over the side of the crater.

Knock Out rolled down the slope, clanking all the way down. He slid to a stop at the bottom, ending the tumble on his front and scrambled to his-

Drag Strip landed next to him and her foot crunched down on his back. "Bumblebee!"

The Autobot's face lit up, even as a sword was pointed at it. "Drag Strip!"

Knock Out wondered how bad it would be if he murdered a patient. Maybe Soundwave would let him get away with it if he knew it was Drag Strip! He lay still, face down on the dusty ground, and didn't think about the damage that fall must have done to his paint job. He didn’t think about the malfunctioning bot standing on his back, or the Autobot who must have been gawking at the spectacle of it! He shook, and didn’t think about how satisfying it would be to sink his claws into her arm sockets and beat her with her own limbs! No, he didn’t think about any of that. Instead, he counted the pulsing of his spark. He traced the fuel flowing through his frame. Anything to keep calm, because priority number one was survival, and to do that he had to- ugh - stay unnoticed.

"Prepare to meet your doom, Autobot!"

"Oh, no! Another Stunticon! She's here to-"

"Not just any Stunticon!" Drag Strip cut him off. "The best Stunticon!"

"-she's HERE TO HELP?! The other one! Just LOOK what happened to him!" Bumblebee pointed towards the collapsed wreckage of the tower. Drag Strip gasped (gasped! How much dust did she inhale?!) and her weight lifted off Knock Out's back.

Knock Out slowly rose into a crouch. Drag Strip was facing away from him and revenge was a very tempting possibility. It would be quick- his drill to the back of her leg, drive away. The Autobot would take care of the rest. The little yellow bot’s round blue optics met his gaze and suddenly Knock Out wasn’t so sure of that. This whole thing, the screaming, being pushed down the side of a crater, how loosely Drag Strip held her sword-

Drag Strip whipped around. Like she could read his mind, she drove her blade into the ground perilously close to Knock Out's face. But more important was what she pulled out of her subspace pocket.

"You've had a gun this entire time?!?!"

She used her working arm to point the rifle at the Autobot. "I'll give you a head start!"

Those worried looking optics bounced from her to the wreckage, to Knock Out, and back to the wreckage. They disappeared as the Autobot transformed and then he did the same, ramping out of the crater and into the dust clouds.

"Take care of Breakdown!" Drag Strip rocketed off after him.

Knock Out shook his head. If they were going to put on a show for him, they could at least try a little harder! That performance was terrible!

Wait, what had she said about Breakdown?

Trapped underneath the sagging knot of parts, Energon pooling underneath him, was Breakdown. His hood was cracked open, and the rest of him was dented and crushed. The medic touched the mangled mech. Still warm, and the metal hadn't gone gray. And was that- yes; his engines were still going. Stabilizing him would be a challenge, but...

Despite his foul mood, his battered pride, and his ruined paint job... Knock Out grinned. He flexed his fingers and got to work.

***

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Severed limbs did not know how to scream.

They did not feel fear.

Menasor’s right leg began to feel. There was pain and a crushing weight and it hurt and it hurt it h ur t i t.

RECREATING SELF IDENTITY

He was Breakdown! And he had to get out of here! He spun his wheels faster, he pushed his engine harder! But the weight held him down. His screams were only static.

RESTORING PERSONALITY DRIVER

It was so hard for Breakdown to think louder than the rising panic, but he tried. He couldn’t do anything else- Couldn’t force his way out, couldn’t risk the radio- Autobots might be listening! Keep calm. Keep calm! One of his siblings would find him. Oh no, what if one of his siblings found him?! That noise! Was that one of them?!

VISUAL DATABASE RESTORATION AT 14%

Yellow and black. Sunlight and smiles and nearly smoking tires. Nights at Maccadams! Almost getting kicked out for starting a fight at Maccadams! No one insulted his buddy! Lending a hand with long distance deliveries. Warm hands. The yellow had a voice inside it. His brother had found him.

"Breakdown! Hang on! I'll get you out!"

His language database was still rebuilding. It was all in there, somewhere. But right now it was all just noise. He revved his engine as a reply to whatever Bee had said.

Bee pulled Breakdown by the bumper, but the weight wasn't letting go. His brother disappeared. Where...? He hadn't seen him leave. Or maybe Breakdown had imagined him vanishing because Bee was standing right in front of him trying to lift the metal off. That would never work, he wanted to laugh! Bee was too small! Too tiny little four wheeler following him around and trying to keep up. No, now he was a few paces back, screaming his vocalizer to pieces.

"I hope no one will come to HELP me take care of this DECEPTICON!!"

What was happening? He hurt too much to think... Breakdown tried to focus because now Bee was standing in front of two other bot-shaped colors.

There was another yellow, but not nice sunny fun like Bee. Loud and fierce and relentless. That burned into your optics. He could name that color, that was Drag Strip. And there was red. Sharp and flashing red. Warning red. Bee disappeared now red was up close poking him and touching him and looking at him.

The loud noise of metal on metal as red cut space around Breakdown. There were tiny releases of pressure off his body as he was freed. They were everything in the face of the crushing pain. Drag Strip was straining to hold up the knot of metal and he pitched forward and the pain! As something tore free of his frame.

Then red had hands on him and inside of him and was looking again. "Drag Strip, when you transform where's your T-Cog?"

"Here. You doin' that pressure thing, like how you did to kill that one guy during a race, right?"

"Oh, he survived! I made sure of that!" Red's fingers found the plating they were looking for. Then he froze, turning back to Drag Strip. "How-"

Breakdown hurt. His fingers hurt, his servos hurt. He- was he supposed to have those? Yes, yes of course he was. He was just in bot mode now. He was lying on his back, in bot mode. Drag Strip was next to him, fidgeting with his wrist.

"You are so lucky I found you," she said.

Breakdown stared at her, only catching every third word. He pointlessly searched her face for a hint of comfort. Even if there was any, he wouldn't be able to recognize it.

DICTIONARY RECONSTRUCTION AT 53%
VISUAL DATABASE RESTORATION AT 25%

"Actually, the Autobot found him," Red said, somewhere out of sight.

Autobot! He recognized that one. Bee! Where was Bee?!

"Keep him still!"

Drag Strip forced his head back down. His body was slow and heavy and his flailing was useless against her. She threw her weight on to his chassis and he spat static pain. She reached inside his open chest plate. He couldn't see what she was-! Something clicked and the static turned into his voice, screaming.

"What are you doing? You'll pull out the-”

Breakdown lifted his arm to push her off but she was gone. He was somewhere else now still hurting. Enclosed and bright brushed metal. Everything was vibrating, and he could hear rocket engines nearby. There were other bots and none of them were Bee. Red was above him.

DICTIONARY RECONSTRUCTION AT 73%
VISUAL DATABASE RESTORATION AT 38%

"Where...?" He choked out through the pain. "Where's...?"

"Don't talk. It's distracting."

Red's hands were inside him and red's optics were on him and Breakdown wanted it all out and off. Everything was too heavy to thrash and fight, but he had to try. He grit his teeth at the wave of pain as he grabbed at red. He pulled red in close and spoke as clearly as he could.

"Where. Is. Bee?"

Red's head tilted.

Breakdown gasped. He was somewhere different. He was lying at an incline. A cord connected to his wrist pumped Energon into him from just out of sight and there was a panel on his other side, facing away from him. It was attached to the table he was on top of, and something about the table made his threat level skyrocket, but he couldn’t remember why. There was machinery hanging above him that he couldn't identify. Lots of tubes and a scanner, maybe? A saw disc? As he squinted up at it through the dazzling lights, pain shot through his frame.

DICTIONARY RECONSTRUCTION COMPLETE.
VISUAL DATABASE RESTORATION AT 59%

He was hurt real bad. It should've been obvious, but his processor was too busy trying to piece itself back together for him to have realized. His chest plate was missing. Nausea washed through him as he recognized that those were his parts pumping and turning and keeping him functional. His spark chamber caught the light and Breakdown whimpered at the dent on its front. He touched it with a shaking hand, just to check if he was really still alive. He was! He was.

Still covering his most vital component, he used his other arm to push himself off the inclined table. Mistake. The pain crackled through him, lightning hot, and he fell back against the slab with a thunk.

Red moved into view. Those optics were boring into him and Breakdown shuddered as they scanned over his exposed internals. A tool appeared in Red's hand. His spark pulsed twice as fast as red moved closer and closer. And then Breakdown remembered:

He wasn't helpless. In a flash of purple light, his blaster left his subspace compartment and appeared in his hand. His finger brushed its trigger and his thumb braced against its barrel. "Stay away!"

Red froze mid stride. Breakdown sat up a bit straighter. His spark pulsed slower now. He had wrestled a tiny bit of control. Breakdown squinted. Something was pulling at his recognition now, but the information wasn't coming through.

VISUAL DATABASE RECONSTRUCTION AT 68%

"Relax. I know what I'm doing," Red said, his voice an oiled knife through the air. "Let me-"

"I said stay back!" Breakdown jerked the blaster and Red immediately raised his hands, the tool disappearing inside his arm. Shiny silver fingers glinted in the light. They looked familiar. Breakdown could figure it out if he focused.

Red. Racing? Racing with Bee and the wind and the speed. Freedom and fun. No, too far back. Recent memories. Red... red optics on a white face plate. Where had he seen that? Watching him, crawling on his plating and piercing his spark chamber. He could see right through!

"Stop looking at me!" Breakdown demanded. His arm raised back up to keep his weapon on target. It was so... So heavy. And everything kept rearranging itself in his head. But if his optics would just stay online, he could figure this out, he had to!

It happened so quickly. His focus flickered for an instant, and red dashed forward. Breakdown adjusted his aim, but it was too late. One of those shiny silver hands slammed on the panel beside him.

Magnetic force pulled him back. His helm hit the slab with a clang that he could feel in his teeth. His wrists were violently reeled down next to his sides, and the blaster flew out of his grasp and was sent clattering to the floor. Before Breakdown even began to try to pull himself free, glowing blue rings wrapped around his wrists and ankles. The magnets deactivated and he jerked against the bindings, his frame screaming at the effort. It was no use: he was trapped.

Red casually folded the control panel into the table. "Now, where was I?" Hungry red optics on a smirking, white faceplate. It was a recent memory. Red four wheeler. Fastest. Silver claws covered in Energon as he tore into that Autobot for parts.

Something off to the side beeped several times, urgently.

"On second thought, I'll be with you soon," Knock Out tapped Breakdown's helm with his fingertip and laughed. It was a mean laugh. "Don't go anywhere!"

Breakdown watched him walk off towards another table. He hadn't noticed that there were other tables. Or the bot lying on that one. He couldn't get a good look at them- Knock Out's back blocked it from view- but he was sure they weren't moving.

VISUAL DATABASE RECONSTRUCTION AT 80%

Breakdown stared at the machinery on the ceiling. He began to recognize some of it. That one was a precision laser that sliced through your wires. That one was an arm that separated your helm from your head. And worse of all was the scanner, with its camera lens like an optic. None of it would help him. He forced air in through his vents, but it escaped through his exposed chest, taking any calm it might have brought with it.

He couldn't fight. He couldn't run. And he couldn't help but watch Knock Out do his work. Anytime he looked away, or let his exhaustion start to carry him off into a sleep state, he swore he could feel the mad doctor standing beside him, ready with a blade to cut him open.

VISUAL DATABASE RECONSTRUCTION COMPLETE.

He looked on and listened in fear. He flinched at the flashes of a welder and shuddered at every whirring of a saw blade. Tubes from the ceiling hissed and pumped the unmoving bot full of... Something. Nanites? Acid? Poisons? It... Was probably a good thing, right? Knock Out was a doctor! He wouldn't rip into a frame and strip the wires clean and pluck Breakdown's circuits out one by one until all that was left was a spark casing and cerebro circuits.

Knock Out nodded at his work and took a step away from the bot. He turned around and caught Breakdown looking at him. "Now you have my full attention."

The doctor came closer, step by step. He twirled a rotary saw in his hand, collapsing and unfolding it. Breakdown's spark pulsed faster each time he heard the blade click back together. He struggled harder as Knock Out reached him.

"Get away! Don't touch me!"

"Some advice, Breakdown?" Knock Out leaned in, his smirk turning into a snarl. "Don't give me orders in my medbay."

Breakdown arched forward as far as the restraints would allow, trying to bite or headbutt his captor.

"Hmph. You're a lively one aren't you? Not like Dead End..." He shuddered.

Dead End? What...?

Breakdown went still and Knock Out raised an optic ridge. "Oh, don't worry. I'm taking good care of her." His smile had no warmth to it. "Just like I'll be taking care of you."

Good care of- No. No, please.

"She's here?" Breakdown asked in barely a whisper. Knock Out gestured and bowed as he stepped aside, revealing the bot he'd been working on.

Breakdown stared at his sister, watching for any movement- any sign of life. Memories surged to the forefront of his processor, and not all of them were his. Dead End being exiled as Motormaster talked with the rest of them. He had been warning them that she was starting to freak out, and to be nice to her. Drag Strip thinking how dull she was the day before. How lonely Dead End felt, when she could feel anything at all.

Breakdown barely noticed as Knock Out circled around to his other side, only looking away from Dead End when he felt a tug at the cord in his wrist, and only for a glance.

"You know, I can count the number of patients I’ve lost on one hand,” Knock Out said as he removed the Energon feed. "And I don't plan on letting any of you Stunticons ruin that."

A hand slipped under Breakdown's chin and jerked his attention back to the doctor. Claws dug into the soft metal of his face, and he bit down on the screams rising out of his vocalizer. Breakdown wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Which means..." Knock Out leaned in closer and something new attached to the plating below Breakdown's shoulder. A tube, like the ones plugged into Dead End. "...that as long as you're still functioning by the time I'm done, I can make your repairs as slow and as painful as I want.

"So, the next time you decide to point a weapon at me... Remember who's about to go under the knife."

Breakdown refused to whimper. His wrists and ankles bounced harmlessly against the inside of the restraints. He stared up into those piercing red optics, burning above a cruel smile that promised to flay him alive, fuse his gears together, tear out his tires, stab needles between his spinal joints, pull out his spark-!

The tube in his arm hissed. "No..." Breakdown stared at it in horror as a numbing cold spread through his body. "No, no!" His thrashing slowed and his optics unfocused. He squeezed them shut and shook his head. "You can't-"

Knock Out moved away, smirking down at him.

"Please... Don't!" The cold pressed in on him. The pain became a distant, dull, ache and even his words seemed to freeze before he could speak them. It pulled on him, inviting him to slip down into the comfort of stasis lock. No fear, no pain, just cold.

What would happen when he was offline and couldn't fight back?

"Elevon, I'm on my way to your location," Knock Out said into his comms.

"No! Knock Out!”

The blurry red shape paused and looked back.

“You can't... Don't leave..." Breakdown's voice was a slurred whisper.

"Tch. Again with the demands?" The doctor shook his head and waved as he turned and walked towards the door.

Breakdown watched him go through dimming optics, his desperate pleas dying as he fell into stasis.

"Don't leave me with her..."

Chapter Text

Knock Out hurried out the door, transforming and racing back to the battlefield. He followed traces of activity until he found Elevon and a handful of other squadmates, helping to excavate Slipstream and Sea Sure from a tunnel. He assessed the damage of the other bots and one by one, did his job.

The medbay he had left behind was quiet and still. Surgical tools were set neatly on counters, or else stored away in drawers. Machines monitored the two, heavily damaged patients on the table. A beep echoed softly across the room- a notification that one of the machines had detected an increase in brain activity.

***

Slipstream frowned as she looked over her mental registrar of her unit. She'd lost three Decepticons, four had incapacitating injuries, two of the Stunticons were in critical condition and the rest were missing.

"Elevon, do we still have the missiles?"

"They were left on the plateau when we engaged the Autobots."

"Good. Where's-" the Commander squinted as she looked around. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon and the only lights left were the high-beams of her troops. Her night vision helped, but visibility was still limited due to the dust. "Get me Octane," she ordered and then strode towards where she had last seen Knock Out.

The medic was crouched in front of Blackjack, his face illuminated by the sparks jumping from the sports car's shoulder as he made repairs. "Didn't I just fix this for you?"

Blackjack's working shoulder clanked softly, his shrug hidden by the darkness. "I'll tell that to the next Autobot who runs me over."

The medic glanced up as Slipstream approached. "What can I do for you, Commander?"

"Is there anyone who can't move out?"

One of his hands was deep inside Blackjack’s plating. He moved automatically, twisting two ends of a broken wire together between his fingers before applying solder with the tool in his other hand. He had done this hundreds of times, and the pang of satisfaction as he pulled away and examined his work was just as fresh as when he had started.

"No," he said finally. He looked up again and a bright light seared into his retinas. He hissed and muttered curses. He was trying to work!

"Slagging Octane!" Blackjack grumbled, raising an arm to block the high-beams. "Point those somewhere else!"

Slipstream turned to address her second in command. "Round up everyone you can and get them back to base."

"You want me to take 'em, Commander?" Octane asked. "Not sure if I have enough fuel left for that... Now, if I could take a look inside that base, dig up some extra Energon, I'm sure I could do another dozen runs!"

"No. You're with me,” she addressed Octane. “Once everyone is clear, you and I will drop the missiles on the site."

"What?!” the triple-changer’s wings fluttered wildly. “But- Commander there could be valuable salvage in there! Things I- we could use!"

Knock Out caught a look from Blackjack. It was a common message sent among Decepticons, usually through non-verbal means, and translated, roughly, to "I can't believe he's being so obvious". Chances were Octane wanted to sell whatever he found down there. Knock Out, delighted to find another bot fluent in the language replied with his own look: "No surprise there."

Elevon stood very still. "I agree with Octane, Commander," she said slowly. "The jammer, for instance, would be a useful thing to have."

Knock Out raised an optic ridge at Blackjack- a clear “Isn’t that interesting?”.

“What?” Blackjack asked out loud. “Why are you making that face?”

"Enough! You will follow my-" Slipstream caught herself. Both of the crouched bots looked up at her in surprise. The Commander straightened her shoulders and started over. "Anything useful was destroyed by the Autobots and buried when the ceiling came down."

Knock Out tilted his head, wondering if he should risk the Commander's possible wrath to ask the obvious question. Fortunately, Octane was there to do it for him.

"Uh, Commander. If everything in there is already scrap metal..."

Two piercing optics slowly turned towards the triple changer. One of them twitched violently.

"W-whatever you say Commander!" Octane's raised hands blocked the light from his high beams. He took a rushed step back. "You can count on me!"

"Let me be clear," Slipstream ground out between clenched teeth. "We didn't know this was here. We didn't see anything." She jabbed a finger at Octane. "We didn't take anything. The Autobots bombed the place as we passed by."

"Absolutely! Shame no one made it out, either!"

"A shame," she agreed. She locked gazes with each of the bots around her, one at a time. Octane to Elevon to Blackjack to-

Knock Out glanced up at the lull in conversation. He blinked innocently as he nodded in understanding.

"Cap'n? About that..."

Wearily, Slipstream turned to face Sea Sure.

"I think ye' aught to take a look at what I found."

*** !!! ***

Dead End was alive. Nothing else could hurt this much. She tumbled off a table, waves of pain lancing up her legs, up her spinal strut, as her servos hit the floor. Static spilled from her mouth. She was alive.

An imperative, somewhere deep in Dead End's code, fired off emotional responses to that. Tiny signals, like lights, born from her brain module that streamed through her circuits... And were smothered by the pain, ground into dust by her ennui, and swallowed by the black hole of her spark.

She took a step. Her leg wouldn't bend. It hurt to turn her head. Even flexing her t-cog made her want to scream in her awful, soft voice. It was pathetic. She was pathetic. Why had she tried to stand up? She should have just laid there and let herself rust.

Driving so fast the wind burned against his plating, the thrill of rushing too fast for any optic to track.

Oh yes, that was why. Her processor was rebuilding itself. And all the wonderful, joyful memories of her siblings were floating into her cognition. Dead End grit her teeth as she took another step. This pain was nothing compared to the crushing weight of that.

The satisfaction of plating crunching and crumpling from an impact at ramming speed!

She let go of the table and stumbled forward. She slouched, arms dangling. It must be nice to enjoy things. Nothing ever felt like that for her anymore.

Dodging and weaving and dancing through the battlefield, tearing everything to pieces, joy in every tiny victory!

Every time they formed Menasor, she would get the privilege of sharing her siblings’ memories. How much zeal and lust they all had for life. No matter how much she wished she could experience colorful, vibrant moments, everything would end up as twisted gray slag for her. It was all so dreary. So dull. She was sure it hadn’t always been like this…

Dead End's plating cracking and splintering apart as it was blasted by Autobots. Her frame going limp and falling to the ground and the desperation that he had failed to keep her alive.

That had been the start of it. If she’d died then, she wouldn’t be suffering now.

There was an awful, staticky noise like an untuned radio signal. It took a moment for Dead End to realize it was coming from her. She stopped trying to scream.

It was pointless to think like that. Dead End was alive. And no one was happy about this.

"She's going to be with you two so don't. Mess. Up." Motormaster was telling the other Stunticons. He could see her leaning against a support beam on the other side of the room. She was sulking, as usual. He would protect her.

She spat Energon on the floor, and her legs moved her forward without any destination. Each step was the agony of broken circuits and cracked struts.

"He wouldn't be getting so bent out of shape if it wasn't delicate, precious, Dead End who was losing it!"

Dead End shook her head, and as she did, something fell, clinking to the floor. She stared at it. So that was what the connecting side of a face plate looked like. She had expected more Energon. Maybe pins or circuitry? It was smooth metal. She traced the spot it had come from with her finger. It didn’t hurt to touch, but it felt too sensitive. Interesting.

There was something lying next to it. Had it broken when it hit the floor?

Her body moved on its own. It bent down, and her hand reached for the mystery object. Her tired, burnt processor recognized the weight of the thing as her fingers closed around its handle. That tiny imperative chimed in again, telling her very urgently to drop it.

It was as she was standing up, her body burning in agony, that she saw Breakdown.

"She's dangerous when she gets like this. I could take her in a straight fight, get this whole mess over with before she snaps. She'd never go for it though... Unless..."

Dead End's lip curled at the memory. No sympathy or solidarity from him. Not that she was expecting any. She sneered at his body. The indifference was mutual.

Another bot, one who had the strength to care, would have been moved looking at their brother’s injuries. She should have felt something! Except, she'd seen it all before. They were Stunticons- damage happened. It was just how things were.

"Time to throw myself into the line of fire, again!"

It was pointless. She was a pathetic, broken mess. She'd keep fighting and getting hurt and not caring until her spark finally collapsed in on itself.

It was how things would always be. This was it. This was all she was. Dull, damaged, doomed, Dead End.

Her gaze landed on Breakdown's open chest. The blaster was heavy in her hand.

Dead End wanted to feel again.

***

Sea Sure’s bot was in terrible condition. They were half gray and their spark was barely lit. It would take the fastest, most clever medic to even have a shot of fixing them. And only a bot with something to prove would even try.

The transport shuttle's ramp hadn't fully opened before Knock Out was off. He planned his path through the medbay as he raced towards it. Unlock the cabinet, take an emergency Energon bag, the table on the far side was ready for transport, bring that one out, hook the patient in...

In one motion, he transformed and hit the access panel. Knock Out was halfway through the door when he saw her, and froze.

Dead End was standing with her back towards him, with her torn plating and one destroyed wheel. She was slouching, leaning heavily on her uninjured leg. If the medic hadn't been so stunned to see her online, he would have grimaced as she turned her head towards him. A chunk of faceplate was missing. A few of her teeth and some facial struts shone dully in the light.

The worst thing was the look she was giving him. It was the same one she’d worn before he’d put her in stasis lock: Dim and glassy optics, her neck hanging like her head was too heavy to lift. He saw it on his most uncooperative patients, and it translated to “I don’t care if I die.”

No, even worse than that was the blaster she was pointing at Breakdown's exposed spark chamber.

Knock Out calculated the situation. On the one hand, he didn't really feel like risking his life to defuse this. And if she offed Breakdown, he could always salvage his parts! On the other, it would look bad for him if one of his patients was murdered by another patient. Knock Out glanced at the medical supply cabinet, feeling the weight of each passing klik.

Dead End's arm dropped to her side, and for a brief moment Knock Out was relieved that he wouldn't have to make a decision at all. He took a step into the room and...

She pointed the blaster at him. Knock Out flinched and-

Low and humorless and full of static, Dead End laughed. From behind his hands, Knock Out saw her turn away and his sense of urgency evolved into irritation.

That stuck-up Stunticon thought he wasn't worth the effort!

He locked on to her injured leg, considered his options, and moved swiftly and precisely. His servo struck the back of Dead End's injured leg. Metal crashed on metal and he could feel the strut inside the limb snap. She went down hard, crying out as her knees hit the floor.

Served her right for getting in his way.

Knock Out pried her fingers off the blaster and yanked it from her hand. It was the same one Breakdown had pointed at him earlier. He tucked it inside his subspace compartment; he was done taking chances with this thing.

Dead End stared up at Breakdown's unconscious frame as she sucked air in and out between clenched teeth. Knock Out opened his mouth to taunt her… but scoffed and moved to the medical cabinet instead. He had a job to do, after all! A life to save! And he didn’t have time to waste on this. Though someone else might.

He input the access code with one hand and used the other to activate his comms. "Blackjack, get over here. Now. No, do not bring the bot with you. I need-"

Dead End hissed and groaned as she used Breakdown's table to pull herself up. Before Knock Out could react, she had slid off its inclined surface and crashed back to the ground.

"I need an extra set of hands. Get here. NOW," He snarled as he disconnected the call and rushed back to his injured (and potentially violent!) patient. She had tried to stand up again, and this time had gotten all the way up to a mostly upright position. She loomed over Breakdown, that distant look still in her optics. Her fingers screeched against his spark chamber before Knock Out intercepted her, snatching up her wrist. "Stop that!"

Dead End’s face twisted into a sort of desperate fury that Knock Out couldn’t understand even if he cared to try. Static fell from her mouth and she jerked free of his grasp, using that momentum to wind up her swing. He had enough time to think ‘uh-oh’ before he was sent reeling back. He tripped over his own servos and found himself on the floor, clutching at the dent she had just made. It would take him cycles to fix this!

Dead End’s optics bored holes through him. Knock Out screamed and scrambled away, and found that she… hadn’t moved. She was just watching him, with that same distant, hopeless look. Dead End opened her mouth, like she was about to ask a question, when Blackjack’s yellow face appeared in the doorway.

“Really?!” The Decepticon stomped forward. He wrapped his arms underneath hers and immediately, Dead End came back to life. Sort of. She struggled, but her spark clearly wasn’t in it.

"I'm getting real sick of you Stunticons." Blackjack said the word 'Stunticon' like it was a curse. Which to him, it very much was. Knock Out was beginning to understand why.

"Get her to the table." Knock Out ordered, picking himself up.

The sports car half dragged, half carried her across the medbay, where Knock Out stood in position. As soon as Blackjack shoved her against the table, Knock Out activated the restraints. Dead End put in a token effort to break the restraints and after that failed, she just stared up at the ceiling with those awful, distant, hopeless optics and didn't move.

Blackjack stood back. "Glad it wasn't Wildrider this time," he muttered.

The medic ignored him. He was scrolling through the console's logs. "She shouldn't have come back online for solar cycles!" The standard dosage of cryo-fluid had been dispensed and absorbed into her frame. There were no leaks in the tubes. He'd even watched her enter stasis lock! Knock Out had done everything right!

"They do that."

"Pardon?"

"They do that," Blackjack shrugged. "You think one of them are down and then..." He gestured at the medic's dented face.

The dent ached and Knock Out seethed. He let his frustration out in a sigh and shook his head clear. Sea Sure’s bot! Fastest and cleverest and best looking medic! He retrieved the Energon bag from the floor and shoved it at Blackjack. "Take this, and that table. Plug in the Energon and bring Sea Sure's bot back here." He moved to check on Breakdown and almost collided with the other Decepticon, who hadn’t moved?! "What are you waiting for?!" he snapped.

Blackjack jumped into action and soon the sound of the table's wheels faded down the hall.

Breakdown’s vitals were stable. There was no new visible damage to the frame. Knock Out narrowed his optics…Brain activity had increased in the last few kliks.

Yellow light flashed in Knock Out's periphery and he twisted his neck so fast that he felt something pop.

The Stunticon was online, watching him through flickering, half closed optics. Knock Out glared back, daring him to say or do anything.

As soon as Knock Out had a chance, he'd be going over the Stunticons' medical records with a microscope. For now... He'd have to settle for doubling the dosage of anesthetic.

Chapter Text

Knock Out used the time between repairing the Stunticons' and Sea Sure's bot to clean himself up. He wiped himself down, lubricated his joints, buffed his plating, filed his claws, realigned his tires... Anything he could think of. He very much wished he could be doing that right now.

"Commander, if you want this bot to convalesce in the brig of all places, I want to know why!"

Commander Slipstream crossed her arms. "I don't care what you want, Knock Out. Are they stable enough to be moved?"

"That doesn't- They're Energon depleted, there are signs of prolonged overheating, brain activity is erratic-" Knock Out waved the data pad for emphasis. "They aren't going to get up and walk away!"

"...Keep them in restraints," she demanded. "And let me know if anything changes."

"Of course." Knock Out bowed his head and kept it down until she left. Had it been his imagination, or had the Commander looked panicked for a moment there?

"'nother one 'n the r'srtaints club?"

And speaking of panicking.

"Breakdown! You're awake!" Knock Out said with false cheer, savoring the little shudder that went through his patient. "I'll have to fix that."

The Stunticon groaned and shut his optics.

Knock Out scrolled through Breakdown's medical file, as if it would have suddenly become more helpful since he last looked. Trying to read any of the Stunticon's files was a fun game of "fill in the blanks". Everything before about 300 stellar cycles ago was "classified". Even the most basic information was hidden. Place of birth? Energon type? Weight? Height? Altmode? All classified! It was only after that point that entirely new charts had been drawn up, by, presumably, a new physician, and then added to by the subsequent physicians.

He'd been making several additions, of course, particularly in regards to anesthetic dosage. He'd been running tests, setting timers, varying the dosage he used, and recording his results. His conclusion was that they cycled fuel at 1.25 times the rate of a normal frame. Not that that information helped him- the amount of chemicals that it would take to keep both Breakdown and Dead End in stasis lock was absurd, and well beyond what he had access to.

Which was a problem. Anytime Breakdown was fully lucid he thrashed against his bindings, and ran the risk of ruining whatever repairs Knock Out had just made. Dead End on the other hand… She was annoying.

He glanced at her. She should also be waking up about now. Sure enough, her optics were open, staring past him into space.

Knock Out's solution was to keep them both sedated enough not to cause trouble. But he had yet to determine the exact amount needed to do that. He frowned down at his data pad as he recorded their latest wake up times. He'd been trying to stagger what times they were both conscious but unfortunately for him, that just wasn't always possible.

Dead End was still looking at him when he finished. He braced himself and put on an expression of mock-concern.

"Yes? What is it this time?"

"You fixed my leg."

Knock Out blinked.

"Well, yes! I did!" He said, failing to keep his guard up in the face of actual recognition. He looked over the limb with pride. It hadn't been easy: he’d detached it, taken it apart, straightened the strut, and rebuilt it all! When he finished, it looked almost as good as new, and it was functional! He'd tested it with electrical signals before AND after he reattached it! A doctor could have done it without removing the limb, but really, where was the fun in that?

"Why?"

His face fell. He threw up his hands as he crossed over to his workbench, where the next uncompleted task lay before him: fixing Breakdown's chestplate. He already got most of the dents out, but the connection points needed to be straightened before the part could be put back on the bot.

Dead End repeated the question in her soft, monotone voice.

"We've been over this!" Knock Out groaned. "I am a medic, and you are my patient. It's my job. And I do it very well, not that anyone notices!"

He took up his tools, picking up where he left off, the hiss and flare of the blowtorch focusing his attention. The damaged plating took far longer than it should have to heat- another thing to add to his notes.

Dead End waited for the noise to die down before continuing her interrogation. "Is it... Why you stay alive?"

Knock Out squeezed his optics shut. Two cycles, 41 kliks, and 50 nano kliks before he could give her the next dose of anesthetic. "Sure," he answered.

The doctor took pliers to the rim of the chestplate, carefully aligning it with the curves of its surface. Adjusting it too little would prevent it from snapping into place correctly. Too much would cause problems with transformations.

"To fix other bots?" Dead End asked in disbelief.

He stopped midway through twisting a particularly stubborn fold in the metal, just so he could do a little bow. "I live to serve!" He turned back to his work with a smirk. "Believe me, I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't enjoy it."

It was true. He'd joined the Decepticons to have more opportunities to practice, and he put up with a lot from his own side! The disrespect, the power plays, the politics... Why would he still be here if he didn't have anything to gain from it all?

Knock Out examined the repairs. He had done a wonderful job, despite how difficult the chestplate had been to work with. The metal was unlike anything he'd touched before. Reenforced, heat resistant, shock absorbent... He'd kill to know how the Combiner modifications had been done. Could he get away with taking a sample of the plating? Maybe when they weren’t looking.

The part’s owner stirred at the medic’s approach. "Stay still, and this won't hurt at all," Knock Out told him. The mech's optics flared open, and after a moment of struggling to focus, drifted shut again. There was a token show of Breakdown pulling against the restraints, and then he lay still.

Knock Out was concentrating on reinstalling the chestplate when Dead End asked her next question.

"Are you happy?"

"Of course I am!" He said slowly. "I do work that I enjoy, I'm not on the front lines, I have a secure position... What more could I want?"

Besides respect. Admiration. Recognition of his many talents and accomplishments.

"Of course I am," Knock Out repeated, louder this time. He finished his task. Another amazing job. All that was left was to wait for the patient's self repair to reintegrate the part back into the frame's various systems.

"You don't seem happy," Dead End observed.

"Well," Knock Out kept his voice light "You don't know me. And whatever answers you’re looking for you won’t be-”

"...Hey," he looked down to find that Breakdown had actually managed to pull himself awake enough to focus on him.

"Give 'm back my weapon?"

Knock Out blinked. "No? Absolutely not!”

"C'mon…” his head lolled to the side and he tugged against the restraints again. “I'll be quick. Bang! She's gone. No… no more Dead End." Breakdown didn’t seem to hear the doctor scoff at that. "She's- she's gunna keep bein' weird. You gotta let me... S' the only way to be safe." Breakdown's wrists clicked against his restraints. "C'moooon-"

Knock Out pressed his fingers to his temple. It was time to take a page out of Slipstream's playbook. "Listen up!" Knock Out growled, "The both of you!"

Both Stunticons trained their optics on him, one out of caution and one out of curiosity.

"I am your physician. That is it. I am not your friend or your councilor! I do not care about your problems! And the next one who asks me anything is getting their vocalizer transplanted into their tailpipe!"

"...Aren’t you two partners?" Dead End asked, unimpressed. “Shouldn’t you be comrades? At the very least?”

"I'm a doctor first." Knock Out snarled. "Now, both of you: shut up or I'll shut you down! Permanently!"

The door to the medbay opened and Knock Out’s shoulders fell. Who needed something from him now?!

Motormaster’s gaze swept around the room. The giant entered slowly, each step rattling the tools on the counters. He examined his siblings with a frown and a jaw clenched so tight that Knock Out could hear his teeth grinding together. But when he spoke, he didn't sound angry.

"Why," the Stunticon leader asked, casually, "are they both in restraints?"

"Would you like to explain, Dead End? Since you're being so talkative?"

The bot in question was suddenly too fascinated by the machines hanging above her to respond.

"...No? Then allow me! Dead End's little attempt on Breakdown's life has convinced me to keep her bound for the duration of her stay."

Motormaster blinked slowly. "You saying she tried to..." He looked at her accusingly. "Again?!"

Knock Out crossed his arms and smirked at Dead End. Oh, she was going to get what she- Then his brain caught up with his audials. "What do you mean 'again'?!"

Motormaster was quietly moved (as much as he could at his size) closer to Dead End's table. His expression flickered as he looked her over.. "So why's Breakdown tied up?"

"He pointed a weapon at me!"

"Heh. Sounds about right," Motormaster grunted, and then breathed in sharply.

Unbelievable! Did no one care about Knock Out’s well being? "That was the second time one of your team tried that, by the way!"

The Stunticon leader turned his head. Maybe he had raised an optic ridge, somewhere under the shadow of his helm.

"Out of three!"

"Ha!" The laugh was a thunderclap in the middle of the medbay. "Wasn't that bad if you're still here to whine about it!"

As the Stunticon leader stared down at his subordinate, Knock Out stared at him. His movements were shaky and broken up with pauses. His posture changed as he moved to Breakdown’s table- His back bent forward and then jerked upright with each heavy step. He was fighting just to stand.

"Breakdown," Motormaster said in a low rumble.

Breakdown lay so still that he could have been mistaken for being offline... until his engine started shuddering. The bot cracked an optic open and smiled weakly up at Motormaster.

Satisfied, Motormaster grinned back. "How long 'till they're fixed?" He asked the whiny doctor.

The justifiably irritated Knock Out didn’t answer right away. He leaned over Breakdown to better hear his malfunctioning engine. Even after several isolated scans and taking a look at the thing himself, Knock Out still couldn't figure out why it was making that noise!

“I asked you a question.”

"Physically? Not long."

"What do you mean physically?"

It wasn't that Knock Out didn't pick up on the edge that Motormaster added to his voice- he had. Between Breakdown and Dead End’s behavior, Motormaster’s disrespect, Slipstream’s prodding, and the endless list of minor repairs that every other ungrateful Decepticon on base needed done- He simply chose not to heed the warning.

"I can repair their frames," he said, sprinkling venom on every word. "I can't do anything about your Stunticons having more loose screws than sense."

Knock Out realized his mistake as soon as he said it. He was shoved backwards, and before he could even finish stumbling, Motormaster clamped a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Breakdown doesn't like being looked at," Motormaster said, his deep voice reverberating through Knock Out's frame. "So make like your name and knock it off!"

That wasn’t his name! Knock Out didn’t correct him though: he was desperately trying to pry the giant's hand off his shoulder before it caused any damage. Motormaster squeezed harder.

"Im gunna talk to my team. Alone."

"But-" Another hard squeeze killed Knock Out’s words in his vocalizer. His optics flicked around the room for any way to get control of the situation. He landed on one, right in front of his face.

The sloppy paint job has been good enough to hide the impact wound at first glance, but it was quite obvious up close. And a perfect target. Out came his drill, and in it went-

Motormaster caught his arm effortlessly and Knock Out had enough time to grimace.

A nano klik later he was spun around and tossed across the room. His wheels acted as a barrier between the closed door and his back, protecting him from the worst of the collision. But not much could spare him from the humiliation of crumpling to the floor in shock. Motormaster smiled and took a world-shaking step towards him.

This was his medbay. These were his patients. Not just the Stunticons- Slipstream had explicitly told him to watch the bot she’d retrieved from the black site. He was a doctor, and he had responsibilities. Ones that he’d earned. But as Motormaster took another step forward, Knock Out realized he'd forgotten something:

Staying alive came first.

He climbed to his servos and slammed the door's control panel with his fist. Laughter echoed behind him as he stumbled into the hall.

***

Motormaster stood tall and grinned through clenched teeth. Even with the best self-repair system on Cybertron, the damage Silverbolt had done was still bothering him. It had felt like his spinal strut was breaking just tossing that runt out the door! Why did his back hurt when he'd been hit in the front?!

His siblings hadn't noticed, had they? Breakdown had his head turned away, and Dead End was still staring at the ceiling. Good, that was good. "Sounds like you two have been causing trouble," he grunted, trying to remember how to make his voice sound affectionate. When neither of them so much as twitched, his tone dropped.

"Dead End." He leaned over her, both palms flat against her table. She didn't react, but it felt better on his frame. "What did I say last time this happened?"

Motormaster gave her a generous amount of time to respond, but she refused, only looking at him blankly.

"Breakdown!"

The tiniest, shuddering, mechanical whine fired off in reply.

"What did I tell her?!"

"If..." Breakdown turned his head and mumbled up at the ceiling. "If you kill one of my Stunticons, I will kill you. Something like that."

"That's right!" Motormaster straightened up, carefully. It had felt good at first, but now his back was starting to hurt. He grit his teeth and disguised it as a grin. "So, why'd you do it this time?"

Finally, Dead End looked at him. And in her flatest, most 'I don't care if you pound me into scrap metal' voice, explained:

"He provoked me."

"He provoked you," Motormaster repeated. Breakdown's engine shuddered louder. Let him drive himself up a wall, this wasn't about him. "Ha! Did he tell you to look on the bright side? To quit complaining? Is that what happened?!"

She closed her optics and turned her head away.

"Or maybe," Motormaster growled. "He told you to cheer up before you drag the rest of us down with you?"

Dead End flared to life. She fixed her leader with a murderous look. Her plating twitched and her fingers curled against the table. That was more like it! Now she was taking him seriously!

“So, what was it?”

“What do you care?!” she hissed. “You won’t do a thing about it anyway!”

“What would you want me to do, Dead End?!” Motormaster threw up his hands. “Smelt him into scrap? Weld his mouth shut? Stomp him until his Engergon is painting my foot?!” He ignored the louder shuddering behind him.

Dead End's face twisted with malice. The line of the medical solder holding it together cracked and flaked from the force of her expression. “He means nothing. I want you to end to this farce. ”

“What in the pit does that mean?”

She paused, and Motormaster got the impression she was deciding how much she wanted to hurt him. Just when he was about to slam his fist into the table again, she spoke. “You think you care, but you hate us.”

He gaped at her.

“If you truly cared, you would act like it. You would have intervened before I broke. But you didn’t. You never do! I want you to admit that you-”

“You UNGRATEFUL WASTE OF ENERGON!” It exploded out of his chest, and vibrated through his frame. He wanted to pick her up and shake her until she understood. To smash the truth into her until it crushed her into dust. But this was exactly what she wanted- she wanted him to be angry and upset and out of control, just like she was. He grit his teeth. “You know I care! You’re all in my head! You know how much I-” He couldn’t finish the sentence. The wound in his midsection pulsed relentlessly and his sister slid another knife into his spark.

“Five solar cycles before coming to visit after near death speaks a different story.”

“I. Was. Busy,” he ground out, adjusting his weight.

It was true! He had been busy! From the moment Menasor had separated, he’d been taking care of things! First he’d had to find his sword, then he’d had to corral Wildrider and Drag Strip back to base! Then Slipstream cornered him in a room with her creepy second in command and challenged him on every! Little! Thing! That had happened out on the battlefield. It had taken an entire solar cycle of yelling before she was satisfied! And then he’d- he’d had to do repairs! His team couldn’t see their leader kneeled over, leaking Energon from a hole in his midsection! And… And…!

“You didn’t want to face the consequences of your actions.”

“SHUT IT!!” Again, the words exploded out of him. “DON’T BLAME ME FOR YOUR SORRY STATE!!”

“It was, quite literally, your fault I was in that position. You called for Menasor.”

Motormaster began to pace in front of her table. Dead End’s optics followed him and he knew Breakdown was listening, even if the wimp wasn’t looking. “I wouldn’t have had to if my team had been there in the first place! The Aeiralbots were about to combine anyway! I had to do it!”

Dead End’s stare was level and scathing. “You take advice from Drag Strip now?”

Heat rose from Motormaster’s spark and flowed through his fuel lines until all he could see was him tearing her limb from limb. Feel the Energon on his hands as he ripped into her spark chamber. The crunch of her spinal strut. And for a brief, horrifying, shameful moment, he knew he would enjoy it. He would be free.

Motormaster reached for every happy memory he had of Dead End. Dead End after her little poetry club. Dead End looking out over the Space Bridge Bay on Caminus. Dead End waking up after the upgrades and admiring herself in the mirror for the first time in forever, talking about how strong she felt. Dead End and the rest of his siblings racing across Cybertron, together, the five of them. His family.

“You can’t” he squeezed his fists, pushing back against the rage. “You can’t kill your siblings because you’re upset. You-” Motormaster shifted his weight, another pang pulling at his attention. “You need an outlet for all… this.”

She blinked. Yeah, he was surprised too- he sounded so calm and smart! Then again, there was a reason he was their leader, after all.

“You recall I had one?” His sister mumbled. “Everyone hated it.”

He did remember that. Every time they combined, the rest of the Stunticons got to see what she had been working on. They hadn’t had a choice. The fancy words, the rhymes, the feelings that went into it. None of them had said anything to her face. Motormaster had told her that if she wrote better, they wouldn’t be so critical. For some reason, she’d stopped completely after that. Problem solved! But if it made her happy, and kept her from killing the others…

“I’ll crush anyone who even thinks about making fun of your poetry.”

Dead End searched his face, and he grinned down at her. He’d make things okay.

Finally, she looked away. “Don’t start that again.”

The rage crept back in. It gathered around his spark, in his fists, in his tanks like a pressure. He put a hand over his damaged midsection, to stop it from bursting out through the wound. The pain centered him a little. Enough to force himself to stand tall.

Dead End was being impossible and there was nothing he could do. “Fine,” Motormaster grit out between his teeth, and stormed out of the Medbay.

The medic was waiting outside, leaning against the wall opposite to the door, looking at his fingers. “How was your talk?”

Motormaster, the leader of the Stunticons, the King of the Road, who had just been challenged and bested by his subordinate, walked up to the the tiny bot who dared to be snide with him and jammed a finger into his shiny red chestplate. “Fix. Them.”

“I am! Disrupting my work only delays their repairs!”

Motormaster glowered down at him.

“Like I said, it will only take a solar cycle.”

Fine. That was fine, then. The Stunticon leader forced himself to back off, a fresh wave of pain rolling up his frame as he straightened up.

The red bot crossed over to the Medbay door, pausing as it slid open. “That gives you plenty of time to fix your paint.”

Motormaster stopped mid step. His engine growled as he turned his head towards the runt.

The medic pointed towards the wound. “The cracks are starting to show.”

The shutting door protected the medic from the sheer hatred of Motormaster’s glare.

***

Knock Out’s expression turned dark as soon as the door shut. “What a tool.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Dead End muttered.

Knock Out suppressed a long suffering sigh and checked the timer. Two cycles, thirty kliks, and 17 nano kliks. He crossed the room to his workbench and retrieved his personal maintenance kit. “Don’t talk to me.”

For a few, wonderful, star-touched moments it was blissfully silent.

“Hey, Breakdown.” Dead End whispered. “Breakdown.”

Her brother looked at her.

“Don’t think about killing me,” she told him softly.

Breakdown’s engine shuddered for him, and he squeezed his optics shut. “I hate you.”

“I hate you, too.”

“...He won’t check our thoughts,” Dead End said, in a voice so soft that Knock Out barely caught it. And then, hesitantly: “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“...‘Cept you,” Breakdown muttered.

Knock Out spared a glance at the Stunticons before he ran a finger over the dents their brute of a leader had made on his shoulder. They were trouble, and he wanted them all as far away from him as possible. He would ask Slipstream to reconsider making him work with Breakdown- she’d say no, but maybe he could negotiate from there.

Knock Out moved his attention to fixing himself up. At the very least, he was in control over how flawless he looked.

Chapter Text

Where did racetracks come from? Every planet had at least one, so they must've been invented on Cybertron, before the expansion. Or was the urge to race so strong for all bots that they individually made a place to do it? That sounded right. Going fast was fun. Breakdown wanted to go fast.

Vroom.

No, that- what was he thinking? He had something to do, right? There was something... He just couldn't remember what it was. He felt weird. Floaty and... Calm? There was a missing space where fear was supposed to be. But… Breakdown was sure he was supposed to be looking out for something. There was a reason he was supposed to be afraid.

Breakdown adjusted his head and breathed out cool air. He was all stiff joints and heavy limbs and frozen circuitry. Everything about this, right down to the weird random thoughts…it all felt so familiar. He'd been doing this a bunch lately.

He groaned as his optics flickered open and online.

The doctor looming over him, scalpel in hand and coming closer-!

Oh there was the panic!

Breakdown jerked against the restraints... and his hand went into the air with no resistance. He was so surprised that he didn't stop his arm from arcing over to the other side, and it, working with his sluggish frame and half-functioning brain, dragged him into a noisy fight with the floor.

He scrambled to his hands and knees, shaking off the traces of his latest stasis lock. None of his siblings were here. Thank the Primes for that.

Was anyone else here? Carefully, he stood up to check. There was a patient he didn’t recognize on one of the other tables. They looked offline, and if the noises he'd made hitting the floor hadn't woken them up, then Breakdown didn't know what would.

A laugh bubbled out of Breakdown's chest. He was alone! And he could move! He stretched, he flexed his plating, he bounced on his servos and punched at the air. He hopped into alt mode with the excitement and giddy relief of finally being free from that blasted table. Hang on, had transforming felt different? He changed back to bot mode- yeah, it was different! It was smooth as oil on glass, and the sound was crystal clean! Breakdown took a moment to look himself over- this was still his frame, right?

Yep! Aside from his wrecked paint job- the blue on his shoulders and legs was more silver now from all the chips and scratches- aside from that, everything looked, and felt great! He tapped his knuckles against his chestplate and every solid ‘clang!’ made him more relieved. He was sure he'd seen it torn to shreds when he'd woken up under that pile!

Then the grin slipped off his face. When he woke up, stuck under there...

Breakdown stretched again and glanced around the medbay one more time. Technically, he hadn't been discharged... But Stunticon policy was that if he could walk out on his own, then he was ready to roll.

***

Breakdown found Drag Strip in the rec room, cheating at cards.

"Look who's up and running!"

I'll show HIM who the fastest is! Good for nothing waste of metal! Always stealing MY spotlight!

"Disappointed?" His smile was strained.

"Oh, don't be like that, Breaky!" Drag Strip turned back to the game. A new hand was being delt, and the cards clicked against the table as they landed.

"Would you like to join?" Trace Fire asked.

"Nah," Breakdown made sure to smile at him. Trace Fire was always so polite. Even now, after Menasor had wiped out the rest of the Pitfire unit. It was weird and Breakdown wanted nothing to do with it. "I'm just here to talk to Drag Strip."

"I didn't put ant-droids in your optics while you were in stasis!"

Breakdown stared at her evil grin. He did not scratch at his optics, and he did not slam Drag Strip over the table. Though, the phantom feeling of tiny bugs crawling into his cranial chamber made both of those urges hard to ignore.

"Ant-droids couldn't survive in optic sockets for very long," Vaultor chimed in, playing a card face down and drawing a new one. "They'd get fried on the circuitry."

The idea of dead bugs in his wires wasn't much better, but Breakdown welded the smile back on his face and soldiered on. "When you found me out there-"

"And saved you, you're welcome!" Drag Strip was too distracted playing her cards to see Breakdown roll his probably not ant-droid infested optics.

"-when you found me, was," his optics darted towards the others around the table. "Was there an Autobot?"

"Yep!" Drag Strip looked away from the game, giving Trace Fire a chance to peak at the pile of cards already on the table- and show them to Vaultor for good measure. "You're old friend Bee was there, but I chased him off!"

"'Bee'? You mean Bumblebee?" Vaultor leaned forward. "The scout? That snuck into Kaon and broke Shockwave's super powerful canon thing? That 'Bee'?!"

"Not the only thing he's done." Breakdown punched his palm. He raised his voice for the effect. "If you see him out there, leave him for me!"

"You guys have a thing?"

Drag Strip jumped in before the panic could start. "Ohhhh yeah! Breaky has a history with Bee!" She turned her grin towards her brother.

"Drag Strip-"

"They've been trying to kill each other for forever! And Breakdown just can't do it! Bee keeps getting away!" She smirked, raising her palms and shrugging her shoulders for emphasis. "If he were my rival, he'd be dead by now!"

Breakdown crossed his arms so his fists didn't fly into her face, and shook his head. "Well, he's not. So, hands off."

Drag Strip put the rest of her cards in the center. Both of her opponents slapped down on her cards, and she grinned her evil grin again. "Hah! Got ya!" She flipped over her cards, showing off three Primes and a Matrix.

"Sure did..." Breakdown muttered as Drag Strip drew another hand. The other two groaned and split the center pile between them. "Hey, you aren't betting on this game, right?"

"No!" She said a little too quickly.

There was a noise that sounded very much like a servo kicking a leg before Vaultor chimed in. "Nope! No gambling here!"

"Good!" Breakdown slapped his sister on the shoulder, playfully. She tensed beneath his hand. "Have fun with those three matrix and that pair of hammers!"

He smirked as he strode out of the room, Drag Strip howling his name.

***

There was an extra spring in his step as he moved through the base's hallways. Anyone watching the cameras would know something was up, and he was trying not to care because Bee was safe!

It wasn't like he had been worried- Bee was a tough little bot. 'Course he was fine! He'd just wanted to make sure Drag Strip hadn't, well... done a Drag Strip. Gone all "A Stunticon never stops!" And run him over or stab him or whatever. Not that she could catch Bee if she tried.

Breakdown's pace slowed as he got to the entrance of the base, and stopped completely when he saw who was there.

Motormaster sat on a step in front of the door, facing away from the hall Breakdown was coming through.

Breakdown spun his wheels, still stiff from his time lying around in the medbay. It was fine, right? Motormaster wasn't angry with him.

"I could smash just one of them and-"

Only way out was through! "Hey, Motors!"

Motormaster lifted his head. His optics were dimmed and he blinked several times before he seemed to even see who was there. "Where are you going?"

"That's it? I get out of the medbay and that's all you have to say?"

Was it Breakdown's imagination or did the air just get heavier? His brother's engines rumbled.

"Whoa! It was just a joke!" He threw up his hands. "I don't need you to coddle me!"

Motormaster's engines quieted, and his optics shut. "Glad you're not dead."

...Huh?

"Stay that way."

Breakdown's shuffled his servos in the dirt. That was... more sentiment than he was expecting. He waited one klik, another, then shrugged and got two steps closer to the exit before Motormaster's optics snapped back open.

"Where are you going?" He asked again. This time his voice bounced off the walls, echoing down from every direction into Breakdown's audials.

"For a drive?"

The Stunticon leader stared at him, hard, and Breakdown felt his servos slide into a ready stance: one behind and one in front, balancing on the hinges. Perfect to jump into alt mode or throw a punch.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Motormaster responded. "No, you're not," he rumbled.

"Seriously?!"

Breakdown shouldn't have said that.

Motormaster moved slowly. He rose from the step, tilting his helm inside his hood, glowing optics fixed on Breakdown.

The smaller Stunticon looked towards the exit. He could make that distance.

"Dead End is out there," Motormaster said simply, and Breakdown's plating clicked tight against his struts.

"Hey, whoa!" Hands back up, palms open. He rocked backwards on his heels. His engine was beginning to whine. "I didn't know that."

Motormaster's gaze threatened to pry him apart.

"I just wanted to get out for a little, I swear!"

A giant hand clamped down on Breakdown's shoulder, and his engines backfired with the force of a rocket. "Stay put."

"Right," he mumbled to Motormaster's legs, not daring to look at his face. "Sure. I will." The hand released him and he took several steps back.

As Motormaster moved to sit back down Breakdown took a risk:

"Hey, are you gunna start checking what we think again?"

Motormaster took a deep breath.

"Because, you know. Drag Strip and Wildrider almost defected over it, so. I don't want to tell you how to lead or anything but I think it. Would be a bad idea..." He trailed off as his brother turned around, optics smoldering into Breakdown's spark.

Yanking so hard on Breakdown's arm that it pops out of the socket and impaling it through his chest how dare he question-

"Breakdown." Motormaster’s optics dimmed and shut. "Go somewhere else."

***

He should've just made a break for it.

Wildrider did it all the time. Motormaster told him 'no' and the mad slagger turned into a black and red blur and crashed into whatever he was going to do in the first place.

The difference though, was that Wildrider never did the math. He never calculated the risks or the consequences and sometimes- and only sometimes, Breakdown wondered what that would be like.

Because the trouble was that Breakdown couldn't help but do the math.

Yes, he could have gotten away before Motormaster had even transformed. And he could have outpaced his brother if Motormaster had given chase. But he would have to come back to base eventually, and who would be waiting for him when he did? A calm, understanding team leader who would ignore all his fantasies of pummeling his siblings to pieces? Or one who would remember this and punish him for it when Breakdown least expected it? Or one who would punish him for it then and there?

Flattening her beneath his wheels and grinding her to dust. Plunging his hand into him and ripping out his ungrateful spark!

Breakdown stopped in the middle of the hallway and pretended there was a pebble stuck in his servo. He needed to clear his head, and that itself was a calculation- he didn't want the cameras to see him having a moment. He moved against the wall, balancing himself with one hand.

He wouldn't have had to worry about the cameras if he'd been outside. He could feel them watching him, even if he couldn't see it. That prickling on the back of his neck, the itching inside his brain. He tapped his servo against the floor, shaking it out. Hmm. He should sell this a little harder.

Clang!

He tapped the side of his servo against the wall. The sound reverberated through the hall, too loud in the quiet. He forced himself not to look around to see if anyone heard it, and did it again.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Each tap was harder and harder, until he was just kicking at the wall.

Clang! Clang!! Clang!!!

KLONG!!!

Breakdown blinked. He pulled his fist back and rubbed his scratched knuckles, glancing around the dark corners of the hallway. Time to dial it back. Deep breaths. Nothing to worry about. He staggered away from the wall and kept moving, wrestling with his threat level at every step.

If he was getting this worked up about cameras, what would have happened if he'd run into Dead End?

Nothing that she didn't deserve.

He shook his head clear. He needed to find something to do before he had a full on freak out.

***

Octane moved away from the bombed rubble and dusty shrapnel he had been digging through, as if he had any hope of getting into that facility after the Commander had him drop a bomb on it. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve got the stuff or not?”

The package Knock Out held between two fingers was a small flat square. Its wrapping was thin and discreet, a shiny white material that caught the light as the doctor flicked it away from Octane's eager hands. "I had better not find out you've been selling these."

"I've used every one you've given me so far! Honest!"

"This is the fourth one this orbital cycle," Knock Out said, not bothering to hide his skepticism.

"I'm a triple changer! We're in high demand!" His gray face twisted into a grin. "And you know what they say: Safe 'face saves face! I’m sure a bot like you knows what it’s like, eh?”

Knock Out scoffed. Still, he flexed his plating a little to catch the light. "You're lucky I don't log these in your file," he said, offering the package to Octane.

The triple changer plucked it from his fingers. "Yeah, you're a real 'pal!"

Octane turned back towards the rubble. He looked it up and down, and then kicked at it. The sound reverberated through each piece, bouncing between and then out into the rock faces. The pile wobbled and both bots exchanged a look of mutual concern before moving several steps back.

"Guess we're not getting in that way."

Knock Out raised an optic ridge. "We?"

"Aren't you curious what's down there? Could be worth a fortune!” Octane rubbed his hands together. “You'd get a cut, of course!"

"Mmm, pass." He waved his hand. "Whatever it is won't be worth the hassle of getting around all this."

Sudden movement on the cliffs above caught Knock Out's attention. The distinct sound of metal slamming into rock, followed by the splashing of pebbles, tripped a minor alarm in the doctor's mind.

"What's going on up there?" And will it be his problem later?

Octane looked towards the disturbance. "Eh. Pain-Tear and one of the Stunticons were hanging around when I flew in." He squinted up at the cliffs. "...Say, that gives me an idea. Think they'd be up for some volunteer work?"

"Good luck with that." Knock Out's answer was drowned out by the sound of Octane's transformation. He watched the triple changer take flight- now would be a great time for him to leave. Before he got dragged into anyone’s messes.

He went at a relaxed pace. After two straight days of frantic surgeries and then three more days of seemingly endless minor repairs, he deserved to take it easy. Of course, a "relaxed" speed for him was leagues faster than most people. It was certainly faster than, say, an oversized, heavy-duty big rig loitering in the entryway to the base, while recovering from an injury could stand up! Slow enough that it allowed him to see that junk-heap's optics light up as he blew past him, though.

Knock Out jerked to a stop, his front bumper tapping against the far wall. He transformed and smirked at Motormaster, adding a little wink and a bow- but the slagger had shut his optics, like Knock Out wasn’t even worth looking at! He huffed, turned on his heel, and headed for his medbay.

***

"Breakdown. You're online," Knock Out said as he approached. "And you're still here. You are free to leave, you know. In fact, I encourage it!"

The bot startled, looking around like he just realized where he was: Outside the medbay, pressed against the wall a few paces away from door. He swore softly.

Knock Out raised an optic ridge.

“I wasn’t- I didn’t mean to-” Breakdown reset his vocalizer. He closed his optics, and then it was like a switch had been flipped and his entire demeanor changed. His shoulders relaxed and his fists unclenched. An apologetic smile appeared on his face. “I was mapping out the vents,” he explained, pointing to the grate in the ceiling he was standing under.

Knock Out’s first instinct told him that was a lie. His second was that Breakdown was not nearly clever enough to come up with a lie that quickly. He turned the excuse over in his head, trying to decide which was more likely. “Dare I ask why?”

Breakdown shrugged. “Needed something to do.” He paused. “And it’s important to know where they are! Y’know, for safety! It’s not weird!”

“Uh-huh.”

“I didn’t realize I was back here! I swear to the Primes” he forced a laugh “I wasn’t hanging around here on purpose!”

“Breakdown,” Knock Out held up a hand. “I don’t care.”

“Right.” Was that a hint of relief he was picking up on? “I’ll be going then.”

Knock Out moved past him, almost reaching the door before Breakdown spoke again.

"Hey, actually, while I’ve got you here.” Breakdown kept his optics on the floor. He rubbed at his upper arm. “I couldn't find one of my blasters. I was wondering if you saw where it went?"

"Oh, your blaster?" Knock Out faked concern, then dropped his voice into a snarl. "You mean the one you pointed at me?" A pang of satisfaction flitted through him for making such a big bot flinch.

"Is that what happened?" Breakdown laughed weakly. "I don't remember doing that."

Knock Out glared at him. He extracted the blaster from his subspace compartment. "Fetch," he said, tossing it behind his shoulder. He didn't bother watching Breakdown move to pick it up, he simply entered the code to his medbay and walked inside.

***

Breakdown shoved the blaster away in subspace and replayed what just happened. He rubbed his face with both hands, pressing the heels of his palms into the soft metal around his optics.

"Oh gosh, sir!" He muttered into the empty hallway. "I’m just mapping the vents, sir! And I can't find my blaster, have you seen it anywhere, Knock Out, sir?" A groan of despair vibrated inside him. What happened?! He couldn't have sounded more wimpy if he'd tried!

It was those optics! Those hungry red lights! Knock Out had looked at him and he'd frozen up and...! All he’d been able to think about was-

Flashes of the sawblade. Trapped and helpless and him leaning in closer and closer. “...I can make your repairs as slow and painful as I want.”

He groaned again. This was not good. Now Knock Out would know how much of a coward he was! He tried so hard to act like he wasn’t and now Knock Out would tell everyone! They’d all know! They’d all watch him! Wait for him to slip up and take him out when he’s vulnerable! What was he going to do?!

Breakdown’s hands dropped to his sides. He trudged over to the wall and lightly thunked his helm against it. Think! There had to be something he could do to fix this! The biggest problem was that he’d looked like a wimp, right? What would a big tough bot do to fix that?

Well, they’d act all… big and tough! They’d march in there and make it clear not to mess with them! Except… that would mean going back in there.

A single yellow optic hovering above him. He was in pieces. Just a brain connected to wires, looking at his own insides being laid out neatly on the table.

Breakdown took deep breaths. It was fine. He was not going to freak out in the hallway again. Sure, he felt like he was dying this time- but it was fine! He was a Stunticon! He drove through oil fires and jumped ravines! He was a part of one of the strongest, wildest teams of Decepticons on the planet!

The longer he stood there, the worse this was going to be. Sure, this was a little dangerous. All the best stunts were! He shook himself out. Three. Two. One. Go.

Breakdown strode up to the door full of confidence and banged on it, bouncing on his servos as he waited. He wasn’t going to be pushed around by a stuck up medic half his size! He was going to go in there and-

The door slid open. "Really?" Knock Out huffed. "Am I being too subtle?! Or have you taken so many head-on collisions that you can't take a hint?"

"I-"

"What?! What do you want?!"

Knock Out was indignation and fury and Breakdown wanted to transform into alt mode and find a hole to hide in.

"Well?!"

How, by the thirteen Primes and Cybertron itself- How had he not thought of what he was going to say?!

"I uh, I wanted to..." His voice was trailing off, so he tried again. “I wanted to explain. Earlier…”

“Explain what? Pointing a weapon at me? When I was trying to fix you? You want to explain that?”

That was not what Breakdown meant, but what came out of his mouth was “Yeah, kind of? I mean, I figure I owe you that, right? After you… fixed me up so nice anyway.”

Knock Out's finials twitched upwards, but his optics narrowed. "It's my job."

"Right. Yeah, I know that." Breakdown shifted his servos and looked away. He would never live this down. Wildrider would bring this up every chance he got. Drag Strip might offline herself from laughing.

The silence was heavy and uncomfortable, until Knock Out lifted his chin and chuckled. “I know what you’re here for.”

“You do?!” How?! How could he possibly know?!

"Let's get this over with, then." Knock Out moved away from the door. His awful, piercing optics found Breakdown again. "Are you coming in?"

Chapter Text

Breakdown's tanks churned as the door slid shut behind him. Not because he was scared- just because he hated being in labs. Medbays. Whatever.

Knock Out coming closer as he was strapped down. Optics and rotary saw glinting and he struggled but couldn’t move and he leaned in close-

That wasn't helping.

A dramatic, put-upon sigh snapped him back to the present. Knock Out took a seat on a stool in front of a nearby workbench. He leaned against the desk, propping his elbows and wheels on it, and crossing his legs for good measure.

"Alright, out with it," Knock Out said evenly. Those optics were looking at him again… Digging through his plating like drills and tearing out his insides. Breakdown focused on the tools hanging off the wall behind the bot.

"I... right. Yeah." Breakdown rubbed at his upper arm, his fingers searching for the familiar dents they had worn into its surface, and found nothing but smooth, freshly repaired metal. "So, uh. First- thanks. For fixing me and saving my life."

“Mm-hm.”

“I mean it! I feel better than before I got hurt! So, yeah. Thanks, Doc.”

Knock Out's finials twitched again, just like they had in the doorway, and Breakdown could swear he saw the corners of his mouth do the same. An idea popped into Breakdown’s processor: maybe there were easier ways to get Knock Out to forget about earlier. Maybe he could just… talk to the guy? And actually explain?

Another thought crossed his mind; talking it out sounded like something Bee would do if he were here.

"Could you get to the point already?” Knock Out sounded annoyed, and looked unimpressed.

Uh oh.

“You didn't come here to thank me! ...Oh, don't look so surprised. I wasn't built yesterday, Breakdown."

“‘Yesterday’?” Breakdown repeated quietly.

“Last Solar Cycle!” Knock Out snapped, and whatever confidence Breakdown had found dissolved into gray dust. The Doc rose from his seat, and Breakdown locked his legs to stop himself from backing away as those red optics stalked closer.

“There are only two reasons anyone comes to see me.” Knock Out held up a finger. "Because they need repairs..." He held up another. "...or because they want something from me. And I know you don't need repairs. So, tell me what you want, and maybe I'll consider it before I throw you out of here."

He tore his attention away from those fingers, blocking out the feeling of them scratching against his spark casing, of them combing through his wires and plucking out his circuits. The tools on the wall! They were… really well taken care of. And the handles were the exact shade of red as the Doc’s paint job. Probably custom made for hollowing out a bot’s internals and slicing through fuel lines.

Again, the idea that there were easier ways to do this floated through his head. For instance, he could just kill Knock Out! That would work, right?!

“So,” Knock Out smirked at him. “What do you want?”

…No. No, he couldn’t do that. Well, he could, but then this whole stunt would turn from dangerous into just plain lunacy. A laugh escaped from his throat- this was all so ridiculous! So far, all Knock Out had done was raise his voice. Sure he was terrifying, but… he was no Motormaster!

“Something funny?”

“No, no, just-” He caught sight of those optics again and shuddered. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

Knock Out’s finials angled upwards sharply. "Come again?"

Breakdown laughed again. “I thought I could… this is scary, you know that? All of this,” he said, gesturing around. He kept talking, even as fear crawled up his struts and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “I don’t do so well in labs. Medbays. Whatever. It’s embarrassing but…”

The Doc looked at him in disbelief.

“Hey! It’s true! You try being in Shockwave’s! You’ll come out afraid of all sorts of new things! That’s why I…” He was in free fall and about to hit the ground.

“When I woke up and saw where I was I panicked. I’m… Sorry about that. I should've mentioned this stuff last time I was here.”

Knock Out uncrossed his arms. He looked thoughtful... And devious. It was a bad sign when any Decepticon looked like that, but especially a guy like this. Breakdown chose to check out the perfectly innocent tools again to stop himself from decking the Doc in the faceplate. All organized by size and function. He didn’t even know the names for some of them.

"And, even after I pointed a weapon at you, you fixed me up so nice and didn't let Drag Strip put Ant-Droids in my optics so-"

"Breakdown.”

He shut up right away.

“Are you... Afraid of me?" There was a change in Knock Out’s body language as he stepped closer. All his weight moved to one side. He was hiding a hand behind his leg.

"No!" Breakdown answered too loudly "No, I- it isn't just you. It's any doctor!"

Breakdown's hands were up before the Doc lunged. He caught it easily, but couldn't stop himself from flinching- Knock Out's drill was a fingertip away from his chest. Breakdown was going to snap it in two except-

"Oh, you are scared of me!"

Breakdown grimaced as he let go of the bot’s wrist. The smug slagger walked a slow circle around him, like a predator admiring its kill, laughing all the while. "You're such a big bot, but one little needle...!" The weapon shone in the light, its drill bit as long as Breakdown's forearm.

"And out in the field you're all daring bravado!” Knock Out made a motion with his free hand. “Charging Autobots and climbing up cliffs! But in here? This is too much! This is-" he cackled harder. "This is-! Alright. I think.” He inhaled air and exhaled another laugh. “I think we can work something out. I'm willing to overlook your past behaviors, just because this has been such a joy. Tell me what you want. Medical supplies, painkillers, antivirus patches?"

Breakdown wasn't listening. "What was that?"

"Eh? What was what?"

When Knock Out had said 'daring bravado'... Breakdown repeated the Doc’s hand gesture. "That?"

"That was me mocking you, Breakdown, try to keep up."

"Was that supposed to be a punch?"

Knock Out scoffed "Of course not! It was a joke!"

In a better universe, where Energon fell from the sky and there had never been a war, and everyone was good to each other, even Bumblebee, the nicest most generous bot he knew, would not call that a punch. The balance had been off, his thumb had been in his fist, his wrist had been too relaxed.

"Hel-lo? You still there?"

Breakdown lowered his stance and cupped his hands in front of him. "Hit me."

“What.”

"C'mon. Hit me." Breakdown met those hungry optics with a grin. "I want to see it for real."

The Doc laughed in disbelief and shook his head.

Maybe it was Breakdown’s panicking processor latching on to whatever it could to distract from how scared he was. Or maybe… "You don't know how to throw a punch, do you?"

"I don't attack my patients, Breakdown." That smug smile flickered. "Besides, why would I need to punch when I have this?"

"Your grip is all wrong! Quit holding it like you're going to do surgery!"

"It's a surgical tool. That's what it's for!"

"Yeah... Come to think of it, I haven't seen you touch a real weapon at all!" Even the way he had thrown the blaster, like Knock Out didn't know the first thing about gun safety.

"You didn't seem to mind when I stopped Dead End," Knock Out spat back.

"Ohhh, that's right! You attacked her from behind! Just like you did with the Autobot with that laser cannon? Back in the ravine? You know, after you ran away?"

"Get to the point, please."

Breakdown stepped closer and leaned down to get face to face, Knock Out suddenly seeming very small. He grinned into those awful red optics, all the fear falling away. "You don't know how to fight."

Knock Out's face switched between expressions very quickly. Surprise turned into suspicion and anger, disbelief followed but was overtaken by a smug sarcasm that cracked into outrage before the whole thing collapsed and Knock Out looked away. His finials quivered the entire time, unable to pick an angle to rest at.

"So?" The Doc said once he settled himself into a disinterested neutral mask.

So, Breakdown didn't need to be afraid of him. He wasn't going to say that, but Primus! It felt good just to think it. "Well... You talk big for a guy who can't fight."

Knock Out huffed. "Get out."

"Aw, don't be like that!"

Knock Out went back to his seat at the workbench. The tool rack sparkled in the light as the Stunticon followed, practically throwing himself into the sulking bot’s personal space.

"It's pretty impressive that you've lasted this long!" Breakdown laughed. "But, hey! It's not so bad! I could show you some moves, if you want!"

Now, Knock Out looked at him and Breakdown felt a different kind of rush than before: It was the same feeling he got driving through a burning oil slick, or jumping a ravine at high speeds- tingling in his spinal strut and the pulsing of his spark. Wind rushing over his hood and fuel pumping through his lines!

"Why? What's in it for you?"

"It's, y'know..." A victory lap! "A way to thank you! You stopped Dead End, you fixed me up, it's the least I can do, right?"

The Doc rested his chin on his hands, his finials twitching again.

Breakdown bounced the tip of his servo against the floor, still giddy with the thrill of his tiny victory. He didn’t want the game to be over just yet. "Look, we're partners, right?"

"Until I can convince Slipstream otherwise," Knock Out muttered.

"Rude-" Breakdown winced at the angry glare. "-But I get it! Stunticons- we're pretty intense!" He leaned in, smiling wide. "Let me make it up to you."

Knock Out was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, he spoke, watching Breakdown's face closely. "Tell me something. This isn't some elaborate way to... Flatter me into getting you illicit goods or..."

Breakdown shook his head.

"No? So you really..." Sharp silver fingers drummed against the desk. The Doc's finials lifted. He sighed dramatically, but a smile crept onto his face. "Very well. I suppose if you insist."

"Yeah?" Breakdown grinned so wide it hurt, barely stopping himself from punching the air.

"When do you want to start?"

***

Wildrider hadn't meant to get in trouble this time. He'd been blowing off steam, running amok, moseying through the rubble, seeing the sights! It just wasn't healthy to be around the others after Menasor! They all got irritable! Not even Drag Strip was fun to be around. She was so annoying after they combined!

Anyway, Motormaster threatened to kill him if he didn't get back inside. Something about a bomb dropping soon? Then the boss noticed Wildrider’d found his sword out on the field, and gotten all touchy. Probably 'cause he thought Wildrider would break it. Which… yeah, maybe? If he ever wanted to go after Motormaster, getting to that sword was step one.

But, even after Wildrider’d gone inside, he hadn’t calmed down. He was still so revved up! His head still buzzed, and his struts still itched inside! He'd hung around the rec room until Drag Strip became too much. He'd hung around the hallways until they got too busy. And now he was here, hanging around in the training room. He’d thought the quiet would help but… it never really did. Everything was too loud when things got quiet and it made him want to scream.

The training room used to be a storage room, and all the crates were stacked all over. Targets shaped like bots were sitting around- each one barely standing with scrap metal limbs dangling at their sides. There was a little room in the middle to spar in, but there could have been more.

So he’d started rearranging everything.

Heaviest boxes went to the far walls, lightest went on top of them. Meanwhile, the targets went against the long walls! He carried them over, one by one, until the last target fell apart in his arms! He’d dropped everything to fix it, and then noticed that all dummies parts were mismatched! That one’s head was bulky and cyan, like the arm on that one over there! And that one’s body was supposed to be a speedster, so it should go with the bladed arms over there!

When Drag Strip came in to check on him, he was sitting in the middle of the room, surrounded by piles of scrap metal organized by frame type, as he tried to bend the ends of a “limb” so it could hold a fake gun.

“Hey, some loser bot challenged me to a match of Tremor 3: Battledome. You want in on this?”

Wildrider spent the next few cycles cackling at virtual headshots and failing to rocket jump before his body reminded him that it needed fuel by going offline-mid match. He woke up on the floor, with Drag Strip slapping Energon patches on his chest plate as she played more death matches. She’d changed his game to ‘spectator’ mode, and was using it to cheat on her opponents, and was not happy when he decided to get up and return to the training room.

What scrap metal piles didn’t fly into pieces after ramming into them in alt mode, were blown apart for insubordination via his rifle. The bits that remained were tossed into the corners of the room, creating a nice clear space in its center for sparring in.

"Wildrider! Out!"

His back bumper bounced off the edge of a crate as he startled into reverse! Who-? Breakdown! It had been getting too quiet in here!

"Move it!" Breakdown demanded, thumbing at the door behind him.

"You're out of the chop shop!" Wildrider maneuvered himself out of the little alcove of stacked boxes and transformed. He couldn't help looking Breakdown over- even though he knew his brother hated when he did that.

"We need to use the room for training! You're just sitting there!"

"Hey! I'm… practicing!"

"Practicing what?" Asked a snide voice from behind Breakdown.

"...Impact angles," Wildrider said, peeking around his brother. A shiny red mech looked back at him. Right, this was Knock Out, the mech with the evil optics. The scheamer-bot who killed people during races by stabbing them in the T-Cog!

Wildrider stood up straight. "I'm being good," he told them. "I am!" He said when Breakdown rolled his optics. "I'm staying out of the way! I'm not bothering anyone!"

"You're bothering us." Breakdown crossed his arms. "If you don't get out right now, I'm going to turn you into sheet metal."

"Okay!" He giggled.

He didn't move.

Breakdown and him had this routine. First, Breakdown would get bossy and try to be all scary. Then Wildrider would stare at him, and Breakdown would think about all the things that Wildrider could do to him. And then Breakdown would go away.

It was already happening! He could basically see his blue brother breaking as he thought of all the ways Wildrider would run him off the road!

Except, Breakdown turned to Knock Out. "First lesson! Watch this!" and a fist swung towards Wildrider’s face.

That wasn’t how this was supposed to-

THUNK! CLANG!

Suddenly, Wildrider was sprawled out on the ground. So they were playing this game, huh? Alright. Fine with Wildrider.

"THAT’S how you throw a punch!" Breakdown said as Wildrider transformed. "See how I was standing? Don't put all your weight into it, you gotta ground yourself."

An engine roared and the next thing Breakdown knew, a black and red four-wheeler was hitting him dead center! Wildrider rolled over him, savoring his brother’s grunt of pain as they both toppled to the floor. He kept rolling forward until a friendly metal box stopped him with a clang.

Wildrider cackled as he reversed at full speed, going in for another pass! Breakdown threw himself out of the way to avoid it.

"You done yet, Breaky?"

Breakdown growled and dragged himself into a kneeling position.

"Guess not!" Wildrider revved his engine and charged. By the time he realized what Breakdown was up to, he was already going too fast to change course!

Breakdown should've been called Slam Down, 'cause that's what he did to Wildrider's hood. Two fists crashed onto his plating, and Wildrider's momentum did the rest, sending him flipping over his brother's head exhaust first.

CRUNCH.

A wipeout? Already?! His roof ached and his vision was upside down and cracked. Just like him!

Wildrider groaned. He transformed from a prone, upside down vehicle to a prone bot laying on his front. He twisted around but Breakdown's servo forced him back to the floor! Hard.

Breakdown looked back at Knock Out and pressed on even harder. Ohh, he wasn't… Scrap! Breakdown wasn’t playing!

Wildrider struggled. He flailed, he scratched and pried at the leg holding him down!

“Breakdown, do not give me more work to do.”

“He’s fine! Look, barely a dent!”

Knock Out’s white face appeared as Wildrider spun his wheels to dislodge himself. The red scheamer-bot crouched down and his brother’s leg lifted!

Now! Now now now! Wildrider scrambled and reached into subspace for his weapon-

The leg came down again, harder this time! Hurt! He screamed and thrashed and kicked and it stomped down again and again! It hurt! Why did he always hurt?! It went down and up and down and he rolled out of the way desperately only for it to find him again and press down and down and he heard his plating crunch and he was going to die he was going to die he was going to-

“He was going for a weapon!”

Wildrider moved. He transformed and darted to the far side of the room, jumping into bot mode and up atop a stack of crates. His scattergun appeared in his hand and he aimed to find Breakdown had pulled his own weapons. The Stunticons glared murder at each other, ready to end this forever.

Breakdown’s head turned a fraction towards Knock Out. His face twitched, and he growled. Finally, finally- Breakdown blinked, like he was supposed to. He lowered his blasters.

Wildrider imagined pulling the trigger and laughed. The lasers raining down and Breakdown diving to avoid it. He pictured them scorching off pieces of plating, and the shrieks of pain that would follow. Then, once he finished painting the scene in his head- then he lowered his own rifle.

“Whoa, hey- where are you going?” Breakdown wheeled around as Knock Out’s pointy servos carried him towards the door. “We haven’t started yet! Hey!”

“Oh, no-” Knock Out raised his hands. “We can do this some other time,” he laughed, nervously.

“No, hey, it’s alright!” In a few strides Breakdown caught up and caught Knock Out by the wrist.

Wildrider’s brow furrowed and he adjusted himself on his perch.

Knock Out squirmed in Breakdown’s grip. It was a tiny motion, but to Wildrider it was a big flashing sign.

“No!” The bot said quickly. “No, you’ve made your point.”

“Hey, relax! Wildrider had it coming. You’re fine!” Breakdown put a reassuring hand on Knock Out’s shoulder.

“Breakdown.” Knock Out’s voice was a little desperate. “Let go.”

Wildrider saw something, then. His brother was reeling and confused. Probably thinking “Why is he so afraid?”. Breakdown didn’t get how weird it was to try to be all friendly right after he’d tried to stomp the life out of his teammate. He was, *some* might say, a few memory boards short of a full processor.

“You’ve made your point,” Knock Out repeated. “No need to make me your enemy.” his voice dropped, cutting through the air like a scalpel. “Now let. Go.”

Wildrider wasn’t sure how he knew it, but looking at whatever was playing out, he was absolutely sure: Breakdown was also afraid.

“Or what?” Breakdown leaned in. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t try me,” Knock Out hissed.

Breakdown smirked. He dragged his fingers down his new enemy’s shoulder, hard enough that Wildrider could hear it all the way across the room. When he lifted his hand, there were four shiny new scratches on Knock Out’s pauldron. The scheamer-bot looked at them, then back to Breakdown, who walked backwards, spreading his arms wide, never taking his optics off his new punching bag…

…Who threw himself at Breakdown, claws bared.

Wildrider settled in to watch. It’d been getting too quiet in here!

Chapter Text

Autobot Base R-Theta-One didn’t get a lot of action anymore. It used to be a fully staffed checkpoint defense on the road to a major metropolis. It used to be a testing ground for the latest state of the art power supplies the engineers could come up with. It used to be the only base armed with a Mark 3 Carbonite Turret, back when that version of the weapon was being rolled out. And that turret used to be a standard, unmodified, artillery weapon, instead of a customized, fine-tuned thing of beauty.

But times change. Front lines shifted as territories changed hands, and new outposts were designated as high priority. For some Autobots- big, tough, ornery types- that may have been a problem if you were stationed at R-Theta-One. Not for Riggs.

Riggs wasn’t a big, strong, ‘Con Killer. She was a short, pink and black four-wheeler with a tiny alt-mode. More important though, was what she did. She was a gunner and a mechanic- and like every good tinkerer who’d been stationed in one place for a while, had left her mark on the place.

“How in the pit did you forget to reinstall the ladder?” Coldsteel asked her over comms.

“I didn’t forget,” Riggs replied, running the diagnostics on the targeting systems. “It's easier to climb up from Gen C. If I can do it, there’s no reason you can’t.”

Coldsteel grumbled back. After a stretch of silence: “Alright, I’m up on the walkway. Feeding the cable through. After this whole thing you gotta do some cable management. This is ridiculous!”

“It works, don’t it?” A light came on the dashboard. “Full power, accuracy is good. Carbon and Graphite will be ready if anyone shows.” Riggs hoped they would. It had been too long since she’d heard her darlings sing. “Thanks for the help, ‘Col.”

Coldsteel sighed, but Riggs heard the smile in their voice. “Yeah, yeah. It took a lot of time out of my busy schedule of reading romance novels.”

“I just got to that part where Scorpia confesses,” Riggs snickered. “We ought to do a reading of that scene. I’ve got snacks up here and everythin’.”

“Oooh! After we’re given the all clear.” There was a pause. “I don’t know where the Boss got his info from though. No one ever comes this way anymore.”

***

The Commander's missile sailed through the air, a beautiful shot with a perfect trajectory. The turret spun towards it and lasers shot the rocket out of the sky. Slipstream circled back, going in for another pass, but it was too late. A claxon split the quiet. The Decepticons had lost the element of surprise.

Trace Fire lowered his binoculars. They were supposed to charge once the missile hit. He bit his lip as other groups moved forward, despite the danger. His comms rang, and he picked up right away.

“You said-” The Commander’s voice was harried and sharp. “That it had a blind spot!”

“It does!” Trace Fire insisted.

“Then how did it know I was there?!”

Trace Fire watched the Seeker weave through the blue sky, darting this way and that. The turret gave up trying to follow her movements, and as it rotated towards the charging ground troops, she dove at it again. Suddenly she transformed into robot mode and shot straight up, tiny glimmers of laser fire appearing in the air where she had been only moments ago. His jaw dropped. “There’s a second, smaller turret?” He whispered.

Commander Slipstream was too busy trying not to get shot to form a coherent reply.

“I'm really sorry!” He rushed out. “These models don't normally have secondary weapons! It must be a custom addition!" He failed to keep the admiration out of his voice. Oh, if he could meet the mech who made that mod... The things they would talk about!

“Urgh! Find a way to take it down!” The Commander demanded.

Before he could say “yes, ma’am!” she’d already hung up.

"So… Game over?" A teammate asked.

"Not yet, Bisk..." Calculations streamed through his processor as Trace Fire knelt down and drew a map in the dust. "The tower is a modified Carbonite. Maybe Mark 3 or 4… which would have a range of... this..." he drew a circle.

His head snapped up as the laser fire and yelling began to reach him. He rushed through his calculations, words becoming an afterthought. "Blind spot here. Power source must be around... Here..."

"We blow it up! Now you're talking!"

"Runabout, wait-"

"I'm getting bored waitin'!" Tires screeched as the black four wheeler charged ahead, speeding towards the turret like a bullet.

Bisk clicked his claws. One optic stalk followed Runabout, and the other watched as the Autobots began their defensive. "This is why I hate playing co-op!" He muttered, transforming. "I'm tank! YOU! Have to follow ME!" He screeched after Runabout.

"Wait-"

Bisk's four wheels kicked up a dust trail as he crested over a ledge and zoomed into the fray. Trace Fire looked down at his now ruined diagram, and then behind him at his two remaining teammates.

"Leave it to us," Breakdown grinned. “Ready partner?”

Knock Out’s voice was completely flat as he answered. “Can’t wait.”

***

Riggs smiled as another barrage of lasers split through the attacking Decepticons. They scattered like space dust from the blasts, never even getting close to the base. Her other hand jumped to Graphite's controls and she jammed her visor into the targeting scope to aim at the- there! She squeezed the secondary turret's trigger, and Graphite let loose another beautiful barrage. The purple jet banked hard to avoid it, sailing out of sight of both gun's visual cameras.

When the boss said ‘company’, she didn’t think he meant a Seeker. What was one of them doing all the way out here?

“They’ve broken through!” Red Five cried over the comms.

It took a few moments for that to sink in. That wasn’t possible- Her head whipped towards the main view screen. Carbon was still singing, keeping every ‘Con away. They couldn’t-

“They’re after the gener-” Red Five cut out with a scream.

Riggs swore and changed both turrets to auto-targeting mode. She gave the girls one last pat and leapt from her seat, speeding down the hall in vehicle mode as fast as her engine could take her.

All four wheels left the ground as she careened down the stairs into the generator room. She transformed before she hit the bottom. Behind her visor, her gaze bounced between points of interest: the gaping hole in the side of the far wall. Red Five’s motionless body slumped against a support beam, Energon leaking from his neck.

The blue and white ‘Con standing over Coldsteel with a blaster in his hand.

Riggs’ pride and joy was a monster of a weapon. A custom eight barrel rotary laser cannon that she kept disassembled inside her frame. It had taken her a stellar cycles to build, and hundreds of failed attempts. It was the best thing she's ever made.

Now she wished she’d gone with something simpler.

The Beast roared to life as the Con’ pulled the trigger on Coldsteel. The slagger looked up and grinned as it spat burning light and fury out of its spinning barrels. Any sane mech would've dove behind cover, so that’s where she aimed. Her weapon carved through the support beam in an instant… But the ‘Con had darted forward, out into the open. They transformed and hurled themself at her, and she raised The Beast up to turn them into charred slag. Another barrage flashed from its maw!

Riggs threw herself out of the way just in time! There was a clang and a sharp pain in her heel as it bounced off some part of the ‘Con. They slammed into Generator A and bounced off its shielding. Riggs spat down at their dead-

The ‘Con got up. They transformed back into robot mode and got up, shaking their head as they leaned on the generator. Angry burn marks cooled on their back where the lasers had connected. That wasn’t possible! The ‘Con didn’t have time to turn around before the force of another salvo pinned them to the generator.

The lasers hit. She saw them connect. They should have burned through. Concentrated fire at that speed this close should melt through plating in moments. But it didn’t. The Beast’s lasers seared and smoked, and Riggs could smell the metal burning, but the ‘Con kept moving, fighting against the force of the barrage as if she was spraying them with oil from a high-powered hose.

“Oh, come on!” a voice yelled to her side, barely audible over the Beast. Her head snapped towards it-

Solus Prime’s fuel sacs! She jumped backwards as a drill pierced through the space her neck had been.

"Resistant to laser fire! Can you believe that?!" A shiny red mech snarled. Riggs glared at the purple insignia on their chest. “Ah well. Hold still now! This won’t hurt a bit!”

The Beast's barrel spun back up and the 'Con made a funny noise as they transformed and reversed as fast as they could. They switched modes and leapt out of Riggs’ line of sight, disappearing behind machinery before she could fire.

“Thanks for the help, partner,” the bigger ‘Con muttered, pulling themself upright.

Riggs copied the red ‘Con and ducked behind a power converter. Her fingers were halfway to her communicator when she froze up. Coldsteel’s body lay still on the floor, unlit optics staring past her.

This was Riggs’ generator room, and her friend died in it. She glanced over at Red Five. Her friends, plural. She loved this place to pieces, but…

“Boss, we got ‘Cons in the Gen room,” she whispered over the priority channel. “They haven’t figured out how to take Carbon offline, yet.”

“Riggs? Sit tight, I’ll come to you!”

She peeked around the corner. The big guy had jumped on top of Generator B. Two blasters, weak little things, were held ready as the ‘Con scanned the room for her.

“No. This ain’t some scouting party, these mechs are for real. Coldsteel and Red Five are-” Her voice trembled, but she kept going. “- they’re gone. I’ll hold them-” The sound of a drill bouncing off Repulsion Shielding echoed from nearby. The red one was trying to force their way into a Generator. “I’ll hold ‘em off. We don’t have the firepower to defend this place. My darlins’ will do their job for as long as they can. Take everyone that’s left and go.”

There was a long pause, where the only thing keeping Riggs together was the feeling of her spark pulsing through her frame.

“The Last Autobot will know you by name.”

“Aw, shut it you big sap.” And with that, she ended the call. She took a deep, long, cycle of air, and spun up the Beast. Either those ‘Cons would die or she would.

Riggs jumped out and opened fire. The big ‘Con locked on to her and ducked before they got hit, then sprung up and darted out of the way. She didn’t stop shooting, just adjusted her aim and advanced, one step at a time, until the ‘Con was forced off the generator and behind cover. She caught a glimpse of them between the machines, and a moment later they were in the open and shooting at her!

Their shots went wide, bouncing off the white shielding of the generators. Riggs transformed and darted away, catching sight of the red one climbing atop generator C. She changed back into robot mode and as The Beast got ready to burn, the big one charged her.

They swung a fist at her, and she barely managed to retract The Beast into her chest in time to block it. She was forced back as she blocked blow after blow, gritting her teeth and digging in her heels.

"Hey! You watching?" They called to their friend. "That's how you block when your opponent" a fist bounced off Rigg’s raised arm. "is bigger than you!"

Riggs roared and rammed her full weight into the 'Con's legs, sending him off balance.

The red ‘Con pulled themself over the walkway railing. “A bit busy, Breakdown!” They turned to trace the cables coming up along the walls.

Carbon and Graphite were hooked into the four generators via a system of power transmitters that ran throughout the base. The system started from the generators- each one with its own titanium-reenforced cable as thick as Riggs' arms. They wound through the room and up a channel, ending in a socket accessible from the very walkway the Con stood on.

A buzzsaw appeared in the red ‘Con’s hand and as it bit into the weakest section of cable- the spot before the plug- the lights flickered.

Riggs leapt forward, transforming and darting between the big 'Con's legs. She gathered speed and jumped on top of a pylon, using the force of her transformation to propel another jump up and over the railing of the walkway. The red 'Con spun around, having already moved to the next cable. Their chin met her uppercut and the bot toppled over, landing hard. They groaned as they stood, rubbing at their face plate, and gasped.

"My fingers!" The red ‘Con stared at their hand. Broken-off finger tips glistened, wedged in the walkway's grating. Their face twisted with fury. And then horror, as the Beast emerged once more.

As the barrel started to spin, they took half a step back, and Riggs glared as the heat gathered in the Beast’s maw. This was for-

In a flash, the red 'Con closed the distance. Their arm was raised, and Riggs caught a glimpse of a sawblade-

*Shhhrrrrrrr!!! Clang!!*

The Beast slowed to a stop. Riggs stared at the severed hand on the walkway floor, its pointer finger still curled like it was wrapped around a trigger.

"What's a matter? Need a *hand* with that thing?" The Red 'Con sneered, looking pleased with themself. Like a cyber-cat who'd caught a glitch mouse.

Her other hand still worked. Riggs detached the barrel of The Beast and swung it hard at his smug face.

*Clang!*

She'd never liked cats, anyway.

She pushed the barrel back into place as The Beast returned inside her frame. The Con shook their head, pushing themself off the railing.

“Breakdown, I could use an assist!”

"You got this!" Their friend called from below. “Remember to keep your hands up!”

Riggs scoffed and hooked her servo at the red ‘Con’s ankle joint. They staggered, and Riggs followed it with a kick. They blocked it, snarling, and the saw came down on her again. She intercepted it with her stump of a wrist, knocking the blade away and moving back, keeping herself between them and the cable on that side of the room. The ‘Con narrowed their optics.

"Out of my way!" They spat, charging her just as their ‘friend’ had. She stuck her elbow out to catch their midsection-

The red ‘Con sidestepped her, slipping past and spinning to a stop next to the cable. The saw flashed and the next moment the cable dropped, severed from the socket and flopping uselessly to the ground below.

There was one more socket to go. It sat dutifully on the other side of the room, across the walkway. She moved backwards, closer to it, while keeping her visor on the ‘Con in front of her. She would not look at the hole in the wall, even though it would be easy to make a break for it. She’d held out long enough, right?

The red 'Con approached her casually, twirling the saw blade.

Steady on. Riggs would buy them as much time as she could. Graphite would be down by now, but Carbon could function off a single generator! So long as she stayed between the ‘Con and that cable, Carbon would keep singing. She just needed to hang on!

The ‘Con lunged!

Riggs snatched their wrist and pulled them in, ramming her helm into their neck. They choked out a cry as they fell against the grating and she raised her servo to smash the ‘Con’s head in-

The big 'Con leapt the railing and landed on the walkway, blaster pointed at her. Riggs froze.

That was when she lost. Both ‘Cons moved in concert. The bigger one pulled the trigger, and as Riggs jumped back to avoid the shot, the red one darted upright. They fired again, the shot sailing past her towards its real target. As the last power socket exploded, the red ‘Con lunged, and the lights died.

Riggs couldn't hear herself scream over the drill. She thrashed and struggled and writhed, until she finally pulled herself free and threw herself over the railing. She shut out the pain- the Fallen's ball bearings there was so much pain- as she transformed and fled towards the only source of light: the hole in the wall. She burst outside, and didn't stop to see if anyone else was still around.

Breakdown jumped off the walkway and hopped gracefully down from the generator he'd landed on.

"Don't bother," his assigned partner shined his headlights and held up his drill, examining the chunk of wheel stuck to it. "They won't be getting very far."

***

"Yes! They did it!" Trace Fire cheered. He zipped over to his nearest teammate and transformed out of alt mode. "We can move forward and take the base!"

Bisk didn't respond. His optic stalks swiveled this way and that, antennae twitching eagerly.

An Autobot- green and blue with wheels- jumped out from behind a rock, weapon (Two handed rifle of some kind) ready to fire. Their plating was too thick for Trace Fire’s little side arm at this range. But! If he and Bisk worked together, they could dive to either side and get up close.

Trace Fire was wasting his calculations. Bisk opened his jaw and fired a beam of concussive energy. It hit the Autobot dead on, and the sound of it drowned out the crack of their helm hitting the rock.

"Yes!" Bisk pumped a claw. "I am the master at this!"

"Good shot!" Trace Fire looked nervously at his fellow 'Cons in the distance. Even with the turret taken offline, there would still be some resistance. The most tactically sound move would be to join up and help them. "Come on, let's push forward!"

"Oh, Trace Fire. No wonder you have such a low rank!" The red-shelled gamer peered down, snapping a claw in his face to get his attention. "I don't get points for taking bases. You can push if you want. I'm going to get another kill!" and then he said, mostly to himself: "One more and I'll have locked my spot on the leaderboards! Now who's the unlucky Autobot this time?"

"Bisk wait-!"

Trace Fire had to provide tactical support! Bisk was his friend and- and he could get hurt by himself! He shook himself into action, transforming and pushing his engine so he could catch up to the red four-wheeler, who was himself rushing to catch up to a tiny pink and black car with a damaged wheel.

***

Breakdown kept himself from snickering as he held out his arms. “C’mon, I’ll catch you!”

Knock Out shot him a look from the walkway, and, instead of jumping off the railing, chose to take his time, hop to the nearest generator, and climb down from there. “How about you warn me,” he said, stomping over to Breakdown. “Before you decide to turn a life or death situation into a teaching moment.”

Somehow, the red glow of Knock Out’s optics was still visible through the glare of his headlights.

“Hey, you had it! Until you stopped swinging to pat yourself on the back!” Breakdown thought for a moment, and then added “...Again.”

“Oh, is that all? Nothing else you want to comment on?” Knock Out crossed his arms. “Was my stance wrong? Should I have blocked more? Please, do go on! I’m just so…” He curled his hands in front of his face. “eager to hear your opinion.”

Breakdown frowned as he lifted his chin. He wasn’t going to react. He wasn’t going to flinch. And he wasn’t going to back down this time. “Your stance was fine. You need to block more.” He leaned in. “But since you’ve had so much trouble with that, dodging works fine.”

“Glad to hear it,” the Doc hissed, before pushing Breakdown aside, walking off and taking his high beams with him.

Breakdown stared into the darkness. He could push back. He should push back and remind the prissy bot that he could take him. If he didn’t, Knock Out would think he was weak. And if that happened-

No, it was fine. He wasn’t Motormaster or Wildrider: he didn’t need to start a fight over every little thing.

The whirring of a saw blade cut through his thoughts. “You’re doing that now?!”

Knock Out crouched beside a dead Autobot next to a support beam. Sparks bled from their chest as he went in, digging underneath the plating.

That could be ANY of us!

Breakdown moved into the light, poking his head out of the hole he’d blown through the wall. He could hear distant explosions, screaming, and weapons fire. “Fight isn’t over yet!”

“Don’t let me keep you,” Knock Out replied as he tore the front off the corpse. Wires and mechanisms squelched and squealed as they were jostled and pushed aside. “If you’re going to hover, at least make yourself useful! See if you can find the other dead Autobot. And try not to step on it this time.”

“That was an accident!” He lied. “And I can’t leave you alone-”

“How sweet.” Knock Out yanked free a fuel pump.

“-Last time Slipstream yelled at me for half a cycle!”

The Doc stopped what he was doing to look at Breakdown over his shoulder, clearly not believing him.

“Did you know that her optic twitches when she gets really angry?”

The Doc snorted. “That bad, hm?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Breakdown crossed his arms, and puffed out his plating, and after a moment Knock Out went back to his ‘loot’. “What d’you do to grind her gears so badly?”

“Hold that thought.” Knock Out stood, putting a finger to his comms and wincing. He switched hands. “What is it?” His optics narrowed at whatever answer he got. “This is the emergency line! You can’t-”

Breakdown glanced outside in an effort to stamp out his own nerves. The sounds of fighting had stopped. Was it over?

“That’s not my- problem…” Knock Out trailed off. He turned his whole body to look at Breakdown. His glare was murderous.

What? What had Breakdown done now?! Every strut in his frame tensed as the angry bot stalked over to him, optics glowing with malice. Now would be the time to start a fight!

Breakdown flinched as Knock Out poked his chest and snarled: “That was Motormaster”

Oh.

“Apparently, your radio being off qualifies as an emergency that I have to respond to.”

Oh. “But, what about... your Salvage?” Breakdown waved at the dead Autobot. “It’s just Motormaster being, y’know. We don’t have to…”

“Yes, Breakdown,” The Doc rolled his optics. “I do.”

***

“There you are!” Motormaster growled. “And Knock Off, too!”

Breakdown switched out of vehicle mode, and looked wearily at his brother. Motormaster stood alone, his silhouette seeming to block out the smoke-filled sky. Some distance away, other Decepticons milled about, chatting or cheering or… he squinted. Was that Runabout back there? Was he trying to climb the base’s antennae?

“It’s ‘Knock Out’, actually, but that’s alright.” The Doc smiled sweetly. “I know you’re already using most of your processing power to string sentences together.”

Motormaster snorted. “Beat it! If you know what’s good for you.”

“Hey, Motors!” Breakdown stepped forward. Better to just get this over with. “I uh, must’ve forgotten to turn my comms on again. Hope you weren’t too… worried,” he trailed off, spotting movement out of his peripherals.

Breakdown had been around the Doc long enough to pick up on his ‘tells’. The way he narrowed his optics when he calculated, how his voice dropped when he thought he was being clever. The curling of his claws before imminent disaster.

Knock Out craned his head, glaring into Motormaster’s shadowed face. “Allow me to explain the purpose of the emergency line!” he spat. “If you are injured or incapacitated-”

“Ha!” Motormaster boomed. “Good one!”

“-Or if someone nearby is, then, and only then, is it used to contact the nearest medic.”

Breakdown stared Motormaster’s servos. His engine gave an embarrassing shudder and he closed his optics, silently begging the Primes to shut the Doc up.

“As the only medic around, it falls to me to attend to the situation, real emergency or not! And I do not take kindly to having my time wasted!”

“The situation,” Motormaster’s rumble became a roar. “is that one of my Stunticons keeps turning his comms off!” Breakdown could feel the heat of his brother’s optics sear through what little courage he had. “How many times do I have to tell you?! …Well?!”

Breakdown huffed. He could feel the Doc at his shoulder, fuming uselessly at being brushed off. He could relate.

“Nobody is listening to you over the radio, Breakdown. Nobody.”

“That’s not how surveillance works,” he mumbled for the millionth time.

“Speak up! I can’t hear you over all your shaking!”

“I said-”

“He said that he’d rather remove his audials with a wrench than hear your voice over comms!” Knock Out cut in. “And I have to agree.”

And there was the disaster.

Motormaster’s engine fell silent, as Breakdown’s shook harder. The Doc, oblivious to the gravity of what he’d just done, raised an optic ridge.

“Breakdown,” Motormaster snarled, getting louder with every word. “Would never say that.” His fists clenched hard and Knock Out raised his hands in a placating gesture. “You think YOU know him better than ME?!”

He was going to kill him. Motormaster would crush Knock Out with his bare hands and rip him in half, and then all the Stunticons were going to get in trouble, and then Motormaster would blame Breakdown for letting it happen.

“No! No, wait! Hold up!” Breakdown threw his arm around Knock Out’s shoulder. “He’s not saying that. It’s- He’s being overconfident, is all!”

Motormaster’s engine growled. Orange suns glared down out of the shadow of his helm.

“You know how I’ve been showing him how to fight, yeah? He’s gotten a few hits in, and now he thinks he’s something special. I appreciate the moxie, Doc! But Motormaster is still waaaay out of your league.” He squeezed Knock Out’s shoulder, steeling himself as he looked the Doc in the optic. “He would crush you.”

Knock Out glared back at him, and all Breakdown could do was hope he got the hint.

The storm in Motormaster’s engine began to die down. “He’s hit you hard,” his brother grunted.

Breakdown’s processor was too busy looping the same expletive to pay attention to the sharp twinge in his hand. Motormaster thought he was getting soft! “Well, yeah,” he said, searching for an excuse. “I… let him get some in every now and then. Like, how we used to do at those shows! You remember? Gotta sell getting hurt to keep the audience interested! Same thing! He’d have given up by now if he didn’t think there was a chance he’d win!”

Breakdown stared at a point over his brother’s shoulder. The pulsing of his spark and the rattling of his engine blocked out the next painful tingle in his hand.

“You’ve been going easy on him?”

“Exactly!” He grinned up at his judging leader.

For a few moments, Motormaster didn't say anything. His brother didn't believe him.  Even though all of it was true! ...Basically! What else could he say?

“Heh. ‘Course you are!” Motormaster relaxed. His optics softened from angry suns into glowing coals. “No way a wimp like this could hurt you!”

There was a sharp stab in his hand, and then it went numb. Pain shocked through it, like every nerve was firing off at once. Breakdown’s grip tightened, as did his smile.

“You sure know how to pick ‘em!” His brother grinned down at him. He turned to leave, then stopped. His voice was a harsh growl. “The next time I need to get a hold of you, you answer me. Understood?”

“Count on it!”

He waited until he was sure Motormaster had gone… before he shoved Knock Out away. His hand-! “What did you do?!” His fingers spasmed painfully as he clutched his palm, trying to get some feeling from it.

“Oh, nothing much,” Knock Out said casually. He held up four slivers of metal- and it took a moment for Breakdown to recognize them as severed claw tips. “Just nicked the cables in your hand.” His smirk disappeared. “I told you what would happen if you touched me again.”

“You ungrateful glitch!” Did he not realize that Breakdown had just saved him? That Motormaster would have happily flattened him under his wheels?

Apparently not, because his smirk found its way right back home again. “Relax! With your self repair, it’ll be back in a solar cycle or two. So long as you keep it rested, that is. If you’ll excuse me, I have to do my rounds.”

Knock Out transformed with a laugh. “See you at practice!”

Breakdown stared after his partner as the slagger took off. He pressed his opposite thumb into the palm of his hand. It gave a feeble twitch, and went completely numb.

“See you at practice,” Breakdown muttered.

Chapter Text

Knock Out strolled past his fellow Decepticons with disinterest as he entered the captured Autobot base. He always had to suppress a pang of jealousy whenever he found himself inside one of these compounds. The Autobots may be self-righteous, short sighted fools, but blast it, their aesthetic was so much easier on the optic sensors! Take this room for example:

It was the central room of the base. Too small for any real alt mode usage, but its high ceiling kept it from feeling too confined! The second floor balcony provided a vantage point of anyone entering the base, and had been decorated with string lights and streamers (he made a reminder to steal those later), and gave the whole thing a strangely cozy feeling.

It had downsides, of course. Better lighting and lighter colors meant it was easier to see all the dirt and grime that got tracked in. It was clear that the ‘bots who lived here hadn’t been keeping up with waxing the floors, either. He sneered at the scuff marks on the floor. Really, was he the only one who appreciated a clean working environment?

As he stepped into the central room of the base, shouts echoed down from above. He took a moment to listen, trying to pick out the tone and decide if he needed to investigate- if they weren’t injured then he wasn’t interested.

His broken claws throbbed painfully at him. He’d tried to sit down and reattach them, only for Blackjack to find him.

“Shoulder got hit,” Blackjack said flatly. “Yeah, again. Can you fix it or not?”

And as soon as he’d finished those repairs:

“I got th’ flaaaaag!” slurred Runabout as he tripped over a long red cloth he was waving around, landing face first on the ground a few paces away. “I fell but I’s… got it.”

Knock Out had hurried over, determined that he was suffering from a non-serious helm injury (from falling off a pole, according to the bot’s ramblings), and was cajolling Blackjack into looking after Runabout as he rebooted when a shriek echoed through the base:

“SHUT UP!! SHUT! UP!”

There was a bang, a yelp, and a crash, and then there was a bright yellow mess of a bot landing in front of him. Smoke curled out of Drag Strip’s mouth, and her face was several shades too dark- a serious case of overheating if Knock Out had ever seen one. She transformed and zoomed out of the base. There was another yelp in the distance, followed by loud swearing.

Dead End’s face appeared over the balcony.

“I’ll watch Runabout,” Blackjack slung the rebooting Decepticon over his freshly repaired shoulder and was gone before Knock Out could protest.

Knock Out groaned as Dead End called his name. Reluctantly, but dutifully, he climbed the stairs to the second floor, resigning himself to finishing his rounds before tending to his own damage. “What is it this... ah.”

“Hey, Doc Knock.” Wildrider waved from where he’d been impaled to the wall with a sword.

Knock Out let the nickname pass this time. Instead he turned to Dead End and crossed his arms.

“Drag Strip is currently working through an episode,” the Stunticon said, as if it explained everything.

“Right. Okay.” The medic pressed his aching fingertips to his suddenly aching head.

“I didn’t mean to set her off this time,” Wildrider said miserably.

“And yet you did such a wonderful job,” Dead End sighed. “As usual.”

The sword was shoved in at an upwards angle, entering through a seam between his chestplate and midsection (Knock Out would have to remember that next time he fought Breakdown!) and going through to the wall. Dead End held Wildrider up as Knock Out pulled it free.

Knock Out turned the blade over in his hands- there wasn’t a drop of Energon on it. “Either you’re incredibly lucky or Drag Strip has terrible aim!”

"Unfortunately, her aim is one of her better qualities,” Dead End said. “May I?"

Knock Out did not hesitate to move away as she reached to take the sword. He made sure she was watching as he dropped it over the side of the railing. Petty? Maybe. But pragmatic! Being around Stunticons was hazardous enough to his health without literally handing one a weapon- especially Dead End! It hit the floor below with a satisfying clang and Dead End rolled her optics.

"Dead End's not as good at 'fetch' as Breakdown is," Wildrider giggled. "Try with the rifle!” He pointed at a laser rifle laying on the floor some distance away.

“I assure you, unlike my brother, I will not be tricked into catching a live grenade.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “Nor will I wave it around in your face afterwards.” Dead End picked up the discarded rifle and leaned it against the railing. “Despite how funny you look when you throw yourself on the floor and cower.”

"For a team that claims to barely stand each other, you all certainly gossip an awful lot." Knock Out glowered at them both as he kneeled in front of Wildrider. He ignored the little ‘look’ the Stunticons passed between themself, in favor of beginning the repairs. They could laugh all they wanted, just so long as he wasn’t around to hear it. He pinched the extruded metal and folded it back into its proper place, smiling a little at Wildrider’s groan of pain.

Dead End shook her head. "You brought this on yourself."

"I was trying to make her feel better!"

"By reminding her she lost?"

Knock Out welded shut the puncture and maneuvered Wildrider to get at the exit wound. "Lost what?" He kept his voice casual to hide his delight as the wounded Stunticon squirmed.

"She- Ow!- Was competing for kills." Wildrider scrunched up his face. "It wasn't her fault! I was trying to tell her! If the Autobots hadn't retreated and Motormaster hadn't told us to hang back, she would have won!"

Dented arms wound around the Doctor's leg. His lips curled as he stared down at Wildrider’s pleading face.

“First warning: don’t touch me.”

Wildrider smiled innocently and let go.

"See?" Dead End crossed her arms. "You know the buttons are there, and yet you push them!"

“There. Done.” Knock Out admired his work and stepped back. “Avoid transforming for a few cycles. Your self repair will take care of the rest.” As the Doctor turned to leave, Wildrider spoke:

"She didn't want to kill me.”

Against Knock Out’s better judgment, he glanced back.

Wildrider hugged his legs to his chest, his yellow optics fixed on his sister. He wasn’t smiling anymore. "She could've done a lot worse- if she wanted to.”

Knock Out kept moving. He got halfway down the stairwell before Dead End replied:

“Whatever makes you feel better.”

***

Three cycles and 28 kliks later Knock Out could finally say he was almost done with his rounds. The sun was beginning to set now, casting oranges and reds across the smoke filled sky. Knock Out would have loved to sit and watch. Cybertronians didn’t appreciate how pretty their sunsets were- the way the colors slowly shifted as they harmlessly bounced off the surface of their planet. Alas, he had one more task left to do.

He hurried to the set of trailers that had been moved just outside the Autobot base. It was both impressive and sad that all the unit’s resources fit inside two glorified metal boxes. In the first: Energon rations, medical supplies, spare parts, and ammunition. Knock Out breezed past that one. He was expected at the next.

“Commander.”

“Knock Out.”

He huffed. The appropriate response would have been ‘Doctor’. He strode up to the second trailer and punched in the code, turned the handle, and came away with a hand covered in bright green paint and glittery purple particles.

He forced a tight smile onto his face. “I don’t suppose you would be willing to carry out disciplinary action for this?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Of course not!” Knock Out added another entry to his list of reasons to despise Paint-Tear. He swung open the door (perhaps a little too aggressively, but really who could blame him?) and motioned inside. “Step into my ‘office’.”

In the second trailer: a comatose Decepticon strapped to a table, hooked into a monitor and an energon pack.

“There have been some improvements since you last came to visit. The spark is regaining coherency, the frame is regulating temperature by itself now…”

“Brain activity?”

Ah. Of course. She was still on that. Knock Out sighed through his nose. “Commander, once again, using a cortical psychic patch at this stage could be devastating to recovery!”

“So you’ve said.” Slipstream narrowed her optics. “I’m surprised you care so much about some random bot.”

“Oh, personally? I don’t. Like you said before we started this never ending chain of redeployments, it would be far easier to perform the memory rip and scrap our mystery friend here for parts.”

“But- you… Uuugh!” Slipstream threw up her hands. “Then WHY haven’t you done that yet?!”

“Because I’m a professional!” Knock Out explained, patiently. “When Sea Sure dragged this bot out of the black site, they were practically a slab of melted slag. I brought the patient- my patient- back to stable condition. As I’ve done with every other Decepticon placed in my care during these last several stellar cycles with this unit.” He checked the connection to the Energon bag, pursing his lips at the glittery green smears he left behind, and then moved to replace the bot’s nearly-depleted supply. When was it that he’d last refueled? A few days ago? He’d been so busy lately…

“Do you have any idea how much time and effort that takes?” He laughed, bitterly.

Something in Slipstream’s expression shifted.

“Yet, I’m still here! Despite all the inane arguments I’ve had to sit through, the insults, the constant disrespect! This-!” He spat, waving his paint covered hand. “I continue to keep these troops- your troops- in pristine condition!” His voice bounced off the trailer walls, increasing in volume, words rushing out faster and faster. He couldn’t stop himself now, even if he wanted to.

“And do you know why?! Why I keep repairing them despite never receiving so much as a ‘thank you’?! Do you have any idea?!”

“Because you could be more…” she murmured.

“Precisely! Because I’m the best at-” Knock Out blinked. What? He found himself backing away as the Commander moved closer. She towered over him, with wings flared and teeth bared back with her lips turned up and-

Oh, she was smiling.

Oh no.

“It’s too bad your poor choice in friends got you stuck out here.”

What did that mean? What was happening?!

His comms rang before he could find an answer to those questions. He was getting a call on the emergency line.

“Uhh… excuse me, Commander. I have to take this.” He slid out from where she had him against the wall. “What is it?”

“I won,” said the voice on the other end.

“Drag Strip-” Laughter bubbled out of him. Of course this would happen now. Of course it would! Knock Out grit his teeth. “This is not. What the emergency line. Is for.”

“I know what it’s for. I’ve read the rules. Twice!”

“So what is the emergency?!”

“I won?”

“That’s not an emergency!”

Slipstream scowled. “Patch me in,” she ordered.

“No, you don’t get it! I won! That’s the… the contest! I won the contest!”

“Drag Strip!” Slipstream exited the trailer, much to Knock Out’s relief. “This channel is NOT for your news!”

“In the event of an emergency, units are expected to use the specified channel,” she quoted. “to communicate with medical personnel to share their location and status!” the Stunticon paused. “I’m great? I think? I won, so…”

“If you know what it’s for-! Argh!!” Slipstream stomped her servo. “Report to my location! Now!”

But Drag Strip was still going: “‘When using the channel to report the condition of another Decepticon unit, the caller is advised to remain in position unless under threat.’ I’m telling you I know the rules! I’m the best at this game! That’s why I won! Right?” Her tone oscillated between unsure and joyful, almost manic.

Didn’t Wildrider mention earlier that she lost? Wasn’t that why she’d stormed off? A sinking feeling crept into Knock Out’s tanks. He tried to remember what else the Stunticons had told him. She’d been competing for kills… and now she claimed there was a downed ‘Con and that she’d… won…

“Wait,” He cut in. “How did you win?”

Knock Out watched Slipstream’s angry rant corrode and die as she caught his expression.

There was a moment of silence. “Default.”

Uh-oh. “And how many competitors?”

“Three. Including me.”

Knock Out pinched the bridge of his nose. “And you’re calling on behalf of…?”

“Trace Fire. I need-” Drag Strip paused. “He needs help. Medical attention.”

Both Knock Out and Slipstream asked their next questions at the same time. “See, was that so hard?” mixed with “Why didn’t you SAY that?!” and became an unintelligible mess.

“I can’t get him out. He needs help. Sending coordinates.”

The call ended.

“Commander?”

Slipstream closed her optics. “Knock Out.”

He let the lack of title slide (again). “Drag Strip is a poor loser, we lost two Decepticons, Trace Fire is injured, and all of those are related.”

The purple and grey fist of a disgruntled Seeker slammed into the side of the trailer. Knock Out agreed completely.

***

"I see 'em! Yep, that sure is a corpse. I think it's... Bisk?" Misfire called over the communications channel. "Also: Scavenger's rights!"

"Overruled."

"You can't do that!"

"I'm the medic, so yes, I can."

"Doesn't look hostile," Axor muttered. "Commander, the sun is behind us. We come at her fast, pin her down, then get answers."

"Negative," Slipstream replied. "I'm going in first. Misfire, stay above me. Grounders, slow your approach. Only engage at my signal."

Slipstream descended from the sky. She shone in the dimming light, her silver even brighter against the red light being cast on the cliffs behind her. Below her, and standing out even more, was the bright yellow shape of Drag Strip.

"Think she knows we're here?" Axor asked aloud as Knock Out decelerated enough for him to catch up.

The Stunticon waved at them, gesturing for them to come closer, and then did a jaunty salute as Slipstream landed beside her.

"She seems happy," Knock Out remarked.

"There's nothing a Stunticon likes more than killing."

"I didn't realize you were an expert!"

"I've seen enough of them to know how they think."

Hah! Three months of being partnered with one and not even Knock Out understood what went through their processors. "Is that so?"

Meanwhile, Drag Strip twirled and pointed aggressively at the body. She hopped over it and pulled on an arm. Slipstream watched her, considering her options.

"Everyone's seen you after Breakdown's done," Axor continued. "But… If you want to get rid of that problem-"

A light blinked on Slipstream's helm and Knock Out couldn't accelerate away from that conversation fast enough. He didn't need to hear about his post-practice damage- all the dents and scratches and paint transfers he endured every. Single. Time! Ugh! Breakdown would get what was coming to him. He’d make sure of it!

"Drag Strip, move away from the body! Axor, take the left side. Misfire, you take right."

Knock Out transformed, and peered at the corpse, recognizing it right away. "Game over for Bisk."

Bisk lay face up on the ground, optic stalks dangling in different directions. His mouth was open wide, as if he’d died screaming. The front of his chassis was burned through, exposing a mess of melted wires and fried circuitry. The sharp smell of laser fire drifted off the corpse.

A noise came from Axor's face mask that may have been a whistle. "Impressive," he grunted. "Trace Fire, you still alive under there?"

"Yeah,” a voice groaned from underneath the dead 'Con. “Hi Axor.”

Axor nodded at Drag Strip. "You going to move?"

Bisk’s clawed arm hit the ground with a thud. Drag Strip stepped away and followed its example, plopping down into the dirt with her legs crossed and her chin against her hand. Slipstream caught Knock Out's attention and motioned towards her.

Knock Out's act of innocent confusion cracked almost immediately under the Seeker's glare. He groaned internally as he trudged towards, what he hoped, was the last spark-draining task he'd have to deal with today.

"Drag Strip," he started, slipping into his ‘professional’ voice. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty great!" Her expression told a different story. Her mouth was pulled into a grin that clearly didn’t want to be there, and her optics flicked around wildly: To the body, then back at Knock Out. Body, the other Decepticons, body again. "I totally could’ve lifted him myself, you know."

A medic rolling his optics wouldn't be appropriate in this situation. Knock Out nodded instead. “Oh, really?”

"I could! But Trace Fire's gun- the safety's off, see? And his arm is stuck! So when I tried to free him..." She pointed to a pinprick dent above her ankle. "Didn’t even hurt! But Trace Fire started freaking out! 'Are you okay?! I'm so sorry!'" she mimicked. "Yeah, I'm sorry too! Sorry it didn't leave a cool bullet hole!"

Knock Out rubbed his neck cables as she talked. Ugh, they were grimey! What he wouldn't give for an oil bath! Or maybe just a thorough wipe down. Oh, that sounded nice! He'd need maintenance after practice anyway- Breakdown was never gentle even on the best of days. He wondered what his assigned partner was up to now... Whatever it was had to be better than this.

"Are you listening?!" Drag Strip rapped her knuckles on his leg. Why did they keep touching him?!

"Of course! I was just wondering-" he waited until Drag Strip looked back at him for more than a half a nano-klik before he continued. “I was hoping you could tell me how this happened?"

"You mean how I won? It was easy!" Now he had her full attention. "Since Bisk and Quake are dead, I win!"

"Yes, I've gathered that." Then he paused. "Wait, did you say 'Quake'?"

Behind him, Slipstream worked to drag Trace Fire to freedom. Pinned to his back beneath Bisk's frame, the artillery expert could do nothing to help. While Misfire and Axor lifted the body as much as they could, she pulled on Trace Fire's arms. Several tries, an accidental weapons discharge, and one thruster boost later, it was done.

Axor surveyed the surrounding terrain. "So, where's the other dead guy?"

"Good question," Slipstream murmured.

Fortunately for her, Knock Out was about to make that search a lot easier. He beckoned Slipstream over-

"Knock Out thinks I killed Bisk!" It burst from Drag Stip with the same disbelief someone would ask "You’re going with that color?" Or "Are you sure Prime is actually dead this time?"

Correction: he'd make things easier *after* Drag Strip was done drawing Slipstream's attention. The Seeker narrowed her optics.

"Did you?"

"No!" Drag Strip stomped her servo. "I don't have to kill my opponents to win!" She looked at the body again. "Also! I found him like this!"

"I was just pointing out that she drove off in a huff" Knock Out examined his fingers. "and cycles later there's a dead body."

Trace Fire's head snapped up. "No! No Drag Strip didnt- it wasn't her!"

"Easy," Axor said. It was a strange sight- the gangly, spikey bot reaching down to help Trace Fire stand.

"I- I didn’t see how it happened, exactly! But-"

"Listen," Axor said soothingly. "It's obvious what happened."

"It is?"

"Sure. Just look at him: Melted wires, laser burns, and the smell!" Axor's voice carried a smirk. "Obviously it was spark failure!"

"A tragedy!" Misfire stuck his hand inside the dead mech and rummaged around. "Taken before his time!"

Knock Out aligned a broken-off claw to its rightful finger and squinted. Was it the lighting, or was the coloration off?

"The Autobot's weapon..." Trace Fire whimpered. "An eight barrel rotary laser canon…! It was incredible!" He covered his visor with both hands. Axor patted his shoulder awkwardly.

"What about the other death?" Slipstream asked sharply.

"That would be my mistake, Commander." Knock Out flicked the claw tip away with disgust. (Blasted things! He knew he should have reattached them sooner!) "Unless Quake died in the time we've been away, Bisk is the only casualty of the mission."

"I see." Slipstream's wings relaxed slightly.

"Wait! What do you mean Quake's not dead?!" Drag Strip tore her gaze away from the body to look between the assembled bots. "I called him! He didn't pick up!"

"He probably didn't hear you!" Misfire called, yanking free a knot of melted slag. "He and Sea Sure have been going at it for cycles!"

Knock Out groaned. His processor throbbed just being reminded of their endless bickering!

"But he never updated his score!" Drag Strip projected a scoreboard from her wrist. "See?!"

Slipstream pushed the Stunticon's arm out of her face. "So you thought... He died?"

"Well, yeah!"

Slipstream shut her optics. Perhaps she hoped that if she wished hard enough, all her problems would disappear!

"Knock Out," she opened her optics. "Assist Misfire in salvaging the body."

He bowed his head and moved towards the sneaky glitch.

"Hope you aren't too mad!" Misfire grinned. "I did call Scavenger's Rights. It's an honor thing. You have to honor it."

"There'll be more," Knock Out said smoothly, ejecting his drill. "But don't get too excited. All the parts will be going to the unit's stockpile."

"Right, yeah. Absolutely!"

"I'll help," Axor grunted. "I know a thing or two about cutting up bodies."

"Fine," Slipstream agreed. "You two, back to base!" Her orders given, she took to the air without so much as a 'goodbye'.

Knock Out sighed. He tapped his comm, and it rang twice before he remembered who he was trying to get a hold of. "Drag Strip, tell Breakdown that I'll be along as soon as I can."

Drag Strip didn't even glance at him before transforming and driving away, Trace Fire following behind.

"...Right," he muttered. "Thanks."

***

Drag Strip could have moved a lot faster. At her top speed, she was a yellow blur! A comet! Going so fast that it would be like she just appeared out of nowhere!

She moved at a fraction of that. She didn’t want to get back to base yet. Motormaster would want to know where she went, and Wildrider would be giving her the cold shoulder and... she just didn't really want to deal with it right now.

...She hadn't even hurt Wildrider that bad!

Trace Fire pulled up beside her. "I'm sorry."

"Huh? For what?"

"I- that Autobot! They smiled and Bisk-" his voice wavered and his wheels slowed to a stop. "I'm sorry."

Drag Strip reversed until she was next to him. She didn't say anything yet- This was a good 'quiet moment'. Two Decepticons, alone at sunset, bonding over a fallen commrade. 'Cept one was cool and the other was a huge wimp!

When they'd first met, back in Pitfire, Wildrider labeled him a Misanthrope. Drag Strip disagreed: 'total loser' she'd said. They'd argued about it, neither of them backing down... Until they saw Trace Fire kill four Autobots with a single bullet.

"That doesn't mean he's a Misanthrope!" She insisted. "He can still be a loser!"

"They surrendered," Wildrider pointed out.

"So he's a Loyalist!"

"Let's make it easy!" Her brother giggled. "Hey, Trace Fire! Why'd you kill those poor, defenseless Autobots?"

Trace Fire stared at his gun. "They killed my friend."

After that, the debate got more and more heated, until Motormaster stepped in to separate them. Wildrider basically admitted defeat, but always kept an optic open whenever the bot was around.

Now, as Trace Fire transformed and wrung his hands together, looking like he was about to fall over, Drag Strip was once again proven right: this guy was a loser and it was a miracle he'd survived this long!

"I'm so sorry," he said again.

"I'm not!" Drag Strip transformed and wagged her finger in his face. "Do you get this mopey about every dead 'Con?"

"No, but- I-"

"News flash! People get offlined all the time! It's war, remember?!"

He stared at her, like she was the weird one. Was he judging her? "...Wasn’t he your friend?"

"Pfft! No!" Drag Strip flipped down her targeting visor, and the world got so much clearer. "We played games together sometimes, that's all."

"Oh, I thought-"

"You should've heard him when I beat him at Street Brawls the other solar cycle! He was all 'drive parries are so cheap! You shouldn't have been able to stop my up-claw-left-down cross up!'" Drag Strip laughed

"So I said- I was like- 'It's a game mechanic! It's literally part of the game! Just play better! And then- then he started calling me names!" She cackled. Some of the insults had been pretty clever! "And I told him 'I'll beat you without drives in a rematch!' and he got all serious. Where his optic stalks go all squinty! Y'know?"

As she wiggled her fingers, pretending they were Bisk's optic stalks, Trace Fire nodded sympathetically. Suddenly her words just... Vanished. She dropped her hands and searched but... They were just gone. Weird.

"Look." she reset her vocalizer. "I won! So Bisk died, big deal! He died, and I won, and that's all that matters!"

She'd only won because Bisk died.

"I feel great! I'm awesome!"

So what though? So what if she won by default?

"A win's a win! And Bisk- he would've thought so too! If he'd won that way! But he didn't! He lost!"

Drag Strip grinned. "I beat him at stuff like this all the time! He'll get over it! Then we'll have a rematch and then he can whine when he loses that one too!"

"Drag Strip, I'm really sorry."

It took her a moment to realize.

"I'm not. I won," she said softly. If it mattered, it would feel like something, right? That's how things worked!

"Lets- let's head back."

Drag Strip transformed. "I'll catch up," she said, and became a comet on six wheels, streaking across the landscape back the way she came. Too fast to think about why none of this felt good, or what she was doing.

She leapt out of alt mode and flipped to land on her servos. The body was a few steps away. Grey and dead and just another corpse.

"Do you mind?!" Knock Out screeched as she climbed atop the body. No, she didn't mind!

Drag Strip snatched the laser scalpel out of Misfire's hand and hunched over one of Bisk’s shoulders. She ran her hand over a blackened Decepticon logo. It had lost its colors when the rest of him did. It was perfect.

Misfire cringed. "Don't hold the laser so close! You'll break it!"

It buzzed as she carved. Axor hovered over her shoulder. "You collecting a trophy for the kill?"

She tore the badge free. The glowing edges hissed against her fingers as she held it up for Bisk to see. "It's my prize. For winning!"

Bisk didn't respond- always was a poor loser.

Drag Strip tossed the laser scalpel back to Misfire and admired the badge again. It felt better to have some kind of memento for her victory. That must've been what was missing. She studied Bisk's face, retracting her visor. She flicked his optic stalks, clicked shut his jaw. She sneered. If he'd tried harder he wouldn’t have-

"Speaking of prizes," Knock Out's conversational tone set off alarms in her head; alarms that sounded a lot like a rattling engine and fake confidence. "When can I expect that bottle of high grade you owe me?"

Slowly, Drag Strip climbed off Bisk and stood up. A sickly heat spread through her systems as her internal temperature began to climb. He wouldn’t.

"I hope you haven’t forgotten about that."

Drag Strip squeezed her fist. The badge in her hand trembled, and her scattered brain pulled itself together enough to stick her prize in subspace before she crushed it. She took a deep breath in through her nose and blew a wisp of smoke out through her mouth. He was really doing this now?

Hadn’t this victory been enough?

"You remember, don't you, Drag Strip? That bet we made a few months back?"

Maybe she heard Misfire mutter something. Maybe she caught Axor backing away. Maybe, out of the corner of her vision, as she slowly turned to face Knock Out- just maybe she saw Bisk looking at her.

"The one you lost?"

Red optics on a white face plate. The phantom feeling of her fist on his pretty little face. Danger! Go harder! Go faster! Drag Strip had to win! She'd kill him! She'd KILL HIM!

His smug look vanished as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was too late. She was getting closer, running through her options. She didn't have her sword or her gun, fists weren’t her style... And the more she considered it, physical violence didn't seem satisfying. Beating on Knock Out was more Breakdown’s thing anyway. No, she wanted to destroy him in a way he’d remember.

Drag Strip got right in his face, made sure that she was the only thing he could see, and went in for the kill:

"Go race the sun," she spat.

She waited just long enough to see the surprise on his face turn into fear. To see him forget where he was and, reflexively, check the sky for imminent death. She smirked at his outraged gasp. And then she walked away.

Chapter Text

Breakdown stared at his hand, trying to figure out if he was still angry about it. Annoyed? Definitely. But more at himself- This was what happened when he let his guard down!

What was Knock Out's problem anyway? Was he trying to get Breakdown in trouble? Or maybe he was trying to test how much he could get away with! Did he really think he was so damn untouchable that Motormaster wouldn't kill him on the spot just 'cause his brother felt like it?

His hand refused to make a fist as he punched the air. He massaged it and winced. It did kinda really hurt.

He glanced at the front door. He'd been waiting in the main area of the base for cycles now, ever since he finished his patrols. Normally Knock Out came to find him for these practices. Maybe he'd finally given up?

Or... Was it some kind of strategy? Breakdown would go out looking for him, and then bam! Nah, that was silly. So what if he tried an ambush? What was the Doc gunna do? Stab him? Run him over? None of that had worked before!

And then one of Breakdown's familiar fears dropped in for a visit: what if something had happened? What if Motormaster had decided it was time for the Doc to go? Or one of his siblings thought it would be funny to cripple him? It was just the sort of thing that Wildrider would do! And- and he hadn't seen any of them in a while! Who knew what-

VvvvvvvrrroooOoooooOoooOoooOOOOm!

The front doors slid open and Breakdown rolled out of the way of the oncoming vehicle. "'Bout time you showed up!"

Knock Out swerved as he transformed, leaping forward! Breakdown dove to the side, and the Doc over shot, sailing past but turning the momentum into a forward roll as he hit the ground. Breakdown flipped himself up just in time for Knock Out's next charge. This time with a drill aimed at Breakdown's optics!

A smirk flashed on the Doc's face as Breakdown moved to catch his wrist. An instant later, he understood why: pain rolled through his bad hand. Knock Out went for that side on purpose! The tingling ache sharpened by the nano-klik, and his fingers began to spasm as the drill pushed in closer and closer…

Breakdown twisted, slamming a shoulder into that white faceplate, and following it with a swift kick to the ankle. He tried not to look too smug as Knock Out toppled to the floor.

The victorious mech massaged his hand. "Some notes." He ignored the Doc’s groan.

"First off, nice entrance! I know you don't like driving indoors, so good on you for branching out! And nice recovery! You're getting the hang of using your momentum in robot mode!" Breakdown spotted the little twitch of his sparring buddy's mouth and the flick of his finials. "Your balance still sucks, though. And" he shook out his injured hand. "Just 'cause I'm fighting one handed doesn't mean you can beat me in sheer strength!"

"It almost worked," Knock Out grumbled. He spread his arms and closed his optics.

Breakdown snorted as he offered his non-injured hand. "Round two?"

Knock Out didn't move.

"You quitting already?"

The Doc cracked open an optic. "It's been a long day."

Breakdown studied his partner. It wasn't like him to give up this soon. What was he trying to pull?

"You know," Breakdown said slowly "Exercise is good for that stuff. Stops you from thinking about it."

"Easy to say when you don't have a thought going through your processor to begin with."

"Rude," he muttered.

"You think that's rude?!?!" Knock Out sat up, suddenly snapping back to life "You won't believe what Drag Strip said to me earlier!"

"Aw!” Breakdown said in a mocking voice. “She hurt your feelings?"

"No! Just... It- ugh!" Knock Out flopped back down. "It's a Velocitronian thing! You wouldn't understand..."

"Doc, I've been dealing with Drag Strip since I came online." He crouched, staying just out of arm's reach. "Try not to let it get to you. She feeds off the attention she gets outta this stuff. Like a big yellow fuel-leech."

Knock Out hummed in agreement. "...And her visor's ugly."

"Right?! You know, she only started wearing that thing 'cause Dead End got one!"

The Doc propped himself on his elbows. "You aren’t serious?"

"She thought it looked really cool on Dead End, so she just HAD to look better!" Breakdown snickered. "She begged Shockwave to let her keep it on during the upgrades!"

"When she was unconscious?!"

"Next time she says something, just think about her in pieces with the visor still on!" This time when Breakdown offered his hand, the Doc took it.

"That it? Drag Strip get under your plating?"

"If only! Did you know" Knock Out leaned in, still holding on to Breakdown. "That people have opinions about things?"

"Really? No way!"

"It's true! And certain people feel the need to argue about them endlessly!"

Breakdown took back his arm, casually pretending to stretch as he checked it for anything out of the ordinary. He wasn't taking chances anymore, not after his other hand.

"It took me an extra .57 cycles to reattach Quake's leg! And then he stuck around to keep arguing with Sea Sure while I treated her for metal burn!" He groaned. "All over a romance novel!"

Breakdown watched his opponent carefully. Sometimes, between rounds, Knock Out would try to trick him into lowering his guard. He'd joke or ask questions or just talk... And by the Primes could this bot talk!

"I'm almost certain Elevon was making it worse- the way they kept responding to things that the other one hadn't said. If I hear one more thing about 'Vectors of Passion' I'm going to start removing vocalizers!" Knock Out shook his head. “They weren’t even arguing about the quality or… or the content! It was about the genre!”

“The genre?”

"Ugh! They couldn't agree if it counted as 'historical fiction' or 'mythological re-interpretation'." He threw up his arms. “And just for the record, it’s ‘trash’! The genre is ‘trash’!”

"Uh huh." Breakdown knew better than to toss out his opinion. Knock Out wasn't interested in what he had to say. "Look, if you don't feel like sparring, we can always run drills."

His grin made Breakdown shudder. "Funny!" Knock Out said, twirling his drill. "That's exactly what I had in mind!"

The Stunticon shook his head with a smile and started round two by rushing the Doc with a flurry of punches. Immediately, Knock Out was on the defensive. He ducked the first one, barely blocked the next, and dove into vehicle mode to avoid the third.

"Shouldn't have done that, Doc!" Breakdown snatched the four wheeler by the front and hefted him up. His damaged hand screamed at the strain, and he shifted the weight to compensate. The speedster transformed as he was lifted overhead and squirmed out of Breakdown's grip. He kicked off the bigger bot's shoulders and jumped away, landing unsteadily- but upright.

Breakdown grinned. "Look at that! Not so hard, right?"

Knock Out charged him.

Breakdown was only half lying when he told Motormaster he'd been going easy. If he went all out, really put everything he had into it, Knock Out wouldn't stand a chance. He just wasn't a tough guy! But that wasn't what made him dangerous.

The Doc side stepped at the last moment, sliding to the other side. The drill stabbed forward, wedging into a seam below Breakdown's chest plate.

Knock Out was dangerous because of his speed and cleverness. Sure, the Doc hadn't beaten him once- but he never lost the same way twice. It reminded him of another stubborn racer he knew.

Breakdown's uppercut connected with Knock Out's chin. The drill slipped out of position before it could be activated, and its wielder fell to the floor.

"Ugh! I had you!"

"You gotta stay focused, Doc! You left yourself wide open!"

"Again!" the bot demanded and Breakdown pulled him up with a grin.

"You didn't fix your fingers?"

Knock Out snatched his hand away. "I tried- couldn't get a moment to myself. By the time I did, they'd gone off color!"

"Yeah. Must be terrible having a damaged hand."

The glare he got sent a thrill through Breakdown's frame. This was going to be a good one.

Round three started with a drill digging into Breakdown's arm. Sparks flew as it found purchase, but the Stunticon cut its grinding wail short by kicking his opponent away. Knock Out recovered quickly, ramming the larger mech with his shoulder. Breakdown reached to grab him, and came up with only air.

"You ought to change your name to 'Fake Out' if you're going to keep doing-" his taunt was cut short by the side of a drill clanging against his helm.

His head rang from the blow. It was coming back for another strike! Breakdown snatched the weapon by the hilt and reeled Knock Out in, kneeing him in the midsection, and laughing as he threw the drill away. That was round three!

...Except the Doc was still standing. He was stumbling back, holding his middle, wheezing in pain... But he was still standing.

Breakdown laughed again. "Alright!" He cheered. "That's more like it!"

Knock Out growled as he transformed. His engine revved and roared as it carried him forward. Breakdown caught his shiny red hood with the underside of his servo. For a few moments, the larger, stronger bot held the racer in place, straining to keep from being run over. It was awesome. Breakdown was awesome!

"Just- fall!"

Breakdown felt his balance begin to slip. He moved fast: Leaning in, he brought his other leg up and stepped on top of Knock Out, jumping off as the vehicle lurched forward. He twisted in the air to watch the Doc pass beneath him and landed on his-

His malfunctioning hand screamed under the weight of his frame. It burned cold, a hundred needles spearing through the metal! He barely managed to complete the maneuver- flipping himself upright to clutch at the injury.

On the other side of the room, Knock Out crashed into the wall. He staggered as he transformed, and just when he seemed ready to go down... He looked at his scuffed and dented front… and then looked at Breakdown.

"Hey, you're the one who drove into it," Breakdown snickered.

Knock Out hurled a jumbled shriek of rage and insults. His saw blade flashed and he broke into a full body sprint, red optics burning a hole into Breakdown's spark.

Too easy. Breakdown laughed as he launched himself forward.

CLANG!

Metal rang and rattled as they collided in mid-aid, crashing to the floor in a heap. Knock Out struggled beneath him, scratching and squirming to get free. There was one final scream of fury- and then the Doc gave up.

*Now* it was over.

As he pushed himself up, he marveled at how much smaller the Doc actually was. He kept forgetting that he was bigger, stronger!

"You damaged me!"

"Yeah," Breakdown breathed. He caught Knock Out's chest as the bright red bot sat up, and stared, amazed, at how easy it was to hold him back. And looking at him like this- all banged up and pinned down, close enough to feel the heat coming off his frame and the vibrations of his engines-! There were so many details that Breakdown hadn’t noticed before–

The black outlines around his optics were chipped in places. The sparkly green smears on the sides of his nose guard, glittering under the light. The creases, so smoothed over and maintained that they were almost invisible, that appeared on his brow as he glared. The little focusing lenses in those red optics that shifted, expanding and contracting, as Breakdown smirked.

Screeeeeeeeeeeeee.

The way Knock Out's face changed as twitching fingers dragged down across his chest plate, leaving sharp, jagged scratches behind them.

"Accident," Breakdown whispered. He stood and grinned down at the Doc. Energon pumped through his lines and his spark pulsed strong. He didn't have to be afraid of hungry red optics. He didn't have to be afraid of anything.

Knock Out glared daggers at the fearless Stunticon- and then looked past him. Breakdown followed his gaze. And whatever courage he’d just discovered dove head-first into a smelting pit and died.

Wildrider waved down at them from the floor above. He leaned on the railing, his slag eating smile so wide it threatened to split his face. "Don't mind us!" He called. "You keep beating on that scary little speedster!"

No. No no no- How long had he been watching them?! What had he seen?! How had Breakdown not spotted him?! What was he-

Fast as light and twice as vengeful, a servo slammed into the back of Breakdown's leg, dropping him like a rock.

CRUNCH!

His knee hit the floor and twisted under the full weight of his body. He cried out, swiping behind him, but Knock Out was already up and out of his reach. Even worse, the movement made him lose balance. Pain shocked through his bad hand as he used it to steady himself.

His attacker circled him, sawblade glinting and optics gleaming with smug superiority. "What was that you said about staying focused?"

Breakdown angled himself as his attacker slowly moved closer. Knock Out's white face twisted into a maniacal grin. Just another step...

The Stunticon sprang up, propelling himself forward and to the left before Knock Out could swing. His elbow clanged into the back of Knock Out's neck. The saw blade flew out of his grip as momentum carried them both back to the floor.

Breakdown flipped his would-be killer over. He wouldn't be safe until this was over and he needed to be sure he was safe. He couldn't be sure until Knock Out was broken and he needed to break him to be safe. His fist hung in the air, ready to slam down hard enough to kill.

He needed to be sure.

"Finish him!" Wildrider cheered.

"I thought we were rooting for Knock Out?" Another voice asked from above. That was... Misfire? Breakdown didn't look up. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. That was what Knock Out wanted.

The Doc peeked up at him between raised arms, optics full of fear. And Breakdown blinked.

"I told you," He spat. He got up slowly, balancing on his un-damaged leg as he rose. "Gloating. Keeps getting you in trouble."

The look on Knock Out's face was terrifying. Humiliation and anger and murderous intent. Pure wrath. The medic pulled away, clutching at the scratches on his chest, and marched out of the room.

"Aw! So close!"

Breakdown hoped his glare channeled even a fraction of that same energy. "Nice going, Wildrider!"

His brother cackled.

"Get down here!"

"I wooooouuuuuld." He flashed an evil grin. "But Motors won't be happy." He tapped Misfire's arm. "What do you think?"

Misfire startled. Something dark grey fell out of his hands, pieces flying off as it hit the floor. "Don't touch it! Scavenger's Rights!" He called, leaping off the railing after it.

Breakdown stared at what remained of a severed head. An optic rolled towards him, and without thinking he snatched it up to crush it in his fist-

It was heavy for an optic, and about the size of his palm. Circuitry glinted as he turned it over. A round, shiny pupil watched him from a jagged slit down the center.

Misfire landed, gathering the pieces of the head. "Don't know if you've heard but Bisk is dead. Can I have that brain module back?"

This was a threat. Misfire was threatening him. Breakdown wouldn't be safe until he was sure and he needed to be sure because it was the only way to be safe- He barely heard Wildrider rush down the stairs. He was too busy thinking of how to smash Misfire’s face in.

"Misfire, let's get those snacks and leave him alone?" Wildrider giggled nervously. He shot his brother a toothy grin. "Don't want to be here when he freaks."

He wasn’t freaking out! This was obviously a threat and Wildrider would see that if he used his optics! Unless Wildrider was in on it! A magenta hand plucked the sphere from his grip.

"Hey! There's something in here!" Misfire shook the sphere. He wasn’t paying attention to Breakdown at all. And Wildrider… His brother tugged on the flier’s wing. Breakdown could take them both out right now. He’d be safe! But… No…

"Yeah, yeah, hang on." The oblivious rust-bucket didn't move. "Hell-o... What's this? Oh!" He pulled the pupil out with two fingers.

Breakdown shook his head. He needed to get away from this. Now. But if he ran, then he would be weak. He had to stand his ground and fight. It was the only way to be sure.

“Is that a bullet?” he heard Wildrider’s voice say.

“Looks like it! That’s weird,” he heard Misfire reply.

“One klik, I gotta take care of this. Hey! Breakdown!” Wildrider waved his arms.

Hit him now and swing at the other one and run them both over its the only way to be sure the only way they’ll never stop-

“Breeaaaakkky! If we give you a soda, will you slag off? Misfire, pass me a copper.”

A shiny can was held in front of his face. It was poisoned! Acidic nanites, or Touch of Grey. Siphoner’s Gift, or Cryofuel, or rustpowders!

Wildrider made an exasperated noise. He popped the can open and took a very long, loud sip. He swished the soda in his mouth, gurgled it, and looked Breakdown in the optic before he swallowed. He offered the can again.

Wildrider wanted to kill him, just as much as Breakdown wanted to kill Wildrider. They both knew it, too— They’d felt it in each other’s thoughts. Whatever this act was, it couldn’t change that. But… it did make it clear that Wildrider wasn’t looking for a fight right now. And that would have to be enough.

“I hate you,” Breakdown said, finding his voice. “So much.”

***

It was peaceful atop the deactivated turret. Light shone down from Luna 2, illuminating the peaks and valleys of the surrounding mountains. Dark grey turned into faded yellow and rusty browns. The stars, the ones not drowned out from the moon, peeked through at the planet from the firmament. It was easy to believe, looking out at all this, that things could be alright.

Slipstream knew better.

Slipstream dangled her legs off the side of the turret. The map projected from her wrist flickered against the dark. She kept checking it, as if she would notice something new this time, something that would put her at ease. She put it away again, rubbing at her optics.

Getting inside the Storm's Eye basin had been the easy part. The routes through the mountains were well marked and unguarded. There was no reason for Autobots to expect Decepticon forces to come this way. The only worthwhile target had fallen apart ages ago.

The Glittering Barrier, a mesa situated on the far side of the basin, was impassible by most. Simply put, it was a giant electromagnetic coil. Even the best fliers would find themselves disoriented and in danger of being struck by electrical discharge. Because it wasn't enough for it to be a giant "no fly" zone- the entire wall was a live current as well. Lightning glittered across its surface, tiny blue sparkles that taunted Slipstream from a distance.

She had a plan, of course. It would work. It had to. She wasn't going to rust away in some empty sector, ignored until it was convenient for Starscream to send her off to die! No, his carelessness had presented her with an opportunity, and she would seize it, no matter the difficulty.

As she stood, she turned around to sneer at the wall, and faltered. She reached out her hand and pretended to squeeze the landmark between two fingers- and felt completely foolish for doing so.

The Glittering Barrier twinkled at her in the distance.

Slipstream straightened her shoulders, closed her optics, and leaned backwards until she fell from the turret. Air rushed past her, and she spread her wings wide to catch it. Thrusters propelled her into a spin and caught her before she hit the ground. She hovered for a moment, thrilling in her mastery over gravity. When she touched down, it was gentle, practiced. Confident.

"Elevon," she spoke into her communicator. "Any word from the patrols?"

"Negative. No sign of the Autobots. Shall I tell them to widen their search area?"

She hesitated. "No. We won't be staying long enough for them to mount a counter attack anyway. Let me know if anything changes. Slipstream, out."

"...We going to Rodion?" A voice behind her asked. Slipstream almost jumped back into the air out of surprise.

Breakdown leaned against a wall beside the base's main entrance. He massaged at his hand as he watched her, waiting for her to answer. There was no point in denying it.

"The cargo lift up the Barrier may have been destroyed, but the tram was only decommissioned," she explained. Breakdown tilted his head, and she continued. "We'll repair it, use it to get over, and move into the city."

"Sounds good!"

Slipstream blinked. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"

"Uh. Yeah? I guess?" Breakdown shifted his weight, and winced. He recovered with a smile. "You're the boss!" He said, shrugging.

She'd been expecting more resistance. At every briefing, the Stunticons always had something to say. Well, Motormaster did, at least. She'd assumed the rest of them felt the same about her leadership. Her wings lifted a bit, and she stood up straighter.

It was odd seeing him without the other Stunticons. In fact, she couldn't recall a time when she'd ever seen the scout without someone louder than him around, either in voice or in personality.

"You're by yourself?"

"Yep. Just relaxing! Got another cycle before my next shift. Already wiped the floor with Knock Out, so," he laughed. "Not much to do before then."

"And your team?"

His expression flickered. "What about 'em? We don't have to be together all the time. 'Sides, we got that combiner thing going on. I could tell you exactly what they're doing right now!"

She played along, raising an optic ridge. "Isn't the gestalt bond a myth?"

He counted on his fingers as he spoke. "Motors is off sharpening his sword, Dee is hiding in a closet somewhere writing poetry. Ah-!" He flinched and shook out his hand. "Drag Strip is cheating at something or other, and Wildrider's in there ruining everything for everyone!" He grinned as he pointed at the building's entrance with his thumb.

Slipstream gave him a side glance as she moved towards the door. It slid open and sure enough:

"Ready?"

"Yeah, Go for it!" Misfire caught sight of her standing in the doorway. "No, wait!"

His warning came too late. Wildrider jumped from the railing of the second floor and transformed in mid-air. His wheels landed on several colorful cans, all of them bursting in explosions of pink.

"Whoooo! Did you get any? Misfire?" Wildrider changed out of alt mode. "What's- oh. Hey! Commander! Didn't see you there."

"Clearly." Slipstream's tone was completely dry, unlike the rest of her. Soda dripped off the arm she'd used to shield her face. Her subordinates stared at her, waiting for her to explode into white hot rage and scoldings.

"Go find Elevon. See if she needs help with anything. Both of you."

"That's it?" Misfire blurted out.

"Go," she repeated more sternly.

Wildrider hit Misfire on the arm and the two darted past her out the front door, the sound of their transformations following shortly after.

Slipstream tasted the soda running down her arm. Ugh. Mercury flavored. She walked back outside, shaking herself free of as much of the stuff as she could. "I'm not sure 'wasting fuel' counts as 'ruining everything for everyone'," she mused.

"Is- are you-?" Breakdown thought about what he was trying to say. "Are you okay, Commander?"

"It’s just soda."

"Yeah, but...You aren't mad? Even a little?”

"Are you questioning my behavior, soldier?"

"Uhhhh. No, ma'am!"

Slipstream laughed, and for some reason Breakdown looked nervous.

"You know... Back with the Seekers, I would have torn them apart," she shook her head. "We were the best of the best- it was our responsibility to act like it. I didn't care that the others resented me for it."

She smiled bitterly. "And look where it got me."

Slipstream waited for him to say something. That was how this worked.

Starscream, speaking low about his latest meeting with Megatron. She stood at attention, hanging on to his every word, honored that the Air Commander would confide in her. And when he was done, she asked him what he planned to do next.

Breakdown hadn't asked for her life story. He focused on his hand, flexing his fingers, very clearly waiting for her to finish.

"I mean-" she coughed, finding the matter-of-fact tone she used for briefings. Cold, confident, professional. "Morale is important! So long as it doesn't interfere with their duties, they can waste all the junk fuel they want during their off-shifts!"

The stars shone coldly down on her. Disgust and shame welled in the back of her throat. She was supposed to be better, blast it!

"Yeah," Breakdown nodded. "Makes sense." He winced as he pressed a thumb into his palm.

"Is your hand alright?"

"What? Oh. Yeah." He let it hang limply beside him. "Knock Out. Got me real good- During practice!" He grinned. "I got him back for it."

The way he said it gave her pause. "How have things been with him?"

His grin faded. "I've been watching him just like you said to! Haven't seen him being weirder than his usual." His tone was carefully neutral. "Is there something you want me looking out for?"

"No. Having optics on him should be deterrent enough."

Breakdown's smile was easy and bright, yet his stare was anything but. There was a change in the wind. It was time for Slipstream to leave. "Enjoy the rest of your off-shift," she said.

She made it two steps away before:

"A-actually-"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering; How come you're so worried about him?"

Slipstream tilted her wings, then remembered to tilt her head as well.

"I mean... Sure, he's weird. And we make a good team and all. He says it's because of the thing with Misfire, but..." Breakdown crossed his arms. "You don't get a Stunticon to follow someone around unless you're trying to send a message."

She blinked, realizing what he was actually trying to ask her. "You want to know why I assigned you to him."

"Yeah. Kinda."

"Initially, I needed someone who could keep up with him. Then the 'Misfire' incident happened and since he can't seem to stay out of trouble for more than five kliks..." She chuckled. "He's been serving under me for... Ten solar cycles, now? The stories I could tell!"

He seemed to consider this, brow furrowing as he looked off to the side. Slipstream scoffed. "Breakdown, I— can't believe I'm saying this— I give you permission to speak your mind on the matter."

"I don't-” His vocalizer glitched and he tried again: "I don't have an option on it.” There was a pause. “Opinion. I don't have an opinion on it. Ma'am." Breakdown scratched at the paint on his arms and spun his wheels.

“Really? No thoughts on it at all?”

He cringed. "I have… noticed something,” he said slowly.

“It feels like… you want me to do more than keep him out of trouble. You’ve got me spying on him ‘cause of something else."

Slipstream blinked. “Spying?”

“You said my number one priority was to watch him, ma’am.”

What? When had she said that? The last time they’d spoken was… Ah. “I said was that your top priority was to stay in your assigned formation.”

“Motormaster wanted us to- never mind,” he sighed. “What I mean is… it feels personal, is all.”

Slipstream blinked, surprised that he’d picked up on that. She paused, considering how much to say. Again, her mind turned back to her talks with Starscream. More than once, she'd wondered how he always knew the exact thing to say to turn a situation to his advantage. The bastard made it look so easy. But this wasn't a 'situation'. It wasn't some game to be won or some challenge to Slipstream's authority. At least, she didn't think so.

"You're right," she said slowly. "I won't disclose the specifics. All I will say is that Knock Out has turned 'ruining everything forever' into a science. Something he's picked up from a mutual acquaintance, I'm sure." She smiled reassuringly. "Believe me, it's nothing you need to worry about."

Breakdown nodded slowly.

Slipstream bid him farewell. The wind caught on her wings as she walked away, and the stars shone down indifferently. She hoped she'd laid whatever doubts he had to rest, even if only a little. If only it were so easy to do the same for her own.

Chapter Text

Ammunition? No... Firearms? Nope, not that. Where would those imbeciles have put them? They weren't in the medical trailer, they must be in here...

"What are you doing?"

"Ah, Breakdown. Good. Hold this!" Knock Out tossed a laser rifle at him and continued searching through the supply crates. The weapon spiraled through the air briefly, begging to be set off when it hit the ground. Breakdown stooped, catching it on one knee before that could happen.

"Stop throwing weapons around!"

"Stop catching them.” Knock Out straightened and moved the box aside, turning his attention to the one that had been underneath it. He opened it up and- ah ha! There they were!

"I asked you a question."

Knock Out huffed. He reached in and pulled a set of shiny rotary files from the box, holding them up for the nuisance to see. "Some slow-witted slag-sucker put my things with the rest of the unit's supplies. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Breakdown leaned the rifle against the wall of the trailer, double checking the safety, before crossing his arms and frowning, trying to act the stoic as he looked around outside. Knock Out knew better- a single raised brow and the ‘tough guy’ stepped aside to let him pass. He paused on the way out and tilted his head back to look Breakdown in the optic.

"Would you?" The medic asked again, sweetly.

"I didn't touch your stuff!"

Knock Out smirked as he moved towards the medical trailer. If these weren't his only tools, he might’ve asked Breakdown to hold them while he input the door code just to really grind his gears. Then again, his faux politeness was already doing a fine job of that. "So, how did your patrol go? See anything interesting?"

"Fine... Why are you asking?" He leaned against the outer wall of the medical trailer.

"Just making conversation!" The door slid open and Knock Out stepped inside. As he placed his things down, his gaze traveled to the far end of the trailer. "You're so testy! Perhaps you ought to follow our friend's example and power down for a while?"

The patient lay still on the table, totally at peace- or so they appeared. Their brain waves told a different story. One of the side effects of stasis lock: involuntary simulations. The mystery mech seemed to be going through a nasty one too, if Knock Out was reading the data right.

"Or try some self-maintenance," the medic suggested as he dug through his belongings.

"Right, sure," he heard Breakdown mutter.

Knock Out smiled. He abandoned the search for his rotary tool (his finger tips could wait just a little longer) and practically skipped out of the trailer. "I could give you a tune up, if you want."

Seeing the horror and panic filling Breakdown's face never got old. It really was the little things in life.

"No? Are you sure?" He tapped the spot where Breakdown inflicted those horrendous scratches on him just last night. Now, it was smooth as glass, and waxed to a perfect shine. His finish sparkled in the morning sunlight.

Breakdown crossed his arms and looked around nonchalantly. "Yeah, I'm good, thanks."

"Your loss," Knock Out flared his optics, noting how Breakdown tensed. "And speaking of- When are you free next?"

Breakdown hesitated. "About that." He pushed himself off the wall. "I think we should stop."

Knock Out’s cheerful facade shattered. "Stop?" He repeated in disbelief. "Why?"

"Well, uh. I just think- A guy like you has a lot more to do than get pummeled every other solar cycle, y'know? And you've learned how to fight so..."

"But... But I haven't won yet!"

Breakdown stared at him, shrugged, then looked away. Knock Out gaped.

"No. No! You don't get to back out!" Knock Out poked him in the chest. "You and I aren't finished until I say so! Not after all the damage you've caused to my frame!"

Breakdown shoved him, lightly. "Back off!”

"Or what?!"

"I've been nice so far-"

"Nice?!" Knock Out exploded. "You've dented my hood, cracked my windshield, scratched my finish on purpose, nearly ripped out limbs-!"

The larger bot sighed "C'mon, don't make this a big deal. You already have enough enemies, right? No need to get yourself in more trouble, ‘specially not with me."

"Fine." Knock Out stomped back into the trailer. "Fine! If you want to forfeit right before I reach the finish line, then fine!"

What did he care? He didn’t even like Breakdown! And what did he know about trouble?! He was the one in trouble! He was the one who was going to regret this! The medic froze mid step.

"No need to get myself in more…” Knock Out muttered to himself, an awful realization beginning to dawn. What did Breakdown know?

He rushed after his partner, catching him by the arm! "Breakdown. Look at me. What did you hear?"

The nervous mech shook himself free. He looked around again, like-

Like he was worried who he would be seen talking to.

"Who was it? How much-" Knock Out glanced back at the trailer. It was happening again. He’d been careful this time! Slipstream knew and she was okay with it! Had someone else seen-! A tarp! He needed to find a tarp and cover the body!

Knock Out closed his optics, swerving away from the oncoming panic. Keep it together. He'd done nothing wrong (morally, anyway) and even if he had, what would Breakdown care? Breakdown cared about stunts and fighting and his next assignment- not interfactionary grudges and gossip! His optics snapped open. He was calm. He was in control. And then he made the mistake of trying to talk:

"I was doing my job! I didn't know who it was when I started! Even Soundwave and his pet monsters agreed that-" Words tripped over each other on the way out, and Knock Out’s voice shook horribly. It was almost a relief when Breakdown slapped a hand over the medic’s mouth and pushed him inside the trailer. Indignation was so much easier to handle than panic, after all!

"Don't tell me! I don't want to know!" What was Breakdown so upset for? He wasn’t the one in danger! "I don't want that kind of trouble, alright? Let's just- Hey, no! Don't!"

Knock Out had put his own hands over Breakdown’s. He wasn’t sure if he’d done it to rip his partner’s fingers off, or because he needed something solid to steady himself with. Regardless, Breakdown pulled away as if he’d been electrocuted.

"Look," Breakdown pleaded, "I don't care about it! Really! I just- I don't want to be made into a spy or... Or whatever! This isn't my business!"

"A spy?" Knock Out repeated. His processor spun putting the pieces together. Breakdown had said something like that yesterday, hadn't he? "Slipstream?!"

Breakdown fixed his guilty gaze on the floor.

How DARE she?! He knew Slipstream never liked him but sharing his disciplinary history?! Why?! For what?!

"Wait- C'mon, Doc don't..."

Knock Out whirled around, daring him to say anything else. Breakdown looked away and sighed.

"What are you going to do?" He asked quietly.

"Well, first I'm going to ask Slipstream a few questions," he snarled. "Still working on how to word them so I won't get shot for insubordination, but it's getting there. Then I'm going to come find you!" Knock Out smiled viciously. "We've got a score to settle!"

***

Slipstream turned the photo over. The thin datapad displayed a grey and blue Autobot pretending to hold up the base’s turret as it fired into the sky in the background. The label on the back read “Carbon’s First Shot!”

The briefing room was littered with the things. They clung to every surface, sat in frames on the computer terminal, even hung off the sides of the projector table. Even for the over-sentimental Autobots, this was a bit much. She plucked another off the wall: Two bots, one red and green, the other a light brown, kneeled in the dust drawing a very misshapen Optimus Prime. Slipstream turned it over: “Impromptu Art Lesson.”

The strangest thing was that not all of the images were cheerful. “Wish Bone’s Funeral” was a solemn affair, “Surprise Inspection” featured a very irate looking Ultra Magnus, “Fall of Crystal City” was of distraught Autobots gathered around a computer monitor presumably watching the broadcast of the event.

There must have been hundreds: A blurry shadow labeled “Necrobot Sighting?”; “Race Around The Basin!” had vehicles lined up as a red and purple bot waved a checkered flag. A group of Autobots passing around cubes of Energon: “The Good Stuff”; mountains at sunset: “*At Least the View is Nice*”; A black and pink bot working on generators: “Taken Before a Blackout”.

“Someone had too much free time,” Slipstream murmured, sticking the photos back on the wall. A post as remote as this, with nothing of strategic importance- It must have been miserable.

“Redecorating?”

And speaking of misery.

Slipstream straightened her shoulders and adjusted her wings. “Knock Out,” she said warily, “Can I help you?”

“I've just come from a fascinating talk with Breakdown.” He stepped into the room, barely giving the decor more than a glance. “It’s one thing for my fellow Decepticons to gossip about me- I encourage it, in fact! But I expected better from my commanding officer.”

Slipstream blinked. “What are you-”

“What did you tell him?!”

Commander Slipstream’s optics narrowed. “Watch your tone, Doctor.”

"Oh, now you use my title!" He caught her look and lowered his voice. "You told Breakdown about the court-martialing!"

"No, I didn't. Is that all?"

"Is that-!"

Slipstream raised an eyebrow. Knock Out strained to contain another outburst. His voice escaped as a hiss:

"Then why is he trying to distance himself? I know you told him something! You assigned him to spy on me, and now he wants out!"

“No, I didn’t,” Slipstream said again, firmer this time, “I assigned him as your partner to keep you from causing problems. Obviously that hasn’t stopped you, has it?”

"You- I-!" He began to shake. "I am at my limit with this constant disrespect!" He paced the room furiously. "And not only that! The endless stream of tasks! The lack of appreciation! In fact, I'm beginning to think," he hissed, "That my skills would be better used elsewhere."

What? Was he- he was serious!

“I see,” she choked out.

He really thought he got her with that. Only Knock Out would have the audacity to march in here and raise his voice at her, complain about being disrespected and then make demands! The blaster on her arm felt very heavy all of a sudden.

No... Killing him for insubordination was not an option. She couldn't afford to lose her only medic, not when she was this close to succeeding. Agreeing to what he said, or even showing sympathy, was also out of the question- It would encourage this sort of behavior again in the future. What was she supposed to do?

What would Starscream do?

Starscream wouldn’t have gotten in this situation to begin with! He never had to deal with insubordination like this. No one would dare! And if he did, he’d do something menacing… and insufficient. Whatever he did would appear to solve things, only for it to result in more trouble later. Things would fester and corrode beneath the surface… just like it was now. This was the result of her failing to discipline him properly. But what could she do? She’d tried threats with Knock Out before, and it always washed off him like oil. Was she simply not intimidating?

Slipstream’s gaze fell on a grinning orange and red Autobot giving her a thumbs up. “Self Portrait” read the label on the back. So... this was the one who took all these. Smiling like a fool when there was a war to win!

What did she look like right now, she wondered? Weak? Indecisive? Unworthy of command?

Slipstream narrowed her optics. Knock Out stood tall, smug in his seeming victory. His paint was shiny and flawless. There wasn’t a scratch on him. How did he see himself? Certainly not for what he actually was…

"Do you know why you’re here?"

Knock Out blinked slowly. He opened his mouth, shut it, then tilted his head and frowned. "...Not sure I understand the question. I thought I made myself quite clear."

"Right. Of course. To whine at me about your problems. I understand that." Slipstream studied him, twirling the photo between her fingers. "Why are you in my unit?"

He stared at her. "Because you need a medic?"

"Yes, but... You don't belong here. You never have." The cheerful Autobot in the photo taunted her. She tossed it down on the projection table and pressed on.

"The only way to leave without going AWOL is through official channels and I don't have the authority to transfer you." Slipstream gave him a wry smile. "Maybe your friend will let you out if you ask nicely."

He threw up his hands. "What friend?! What do you mean I 'don't belong here'?! What are you talking about?!"

He didn't know. Slipstream rubbed her optics. All this time and he had no idea.

She slid a data drive out of her wrist compartment and plugged it into the projection table. A holographic web of nodes appeared between her and Knock Out. "This is the unit roster," she explained, cutting him off as he opened his mouth. Each node was labeled with a soldier's serial number and contained an identification image, their name, rank, specialization, tech specs, alt mode... Anything Decepticon command used to distinguish their soldiers.

Knock Out took in the information warily, his scowl staying firmly in place.

"This," Slipstream pushed a button and the nodes rearranged themselves: eight moved to one side, leaving twelve in the center, "Was the unit before I merged what was left of Pitfire. You remember, I'm sure. Note the number of soldiers? A proper unit has at at least fifteen. And if you look at the functions-"

She was stalling. "Officially speaking, this is not a unit. This is a squadron. As such, I can only request personnel from my superior." It stung to say out loud, even after all this time.

"Fascinating," he drawled, "And what does any of this have to do with me?"

Idly, Slipstream's hands wrapped around a framed picture sitting on the side of the table. She ran her fingers over the edges, feeling the gentle curves and smooth surfaces. The image was of a handful of Autobots on a cliff side overlooking the basin, with the base visible in the distance. Slipstream recognized the trail- She'd used it to get her troops into position for the assault.

“First Day”

"I requested a ground assault trooper, for frontal charges." She rearranged the nodes as she spoke, pulling up individual profiles of her troops. "I received a xenobiologist who goes charging after every 'cool bug' they see. I asked for a salvage specialist, and I get a fuel transport that demands payment for what he finds.” She slammed her hand on the table. Red hot rage bubbled out of her spark! Slipstream cycled air. She would not throw a tantrum in front of her subordinates. She was better than that.

“I asked for a sniper,” she continued in a dangerous whisper, “and he sends me Misfire!”

Knock Out blinked slowly. He hesitated, looking for Slipstream's permission before touching the projection. He read through the profiles, quietly studying each one as his Commander got a blasted grip on herself! She leaned on the table heavily, watching him out of her peripherals. When the Doctor scanned Slipstream's entry, his optics went wide. "You're only a captain?"

"Everyone here is a failure or a defect." The words cut her throat as she said them. "Starscream does it on purpose. To remind me."

She focused on the photo in front of her, of that smiling Autobot. "So imagine my surprise when I asked for a medic and he sent me you."

Knock Out’s face changed as he processed this.

"At first I thought you were put here to keep watch on my activities, but that hasn't been it. You lack the impulse control to act as an effective spy or saboteur. And aside from some other personality... Quirks, you perform your duties admirably. Your skills as a medic are beyond satisfactory. So…"

"Why did Starscream stick you all the way out here? Do you even know?"

Knock Out unfolded his arms and put a hand on his hip. His fingers danced and his mouth twitched, pulling into a smirk, then a grimace, and then a snarl. His hands dropped and curled into shaking claws.

“You expect me to believe this?! That I was shuffled off to the back lines as part of some… some mind game? Ha!” He tossed his head back as he laughed. “Ha! If any of this were true, you would have told me sooner! Instead of keeping it in your compartments until I threaten to walk away!”

Slipstream turned off the projection table. She spoke very carefully:

“Has Starscream tried to contact you at all in the past ten stellar cycles?”

Knock Out’s smirk cracked.

“Did he give you a means to contact him?”

Silence.

“I see… So how do you plan on leaving? You’re stuck here. Same as the rest of us.”

“No,” His voice shook, “No, you’re wrong. This… He knows how skilled I am! He wouldn’t have thrown me away! I’m here as a medic. You needed one and I was assigned here. That’s all.”

Sympathy escaped Slipstream’s spark. She isolated it, locked it back up. “You'll get a chance to ask Starscream for a transfer once we get to Rodion," she said, her tone hard as steel.

Knock Out crumpled. His shoulders sagged, his face fell. His optics dimmed, even as they flicked around the room, searching for a way out of this mess. Slipstream wasn’t sure she wanted him to find one.

“Why tell me this?” He asked in barely a whisper.

"Because you deserve to know how deep this hole is." The Commander turned away. "Good luck with the transfer."

She fixed her optics on the computer terminal, not daring to look back. She would not show weakness. Only when she heard the door slide shut did Slipstream relax her wings. The Autobot grinned at her from the table.

Slipstream sneered. What kind of fool could ever be satisfied in a place like this?

***

Tearing apart the generators? Check! Weapons maintenance? Done! Moving the looted supplies from the base to the trailers? Breakdown placed the crate with the others, wincing as the weight shifted off his damaged hand. With the crates packed, all of the boring-but-necessary chores he had to do were now, officially, complete!

Klink.

Breakdown whirled around, fists raised. He watched the open trailer door, ready to pounce at the first sign of movement. But there was nothing. Same as it'd been all shift. He sighed.

What happened to "coming to find him"?

Breakdown groaned. He'd been on high alert all shift. Every shadow, every mech standing behind him, was the Doc jumping out with a saw blade aimed at his neck. It was getting old.

He eyed the open door with suspicion, and then longing. Sunlight streamed through, splashing on the wall and floor of the trailer. The metal would be nice and warm, and he was safe here, in this spot. He could rest for a little, right? He’d earned a break.

Having given himself permission to relax, Breakdown got comfortable. He stretched out in the sun, sitting down on the floor and putting his back against the wall. Slowly he became aware of all the little aches and pains he’d been collecting. It wasn’t just his hand- his jaw hurt from clenching it all shift, his knee felt weird every time he bent it… He was tired, all the way down to his spark.

Klink.

Breakdown’s optics snapped open. He stared at the open door. There was nothing there… It was just a noise. Just something shifting around 'cause of the heat or... Some kind of wildlife. Way too soft to be a bot trying to sneak up on him. No need to worry. He didn't need to get up. He could keep resting…

Klink.

Breakdown was back on his servos and out the door immediately. He listened carefully and felt the ground through his servos. There *was* someone!

Klink.

He crept around the corner and spotted the bot right away. His caution melted. "There you are!"

Knock Out sat on an upturned crate behind the medical trailer. Debris was scattered around him, and tools with bright red handles glinted in the dirt. A dismantled, vaguely familiar looking medical device sat in Knock Out’s lap. It looked like a battery, with two cables dangling from either end. Its casing was open, and the Doc poked and prodded its internals with a strange lack of enthusiasm.

"Hey!" Breakdown moved closer, careful not to step on any of the Doc's things. "Where've you been?"

Knock Out barely glanced in his direction.

"I've been waiting all shift for you to show up! Thought you were gunna 'settle the score'?" Breakdown’s insides twisted with anticipation, and his face twisted into a grin.

"Something came up," Knock Out answered. He curled a wire around a finger and pulled, unspooling it from a copper cylinder. Breakdown crossed his arms and braced for the Doc to start whining about how it went with Slipstream or his work load or whatever minor inconvenience he’d suffered through... But Knock Out kept quiet.

"What'cha got there?"

The Doc plucked a transistor and examined it, gently placing it next to him on the crate.

"You fixing that thing?"

Nothing.

"The problem is that big fracture, next to the power supply."

Still no response. Knock Out didn’t even bother to look where he was pointing.

"Can't believe you didn't see it sooner! It's super obvious!" Breakdown's cheeky grin faltered as his made up problem failed to get any reaction at all. Time for a direct approach.

Breakdown planted a hand on the bot’s helm and gave him a shove.

The Doc finally looked at Breakdown. "If you scratched me..."

"If you'd stop ignoring me I wouldn't have to touch you!"

"Oh, so it's my fault? I don't respond fast enough, so you damage my finish?" His voice was flat and lifeless. "And in a spot I can't see…"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Knock Out sighed. "I'm busy."

"Yeah, I can see that. Doing what?"

He gestured at the mess around him, seeming to struggle for words. "Someone broke my things," he said finally.

Breakdown blinked and took another look at the debris scattered around. Scalpels were snapped in half. A welding torch was bent and embedded in the dirt. Wrenches and screwdrivers, flattened and thrown aside. A smashed hand held scanner, discarded drill bits, disassembled clamps...

Breakdown felt his plating tighten against his frame. "I didn't do it."

"I know."

Knock Out didn't believe him.

Breakdown stepped away as the Doc went back to his device. The crate's lid lay nearby, and he flipped it over his servo. The Stunticon got to work. Broken tools were deposited on the lid and soon, almost all the debris was piled into it. "They really got everything, huh?"

No answer.

"Actually..." Breakdown held up a slightly bent wrench. "Some of these aren't too bad. Bet you could hammer this one back into shape! And the red ones are okay. Mostly."

He frowned at Knock Out- he was getting real tired of the silent treatment. "Who do you think it was?"

Knock Out inhaled sharply. His face twisted into a snarl... And then collapsed with a sigh of defeat that would make Dead End jealous. His shoulders slumped and the wheels on his back dipped low. He tore a battery from his device, squeezed it in his fist until it crunched, and then hurled it into the dirt.

"...How'd it go with Slipstream?" Breakdown asked, already knowing the answer.

Knock Out covered his face with his hands.

Breakdown almost put a hand on his shoulder, but stopped short- remembering what happened last time. There had to be something that would snap the Doc out of this.

"Hey, I got an idea!" He moved in front of the guy and grinned. "How 'bout we go a few rounds? ...Yeah, yeah, I know what I said earlier! But then you said you'd come get me and I-" The single red optic peering at him through blunted fingers sent a chill down the Stunticon’s spine. He rubbed his arm, the familiar dents giving him an odd sort of comfort.

"I've kinda of been looking forward to it all shift," Breakdown admitted. "What do you say? Ready to 'settle the score'?"

Knock Out stared at the hand being offered and life flickered into his gloomy expression.

"Go rust."

Breakdown's fist clenched. "Cool," he nodded, "Thing is, I've got to go on patrol in a cycle. And I really think it'd be good for you. Help get all that frustration out."

“Go. Rust,” Knock Out repeated.

Eight cycles. Eight cycles of jumping at every shadow, only to be refused at the last moment. Breakdown watched the sullen bot continue to tear apart the device in his lap. His arm moved faster than his processor. He snatched the thing away, his damaged hand complaining as held his prize up above his head.

With just his face, Knock Out asked 'are you serious?'

"C'mon! You know you want to." Breakdown shook the device tauntingly.

Slowly, Knock Out rose from the crate. His claws curled. He growled in frustration! And just as Breakdown was sure this was the start of the round-

The bot... relaxed. His shoulders lowered, his hands dropped to his sides. He took a deep breath. "Thank you, Breakdown."

"Uh. You're... Welcome?"

"I mean it!" The hunger was back in those red optics. "Sincerely, with my whole spark: thank you… for reminding me that no matter how low I feel, you'll always be around to be more pathetic than I ever could!"

Breakdown gaped. "I'm trying to help!"

"By beating me senseless?!" Knock Out scoffed and spread his arms, inviting Breakdown to take a shot. "Go ahead! Let's see how well it works!"

Breakdown’s processor raced. His instincts told him this was a trap, and orbital cycles of experience dealing with this guy said “no kidding”. But another part of him, one that was louder than the others, pounded its chest. “He needed to be strong,” it said. If he backed down now, he'd never hear the end of it.

"I'm waiting!"

Options flashed through his mind: Hit him hard enough to force a reboot. Grab him by the wheels and smash his face into the ground. Take him by the neck and throw him. Any of those would do. And Knock Out deserved it. But...

"Alright. You're upset. I can see that," Breakdown growled through grit teeth, "You don't want to rile me up. It's a bad idea."

"But why? I thought you wanted to fight! Or" Knock Out’s oily voice dropped low. "Is it only fun for you when you can claim it’s 'self defense'?"

"You pretend it’s fine- good, even! You aren't hurting a medic, you're teaching me how to fight! And then you throw me away once you decide that I'm a... A liability?! What was it you said?" Knock Out moved like he was on a stage, waving his arms and gesturing like he was exaggerating every action for an audience only he could see. "You 'don’t want that kind of trouble'?"

"I said I didn't want to spy on you!"

It was no good- The hysterical bot couldn't hear anything over the sound of his own voice. "I suppose you thought I'd rust away quietly! But oh, Breakdown! Now we have a score to settle! And I've seen what you're really like!"

Red optics were wide and a blunted silver finger pointed at Breakdown’s chest. “You're... a coward!"

Breakdown laughed. He felt like Wildrider- laughing as a howling fury gathered in his chest. Knock Out was trying to rile him up, was all. He couldn’t really know! Or maybe- "Which one of my siblings told you that?!"

"Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?! You told me we're 'so much alike'! You said- All those things you said... And now you think you can throw me away!"

"Hang on, I never said-" Breakdown adjusted his grip on the device. He was squeezing too tight. "Knock Out, what are you talking about?"

"You've been looking forward to this! You want to hurt me! Go on, then! Just admit it! Or” Red optics bored through plating and into the Stunticon’s spark, “Are you afraid I'll judge you for it?!"

There was a moment, right before the storm reached Breakdown’s brain, where he recognized that whatever was happening might not have anything to do with him. Then he heard the words "are you afraid" and all his restraint snapped in gale-force winds.

"I am NOT SCARED OF YOU!!"

His hand spasmed. Pain shot through every cable and curled through every joint. His fist contracted and-

Crack!

The device's casing split in his grip. Breakdown flung it to the ground and grabbed at his wrist, barely noticing the components exploding out at the impact. He was too busy sucking air in through his teeth, swearing softly as he waited for the pain to pass.

Knock Out wasn't doing much better. His fans sounded like they were working overtime as his chest rose and fell with each cycle of air. Their gazes met.

"What is wrong with you?" Breakdown rumbled.

Knock Out looked away. "...you ought to take it easy on that hand," he mumbled. Then he transformed and drove away.

Breakdown stared after him. He shook his head clear and stepped forward to jump into his alt mode-!

His knee twisted in the socket.

Breakdown found himself kneeling next to the remains of the device, letting loose a barrage of expletives. Forget it. He was going to find somewhere quiet and sit for a while. Knock Out could drive off a cliff for all he cared!

A cycle later, before he left for patrol, Breakdown drove by the trailers, just to check. And there was Knock Out, sitting on that crate. A weird feeling welled up in Breakdown's spark as he realized that this time, Knock Out was fixing his tools. It felt a tiny little bit like relief... And a lot like fear.

Chapter Text

Knock Out rolled his optics at the electronic lock that kept the gate shut. Some security! A connection here, an electrical charge there, and he'd be inside within a klik!

Several kliks later, he was still working on getting in. Wires continuously slipped from his blunted fingertips, forcing him to stop and feel around for their ends. Why couldn't he have waited until after he'd repaired himself to break all of his things? Two days of scavenging the base's medical office and he still hadn't fixed everything he'd ruined during that tantrum. He chose not to dwell on it- after all, his search had been successful in other ways.

Distant echoes bounced through the mouth of the cavern. The darkness squeezed at him, reminding him how he was very much not supposed to be here. He cast his high beams around, just to check if he was actually alone. Which was ridiculous! Of course he was! None of his fellow Decepticons had any reason to follow him and even if they did show, his cover story was rock solid! An Autobot? Please! They would almost certainly give warning before they started shooting! Probably. Most of them were polite like that. Anything else, he could easily get away from! And yet... His nerves were as frayed as these old wires. Every shifting pebble may as well have been a gunshot.

A monster roared in the canyon outside and Knock Out’s frame locked up. Relax. Not a ‘monster’, that was silly. Just an… engine. That was rapidly getting louder. He shut off his light and closed his optics.

"What the Hell are you doing?!?!"

The one bot his alibi wouldn't work on, and the last person he wanted to see. He wished it had been a monster instead.

"Breakdown!" Knock Out greeted him with forced cheer, "Imagine running into you here!"

Angry lights threw shadows across the cave walls. The bane of Knock Out's existence switched out of vehicle mode and stormed towards him, each step an artillery shell in the dark. Knock Out kept his tone conversational: "I take it you found out…"

"That you told everyone that we switched?!"

"No one would believe I was assigned a patrol."

"A patrol you made up!"

Knock Out offered an apologetic smile and a shrug, and went back to the keypad.

"You deserting? Is that it?! Hiding away in here like a coward and leaving us to die?!"

"No!" Knock Out scoffed, "So dramatic! It's nothing like that. Why does everyone think I'm always up to something?"

"'Because you are! You're sneaking off three cycles before a redeployment to... To-" Breakdown cut himself off with a growl. "This is your new plan to get me killed, isn't it?! You can't do it yourself, so you set me up as your accomplice?!"

"Oh, please!" Knock Out shook his head. He finally connected the last pair of wires and twisted their ends together. With a flick of his hand, he produced an Energon patch from his subspace and tore a corner free with his teeth. He applied the remainder to his arm, and the tiny piece to the keypad's battery.

"I wasn't thinking about you at all."

The gate rumbled, its motors activating for the first time in vorns. It stuttered and shrieked as it slid open. Moist, dusty air greeted the bots, swirling out of the darkness beyond.

Knock Out steepled his fingers together and grinned. He clicked his headlights back on and swept them around the cavern as he bounded forward.

The place was not what he’d been hoping for. On his left: several colorful informational graphics stood guard over displays of various shapes and sizes, each armed with aggressively whimsical titles. To his right: A rickety cart just big enough for a few mechs to fit comfortably inside. The track it was attached to curved along the wall deeper into the cave, going over a steep drop off and fading out of sight into the black.

And following behind him was a nuisance.

"I don't recall inviting you along," Knock Out said, shining his light into an approaching Breakdown's optics. The nuisance glared at him.

"Why did you come here?"

"Oh, for the novelty, obviously!" Knock Out gestured at a display, "Who wouldn't make a pit stop at..." He squinted, " 'The Necrobot's Rest'? Is that what that says? The font is terrible..."

Breakdown's expression didn't so much as twitch.

A glint of metal on the wall caught Knock Out's attention. A lever! He eagerly pulled it down with both hands, and was rewarded with a satisfying ker-chunk. Looking around expectantly, he hummed in disappointment when there were no immediate results, and pointedly turned his attention to one of the graphics.

THE GATE TO THE UNDERWORLD
This cavern, often referred to as the 'NECROBOT'S REST' or the 'MAW OF THE UNDERWORLD' has a storied history! Legend has it that the Necrobot himself has made appearances here, tossing tainted and evil sparks over the edge of the falls and into the abyss below! For this reason, followers of Mortillus frequently make the pilgrimage to this landmark, in hopes of catching a glimpse of their saint.

"Knock Out-"

The next display was a glass case containing a "Tooth of Cybertron". This ‘tooth’ was a rod, about his height, with a disc situated on the top surrounded by rings of thin coils. Knock Out snickered- it was obviously an electrical pylon, though the nearby display insisted otherwise.

THE SONGS OF THE DAMNED
Throughout the MAW OF THE UNDERWORLD, these teeth will rise to catch any living Transformer trying to escape the grasp of death! Each tooth contains the spark of a bot, trapped within its structure, forever separated from rejoining the all-spark! Their lamentations echo throughout the cavern, bemoaning their cursed fates.

How... Charmingly morbid.

"Tell me what you're up to!"

"Reading!" Knock Out hid his smile as he moved to the next graphic. He struggled to decide which he delighted in more: this shoddy exhibit or Breakdown’s growing irritation.

TREAD CAREFULLY! THE MAW HUNGERS!
Do not make any sudden movements within these caverns, lest you be mistaken as an escapee of the underworld! Enter if you dare!

"Why are you here?!"

Knock Out whirled around. "What does it matter?! I'm not deserting! Or switching sides, or..." his voice bounced back from all around him, "Is that enough for you? I'll be back before we move out! Now leave me be!"

"Right, sure!" Breakdown’s expression flickered to something darker, "And you always do what you say you will, right?"

"Oh, what are you on about this time?!"

"I was waiting for you!"

Surely, he wasn't still this upset over Knock Out not coming to get him for sparring? But his look said that yes, that was exactly what it was. He'd been looking forward to it all day, he'd said. It was almost… touching. Words formed in Knock Out's vocalizer, the kind that came straight from the spark:

"I don't owe you a thing."

Breakdown blinked.

"Not a thing!" Knock Out stalked closer to him, gesturing wildly as he spoke. "Not a sparring match! Not an explanation! Not even the time of day!"

"Hey! I've been keeping you alive! Autobots, Motormaster-"

"Yes, you certainly have come to my rescue! Always swooping in just in time to stop an Autobot from blowing my brains out!" Knock Out sneered, "Isn't it odd how I always seem to find myself fighting them alone in the first place?!"

"Those were-" Breakdown curled his fist, "I thought you could handle them!"

"And what was that about Motormaster? He was about to kill me, you say? Well, thank you so much for having my back that time! The next time I get dragged into your family squabbles, I'll be sure to follow your example and cower in front of him!"

"You- I've been trying to help you-"

"Really? I didn’t know beating me senseless counted as ‘help’! And here I thought you were trying to make up for pointing a gun at me!"

For a few moments, the two of them stood silently, illuminated only by their glaring optics and one another's headlights.

Knock Out blinked first. “Look,” he pleaded through grit teeth, "There are 2.45 cycles until we move out. I'll be back before then, I swear."

KLINK

Soft white light flickered through the cavern. A light fixture, initially hidden by the ridges of the ceiling, had come to life above their heads. Confused, Knock Out peered up at it. He traced a discreet wire all the way back to the lever from earlier and smiled. No one had been here in who knew how long! Of course it would take a generator a while to warm up! The darkness receded deeper into the cavern, revealing a sign standing by the cliff edge. 'Watch your step' it said, with a generic smiling face drawn on by hand.

Perhaps this trip hadn't been a waste of time after all! Knock Out turned off his own headlights and moved forward- Until a heavy blue hand clamped onto his upper arm.

"We're leaving," Breakdown’s voice was as firm as his grip.

"Let. Go." Knock Out demanded, dragging his servos against the metal ground. A sharp yank made him stumble, but the larger bot's hold wouldn't let him fall. He was forced upright, the vice-like grip crushing his arm and guaranteeing that he'd have dents to fix later. "That hurts!"

"It wouldn't if you'd just listened to me!"

"How about you listen to this!" Knock Out dug in his heels and ejected his drill from his free arm. He remembered the exact spot from when he treated Wildrider- and it was a safe bet that Breakdown was vulnerable there too. He plunged it into the seam.

Breakdown screamed as the drill activated. Sparks scattered to the floor! He jerked back, doubling over and grabbing at his injured side!

KLANG!

The drill reverberated against Breakdown's helm.

More lights came on, their soft glow reflecting off Knock Out’s finish. He twirled his weapon around. "Sorry,” he leaned in, “Was that too loud for you?"

Breakdown moved slowly, straightening to his full height like a Titan rising from the ground. He rolled his neck one way, and then the other, exhaling and opening his optics. "Okay," he said.

Oh… Scrap.

In a single stride, Breakdown was in Knock Out's face, grabbing for him.

Knock Out dodged, nimbly, and switched to the offensive. “You touched me first! It was self-defense!” He yelled, thrusting his drill into the underside of his attacker’s arm.

“So’s this,” Breakdown growled back.

THOK

An elbow slammed into Knock Out’s chin. It hurt, bad, but that was fine! He could work with this! He swallowed the pain and rolled with the momentum and put distance between him and Breakdown. He had time to recover and-

The Stunticon was on him again. A hand closed on the rim of his chassis, and suddenly his servos were leaving the ground and next thing he knew, Knock Out was tumbling through the air.

CLANG!!

When Motormaster had thrown him against a wall, Knock Out’s wheels had cushioned the blow. This time, he wasn’t so lucky. He landed hard on his arm and bounced, the drill slipping from his grasp as he hit the floor. It hurt to move (left arm scraped, cracked left headlight, hip joint clicked when legs articulated. All fixable, if he survived-) but he struggled to his hands and knees anyway.

“Getting out all your frustrations?!” Knock Out called. He should get up and drive, either at Breakdown or away from him. He was faster, and he wasn’t dead yet! He could salvage this fight. “At least act like you’re enjoying this!”

Breakdown didn’t say anything. He moved closer and closer, one step at a time, with an infuriating efficiency that he’d never shown before. He liked to take his time when they fought, and- and why hadn’t he said anything back?! He always…

A chill ran through Knock Out’s spark. He struggled to stand, using the wall for support, and held out a hand to gesture ‘wait a moment, I need to recover’. But Breakdown didn’t wait. He kept coming.

Knock Out’s wheels were spinning before his transformation finished. He shot past Breakdown, curving towards the gate in a desperate bid to escape. Immediately, he knew something was wrong. The ground felt strange against his wheels, in a way it hadn’t against his servos. There wasn’t any traction! He couldn’t steer! And his breaks-!

He spun out, crashing into the tram on the opposite side of the cavern from where he started. Great. Humiliating and painful! And then there was Breakdown, running towards him and leaping up to bring both hands down on Knock Out’s hood.

That would not be happening! He transformed and sprang forward. The air seemed to part as he dove beneath Breakdown’s arc. He rolled, scrambled back into vehicle mode, and surged forward!

…Towards the drop off. Wonderful.

Knock Out would have closed his optics if he could, but alas- vehicle mode visual sensors didn’t work like that. In this case, that worked to his advantage: he was able to see that what he was careening into was not bottomless pit! More lights came on as he flew over the edge, revealing that what had appeared to be a cliff, was actually more like a ledge. He caught a glimpse of a ladder sitting besides the ‘watch your step’ sign, and the pieces clicked together- What he came here for was down this way! He should have realized!! He would have, if Breakdown hadn’t shown up!

His wheels absorbed the shock and kept spinning, propelling him over another shallow ledge, and then another. The passage was a giant, uneven staircase, and the floor felt like it was getting smoother the further he went. His brakes were practically useless, leaving him with no choice but to ride this out. An electric tingle ran through his frame, growing in intensity as he hit another sharp drop. The lights hadn’t reached this far down, and he desperately activated his remaining headlight to- WALL!!

Knock Out swerved just in time to avoid crashing! He yelped and switched into reverse, hoping to regain some control over his momentum. The tingling became a nauseating crackle in his hood. There was a little pop when it reached his remaining headlight and an explosion of pain as the bulb blew out.

Out of options, Knock Out braced himself and transformed. He tumbled head over heels, yelping and screaming as he rolled to a stop.

He scrambled to pick himself up, shaking his head, and recalibrating his systems, venting hard to get himself under control. He spun, trying to get his bearings in the pitch black. This was bad. This was very bad.

This whole time, he’d thought the ‘tough guy’ act was just that: an act. Breakdown was too friendly, too easy to intimidate, too good natured for it to be anything else. But now?

The roaring of an engine echoed louder and louder around him. Beams of light shone down the passage.

Knock Out had gotten it backwards: The nervous, friendly, competitive energy? That was the act. And this ruthless soldier hunting him down in the darkness? This was the real Breakdown.

There was the sound of a transformation, and then a hand slamming into his back, and then he was falling forward, over the edge of another drop.

He had no excuse this time: Knock Out should’ve known. He’d caught glimpses before. Those times when Breakdown got serious during sparring matches, when he’d yelled back during Knock Out’s tantrum, whenever Wildrider showed up… If he’d been paying attention, he would have known:

He never stood a chance.

CLANG

Knock Out hit the ground on his hands and knees. The impact rattled up his limbs and he couldn’t stop himself from crying out. His killer landed in front of him and everything in Knock Out's processor shifted into "GET AWAY" gear. And he tried. He couldn't stand, so he crawled, scampering backwards until he couldn’t anymore.

"Please- Breakdown-!" Knock Out pressed himself against the wall. His chest rose and fell with each rapid cycle of air.

Yellow optics floated over flickering high beams, an indifferent look visible through the shadows on his face. If the Necrobot were real, this is what it would be- an implacable, looming, monster. Breakdown stepped closer, and automatically, Knock Out’s hands went up to shield his face.

"Stop cowering."

He flinched.

"I said stop!"

“What do you want me to do?!”

“Not that!”

The lights finally caught up to them, the white glow casting down above their heads far too late to be of any use to him. Knock Out slumped against the wall and waited, painfully aware of what a mess he must look like.

Static grazed against his plating, sending waves of shivering electricity up his spinal column. He stared at the back of his hands and... Oh. His fingers... He hadn't been able to fix them. And all these scuffs and dents! It was a good thing, actually, that no one would find him down here:

He was going to be a shamefully unattractive corpse.

“Oh, just get it over with!” Knock Out groaned, his hands falling to his sides.

Breakdown stared at him, brow furrowing. Were executions usually this slow?

“Are you going to kill me or not?!”

The brute’s stare didn’t waver. "...Dunno," he said finally.

He didn't know? He didn't-!

"I should," Breakdown said slowly. He stepped closer. "You've been trying to for orbital cycles..." He trailed off and tilted his head, trying to decide.

"That’s- that was different!" Knock Out insisted. There was a chance he could get out of this! "I've been trying to get even! That's all!"

"Yeah," Breakdown said slowly. "So have I."

"For what?!"

Breakdown’s voice took on an edge. "You know what!"

Knock Out racked his processor. What had he ever done to Breakdown that warranted this much retribution? Was he just supposed to guess? Confess to every little thing that he might have done in the hopes that one of them would be it?!

"You have no idea? Seriously!?"

"How would I?!" Knock Out demanded. He curled his legs to his chest. "You think I pay attention to you?! To any of you?! You get damaged, I fix you, and you leave me be until the next time it happens!

"In fact, you're all barely even people to me!" Knock Out laughed, sharp and short. "Just... A collection of parts to practice on! How could I have known you were all defects, hm?! You function fine! That's all I care about!"

"You... don't-"

He laughed harder. "And look at me! Thrown away like the rest of you! I shouldn't have expected anything else. I never should’ve…" He pressed his face into his knees. His broken headlights ached. “I thought it was enough. It was a secure position, I had my work- Slipstream was always doing some operation or other! I certainly wasn't bored! I was content!”

“Hey-”

“I was a fool! Doing laps on the same track for years, thinking I was going somewhere! And everyone knew! Everyone but me knew-”

"Shut up!"

And suddenly Knock Out was hauled to his servos, being pulled in close against the larger mech’s chassis.

"Stop! No more crazed ranting! Alright?”

The lights beyond the passage came on, one by one. It was strange, what the added brightness did to Breakdown’s features. It made him look desperate, even concerned almost.

“Tell me what you’re doing here! Five words or less!”

Knock Out slouched against the wall, and tilted his head to see what lay past the other bot. If he was going to die, he may as well see what he was dying for.

"How about just one?" A wry smile tugged at Knock Out's mouth, despite himself. He pointed with his chin. “Sightseeing.”

Slowly, almost cautiously, Breakdown looked where he was pointing. After a moment of stunned silence, Knock Out decided it was time to make a move. There was a ladder going up the ledge tucked off to the side. If he went for that while Breakdown was distracted he could… what? He wouldn’t be able to climb it fast enough to get away! And… maybe he’d suffered brain damage from getting slammed into that wall earlier, but… he didn’t feel threatened anymore.

Knock Out waited for Breakdown to glance at him again before stepping forward. He lifted a brow. The brute frowned, and Knock Out tried his luck: he nudged the Stunticon aside…

…And Breakdown let him by.

The passage opened into a large cavern. A guard rail marked the edge of a cliff, and below it, an oil lake, shimmering a lovely pale pink under the glow of the lights. On the lake's far shore, huge, wickedly sharp rock formations extruded from the ground and ceiling, reaching for one another like the pointed teeth. Bolts of lightning crackled off each pillar, connecting them with sparkly ribbons of blue electricity. Sheer curtains of liquid poured intermittently from the ceiling across the lake, splashing below and disturbing its surface.

Knock Out braced himself on the railing. Static thrummed against his frame as he took in the sight.

Breakdown crept closer. He moved deliberately, cautiously- and unevenly. He was limping, Knock Out realized. Had he been doing that this whole time?

“What is this place?”

He would have noticed if he’d looked at Breakdown, he just hadn’t bothered. He was fine. His diagnostic skills were fine. He-

Knock Out cut that string of thought short.

" 'The Maw of the Underworld'," the medic answered in mock seriousness. He scoffed. "Underground lake of Energon run-off that got turned into a tourist trap, by the look of things." He reached into his subspace. "Found this while I was scavenging the medical office."

Knock Out tossed the cheap scrap of metal behind him, and Breakdown caught it with ease. It was a medallion, with an engraving of the lake and its distinct rock formations on one side, and an icon of a horned, skull-faced bot reclining by a shore on the other. Around the edge of the image were the words "Even he needs to rest!", followed by a set of coordinates.

He sighed, slouching against the railing, and ran a hand over the scratched paint on his arm. He looked deeply into the sparkling pink. "Was hoping for a little time to myself after… You know…”

“Locking yourself in an office and threatening to dissect anyone who came to check on you?”

Knock Out paused. “Yes. That.”

"So you're... Not deserting?" Breakdown moved closer. "Or sneaking off to do Dark Science? Or luring me here as a sacrifice to the Necrobot?"

Knock Out wearily turned to stare at him.

At least Breakdown had the decency to look embarrassed. He crept closer, until he was only an arm’s length away. He met Knock Out’s gaze as he handed back the medallion. Knock Out took it, numbly, turning it over and running his fingers along its edge.

Coming here was a mistake. His struts hurt, his actuators ached, his headlights stung, and worst of all... His finish was ruined. It was scratched and scraped away entirely in places, exposing the paint underneath to further damage. Buffing wasn't going to cut it- he'd need a new coat of gloss!

With a flick of his wrist, Knock Out sent the medallion spiralling off the side of the cliff. It tumbled through the air and splashed into the lake below.

"I thought-” Breakdown began, softly. He hesitated. “Nevermind. Doesn't matter what I thought. I went too far. I’m sorry.”

Oh, he was sorry, was he?! ‘Sorry’ didn’t fix his finish! It didn’t repair his frame! ‘Sorry’ made Knock Out want to scream!

“That’s twice now that you’ve threatened my life!”

Breakdown looked across the cavern. “Yeah.”

He didn’t even deny it! The frustration fizzled away. Knock Out sighed, suddenly feeling very tired.

"I think,” Knock Out said slowly, “When we get back, we should ask Slipstream to reconsider our partnership."

"...Yeah"

Did he have to sound so upset?! Knock Out wasn't happy about it either!

A wall of liquid dropped from above. Like a pane of colored glass, it distorted their view of the lightning, turning the shape of the bolts into flashes of light. It was close enough that they could reach their hands out to part it, if they wanted to. It slowed to a pour, then a trickle, and Knock Out waited for it to stop completely before he spoke.

"Dark science." He shook his head, "What does that mean?"

"You know," Breakdown shrugged, "Secret labs, live experiments..."

"When would I have time to do any of that?"

"I'dunno! You always find time for self-maintenance! 'Sides, seems more your speed than sightseeing does."

"Interesting choice of words. What exactly is 'my speed'?

Breakdown's answer was almost automatic:

"Racing. Tearing mechs apart. Looking good."

Knock Out laughed softly. Someone had been paying attention!

"And I guess staring at rocks." Breakdown frowned at the rock formations across the cavern, unimpressed by the flickering bolts of electricity that danced around each one. "Am I missing something here?"

"You Cybertronians are so spoiled. This planet has so much...!" Knock Out trailed off- Breakdown was looking at him expectantly. Suddenly, he remembered the condition of his frame: the scrapes and dents, his blunted fingers, and his broken headlights. When was the last time he’d checked his faceplate? Had the paint lining his optics chipped at all?!

Knock Out reset his vocalizer.

"I like looking at pretty things. It makes me feel good. This," he said, gesturing at the lake, "Is pretty. And..."

“And?”

Knock Out struggled to find the right words. "It isn't a road."

Breakdown blinked.

"Well? It isn't! It's not a road, or a race track, or a pitstop or or... A medbay! It's a cave that looks nice and also like... teeth? It isn't... For anything! So… it could be anything! It could be multiple things at once! Cybertron has countless places like this!

“You’ve been to Velocitron, you know what it’s like. Everything is all about speed. As it should be, mind you! But…” Knock Out drummed his fingers against the railing, “It isn’t for its own sake.”

Breakdown nodded slowly. "Isn’t it because your sun is trying to kill you?"

“Ha! It sounds so personal when you say it like that.”

“Kind of hard not to take the giant wall of fire as an existential threat.” Breakdown shuddered. “Freaked us out the entire time we were there.”

The proper Velocitronian response would have been to laugh in Breakdown’s face. What a silly thing to worry about! Everyone knew that the mobile cities easily outpace the sun! So long as they kept moving and stayed on the dark side of the planet there was no danger at all!

Instead, Knock Out smiled.

"Want to hear a secret? I never realized how much I hated our sun until I got here. Isn’t that absurd?” He sighed. “I was so used to trying not to think about it. Whenever it got too close, I’d simply avoid looking until we’d gained distance.

“But on Cybertron? I can look at the sun whenever I want! I can see it rise and set- Every day if I wanted! And that’s just the sky! There’s the Wilds, the Argon Sea… the Titans! There is so much beauty here… It’s all part of a system and it’s gorgeous to look at! The very planet is a huge, complex, living machine! And none of you appreciate it-!” He stopped. “Why are you laughing?!”

Breakdown's smile was warm and earnest. "I'm just glad you're back to normal, that’s all."

That… What? Knock Out blinked, and his brain scrambled for a response. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean!" He said, pointing his nose up. He turned back to the lake. Not his most graceful recovery, he had to admit, but he was off his game.

Breakdown leaned over the side of the railing and peered into the liquid below. He looked calm now, and confident. It was the same way he looked after winning a sparring match or toying with Autobots during fights: at ease with everything around him, and eager to see what life would throw at him.

"You too," Knock Out said, quietly.

In the distance, lightning flickered across the cavern's toothy smile.

And then Breakdown jumped the railing, his whoop of joy following him down the cliff.

Knock Out stared dumbfounded at the now empty space beside him.

Waves of pink exploded as the Stunticon splashed down wheels first. The liquid rippled as he tore through it, sparkling and popping as it was disturbed. Breakdown sped to the opposite shore and drifted into a tight turn, showering the rock formations with droplets of the Energon-oil mixture.

Right. Back to the usual. What was this, the fifth cliff Breakdown had thrown himself off in the past three orbital cycles?

What was unusual was when a grey column broke the surface of the lake. Not a column, Knock Out realized- a pylon. Like the one in the display case. Crooked bolts of purple lightning burst from its coils. An electric hum rang out after each strike, growing louder as the voltage increased. A second pylon appeared, this one closer to Breakdown, lightning twisting and linking the two structures together.

"Well, look at that," he murmured. Dazzling flashes of white and purple reflected on the surface of the lake, competing in brilliance against the blue sparks running along the rock formations. More pylons rose, one by one, trailing behind Breakdown as he zipped back and forth. The humming became a harmony that echoed across the lake.

"Having fun?" Knock Out called as Breakdown did another lap. An enthusiastic cheer echoed back up, and he shook his head.

There was a path off to the side that sloped down to the shore, and Knock Out followed it until he reached a dock. Boats sat in racks nearby, and he eyed them critically. He ran a finger over the side of one of them, drawing a line in the dirt and rust layered onto the metal.

Breakdown came to meet him, weaving through pylons as they exploded in electrical discharge all around him. He transformed as he reached the shore, waving as he approached. “You comin’ in, Doc?”

“Mmm. Pass.” Knock Out flicked the grime off his fingers.

“Oh, c’mon! Not even for a race? First one around the lake wins!”

“And ruin my rims?” He paused, then added “Besides, I’ll get electrocuted.”

“Nah, you’re faster than those things. Just stay away from ‘em and you’ll be fine.”

Knock Out shook his head.

“Not even to get a closer look at those rocks?”

“If the boats were in better condition, maybe. A shame… seeing all this up close would be quite something,” Knock Out said, admiring how the lightning snaked from the pylons up the streams of oil-energon that fell from above. “Not that we’d be able to get out there with all this.”

“I could carry you.”

He processed that for a moment. “Excuse me?”

“If you really want to get over there, I could carry you!”

“No, it still isn’t making any sense. Even if you could without getting your circuits fried, why would I ever agree to that?! Why are you even offering?!”

“What? Scared I’m gunna drop you?” There was that lopsided grin again, all charm and confidence. Breakdown sighed. “I feel bad, alright? You came out here to get away and I messed it up. Believe me, I know what that’s like.”

Knock Out crossed his arms. “There is absolutely no world where I would be foolish enough to-”

“Alright! Alright. It was just an offer.” Breakdown took a seat on the edge of the dock, dipping his servos in the lake. The pink fluid sparkled and popped around his ankles.

“What are you doing?!” Knock Out rushed closer, stopping just short of grabbing the other bot by the arm and hauling him up. His hands hovered above his companion’s plating as he looked back and forth between the lake’s surface and the blank stare he was being given. “You… do know that’s electrified? Fried circuits? Remember?”

“Oh, so that’s what that tingling is!”

“Don’t tell me…”

The Stunticon grinned again. “Shock-Proof!”

The medic narrowed his optics. Breakdown swung his legs, splashing at the liquid without a thought for the corrosion it would cause to his plating. And were those…? Yes, no mistaking it. A lattice of fresh electrical burns ran around every one of Breakdown’s wheel wells. He was resistant, not immune.

The more Knock Out looked, the more damage he spotted on Breakdown’s frame. His helm was chipped in two places and cracked across the side. A neck cable was pinched at the base. There were several small dents on his upper arms (Knock Out remembered taking care of those the last time he’d repaired Breakdown!) and a very large dent on his hip. The axle in his back kibble was loose, and jiggled every time he moved. And all that was the external damage! The limp from earlier was still bothering him, judging from how gently he swung that leg, and Knock Out would bet his bolts there was more than just that.

“So, Doc!” Breakdown shifted uncomfortably. “What’s the deal with this place?”

Knock Out filed his observations away for later. It was good to know that he wasn’t completely oblivious when it came to his job, at least. “Well, I’m no geologist, but if this was a bot, I’d say we’re in some kind of sensory system.” He pointed towards the pylons. “Those came up when you got close, and you see how they’re calming down now that you aren’t driving near them? And those” he pointed at the rock formations making up the ‘maw’, “act as transmitters for the electrical current! I would love to know what kind of metal they’re made of, see if I could take a souvenir, but alas!” He sighed dramatically.

“My only way across is a bot who hasn’t decided if he’s going to be offlining me or not!”

Breakdown met his gaze.

“Oh. I see. Well.” Knock Out took a deep breath. “Don’t keep me in suspense! What have you decided?”

He wouldn’t get an answer to that question.

Chapter Text

"Exactly! AND they had me arrested!"

"Another example of the unjust nature of the establishment. Those with no taste always rise to the top."

"So true."

Dead End and Pain-Tear were situated on the edge of the base's perimeter, looking out across the basin for any signs of life. Or, rather, that is what Dead End was supposed to be doing. In practice she was consumed by the effort it took to hold still as Pain-Tear applied white rings around each of her knuckles.

"This is going to look so good on you."

Dead End hummed in agreement. This was more to give Pain-Tear encouragement than it was her actual opinion. Spending time on beautifying one's appearance was ultimately a pointless pursuit – it would all turn gray in the end, after all. But Pain-Tear enjoyed practicing her craft, and Dead End found it pleasant to be around others with artistic pursuits.

The brush froze. A four wheeler roared out of the base and swerved in their direction.

"Wildrider's coming this way," Pain-Tear said, alarm creeping into her voice.

"Great," Dead End sighed. She knew the relaxation wouldn't last long.

"Should we move?"

"No. There's nothing Wildrider likes more than a moving target."

At the last possible moment, Wildrider applied his brakes and drifted to the side, ending his overly-dramatic entrance in a loop around the two bots. He cackled as he sprang into robot mode, shouting something unintelligible and smacked the back of Dead End's head.

She pitched forward. A wet brush tip jammed into her cheek and swiped across her face. A dizzying rush of vitality spread through her systems. It seeped down, vibrating through her fuel lines, both refreshing and overstimulating at once.

Slowly, Dead End straightened and touched the spot where Wildrider slapped the Energon patch. Slowly, she turned to look at him.

"Refuel!" Wildrider repeated, clearly this time.

"My fuel levels were adequate," she said stiffly.

"Just making sure! You know me!" Her brother struck a pose, "Always helping out!"

"Uh-huh."

Pain-Tear gasped. "Quick! Say something cool."

"...Your life is rust beneath my heel."

"Perfect! Hold still!"

"Do you have to look at me when you say slag like that?" Wildrider complained.

The brush tickled over Dead End’s face.

"Done!" The artist leaned back to admire her latest masterpiece.

"...You know she wears a mouth guard and visor, right?"

"Exactly! Hiding her feelings from the world, only to reveal," she put her palms up and wiggled her fingers, "the truth!"

Wildrider nodded slowly. "Ohhh."

Dead End rolled her optics. She was very open about all her feelings. That people didn't want to hear them was no fault of hers. For example:

"Wildrider, why are you bothering us?" She asked her brother bluntly, her tone making her annoyance quite clear.

"I forgot. The artistic statement distracted me," he said, grinning. "It looks soooo good!"

"Is he mocking me?" Pain-Tear asked in a low growl.

"Hard to say."

Wildrider pressed a palm to the side of his head. "It was about... Drag... Strip..." He trailed off as he looked into the distance. Dead End followed his gaze.

Several dust trails approached from the south, a vehicle at the head of each one and approaching fast. They were too far to get an exact count of their number. Dead End activated her comms, and heard nothing but silence. No declarations of their identity, or chatter on the local Decepticon channels. Which could only mean one thing regarding their intentions.

“How bothersome: Unannounced guests.” Dead End slid her facemask and visor into position, relishing the little click as they snapped into place. "Perhaps saying 'hello' will refresh your memory, Wildrider?".

"Y'know," Wildrider giggled, "I was just thinking the same thing."

"I'll sound the alarm." Pain-Tear took three steps away, paused, and walked back to the Stunticons. She put a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Paint the ground pink," she said, grinning viciously. Then she transformed and drove away.

Dead End was glad her mask hid the blush on her face. To say such saccharine lines with no shame at all–! It was so...

Wildrider giggled.

"Not a word out of you."

He cackled "My bumper will do all the talking for me!"

And with that, he rocketed towards the oncoming attackers. Dead End sighed and shook her head, transforming and following behind, ready to create a magnificent work of self expression out of Autobot parts.

***

Weapons fire, crashing metal, explosions, and yelling.

"How did they get behind us?!"

"They're inside the base!"

It was chaos.

Slipstream fought alongside her soldiers. Two blasts of laser fire leapt from her arms, missing an Autobot by micro inches. Elevon pounced on them, a flurry of claws and metal. She brought both fists down on their faceplate, and dug her fingers into whatever she could find, ripping at their form until they stopped moving.

It felt like the Autobots were everywhere, appearing and disappearing behind corners or cover. She needed a better view. She boosted into the air, hovering just above the outer wall of the base. There! By the main entrance!

A cluster of enemy soldiers had Trace Fire and Runabout pinned. Slipstream aimed carefully, and in moments a missile was touching down behind the Autobots, scattering them and destroying their cover. She smirked as Runabout used the opening to transform and ram into one as they were getting up.

She caught motion in her peripherals, and turned as a nimble, light brown Autobot scaled the wall and leapt at her, catching her midsection and pulling her to the ground. She snarled as she kicked them off her. She took a fighting stance, ready to punish the bot for daring to interrupt her flight.

A sword burst from the Autobot's chest. Metal ground metal, slicing upward, further and further and further until–

Drag Strip wrenched the blade free and kicked the body away. "That's one more for me! Keep up, Motors!" She transformed and barreled out the gate to catch up with her siblings.

Slipstream lowered her arms. One down and how many to go? "Elevon!” she called. Her second in command spun around, Energon dripping off her fingers. “Get me a headcount!"

Slipstream shuddered as a blast of static prickled at the edges of her senses.

"Fourty-Three present, Commander!"

Subtract the number of Deceptions… twenty four Autobots. Scrap! That was too many... Where had they all come from?!

Slipstream shook her head. It didn’t matter! They had to go now or risk being surrounded. She activated her comms:

"Everyone! Listen up! Get to the trailers! One driver on each, I don't care who! The rest of you, cover the drivers! Gather at the inner east side of the wall!"

She switched to a one on one channel. "Vaultor, meet Elevon at the turret. See if you can power up the smaller gun.”

Elevon’s optics widened. She made her fingers into a gun shape and mimed firing. “Boom?”

Slipstream nodded at her second and launched off the ground.

As soon as she rose above the wall, a barrage of laser fire shot towards her. It was a concentrated beam, the type that came from heavy weapons mounted to battle stations. She transformed and rolled, ascending higher to search for where it had come from. She didn’t see anything that would be capable of–

Another burst of laser fire revealed the source: A black and pink bot, carrying a rotary canon as big as they were!

The Seeker pitched down sharply. The heat of the blasts grazed her wings as they soared past, and Slipstream dove towards her attacker. She had one missile left, and she was going to make it count! Her targeting systems lined up the shot…

She fired. The missile sailed through the air… and was intercepted by that same red hot energy.

The explosion was deafening and blinding. It rattled through her, from nosecone to stabilizers. She stayed the course, revelling as she pushed against, and then through, the shock wave. Burning smoke snuck inside her vents as she entered the fiery cloud. She used the brief moments she was hidden from view to transform, momentum carrying her towards her target.

Slipstream burst from the smoke. She glimpsed the Autobot's stunned face, right before it met her fist.

CRACK!

Metal shattered. The Autobot tumbled into the dirt where they belonged. They rolled far, limbs flailing like a broken toy, and then lay still. Slipstream smirked.

Someone behind her screamed. A weight on her back, and then a blade in her wing port.

She flailed and thrashed, and with a grunt of effort, threw her attacker off of her! Pain bloomed in the seam where the knife had been. She sucked air into her frame, and slowly blew it out. She would not show pain. Instead, she glared at the offending Autobot. The red two wheeler flicked their knife at her, and with a flourish, ejected a glowing laser sword into their other hand.

"That was for Outpost Tau-Seven!" They said, taking on a fighting stance. "And this is for Free-Style!"

The Autobot charged at her, and Slipstream launched over their head! She sucked in more air as she became airborne, blocking out the throbbing pain in her wing port. Somehow, the Autobot hadn’t expected that from a Seeker. Their sword swing missed, throwing them off balance.

Slipstream smirked as she raised her arm mounted blasters.

"Let's see... Tau-Seven..." She hummed between shots. The Autobot darted this way and that, jumping to try and reach the hovering Seeker. "That was... An orbital cycle ago? Don't tell me you came all this way over that?" She laughed. But underneath her bravado, she seethed.

Her attack had been swift and focused: take the base, but leave everything as intact as possible so they could loot the place. It was only a stop on the route to get to the Glittering Barrier, and then to Rodion. And it was successful.

Except…

She’d ordered her soldiers to ignore fleeing Autobots. Chasing them down was a risk and a waste of energy. The unit would be moving out of the location shortly anyway! A thorough extermination wasn’t practical! And now…

The Autobot grit their teeth and looked up at her, face full of vengeance. They opened their mouth to spout some defiant words and ate a laser blast instead.

"Commander! I have–" Vaultor's voice came through her comms. It faltered slightly, electrical interference cutting through the signal.

"We have the turret operational!" Elevon's voice spoke into her audials. "What do you want destroyed?"

Slipstream dared to smile. "Aim for–"

The heavy crunch of metal flattening metal drew her attention. Across the battlefield, a black truck had rammed into the side of an Autobot tank. Slipstream swore– he was supposed to be protecting the trailers! She switched channels:

"Motormaster! Disengage!"

"Can't hear ya, Commander!" He said her title like a joke, complete with a gruff laugh.

"Commander?! Are you there?!"

She switched back to Elevon. "Fire at the walls of the base! Clear a path for the trailers through the side. Have them move to the canyon!" and then switched again to Motormaster: “Go escort the trailers!”

“ESCORT?!?! Stunticons don’t ‘escort’!”

Slipstream groaned in frustration. “Protect! Guard! Whatever you want to call it!” The red Autobot twitched and she blasted them again until she was sure they were good and dead. It was not as cathartic as she’d hoped it’d be. Her voice came out as a barely controlled hiss. "Go. Defend. The trailers! That's an order!"

"Best defense is a good offense!" Motormaster bellowed as he transformed and charged after a pair of Autobot four-wheelers.

That arrogant–!

Laser fire cut that thought short. Slipstream rolled to the side and shot upwards to gain distance. From this altitude, she could see everything. She could see her soldiers making their escape through the hole opened up in the side of the outpost's outer wall. She could see the Autobots circling around the convoy. Why weren't they moving in?

She could see Motormaster chasing his Autobots, and with two more Autobots chasing him. Wildrider and Dead End joined in at the back of the line. All it needed was music and the farce would be complete. Slipstream traced their path, calculating the best opportunity to intercept… and suddenly she realized what was happening.

Those Autobots were two-wheelers and speedsters– the perfect vehicles to use as bait. Nimble enough to thread between her soldiers, while they lead the Stunticons into a head on collision… with the trailers that just broke free of the base.

"Stunticons! Disengage!"

***

"The Autobots mean to trick us. I suggest we acquiesce to the Commander's orders."

"The only orders you follow, Dead End" Motormaster rumbled over his comm, "are MINE. Drag Strip! Where are you?!"

"Inside base!"

"Breakdown with you?"

A short pause. "Uh oh. Someone's in trouble!"

"He drove off before the Auto-bozos got here!" Wildrider cut in over Motormaster's growl.

"Fine," he spat. They were going to have ANOTHER talk later. He pushed his engines harder. Discipline would come later... After he'd dealt with this Autobot punk!

He bore down on the Autobot four wheeler and just when he was about to reach, it jerked forward! Motormaster laughed – A lifetime of having to chase after his speedier siblings left him with a trick or two.

He unlatched his trailer. Shedding a third of his weight did wonders! It was like reversing gravity– Like a single pothole would send him rocketing into space! He was so fast! Too fast for the pitiful four-wheeler in front of him! He closed the distance and, gentle as a cyber-kitten, tapped his grill against their back bumper. The Autobot was pushed off their back wheels and swerved, out of control! And then–!

CRUNCH

Motormaster laughed. Best feeling in the world!

The other Autobot zoomed through the gap between the two trailers. Motormaster growled– they thought they were being clever, did they? Without his trailer, he wasn't heavy enough to blow through like he’d planned. Too bad they forgot that he was a Stunt-icon!

He transformed and braced himself as his servos slammed into the trailer’s side. Momentum did the rest. Metal buckled and bent and flipped, and he rode it as it rolled over, leaping up as hard as he could! His trajectory was perfect! He would land dead on the Autobot and then–

SLAM!!

A body rammed him from behind! He caught a glimpse of orange and red as he tumbled to the ground, missing his target by a fingertip! He flung his attacker off, and they bounced into the dirt. Meanwhile, the trailer and its driver kept rolling, bearing down on the Motormaster from behind. He huffed, and, kneeling in the dirt, he stretched out an arm. The trailer crunched against it, coming to a sudden, violent stop, the metal wrapping around his closed fist.

Blackjack, banged up and bleeding, groaned as he transformed out of vehicle mode. The hitch connecting him to the trailer was bent and tangled around him. He crawled to his servos, and as he looked up at Motormaster, his face twisted into a sneer of pained disgust.

Across the dirt, the orange and red rolled to a stop. They also looked at Motormaster from where they were lying, and something flashed in their hand– a lens of some kind.

The Stunticon pushed himself to his servos wobbling the tiniest bit, but NOT from the crash! He was getting used to his new weight, that was all. He steadied himself, shaking out his arms, cracking his neck, rolling his wheels–

Beep

There was an odd feeling, just below his back wheels. Like something was touching them. That little Autobot had hit him there… No way he’d made a dent! He twisted around to take a look, ignoring Blackjack’s frantic efforts to free himself.

Beep.

"Oh,” Motormaster said. A bomb. That was annoying. He struggled to reach around and pull it off, fingers only brushing it’s lumpy surface. It was stuck on there good. “Scrap."

He braced himself for the explosion. Standing up straight afterwards was going to be rough! Megatronus give him strength, he was going to kill the Autobot that did this!

And then Slipstream butt in.

She dove in from above, switching modes before she hit the ground. In one motion, she planted her servos and took hold of the bomb, sliding the magnetized explosive off his back with the force of her landing. Motormaster caught a glimpse at her face as she jumped back into the air– a snarl of anger and determination– and then she was above him again, throwing the cluster bomb at the downed Autobot who’d set it. It broke apart on the way down, splitting into several smaller orbs of primed explosives.

Motormaster grit his teeth. Jets. Always showing off.

There was another flash from the Autobot’s lens–

Suddenly, from behind the trailers came a barrage of red hot lasers, catching the bombs in mid air!

BANG! BOOM! BOOM BOOM BOOM!

The Stunticon leader snorted. That wouldn’t have killed him! He didn’t need anyone’s help! He glanced at the struggling Blackjack and snorted again. These weaklings on the other hand…

A loud, familiar-sounding crash came from the other trailer and it rocked violently, almost tipping over. The Autobots that Wildrider and Dead End had been chasing came around the corner. They bumped their rims and sped off in opposite directions.

Motormaster growled. Blasted Autobots! Think they’re so… so coordinated did they?!

Behind him, Runabout rushed to help Blackjack stand. Misfire and Axor ducked laser fire and stabilized the other trailer. Motormaster ignored their chatter and stomped to the other side in time to see Dead End race off somewhere. That was fine. He wasn’t looking for her.

“Wildrider!” he bellowed, pulling a weapon from his subspace. “With me! We’re gunna teach these junkers what happens when you mess with the Stunticons!”

“Yeah?” Wildrider reversed out of the fresh dent in the side of the trailer. He took one look at the gun in his brother’s hands and started cackling. “Yeeeeeesss!” He cried, zipping into a three point turn.

Motormaster hefted the Cyclone Gun and smiled.

“Hey, Drag Strip! What’s your kill count at?!” Wildrider wiggled his wheels back and forth. “‘Cause me an’ Motors are about to blow it away!”

The Stunticon leader adjusted his grip on the weapon. It was huge, even for a bot like him. But Motormaster wasn’t going to let that stop him! Not when there was mayhem to cause!

“Looks like that one hasn’t heard the forecast!” He said, aiming it at an Autobot nearby.

Wildrider revved his engines.

“Heh. On your mark…” The weapon hummed to life as Motormaster released the safety, priming it for use. “Get set…” The smell of iron and ozone filled the air.

“Go!” Motormaster yelled, pulling the trigger. The space in front of the gun’s barrel seemed to twist inward, and then it exploded outwards, turning into a swirling stream of wind. Wildrider zoomed forward, whooping and cheering as he dove inside the brand new windtunnel and accelerated, turning into a missile of manic energy and destructive force!

CRASH!

Motormaster laughed in delight as his brother tore through the Autobot! Metal flew in every direction!

A two wheeler passed by the crash site, firing blasts at the Stunticon who’d totalled their friend. Motormaster adjusted the weapon and flicked the switch on the side. This time when he pulled the trigger, wind rushed into the barrel! The vortex sucked the helpless little Autobot closer and closer! Their wheels spun uselessly as they fought to escape!

Wildrider swung around and charged at the bot. Motormaster’s face hurt from grinning so hard. He slid his finger up the side, changing the output to maximum for his next shot. Wildrider looped around, coming back to his side.

“That one!” Motormaster aimed the gun and fired. Electricity crackled off the weapon, and the winds it made were angrier, but Wildrider… he was a comet! A shooting star of death! The gun began to shake, and he released the trigger as it beeped at him. Whatever! He wasn’t going to let some little warning light spoil their fun!

He was halfway through aiming the next shot when he noticed all the dust in the air. The wind was picking it all up, throwing it around, blotting out the sun. He grunted, waving his hand to clear it away from his face and squinting to find his next target. There they were!

Dead End sighed into the comms channel. “I leave them alone for a nano-klik and he whips out Menasor’s armaments.”

“It’s MY gun, Dead End,” he growled back. “I carry it around, and I can hold it! It’s MINE!”

“Please don’t over do it this time–”

“Yeah, yeah!” He adjusted it on his shoulder. “Wildrider, catch this one!”

The windtunnel cut a path through the basin, and another Autobot went flying.

“Uh. Boss, I think that was Octane.”

“Ha! Whoops!” A sudden gale nearly sent Motormastert toppling over. He staggered, stunned that he’d been put off balance at all. He was too heavy for a little breeze to throw him off his servos!

“Motormaster, stop,” Dead End said, firmly. “I can feel the air pressure decreasing. And this zephyr is becoming unbearable!”

“Oh, relaaaaax, Dee!” Wildrider told her, “We’ll be fine!”

The wind got stronger and the dust got thicker, and Dead End’s signal got weaker. Static crept into the call. “Yes! We will be fine! But–”

“C’mon! Live a little!”

“Wildrider, do us all a favor and drive yourself into the Pit.”

“Shut it!” Motormaster snapped, “If I hear another word…!”

“Motors. Boss. My strongest brother who I love-” Drag Strip’s voice strained the way it always did right before she went berserk. “How many kills did you help him get?”

“I said, I don’t want to hear any more whining!” He roared over the wind.

The static drowned out any response they made, just like the cyclone drowned out Motormaster’s swearing. His servos dragged on the ground as he struggled to hold himself upright. The winds weren’t that strong!

Then he realized he forgot something very important: His trailer! He’d decoupled his trailer!! Why hadn’t Wildrider reminded him?! It wasn’t in his subspace, and without that weight–

The wind yanked at the Cyclone Gun and Motormaster threw himself to the ground, sheltering it underneath him. He shoved it into his subspace and braced himself, squinting through the blinding dust. No luck, he didn’t see his trailer anywhere and he couldn’t recall it if he didn’t know where it was!

He didn’t know where any of his team was either.

The storm he’d made carried his howl of frustration across the battlefield.

***

"Weigh yourselves down and move towards the edges of the basin!" Slipstream shouted into her comms.

It wasn’t over! Not yet!

"Elevon, Vaultor! I see you! Head east! Move together!"

Not when she was so close!

Slipstream dropped into the eye of the cyclone. It was calmer here, quieter. Easier to get a hold of herself when she didn't have to fight to stay airborne. She turned, slowly, trying to see through the dust. All she saw was her own failure.

She’d given the orders not to chase after Autobot survivors, and then they regrouped and attacked. She’d told her soldiers to move out despite the opposition instead of bunkering down. Worst of all, she’d underestimated how careless that brainless fool Motormaster was. She hadn’t thought he’d do all this! Not when his own team was out there!

And her team… her soldiers… the more she lost, the less likely her plan was to succeed.

She shook her head. Deep breaths. It wasn't over, yet. The Autobots would be just as scattered as her forces. All she had to do was regroup and wait out the storm. She would locate her soldiers and she would make it to Rodion. Yes. She just had to stay focused and find them. She would succeed. She would.

A flicker of motion! A large, and darkly colored figure struggled through the winds and the dust, moving closer! One of hers?

Motormaster burst out of the gloom. He lurched forward into the calm, blinking rapidly. Disoriented. And he was unarmed.

No. Motormaster was not one of hers. Slipstream's fists clenched and her thrusters sputtered to life. She had failed, this was true. But he’d ruined any chance of salvaging it. She was moving before he’d even spotted her.

Her knee cracked against the sharp edge of his jaw. The end of her arm blaster lit the face beneath his hood.

"You did this!"

Her shot struck him point blank beneath his chin. He reeled back and Slipstream didn’t give him a chance to recover.

"You disobeyed my orders!"

Slipstream planted her heels and fired another shot. Motormaster cried out. Smoke curled off his optics.

"You endangered my soldiers!"

Her third shot sent him staggering, almost stepping back into the storm.

"And for all of that, you won't live to-!"

Motormaster charged forward. Slipstream boosted backwards into the air, but a steel grip closed around her ankle, pulling her down and slamming her to the ground.

"Ha! Look at that! You've got some bite!" Motormaster wiped his optics and grinned. Black burn marks streaked his smug face. "Not all talk after all!”

Slipstream picked herself up, wincing on the way. She glared daggers at him. The slagger pulled out his sword.

"The king of the road doesn't bow to nobody!" He pointed the blade at her. “Time you learn’d that, Commander.”

There was a tiny click, and then a flash. The Decepticons turned towards it.

“Ah, don’t mind me!” A familiar orange and red Autobot stood on the other side of the circle. They held up a camera. “Just taking a snapshot! Infighting is an important Decepticon tradition, after all!”

“You…” Slipstream’s turbines hitched. The grinning Autobot from the picture.

“Range-Finder,” he supplied politely. “Please! Don’t let me interrupt!”

“The former captain of the outpost…” Slipstream laughed. “One loss wasn’t enough, I see!”

“We’re a persistent bunch,” he smiled wryly.

Motormaster stepped forward. “In a klik, all YOU'LL be is scrap metal!”

He smiled sadly. “I know.”

Motormaster squinted in disbelief.

The Autobot captain fidgeted with his camera and shrugged. “We know what we’re doing. None of us expect to leave alive.” His smile disappeared, “But neither will any of you.”

Cold fury spread through Slipstream’s frame, the kind that made everything go sharp, and turned the howling of the cyclone into static.

“Motormaster.” Slipstream primed her weapons, “Go. Make sure all of their death wishes get granted.”

“Yer audials broken?!” The useless glitch sneered at her. “I told you I don’t listen to nobody!”

Slipstream kept her attention on the Autobot. He snapped another picture of her and Motormaster, seemed to think for a moment, then turned around, pointing the camera at both the two Decepticons and himself. The nerve of it threatened to set the Energon in her fuel lines alight, but it didn’t. Slipstream was past the point of madness.

“Fine,” she told Motormaster.

She didn’t see him open his mouth to argue with her, or see his sneer twist into a smirk. She didn’t see him turn around and venture back into the storm, either. Slipstream was already moving– surging forward and throwing herself at the foolish Autobot before her.

***

“Right behind you, Quake! Stay close!”

“First time anyone’s said that!” Quake yelled back.

Blackjack ignored the comment and pushed through the wind, trying to keep the bigger bot in view. It was hard. His body hurt. Dust whipped inside his seams. Wouldn’t be surprised if all his plating was sanded smooth by the end of this.

“I see you!” Quake aimed both his guns at a shadow in the storm. He laughed as he fired wildly in its direction. “DIIIIEEE!!”

At least one of them was having fun.

“Blackjack? That you an’ Quake?” Sea Sure’s gruff voice crackled over his comms. “To yer right.” The dark red bot appeared, waving at him. Using her outer plating like a shield, she trudged through the winds. Wrapped in her other arm, in his drone mode, was Search, the high beam on his front shining like a star.

“Ahoy,” Blackjack called back, unenthusiastic.

“YES!!” Quake roared as the Autobot returned fire. Red streaks of light scattered around him, flashing through the dust.

“Search says there’s a trailer not far in that direction,” she pointed.

Internally, Blackjack groaned. Then again… he eyed Quake, and at the laser fire bouncing in every direction, getting closer with every nano-klik. Any port in a storm, right?

“I’ll follow you! Let’s move!”

They struggled towards the location, and sure enough, there it was. The trailer was on its side, wheels spinning frantically in the air, being dragged and tossed around by the winds. It wasn’t quite lifting off the ground, but one good gust and it would go flying. Not at all steady enough to take shelter in. If all three of them weighed it down, then maybe?

But Sea Sure had other ideas. She moved quickly, busting open the door and using her body weight to hold everything steady. Search hopped in immediately and then a nano-klik later came running out, pushing a crate towards her. She put her hand on it and there was a flash of purple as it disappeared into her subspace.

“Can fit four more!” she yelled. “Make ‘em count!”

Search beeped a reply and disappeared back inside. Blackjack paused before he followed suit.

“You know this is the unit’s stuff.”

Sea Sure looked at him innocently.

“It’s for the unit. Not to extort. Or sell. Or whatever you do with the scrap you call dibs on!”

“Just followin’ the Capn’s orders, Blackjack! Weighing ourselves down! I leave the extortion to Octane.” She smirked and then grunted as a strong gale shook the trailer. “In! Grab what ye can!”

Search was already rooting through a third crate when Blackjack stepped inside. “You’re taking the most useful stuff, and not the most valuable, right?”

The minicon made a long, sigh-like beep and reluctantly dropped the can of Scraplet-spray he was holding.

Blackjack turned to the mess in front of him and started digging. He pried open a box and emptied it onto the floor, going to grab whatever caught his eye. A block of metal for sealing plating? A weird battery thing with two cables? A box of screws? Yes to all! He tossed them back in the crate and moved deeper into the trailer, tripping over more supplies on the way. It was when he looked down to see what he’d stepped on that he saw the arm sticking out from underneath a pile of crates.

Blackjack froze. He kneeled down and poked at the limb. The hand flinched, and he swore. He dove in, rummaging through the mountain of junk and throwing it behind him.

“Careful!” Sea Sure yelled from outside.

Blackjack ignored her and lifted an upside down medical table, sliding it away to reveal his prize: A wide-eyed mech, with dim, flickering optics, staring at him in terror.

“Uh…”

“Are you dead?” The bot asked in a whisper barely audible enough to be heard over the dust and the wind slapping against the trailer. “Am I dead?”

“Uhhhhh…”

“Hurry up!” Sea Sure yelled, straining.

Blackjack looked the bot up and down. He’d never seen them before… but on their chest, clear as crystal, was the purple Decepticon symbol. And that was all he needed to know.

He spotted the tell-tale glow of Energon and went for it, snatching as many bags as he could hold and shoving them into his crate. He stowed his loot in his subspace, grimacing as he felt the added weight spread through his own frame. Then, he pulled the mystery mech to their servos and forced another two bags into their hands. “C’mon! Drink it on the road!”

Blackjack half dragged half lead the bot out with him into the storm. Search beeped excitedly, hopping onto Sea Sure’s shoulder.

Sea Sure let go and the trailer rolled over, flinging crates and supplies out through the open door to be carried away by the winds.

“Well, well,” Sea Sure grinned. “Ye picked a fine time to wake up! Welcome to the crew!”

***

No matter how fast Slipstream moved, the Autobot Captain wouldn’t die! She darted upwards, firing another volley from above, certain that this time he wouldn’t be able to avoid her shots… only for him to fire an explosive shell towards them. Her laser blasts dissolved in the explosion before they could even reach.

It wasn’t fair! How could this useless disgrace of a soldier be giving her so much trouble?! She transformed and dove in, switching modes again to deliver a kick to his chest. It connected! The Autobot was thrown across the circle! But he recovered before she arrived, and slipped around her punch. The Autobot caught her arm and tossed her to the ground! She was flat on her back, looking up at his servo as it came down!

She activated her thrusters, sliding out from underneath him and catching his other leg on her wings! He fell, and on her way back up to her servos, Slipstream delivered a kick to his midsection. He looked the Seeker in the optic as a bomb appeared in his hand, primed and flashing. Slipstream retreated, jumping backwards and then diving to the side as he threw it. It missed, vanishing into the winds whipping around their arena.

“They had names, you know,” he said, picking himself up.

Slipstream fired her weapons as her enemy transformed into a bulky two-wheeler and charged at her, transforming again to ram her with his elbow.

“Those Autobots you killed!”

She didn’t have the mental capacity to roll her optics. “Says the one who led them to their deaths!”

She threw a right hook and her fist met his face. He rolled with the punch, staggering a little, but recovering.

“You’re one to talk!” He hissed. Bright blue optics flashed in rage. He wiped his mouth. “All this death… You’re trading lives for a broken cargo lift!”

She boosted forward, grappling him with both hands and forcing him to the ground. “It isn’t broken! And once we get it working again-”

The Autobot struggled underneath her. She reeled back as his helm rammed into hers, and he kicked her off. He flipped himself over and scrambled backwards. A grenade appeared in his hand. “You looked at it recently?”

No… Slipstream stared at the explosive. “You didn’t…”

The Autobot smiled at her, almost kindly.

Rage burned through caution, and she surged forward as the grenade was lobbed in her direction.

***

They trudged, one step at a time, through the storm, holding on to each other for safety against the wind. A bit too close for Blackjack’s liking, in the case of the mystery mech–their hands were squeezing his injuries–but he grit his teeth and pushed on. If they could make it to the canyon’s entrance–

“I see Quake!” Sea Sure shouted.

Laser fire flashed through the dust ahead. He could hear Quake having the time of his life, even over the howling of the storm.

Walking into a firefight, especially one where Quake was involved, wasn’t Blackjack’s idea of a good time. But they didn’t have a choice. He pried the mech off of him and passed them to Sea Sure, bracing himself against the wind to ready his rifle.

“I’ll take point!”

He pushed through. If he squinted, he could make out the Autobots’ silhouettes.

A burst of static in his audials, and then a voice rang clear in his mind:

On your left!

“Elevon?! Where-”

He looked just in time to dive out of Dead End’s way. The wind dragged him a good distance away before he hit the ground. He landed hard, and scrambled to dig in and hold himself against the storm. How far had he been blown? Where was the fight? He couldn’t tell. Everything was noise and chaos.

He thought he saw Wildrider too, when he looked up to reorient himself. Something about that–

Someone took hold of his back wheels and pulled him to his servos. He caught the bright green paint and never thought he’d be so relieved to see an insecticon in his life.

“C’mon!” Vaultor shouted, pushing him forward.

“My gun!” Blackjack realized, as they reached Quake. He looked behind him, and while he didn’t see his weapon, he did see another Stunticon. Drag Strip drove by, in the exact same spot the other two had. At the same speed. In the same direction.

Oh, no. Ohhhh, no.

“Go,” Blackjack urged, dragging Vaultor with him, “We need to go. Now.”

Just ahead, Quake strode through the storm like it was nothing, both guns blasting. He reached an Autobot and slammed his elbow into their face, kicking them out of the way. Lasers seared his plating, and he laughed harder.

For an instant, Blackjack dared to hope. Quake was a maniac, and for once, he was fighting in the right direction.

There was an ominous red glow through the dust and a growl that was getting louder. And then a dense volley of lasers struck Quake in the side.

“YEEESSS!!” He yelled, staggering. He transformed, the barrel of his tank mode swiveling towards his attacker to send them straight to the Allspark!

The next volley hit him before he could finish aiming. It burned through his canon, and ripped through his treads. In moments, his plating had melted through completely.

Blackjack swore again.

Then, a voice came through his comms. The signal was bad, and he could only make out every other word:

“...receives this… headed… Anyone there?!”

Blackjack jammed his finger to his audial. “Knock Out, I’m receiving you.”

The Autobot who’d made scrap metal out of Quake moved closer, their oversized death canon still spinning. Their face was cracked, and the pink glow of Energon oozing down their neck made the Autobot insignia on the weapon gleam.

Vaultor tugged at him. “Did you feel that?!”

“Blackjack! Get… if there’s any… out of the way!”

The ground shook. Then again, stronger.

Blackjack didn’t have to turn around. He’d seen it all before. Familiarity made fear easier to contain. Freezing up while the giant mockery of life turned your comrades into mush got old the sixth or seventh time it happened. Instead, he looked Vaultor dead in the optics. “Hold on to me.”

“What?”

“I said–”

He wasn’t trembling. It was just the ground shaking as Menasor got closer. Two glowing red lights appeared through the storm.

“Hold on to me!!”

Dust stabbed into his gears as he transformed. Droplets of Energon leaked from his lacerated chassis and were sucked away by the storm. Blackjack turned towards the wind and followed the example, letting it drag him away. He struggled to stay upright, and for a few terrifying moments, he felt his wheels lift off the ground. It was only Vaultor’s extra weight that kept him from being carried off completely.

In the distance, a giant shadow moved through the storm, growing closer and shaking the ground with each step.

Blackjack’s side slammed against the wall of the basin. The wind pulled at him, scraping him against the rock face. He transformed–

Klunk.

“Are you kidding me?!”

Chu-Tsce-klunk! Klunk!

He wasn’t transforming. He couldn’t get his arms free to hold on!

Suddenly, a green, bladed limb punched into the wall. A pair of smooth, armored legs wrapped around his chassis. And then another pair.

Oh, sweet Solus he was going to die. Ohhh it was touching him! No no no.

“Hey, it’s okay!” Vaultor told him through a gross mandible mouth. “We’re okay! Don’t cry!”

“Where’s–” Blackjack whimpered. He reset his vocalizer. “Where’s Menasor? Do you see him?”

“Yeah. We’re out of the way. We’re good.” Horrible, chitinous limbs adjusted their grip. One of the hooked ends poked inside his front-right wheel well.

The Autobots fired at the shadow looming towards them out of the dust. Flashes of bright red rained towards the shape. A stream caught the monster’s chest, the glow illuminating his snarling face. The combiner raised his hand, catching the lasers in his palm. He bent down, following it to the source.

He didn’t leave a single Autobot alive.

***

Slipstream couldn’t change course to avoid the explosion. Heat washed over her, and shrapnel sliced through her arms, her chest. She was thrown to the ground.

She had to get up. It wasn’t over! It couldn’t be over! She would not die here! She would not fail!

Through the ringing in her audials, she heard the Autobot captain speak:

“We made a home here, you know.”

Slipstream’s laughter was high pitched and strained. Her enemy moved closer.

“You–” she coughed, “Your own fault.”

He glared at her. Another grenade appeared in his hand.

“It’s a military outpost–” Slipstream gasped, fighting through the pain to raise her head off the ground. She spat Energon and positioned a servo beneath herself. “Your home had a giant turret!”

Slipstream sprang up and crashed into the Autobot with all her strength. She took off, carrying him into the air as she pitched up. His grenade flew from his hand and fell somewhere outside the eye of the storm, quickly snatched away by the wind. He struggled and squirmed in her grasp, flailing his fists against her wings. She pushed her boosters hard, and then, just as she broke through the dust and could see the blue of the sky and felt the warmth of the sun…

She adjusted her grip and dragged him down. The ground rose fast. She waited for the last moment before letting go. She poured all her energy into stopping her descent. Her thrusters burned and her frame shook, and it wasn’t enough. So she improvised a landing pad.

Her heels cracked through the Autobot’s chest. She pointed her blaster at his face.

“Wait,” he wheezed. Something ejected from his wrist. He held up his camera. His hand shook as he pointed it at Slipstream. “One more… memory…”

Slipstream snapped. The camera was batted away, rolling across the circle. No more ‘memories’. No more pictures. He hung them up like they were precious! All he’d done is rust away in the middle of nowhere! Those people… his people– the ones he was responsible for. If he’d cared– if they’d mattered to him at all–

“This was pointless,” Slipstream said, her voice shaking. “Everything you did was for nothing. I’m getting to Rodion.”

The Autobot captain searched her optics. He laughed, weakly, somehow still finding humor in this. “Let me ask… for my own peace of mind… one final question. Please…”

Slipstream gestured with her blaster, keeping her face hard as steel.

“If you dont… if you don’t make it… was all this worth it?”

She wanted to spit on him. To kick him and walk away. Have one last, petty victory before he passed on. But–

His optics were dimming. And she could see her own reflection in them.

“If I succeed…”

If she made it to Rodion. If she revealed the Air Commander’s duplicity, how he’d tried to get her killed by sending her to that Black Site and pitting her against those creatures. If she proved once and for all, that she was his better– showed Megatron that she deserved more...

Would all the wasted effort, the betrayal, the failure, the humiliation… Would it all be worth it?

“...It will be.”

Chapter Text

Knock Out slammed Blackjack's hood shut.

"Anything?" The mode-locked four-wheeler asked hopefully.

"Dust."

"Okay...?"

"It's blocking your transformation!" He snapped. Whoa. Where had that come from? Knock Out paused and reset his vocalizer. "I can't fix it without some kind of lubricant," he explained, calmly.

"But it isn't permanent, right?"

Knock Out shuddered. The very idea of being trapped in just one form–! "No! No. A good oil bath or... just a deep clean and you'd be good as new..."

"...and we can't do that without supplies," Blackjack sighed.

The ground shook, and Knock Out, unable to help himself, turned towards the source.

Menasor was big. Too big. He filled the canyon, his horns reaching the top, and his shoulders scraping against the sides. He was impossible to ignore... but that didn't stop people from trying. Everyone huddled in alcoves or pressed themselves against the walls, as far away from the combiner as they could get. They glanced at him out of the corners of their optics, keeping a hand on their weapons, like it would do them any good. Everyone... Except for the ones with no survival instincts, that is.

"Hey, Misfire!" Octane wore his slimiest smile and waved up at the jet, "Ask your buddy if they want Energon."

Misfire sat calmly, perched atop Menasor's blue knee guard. "Ask him yourself!" He called back.

Menasor, for his part, looked at Octane like he was a stain on his servo.

"Those two are going to get flattened," Blackjack noted, sounding unconcerned.

Knock Out hummed, only half paying attention.

Every time he'd seen the Stunticons form Menasor, they always de-combined shortly after. The reactor, the fight with Superion, the sector Phi base... But this time...

Shouldn't they have separated by now?

"You good?"

"Hm? Oh... Yes..." He tore his gaze away from Breakdown and turned back to the problem at hand, tapping his chin. "Tell you what: see if you can find Pain-Tear. She might have pressurized spray cans to spare. I can rig something up with that, try and clear out some of the dust jamming your... gears..." He trailed off, peering up Menasor.

"Yeah... Sure. I'll let you know."

Imagine that! Letting him know! How polite! Unlike Breakdown, who was too busy being a combiner to finish their conversation about–

Menasor plucked Misfire off his knee and put him on the ground. The combiner rose, scanning the canyon, like he was searching for something. Someone.

Knock Out spun his wheels. He would drive away from this mess if he could. He looked past Menasor at the wall of dust and wind blocking his escape. The storm was still raging outside the canyon, and who knew when it would stop! He was stuck here, same as everyone else.

But none of them had to wonder if their emotionally unstable partner still wanted to kill them. Or how much control said partner had over the combiner he was inside of.

Or if Breakdown was in there at all.

"Knock Out!"

He jumped, and swore he could feel his spark bursting out of its chamber as he spun around. “What?!”

Sea Sure looked rough. The color on her arms was worn away and her visor was cracked. Search sat on her shoulder in drone mode. But it was the bot trying to hide behind Sea Sure that had Knock Out stunned.

"This," Sea Sure said, "is Bracket."

Knock Out stared at the bot he had spent three months trying to bring back online.

He started to laugh. At least one thing was going right for him today!

***
Above Slipstream were clear skies and the Glittering Barrier. Rust red metal with sparkling glints of electricity. Around her was the canyon, and the debris of the cargo lift’s scaffolding. Twisted metal beams and black cables lay smoldering all around the elevator’s platform, thrown into tangled clumps of useless scrap by Autobot explosives. She walked around the edge of the area, examining the rock face and running her hand along its surface. This part of the canyon was more open, but it’s high walls still bore down on her.

She pressed her helm against one of them and tried not to scream.

Her entire plan had hinged on repairing this elevator. She couldn’t fly up there because of the electromagnetic field. There wasn’t enough time to go around before Starscream’s big siege. What now?

What would he have done?

Slipstream looked back at the destroyed elevator shaft and then further up. The barrier had four staging areas for loading cargo onto the lift. The first wasn’t so far. She measured the gaps between beams and examined the shape of the rock face.

No, it wasn’t that far at all.

She set her jaw and traced a route towards it.

***

"Reflexes, sensory suites, T-Cog... Everything looks to be in working order! Brain functions... Hm..."

The alcove Sea Sure had chosen for the examinations was cozy– tucked out of the direct sunlight and big enough to comfortably stand in. Their own little stone gazebo, complete with smoothed rocky benches!

The cave had been nicer. Better company.

"What– what does that mean?!" The bot, Bracket, frantically scooted forward in her seat, trying to peer around the holographic screen coming from Knock Out's wrist.

"That was the last test! And you passed!" Knock Out flashed her a convincing smirk and kept talking. Talking was good! It kept him from worrying. "You're a little Energon deficient, and your paint job is in dire need of a refresh... Other than that, completely healthy! Am I good or am I good?"

"So... I'm not dead?" Bracket shuffled her servos. The kibble on her back shifted from side to side. "Are you sure?"

"Am I sure you aren't dead?" The medic repeated slowly.

His very alive patient nodded. Knock Out stared at her, trying to come up with a response... And then he gave up and brought up his screen to make a few notes regarding the patient's mental state. Search hopped up besides her and beeped reassuringly.

Thump… Thump…!

Dust and pebbles flaked down from the ceiling. Knock Out froze, finger hovering over the screen.

Menasor.

Thump! Thump!

The giant’s footfalls thundered closer. Knock Out put away the screen and readied his engines. The alcove was small, but Menasor could bend down and grab him if he wanted.

Thump! Thump!

If that happened, Knock Out would need to be quick to avoid it. If he weren’t such an amazing racer, he might actually be worried; instead he readied his engines and shifted his servos, preparing to jump into his vehicle mode at the first sign of danger. If Breakdown still wanted to kill him, he’d have to catch him first!

Thump!! Thump!!

Menasor blocked out the sky. His massive head turned slowly as the combiner scanned his surroundings.

The others' conversation continued, as if there weren't a giant right outside:

"Aye. I hit one of them and they didn't feel a thing.” Sea Sure clapped her on the back and watched her flinch. "You see? Yer fine!"

"But what were they?" Bracket asked in a whisper.

Sea Sure frowned. "Was hoping ye’ could tell us."

Search made a confused series of beeps.

Knock Out wished they would all be quiet. He opened his mouth to tell them to shut up and his voice froze in his throat. Glowing red optics squinted down at him from high above.

Menasor sneered at him and walked off towards the end of the canyon.

Knock Out’s engine stalled. That oversized walking pile of slag! How dare he… not try to kill him? Relief and indignation mingled together and he let them both out with a sigh.

"No! They weren't ours!"

"They were so... unorganized! And... And inconsistent! Only every one in three came back! One in three! That's a terrible ratio!"

"And they killed yer mates," Sea Sure reminded her.

"Yes. That too," she moaned into her hands, "Didn't touch the project leads! But everyone else...!"

"How convenient for them." Knock Out cut in, intrigued. "Sounds like they bailed and let whatever-it-was clean house!"

Search swiveled his head around and beeped, unimpressed.

"Not really. Why don't you clue me in?" He put on his most conspiratorial smirk and crossed his arms, eager to move on from his own problems and enjoy someone else’s. Especially if they were discussing what he thought they were.

Three months since they’d gone down into the secret Decepticon compound and come back with a bot barely clinging to life. And neither of them had said a word about what they saw down there!

Apparently, Sea Sure wasn’t about to break that streak. "Another time." She rubbed Bracket’s back, "Wouldn't want to upset our new crew mate so soon, eh?"

Knock Out rolled his optics. No matter what Sea Sure believed, "Scavenger's Rights" did not extend to people. Just because she’d dragged Bracket out of there, didn’t mean the bot belonged to her! Then again, gratitude could go a long way...

"Seems to me that Bracket here is already upset.” He leaned forward, keeping his tone low and comforting. "Why don’t you tell me how you ended up so damaged? It’s the least I deserve, seeing as I went through so much effort to revive you.”

The shaking bot lowered her hands away from her face. She blinked several times. “Isn’t it… your job to do that?”

Sea Sure stood up slowly. The panels on her arms folded outwards into a sharp edge. “Another time.”

“Very well,” he said, taking the hint. “I’ll be around. Make sure she gets Energon.” He stepped away and took a bow. “You’re welcome, by the way!”

***

Slipstream pulled herself up and crawled inside the Glittering Barrier’s first staging area. There were stacks of ordinary red and blue freight containers, a lever for the lights, a small computer console to call the destroyed elevator…

She collapsed face down on the rough, metal floor. Her flight instruments buzzed wildly, feeding her a nauseating stream of constantly changing data.

The climb had made her painfully aware of all the damage she'd taken during the battle. She ached, from the dents on her knees to the nicked wires in her wing joint. She shifted, trying to find a position to lay in that didn't make her feel like she was full of broken glass.

It was almost peaceful up here, away from the noise and responsibilities and her own abysmal failure.

The world trembled, and there was a mighty thump somewhere beyond her closed optics. She had to think about opening them. It was hard, but… maybe just one? She needed to check what the sound was. Just a quick look and then she’d go back to laying in her own misery.

Slipstream opened her optics and rolled over. There was a giant, purple hand above her.

Panic, her least favorite painkiller, shot through her fuel lines! Away! Now! Thrusters fired and propelled her forward. She threw her servos underneath her, stumbling away and falling to her knees. She bit her tongue to stop herself from crying out at the jolt of pain that sent shooting through her legs!

Another hand appeared, thumping into the staging area, followed by a bright yellow arm. Menasor's horns rose into view. Then his optics, red lenses peeking over the ledge, and then his whole head.

"What's wrong? Tired?"

The combiner's jeering face made Slipstream want to purge her tanks. No, nevermind– that would be her altitude indicator telling her she was upside down.

The exhausted Seeker tried to stand. One movement at a time. Right leg. Or was that... Left? She lost balance and fell back into a kneeling position.

"Hah! Weak!" He sneered, "Menasor can climb this easy!"

"Uh-huh." She tried again, this time making it to her servos. She staggered, her instruments flipping wildly in every direction.

"Easy!!" His roar shook the world. The freight containers rattled. "Menasor is the strongest there is!"

Slipstream’s last thread of patience groaned under the weight of a giant, barely sentient, braggart and the output of a navigation computer convinced that its pilot was in a free fall towards the ground.

"Menasor," she said through gritted teeth. "What is it that you want?"

It was like flipping a switch. Menasor's snarl vanished, replaced with a slight frown. He brought one of his massive hands up to press the palm against the side of his head, and propped an elbow on the floor to keep himself stable. He growled softly as his horns scraped against the ceiling, then returned to watching Slipstream with almost an air of curiosity.

"Menasor want to go. Why aren't we going?"

Slipstream stomped her servo. "Because there's no way up!"

Menasor's expression darkened. "Told you before," his voice vibrated in her wings, growing in volume with every word, "Don't yell at me!"

"And I told you that the next time you appeared without my permission I'd–" A jolt of pain flashed through her spinal column as she straightened her shoulders. This wasn't like the last time back in the Phi sector– she couldn't win this fight right now.

Slipstream forced herself to step back. Her heel bumped against a shipping container and without thinking, she swung her fist against it.

Clang!

An incoherent noise escaped her vocalizer, followed by a sigh as she sank against the metal, defeated.

"The cargo lift is destroyed," she explained, her voice weak and wispy, "The electromagnetic field makes flying impossible. And climbing, as I've just discovered, is unfeasible for our fliers. Including me! And even if we could– the lightning would fry us to pieces!"

The blank look on the combiner's face made her want to scream.

"In other words, we aren't going anywhere because we're stuck!"

And there was no other way to get to Rodion in time. It was over. She'd failed.

"Menasor can climb," the giant rumbled. It almost sounded like he was pouting.

Slipstream laughed bitterly. "Unless you can carry the entire unit with you, it doesn't matter."

Menasor's face lit up. He repositioned his hands and began to lower himself.

"What are you– No! No! Menasor!" She forced herself to her servos and leaned hard against the container. Pushing herself off, she staggered closer to the edge of the staging area. "Do not touch my soldiers!"

The combiner paused. He lifted himself up again, bringing his face somewhat level with hers. He gaped at her like she had lost her mind. "But– So small! And puny! Easy for me to carry!"

"No!"

"BUT WHY?!?!"

"Because! You'll crush them!"

His brow furrowed. "...SO?!"

That last, barely-there thread of patience snapped with the force of a supernova. Her words echoed through the canyon:

"I NEED THEM!!!"

Menasor recoiled in surprise. He raised his hand to crush her. Slipstream braced herself... but then he froze. His snarl twitched, and he tilted his head. When he opened his mouth, his voice sounded different, distorted– like there were others layered underneath. Slipstream could almost pick out the individual Stunticons when he asked:

"Those puny weaklings?!"

"Those "puny weaklings" are worth ten of you!! If you damage any of them, I will tear you apart from the inside out!!" She yelled back. "Is that clear?!!"

The ground shook as Menasor slammed his hand against the floor! He glowered at her, imposing and powerful. Slipstream didn't stumble. She didn't waver. She held her head high and glared back, just as fiercely, even though her body screamed for rest. She was his Commander, and he would yield.

A long, low growl rolled out of Menasor's chest. "FINE," he spat in his usual booming voice. "Menasor will be CAREFUL!"

Victory. Then Slipstream parsed the rest of his words. "Wait, what? No–"

A confused whine rumbled all around her.

"Don't– You–" Slipstream's instruments shifted again and she fought to stay upright.

She wouldn't make it to Rodion. Not like this. And here was Menasor, offering– practically demanding– to be used as a solution. Commander Slipstream clenched her fist.

"...You can make it to the top," She studied the combiner critically, "Even with all that electricity?"

"Yes!" Menasor drummed his fingers impatiently, each tap a teeth shattering crash of metal.

"And you'll be careful?!" She shouted over the noise.

"Yes!"

Slipstream took a deep breath. "Alright. Prove it. Get me down."

***

"You are going to look so good... Again."

Pain-Tear's voice came from above Menasor's line of sight. He didn't like that she was standing on top of his head. He didn't like that she was attaching a rope to his left horn, he REALLY didn't like when she slid down it to hang in front of his face. But he liked her.

Awww, we made a fwend! Get. Her. Off. It's not a big deal. We can still see.

So, he let Pain-Tear hang there uncrushed. For now. He was being as gentle as a cyber-kitten! Like he said he would!

"What color do you want?"

Yellow! Black. White? Yellow yellow yellow yell- White! Or Blue! Shut up! Ugh. Red, obviously! Yellow yellow yellow yellow yellow.

The song swelled and made Menasor’s head ache. He stared at nothing, trying to pick out the quietest color. A memory floated to the top of the noise:

Autobots in the distance, getting closer. Dirt under the servos and a delicately painted hand on the shoulder. An engine revving to go. "Paint the basin pink."

Menasor's lip twitched. "Pink."

"Oh, good choice!"

He snorted– he ALWAYS made good choices!

Should have been yellow.

Menasor shifted, and a shower of pebbles sprinkled out of the rocky wall behind him. This space was barely big enough for him to stretch out his legs! The broken elevator shaft kept rubbing against his shoulder! His knee hurt! There wasn’t enough room anywhere!

Then let’s make some more! No. We are sitting still. Gentle… Gentle!

Menasor grumbled. He wanted to go!

What was taking Slipstream so long?! He could see her at the other end of the canyon, with all the other little Decepticons around her. She’d said she had to “explain the plan” and told him to “sit quietly and wait”. Well, he HAD been! For forever!

Why are we still combined? Punishment. No. Because we're strong together. Stronger than anything. Comfy. Wrong. Shut up!

“Hey… Shhhh, it's okay!” Pain-Tear patted his cheek. “The briefing is done. See? Just keep staying still! You're doing so good!”

Wet tickled under his optic. He kept his head still, even when the little Decepticons started creeping closer. Names and facts popped into his head. That one was Axor, he was a misanthrope and a jerk. That one was Vaultor, they were a loser...

"Halfway done!" Pain-Tear told him, maneuvering to his other optic. Menasor grunted. He could do this. It was easy!

“Is it good?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah! Looking great so far! Just keep still for me." Pain-Tear tapped his nose as she made another careful stroke.

Something inside Menasor hummed happily and he tried not to think about it too hard.

“Hey! Pain-Tear!” A black mech with kibble going above his shoulders appeared in front of Menasor’s face. He hovered in place, his rocket boots holding him in the air. “Blackjack needs you. Something about spray paint cans.”

Runabout. Misanthrope. Can we kill him? No. WE should have rocket boots! NO!*

“Alright. Whatever,” Pain-Tear sighed, “I’ll be there soon.”

“Slipstream said to get you now, though. So.”

What a nuisance. He’s getting awfully close to her rope. Misanthropes can’t be trusted around safety stuff!

“Don’t! Touch!” Menasor growled.

The voices buzzed and swelled as Runabout dipped closer to the rope. Then away. He wiggled in the air, tauntingly. Then he stuck his hand out and grabbed hold of the rope and–

He thinks he’s funny! He’s not! But here’s something that IS!

***

“This,” Knock Out gestured at the injured Runabout, “Is exactly what I was saying! We can’t trust an unstable killing machine to carry us to the top! It’s too dangerous!”

“If you have a better idea,” Slipstream’s optics flashed dangerously, “I’d love to hear it.”

“Don’t be scared,” Pain-Tear smirked insufferably. “I’ll hold your hand if you want.”

“Touch me,” Knock Out hissed, “And I swear that gaudy paint job will be the least of your problems!”

“Enough!” The Seeker stood, her fists balled. She sighed. “Will he be okay?”

“Who, Runabout?” Knock Out spat. Of course she meant Runabout. Who else would she be referring to? Not him of course! Or Breakdown! Even though he’d– “He’ll be fine!”

“Tragic,” the over-decorated four-wheeling vandal said flatly.

“I said enough!” Slipstream rubbed her temples. “Pain-Tear, go help Blackjack. Knock Out, see to Runabout’s repairs. And get him online!”

“Will they be alright without me?” Pain-Tear pointed at Menasor. “I was keeping them calm.”

“Clearly,” Slipstream muttered.

“Commander, with all due respect, camaraderie is a two way connection.”

“...What?” Slipstream stared at her. Anger flashed across her face, and then, confusion .“Camaraderie? What does that have to do with… Ugh! Nevermind! Get to work!”

Knock Out watched the Seeker walk away, noting how stiffly she moved. How one of her wings was lower than the other. How it looked like she was fighting against the world to stay upright. He scoffed, then he sighed, and then he buried himself in repairs.

It was simple enough: open him up, check and make sure everything was where it was supposed to be (it wasn’t), move the internals back to their proper places (easy!), reconnect the wires, and weld the whole thing back together. Or, it would have been, if Runabout wasn’t missing a piece!

“Must’ve come off when the poor fool hit the ground. Or when Menasor hit him,” he muttered to himself. If it was still at the crash site then maybe–

His gaze flicked up towards the other end of the canyon. Knock Out pursed his lips. Could his repairs really be called complete if he didn’t reattach that piece? Or at least make some kind of temporary replacement?

Yes.

If it meant that he wouldn’t need to get close to Menasor, then yes, he was more than pleased with his work. He glanced down the canyon towards the combiner in question.

Menasor sat with his arms crossed and his legs stretched out, staring a hole into the ground. His face was decorated with streaks of Energon pink paint. It circled his optics and ran in streaks down his cheeks. He was a picture perfect definition of a sulking mech… who could, at any moment, snap and violently kill anyone who got close!

Knock Out stood up and wiped his hands of the whole business. As far as he was concerned, his job was done. He made it three steps in the opposite direction before his brain told him to look at Menasor again. Because hadn’t the combiner’s hands been positioned just like–?

He spun around.

Breakdown made dents in his own arms. It was a habit he had that Knock Out spotted while fixing him a few months ago. He’d noticed it again back in the cave– little indents on the edges of Breakdown’s plating, like grooves in a lever or on the hilt of a weapon. It (probably) wasn’t intentional– even a little bit of pressure, so long as it was repeated over time, would wear those shapes in.

Menasor was doing it right now. Although, he wasn’t as subtle about it as Breakdown was… the big bolt-head probably didn’t even know what “grip strength” even was! He was squeezing too tightly! His hands twitched and readjusted as they slid off the hoods of Drag Strip and Dead End’s vehicle modes.

Relief flooded Knock Out’s chest. Which was weird because Breakdown ruined his paint job and tried to kill him not too long ago! And might still want to! Even so, the look on Breakdown’s face right before he took off… It was the same expression bots had when they went offline for a stasis nap or… or died. Blank and empty. It wasn’t “Breakdown”. Even the way he’d been in the tunnels (as terrifying as it was) had been better, because at least then he’d looked alive!

The longer Knock Out watched though, the more the relief evaporated into doubt, and then coalesced into a fine vapor of worry.

Menasor hadn’t tried to kill him earlier. Did that mean that Breakdown didn’t want to kill him? Or even worse: Breakdown was in there but was locked out of the controls– trapped as the leg of a combiner with no power over what Menasor did?

Knock Out swore softly and warmed up his engines. He wanted to know that Breakdown was okay.

***

Knock Out was noticed as soon as he stepped onto the platform.

Menasor's head snapped up and his knuckles tightened. His stare turned on Knock Out like spotlights, like targeting lasers, like the beam of a medical scanner.

"If it isn't the star of the hour! I hear you're going to be our ride up!"

No reaction. Knock Out shifted his weight, staying ready to bolt at a moment's notice. He winced as he noticed the decorations on the combiner's face.

Energon pink paint rimmed his optics and streaked down his cheeks. If the "artist's" intention was to make it appear he was leaking from his optical sockets they had succeeded. Poor thing– no one with any taste would ever choose to wear that.

"I uh– don't suppose you've seen a secondary hinge laying around anywhere? About this big? Came off of Runabout?"

Nothing. Not even a twitch. Knock Out huffed. Alright then!

"Hello?!" He waved up at the giant, "Anyone there?!" He hesitated. "...Breakdown?"

Menasor blinked. Slowly, his expression changed into a frown. He snarled, voice booming: "I am NOT. Breakdown!"

Well, that answered that.

A giant fist beat against the platform. "Menasor is Menasor!"

Knock Out's legs wobbled as the aftershocks reached him. He gasped, ready to leap into his vehicle mode. The combiner smiled cruelly, clearly enjoying his fear.

"Right! Of course!" Any moment now, things would go sideways and Knock Out would be ready to run when they did. "I'll just... take a look around for that part. Don't mind me!"

Runabout was lucky he'd hit the dirt and not the platform-- the damage would have been much more severe. Knock Out stared at the impact crater, forcing his brain to work out the angles of collision and where that part may have gone.

The combiner's attention pressed down as Knock Out poked through the scattered debris of the cargo lift. If he didn't know better, Knock Out wouldve said that Menasor was studying him. The giant was scooting closer, leaning in when Knock Out had his back turned. Whenever he did catch him moving, Menasor would tilt his head innocently, or stare in another direction. It was bizarre.

At the very least, however, Knock Out felt confident that Menasor was not interested in crushing him into dust.

That was not as much of a relief as it should have been. Again, Knock Out wondered: How much of Breakdown was in there?

"Ah! There it is!" He plucked the secondary hinge off the ground. Seemed to be alright! He stared at it, drumming his stubbed fingers against it and trying to come up with a way to ask after Breakdown without causing another outburst. Maybe... Maybe It was better to quit while he was ahead.

A shadow passed over him, and he looked into the face of Menasor, looming above like death itself.

That was all Knock Out needed to be convinced.

***

The little red vehicle sped to the exit. Menasor was ready. He brought his hand down in front of the gap, and Knock Out screeched to a stop.

Hah! Come on... Told you he'd run!

Knock Out darted underneath his arm and swerved to the opposite side of the big room.

Once again, not a room without a ceiling. No one cares! Get him! Shut UP! Get him! Smash him up!

The voices all sounded the same. Menasor could only tell them apart by what direction they wanted him to go. Two wanted forward, two didn't care. That made four. The last one was still further away, like it had been doing since the tiny red bot got close. It twisted around and around beneath the others, pulling up bits of them in the chase.

"Uh, hey, Slipstream?" from across the not-a-room. He was on his radio, one of the voices whispered, like Menasor couldn't tell. "Hi. Your pet combiner is trying to kill me–"

Pet?! PET?!?!

"–and since I hear you need me, could you please make him let me go?"

"Menasor belongs to no one!!" He growled as he made himself comfy. He moved his hand and scooted up against the gap, blocking it with his hips as he pressed his back to the walls beside it. It was better than the other spot! No pointy metal poking at him! And now he could see Knock Out better.

Always watch him! He's sneaky! Dangerous!

Knock Out transformed and pressed himself against the far wall.

The little bot didn't seem dangerous. He looked scared! Hah!

Heh. Good! He's about to leak himself! Is he frozen? He's stopped moving!

Menasor grinned and brought a finger towards him.

Dragging a finger down his chestplate. What's he gunna do? It's like driving on the edge! But better! Come and push me off, if you can!

Menasor stopped before he touched the little red bot. Knock Out was glaring at him. Now he was scared AND angry!

"You afraid of me?" Menasor laughed.

Haha! Look at him squirm! Get back. I mean it get back.

Fear snuck in. Menasor didn't like fear. It sounded like screeching metal and failure. Menasor NEVER failed.

"Hah! Menasor isn't afraid of YOU! See?" He poked the tiny bot with his finger tip. He was being so gentle!

Knock Out's face changed. His optics narrowed into red slits. He held Menasor's gaze. "...So I've heard."

Menasor poked him again. See, voice? Nothing to be scared of.

Now make HIM afraid! Rip off an arm! That won't work. Rip off a leg! Are you listening?! Yeah. We just don't care! We're supposed to be gentle! So all of you shut up! Yes, you are perplexing Menasor.

"Quiet!" Menasor demanded.

"I didn't say anything?"

Perplexing? Really? It means confusing. I know what it means! We all know what it means! It means you're a know-it-all and everyone hates you for it! Now that that's settled, let's break somethin! Stop touching him. All of you shut UP!

"You've been combined for quite a while now." Knock Out propped his elbow on Menasor's pointer finger. "Perhaps it's time for a break. You could lay back and separate? And once it's time to go–"

"Hrr," Menasor growled. He didn't need a break! He needed to complete the mission!

Yes! Forget about him! We need to go up! Not yet! I can't take it anymore! Let's gooooo! Shut! UP! NO ONE wants to hear you! Look who's talking, Motorbreath!

It hurt! He HURT!!! Nothing felt right! There were shapes in the song now, blocking the sound! Ugly, hurting shapes! He needed... THEY needed something! Direction! A mission while he waited for HIS mission! So the song would stop tearing him apart!

Memories in his head. Not his. They weren't his. He was Menasor this was other. Others. Others were not Menasor.

His head snapped up. Optics focused on the red. Knock Out. Fast. Smart. Loved to hear himself–

"TALK!"

Knock Out blinked and lifted his chin off his hand. "Excuse me?"

He jerked his hand, bumping the tiny bot against the wall. "Talk! Like before!"

"Wh– Before–? I... Uh..." He looked around. Then: "Face paint! Your new face paint!"

Uh oh.

"It looks uh..."

Menasor perked up. He must look good! Pain-Tear said he did!

Yes? Come on Knock Out be nice for once...

"Painful?"

Now it was Menasor who was confused. He stared at the tiny red bot. How could paint hurt? That didn't make sense! But one of the voices was happy with the answer. It calmed, sinking back in tune and pulling the others away from their fight a little.

"More." He pulled his finger away and crossed his legs, leaning in to hear better. "Talk more!"

Knock Out gasped in relief. He touched his chest, checking for damage. "Alright... Let's see… You're carrying us up soon. Did you... Volunteer for that?" He laughed when Menasor nodded. "And here I thought Motormaster was in charge! Can't imagine him agreeing to something like that!"

Menasor frowned. Knock Out still didn't understand. Maybe he was a little slow in the processor.

"Motormaster isn't here," He explained. He was being so patient and gentle! "Menasor... is Menasor."

"But–" He gestured at Menasor's chest. "He is! They all are?"

The voices buzzed.

I am? No I am– we are... Am I Motormaster? No... I'm... Which one am I?

"No!" He snarled. "Menasor is... me? We are... You confuse Menasor!!" He poked Knock Out hard this time. The little bot yelped in pain.

No! Gentle! Yeah, gentle! Don't break him! No, do! Do break him! What's he trying to do?!

He raised his fist to destroy the threat.

Hate seeing him like this.

Menasor paused. Knock Out had fallen against the rocks. He hid behind his hands, shaking. He was so scared. So so scared. Tiny scared red bot.

"Why? Why you try to... PERPLEX Menasor?!" He leaned in further, until his horns bumped the wall. "Why?! Speak up!"

"I'm doing my job!" The tiny bot yelled up.

His job? His mission! Menasor understood that!

His mission to destroy us! Isn't he a medic? Yes. He never shuts up about it. So?

"One of your components and I were in the middle of something and he..." Knock Out pointed at Menasor's knee. The damaged one that hurt. It was banged up. How had that happened? "Well, stopped responding. I am obligated, as the medic here–"

Told you.

“–to ensure that he is still functioning."

Menasor shifted his weight and wiggled his servo. He flexed the leg.

"Not like that! His brain! Him! The–" Knock Out pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "The part of him that may want to kill me! Is that still around? Because I'd really like to know before I get stuck on the side of a cliff with you and he decides to take the controls!"

There it was again! That one voice getting all twisted up, tangling all the others!

"Would be just my luck. As if I didn’t have enough problems!” Knock Out said bitterly. “I have no idea why he wants to turn me into scrap in the first place! He said he's been trying to "get even"! For what?! What could I have possibly done to deserve all this?!"

Hungry red optics moving closer. White faceplate gleaming under medbay lights. Trapped! Can't escape! Knives flashing and he's laughing!

"You... Not scary," Menasor mumbled.

Knock Out looked at him funny. "So I've heard." His shoulders sagged and he laughed. "I don't suppose you know anything about it?"

Menasor squinted at the memory and shrugged. He wasn't there. It was just pictures and noise to him. The voices made enough noise already.

"Figures... Breakdown can't hear me right now, can he?"

Menasor tried hard to understand the question.

One of us has to be Breakdown. Not it! Wow, okay.

He frowned. "Which one is... Breakdown?"

Knock Out stared at him. "Your leg."

He stared back, harder. "Legs can't hear."

What a productive conversation this is.

"You are aware that your body parts are each separate individuals?"

"Yes!" Menasor said, angrily. He knew that! "They sleep and Menasor..." Woke up. The voices woke him up…

… And the voices started in his arms and legs and chest. That's what Knock Out meant! Now he understood! Menasor jammed a finger into the side of his helm. "You mean THEM!"

"Uh… Sure."

Menasor nodded happily. He’d figured it out! "They listen! And they yell. Always yelling…"

Their own fault!

"I see..." The tiny bot looked him up and down. "Would it be possible for you to find out if Breakdown wants me dead?"

Would it?

Have to figure out who's who first. Don't tell him to do that! We'll fall apart! Do it! I wanna see what happens!

The voices chattered and this time, Menasor followed them. He listened as hard as he could to what they said and how they said it. He could feel their edges. He yanked on one and all of them got louder.

Hey! Stop!

He held that voice still. It had a shape! Fierce and sharp and always wanting!

Menasor's head hurt. Felt like it was splitting.

STOP!!

He lost focus and it fell away from him. He blinked. His body felt weird. He looked at himself. Had his limbs... Always been different colors?

"Menasor... Is..."

"Forget it!" Knock Out waved at him. "I'll figure it out later!"

And they were different shapes, too! His right arm was more pointy than his left! His left was smooth and bulkier!

Which one looks better?

"I'm going now!"

But it was all HIM! It was all Menasor! And it was them! It was... The... Uh...

The Stunticons.

Yes! Them! It was them, too!

A red blur zoomed around his servos and slipped through the gap back into the canyon. Menasor didn't care. He was busy.

"Stunticons are Menasor," he whispered. "Menasor… is Stunticons?”

***

The cyclone raged inside the basin. Dust pinged against smashed greyed corpses like bullets. Wind howled between the cracks of the once Autobot, then briefly Decepticon, abandoned outpost. And far above that, away from the storm, was the top of the Glittering Barrier. That is where Commander Slipstream and her unit were headed.

If they would stop complaining long enough to get going!

“Octane, for the last time, you do not get to declare a “transport tax” on Energon! And if you ask me again, so help me, I will throw you into that storm!”

“Hmph. You sure, Commander? I hear I’m pretty important!”

“Only as cannon fodder. Now get. In. Position.”

Octane got the message. He grumbled as he walked away. The nerve! That was the third one who’d tried to bargain with her before they climbed aboard the combiner! And the others… She watched Axor help Sea Sure and Search up onto Menasor’s knee. Up top, Misfire and the new bot, Bracket, helped a shaky Runabout strap himself to the giant’s shoulder. There was an air of camaraderie. It was alarming.

“Why is everyone being so… weird?!” Commander Slipstream shook her head and grimaced as her shoulders twinged at the motion.

Elevon appeared at Slipstream’s side. “Is that a rhetorical question, Commander?”

“Did you round up the stragglers?”

“...Yes.”

Slipstream didn’t like that pause. “What happened?”

“There is a… slight problem. Blackjack is still stuck in vehicle mode.”

“Still?! Pain-Tear was supposed to take care of it!”

“She attempted to. Then I attempted to.”

“...What did you do?”

“I may have attempted to startle him.”

Slipstream took a deep, calming breath. “We’ve talked about this…”

She folded her hands behind her back. At a distance, she probably looked extremely professional, but her optics curved as if she was smiling underneath that face mask. “Some bots transform when startled, or so I’ve heard. Unfortunately, Blackjack does not startle easily. Pain-Tear and I came up with another solution, but I suspect he believes that I am joking.”

“You were,” Blackjack said, rolling up behind the two fliers.

“I would never.” Elevon fluttered her wings. “I am a very serious person.”

“I’m not going near his face.”

“You’ll fall during the climb.”

“Better than being bitten in half.”

Slipstream cut in. “Blackjack, do whatever it takes. I’m not losing another soldier so soon.”

There was a pause.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said softly.

“I will accompany you,” Elevon told him.

Slipstream nodded gratefully at Elevon and moved on. She took to the air and hovered around Menasor, checking the ropes of each of her soldiers and cataloguing their locations on the Combiner’s body.

This would work. It had to.

***

“Now?” Menasor asked her.

Slipstream gripped the shelf on Menasor’s shoulder, bracing herself against it. She took a deep breath, and swatted away the dread nibbling at her spinal strut. “Now.”

Menasor began to climb.

It was slow at first. He took his time to find solid points to place his hands before pulling himself up and digging his servos in. If he couldn’t find one, he’d make one. He moved stiffly, reeling back an arm, testing out how much he could twist his body without dashing one of his passengers against the wall… and then drive his fist into the rock face. Boulders tumbled to the ground below, revealing glimpses of ancient plating and circuitry beneath. Perhaps, it would have been awe-inspiring: A giant Decepticon super weapon taking such care for the smaller soldiers hanging off him as he climbed an impossible barrier…

…If only Slipstream weren't trying to keep herself from purging her tanks.

The challenge of it wasn’t just that her instruments were feeding her contradictory, impossible data to convince her that she was standing above orbit, upside down, while also moving sideways towards the ground. Or how every time Menasor pulled himself up, his shoulders tilted, and she’d have to balance to avoid sliding to one side or the other. Or the knowledge that the ground was getting further and further away and she wouldn’t be able to catch herself and land safely. Or that the entire success of her plan depended on this very dangerous gambit going perfectly.

It was that she was being watched while all of that was happening.

Vaultor flittered around her, their four legs keeping them perfectly stable on the swaying surface. “Are you okay, Commander? Do you need me to hold on to you?”

She glared daggers at them until they looked away. But only a short while later, they were back in her audial again.

“Real quick, just in case this doesn’t work… Thanks for letting me help with this.”

“Uh-huh.” She held onto the shelf for dear life as Menasor pulled them up past the first staging area. Everything was spinning, again. Vaultor was still talking.

“I’m not– what I mean is– I’m not that great a fighter, you know? And my alt mode– it’s not exactly… conventional. So, I’m really grateful that you– you know… keep me around. The Decepticons never– needed me before. Your speech was really– It meant alot. To me, and the others, too.”

Slipstream miserably raised her head, not fully processing what they were saying. “Go get ready.”

“Absolutely! I’ll go now. I’m going! Wish me luck!” They changed modes and skittered onto Menasor’s helm.

Slipstream stared after them. What had they said? A speech? What–

Her vision went a blinding white. Static washed over her, sharp and cold. Her instruments screamed.

Menasor covered his face with one arm, just in time for a bolt to strike it. The electricity crawled up the limb, wrapping around the Decepticons perched there. They yelped and cried out, and Slipstream heard Blackjack yell “Anytime now!” from somewhere below her.

Vaultor took position between the combiner’s horns. They spread their arms, antennae twitching this way and that. The air sizzled with cracks of light, writhing like living things. It arced closer, closer, splitting apart to slip inside their frames and fry their circuits to ash.

Slipstream looked through the web, at the blue sky behind it. She clenched her fists and dragged her aching body upright. She stumbled– it felt like falling, like plummeting to the planet from orbit– until she caught herself on Menasor’s cheek.

The giant startled, angling his great head towards her. Pink paint sizzled and cracked around his optics.

“Go,” she whispered.

He rumbled, and resumed his ascent. Lightning arced towards him, clawing at his arms as he climbed. But it didn’t reach. It bent towards the next highest point instead: His horns. A bolt struck the left first, and surged down to spread to his helm, but it couldn’t do that either– It was trapped. The next lightning strike hit the right horn and flowed down until it, too, was stopped where the rest of his helm began. So did the next, and the next. No matter what angle the electricity came towards him, it always flowed away from the Decepticons clinging to his body, and directly to Menasor’s horns.

Vaultor’s antennae swung in every direction, drawing new paths for the lightning like a mad artist. Their face scrunched in concentration, and they shook from the effort.

Slipstream fell to her knees in relief, and then– against her better judgement– lay down. She didn’t care how weak it made her look. It felt better. She took deep breaths.

All that she could do now was wait and try to ignore her instruments’ shrieking about an imminent crash.

***

Crash! Boom!

One voice cheered and chattered in Menasor’s head as he punched the wall to make the next hole.

Bang! Vwoosh! Peeeeeew.

All the voices focused on the climb. This one was too. But it made noises when it focused.

Huup! And again! Boom! Haha!

Menasor didn’t mind. The noises were fun. Like when he broke Autobots!

Whooo! Look at us! Crash! Vooooom! Shut up.

The smile disappeared. He’d been smiling?

This was a mistake. Why did we agree to CLIMBING? We’re doing great! Soon, we’ll be at the top! Why are we doing this? What is the point of this? What are we trying to do? Show them. Show them WHAT? That they NEED us!

That Menasor could help.

There was quiet again. For a little while.

Boom! SHUT UP!!

The yelling split through his head.

“YOU shut up!!” Menasor roared. “Menasor climb!”

The voices were so MEAN. He was completing the mission! This was why they’d woken him up! They faded, but it was too late. The voices were angry, now. As soon as any of them said a word, they’d start fighting.

...Boom.

They stabbed and squeezed and Menasor screamed. Everything was noise and rage. He punched he pulled he flailed. Tiny words from tiny bots bounced all around him.

“What’s wrong with him?!”

“What’s happening?!”

“Prima, Alpha Trion, Nexus, Alchemist, Solus…”

“I can’t hold on!”

The mission! Focus! Let me out!

“QUIET!!” Menasor demanded. He pressed his helm to the rock face, trying to make it feel better. It didn’t. He punched the wall again. But his fist didn’t go deep. His arms and legs shook. Everything hurt. He roared and punched it again and again.

He’s punching the wall. What is wrong with them?! Why can’t they see that he KNOWS what’s best? His fist goes clean through the metal. He pulls it back. It’s Drag Strip’s fault. She isn’t going to win some contest by disobeying him! She never wins anything! Unless she’s trying to be the most obnoxious bot around, that is! He gives the wall one final punch. He’s not going to punch her. No matter how much he wants to. He’s the leader. He’ll talk her around and make her see that she’s not going to beat him at this.

Menasor roared at the memory. He didn’t want it. It wasn’t his! He wasn’t him! He was Menasor! He lifted himself higher and his hand brushed against smooth metal. He looked at it confused.

The box rooms! Menasor crawled inside. His arms and legs shook. His chest scraped the floor louder than the voices. His horns bumped against the far wall.

This is pathetic! Get up! Can’t move! Stop fighting me! You stop fighting ME!

Menasor grit his teeth and pressed his aching head against the cool floor.

***

“Commander says we’re taking a break.”

“Oh thank Primus.”

“Is Menasor malfunctioning? We stuck here?”

Something touched his left arm. “Dead End, you in there? You alright?”

That’s… not me. Dead End? Who’s talking? Who am I?

“Menasor,” he grumbled. “Not Dead End. Menasor!”

Try not to scare her off this time. Why is she back?! She’s a friend. She’s annoying! You’re annoying! Why is she touching us?! Is she planting a bomb?! What?

The voices sounded strange now. More distant. Some too fast and some too slow. All wrong.

She put her hands on her hips. “So, what’s the story Menasor?”

“Tired.”

Weak! How long have we been combined?

“Would Energon help?”

Menasor looked past her, at his arm. He tapped the fingers of that hand against the floor. It looked the same and different. Why? Didn’t make sense.

Sure. Worth a try. Answer the question.

He nodded. Then Pain-Tear nodded. She pat his arm again. There was that happy little hum inside his head. Menasor tried to understand it:

Pain-Tear was a friend. But not his friend– She was Dead End’s friend. And he was Dead End. No, he was Menasor. And Dead End? Or… was he Stunticon? Menasor growled as he lost track of the thought and had to start over.

All around him, the tiny bots talked to each other.

“Ye holdin’ up?”

“Yes. How is your Minicon?”

“Hey now– Search isn’t MY Minicon! He’s his own mech! We were in the same crew, ‘fore we joined this one.”

On the other side of the room:

“I’m bored.”

“That’s nice.”

“Let me borrow your axe.”

“No.”

“What’s Trace Fire up to?”

“Leave him alone. He’s mourning. For… Quake. I think.”

Menasor heard his name:

“... Do not give Menasor psychoactives!”

“I’m not drugging him!”

“Then why does it have to be liquid Energon?! Just give each component a single patch!”

“Sure. Do you have five extra patches? I don’t. But Octane does. So help me open him up.”

I hate this. Get up! I hate YOU. I hate you MORE.

He clenched his fist and rolled his head the other way.

A bot, Trace Fire, the voices told him, sat on a red box by himself. His pistol lay disassembled in front of him.

“You!” Menasor snarled. “Hey! You! Blue car!”

Trace Fire looked up.

Something is wrong. Shut up. No one cares. This guy is harmless! He’s a misanthrope! No, he’s a loser! Either way, harmless!

“Talk!”

The four-wheeler laughed, once.

“I said talk!”

“Are you lonely?” Trace Fire asked. His voice was flat.

No! Liar.

“…Don’t know.”

He looked at Menasor for a long time. “I am,” he said finally.

Loser! See! I knew it!

Menasor rumbled for the bot to keep going.

“I keep thinking I can make friends. Keep… seeing people that I could talk to. But it never goes right.” Gun components clicked as the weapon was reassembled. The bot sighed. “You’re lucky, you know, Menasor? You’ve got the other combiners.”

“Hah! Other combiners are weak!” Menasor boasted.

“Aw, you don’t like them?” Trace Fire put the gun aside and tilted his head. He smiled, confused.

Ballistic. What? The gun.

“Why not?” He asked, picking a magazine out of the pile next to him. “You guys have so much in common!”

Ugh! No! We’re so much better than them! Tell him! SHOW him!

But Menasor couldn’t speak. He was remembering… something. He didn’t know what it was, but… The gun. The gun the gun. He was the gun? No, he was Menasor.

“No? Huh.” Idly, Trace Fire slid open a magazine. Shiny bullets flickered from the lightning outside.

The sweet Copper-Energon-soda on his tongue. He jumps from the balcony. Breakdown is about to freak out/ Not freaking out he’s threatening me! There’s an optic rolling across the floor. Misfire takes the optic/ brain. It’s Bisk’s brain module. Misfire pulls a bullet from Bisk’s brain module.

He was Wildrider. He was Breakdown. He was never there. But Menasor is HERE and he remembers:

Bisk’s body. Grey and burnt and smoking. Trace Fire is underneath. He’s apologizing. Why? Not like Bisk and her were friends. Not really. She won! So why doesn’t it feel good? What’s he apologizing for?

The bullet in the brain.

“I guess you don’t need friends when you’re a combiner. You guys always have someone who understands you!” Trace Fire put down the magazine and smiled, wistfully. “It must be nice to have that.”

The voices focused. The memories paused.

HATE.

The song exploded.

***

Slipstream leaned head-first against the empty cargo crate and stared at the puddle of purged fuel. She’d held it in the entire trip up. That was something. Impressive, even! Evidence that she was strong, and capable, and… other good things. It was hard to think when her instruments were… like this.

She swayed, barely catching herself on the edges of the cargo crate. The cables in her back went taut and she bit back a scream as a wave of numb pain spread through her wings. Several horrible moments went by, and slowly it began to pass. She heaved air, both to cool her systems and to brace herself to walk. She was the Commander. She–

The tip of her servo dipped into the puddle of her own wasted Energon. She made a noise halfway between a groan and a shriek.

Ripples appeared in the puddle. The crate she was leaning on shook. She watched, uncomprehending, until the yelling reached her processor. There was a deafening roar, and an even louder crash of a giant arm hitting empty metal boxes. Slipstream burst from her hiding place and reallocated every bit of her energy into trying not to panic because this was the worst possible outcome.

“Get back!”

“Move!”

“Now we’re talking!”

Menasor swiped at Trace Fire, barely missing him as he rolled upright. He fired his pistol into the Combiner’s open mouth and leapt off a stack of crates. Sea Sure deployed her shield arms and took up a stance near the fliers, who lay useless in the corner, disabled by their malfunctioning navigational instruments. Runabout hovered above the chaos, cackling as he swooped around the action and occasionally firing a laser into the fray. Pain-Tear swerved towards Menasor’s head with Misfire clinging to her roof.

That took her by surprise. She looked again, catching sight of his face: the poor jet was gasping to keep his Energon down. In between gasps of air, though, he was calling Menasor’s name, trying to get the giant’s attention. Slipstream could help with that. She would be the last thing the combiner ever saw.

She readied her arm-mounted blasters and stepped forward.

The world twisted under her servo. Distantly, she heard a clatter of metal hitting the floor and something jolt against her knees. Her wings went numb again.

Unseen hands wrapped under her shoulders. Instinctively, she struggled against them. She was the Commander, she could stand on her own! But her motors weren’t going. Her actuators werent actual-izing? Actuating? They weren’t moving! Alarms flashed on her heads up display. She thought she’d turned those off forever ago? They were only supposed to override during… Emergencies.

Something roared. A monster? A demon? Menasor! Obviously! Where had he gone? She couldn’t see him! The alarms were in her way! She tried to lift her hand and bat them away, but they weren’t there and she couldn’t reach. She was tilting to the side and floating off into the atmosphere.

“Commander!”

A magenta blur rolled off a colorful four-wheeler. Thrusters activated and it spiraled up and around. It crashed into one of Menasor’s horns and was knocked to the floor in front of his face. The giant stopped reaching into the mess of boxes. Something blocked her sight. Oh. It was her own optic lids. They weren’t responding anymore.

That was very very bad.

“Commander? Hey! Slipstream!”

She tumbled through the air, rolling and pitching in impossible directions. “Get… Get me over there,” she ordered, in the most authoritative voice she could muster.

“Knock Out! Get over here!”

“No… Me. Get me over to… Menasor.” Her voice was dust. There was nothing left.

“Yeah, I’m not doing that,” Blackjack’s voice said from somewhere very far away. “Knock Out! Medic!”

Slipstream couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. Her unit was trapped with a monster. She was falling.

***

There was only blue. Blue sky, cracked with white and purple. Above it, stretching endlessly into the horizon, was a metal wall. She could glide forever into that blue. Away from everything. No more fighting. No more trying to reclaim lost glory. No more power plays or operations or frustration.

“Hey! She’s online! Welcome ba–”

BOOM!!

A fist impacted the endless wall, sending chunks of metal down below. The hand reached into the crater and peeled a shard away, flinging it out of sight and digging into the hole.

Slipstream jolted upright and regretted it immediately. Then her comm rang.

“Welcome back,” Misfire said.

She tugged at the rope across her chest.

“Oh yeah, we tied you to Menasor’s shoulder so you wouldn’t fall off. See?”

“What… happened?”

“Menasor sort of lost it, I calmed him down, you passed out, then we tied you to him, and now we’re climbing again.” Misfire ticked off each event on his fingers as if they were things that happened every solar cycle.

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Nah. Don’t want to have to try it again though. It was real close for a klik.” As he spoke, the sounds of Menasor’s climb died down briefly, and Slipstream heard him both through her radio and her audials. It was extremely disorienting. Then again, everything was, at the moment. “Oh, hang on…”

Slipstream felt optics on her and looked up just as Menasor turned his head away.

“Well, well, look who’s comms are working again!”

Knock Out sat at the back of Menasor’s shoulder, dangling his legs off the side. Slipstream groaned internally.

“Would have been nice if they’d been functional earlier when I was in danger!”

“Actually, Menasor said you were scaring him.” Misfire kicked his servos up, sending vibrations down the rope lashing the fliers in place.

“Oh, he did not. You’re making that up.”

“It’s what he meant! You ever try to write your name and stomp your feet at the same time?”

There was silence over the line.

“Knock Out,” Slipstream mumbled, “Do I have brain damage?”

“It didn’t make sense to me either. Also, ‘feet’?”

“It’s a metaphor!” Misfire insisted. “Or an analogy? …I’m not sure which. When a thing is like another thing?”

“In any case–” Knock Out started.

“No no no wait! I got it! It’s like trying to juggle and someone’s waving their hand around!”

“How did you get Menasor to calm down?” Slipstream cut in.

“Oh. I talked to him,” he shrugged. “Asked him real nicely, told him to remember how important we are and that you’d be mad if we got hurt.”

“Because you need us, don’t you Commander? We all heard you say it.”

“What?” Slipstream asked, slowly sitting up.

Misfire twisted the rope between his hands. “Yeah. You and Menasor were talking? You yelled about it, too. I think he was hanging on to that to keep active.”

Oh no.

“You all… heard that?”

Knock Out smirked.

Her face burned. No wonder everyone had been acting so… unprofessional with her. She’d practically given them permission!

“You okay? Are you going to pass out again?” Misfire peered at her, checking her optics.

“Fine! I’m fine! Great, even!” She straightened her shoulders and pain shot through her back. “Why–” she winced. “What caused me to shut down?”

“I dunno. Ran out of power?”

“The question was for me, Misfire,” Knock Out said pointedly. “But he is correct. Energon deficiency, compounded with shock from damage taken during the battle. You pushed yourself too hard, not for the first time, I might add.”

Slipstream chose to ignore that. “When you say that Menasor was… hanging on to…” She pushed through, despite the rush of heat in her faceplate. “To what I said! How can you be sure?”

Misfire stopped kicking his servos. “Just a hunch.”

“You’re guessing?” Knock Out raised a brow.

“Educated guessing!”

“Based on what?”

Misfire shrugged and ended the call. He didn’t want to talk about it.

Slipstream tilted her head up and gazed into the endless blue sky. The lightning began to clear, the bolts getting smaller and less frequent. She could see the end of the cliffside. She had almost made it. They had almost made it.

Menasor knelt to let them off at the top. The Decepticons helped each other to the ground safely, undoing the ropes and steadying one another as they hopped off the combiner. It was odd. Despite the misery and the pain and the humiliation… Slipstream felt proud of what they had done.

She slid off the combiner’s leg, landing on her knees. She had never felt happier to be touching the ground.

“Commander.” Knock Out bowed, smirking as he offered a clawed hand.

A shadow passed over them, blocking out the sky.

The combiner wore a satisfied smile. “All here! See! Every soldier!”

Slipstream nodded. “Yeah.” She could hardly believe it herself. With effort, she managed to stand.

“Menasor complete mission!”

She smiled at him. “Good job.”

He blinked, surprised, as if he’d never heard anyone say that to him. He beamed down at her. Then his optics went dark. There was a long, slow sound of t-cogs spinning up.

Knock Out laughed softly. “Breakdown got to carry me after all.”

Slipstream raised a brow, but he crossed his arms and looked away.

Menasor’s head slid inside his chest. His limbs twisted and contracted, folding inwards. In only a few moments, the combiner was gone, and they were the Stunticons again. Motormaster stood up and looked at Slipstream with the smuggest, most arrogant expression she had seen since she’d been exiled from the Seekers.

He was lucky that Slipstream was too tired to activate her weapons.

Chapter Text

Finding a travel station at the top of the Barrier wouldn't have been surprising back before the war. They used to be everywhere along the major roads. People driving long distances needed a place to rest, after all.

This one was on the smaller side, which made sense: this route wouldn't have seen a lot of traffic, even on the busiest days. But it was intact, and that was good enough for tired Decepticons. They spread through the building, everyone finding their own little corners to rest in. Someone had gotten the generators working before night fell, and put the station's outer lights at half strength.

Breakdown appreciated that– it made it easier for him to relax. He sat on top of a picnic bench and examined the AlluMini bars he'd grabbed from the Snack Stop Shop. The silver wrapper shone in the soft light as he tilted it back and forth, checking for tampering. It looked clean... And the box he'd gotten them out of was unopened, meaning the only way it could be made unsafe was during production. Cool.

He tore it open and popped the candy bar into his mouth before he could change his mind. It melted on his tongue, sweet and tangy, and he held it there until the urge to spit it out got too strong. It could have nanites, or Lock Rot or–

Breakdown swallowed it, the thrill of having tempted danger making it taste all the better. He scratched at the electrical burns on his legs as he checked the joke inside the wrapper.

"What is the funniest kind of metal? SILLY-ver!"

He rolled his optics and groaned, both at the joke, and at the paint flaking onto his finger tips.

Dead End's monotone reached his audials, followed by Wildrider’s giggling. Breakdown couldn’t see them, but he could hear them just around the corner of the building. They were talking about him. Laughing at him! He just knew it! Why else would they be so close by?!

Wildrider was probably saying how Breakdown was a coward who got scared of candy! And how sad it was that he treated eating it like a victory! And Dead End! She would be talking about how bad of a teammate he was! How he abandoned them to go chasing after some loser bot!

Breakdown crumpled the wrapper and threw it in their direction. He'd go over there himself if walking didn't hurt so much! How’d his servos gotten so damaged anyway?! They hadn't been that way when he'd been with... He groaned again.

Motormaster’s rumbling voice cut through Breakdown’s thoughts.

"For the last time!! It. Doesn't. Matter."

"He isn't supposed to be able to do that! It's not fair!"

And there was Drag Strip! Were they talking about him too?

Motormaster's heavy steps stopped abruptly. "Fair?! Is THAT why you're botherin' me?! You're makin' up contests with MENASOR now?!"

"I'm not making up anything!"

There was a soft whirr of shifting plates and activating motors. Breakdown risked turning to look.

"You see this hunk of metal? It's got less brains than you do! He can't THINK about anything!"

Menasor's dormant head stared out from Motormaster’s open chest. It was offline, but a shudder ran up Breakdown's spinal strut. It was looking at him! He was sure of it!

Drag Strip stomped her servo. "That's what I'm saying! He isn't supposed to be able to figure stuff out like he did! I didn't even get a chance!"

The doors to his chest compartment snapped shut. “Drag Strip,” Motormaster rumbled, low and threatening. “Go bother someone else.”

His sister stood firm. Breakdown couldn’t look away.

Never listens! Force her to the ground and tear off her wheels next time she challenges me!

“Get. Lost,” Motormaster growled.

The giant ten wheeler leaned in to make his point clear, and Drag Strip, the brave fool that she was, took advantage of that.

Thunk!

She jumped, ramming her helm into his face.

“You little runt!” Motormaster roared. He held his face with one hand and grabbed for Drag Strip with the other.

“Have to be quicker than that to catch me!”

“You wanna FIGHT?!!” Motormaster spat on the ground. “I’ll give you a fight!”

“Must you two do this now?” Dead End sighed from the sidelines.

“Only way to make him listen!” Drag Strip said, putting up her fists.

“I AM listening!” He cracked his knuckles and the world shook as he stepped towards her. “Your friend got offed by another ‘Con, and you didn't figure it out!! Well, guess what?” The world shook as he took a step towards her. “That ISN’T MY PROBLEM!! Menasor ain’t malfunctionin’!! YOU ARE!!”

Drag Strip tensed, Motormaster braced himself, and at the next picnic bench over from Breakdown’s, Dead End stood up.

“Drag Strip, come here.”

“What?” She spun around. “No!”

Breakdown narrowed his optics. What was Dead End playing at?

Dead End projected a holographic screen from her wrist and gestured for Drag Strip to sit at her table. “Tell me about Menasor.”

Well, that was that. She made a show of thinking about it– crossing her arms and looking between her siblings– but they all knew it was over: Drag Strip couldn’t resist the promise of one on one attention, even if it was Dead End.

She thinks she’s so much smarter than me! Maybe she is! But she’ll never be better than me!

“Take care of this,” Motormaster told Dead End, as if her getting involved had been his idea. He looked at Breakdown.

And Breakdown froze. His threat level skyrocketed, and his perception narrowed. He sort of heard Drag Strip mumbling as she walked over to Dead End. And there was a vague feeling of something being out of place tugging on his brain. But panic filtered those things out, until all that was left was Motormaster looming above him.

“Breakdown.”

His coolant pump shuddered inside his engine block. Energon churned inside his fuel tank.

Motormaster circled the picnic table and idly ran his hand over its surface. He stopped at the box of candy. "You get this for me?"

"No." The itch on his legs crawled up his thighs, and then into his spine. Breakdown held his hands together to stop himself from scratching. "You don't like aluminum."

"'Got THAT right," he sneered. He took the box and gave it a shake. "How much of this junk did you have?"

The box clattered back onto the table. His knee pulsed in time with the shaking of his internals. He couldn’t take it. He had to get this going or he would drop dead on the spot! “That all you’re here for?!”

The anger in his voice surprised him. “I mean–” Breakdown started to say.

Motormaster slammed his fist against the table. “You ditched the team!”

“I know! I know I did!” Breakdown was such a coward– “I know, alright? I shouldn’t have, and I did, and I wasn’t there when you guys were attacked. I let myself get… caught up with some…” he searched the darkness for the right word. “...Some nobody! And I regret it, okay? It won’t happen again.”

It really wouldn’t. It was over. Whatever he’d been trying to prove by hanging around Knock Out didn’t matter anymore. He’d failed. Spectacularly. Something in his chest went tight. Probably his spark chamber getting ready to collapse.

Breakdown gathered his courage. “It won’t!”

There was a long, deep sigh. And then, very softly, almost gently:

“...We need you.”

“I know–” he tried to say.

“No! You don’t! That’s why you keep screwing up!” Motormaster stepped back and started to pace around the table. He moved slowly, rubbing at his face and shaking his head.

Breakdown’s gaze fell.

His leader completed another lap around the table and stopped to throw up his hands. “What are you even tryin’ to do?!” He demanded. “Tell me! What bolt-headed idea popped into your sorry excuse for a brain that was so important?!”

Breakdown hated this game. Motormaster knew what he’d been thinking– he’d been inside his head! And Motormaster knew that he knew, and they both knew that he was only asking to make Breakdown say it aloud. “It doesn’t matter, alright?! I know that. I get it! I messed up. I’m sorry.”

But his brother wouldn’t take that for an answer. This conversation was going to go his way, no matter what. “I know why,” he snarled. “You thought you could finish it. Thought you could catch him in the act, and end it right there! Once and for all! Turn him into a stain on the rocks!!”

Breakdown squeezed the edge of the table as hard as he could, hard enough that his knuckles ached. He’d been so sure at the time. And then when he’d had Knock Out right there–!

“But you ain’t that kind of bot. It ain’t in your code.”

It hurt to remember how Knock Out had looked at him, and he didn’t get why. This was the bot who’d been giving him grief for orbital cycles! Who snuck up behind him to swing a buzz saw at his neck! Who’d taunted Motormaster and disabled Breakdown’s hand when he was trying to help! Who threw armed weapons at him for fun!

Knock Out would treat him like a friend and then happily strap him down and rip him apart and make him watch! And Breakdown could've gotten rid of that threat right there and then! And he hadn’t. Because–

Dimmed unfocused red optics flickering and he’s so scared and this isn’t right he’s supposed to be a monster. Nothing ever hurts him he keeps coming back, so why isn’t he getting up? Get up. Please, get up.

Which was worse– having gotten so caught up in his delusions that he’d almost killed Knock Out, or not being able to kill him?

Motormaster was in front of him again. His voice reverberated in Breakdown’s struts. “No matter how much you want it, you won’t ever be like me. You got that?”

“Yeah. I got it.” He said quietly. He was a coward. Too scared to leave Knock Out alone and too scared to finish him off.

“Heh. It would be flatterin’ if you weren’t takin’ it too far.”

Breakdown blinked. He replayed the conversation in his head. “Wait–”

“Don't be embarrassed! I’m not mad!” A huge, heavy hand clapped Breakdown’s shoulder. “Not about THAT part.”

Only Motormaster. Only Motormaster could see someone’s memories of struggling with all this and make it about himself! Breakdown had never wanted to be like him! Who would?! Motormaster was a selfish, slag-licking, egotistical–

“But the Stunticons don’t need another me.” his brother said, shaking Breakdown’s shoulder to get his attention. “They need YOU.”

Just like that, frustration melted away. “You… mean that?”

Motormaster smiled. There was pride in there. “No more of this scrap, you got it? You stay with the team. With the family!” He gave Breakdown’s shoulder one last hard push. “Or else I’ll come find you.”

Breakdown tried to smile back, but he couldn’t find the strength. He nodded instead. His spark didn’t feel like it was going to collapse anymore. Now it felt hollowed out. Like all the energy had been syphoned away and it wasn’t going to come back. Fuel. He needed fuel.

He tore open a candy bar, and, aware that his brother was watching him, didn’t hesitate before shoving it into his mouth. Motormaster laughed, loud and gleeful.

“C’mon! Lets find somethin’ to wreck!”

The Energon wouldn’t go down. That was fine. He was just savouring it, that was all. Everything was good. He was needed. And he was safe.

He hopped off the table and followed Motormaster. Dead End and Drag Strip looked up as they got closer.

Breakdown spat the Energon out on the ground. His threat level climbed back up as he did another head count.

“Where’s Wildrider?!”

***

Inside of the travel station would have been the perfect place for Stunticons: They loved big, empty, boring spaces! Specifically, they loved to destroy those spaces– and there was so much to break! Tables with chairs stacked on top, dusty benches, old gift stands, vending machines… and all of it keeping perfectly still, just begging to be driven through!

But the team wasn’t doing so good right now.

Wildrider kicked a trashcan over. The hollow clang it made barely punched against the quiet. He hopped onto a bench and walked along it with his arms out for balance. When he reached the end, he jumped off, kicking the air and then transforming before he hit the ground. He weaved through a row of tables, hitting a few on purpose and even more on accident.

Metal hit metal as those defenseless tables fell against the floor. The sound was big enough to make the travel station seem less empty. For a little while, at least. He transformed again, admired his work, lay down on the floor, and groaned as loud as he could. Being by himself sucked.

But he didn’t want to be around Drag Strip right now, and that’s where all the others were! He touched the spot where she had stabbed him. She’d told him she wasn’t sorry about it. Was it weird that he wished it still hurt so Motormaster would let him keep being angry? Dead End had said yes, but he hadn’t actually asked! So he was gunna ignore her. And Breakdown was… he’d been weird lately. Weirder. Which was rude because, according to Drag Strip (Not that he was listening to her right now!) that was Wildrider’s job.

So that left… this. Or joining the other ‘Cons as they went through the basement and storage areas for goodies. Which didn’t sound so bad, except that it also sounded really really boring.

Wildrider waved his arms and legs around to clear the dust off his little patch of floor. Why did he feel like there was a crash just about to happen?

There was a flicker of movement above him, in the corner of his vision. He sat straight up.

The dim half-strength lights on the ceiling cast long shadows across the atrium in every direction. Harmless things had sharp angles and every corner looked like a hiding spot for some vicious, make-believe creature. Spark-Eaters or demons or Quintessons… those guys. But it was just the quiet creeping back in and playing tricks on his senses… wasn’t it? There was no one here but him.

“Hello?” He called. He liked the way his voice echoed off the walls. He said it a few more times, just for fun, even though he was sure he was alone. It helped chase away the monsters. “Helloooo. Hell-o! Hi! He–”

“Shut up!”

“‘Kay,” Wildrider grinned and lay back down.

Processing… He knew that voice…

He transformed and darted towards the source. He found it by a large column tucked off to the side of the atrium. It was divided into sections for privacy, and Wildrider recognized them as the “Stasis Nap Nooks” that he’d avoided like rust rash back when the Stunticons frequented travel stations like this. They were too comfy for him– too far away from the excitement.

Wildrider switched modes and rapped his knuckles against the table. “Knock knock!”

Breakdown’s favorite toy had his hands in the guts of some battery-looking thing. “Unless you’re dying, go away.”

Wildrider watched, fascinated, as Knock Out removed a shiny metal bit from the thing and placed it beside a bunch of other parts. They were all laid out across the table, almost forming some kind of… thing. There was a bunch of other stuff, too, in crates on the floor and on the bench.

“This all your stuff?” he asked.

There was a sigh. “What’s left of it… Put that down!”

The switch made a nice click when Wildrider flipped it. Electricity leapt out of the end of the cylinder it was wired to. Knock Out snatched the contraption away and as the last of the bright blue sparks hit the table and fizzled out, a memory jumped to the front of the Stunticon’s brain.

Blue lightning arcing in every direction. Wet wheels in the glowing pink liquid. It’s splashing everywhere, kinda tingly, too. The Doc is on the dock (hah!) crossing his arms. His white face is lit up with all the colors. He’s smiling. Being on the lake is great, and it would be even better with the both of them. Glad he isn’t… Glad I didn’t–

Clong. Clong!

Wildrider pictured a ball of data– maybe a glowing sphere of code or… or a tangled knot of wires? Whatever! He pictured the data being shaken loose and scrunching it up in his hand. He imagined throwing it on the ground and stomping on it and pointing at it so the others could see.

Clong. Clong!

Knock Out looked at him funny. Oh, yeah, this must look pretty weird to him. Wildrider looked him in the optic and tapped the side of his head with his knuckles again, but slower, so he could see.

Clong.

“...Should I be concerned?” The doctor asked, clearly hoping the answer was ‘no’.

“You know when you have a piece of shrapnel stuck in your helm?” Wildrider did it one more time, just to hear the sound. Clong! “It’s like that. Gotta get their stuff out of my brain. It’s already too busy in there.”

Knock Out pretended he understood and mouthed “Ah.” Wildrider giggled a little. Dead End could explain it better… he was pretty sure she had at some point. But he didn't remember, and it didn't matter anymore.

“So…” The grumpy bot unrolled a spool of thin wire. “Did you want something?”

Did he? Wildrider thought hard. He felt like he had when he’d come over but that was waaaaay in the distance now. He mapped it out: Here, and then before was the noise and the floor, and before that was Drag Strip… Knock Out tapped the table with a finger. Tap tap tap. He was here because Drag Strip was there and he wanted–

“Company,” Wildrider remembered. He smiled, pleased with himself.

“Mmhmm,” his company nodded and wound the wire around the electric cylinder thing. “No, thank you. Please go away now.”

The unwanted Stunticon laughed. That was the most polite “Get lost, weirdo!” he’d ever heard! He pushed harder. “What’s a matter? Can’t handle me?”

Knock Out looked both confused and disgusted. “...Are you… hitting on me?”

Wildrider stopped wiggling his shoulders and stalled his engine. “Uh…” He looked the mech up and down, really looked at him. “Not my type.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from across the table. Uh oh. He’d done it now.

“‘S not your looks! It’s more your personality! Sorry! I just don’t go for Misanthropes. Losers are more my thing!”

Knock Out put the cylinder on the table to free up another hand, and leaned forward to point an accusing finger at Wildrider. “I’ll have you know I like intelligent people just fine, thank you very much!”

A nervous laugh slipped out of Wildrider’s vocalizer. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Wildrider, what do you think a “Misanthrope” is?”

“Likes to hurt people?” He tried to slow down and think back to Dead End’s explanation, but his mind was still moving too fast for that. “You know… like Overlord, or Runabout or …Quake.”

Oh. Right. Quake. It hit like a sudden gear shift or a slap to the face. Running over a bump in the road and the bump was a dead body. Wildrider’s hands drifted to a long, hollow tube laying on the table and began to tap out some kind of rhythm.

“I heard from Misfire he didn’t make it,” Wildrider said, a little sad. He’d kinda liked Quake. He hoped his death wasn’t from anything Menasor did. He didn’t remember anything like that, but… the combiner didn’t always pay attention.

“A shame. Who will yell about trashy romance novels now?” Knock Out snatched the tube away and examined it for damage. “Anyway, that’s not what that word means… Though, I suppose you aren’t entirely wrong about me. There’s nothing like the feeling of ripping into a frame. In fact…”

A buzz saw appeared in Knock Out’s hands. He spun the blade with his finger tip and glanced up, a devious smile flashing across his face. “Why don’t you hold still and I’ll show you!”

Wildrider held back a snicker. Across the table, red optics glinted, bright and scary, and then it clicked. “I get it now!” he cackled. “I get it!”

It all made sense! Knock Out wasn’t just being threatening for show– he really thought he could do something to a bot a waaaaay bigger than him with a weapon that couldn’t reach across the table. And if he believed it, then of course a paranoid bolthead like Breakdown would over-think it and make a big deal out of it!

The puffed-up mech sneered at him, like he was picking out the best angle to slice into Wildrider’s face. It was *hilarious*.

“You and Breaky–” he managed between peals of laughter. “No wonder you’ve got him so wound up!”

“Excuse me?! I’ve got him wound up?!”

“WILDRIDER!!!”

Fear flashed on Knock Out’s face and Wildrider stopped laughing. He’d messed up again, somehow.

“It isn’t hard,” Wildrider said bitterly. He stepped away from the table and transformed.

“Wait–”

The world blurred around him as he rocketed towards the sound. Blue and white dodged out of the way and then there was only a wall coming up on him.

SLAM!!

Wildrider reversed, barely feeling the pressure from his bent bumper. He could make out more yelling over the ringing in his brain.

“– corroded, slagging roadkill!”

He transformed again, running up to his brother and shoving him hard. “Leave! Me! Alone!”

“What are you planning?!”

“I don’t plan scrap!”

“You lying–”

And then Breakdown shut up and his optics went wide. Wildrider didn’t need to turn around to know that Knock Out had come to watch the show, but he did anyway because he couldn’t help it. And he wished he hadn’t. Because suddenly, the not-so-dangerous bot took on a different quality.

“Breakdown…” He spoke carefully, crossing his arms. His sharp gaze scanned over Breakdown, lingering around his legs and banged up servos, like a hunter appraising its kill. No. No, that was wrong. Knock Out’s brows were scrunched, like he was worried or upset or…

Oh sweet Solus! Knock Out was looking him over for injuries! Breakdown hated when people did that! On cue, the paranoid Stunticon took an angry step towards the concerned bot. Knock Out, smartly, took a step backwards. The both of them froze up in surprise, like neither of them had meant to do that.

Breakdown turned his head towards Wildrider. His voice strained the same way Dead End’s did when she was really angry but trying not to yell. “What did you tell him?”

Wildrider stared past him. Memories swarmed at his brain, and it was taking a lot of processing power to keep them out. He caught glimpses though, and they all had the same thing in common.

The Stunticons jumped when Knock Out spoke. “So… You look terrible.”

Breakdown’s plating went tight and his fists curled tighter. His face went a little gray. He opened his mouth and shut it without saying anything. He looked… hurt.

Suddenly, whatever was going on between his brother and Knock Out wasn’t funny anymore. Not if it made Breakdown like this. Wildrider’s brain shifted the way it did right before a real bad crash. Time got slower, thoughts got louder. Danger! Danger! Do something!

Wildrider grabbed Breakdown’s arm and pulled. “Let’s go!”

There was a moment of resistance before Breakdown cooperated, and let his fellow Stunticon drag him to safety.

***

The cool air hit Wildrider like a brick. He dropped Breakdown’s arm and stood completely still. Words were never his thing, and he struggled to come up with some to let his brother know that things were okay now. Breakdown used the silence as an opportunity to shove Wildrider really hard and start yelling again.

“What were you two doing?!”

Wildrider groaned. It wouldn’t matter what he said. He couldn’t stand it. It wasn’t fair! The groan turned into a yell.

Clang!

He tackled Breakdown to the ground!

“It had nothing to do with you!”

“Yeah, right!” Breakdown struggled, thrashing around to push him off.

“News flash, ‘bro’!” Wildrider spat. “The world doesn’t revolve around you–!”

Breakdown’s big stupid helm connected with Wildrider’s chin guard, sending him reeling.

“No, ‘cause it’s all about you! And whatever bad idea popped into your processor!” Breakdown clambered on top and clawed at Wildrider’s face.

Wildrider flailed and kicked his brother square in the midsection, pushing him back enough to sit up and climb to his knees. “Look who’s talking! You’re the one who ran off! And guess what?! I didn’t tell Motormaster!”

Breakdown lunged and his face went crack against Wildrider’s servo.

“I told you that if you left, Motor’s would be mad, remember?! And then! Then you said–” He looked around and lowered his voice, just in case their brother happened to appear out of the dark. “You said “Then tell him! I don’t care!” and then I didn’t! You know why?”

Breakdown glared at him from the dirt. Wildrider didn’t need to keep going. They’d just combined, and this was a recent memory– bringing up the event would have nudged Wildrider’s point of view to the front of the stack.

“Because I know all about having ideas, Breaky!”

But saying it felt better. It made things more real to hear them coming out of someone’s mouth. Especially Wildrider’s own. And now that he’d started, it was kinda hard to stop.

“Why am I always getting caught in all of your messes, huh? I try to help, and I get stabbed! I try to stay away, and I get yelled at!”

Breakdown’s silence was irritating. Wildrider aimed a kick at his hip joint to wake him up, but Breakdown lunged as it happened, and both Stunticons ended up on the ground, wrestling and punching and biting.

“Get off!”

“Make me!”

“Oh, I'll make you!”

“Like to see you try!”

Thunk!

Breakdown froze. A pained noise escaped him. Then he threw himself out of the grapple and held his knee with both hands, his optics wide and jaw clenched.

“What is it?”

“I'm fine. Just… need a nano-klik… Don't touch it!”

The lower half of his leg was bending at a weird angle. The brothers looked at each other. Wildrider crossed his own legs and sat back as Breakdown slowly repositioned the joint until–

Thonk!

Breakdown gasped in relief. “Alright. ‘S good.” He bent the leg back and forth. “Now, get back here so I can–”

“Nah.” Wildrider lay down and spread his arms. His chest rose and fell as he pushed air through his systems. He was exhausted.

Breakdown protested, and tried to keep it going. He nudged and poked and swatted and nothing worked because he was also too tired to do anything. After a klik he gave up and the two of them just lay on their backs, trying to see the stars past the outer lights of the travel station.

“Thanks,” Breakdown muttered after a while, “For not telling Motormaster.”

“Yeah,” he said finally. It was nice to get some kind of credit for once.

The silence crept in again, awkwardly fitting between them and grinding against Wildrider’s nerves. He tapped out a rhythm on his chestplate, but it wasn’t enough, so he dug into his brain and blurted out the first thing that popped into his head:

“Do you remember that time we got chased out of Kaon?”

Breakdown scratched at his legs, wincing when he got too close to his hurt knee. “Yeah. That was… Something. Why?”

Wildrider flipped over onto his stomach and kicked his servos. “The others got so mad at us!”

“Hey, those gladiators didn’t know who they were messing with! They had it coming!”

“They ate dirt!” Wildrider giggled, “And then we made them eat our dust!”

It was hard to tell, but Wildrider thought he saw Breakdown smile. “We stopped in a place like this on the way back, didn’t we?”

“Yeah! The mech at the counter was a fan!”

“Pfft! He was making that up so we’d buy stuff!”

“It worked!” Wildrider remembered. “I got so many bumper stickers! Dee was so annoyed!” He lowered his voice to mimic her. “Could you display a fraction of self-respect, Wildrider?”

“You know,” Breakdown sat up. “I saw some in the convenience store.”

Wildrider jumped up, too excited to keep being tired. “Show me!”

***

"Will this work?"

"A badly ventilated, unsanitary garage?" Knock Out ran his hand over the workbench and grimaced as he pulled away a thick layer of dust. "Not my preferred environment."

"Knock Out..." Slipstream was using her "warning" tone. Not quite yelling, but harsh enough to make him drop the sarcasm and actually consider the question.

The garage was spacious enough for even big rigs to fit inside with little issue, and lit well enough to make it painfully obvious that the place was, to put it nicely, a mess. Tire tracks criss-crossed the floor and old, uncared for materials lay scattered around with no regard for walking space. He could hardly take a step without sending a stray bolt rolling across the room.

"I've done more in worse places." He tapped his chin thoughtfully, examining the clutter lining the walls. Wrenches, old cans of oil, decorative screens of scandalously posed, glossy looking mechs, dirty synthetic rags (Didn't people know they had to clean these after use?), bowls of solder, a stained welding mask... "Assuming, of course, that you've found materials I can use."

"We're still looking. Everything we find will be delivered to you."

"By who?"

She blinked. "Does it matter?"

Knock Out busied himself with the switches on the wall. He flipped one down, and the room plunged into darkness, save for the glow of their optics.

"No," he lied, as he flipped the lights back on, "Just make sure whoever it is doesn't break anything." He moved towards the door leading to the atrium. "I'll be ready for the first patient in a cycle or so– after I’ve organized my own things.”

Slipstream opened her mouth to argue… then sighed.

Knock Out smirked. "With your permission, that is."

She glowered at him. "Fine," she spat, waving him off.

He bowed.

"Just. Go. I'll meet you back here in one cycle."

"You... Will?"

"I'm not letting you work on my unit unsupervised," she said firmly.

"But–" He was the only medic here! He took his job seriously! That thing with Misfire was three months ago and he had proven himself over and over since then! He was the only reason that Breakdown had gotten out of that cave and been able to form Menasor! He’d practically saved the entire unit, her included!

Slipstream cut him off before he could say any of those things. "Knock Out, you locked yourself in a room for three solar cycles, and then went AWOL."

He immediately forgot all of his arguments. "So you're checking my work?! Like I'm a novice?! Do you realize how insulting that is?!"

"Yes. And I don't care," she tilted her head. "I'm letting you off lightly this time–”

“This is “lightly”?!”

“ –considering all of your behavior,” She finished, speaking over him.

"I understand you want to punish me," Knock Out said through grit teeth. "But may I suggest you save it for after we've survived Rodion and gotten answers out of Starscream? That is our shared goal, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

"Well, I'm still here aren't I?!"

Slipstream's voice was strong, and her tone was even. Her face though... "This isn't a punishment, Knock Out. I'm too close to take chances. This is too important. And I don't trust you."

She was giving him a look, one that he had, in all the time he’d served under her, never seen her make. It took Knock Out a moment to translate it: "Please understand."

His claws curled at his side. "Fine," he hissed, putting as much venom into the word as he could. "As you wish, Commander."

Chapter Text

A door slid open, and Motormaster’s voice thundered out across the atrium.

“My Stunticons are the best fighters you have! You only made it here ‘cause of US!!”

And then Slipstream’s voice, just as loud:

“I’m not wasting supplies repairing soldiers who don’t follow my orders!”

The door shut, and the argument went back to being muffled noise, bouncing around at the edge of Dead End’s hearing, too indistinct for her to understand. Figured. It was only a matter of time before Motormaster found out about the check ups– and the Stunticons’ apparent exclusion. She frowned underneath her face mask. Indistinct. That was a good word. “In-Dis-Tinct.” She tapped the syllables out on the table.

The poem she’d been working on sat inert and uncooperative on the screen in front of her. She’d hit a metaphorical wall with it: it wasn’t complete, but she couldn’t think of what else to add. And what she had so far lacked purpose– the very meaning was “indistinct”. She sighed. The blinking cursor of the text document mocked her.

Movement caught her attention at the edge of the screen. Through the flickering blue projection, she could see a figure walking across the atrium, slipping away from the raging storm of Motormaster and Slipstream’s argument. Dead End regarded him with little interest as he slumped onto a bench that coincidentally happened to be nearby where she was trying to write.

There was an over-dramatic sigh. “Two days.”

Knock Out’s voice broke Dead End’s already strained concentration. She frowned behind her facemask and refocused. “Indistinct” wasn’t working for this line, as there were too many similar sounds. She’d either have to rewrite the entire section or find a different word with a similar meaning…

“Trapped! With Slipstream! Watching my every move!” Knock Out tilted back his head towards the heavens and groaned. Dead End watched it through her screen and rolled her optics. Woe was him, for being made to carry the burden of an overbearing mech tracking his every move. At least the one he was struggling with hadn’t appointed herself leader. And didn’t have an ego the size of a titan.

“Can you believe her?! I’ve been serving under her for ten-point-seven years, and now she has a problem with me?!”

She checked her database for synonyms. That word was too short. That one… no, it didn’t sound quite right.

“At least she’s smart enough not to make any comments. Not like the patients. Oh, am I being too rough, Axor? Well if you’d bothered to perform basic maintenance I wouldn’t have to pry apart your seams trying to find whatever was jamming your transformations!”

Dead End rolled her optics. That was nothing compared to what she’d been dealing with.

Wildrider wasn’t moving past Drag Strip stabbing him. Drag Strip was grieving and didn’t know how to process those feelings, and there was only so many times Dead End could explain that to her before they both lost patience. She was convinced that Menasor had malfunctioned, but couldn’t describe how other than “he shouldn’t have figured it out”. Breakdown may have been able to get through to her, if he tried. However, he seemed to be in a mood and was avoiding all of them, save for Wildrider oddly enough. Although, that wasn’t much of a change for Dead End--Breakdown had been avoiding her since the medbay incident…

She cleared her head. What was done was done.

“–And Vaultor shocked me three times while I was looking them over! Says their ability is on the fritz, and Slipstream looks at me like I can do anything about that! A little rest and it’ll be fine, but that’s not what she thinks!”

“Why are you talking to me?” Dead End asked bluntly.

Knock Out fell silent. He removed something from his subspace– a device of some kind, though what its purpose was Dead End could only guess. More pieces were produced: A cylinder, a power source, coils of wire. He placed all the bits next to him on the bench and began to tinker. The Stunticon looked around and spotted four other, better places for him to be doing that in the immediate area.

She stared at him for a few moments, and when he didn’t look back at her, she returned to her poem. Sure enough, as soon as she did, he spoke up:

“How’s Breakdown?”

Dead End lowered her screen to study him. He’d asked the question casually, as if he was only making conversation, yet had gone unusually still as he waited for her to answer.

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh, just curious,” he said, still not looking at her. “Last I saw he was getting dragged off by Wildrider. Was wondering if they’d killed each other and I simply hadn’t heard.”

There was a sudden, loud crash from the room across the atrium, followed by more yelling. Dead End sighed. If something happened, everyone would have heard it.

“He and Wildrider spent the night running about and vandalizing every surface they could.”

“Ah,” he nodded, finally deigning her with his full attention. “That explains that.”

He pointed to a spot on the back of Dead End’s arm. She groaned and felt around for the offending sticker, peeling it off and flicking it away with annoyance. Even a simple motion like that elicited a squeak from her protesting joints. Clearly, she hadn’t been thorough enough in shaking the dust out of her seams after Menasor’s climb– too distracted trying to soothe Wildrider’s angst.

“Was there anything else?”

Knock Out pursed his lips and went back to his toy. He fed a wire through a tube, and looped it around a conductor. An unasked question hovered over him like a storm cloud. Dead End gave up on the idea of continuing to write, and rest her chin on her hands.

“…You, uh…” He reset his vocalizer. “You know where he is now?”

Her optics narrowed behind her visor. “…What is your fascination with him?”

“Ha! Hardly a ‘fascination’! Just wanted to know where to avoid.”

“I thought Slipstream had you busy with repairs.”

Knock Out opened his mouth, then closed it in a pout. “It’s… in case I sneak out,” he muttered. “Ugh! Fine! I’m looking for him.”

“Why?”

“To talk. Happy?”

“No.” She considered the question. “I’m never happy. Why would I be? It would accomplish nothing, and only serve as a brief distraction against our inevitable demise.”

“I’m beginning to remember,” Knock Out said, rubbing at his temples, “why I don’t talk to you.”

“A small mercy in an uncaring world.”

“Just tell me where– Oh, forget it!”

“Forget it?” Dead End echoed. The sullen bot stayed silent, seeming to sink into his thoughts. How curious.

“This is ridiculous,” He said finally. “I don’t owe him anything. He’s violent. He’s arrogant. I’m tired of getting punched and having to fix myself after. I quit. He wins. Tell him I say ‘congratulations’. And that whatever I did to him, it won’t happen again.”

‘It won’t happen again'. How many times had she heard her siblings say that to appease each other? And without fail, no matter how much they meant it at the time… “Yes, it will.”

“Pardon?”

“You scared him. And you continue to do so.”

He gaped at her with an open mouth. He threw up his hands, and his project slipped from his grasp and bounced against the bench. “Oh, of course! Why didn’t I realize!”

He stood and retrieved the device from the floor. “The combiner who charges into Autobot ambushes and dodges laser fire for fun got scared and is punishing me for it!

“Is that why he’s listening to me all the time? And comes to check on me? And gets angry when I miss a sparring match?”

Dead End skimmed through memories that weren’t hers, and allowed the feelings lap against her awareness, like waves on a shore. It hurt to submerge fully–she was a colorless blob compared to her siblings’ bright inner lives. But looking at the surface was easy enough, so long as she didn’t see her own reflection.

“I believe so,” she concluded.

“Yes, I’m sure you do,” He snatched up his things, and shoved them in his subspace.

There was another yell from across the way. Dead End felt another twinge in her joints. The Stunticons really did need repairs. She watched the medic grimace at the door to the garage. An idea began to form.

“What is it that you’re after, Knock Out?”

In some ways, he reminded her of Drag Strip. He clearly wanted something, but for whatever reason was incapable of saying it outright– out of pride, perhaps? Or the lack of a receptive audience? Dead End lowered her mouth guard and lifted her visor, making herself into a more inviting listener.

“I don’t know,” Knock Out admitted. He frowned and stared into the middle distance. “To win? I do want to finally get the better of him…” He sat down on the bench again. “But… Not exactly that…”

“You said you wanted to talk to Breakdown.” Dead End reminded him.

“...Yes, that too. I want…” He rubbed at his hands and wrists, flexing his fingers and making motions as if he were gripping a scalpel and cutting. It seemed to help him think. “Satisfaction, I suppose,” he said finally.

The corners of Dead End’s mouth twitched. “In that case, I think we can help each other.”

***

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am quite serious. We'll start with Motormaster, since he's already here.”

Knock Out could feel Slipstream glaring into his spark. He smiled, politely, and continued in a level tone:

"Now, before you bring up the supply issue, I'll remind you that the Stunticons' physiology has been modified to allow rapid self-repair. All it needs is a little push, and the room to do what it's meant to."

"Meaning what exactly?!"

"I close any wounds I see, do a quick tune up, and you'll get five battering rams when we charge into Rodion."

He saw the calculations going in Slipstream's head. Time, supplies, effort-- everything being tallied up. Her wings shook, and she flinched as one dipped lower than the other, before shaking her head and spitting:

"Fine."

Motormaster grinned. "That's more like it! Next time, I won't ask as nicely!"

Knock Out shot Dead End a look. She told him she’d keep the loudmouth quiet! Slipstream turned her fuel-chilling stare on the glitch, and looked about to reconsider. Dead End head her off before she could:

“We appreciate it, Commander.” She looked pointedly at her team leader. “We’ll be on our best behavior. Especially since real maintenance will improve everyone’s moods.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Motormaster smirked. “We’ll be REAL cooperative!”

For some reason, Slipstream shot Knock Out a dark look. Fortunately, the arrogant Stunticon’s vehicle mode served as effective cover, and his attitude ensured that her attention wasn't on Knock Out for very long. Secretly, he was glad that he'd insisted on staying for Dead End's tune up.

"Give Wildrider something to hold, and he'll sit still for you." His co-conspirator whispered in between Motormaster and Slipstream's volleys of barbs and taunts. "I'll get Drag Strip here. See me before you attempt anything with Breakdown."

"Or, you could tell me what I need to know now and save us both the trouble," he coaxed.

"And throw away my leverage?" Dead End tilted her head mockingly.

Knock Out had to admit, she was sharper than she let on.

Wildrider's check up was next, and proceeded without supervision from any of his siblings. Apparently, convincing Drag Strip took the efforts of both Dead End and Motormaster. When asked why, Wildrider merely produced a decal and waved it threateningly close to Knock Out's recently buffed finish.

"Let me see that," Slipstream demanded, stiffly holding out her hand.

The sticker was a gouache thing, with the words "Rode to Rodion" in glittery text, curved around a flaming wheel.

"Hm." Slipstream let out a little laugh.

Knock Out raised a brow. Wildrider giggled. Immediately, the Seeker reset her vocalizer and returned to her stern demeanor, but the damage was done.

Drag Strip was next, and she arrived by spinning out of vehicle mode and hopping up on the worktable like she'd rehearsed it a hundred times before. Though, to Knock Out, it seemed a little... Forced.

"Excuse you?! That was a perfect entrance!"

"Ehhh..." Knock Out waved his hand.

"What would you know?!" She crossed her arms and flopped backwards on to the worktable. "Just hurry up! I've got places to be!"

Slipstream raised a brow. "Such as?"

"Gotta find Pain-Tear for a thing." She smirked with a gleam in her optics. "Gettin' some new accents soon!"

***

Knock Out shut the door to the atrium behind Drag Strip and breathed out in relief. He looked out of the garage and glanced at the evening light. If he wanted to set his plan on motion before nightfall, he'd have to start now.

"Interesting friends you make."

Oh, right. Slipstream.

"Sorry?" He said, putting on an innocent smile.

"First Starscream, now Dead End." She said, her mouth curling into a sneer.

"I'm not 'friends' with either of them." He said sharply.

Slipstream raised a brow. “Of course not. So, what wheels did she grease to make all this happen?”

"May I suggest we break for a few cycles?" He said, trying to take control of things. "We've been at this for a while now– I need to refuel. And it will give the others a chance to replenish our supplies."

"And you'll be ready to continue then?"

"Obviously!"

The Seeker crossed her arms.

"I mean... Yes... Ma'am."

Carefully, Slipstream lowered herself off the counter. Once both servos were on the ground, she spoke again:

"If I hear you've left the perimeters, I will personally find and terminate you. Is that clear?"

Knock Out scoffed. "Oh, please. Who'll fix that spinal injury when I'm gone, hm?"

Her optic twitched.

"What? You thought you were hiding it? You've barely moved from that spot, you've held your wings in the same position for hours, and you're being even shorter than usual! Clearly you're in pain, and I imagine you'll want to get that fixed before we storm into Rodion. Or am I wrong?"

Her weapons system whirred to life. She wouldn't actually fire at him... Right?

The noise died down. "What a waste."

Knock Out made a conscious effort to stop cowering. He forced his hands away from his face and cracked open an optic.

"Next time you're trying to hide something, don't whisper in front of me. Be back here in four cycles."

Slipstream sounded an entire galaxy away. Her injury must be causing her more distress than Knock Out realized.

"It's a shame," she said once she reached the door, "we would have worked well together."

Knock Out clenched his jaw. Slipstream was leaving. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut and he was free. He failed.

"We still could," He shot back. "If you were willing to give me even a sliver of the trust I deserve!"

She searched his face wearily. "You make that very... very difficult."

***

"That's it?!"

Dead End shrugged. The evening sun had dropped behind the travel station, casting long shadows over the picnic benches.

"That's what got me into this mess in the first place!" Knock Out snarled. "Don't shake your head at me! You told me you could help!"

She sighed, heavily. What else could she suggest? If it were her...

"Make sure he knows you're coming. Don't sneak up on him."

Knock Out rubbed at his temples. "So, to summarize: your advice is 'say hi' and 'act normal'."

"If you want to be reductive."

"What else could "Do what you always do" mean?!"

Dead End was beginning to grow annoyed. "What it means is Breakdown hates surprises. Approach him like you always have. And don't try anything. He's smarter than he acts."

"Great. Thank you so much. What's your next nugget of wisdom? “Be myself?””

"Primus, no."

Over Knock Out’s shoulder, there was a flicker of movement, and Dead End caught a glimpse of bronze darting into the shadow of the building.

"Ugh! If I had known this is what you were going to tell me I wouldn't have bothered repairing you! Or your teammates!"

She stared into the darkness as Knock Out began to pace.

"How about you talk to him for me?"

Dead End refocused on the problem in front of her. "That is a terrible idea," she said bluntly. "He won't speak to me."

"This whole plan was a terrible idea!”

"He won't kill you," Dead End said, trying to be reassuring. "He likes you. More than he likes me."

Knock Out brought his hands to his face and dragged them down. "Fine! Where is he?"

"Ruined overpass to the northeast."

He spun his wheels and took a deep breath. "If I'm not back in four hours send a search party." Then he transformed and drove off.

A tall collection of odd angles and menace stepped into the light. Elevon, Slipstream's second in command, curled her claws and shook with rage. Her optics were fixed on where Knock Out had disappeared around the corner.

Rather overdramatic, but most Decepticon officer who caught two soldiers up to no good were, Dead End supposed.

"Where is he going?" Her voice was a growl.

Dead End said the first thing that came to mind:

"On a date."

Elevon stared. Behind her mask, Dead End stared back.

***

The roads of Cybertron stretched between every polis on the planet. They were magnificent; from Kaon to Vos, Yuss to Tetrahex. A web of infrastructure and semi-magnetic alloy that could be seen from space, built over the course of an entire civilization.

The war didn’t wipe them all out– only the ones most vital to securing major strategic locations. And, obviously, the highway leading from the massive electromagnetically charged cliff had never been vital (Especially when a large chunk of the population could fly, and those mechs were forced to go around anyway!). No, what destroyed this stretch of road was time and neglect. The metal was worn and warped by the elements, creating an uneven surface over perfectly flat terrain. Gates marking exits off the highway had fallen across the road, blocking entry. The overpass leading directly into the city slanted above the ground and then ended abruptly, having crumbled into a pile of rubble.

In the shadows underneath that overpass, between the sturdiest support columns that remained, sitting in vehicle mode, was Breakdown. It was a good hiding spot; Knock Out almost passed him by entirely! But a stray beam of light caught the Stunticon’s wheel rims, and the perceptive, stylish, capable, certainly-not-nervous bot was locked on and ready to get started.

Knock Out switched out of alt mode as he approached. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding!”

The Stunticon didn’t react. He stayed stubbornly pointed towards a colorful pile of rubble in the distance that might have once been the city of Rodion. But as Knock Out reached over to tap Breakdown on the roof, he sprung to life! Transforming and snatching at the hand that dared to interrupt his brooding.

“Oh, good, you are awake.”

Breakdown rolled his optics and let go of the other bot’s wrist. “What are you doing here? More sightseeing?”

Knock Out scoffed and spared a glance towards the wreckage. There was nothing left to see there. “Actually, I was looking for you.”

Suspicion laced Breakdown’s voice. “Yeah? What for?”

The medic’s buzzsaw popped out of his arm compartment, and unfolded smoothly. Its edges glinted in the fading sunlight, and glowed a red almost as brilliant as its owner’s paint job.

“Come on,” Breakdown said in disbelief.

Knock Out smiled.

“Nuh uh. No way. We’re done with–” He raised his arms just in time to block the sudden swing! The improvised weapon bounced off, sending its wielder stumbling backwards.

Knock Out recovered, and braced for the counter punch that was–

Not coming. Breakdown crossed his arms and glowered. “No.”

“Fine,” Knock Out said. That’s alright. He’d thought this might happen. “I suppose if you’re too scared…”

The Stunticon barked out an unconvincing laugh. “I’m not scared of you!”

“Funny,” Knock Out casually examined his reflection in the blade of his buzzsaw. (Oh, he looked devious!) “That’s not what I hear.”

“Yeah? From who? Wildrider?” He laughed again, desperately trying to cover up the quiver in his voice. “‘Cause he’s full of scrap, just so you know.”

“Oh, I know. And I would never believe it coming from him! He’s your brother, isn’t he? I’ve heard those relationships can be… complicated.”

Breakdown made a face. “You don’t know the half of it,” it said.

“No,” Knock Out waved his hand. “Menasor told me.” He ignored the stare of disbelief and pressed his advantage. “Oh! And you told me! Remember? When you offered to teach me how to fight?”

“That’s doctors!” Breakdown protested.

“Oh, so it’s not me specifically?”

“No!”

Knock Out checked his reflection one more time to make sure he was giving off the right effect. He was about to pull off the oldest trick in the universe: “Prove it.”

His words cut through Breakdown’s mask of confidence like a scalpel through wire. For a split second, he was the killing machine from the tunnels again– indifferent and cold and terrifying. Then he laughed, softly, and he was himself again. He put up his fists and dropped into a fighting stance. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Knock Out forced his smirk back into place. This was it! He lunged!

Clink! Thonk!

His claws hit metal, and nose guard hit a closed fist. Not a great–

A punch connected with his chest and he gasped! No, no!

Knock Out backed off to check his finish! This was a terrible start! He looked up–

Air rushed over the top of his helm as he ducked under the jab!

But Breakdown over-extended. His balance spilled too far forward, and that left an opening! The perfect opportunity for Knock Out to take the lead! He rushed through his transformation sequence and moved!

“I thought we were fighting!” Breakdown called, his surprised face getting smaller as Knock Out reversed away.

Knock Out stopped abruptly, switched gears, and drove towards him. He could have tried to run Breakdown over (he was very much tempted to!) but he stuck to his plan instead: he stayed out of arm’s reach as he sped past, and turned in a lazy curve to do it again.

Beneath Breakdown’s cheerful facade, he took these fights seriously. Why not use that against him? He did another pass, and Breakdown lunged, missing wildly. The Stunticon stumbled, and clutched at his leg, and glared as his opponent gained distance.

Oh, that was right. He was still injured.

Breakdown leapt into his own vehicle mode and gave chase. Even from a distance, Knock Out could spot the problems: His transformation was jerky, and his hood was a mangled mess. A pang of discomfort shot through Knock Out’s systems. The memory of his partner slamming himself into a wall over and over…

Breakdown rammed into Knock Out’s back bumper! He growled to himself (stay focused!) and used the force of the blow to surge forward, speeding up until he was far enough away to– Now!

Any racer on Velocitron worth their wheels knew how to turn, and Knock Out would be a cold, grey, husk before he forgot that. He executed his U-turn perfectly, and faced Breakdown straight on, rushing forward and zipping past him, laughing the entire time! He heard a shout that sounded like “Get back here!” behind him, but he was going too fast to be sure.

Wind whipped at his plating and his engine hummed, almost straining as he pushed it harder and harder! He zig-zagged across the plain, feeling more alive than he had in a long time. He wished there were cameras going– the play back would have been spectacular!

Breakdown appeared in his periphery, and Knock Out suddenly remembered why he was out here in the first place: To win. He did the unthinkable and slowed down. He needed to be close to finish this.

His opponent jumped into transformation, bringing up his hands to smash the other racer’s roof in, just as he’d tried in the cave. But this time, Knock Out was ready. He spun his front and back wheels in opposite directions, creating a cloud of dust as he slid around and switched modes.

A rush of glee shot through Knock Out as he dragged his hands and servos through the dirt. Tiny sparks of friction lit up as he slid against the ground. Breakdown overshot, and by the time he recovered, Knock Out was back in vehicle mode, heading towards him to enter melee range on his own terms!

He laughed as he transformed again, ducking Breakdown’s hook and coming up behind him. It felt amazing! He’d never fought like this! Where there was enough room for him to use both his modes to their full advantages! All his sparring matches were indoors, and all his encounters with Autobots were scrambles to survive! But this! This was freedom! This was style! And he was going to win.

He slid his new weapon out of his arm component, and caught it as he leapt on to Breakdown’s back. He plunged down, his finger on the switch!

Strong hands clamped around his wrist.

He was looking into Breakdown’s face and then he was tossed overhead and crashing to the ground. Now all he saw was the sky and the ruined overpass, both painted red by the setting sun.

“Another gimmick?” Breakdown’s strained voice came from somewhere out of Knock Out’s view. “Wasn’t the crossbow bad enough?”

Knock Out scrambled to get up and find his new “gimmick”. The black baton was easy to spot. He grabbed it and struggled to his servos. He was tired, and hurt, and it would be an understatement to say that this hadn’t gone as he’d planned. He looked from his new weapon to the limping Breakdown, slowly closing in on him. One more try. His fingers tightened around the handle. One. More. Try!

Knock Out sprinted towards his opponent. He leapt at Breakdown, activating the electric baton and aiming its pointed tip at the gap between the Stunticon’s neck and shoulder.

Breakdown caught him by the midsection. Just like he caught everything else that Knock Out threw at him. His arm hadn’t stopped though. It was still traveling down. Electricity sparked out of the end of the baton!

“Wait no let go--!”

The world went bright blue.

***

The tiny part of Breakdown that could think past all the painful buzzing running through his systems wondered where his shock-proofing had gone. It couldn’t have just worn off, right? It didn’t work like that! Meanwhile, he spasmed uncontrollably on the ground. The cables in his limbs contracted painfully tight, and ignored all his commands to stop. It felt like tiny, prickling, needles all up and down his insides.

At least Knock Out was feeling the same. That was one consolation. It was hard for him to come up with any others at the moment.

“What,” he asked, as soon as he could trust his vocalizer to work without stuttering, “Was that?”

Knock Out twitched and coughed static.

Breakdown’s knee rattled in the socket as he dragged himself into a sitting position. “Hey.”

Red optics flickered at him. A grin spread across that white face, showing equally white teeth. “I w-w-winnn,” he managed.

“Nnnno,” Breakdown said slowly, as the scent of burnt wax polish reached his nose. “No, you didn’t.”

“Y-yyes.”

“You’re on the ground,” he pointed out.

“So a-are you.”

“That’s not winning!” He argued, climbing to his servos.

“Let’s call it a draw, th-then. I can live with that.”

Breakdown flinched as he straightened his bad leg and tested his weight.

“Aren’t you going to help me up?” Knock Out asked, innocently.

Breakdown glared down at the outstretched hand, wishing he could crush it with his mind. He turned and began to carefully walk back towards his lookout spot.

“So much for being ‘back to normal’...” He heard Knock Out say.

He spun around. “Yeah, well, so much for keeping your distance!”

“That– What I meant was–”

He didn’t wait for Knock Out to finish stammering out an excuse. He was so tired of this… this game between them. What Knock Out had meant was that Breakdown was too dangerous to feel safe around. And Breakdown understood that! It’s what he’d wanted when he’d knocked on the doctor’s door not so long ago. But now, all he could think about was how awful he’d felt seeing Knock Out cower. That little flinch when he’d seen him with Wildrider.

And then the slagger showed up like none of it ever happened!

He wanted to go ‘back to normal’?! Normal was Breakdown getting scared, trying to prove he wasn’t, hurting the guy, and then Knock Out showing up the next solar cycle without a single scratch!

Unable to take a hint, Knock Out appeared at his shoulder. “What happened to your leg?”

“You did!” He groaned at the mech’s blank look. “You kicked it, and I fell on it? How can you not remember–” He cut himself off. Knock Out did remember. There was no way he didn’t! He was just pretending! Well, Breakdown wasn’t falling for it!

He plopped himself down on a pile of rubble and rubbed at the sore spot by his neck. Knock Out hovered near him and peered at his leg.

“Stop looking at it!”

The doctor raised his hands in a placating gesture and took a seat beside Breakdown, who kept his face pointed towards the horizon. The sun was almost gone now, but he could still see the silhouette of the city. Rodion’s crumbling towers and broken walkways were silent, and still, and probably crawling with Autobots.

“You’re expected in the garage tomorrow,” Knock Out said after a while.

It took Breakdown a moment to figure out what that meant. “Not happening.”

The other mech sighed, and there was a flash of subspace-purple, a clink, and then a half-finished bottle of high grade in Knock Out’s hands. “It’s not up to me anymore,” he said vaguely, taking a sip. “Motormaster wants all of you fixed up.”

Strapped to the table, helpless. Red optics looming over him. The saw getting closer and closer to his spark chamber.

“No. No way.”

Knock Out sipped his drink.

“Motormaster wouldn’t…” What was he saying? Of course he would! All that slag about Breakdown being an “important part of the team”...Motormaster would want them in good condition before a big fight. And he didn’t care if that made Breakdown miserable, so long as it kept him alive. Or… Or he was being punished!

“I don’t envy you, being stuck on a team like that.” The doctor sounded as if he’d heard of sympathy and was trying very hard to put it into practice. “‘Can barely hold a conversation! Couldn’t imagine what it’s like to combine with them!”

“They’re family,” the Stunticon said coldly, shutting down his racing thoughts. Even if they all hated each other, they were still important. Breakdown was important. Without them… he’d be alone. And that would be worse than anything. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Probably not,” Knock Out admitted. He tapped his claw against the bottle, and then offered it to Breakdown.

High grade was banned in the Decepticons (the Autobots, too, according to Bee). Not that that stopped people from getting their hands on it. Thing was, dealers had to be careful about who they traded it to. And after that incident involving one or more drunk Constructicons, a mobile battle station, and a rust worm… The only one still willing to provide to combiner teams was Swindle, and his prices were steep.

A quick glance at the label confirmed that this was the good stuff, too. The Energon swirled enticingly.

“I don’t drink,” he lied.

Knock Out shrugged and sipped again. Breakdown tore his optics away. It could still be poisoned, even if he was drinking it. He could have an antidote on him. And plenty of poisons were only deadly in certain doses, like Amalgamous’ grease or some rustpowders! He could have built up an immunity to them and then put it in the drink to–

Breakdown’s knuckles strained, and he let go of the rubble. He hadn’t realized he’d been squeezing it until now. He breathed deeply, and tried to slow the rapid pulsing of his spark. “I’m not going,” he said firmly. “If Motormaster wants me to get repairs, he’ll have to drag me there himself.”

Knock Out looked up at the stars slowly appearing above what was left of the city, his finials drooping. He opened his mouth slightly, caught Breakdown’s gaze, and whatever he was about to say disappeared into a sigh. Silently, he rolled the bottle of high grade from hand to hand, tapping his claws against it thoughtfully. When he looked back up, it was with a determined expression.

Round two.

“You and I have something in common, you know.”

Oh, this ought to be good. Breakdown readied himself for some good old fashioned speechifying. “I know,” he replied, and before Knock Out could continue: “Racing!”

“Yes, but besides that–”

“Top speeds.”

He scoffed. “You wish. I’m talking about–”

“No, no, don’t tell me!” Breakdown held up a hand. “Wheel size! Favorite cube team?”

“Could you please–”

“No, I got it! The number of syllables in our names!”

Knock Out raised a brow.

“Dead End is going through a phase.”

Knock Out took a long sip of the high grade. When he finished, he spoke slowly and clearly, and more seriously than Breakdown had ever heard from him.

“We both want to stay alive.”

“That’s what you got?” Breakdown couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Yeah, sure! You, me, and everyone else on the planet!”

Fingers plunged into the space above his chestplate and pulled him down. An angry white face filled his vision. “The difference is,” Knock Out hissed, his voice cutting through Breakdown’s defenses. “They aren’t us.”

A handful of rebuttals crowded in his vocalizer. “Oh, really?” would be a good one. “How much high grade have you had?” Was another. But all of them disappeared in the glow of those hungry optics and the proximity of Knock Out’s helm to his own. This felt… kinda dangerous. If Breakdown tilted his head forward just a little they’d be touching and wouldn’t that be a stunt? The red optics blinked and their owner seemed to notice the same thing.

Just as quickly as it had happened, Knock Out released him, raising his hands as if to show he wasn’t a threat. “From the way Slipstream’s been talking, this is going to be big,” he said, reaching for the discarded bottle. “Do you really want to go in there in your current state? And please, don’t say that you’re fine. You can barely walk! And before you make a smart comment about driving–” he said, rushing to finish his sentence as Breakdown opened his mouth, “Your front wheel wells are cracked and your bumper is coming off. You’re one collision away from serious engine damage, possibly even failure.”

The Stunticon shuffled his servos. He couldn’t see them in the dark, but he could feel how crumpled and twisted they were. The bare metal prickled against the dry air. He’d have to repaint them. At least they didn’t hurt to walk on anymore. Now, it was just his knee that was giving him problems. And it was getting worse.

“As much as it pains me to admit it,” Knock Out continued, “There were a few times during these past three months where I would have been turned into a pretty, grey corpse if not for you… And only some of them were because you let them happen.”

Breakdown snorted. “Slipstream said ‘no’ to splitting us up, huh?”

“I… didn’t ask.” Knock Out swirled the liquid in the bottle. He wore a troubled expression. “She isn’t in the mood to do me any favors.”

Breakdown left that alone. He didn’t want to know. “So… what? It sounds like you’re offering a trade. You fix me, and I keep you alive? Is that it?”

The Doc stared at the Stunticon’s damaged knee. “No,” he said carefully. “Not exactly.” He met Breakdown’s gaze. “I’d like to offer a truce.”

If there was a hint of insincerity in his words, Breakdown couldn’t find it. Knock Out pointed between the two of them.

“This isn’t sustainable,” he said slowly, finding the shape of his sentence as he went. “Surely you must have realized by now. And neither of us is getting ahead. We… have to acknowledge that.”

“Why?” Breakdown asked, just to be obnoxious. It worked like a charm.

“Because it isn’t fun!” the Doc exploded. “Well, it is until you lose it and almost kill me! But I fix myself– Do you know how much wax I’ve used up fixing my finish?!” He huffed and shook his head. “As for you, your absurdly efficient self-repair can handle a majority of your injuries. But it adds up, and the things that need manual treatment…”

Breakdown slowly straightened his leg. The scratches and peeled paint were highlighted by the soft glow of the high grade. “So, what… You want me to come in there and just trust you not to try anything?”

“Is that a problem?”

The question was answered with a scathing look.

“I’m trusting you to watch my back! Instead of leaving me to get dinged up during a fight! Or killed!”

Breakdown made a noise of disbelief. He stared at his trembling leg and winced as the ache sharpened the longer he held it out. Knock Out sighed, heavily. The glow of the High Grade bounced around as The Doc swished it inside the bottle– there was enough of the drink left for two, maybe three sips.

“You know,” he said bitterly, draining one. “Slipstream’s been monitoring all the repairs for that exact reason.”

Pain shot up as the damaged knee gave out. Breakdown’s heel hit the rubble with a clank. “...Yeah?”

Hadn’t he just been thinking about how tired he was of all this? If Knock Out was being genuine… But it felt too easy.

“All the other Stunticons have gotten fixed?” Breakdown asked.

“It was an ordeal, but yes. They are all in perfect condition.”

That was a good sign, right? If something had happened to any of them, Breakdown would have heard about it right away. And if Slipstream didn’t let anything happen to them–

“Physically, at any rate,” Knock Out added. “I can’t do anything for their personalities.”

Breakdown couldn’t help but laugh.

“So, what do you say?” The Doc offered him the bottle again. “Truce?”

He hesitated. “No tricks? All I have to do is show up?”

Knock Out pulled it back, suddenly. “Show up unarmed.”

A jolt of anxiety leapt through Breakdown’s systems at the thought. His spark pulsed a little faster, the same way it did right before he drove through enemy fire.

The bottle was offered again. This time, he didn’t think about it.

“Unarmed,” he agreed, taking the High Grade. He examined it, briefly, and then drank. He shuddered as it went down, surprised at how strong it was. He stopped before he finished it off, and savored the thrill of what he’d just done. Then he nodded and passed it back.

“Good, right? I’m still waiting for Drag Strip to get me more.”

“I’m telling you, that isn’t gunna happen,” the Stunticon grinned.

“Oh, well.” Knock Out tossed back the last sip and stood up. Night had fallen, but the Doc’s optics glowed bright enough to be seen from Rodion, and revealed a smile bright enough to be seen from space. “You won’t regret this, Breakdown. You’ll see– you just come to the garage, and I’ll take care of everything!”

Chapter Text

It'd been easy to say that he'd do it.

Breakdown stood in front of the door. To the garage. He wanted to go in. Really. And he was going to any klick now. As soon as he got the nerve.

He pressed himself against the door and listened. He could hear Knock Out inside, and Slipstream. There was someone else, too. Elevon, maybe?

"Do you intend to stand there until you rust?"

Breakdown jumped and spun towards the source of the voice.

Dead End sat at a table on the other side of the atrium. Had she been there the whole time?! She rose and approached him. Sizing him up.

He’s laying there. Vulnerable. It would be so simple. He wouldn’t feel a thing. And then maybe she would. She raises the blaster and aims it at Breakdown’s spark chamber.

He could take her. "What's it to you?"

"I think it would be poetic," she said, deadpan.

His fists curled. He was ready. “Keep me out of your poetry!”

"Danger is calling. Your indecision is pain. My dearest brother."

It took a moment for Breakdown to realize he wasn't having an audial malfunction. Had she made that up on the spot?

"It's Sky-Byte style. There is also a freeform I've been working on." She reset her vocalizer.

No, no way. She’d been waiting for him! Which meant–

"You set this up," Breakdown realized. "You convinced Knock Out to fix us. You've been waiting for me to show! And you've been writing poetry about it!"

"Yeah."

"You're just... Admitting it?"

Dead End shrugged and began to recite:

"Ten arms, ten legs, five heads. Merging melding, melting. Screaming. Addition to subtraction. Falling, flying, floating until all is–"

Breakdown groaned. He stepped forward and got in her face. "Hey! Tell me what you’re up to!”

Dead End went quiet. The air felt heavy all of a sudden. Like all the vorns of history they shared were pressing down on them, crushing them under the pressure. Breakdown was sure that if either of them had been anyone else, they would have killed each other a long time ago.

The bright purple lights of her optics glowed softly behind her visor. “I don’t want any of us to die.”

It sounded so sincere. But…

“We all know that’s not true,” Breakdown said.

“...It’s true right now.”

“Until you try to kill me again!”

Dead End’s mouth guard lowered, and her visor lifted. She looked sad, which was nothing new, but she also looked… determined. It was weird.

"Everything is dust beneath my heel. Our heel. Never to heal. The Energon flows--"

"Could you stop that?!"

She paused. "I have seven more stanzas."

Breakdown sighed. Fine. He turned on his dented, wrecked heel and rushed through the door to the garage.

Behind him, Dead End smiled. The black hole of her spark felt just the smallest bit lighter.

***

The first thing that Breakdown saw when he entered the garage was Commander Slipstream, sitting on the counter on the other side of the room, with her optics shut and a pained expression on her face. The second thing he saw was a very annoyed Knock Out, waving a pointy bronze thing at the person he was working on.

"It was not a--" Knock Out shut his mouth when he spotted Breakdown. "There you are! I was beginning to wonder if I'd wasted my time!"

"Hey, I said I'd show, right?" Breakdown forced a smile. "Besides, looks like you have plenty of work without me!"

The third thing he saw was the hole in the side of Elevon's head. One of her horns was missing, though she didn't seem to be bothered by it. She turned towards the Stunticon. "Do you know anything about his date?"

Breakdown kept the smile on his face and only screamed internally.

A date? What? She didn't mean their meeting, did she? Had she been watching? It wasn't a date. Why would she think that? Was she watching Knock Out?! Why?! When?! What had Knock Out told them?

"No?" Breakdown played it cool. "A date, huh? Who was the lucky mech?"

"I assumed it was you."

"Nope! We sparred, like usual. If there was a date, must've happened after."

"See? It wasn't a date." Knock Out applied binding agent to the horn and carefully pressed it into place, looking more than a little smug.

"Would've been a pretty bad one if it was." He caught the Doc's offended look. "What?! You electrocuted me!”

Commander Slipstream opened her optics. "How long until you've finished with Elevon?" she asked wearily.

As it turned out, not very. He let the bot go with some instructions: Don't touch it for the next cycle or so, keep your head still, and the next time you maim yourself for a joke choose a body part that isn't close to your cranial chamber.

"It was already loose," Elevon said with a hint of a smile in her voice.

"Elevon," the Commander sighed, "Time and place."

The second in command gave a crisp salute and left.

"Remind me, how is it that she can get away with all this?" Knock Out asked, faking innocent curiosity.

"Because I work with what I have, Knock Out."

The Doc tightened his plating and took a deep, calming, breath. Then he smiled– a very convincing, seemingly genuine smile. "Your turn," he said to Breakdown, pushing aside a tray of tools to make room on the table for his new patient.

The Stunticon shuffled his damaged servos and stared at the tools. They were very sharp.

Knock Out's smile began to drop. "Breakdown?"

"Oh, yeah. Give me a nano, I just– uh" He scrambled for an excuse, and found one in his subspace. "My weapons!"

A flicker of relief latched on to the guilt at seeing Knock Out flinch, which only made Breakdown feel more guilty. "Whoa, hey! It's good! Truce... right?"

"...Right," Knock Out managed, slowly moving his hands away from his face.

Breakdown nodded stiffly. He placed the blasters aside and hopped up on the table. "Okay!” he said, trying to relax. “Ready when you are, Doc."

***

It was strange to watch Knock Out at work. It was like watching a bot transform: one mode was a vain, careless, self interested fool. Then he picked up a scalpel and suddenly he was in his other mode: a vain, self interested fool with the intensity and focus of a precision laser. It was strange… and worrying.

"Stripped! I'd suspected as much," Knock Out said, holding up the bolt he'd violently pulled from Breakdown's knee. "The impact must've jostled it, and continuous use wore the metal down further."

The poor four-wheeler lay back on the table and wheezed in pain. The doctor didn’t give him a second look before moving over to the box of salvaged parts that Misfire had brought in.

Slipstream looked on in sympathy. She'd seen Knock Out's "tender mercy" many times over the stellar cycles, especially over the last three solar cycles– they were never gentle. And soon, it would be her on that table.

"You know, I wasn't expecting a warning," Breakdown said between clenched teeth, "but it would've been nice!"

"Oh, you're fine!" Knock Out waved his hand as he dug through the supplies.

"I'm pretty sure it isn’t supposed to be bending like this."

"I don't remember you complaining this much the last time I fixed your leg!" There was a pause. "This isn't the same leg is it?"

"Don't think so?" Breakdown nudged the lower half of his leg into a more natural position. Then he met Slipstream's gaze and tensed. He mumbled something she couldn't quite make out and turned his head away.

"What?"

"Uh-- I said... It looks worse than it feels." He smiled bashfully and added: "Ma'am."

Slipstream tried to smile back. Instead, her face twisted into a grimace. Small talk from Knock Out's patients had become a constant threat these past few days, and it was getting harder and harder to maintain a polite interest. "What happened?"

He went stiff.

Slipstream followed his line of sight to Knock Out.

Suddenly, Breakdown sat up, the smile back on his face. "We were sparring! It was a cheap shot, but he got me pretty good. And– it was just the knee."

Slipstream's spine pulsed. She adjusted slightly. It hurt. Like needles stuffed inside her circuitry.

"It only got this bad 'cause I didn't rest, you know? The other stuff–"

"Aha!" Knock Out pulled a new bolt out of the box. He examined it and took it to a machine in the other corner.

"The peeled paint was electrical burns," Breakdown continued. "Kinda went overboard with the scratching. I didn't even know I could still get electric burns."

There was a nasty grinding sound, and a handful of orange sparks flew against the wall. Then it stopped, and Knock Out wandered back over, comparing the bolt he'd just refitted to the one he'd taken out of Breakdown.

Slipstream cycled air and shifted in her seat. It was getting hard to stay still, but moving hurt even more. She let herself slouch, just a fraction, and fresh needles pierced her spine. She jerked straight up.

"The servos were uh..." The Stunticon paused. "Probably Menasor?"

Knock Out blinked. "You don't remember?"

"No?"

"Huh." The doctor began to install the new bolt. Breakdown winced with every turn of the wrench.

"So, what happened?" He asked through clenched teeth.

Knock Out tapped at the knee, listening for loose parts. "Hm? Oh, you slammed into a rock wall on the way out of the cave."

Slipstream detected the half-truth right away. "One crash wrecked his entire front?"

"Nah. That wouldn't have done it." Breakdown gingerly moved his leg away.

"Well..." Knock Out drew out the word. "No," he admitted. "You did it repeatedly. Wouldn't stop, in fact."

"Ohhh, yeah. That must've been..." He trailed off and frowned, annoyed.

"Whatever the cause, it was upsetting to watch!" Knock Out flipped the wrench over and thumbed at a dent on its handle, lost in thought. "You would've smashed yourself to pieces if I hadn't gotten you out of there!"

Funny. It sounded almost like–

"Aww!" A grin split the four-wheeler's face. "Doc! Were you worried?"

He sputtered. "About my alibi destroying himself in front of me?! Yes! Obviously!" He scoffed, and stuck up his nose. "Oh, stop making a thing of it!"

Slipstream shook her head. The needles shot into her wings and she bit back a cry. The pain was bad. The growing dread as her own appointment drew near was worse. But this banter? This was unbearable.

***

Tong! Clong!

"So..." the Stunticon's broken headlights sparked with every word.

The brilliant medic growled softly and used more force. Breakdown’s front bumper was as stubborn as the bot it belonged to!

Clong!

"...Would it help if I switched modes?"

It took a solid 17 seconds for Knock Out to realize he'd been asked a question. "No."

Clong! Tong! Clank.

There! Finally! He tested the metal, running his fingers across it and giving it a good squeeze. It was solid, but not as smooth as it could be. He sighed.

"...Enjoying yourself?"

No, it wouldn't be worth it to keep hammering. Slipstream was waiting (he could feel her stare corroding the paint on his back) and these tools weren't meant for that kind of delicate work.

Wait. What had Breakdown said?

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just wondering if you were worried about me back there--"

Knock Out rolled his optics.

"– Or my sweet bumpers." If Breakdown weren't in vehicle mode, he would have winked.

For the Titan’s sake! "Listen here! I am a professional! I would never–"

Breakdown vibrated with silent laughter.

"Breakdown,” Slipstream said in her warning voice, “Stop harassing my doctor,"

"...Just tryin' to lighten the mood!" He mumbled.

"Stop."

Knock Out (respectfully!) tapped Breakdown's hood. "You. Transform again." He shook his head. "Your bumper! Really!"

Breakdown switched out of vehicle mode and leaned back. He bent his repaired knee and checked it again. "Was just kidding around, Doc.”

His hands were gripping the edge of the worktable so hard that the metal creaked.

Ah. Trying to 'lighten the mood'– his own to be precise. Knock Out gave in.

"For the record, if I were to take advantage of my position..." He paused at the look Slipstream gave him. "..In that way, I wouldn't go for the bumper. Sure it can tie a look together...

"But wheels are far more tantalizing."

Breakdown's tight smile became a crooked grin. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yes. It's basic, I'll admit." He retrieved a set of pliers from his subspace and waved them for emphasis. "And there are other factors-- they have to be taken care of, for instance! And they should fit, obviously! Too many mechs try to wear wheels that simply aren't sized for their weight and it is tragic. Looking good is important, but if it doesn't feel good then what's the point?"

Breakdown nodded, knowingly (He was a racer– of course he understood!). Slipstream was less amused.

"Knock Out..."

"What?" He said innocently, "We're just talking!"

He reached back to his days on Velocitron. He'd gotten a lecture about this once, from a smart bot he’d thought was a friend. He echoed what he'd been told:

"It fosters trust between the doctor and the patient. It's good for everyone!"

However, on Cybertron, in the present, Slipstream didn't care. "I don't want to hear about what shorts your engine! I'm your superior officer! It's inappropriate!"

"Fine! Fine..."

The medic took the pliers to Breakdown's crumpled shin guards. He smoothed a few creases, popped a dent, and once he'd finished counting out 60 seconds looked up and asked Breakdown "So, how about you?"

"Knock Out!"

"Lemme think about it," Breakdown said, stifling a laugh.

Slipstream’s strangled noise of frustration went ignored.

"Oh, come now! I told you mine! What do you like to see on a bot?"

Knock Out waited, and then huffed and cast a dirty look towards his "commander". He was probably intimidated by her! This would be so much better if she weren't here... supervising! Waiting for Knock Out to make a mistake! It was insulting!

He closed the pliers around another crease and pulled the metal until the dent popped.

"Y'know, I've never thought about it," Breakdown said slowly.

"Hm?"

He heard Slipstream gasp in pain behind him– probably trying to bury her face in her hands, though he didn’t care enough to check.

"I need to get to know a mech before I start wantin' to..." Breakdown let go of the table to make grabbing motions.

"And then?"

"A frame that I can pick up and carry over my shoulder," he said finally.

Knock Out squinted. "That's... Not exactly a body part."

The bigger bot shrugged. "That's my answer." He leaned back again, laying his hands flat on the top of the table this time. He was relaxing– that was good!

"How about you, Commander?" Knock Out suppressed his smirk. "You've been quiet for a while. What sort of thing do you–"

Slipstream gave him a look that froze his spark solid.

"Doc?” Breakdown nudged him. “How about we hurry this up?"

"Yes, yes." He shook it off. She needed him, after all! What was she going to do, shoot him?

***

Three cycles ago, Elevon had offered to be present during Slipstream’s surgery. The Commander declined out of what she’d thought was pragmatism:

“No. You’ll be there for your own repairs, and then I need you back guarding the communications terminal,” she’d said.

Elevon performed a crisp salute. There was a snapping sound as her hand hit the horn on the side of her head. Slipstream had stared as it tumbled to the floor.

“Disappointing.” The second in command had said. “I was saving that for later.”

It was easy to imagine what she’d intended. Slipstream held back a laugh. “Elevon, I need you in the best condition,” she’d chided.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Elevon protested, retrieving her fallen horn. “The benefits of a recycled frame,” she’d said cheerfully.

Now as Slipstream watched Breakdown rise out of vehicle mode, and heard Knock Out declare that his repairs were finished, she wished she’d taken Elevon’s offer.

“Your turn,” she heard the doctor say.

She cycled air and slid off the counter.

A fresh wave of pain shot up her spine the moment her servos touched the floor. The Seeker grit her teeth. It was nothing. She waited for it to pass, and slowly, it did, fading away into numb weight, and then into discomfort.

Then she took a step forward and it returned with a vengeance. The needles dug in deeper than ever before. Her joints locked and her balance collapsed under the onslaught of pain. She didn’t scream. She *refused* to scream. She’d felt worse.

Distantly, she heard Knock Out’s snide voice. “I told you to lie down so you wouldn’t aggravate the injury! But what do I know?”

Slipstream climbed to her hands and knees. Her wings bumped against the counters. She stared at the floor and wished she were anywhere else.

A black hand appeared in front of her, covered in scratches and chips. Breakdown’s voice reached her audials. “Commander? Need a hand?”

A fury built inside her vocalizer, so explosive that it threatened to tear her apart. No, she didn’t need help! Slipstream lunged and pulled him down till they were face to face, desperate to show that she was still strong enough to do that.

“Hey! Careful!” He said, standing strong against her efforts to topple him. And then added “Uh. Ma’am.”

Slipstream didn’t say anything as he pulled her up, but she did think several things that would be more inappropriate and unprofessional to say than that talk about “favorite body parts” earlier. She took a deep, shuddering breath and dug her hands into his arm for stability. Each step was difficult, and plunged the needles deeper into her circuits.

Somehow, she navigated to the worktable. She slid on top, and forced herself to get a grip. Close your optics. Deep breaths. She was the Commander. She was strong. This was nothing. She was going to get through this.

“Everything alright over there?” She heard Knock Out ask.

“Yeah? Yeah, it’s… Good,” answered Breakdown’s voice from somewhere above her. “Ma’am? You can let go now?”

Slipstream’s optics snapped open. The Stunticon’s red face looked down at her. With concern.

She didn’t need concern! She needed it to stop hurting!

“Hey! Relax!” He tugged at her grip. “You’re in good hands! The Doc does good work!”

The pain receded enough for her to focus on what he was saying. She choked out a laugh. Good hands. Right. So good, they could bring a mech back from the brink of death.

Mechs that should’ve stayed dead.

She had read the transcripts. She’d poured over Knock Out’s excuses and explanations. He’d claimed he’d done it simply because he wanted to. She didn’t believe it. Oh, he played the part of the fool well, but no one who could do what he could was that short-sighted. He was maneuvering! And Slipstream had let him–

Slipstream gasped as new needles punctured through the base of her wings. Through the blurry haze of her vision she saw Breakdown. He wasn’t her soldier, but… maybe he would…

“Would you mind–” She stopped herself. Too weak. “If you do me a favor and–" No! Stronger! She was Commander– She wasn’t. She wasn’t even that. She was nothing. But she was so close. If she could just make it to Rodion…

“Commander? Hey, Doc! I think she’s going offline?!”

“Good! Makes my job easier!”

Slipstream held her head up and tightened her grip on Breakdown’s arm like a lifeline in a storm. “Stay,” she managed to whisper.

“Why?” Breakdown demanded, trying to pull away again.

“Please. I’m so close… I can’t fail now.”

He stared at her.

“He’ll break something important. Or… cut my wings off. Cut the stabilizers. Something.” She dragged him closer. She didn’t care about her pride anymore. She couldn’t let this happen. “Please.”

“No?” He shook his head and tried to pry her hands off. “No. That’s ridactulous–" He paused and inhaled, seemingly frustrated. “He’s not going to do that. No way.”

“You don’t know him like I do! He’s going to ruin everything! And he’s going to make it hurt.”

“Breakdown?” Knock Out called, “You don’t have to stick around. This procedure may get… Messy.”

See? Slipstream tugged on him. See?

“Messy how?” He asked back, worriedly.

“I don’t have any numbing agents. It’s going to be painful at the very least. I do hope you’re ready Commander!”

“No. No, no no.” She whispered. Her spark pulsed faster and faster. She didn’t know what she could do in her current state– she could barely move– but she had to defend herself! She had to–

Breakdown pat her hands.

The frantic thoughts racing through her processor froze in their tracks.

“There, there?” The Stunticon said.

He was dead. Slipstream would kill him first, then Knock Out. Somehow.

Breakdown spoke low and urgently, like he was trying to convince himself. “He’s not planning anything. I’d know if he were. Everyone would know if he were. He does those… hand movements! You know!” He mimicked Knock Out’s ridiculous gestures, and then glanced around to check if the mech in question had seen.

The doctor was pulling screwdrivers out of the box of supplies. He made a triumphant noise and held up one with a red handle.

“C’mon, you’ve known him for stellar cycles. You know what I’m talking about.”

As he spoke, Slipstream became aware of how ridiculous she looked right now. The one-time Commander of the Seekers, reduced to a whimpering mess of pain and paranoia, begging other Decepticons for help. The only saving grace was that Breakdown wasn’t one of her soldiers. She’d never be able to look him in the optics again.

Still…

“I can’t trust him. Not after what he did.”

Something flashed across Breakdown’s face. He recoiled, and this time Slipstream let him go.

Across the room, Knock Out finished his preparations. She could hear him coming closer behind her, a tray of tools clinking with each step, growing louder and louder. It was like the last rattle of a dying mech, before the Necrobot came to collect. Slipstream activated her weapons and readied herself.

“Hey, Doc, you… sure you’ve got this?”

Slipstream opened her optics and met Breakdown’s.

He winked at her.

The rattling behind Slipstream stopped. “Of course I do!”

“It’s just that it sounds pretty complicated…” He circled the worktable to join the Doctor on the other side, where Slipstream couldn’t see them. “What if something goes wrong? No painkillers, salvaged tools…”

The tray slammed down on the table. “I know what I’m doing!”

“Whoa, hey! Didn’t mean to touch a nerve! It just sounds complicated!”

“It is complicated!”

“But you’ve got it?” He sounded amazed. “Even the wings and stuff?”

“Yes, even the wings.” The doctor’s rolling optics were audible.

Breakdown whistled. “That’s impressive, Doc!”

What was Breakdown doing? Challenging him? Would that work? Would Knock Out pass up this opportunity to hurt her for… for something as simple as pride?! He acted shallow, but–

“I am impressive!” He boasted, “You just watch! She'll be good as new without a bolt out of place!”

The Stunticon laughed. “Let’s see it!”

This whole time… Ten stellar cycles of struggling to get him to obey her orders. And all she’d needed to do was play to his ego?!

That was what Starscream would have done.

Slipstream heard the doctor take up a tool. A sharp edge pressed against the space between her wings.

“Ah, yes,” Knock Out said suddenly, as if he’d just remembered. “Brace yourself,” he warned. She could hear the smile in his voice, that smug–

The scalpel cut into her plating, and everything else disappeared into the pain.

***

Breakdown wondered if he’d been poisoned. He didn’t think so– Like he’d told Slipstream, Knock Out was pretty obvious when he was trying to be sneaky. The only way he could’ve done it was if the Doc poisoned his tools, and even then there was nothing Breakdown knew of that worked this quickly *and* was absorbed through plating (Unless it was a new kind of poison?!). He ran down the list of symptoms: Uneven temperatures between limbs, rapid pulses of the spark, nausea, shakiness–

“Here’s the problem.” The Doc pulled at a wire in the Commander’s back. Bio-lights pulsed down the exposed section of her spinal strut. “There’s a damaged wire caught between segments right here. It’s a good thing you didn’t transform! You said you were stabbed? The blade must have forced it in.”

“Lucky shot?” Breakdown offered, trying to distract himself.

“Luck… Or skill.”

The Commander’s voice barely escaped her clenched jaw. “Can you fix it?”

Knock Out was already reaching inside her frame. He hooked a finger around the wire and tugged.

“No!” she yelled. She moved in a blur, leaping off the worktable and spinning around. She raised her arm.

But the Seeker didn’t fire. She looked at herself, amazed, and fluttered her wings, twisting at the hips to test her range of motion. Breakdown found himself staring past her.

“Breakdown,” Knock Out said in a voice straining to stay calm.

The Stunticon blinked. “‘Thought she was going to shoot you,” he mumbled apologetically, removing his hand from Knock Out’s shoulder. His chest tightened.

Seriously, what was this? Maybe he just worried about Knock Out? That didn’t feel right either.

“I’m not finished yet,” the Doc told the Commander, “That wire is still out of place. I need to fix that. And obviously, I need to weld you shut again.”

There was a soft hum as Commander Slipstream deactivated her weapons. Carefully, she got back on the table.

Okay. Now Knock Out was safe. Breakdown waited for the discomfort to pass. He accidentally caught sight of the Commander’s internals again. The circuitry branching out of the center and the cables looping around. All those components packed so neatly inside a frame.

He's looking down at the chopped up pieces of his body. Each limb is on a different table. Two arms, two legs, and a chest. They’re all in pieces. All the insides are outside. He doesn’t like that. They aren’t supposed to be like that! He can’t move! Then something breaks.

He's looking up at a giant head hanging from hooks. He’s laying on a table, in pieces. There’s no pain. There’s no weight. There’s nothing. He can’t move. Something in his head, a foreign program sorting through his thoughts, tells him to shut down.

***

Knock Out admired how neatly he’d closed up her back– as if he’d never opened her up at all!

“No complications, minimal screaming, and full functionality restored.” The medic took a bow. “Just as promised. And with a day to spare!”

The three of them stood outside the garage, basking in the afternoon sun. Or, more accurately, two of them did, while the third stretched her wings in jet mode. Breakdown lurked by the garage door, watching her.

“Everything’s working,” the Seeker said, amazed. She transformed and twisted at the hips. “No pain.” She took a long, deep breath and looked up at the smoke filled sky, and then looked towards Rodion. She was smiling.

“You can thank me now.”

The Commander sighed… then laughed, bitterly. She turned to him. “Knock Out…”

“Yes…?”

“...Heels.”

What? “Pardon?”

“A nice pair of heel struts,” she mumbled.

Knock Out crossed his arms. “Really?”

She blinked in bewilderment. Unbelievable!

“You’d rather tell me that very personal piece of information over a simple ‘thank you’?!”

Slipstream’s expression darkened.

Servos crunched against the dirt as Breakdown came closer. He took up a position behind Knock Out’s shoulder, and the victorious mech smirked. It was good to know he had some support in this.

“Thank you… for seeing to the soldiers under my command.” She breathed sharply. “And… For repairing me. I’ll see to it that you get what you’re after.”

The medic smiled. “There! Now was that so hard?”

Knock Out swore he heard her grinding her teeth as she strode away. He laughed, turning back towards the garage. That’s when he noticed Breakdown’s scowl.

“What? What’s that look for?”

“How have you survived this long?”

It took Knock Out an embarrassing 3.8 seconds to recover and think of a response. “What?”

“You keep pushing!” He said, exasperated. “If you’d talked that way to any other commander–" He shook his head and lowered his voice, “If that were Motormaster you’d be dead!”

“Oh, Breakdown… Please!” Knock Out brushed past him on the way back into the garage. He slowed his pace to make sure Breakdown was following him in. “She needs me, remember?”

“For what? You just fixed everyone in the unit!”

Knock Out stopped walking as that sunk in.

“And I don’t think she’s planning beyond Rodion… She could have killed you right then! Just for annoying her!”

Knock Out stared at the tools he’d left on the table. He picked up the scalpel and rolled it between his thumb and pointer finger. She wouldn’t have killed him… He was too valuable! Breakdown was just being… Well, a hypocrite for one. Of all the people to lecture him about being reckless...

He waved the scalpel at the grumpy Stunticon. “What’s your problem?” He demanded.

Breakdown leaned against the wall and looked away. “Nothing. Thinkin’ outloud.”

Knock Out raised a brow and waited for Breakdown to crack. It didn’t take long.

“‘Don’t like medical stuff. I told you that, right?” He laughed, humorlessly, and gave Knock Out a half-sparked grin. “Shouldn’t have stuck around and watched you do spine surgery. Gave me the creeps.”

“That’s hardly my fault!” Knock Out snapped, with more force than he meant to. He turned away and started to gather up his things. His scalpel, the pliers, the tray. He crossed the room and placed them in the toolbox one at a time. There was no need for Breakdown to be rude! He spun around to scold the Stunticon…

…Who was clearly implying via facial expression that it was, in fact, Knock Out’s fault!

“You didn’t have to stay!”

“I kinda did, Doc,” He said calmly. “She was getting ready to shoot you.”

Knock Out scoffed.

“She was convinced that you were going to sabotage her and slice something important.”

Indignation lit the medic’s fuel lines. “How dare she–?!”

“Said ‘You couldn’t be trusted after what you did.’ Which I still don’t want to hear about! By the way!”

But he was still reeling. He’d worked for a long, long time to get this far in his career. If he were to permanently harm a patient on purpose… No one would ever let him practice medicine again! He would be throwing everything away!

“I would never intentionally fail a surgery. For any reason,” Knock Out said, curling his hands into claws.

“I believe you.”

Oh.

For some reason that made Knock Out’s processor go blank.

“So, uh, yeah. I stayed to make sure you didn’t do anything to set her off.” Breakdown smiled. “I’d feel pretty bad if I failed my side of the deal before we even got to Rodion.”

Chapter Text

Explosions echoed between ruined buildings. Inane chatter filled the radio.

"Support needed in sector 2!"

"The Autobots aren't giving us a micro-inch!"

"Ground units, be on the look out for the Prime's pet scout."

"Already taken care of! Uh, nevermind."

"It's about to be taken care of!"

"Negative. Skywarp, Nova Storm, peel off and join me at these coordinates. Thundercracker, you too. Acid Storm, maintain heading."

Solar cycle fifteen of their siege, and the Decepticon advance had ground to a halt. The Autobots had deployed what Laserbeak was calling "moving death walls"-- mobile arrays of anti-air guns floating above even more guns at ground level. All of it automatic and all of it firing missiles at anything with a Decepticon insignia.

"That's a bad name," Frenzy pointed out in the middle of his report.

"Kill network, overkill, overcompensation," Laserbeak squawked back "Take your pick! Or make your own!"

Regardless of the name, those, combined with the stubbornness of their forces, meant that for once, Soundwave's prediction was wrong: taking Rodion would not be a quick and easy win.

The troops had been promised that this wouldn't be a Vorn long siege this time. They'd been promised that they would be in and out within a reasonable time frame. But with that looking more and more like a falsehood, they were growing agitated.

How fortunate that the one mech most adept at turning that restless energy into tangible results was on the field with them.

Megatron, leader of the Decepticons, led relentless strikes against the Autobot blockades. It was by his orders that the Sherma Bridge was collapsed, allowing their forces to slip through in the confusion and create a path into the heart of the enemy territory. If only he had chosen to continue the assault and push forward... if only he'd listened to reason and not gone chasing after his Autobot counterpart things wouldn't be at such a miserable standstill!

"Megatron continues to battle the Prime." Soundwave informed them all over the radio. "Unit three, continue to ensure that he is not boxed in. Do not interfere with their fight."

Once again, it fell to another to ensure a Decepticon victory. One more capable.

Air Commander Starscream glided above the mayhem with ease. No Autobot could touch him, and none of their pathetic lasers could even come close.

The street was lined with guns, and resting in their center, floating above the ground, was a round sphere covered with sensors, that presumably served as a control pod. It stood to reason that destroying that would shut down the entire array. Easier said than done, however.

At one point, Skywarp attempted to teleport on top of it and trick the auto-turrets into firing at itself… And according to her, it hadn’t gone well. “I bounced off a shield trying to land on it. And so did the missiles…” She blew on her still smoldering wing.

But Starscream was determined.

Thundercracker stared at him blankly. “Could you… repeat that?”

Starscream sighed. "What part was unclear to you– nevermind! Fine! You draw fire. The other two will take out the turrets. And I will destroy the control pod. We do this again and again until the way is clear for our ground troops." He gazed down the street, at their foe's weaponry. It was a solid plan... So long as the canon fodder played their parts.

"No, no I understand the plan. I just think," Thundercracker said slowly, "That there are safer ways to break their defenses."

She withered under Starscream’s glare. “Those ways will take too long! Just do it!”

The Air-Commander maneuvered into position behind his underling and shoved her forward. "Go! Now!"

Thundercracker obeyed, but not without a nervous glance back at the other two Seekers. Skywarp gave her a thumbs up.

Nova Storm hung in the air. "She's going to die."

"Oh yeah," Skywarp laughed.

Starscream whirled on them. "Get moving! Or you'll both be bait for the next run!"

"Yes sir!" Said Skywarp.

"On it!" Said Nova Storm.

Thundercracker shot through the street, engines firing at maximum to stay ahead of the barrage of lasers and missiles. The twins flew behind her, weaving around one another to attack the guns. And Starscream took the most important task. He couldn’t trust anyone else to do it correctly.

He threw himself at the control pod, transforming and slamming against it with his servos.

Bzzzt!

As expected, the reflector shield reacted to the kinetic force of his landing. It pulsed outward, trying and failing to push him away. And it stung. Vibrations traveled from Starscream's servos to his wing tips. He clamped his jaw shut to stop his teeth from rattling as he fought against the shield's repulsive field. His thrusters burned to keep him against it as he pushed an arm through. His hand found the handle on the control pod's hatch.

Now the fun part.

Starscream stopped fighting against the shield. He took the hatch with him as it bounced him away. Wind whipped past his wings as he spun through the air. He took control of his trajectory and redirected himself right back there, from a slightly different angle-- one aimed at the open hatch. It didn't matter if he couldn't get through the entire shield... all he needed was one arm! He shoved the Null Ray through and fired!

The heat singed his tailfins. He rolled as he ascended and swooped into a tight circle. Smoke billowed over his sensors. It would be difficult to hunt that Autobot through this... No matter.

The barrels of the artillery guns drooped with pitiful whines as they powered down. Skywarp wasted a missile blowing one up anyway.

Thundercracker's voice came in over the radio. "Did we do it? Did we get them?"

"Yes, well done you three,” Starscream smiled. “Regroup and move to the next one at these coordinates."

"What? But... My afterburners--!"

Starscream switched channels. "Soundwave! Send ground troops to my location to secure this street. And," he added, with a satisfied smirk "Prepare to advance."

"Acknowledged," Soundwave replied. "Sending reinforcements."

The Air Commander chose to ignore that last part. He hung up the call, and kept a tight hold of his temper. He refused to let Soundwave provoke him now. He would be successful, and then Megatron would have to acknowledge his value to the Decepticon cause!

And his loyalty.

He flew to the next target. His Seekers hovered apprehensively nearby, ready to move at his command. He nodded to Thundercracker.

She paled. "But-- I--" She stuttered, looking to the twins. “My afterburners are–”

Starscream put a hand to temple. “You were doing so well. Do not shirk at this, Thundercracker. You are more than capable of this task!”

She looked nervously at the turrets, then back at him. Starscream nodded encouragingly. “Go on!”

She took position, reluctantly, and the Seekers began their fly-by. Everything went just as well as the first time, until it didn’t. Starscream was almost through the reflector shield when Thundercracker's panicked voice blast through his comms:

"I've been hit! I'm going down!"

Not much startled Starscream. But a Seeker streaking towards the ground in front of him? His head snapped up before he could fight the reflex. The angle he was pushing against the shield changed, and the whole thing pulsed against him.

“No!”

But it was too late; the shield punched him away! Suddenly he was spinning, head over servos, missiles whooshing past him! He slammed into a wrecked building and righted himself, grabbing on to whatever he could find to slow his momentum.

The laser turrets on ground level turned towards the downed Thundercracker. Nova Storm yelped as the anti-air guns found their next target. And Skywarp vanished in a flash of purple light.

And turning the corner on the street below, were the ground troops Soundwave had sent to see him fail.

Starscream didn't panic. He'd trained that reaction out of himself a long time ago. Instead, he broke the situation down into pieces:

Priority number one: Survive.

He leapt off the side of the building, transforming and retreating out of range of the array. Missiles hunted him through the sky, and without any decoy flares, all he could do was evade. He twisted and turned, weaving through the streets and luring them into walls and corners.

Boom! Boom! Bang!

The explosions were deafening, and the heat washed over his plating as he escaped the danger.

Now he would salvage the situation. He would NOT allow the other Decepticons to see him blunder this! The question was, how?

Starscream circled back towards the array.

"Help!" Thundercracker called from ground level, cowering behind a chunk of metal from fallen walkway. Barrage after barrage of lasers battered the make-shift cover, and smoke roiled off it into the air.

Nova Storm's yellow and black form streaked through the fire zone. "A little help?!" She yelled, transforming and ducking underneath an oncoming missile. She returned fire at the gun, barely dodging the next missile in time. "Starscream! Shoot these down!"

Yes... Perfect! Starscream dove in... For another attempt at the control pod. His fist slammed against the shield! White energy licked his knuckles as it pressed back against him!

As long as Nova Storm held their attention...

"Boss?! A little help?"

He struggled through the shield!

Nova Storm yelped. A missile exploded by her leg, the force battering against her! She was buffeted backwards, and as soon as she got her bearings--

An anti-air gun floated into position directly in front of her. She didn't have time to scream--

In a flash of purple, Skywarp appeared beside her sister. In another flash, both of them were gone.

The gun rotated towards its next target.

Starscream tore the hatch off the control pod! He looked up to see the gun about to take him offline.

Two simultaneous strings of thought crowded his mind: One was a sneering annoyance that his Seekers were so useless they couldn't even serve him as canon fodder. The other was survival instinct telling him that he needed to move. Now.

And he did.

He flung the hatch door away and threw himself into aerial maneuver after maneuver. He looped and rolled and dove until he was safely out of danger.

The dull, beady optics of the ground troops gathered at the end of the street watched him hover in defeat. They whispered among themselves, snickering and mocking him for his failure. Incandescent rage bubbled under Starscream's plating.

"Well?! What are you waiting for?!" He shrieked over the sound of lasers and Thundercracker's cries for help. "The ground turrets are occupied! Destroy them!"

The troops looked to each other, unsure. Before Starscream could launch a volley of threats and insults that would propell them into compliance-- A Seeker passed over his head. He caught a glimpse of purple. If Skywarp dared to show her face now he would--

The Seeker dove towards the array's open control pod and Starscream narrowed his optics. It couldn't be...

The anti-air guns didn't even twitch as the Decepticon jet flew past. She transformed and shot forward, plunging a hand inside the shield--!

The pod exploded, and just like before, all of the array's weaponry powered down. Hot air rushed against Starscream's wings. He didn't flinch-- he was staring at the newcomer.

He found his voice:

"Slipstream!"

She swooped around to face him.

Her lip curled. "Starscream."

"This is a-- surprise." The ground troops were watching. He needed to be dignified, confident! He reset his vocalizer. "What are you doing here?"

"Providing needed support." The word "obviously" was left off of the end, but her tone communicated it all the same.

"That is Sir or Air Commander," Starscream corrected, sharply.

Her mask of cold professionalism cracked. Her wings flared, and her fists curled. The feeling was mutual.

"Alert. The enemy is approaching your location." Came Soundwave through their comms, "Be ready to engage."

Reinforcements, Soundwave had said. They were working together. For what purpose?

Skywarp and Nova Storm descended to hover behind Starscream. How nice of them to rejoin him.

"Slipstream?!" Nova Storm said from over his left shoulder.

"We thought you were dead!" Skywarp said from his right.

"Obviously not," Starscream scanned the Seeker up and down. She was uninjured, well fueled, and in perfect condition. "Slipstream must've had some other reason to ignore all of my communications. I hope it was a good one..."

Her optics flared. She straightened her shoulders. "I recommend sending the Seeker's to block the Autobot advance while I take out their defenses."

That wasn't an explanation. It wasn't even an excuse! It was--

"Skywarp and Nova Storm,” she said, regarding them briskly, “can stay here and keep the streets clear. My unit is advancing from the south. If Acid Storm and Bitstream flank sector 5 when they arrive, we'll create another opening for our ground forces."

Skywarp jammed herself in between him and Slipstream. She poked at her wayward comrade’s chest. "We don't take orders from you anymore!"

Starscream was rapidly losing control of the situation. He pulled Skywarp back. "Do what she says."

...And therefore, she would be doing what Starscream says. He congratulated himself for turning this to his advantage (Megatron could never dream of it!) and addressed Slipstream with a smile:

"You and I will break the Autobot's barricade. It will be good to fly alongside a competent Seeker again." He glared at his lackeys.

"That would be--" Slipstream's voice broke. For a moment she looked like her old self again. Then she lowered her chin and steeled herself. "That is unnecessary. I can do it alone.

"As you know," She said, accusingly.

"Of course I know!" Starscream said sharply.

"Don't worry, Air Commander. I'll survive without you." Her arrogant smile burned at Starscream's last nerve. Then her expression turned dark. "And I expect that when I'm done, you'll have already come up with another way to kill me.

Slipstream's stare pierced through his carefully maintained facade of control. "You--!"

She turned away. "Good luck at the debriefing."

Then she transformed and dove deeper into the battlefield. As the glow of her thrusters were swallowed by clouds of smoke and ash, Nova Storm and Skywarp dragged Starscream out of his shock.

"You uh, tried to kill her?"

"When did that happen?"

Below, Thundercracker limped out from behind cover, and joined the ground troops in standing around uselessly. Explosions echoed in the streets around them, mixing with dust and shouts and weapons fire. The war didn't care about Starscream's problems. And neither would Megatron!

"You two! Secure the area," he barked.

They darted off. Starscream glared at the empty air where Slipstream had been moments ago.

"What are you playing at?"

***

Slipstream pushed through the smoke, and once she was sure she was out of sight, she transformed and dropped to street level. Her heels clattered against the pavement, and she pressed her back against a chunk of a freestanding metal wall. It was warm to the touch, and her hand came away covered in soot and ash.

Awful. Embarrassing. Weak.

He'd almost gotten her killed. Her and her unit. And that was the best she could come up with?!

" "Don't worry, Air Commander"?" Slipstream groaned to herself and shook her head. She needed to get moving. But first...

She rolled the little particles around between her fingers as she opened a call to Soundwave. The nano-kliks slowed to a crawl as she waited to be received. She'd never contacted him directly like this... But he had instructed her to, so... She traced little exploding Autobots on the wall in the dust of the wall in front of her, and nervously checked the sky. After what felt like a small eternity--

"How's it hanging? You've tuned in to Soundwave's Communicator! The loudest, baddest, best Decepticon on Cybertron!"

Slipstream froze, mouth open. She'd been prepared for Soundwave! Not... not one of his cassettes! She needed to say something. Anything! "Uh... This is... Slipstream?"

"Ohhh, Slipstream! The Starscream knock-off! Boss was expecting you to call."

...Knock-Off?! Her fingers curled on the metal wall.

"I'll put you through."

"Yes, please. Thank y-"

A deep voice cut her off. "Slipstream."

Her spark leapt into her throat and before she could find her voice again--

"I received the data packet from your subordinate."

"Good! I'm glad to--"

"Proceed with your mission objectives."

There was a click as the call disconnected.

Screeeeeeeeee.

Slipstream removed her fingers from the gouges she'd made in the metal and sighed. Soundwave would understand once he'd reviewed the footage.

She took to the sky. Even in the middle of a battlefield, surrounded on all sides by death and destruction, being airborne made her feel... Better. Stronger. Like she could leave all her fears and anxieties behind on the ground and fly until it was all an insignificant speck in the distance. She couldn't of course, but the idea of it was reassuring.

Slipstream adjusted her heading towards the closest Autobot weapon array. Her objective was to destroy them, and she hadn't been exaggerating to Starscream when she said she could do it herself. Her abilities made her perfect for the task.

Slipstream transformed and boosted in the direction of her target. She sped onwards, the wind rushing over her wings and the smoke curling against the glass of her cockpit-- and she hid her energy signature.

Anyone looking at her with their optics wouldn't see any difference. Her ability didn't have a physical appearance-- not even a little shimmer of an energy field. To Slipstream, it felt like growing another layer of plating, one that molded around her frame so tightly that none of her could leak through. And to sensors that tracked heat, or movement, or the light of a bot's spark? It made her completely invisible.

She dipped into the street and flew by the group of Autobot turrets, switching modes to land on the control pod!

The kinetic shield didn't detect her at all as she slammed her fist against the hatch, breaking it open and revealing the terminal inside the pod! She smashed it, and grinned as she hopped out and watched Decepticon ground troops advance into the street.

What would Starscream do? She'd seen what he'd do: fail! But not her! She'd reappeared when he'd least expected it and stole his victory out from under him!

And then she would take back her position as Air Commander!

Starscream descended, his wings blotting out the burning buildings behind him. His optics glowed with hatred as he surveyed her battered and exhausted troops.

Slipstream stared in shock and awe. "I thought you were... dead! Megatron--"

His disappointed frown was a stab to her spark.

"Clearly you thought wrong. No surprise there. Recall your forces. This will take a different approach. And" he added, "a superior Commander."

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll... Find a way to..." She spoke into the wind, and it carried her words up up up, far away from the battle raging all around her.

There was a flash of light below her. Slipstream spun around, raising her blaster!

One of the turrets on the ground sparked violently and overloaded. She forced ash-choked air through her frame. It was okay. It was okay.

Screeching tires signaled that Autobots had come to investigate why their precious turrets had stopped firing on the approaching Decepticons. Slipstream needed to get moving. She noted the next array's coordinates and moved on.

"Elevon, status update."

The Seeker listened carefully on the way to her next target, pushing everything else to the back of her mind. Starscream, Soundwave, that flash-- It was silly but, for a moment, Slipstream had thought it was a camera.

***

Motormaster’s laughter echoed down the street as he swung his sword. When the last one fell, he stood back, and let the weaker Decepticons go in front of him. It was cute that they thought they needed to be here.

His smile twitched. He activated his comms.

“Stunticons! Check in!”

“I am an entire universe away from you, Motormaster,” Dead End’s voice reached him twice– one coming through his comms, and one coming from directly behind him. “It’s very interesting.”

Motormaster twisted around to glare at Dead End. “Would it kill you,” he growled, “to PRETEND to be a team player?”

She tilted her head thoughtfully, and he decided he didn’t want to hear whatever she came up with. Motormaster let out a frustrated sigh and put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a little squeeze and a gentle push.

“That’s ONE,” He said into the radio. “Drag Strip?”

***

Drag Strips’ front bumper crumpled satisfyingly against Wildrider’s side and sent him flying! He landed upside down on his roof, his wheels spinning uselessly, and transformed out of vehicle mode, sprawling out on the ground.

“What’s up?” He asked, innocently.

Drag Strip transformed and pulled him by the legs into cover. She leaned over him with her hands on her hips. “You’re stealing my kills!”

“Oh. I didn’t see your name on them.”

She stared at him. He grinned back.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to come up with a response. Not because she couldn’t (she totally could if she wanted to!) but because their beloved leader was screaming at her over the comms again.

“Drag Strip!”

Oh, right. Motormaster was doing a check-in.

“I–”

“I’m here, Motors! With Drag Strip! We’re alive!”

Heat crept into Drag Strip’s face. What was wrong with him today?! This wasn’t the usual Wildrider scrap, he was being extra annoying!

“Drag Strip?”

Oh great, now Dead End was all concerned. She’d been doing that too much lately. Drag Strip almost wished she would go back to being depressed… Whoa, that wasn’t a good thought. She shook her head. She couldn’t be the best sister/teammate with thoughts like that! Those were loser thoughts!

“I’m great! I’ve got seven kills so far! And I’ll get more once Wildrider stops stealing them!”

“Only seven?” Motormaster grunted, sounding unimpressed. "Ha!"

Drag Strip’s face started to burn, and she forced cool air into her system. How many did he have?

But the Stunticon leader had moved on. “Breakdown! Where are you?”

***

Drag Strip’s snide voice bounced around in his head. “I bet he doesn’t even have his radio on.”

“I do,” Breakdown said back. He pressed against the wall, smoke curling out of both of his blasters. He didn’t have time to dwell on how bad talking into comms was (how it felt like shouting in a crowded street and having a hundred people looking at him from behind his back) or having it open (Like leaving a firewall down) because of the situation. Which wasn’t great right now, if he was being honest. He spun around the corner and –

Wham!

A giant fist slammed into his face. He landed hard on the ground, the force of it almost knocking his weapons out of his hands.

“Where are you?” Motormaster demanded.

“Busy!” Breakdown flipped upright and fired at the big Autobot coming his way.

The Autobot stopped in their tracks and began to seize. Crackles of blue lightning ran down their form, and they toppled over. Breakdown blinked.

Knock Out stepped around their downed form and tapped his spear… staff… thing on the ground, looking very pleased with himself.

Breakdown stood, and then noticed Knock Out’s mistake. He transformed, slipped around the inattentive bot, switched back to robot mode and shot the Autobot sneaking up behind him with a laser rifle pointed at his head.

“Gloating,” he reminded his partner.

Knock Out huffed and rolled his optics, and a laugh slipped from Breakdown’s vocalizer. “Thanks,” he said.

“Likewise.”

It was weird looking out for someone who wasn’t his family. Were he and Knock Out friends now? Or… no. It was just the truce in action. As soon as it was over, Knock Out would go back to trying to kill him.

“BREAKDOWN!”

The Stunticon flinched. “Yeah! I’m on the way!”

His partner raised a brow. “Where are we going?”

***

Rodion's City Hall was a grand building, with tall columns, pointed spires, and a domed roof. Even throughout the war, it stood relatively intact-- a shining reminder of what had once been. The park directly outside was nothing to scoff at either: a spacious area with (what used to be) sculptures placed tastefully around picnic areas. Its crowning jewel was a large fountain, made from polished white stone, decorated with carved reliefs of the thirteen Primes.

It would have been nice to see it all from ground level, and not while being thrown through the air, but one took what they could get in a situation such as this.

Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, peeled himself off the side of the fountain, and landed hard on the cracked pavement below. He rose, painfully, his joints aching and his struts heavy with exhaustion. Pieces of his windshield fell around him like crystals, clinking against the ground and crunching under his servos.

Not so far away, a grey aircraft descended unsteadily from out of the Optimus-shaped hole in the dome, engines sputtering. Once low enough, the flier transformed, the impact cracking the pavement. Hateful red optics locked on to Optimus from across the field and began to close the distance, one heavy stride at a time.

"How fitting that you fall here," Megatron said, spreading his arms. "Among all the other relics of the old ways. Almost poetic, isn't it, Prime?"

Optimus glanced at the destroyed relief. The cracked face of Zeta Prime crumbled off the side of the fountain. "Hm. A bit too blunt of a metaphor for my taste."

The glowing purple flail dropped to Megatron's side. He lifted it with a sneer.

Optimus ducked the head of the weapon and kept moving. His blaster rifle unfolded, already humming in his hands, and sent volley after volley of bright red lasers flashing in the direction of his foe. He jerked away, only barely fast enough-- the next of Megatron's attacks clipped his finial.

Megatron stumbled pulling the flail back in. He flexed his wrist and heaved, before winding it up for another swing. He was exhausted.

After fifteen solar cycles of fighting each other like this, they both were.

He caught the flail by the chain and pulled Megatron into close range. Of course, he shifted at the last moment, moving around and behind Optimus to slam an elbow into the back of his neck, and then a leg into his side. Optimus transformed on the way down, and used the momentum to spin away on his wheels.

On and on it went like this, with no sign of stopping. Every blow was countered and met with reprisal. Every upper hand was used to bring the other back down. Dented and damaged, it was easy to think that the two of them would fight until their sparks went out.

But that would not be today.

Optimus Prime took the pain, and gladly distracted the Decepticon leader from realizing his Autobots’ true goal in Rodion.

***

The streets filtered soldiers into smaller groups, and created dozens of violent skirmishes wherever the two factions met. The idea was that the location of those fights would push further and further east, towards the edges of the urban sprawl. But, as usual, the Autobots were being stubborn. No matter how hard the wave of Decepticon might crashed against them, they kept fighting.

Sometimes, Breakdown could almost appreciate it. It made things interesting.

Right now, though? With lasers searing through the air, and people moving so quick that he had to double check which side they were on before he shot at them? When Motormaster wanted him three blocks away? When Knock Out had to stop and treat every injured ‘Con who’d stubbed their servo?

Not so much.

“You done yet?” He shouted over the chaos.

Knock Out didn’t look up from the bot he was repairing. “Almost! They’re stabilized. Now they need to be moved to safety. How many are there shooting at us?”

It was difficult to tell at first glance. There were five, maybe six Autobots total at this position, all spread throughout the street ahead of them. The other ‘Cons were keeping them busy– sorta. Breakdown looked up as Misfire did another flyby, his shots raining on the surrounding rubble, empty pavement, and even the glass of a lamp post. He was keeping the Autobots pinned though, so… that was something.

Through the smoke in the distance, a small yellow four-wheeler zipped out of a destroyed building and onto the street. They came up from vehicle mode, running the last few steps, and getting the attention of another Autobot. Great, now there were seven--

Breakdown did a double-take and grinned.

“I got this!”

“Wait! Breakdown!”

The Stunticon charged out of cover and through the battlefield. He kept his optics on the goal as he vaulted over another Decepticon and kicked off a wall to get around an Autobot. The lasers whizzing past his face blurred into unimportance as he got closer. One seared the back of his hand, and another bounced harmlessly off his thigh. He laughed.

“Bumblebee!”

The scout’s optics widened, the blue lights glowing even brighter. He waved off his comrade and rushed forward to meet Breakdown head-on! “Look who’s not dead!”

Bee tried to hide his smile when Breakdown’s punch went over his shoulder, but it shone through anyway, bright and friendly despite everything. The fighting happening around them, the destroyed city that he used to call home, the beating his side was taking… No matter the circumstances, Bee was always happy to see him.

Breakdown grinned wide as he backstepped Bee’s very telegraphed swing. “‘Course not! Shoulda finished me when you had the chance!”

“And miss out on kicking your can across the planet?” He blocked a barrage of lazy hooks aimed at his cute yellow horns. “You wish!”

They stepped around each other, feinting and grappling weakly, until Breakdown picked him up and spun him over to the side of the road. They were out of sight now, tucked away in the shadow of a destroyed building between two tall piles of debris. Bee’s smile vanished, and his brow creased with worry. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it.”

Anyone else, alarms would start going off in Breakdown’s head. That this was a trap, or a lie, or a way to make him lower his guard. Especially if it were one of the other Stunticons. They were his siblings, sure– but none of them cared about him like Bee did. He was better than all of them put together.

“Stop laughing! I’m serious!”

Bee wriggled out of Breakdown’s grip, leaving the metal of the Stunticon’s hands cold and empty. He sighed through his nose.

“Thanks.” Breakdown smiled gently, hoping that the meaning was getting through. “For looking out for me.”

Bee lightened up. “Anytime,” he said, dropping back into a fighting stance.

“Same to you, brother,” Breakdown said, raising his fists.

***

Optimus Prime propelled himself off a column and drove his front wheels into Megatron's face. He kept moving, wind whistling painfully through his broken windshield and blasting his interior with ash and dust. He exited the park, and turned into an adjacent street, shooting between tall, stately piles of crumbled administrative buildings. Megatron would have to work to get his payback for that one!

He opened his comms. "Elita, what's our status?"

"Not looking good, O.P.!" His second in command sounded harried. "They've broken through the defensive turrets! And I’ve got a visual on two Stunticons. We don’t have any combiners here to–" There was a grunt of effort, and a loud clang. "

"Aw, scrap, my turrets? All of ‘em?" Came the voice of the Autobot's chief engineer. "I was hoping to keep one and improve it for next time."

"You didn’t keep the blue prints?" Optimus asked as he rocketed over fallen debris.

There was a brief pause. "I knew I was forgettin' something!"

"That’s alright, Wheeljack. I’m sure you– Gah!" The Autobot had to cut himself off to violently swerve out of the way as Megatron swooped at him in aircraft mode.

The Decepticon picked up speed and overtook him, dropping onto his roof and punching downward.

“Wheeljack, how much longer will you need?!” Optimus managed, trying to ignore the pain.

"Right! We've almost gotten the package to the city limits!"

He hit the breaks, hard; his wheels screeched against the street! They burned, red hot from the friction!Megatron was thrown forwards, flipping upside down and passing in front of Optimus. His fusion cannon was pointed directly at his foe’s exposed interior, glowing with a pulsing malevolent light.

Optimus Prime kept calm and overclocked his transformation sequence.

He could hear Ratchet's voice in his head as he did it:

"Of all the countless reckless things to do in combat, you chose to do THIS one? Have you blown a fragging diode?! T-Cogs have built in safety valves for a REASON!! Are you TRYING to burn it out? Did you know they're impossible to FIX?!"

His T-Cog twisted painfully in its socket. His front reconfigured, spinning around just in time to save his life.

The blast from the fusion cannon scorched his back and pushed him away from Megatron, who himself hit the ground in a heap. When Optimus had finished sliding and rolling and bouncing across the ground, he groaned.

"Optimus? Come in!" Elita's voice said through his comms.

He flexed his T-Cog experimentally, and regretted it. It felt sore and the mechanisms around it burned when he activated it. That couldn't be good. Optimus shook his head and picked himself up.

"Begin the next phase of the plan," he told Elita.

***

“You heard her, fall back!” A big red Autobot yelled. He brought the butt of his rifle down onto Pain-Tear’s head. “Go!”

Breakdown’s elbow passed over Bee’s head, as the Autobot watched it all out of the corner of his optic. “I gotta go,” he said.

“Figures,” Breakdown replied, pushing down his disappointment. “I’ll go left, and you can trip me.”

Bee nodded, and it happened just as Breakdown said it would. He swung left, got his ankle caught by Bee’s servo, and winked as he went down hard. The sunshine yellow bot zipped off to help his Autobot friends.

Breakdown lay there for a moment, staring up at the smoke-filled sky, and tried not to wonder when he’d see his friend again. A shadow passed in front of his vision.

“Are you dead?” Dead End asked, dryly.

“You wish.” He stood up and shook himself off, noticing how roughed up his sister looked. “I thought we were meeting you guys?”

“Battle moved. The Autobots finally realized how doomed their efforts are.” She gestured around them.

The enemy was moving… directly towards the two Stunticons. They split, jumping out of the way of a two-wheeled Autobot being chased by at least three Decepticon four-wheelers… including Wildrider, who made his entrance by crashing directly below where Dead End was perched.

“Where’s Drag Strip?” she called down to him.

He transformed and his smile showed his teeth. So, he had finally snapped and killed her. About time.

Breakdown wasn’t going to deal with that just yet, though. He climbed onto the second story of a destroyed storefront and scanned the battle.

Dead End was right. The Autobots were trying to retreat. The back line was scattering, fleeing deeper into Rodion, while the ones at the front bought them time and kept the barricades up. Not for long though– Breakdown spotted some of the others in Slipstream’s unit moving around the blockade. There was Blackjack, slipping through the destroyed front of a building and charging at a blue and white four-wheeler. Elevon scaled that same building and watched the fray, waiting for a chance to jump down and tear a poor ‘Bot apart. Axor’s axes lodged themselves into the front of a shield of a charging Autobot!

Through the mess, Breakdown picked out Bee, helping to hold the line like the softie he was. Runabout charged at the scout and took a high-kick to the face for his trouble.

The Stunticon smiled. Bee could take care of himself better than anyone he knew! He’d be fine!

Then, Breakdown’s spark sank.

A pair of hungry red optics gleamed through the chaos. The white faceplate turned this way and that, and then locked on to Bee. He weaved through the fight, moving closer and closer towards Breakdown’s brother, weapon flashing with electricity and malice.

Bee could handle himself, sure… But…

Breakdown was moving before he even finished the thought. He wasn’t going to let Knock Out touch his family.

***

Megatron climbed to his servos and approached, one laboured step at a time. Optimus readied his axe.

"Once you're gone... I will..." The Decepticon panted, "Rebuild Cybertron. Make it better."

He must really be exhausted to skip over the usual speech. Optimus waited until he heard the fusion cannon power up... Then he struck.

He twisted around and poured the last of his strength into his weapon. An arc of bright blue energy shot forth as he swung his axe, cutting into Megatron's outstretched arm.

Megatron's optics went wide, and his aim went off course. The shot sailed above Optimus' head.

Boom!

It hit the side of a building, and chunks of wall exploded outwards, the smallest bits sprinkling against Optimus' back as he stood and searched for his exit.

He would not be able to defeat Megatron here, not when he could barely move. Nor would he sacrifice himself when the Autobots had already accomplished their mission. Though it pained him to give up Rodion to the Decepticons, they would soon find it less of a worthy prize than they'd thought.

The central transit computer belonged to the Autobots, and with it, all of Cybertron's rail systems. All that was left was to escape with his life.

***

"Megatron," he began, just as he had a hundred times before, "This does not need to continue. Call back your forces. Put an end to this madness!"

"Ha!" The leader of the Decepticons barked out a laugh. Then another, louder this time. "HA! A few severed fingers won't stop me, Prime. You should know that by now."

They began to circle each other. Megatron brought his flail back out and grasped the chain in his good hand while pink streams of Energon ran down the other. Optimus winced and tightened his grip on the handle of his axe.

"I do," he said sadly.

"Then you know that this won't stop until I've ripped out your spark! And the spark of every bot who ever opposed us!"

He sighed. He'd known that wouldn't work--

A warning rang through his comms: "Optimus! There's a Decepticon vehicle heading your way!"

Megatron's gaze shifted upwards, right before a bright yellow vehicle burst through a wall a story above! Several cylindrical objects spilled out of a compartment on their side, dropping into the street below.

They fell all around the two faction leaders, hit the ground, and exploded into clouds of multi-colored powder.

Optimus had only a moment to prepare for the worst before it swallowed him. He rushed to cover his broken windshield. A chemical reaction began as soon as the powder contacted his plating.

"What is this?! Megatron managed through shuddering coughs.

The dust fizzed and melted, turning into a purple liquid and running into his seams. But it didn't hurt. It didn't even tickle. It was uncomfortable, and wet, and gooey, and very... colorful, but... What kind of chemical weapon was this supposed to be? It felt like--

He dragged a finger through the layer clinging to his shoulder and examined it. The color was mostly purple, but streaks of yellow swirled around, creating an odd golden shimmer where they blended into each other. "Paint?"

The powder floated innocently through the air.

Megatron's flail cut through the cloud and missed Optimus by an arm's length. The Autobot snatched the chain and yanked as hard as he--

As Optimus' servo slipped in the wet paint and he fell, pulling an incensed Megatron towards him, he wondered if this was proof that Primus had a sense of humor.

Megatron clambered towards him, yelling in pure unbridled rage, and also slipping and falling, so at least their creator wasn't playing favorites.

***

Knock Out was very much over Rodion. From a distance it’d looked nice, but all these narrow streets and over crowded corners? It deserved whatever happened to it.

He drifted through the battle, gripping his staff firmly as he dodged, side-stepped, and picked through the fighting in search of injured Decepticons. He would much rather have stayed safely on the back lines, but he’d heard the calls for a medic, and was forced by obligation to go wading into the bedlam. So he fixed his gaze forward and walked, carefully, keeping on the tips of his servos to avoid any danger coming his way.

He leapt back as Runabout crashed to the ground in front of him, and looked for the attacker.

A yellow four-wheeler. According to the radio chatter he’d heard earlier, this was Bumblebee. More interestingly though, was that this was the Autobot Breakdown had run off after, right before Knock Out lost sight of him. And, this was the Autobot he’d encountered with Drag Strip– The one who’d lead them to Breakdown, when he was trapped and injured underneath that strange tower.

The medic narrowed his optics. Where was Breakdown?

“You aren’t getting away this time, Bumblebee!”

Ah, there he was! He swung around in vehicle mode, transformed, and leapt at the Autobot.

“Breakdown? What–?”

He seemed to spot Knock Out for the first time… right before Breakdown tackled him into a pile of debris.

Only, it wasn’t a tackle. A tackle had intent behind it. This was a light shove and a sprint forwards, at best.

Knock Out raised a brow and watched his partner pin the Autobot scout to the ground.

“Knock Out!” Breakdown called over his shoulder, “Help me with this one!”

Seriously? From what he’d seen, Bumblebee was about the same size as Knock Out. Breakdown shouldn’t have any trouble holding him! And he had more immediate concerns! He jumped to the side to avoid getting shoulder checked by a big red Autobot charging past him. A Decepticon he didn’t recognize was blown off their wheels, and skid to a stop directly behind him, before crashing into a lamppost.

Breakdown called for him again. Scrap! The battle was pushing forward and they’d both be caught in the center if they didn’t keep moving with it! Did Breakdown not realize that?!

Knock Out rushed towards him, swiping his staff at anything that got too close, when he noticed something wasn’t right. Breakdown was raising both hands, as if he was going to bring them down on the Autobot’s face for a finishing blow. And Bumblebee was just… waiting for it. He didn’t seem afraid– agitated perhaps but– What was–?

Bumblebee’s hand transformed as Breakdown swung at his head. It disappeared into his wrist, and what popped out resembled a spinning drill bit. Yellow energy crackled from the weapon, and the Autobot jabbed it upward as his foe’s hands came down.

Zap!

Breakdown went flying and Knock Out didn’t have time to avoid him. They collided, and in the short moment before Knock Out hit the ground, he thought of Bumblebee in front of the collapsed tower of strange components, and the trapped Breakdown crushed underneath, and how, once again, this all felt very staged. Then, he did hit the ground, and all he could think of was how this large, heavy Stunticon wasn’t letting him get up, and how his back kibble was digging into his midsection.

***

The ancient enemies, leaders of their respective factions, warriors who had survived countless battles, fell in an embarrassing heap of flailing limbs. Megatron's full weight bore down on Optimus, putting him in quite the bad position. But Megatron’s fist swung wildly and he slipped even further. Metal shrieked as their plating collided at awkward angles. Optimus felt the raging engine inside his enemy, the endless hatred that had powered this war for thousands and thousands of vorns. Pity welled in the back of his mind, and then sank as Megatron tried in vain to claw off his face mask.

The powder was still coming down, too, coating them both in even more of the purple liquid. It found a way into Optimus' right optic, and half his vision exploded into rapidly shifting pixels of every possible color. As if this couldn’t get any more unpleasant.

Streams of paint leaked out of both of Megatron's optics, streaking down across his face as he lunged. Optimus kicked him away and scrambled out from underneath him. He staggered upright and flinched as a blast from the Decepticon leader's fusion cannon seared the air directly in front of him.

"Optimus!" Elita-One zoomed through the hole in the building made by the paint-throwing Decepticon. She landed on her servos, weapon drawn, and--

Megatron's fusion cannon snapped towards her.

"Elita!"

She rolled away from the purple blast and sprinted across the street. Suddenly she was under one of Optimus' arms, supporting his weight.

"You won't escape, Prime!" Megatron's voice echoed through the street. He aimed in the Autobots' general direction.

"He's blinded!" Optimus whispered.

Elita nodded. She pointed at an alleyway. "Go!"

Before he could tell her to wait, Elita was transforming and driving circles around Megatron. Optimus grit his teeth and moved. His T-Cog ground against something as he tried to transform, and he gave up on that, limping towards the exit instead.

"PRIME!!!" Megatron roared. He leapt into the air, his powerful form changing modes. The pulse of his jet engines rocked through Optimus's struts as the aircraft hovered above the street. Even blind, Megatron was still dangerous. The nose of the aircraft adjusted, trying to sniff out his enemies. A missile slid into place.

Oh no.

"Get down!" Optimus yelled.

The buildings around him rumbled and collapsed. Elita appeared on his blind side and dragged him through an opening, hurrying him along. They leapt out of the way of a falling pillar, and Optimus placed his body over hers as wreckage tumbled down around them. He would not allow her to die here.

***

The weight lifted and Knock Out scrambled upright. He glared at Breakdown… for all of the 1.9 seconds he was able to.

“Move!” Breakdown half pushed- half carried him off the road, through a destroyed section of the front of a building. He threw the both of them inside and spun around, one hand still on Knock Out’s shoulder.

“Hey! Let– What are you doing?!”

The end of his question was drowned out by an eight-wheeled freighter truck barreling down the road. The trailer screeched against the edge of the building as it scraped past, only a fingertip away from them.

“Motormaster,” Breakdown spat.

As Knock Out got to his servos, he carefully looked over his partner’s frame. Just as he suspected, there was a new electrical burn. A fresh one– right next to the one he’d placed only a day ago– where the edge of Breakdown’s neck met the collar of his chest plate.

“You okay, Doc?” Breakdown asked, standing up.

That spot would have been impossible for the Autobot to reach… unless Breakdown had leaned in and offered it.

“Oh, I’m great.” Knock Out put a hand on his hip and shook his head. Dust fluttered off the side of his helm. “Just… processing what happened.”

“...Processing what?”

Breakdown was looking down at him with an intensity that made Knock Out reconsider his next choice of words.

***

They shared a tense few moments as they waited for the debris to settle.

"Come on," Elita said, sliding out from under him. She picked herself up, then picked him up, too.

"Argh!" Something wet rolled into his internal mechanisms. He shuddered feeling it drip into his engine block. He shifted around, feeling the dried paint itch and crack. Little chips of purple and yellow rained out of the opening in his chest. He looked down, and grimaced at the handprint on his exposed interior. "Ugh. How am I going to explain all this to Ratchet?"

They paused as a howl of rage bounced off the rubble around them.

"Figure it out later?" Elita suggested. She slipped underneath his arm again, and helped him walk. “Let’s go. Bee gave me a short cut.”

Optimus Prime smiled at his old friend. The paint had gotten on her too, and bits of purple and yellow streaked her face. He leaned on her, and let her lead the way to safety.

***

Knock Out brushed down his plating. “Isn’t it obvious?” He said, trying to buy himself some time.

The Stunticon wasn’t the treasonous type. So whatever this was, it was big, to him at least. And considering Knock Out’s own transgressions in that department… Breakdown had gotten nervous at the very idea that Knock Out had done something! And he’d been… somewhat gracious about not prying (Sure he’d tried to create distance but that was understandable), which Knock Out appreciated. And–

And the battle wasn’t over yet. They still had a truce.

Knock Out spread both hands over his chest. “I almost died! Again!”

The intensity went down by magnitudes. “Oh,” Breakdown said, looking away. “Yeah. Guess that would be pretty harreling for you.” He blinked. “Harrowing.”

“Next time my back is turned, give me a heads up before you run off.

“And, you’re lucky my finish wasn’t damaged in all that,” he added, checking to make sure Breakdown was behind him as he moved carefully back out into the street. “Otherwise we’d be having a very different conversation.”